Chapter Text
Yoongi and Jungkook are dating.
This fact has turned Namjoon’s life on it’s head. It’s always there, ever present and he just can’t seem to escape it. Even now, the proof is right before his eyes, and it pulls at Namjoon’s heart. A cacophony of emotions sing out, only to be trapped behind closed lips as Namjoon has a front row seat to his friends’ displays of affection. It’s there, even as he gets ready to leave their dorm for a schedule packed day.
Namjoon watches as Jungkook smiles at Yoongi, leaning in to press a quick kiss to the corner of their hyung’s mouth. Yoongi’s face softens at the gesture and he tugs Jungkook in closer by their joined hands. A flash of pain curls up in Namjoon’s chest, ugly and burning, but he schools his face carefully blank. He yanks his eyes away from the pair in the doorway to focus on tying his shoes. He doesn’t want to look.
Namjoon should be happy for them. He wants to be happy for them, he really does, but he can’t. He just can’t and he hates himself for it.
It’s just so hard to watch them be happy with each other, the way they lean in and smile just for the two of them, and not just hurt. He wants that. He wants them . And he feels so fucking selfish. He shouldn’t be. Why can’t he just be supportive? The two most important people in his life were happy. Because that’s what Yoongi and Jungkook were. He loved all of his friends, but those two were special. Precious.
He’d kinda thought, maybe, somehow, there might have been something there over the last couple of months? The long hours of hanging out, just the three of them, it felt so comfortable, so natural, that he couldn’t help but get his hopes up.
But no.
There was something wrong with him. He was so selfish because it wasn’t just Jungkook or Yoongi. It was both of them. Yoongi who had gone from his rival to his partner, his steady companion for so many years, who’d seen him at his worst and his best, the only one who really knew, really understood the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow him. Jungkook who was so amazing and talented, who cared so much and worked so hard, who sometimes looked at him like he hung the stars and made Namjoon want to barrel through any obstacle in his way because he knew that Jungkook thought that he could.
He wanted both of them, but when they’d announced to the group a month ago that they had been dating, it became clear to Namjoon.
They didn’t love him. Not the way he loved them.
And he feels guilty because all this time, he’d been interrupting their time together. They’d probably wanted to be alone right? That was what couples did, but Namjoon had shoved his way in, intruded in their private spaces when they’d probably just wanted to spend time with each other, but no. They had to deal with him instead.
He was the worst.
He yanks on his shoelaces, tying them painfully tight, but when Seokjin shoots him a concerned glance he just summons a smile. He's gotten so good at that, all the fake smiles feeling more substantial than his real ones. Of course, Namjoon isn't sure when was the last time he smiled and it wasn't because he had to.
“Joon-ah, are you okay?” Seokjin’s voice is soft, gentle, barely audible over the cacophony of 5 other rowdy boys.
No. He is not okay. He’s hurting. He’s drowning.
But he can’t say that. Not to Seokjin. Not to anyone . So he just keeps smiling, because what else can he do? It stretches tightly across his face, digging into his cheeks and he begs for Seokjin to just let it go.
“I’m fine hyung. Just tired. But aren’t we all?”
He shoves himself up. Seokjin’s face flashes doubtful for a moment, but he gives in easily enough. Namjoon ruthlessly squashes the part of him that hurts at how quickly Seokjin let it go. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid . You don’t want him to know, Namjoon. Get yourself together, you have a job to do.
Namjoon steps out of the way to let Hoseok put on his shoes, and takes a second to check his phone, ignoring the fact that his eyes don’t focus right, and his hand trembles so badly it would have been impossible to read even if he could. He steps out of the way, tracking back into the kitchen, just to catch his breath.
It’s heavy. It’s rocks filling his lungs, piling on his shoulders, until all he can do is focus on standing.
And it's not just Yoongi and Jungkook that are weighing on him. He’s exhausted , it feels like lately he’s just running and running just to keep in the same place. And he can’t just keep in the same place, he needs to be moving ahead, further and further. The others deserve it, deserve the best leader, deserve, well, more than him, right?
He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up. Doesn’t know how many more times he can look in the mirror and see nothing but reasons to hate, flaws to fix or hide, and well, maybe too long wondering if the others saw what he saw. If Yoongi and Jungkook looked at him, and saw how ugly he was, how pathetic , if that’s why they didn’t want him.
Namjoon tries to shake the thoughts, focus on getting everyone out the door on time, but they gnaw away at the back of his mind, bound to leave him second guessing everything he does or says for the rest of the day. Week. Forever. He clenches a shaking hand around a coffee he probably shouldn’t be drinking, but he’s so fucking exhausted he needs it to function. It doesn’t matter that it’s the fifth (or sixth? Who’s counting anyway) coffee he’s had in the last 12 hours. Doesn’t matter that he’s not sure when he was able to sleep for more than an hour here or an hour there.
He steps back into the foyer and makes a quick headcount. 6. Shoes on, bags in hand. Looks like everyone is good, and he squints at his phone when it chimes. It takes a moment, but- Ah.
“The car is here guys.”
Namjoon looks at each of them to make sure they’ve got everything (And ignores the fact it's usually him who forgets things behind) looking over Seokjin, to Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok. If his gaze passes a little faster over Jungkook and Yoongi, making a swift pass as Namjoon heads to the door, it’s not like it's on purpose. It’s not like he doesn’t want to look at them. He swears.
Okay, Okay. Fine. He’ll admit it, he thinks bitterly as the group makes its way to the van waiting in front of the dorm. Maybe he’s been avoiding them. Maybe he goes to Hoseok when he gets stuck on a track and needs to bounce ideas off someone. Maybe he refuses to make eye contact when he feels Jungkook’s gaze on him. Maybe instead of seeking them out in Yoongi’s studio, because they always seemed to be in Yoongi’s studio, when he was stressed out of his mind and needed someone to pull him back down to earth, he just bottles it up inside until his eyes burn and he silently shakes, hidden under his covers in the middle of the night, alone.
Always alone.
It doesn’t matter how much Namjoon craves it, craves their company, the easy closeness they’d had, he can’t. It's awful, because they still treat him exactly the same as they had, never turn him away or make him feel like an outsider, but somehow that’s worse than them turning away. Because now Namjoon knows. They love each other more than they love Namjoon, he doesn’t understand why they don’t turn him away.
He watches quietly, unable to help himself from keeping count as they all pile into the van before Namjoon slides into the passenger seat. It takes three tries for his trembling fingers to latch his seatbelt, but well, Namjoon is on the side of clumsy even on a good day, and no one comments.
God he’s tired.
He tries to focus on the new emails waiting for him on his phone, but has to fight through a heartbeat that's bounding ahead of him, leaving him slightly breathless and a pulse that flashes in his vision.
It’s fine. Everything was fine. It has to be fine because Namjoon doesn’t have any other choice. He’ll be fine. He’ll be happy for them, he will. Tomorrow. He just needs one more eternal, sleepless night to wallow in self pity, then he’ll pick himself up he swears.
Jungkook’s laughter rises above the chatter, and Namjoon can’t help but savor the sound. He loves hearing that laugh. And If his ears are easily able to pick out Yoongi excitedly rambling to Seokjin about the game he’s been playing, well no one has to know. No one can know. Namjoon will keep this with him to his grave.
Namjoon raises his coffee to his lips, absentmindedly realizing it’s almost gone and mentally mapping out the next place he can get a refill. He’s got to work harder, be better. It’s so obvious right? He’s the leader. He should be more than this. He should know better than to let his feelings get in the way of his job.
But he struggles. And fights. He’s losing it, bit by bit, a shattered mess that’s being chipped away by every kiss and glance and touch that he can’t have. Brittle shards falling away as he looks at himself and sees failure, the feeling sweeping through and twisting his insides up until every fumbling attempt to unravel it just breaks him more.
He... kind of wants to die.
Namjoon’s fingers tighten on his, unfortunately empty, cup.
He shouldn’t think like that. He knows. He’s heard it all, it's a permanent solution, things get better, people will miss you, but none of it helps. It hurts right now . He’s so fucking exhausted, and he can’t stop. He doesn’t know how to stop, except in this one permanent step. And he knows if it was another person, he would stop at nothing to keep them from killing themselves.
But he’s not someone else. He’s just… Namjoon. Namjoon who’s kind of a dork, clumsy, a bit awkward. Namjoon who’s whole existence could be done better by one of the others. Rap? Dance? Singing? Looks? And what does Namjoon have? What, he can translate and keep track of their schedules. Namjoon’s never anybody's first choice, and he knows it. Has spent hours trying to reach perfection, only to feel like it gets farther away.
It always amounts to nothing.
He’s nothing.
“-Joonie hyung?”
Namjoon jolts back into awareness, feeling where his teeth have dug into his slightly chapped lips. He tries to relax, but adrenaline and caffeine leave him short of breath, heart hammering against his ribs.
“What?” Namjoon tries. “Sorry I was- uh-”
Namjoon can hear Jimin’s concerned voice. “I was asking what you wanted to do for dinner? It's your turn to pick.” A pause. “Are you okay, hyung?”
Namjoon bites his lip again, feeling his teeth catch on the dried skin.
“I’m fine, Jiminnie. Just a bit tired.” He tries to inject the smile he doesn’t feel into his voice. He can’t think about dinner right now. It's too far away, and he’s faintly nauseous, so he stalls.
“Um, actually does anyone have any chapstick?”
It’s Jungkook’s voice that pipes up from the backseat. “I do hyung!”
Of course. Namjoon doesn’t want to make it weird. They’ve all shared each other's chapstick before. There are (multiple) fancams of Namjoon and Jungkook specifically sharing chapstick. It's normal. It’s nothing.
Namjoon goes to turn for the chapstick, and his seatbelt jams. He huffs in frustration, and reaches down to undo his belt.
In between inhales, in the moment from his buckle unclicking to it hitting the door, there is a flash of red, screaming metal and-
Pain.
Everything is agony, the pain so pervasive that he’s not sure anything else exists. Does he exist? He feels for his body, but the pain presses down, consuming his every thought. Is he even breathing?
Actually, he’s not sure that he is. Inhale? He should inhale, he thinks dimly, but when he tries something gurgles in his throat, only a small trickle or air makes its way through. Pain flares across his face and down his neck, digging claws into his skin with every minute twitch. Fuck. Oh god, it hurts it hurts it hurts -
He tries to move.
Mistake.
It burns, washing over him, lightning hurtling through his bones, and he gags a moan around a mouthful of metal, a heavy taste that feels oddly familiar, but Namjoon can’t place it right now.
What was going on? Why did everything hurt. Fuck, it hurts so bad, someone please make it stop, he wants it to stop, he can’t- he can’t breathe-
Namjoon coughs up a mouthful of blood, that's right, that's what this is, and the movement tears him apart, sparking jolts of pain in so many places Namjoon doesn’t know where to start. He gurgles around the blood in his mouth, in his throat, feeling it bubble with every exhale, and just tries to keep breathing. That’s it. That’s all he can do right now.
Namjoon isn’t sure how long he’s lying there, because he’s pretty sure he’s laying on the ground at this point, before he hears it. Could be seconds, could be minutes, Namjoon’s whole existence dwindling down to agony and the fight for air.
“-hyung! Namjoon-hyung- Oh god -”
It comes in bits and snippets, but Namjoon can feel himself relax at that voice. He loves that voice.
Jungkook’s voice again. “- his throat- hyung, fuck, what d-do we-”
And then another voice this time “Joon-ah- hey, I’m here- f-fucking hell-”
And Namjoon can’t do anything other than breathe, or try to anyway, but something in him relaxes, even as pain ricochets through him. Yoongi is here. Jungkook is here. He wants to open his eyes, he wants to see them, but he’s tired. He hurts. Namjoon tries to inhale, and gags weakly, the barest hint of oxygen making its way through.
Oh.
He’s dying.
The thought isn’t scary at all, somehow. Namjoon relaxes further, his head lolling against the ground.
Then- agony. Something is pressing on his throat, fire racing in burning lines radiating from the contact, and he cant scream, but he wants to, it hurts it hurts it hurts-
“Hyung! He can’t- he cant breathe- fuck, fuckfuckfuck -”
Yoongi’s voice “I know- the bleeding- god dammit Joon-ah. Stay with us okay?”
There is fear and pain and terror in their voices and all Namjoon wants is to take it away from them, but he can’t. It’s okay, he wants to tell them. You’ll be okay. This is okay. I’m ready. Just let me go.
I’m tired. I don’t want to hurt anymore. It’s the truth in more ways than one.
Namjoon drags in a hint of air, and everything in him screams as he tears one eye open. Nothing resolves, red and blurry but he thinks he can make out faces leaning over him.
“Namjoon! Joonie hyung, stay. Please stay, don’t go, you- you can’t- you can’t go, okay? I don’t want you to go. J-just hold on. Please! Please. ” Jungkook’s voice cracks and gives out.
Namjoon wheezes, and the blood bubbles up around Yoongi’s fingers, where his hyung is frantically trying to stop the bleeding. Jungkook’s face swims into focus, and all Namjoon wants to do is wipe away the tears that drip from his face in fat drops. Jungkook’s eyes widen impossibly further when he notices Namjoon looking at him.
“Hyung?!”
Namjoon blinks slowly, and shifts his gaze to Yoongi. His hyung is pale, eyes blown wide, terror and resignation written across his face, clear even behind the trickle of blood that seeps down from a gash on his forehead.
He knows.
The grip on Namjoon’s throat loosens, and then Yoongi’s hand is gentle on his face.
“Joonie. It’s okay. We’re here. Hyung is here. I’ve g-got you.”
They do. Namjoon is so glad they are here. He’s exhausted, he doesn’t have much time, he knows. And he knows Yoongi knows, and all he wants to do is scoop his boys up and never let them go, because watching them fall apart like this is almost more painful than the agony that wracks his broken body, bones shattered and skin torn. But they’ll be okay. They have each other. They never needed him.
Jungkook’s terrified voice rises over the pain and the distant sound of shouting.
“Yoon- Yoongi hyung what are you doing?”
Namjoon wants to look at Jungkook, but his eye blinks closed, so heavy it might as well have been welded shut.
“No! No hyung, Joonie hyung, open your eyes. Please, j-just open your eyes. Don’t go, don’t don’t -”
“Jungkook-”
“No!”
“K-Kookie, It’s-”
“I said no!” Jungkook’s voice is raw, like each sound has been torn kicking and screaming from him. “Help him hyung-”
Namjoon’s breath gurgles in his throat, and he has the faint sensation of blood dripping out of his mouth, but everything is so far away. Behind his closed eyelids everything flashes, his family, his brothers, everything he’s done and had become thanks to them, the thing that had made life worth living, and Yoongi and Jungkook. His world, and everything he had ever wanted to tell them but had been too afraid to say, caught in his chest and too late.
It’s too late.
“It’s too l-late Kook-ah.”
Yoongi’s voice is soft.
“No, no !”
Everything seems so far away, and Namjoon sucks in a trickle of air. The world is fading, everything disappearing except for the voices above him and pain. And even that isn’t so bad any more.
I’m ready guys, he wants to say.
It's okay.
Hands on his face, stroking his hair.
“Joon-ah, it’s okay. Y-you can go. We’ve got you. It’s okay, sweetheart.” Yoongi’s voice is quiet, both galaxies away and so close Namjoon can feel it in his soul. He’d smile if he could. Sweetheart. How cute. He likes that.
Thank you.
I love you. Both of you. Take care of each other.
Jungkook sobs. “Hyungie, Namjoonie. I love you! W-we love you so, so so much. Please-”
Namjoon knows they don’t mean it in the way he does, but he wants to say it back. If only he could have said it back.
It’s too late now though.
And that’s okay.
He’s been ready for so long.
He's so tired.
He tries to breathe. But there isn’t anymore air.
A distant sound, his name, but everything is heavy, and the pain is almost gone.
I’m sorry.
I love you.
Namjoon’s eyes blink open as air rushes into his lungs.
“Hyung?”
A shattered crash, and then Namjoon blinks down at the broken cup of coffee that spreads across the floor of their kitchen. There’s air now, but there hadn’t been and now there was, and Namjoon still can’t breathe because its too fast and too much and what the fuck?
What the fuck?
His heart pounds against his ribs, lightning quick and almost painful, but not the same pain. He lifts trembling hands to his neck, only to be met with smooth, unblemished skin.
“Namjoon?!”
He still can’t get any air, even now that his airway is clear, and the phantom of the agony that had possessed him curls around him, leaving him weak and trembling, and his legs give in, sending him crashing to the floor. Coffee seeps into his pants, shards of ceramic digging in painfully.
He’d died.
He’d been dead , but now he wasn't, now he was here, and he doesn’t understand what happened, he was there and now he’s here and nothing makes any sense.
The panic settles into his stomach and suddenly the air is too much, it feels so heavy he can’t keep it in. It twists, and he gags over the lingering taste of blood in his mouth.
Hands are on his back, voices too loud, and he gags again, this time bringing up bile, and he can’t breathe again.
“Joon- Joon-ah, hold on, slow down.”
It’s Seokjin, his hyung crouched down beside him, eyes huge and concerned.
“Joonie, what happened?”
Namjoon can only stare at him mutely, the words trapped in his mouth.
I was dead.
I died.
Why aren’t I dead?
Confusion and disappointment and relief rage within him and he doesn’t know what to do or how to feel but then Seokjin’s hands are back on his back.
“Namjoon, hey- breathe with me? Slower. In- and out- in- yeah, that's good, good job Joonie.”
Namjoon is dizzy, the world spinning as he tries to focus on Seokjin, steadfastly ignoring how the others are crowded around him. He briefly makes eye contact with Jungkook, which causes him to flinch violently because he remembers Jungkook desperate and broken, begging him to stay and it hurts, and when he looks away he meets Yoongi’s gaze which isn’t any better, no matter how comforting he had been in what Namjoon had thought were his last moments.
Namjoon shudders and jams his eyes shut, panting harshly. His stomach heaves again, but nothing comes up when he gags.
Jimin comes in front of him, hand reaching out to brush away a tear that Namjoon has realized is running down his face.
“Namjoonie hyung? What happened? Are you okay?” His voice is high and alarmed.
Namjoon peels an eye open.
He’s not. He’s not okay.
He doesn’t understand what happened.
Had that been a hallucination?
It’d been so real. Was he losing his mind? He was. He was going crazy wasn’t he?
He shakily brings a hand to rub his chest where his heart hammers painfully.
“I- I- uh-”
He should say something shouldn’t he? He can only blink at Jimin and Seokjin. The word is still spinning slightly, but there is actually air now. He can breathe. You can breathe Namjoon, just breathe.
Seokjin’s hand is still rubbing his back soothingly, and Namjoon can help but lean into it.
“I- I don’t k-know-”
His heartbeat is slowing gradually, and his next breath is clearer. He stares at the others with wide eyes. How is he supposed to explain what had just happened? Could he even explain it? He doesn’t believe it himself, but it had felt- it was so real. Maybe he’d drifted off for a second? He was so exhausted he wouldn’t have been surprised.
Taehyung’s voice is gentle when he murmurs, “Was it a panic attack hyung? Or are you feeling sick? Do we need to call a doctor?”
And no. No doctor, it's all in his head, it was nothing, he was fine. He didn’t have time for this. Namjoon sucks in a breath, and lets it out shakily, trying to block out blood and pain and fear that feels tattooed behind his eyelids, branded on his soul.
“N-no.” Namjoon stutters, then clears his throat. “No, I’m okay.”
It’s stronger that time, and Namjoon tries to make himself believe it. “Too much coffee, I think. I just. Had a moment.”
Everyone stares at him doubtfully. Namjoon tries to smile, but his mouth tastes awful and he doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want them looking at him, and it's not very convincing. God, he was losing his mind wasn’t he?
Yoongi’s expression is serious when Namjoon manages to look at him. “Joon-ah, just how much coffee have you had?”
Namjoon pauses. Five? Six? He has no idea. It wasn’t the coffee he’s pretty sure. At least he thinks. He doesn’t know any more.
“Namjoon?” Yoongi’s voice is serious, and Namjoon doesn’t know what answer to give so he just shrugs helplessly.
“Lost track.”
Seokjin huffs out a breath. “Joonie, how’d you even sleep last night with that much caffeine in your system?”
He hadn’t. Namjoon brings a hand up to rub absently at his neck one more time, sure he was going to feel the blood bubbling up, but nothing. Seriously, what the fuck was going on. Maybe he really did just need to sleep, but it was so hard when he couldn’t shut his brain off, when it kept taunting him, when all he wanted was to be held, even though he knew he couldn’t have that. Didn’t deserve that.
His silence damns him.
“You didn’t sleep.”
Yoongi seems calm, but Namjoon has known him for too long to not catch the carefully hidden edge under the flatly stated question. Namjoon’s pulse quickens, and yeah, he can see his pulse again. He’s had way too much coffee. Fuck. He refuses to meet Yoongi’s eyes, shoving himself to his feet.
“I’m fine. W-we-”
Oh. He’s dizzy. He sways and Jimin and Seokjin both quickly catch him, propping him up until he feels a little more steady. Everyone steps closer, hands automatically rising and reaching out to grab for him, but he manages not to fall back down.
Jungkook’s eyes are wide and troubled. “Hyung, when’s the last time you slept?”
Namjoon peels his eyes open from where he hadn’t realized he’d closed them, and looks at the maknae helplessly. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. They didn’t have time for this, Namjoon didn’t have the time for this. He needed to keep moving, because if he stopped- if he stopped-
He can’t stop. He’s not good enough. He has to keep going because that’s all he can do at this point. That’s all he can give them. Everything. Namjoon isn’t sure that his everything is worth anything but that’s all he has. He’ll keep giving them everything for as long as they let him, because they deserve it. Because he loves them.
God he’s tired. Even in his own head he’s not making any sense.
When Namjoon blinks again, Jungkook has stepped around the mess of vomit and coffee on the floor, coming to stand in front of him. His voice trembles, and Namjoon barely manages to hold in a shudder at the naked concern. “Hyung?”
Fuck.
Namjoon doesn’t know what to say, and hates it. That’s kind of half of his job, knowing what to say, and he should- he should-
“I dunno…” It slips out without him realizing, and Jungkook inhales sharply. Namjoon doesn’t miss the concerned glances that get shot between everyone else, Taehyung’s eyes darkening and Hoseok frowning in concern. Jimin’s hands tighten on his arm, and Seokjin sighs. Yoongi speaks up, and Namjoon feels very small under his gaze, but the adrenaline is wearing off and Namjoon’s starting to feel distinctly floaty so maybe that’s part of it.
“Namjoon, you need to take better care of yourself. Go to bed, we’re cancelling practice for today.”
Namjoon gapes at him. What? No, no he needs to practice. Out of everyone he needs the practice. He has to keep up, he can’t drag them down. He wants to protest, but Seokjin and Jimin are already maneuvering him back to his room, and honestly, walking without falling over is taking all of his brain power. So he finds himself in his bed, Seokjin carefully tucking in the covers, and today was so messed up. Everything was weird and wrong, or maybe that was just him. Maybe he was just weird and wrong and losing his mind with visions of blood and death, but sleep is clawing at him, now that he’s actually stopped long enough for it to catch up. If he thinks too hard he swears he can still taste the blood in his mouth.
It had been so real.
There’s a hand stroking his hair, a soothing voice humming softly, and Namjoon can feel the bed shift as someone, or several someones, sit themselves on edge. It’s kinda nice to not be alone, he thinks. It’s so nice that he finds himself drifting off to sleep quicker than he’s done in weeks.
Later when he wakes up, he’ll have to find a way to let the others know that he’s fine. That they don’t need to worry, that he won’t drag them down. He can hold up his share. He can do his job. But that's a problem for future Namjoon. Right now he’s warm and comfy and not alone.
(He almost manages to write the incident off as a caffeine fueled hallucination, but on the news that night, there’s footage of a major traffic accident not far from the dorm. The image of a strangely familiar crumpled mess of a car leaves a vague panic in his gut he can’t shake, bright red and pain and blood flashing in front of his eyes. And he thinks. Was it real? He isn’t sure, but he can’t shake the feeling that there is one good way to find out.)