#foreigner oc

Chapter 4 - Coasting

After the news broke about the affair, Namjoon’s life did a complete 180. One morning, he’s trying to figure out how to repair the fissures in his relationship with the love of his life, and the next, he’s planning on selling what he thought would be his forever home.

Areum came to get her things pretty much as soon as Namjoon found out. She had movers come and collect her belongings - she didn’t even come herself - and she left him to explain to his kids why their mommy isn’t living with them anymore.

He didn’t even know where she was staying.

He thought she might be with her parents, but when he went to take the kids over one afternoon some days after her move, she wasn’t there. There wasn’t even any indication that she had come to visit. Her parents couldn’t even look him in the eye when he dropped the kids off, and distantly, he felt a sick sense of relief.

At least they knew that he wasn’t wrong.

At least they knew that he wasn’t at fault, that he wasn’t to blame - that she was the one who did this to their family, and that they felt guilty.

Good.

The day the kids realized Mommy wasn’t coming home anymore, Minjae cried himself sick. He even gave himself a fever and Namjoon almost took him to the hospital. Namjoon had to pace the length of his son’s room for hours, singing to him, talking him through his stress, using cooling packs for his forehead and his neck, giving him icy water for his ragged throat.

Namjoon felt overwhelmed in the worst way, but he couldn’t let his baby down any more than he already had, so he pushed through. He ignored his desire to palm his son off onto his grandparents and disappear into his anguish, finishing the whiskey in the bottom of his office drawer and starting the bottle of expensive red wine waiting for him in the pantry.

He’s trying not to fall into those habits again, but each day, it gets harder to ignore the throbbing urge to burn each bridge connected to him, to demolish every one of his responsibilities and vanish off the face of the planet.

Minseo hadn’t spoken a word since she saw her Mommy’s things taken into a white van. She tried to chase the van, but Namjoon had caught her, letting the girl thrash around, pulling at his clothes, digging her nails into his shoulders and neck as she fought to get her Mom back.

In anger, she even bite him, drawing blood, but when she realized what she did, she ended up panicking and trying to stop it, only making it look worse.

It wouldn’t scar or anything but the shock of drawing blood on her father sent her into a guilt-laden depressive episode. She spent hours in her room, curled in bed, playing with her toys by herself or drawing macabre pictures filled with black and white.

Namjoon didn’t know what to do.

It has been a week since his wife had left him.

Life didn’t stop. His work didn’t ease, he couldn’t take time off, considering the talks of talent acquisition that was coming up over the next coming months. He had been trying to sign this elusive underground rapper for nearly a year, but the man was so difficult to see in person. Namjoon had only been able to find him by going to one of his shows in person. The location had been released some hours before the show began, some underground club in inner-city Daegu, and Namjoon had shown up in his three-piece several-thousand dollar suit, looking completely out of place.

Agust D, the producer-slash-rapper that was taking the streets of Daegu by storm. He made a name for himself as a hard-hitting, merciless freestyler with production talents to match his incomparable stage presence and aloof personality. Off-stage he was just as prickly and unapproachable as he was on-stage, and that was what made Namjoon want him so much more.

Agust D had agreed to a meeting, only after Namjoon had practically chased him down, following him to his job the next day and refusing to leave unless he gave him some time. Min Yoongi, as he is known during the day, hated every minute of it, but he agreed, and promised to come to the office for an in-person meeting, which was supposed to take place today.

Or, it would have been, if he could get Minjae to give him back his fucking keys.

“Minjae,” he calls for the small brunet who was hiding somewhere in his playroom. He is trying to keep his tone fair and light but he’s already running later than he likes and he can’t stay around any more if he doesn’t want to seem incompetent. Although he has plenty of time, and he means plenty, Namjoon doesn’t like doing anything on anyone else’s time schedule - even if that someone is his precious and wonderful and sometimes difficult son. “Give daddy back his keys. Now.”

“No!” The boy calls back, tossing a ball from the ball pit into the air and kicking it off to the side. “Stay home today.”

“Minjae, I can’t,” he tells him, walking further inside. The boy ducks into the ball pit and disappears from view. Namjoon lets out a harsh sigh before he undoes his jacket and puts his briefcase off to the side. “I’m going to ask one more time. Give me my keys, Minjae.”

He yells, “No!”

Rearing back in surprise at his son’s brattishness, he feels his shoulder’s stiffen and he states, tone void of any and all amusement, “Kim Minjae.”

The boy pokes his head out of the ball pit, his sparkling brown eyes wide. He knows he’s overstepped the line now, but he’s too far gone to really take it back. He shoves his chin out, although it wobbles and his eyes fill up with tears almost instantly.

“You promised…”

Namjoon tilts his head to the side as his brow puckers. Instantly, his frustration drains out of him at the wobbly sound of his son’s voice. “What do you mean, Jae?”

The boy comes out of the ball pit, padding over to his father, tears flowing freely at this point. Unable to stay upset with him, he reaches down and pulls his son into his arms. Minjae shoves his snotty and teary face into his shoulder and Namjoon sighs - he’ll have to change his shirt again.

“Jae, what did Daddy promise?”

“You said you’d stay home and we- and we could w-watch the s-space m-movie but n-n-now you’re going,” he sniffs. “Wh-Wh-Why, daddy?”

Namjoon tucks his son’s head into the crook of his neck then walks him back into the living room, holding him upright with one hand and grabbing his briefcase and jacket in the other hand.

“How does this sound? How about you come to work with me?”

Minjae looks up, lashes clumped together with tears and plays with his Dad’s tie. “You promise?”

Namjoon nods, wiping a thumb across his son’s chubby cheeks to rid him of the tears. “Let’s go find Ms Lim and get dressed, okay?”

He nods, sniffling a little, trying to catch his breath.

“Let’s calm down a little first? Lay down until you feel better,” he says, opening his arms once more for his son to cuddle into his wide chest. He rubs up and down his son’s back, letting the young child regulate his breathing.

When Minjae was younger, they had taken him to get checked out at the pediatrician’s because he had problems with his body, at the suggestion of Areum’s parents. Minjae was weaker than other three-year-olds, he couldn’t run as far, he slept longer, he bruised easier than any other kid that Namjoon knew and at every season change, he got a cold that left him bed-bound for some days. He had a weaker disposition than his sister, and he also was an asthmatic, so he couldn’t agitate himself too much without issues with his health appearing later on.

“Are you calm now?”

Minjae nods, face less splotchy and his breathing levelled out.

“Good,” he says, contentedly. “Go find Ms Lim.”

Excitedly, his son climbs out of his lap and speeds off, stumbling and falling over in his haste. He rights himself before he shoots off again and disappears down the hall leading to where Ms Lim is tending to the laundry. Namjoon calls out for him, reprimanding him for running when he knows he shouldn’t be, but his son’s joy was infectious.

“Daddy said we’re going to work today,” he chatters excitedly as the older woman helps him out of his pajamas and into a button up shirt and pants. Minseo peeks around the corner to watch her brother get dressed and, curiously, she waddles into the room, silently asking with her expression.

“We’re going to work today,” Minjae tells his sister, letting his nanny comb through his hair without much resistance. The girl doesn’t respond in any huge way, but she does allow Namjoon to pick her up and she tucks herself into his neck.

“Morning, pretty girl,” he murmurs, but she merely sniffs in response.

Ms Lim leads the boy to the children’s shared bathroom and puts a bib around his chest. She says, after handing him his batman toothbrush and swilling it under some warm water, slathering some minty toothpaste onto the bristles, “Brush until the song finishes. I’ll know if you don’t, young man.”

She flicks a button above the mirror and some music billows out of the speakers built into the walls, letting the song play out while she moves to manage Minseo.

The little girl shakes her head, vehemently.

“You don’t want to come to work with daddy?” Namjoon asks, his feelings strangely hurt. “Why?”

She shrugs, and wiggles, moving to get out of his hold, waddling back out of the room, dragging her elephant toy behind her. Namjoon watches her go, brow puckering deeply in concern.

Ms Lim places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a soft comforting smile. “She’ll be okay. She just needs to adjust.”

“We all do,” he replies, equally as softly.

The song cuts off in the distance, followed by the sound of swilling water and spittle. “Good boy,” she compliments and helps Minjae down from the step-stool. “Big smile.”

He grins at her and she checks his teeth and tongue. “Blow.”

A little embarrassed, he blows into her face and she sniffs to make sure he did what she told him to do. “Amazing,” she compliments, sweetly. “How about we put a sticker on your chart?”

Namjoon watches, his eyes brightening, as his son skips to his monthly chart and proudly puts a sticker under ‘brushed teeth, by myself’ corresponding with the current day of the week and time of the day (morning, afternoon or night). They both had charts with specialized chores and tasks that they were supposed to do daily, weekly and monthly.

Namjoon approaches and gives Minjae another sticker. “This one too, son.”

He points to the final category -  made Mommy/Daddy/Minseo smile - and then points to his face and beams at him.

“You made Daddy very happy,” he tells him and the boy happily sticks another robot-shaped sticker down. “Let’s go. Daddy’s gotta rush to work.”

“Let’s go!”

- the end -

Chapter 3 - Crash

Her face turns white as a sheet, as if she had seen a ghost. Namjoon knows then. He knows in the same way that he knows that she has real feelings for this person, that she doesn’t regret what she has done, and worst of all, that she would choose this person over him.

Because he knows her.

Even now, he knows her, better than he knows himself.

He can’t get the air into his lungs anymore. It feels like he’s submerged underwater with only a straw in his mouth, poking only barely out of the surface of the water. He’s sucking and sucking and sucking but he gets none of the familiar relief that he knows he should be feeling from breathing. In a sudden moment of vertigo, he stumbles over, catching himself on her hung sweater and he tears it with his rough grip. He doesn’t mean to, and he unsuccessfully tries to put it back together, as if he could fix the rip with will alone.

“Namjoon,” she says, and her tone of voice isn’t angry. It isn’t sad or mourning - it’s almost pitying, and that feels worse. He didn’t think it could get worse, but it did. Just then, it did.

The longer he looks at her sweater, the more blurry his vision gets, until all he can see is a watercolor of peach and creams, blending together in an offensive soup of pigment. He blinks and there they go - more tears.

“Stop crying,” she murmurs, gently. “Let’s talk in the bedroom.”

He shakes his head, still standing with his back to her. “I can’t hear any more of this.”

He can’t see her, but he can almost guess what expression she has on her face. Lips thinned in a taut line, brow furrowing in distress, and her singular dimple showing, as she bit down on her bottom lip, holding back her words.

“We have to talk about this,” she tells him, and the resigned nature of her voice reminds him on the Death March, ringing in his ears. “This has gone on long enough.”

“Baby, please,” he hears himself say, but he didn’t give his mouth permission to move. What is he begging her for? To not leave? To stop ripping his fucking heart out with her perfect hands? To stop fucking whatever nameless bastard she was leaving him for?

He can almost hear Jin’s voice chiding him in his ear - “Stand up for yourself! You deserve better! Tell her to eat shit and die!” - but he can’t. This is his wife, the mother of his kids, the love of his life.

“Stop, Namjoon,” she says, leading him back into their bedroom. Their bedroom. He wonders if she ever fucked him in here. The thought makes him gag. She settles on the bed, elegant even now in the wake of this earth-shattering revelation. “I’m sure you have questions.”

He shakes his head, scrubbing at his cheeks, trying to obliterate the evidence of his heartbreak. “No.”

She sighs. “Just ask, Namjoon.”

He groans, pushing his fingers into his eyes, “Why are you doing this?”

She looks away, frown deepening significantly. She actually looks bothered. “I can’t say when it happened, but I just… I fell out of love with everything.”

“Not with everything,” he bites out. “You have no problem with our house, with our kids, with our life. You fell out of love with me.”

She winces and wraps her arms around her chest, but she doesn’t refute his statement.

“When did you start sleeping with him?”

Her expression sours. “I-” She lets out a breath. “It started two months ago.”

Two months?

“I was here,” he says, after a long moment. “I was here, Areum. You were sleeping with him while I was here? Sleeping in this bed? Taking care of our kids? Going to work? All the while, you were fucking him?”

She drops her head, finally ashamed. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what? You were fucking him.”

She bites her lip, harder. So hard, in fact, he was sure she would start bleeding.

“What? It wasn’t just fucking? Or it wasn’t just him?”

She stands then, eyes burning in anger. “I wouldn’t do that!”

Namjoon scoffs, rage making his alcohol-addled brain see nothing but the amusement in the situation, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, “What, cheat on him? But you’d be unfaithful to me?”

She moves to storm out of the room, but he intercepts her, slamming the door shut and she jerks away, surprised.

“You don’t get to do that. Start of this whole fucked up revelation and then leave when you realize my heart is fucking bleeding right now,” he tells her, so unbearably angry that all he can do is cry and his hands tremble. “Who is it?”

She shifts her body away from him, eyes downcast, but he moves into her line of sight. “Tell me who you slept with.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t need to know.”

“Like fuck I don’t need to know,” he yells, slamming his hand on the vanity. “I deserve to know which bastard has been fucking my wife!”

She blinks up at him, taking in his rage, taking in his pain and anguish, and she feels in her chest a ping of regret. She knows she did wrong, she knew it when it started but it was like she couldn’t stop herself. She got swept up with everything - all the dates, the courting, the flowers, and the secrecy. It felt so exciting, and she hadn’t experienced ‘excitement’ for nearly four years. Since she got pregnant, it felt as if her life has just been on hold - waiting for the other foot to drop and for her to finally start living again, but the feeling never came. Things around her just kept moving.

Her babies got bigger, she got older, her husband got busier. It felt like the distance between them only grew until she woke up one morning and realized she was sleeping next to a stranger.

“He’s nobody,” she tells him, and that’s all she was willing to say on his identity. “Just someone from work.”

He doesn’t think he can feel any more than he is - it was as if every nerve ending in his body is being zapped with electricity. His heart is pounding, he’s sweaty and hot, his breath is escaping him and he’s dizzy. He can barely keep standing still, hands trembling at his sides.

He knows he should stop talking now, he should remove himself so he can calm himself down, so he can get to a headspace where he doesn’t want to stab himself through his eyes just to get rid of this ache behind his lids.

“You ruined our family for some guy at work,” he mutters, throat suddenly hoarse from all his screaming. “… You’re leaving me for some guy?”

She can’t meet his eyes.

“Do you love him?”

He doesn’t want to hear her say it, but something deep inside of him says that he won’t be able to move ahead with his life, ever, if he doesn’t hear it right now from her peach-stained lips.

When it seems like she won’t answer, he repeats himself, voice shaking with emotion, “Do you love him, Areum?”

She exhales, then, and quietly, so quietly he swears he could’ve imagined it, she whispers, “…Yes.”

And that’s it.

All the air in the room has been sucked out, his energy has been drained from his body and he collapses on the bed in an almost-catatonic heap.

She mills around him, haphazardly packing things that she will need, and he knows she is talking to him, but he can’t understand anything. He doesn’t even know if he’s awake or not, truthfully. He’s just overwhelmed, so god damn overwhelmed, and he feels empty.

Emptiness is easier to deal with than all these feelings, all this hurt and pain and anguish and hatred and jealousy and rage. So, instead, he curls into himself, he lies on his side and stares at the window to the left of his room, watching the rain silently fall and stain his windows.

He doesn’t know she left until he comes back to himself some hours later and the house is pin-drop silent.

She hadn’t even stayed to make sure he didn’t hurt himself.

He wonders if she had always been so obvious about how little she cared for him.

Namjoon searches for his phone, wincing at the brightness of his screen and notes the time - 03:46am - before he sends the text to Jin. He doesn’t expect the other man to still be awake. Hell, he wouldn’t be if he hasn’t just been put through an emotional blender.

‘She left me.’

As if on a mission, he searches through his medicine cabinet for the only thing that’ll help him at this moment.

He grabs his sleeping pills, the ones he hasn’t needed to use a long time since being a father and working like a maniac doesn’t leave him with enough time to sleep on a regular basis, and pulls out four tablets, swallowing them dry, staring at his pitiful reflection in the mirror.

Dark circles under his eyes belie his exhaustion. His lips are chapped and the capillaries in his skin have burst with how much he has been crying. His entire being feels as if he has been hit by a speed train and left to rot.

In this moment, staring at himself and the potential future he has to face without his wife by his side, he wonders if he can do it. He doesn’t want to die or anything that extreme, but what he does want - what he needs - is for this deplorable feeling of desolation and foreboding to go away.

His phone is ringing back in the bedroom but his pills have kicked in and he already feels the lethargy kicking him in the side of his head. He welcomes the wave of stagnation like an old friend and he drags himself back to bed, throwing his sheets over his head and letting his phone go flying somewhere.

Namjoon can’t deal with the world right now. He just wants to fade into nothingness and have the last day of his life disappear along with it.

- end -