Chapter Text
Hoseok bursts into Namjoon’s studio late on a Tuesday afternoon. Namjoon is nearly finished with the song he’s working on, just fiddling with the ad libs at this point. He thinks he should be annoyed at the interruption, but honestly, the song is probably done and now Namjoon is just making it worse.
Also, Hoseok is carrying two coffees from the really good coffee place - the one that’s an extra block away. Namjoon almost never makes it there himself, putting off leaving the office until he’s desperate for caffeine, and then succumbing to the temptation of one of the four pretty good coffee places that he has to pass on the way. And that’s when Namjoon makes it out of the building at all, and doesn’t just make do with the very bad coffee from the break room.
Namjoon admires and respects Hoseok’s fortitude. Also, he wants the coffee that Hoseok thrusts toward him. So instead of complaining about the interruption, Namjoon undoes the last three changes he’s made, saves the song again, and turns to accept both the coffee and whatever news Hoseok is clearly buzzing with.
Hoseok doesn’t even wait for Namjoon to thank him for the coffee. “Did you see the email? About the new hire? What do you think?”
That is actually important enough to distract Namjoon from the presence of premium caffeine. He puts the coffee down, without even taking a sip, turning back to the computer. “They emailed?”
As part of the team of overworked junior producers at an entertainment company that has been expanding rapidly recently, Namjoon and Hoseok have been very invested in the hiring of an additional junior producer. However, as mere junior producers, they haven’t been involved in the actual hiring process at all, led by HR and the senior producers.
Both of them have been curious. Obviously they have their own opinions on other producers in the industry, people they’d like to work with and people they would rather avoid. No one they know personally made it past the first round and Namjoon and Hoseok have spent plenty of time over the past few weeks idly speculating on who the remaining candidates might be.
Namjoon’s inbox covers the window with the possibly finished song and Namjoon sees that the announcement is still at the very top. Hoseok really hadn’t wasted any time.
Namjoon clicks into the email, scrolling past the standard ‘very excited to announce’ text. There’s a headshot. Recognition freezes Namjoon in place, face-to-face with the picture. “Oh shit.”
Hoseok’s buzzing energy dims and he looks at Namjoon, suddenly wary. “What do you mean, ‘oh shit?’ Fuck, Joon-ah, is this guy one of your exes?” His eyes go wide and horrified. “Oh no. Is this the guy who thought you were stalking him?”
Stung, Namjoon turns to glare at Hoseok, forgetting the foreboding picture in front of him for a moment. “I was not stalking him!”
Hoseok nods agreeably, but there’s something patronizing about his easy acquiescence. “I know, I know. You just kept accidentally sleeping with his roommates. In their apartment. His apartment.”
Namjoon frowns, feeling very misunderstood. “He had hot roommates. Should I have magically known where they lived before they took me back?”
Hoseok nods again, his expression turning even more pleasant in a way that Namjoon mistrusts. His suspicion is immediately justified when Hoseok says, “Remember when his sister visited him?”
Namjoon crosses his arms defensively. “Well, how was I supposed to know it was his sister?”
Hoseok’s pleasant expression breaks, turning incredulous. “Namjoon-ah. They’re twins!”
“Oh for-” Namjoon uncrosses his arms in an effort to encompass all of high school biology in a large sweeping gesture. “Fraternal twins!”
Hoseok’s mouth twists in barely concealed laughter. Namjoon forces himself to stop. “Okay, you know what? No. No, this isn’t that guy.”
Hoseok doesn’t quite laugh, but it’s a close thing. He lets Namjoon simmer for a minute, watching him with dancing eyes before finally gesturing back at the screen. “Okay, so what guy is this? Why, ‘oh shit?’”
Namjoon turns, eyes immediately drawn back to the picture, more serious than people usually look in these things, although still softer than in Namjoon’s memories.
The sentence above the photo is clear enough, labeling it, as if Namjoon had any doubts, ‘...join us in welcoming Min Yoongi…”
Oh shit.
#
To understand what happened, it’s important to understand that Namjoon met Min Yoongi when he was very young.
To clarify, Namjoon was very young. Although, in retrospect, Namjoon supposes that Yoongi must have also been very young. Only a year older than Namjoon, which a decade later seems like nothing at all.
But at the time, a year had seemed like a lot. Back then, Namjoon had still been in high school, but Yoongi was a high school graduate, which had made Yoongi an adult in Namjoon’s eyes. In those days, Yoongi had seemed to tower over Namjoon in age, experience, and attitude, if not in literal height.
The two of them hadn’t gotten along. That’s the simplest version of the story. The one that Namjoon tells Hoseok to explain his reaction to seeing Yoongi again after all these years.
It’s the simplest version of the story, but it’s not quite the whole story. The whole story doesn’t make Namjoon look very good.
The whole story is also difficult to explain, still confusing to Namjoon even with years of hindsight. Even now, Namjoon isn’t sure what about Yoongi in particular had driven Namjoon to act the way he had.
Back then, Namjoon had been both a high school student and a regular on the underground rap scene. He hadn’t yet moved to Seoul, still living with his parents, but he’d routinely taken the train in from Ilsan to spend his weekends in gritty, grimy clubs, making crowds cheer and whoop along with his lyrics.
Yoongi had been at those clubs too, living in Seoul and performing under the name Gloss.
They’d been competitors, facing off occasionally in the rotating rap battles that often filled those weekends.
That wasn’t the explanation though. Namjoon competed with plenty of people. Namjoon had rapped against lots of guys and still gotten along with them. It was true that Yoongi was better than most, but there were other guys who were good too. With those other guys, tensions could be high in the moment, but afterward they would laugh about it.
Not with Yoongi though. There was just something about Yoongi that had rubbed Namjoon the wrong way.
It wasn’t only Namjoon who didn’t like Yoongi. Yoongi had been quiet, always wearing such a cold, judgemental expression. He hadn’t had that many friends on the scene. Not compared to Namjoon, who had made friends easily.
But it wasn’t just that Yoongi didn’t make friends easily either, he had actively pissed some people off. And Namjoon was first among them.
See, Yoongi had been quiet right up until he got on the stage. On the stage, he was different, his rap blunt, often angry, vicious almost. He’d never held himself back from taking swipes at the other people on the scene.
Looking back, Namjoon isn’t sure that anything Yoongi had said on the stage was actually about Namjoon at first, Yoongi’s ire aimed a type of person, more than any one individual. But it had felt so very personal to Namjoon, landing right in the places where Namjoon felt most vulnerable.
Yoongi, in his blunt, unsparing way, had rapped about rich kids who made a hobby of music without ever having to sacrifice for it. He’d rapped about the hollowness of music made without struggle, about empty cool rhymes without meaning.
It had been like Yoongi was harvesting his inspiration directly from Namjoon’s darkest late-night worries. Because it was true that Namjoon had gotten into hip hop because it was cool. It was true that Namjoon had never had the kinds of struggles that his favorite artists rapped about. And Namjoon worried it was also true that he would never be able to create anything authentic or meaningful.
Of course, as a teenager, Namjoon hadn’t really been able to articulate those ideas, hadn’t really fully understood his own worries. All Namjoon knew for certain was that Yoongi pissed him off. That Yoongi was making fun of him. And so, Namjoon had pushed back with all the immaturity of his sheltered youth.
Namjoon’s next track was pointed. He had written negative tracks before, general songs about haters, based on the work of his musical heroes. But Yoongi had given him his first real inspiration, his first real target. When Namjoon had gotten on the stage, there hadn’t been much doubt who he was rapping about. Even through Namjoon’s word play, the subject - an untalented wannabe street kid who could only whine about the cost of Seoul, and who should probably just go back home - was clear.
The crowd had seemed to love it, but more satisfying had been Yoongi’s glare afterward.
There had been no real hope of them getting along after that. Yoongi kept rapping about rich kid poseurs and Namjoon kept responding in kind.
None of the tracks Namjoon had written about Yoongi in that time had been very nice, but, even now, Namjoon only feels a little guilty for that part of it. Looking back, his lyrics were immature, obviously privileged, and sometimes they really did go too far, but it had still all been in the realm and vernacular of the underground scene. Unkind, but in the way they all were.
Things might have continued to proceed in that way, no more cruel than expected, but then one of Namjoon’s friends had gotten the opportunity to perform at a club in Japan. This was a step up from the kind of places any of them usually played, and there was the hope that it would lead to further opportunities.
He had asked Namjoon, along with some other friends, for help polishing his set list, making sure the songs were as tight as they could be for this bigger, better audience. Namjoon had been happy to help, thrilled to be thought of as someone who could help. At least until he had arrived at the little room that passed for a studio (someone’s bedroom with cheap acoustic foam tacked to the walls), and found that Yoongi was also there.
Namjoon hadn’t been sure which part he found most irritating - that their mutual friend didn’t even recognize the animosity between Namjoon and Yoongi, or how dazzlingly proficient Yoongi had been with the production software, worlds away from the kind of methodical stumbling Namjoon did.
The second fact had made Namjoon feel like exactly the sort of poseur that Yoongi had accused him of being. A kid who squeezed music in between homework assignments and classes, just a casual hobby, whereas music was clearly Yoongi’s life. And the first fact had made Namjoon feel like maybe he was the only who even thought that he and Yoongi were enemies. Maybe it was all in Namjoon’s head, just a childish grievance.
Both facts had made Namjoon feel young and inexperienced.
Worse yet, it had been obvious that Yoongi was really good. Not just that Yoongi had known how to use the software, his production suggestions had also been solid and the track that had emerged under his hands was a hundred times better than the original version. He’d given good performance advice too, offered as quiet suggestions, not the kind of arrogant orders that Namjoon had somehow expected, and they had all made the track better.
The fact that Yoongi was good made it worse that he obviously thought that Namjoon sucked. Namjoon’s input had been mostly lyrical and Yoongi’s mostly production, but wherever Namjoon’s suggestions had brushed up against Yoongi’s production work, Yoongi had dismissed Namjoon’s ideas.
Namjoon had to believe that it was about Namjoon specifically, about their rivalry or enmity or whatever, because the other option was that every suggestion that Namjoon had was too terrible to even consider. Of course, that was something that Namjoon worried about then, eighteen and insecure. Yoongi’s dismissive attitude had hit Namjoon as surely as any of Yoongi’s precisely targeted diss tracks.
Afterward, after two days of having all his ideas shot down, Namjoon’s preoccupation with Yoongi had only increased.
It wasn’t like Yoongi had been the only person on the underground rap scene who had tried to take Namjoon down with a few good bars. Or the only older guy who had dismissed Namjoon’s ideas. Or even the only person to make Namjoon question if Namjoon was chasing a dream that he wasn’t equipped to achieve. But none of those other people had haunted Namjoon the way that Yoongi had. Weeks after those couple of days trapped in that tiny make-shift studio together, long after their friend had performed the songs they’d worked on and gone on to other successes, Yoongi had lingered in Namjoon’s mind.
After that, whenever Namjoon was in clubs, whether to perform himself or just to watch, Namjoon had always been looking for Yoongi. It had been best when Yoongi had showed up, even though seeing him had always filled Namjoon with a hot anger. And even though Namjoon had inevitably spent the rest of the night perpetually painfully aware of where Yoongi was in the room. Worse were the nights when Yoongi didn’t show up. Those nights, Namjoon spent just as attuned to Yoongi’s absence, tense with an anticipation that was never fulfilled.
At the club was one thing, but even when Namjoon was alone, somehow Yoongi had still haunted him, following Namjoon even into sleep. Appearing in Namjoon’s dreams to interrupt the usual rotation of nightmares about school, half forgotten childhood memories, or fantasy performances in front of giant, thrilled crowds. Whenever Yoongi had appeared, Yoongi and Namjoon would fight. And unlike in waking life, the fighting had routinely turned physical.
Namjoon had never been in a physical fight in reality (still hasn’t), but in the dreams he and Yoongi lunged angrily for each other, their bodies colliding, bruises forming on Yoongi’s pale skin. In one particularly notable dream, Namjoon had pinned Yoongi to the wall of the club where they met, and Yoongi had bitten him, the feeling of Yoongi’s small, blunt teeth, distinct against Namjoon’s shoulder. That alone had been enough to wake Namjoon, overheated and unsettled.
But even worse than the dreams, had been Yoongi’s imagined voice in Namjoon’s head in his waking hours. Yoongi’s dismissive sighs when Namjoon was trying to work on his music. It had gotten to Namjoon, tripping up his fingers, leaving his words trailing off on the page, his beats looping pointlessly, as Namjoon had overthought every edit.
Namjoon had tried to exorcize the voice by writing another diss track, but they never really seem to gel, all sounding like immature whining to Namjoon and the Yoongi in his head.
So Namjoon had been simmering in undirected anger and writers block, not to mention a separate, growing anxiety as the end of high school crept nearer, bringing increased pressure to give up on music, to go to college and get a degree in something boring but lucrative.
And into all that, had come an unexpected offer. It had come from another guy Namjoon knew from the rap scene, one of many friends Namjoon had made when was starting out. Namjoon had lost touch with him after the guy had gotten snapped up by one of the smaller entertainment companies as a producer and stopped coming to underground shows. But there he was again, reaching out to Namjoon with a request and an offer all in one. Write a song for a girl group, and if it’s good, the guy had said, his company was hiring.
It had been a good opportunity, especially in that moment, a chance to pursue music just when Namjoon thought he might have to give it up. Sure, Namjoon probably wouldn’t be the next Tablo like he’d dreamed, but if it was good enough for his friend, Namjoon had reasoned that it was probably good enough for him too.
The beat and melody had come quickly enough, an older catchy idea that had been sitting on Namjoon’s hard drive, because the sound didn't fit with the style of Namjoon’s own music. The problem had arisen when Namjoon had sat down to write the lyrics. It wasn’t that Namjoon had never written a love song before - his middle school girlfriend had been the recipient of many early efforts - but he had certainly never written a love song for a girl group before. Presumably it should be about a man, and, for some reason, that idea had thrown Namjoon, even though in practice it didn’t seem that different - just change pretty to handsome, right?
The Yoongi in Namjoon’s head had snickered at that, taunted him as Namjoon had stared at a blank page. Namjoon had thought about just submitting the demo with his nonsense placeholder lyrics. But no, of course he couldn’t do that. Namjoon knew that his lyrics were his strength. No one was going to hire him for his melodies and basic beats. He could almost see Yoongi’s sharp smirk at the thought of it.
And then, late at night when terrible ideas seem good, Namjoon had simply leaned into it. If the idea of Yoongi wouldn’t leave him alone, then Yoongi could just be his inspiration. Namjoon had needed a song about the perfect man? Fine. Namjoon sat down and wrote a song about someone who was the opposite of Yoongi in every way.
The man in the song had become tall, sweet, handsome, smart. Namjoon was ninety percent sure he had never even seen Yoongi smile, only that infuriating smirk, so he made sure to mention that the man in the song had a beautiful smile. And then, in the final twist of the joke, Namjoon had made the whole chorus a play on Yoongi’s stupid stage name, which in of itself was an obvious play on Yoongi’s actual name. Namjoon had managed to work both in, lines about ‘the shine of your love,’ combining with a slightly nonsensical English bit claiming that the man of her dreams gave everything a ‘gloss’ (gloss, gloss).
The studio had eaten it up and before Namjoon or his parents had quite known what was happening, Namjoon had a job and had declared college firmly off the table.
To celebrate, some of Namjoon’s friends on the underground scene had thrown him a party at his favorite club. For some reason, Yoongi had been there. Namjoon, despite his persistent, annoying awareness of Yoongi’s presence, had tried to ignore him.
But it had been impossible to do, because Yoongi had approached him. “Congratulations, I guess.”
Namjoon had rolled his eyes. “Thanks. I guess.”
Yoongi had only shrugged. “I just didn’t know that you wanted to write pop music.”
Namjoon still hadn’t been sure either, but he had said with more confidence than he felt, “Music is music.”
Namjoon had waited for Yoongi to offer an insult. To say that pop music wasn’t real music, and that anyone who worked with idols was a sellout. Something that Namjoon could use to justify the hot feelings that had been churning through him. Other people had been hinting as much all night, dancing around it without ever quite committing to the insult, but Yoongi was always blunt. Namjoon had thought he could count on Yoongi to just say it.
But what Yoongi had said was, “It must have been a change, writing love songs for a girl group.”
The song hadn’t even been out yet, and all the details had been locked away under contracts and non-disclosure agreements, but it hadn’t been hard to figure out what kind of song it would be, given the particular company and the artists they worked with. Yoongi was hardly the only person at the party who had correctly identified the type of song and the topic. Namjoon had been getting comments all night about this too, some lightly teasing and some much more dismissive.
Maybe that’s why Namjoon had reacted the way he did to what had been, in retrospect, a fairly neutral comment. “It was easy. They asked me to write about the perfect man, so I just thought about you and wrote about the opposite.”
Yoongi had looked at Namjoon with wide, surprised eyes, and for the first time, Namjoon had wondered if he had gone too far, tipped over into true cruelty. But before Namjoon could decide if he wanted to soften the blow or push further, two more friends had swept up, clearly already a couple of drinks deep. One of them had pulled Namjoon into a congratulatory hug, and by the time Namjoon had disentangled himself, Yoongi was gone, his half-finished drink sitting on the bar.
Maybe Namjoon could have still explained, could have backed down, or made a joke of it. Something. But Namjoon’s revenge had also ended up being his big break and Namjoon’s world had diverged from the underground rap scene almost immediately afterward with a rapidity that had pulled him out of touch with all but his closest friends. The short list of people Namjoon managed to keep in touch with certainly hadn’t included his enemies.
The song had been a huge hit, cementing Namjoon as a rising producer. It had rocketed the company from a small one, to a medium one, and the group from popular with their loyal fans, to a household name. It had been a meme for months afterward on talk shows and comedies. It had played on the radio and in stores and on commercials.
It was fucking everywhere.
And for months afterward, whenever Namjoon heard it, he couldn’t help remembering Yoongi’s wide, hurt eyes. The chorus, the part they play on the fucking talk shows, is so pointed, so fucking obvious and Namjoon had known that Yoongi knew exactly what it meant, because Namjoon had fucking told him.
For a while, it had poisoned all of Namjoon’s success. He hadn’t been sure how he was supposed to have a career when he couldn’t stand to listen to his own music. He’d seriously considered giving it all up after all, going to college like his parents had wanted.
But when Namjoon confessed it to one of the senior producers (that he hated the song, not the reasons why), the man had only laughed and said it was common. Then Namjoon had a couple of other hits, not on the same scale, but also not songs that made him remember what a dick he could be every time he heard them. Then he’d met Hoseok, a dancer turned fellow producer, and found his best friend. He’d started to settle into his new life then.
Time passed and Namjoon had mostly let himself forget the whole thing. That is, until, a decade later, Yoongi had showed up in Namjoon’s inbox.
So. You know. ‘Oh shit.’
#
Yoongi starts the next Monday. Everyone but Namjoon is straightfowardly excited about it, which makes sense. Yoongi has a good reputation. Although he’s been working for a smaller company, he’s still been able to have a series of hits even with their lesser resources. Everyone here is looking forward to what he can do for their artists.
If wasn’t for the history between them, Namjoon would be excited too. Yoongi had been one of the people that Namjoon and Hoseok had tossed around in their speculation. Namjoon just hadn’t realized that it was Yoongi behind those hits. He’s producing under a different name these days - Suga. Finding that out had sent an uncomfortable spiral of guilt through Namjoon’s stomach. Did Yoongi change his pen name because of Namjoon?
Namjoon wishes he could just be excited like everyone else, but he can’t help worrying. Namjoon hasn’t seen Yoongi since that last encounter, but Namjoon has to assume that Yoongi heard Namjoon’s final fuck you on the radio at least once. Probably, if Namjoon is being totally honest, more than once. There’s no way that experience left Yoongi with good feelings about Namjoon.
But they can’t go back to the immature sniping they used to do. They’re both professionals now. Namjoon has learned how to work with all sorts of people, even people he doesn’t really like. Presumably, Yoongi has done the same. So…it should be fine. It should. But Namjoon can’t stop worrying about it.
All of Namjoon’s worry turns out to be misplaced. Yoongi is perfectly polite. It’s almost disappointing how perfectly neutral Yoongi is with Namjoon.
When they are introduced, Yoongi acknowledges that they knew each other when they were younger, but he doesn’t say anything else about it, either positive or negative, leaving Namjoon to stumble though a response. Namjoon manages something inane (‘yes, it’s been a long time, Yoongi-ssi’) and that’s it. Yoongi moves on, already being introduced to someone else, the whole encounter taking no more than thirty seconds.
For a few days after that, Namjoon expects their co-workers to ask about their history, but no one does. If they ask Yoongi, he must not say anything interesting, because it doesn’t get back to Namjoon.
Weeks pass and Yoongi settles into the office, a quiet, steady voice at staff meetings. He stays so polite that it makes Namjoon feel paranoid, like maybe Yoongi is somehow fucking with him. Like maybe Yoongi’s polite, professional attitude is deliberately designed to drive Namjoon insane.
Hoseok tells Namjoon he’s being unreasonable. “It’s not like Yoongi-ssi has a different personality when you aren’t around, Namjoon-ah. He treats everyone the same.”
That might be the part that gets under Namjoon’s skin the most. For some reason, Namjoon wants Yoongi to treat him differently, even if it’s only to treat him worse. But, aside from that one brief acknowledgment that they’ve met before, there’s nothing.
Instead, Yoongi continues to work quickly and well. He gets along with everyone. Over time, he starts to warm to some people, his professional friendliness taking on a less formal tone.
Not Namjoon though. But even that isn’t pointed or notable. There are just some people that Yoongi works more closely with, and some he doesn’t. Namjoon just happens to be one of that larger second group.
Not special. Not at all.
#
Namjoon and Hoseok eat lunch together more days than not. Usually, this means eating convenience store food in one of their studios while they talk through whatever issue is bothering them - a song in progress, Hoseok’s latest dance routine, or whatever slapstick comedy horror has befallen Namjoon’s love life lately.
Once or twice a week they try to actually leave the building, grabbing lunch at one of the nearby restaurants. They rotate through a few favorites, places with decent food at reasonable prices where the service is quick enough to make sure that they aren’t away from work too long, even if half the time they still talk about work.
But sometimes, when they both want a break, they’ll walk a little further and pay a little more to have lunch at their favorite nearby Italian restaurant. It’s not like most of the Italian restaurants that Namjoon has been to, not particularly classy, no modern clean lines and crisp white decor. It’s pretty dark actually, wood paneling and stained glass light fixtures. The best seats run along one wall, booths that are each enclosed in their own little wood alcove. Namjoon thinks the whole place looks kind of like an old European church, like he’s seen in art history textbooks. At least if he ignores the yellowing posters for old western films and the constant soundtrack of pop music from a decade ago.
Today is Friday, and both Namjoon and Hoseok are in a good mood. Namjoon has just finished a song, and Hoseok has just received word that one of his tracks had gotten the final sign off from management. It’s the perfect day for a trip to their favorite restaurant even though its surprisingly chilly for this late into spring. When they arrive, they manage to snag the last booth, the one all the way in the back of the restaurant, closest to the kitchen.
They’ve only just been seated, Namjoon reaching for the menu (as if he doesn’t order the same thing every time), when Hoseok grabs his hand in a claw-like grip. Namjoon looks up, startled, and sees Hoseok’s eyes dancing in amusement. Hoseok makes a shushing gesture with his free hand and then points behind Namjoon.
Namjoon frowns, but follows direction, staying silent and listening.
It quickly becomes clear that, although the little alcoves keep everyone visually separated, Namjoon can hear the conversation coming from the next booth over clearly, maybe because the man is speaking in a loud, animated voice.
“-know Jimin will murder you in your sleep if you never introduce them,” he’s saying.
It’s not initially obvious why Hoseok is interested in this conversation, but it becomes clear as the other person responds. “I didn’t take this job to fulfill Jimin’s dream of meeting J-Hope.”
That explains what had caught Hoseok’s attention. Hoseok’s main job is producer obviously, but he’d never quite given up on dancing, and he has a small youtube channel, and a loyal fan following. Namjoon isn’t sure any other producer would be able to catch strangers talking about them in public.
But that’s not quite what’s happening here either, because the second voice is unmistakably Yoongi.
Hoseok’s eyes widen with recognition and then barely suppressed laughter at whatever he sees on Namjoon’s face, his fingers digging into Namjoon’s hand.
For his part, Namjoon stiffens in shock. He becomes very aware that he’s sitting back-to-back with Yoongi, only a thin plank of wood and some upholstery separating them.
Had Hoseok been the one to tell Yoongi about this place? Hoseok is far too friendly for his own (or at least Namjoon’s) good.
Yoongi’s identify is verified (as if Namjoon had felt the slightest hint of doubt) when the other voice laughs and says, “Ah, Yoongi-yah, I don’t think your reasons matter much to Jimin.”
Yoongi doesn’t respond to that in any way that is audible to Namjoon, although Namjoon is distracted by the expression on Hoseok’s face, obviously contemplating if he should jump out and offer to meet this ‘Jimin’ whoever they might be.
Yoongi’s girlfriend or boyfriend maybe?
Before Hoseok can leap out and ruin Namjoon’s day further, there are rustling sounds and movement. Yoongi’s voice shifting as he slides out of the booth and says, “We should go, hyung. I need to get back to work.”
Still worried that Hoseok will launch himself out of the booth, Namjoon twists their hands, so that he’s the one clutching Hoseok instead, shifting deeper into the booth and dragging Hoseok with him. Hoseok is still silently laughing at Namjoon, but he lets himself be pulled into hiding.
Namjoon thinks he’s saved from any further awkwardness. After all, there’s no reason for Yoongi or his friend to look in the alcove behind them, or to walk any further into the restaurant if they’re leaving. Once they get their coats zipped, this will all be over.
But then, in a sign that Namjoon might be cursed by the universe, the music changes and the next song is…
Oh shit. Namjoon’s stomach sinks.
It’s Namjoon’s song playing. Not just any song. The worst possible song that could be playing. The song.
And if there’s any hope that it will go unnoticed by everyone but Namjoon, it’s immediately crushed as Yoongi’s hyung laughs loudly. “Oh wow, Yoongi-yah. It’s your song!”
He starts serenading Yoongi, apparently having all the lyrics memorized. He has a surprisingly good voice, smoothly hitting most of the notes even though it’s a girl group song and goes pretty high.
Hoseok’s eyes are wide.
Namjoon wants to disappear from the earth and only return after everyone he knows has died of old age. He can start fresh in the future.
Yoongi just sighs.
His friend is still enthusiastically singing the chorus as they leave, fading into the distance until they’re out the door.
There’s a long moment, the song still unfortunately pumping through the restaurant speakers, while Namjoon continues to contemplate his escape from this temporal plane. Yoongi remembers. He’d told his friend about it. His friend remembers. Fuck.
Then, Hoseok pulls his hand out of Namjoon’s slacked grip. His mischievous expression does not bode well for Namjoon. “So, Yoongi-ssi’s song, huh? Do you think he knows that his mortal enemy or whatever the fuck you two are, wrote it?”
And before Namjoon thinks better of it, he automatically answers. “Yes.”
Hoseok tilts his head, calculating. “You seem very sure of that.”
Namjoon opens his mouth, but nothing comes out past the tight feeling of shame that always overtakes him when thinks about it.
Hoseok’s expression turns concerned. “Namjoon-ah?”
Namjoon really doesn’t want to explain, but he doesn’t see any way out of it. And maybe it would be good to get some else’s perspective on the whole ridiculous situation. “Um, so I actually wrote that song…”
Namjoon can’t quite think how to say it. He tries again. “So, you know, Yoongi-ssi and I knew each other back then?”
Hoseok nods with exaggerated patience. “Yes, Namjoon-ah. You’ve mentioned it once or twice or perhaps a thousand times.”
Namjoon’s face feels hot. “Right. Well. So, um, I got asked to write that song. And I- I had sort of writer’s block, I guess. So I sort of wrote it about Yoongi-ssi. His stage name back then was um. Uh, well, it was Gloss.”
Hoseok’s expression turns delighted, the same thrilled, slightly scandalized look he’d gets whenever he hears new gossip about this make-up noona dating that camera guy or whatever.
Namjoon hastens to correct himself, trying to cut it off before Hoseok says anything really embarrassing. “No, I mean- Kind of like an insult? I had to write a nice song about a guy and I couldn’t- I was really irritated with Yoongi-ssi, so I wrote it like the guy in it was his opposite. And then I told him about it.”
Hoseok’s delight turns to disappointment. Namjoon can see him mentally running through the lyrics, his frown growing as he transforms each lyrical compliment into its opposite insult. “Namjoon-ah…”
“I know, I know,” Namjoon says, feeling all the old shame, fresh under scrutiny.
“What did he say when you told him?”
“Nothing. I mean, I told him before it came out. And then, uh. Then we didn’t talk until he got hired.”
Hoseok looks incredulous. “Joon-ah. You wrote him a whole love song just to neg him and then ghosted him for a decade? Every part of that individually is the worst strategy I’ve ever heard, and together…” He shakes his head, apparently speechless.
Namjoon flushes. “No, that’s not- I mean, I wasn’t trying to- It wasn’t like- like that. It was sort of like a diss track. We both did a lot of those back then.”
Hoseok nods, although he clearly doesn’t believe Namjoon.
“No, really. You know that I didn’t even figure out I was into guys for like two years after that. It wasn’t like that at all.”
Namjoon still doesn’t think Hoseok believes him, but Hoseok doesn’t push any further. “Well, he seems to have taken it in good humor. Is this why you are still so weird around him?”
Namjoon shrugs. “Kind of, yeah.”
“Have you thought about, you know, just talking to him about it?”
The response bursts from Namjoon without thought. “Fuck no.”
Hoseok laughs brightly. “Yeah, I guess I get that.”
#
Hoseok lets it drop. They have lunch and talk about the songs they’ve just finished and others that they’re working on. They talk about their plans for the weekend and Hoseok’s most recent conversation with his mother. Namjoon goes back to work, he has a nice weekend, he comes back on Monday and works some more. He has other lunches with Hoseok, he talks to his own parents, he spends time with his other friends.
But the whole time, the idea lingers in Namjoon’s mind, a constant, undeniable background hum. He’d written Yoongi a love song.
Namjoon had never thought of it like that before.
Sure, he’d done it in the meanest possible way, but still, he had…
Was it possible that Namjoon had- Without even realizing it that he’d-
It was true that Namjoon had been…preoccupied with Yoongi back then. And now, Namjoon can’t help revisiting that preoccupation in his memory, reinterpreting that time with the power of hindsight.
It was a long time ago, the memories uncertain and blurred now. And even if he could remember perfectly, at that age Namjoon’s emotions had been such a maelstrom of contradictory passions and hates.
But it seems entirely possible, maybe even likely, looking back now, that a younger Namjoon, closeted even to himself, had taken one look at Yoongi’s pretty mouth and felt things that he hadn’t understood. Things that (at the time) would have made him feel bad. It seems entirely possible that a younger Namjoon, unable and unwilling to trace those negative feelings, had simply attributed them to Yoongi himself.
It would explain a lot really. The way Namjoon hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Yoongi. The way Namjoon had always been looking for him, was always aware of him. The dreams.
Fuck, the dreams.
All those nights dreaming of pressing close to Yoongi in whatever way possible. Dreaming of leaving bruises on Yoongi’s fair skin. Namjoon had spent months worrying that he had some previously unrecognized violent impulses. The idea, that worry, had lingered with Namjoon long after Yoongi had left his life, leaving Namjoon more awkward than ever about touch, nervously gentle with his lovers.
But in retrospect, maybe those dreams had only been Namjoon’s mind trying to make sense of things that he wasn’t ready to realize. The violence of the dreams only a way to conceal from himself his own desire to touch, to leave evidence of his passion on Yoongi’s skin.
And most of all, it would explain why, in that moment when a younger Namjoon had been asked to write a love song about a man, he’d written it about Yoongi, no matter what mental gymnastics he’d done at the time to re-frame that.
Namjoon had really thought he was the past the age for this sort of self-realization, but it’s inescapable once he looks at it directly. He’d had a crush on Yoongi. The sort of terrifying, all-consuming crush that only happened as a teenager. And in his confusion and fear, Namjoon had let it make him cruel, striking out at Yoongi rather than letting himself understand his own feelings.
That uncomfortable truth brings Namjoon back to Hoseok’s question. Should Namjoon talk to Yoongi about it? Explain his own youthful cruelty? Apologize?
Namjoon considers this while he works and spends time with his friends and eats his lunches with Hoseok.
It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Namjoon and Yoongi get along okay now. As much as they need to anyway. They certainly don’t fight the way they did as teenagers.
It’s true that Yoongi is warmer to other people, but that’s only what Namjoon deserves. They don’t often have to work together, usually assigned to different songs even when they’re working for the same artist, but when they do, they are carefully respectful of each other. Yoongi probably still thinks that Namjoon is an asshole, but he’s never been anything other than professional and, then again, maybe he doesn’t think about it at all. Namjoon suspects that now, just as in the past, Namjoon thinks a lot more about Yoongi than Yoongi thinks about him.
If Namjoon were to bring this up, he’d be the unprofessional one. What is he going to do, walk up to his work colleague and confess his messy teenaged crush? That would be inappropriate even if the crush wasn’t on Yoongi himself. In this situation, Namjoon would just be putting Yoongi in the awkward position of having to decide if he wanted to make an HR complaint about sexual harassment. It hardly seems like a recipe for making things less awkward.
Logically, the best thing to do is to just say nothing.
But logic or not, the idea of it, of his adult self too cowardly to apologize for the clumsy cruelty of his younger self, haunts Namjoon. The guilt circles though his mind at night in and in the mornings when he should be asleep.