ColorMePurplex2

No matter what Namjoon does, he can’t seem to give Charlotte the attention he knows she deserves because his mind is wholly occupied by someone else.

You.

And how dare you consume his thoughts like this?! It’s not fair.

Why did you have to go and say that? 

“I don’t regret it, either. It was actually kind of…nice.”

You, with your inquisitive gaze and body deserving of worship.

You, with your charm and wit that keeps him on his toes.

You, with your—

“Have you even heard a word I said?”

“What?” Namjoon blinks. He shoves the glasses on his nose up to sit in his hair before bringing his fingers back down to rub at his eyes. He was listening…wasn’t he? “No,” he finally admits softly. “I was lost in…it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

Charlotte’s lips poke out slightly, pursing in a red-tinted pout. She tousles her mane of dark curls, her long, slender fingers combing back a few stray pieces out of her face. She shifts her weight on the couch beside Namjoon, clearly making him wait as punishment for his inattention.

The red full-body jumpsuit she’s wearing today irks him as his eyes sweep her form. Red isn’t her color. It doesn’t belong on anyone other than—Charlotte clears her throat, drawing Namjoon’s attention away from the red-covered bend of her knee back to her face. She reaches up and smooths a thumb between his brows. “You’re going to give yourself wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.”

It takes every ounce of strength in Namjoon’s core to not flinch away from her touch. But, why? For fucks sake. Namjoon takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before intentionally leaning into her touch and forcing his mouth into a smile.

“You have my full attention now,” he assures her.

Charlotte smiles, dropping her hand into his lap where she threads her fingers through his. “So, the fall line is…”

Namjoon tries so hard to keep his word about her having his attention…he’s not sure if he succeeds.

4 Days Before The Gala

The building is quiet, evoking the same hushed atmosphere as Proof did in its early days—just a small thing, barely big enough for a few desks and some recording equipment. Namjoon thinks fondly of those times, fresh out of college with a dream far bigger than his pockets could allow. Seokjin and Taehyung were just as eager, filling notebooks with endless ideas and plans for how to make it big—for how to make Father proud.

Now, even with a corner office on the top floor of one of Seoul’s most exclusive high-rises, Namjoon still seeks the solitude of those early days. Which is how he finds himself slowly treading along the empty executive hall, glancing through darkened windows into the office spaces beyond. Seokjin and Taehyung’s offices are tidy, perfect reflections of their personalities.

There is a sense of pride in knowing they built this from the ground up. Just as their father did with his own ventures. That was the whole point: to build something that their family would be proud of. It’s not lost on Namjoon that success, especially of this magnitude, comes with expectations. Specifically, when it comes to the future.

Namjoon stops in the open space where the elevators are. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the expanse of the wall across from them, framing a sparkling swath of the city. The glittering buildings seem infinite against the inky sky.

A glance down at his watch lets Namjoon know it’s far past the time he should have gone home. Only, he doesn’t quite feel like returning to his empty apartment just yet. Charlotte offered to come by with a late dinner, but he refused, excusing himself with gala preparations.

It’s a small lie, but a lie nonetheless. There are no more preparations to make. You’ve made sure of that, keeping all the stress well enough off of Namjoon’s plate. But, he refused her all the same.

The tension between you and Namjoon is nonexistent, at least on the surface. If he’s being candid with himself, he hasn’t had a single night of restful sleep since you dropped that little tidbit of information on him the other day. Even with Charlotte, who is wonderful and—

“Burning the midnight oil?”

Namjoon starts, jerking his head around to the elevators. The silver doors slide closed behind the man Namjoon considers to be his best friend. Yoongi has his arms crossed over his chest, his black shirt and jeans echoed in the dark circles under his eyes.

“What are you still doing here?” Namjoon asks.

“If you have to know, I was on my way out, but saw your car still in the parking garage. Now, I could ask you the same thing. Only, I’m pretty sure I have an idea why you’re still here.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Namjoon mumbles, turning back to the windows.

“No?” Yoongi asks, stepping up beside Namjoon.

Silence stretches between them, Namjoon holding off for as long as possible before it grows uncomfortable. Finally, he breaks, admitting, “I was just thinking about how things used to be and where we are now. Do you remember back at university when we first met?”

Yoongi hums thoughtfully. “I didn’t like you at first.”

“Can’t possibly see why,” Namjoon jests.

“Your notebooks…the songs, poems. It wasn’t until then that I realized you actually had a good head on your shoulders.”

“I never would have made a good producer. Not like you, at least. I wanted to, um, thank you…for working so hard. I know things haven’t exactly been easy with bringing JIDA on, but it’s because of you that we now have even more talent on our roster.”

An unreadable look swings Namjoon’s way, his friend tensing slightly at his side. “I’m just doing what I have to do,” Yoongi finally says before turning back to look out at the city. “But, I know Proof’s not all you’ve been thinking about.”

One of Namjoon’s eyebrows twitches as he tries to school his face. “What are you going on about?”

“Charlotte DuPont. Really, Namjoon?”

Now it’s Namjoon’s turn to shrug. “She’s nice. I…like her.”

“Really?” Yoongi sounds unconvinced.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Namjoon quips, “Well enough. But, what’s with the third degree, Yoongi?”

Yoongi turns from the window, arms still crossed over his chest. “You’re a real jackass, you know that?” he says softly.

“What?”

“Sunshine.”

Namjoon takes an involuntary step backwards at the force with which Yoongi utters the nickname he gave you so many years ago. Feigning confusion, Namjoon asks, “What about her?”

“Stop fucking around with her, that’s what.”

“Now, listen, I don’t know what you think you know, but—”

Yoongi holds up a hand, stopping Namjoon’s attempt at refuting the very apparent truth. “No, you listen. You can save that bumbling excuse bullshit for someone who doesn’t actually know you. But, I do. And I’ve been paying attention these last few weeks, and I have to say, man, you’re fucking this up royally.”

Yoongi’s words might have been spoken at an even pitch, but Namjoon can feel them echoing like a shout in his soul. He never should have tried to fool his friend. Not after all these years. The only person he’s closer to than his brothers, and maybe you, is Yoongi. So, needless to say, his friend has put the pieces together. Namjoon is confident his brothers would have, too, if they weren’t so busy preparing for the gala.

“I’m not trying to fuck anything up,” Namjoon finally cedes. “That’s the whole point. I can’t ruin what I have with her.”

“And what is it exactly that you think you have with her?”

His shoulders kick up before he can find words. “I don’t…know. Friendship?”

Yoongi’s raptor gaze slices through Namjoon like a hot knife through butter. “And is that all you want with her?”

“Yoongi, even if I wanted more. That’s not…it’s not appropriate.” The admission provides little relief.

“Says who? It’s not as if she’s a brand-new hire. She’s been here for years, she’s as synonymous with the name Kim Namjoon, CEO of Proof, as you are. If anything, you’re doing her a disservice by keeping her locked in a friendship bubble when it’s clear you want more than that, and anyone can see it.”

“Father wouldn’t—”

“To hell with your father!” Namjoon reels back as if slapped, but Yoongi barrels on. “Sorry, but I won’t take it back. You’ve lived your entire life aiming to please and scrape by in order to gain his favor. But the truth is, Namjoon, your father doesn’t care about those things as much as you think he does. And before you start to try to tell me otherwise, look at how things went with your parents, arranged marriage or not, you can’t tell me he cared that your mother came from nothing. And even when he remarried, he still didn’t choose based on social standing. Your dad didn’t care what the world thought of his choice in partners…why would he care about yours?”

“I just thought—” Namjoon tries to get in a word, edgewise, but Yoongi cuts him off once more.

“That’s the problem! You thought, have you even asked your father what he thinks? Not that it really matters. Fuck, man, you begged Sunshine for her help, she gave it, and somewhere in the process, she succeeded because there’s something different about you lately. Something good, Namjoon…the something I think you’ve been looking for. And it was because of her. It’s not about the new clothes or private dances in your office. It’s about her. You allowed yourself to enjoy her. She’s the key to it all.” By the end of it, Yoongi’s chest is heaving, and the veins in the backs of his hands stand out where he’s clenching them on his own biceps.

Namjoon stands there, struck by the raw vulnerability in Yoongi’s words. He cares about Sunshine; that’s evident. Which, oddly—or maybe not so oddly—doesn’t evoke any jealousy in Namjoon’s heart because he knows the producer sees her as more like a sister than anything.

“Yoongi, I…thank you,” Namjoon says, letting out a long, slow breath. “I think I’ve been so caught up in what I think is expected of me that I haven’t stopped to think if it’s real or just something I’ve made up and projected onto myself. I just, all these years…I’ve only ever wanted to make my family proud.”

“And you’re doing that. Just look around,” Yoongi exclaims, throwing his hands wide to indicate the empty halls to either side. “You and your brothers have built an empire here, and it’s a good one. Don’t let your own misconstrued ideologies make you think otherwise.”

“You’re right,” Namjoon agrees, finally letting himself absorb the revelation. “But, I think I’ve already messed things up…”

“Nonsense. You just have to get out of your own way and see if she’s willing to take a chance…to forgive you for being so damned obstinate and foolish.”

Namjoon can’t help but laugh at that, earning a rueful smile from his friend. It seems so simple. Namjoon knows it will be anything but; however, that won’t keep him from trying.

👔👔👔

3 Days Before The Gala

Anyone who claims that things can return to normal between friends after making out is a liar. It’s like people staying friends after a bad breakup—nearly impossible. So, in the days following your little talk with Namjoon, you can tell he’s intentionally keeping himself away from you. Which is all well and good except for the fact that it rankles every single time you notice the distance.

Thankfully, you’ve had precious little time to actually focus on it much. With the gala in just a few days, you’re busier than ever. Staring down at the envelope with the wax seal stamped with the Proof logo, you allow yourself a small smile. It’s only a formality, you receiving an invitation, because of course you’re going to be there.

But as you finger the wax seal, finally slipping your nail under it to pop it, you can’t help but think about who else is going to be there. Specifically, who will be Namjoon’s plus one; your smile drops. As one of the primary communicators regarding the gala, you’ve read the guest list over several times for one reason or another. Checking spelling errors, removing names or titles, and, well, adding names as well. So when Charlotte’s name popped up on the final list, it’s a wonder you didn’t rip your hair out in the process of the silent fit you threw.

It would have been petty, but a part of you wanted to forward the list to Peach, and oopsie, having accidentally deleted guest number 158. However, once again, you’re trying to be the bigger person here. Sans your little comment to Namjoon the other day, you’d consider yourself having handled the whole situation well so far. Besides, what goes on in your head, what you might want to do…doesn’t necessarily mean it’s what you are going to do.

“Excuse me.” The soft, unfamiliar feminine voice breaks through your mental spiral. “Is Namjoon available?”

A cold slither of jealousy shoots down your spine before you can steel yourself against the shiver it brings with it. You blink up into gorgeous, rounded toffee-colored eyes, framed by a lush swoop of bouncy, dark cherry curls. A sprinkle of freckles covers the bridge of her nose, complementing the deep olive tone of her skin. Skin that you would be a liar if you said you’d never admired.

Charlotte DuPont stands before you in a smart creme-colored suit that hugs the curves of her long frame. A pair of designer sunglasses sits nestled in her hair, an oversized brown leather bag on her shoulder, and a paper takeaway bag held in her other hand.

“Who?” You hate yourself.

Charlotte purses her lips, a look of confusion glossing over her face. “Oh, is this not his—”

“No. Er, sorry. I mean, yes. Of course you mean CEO Kim Namjoon…this is his—he’s here. Just one moment.” Your fingers feel thick, frozen by the pseudo ice still snaking its way through your body, as you punch in his office extension on the phone on your desk. The line beeps once, alerting Namjoon that you’re trying to reach him.

“What is it? I’m not late for a meeting, am I?” Namjoon’s voice only sounds mildly tinny coming through the line.

“Not at all, sir. You have a…a visitor.” Your voice softens at the end of your statement, eyes flicking back to Charlotte with palpable envy. If she can read you at this very vulnerable moment, she doesn’t let on, simply giving you a polite smile before turning to look at the door to Namjoon’s office expectantly.

Is she just stopping by without letting him know? Or did he know and just forget to mention it to you—is that even something he would tell you? No, no. He absolutely would have told you. If there’s anything you’ve learned about Namjoon in all these years, it’s that he hates anything that might interfere with his work schedule. It’s why he’s so adamant about having everything mapped out, even down to his out-of-work activities, such as date nights, gym sessions, and doctor’s appointments. 

Namjoon’s voice carries through before he’s completely opened the door, “I wasn’t expecting anyone today. I can only imagine it’s Fath—oh, it’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me, silly! Surprise! I couldn’t wait until tonight,” Charlotte gushes, throwing her arms around a rigid Namjoon.

The look he throws at you over her shoulder can only be described as one thing: panic, pure unadulterated panic. He’s stiff as she continues to hug him, a hug he’s not returning. Perhaps when he sees you noticing, it breaks him out of his shellshock. His hands snap to her waist, and your heart gives a little jump at the reminder of what his hands felt like on your waist.

Namjoon clears his throat. “Charlotte. This is a surprise indeed. Um, I’m not sure how much time I have…” he trails off, giving you another glance.

“It’s your lunch break,” you supply. “Your next meeting isn’t for another thirty minutes.” The words come out bland as you fight to keep your voice from warbling.

They look so good together that it hurts. Her slender frame pressed against his defined chest, their light-colored suits nearly matching; by your design, you hazard to remind yourself. If it weren’t for you, he’d be polarizing in a black suit instead of looking like he’s the perfect addition to one of those love-sick Instagram couples who wear matching clothes.

“Perfect!” chirps Charlotte. “Hope you haven’t eaten yet. I brought vegan sandwiches from that new delicatessen I was telling you about!”

There’s a moment, as Namjoon is gently extracting himself from Charlotte’s embrace, that his eyes meet yours, and there is so much there that you have a hard time taking it all in. “I…don’t know, Charlotte. I—there’s…” Namjoon trails off before taking a deep breath and continuing, “Actually, that sounds lovely. Thank you. Come on into my office.” Charlotte allows Namjoon to usher her through the doorway. You just catch the soft words he says to her as he closes the door, “I’m glad you came by, there’s actually something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” 

Jamming your finger against the power button on your computer screen, you shove away from your desk and blindly barrel down the executive hall, making a beeline for the elevators. You’re on the production floor before you even realize what you’re doing, index finger poised over the keypad to Yoongi’s studio.

It’s just him in the room, making the look of surprise on his face be mirrored in your own. “You’re alone,” you pant, the words half-question and half-statement.

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth twitches. “Last I checked, this was my studio…”

“Well, yeah, I just expected…where’s JIDA? She also wasn’t here last time I busted in. Which, I realize, is probably making me out to be a terrible friend...for abusing your trust in giving me the key code to your studio. So, I’m sorry about that. But, no…no, no,” you ramble, waving a hand in the air to dispel your errant thoughts. “Where is she? Grabbing lunch for you guys?”

“She’s probably working.” He shrugs his indifference, but his eyes say otherwise.

“Probably working? Yoongi, what’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing is going on. Now, your problem first,” Yoongi insists. Which, to you, might as well be a giant green check mark confirming that something is going on between Yoongi and JIDA. “What has you ‘abusing my keycode’?”

“How about no? I ignored this last time I was here, but you won’t avoid my questioning this time. What’s going on with you and JIDA?”

Yoongi lets out a frustrated growl. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. Finally, he drops his hand, his dark eyes flicking to yours. “Nothing is going on. I’ve just been slammed with work trying to get things ready for Jungkook’s performance at the gala. Why is everyone giving me such a hard fucking time about it?”

You hold up your hands in surrender. “You can’t blame anyone for asking about the two of you. Not when you spent so much time practically glued at the hip, and now she’s nowhere to be seen in your vicinity. It’s just a little odd, especially considering she’s down as your plus one for the gala.”

“What? No, she’s not.”

You raise a brow, crossing your arms over your chest as you return the deadpan look on Yoongi’s face. “Yes, she is. Did you not read the email I sent out a few days ago that had the confirmed, finalized guest list for Peach? It had her name right there beside yours.”

“Why—that’s…fuck.” Yoongi sighs, a look of defeat washing over him. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? I’ll handle the plus one situation and once the gala is behind us…things will go back to normal.” Whatever normal is. Yoongi doesn’t say that last part, but you hear it all the same in his tone.

“Fine,” you concede.

“Now, out with it.” Yoongi rolls a hand in the air, gesturing for you to spill.

You slump onto the edge of the couch in his studio. “The last time I was in here, you and Jimin gave me some advice.” Yoongi nods, letting you know he remembers. “And I took it. Namjoon and I had a moment to talk, and I was honest with him about my feelings.”

Yoongi gives you a mild look of knowing, like he’s already aware of this. “And have you talked since then?”

“Not at all. Granted, we haven’t really had time. But, he’s also made it abundantly clear that he’d rather not talk about it and would have things go back to how it was before. Only…damnit, Yoongi, I don’t know if I can do that with him anymore.”

“What do you mean? Why not?”

You give Yoongi a sad look. “Because what I feel isn’t normal. I can’t just act like nothing happened; not like he is.”

“Maybe he just needs some time…” Yoongi trails off, and you’re already shaking your head no. “What?”

Shrugging, you pick at a fold in the fabric of your pants along the side of your knee. “Clearly, things aren’t going to magically fix themselves between me and him. It’s evident he’s made up his mind, considering Charlotte DuPont is upstairs having lunch with him right now and she’s going as his plus one to the gala.”

“Ah,” Yoongi hums, wincing. “I kind of thought that…hmm, never mind, it’s not important what I thought. Actions speak louder than words, after all. Look, Sunshine, I don’t know exactly what’s going on with Namjoon. But, just try to give him some time, okay? At least until after the stressors of the gala pass by.”

You shrug again. “I can try. I just…I’m trying to stay professional…only I’m not sure how to do that when I have these,” you pause, pressing a hand to your chest, “...feelings.”

“I get that. Feelings can be tricky,” mutters Yoongi, glancing down at where his hands are folded in his lap, the words seeming directed more towards himself than you. It’s a non-answer, and you’re okay to not push for more. Clearly, there is nothing else to say on the matter for now—purely an unknown.

“Am I an idiot?” you ask softly.

Yoongi’s response is just as soft, whispered into the dark confines of Genius Lab. “No more than I am.”

Silence falls in the room after that. Not an uncomfortable tension, just an easy balm between friends. After a few beats, Yoongi turns back to his computer, and the soft clicking of his mouse settles you further into his couch. You sit there, content with absorbing as much of the quiet companionship as Yoongi will allow before braving the executive floor once more.

👔👔👔

Namjoon

The tofu, hummus, and falafel sandwich Charlotte brought Namjoon sits untouched on his desk. He couldn’t eat it even if he wanted to. Not with the leaden stones churning in his stomach from how she stormed out of here. Thankfully, no one was around, not even his brothers, who he assumes are also taking their lunch hours.

That didn’t exactly go how Namjoon thought it would. It’s only been a few weeks—a handful of successful dates where Namjoon may have seen himself being happy, content…eventually. But the fact that Namjoon hasn’t been able to go more than a few hours without thinking about you isn’t fair. Even when Charlotte would be right in front of him, her fingers intertwined with his and her lips brushing his ear before planting themselves on his mouth.

Everything between Namjoon and Charlotte has been okay. But that’s just it. Fine, okay. Only okay. No mindblowing revelations, no sparks, nothing that even remotely compares to the inferno that was his kiss with you. She’s not even a bad kisser…she’s just not you. She hasn’t been a constant light in his life for years. She doesn’t make his heart beat a little faster with just a smile. She’s not this forbidden enigmatic ambrosia that calls to him like a siren to a lost sailor. And that’s precisely what Namjoon feels like, a lost sailor—marooned by his own heart, his ship utterly destroyed against the rocky shore that everyone calls Sunshine.

Telling Charlotte that he wouldn’t be taking her to the gala snowballed into him telling her that he doesn’t think things are going to work out between them. And even though he knew exactly why, he couldn’t find the words to actually tell her. So, he’s certain he looks like an asshole now, and more than likely, his father is going to hear about it. That’s another conversation he’s not looking forward to having.

It was the look on your face earlier that did it for him. The way your eyes shimmered with hurt, and your shoulders subconsciously curled in on themselves. Your confession to him that other afternoon in his office ultimately set things in motion. He’s been reeling ever since. You enjoyed the kiss. So he hadn’t read the situation wrong; he hadn’t misunderstood your desires for one too many shots of soju.

Well, of course, he already knew that. But what he also knew was that he couldn’t possibly indulge in what either of you wanted. It’s just not right. People would talk…they would—does that really matter? Namjoon has never cared so much as an iota what people think of him; his father being the only exception, if he’s being honest with himself. Then Yoongi had to go and blow the entire box wide open last night with his fireballs of truth, now Namjoon is left picking up the pieces.

So, why does it matter? Why can’t the heart have what the heart wants? There’s an adage there somewhere, one for the soul, surely. That was the whole point of Namjoon seeking your help to begin with, wasn’t it? To help him be his true self. Like Yoongi so eloquently put it, it wasn’t the clothes or the other items on your list—it was you. You are helping him become the person he wants to be. And what if the person he wants to be…just so happens to want you?

Yoongi’s right…you’re the key to it all.

The Day Of The Gala

Of course Namjoon wouldn’t have time to have a proper conversation with you before the evening of the gala. Saturday rolls around, and he’s sliding on the latest addition to his wardrobe. Your encouragement to add more color to his wardrobe inspired him to commission a custom-made suit for the occasion. It’s traditional in being black, but the deep violet accents in the shirt, pocket square, and socks are where he added some flourish.

With any luck, he can get a moment alone with you sometime during the procession. The car he booked for the evening, the one that would have been heading to Charlotte’s right now, maneuvers through the traffic surrounding the hotel where the gala is being held with ease. The chilled bottle of champagne he forgot to tell the driver not to bother with sits untouched, emphasizing the emptiness of the spacious backseat. Namjoon drums his fingers on his knee, refusing to let his eyes drift to the vacant seat beside him; the seat he wishes you were in.

A nervous tick feathers along Namjoon’s jaw. Tonight is no different than any other big-ticket event Proof hosts or attends each year. But, for some reason, he can’t shake the tremulous fluttering in his stomach. Namjoon’s been meaning to talk to you for days now, there just hasn’t been a good time with you being so busy working with Peach to ensure the Proof gala goes off without a hitch. Which the lack of communication between the two of you has made his anxiety ramp up tremendously—he’s not even certain you’re aware that he’s not bringing Charlotte tonight.

A large group of photographers crowd the steps leading up to the entrance as the car pulls to a stop in front of the building. Strong-armed security guards keep them at bay as the back door swings open and Namjoon steps out.

Mostly ignoring the questions being volleyed his way, Namjoon politely nods, offering small waves and a plastered-on smile. It feels like it takes forever to make it up the stairs and through the doors into the main lobby of the hotel. Velvet ropes cordon off the entrance into the ballroom that BSA secured for the evening, leading Namjoon right into the mostly empty space.

It’s still very early in the evening. As the opening speaker and one of the prominent faces of Proof, Namjoon knew he had to arrive well ahead of the primary attendee crowd. A few of the catering staff give him nods, others afford him a wide berth, scurrying on with their respective prep jobs.

Namjoon spots Peach amid the black and gold-embellished tables that have royal purple nestled in the decor like splashes of paint. She’s really outdone herself this time; everything looks absolutely perfect. Gretchen, Peach’s assistant, directs some of the staff nearby. Peach gives Gretchen a fond smile before turning in another direction, the soft silvery blue of her dress shimmering in the light from the golden chandeliers overhead.

There are only a few tables between Namjoon and Peach, as he’s slowly picking his way across the room, when he finally spots what drew Peach’s attention from watching the smooth machinations of her staff. You come into view from the other side of the curtain that’s framing the DJ booth, and Namjoon stops dead in his tracks.

Peach gathers you into an embrace, her large smile mirroring the one on your face. Your hair is gathered away from your face, little diamond gemstones scattered among the strands like teardrops. The deep amaranth of your dress is just as Namjoon remembers. It’s not his fault you had the garment hanging behind your desk last week, and he just so happened to take a peek into the bag while you had stepped away. And it’s doubly not his fault that he just so happened to request the accents of his suit to match, either.

His eyes sweep you from head to toe, tracing the curving lines of your form. The dress gathers in a ruche at your waist, mimicking the draping lines he’s seen on Greek statues. That’s what you remind him of, with the neckline of your dress sweeping down from one shoulder and a waterfall of silk that goes all the way to the floor, where there’s a peak of your open-toed sandals from beneath the fabric.

You’re Aphrodite from legend, come to draw him into your thrall. All Namjoon can wonder is where your altar is and how long do you need him to kneel before you? It only lasts a moment, him watching you and Peach exchange words he can not hear, but it’s enough time for the world to come crashing back down as a throat is cleared beside him.

“You know, I received a very unpleasant phone call yesterday.”

“Father, I—” Namjoon startles, glancing at him and biting his tongue before he can even begin to make an excuse. By the time he turns back to look in your direction, you and Peach have already moved out of sight. He glances back at his father. “Will you join me for a drink before the evening begins? There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

👔👔👔

“You know, if you weren’t wearing that white shirt, you would absolutely be the latest Dispatch highlight,” you tease, taking in the full effect of Jimin’s ensemble. The lacy peek-a-boo panels down the front of the jacket are minimal compared to the back, which has a full floral lace window. If he weren’t wearing a crisp white undershirt, there would be a whole lot of skin showing through the black lace.

Jimin’s laugh is bright and tinkling. “Namjoon would have a field day scolding me if I let that happen. The last thing anyone needs right now is a scandal on one of our biggest nights of the year.” Jimin gives you a once-over, his eyes lingering on the skirt of your dress. “I love that color. It’s cute that you and Namjoon match. Was that intentional or by accident?”

“What?” you rasp out, suddenly feeling a surge of outrage.

Surprised by your reaction, Jimin’s brows climb his forehead. “Okay, so not intentional, got it.”

“When did you last see him?” you ask as you turn to scan the crowd. You don’t wait for Jimin to respond, having caught sight of Namjoon talking with his father near the bar set up across from the erected stage intended for Jungkook’s performance tonight. “I’ll catch you later, okay?”

Again, not waiting for Jimin to respond, you begin to pick your way across the expansive ballroom. You’re pretty certain Jimin calls something out to you, but all you can hear right now is the pounding of blood in your ears.

You. Are. So. Mad. Because, how dare he?! You saw him peeking at your dress the other week and had assumed he was verifying the color so as to not match you. It would have been mildly embarrassing for him and Charlotte to show up in colors matching your own.

You don’t see Charlotte anywhere near Namjoon. Maybe she’s in the powder room or chatting with someone else out of sight. Either way, if Namjoon wanted to wear the royal purple with Charlotte, he should have warned you. And if he decided to do it regardless, fuck him for doing that to her…and you. Doesn’t he realize all the tabloids and news outlets are here? It might be inconsequential enough for people to wear the same colors, but all it takes is one person to assume, and rumors about some silly, sordid love affair will spark like wildfire. Namjoon knows better.

“Thank you for understanding, Father,” Namjoon is saying as you draw closer. His eyes flick from the formidable figure that his father cuts, to you, surprise raising his brows. “If you’ll excuse me…I need to, uh, review my opening speech.”

Namjoon’s father turns, following the line of Namjoon’s gaze. His dark eyes meet yours, and there is something there, something you can’t quite read. Suddenly, his face splits, a smile spreading wide across his angular jaw. He tilts his chin, giving you a warm nod before turning and signalling the bartender for a refill.

There is a breath of silence as Namjoon stands with just a foot between the two of you. You can tell he’s thinking, he might as well have giant cogs churning on his forehead with as obvious as it is. Though, is that because it’s obvious or simply because you know him that well? You hmph softly, internally rolling your eyes at yourself and the notion.

You came over here with all the intent to chastise Namjoon, ranting at him for his choice of accent color for his suit. Only, now that you’re staring at him, drinking in the subtle touches of royal purple popping in his shirt, pocket square, and even in the amethyst inlaid in the tungsten ring fitted on his left thumb, the fiery wind disappears from your sails.

In place of the biting words you desperately wanted to lob at him, you ask, “Are you ready for your speech? Gretchen wants things to kick off exactly at six so we can do contributions for the full hour before dinner.”

Namjoon glances down at his watch. “I’ll be ready,” he assures, looking back up at you.

Silence falls between the two of you once more. Inside, you’re screaming at yourself to say something, push him, slap him, do something other than stand there and stare. There is a tenderness in Namjoon’s eyes, letting you know whatever he’s thinking is soft and pleasant. A wild contrast to the acidic thoughts broiling in your head—in your heart—just moments ago.

How could you be mad at him? It’s not like either of you asked for this. In fact, much the opposite. He asked for the opposite of this palpable dizziness that refuses to dissipate in the very air you’re both breathing.

Licking your lips, you shove down the sour words once more and instead choose to follow your head instead of your heart. “Where’s Charlotte?”

“She’s no—”

“Namjoon! Hey, sorry to interrupt, but the sound team is ready for you.”

As if to emphasize Gretchen’s words, the overhead lights dim and the stage lights up, a beacon calling forth for Namjoon’s welcome speech.

“You'd better go,” you murmur.

Namjoon frowns but nods. “Find me after, will you?”

You agree to do that, even if your heart is saying no. But the events of the evening seem to have other plans, no matter how you feel about Namjoon’s request.

There was every intention of finding Namjoon once his welcome speech was over, but you ended up being pulled in several different directions, fielding questions about donations and shaking more hands than you can remember the faces to.

By the time you had a moment to breathe, it was time to take your seat for the first dinner course. From your seat beside Hajun, Yoongi’s assistant, you have a view of only half the room. It’s taking everything in your power to focus on your food instead of turning to look at the Kim family table.

A procession of delicious courses follows, until finally the table is cleared for the final time, and dessert is presented to you. Hajun makes a pleased sound at the glass coupe with the intricate dessert topped with an edible 24-karat gold leaf. It’s a soft burst of flavor on your tongue as you have a small taste, so delicate and melt-in-the-mouth.

There are several bites left when a low voice whispers in your ear from behind, “I need your help.” You start with a slight jolt, your spoon dropping back to the bottom of the coupe glass. Bringing your napkin up to dab at your lips, you smoothly gain your feet and turn to look at the owner of the voice.

Yoongi guides you a few steps away before lowly filling you in on his dilemma. JIDA, the newest Proof lyricist and the woman who has been troubling Yoongi so deeply lately, is nowhere to be found, and he wants her to be there when Jungkook performs her song for the first time in front of a crowd.

You’re mentally going over the map of the venue and the seating chart when your eyes drift over Yoongi’s shoulder, and you pause, mid-sentence, in delegating your plan to find her. “Alright, let’s—”

Namjoon is not sitting where he was placed on the seating chart you had finalized with Peach. More so, neither of the chairs to either side of him hold a beautiful French beauty-guru entrepreneur either.

“What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“He’s not where he should be,” you mutter.

“What?”

“The seating chart of your table is different from what I last confirmed with Peach.” Yoongi hums but doesn’t say anything if he knows something, just meets your gaze expectantly. Right, he needs help. “Come on, follow me.”

Some twenty minutes later, and you’ve confirmed with the others seated at the lyricist table that JIDA texted from a cab on her way to the venue, but that they haven’t actually seen her. 

Gretchen is a little more helpful, able to confirm that JIDA’s invitation was noted as being used to access through security. So, she did arrive.

You’re turning away from Gretchen, intent on finding one of the security guards to inquire further, when a voice catches you off guard. “There you are.” Namjoon sighs as he comes into your line of sight. “I’ve been looking for you. We need to talk,” he says, having to raise his voice slightly to be heard over Taehyung on stage, announcing the information about Jungkook’s performance tonight.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon, the night has been busy. Can we talk after, maybe?”

Namjoon frowns, looking wounded for a moment before his face clears and he glances at Yoongi over your shoulder. “Is something going on?”

“Nothing that you need to worry yourself with. I’m just helping Yoongi find JIDA, that’s all,” you tell him.

“She’s missing? I saw her…well, earlier. Much earlier now that I think about it.”

“You saw her? Do you remember where? When?”

His shoulders lift a fraction. “It was at the beginning of the night, right before my welcome speech. She had just walked in.”

Feeling frustrated, you purse your lips but nod. “Okay, thanks.”

“Hey, let me help you guys—”

“No. It’s okay. Your face is far more valuable to be seen than mine, or Yoongi’s, for that matter. Get back out there and support your brother during his performance and make sure the end of the evening goes smoothly—make sure the donors want to come back for next year.” You try to put on a smile, giving Namjoon a playful wink that you hope eases the worry that’s pinching the smooth skin between his brows.

“Sunshine, we’re running out of time,” Yoongi pleads softly as the first notes of Jungkook’s performance resonate over the speaker system. It’s clear the producer is feeling some type of way about the lyricist. He gives Namjoon an apologetic look before turning and staring at the stage, a haunted look entering his eyes.

Namjoon stares at you for a moment longer, entrancing you with his espresso-colored gaze. It’s on the tip of your tongue to call to Yoongi, to tell him that JIDA is a big girl, and if she wanted Yoongi to know where she was, she’d tell him. But, Namjoon is already turning away, offering you a slight nod in acquiescence, and moving back towards the central ballroom area to support Jungkook.

You take that moment to flag down a passing staff member and air-drop a picture of JIDA to them so they can share it among the rest of the event workers. Your hand on Yoongi’s arm draws him out of his daze. “The staff are going to look for her. I gave them her photo.”

“I couldn’t find her,” Yoongi whispers as the first notes of Who begin to fill the air.

You’re about to try to comfort him further when the first few lines of Who reach you. The song instantly resonates with you, and you stand there glued to the spot.

The lyrics echo through your heart. Wanna give her the world and so much more. There is a reason you chose the songs you did that night in Namjoon’s office when you wanted him to break down his walls and dance with you. Lyrics can be so powerful and speak where the words from your own mouth fail to. Is she someone that I see every day? Part of you had felt guilty for choosing the songs you did, but in the end, you wouldn’t take it back.

It’s in this moment, as Jungkook croons out the last lines of the song, that you make up your mind. Namjoon asked for things to go back to how they were, to essentially erase what happened between the two of you, because it would be too messy otherwise. But you can’t do that. You won’t do that. 

Tonight, you’re going to be honest with Namjoon. And if he can’t accept that, then maybe it’s time for you to move on to…What do they call them, greener pastures? You would be devastated to have to do that, but know it would be for the better in the end. It would be hard enough watching Namjoon with Charlotte, but even harder to do so while also trying to suppress the ache of wanting in your chest. No, you refuse to continue to try.

A quiet hush falls over the ballroom as the song trails off before being replaced by raucous applause and even a few whistles. It’s no less than you expect following a performance like that. Jungkook has always been a crowd favorite.

You want to say something to Yoongi, to assure him that, regardless of the performance being over, you still plan to help him find JIDA, but a hand on your shoulder draws your attention away. It’s the staff member you flagged down at the start of Jungkook’s performance. They let you know that one of the front door security guards might have some helpful information about JIDA.

Yoongi is making his way back towards the lyricist's table by the time you turn back to him. You’ll just have to see what the security guard has to say and then find Yoongi if it’s something worthwhile.

Unfortunately, the information is helpful…but also very alarming, which is the unfortunate part. The security guard distinctly recalls seeing JIDA with tears in her eyes in the lobby. He asked her if she was alright, and she simply bowed and then ran outside. That was hours ago, right before the opening speech.

Seokjin’s voice cuts through the clapping, bringing the noise level back down to a murmur. He’s giving closing remarks, thanking everyone for their contributions once again. The people around you start to give their hushed goodbyes, having every intention of making their ways home soon. How can the evening already be almost over? Desperation makes your feet move quickly until you finally find yourself beside Yoongi once more. He’s at the Kim family table, his words to Jimin and Peach too low for you to catch over Seokjin’s speech.

“She left,” you shout above the noise, though being careful not to be too loud and disrupt Seokjin’s voice. “A security guard recognised her. She left a long time ago.”

The sounds of shuffling and hushed words feed through the speakers, but the only thing you can see is the back of Seokjin’s head as he stands just off stage. It sounds like someone is trying to take the mic from him. But who?

There is no one else scheduled to speak. Seokjin was supposed to be the last of the night, the conclusion after Jungkook’s performance. You glance down at the dainty opal-faced silver watch on your wrist, noting that Seokjin was right on time with his remarks. Who the fuck is—

“Excuse me, everyone, I’d like to make an important announcement.” Taehyung’s words are slightly slurred. The realization that he’s drunk sends a cold sheet of dread down your spine. You swear to all that is good in this world, if your conversation with Jimin earlier about scandals completely blows up in your face…well, you don’t want to think about that.

“No. No, no, no. This can’t be good,” you mumble to yourself as you desperately try to skirt through the crowd. 

The next words out of Taehyung’s mouth have the entire ballroom going eerily silent. There is a fool's grin spread wide on his face, like he just laid out the perfect picnic and now expects everyone to lap up the reality of it.

“What?” you whisper to yourself, eyes automatically snapping behind you to where you just left Peach sitting beside Jimin at the Kim family table. 

She’s sitting there, eyes wide and lips slightly parted, her fingers twisted around her napkin. Sudden movement beside her draws your eyes. Jimin lurches up from his seat, nearly toppling the chair over. In a flash, he’s flicked a pair of dark sunglasses from his inner coat pocket and secures them onto the bridge of his nose. 

Even from this distance, you can see there is some unspoken exchange between him and Peach. You had thought maybe—the two of them are close, dare you to think even intimate at times, especially considering how close you saw them on the dance floor earlier. Yet, Taehyung just…

You have every intention of making your way back over to Peach to help in any way you can. Jimin storms off, and you can tell the action takes Peach’s breath with it, but your view is suddenly filled with black lapels, an amaranth silk pocket square, and shiny black buttons.

“Did you know he was going to do this?” Namjoon asks. The look on his face is one of hurt and confusion. “Please tell me you didn’t know he was going to do this.”

You’re shaking your head before the words are even out. “No, of course not.”

“I have to do something,” Namjoon insists, making a beeline for the stage. The crowd is surging, quickly putting bodies between the two of you as you try to follow behind him. You’re about to call out in frustration when strong fingers thread through yours and Namjoon pulls you bodily around the gaggle of people trying to surround the Kim family table.

You catch glimpses of Peach through the throng of people attempting to either ask her questions or offer congratulations, you’re not sure which, honestly. Jimin has disappeared completely. Part of you wants to pull your hand free from Namjoon and go as you had intended to Peach’s rescue, but a second later, Yoongi is popping up beside her, and you know he’ll make sure she’s okay.

By the time Namjoon is pulling you to the side steps of the stage, Taehyung has handed off the mic, and neither he nor Seokjin are anywhere to be seen.

“What are you going to do?”

Namjoon shakes his head, snatching the mic from the poor stagehand standing there holding it like it’s a live snake about to strike if he so much as twitches.

“Go around the backside of the stage, it’s the quickest way to make it to the bar. Tell them I want as many bottles of Dom Pérignon as they can open; they can put it on my personal tab if they have to. Now, please. Go. Hurry.”

Sprinting in a floor-length silk gown is not exactly how you thought you’d be spending part of your evening. But, as it is, you’re panting soft puffs of breath by the time you make it to the employee entrance side of the bar. Just in time, too, as Namjoon’s words fill the ballroom space.

“Wow. What a pleasant surprise!”

“Dom Pérignon, per Mr. Kim. Open as many bottles as you have to, no matter the additional cost.” The bartender doesn’t even hesitate, grabbing four bottles from below the counter. He sets to working the corks immediately while barking orders at the other bar staff to pull the rest of the stock from the back.

“Congratulations to the happy couple,” Namjoon continues after quiet applause. “Please, everyone, if you would find your way to the bar to enjoy a glass of celebratory champagne.”

That gets the crowd moving, hopefully giving your friends some much-needed breathing room to get things sorted. You leave the staff to their jobs, making your getaway from the bar before you get trapped by the crowd coming for their champagne.

“Where did Taehyung go?” you ask Namjoon once you finally make it back to the stage.

He shakes his head. “No clue. No one is answering their phones, either.”

👔👔👔

Namjoon

All things considered, Taehyung’s announcement is far more acceptable than some other things that could have happened. Still, it would have been nice if Taehyung had mentioned it to the family. Or if he still wanted it to be a surprise, chosen somewhere far more family-friendly and intimate to let everyone know. The annual charity gala isn’t exactly the best place to be fielding such knowledge.

But Namjoon digresses and is doing his best. He caught his mother's eye sometime in the aftermath. She had a smug look on her face when he asked her if she knew this was going to happen. Her hand on his arm was affectionate enough as she told him that it was about time it happened, regardless, and that they’d have plenty of time to talk about it over family dinner the following week.

That was the last member of his family he spoke to before the gala concluded. He had already sent his brothers messages, imploring them to hold off on answering any questions until they could have their Monday-morning meeting in two days' time. Namjoon can see they’ve read his message, but his phone still sits idle with no replies.

Namjoon glances at his phone one last time before slipping it into his right pant pocket. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone what feels like hours ago now. He needed to loosen the hold his shirt had on his throat. Despite not wearing a tie this evening, the closed top hole of his shirt acted enough like a noose itself. He’d have shucked his jacket and shirt altogether if he knew that wouldn’t cause another wave of chaos.

Thankfully, all the news and media reporters have since left the venue. All that’s left are a handful of BSA staff handling the dismantling of the stage and DJ booth under the guidance of Gretchen, and some of the hotel wait staff clearing dishes from the tables. Oh, and you. You’re still here, too.

He watches you move across the ballroom, something clasped in your hands. There is a slight frown on your face, and Namjoon wishes more than anything that he could read your thoughts right now. What’s got you looking so down like that?

He decides there’s only one thing to do now. The thing he’s been trying to do all night to no avail. Namjoon squares his shoulders and makes his feet move before he can change his mind.

“Hey,” he says, waving a hand to catch your attention.

You pause, and Namjoon finally notices that you have a nearly empty coupe glass in your hands. “Do you need something?” you ask.

“What’s that?” He nods at the glass. Is that…dessert?

You snort a half laugh. “I didn’t get to finish it,” you mumble as you hold up a glass. It is indeed a half-eaten dessert. The cream has long since turned to milky liquid in the bottom, and the gold leaf has completely broken apart as the berries macerated in their own juices. “I thought maybe I could still…Well, it doesn’t matter.” You set the glass off on the closest table with a soft look of longing in your eyes. “Not very appetizing after it’s sat for so long.”

“Hm, yeah,” Namjoon agrees softly, feeling a wash of guilt at any part he may have played in that.

“Looks like we have time now. To talk, that is. If you wanted to.”

Namjoon looks around, taking in the soft bustle of the workers moving through the ballroom like well-oiled machine parts. “Right, yeah.”

“Unless you’d rather wait until work on Monday. I think I could squeeze in some time after your lunch hour.”

It’s hard to tell if you’re teasing. There is a guarded look in your eyes, like you’re uncertain how to hold a conversation with him. Which is fair, considering the last week and how it’s gone between the two of you. He’s not made this easy for you. Probably made worse by the acknowledgment that he wanted to talk, but not about what.

Shaking his head, Namjoon says, “No, no. Now is better…I don’t think I could stand waiting until Monday.” He has to clear his throat before finding his voice once more. “I wanted to apologize. For everything. And I also wanted you to know that I ended things with Charlotte.”

“Why? It seemed like things were going well. Is the list not working? I can revie—”

Namjoon holds up a hand, halting your ever need to try and fix things for him. “It’s not that. The list, well, according to Yoongi, is actually working. But, with Charlotte…it wasn’t working. Me, I mean, with me. She isn’t right for me. Not when I couldn’t stop thinking about someone else every time I was with her.”

“What are you saying?” Your words are soft and so full of what Namjoon can only describe as hope that it makes his heart lurch. He never should have denied whatever this is between the two of you. 

“What I’m saying is that I was a fool. I thought if I inundated myself with someone else, I could…I don’t know—forget about you, somehow. But, no matter what I do, I can’t. And…it wasn’t until recently that I realized that I didn’t want to forget about you.”

“Really?” you ask in a whisper. It’s in that one word that Namjoon can hear the hope from before turn into uncertainty. And he can’t blame you. Considering the last time he attempted to talk to you about this, he all but shunned the idea of being with you.

Namjoon watches as your eyes drop from his, your brows lightly pinching together like you’re trying to read between the nonexistent lines in the words he said. Your eyes catch on the ruined dessert you abandoned on the table, your lips further pulling down into a frown.

An idea sparks in Namjoon’s mind. He’s not sure how much good words are doing, so maybe he can show you some semblance of how much he cares for you. A sly curve catches at the corner of his mouth and he takes a leap of faith. “Come with me?” He offers you one of his hands. “Trust me,” he adds when you raise a questioning brow at him.

A hint of a smile creeps onto your face for the first time in hours, and it makes Namjoon’s heart swell. You’ve been run ragged tonight by a multitude of happenstances, from people employing your help to you ensuring the night's events ran smoothly. The meal procession was probably the only time you truly had a moment to relax, and you didn’t even get to finish your dessert. 

Namjoon is going to change that.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you slip your hand into Namjoon’s.

“You’ll see.” He can’t help grinning, leaning into the thrill of surprising you.

The feel of your palm pressed to his fills him with something he can only describe as peace. Your hand fits perfectly into his, something it seems he’s not the only one who notices with the way you flex your fingers against his. Namjoon can see it in your eyes; it feels perfect to you, too.

There is an industrial kitchen accessible through the ballroom's employee entrance. The service door leads to a long hallway, and the kitchen is not far down it. No one else is in the hallway, which is promising.

Namjoon leads you to the swinging doors of the kitchen. With one more meeting of his eyes to yours, he pushes through the doors and pulls you along.

Just as he hoped, the kitchen is also empty. The staff is still out in the ballroom, clearing away the dishes from the last course of dinner—the one you didn’t get to finish—and the last-minute round of champagne.

“The kitchen?”

“More specifically,” Namjoon explains, leading you further into the space until you’re standing in front of a giant industrial stainless-steel appliance, “the fridge.”

With his free hand, Namjoon pulls open one side of the fridge so you can both peer inside. Another score with luck. Arrayed in a smattering of prep containers are just the things Namjoon is looking for.

“What on earth are you doing?” You giggle as Namjoon reluctantly releases your hand so he can use both of his to start pulling the containers out.

He smiles, locking his gaze with yours. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks, quickly washing his hands at the nearby sink before grabbing a pair of tongs and a small ramekin from a clean stack of serving dishes. He begins to fill the dish with the various prepped fruits.

“Namjoon, stop, you can’t!” you protest, giggling softly again. You gently cuff your hand around his bicep, giving it a not-very-hearty tug. “The workers…”

“...Are being paid very handsomely for their hard work tonight,” he fills in. “Besides, I’ll be sure to leave behind a generous donation for the additional dishes and food.”

There is a sparkle in your eyes, one that Namjoon hasn’t seen in so long. You press your lips together, dropping your eyes down to where your fingers are still wrapped around his arm. “Are you sure?” you ask, your eyes slowly drifting back up under your lashes.

It takes every ounce of his self-control not to throw the half-made dessert aside and put you on a serving platter instead. “Absolutely.” The response comes out soft as a whisper; unintentionally sultry.

You suck in a silted breath. “Okay,” you finally concede. The feeling of your fingers wrapped around his arm turns into a phantom burn as you drop your hand to your side.

“Hop up,” Namjoon requests as he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over an empty space on the prep bench he’d been using as a makeshift assembly table. “Right here.” He pats the jacket in invitation.

“Why?” you ask, even as you do as he’s asked before he gives you an answer.

Moving aside the tongs and small bowls of ingredients, Namjoon looks down at his creation. It’s nowhere near as elegant as the ones served earlier. In fact, it looks like quite a mess. But maybe it’ll at least taste okay.

His reply comes out throaty, a rasp that belies the sordid thoughts churning through his brain as he thinks about what he’s going to do next. “Better access.”

It would probably be best to scrounge around and find a fork or spoon, but the humming in Namjoon’s brain tells him there are other perfectly good utensils at his disposal.

The diced berries and cream compote are cold against the tips of his fingers. Your eyes are locked on the cream-covered strawberry chunk pinched between his thumb and forefinger as he brings it up to your lips.

“Namjoon, I…”

He’s not sure what you were about to say. Maybe it was a protest, or a question about his intentions, but whatever it was is lost as your lips wrap around the strawberry and your tongue brushes the cream from the tip of his thumb.

Namjoon swallows thickly, hesitating only a moment before bringing his fingers to his own mouth and licking away the rest of the compote and berry juice. The sweet taste comes alive on his tongue, making saliva pool in his mouth. He has to swallow once more before he can speak.

“I’ve missed seeing you smile,” he says into the silence that follows as you continue to chew slowly. You pause, swallow, and open your mouth to speak, but he continues before you can. “Yoongi’s right, you’re the key to it all.”

“Yoongi said—what? What do you mean?”

Your eyes search his, flicking back and forth, looking for answers. Namjoon keeps his gaze firmly on your face as he fishes another strawberry from the ramekin and brings it to your lips.

The tip of your tongue peeks out before you relent and open for him once more. This time, he slips the fruit in and places it on your tongue, luxuriating in the silken feel of your lips brushing his fingers.

Molten heat flashes in your eyes, your lips closing around his fingers as you give a generous suck to the cream clinging there. Namjoon knows the action is deliberate, and you’re patiently waiting for his response when his fingers slip from your mouth.

Namjoon leans in, closing the distance between your face and his. He can feel the weight of his own breath rolling off your lips as he says, “He said you were the key to it all along. You. You…this. This is what I mean. The answer was always right in front of me. It was never about new clothes or not wearing a tie. It wasn’t about dancing or finding the small things to enjoy. It’s always been about you. You…this incredible, amazing, gorgeous woman who was always the answer, but I was too much of a coward to accept. But, not anymore. Not as long as you’ll let me make it up to you—please, let me make it up to you.”

👔👔👔

You can hear the edge of desperation in Namjoon’s voice. It slices through the last few shreds of your hesitance. As Jungkook sang Who earlier, you made a resolution to be honest with Namjoon, damn the consequences. And here he is, giving you the perfect in you need for just that.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Please,” Namjoon encourages. He sets the ramekin on the bench beside you, giving you his full, undivided attention.

With his hands now empty, you take them into your own. It’s not lost on you, the spark that his touch elicits. Just like earlier, you can’t help noticing how perfectly you fit together.

“It hurt,” you admit. “More than I actually thought it might. I’ve liked you for a while, Namjoon. Well, maybe more than a while.” Heat creeps into your cheeks, but you press on. “Even though, sure, you could be uptight at times, I also saw other sides of you. I saw the Namjoon who always listened intently to what anyone had to say. I saw the Namjoon who would drop everything for someone he cares about. I got to see how you smile whenever you talk about your friends, family, and even Proof. You have always had so much passion, and I got to see that.”

Namjoon shrugs. “Those things are small…”

“And it’s the small things that make up a big thing. And I’m not saying that helping you break out of your shell was a bad thing or that I regret it because I thought you were just fine as you were. What I’m saying is that it hurt me to know that someone else was getting to see those small things…and maybe even more than I was. Knowing you were with Charlotte, that she got to see not just the Namjoon I knew, but the Namjoon you were slowly becoming—I was jealous.”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon implores once more. “Thank you for hearing me out, and I’ll understand if you can’t forgive my being an idiot or if you need time or something. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not going to look for anyone else. I’ll wait as long as you need me to or accept my fate however you see it.”

“Of course I forgive you, Namjoon,” you soothe with a smile. “I already know what I want. And I’m fully prepared to let you make it all up to me.”

“Yeah?” Namjoon mirrors your smile. “Tell me where to start.”

Slipping your hands from his, you slowly bring them up to rest on his chest, watching his eyes for any adverse reaction. When all you see is adoration and anticipation, you slide your hands up until your fingers catch the open collar of his shirt.

“How about we start where we left off?” you ask softly as you curl your fingers around the fabric and use it to pull him close until his mouth is a breath away from yours.

The press of his lips is soft at first, but quickly morphs into an incessant, desperate force. It feels like the universe tilts on its axis, a ripple undulating out, the origin where his mouth presses to yours. It’s easy to open for him, to invite him into the confines of your mouth. His tongue slides along yours, blooming the flavor of strawberries and cream across your taste buds.

Strong hands come to frame your face, Namjoon’s fingers feathering along your hairline. Your own desperation has you pulling even harder on his shirt, trying to bring him in as close as possible so you can feel his body pressed to yours.

Your knees go to either side of his hips as he steps forward at your urging. The slit of your dress peels apart, exposing your left leg all the way up to mid-thigh. A thrill shivers through you when the hard planes of his chest meet the soft curves of your own.

Namjoon breaks from the kiss, sucking in the breath you expelled as you both try to recover from the way the universe shuddered with the brush of his lips against yours. His eyes lock with yours, and it’s all written there for you, every truth behind his words.

“I’ve never felt like this before. There is a buzz beneath my skin, I swear I can feel you everywhere.”

You feel it, too, the way your body hums with a pleasant heat licking at the base of your spine. All you want is to have more. “Again,” you murmur. Namjoon doesn’t resist when you pull him back and slot your lips over his once more.

This time, he opens for you. A deep groan vibrates through his chest, the sound echoing in the back of his throat as you press your tongue teasingly against his. Your teeth come down, nipping at the tip of his tongue as he pursues your teasing caresses.

“Oh my—I’m so sorry!” exclaims a harried voice from across the kitchen.

Namjoon straightens, abruptly ending the kiss. You both glance at the entrance to the kitchen, just catching sight of a retreating back. The loud clang of dishes from the other side of the doors fills in the blanks.

“Shit.” You giggle softly, dropping a hand to cover your mouth.

There is still heat in Namjoon’s eyes when he looks back at you. “Would it be too bold of me to ask you to come back to my place?”

You pause a moment, partly to consider his offer and partly to make him squirm a little before saying, “Not too bold, no.”

“Will you, then? Come back to my place?”

The drive to his place is full of a simmering tension that drips from the two of you like thick, syrupy molasses; just as sweet, too. He holds your hand the entire time and sits so close that the press of his thigh against yours feels branding.

Subtle touches and soft giggling accompany the ride in the elevator to the top floor of Namjoon’s building. As the elevator doors slowly close behind him, your back thumps softly against the wall beside his door.

“Namjoon,” you sigh, his name turning into a soft moan as he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat.

The elevator vestibule for the penthouse is decorated with subtle hints of Namjoon’s personality; small things that most people might miss. But you see it, perhaps more clearly now than any other time you’ve visited his top-floor apartment.

A plush rug covers the dark wood floor, and a console table with a cluster of leather-bound books and a small potted plant sits to the side. Floor-length navy curtains are open, revealing the glittering city beyond. There is a biometric fingerprint scanner and number pad that you can feel pressing against the swell of your hip as Namjoon continues to administer fluttering kisses along your neck and jaw.

“I’m getting carried away,” he husks against your throat.

You can tell it takes considerable effort for him to pull himself away from you. A part of you wants to beg for him to keep going, to forget about propriety and take you right here in the foyer. “Namjoon—”

But, a second later, his thumb is pressing to the fingerprint reader, and the sound of the lock disengaging is barely heard over the sounds of your combined breathing.

“Let me be a gentleman. Please come in,” he says, voice softer than it had been all night. The confession in the kitchen and mutually assured desire have smoothed the edges of his usual CEO precision, leaving something lighter, more vulnerable…something looser.

With a small nod, you allow Namjoon to usher you inside. Once inside, you slip your sandals off and drop the small clutch you squeezed your wallet and phone into onto the low, narrow settee positioned by the door.

You don’t even have time to fully turn around before Namjoon has you in his arms once more. “Oh!” you yelp in surprise, flushing with heat and exhilaration.

“Tell me again what you want,” he requests. His voice isn’t commanding, but it’s rough all the same. There’s an edge to it. Almost pleading.

You swallow, pulse hammering. “I want you.”

Something in him breaks then—not violently, but like a dam giving way after years of pressure in a swift and consuming sweep.

It feels surreal, the way Namjoon scoops you bridal-style into his arms and your hands find purchase against the smooth fabric of his jacket. He’s solid beneath your touch, grounding in a way that steadies you completely.

You can feel the rhythmic gallop of his heart beneath your palm as your other hand winds around his neck to nestle in the hair at his nape. His face is so close you can feel each puff of warm air he releases ghosting over your lips. All it would take is edging a few inches closer…

The silk skirt of your gown cascades over your legs, the slit opening to reveal where Namjoon’s fingers dimple the side of your thigh. You both drop your gazes to stare at where his hand grips you. His fingers flex, and you’d swear his hand was somewhere else with the way heat scorches through you as he does it a second time.

“I don’t know if I can be gentle,” he growls, the words broken and desperate as he flexes his fingers again. “Touching you—it feels…I need more of it, of you. All of you. Please.”

“Then shut up and have me,” you rasp out.

The hair along Namjoon’s nape feathers through your fingers as you grip it and use your hold as a way to pull his mouth to yours.

His lips hit yours hard, taking your breath away. Your lips part in a gasp, and Namjoon takes the opening to slip his tongue in and toy with yours. There is an urgency in the way he kisses you, a consuming need that mirrors your own.

If you had known that agreeing to help Namjoon break out of his shell all those weeks ago would lead to this, you wouldn’t have been so hesitant to say yes.

Namjoon staggers down the hall, stopping periodically to gain his bearings as he continues to ravish your mouth. You’re flushed and panting by the time he gently sets you down onto the plush sheets of his bed.

He finally breaks from the kiss, lips swollen and glistening in the city lights sparkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows across the room. You watch them form around his words as he breathlessly says, “Action item number nine: don’t forget to breathe.” You both take a collective breath and chuckle softly before melting into another more languid kiss.

You sigh when he pulls away once more, pushing to stand to his full height. Staring up at him, you take in the way his eyes sweep your prone form lying across the foot of his bed.

With delicate, feather-lite brushes, Namjoon explores the exposed skin along your throat and chest. His knuckles brush along the angled neckline of your gown, eliciting goosebumps in their wake.

“Namjoon,” you whisper his name, uncaring of how it comes out as a desperate plea.

“Let me take my time. Please, let me worship you,” he responds in kind as he drops to his knees.

You push up onto your hands. The silk of your gown makes it easy for him to turn you so your legs dangle off the side of the bed where he kneels.

With trembling hands, Namjoon parts the slit in your dress and pushes the fabric aside. A hunger enters his eyes, a silent plea asking for permission. You lift your chin a fraction, staring at him down the bridge of your nose. He looks like a man starved, on his knees, begging for his next meal.

A small shift of your hips is all the encouragement Namjoon needs for his fingers to slip up the sides of your hips and curl around the band of your silk thong. It slips down your legs easily, dropping to the floor at your feet. “Namjoon,” you sigh his name as he gently pushes your knees apart. His eyes slowly descend, sliding down your body until his gaze rests at the apex of your thighs.

The tip of Namjoon’s tongue pokes out, wetting the plump cushion of his bottom lip. “I want to taste you. I need you on my tongue,” he tells you fervently.

You don’t even have a second to steady yourself from the way those words have your insides churning into molten heat before he’s leaning in. Just from the shifting of your hips as Namjoon presses you open, you can feel how wet you are. His nose nuzzles against your thigh as he breathes you in. Maybe if your head weren’t full of clouds, you’d have the wherewithal to feel self-conscious about Namjoon dragging in a lungful of your arousal, but if anything, it adds to the throbbing ache you can feel pulsing through your clit.

A soft flick of his tongue has you instantly seeing stars and arching your back. The hot, wet heat of his mouth envelopes you the next instant as he latches onto your clit and sucks. His tongue slides down, the tip slipping over your entrance before coming back up to swirl around where his lips are still pressed to you.

“Yes, yes,” you chant, chest heaving and toes curling against the hardwood floor to either side of Namjoon’s knees.

You don’t mean to, but on instinct, you fist a hand in Namjoon’s hair and pull tight in order to press him harder against you. His nose presses against you, tongue and lips plucking and lashing with precision, clearly encouraged by your enthusiasm. 

With his other hand, Namjoon grips one of your thighs, using it as an anchor to keep you open for him. Every slide and flick of his tongue edges you closer and closer to that precipice of euphoria. You can feel your whole body tighten, each muscle growing taut with anticipation. A quiver begins in your thighs, making the moan that comes from deep in your throat warble.

Namjoon makes his own sound of pleasure, a rumble in his chest that mingles with the obscenely devious noises his mouth is making against your pussy. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your other hand fisting the sheets beneath you as you’re taken over with a full-body shudder before you completely unravel.

The pulsing begins deep, rippling out until you’re throbbing against Namjoon’s tongue. “That’s it, yes!” Namjoon growls around your clit, renewing his efforts until you’re shaking so much your teeth clack together.

“Fuck,” you gasp as you use your hold on his hair to ease him away from your very sensitive sex. The fluttering has eased, but you can still feel your body responding to the orgasm with lazy, slow clenches.

“That was…” Namjoon trails off, his panting breaths hitting the heated skin of your thighs. “I can’t even think of words to use.”

“Amazing,” you supply for him. Because it was. Fuck, it was. You’re not sure you’ve ever experienced an orgasm that intense before. “Let’s do it again,” you tease, earning a soft chuckle and a smile from Namjoon.

You smooth your hand through his hair, the strands mussed from your grip. He’s flushed, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. There is a distinct glisten to his lips, one that makes heat flood through your body. Normally, you need time to cool off between orgasms, but there is something about the way Namjoon looks right now on his knees between your thighs, your cum still lingering on his chin, that has your body keening in anticipation for what you want next.

Namjoon places an open-mouthed kiss on your thigh, the motion soft and languid. “I’ll do it as many times as you’ll let me,” he murmurs. The tip of his nose brushes your mound, the flat of his tongue pressing over your clit.

As tempting as it is to let Namjoon lick and suck another orgasm out of you, there is something more you want. “As amazing as your mouth is,” you begin, lightly gripping his hair once more to angle his face up so his eyes meet yours, “the next orgasm I have will be when I’m fucking you.”

A sly curve turns up the corner of Namjoon’s mouth. “When you’re fucking me?”

Tightening the grip in his hair, you push him back until he’s resting his ass on his heels, and you have room to stand up. Even like this, Namjoon is still so big that you don’t tower over him nearly as much as this position should allow. Still, though, you feel powerful like this. “Yes.” The word is not a command, just a statement of truth. By the look in his eyes, Namjoon accepts it, too, and if he has any qualms with you taking charge, he doesn’t show it. If anything, his body relaxes further, his will pliant and supplicant to yours.

“I’m yours,” he whispers, the ‘to command’ unspoken but heard all the same. “Tell me.”

Releasing his hair, you crook a finger under his chin and push up, guiding him without words to his feet. “Take your clothes off,” you instruct. “And then mine.”

Watching Namjoon slowly undress is a whole thing unto itself. The flex of sinew and muscle, deft fingers making efficient work of buttons and zippers. Finally, he’s left standing in front of you in only a pair of royal purple boxer briefs. You can’t help but smile.

“Like them?” he asks lightly, teasing the band with his thumbs.

The outline of his cock is distinct, the rigid length creating a direct line to a dark, wet spot on the front. Your mouth waters at the prospect of running your tongue along him from root to tip. But that will have to wait; the ache between your thighs is much too insistent.

You press your lips to keep from giggling before murmuring, “I’d like them better on the floor.”

“As you wish.”

The moment he is bared to you, his boxer briefs straining around his thighs before dropping to his ankles, you can’t help the soft groan you let out. It seems like a subconscious action, the way Namjoon cups his balls and then gives his generous cock a slow stroke, his eyes locked on your face the entire time.

You have to clear your throat before finding your words, “N-now me.”

A predatory glint burns in Namjoon’s eyes as he steps closer. So close that his erection slides along your belly, leaving a trail of wetness that you can feel subtly through the silken fabric of your dress.

Namjoon toys with a length of your hair before pushing it aside and trailing his fingers along your bared shoulder until he finds the clasp holding your dress up. When you purchased the gown, how quickly it would be to take off was the furthest thing from your mind. Now, however, you say a silent ‘thank you’ to yourself of a few weeks ago for making this choice.

The fabric comes loose, falling in a cascade of silk to puddle around your feet. Your nipples instantly respond to the cool air of Namjoon’s bedroom, pebbling tight. Yet again, you give yourself another little pat on the back for choosing to go braless tonight. One less article of clothing to stand in your way.

You can taste the tang of your arousal on Namjoon’s lips as you draw him to you. The press of his body against yours sends a new wave of appreciation through you. He fits so perfectly, your body molding to his effortlessly.

He’s a moaning mess by the time you pull away, chastely nipping at his bottom lip. A light press of your hands to his chest guides him onto the bed, his back hits the sheets, and his gaze stays firmly locked on you. It’s sinful the way he looks, stretched out on the bed, cock straining and muscles corded with anticipation.

A pearly bead has collected at the tip of his length, smearing across the flat plane of his belly where it rests. It’s far too tempting this time. Your knees dimple the mattress to either side of his legs as you crawl onto the bed after him.

Your breasts feel heavy, arousal making your nipples ache to be touched. Bending your arms so you hover just over him, the pert buds scrape along his thighs, making you both moan in appreciation. Just a small flick of your tongue, that’s all you need—for now.

The flavor of Namjoon bursts across your tongue as you collect the smeared evidence from his belly, the underside of your tongue only slightly grazing the crown of his cock. It jumps, the velvety length brushing against your chin.

“That’s dangerous, baby,” he says, voice husky and raw.

You’re tempted to continue, to see exactly how far you can take him before he’s a writhing mess erupting under your ministrations. But the throbbing of your pussy reminds you of something you want more right now.

With one last lave of your tongue over the mess on his stomach, you crawl forward until you’re straddling his hips. The underside of his cock fits perfectly against the slit of your lower lips. With as turned on as you are, you’re certain that all it would take is a few well-placed shifts of your hips for you to cum.

The skin of Namjoon’s chest is warm, the palm of your hand fitting perfectly over the curve of his pec as you brace yourself forward to lift your hips. Namjoon’s pupils are blown, making his eyes seem even darker than their usual espresso dapple. You can feel the course they trace down your body, lingering first on your right breast and then your left, before dipping down to where your sex kisses against his.

As you lift your hips higher, you can feel the length of him slide along you, collecting the arousal that has gathered there. Your other hand slips between your bodies, fingers circling the hefty girth of his shaft. The muscles in Namjoon’s stomach tense with your touch, and his mouth pops open with a hushed rush of breath.

It’s easy to fit him against you. Your body accepts the thick crown of his cock like it always belonged as you slowly lower yourself onto him, inch by inch. A shudder ripples through you, eliciting a similar response in Namjoon when you’ve finally bottomed out. He’s snuggly buried to the hilt, making you feel so full you’re certain if you looked down, you’d see a bulge low in your belly.

A torrent of affirmations and confessions that taste sweet on the tongue dribble from between your lips. You can’t help the babble, needing to let Namjoon know exactly how he makes you feel. “You feel so good. So perfect. Fuck, you’re amazing,” you continue whispering, letting your mouth move of its own accord as you begin to move.

Namjoon grips your hips, encouraging you in his own way with sounds that spur you on. You thought him a man starved before; now he’s a man possessed. There is a need, a hunger, in the way his fingertips dimple your skin and his lids droop, mouth open as he groans with pleasure, urging you to move faster and harder.

Using both hands to brace yourself on Namjoon’s chest, you roll and undulate your hips smoothly, chasing that release you both so desperately need. The angle has Namjoon’s body grinding against your clit when you drop your hips over his, shooting sparks up your spine every time.

You can feel it, that building pressure of another orgasm tightening low in your belly. Namjoon’s body shifts under you as he braces his heels against the mattress and lifts his hips to meet yours, increasing the sensations thrumming through your body.

The grip on your hips tightens, anchoring you in place as Namjoon thrusts his hips up in quick succession. You pitch forward, chest meeting his. His mouth slots against yours, tongue thrusting deep, the action being rewarded with a keening moan from you.

A sudden and sweeping deluge of pleasure engulfs you as your body clamps around Namjoon. “Oh, Namjoon,” you moan his name, long and breathy.

“That’s it! Fuck, Sunshine!” Namjoon shudders, and a new sensation blossoms within your body—warmth. You can feel the rhythmic pulsing of his cock in tandem with your own throbbing walls.

Muscle by muscle, your body relaxes until you’re fully resting on Namjoon’s chest. His lips strum against yours in lazy kisses, both of you content to simply bask in the afterglow of what you just shared. The kisses turn sleepy, trailing off until you’re resting your cheek on his chest, listening to his breathing as it evens out and softens.

Sometime later, you’re not exactly sure what time it is, you rouse, still nestled atop Namjoon. His arms are wrapped around you, one hand lightly cradling your waist and the other tracing delicate patterns against the middle of your spine.

“You called me Sunshine,” you whisper, a soft smile curling your lips. You noticed it earlier when it happened, but were too far gone to bring attention to it.

Namjoon chuckles lightly. “Mmm. I did.” A knuckle under your chin has your face turning up toward his. “Is…is that okay?”

You search Namjoon’s face and realize that he’s asking seriously. “Of course, that’s okay,” you assure him. “I’ve always wondered why you didn’t.”

The look in Namjoon’s eyes softens, and he goes back to sweeping gentle fingers along your back. “Honestly? I didn’t feel worthy of using it. When Yoongi first started calling you that, I was…jealous, I think is the best word to describe it. It’s not that I wanted to be the one to call you it, I just wish I had thought to do so first myself. You’re every bit deserving of it, being the light that you are. You fill any room you walk in with warmth.”

“You know, I like to think of myself more as a moon…reflecting the light and warmth of others back at them. But, I guess Moonshine doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?”

You both laugh.

“Don’t tell Yoongi that, he might take it as a challenge.”

Time seems to stand still even as the rest of the weekend creeps by. Hour by hour, you find yourself laughing or sighing with content when you’re not being showered with affection—oh, and endless orgasms. When Monday rolls around, you’re fairly certain you’ve never had more orgasms in a twenty-four-hour span than you did over the weekend.

After a quick stop at your own apartment for a change of clothes—wearing one of Namjoon’s shirts was an acceptable thing to do at his place, but you’re not sure that would go over quite as well in the office—you proudly walk hand-in-hand with Namjoon into Proof.

“Are you free next weekend?” Namjoon asks once the elevator doors have slid closed behind you.

You think for a second, for once not entirely sure since you didn’t spend any time at all this weekend reviewing your calendar. “I think so, why?”

“Let’s take a trip. Spain, maybe?”

“What? Namjoon, no.”

“Why not? I want to show you to the world, let everyone know—”

“We both have responsibilities—”

“Next month, then.”

You have to hold back a laugh. The elevator continues to ascend, the hum a quiet background to your conversation.

“Namjoon,” you state, trying your best to keep at least a somewhat serious face.

He counters in a sing-song voice, “Sunshine.”

You can’t resist when he looks at you like that, eyes crinkled and lips lightly curled. “Oh, fine!”

“Yes!”

“No, not so fast,” you correct him, finally allowing yourself to laugh. “We will talk about it, okay? I’ll check our schedules, and we can discuss it further…say, tonight, over dinner?”

“As long as I get to have you for dessert,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand before bringing it up to brush a kiss across your knuckles.

It takes every ounce of your self-control to keep from pressing the emergency stop button on the elevator panel. What you wouldn’t give for another few minutes alone with Namjoon, especially after those slick words of his.

“You’re certain about this?” you ask him as the elevator slows to a stop at the executive floor. “About everyone knowing so soon?” With a laugh, Namjoon presses a kiss to your forehead. “Never been more certain. Relax, Sunshine.” You look up at him, seeing all the confidence and assurance you could need shining back at you as he adds with a wink, “Loosen up.”

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