click clack to the pow;

Which brings you back to your problem. Redbone and second-hand weed smoke aside, you're feeling antsy. You've been drawing circles on your own thigh to keep yourself at bay, but it's not enough, and Hoseok's right there, even if his response time is a little delayed. "Hoseoook," you say, drawing his name out and pushing harder at his leg.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he says, his voice raspy from the smoke. 

You smile at him, reaching your hand out and placing it near his. "Come here." You throw your other arm out wide. "I want to cuddle." 

From his place on the bed, Yoongi taps Jungkook and motions at the two of you. "Looks like I'm going to win, hyung," Jungkook says. but Yoongi ignores him, shaking his head. 

"I-it's hot," Hoseok says, stammering a little before recovering smoothly. He's high, too, and looking at you, your eyes wide and pupils blown out, takes his breath away just as much as the joint did. "I'll stay here on my side of the couch."

But you're not to be deterred. You push yourself up with a huff, still a little tipsy from the king's cup game you'd lost hours earlier. In one movement, you've got his hand in yours, and you're resting your chin on his shoulder, your eyes focused on the mole above his lip. "Is this okay?" you say, your breath hot and sweet at his ear. 

Hoseok swallows, nodding. his other arm slowly makes its way round your waist, and you lean in with a contented smile. "This is good," he says quietly.

You feel a featherlight touch on your forehead, so quick you barely notice it. Leaning in closer, you place your lips against Hoseok's neck, right at his pulse point. His skin is warm against your mouth as you whisper, "Did you kiss my forehead, Hobi? Because there are other places I want you to kiss—"

His grip on your waist tightens before his fingers start to roam your stomach, too lightly to have the effect you want. Against your will, you start to giggle, his tickling touch too much for you to handle. "You're too cute, sweetheart," Hoseok says with a smirk, strategically angling his hips away from you so you don't feel him half-hard at your thigh. 

"And you're no fun," you say, turning to him to pout before snuggling up against him, resting your hands on his chest. "Good night, Hoseok." Your fingers play gently with the hem of his shirt.

Taehyung’s wearing the faded Rolling Stones muscle tee you’d given him back in middle school, and you’re pointedly trying not to glance at the slight definition of his triceps because since when did your baby boy Taehyung work out? He reaches up, stroking your forearm gently. “Will you be done soon?” When you sigh in response, Tae scrunches up his nose and shakes his head—a force of habit—and red soaks the front of your white shirt.

“Taehyung, calm your fivehead down,” you say, growling and pinching his nipple lightly through the fabric with your clean hand. He whimpers but stays still, and as a peace offering, you run your fingers along his head in the way you know he likes.

“It’s worth your nipple-pinching accuracy to have known you for over ten years,” Taehyung says loyally, grinning up at you with that boxy smile.

You soften, the noise of disbelief you make belying your answering grin. “Cheeseball,” you say, “but you’re right to be nice to me, or you’ll look like a half-dipped strawberry when I’m done with you.”

“Grandma will be happy either way.” He’s unfazed, his eyes shut as he enjoys the feeling of your hands on his head. “Strawberry-red hair will be my gift to her for when I get back to Daegu.”

You snort. “Your roots’ll start showing by then, silly boy.”

Taehyung opens his eyes, a slight smirk lifting up the corner of his mouth. “But you’ll be there to help me, won’t you, petal?”

“We’ll see.” You tug a little hard on his hair in retaliation, expecting him to protest. Instead, he groans lowly, and the sound strikes you to your core. His tanned cheeks go nearly as red as the dye on your fingers, and neither of you ever bring it up again.

So it’s strange, you think, how that’s the first memory that comes to mind when you find yourself face to face with a naked, sleeping Taehyung, his arms tight against your waist as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. His dark roots are showing, peeking through the honey-blond he’d chosen, and you’re tempted to pull at them, to break the unnatural calm that’s fallen over you.

You don't know what it is about Namjoon that has you defending him. Maybe it's the way his one cheek is bigger than the other, his dimple begging for someone to poke it. "Shut up," you say, taking back your phone with a huff. "He seems like a genuine and sweet guy." You flick through his photo gallery again, noting how much cuter he seems to be the more you look at him.

His last picture is a selfie: he’s at the local art gallery—the one exhibit you don’t view is the one where the cute boys are, it seems—and the pink flowers at the back of his phone case are what seal the deal for you. That little detail, the softness of him, how easy it is to believe that he won’t and can’t hurt you, makes your smile grow even wider. “I’ve swiped right, for your information, and it’s a match. ” You stick your tongue out at Seulgi before pulling up the messaging screen to talk to him, but you see he’s already typing something up.

>> hey, baby.

You roll your eyes, ready to leave the chat box, but Namjoon sends the next message before you can exit.

>> does your owner give you all the treats you want?

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head before you remember that your last picture is of you with your family dog. “What a loser,” you mutter, but you shake your head with a smile on your face. Dismissing the thought that you’re so hard-up you’re responding to something so silly, you type your typical first message.

> [Draft] ur cute :-)

Before you can send it, though, you pause. He seems to be the goofy type. Your line works on the three-emoji-bio men you swipe right on during that time of the month, but Namjoon, you think, deserves something a little more meaningful.

> my cousins take v good care of mickey, tyvm

> and do u rly mean crabs because if u do i think hermit crabs r rly cute

“I’ll have some of your milk with my protein, if that’s alright?” You know Seulgi’s only asking you now because you’re distracted, and you throw her a dirty look before making a shooing motion at her.

“Trade you some for that chocolate you have stashed at the back of the fridge,” you say, tossing your phone onto the table and getting up to follow her.

Seulgi sighs. “Fine, fine. Namjoonie not sweet enough for you?”

You pointedly break off an large chunk of her chocolate bar, returning to the couch to pick up your phone.

>> i was with my dog rapmon at the beach, the stars shining bright above us, when i saw him pawing at something in the sand. it was a small crab, doing its best to defend itself against my goliath of a dog. its courage was cute.

>> but not as cute as you.

And that’s how it all starts.

You start messaging every day, and too soon it’s been a week since you swiped right on him. It’s been a while since you’ve talked so often to anyone new; in between classes and workshops and forums, you’re smiling like an idiot every time your phone lights up with a message notification.

>> what are you reading now?

He encourages you to tell him about the book you’ve put on the backburner ever since you’ve gotten here and that’s making you want to read again. In turn, he tells you about his day. At first, you’re ashamed because your days are so full of business, and they seem boring in light of what he’s doing—between the hours when he’s working on his graduate thesis, he’s at exhibits, attending to his book club, or by the sea, walking along the shore.

> stuck at another networking event so ttyl

You’ve had people ghost you before, and you’re scared of Namjoon doing the same. It’s that sense of self-preservation that has you replying less.

You’re up late one night working on a coding project, and things aren’t going right. You find yourself glancing at your phone, smiling when you open the familiar interface.

> i can’t keep my eyes open but python won’t let me sleep

> what r u up to ??

You wince at your sorry attempt to restart the conversation, wondering what Namjoon’ll say, if he’ll say anything at all.

>> do you have a landline at your apartment?

> i might what’s up

>> i’ll help keep you up.

>> and not in the phone sex way.

>> unless you want that.

>> …

>> i’m invoking my right against self-incrimination.

You laugh, checking the phone and typing up the number. A couple of seconds after you send it, the phone rings. You let it ring exactly thrice before picking up.

“You’re a tease, you know that?”

You gasp quietly because Namjoon’s voice is a lot deeper—and hotter, fine—than you’d expected. “Just the way you like it,” you say.

“Indeed. So that snake of yours, what’s the problem with it?” His tone is serious, and you’re racking your brain trying to figure out what he means.

“Python, Namjoon, damn it,” you say, giggling. “I’m coding something for my big data class, but I can’t seem to get it right.”

“Tell me about it,” he says, simply.

Sheer frustration pushes you to rant to Namjoon, but as you’re talking to him, you realize where you went wrong.

“You’re brilliant, Namjoonie,” you say, affection creeping easily into your voice. “I’ll get my laptop, wait.” You add the missing lines and immediately your program reads smoothly; now all you need to do is let it run. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“All you,” he says, chuckling. “I’m glad you messaged. I had coffee far too late today and was feeling pretty antsy.”

“That’s a pretty convenient excuse, mister.” You’re tapping your fingers against your laptop, wondering whether it’s the right time to ask Namjoon out. It’s not like you mind making the first move, but you want to be extra careful with him for reasons you’re trying not to overthink.

“And I missed you, of course.” Namjoon says it shamelessly, but coughs a second after. “I hope that’s not too creepy to say.”

“Not at all. Really sweet, actually.” You consider for a moment, quickly pinching yourself. “So sweet it makes me want to see you in person. You interested?”

“Definitely,” he says immediately. “I know just the place, if you don’t mind?”

Namjoon sends you directions to the area, describing the nearby landmarks without telling you exactly what kind of place it is. That’s how you find yourself outside a house, dressed in comfortable clothes as per Namjoon’s request. You quickly send a pin of your location to Seulgi, just in time to hear someone call out your name.

“Hey,” Namjoon says, jogging up to you. “Sorry I’m a little late. Tutoring took a little longer than usual.” You look him up and down appreciatively. He’s tall and lanky, his back a little hunched, but his smile is wide and his hands are big, and his dimples take your breath away.

“No problem, though I’m worried about what we’re going to be doing today.”

“Something fun!” He gestures in the direction of the house. “After you?”

As you go closer to the house, you see a small paper sign for kimchi-making classes posted to the door. You laugh, thinking about what Seulgi would say. “I’m warning you that I’m practically weaponized in a kitchen,” you say, pushing lightly at his arm. “But come on, let’s go.”

Between you and Namjoon, it’s a miracle that no accidents happen in the kitchen. The instructor makes the mistake of mentioning how it could be like a competition. The spark in your eyes is matched by the one in Namjoon’s, and the two of you finish your kimchi jars first. Sure, your clothes are now stained with ingredients, but it means that when you sit down for the included dinner, you’re both famished.

“My roommate might think I killed you,” you say conversationally before placing the meat wrap in your mouth.

Namjoon laughs. “Maybe you have, in a way. In another universe, that might be how this would have ended.”

“Or you could be a world-famous rapper, and I’d be an adoring fan.” You finish up quickly, wiping at your mouth and resting your chin on your hand.

“It could still happen,” he says, shrugging before taking his last bite. You glance at your phone; two hours have flown by without you noticing.

“Can I interest you in ice cream and a companion on your walk home?” Namjoon adds, his expression hopeful. “If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

“Well, you have my landline, so if you’d meant to kill me, you probably could have done it by now.” Your tongue peeks out from between your teeth as you tease him. You see Namjoon glance at it for a second, and that thrills you.

It turns out Namjoon knows your area like the back of his hand, and he tours you through the scenic route as you both lick at ice cream cones.

“This is my favourite park,” he says. The narrow path has both of you walking a little bit closer, and you take the opportunity to lean into him every once in a while.

“It’s beautiful, Namjoon. Thank you so much for letting me see it.” You grin up at him, and he smiles back.

You’re strolling in comfortable silence, only stopping to throw the tissue wrapped around your cones. “So a master’s in philosophy, yea? How’s that going?”

“It’s a little more academic than I expected, which probably sounds ridiculous,” he says, which you shake your head at. You knew exactly how that felt. “But I’m definitely enjoying it a lot. I’m a teaching assistant, as well, so I keep myself occupied.”

“What about rapping? How’d you get into that?”

“Ah, well.” He scratches at the back of his head. “I’ve always been big on reading and music, and I can’t really carry a tune, so…” You can tell there’s more to it, but you’ve arrived at your apartment. Namjoon looks like he wants to stay, but you can’t be sure.

“Do you want to come inside for some coffee?” you say, kicking yourself mentally for spewing paperback-romance garbage.

“I’m alright,” he says, his dimple prominent as he smiles at you. You’re freaking out inside because you feel you must have done something wrong.

“I had a great time, Namjoon,” you say, unable to resist tiptoeing to give him a kiss on the cheek. He surprises you by turning his head, his large hands reaching out for your waist to pull you close. For a man so cleanly put together, his kiss is surprisingly dirty, and you gasp when you feel him lick at the corner of your mouth. It’s been far too long for you, and you find yourself drowning in the solid warmth of him, his lips and forehead so close to your own.

“There’s an oil painting class next week on our side of the campus. I’ll see you there?” Namjoon grins like his plush lips aren’t slightly swollen, his hair a bird’s nest thanks to your wandering hands.

You roll your eyes, feigning the same nonchalance. “Text me the details,” you say, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and typing up your cell phone number, making sure your hand slides along his side as you put it back. “Good night.”

He texts you throughout the week, and you’re even more attached to your phone than you were before. Now that you’ve exchanged cell numbers, you can send pictures; Namjoon’s not shy about sending selfies, and you have a veritable collection of his cutesy faces, which you find a little annoying, but mostly adorable. You think the daily photo exchange will prepare you for seeing him again, but when you meet him that Saturday on the second floor of the art building, your heart beats a little faster. He’s wearing a loose striped shirt under a denim jacket, his hair tousled by his habit of running his hand through it.

“Look at you,” he says, whistling. “You’re so pretty.” Namjoon looks at you, not even hiding the wonder in his expression, and you feel your ears heating up.

“With the way you’re buttering me up, I’m scared of what we’ll be doing today.” When you come close enough, you reach out, not sure if he’ll welcome a hug, but Namjoon leans into you. You wrap your arms around his neck, breathing in his clean, soapy scent. It takes a while, but he places his hands on your waist and the small of your back, pulling you close before letting you go.

Today’s class is led by a fellow grad student, and she’s playing 90s hip-hop and R&B. Namjoon’s wiggling his flat ass to the music, mouthing the lyrics and bopping his head as he sketches. You look over, and you struggle not to laugh because his drawing is a forest of koalas of different shapes and designs.

By no means are you an art major, but you find yourself focusing on the suggested still life, trying to get the shadows right. You’ve just started choosing your paints when you feel someone staring at you. You turn to Namjoon, and he’s got a spot of green on his cheek. He’s smiling at you, his eyes crinkling, and you scrunch your nose up at him.

“Stop, I feel like you have me under a magnifying glass.” You’re flustered, so you reach for his face, swiping at the paint. Your thumb lingers on his dimple, and beneath his tan skin you see a hint of flush.

Under the pretense of seeing the other paintings he’s done, you and Namjoon make your way to his solo apartment. Anticipation sends a shiver up your spine, especially when Namjoon places his hand firmly at the small of your back as he guides you down the streets. When he flicks the light on, you look around, taking everything in. In his living room alone he’s got two shelves stuffed with books of every genre. You’re so busy cooing at the koala figurines balancing precariously at the edge of the dividers that you don’t see him reaching to pull you into a kiss.

If you’d thought his kiss was dirty before, this one is positively unholy, and Namjoon kisses you with the enthusiasm of a man starved. Your fingers move to his hair, and he groans when he gets a handful of your ass. At some point his head clatters against the wall, but you’ve got your tongue at his neck, sucking lightly at his collarbone, and his whine turns into a moan. “Your bedroom, Namjoonie, where is it?” you say sweetly, biting down before soothing the red mark with your tongue. Your other hand snakes down into his pants, finding a drop of precum at his head and spreading it all over his shaft.

“God, you’re too much; you’re amazing,” he breathes. Namjoon pulls you against him, grinding your hips down against his own, the hardness against your stomach turning you on even more.

“I asked you a question,” you say more firmly, and you test the waters by tightening your grip on his hair. A shudder goes through him, and you can’t help but smirk. “I expect you to answer questions when I ask them, Namjoon.”

“Right here,” he says, and he lifts you in his arms, opening a door three steps away and depositing you onto his bed. “Let me go down on you, please,” he murmurs, his hands roaming your body like he’s molding a sculpture. You roll your hips into his, enjoying the sounds he makes as you pretend to consider. Really, you’re feeling a deep sense of relief you’d showered right before going there, but you wouldn’t let him know that.

“Are you going to be a bad boy?” you say, looking up at him through your eyelashes. His pupils are blown as he shakes his head, and you give him a sultry grin. “Get to work, then.”

He pushes your skirt up slowly, his gaze reverent as each inch of skin is revealed. You sigh approvingly as he kisses up your thighs, your breath quickening in anticipation. When he gets a finger into you, you gasp. He pushes your knee up with his other hand, pressing the softest of kisses against your clit through the fabric, and your hands go to his head. “So sweet,” you say, “but it’s time to start.”

At first, it’s okay; he makes quick work of your underwear, and his finger’s long and thick and curling up, almost at the perfect spot. Then he does something with his tongue on your clit, his finger rubbing just so against your walls, and you’re arching off the bed. “You like that?” he murmurs against your cunt, his voice husky and excited. You don’t know when he managed to get two fingers in, but your hand tightening around the back of his neck is a warning not to stop. “You’re so pretty like this, your pussy pink and swollen for me.”

You lift your head to scold him a little but really to watch, but you pause when he starts to move again, his hips rutting against the bed as he blissfully sucks at your clit, his fingers moving to a rhythm only he knows. The sounds you make are guttural, his passion infectious, and you hear Namjoon groan just before your vision goes white. He doesn’t stop until you push his head away gently. You’re breathing hard, pleasure coursing through you, but Namjoon can’t seem to look at you. You tilt your head at him as he lies gingerly on the bed, confused until you notice the wet spot growing on the front of his pants.

“Did my sweet boy come in his pants?” you say, pushing his hair away from his face. You take off your shirt and unbuckle your bra, stretching luxuriously when all you’re wearing is the skirt bunched up at your middle. You see Namjoon staring at you, his tongue darting out to swipe against his lips. When he catches your eye, however, he looks down, and you pout. Taking his face into your hands, you bump your nose against his before kissing him deeply. “I’m not sorry at all, Namjoon,” you say. “Unless you think the night’s over already?”

He’s taking his shirt off before you can say anything else, and you’re grinning at him as he stands up to push his pants and boxer briefs off. “Definitely not,” he says, his hand pumping his half-hard cock once as you ogle him shamelessly, your index finger circling lazily on one of your breasts. He sits down beside you, waiting for you to make the next move.

“Show me what you want to do, Namjoon.”

He takes your hips and pulls you on top of him so you're kneeling above his thighs. Namjoon cranes his neck down till his head is level with your breasts, biting right above your left areola. Your hand twitches at his shoulder, your nails digging in as he takes your nipple into his mouth. “S-such  a good mouth you have there,” you say, stuttering as your wetness rubbing against his toned stomach.

“Your cunt’s making a complete mess of me,” Namjoon says, releasing your breast with a pop. He reaches in between you to rub at your clit, and you scratch at his shoulder before you can help yourself.

You let go, shaking your head to try and clear it. “I’m sorry; I’m being too rough, fuck—“

But Namjoon rubs his cock, fully hard, against your ass. “Don’t stop, sweetheart. I love it. Mark me up any way you please.” He squeezes your other breast with his hand, flicking at the nipple with his thumb. “Anything to let me have my hands on you like this.”

Namjoon’s driving you too close to the edge, and you want him to come inside of you tonight. "Do you have a condom on you?" you say, concentrating on the sound of your breath to keep from lifting up and sinking down onto him.

"Yeah, shit, give me a second," he says, pushing himself further up the bed to fumble for the bedside drawer, knocking over a bottle of water in the process. He swears, and you giggle, both of you breaking character for a second to grin at each other like idiots. "Got it," he says, and you tackle him, knocking the breath out of him with that push and your subsequent kiss.

"You're really too cute," you say, "and so hot, too. Do you want me to take care of this?" Your hand is at his, twining your fingers together with the condom between your palms. Namjoon nods, rutting into your hips, and the slide of his dick against your folds is too much for you to take.

You roll the condom down none too gently, watching Namjoon's face twist in pain and pleasure. He looks fucked out already, and you squeeze at the base of his cock. "It's your chance to redeem yourself, Namjoonie." He gazes straight into your eyes as you sink down on him inch by inch, your mouth hanging open at the fullness of him inside you.

When he bottoms out inside you, you both sigh, and the smile he flashes at you is so sunny you'd think you were back at the classroom painting koalas. But you're not; you're here, on the bed with a man you feel you know better than your three and a half weeks probably account for. You grin wickedly at him before clenching tight, rolling your hips in a circle. "Show me what you've got."

Namjoon takes that as a cue to take control, spreading his hands on your back. "Lean on my arms, sweetheart," he says. "Trust me." You do, and the new angle has his next thrust hitting a spot inside you that has your eyes going wide. "That's it," he says, smirking. "I've got you."

He moves his arm to support you more firmly and rubs at your clit again, and this time it's all too much. "Come for me," Namjoon says, moaning. "Let me be your good boy." That's what pushes you into your second orgasm, one even stronger than the first. Namjoon follows you over, and you feel his cock pulse in you as his eyes shut tight.

Namjoon pulls you toward him before you both fall over, your head landing on his chest when you lie down. "You're certainly something," he says, wrapping his arm loosely around your waist as his softening cock slips out of you.

"Something you like?" Suddenly you wonder if everything was too much, whether you should have held back tonight, but Namjoon kisses at the furrow in your brow.

"Let these clever little gears rest." He smiles fondly at you, his gaze soft. "Something I very much like."

Dating Namjoon is so easy that you feel there must be a catch. "This isn't some How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days bullshit, is it?" you say, groaning into your third strawberry margarita of the night.

Joy rolls her eyes at you affectionately. "You're too paranoid.” But something in you keeps you from investing in Namjoon.

"He's a stock too good to be true," you joke, though the furrow in your brow only deepens as the night wears on. Your friends groan at your comment, but Seulgi reaches for your hand under the table to squeeze it reassuringly.

The feeling in your gut doesn’t go away, isn’t pushed out by the inevitable butterflies Namjoon’s dimples bring. And on a warm night at an outdoor film showing, you’re proven right.

You’re sitting on a mat, looking up at the sky; it’s remarkably clear tonight, Venus winking at you from among the stars. You reach out to fiddle with the grass that’s poking through the handwoven fabric, glancing over to watch Namjoon mouth the words to Am é lie . “Can you even speak French?” you say, your tone belying the soft smile on your face.

“A little bit,” he says. “I took a class with Seokjin back in our undergrad days.”

Namjoon has as many friends as there are galaxies, but there’s something about the way he says this name that gives you pause. Maybe it’s because you’ve been waiting for this moment, for the catch that’ll bring the house of cards down. But maybe you’re wrong.

“Have I met Seokjin? Was he with Yoongi at the library we met up at?” you say carefully, watching his face for any sort of reaction.

He pauses before answering. “No, I rarely get to see him, nowadays. He moved away from the area as soon as we graduated university.” His tone is wistful. You’ve only ever heard him sound like this, like it’s painful to have lost a chance at something, when he’s discussing destroyed heritage sites and long-dead philosophers. You bite your tongue, knowing you’re better off not knowing.

Much later, you’re both listening to the cicadas sing, lying side by side in bed. You turn to him, placing your palm on his heart—like a lie detector, you think wryly. “Who is Seokjin?” you say, willing your breath to remain steady.  

“Someone I love,” he says simply, and you feel the air rush out of your lungs. Your hand slips off his body, and you turn to face the ceiling. He looks at you, then, finally noticing that you’re not your usual self. It’s a testament to how he feels about Seokjin that it took him time to see your reaction. He reaches his hand out to reassure you, his fingers at the back of your neck as he strokes your hair. Like a pet, you think, but you resist the temptation to push his hand away.

“I really enjoy spending time with you.” He looks at you as he says this, and you hate yourself for being unable to shake off his gaze. He sighs. “But I can’t deny that I’m not over my feelings for him.”  

You take a deep breath. “Tell me about him, then.” The room feels a little colder, all of a sudden, and you reach for the stuffed koala Namjoon has on his bedside table, holding it close.

“I used to be a really big asshole,” Namjoon says thoughtfully, clasping his hands and placing them on his stomach. “I thought I’d be the next big-shot philosopher-cum-rapper, revive the tradition of the celebrity intellectual, and all that.

“Then I met Seokjin. It was our undergrad philosophy class, the usual required subject, but I was a snooty freshman and he was a junior.” Namjoon’s eyes glaze over a little. “Seokjin is—he’s beautiful, with a face sculpted by the gods: doe eyes, puffy lips, every feature that makes romance heroes swoon. He has this silly, adorable windshield-wiper laugh and the biggest heart I’ve ever known.” He glances at you, then, as if pleading for you to understand.

You smile, putting more comfort in the expression than you feel you have in you. “Go on.”

“He brought me into his friend group so easily, and it made me realize how much I actually liked people. There’s more to life than fame, money, and power, and though I thought I knew that, I certainly wasn’t living like that.” He flushes, remembering something. “And he made me feel attractive for the first time in my life. Everyone’s always known me as the brain, the smart guy; Seokjin used to tell me I was adorable on a daily basis. He’d pinch my dimples and call me hot, and it made me want to believe it.”

You reach over to stroke his face, and he leans into your touch. “Does he know?” You know the answer even before he shakes his head. He’s put Seokjin on a pedestal, too far up for him to ever reach, but at a perfect distance to long for forever.

“It’s fate,” Namjoon says, “for us to have met.” He places his hand over your own, stroking your thumb. “Just like it’s fate for you and me to have met.”

You smile at him, then, snuggling up to him. He places his arms around you and falls asleep easily, but you lie awake wondering what you’re going to do next. You hate that you can’t leave right there and then, that despite all this emotional unavailability, you can’t find it in you to let Namjoon go, just yet. You’re convincing yourself he’s a great friend and a great lay, and that’s all there will be to it. You fall asleep repeating that lie to yourself, trying to make it come true.

So you continue to go on dates, but you stop calling them that in your head, forcing yourself to treat them like any old hang out. You’ve never had a platonic sexual relationship before, and the waters seem murky and dangerous to you. But you start being less careful about how often you message him; you stop caring about what he might think of the long messages you find yourself sending when you can’t sleep.

You can’t help but make out with him on your couch, but more often than not, when you fall into bed, it’s to fall asleep. You jokingly tell Seulgi that he’s got the best timing in the world because finals are coming up, and those regression models won’t build themselves.

There’s only one point when you slip up, spotting a book he’d recommended in a used bookstore and feeling the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. You’re fairly certain the shopkeeper’s tired of people coming in to cry over Barthes’ A Lover’s Discourse , so you buy the book quickly and shush yourself, feeling bad for the unexpected and unwelcome burst of emotion.

On the day your tests are finally over for the semester, he invites you to a nearby speakeasy. From the sound of it, it’s the most Namjoon place in the world, so you dress accordingly. You put on a turtleneck and a long skirt, ditching your contacts for a day in favour of your tortoiseshell glasses. You know for a fact you’ll blend in with the undergrad folk, and you’re absolutely right.

It’s open mic night, and the place is packed, forcing you and Namjoon to share a single seat. He half-pulls you into his lap, and you lean into him. “Can you believe this? I didn’t think the merits of the tuna sandwich he had for lunch made for a good romantic metaphor,” you say, snorting at the person on stage.

“Be nice,” he says, laughing under his breath and pulling you tighter against him. It almost feels like the first few days you’d known him, and you turn to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Though I do want to know what you think of my performance. Wish me luck.” He grasps your waist and places you on the seat gently, his touch making you feel like goo.

Namjoon walks up to the front, smiling out at the crowd. “I’m Kim Namjoon, and this is Voices.” When he cues the track, something in his face shifts. Suddenly, he’s swaggering around the stage, his expression somewhere between a smirk and a sneer, and you’re more attracted to him like this than you’d like to admit. Then he starts spitting fire, and you’d wonder where your soft, sweet Namjoon went if you had any room left in your heart to feel anything other than awe .

He owns the crowd, and you feel how the energy changes once he gets to the hook. He’s full of passion as he raps, and the lyrics are clever and fierce all at once. The end comes too soon, Namjoon’s lines ringing in your ears:

“ Once again, raise my voice’s volume up / So you can know, so I can reach you ”

When he comes down from the stage to thundering applause, you’re ready to embrace him, but he doesn’t head to you. Instead, he turns to someone three tables away, and when you see his side profile—you’re nearly blinded by how beautiful this man is—something tells you that’s Seokjin. Namjoon catches your eye, gesturing for you to come over.

Up close, the man’s even more stunning, and you have an even better understanding of what Namjoon meant. He introduces you with a smile, his hand lightly placed on your shoulder. “And this is Kim Seokjin,” Namjoon says.

“Namjoon-ah, you’re too damn formal. You can call me Jin.” He grins at you, shaking your hand firmly. “Very soon I’ll be head chef at a nearby restaurant, so I guess I can say it’s nice to meat you.” He cackles at his own terrible pun, and your mouth drops open in shock before you let out an incredulous laugh.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” you say, smiling. Seokjin’s a lot sillier than you expected, and you already know that you can’t hate him.

“You’re serious about staying, Jin-hyung?” Namjoon’s looking at Seokjin with stars in his eyes, and it’s difficult for you to watch.

“Of course, honey, and you’re perfectly welcome to taste the wares.” Seokjin winks at Namjoon, and even in the dim light of the speakeasy, you see Namjoon flush. He’s blushing and awkward and shy in a way you haven’t seen before. If you’d thought he was exaggerating his feelings, you certainly don’t anymore.

You’re smiling widely, but your cheeks are beginning to strain; your nerves are beginning to strain, too, as you finally accept that whatever time you’d had with Namjoon was precious and limited. When he glances at you, you do your best to look supportive, and he’s distracted enough for it to be convincing. You’re facing away from the stage, standing in the shadows, so it’s hard for him to see your eyes, anyway.