he was only the best friend, after all. just the best friend. and he should have always been prepared for the day another man sweeps you off your feet and gains the best of your affection, setting namjoon aside who, on the other hand, you only saw as your brother.

nonetheless, surprisingly, there were still instances when he managed to place himself first on the list again.

such instances included having a fight with your boyfriend—as you did a few hours ago, when you rang him up, crying and asking if you could sleep at his place for the night since you just didn’t know where to go—and namjoon naturally agreed.

after twenty minutes, he welcomed you into his apartment, hugging you and asking what went wrong.

“the bastard cheated on me,” you said, sniffling. “for months now. he’s been having an affair with his co-worker.”

namjoon sighed then, embracing you and comforting you with his reassuring words, making sure that you still knew what you were truly worth despite the horrible experience. 

once you were tired and drained from sobbing, from cursing your former lover’s name and cursing the heavens too for your poor luck in love, you asked if you could start preparing for bed, in which he offered his own bedroom for you to use that you immediately declined to, claiming that you didn’t want to burden him further by stealing the thing that can let him sleep peacefully tonight.

but namjoon never found himself sleeping peacefully like you assumed—not when he knew you were on his couch and was heartbroken as hell. 

in a last attempt to offer his comfy mattress to you if ever he catches you still awake from the living room, he went out and tiptoed his way to the said area, disappointment washing his face when he found you already fast asleep unlike he was. you were probably really exhausted emotionally and physically to doze off that fast anyways; he should have known better than to think otherwise.

with faint footsteps, he approached you and sighed, the blanket previously covering your body laying on the carpeted floor beside you now, probably because of your stirring. namjoon crouched down and draped it around you again upon the discovery, tucking you in and caressing the top of your head with a frown before he bravely kissed your forehead, his lips lingering for three seconds until he turned away and went back to his room.

it was only when the sound of the door tightly closing did you finally allow yourself to open your eyes and stare at his door, thinking for the first time ever what it would have been like if you just fell in love with a good man like your best friend.

note. once in a blue moon proof of life check! lmao typical of me to forget that i had a bunch of blurbs meant to republish but life was not life-ing good and i got too lazy even to make simple headers >.<

Namjoon takes special care to slip inside quietly, wincing when he puts weight on his knee. He glances down to see that it’s swelled to an alarming size. Fucking Seokjin.

He knew he should have probably gotten it checked out by the team medic. Yoongi’s nagging is already echoing in the back of his mind, reminding Namjoon that if he wanted to be clumsy, he had to stay on top of his injuries. For the sake of his team.

But somehow getting his limbs checked by a crusty old guy who was past the retirement age didn’t seem nearly as exciting when there was you. 

You who always wore the comfiest sweats, ones he was half-tempted to steal from your closet. You and your penchant for always looking for a pen, when you always had one tucked behind your ear or in your hoodie pocket. You and your stress baking, winning the adoration of his teammates (Stupid Seokjin and his flirting), but most of all him. Your damn cinammon rolls were worth every extra minute he had to spend in the weight room keeping them off.

“Hey Joon, I was just finishing up the cinnamon rolls, they’re on the cooling rack— what happened?” Your smile falls when you take him in, knee as red as his jersey, and a nasty cut under his eyebrow, skin turning purplish underneath.

Namjoon thinks he might pass out, either from the pain or from the way your face falls in disappointment, and the plush cushions of the couch seem like a great place to bury his head into right now.

He’s given a few quiet moments to stew before he feels a soft tap on his shoulder. Lifting his head up, he swears when your face nearly collides with his, noses bumping with such force that you have to take a step back, rubbing gingerly at the bridge.

Great fucking impression you’re making on your pretty roommate, Namjoon. She’s totally into getting clocked in the face. The little devil on his shoulder must be having a ball right now.

“Fuck, ___, I’m so sorry, fuck–”

“It’s okay, Joon, I know you didn’t mean to. But we only have the resources for one injured party in this apartment, yeah?”

Namjoon feels his face heat, not sure if he’s just embarrassed or you’re too close close to him. His eyes nearly bulge out of his head when you pick up his knee, studying it with a furrow in your brow.

What a day to decide to wear grey sweatpants. His dick-print was so happy with him right now, and he silently prays that your eyes remain downwards.

“We need to wrap this up. Give me a sec and I’ll help you.” 

Is he dreaming, or does your face look a little flushed? If you notice his boner, he’s happy you don’t say anything, humming softly s you disappear into the hallway, rummaging around in the closet for the first-aid kit.

You re-appear moments later, a roll full of medical tape in your hand, and you’re back to prodding at his knee again. Namjoon sinks into the couch, body relaxing at your gentle touch.

Only to jolt a few seconds later when he feels something cold hit his aching joints, nearly whacking you a second time. God, he had to be more careful.

“Shhh,” you put a finger to his lips, and Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat. “Gotta put some ice on it.”

“You should really increase your fees, doc. I’m pretty sure at-home care isn’t included in the job description.”

Is he flirting? Fuck, okay he’s flirting. He’s doing this.

“Maybe I like knowing I’ll always have a patient who keeps me in business,” you wink, fingers lingering longer than necessary on his knee when you finish wrapping it. Your hands move next to the cut underneath his brow.

“Now what are we gonna do with you?”

Oh fuck, abort, abort mission! Namjoon shoots straight up, grimacing at your shocked gasp.

“YouknowIjustrememberedIhaveanassignmentdueatmidnighttoday! I should really go work on that!”

You say nothing as he limps into his room, smiling widely at him the whole time. Namjoon collapses on his bed, groaning into the pillows.

Maybe getting banged up wasn’t so bad after all. Not when he always had you around to patch him up.

You picked up your phone, his name lingered on your contacts a little too long. Should I call him?

You two haven’t talked since ages ago. But now that he’s an idol and you’re a hard-working office woman, you two rarely had time to connect, even when he went back to visit.

Before, he would visit regularly—monthly, or even more than that. But after a few years, things became tough. And K-pop just took sail overseas and brought him along.

Though it was a success… the success, to you, currently lies on that cake you’ve secretly ordered for him. Shipped right to the doorstep.

A Kinder Bueno cake.

His favorite. Well… at least maybe it used to be. You also left a little note hidden beneath the cake. Jammed and glued to its bottom. It read:

20 years of no talking nor contact. But a special thank you to birthdays—you might’ve bought something alive again. Happy birthday, Joonie!

Him, on the other side, never missed a single news about you. Always asking, always checking in—never directly, but always. He missed you.

So when he received a random cake on his doorstep, he never thought it’d be you. Maybe some random thoughtful fans. But never you.

You were in his I-miss-her-but-I-don’t-think-I-can-get-her-back list.

But he also knew another thing: you never left his She-is-always-in-my-heart list.

Namjoon stared at the cake for a long time, like it held the answers to every question he didn’t dare ask. His room was filled with balloons, presents, gifts, letters, luxurious goods… but his eyes were stuck on the small handwriting glued underneath the box.

He read it once.

Twice.

A third time, slower.

And then his throat closed up.

Namjoon wiped his face quickly, shaking his head. “I can’t believe she’s just someone I used to know,” he whispered.

Someone I used to love, he didn’t say.

Namjoon was a person for studies, always responsible. So love didn’t touch him much. Until you came along.

Your eyes sparkled when you realized he was going to the same class as you. Extra free tutoring, you called it.

Then it technically became a thing. After-school library study evenings. Late-night bickering. Early morning school races. All a part of what made his heart swell more when he had to leave.

Years would pass. He would still visit, but the amount of times clearly decreased. Not that he wanted it to—no. He was too busy.

So to have all these memories of you—the person he loved and was apart from for 20 years—rush back just because of a cake…

A cake was all it really took.

On your side, the decision to call him burned a hole in your chest. Should you? Should you not? What if he ignored it? What if he changed his number? What if he forgot you?

But before you could spiral further—

Your phone lit up.

Incoming call: Kim Namjoon.

Your heart actually stopped.

“Hello?” Your voice shook.

“…It’s you.” His tone was low, almost disbelieving, almost… soft. Like saying your name hurt but healed him at the same time.

“Happy birthday, Joonie,” you whispered.

There was a long pause on the other end. He was probably smiling. You could imagine it—the tiny dimple forming on his cheek like it used to when you gave him your last piece of candy during study nights.

“Twenty years,” he finally said. “And you send me a cake before a text?”

You laughed through the tightness in your throat. “It was safer that way.”

“Safer for who? You, or me?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because deep down, you knew the answer was both.

“You know… it’ll be cool if you can come by when I visit.”

“Yeah, it’s just… adulthood, I guess.” You sighed.

You could hear him sigh on the other line as well. You both were grown enough to look back and see how much had passed. And you both were also fond enough of that past to tear up.

A reunion, you thought, wouldn’t sound half bad.

A reunion with a past study buddy wouldn’t be half bad.

A reunion with a past love would definitely not be bad at all.

And a cake was all it took.

The stench of antiseptic and blood clung to the air, a sharp contrast to the sterile white walls of the underground clinic. Overhead lights flickered, their power supply unreliable at best. Namjoon barely glanced up as the heavy metal door groaned open, his hands steady as he stitched up the deep gash on his latest patient’s shoulder.

“Dr. Kim.”

A voice, warm and bright despite the suffocating despair of their surroundings.

Namjoon’s jaw tightened. He knew that voice. He didn’t need to look up to see her standing there, draped in expensive yet practical clothes—always immaculate, somehow untouched by the grime of this world. The daughter of the man responsible for half the suffering he treated day in and day out.

But this time, something was different. Blood seeped through the fabric of her sleeve, a wound on her side barely concealed by her posture. Yet she wasn’t focused on herself.

“Help him first,” she insisted, pushing forward a young man whose leg was slick with blood, a hastily tied bandage doing little to stem the flow. “He’s worse off than me.”

Namjoon frowned. Her complexion was pale, sweat beading at her temple, but she made no move to acknowledge her own pain. Instead, her grip on the injured man was firm, steady—even as her fingers trembled.

“What do you want?” he asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

She didn’t flinch, used to his cold reception. Instead, she placed a case on the nearest table.

“I brought supplies. And funding for the next round of treatments.”

Namjoon finally looked up, searching her face for deception. He found none—just the same unshakable determination she always carried, as if she truly believed she could undo the damage her father had inflicted on the world.

“We don’t need your blood money,” he said flatly, turning back to his patient.

She sighed but didn’t leave. “You need resources, Namjoon. I have them.”

“At what cost?”

Her lips pressed together, but she didn’t waver. “At no cost. Just let me help.”

He scoffed. “Nothing comes without a price.”

“Then consider it my penance.”

His fingers stilled for just a second before he resumed his work. He hated how convincing she sounded, how easily she slipped into this world like she belonged. But no matter how many bandages she wrapped, how many lives she saved—she would always be the daughter of the man who made this hellscape a reality.

And he wasn’t sure he could ever trust her.

Minutes passed. The young man groaned in pain as Namjoon worked quickly, minimizing the damage with expert hands. She stayed silent, hovering nearby but never swaying, despite the blood still trickling from her side.

“You should sit down,” he muttered, voice gruff.

“I’m fine.”

Namjoon shot her a sharp look. “You’re not. You’re bleeding.”

She exhaled slowly, unshaken. “I’ll be fine once I know he’s okay.”

The sheer stubbornness grated at him. With a heavy sigh, he turned to one of his assistants. “Get her cleaned up before she passes out.”

“I don’t need—”

“That’s not a request,” Namjoon cut her off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Sit down, or I’ll make you.”

For a moment, their gazes locked, her defiance clashing against his unyielding authority. Then, with great reluctance, she lowered herself onto a nearby chair, wincing as the motion jostled her wound.

Namjoon shook his head, muttering under his breath as he turned back to his patient. Reckless. Unreasonable.

And yet, part of him couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, she truly did want to make things right.

Namjoon worked in silence, focus trained on his stitches, but his mind wasn’t as disciplined. Every few moments, his gaze flickered toward her—where she sat stiffly, letting his assistant wipe away the blood on her side.

Stubborn. Reckless.

But the worst part? Genuine.

She didn’t flinch when antiseptic touched raw flesh, didn’t complain when the assistant pressed too hard. She barely acknowledged the pain at all, watching Namjoon work like she belonged here. Like she’d always been part of this war.

“That’s deep,” the assistant murmured. “You should’ve been treated immediately.”

“I’m fine,” she answered, voice steady. “Just patch it up.”

Namjoon clicked his tongue, irritation bubbling in his chest. “You act like you’re indestructible.”

She arched a brow. “And you act like I’m a problem.”

He exhaled sharply, tying off the last stitch before moving on. “You are a problem.”

She laughed—soft, breathless. “Yet you keep letting me in.”

Namjoon hated how much that was true. Hated how, despite every logical reason to keep her out, she always came back. Always with supplies. Always with resources they desperately needed. Always with that infuriating belief that she could fix things.

His fingers twitched. Before he could stop himself, he turned toward her. “Why are you doing this?”

Her expression sobered, confidence slipping just enough to reveal something raw beneath.

“Because I can.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

Namjoon studied her for a long moment before returning to his work. He didn’t have the energy to argue. Not when there were still so many who needed him.

But the question lingered.

And so did she.

The room was quiet except for the occasional groan from the injured and the soft shuffle of assistants moving between cots. Namjoon focused on finishing his work, suturing the wound with precise, efficient movements. The young man would live, though he’d be out of commission for a while.

Across the room, she sat still, her usual confidence tempered by exhaustion. His assistant worked quickly, pressing gauze against her wound, but she barely reacted, her attention still on the man Namjoon had just patched up.

“Stop looking at him like that,” Namjoon muttered, stripping off his bloodied gloves.

“Like what?” she asked, arching a brow.

“Like it’s your fault.”

She blinked, surprised by his words, but then her lips curled into something wry. “Maybe because it is.”

Namjoon clenched his jaw. He hated that answer. Hated how easily she took on the weight of her father’s sins, as if guilt alone could absolve her.

“Guilt doesn’t save people,” he said, his voice edged with something unreadable.

Her fingers curled against her lap, but her face remained impassive. “No, but resources do.”

Namjoon exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face. He didn’t have the time or patience to argue. Not when there were still people waiting for treatment.

But as he turned back toward the supply table, he caught her watching him. Not with defiance, not with arrogance—just quiet resolve.

She wasn’t leaving.

He’s always been warm, generous, and familiar.

Jimin was the little boy on your first day of school with the sixty-four pack of crayola crayons. He was the little boy who sat in between you and Taehyung and shared said crayons because his parents always taught him the importance of sharing. He was the boy who wanted to make everyone feel included. Who kissed both you and Taehyung at your seventh grade dance to eliminate any humiliation, because that was the year first kisses were the only subject of conversation amongst your peers.

It was the year the words “prude” and “goody two shoes” decorated everybody’s vocabulary.

It was the year the “no kiss list” went around with yours and Taehyung’s name on it. To your surprise Jimin’s name was absent. Which prompted a very confusing and anger inducing conversation between the three of you, because first kisses were monumental. They were a right of passage and how dare he not tell the two of you that he kissed Ariana–the prettiest and most popular girl at school in a kissing booth at the local state fair.

To save face he decided to redeem himself. The rumors that came out afterwards were far worse than the list, but at least the three of you weren’t lip virgins anymore.

Seventh grade was also known as The War of The Hormones year. Somehow everybody was confused, everybody was angsty, everybody was horny. Bodies were changing, feelings were changing, and Jimin realized that maybe he liked you a little more than a friend would like a friend. But like always, Jimin was nice. He knew about your crush on your school's star athlete so he kept his feelings to himself. Until eventually the flame blew out.

At least that’s what he thought. Junior year of college was a confusing time for him. The two of you had your fair share of “relationships” that should be more appropriately categorized as “flings” because they never really went anywhere.

Except for one–your ex–someone he never liked. There was just something he couldn’t really pinpoint, but he was strange. He would tell you he loved you but he never demonstrated it. You always argued that he had his own way of showing you love. It angered Jimin because to him you were the brightest person in the world. You deserved someone who shined just as bright as you. You deserved someone better.

His suspicions were proven right when you called him before your tutoring session with Namjoon crying. That bastard was a good for nothing asshole who knocked everybody down in order to rise to the top.

It seems like you have a type, because he can’t completely understand why after everything that has happened you have decided to marry Namjoon. He can’t completely understand when, where and how it all happened? He just knows that he doesn’t deserve you, hell, Jimin is fully aware that even he doesn’t deserve you.

Still, Jimin knows you. He knows how calculated and meticulous you are. So, there must be a good reason. At least that’s what he was telling himself the entire two weeks he decided to build a bridge between the two of you. He’s turned every possible answer in his head for nights on end, and he always ended up coming up short. He supposes it’s because he can’t–no–he doesn’t want to face the truth.

That you will never choose him.

Yet, in this very moment as he toys with his mint chocolate ice cream–an acquired taste he admits watching as you hum in delight with every spoonful of Twinberry Cheesecake. He can’t help but believe that maybe this time you did choose him.

The prominent question is aching at the tip of his tongue. He wants to ask, but you’re finally back on Earth and not running lost somewhere in your thoughts. Your tears have dried up and although your eyes are still a bit swollen the sparkle has returned to them. He’s afraid that if he asks you’ll return back to your gray cloud.

“I moved in with Namjoon.” You decide for him as the comment sparks his interest. He digs his spoon into the melting ice cream ball and looks up. He’s aware the hurt is evident in his eyes, but he’s run out of tools to mask it.

“So, you’re really marrying him.” The dry chuckle escapes him and he cringes. He didn’t mean to sound so mean, but he’s past the point of carrying.

You shake your head, putting your spoon down. “Not necessarily. It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Jimin’s patience is wearing thin. Maybe that’s the one thing that has changed about him. Ever since the facebook status notification, he finds his patience regarding you diminish with every passing day. “Then explain it to me because I am not following it.”

You scoff, crossing your arms in front of you. “If you weren’t so pissy the day you came into the flower shop you would know the truth. It was Taehyung’s movie night. I was going to tell the two of you that night but you came in with your accusations and speculations and didn’t let me talk.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“You could’ve listened to me.” You respond sadly, moving around the last bit of your ice cream in the cardboard cup.

He sighs defeated and leans his body forward. “I am listening now.”

“We are engaged but we aren’t getting married.” You start slowly. Jimin can’t hide his confusion and it almost makes you laugh. It would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so exhausted over everything that has happened these past weeks. “It’s all for show. His dad is dying and he wants Namjoon to get married before he passes. Otherwise he will write him out of the will, and his job and inheritance is somehow tied to this. Basically if he doesn’t show signs of settling down any time soon he can kiss his livelihood goodbye.” You finish. It’s the best you could do to explain it in easy terms, because if you were being honest there are things you didn’t understand yourself.

Jimin squints, swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. The way he did whenever he was thinking hard on something. “Okay, so, how do you fall into this?”

Quickly, you eat a spoonful of your ice cream. The sugary sweetness does little to hide your nerves. This is the part you didn’t want to explain. Although your decision to accept made sense to you, you’re aware that it won’t be the case for other people. And sometimes Jimin can be unpredictable, but most of all a little bit judgmental.

Behind his calm and warm exterior laid a nasty monster. He had no filter sometimes and he could be a little bit brutal. It’s one of the reasons why you couldn’t see him as more than a friend. You needed a partner who understood you whether right or wrong. Jimin was not that, he’s so ingrained in his thoughts and beliefs that he has a hard time trying to understand anything outside of that.

“I’m a professor at HYBE U.” You whisper, looking down at your now melted ice cream. The cheesecake chunks are just floating around while the twinberry syrup swirls into the milk. It looks like how you feel. Rough.

Jimin’s eyes look like they’re about to fall out of his sockets. He knew you applied for the job a month after spending months perfecting your resume. He feels a sense of pride rise in him but it’s soon replaced with confusion. “Congratulations, but I’m not following what does that have to do with Namjoon?” He tilts his head pushing his own cardboard cup away.

“He’s the one who offered me the job, and the one who is paying for half of my student loans and the one who is giving me a house.”

It’s hard to catch Jimin off guard. He’s always suspecting and waiting for the next person that’s hiding behind the corner. But you’ve always managed to leave him speechless. This time it’s different. He’s not speechless because of his infatuation for you. He’s speechless because this is something he never once expected from you.

“So he’s basically your sugar daddy.” He deadpans, shaking his head in disbelief before crossing his arms in front of him. “I can’t believe you. I commend sex work that’s fine but I never once thought you’d be one.”

You roll your eyes, pushing your cup away and leaning forward. Maybe if you close the gap between the two of you he will understand that not everything a woman did to get ahead in life involved sex. It’s an argument you’ve had with him before.

“I’m not fucking him. I literally just live with him now and act like his fiance in front of people. Otherwise he lives his life and I live my life separately.” You spit out, leaning back into your chair when you’re done.

Jimin sighs running a hand down his face, This conversation was a lot more taxing than he thought it would be. “Got it.” He raises his hands up in surrender. “But that still doesn't explain why you called me in the middle of a panic attack tonight.”

You nod, “He kissed me. We were arguing and he kissed me.” You flat out say. Jimin closes his fist, gripping the fabric of his jeans. He won’t lie, he wants to runway, scream, or punch something. Anything that will help him release the overwhelming stream of emotions that are running through him.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.” He seethes and he’s about to stand up, but you grab his arm and pull him back down. He’s never seen a more serious expression on your face. You look more ready to kill than he did.

“No you’re not. It was a mistake. The two of us just need to cool down and then hopefully we’ll talk about it. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me Jimin.”

“So, you’re just going to go back to living with him?”

“Where else am I going to live Jimin? That’s my home for now.” You exclaim throwing your hands up in his head.

“But he took advantage of you remember the las–”

“I reciprocated.” You interrupt and before he can get anymore of his comments in you continue. “I don’t know how to get you and Jungkook to know that what happened last time won’t happen again.”

He was a fool to believe that you had finally chosen him.

His heart breaks even more than the night at Taehyung’s party when he confessed his feelings to you. It breaks even more than the morning he woke up to the facebook notification. He didn’t know there was anything left to break and yet here it was shattering into millions of little pieces.

For years he’s had you tucked into his wing afraid of seeing you hurt again. For years he’s prided himself in being the only person you let into your bed and touch in a way exclusively reserved for lovers. For years he’s believed that one day you will be his.

He’s been lying to himself for years. As much as you don’t want to admit it. Your heart has always and will always belong to Kim Namjoon. That is something he will just have to live with. If there’s anything he has learned in the past two weeks where he’s distanced himself from you, and in the past thirty minutes that he’s had this conversation with you.

Is that you’re stronger than what everyone believes and that having you as a friend was better than not having you at all.

“Okay.” He acknowledges with a slight nod of his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” You finally smile up at him and he hates how it makes his stomach do summersaults. “But can I ask you for one more favor?” You pout, batting your eyelashes at him and he laughs.

“Go ahead.”

“Can I sleep over until Monday?.”

“Sure but you’re taking the couch.”

In the end, you ended up sleeping in Jimin’s bed. It was a petty argument that lasted about five minutes. He insisted you take his bed while he took the couch. Which neither of you did because you ended up sleeping together in the same bed. In a very friendly and platonic kind of way. With a pillow in between and different comforters.

It felt a little strange for the two of you to not be locked in each other's arms. But it was a boundary that needed to be implemented. As much as you and Namjoon like to tell yourselves and each other that this was just all for show.

Jimin knows better. He’s witnessed the two of you grow into each other from the sidelines. Your feelings for the other party were there and even if Namjoon liked to believe otherwise. His feelings were there, only hidden deep, deep, deep within him.

It’s the reason why Jimin was so angry with the way he handled your confession. It was unfair to you. You weren’t crazy and you weren’t reading into things. His actions were those of love not of friendship. Maybe this time, he’ll be able to finally admit to himself that you were always the one for him.

At least that’s what he hopes. He can’t promise staying away if he lets you go this time around.

“Do you have everything?” Jimin taps his steering wheel with his thumb. You’re in his passenger shaking from nerves.

It’s now Monday, your first day of school. The dreadful day being one you thought you left in the past when you graduated. Though, this time it’s different. This time you’re an educator. The first day of school butterflies were shaking you to the core.

You smooth down the hem of your checkered wool skirt. Unfortunately you had left a lot of your winter clothes at Jimin’s house. So, a nice wool jacket and skirt duo, with one of Jimin's black satin dress shirts was what you had to work with for your first day of school outfit.

You’re praying you don’t die of heat.

“I think so.” You say checking down your mental checklist. “I’m only missing my laptop but my office has a desktop so I’ll be fine today.” You nod, slightly slapping your thighs to hype yourself up.

You feel bad as you made your best friend wake up early to drive you to work, a full hour before you had to actually clock in. You feel bad that you’ve made him sit in the parking lot, witnessing it fill up with sleepy students arriving for their morning classes.

“Alright, if you need anything I’m a text away. And don’t forget you’re meeting Tae for lunch. He’s going to have your head for not telling him everything sooner.” He chuckles, reaching over and squeezing your shoulder gently in reassurance.

You roll your eyes, playfully shrugging his hand away. “How was I, the two of you are two peas in a pod. If you’re pissed he’s pissed and vice versa.” You grumble, grabbing your coat and bag. You’ve been doing this at least five times.

Jimin has asked you the same question literally five times. A tiny hint that it was time for you to finally leave. Not that he was annoyed with you, he was just worried you’d be late. Jimin might not have attended HYBE U but you and Taehyung did, and he frequently visited the two of you when he could. He knows how big the campus is and he knows that the two of you are on the completely other side of your department.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever I’ll text in an hour to apologize again.”

He receives a pointed glare before you open his car door. He guesses you've finally talked yourself up long enough. Unless, you’re going to close the door again and then that will bring the two of you back to square one.

“I’ll call you if anything.” You say and step out, shrugging on your coat and grabbing your bag.

“Good luck, you’re going to fucking kill it.” He smiles giving you a thumbs up. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks dad.” You joke, rolling your eyes as you close the door. His laughter rings just as loudly as it would have if the car door was open. You look at him one last time, giggling as he sends you numerous finger hearts. That’s all the motivation you need to finally break through the barrier of nerves. You send him a heart back and turn around, adjusting the leather strap of your purse, hardening your features.

The show must go on.

Your office isn’t big, but it isn’t small either. It's the perfect size for you. As an added bonus it overlooks the beautiful view of the student parking lot, and it’s on a different floor than Namjoon’s. Which means it’s perfect because you can prolong seeing your fake fiancé for as much as possible.

At least that’s what you thought.

After your first class of the day, which went amazing. You forgot all about your nerves the second you stepped into the gloomy classroom. You assume you were well received by your students given that they laughed at all of your stupid little jokes, and didn’t hesitate to add into the class discussion, which was more than what you could ask for. On your way back to the office you were still reeling on the high of standing in front of at least twenty rhetoric students.

The minute you entered your office to get ready to make a few tweaks to your lesson plan. The infamous philosophy professor was standing behind your desk, looking out of the window, hands in the pocket of his slacks, while he tapped his foot against the outdated carpet.

When he heard the door close behind you. He turned around a stoic expression on his face. The high you were feeling from earlier, quickly morphed into the little prickles of your nerves, traveling up your arms and spine.

He looked like he was ready to kill.

“You left this at home.” He broke the silence, taking one of his hands out of his pocket, extending it out to you. He unraveled his fist revealing your engagement ring. “Wouldn’t want people to talk when they don’t see you wearing it.” He added, circling around your desk and walking closer. The only thing keeping the two of you apart was his extended hand, a free invitation to do what you wanted at this moment. He was giving you the choice, an out. You weren’t sure if it was good or bad.

You decide quickly and  take the ring from him and silently slip it onto your ring finger. “Thanks I–”

“How was your first class?” He cuts you off, taking a few steps back until he is leaning against one of the burgundy lounge chairs in front of your desk. He crosses his arms in front of him and looks away from you, around your empty office. For some reason this action makes you feel a little self conscious. There’s no personality, except for when you’re inside, but it still screams amateur.

You cough to clear your throat, clasping your hands in front of you. “It went well I had a lo–”

“When’s your last class?” He interrupts you again. You have to tighten the grip of your hands to prevent yourself from yelling out at him. Why was he being extra annoying today? And most importantly why was he acting so strange?

Maybe he still hasn’t cooled off from what happened on Saturday night, because there’s no other reason as to why he would be keeping himself occupied with his surroundings rather than focusing his attention on you. As much as you and Namjoon didn’t get along, he never avoided eye contact. He always felt that it was rude to be looking somewhere else when having a conversation with someone. Yet, here he was keeping himself occupied with the one plant Jimin gifted you sitting on your empty bookshelf. His gaze zeroing in on the little handwritten note.

Fighting, Princess. - PJM x

You can almost hear the audible scoff he lets out when he picks it up to read it closer.

“Four,” he looks up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “My last class is at four.” You clarify and he nods, carelessly throwing the card onto your desk and pushing himself off the chair.

“Mine is at eight. I’ll see you at home.” He clears his throat, and buttons up the suit jacket. Without so much as a glance he exits your office. It’s not until your door is closed when you finally let out the breath you didn’t know you had been holding in the entire time. But you’re confused, it’s like a newly built wall has surrounded him. He’s harder and tougher, there’s nothing on his face that gives off the indication that he’s lightened up since Saturday or that he is still upset.

There’s nothing.

Namjoon lied.

His last class wasn’t at eight. At least not on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesdays, Fridays. His last class on those days was at two. They were his favorite days because he had the freedom to do whatever he wanted after work. The possibilities were endless, and useless because if he wasn’t at work he was at the gym. If he wasn’t at the gym he was locked up in his home office working on his research.

Research that he was behind on because his mind was occupied on other things.

Other people.

You and Jimin.

Ever since you left on Saturday, Namjoon has tried to do what he does best.

Avoid, avoid, avoid. Bury his head in his research until he can no longer take it. Until it suffocates him enough that he has no other choice but to come up for air. Well…at least that’s what he tried to do, but every time he sat in front of his laptop, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, surrounded by books, journals and notes. His thoughts always zeroed in on the exact moment you ran into Jimin’s arms.

That’s when he starts to spiral, and he ends up seeing nothing but red. The anger consumes him until he’s breathless and sweating, his body consumed with exhaustion, on the floor of Jin’s boxing gym.

He supposes he should be thankful that the overzealous trainer didn’t pry him for questions when he showed up at his doorstep both Saturday and Sunday morning and night. Instead, he wordlessly let him in. Led him to the empty ring and helped him take out his frustration. Each punch he landed brought upon a different emotion.

Anger, confusion, and sadness.

Each punch that he received brought out a different core memory he had kept tucked away. His mothers death, Jungkook and his mother suddenly appearing in his life, the pressure he felt to be perfect, his first love, his first heartbreak, you.

He was exhausted from putting up a facade all the time. He can’t remember the last time he let his walls down, so after being practically beaten up by Jin numerous times he decided that enough was enough. That he would at least try. It is why he was waiting in your office. Namjoon is smart enough to know that a clean slate with you would never be possible. There’s too much history between the two of you. Too many words that were said and left unsaid.

He finally came to his senses after Jin scolded him in a headlock and Namjoon decided to offer you an olive branch.

Then he saw the plant, the handwritten message, and the initials. Instantly he was seeing red again. His plan to welcome you into his home—your home—again flew out the window. His plan to cook you the only dish he knew he couldn’t fuck up—spaghetti aglio e olio—lay forgotten in the back of his mind. Along with the jittery trip to the only grocery store by his house that was still open past two in the morning. And the talk he planned to have with you, to lay it all out in the open. But it was all left in the abyss of his mind the minute he locked eyes with the stupid plant.

He couldn’t even explain the proper care routine you would need to adopt to keep it alive because his pride was bigger than his ego. So he came up with an excuse more for himself because he needed to calm himself down before seeing you at home.

Now, it’s close to lunch time, and he’s hiding out in his office trying to grade the student papers he’s put off for the past week. He saw you in the student parking lot while walking back from grabbing his instant coffee packets he had left in his car. You were getting into a forest green Lamborghini.

Taehyung’s car. It only made his anger worse because the one thing Namjoon truly knows about Taehyung without a shred of a doubt is that wherever he goes, Jimin goes. You used to express your annoyance over it back in college because you always felt left out. The bond they had with each other was one you could never understand, and to be fair Namjoon never understood where you were coming from. FOMO wasn’t a thing he ever suffered from because he didn’t allow himself to have a friendship similar to yours with Taehyung and Jimin.

Yet, now he thinks he can begin to understand why you were always in a bad mood when they went on best friend dates without you. He thinks he’s suffering from the same thing because a part of him craves for your attention. He wants you to be laughing at something he says instead of whatever you were laughing about while getting into Taehyung’s car. He’s never seen you laugh that way, so genuine and full of spirit that his stomach begins to twist again when he remembers what he witnessed almost an hour ago. So much so that he’s been reading the same fucking paragraph for thirty minutes.

Namjoon’s thoughts are stuck on the plant, the laugh and the kiss he stole from you Saturday night. He knows he shouldn’t have kissed you at the same time. The part of him he never lets shine doesn’t regret it. That part only regrets the way it happened.

That part regrets ever letting you walk away in the first place.

“So, how does it feel being all boo’d up?” Taehyung questions, cocking an eyebrow. His way of teasing you makes you roll your eyes.

It took him exactly twenty minutes since he picked you up to ask. You should’ve known lunch with Taehyung was going to turn out to be as destructive as it was currently going.

Not only did he drive through the streets like he was in a game of Grand Theft Auto. He’s been doing what he knows how to do best. Stick his perfect nose in everybody’s business.

He scoffs when instead of answering his prying question you take a bite out of your Banh Mi sandwich. “Come on, you have to give me something. It’s the least you can do for lying to me.” He pouts, crossing his arms in front of him.

You swallow. “First I didn’t lie, second, I’m not boo’d up, and third you’re annoying.”

“That’s not fair. I saw a movie where two people were fake dating and then they ended up together.” He retorts, jabbing a finger in your direction before taking a bite out of his burrito.

“That’s a movie.” You deadpan.

He shrugs, looking at you as if you’re the one being irrational. “So?”

“So, it’s never going to happen?” You say exasperated. Maybe agreeing to go on a lunch date with your hopeless romantic of a best friend truly was a bad idea. Hey may be a player and a very eligible bachelor, but he loves love more than anyone you have ever known.

His inability in finding ‘the one’ whatever that means to Taehyung is what feeds his struggling artist persona. It’s the main reason why he hasn’t settled down even if he wanted to. He’s afraid of losing his art, the thing that keeps him alive.

“You’re in denial. There’s history between you and Namjoon. Someone is bound to break first and by what Jimin told me. It will be him.” He says mapping out with his hands like it’s the most complicated concept in the world.

Your eyes almost fall out of their sockets from how wide they get. You should’ve known Jimin would tell Taehyung everything the minute he got the chance to. “That rat.” You seethe.

Taehyung laughs, reaching his hand across the table and patting your palm lightly. “There, there, it’s not your fault he told me. I was drunk on Saturday and I needed a ride home but I didn’t want to wait for a cab. After he told me he couldn’t. I basically accused him of sleeping with someone and he broke. But like what else was I supposed to think. Little man hasn’t been getting out there since he found out he was in love with you. So I wanted to congratulate him, you know.”

“If this is your way of making me feel better… it’s not.” You send him a glare which makes his smile get even bigger.

“Maybe I want you to just feel a little bit guilty because I told you so.” He smirks, playing with the friendship ring your wear on your thumb.

The three of you have one. Made it together the weekend of his party. It was the day he finally came to terms with the semantics of yours and Jimin’s confusing relationship. If he had known the events that would unfold that night, he would’ve never pushed Jimin to confess his true feelings for you in the first place.

Maybe the real reason why he had avoided you after the whole Facebook status update was because in part he felt guilty for his best friend’s broken heart.

You weren’t the only one he had avoided.

When you don’t retaliate with a snarky comment he squeezes your hand. You’re looking down at your unfinished food and he knows your appetite is gone. Despite learning time and time again to keep his mouth shut he never seems to get it quite right.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I know you and Min talked it out and I know why you’re going through with the whole fake engagement, but please be careful.” He expresses turning the ring over in slow circles. “I know I don’t know Namjoon as well as you and Kook do but I know he’s not the easiest person to be around. He seems to be as emotionally constituted as a roach. And I don’t want my other best friend to be broken-hearted too.” He ends, retrieving his hand, setting it on his lap.

You grin, nodding your head. “Do roaches even have emotions?” You tilt your head to the side.

His famous boxy smile sneaks its way onto his face. “I don’t know, that’s why I said it.”

You giggle, raising your hands in defeat. “Noted.” You pick up your sandwich and take a bite out of it.

“Now enough about your sexy philosophy professor fake fiancé. How was your first day of school sweetheart, make any new friends?”

You roll your eyes, smiling brightly. Finally a subject you’ve been dying to talk about.

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

There was an upside to staying at work past hours. At least that’s what Namjoon kept telling himself when he was finally able to breeze through all his grading. Time went by as the stack of papers lessened, but the hammering in his heart only increased. His mind wouldn’t stop and it didn’t help that he was on his third americano. Sure he could’ve let out some steam at the gym, but his body ached and Jin had basically banned him for a week.

“You can’t always avoid your problems Joonie.” Jin had said out of breath, hands on his knees while he looked at him through sweaty bangs.

Namjoon hated that the self-proclaimed chef slash boxer was right. Yet, there he was pacing around his office. There weren’t any more papers to grade. It was past eight, and Namjoon could only hope that by the time he got home you would be locked away in your room.

That way he could continue to avoid his problems. Or avoid the problem he had created.

The only issue was that Namjoon wasn’t born lucky, just privileged. When he got home you were in the living room following along with an at home Pilates workout video. The aircon was off so you were dripping with sweat. Namjoon had to physically swallow the lump that had formed in his throat three times. But you were too distracted to notice so he assumed he could pass through his living room and into his office unscathed.

Wrong.

Namjoon bumped into the corner of his couch. Then stubbed his toe against the corner table, which caused the small vase containing a single yellow tulip to come crashing down on his hard wooden floor. The broken glass pieces scattered everywhere, cutting off your concentration and instantly finding his alarmed gaze.

Not only was Namjoon born unlucky. He was also born an absolute klutz. And not the cute quirky ones the jocks in every teen movie fell for. The kind that destroyed everything in its path.

Exhibit A: the vase.

Exhibit B: your trust.

“You’re back.” You say, sitting crossed legged on your baby blue yoga mat. The video was long forgotten playing in the background, while you tilted your head waiting for his answer.

“Yeah sorry for bothering you.” He said, leaning down, starting to slowly gather the pieces of broken glass. He tried to keep himself busy to avoid your presence but then he spotted the single droplet of sweat drawing a path down your neck, the middle of your chest and eventually disappearing behind your baby blue workout tank.

He swallows thickly.

For the second time that day he mentally cursed out Jin for banning him from going to the gym. Namjoon could physically feel his body shake and start to overheat. He needed to let out some steam and sort out all these confusing thoughts he’s been having since seeing you in the morning.

Namjoon always thought you were pretty. Like the innocent girl next door type of pretty. He never saw you as anything more or harbored any sort of sexual attraction towards you. The thought absolutely repulsed him back then because you were like his little sister. He could easily fall asleep next to you and wake up fine. He could talk to you about anything and everything and be your friend because there was nothing there.

In simple terms you weren’t his type and that was okay. So, Namjoon can’t really understand everything that’s happening. He can’t understand where the kiss, the jealousy, the lust, and the anger is stemming from. You are the same Plain Jane he tutored back then. The only slight difference is that you’re a little more confident and your hair is shorter. Your sense of style has matured a little but it doesn’t lack the fun and casual you sometimes opted for. It’s what makes you look younger than what you really were. You had this young aura surrounding you and Namjoon had never been attracted to that.

He just thinks he needs to get laid, and fast. Maybe he’ll text that pretty brunette chemistry professor. What was her name again? Rochelle, Rachel, Ray? Whatever it was he wasn’t planning on doing much talking. She’s kind and his type, familiar and most importantly she’s out of the loop. Keeps her head in the books and cares a rats ass about faculty gossip. He tries to reason with himself as he finishes picking up the glass pieces. To add on he tries to tell himself that you have Jimin so why couldn’t he also have a friend to run to?

“Don’t worry, I was almost done.” You interrupt his thoughts. He watches as you grab the remote from his couch and pause the video. He swallows a fifth time watching as you stand up, bend down, and roll up your yoga mat to then rest it against the foot of his gray couch. He begins to panic when you move to his black marble coffee table that you’ve pushed to the side.

Quickly, almost as if his body was on autopilot he placed the glass shards he’s picked up onto the corner table and scurries to where you were ready to push the table to its rightful place. He too finds himself bending down, and somehow his eyes land right where the top of your breasts are peaking out. He can’t see much, you’re still modestly covered, but the little that he does see. He finds himself staring at before looking away as if he were being burned by the rays of the sun. He swallows two more times.

God, he’s really to send Raya—that’s her name—a text the minute he locks himself in his bedroom.

“It’s not that heavy Namjoon.” You point out as you lift up your side of the table. Namjoon follows in suit and the two of you move it the five inches to the middle so it’s back in its designated spot. “Thank you anyway.” You stand up dusting your hands, giving him an appreciative smile. It somehow worsens the sweat that has formed in between the crevices of his long fingers. As well as the beating in his heart.

He needs to get a fucking grip. Namjoon doesn’t want to admit that he wanted to help you because you’re right the coffee table is not as heavy as it looks. Otherwise how would you have moved it in the first place?

You walk past him, patting his shoulder along the way. He watches you make your way to the kitchen and he has to restrain himself from letting his eyes travel any lower than your upper back. He’s annoyed that he’s acting like a hormonal teenager rather than a full grown adult who has had plenty of sex in his lifetime.

“At what time do you get out of work tomorrow?” You ask moving through his kitchen like it’s familiar. As if you were doing this for months rather than just a day. He hates how satisfying it feels, and he finds himself sitting on one of his kitchen barstools.

You look through his cupboards with vigor, somehow knowing exactly where he keeps his plates, cups, and his pans. Well…your pans. He watches while you turn on the gas stove and wait a while for things to heat up and open up a tupperware full of leftover fried rice. He guesses it’s what you had made for dinner earlier in the night.

Namjoon feels his stomach twist. He is unsure if it’s a good thing but he realizes that he is getting nervous again because it’s finally settled in that tonight would be the first night you will actually be sharing a house. That tomorrow morning when he wakes up he will find you enjoying a cup of tea or coffee in his kitchen. That he will have to share a bathroom with you. And drive you to work and home. Repeat. Until it becomes too much of familiarity and one of you cuts the other off again.

Then he comes across his second? Third? Fourth? realization of the night and ignores your previously asked question. “How did you get home?

“Jungkook I called him knowing he was free today which worked out perfectly because your mother gave him some kimchi to give to us. So, I made kimchi fried rice for dinner with all of the leftovers in your fridge.” You nonchalantly shrug your shoulders, before plating his meal. “Which brings me back to my last question. What time do you get off tomorrow?” You move around the kitchen as Namjoon lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, and the green jealousy bubbling in the pit of his stomach disappears.

At least it wasn’t Jimin. He finds himself thinking. He shakes his head along with the thought away.

“Five tomorrow.” He finally answers when you set the plate out in front of him, along with a glass of water. “Why?”

“We need to go grocery shopping. Your fridge is practically empty, I used up all the ingredients that were going to go bad in the next few days.” You say sitting at the barstool in front of him and resting your chin on the palm of your hand. “Do you ever eat at home?”

Namjoon shakes his head, busying himself with his utensils before he takes a bite out of his food. A little part of him was hesitant because he knew you weren’t the best cook. Or worse you could poison him out of hatred. But he’s pleasantly surprised when the flavors instantly hit his tongue. It was delicious. Probably the best kimchi fried rice he’s ever had in his life. It almost seems impossible because this isn’t remotely a difficult dish to make. Yet, you’ve exceeded his expectations. He’s so enthralled with each bite that he forgets you’re still sitting in front of him.

“Do you like it?” You bite your lip in anticipation. When Namjoon looks up he fights the urge to reach over and tap your chin to get you to release your bottom lip. But he keeps himself grounded because he’s already crossed to many boundaries, and he doesn’t want you running back to Jimin.

Speaking of a boundary he shouldn’t cross but he still does, “Where did you spend the weekend?”

You push yourself back from the counter and release a sigh. “Jimins.” You look anywhere but him and it somehow annoys him.

“Your fuck buddy.” He stares blankly, setting down his fork. He could still eat more but you look mortified beyond belief and it makes his stomach churn.

Namjoon seems to just never learn.

You inhale deeply before responding, “I guess we should talk about that then.”

“No thanks I don’t care about who you’re fucking. It’s not like we’re exclusive, or steady or whatever we are.” He shrugs, proceeding to pick at his food with his fork. He really needs to shut up before he says something he knows he’ll regret later.

You roll your eyes, taking his glass of water and downing it in one go. He watches as a single droplet runs past your lips, down the side of your chin, and eventually your neck. He would’ve shamelessly continued to follow its path if you hadn’t slammed the cup onto the cloth coaster. It startles him and you look livid.

“I’m not fucking Jimin at least not anymore. We finally talked it out like civil adults and agreed we were better off as friends.” You spit out crossing your arms in front of you. “I know this is all fake, but the only way we will be able to keep up this act is if we both agree to not see anyone else. Otherwise that would create an even bigger mess than the one we have already.” You finish, and Nmajoon’s appetite is officially gone for the night.

Now, he feels guilty for even entertaining the idea of texting Raya. Only a little bit. There was some logic to what you were saying and he was being irrational earlier.

“I guess you’re right. I’m sorry for assuming.”

You have to blink a few times trying to process everything. This was rare. Namjoon was never known to be someone who apologizes unless he truly feels sorry. You almost leave the conversation at that, afraid that he will take it back the second you say someone he doesn’t want to hear again, but he speaks up, “How do you propose we from here then. I mean we are both humans with needs and if we can’t, you know…release those needs with each other because I don’t see you like…in that way and I’m assuming you don’t either, and it’s not part of the deal.” He breathes out before continuing. “What should we do then?” He finishes with a sigh, picking up his fork again, and waits for you to answer.

You’re caught off guard, the argument that was sitting at the back of your throat dies down. You didn’t expect him to admit defeat so early on. When the two of you were friends, the petty arguments you got into lasted for hours; but here he was showing you a different side of him, and you aren’t sure what to think of it yet.

“We will cross that line when we get there. For now I think we need to start small and just move on from our past. Maybe go on small friendship dates. Like the ones we used to go on every time I passed my tests.” You shrug. It was the only option that made sense. “It’s why I asked you when you get off work tomorrow. We can maybe go grocery shopping together. Start there.” You point out, watching as Namjoon goes back to eating your food.

It’s a weird feeling but watching him eat makes your heart feel a little warm. Back when you started living alone, you were an absolute mess in the kitchen. You burned your chicken to make sure it was thoroughly cooked for crying out loud. And after you set off the fire alarm one too many times, Jungkook decided to teach you all the easy ten minute recipes he learned on YouTube. This was one of the dishes you were the most confident in making. It also happened to be one of Namjoon’s favorites, and maybe that’s why you had made it. To soften the blow a little because you knew you were asking too much of him.

To you it seems like it had worked because he wasn’t nearly as angry as you assumed he would be. In fact he wasn’t angry at all.

Namjoon swallows his last spoonful and looked back at you. His face was blank but his next words completely went against the coldness hiding behind his eyes. “I’ll be in front of your office at five. I need to finish imputing a couple of grades into the system. And then we could head to the market together.” He nods firmly before standing up and picking up his plate, taking long strides to the dishwasher.

You watch him in silence while he put on the hot pink rubber gloves and grabbed the sponge, pumping a decent amount of soap on it. It was all so domestic and oddly comforting.

He was about to turn the hot water on when he stopped, placing his palms against the counter. He quickly turns to face you, his eyes find yours instantly and for the first time in a long time he did something he hasn’t done in years.

He smiles.

“Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

Your heart almost stops but you pushed away the butterflies erupting in the pit of your stomach. They weren’t real, they didn’t mean anything, Namjoon just has a smile that can light up worlds. So you ignored it and quickly responded “you’re welcome.” Before making your way to your room, so he couldn’t see your blushing cheeks. Or realize that he had made your heart start beating ten times faster than its usual rate. The closer you got to your room the faster you started to walk and before you knew it you had made it inside and closed the door behind you, resting your back against it and quietly releasing the little school girl squeal you were holding in.

God, you were pathetic.

Back in the kitchen, Namjoon is trying to occupy himself with the dishes. He can’t stop himself from giving into another realization. It seems like tonight he was full of them, but this one scared him the most.

Maybe he was at a crossroads and he had already unknowingly crossed the line because he was feeling something deep in his heart. Something he didn’t know he could possibly feel. Though that’s not what had initially scared him. He was scared of his fear and how it consumes him to the point that he talks himself out of situations. Just like it did all those years ago when you had confessed to him.

It’s something his pride and ego won’t ever let him admit.

Yet, deep down Namjoon knew better. The line had been crossed the minute he had entered Taehyung’s apartment. The minute he told you all about his plan. The minute he had placed his mothers engagement ring in the palm of your hand underneath his parents patio table.

The line had been crossed when he proposed to you. When he had asked you to move in with him and when he kissed you.