Work Text:
It’s utter mayhem.
Seokjin, stationed at the kitchen, can clearly see what the other six are up to. Taehyung, despite being on vacuuming duty, was wearing an apron and oven mitts for some reason, as he dragged the vacuum across their velvet chaise lounge. Jeongguk and Namjoon couldn’t agree on who was to be in charge of the music, so they were bickering over the speaker. The rest were cleaning out their clothes, tossing their unwanted garments into the hallway and creating a pile about the height of Seokjin’s chest.
“Wait, is this the maybe pile or the throw away pile?” Jimin yells urgently to Yoongi, who simply shrugs, causing Jimin to curse and fall to his knees, forced to trawl through the now-categoryless pile.
So, basically, quarantine spring cleaning in the BTS household is coming along nicely, all things considered.
At least they agreed to do it. That in itself is something. Seokjin tries to latch on to the fleeting happiness he had experienced an hour ago when he had proposed the idea on their group chat to resounding consensus. It’s slipping away, transforming into a mix of amusement and frustration, as he watches his fumbling bandmates. He prides himself on being the most proficient in domestic activities, but functionally, it isn't very good for the state of their house.
A resigned Namjoon approaches Seokjin with defeat in his slouched posture, as Jeongguk begins blasting Drake from his Cooky speaker. “This was a good idea,” he says, more to himself than to Seokjin, leaning against the kitchen counter next to him. “Good for us.”
Seokjin just hums in response. “What are you going to do now, if you’re done with your room?”
“Not quite done yet. I’m probably going to help Hobi polish the trophies first, though.”
“Ah damn, I kind of wanted to do the trophies. If both of you are doing it, you probably won’t need any help, huh?” Seokjin murmurs, scrunching his face in disappointment. Namjoon is quick to start shaking his head.
“No, go ahead! We can swap. You’re on kitchen duty?” Namjoon asks, turning around to face the sink and oven, which Seokjin had been in the midst of scrubbing down in his bright yellow rubber gloves. “Super… fun.”
Seokjin opens his mouth to protest, knowing full well how much Namjoon hates existing within the 5-foot radius of an oven, let alone having to get all up in one in order to scrub it clean. But Namjoon cuts him off before he can speak, tugging off Seokjin’s gloves. “Seriously, I’m all for it. Go ahead.”
With a grateful grin, Seokjin sets off towards the trophies.
-
Namjoon and Taehyung had a pleasantly robotic system going in the cleaning of their coffee-stained mugs. Taehyung would pluck a mug from the cabinet and sprinkle on the baking soda, then Namjoon would spritz on the vinegar — a little one-two combo that Mr. Google had instructed him to carry out — and they’d lay them on a metal rack to do the work. They’d fallen into a comfortable silence, focused on the routine.
Quite out of the blue, Taehyung turns around towards the rest of them, holding out a mug. It’s an unassuming thing, a cartoon baby dinosaur design on it along with tiny English words, printed in a white font. Rather bulky, but not overly so. Decidedly basic.
“Whose mug is this?” he demands over the music and the ruckus. “I never see anybody use it! If we don’t want it, let’s toss it.” Namjoon doesn’t look up from the mugs he’s working on— he’s gotten rather invested and doesn’t want to lose his focus.
Jeongguk, Jimin, and Yoongi, scattered around the living space with wet rags, thoroughly wiping down every surface, make their way over to Tae to inspect the mug. “This is funny,” Jeongguk giggles, reading the dinosour-related pun on the mug printed next to the little dino cartoon, “This says Lickolottapus. That’s so dirty.”
Namjoon whips around upon realising exactly what mug Taehyung is holding. He is intimately acquainted with that mug. That mug is his— although, it hadn’t seen the light of day in almost two years.
“Oh, that mug.”
“It’s yours?” Jeongguk holds it out. “Do you want to keep it?”
Namjoon scratches the back of his head, cringing. “It’s a little complicated.”
“What’s so complicated about a mug?”
Just then, Hoseok and Seokjin waltz out of the room with all the trophies. “I hear there’s mug-related drama,” says Hoseok, cracking his neck and knuckles. “Time to wrestle!”
Namjoon pipes up when he sees the other party who is sure to recognise the mug as well. “Seokjin, look, it’s our sex mug!”
Jeongguk immediately drops the mug with a shriek. Thankfully, it’s not a far drop to the kitchen counter, and it doesn’t shatter— it makes a loud sound, and Namjoon yelps, reaching out to make sure it’s unscathed. “What the fuck?” Yoongi exclaims, disgusted and yet smiling amusedly, “Your sex mug?”
With an embarrassed wave of his hand, Seokjin rushes forward. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just the mug that Namjoon and I used for sex when were still dating.”
“What, like, into it?” Jimin asks, eyes wide and mouth agape, disgust etched on his face. “Gross, gross, gross!”
“Of course not into it,” Namjoon clarifies, “It was just difficult to, you know, do stuff with everyone around all the time. So when one of us left the mug on the kitchen counter, it was code that we were in the mood.”
Seokjin sticks a cheeky tongue out. “Yeah, when Lickolottapus was out, it was time to lick a lot of—”
“Stop!” Tae interjects, “That was nearly two years ago, why is it still around? Let’s throw it away. It’s not like you guys still use it, right?”
“Right!” the hyungnim and leader exclaim in unison.
“Wrong. I definitely saw that mug on the kitchen counter last week.”
All eyes turn to Hoseok. There’s a moment of silence. “You… what?”
“I saw that there mug, here, on this very kitchen counter, last week. Right here.” Hoseok taps the surface of the counter, over-pronouncing each word, a smirk growing on his face. Soon enough, all the other members are smirking at the two of them like the bunch of imps they are. Seokjin looks at Namjoon, who looks back at him, and Seokjin starts shaking his head wildly.
“Listen, there’s no way you saw the mug, there’s just no way—”
“It was me!” Namjoon exclaims. “I put the mug out. Me. I did.”
Jimin and Yoongi are smiling open-mouthed like they’re watching the most interesting k-drama ever and meanwhile, Seokjin wants to curl up and die. “Oh my god, you two are fucking again!”
“We are not! Nothing happened. Nothing happened, okay? Now I’m going to go finish cleaning up my room. If you’ll excuse me, you meddling assholes!” He flips them off with both of his hands as he heads deeper into the house and towards his room.
Seokjin can’t help but watch as he walks away, a mess of emotions settling in the pit of his stomach. The rest of the boys needle Seokjin a little more but they can sense that maybe it’s time to leave the topic for now— after all, Namjoon said that nothing happened, and it’s not like it’s their business anyway. Seokjin stands immobile in the kitchen, staring at the closed door of Namjoon’s room, wondering why Namjoon would lie for him like that.
Because Namjoon didn’t put out the mug— Seokjin did.
-
Seokjin creaks open the door to Namjoon’s room slowly. “Hey, can I come in?” he asks. Namjoon is sitting on his bed, his figurines next to him as he wipes them down. The smell of isopropyl alcohol is heavy in the air as he disinfects them carefully, and he waves Seokjin in. He stands by the door with his hands behind his back.
“So, obviously I put the mug out.”
“It’s fine, we don’t have to talk about it. Seriously.” Namjoon keeps wiping at his toys, pressing his lips together, his voice light and casual, almost as if they’re talking about the weather. “No biggie.”
“Yeah. Sure, we don’t have to.” Seokjin turns, hand on the door handle and about to leave, before pausing and turning right back around. “Don’t you want to know why I put it out?”
“Seriously, Seokjinnie, we don’t have to make it a whole thing. Nothing happened— I didn’t even see that it was out.”
Seokjin just nods frantically, forcing a smile onto his face. “Okay. Yeah, no biggie. Whatever.” He stands there for another few seconds, his gaze locked with Namjoon’s. They find themselves like this a lot. Sharing secret glances of warm familiarity, looking at each other in the same way they used to when things were different, when the nature of them was vastly different. Namjoon toys with his lower lip and runs a hand through his hair, and Seokjin wishes one of them knew what to say.
But neither of them do. So Seokjin turns to leave, those feelings in his stomach not ameliorated whatsoever.
-
The minute hand of Namjoon's clock has barely made a semicircle when Seokjin bursts into Namjoon’s room again, to see Namjoon organising his closet with Post Malone blasting in the background. “I’m just going to tell you why I put it out, okay?” Seokjin blurts out, willing his ears to please not go red.
Namjoon just looks, waiting. Just waiting. Almost as if he’d been expecting Jin.
“It was the day stylist-nim dyed your hair back into silver and you know how I feel about you with silver hair, Joonie.” Seokjin starts pacing around the room, embarrassed and vulnerable. “It was a moment of weakness, and you were wearing that fucking black turtleneck and I haven’t gotten laid in months, Namjoon, we’ve just been so busy and… and…”
It’s no use. Seokjin’s red all the way up his neck, it’s heating up his cheeks, and he squeezes his eyes shut, grimacing. “It’s fine,” Namjoon says with a chuckle. “Like I said, it’s honestly fine.”
“But Namjoon,” Seokjin says weakly, “is there anything I do that makes you want to put the mug out?”
They’re both still for a moment. Namjoon shrugs. “Not really. That’s not really how I work.”
Seokjin straightens his back indignantly, locking his jaw. Ouch. “Fine.” His bruised ego shines through in the tone of his voice, and Namjoon’s expression softens when he realises he’d hurt Seokjin.
“Wait, Jinnie—”
“No, it’s fine. You said what you said.”
Seokjin opens the door and walks out, closing the door hard. The members in the living room notice, their heads snapping up to see who’d slammed the door so angrily, surprised to see that it was Jin. “You okay, hyung?” Jimin asks instinctively, but Seokjin’s a little too overwhelmed to speak. He mumbles something vague about wanting to take a nap and locks himself in his room to ruminate on the dickishness of his ex in peace.
-
“Jin.”
Seokjin is being shaken awake from his angry nap, a familiar large, warm hand spread across his bare shoulder, exposed by the oversized black muscle tank he’s wearing. “Wha-huh?” he says, very eloquently, sitting up, “What’s wrong? Is something happening?” His hyung instincts have been activated and he shakes the sleepiness from his eyes.
It’s just Namjoon though, standing up by Seokjin’s bed with gritted teeth. “Do you really think I’ve never thought about putting the mug out, you doofus?”
“I…” Seokjin trails off, voice still metallic from sleep as he rubs his eyes. “I mean, you said so. That’s what you said.”
“Are you kidding me, dude?” Namjoon laughs bitterly, “You’re constantly walking around shirtless in your grey sweats with no underwear, and you’ve been wearing your hair pushed back lately and oh yeah, you started wearing your Fenty lip gloss again, don’t think I haven’t noticed!” Seokjin opens his mouth to say something, but Namjoon’s on a roll now, and he’s not stopping. “I live across the hall from my fucking gorgeous ex-boyfriend, and god, sometimes you walk out of the shower with your wet hair and that towel around your hips and all I can fuckin’ think about is when we used to take those 2-hour showers together. Remember those?”
Oh, Seokjin remembers those. Graphically. He nods with a barely-concealed smile of victory.
“And all I wanna do is rip that fucking towel off your fucking hips. You drive me crazy, Seokjin, so yes. Yes, I have thought about putting the mug out.”
Seokjin squints, standing up. He’s shorter than Namjoon by a few centimetres but he’s feeling pretty big right now, as he stares Namjoon down. “Admit it, Kim Namjoon. You’re thinking about putting the mug out right now, aren’t you?”
Defiantly, Namjoon scoffs, placing an offended hand over his chest. “You wish, Kim Seokjin.”
“You totally are! You want to put it out so bad.”
Namjoon takes a bold step forward, closing the gap between them so their noses are just a few inches away from touching. “You want to put it out so bad. Say it. Say it, Jin.”
God, Namjoon’s beautiful up close like this. Seokjin had forgotten how beautiful he is up close like this.Namjoon can feel Seokjin's cool, perpetually minty breath fan across his face as he speaks, barely a whisper in the hollow silence of the room. “I don't not want to put it out.”
He's close enough that if Seokjin just tilts his head a little more like Namjoon is doing, leans forward just a touch more, pouts his lips just a millimetre more…
“Taehyung!” someone screeches in the living room. “We have a separate drawer for knives for a reason! Why is there a knife in the spoons and forks drawer!”
Namjoon and Seokjin turn towards the door instinctively. “I'll deal with it,” Namjoon says in his BTS’ leader RM voice, low and professional. “You, uh. Go back to sleep. Sorry I bothered you.”
“Namjoon-ah—” he starts, but Namjoon's already walking out of his room purposefully, demanding to know what they're arguing about, in that authoritative way that only Namjoon can pull off. Seokjin plops back onto the bed. “Shit.”
-
Their relationship was a whirlwind. It had sucked them in wholly, completely— like fireworks, they shined brightly, stunning everybody around them with their strength, the blinding beauty of their love. But just like fireworks, they fizzled out. The agency got involved, issuing warning after warning, and they promised each other they would fight it.
But their careers got in the way. The nights Seokjin used to spend in Namjoon’s studio, talking late into the night and cuddling on the couch, became nights he was told he had to spend with his vocal coach, or nights he was made to spend planning their trips to LA with the management team. The days Namjoon used to bring Seokjin to Olympic Park to take walks in the greenery became days Namjoon went to Olympic Park by himself because he ‘just needed to be alone’, or afternoons he and Yoongi would utilise to write their new album. Their life together stopped being viable, because it was deemed a roadblock.
It wasn’t a bitter ending. It was the inevitable falling action of a chapter that had been written by somebody else, a path forged by neither of them. They kissed for the last time in the dark of Namjoon’s studio, and without any tears shed, they thanked each other for their year of love.
The next day, the day right after it ended, they were both (as usual) the earliest to show up for choreography practice, and as they waited for the rest of the boys to stream in, they started practising their moves first— out of sync, and awkward, and unnatural, just like they always did. They descended into raucous laughter at their perceived incompetence, just like they always did.
And slowly, they went from being lovers to being partners— just like they always were.
The arterial gush of memories that flows from the newly reopened wound of their lost love is not welcome at all by Seokjin, as he lays staring at his ceiling, fighting tears. The house smells like cleaning solution and microfibre towels and his festering broken heart and he wants to escape it all, but he doesn’t know where he’d even go.
Well, actually, he does know. He’d go right into Namjoon’s arms. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
That day he’d left the mug out, he’d cracked open a bottle of wine and was pretending to use his phone in the living room with one eye on Namjoon who’d strolled into the apartment with his gorgeous silver hair, looking just like he used to when they were still together and Seokjin was weakened, inebriated. He kept imagining running his hands through Namjoon’s hair, telling him how pretty he was. He imagined tugging on them while Namjoon’s tongue was in his mouth. While Namjoon’s tongue was between his legs.
Putting the mug out was imperative. There was nothing else that would have remedied him.
Tired of his depressing stasis, Seokjin makes his way out of the room, and the rest of the boys have finished with the living room. They sit around the coffee table with some variety show on, completely beat after the intensity of the day, and sipping chilled beers.
Nobody looks up but Namjoon, who waves Seokjin over and holds out a bottle of beer for him.
-
It’s late— ten past three in the morning, and some of the boys are definitely still awake but everyone is sequestered safely in their rooms. With his fluffy home slippers cushioning each step he takes, Seokjin has slid into Stealth Mode, eyes darting left-right-left-right to ensure nobody sees him as he makes his way to the kitchen.
He flicks on the kitchen light, one lightbulb illuminating his illicit activities. The cupboard is opened, and careful not to make any clink sounds with ceramic hitting ceramic, he starts to pull out mug after mug, keeping his eyes peeled for the one he wants. “God, Tae, did you actually throw it away? Fuck,” he mutters aloud. The mug is nowhere to be found.
One by one, he places the mugs back into the cabinet with a heavy chest, before sitting on the sofa at the far end of the living room. Shrouded in the dark, staring into space, Seokjin relives their last kiss over and over again, until it’s the only memory he can really access anymore.
-
It’s late— ten to four in the morning, to be exact, and Namjoon suspects Seokjin is still up and playing League, which is why he feels secure enough to slink out of his room and towards the kitchen in quiet but large strides. He feels a little like the Pink Panther theme should be playing in the background as he glides silently across the floor, and eventually opens the kitchen cupboard.
It squeaks faintly and he pauses, not wanting to alert anybody, especially not Jin. Wiggling the cupboard on its hinges slowly, he takes a deep breath, and opens it completely. Each mug is carefully removed and inspected and placed on the kitchen counter. “Fuck,” he whispers when it dawns on him that Tae threw it out, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
“Namjoonie?”
He jumps three feet into the air, slamming the cupboard shut. It’s Seokjin, standing up in the living room, in his pretty silk pyjamas. “How long have you been standing there?” Namjoon asks, voice an octave higher than usual. “You scared me.”
Both their eyes flicker to the veritable pyramid of mugs on the kitchen counter that Namjoon had constructed. Their eyes meet again as Namjoon's brain starts scrambling for an excuse.
“I— I was just getting some, uh, coffee! Yeah, coffee.”
“Coffee? At 4am?” Seokjin crosses his arms. He gestures to all the mugs, “For what party?”
Namjoon presses his lips together, caught in his lie. “Tae…” he starts, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead. “Tae threw out the mug.”
Smirking, Seokjin’s lone index finger traces the marble countertop. “So you did want to put out the mug, huh?”
“Listen…”
But Seokjin is pressing his body flush against Namjoon's, arms on either side of his torso, pinning him against the counter. “Have you missed me, baby?”
“I… Jin, I—”
“Because I miss you. I miss you, Namjoon. So much.”
Seokjin's on his tiptoes, leaning in and connecting their lips gingerly, and it's just like he remembers— Seokjin's plump, soft lips moving lazily against his own. Feels like home, warning his insides, and he can't help the happy hum that falls out of his mouth.
“Baby,” sighs Namjoon, a wave of emotion coming over him and he pulls Seokjin against him closer, closer and still closer, till not even a slice of paper could fit between their bodies. Their tongues brush against each other as their kiss deepens, Namjoon holding Seokjin's hips and Seokjin gripping his right back. “I came to put the mug out. I wanted you to wake up and see it and...and I wanted you to come to me, come back to me—”
With words murmured into mouths, sentences scattered and disorganised, Seokjin's whole chest is melting into Namjoon's, the heat between them is welding them together. “Closer,” Seokjin demands, shoving a leg between Namjoon's thighs as he tilts his head back, letting Namjoon pepper kisses along his throat.
“Why did we— God, why did we ever stop?”
“Because we're blithering idiots, fuck we’re so dumb, Namjoon,” Seokjin buries his hands in Namjoon's hair just as he had fantasised about, tugging at the black roots, as Namjoon leaves cool spit along his jugular. “I kept wanting to… but there was always another girl and another fucking girl—and I thought you didn't want me anymore…”
Namjoon stops kissing Seokjin's neck, instead running his nose against his jaw, blowing his ear lightly and holding him. Seokjin's head lolls forward, falling against Namjoon's shoulder as they hold each other close. “Seokjin, I never stopped loving you.”
That's enough to break Seokjin's emotional dam, and he can't stop the tears from slipping out of his eyes. Namjoon lets him slump against him, rubbing his back soothingly as he murmurs words of comfort into his ear. “I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry I was such a coward. Those girls meant nothing to me, less than nothing.”
“Do you really still love me, Namjoonie?”
The feeling of Namjoon's hands on him is almost too much to bear, setting every inch of his skin alight. They glide up his body towards his face, pulling it back to make him meet Namjoon's eyes.
“I still love you. Of course I still love you.”
Turning to Namjoon's left, Seokjin picks out a random mug from the mess on the counter and holds it out to Namjoon. “What do you think? Our new sex mug?”
“Perfect,” Namjoon responds, leaning forward to press the tips of their noses together. He takes the mug from Seokjin's hand, and sets it down on the secret codified spot on the counter.
“Message received,” says Seokjin.
With a skip in his step, he takes Namjoon's hand and pulls him towards his bedroom.