Work Text:
A cocoon getting unstuck, like a grain of rice under a fingernail, bobbing to the surface of a frozen lake.
A corpse, wrapped in tattered plastic, slowly, slowly washing to shore. Sealing his fate, bringing to life - ha, and that was ironic enough - a long-buried fear. A mistake years and years ago that he’d solved in the dark and buried deep in his heart, in the same watery grave he’d put them away in, forming the perfect life around the old secret.
The secret that rose, arched, bobbed with the waves.
Namjoon woke up drenched in sweat, the skin of his face creased with the lines of the couch, breathing heavily, heart pounding too fast.
His mind kept working, rabbit-quick, how he would hide from the cops, what he would say, what was he doing that night, did he leave fingerprints on the corpse, on the body, on the person -
“Namjoon?”
It always took him a few minutes to remember that he’d never killed anyone.
Namjoon frowned, looking at the blurry shape of Jungkook, standing pajama-clad in the kitchen.
“Are you okay?”
The hot water kettle hissed.
“Uh.” Namjoon forced himself upright, groaning at the ache in his back.
“You slept on the couch again.” Jungkook pulled the fridge door open, grabbing his protein shake bottle. Namjoon shuddered.
“Yeah.” He groaned, turning his neck to the side until he heard it pop. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”
He’d learned that technique - moving beds when he couldn’t sleep - back in graduate school. Back then - back then, he’d been dating someone, and sometimes he’d just turn the key and crawl into their bed, wrap his arms around Yoongi’s small waist and somehow, then, he’d manage to get to sleep after tossing and turning all night.
It wasn’t an option, with Jungkook.
“Does it help?” Jungkook asked, frowning. He reached up, grabbing two mugs. “You want coffee?”
“Desperately.” Namjoon fumbled for his glasses, pulling them on. “Sorry, it’s probably annoying having me out here.”
Jungkook shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said. “As long as you don’t mind me waking you up early.”
“No, I needed…” Namjoon shook his head, finally standing up properly, stretching his arms overhead. “I was having a bad dream, so. It was good.”
He grabbed his phone, turning it over for the time - 6:12, jesus, how did Jungkook ever wake up this early.
To go the gym, hyung, Jungkook would always say. You should come.
“You’re going…” he gestured vaguely at Jungkook, like it wasn’t obvious, with the tight black t-shirt clinging to his muscles, the boxing gloves hanging from his backpack.
“Yeah!” Jungkook smiled brightly. “Sure you don’t want to come?”
Namjoon shook his head, holding back a yawn. “Nah,” he said, “nah, I’ll try to get a little more sleep.”
“Okay.” Jungkook shrugged, pouring coffee into Namjoon’s coffee cup, the one with the little fluffy labrador in square glasses. The one Jungkook said looked like Namjoon, so he picked it up from a neighbor’s thrift sale. “See you later!”
The door clicked closed.
Namjoon collapsed back into the couch.
When he woke up again, the coffee was cold, and he was late for work.
Again .
He knew he should try - something . Something besides staring up at the ceiling and hoping that sleep would come.
He’d tried melatonin, except it gave him what Hoseok called the melatonin hangover, made him all sleepy and dazed the next day, too, and if he was going to sleep without feeling awake, he might as well not sleep at all and keep going through the days in a daze.
He’d tried drinking, but Jungkook came home early once, saw him nursing a gin and tonic on his own and gave him a look that made him want to shrivel up and die before asking, very quietly, “are you okay?”
So now he only drank socially, and expanded the definition of socially a little too broad, maybe, and maybe him and Hoseok finished off a bottle of wine except, except given how Hobi drank maybe he did most of the finishing, but at least Jungkook didn’t look at him as weird when he passed out drunk in bed.
He wasn’t sure if the hangover cut through the rest, though.
So he stopped that, too, especially after Jungkook looked at him very softly and said, “Did you know you always sleep naked when you get drunk?”
He could try reading something. At least then - at least then being awake wouldn’t be so bad, at least he’d feel like he was doing something productive.
He flipped the light on and grabbed the book on the counter and tried to forget how much his head hurt, until his stomach started growling, and he couldn’t ignore that, the biting pangs of pain. What had he eaten today, anyway?
He set the book down, eyes unfocused in the middle of a sentence, and crept into the kitchen as quietly as he could manage, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders as he stepped onto the too-icy floor.
They should turn the heat on.
It was only October, and it was expensive, but - he’d talk to Jungkook about it, see what they could afford.
He stood in the kitchen in the dark, using his phone as a flashlight. Not that he needed it, he knew the layout of the kitchen well enough, anyway, and he couldn’t wake Jungkook up. Jungkook had work tomorrow, and the light would stream from the kitchen into Jungkook’s bedroom, and that wasn’t fair, for Jungkook to suffer just because Namjoon couldn’t get to sleep.
He could - he could make something. Some rice and eggs, some onion - that counted as vegetable, right - and maybe that would tire him out. And Jungkook had gotten groceries, so there had to be at least something in the fridge -
He pulled the fridge door open, wrapping the blanket tighter around his shoulders and groped for an onion, pulled out the remaining eggs. The rice cooker light blinked, surely Jungkook had still left some rice in there…
He set the eggs and onion on the small faux-marble counter, grabbed a wooden cutting board and the good knife, the one that was a gift from Jungkook’s mom when they first moved in. A settling gift, she said, to welcome them both to their new home. So far, Jungkook was the only one who’d used it, Namjoon settling for ramyeon or take-out or crawling to Seokjin’s home and looking at him sadly enough until he fed him.
Seokjin called him a feral cat, sometimes.
He tried not to take that too personally.
Well, hyung, he could fend for himself sometimes, too.
He grasped the onion with one hand, gripped the wooden handle of the knife and cut down -
“Fuck!”
“Are you okay?”
Namjoon brought his thumb to his mouth. It tasted like iron.
“Hyung, what are you doing?”
Jungkook’s voice sounded soft and raspy with sleep, and even in the dark, even without his glasses, Namjoon could see the cut of his chest too clearly, his low-slung pajama pants.
“I was…” Namjoon laughed hollowly, talking around the bleeding finger in his mouth. “I was hungry.”
Jungkook blinked. “I’ll… I’ll get you a bandaid.”
“Thanks.”
He pulled his thumb out of his mouth, tried to wrap it in a napkin. It bled through, and Namjoon shuddered at the sight of it.
He was so, so sick of seeing blood on his hands.
Jungkook padded back into the kitchen, a box of bandaids in his palm. “Hand?” he said.
Like he was ordering Yeontan around.
Namjoon gave it to him anyway, trying not to look at the oozing blood. It felt like - it felt like much more than it possibly could have been, and Namjoon winced.
Jungkook’s hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping his hand steady as he pressed the sticky bandaid against Namjoon’s skin. He felt warm, nothing like Namjoon’s frozen fingers, and for a brief, crazy moment Namjoon wondered what would happen if he just leaned forward, pressed his forehead against Jungkook’s or let himself sway, collapse onto his shoulder.
If Jungkook would catch him.
Instead, Jungkook let go of his wrist, smiling slightly. “You’ll probably need to change it, but, at least for now you won’t get blood in your food.”
“Thanks.”
Namjoon swayed backwards, instead, letting the kitchen counter catch him. It dug into the small of his back, harsh and stiff and inhuman.
Jungkook’s hands felt softer.
Jungkook’s chest would probably feel softer, still.
God, he needed to get some sleep.
“Want me to make you something?” Jungkook asked, eyes passing over the food arranged on the counter.
“I…” Namjoon shook his head. “You should get some sleep, I’m sorry.”
Jungkook smiled. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be too worried you’ll burn our apartment down, anyway.”
“At least teach me?”
“Okay.” Jungkook nodded. “Pick up the knife again.”
He did.
Jungkook sighed.
Loudly.
“What?”
“You’re gripping it like a mallet, hyung, hold on.”
Jungkook’s hand closed over his, uncurling his fingers, placing Namjoon’s thumb on the blade of the knife. “Here,” he said. “Look, your index finger goes just a little…” he pushed Namjoon’s index finger forward, right in front of the handle. “And then the rest just grip here.”
Namjoon frowned. “This feels unsafe.”
“Trust me, it’s safer.” Each one of Jungkook’s words came out with a puff of air on the back of his neck, the hairs curling up. “It’s about control.”
“Okay.” Namjoon sighed. “Okay, now what.”
“Now…” Jungkook smiled. “Now you grab the onion, and try not to cut your finger off.”
Namjoon rolled his eyes, leaning back slightly. “I still have a knife, you know.”
Jungkook laughed. “I know,” he said. “But I’m not entirely sure you know how to use it.”
He wasn’t really sure either, but it didn’t seem so bad, with Jungkook guiding him through it, the slow process of slicing an onion without crying - don’t cut the root, hyung, that’s the whole problem - and he could swear that Seokjin did try to teach him that, once, but it seemed easier to remember like this, in the still dim-kitchen, the only light the faint blue glow of Namjoon’s phone and the red light of the flame.
It took longer to cook scrambled eggs than Namjoon remembered, because Jungkook insisted that he couldn’t just set the heat to high and burn them, that it had to go low and slow and his stomach protested that but it was hard to argue with Jungkook’s eyes, so he waited, trusted the process , as Jungkook said too smugly.
Namjoon took a tentative bite. “Hey,” he said. “This isn’t the worst.”
Jungkook cackled, bunny teeth showing. “You know, that is what I strive for. Not the worst.”
“And you’re succeeding.” He sighed, glancing up at the sunlight streaming through the curtains. “Fuck,” he said. “It’s too late to go to sleep again, isn’t it?”
Jungkook shrugged. “When do you usually go to work?”
“Uh.” Namjoon grabbed his phone. 6:51.
“Fuck. Probably now.”
Work, at least, quieted his mind a little. It gave him a focus, something to cling onto, and maybe that’s what people meant when they said they wanted something “intellectually stimulating” - something that would make everything else go quiet.
Except, it took up so much space, made his brain hum so hard that he couldn’t just turn it off, and so - and so he was back, staring at the ceiling, throwing a ball made of a rubber bands at it, over and over again, hoping that somehow, the rhythm of it would lull him. Or that the split-second of fear, right as the ball hit the ceiling, tumbled down, almost struck his face, would be enough to shock him into unconsciousness.
Namjoon started at a sound, eyes moving off the ball for a second, just long enough for it to smack down on the side of his cheek.
“Fuck!”
The soft, quiet rapping at his door.
“You okay?”
Namjoon winced, hearing the knob turn.
Jungkook had to stop finding him like this, even if Jungkook was more of a blob of a shape in the corner rather than a real, full person. Almost like a figment of his imagination. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Jungkook stepped forward. “Can’t sleep?”
Namjoon shook his head. He grabbed the rubber ball again, tossed it up, heard the thud against the ceiling and felt its coolness in his hand as it fell back down.
“Fuck,” he said. “Sorry, was the sound annoying you?”
Jungkook shook his head. “Nah,” he said, sitting gingerly on the corner of the bed, the weight shifting ever so slightly. Like what it would feel like if a cat jumped on the bed, quick and nimble, like when he’d smuggled that little kitten into their apartment for a few weeks until he’d been able to find her a home, and he did sleep better, then, the little kitten curled up under his chin, so much better it was a pity to give her up, even if they really, really couldn’t keep her, even if the landlord would definitely kick them out. “I just had an idea.”
“Sure.” Namjoon closed his eyes, shifting his legs slightly, away from the heat of Jungkook’s body.
Jungkook smiled. “Do you want to try something new?”
Namjoon sighed, keeping his eyes stubbornly closed. “I will literally try anything.”
“Okay.” Jungkook stepped into his room, gingerly avoiding the piles of clothes strewn on the floor. He really needed to do his laundry. “Want to try sleeping in my room?”
Namjoon froze.
“Uh.”
“You don’t have to!” Jungkook said, the words escaping his lips like a shot. “I just - I figure, you sleep on the couch because it’s a change, right?”
Namjoon nodded.
“So,” and Namjoon tried, he really tried, not to read too much into how the words seemed to stick in Jungkook’s throat like toffee candy, his adam’s apple bobbing, “maybe you could try somewhere else?”
Namjoon nodded, again.
He wasn’t sure the words would come out right if he tried.
He just pushed himself upright, the movement bringing Jungkook to his feet as well, like dolls connected on a string. His footsteps padding on the ground sounded too loud, crossing the brief distance to Jungkook’s room.
Jungkook’s neat, carefully arranged room, the opposite of Namjoon’s sprawling mess. He sometimes wondered how Jungkook, sweet, sensitive to smells Jungkook, could stand to live with him, even if he tried to keep the mess contained to his room.
Even the corners of the sheets were tucked in, military perfect.
He hovered awkwardly in the doorway.
Jungkook laughed, pushing him forward. “Come on.”
Namjoon shook his head, smiling awkwardly. “I feel like I’m going to fuck up your room.”
“That’s kind of the point,” Jungkook said, sprawling on the bed, pulling the sheets out of their perfectly tucked corners and burying himself under them.
Namjoon had imagined this, before. Not quite like this - he’d imagined pushing Jungkook down onto the bed, kissing him breathless, Jungkook whimpering underneath him, all tongue and soft, sweet kisses and gentle hands. Mussing up the sheets that way, not with the awkward weight of himself pushing as close to the wall as he could, trying not to get too deep into Jungkook’s space.
But -
But it was stupid, wasn’t it?
Because - because roommates didn’t, usually, invite each other into their beds.
Even if one of them had insomnia, even if one of them had nightmares, and the way Jungkook shivered as he pressed close to him reminded him of the way his ex had shuddered right before they kissed for the first time, the moment drawn out, taffy-sticky.
Namjoon let himself relax into the sheets, let his body spread out until the back of his palm just, ever so slightly, brushed against Jungkook’s, their pinkies pressed together. Almost like an accident, if he didn’t press enough for Jungkook to know better, for the brush to be deliberate.
“Jungkook?” he murmured, quietly. He forced himself upright, making
“Mmm?”
Jungkook kept his eyes closed, breath coming out soft and slow as he turned his face towards Namjoon’s, lips slightly parted.
“Jungkook, tell me if this isn’t okay?”
His fingers intertwined with Jungkook’s, properly, fingers all locked up together, and he squeezed, right before he leaned forward, his lips softly meeting Jungkook’s turned up pout. He didn’t taste like candy, or feel like sunshine, no fireworks - just skin, gentle and yielding, under his own, the barest hint of mint toothpaste and the medicinal smell of cold cream. Just Jungkook, his hands coming up to run through Namjoon’s hair, the pressure of his calloused fingers against the nape of Namjoon’s neck, grounding him down, here, here - Namjoon, you’re really here -
Jungkook pulled back, lips reddened and raised. He smiled slightly, giggling, his whole body lurching forward into Namjoon’s, heart-beat thudding fast, butterfly kisses on collarbones.
“More than okay.”