Work Text:
In retrospect, Namjoon really should’ve realized it earlier.
For months— actually, years now, he’s been presented with evidence. And still, it’s not until the reality of the situation is thrown in his face that he puts it all together.
It was hidden in tiny clues here and there, a bunch of little moments, like these:
Jimin routinely crowding his way in next to Yoongi when they were standing or sitting in a line, wherever they were, and Yoongi always looking incredibly relieved once Jimin was nestled beside him;
Yoongi and Jimin asleep on the couch, laid out as the credits for some movie rolled on the television, squeezed in horizontally side by side with Yoongi’s head resting on Jimin’s chest, a positioning that Namjoon had always assumed was an accident;
Yoongi looking for Jimin’s approval on a track, a title, a lyric, a hairstyle, an outfit, whatever, above anyone else’s, even if the rest of the group had reached a consensus;
and Yoongi trying to hide that he was crying after a phone call home, and Jimin comforting him, hugging him, kissing him on the forehead and holding him close.
Yeah. In retrospect, it’s kinda obvious.
But like he said, Namjoon never put it together.
And then he walked in on Jimin and Yoongi kissing.
—
It was sort of a classic Namjoon move, he realizes, not paying attention to where he’s going— wandering into the dongsaeng’s bedroom, too caught up in his thoughts to stop and knock, just wanting to find someone to ask about what they should do for dinner. And he looks up, and sees Jimin and Yoongi by Jimin’s bed, going at it, like really going at it—definitely not a joke, definitely not an accident—and Namjoon realizes that that door was probably supposed to have been locked.
Purely on instinct, he starts a hasty retreat back out the room, hoping to not be noticed. Private, a voice in the back of his head says immediately.
And then another voice says, hold on a second.
Hold on a second.
And he remembers that they are in an idol group, and that he is the leader, and that what is going on is absolutely fucking unacceptable.
And so Namjoon interrupts them, ignores their expressions, and tells Yoongi that they need to talk. Now.
—
Yoongi looks one part embarassed, ten parts casually defiant as Namjoon drags him into the kitchen for a hushed but unforgiving lecture.
“You can’t do this,” Namjoon says, leader voice fully activated, adjusted to quiet mode. “No question. You absolutely cannot do this. Stop it now.”
And what does Yoongi do?
He laughs. Yoongi laughs at him.
“No offense, Joon,” he says, “but that’s not gonna happen.”
Namjoon chokes on air. “Excuse me?” he says, even though he heard perfectly. Yoongi may be the hyung, but Namjoon’s the leader. “I said no. Hard no. It can’t happen. End of story.”
Yoongi shrugs. His calm is starting to bother Namjoon. “And I said, it’s gonna happen. Let it go.”
Namjoon knows his expression is shocked, probably comically so, but this interaction makes no sense. It just makes no sense. Namjoon expected Yoongi to maybe say, fuck you, Namjoon, but with that underlying resignation that’s always in his voice when he knows Namjoon is right. Or maybe he expected Yoongi to tell him that the thing with Jimin was only once, was a mistake, they were confused, they were following through on a dare, they were joking around, they were drunk from when they’d snuck alcohol earlier, whatever, but it was awful and would never happen again. So on and so forth; bullet dodged.
But he did not expect Yoongi to dig his heels in and say no.
Namjoon laughs, despite the fact that it’s not funny at all. “You’re really gonna fight me on this so you can experiment with Jimin, get laid without having to leave the dorm? That’s low, Yoongi.”
That gets a reaction: Yoongi’s mouth drops open.
“You want to sex, go get it somewhere else,” Namjoon continues. “You wanna figure out what you like in bed, you go for it. I don’t care if it’s with a guy or not. None of us care. Just know that by messing around with a member, you’re putting us all at risk.”
Yoongi’s face becomes an odd mix of expressions: amusement and shock and rage, all warring for dominance.
“First of all,” he finally says, voice low, “do not presume to know that I am experimenting to figure out what I like. I like dick. That’s not a point of confusion for me. Second, if you think this is just about sex, you are way, way off. Third, how dare you suggest that I am experimenting with Jimin.”
He leans in close to Namjoon. “And fourth, if you ever imply to me again that Jimin is easy, I will make sure you fucking regret it.”
Namjoon can see in Yoongi’s eyes that he’s serious.
But how can he be? How he can fuck around with Jimin and tell himself it’s real, how can he compromise the group like this, risk throwing away everything they’ve ever worked for, and with a member? It floors Namjoon.
Laboring to stay calm, Namjoon says, “Don’t threaten me.”
“I’ll do what I want,” Yoongi snarls.
Yoongi may not be much of a talker on the regular, but he is an Olympic level fighter. He argues like he raps: spitting acid, sharp and unrelenting. Yoongi is gearing up, winding back to deliver his next comeback, and the sight only escalates Namjoon’s anger.
“I told you I’m not stopping, so I’m not stopping,” Yoongi continues. “Me and Jimin end when we decide to end, if we ever do. You get no control over that.”
“I do have control,” Namjoon seethes, “and I’m telling you not to push me on this.”
Yoongi laughs callously. “You being leader means nothing to me in this situation, Namjoon,” he says. “Do you get that? It’s a title. It means nothing.”
Namjoon tries to keep his composure, tries to be a good leader, he really does, but he fails.
“You are so selfish to do this to the group,” Namjoon hisses, voice cracking. “You are so fucking selfish, Min Yoongi.”
Yoongi’s anger breaks.
He pauses. “Maybe,” he says. “You know what, yeah. Yeah, I’m a selfish piece of shit. But at least I can admit it.” Something occurs to him. “Because you’re not upset that I did this to the group. You think I did it to you.”
Namjoon sputters. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about—“
“I got there first and you didn’t even know it was an option—“
“—this is not about me—“
“—you think I cheated, when you’ve been so good—“
“—I said, I don’t even know what you’re—“
“—because all this time,” Yoongi says smoothly, “you thought Seokjin was off limits.”
Namjoon’s jaw drops.
“Didn’t you,” Yoongi taunts.
Namjoon tries to breathe deep, but his inhales won’t reach down his throat.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Shut up,” Namjoon hears himself say.
“You are so bent out of shape,” Yoongi informs, “because you cried yourself to sleep every night, thinking you were sacrificing yourself for the goddamn group like a martyr, whining, oh poor me, oh poor Namjoon—“
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about—“
“—All so you could avoid having to confront that you want Seokjin for real and not just to get your dick wet—“
Namjoon crimsons. “You need to shut your mouth—“
“—because you know that every single girl you fingerfucked before you got famous,” Yoongi informs, “you know that what you had with them means nothing compared to what you want from Seokjin—“
“—Min Yoongi, I swear to god—“
“—you fucking coward,” Yoongi finishes.
Namjoon punches Yoongi.
—
Namjoon had only ever punched one person in his life before.
It had been purely out of desperation. Before he was a trainee, years before, he was at an underground club on a school night, about to leave, but there was this drunk guy blocking the exit, refusing to move and getting all up in Namjoon’s face. Namjoon was supposed to have left twenty minutes earlier, he had to get back home before his Mom woke up and realized that he was gone, so Namjoon finally pleaded with the guy to move. But the guy wouldn’t—instead, he swayed right into Namjoon’s space, right up close so that the stinging stench of the alcohol on his breath invaded Namjoon’s senses. So, Namjoon had panicked and punched the guy in the face. He’d been able to dart through the doorway and duck out while the guy was freaking out, running fast enough to not be followed, shaking nearly the whole way home.
He did make it back home before his Mom woke up and realized he’d been gone, but Namjoon had been jarred by the experience. The punch didn’t feel good; it had filled Namjoon with fear. It made him terrified of himself. For an entire month, he had been scared that he would impulsively punch any person who stepped in his path.
The whole thing made him so anxious that he swore never to do violence to another person in his life, unless it was absolutely, life-threateningly necessary, or if it meant protecting someone who couldn’t protect themselves. And Namjoon had kept that promise.
Until now.
Punching Yoongi is less than necessary— it is absolutely unnecessary, and it is an awful idea. Maybe, though, there was some part of Namjoon’s brain, way in the back there, that had thought that it would feel good.
But it doesn’t. As soon as Namjoon punches Yoongi, as soon as his fist makes contact, he’s shocked into regret, sharp and clear and cruel.
—
”Fuck!” Yoongi clutches at his face, and drops to a crouch on the floor.
There’s loud footsteps approaching, and then Hoseok and Jeongguk come rushing in from the living room. Jimin enters from the hall—he must have still been in his bedroom this whole time—a second later. When all three see Yoongi and Jimin, Yoongi covering his face on the floor and Namjoon coiled with fury above him, their expressions turn bewildered.
”Fuck, Namjoon,” Yoongi repeats. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
The reality of the situation hits Namjoon and he immediately begs the universe that Yoongi’s nose isn’t broken.
Hoseok looks between them. “What happened?”
Sarcastically, Yoongi says through his hand, “Joonie and I had a little disagreement.”
Jimin sees Namjoon’s still-clenched fists. He looks to Namjoon incredulously. “You punched him?”
“I,” Namjoon begins, but his words won’t come out. “I,” he tries again, but there’s nothing.
Jimin’s eyes widen. “You did?”
Namjoon unclenches and re-clenches his fist. Hoseok and Jimin and Jeongguk all look at him with sudden fear, like he might hit them too.
Jimin crouches down to check Yoongi, carefully prying the older’s hands away from his face. He touches delicately around Yoongi’s nose. There’s a little bit of blood below his nostrils. Namjoon feels sick at the sight.
Jimin presses the bridge, and Yoongi hisses. Jimin makes a face, then looks to Namjoon, impassive.
“It’s not broken,” he says flatly. “You’re lucky.”
Namjoon wants to collapse in on himself in shame.
“Jesus Christ, Namjoon,” Hoseok breathes. He looks so disappointed. Jeongguk still just looks scared.
“I’m going,” Namjoon rasps, and he looks for his phone, but can’t find it. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’ll leave without it.
As he turns to leave the kitchen, he catches sight of Hoseok inclining his head towards Jeongguk and saying something quietly, and Jimin and Yoongi still on the floor, Jimin cautiously checking over Yoongi’s nose again. “I’m fine, jagiya,” Yoongi mutters to Jimin, looking worn out. Jimin just shakes his head. Namjoon’s shame hits him again like a slap in the face.
On his way through the door, he almost runs right into Taehyung, back from a snack run.
“Hyung, I was just,” Taehyung begins as they pass each other, brandishing a full grocery bag at the older, then halts as Namjoon speeds by, avoiding eye contact. “Hyung?” he asks, looking at Namjoon, confused, but Namjoon ignores him and leaves.
—
The only reason Seokjin isn’t there in the dorm to catch Namjoon and Yoongi’s mini-brawl is because he’s at the company building, doing his own dance practice after their normal lesson.
Namjoon had always admired that about Seokjin; he wasn’t the best dancer, but he would work extra to make up for it. He would work and work and work until he was somewhere near satisfied with himself, and then he would work some more. He wasn’t the best singer, but he would practice until he was good, and then until he was better. He was awkward, but he had labored to develop a charm, a sparkle that drew others to him, that made him magnetic.
He could stay okay, but he kept working to be excellent. Namjoon had always thought that was amazing. That Seokjin was amazing. And still Seokjin was sweet, and funny, and kind, and always there for others, always putting others before himself. He was already perfect, but he kept trying to be better.
Namjoon had never known anyone like that.
Namjoon walks and walks away from the dorm, until he looks up and finds himself in front of the company building.
And he thinks,
shit.
—
In retrospect, Namjoon really should’ve realized it earlier.
For months— actually, years now, he’s been presented with evidence. And still, it’s not until the reality of the situation is thrown in his face that he puts it all together.
It was hidden in tiny clues here and there, a bunch of little moments, like these:
Helping Seokjin step out of the van and onto the sidewalk, teasing him for being a princess, and quickly, jokingly kissing Seokjin’s hand as he did it—then spending the rest of the day replaying the moment in his head, wondering if it was normal to have liked it, to have enjoyed it as more than a joke, the softness of Seokjin’s skin beneath Namjoon’s lips;
Realizing after nearly a year of it happening that the other five members had developed a system of sending Seokjin to talk to Namjoon and calm him down when the younger was bent out of shape about something—and then, upon discovering this, pretending he didn’t know and not telling Seokjin either, so that it could continue;
Wanting very badly, so badly, every single night that the two of them stayed together in a hotel room, to crawl out of his own bed and into Seokjin’s— for the company, he told himself, just to have another person in bed beside him— and one time actually sharing a bed when Seokjin felt freezing cold and not being able to sleep the entire time;
Being told a year and a half ago during a break in promotions that Seokjin was in a car accident, and not knowing for two whole hours how serious it was—not knowing it was only a fender bender—and feeling for those two hours like he couldn’t even breathe, like he had just let harm come to the most important person in the world, and realizing that if Seokjin was really truly hurt, that Namjoon would never be able to live with himself after that;
And feeling, sometimes, like the shittiest leader in the world, like the shittiest person in the world, until Seokjin smiles at him.
Yeah. In retrospect, it’s kinda obvious.
But like he said, Namjoon never put it together.
And then he punched Yoongi in the face.
—
It’s true; he had, has, feelings for Seokjin.
For a long time. Maybe since they met.
But here’s the thing: the part of him that wasn’t denying those feelings became convinced that he could never act on it. It just couldn’t happen. He knew it couldn’t, especially when they were in the same group.
And so he held back. He was careful, he never said anything. Kept it to himself. He could give up a romantic interest, maybe someone he loved, maybe even the person he belonged with, if it meant living his dream. Just working together closely would have to be good enough. He decided it was worth it. It had to be worth it.
And all along, Namjoon had told himself, if it wasn’t like this, that thing between us might happen. If they weren’t idols, then Namjoon would take his chance. He’d confess, he’d show Seokjin that they were made for each other.
But they were idols.
And so for years Namjoon kept this pact with himself—years—all spent repeating to himself over and over again that this was the way things had to be, that there was nothing to be done. So when he found out about Jimin and Yoongi, he didn’t think he had ever been angrier in his life, because he knew, because everyone knew, that if anyone was going to break the rules and be together, it was going to be Namjoon and Seokjin.
Yoongi’s right. Namjoon feels cheated, because all this time, while he was busy feeling bad for himself, he could’ve been honest with Seokjin about his feelings. And there was nothing stopping him after all.
Namjoon pushes open the door to the company building.
—
He finds Seokjin in a dance practice room, sitting on the floor with his back against one of the mirrored walls. He’s sweaty and tired, resting his head against his forearm, looking a bit dazed. The sight of him punches the breath out of Namjoon.
“Hey.” He brightens, even under his exhaustion, when he sees Namjoon in the doorway. When he gets a better look at Namjoon, though, his face falls. “What happened?”
Namjoon says, “I punched Yoongi.”
Seokjin’s eyebrows fly up. When Namjoon doesn’t say any more, he gets up.
“Come with me,” he says.
—
Seokjin leads Namjoon to the tiny BTS workroom that’s a floor down, makes Namjoon sit down, and then disappears for a second. He returns with a cloth wrapped around ice. Namjoon has no idea where Seokjin found the ice or the cloth.
Seokjin sits down and gently cradles Namjoon’s hand, and presses the ice to it, holding his hand gingerly like Namjoon had been in a cage match or something.
He doesn’t ask any questions, though. He seems disappointed, in his way, but Namjoon knows he deserves that.
Not able to make eye contact just yet, Namjoon says, “I’m gonna tell you a story. So, I guess, if you can, stick with me on it. Please,” he adds.
Seokjin shifts the ice, says, “Okay.”
Namjoon takes a deep breath.
“Right after we met...maybe a couple months after, when we were trainees, I remember this rumor going around that you were dating someone.” Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “And I was like, makes perfect sense, you know? This really attractive guy, who’s probably going to be the visual for some group, maybe my group,” Namjoon continues despite Seokjin’s sudden, furious blush, “that guy’s gonna be with someone, obviously. So I kinda forgot about it.”
Namjoon shakes his head. The top of Namjoon’s hand is cold from the ice, the bottom warm from Seokjin’s fingers cupping his. “But then, when we had to take dance classes together, I started having these moments where I would imagine this person you were with. I didn’t know anything about them,” he exhales, “I didn’t know guy or girl. Like, I didn’t even know if they existed. But I came up with this person who you would go out with, and I thought they must be really hot and smart and funny. Someone incredible. And I couldn’t stop thinking about them, you know? I couldn’t stop. And you know what, hyung?”
Seokjin doesn’t say anything.
Namjoon sucks in a breath. “I hated this person. I hated them so much.” Seokjin’s blush deepens to crimson. “I hated them with everything I had, because,” Namjoon huffs a laugh, “I was so jealous.”
Namjoon can feel that Seokjin is totally still. Under the ice, Namjoon’s knuckles are getting chill; his hand will go numb soon.
“Today,” Namjoon says, “I found out that Yoongi and Jimin are together. Like, together together.”
Seokjin inhales softly; surprise.
“I think they have been for a while now. But it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Seokjin thinks, closes his eyes, nods.
“I told Yoongi to stop,” Namjoon continues, “and he told me I was upset because I wanted to be with you but was too scared to do anything about it.”
Namjoon looks right at Seokjin. It looks like the older is holding his breath. His eyes are wide.
“I punched him,” Namjoon adds. “Probably because I realized he was right.”
Namjoon’s hand goes numb.
“I love you,” he tells Seokjin.
Seokjin drops the ice.
—
“Oh,” Seokjin fumbles, voice strangely, adorably high-pitched, “sorry, I just— shoot, let me pick it up—“
They both lean down to pick it up at the same time, and their heads crash together.
”Ow,” Namjoon says, as Seokjin gasps with pain. They both clutch at their heads.
Really, though, Namjoon should’ve seen this coming, that he could inspire destruction and pain even during a love confession. He hopes Seokin isn’t hurt too badly.
“Good news, though,” Namjoon says awkwardly, breaking their shared injured silence. “We have the ice already.”
Seokjin doesn’t laugh. Instead, he just stares at Namjoon, and his eyes get suspiciously bright.
Uh oh. “Hyung, listen, I don’t mean to make you upset—“
Seokjin bites his lip. “Namjoon—“
“You don’t have to believe me,” Namjoon insists, “but just give me the chance to show you—“
Seokjin’s eyes are getting wetter. “Namjoon—“
“We belong together,” Namjoon rushes out, “I swear, hyung, if you’ll just let me—“
“I KNOW THAT,” Seokjin cries. “I KNOW WE BELONG TOGETHER.”
Namjoon halts.
“What do you think, that I never noticed?” Seokjin shouts, a tear slipping out, and Namjoon is terrified into backing away a little bit.
“I knew since we met!” Seokjin continues. “That rumor about me dating someone as a trainee was not true, you know why? Because I wanted to be with you! So I didn’t date anyone!”
Namjoon begins, “Does that mean—“
Seokjin inhales noisily, throwing his head back. “I’ve known for forever! And you had to punch Yoongi to figure that out? Are you serious?”
“I was going through a journey,” Namjoon tries to explain, “the punching is really a metaphor, if you think about it—“
“You have some nerve,” Seokjin speaks over him, now full-out crying while shouting, “going around discovering secret relationships and then getting into fights, punching people, then coming around here and confessing to me, and, and making weird jokes about ice—“
“I think the ice thing might also be a metaphor—“ Namjoon tries.
“And it turns out you loved me too and you were pretending we couldn’t be together, what is that? And here I’ve been trying to figure out how to show you we could be a couple!” Seokjin leans in towards Namjoon, waving a finger at him threateningly. “Do you know how many interviews and variety shows I sat through trying to decide whether I should convince you with a power point presentation, or maybe just kiss you and get it over with—“
Namjoon leans in and presses his lips to Seokjin’s.
When the younger pulls away after a few seconds, Seokjin makes a couple movements to speak, but nothing comes out.
“I love it when you tell me off,” Namjoon confesses, cheeks burning.
“Good,” Seokjin huffs, trying to pretend that he’s flustered because he’s angry, but it’s not really working, “because I am only just getting started. You need to apologize to Yoongi—“
“I will,” Namjoon promises. “I’ll go right back and tell him, I was going to apologize no matter what.”
“And you need to show support for Jimin and Yoongi being together—“
“I will.”
“And you have to promise to talk through your feelings in the future instead of just hitting people when you're upset—“
“I will.”
“—if you want to kiss me again.” Seokjin says, then hiccups adorably.
Namjoon wipes a tear away from Seokjin’s face. “I promise.”
Well, maybe more kissing happens before Namjoon heads back to the dorm to fulfill Seokjin’s conditions.
—
When Namjoon returns to the dorm, Yoongi is sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling on his phone, for all intents and purposes looking like he’s waiting. He’s got some bruising around his eyes, and there’s a tiny Hello Kitty bandage on his nose that Namjoon is ninety-nine percent sure can be credited to Jimin.
“Hyung,” Namjoon greets, a little nervous, “hey.”
Yoongi nods in response. So, Namjoon opens his mouth to apologize.
“Save it,” Yoongi cuts him off, not even looking up from his phone. “I don’t need to hear your apology. Consider yourself off the hook.”
Plaintively, Namjoon says, “But I had a whole thing prepared.”
“I know,” Yoongi replies easily. “But you’re sorry. So, I forgive you. I’m sure you reflected or whatever.”
“Hyung wanted me to, like, write something out,” Namjoon adds, and Yoongi laughs.
“Of course.” He looks up from his phone. “Did Her Majesty have any other demands?”
“I’m supposed to be supportive of you and Jimin,” Namjoon says, unable to stop a smile at how formal it sounds, and Yoongi matches his expression.
“No more punching and we’ll be fine,” says Yoongi. “Unless you’re hiding a rainbow flag somewhere that you can wear as a cape.”
Namjoon joins him at the table. “This is gonna sound terrible,” he says, “like, the worst thing one human being can say to another, but I’m actually glad that I punched you.”
“Me too,” agrees Yoongi. “If it means I don’t have to watch you and hyung pine for each other anymore, I’ll take ten more punches.”
“But really,” Namjoon says, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Now,” the older leans forward, looking serious, but then his bravado gives way to embarassment. “Jimin is making me ask if you guys need condoms.”
“And I’m out,” Namjoon says, booking it out of the kitchen and down the hall as fast as he can.
—
In retrospect, Namjoon really should’ve realized earlier that Seokjin loved him too.
“I was always trying to be close to you,” Seokjin insists, looking up from where his head is resting on Namjoon’s chest. “Like, how I only sat next to you when we watched horror movies, so we could hold each other when something scary happened? Or, how I wear your sweaters and shirts to bed all the time?”
“I did notice that,” Namjoon says. “You can keep doing that, by the way.”
“Or me asking for your help with dance practice?” Seokjin presses the tips of his fingers against Namjoon’s. “I mean, really.”
“Well, when you put it like that...”
“Or, what about that time I insisted we sleep in the same hotel bed and made you hold me close because I was so cold, but it was actually the middle of June?” Seokjin raises an eyebrow.
Namjoon smiles. “Yeah.” He huffs a laugh. “In retrospect, it’s kinda obvious.”
“Well,” Seokjin reasons, “at least now you’ve put it together.”