Work Text
The message had been entirely unexpected.
Hello ^^ This is Park Jimin. You may not remember me ^^
It had taken just a moment of blank uncertainty before Namjoon did remember. Park Jimin. Glasses and round cheeks. They had math and science together in Namjoon’s fourth year. It had been Jimin’s third year, and he’d gotten some kind of special permission to take senior-level classes. Because of the glasses and the nerdy ambition, Namjoon had expected Park Jimin to be one of those genius terrors who sucked up to the teacher and made all the rest of the students look bad. Namjoon’s had a few of those in his own classes. He’s come to known the type. But Jimin had not been that at all. He’d been kind. Friendly with everyone, if not exactly friends. Not as smart as Namjoon had thought he might be, but a tremendously hard worker. They had been lab partners, and Namjoon had looked forward to the one day a week he got to spend an extra hour with Jimin, looking at nuclei through a microscope and staining onion cells. They didn’t run with the same circles outside of class — Namjoon had been big into his rap phase then, and Jimin had been a bit of a nerd, reading manga at the tables in the back of the cafeteria at lunch — but he’d liked Jimin. Liked his laugh and his smile and the way his hair was always a little too long, like he was overdue for a haircut but didn’t care.It took Namjoon many years and a substantial amount of therapy to come to terms with his sexuality, but in retrospect it’s pretty clear; he’d had a crush on Jimin, a silly little high school crush. Jimin’s message continued: I recently moved to Tokyo and I was going through Facebook and noticed you live here. I hope you don’t find this too weird, but I don’t really know many people in town and I was wondering if you wanted to meet up for a drink or something ^^ If you do find this too weird, just ignore me! But if not, let me know. I would really like to see you again hyung ^^ Namjoon hadn’t found it weird, but he’d felt weird, all the same. He didn’t think about high school a lot, wasn’t really in touch with any of his friends from those days. When he thought about the kid he’d been back then, he felt a little shame and a lot of pity. He was proud of the person he’d grown into, and wasn’t sure he wanted to revisit the person he’d been. But then he’d thought about Jimin — alternately shy and a little too loud, eager to share the latest volume of the manga he was reading with Namjoon, weirdly bashful about acing a quiz. He’d been a physical person, too, in a way Namjoon was not then and would never be. Jimin had hugged and held hand and patted shoulders. He’d made Namjoon feel a little scared back then, back before Namjoon had understood that what he was feeling was attraction. Namjoon might not have been eager to revisit his own high school self, but he’d been curious about Park Jimin. His Facebook profile was entirely opaque. No details — not even what college he’d gone to. Just a few pictures of majestic scenery: the sun rising over snow-capped mountains, a sparkling lake with a quaint town nestled beside it, an anonymous city at night, full of lights and mystery. Pictures so perfect they looked like stock photos. Maybe they were. But Namjoon had been curious about Park Jimin, so he’d replied to the message: Hi Jimin! It’s so good to hear from you. I’d love to get a drink. I’ve been in Tokyo for a while and I’d be glad to share some tips and tricks. Are you free next Friday? Jimin’s reply had come quickly. He was free next Friday. Namjoon proposed a favorite cocktail lounge. They agreed on a time. It had seemed low stakes. If things were weird — if Jimin was weird — Namjoon would have his one drink, and then he’d leave. Easy enough. Now it is Friday night and Namjoon is sitting at the end of the bar nursing a drink. It was a long day at work, and he feels a bit tired and very rumpled. He’d thought of going home to change, but then he’d stayed late talking to one of the seniors in his Comparative Literature class, a brilliant girl who was terrified she was going to get a miserable grade on the latest essay he’d assigned. He’d listened to her and then talked her through the assignment and by the time she was calm and reassured, it had been nearly five o’clock and he didn’t have time to go get changed. It’s okay. He’s not looking to impress anyone. Park Jimin will just have to tolerate his wrinkled shirt and slouchy corduroy pants. Jimin had never been one of those kids too concerned with style; Namjoon assumes the same will hold true for adult Jimin. Namjoon imagines the him as a round-faced guy with thick glasses and thinning hair, maybe with a pocket protector. He snorts, and takes a sip of his drink. He can handle that.From where Namjoon is sitting at the end of the bar, he can see the front door. He’d chosen this seat for that purpose, so he could keep an eye out. This bar is one of his favorites, and not only because two of his closest friends own it. Yoongi and Seokjin have done a really nice job with the place, decorating it in sophisticated jewel tones and lush fabrics. They’ve long since turned operations over to a general manager, but it makes Namjoon feel a bit better to be somewhere he feels comfortable, somewhere that he can feel the lingering touch of his friends. The door opens, and a man in a black trench coat steps inside. It is a drizzly, dim evening. He closes his umbrella. He’s turned away from Namjoon, so all Namjoon sees as he takes off his coat is a glimpse of dark suit, white collar, high cheekbones, flushed cheeks. The flash of an earring, dangling. The man is handsome and well-dressed. He scans the bar and when his eyes meet Namjoon’s, he smiles, and — oh. Oh no. It’s Park Jimin. Everything else is different, but there’s that smile that Namjoon remembers so well. He waves, and walks over to where Namjoon sits. “Namjoon-ssi,” Jimin says, grinning. “Hello!” “Hey,” Namjoon says, hiding his consternation behind a boisterous, friendly voice, “Park Jimin, I thought we were friends. Just call me hyung!” Jimin shrugs, sheepish. “Hi, hyung,” he says. “It’s so good to see you.” They shake hands. Jimin’s hand is small, square. His grip is firm. Up close, he’s startlingly good-looking. Namjoon fights an urge to melt off the barstool and disappear.Jimin scoots onto the barstool beside Namjoon. He brushes his hair back out of his face. “Wow,” he says, looking around. “This place is so cool. Do you come here often, hyung?” Namjoon nods. “Pretty often,” he says, smiling. “The guys who own it are from Seoul. They’re good friends of mine, actually.” “Cool,” Jimin says, wide-eyed and admiring. Despite the sleek polish of this new, grown JImin, there’s still something disarmingly open about him. “You live around here, huh?” Namjoon nods. “I do,” he says. He picks up his glass and then puts it down without taking a sip. “What about you?” His timing is bad. The bartender comes over then to take Jimin’s order. She is new; Namjoon doesn’t know her. She asks for Jimin’s order in Japanese; Namjoon is surprised when Jimin responds fairly fluently in the same. When she goes to fix his drink, he turns to Namjoon and grins sheepishly. “I studied Japanese in college,” he says. “But that was so long ago. I did one of those online intensive courses to refresh myself but I still feel like I’m making an idiot out of myself.”He brushes his hair out of his face again. It’s dyed an ashy brown color that suits him very well. He’s wearing a little makeup, too, maybe. That suits him even more. Namjoon looks away. “You sounded fine,” he says, slipping into his professorial tone of voice. “Really?” Jimin asks, wide-eyed. “You must be nearly fluent by now, so I’ll take your word for it.” “Not really,” Namjoon says, glad to move onto safer conversational ground. He’s used to talking about his career. “I teach in English, actually.” “Oh wow,” Jimin says. “Really?” Namjoon nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I went to college in —“ “In the States,” Jimin says. “Yeah, I remember.” He shakes his head. “Everyone was so impressed. Nobody from my year went abroad.” Namjoon smiles, a bit awkward. Going to college overseas was the domain of the very wealthy; his family was well off, but couldn’t have afforded the tuition at an American university. Namjoon, stubborn and convinced he was destined for greater things, had applied anyway. Miraculously, he’d gotten admitted. Even more miraculously, he’d gotten a scholarship that covered nearly all of his costs. “It was hard,” Namjoon says. “Definitely hard. The instructional methods were totally different than what I was used to, and I mean, I wasn’t really fluent in English, TOEFL scores aside. Not at first anyway.” “You stuck it out though,” Jimin says. “That’s so cool.” Namjoon nods. “Yeah. I did. And then I got my PhD in the UK.” Sadly, a PhD in comparative literature hadn’t opened any magical doors to wealth and fame. “I teach at one of the international high schools here now, and I pick up a few courses at one of the American universities as an adjunct.” “Oh wow,” Jimin says. “You’re a professor. That’s so you, hyung.” His eyes are wide, and he’s smiling. Namjoon looks basically the same as he did when he was sixteen, just a bit taller, and with a few more wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Park Jimin looks like he stepped out of a fashion plate. It’s burdensome.Namjoon smiles. He feels like he’s been talking too much. When the bartender comes back with Jimin’s drink Namjoon orders another. He feels a little flush. “What about you? What have you been up to, Jimin?” Jimin smiles in a weird, flat way. “Ah, nothing really very exciting,” he says. “I — uh, I work for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, actually. I was stationed in Switzerland for five years, and now I’m here.” Switzerland? Ministry of Foreign Affairs? “Jimin, what’s so impressive. Wow. Est-ce que tu parles français?" he asks, in his stiff, awkward university French. He'd never been fluent, and what mastery he had once is gone now. Jimin laughs, a high, ringing laugh like bell. "Oui," he says "Und ich spreche auch ein bisschen deutsch." "Oh wait," Namjoon says, frowning. He hasn't had that much to drink. "That wasn't French, I think, right? Unfair!" Jimin is grinning still. "German," he says. "Honestly, though, I'm not really fluent in either. I just, you know, picked up enough to get by." German, French, Japanese -- Namjoon is really impressed. "I don't know," he says. "It sounded pretty good to me too. Are you an ambassador?" Jimin shakes his head, laughing. "No, no," he says in a rush. "Nothing like that. Foreign service. I worked at the embassy. We get five year postings, so, um. It was time for me to move on. Japan was my first choice, but I was still really surprised when I got it. I thought I was going to end up in Denmark." He leans forward, and the earring in his left ear catches the light. There's something charming about the gesture. There's more than one thing that's charming about Park Jimin, Namjoon thinks. “Denmark would have been cool,” Namjoon says, randomly, distracted. "You've lived here a long time, haven't you, hyung?" Jimin asks. He takes another sip of his drink. Namjoon nods. "Almost seven years," he says, and as he says it he marvels. Has it really been that long? "What about," Jimin asks, and his eyes narrow. "What about. Um. Are you married? Do you have any kids? I bet you have super cute kids, hyung." Namjoon laughs. "No kids!" he says. Even though he'd like to be father some day, maybe, right now he barely feels like he's capable of keeping himself going. "No, no kids, and I'm not married. I’m an old bachelor, these days." He tries to make it sound boisterous and joking, but it doesn’t. He clears his throat. "What about you?" he asks, even though he's already checked and saw no ring on Jimin's left land. Jimin laughs again. "Oh, no," he says. "Definitely not married." He smiles a tight, tense smile. "I'm gay, actually. Maybe that's not so surprising. Enough people teased me about it, when we were back in high school.” "Oh," Namjoon squeaks. Jimin gives him a sharp look. "That's not a problem, right? I didn't think you would --" "Oh no," Namjoon says. "No. No! It's not a problem at all. I'm sorry. I was just. Um. Surprised?" Jimin lifts an eyebrow. He brings his glass to his red, red lips. Drains it. "Really?" He huffs. Barely a laugh.Namjoon shrugs miserable. He ought to say something now about how he's gay too. About how he'd had a crush on Jimin. He ought to make a joke of it, tease something delightful and charming out of those weird old high school memories. But he's not Seokjin, with his dashing, laughing demeanor. He's not Hoseok, whose smile is a strong enough charm to blow away the cobwebs of awkwardness. He's not even Yoongi, who is blunt enough to blast through any conversational faux pas. He's just Kim Namjoon, who thinks too much and lets his tongue get the better of him when he shouldn't. "I mean," Namjoon says. "Um, I don't know? I guess I wasn't really paying attention to that kind of thing back then, you know?" Jimin nods. "Fair," he says. "You looked tough, but you weren't one of those assholes who sat in the back of the class and threw paper when the teacher wasn't looking." "I looked tough?" Namjoon asks, amazed. The bartender comes over then, and Jimin orders another drink. Namjoon orders another too. He's enjoying himself, he realizes, as awkward as it is to think about these old memories. "You looked so tough," Jimin says, earnest, smiling. "You were like, so cool, hyung. Everyone knew you performed with a real crew, and did actual shows and stuff. You were the real deal!" Namjoon nods. He had, for a little while, but it hadn't been like Jimin says. It had just been him and a few of his friends messing around at first, and then the tracks they posted online had gotten some attention and they’d performed at a few showcases. He'd enjoyed himself on stage and thought about pursuing music seriously, but then the scholarship had come through and life had taken a different path. "I guess," he says, a little uneasy. “I haven’t rapped in years, though. High school was a long time ago.” Jimin looks up from under long lashes. "Yeah," he says. "It was." There's a note of regret in his voice that Namjoon doesn't like to hear.The bartender comes with their drinks. Jimin takes a sip of his. His eyes flutter closed and then open again. "Ugh." He slips one arm out of his suit jacket and then the other. With nimble fingers he undoes the top button of his white shirt, undoes his cuffs and rolls them up. His forearms and wrists are nice -- sturdy-looking, but delicate too, somehow. "Sorry," he says, grinning. "Sometimes that thing starts to feel like a straight jacket." Namjoon nods in sympathetic understanding, even though he doesn't have to dress up nearly so nicely for either of his teaching jobs. "So," he says, feeling a little nervous. "Ministry of Foreign Affairs, huh?" Jimin nods. "What made you decide on that?" Namjoon asks. "You were so good at math. I always thought you were going to go in for a hard science or something." Jimin tips his head back and laughs, nearly falling off the bar stool and having to cling on to save himself. "Really?" His eyes are wide with amazement. "I mean, I was okay at math, but no way. In high school I thought I was going to be a dancer." "A dancer?" Namjoon think of the Jimin he'd known back then: his glasses and the careful and meticulous way he'd worked through the lab packets and his shy smiles. "I took dance lessons for years, since I was a kid," Jimin says. "Not something cool like b-boying or whatever. Mostly modern. Some ballet." He shrugs, sheepish. "People had enough things to make fun of me for. I guess I didn't talk about it much because I didn't want to give them any more ammunition." His cheeks are a little pink. Namjoon feels stricken, tries to remember, hopes he was never one of those people who made it so that Jimin felt like he couldn't talk about this big part of himself, this thing he practiced and loved. "I'm sorry," he says. "High school was pretty shitty, and I hope I didn’t --" "You don't have to apologize," Jimin says, indignant. "Hyung, you were great. You weren't -- you were always really nice to me, even when I was the weird junior in senior level bio." He stares down at his feet, which dangle. He's not really that short, but he's shorter than Namjoon by a good few inches. "Oh," Namjoon says. "Good." Jimin shakes his head, still staring at the ground, and then looks up, smiling. "I went to school for dance, but I took an International Affairs class as an elective and really enjoyed it, so I double majored." "What did you like about International Affairs?" Namjoon asks. He's almost done with his third drink now, and feeling warm and glad with it. The bar is more crowded, and with the crowds come noise. He leans forward to hear Jimin better. Jimin looks thoughtful for a moment. "I liked the idea that you could make things better between people on different sides of the world. Building relationships. Understanding. That kind of thing. I know that's naive, now, but I was twenty years old. And..." He fidgets again. "My family didn't come from a lot of money. I had a scholarship in high school, you know. I'd never been overseas before. I guess it was like I didn't even realize what a big, strange, amazing place the world was. I wanted to see it, or at least as much of it as I could. I was still planning to be a dancer, but then I took the Civil Service Examination and passed, so..." He smiles in a self-effacing way, like he thinks his reasons are silly. "I love that," Namjoon says. "I think that's a really beautiful sentiment, Jimin." Under the praise, Jimin gets even more bashful. Silly shy. It makes Namjoon want to do something outrageous, like hug him. "That's part of why I studied comparative literature, actually," Namjoon says. "I started off as an English literature major but I wanted to see more of myself in what I read. I mean, not just me as a Kim Namjoon, but me as a Korean person. Me as an individual and me as all of my intersecting identities. I had a really great professor who helped me think more about what it meant to study literature not as like, this isolated precious thing, but something that interacts with language and culture and history." Jimin is leaning forward. His eyes are wide, and his lips are slightly open. "That's really cool, hyung," he says. "You're so smart." Namjoon laughs. "I don't know," he says. "There's not a huge market for Comp Lit PhDs. Hence the teaching thing." The bartender comes over again. "Can I get you another round, gentlemen?" she asks, smiling. Namjoon looks at Jimin, smiling and rosy-cheeked. It's late, but it's Friday, and when's the last time Namjoon stayed out on a Friday anyway? Normally he's at home reading or watching old movies. "Jimin-ah," he says, feeling fond. "I don't know if you're in a hurry, but if you have time, we could stay here, or -- or maybe we could go get something to eat?" Jimin's face lights up. Really. His smile has actual wattage. "That would be great, hyung," he says. "I didn't get to eat lunch today." Jimin gets out his wallet but Namjoon is quicker. He hands over his card. "My treat," he says, smiling. He doesn't know how much you make in the foreign service, but Namjoon's career has been good enough to him. It makes him happy to think he can buy Park Jimin a couple of drinks. Jimin smiles back. "Thanks, hyung," he says, but he wrinkles his nose. "I'll pick up dinner, then." Namjoon nods. "What do you like to eat?" he asks. "Anything," Jimin says cheerfully. "Sushi?" Namjoon's face falls before he catches himself, and Jimin laughs. "Not a fan?" Namjoon shakes his head. "I don't really like seafood," he confesses. "But there's a place I like nearby that does good yakiniku." "Yakiniku sounds good to me." Jimin smiles, sidelong, teasing. "I'm almost glad you don't like seafood, hyung. You were beginning to sound a little too perfect."Red-cheeked, Namjoon splutters for a moment, and then is rescued by the bartender, who comes over with his receipt for him to sign. ***** A little while later they are tucked into a cozy booth. They've ordered tall glasses of cold beer, and the first slices of tongue are sizzling on the griddle in the middle of the table. They've reached a weird impasse: what do they talk about while the food is cooking? "So," Namjoon says, fiddling with his chopsticks. "Where are you living?" "In Setagaya," Jimin says. "I'm just in temporary housing for now. I'm looking for something permanent." "Ah," Namjoon says. "That's a nice area, though." Jimin nods. "I like it so far, a lot. I'm looking for something a little closer in, though." He runs his hands through his hair. He does that a lot. Namjoon likes it. "I was talking to my friend Taehyung the other day -- my best friend, from college -- and he was so excited because of how much closer I am now, but I think that's going to make it worse, in some ways." "Worse?" Namjoon doesn't quite understand what he means. Jimin smiles. "You can't fly directly from Zurich to Seoul," he says. "It's at least an 18 hour trip, and tickets are pretty expensive. It was a good reason not to come home a lot." His smile softens into something a lot more bittersweet. "Now that I'm only a few hours away, everyone's expecting me to come home and visit all the time." Namjoon nods. He goes home to see his family a few times a year. "And you don't want that?" Jimin shakes his head. "No," he says. "No, I do want to see them. It's just... they think I have this big, exciting career and it's not really like that." He shrugs. "My life is pretty boring. I mean, half the time I'm just doing generic office work. My job is important. I know that! It's just... it's not what they think it is. Any of it." He huffs out a laugh. "I'm so sorry, hyung. I shouldn't be burdening you with all of this." "No," Namjoon says quickly. "No, it's fine, Jimin. I understand that feeling, actually?" Jimin looks up quickly. "You do? Really?" Namjoon nods. He wouldn't put it in quite the same words, but he understands only too well the feeling of being a fraud. It is something he's struggle with for a long time. "Yeah," he says. "I do. I felt that way when I went to the States -- like, if I got such a great scholarship I must be some kind of a genius, right? But it was really hard for me. And now, uh. Yeah. I think my parents think I'm living this kind of charmed life over here, but that's not really what it is at all." Jimin nods slowly. He flips the slices of tongue, which are crispy and well-done now on one side. As the other side touches the metal, the edges curl up enticingly. After a moment, Jimin deftly takes them off the heat, putting two onto Namjoon's plate and two onto his own, and neatly arranging the next serving over the grill. Namjoon is hungry, and the drinking has made him hungrier. The food tastes good. "I didn't think you'd feel that way too, hyung," Jimin says quietly. "I was really impressed when I saw your Facebook. You look like you've got it together, you know?" "Do I?" Namjoon laughs. "Maybe I should have been an actor. I didn't realize I put up such a good front." He only updates to keep his mom from worrying. He mugs and Jimin grins around his chopsticks. "Seriously, though, I think that's a pretty common feeling, Jimin. At least, it is for me. I want... I want to do good things, you know? And be happy. I think I help the kids I teach, but sometimes it doesn't really feel like enough." Jimin nods. "And are you happy?" Namjoon isn't sure what his face does at that, because Jimin blanches and apologizes. "I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have asked that, hyung. I wasn't --" "No," Namjoon says, smiling. "It's fine. I mean, I'm happy enough? I've actually. Uh. I've been in therapy for a long time, and I think it's helped me be a lot more aware of my happiness than I used to be. But a lot of days those are small happinesses. Like, even this. Sitting and eating a good meal with a good friend." He smiles. "Maybe I'll find one of the big happinesses, but..." He shrugs. His words feel slippery, well-lubricated by the alcohol. "I'm not really waiting around for it anymore." Jimin smiles. "I like that a lot, hyung," he says. "I think you'll find it. I mean, you mean love, right?" He squints. "I have some really nice coworkers I could set you up with. One of the women in my office lived in Mongolia. She learned to ride horses there. She's really cute, too." Namjoon nods. Swallows. "Ah," he says. "I don't know if I'm looking for someone like that, exactly." Jimin nods. "Ah, I see." He fusses with the grill again, turning over the meat. The words are right there, on the tip of Namjoon's tongue, but he wonders how it would look now, if he told Jimin he was gay. He should. It's not a big deal. It's just -- he doesn't want it to seem like flirting, maybe. Or maybe he does, a little too much. But Jimin is so gorgeous, and so polished, and speaks three languages, and Namjoon feels a little shabby, a little out of date, like he's been packed away in mothballs for a while and needs a good airing out. The last seriously relationship he was in was forever ago, when he was living in the UK. That feels like ancient history now. He's gone on a few dates in the intervening years, but those have mostly been awkward arranged things. None ever led to more than a second or third date. Jimin looks downcast, though, like he's afraid he's done something wrong, and that's not what Namjoon meant at all. "Jimin," he says, and he reaches out and puts a hand on Jimin's hand, which is soft. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that I'm not interested in dating. I'm gay. I should have said something earlier, but..." He shrugs. What can he say? After so long, there's still some weird fear of rejection he can't quite shake. He's not proud of it. Jimin's eyes go wide for a moment -- lovely eyes -- and there's some weird flicker of confusion in them. "You are?" Namjoon nods. "Yes," he says. "I am." "Oh!" Jimin laughs, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. "Really?" Namjoon feels heat come into his cheeks. "Is it that hard to believe?" He knows he doesn't fulfill the stereotypes: he's not much of a flashy dresser and he doesn't go to the gym, although he has come to enjoy pilates. "No," Jimin says, calming himself. He takes a sip of beer. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant." He takes a deep breath. "This is going to sound really silly, but... I had such a crush on you when I was in high school, hyung." He smiles, bittersweet. "I wish I'd known. I might have said something." Namjoon's heart goes thump thump. He licks his lips. "Ah," he says, smiling. "Well I didn't even know then." He thinks back to the boy Jimin had been -- awkward and eager and unsure. He'd looked very young in high school, with his round cheeks and his glasses. Namjoon wonders what he would have said, if that Jimin had confessed to him. He doesn't know. He wants to think he would have handled it well, but he would have been scared. Terrified, probably. But that Namjoon and that Jimin are long, long gone, and this Jimin is not the kind of guy who goes for guys like Namjoon. "When did you realize?" Jimin is holding his beer glass cupped in both hands. It's nearly empty. "College," Namjoon says. "It was, you know. Totally different. The school I went to had a very active LGBTQ organization, and I went to some meetings, but I still wasn’t sure. After I started therapy, it was one of the things I worked on a lot." Jimin nods. "I always knew," he says slowly. Then he grins. "Hyung, we'll have to go to a club or something together. That would be really funny, right? You can show me all the best spots." Namjoon laughs. "Ah, Jimin, I'm not really a club kind of guy." "Ahh," Jimin says. "You like a more sophisticated scene, then." He nods. "I'll have to keep my eyes open for the right guy for you, hyung." Namjoon swallows. "What about you?" he asks. It feels stiff. Forced. "What's your type these days, Park Jimin?" Jimin pulls a face. "Hmm," he says. "I was with someone I met in college for a long time. He was younger than me, but we thought we were in true love." He giggles, like the idea is ridiculous. "Jeon Jungkook." He sighs, shaking his head. "He's one of those guys who's good at everything he does, you know? Handsome, talented, really smart." "I'm sorry," Namjoon says, noting the wistful tone of Jimin’s voice."Oh no," Jimin says. "Don't be sorry. He's still one of my best friends, actually. We stayed together for a few years after I went overseas, but... we both just grew up, I guess, and realized we were better friends than lovers. The spark wasn't there, especially not with eight hours and nine thousand kilometers between us." "Ah," Namjoon says. "But that's your type. Handsome, talented, really smart?" Jimin lifts an eyebrow. "Why? You know anyone like that, hyung?" Namjoon turns his choke into a startled cough. "No," he says. "But I'll keep my eyes open for you, Jimin-ah." Jimin pouts, pink lower lip jutting. "Ah," he says, sounding disappointed. "Okay." Namjoon feels a little drunk, and a little delirious with it. He feels like he's going to say something really mortifying soon, if he doesn't get them off this topic of conversation. "So," he says, fussing with the grill. "What have you done in Tokyo so far, Jimin?" There's a moment where Jimin's brow creases, and he looks -- disappointed, maybe? But it passes quickly and he launches into a long and detailed rundown of everything he's done and seen so far. Namjoon suggests some less known spots for him to visit. They order more beer, and the meat sizzles away happily on the grill, and Namjoon can nearly forget that Jimin admitted that he'd had a crush on Namjoon. Awkward teenager Namjoon, who'd had terrible hair and worn knock-off hip hop clothes he bought in the market. He can nearly forget, but not quite. It stays with him, a little happy buzz right under his skin. They finish their dinner, and head back out into the rainy evening. It's rather late now, but Namjoon doesn't want to go home yet, so he suggests they go get some dessert. "I have kind of a sweet tooth," Namjoon admits. It's raining a little harder now, and the wet asphalt is painted with all the colors from the neon lights, and more lovely for it They're sharing Jimin's umbrella, although Namjoon is holding it. He'd teasingly suggested that if Jimin did, Namjoon wouldn't be able to fit underneath. Jimin had huffed and stamped his foot, but he'd handed the umbrella over. "Ah," Jimin says. His cheeks are very pink now. "So you like sweet things." Namjoon nods. "Yeah," Namjoon admits. His free hand is shoved in his pocket. Jimin is wearing his black coat again, and he looks very dashing. They're on a quiet street lined with trees. The rain dances down through the leaves. The traffic noises are distant. Jimin stops, stamps one foot. "Hyung," he says. "Don't you think I'm sweet?" Namjoon turns, twirling the umbrella. He swallows. Opens his mouth. This is flirting, right? What else could it be? And yet --Jimin's face crumples again. "I'm so sorry," he says, squeezing his eyes shut. "I shouldn't have said that. I've just had a bit too much to drink." "No," Namjoon says, quickly, stepping forward. "Jimin, you're very sweet." Jimin's face lights up. His smile is pure delight. "Yeah?" Namjoon nods. "Yeah," he says. "And. Uh. When you messaged me? The reason I replied was because I had a crush on you, too. In high school, I mean. I wanted to see you again." Jimin's eyes widen. "You did?" Namjoon nods. "I mean, I don't think I knew what it was back then, but yeah." "Wow," Jimin says. "I was such a nerd in high school, hyung." He sounds disappointed in Namjoon’s bad taste.Namjoon shrugs. "I'm an high school teacher who goes hiking and watches black and white movies in his spare time," he mumbles. "It doesn't get too much more nerdy than that." Quick, light on his feet, Jimin steps forward and links one of his arms through one of Namjoon's. They walk a little further. They are pressed much closer now. Namjoon can feel the heat of Jimin all along his side. "Hyung," Jimin says, serious, voice a little deeper. "Hyung, I have to tell you something." Namjoon swallows. Steels himself for the inevitable confession. Jimin isn't really interested. There's no way he could be. He's so gorgeous, and and Namjoon is --"I really hate first dates," Jimin sighs. "They're awful." "Ah," Namjoon says. "So," Jimin says, a little crafty, "if we count this as our first date, I won't have to worry about it, right?" Namjoon laughs. "Right," he says. "That's very clever." Jimin looks absurdly pleased. "Come here, hyung," he says, and he takes Namjoon's free hand and pulls him close. On tiptoes, he presses a kiss to Namjoon's lips, lingering just a moment. Then he gets shy and pulls away, hiding his face behind his hands. "What was that?" Namjoon asks, amazed."That's the other worst part. The first kiss." Jimin sighs. "I'm always worried I'm going to screw it up.""Ah," Namjoon says. "So now the hard parts are out of the way?" Jimin nods. "Exactly," he says, grinning. He takes Namjoon’s hand, holds it tight.They reach the crosswalk that way, and then have to wait for the light to change. "Hyung," Jimin says. "We were both kind of dumb, huh? Back then." Namjoon shrugs. "Nah," he says. "I think we just had more living to do, you know?" Jimin smiles, and nods. "I think we still have a lot more to do," he says. "Yeah," Namjoon says. He switches the umbrella to his other hand and wraps an arm around Jimin's waist. Jimin leans into him. They don't say anything. There's nothing words could add to the rain and the night and the warm, delicious feeling of possibility, of all the chance and hope. There’s a long road behind them, and a longer one ahead, but it feels good to be here, feet on the ground, in this moment together.