Work Text:
"oh,” namjoon’s exhale is swallowed by the steady thrum of base vibrating the walls from outside. he’s shaking with it, a little, but then so is whoever is trying to make their way in. they’ve got a hand on the door, spindly fingers sprawled and pushing slightly. namjoon trails his eyes from the pretty painted nails all the way up to the jut of jaw. there’s a bead of slick sweat sliding down - oh .
“sorry, m’sorry, thought it was empty,” hoseok rushes to say, words slurred and face flushed with alcohol. his hand doesn’t drop from the door but his eyes do; down the front of namjoon before rolling up to the ceiling as if he was still hanging out. is he still hanging out? he sneaks a look. all tucked in, fly zipped.
namjoon nods to himself in the small space of the stool, “ok.” his vision swims slightly with the movement.
“i thought it was empty,” hoseok says, for the second time, looking up at the ceiling.
hoseok’s looking up at the ceiling. namjoon’s looking down at the floor. they’re headed in different directions, isn’t that what hoseok had said? it makes namjoon laugh, a little, to remember that night right now. or does it make him cry? he swallows down the feeling, looks down, still. hoseok’s wearing the pair of shoes he bought him seven birthdays back. they’re scuffed at the toe, he catches, as hoseok steps forward.
“oh,” namjoon blinks up against the fluorescent lights behind hoseok, shuffling back to make room for him. “you coming in?”
hoseok lifts his hand from the door, finally, to pat at the dampness on his neck. first, with the back of his hand, then again with the tips of his fingers; delicate and precise even with the unsteady shake of alcohol. they come away a little wet, glistening in the light. namjoon feels his second bottle of soju sloshing in his stomach even though he just relieved himself. “yes. yeah, just, um. ok.”
the door squeaks to a close, the soft click of it rattling the walls. namjoon shakes; the light above them, too, flickers, when hoseok crowds in close. he looks soft even under the harsh light. it’s just them, then, pressed together in the small space of the bathroom stool.
there’s a long, drawn-out moment, when their eyes meet. the familiar woody musk beneath vanilla scent that lingers on hoseok’s skin mingles with the whiskey on his breath. namjoon drinks it up. hoseok licks at his lips, gets them wet with the tip of his tongue.
namjoon remembers a moment like this, from a few months back, curled up together as one on their couch. hoseok’s lips were wet then, too, but that was because namjoon had been licking over them; tonguing at the curve of hoseok’s mouth again and again, until he started making this very specific noise. a high, cut off whine, all breath in the middle. until he had melted into namjoon; a warm puddle waiting to be lapped up and savored.
namjoon was hovering over him, breathing in, breathing him in, when their eyes met. when hoseok had said, very quietly, “i love the way you see me, joon-ah.”
in this moment, now, pressed together but as two in a bathroom stool, namjoon looks at hoseok and thinks, who is seeing you now, hobah? who gets to see you, now? all silvery slender in a silk shirt he’s never seen before. is it new? namjoon knows without looking there is a little wet patch of sweat on the back shaped like a heart.
with the flush from the next cubicle and the flush of hoseok’s cheeks, namjoon realizes three things: time does not stop in those moments; hoseok is only here because he needs to piss; and he is only in hoseok’s way.
namjoon breathes out hard. “sorry,” he spits it a little, a little speck of saliva landing on the center of hoseok’s lips. hoseok flinches slightly at the touch of it. had flinched the first time, too, when namjoon kissed his way up his stomach, pressed his fingers to his jaw to open him wide, and spat directly into his mouth.
vision swimming again, namjoon takes a deep plunge with that memory. hoseok had twitched under him, a little wild with it, before swallowing it down. he swallowed it all down, mouth opening up like a rosebud to suck on namjoon’s tongue until their chins were sloppy with it, all wet slick sticking them together.
namjoon swallows, again and again, clumsily sliding his body against the wall to move around hoseok. can’t help but brush up against his side; silky smooth skin rubbing on him in the small space of the stool. all heat.
hand on the door, pushing out, namjoon’s hit with the thrum of base and hoseok free, piss stale air. he just needs to step out, now, eyes on the soap dispenser left on its side on the sink. it's empty.
he knows the feeling.
“- will you?”
it takes a second, not a moment, for namjoon to hear it; did he miss the first part of that sentence? he turns, and there’s that heart shaped damp patch on hoseok’s back. namjoon wants to reach out and press his fingers to it, wants to mouth at it until it’s a map only he knows how to trace.
can namjoon ask hoseok to repeat himself? does he need to, when he knows already he’ll say yes; yes, i will. i will stay here. i will hold your hand. i will take you home. i will sleep with you. i will go to your parents house with you. i will hold you. i will forgive you. i will care for you. i will be here. i will. i will. i will. always.
namjoon will always say yes to hoseok. he nods.
hoseok exhales, one long heady breath. over his shoulder he says, “ok. i’ll just, um - and then. we can?” there’s a relief to it, namjoon catches. he knows hoseok well enough to catch it. nodding again, hand on the door again, pushing out again, he’s ready to step out.
“ok. ok - just don’t look,” hoseok says, and namjoon’s hand slips.
the door slams shut, rattling the walls. namjoon spins, shaking with it; shaking with hoseok’s words and hoseok’s body facing the wall and hoseok’s hand's untucking his shirt to unbutton his jeans. the back of hoseok’s neck is flushed a deep red, with his long, tousled hair curling around his ears. his shoulders are hiked all the way up, two sharp blades. is namjoon meant to leave? vision swimming, soju sloshing, he can’t stop shaking.
the first trickle of hoseok letting go rings like a shot in namjoon’s ears.
he shuts his eyes, then, and tries not to think about anything at all.
“done,” hoseok says, voice swallowed by the whirl of the flush but namjoon hears him clearly anyway. another shot, hitting him somewhere deep in his chest.
namjoon opens his eyes and feels a little more off center than he had before he closed them. they’re all shaky, glossed over with something. must be from breathing in the whiskey on hoseok’s breath; drinking it up, drinking him up. how long’s it been? since he left yoongi with his drink and a tap on his shoulder before stumbling towards the toilets. how long has it been since hoseok had pushed opened the door with his small, dainty hand, shaking slightly.
namjoon wishes he had kept his eyes open, now, even though hoseok said not to look. wishes he had taken a peak, just a little peak, if only to see those pretty painted nails, dark but delicate on his fingers, wrapped around himself. pretty. pretty hoseok. he’s so pretty, everywhere. why did namjoon listen to him and close his eyes?
hoseok, turned towards him now, says, “you - oh. no, are you -” namjoon can’t quite focus on him, on the way his face is all pinched up the way it does when he’s hurting. “you’re crying. joon-ah.”
oh.
hoseok reaches forward with one hand, the hand that had been wrapped around himself, before he thinks better of it. it drops between them and namjoon wants to beg, suddenly, for hoseok to touch him, please, he wouldn’t mind, anything, if it means hoseok is touching him. a raspy, raw noise escapes from somewhere deep in his throat.
then, sudden but careful, a damp but clean silk sleeve presses to namjoon’s cheek. hoseok must’ve shaken his arm out, covering his dirty hand under the arm hole. namjoon can feel the warmth of it, still. nudges forward, still, to feel hoseok drag the delicate silk on his skin, soaking up the tears silently.
“s’fine. it’s fine,” namjoon nods, voice all wrong. shaky. he’s all shaken up at hoseok’s touch. hoseok’s trembling, too, like he’s about to spill over, too.
“i’m sorry. i - sorry. sorry, namjoon-ah,” hoseok stutters as he drops his hand, silk sliding from the swell of namjoon’s cheek.
hoseok takes his touch away, just like that, and that’s what breaks namjoon. just that.
“don’t. it’s not - about that. don’t make it about that.”
hoseok flinches. his cheeks color under the fluorescent lights, matching the deep flush still high on his neck. another bead of slick sweat slides down, catching on the collar of his shirt. he steps back even though there is nowhere to go in the small space of the stool.
he’s not looking at namjoon when he says, “do you - should i go? do you want me to go, joon-ah?”
we’re headed in different directions, hoseok had said that night. sat together, on the couch they bought together in the apartment they own together. he had said some other things, too, we’ll still live together, of course, and, nothing has to change, really, then, we were friends first, right?
namjoon remembers the way hoseok’s nails were digging into his palms, leaving deep crescent moons when he shifted to pick at the couch cushion on his lap instead. he was restless, namjoon remembers.
were they ever just friends? namjoon can’t remember a time when he didn’t think of hoseok as the start and end to all his days.
which direction could he possibly be headed in, if not towards hoseok? i am a faulty compass; all my directions point to you, namjoon had wanted to say back, but it felt too childish.
he could feel the words on his tongue, i would follow you anywhere, instead biting back, biting it back and swallowing the words whole. he hasn’t been able to get the taste of lead off his tongue since. always, i will. i will. i will.
“i’m not,” namjoon sniffs, an ugly sound even with the echo of someone relieving themself coming from the cubicle next door, “a child who’s crying over, like, some fucking toy.”
“fuck, i know that. i’m sorry.”
another flush whirls. what are you sorry for? namjoon wants to ask.
he thinks, suddenly, of the first morning they woke up pressed together. can’t place what morning it was or what day it started and belonged to. doesn’t remember what season was spilling out onto the streets outside, but inside, it was warm. he remembers it was warm. he was always warm with hoseok.
namjoon woke up to them sharing space, all sweat sticky on one side of the bed; hoseok stuck to him like something sweet. namjoon didn’t want to move at the risk of disturbing him; didn’t move, for the next hour or so it took for hoseok to wake fully.
slowly, at first, with the wispy hair of his shin softly dragging against namjoon’s. then, with the scratchy sting of his morning stubble sweeping against namjoon’s throat; so sharp it made namjoon gasp, all breath.
“sorry,” hoseok had said, moving back, backing up off the bed like he had done something awful. hand to his chin, covering the evidence from namjoon. as if hoseok could hide it; this thing, that made him who he is.
which part of it are you sorry for? namjoon is desperate to know.
they had played hide and seek together, once, with hoseok’s family at his family home all the way in gwangju. hoseok had asked, a little shy, if namjoon would come with him to stay for a week. gwangju is beautiful in the peak of summer, he said, like namjoon needed convincing.
it felt like it was something special when namjoon said, of course i will; when hoseok's cheeks caved in to make room for his dimples, smile split wide.
it was special; hoseok driving them down with a playlist he made tailored to namjoon's taste and namjoon's favorite snacks spilled over on the back seat. it was special; the look on hoseok’s face after namjoon had been roped into playing scissors rock paper with one of hoseok’s cousin’s straight after stepping out of the car. it was special, when hoseok’s mom opened the door and opened her arms wide for namjoon to step in to.
special all the way until hoseok had pulled namjoon back from his mom's arms and said, this is namjoonie, my friend from seoul.
it came as a surprise. the words stung, sharp, like hoseok’s stubble against namjoon’s throat. namjoon can't remember if he managed to swallow down that gasp in time either.
later in the day, after eating bibim naengmyeon, they played hide and seek in the garden with hoseok's cousins; all of them still young enough to have matching scraped knees and gapped teeth. namjoon was too big and clumsy, really, to fit into any place without being seen immediately. hoseok, however, would win every single time, after the full fifteen minutes had passed without anyone finding him.
on the fifth round, when the sky had turned pink, hoseok's cousin's promptly decided the game was over after they found namjoon within the first minute; running off to leave him to find hoseok by himself.
it took him five minutes.
smiling wide with the sun setting in the gaps between his teeth, hoseok said, “i’ve been waiting for you, joon-ah.”
namjoon replied, warmed by his sun, “i’m always seeing you, huh, hobah? you can’t hide from me.”
namjoon shakes his head against the wave of nausea that crashes through him at the memory. memories, plural. all his memories are with hoseok. he trembles, knees weak, at the thought of hoseok’s blinding smile.
hoseok's not smiling now, though, lips white where he’s biting them between his teeth. his eyes are wet at the corners. the slope of his nose, of all things, makes namjoon want to sit down and sob.
namjoon says, “stop," to both hoseok and himself, maybe. "stop saying sorry, hobah. you don’t need to - to keep saying it. for that. not for that, at least. never had to apologize for that at all. not your fault.”
“it’s not your fault either.”
“then stop looking at me like that.”
“like what?” hoseok’s mouth twists. “looking at you like what?”
namjoon clenches his jaw until he hears the click of it. “like. all like -“ pulls at his hair, a little, hiking up his shoulders. he feels raw, like he’s all inside out. “you’re not doing it on purpose. never on purpose, but - it hurts, hobah. it’s got me all fucked up, hobah.”
he can hardly breathe, is the thing, lungs swollen with the amount of breath he's trying to catch. all he can taste is lead. is he still crying? he rubs at his eyes, fingers coming away wet - glistening, like hoseok's.
“it’s nothing special. people - every day, right? feeling like - the way i do, for you. s’nothing special.”
and it's true; it really is nothing special. hoseok had said to his mom and his entire family, namjoonie, my friend, and namjoon went and fell anyway. fell hard, on his side, like the empty soap dispenser on the sink. he'll get over it - has been too, if anyone asks. it’s the -out on a thursday night with yoongi and jin at a club he's never been to before- kinda over it.
now, standing with his heart held in his hands, bruised and broken, with the shock of seeing hoseok in the small space of the stool, namjoon thinks, still, it’s nothing special.
“i just. want you - want you to be happy, hobah. i want to be happy. i’m trying, ok? really fucking trying.”
hoseok shivers, full body shaking with it. he doesn’t look at namjoon when his eyes finally spill over. “ok, namjoon-ah. ok.”
“i just want you to be happy.” namjoon's mouth twists around the words at the thought that that could be without him. that hoseok could be happier without him.
hoseok’s distraught, when he looks up, eyes red and lips raw. “i want you to be happy, too. i - you know, joonah, you know -”
namjoon does know. he does know, because of the way hoseok would watch namjoon while he worked with his face open in awe and say, my joonie is so smart. because of the way hoseok would wake up at five in the morning every day for the whole winter namjoon’s grandmother was sick, just to drive namjoon to her home so he could spend the whole day with her; some days staying in the car the entire visit to give them privacy. the way hoseok, after spending a day with his own family, would come home with his eyes dark and face drawn, and curl up into the curve of namjoon’s body and say, i’m so happy i’m home. tell me about your day, baby.
he knows because hoseok whispered, once, i want to get married, and when namjoon laughed, asked, to who? hoseok cupped his cheeks, gently, and looked him in the eyes and said, clearly, to the love of my life.
the love of my life. namjoonie, my friend.
namjoon thinks, which part of it are you sorry for?
namjoon says, "i know. i know," then, sudden, an apology of his own rolls of his tongue, thick. "sorry. sorry ‘bout your messages. didn’t mean to, like, not...“
there’s a bunch of them, all read without a reply. first, it was hoseok checking in, when are you coming home? are you safe? then, a little while later, yoongi hyung said you’re staying with him and jin hyung? after a week of silence, he tried a different approach, asking namjoon about his day like nothing had happened between them, how was work today? i listened to this song you would like, today. i’ve added it to your playlist. then, finally, i'll water your plants well, joon-ah. they're safe with me. that one ached, deep, when he thought of how he had left his heart with hoseok in the hopes of it being nurtured and kept safe, too.
hoseok shakes his head, “don’t have to explain anything to me.” he's got two twin tear tracks trailing to the tip of his chin, spilling over.
“yeah," namjoon deflates, suddenly, all strung out. he hates when he cries. hates it more, when it’s hoseok. "yeah. sorry... you’re good, hobah. you look good. are you good, hobah?”
hoseok bites the inside of his cheek. “do you - will you come home tonight? jiminie misses you.”
namjoon swallows. “and you?” ah. still, it came up. scraped its way out of his throat. "i didn’t - sorry.”
“am i allowed to?”
namjoon nods. “i would like to be missed by you, yeah.”
“of course i do," hoseok says, inching into namjoon's space, closer than before. closer than they've been in months. hoseok’s birthday shoes, scuffed at the toe, touch namjoon’s. his eyes are still wet when he says, "you know. you're - you... i’m always missing you. you’re my best friend. joon-ah.”
hoseok’s pupils are heart shaped, matching the wet patch of sweat on the back of his silk shirt. he’s heart shaped all over.
he was born to be loved.
namjoon says, “not - not tonight, but, like, soon. ok?”
the sudden slam of someone falling into the door from the outside makes them both jump, bubble burst. the door starts to swing open until it hits namjoon’s back; hoseok’s hand, too, outstretched over him to keep it pressed closed. namjoon thinks he hears a muted, sorry, from outside but he can’t focus on anything but the weight of hoseok’s arm resting on his shoulder.
namjoon wants to say more. he has a lot more to say, if only he could get his mouth to open. his jaw is clenched, fists clenched, too, at just the barest of touches from hoseok. it’s been so long he’s starving for it.
"joon-ah," hoseok whispers, lifting his other arm up. slowly, like he’s giving namjoon the space to step back, step out, as if namjoon wasn’t stuck on the spot. he’s been harpooned by hoseok’s touch.
there’s a moment. another one. hoseok’s got a smudge of makeup under his left eye. they’re a little red; slowly starting to swole with all the emotion. he’s beautiful, really, at his best and at his worst. there isn’t version of him that namjoon doesn’t crave.
eyes on eyes, namjoon nudges forward, dizzy with it.
he’s in hoseok’s arms, then, body big but being held like he’s something small. something special. he breathes in, one long inhale, and lets himself feel the weight of it; hoseok’s arms, this evening, the past few months, years. it’s been years of loving hoseok.
he closes his eyes and shuts out everything but that weight. allows himself that for a moment, just a moment, before he presses his face into hoseok’s neck, and asks, "let’s go back out?"
hoseok says, “yeah. yeah, just a moment, joon-ah. can i have this moment? just this one.”
namjoon’s phone buzzes in his pocket between them. maybe it’s yoongi, finally, checking in. how long’s it been?
“i’ll go out first?” hoseok asks, pulling back.
looking at him now, namjoon thinks, who will clean up this mess? hoseok's heart, just as bruised and broken as his, is smeared all over the bathroom floor. all over the club floor too, maybe, trailing all the way back to their apartment. like a trail of breadcrumbs but bloody.
he can’t help but slip on it, the mess of it, when he steps out the small space of the stool. finally, with his hand on the door, again, pushing out, again.
hoseok had stepped out first while namjoon picked out his phone from his pocket, swiping through to see a message from yoongi; outside. saw jiminie. said hobi is here. where are you?
namjoon makes his way to the sink; to the empty soap dispenser, still on its side. hoseok is to the side drying his hands.
he reaches out, picking up the bottle from its side. he places it back down, right side up.
it’s empty, still, but it’s standing up now, at least.
“hoseok-ah,” namjoon says, catching hoseok’s reflection in the mirror as he shakes his hands, shakes himself. he looks at the dip of his lips, the slope of his nose, knows then that he will end the night home with hoseok, after all.
namjoon says, "how are my plants, hobah?” says, “tell me over a drink, will you?"
hoseok’s smile is small, voice too, when he says, "of course i will."