Chapter Text
~*~
As the last chord plays out, silence rings through the studio, hanging in the air between them. Hoseok’s visibly nervous, eyes flicking from Namjoon to the computer monitor and back, over and over again, seemingly searching for something.
The quiet lingers as Namjoon tries to gather his thoughts. To say anything that sounds even remotely intelligent, like he knows what he’s talking about. Like he’s Kim Namjoon, genius writer, producer and rapper of BTS.
When it comes to Hoseok, though, his brain’s first instinct is to short-circuit.
Predictably, the longer the lull in conversation remains, the more nervous Hoseok gets. His whole body is buzzing in his chair, feet tapping against the floor rapidly.
“It’s not polished yet,” Hoseok eventually blurts out, the words coming out in a rush. “Obviously I still need to layer the track and clean up the lyrics, and I still have to—God, I’m sorry I had you listen to this, Namjoon-ah, I should’ve fixed it up more before I even let you—“
“Hob-ah,” Namjoon interrupts him sternly, causing Hoseok to look back at him with those huge, kind and shining eyes Namjoon has never been able to look at directly. Regardless, he bravely soldiers on, tone soft, “It’s great. You really outdid yourself, it’s audible how much you stretched your own boundaries for this.”
After all, Hoseok’s been talking about the concept for Jack in the Box since he’d settled on a stage name. Up until now, he’s always refused to let any of them listen to any of the tracks he’s been whipping up for it, stressing that they weren’t good enough. Bullshit, in Namjoon’s professional opinion, but still — he’s oddly honoured that he’s finally allowed in on this.
“Really?” Hoseok huffs out a breath, but the lines of his shoulders rise up to his ears in acknowledgement, betraying how pleased he is.
“Really. You’re brilliant.” Namjoon lifts a hand, a valiant effort to rest his palm on Hoseok’s shoulders in reassurance, but it feels forced. Like something Hoseok doesn’t want from him.
Like something Namjoon doesn’t know how to give.
His hand does a quick detour from Hoseok’s body to his own, patting his own hair down instead of touching Hoseok reassuringly the way he wants to.
Leaning over, he hits the play button in Cubase, waiting for the beat to fill the room again. His fingers twitch, bopping his head to the beat. Hoseok seems to disappear into his chair again as Namjoon listens.
The 90’s hip-hop tune is so Hoseok that he feels a little choked up with it.
“It needs to be perfect,” Hoseok stresses, eyebrows furrowed. His voice is close to being drowned out by the music, his entire demeanour silent and withdrawn in that way he only gets when things really matter. “This is an important one, and it’s been… I’ve been…” He vaguely gestures around.
Namjoon nods, clicking to the next song without asking. This time the genre is wildly different, a rock sound filling the room. Hoseok’s eyes are huge in anticipation.
Halfway through, Namjoon says, very eloquently, “Wow.”
“Wow? What does that mean?”
“It means wow.” Namjoon rolls his eyes, mostly at himself, but backtracks when he notices the look on Hoseok’s face. Come on, Kim Namjoon. Try a little harder. “Sure, it could do with some polishing. The rhythm isn’t quite right in the bridge, and the English is a little off in one part. I could help with that, if you wanted —” At that, Hoseok nods emphatically. As if he doesn’t trust Namjoon’s praise without the necessary feedback he knows is always hiding around the corner. Still — “But the foundation of it is solid, and I can feel all that anger you’ve stored up just through the background track alone. It breathes you.”
Hoseok, as they know him. With the anger that Bangtan has been aware of since the very beginning, stored away in that tiny, wriggly body of his. To the world at large, however, it’s usually hidden behind whatever sunny exterior Hoseok thinks he should uphold. That he’s finally willing to pull off his mask and show this side of him to the world makes Namjoon proud in a way that he’s not sure he can ever voice.
The next track starts automatically. By now, Hoseok has progressed to gnawing on his nails nervously, eyes trained far away, and Namjoon really does think he’s brilliant, but he can’t bear to watch this any longer.
He knows this state very intimately. There’s no saving him.
Decisively, Namjoon hits pause and stands up.
“We need to get you out of here.” He clumsily pulls Hoseok up, tightly clutching his hand with don’t think about it, Namjoon, don’t think about it on repeat in his head, and drags him out of the studio. As the door slams shut behind them, he manoeuvres them to the elevators.
“Where are we going? I still need to finish —” Hoseok protests, but he lets himself be pushed into the elevator anyway.
“You need a change of scenery. Let’s go get a coffee.”
~*~
After Namjoon has dragged him all the way up to Hybe’s nineteenth floor and they’re both sipping on an iced Americano, they slowly make their way through the accompanying rooftop garden.
The green of the birches is soothing to Namjoon when his brain feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself, and he hopes that it will have a similar effect on Hoseok. He knows Hoseok’s studio is his safe haven, much like his own is to himself, but he also knows Hoseok’s perfectionism is both one of his best as well as his worst traits. Hoseok has a tendency to chip away at himself for the sake of his art until there’s nothing left, and when that happens, it’s up to the six of them to put him back together.
Now it’s up to just Namjoon, apparently.
“I’m never here,” Hoseok muses as he glances at a small group of trainees, all looking a bit worse for wear. The trainees stare back at them as they realise who’s walking past. Hoseok smiles at them politely before averting his gaze, training his eyes on his shoes.
“I know,” Namjoon says softly. “You never leave your studio, but you need a change of scenery to optimise your creative flow, Hob-ah, or you’re gonna drive yourself crazy.”
“I’m already c—“
A big monstera plant brushes them as they walk past. Hoseok yelps, pressing himself into Namjoon’s side.
“You okay?” he says, glancing to the side quickly, but Hoseok’s thoughts are clearly far away, as he seems to be checking his clothes for inconspicuous bugs. He doesn’t leave his position from Namjoon’s side, clutching to him nervously and curling himself around his torso.
Namjoon exhales, pinching his nose, and desperately tries to piece himself back together. Which is much harder than it should be, considering that…
Well, the thing is that Namjoon still can’t look Hoseok in the eye without wanting to perish.
Not being able to look at him isn’t new. Not with how awkward, how stunted the two of them used to be around each other. Still, the catalyst that made things infinitely more difficult occurred years ago now, at the BBMA’s, when Hoseok had been wriggling next to him in that leopard print shirt Namjoon can’t think about for too long, and Namjoon couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. His shirt had been draped across his small frame, just enough for Namjoon to see a sliver of skin between his arm and his sleeve, and he’d been flushed with alcohol and elation — a combination of things that already make Namjoon horny on a good day.
Catastrophically, Hoseok just wouldn’t stop moving around until his (gartered! Fuck, why were they wearing garters?) leg pressed into Namjoon’s thigh.
Hoseok had looked at him then, champagne glass raised to his lips, and Namjoon knew with a certainty that he had to avert his gaze before he did something that would ruin his entire life.
A big, horrible thought had followed, crawling up his throat. A thought he still can’t bear to repeat to himself.
Not now, not here. Maybe not ever.
It’s one of those ground rules he’s decided to stick to for many years now.
“Come on,” he says tightly, and gestures at a small, secluded table in the corner, finally untangling himself from Hoseok’s side. “We’re gonna sit by those ferns.”
Hoseok follows him obediently, sitting down, the ferns hiding them from view. He relaxes minutely, eyebrows dropping, and sucks on the straw.
Namjoon clears his throat.
“So, what’s the problem?” he says in, he hopes, the most casual tone he has ever said anything.
“It needs to be perfect,” Hoseok says. Namjoon suppresses a sigh.
“I know. You already said that. Usually you’re not in pieces over your perfectionism that badly, though, so what is it?”
“It’s not like the mixtape, Joon-ah. Everyone is watching. Waiting for me to fuck up.” Hoseok’s voice trembles.
“Ah.” Namjoon gets it. He does. There’s a reason he didn’t want to be the first to re-emerge in this next chapter of their lives — the pressure. He doesn’t think he could handle it. The world feels insurmountably heavy on his shoulders on a regular day as is.
Hoseok, though? He’s never doubted him for a single second.
“You’re not going to fuck up,” Namjoon insists. “Hob-ah, you’ve been planning this for almost a decade, and you know what you want to say. How to say it. This album is already the culmination of everything that you’ve been storing away all this time, and you’re not even finished with it yet.”
“But with Seokjin-hyung gone later this year, everyone’s waiting for me to do the solo debut thing, and if I fail, it’s only confirmation that Bangtan only works as a group. I’ll have ruined it not just for me, but for all of you too,” Hoseok says thinly. His lips are pursed, the plastic cup clutched in his hand so tightly Namjoon’s afraid he might spill everything.
“We do work exceptionally well as a group,” Namjoon concedes. “Which you could also consider a relief — you might be releasing a solo album, but you’re not doing all of it alone. We’re here, aren’t we?”
The reassurance clearly isn’t enough. Hoseok still stares at him, sipping from his drink in what might be the most stressed manner that is humanly possible. For just a small, tiny moment, Namjoon is overcome with the urge to grab the hand Hoseok has splayed out across the table, and never let go.
He settles for touching a single finger. The whole experience is so weird that he instantly wants to pull his hand away again, but after the most uncomfortable beat in the entire existence of the universe, Hoseok’s face breaks open, smiling at him in a way that makes Namjoon’s breath stutter in his throat.
It’s okay. He’s safe from judgement. No one can see them. No one that matters, anyway.
“You’re going to do great. You can’t not, you’re Jung Hoseok.” Mortifyingly, his praise leaves his lips in a way more earnest tone than he’d intended.
Namjoon would like to melt into the floor, now.
“Ugh,” Hoseok says, still smiling in that devastating way, and curiously, there’s a slight flush to his cheeks. “That did help. I feel better.”
And true enough, he does seem a little less frazzled than he did an hour ago.
Frankly, Namjoon would do anything to make sure Hoseok keeps looking at him like that.
~*~
The making of Indigo is a weird process for Namjoon.
It’s no secret that he’s always struggled balancing the public depiction of him that is RM with his own, private perception of who Kim Namjoon is. On top of that, everything he puts out has always been for the band first — but for the first time ever, it feels like he’s making something just for him. A project he wholeheartedly likes, for which he gets to decide on features he wants by himself without compromising on his vision for the sake of the greater mission that is Bangtan.
The whole thing doesn’t feel quite autobiographical or like him yet, despite him desperately wanting to. That probably has something do with the simple fact that he’s a little bit — fine, a lot — preoccupied with what the world expects of him and whether he can live up to it.
Still, for the first time ever, this album is meant to portray him, and him alone. Namjoon’s been feeling — and god, does he feel guilty for thinking this — stifled for so long now that it’s a huge relief to finally do something for himself, actually, and to be honest?
It’s led to him ignoring most Bangtan members for a little while.
He knows they can tell, that they’ve noticed he’s more silent than usual, that he’s declining their offers to go out for drinks. He loves them — so much — but he needs some time to be Namjoon, rather than RM, leader of BTS who has to lead by example and take care of everyone on top of it. For once, he wants to fuck up a little, away from their inquisitive eyes and questions about what his actions might mean for their future. To have a period of time where he doesn’t have to worry about everyone’s well-being at night.
About that, he naturally also feels very guilty. Now it’s his guilt and the responsibility keeping him up until sunrise. But what can he do? It’s what he needs right now, and for once he’s going to listen.
Weeks have passed since he’s last seen Hoseok, or any of the members for that matter. Namjoon’s been either cooped up in his studio or trying to live, to experience things. To fuck a non-famous friend he’s known for years, because why the hell not. To be present in his body, rather than being in his head about…
Anyways.
Namjoon’s just finishing up the lyrics of Yun’s chorus, repeating them into the mic line after line, when he hears a loud, deep rumbling noise from somewhere in the hallway. He closes out of the track, making sure to save his last changes, and gets up to peek his head around the door.
He doesn’t see anything except for Hoseok’s studio door being ajar. Upon closer inspection, the rumbling seems to come from his end of things directly.
Without a second thought Namjoon walks in, only to be met with Hoseok banging his head against the wall.
“Hey,” Namjoon starts, a chill running up his spine. The banging doesn’t let up. “Hob-ah.”
Nothing.
“Hoseok-ah. Stop.” Namjoon strides over and urgently grabs Hoseok by the wrist with both hands, pulling until they’re standing across from each other, entangled in their mutual distress. “You’re gonna hurt yourself. What’s wrong?”
Hoseok doesn’t even seem to register who he’s looking at, eyes frantically darting from left to right.
“Why did I think I could do this?” Hoseok bemoans.
“Do what?”
“This is a huge mistake, I — fuck, you shouldn’t have let me go first!” he cries out. His hands ball into fists against Namjoon’s chest as he tries to hit him, but Namjoon barely feels a thing, too worried about what’s in front of him. He’s familiar with Hoseok’s outbursts, but this one seems worse than usual.
He lets him get a few, admittedly weak, punches in before he decides that’s enough.
“Okay. No. Come on, off you go.”
Instinct takes over as Namjoon brings him back up to the nineteenth floor, and this time Namjoon refuses to give him his Americano — the last thing Hoseok needs is more caffeine to buzz him up. Instead, he gets him one of those sweet drinks Hoseok insists he doesn’t like but always nurses more happily than he ever drinks his coffee.
Armed with a pink bubbly drink and a bright purple straw, Namjoon sits him down by the now-familiar ferns, hiding him from view again.
“What is a huge mistake?” he asks once he’s seated across from him.
For a few moments, it remains quiet, until Hoseok all but screeches: “They asked me to headline Lollapalooza!”
Namjoon stares at him, bewildered. “But that’s a good —”
“I can’t do it,” Hoseok interrupts. Now that Namjoon’s looking, he notices his eyes are red-rimmed, and absolutely not, this won’t do.
“Yes, you can.”
“No, Joon-ah, you don’t understand. I can’t do it.” Hoseok’s voice is firm, self-doubt ringing through him in a way that Namjoon hasn’t seen in him since they were trainees. “There won’t be any of our fans there, and I will have to convince a massive field filled with people who aren’t familiar with us that my solo album is worth listening to, when I don’t even think it’s worth listening to. If it was the seven of us I would be scared as it is, but this — shit, this is a mess, Namjoon! No one’s going to stay, this is insane! Why do they think I’m the right person for this?”
“Because you are.” This time, he nudges Hoseok’s ankle with the tip of his boot, a little harder than he means to. Hoseok flinches, which Namjoon chooses to ignore. “You can do it all, remember? The way you dance puts all of us to shame. Your rap makes Jungkook combust on the spot, I’m pretty sure —”
“I’m pretty sure that when it comes to Jungkook the combusting is a Namjoon-exclusive,” Hoseok interrupts. Namjoon throws him his best, most piercing glare.
“Don’t deflect,” he says, which, yeah, is rich coming from him, but pot, kettle. “You have the best singing voice out of all of us rappers. Hell, I’m making an album full of features because I don’t feel like testing my vocal abilities this go-round. You’ve truly got it all, and you’re going to lure everyone in, and the second you’re on that stage you’re going to feel like you’re on top of the world.”
Hoseok stares at him, the only giveaway of his fragility the trembling of his bottom lip, but Namjoon isn’t done yet. “I’m serious, can you please start believing in yourself? I don’t mind doing it for you, but this entire process would be a lot more pleasant for both of us if you would just see yourself the way I do.”
“And that’s how?” Hoseok mumbles.
“As one of the brightest people I know, who can be the darkest when he’s not sure of himself, but always makes the best, most hard-hitting art out of it when he allows himself the space to,” Namjoon says softly.
Hoseok seems to have re-gathered a semblance of himself somewhere in the middle of Namjoon’s rant, but his neck is slowly turning red again, and he’s playing with his fingers in a way that betrays this is getting to him.
Interesting.
“No pressure?” he croaks out weakly.
Namjoon really doesn’t have anything to say to that. The pressure is immense. Both of them are highly aware of this.
They remain silent, looking at each other for a few moments, until Hoseok smiles heroically, perking up and taking another sip of his drink. The redness has spread to his cheeks by now. “And you’re the best lyricist we have, so how’s that album coming along, Joon-ah?”
They go back and forth on the process, detailing how far along Namjoon is compared to Hoseok. As it turns out, Hoseok is as good as done with Jack in the Box by now. He really doubled down on work the past few weeks during which Namjoon disappeared, already moving on to the next album that is set to be released while he’s on duty. The project will probably take over his entire second half of the year, but Namjoon isn’t far behind — Indigo is scheduled for late fall, after all.
Truthfully, at this point Namjoon has a solid plan for what the album should ultimately look like, but there’s something else tickling his brain, hiding below the surface, aching in places that Namjoon can’t reach. Like there’s more he has to say. More he wants to try. Things that don’t fit for now, but that he can’t quite let go of either, so all he can do is bury them instead.
He says as much, and Hoseok nods solemnly. “That’s what the second project is for me. A part of me I haven’t been able to show before, but feels like it’s always been there. Because it’s clear to me, and always has been, just not to anybody else, you know? There was no space for it before, but now we suddenly have the room to explore. And if not now, then when?”
“Yeah.” But Namjoon doesn’t have the same vision yet that Hoseok seems to have, or has had all this time — there’s just a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. Which is infuriating, because Indigo is good. He genuinely likes it so far. It shows how much he’s progressed since his first mixtape, and the execs and final producers seem to like it. He’s proud of it. He is.
It’s just not… Not all he wants to say. Somehow. But what it is he does want to say, he doesn’t know.
“Did you always? Know what you were gonna make?” he tries, and Hoseok looks at him contemplatively.
“Sort of. There’s always been a plan, at least, and I’ve stuck to it. But you know me, Joon-ah, it’s the J in me.”
“Actually, I’d say it’s the anxiety in you.”
“And what about the anxiety in you?” Hoseok parrots.
“Whatever,” he says very maturely, before getting up and gathering their napkins to throw away.
They walk through the gardens again, while Namjoon points out a few plants he also has at home. He thinks about his anxiety enough, thanks, the whole point of these conversations and coffee meetings is to lighten up and be seen by each other, exactly for who they are.
Or that’s what he wants for Hoseok, at least.
When they finally get ready to part ways after leaving the elevators, they’re both smiling stupidly. It’s embarrassing. Namjoon loves every second of it.
“Thank you,” Hoseok says earnestly, and Namjoon’s skin crawls with something he can’t quite name.
He shakes his head. “Don’t thank me for being around, it’s what we do.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Is it?” Namjoon can’t help but ask, not knowing what it is that he’s angling for, but an invisible, immovable force is making him say it anyway.
“It’s you being a lovely human being, Joonie,” Hoseok smiles widely and squeezes Namjoon’s bicep in an effortless, loving gesture that Namjoon vehemently envies, and also makes his lower body area stir in his pants.
“Oh, that. No big deal. Can’t help being perfect.” He means to pat Hoseok on the back, but cringes when he watches Hoseok wobble. Too much force. Again.
To Hoseok’s credit, his face doesn’t move at all. “Alright, well, I promised to call Jiminie. I have to get going.”
Which is. Sure. That’s fine. It’s not bothering him at all. Namjoon loves Jimin. Hoseok loves Jimin. It’s totally normal to go and leave Namjoon on his own because your ex-roommate is waiting for a call.
He’s not jealous of either of them, naturally. That would be completely ridiculous.
“Tell him I said hi,” Namjoon says, as brightly as he can physically manage. Hoseok affectionately slaps him on the butt before disappearing into his studio, though his step seems lighter than before as he does.
Maybe Namjoon should pen up some lyrics about the hardships of processing emotions. It seems like he could use the free therapy right now.
Once the door closes behind him, he leans against the wood. A deep, long-suffering sigh leaves his lips, and suddenly, another horrible thought forces itself on him like lightning.
The whole ‘needing some distance’ thing doesn’t exactly ring true where Hoseok is concerned.
That masochistic streak really does like to rear its ugly head sometimes, doesn’t it.
~*~
[Hob-ah, 13:50]
Can you meet me by the ferns in ten?
Namjoon almost drops the weights onto his feet as the notification comes in on his watch.
Without a second thought he puts the equipment back in its rightful place, grabs his towel and hurries to the changing room — where he promptly discovers he forgot to bring his spare shirt from the studio.
He doesn’t really care. Hoseok needs him.
Without taking a shower he stuffs his jeans into his sports bag — no use showing up in half a gym outfit — and before he knows it he’s jamming the button of the fourteenth floor impatiently and hauling himself to the nineteenth. Mortifyingly, he can smell the musty fabric of his shirt in the elevator — fuck polyester — and he knows with a certainty that his back is absolutely soaked. The fabric is sticking to him uncomfortably, and he knows he’s sweaty in general, let alone after working out, but fuck. This couldn’t wait.
Hoseok asked for him.
Hoseok never asks.
When he reaches the secluded corner, Hoseok is already sitting at their — their! — table, two black coffees waiting in front of him.
Black coffee. Warm, at that. That’s a bad sign.
Namjoon narrows his eyes. He notes distantly that Hoseok looks even paler than last time. The dark circles framing his face make him look more grim than Namjoon has ever seen him — if Hoseok could laugh about anything right now, Namjoon would gift him that The bags under my eyes are Prada coaster he’d seen on his cousin’s coffee table last week — and he can tell he’s lost weight by the way his already too-big-for-him tank is hanging off his torso.
Namjoon has always felt big next to him, but right now he feels like a monster, like he could engulf Hoseok entirely just by hovering over him.
Inappropriately, the visual reminds him of that night. How squirmy Hoseok had gotten. How small he had seemed on Namjoon’s thigh. How desperately Namjoon had been aching to pull him onto his lap fully and touch him until he stopped squirming and melted into Namjoon instead…
When Hoseok notices him, his eyes rake over Namjoon’s body, checking his attire. His eyes linger on Namjoon’s chest.
Fuck, did he sweat through the fabric there too?
“You needed me?” Namjoon quickly asks to divert his attention.
Hoseok blinks. “Huh?”
“You texted,” Namjoon reminds him, and Hoseok shakes his head furiously, like a dog shaking out his fur after a walk in the rain.
“Right. Uh. Sit down, please.” He waits for Namjoon to take a seat, until he asks, casually, “Did you just go to the gym?”
“No, I went to a fashion show,” Namjoon says flatly. Hoseok stares back at him, unamused. “Yes, and then you texted, so I came.”
“You could have taken a shower first, Namjoon, jesus.”
“I forgot my shirt, I would have needed to go all the way downstairs first, and just… Not the point, Hob-ah, you don’t look well.” Really, with how small he’s looking, Namjoon just wants to scoop him up and keep him safe. “Have you eaten?” he asks, and when Hoseok stares at him hollowly – “so, no?”
“Do I have time to eat when there’s so much to do?”
“You’re here with me now,” Namjoon points out against his better judgement. “You have time for that.”
“Because I’m losing my goddamn mind, Namjoon,” Hoseok snaps, and that.
Shit.
That’s been a while.
Hoseok is almost never the one to be angry with him. Yoongi, yes, they butt heads all the time, and it always ends up making both of them better. Jimin likes grating on his nerves, sure, and Seokjin has a tendency to be so over the top in his insults that they sometimes hit where he hadn’t meant them to, but Hoseok, as intimidating as he can be, is rarely the one to act out, instead choosing to retreat into himself until his mood has passed.
Namjoon can’t remember the last time Hoseok lashed out at him, actually. Maybe off-screen in Malta, when he kept losing the directions to their hotel on their way home, or when they lost the car keys, but that’s about it.
The hot cup of steaming coffee is slowly starting to make sense.
“What is it now?”
It comes out more impatient than he’d intended, and he cringes at himself, trying to soften the blow by looking at Hoseok as gently as he can, but Hoseok is evidently too stressed to pick up on his tone.
“Ugh. We’re trying to decide on a location for the album release party. I’m meeting the execs about it in two hours,” Hoseok breathes, drawing circles into the table with his fingernails, “And I’m trying to finalize the guest list, but it suddenly hit me that the entire industry will be there, and I’m leaving for Lolla, like, a week later, and it’s just…”
Hoseok’s words trail off as he visibly overheats — his hands flap at his face, and his entire aura gives off nervous, shaky baby bird that Namjoon needs to put back into his nest as soon as possible.
“Okay, how about we focus on the guest list first? Truthfully, the location of the whole thing doesn’t technically matter to anyone but you. It can be anywhere you want it to be. You’re the big boss here.”
Hoseok’s throat works visibly at “big boss”, while he flushes that shade of red Namjoon has become quietly addicted to at this point. Not that Namjoon didn’t know this, but Hoseok does seem to like that very much, the whole being in control thing. Being seen as someone who is in control.
Truthfully, that idea threatens to open a cabinet in a corner of Namjoon’s brain he’s been trying to keep locked up tight for the rest of forever.
“This night is all about you.” Namjoon doubts himself for a second, wondering whether he’s pushing his luck too far, but fuck it — “And it’s about time we get to celebrate you, instead of you helping me take care of everyone else, Hob-ah. You deserve this.”
That seems to fluster Hoseok even further, the delicious shade of red now almost burgundy. Usually that would make Namjoon want to poke around and do it again, but he has more important matters to attend to right now.
“Anywhere?” Hoseok asks, almost breathlessly. His hand is shaking around the coffee cup.
“Anywhere,” Namjoon reassures him. “All that matters is that it’s a place where you feel safe enough to put the work you toiled over for years in everyone else’s hands. Everything else comes second, no matter what our team tries to say.”
“A safe place,” Hoseok murmurs, though the concept seems to confuse him, and Namjoon gets it – he hasn’t felt safe anywhere in ages, really. Any place that isn’t his house, or the comfort of his studio, makes him feel fragile, observed. It’s not paranoid of him, is the worst part – after all, countless eyes are on them everywhere they go. Even now, their safe place is hidden behind a bunch of ferns.
“Safe by our standards,” he adds wryly, and that, finally, seems to make Hoseok smile, even if just a little.
The power Namjoon seems to have over him is starting to get to his head, but he can’t enjoy it. Not when Hoseok’s hand is still trembling, and Namjoon can feel his leg restlessly bouncing up and down beneath the table.
Namjoon clears his throat. “I’ll be right back.”
He walks to the barista, looking over the assorted goods, and quickly decides on a blueberry cupcake. He knows it’s Hoseok’s favourite as of late, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let Hoseok waste away like this just because he’s stressed over something Namjoon knows with a certainty he will absolutely ace, just like he always does.
Except when he returns, Hoseok is still idly scrolling through his phone, and doesn’t even look at the cupcake Namjoon deposits in front of him.
“Hoseok-ah. Eat,” Namjoon says seriously. Hoseok rolls his eyes, taking a perfunctory bite before setting it back down.
“What do you think of this place in Itaewon?” he asks, showing his screen to Namjoon.
“Trunk? The gay bar?” Namjoon quirks an eyebrow.
“You said anywhere I feel safe, didn’t you?” Hoseok’s voice is firm, as if he’s waiting for Namjoon to fight him on what his safest place should be.
Which he never would, especially not when it turns out to be this, just — “Okay, so maybe not anywhere. Are you sure you really want to make that grand a statement? You want the other big boss breathing down your neck until you leave for the military? Maybe even during?”
“... Fine. Maybe you’ve got a point,” Hoseok concedes, but then, perking up — “We could do the afterparty there with a select few, maybe. They’ve been struggling since the lockdowns, I want to help them where we can. Us going there with a bunch of people really could boost their business for a little while, they deserve it.”
And that, Namjoon envies. How even when it’s about him, when Hoseok is lost in his own head, he still thinks of others first.
Namjoon has been used to thinking of others first for over a decade now, but he's still not sure whether he could be that selfless.
Shaking his head, he tunes back into Hoseok’s rambling, watching as Hoseok talks about the club excitedly. His eyes are lighting up, hands flapping about — he has clearly circled back to the part where he enjoys organizing things and the joy of doing good for others is slowly returning to him.
All in all, the cogs in Hoseok’s brain are turning again, and Namjoon willingly lets himself get spun around with them.
~*~
Deciding to end this work day early after all that turmoil, Namjoon goes home rather than back to his studio. He’s done enough thinking for a whole week, truly.
The whole bike ride his mind flashes back to the cupcake, remaining untouched on Hoseok’s plate. It feels like it’s burning through Namjoon’s backpack, stored away safely. He’s not gonna be wasteful, even if Hoseok doesn’t fucking eat.
Namjoon is officially worried.
As he sinks down on his own couch he pulls his phone out of his pocket, texting the only person he can think of who won’t make fun of him or ask any intrusive follow-up questions to what he’s about to ask.
[Kim Namjoon, 14:47]
So, hypothetically, what can Hoseokie stomach when he’s stressed?
[Yoongi-hyung, 14:50]
Dunno, dude.
And then, not over a minute later:
[Yoongi-hyung, 14:51]
Jimin manages to feed him when he’s like this, ask him?
This brings him to two problems: first, nausea swirls in his gut just at the idea of asking a second person/not-Yoongi about this, and two, he absolutely cannot text Jimin specifically.
Not only does Namjoon not want to revisit the whole not-ever-jealousy ordeal from last time, but on top of that, he has been avoiding Jimin harder than he’s been avoiding any of the others, knowing that as soon as Jimin lays eyes on him, he’ll know what he’s hiding. Why he doesn’t want to see any of them. Jimin’s more perceptive than any of them when he wants to be, and Namjoon has never known how to escape his piercing gaze and all-knowing sensitivity to their emotions, especially not when he can barely hide his thoughts from himself.
Come to think of it, maybe that’s why Hoseok and Jimin seem to understand each other effortlessly – they both notice and act accordingly immediately.
Namjoon notices too, to be fair, but when there isn’t a direct leader task to follow it up with, he gets in his head about it. Feels whatever the atmosphere is, and lets it consume him.
He both loves and hates it about himself.
Either way —
[Kim Namjoon, 14:53]
Jimin doesn’t make the food, you and hyung do.
It’s a weak rebuttal, but it’s the only thing he can think to send. He’s frazzled, alright? Everything is hard.
[Yoongi-hyung, 14:55]
Fine.
Get him chicken stew, he’ll eat that eventually.
[Kim Namjoon, 14:56]
Thank you, hyung.
[Yoongi-hyung, 14:58]
Sure. Now go get your stew and leave me alone, Joon-ah.
Namjoon knows for sure, however, that Yoongi was smiling at his phone as he sent it.
Today his plan is obviously not going to come to fruition, not when Hoseok is meeting with the execs — or even after he’s done. Namjoon knows better than that. Hoseok will go home, pass out, or stomp around, just as grumpy as he has been for a much longer time than Namjoon is comfortable with.
And still, Namjoon would rather be around him than anyone else. Even if watching Hoseok think he’s not adequate has always been painful to Namjoon specifically.
As the night sky starts to creep in, he keeps thinking about that tiny, fragile smile on Hoseok’s sunken face, and realises, again, that Namjoon’s presence does seem to lighten something in him, no matter how brief.
It’s in that moment that Namjoon decides he will single-handedly make Hoseok’s insecurities disappear. No matter what it takes.
~*~
The next time they meet on the nineteenth floor, Namjoon has a premeditated scheme set up. After Hoseok confirmed he’d be there again at 2, he’d made sure to be there early for once in his life and asked the barista if they had a microwave, by any chance.
Now there’s a steaming bowl of chicken stew waiting on the table. Granted, he didn’t prepare it himself, though not by lack of trying — he’d really thought a simple chicken stew was within his range of cooking capabilities. After managing to boil his entire slow cooker dry and burn the chicken not one, but three times, Namjoon gave up and bought one from the beloved ahjussi around the corner instead.
Really, though.
The plan is foolproof.
Or so he thinks.
When Hoseok shows up, stalking through the tree pathway in a simple red tank that hangs off his frame and shows off his collarbones in a way that makes Namjoon want to cry, he’s forced to admit he might be the one fool this plan is not proofed for.
At least Hoseok is wearing one of his overly expressive hats to soften the blow, but even that has Namjoon hopelessly endeared. God, he’s embarrassing.
Namjoon uselessly stands beside the table, watching Hoseok come closer. Once his eyes stray from Hoseok’s neck back to his arms, and ugh, those slender hands, he finally notices Hoseok is holding a huge duffel bag he’s doing a god-awful job of hiding behind his back.
He’s also looking at Namjoon like the sun shines out of his ass, and Namjoon can’t take it anymore.
In his frustration, he moves forward, grabs Hoseok by the arm and drags him along to their table until they’re both standing next to it. From the corner of his eye, he thinks he can see someone duck away — but he quickly gets distracted as he notes that Hoseok seems flustered by the display of strength.
For the sake of his sanity, he chooses to ignore that piece of information.
First things first.
Silently, he shoves the bowl forward and offers Hoseok a spoon.
“What’s this?” Hoseok asks suspiciously, as if Namjoon is here to poison him, which is nothing short of ridiculous. If anything, Namjoon would poison people for him.
As such, Namjoon doesn’t say anything, simply gesturing at the bowl again.
“Yes, I know you brought me food, that’s very nice of you. Why…”
Namjoon still doesn’t even move his lips. It’s a new tactic. He’s not sure it’s going to work, but one thing is certain — Hoseok is not the only person in this building who is too stubborn for his own good.
“So you’re just not going to say a word until I eat?” Hoseok asks, catching on. Annoyed, he crosses his arms. The duffel bag hits the floor with a thud.
At that, Namjoon at least has the decency to nod.
Hoseok frowns, sniffing at the bowl, before sitting down. “Chicken stew?”
Namjoon nods again.
Tentatively, though not without glaring at Namjoon, Hoseok takes a bite. To Namjoon’s surprise, another one follows immediately after. His cute little ears perk up below his hat.
Namjoon sits down, watching him like a hawk, but the spoon doesn’t get put down. Hoseok finally delves in fully, making little humming noises that Namjoon wants to record and listen to for the rest of forever, happy little sound effects he didn’t realize he missed this much.
When the bowl is empty, Namjoon sighs in relief. “Thank you.”
“Oh, the caveman does speak?” Hoseok says, quirking an eyebrow, but he seems pleased, and Namjoon, in turn, is pleased that he seems sated for the first time in weeks.
Jesus, is this how Seokjin and Yoongi usually feel? How do they stay sane night after night?
After he’s put the spoon in the empty bowl and shoved it back to Namjoon’s side of the table, Hoseok reaches down, into the huge bag Namjoon had temporarily forgotten about.
Out comes a package wrapped in see-through plastic. In it is a huge signed album, with what is clearly KAWS’ signature design, and an image of Hoseok sitting on top of it. His signature shines on it proudly.
For Rap Monster, with love, Smile Hoya.
Namjoon opens the plastic with shaking hands.
“Everybody else also got a DM on Instagram, but I had to. You. We. You know?” Hoseok stammers as Namjoon stares at the invite that slides out of the signed album.
He has to blink twice, thrice, four times to make sure he reads it right.
The release party will take place on — the nineteenth floor?
Granted, the main event is in the auditorium, not quite their secret ferny hide-out, but it feels significant. Unless Namjoon is thinking too hard about this entire situation, of course… which, given his track record, is also highly likely.
Furtitively he glances at Hoseok, and now that he’s paying attention he can see the nerves on his face, the wobbly edges of his smile. The way his fingers drum against the table impatiently, even though he’s sunnily looking at Namjoon as if nothing’s amiss.
“You —” Namjoon starts.
Hoseok shrugs. “Yeah.”
“I’m… I’ll be there,” Namjoon says uselessly.
Hoseok beams.
~*~
At 3 am, Namjoon rings up that same friend from a few weeks ago as he finally leaves the Hybe building.
An hour later he’s fully getting his brains railed out, to the point that for just a few moments, he almost forgets about Hoseok’s collarbones, his elated smile and that damn signature.
Almost.
The invite is still stored away safely in Namjoon's backpack after all, carefully placed next to the bed he is currently perched on all fours on.
~*~
The day before the party, Hoseok is, predictably, a nervous wreck. Namjoon can tell just by brushing past him in the hallway.
They don’t even talk about it: it’s an unspoken agreement that they’ll meet at their table again at two, after Namjoon finishes his usual workout.
But around half past one, when Namjoon wants to climb off the seated overhead press, a huge, tattooed hand on his shoulder stops him from moving up.
“Looking good, hyung,” Jungkook grins widely, hovering over Namjoon wide-legged. When did that happen?
“Thanks,” Namjoon says, a bit impatient. “Can you move, I —”
“I was actually hoping you could spot me?” Jungkook asks, biting his lip ring like he always does when he’s nervous. Namjoon doesn’t think he has any reason to be nervous now — maybe it’s become a habit. “Mingyu left early, and there’s no one else in the gym right now.”
Which seems like a lie, to Namjoon — usually this is one of the most crowded hours on this floor. As he looks around, though, he realizes Jungkook’s right.
Fine, he’s not that shitty. Besides, there’s still time.
Except the workout takes much longer than he’d expected, with Jungkook cooing over him admirably every time he so much as moves a single muscle. It’s a problem, considering their activity.
As the clock inches closer to two, Namjoon is getting increasingly upset.
“Listen, Kook-ah, we do have to stop now. I’m meeting Hoseok in a bit, so I —”
He doesn’t realize he’s made a colossal mistake until he helps Jungkook put down the bar and watches him sit up straight again.
“You’re seeing Hobi-hyung?” Jungkook’s face instantly lights up with about 2932312 watts. “Cool, I wanted to see him before the party anyway, let’s go right now!”
Fuck.
It’s not that Namjoon thinks he has a claim on Hoseok, it’s just. This time they share has become sacred. No one has burst this bubble before, and he really doesn't want today to be the day that changes.
Or any day, for matter.
They manage to slip in a shower this time, thank god (any innocent bystanders would probably pass out if they saw Namjoon and Jungkook leaving the premises soaked in sweat), but they are, in fact, very late.
By the time they reach the table, Hoseok’s face is tense, and for a small second he sours even further when he lays eyes on Jungkook.
“Jaykay?” he asks, confused, but then smiles brightly. A little too brightly, actually. “Give me a hug!”
To Namjoon’s chagrin, Jungkook unceremoniously plops himself into Hoseok’s lap.
Namjoon’s never been able to do so.
He will never be able to do so. Not casually. Not like that.
“What are you doing here, baby?” Hoseok asks, running a gentle hand through Jungkook’s hair. Jungkook looks over at Namjoon gleefully, proceeding to point at his biceps.
“Joonie-hyung and I were at the gym together. He looked so hot doing those lifts, hyung, you should’ve been there,” Jungkook as he vaguely gestures at Namjoon’s, well, everything.
Over Jungkook’s head, Hoseok throws Namjoon a glance that almost looks betrayed.
Namjoon knows the feeling.
“Is that right? I believe you, both of you are so chesty. You’re just gonna have to show me next time,” Hoseok murmurs in a low voice that Namjoon will never be able to forget in his life. Jungkook giggles, but doesn’t follow up.
Silence falls on them as Hoseok takes a sip of his americano.
Namjoon isn’t sure what the protocol is, exactly. Starting their conversations the way they have been for the past few months feels wrong, with someone else present, but. Anything else is also not right.
“Are you ready for tomorrow, hyung?” Jungkook asks, and that’s one of those things Hoseok and Namjoon would now start to speak of in great depth, with Namjoon praising Hoseok to hell and back, but something tells him Hoseok wouldn’t appreciate that happening in front of Jungkook.
Namjoon quietly purses his lips.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” Hoseok says self-deprecatingly, then gestures at the staff who are already setting things up for tomorrow. “Wanna see the food we picked out, though?”
Jungkook nods enthusiastically. He allows Hoseok to gently push him off and direct him to the general area of the food.
“Let’s go and taste them. See you tomorrow, Joon-ah, okay?” Hoseok’s hand brushes over Namjoon’s nape as they walk away.
Namjoon stays there for a while by himself as a weird, ominous feeling buzzes through his veins.
~*~
Embarrassingly, Namjoon frets over his outfit as if he’s going on a first date. He immediately chides himself for it — what does he think is going to happen?
He settles for a casual, black ensemble that he knows makes him look good, but not embarrassingly so. Aside from whatever this thing with Hoseok is, he also hasn’t been at an industry event since… Well, he doesn’t want to think about when the last time was, really.
The members are all meeting him in the Hybe dressing rooms, giving him a little bit of respite on his way there. Yoongi let them know earlier he has a fever and won’t be able to make it, and Namjoon doesn’t know whether he’s grateful about being able to avoid his sharp tongue, considering the things Namjoon has let slip lately, or if he’s disappointed he doesn’t have his safety net.
Probably both.
The cab ride to Hybe follows a road he’s taken a million times, but feels completely different now. Time seems to be slow-moving, and he feels like he’s in an alternate reality as he steps into the elevator with three guests he doesn’t know, at least not at first glance.
He smiles at them weakly.
In the dressing room, Namjoon goes and stands next to Seokjin, who has a vaguely pale sheen over him, as if he's about to throw up at having to meet new people. Namjoon tries not to pay too much attention to the rest of the members, and to not scoop up Hoseok into his arms, who looks like he's about to vibrate out of his skin — until Jimin mentions he'll be nervous for him instead, throwing an arm around him.
Namjoon proceeds to not look. It's fine.
After all, tonight isn’t about him. Tonight is about celebrating Hoseok. Tonight, if anything, is the culmination of everything they’ve been talking about for the past few months.
A long while after Hoseok's already left to check out the premises, the rest of them finally make their way up. The elevators open with a ding, and Namjoon takes a deep, rattling breath before stepping out and joining the bustling crowd.
Time to be RM again.