Archive of Our Own

"Okay, what about: just five seven five; to make, no plead my own point; the words come up short," said Hoseok with a self-satisfied smile, taking another sip of his beer. The actual drinking game and shots had dissolved into something a little stranger and more casual a solid hour ago.

"Wouldn't that last line be stronger as 'my words come up short'?" asked Namjoon who had sprawled himself across the rug some time ago, moving stacks of books and CDs and general clutter out of the way so that there would be room to, claiming that it helped him think better. Neither Yoongi or Hoseok asked why he needed to think better on a Friday night early in the fall semester with no work or classes or anything else substantial to worry about. Hoseok had thrown Yoongi a look; Yoongi had just shrugged.

"Isn't that the point, though," asked Yoongi, who was curled up like a cat in the armchair. "That the words are wrong?"

"Hey, what are you calling wrong?" cried Hoseok.

Namjoon ignored him, propping a knee up. A stray paper crinkled underfoot. "No, I think it's that the point is the restrictiveness of the form, but the words should be as strong as possible within the form to convey the point."

Hoseok's lips were pulled into a pout. "Okay, but I made up the haiku, don't I get to pick the point of it?"

"Of course not," said Namjoon. Yoongi snorted, but he continued, "That's not how art works, that's not how anything works. Once you release something to the masses it becomes fair game to interpretation and it's really up to each individual to interpret themselves."

"So you're both right?" asked Hoseok, voice flat.

Namjoon made a noise in the back of his throat and said, "I guess, but you're still wrong because the artist doesn't have any say." Hoseok drained the rest of his beer in answer.

"Joon," came Yoongi's voice from the chair. "You're a big dude, but don't be calling yourself 'masses,' that's just plain sad." Namjoon and Hoseok both made annoyed noises in tandem but Yoongi ignored them. "I have one though," he said, counting off the syllables on his fingers as he spoke, "Standing six foot tall; the whole world breaks around him; dimples can't fix this."

"Is that a love poem?" asked Namjoon, squinting up at Yoongi with a wide grin across his face, dimple dipping deep into his cheek.

Yoongi just blinked and said, "Come closer so I can kick you."

Hoseok made a noise and stood, stretching before he said, "You two are so domestic it makes me sick. I'm going to get another beer. Yoongi you want one?"

Yoongi nodded and Namjoon said, "Hey, what about me?"

"You're cut off, you spilled your last one all over the place and I had to clean it up even though it's your guys' apartment," Hoseok said, picking his way around Namjoon and the general disarray of the room to start digging through the fridge.

"To be fair, he probably would have spilled it if it was his first one," said Yoongi, shifting slightly so that his head could loll against one of the arms of the chair. Namjoon made a noise of complaint, but didn't argue any further.

"Despite how sickening your haiku was, the middle line was really nice," Hoseok said, coming back into the room and setting a beer on the table next to Yoongi's chair and another on the floor beside Namjoon. "Somebody should write that down to use for lyrics later. If it's not good enough for one of our stages, Namjoon can use it for his production class or something."

"That's not a terrible idea, actually," Namjoon said, scrabbling to get his phone out of his pocket. The screen had several large cracks across its surface with a screen protector over the top in a valiant effort to hold the whole thing together for as long as possible. Hoseok and Yoongi had taken bets regarding how long it would remain functioning, just as they would next time, and would probably have had had Hoseok been around for the previous phone — they hadn't been friends long; Yoongi and Namjoon had done a set after him a few months back at a bar downtown and then again the week after. Yoongi had heard him gushing about their set at the bar and the rest was history.

"Right?" said Hoseok gesturing excitedly. "I mean like, the worst that can happen is that they're awful in the morning."

"They'll be awful in the morning," Yoongi said, reaching for his beer.

"No, no, what was the line?" Namjoon asked, pressing record on his phone. "Something about my breaking everything?"

"The whole world breaks around him," recited Yoongi, pulling a face. "Dimples can't fix this ... I don't remember the first line, something about height."

"Hey, I have dimples, too," Hoseok said, "How do we know this is about you, Joon? Maybe it's a love poem about me." He smiled so that small dimples appeared on either side of his nose and then laughed, throwing his head back.

"Because you're too graceful to break anything," Namjoon said, laughing along with Hoseok. "Plus, Yoongi's not secretly in love with you."

"I'm not secretly in love with either of you assholes," Yoongi said, taking a sip of his beer. "I need new friends."

"What would you even do with new friends?" asked Hoseok. It was a valid question, Yoongi didn't seem to like spending time with either of them very often, too exhausted from merely existing it seemed. Yoongi just shrugged.

"Wait, wait, wait, I've got a good one," Namjoon said, sitting up, careful to avoid his beer. "Soft grasp at magic; curled fingers hold something bright; something new, alight." The words were said slowly, with care, each syllable feeling as though it were chosen, deep voice enunciating beautifully.

"Are haikus supposed to rhyme?" asked Hoseok, but Yoongi ignored him.

"Alright, I lied, I might be secretly in love with you," Yoongi said to Namjoon, tipping his head back to address the ceiling, "How do you even do that shit Joon? That sounds like something that would take me all day to write." Namjoon just laughed.

"There's this cute magic girl who started at that coffee shop just around the corner" Namjoon said, smiling. "I just think it's so cool, you know, like to be able to do magic. Like ... like I think it has to feel like when we're onstage, right? Like an accomplishment but also like floating."

"You hated the magic boy I dated," Yoongi responded.

"Because he was awful," Namjoon answered, turning to Hoseok, "Who has three lip piercings? How could that be any fun to kiss? Honestly. And also, he was like the dullest person in the world. I can't remember anything interesting he said for the whole three weeks he was around." Yoongi shrugged and took another sip of his beer. "Also, he broke more things that time he came over than I did all that month."

"He was having problems controlling his wind magic," Yoongi said with a laugh. "What's your excuse?"

Namjoon squinted fondly at him, but didn't say anything.

Hoseok laughed, "You know, Tae's best friend is magic. Or at least, I've heard he is. I haven't met him yet."

"You haven't?" Namjoon asked. "Haven't you been going out for like ... it's over a month now, right?"

"Yeah, I don't know. I was supposed to meet him three or four different times now," said Hoseok, stretching out his legs. "But he keeps flaking or Tae tells me not to come over. I don't know what the deal is exactly, but I'm sure I'll find out eventually. I'm not worried." Hoseok shrugged and took a sip of his beer. "Anyway, but, yeah, I heard that he's really powerful, like, Tae told me one time he controlled the weather and a different time he erased his memory and a different time he watched him fly?"

Yoongi watched Namjoon as their friend spoke, not liking the look that grew in his eye. The curiosity, the fascination. Yoongi was pretty sure that if magic wasn't something inherent, that Namjoon would have tried to learn it or done some ritual to gift himself with it or something by now. Last year he'd managed to get hired by charm shop by claiming to be clairvoyant, but had knocked over an entire display of rune stones and been promptly fired.

"You cannot stalk this boy," Yoongi said flatly.

"I'm not going to stalk him, hyung," Namjoon said, annoyed, flopping back onto the floor and knocking over his, thankfully unopened, beer in the process. "But surely I can make more friends besides you, or is that not allowed?"

"I'm just concerned about your level of enthusiasm," Yoongi said, a small smile on the corner of his mouth. "You could put somebody in the hospital."

Namjoon pulled his smile to match Yoongi's and said, "I'll reign it in, promise."

Yoongi made a noise like he wasn't convinced, but Hoseok was laughing at the exchange and said, "Well, I don't have his number or anything because I haven't met him, but I see him around the dance building all the time. I should really just introduce myself one of these days, honestly, but I have to run from one end to the other in like five minutes and it just gets ... I have no time to."

"So, I'll come by the dance building Monday and befriend him, or at least see him do magic or something," said Namjoon matter-of-factly. And though the plan seemed simple and ridiculous, both Hoseok and Yoongi had been to enough parties with the taller man to know that if Namjoon didn't break anything in the first few minutes within meeting someone, the air he gave off was incredibly likable and charming. Hoseok tended to do too much, show a little too much enthusiasm, and Yoongi tended to not want to interact with people at all, so bringing Namjoon along to be a charismatic force was pretty necessary most of the time. "What's he look like?"

"He's really adorable, honestly," said Hoseok, reflecting. "Chubby cheeks and a dancer's body, kind of short like Yoongi—"

"Fuck off," Yoongi said, without any malice.

Hoseok smiled and continued, "And his hair is gray ... or like lavender ... or maybe like a dark, blue gray ... ?" Hoseok trailed off, seeming unsure.

"That's really helpful," Yoongi said flatly.

"It kind of ... changes? Or maybe it's the light," Hoseok said, trying to explain properly. Namjoon made a soft little noise of awe, the shifting hair adding to his impression of the magical boy.

Yoongi laughed at the noise and said, "As fascinating as all of this is, I have another haiku, I think, are you all ready?" Hoseok hummed in answer and Yoongi said lazily, counting syllables off on his fingers again, "I don't give a shit, busy carving history, your words don't matter."

"Awh, hyung, another love poem," Namjoon said with a chuckle, reaching slowly around himself for his neglected beer. He found it after a moment of groping and brought it to rest on his chest, still unopened.

"You're the worst," Yoongi said flatly.

"Well, you married me," Namjoon said, a wide grin on his face. Hoseok was cackling, but Yoongi just sighed and closed his eyes, looking as though he'd like to be anywhere but there.

***

Namjoon woke up to the sound of someone clanging pans together in the kitchen and immediately let out an annoyed groan. The noise meant Hoseok had stayed over, because Yoongi almost never made anything resembling breakfast and certainly not in the morning. And while his presence wasn't unwelcome, it came with a surplus amount of noise that hardly ever benefited the headache that would take up residence inside of Namjoon's eyeballs on mornings such as these.

After another round of clattering, Namjoon sat up unenthusiastically and stumbled into the kitchen. "Must you?" he mumbled in Hoseok's general direction as he groped for a chair to throw himself into without opening his eyes anymore than was absolutely necessary.

"Left," said Hoseok, instead of explaining his presence, head stuck in the fridge to try and find ingredients that weren't expired. Namjoon fell into the indicated chair with very little grace and thunked his forehead onto the cool surface of the countertop.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Anytime."

"How are you never hungover?" he asked Hoseok, voice rasping slightly. He felt as though he'd tried to swallow rocks — and maybe he had, he didn't remember much except for Yoongi's grumpy face from last night, and that was no indication of anything.

"I hydrate properly," Hoseok said brightly, cracking eggs into a large Tupperware container, the closest thing the apartment had to a mixing bowl. Namjoon just groaned in response. After a moment, Hoseok set a glass of water in front of Namjoon, which he reached for blindly and only spilled a little of before sipping gingerly from.

"Thanks."

"Anytime," Hoseok repeated. He was probably smiling, he sounded like he was smiling, but Namjoon didn't look up to properly discern.

After a moment and draining most of the glass of water, Namjoon felt significantly more awake and aware of his surroundings. "You know," he started, sitting up slightly, "I get why my whole head/brain area hurts, but do you know why my back feels like this? Did somebody kick me?"

"Well, your laying on the floor all night probably didn't help," Hoseok said and then seeing Namjoon about to ask, "You said it helped you think better. You did kind of dominate at haikus, so I mean, it may have worked. But also, yeah, Yoongi hyung actually did kick you."

"That's mean," Namjoon said before drinking the rest of his water. He did not sound surprised.

"Yeah, well, I guess it's sort of my fault. You fell asleep on the floor, but I didn't want to wake you up, so I did aegyo at Yoongi until he caved and woke you up. I didn't intend for him to kick you, but I don't know what I expected, really."

Namjoon made a face. "Aegyo worked on him?"

"Well," said Hoseok, whisking whatever was in the Tupperware container. "Not exactly. I believe what he said was," he paused, cleared his throat, and adopted a low drawl, "'I'll do whatever you want, just please never subject me to that again.'"

Namjoon snickered and then winced, ignoring the pain radiating in his teeth and the urge to drop his head back to the counter top. He'd come so far, but laughing was still a firm 'no,' apparently. After a moment and Hoseok pouring a bit of his mixture into the pan he'd gotten out — it was starting to look like pancakes, but Namjoon wasn't really certain how to make pancakes, so he'd remain undecided until he was told or shown specifically — he remembered something else Hoseok had said.

"Haikus?" he asked.

"Yeah," Hoseok nodded. And then, perplexed, "How do you never remember anything you've done while drinking? You don't ever seem that drunk."

Namjoon shrugged. He'd always been like that. Anything more than three or four drinks and he didn't remember anything the next day, though his judgement seemed to remain relatively sound and his coordination was more or less the same as it always was (poor). The only adverse affect was having to learn of his exploits the next day. Well, and the hangovers. "I remember Seokjin hyung leaving and then Yoongi was telling me to catch up and pushing shots towards me and then ..." he clicked his tongue. Zilch.

Hoseok flipped whatever was in the pan and said, "I don't think he relaxed the whole time he was here. He just tidied and complained about you not having any proper food."

"You tidied a little, too, to be fair."

"Just so I'd have some place to sit," said Hoseok, sticking out his tongue before continuing. "But, yeah, there were haikus. Actually, I think you recorded some of them? They should be on your phone, wherever you left it. Coffee table maybe? Though I'm not sure how you find anything to be honest."

Namjoon hummed in answer before standing and tracking his phone and a pair of headphones down in the clutter, only knocking into the corner of the couch once and with minimal swearing. When he got back to the counter, Hoseok had placed a plate containing a pair of what were in fact pancakes at his spot.

"You're too good to me," Namjoon said, fitting a headphone into his ear.

"And he called us domestic yesterday," Yoongi drawled as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. He took a pancake off of Namjoon's plate and sat down in the chair next to him, pulling his knees up to his chest. He took a small bite from the pancake before putting it back. Namjoon didn't bother to look up.

"It's true!" Hoseok said, dumping another pancake onto Namjoon's plate. "You two are the most domestic non-couple I've ever met in my entire life. How have you never even tried to date?"

Namjoon made a small evasive noise and reached across the table for a notebook, narrowly avoiding tipping over his empty water glass. He started to scribble down what looked like lines from their haikus.

"He would crush me," Yoongi said flatly, to which Namjoon snorted but didn't look up. "I do not want to die during a dicking, my parents couldn't handle that. I couldn't handle that."

"Well you'd be dead," pointed out Hoseok, doing very little to hide his smile.

"Exactly," Yoongi said, grabbing the top pancake on Namjoon's plate and taking a bite.

"Would you pick one?" Namjoon asked distractedly, though he sounded amused. "You know I hate when you do that shit." Yoongi just shrugged and took another bite, before putting the pancake back on the plate. Namjoon looked like he was about to say something else, but instead squinted as though he were listening closely. After a moment he said, "Taehyung's friends with a magic boy?"

"You had planned to stalk him," Yoongi supplied helpfully.

"Ah," said Namjoon.

"His name's Park Jimin," Hoseok said brightly.

"Park Jimin," Namjoon repeated, writing the name down on the corner of his notebook page, where he'd already scribbled other information from the recording about the boy.

"You're such a creep," Yoongi pointed out.

"I'm friendly," Namjoon insisted, pausing the audio file on his phone and setting it off to the side before pulling his plate closer to him. "And you're short."

"Ooh, good one," Yoongi said flatly.

"Let me eat something first and then get back to you," Namjoon said, bringing a forkful of food to his mouth.

***

Namjoon wandered over to the dance building on Monday with a plan. He had an hour break between his first and second classes of the day and he was going to spend it doing recon on mystery-magic-boy-Park-Jimin, and if at any point he felt confident enough or Jimin noticed him being creepy, then he would either abort mission or jump right to the befriending step of the plan.

It was simple. It was neat. He was probably bound to fuck it up.

But that didn't stop him from prying open one of the massive wooden doors — seriously, how did people use these every day? — and scanning the hallway for someone short and cute with either purple or gray or dark blue hair. People were still filtering into their respective practice rooms and he saw a plethora of hair colors, but no one who matched the description.

Namjoon loitered for a little while by the entrance to give the classes time to get started, leaning against the wall by a leaky water fountain and flicking through Twitter, methodical in his unobtrusiveness.

When the trickle of fit and vibrant students — he wondered absently just how obvious it was that he wasn't in the building to attend a class with his gangly limbs and messenger bag filled with various notebooks and leaking papers — finally ebbed and then ceased, he pushed off the wall and started down the hallway of identical doors set slightly into the walls, looking as casually as he could into the window of each classroom to see if he could spot someone who might fit the description he'd been given of Jimin.

The first classroom was empty. The second classroom was nearly full of people, mostly girls, who were all seated, stretching together on the floor with legs splayed outward, but there was no gray or purple or gray-blue haired dancer. He wandered down the hallway further, scanning classrooms and trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Thankfully, most of the dancers seemed to be occupied with their lessons and didn't have any time to notice him peeking in windows.

He did make eye contact with one girl who was practicing with a few other girls. She'd had high cheekbones, thick thighs, and hair curling softly at her shoulders. Namjoon had made to duck out of sight when they locked eyes, embarrassed smile jumping to his face, but as he did so, he'd seen the start of a smile on her face as well. There was something a little devious there, a glint in her eye contact that he didn't think he was imagining.

He thought that maybe if he didn't find Jimin today, he could go back and learn more about her instead.

Namjoon moved to the next door and saw a dancer alone, hood thrown over their hair, doing some routine he thought might be hip hop. Something about the lines of their body and the way they threw themselves into their movements was almost otherwordly. They looked like a rushing, boulder choked stream, like a bird in flight, like ... like something else strong and natural and just a little bit intimidating. Namjoon watched, transfixed as they squatted down in front of one of the mirrors — the impressive view of their ass in their sweatpants doing little to nothing to deter him from staring either.

He'd seen Hoseok dance before. He knew what talent looked like, even though Namjoon would never be able to come close to replicating it, but watching Hoseok dance had never made his mouth run dry like this.

Namjoon found himself wishing he could see their face, wondering if it was as intense as their movements, but all that was visible beneath the hood was a set of plush lips set in concentration. He wasn't sure what he'd do with the information once he had it, but he was a curious person, he needed to know things.

That's why he was here in the first place, after all: curiosity.

Just then, the dancer must have seen Namjoon reflected in the mirror, because their head whipped to the side, their hood slipping down slightly to reveal the rest of their face to be a young-looking boy with soft lilac hair hanging across his forehead. Namjoon made a soft noise of surprise. Was this Jimin? Was his magic the reason Namjoon had felt so transfixed?

Namjoon locked eyes with him for a split second and then Namjoon was ducking out of sight, hoping to just be forgotten about. However, being himself, he collided quite forcefully with the corner of the wall and went down with an absurd thunk, flat on his back on the floor, staring dazedly up on the ceiling.

And then he heard laughter. Or giggling, rather.

The door to the classroom cracked open slightly, measured so as to not hit Namjoon though he lay in the door's path. The boy was squatting down just inside and Namjoon could a smile playing on those plush lips through the few inches the door was open. And then he spoke, voice pleasant and soft, "How did you even — are you okay?" Even though he still sounded sort of like he was giggling, there was definite concern in his voice.

Namjoon ran both his hands down his own face, leaving them there for maybe just a tad longer than was necessary. "I'm not going to lie to you," Namjoon said slowly, "This happens a lot."

More giggling. And then, "But you're alright?"

"Yeah." Namjoon sighed and sat up carefully, moving his joints in practiced circles to make sure he hadn't actually hurt something, though he felt more or less fine. It was just his ego that had taken the beating.

"Good," said the boy, with a smile so wide and bright that Namjoon thinks he might be imagining things. Before he can blink a couple times or shake his head to clear it, the door to the classroom closed. Another few seconds and Namjoon could hear the hip hop song start up again from the beginning.

Namjoon ran another hand down his face and debated on whether he was recovered enough to stand up yet or not. Either way, that had been ... interesting.

***

On Wednesday Namjoon found himself in the dance building far too early to meet Hoseok so that they could go to lunch at the weird little vegan cafe that Taehyung worked at just off campus.

He knew he was there too early, but it wasn't worth it to go anywhere else in the time before Hoseok got out of class. Or at least, that's how he rationalized it to himself as he stood out in the hallway twenty minutes early to meet his friend. It definitely wasn't because of a certain lilac-haired boy he kept finding himself wondering about. Nope. Not at all.

And even it was about him, it was strictly because he was curious and wanted to see just what kind of magic he could do and nothing else. Obviously. It had nothing to do with giggling, or the concern in his airy voice, or the way he'd smiled so widely through the crack in the door, or the giggling, or how he'd gone right back into what he'd been doing once he knew Namjoon was alright. Or the giggling. Obviously.

He glanced down at his phone again, more habit than anything, having scrolled through everything interesting on both Twitter and Instagram in the first five minutes of being in the dance building. He could always check Tumblr, but regardless of the minimal people in the hallway with him, that was always a gamble to open in public. He'd unfollowed a couple of the people who seemed to think it was perfectly acceptable to post a varied assortment or hentai and porn gifs at one in the afternoon, but the accounts were like a hydra, two more popping up every time he got rid of one.

This was a bad idea, even by his standards. And he'd dyed his hair pink. Three different times.

He wasn't even going to accomplish anything besides being bored and ever so slightly hangry. The twenty minutes passed slowly; he could see Hoseok's class starting to wind down and start stretching out of the corner of his eye. Someone ducked out of the classroom behind him, drenched and sweat and already at a half-jog, late for something apparently.

Maybe all that was going to come out of this was twenty minutes wasted.

Namjoon shifted, glancing down at his phone again, fiddling with the case. He needed to stop doing that or his phone was going to break too soon for Hoseok to win the bet.

And then, when he looked up, there was the boy from before, making a bee-line for Namjoon, striding confidently down the hallway, hair shiny and light gray, but maybe it was just the lighting. It was probably just the lighting. It was pouring in through the skylights and he looked ... he looked ethereal. Even if Namjoon hadn't known he was magic, he probably would have guessed, seeing him there.

"You're the guy who fell down the other day, right?"

Namjoon groaned and covered his face with a hand. Of course that's how he'd be remembered.. "Yeah, that ... that was me."

"And you're really okay?" he asked, tilting his head, a soft smile on his face. The smile was tinged with something, but Namjoon wasn't sure if it was concern or if he was being teased.

"I ... it happens a lot. I've learned to bounce back quickly," Namjoon heard himself saying, finding it difficult not to return the small smile.

"I'm Jimin," he said with a little wave, fingers peaking out from the sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt. Namjoon found himself wondering if he'd borrowed it from someone much larger than him, or if Jimin just really liked looking like he was at risk of drowning in fabric.

"Namjoon," he said, removing his hand from his face and scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly.

With Jimin in front of him now, he wasn't sure how to act or behave at all really. It wasn't as though he was particularly intimidating. He was beautiful, sure, and strangely glowing under the skylights, but he was sort of short (like Yoongi) and he was swimming in his sweatshirt. He looked soft more than anything.

How was one supposed to start a conversation to someone they'd been caught spying on? He smiled, a bit uncomfortably, knowing that that tended to break the ice a bit. People saw his dimples and all sorts of situations became far less difficult to negotiate — years ago, when he and Yoongi had first starting becoming friends with each other, Yoongi would make him hold a piece of paper over the bottom half of his face when they were discussing anything important. I can't take this seriously with those fucking things staring at me he'd grumbled, expressively thumping Namjoon on the arm.

"I'm glad you're okay, Namjoon," Jimin said with an odd sincerity.

Namjoon found himself nodding, unsure of what to say. He felt dumb in front Jimin for some reason, like his tongue was too big for his mouth, or maybe like it'd been drugged or something. It felt oddly heavy and any quick banter he might have had died before it made it past his lips.

"I must have startled you or something," Jimin said, fiddling with the cuffs of his sweatshirt. Cute, impossibly cute. "How about I buy you coffee sometime. Sometime soon."

"I ... uh, yeah," replied Namjoon eloquently, but Jimin grinned, eyes scrunching into happy little crescents. For a second, Namjoon thought that the smile was flawless, but then he noticed that one of Jimin's front teeth was a little bit crooked, the slightest chip on the edge of it — and damn, it was almost if Jimin had been designed to be endearing and adorable. Namjoon couldn't find it in himself to reconcile this Jimin with the way he'd caught him dancing the other day, or even with the way he'd strode so confidently over, without his throat feeling unusually dry.

"Good," Jimin said, pulling a pen from somewhere — From thin air whispered an impressed voice in Namjoon's head before he dismissed the thought — and reaching for Namjoon's hand. Namjoon let him take it, though it took him a second to realize that Jimin was writing his number down on Namjoon's wrist. Who even did that anymore? Couldn't he have just put it in Namjoon's phone directly?

But he didn't say anything, acutely aware of the way that Jimin's small fingers clutched at the skin of his forearm, hands bizarrely cold. Maybe that was why the sweatshirt?

When Jimin dropped his arm, he was almost surprised that there weren't little marks where his fingers had been.

"Just let me know when," Jimin was saying, just as a flood of dancers emerged from one of the classrooms behind him. Namjoon hummed and another classroom door opened. "I'll see you!" called Jimin brightly over his shoulder, already walking away.

Namjoon blinked and as bright as Jimin had been, Namjoon had already lost him in the crowd.

"Ready to go?" asked a voice at his elbow.

"Huh?" asked Namjoon, turning to see Hoseok beside him, looking a little tired but otherwise generally sunny. "Oh, yeah, let's get going. Is Taehyung working today?"

"Yeah," said Hoseok, grabbing Namjoon by the elbow and pulling him out of the building. "I think the plan is that he's going to take his break and eat with us when we get there, because the lunch rush should be done? But who knows honestly."

"I'm sure he'll stare at you from the kitchen if they don't let him take his break," Namjoon said, patting his friend on the back.

"Oh, probably," said Hoseok.

"Nose pressed up against the glass," added Namjoon, nodding solemnly.

"I expect nothing less," said Hoseok with a smile.

The walk to the vegan restaurant where Taehyung worked wasn't long at all. Nestled between an indie coffee shop and a Finnish clothing store just off of campus, Down to Earth was more or less empty when they got there, just a pair of girls in clunky jewelry sipping coffee by one of the windows and a man with dreadlocks sitting at the counter who seemed to be waiting for his order.

To be completely honest, Namjoon still wasn't sure what to make of Taehyung really. Even though he'd met the younger man a dozen times by then, there was something just a little odd about him, just a little off-center that he couldn't quite place. He wasn't sure if it had something to do with the way his smile was nearly rectangular, or if it was that he seemed to make of habit of saying something just slightly bizarre, or if it was his bright raspberry hair that was throwing Namjoon off, but there was definitely something.

Still, Hoseok seemed happy and constantly amused by Taehyung's existence, so Namjoon was always happy to be dragged along and into his presence.

"What'll it be?" asked the girl at the register as she turned to face them, a bright, fake smile on her face. She blinked a couple times, as if recognizing them, and let her face fall into a softer, obviously tired smile. "You're V's, right?" She waited for Hoseok to nod, and then headed into the kitchen, calling for Taehyung.

Namjoon and Hoseok found a table, tucked beside an unusually large plant that Namjoon thought might be some kind of fern, though he wasn't sure. After a moment, Taehyung bounded out from the back and threw himself into a chair. He was still wearing an apron, green with the shop's logo on the chest, splattered with something dark — chocolate? espresso? — and dusted liberally with flour, almost artfully so.

"Why'd she call you V?" Namjoon found himself asking, curious. He hadn't heard the nickname before and it didn't seem as though it were short for any part of his name.

"Because all I do is win," answered Taehyung without missing a beat, before taking a sip of the soda he'd brought with him from the back. Namjoon blinked and glanced at Hoseok for some clarification, but Hoseok was staring at Taehyung, bright smile painted across his face. It was sort of cute how endeared he always seemed with Taehyung, never being able to tear his eyes from him or stop smiling, though he made for shit lunch conversation with Taehyung around.

Namjoon hummed, pretending he understood, and Taehyung flashed a wide, boxy grin. However, halfway through the the smile, his face froze, something occurring to him. "My friend said he asked out somebody tall, dark, handsome, and clumsy today. That's you hyung, right?"

"What, how did — that just happened like twenty minutes ago. He told you already? Weren't you working?" asked Namjoon, eyes opening wide.

"Define working," said Taehyung, tilting back in his chair.

"Wait, Jimin asked you out?" asked Hoseok, eyebrows raising.

"Yeah, I mean, sort of," said Namjoon, scratching at the back of his neck. "He said we should get coffee soon, wrote his number down on my hand. Remember how I fell down in front of him the other day?" Hoseok nodded. "He feels responsible apparently?"

"Did you tell him that you fall down all the time?" asked Hoseok. Namjoon shrugged, nodded. He had. "And did you tell him you were stalking him?"

"I wasn't —"

"Wait, why were you stalking Jiminnie?" asked Taehyung, leaning forward, pausing in the middle of taking Hoseok's hands in his own. "That's not cool, hyung, that's —"

"I wasn't stalking him," Namjoon said, holding his hands up defensively. "I swear to god, Taehyung, I wasn't."

"Why was he stalking him?" Taehyung asked, turning to Hoseok, eyes open wide.

Hoseok looked mildly panicked, "He was just —"

"Hey shouldn't we order?" Namjoon asked, cutting off Hoseok.

"I put the orders in already," Taehyung said, waving the question away.

"How did you —"

"A master never reveals his secrets," said Taehyung with a nod, and then, "but why were you stalking Jiminnie? Was it romantic stalking at least?"

***

"And then what happened?" asked Yoongi, curling up in his chair and arranging his laptop carefully on his knees.

"I tried to explain properly, and somehow, while trying to get Taehyung to let it go, I ended up breaking the table because I hit it with my hand while making gestures of appeasement, the leg just like ... popped off," Namjoon rubbed at his wrist and stopped pacing to kick a pile of clothes out of the way. "I think I might have sprained my wrist again."

"Which?"

"The right one, which sucks, because I'm right handed and I can't write hardly at all with my left hand."

"No, which table?" asked Yoongi.

"Oh. The one by the big ass fern or whatever. Kind of tucked by that half wall?" said Namjoon, resuming his pacing, still rubbing at his wrist.

"That's a good table," said Yoongi, turning back to his laptop. "You should feel bad for breaking that table."

"I feel bad about all of it," Namjoon said with a sigh.

"And then what happened?" asked Yoongi.

"Nothing really. We moved to a different table, Hoseok tried to convince Tae that he was kidding to mixed results, Taehyung complained for like ten minutes straight about them not letting him wear sandals, we smuggled him his burger, and then we left." Namjoon shrugged.

"Why does he work at Down to Earth again if he eats burgers? I never got that."

"I think it's like an apology for how many burgers he eats? He loves animals, but apparently he's a picky eater and burgers are like one of the only foods he likes."

Yoongi hummed in answer as though that made more sense than it did.

"You should have seen me though, in front of Jimin, I was so stupid," Namjoon complained, throwing himself onto the couch. A stack of papers on the far armrest rustled ominously, threatening to topple. Namjoon could have sat up and moved them or even just straightened them a bit, making sure they were secure in their placement. Instead, he just hoped it was an empty threat.

"That's not new, you're always stupid," Yoongi said distractedly, typing something on his laptop.

"Thanks, but like ... extra stupid. It was almost like ..." Namjoon trailed off, an idea occurring to him that sent a cold shiver down his spine.

"Almost like what?" asked Yoongi without looking up.

"Hyung, what if his his magic made me agree to coffee with him? What if that's why I felt so cloudy and stupid when I was talking to him? What if he put some kind of hex or charm or something on me and ... and ... like he was controlling me or something?" Namjoon curled up a little, aware of how panicked he sounded, something about the idea making him feel distinctly icky. He swallowed, trying to get the bitter taste out of his mouth.

Instead of joining Namjoon in his panic, however, Yoongi just looked up, expression bored and maybe ever so slightly amused. "What about it?"

"Hyung! Then he's controlling me, that's ... that's ... I feel violated," Namjoon said, rubbing at his wrist again.

"Okay," said Yoongi, tipping his head to the side to crack his neck. "Even if we ignore that you become stupid and ridiculously infatuated with everyone you get a crush on as a possible, and likely even probable reason for your feeling like you did —" Namjoon made a noise of protest. Yoongi ignored him, trudging forward with a grim, bored voice. He'd make an excellent professor, taking a fantastically sarcastic and annoyed take on the monotone lecturer trope. "And entertain the idea that he, for some reason, felt it necessarily to put a spell on you to get you to agree to go on a date with him ... like, regardless of if he was controlling your response or not — you would have said 'yes' anyway, right? Like, you're excited about the date, now, yeah? Or at least you were until about a minute ago?"

"I mean, yeah ..." said Namjoon.

"Then, what's it matter? You got what you wanted, Namjoon-ah."

And that ... that almost sounded reasonable. Namjoon took a deep breath, feeling some of the panic ebb. "I guess you're right. It's ... we don't know that it's a date, though. He might not even be into guys."

"Of course I'm right. And also, just last week you went on a twenty minute rant about how you think that everyone is bisexual."

"Right," said Namjoon, chewing on his lower lip. That was true. He had done that.

Yoongi continued, "Now, do I need to go finish this paper in a different room or has your freak out been reigned in sufficiently?"

"I'm probably fine," said Namjoon sheepishly. "I think I'm going to go shower, though." He swung his legs back down to the floor, his calves hitting the base of the couch, and sending the precariously piled papers scattering to the floor. "Right, yeah," said Namjoon as though it weren't his fault that they'd been left where they had been in the first place. He sighed and crouched down to put them all in messy pile, any sense of organization long lost, before setting them back where they'd been.

Yoongi watched all of this with no comment and no surprise, just as he would the next time it happened. And the next. It was only when Namjoon was on his way out of the room that Yoongi called, "Hey, Joon-ah?"

"Yeah?" asked Namjoon, pausing mid-step.

"You may want to put his number in your phone before you shower."

"Ah," said Namjoon, glancing down at his arm and the careful writing there before looking around for his phone. "That's ... yeah. Good idea, hyung." Yoongi just hummed in answer.

***

Namjoon definitely didn't spend a half hour typing and retyping a message to Jimin the next day. He also definitely hadn't asked Yoongi for help, when he really should've asked Seokjin, and been laughed at for fifteen minutes out of that half hour.

("Joon, it's a text. What harm could any single text do, regardless of awkwardness?"

"He could think I'm lame and not want to get coffee with me anymore! He could forget that he gave me his number at all and then I'd have to go through the trouble of explaining 'Hey, I'm the guy that fell down outside your classroom the other day.' I could misspell something!"

"You probably should misspell something."

"You're not helping."

"It could make you more approachable.")

When Namjoon eventually worked up the nerve to send the carefully constructed text, Jimin, to his credit, both seemed to remember who Namjoon was and still wanted to spend time with him, so he supposed that Yoongi was right, but there wasn't any way that Namjoon was ever going to tell him that.

***

The coffee shop Jimin picked was right around the corner from Down to Earth and Namjoon made a herculean effort not to be more than five minutes early so that he wouldn't appear over-eager. It was just on the hipster-side of quaint, something just a little too manufactured in the sprawl of mismatched chairs and tables, knickknacks on the wall interspersed with local artists' pieces, and the lights just a little too dim to be accidental.

However, despite it not being some place Namjoon would have picked himself, the coffee brewing smelled delicious, the barista found a nice mixture of friendly and genuine, and he easily found a table to sip passively at his iced Americano while he waited for Jimin who rushed neatly in the door about five minutes late.

Namjoon wasn't annoyed. He knew that not everyone watched the time as anxiously as he did. Five minutes was nothing and Jimin looked nearly ethereal under the dim lights of the cafe — which Namjoon was starting to realize was just how he looked, if someone could believe that. Even cheeks pink from the wind, light blue hair casually rumpled from running his fingers through it, smiling nervously across the cafe at Namjoon as he waited for his drink, Jimin looked divine, intangible, otherworldly, and six other synonyms.

"Hi, sorry I'm late," Jimin said, smiling brightly and setting his drink down on the table. Something covered in whipped cream and flecks of cinnamon that smelled more like chocolate than coffee. Interesting.

"I didn't notice," said Namjoon returning the smile, hoping half-heartedly that his dimples would do something to distract Jimin from how stupid he felt around him. Jimin looked ethereal, yes, but he also looked cozy, wearing a pair of ripped, black jeans and an over-sized sweater this time that hung past his hands, soft and gray. Namjoon was a little glad that Yoongi had talked him out of wearing sweats to class. ("Just — anything passably clean that looks like you are aware that you have legs, Joon. That's all you need to do.")

Jimin sat, pushing his sleeves up a little to wrap his hands around his drink. Namjoon wondered if his fingers were as cold as they'd been when Jimin had grabbed onto his arm. He quickly talked himself out of reaching across the table to check.

Despite them not knowing much about each other, except for the little Namjoon had gotten out of Hoseok, and Namjoon being generally awkward and Jimin being surprisingly shy, conversation flowed easily enough. Namjoon found himself endeared with little things about Jimin like the way his smile took over his whole face, scrunching his eyes into crescents, like the way his laughter took over his whole body, throwing him nearly off of his chair, like the way that he so easily initiated skinship, reaching across the table on more than one occasion to touch Namjoon's forearm or shoulder. Namjoon found it a little difficult sometimes to pretend that he didn't know as much about Jimin as he did, but he didn't really know anything about Jimin that he wasn't supposed to, besides that he was a friend of a friend and that he was magic. The rest was all new.

Namjoon was a little surprised that Jimin didn't behave any differently than anyone else he'd been on coffee dates with. The air didn't pulse around him. He didn't seem to be doing any magic at all that Namjoon could tell, not stirring his drink without touching it or ruffling Namjoon's hair with a flick of his hand or knocking things over like Yoongi's ex-boyfriend had.

He seemed ... normal. Cute, but normal. And Namjoon didn't find himself minding at all that instead of some magic boy to be fascinated by he'd found someone who seemed sweet and shy and cute and maybe did a bit of magic, also.

Everything was going well until Namjoon got a little too into their conversation about Kanye, (as tended to happen whenever Namjoon discussed Kanye with anyone who seemed at least moderately interested in Kanye — Jimin had recently done choreography to a Kanye collaboration, that was more than enough) gesturing excitedly across the expanse of the table, his elbow bumping directly into the remains of his Americano, sending it flying off of the table and into the air.

The next second felt like it dragged on forever. There was a bit of panic involved. Namjoon thought up several ways to apologize and explain himself, including the anecdote that Seokjin had told Hoseok upon meeting him wherein he described Namjoon's limbs as "uncontrollable noodles" with a strangely affectionate smile that had left Hoseok a little dazed, as direct smiles from Seokjin tended to do.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jimin move his right hand ever so slightly, almost as though he thought he could catch the beverage, as though it hadn't already broken free of its container and liquid was flying into the air. He watched an ice cube spin, strangely delicately down and away from the rest of it. How had he even generated enough force for it to be spilling while still in the air? Surely he hadn't hit it that hard? What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he control his movements?

And then the Americano had moved back onto the table, almost as if its brief flight had been rewound, lid nearly back on, most of its contents back inside of the clear plastic cup. The rest of it landed on the floor with an oddly loud slap.

Oh. Oh. That had been —

"Surprise," said Jimin softly, biting nervously at his bottom lip. If Namjoon hadn't been so preoccupied with the magic, he'd probably have fixated on the way Jimin's plush lip turned white under the press of his teeth, how the chipped tooth stood out just that little bit more. (As it was, he stored that information away for later.)

Namjoon had seen magic before, of course. He'd been on the receiving end of whatever odd thing had been going on with Yoongi's date and ended up looking like he'd blow dried his hair upside down. Had seen the little flames the new girl at the coffee shop near his apartment could make dance between her fingers. And his mother had brought him to see a couple shows, back when he was still shorter than her, and he'd watched with wide eyes as they sent sparks flying back and forth to each other and sent little objects flying — had begged for the charms they were selling after the show, pulling on the sleeve of her sweater until it started to unravel.

But it seemed different this close up. Tangible in way that it hadn't before. Which was silly, because it wasn't as though it was something Namjoon could reach out and touch. The air didn't even feel different or anything, it had just ... happened.

He registered that Jimin had been expecting a response when he continued softly, "So, uh ... yeah, I'm kind of ... magic."

"Wow," said Namjoon, eloquent as it seemed he was possible of being around Jimin. More words followed, just as thoughtless. "Is that why your hair?" he asked.

Jimin laughed, covering his mouth with a hand. "Yeah," he said, a slight blush on his cheeks, "that's why my hair."

"I like it," Namjoon said softly. Jimin's blush made him feel a little shy himself, so he looked down and busied himself with pressing the lid back onto his cup with careful fingers. Spilling again would be ... worse, probably. "It's cute. All the colors really, er, the ones I've seen anyway, they look good on you.

"Thank you," Jimin said. Namjoon thought he could hear the smile in his voice and when he looked up he wasn't disappointed. "Some people are kind of ... well, they're probably just scared, but it makes them not particularly nice to, um, people like me."

Namjoon knew. But he wasn't like that at all and he wanted to impress that upon Jimin. "Honestly, I think it's kind of fascinating. It's definitely not something I'm scared of. In fact, that's why —" Shit. And he'd been doing so well.

"Hmm?" asked Jimin when he noticed that Namjoon had broken off mid-sentence.

Namjoon resisted the urge to cover his face with his hands. Took a deep breath. "So, um, I kind of ... met you on purpose. Or well ..." Please come out not stupid or creepy, please come out not stupid or creepy, please come out not stupid or creepy. "I, uh, that day I fell, I was actually kind of looking for you? Because my friend Hoseok, he told me you were magic, and I'm so ... I think magic's so cool. I worked at a charm shop for a little bit, because I just wanted to be close to it, learn a little more about it. But I knocked over a display like my second day and they fired me. There was ... there were shattered runes everywhere ..." Namjoon looked up at the ceiling and rubbed at his neck.

Jimin didn't say anything. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, especially because Namjoon didn't really want to look at him. He wondered how red his own face was. It felt pretty red.

Jimin continued to not say anything, so Namjoon was forced to tear his gaze from the ceiling. He was surprised that instead of angry Jimin looked thoughtful more than anything — though, definitely also at least mildly annoyed, a petulant little pout on his plush lips.

Namjoon shifted. Spoke again, "I should have told you when you gave me your number, but I just ..." You make me feel stupid was the rest of that sentence, probably, or some other stuttering variation. He ran a hand down his face.

"Did you fall on purpose?" asked Jimin, still frowning.

"What?"

"That day you fell. Did you fall on purpose?"

Namjoon shook his head. "No, I'm just ... like that." He debated putting his head down on the table. Decided that would be more off-putting.

Jimin was quiet for another moment, chewing lightly on his bottom lip, but he'd seemed to relax a little, little twitches of a smile playing beneath his pout. "Okay," he said eventually, nodding.

"Okay," Namjoon repeated with a hopeful smile.

Their easy conversation from before had retreated somewhere apparently, however, and both of them stayed quiet for a moment. Jimin stirred absently at his drink, little flickers of that smile curled at the corner of his mouth. Namjoon mentally kicked himself. It was a good thing that the cafe had a nice atmosphere, even if it was obviously carefully cultivated and the coffee was just barely average.

He let the soft murmur of conversation and the whirring of an espresso machine give him strength. He took a deep breath. Opened his mouth, ready to dive back in —

"Wait — you shattered an entire display of runes?"

"I ... yes?" replied Namjoon, not sure where this was going.

"Was it — because my little brother just started working at Sticks and Stones, and he got told at orientation about some guy who —"

"Yep," Namjoon cut in. "That would be me."

"Wow," said Jimin, raising his eyebrows and tilting back in his chair a little. "How did you even get them to hire you? Jungkookie said that they made him do some extensive magic thing that he barely passed. They put him on probation for like two weeks or something because he's not really good at any magic except levitation spells."

"Claimed to be clairvoyant," said Namjoon, remembering with a little embarrassment. "Told them that it came and went, used my dimples on them, and spoke confidently." He shrugged. It was how he did anything really — how he and Yoongi had gotten their first stage, even.

"So you know about the dimples."

Namjoon nodded, smiled. "I know about the dimples."

"Good, they deserve knowing about," said Jimin, matter-of-factly. He looked down at the remains of whatever he'd been drinking, made a face. "I forget how bad the coffee is here, I just stop here all the time after visiting Taehyung at work. Sorry about that."

"No, it's ... fine. More or less," Namjoon said with a little chuckle.

Jimin hummed, pulled the cuffs of his sleeves back over his hands. "You know, I was supposed to treat you to coffee, today."

"Oh?" Namjoon had forgotten, too nervous and wrapped up that he was meeting for Jimin for coffee at all to remember any exact details.

"Yeah. But, I could do that some other time. Somewhere better. I get out of class early on Friday?"

He was smiling again, bright and warm across the table at Namjoon and Namjoon wasn't sure that he'd ever said yes to anything so fast. Jimin's laughter sounded like music.

***

"He put a love spell on me."

Namjoon was nervous.

"He didn't put a love spell on you," responded Yoongi, who was draped sideways on Namjoon's bed, thin legs hanging off the side, covers all shoved down to the foot of it. He didn't even spare Namjoon a glance, just continued scrolling through his phone, probably arguing with someone on Twitter about the merits of a whichever piece of audio equipment he was obsessed with today versus whichever piece of audio equipment he'd been obsessed with last week. The unsuspecting Twitter user would be slaughtered and probably sacrificed to the audio gods, because they were not ready. They were never ready.

"There's no other explanation for this," Namjoon said, gesturing generally with the two different shirts he'd found in his closet that were miraculously not crumpled or stained or unwashed and did not have profanity on them. The sleeve of one slapped the mirror he was standing in front of. The mirror made an odd groaning noise, but stayed in place, unbroken.

Yoongi just hummed in answer, rapidly typing something out.

"Does this shirt work?" Namjoon asked, holding one of the two options in front of his chest.

Yoongi glanced up, eyes scanning down Namjoon. "With those pants? No."

Namjoon sighed and threw the rejected shirt back into the closet. "How come I said yes so fast if he didn't put some kind of charm on be or something?"

"I'm not going to explain this to you again."

"And why am I so excited?"

"Joon." If Yoongi's voice was anything besides flat, it was ever so slightly amused.

"Right." Namjoon rubbed at the back of his neck, then held the other shirt in front of his chest. "What about this one, then?"

Yoongi scanned him again, in that way he had that always made Namjoon feel strangely like he was being x-rayed, though his generally bored expression never changed. Namjoon shifted uncomfortably. "I guess that one's fine. Nothing else is clean?"

Namjoon made a face at him. "Not unless you have something that would fit me."

Yoongi crinkled up his nose and lowered his phone for the first time. "Do I look like I would have anything that will fit you?"

"Well, no," Namjoon chuckled. "But, not even, like, an ex-boyfriend's shirt or something? I'm desperate." Yoongi snorted. Namjoon continued, "What about that older guy you dated before the magic boy? What was his name? Zhou Mi? He was about my size, yeah?"

"I don't have anything from an ex-boyfriend that's not ratty or cum-stained — don't pull that face, you asked. It's your fault — what ever happened to your ..."

Namjoon sighed, ran a hand down his face. "I spilled coffee on it."

Yoongi blinked one before smiling gummily. "Too bad Jimin wasn't there."

The hanger Namjoon threw at him missed spectacularly.

***

Only ten minutes early, Namjoon leaned against the wall of the hallway in the dance building, as was becoming a strangely frequent habit of his. He considered that a victory, being ten minutes early, especially because he'd wanted to leave the library almost as soon as he'd gotten there over an hour ago. Ten minutes early was no longer in the 'way too early' range and was instead firmly in the 'too early' range. Maybe even just plain 'early.' He could work with that.

He fidgeted with the cuff of the cardigan he was wearing and debated checking Twitter again, as though he hadn't closed the app less than a minute ago. The sweater was soft and borrowed and looked very cozy with the shirt Yoongi had less vehemently rejected the night before.

(As he'd been leaving their apartment that morning, Yoongi had pressed the soft, gray cardigan into his arms, avoiding his eyes, with a mumble of, "Your jacket is the ugliest thing on the fucking planet and you should be ashamed."

"Oh," Namjoon had said, not sure if he should be offended, and then paused for a moment.

"Wow," he'd said and then paused for another moment, looking at the sweater. It would definitely fit him. Where on earth had Yoongi gotten it?

"Hyung, this is so n—"

"If you spill coffee on it or lose it or rip it or a button falls off of it or any of the other thousand things you're somehow inexplicably capable of doing to it—"

"I know, I know, I'll buy you a new one," said Namjoon with wave of his hand and a small, fond smile.

"No," said Yoongi, squinting up at him, something serious and dark in his gaze. Or maybe that was just the way Yoongi looked. It was hard to tell sometimes. "I'll fucking murder you."

Namjoon tried to take him seriously. He really did. Apparently that did not include patting him fondly on the head.)

"Were you waiting long?" a voice asked at his side, the small hand on his elbow noticeably cold even through the thin fabric of the cardigan. Jimin.

Namjoon turned and there he was, hair a darker blue-gray than the last time Namjoon had seen him, a bit of sweat on his temples from the class he'd just extracted himself from, and absolutely, breathtakingly ethereal. Namjoon felt his knees go just a little bit weak, either from Jimin's very presence or just plain nerves he didn't care to analyze, but resisted the urge to slide down the wall all the same. Did he know that he had this effect on people? Surely it had to be purposeful. Or magic.

"What?" Namjoon said, more in surprise than anything, before registering what Jimin had said. "Yeah, no, I haven't been here long. Just got here."

Jimin smiled like he knew differently, but laced his fingers with Namjoon's anyway, hand dwarfed in his, fingers little icicles slotted between each of his, and holding tightly. Namjoon allowed himself to be pulled from his spot on the wall and out of the building without too much thought.

He hadn't been told where they were going. Jimin had texted him to meet him in the dance building at two on Friday and Namjoon had agreed almost embarrassingly fast. His 'where are we going?' text had been answered with a selfie of Jimin poking at his cheek, with a filter over it to make him look like a cat and no real explanation. The picture was cute, though. Impossibly cute. And Namjoon had definitely not considered making it his background for almost five minutes before deciding that was maybe stupid.

They weren't even ... this wasn't even a date. It was just coffee. A second coffee because the first one was bad and Jimin still felt like he owed Namjoon. Or had said he did, anyway. Namjoon wasn't sure if there was a distinction there or not, but certainly there was the opportunity for one.

"Can I know where we're going now?" Namjoon asked as they wandered off campus, fingers still laced together, which Namjoon tried not to think too much about other than trying to objectively observe with whatever part of his brain was least Jimin-clouded that Jimin's hand felt very nice. In his.

"And spoil the surprise?"

"It's coffee," said Namjoon, "I'm not sure how surprising it can get."

Jimin laughed, tilting his whole body back. "That's — that's a fair point. But let me have this anyway."

Namjoon grumbled a little, but there was almost no bite to it at all.

They kept walking, chatting about Taehyung a little because, besides Kanye, he was one of the things that they knew they had in common. Most of the conversation was just Namjoon wondering at various odd habits Taehyung had and Jimin shrugging and responding with a bright, fond smile that he was just like that.

They'd walked a couple blocks, and the general niche businesses near campus were starting to be mixed in with cozy-looking apartment buildings and cutesy townhouses, pastel and compact and just slightly unkempt, with leaves lying unraked in the yards, everything brown and yellow and red and soft at the edges. A few of the brighter leaves got caught in an odd little breeze, because they lifted off the group and started skittering across the yard, following the trail that Jimin was making with—

"Hey!" exclaimed Namjoon, unable to keep little bits of awe and excitement from his voice. "You're doing that?"

"Yeah," said Jimin, a little distractedly, raising his hand slightly before letting go of them. They fell neatly to the ground and then they were just part of the rest of them again. He looked up at Namjoon. "They're so pretty and fun to play with; I love fall."

Namjoon didn't really share the sentiment — he'd always found fall too filled with things dying, the world dragging towards colder and colder weather — but it was hard not to nod along with Jimin. And logically, it probably wasn't great that he just found himself agreeing to anything and everything Jimin said that Namjoon didn't have actual, purposefully formed opinions on, but ... no, actually, he should probably try to not do that, now that he thought about it.

He cleared his throat. "Do you do other magic?" Namjoon asked.

Jimin shrugged, another pair of leaves raising and across the sidewalk in front of them. "A little. Mostly just little stuff like this. Some charms. And then I do some herbal stuff, because plants are so nice."

Namjoon forgot what he had been going to say next. "Plants are ..."

Jimin hummed. "Nice," he said with a nod as though that decided it. "Both useful for lots of things and generally pleasant."

Namjoon had managed to kill the two plants he'd tried to keep within a month of getting them — separately, nearly a year apart — he'd thought maybe he'd be more capable, had grown into being able to take care of another living thing. But nope. Not even a little bit. Seokjin had advised against him from getting a third. Yoongi kept something little, cute, and generally spiky on the windowsill in his bedroom, though.

"Nothing big?" Namjoon pressed, unable to keep his curiosity at bay because this was Magic. The possibilities were endless and Hoseok had said Jimin could do great things like controlling the weather and it was so fascinating that he could taste it. But here was Jimin, soft and cute and talking about plants of all things.

"Big plants?" asked Jimin, a confused little smile flickering over his features. "Er, no. Not really."

"Big magic," Namjoon clarified, sweeping his arms awkwardly. He never knew what to do with his hands. He continued, trying to keep his excitement to a regular level. "Hoseok told me you could do like, big, crazy, change-the-world magic. Not that the little stuff's not impressive in and of itself, and it's not like I think you have to show me or anything, I was just ... wondering about it," he finished lamely, twisting his hands together.

But Jimin just continued to look confused. "I'm not ... I don't know what he would be referring to with change-the-world magic—"

"That might have been me embellishing."

"Either way," Jimin said, pushing his hair off his forehead. "What'd he say specifically I could do?"

"I don't, uh ..." Namjoon crunched a leaf underfoot as he thought. He was just about to say that he didn't remember, he never remembered anything from when he was drinking whether or not he was suitably drunk for that to be normal or not, when he recalled how he'd heard about Jimin in the first place. He pulled his phone from his back pocket, grimacing at Jimin's amused expression at the extensively cracked screen. "So, uh, I don't remember, uh, what was said ... exactly, but Hoseok, he, uh, he suggested that we record because we were throwing out haikus."

"Anything good?" asked Jimin.

"I mean, we were pretty trashed. Nothing good could come from that," Namjoon said, suddenly feeling a distinct urge to backpedal. Something in the way Jimin's face only looked more amused when he'd said they were trashed, oddly devilish on his angelic face.

"Come on, you can let me listen," Jimin said, smiling brightly, eyes scrunched into cute half-moons in an obvious attempt at persuading Namjoon. Namjoon hesitated and Jimin took that as an opportunity to add, "It'll be like payback for you not telling me that you knew me already. A show of solidarity."

"You said that didn't bother you!" Namjoon protested, spluttering.

"I said no such thing," Jimin snapped back, bright smile taking on something darker, clearly enjoying pressuring Namjoon.

Namjoon sighed and unlocked his phone, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to search for the file. He knew better, now, than to try and walk while doing anything more difficult than making a phone call. Too many tripping incidents, several involving a squawking Hoseok, had made him wary. Jimin almost ran into him, but didn't say anything, just laughed.

"Here," Namjoon said, starting the recording.

His own voice, slightly tinny through his crappy and probably partially broken phone speakers started mid-sentence: ... about my breaking everything? and then Yoongi's drawl in response: The whole world breaks around him. Dimples can't fix this ... I don't remember the first line—

"Er, don't need to hear that part," Namjoon said over the rest of Yoongi's sentence, skipping forward in the recording, looking over nervously to see Jimin's reaction.

Jimin just looked amused, maybe even fond. "Was that about you?" he asked.

Namjoon just nodded, resisting the urge to cover his face with his hands. Listened to his own voice on the recording: ... a good one. Soft grasp at magic; curled fingers hold something bright; something new, alight.

Jimin made a soft little oh noise, pressed in a little closer. Namjoon skipped a little further in the recording and then there was Hoseok's voice: ... not worried. Anyway, but yeah, I heard that he's really powerful, like, Tae told me one time he controlled the weather and a different time he erased his memory and a different time he watched him fly.

Namjoon closed the recording, cutting off the end of Yoongi's sentence: You cannot —

Even if he hadn't stopped the recording, Yoongi's voice would have been lost in Jimin's giggling anyway. He was laughing with his whole body, stumbling forward, head thrown back, hanging off of Namjoon with both hands. The reasonable part of Namjoon was mildly perplexed and a little taken aback at all the casual places of contact, but the rest of him pushed that voice to the back of his head, reveling in it as much as he could without getting the joke.

As Jimin tried to contain himself, Namjoon asked, "So, I take it it's not true?"

Jimin shook his head, bent over double. "Aish, that kid," he choked out. "You know, he's my best friend, but I hate him sometimes."

"So you can't control the weather?" asked Namjoon, voice light.

Jimin shook his head again. "Nope. But I have shaken the leaves on a tree after a recent storm several times, occasionally while Tae was walking under it. I suppose that's a bit like an impromptu storm."

"And you can't erase memories?"

"Strike two," Jimin said, taking Namjoon's hand so casually that he almost missed it, pulling him along the sidewalk again. "Come on, we're almost there. Tae got so drunk on his last birthday that he blacked out for the first time and woke up convinced I erased his memory. I woke up to Jungkook very much not talking him out of this idea."

"And you can't fly?"

"Nope, but Jungkook's levitated me before," Jimin said, smile bright. "Maybe that's similar, but very different in actual practice and general control over the situation."

"I'll bet," said Namjoon, amused.

"Tae was there even," Jimin continued, voice moderately annoyed. "He suggested the idea! We're here."

"We're here?" Namjoon asked, confused, glancing around to confirm that Jimin meant what he thought he did. This was not a coffee shop.

"We're here," Jimin nodded, and turned down the walkway, leaving Namjoon to walk by himself towards the little house — cottage, even — that they'd arrive at. It was small and squat, something about it oddly natural feeling, the yard overgrown into a tangle of weeds and ivy and creeping onto the porch, up the side of a wall. He could see a primly tending garden full of rows of what Namjoon thought might be kale — he remembered Seokjin pressing it upon him once, saying he'd gotten himself too much, and been left looking at the dark blue green leaves with alarm.

He knew immediately that Jimin lived there, though, because while nothing else about him screamed witch, this house definitely did. Namjoon thought he could almost feel the magic in the air there, pulsing off of the sloping roof, the uneven stones in the walkway, the ivy hanging over the porch. It felt lush and rich and alive in a way that made Namjoon's veins hum just a little bit.

He swallowed hard, eyes wide, and followed Jimin down the walkway, careful not to trip.

Inside was less wildly overgrown — though there were still plants everywhere, tucked in tiny planters on the windowsills, in large, bulbous pots in corners of rooms, hanging in baskets from the ceiling in places — but still had Namjoon looking everywhere. The spice rack that was filled with things he thought he might have — cinnamon, pepper, paprika — and things he definitely didn't — moth wing, canis root, black cardamom. Tomes stacked erratically in a bookshelf in languages he didn't even recognize. A Snickers bar inexplicably stuck to the ceiling of the kitchen.

"Jungkook," Jimin said by way of explanation when he saw Namjoon squinting at the candy.

"This is your house," said Namjoon dumbly, unable to form much more complex thoughts as he looked everywhere.

"Yep," said Jimin, pulling a tin down from the green-painted cupboards.

"This isn't buying me coffee," Namjoon pointed out, trying to see if he recognized what language any of the books on the bookcase were in. He was quickly satisfied when he realized the bottom shelf was completely composed of various, assorted manga.

"I bought this coffee," Jimin said distractedly, measuring out a portion.

That was hard to argue with and usually that wouldn't stop Namjoon, but he wasn't usually surrounded by an entire house full of potentially magical things. "You weren't kidding when you said you liked plants."

Jimin let out a breathy laugh. "Wouldn't joke about that."

"What's that one for?" asked Namjoon, gesturing to the tangled looking plant on the window sill, covered in pretty little blue purple flowers.

"Alfalfa? Prosperity mostly." Jimin had turned the coffee maker on and plopped into one of the mismatched chairs around the kitchen table.

"And that one?" asked Namjoon, looking at a plant with little clusters of white flowers in a mason jar on the counter.

"Anise. Better sleep and enhanced psychic ability," Jimin rattled off, looking at the jar. "Jungkook was into dream-walking last week last week, that's why it's picked. I think there's more in the garden, though." Namjoon hummed and was about to ask about another flower, white again that somehow managed to look like a cross between a rose and a daisy. Jimin chuckled though and said, "I promise you, they're all good for something."

Namjoon smiled, embarrassed, and an easy silence fell between them for the short moment before Jimin got back to his feet to pour the coffee into a pair of mugs with what looked like paint splattered all over them. He added some water to Namjoon's and copious amounts of sugar to his before sitting back down, stirring his absently.

It was good, surprisingly and ferociously good. Bright and rich and deep in ways that far exceeded the coffee shop they'd gone to together earlier. Scent heavy in the air. And Namjoon wondered, like he'd started to wonder about everything he'd come in contact with regarding Jimin, if the coffee was magic.

He took another sip and saw Jimin's eyes smiling at him over the rim of his own cup, blond hair falling over his forehead, and decided that it didn't really matter to him either way.