Chapter Text
Seven Years Ago
“Why won’t you ever love me back, hyung?”
The question landed softly, almost too softly, Jungkook’s voice trembled, but not from the cold.
Namjoon blinked at him, unable to breathe for a moment. Of all the things Jungkook could’ve said, that one tore through the silence with a shattering sound. He didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t even know if he could.
Was there a correct answer to something like that?
Was there even enough time to find one?
The wind had waved faintly, winter nights never seemed as terrifying as it was that night. Namjoon stared at the younger, it was like time had stopped- from the weight of everything left unsaid between them.
Jungkook had always been there. From scraped knees to late-night sobs. From Namjoon’s first breakup to the moment he came out to his parents as bisexual, shaking and teary-eyed in a kitchen that never felt warm.
Jungkook had been his constant- a hand to hold, a shadow beside him, someone who never asked for anything except to stay close.
Namjoon had leaned on him, more than he ever dared to admit. And that’s what made this harder. Because now Jungkook was asking for something Namjoon didn’t know how to give.
Affection? Maybe.
Love? Maybe not.
Certainty? Definitely not.
“Kook-ah,” Namjoon murmured, stepping forward, instinctively reaching out- like he always did when Jungkook looked like he might break.
But Jungkook stepped back, just out of reach.
He’d learned his hyung’s patterns too well. He knew that if the older one touched him, he’d give in- melt under a hand that never truly held him the way he wanted.
Not this time, he won't let it happen- no.
“Hyung,” Jungkook whispered, “please… I want to know.” His voice cracked on the last syllable, barely holding it together. “Just once. Tell me the truth, Namjoon-hyung.”
Namjoon swallowed, trying to catch a breath. “It’s storming, Jungkook. Let’s go home, yeah? You’ll catch a cold, bun.”
He offered a small smile- gentle, familiar. The kind he used when things were too hard to say.
Jungkook’s lips trembled. “No. Not this time, hyung.”
His eyes met Namjoon’s fully for the first time that night- red-rimmed, soaked in tears. “I’m not going home with you unless you say it. Unless you mean it.”
Namjoon stood still. The weight of those words rooted him to the spot.
He wanted to say something. Anything.
But nothing came.
No rejection. No confession. Just silence.
And that silence- that quiet, cruel stillness- hurt more than a “no” ever could.
To Jungkook, it was confirmation. That Namjoon had never thought about what they were. That he had spent years giving everything to a bond Namjoon didn’t even dare to name.
After all this time, the older man still didn’t know what Jungkook meant to him.
Something in the younger's expression cracked. And then, just like that, he turned away.
“Kook-ah- Jungkook- wait,” He tried again, but his voice faltered like the wind. The words wouldn’t move. Not when it mattered.
He watched the younger walk away, his silhouette swallowed by the storm. His form blurred into the fog until he was nothing but a memory.
And that was the last time Namjoon ever saw him.
----------------------
Two Weeks Later
It had been two weeks since that night.
Fourteen days since Jungkook disappeared into the storm, leaving only Namjoon and his gaping memories behind.
Namjoon hadn’t been the same since.
His body still moved, technically. He still breathed, blinked, went to class. But it all felt like sleepwalking. He hadn’t answered a single call in days- only looked at it to see if the younger answered his texts and calls. He tried reaching out to him so many times.
He tried to eat, but most days he forgot. Other days, he simply didn’t care.
His cheekbones had sharpened. His skin had turned dull and sallow, like the color had seeped out of him somewhere between regret and insomnia. He couldn’t focus on his studies.
Namjoon didn’t talk about it. How could he? What would he even say?
That he’d broken the heart of the one person who had loved him the most?
That he didn’t even understand why he’d done it?
That he hadn’t been brave enough to reach for the hand that had always been there?
He’d searched for Jungkook. God, he had tried.
He’d asked around. Called old friends. Gone to Jungkook’s old dorm, to the small cafés they used to visit after class, to the Han River- where they once sat for hours watching stars.
But it was as if the earth had swallowed the younger whole.
No letters. No texts. No goodbye.
Just gone.
All he could do was live with the ghost of that night- with the memory of Jungkook’s voice breaking in the cold, asking a question that still echoed inside his chest.
At last, he had to live with the idea that maybe, Jungkook did leave him. Alone. Rotting.
_________💕🩹🌿_________
“Is he awake yet?” Namjoon asked as he stepped into the massive hallway, voice careful, almost sheepish.
Hyuna looked up from the tablet in her hands. “He is. Humidity’s awful today, just a heads up. He’s... stressed.” She lowered her voice and offered a look that wasn’t quite pity, but close. “Might be a bit sharper than usual.”
Namjoon’s brow furrowed. “Oh? Did something happen?”
He didn’t mean to pry- or maybe he did. Curiosity always betrayed him in the end.
And regret? That was something he’d already made peace with long ago. It lived with him like a second shadow.
Hyuna sighed, tapping the screen once before muttering, “His son called. Says he’s coming to stay a few days. Wants to ‘help’ with the paperwork.”
“He had a son?” He blinked.
“I know, right?” Hyuna’s voice flattened, her expression unreadable. “Thought he was a single man too. Strange how the dead bed brings everyone crawling back.”
There was something bitter in her tone, but Namjoon didn’t press.
The walls of this house were thick with other people’s secrets.
“Well, it’s getting late,” she added with a quick glance at the clock. “You should probably get going before he throws a tantrum.”
“Thank you, Noona. You’re always saving my ass,” Namjoon called over his shoulder, already heading for the stairs.
She said something in reply- a teasing jab maybe- but the words faded behind him.
By the time he was in the room, the quiet was broken by a dry voice.
“Kim. Late again. Was it your alarm clock this time?”
Namjoon paused, schooling his features before turning toward the older man in the wheelchair.
“Annyeong, Sungwon-nim,” he said with an easy smile, walking over. “It wasn’t the alarm today. Just work.”
“You’re always late,” Sungwon snapped. “I shouldn’t have to remind you how important punctuality is at this age.”
Namjoon’s smile faltered slightly as he came around to take hold of the wheelchair’s handles. But it wasn’t the nagging that unsettled him. It was the man’s face- the ashen undertone, the tightness in his jaw, the way he didn’t quite look like he was here today.
For a moment, he forgot how to reply.
“I’m sorry, Sungwon-nim. I’ll do better next time,” he said softly. “How are you feeling today?”
The man grunted. “How do you think I feel? I’m practically rotting in this chair. Death will soon be visiting me, you'll see. Now, get me my coffee. I’ve been waiting since someone decided to show up late.”
“Don’t say such things, you know your condition is improving. Besides, I told you to cut down on caffeine, Kim-nim,” Namjoon reminded him, settling onto the sofa nearby, still facing him.
“Aish, forget the coffee then,” Sungwon waved him off. “You want to hear interesting gossip?”
“Ah, s-sure. If it’ll help ease your stress. But first- have you taken your meds?” Namjoon stood as if to check, but Sungwon caught his wrist in a surprisingly firm grip.
“I took them,” he said, gaze sharp. “Giving me meds isn't your job anyways. Hyuna gave them to me. You two are the only ones here I trust not to screw things up. Even if you were the ones to poison me.” The man gave a laugh, but it came out strained- a ghost of a sound that ended in a cough.
Namjoon sat down again without a word.
The guilt in his chest didn’t lessen. If anything, it settled deeper.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he murmured. “You’ve got people you can trust.”
“Do I?” Sungwon’s lips curled into something humorless. “You’re still so young, Namjoon-ah. You think trust comes from years or titles. But I’ve seen more of the world than you ever will. Most people stay with you because it benefits them. Take that away, and they disappear.”
Namjoon looked down at his hands.
The words stung in a way he didn’t expect. Maybe because they were true.
He’d had crowds once- friends, acquaintances who always called him for favors or dinner plans. But when he stopped giving a fuck, when he stopped pretending, when he started to shrink into himself… they vanished. One by one.
But Jungkook had stayed.
Jungkook, with his wide eyes and stubborn loyalty, selfless love.
Until even he was gone.
Since then, Namjoon had gotten used to silence.
“My son called in last night,” Sungwon said suddenly. “Ah. Guess he remembered he had a father. Funny timing, don’t you think? Right when I’m paralyzed and so close to death.”
Namjoon didn’t speak. He didn’t know if he was allowed to.
“He says he wants to stay for a few days. Help with my ‘paperwork'.” The word dripped with disdain. “You know what that means, right?”
Namjoon shook his head.
“Money,” Sungwon spat. “He wants the property. The legacy. He doesn’t care if I live or die, he just wants the inheritance. And he’s only twenty.”
Namjoon shifted, unsure whether to sympathize or stay quiet.
“But he’s your son, Kim-nim,” he offered, gently. “Maybe he’s trying to be bett-”
“Don’t feed me that idealistic crap,” Sungwon snapped, eyes narrowing. “He had his chance. Years of silence- years, Namjoon-ah. If I wasn’t dying, he wouldn’t even remember my name. I don’t want him near this house. He won’t get a single piece out of me. I’d rather give it all to someone who actually cared.”
Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “And who would that be?”
It was a throwaway question- it wasn't supposed to be serious.
The old man turned his head slowly and looked at him. The silence that followed was long and strange.
“You,” he said. “You’re the one I’m giving it to.”
Namjoon’s breath caught. For a moment, it felt like the air had thinned.
“Me?” he echoed. “Sungwon-nim, I-I’m just a…”
“Exactly. You’re just a therapist without a license. Just a boy who listens when I rant. Just someone who showed up. That’s more than my own son ever did.”
Namjoon sat still, barely blinking, a low buzz settling behind his ribs. He couldn’t find the right words. Not to reject it, not to accept it. Just… nothing.
It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like something he wanted.
He wasn’t greedy. Not for houses that didn’t belong to him. Not for inheritance built on absence and cold shoulders. The idea that someone- anyone- might see him as someone hovering for a place in a will made his stomach turn.
He hadn’t studied psychology to earn favors. He hadn’t sat beside this man out of ambition. He knew how it looked, how it could look, but it was never about that.
He was here because it was his job. Not because he needed something- an anchor to help him climb the social ladder.
And yet- he hated the flicker of heat crawling up his neck. That familiar feeling of being watched, measured, misunderstood.
He had fought so hard not to become the kind of man who took what wasn’t his.
He didn’t want to be someone’s last resort.
Namjoon looked away, eyes catching on the window where snow clinged onto the glass, making everything look unclear. Sungwon's massive house had tons of windows inside.
Despite the super fancy arrangements, the place still felt like mourning. The air felt wrong, spiked with the scent of medicines and coffee.
Maybe not even stylish furniture can change the atmosphere of the place that people called home. To make it 'home', you'd need love and care- something not everyone could afford.
“…I don’t need anything from you, Kim-nim,” he said finally, voice soft but firm. “I didn’t come here for that.”
The old man didn’t reply. He just closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair like he hadn’t heard- or maybe like he had, but didn’t care.
------------------------------
“So… you’re telling me the Ajussi you’re working with just offered you his property?” Seokjin gasped, loud enough to make two people at the bar glance over with mild alarm.
Namjoon groaned. “Hyung, you’re being dramatic again.”
“Have you even looked at him lately, Hob-ah?” Hoseok chuckled at the remark, clinking his glass against Namjoon’s with a grin. “Are we sure this is our Namjoon?”
“I think he is, hyung.” He nodded thoughtfully, “just… peachier.”
Namjoon shot them a glare before taking a long sip from his beer.
“Why would I make this up? Can you not tell how stressed I am?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “My patient’s not doing well, and now I have to think about stuff like this? It’s not helping. I’m his therapist, not some heir in a chaebol drama.”
“Oh, you shush,” Seokjin grinned. “I still can’t believe our little Joonie’s about to be filthy rich.”
Namjoon internally rolled his eyes so hard he felt them in his throat. His friends never missed a chance to tease- even when he was drowning.
Honestly, the thought of Sungwon’s property made him feel sick. Not because he was too noble to take money- it wasn’t about that. It was because it felt wrong. The man trusted him. Counted on him. And Namjoon was already unsure if he even deserved that.
He’d grown up seeing how money twisted people. How wealth could suck the air out of a room and turn kindness into currency.
Kim Sungwon had looked like just another cold rich man at first. But months into their sessions, Namjoon saw past the bitterness, past the barks and eye-rolls.
There was something fragile beneath all that steel. Something very human.
So even if the offer was real, Namjoon wouldn’t accept it.
His conscience wouldn’t let him. Never.
“Anyway,” he continued, swirling the glass in front of him, “I’m sure he’ll forget about it by next week. That’s not why I brought it up. Hyung, I actually wanted to ask you something.”
Seokjin’s eyes lit up. “Don’t tell me you want to withdraw the money. Joon-ah, you know your hyung is always here for you. I’ll manage your finances, live in your guesthouse, eat your imported kimchi-”
Namjoon cut him off with a middle finger despite him being years younger.
“Hob-ah, I will punch your boyfriend if he doesn't stop.”
“Oh no you won’t,” Hoseok wrapped his arms around Seokjin’s shoulders protectively. “As much as I’d like to agree, he is still my boyfriend. Can’t live a second without him.”
Namjoon groaned when Seokjin kissed him on the cheek with exaggerated passion.
“Gross. Hyung, we’re in public.”
“You brought this on yourself,” Hobi grinned, then turned back to Namjoon. “So what were you gonna ask?”
Namjoon hesitated for a second before scratching the back of his neck. “I was wondering if you guys knew of a part-time job somewhere. Something I could do after clinic hours.”
There was a beat of silence before Seokjin’s voice rose again.
“What? You need a part-time job? What, being a therapist doesn’t pay the bills anymore?”
“It- doesn’t, actually,” he replied, letting out a slow breath. “You know I never finished my post-grad. I’m only working at the clinic because Professor Choi was an angel. And lately… I don’t know if I can keep doing it.”
Seokjin frowned, his teasing gone for once. “But what about the money from-”
“Argh, stop with the money,” Namjoon snapped, not harshly, but tired. “I’m not taking it. You both know that. Why would I? That man trusts me, and I won’t twist that into some kind of transaction. He pays me for his sessions and that’s enough. I’m not… someone who takes things just because he can.”
A quiet settled between them for a moment.
“Hey,” Hobi said gently, placing a hand over Namjoon’s. “We were just joking, you know? But something’s been bugging you lately, Joon-ah”
Namjoon exhaled, his thumb running circles around the edge of his glass. “Bills. Patients. Everything. I’m barely making rent, and half the time I’m not even sure if I’m helping anyone.”
The couple exchanged a glance- one of those silent, practiced glances people in long relationships share. Then Jin looked back at him, more serious this time.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he began, “but… don't you think maybe you need a break, Joonie?”
Namjoon blinked. “A break?”
“You’ve been pushing too hard,” Seokjin said. “You’re always either at the clinic or at Sungwon’s. You’re barely sleeping. When was the last time you left Seoul for something that wasn’t work?”
Namjoon scoffed. “That’s not fair. I’m fine. I’m qualified. I know what I’m doing, hyung”
“We know you are,” Hoseok said quickly, “but that’s not the point. Even qualified people burn out, Joon. You’re not a machine.”
Namjoon looked away, jaw tight. “I’m just off lately, that’s all. Don’t make this into something it’s not.”
The couple didn’t say anything for a second. The silence pressed in- not heavy, but concerned.
“It’s just a-” Seokjin started.
“No, it isn’t, hyung!” Namjoon snapped, his voice louder than he meant. “Why do you guys always hint at things like I’m some fragile case? I’m trying, okay? I really am. I just need help finding a side gig, not a lecture.”
He stood abruptly, tossing a few bills on the table.
“Either help me with that or don’t suggest anything at all.”
Then he turned and walked out, leaving behind the thick air of concern and two stunned friends.
“Well,” Seokjin blinked, brushing a hand through his hair. “Isn’t he just a pile of stubborn...”
“Hyung…” the younger man said, biting his lip.
But Seokjin was already pulling out his phone with a small smirk. “I think I know what I’m going to do.”
Hoseok eaned closer. “You’re not going to try anything horrible, are you?”
“Let’s not give my plan away, ” he grinned.
“Joon’s going to hate you.” His boyfriend sighed.
“Oh, you know how he is. Might as well make this worth it.”
And just like that, stubborn Namjoon had gotten himself into trouble- whether he knew it yet or not.