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The problem is—not the problem. The predicament? No, still too many negative implications.
The thing is, they didn't even have to be here. They have the clout these days to just refuse, cite the busy schedules of world-class idols and politely decline. But they're used to it, that's the thing, used to doing what they can for the company that's done so much for them, in which they are not-so-insignificantly invested in themselves.
So they all said yes, when several of Seoul's highest-profile investors begged for a special audience with the award-winning members of Bangtan Sonyeondan, all seven of them willingly sacrificing a Friday night that could have been spent playing video games, or going out to a movie, or sleeping.
At least they're getting to enjoy a private floor of a five-star restaurant. And meeting the three investors isn't that bad; yes, they're as entitled and conniving old stuffed shirts as expected, but rather than talk business they mostly just want autographs and selcas for, respectively, their teenage son and daughter, their wife, and an unnamed individual who Namjoon is 99% sure is actually the gray-haired, stolid corporate exec sitting before them himself.
Plus it's all seven of them, and additional businessmen or not that's always a good time. And with their schedules they don't get that many chances to go out, all of them together.
So that's all fine. These are old-school businessmen, though, for whom any meeting after four p.m. means alcohol, and refusing to share a drink doesn't so much give a bad impression as simply is not done. But the wine they've ordered, while a fine and pricey vintage, is way too dry for Taehyung, Namjoon knows after the first sip. And Hoseok has been building up his tolerance, but more than a glass of wine will still put him right to sleep.
That's okay, too; they've been maneuvering around the various preferences and tolerances of their members in regards to the cultural expectations of drinking since all of them became legal. By now it's as coordinated as any of their dance choreography, to casually and unnoticed swap glasses and pour between them, those who like to drinking for those who'd rather not. Socially lubricating sleight-of-hand to keep everyone happy, balancing the strengths and weaknesses of their team, as is second nature to all of them after so long.
Namjoon, watching this fine-dining choreo, is proud as usual, and then, as usual, slightly stressed about how egotistical it is to be proud of a team he's part of. One-seventh egotistical, perhaps?
The thing is, though, that tonight, Jimin, who usually would have claimed a good bottle of wine for himself, has a special dance practice tomorrow, and ever-so-courteously declines more than a single glass. And Yoongi's opted for whiskey instead, plus ever since his surgery he's been watching what he eats and drinks, and Namjoon isn't about to impinge on that hard-earned self-care just to amuse a few bored lords of capitalism.
But with Jungkook crammed down at the end of the table, too far away to subtly pass drinks to, and Seokjin too busy maintaining a vital stream of middle-aged puns to be sipping much wine, most of it is going in Namjoon's glass.
At least it is good wine. And Namjoon's always had a decent tolerance, thanks to not being a physical lightweight any more than a metaphorical one. He wouldn't be challenging his liver to a drinking contest with Jimin, but he can hold his own.
So yeah, it's not really a problem. Or even a predicament. Though he has lost track a bit of how many glasses he's actually put away, between all the toasting, and the eagerness of the businessmen to refill everyone's cups, and then his members surreptitiously topping off his from their own (Hoseok mutters an embarrassed thanks; Taehyung just gives him a cheeky wink). By the fourth course they've killed several bottles between them, at least.
By then the investors are shouting more than speaking, and laughing more than shouting, pounding on the table as Seokjin keeps the dad jokes flowing as freely as the booze. Taehyung is pounding the table back, but the businessmen haven't caught on that this imitation is more mocking than flattery. Namjoon goes to ask him to tone it down anyway, and that's when he realizes he may have miscalculated, when he turns his head too quickly and his vision and his cerebral cortex both take at least two seconds to catch up.
He blinks back streaky afterimages from the lights while he waits for his brain to stop sloshing in his skull. It feels like it's floating, bobbing gently on a dark sea of wine. That is...somewhat less than fine. They're supposed to be making a good impression; for all the laughter and admiring of their artistic skills, this dinner is about courting investment, and they have to prove their savvy as much as their talent. Getting gregariously tipsy shows trust and friendship; getting wasted is irresponsible. Double for him as the leader, however much in name only.
All's not lost, though; he's passing buzzed but he's not actually drunk yet. And the investors have downed enough wine themselves that they probably won't notice if he stops drinking his. Namjoon sits up in his seat, ignoring the lightheadedness, and opens his eyes a little wider. Pats his cheek to try to tell how flushed he is, then realizes that's obvious and puts his hand down again. He doesn't usually get that red anyhow.
No one's paying him much attention anyway. One of the many advantages of being seven, and he maybe the least interesting among them. They're all in pretty good moods, too; Taehyung's having an exuberant day, and Seokjin is going with the flow so gamely no one could guess how much he'd rather be home in his RJ pajamas. Hoseok and Jimin have been playing straight man to them all evening, laughing at their jokes and filling in the spaces between with stories and gossip, on just the right side of salacious for this audience. And Yoongi and Jungkook have been involved in some long ranging conversation comparing music and film production, which has pulled in all their businessmen guests at one point or another.
So Namjoon can trust them to carry on, while he just pretends like he's listening to what anyone's saying, nodding along and occasionally repeating a phrase or imitating a gesture to show his engagement. While inside he's running through a mental checklist of how sober do I look? Sitting up straight; eyes not too lidded but not too wide; voice not too loud—is it too loud? It's loud in here, they're always loud—where was he? Is he still sitting up straight enough? Or too straight, can't be too stiff—wait, how loudly did he laugh just now—
And this is why Namjoon doesn't like drinking to excess. Tipsy is fine, tipsy is great; with a bit of a buzz he still can keep track of all his mental lists, they just don't seem to matter quite as much. When he starts losing track, then it gets annoying. Yoongi had once observed, early on, that Namjoon was the only guy he'd met who got more uptight when drunk. Of course that was before he knew Namjoon well enough to realize his superpower was basically being the neurotic Hulk: he's always anxious. He just got even more anxious about looking anxious, so he tried not to do that, except when he forgot to.
Over time Namjoon's gotten better about not just looking but actually being less anxious, better at living in the present moment and not dwelling as much on past failure and future uncertainty. It maybe helps that all those past failures somehow have led to unbelievable present success. It helps even more to have examples of other ways to live, other ways to succeed, other definitions of success. Six other guideposts, six other stars to chart his future by.
—Shit, has anyone said anything funny just now, or is he smiling like an idiot at nothing? Is he still sitting up straight?
He's concentrating so hard on all this that when he gets thirsty, he doesn't even realize he picked up his wine glass instead of his water glass, until he's drained it. Then he stares down at the last deep red dregs, trying to remember how full the glass had been.
He watches his hand as he puts the empty glass back down, carefully. Not that anyone would actually think anything of him knocking over a wine glass or two, considering the havoc he can wreak totally sober. But still. Principle of the thing.
He leans back in his chair, carefully, not slumping over, but tilting his weighted head against the seat back. There's enough people speaking at once that it's hard to make out the words, but most of the voices around him are familiar. Music he knows like his own beats. Like his own heartbeat.
It's the last course, finally. The sweet sugar of the dessert and the bitterness of the black coffee mixed together make him queasy; he gets away with only a couple of bites of the cake, since they're always on a diet anyway, but makes himself drink the coffee. His eyelids have been getting heavier and he needs them to stay open, for just a bit longer.
Then there's goodbyes, thanks, congratulations. Something like that. Things boding well for the investment. Namjoon echoes what Jimin says, and Yoongi; he's not really following the words, but Jimin will have the manners, and Yoongi will have the sense, so it'll come out all right. His enunciation is fine; he's rapped when drunk before. Never on stage, obviously, but in the dorms, out at bars.
Not that he's drunk now, after the coffee and everything. Just, been a long night. He's tired.
The businessmen see themselves out first, and then it's just the seven of them. Not any quieter, even minus three, and Namjoon smiles to himself, hearing it. Then remembers he shouldn't be smiling at nothing. Then remembers it doesn't matter now anyway and keeps doing it, leaning his head back against the seat again and letting his eyes close, while he waits for the caffeine to kick in. Jungkook and Jin are arguing over the last piece of cake, Jimin and Hoseok are taking bets about that or something else, and Yoongi is whining about Taehyung trying to use him as a backrest when he's got his own chair.
"—Joonie? You okay with that, Namjoon-ah?"
Namjoon pries open his eyes, looks at Seokjin. His face is a worldwide blur, but Namjoon remembers in time not to squint. "Yeah," he says, "okay with me." He's pretty sure that's true; it usually is, when it's his members.
Seokjin nods and turns back to Jimin, says something about another ten minutes. Namjoon nods agreement, like he actually knows what he's confirming, and settles back to just listening, letting their familiar cacophony wash over him like the soothing crash of ocean waves.
Then Jungkook is saying, "Come on, Rapmon-hyung, they've chased off the last paparazzi, we gotta get going!"
He tosses Namjoon's jacket at him across the table. The slap of the jeans sleeve across his cheek jerks Namjoon to more alertness. "Thought it'd be ten minutes," he says, rubbing his cheek.
Jungkook scrunches his nose. "Yeah, took longer than they thought," and he turns back to Hoseok, who's got Jungkook's own jacket. Everyone else has gotten up from the table and headed out into the hall. Namjoon stretches, slings the jacket over his arm and gets up, too.
It proves a little tricky, when the table and the chair and himself all have legs, and none of them are quite where he expects them to be. But finally he's upright. Is pretty sure he's upright. The floor's not being especially cooperative, but he puts his hand on the table, palm flat. The table's horizontal, so to be vertical he just has to be perpendicular to it. Easy-peasy.
All's well until he reaches the end of the table. He should have had the whole being vertical thing worked out by then, but it's harder than it looks. Luckily after a few dangerous steps he stumbles into a wall—even better than the table; it's vertical already, so he just has to stay parallel to it. The floor carries on doing whatever it's doing under his feet, but the wall remains unmoved, even when Namjoon leans his shoulder and the side of his head against it, and Namjoon gives it a grateful pat, tells it, "Thanks."
Then giggles. "Yeah, I know you can't actually hear me," he whispers to it, and snickers again.
"Are you coming? What's so funny, hyung?" Jimin asks, bumping an elbow against his ribs.
"The wall," Namjoon tells him. "I'm letting it in on the joke."
Somehow Jimin doesn't find this funny, because he just blinks rather than joining in Namjoon's amusement. "Um, what?"
"See, it can't be let in," Namjoon tells him. "Because it's an inanimate object!" Unlike Jimin, the wall actually appreciates comedy and backs him completely. Even when he trips over his feet, when Jimin tries to pull him away from it. Namjoon braces himself against his sole supporter, in defiance of the floor and his member.
Jimin blinks again, then rocks back on his heels, his hands on his hips. He's smiling again, at least, if not actually laughing along. "Oh man, hyung, how drunk are you?"
"I'm not." Shaking his head that hard is something of a mistake. Fortunately there is still the wall. "Just a bit tipsy."
"Mm-hmm," Jimin says. He takes Namjoon's arm again, this time more carefully, hand under his elbow. He's no wall, but he is Jimin, which makes him the perfect height for Namjoon to put an arm over his shoulders. That makes walking a lot easier, not having to worry about which way is up or forward, when Jimin's got it.
"So, guys," Jimin calls ahead to the others milling in the hall, "slight complication, Namjoon-hyung is extremely...not drunk."
For some reason this non-announcement garners immediate interest, noisy conversations all muted as the other five turn to peer at them.
"I'm not," Namjoon confirms, when both Taehyung and Seokjin open their mouths at the same time. "Just tipsy." He demonstrates by taking a step away from Jimin, enough to start to tip over, before Jimin closes in again, wrapping an arm around his back. Namjoon leans against him and nods decisively, point made. "Tip—see?"
Even Seokjin just stares at him. Then turns to both Taehyung and Hoseok—a dizzying feat in itself, when they're standing on either side of him—and demands, "Just how much booze did you dump on this poor man?"
Hoseok looks guilty. "They kept insisting on refilling the glasses for every toast..."
Taehyung just wrinkles his nose. "They could've actually chosen a tasty wine!"
"It was like a million won a bottle!" Seokjin cries.
"And how many of those bottles ended up in Namjoon?"
"Guys," Namjoon says, "guys, it's okay, it's fine. I told you, I'm not instocksicated." Not quite....always was one of the harder ones. "Intoxistated?" Almost. "Intossicated." Close enough for jazz. Only Yoongi might know the English pronunciation well enough to tell. Maybe Jungkook now, too, with all the studying he's doing. But with the others he's golden.
Yoongi's definitely smirking a bit, as he steps forward. Though his voice is soft. "Care to prove it, Joon-ah?"
Namjoon frowns at him. Not fair, to go changing the subject out of nowhere. From whatever they'd been talking about. "Prove what?"
"That you're not drunk."
"Uh." Namjoon leans on Jimin and squints at Yoongi suspiciously. Then remembers not to squint, widening his eyes as he straightens up. That makes his vision double, though, Yoongi's face twinning before his eyes, twice the smirk. "Sure." He can do it. As long as Yoongi doesn't ask for something really challenging, like doing a headstand, or walking in a straight line.
Yoongi, though, probably realizing that Namjoon failing either of those tasks wouldn't actually prove anything, says instead, "Say the five cutest things about Jungkook."
"Eh, hyung?" Jungkook squeaks, abashed, to Yoongi.
Namjoon stares at Yoongi. "I can't do that."
"Aw, hyung," Jungkook sighs, forlorn, to Namjoon.
"I mean," Namjoon flails, "cutest by what metric? A mutually agreed-upon objective criteria? My personal subjective opinion? ARMY poll? How am I possibly supposed to choose—"
"Fine," Yoongi says, putting maximum exasperation in his voice, like that will somehow make up for how he's still grinning. "Just say any five cute things about Jungkook. You've got thirty seconds, go."
And here he thought Yoongi was going to make it hard! "His round eyes, how he always flops with his arms around two of us after a recording, the sound he makes when something's about to fall over, his seaweeding, that he's got all our names permanently tattooed on his skin," Namjoon says.
"Oh wow," says Jungkook. His eyes are extremely round and extra cute.
"Yep," Yoongi says, nodding firmly. Though he hasn't stopped grinning, for some reason. "So very not drunk."
"Told you!" Namjoon says triumphantly.
Jimin, with his arm still looped around Namjoon, contorts to kick Jungkook in the butt with the tip of his shoe. "Me, do me next!" he hisses.
Jungkook glowers at him and then beams at Namjoon, all bright eyes and bunny teeth. "Namjoon-hyung," he says, leaning in, "Prove it again? What are five cute things about Jimin-hyung?"
"His little baby pinky finger, hiding his face in our laps when he laughs, his squishable cheeks"—Namjoon pokes one to check—yep, still eminently squishy—then remembers he's only got thirty seconds and hurries on, "the way he's always standing in one of the ballet positions so that I think I've learned all of them by now, how he's strong enough that he can actually pick any of us up but he always wants us to pick him up instead."
"Aww! Hyung!" Jimin says with a happy wriggle, giving Namjoon a squeeze around the waist.
Both Taehyung and Hoseok open their mouths, but Seokjin interrupts, "Okay, I know drunk-Joon is an amazing toy, but even if we're skipping the noraebang, we do have to go home eventually," and he shepherds them down the hall. There's a stairway at the end but it's wide enough that Jimin can be on one side of Namjoon and Taehyung on the other, so they get to the bottom without incident.
In the foyer they pause to put on their jackets, except for Namjoon who just keeps holding his. It's a warm night and he's feeling flushed anyway. Besides, he has no idea where he'd even start with the jacket. It's got two whole sleeves to put on. That's at least a sleeve too many.
Seokjin says, "Ah, Namjoon, did you..." Then when Namjoon blinks at him, he sighs and shakes his head, says, "Okay, there's no way he's called a car for himself. Namjoon-ah, who do you want to drive home with, Taehyung or Hoseok?"
"Drive..." Something occurs to him. Namjoon frowns as he diligently tracks that thought down. "I didn't drive here—"
"—We know you didn't—"
"—I biked!" Namjoon is quite proud of himself for remembering. This pride lasts until they get outside and are actually looking at the bike locked on the rack. It's the lovely if slightly ridiculous pink one that Seokjin got him for his birthday. He doesn't get to ride it as much as he'd like, but it had already been dark enough when he'd left tonight that he'd been less worried about being spotted on it.
Looking at it now, though, it's a little worrisome. What with how it only has two wheels—two is a lot for jacket sleeves, but a little sparse for something you're expected to ride on. He's not even doing that great on two legs now, and they don't roll. "Umm, I don't know if I..."
"Yeah, no, you're not even going to try," Yoongi says definitively, with a glare at the maknae line, who have all gotten out their phones. "ARMY would kill us if we let you break your neck."
"We can't leave it here overnight," Seokjin says. "It was on V-Live, it'll never last."
"It's late to ask someone to come get it..."
"Well, it won't fit in the Lambo's trunk—"
An argument breaks out, but it's just squabbling, everyone's strident voices half a step away from giggling, not any conflict he'd have to intervene in. Namjoon puts his hands in his pockets, looks up instead.
Tipping his head back tips the rest of him back too, especially with his hands in his pockets, but there's a warm form behind him to keep him from actually falling. "Whatcha doing, Namjoon-hyung?" Taehyung says, laughing as he loops his arms around Namjoon's waist.
Namjoon nestles his head back against Taehyung's solid shoulder. Just the right height to keep looking up. "Looking for stars. It's a nice night. Clear."
"Mm, it is," Taehyung hums in his ear.
It's late enough that a lot of the lights in the local vicinity are off. Sadly not enough, and the ambient glow of Seoul turns everything overhead a caliginous, velvet maroon. Even when he squints he can't make out any stars. But the sky is always soothing, and in his dizziness it almost feels like he could fall up into it, if Taehyung let him go. It's a nice feeling, imagining how soft and welcoming that deep darkness would be.
"Hey guys," Taehyung says to the others, speaking loud enough for Namjoon to feel it vibrate in his chest. "Since it is a nice night, and the dorm's not far, why don't we just..."
That sparks another round of debate, until Hoseok says, "And you know the managers would have a fit if they found out we just went on our own," which decides it.
Next thing Namjoon knows, they're all walking down the sidewalk. He's sandwiched between Taehyung and Hoseok, who both gently hip-check him whenever his feet start to wander off-course. The sidewalk's trickier than a stage; it doesn't have any marks to keep to.
Taking the lead, Seokjin is walking the bicycle next to Yoongi, and after them are Jimin and Jungkook. It's an odd procession and pretty noticeable, even if they're all in hats and hoods and face masks or turned-up collars. Namjoon thinks he should probably have an opinion about this but can't figure out what it should be. It's pleasant walking; the night breeze is cooling his hot cheeks, slowing his spinning head.
Jimin turns to walk backwards, facing them. Under the street lanterns he's smiling, eyes and cheeks all happy curved shadows. "So, Namjoon-hyung—"
"Wait," Hoseok says and everyone goes quiet, just like when they're rehearsing a dance and Hoseok has a correction to make. "Just...isn't this kind of taking advantage of Namjoon, when he's like this?"
"No?"
"No."
"No!"
"Yes," Namjoon says cheerfully. There's a little pause, which gives him the chance to add, "It's great, I like it when you take advantage of me. 'Long as it's you guys. I like knowing what I can do for you."
"...Honestly, letting him come up with his own things to say right now is probably even worse than asking him stuff," Seokjin mutters.
"It's basically just what we do all the time in interviews and games and things anyway, isn't it?" Jungkook says. "Say something nice about the member to your right or whatever."
"That's different," Hoseok says. "There's no cameras now, this isn't for the fans."
"Seok-ah," Yoongi says, "look at it this way—if this afternoon, you'd walked into Namjoon's studio and sincerely asked him for five cute things about you—no cameras, no show, just for you—do you think he'd even hesitate?"
"No," Hoseok admits, and then, "Well, actually, knowing Namjoon..."
Yoongi snorts. "Okay, he'd probably ask for a few minutes to arrange them in a sonnet or something, with triples and literary allusions and maybe something in English you'd need translated. But the point stands."
"I guess..." Hoseok says. He still sounds doubtful and Namjoon wants to tell him it's okay, except he hasn't quite worked out what's wrong. Maybe he's not drunk but he's...not sober enough that hypotheticals are hard to follow.
Before he can figure it out, Jimin, still walking backwards in front of him, waves a hand before his eyes. "Namjoonie-hyung! Time for another test—you've got thirty seconds, name five cute things about our Taehyungie?"
That, now, is not hypothetical. And Taehyung, walking next to Namjoon, gets an excited little skip in his step that makes it even easier. "His Yeontan icon," Namjoon rattles off promptly, "his eyelids, that sexy snake thing he's started doing when he speaks English—"
"What, no fair!" Jimin pouts. "How come Tae gets a sexy-cute one?"
Namjoon blinks at him. "Should I do sexy things too?"
"Oh my god no!" squawks Seokjin, looking around back so fast the bike's front wheel swerves where he's holding the handlebars. "Cute is bad enough!"
"...Bad?"
"Good!" Jin yelps, as he's kicked by maknae-line shoes from three sides. "I meant good enough! Carry on!"
So Namjoon does, as Taehyung drops back to his side and takes his arm, tucking it into his elbow, "—that he deletes posts for the aesthetics, and his sleep cuddling as long as I don't have to be the pillow."
Jimin and Jungkook both clap. Taehyung pats Namjoon's arm and says seriously, "Thank you, hyung."
"You're welcome," Namjoon tells him.
"Now," and Taehyung grins wide, "do Seokjin-hyung!"
"No thank you!" Seokjin yells back over his shoulder.
"It's not for you, hyung!" Taehyung says back, expression gone too solemn again. "It's a test for Namjoon-hyung. And you don't have to listen."
"He totally will, though," Yoongi mumbles, only just loud enough for all of them to hear it.
"Come on, hyung," Taehyung tells Namjoon. "Five cute things about Jin-hyung."
Namjoon hesitates.
"...What?" Seokjin says, twisting the bike around to look back again. "Can't you come up with even five things for me?"
"No..."
"No?!"
"Of course there's lots more than five," Namjoon says, "but you shouldn't tell people things about themselves that they don't want to hear. Unless you need to tell them. But then it's got to be for them, not for you." It had taken him a long time to learn that lesson, and relearn it; he isn't just going to forget it because of a bottle of wine or three.
Seokjin sighs, so loud it can be heard down the sidewalk and probably a block away. "Fine," he says. "It's okay, I want it, just get on with it already. As long as there's at least five!"
It might be going over thirty seconds, so Namjoon gets them out as fast as he can, "His fake laugh when he tells a terrible pun, his real laugh when the pun is so terrible it actually cracks him up, his fingers, the time he spends thinking about what to give ARMY in our ments, all the extra dance practice he does for us."
"Ow," Seokjin says. "That hurts. That is physically painful. I hope you're all happy."
Namjoon stumbles. "It hurts?"
Taehyung and Hoseok on either side of him catch his arms before he trips, keep him steady. And Seokjin yelps like he just got pinched and says, "No, I'm fine, Joon-ah, that was great. You did great. Counted to five and everything."
Jimin skips forward to circle Seokjin and then falls back to squeeze between Namjoon and Taehyung and report, "His ears are bright red."
"They are not!"
"We can see them from back here, Jin-hyung," Hoseok says.
"Oh, can you, dear Hob-ah?" Seokjin says, voice going sticky-sweet in a way even Namjoon now can tell means nothing but trouble. "Well, and we can't forget about you, can we? Namjoon-ah, about Hoseok—"
"Don't," Hoseok says quietly.
"If I had to put up with—"
"Yoongi said it, didn't he?" Hoseok says, and there's no joking in his voice anymore. "If I want to hear that from Namjoon, I can just ask him while he's sober, when he'll actually remember it. I don't need to...make fun of him now, or whatever this is. And I know he's always a good sport about that, and I know he wouldn't actually mind this anyway; he'll just laugh about it too if we tell him later. But still...I don't need to."
The silence that falls after that is different. Heavier in a way that settles uncomfortably in the pit of Namjoon's stomach. It's his fault somehow so he should say something, but he can't think of what.
And he doesn't need to after all, because there are his members, always able to do whatever he can't. Jungkook doesn't usually like to be the one to break silences, but he doesn't like his hyungs upset even more. "That's not it," he says. "We're not making fun of Namjoon-hyung...well, maybe a bit? But only because we always do, with all of us. But that's not why."
"Why, then?" Hoseok is keeping his tone low too, not fighting but curious. "When you know you could just ask him whenever."
"We could..." Seokjin says.
"But it's not the same, quite," Jungkook says. "If he wasn't...I mean, it's not that I think Namjoon-hyung is being more honest now just 'cause he's drunk. Or that he's less honest with us when he's not. It's not like that. But it's still different. I dunno..."
"No, I get it," Jimin says. "I mean, yes, sometimes you want a few perfectly crafted stanzas about everything that makes you great as a human being—"
"—Most of the time," Taehyung puts in.
"—Okay, most of the time you want that. But sometimes it's fun to get it more...ex tempore?"
"You can see for yourself, Hob-ah..." Seokjin says.
Hoseok exhales, in that way that Namjoon and all of them know he's going along, even before he says, "All right, all right."
"Namjoon-ah!" Seokjin says, in his best MC's voice. Namjoon's pretty sure there's no camera, there'd be more lights here if there were; but he straightens up anyway, or attempts to, as Seokjin says, gesturing broadly with one hand as he keeps holding onto the bicycle with the other, "Five cute things about Hobi, if you please!"
Namjoon does please, very happily, not even taking a breath to get out, "His nose, the dance trance he goes into whenever he watches our performances, how he washes his socks in the hotel sink and lays out his clothes the night before, when he pretends to dance badly but can't actually, when he says he's afraid of everything though he actually can do anything."
There's a moment of silence again, but it's not so heavy, and then Hoseok says, as soft as Seokjin had been loud, "Oh."
"See?" Taehyung says.
Hoseok nods, loops his arm through Namjoon's and pats his hand. "Thanks, Namjoon-ah. Really."
"No problem," Namjoon says. "Anytime."
Hoseok chuckles. "Yeah, I know."
They walk a few more steps—or more? Namjoon's losing track. His feet seem to be getting clumsier, like the most frustrating dance practices, when the more times he goes over a sequence the worse he gets at it. He looks down, tries to focus on where he's putting them, but it's dark here and his vision's blurred anyway, everything soft and smeary, shadows swirling dizzily.
Over his head, Hoseok is saying, "So there's another one to go..."
"Oh, no," Yoongi says.
"Oh, yes," Seokjin replies. "You started this! Hoseok, proceed."
"Namjoon-ah," Hoseok says, and Namjoon pulls up his head to blink at him. The sudden motion makes him dizzier, but he can lean on Hoseok's arm as they walk, at least, trying to focus on the wavering pale blob of his face. "Tell us five cute things about Yoongi-hyung?"
At least it's an easy one. And his tongue rarely stumbles even when his feet do, so he should be able to manage this. Namjoon starts, "The face he makes when he doesn't want to be enjoying a hug as much as he's enjoying it, his blinking when he's finished answering a question, any time he talks about Holly, the way he smirks when he lowers the mic in the middle of his verse—I'm sorry, I really need to sit down."
Everything goes noisy and confusing for a moment, and then Namjoon's not walking anymore but sitting, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and the rough cement of the sidewalk curb under his butt. He stares fixedly down at the pavement, the pocked and pebbled charcoal gray of the asphalt between his shoes. Everything's still spinning, but not quite as fast. There's a hand rubbing his back, and someone else's hand is resting on the back of his neck, solid and cool enough that it has to be Yoongi's.
"Sorry, hyung," Namjoon gets out, "I'm sorry—"
"It's all right, Joon-ah," Yoongi says calmly. "How are you feeling? It's okay if you have to throw up."
Namjoon wrinkles his nose in disgust. "That's not okay." Even he winces at how whiny it comes out, but Yoongi just chuckles lowly, squeezes the back of his neck.
There's pelting footsteps and then a looming shadow throws the pavement into darkness, as Jungkook, panting lightly for breath, says, "Here, there was a vending machine right down the block, I got water and iced coffee and hot tea and a vitamin drink?"
A moment later a bottle of water is put in Namjoon's hands, plastic cold between his palms. The cap's already off, so he just has to lift it and sip until his stomach settles. "Sorry," he mutters. His cheeks are burning now more from mortification than nausea.
"No, we're sorry, hyung," Jimin says, sitting on the opposite side from Yoongi and still rubbing Namjoon's back between his shoulder blades. "Maybe walking so far was a bad idea. But we're almost to the dorm."
"The dorm?" The fuzzily familiar angles of the street around them finally register. But—they don't usually sleep at the dorm anymore, not unless they've all got to be up for something—"Shit, we have a morning schedule?" Namjoon launches himself to his feet as he racks his brain, trying to think, remember what he's forgetting, "Shit, what are we doing, I can't—" Except his brain isn't working any better than his feet; his mind's a muzzy blank, while his feet catch on the curb and nearly make him eat it.
Instead he faceplants on someone's chest, a more forgiving surface except for how his nose bangs into their collarbone. "Hyung, hyung, it's okay!" Jimin is smiling; it's loud in his voice as he wraps his arms around Namjoon to steady him. "No schedule, it's the weekend. We just thought it'd be fun to all crash at the dorm together tonight."
"For old times' sake," Seokjin adds. "So take it easy, Joon-ah. Just let the rest of us worry for once."
"Worry?" Namjoon blinks, tries to pry up his head from Jimin's shoulder to squint in concern in Seokjin's direction. "What're you worried about?"
"I can't imagine," Seokjin says, so dry it would make the Sahara dunes look like an oasis, and ruffles Namjoon's hair. "Now let's get home and put you to bed."
Bed sounds extremely nice right now, Namjoon admits. He's been (more-or-less) vertical for so long that he will really properly appreciate being horizontal. But there's no bed here, though, that he can see, so he needs to get there. Which involves something with his feet—holding onto Jimin for balance, he peers down at them, trying to figure out which one is supposed to move first.
Then Jungkook says, "Here, hyung, let me," and the world rocks over, swoops down and out. When Namjoon finally rallies enough to lift his head, he finds he's on Jungkook's back, jounced by his sturdy strides and clinging like some giant long-limbed koala.
The mental image makes him giggle, trying to muffle it by pressing his face to Jungkook's shoulder. Jungkook shifts and slows, adjusts his grip on Namjoon's thighs and says, "You okay back there, hyung?"
"M'okay," Namjoon confirms, then tries to lift his head again. "Where—"
There's a chorus of mumbled, "Here!"s from everywhere, front and back and to the sides, and Yoongi on his left clarifies, "We're all here, Joon-ah."
"Good," Namjoon says. He yawns and rests his head on Jungkook's shoulder. The rhythmic footsteps jostling his head make it hard to think, but after a moment something catches in the swirly goop Namjoon's brain seems to have melted down into. He should probably be worried about that, but the worry has dissolved into the goop with everything else, hard to pick out.
This sticks, though, snags. "Hyung? Yoongi-hyung?"
"Yeah, Joon-ah?"
"I'm really sorry."
"Sorry about what, Joon-ah?" Yoongi sounds patient, or amused, or patiently amused.
"I was supposed to do five and I only did four..."
Yoongi snorts, amused patience spilling over. "Of course you'd be keeping track of that."
"Yes? But I didn't..."
"Do the fifth now?" Taehyung suggests.
It's a smart idea, but—"It's past thirty seconds!" Time, like his thoughts, has gotten a little swirly, but Namjoon's almost positive it's been longer than that.
Yoongi laughs, the breathless helpless giggling that gapes open his mouth and squishes shut his eyes, even if Namjoon's at the wrong angle to see it. Finally he says, "It's okay, Joon-ah, really. I don't mind."
"You never mind, hyung," Namjoon mutters. "Even when you say you do, you don't, when it's us."
"Number five!" Taehyung says triumphantly, and he and Jimin applaud, golf-clap quiet in deference to the late hour and quiet neighborhood. "Perfect score, Namjoon-hyung, test passed, you're totally not drunk."
"Actually, not yet," Seokjin says. "We're still one member short..."
Namjoon frowns in confusion, trying to count, but Taehyung exclaims, "Oh, of course!" He claps his hands again once. "Okay—five cute things about Namjoon-hyung!"
"Umm..." It's hard, trying to trawl for thoughts in the sludge of his mind, when they're not floating right there on the surface to be scooped up. "My...my bonsai tree?"
"Ah, ah, no fair, Joon-ah!" Hoseok says. "You've been playing all this time, you have to give us a turn."
"And it's cute things," Jimin says, poking Jungkook in the side, "so you can't say thighs."
"I totally could say thighs," Jungkook counters, "but I don't have to because I'm going to say illegal dimples."
Jimin and Taehyung both gasp in harmonized protest. "How dare you! The dimples are communal property!"
"His Pokemon collection," Seokjin says over their outrage. "In the games or his binder, all the ones he wants to show off, it's so annoying that I know so many of them now, but still..."
"How far he'll go out of his way trying to take a picture of a neighborhood cat," Hoseok says, laughing.
"When we're on the red carpet and he has to answer all the long English questions and he grips our shoulders so hard and then apologizes afterwards, even though he doesn't need to," Taehyung says, and it sounds like he's smiling.
Yoongi is grinning, too. "Every time he just manages to stop himself from swearing when we're on camera."
"—Except in concerts, when he doesn't manage it at all."
"That's even cuter."
"Jimin-ssi, you're up!" Seokjin carols.
"I could just say when he's drunk," Jimin says, "—or not-drunk. And he is. But more than that—you were asking, Hobi-hyung, what's the difference now, and I was thinking...Namjoon-hyung's always got so many words and thoughts and ideas on his mind, all the time. But even now, when he doesn't have so many things in his head—we're all still right there. And that's so cute, isn't it?"
There's a general murmur of assent, but Namjoon is frowning. "That...that's six," he says. He's been counting on his fingers—that's the secret, when you're really tired, or really...other things, and numbers get slippery and prone to falling out of order.
Jimin laughs. "One to grow on, hyung!" he says, leaning over Jungkook to smack a kiss on Namjoon's cheek.
Namjoon's kissed cheek is cool where the night breeze wafts over it, his other cheek warm where it's nestled on Jungkook's shoulder. He can feel his smile in both of them. "But yeah, we're all here," he agrees. "Even me...I'm here. Mostly. I think." He's been trying to hold on, but it feels like more and more bits of him are floating off somewhere. Jungkook's walking pretty fast; it's hard for all of Namjoon to keep up. But that's not a problem. The rest of him will find the way.
"Mostly," Yoongi says, reassuringly.
"It's okay, hyung," Jungkook says. "Me and Taehyung have actually been recording most of this, so if you want to see it later—"
"You haven't!" Seokjin groans.
"You didn't notice?" Jimin says. "Maybe you should've passed that last glass of wine to Namjoon yourself, hyung..."
"Anyway it's only fair," Taehyung says. "It would be all out of balance, if we had this precious memory and Namjoon-hyung didn't."
"Precious," Seokjin groans again. "Remind me to never go out drinking with you lot again, if it's going to get this cheesy."
"Taking bets now that Jin-hyung is the next one to invite us out for a drink!" Hoseok says, laughing. And then they're all squabbling about the odds and conditions, and Namjoon yawns and shuts his eyes. Lets his heavy body settle on Jungkook's strong back, lets his light head drift up and up into the soft dark sky. Lets go, knowing there will be the bright bickering light of six stars to guide him home.