Chapter Text
“Listen. I didn't think he'd actually show up.”
Seokjin's protests are weak even to his own ears, and even weaker to Jeongguk's, who is clearly holding back a grin, lips pressed together in a tight line. It's a chilly, fresh sort of spring morning. Seated at the terrace of his favourite overpriced indie café, Seokjin waits for his coffee date to settle into the seat opposite his. It's early enough that the breakfast crowd hasn't ruined the quiet respite, and the street they're at kind of reminds him of a romantic’s vision of Paris— the air is filled with the sounds of heels clacking against cobblestone, scarfs fluttering in the breeze, and lives intertwining.
Jeongguk plops his canvas bag down by the side and looks down at the table to see his coffee still piping hot and waiting for him. “I see you haven't been waiting for me for too long, then.”
“No, I've been here for ages. I just purposefully ordered your coffee ten minutes after you promised you'd be here, so it would be warm for your actual arrival.” Jin raises a perfectly tweezed eyebrow at his companion, who raised his arms in surrender.
“Okay, I'm sorry. But I'm here now, to listen to tales of your sordid sex-capades. You were saying? You didn't think he'd actually show up?” Jeongguk tucks his chin into his palm and tilts his head, like whatever his hyung has to say, he’ll hang onto his every word, and Jin rolls his eyes at his attempts at charm. Kim Seokjin, the king of charm, cannot be charmed by this... this... faux charmer.
Seokjin briefly wonders what the two of them look like to onlookers. They'd probably assume they were a couple— I mean, everything about Seokjin, at least, shouted homosexual, from his hair streaked with pastel purple highlights, to the earrings shaped like flowers hanging off his lobes, to his wedges-style leather boots. They made a nice pair, to onlookers, but little did they know that this deceptively charming brunette, clad in an oversized modern hanbok, was the least punctual, most tardy, least likely to be on time douchebag alive.
Owing to this, Seokjin decides to waste no more time and jump right into the story.
-
It was a work night for Kim Seokjin. That meant lipstick, liquor, and lots of fine men.
Life as an escort is pretty good sometimes, he thought as he puckered his lips into the mirror and kissed a tissue to rid himself of the excess colorant. He studied himself in the mirror one last time before heading out the door, because tonight was a special night— tonight wasn’t a normal work night, because tonight, Seokjin was going to expose a catfish.
His reflection didn’t look like an Escort Superhero off to save the day; in his silky purple shirt tucked into white trousers, unbuttoned to reveal much of his smooth chest, which was dusted with barely noticeable silver glitter, he looked more like a gay fairy, or a stripper with an unexpectedly tasteful sense of style. But after exposing this catfish, reporting his account with all the proof he was going to gather, he was sure to gain righteous popularity among his escort friends, and maybe rank even higher on the site than he was already ranked. Not that he needed it of course, he was in the top one percent already. But a little more lovin’ couldn’t hurt.
“So let me get this straight,” came a voice through his shiny new airpods, belonging to one of said escort friends, Park Jimin. “This guy is claiming to be Kim Namjoon. Like Kim Namjoon, bad-boy heir to the Hyundai fortune?”
“Yep,” Seokjin responded as he sauntered leisurely through the Seoul night time crowd. Even in the expensive central district, most of them didn’t spare a second look at him. Twinks in Seoul are a much more common sight these days than they were before.
“Like, famously straight Kim Namjoon, who was just photographed in Bora Bora with some white girl supermodel last week?”
“I… think? Listen, Jimin, I think your trick of reading English gossip columns to practise your English is filling your pretty little head with too many unnecessary celebrity facts.”
Seokjin could hear his shy embarrassment through the phone without him having to speak. “It’s— it’s interesting, hyung! Whatever, anyway. Whoever’s behind the screen, he’s sure to be a weirdo. Good on you for calling him out.”
Seokjin was waiting at a traffic light, only a few blocks away from the spot where he’s planning to reel in his Mystery Catfish. “Yeah, and hopefully it won’t take too long. I have another appointment later tonight. Dressed up for it too.”
“You wearing those white pants I gave you? Damn, your ass in those pants…” Jimin made a loud chef’s kiss sound, and Seokjin laughed aloud. Unfortunately, his hair, parted in the middle, flowed well past his ears, making his airpods invisible and hence making Seokjin look like an absolute maniac laughing about nothing at all in public. He flushed at the eyes that turned to train on him.
He made a show of tucking his hair behind his ears. “Alright, well, I’m gonna go, ‘kay? Love you.”
“Love you too, hon, stay safe.”
After the dial tone sounds, some depressing MandoPop ballad started playing automatically from his Spotify. It’s not the badass Escort Superhero soundtrack he needed to get him pumped up for the coming expose, so he skipped through his songs until Swine by Lady Gaga came on and he strutted to the beat like he was in a music video, because he felt fine and every dude with a woman on his arm was turning to check him out and that was always a nice ego boost. He was outside the quaint but clearly high-end microbrewery before he knew it, so he prepared himself for a wait, facing the main road and enjoying the buzzing bustle of the city.
You’re just a pig inside a human body, Lady Gaga was singing passionately into his ears and a smile broke onto his face at the sheer poetry of that statement. He wanted so badly, in that moment, to embody that blunt-yet-philosophical energy she has absolutely down pat, to get him through this encounter.
“Jin?” came a far-off voice from behind him and a hand touched his shoulder, pulling him out of his Gaga hypnosis.
He jumped, quite literally, as he turned around to face whoever had disturbed him.
“I’ll… have to get you a new pair. Sorry about that.”
Seokjin was too busy staring at the face of Kim Namjoon to notice the right side of his airpods in a puddle (of vagabond piss, probably) on the ground.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, uh, hi.” He held out a hand, which Seokjin was only just lucid enough to reach out and grab. “Nice, uh, nailpolish. Pretty colour.”
“Oh.”
God, say something, you buffoon. What are you, broken?
“It’s really nice to meet you, Mr— Mr Kim. Really really nice. I wasn’t expecting… wasn’t expecting you—”
“Yeah, I know I’m a little early,” Namjoon said, carding his fingers through his perfectly styled pitch black hair. “But I guess it’s fine, since you’re here already too.”
Wasn’t expecting you to be actually you.
It was a badly structured sentence anyway, Seokjin decided, and it didn’t deserve to be delivered. Maybe Seokjin was better off getting interrupted. Just this once.
Neither one spoke for a few moments as they regarded each other, Jin with a look of pure incredulity, Namjoon with a familiar hidden look behind his eyes that Seokjin had become accustomed to over the years. It’s lust-filled, and confused, and most of all, awe-struck. It’s always a pleasure to be the bearer of such coming-of-age sentiments.
“I was almost sure that the Jin I was going to meet wouldn’t be as beautiful as the Jin from the website. I see now I was horribly, deeply mistaken.” He blinks, hard, a few times. “Just, so wrong.”
“Humans can surprise sometimes, who woulda thunk?” Seokjin retorted with a dismissive wave of his hand, like he didn’t want the compliment anywhere near him. He’d heard that line a million times at this point, anyway. “Plus, I always use photos in which I look approximately two percent less attractive than I do on a given day, so that when I meet my clients, they’re pleasantly surprised. It’s a great marketing tactic.”
Namjoon gave an easy chuckle. It’s deep and it lights up his face, dimpling his cheeks. Seokjin realised with annoyance that he’s a real handsome guy. He looked away, feeling his ears turn red, and pushing these strange feelings aside. This was work now.
“Right, well there’s an Apple store two streets away. Let’s go there.”
“What, why?”
Namjoon’s eyes took their time taking in every inch of Jin’s form before landing at the puddle at his feet and pointing with a slender, beringed index finger. “That.”
“Right. Wait, it’s okay, don’t let it ruin our night,” he said kindly, halfway meaning it too— the airpods were an impulse buy, one he rarely used and constantly feared losing.
But Namjoon was already offering his right arm, his knit black turtleneck making him look like, well, exactly what he is — a cocky, young, handsome millionaire. Seokjin took it wordlessly, and they started walking. Seokjin was painfully aware of Namjoon’s eyes on him, and when he reached up to pluck Seokjin’s remaining airpod (singular) out of his left ear, he was so embarrassed he wanted to dissolve.
“That’s embarrassing,” he said aloud. “I guess I’m not very self-aware.”
“No, you seem very self-aware,” Namjoon responded, “Job like yours kind of requires that, no?”
“I don’t quite know what you mean.”
Seokjin made to continue walking straight, following the flow of the crowd, but Namjoon tugged his arm, guiding him to an alleyway by the side of an Italian bistro. “Shortcut,” he said by way of explanation. “And, well, to do what you do you have to be painfully aware of your good looks, beguiling charms, your ability to entertain for an evening... that sort of thing. That’s self-awareness. Practised skill.”
So that was a line Seokjin had never heard. He couldn’t help the pink flush that crept into his ears and neck; being called delicious and sexy and gorgeous didn’t get him pink, but being called self-aware did. God, what had he become.
He cleared his throat, looking up at Namjoon who was looking back at him. Up close, Namjoon was striking— there was a strength in his features, and it definitely helped that he stood half a head taller than Seokjin, forcing his eyes and neck to tilt at an angle to meet his.
“In my experience, Mr Kim,” Seokjin said quickly, calling upon his snarkiness that had decided to hide itself away tonight for some reason, and before doing something gross like getting lost in Namjoon’s eyes or whatever, “There’s no one more self-aware in this world than a young, handsome millionaire.”
The brick walls of the alley shrouded them in semi-darkness and yet the silver chain around Namjoon’s neck, contrasting brilliantly against the black of his shirt, reflected what little light there is— same with his watch. As if becoming suddenly self-conscious of these wealth signifiers on his body, he twisted his wrist, and tucked his left arm behind him. They finally emerged on the other side, and the apple store is directly on their left.
Seokjin carefully extricated his arm from Namjoon’s. “All good?”
“Yeah, totally.” Seokjin was just hyper-aware of their environment. They were a little more likely to run into someone he knew here at this run-of-the-mill Apple store than at the stretch of expensive restaurants they had been at previously. “Shall we?”
He turned to walk into the store, but there was a man running out of the store and towards them, frazzled and wide-eyed. The crooked tag pinned onto his shirt read Manager. Seokjin was wracking his brain trying to figure out if he recognised him— maybe he was a friend of a friend, or his former mailman Min-Jun, that guy always looked so frazzled…
“Mr Kim! How lovely it is to welcome you to our store today,” the man almost shouted, and oh yeah, Seokjin forgot that he was currently with the third highest ranking guy on Forbes’ 30 under 30 list. “How can we help you this evening?”
When I go to the Genius Bar to get my laptop fixed you can’t do it, but you pull out the parade for this guy? Unbelievable. Jin’s look of annoyance didn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon, though, who gestured for the man to calm down with a dazzling smile on his face. “Don’t worry about us, sir, I’m just getting Jin here a new pair of Airpods. We’re just like any other customer, okay?”
A hand landed on the small of Seokjin’s back, guiding him away from the strange, loud manager and into the store. The staff were all standing at attention, like Seokjin and Namjoon were sergeants who just called an inspection. It was too funny for Seokjin not to laugh out loud.
“God, this is hell. I could never live like this.”
Namjoon looked amused at Seokjin’s reaction, and slightly relieved too, and they strolled over to the rack of airpods, as Namjoon observed, “You get used to it. Though it’s difficult to imagine that some people strive for this. Or enjoy it.”
“All of us have dormant narcissists that live inside us, I think. Some people just unchain them and let them go crazy.” Seokjin picked up a box and started towards the counter.
“Jin, you had the regular ones right?”
“Yep, just like these,” he replied, holding up the box he had picked up.
“Okay, fantastic.” He grabbed the box from Seokjin, placed it back on the rack, and grabbed two boxes of the Airpod Pros, one in the regular white and one in rose gold. “So I’ll get you these instead.”
“Okay, so, definitely self-aware then,” Seokjin said, with a roll of his eyes. Listen, if his pockets were deep enough to pay for that, he wasn’t going to say no. This is wealth redistribution. This is the proletariat struggle.
Seokjin let Namjoon deal with the overeager staff, opting instead to walk outside back into the night and out of the artificial heavenly whiteness of the Apple store. Everything was so bright in there, it reminded him of the daylight.
When Seokjin was like this, in escort mode, dressed like this, acting like this… he hated thinking of the daylight.
Namjoon joined him after a few minutes, and Seokjin reached out to take the bag from him, with a polite “Here, I’ll get that,” but his grip on it is firm and unwavering.
“Alright, back to our regularly scheduled programming for the evening, Jin.”
“Here’s the thing, Mr Kim—”
“Namjoon is fine.”
“Right, Namjoon then. Here’s the thing. It’s a funny story.” His heartbeat was picking up. He grasped Namjoon’s wrist suddenly and peeked at his watch, taking a few seconds to inspect the time. There weren’t any numbers on the damn thing, only little diamond studs where the numbers should be. “Funny story,” he repeated.
“It took you a really long time to read that,” Namjoon murmured innocuously, with a tickled glint in his eyes.
Seokjin’s mouth fell open, thoroughly wounded. “There aren’t any numbers on your— Okay. Nevermind. Listen, I… Really funny story actually.”
“You mentioned.”
“I didn’t think you were real!” he blurted out, the heels of his palms going to rub his eyes, probably smearing his mascara, but fuck if he cared at this point.
“Like, in a metaphysical, corporeal sense?”
God, did he think he was Sartre? “No, what? Straight men who take one philosophy class are insufferable. I thought— I thought you were actually a catfish. I just showed up for a bit of a laugh, to have a little undercover investigative reporter moment or something, I don’t know. But yeah, I thought you weren’t real.”
Namjoon was choking back a laugh, Seokjin could tell. “So you thought you’d show up and I’d be some sixty year old greasy-hair weirdo.”
“Well, yeah. Yeah, I did think that. And because I thought that, I, well, made other plans. With someone else.”
“Oh. Huh.” Namjoon’s amused expression disappeared all too suddenly, and Seokjin found himself missing it. Namjoon’s jaw tensed, and the muscles running down the side of his neck rippled. He looked away, hand going to his chin like he was deep in thought.
“Look, Mr Kim. Namjoon. I just can’t really afford negative feedback on my page. It’s, kind of, my income. So... I can't flake on this guy.”
They both looked down at the Apple shopping bag hanging off Namjoon’s middle finger. They both heard the absurdity undergirding Seokjin playing the income card. The net worth of the guy Seokjin was going to meet was probably equivalent to Kim Namjoon's nail clippings.
Seokjin teeth toyed with his lower lip roughly, as he felt a twinge of guilt blooming in his chest. “I realise I probably should've told you before you bought that for me,” he said, “And you obviously don't have to make any payments at all for tonight. And you can exchange the stuff if you want. Or keep it.” If Namjoon didn't pay Seokjin, he couldn't leave a bad review either, so it would be a win-win. Somewhat.
Namjoon didn't move, or smile, only stared into Seokjin's eyes with a burning intensity unparalleled in the modern age. If Seokjin just didn't happen to be the most stubborn, strong-headed person on the planet, he might’ve caved in that moment.
“No. Here, I bought it for you.” He held out the bag, which Seokjin took. But Namjoon didn't let go, wrapping his fingers around Seokjin's and pulling him in close. And oh god, here Kim Seokjin is, getting lost in Namjoon's eyes.
Exactly like he didn't want to.
He didn't utter a single syllable for approximately three years, just stared, stared at Seokjin with a look in his eyes that Seokjin couldn't quite pin down, which hadn’t happened in a long, long time. It was the practised poker face of a man who had billion-dollar deals rest on its efficacy.
It took every ounce of pride Seokjin had to meet his eyes with an attempt at intensity too, and not gulp. Luckily, the aforementioned stubbornness meant he was extremely motivated.
“I had a nice twenty minutes with you, Jin.” Namjoon's voice was so deep that Seokjin could feel it in his toes. “I hope you have a nice night.”
Seokjin knew that if he opened his mouth right then, only hot empty air would come out. He breathed in. “Thank you, Namjoon, you as well.”
And before he did something stupid, like grab Namjoon’s wrist and drag him back home, or maybe jump his bones right there on the pavement outside the Apple store with every single member of the staff watching them as they played out an exhibitionist’s wet dream, he turned and walked away.
-
“So, yeah. That was my Saturday evening. How was yours?”
Jeongguk’s face has been stuck like this for the past five minutes as Seokjin tied up the remaining loose ends of the story: eyebrows halfway up his forehead, lips parted, and making timely “ooh” and “ah” sounds at the dips and peak of the plot. By the time Seokjin’s tale reached its terminus, he isn’t sure how many “ooh”s Jeongguk has left in him.
“Hm, let’s see. Spent playing League, then jerking off sadly. You really wanna talk about it?” When Seokjin nods farcically, Jeongguk kicks his shins underneath the table. “Babe, we are not changing the subject. You’re such a tease. Is this how you make your cash?”
Seokjin winks. “Oh yeah. If a dude thinks he has a shot at shimmying into my pants, he's immediately classified as repeat clientele.” Of course, they never do successfully shimmy their way into Seokjin’s too-tight pants. Seokjin runs a no-funny-business business, thank you very much.
“You think Kim Namjoon’s gonna be repeat clientele?” Jeongguk says, waggling his eyebrows and picking the crumbs of Seokjin’s blueberry muffin.
“Frankly, I don’t really want him to be. He’s… he’s too rich. He’s filthy rich. He’s eat-the-rich rich. Kind of makes my skin crawl.”
“So just to be clear, when you spent five minutes describing the ‘burning intensity of his gaze into your eyes’, that was your crawling skin just... making a lot of sound?”
Seokjin takes the opportunity to seek revenge for the shin kick Jeongguk had delivered. Jeongguk doesn’t react. Damn you and your dancer shins of titanium. “I… don’t know.”
“I think you do know, hyung. I think you know that a part of you finds Namjoon super sexy and is afraid that if you see him again—”
“Stop! I’m going to need you to stop right there.” Seokjin forced laughter is coming out in puffs.
“You’re turning red, hyung.”
“I— Would you look at that?” Seokjin is saved by a ding from Jeongguk's phone, as it flashes an incoming text. “What does that say? Tae? New plaything, Kookie?”
He’s met with a scowl, but Jeongguk is successfully distracted from continuing his uncomfortably accurate psychoanalysis, and dives into his own story about the man on the other side of the text message.
Seokjin lives to see another day of denial.
-
Unknown
I’m not used to getting rejected, Jin. [2108]
Turns out, I’m not a fan. [2110]
Me
who’s this? [2320]
Seokjin can’t be expected to keep up with every heart he breaks, right? It’s a little much to ask for. Especially considering it happens near daily. He’s removing his makeup at his dresser from another strange day at work— some creep tried to kiss him today, twice, and Jin had to use his two lessons of Krav Maga knowledge to send him flying the second time.
Unknown
Wow, harsh. [2321]
Kim Namjoon. We met on Saturday. [2321]
“Ah shit,” Seokjin murmurs out loud at his reflection. “You’re just killing it today, huh?”
Me
o [2323]
hey it’s 11.11, make a wish [2323]
It was just a silly habit Seokjin had cultivated from childhood— if he was texting someone, and it was 11.11pm, he’d ask them to make a wish, and he sees no reason Namjoon should be excluded from his little game. He probably wasn't going to laugh or find it childish. Right?
"It's too late, you doofus, the message is sent," he presses a finger in the face of the man in the mirror, skin shining from the oil in his makeup remover, leaving a fingerprint behind on the pristine, polished glass.
Namjoon
If you say so… [2324]
Me
rejection is tough shit man, i get it [2324]
which meaningless platitude would u like today? ‘it’s going to be okay’ or ‘just hop on another horse and u’ll forget all about jin in no time’ [2325]
Namjoon
Hardy har. [2326]
I want to see you again. [2326]
“He types like a fucking fifty year old,” Seokjin says to his reflection again, faux exasperation plastered across his visage, ignoring the way his neck is heating up. “He’s not even thirty.”
But his fingers are shooting back a message already.
Me
i’ve been wondering when u were going to reach out [2326]
place n time ? [2326]