Chapter Text
If Namjoon had the opportunity to give one piece of advice to younger generations, it would be: do not let Kim Seokjin talk you into anything, especially unethical business ventures. He hopes one day he's invited to give a commencement address simply to impart that wisdom, but of course he won't because he'll be academically disgraced before he's twenty-one years old.
"You can't make a website," he says now, trying to be patient. Yelling at Jin only makes him more determined to do whatever the yelling is about. "I could get expelled for this. It has to be low profile."
Jin gives him an unimpressed eyeroll. "That's why we're not putting your picture anywhere. Jungkook! Do I want to activate SSL encryption?"
The phone on the coffee table says, "Yeah, if it's an option. Hey! Fucking heal me you… I'm carrying this goddamn team on my back, I swear to god, I'm gonna have arthritis by the time it's over."
"That's not how you get arthritis," says Namjoon.
"You suck at games," says Jin. "How can I put a moving picture on this thing? I want one where a cat is using a pen."
"You suck at existence," says Jungkook, and hangs up.
"I'll figure it out later," says Jin. "Great! We have a site. I'll spread it around."
Namjoon puts his head in his hands. "Do not spread it around. I'm not going to write any more papers, so it's just a waste of internet."
And he means it. This whole stupid thing started when he did a favor for Jin, foolishly and without regard for the future, by writing his paper on the thematic import of Moby Dick. Jin, a business major, said he didn't care about the thematic import of any dicks but the ones he was riding, but he did care about getting excellent grades in his required Gen Ed classes, so Namjoon should help him out.
Namjoon did, partially because he needed Jin to keep cooking for him but also because he was legitimately worried that Jin would turn in a paper detailing his sex life if left on his own. And that should have been the end of it. But then Jin's brother Jungkook needed help with one of his high school papers, and keeping Jin happy meant making Jungkook happy. Then a mutual friend found out and just needed a few revisions that turned into a whole rewrite, and then the next person offered to pay him exactly at the same time he needed to get a new pair of Airpods, and before he knew it he'd written a dozen papers for both paying and non-paying customers.
Jin witnessed him finishing off the most recent free favor, and he'd berated Namjoon for wasting a perfectly good business opportunity - "A favor without a monetary exchange is just being robbed! Demand your value!" - before getting started on a website that Namjoon absolutely didn't want, with a sliding scale per word count that he was certain no one would pay.
Jin hadn't listened to a single one of his protests as he created writing4u.freehost.com, and he doesn't listen now either. "The site will penetrate new markets. Just you wait. You're going to make bank, and I'm taking twenty percent off the top."
"To a year of profits!" says Jin, holding a bottle of moderately priced champagne over his head.
He pops the cork inexpertly, shooting it across the apartment and narrowly missing the wall clock, then pours into two plastic cups. Jungkook holds his hand out hopefully, and Jin flaps at him.
"Why not?" says Jungkook.
He's now a freshman, and Jin usually doesn't let him come over to their place on pain of nipple twists, but Namjoon knows the kid well enough now to know that he's even better at getting his way in person than he is over the phone. He pouts, turning his weaponry more directly onto Namjoon, who raises his hands in front of his face. It doesn't really help.
"I helped with the site!" adds Jungkook.
"Your brother said no," says Namjoon apologetically, still hiding.
Jin snorts. "And you didn't help at all. I never figured out how to get rid of that stupid Linkin Park song you put on the home page. We've probably lost customers because of it."
"Only the lame ones," says Jungkook.
He folds his arms and glares as Jin and Namjoon toast, then snatches the bottle for himself and takes a few swigs before Jin wrestles it away from him.
"Yuck," says Jungkook, making a face and burping. "So how much money did you make anyway?"
"A little over two million won," says Jin. "Not as much as we could have in an economy free of regulatory restrictions, of course. The Namjoon Ethics Agency is obnoxiously strict."
Namjoon shrugs, finishing off his glass. He'd set some ground rules early - no term papers, no advanced class work, and the customer had to be taking an elective instead of a core requirement - in order to sleep at all, and he's never regretted it. He does regret being involved in the enterprise in the first place, but he has to admit that eighty percent of the revenue had come in handy this past year.
"In honor of our one year anniversary -" says Jin, but he's interrupted when Namjoon's phone rings.
It's his composition professor, ominously, which means he slaps a hand over Jin's affronted squawks for the entirety of their short conversation. He keeps it together, smooth and professional as he knows he needs to be, but as soon as he hangs up he drops his hand and swears with such fervor that Jungkook cackles.
"Everything okay?" says Jin, one eyebrow arched.
"Fucking Min Yoongi!" growls Namjoon.
Jin sighs and pours himself a much larger glass of champagne.
"I have to move my evaluation time from one to eleven! When everyone knows Professor Choi is the happiest right after lunch and gives out the best grades."
Jungkook frowns. "Everyone knows that? Really?"
Namjoon clenches his fist into a tight ball. "Yes! And I signed up for that time specifically and Yoongi just… he just waltzes in and grabs it with some lame-ass excuse that he has to work. It's just fucking like him. And he only does it to me!"
"Maybe he has to work," says Jin mildly, and Namjoon clenches his fist even tighter.
"He doesn't! I know he doesn't. He works Tuesdays and Thursdays and alternate weekends. And now Professor Choi is going to be hungry and grouchy for my evaluation, and Yoongi will get a better score, and he'll get a summer internship position and he won't deserve it!"
"He might deserve it," says Jin. "Aren't there three positions?"
Namjoon nods. "Only three! And if he gets a spot over me I'll… I'll…"
He doesn't exactly know what he'll do, because he's always believed in peaceful resolution of conflict, but Yoongi only knows escalation. It's been like that since day one of the year, when Yoongi transferred in unexpectedly from whatever primordial stew he'd previously been festering. They'd been assigned the same studio time, a two-person limited session because of the specialized mixing equipment, and Namjoon had been ready to welcome him with the big smile he gave everyone in the music department. They were all competing against each other most of the time, but he'd never seen any need to be vicious about it. The work spoke for itself.
But Yoongi's demeanor had spoken instead when he walked in with a shuffling slouch and gave Namjoon a clinical up-and-down scan. It wasn't friendly, or even that interested, and he'd turned away and started unwrapping his outerwear onto the nearest chair without saying a word.
"Welcome!" Namjoon said anyway. "You must be Min Yoongi. I'm Kim Namjoon. Professor Choi asked me to show you around the lab, make sure your profile is set up on all the machines, that sort of thing. He assigned us to the same lab so I could help you out. I'm sort of his unofficial TA."
Yoongi grunted but didn't stop unwrapping himself, layer after layer, like he'd put on his whole closet before he left to protect him from the early autumn chill. Namjoon had thought he was bulky when he walked in, but as he shed more and more fabric Namjoon realized he was actually quite slim, leaf-delicate and sharply boned to match his piercing expression. It came as a bit of a revelation, though the sweetness of his features definitely didn't fit his sour personality.
"Um, that's my chair," said Namjoon as Yoongi deposited his final sweatshirt. "Yours is over here."
Yoongi looked between the two chairs, then shrugged. "They're the same, aren't they? I'll just use this one."
They aren't the same, Namjoon wanted to snap, because his chair doesn't have the annoying squeak when a person leans back to stare at the ceiling and despair about the unresolvable issues in their mix. But he didn't snap, because he was being fair. Yoongi couldn't know about the chair squeak, he reasoned, and next week he can make sure to get his chair back, so it's fine.
"I'm excited to hear your work," said Namjoon instead. "Professor Choi said you like the R&B space. And that you rap! That's rare around here, it's mostly pop and classical composers."
Yoongi finally turned his full attention to Namjoon and said, "Except you, right?"
Namjoon nodded, a little pride in his chest that Yoongi already knew who he was. The professor had said Yoongi was good, but Namjoon was the best in the department and that brought prestige.
"They had me listen to some of your stuff. Said you'd be stiff competition for me," said Yoongi. He smirked, his head tilted to the side like he'd found something amusing to stare at. Like he was looking down at Namjoon, despite being an entire head shorter. "I'm pretty sure I can take you, though."
Namjoon breaks off his recitation of their first meeting at this point, because Jungkook is applauding like it's a play and he can hear his own rage-filled heartbeat pounding in his ear.
The whole session had been infuriating, and became even more infuriating when it turned out that Yoongi actually was talented. In a technical, gimmicky sort of way at least. His tracks were heavily-processed but effective, combining genres in surprising ways to catch the ear. Namjoon's strengths lay in setting a mood, in matching harmonious sounds to each other like a painting, and he'd been praised endlessly for his sonic storytelling. But Yoongi drew different praise, for innovative ideas and catchy beats, and Namjoon could admit he deserved it but it didn't make it any less annoying.
Especially because Yoongi didn't seem to think Namjoon deserved any praise at all. When they did open-class critiques Yoongi unerringly found weak places in Namjoon's tracks and hammered on them relentlessly, offering suggestions and ideas and changes that Namjoon probably would have thought of himself, if he ever got a few seconds to think about it before Yoongi barreled through three pages of critique on a twenty-second clip. Namjoon's definitely good enough to enhance his own work, if he could sit down and consider without Yoongi's dark eyes boring into him from across the room. Yoongi has a way of looking through a person, Namjoon's come to realize, like he's holding a mental measuring stick and finding all of the places where they don't quite stack up.
Apparently Namjoon has a lot of those places.
And the mind games are working, damn him. Namjoon is in danger of losing the top spot in the department to him thanks to the unrelenting assault, and changing his evalution time could be the final straw.
What's even more galling is that he's sure Yoongi's as smug about this victory as he is about everything. Namjoon can practically see him now, leaning over his daintily crossed legs to point out some new deficiency in Namjoon's work. He always uses his most rumbling voice when he does it, deep and inexorable and rasping in a way that overpowers Namjoon's rebuttals. And he'd recently dyed his hair blonde, a honey color that should look ridiculous on someone so prickly but makes him look soft and fluffy where it falls across his forehead, especially when he's out of his twenty layers of clothing and down to a thin sweater that slips off his shoulder when he speaks.
And don't even get Namjoon started on his hands. Always waving around, aggressive and expansive, taking up all of the space that his slim body can't. He plays piano beautifully, because of course he does, and his fingers dancing across the keys always put Namjoon in mind of -
Jin clears his throat, and Namjoon startles as he looks up.
"Did you get to his fingers yet?" he asks, knocking back the last of the champagne directly from the bottle. "It looked like you were at the fingers part, and I want to keep it family-friendly for the child in the room."
Jungkook sticks his tongue out.
"Why you don't just ask him out is an endless mystery to me," Jin continues. "You're practically drooling."
"Because I don't like him," says Namjoon, but not without a lot of hope. Jin's been insistent that Namjoon's harboring a secret passion for his rival ever since he first told him of his existence, and sure Namjoon might have had a few sex dreams about him but that's as far as the passion goes and Jin doesn't even know about them anyway. Jin's just bored, and wrong, but debating with him is generally futile.
"Right, that's why I've heard about him every single day for four months," says Jin. "At the very least fuck him in that studio of yours. Work off some steam. Do it before your presentation, I bet that will spice you up enough for top marks from grumpy Choi."
"How was that family-friendly?" says Jungkook.
"Trust me, in comparison that's a Disney movie," says Jin, shuddering theatrically. "You haven't heard him talk about Yoongi's fingers."
Jungkook looks a little too interested, so Namjoon says, "Can we please go back to whatever ridiculous thing you got us together for instead of discussing the ridiculous asshole who's ruining my last year of undergrad?"
"Yes! My thing!" says Jin. "My things are always the most important. So, in honor of the one-year anniversary of our website, I think we should take a job that's not from the site."
"That feels counterintuitive," says Namjoon.
"It's counter-counterintuitive," says Jin. "It's so intuitive you can't even understand it right away."
"That's what intuitive mea - " Namjoon tries to say, but Jin overrides him.
"Do you want this job or not? The guy is rich and he's willing to pay."
Namjoon frowns. "That's not a good sign."
"When you're running a commission-based business it's the best sign," says Jin firmly. "He's very interested in your services. You just have to meet him on the third floor of an off-campus parking garage tonight at midnight and he'll tell you all about it."
"I'm sorry, what? No. No. Absolutely not. That sounds like I'm going to get murdered. You go meet him!"
"He wants to talk to you," says Jin. "And you're not going to get murdered. I know him, he's perfectly normal."
Namjoon stares. "He wants me to meet him in a parking garage. At midnight."
"There are cameras all over," Jin tries, but Namjoon just folds his arms. "Fine. Take Jungkook along, he'll make sure nothing happens. He's strong to no purpose and can kick over his head."
"I can," says Jungkook, his mouth full of a snack Namjoon hadn't even seen him grab. "I want payment. Thai food."
Jin nods proudly. "That's my boy. Know your worth. Namjoon will buy you Thai food."
"Great!" says Jungkook, smiling big around his dried squid. "Let's get it."
Jungkook has never been a bodyguard before, but he's pretty sure he's nailing it as he walks the artificially lit streets with Namjoon. By rights it would be a dark night, if there were ever dark nights in this city, but he'll take the night he gets. Plus the light will help him spot danger. The enemy is crafty, but not as crafty as him.
"Perimeter clear," he says to his wrist. "No hostiles detected."
He does a full spin and drops into a crouch, peering in the shadows just to be sure.
"Potential threat, eight o'clock. Checking it out."
"That's your three o'clock," says Namjoon, but Jungkook just shakes his head sadly as he creeps forward. Like he doesn't know where all of his o'clocks are. Namjoon's hot, and he definitely knows how to write, but he's not made for this battlefield.
He crouches lower and stares a wary cat right in the eyeballs, evaluating, then relaxes when it starts licking itself. "Status green. The cat is a friendly, I repeat, the cat is a friendly."
It runs away at the sound of his voice, and Jungkook stands up with satisfaction at a job well done. A satisfaction that's short-lived when he sees his protectee reaching for the handle to the parking garage door without a care in the world.
"Are you crazy?" he yells, running towards Namjoon and slapping him against the wall. "What if it's rigged?"
Namjoon rubs his elbow and examines the door half-heartedly. "In what way?"
"To explode! Let me do a sweep."
"Look, Jungkook, it's getting late and I kind of need to sleep at some point tonight…"
Jungkook ignores him and runs his phone over the edges of the door and frowns at the black screen. "Nothing here. This guy must be some kind of amateur at the murder game."
Namjoon sighs. "Let's hope he's not in the murder game at all. Come on."
They make their way into the garage, which is mostly empty to Jungkook's disappointment. But he brightens when they get to the third floor and a person is standing under the exit spotlight, backlit in dramatic fashion with his face in shadow. He's wearing an old-style hanbok, his hair long and tied back like a period drama, and Jungkook immediately puts a hand on the sword at his hip.
"Are you the artisan Kim Namjoon?" says the man as Jungkook approaches. "I have a commission for you."
"I serve his house and his person," says Jungkook. "Do you mean him harm?"
"Only if he means harm to me," says the man. "I pray he does not."
Jungkook can see the guy's face now, and he's extremely hot and faintly smiling, which stops Jungkook from patting him down like he'd been planning on doing a few seconds ago. Instead he just stands there, a little awestruck, and realizes he has no idea what his next line should be.
"Are you Kim Taehyung?" says Namjoon behind him. "Seokjin said you wanted to talk to me about a job. I'm assuming you know my rates."
The man, Taehyung, frowns before he schools his face into a more regal expression. "You understand that to discuss my identity invites danger. I wish to engage you in a life-or-death assignment. Money is no object in this matter."
"Life-or-death?" says Jungkook, excited. "Whose death?"
"My own, if not handled perfectly," says Taehyung.
Jungkook's eyes widen. "You're in trouble?"
"The worst kind of trouble, I'm afraid."
Namjoon coughs. "I'm not sure what Jin told you, but I mostly do literature papers. Sometimes philosophy. It sounds like what you need is a lawyer? Or the police? I'm not sure I'm -"
"After all," says Taehyung loudly, holding a graceful hand to his chest, "are troubles of the heart not the most vicious troubles of all?"
"They are!" says Jungkook. "My boyfriend broke up with me the second day of classes and I cried for a week. I had to throw away my pillowcases. They were snotty."
Taehyung gives him an appraising, speculative look that makes Jungkook tingle all over, then nods. "Your friend -"
"Bodyguard."
"Bodyguard knows of what I speak. Love's tide sinks all boats, as they say."
"I don't think they do," says Namjoon. "The psychology department offers free sessions -"
Taehyung's nostrils flare in annoyance, and Jungkook stomps on Namjoon's foot to shut him up. "He's just getting to the good part."
There's another speculative look, this one lingering like warm honey, and Taehyung's cheekbones catch the fluorescent lighting around him in a way that shouldn't be beautiful but definitely is. His eyelashes fan out as he flutters a few blinks, and Jungkook's stomach flutters too.
"My fated soulmate, Park Jimin, has been locked away in a cruel twist of fate by the only family more powerful than my own in the kingdom," says Taehyung. A tear drops down his cheek, solitary and aching, and Jungkook hooks his hands together to stop from wiping it away. "My own feelings are meaningless compared to his suffering, which is great, as he was taken before I could communicate my hopes for his favor.
"He is now out of range of my most tender and heartfelt professions, and I fear he may be ensnared by another before I can act. Fortunately my father is still respected even in the courts of our enemies, and I've found a guard willing to deliver letters in lieu of speech. However, I need an artisan such as yourself to make sure the letters are as beautiful as they are ardent. And thus I beseech you, Kim Namjoon, to undertake this commission."
"Wait, you want me to write some guy love letters? To get him to go out with you?" says Namjoon. "That's not - I think it might work better if you wrote them yourself."
"Ridiculous," says Taehyung. "My handwriting would surely be recognized."
"Computers -"
"Handwritten only! Obviously!"
"Obviously!" echoes Jungkook. "Come on, Namjoon. It's true love!"
"It's stalking," mutters Namjoon. "This isn't exactly in my wheelhouse. I'm happy to read yours, fix the grammar or offer some phrasing suggestions, but -"
"I'll pay you 50,000 won per letter," says Taehyung, spine sagging into more modern lines. "At least ten letters. And I'll pay for two in advance. Please? I really need them to be good. Jimin is… well, he's Jimin."
His face is still beautiful but now it's sad, heartbroken and pleading, and Jungkook's own heart seizes in sympathy. And a little arousal, because Taehyung's pouting, plump lip is wet and inviting in the flickering light.
Namjoon looks similarly torn, his brow furrowed as he stares at the floor, then finally says, "Well, I suppose I could try -"
"Yay!" says Taehyung, transforming from abject pain to joy in the blink of an eye. He reaches into his hanbok and pulls out a manila folder. "This is his information. Interests, likes and dislikes, a few background details. And pictures!"
Jungkook takes it and flips through the pages, pausing on a black-and-white photo of a small man with his head thrown back in laughter, neck long and slender where it's catching light around the shadows. His expression is pure joy, and the picture is so full of motion that Jungkook can almost see the moment where he'll topple backwards in helpless giggles. He's gorgeous, totally sexy, and Jungkook makes an appreciative noise then blushes when Taehyung nods in response.
"I know, right? But don't be too specific with the letters or he'll figure out who they're from. It needs to be a secret. And sweet and heart-melting but not creepy, that's the goal. Here's the 100,000 won advance. One letter every week or so, that should be good. Not too long. And obviously he can't know it's you, so sign it 'Love Your Secret Admirer'."
"That's, uh…" says Namjoon slowly. "Like I said, I can try, but I've never -"
"You're going to do great," says Taehyung brightly. "I can tell you have a romantic heart."
Namjoon looks at his chest, eyebrows raised. "Really?"
"Definitely. But ask your bodyguard for help if you need to. He's a natural at this."
Taehyung sweeps his long hair away and off his head, revealing bright blue hair underneath that somehow works even with the historical dress, and Jungkook knows he's staring but he can't seem to stop. "I like your hair," he says stupidly, but it makes Taehyung smile and that's not stupid at all.
"Thanks, I stole it from the theater," says Taehyung. "I stole all of this, really. I should get it back before they figure out it's gone. Thanks Namjoon! The kingdom appreciates it, and I'm sure it's gonna work great."
"Do I get paid even if you don't end up dating?" asks Namjoon quickly.
"What?" says Taehyung, distracted with the now-tangled wig. "Oh, yeah, you'll still get paid. Don't worry about that. Jimin is my soulmate."
He turns around to head to the stairwell, then stops and looks over his shoulder directly at Jungkook. "You'd look great with long hair, too. Just a thought."
Taehyung winks and vanishes, and Jungkook stares after him with a sparkling heart and a quarter of a boner, lost forever. "Namjoon," he says hoarsely, then clears his throat. "Namjoon, you have to fuck these letters up really bad, okay? Okay? For me."
"I don't think that's going to be a problem," says Namjoon quietly, and heavily, then ruffles Jungkook's hair and steers him back the way they came. "Let's get you back to your dorm, you natural romantic."
Capitalism buys nothing but futility, Namjoon is pretty sure, and he writes that down on the blank page in front of him in case it sparks any ideas. And it does, a dozen song lyrics and snatches of memory, including a suddenly bright image of Yoongi holding forth on corporate structures in the corner of the music theory classroom just that morning. He'd perched himself on the seat of a desk like a casual gargoyle, his hands waving as he traced the infusions of evil money at each point in his invisible diagram. The people around him laughed with every irritated jab of his voice, but by the end he'd somehow gotten them nodding and agreeing.
It was just like him to walk into a room with an unpopular opinion and leave with a congregation, but Namjoon had carefully stayed buried in his own work the whole time. He wasn't going to be one of Yoongi's sycophantic fans, telling him how right he is about everything. Though he has to admit the cash from Taehyung feels a little infused with evil where it sits in his wallet.
"Stop procrastinating," says Jin from his door, making him jump. "You accepted money for a service, now provide the service. Don't think I don't see that empty paper!"
"It's not empty," says Namjoon triumphantly. He holds it up and points to his scrawled line. "See?"
Jin strides in and snatches it out of the air, reading it with his eyebrows nearly at his hairline. "Ah yes, the most romantic topic on earth, the terrors of market forces. Come on, Namjoon, you've dated. You've been in love. Summon some of those distant emotions and shit out a page. It can't be that hard. Moonlight and roses and horses. Things like that."
"Have I really been in love, though?" counters Namjoon. "I'm not now, so some might argue I never was in the first place. Meaning, how can I write about it genuinely? At least I'd actually read Moby Dick when I wrote your paper."
"That's nonsense," says Jin. "But if you can't mine the past, then think about a current situation. Your crush, if you will. Write like you're writing to him and then add in some Jimin flavor. Bing bang boom, 500,000 won."
"But I don't have a crush on anyone!"
"Do you know, I think I might actually despise you?" says Jin thoughtfully. "It's a distinct possibility. But fine, if we're committed to denial then write about music. You love music! Make music into a person then woo them into submission with your sexy brain."
Namjoon stares at him blankly. "I think this will go better if you don't give me any more pep talks."
"I think it won't go at all, but hey. I know where I'm not wanted," says Jin against all evidence, setting the paper down. "Good luck, Shakespeare. I'll be back in an hour."
The front door slams after a long minute, and Namjoon carefully places his forehead on his desk and groans. Money! Money makes fools of all men.
But he agreed to do this, so he flips the paper over and tries to focus. He doesn't have a crush - Yoongi's not a crush, no matter what Jin thinks - but Jin's right about the music. Sometimes he thinks music, and the creation of it, are the only pockets of reality where the concept of Kim Namjoon makes sense at all. It's worth a shot, and he leans back in his chair and concentrates on how those pockets make him feel.
It's not hard to get back there, not in this quiet apartment. There's a heartbeat to the world, he thinks sometimes, a rhythm that everyone feels but hardly anyone hears, and the purpose of his existence is to find that thrumming pulse and translate it into the proper human frequencies. So that's where he goes, sinking into the place in himself that lights up with a single hit of snare, and his mind drifts through an ocean of words and sounds until he's full of its magic again.
It feels like the promise of the studio, the pregnant moments before an idea is born through lips and hands and solidifies into the world like a miracle. It feels like a walk through the woods, the whispers of leaves telling him a secret his ears are too deaf to perceive but his heart longs to understand. It feels like seeing a familiar face and knowing everything and nothing about it all at the same time. It feels vital, and powerful, and like the only object in the universe that has any substance at all.
It feels a little bit like love.
The human language is like a cracked kettle on which we beat out a tune for a dancing bear, when we hope with our music to move the stars, he writes suddenly, the quote rising up from the depths before sinking once more. It's a beginning, at least, and he presses his pen back to paper and continues on to where it might lead. A quote that's never felt more true as I sit with a blank page trying to find the words to move your heart. For if a star were ever among us it would surely be you, bright and shining and worthy of every wish a man could spend.
Namjoon pauses and rereads his words, a little horrified, but what the hell, at least he's writing. He can edit it later. Or throw it away. Think about music, he commands himself. If he could speak to his music, what would he want to say?
But lately my wishes have all been the same, it seems, which is why I'm struggling against the heavy currents of creation. To know you, and to be known in return - is that too much? It feels like such a small wish to make, and at the same time so enormous I hardly dare think it let alone write it down. But everywhere I go you follow me like a shadow, demanding notice in such a gentle way that I can't help but give in, smiling. There are moments when I sit with you, just you, and I wonder if there's anything beyond the persistent space between us worth conquering.
He breaks off again, tapping his pen against his desk in jagged rhythm, and flicks his eyes at the Park Jimin Dossier to see if he can add anything more personal. More flowery, like Taehyung's entire personality. Jimin's certainly handsome, brilliantly alight with happiness in all of his pictures, and supernaturally accomplished from Taehyung's glowing recitations of his skills. Compact, too - "a bite-sized morsel of sexiness," as Taehyung had scribbled in the margin - the type of man who could fold into someone's arms with hardly a pause, settling into place like a key into a lock.
If we could speak - truly speak, not beating helplessly on this cracked kettle but being-to-being, soul-to-soul - I could be less prosaic about your virtues. I hope you won't judge me when I say that it's your handsomeness that I first admired, though I'd challenge anyone to resist the delicate mystery of your face. But your outer features are only enhanced by your beautiful inner features, the sweetness and goodness and skill you possess. It's nearly impossible to believe there's a person such as you to know, small yet strong, as fierce in your words as you are in your heart.
Yoongi flashes through his mind again unbidden, how slight he is once all his layers are peeled away. There are times in the studio where Namjoon almost forgets he's there he's so quiet, and when he turns around he's surprised to find him waiting, intent and focused on his work to the exclusion of all else. He hardly seems to breathe when he's mixing, the shallow movements of his chest under his billowing t-shirts pumping just enough oxygen to keep him awake, and Namjoon doesn't understand how he can be so calm and produce the fiery tracks he does. How he can be so unobtrusive in that room and so persistently vital in critique.
Namjoon shakes his head, not even sure why he's thinking of him. He's writing a love letter for money, and that's the least Min Yoongi thing he can possibly imagine.
But that's a paradox that can't be solved today, or even tomorrow, and will never be solved if I can't even tell you who I am. I hope someday you'll know, to be brave enough to meet your lovely gaze and speak, and that you'll be as happy to have found me as I was to find you. For now please know there's a person in the world who you bring joy simply by being yourself, and that you've made my life better by being a part of it.
Yours hopefully, Your Secret Admirer
"Well that's the most embarrassing thing I've ever written," says Namjoon, groaning as he looks back over the words he'd vomited all over the paper in front of him. No one's going to swoon at a letter like this, and especially not a guy who looks like Park Jimin. The best he can say is that it seems to fit Taehyung's overly dramatic persona exactly, which was probably the most important part of the exercise. He resolves to keep the tone but be a little less stupid in his revision.
"That can't possibly be true," says Jin behind him, and Namjoon spins too quickly and nearly falls out of his chair. "Let me see."
He picks it up before Namjoon's recovered and reads, his lips moving as he tastes the words on his tongue. He's nodding by the end, finishing with a pleased smile, then tri-folds it crisply and shoves it into an envelope. Namjoon can't see the front of it clearly, but he sees "Ji" in glitter pen before Jin puts it behind his back.
"You're right, that's incredibly embarrassing! But not the most embarrassing thing you've ever written, not by a long shot. Remember that song you wrote your first year, that horny song with all the tree sex? 'Baby don't leaf me, the pollination is just beginning'? That was terrible."
Namjoon glares at him. "It wasn't about tree sex, that's not even close to the lyrics, and you can't give him that letter. It's not done."
"It seems done to me," says Jin firmly. "And if I don't give it to him you'll never finish it for all the revisions. It's a love letter, as ordered. A navel-gazing, slightly pathetic love letter, but that's what happens when you hire Kim Namjoon. Plus you said Taehyung was doing some kind of period roleplay, right? It's perfect."
"But - " says Namjoon.
"But nothing," says Jin. He steps back and pulls the letter out again, reading it thoughtfully. "Hm. Yes, this is what we need. Great work, Joonie."
Namjoon blinks. "Wait a second, you never compliment me. Not without a dozen threats about never telling anyone you did it, anyway. What's happening?"
"I was just thinking about what I'm going to buy with my commission and I had a pang of gratitude," says Jin. "Don't worry, it's passed. Please go back to agonizing over the idea that all the trees in a forest are actually one giant organism speaking to each other through their strong roots."
He turns around to leave as Namjoon says desperately, "But it's not done! And the trees don't talk, they just understand each other perfectly on a spiritual level…"
Jin's already gone, and Namjoon puts his head back down on his desk. He wonders if Taehyung will ask for his money back when Jimin tears the letter up in disgust, and he hopes Jin will take care of that particular customer service issue.
"Jungkook," says Jin when his brother finally answers the phone. "I'm almost to your dorm. I need you to do something for me."
"No," says Jungkook immediately, because he's an ungrateful leech that Jin raised too well. "And stop calling me. Who calls people? Just text like a normal person instead of the two thousand year old you are."
"Texting makes your fingers age unattractively," says Jin. "I refuse. I'm five minutes away."
"I won't let you in!" yells Jungkook before Jin hangs up, so when he gets to Jungkook's building he smiles sunnily at a freshman who looks like she's going to pass out at the sight of him. With a few simple words and another smile he's being escorted past security without any of the headaches of trying to get Jungkook to do what he wants.
His brother is doing pull-ups on a self-installed bar when they get there, yelling the count at the top of his lungs, and the shy freshman squeaks in terror before scurrying back down the hall.
"Thank you!" calls Jin after her, because he's very polite to the people who deserve it, then smacks Jungkook on the ass as he walks in. "Okay, time to help me."
"Eleven!" says Jungkook. "No!"
"I thought you liked eating my food," says Jin.
"I'll tell mom if you stop feeding me," grunts Jungkook as he moves. "Nice try. No favors."
"Even if it's for Taehyung?"
Jungkook pauses at the bottom of his cycle, then drops and turns around with careful nonchalance. "Who's Taehyung?"
"Very convincing," says Jin. "I need you to write his secret admirer letter."
"Isn't Namjoon doing that?"
Jin shrugs. "I need another option. Sit down."
"But I don't want Taehyung to woo someone else," whines Jungkook. "I want him to woo me!"
"Then do a bad job. Write a terrible letter."
Jungkook gasps. "I can't give Jimin a terrible letter!"
"Really," says Jin, interested despite himself. "And why would that be?"
Jungkook mumbles something inaudible and scuffs at the ground, then turns to the dresser to grab his body spray. And when he does Jin's eyes alight on the coffee cup on his desk, and it all becomes clear.
"Ah, so you've met him," says Jin, and Jungkook whirls around in a cloud of denials. "More specifically, you met him on purpose. Why else would you have gone to the most expensive coffee place around?"
"It tastes good," says Jungkook defiantly.
"Especially when it's served with that special Jimin flavor, I'm sure," says Jin. "But that's even more reason why you should write the letter. Either you can do a bad job and keep them apart, leaving them both free to pursue whoever you choose, or you can do an excellent job and then reveal your role in it, successfully winning Jimin or driving Taehyung into a jealousy that you can then soothe. By placing yourself in the driver's seat, you can tailor the outcome to your exact specifications. The only losing move is not to play."
Jungkook's jaw is slack by the end of his speech, his eyes unfocused as he wraps his mind around the possibilities. Jin gives him about ten seconds, just enough time that he's mostly through it but not to the end of the page, and says, "Plus you'll be serving the noble cause of romance in our tragically unromantic world."
"I hate our stupid unromantic world!" says Jungkook. "Fine. Let's get it. How do you write a secret love letter?"
Jin reaches into his bag and pulls out the Jimin envelope to extract Namjoon's letter. And Jin's salvation, if he plays his cards right. "Here, read this. It's a template."
While Jungkook's absorbing it, Jin pulls out a second envelope from his bag and scribbles an addressee across it. When Jungkook's done, Jin takes the letter back and puts it inside, then focuses on his groaning brother.
"I can't write like that!" says Jungkook. "It's all… goosh."
"You shouldn't write like that," says Jin. "No one should. Just follow the structure. Improvise. Jimin's cute, isn't he?"
"Yeah," sighs Jungkook before his face goes determined. "Give me a few minutes."
Jin pulls out his phone and launches a game, sinking onto Jungkook's bed to destroy his enemies. He gets so caught up that he jumps when Jungkook slams his pen down and says, "Done."
"Excellent, let me see."
He takes the paper full of Jungkook's neatest handwriting, then reads:
Are you wearing space pants? Because your ass is out of this world. This quote reminds me of you so much, because you have a really nice ass. And face and arms and legs, of course, you basically have a perfect body, but I think sometimes people forget to focus on the ass when they're complimenting guys. It's all about the biceps, or the chest, and it's like, the ass gets left out. Which is stupid!
But when I look at you, I see all of you. Not just your gorgeous smile, or the way your eyes squeeze together when you laugh, or the prettiness of your hands when you're making coffee. No, it's everything. Ass included. If I knew how to write a poem, I would write a poem about that.
You don't know who I am, but I think if you did you would like me. I hope so, because I really like you. Maybe that's creepy? I hope it isn't. I wasn't trying to like you when I saw you, but there's something about you, you know? Your smile is like being hit with a sack of bricks, and it sneaks up on people. It snuck up on me.
Someday I'll introduce myself for real, and maybe we'll spark, or maybe we won't. But even if we don't, or even if I'm never brave enough to tell you who I am, I just want you to know that you're cool. You're really cool. And thanks for my coffee, it was too expensive but I liked it.
Later days, Your Secret Admirer
"Is it good?" says Jungkook anxiously when Jin looks up.
Jin stands, crosses the room, and hugs Jungkook to his stomach in a sudden rush of the incredible fondness that only Jungkook can make him feel. His kid brother is often obnoxious, frequently ungrateful, and always underfoot, but he's also full of everything that's good and pure in this world. To an annoying degree.
Before Jin does something embarrassing like kiss him on the crown of his head, Jungkook punches him in the kidney. "Stop squishing me," he says. "Tell me if it's good or not!"
"It's wonderful," says Jin, leaning down and kissing him anyway. "I wouldn't change a thing. Come by tomorrow and I'll make you food."
"Meat?" asks Jungkook hopefully.
"Beef," says Jin. "With the money from this job. I think you've earned it."
Jin checks off his to-do list with implacable efficiency the rest of the afternoon, dropping Jimin's letter in Taehyung's designated location, stopping in for macroeconomics office hours at exactly the right time to be in and out in ten minutes, and swinging by the grocery to pick up ingredients before heading to his quasi-boyfriend's place. He makes a final stop, dropping the second letter in a carefully selected mail slot, then makes his way up the stairs, whistling tunelessly and happily.
"Hey babe, I got the stuff you wanted," he calls as he lets himself in.
There's no answer, but he can hear bright synths coming from the kitchen, and he rounds the corner and leans against the door frame to watch. Hoseok is completely oblivious to anything but the song and his cutting board, checking and double-checking a recipe on his phone as he chops through celery with delicate precision. He's shuffling his feet at the same time, clearly trying not to mess up his slices but caught up in the beat like he always, always is.
When Jin first met him that incessant movement drove him insane, how Hoseok's energy overspilled his body and permeated the air around him with electricity. It made him nervous, off-guard, even a little hostile towards this handsome guy with his colorful clothes and white-toothed grin. But that electricity was also his power, and the reason Jin's eyes sought him out again and again until he'd realized the only thing he could do was sleep with him, and now he doesn't try to stop his smile when Hoseok wiggles his ass as soon as he's finished with the knife.
Maybe Jungkook isn't the only one he's inexplicably fond of, after all.
And just as he thinks it Hoseok does a spin on the ball of his socked foot and screams.
"Fucking shit fuck!" he says, leaning back against the counter with his hand to his chest. "How long have you been there?"
"Not long," says Jin as he sets his bags on the counter. "In my defense, if you didn't turn the music up so high you'd have heard me when I came in."
"But that's the way I like it," says Hoseok, pouting, and suddenly Jin's heart isn't the organ driving his mood anymore. Hoseok rubs his chest and adds, "God, my heart is beating so fast."
Jin slides closer, his hand working its way around Hoseok's delicate waist and squeezing with enough pressure to make Hoseok's gaze snap to him. "A common complaint when I'm around."
"Greasy," says Hoseok, but he's smiling, and he wipes his hands on the towel behind him before he winds them around Jin's neck. His head tilts back, that blinding smile turning inviting, and when Jin kisses him they both laugh into it for absolutely no reason at all.
Sometimes Jin's startled to remember they've only been doing this for a month, and he wonders when he became this person. This person who sleeps with a guy for a month and thinks about how he's doing even when they're not together and laughs as they make out with a cheesy song blaring in the background. He wouldn't have believed it of himself, and he wonders how he let things turn out this way.
And sometimes he doesn't wonder at all, because after a few minutes Hoseok tugs him closer, his fingers corded through the hair at the nape of his neck just the way he likes. Jin moves his leg between Hoseok's, parting them and giving him something to grind against, and Hoseok shudders as he rocks in time to the new beat. He already seems a little worked up, either from the adrenaline of terror or Jin's unparalleled skills, and Jin nips kisses across his jaw while he presses him into the counter.
"How long until your roommate gets back?" he murmurs against Hoseok's pulse point.
"An hour," groans Hoseok breathlessly. "I promised I'd have food for him."
"You will. I'll help you," says Jin. "Just like I'll help you with this."
He cups Hoseok's hardening dick with purpose, then laughs when Hoseok slaps him on the shoulder in only half-feigned irritation.
"Not in the kitchen! It's not sanitary."
Jin leans back and waggles his eyebrows in a way that he knows will crack Hoseok up. "You know I never spill a drop."
"Greasy!" complains Hoseok, still laughing, then wriggling out from the cage of Jin's body with a dancer's grace. He shakes his head and sashays to the door, then turns and says, "Come on then. Finish what you started, you perv."
"As you command," says Jin with a light bow, smirking when Hoseok flushes and vanishes down the hall.
He takes a moment to put the groceries in the refrigerator, counting in his head, and he gets to twenty before he hears Hoseok yell, "If you don't get back here in five seconds I'm going to fucking jack myself off!"
His voice is strained and higher than usual, which is the level Jin was waiting for, and when he gets to Hoseok's bedroom he's already naked and palming himself deliciously. He looks at Jin through half-lidded eyes, unbelievably hot, and Jin strips off his shirt and makes his way to him without any further delay.
"Sorry to be slow, baby," he says, kissing Hoseok as thoroughly as he can while he's taking his pants off. "Make it up to you?"
"Yeah, yeah," says Hoseok. He scratches his blunt nails down Jin's back, once and twice and again, and it's Jin's turn to shudder. It's always a shocking revelation how well Hoseok understands his body after such a short time. "Make it up to me. You've got twenty minutes."
"I only need fifteen," says Jin, drifting down to his true destination, and when Hoseok arches into the bed at the touch of his tongue he mentally revises it to ten before he starts to move.
They're sated, showered, and have the soup warming on the stove by the time Hoseok's roommate walks through the door.
"Hey Yoongi," says Hoseok. He curls a little closer to Jin to give him a better view of his most recent dance practice video. "There's soup. And rice in the cooker. And Seokjin made some noodles, they're really good."
Yoongi grunts a thanks, kicking off his shoes and then carefully placing them on the shoe stand as Hoseok has clearly trained him to do. He shuffles deeper into the living room, then blanches when he sees them over the couch. "You two are never wearing enough clothes. Put on some shirts for god's sake."
"The government passed a new law about that," says Jin. "Anyone over an eight on the hotness scale is required to show skin for the benefit of the less fortunate. And as I'm a ten and Hoseok is a nine we're just trying to comply."
Hoseok's giggling into his shoulder by the end, helpless shakes that get Jin a little turned on again, and Yoongi wrinkles his nose at them both.
"Shouldn't you be offended that he called you a nine?" says Yoongi.
Hoseok leans back and smiles, very sweetly. "I'm glad you're home, cutie pie. I missed you!"
Yoongi flaps his hands around his head irritably and goes into the kitchen, and Hoseok shares a conspiratorial wink with Jin. He smiles back, charmed, then smooths his hair down and whispers, "Is it bad that I think it's hot when you mess with him?"
"Is it bad that I think you're hot even when you're saying I'm not as hot as you?" counters Hoseok, eyebrows raised in challenge and a hint of genuine hurt, and Jin's not about to let that stand.
"I've uncovered a horrendous mistake," he announces loudly. "Hoseok is also a ten. Let the records be updated and his shirts be burned."
Hoseok flushes and kisses him hard before they finish up the dance video. Jin understands very little but he offers up as many compliments as he can mostly because Hoseok never knows how to handle them and it's amusing to watch him try. By the time Yoongi comes back out with food and plops in the chair they're turning on Netflix and starting the next episode of a sappy drama they're watching together, which is yet one more activity that Jin can't believe he's engaging in these days.
"Hang on," says Yoongi, setting his bowl down and rummaging through his bag. "I got the mail on the way up. Mostly junk but there was something for you. A letter."
"For me?" says Hoseok, sitting up straighter. "Really?"
Jin freezes as Yoongi hands over the envelope with Jin's carefully disguised handwriting on it, then curses himself for being too clever as Hoseok reads, "'The super cute guy in apartment 4E'. That doesn't mean it's me. It could be you!"
"I think the resident ten is more likely," says Yoongi dryly. "Right, Seokjin?"
"It's true, you are the cutest guy I know," says Jin, rubbing Hoseok's shoulders and completely failing to find a way out of agreeing. "Why don't you open it and see."
Hoseok does, his brow still furrowed in confusion, but as soon as he peers inside he bursts out laughing and tries to hand it back. "No, no, this is definitely for you. Guess you'll have to own up to being cute, too."
Jin peers over his head and sees Namjoon's stupid scrawled Capitalism buys nothing but futility crooked over the tri-fold, and snorts. "I agree."
Yoongi rolls his eyes when he reads it himself, but the corner of his mouth tugs up before he pulls the rest of the paper out. He goes through it slowly, face blank as he absorbs the Namjoonness of the letter - Jin empathizes - and when he's done he shrugs and says, "It's from a secret admirer. Or whatever."
Hoseok gasps and jumps off the couch, his hand over his mouth as he leans across Yoongi's shoulders and reads it. "Oh my god! That's so romantic. Wow, this guy really, really likes you. He thinks you're a star."
"He's an idiot, then," says Yoongi mildly.
Jin laughs without intending to, and Yoongi shoots him a smirk.
"He can't be an idiot if he likes you this much," says Hoseok. "Yoongi! Come on! This has to be exciting you on some level. Any idea who it is?"
Yoongi shrugs and goes back to his soup as Hoseok ponders so deeply it pops his dimples. He throws out a few names, none of which Yoongi reacts to in any way, until he finally says, "I bet it's that Namjoon guy. The cute one who shares your lab time. You said he's always looking at you."
"Glaring at me," Yoongi corrects quickly. "And absolutely not. The day Kim Namjoon sends me a love letter is the day the universe as we know it has ceased to exist."
Hoseok gives Jin another look, this one full of excitement, and says, "You'd like it to be him though, wouldn't you? I knew it! You should ask him about it. Or just ask him out! Even if he didn't send you the letter, which he probably did, you can still ask him out."
"No. And I would not like it to be him," says Yoongi. He stuffs the letter back in his bag with an unconvincing huff. "Especially not a ridiculous letter like that. What kind of dork thinks philosophical drivel is their best opening move? Plus it would mean he figured out where I live, down to my exact apartment, which is creepy as hell."
"Shit," says Hoseok, his excitement changing to terror in an instant. "You're right, this guy knows where we live. Maybe he lives in our building! Fuck, we need to get more locks. Or should we call the police?"
They spend the next ten minutes trying to convince Hoseok not to get iron bars for their windows and biometric scanners for the keypad in the hall, and by the time he's calmed down he declares he doesn't want to think about the letter guy anymore and starts the drama without fanfare. Jin doesn't push it, but he sees Yoongi peek into his bag a few times with pinkened cheeks before he finally declares it time to study and marches back to his room.
It's a small step forward, but it's a step, so Jin strokes Hoseok's arm just the way he likes, which is another thing he's embarrassed to know, and hopes that someday soon both Yoongi and Namjoon will stop bothering him with their pining nonsense.