Chapter Text
It’s a Friday night in April, and Seokjin is at a party.
It’s a party he doesn’t want to be at, but he’s never really had much of a choice in these sorts of things. He’s not there because of his job, although that’s what everyone might think. He’s there, of course, because of his father—the reason he was invited, the reason he was forced to attend.
He’s at a party and he’s wearing a nice suit. The party is more of a gala, a fundraiser for some charity no one here even knows the name of, he thinks. But he looks good in a suit. Even if he hates wearing them, he likes the second glances he gets from pretty men who’re ashamed of themselves.
He’s at a party, and Kim Namjoon is also here, and they don’t talk. Not with words, anyway. They run in the same circles and they see each other at things like this, and Namjoon might be the one person who gets as many leering looks from strangers as him.
He’s at a party, and he watches Kim Namjoon from across the room, in a suit as expensive as his own, looking tortured and handsome and every bit the protagonist. He wishes he were braver, that in this room full of expensive suits on cheap people that he could pull Namjoon away and say, “I feel like I know you.”
Or, “I think we could be friends.”
Or, “How dare you look better than me in Tom Ford.”
He’s at a party and he thinks the way that he looks at Namjoon is probably reflected back in the way Namjoon looks at him. Interested but guarded, a little suspicious.
He’s at a party, and he knows Namjoon has a reputation, and he knows he does, too. He knows that even if they don’t talk, they’ve said innumerable things about each other, and he wonders if they would have said different things if circumstances were different.
Of course Seokjin has heard the rumors. Most of them boil down to this: Kim Namjoon will get fired from the Kiwoom Heroes after this season is over. He’s the KBO’s youngest manager in history, one of Korea’s darlings, always on every 30 under 30 list, and everyone is sure he’s about to tumble from the tower he’s built.
On one hand, Seokjin thinks it’s gross that people are giddy about it—hates that there are people happy to see someone struggling as long as it’s not them. It’s hard to know what to believe, really, because he knows Namjoon is respected. Respected by everyone in Korean baseball, respected by the press, by players. Seokjin’s own father hand picked him to lead the Heroes out of their historic slump… It just hasn’t worked out that way. And if there’s one thing Seokjin knows about this sport, it’s that loyalty will take you pretty far, but winning (and by association, money) will take you farther.
On the other hand, Kim Namjoon (by all accounts), thinks Seokjin is a spoiled, entitled brat even though they’ve never spoken. So, fuck him. Let them eat cake, or whatever.
He’s at a party, spending far too much time considering Kim Namjoon and the way his ass looks in designer pants, when Min Yoongi approaches him with an unexpected proposition and he doesn't know what to think.
“It’s been forever, hasn’t it?”
“Seems like it, yeah,” Seokjin acknowledges.
“Still working for beom-jwe doo?” Yoongi teases.
He laughs, more genuine than polite. The laugh he’s always been told to “tone down.” It’s rare anyone would call the team that to his face. Yoongi’s willingness to be blunt has always been one of Seokjin’s favorite things about him. “Yoongichi, no one’s been arrested this season.”
“It’s April,” he deadpans.
It gets another laugh out of Seokjin. “True,” he says. “But I’m sure the Bears’ arrest records aren’t what you actually wanted to talk about.”
Yoongi gives a nod, motions with his head to the side of the room. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s moving as far away from Jin’s boss and his boss’ boss as he can get. “How much?” he says.
“Sorry, what?”
“How much,” he repeats, “to get you to come work for Kiwoom?”
It takes Seokjin by surprise. With everything he’s heard about the state of the team—the surely imminent firing of Yoongi’s right hand man, the animosity in the clubhouse, the tension between ownership and literally everyone else (including Yoongi)—Seokjin figured he would be looking for his own way out, not trying to fortify his front office team. But Min Yoongi is smart, a savant even. He wouldn’t offer if he weren’t serious and Seokjin knows he wouldn’t be serious without a reason.
“I’m listening… but why me?”
“I know what you did in the offseason for Doosan,” he says. “Picking up Kwon? With the numbers he was posting in Japan?”
“He has a skill we needed,” Seokjin says vaguely.
“And Jung?”
It’s met with a smirk. “Same skill.”
Yoongi gives Seokjin his favorite smile, the one that he used to give in college, the one that shows all his teeth and makes him look like a kid in a candy store. “I figured it out,” he says. “But you have the numbers.” He taps the side of Jin’s head gently. “You have everything up here and I want that for Kiwoom. I want you for Kiwoom.”
“Need someone to keep your baby manager in line?” It hasn’t escaped him that Namjoon is watching them carefully from near the bar, unable to school his face, betraying his own curiosity.
This, at least, makes Yoongi laugh. “Namjoon is good,” he says. “He’s doing his best with no money and my inability to convince ownership to give him what he needs.”
“Yeah,” Seokjin agrees. “That’s what it seems like from the outside. I think I could help.”
“I think you could, too.”
“But what’s in it for me? Doosan is a sure bet, Yoongi.”
“So, you want to be an assistant to the assistant general manager forever?” He fixes Seokjin with a skeptical look. “You and I both know you can do so much more.”
He’s right. He also has no idea what it’s like to be Kim Seokjin. He can do more. He could probably run one of these teams in his sleep. He’s breathed and dreamed baseball since he was a kid, but the right kind of opportunities in this business always come with strings attached when your dad is one of the more notable figures in the sport. And on top of that, Seokjin has always been careful to avoid the perception of nepotism. He wants everyone to know how hard he works, and that anything he gets is because he put in the effort. Not because his dad handed it to him. Not that his efforts are rewarded—people will think what they want no matter what.
“A promotion?”
“Vice president of baseball operations. You’ll do everything you do for Doosan, but the title is better, the money is better, and you’ll report directly to me.”
Seokjin almost chokes on his beer. “Seriously?” he hisses. “Don’t fuck with me, Yoongi.”
“Seriously.”
“What will Namjoon-ssi think? He doesn’t like me, you know. Thinks I’ve skated by on nepotism and good looks.” The world of the KBO is small. He knows what people say behind his back.
Yoongi hums in thought. “I think you’ll be good for each other. You could both learn a lot from a different approach.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Seokjin says flatly.
“I know. But I think you already know the answer. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.”
And as much as he’s afraid to know the answer, he has to ask the question. “Does my dad know you’re coming to me with this?”
“Yes. He didn’t like it. Said you wouldn’t either, but he knows you’re good at what you do, and he trusts me if I say we need you.”
There it is, the seemingly blind faith that Yoongi’s had since university. They met their freshman year in a sports management lecture. Yoongi had trouble keeping his mouth shut when basic concepts were mansplained to everyone in the class by pretty much anyone in a fraternity, and Seokjin had trouble not laughing each time someone had the audacity to challenge him. Almost immediately, they became friends, and stayed that way while they both navigated working in the “real world.” Seokjin got hired on quickly because he had connections, but Yoongi did it all himself. He’s young for what he does, really young, but he’s always worked harder than anyone Seokjin knows and had a preternatural ability to take advantage of even the slightest opportunities. It makes sense, he thinks, that Yoongi had pushed Jin’s dad to hire Kim Namjoon—also young, ambitious, and willing to do whatever it takes. Maybe it makes sense that he’d want to hire Seokjin, too.
“You’re going to have the youngest front office in the league,” Seokjin points out.
“A little bit older with you joining us,” he replies teasingly.
“I promise I’ll think about it,” Seokjin replies before he takes the last swallow of his beer. “But you know I can’t play middleman for you and my dad, right? If that’s what this is, tell me now so neither of us regret it later. He listens to me less than he listens to you.”
Yoongi nods slowly. “I know. It’s not that. I’ll handle your dad if you handle Namjoon.”
That gives Seokjin pause. “Not sure you’re selling it the way you think you are, Yoongichi.”
“Hey,” Yoongi calls as Seokjin starts to walk away. “I’ll let you call me that all season if you take the gig.”
This is how Seokjin finds himself at a sports bar a week later, sitting across the table from Kim Namjoon, getting all but ignored.
Yoongi, to his credit, is trying. However, his desire for Seokjin to “handle” Namjoon is starting to feel a little fruitless at this point. They’ve been at the table for almost thirty minutes and Namjoon has barely said two words to Seokjin the entire time. Only a, “Hyung didn’t tell me you would be here,” before he shrugged off his jacket and slumped into the booth across from Yoongi and Seokjin, picking at the label of his beer bottle listlessly.
“Anyway,” Yoongi clears his throat. “I wanted you both here because we offered Seokjin a job, and it’s important to the team that we understand how well the two of you could work together.”
Namjoon laughs, but it’s bitter and fake. Seokjin does his best to bite his tongue. Fortunately (or not, maybe), Yoongi does no such thing.
“What is your problem ?” he hisses at Namjoon.
“Me?” Namjoon looks incredulous and he sits up straighter. “My problem?” The older two sit and wait for him to continue, the vein in his neck starting to poke out and the peeling of the label of his beer bottle getting more aggressive. “My problem is that you,” he points at Yoongi, “said you’d have my back. You said you’d tell ‘Dictator Kim’ no. You said you’d help this team, and instead, you’re bowing down to him, trying to hire Kim Seokjin of all people.” Namjoon finishes with a scoff and a swig of his labelless beer before setting it back down harshly on the table.
It’s baffling, honestly, because Seokjin can count the number of times he’s actually met or spoken to Namjoon on one hand. On just the three important fingers of one hand, even. They don’t even know each other, so there’s no reason for Namjoon to say his name like it’s a curse.
Even though he knew theoretically that Namjoon didn’t like him, it’s another thing to hear the man himself admit to it. He’s sure he looks a little shocked, he can feel the tips of his ears turning pink with embarrassment. He’s used to people assuming things about him—he’s spoiled, rich, careless and carefree—none of which are really true, but he’s not used to people seemingly hating him off the bat. He’s very charming. Everyone says so. It’s very hard not to want to crawl away and sulk about this just enough as is appropriate for an adult working professional. He likes people to like him. There are worse complexes to have.
Meanwhile, Yoongi looks unimpressed. “Are you done?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” Namjoon huffs.
“Well. Let’s set some things straight. First, this isn’t a democracy, so if I say we’re going to hire him, we’re going to hire him, and you,” he points at Namjoon in a mirror of the other’s action earlier, “will figure out a way to play nice.”
Seokjin hears Namjoon suck in a breath.
“And second,” Yoongi continues, “I am doing all those things. I do have your back. I’m probably the only person in the front office who doesn’t think you should lose your job. And so you know, his dad didn’t want me to hire him. Tried to talk me out of it, actually.” Seokjin winces at this, but Yoongi just keeps going. “But my job is to convince him to let me do what’s right for the team, and hiring Seokjin is the right thing to do. He’s brilliant. You’ve seen what he’s been doing at Doosan. They have a shot at going all the way, Joon. We need that. You need that if you want to have a job next season. So, how about you let me do my job, and I’ll do my best to make sure you can keep doing yours.”
Yoongi doesn’t let his gaze break from Namjoon, who now looks a little sheepish across from them. Finally, the manager speaks. “Okay, let’s give it a shot.”
“And?” Yoongi leads.
“And thank you, hyung. And sorry Seokjin-ssi. I’ll be professional in our relationship from now on. I apologize.”
Honestly, Seokjin’s not even that mad. Maybe having someone be skeptical of him is better than getting fake admiration from people who just want something from him. It doesn’t feel great, but at least they’re starting from a place of honesty. There’s something to be said for knowing where you stand, he supposes.
“Don’t worry about it,” he offers. “If I take the job, I’ll work very hard to earn your trust, and to help you and your team be successful.”
Namjoon mutters something under his breath, and while Seokjin doesn’t hear it, Yoongi grins. “I think you should say it louder, Joonie,” he teases.
“I said, Ithinkyoushouldtakethejob.” His head is tucked down and he mumbles all his words in a rush, but Jin hears it this time. A little louder he adds, “You’ve done an okay job at Doosan. Can’t all be luck.”
“Thank you, I’ll consider it,” Jin replies, amused, giving Yoongi a look. Considering where they started the night, “an okay job” feels like a pretty strong endorsement, relatively speaking.
The conversation slows from there, Namjoon with his proverbial tail tucked, Yoongi and Jin moving on to talk about all the old college friends, players, and front office staff they know in common. It only gets a little awkward again when Yoongi asks about Jin’s ex-boyfriend.
“How’s Seungwook?” he asks.
Namjoon perks a little at that. “Baek Seungwook? Star hitter for the Giants Baek Seungwook?”
Seokjin swallows his beer and nods. “Yeah… an old friend we went to university with,” he says, shooting Yoongi a look. Seokjin doesn’t discuss being gay with most people who work in baseball. It’s bad enough to be a gay man in Korea, it’s worse to be one who works in sports. “I haven’t really spoken to him in a while,” he adds. “Haven’t been down to Busan yet this season.”
Fortunately, Yoongi doesn’t push it. “Ah, well, that’s too bad. He seems like a nice guy.”
Seokjin barely stops himself from rolling his eyes, but before he can say something he shouldn’t, Namjoon chimes in. “Really, hyung? Every time we play them, he’s such a dick. If you ask me, he’s probably being an asshole to cover for something. Small cock syndrome, you know?”
Yoongi laughs and Seokjin gives a surprised smile. Maybe working with Kim Namjoon wouldn’t be so bad. Apparently he can read people well, anyway.
That night, when Seokjin gets home, his roommate is still awake, files strewn across the dining room table and coffee in front of him.
“It’s late,” Seokjin comments, toeing off his shoes at the door. He realizes just now he forgot to tell his roommate he’d be out after work—he should have messaged. If it hadn’t been strictly work, he probably would have invited his friend along. “Sorry I’m so late, I hope you’re not up for me.”
“No, it’s not you. I’ve got a patient I can’t figure out,” Hoseok replies. It’s cheerier than someone neck deep in work at one in the morning should sound.
“You’ve always liked a mystery.” He shuffles past his roommate to get water from the purifier in the kitchen. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.”
Hoseok sighs and looks up. He looks tired, bags under his eyes from the long hours he’s been putting in. His new job as the only surgical vet at an animal shelter is taking a toll on him, but overall, it seems like it’s been a good change. He makes a little less money than he did at the last clinic he worked at, but he says he feels like he’s really helping in a way he wasn’t before. “What about you?” he asks, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re out late.”
“Ah, had drinks with Min Yoongi.”
This seems to pique Hoseok’s curiosity. He turns around in his chair to fully face Seokjin. “A meeting with Min Yoongi? What about?”
“I didn’t say it was a meeting, I said it was drinks.”
“Please, hyung. I may not be a KBO bigshot, but I know how you do business.”
“In slightly questionable sports bars in Myeongdong at midnight?”
“Exactly.”
Seokjin slides into a chair across from Hoseok and sighs. “Remember that fundraiser I went to last week? Yoongi was there, too. He offered me a job.”
“At Kiwoom?”
“Of course at Kiwoom, he’s not really authorized to offer me a job with the Wiz or the Eagles, is he?” He’s lucky Hoseok knows him so well and won't take his sarcasm as anything other than a joke.
Hoseok puts down the file he’s been holding and seems to consider what his roommate is saying. “I thought you didn’t want to work for your dad.”
And there it is, the thing he’s been struggling with. He doesn’t really want to work for his dad’s team, doesn’t want to think his promotion is nepotism, knows exactly what it’ll look like on the outside, to everyone who doesn’t know that as much as he doesn’t want to work for Kim Minjun, his father wants Seokjin working there even less. “I don’t, but it’s Min Yoongi. And… I don’t know, Hobi, maybe I could use a change. Things have been… difficult the last couple of months.”
His roommate reaches out and rubs his forearm soothingly. Hoseok is the only one who knows everything, the one who watched him go through a bad relationship with Seungwook and an even worse break up. The only one, except apparently Min Yoongi, who knows that for all the good he’s done for Doosan, he’ll never get promoted there—the ownership hates his dad, thinks they’re rivals, got upset with the front office when they realized a “Kiwoom Kim'' had been hired into their organization. Hobi’s the only one who has heard all the stories of the old men who work with him whispering about Seokjin in the halls, talking about how he’s just a pretty face, just a stuck up rich kid. Talking about how his father probably planted him there to steal information.
If only they knew that Minjun didn’t want him either.
If he let himself feel his feelings like Hoseok says he should, he’d be sad and feeling unwanted: not good enough for Seungwook, not good enough for Doosan, not good enough for his own father.
“A change might be good for you,” Hoseok affirms.
“I’ll never get what I want at Doosan,” Seokjin agrees. What he doesn’t say are the four things he really wants. He wants to work with people that believe in him, to prove to his father that he’s worthy, to have a new office phone number so Seungwook can’t leave angry drunk voicemail for him anymore, and to bring in a little extra money to help out with the apartment. Hoseok works so hard, and Seokjin knows he feels guilty about contributing less on his shelter salary than he used to. He’d like for his best friend to worry less and sleep more.
“Respect.” Hoseok says it with finality. “Do you think you’ll get it at Kiwoom?”
“I know I won’t get it at Doosan, so maybe I should try,” Seokjin replies with a sigh.
Hoseok nods. “And,” he says with a grin, “their manager is super fucking hot.”
Seokjin chokes on his water, and for the second time that night feels the tips of his ears turn pink. “Kim Namjoon?”
“Yeah, I mean, have you seen him? Tall and thick, and you know on the off chance that they win and you see him smile?” Hoseok practically swoons. “The dimples.”
Of course Seokjin knows this, he’s gay and has a pulse. “You don’t follow sports, Hobi,” is the weak response he comes up with.
“I’m not blind, though,” Hoseok counters, and it’s a good point. Namjoon is everyone’s type—almost three meters tall, has a publicly documented habit of going to the gym at all hours of the day and night and the build to show for it. He’s got a sharp jaw, a cute nose, and trench-deep dimples that split his cheeks on the rare occasion he smiles. It’s just that… Well, Kim Namjoon is kind of an asshole, and if tonight was any indication, working with him might be hard enough to counteract any or all of his hotness. Even when he wasn’t actively being an asshole, he wasn’t exactly bubbly.
It’s not like he’s oozing charm. Which is what Seokjin tells Hoseok.
“When’s the last time you even spoke to him?” Hoseok asks. “I didn’t know you really knew each other.”
“He was at the bar tonight.” Seokjin says it with all the nonchalance he can muster, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t now thinking about the way Namjoon’s biceps flexed under his shirt sleeves while he picked at his beer. Or the way he brushed his (soft-looking and very shiny) hair off his face in a nervous habit. Or the sharp line of his jaw when he clenched it in annoyance. God. Maybe Seokjin just really needs to get laid. It’s been way too long, and sex with Seungwook was never as satisfying as he told his ex that it was. If he’d been getting a good dicking, he wouldn’t be thinking about hot asshole Kim Namjoon. Or he’d at least just be thought of as “potential co-worker asshole” Kim Namjoon.
“You’re blushing,” Hoseok says, clearly amused.
“Am not,” he counters like a grownup.
“Fine. But you can’t argue he’s not hot.”
“He’s an asshole.”
Hoseok just laughs. “Well, if Seungwook was any indication, sounds like Namjoon might be your type.”
He doesn’t even want to justify that with a response. If Hobi had been in the bar earlier, had seen what Seokjin saw, he wouldn’t even bring up Namjoon’s good looks. “Too soon, Hobi,” is what he says, standing up from the table. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“It’s been six months,” his roommate says, tone softer. “I’m teasing you about Kim Namjoon, but maybe you should consider getting back out there with someone.”
And of course he’s thought about it. Almost downloaded dating apps, found himself scoping out possibilities at his favorite bar in Itaewon more than once. It’s just that he doesn’t really feel worthy, and a random one-night stand with a guy who only fucks him because he’s pretty and then leaves at the earliest opportunity probably isn’t going to do much for his self-esteem. Maybe he’s a romantic. Maybe even after everything, he wants a relationship again, but healthy this time. Wants to feel valued and trusted and cared for. It’s not much to ask for, and it’s so much to want at the same time. It’s also too late (or early at this point) at night to say all that to his roommate, especially because Hoseok probably already knows.
“I’ll think about it,” he says instead.
“That’s all I can ask for. Goodnight, hyung.”
“Goodnight, Hobi.”
Seokjin slips under his sheets after a shower. His mind is still whirling after meeting with Yoongi and Namjoon. It could be a terrible idea to go work for the team his dad owns. Especially if what Yoongi says is true and Minjun didn’t want to hire him. At least his eomma would be happy, anyway. She’s always wanted Seokjin and Minjun on the same team—literally and figuratively. And then there’s the Namjoon problem, Namjoon who would only work with Seokjin begrudgingly, who seems to think he’s just the pretty, rich kid that skates on by.
With a sigh, he resists the urge to rub his hands over his face (not after completing his skincare routine—he’s this pretty for a reason, after all). He thinks about what his roommate said, about maybe needing to put himself out there. And he may not be ready to dive into dating again, but this is one way he can put himself out there that might be a little less scary. At the end of the day, no matter who signs his paychecks, this is baseball. And Seokjin probably isn’t the world’s best boyfriend or roommate or son, but he’s pretty fucking good at understanding baseball. And he knows he can help Kiwoom. And if he can do it for a bigger paycheck while also maybe gaining his father’s respect and escaping the judgmental stares of the old, stuffy men in the front office at Doosan?
Maybe there’s not much to lose.
Before he can change his mind, he opens Katalk and sends a message to Yoongi.
I’m in. How soon can I start?