Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Even over a year after moving, the novelty of living in New York City still hasn’t worn off for Namjoon. The native New Yorkers he met in the early days of his Master’s program warned him that the appeal wouldn’t last— that after a few months of gross, crowded subways and streets that had a tendency to either stink in the summer heat or become ice-cold wind tunnels in the winter, he would grow just as unimpressed by his surroundings as they were. But Namjoon has lived here for sixteen months, and he loves the city just the same. 

There are a lot of things he loves in New York— the old architecture, the numerous and varied types of street food, the constant sense of urgency in the crowds that travel the streets. Mostly, though, Namjoon loves the people. He loves the attitudes of those around him, good natured but no nonsense.  He loves the diversity, loves how he can walk down the block where his tiny studio apartment is located and hear four different languages within a minute on some days. He loves the way that it feels like there are little pieces of the whole world from all over squeezed into this one place. He’s tried to explain it before— how, despite its flaws, there is something in the city’s energy that makes him feel so alive— but he can never seem to put the feeling into words. 

Currently, the weather definitely falls closer to the “ice cold wind tunnel” end of the New York spectrum. It’s not that bad, though. Namjoon wears his big, puffy coat with the hood pulled up, shoulders hunched against the gusts of freezing air as he makes his way to his favorite café just off campus. He’s running late, he knows, but he doesn’t want to take his cold hands out of his pockets long enough to attempt a quick text. It’s fine, though— it’s not like Ashley will really care. 

He spots his friend as soon as he finally pushes the door open and walks into the warmth of the café. She has her nose in a book— Bukowski, he notes, nose wrinkling automatically— and she doesn’t notice him approaching the table where she sits until he tosses his backpack heavily onto the other side of the booth and sits across from her.

“Fuck,” she says, shoulders jumping a bit. With a groan, she lets her face fall into her hands, bright pink hair flopping over her shoulders.  “How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me when I’m reading?”

Namjoon grins impishly, unzipping the smaller pocket on the front of his backpack and digging out his wallet. “I don’t know. How many times do I have to tell you that Bukowski sucks?”

Ashley rolls her eyes, unimpressed. “Joon. You’re a Murakami fanboy. I don’t wanna hear it. At least I acknowledge that Bukowski was a piece of shit.”

“Listen, I’m not saying he’s great as a person, but Kafka On The Shore is good, okay—”

“No, Joon,” Ashley says, pityingly. “It’s just not.”

Many of their conversations tend to go this route— in fact, their friendship started in much the same way. They were in the same poetry writing workshop in the first semester of their Master’s program, and they ended up bickering childishly on the first day about whether or not lapslock was pretentious, going on for so long that the professor had cut them off, saying, If you want to argue like this, go do it in the hallway so the rest of us can move on.

Namjoon had blushed, embarrassed, and slid down low in his seat.  Ashley, however, had simply stood up and grabbed her bag, leveling him with a rather haughty expression.

Well? she had demanded, and feeling rather put on the spot, Joon didn’t know what else to do but follow her out of the classroom. 

Within ten minutes, they were laughing with each other and exchanging numbers. Ashley has been his best friend in New York ever since.

“Anyways,” Namjoon says. “If you’re done bullying me, I’m gonna go get my coffee.”

“Get me another muffin?”

Namjoon huffs, rolling his eyes, and walks away without giving an answer.

When he comes back to the table, he has a large coffee and two blueberry muffins, one of which he sets down in front of Ashley without comment. She’s put the Bukowski away now, replacing it with a notebook full of her own messy scrawlings, and she looks up at him with a wide smile.

“Thank you,” she sings at him, immediately ripping a bite off and throwing it into her mouth.

“You’re welcome,” he says with a sigh, trying to act put upon, but he knows it’s not convincing. “How’s the manuscript?”

With both of them over halfway through their Master’s program, they’re hitting crunch time for their final theses. At this point, it occupies almost all of their time, and they unfailingly end up commiserating every time they meet. As Namjoon expected, Ashley immediately moans and launches into lamenting about how she just can’t make the ending of the poem she’s working on resonate the way she wants it to.

“I want people to be able to feel it, you know? I know my style can be kind of vague and gloomy, but I still want to get the point of what I’m describing across clearly, like—”

Mid-sentence, she’s cut off as Namjoon’s phone starts blaring the chorus of Heaven by Epik High. Multiple people turn to look at them, and he blushes, grabbing it off the table and giving his friend a guilty look. “Sorry, I just—”

“Answer it,” Ashley says, with a fond shake of her head. “I know you’re dying to.”

Without another word, Namjoon slides to answer. “Hyung?”

“Hey, Joon.”

Namjoon can feel himself smiling like a dope just from the sound of the deep, familiar voice. He probably looks stupid. He doesn’t care. “What are you doing up?”

It’s well after 5PM in New York, which means it’s roughly six thirty in the morning in Seoul— which might not sound like that strange of time to be awake, but Yoongi is a night owl, and Namjoon knows for a fact that he was awake and actively messaging him on KakaoTalk not even three hours ago. 

“Can’t sleep,” Yoongi sighs, and Namjoon can hear the tiredness in his voice, now— it’s in the way he’s just a little bit hoarse, on the verge of mumbling. “Been lying here for over an hour and I’m still just staring at the fucking ceiling.”

Namjoon lets out a low, sympathetic noise, closer to cooing than he’d like to admit. “You should stop drinking coffee late at night, hyung, that’s probably what’s keeping you up.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Coffee doesn’t keep me from sleeping,” he retorts. “It just makes me feel human. Barely.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t need coffee to feel human if you would just sleep at night sometimes.”

“Hey, be nice to me. I didn’t call you just to get criticized.”

Despite his words, Namjoon can hear that Yoongi is laughing. He smiles wider, angles himself toward the wall in an attempt to hide his no doubt lovesick expression as he ignores Ashley’s teasing grin from across the table. “Okay, okay. I’ll be nice.”

Before Yoongi can answer, one of the baristas calls out an order to be picked up, loud enough for Namjoon’s phone to pick up the sound. “Shit, sorry, are you out somewhere? I should have texted first—”

“No, hyung, you’re fine,” Namjoon says hurriedly, not wanting Yoongi to talk himself into hanging up yet. “I’m just sitting at a café with Ashley, it’s not a big deal.”

“If you’re sure,” Yoongi says. “Tell Ashley I say hi.”

“I will.”

“No, now.”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes even though Yoongi can’t see him. “Ashley, Yoongi says hi,” he tells his friend, switching back to English.

She grins, leaning across the table to get closer to Namjoon’s phone. “Hey, Yoongi!”

“She says hi back,” Namjoon says dryly, as if Yoongi hadn’t already heard. Yoongi lets out a little laugh— something closer to a scratchy giggle, really. 

It’s sweet. Namjoon’s chest aches.

“Cute,” Yoongi says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your study session, or whatever.”

“You’re not,” Namjoon says, firm. “You can always call me. I always want you to call me.”

“Even when it’s the middle of the night your time?” Yoongi teases.

“Even then,” Namjoon tells him seriously. “Anytime. All times. I’m here, hyung.”

Yoongi falls silent, and Namjoon thinks that maybe he got too deep, but he just needs Yoongi to know. He means it. They’ve both had a rough time with the long distance thing, but it’s harder for Yoongi, he knows. All Namjoon can do is reassure him— that he’s never bothering Namjoon, and that he’s just as invested as Yoongi is. 

That Namjoon loves him.

“I miss you,” Yoongi says, finally. It’s not something he likes to voice— Namjoon knows that. Hearing him actually say it is always bittersweet, and Namjoon lets out a breath.

“I miss you too, baby,” he says softly. “Just a few more weeks til winter break, yeah? Then I’m all yours for a while.”

“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “It’s lame, I just— I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Not lame,” Namjoon says, reproachful. “We can keep talking however long you want, okay? My only plans for this evening were to guzzle coffee and go over my own writing for the forty-seventh time.”

“You’re sweet,” Yoongi says, sounding blatantly fond. “But it’s okay. I feel better already, and I should probably go back to actively trying to fall asleep.”

“Okay,” Namjoon agrees, reluctant, looking down and picking at the fraying edge of his notebook. “Get some rest, hyung. I’ll text you when I get home.”

“Okay,” Yoongi echoes. “Bye, Namjoonie.”

“Goodnight, hyung.”

Namjoon hangs up with a sigh, already missing the elder’s low, raspy voice. Across the table, Ashley gives him a sympathetic smile. 

“You two are always so adorable,” she says. “You miss him so much. It kind of makes me sad.”

“Whatever,” Namjoon mumbles, face flushing. “You can’t even understand what I’m saying.”

“I don’t have to understand what you’re saying to be able to tell that you sound absolutely whipped whenever you speak to him. Besides, I might not know much Korean, but I know enough words to know when you’re being gross.”

She’s teasing, distracting Namjoon from his sulking— and he is sulking, just a little, he can admit it. Despite the taunting, he appreciates that she always makes the effort. “I wasn’t being gross, shut up.”

“Jagiya~” she mocks, in a comically deep and frankly offensive imitation of Namjoon’s voice. He tries to scowl, but he’s unable to stop the laughter from bubbling out, shoulders shaking at her genuinely terrible pronunciation.

“I’m in love, leave me alone.”

Ashley pauses her own raucous laughter, heaving out an overly dramatic sigh. “God, I wish that were me.”

“Maybe if you stopped being a coward and asked the lesbian in our fiction writing lecture for her number.”

Ashley whines loudly— too loudly for the very public place they’re in, probably, but Namjoon has grown used to this. “Leave me alone, flirting with girls is so much scarier than flirting with boys. Men are all gross and would be lucky to date me, whereas women are goddesses and also have standards.”

Unimpressed, Namjoon turns away, pulling his laptop out of his backpack and signing into his school account. “Sounds like excuses to me.”

“Sorry we can’t all have a fairytale relationship dropped into our laps!”

“Yeah, yeah, keep whining, you just—” 

He stops suddenly as his student email loads, eyes zeroing in on his most recent received item. It’s from his academic advisor.

“Oh.”

“Joon?” Ashley is frowning now, visibly concerned at the sudden change in mood. “What’s wrong?”

He makes a face. “Probably nothing, I guess, but— I have an email from Dr. Barnett? She wants me to come by her office tomorrow, but she didn’t say why.”

“Huh.” Ashley purses her lips, pondering. “I’m sure it’s fine, though. Your grades are great, and all the professors love you. She’s probably just checking in.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Namjoon says, but he’s uncertain. 

The creative writing program’s former advisor— an ancient man called Dr. Crabtree who had occupied the position since before Namjoon was born— retired over the summer, and Namjoon has only met with the new lady a few times since the semester started. Still, Namjoon knows that he likes Dr. Barnett, a sharply intelligent woman in her thirties who begged him to simply call her Jasmine when they met (despite how awkward he felt about being so casual). From the time she first became his advisor, though, Jasmine has never once called him in so last minute, or with such a lack of explanation. Namjoon can’t help but feel a bit anxious about it, his mind going into overdrive— maybe I’ve somehow miscalculated my credit hours, maybe she hated my writing the last time I turned in a thesis update, maybe they’re not actually going to let me graduate—

“Joon.” Ashley’s voice cuts into his frenzied thoughts. “Stop doing that. It’s gonna be fine, okay? You’re hardworking and disgustingly talented. There’s nothing for Jasmine to complain about.”

Namjoon sighs. “If you say so.”

The next morning, Namjoon wakes up two hours earlier than he normally would. He drags himself out of bed, immediately shivering in his poorly heated apartment, and makes the trek to the advising center. He’s bleary-eyed and anxious when he gets there and signs in, feeling fidgety, hyped up on a few too many cups of shitty instant coffee. As he sits down in the waiting area outside the advisors’ offices to wait, he pulls out his phone, smiling when he sees a few new KakaoTalk notifications from Yoongi. Namjoon already told his boyfriend about the appointment over Facetime late last night, fretting endlessly about all of the negative possibilities until it was nearly 3AM in New York and Yoongi was kindly threatening to fly to America and fist fight him if he didn’t go to sleep.

♡

namjoon-ah

good morning and good luck with the meeting

everything will be okay

facetime me after??

me

thanks hyung

i will<3

“Namjoon Kim?” His head snaps up from his phone to see the secretary gesturing at him from behind her desk. “Dr. Barnett is ready for you. You can go on back.”

Namjoon immediately stands, fumbling and almost dropping his phone in his hurry to grab his backpack off the ground beside him. Out of old habit, he gives the secretary an awkward little bow of thanks before heading down the short hallway to his advisor’s office. The door is wide open when he gets there, but he still knocks on it lightly, returning Jasmine’s smile when she looks up and sees him.

“Hey there! Thanks for coming on such short notice,” she says, closing the laptop that sits on her desk. “I wouldn’t have rushed it like this if it wasn’t important.”

Namjoon hesitates in the doorway, anxiety surging again. “Is everything okay?”

Jasmine sighs, pushing her braids back over her shoulder as she looks up at him. “It will be. I don’t want you to panic, Namjoon. Okay? That’s why I wanted to do this in person. Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Okay.” Namjoon swallows, not feeling comforted at all, and sits down in the empty chair across from her. “What’s wrong, then?”

“There’s nothing you did— I want to make that clear. The graduation requirements for your Master’s program changed last year, but Dr. Crabtree…” Jasmine makes a face, before appearing to catch herself. “Well, let’s put it this way: he wasn’t good with change. To make a long story short, there’s a prose workshop class that’s now mandatory, even though you’ve chosen poetry as your focus. Since this wasn’t caught when you signed up for classes at the end of last year, we’ll have to move your schedule for next semester around if you want to graduate on time.”

Namjoon lets out a breath. “That’s all? I can just add the course. I don’t mind having a larger load.”

“That’s not the whole issue.” Jasmine winces, looking apologetic. “Since you’re focusing on poetry, you never took the fiction writing and composition class that’s a prerequisite for that course. I tried to pull some strings, but it was no use— you have to have that credit before you can enroll in the prose workshop.”

It feels like Namjoon’s stomach physically drops. “So you’re saying there’s no way for me to graduate on time? I’ll have to wait an extra semester?”

“No, not necessarily.” Namjoon just stares at her, confused, but Jasmine isn’t finished yet. “The good news is that you’re not the only student to run into this problem. Because of the uniqueness of the situation, one of the professors is offering an accelerated fiction and comp course over the break. It will move at a fast pace, but you’ll be able to get the credit taken care of in a month if you stay on campus.”

For a split second, Namjoon feels relieved— he’ll be able to graduate on time, and save himself the money involved in staying at the university for an extra semester in the process. 

Immediately after the relief, though, the realization hits: he’s not going to be able to go back to Korea over the break. 

“Shit,” he says, loudly. Then, immediately: “Ah, sorry, Dr. Barnett—”

“Jasmine,” she interrupts firmly.

“Sorry, Jasmine, it’s just— I haven’t seen my boyfriend since August, and I promised him I would spend the break with him back home.” 

Namjoon isn’t always so open with his queerness— is often not quite sure when it’s safe to be— but Jasmine has read his poetry. She knows about Yoongi, in an abstract sense, and he trusts that she isn’t the sort of person who would care. 

Sure enough, the advisor’s only reaction is to frown in sympathy, looking extremely apologetic. “I’m so sorry, Namjoon. If you would rather, you can just take the course next semester, and then do the workshop over the summer. It’s entirely up to you.”

He picks at the hem of his shirt, deliberating— but really, Namjoon knows that he doesn’t have a choice. He’s so close to graduating and being able to start his own career as an educator. He doesn’t have the time or the money to put that off for another semester.

“No,” he says, resigned. “I’ll take the course over the break. My boyfriend will understand.”

And Yoongi will understand, because he’s almost infuriatingly reasonable, and he knows how important this is to Namjoon. Still, that doesn’t do anything to lessen the dread that Namjoon feels at the thought of giving him this news. More than anything, Namjoon hates the thought of disappointing him.

The fact that Namjoon and Yoongi ever ended up dating was a complete accident.

They met during Namjoon’s last year at SNU, when most of his time was spent frantically making his way through heaps of classwork in a study room. Namjoon spent the entire first semester of that year constantly stressed, bedraggled, and sleep deprived, which is why his best friend had intervened at the beginning of the second semester.

“If you keep going like this, you’re going to burn out,” Hoseok told him seriously, after finding Namjoon half passed out in the university library. “You’ll do better work if you take breaks in between.”

Reluctantly, Namjoon promised that he would try to be less obsessive with his studies, and that was how he found himself getting dragged along on a night out for the first time in months. He hadn’t realized how much he missed letting loose with his friends until he finally had the chance to do so again, and he spent the majority of the night repeatedly choking on his drinks, laughing as he watched Taehyung and his numerous bits (including a drunken imitation of G-Dragon’s rapping), while Hoseok and Jimin did a terrible job of pretending that they weren’t playing footsie under the table before they finally hit the dance floor.

Alas, to no one’s surprise, as the group grew more and more inebriated, they inevitably started splitting up. Hoseok and Jimin were, predictably, the first to go, despite the fact that Hoseok was the one who dragged them all out to begin with. They two men barely made it half an hour dancing together before they were making their excuses and getting a taxi home, as Taehyung and Namjoon nodded and politely pretended that they weren’t well aware of the fact that the couple was leaving to fuck.

After that, it was Taehyung who was the next to go. He abandoned Namjoon without apology after getting picked up by a handsome freshman (who, unfortunately, was most definitely in the Intro to English class that Namjoon was a TA for, and who carefully avoided making eye contact with him the entire time he shamelessly flirted with one of Namjoon’s best friends right next to him). 

Once those two were gone, Namjoon decided that he would leave once he finished his last beer. Unfortunately, instead of doing that he managed to dump the rest of it all over a very large, very angry man by accident. Despite Namjoon’s fervent apologies, the man was wasted and infuriated about his ruined shirt, and Namjoon was certain that he was about to get the shit kicked out of him.

That’s when he met Yoongi. Just as the stranger’s anger was reaching its peak, Namjoon heard a deep, even voice say, “Sungho, stop being such a fucking dick.”

When Namjoon automatically looked toward the sound, he was expecting to see someone just as big and threatening as the man who was currently clutching angrily at his shirt. Instead, he saw someone who was several centimeters shorter than him, and slight— broad shouldered, but so thin that Namjoon had a random, vague thought that he might be able to wrap his hand all the way around the man’s upper arm. Still, despite the obvious size difference between the newcomer and the man who had been yelling at him for the past minute, something about the smaller man’s presence seemed to loom large, and Namjoon was relieved to see that his words actually had an effect. The angry stranger named Sungho scowled, but he released Namjoon with a grunt.

 “Mind your business, Min Yoongi,” the man said. “And you, learn to watch where you’re fucking going.” With that, Sungho stormed off, leaving a dazed Namjoon alone with the man who had very probably just saved him from getting his ass kicked.

“Sorry about that.” Yoongi looked uncomfortable, maybe a little embarrassed. “He’s had way too much to drink.”

“Oh, it’s not your fault, don’t apologize,” Namjoon said quickly. “Actually, I should be thanking you for not letting your friend beat the shit out of me. That was very cool of you.”

Yoongi cracked a smile. “It wasn’t a big deal. Also, he’s not my friend, please don’t think that of me. We’re… coworkers, I guess.”

“You guess?”

Yoongi fidgeted a little, almost bashful despite his somewhat intimidating presence. Despite himself, Namjoon noticed that he was very, very pretty. “Um, we both do music? We run in the same circles, and he’s paid me to make some beats for him before, that’s all.”

Namjoon, while not exactly drunk by that point, was also not exactly sober. With less of a filter than usual, he found himself blurting, “That’s so fucking cool.” 

Yoongi huffed out a surprised sort of laugh, but Namjoon barely noticed, still steamrolling on. “I’m serious, I love music production. What kind of music do you make?”

“I make a lot of different kinds of music,” Yoongi answered, shrugging a little. “But mainly, I really love rap.”

“Dude! I actually used to be on the underground circuit in high school— why are you laughing, I was good, I swear—”

And with that, they were off. After belatedly exchanging names, they spent the next hour chatting about their favorite artists, shuffling close together to try to listen over the sounds of the club as Namjoon played the mixtape he made as a form of stress relief the previous year off of his phone. He was never quite sure when the casual conversation had transformed to flirting, but one way or another, things had progressed. 

Namjoon wasn’t really big on casual hookups, generally— and yet, he found himself leaving the bar with Yoongi that night, taking the other man home with him to his tiny studio apartment. They were all over each other the moment Namjoon’s door shut behind them, clothes left in a heap on the floor before they fell clumsily into his bed together.

It was supposed to be a one night stand— and if things had gone differently, maybe it would have been. However, a few circumstances intervened— like fate, Hoseok would later tease Namjoon upon hearing the details. Like they were meant to be.

The first strange thing that happened was that Yoongi stayed the night. While Namjoon was not an expert at one night stands, he knew that this was not necessarily the norm. However, by the time they were finished rolling around beneath the sheets, both of them were beyond exhausted, and the buses had stopped running. To be honest, Yoongi looked close to passing out, stretched out across the dirty sheets beside Namjoon as he lazily typed something on his phone. 

“Are you gonna be okay to get home?”

Yoongi nodded, but to Namjoon, it looked like his eyes were close to drifting shut. “Mmm,” he hummed affirmatively. “I can call a Kakao taxi or something.”

“I don’t mind if you stay,” Namjoon said. At Yoongi’s arched eyebrow, he felt himself blush deeply, rushing to continue. “I mean, I don’t care, it’s up to you. But it’s, like, four in the morning, dude, and you look exhausted.”

As Namjoon watched the other man, Yoongi’s lower lip poked out in a pout. It was so cute that it was all Namjoon could do to not clutch at his chest.

“I am so fucking tired,” Yoongi admitted finally. “You wore me out.”

Namjoon snorted. “Okay, Mr. I bet you could go one more time—”

“Shut up.” Yoongi was the one blushing now, and Namjoon had to admit: it looked good on him.

So Yoongi stayed. Even then, if that had been all, maybe they could have parted ways in the morning and left it at that. However, the interventions of fate didn’t stop there.

The next day, Namjoon awoke sometime around noon to the loud, awful sound of puking.

For a second, he just lay there, disoriented and confused as to why someone else was becoming violently ill in his apartment when he lived alone. It took a few seconds to remember everything that had happened the night before, but as soon as he did, he jumped out of bed and rushed to his tiny bathroom.

It was a pitiful sight. Dressed in nothing but his boxers, Yoongi’s skinny frame was bent in half over the toilet, his cheek squished against the seat.

As Namjoon stared at him, alarmed, Yoongi brought one hand up, as if to hide his face. “I hope you keep this thing relatively clean,” he mumbled weakly.

“I clean it at least once a month.”

Yoongi grunted. “Could be worse,” he said, and then started heaving his guts out into the toilet bowl again.

Namjoon moved to crouch beside him, very hesitantly patting Yoongi’s back in some approximation of comfort. He had gotten some nasty hangovers in his time, but this seemed way more intense than anything he had ever dealt with during his morning afters.

“Were you that drunk last night?” Namjoon asked, a little unsure, as he grabbed a wad of toilet paper and handed it over so that Yoongi could wipe his mouth. Yoongi had seemed perfectly fine, but maybe he had been wrong. It made Namjoon feel disgusting— the thought that maybe, unknowingly, he had taken advantage of the near stranger by sleeping with him the night before.

“No,” Yoongi said quickly, shaking his head, and then appearing to immediately regret it as he paused, closing his eyes and presumably fighting another wave of nausea. “No, ugh, I only had maybe two beers before we started talking. I think I’m just sick.”

“Oh no,” Namjoon said, wincing with sympathy. “Wait, shit, let me get you some water. Or would something carbonated be better? I think I have Sprite.”

“God, you’re so nice,” Yoongi groaned. He sounded incredibly put out about it.

“Okay,” Namjoon said slowly, a bit confused. “So, did you not want a drink, or…?”

“No, I do. I want Sprite. Please.”

So Namjoon brought Yoongi Sprite, and sat on the bathroom floor next to him for an hour as Yoongi kept getting sick, and refused Yoongi’s halfhearted offer to get a taxi home in that state in order to get out of Namjoon’s hair. He felt awkward— had never seen himself as a particularly comforting presence— but he kept rubbing Yoongi’s back as the other man dry heaved, his stomach empty by then, letting out little whimpers that Namjoon doubted Yoongi was even aware of.

At some point, as the vomiting finally slowed, Yoongi had ended up slumping against Namjoon. Now, they were both sprawled out on the bathroom floor together, Namjoon sitting up against the wall as Yoongi leaned back against his chest, eyes closed. It was certainly a weird situation. It felt oddly intimate for two people who had just met the night before, anyway.

“You think it’s done?” Namjoon asked eventually, keeping his voice low and gentle. Yoongi just shrugged.

“I think so. I hope so. I don’t think I even have any stomach acid left to cough up.”

“Poor thing,” Namjoon said, sympathetic. “You should sleep more before you leave.”

Still resting against Namjoon’s shoulder, Yoongi cracked open an eye to look up at him, slightly disbelieving. 

“I think you should be sainted,” he said seriously, and Namjoon laughed.

“It’s basic human decency,” he replied. “It’s sad if that’s uncommon.”

“Whatever you say.” Yoongi shook his head, his eyes falling closed again. “You have realized I definitely infected you with this shit last night, right?”

“Oh, almost immediately,” Namjoon said. “But I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Right now, I’d rather you not fall asleep on me in the middle of my bathroom. I do have a bed— as you might remember.”

“Ugh, don’t do that,” Yoongi grumbled. “I’m too disgusting to think about last night and your bed right now.”

Namjoon just snorted and helped Yoongi to his feet. “Alright, but I was serious— you need to lie down. I should probably go change the sheets, though. You can use my mouthwash while you wait if you want.”

Somehow, Yoongi ended up spending the whole day at Namjoon’s apartment. Without either of them really discussing it, they had ended up back in Namjoon’s bed together— not including the bathroom, the apartment was only one room, and there just wasn’t much elsewhere for either of them to go. So Namjoon propped himself up against some pillows and pulled out his laptop to get some school work done, while Yoongi curled up next to him, back pressed against his side in the small bed, and promptly passed out. 

Hours passed like that, and it was oddly peaceful. Namjoon kind of liked the feeling of a warm body next to him while he worked on editing. Eventually, though, he grew too hungry to ignore. Thinking that it might be good for Yoongi to try to eat something bland as well, he pulled out his phone and ordered food for both of them.

When Yoongi awoke about forty minutes later to find that there was a warm bowl of soybean sprout soup waiting for him, he sat up, looked at Namjoon, and said, “That’s it! I can’t take this anymore.”

Namjoon just blinked at him from the little kitchenette area, confused. “What?”

“You,” Yoongi snapped.

“Me? What did I do?”

With an exasperated huff, Yoongi looked him in the eye and said, quite seriously, “Namjoon, I think you might literally be the perfect man.”

Namjoon promptly choked on his own spit.

“I’m not even joking,” Yoongi went on, completely ignoring Namjoon as he bent over wheezing. “You’re passionate about music and writing. You’re really fucking cute. You’re actually funny. You have, quite frankly, surprising stamina in bed.” Namjoon choked all over again. “And you’re preternaturally nice. You let me sleep here, and then you didn’t complain a single time when I started puking my guts up in your bathroom— you didn’t even get grossed out! You sat with me while I got sick, and then you let me sleep here again, and now you’ve gotten me soup? Kim Namjoon, who gave you the right?”

And the thing is, Yoongi looked genuinely mad about it. Once Namjoon had finally regained his breath in the aftermath of his multiple coughing fits, he just looked at him for a few moments, feeling a bit lost.

“I’m sorry?” Namjoon said, slowly.

“You should be!”

“Would you… want to go on a date sometime?”

Yoongi threw a pillow at him. Immediately after that, though, he said yes. 

A few days later, their first date was thwarted by Namjoon very predictably waking up with a stomach flu of his own— and so, in lieu of going out to dinner, Yoongi came over and helped nurse him back to health. Fair is fair, Yoongi said, and Namjoon simply didn’t have the energy to argue with him.

It took a startlingly short amount of time for Namjoon to fall in love.

As he got to know Yoongi better, he found that there was only more and more to like. Namjoon may have found his boyfriend to be slightly intimidating when they first met, but as they became closer, he learned that Yoongi was a gentle man who showed affection quietly but sincerely. Namjoon may have been the first one to say he loved Yoongi, but he knew that his boyfriend had other ways of showing his love— containers of food left in Namjoon’s refrigerator without a word, long looks when he thought Namjoon wasn’t paying attention, a light hand on Namjoon’s back when they walked down the street.

They were good together. So good, in fact, that it was only a matter of months before Namjoon realized that it was probably the most serious he had ever been about a relationship. They met each other’s friends, visited each other at work, and spent so many nights together that Namjoon sometimes forgot he lived alone. For months, everything was perfect.

And then Namjoon got the letter.

They were blissfully nearing their five month anniversary on the day Namjoon unsuspectingly opened his mail and was greeted by an excited English opener: Congratulations! You have been selected as one of our overseas recipients… 

He had won a grant to study in the United States. Holy shit.

“Joon?”

At the sound of Yoongi’s concerned voice, Namjoon’s gaze snapped up from where it had previously been frozen on the mail he just opened. As he stared at his boyfriend, he felt his stomach drop at the thought of everything he would be giving up if he packed up and left the country for two whole years while completing his Master’s. After a brief hesitation, he shook himself into replying. “Yeah, sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying?”

Yoongi frowned, sitting up from his sprawl across Namjoon’s bed. “Just complaining about this vocalist I’m working with, but that’s not important. What’s wrong?” He gestured toward the letter. “Is it bad news?”

“No.” Namjoon swallowed, folding the letter and shoving it away into one of his notebooks. “It’s nothing.”

Yoongi looked supremely unimpressed. “You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to, but don’t lie to me either. It’s obviously not nothing. You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.”

Namjoon huffed out something close to a laugh, but he felt far from amused. “It could be nothing. I don’t know, I hadn’t thought— fuck. Don’t freak out about this, okay?”

“You know, if you really wanted me to not freak out, I could think of about a dozen better openers—”

“I applied for this grant to study poetry in New York, and I won it.”

Yoongi blinked, looking more surprised than anything. “When does the term start?”

Namjoon fidgeted, uncomfortable. “I would leave after the summer break. It would be a two year program.”

“Oh, wow.” Yoongi took a deep breath, and then he smiled. “Congratulations, Joon.”

Even smiling, his expression looked guarded, and Namjoon hated that.

“Congratulations? That’s all you have to say?”

Yoongi shrugged, getting up from the bed to grab his own bag from the corner and sling it over his shoulder— preparing to leave. “What else do you want me to say? I’m proud of you. You deserve it.” He grabbed his phone off the bed. “I should go home and get to work on the track for that vocalist I was talking about.”

“Yoongi,” Namjoon said, almost pleadingly. “Come on. Talk to me.”

“I mean, if you really wanted to talk about this, I would think that you would have done it before applying,” Yoongi replied, and it wasn’t angry, per say, but it was short. “But I mean it, really. I am proud of you.” He brushed gently past Namjoon to get his shoes from next to the door, clumsily starting to shove his feet into them without untying the laces.

“It’s not like that— I applied for this before I even met you, okay? It was such a long shot, I never thought I would actually get the grant. I completely forgot about it.” 

Yoongi said nothing, just continued to struggle with his shoes in silence. Hesitantly, Namjoon approached his boyfriend, hands reaching out to rest over Yoongi’s shoulders. He tried to get Yoongi to look at him, but the other man’s gaze remained stubbornly on the floor.

“Where are you going?” Namjoon said softly. “Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Yoongi said immediately, shaking his head.

“Then why are you trying to run away?”

When Yoongi finally looked up at him, his eyes were glassy. Namjoon felt it like a punch to the gut. “I just didn’t want to get upset in front of you. I’m sorry.”

“Baby.” Namjoon wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, pulling him in. “I said don’t freak out, remember? I don’t even know that I’m going to accept it.”

Without warning, Yoongi was shoving away from him, a look of disbelief on his face. “What do you mean, you don’t know? Of course you’re accepting it. It’s an amazing opportunity, why the hell wouldn’t you be going?”

Striving, as always, to be honest, Namjoon said, “I don’t want to leave you.”

Yoongi hit him with his backpack— not hard enough to hurt, but with enough force that Namjoon stumbled a little.

“Hey—”

“Kim Namjoon, don’t you dare,” Yoongi said dangerously. “Don’t you dare throw away a chance to study abroad for free over me, or so help me God, I will break up with you right here and now.”

“Like you’re not going to want to break up with me if I’m gone for the better part of two years?” Namjoon demanded, suddenly tearing up himself and rubbing angrily at his eyes when he realized. “I’d be on the opposite side of the fucking globe.”

Yoongi paused, inhaling deeply. “Namjoon,” he said slowly. “I’m not saying it would be easy. But two years apart is nothing if it allows you this opportunity. I know how important this must be to you, and I know how much you would regret it if you missed your chance.”

“I just— I feel selfish,” Namjoon said, frustrated. “Of course I don’t want to give up a chance to study abroad, but I don’t want to give you up either, and I would feel so selfish asking you to wait for that long.”

“God, you are just too nice,” Yoongi told him, not for the first time since they started dating. Stepping forward, Yoongi leaned in to hug him again. “I’ll always wait for you, Joon. You don’t have to ask.”

“That’s a big commitment for you to make,” Namjoon mumbled, holding onto his boyfriend tightly despite himself. “We’ve only been dating for five months.”

“And I’ve loved you the whole time.”

“Fuck,” Namjoon said, and promptly began to cry.

So they decided to make long distance dating work. Yoongi went with him to the airport and kissed him goodbye when he first left, and they never went a day without speaking— either via texts or Facetime. Due to an intense fear of flying, Yoongi has never visited New York, but since leaving Korea, Namjoon has gone home to Seoul for every break— even the shorter ones, when he only ends up with the better part of three days to spend with Yoongi. Being apart so much of their relationship has been hard, and it has gotten harder the more time passes, but they’ve made it work. You’re worth it, Yoongi has told him, time after time, and Namjoon never stops feeling lucky.

Still, telling Yoongi that he won’t be able to come home this winter is going to be rough. It means that the only time they’ll have together this whole academic year will be the few days of Spring Break that Namjoon manages to spend in Korea, no doubt jetlagged the whole time. They’ve been holding onto spending a month together during the winter holidays like a lifeline, and Namjoon knows how much it’s going to hurt Yoongi to have that taken away.

Namjoon spends the entire journey back to his apartment dreading it. Still, as soon as he has made it into his room, kicked his shoes off, and flopped across his bed, he Facetimes his boyfriend like he promised to.

Yoongi answers the call almost immediately, Namjoon’s phone screen filling with his pretty, sleepy face. His bleached hair is a mess, a bit tangled where it falls over his forehead, and his little dumpling cheeks are emphasized by the face mask that’s tucked under his chin, making his face look even rounder than usual. Namjoon’s chest aches with fondness.

“Hey, baby.”

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi says immediately, frowning with concern. “You look upset. Was the meeting bad?”

Namjoon sighs, rubbing over his face with his free hand and rolling onto his back. “It wasn’t good. I have bad news, hyung.”

Yoongi frowns harder. “What is it?”

“I can’t come home over break,” Namjoon says, deciding to rip the bandaid off and get it over with. “I’m so sorry.”

Yoongi’s face freezes in a careful mask. Despite his efforts, though, Namjoon can see the disappointment, and he hates himself for causing it. “Oh.”

“I’m so sorry,” Namjoon repeats. “My old advisor fucked up my schedule, and I have to take this course over the break if I want to graduate on time.”

“It’s not your fault,” Yoongi says, and as mechanic as his tone is, Namjoon knows that he means it. He’s so fair and reasonable, even when Namjoon thinks he might feel better if he would blow up and yell. “I just— it sucks. But it’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon says again, helplessly.

“Stop apologizing,” Yoongi says, just a little bit sharp in his tone. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and it won’t change anything.”

“I know, but I’m still sorry. I promised.”

Something flickers in Yoongi’s expression, but he just shrugs. “You couldn’t have known this would happen. I’m really not mad, Joon, I just— I miss you.”

Yoongi has stayed so calm, but Namjoon can see that he’s upset. It’s in the tight line of his jaw, and the flatness of his tone. The way he keeps looking away. Namjoon is so tired of being the reason things are hard for them.

“I miss you too,” he says softly. “So much. I would do anything to see you, but if I don’t get this course done, I would have to be in New York for a whole semester longer. I just want to graduate and be done.”

And that’s the truth— as much as he loves New York, as much as he doesn’t regret his time here, Namjoon is ready to be home again. 

Unbeknownst to Yoongi, Namjoon actually received an offer to complete a PhD program in New York, mere days earlier. His favorite professor had given him the paperwork, and Namjoon said he would think about it, but he was just being polite. He knew immediately that he would turn the offer down. Namjoon misses Korea. He wants to start his career as an educator, and he knows where he wants to do it— teaching in Seoul, finally moving in with his boyfriend of nearly three years. 

He wants to be able to wake up every day with Yoongi beside him, instead of waking up to a cold, empty apartment.

Namjoon can tell that Yoongi tries to hide it, but at the mention of spending another whole semester abroad, Yoongi physically cringes. “No, I understand why you have to stay,” he says, nodding quickly. “I get it.”

He can see Yoongi losing composure— he’s blinking too quickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows— and Namjoon hates this. Hates that he wants nothing more than to hold his boyfriend close, but will have to wait months to do so.

“I love you,” Namjoon says quietly. Yoongi lets out a tiny, audible breath.

“I love you too,” he says tightly. “Always. But I have to go now, okay?”

“Baby—”

“I’ll text you, Joon.”

Yoongi ends the call, and Namjoon knows it’s because he felt like he was going to cry. 

After a few seconds, Namjoon lets his phone drop to the mattress and lies there for a bit, staring off into space. In that moment, everything just feels so fucking unfair, and he can’t stop thinking about the blank, frozen look on Yoongi’s face when Namjoon told him that he wouldn’t be able to go home for a visit any time soon after all. 

Eventually, Namjoon rolls over. He reaches down to fumble around the floor beside his bed until his fingers find the notebook he dropped there earlier, a pen clipped to its front.

He sits up, opens the notebook, and takes a deep breath. Then he puts the pen to paper.

I miss you, Namjoon writes, and saying this makes me miss you more.

The next few weeks are, frankly, miserable.

The semester is nearing its end, and despite an utter lack of motivation, Namjoon stubbornly forces himself to focus on his portfolios for his classes. He gives himself over to routine. He wakes up, drags himself to either campus or his work, goes through the motions, and then makes his way to the café to work on the last edits for his final projects— sometimes with Ashley, sometimes alone.

He’s in such a slump, and it feels a bit surreal. Everyone around him seems so happy, is the thing. It’s Christmastime, and the holiday season in Manhattan is cheerful and busy, with decorations splashed onto nearly every storefront. Everywhere Namjoon looks, there are sparkling lights and handsomely decorated trees, and Christmas songs play in every store and café. Even some of the lamp posts outside have bows tied around them. Usually, Namjoon would love the unabashed gaudiness of it all, but the Christmas spirit isn’t quite so infectious with the knowledge that he’s back to having many long months ahead of him before he can see his boyfriend again.

He and Yoongi get along fine, at least. There’s a cloak of sadness over all of their conversations, everything feeling a bit hollow and reserved, but Namjoon expected that. They had been so close to finally getting to reunite for a few weeks, and having that opportunity ripped away at the last moment stings.

Namjoon just wishes he could stop letting Yoongi down.

As the weeks pass, Namjoon keeps going back to the few sad, desperate lines he had scrawled in his journal in the aftermath of that Facetime call. It’s barely a stanza’s worth of words, but something about the raw feeling of them keeps drawing him in. There are only days left before the end of the semester, and his poetry portfolio for his craft class feels complete as it is— but one evening, as he sits alone at the café and stares out the window, he finds himself thinking about adding one more poem. He watches people pass by outside: hurried businessmen with AirPods in, grinning couples hanging onto each other and taking up the whole sidewalk, mothers with their rosy cheeked children. Snow is falling, light but steady, the wind blowing it in pretty little swirls that are illuminated by the street lights.

He sighs, flips through the pages of his journal until he’s back to those few rough, yearning lines he wrote days earlier, and starts to write.

If I was the snow in the air, would I get to you a little faster?

Within fifteen minutes, Namjoon has filled pages of his notebook. It feels more cathartic than he can remember writing being for him in so long— years, maybe. As he looks back over the words, he lets out a long breath, lower lip caught between his teeth as he reads.

How long do I have to wait
And how many sleepless nights do I have to spend
To see you?
To meet you?

I miss you.

Unlike most of the poems he writes for class, he’s written in Korean this time. He thinks he could still turn it in with translations. He’ll have to think about it.

(When he submits his portfolio that Friday, the new poem is included. It didn’t feel complete without it.)

The end of the semester brings Namjoon very little joy with the knowledge that he can’t go home. He’s trying not to sulk, but he knows that he is. Hoseok picks up on it even over text, and Ashley has fallen into the habit of filling the silence between them with cheerful babbling whenever they meet up in an attempt to raise the mood. He does his best to put on a brave face whenever he talks to Yoongi, but they know each other too well for that.

“What are you pouting for?” Yoongi says one day, pausing in the middle of the story he was telling just to tease Namjoon. “It makes me want to poke your dimples.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Oh, baby, you’re just doing it harder now.”

Despite himself, Namjoon huffs out a laugh. “Shut up! I just miss you, is all.”

Yoongi regards him fondly. “I miss you too.”

“This sucks.” Namjoon shakes his head. “Sorry, I just… wish I could go home.”

“I know,” Yoongi says quietly. 

Sighing, Namjoon pushes ahead. “Anyway. Keep telling me about Jungkook and Taehyung publicly humiliating Seokjin. It was just getting good.”

With a giggle, Yoongi continues, and Namjoon tries not to dwell on everything he’s missing back home.

A few days after the semester officially ends, Ashley declares that she’s had enough of Namjoon’s moping.

“I tried being patient, but this can’t be healthy, Joon,” she tells him seriously over a rare phone call that Friday evening. “You need to get out of your apartment.”

Namjoon huffs, burrowing deeper into the nest of blankets on his bed, which he hasn’t left all day except to pee. “But it’s so comfortable here.”

“I’m going to be at your door in an hour, and you will be showered and dressed by the time I get there. That okay?”

He groans. “Ashley…”

“That was a rhetorical question. I’m coming regardless.”

And so that evening finds Namjoon following Ashley into a dive bar, his hair still a bit damp as he sits across from her on one of the tall stools at an elevated table. Ashley orders dark shots of cheap whiskey for both of them, which they down immediately, and then she reaches across the table to grab Namjoon by the shoulders.

“We are going to have fun tonight,” she tells him firmly.

Namjoon feels that he has no choice but to nod. “Yes, m’am.”

It’s not a busy bar, and he is more than okay with that. Big crowds aren’t his thing, really. The place is a bit run down, if he’s honest— the wood of the tables is worn and chipped, with random names carved into them, and the rubber seats on the corner booths are peeling— but Namjoon likes the atmosphere, and the more shots Ashley hands to him, the less he notices.

“The best bars are the ones where you’re not entirely sure the glasses are clean,” she tells him sagely at some point during the night. Namjoon squints at his own shot glass and decides to order bottled beer from then on.

They finally leave somewhere around 3AM, but not before Ashley wheedles him into dancing with her, along to some old American rock song she queued up on the bar’s ancient jukebox, thoroughly humiliating himself in front of everyone else in the bar (which, given the fact that the only other people there by that point were the two bartenders and a group of middle aged white men arguing over car models, Namjoon thinks he can live with). It’s safe to say that both of them probably drank a bit too much, stumbling into each other as they walk down the sidewalk, and Namjoon pulls out his phone to call them an Uber to share.

Before he can open the Uber app, he’s immediately distracted by two missed KakaoTalk notifications from hours ago. He stops in his tracks.

“What are you doing?” Ashley asks, swaying slightly as she turns to face him.

“Yoongi-hyung texted me, so I have to text him back,” Namjoon tells her solemnly, words slurring just slightly. In his head, it has to be right now.

♡

hey joonie-yah

how are you tonight?

♡

since you haven’t answered, i’m hoping you’re sleeping early for once ㅋㅋㅋ

namjoon

hyunggg

im sorry! was drinkign with ashley i didn’t see this

i miss u so much :( i love u :( my tiny boyfriend :(

♡

ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

you’re really drunk, huh ㅋㅋㅋ

and who are you calling tiny, you fucking giraffe 

namjoon

maybe ㅎㅎㅎ

but i’m your favorite giraffe, right hyung??

♡

of course, joonie

are you home yet?

namjoon

i’m on my way!! gonna uber

♡

alright

text me when you’re home safe

namjoon

i will<3

Namjoon shoves his phone back into his pocket and looks up to see Ashley laughing at him.

“You’re like a teenage girl. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk all mooney-eyed while you text your boyfriend.”

“Am not.”

“Are too, but it’s cute.” She stuffs her hands in her pockets, shivering. “Did you call the Uber?”

Shit. “Now I am.”

Twenty minutes later, they pile into the back of the Uber together. As the car pulls back out onto the road and makes a quick turn, Namjoon finds himself nearly getting sick at the motion, more affected by the alcohol than he had previously realized. Ashley shoots him a concerned look, digging around in her purse for mint gum to help keep the nausea at bay.

“Do you wanna crash on my couch?” she offers. “I’m not sure that you should be alone if you’re that drunk.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” The car comes to a sudden stop, and his stomach lurches. Namjoon throws a hand over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut for several moments. “Actually, on second thought, maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur. 

When Namjoon wakes up the next morning, it takes a few confused moments for him to realize where he is. He doesn’t quite piece it together until he hears Ashley in her kitchen, grumbling to herself as she fills the coffee maker.

Namjoon sits up from his little makeshift bed on the couch, and becomes immediately aware of his piercing headache. He moans.

“Good morning, starshine.” Looking rather swollen and squinty, Ashley walks over and flops down beside him, holding out a bottle of Advil. 

“Thanks.” Namjoon takes three pills and almost chokes as he swallows them dry. “What time is it?”

“Around noon. I plugged your phone in when I woke up, by the way, and I think you’ve got some missed notifications.”

Suddenly, Namjoon is wide awake. “Shit, I bet I never texted Yoongi that I made it home safe.” He jumps up, ignoring the ache in the back of his skull as he grabs his phone off the kitchen counter. Sure enough, he has several texts and a few missed calls from his boyfriend. He groans.

“Everything okay?” Ashley asks, still curled up on the couch.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna call him back.”

However, when Namjoon tries to call Yoongi, no one answers. He sends a text instead, chewing at his lip.

namjoon

hyung?? i’m sorry i never texted last night

i started feeling a little sick and ended up sleeping on ashley’s couch

To his surprise, the text back comes almost immediately.

♡

it’s okay!

so you’re still with her now?

namjoon

yeah, i just woke up ㅜㅜ 

i’m sorry again

what are you up to? it’s getting late for you, i hope you’re not still at the studio

♡

don’t worry, i’m in bed

do you think you’ll go home soon?

namjoon

yes??

i mean i don’t plan to hang around ashley’s apartment in my bar clothes all day lol

i probably smell like beer and sweat

♡

charming

namjoon

aren’t u just so lucky

♡

uh huh

okay, i’m gonna take a nap. talk to you later :)

namjoon

hyung, who naps at midnight ㅋㅋㅋ

just go to bed

Apparently, Yoongi was serious, because there are no more replies after that. Namjoon stretches and yawns, and then he walks back over to the couch, where Ashley has dozed off again.

“Hey.” He nudges her until she cracks an eye open. “I’m leaving. Thanks for everything.”

She gives him something resembling a smile— or as close to one as he could expect from her while she’s this hungover. “No problem. I’ll lock the door behind you.”

If Namjoon was still feeling drowsy, the walk home in the frigid weather certainly wakes him up. He doesn’t live that far from Ashley, but the walk feels longer when it’s cold enough to freeze his nose hairs. By the time he opens his door, he’s wide awake, hurriedly kicking off his shoes and moving toward his bedroom to plug his phone in before it dies again.

As soon as he walks through the bedroom doorway, he freezes.

He didn’t notice anything amiss when he entered the apartment— possibly because of the hangover, he supposes— but there is someone else in his bedroom. In fact, there is a man in his bed, and it looks suspiciously like his boyfriend, who is supposed to be in Seoul right now.

At first, Namjoon thinks that he must be hallucinating. Can hangovers cause that? he wonders, a bit frantic. 

Out loud, he says, “What the fuck?”

On the bed, Yoongi turns his head to face him, lazily blinking his eyes open. “Oh, you’re back.”

“But you’re in Korea,” Namjoon says, quite intelligently. “How are you here?”

“Airplanes exist. Your landlady let me in, by the way. I’m not sure how secure that was of her to do, but I got tired of waiting in the hallway, so…”

“Hyung, oh my God.” Finally, Namjoon unfreezes. He stumbles forward in a beeline toward his bed, where he immediately crawls on top of his boyfriend and starts pressing kisses all over Yoongi’s face while he giggles below him. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Namjoon says, not pausing in his pursuit of kissing every available inch of Yoongi’s cheeks and neck. “You got on an airplane for me. Holy shit.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Yoongi says softly, hands reaching up to gently tangle in Namjoon’s hair, but Namjoon knows that’s a lie. Yoongi, who is terrified of airplanes and had never been on one before, flew fifteen hours for him . 

“How long are you staying?”

Yoongi smiles up at him, looking especially soft in the dim natural light of the bedroom. “I can stay a bit over two weeks, if that’s alright. I got time off work. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming, but Hobi thought it would be a good surprise.”

“I can’t believe you told Hobi and he didn’t tell me.”

“It was under threat of death, if that makes you feel any better.”

Namjoon takes a break from attacking Yoongi with kisses to pull back and get a good look at him, finally. Yoongi looks a little tired— which isn’t surprising, given the flight— but he’s still so pretty, cheeks flushed and blonde hair messy against Namjoon’s pillow. Namjoon feels suddenly overwhelmed, ducking down to hide his face in Yoongi’s neck.

“Of course two weeks is alright,” he says softly. “I’d let you stay forever. I love you so much and I’m so glad you’re here.”

Yoongi runs his hands over Namjoon’s back, tracing pointless patterns over his shirt. “I love you too, baby.”

“I should probably go take a shower, though.”

Below him, Namjoon can feel Yoongi shaking with silent laughter. “You don’t smell that bad.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“Maybe,” Yoongi admits. “It’s okay, I was on a plane sweating for fifteen hours straight. We’re both gross.”

“Then I guess we both need to shower.”

“Maybe we should shower together.”

“Min Yoongi,” Namjoon says, leaning back again to gasp at him. “Are you propositioning me? A mere five minutes after our dramatic reunion?”

With a roll of his eyes, Yoongi shoves Namjoon off of him and stands up. “Just for that, I’m not even gonna kiss you.”

“...Hyung, wait.”

“Nope, it’s too late.”

Yoongi walks out of the bedroom with Namjoon trailing him, ignoring Namjoon’s whining as they disrobe and climb into the shower together.

“You’re cruel,” Namjoon says mildly as he helps Yoongi rinse conditioner out of his hair. “A heartless little man.”

“Keep calling me little and see where it gets you, Kim Namjoon.”

Despite Yoongi’s threats, the two start making out against the shower wall not five minutes later, Yoongi’s hands grasping at Namjoon’s hips to pull him closer. It’s been so long since they were together— and yet, they take their time, kissing and grinding lazily against each other until the warm water starts to run cooler.

Together, they stumble out of the shower, dripping water all over the floor as Yoongi tugs Namjoon past the towel rack and directly back toward his bedroom. 

“Come on,” he says, and who is Namjoon to not listen?

They fall back onto the bed together, Yoongi settling in Namjoon’s lap as they immediately press together to start kissing again. After a moment, Namjoon starts trailing his lips downward, sucking little marks into Yoongi’s neck when he lets his head drop back, bearing it to him. Already panting slightly, Namjoon mumbles against his skin, “I really missed you, hyung.”

“I missed you too— missed you so much.” Yoongi starts to roll his hips, grinding himself against Namjoon’s thigh. He’s getting worked up, Namjoon can tell, little noises catching in the back of his throat that sound so much better in person than over the muffled static of a call. For a moment, Namjoon just leans back and looks at him— thinks he could be content just watching like this as Yoongi rides his thigh and moans.

And then Yoongi says, “Where’s the lube?” and all feelings of contentment immediately fly out the window.

Namjoon has to get up from the bed to dig around in his nightstand, and it takes him the better part of a minute to find his little bottle of lube, Yoongi complaining on the bed beside him the whole time (“Are you serious?” “Well, it’s not like I’ve had a lot of use for it.”).

When Namjoon finally returns to the bed, Yoongi huffs until Namjoon kisses him. “Can’t you just be patient?” Namjoon teases.

“No,” Yoongi says flatly, but he’s fighting a smile. “Are you gonna prep me, or do I have to do it myself?”

Namjoon sits back, hands smoothing over Yoongi’s thighs before he uncaps the lube. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He starts slowly, carefully, keeping his eyes on Yoongi’s face the whole time. By the time he’s worked his way up to three fingers, Yoongi is writhing on the bed beneath him, hips pushing up impatiently. 

“Namjoon, I’m ready. Come on,” he pants.

“Hold on just a little, hyung. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

Yoongi snorts. “I know you’ve got a big dick, but it’s not that big. Just fuck me, come on—”

Namjoon curls his fingers upwards sharply, shocking a whine out of him. “God, you’re so impatient— so mean to me, and here I’m just trying to be nice—”

“I don’t want you to be nice, Joon, I want your dick in me.”

“Fine,” Namjoon says, as if he isn’t nearly shaking with need himself. He pulls his fingers away and positions himself between Yoongi’s legs, gently hiking up Yoongi’s thighs. With a gentle kiss to Yoongi’s knee, he says, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Yoongi says evenly. “Please fuck me.”

“Well, since you said please.”

Finally— finally— Namjoon guides himself inside. He presses in slowly, mindful of the way he’s stretching Yoongi open, and bites back a moan. 

“Oh fuck.” Yoongi lets out a strangled, pretty noise when he finally bottoms out, and Namjoon has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, his hand gripping at Yoongi’s waist. “More.” 

Namjoon opens his eyes so he can see his boyfriend’s face, already looking so flushed and fucked out as he squirms below him. “More?” he checks, more to tease than anything.

“Yes, more, you can move— I can take it, Joon, please—”

He cuts off with a soft cry when Namjoon finally groans and starts fucking him in earnest, his hands anchoring Yoongi at the waist as he works up to an even rhythm. It’s so good that Namjoon’s brain feels like it’s melting, all of the thoughts and knowledge it holds oozing out into nothingness until all he can think is Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.

“You feel so good, baby,” he finds himself babbling. “Missed this, missed you.”

Yoongi just whines, his legs wrapping tight around Namjoon’s waist as he reaches out to start tugging at his shoulders. Quickly getting the message, Namjoon rests his forearms against the bed and leans over him, Yoongi folding with the movement as their bodies press together. Instantly, Yoongi’s hands are all over him, tangling in his hair and clawing at his back as he holds Namjoon close.

Sloppily, Yoongi kisses him. “Harder,” he breathes against Namjoon’s lips, and Namjoon can do nothing but groan and give Yoongi what he wants.

It’s frenzied, suddenly, the two of them quickly deteriorating into a desperate mess of moaning and frantic movements that make the bed springs creak in a way that would probably be embarrassing if Namjoon had any extra space in his consciousness to care. He ducks his head to suck at Yoongi’s collarbone, feels Yoongi’s nails digging into his skin, and curses, leaning his weight onto one arm so he can slide a hand down Yoongi’s body. He finds Yoongi’s cock, hard and leaking against his stomach, and starts stroking it, huffing out something between a laugh and a coo when Yoongi keens at the feeling.

“I’m getting close,” Namjoon admits breathlessly, muscles shaking as he does his best to keep fucking Yoongi and jerk him off at the same time. 

“S’okay,” Yoongi says. “I don’t care, you can come, wanna feel you.”

His words do absolutely nothing to help Namjoon last any longer. With a helpless moan, he starts thrusting harder, and makes it all of thirty more seconds before he’s coming harder than he has in months, his face buried in Yoongi’s neck. 

Namjoon barely pauses for five seconds before he’s pulling out, quickly replacing his dick with his fingers. He fucks Yoongi hard and fast, fingers curling up inside him, and Yoongi all but sobs above him.

“Fuck, fuck, Joon,” he whines. 

Namjoon knows that Yoongi’s close— he can tell by the way his voice pitches lower, his thighs shaking around him. Feeling desperate to push him over the edge, Namjoon surges forward and takes him into his mouth.

Yoongi all but yells, his hands reaching down to grip frantically at Namjoon’s hair. “Close, so close, I’m gonna come—”

Namjoon makes no move to pull away, fingers still fucking into him at an even pace, and Yoongi comes down his throat with a whine. Namjoon pulls off, but keeps fingering him through it, pressing little kisses against Yoongi’s hip and not stopping until he starts to squirm with overstimulation. 

After, Namjoon climbs back over Yoongi to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Then, immediately, he collapses beside him and starts trying to catch his breath.

Yoongi huffs out a little laugh, curling into his side. “You’re out of shape,” he teases softly.

Namjoon groans, covering his face to hide his own grin. “Are we already moving on to the constructive criticism? Are you gonna rate me out of ten?”

“I’ll give it at least an eight or nine. I like to leave room for improvement just in case.”

“God, you’re the worst.”

“You love me,” Yoongi says, somewhat smug as he throws an arm over Namjoon and cuddles in closer.

“Very much,” Namjoon confirms, lips pressing against the top of his head. “We do both definitely need to shower again, though.”

After very reluctantly climbing out of bed, they make their way to the shower together again, exchanging gentle kisses under the warm stream of water before hurrying to finish washing at the realization that the hot water is probably going to run out again soon. They towel off after, this time, and then Namjoon starts bustling around looking for his extra set of sheets.

“You can grab clothes to sleep in, if you want,” he says, gesturing toward his dresser as he pulls the dirty sheets off the bed. 

“I did pack clothes, you know.” Still, Yoongi turns to fish out a pair of sweats and a T-shirt from Namjoon’s drawers, just as Namjoon knew he would.

They fall silent as Namjoon starts putting clean sheets on the bed, and he doesn’t think anything of it until he hears Yoongi say, “Namjoon-ah?” in a strange tone of voice.

“Hm?” He turns around, and sees Yoongi staring at the messy stack of papers on top of his dresser. 

Immediately, Namjoon knows exactly what’s wrong.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to— I wasn’t snooping, the papers were just right there.”

It’s the sign up packet for the university’s PhD program.

With a sigh, Namjoon walks up behind Yoongi, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Hyung,” he says. “It’s not filled out because I’m not doing it. My professor just gave me the papers, but I wasn’t interested.”

Yoongi is still tense in his arms. “But if it’s something you want to do—”

“It’s not,” Namjoon interrupts. He pulls back and nudges at Yoongi until his boyfriend has turned around to look at him, his expression still unsure. “Hyung, I mean it. I don’t want to do that program. Being here for my Master’s was an incredible opportunity, and I’m grateful for it, but I miss home. I miss you. I want to start my life, and I want to do it with you, in Seoul.”

“I love you,” Yoongi says.

Namjoon smiles. “All of a sudden?”

“Shut up,” Yoongi says. “That was half a proposal, you can’t laugh at me for getting emotional.”

“Yoongi-hyung, when I propose, I promise it will be way fancier than this.”

Yoongi squints. “If you do it in front of a bunch of strangers, I’ll kill you.”

“Duly noted.”

Namjoon pulls him in for a hug, holding him tight against his chest. For several moments, they just stand there, leaning against each other.

“How do you feel about a nap?” Yoongi finally mumbles against his shoulder.

“I’ve never heard a better idea.”

Namjoon’s apartment is still a bit chilly, but tangled together with Yoongi under the blankets, he feels warm.

A few days later, Namjoon shows Yoongi his newest poem. 

“It’s really good,” Yoongi says quietly, and Namjoon might be offended by the muted reaction if he couldn’t tell that Yoongi was trying not to get choked up.

“Yeah?”

Yoongi kisses him, slow and gentle, and Namjoon knows that’s Yoongi’s own way of answering.

Yoongi meets Ashley. It’s a disaster.

Even with Namjoon having to translate half of their conversation, they get along terrifyingly well. Ashley is sure to take the chance to bully Namjoon, ruthlessly teasing and exposing his whipped ways. 

“Getting drunk with him is the worst,” Ashley says confidingly. “Every time, it’s Yoongi-hyung this, Yoongi-hyung that. He’s so in love.”

Namjoon sighs. Yoongi cackles.

“The next time I run into that lesbian you’re pining over,” Namjoon tells her seriously, “it is over for you.”

Even with Namjoon spending every waking moment that he’s not spending on the composition class right at Yoongi’s side, the two weeks that Yoongi has in New York pass devastatingly quickly. When the morning of the day Namjoon is supposed to go with him to the airport comes, they’re both loath to get out of bed, clinging to each other until they absolutely have to get up and ready. It’s snowing when they go outside to catch a taxi, the sky gray and heavy, and Namjoon feels like he’s living out a scene in a particularly depressing movie the entire ride to the airport.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Yoongi tells him, as if he isn’t the one who has to get back on a plane and go home alone. “It’s just one more semester.”

“I know,” Namjoon says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and holding him close as the taxi driver jerkily makes his way through traffic.

Namjoon helps Yoongi with his luggage, enters the airport with him, and waits as he checks his bags. He stays with Yoongi until the very last moment that he can, stopping with him in front of the line for security.

“Well,” Yoongi says. “I guess you can’t follow me through all that.”

Namjoon huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Come here.”

Yoongi steps forward, and Namjoon wraps him up in a hug, holding him as tightly as he can.

“I’m really going to miss you,” Yoongi admits, face hidden against Namjoon’s neck.

“I know,” Namjoon says. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Yoongi mumbles, pulling away.

Gently, Namjoon takes his face in his hands. “Just one more semester,” he says, echoing Yoongi’s words from before. “Can you wait just a little longer?”

Yoongi smiles. “Of course I can.”