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Namjoon´s mind runs at a steady eighty meltdowns per hour and his legs can barely keep up with the speed at which thoughts race through his head. Roaming the city usually calms his mind. He likes to zig-zag his way through narrow alleyways and back streets, unbothered by Seoul´s ever present bustle, and enjoys the tranquility that comes with aimless wandering. But not today. Restlessness burned its way through Namjoon´s limbs like liquid embers ever since he opened the letter. 
That damned letter.
   Two weeks passed since he sat in a room full of stiff faces, sweaty palms, and legs bouncing impatiently under tables. A reedy bespectacled teacher strode up and down the front of the room with hands held behind his back like a drill sargeant to give instructions for the procedure that was about to follow. Each one of the present candidates was going to receive a flash drive containing an assortment of sound tracks. The task was to use these tracks to arrange a full song over the course of the next hours which corresponded to a given theme. Namjoon came prepared- his laptop and mini keyboard sat tucked into the messenger bag on the table in front of him. He shared it with a nervous young man. Everything from the way he shifted in his seat often enough to make Namjoon think his underwear might have twisted around his privates to the erratic drumming of fingers on his knees pointed to this being his first time in such a situation. Namjoon tried to give him a reassuring smile. Finding himself in this position wasn´t a novelty to him. Over the past months he had sent out six CDs to universities and schools quite like this one, each containing a portfolio of his personal compositions. Institutes had the privilege of hand-picking potential freshmen from the considerable pool of aspirants applying with their portfolios each year. Only a select few received invitations for entrance exams and out of those chosen even fewer were granted admission to the study program of music production based on their performance in these exams. Six out of six times Namjoon was called in to participate in the trial. Five out of six times, he received a letter of rejection. He wasn´t going to blow his chance this time.   “I blew it,” were the first words he croaked when he stepped into the tiny apartment he shared with Hoseok. The door fell shut behind him, the resounding bang making him flinch. “Hey, woah.” Hoseok put his phone down and sat straighter on the couch they had crammed into the entrance area. “Come on, Joon. You don´t know that.” Namjoon let himself fall next to his friend. The cushions dipped dangerously low under his weight, threatening to swallow him up. How he wished they would. “Blew it like an idiot.” “Beating yourself up won´t do you any good, we´ve been over this,” Hoseok chided. He handed Namjoon a can of caramel coffee from a plastic bag of snacks on the floor he'd presumably bought on his way home. Knowing his flatmate, Hoseok probably picked the drink because he knew it was his favorite. Bless the man, Namjoon thought and accepted the can, but didn´t move to open it. “You did your best. Now it´s up to the professors to recognize your musical genius. There´s nothing to do but wait until then, right?” Hoseok was right, of course, but the part about him having done his best was the issue in the first place. One would think that after five failed attempts Namjoon should've known better than to let panic take over. But his mind simply short-circuited when he had to perform under pressure. Tunnel vision set in. He latched onto the first best idea that came to him like a drowning man onto a piece of driftwood. By the time he was fed up with the mediocrity of the song he was in the middle of producing, it was too late to start over and try his hand at a more experimental approach. The worst part of it was- he knew he could do better. The work he produced in his own time, in the comfort of his own tiny room just off to the right of the hall, was good enough to get him through six pre-screenings without fail. So naturally, Namjoon couldn´t help but cuss himself out for his own shortcomings. Hoseok regarded his crumpled form and huffed a sigh. “Alright. We´re not doing any of this mopey ass bullshit.” He nudged Namjoon with a socked foot. “You wanna go out? Pizzas are half off at Mikado´s today.” Count on Hoseok to kick him in the proverbial and actual butt when he most needed it. Namjoon silently held out a hand and let the other pull him up. All that was left for him to do was wait. He might as well spend that time stuffing himself with extra cheesy margherita.   Every day since then, he both anticipated and dreaded the letter´s arrival. It finally awaited him when he came back to their apartment that morning. Hoseok was nowhere to be seen. He must have been home earlier to accept the envelope from the mailperson. It sat on the kitchen table next to used bowls and an empty bottle of soju they had shared over dinner the other night. Namjoon stood in the doorway for a good minute, frozen, before moving over. He held the envelope, feeling the folded paper inside grow heavier with each passing second. The sudden urgency to dust the small collection of figurines on the shelf above his desk seized him. And didn´t the kitchen need cleaning? The bathroom could use some for sure. Namjoon shook the thoughts from his head. He wasn´t going to procrastinate opening the damn thing now, not after he'd waited in uncertain agony for so long. So he opened the envelope´s seam with clumsy fingers, almost ripping the letter inside in his haste, unfolded it, and read. 
Dear Mr. Kim Namjoon, 
The composition you submitted has been evaluated by our teaching staff committee and has been rated with 73/100 points.
 
You have not attained the required minimum of 80 points necessary to be accepted into the degree program of Music Production.
 
We regret to inform you that your application to the National University of Media and Arts has thus been rejected.
   Rubber soles scrape on asphalt as he grinds to a stop. Namjoon bends over, heaving, and puts his hands on his knees to catch his breath. 
Rejected.
 He´s burning up in his coat. Forcing his spine to straighten, he stands and lets his head fall back. With eyes squinted shut he fills his lungs with cold air to the point where his ribs feel constricting. 
Rejected.
 Several seconds he holds the air in. Lets it stream out in a steady flow until none is left. Repeats the process until it no longer stings his airway. His heart still beats away at an erratic rhythm, not yet attuned to his body´s sudden standstill. 
Rejected. Again.
 Once his breathing levels out he opens his eyes and is met with a silver slate of sky above. There are no clouds to fix his gaze onto, so he stares, unfocused, mind pleasantly blank after running at full speed all day. Namjoon allows himself a few moments of quiet emptiness. Steels himself for coming back to the world around him. How he works up the strength to strain the muscles in his neck and level his head, he doesn´t know. It still weighs heavy with defeat. The surroundings he blocked out previously slowly come into focus. Where did the blind burn carry him? Looking around, he takes in an unfamiliar scene. To his left a concrete wall rises to tower several feet above him, pruned hedges lining the stretch of grey. They´re cut to shoulder height, the leaves a deep green despite the long spells of heat the fading summer had brought. To the right, less than fifty meters away, a two story building stands tall in the middle of a lawn. Even the neatly trimmed grass is lush, unlike the green spaces of the small park he often crosses on his way home from work. He remembers the parched grass scrunching beneath his sandals, the sound like hundreds of tiny insect wings crushing under his weight. With a shudder he redirects his attention to the house in front of him. A paved walkway stretches to flat stone steps which lead to a set of double doors under a semicircular porch. Big windows adorn the light, modern facade in two rows. Whoever lives here must make more money in a year than he´ll ever hope to make in his entire life to afford a mansion like this in a city like Seoul. From what he can see the concrete wall runs all the way around the property to separate it from neighboring apartment buildings. He can´t find a gate that leads to the street he came from. How in the world did he end up here? For a moment Namjoon lingers undecided. He sure as hell doesn´t want to be caught loitering in some filthy rich businessman´s yard. The day was enough of a disaster already, even without someone charging him with trespassing. But there´s no exit in sight. Maybe the main gate is on the opposite side of the house? Only one way to find out, he figures. He takes one step forward and halts abruptly when another thought shoots through his head. What if he set off any alarm systems? Is the police on their way already? What´s he going to tell them if they question him; that he got lost while trying to outrun his failures? Namjoon weighs his options once again more carefully. Rounding the house may set off alarms if they aren´t activated already, or at least make him look like a burglar who´s trying to break in to anyone watching from the outside. Following that logic, jumping the wall is not an option either. Onlookers would immediately come to the conclusion he´s a burglar making his escape. He will come off as suspicious no matter what he does, so honesty may be his last resort. He could ring the doorbell, tell the residents what happened, and hope they´ll show sympathy. Even if no one answers, he could simply be a friend paying a surprise visit who finds the house to be empty and leave. Thinking he found the solution to raise the least mistrust, Namjoon walks up the path to the house and climbs the steps to the front entrance. Two big half-moons of milky glass are inserted into each door and come together to form a perfect circle in the expanse of dark wood. There´s no keyhole or keypad disturbing the design. A different kind of mechanism must be installed. The owners surely don´t leave their house unlocked, no matter how nice of a neighborhood they live in. Now that he´s searching for it, he can´t find a bell button either. After some consideration Namjoon raises his knuckles and raps them against the wood of the door. He silently hopes no one´s home. But luck has other plans for him. Through the glass the silhouette of a figure is approaching, and his heart jumps into his throat. What´s he doing here, thinking this is a good idea? It´s not. It´s a bad idea and someone´s going to open that door any second now. Someone´s going to open that door and he'll have to talk to them and explain himself. Someone who´s property he just ran around on like a drop of water on a hot plate. Someone- Is one of the most attractive people Namjoon ever laid eyes upon. The man who answers the door isn't quite as tall as him, but his shoulders are broader and his face is infinitely more handsome than Namjoon´s could ever be, even on his best days. He´s young, somewhere around his own age, and the cream colored turtleneck that stretches over his chest looks soft, made from cashmere or some other fancy material. “Hello,” the man says. His voice is as soft as his sweater. His lips probably are, too. “Uh.” Smooth. How typical of him to lose his ability to speak in the face of beauty. The man cocks his head ever so slightly, clearly waiting for Namjoon to state his concern. “Sorry,” is the first coherent word he manages. “I was- Sorry to bother you, but- I was walking the city and didn´t pay attention to where I was going and somehow ended up here?” His inflection rises at the end, transforming the statement into a question. “I didn´t mean to creep around,” he adds hastily, “I didn´t want to look suspicious, so I thought I´d ask for directions.” The man´s lips form into a silent smile. “No worries. It happens quite often, actually.” Namjoon´s thankful he lets the bit about looking suspicious slide. “People get lost on your lawn often?” he asks. “Regularly.” Well, at least he isn´t the first fool to end up here like this. The man gives him a once-over and his brows crease. “You seem a little shaken up. Are you alright? I could make you a cup of tea if you´d like to come inside for a minute.” The shock of living through everything that happened since that morning must be written all over Namjoon's face. Or maybe it's an entirely new kind of shock, because this beautiful individual just invited him into his home. He can´t help but think about stories of fairies he read about in a book of myths and legends a while back, but he can´t quite recall what travelers were always warned about when going out into the fairy forests. Don’t stray from the path? No, that was Little Red Riding Hood. Don’t accept gifts from strangers? Something of the sort was the point to Hänsel and Gretel if he remembers right. Against better judgement, Namjoon nods and treads forward when the man steps aside and opens the door a little wider. He makes an effort not to brush up against the expensive sweater as he passes through. He should have expected luxuriousness to a certain degree after what he saw on the outside. The interior still renders him speechless. The entrance area opens into a semicircular room with a gallery rising over a doorway on the opposite wall, framed on both sides by stairways which he assumes lead to upstairs rooms. Two corridors branch off from the entrance hall to the left and right with doors to rooms on the ground level. Peering through the wide doorway in front of him Namjoon looks into what seems to be a library, which the man beckons him to follow him into as he passes the dumbstruck visitor. Bookshelves line the walls and rise up to the ceiling to three sides of the room. The northern wall, however, is entirely made up of glass tiles. Late afternoon sunlight filters through and casts a grid pattern of shadows onto the hardwood floor. It takes a moment for Namjoon to realize he´s looking out into a conservatory filled with large-leaved plants, each pot big enough for a grown man to curl up in. “Have a seat, please.” The man´s voice startles him out of his stupor. He follows the hand gesturing towards two high backed wing chairs facing the conservatory in the middle of the library. They both sit, and Namjoon expects the cushions to sink in like the ones of the worn out couch he´s used to. Instead he´s met with a plush springiness. A tea set sits on a tray on the low coffee table between the chairs. Has the tray been there the entire time? He can´t remember, and he´s too transfixed by the man´s hands moving gracefully to fill up two cups to pay it any mind. Delicately painted sugar gliders chase each other around the round bellied tea pot. The same animals run along the outside of the cup the man puts down in front of him. One of them even peeks over the rim to dip into the steaming liquid with curious paws. The smell of jasmine fills the air. The man picks up his own cup, leans back into the chair, and directs his full attention to his visitor. “May I ask your name?” “Namjoon.” “I´m Seokjin. Nice to meet you.” Namjoon nods. “So, where were you headed before you ended up here, Namjoon? If you don´t mind my asking.” “Nowhere, really.” He looks at his hands in his lap and decides he needs something to keep them occupied, so he cradles his tea before looking up at Seokjin again. “Just needed to take a walk to clear my head.” “Stressful day?” Seokjin asks in a commiserative tone. “Yeah. Well, rather disappointing than anything else.” “What happened?“ “I found out I failed a test today. I expected it, to be honest, but I´m still mad with myself.” “I´m sorry to hear that.” And he sounds like he really means it. “What kind of test was it?” “An entrance exam for a university. I study philosophy, have been for a while now, but it´s not giving me much anymore, and I decided to apply to schools for music production because I love making music. It´s something I´ve been doing for a long time, and I´m good, I mean- I think I am, so I want to-“ He breaks off. Voicing his troubles makes him realize he´s unsure of what it is that he wants, exactly. Is it the study of the craft he loves that has him so dead-set on succeeding? Or does he want to prove he´s good enough at doing what he does by being accepted into some prestigious university? Did his conviction take a turn somewhere? And most importantly- What´s he doing, rambling on about all of this to a complete stranger? The words just poured out of his mouth as if all gates had opened. Seokjin listens intently and seems genuinely interested, even nods for him to continue. With a pang of guilt Namjoon thinks about Hoseok. His friend is usually the first one he talks to about things like this. Instead of continuing on with his monologue, Namjoon tries to steer the conversation into more neutral waters. “Can I ask- What is it that you do?” Seokjin takes a sip of his tea, as if to stall for an answer, and says, “It’s a little difficult to explain. I guess you could say I deal in desires.“ That’s vague, Namjoon thinks. He could be anything from a telemarketer to a premium escort. But then it really isn’t Namjoon´s place to judge; he´s the one intruding here. He doesn´t ask further questions when Seokjin doesn´t elaborate. Just because he ran his own mouth doesn´t mean the other has to do the same. He takes his first sip of tea to bridge the silence and the warmth of it flows through his body. His shoulders relax and he almost sighs in relief before he stops himself. Looking up he notices Seokjin observing him with watchful eyes. A different kind of warmth heats up his ears. Namjoon drops his gaze. The shadow grid that was cast onto the floor earlier dissolved fully in the dim evening light. With a start he remembers he´s got adult obligations to meet. “Sorry, what time is it?” Seokjin glances at the watch on his wrist. “Seven-thirty.” “I´ll be late for work.” He downs the contents of his cup in one big gulp, the liquid burning his tongue. “Thanks for the tea.” He stands, brushing over his coat to make sure his phone and wallet are tucked into the pockets. “Sorry for leaving so abruptly.” Seokjin rises to escort him to the front door and opens it. “It was nice talking to you,” Namjoon says as he bows quickly. “Don´t hesitate to knock when you get lost around here again,” Seokjin says and Namjoon almost trips down the stairs at the playful smile directed his way. “Take care.“ “Thank you. You too.“ When he turns, he finds a cast iron gate at the end of the walkway in front of him. How had he not noticed it earlier? The wall had been one continuous strip of concrete around the entirety of the lawn. But here the gate stands, bars twisting into geometric designs, incorporating the circle shape on the front door by multiplying it over the length of the frame. Did he bother Seokjin for nothing? He really did make a massive fool out of himself in the end, it seems. But now is not the right moment to regret each and every one of his life choices. Namjoon pulls his phone out of his coat pocket to check the time and curses under his breath. He has to run to make it to work and start his shift on time. He sets off, but not without sparing the house one last glance over his shoulder.  ___________________ Seokjin stands on the gallery on the first floor, looking out of a window to watch the receding figure of his latest visitor. 
He promises to be an interesting case, this one.
 Namjoon managed to keep a lot of his concerns to himself, even when Seokjin asked further questions. More than that, he even turned the conversation around to focus on Seokjin instead, which caught him by surprise. Seekers rarely need encouragement after an initial show of interest on his part. They usually pour their hearts out to him freely. And he listens, takes mental notes of both their words and their mannerisms for when his advice is required. Anyone who finds themselves at Seokjin´s doorstep is in need of something. He helps them figure out exactly what it is, as is his duty. Some seekers who come knocking on his door need little more than a gentle nudge in the right direction, a simple suggestion to make them realize what they're searching for. His mind goes back to the elder lady who stood on his front porch this morning.   Her hands wrung the handles of her purse, but her worried brows lifted in relief when she saw his face. “Sorry to bother you, young man. It seems this old scatterbrain has gotten herself lost.“ Seokjin gave her an appeasing smile. “Please don’t fret, it happens quite often. Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea?“ They sat and talked and as it turned out, it was a lost friendship that ate away at the lady´s core. “We used to be such good friends, dear Hyeonsook and I, but after what happened with her husband over ten years ago we barely talked anymore. I remember going to the market with her every Sunday, it was such a lovely thing to do. We always met by the plum tree down the road from her house and walked together. When the trees were in bloom, it rained petals all over, and we would pick them out of our baskets one by one and scatter them all the way to the market.“ She had a faraway look to her before coming to again. “Oh, I´m sorry! I bore you with my old stories.“ Seokjin softly shook his head. "Not at all. Did you ever try to write a letter? Or to call her to see if she would be up for a chat?” The lady looked tiny in the big wing chair. Her thumb trailed over the handle of the cup in her lap with unease. “I do have her number, but I couldn´t do it. I couldn´t call her. What if she doesn´t want to talk to me? She became so bitter after Seongho passed away and I- I didn´t help her. I couldn´t, I couldn´t! She wouldn´t let me.” She was clearly upset- with the situation, with herself, with her friend, and Seokjin felt her pain. After such a long time she still thought about her old friend, still reminisced about their time together. All she wanted was to talk to that dear person again. What held her back were fear and guilt. The lady was so worried about her friend not wanting to talk to her she might not have considered the possibility that her friend might fear the same after isolating herself and rejecting the help she was offered. “It´s been a long time since then. Hyeonsook must be lonely, don´t you think? She´s been going to the market on her own all this time. I´m sure she would love to have company again.” The lady was quiet for a long while, staring into her tea. She looked up at him with watery eyes, gave a firm nod, and said, “Yes. I would love that, too.”   The patter of feet on hardwood floor alarms Seokjin to the approach of another person. It´s Yoongi who comes up next to him and rests his head of bleached hair against Seokjin´s shoulder. He slides an arm around the smaller man’s waist. “Did you sleep well?“ Yoongi shrugs against his side. "I guess.“ A yawn stretches the words into an unrecognizable string of syllables. Seokjin’s heart warms at the sight. “Who was he?“ Yoongi asks, nodding out the window. “A curious one.“ Yoongi hums sleepily. “So we’ll be seeing him again?“ “Most definitely.“

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Namjoon´s surprised to find the street he stumbles onto once he pulls the iron gate shut behind him is one he walked once or twice on his way home before. Strings of apartment buildings line the street to both sides. Their balconies form a repeating pattern that stretches on until each end of the road. Store fronts occasionally break up the rows of doors and windows with neon signs that light up the sidewalk where the glow of streetlights doesn´t reach. He looks left and right to orientate himself and spots a familiar office building, a colossus of glass and steel towering high into the night sky in the distance. It´s close to his favorite chicken restaurant, which in turn is close to his workplace, so he sets off in its general direction. The people he passes sidestep him on the narrow sidewalks, not wanting to risk a collision with a running man who clearly has a place to be. When Namjoon finally stumbles out of the alley opposite the building that houses Ahn´s Convenience Store, squeezed in between a hair salon and a pharmacy, he´s out of breath and ten minutes late. The bell above the door jingles as he enters. Ms. Ahn, the middle-aged lady behind the counter, looks up at the sound and lays a hand on her chest in a relieved gesture when she recognizes him. “Namjoonie, there you are!” She collects her coat and purse and gets up. “I was worried something might´ve happened to you.” “Sorry.” He leans onto the counter for support, still winded from his impromptu cross-city run. “I lost track of time.” “Well, I´m glad you´re alright. The delivery driver was late today as well, he came by an hour ago. Be so kind and restock the shelves, dear.” “Of course.” Ms. Ahn talks to him like one would to a grandson rather than an employee. He prefers her warm-hearted nature to the choleric warehouse manager he used to work for before by a mile. “Anything else I forgot to mention? The keys are in the back room. On the table, I think. Sorry, I´m a little muddle-headed these days.” “It´s OK. I´ll find them. You´re visiting your cousin tonight, aren´t you?” “Yes, the poor thing´s still barely able to move in her cast. I´ll get some housework done around her flat and cook dinner for us.“ “That´s very kind of you.” “What else do you have family for if not to help each other out in times of need?” Namjoon drones affirmatively. “I´ll get going then, she´s probably waiting already. Thank you for taking over so many shifts lately, you´re a darling. I wouldn´t trust anyone else with the store.” “I´ll look after it as best as I can.” He bows politely. Another jingle of the bell and Namjoon's alone. He turns, eyes surveying the sales floor. The tube lamps on the ceiling emit a cold light that reflects on the few strips of linoleum visible in the narrow aisles between packed shelves. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. He makes his way to the back room, flicks on the lights, and finds the keys where Ms. Ahn said they were. He removes his coat and flings it over one of the folding chairs around a beat-up table, switches the lights off, and exits the cramped space. The delivery man rolled two containers loaded with goods into the back of the store, where they were least likely to bother customers while they shopped. Namjoon checks the contents and pushes the first one into the neighboring aisle to start unpacking. He´s down to heaving heavy sacks of rice from the bottom of the container into one of the shelves when the bell above the door chimes again. Voices float over and make him pause, the unwieldy sack of rice still only halfway put into the bottom shelf. He knows who just entered, and he´s in for hard times if he doesn´t watch their every move. With one last push he hauls the sack into place and powerwalks to the counter. Three boys about the age of seventeen look back at him from where they crowd around a display of sugary sweets. Sport bags are slung over their shoulders and their arms are already loaded with packs of chips and gummy bears. “Snack temp!” The one with the roundest cheeks, Jimin, greets him. The boy to his left flashes a boxy grin and waves. “Isn´t auntie working tonight?” he asks. “She left early to help out a cousin who broke her leg.” The grin slips from Taehyung´s face. “Oh no, I hope she´ll get well soon.” There´s so much sincerity in his tone that one could think the woman fell gravely ill instead of down a flight of stairs. “I´m sure she will if Ms. Ahn takes care of her,” Namjoon says reassuringly and sits on the stool behind the counter. “But what are you kids doing out this late at night?” Jimin pouts at that. “Come on, when will you stop calling us kids?” The way his cheeks plump up in annoyance doesn´t help to make him look any more grown-up. “Besides, the only kid here is Jeonggukkie!” The side blow has the bunny-toothed boy piping up in protest. “I´m only a few months younger than both of you, that´s basically nothing.” “A year.” Jimin corrects. “Whatever. I´m still taller than you.” “You little-!” Jimin lifts his leg to kick the other boy in the butt, but he manages to jump back a few paces and laughs when bags of snacks fall from Jimin´s arms as he struggles to regain his balance. Here we go again. Namjoon sighs. Every time these three set foot into the store he ends up having to clean some kind of mess they leave behind. Like that one time Jimin and Taehyung dared Jeongguk to do a backflip in the middle of the canned food aisle. He landed ass-first in a shelf of kimchi jars. Jeongguk went home with pants that looked like he had a bad case of fiery diarrhea, and Namjoon´s hands smelled like spicy kale for days after scrubbing the floor clean of any evidence of the entire ordeal. “Hey! You better behave, or I´ll have to ban you from the store again.” They stop fooling around immediately, eyes wide with shock at the threat. Another pack of chips hits the ground. “But the Snack Shack is the only place around that sells sour grape gummies with filling!” Taehyung whines. So the silly name they call the store still sticks around. How unfortunate. “Auntie would never ban us,” Jimin mumbles as he bends to pick up the scatter of plastic packs on the floor. “That´s because she doesn´t have the heart to kick you out.” Namjoon already lost his conviction to be stern with them at Taehyung´s excellent display of puppy dog eyes, but he folds his arms over his chest and stares the trio down nonetheless. He knows they scent any trace of softheartedness like sharks smell blood in water and pounce without hesitation. “Sorry,” Jeongguk says sheepishly and puts his snacks on the counter for Namjoon to ring up. The boys play rock-paper-scissors to decide who pays. Jimin loses to the other two both times. They bicker some more, and Namjoon's about to remind them that his threat still stands until Jimin finally pulls a few won notes from his pocket. He sends the trio on their way with a “Don´t let anyone steal you away out there!” and hears Taehyung say, “Aw, snack temp cares about us after all!” before the door falls shut. The rest of his shift passes uneventfully. A handful of customers stop by, but apart from ringing up their purchases and unpacking the other container of goods there´s nothing for him to do. Other than watch people pass by on the street outside of the store´s window, that is. He enjoys his quiet time alone when Ms. Ahn isn´t around, spends it reading or working on assignments. As things went, he didn´t bring any of his books tonight. Fatigue sets in after a day spent running around the city. Usually he goes to class in the morning and takes a quick nap in the afternoon before heading off to work in the evening. Today was exceptional in many ways. His mind goes back to the encounter he had at the mansion earlier. How strange it all had been. Looking back, he feels pretty damn stupid about all the personal things he told Seokjin and wonders just why he did it. There was something about the man that made Namjoon throw all caution to the wind and open up to him before he realized he spilled his guts. He likes to think he´s above judging a book by its cover. At the same time he has to admit that Seokjin was entrancing; from the silky dark hair that fell over his forehead to his full lips and broad shoulders he´s one of the most beautiful people Namjoon ever met. Who could dismiss the appeal of those features? With a face like his, Seokjin could be a model or an actor. Wait, is he? Namjoon´s sure he never saw a movie or series he featured in. What was it Seokjin said? He deals in desires. Well, both jobs would fit the description in some way or another. The beep of the digital clock on the counter next to him jolts him out of his thoughts. It´s 1 a.m., his shift is over. He jumps from the stool and makes sure everything is in its right place around the store before he gets his coat and the keys from the back room and closes up shop. Once he locks the door shut securely and gives the handle one last tug for good measure he lets the keys fall into the tiny mailbox in the wall next to the entrance. They land with a metallic clank. Ms. Ahn will get them in the morning with her own set of keys when she opens the store for businesspeople on their way to work. Namjoon turns to look up into the night sky and isn´t surprised he doesn´t see any stars above. The city’s lights bleed into the darkness and cast a halo that renders any starlight obsolete. He´ll have to go to the countryside someday to stargaze all night. Maybe take a blanket and a thermos jug of hot cocoa with him. Who would he bring along? Hoseok isn´t the kind of person who enjoys such a thing, he´s drawn to noise and life and light. He might just have to go alone. Which isn´t a problem, since he enjoys his own company. His walk home is quiet except for his feet treading over pavement, and then the rustle of dried insect wing grass of the park´s lawn. A group of dark shapes strolls down the other side of the green space and Namjoon picks up his pace. The last thing he needs tonight is to get into a brawl with a flock of bored teenagers looking for trouble less than two hundred meters from his home. They pay him no mind, thankfully, and he makes it to the apartment building´s entrance unscathed. You need a good night´s sleep, buddy, he thinks at the dark circles under his eyes in the mirrored back wall of the elevator. The ping which signals his arrival on the 7th floor sounds too loud in his ears. The jangle of his keys echoes in the hallway. Namjoon opens the door to his flat and is greeted with the sight of a shirtless Hoseok. He slouches upside down on their couch, legs resting against the wall with his feet up in the air, sports shorts bunching up around his thighs. A towel lies on the ground, his friend´s maroon colored hair is still wet from a recent shower. “Hey, you´re back.” Hoseok looks up from the text book he´s got propped up on his bare chest. He turns his head to try to look at Namjoon but gives up after a second and lets it fall back on the seat again. “Took over an emergency shift at the store tonight,” Namjoon explains. He steps out of his shoes and nudges them under the overstuffed shoe rack next to the door with his feet, then shuffles over and joins Hoseok. “You´re still awake?” “I taught a late class today. Some of the kids were struggling with their step sequences, so I stayed and helped them out a while longer.” Hoseok lifts the book a little. “Still gotta finish reading this chapter.” “You´re a true saint.” “I do my best. But the kids work hard, too.” “They might. You still work the hardest of them all.” Hoseok shrugs. The movement makes him slide further down the couch. “So how´d your day go?” he asks, deliberately casual. Namjoon recognizes it as a thinly veiled attempt at asking him about the letter that arrived in the morning. He heaves a sigh and gets straight to the point. “The National University shot me down.” “Oh, what the-“ Hoseok lets the book fall from his grip and struggles to right himself, nearly kicking Namjoon in the face in the process. “Are they serious!?” he asks incredulously once his butt is firmly planted on the cushions. Namjoon sluggishly lifts a shoulder. “I´m too tired to get emotional over it right now.” Well, that and the fact he ran off the first rush of disappointment earlier. “I can´t believe it though? Your stuff´s so damn good and yet they all decide to sleep on it!” Hoseok´s anger on his behalf makes him think he might´ve gone numb to the rejection over the course of the day. 
Just another addition to the collection of failures.
 His friend rages on, full of indignation over the unfairness of it all, and Namjoon´s reminded once again of how much Hoseok really cares about him. He was the one who inspired him to take the leap and apply to music schools, too. “Why not?“ Hoseok always said whenever he brought up the topic of changing his major. “You’re allowed to change your mind and move on to try different things. Isn’t that what being young is all about?“ And Hoseok was right, as he always is, but there´s more to it. His tired eyes light up after a long day of classes when he talks about how he mastered a particularly demanding sequence of the most recent choreography he´s learning. His shoulders lift with pride when he tells Namjoon how well the small group of high schoolers he teaches does. His hands gesture about more animatedly and his face cycles through a show of vivid expressions. Enrolling into dance school is quite possibly the best thing Hoseok ever did and Namjoon always wanted to feel that strongly about something as well. Love doing something so much that even if he experiences setbacks, he´ll get up and keep fighting because he knows it´s his one true calling. Right now he feels more like curling up in a tight space like a hermit crab though. He doesn´t register Hoseok´s simmered down until he´s right up in his face. The sudden proximity startles Namjoon and he almost headbutts his friend in shock. “Keep trying,” Hoseok says absolutely serious, with an expression Namjoon barely ever sees on him. “It´ll work out. You´re talented. You´re good at what you do. They just haven´t recognized it yet. Keep trying.” If Namjoon had any energy or emotional capacity left, he may have just started crying right then and there. He gives Hoseok an awkward hug and pat on the back instead. “Seriously, what would I do without you?” Hoseok's back with his heart-shaped smile and a quick retort when he lets go. “Waste away in your self-pity, most likely.”   It isn’t until Namjoon stands in line at a grocery store after his classes to buy lunch the next day that he realizes he lost his wallet. His hand reaches into his coat pocket to come up with nothing but the folded up letter he opened the day before and crammed into it shortly before he left the house to wander the city. He performs a little panicked dance, hands flying to check all pockets on his coat and jeans for his money. A bit of loose change hides in his back pocket and he´s lucky it´s enough to cover the kimbap on the conveyor belt. Once he leaves the store he hurries home as fast as he can, kimbap forgotten in his hand. He doesn´t bother to kick his shoes off at the entrance and moves straight to the couch to check under the cushions as well as the floor under it. He comes up empty, so he goes to his room, first picking up the blanket on the bed and shaking it out, then crouching on the floor to look under the bed and wardrobe. No luck here, either. There´s nothing on his desk but stacks of books and papers, his laptop, and a few empty candy wrappers. Namjoon moves on to the kitchen, but finds nothing apart from the usual clutter of dishes balanced on the tiny table between the stove and the wall. The bathroom´s empty except for some of his and Hoseok´s clothes strewn about. He even peeks into Hoseok´s room out of sheer desperation, but doesn´t dare touch anything, let alone search through it. When he´s done ransacking their flat he shoots Hoseok a message, asking whether he saw his wallet lying around somewhere. Multiple messages come in five minutes later, ranging from “Not this again, Joon.” to “Have you checked under the couch?” The last message reads, “Try retracing your steps!” Hoseok added three magnifying glass emojis for emphasis. So all his friend has to offer is Sherlock-Holmes it, then. Alright, where did he see his wallet last? Yesterday afternoon. He put it into his coat pocket before leaving the house. Which places has he been to since then? His flat, Ms. Ahn´s store, the flat again, and university in the morning. Before it all, he remembers with a flutter in the pit of his stomach, he´d been to the mansion. He mentally squashes that butterfly before it can take flight. Namjoon decides to search each place in the order of highest to lowest probability of him losing his belongings there. The flat´s ticked off the list, so his next stop is the convenience store. Ms. Ahn looks confused to see Namjoon dash in, accompanied by the excited jingle of the doorbell. “Namjoonie, do you need something? You have the day off, you know.” “I´m looking for my wallet. I must´ve lost it somewhere. Can I have a look around?” “What a bother! You don´t need to ask, go ahead.” He gives a short bow and beelines to the back room. There isn´t much to check, the same table and folding chairs stand cramped together in the tight space and he closes the door again when he´s positive there´s nothing in there. He looks behind the counter where Ms. Ahn sits on her stool- nothing other than fresh receipt paper rolls and the heavy baseball bat the lady keeps there in case of emergency. He says goodbye to Ms. Ahn and sets off to university.   Namjoon truly starts to lose hope. He exited all of his lecture halls and seminar rooms empty handed and even the lady at the lost and found told him nothing has been turned in all day. It´s not like there´s a big amount of money in his wallet, not when he and Hoseok live on instant ramen most of the month, but his ID, bank card, and university library card are in there. Replacing them would mean a great deal of trouble he isn´t ready to go through. He has to face it- the last place he could´ve possibly lost the damn thing is Seokjin´s house. Now that he allows himself to think about it he remembers getting up in a hurry and brushing his hands over his coat to feel for his phone and wallet. He thought he felt the flat shape of it tucked into his pocket. The memory of the folded up letter he pulled out of it today makes him realize it must´ve been the square of paper all along; his wallet must´ve slipped out when he sat in the chair in the library. Cursing his clumsy self Namjoon leaves the university building behind and makes his way through the city to the street Seokjin lives on. He finally finds it after taking two wrong turns. The apartment buildings all tend to merge into the same blocks of concrete while he walks past them. Only ever seeing them at night doesn´t help to better distinguish them either. He´s sure he´s on the right street now, found the right neighboring buildings even. He´s faced with another problem: He can’t find the gate leading to the house. Namjoon´s absolutely positive he recognizes the string of lights hung up on one of the balconies to his left and the flower buckets adorning the edge of another to his right. The gate to the property he exited the night before, which should be right in the middle of these two, is nowhere to be seen. Is he going insane? A sense of déjà vu creeps over him. The exact same thing happened when he first set foot on Seokjin´s lawn. The gate was simply gone until he stepped out of the house a while later. He chalked it up to his dazed state of mind, thought it was his confusion that made him overlook the most obvious things. Namjoon gradually suspects something isn´t quite right about any of this. He walks down the street until he reaches the end of it and turns to make his way down to the other end, just to make sure he didn´t stand in front of the wrong buildings, and stops dead in his tracks once he passes the same spot again. There it is. The cast iron gate with its interlocking circle patterns, in-between the two concrete blocks he stared at a minute ago, wall rising around it to partition the property beyond. What the hell?, is all Namjoon can think. He stands rooted to the spot, not daring to move lest the gate disappears again. When his feet start tingling from being pressed onto the sidewalk too firmly he takes a cautious step. The gate stays. Another step. It still stands. He inches forward until he reaches the gate and grabs the handle in a triumphant swipe, as if holding onto someone in a game of catch so they can´t escape again. Namjoon lets out the breath trapped in his lungs and leans his weight against the curled iron bars. They swing open without resistance. He steps through and stalks up the stone path to the front door of Seokjin´s ridiculously pretty house to resolutely knock on his door. The man in question opens only half a beat later, dressed in a pale pink knitted sweater with a loose neckline. Namjoon´s annoyance dies down a little at the sight. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,“ Seokjin says. Something tells him he did. “Come on in.” He contemplates telling the other he only came for his lost wallet and is going to leave as soon as he has it back. Instead he decides to engage in the situation. Seokjin leads him into the library and Namjoon thinks they´re going to sit in the plush wing chairs again, but the other moves to the wall of glass separating the room from the conservatory. He opens a door Namjoon didn´t notice was part of the wall before. “Come on. I want you to meet someone.” He hesitates for a second before passing through the door held open for him. The first thing that hits him when he steps into the conservatory is warm humid air and the pleasant smell of damp earth. Overhead a glass structure forms a dome shape which stretches on beyond the house for quite a bit. White polished marble tiles form a short path further into the room where they mirror the big plants he saw behind the glass wall when he sat in the library the last time. To the left and right of the path, all kinds of ferns and shrubs adorn flowerbeds arching out into the open space, some sort of palm trees growing between them. They walk past the plants in their enormous pots and the marble tiles give way to a grassed area, lush and perfectly trimmed. Namjoon doesn’t dare cross the threshold in fear of trampling the prim blades. Seokjin, on the hand, steps over in sure strides and he does follow suit. Flowers of every shade between ivory and burgundy grow in small round beds all over the area. Low hedges encompass a clearing towards the very back of the dome where two divans stand around a glass table with an intricately worked wooden base. Namjoon only notices the man on one of the divans when he approaches them. He´s thin, lying on his back with his eyes closed. One arm rests on his stomach, the other hangs over his head, dangling over the armrest. He’s dressed in all black, long pants and shirt making for a stark contrast to his light skin and silvery blond hair. Namjoon has the strange urge to find a blanket to wrap him up in when his eyes land on his bare feet. Seokjin, who sneaked right up to the occupied divan with a barely hidden smirk, leans down. He shoots Namjoon a conspiratory glance and gets close to the man’s ear. Just as his lips are about to part, the man speaks. “I know you’re there, Jin,“ he drawls without opening his eyes. Namjoon can’t help but trip over the nickname the man used to adress the other. “Surprising you is no fun at all,“ Seokjin puffs disappointedly and straightens again. “Surprising me is damn near impossible.“ Seokjin looks like he wants to disagree, but he keeps the comment to himself. He taps the man´s shoulder and says, “You might want to get up, we have a visitor.” The man sighs and shifts to set his feet on the grass. He props his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands loosely between them. His dark eyes fix on Namjoon for the first time, dark, feline, hooded with the remnants of sleep or plain disinterest. Yet a bolt of electricity travels down Namjoon´s back at the intensity of the gaze. Seokjin rounds the piece of furniture and gestures for Namjoon to have a seat on the opposite divan, which he manages to do despite the rigidity in his spine. Seokjin takes his place next to the man himself. The two make an odd pair. One sits with his legs crossed, the other slouches forward. Their opposing colors contrast each other, but still fit together in a way. “Namjoon, this is Yoongi, my partner,” Seokjin introduces. “Yoongi, this is Namjoon. He´s the seeker I told you about.” Namjoon zaps back to reality. The what now? Yoongi gives a curt nod, which he returns stiffly. When it´s clear neither of them intends to speak, Seokjin asks, “What brings you here today?” Just like the day before, his brain-to-mouth filter fails him miserably. The words roll off his tongue. “I was going to ask you about my wallet, because I think I lost it around here yesterday. But I have some questions first.” Yoongi suppresses a snort. “Tone it down,” he says to Seokjin, eyes never leaving Namjoon. “Sorry, I forget. It´s a reflex with visitors.” Seokjin gives Namjoon an apologetic smile and some of the tension in his muscles dissolves. At Namjoon´s perplexed expression his smile turns sympathetic. “You want answers, that´s fair. Ask away, then.” Namjoon only dares to speak once he´s absolutely sure he won´t blurt out the next best thing to surface from his mind again, thinking over his approach carefully. He starts at the very beginning. “What´s going on with your gate that makes it disappear randomly?” “It´s shy,” Yoongi deadpans. Seokjin isn´t swayed by the sarcastic remark. “As you must´ve noticed by now, it only appears to outsiders when they´re looking for it.” 
Well, yeah. I ran laps up and down the street like an idiot.
 Seokjin must sense the follow-up question to come and elaborates, “See, this house is open to those who are in need of guidance. They find their way here some way or another- A side street appears, a gap in a fence, a door where there was none, and they land on our doorstep to ask for help.” “I don´t remember needing help.” “Seekers barely ever do.” There it is again, that word. “And what´s your part in all this?” “You could think of me as a counselor. I listen to seeker´s problems and offer advice.” “So,” Namjoon gestures back and forth between Yoongi and Seokjin, “you´re running this… counseling service together?” To his surprise, it´s Yoongi who answers. “Jin does the work. I just live here.” Kinda like a house cat, Namjoon ponders. Something tells him Yoongi wouldn´t appreciate the analogy. At the same time the thought that partner referred to something other than business relations hits Namjoon belatedly. He takes a moment to process all the new information and puts it together with everything he learned about Seokjin so far. He remembers, then. Yesterday he was too caught up in the situation to take note of it. Seokjin´s words of parting were “Don´t hesitate to knock when you get lost around here again.” When. Not if. Namjoon looks up at the man. “You knew I´d come here again, didn´t you?” Seokjin inclines his head. “I had a feeling.” A skeptical hum vibrates in his chest. “Tell me, what happens if I don´t want your counseling?” “Whether you accept my help or not is entirely up to you. No one´s forcing you to do anything against your will.” Namjoon hums again, this time in contemplation. “Then I´ll decline the offer. Thank you, but I don´t think I need counseling.” “The fact you´re here tells a different story,” Yoongi interjects. Seokjin lays a pacifying hand on the other man´s thigh. The touch makes Yoongi tense- He averts his gaze, breaking eye contact with Namjoon for the first time since he stepped into the lounge area. Seokjin withdraws his hand the moment Yoongi´s uneasiness registers with him and says, “Very well. You´re welcome to drop by any time if you change your mind.” He´s perfectly calm, not the least bit offended by the refusal. “Thank you for your understanding,” Namjoon says. His gaze flits from one man to the other uncertainly. He feels like he just witnessed a deeply personal exchange he´s in no way supposed to be a part of. “I think I should get going.” Seokjin rises and Namjoon follows him out of the little half circle of hedges when Yoongi calls, “Didn’t you forget something?” He raises a hand over the back of the divan, casually holding a familiar square of black leather with frayed edges between two fingers. The wallet. Namjoon forgot all about it. His fingers brush Yoongi´s when he reaches for the object and an electric shock travels up his arm, as if a spark passed between their outstretched hands. Yoongi´s eyes are back on him, and Namjoon has to make a conscious effort to break the contact and pull his hand away. The other´s quick to do the same. “Thanks.” Yoongi nods. Namjoon jogs to catch up to Seokjin who waited for him a small distance away. They leave the conservatory together. “You´ll have to excuse Yoongi. He can be a little cranky at times, but he gets friendlier once you get to know him,” Seokjin says as they cross through the library. “Hm,” is all Namjoon says. He isn´t sure if cranky is the right word to describe the vibe the fair haired man gives off. There sure is something, an unnamable energy he exuded that is so very different to the one surrounding Seokjin, but just as strong. Something´s almost magnetic about it. He just doesn´t know yet whether it pulls him in or repels him. A faint sense of loss buds in his chest when they reach the front door. He probably won´t get to know either Yoongi or Seokjin all that much, not when he rejected the latter´s help. Does that mean the gate will never appear to him again? What reason does he have to cross over its threshold now? As if sensing his inner conflict, Seokjin says, “I really did mean it. You can come by to talk if you want to. Even if you don´t want counseling.” His words reignite hopeful embers in Namjoon´s stomach. “Thanks. I´ll keep it in mind.” Seokjin beams and it takes his breath away. “Get home safely.” Namjoon gives him a tentative smile in return and thanks him once again. He pulls the door open and makes his way down the path to the gate. It shuts behind him with a metallic click; his hand stays on the cool iron handle a little longer. He looks up to see where he landed this time and recognizes the view immediately- The little park is stretching out right in front of him. It´s what he sees when he exits his apartment building every morning. Namjoon twists his head and surely, there it is, piercing the darkening afternoon sky. The half-moon rises over the rooftops in the distance, the night baring a single fang in a lazy smile, about to engulf the day. Namjoon lets go of the gate´s handle reluctantly. The cool touch lingers all the way to his apartment door.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Yoongi watches Seokjin and Namjoon disappear between low hedges and big leaves on their way to the library. He turns, planning to lie back down and continue the nap he was woken from earlier, but is greeted by someone sitting on the divan Namjoon occupied only a minute ago. “Shit, Hwitaek. Did you get bored of buttoning your shirt halfway through?” “Hello to you too, Yoongi,” the man says. He sits with his hands on his knees, his midnight blue dress shirt bunching up over the buckle of his belt where it´s tucked into dark slacks. The top buttons are undone, showing a considerable amount of chest peeking out from under the silky fabric. “What´re you doing here?” Yoongi asks. A muscle in his neck locks up uncomfortably. He doesn´t have the energy to deal with any crap the other may throw at him today. “I´m checking in to see how our servant is faring.” “He´s doing fine.” “Seems like it, doesn´t it?” Hwitaek smiles. It doesn´t do much to lessen Yoongi´s irritation at the other´s sudden appearance. “I´d say he´s one of the most effective guides we have, even.” “Good. If that´s all you wanted to make sure of you can leave again, right?” “Oh, come on now. Is that how you treat an old friend?” Yoongi purses his lips slightly. “Are we?” “Of course we are.” Genuine hurt twist Hwitaek´s pretty features into a frown. Too bad Yoongi isn´t convinced this easily. “The others may not approve of your decisions, but I´ve never been one to condemn anyone for taking unconventional routes. I wouldn´t be spending my time with a bunch of notorious rebels if I did.” No, he really wouldn´t. Yoongi knows how unconventional Hyojong and Hyuna can get when they feel particularly rebellious. If it weren´t for Hwitaek pulling them out of the sinkholes they got themselves into sometimes, it´d be very likely they wouldn´t be around now. “Speaking of those two,” he says, looking around, “where are they? They´re charged with overseeing this place, too. They show up even less often than you are.” “They were otherwise occupied.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Figures. How come you didn´t join?” “We´re to report to the council later today. If I hadn´t come here to check on our guide no one would´ve.” At the mention of the council, Yoongi sits up straighter. His face turns into a steely mask. Hwitaek notices his shift in demeanor and is quick to reassure him. “Don´t worry, I won´t tell them anything about the… other occupants of this house. I gave you my word and I intend to stay true to it. The same goes for Hyojong and Hyuna.” “It better,” Yoongi says in a low voice. The sound of the glass door opening at the other end of the observatory makes both of them perk up. Hwitaek gives him a grave nod and Yoongi looks over his shoulder to see Seokjin approaching the lounge area in a casual stroll. When he turns to urge Hwitaek to keep his mouth shut one last time he finds the opposite divan empty again. 
Damn it.
 Seokjin comes up behind him and lays his hands on Yoongi´s shoulders to massage them through his shirt. “I think I´ll make dinner in a bit. What do you think about pajeon?” Yoongi lets himself relax into the touch. “Sounds great.”  ___________________ “You´ll put in more onions, right?“ “Yes, yes.“ Yoongi peers over from where he’s perched on the kitchen counter to make sure Seokjin dips another bundle of green onions into the big bowl of batter he prepared earlier. His feet are bare, as they always are when Yoongi´s at home, and they drum a soft steady rhythm against the cupboard door beneath him. Seokjin cherishes these moments, when it’s just the two of them having a bit of quiet in this house where people come and go at any time of the day. He loves his job and all the perks he enjoys thanks to it, but living in a semipublic space like this does get on his nerves from time to time. “So what do you think about Namjoon?” he asks as he arranges the batter-soaked onions in the pan on the stove. “He sure seems special. I mean, when was the last time you let someone in on the whole guidance business?“ “It´s been quite a while, I guess.” In all his time living in the house Seokjin only told a handful of people about its unusual workings and the responsibilities he holds as its owner. He even kept it secret from his own parents, concerned they wouldn´t understand why he decided to quit his business studies at twenty and became a guide to those lost in life. Funnily enough, when he worked up the courage to tell Yoongi quite some time into their relationship he didn´t so much as bat an eye when Seokjin finally let him in on everything. Yoongi left his own far too big, far too empty apartment after Seokjin convinced him to move into his place since it was far too big and far too empty for one lone person as well. It meant Yoongi didn´t have to pay rent anymore and the house actually started to feel like a lived-in space after Seokjin worked in it alone for so long. Four years later he can proudly say they made a home of it together. He directs his thoughts back to their conversation and pours more batter over the frying onions. “There’s something about him, I don’t know. He´s not as susceptible to my influence as most seekers are.” “Yeah, talking back and denying your offer really takes some serious nerve. Especially when I´m in the room to witness it.” Seokjin laughs. “Don´t be too mad with him. It makes him interesting, don´t you think?” He whisks eggs with a pair of chopsticks in another bowl and pours it over the cooking pancake. “Oh, he´s interesting alright. Did you see those legs? The guy takes a step and travels a mile.” Seokjin hums. “He´s tall. And his voice is really pleasing to listen to. I wonder what he sounds like when he sings.” “Don´t give me that mental image. Shit, what if he does sing?” “He likes making music,” Seokjin says. Yoongi´s eyes flash with curiosity.  “Now I’m intrigued.“ Seokjin shrugs. “He said he wants to study music production. That´s all I know.” “Bummer.” “We´ll have to wait and see if he comes back.” Yoongi sighs. “Hm.” They fall silent for a while, enjoying each other’s company and the homely smell of pajeon sizzling away on the stove. Seokjin takes the spatula from a hook on the wall and expertly flips the pancake in one smooth motion. There’s something he needs to get off his chest and he knows it’ll threaten to burst the warm little bubble they exist in right now. The quiet time they have for themselves is also the only time they can work out any personal issues that aren’t concerning his duties as a guide. He tightens his grip around the spatula’s handle. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable back there.“ Yoongi’s feet stop their steady drumming. He tries his best to hold Seokjin´s gaze, but drops his eyes to the ripped knees of his black jeans after a moment. “It’s OK. You just caught me off guard.“ Seokjin knows Yoongi´s cautious of showing or receiving affection publically. He shies away from touch around other people, something about it makes him uneasy. Seokjin learned about his boundaries early on. He respects them and doesn’t pester Yoongi unnecessarily since he touches and lets himself be touched freely when they´re alone. He reacted peculiarly sensitive in the conservatory though and Seokjin worries there’s more to it, especially with how on edge he acted lately. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’ve been kind of jumpy and tired these past few days.“ Yoongi hesitates. “I’m OK.“ Seokjin takes the pan from the hot plate on the stove and sets it down on another so their dinner doesn’t burn while he undoes the strings of his apron and puts it on a free spot on the counter. He moves over to Yoongi, stands between his knees, and takes his face in his hands. “Sugar.“ He looks into Yoongi's eyes. The pet name is just as much of a show of affection as the thumbs caressing his cheeks, and Seokjin's sure that if he ever uses it in front of other people, Yoongi might actually pack his bags and leave the house for good. But he leans into the touch now, face turning soft. “You'd tell me if something’s wrong, wouldn´t you? You know I´d never use my influence on you, so you have to talk to me by yourself.“ They’re so close Seokjin can feel Yoongi’s breath ghosting over his face as he nods slowly. Satisfied with the confirmation, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the other’s lips. Yoongi immediately hooks a foot behind his knee and draws him closer, kissing him back with more vigor. Both of them breathe heavily once they break apart. “I´ll set the table.” Yoongi nudges him away with a playful push of his leg. Seokjin can´t help thinking his liveliness is a front to appease him, but he lets him jump down from the counter without commenting on it. ___________________  They´re back to easy conversation at the dinner table and if Yoongi acts like their talk in the kitchen didn´t happen earlier in favor for some semblance of a peaceful evening, Seokjin doesn´t bring it up. He lets a foot rest on Seokjin´s chair next to his thigh the entire time, occasionally running it along the other´s leg. Hwitaek´s visit shook him more than he cares to admit. It served to remind him the control he so desperately tries to hold over the entire situation isn´t all his. Hwitaek, Hyojong and Hyuna know. And then there´s the other three. They run a risk of drawing unwanted attention to themselves if they aren´t careful about when and where they enter the house. That makes six potential weak spots in the defensive wall he so carefully erected over the past years. A headache starts to pulse in the back of his head. He needs distraction. He needs closeness and warmth and release. The confirmation that Seokjin´s here and unharmed and out of trouble. So Yoongi lets his foot slide down his leg one more time, watches as the corners of his lips tug upwards at the motion. They leave the dishes on the table and make their way upstairs. Yoongi leads Seokjin by the hand until they reach their bedroom door at the end of the hall and nudges it closed behind them. A soon as it clicks shut, he´s on the taller man, seals their lips and presses close. Seokjin gets the cue, always so attuned to his desires, and steers them towards their big bed under a semicircular window. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, he lets himself fall, taking Yoongi with him. They kiss, Yoongi on top, pulling at Seokjin´s sweater until he takes it off. Yoongi scoots towards the headboard to lean back against it. Seokjin never breaks contact, hands travelling up his legs as he inches forward and closes the distance between them once again. He´s always so gentle with him. Stops at the slightest sign of discomfort to wordlessly check in with him and make sure everything´s alright. Yoongi appreciates it, but he also loves those occasions when Seokjin lets himself be coaxed into letting go of carefulness and takes what he wants for himself for a change. It´s what Yoongi craves right now, so he gets more demanding, fists his hands into the material of Seokjin´s pants and bites his plush bottom lip the next time they connect. Everything´s going too slow. “Come on,“ Yoongi breathes out. Seokjin hesitates but crowds him against the headboard after a moment, all broad shoulders and strong arms supporting him to both sides of Yoongi´s head. His tongue glides over Yoongi´s lips and he opens them immediately, letting the other lick into his mouth. It seems to be the last show of compliance Seokjin needs to finally take his hands from the headboard to put them on Yoongi´s hips, pressing his own against him. Yoongi lets out a soft gasp. 
Too slow, too slow, too slow.
 He grinds upwards. Bites Seokjin again. “Hurry up, old man.“ That always gets him, that little bit of playful brattiness. “I’ll show you who’s the old man.“ Seokjin surprises him by pulling him down the bed so he’s lying flat and pins him under his body. One of Yoongi´s hands immediately flies to a bicep to hold on, the other reaches for the nightstand to blindly roam around in the drawer for a bottle of lube. Seokjin doesn’t bother to get him out of his oversized sweater. Yoongi likes wearing it and he knows. He does push it up to drop kisses on his chest and stomach on his way down Yoongi´s torso though. The button and fly of his jeans are undone and Yoongi lets the bottle of lube fall next to his hips as he lifts them to help the other get him out of his pants. Seokjin hums appreciatively and kisses the bulge in his boxer briefs, at which Yoongi whines impatiently in the back of his throat. He seems to sense the restless urgency coursing through the smaller body beneath him and decides not to tease Yoongi too much. Instead he pulls the fabric down, watching Yoongi´s cock spring up when the waistband slips over it. Yoongi wants to burn that image into his mind forever. This beautiful man between his legs, transfixed by his arousal, eyes dark with hunger. Seokjin leans down to press his wet lips to the tip, which makes Yoongi let out a shuddering breath, turning into a moan when Seokjin wastes no time to take him into his mouth completely. Resisting the urge to buck up into the wet heat Yoongi grapples for the lube and shoves it into Seokjin´s face. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing. His eyes meet Yoongi´s to raise a brow teasingly as if to say, “Needy much?“ And there’s another snapshot for Yoongi´s mental collection. He thinks he’s going to lose his mind with the feeling of Seokjin´s mouth on him when a wet digit finally presses into his entrance. With a long sigh he threads his fingers into Seokjin´s hair and lets his head fall back to let the feeling wash over him. Seokjin´s quick to add another when Yoongi adjusts in no time to work him open further, all the while continuing to bob his head on Yoongi´s length. “More,“ Yoongi urges and Seokjin complies after scissoring his fingers a few times to check for the stretch. He brushes up against a bundle of nerves and Yoongi jumps. Seokjin´s hand is on his hip to keep him grounded. Another wordless whine leaves his throat. Seokjin withdraws his fingers to sit up between his legs, his mouth popping off Yoongi with one last suck on the head and then he’s leaning forward, bringing their lips togetehr. Yoongi tastes himself on his tongue. 
He´s here, he´s safe, he´s here.
 He slings his legs around Seokjin´s naked middle- he must´ve kicked off his pants somewhere- and moans into his mouth when he finally glides into him. Seokjin slowly fills him up and pants once he fully bottoms out. He lets Yoongi breathe for a second, but he’s impatient, wants the other to move, so he grips onto his arms and shifts around to edge Seokjin on. He starts rolling into him in smooth motions, working up speed until they have a rhythm going. A chorus of finally, finally, finally echoes through Yoongi´s head. Seokjin rests a forearm on the bed next to Yoongi to hold himself up, moves to take his wrists one after the other to pin them above his head. He holds them there, telling Yoongi to keep them where they are with a heated gaze. Then he lets his hand travel down Yoongi´s cheek, tipping his chin up to connect in a kiss once more. Yoongi can feel him smile against his lips when a gasp is caught in his chest at the feeling of a thumb flicking over his clothed nipple. Seokjin repeats the motion, letting his blunt nail brush over it every so often, and the little spark of sensation added to their joined movement drives him into madness. He needs to touch the other’s face, his neck, his shoulders, anything, but Seokjin´s hand comes up to press his wrists down once again, never slowing the motion of his hips rolling into Yoongi. If he can’t move his arms, he’ll try his legs instead. He lifts them to come up to the sides of Seokjin´s chest, the new angle making them both gasp. His cock bounces on his stomach, smearing precome where the head connects with his abdomen with every one of Seokjin´s forward pushes. The taller man sits up, trails his hands up Yoongi´s thigs and nudges the backs of his knees to make him throw his legs over his shoulders. This position is even better, and when Seokjin scoots closer so the backs of Yoongi´s thighs rest against his chest and only his back is left to lie on the mattress, Seokjin starts driving into him in earnest. The sweater bunches up around Yoongi´s middle and Seokjin pushes it up to have free access to his nipples once again. Yoongi can’t help but throw his head back, a moan now escaping him along with every breath that´s pressed out of his lungs. Seokjin is losing control over his pace himself, rhythm lost to erratic snaps of his hips, breathing hard and hand squeezing into Yoongi´s side to hold him up. He can’t take it anymore, his gut knotting and tightening, hand flying down to pump along with each of Seokjin´s thrusts. Seokjin doesn’t hold him back this time, only raises him higher to hit his prostate with every move, brows scrunched together tightly. Yoongi feels the wave that crashes over Seokjin wracking through his body while his own is fast approaching, Seokjin´s hands pressing into his sides hard enough to leave bruises as he holds on for dear life. A few more tugs at his cock, and Yoongi comes over his stomach with a hoarse drawn-out moan. Seokjin rides out both their orgasms and finally stills, slowly lowering him to the mattress again. He possesses half a mind to not let his sweater drag through the milky strings on his skin. For a minute all that passes between them are ragged breaths. Yoongi´s legs are shaky and he lets them fall from Seokjin´s shoulders. He leans down, gives Yoongi a quick kiss and carefully pulls out as not to startle him in his sensitivity. He whines weakly, clenching reflexively. The bed dips when Seokjin gets up to go to the bathroom. Yoongi lies in the sheets, conscious floating somewhere above his boneless body, breathing slowly returning to normal. Seokjin comes back with a warm damp washcloth to gently clean him up, nudging his legs apart when he doesn´t move and lies down to pull Yoongi against his chest. They lie still for some time, until the feeling in Yoongi´s toes finally returns again. He´s sated and lightheaded, Seokjin´s warm weight curling around him, and he drifts off into sleep knowing they´ll be alright for now. __________________ A week passed since Namjoon last visited the house, which turns into two, and borders on three. Between pushing extra shifts at Ms. Ahn’s, reading Nietzsche, and writing essay after essay for university he’s simply too busy to stop by. Or so he tells himself. The more time passes, the more he convinces himself he doesn’t have a good reason to go, anyways. What could possibly be interesting about a student struggling to make ends meet and who has cup noodles for dinner five nights a week to two people living in a damned mansion who could probably eat steak for breakfast, lunch and dinner if they so choose? Namjoon´s doubts don´t stop him from thinking about Seokjin and Yoongi almost daily though. The memory of Seokjin´s soft voice and Yoongi´s easy drawl, the way Seokjin´s eyes looked at him with kindness while Yoongi´s pierced him like hot daggers, the strange mix of fire and electricity they both ignited in him while in their presence- He isn’t quite sure what to make of it all. Seokjin introduced Yoongi as his partner and it turned out they aren´t doing business together, meaning they´re a couple. Are they just always this intense with visitors, or did they have a specific interest in him? He can’t find an answer, no matter how long he mulls their interactions over in his head. However, his preoccupation with the pair doesn´t stop there. When hurrying through the streets of Seoul he sometimes thinks he can see glimpses of gleaming iron bars, artistically intertwined, out of the corner of his eye- the gate, squeezed in between buildings or hidden in a row of tall hedges. He never stops to check if his mind is playing tricks on him or not. Namjoon didn´t tell Hoseok about the entire thing either. He worries that talking to his friend will make him want to drop everything and run out to find the house in an impulsive rush despite his better knowledge. That, and the fact he isn´t sure where to even start explaining how he got there in the first place, let alone find a reasonable justification for his wanting to get to know a couple of shady, possibly supernatural, figures offering consultation to mere mortals such as him. As chance would have it the universe, or whichever entity is responsible for orchestrating his life, lets him run into one of them in the place he least expects. Namjoon´s at Ms. Ahn´s store to shop for groceries on one of his free days when he bumps into someone rounding into the aisle he´s just about to exit, almost tripping and taking their hand basket with him. “Sorry,” he says quickly, checking if anything fell out of the basket. It´s packed full with meat and fresh vegetables. “Don´t worry, nothing´s-“ The other person cuts off mid-sentence and Namjoon finally looks up. He freezes like a deer caught in headlights and stares, dumbfounded. He knew he recognized that voice. Seokjin seems similarly taken aback. “Fancy meeting you here,” Seokjin says, just as Namjoon´s brain kickstarts to life again and he incredulously blurts, “What´re you doing here?” Seokjin laughs while Namjoon clamps his mouth shut. “I do leave the house, you know.” A smile dances around his eyes and lips, turning cheeky along with his tone. Of course he leaves the house, Namjoon berates himself, how else is he supposed to buy groceries? It disorients him to see Seokjin out in the world like this, without the backdrop of fancy furniture and glass walls and with his feet planted on linoleum instead of hardwood floor. His clothes still show the same style of comfortable elegance, though. A beige turtleneck hugs his upper body and is tucked into dark pants under a navy checkered topcoat, his frame broadened by the thick material falling over his shoulders. “Sorry,” Namjoon says again. “I´m fine. I didn´t hit you with this I hope?” Seokjin lifts the basket to his side. Namjoon utters a laugh and shakes his head. “Nope, didn´t break any bones.” “What a relief. So, how are you doing?” “Fine, I guess. Uni kept me busy the last weeks,” he says and shrugs sheepishly. Hopefully Seokjin isn´t miffed by him not showing his face at the mansion at all. “How about you?” “Same old,” Seokjin responds in a mock exasperated tone that makes Namjoon smile. “I´ve been looking everywhere for glass noodles. Do you know where they keep those here?” “Two aisles over.” He points to his right. “On a top shelf somewhere.” Seokjin raises an amused brow. “You come here often?” “Ah, well,” Namjoon lowers his hand, a little embarrassed, “I work here, actually.” “Right now? I´m not keeping you from work, am I?” He eyes the container of kimchi balanced on top of a carton of eggs in front of Namjoon's chest. “No, no. I have the day off.” Seokjin huffs a relieved breath. “Wouldn´t want to get you in trouble with your boss.” “She´s very sweet. I think someone would have to destroy the store before she´d ever get mad.” What he doesn´t say is that she wouldn´t hesitate to make use of the bat behind the counter in such a case. Namjoon nods in the direction of the aisle to his right. “I´ll show you where to find your things?” “Please.” They make their way over, Namjoon pointing Seokjin to the glass noodles. He loads his own arms with ramen packets on top off the wobbly stack structure already in place there. To keep everything from falling over he puts his chin on the topmost pack and turns to Seokjin to ask if he needs anything else. He´s got everything, and they weave through towering shelves to get to the counter.  Ms. Ahn´s face lights up when she sees them approaching. “Hello, Namjoonie! Who´s this handsome friend of yours?” The ramen packets tumble onto the counter. Namjoon sputters helplessly. “Kim Seokjin. Hello,” the other introduces himself. Ms. Ahn greets him and gives Seokjin a dazzling smile, sitting up a little straighter on her stool. She rings up Namjoon´s ramen and gives him a dispraising look while putting them into a plastic bag. “If all you ever eat are these you´ll be hospitalized with salt poisoning someday.” He knows she´s joking, but she might not be so far off given his current meal plan. “I meant to ask,” Seokjin chides in, “is there anywhere to grab lunch nearby?” “There´s a chicken place down the road, they´re pretty good,” Namjoon suggests. Ms. Ahn adds, “The owner is a friend of mine, she´ll give you extra chicken if you tell her you´re a friend of Namjoonie´s.” That he could confirm. She always heaps enough food onto his plate to feed a man twice his size. Not that he ever complains about it. “I´d do even better to take him along with me. Do you want to come? It´s my treat.” Well, what kind of broke university student is he to say no to free food?   They sit in a booth in the back of the restaurant, the white and red interior lit by daylight coming in through the storefront, a big plate of fried chicken between them. Namjoon watches in disbelief as Seokjin inhales one wing after another, leaving nothing but picked bones behind. He makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat and stops scarfing down chicken long enough to say, “It´s really good! I´d love to know what they put in their sauce.” Namjoon shrugs and reaches for another wing. If he doesn´t keep up with Seokjin´s speed the other may polish off the entire plate single-handedly. They eat in silence for a while, enjoying the meal. A thought comes to Namjoon's mind as he licks sauce from his thumb. “Can I ask you something?” Seokjin hums around a mouthful of food and looks up expectantly. “What happens if someone comes knocking at the house when you´re not home?” Seokjin swallows. “They don´t. The gate only appears to seekers when I´m on the property.” Huh, interesting. “I thought Yoongi might take over, but people would probably pee their pants when he opens the door.” A snort from across the table tells Namjoon he spoke out loud. His ears heat up. “God, why can´t I keep my mouth shut around you?” he groans and hides his face in the crook of his elbow on the table. “Ah, that. Sorry.” He lifts his head. “What do you mean?” Seokjin considers his answer for a moment. “You know seekers come to me for help, right?” Namjoon nods. “And since asking for help is hard sometimes, I´ve been given a kind of... power that makes them speak openly in my presence. I´m so used to it that I often forget to turn it off around people.” Realization hits Namjoon like a swing in the head with a brick. “You used it on me?” he asks indignantly. “It doesn´t make seekers say things they truly don´t want to share. It´s only supposed to make my job a little easier,” Seokjin explains quickly. Namjoon takes a minute to process it all. “Who the hell gave you that power?” “My employers.” “And who are they to go around giving you the ability to mess with people?” Seokjin´s expression turns stern. “Sorry. I´m not allowed to speak about them.” “Highly suspicious,” Namjoon mutters. “Everything I´ve been given is supposed to help me guide people to the best of my abilities. No ill intent, I promise.” He sounds awfully sincere when he says it, so Namjoon leans forward to pick up another piece of chicken and doesn´t challenge him further- Except for the silent challenge to find out who will finish the plate first. Once they´re done and nothing but bones and greasy crumpled tissues lie between them, Seokjin pays and leaves a generous tip. He won the silent race, but only after he offered the last wing to Namjoon and he declined out of politeness. Damn his decent upbringing. The shop owner sees them off with a wave and a bright smile. “Where are you headed?” Seokjin asks when they step out onto the sidewalk. “Home.” “Do you mind if I walk you there?” “Not at all.” He´s surprised to find he really means it. They walk down the street side by side and Namjoon tilts his head back to look at the clouds above. “It´s getting dark far too early. It´s only October, for God´s sake.” A chuckle from Seokjin has him levelling his head again. “You sound like Yoongi. He always says ´winter can fuck right off and die on another planet entirely´.” At Seokjin´s poor imitation of Yoongi´s flat sarcasm, Namjoon burst out in a laugh. Seokjin lies a hand on his chest in feigned indignation. “Excuse me, I´ll have you know I took an acting course and made it out on top of the class!” “That doesn´t speak in favor of the class, to be honest.” “Oh, now he even insults like Yoongi!” he complains to a street sign and gestures wildly, as if pleading a case in front of a judge. The plastic shopping bag on his wrist nearly conks him in the head with the motion. Namjoon almost doubles over. “´Killed by two pounds of produce´ might be one of the dumbest ways to kick the bucket.” With a dramatic swing of his free hand which results in fingers splayed over his forehead in a diva-like pose, Seokjin throws his head back. “At least I´d go out doing what I love.” Namjoon´s laughter has another resurgence, but gets stuck in his throat when his eyes trace the long column of Seokjin´s exposed neck. He does double over now, coughing violently. “Are you OK?” The other comes over to pat him on the back. Namjoon nods, coughs a few more times, and stands again. “You don´t have to choke on my jokes,” Seokjin says. “That´s even worse than being slain by groceries.” “At least I'd go out doing something fun.” They continue down streets and alleyways and eventually make it to the park near Namjoon´s apartment building. Seokjin observes the officers posted up around the area and turns to Namjoon with a puzzled look. “What´s the police doing here?” “There were multiple incidents the past few weeks. I heard some people got into fights and got seriously hurt.” Namjoon steers them to the left. He rounded the park ever since the police first showed up, not wanting to get caught up in any of those incidents himself. The detour leads them to a little open space which is mostly taken up by a big fountain in its middle, ginkgo trees surrounding it to separate it from the street beyond. Seokjin walks up to the fountain and peers into the water. Namjoon comes up next to him. Hundreds of coins blink up at them under the ripples of the streams falling into the basin. A little splash makes him perk up again. Next to him, Seokjin puts his hands together. He threw a coin in, Namjoon understands belatedly. He takes the moment Seokjin stands with his eyes closed to study his face. Strong brows peek out under his bangs. There´s an elegant slope to his nose. His lips are full and round and pink. Namjoon catches himself thinking about what it would feel like to touch them. With his own. He shakes his head to himself to dislodge that mental image quickly. Seokjin´s done making his wish and opens his eyes again to watch the leaves that are blown from the trees surrounding them. They flutter through the air in a flurry. “When I was a kid,” Namjoon finds himself saying to chase away the afterimage of his lips near Seokjin's, “we played this game where you had to wait for the wind to pick up and shake the trees. Someone shouted ´go´ and everyone ran to catch the leaves it brought down. Whoever had the most ones when the wind calmed again won that round.” Seokjin looks at him intently while he listens, eyes bright. His bangs are blown out of his face by a gust of air. Namjoon turns. “Here it comes,” he says and locks his gaze onto a particular falling leaf. 
Go.
 The secret is to concentrate on nothing but that one leaf, to anticipate the path it will take towards the ground, and to be quick. He moves forward, hops onto the wide edge of the fountain and follows its curve for two fast paced steps. There he holds out his hand, waiting, and snatches the forked leaf out of the air. He twirls around to show Seokjin his prize when a booming voice from behind startles him. “You two! What are you doing there?” Namjoon tries to face whoever spoke, spins on the fountain´s edge, and misses a step in the process. He´s falling. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the bright red face of a police officer in uniform approaching to one side. To the other a blur of checkered navy flies towards him.    “Hold on to me!“ Seokjin shouts and stretches out an arm. It’s all Namjoon can do to grip a hand into the material of his topcoat tightly before freezing water splashes all around him. And then he falls a second time.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

They hit hard ground with a wet thump in a tangle of limbs, knees bumping into stomachs and elbows colliding with ribs. Namjoon rolls over and slowly lets go of Seokjin´s coat, unclenching his fingers purposefully. He pushes himself into a sitting position and fixes his gaze onto the floor between his feet to get the spinning sensation in his head under control. When the little dancing flecks of light disappear from his field of vision he looks up and almost falls over again. They’re in the house. Seokjin’s house. In the middle of the entrance hall. In a puddle of fountain water. He turns to Seokjin who still lies on the floor, spread-eagled and motionless. “What the hell?“ Seokjin only gives a short grunt. A door down the corridor to the right flies open with a bang and one after another, three familiar faces peer out into the hall. Namjoon stares, disbelieving. The faces stare back at him. “Snack temp!?“ Taehyung asks incredulously. “Kids!?“ Namjoon responds in the same tone. “What are you doing here?” “What are you doing here?” “We live here.” “You what?” Seokjin groans and sits up sluggishly. “Can y´all be quiet for a minute?“ The trio doesn’t pay him any attention. They swarm into the hall and start speaking all at once. “Why are you wet?“ “Did you go swimming with your clothes on?“ “Is that egg in your hair?“ A voice from above cuts through the general chaos. “Everyone, shut up!“ It´s Yoongi who stands on top of the stairs to the gallery, surveying the scene unfolding in front of him. He comes down and kneels next to Seokjin, careful not to step into the ever growing puddle on the floor. “Jin, are you OK?“ Seokjin nods faintly. “Head hurts.“ Yoongi whirls and gives Namjoon a once-over as well. “What about you?“ “I’m- fine.“ He’s taken aback by the question as well as the genuine concern in the man´s voice. When Yoongi´s sure they´re not seriously injured, he stands. “Now, what the fuck happened?“ Seokjin´s brows knit together, but he winces and relaxes his face again. “No swearing in front of the kids,“ he protests weakly. “Oh, please. They’ve been watching porn since they were twelve, they can handle a little language just fine.“ Namjoon thinks Jeongguk´s eyes might actually pop out of his head at how wide they´re opened in shock. The other two resort to inspecting the patterns on their socked feet as if they have no clue what Yoongi´s talking about. “Fountain… Police.” Seokjin waves a hand around like that´ll help bring his point across. Jimin opens his mouth, then closes it again and looks between the two men on the ground. “The police threw you into a fountain?” Namjoon remembers the officer whose sudden exclamation alarmed him and made him slip. “I fell in. He fell in after me,” he tries to explain. His head swims. Maybe his brain still floats around somewhere back in the fountain´s basin. “Neither of you is making any damn sense. You better get cleaned up and explain everything after.” Yoongi helps Seokjin stand and the kids crowd around Namjoon to pull him to his feet. “Show him to your bathroom, I´ll bring some dry clothes in a minute.” The trio steers Namjoon down the corridor and maneuvers him into a room next to the open door they came out of earlier. Namjoon sits on the edge of the bathtub as Taehyung clogs it and turns the warm water on. “Yup, that´s egg,” Jeongguk comments after inspecting his hair. “How did it get in there?” “Groceries.” “Dude, I think we should leave him alone for a bit.” Taehyung pulls Jeongguk with him to leave the room. “Just use any of the shampoo and stuff over there." Jimin points to a shelf loaded with bottles and jars in a corner of the room. “And, uh, put your wet clothes out in front of the door. We´ll take care of them.” Namjoon nods dumbly and mutters a weak thank, then he´s left alone in the room with nothing but the sound of water steadily filling the tub behind him. He gets up and frees his stiff limbs of the wet fabric clinging to them. Luckily the phone in his coat pocket survived being doused and works perfectly fine. 
Minor miracles.
 When he passes the mirrored cabinet over the sink he sees what Jeongguk was talking about. Strands of his ashy brown hair are glued together by egg mass. Bits of white shell stick everywhere like sprinkles on a birthday cake. Namjoon grimaces and quickly moves to the door to dump his armful of wet clothes into the hall. Bent over the sink he washes the remnants of his grocery shopping trip out of his hair as best as he can, not wanting to risk a prickly encounter with the insidious shards in the tub. He looks through the clutter of shower gels and shampoos Jimin gave him free rein over and grabs the next best products without bothering to read their labels. He even throws a handful of bath salt into the water for good measure and finally turns off the faucet. The difference in temperature is too much for his freezing body to handle at first, so Namjoon eases into it bit by bit. Taehyung shouts through the door when he´s enveloped in the comforting warmth up to his shoulders, telling him he put fresh clothes there for him. Will anything about this place ever not surprise me?, he thinks and leans back to rest his head against the edge of the tub. Out of all the people Namjoon could´ve imagined to ever set foot into the house, the kids surely were some of the last he expected. And now they tell him they live here. 
Just what kind of household is this?
 He massages shampoo into his hair when another train of thought arrives at his mental station. He´s in Seokjin´s house. Sitting in a bath tub. With both Seokjin and Yoongi somewhere close, and the kids in the next room over. And he's stark naked. Before it can implode from the absurdity of it all Namjoon dunks his head underwater and quickly finishes scrubbing his skin with soap. A stack of fluffy towels sits on the lowermost shelf in the corner. He wraps his body in one of them, standing lost in the big room for a moment, flushed from the heat of the bathwater and a mixture of emotions he can´t put a name to. When he opens the door a crack he finds a bundle of folded clothes there- A gray crew neck sweater with sleeves long enough to hide his hands in and a pair of black pants that are a little too short around the ankles but fit just fine around his waist. There´s even a pair of boxer briefs discreetly put between the two articles of clothing. They look new and unworn and he pulls them on without thinking about who they might´ve originally belonged to. Once he´s fully dressed and hung the towel on a rack on the wall he lumbers out into the corridor. Voices travel through the hall. He follows them to the library where everyone groups around the coffee table in the middle of the room. Yoongi sits in one of the wing chairs with his arms folded, the kids pile on and around the other. Jimin perches on the armrest to Taehyung’s side with Jeongguk’s back resting against the front of the chair, Taehyung´s hands playing with the youngest´s chocolate brown locks. A couch which wasn’t there the last time Namjoon visited stands in between the two. Seokjin hunkers on it, wide shoulders hunched, his hair still wet as well. At his approach, Yoongi doesn’t look up. “Sit,“ he says. It sounds like he´s about to drop the ever dreaded "I´m not mad at you. I´m just disappointed" his mother gave him every time she caught wind of him getting into trouble with his friends when he was a kid. Namjoon shuffles over and tentatively takes a seat next to Seokjin. A throw pillow is squeezed between their thighs. “Now, how come I had to clean up soggy eggs in the hall?“ Clearly more put together after a bath and a change of clothes Seokjin explains how he ran into Namjoon at Ms. Ahn’s, how they had lunch together, and how they arrived at the fountain where the police officer must’ve thought they were up to something and called out to them. “I saw him slip and tried to catch him,“ Seokjin concludes. “And your first instinct was to bring him here?“ “I might have panicked.“ Yoongi scoffs. “Because of the police? You’ve never done an illegal thing in your life, Jin.“ He lost the stern demanor while Seokjin spoke and found humor in the situation instead. His posture relaxed, legs crossed, and he leans back in the chair comfortably. “Uhm,“ Namjoon speaks up for the first time. He left the other to do the explaining, but there’s a question burning on his tongue that he can’t keep in any longer. “About that. How did we get here?“ “I jumped,“ Seokjin says. “It looked more like falling to me.“ Jimin giggles to his left. “No, I mean-“ Seokjin gestures to the hall. “I jumped. From the fountain to here.“ Namjoon blinks. The implication of what he heard slowly works its way to his brain. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you can… teleport?“ Seokjin shrugs and nods at the same time. “I guess you could call it that.“ “What the hell,“ Namjoon whispers. He says those three words a lot recently and won’t stop any time soon, if his gut feeling is right. “You teleported? I teleported?!” “I usually don’t take people with me.“ “He jumped with Jimin and me once and puked for hours after!“ Jeongguk pipes in with a grin. “And why do you sound so happy about that, huh?“ Seokjin scolds and Jeongguk’s grin turns sheepish. “It’s no problem when I jump on my own, but transporting others is a strain. It gives me vertigo in the best case. Nausea in the worst.“ “You’re not the only one,“ Namjoon mutters, still dumbstruck. “Just- What else can you do? Besides charm people into talking and teleport, you know. Because I don’t think I’ll live through another surprise like that with my sanity intact.“ Before Seokjin can answer, Jimin does it for him. “He can change the house if he wants to! Like, make things appear and stuff.“ Namjoon gives Seokjin a pointed look to see if he has anything to add. He only sighs and inclines his head to the low table in front of them. Namjoon follows his gaze. He finds nothing on the smooth wooden surface and is about to ask what Seokjin meant when a shimmer catches his eye. The reflection of light on dust particles? Whatever it is, it becomes clearer, like the memory of an object that sat in the same place forever and turned into a fixed constant in a room. Within seconds, the faint mirage solidifies and a tray and tea pot appear on the tabletop along with cups in two neat stacks of three. It’s the set with the sugar gliders, the same one Namjoon drank out of the first time he came to the house. He recognizes the fine brushstrokes on the china. Taehyung groans while he´s still processing what he just witnessed. “You just got that out of the kitchen. Make something new!“ “Don’t start with the puppies again, Tae. You know it doesn´t work that way.“ “I know, I know. Make something else.“ Seokjin huffs, but turns his attention to the table again. He concentrates for a second, the same sheen of something there but not quite there hanging in the air. Next to the tray a palm-sized plushie of a black pomeranian with a curled tail and tongue poking out of its muzzle materializes. Seokjin picks it up to inspect it carefully, then hands it to Taehyung. “Happy? I saw similar ones in a store in the city.“ “Cute!“ The younger accepts the gift and smiles, quickly bringing it out of a pouting Jeongguk´s reach. Sensing Namjoon’s eyes on him Seokjin says, “Creating and calling objects to me only works while I’m in the house. It changes rooms or furniture, but anything living like plants or animals is off limits. Food, too.“ 
That explains why he bothers to go grocery shopping.
 “And teleporting?“ “I can jump from any one place to another, as long as I’ve been there before. If I choose to jump to a person I can do that as well, regardless of whether I know the place they’re in or not. It´s a little trickier, though.“ Namjoon nods slowly. He doesn’t quite believe the reality of it all yet. “I take it your employers gave you those abilities?” Seokjin nods, but doesn´t elaborate. Did Yoongi just stiffen at the mention of the mysterious employers? He chooses to ignore it for the moment, there´s a myriad of other questions floating through his head. “What about the kids?” Jeongguk´s head snaps up. “What about us?” “Well," Yoongi drawls from the chair to his right. "If we´re going to unpack family history, I´ll need something to drink.” “Good idea. Tea or cocoa?” Seokjin asks. “I´ll open the red wine you bought last Christmas.” He rises to get the bottle, presumably from a wine cellar. Namjoon wouldn´t be surprised to find out the house has more than one. “I want wine, too!” Jeongguk says. “I don´t think so,” Seokjin shoots him down. The kids bicker with him for a moment until they settle for cocoa. He turns to Namjoon. “And for you?” “Cocoa as well, please.” Seokjin picks up the tea pot and makes his way to the kitchen, leaving him alone with the trio. Jeongguk jumps up from his place in front of Taehyung´s chair and plops down in the unoccupied one. Namjoon can´t help but think it´s to tick off Seokjin and Yoongi for not letting him have any alcohol, occupying the seat so they´ll have to squeeze on the couch with their visitor. It´s so childishly passive aggressive that it´s almost endearing. “So,” Namjoon starts, trying to sound natural, “what are those two to you?” The boys contemplate. Jimin´s the first to speak, lips giving way to show his teeth in a smile. “They´re the captains to our crew.” “The kings to our court,” Taehyung adds, catching on to his friend´s joking tone. “The coaches to our team,” Jeongguk says. “The teachers to a bunch of kindergarteners, for the most part.” Yoongi´s back and stands in the doorway to the entrance hall, wine glass and bottle in hand. He eyes the couch warily before rounding it to sit on the other end. The space between him and Namjoon is barely enough for a third person to fit. The cheeky glint in Jeongguk´s eye doesn´t go unnoticed. Seokjin steps into the room again shortly after, carefully carrying a now steaming tea pot that he sets on the coffee table, a sweet smell wafting over. He looks around, sees the only free spot available between Yoongi and Namjoon, and nonchalantly moves over to join them. Namjoon takes the throw pillow out of his way and rests it on his lap, thankful for having something to hold onto as Seokjin´s side presses up against his own. He hopes no one takes note of the light blush creeping up his cheeks. Each one of them gets a cup filled with hot cocoa, except for Yoongi who uncorks the wine and fills the glass for himself. “Alright, where did we leave off?” Seokjin asks. “The kids,” Yoongi reminds him. “Right. I was going to ask,” Seokjin wags a finger between the three in question and Namjoon, “how do you know each other?” “He works at a store we go to after practice a lot,” Jimin explains. “Oh! Were you the one who gave Jeongguk the jacket to cover up his kimchi-butt, then?” “Yeah, he saved my life back there,” Jeongguk confirms. “You still looked like you were gonna bawl your eyes out,” Taehyung teases. Jeongguk slaps the armrest next to him since he can´t reach the other. “It was your fault!” While they squabble Seokjin says, “Sometimes I think we have a horde of five year olds living with us instead of a high schooler and two near-legal teenagers. Thanks for helping Ggukkie out.” “Don´t worry, it was no big deal.” Namjoon waves a hand dismissively. “The jacket was left in the store by a customer who never came to pick it up. They behaved since then.” “I sure hope they did,” Yoongi mutters into his glass and the bickering boys quiet down immediately. Seokjin chuckles and puts and arm on the backrest behind Yoongi, the gesture perfectly natural. Yoongi doesn´t shy away this time like he did that day in the conservatory, Namjoon notices. He does take a big gulp of his wine, though. “I mean, I get it.” Seokjin shifts his gaze to the floor. “It´s not ideal living in a place that has no address, where you can´t bring friends and have sleepovers and the like. The only people you have to hang out with around here is each other.” Jimin turns dead serious as he pulls the plushie out of Taehyung´s hands and pets it absentmindedly. “No, we don´t mind at all. This is a million times better than… what Tae and I had before.” “Yeah,” Taehyung looks down to where his fingers thread through the toy´s fur. “It is.” Jeongguk´s solemn expression mirrors that of the other two, memories resurging behind their eyes. From the look of it, they aren´t pleasant for either of them. Yoongi clicks his tongue in the resulting silence. “Come on now, don´t make me cry into my glass. Wine and salt don´t mix well.” “Way to ruin the moment, grandpa,” Jeongguk quips. He seems thankful for the change in the overall mood despite his taunt. “Watch your mouth, Ggukkie,” Seokjin warns in a playful tone. “This grandpa could still outsmart you any day.” “Whatever you say, dad.” “Shouldn´t it be the other way around? Jin´s older than Yoongi, he should be grandpa,” Jimin ponders out loud. “Maybe, but Yoongi acts thrice his age,” Taehyung says. “Ancient, truly.” Jimin nods, convinced by the argument. “Yah!” the man in question barks. The softness in his features and a little huff of laughter at the end betray his amusement. Namjoon isn´t sure if he feels out of place or included in the comfortable atmosphere they conjured up after remembering that dark part in their shared history. He can see how at ease they all are around each other and doesn´t dare raise his voice. Seokjin turns to him, eyes full of warmth. “We haven´t had a quiet day since any of them arrived.” How does the man always succeed in dispersing his doubts without him ever having to voice them? “Did all of you end up on their doorstep as well?” he asks. The kids nod in unison. “They came as seekers,” Seokjin says. “They just never left.” A knock on the door interrupts him. The sound is unusually loud considering they’re seated a good distance away from the main entrance. “Speaking of the devil.” As if on cue, everyone moves. The kids collect their cups and leave the library, probably to go to their room. Yoongi beckons for Namjoon to follow him out as well. The couch they sat on moments earlier dissolves in a shimmer of light, the chairs closing the gap between them as if moved by invisible hands. All traces of their get-together vanish from the room. “Seekers come by at this time of night?“ Namjoon asks Yoongi´s back. “They come by all around the clock, Jin´s on 24-hour duty.“ He catches a glimpse of a puzzled face through the front door when Seokjin opens it to greet whoever just knocked. Yoongi ushers him out of the hall, down the corridor opposite of the one the kids disappeared in, and opens a door for Namjoon to step through. It leads down a set of stairs. “Am I being shut into the basement?“ He´s only half joking. “Just go before I regret showing you my studio.“ Yoongi´s studio, as Namjoon learns once he gets to the bottom of the stairs, is his personal definition of heaven. The walls are paneled with sound proofing material and each one is lined with equipment of some kind. A keyboard stands to his left, black and white keys gleaming in the dim light shining from overhead. A sound system hangs over a sofa to his right, each speaker worth five times his monthly rent. A mixing desk with three big computer screens thrones over it all to the far wall. Namjoon halts on the last step of the stairs, gaping. “Holy shit.“ “Jin tells me you´re into making music,” Yoongi says from behind him. “Am I ever!” He hops down the step and turns. “Can I have a look around?“ “Sure.“ Yoongi sits in the swivel chair in front of the desk, following Namjoon´s movements closely. He can barely believe his eyes at the sheer abundance of top-class equipment, each piece of the highest quality available. Once Namjoon took in all of the technical glory, he sinks onto the sofa. “This is so much better than the recording booth I put together at home.” The booth in the corner of his room is more of a cardboard box compared to what Yoongi has here. “What kind of music do you make?” Yoongi asks. “I’ve got some tracks on my phone,“ Namjoon offers. “Let’s hear them.“ He digs the device out of his pocket and selects one of the songs in a playlist of personal works. Yoongi listens intently. His gaze fixes onto a faraway point and he eventually nods his head to the hip-hop beat ever so slightly. Namjoon watches him for a few seconds, never having had the chance to do so before. His eyes shy away from the other’s face again, even though he isn’t looking back at him. He inspects the room’s interior, the bodies of instruments and the pattern of the paneled walls, but an irresistible pull steers his gaze back to Yoongi every time. There´s a softness about him that´s compromised by the purplish sheen under his lids, indicating he hasn´t been in peak condition lately. Namjoon still finds himself thinking that he´s pretty, in a way that cats of prey are pretty. Elegant but dangerous. Any quick movement on his side may alarm the other to his presence and break his concentration, so he keeps as still as possible. When the first song ends, Yoongi asks, “Do you have anything else?“ Namjoon plays two more tracks, caught up in the same dance of looking and not looking at the other man. He seems to recede into a part deep inside of himself while listening, completely submerged in the composition. “There’s something missing from this one and I can’t figure out what it is,“ Namjoon comments on the heels of the third track’s last note. “I was thinking about scrapping it all together, to be honest.“ “Nah, it’s got potential. We’ll work it out.“ Yoongi holds out a hand. “Here, let me download it.“ Namjoon gives him his phone without a second thought and watches as Yoongi rummages around on his desk for a cable compatible to his phone´s outlet. He boots up the computer system and opens an audio editing program Namjoon´s familiar with. Soon they’re bouncing ideas off of each other, tweaking sounds and layering tracks over other tracks. Yoongi has a way of working calmly and precise, listening to some parts repeatedly before he makes changes, whereas Namjoon plays out ideas as soon as they come to him to decide whether he likes the result or not. “I’ve got a separate voice track for this one as well,“ Namjoon says after some time and points to the file. The carefully concealed anticipation he sees on Yoongi’s face as he drags the file from the right screen to the middle one isn’t all imagined, he thinks. A belated surge of nervousness courses through Namjoon when the words he recorded a few weeks ago fill the room. He wrote them after one of the rejection letters came in, a storm of fury and disappointment raging inside of him, the need to translate them into lyrics burning in his fingertips. There´s a crumpled piece of paper somewhere in his room on which lines are crossed out aggressively or added on top of others. The high quality speakers on Yoongi’s desk and over the sofa are unforgiving. They play every stumble in his voice in surround sound and he begins to fidget with the hem of his borrowed seater in embarrassment. Yoongi speaks up then. “I like it. Especially the chorus, the flow’s great.“ Namjoon’s hands still in his lap. “You think?“ “Seriously. You’re good.“ Pride swells in his chest at the compliment. He doesn’t take Yoongi for the type to give tokenistic feedback just to please people. “Thank you.“ Namjoon covers his surprise by gesturing to the screen. “The transition after that is a little choppy, though.“ “That´s easily fixable.” Yoongi tweaks the track, comes to the conclusion something´s missing, and pulls over a microphone on a small stand to set it in front of Namjoon. “Can you repeat that part you did there?“ He´s caught totally off guard, but he clears his throat and gets close to the round filter. Flicking his gaze to Yoongi´s face on an intake of breath is a mistake and he has to clear his throat once more to prevent a coughing fit from shaking his body. His voice doesn´t waver, to his relief. Yoongi instructs him to echo certain words one after another, all the while clicking away on the screen to put them into the right places. The finished product is an enormous improvement to the original version of the song. Namjoon can´t believe all it took was the small adjustments Yoongi made to completely change his mind regarding the piece. A quiet knock sounds at the door and they´re both startled out of their creative trance. Seokjin pops his head in. “The seeker left a while ago, I just didn’t want to interrupt. We´re having japchae upstairs, if you want some.“ “We’ll come up in a minute,“ Yoongi responds. He saves their song to both Namjoon’s phone and his computer and swivels his chair around to face him. A tentative smile splits his lips and the small gesture renders Namjoon immobile for a second until he smiles in response. “That was good. I missed making music. Haven’t worked on anything in quite some time.“ “Why not?“ Namjoon asks. Yoongi shrugs. “There’s been a lot going on lately.“ He stares into space, eyes clouding over, but shakes the fog off and gets up. “Let´s go upstairs, or they won´t leave us anything.” Namjoon pockets his phone, feeling like he´s leaving another dimension while climbing the stairs behind the smaller man. A part of him is still glued to the sofa and stuck to the mic. The kids are wolfing down noodles when they arrive in the library, the couch now back in the room. Seokjin´s dutyfully guarding three bowls of japchae from the hungry bunch. Namjoon and Yoongi join him, picking up their chopsticks and digging in as well. “It´s all I could whip up from what you saved from the crash earlier,” Seokjin says apologetically. Yoongi shakes his head in a “no worries” kind of gesture. Between bites of food the kids chant, “It´s great!” and Namjoon nods in agreement. “About your stuff,” Yoongi says to him, “the eggs kinda exploded all over. I mopped it all up and trashed it.” “We´ll make it up to you,” Seokjin chimes in, “if you´d want to come over for dinner some time. Actual dinner, I mean. Not jump-leftovers.” “Oh, yes, please,” Taehyung moans. “Jin’s the best cook in the house!“ “That’s not an accomplishment with any of us around,“ Jimin says. Seokjin examines Namjoon expectantly. “Well?” “Uh, sure. If it´s not too much trouble.” At that Jeongguk pumps a fist in the air. “Hell yeah,” he sings under his breath. They finish their meal and Seokjin vanishes the dishes into the kitchen with a thought. He checks his watch and lets out a sound of surprise. “It´s past midnight, when did that happen?” “Is it? I´ve got class in the morning.” “So do you three.” Seokjin points at the trio. “You should get ready for bed soon.” “Yes, dad,” all of them say and roll their eyes. Namjoon groans along inwardly. He wants to stay, preferably for another day or two. Wants to watch Seokjin smile at each stupid argument the kids have and go back to the studio with Yoongi to work on a hundred other songs. Too bad his professors are mightily miffed by their students missing out on lectures. “So, are you free any time this week?” Seokjin asks. “I have Thursday and Saturday night off.” “How about Saturday, around seven?” Seokjin turns to Yoongi. He nods. Namjoon mirrors him diligently and Seokjin claps his hands once. “Alright, it´s decided then!” The kids bounce off to their room and Seokjin and Yoongi escort Namjoon to the door. “I´ll bring these back,” he promises, indicating the sweater and pants he´s wearing. “Ah, that reminds me-“ Seokjin holds out his arms. A stack of familiar clothes appears, folded neater than they've ever been. “We washed them earlier.” “Thanks,” Namjoon says and accepts them. “Keep the sweater if you like, the color fits you better than Jin.” Said man gasps in mock indignation. “You wound me. I look good in every color.” Namjoon doesn´t say so out loud, but he agrees wholeheartedly. Yoongi just waves him off. “Be safe.” “Thank you,” Namjoon says again. “For, you know, everything.” Seokjin´s back to smiling his soft warm smile. “Don´t mention it. See you on Saturday.” With a wave and an awkward bow, Namjoon´s on his way to the gate. He exits right next to his apartment building, as he did the last time, and feels a grin tugging at his lips the entire elevator ride up to his flat. He fumbles with the keys, pressing his folded clothes against his chest with one arm. The lights are out inside. He doesn´t bother to flick them on, he´d find his way to his room with his eyes closed. That´s when he hears water running in the bathroom at the end of the hall. The door opens and a sliver of light illuminates Hoseok´s figure in the frame. He shuffles out, notices his flatmate, and halts. “Hey there. Did you work another shift tonight?” “No, I was… out with friends.” Hoseok raises a brow at the hesitation there but doesn´t mention it. “Is the sweater new?” “Uh, yeah.” “Looks good on you. The pants are a little short though.” “I think I´ll return them.” “Hm.” “I´ve got early classes, I´ll go to sleep.” “Me too. Good night.” “Night.” They both leave the hall to opposite sides and close their doors behind them. Namjoon stands in his dark room, looking out the window where streetlights and neon signs light up the street below, and curses himself out. Why didn´t he tell Hoseok where he´d been, really? He hates the feeling of ice cold guilt snaking its way through his gut. Hoseok doesn´t deserve his mistrust. His friend ´s never done anything but lift him up and support him. This is no way to thank him for it. 
I´ll tell him tomorrow.
 He kicks off his pants and climbs into bed to curl up under the covers. Untangling his headphones, he puts them into his ears and selects the song Yoongi mixed with him. Namjoon falls asleep to the sound of his own voice, the memory of the one who conducted it, and the smell of jasmine that clings to the sweater and lulls him in.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The thin stem between Seokjin´s thumb and pointer rolls over the pads of his fingers as he turns the bright yellow ginkgo leaf. Its forked body fanning out on top swirls and comes to a stop, swaying. The childlike excitement in Namjoon´s eyes when he followed the falling leaf and finally caught it moments before he himself fell is burned into Seokjin´s mind. He reverses the movement and watches it spin in the other direction, his thoughts dancing along with it. He found the leaf stuck to his checkered coat the day before, it must´ve been pinned to the fabric by Namjoon´s deadcrush grip holding onto him. It´s as if it somehow recorded a glimpse of that evening, a snapshot with a crystal clear focus, and Seokjin kept it instead of throwing it into the bin in the laundry room downstairs. Of course he knows all of this is probably his imagination, the leaf only triggering his own memory, but even so, he saved it as a token of… something. Intuition tells him that if he puts a name to the feeling, a great force will be unleashed. Is he ready to face that storm wind just yet? He sighs and sits up on the divan, twisting the leaf one more time and leaving the clearing circled by hedges to cross grass and marble. The glass door shuts behind him and he looks out into the conservatory he just left, the golden autumn sunlight that filters through the dome above. Seokjin turns. And screams. He staggers a step backwards, clutching his chest with the hand that doesn´t hold the ginkgo leaf. It disappears to a safe place. “Oh Gods, you surprised me!” The woman lounging in the chair to his left laughs, the sound clear as bells. “As skittish as ever, dear Seokjinnie.” She casually twists a lock of her long copper hair around a finger and smiles brightly. The freckles dusting her nose and cheeks give her the appearance of an innocent school girl. He knows better than to underestimate her. “I didn´t expect to see you here today. Hyuna. Hyojong.” He nods to the blond man in the right chair who sits with his legs apart. “What brings you here?” “The usual,” Hyojong says indifferently. Steps from the hall make all three of them pause. Yoongi hurries into the library, brows raised. “Is everything OK? I heard you shout and-“ He stops when his eyes fall onto their visitors. “Ah.” “Hello, Yoongi!” Hyuna greets him with a flutter of her fingers. Hyojong´s mouth forms a lopsided grin. “What are you two doing here?” “We´re giving Seokjinnie some feedback.” “Do you want something to drink?” Seokjin offers. “Not if it´s non-alcoholic,” Hyojong says. He calls a bottle of whiskey, along with two glasses, from the back of a cabinet in the kitchen to the coffee table. Hyojong picks it up to read the label, seems satisfied, and pours Hyuna and himself a fill. While he´s occupied Seokjin places the couch from upstairs in front of the chairs so it´s facing their visitors and takes his place on it. Yoongi joins him quietly. Hyuna clinks her glass with Hyojong´s. “You´ve been doing well," she says and takes a sip. Seokjin inclines his head. “Thank you.” “Most of your seekers have profited from your advice. I checked in on that granny who came by, the one who missed her friend?” Of course he remembers the little lady. He listens attentively. “She called her and they had a tearful reunion. They visit each other all the time now, it´s the cutest thing!” A relieved smile stretches over Seokjin´s face. “I´m glad to hear that.” And he truly means it. The lady was so distressed, he’s happy to hear she found the courage to reach out to her friend and that everything turned out for the better. He might´ve visited her on his own just to see how she´s faring, but once a seeker accepts his counseling he´s obligated to keep his distance from them outside of his guiding role. It´s one of the very few rules he has to abide to while he fulfills his task. It serves to remind him how lucky he is considering a certain someone who denied his offer. “Keep up the good work,” Hyojong says, the phrase sounding especially canting out of his mouth. “I will,” Seokjin assures him nonetheless. “Anything else?” Hyuna waves a hand dismissively. “Then how are you two doing? And where´s Hwitaek? I haven´t seen him in a while.” “He´s busy sorting out some stuff with his circle.” Hyojong slides down his seat, knees parting further. “Don´t worry, though. He´s fine.” “I´ll tell him you asked about him,” Hyuna chimes in. “Besides, it´s not like we can´t handle shit just because we don´t have someone to baby us. Right, Yoongi?” “Whatever you say, Hyojong.” Seokjin shoots Yoongi a bewildered glance. His partner holds the other man´s gaze unwaveringly. There´s a displeased set to his jaw. 
What´s this about?
 “We´re busy, too,” Hyuna remarks. “That we are,” Hyojong says and grins lazily. It´s obvious neither of them is talking about work-related business. “Then you should get going,” Yoongi proposes. His voice is calm, but Seokjin detects the carefully hidden hostility in his tone. Hyuna looks over to Hyojong. “We should. Keep it up, Seokjinnie! Bye-bye, Yoongi!” With a blink, they´re gone. The only evidence of them ever being in the room are the empty whiskey glasses on the table. “What was he talking about?” “They´re having horizontal refreshments.” “I´m well aware they´re banging, Yoongi. The other thing.” “Who knows.” He lifts a shoulder. “You know Hyojong, he´s a riddle and a half.” Seokjin observes him. “Yeah.” Maybe he reads too much into it. Yoongi´s probably irritated by them interrupting his composing on the piano upstairs. He spent the last day working on putting together a new piece and Seokjin´s happy to see him full of inspiration again after he didn´t play much at all lately. He makes up his mind in that moment. 
Here goes nothing.
 “Do you have a minute?” “Sure.” “Come here,” Seokjin says and invites the smaller man into his arms. Yoongi promptly climbs into his lap. He takes Seokjin's hands, automatically intertwining their fingers. “What is it?” “There´s something I’d like to ask you. I… haven´t figured out how, yet.“ “Just say it,“ Yoongi says wearily. Seokjin stays quiet for a while, trying to find the best approach to breach the subject. “You’ve been with some people before me.“ Yoongi´s eyes narrow. “Right.“ They had that talk far back, some time after they got together. Not because either of them expected to be the other’s first and only. Just to have the issue off the table. Seokjin himself had a high school boyfriend who broke his heart by fooling around with one of his classmates and a short term adventure in dating a human disaster with self-destructive tendencies in university. There were some flings strewn in-between as well, but nothing as serious as what he has now. Not the best record of a love life, admittedly. As for Yoongi, on the other hand- “You told me you had a boyfriend and girlfriend you’ve been with once.“ “Right." He stiffens slightly. "We’ve been together for a bit.“ “And I told you I didn´t feel like it was possible for me… to give my love to more than one person at a time.“ They had long conversations regarding Yoongi's way of living and loving early on, too. He explained there was a possibility of him falling for other people besides Seokjin and made sure he was OK with the prospect of other lovers in his life. It took Seokjin some time to come to terms with the idea, but he ultimately respects and accepts Yoongi for who he is and chose to be with him because he´s a better person with him than he is without. He trusts Yoongi to tell him if someone catches his eye in that way. They´ll work it out together. It´s only fair for Seokjin to be honest about his own feelings in turn. He takes a deep breath. “I think- I think I might-“ He breaks off. Understanding dawns on Yoongi´s features. “This is about Namjoon, isn’t it?“ The look on Seokjin´s face must give him away, because Yoongi huffs a laugh. “You’ve been a little obvious with your crush on him.“ 
Oh Gods.
 “I love you.“ “I know.“ There’s not a shred doubt about it in the way he says it. “You don’t mind that I´m… interested in him?“ “Actually-“ A grin splits Yoongi´s lips wide and shows his gums. “Do you mind that I´m kinda interested in him as well?“ Seokjin blinks, expression shifting into his own version of a dumb grin. “You are?“ “He´s cute. Loves music almost as much as I do. The kids like him a lot.“ Yoongi shrugs. “They do.“ “Hell, the entire house has fallen for the guy.“ A weight lifts from Seokjin´s chest like someone kicked it away in one clean swing, leaving him dumbfounded by the sudden lightness of his limbs. He laughs. “Wow. I didn’t know how you’d react. This is- wow. Where do we go from here?“ “The way I see it we’re both into him. We should let him know.“ “But how do we do that without-“ Seokjin gestures with his hand holding Yoongi´s, unable to express his worries precisely. All he knows is he has no intention of scaring Namjoon by making him feel like he’s being preyed upon by two people in a committed relationship to spice up their- what did Yoongi call it? “Horizontal refreshments”. “Relax, first of all.“ “That´s a challenge right now.“ Yoongi rolls his smiling eyes. “I’m not saying we should lock him up and only let him out once he proclaims his undying love for us.“ “The locked up part doesn’t sound too bad, tough,“ Seokjin jokes despite his worries. “Just do what we’ve been doing all along. Get to know him. Flirt, if you like to. Actually, you’ll have to do that for the both of us. You know I have zero talent.“ “You’re not that bad.“ “Not everyone´s as easily charmed by grouches as you are.“ Seokjin playfully slaps Yoongi´s thigh. “I´ll have you know my taste in men is exquisite.” “That´s a lie and we both know it.” “Good thing you´re here to help me out with this one.” “Exactly.” Yoongi continues. “What I’m saying is, don’t worry about it too much. He seems comfortable around here. We´ll see what Saturday brings.“ “I just don´t want him to think he´s being ambushed.” “Neither do I.” It´s set, then. Seokjin looks into Yoongi´s face with resolve, nodding to himself. “Let´s see what Saturday brings.” “See? Don´t stress over it.” Yoongi smiles and places a peck on his lips which he steals right back. “If you don´t mind, there´s a melody waiting for me upstairs.” “Alright, alright. Go.” Seokjin tries to sound annoyed, but cheeriness weaves its way through his words. In some regards, Yoongi always had at least one lover at any given point in his life, and it´s embodied by that inconspicuous piano he brought into the house with him. Seokjin never felt any jealousy towards it, though. He only loves that Yoongi loves it. He wonders what it would feel like to share this kind of love for something with him rather than watch from a content distance.  ___________________ Yoongi closes the door and leans against it, staring into the big room that extends in front of him. There´s a lot of free space the kids use to practice their dances sometimes, the only objects planted onto the hardwood floor being the couch Seokjin regularly moves to the library in the corner to his left, a few chairs lining the wall of the other to his right, and Yoongi´s piano with its well-used bench further into the room. He pushes away from the door and crosses the empty expanse to sit on the bench, passing big windows and the paintings Taehyung loves so much. Seokjin never told the boy he bought them specifically because he saw how he lit up when he spotted them in the art gallery. It didn´t even matter that Seokjin himself couldn´t find a sliver of beauty in them. Before Yoongi can make it to the piano, a voice from behind him resounds in the room. “You look like shit,” Hyojong says. Yoongi spins to face him. He slouches on the couch, legs spread and head leaning against an arm resting on the back of the piece of furniture. “You don´t look so fresh yourself.” Yoongi´s aware the glassy erratic look in Hyojong´s red rimmed eyes doesn´t stem from fatigue. Quite the contrary. He´s on a constant power high; he only does a damn good job at keeping a low profile about it. Most of the time, anyway. “Well, I´m feeling fi-ine.” He draws out the last word into two syllables. “Thanks to Hyuna, no doubt.” “Always.” A grin shows his white teeth. Yoongi knows the blissed out glow the other´s bathing in well. He witnessed firsthand just how much raw passion sparks to life between Hyuna and Hyojong. After all, he was part of them once. Those two are a lethal combination of lust and chaos that wield the power to destroy any mind too weak to keep up with their rapid-fire pace. Yoongi had thought them untamable after spending a prolonged period of time with the pair and parted with them before their tide could pull him under. Hyojong raises a brow at Yoongi´s continuous stare. “Where´d you go?” He snaps free of the maelstrom of memories. “Nowhere.” “Still a terrible liar, aren´t ya?” “I´d be having a much easier time if you didn´t come crashing in to expose me.” “He still doesn´t know?” “He doesn´t need to.” 
Neither do the kids, for that matter.
 Hyojong´s gaze softens a fraction. “How long do you plan to keep up this act?” “Until I break and then some,” Yoongi says defiantly. It´s childish, he knows. Still, he really means it. “You’ve become too attached to them.“ He isn’t going to argue with that. No use in denying the truth. “Yoongi,” Hyojong´s tone takes on an uncharacteristically pleading edge, “you´re burning yourself out.” “So are you.” They´re two faces of the same coin, both set on a path to ruin if they keep up the games they play. “Not anymore.” 
Oh.
 Did Hwitaek really do the impossible? Has he managed to rein Hyuna and Hyojong in and brought some semblance of stability to the pair, balancing their twin weights on a knife´s edge? “They´re not happy, you know. The others.” Yoongi scoffs. “When are they ever? And since when do you care, anyways?” “Touché.” They go silent, looking at each other. Ghosts of touches both rough and gentle, biting teeth and butterfly kisses resurge in Yoongi´s mind. He shoves them into a faraway corner that he doesn´t intend to revisit any time soon. “All I ask of you is to keep your mouth shut,” he implores. To hell with his pride, this is more important than anything else could ever be. “Do me that favor. Please.” Hyojong sighs, defeated. “Us rebels have to stick together. I won´t say anything.” “Good.” An air of finality floats in the space between them. Hyojong raises two fingers in a farewell gesture and vanishes with a last commiserative look at his former lover. __________________ On Monday Namjoon promised himself he’d tell Hoseok some rendition of his meetings with Seokjin and Yoongi the next day. He doesn’t. But Wednesdays are half-off Wednesdays at Mikado’s, a pizza place two blocks down from their apartment building. They go there almost weekly, the man running the shop recognizing them by sight, though Namjoon´s fairly sure he doesn’t know their names. They’re waiting in line amongst other students who were lured in by the promise of cheap food, a constant chatter filling the room in addition to the smell of garlic and tomato sauce. The door opens behind them and another pair of hungry patrons swarms in, followed by a rush of cold air. Hoseok gives them a quick glance over his shoulder, almost dismissing them, until his face lights up in surprise and he turns to greet them, reaching out a hand for them to accept. “Sangcheol! Wonjae! Haven’t seen you in a while, what are you doing here?“ “Saw the ad outside. We usually don’t hang around this part of the city,“ Sangcheol says. Namjoon gives them a hand as well. They all went to the same high school and used to spend time together during lunch hours and after school clubs, but Hoseok´s always been on friendlier terms with them than he was. While Hoseok chats with the guys he listens and throws in the occasional comment, the line slowly moving forward. He gives the man behind the counter their usual order- peperoni for his friend and margherita for himself, and steps aside to wait for their food. “Are you headed somewhere or do you want to eat in?“ Hoseok asks. They tell them they don’t have anything pressing to do, so they might as well sit together. Hoseok looks at Namjoon. “Fine with me,“ he says. His friend stands on tip toes to look for a free table in the back of the restaurant. He points to let Namjoon know he found one and moves to occupy it before anyone else does. Namjoon pays for their pizzas and takes them to the back to sit next to Hoseok who stole a chair from a neighboring table. The other two join them shortly after, all their pizza boxes barely fitting onto the round aluminum surface between them. “This reminds me of lunch break,” Wonjae laughs. They catch up on what everyone’s been doing since graduating high school. Sangcheol tells them he went into accounting, Wonjae majors in engineering. “You were big into writing music though, weren’t you?“ the latter asks Namjoon. “I remember you always scribbling stuff into your notebook and the teacher getting mad when she caught you.“ “I’m still into it,“ he says. “I´m working on stuff in my free time.“ His failed attempts at turning that passion into a career go unmentioned. “Cool, cool,“ Wonjae says and it’s clear he isn’t really interested in the topic. They keep talking about meaningless things, finishing off their pizzas and licking the grease from their fingers. After they trash the boxes and step outside Sangcheol and Wonjae say their goodbyes, Hoseok telling them it was good to see them and that they should meet up again some time soon. “Man, I remember when they still had baby fat in their faces. But look at them now, they grew up.” Namjoon snorts. “Why´re you talking like a parent? It´s the same for us.” “Huh. I guess it is,” Hoseok says and examines their reflection in a passing storefront window. Namjoon pulls up his shoulders. He should´ve worn something other than a thin t-shirt under an equally thin hoodie. The cold wind blowing through the street canyon rips the warmth right from his skin. Grey clouds roll over and chase each other in the strips of sky visible between skyscrapers above. Is this what people mean when they say a storm´s coming? “Hurry up, I´m freezing!” he calls out to Hoseok. “That´s your own damn fault,” he shoots back, but jogs to catch up with him. On their walk home they go through a list of things that need to be done around the flat, splitting tasks like cleaning the bathroom and washing the dishes that pile in the sink neglected since the weekend. They round a relatively quiet corner on the other side of the fountain behind the ginkgo trees, looking left and right before passing the stoplight. A group of four men in their early thirties is headed in the direction they came from, walking along the street in swaggering steps. One of the men steers into Namjoon´s path, clearly refusing to move out of the way for him. He´s taller and broader, a brute looking dude, and Namjoon barely swerves to avoid running right into him. Their shoulders brush in passing. “Hey!” the man shouts and turns. “Watch where you´re going!” How cliché, Namjoon thinks. The guy doesn´t wait for an answer. He closes the distance between them too fast for him to react and fists a hand into the collar of Namjoon´s hoodie. Hoseok comes running to his side. “Woah, woah, let him go!” “What´s up?” one of the other men asks from a few paces away. “Rats are begging for a beating,” the guy answers, his eyes boring into Namjoon´s. 
Oh no.
 “We´re just minding our own business, there´s no need for this,” Hoseok tries to reason. Namjoon can see the guy´s not listening. He already made up his mind about this whole thing, probably deciding to start trouble with them the moment they crossed the street. The other figures come closer, slowly surrounding them. Hoseok looks alarmed. Strangely, Namjoon himself feels as if his conscious left his body and watches the entire scene unfold from some point ahead. He doesn’t move when the guy lets him go and crumples to the ground, his ass hitting the asphalt hard. Hoseok crouches next to him, eyes flitting wildly from one looming figure to the next as if he’s running through different escape routes in his head. It’s no use, the hostile bodies form a tight circle around them. No getting out of this one. We´re outnumbered, Namjoon thinks, still observing the scene as if he’s a bystander rather than an active part of it. That’s when a foot shoots into Hoseok’s side, sending him tumbling to the street with a grunt. Namjoon´s conscious snaps back into his body with enough force to propel him to his feet and pull his friend up with him. He whirls, back to back with Hoseok. The pack descends on them. He has enough presence of mind to duck when a fist comes flying his way. Another is right there to punch him in the gut, air whooshes out of his lungs and he coughs, but manages to stay on his feet. Hoseok bumps against him from behind, he recognizes the pained groan that escapes the other. A spark flickers to life in Namjoon’s chest. None of this should be happening. They didn’t do anything to initiate this fuckery. Letting the hot licks of anger spread to his arms and legs he takes a defensive stance. They can only fight back now. He doesn´t wait for the next swing to come and charges forward instead. He´s never been in a proper fistfight, though, and it shows. Another guy barges into him and sends him flying to the pavement all over again. He lands face first, his cheek scraping over the asphalt. The dude that threw him down stands over him and balances on one leg. He sees it coming, yet he can´t move out of the target line. A vicious kick is aimed right at his head. “Joon!“ Namjoon thinks he can feel the impact shocking through his own torso, that´s how hard it hits Hoseok´s ribs when he jumps in front of him. He watches as his friend goes down, curling into a tight ball against the pain. Small. Hurt. The roar of his own blood drowns out the surrounding sounds. That kick wasn´t intended for Hoseok. He should´ve been the one to take it. Namjoon barely registers his body moving. He shoots up and crashes into the attacker with all of his weight. The guy tumbles, the remaining three immediately on Namjoon to tear him apart. He lashes out wildly, fists connecting with chests and cheeks and noses. One of his punches must´ve landed in one of their attacker´s eyes; he stumbles back, pressing a hand to the side of his face. The others pull the one on the ground to his feet. This is the opening he waited for. It buys him enough time to grip Hoseok by the upper arm and yank him through the defensive wall of muscle and knuckle. “Run!” he shouts, tugging his friend along. Hoseok stumbles into a sprint and they set off into the street they originally came from, weaving through parked cars, bikes, and trash cans on the sidewalk. Thundering steps behind them tell Namjoon they aren´t off the hook just yet. He pulls Hoseok into an alleyway, pressing up into the entrance of an apartment buildin and hopes with everything in him it will hide them from view. Their pursuers run past the alley, shouting and threatening the victims they can´t see anymore. Namjoon waits for the sounds of their voices to move further away. When they´re little more than angry echoes in the distance, he sinks onto the steps to his feet. Hoseok´s knees buckle and he all but falls to his side, Namjoon somewhat catching him by the arm before he can trip. They swallow big gulps of air, Hoseok wincing with every intake of breath. “Shit,” Namjoon gasps. His friend´s too busy filling his lungs with oxygen to form a response. “We have to get home before they come back.” He stands, Hoseok following suit, but he sways dangerously. “Can you walk?” Hoseok nods weakly and clings onto his side. Namjoon supports most of his weight with an arm around his waist and they hobble along the street. Red drops hit the pavement with every step they take. He only now registers the blood running from his nose down his chin, the taste of copper spreading over his tongue. They make it to their apartment building somehow, checking behind them every few meters to make sure their attackers didn´t turn around and are coming for them a second time. Of course the elevator is out of order that day, forcing them to walk up seven flights of stairs to get to their flat. Once Namjoon unlocks the door he helps Hoseok inside and gently lets him sink onto the couch. He lies down on the floor in front of it. For a long while neither of them says anything. The adrenaline pumping through Namjoon´s system slowly wanes and leaves pulsing aches and sharp stings in its wake. He becomes more and more aware of his burning cheek where skin grated over pavement. There´s a dull ache in his legs and an insistent throbbing in his lower back. He sits up, groaning with the movement, and kneels next to a limp Hoseok. The only signs of him being awake are his labored breaths and the painful frown wrinkling his forehead. “Seok?” His friend opens one eye and squints at him through a watery haze. Namjoon´s heart sinks into his stomach, any embers left from earlier huffing to cold ashes immediately. “Let´s get cleaned up,” he says softly. Hoseok lifts an arm, searching for support, and grips onto the hand Namjoon offers him to pull him to his feet. They shuffle down the hall to the bathroom where Namjoon collects a washcloth and bends despite his protesting back to get the first-aid kit from the cabinet under the sink. He rarely ever needs it, apart from the occasional band-aid when he attempts to cook every once in a blue moon. Sitting on the closed toilet seat Hoseok peels his shirt off and inspects the blooming bruises on his arms. “Shit,” Namjoon says when he sees the side of his torso. An angry red mark the shape of a shoe sole promises to turn a deep purple soon. Hoseok stands to inspect the area in the mirror for himself. “Shit,” he echoes and lets his arm fall again. Judging by the following sharp intake of air harsh movements aren´t the best of ideas. “Sit down,” Namjoon instructs. He runs cold water into the plugged sink and dunks the washcloth in, wringing it out and standing in front of Hoseok to gently wipe his sweaty face and blood smeared brow. The wound is little more than a nick in his skin, but he peels the backing off of a band-aid anyways to stick it on. Hoseok endures it all, holding out his arms so Namjoon can dab them with the damp cloth as well. When he brushes over the tender skin on Hoseok´s side, he winces. “Sorry.” “It´s OK.” “No, I´m sorry.” Helpless guilt chokes him up. “What? Joon, no. This isn´t your fault.” “But-“ Hoseok cuts him off. “They came onto us for no damn reason! That fight was utterly pointless!” He got over the initial shock of it all and reached a boiling point. “I’m a pacifist, what the fuck!” Just as quickly as the anger came it extinguishes again, replaced by resignation. “How am I gonna make it through the weekend like this? I can´t cancel on the others.” “What´s on this weekend?” “We´re having a dance camp kinda thing with our kids and kids from another school in the city. They need every instructor they can get to keep things organized.” “Hell. Do you have to actually dance?” “Well, no, but I´d have liked to.” Hoseok looks truly bummed out by the prospect of standing by and watching idly. “Go see a doctor tomorrow. We´ll use ice packs until then.” “Sounds like the most sensible thing to do.” He eyes Namjoon. “Do you need help with that? Looks like a nasty scrape.” “I´ll put some disinfectant on it. It should be fine.” Namjoon turns to the mirror to examine the damage done to his face closely for the first time. Dried blood coats his nose, lips and chin and blots the front of his hoodie, the dark spots standing out against the olive fabric. The skin of his cheek is rubbed open up to the corner of his right eye, tiny bits of gravel sticking to the edges. He wets the washcloth once more and quickly cleans the blood away, flinches when it touches the open wound. Hoseok rises. “Here, let me. Hold still.“ His friend tilts his head for better access and carefully pats around the outline of broken skin. They´re quiet while Hoseok works, but his eyes flit to Namjoon´s every so often. “What is it?” he asks when he catches Hoseok´s glance. “Just-“ He drops the cloth into the sink, snatching the bottle of disinfectant and a gauze ball from the kit balancing on its edge and drenches the ball in the clear liquid. “It´s just that I wanted to ask what´s up with you lately.” Namjoon scrunches his nose when the gauze comes close to his face. It burns like fire once Hoseok starts applying disinfectant to the wound. He hisses. “What do you mean?” “Come on, Joon. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? You´ve been acting all weird the past weeks, and then you barely talk to me anymore.“ Namjoon goes very still. “I´m right, aren´t I? Something´s going on.” There's no use in hiding it now. Time to open the box and let the storm loose. He huffs a defeated sigh. “I was going to tell you yesterday, but, well, I´m an idiot.” “Tell me something I don´t know,” Hoseok quips and throws the bloodied gauze into the bin next to the towel rack. He sits on the bath tub´s edge, looking up expectantly. “I… met some people.” “Are they trouble?” Concern shows on Hoseok´s wrinkled forehead. “No, no. It´s nothing like that. They´re nice. Very nice, actually.” “Then why the secrecy?” “I wasn´t sure how to tell you about them.” Hoseok cocks his head to the side a fraction. “Like,” Namjoon fumbles for words, “I went to their house, they´re a couple, and I got to know them a bit.” “Not sure about the circumstances that got you there, but OK.” “That´s part of the problem. I can´t tell you about that.” “Huh, that´s not suspicious in the least. Wait-“ Hoseok´s eyes widen in shock. “Did they… hit you up to be their boy toy or something?” Namjoon laughs abruptly and stops at the pain. “God, no. They´re not that much older than us. Just nice dudes.” “What´s this all about, then? If they´re not sugar daddies paying for your rent and giving you nice stuff.” He drops his gaze, tracing his toes along the gaps between the bathroom tiles. “I guess I just want to spend time with them. I´ll… meet them again on Saturday.” Hoseok´s silent for a minute. “You like them?” Namjoon nods sheepishly. “And they´re good people? Wouldn´t try to fuck you over?” Namjoon shakes his head decidedly. “Well then,” Hoseok says in a cheerful tone and he lifts his eyes to see the earnest heart shaped smile blossom on his face. “I hope you´ll have fun on Saturday!”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Getting up in the morning is a challenge. Namjoon manages to coax his limbs to move and his body to cooperate past the ache somehow. His face looks worse than it did yesterday, the scrape now scabbed over and a faint purplish bruise painting the too tight skin around his nose where it swelled up despite the ice pack he practically glued to his face in the evening. When he breathes too abruptly a whistling sound pipes through his nasal cavity. It´s ridiculous, so he tries to keep his oxygen intake calm and steady. In addition to that more blotches trail over his body in random patterns, giving him the appearance of a human giraffe. He dresses in a long sleeved shirt with a high neckline and sits through two lectures in which other students eye him sympathetically or flat out gawk at him in blatant curiosity. “What did Kim get himself into?” he hears one girl whisper to another sitting next to her while passing them and taking a seat in the back of the room. Namjoon ignores it all for the most part. His concentration is taken up by controlling his nose flute to keep from giving the worst one man concert in the history of humanity. Hoseok´s worse off by quite a bit, he skipped his early classes in favor of seeing a doctor and texted him on his way from the clinic to uni. Apparently there’s no severe damage done to his ribs, nothing´s cracked or broken- thank God- but moving still hurts like hell and rules out dancing for at least a week or two. Namjoon´s glad there’s no showcases or competitions his friend takes part in in the near future. He knows Hoseok, he’d train and push himself to the point of exhaustion despite the pain. He understands that he has to rest and take things easy to heal quickly and promised not to exert himself during the dance camp. Still, he quietly rebels against his fate. Every meter Namjoon goes through great lengths to avoid moving, Hoseok seems to push through out of spite. And really, how dare the universe do this to them? As if university and life in general weren´t both stressful and painful enough already. On his way home Namjoon takes the bus, the rattling and rumbling jostling his tender limbs. It´s still better than to walk the distance to their apartment building in the sheeting rain that started the night before and hasn´t let up throughout the day. When he gets off, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He accepts the incoming call. “Joon, are you home right now?“ Hoseok asks on the other end. “I’m on my way. Why?“ “Would you mind bringing me the studio keys? I forgot them in my other jacket and I still have classes, so I can’t come get them in time to open the place for the others.“ Namjoon fumbles the building´s door open while trying not to let his phone fall. “Sure. Where should I meet you?“ “At the studio, four o'clock?“ “I’ll be there.“ “Thanks. You’re saving my ass.“ “Glad to do so any day. See you.“ They end the call, Namjoon already pressing on the elevator button to go up. Thank the heavens it was fixed so quickly, he isn’t sure his aching legs could have taken the climb up all those stairs for the next days. In the flat he takes off his coat and enters Hoseok´s room to look for the jacket he mentioned. It’s flung over the open door of his closet and Namjoon finds the keys in its pocket. He has two hours to kill until he has to head to the dance studio and contemplates a quick nap, but takes in the mess that is the kitchen and decides to take care of it instead. After he’s done washing pots and dishes he moves on to the bathroom to clean it, picking up the clothes that clutter the bath tub’s edge and towel racks and even starts a load of laundry in one of the shared washing machines in the building’s basement. By the time he’s done vacuuming the entire flat he’s running a little late. He grabs the keys and wrestles into his coat to ride another bus to the dance studio Hoseok works at, taking an umbrella with him this time. The bus driver apparently dreams of being a race car driver in another lifemand Namjoon makes it to the busy side street in time. Hoseok waits for him in front of the studio, bundled up in a thick jacket and a scarf that hides half of his face, pressing against the wall so the narrow roof overhang keeps him dry. “Thanks,” he says when Namjoon hands him the keys. “That would´ve been embarrassing.” “No problem.” Namjoon waves a hand. “You´re not teaching today, are you?” “Someone else took over, but I´m still there to help out if anyone needs advice on their choreographies.” “Good, don´t overdo it.” “I won´t. See you later?” “Yeah, I have the day off. It´s a ramen kinda night, huh?” Hoseok laughs, but stifles it with a wince, hand flying to his side. “Another one of those.” In that moment Namjoon´s ears pick up on the distinct sound of a particular set of voices he became attuned to in order to save himself from trouble. He turns and surely, a trio of impish grins is headed their way. “Yo!” Taehyung shouts and waves wildly with his bright red umbrella, Jimin following suit. Jeongguk bounds into a mad dash, dedicated to make it to the pair on the sidewalk first. The other two sprint to chase after the youngest. 
Oh boy. To have that much energy.
 “They´re early,” Hoseok says. Namjoon´s brows pull up in surprise. “You know them?” Hoseok looks confused for a second. “They´re my students. Do you know them?” “They´re my customers.” “Huh. Small world,” Hoseok says and barely has enough time to sidestep the boy hurtling at him like a projectile. “Hey!” Jeongguk pouts. He clearly expected a different kind of reaction. Jimin and Taehyung come to a stop next to them, both breathing hard. “Sorry Gguk, took a kick to the ribs. I´m afraid you´ll finish the job of breaking them with a jump hug.” “What?” Jimin asks. Taehyung´s the first to look at Namjoon. “Woah! Who rearranged your face?” “Some dudes started trouble with us yesterday.” “Do you owe them money?” Jeongguk asks more excitedly than the situation calls for. “God, no. They came out of nowhere. We had to fight our way out.” Jimin whistles. “You´re tough after all.” “What´s that supposed to mean, you brat?” Hoseok asks. Jimin only smiles and moves a cautious step closer to Taehyung. “So, how do you know snack temp?” Taehyung asks in an attempt to focus Hoseok´s attention on something else and points at Namjoon. “We´re friends. He´s my flatmate.” “The same one who always breaks and loses his stuff?” “No,” Namjoon shoots and glares at Hoseok, who shrugs and follows Taehyung´s example of finding a quick diversion. “Why are you here already? Class only starts in half an hour.” “We left early and Jeongguk raced us like half the way here,” Jimin says. “Where do you live, anyways? Is it that close by?” The boys go rigid and exchange helpless glances. After a beat all three of them point into different directions. Namjoon has to restrain himself from hitting his own forehead very hard. “OK then,” Hoseok says with a weary expression. “I´ll go up, you can come in if you want.” “We´ll be there in a minute,” Jimin says. Hoseok waves to Namjoon and disappears behind the door. “That´s nasty,” Jeongguk comments and stands on his tiptoes to take a closer look at Namjoon´s face. “Thanks,” he answers dryly. “Did you want to talk?” “Yeah.” Jimin shifts his hold on the umbrella. “We wanted to invite you.” “Invite me?” “To our birthday.” “You were all born on the same day?“ Namjoon asks, confused. “No, no,” Jeongguk steps in to explain, “my birthday´s the first day of September, Tae´s is the second to last day of December, the middle between those two is October, and that’s the month of Jimin´s birthday, his is on the 13th. That sometimes falls on a Friday and Jimin´s clumsy as hell,“ the older boy shoots him a dirty look, but Jeongguk doesn´t waver, “plus if you switch the numbers you get 31, that´s why we decided on a midway birthday on Halloween.“ Namjoon isn’t sure he can follow that logic, but Jeongguk smiles at him as if he just laid out the theory of relativity and the other two nod knowingly, so he doesn´t question it. “And, you know. Since we usually can’t invite people to have parties at home we go out with friends in the evening and get free candy and stuff. You’re the first person we can invite.“ Taehyung shrugs. That sends an unexpected pang right through Namjoon´s heart. He quickly continues the conversation to keep the swell of emotions at bay. “You don’t celebrate individual birthdays at all, then?“ “We do, but we don’t do anything too big,“ Jimin says. “Jin cooks anything we want for us and Yoongi gets a cake from our favorite bakery. It´s mostly eat-until-you-get-sick-day.“ Taehyung grins. “Those are the best.” “I still feel like they shouldn’t give us any presents,“ Jeongguk mumbles. “It’s too much.“ “Why’s that?“ Namjoon asks. The youngest looks up at Jimin, then Taehyung. They´re similarly embarrassed. “They gave us a place to live and never asked for anything in return, is all. That’s more than any of us could’ve asked for.“ The older boys nod, gazes fixed to the wet ground. Another punch to the dam Namjoon tries to keep from cracking. 
These kids.
 Awkward silence spreads between them. The rain drops pattering unrelentingly around them are unbearably loud until Jimin pipes up again. “You´ll have Jin and Yoongi all to yourself on Saturday, by the way.” Namjoon´s head snaps up a little too fast, nose whistling with his sharp intake of air. “And the food, too,” Taehyung moans. “We forgot camp was on the same weekend. You´re lucky.” “Am I?” “Yeah?” Jimin says as if it´s obvious. “They like you.” “Do they?” “Jin gets along with most people,” Taehyung explains, “but Yoongi can barely stand company, so he must like you.” Is that the flutter of butterfly wings brushing against his insides? “How do you know?” “He let you into his studio,” Jeongguk say as if it's obvious. "We're not even allowed into his studio.” “I can´t imagine why,” Namjoon quips. It does little to calm the hopeful wing beats. “We´ll have to promote you from snack temp to snack dad if things go on like this.” “Oh God,” he groans, hiding his face behind his palm. Jimin laughs. “Anyways, enjoy your evening,” he says and they move to go up to the studio. Namjoon calls them back. “Wait, kids. Do me a favor and don’t tell them… about this.“ He waves to his cheek. “I don’t want them to worry.“ Or cancel their dinner plans in favor of him resting and recovering. “They won´t like it, no matter when they find out,” Taehyung says. “Jin totally overreacts when it comes to injuries.” “Remember that one time he kept me at home because I scraped my knee?” Jeongguk asks. “Because you´re his little baby,” Jimin teases. “Am not.” “Then you´re just too dumb to skateboard and got a sick day out of it.” Jeongguk´s about to spiral this into one of their usual bantering sessions, but Jimin cuts it short before he can open his mouth. “We won´t tell them. I doubt you´ll look better by Saturday, though.” “Probably not,” Namjoon sighs. “Thanks, anyways. Have fun. And go easy on Hoseok. I might look bad, but he´s the one who got it worse.” “Poor Hobi,” Taehyung says with genuine concern. The kids promise not to go on their instructor´s nerves and bound up into the studio with wishes of farewell and different versions of “Get better soon!”. Namjoon stares at the door falling shut behind them, thinking he may walk a short distance to the next bus stop despite the dull throbs coursing through his body. Cleaning the flat earlier made the pain more endurable, the movement helping with the stiffness in his limbs. He sets off down the street, passing small stores and glancing at the different things on display. His eyes are drawn to shining pieces and gems on dark satin behind the security glass of a jewelry shop. There´s a ring he would wear if he could afford it and a slightly less expensive necklace with a nice pendant. What really catches his attention is a single earring, intended to be worn that way, with a small rosy pearl on the stud. A silver hoop is fixed to the pearl and a string of fine silver chain dangles from the circle. His mind connects it instantly to soft pink and beige shirts. To a long neck and plush lips. To dark locks of hair brushing the tops of ears. The earring would look stunning added to all of that. Stop, Namjoon warns himself. Why did his thoughts go there immediately? Did the beating he took rattle his brain a little too violently? He shakes the images away and walks again, keeping his eyes open for a bus stop sign. Once at home he´s at a loss at what to do. Philosophy books wait to be read, but he doesn´t have the energy to form meaning out of the never ending strings of words. He opts for a shower instead and indulges in the warm water streaming over his back for a little longer than necessary just to feel the muscles there relax a bit. His airways are finally open again, the sounds he produced earlier gone. He hopes it´s a sign of fast recovery. After he pads back into his room in nothing but fresh underwear he rubs his hair dry with a towel and climbs into bed. For a while he reads webtoons on his phone, but his scrolling falters until he forgets what the last page was about, lids heavy and mind blank. Namjoon wakes when he hears the apartment door open, Hoseok calling out to him. He answers with a groggy gurgle and his friend looks around the corner into his room. “Can I come in?” “Sure.” Hoseok kicks the towel on the ground to the side and sits on his bed, slow and careful not to bend in a way that will make the pain flare up again. “Ugh,” he groans once he´s seated and plops onto his good side next to Namjoon. “Sucks,” he says. It gets him a snort. “That´s an understatement.” They simply lie around for the better part of an hour, drifting in and out of drowsiness. Namjoon´s stomach eventually reminds him he had no lunch and that it´s high time for dinner. He pushes up reluctantly, pulling the blanket around his naked shoulders. “Ramen?” he asks Hoseok´s sprawled out form. He hums in response and moves to get up. Namjoon tells him to stay put. “We can eat in my bed.” “No one ever eats in your bed.” It´s true, he doesn´t let a plate or bowl come anywhere near his sleep space. Not to mention plastic packs full of snacks. Crumbs in bed are the worst. They´re up on the scale right next to sand. “We both deserve it this once.” Wearing his blanket like a cape Namjoon lumbers into the kitchen and fills a pot with water. While he waits for it to boil he looks through the things they have left in the fridge, finding a carton of eggs Hoseok must´ve bought after his own unsuccessful attempt at bringing home groceries. Was that really only two days ago? It feels a lot longer. The last two ramen packets they have in the pantry are different flavors. Beef and hot pepper at least mix well, so he dunks the contents of both into the pot together. When the noodles are almost cooked he whisks a few eggs and pours them in, allowing them to boil with the rest of the ingredients and splitting the meal by pouring it into two bowls. They have no tray to put them onto, so Namjoon makes two trips, bringing Hoseok his food first. He finally sits up and accepts the dish, balancing it on a knee while Namjoon goes to the kitchen to get his own. He hopes that in some way this counts as a tiny start of repaying his friend´s kindnesses. They sit side by side on the edge of the bed and enjoy their meal. “I think I´ll conk out after this. Thanks for cooking.” 
If boiling noodles can be considered cooking.
 “Me too. I´m beat.” “Literally.” Hoseok downs his dregs and shuffles out into the kitchen. Namjoon hears him put the dish on the counter and his room´s door closing. A distant thump tells him Hoseok let himself fall into bed without bothering to get out of his street clothes. Namjoon picks up the still damp towel from the ground and takes it along with him, first putting his bowl where the other already sits and then padding over to the bathroom to hang the towel up. He follows Hoseok´s example and rolls right back into bed. He´s out in a matter of seconds.   The rain doesn´t let up the next day, either, and Namjoon sloshes through the grey city to start one of his rare midday shifts at Ms. Ahn´s, his body still hurting in places it shouldn´t. The lady takes one look at him, at the blue sheen on the bridge of his nose and the banged up side of his face, and tells him to go home again, not taking no for an answer. Which leaves Namjoon with a free day he has no idea how to spend. He heads back home, deep inside his own head and barely paying attention to his surroundings. His thoughts´ aimless roaming comes to a screeching halt as he passes a restaurant. 
The dinner´s tomorrow.
 He doesn´t know why it hits him as such a surprise, especially since he all but counted down the days ever since Monday. Suddenly all knowledge about etiquette, politeness, and other social conventions are utterly senseless to him. Absurd, even. Do people dress nicely for these kinds of occasions? The last times Namjoon´s visited the mansion he was in everyday clothes, nothing flashy or fancy. Seokjin has his own collection of expensive sweaters and jackets from what he´s seen him in so far and Yoongi wears jeans both ripped and not, but is that any kind of indication for how formal his style can get? And what about that thing he´s seen people do where they bring gifts to the hosts of parties? The only ones he ever goes to are typical house parties with people milling around on every square foot of beds, couches, and floor, drinking questionable mixtures of different alcohols out of plastic cups. Should he bring something? If so, what? Wine is the most obvious, but he´s sure Yoongi is well decked out in wines he thinks are palatable. Should he bring food instead to contribute to the evening´s meal? His culinary finesse is limited to preparing ramen and microwaveable meals, and he hasn´t even fully mastered either of those yet. Accidents still happen from time to time. Namjoon storms into the apartment, stumbling over the threshold. A sound from down the hall startles him and he´s met with Hoseok´s puzzled face peeking out of the door. “Oh, it´s you. You didn´t go to uni today?” “I slept in. I´ll need the energy if I want to make it through the camp alive,” Hoseok explains and opens the door fully to go to the bathroom. He rummages around in there, coming back out with a handful of toiletries. “We´re leaving in the evening, I´m packing my stuff now.” “Where are you all going, anyway?” “Down to Songpa-gu. They have a huge school there. We´ll practice and sleep in the studios.” Namjoon nods, commendatory. “That´s dedication.” “Cheap accommodation is more like it,” Hoseok says. “Why did you run in here like you lost your wallet again? Don´t tell me you did.” “Ah, no. I might need your help with something when you´re done packing.” “Sure, give me a second.” Ten minutes later Hoseok sits on Namjoon´s bed and watches him pull different articles of clothing from his closet. “What about this one?” he asks, holding up a V-necked navy shirt. Hoseok shakes his head. “Too basic. Don´t you have something a little more… exciting?” “Exciting how?” “Depends on where you want the evening to go.” Namjoon pops his head out of his closet to send Hoseok an unamused look. His friend laughs. “Look at you, being a whole ass adult. Going to dinner dates and all that.“ “It’s not a date,” he says immediately. “The only times you ask me for outfit advice is when you go on dates, though.” “This time I´m asking so I don´t make an idiot out of myself. These people have their lives together, they´re the real adults.” He inspects his reflection in the mirrored closet door, holding another shirt against his chest. “If this is what it’s like to be a grownup I’d rather have you give me the bullet right here and now.“ “No can do,“ Hoseok declines. “What kind of friend are you?“ “The best kind.” Namjoon doesn´t argue further. Hoseok points to a piece of clothing hanging in the very corner to his right. “What´s that over there?” “This?” Namjoon pulls it out. It´s a long black cardigan he hasn´t worn in quite a while. “I like that one. Get a black shirt and your shiny jeans and you´ll have yourself a killer combo.” “Are you sure?” “You´re the one who asked for my opinion.” “True.” He throws the cardigan on the bed and sorts through his pants to find the ones Hoseok meant, pulling a black leather belt with a big silver buckle from a hook on the wall while he´s at it. “Let me try this on, I don´t know if I´m feeling it yet.” Namjoon changes into the outfit, pulling on a short sleeved shirt that shows off his neck and collar bones under the cardigan, tucking it into the dark jeans. Luckily, it hides the bruise where a punch caught him in the chest. He turns, letting Hoseok get a look. “Wait, I´ve got just the thing,” he says and hurries to his room. He comes back with a round big rimmed hat that he puts on Namjoon´s head, holding him by the elbows to swivel him back to the mirror again. “Huh,” is the first thing he says. He´s in black from head to toe save for the bright blue socks he put on in the morning. The cardigan falls over his shoulders and comes to a stop around his knees, flowing and trailing every one of his movements. The belt buckle makes for a great eye catcher and the hat compliments his face despite the signs of their brawl in the street. “Witchy,” Hoseok says and beams. “I like it.” “Of course you do. You should hire me to be your professional stylist.” “Don´t get too smug, I had the clothes already.” “But you wouldn´t have worn them without me.” He examines Namjoon in the mirror. “I´m thinking we could do something with your hair, you probably won´t wear the hat all day.” And that´s how they move to the bathroom, Hoseok getting to work with a comb and a tub of hair gel. “Brush it up and part it a little in the front,” he instructs, Namjoon following each step with watchful eyes. “I´ve seen idols wear it like this. It suits you.” Hoseok´s no stranger to taking care of hair. He bleached and died his own a deep brownish shade of red successfully a while back and did the same for Namjoon, although he went with a more natural ash brown. Now his hair is pushed out of his forehead in an effortless windswept look and he finds himself liking it a lot. “Think you can do it yourself tomorrow?” Hoseok asks. “I´ll try my best.” They grin at each other in the mirror over the sink. “Go get ´em, tiger.” Hoseok says and promptly earns himself a swat to the arm. “Ouch. Alright, alright. Sheesh.”   Saturday morning drags on for eons. Hoseok left the evening before and Namjoon planned on sleeping until noon, but excitement vibrates in his body and wakes him up at eight o´clock sharp. He wastes an hour lounging in bed and checking his social media. Once he reaches the point of his feed where he left off the last time he logged in he has nothing else to do but get up and eat breakfast. He reads two texts for his classes and starts outlining a short essay before the nervous thrum in his chest gets on his nerves. Bumblebees. It´s not butterflies, it´s bumblebees. They hover around his stomach in a merry dance and he´d like them all to drown in the bottle of water he drinks while working. In the afternoon Namjoon´s too giddy to do much of anything. He puts on music and gets dressed, adjusting the shirt´s collar over and over and plucking at it where it´s tucked into his jeans until it falls just right. His hair takes him longer to arrange into the sweep Hoseok showed him than it did his friend. He made it look easy, but Namjoon´s natural clumsiness works against him at first. Once his hair and outfit are done he still has a couple of hours left until seven. Knowing he´ll go insane if he stays in the flat like this he leaves to walk down the street and enters a small café on the other end of the park. The police has showed up less and less, not patrolling the area as often now since no more incidents have been reported. Hoseok suggested they report what happened to them. They ultimately decided against it; too much trouble. He doesn´t even remember what the guy´s faces looked like, so he wouldn´t be of much help when being questioned. Namjoon orders a cappuccino at the counter, the girl behind it looking him up and down approvingly while she hands him his change. He gives her a shy smile and sits at a table by the potted plant in a corner next to one of the big windows where rain runs down the glass in lazy rivulets. Somehow time passes differently in the outside world and he finishes his cold cup of coffee one and a half hours later. He didn´t even do much despite people watching, his mind going still for once. As a last minute decision he buys a pretty box of cookies to bring to the dinner with him. The cashier girl winks at him when he leaves. Is it the clothes he´s wearing or the bad boy bruises on his face? Maybe a mixture of both. Namjoon goes back to the apartment, checking his reflection one last time and deeming himself presentable enough. He puts on the hat, picks up his keys and the cookies, and breathes deeply before stepping out again. The gate appears within the first stride he takes once he´s outside, as if it awaited this moment just as impatiently as he did. He hurries up to the front porch and knocks on the dark wood of the door, holding on tight to his small present. The full glass moon splits in half and he expects to see Seokjin´s gentle smile behind it. To his surprise it´s Yoongi who greets him. His feline eyes quickly trail over his form, from his boots upward. When they land on his face his brows pull together. “Who did that?” Namjoon cards his fingers through his hair self consciously. “Can I tell you inside?” “Of course,” Yoongi says and opens the door wide immediately. “Namjoon, you´re here already?” Seokjin´s voice asks from inside. He finally comes into sight, rounding into the hall and shrugging out of a coat. Was he out until now? Seokjin stops dead in his tracks, expression falling just as Yoongi´s did. “Oh no. What happened?” He closes the distance between them in quick steps, puts a hand on Namjoon's shoulder, and looks at him closely. Namjoon feels the telltale tingle of a blush reddening his cheeks while being scrutinized. “A group of guys started a fight with us. My friend and I,” he clarifies. He catches the way Yoongi´s mouth turns down at the corners. An incredulous sound escapes Seokjin. “Are you alright?” Namjoon shrugs. “It looks worse than it is, really.” Seokjin doesn´t seem convinced, but purses his lips and doesn´t demand further details. “Come on, dinner´s almost ready.” “I brought these,” Namjoon says sheepishly and offers the cookies he´s still holding to Seokjin. “Oh, thank you! You didn´t have to,” he says with a smile and takes the box. They turn to the left just before entering the library and reach the kitchen. The room´s dominated by a big island in the middle, the countertop made of dark shiny basalt that Yoongi promptly hops onto and watches as Seokjin lets an arrangement of dishes appear next to him. Namjoon´s fascinated by how domestic the scene appears. The magic that´s worked inside the house is everyday life to these two. He notices now that he didn´t go overboard with his outfit, the others are in nicer versions of their everyday wear themselves. Seokjin wears a blue striped collared shirt under his camel sweater with rolled up sleeves so his hands are free to handle the kitchenware. The tail ends peek out from under the hem and it´s just the right balance between casual and classy to not make him look either like a messy student like Namjoon himself or a stuck up rich kid. Yoongi´s top is a blue so deep it appears black at first glance and has a slight sheen to it, the front tucked into his dark pants- sans ripped knees- and his feet are bare, as they always seem to be. Seokjin fills the dishes with several things out of the pots and pans on the stove and arranges sides into small flat bowls. Lastly he opens the rice cooker and heaps a dish full of the white steaming grains. The smells alone make Namjoon´s mouth water. Seokjin claps his hands. “All done, let´s eat!”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

They sit at the long table in the back of the kitchen, Seokjin at the head, Yoongi and Namjoon to both sides. Seokjin transfers the filled bowls over from the counter with a blink and arranges them so everyone can reach for each comfortably. He has to admit the amount of dishes he cooked over the last hours may be excessive, but he doesn´t know what Namjoon likes, so he prepared a bit of everything- tofu stew, stir fried vegetables, mandu, even galbi- and then there are the various side dishes, of course. While tasting the stew he noticed the herbs for garnishing were missing and quickly jumped to a store in the city just before Namjoon arrived. Yoongi teasingly told him not to lose his mind over a simple dinner. Seokjin knows he´s just as giddy, he simply does a better job of hiding it. Then, he isn´t the one whose reputation as a self-proclaimed master chef is on the line. “I get why the kids were so sad they can´t be here tonight. This is actual heaven,” Namjoon says over the clatter of everyone picking up their chopsticks and digging in. “You talked to them?” He nods. “They go to the same dance studio my friend works at.” “Ah, the one- what´s his name? They really like him, he´s a good teacher.” “Hoseok. He´s a great guy. We´ve known each other since high school.” Seokjin hums. “It´s not easy to keep good friends around for that long.” “He makes it easy. Well, that, and we live together, so I can´t lose sight of him any time soon,” Namjoon says and takes his first bite of galbi. His eyes widen when the flavor hits his tongue. “This is good.” A pleased smile plays around Seokjin´s lips. He knows it is. “Thanks.” “Your friend,” Yoongi begins, “is he the same one who was with you when you ran into those guys?” The blunt question makes Seokjin look at him warningly. He was just as shocked to see the state Namjoon´s in, yet he didn´t want to pry in case he´s uncomfortable with talking about what happened. “Yeah,” Namjoon says, expression turning grim, “we didn´t even do anything to upset them. One bumped into me on purpose and took it as a reason to get all worked up. It was four on two, we´re lucky we got away. I don´t know if I could even walk otherwise.” Seokjin´s blood heats. “Did no one help you?” “The street was empty except for us.” He huffs, angry now. “I hope karma repays them plentiful.” “It will,” Yoongi says quietly. It sounds more like a promise than a general longing for righteousness. Namjoon takes a second to get over the sudden change in atmosphere. “We´re alright, it´ll just need some time to heal.” He takes another bite and goes on, “the kids invited me to their birthday. The shared one on Halloween?” “Midway birthday.” Yoongi nods. “I´ll have to call the cake shop soon.” “Since when have they been having those?” Namjoon asks. “Pretty much since they started living here.” “Did they all come together? You said they were seekers, didn´t you, Seokjin?” “Just Jin is fine,” he offers. The flash of something akin to surprise passes over Namjoon´s face. It´s cute. He continues, “they didn´t all come together. Jimin and Tae arrived about three years ago, in spring. It was… well, they weren´t in the best condition.” He remembers them, hand in hand, fingers clasped tightly together, with sharp distrust in their eyes, clothes tattered and hair unkempt. They were the first seekers to arrive at his house together and the only to do so to this day, both so young yet so wary of every glance and word and movement as if they expected each one to be the last before a bomb went off. “I never had to guide anyone younger than eighteen before them." Not without supervision, at least. "It was hard, even when they came inside and I explained what I´m here for they barely said a word. When Yoongi came into the room I thought they were ready to break a window and escape.” Yoongi sighs. “It wasn´t pretty, to see kids act that way. They clearly went through some shit, you´d have to be blind not to have seen it.” “I told them they could stay after Tae eventually mentioned they didn´t have a home to return to. They did, but they locked the door at night and flinched at every unexpected gesture. It took them weeks to open up, and even then we had to piece most of the things together to make sense of it all." He arranges the meat strips on his plate into a line before continuing. "Tae was homeless for a good while and somehow managed to make it from Daegu to Busan where he met Jimin. They both ran away from their… I´m not going to call them families. From what little the boys shared, those were subhumans. Gods, just thinking about the bruises Jimin had back then makes me want to punch through a wall.” Namjoon absentmindedly massages his chest while he listens, as if something took hold of his heart and he wants to dislodge it. Seokjin´s own seizes in turn and he´s unable to speak for a moment. Yoongi takes over for him, thankfully. “Ggukkie stood on the doorstep in winter that same year. He wasn´t as rundown as the other two, but his eyes- I´ve never seen someone so sad, let alone a kid his age. I guess something in him called out to Jimin and Tae. They took him in and none of them ever left a room without the others following.” Yoongi´s right. Jeongguk seemed empty- or overflowing, Seokjin never knew which one it was- with something so dark and heavy that it should´ve weighed his tiny body down, brought him to his knees and never have him take another step again. He doesn´t know where he took the strength from to do much of anything in that state. “We offered them to each have their own room, since the house will expand infinitely as far as I know, but they refused to sleep alone. They still share the room down the hall. At least everyone has their own beds now,” Seokjin says. “That´s-“ Namjoon starts. He struggles for a word. “Horrible,” Yoongi finishes. “They´re good people that had horrible things happen to them.” He takes a sip of his drink and adds, “I hope they´re happier here.” “They are for sure,” Namjoon says hastily. “I´ve never been around them and haven´t seen them smile. You´re good to them.” The layer of frost that settled on Seokjin´s insides thaws slowly. Sometimes he fears that even after all they do to keep the boys safe and happy, the weary panic and overflowing emptiness still lurk just beneath the surface. They hopefully don´t feel like they have to put on a mask for their benefit. It would break Seokjin to know they´re playing a part because they think it´s expected of them, after everything. “Maybe,” Namjoon goes on, “this is what they needed? What they were searching for. A home.” He probably doesn´t realize the effect the words have on Seokjin. His chest swells with emotion and he can barely form a sentence inside his mind to respond. Yoongi glances over. “Let´s not dwell on it, or we´ll all be in tears soon.” Count on him to shamelessly request a change of subject. Seokjin goes along with it, because his words ring truer than he may suspect. “Right.” He clears his throat to get rid of the sensation that´s choking him up. “Namjoon, why don´t you tell us something about yourself?” He appears startled to have the attention focused on him so suddenly. “You´re not going to use your charm again, are you?” Seokjin chuckles. “No. I haven´t done that since we were at the chicken place. You´re safe.” Namjoon´s satisfied by his answer and tentatively begins to talk about his family back in Ilsan- his mother, father, and younger sister- and how he moved out relatively early to study while they eat. “If Hoseok didn´t move in with me,” he explains, “I´d rather be alone than share the same space with strangers. Except I´m sure I couldn´t afford living on my own.” “We´re lucky we live on imaginary real estate,” Seokjin jokes. “That´s a paradox. It´s not imaginary, just removed from the particular dimension outside,” Yoongi corrects. “Same difference.” “I won´t even start to think about what any of that means.” Both laugh at Namjoon´s highly confused expression. Seokjin knows what it´s like, learning about all the impossibilities this place defies. He swallows the last mandu and puts his chopsticks down. The other two finished their meals well. “Thank you,” Namjoon says politely. “I feel like I didn´t have a proper meal like this in decades.” Such a uni student thing to say. “Some days I think my skills are taken for granted here. It´s good to hear praise from time to time.” “Oh great chef, provider of meals,” Yoongi intones, “may thy generous gift never go forgotten by any mouth thy hand fed. And may they sing thy name for all of eternity.” “See? That´s all I ask for.” Namjoon stifles a laugh, twin dimples appearing to both sides of his cheeks. Not letting on about how enamored he is by the sight Seokjin asks, “What do you want to do with the rest of the evening?” “The song´s finished,” Yoongi chips in. “I thought maybe you´d like to hear it?” Seokjin catches how Namjoon´s eyes positively sparkle at the prospect. “You´ll play upstairs? Then I´ll make some tea and we can take the cookies with us.” “Sounds great.” ___________________ Namjoon was right when he sat in the bath tub on Monday. He´ll never not be surprised by this house. Or its inhabitants, for that fact. Learning about what the kids had to deal with before coming here and knowing that despite, or maybe because of it all, they find joy in stupid little moments puts a few things into perspective for him. Jeongguk´s comment about them not wanting gifts comes to mind and he has to fight the need to curl in on himself mid-stride. He climbs the stairs to the upper rooms after Yoongi, Seokjin trailing behind them, and they take a right turn down the hall. From here the windows facing out the back of the house look directly into the conservatory below, the zenith of the dome structure level with the roof. High narrow double doors partition the hall from the room beyond. Yoongi leans against them, shouldering the heavy wood open for Namjoon and Seokjin to step through. His eyes find the center piece of the room in a heartbeat. A rather plain looking piano, its simplistic build a stark contrast to the rest of the interior, big paintings with expressive strokes of bright color adorning the walls. It´s not the kind of art he would´ve expected either of them to be into, honestly. Seokjin crosses into the room and waves for the couch Namjoon´s familiar with now to appear. The coffee table from the library, along with the tea set, joins it and Seokjin sets down the box of cookies he carried with him. Namjoon wonders why he calls objects from all over the place instead of creating new ones. He voices his question. “It´s tiring to create things. The house does most of the work, but I have to visualize and concentrate to direct the energy. Making something as big as this,” he pats the seat he sits on, “would feel like running up a flight of stairs and frankly, I don´t want to do that most days.” That´s fair, Namjoon thinks. He follows Seokjin´s inviting gesture and takes his place next to him. Yoongi walks past them to lower himself onto the bench in front of the piano and lifts the lid. The white keys are yellowed slightly, and he trails both hands over them without producing a sound, as if to greet the instrument. “It´s his first love,” Seokjin says in a stage whisper as he leans over to Namjoon. Yoongi turns and opens his mouth to contradict him, but closes it and shrugs instead. “Not my only, though,” he mutters under his breath. “So how do you go about writing things?” Namjoon asks. Seeing other artists at work is always fascinating since everyone has their own little rituals and methods. He mostly records ideas on his phone, humming melodies when they come to him, and sits down in his room with the keyboard hooked to his laptop later to flesh them out and compose full-fledged songs. It´s similar with lyrics. Those he scribbles onto anything within his reach, sometimes his own arm if there´s no paper or napkin close by. “I write stuff here, on the piano, and record it down in the studio. This is more familiar to me than the keyboard,” Yoongi says. He warms up by running his hands over the keys, working up speed until he makes it through every octave. The sound the instrument produces is raw in places, like the voice of an old singer- rich but cracking around the edges. It has undeniable character. The mood shifts slightly. Yoongi´s shoulders adopt a serious set. Namjoon holds a breath. He starts to play softly. The melody flows effortlessly. Namjoon closes his eyes to listen without the distraction of visual input from the outsidemand within the first bars he´s lost in a vision emerging behind his lids that he holds onto as it changes throughout the song. Yoongi plays beautifully, accentuating some notes by pressing down harder and playing others so faintly they´re barely there. A rhythm weaves into the piece, a red string connecting different parts until it closes with a soft sequence and finally stills. Namjoon opens his eyes again when Seokjin claps. He joins in with the applause. Yoongi bends at the waist to bow to his audience. “Bravo. Do you have a name?” Seokjin asks. “Not yet. I´m open for suggestions.” “It feels,” Namjoon muses, putting his vision into words, “like spring, you know? Like the bitter cold´s receding and the sun stays longer each day to greet you earlier and wave you off later. And you missed the warmth and the flowers blooming around you so much you thought you´d go insane in winter. But you made it somehow, you pulled through, and now it´s time to live until the cold comes again.” He lifts his head. Both of them stare at him. Seokjin went completely motionless as if paralyzed, while Yoongi´s eyes are blown wide in a state Namjoon recognizes all too well. It´s the blossoming of an idea at his fingertips, the kind that huffs out like a candle in a storm if you move too quickly while it takes root. “Namjoon,” he says, a gravelly edge to his voice, “you speak in lyrics.” Seokjin´s lips curl up as he unfreezes. The beaming smile turns on him. It´s too much for him to handle, so he hides his face behind his hands. “Why do I have to ramble on like that? Are you sure you´re not charming me?” Seokjin has the audacity to be amused. “I´m not. Not beyond my naturally given charm, anyways.” A snort from Yoongi prompts a chortle to escape the back of Namjoon´s throat. “Why do I feel like you two aren´t appreciating my comedic value?” “I do!” he protests. “Yoongi scoffed first.” “And I´ll continue to do so until you come up with a better punchline.” “Pass. That was perfect from situational use to delivery. A ten out of ten.” “By that standard a your-mom joke is a nine. Unacceptable,” Yoongi says and swivels on his bench again, effectively ending the argument with the melody he plays next. Seokjin perks up in recognition, the waltz triggering something in him. “I know this one. My dance teacher played it in our lessons.“ “You took classes for classical dance?“ Namjoon asks. 
Who even does that anymore?
 Seokjin rolls his eyes. “My parents made me.“ “Rich CEO’s,“ Yoongi adds over his shoulder, fingers moving unfalteringly. Figures. Of course his family´s rich. “They were of the impression a proper gentleman from a good home should be able to ball dance.“ “To woo all the pretty girls, no doubt. Look where that got you.“ It´s almost smug, the way Yoongi says it. Seokjin laughs. “I think I even remember some steps.“ He straightens his upper body and holds his bent arms out in front while focusing on a point in the distance, recalling the steps to the song and following the movements in his spot. He stands, acting out the sequence alone. “Come help me out,“ he says to Namjoon after a moment of solitary dancing, “I do better with a partner.“ Yoongi snickers at the shock on his face. Other than that, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with the proposal. “I- I can’t dance.“ “Doesn’t matter, I’ll lead.“ Namjoon sends a silent plea to the man at the piano. “Gotta play, or there’s nothing to dance to,“ he says and presses the keys with reignited fervor. 
Traitor.
 Namjoon gets up begrudgingly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,“ he says as he steps in front of Seokjin who only reaches his arms out. “Put your hand on my shoulder.“ Namjoon obliges hesitantly, resting his fingertips on the material of Seokjin´s sweater. Seokjin has fewer qualms about lightly laying his hand on Namjoon´s shoulder blade, careful not to disturb any unseen bruises there, and takes his free hand in his own. His palm is warm and soft. Namjoon hopes his won´t slip from it, because it´s getting very sweaty very fast. “Is this OK?” “M-yeah,” he stutters. The tips of his ears reach peak temperature. He’s waiting for the smell of burning meat to waft around them and repel Seokjin. It doesn’t come, to both his luck and dismay. “I’ll start with my right foot forward, so you’ll start with your left backward.“ Yoongi slows the song, adjusting to their pace. His too composed features betray his amusement. Namjoon looks down at their feet, making room for the other when he moves, instinctively stepping back. “Now to the side,“ Seokjin instructs. Namjoon mirrors him. “Great!“ The smile is audible in his voice. He doesn’t dare to look up for fear of losing his concentration and tripping. He can already feel the electricity floating in the air like cobwebs, sticking to his skin and raising the little hairs on his arms. “Now you move forward,“ Seokjin says, taking his step back, “and to the side again.“ They come to a stop. “That’s it?“ Namjoon asks, still refusing to look at the man holding him. They´re so impossibly close. “Those are the most basic steps.“ Seokjin readjusts his hold. “Let’s try that again.“ They repeat the steps slowly and Namjoon´s surprised to find he’s getting the hang of it. That is, until he finally makes the mistake of raising his gaze to the other´s face. Seokjin's caught up in their movement and concentrating visibly, an unconscious smile lining his features with a joy so pure it short-circuits Namjoon´s brain temporarily. They bump into each other, his foot barely missing Seokjin´s toes. “Sorry.“ “Don’t worry. Start again.“ While both dancers get surer in their steps Yoongi´s accompanying play picks up speed ever so slightly, and soon Seokjin steers them in a circular motion over the hardwood floor. His hand drops from Namjoon´s shoulder blade and brushes his lower back ever so slightly. He registers belatedly that Seokjin opened the space between them. He raises their joined hands, inviting him to turn, which he does rather awkwardly, and Yoongi finally can’t hold in his laughter anymore. Both Namjoon and Seokjin follow, untangling from one other. “Elegant as drunken beanstalks,“ Yoongi teases. “Can you do any better?“ he challenges. “Can you play this waltz?“ “Show me and I’ll give it my best.“ “Alright.“ Yoongi doesn’t seem to have anticipated his answer, but scoots over on the small bench to make room for Namjoon, who sits on the once springy cushion. Being this close to both of them in quick succession gives him mild whiplash. He gets it under control in time to pay attention to Yoongi playing. The melody he coaxes from the keys flows playfully, rising and falling like a ball in a children´s game, and Namjoon memorizes his long finger’s movements as they caress the instrument. Yoongi halts, gesturing for him to reproduce the part. This comes way more natural to him than dancing and he only plays a handful of false notes until he gets it right. They continue the procedure of show and repeat until Namjoon played the entire song on his own in less than ten minutes. If Yoongi´s impressed he hides it by getting up and closing in on Seokjin. He waits, letting Yoongi decide which part to take. His hand comes to rest on his shoulder as Namjoon´s did, and even though these two evidently have been together for a long time- judging by them bickering like an old married couple- he thinks he detects an anxious set to Yoongi´s jaw. Is it the odd position or Namjoon´s presence that bothers him? Seokjin smiles down at his partner and completes the stance. A silent conversation passes between them and he nods encouragingly before taking the first step. Namjoon watches them while he plays. Their movements flow more easily than his and Seokjin´s felt and it´s not clear who really leads at first. When the two circle the expanse of the room he´s sure it´s Yoongi who corrects slight missteps on Seokjin´s part with gentle nudges in the right direction. While on a turn, Yoongi´s eyes connect with Namjoon´s for a split second. Heat catches on his skin like a sunray. He misses a note, but quickly gets back into the melody, the other two dancing undisturbed. Namjoon wonders. What would it be like, to not feel like an intruder in this? To have permission to look at them without Yoongi shying away from glances and touches? What would it feel like, to trace his fingers along the back of Yoongi´s hand and the line of Seokjin´s shoulder freely? He doesn´t know where the thoughts come from. They keep spiraling until they reach dangerous territory and the unpleasant clank of him completely missing the keys pulls him back to reality. “Sorry,” he says to the pair who stopped at the sound. Does he imagine the knowing glint in Yoongi´s eye? God, please let it be his imagination. Not that it did him any favors only seconds ago. Seokjin recovers fast. “Ah, I´m glad my teacher´s time wasn´t wasted, after all.” “Don´t act like you remember anything else beyond those four steps,” Yoongi says and moves to the couch to sit. Seokjin´s brows pull together while he tries to think of either other dances he learned or a fitting retort. He gives up on whichever one it is and nudges the smaller man to the side to take a seat himself. That leaves them facing Namjoon on the bench, and he´s reminded of how they were positioned in a similar constellation back in the conservatory. They were a lot more mysterious back then, Seokjin a puzzle unsolved and Yoongi almost a threat in his eyes. What he sees now is different. He has to admit he came to like it. He enjoys their company, the conversations, the confidence the two have in each other to constantly exchange little jabs and jokes. He came to like this house, too, with all its furniture happily jumping from one room to another, the smell of home cooked meals in the air, and underneath it all, a note of jasmine he came to associate with the place. As if Seokjin picked up on the general direction his mind wandered off to, he says, “You should come over more often. You´re a delight to have around.” Yoongi snorts, a familiar sound by now. “Who uses ´delight´ seriously in this day and age, geezer?” He receives a light swat to the arm. “But, yeah. What he said.” “Uh.” 
Outstanding. A genius response.
 “Unless we´re keeping you from other obligations, of course,” Seokjin adds. “No,” Namjoon says too hastily. “No, not at all. Isn´t it the other way around? With seekers coming by and all that.” “As long as no one´s here.” Yoongi shrugs. “I am surprised no one interrupted us this far,” Seokjin admits. “Don´t jinx it.” “Jinx what?” an unfamiliar voice asks. Namjoon whirls on the bench, almost falling off the end of it. A strange man stands two feet from one of the windows towards the other end of the room. His desaturated peach toned hair is pushed back in a similar style to the one Hoseok taught him and his loose fitting dress shirt is tucked in at the waist where slacks hug his hips and accentuate his slender figure. Namjoon didn´t hear him enter, though he´s sure the doors gave a slight squeak when Yoongi opened them earlier. 
What the hell?
 The man looks first at the couple sitting on the couch, then directs his gaze at Namjoon. His friendly expression makes him appear non-threatening, but there´s something about it that makes him uneasy. “Hyuna told me you missed me, Seokjin,” he says and swivels his eyes to the addressed. “Sorry, is this a bad time?” “Yes,” Yoongi says coldly. “No,” Seokjin says tentatively. The man smiles as if he didn´t notice the ice in Yoongi´s tone. “I´ve got reports on some of your clients.” “I´ll hear them in a bit. Let us see off our visitor, first.” “Of course.” Namjoon doesn´t register it´s him Seokjin´s talking about until Yoongi gives him a curt nod to follow him out of the room. Seokjin assures the man he´ll be back in a minute and closes the door behind them. They walk down the stairs and cross the entrance hall. “I should´ve kept my mouth shut, huh?” Seokjin says, rubbing the side of his neck. “He would´ve stayed anyway.” Namjoon has no idea why or how the situation changed so quickly with the arrival of the stranger. It´s like a switch has been flipped. “Who is he?” The pair exchanges a meaningful look. “One of my managers,” Seokjin offers stiffly. “One of his managers,” Yoongi repeats. “One of your managers,” Namjoon echoes. His brow lifted and refuses to lower again. Silence falls over them. “I´m sorry,” Seokjin says, “It´s work-related business.” “No, it´s OK. I understand.” Does he? He isn´t sure. No reason to be impolite, though. “Thank you for having me.” “It´s our pleasure,” Seokjin assures. “Come by any time, if you like.” “I´ll be here by Halloween at the latest.” Which reminds him he should ask Ms. Ahn to give him a shift on another day that week so he´s free. She´ll surely agree. “The kids are going to love to hear that.” “Don´t get into fights in the meantime,” Yoongi says jokingly. He steps forward, hand reaching out for Namjoon. Yoongi´s fingers come to brush just under the scrape on his right cheek, the contact sending a shock through him that eradicates every last quiver of movement from his posture. The hand pulls back quickly, Yoongi acting nonchalant. Seokjin tries to hide his surprise, but can´t quite forge a neutral expression. “Get well soon,” is all Yoongi says. Namjoon blinks, the feeling slowly returning to his limbs. “I will,” he croaks. He can´t shake the static feeling from his fingertips on his way home. ------------------- Unintelligible whispers speak to him. There´s a haze from above that illuminates the darkness around him, but the place is empty. Or is it? No, a presence is there. Close. So close. The brush of foreign skin on his own ignites a burn in him. It lingers even when the touch recedes. Another. And another. Hands. They trail over his shoulders, his arms, his chest. He´s naked, no barrier between him and the other. He´s safe in this space, doesn´t mind the gentle caresses, leans into them. Lips. They join the hands, first pressing to his shoulder, then his collarbone, then his neck. He lets out a shuddering breath. He knows what those lips look like, doesn´t have to see them to know who they belong to. The touches travel over his body, explore the expanse of skin down his back and stomach. He hears someone gasp. The voice is his, breathless. The sound escapes him again, a higher pitch this time. His body buzzes all over. The hands trail heat wherever they make contact and the lips turn more ravenous. A tongue glides over the line of his pelvis bone. A whimper, weak and pathetic, is stuck in his throat. The hands come down as well, squeezing into his flesh, fingers drawing a path to his navel that the tongue follows. They stop there and slowly, slowly, make their way downward-   Namjoon bobs to the surface and comes to. He´s disoriented. The haze clouds his mind, ghost touches still faintly dancing over his skin. Sheets, his bed, the pillow he hugs in his sleep. He´s at home. Of course. He lifts a palm to wipe it over his face and drops it on his stomach. Bad idea. It jostles the tent in his boxers in the worst way. “Ugh,” he grates and opts for total stillness. The rain pelting against the window provides a soothing white noise backdrop for his system to boot up to a point where thoughts make sense again instead of bouncing off the insides of his skull. He´s wearing the shirt, the one given to him after they went for their involuntary splash in the fountain. The faint jasmine scent is almost completely gone now, overtaken by his own, but if he breathes in deeply, he can still detect traces of it in the fabric. 
No, stop.
 These thoughts got him into dreaming of that kind of thing in the first place. Damn his subconscious. If he´s honest with himself, it doesn´t come completely out of the blue. Didn´t glimpses of those two spark in his mind constantly ever since he met them? And with everything happening over the span of the evening up until the arrival of that weird man, didn´t the flutter in his stomach gradually get too much to push down anymore? Isn´t it time to finally put a name to the feeling he waved off as simple fascination for so long? He doesn´t dare to think it yet. But- is it possible? To fall for two people at once? Namjoon´s infatuations usually don’t pan out like this. They start out the same, his fixation locking onto someone to the point where they completely take over his every waking moment- and those otherwise- but they don´t lead him anywhere most times. That’s how it was with all of his early crushes, and then with the sunny haired American boy in his second year of high school who came in line of a student exchange program. Namjoon was the most fluent English speaker in their class, having watched overseas TV series instead of waiting for the Korean dubbed episodes, and basked in the attention it brought him. The boy initially talked to him the most since he was actually able to hold a conversation, but soon adapted to communicating in a mix of broken Korean and the universal language of hands and feet and became wildly popular with the girls. He found a new group of people to hang out with and Namjoon was left to spend his time with Hoseok, Sangcheol and Wonjae. The next person to seriously catch his eye was a girl one year his junior a few months before he graduated. She was loud and confident and he found himself watching her as she joked with her friends in the halls or the cafeteria, thinking how fun it must be to be included in that group. In the end he never worked up the courage to simply walk up and talk to her. He fooled around with a few people at parties after that, lost his virginity to a woman in her mid-twenties who looked for a younger boy to show the ropes to and reveled in the knowledge that she was the one to have introduced him to the world of adult pleasures, but he didn´t come close to that wonder and thrill of quietly admiring someone from a distance again. This time the targets of his affection aren´t so distant at all. Is it his rationale doubting the dumb hope of this somehow leading somewhere that truly makes him question the situation? Or the fact that this time he can´t focus on one person only? What he knows is that up until this point, he crushed in mono. One person, one-sided. But whatever it is that pulls him towards those two, it’s a stereo beat pounding with every pump of his heart. If he´d separate the two, singled out one of them, the melody would be amiss, somehow flat and dull. They complete each other´s pieces to produce a full composition. What would it sound like with his melody layered on top? Is there even still room for him in all of this? Is there any space he can occupy between them? As if to tell him to either make up or shut up his mind, his softening dick throbs to life under the blanket once more. He groans, exasperated. 
What the hell.
 If he stays up all night wracking his brain like this he’ll be dead meat in the morning. He has to get things done over the day before his shift in the evening. And if there’s one way to put him to sleep for sure it’s a good self-loving session, so Namjoon snakes a hand under the covers and allows the sensations from his dream to come back as he strokes along the length of himself slowly. Too much friction. He collects saliva in his mouth and licks a wet stripe over his palm to ease the glide and yes, that´s it, much better. He tries to not let his mind take the leap and add the faces to the disembodied hands and lips he knows it wants to add as he works himself to hardness. It goes well for a short while. Soon, the picture tilts. He sees those hands, knows how they coax sound from black and white keys and wonders if they can play him just as well. Once the first thought projected itself into his mind´s eye others follow in quick succession. Those hands, on him. His fingers in pale blond hair that flickers to black to white to black again. Suddenly a mouth is on him, that perfect bow he loves to watch curve into a smile, that plush fullness, and it envelopes him. “Shit,” he hisses, pumping faster. He twists his wrist on every upstroke, imagines long pale fingers replacing his, the rush of memories and every wishful thought beyond completely overtaking him. Planting his feet into the mattress to buck up into his hand isn´t enough. A new picture arrives, overriding all previous ones. “Fuck.” It´s little more than a whimper. Namjoon flips, struggling to get on his knees, face buried in his pillow, fist still moving frantically. He spreads his legs until his hips are so low his hand catches on the sheet beneath him. The other he brings to his mouth, turning his head to the side and sucking on two fingers to lather them in spit. He doesn´t have the mind or time for finesse, only the need burning in him to get closer to that picture, that perfect picture of someone hovering over him and- He reaches back and circles a finger over his entrance to wet it before sliding in. The moan that rips from his throat is only partly muffled by the pillow. He´s lucky he´s alone in the flat for the night. Pushing back on his finger he flicks a thumb over his head, slick with precome that spreads with each short pump. 
So close, so close.
 That lean body pressing to his from behind, the other tangling arms around his neck and legs around his waist. All three moving in tandem, the rhythm, the beat of his heart hammering in time with each thrust. The second digit that breaches his rim is his undoing. He comes so suddenly that he can barely grab the hem of the shirt and wrap his dick in it before it spurts into the fabric, his mouth open in a silent moan, hand still rubbing through the material to ride his high to the brink of oversensitivity. He slows. Pants. Swallows. Comes down after lying in that same position, unmoving, for a long while. Pulling his fingers out of himself elicits a weak twitch in his legs. 
Holy shit.
 He sits up, his calves protesting fiercely, and uncurls his fingers from his softened self. Now he´ll definitely have to wash the shirt. 
Damn it.
 More importantly- what did all of this just tell him? 
See it how it is, you stupid idiot.
 
You want them both.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hwitaek fills Seokjin in on his clients while they recline on the couch and sip tea. He personally requested these meetings since guides usually don’t get to hear much about their seekers once they step off their properties and Hwitaek´s kind enough to provide information as far as he can gather it. Hyojong and Hyuna aren’t the most reliable in that regard, even if they drop by every so often to report on someone´s progress. Yoongi first stared down the man who barged into their leisurely evening and then excused himself to hole up in his studio, mumbling about wanting to work on the fine-tuning of his most recent piece. Once Hwitaek leaves, or rather disappears as he always does, Seokjin saunters down to the library. He anticipates Yoongi joining him shortly after. “Out of your cave already?” “Didn´t have much to improve on.” You just avoided Hwitaek, Seokjin knows but doesn´t say. Yoongi slinks into his arms and buries his face in his collar. They stand wrapped up in each other for a moment until Seokjin steers them to one of the chairs. “The evening was going so well,“ Yoongi whines, boneless against him. Seokjin can´t say he isn´t disappointed himself to have shooed Namjoon away like that. “It was. Do you think he’s mad at us for throwing him out?“ “Wouldn´t be surprised.“ “Let’s hope he isn´t.“ Yoongi lifts his face. The knitted pattern of Seokjin´s sweater imprinted on his cheek and he drops a kiss to the spot to feel the raised skin under his lips, at which Yoongi further melts into the embrace. “I meant to ask,“ he says, “did you grant him free passage?“ Seokjin frowns in confusion. “Why?“ “He found the gate earlier. Before you were back.“ “Are you sure?” Yoongi nods, his chin brushing against Seokjin´s collarbone. 
Oh.
 While he can´t keep out Hyuna, Hyojong, or Hwitaek even if he wants to, he has to grant access to anybody else to find the house while he’s not in it. Jimin, Taehyung and Jeongguk can only come and go at all times because he willed them to be let in. The same goes for Yoongi. He imagines them to be equipped with invisible keys, a remnant of all the video games he played; the visualization is enough to make it real. For the gate to appear to Namjoon, too… The words of his mentor ring through his mind. “If you want it to happen, this place will make it happen. As long as it can, of course.“ The memory brings the usual sting of loss. He pushes past it to pick apart the implications. The house caters to his will, that he knows for sure, it just never did so without his explicit request as far as he can remember. He thinks things into existence. There´s always some form of vocalization to it, be it in his mind or otherwise. What Yoongi said makes him rethink what he firmly believed to be a law of this land that´s suspended between reality and someplace beyond. What if it knows, with whatever form of conscious it has, what he´s hesitant to let himself think out loud? Seokjin wonders.   They laze away most of their Sunday, Yoongi curling up in bed with his head resting on Seokjin´s chest in the morning. He dresses in one of his presentable outfits around ten despite the other´s protests and shimmies back under the covers. Nothing´s more embarrassing than letting a seeker wait in front of the door for ages only to greet them with his shirt on backwards and sleep lines still pressed into his face. Or worse, lips still tasting like- well, Gods know sharp knocks resounding to their bedroom have startled them at the most inconvenient times. But those are the drawbacks to his job. He got used to them over time. Seokjin prepares a late breakfast and they soak up the rays of sunlight shining into the conservatory. Yoongi lays his head in his lap and enjoys his hair getting stroked, resembling a cat so much Seokjin half expects him to purr. It´s one of Yoongi´s burnout days, as he came to think of them, on which he mostly lounges around and naps throughout the hours Seokjin spends attending to seekers. In the time they´re together he often just leans onto Seokjin and plays with his hand until his long fingers still and his breathing softens. Seokjin reads then, not all too opposed to being a human pillow, or plays games on his phone if both of his hands are free. Taking them out of Yoongi´s usually wakes him and he can´t bring himself to do it because the way his eyes fly open and flit through the room in distress before finding that nothing´s out of the ordinary except for his fingers clenching around fabric instead of Seokjin´s sends a pang of guilt through his chest every time. “Are we going to pick up the kids later?” he asks when Yoongi observes the sky through the glass panels above. “Sure, why not. Do you know when they´ll arrive?” “I´ll ask them.” He pats his pocket and searches the divan. “Ah, where´s my phone? Do you have yours on you?” Yoongi pulls it from the cushion next to him. It´s an old model he almost exclusively uses for listening to music. Seokjin isn´t sure he opens the message app more than twice a year, judging by how far he has to swipe to get to the page it´s on. He types a quick message in their group chat, tacking on a crown emoji so the kids know it´s him and don´t freak out over Yoongi texting for the first time in forever.   “I bet they won´t be back till evening. What are we going to do until then?” A smirk plays over the smaller man´s lips. “Oh, I know a thing or two.” Maybe Yoongi isn´t as drained as he thought, after all.   The platform is packed with waiting passengers and a handful of people Seokjin assumes are parents who came to the station for their children, as they did. Yoongi and he checked the schedule to find out when and where the train from Songpa-gu arrives after Jimin texted back earlier and stand next to the stairs to the underpass now, wrapped in their coats, hands buried deep in their pockets. A soft chime rings from the speakers overhead and a pleasant female voice announces the train´s arrival. It comes rumbling in seconds later, people flooding out of the opened doors, and Seokjin can distinguish the dance students from the rest of the crowd by the big sport bags they carry. A few of them meet their parents and leave the platform, others shoulder their loads and go down the stairs alone. He spots the kids and waves in a wide arch so they notice him. Jeongguk sees the waiting pair first and hides behind his palm at the ridiculous gesture. A young man Seokjin recognizes as their teacher follows behind them. Yoongi sees him, too, and sneers. “Is that an acorn pouch?” The rectangular bag that dangles at the man´s hip is covered in bright stripes and is fastened to his belt with a chain. “I´m sure it´s useful.” “Might be. I still wouldn´t want to be caught dead with that thing.” “Oh, be nice,” Seokjin chides as the group comes into earshot. “What are you doing here?” Jeongguk asks. “What does it look like? We´re picking you up.” “You didn´t have to. We´re not children.” “Could´ve fooled me.” Their teacher laughs and leans around Jimin. “Hello! I don´t think we´ve met yet. I´m Jung Hoseok.” “We haven´t. Kim Seokjin,” he says and shakes his hand. Yoongi does the same. “I hope the boys didn´t give you too much trouble?” “Not at all,” Hoseok assures. He casually eyes up both of them and asks uncertainly, “You´re elder brothers?” “We´re their guardians, actually.” “Oh! You both look so young.” Seokjin smiles at the flattery. Jimin huffs an exasperated breath. “Can we go home now?” “Yes, yes. Thank you for taking care of them.” Hoseok reciprocates his bow while the kids wave and all but pull Yoongi and Seokjin down the stairs. ------------------- Namjoon catches his reflection in the mirror that morning and is certain his mental health is reclining at a much faster rate than he thought it was. He shuffles into the bathroom half asleep and washes his hands when he glances up to peer at his wounded visage. He has to do a double-take to make sure he sees right and stares into his face, disbelieving. The scrape is gone. Healed completely. No trace of broken skin, no shining pinkish scar tissue. The surface is as smooth as if his intimate encounter with the pavement a few days ago never happened. He pulls the grey shirt over his head and looks at his arms, his chest, his back in the mirror. The bruises that blotted his body just yesterday have vanished as well. Namjoon rubs over a particularly tender spot on his shoulder which hurt dully when he leaned against anything. Nothing. Just the pressure of fingertips digging into skin. 
What the hell?
 He sounds like a broken record in his own head by now, but really, how else is he supposed to react to all the impossibilities he witnesses lately? This is insane. Not the wildest thing to happen to him in the last weeks, but still a minor miracle. Once the initial shock passes he tries to go about his day normally. The knowledge of what he saw and confirmed to be real distracts him from reading philosophical texts and leads to nonsensical note-taking. How?, echoes with every absent-minded brush of his hand over his cheek. Eventually Namjoon has to accept he isn´t in any condition to get uni work done and puts on music, which leaves his body restless without something to do. He moves on to straightening the figure collection above his desk and rearranges the long row of albums next to the vinyl toys in alphabetical order. Then by year. Then by color. When the apartment door bangs shut he almost falls from the desk chair he stands on. Hoseok´s back. Finally. “Seok!” he calls as he climbs from the chair and hurries into the hall. His friend looks up from where he kicks off his shoes in the entrance area and greets him, squinting at his face after a second. “What,” he asks,“ happened to you?” “I don´t know!” Namjoon exclaims helplessly. "It was gone today. The bruises, too." “What kind of magic potion did you chug while I was gone? I hope you saved some of that for me.” “I´m serious, I didn´t do anything!” “Then how- are you Jesus?” “Dude-” “Namjoosus.” “Don´t.” Hoseok shakes his head. “Whatever it is, you´re one lucky sucker it happened to you.” Namjoon pauses to take in his friend´s condition. Hoseok´s back is held too stiffly and he avoids moving his arm on the side of his busted ribs, favoring the other while peeling off his jacket. Namjoon deflates. “How are you?” “The pain´s more annoying than anything else at this point. I really just wanna be able to move again. Sitting out on the dances was hell.” At least he stuck to his word and didn´t risk messing up his body any further by straining himself. “What about the camp?” “The kids loved it. They had dance battles over the dumbest things. Like who´ll sleep closest to the heater and stuff like that.” Namjoon chuckles. “The losers had to sleep in the cold?” “Nah, we brought portable heaters as well. They were just being silly.” “Sounds fun.” “It was. I´m beat, though. Try keeping forty hyperactive high schoolers in line. It´s tough.” “I bet. You´ll have the flat to yourself, I´m headed to work in a bit.” “Aw. I was hoping for Netflix and soju, but drinking alone´s sad. Guess I´ll just go to sleep.” Namjoon´s sure he needs it, too. He wishes Hoseok a good night and gets ready, packing the books he needs for the assignment due this week to make up for the time he lost in the morning. Ms. Ahn tells him he looks much better as she hands him the keys and immediately promises he can have Halloween off when he asks politely. The shift passes quickly, customers stepping in every so often with jingles of the bell, and his assignment is finished by the end of the night.   During the following days Namjoon contemplates whether or not to visit Seokjin and Yoongi again. He finally decides to go after his classes on a whim one morning and walks down a sidestreet to wait for the gate to pop up. Wind rips at his clothes and tousles his hair that he styles more often now, having taken a liking to the look on himself. Seokjin greets him as friendly as ever, but a seeker arrives before they can even take a seat. Namjoon´s in the kitchen now, leaning against the isle in its middle, munching away on pudding Seokjin offered him while he talks to his visitor. He thinks he should feel weird, all alone in this big room, neither Yoongi nor the kids at home. Instead he pads over to the table to sit in the same chair he occupied during their dinner night and looks out the window. A part of the glass dome behind the house is visible from here, the plants inside lush as ever. He never asked who takes care of them for them to be in such great condition. Maybe Seokjin or the kids tend to the green space? He doesn´t take Yoongi for the gardening type. After all the things he learned about the house there are still so many questions to be answered. His last spoonful of pudding is just as good as the first and Namjoon´s sad to hold an empty cup. Seokjin joins him at the table. “That was fast,” Namjoon observes. “Almost as fast as your recovery.” “Ah, that. I have no idea how it went over so quickly. I´m lucky, I guess.” He shrugs. “But really, how can you help someone overcome their troubles in less than ten minutes?” “Some people only need to let themselves say something out loud to realize what they want.” Or think it. Namjoon feels heat rise to his ears and decides he doesn´t need the reminder of his personal epiphany the other night. “Do many people come by?” he asks to wave away the shame. “Today´s busy, but the influx varies,” Seokjin readily explains, “it depends on a lot of things. Political unrest is a factor, for example.” “Makes sense. If their environment´s in imbalance, people get unsure.” “Exactly.” “Hm. You know, I´m starting to appreciate the work you do here.” “Oh, you´re only starting now?” Seokjin challenges. Namjoon´s about to answer when the sound of knuckles rapping on wood interrupts him. Seokjin cocks his head, expression turning apologetic. “Today´s definitely busier than usual.” “No problem. Thanks for the food. I´ll get going.” “Think you can sneak out behind them?” “I´ll channel my inner secret agent.” “Alright then, Mr.-“ “Kim,” Namjoon offers, slipping into the role easily. “Mr. Kim. It was good to see you.” They nod at each other. It´s a mission. Out in the hall Namjoon positions himself behind the staircase- the one closer to the kitchen entrance- so he won´t be seen by anyone looking in from the main door. Seokjin opens it to politely welcome a short man in his fifties with thick rimmed glasses and a receding hairline. He offers the man to come inside after a quick exchange. Namjoon readies himself. The pair approaches the stairs and Seokjin gives an inconspicuous sign for him to move. He does, rounding the structure and quietly hurrying to slip through the door the other left open for him. Glancing in one last time he catches Seokjin flashing a smile past the unsuspecting seeker´s back before he closes the door. His own silent smile lasts him all the way home.   The next time Namjoon deliberately finds the gate is on Wednesday afternoon. A plastic bag swings from his hand as he walks up the steps to the entrance, fingers disappearing in the long sleeves of his cardigan. He struggles to push one up high enough so his knock isn´t cushioned by the material and waits for Seokjin to open. It isn´t him but Taehyung who pulls the door inward, a wide smile plastered to his boyish features.  “I told ´em it´s you!” He leans back into the entryway and shouts, “It´s snack dad!” “Don´t call me that.” “Come on, it´s my birthday!” It´s not, really, but his excitement is disarming. Namjoon exhales and follows the younger into the library where Jimin and Jeongguk greet him from a spot on the floor. A clutter of make-up and various utensils is strewn around them. Taehyung joins them to help sort through it all. Seokjin comes into sight, probably from the kitchen, and squeezes Namjoon´s shoulder in greeting. He takes his place in a wing chair, Namjoon in the opposite one. Yoongi trails in and raises a hand, plopping down onto the couch. “You´re right on time for the cake,” Seokjin says and grins at the way the trio on the floor perks up. “I brought some stuff, too,” he says and awkwardly raises the bag. “It´s for you three.” Jimin curiously takes the offering and pulls out three more plastic bags, the red and white striped ones they use at Ms. Ahn´s, the handles tied into clumsy bows and a tag dangling from each. “It´s not bags in bags in bags, is it? We´ve got a drawer full of those in the kitchen,” Jeongguk jokes. “I just didn´t have anything to wrap the stuff. You´re going to unpack it all, anyways.” Namjoon rubs his neck. “Happy birthday.” Taehyung finds the tag with his name scrawled onto it and unties the handle-bow, peering in and breaking into a big smile. “This is going to last me for two whole months!” Jimin and Jeongguk are quick to follow his example and snicker when they see the contents of their bags, finding an assortment of their favorite snacks. It´s the only thing Namjoon knew the boys liked, having rung them up so often he could easily recall who preferred what. A chorus of “Thank you´s” is heard over the rustle of plastic while they dig through to see which snacks he chose for them. “Cute,” Seokjin says and he isn´t sure whether he means the gift idea, the kids´ reaction, or something else entirely. “If Namjoon can give you his present, we´ll have to give you ours, too.” “Don´t give us that look, Gguk,” Yoongi says. “No one ever said ´you don´t have to get me anything´ and meant it.” “I did,” the boy mutters under his breath. Seokjin acts like he didn´t hear and points into the air in front of him, indulging in a playful swish of his finger. The gesture reminds Namjoon of a witch from a children´s TV show he watched with his sister on weekends years ago. A brightly wrapped box falls into Seokjin´s waiting hands, conjured from someplace else. “This one´s for you,” he tells Jeongguk, who reluctantly takes it. “Happy birthday.” Two more swishes of his finger, two more presents appearing out of thin air, two more wishes of “Happy birthday”, and Jimin and Taehyung hold theirs as well. Every one of them mumbles their thank and is careful not to rip the paper encasing the boxes, feeling along the seams to pick it open. They take their time, stalling, neither wanting to be the one to open his present first. Something seizes in Namjoon´s chest, knowing where the kids come from in their insistence on not receiving these gifts and, on the flipside, Yoongi and Seokjin´s desire to give them. Jimin stills, obviously having caught a glimpse beyond the wrapping paper in his lap. A frown and a smile battle for the upper hand in his expression. “You didn´t have to,” he says. Yoongi waves a hand. “If you weren´t so stubborn you could´ve had these any day. I was going to burn your old ones. Thank Jin for having two pairs now.” “Try them on,” Seokjin encourages. Jimin ducks his head and pries open the shoe box, shifting so he can slip into his new trainers. He nimbly jumps to his feet and walks a few steps to test the feeling, finally executing a graceful pirouette. The smile finally wins over, his eyes turning into crescents. “He´ll never take them off. Bye-bye Jiminie, it was nice to know you before you danced yourself to death,” Taehyung laments and grips a hand to his heart. His act dissolves when he can´t stave off opening his own present any longer. He stares at Seokjin next to him, mouth open in shock. “Oh no, you didn´t.”  “You wanted to get into photography,” Seokjin says defensively and holds his palms up as if to ask “What else was I supposed to do?” Taehyung frees the sparkling new polaroid camera from its packaging, inspecting the manual and all other things it comes with, totally spaced out. Jeongguk realizes he´s the last one left and pulls aside the wrapping paper as if it´s a band-aid. The box that appears underneath is familiar to Namjoon. The same one is shoved onto the top of his closet in case the microphone that came in it breaks before the guarantee expires. Jeongguk turns the package over in his hands. “Figured you´d like to have your own instead of borrowing mine all the time,” Yoongi says. The boy finally tips his chin up, voice thick as he says, “Thank you.” Seokjin claps his hands onto his knees, looks around, and chirps, “Cake?” It´s probably a maneuver to dispel the moisture rising to the youngest´s eyes, who nods and grips his present tighter. A flash illuminates the room for a second and Jimin and Taehyung laugh at each other. The camera seems to work just fine. It whirs and spits out a rectangular photo Taehyung puts on the table to wait for it to develop. “You´re my first model!” “I´m honored. And hungry.” Jimin says. Seokjin jumps at the opportunity, “Hello, honored and hungry, I´m-“ “Don´t you dad-joke him,” Yoongi interrupts. “It´s bad enough they do it all the time.” “Alright, sure!" Seokjin´s insulted tone is too over the top to be real. "No jokes, only cake under this roof.” And just like that the coffee table is laden with porcelain dishes, delicate forks and teaspoons, the ever-present tea set, and a big chocolate cake in the middle. White chocolate flowers embellish the dark glazed surface, a dusting of gold shimmering around the petal´s rims. Three white candles stick out on top and Seokjin disappears the lighter as soon as the last wick flames to life. The kids clap excitedly. To seemingly no one´s but Namjoon´s surprise Yoongi´s the one to begin singing a birthday song. Everyone joins in and the notes fizzle out in the end until Jeongguk´s the only one still holding his in a clear and steady tenor. So that´s what the mic´s for, Namjoon thinks, impressed. The trio crowds around the low table to blow out the candles and argues over who gets to cut and serve the cake. They assign Seokjin to do it, who does his best not to destroy the delicate floral decorations. When each plate is emptied and all traces of chocolate are licked from the corners of their mouths, Jimin pulls out his phone and turns to the mess of things on the floor they were sorting through earlier. “Let´s go over our list. Make-up and face paint?” “Check.” Taehyung nods. “Fake blood?” “Check.” “Skin glue?” “Check,” Jeongguk chimes. “And the colored contacts are here,” Jimin says and pushes the containers closer together. “What´s this about?” Namjoon asks. “Part two of midway birthday.” He must look lost, because Taehyung elaborates, “Midway birthday is a three step program. First,” he raises a finger, “cake. Second,” another finger, “costumes. And third,” the last finger straightens, “party.” “Oh, right. You go out in the evening,” Namjoon remembers. “So what do you dress up as?” “I´m glad you ask,” Taehyung says and unlocks his phone, facing Seokjin. “You´ll have to make some stuff. A lot of stuff. I think it´s best to start with Ggukkie´s, his is the easiest.” “OK then, what do you need?” “I´m going as a zombie apocalypse survivor!” Jeongguk pipes up and bounces to Taehyung´s side, pointing at the image he pulled up on the screen. “We´ll need something like this. The tomahawk doesn´t have to be real.” “As if I´d let you run wild with an actual axe.” 
Oh, please, no.
 Taehyung moves on, “Jiminie´s going with a devil theme. The accessories are really important. I was thinking a top like this one would look really good with them.” He scrolls and shows Seokjin. “Isn´t that a little too… sexy?” “I´m eighteen now,” Jimin argues, “plus I´ll be wearing something over it.” “We´ll see about that. And for you, Tae?” The boy grins. “Vampire. I know, I know, it´s overdone, but most people don´t commit to it. I want to do it right. Look, like this.” He zooms in on a picture of a painting on his phone, a European gentleman´s portrait. As far as Namjoon can tell, every piece of clothing and jewelry on him is highly expensive. “I´ll see if I can do that,” Seokjin says, “let me see if we have something upstairs I can tailor before I make it from scratch.” “That butt ugly jacket of yours can go,” Yoongi suggests. “It was cool at some point.” “Around the same time dabbing was en vogue.” “Ggukkie still does that.” “The dab is dead.” “Can´t a guy just dab in peace?” Jeongguk asks quietly. Seokjin sighs and vanishes. Namjoon´s heart skips a beat before he remembers he can teleport. Or jump. Whichever term he prefers. “I better make sure he finds the thing.” Yoongi bolts, very out of character. “You want it gone that badly?” “It´s an eyesore if I ever saw one,” he says and disappears into the hallway. The kids get to work without missing a beat, setting up their utensils around the chair Seokjin sat in. Jeongguk climbs up and leans back to let Jimin and Taehyung take the reins. They pick out different brushes and cosmetics, match colors to the youngest´s skin tone, and begin their makeover. It´s sweet to watch them busy themselves while Jeongguk´s nose scrunches in an attempt not to giggle when Jimin´s brush tickles his jaw. Namjoon almost feels bad for breaking the peaceful atmosphere, but the opportunity to get to the bottom of a mystery he marveled over ever since the dinner presents itself on a silver platter with the other two gone from the room. “Say,” he starts, the trio turning to him, “do you know Jin´s, uh, managers?” It may be unfair, resorting to asking the kids. But he gets the feeling neither Seokjin nor Yoongi would share much about the topic, judging by how they acted when the strange man appeared. Hell, they all but threw him out of the house. “Managers?” Taehyung echoes. “I met one of them. Light hair, kinda looks like a fox?” “Ah, Peachy!” Jimin says. “He´s with Tatty and Freckles.” “Who now?” “There´s three of them, two men and a woman. The other guy has tattoos on his arms and stuff, and the woman has red hair and freckles.” “The tattoos are cool,” Jeongguk throws in. “Jin has to talk to them because of work sometimes. Yoongi talks to them, too, but they send us out when they come to visit, so we don´t know much about them.” That makes four of us. “Why do you ask?” Jeongguk wants to know. “Just wondering.” The boy seems satisfied with the weak answer and turns his head so Taehyung can apply eyeshadow under his lower lids to give the impression of dark circles. Taehyung isn´t half bad at this, the battle-ridden survivor look comes together nicely under his careful touches and the addition of fake blood. Namjoon startles when Seokjin appears next to him, an armful of clothes with him. “I shouldn´t do that around you too much. I didn´t mean to scare you,” he apologizes. “No, it´s fine.” Yoongi comes in- walking, not jumping like his partner- and holds up a piece of clothing triumphantly. It´s a jacket with baggy grey arms, clashing patterns and colors making up the rest of it except for the hem and collar. “See? Butt ugly!” he says and shakes it into Namjoon´s direction. “Oh. Wow. Where did you get that?” he asks Seokjin. “I think my uncle gave it to me years ago. I´ve worn it once, maybe.” “Hoseok would probably love it,” Namjoon ponders. Yoongi scoffs. “No offense, but any man who wears an acorn pouch belongs on a deserted island.” “Hobi rocks his pouch!” Taehyung disagrees. Namjoon comes to his friend´s defense as well. “He was the one who helped me put together my outfit for the other night. I liked that one.” “So did I,” Seokjin says, and the offhanded comment shuts Namjoon right up. Did the kids just look at each other and snicker? Is he that obvious? He makes an effort to relax against the back of the chair. “Whatever," Yoongi says and throws the jacket to Seokjin, "make it into something else, I´m really tired of seeing it every time I open the closet." Seokjin catches it and peers at the phone Taehyung holds up for him, displaying the portrait. He holds the dreadful article at arm´s length and concentrates. The fabric shimmers, expands and morphs until he shakes it out and presents a deep purple cloak with a neat trim. Taehyung drops the phone to a chair and takes it, inspecting the work. “Perfect,” he deems and slings it around himself, puffing out his chest. Seokjin changes one piece of clothing after another, the kids asking him for small changes here and there, and finally makes new things when he can´t forge them from a fabric base. They sit on the couch and chat while the trio transforms into completely different versions of themselves in front of their eyes, consulting online tutorials for more advanced special effect techniques. One by one, they change into their costumes in their bathroom and come out as strangers with familiar faces, helping each other adjust accessories and adding the last touches of make-up. Jimin´s the first to give them a twirl to show off his ensemble. His dark hair falls around two elegantly curved horns on his forehead. Taehyung blended the edges skillfully so they really look as if they sprout out of Jimin´s skull. His eyes shine ruby thanks to contacts. A black choker surrounds his neck, a piece of chain with big links falling from the front as if he broke free of bindings. The cherry red silk shirt he wears is split into three parts, opaque in the middle, the sides see-through so his ribs and arms are visible through a red haze. Black skinny pants and shining shoes perfect the look of an underworldly being walking the earth. Taehyung shoves Jimin to the side and poses in his long cloak, fastened to his shoulders by a gold necklace with a big gemstone coming to rest on the white ruffled cravat tied high around his neck. Underneath he wears a dark frock coat with two rows of buttons reflecting the light. His hands are clad in leather gloves and his hair, as dark as the frock, falls silky and smooth into his face. The icy blue eyes are a visual shock and Taehyung grins to show off pointed canines, threatening even though they´re fake. Jeongguk stands in stark contrast to the other two. Instead of being dressed to impress the tattered shirt he rolled up at the sleeves looks like it has been through hell and back, much like the boy himself. His skin and clothes are covered in grime and blood, the cargo pants ripped and dirtied around the hems. The tomahawk he wanted dangles from a loop around his belt, the wooden handle splintered in places. The blade may have stuck in something living only minutes ago, gore smeared on the surface. On his left arm Jeongguk sports an impressive zombie bite, the shape of teeth cutting into skin painted and modeled on by Jimin and Taehyung in painstaking detail earlier. The three bow and Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon applaud. “You get better every year,” Seokjin praises, “the make-up´s on point.” “Jimin could get a little cold out there, but the outfits are great, too,” Yoongi agrees. The boy points to black cloth flung over a chair. “Don´t worry, I´ll take a cape.” “You ready to go?” Jeongguk asks excitedly. The others rush to collect their phones and other necessities from the table and the floor. “Alright, wait a minute,” Seokjin interjects. “You´ll stay safe and be back at a reasonable hour, right?.” “Could you go any more dad on us?” Jeongguk taunts. Seokjin only raises an eyebrow, waiting for confirmation. “We´ll be fine, promise.” Taehyung gives his new polaroid to Yoongi. “Could you take a picture of us?” Yoongi takes the camera, doesn´t bother to get off the couch next to Seokjin and Namjoon though. The boys arrange themselves into a ridiculous pose and Yoongi fumbles with the device in his hands, his face close to the viewfinder. “How do I-“ he begins, and the trio groans. The flash goes off. “Gotcha.” The group on the couch laughs and Taehyung snags the camera to turn it on them in revenge. Namjoon rubs the light out of his eyes. “I guess that´s fair.” It´s the kid´s turn to laugh as they quickly file out of the room to get to the door. “Have fun!” Seokjin calls behind them and settles into the cushions. “You´ll stay?” he asks Namjoon. 
Always.
 “Sure.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Singling out the pack of brutes is easy. They still carry traces of his very own essence on them that stand out distinctly in the rundown bar he tracked them down in. The interior stinking of tobacco and tabletops sticky with remainders of spilled drinks stand in stark contrast to the familiar wisps clinging to the four bastards in the back. He never saw them before, couldn´t have imprinted any kind of residue personally. The only way that kind of energy could've brushed off on them is by coming into direct contact with Namjoon. Every patron´s eyes are on him when he steps into the dingy cellar room, sly glares over rims of beer glasses that make his skin crawl. Getting the bastards into the narrow alley next to the building is as easy as it is to find them. All it takes is a sarcastic remark, a challenge, and they bite the bait like fish in a pond. He makes a comment to take it outside for the bartender´s sake, which the man acknowledges with a grateful nod. “Tell me,” Yoongi says and ignores the grunt of pain that escapes the bastard to his feet, “do you lowlifes have nothing better to do with your time than to beat up passerby?” No answer apart from a pathetic whimper. The bit of patience he mustered up is trickling away already. If he wants to, he can obliterate every last one of them with a snap of his fingers. Not worth it, he warns himself. The heel of his boot grinds deeper into the meaty palm buried under it. “I d-dunno!” the bastard wails. “Oh, you don´t know?” Another slow twist of his heel. The other three press themselves closer to the wall in an attempt to escape his cold fury. None of them can move far under his influence, of course. Sobs wrack through the meat sack on the ground. Yoongi wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Articulate yourself.” “Y-you know how some people just make you mad? Like, you see them and you wanna smash their faces in?” “What a dumb fucking question is that?” He leans more weight onto his foot to remind the idiot he´s very well about to smash his face in any second. “They just- made me see red!” “You stupid fuckers,” CRUNCH, there goes the wrist, “make me see red.” The high pitched keening noise that echoes in the alley resembles a pig´s squeal. How fitting. Yoongi´s close to losing himself, light creeping into his vision. His irises must burn silver at this point. He kicks the arm away and spits, “If any of you touch an innocent ever again, you´re dead. Understand?” All four of them nod frantically, the one on the ground curling around his ruined hand. What a shame he´d risk his people´s safety if he went through with his threat. He takes consolation in making the bastards wet themselves like infants and leaves the alley behind in a blaze of white hot sparks. Just in case he hasn´t made a lasting impression already. ------------------- The stack of new CDs Namjoon bought in an electronics shop near university bounces in his backpack as he walks over campus to hand in an assignment. He plans on updating his musical portfolio for the next round of applications soon, including new compositions that originated from bouts of inspiration as well as a track Yoongi and he worked on after they polished that first one in his studio together a while ago. When asked what Namjoon should credit him as, Yoongi considered for a solid minute and finally chuckled to himself. “I´ll go with ´Suga´.”   Namjoon suspected it was some kind of joke only Yoongi understood and wrote it down on the track list nonetheless. He visits the house more frequently now, as often as he feels is socially acceptable in a week. If he´s honest with himself he measures that amount on a generous scale, but Seokjin and Yoongi don´t seem to mind. They´re already so used to people flying in and out all day that his presence isn´t much of a nuisance. At least he hopes it isn´t. They mostly talk and eat, and sometimes the kids are at home and join them, though they adopted a peculiar practice of exchanging meaningful looks once Namjoon steps in and evacuating the room to leave the three eldest to themselves. Jimin hands him a water bottle in passing one time and says, “I think you need it. You look thirsty.” What that was about, Namjoon has no idea. Weird kids, he thinks and pushes open the door to the arts and literature building. He walks along a corridor and up two flights of stairs to the professor´s office only to find a note there telling him she had to leave early and that students can hand in their material in the secretariat downstairs. The lone man behind a big desk takes the folder from him, listlessly drops it in a filing, and goes back to hacking away at his computer´s keyboard. Namjoon stops at one of the workshops occupied by liberal arts students on his way out, a poster on the wall catching his attention. It shows a collage of sculptures and parts of paintings, combined with circuitry and TV screens, forming a disconcerting scene without clear distinction of space. Each figure´s eyes are striked out with toxic yellow spray paint, giving the entire thing the appearance of a rebellious act against the fine arts. The bold letters on the bottom tell him it´s an advertisement for a museum in the city. The exhibition seems to take a modern and unconventional approach and since the design speaks to him he takes a mental note to ask Hoseok if he´d be up for the trip as he heads home. Lately his friend rarely ever asks where he´s been when he comes back to the apartment at unusual hours. He only wiggles his eyebrows knowingly while Namjoon changes into different clothes and rushes out for work again. He´s thankful he isn´t pestered about his afternoons spent at Seokjin and Yoongi´s because it would drive his stress levels through the roof. Hoseok said himself that if something noteworthy happens he trusts Namjoon to tell him in his own time. It´s reassuring to know he´ll be able to think things through before sharing them- and he wants to, Hoseok is his best friend, after all- but he´d like to figure some stuff out first. Particularly this situation he continuously fails to find fitting descriptors for. What are they, Seokjin, Yoongi, and he? Acquaintances? Friends? Whichever option it is, Namjoon finds himself sitting on the kitchen counter next to Yoongi one afternoon. Seokjin just banned him from touching any utensils after he was assigned the simple task of cutting onions and managed to slice into his finger with the tip of the knife. Seokjin carefully wrapped a band-aid around his thumb. “Seems like your talents are rather singular,” Yoongi teases as if he didn´t rush to his side in panic after blood ran onto the cutting board. Seokjin picks up a wooden spoon and stirs in the simmering pot on the stove. “He maxed out his music making skills, there weren´t any points left to push the other stats.” “A video game reference. How very grownup of you.” “You´re mad because you made technology your enemy,” Seokjin says and points at Yoongi with the spoon. “I never made it my anything. It just never works the way I need it to.” The jabs they shoot back and forth are friendly and Namjoon observes the pair while they aren´t looking his way- their postures, the way they angle their faces at each other, their gazes brushing and holding and eyes crinkling into barely concealed smiles, until it's too much for him to watch without feeling like he should step out for a breath of fresh air. They don´t do it to show off, as some couples do. It´s the honest adoration they have for one another which reminds him of how badly he'd like to be part of this. Whatever this is, exactly. “We´re dealing with a severe case of technological illiteracy here,” Seokjin asserts. Yoongi swishes at his arm. “I can handle the studio equipment just fine. That´s all I need, anyway.” He doesn't retract his hand while he turns and winks exaggeratedly, eliciting a snort from Namjoon. Realization hits him, then, like a streaky film is wiped away to see the picture a little clearer. He's become more and more at home in this strange place that never fails to appear to him when he goes searching for it. With every visit he fell deeper into a comfortable rhythm with its inhabitants and they in turn have become a lot more easygoing as well. Yoongi´s eyes glint with an unreadable expression before he swivels his head back to Seokjin. There´s a moment´s silence, a conversation without words, and Seokjin leans over to peck him on the lips. The gesture is so perfectly natural, would be for any other couple, yet to have these two share a kiss in his presence marks a startling change in demeanor compared to when he first got to know them. Yoongi, the same man who shied away from his own partner with Namjoon in the room a little over a month ago, flashes a toothy grin and drums his feet against the cabinet below them now, completely unbothered. When did he get so used to his company that showing intimacies isn´t a big deal anymore? Should he be happy about it, or concerned? Seokjin pulls him out of his spiraling mind with a heaving exhale. “We haven´t gotten out of the house in a while, huh?” “Yeah. I could do with a change of place,” Yoongi says. Namjoon´s thoughts spin into reverse and present a prompt solution despite their otherwise scrambled state, a pearl dug out of a junkyard. “How about a museum?” he asks. “There´s an exhibition opening the day after tomorrow. I was thinking about going, so, uh-” Is he really going to do this? Hoseok´s busy with catching up on missed out dance lessons and Namjoon fully understands the importance it holds for him, so he wasn´t disappointed by his friend´s declination. In fact, he wouldn´t mind going alone. Solitary visits to the museum do have their very own kind of charm to them. But this is a perfect chance. He´d like to be around Yoongi and Seokjin out there, in the real world, where he can be sure that all of this is really happening and is not some sort of hallucination that sets in when he crosses the gate´s threshold. Before he can chicken out Namjoon gathers his courage and asks, “Would you want to go together?” He holds his breath. “I’d love that!“ Seokjin says brightly, and Yoongi nods in agreement. How can it be this easy? He doesn’t know where to take it from here, too baffled by the immediate response to keep the ball rolling. Luckily Seokjin takes over for him to figure out organizational details.   Namjoon promised himself he wouldn´t freak out over the trip. He fails miserably. Pulling different shirts and pants out of his closet to arrange them on his bed next to Hoseok he´s slightly disconcerted by the cheerful smile on his friend´s face. As long as it stays at the smiling Namjoon´s fine. Should he test his patience, on the other hand- “I´m getting a sense of… déja-vu.” Hoseok´s dancing on thin ice. Namjoon glowers at him. “Don´t give me any shit, please. I can´t handle it right now.” “Damn, Joon. You´re vibrating! Are you sure this isn´t a da-” “What did I just say?” “Alright, alright, no shit,” Hoseok surrenders. “What about that one? It screams cool art major kid.” Namjoon pulls the jean jacket from its hanger. He has his outfit sorted out in less than fifteen minutes, which leaves him with nothing else to do but fidget with a loose thread on his sleeve until he has to leave. Hoseok has a point. He may buzz apart like a swarm of bees if he doesn´t find something to occupy his mind. He asks how the most recent choreography is coming along, mostly to hear Hoseok talk. Namjoon´s glad to see he´s almost back to full health, making use of his reclaimed mobility by accompanying his speech with boisterous motions. Deep down he still feels guilty for having had a miracle healing while Hoseok´s left to suffer through the long process of recovery. They crack jokes about that day occasionally, rewriting the narrative to override the crass memories bit by bit. Hoseok lifts his phone to Namjoon´s face to show him the time. “Shouldn´t you be going soon?” “Shit.” He jumps up and collects the pile of clothes from the bed to dress in the bathroom and quickly styles his hair. Hoseok giggles at him turning this way and that in the hallway mirror to make sure everything fits. “Zip it.” “You´re just so cute!” Hoseok says and escapes the foot aimed at his ankle, laughing. “For real, though. Have fun. Oh, and,“ he ducks into his room, speaking through the gap of door and frame, “hang a sock out if you bring them home. I don´t want to walk in on you getting down and dirty.” Namjoon barely registers the implications of Hoseok´s words when the door shuts in his face. 
Damn the man.
   The gate appears next to the apartment building before he has to think about it, and Seokjin and Yoongi wait to greet him on the other side. “Ready?” Seokjin asks. He checks for their affirmation before pushing the gate open again. The place really is a gift that keeps on giving, this method of travel being both quick and practical. Suddenly they´re surrounded by skyscrapers to all sides, a quiet street that leads to the much busier one the museum is located on. A line has formed at the entrance- Not much of a surprise on the opening day of a new exhibition. Yoongi smiles wryly at the big banners hung up over the pay desk, printed with the same design that pulled Namjoon in back at university. “APOTHEOSIS? - 21st century divinity” the text reads as the fabric wafts in the cold breeze. Namjoon hopes Yoongi´s display of distaste doesn´t mean he has second thoughts about coming along. He shuffles up behind Seokjin and watches him purchase three tickets before he can pull out his own wallet. “You didn´t have to,“ he begins, but Seokjin waves him off. “It was your idea, the least I can do is pay.” “You could´ve jumped us in and not paid at all,” Yoongi says. Seokjin gasps. “We support artists here! You have to draw the line with your anticapitalistic tendencies somewhere.” “Then you should draw yours when you buy anything the house would give you without a problem. The economy isn´t going to crash because you didn´t pay for your clothes.” “Wait.” Namjoon holds up a hand. “You buy all your stuff?” Yoongi´s expression turns smug. “When you´re trying to be an upstanding member of society-“ Seokjin mutters and walks on. “Let´s just go inside.“ The space beyond the museum shop and café is divided into rooms which string together and lead the visitors up multiple floors, the special exhibition located on the very top. They figure they should start there and make their way down. It´s early and the rush of people coming in probably won´t ebb any time soon, so they might as well enjoy the moderate busyness before it gets too full. Namjoon examines the three of them in the elevator´s mirrored back wall out of the corner of his eye. Seokjin looks stunning, as he always does, and Yoongi has a healthy glow to him today that definitely suits him better than the perpetually sleep deprived look he sported previously. His own reflection in the steel cube´s frame is in limbo, somehow. Part of the picture, but not of the two men in front of him. The pull of gravity from the elevator´s slowdown tugs at the heart in his chest and releases it with a slight bounce. What´s he doing, ruining the trip for himself like this before it even began? He steps out into a short hallway and rounds the corner with Seokjin and Yoongi following. The adjacent room is darkened and an installation fills up most of the space. Namjoon´s worries are brushed aside by the sheer visual intake his brain has to process as they´re plummeted into a scene straight out of a dream. It´s a star, shattered and frozen in the moment its shining core is about to dissipate. A nebula of iridescent crystal shards hangs suspended above the ground with a single round light illuminating the room on eyelevel. It casts hundreds of bright spots onto the walls, dancing with the movement of people walking past. “Wow,” he hears Seokjin breathe. Namjoon´s mouth opens slightly as he nears the installation. Each shard is a piece of glass threaded to different lengths of translucent nylon, suspended from the ceiling in what must have been painstaking work. To his side, Yoongi raises a careful hand and taps a piece hovering over his head to watch it swing back and forth, mesmerized. The curators sure know how to deliver a grand open. Every person here is transfixed by the play of colors. Namjoon´s eyes scan the crowd to take in the sheer joy and wonder and linger on Seokjin and Yoongi inevitably, both of them shining brighter to him in this artificial galaxy than anybody else. Prismatic light bounces off their skin and hair and paints them in hues of blue and pink. Purple where the two overlap. He thanks his past self for speaking up for once. This sight would´ve never been disclosed to him otherwise. On the wall he finds a plaque with the artist´s name and the title of the piece they stepped into. “Creation” it reads. Their small group manages to part from the room eventually, ambles into the next, and the concept of the exhibition becomes more apparent to Namjoon with each piece they encounter. Old gods, of which he recognizes a few- the lightning-wielding Zeus, the jackal-headed Anubis, Buddha enthroned on a lotus flower- face off against modernity in the form of technology. Some artists brought the two together, made one out of the other, or made use of pop-cultural interpretations of well-known figures to show their lasting relevance. Others elevated celebrities to deities, or built shrines to phone apps. In the later rooms one sculpture in particular speaks to him. It´s a shape close to a human hand rising from a clutter of tools like scissors, hammers, and brushes, but also more obscure objects like cassette tapes and shoes. The structure towers over him and between what Namjoon sees as two fingers the hand holds a tiny human shape into the air. Yoongi, too, tilts his head back to peer at the thumbstall. “Do you think that´s supposed to be… God´s hand holding his creation?” Namjoon asks, due to the lack of a title on the plaque. “I think it´s more about humans building themselves out of the things they can make. Being their own inventors, you know?” Yoongi ponders. “Like you two with music,” Seokjin chips in unexpectedly. “You´re creators.” Namjoon runs that idea through his mind for a moment , then asks, “What about you? You can basically make things from nothing.” Seokjin shakes his head. “I only give directions to the house, there isn´t much creative work involved. But- my cooking might count. It´s divine, after all.” 
Can confirm.
 Yoongi glances behind them. “Look!” He wanders off. Seokjin grips Namjoon´s sleeve to tow him along. It occurs to him that the other two constantly stand close here, but never touch. He sees his suspicion of Yoongi´s dislike of physical contact around strangers confirmed. Especially when Seokjin lets go of Namjoon, fingers twitching towards the smaller man´s, before he hooks them into his own pocket instead. “It´s the kids,” Yoongi says proudly and points to the canvas in front of them, oblivious to what Namjoon just witnessed. They chortle. The three hybrid creatures around the feet of a spindly caricature of a man have eyes and feet far too big for their bodies. The resemblance with the trio is striking, in spirit. Seokjin pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, no doubt adding some corny remark and sending it straight to them. “Something must´ve gone wrong while he made them.” Namjoon indicates the bearded individual in the painting. “Even gods are fallible,” Yoongi answers dryly.   They spend the better part of the day slowly working their way to the ground floor of the museum where they decide to have coffee and cake in the café. Seokjin pays again and Namjoon doesn´t feel too bad for letting him. If he insists, then he won´t start a fight over the bill. “I´m glad you aren´t the type to take art too seriously, or today wouldn´t have been half as fun.” He puts his cup down on the table between them. “I never understood why people interact with it that way,” Yoongi says and turns a blind eye to Seokjin stealing a piece of his cheesecake. His own is long gone, of course. “Art´s supposed to do something with you, isn´t it?” “Exactly,” Namjoon agrees. “People go wild at concerts, so they might as well go wild in front of canvases.” “Well said!“ Seokjin speaks up. “I´m starving, though.” Yoongi pointedly stares at his empty plate. “That was nothing,” Seokjin complains. “Do you want to come over for dinner?” Namjoon laughs. He can´t deny he eats at their place more often than he does at home at this point. It balances his usual diet of pizza and ramen with actual food, and he would never say no to home cooked meals. Especially not Seokjin´s. That´s how they land in their kitchen once again. Namjoon knows his way around well enough to pour each of them something to drink and finds a surprise on the fridge´s door when he opens the cupboard next to it. The polaroid photos taken on Halloween are fixed to the steel surface with magnets.   Yoongi really caught the kids in an unflattering moment. Jeongguk´s palm is halfway to his forehead and Jimin and Taehyung look to the ceiling in exasperation as if to plead some higher power for patience with the man holding the camera. Taehyung´s snapshot shows Seokjin, Yoongi and Namjoon on the couch. All of them are caught off-guard except for the peace sign Seokjin is about to throw up, frozen at Namjoon´s elbow. The frame of the photo brings back his view in the elevator´s mirror earlier. In this picture´s world he looks different. Like he belongs. “Joon,” Yoongi calls in his usual drawl. 
Joon?
 It takes a beat for him to understand why Yoongi holds out chopsticks to him. A piece of meat is held between them. “Here, what do you think?” “You´re cooking?” “He´s good at it, too. He just likes being served most days,” Seokjin says from where he casually leans against the counter. “You wouldn´t do it all the time if you had a problem with it.” “I have to sustain three kids the rest of the year when you don´t deign to put food on the table.” Yoongi clicks his tongue and raises the chopsticks to Namjoon again. “Tell me this doesn´t need more pepper.” “I think it does. You´ll have to tip the scale,” Seokjin says. Namjoon recoils. “Oh, that´s not fair!” “Life barely ever is. Now open up,” Yoongi orders. What´s he going to do, say no? Surely not. He tentatively leans closer, aware of both Seokjin and Yoongi´s gazes on him, and opens his mouth. The meat is cooked to the point. He has to concentrate to distinguish the heat in his cheeks from the heat on his tongue. “It´s good,” he says and Yoongi instantly flaunts a winning expression. “But,” Namjoon continues, “it could use a little more spice.” Yoongi deflates, pouts- honest to God pouts- and Seokjin coos between snickers to pat his shoulder. “Looks like I win this round.” They migrate to the library after they finish eating. Namjoon settles for the couch, Seokjin for a chair, and Yoongi hovers in the doorway until he finally goes for Seokjin´s armrest. Namjoon tries not to let on how surprised he is after the other kept his careful distance during the day. “Thanks again,” he says, his manners getting the best of him. “For the food. And for coming along.” “You really don´t have to be so polite about it,” Yoongi answers. Seokjin adds, “We wanted to go.” “I thought I was getting on your nerves, to be honest,” Namjoon says with a nervous huff of laughter. “Not at all. You know you´re always welcome here.” Hell, he´d probably need both hands to count the amount of times Seokjin told him some variation of it on his fingers. “Yeah.” “Good.” There´s a hint of something left unspoken behind the kindness as Seokjin´s hand finds the small of Yoongi´s back, who sucks in air between his teeth. An anticipatory buzz sets in below Namjoon’s stomach. Something´s about to happen, he can feel it. He holds on to the seat of the couch. Uncertainty colors Seokjin´s voice when he says, “You wouldn´t hang out with us if you didn´t like it here, right?” Namjoon cocks his head in question. “Because we like having you around,” Seokjin continues, “and we´d love to go out with you more often, if you’d want to.” 
What´s this about now?
 “We talked about it, and I know it’s unusual- it is for me, at least,“ he trails off to look at Yoongi, searching for help. “What he´s trying to ask is if you´d be interested in dating us,” Yoongi states bluntly. Namjoon sits. Blinks. Is seconds away from falling apart into his single components. “But if you’re more comfortable with only one of us, we’d do our best to find a way to make it work.“ If this is one of the hallucinations he feared to have in this house then it’s one of the cruelest ones he can think of. If this is really happening, however, right here and now- 
It can´t be.
 Life doesn´t work that way. He doesn´t dream things and sees them become reality. Not ever. Seokjin’s mouth draws into a line. “It’s an offer. You don’t have to act on it, of course. If this is uncalled for we can just drop the topic.“ Namjoon wakes from his stupor with a jolt. “No!“ he bursts out, a little too loud in the enclosed space. “No,“ he croaks in a lower tone, “give me- give me a minute to get this straight. Because- God- I like being here. I like you. I-“ Are his hands shaking or his thighs beneath them? In a minute he’ll be nothing but a puddle on the floor. He has to get his answer out before then. Maybe that will be the moment he wakes up and curses himself for waiting too long. “Yes! Yes, I’m interested. In this. Both of you. A lot.“ A beat of silence. “Thank fuck,“ Yoongi murmurs in relief. “I thought we read the situation wrong for a hot second there.” Seokjin’s stiffness melts away visibly, making way for amusement to lighten his features. “So you´re actually cool with dating two people at once?“ “I´m- I never did before, but if it´s you I´m willing to try.” “This isn´t a ploy to get you into bed, you know.” “Not that we don´t want to,” Yoongi says and jumps. He rubs his butt, probably because Seokjin pinched him. “No, I understand,” Namjoon says, flustered. Will he ever get over the blushes these two bring to his cheeks? “Good,” Yoongi says. “That being settled, I wanted to do something all day.” He eyes Seokjin with anticipation, who gives the smaller man an encouraging nudge to get up. Yoongi looks over. “Can I?” “Please,” Namjoon breathes. Yoongi chuckles and stands to move closer. He tucks his legs under himself on the couch next to Namjoon. His hand opens and then there´s the cool touch of Yoongi’s skin on his. He watches their joined hands, curls his fingers to hold on to this impossible moment, lets his thumb trail over the back of Yoongi’s palm slowly. Veins raise under the smooth surface, feeling so close to what he imagined they would feel like. His gaze flicks up to meet dark feline eyes. There’s another question there, one he recognizes from the day they sat on the counter together. Yoongi leans in ever so slightly. His answer is to inch forward. If Namjoon had his senses together he would sit stiff as a board, but the autopilot switched on sometime after Seokjin’s smile dispelled the tension in the air and he’s happy to cruise along now. His lips find Yoongi’s- or Yoongi´s his, he isn´t sure- in a brush so light it’s barely there at first, until both of them get bolder. The soft slide is all he dreamed of, Yoongi’s hand tightening around his, letting go, finding his shoulder and traveling to his neck to cup his jaw delicately. A sigh escapes Namjoon when the pad of a finger circles behind his ear and Yoongi captures his bottom lip between both of his to suck on it lightly. They break apart, breathing fast. Yoongi glows. “Just what I wanted.” “Why didn´t you come get it sooner?” Namjoon asks, brain-to-mouth filter out of order for the day. A laugh rings through the library. His eyes shoot to the chair next to them and he remembers Seokjin still sitting there with a start. The sight of him is soothing ice to Namjoon´s heated synapses. He´s the very picture of fondness, leaning back in the chair with crossed legs, a smile on his lips. His lips. Full and pretty and so far away. Namjoon reaches out for him, wanting to live this dream for all that it´s worth. Seokjin rises, stopping in front of the couch, both Namjoon and Yoongi looking up to him. His hands come to rest over the pair still cradling Namjoon, and he angles his head to lean down and pick up where Yoongi left off. Soft. They’re soft, his lips, softer than he thought anyone´s could ever be, and he’s floating now, weightless, with Seokjin sitting down next to him without breaking the kiss, body following his movements, two pairs of hands he can’t tell apart touching along his arms and chest. They´re inviting him into the space between them, carve out a hollow just right for him to fit into. Seokjin releases him and meets Yoongi´s gaze over Namjoon´s quickly rising and falling chest. They both grin like they just won the lottery. Because of this, he realizes and adds more quietly, because of me. The two pull each other close and slot their lips together, the kiss deeper than the ones they dared to share with him, and he can´t keep from ghosting his fingers over their cheeks, has to make sure once again this isn´t a mirage. “Sorry, let us know if this is going too fast,” a very real Seokjin says. Namjoon shakes his head. “This is perfect.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“You can’t tell me it was that big of a surprise. The way Jin made heart eyes at you didn’t make you suspicious?“ “Wait, you did?“ Namjoon asks and can’t contain the grin tugging at the edges of his mouth. Seokjin only gives Yoongi a slap to the knee and takes Namjoon’s hand in his. They’re sprawled out in the library again, everyone opting for the bigger piece of furniture instead of sitting in separate seats like they did a few days ago. Yoongi curled himself against Seokjin’s side and cradles a tea cup, Namjoon leans nestled into the cushions on the other end of the couch. “I guess I was too deep in my own head,“ he contemplates and looks down at Seokjin’s fingers intertwined with his own. “And I never thought you could want the same thing, you know… with you being together already.“ “Ah, the monogamous agenda strikes again,“ Yoongi says. “Tragic, truly.” “You´re set on pulling us into a life of debauchery,” Seokjin jokes. Yoongi´s voice drips with dark intent as he says, “I haven´t even started yet.” Namjoon not so subtly chokes on his own spit. The chorus of laughter bubbling from the other two is worth coughing up half a lung. It´s curious how easily everything fell into place here. Things are different. Except they aren´t. Namjoon still spends much of his free time at the house, still bickers with the kids when they´re around, still eats and talks and jokes with Seokjin and Yoongi. Only now he´s no longer on the outside looking in. He doesn´t have to stop himself from thinking about reaching over the table to hold either of their hands. When they stand close he might as well rest an arm around their waists or sling it over their shoulders. When he stares at a pair of lips and can´t avert his eyes he can lean in and steal a kiss or two. The only hurdle is to work up the courage to do so. Because Namjoon has permission now, is part of it, as ungraspable as the concept still is to him. Being with two people means double the joy but twice as much potential for panic as he learned quickly. He´s surer of himself when it´s the three of them, together like this, with Seokjin and Yoongi existing with each other so comfortably that his only concern is to weave himself in wherever they leave gaps to be filled. When one of them isn´t with them, however, he has to knit around an empty spot he knows will be filled in later by another thread. A whisper of doubt makes itself known then, taps on the glass from the other side, that corner where he used to stand and watch both of them with a hurting heart. His fear is to push too far, occupy spaces which aren´t meant for him, overlap edges and ruin the pattern they´re still putting together. Ultimately he´s scared of returning to that lonely place. He can hear Hoseok telling him to pull his head out of his butt in those moments, to stop worrying too much and see things for what they really are. And his Hoseok-voiced conscious is right. Both Yoongi and Seokjin do their best to assure him every chance they get. They all want to make this work.   Namjoon rests his chin on Yoongi´s shoulder, their height difference perfect to do so. His arms encase the smaller man´s torso to reach the keyboard on the desk. Instead of taking the other swivel chair Seokjin wordlessly let appear in the studio, Yoongi sat in his lap without hesitation and carried on with their discussion about an album that was released that week as if Namjoon didn´t freeze momentarily at the sudden closeness. Yoongi became so carefree and touchy in so little time Namjoon has to ask himself whether he was mistaken about his initial reclusiveness, imagined the entire thing altogether. He takes it in stride. Eases into the position like he eases into most situations these days. Even dares to lean in and touch his lips to the back of Yoongi´s neck before considering his answer. The last half of the point he made was forgotten in the rush of blood to his face and, to his shameful realization, someplace farther south. Namjoon can´t deny he loves the physicality of their togetherness, loves cuddling up next to Seokjin with Yoongi stretched out over their thigs like the house cat he once compared him to, managing to take up much more space with his little body than should be possible. He fantasizes briefly about pulling Yoongi closer, pushing him firmly into his lap and against his chest. He´s curious how things would turn out if they took it a step further, like the other two sometimes hint at, but not like this. Not with Seokjin missing from the picture. If it´s going to happen, it has to be the three of them. That he´s sure of. Will he lose his mind in the process? Definitely. But the prospect of one of them being left out is simply unfair. “What are you thinking so hard about?” Namjoon blinks back to earth. “How can you tell?” “Your chin. You jut it out, like this.” Yoongi demonstrates, though Namjoon´s sure the resulting pout doesn´t show on his own face. He laughs and relaxes his jaw. “I was just- thinking about you. Us, I guess.” “If we´re not on your mind at least half of your waking hours then we´re doing it wrong.” He does have a point there. Yoongi strains his neck to study his expression intently. “You´re good though?” “Yeah.” He tightens his hold around the other´s chest. “Yeah, I´m good.” Having Yoongi with them, who obviously has experience in juggling more than one partner with all other obligations of life, makes this easier. More assuring, somehow. More real. Not that Namjoon wasn´t aware of people having multiple partners and relationships before, but it took meeting these two to even consider the possibility for himself. He seeks for help in Yoongi with little glances and touches constantly and noticed Seokjin doing the same. Both he and Namjoon are new to this, adjust to the flow more cautiously than Yoongi, who´s right at home in the structure they´re building around themselves. “Ah,” he groans abruptly. “What is it?” “The assignment. I have to finish it tonight.” Uni work has become even less appealing when all he wants to do is glue himself to each man´s hip and sling his limbs around them like a koala bear. “What´s it about?” “The allegory of the cave. I told you, didn´t I?” Yoongi shakes his head. “News to me.” Namjoon´s sure he talked to him only yesterday. Or was it- “Oh. That was Jin. Damn, sorry.” “Nah, no big deal. Wait until you mix up our names,“ Yoongi says. A strange sense of nostalgia resonates in his words. Nostalgia for the future, Namjoon thinks.   The tide crashes in rhythmic waves against an unseen shore. It´s strong. Soothing. Right by his ear. “I miss the sea,” Namjoon murmurs and opens his eyes. He´s met with light coming in through the canopy of glass above and a pair of soft lips on his forehead. “Why didn´t you say so sooner?” Seokjin asks. “Do you want to go?” “Not now. Too comfortable.” The plane under his cheek trembles with the chuckle rumbling through Seokjin. Namjoon rested his head on his shoulder after a tiring morning of classes and melted until he lay cushioned on the other´s chest. Seokjin´s fingers card through his hair and he can feel himself recharging, gaining strength with every caress of his scalp. If he could he´d start purring, the steady rise and fall of Seokjin´s breath lulling him in. “How far can the house take you?” he asks in an attempt to keep from dozing off. “Anywhere from the northern border to Jeju Island, though my field of responsibility is Seoul.” “Huh. There’s other people with your job?“ Namjoon´s words are slurred. “All over the world, as far as I know.“ “Lucky...“ In his dream Namjoon stands at the edge of a mirror, a body of water so still that the surface doesn´t move where his feet are planted firmly on the shore. A weight is settled in his hand. When he lifts it to inspect the object it´s a flat stone, round and smooth. The stillness of the lake- no, it´s bigger, a silent sea with no visible end- bores him. There´s no sound to go along with the peaceful picture. It might as well be an unmoving photograph. So Namjoon balances the stone in his palm, turns it over, feels around the edge. He cocks his arm and then releases the stone with a flick of his wrist. It skips on the mirror sea, one, two, three, and drops beneath the surface with a barely audible splash. A sound. Finally. The ripples it creates spread in circles, form tiny waves where they collide. Namjoon searches the sand for more stones. A small pile lies right next to his ankle, all he has to do is pick one up and throw again. Four skips this time. He doesn´t wait for the waters to calm, sends stones over the surface in quick succession, and the waves grow. Soon they lap over his toes and he revels in the sound they make surging to life. The pile to his side never shrinks. Each time he reaches down there´s another pebble waiting for him. And the waves don’t seize while he keeps skipping. They rise to engulf his calves, reach his knees, his thighs, his hips. Namjoon welcomes the salty splash that submerges him with every ricochet. He wakes when Seokjin shakes him gently. “Someone´s at the door.“ Namjoon sniffles and lets himself slide from Seokjin´s chest to flop onto the other side of the divan. “Be quick,“ he croaks. “Don´t you have work in a bit?” He activates his phone´s screen and sighs. “Yeah.” “I´ve got a surprise when you come over again,” Seokjin says and bends to kiss him goodbye. As if he needs any reason to come back other than the promise of this. ------------------- “Get home safely,” Seokjin says and beams at the young woman stepping out of his door. She bows and thanks him- number five in the short period they talked- and quickly walks down the path to the gate. He sees her hide her face in her hands, flustered, before reaching for the iron handle. How endearing. The gesture reminds him of Namjoon, of how he does the same when he gets flustered. A lot reminds Seokjin of Namjoon these days. Fountains, cute dogs, even fried chicken, for the Gods´ sake. And Yoongi. Yoongi reminds him of Namjoon. In the way they share a deeply rooted love for music, how both let their eyes slip closed once he begins stroking their hair, how their brows uncrease and their breathing levels. And Yoongi, who he´s been with for years, who he knows inside and out, reminds him of how it feels to fall for someone all over again. Seokjin closes the door, the glass circle completing once again, and saunters upstairs. He was worried about disregarding Yoongi in favor of the novelty Namjoon brings with him in everything he does. It´s true, learning all his colors, his moods and mannerisms, is exciting. Small things Namjoon says have momentous impact, because more often than not it´s the first time he hears him say them. Small touches are the most important thing to happen in that precise moment because the contact is unfamiliar still. Their bedroom is dark except for the tiny bedside lamp illuminating Yoongi´s tousled hair where it peeks out from under the covers. Seokjin carelessly chucks off his pants and climbs back into bed to join him. For all his fear of acting like a child who´s too preoccupied with a new toy to keep up with his old ones, Seokjin came to the realization that he´s not. Familiarizing himself with Namjoon doesn´t mean he´s leaving Yoongi behind. The opposite is true. He gets to witness new facets of his partner emerge from hidden depths, brought to the surface by Namjoon. Is he jealous over the fact that no matter how long he´s been with Yoongi, he could´ve never reached those parts of him? It would be a lie to say he isn´t. But Seokjin turns these situations over in his head, doesn´t let himself be spun in by the dark web of doubt. What this gives him is the chance to appreciate wholly just how many sides there are to the man he holds close to his heart. He switches off the light and absentmindedly traces the line of Yoongi´s back, whose cold calves tangle with his legs under the blanket. The window overhead lets in a sliver of moonlight which bounces off his naked shoulder, skin painted even lighter than in the warm glow before. “Are we going too fast?” Seokjin asks, more subdued than he needs to since they´re both wide awake. Yoongi understands his implication immediately. “Does it feel that way to you?” “No,” he answers truthfully. “I´m more concerned about Joon.” Yoongi shifts to rest his cheek on top of his flat hands on Seokjin´s chest. He can barely make out his dark irises in the half light. “Don´t you think he´d speak up if he was uncomfortable?” “Hm.” “Besides, it seems to me he´s rather shy about initiating things.” Seokjin noticed the same, actually. He hesitates before going for any kind of touch. It´s understandable, given the circumstances. Namjoon´s new to this, new to them, when both Yoongi and him have had their fair share of each other long before he came along. Thinking back, they had progressed at a similarly fast-paced rate. They were younger, of course, but it didn´t take more than a few months for Seokjin to be sure about wanting to spend a good part of both his foreseeable and unforeseeable future with the perpetual grump who crashed into his life like a comet when everything else was already so off kilter. That was probably what had given him some kind of footing back then, after what happened with Hyun. He allows the pain to fade and thinks forward to override its sting. Namjoon. He´ll give him his place next to Yoongi and the kids in the tight circle of people closest to him. It might be redundant with the house appearing to him no matter what, but this is a tradition Seokjin won´t let die. Even if the one who established it did. ------------------- “So,” Hoseok says over the aluminum tabletop, a slice of pizza folded in half in his hand, “I´m glad you found the time to join me here on this day.” “This day” being Wednesday, “here” being good old Mikado´s. “You act like I´m ghosting you.” “Sometimes I have to ask myself if I even have a flatmate anymore,” Hoseok laments and takes a big bite out of the cheesy dough. Grease drips onto the stack of napkins he hoarded on his side of the pizza carton. “Come on now. I sleep at home every night.” Hoseok makes a skeptical sound around his mouthful. “Won´t be long until you don´t.” Namjoon shoves half a slice into his own mouth to hide his abashment. He knows his friend is curious, yet he doesn´t want to outright ask him about where he stands with the couple he keeps visiting. Namjoon can take the teasing, laughs along with it, because Hoseok may joke but never presses the issue too far. “Didn´t you hang out with Sangcheol and Wonjae recently? How are they?” Hoseok can very obviously tell it´s a diversion tactic. He goes along with it nonetheless. What a patient soul. “Good. They told me about this new club that opened downtown, we´re probably going to check it out on the weekend. Wanna come along?” Clubs aren´t exactly his favorite place to be. Something´s always off- either the DJ sucks, or the drinks suck, or the people suck. On some occasions it´s all of the above. More often than not Namjoon crashes into bed after a night out and finds that he could´ve spent his time and money on more enjoyable activities. He appreciates Hoseok asking him, anyways, and takes a mental note to look up the club later. “Maybe. I´ll see if I´m in the mood. Thanks for the invite.” “No problem,” Hoseok says and begins to chew on his second slice of pizza. Namjoon gauges there isn´t much to get out of the topic to stave off talking about his love life. He´s not sure whether it´s too early to tell Hoseok which direction things are headed, seeing as he´s still unsure himself. As well as he knows his friend, he´s certain he wouldn´t condemn him for who and how he chooses to love. Especially since he´s aware Namjoon´s into both guys and girls. But this is- how did Seokjin put it? “Unusual”. More so than most things he shares with the other. It wouldn´t hurt to test the waters though, would it? “Seok.” “Hm?” “You´ve had crushes, right?” “Duh.” A stupid question to start with. Oh well. “But have you ever-” He has to phrase this carefully. “Did you ever have to decide between two people?” “What do you mean?” “Have you ever been interested in two people at the same time?” Hoseok thinks for a second. “Huh. Yeah, I guess I have.” “Imagine a situation like that. Let´s suppose you were into them equally, and both of them liked you back-” “Slim chance, but continue.” “True. So, suppose they both liked you back, how would you act?” “If everyone in this scenario is aware of who´s into who, then it´s tricky.” “Let´s say they are.” Hoseok stares into the grease spots on the pizza carton in front of him as if they hold any answers. “Damn, I don´t know. That´s a real bummer. Someone´s going to get hurt no matter what.” “Right. So, what if you didn´t have to choose?” “Explain.” “What if they both liked you… and each other?” “That´d just make it more complicated, wouldn´t it?” A light flickers on behind his eyes. “Unless- Well, unless you´d find a triangular solution.” That´s Hoseok, always quick to catch on. “Wait.” Too quick. 
Oh no.
 “This is one of those ´I´m asking for a friend´ kinda deals, isn´t it?” “Uh.” “You´re really asking for yourself.” 
Abort mission!
 “Are you asking what I think you´re asking?” Hoseok continues before Namjoon can find a plausible excuse. “Hm?” It comes out a little too high pitched and strangled. Totally inconspicuous. “Joon, are you and those two… Are you seeing each other?” Namjoon´s gaze lands anywhere but on Hoseok´s face, sure that if he gets a good look at him, he´ll know. He´ll read him like an open book. Worse, an open book flipped to the right page, with lines marked in bright colors. There´s no way he can talk his way out of this one. The jig is up. 
You done did it, idiot.
 Sheepishly he directs his eyes to Hoseok´s and watches as understanding dawns on his features. “Shit,” he huffs and sits back in his plastic chair, pizza forgotten between them. “Wow. Congrats!” “Huh?” Whatever Namjoon thought would happen, he didn´t anticipate that reaction. Hoseok´s getting giddier by the second, scooting closer to prop his elbows on the table and rest his chin on a fist attentively. “OK- I don´t wanna pry, so stop me if this is too much- You´re dating, all of you?” He draws a loose circle in the air to encompass Namjoon and the absent parties. “Y-yeah,” he stutters. Alright. He may as well go all the way now, Hoseok was going to be let in on it sooner or later. “It´s- We´re working it out. It´s still very… fresh.” “That´s cool. If you can make it work between the three of you, I mean. I hope you will.” “Thanks,” Namjoon laughs breathlessly. How could he have expected anything less from Hoseok? “Oh! That means every time you freaked out over them you really were going on dates!” He groans and tips his head back. The other´s triumphant giggle spells out “I knew it” without him having to say so. “Not to be that kind of friend, but now I gotta meet them. They´ll have to pass the screening- Hey, don´t scowl at me. I only want the best for you, dude!” Of course he does.   “Snack dad´s here, hide anything breakable!” Jeongguk announces. He skids through the entrance hall. The fool knows exactly what he did wrong when Namjoon pretends to come after him, ready to deliver a whack to the back of his head. Seokjin intercepts the boy in the library doorway and they jump left and right, Jeongguk trying to get past the older with feints and low lunges. Seokjin holds up longer than Namjoon thinks he could´ve personally until Jeongguk slips past him and darts into the library beyond. “Brat,” he wheezes and shakes his head, smiling. His eyes find Namjoon and he crosses the hall to meet him halfway. “Hello there.” Seokjin tugs him closer by the lapels of his coat to close the last few centimeters between them and seals their lips together. Good thing they´re out of the line of sight for anyone sitting in the library. “Get out of the way, old man. It´s my turn,” Yoongi´s voice comes from the stairs to their left. Namjoon tries to find him without breaking away from Seokjin but he steers them in a lazy rotation, Namjoon´s feet shuffling along clumsily. The huff behind him tells him it´s a maneuver to keep Yoongi away a little longer. He holds out an arm blindly and a hand finds his. He turns his head away from Seokjin. “Don´t be mean.” “Don´t tell me what to do,” comes the swift retort. “Hmph,” grunts Yoongi as he cups the back of Namjoon´s neck to pull him down to eyelevel. Namjoon goes willingly, lets Yoongi bite into his bottom lip just to watch the smug expression directed at Seokjin spread over his face. “Joon´s too soft to play favorites openly.” “Wh- I´d never do that!” Yoongi pacifies him with the wave of a hand. “Shh, s´all good.” “All good,” Seokjin confirms and nods past the staircase. “Let´s get the kids, we´ve got something planned.” Right. Namjoon didn´t forget what Seokjin promised him the other day. He follows behind the other two, hoping that whatever it is, it isn´t anything too big. The kids´ heads are stuck together in the back of the room. They´re cross-legged on the floor, each boy holding both arms extended to hook his fingers with the next. Yoongi takes in the scene. “Just how bored did you get?” “You don´t start thumb wars out of boredom. This is a fight for honor,” Taehyung answers and goes back to surveying his opponents. He manages to capture Jimin´s thumb under the pad of his own to press down on it. “Hah!” While everyone else is distracted Jeongguk swoops in and attacks. He crushes both enemy thumbs and throws his arms up in a winning pose. “Damn it, Gguk!” “Not again!” “I won! Now admit it!” Jimin and Taehyung groan in unison. “Fine,” the first grumbles. “We did.” “We did,” Taehyung echoes, no conviction in his voice. Jeongguk grins wide and looks at the group standing behind the couch. Neither of them asks for clarification on the exchange they walked in on, Seokjin merely gestures behind him. “Put on your shoes, we´re going outside.” The kids get to their feet. “Are you finally equipping him with the master key?” Jimin asks in passing. 
The what?
 “Yup,” is all Seokjin says as he takes Namjoon by the arm and leads them back to the front door. They file out one after another, the pair of them reaching the gate first. Namjoon thinks they´re all going to pass through but Yoongi and Jeongguk post up to one side of the path, Jimin and Taehyung to the other as if standing guard. “What´s going on?” Seokjin smiles at him, hand resting on the gate´s handle. “Don´t worry, it´s the surprise I told you about.” He suspected as much. “Come.” Seokjin pulls him forward. What on earth is his plan? Is he taking him somewhere? What can possibly wait outside? They step out and Namjoon is crowded into what very well may be the narrowest side street he´s ever been in, brittle concrete and sheet iron walls rising around him. He expects Seokjin to walk him down to either end of it, but he turns on his heel, pulls the gate closed, and immediately opens the iron bars again. “Don´t let go until we´re in the house.” He nods confusedly and takes the hand offered to him. A nudge tells him to go forward, he crosses the threshold a second time, back to the pathway still flanked by the others. Big smiles adorn their faces. Meanwhile, Namjoon doesn´t understand a thing. He holds on to Seokjin and is led the same way they came, Yoongi and the kids trailing behind. Their small procession clambers up the front steps and then the door closes behind them, the low click a cue of some sort. Everyone claps excitedly, except for Seokjin and Namjoon, their hands still linked. “Now nothing´s safe in here!” Jeongguk cheers. “What?” “Oh, nothing,” the boy says and inches towards his and the other two´s shared room. “Congratulations and all. We gotta go, though.” “Why didn´t you say so?” Seokjin asks the receding trio. “We didn´t want to miss this,” Jimin trills happily. The kids disappear into their room and emerge seconds later, sport bags on their shoulders, and wave as they leave. Namjoon stares after them. “What?” Seokjin and Yoongi snicker. “You got permission to access the house when Jin´s not in it,” Yoongi explains generously and snakes his fingers in the spaces between Namjoon´s. 
Oh.
 He has to rerun each one of his visits in his memory. It´s true. He´s never once been to the place without Seokjin being here to let him in or waiting in one of the rooms. Suddenly, Jeongguk´s last comment makes a lot more sense. 
Brat.
 “And you´re not worried I’ll trash the place when no one´s home?” Seokjin shrugs. “I can remake everything.” “What if I clean out your fridge?” “That might cost you a limb,” he jokes. At least Yoongi laughs, so it must be a joke. “I, uh- Thank you.” This means… something. He hasn´t figured out what, precisely. No one seems eager to grant him the chance to do so, either, because Yoongi tugs them towards the stairs. “I have an idea how to celebrate.“ There´s a mischievous undertone to his words. “Wanna stay the night?” “Sure,” Namjoon says automatically. 
Oh. Wait-
 “Good.” They´re on the gallery faster than his brain can catch up. Unlike the last time they were up here, they don´t turn right to what Namjoon came to think of as the ball room, but left, to another set of high narrow double doors. Seokjin pushes through, head spinning to Namjoon when he falters in his stride. They come to a stuttering stop, Yoongi the last in their chain to notice what´s going on. “Joon,” Seokjin says quietly and turns to him completely. Namjoon stares over his shoulder. It´s their room. He can see the big bed with its anthracite sheets, probably so soft they´re barely noticeable on naked skin. A dark wooden nightstand is posted to each side. The semicircular window above the bed´s headboard is split into three sections by the frame, resembling a lemon slice. Against the wall to the right a low settee stands next to a similarly low table. Two doors lead to further rooms to the left. “Are you OK?” He shakes off his petrification. Seokjin mistakes it for a no and lets go of him. “Sorry, we shouldn´t have-“ “No,” Namjoon says, grappling for the other´s hand again. “No, it´s OK. I´m OK.” “You sure?” Yoongi asks. “Yeah.” He squeezes both their palms decidedly. Seokjin hesitates before he takes a testing step backwards into the room and watches for Namjoon´s reaction, visibly relieved when he follows. They head for the bed and sit on the foot end. Yoongi comfortably plops down, Seokjin copying him. Namjoon´s the last to fall, hitting the mattress with a slight bounce. He studies the ceiling, takes in the wood paneling and, more importantly, the calm rise and fall of breath from the men to either side of him. Their proximity. The taste of electricity in the air. Holding his own breath he brings both of their hands to his stomach where they stay for a while until Yoongi lets his travel upwards, feeling for the thrum behind Namjoon´s ribs. “No need to be so nervous.” “Yeah, no big deal,” he says, sounding braver than he feels, “I´m only in bed with you.” “That you are.” Seokjin´s hand joins Yoongi´s, executing slight pressure to feel his heart´s accelerated pace. “There´s a hummingbird caught in here.” “Poor thing,” Yoongi coos and inches closer to nuzzle Namjoon´s cheek. He giggles and turns so Yoongi´s lips land on his. Tiny movements against each other develop into full-blown kisses in no time, tension melting away to be gradually replaced by want. Seokjin´s fingers come to encase his chin and gently pry him away from the smaller man to fit his plush lips to him instead, eliciting a low drone from Namjoon. While he and Seokjin explore each other´s mouths, Yoongi hikes a leg over his knee and uses it to pull himself up, straddling him. The weight settling on his midsection sends an insistent simmer through his veins, giving each brush of Seokjin´s tongue against his a burning edge. He´s too hot in his own skin, flames licking at his insides, and Yoongi does nothing to elevate the feeling when he grinds down. The gasp escaping Namjoon startles Seokjin, who was unaware of what Yoongi was doing until that point. Their eyes meet and the twin devilish grins tell Namjoon he´s well and truly done for, Yoongi leaning over to devour Seokjin for a sweltering moment. He pushes the other away after a lingering kiss and concentrates his attention on Namjoon under him, eyes half lidded, lips shining red. Gorgeous. “Fuck.” It´s off his tongue before he can rein it in. Fuck, he thinks, silently this time. Yoongi snorts. “As you wish.” The roll of his hips works like a charm, leaving Namjoon gulping for air. Yoongi steals the very last of his breath away by bending at the waist and crushing their mouths together. Namjoon decides breathing is overrated and paws at Yoongi´s thighs through the shudder that wracks him. They´re soft and solid simultaneously and while he moves upwards he spreads his fingers to hold the entirety of Yoongi´s ass in his hands. Suddenly both his weight and lips are gone, Namjoon´s own tingling with the loss of contact. Seokjin brushes over his forehead and takes the other´s place, soothing him. “Scoot up,” Yoongi says from somewhere towards the end of the bed. He does as he´s told, Seokjin going with him, both of them resting their heads on the pillows and continuing their previous occupation. The mattress dips and Namjoon peers down to see Yoongi plucking at the knee of his jeans, raising a brow. He understands the request and nods eagerly, already fumbling with his belt. “Let me,” Seokjin offers, and the pants come off in a flash. He´s aware of being the only one who lost an article of clothing and pulls at Seokjin´s shirt to level the playing field. It´s thrown in the general direction of the settee and Namjoon has to take a moment to admire the sight it reveals. He knew Seokjin has wide shoulders, but seeing them minus the usual layers of fabric does things to him. He reaches out to touch, to feel along the collarbones and down the middle of his chest to his stomach, firm under his fingertips. Namjoon´s so taken up by the sensation he doesn´t pay a second thought to Yoongi nudging his knees apart. Until the brush of a hand over his clothed dick demands his immediate attention. “Can I?” Yoongi asks, licking his bottom lip in anticipation. “H-“ “Holy shit”, is what he wants to say, but the picture unfolding in front of his eyes bans all traces of intellect from his brain. Yoongi´s on his knees, leaning forward, ready to remove Namjoon´s boxers and lay him bare. Seokjin trails his nose along his jaw encouragingly. “Say stop if it´s too much.” 
Never.
 He shakes his head, spreading his knees another fraction. Yoongi grins, almost wolfish in the way his teeth show. He dives for the waistband and slips his fingers underneath. Namjoon presses into the pillows. An appreciative growl rises from the back of Yoongi´s throat when his cock is exposed to the cold air. He has half the presence of mind to blush with both Yoongi and Seokjin inspecting him, the latter glancing past his chest to do so. He smiles and bites into Namjoon´s lip softly while Yoongi wraps his hand around him, pumping experimentally. A moan rips through his teeth and the sound seems to please, because both of them double their efforts. Yoongi´s perfect, finds all the right moves to dissolve him into a groaning mess. It doesn´t get better than this, can´t get better than this. Or so he thinks. The wet heat that envelopes him is almost too much. Seokjin swallows his embarrassing whimper and leans back to check in with him. “Mm-“ is all he can get out, daring to look down. He should´ve known it would kill him. His length disappears into Yoongi´s mouth completely, nose close to his abdomen. Namjoon´s holding on by the thinnest rope about to tear, his eyes rolling back for a second there. No one moves. When he´s gained control over his limbs again his fingers slide down his thigh, twitching to thread through Yoongi´s hair. They stop a few centimeters shy of the light strands when Yoongi´s eyes fix on his, a bolt of lightning crackling through him. “Go ahead, it´s alright,” Seokjin whispers, dispelling the paralyzing static. Seokjin´s own gaze rests on Yoongi and as if he can´t bare the weight of both sets of eyes on him he closes his own, but leans into Namjoon´s caressing touch ever so slightly. Seokjin´s there to kiss the hesitation right out of him, a hand brushing over Namjoon´s side, coming to lie on his chest. Namjoon´s fingers tighten in Yoongi´s hair and he evidently takes it as a sign to pick up speed, bobbing up and down in earnest. Syllables, broken pieces of Yoongi's name, fill the space around them. Seokjin´s at his ear, chuckling quietly. “I´ll teach you a trick.” Namjoon musters a strained, “Hm?” “Try calling him Sugar. See what happens.” 
Sugar?
 That rings a bell. Where has he heard it before? The dots connect in his sluggish mind like laser points breaking through fog. 
Sugar. Suga. Oh.
 Namjoon tests out the sound of it on his heavy tongue. Nothing prepared him for Yoongi´s immediate reaction. His throat constricts, swallowing around him. Namjoon gasps, finding Seokjin to grab onto to keep himself grounded. “I think he likes that,” Seokjin murmurs into his throat amusedly. Yoongi hums. The vibrations almost send Namjoon over the edge and he fists into Yoongi´s hair a little tighter to make him stop. “T-too close,” he bites out, struggling for the words. “Not yet.” “Joonie wants it to last, don´t you?” Seokjin coos. He shifts to claim his mouth again. 
Joonie.
 He whines when Seokjin´s tongue glides past his lips, the only response he´s capable of giving even though he knows the question is rhetorical. He never wants this to end, wants to live in this moment for eternity. But there´s no chance, not with both of them set on wrecking him in the most delicious way. To his credit Yoongi simply breathes around Namjoon´s length in waiting and rubs soothing circles into the flesh of his hips. The grip in his hair is still tight, and Namjoon lets go, stretching his fingers to rub Yoongi´s scalp apologetically. Seokjin´s fingers begin a similar motion, only over the peak of his right nipple. 
They´re going to be the death of me.
 It doesn´t take long to fall into a maddening rhythm, bodies moving around him and on him and everything swelling to a cacophony of sensations, Seokjin under his hoodie, pinching and twisting, Yoongi between his knees, pumping and hollowing his cheeks, and above it all his own voice, responding in broken cries. His eyes are scrunched shut. He tugs at Yoongi´s hair to warn him, is getting lost in the feeling. He only takes him in deeper and swallows again. Namjoon´s legs twitch and he knows it´s too late. A shout builds in his lungs, leaves his mouth as a sob, and he´s gone. Seokjin cups his cheek and kisses him through the shocks pulsing through him. Yoongi slows bit by bit until he stops at the border of discomfort and pulls off. Namjoon has to collect the scattered pieces of himself floating in the room to pull himself back together. It takes a while for him to open his eyes again. He holds out a trembling arm for Yoongi, who crawls closer to hover over him. Shaking fingers press to swollen lips and he opens them readily, rolling out his tongue. It´s clean. Namjoon glides the pads of his pointer and middle finger over the warm muscle. His other hand finds the expanse of Seokjin´s stomach and slips downwards. “You didn´t-“ he presses down on Seokjin´s cock, still hard in his pants. “Don´t have to.” “I want you to.” He tightens his grip. “Please.” Seokjin hisses and ruts forward into his touch. “You, too,” he says to Yoongi and finally draws back his fingers. The two rise to kneel, facing each other, Namjoon on his back between them. Seokjin´s the one to hungrily kiss Yoongi, undoing his button and fly without missing a beat. Yoongi returns the favor and they retreat from the bed to kick off their pants, meeting again seconds later, magnets separated and rejoined. Namjoon can only watch the pair, mesmerized, now that desire no longer clouds his thoughts. They´re obviously riled up, close to bursting, hands searching for each other´s underwear and freeing themselves frantically. They don´t intend on putting off their own release a minute longer. OK, maybe he´s wrong about the desire. He wishes he weren´t spent, affected by the heat radiating off of them with no way of joining in. Seokjin holds out his palm for Yoongi to lick over, wetting it, and Namjoon swallows hard. He sees an opportunity after all and touches the back of Seokjin´s thigh to get his attention. He stares down at the palm Namjoon offers, understanding and jerking his head to the nightstand to his left. Namjoon comes up with a bottle of lube, hastily opens it and warms a generous amount between his fingers. He sits up and motions for the other two to move closer together. They do, their cocks touching and twitching. He forms a fist around the heads, eyes flying up to their faces to see their open-mouthed relief and almost moans himself when Seokjin thrusts up into his hand. Yoongi lets him set the pace and moves along accordingly, messily suckling Seokjin´s neck. “Tighter,” he pleads, holding onto Seokjin´s back. Namjoon increases the pressure carefully, both rutting more forcefully. He´s torn on whether to watch the display above or below, everything happening so much it´s overwhelming. The slide of them between his fingers creates tiny wet sounds, the kisses they share smack with their own rhythm. After a moment the glide´s a lot easier, and Namjoon realizes it´s precome mixing with the lube in his palm. Pants pass between Seokjin and Yoongi now and he tightens the circle around them one last time. It´s enough to send Yoongi over the edge. He muffles his moan by biting into Seokjin´s shoulder who grunts, rolls his hips twice, and Namjoon´s fist overflows with their release. He tries to catch it so the bed doesn´t get soiled, but the two can´t hold their balance anymore and slump to the side, burying Namjoon under their weight and smearing his front with come. Their hard breathing is all that´s heard in the room for a while. “Wow,” Namjoon mutters hoarsely. Seokjin and Yoongi untangle and lie down next to him, hands finding one another on his stomach. “Yeah,” Seokjin agrees. “Did you-“ he clears his throat, “did you plan this?” “We might´ve talked about it,” Yoongi drawls, blissed out.   Namjoon sets down the yellow sign warning customers of the wet floor and rolls the mop and bucket out the door to empty it into the gutter by the store. A woman from the neighboring hair salon waves to him through the shop window and he gives her his best dimpled smile. He feels great. Lighthearted. Energetic. And it has everything to do with waking up between two warm bodies that morning. Did he grin to himself when he rose from slumber and felt Yoongi´s nose pressed into the back of his neck? Absolutely. And did he hold onto Seokjin a little tighter even if he probably smothered him in his sleep all night already? Perhaps. What else is he supposed to do when Seokjin hoards the blankets? They stayed in bed for an hour or two after everyone was awake, drawing patterns into each other´s skin and discussing whether a shark or a tiger would win in a fight. No unanimous answer on that one. Namjoon voted for the tiger since it has teeth and claws. Not to mention it can walk on land. Around noon they went down for a late breakfast, the kids already lounging in the conservatory. If they suspected anything no one lost a word about it. Namjoon´s forever thankful for it, because the series of emojis he got in response to the message he shot Hoseok before dozing off, hair still wet from the shower he took with the other two, very clearly let him know Hoseok knew why he wouldn´t come home that night. He´ll just have to deal with his aggressive eyebrow wiggles from now on. Back in the store Namjoon puts a fresh receipt paper roll into the ever uncooperative cash register. The doorbell chimes. “Hello,” he greets mindlessly, almost losing a finger to the greedy device. He finally wrestles the roll into place and snaps the cover shut, looking up to welcome the customer properly. It´s a man in his thirties, slight figure hidden under baggy clothes. In the midst of his search for any items the man may have put on the counter, the cold gleam of phosphorescent light on metal catches Namjoon´s attention. And then he sees it. Pointed at him, half hidden by the man´s thin jacket, is the muzzle of a gun.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Jin´s downstairs.” “I´m not looking for him.” Yoongi quits his play, the last low note reverberating through the piano´s body. “What´re you here for, then?” Hyuna leans against the instrument and tips her head to rest on the arm she stretches over the flat top. She openly appraises him, scans his face, the set of his shoulders. “For you,” she says. Yoongi snorts. “Aren´t your lovers entertaining you sufficiently?” “They have their own business to attend to.” She puckers her lips. “Don´t you miss me at all?” The question isn´t as innocent as she makes it sound. Or- maybe it is. Hyuna seems to be in a soft mood today, a little fuzzy around the edges. She´s wide awake though, judging by the sharpness of her stare. He forgoes giving a straight answer and poses a counter question. “Where´s this coming from?” “We haven´t spoken in ages.” When he remains silent she adds, “Just because we’re not together anymore doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you, you know. Let´s just talk.“ He sighs. Feels himself cave in. Why keep up the hostile attitude when she supposedly came without ill intent? “Alright. Humor me.” Hyuna gracefully pulls herself up and lies balanced on the narrow top of the piano. He resumes the piece where he left off when she appeared, closes his lids and waits for her to speak. She´s satisfied with listening for a while until she quietly asks, “Are you happy like this?“ “Starting off with the big questions, are we?” Yoongi knows what she means. Not only him, sitting in this room and playing to his heart’s content. She means the house he lives in. The ones he shares it with. The choices which led him here. He raises his gaze. Once he attempted to count all the freckles on her cheeks and gave up at one hundred twenty-three, because it was a good number to stop at. One, two, three. “I am. As happy as any of us can get.“ She smiles. “So this is worth it all?“ Leaving behind a system and a society he could never agree with? Yoongi would´ve given it all up for far less than what he has now. How things worked out the way they did is truly beyond him. He pushes his luck on the daily, concealing this part of himself from Seokjin and the kids- Namjoon now, too- but it´s best for them to be left in the dark. Especially with their new relationship only blossoming to life. “Yeah,” he says. He lets his eyes travel over the line of Hyuna´s body- the curve of her shoulder and the dip of her waist, followed by the rise of hips and the stretch of legs. Sometimes he forgets there was more to what he had with her and Hyojong than the sex to fend off the boredom of their drawn-out existence and the discontentment with the environment they had to spend it in. It´s easier this way, to distance himself. It´s cowardly, a small voice in his mind corrects. “They´re so fragile,” Hyuna whispers. “How can you love them without going insane from the fear of losing them?” A needle prick to the balloon in his chest. “By protecting them as best as I can.” “You´ve become soft.” He doesn´t let her know that her eyes have, too. There´s a hundred things he could answer. None of them leave his mouth. Hyuna accepts his reluctance to speak about the topic any further. “I also came to keep you up to date.” “Why? Anything happening over there?” “A lot, actually. They found out someone was causing trouble going around and instigating fights between people here. They´ve sent out lower ranks from a few circles to find out who it was.” “That´s why Hwitaek and Hyojong are busy, huh?” His question is unnecessary; of course they´d send them out. He needs the quiet second it gains him to swallow the sour taste of disgust from his tongue. To pit humans against each other for the short-lived sadistic pleasure of seeing them tear each other apart like dogs in a ring- It´s sick. Truly, the sole purpose his kind serves anymore is to cause pain. They should all rather maul each other like they did some hundred years ago. Too bad the treaty forbids it. But then it also forbids inflicting harm on humans. Guilt coils in his gut at the memory of bone crunching under his heel. “They haven´t found them yet.” “They better search more thoroughly.” If this were an attack against one of their own things would progress a lot faster. “Sihyuk asked about you, by the way.” Yoongi perks up at the name. “Oh, yeah? What does he want?” “I think he wants you to come back.” 
Fat chance.
 “I´m not going to leave. Not with Jin and the kids in danger for sure.” “What?” comes a voice from the far corner. Yoongi whips around. Next to the row of chairs against the wall stands Seokjin, motionless and still in his coat, apparently having jumped directly into the room. Hyuna shoots into a sitting position, legs swinging from the end of the piano. 
No. No, no.
 “Leave,” Yoongi tells her. She does, after a concerned glance at Seokjin. He shakes his head confusedly. “What´s going on? What was she doing here?” “We talked.” “I saw that.” The way they were seated might have appeared a little too casual. “It´s not like that, if you think-“ “That´s not what I´m worried about,” Seokjin cuts in, face drawn. “What did you mean by we´re in danger?” He could let him know, but it´s only going to upset him. And if he asks too many questions then it´s all over. How much did he hear, anyways? Yoongi claws into the cushion of the piano bench under him. “Nothing.” Hyojong was right. He´s a terrible liar. “Am I supposed to believe that? And since when do you and Hyuna plot things behind closed doors?” After everything, is this really what will send him crashing to his demise? Such a simple mistake? He can see himself spiraling downward, the situation slipping from his hold like a polished blade from silk. “If this involves the kids I have to know.” Of course he won´t back down once they´re involved. Yoongi can´t brush this off as easily as all the other times he came close to being found out. Panic rises in his throat. He can´t even choke out a half-assed response, pivots his head from side to side. It must look like he´s being difficult on purpose because Seokjin swears, getting more agitated.   “Oh, for the love of- Tell me what´s going on, Yoongi!” The pressure on his ribcage increases, becomes nigh unbearable. Seokjin steps closer. “Yoongi-“ Something cracks within the shell encasing him, sharp edge turning towards the other in defense. “Go ahead and charm-speak it out of me, why won´t you?” Seokjin´s entire body recoils like he just received a blow to the face. And honestly, Yoongi might as well have struck him. He knows Seokjin would never- Not that he could, but the thought alone- Silence roars between them. He wants to reach out, take the words back. Seokjin´s quicker. “I see how it is.” A curt nod, and he vanishes. ------------------- Namjoon stares into the barrel of a gun. His first thought is, It´s real. Not that he´s ever seen a real gun up close. But the metal looks heavy and menacing in a way that attests to its ability to inflict pain. His eyes can´t part from the weapon. If he loses sight of it he´ll get sucked right into the terrible truth of reality. The man, whose face is half hidden by the visor of a cap pulled low over his eyes, speaks for the first time. “You know how this goes. No smart moves, or else-” He leaves the rest of the sentence unspoken. Namjoon understands nonetheless. A black backpack is flung onto the counter, the harsh click of plastic buckles hitting the hard surface bringing him to his senses. He flinches. “Money, in there. Move!” What can he do but follow the man´s orders? Nothing. Not with a bullet waiting to pierce through him, just a squeeze of the trigger away. The happy pinging noise of the opening register is absurdly out of place in light of the current situation. He transfers the first wad of notes to the bag shakily. A flick of the muzzle and he freezes again. “Take the entire thing out, I don´t have all day.” Namjoon nods robotically and dislodges the cash box from the register. The coins rattle with the tremble of his hands. He remembers the baseball bat under the counter, in a shelf at knee-height, placed there for incidents such as this one. If he can drop something and pretend to pick it up- No. He´d just be asking for a hole in his skull. 
No one brings a bat to a gunfight.
 There really is no other choice. The cash box scrapes past the open maw of the bag´s zipper and hits its bottom. He raises his hands to signal he´s done and won´t try to pull off anything stupid, heart pounding wildly. “About time,” the man snarls and grabs the bag. He inches towards the door, careful to keep the gun pointed at Namjoon until he´s through. And then he bolts and Namjoon´s alone in the store with its cold lights and the darkness beyond the windows and the fading jingle of the bell. He crouches slowly, presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. What now? In all his time working at Ms. Ahn´s he never had to deal with anything like this. 
Fuck. Ms. Ahn. Right.
 He should let her know. But first he needs air, or else he won´t have the breath to tell her. The darkened street outside seems more welcoming than the harsh brightness of the store. Open. No walls to trap him. Namjoon snags the store keys and his phone and runs into a corner of the counter on his way out. The sting barely registers with him, replaced by wintry December air outside. His fingers miss the buttons on his phone´s screen so often he has to type and re-type the emergency number Ms. Ahn gave him thrice. She picks up after the second ring. “Hello? Namjoonie, is this you?” “Sorry to bother you,” he says. His arms may shake at this point but his voice is steady, if hollow. “You´re not, dear. What is it?” “Sorry,” he says again. “The store. Someone robbed the store. The register. He had a gun. I´m sorry.” “A what?” shrills through the line from the other end. “Did he hurt you? Namjoonie, are you alright?” “No. Yes. I´m OK.” Aside from the barely contained panic coursing through him. “Oh God, oh God,” the lady chants. “Dear, listen. You go home. Do you hear me? Go home and rest, I´ll handle the store. We´ll figure this out later. No shift for you tomorrow.” Namjoon has half the heart to argue with her but stops himself. He really wants this conversation to be over. “Thank you. Sorry.“ “Stop apologizing, dear. I’m just glad you’re safe. Take care.“ The call ends. He feels the cold now. It bites the tips of his nose and ears and leaves them numb. Turns out he doesn´t quite have a hold on himself yet- The tremble in his hands and arms snaked its way to his core, muscles locking tight and restricting his lungs. Somehow he manages to lock the store´s door and drops the keys into the mailbox. He’s going to fold in half from the exertion of keeping his fingers steady. How is he supposed to make it home like this? Namjoon thinks he´s going to retch, leans onto the wall for support. He´s met with iron bars pressing icily into his back. A sob of relief rattles him. The gate. Just when he needs it most. He finds the handle and swings inward along with the frame. The house waits at the end of the pathway, windows illuminated softly from within. His knock is weak but is heard anyways, a shadow approaching behind the glass of the door. Thank the heavens someone´s home. If he were met with an empty place he might have curled up on the porch and dissolved into hysteria. Seokjin opens. Namjoon wants to throw his arms around the man and bury himself in the crook of his neck, never to resurface again. He doesn´t. “Joon. Come in.” There´s no smile to welcome him. Solely a lukewarm brush of lips to his cheekbone that does nothing to chase away the cold in his bones. Namjoon´s heart sinks another notch. Seokjin doesn´t take his hand on their way to the library, doesn´t ask if he wants any tea as they sit on the couch. From behind them Yoongi pads into the room. His fingertips linger on Namjoon´s shoulder for a second before he moves to the chair to his right. First Seokjin and now Yoongi, too. Something´s off. Namjoon looks from one to the other with utter incomprehension. The two inspect the floorboards and the bookshelves, pointedly avoiding each other´s gazes, and he realizes with a start that Yoongi put distance between Seokjin and himself on purpose. 
What the hell?
 His own troubles recede to the back of his mind momentarily. Silence looms in every spare centimeter between the pair and the weight of it threatens to crush him from both sides. Someone has to speak or he´ll be flattened in their midst. After another minute of quiet he comes to the conclusion that someone has to be him. “How… are you?” he asks lamely, voice dragging in his own ears. “Fine,” Seokjin answers. Yoongi frowns at the clipped response before his features turn steely. “Good,“ he says and can´t possibly mean it. This is wrong. So wrong. Where is their good-willed banter? The joking jabs they usually exchange? The cracks of smiles? He won´t win any points for clever conversation in his current state, so he goes for a blunt approach. “What´s going on?“ Seokjin looks at Yoongi for the first time since they sat down. “Why don´t you ask him?“ It´s clear there’s nothing joking about the comment. It’s an arrow, aimed to strike. Namjoon wrings the hem of his hoodie. The exhilaration he felt at the appearance of the gate is long gone. “No need to bring it up again,“ Yoongi retaliates. “Ah, sure. Because you were so kind to enlighten me earlier.” Come on now, he pleads in silence, closing his eyes. If he’s going to be caught in their crossfire without a chance of resolution to their conflict in sight he can’t stay. Not with his defenses down to a bubble’s skin about to pop. Yoongi inhales, readying himself to fling the next round of words into the room. Namjoon stands abruptly. Seokjin ´s defiant stare turns puzzled. “Joon?” “I´m going home.” He´s halfway through the entrance hall when Yoongi calls, “Joon, wait-“ He doesn´t. He doesn´t bother to slip his shoes on properly either, shuffles into them and out into the cold night without looking back. The door slams shut behind him and the gate drops him off where he said he´d go. All he has to do is turn right and enter the apartment building. He looks down at his feet on the metal of the elevator's floor dumbly, thick fog pooling in his brain, and waits for the chime to tell him he arrived. How can so many things go wrong in one single evening? This time around he isn´t sure whether he prefers company to await him behind the dood or would rather be left to himself. “Short shift?” Hoseok asks, leaning into the hallway. So he´s not going to be home alone. Namjoon nods, not wanting to crack that particular can of worms open now. His friend´s in the middle of dressing up, clothes trailing from his room all the way to the bathroom. “Are you going somewhere?” “The club I told you about?” “Right.” “I figured you wouldn´t make it with work tonight, but now that you´re here- do you want to come along?” Hoseok emerges dressed in a stylish ensemble. “Sangcheol and Wonjae said they´ll be here in half an hour or so. We´re grabbing something to eat first.” Namjoon´s about to say no, but stops to think. Is staying at home really going to do him any good? Probably not. His dinner would consist of plain rice since he´s too lazy to invest work in anything else and then he´d sleep. Or try to. Who knows whether it would come to him easily with all the adrenaline his body produced earlier. He may as well follow the other three around on their night out; the day went down the drain already. 
The only way to go from here´s up, right?
 He locks the residual shock and annoyance into a faraway corner of himself, seals the lid over it, and tries for a wobbly smile. “OK. Give me ten to get ready.” “No problem. And don´t put on the first baggy shirt you find, pretty please?” “That´s ninety-five percent of my wardrobe.” “You´ll have to go for the remaining five percent then. ´Cause we´re gonna-” Hoseok tugs at his collar, “dress to impress.” Namjoon huffs, rolling his eyes. Truthfully, he´s glad he can count on his friend to be the one constant sunny spot in his surroundings when everything else is headed downhill. Nope. None of those thoughts anymore, he reminds himself and looks through his clothes to find something to match Hoseok´s outfit. In the end he strides out of his room in a white loose-necked tee under a red and black jacket, the shirt a little tight round his chest and arms. Hoseok nods approvingly, pointing to the bathroom to style his hair for him. He hums while he brushes through the strands with wax-coated fingers and Namjoon wishes this would last a little longer because he slowly begins to relax in Hoseok´s familiar presence. The doorbell rings and they check themselves in the mirror one last time before throwing on their coats- Namjoon has to pick the second one he owns, he didn´t get the other from the back room of the store before. Sangcheol and Wonjae are bundled in as many layers as they are, jumping from leg to leg to keep warm outside. The two greet them without questioning Namjoon´s decision to come along, actually seem excited about the addition to their group. On their way to the subway station they debate over what to eat. The vote lands on chicken. The place they settle into once they arrive at the stop close to the club is furnished with wooden furniture which adds to its pseudo-rustic charm. Calls of “Cheers!” go around the table as they clink their beer glasses and take big swigs before digging into the meal. A round of beers and a bottle of soju later Hoseok deems the night to have progressed far enough for clubs to start playing “the truest bangers”. According to him that happens anytime after the clock strikes half past eleven. No one has objections to bring forth, so they pay and leave to find the building. The bright letters above the entrance are a dead giveaway, outshining all other neon signs in the vicinity. In line behind a very tipsy and giggly group of people the four of them wait a solid twenty minutes to get in, chins tucked into their collars to keep their teeth from chattering. Finally inside and relieved of their coats they head for the source of the muffled bass pounding through the shiny black walls of the cloakroom. The dance floor is quite literally lit- the ground is entirely made up of glowing panels of milky glass, colors changing in pulses with the beat of the music and illuminating the mass of people moving on it from below. Hoseok turns to Namjoon and whoops to the lyrics. 
Looks like he´ll have fun.
 And it´s good to know the others are enjoying themselves. He gladly absorbs their cheerful vibes and trails behind a dancing Hoseok who found a less overrun table across from the entrance where most people who don't dare to breach into the fray flock together. “Drinks?” Wonjae asks by way of a hand sign and leaves with Sangcheol in tow to get them while the others guard the table. “Music´s good!” Hoseok shouts, grooving along. Namjoon himself starts teetering, gradually easing into the rhythm. A cup is held out to him a song later by a grinning Wonjae and he takes a sip of the drink without examining it too closely. There´s a sting layered underneath the sweetness, so it´s alcoholic. Good. It´ll keep up the buzz he´s been feeling for a while now. Hopefully it’ll help him sleep better later. They nod to the music on the outskirts of the crowd until Hoseok finishes off the last bit of his drink and slams the empty cup on the tabletop. He grabs Namjoon and pulls him into the mass of bodies, the other two following close behind. They bump their way into a free space, continuing their swaying in a loose circle, more animatedly now to blend in with the small ocean of humans. Hoseok works in subtle smooth moves from time to time and makes them laugh with purposefully over the top ones in-between when Wonjae calls him a show-off. Namjoon´s more at ease, begins to genuinely enjoy himself in the half dark, loud chatter and beats drowning out most of his thoughts. Eventually Sangcheol jerks his head to the side and Namjoon looks over to where he’s pointing at. It’s a girl, lavishly moving her arms and hips to the beat. Her hair falls over one side of her neck in silky waves, the color undefinable in the forever changing lights. She´s pretty. Her eyes are huge, lips puckered and red. She throws a cheeky glance over her shoulder at Namjoon on a turn, showing off the rounded backside of her dress. He keeps swaying and shakes his head at a very excited Sangcheol once the girl turns around to her companions again. “Why not?“ Sangcheol mouths, incredulous. Namjoon just waves him off. He’s not going to go into detail about his current relationship status. It’s complicated, pops up in his mind bitterly. That’s his cue to get another drink. He indicates the general area of the bar to let the others know where he´s headed and worms his way through the crowd, careful not to bump into people if he can avoid it. It´s a fruitless endeavor, toes are stepped on and elbows jam into ribs, but no one minds too much since he makes it to the bar without getting into a fist fight. The bartender pours him two shots when a brush to his arm- more insistent than the ones of patrons passing- draws his attention. He follows the hand there to the face of the same girl who danced next to them. She smiles, looking up at him through thick lashes, and leans in to make herself heard over the blare of the speakers. “Is one of those for me?” Her confidence throws him off. Both shots were intended for him, initially. But it would be rude, wouldn´t it? To not share his drinks? He was taught to share with the other kids. Alright, the alcohol may be getting to him. He decides to be nice because his last few hours were not and nudges one of the glasses over to her, watches her down it swiftly as he does the same. She smiles again, wider, hand coming to rest on his shoulder lightly. “Dance?” her lips ask and he´s in trouble. He didn´t see that coming. Idiot, what else would she come to you for?, a less muddled part of his brain inquires drily. You´re right, he thinks. Doesn´t solve our problem, though. So Namjoon does the only thing he can think of which isn´t a flat-out uncourteous refusal and shrugs. It´s enough of a confirmation for her to giggle and tug him onto the glowing dancefloor, plunging straight into fluid motions around him. He tries to shake off the stiffness by commanding his muscles to loosen and clumsily dances in place. It must look ridiculous next to her. She doesn´t mind, comes closer, gets bolder. Her fingers toy with the pendant of the necklace he put on back in the flat and he has to gently take her wrist to remove it from his chest. Her face falls. Great. “Sorry,” he says and points apologetically to where he remembers Hoseok and the others last stood. Let her make of that what she will. He flees. The bravest boy in all the land, echoes the mean sober devil in his head. Fuck off, he thinks, even if it has a point. The other three haven´t gone far from where he left them, the only difference being that Hoseok has given up on holding in his true powers. A few people around them cheer for him as he completes a perfect sequence and stoops into a bow. Namjoon hangs back, hides between Sangcheol and Wonjae in case anyone else gets the stupid idea of socializing with him, and pretends to cheer for his dancing king of a friend while he busts out one vicious move after another.   “How come you can drunk dance but can´t drunk walk a single step?” “Music,” Hoseok slurs. “It´s- Keeps me steady.” “You and me both, buddy,” Namjoon sighs. He readjusts his arm around the other´s waist and steers them towards their apartment building. Hoseok´s like an overcooked noodle, slinking from side to side, so they progress slowly. The other two said their goodbyes at the station and staggered their own way. Namjoon hopes they won´t wake up between bushes on a street corner in the morning because they couldn´t make it home. He sobered up fairly quickly after that last shot himself and has to deal with being the responsible one between his friend and himself at present. Hoseok's head lolls into the general direction of Namjoon's face. "Joon." "Hm?" “Are you still sad? You were sad earlier.” He noticed. Of course he noticed. The elevator doors slide shut behind them, the whir of the machinery and Hoseok´s hiccupping breaths the only sounds in the tiny space for a while. “I´m less sad now, I guess,” he finally says. Hoseok nods once. “Good enough.” “Yeah. Thanks.” “Anything for you, dude.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Seokjin was eighteen when the found the house- Fresh out of high school and just as fresh out of ideas on what to do with life. The future turned from a vague looming concept he liked to postpone thinking about into a harsh reality before he had the chance to prepare himself for its arrival. Much like the seasons had turned from sunny autumn to cold winter that year. Snow blew in tufts against his cheeks, shoes dragging through a mass of ice on the sidewalk tread so often it had turned into deep grey mud. Some of the vile slush seeped through the toes of his boots and his socks within, creating an opening for the cold to sink right into his feet. Even the weather conspired against him to bite him in the butt now. And honestly, how did the change surprise him? He knew high school couldn´t last forever. Every one of his friends had plans, or so it seemed. They moved on to go to university or took over their family´s businesses, climbed their way up steep career mountains. And then there was Seokjin, drifting aimlessly. They were already beginning to lose sight of each other over the rift between different paths. It was only a matter of time until they would be strangers to each other. The house looked different back then. The facade incorporated a lot more wood and a lot less glass than it does now, the general built resembling a giant mountain lodge rather than a modern villa. It looked inviting. Homely. Maybe that was why he didn´t turn around once he realized he wandered onto some stranger´s property. He walked up the path to the raised porch, a layer of white scrunching under his soles. The heavy oak door had a diamond shaped window at eye level, thin iron strips criss-crossing over it. A bird forged from the same material sat perched over the knocker in the middle of the wooden expanse, its wings spread wide above its head, feathers forming beams like those of a rising sun. A phoenix, Seokjin recognized. He tentatively reached for the cold iron ring, imagining the phoenix’ eyes following his every move, and thumped it against the wood twice. Not once did he think to ask himself how he came to be in this peculiar place. The house sure looked like none he’s ever seen in the city. It promised warmth and security and his feet were frozen into blocks of ice, so he didn’t ponder over it for too long. The phoenix swung out of view with the opening door, breaking its piercing stare. The face that greeted him was kind: Round glasses sat over equally round cheeks and the soft smile resting on the man’s lips added to his welcoming appearance. “Hello,“ he said, voice rich and soothing as milk and honey. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea?“ They settled in a library with bookshelves reaching to the top of the ceiling, tea cups in hands and a low coffee table between the wing chairs they relrelclined in. The glass wall to the conservatory wasn´t in place then, flames crackling in a fireplace in its stead. Seokjin found himself telling the man, who introduced himself as Hyun, quite a lot about himself. He didn´t know why, wrote it off to the warmth of the fire melting away not only the cold in his feet but also every social barrier right along with it. Hyun listened intently, nodding and humming, and eventually gave well-considered advice. “Drifting doesn´t have to be bad. It means you haven´t found what your heart longs for yet. You shouldn´t pressure yourself too much. Some people miss out on their entire lives hellbent on finding purpose. They forget to stop and see the opportunities life offers them at little bends in the road while they dash past in a straight line.” Seokjin took that bit of wisdom to heart. He was thankful for it. Hyun didn´t hold their difference in age or life experience over him despite obviously having more of both. They became friends, good if unlikely. Hyun laughed at his jokes, praised the home cooked meals Seokjin brought over on many of the following visits, and in return offered support in any situation the younger might have found himself stuck in. They sat and talked for hours on end, occasionally disrupted by someone´s knock on the door. “It´s my work, you see. To help people,” Hyun told him one evening, empty bowls and chopsticks sticky with black bean paste on the kitchen table. The room was way smaller than the one Seokjin uses daily now. More of a kitchenette than anything else. Like the rest of the house, it was cozy. “Help them- You mean like you help me?” Hyun nodded. “Although most seekers only come by once.” “So I´m a tough nut to crack is what you´re telling me.” “It´s also entirely possible the fault lies with me. Maybe I haven´t been able to help you find what you´re looking for. Or maybe you don´t have anything to look for, yet.” Seokjin was relatively sure neither could be the case. The man guided him through numerous decisions he was too overwhelmed to make alone in these past months. Which degree program to go for- because Seokjin figured he wanted to study, but didn´t know what. Whether he should accept his parent´s financial support in favor of enrolling at a more prestigious university or not. He decided to study business, both of his parent´s occupations in mind, and did in fact let them pay for his education. Not that it put a significant dent in their savings. He liked to ensure their money didn´t go to waste anyway by staying on top of his classes. But even so, even with a five year plan tucked safely into his pocket, he couldn´t help but feel as if he simply let the stream carry him along. None of his decisions were made out of firm conviction. It was practicality which drove him and he was sated but never truly satisfied with the course he was set on. Seokjin began to wonder, after spending more and more time at the house, if an occupation like Hyun´s would suit him. While many dreamed of making big changes for the better in this world it stayed a dream for most. Hyun truly helped people. It might have been change on the smallest scale- Still, to alleviate people of their worries and insecurities made a difference in the long run. So what if Seokjin aimed to become that person for someone? A guiding hand reaching out when they need it most, just like Hyun had been for him? “I´ve got a question.” “Well, go right ahead and ask.” “Your work is to help people and you´ve been given this house and your… magic to do so.” His magic. Seokjin was awed each time he caught a glimpse of Hyun using it. He pulled objects out of thin air so casually one could think he was born with the ability, disappeared and reappeared in different places whenever he pleased. When Hyun told him he received those powers from somewhere else- a mysterious source he never put a name to- Seokjin´s mind all but imploded on itself because it meant that others could be given those abilities as well. “...Yes?” Hyun waited for him to continue. “Where did you apply for the job?” The man blinked slowly and then a hearty laugh shook him. Seokjin spoke through his own grin, “I´m serious! Where do I hand in my resume for an internship?” The chuckles ebbed into huffed breaths. “You want to become a guide?” “I´ve seen what you can do for people first-hand, and that´s far more beneficial to humanity than whatever it is I can hope to achieve with my degree. So yes, I think I do.” Hyun sat back in his chair and measured him for a long moment. He looked kind even when contemplative, not intimidating in the least. The weight of his gaze, however, was not lost on Seokjin. “I could let you sit in on the next consultation.” “You would?” “You´ll have to see if it´s the right thing for you before I make you my student, won´t you?” Seokjin beamed.   The seeker was a stocky boy, younger than Seokjin, maybe seventeen, fidgety in his seat next to the fireplace. Out on the pathway he almost slipped and fell face-first into the snow but regained his balance in the last moment. Now he was trying to rub warmth into his thighs. “Thank you,” he sniffled and accepted a tea cup from Hyun. “So, what´s troubling you? If I might ask.” Hyun decided to be direct, Seokjin observed. It proved to be a good call. The boy ceased his squirming. “How do you know?” “You wouldn´t be here if something didn´t weigh you down.” “Um-“ He looked between Hyun and Seokjin. Then into his lap. “It´s a friend of mine. She´s going to move to Japan because her dad got a job there and- I never told her how much she means to me.” 
So it´s that kind of story, huh?
 “Not in a, uh, stupid lovey kinda way.” 
Oh.
 “We´ve been friends ever since kindergarten. I just don´t want us to forget about all of it once we don´t hang out as often. I know there´s nothing I can do about her moving, but-” Hyun made a sympathetic noise when the boy didn´t continue. “Now you don´t know how to tell her?” “Yeah. She´s going to meet new people over there and all that. I keep thinking it´s selfish to ask her not to forget about me when it´s her life that´s going to change so much. She´s going to have bigger concerns. And she´s not much into texting or anything, so it´s only going to burden her.” “Hm.” Hyun swiveled right. “What would you suggest he do, Seokjin?” He sat straighter with both Hyun´s and the boy´s attention on him. “Me?” The man nodded slightly, encouragingly. This was unexpected. He thought he wasn´t supposed to interfere, would watch quietly. It was kind of unfair of Hyun to put him on the spot like this. “Can I be honest?” Seokjin asked and watched the boy nod with a shrug of his shoulders. “It´s true. She´s going away and it sucks.” Hyun´s calm expression began to turn alarmed. Seokjin went on, “But what about her? She cares about you as well, right?” “I- uh. Yeah?” “Then let her know you don´t want your friendship to disappear just because you don´t see each other anymore. It´s a two-way street. If neither of you puts in the effort to make it work, it won´t. She´s not good at keeping up text conversations? Then call her. Or video chat, or whatever. You have all means of communication open to you. It´s going to be difficult, but be persistent for both of you.” He realized with an uncomfortable twist in his chest that his words rang true not only for the boy but for himself, too. He bemoaned the loss of his friendships after graduation even though he knew he was to blame as well as everybody who never messaged or called him. The boy fell silent, and so did he. Hyun seemingly waited for something to happen. “Man,” the boy finally sighed. “You´re right. Guess I needed someone to spell it out for me.” “You better talk to her sooner than later,” Seokjin suggested. The boy got up, placing his cup on the table. “I think I´m going to right now. Thanks.” “No problem.” They saw him off at the door and watched him almost fall into the snow a second time that day, determined steps carrying him to the gate. Hyun smiled after him fondly. “So, what do you think? Are you going to assist me?” The visitor´s enthusiasm must have rubbed off on him because he straightened his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and said, “I will!”   They offered opinions and advice to seekers in tandem from then on. Seokjin was never not amazed by Hyun´s ability to easily handle any shade of character presented to them, switching his own mood and demeanor like a chameleon to match and connect perfectly. He watched, he learned, he engaged, until one afternoon an unfamiliar figure appeared in the library. It was a man with a foxlike face, his satin blouse tucked into dark slacks. He stood in the previously empty space in front of the fireplace and Seokjin let out a surprised squeal, pulling his knees to his chest. He reacted similarly when Hyun jumped in his presence for the first time. It barely bothered him anymore, but to have a complete stranger barge into the room like this? Certainly a fresh spark of shock for him. “Lee Hyun?” the newcomer asked. Hyun was unfazed and polite as ever. “Yes, how can I help you?” “I´m here to tell you the one who watched over this house will not resume his position.” “Did something happen to him?” “He quit.” After a beat fox face adds, “And he sends his apologies for leaving without notice.” “That´s too bad. I would have liked to say goodbye in person. It can´t be helped, I suppose.” “I´m afraid not. I will take over for him. My name is Hwitaek.” “It´s a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to join us for a bit?” “I´d love to.” “Then have a seat, please.” Hyun called a third chair into existence with the wave of a hand. Hwitaek inclined his head, sat elegantly, and turned to study Seokjin with blatant curiosity. “And you are?“ And that was how Seokjin became acquainted with one of his later managers. He didn´t know, back then, that there was much more to the strange magic Hyun and Hwitaek were able to perform than he ever dreamed possible. He learned about it soon enough.   It was Hwitaek who delivered the message to him. He appeared out of nowhere in the auditorium of Seokjin´s university just as he was on his way to the next lecture hall. “Hyun´s in the emergency room right now. He was hit by a car.” Seokjin´s heart faltered. He searched for any hint of a distasteful joking glint in Hwitaek´s eye. Found nothing. The lecture was forgotten momentarily. “Take me to him.” Hwitaek jumped them to the parking lot of a hospital at the edge of the city. They rushed inside, the sterile smell hitting Seokjin like a brick wall. He stumbled to the reception desk. “Hello- Someone was brought in to the ER? Lee Hyun? Car accident?” He sped through the words, out of breath despite having run a mere ten meters, holding on to the slight overhang of the desk. The lady behind it looked up at him. “You know the patient?” “Yes- Yes I do. Can I- How is he? Is there a doctor I can talk to?” “The emergency team is currently taking care of him. Please, take a moment to calm yourself. I will let you know when the doctor is available. There´s coffee and tea in the waiting room.” Seokjin nodded mechanically. “Thank you.” He only noticed Hwitaek was still with him once he turned around. They found the empty waiting room and sat in uncomfortable plastic chairs leaning against off-yellow walls, neither opting for the hot beverages. Seokjin didn´t know what to say, so he said nothing at all. The seconds ticked by in silence. He stared at a spot on the linoleum floor between his feet, surroundings turning unfocused. Hwitaek was still as a statue to his side, hands resting on his knees. Eventually the lady from the reception came to find them. “Dr. Choi will talk to you shortly.” Seokjin thanked her in a monotonous drone and directed his gaze back to the ground. The next time someone stepped into the room the flash of stark white startled him from his stupor. A small woman in doctor´s overalls stood before them, her black hair pulled into a neat ponytail. “Please, how is he?” “I know you´re worried, so I´ll tell you the truth,” the doctor said. “His right arm and leg were broken from the impact and we did our best to stop the internal bleeding.” The unspoken ´but´ hung in the air so palpable she realized herself it did no good to stop there. “If the bleeding in his brain continues…“ Static noise swelled in Seokjin´s ears. He caught the words “critical condition” somewhere in-between, took in the apologetic look the doctor did her best to conceal, and then a harsh beeping sound bounced off the walls and Dr. Choi was gone. Seokjin slumped into his chair. Hwitaek was there to steady him, squeezed his shoulders and leaned in close to look him in the eye. “Hold it together, just for a bit. I´ll be back in a minute.” And then he was gone too, disappeared into the same direction the doctor had gone. Seokjin put his head between his knees and scrunched his eyes shut to concentrate on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Time slowed to a crawl. It took years until Hwitaek was back. He didn´t say anything, only put a hand on the nape of Seokjin´s neck. The telltale spinning sensation in his stomach told him they jumped, and he knew. Knew by the darkened house they came back to. Knew by the way the flames had gone out in the fireplace. As if the house itself had shut down along with its inhabitant. The high ceiling and the bookshelves suddenly turned threatening, ready to crash down and bury him under their weight at any minute. “You´re next,” Hwitaek said softly. “He said it´s your turn, if you accept.” They peered into the smoldering ashes. The sun might have raced the moon over the sky outside while he tried to find his voice again. Seokjin didn´t notice. “OK,” he finally whispered into the emptiness.   The house transformed after Hyun was gone, as if to remind him the world did in fact move on. Change occurred around him without asking for permission to do so. It was small at first- The windows grew bigger, rooms subtly readjusted their sizes and positions until one day Seokjin found himself coming home to a light-flooded and open house that was nothing like the lodge he first stepped foot into that one unforgiving winter. The only room to stay unchanged was the library, with the exception of the far wall. It was the place Hyun and he spent most of their time in and it only felt appropriate to have it stay the same, for the most part. A small piece of Hyun lived on here. Other than that Seokjin had no one except his own loneliness for company. It was so tangible he thought it would separate from his body and take shape to live in the house with him; sleep in its own bed and brew its own coffee in the morning. He was left alone in finding out how to conduct the powers granted to him once he took on the title of guide. Was left alone in his grief because Hyun had neither partner nor kids and his own family turned away from him over differences the man never talked much about. And he was ultimately left alone with the responsibility of helping others when no one was there to help him. He remembered the alleged paradox a younger version of him pondered over in elementary school once- Who brought the mailman´s mail? The answer was ´another damned mailman´, of course. But who guided a guide? Another guide? Surely not.  Seokjin never met others in the same field of work, though he knew there were many from how Hwitaek spoke about them. It truly was a lonely profession. No matter how many people he met and talked to, at the end of the day they left. And he was on his own again with lifeless rooms so big they could have easily held his physically manifested emotions and all of their friends. He´d finally have housemates- Sadjin could live downstairs, Slothjin in the kitchen, Smugjin in a cabinet. He was very small these days. The thoughts circled in his head like flocks of birds while he stood in the frozen food aisle of a grocery store. Because the house gave him anything he asked for but never provided food. In a kitchen thrice the size of its previous incarnation, with a big fridge and a high-tech stove, he could have cooked meals fit for kings. What did it matter if no one was there to eat them though? So frozen food it was. “Hey, uh-“ The low gravelly voice made Seokjin start. The face belonging to it didn´t quite match up at first glance. That was, until he snapped his gaze from soft lips to watchful eyes. “You´ve been staring into that freezer for fifteen minutes now. Are you OK?” Seokjin blinked rapidly, coming to. The guy was shorter than him, bleached hair clashing with the black rain jacket that came down to the middle of his thighs. “You can go ask a store clerk if you can´t find something.” “No.” “…OK?” “No, I mean-“ He sighed. Who would believe him if he told them his work required communication with other human beings on the daily? “I´m wasting time here.” “Why?” He couldn´t find a haphazard explanation, so the truth slipped out of his mouth. “To avoid going home.” Home, where he could never have a single quiet hour to himself, people always coming by seeking out his assistance. “There are better places than the store to do that, you know.” “Are there?” “Like that café down the street? I can help you waste your time there. If you want.” He was so perplexed by the bluntness of it that a laugh swelled in his chest, a squeaking sound escaping him on the next intake of air. The guy´s mouth pulled up at a corner. How he would have liked to see him smile for real. “Alright. Let´s go.”   When they were about to part ways dusk turned into dark on the horizon. Yoongi didn´t play around when he said he´d help him waste the day away. “Should we exchange numbers?” Seokjin asked as if it were an afterthought. It wasn't. “Numbers?” “Phone numbers.” “Ah, right,” Yoongi said. “I don´t have my phone on me. Ah, I can never remember the number.” “Just say no. I won´t push it.” Seokjin was more bummed out by the evasive excuse than he liked to admit. They had a great evening, or so he thought. Did Yoongi not enjoy himself as much as he did? “That´s not it, I swear. Give me yours? I may not use my phone all that often but you´re worth the exception.” And just like that, a smirk crept back onto Seokjin´s face. Yoongi, as it turned out, was very slow to answer texts. Snaillike, even. He really must have been using his mobile device for nothing but emergency calls up until that point. Seokjin was endeared by it for some reason, as he was endeared by most things Yoongi did. He never let him know, of course, how refreshing he was in his straightforwardness, the no-nonsense attitude he put forth finally giving Seokjin a rough surface to file his jagged edges against, gradually smoothing them down. “You´re a grandpa,” Seokjin teased on a lazy shopping trip through the city. Yoongi put the headphones he was examining back into the shelf, moving to the next to read the description on the back of the package. “Am not.” “You take a hundred years to type out a three word response. That´s peak grandpa behavior.” “When you´ve lived as long as I have-“ “Excuse me? I´m older than you.” Yoongi snorted. “Whatever. Call me old-fashioned. We´ll just have to talk face to face a lot.” Not that Seokjin minded in the least. “Texting is impractical when you´re busy, anyways. I type slower with only one hand free.” “Oh, do you now?” He asked, pulling up a suggestive eyebrow. “Kim Seokjin, where´s your mind going?” “Nowhere yours isn´t, I hope.” Yoongi hummed, placing the package back from where he took it with more precision than was necessary. “I don´t think we´ll find anything here. Wanna come hang out at my place?” “Hang out,” Seokjin repeated amusedly. “Sure.”   There´s rarely any sensation Seokjin hates more than the insistent smolder in the pit of his stomach he feels at this moment. It brings a bitter taste to the back of his throat that refuses to be washed down no matter how much tea he drinks. So he tries to distract himself by lying down on the grassy conservatory ground and letting his mind roam in lazy orbits as snowflakes begin to gather on the dome above. All he succeeds in is getting lost in memories he hasn´t revisited in a long while. He doesn´t push the thoughts away now, lets the veil open and the pain pass over until he can see his face clearly for the first time in forever. Hyun. His predecessor. His mentor. His friend. If he were here he´d have something profound to say about the situation, no doubt. Something along the lines of “This is hurting all of you, can´t you see?” And he´d be right. Seokjin reacted to the panic in Yoongi´s posture without thinking, choked on his own rising anxiety without realizing the other took it as a threat. He should have known better, tried to stay calm and collected. Still. He can´t forget the terror in Yoongi´s eyes over coming close to exposing something he clearly never intended for Seokjin to hear. Hyun had secrets. He didn´t share them unless he absolutely had to and Seokjin never held it against him. Hyun wasn´t his partner though. That may just be the problem- He lived together with Yoongi for so long, shared the same spaces both physical and mental, that he eventually forgot what it means to keep things to himself on purpose. Yoongi knows him. He knows Yoongi. There isn´t much that needs concealing between the two of them. Sure, they banter with each other for days on end, but the bickering ceases at once if a situation calls for seriousness. They´re adults, after all. Why then? What is it that Yoongi can´t trust him with? And is it really the supposed secret he´s upset about or the fact Yoongi kept it in the first place? He turns his head at the sound of the glass door closing and the following footfalls on marble, then the rustle of grass under soles. Yoongi spots him far too late to turn around and act as if he didn´t see him so he stands, a salt pillar, until Seokjin finally pats the ground next to him. “Come?” He does, plops down ungracefully an arm´s length away from Seokjin and falls backward, staring at the white capped top of the dome. For a while they lay still, breathing together. Yoongi shifts onto his side, slightly curled in on himself, seeks out Seokjin´s gaze. “I’m sorry,“ he says. It’s rare to hear. Not because he doesn’t know when to apologize, Seokjin knows. “For being so fucking stupid.” He can´t stay mad and uncooperative when the other takes this step, jumps over his own shadow. “I wasn´t the picture of maturity, either. Can we… talk about it?” Yoongi looks to where his hand rests on the ground, a blade of grass rising near his thumb. “We can talk about me being stupid,” he says. Peace offering or not, Seokjin isn´t about to let slide what´s been gnawing a hole into his frontal lobe ever since he heard what he shouldn´t have. “You said the kids were in danger.” Yoongi´s fist balls up in a play of frustration. He exhales audibly. “It´s being taken care of.” “What is?” “It´s why I talked to Hyuna.” He´s evading. Seokjin isn´t sure he has any chance of getting a straight answer, so he changes his line of questioning. “Why didn´t you tell me?” “Didn´t want you to worry.” “Well, that went over perfectly.” A joyless chuckle emanates from Yoongi. “Yeah.” After a few beats he says, “I promise you´re OK as long as you´re here. You. And the kids.” “Is there nothing I can do?” Yoongi shakes his head imperceptibly. “This is something I´ll have to deal with. On my own. Not because I don´t trust you- Hell, you know I do.” Then why?, Seokjin wants to ask. Yoongi speaks before he can decide to do so. “It´ll be over and done with soon and you won´t have to think about it ever again. In the best case.” “And in the worst?” It pains him to push like this, prod deeper, but he has to. “In the worst you´ll have to believe me a while longer. Can you- Do you think you can do that? Trust me?” Seokjin answers with another question. “You´re sure it has to be like this?” He can feel Yoongi´s gaze lock onto the spot between his collarbones. “Yeah. Sorry.”   He´s quiet after that, lost in some storm unknown to Seokjin, and takes a while to come back to the conservatory again. His fingers splay and he lifts the tips of them from the grass- A cautious offer. Seokjin waits for less than ten heartbeats, meets him in the space between them, and this, despite all, feels right. The cut that slashed them both is still there, but they managed to bridge the gap it created at least. They´ll have to rebuild another bridge before it´s lost to raging waters. “We hurt Joon.” Yoongi closes his eyes. “Shit. I know.” “Let’s go apologize.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Namjoon tries to recall the robber’s appearance in detail. He was not quite as tall as himself, about 175cm, give or take. Late thirties, slight statue, the voice Namjoon can’t specify. Those were among the first things the officer noted down. He looks up from the computer screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The bags under his eyes speak of one too many late night shifts, another only just beginning this evening. “And do you remember what he wore, his clothes?“ 
He wore…
 People constantly hurry past the cubicle Namjoon crammed into together with Ms. Ahn. They balance coffee mugs and stacks of files and papers in their arms. A quiet clicking fills the air like mechanical insect chatter, mouses and keyboards in fervent use. Adding to the soundscape is a low murmur from a few people on their phones behind thin cubicle walls around the room. None of it is helping Namjoon in scraping together his memories of the incident. The camera installed above the shop’s counter recorded everything in grainy black and white, the tape already handed to the police, but since the robber had a baseball cap pulled over his forehead his features stayed mostly obscured. 
Right.
 “He wore a baseball cap. Dark blue or black, I think. It had a logo, a triangle with writing in the middle. I don’t remember what it said.“ “Anything else?“ “A simple black jacket and khaki pants.” “His shoes?” “I didn’t see them.” Namjoon waits for the officer to dutifully add the details to his report. He goes on to ask him about the weapon the robber carried. All Namjoon can tell him is that it was a gun. It was hidden inside the jacket, so neither he nor the camera caught a clear enough view of it to identify the model. As the officer rattles off question after question and he has to shake his head in answer more and more he’s thankful for Ms. Ahn´s presence in the chair next to him. Her familiar face is a reassurance, especially since he suspects he´s being of no help here at all. Once they´re dismissed and outside the police station Namjoon assures the lady he´s okay with picking up work again but she tells him to take another week´s rest. Maybe she hopes the robber will be found and arrested by then. Namjoon doubts it. He doesn´t tell her. He bows in parting and they leave in different directions. Nights got progressively colder the past weeks. He´s bundled up in a scarf which reaches his nose to breathe warm air into it. The lick of a snowflake to his temple startles him. Namjoon intended to take a bus home, but as he gazes up into the flurry of white making its way to the ground he decides to walk the short distance to the stop after the next. It´s the first snow of the year. He´d like to enjoy it before it becomes a hard packed mass on the streets and turns into a nuisance rather than a pretty addition to the cityscape. Soft icy pecks clear his head of whatever anxiety and frustration are left after the witness report. He wonders how Hoseok´s doing at home. When Namjoon left in the afternoon he was cocooned in his blanket at the kitchen table, head resting against the wall with a small hangover drink stuck upended between his teeth. Sangcheol texted earlier to tell them he and Wonjae made it home after all, it seemed they were in a similar condition. Well. The night may have not been the most fun he ever had but at least Namjoon doesn´t have to deal with a pounding headache- A small victory on his side. What isn´t, on the other hand, is the fact that the next bus stop is farther away than he anticipated. Which means he has time to ponder while his feet carry him over the steadily whitening concrete. And since when does anything good ever come of that? The previous day replays in his mind unasked, sets in right after he closed the store´s door, heaving and trembling. Then he´s in the house with a distant Seokjin and a quieter than usual Yoongi and- He shouldn´t have jumped up and left. Should have stayed to try and help resolve whatever argument they were having since it was clear they were giving each other the silent treatment apart from the snaps they fired at each other over his head. But- Could he really have helped at all? What good would he have been other than a conduit to their dispute? Namjoon´s soles scrape to a stop. How arrogant. Who is he kidding? Those two share a history. They built their relationship on a foundation he wasn´t there to add to, have been together longer than he´s studied at university. Hell, they basically adopted three teenagers together. So what does he think he has to offer to them? He never took a step back to regard their constellation realistically before, fooled himself into believing he holds value in this situation. The truth is- he doesn´t. Does he? Stop, an inner voice calls, you´re catastrophizing again. 
Is that even a real word?
 It´s right though, the unseen angel on his shoulder. Forget crawling home. There´s only one way to find out where he stands between the three of them. He´ll have to go and talk to Seokjin and Yoongi like the adult he wishes he didn´t have to be. New determination bubbles up in his chest and pulls his spine straighter. As silly as it is, he nods to himself and takes a brave step forward to round a corner only to stop in his tracks again. Between two glass panes which make up most of the wall of a nearby bank building leans Yoongi. His fair hair is unmistakable in the orange-tinged glow of the street light. It´s as if the thought of him summoned him to the road junction. Or as if he was waiting for Namjoon. “What are you doing here?“ he calls, pulling his scarf from his mouth. Yoongi pushes off the wall, hands crammed into his jacket pockets, bulging them out. He´s probably clenching his fists against the chill. “I came to find you.“ “How did you know where I was?“ He peers up and down the street. “I followed my heart?“ 
Smooth.
 “The kids told you, didn’t they?“ Namjoon called Jimin earlier in the day on Hoseok´s behalf to tell the trio the extracurricular dance lesson they planned on having would have to be rescheduled due to their teacher´s idle intoxication. He might have mentioned his report in an off-handed comment, too. Yoongi clicks his tongue. “Busted.“ An involuntary smile plays around Namjoon´s lips. “About that visit to the police station, though-” His mouth rebounds into a straight line. “Are you free right now?“ Well, he’s free all week. “Yeah.“ “Would you mind coming over?“ “I was on my way, actually.” “Consider me your escort, then.” He frees a hand from his pocket, casually dangles it at his side. It´s a silent invitation, Namjoon understands, to either take it or leave it. He does the former and Yoongi´s more at ease immediately, the tension in his posture melting away as far as the cool breeze allows. His fingers don´t weave into the spaces between Namjoon´s, simply curl around the edge of his palm, and this is OK. Because they both know there´s things to settle before they can go back to swapping touches freely. Around yet another corner the gate materializes next to a closed fast food restaurant. “Ah, there you are!“ Seokjin hurries toward them from the house´s porch. A big tote bag is slung over his shoulder. He reaches into the bag halfway to the pair and comes up with a folded up scarf and a hat with a fluffy bobble. Namjoon´s slow to realize they´re both intended for him. Seokjin slings the length of cloth around his neck on top of the one he´s already wearing and pulls the hat over his ears. He arranges both carefully and finally meets Namjoon´s eyes, smiling. Unlike like the last time they saw each other he isn´t lost in thought, isn´t simmering, but similar to Yoongi he´s keeping a polite distance, doesn´t lean in for a greeting kiss. “What do I need these for?” Namjoon asks, indicating the articles of knitwear. He´s a little dumbfounded, admittedly. “It´s going to be windy.” “Where?” Aren´t they staying at the house? “You´ll see,” is all Seokjin says. The trimming of fake fur on his hood frames his face, fanning over his cheeks. Warmth seeps into Namjoon´s own as Seokjin´s thumbs brush over them. 
Guess it´s a surprise.
 He takes the hand Seokjin extends nonetheless and follows him over the threshold with Yoongi closing their chain. On the other side his feet find purchase on pavement, the grainy scrunch of sand ground into the gaps sounding through the quiet street. Namjoon surveys their surroundings. The houses to his right are stockier than the buildings in the city. There are no skyscrapers in sight. The area is rather rural, so they must be somewhere off the center of Seoul. To his left a hill rises and blocks the view beyond.mThey turn their backs to the houses and walk toward the hill. He smells it in the air first. Tastes salt on his tongue. Then he hears it. Namjoon´s strides quicken until he´s skipping, running, the hands still grasped in his forcing Seokjin and Yoongi to either let go or keep up with his pace. They hold on, trail less than a step behind, and stop with labored breaths when they crest the hill. And there it is. Stretching wide before them to either side of the horizon. The ocean. The line between sky and sea barely discernable in the darkness, blurring more the longer Namjoon gazes out into the night. He can do little more than stare until he spins to Seokjin, incredulous. “Jeju?” His family´s been to the island on vacation a few times, back when he and his sister were little. “It´s the warmest place I could get us to,” Seokjin says and shrugs. Unbelievable. Yoongi tugs on Namjoon´s hand and the three of them descend toward where waves lap at the beach. Weight trickles from Namjoon´s back with every centimeter his feet sink into the sand. He missed the ocean. Its sounds, its sights. The wind coming in over the open sea, filling his lungs. Breathing out tension, breathing in freedom. “Behold,” Seokjin announces and makes a show of wrestling a thick blanket out of his bag. They spread it out on the sand. Yoongi plants his butt firmly right in the middle. “Now warm me up, you human furnaces.” The other two hunker down and huddle next to the smaller man. For a long while they all crane their necks to peer into the night sky, clear and cloudless, lights blinking above the waves. “So,” Namjoon begins, “we´re out here because…” Seokjin and Yoongi exchange a look. It´s the former who speaks for both of them. “Yesterday was a mess. Apologies are in order.” He didn´t expect the straightforwardness. “What was the entire thing about, anyway?” Another wordless look is passed. Namjoon isn´t sure whether he should be annoyed by it, the way they communicate in secret. “It´s… sorted out.” The hesitation in Seokjin´s tone suggests otherwise. At least they´re on speaking terms again, so Namjoon doesn´t pry. “Hm.” Yoongi brings his knees to his chest. “What about you? Why were you at the police station, did something happen?” Something did happen, in fact. He isn´t going to brush it off as nothing. At the same time he doesn´t want them to worry unnecessarily after the fact. “We had an incident at my workplace.” Yoongi cocks his head in question. “Like what?” He´ll have to spill the beans it seems. “Like… armed robbery?” Seokjin whips around with wide eyes flitting over Namjoon´s features as if to find out whether he´s damaged anywhere despite having cupped his unmarred face only minutes earlier. “What?!” “I´m OK,” Namjoon says hastily, “he took the cash and ran.” Yoongi lifts a hand to stop him. “He pointed a weapon at you?” “A gun.” “What?!” Seokjin wheezes a second time. He shakes his head uncomprehendingly. “No wonder you didn´t put up with our crap yesterday!” “Fuck,” Yoongi agrees. “Fuck, Joon. Are you sure you´re OK?” “Yes.” He pulls the second scarf from around his shoulders and loops it around Yoongi´s whose collar does little to protect his neck from the wind. “Even if the police doesn´t arrest him he won´t come back a second time, right? That´d be stupid.” “Never underestimate stupid people,” Yoongi mutters into the fabric. Seokjin huffs a sound somewhere between relief and exasperation. “I´m glad you´re alright.” “Now I´m obligated to say I am too, huh?” Yoongi asks. “Because I am. Damn.” “All good,” Namjoon assures. They care. Of course they care. Was it less than half an hour ago that he thought they didn´t? How stupid. He turns and braces his legs to both of Yoongi´s sides, hands snaking out of his own pockets and into the other´s, the fingers intertwining with Namjoon´s freezing against his skin. Seokjin succeeds in mirroring the pose after some shuffling and joins his hands to the pairs already in Yoongi´s pockets. Bless the designer for making them big enough to fit in the haul of a small grocery shopping trip. That, or a grown cat in each. Namjoon softly rests his forehead against Yoongi´s temple. To get closer. And to keep the breeze from carrying away the heat in the spaces between them. “Not to sound ungrateful but, uh. It´s kinda cold.” “This idea sounded better on paper,” Seokjin admits, his own cheek already pressed against Yoongi´s. From their middle Yoongi says, “You didn´t even write it down.” “Oh, shush.” He doesn´t, of course. “If you ran a few degrees higher I´d be toasty.” Seokjin´s grin is audible. “I´ve got an idea how to get warmer.” Yoongi snorts. “We´re never doing that anywhere near sand again.” The surprised cough Namjoon tries to smother comes out as a harrumph and because Seokjin can´t seem to let the chance pass he goes on to say, “Joon.” “Hm?” Past Yoongi´s lashes he looks into one of Seokjin´s dark pupils, now intensely focused on him. “There´s something I wanted to tell you.” “What is it?” Seokjin´s lips pucker slightly. “You´ve got stars in your eyes.” The effect is instant. Heat climbs high into Namjoon´s cheeks, blazing a trail to his ears in record time. “Hey, it´s working. He´s burning up!” Yoongi tells Seokjin and they chuckle in unison. “Shut up,” Namjoon grumbles without malice. When they don´t he takes matters into his own hands and leans forward to place a peck near the corner of Yoongi´s mouth. He twists to seal their lips together, effectively drowning out his own laughter. It's good, to be close again. Namjoon absently registers the buzzing of his phone against his thigh. He ignores it as Yoongi deepens the kiss and pulls their hands in his pockets closer. “Do I get one?” Seokjin pouts. Namjoon pretends he has to think about it, which leaves Yoongi time to capture the man´s lips in his first. Once they part he shuffles forward and strains to reach Seokjin, the two of them meeting right in front of Yoongi´s nose who rolls his eyes and leans back to give them room. Namjoon´s phone buzzes again. Leave a message after the beep, he thinks and savors the kiss a little longer. How they end up curled in a tight packed heap of scarves and limbs he doesn´t know. His chin rests on Yoongi´s shoulder. The crown of Seokjin´s head is visible where he lies on Yoongi's chest, sandwiched between the taller pair. At the third buzz of Namjoon's phone in just as many minutes Yoongi taps his knee. “They´re insistent.” If it´s the same caller they are indeed. Namjoon sighs. He should at least see who it is. Who knows, it may be urgent. So he pulls the phone out from where it´s buried under Seokjin´s side and looks at the caller ID. Hoseok´s name flashes on the screen. “I´ll take this one.” The others right themselves sluggishly, releasing his torso so he can sit up properly. “Hello?” A crackle of static fills the line for a split second, then a sharp intake of air. “Joon. Joon, listen,” Hoseok whisper-shouts into the receiver. He´s hectic, as if his mouth only barely keeps up with the breakneck speed of his mind. “I´m listening.” “They´re- Wherever you are, don´t come here.” “Seok, what are you talking about? Who´s what?” Seokjin and Yoongi are very obviously trying not to listen in, but the alarm in Namjoon´s voice calls their attention. “Just don´t- Oh, shit. Joon! Don´t-“ A screech cuts him off, like nails on a chalkboard multiplied and layered, followed by another burst of static. “Seok?” Static. “Seok?!” The line goes dead. Namjoon stares at the phone´s screen, unable to comprehend. “What is it?” Seokjin asks. Something´s wrong. He can feel it, a snake coiling low in his gut. “I have to go.” “Wait, wait. Joon,” Yoongi takes his wrist before he can scramble to his feet. “We´re coming with you.” “I don´t-“ “We´re coming with you,” Yoongi repeats, more insistent. He stands and helps Seokjin up as well. “It sounds like he´s in trouble.” “I think he is,” Namjoon chokes out. He never heard Hoseok that agitated before, never as scared as he just did. Sure, he´s an amplified version of skittish, screams through horror movies and jumps at the smallest scares. But not once did he ever sound like that. Like he was in true naked fear. Seokjin´s hand on his arm shakes Namjoon out of his panic. “Where do we have to go?” “I don´t know. I don´t know where he is. We have to be quick. What if-“ “OK, OK. I´ll jump us to him.” “Jin-” Yoongi tries to object. “We met him, I should have enough of a grasp on him to make it.” “So what, you´re going to take us both? Even if it works, it´s going to knock you clean out!” “Does it matter? We don´t have any time!” Namjoon can´t get his thoughts in order. All he can do is nod dumbly because yes, they don´t have any time. “Here,” Seokjin says and thrusts his fingers into both of their fronts, “hold on tight.” “Jin, wait-“ It´s the last thing Yoongi can say before the ground is sucked away from under them and they´re falling. Namjoon´s shoulder smacks into a hard surface, then something solid smacks into him from behind. He feels the first obstacle, flat and rough. White, with a light blue border running along the bottom. A wall. He knows it, knows it well. They´re in his apartment building. Yoongi pressing into him may be the only thing keeping him upright at the moment. He has to move. Hoseok. Hoseok needs help. So does Seokjin. He´s slumped over Yoongi who puts one wobbly arm around his neck and lets Seokjin lean on him to take their combined weight off of Namjoon. To his surprise he remains standing, heart pumping adrenaline-fueled blood through his veins that keeps the dizziness of the jump at bay. He spins to check for the elevator down the hall. A big number five is painted next to it in the same light blue that adorns the walls, which means they´re two stories down from his floor. Hoseok´s probably in their flat. Where else would he be? Seokjin´s jump must´ve been off by a couple of meters. “This way,” Namjoon tells Yoongi and hurries to his side to support the semi-conscious Seokjin as well. They make it into the elevator at a slower pace than Namjoon prefers. He punches the button on the panel repeatedly and silently urges the machinery to do its work faster, please, come on, faster. The ping signaling their arrival is also the signal for Seokjin´s shutdown. His limp body slides forward. Only Namjoon´s hand clasped into the back of his jacket saves him from crashing face-first into the polished tile floor. “Shit,” Yoongi curses. “I told him. Fool.” With effort they manage to get Seokjin out of the elevator and prop him up sitting against the wall. “He´ll come around?” Namjoon asks. “Yeah. It´ll take a bit. He´ll be fine.” That´s all he needs to hear. He searches his pockets for his keys and turns to dash to the door to his and Hoseok´s flat on the opposite end of the hall. “Wait!” Yoongi calls. “What?” Namjoon´s getting more impatient by the second. “Let me open it.” He doesn´t understand the request, doesn´t see the point. It doesn´t matter. Arguing would do nothing but waste time. So he throws Yoongi the keys and watches him open the door, positioning himself between Namjoon and the flat beyond. That alone should tell him something isn´t right. It takes the sight unfolding before him once Yoongi pushes the door open to be absolutely sure that nothing is right, in fact. It´s like looking through a rift in reality into some other dimension made of fire and ashes. The couch in the entrance area is torn to shreds, bits of upholstery and wood scattered all over. Further into the flat the doors are blown off their hinges, pieces of the things that made up Namjoon´s and Hoseok´s rooms flooding out into the hall. The walls, the floors, the ceiling are blackened as if struck by blasts of flames, remnants of them still dancing on the remains of their meager possessions. And in the middle of it all- Hoseok. He´s face down in the rubble. Namjoon recognizes him by the shirt he´s wearing, one of the tackier ones Hoseok owns. Over him looms a shape. Something. Someone. Two of them. They aren´t important. All Namjoon sees is his friend, broken down and clearly hurt, skin charred in places where it isn´t covered by cloth. The clothes themselves are slashed, the slits no doubt created by rocketing debris. The worst part is that he isn´t moving. Not a twitch in his fingers. Namjoon can´t be sure from a distance if he´s breathing at all. “Seok,” he croaks past the desert dryness of his tongue. Yoongi doesn´t react fast enough to hold him back, caught up in his own shock. Namjoon stumbles past him, skids over bits of couch and plastic and- Is that a key from his keyboard? He has to get to Hoseok. That´s when all hell breaks loose. The two shapes towering above his friend´s lifeless form- humanoid, though he can´t concentrate on their faces- stir and pounce on Namjoon too quickly for him to comprehend. Something´s coming his way, a bright light, maybe a flame, and he can´t duck or drop, too stunned by the speed of events passing in rapid-fire succession. Yoongi shouts out from behind him. A warning? A curse? And then the room is illuminated by a second source of light, only this one isn´t hurtling toward him but shooting past him, smashing into the attackers. In moments Yoongi seizes his arm still reaching out for Hoseok, fists into the back of his friend's torn shirt and they´re suddenly standing in the hallway outside, Seokjin looking up at them with bleary eyes. A blink, and they´ve moved again. Namjoon´s knees crash into familiar hardwood floor. He whips his head around, searching frantically for Hoseok and finds him an arm´s length away, lying unconscious in the entrance hall of the house. Seokjin´s house. Crawling over he hovers near Hoseok, unsure of whether he should touch him or not. He´s so damaged, the smallest pressure to the wrong spot could break him for good. Or not. What if he´s already broken beyond repair? His ribcage is stagnant, no rise and fall to it. Panic wins and Namjoon reaches for his wrist to feel for a pulse. He waits. Digs the pads of his fingers in deeper. Hopes. Prays. Nothing. “Help,” he gasps. “He´s not breathing! Someone do something! Help!” Yoongi nudges him aside none too friendly, rolling Hoseok over in one rough movement. Namjoon wants to stop him from treating his friend like a sack of rice. He´s about to protest when a whince escapes Hoseok, weak and pitiful. But it means- 
He´s alive. He´s alive!
 “Stay back,” Yoongi commands and for some reason Namjoon does. The other is searching for Hoseok´s temples under blood crusted bangs and finally finds them, fingers locking onto both sides. Is Yoongi just holding his head steady? No, something else is happening. Hoseok´s groans get louder under his touch. And then Namjoon witnesses how his scraped and opened skin, blistered and flaking, evens out slowly. Gashes knit themselves back together. Skin mends to assume the smooth form Namjoon remembers, tiny moles blooming in all the right places. “What´s going on here?” Comes a voice from their left. The kids. The three of them are gaping and bolted to the spot where the entrance hall meets the corridor to their room, perplexed by the scene playing out in front of them. Seokjin moves from where he lies on his back a few paces closer to the door into a more stable position on his side. He´s breathing hard from the exertion of it, palm smacking flat onto the floor in an attempt to rise. It´s not working, evidently, the muscles not obeying him. His arm flops to the ground again. For all his exhaustion he musters up enough presence of mind to focus his gaze on Yoongi, still working whatever wonder it is he´s performing on Hoseok, eyes drilling into him unwaveringly. “You´re one of them,” he grits out in labored exhales. Not a question. Not quite an accusation. Silence. “One of whom?” Namjoon asks in a voice so subdued it wouldn´t be heard if it weren´t for every last person in the room holding their breath. Seokjin stays unmoving, gaze burning a hole into Yoongi´s side profile. “Gods.”