JIN
Saturday Afternoon, Seoul Station

"Jesus," Minho said, leaning back in his seat, "that Tae kid... he's a trip, you know that?"

"He's a good kid," Jin said, shrugging. "You wouldn't believe the sonnets he can write. He's a natural. Sometimes he writes really perverted ones and leaves them around the house and everybody else thinks Namjoon did it. I've thought about asking him to stop but I just can't bring myself to ruin his fun."

"Just... damn, you know?" Minho shook his head and laughed, showing all his teeth. "I thought I ate weird stuff, and he's over there mixing gochujang and melon ice cream for kicks. I can't wait to tell Mom that somebody has a weirder palate than I do. She'll probably demand video proof, I'll text you if I need you to record him for me sometime."

"You think that's bad? Namjoon once got drunk and tried making a cake using baking powder instead of flour and replaced the oil with kimchi base because he 'figured it would work,'" Jin said, dropping his voice theatrically in a poor approximation of Namjoon's tone, dropping the quotation marks sarcastically into place with his fingers. "Luckily it exploded before he tried making anybody eat it. We probably would have all died."

It was late Sunday afternoon and the weekend had been busy but somehow strange, Minho wanting to trawl The Big City for shopping and food and all of the kids wanting to say hi and Namjoon mysteriously absent on whatever tragic dissertation business had gotten him so freaked out on Saturday morning, leaving the house still in his pajamas and apparently not returning until so late on Saturday that it was really more like early Sunday. That morning Jin had gone into the kitchen to make coffee and Namjoon had been there looking half dead and Jin absolutely did not want to know what kind of dissertation craziness he'd gone through to make him look quite that messed up. (He'd smelled like cigarettes and vodka. Neither of these were good signs.)

"Yeah," Minho said, jiggling his knee distractedly and glancing up at the LED readout showing train arrival times. They'd arrived at Seoul Station early just in case and now they had nearly ten minutes before he had to be on the platform, so they'd camped out to share a few rolls of kimbap and hot canned coffee before Minho had to vanish again through the turnstile. "Yeah, bummer that Namjoon kid wasn't around this weekend. He's a riot."

"He's all right," Jin said, stuffing a piece of kimbap into his mouth. "He's kind of a goofball once you get to know him a little, but he's a good president. Takes care of the kids."

Minho fished some kimbap off the tinfoil on the seat between them before Jin could demolish the rest of it, using it to gesture casually. "Have you jumped on that yet?"

Jin choked a little, a few grains of rice going down his windpipe. (Was he fated to die by choking today? Well, at least that got him out of his last defense for his doctorate. Small mercies.) "Excuse me?" he choked out finally, scrambling for one of the cans of coffee to wash down the food stuck in his throat. "What are you—"

"Bro," Minho cut in, shooting Jin a skeptical look. "Come on. I have known you literally your entire life. No judgments here. I just want to know if you've gotten on that yet." He shoved the kimbap into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully for a few seconds as Jin chugged coffee and tried not to die. "I mean I've seen you two together before," he went on, spitting a little bit of rice out along with the words, "and you can't expect me to believe that he's—"

"That he's what?" Jin rasped, pounding on his chest with a fist.

"Ehh..." Minho wobbled a hand in an illustration of vague uncertainty. "Kinda into you, I think is the way I'd put it."

"Namjoon and I are friends, hyung." Jin knocked back the last of the coffee in the can and set it down decisively on the tile floor to recycle later, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "So no, I'm not going to 'jump on that,' thank you very much."

"Bet he'd be up for it."

"I bet he's super straight," Jin growled back, tearing open the second roll of kimbap. "And anyway I'm really not interested in—"

"Jin," Minho said, voice suddenly serious. Cool. Calm. Careful. "It's been four years."

Silence for a second. "I ran into him," Jin said, keeping his tone light. "Hyosang. The other day. Friday."

"Did you clock 'im?"

"Hyung!"

Minho shrugged, picking both end pieces of the fresh kimbap up off the tinfoil. "Just sayin'. I woulda' clocked 'im if I were there."

Jin rolled his eyes, plucking one of the end pieces out of his cousin's hand with an expert touch. "Don't take all the best parts. And no, I didn't 'clock him' - we just... we just talked. A little."

"You should've hit him," Minho said, stuffing the kimbap into his mouth. "But you didn't. Is that why you haven't gotten on Namjoon yet?"

"No," Jin said shortly. "Namjoon... there's a million and one reasons why that wouldn't work—" He was reusing words now, but it was the best he could come up with. "—and anyway I'm not interested in just—"

"It's been four years, Jin."

Jin glanced up. Minho was watching him, eyes just slightly narrowed. "I'm fine," Jin said - the thing he always found himself saying to his cousin eventually, no matter what they talked about. "I've just been busy."

"You can't tell me you don't like Kim Namjoon, Jin."

"Okay," Jin sighed, shrugging. "I won't. You're going to be late for your train if you don't run," he added, nodding up at the LED readout.

"Oh shit," Minho stuttered, jumping to his feet. "Shit, shit shit shit—"

"Good to see you again," Jin called after him. "Say hi to your mom for me!"

Minho probably wouldn't be that late - Jin hadn't really lied, per se, but the time he'd gestured to was Time Of Arrival, not Time Of Departure. Once his cousin was through the turnstile he couldn't come back, and Jin intended on spending the next five minutes doing the following: a) eating the rest of the kimbap, including whatever his cousin would have felt entitled to; and b) avoiding that absolutely circular line of questioning that Minho always subjected him to without fail.

There was a million and one reasons why he'd never allow himself to consider Kim Namjoon. A million and one reasons. He just... couldn't think of what all of them were, sometimes.

NAMJOON
February, four years ago

It took him about five minutes to figure out what he was hearing.

At first he just figured something weird was going on with the heating vents, the echo of something sighing and coughing quietly bouncing around the library - deadened against the carpet, against the shelves upon shelves upon shelves of books and magazines and scientific journals. The sound was almost steady, almost regular, almost spaced at specific intervals like the sigh of breath and it was that strange arrhythmic quality to it that distracted him, that pulled his focus away from his textbook with every gasp and hiccup, every muffled sigh forcing his attention from the words in front of him and up somewhere overhead to the source of the sound.

It was five minutes before he realized that the sound wasn't coming from the vents. It seemed like it was coming from overhead, sure, but that was just because it was too slight a sound to travel through the bookshelves and the only clear path for the noise was over the stacks. It was coming from a few rows over. It was arrhythmic and unsteady, hiccuping and uncertain, and after about five minutes he realized what it was and... and he couldn't stop himself from closing his textbook. Shoving everything into his backpack. Slinging the strap over one shoulder and venturing cautiously out into the wilds of the library, abandoning the empty table he'd finally found after ages of searching.

It was five aisles before he found what he was looking for - pausing from time to time to wait for another noise to make sure he was going in the right direction - but finally he turned a corner and saw another nearly-empty study table. He'd passed by this same table an hour ago because somebody had already been sitting there, head pillowed in their arms and study materials spread out like a halo around them, and now... now they were still there, looking like they'd barely moved. Their textbook was still open to the same place (Namjoon recognized the pattern of the table on the left page) and the handouts were untouched and one of the highlighters had rolled off the edge and under one of the chairs.

The table was nearly empty, just one person. Just one guy, bent over his study materials, apparently asleep - except for the arrhythmic hiccuping sound he was letting out from time to time, quiet and muffled and devastated.

He'd been in more awkward situations, Namjoon pondered dazedly. He couldn't really think of what they were just then, facing down the sight of a fellow student quietly weeping in the middle of the basement floor in the undergraduate library, but he was sure he'd been in more awkward situations. Hell, this was... this was practically normal, right? The guy had probably gotten a bad score on a test, or his girlfriend had broken up with him, or something else infinitely stupid and dramatic and, really, none of Namjoon's business at all—

He stepped back to leave and crashed into a very conveniently placed library cart, barely managed to avoid upending the entire thing over the floor but still contriving to create an incredibly robust clatter. The guy startled and looked up at the disruption, rubbing at his eyes, his cheeks with the heels of his palms, and...

Oh. Shit.

It was Kim Seokjin.

"Uh," Namjoon said awkwardly from his squatting position on the floor, picking up a few books that had flown free of the cart when he'd slammed into it. "Hi. Hey. Hi. I was just... I was just leaving, it's not - I mean..." He swallowed. Stuck the books haphazardly on the cart. Stood up, adjusting the weight of his backpack on his shoulder. "Are... are you okay?"

Kim Seokjin's mouth went tight in that way that Namjoon recognized no matter where he saw it, a tightness that meant I'm trying really hard not to cry and it isn't working very well. "I'm fine," he said thickly, ducking his head down like he was reading his textbook. He took in a deep, shaking breath. "I'm okay. It's fine." He bit his lower lip. "Thanks."

Kim Seokjin was... Namjoon sort of knew him. Kind of. Not really. He wasn't in the Music program but when Namjoon had been initiated into Tau Delta he'd been there like some kind of unofficial mascot, smiling that tiny smile of his, eyes curving sweetly in a way that was proud to a point that was almost maternal.

He wasn't part of the frat (he couldn't be part of the frat, he was in the wrong department) but he ran with the senior members. The vice-president was his dorm roommate and Namjoon had seen him around, had talked to him, had eaten his food and played beer pong under his watchful eye and on one memorable occasion Kim Seokjin had tucked a blanket around him where he lay drunk and half asleep on the couch, murmuring something soothing and gentle and leaving a glass of water on the floor next to him.

Part of Namjoon was still furious. Still raw and tender like an exposed nerve after everything that had happened, after the vice-president and the president had gotten in that huge fight and the vice-president had led what turned out to be a particularly successful coup and the president had used his power like a scalpel - slicing apart the Tau Delta house and forming Beta Tau Sigma out of the ashes like a vengeful god. Namjoon had followed the president, Woo Jiho, and Jin Hyosang (the previous vice-president, now president of the Tau Deltas) had stayed behind and earned Namjoon's eternal fury.

There was a place in Namjoon's head that associated Kim Seokjin almost inextricably with Jin Hyosang so when he saw Seokjin crying he was almost pleased, almost wickedly content to see The Enemy suffering like this - but there had been that tiny smile. There had been all those times Seokjin had made him food at the drop of a hat. There had been that pride in his eyes, there'd been that care in his voice, there'd been his goofy laugh when someone said something funny, there had been that time where Seokjin had tucked a blanket over him when he was drunk and half asleep on the couch.

Kim Seokjin was inextricably associated with Jin Hyosang in his head, but somehow Namjoon found himself incapable of harboring ill will toward him. Instead he was just... he was just worried.

"Oh." Namjoon looked at the floor at his feet. "Cause you don't... you don't really, um. You don't really seem fine."

"I'm fine," Seokjin said again, his voice very slightly shakier than it had been before. "I... I'll figure it out, it's not a big deal, it'll be - it'll be okay, it's fine, it's not like I don't have any options or anything and I can figure it out it's fine, it's not a big deal—" But he'd started to ramble a little bit now, his voice going tighter and tighter as every syllable spilled over his lips, his eyes filling up, his shoulders curling in and his fists clenching and his face going pink with the effort of holding in the tears.

"Hey," Namjoon breathed, stepping forward despite himself. He dropped his backpack on the ground and sat down on the chair next to Seokjin, one hand reaching up before pulling up short to hover awkwardly over Seokjin's shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's okay... can - can I get you anything? You really don't seem okay, I can see if I can—"

"Hyosang is moving out," Seokjin stuttered, curling over tight like letting the words out knocked the breath out of him. "Hyosang's moving out because he, I don't know, we've - we've been arguing or something I guess, it's not—" His eyes flickered up and a look of fear passed briefly over his face. "—I don't know, he said that the president has to live in the house so he's moving out but I don't have, I don't, I wasn't expecting this and we've dormed together since freshman year a-and I don't have the money for a single and I really don't have the money to get my own place and I don't want to live with anybody else and I can't move into the Tau Delta house cause I'm not in the Music program and I don't... I don't know—"

"Hey, hey—" Namjoon swallowed as Seokjin seemed to fold in on himself in a kind of strangely damp implosion, hands coming up to cover his quickly reddening face. Namjoon steeled himself. Took a chance. Reached out - and looped an arm over Seokjin's shoulders as comfortingly as he could manage. (Probably not very. He was too awkward to be comforting. This whole thing had been a bad idea, he should have just put on some music and ignored it.) "Hey, it'll be okay. Hyosang is..." He choked a little, trying to figure out the right words. "We can figure this out," Namjoon said instead, avoiding the whole Hyosang debacle altogether. "All right? It'll be okay, hyung. You'll be okay."

"Just call me Jin," Seokjin sighed, leaning into Namjoon's arm a little. "Everybody does. I don't like being called hyung by my friends."

"Jin," Namjoon said, every fiber of his being screaming in protest at calling someone older than him by such a familiar nickname. "J-Jin, it's... it's okay. We can figure this out. You'll be okay."

"How the hell," Seokjin breathed, tipping forward to bury his head in his arms again, face screwing up and voice thickening, "am I going to figure this out? I can't - I can't do anything, Hyosang always... I took care of food and he took care of, of money a-and this kind of thing, I don't even know where to start—"

"Beta Tau Sigma," Namjoon interrupted suddenly, desperately.

Seokjin hiccuped and glanced up. "What?"

"Beta Tau Sigma," Namjoon repeated, voice gaining a little bit of strength as the seed of an idea took root in the back of his head - growing and unfurling into something that could almost be called a plan. "It's brand new. There's only like a dozen of us and none of us know how to cook and Jiho-hyung found this house with a huge kitchen and nobody knows how to use it so we've just been living off rice and ramen and instant coffee—"

"That's a... a very binding diet," Seokjin said, voice distant.

"Tell me about it." Namjoon shifted uncomfortably. "So - so we need somebody who knows how to cook, right? And you're in food science, right? And - and I bet I could talk to Jiho-hyung, you know, and, uh, and you could sleep in my room cause I don't have a roommate anyway and it's not like, y'know, I don't mind rooming with, with anybody so it'd be fine, right?"

"Right," Seokjin said, and winced a little. "Are you sure?"

Namjoon swallowed. "Am I sure what?"

"That Jiho will be fine with it." Seokjin glanced down at the table, crooked fingers tightening in the fabric of his sleeves. "I know that... I know that a lot of bad stuff happened. I know that a lot of people think I was on Hyosang's side. I know that... Jiho might not be fine." He swallowed. "You know. With me."

"Trust me," Namjoon said, the words coming out of him without permission. He didn't think them first, he just said them. They needed to be said and so they said themselves. Namjoon's arm needed to tighten over Seokjin's shoulders so it did. Namjoon needed Seokjin to stop crying, to catch his breath, to feel better - so he did what he could, and hoped it would be enough. "Trust me," Namjoon said again, not knowing why Seokjin would ever trust him. "I'm on your side."

Seokjin bit his lip. Ducked his head. Glanced up - and their eyes met briefly, awkwardly, electrically. "I..." Seokjin swallowed. "I trust you," he said.

And, strangely, Namjoon knew that it was true.

JIN
The Present

When Jin got back to the house it was already almost dark, the mid-winter sun setting later and later every day but still sinking early in the evening. The porch light was still off because he was the one who usually turned it on. The door was unlocked because he was the one who usually locked it. When he paused in the entryway to slip off his shoes he could hear six different voices (high and deep, nasal and resonant, lilting with satoori and careful with Seoul dialect) filtering back down the corridor in the center of the house, moving through the front of the house from the kitchen in the back.

He closed the door. Flipped the dead bolt. Turned on the porch light, and busied himself with untying his shoelaces - letting the familiar hum of a fully inhabited house wash over him.

Sometimes he liked to take a minute, to pause and reflect and think back on the different places he'd been in his life. His old dorm room that he'd shared with Hyosang. The living room at the Tau Delta house on movie nights. The feel in the air when he'd first set foot on the campus back when he'd still been in high school, walking in time with Hyosang with their futures spread out in front of them exciting and mysterious and (most importantly) linked.

But here, now, he took a minute. To pause. To reflect. To capture this moment for future times, to turn the memory over in his hands in the dark when he couldn't sleep. The warmth of the house. The coats hanging from each hook. The floor of the entryway, scattered with shoes of all types and a variety of sizes. The easy, even hum of a fully inhabited house - Hoseok's sing-song satoori, Yoongi's rough tones, Jimin high and sweet, Tae's deep timbre, Jeongguk low and careful, Namjoon... Namjoon.

Jin looked up. Namjoon was quiet, and Jimin was saying something that sounded almost... accusatory?

He stepped up into the dark of the house, stocking feet silent on the hardwood, pausing in the threshold with his hand on the wall even though he felt like he was eavesdropping. But he lived here, right? He lived here, and it's not like they were being particularly quiet - honestly, he'd even be able to hear the sound of conversation from outside the front door. It wasn't eavesdropping. He was just... he was just listening.

"Wait," Jimin was saying. "Wait. Wait. Hold on. Are you seriously saying that you and Jin-hyung haven't been dating? At all? This entire time?"

"They act like they're dating," Yoongi rasped, voice skeptical.

"They act like they're married." That was Taehyung, sounding amused and yet somehow still shocked. "Hyung, seriously?"

"Don't be gross," Namjoon said, voice raised.

Don't be gross.

A million and one reasons, Jin had said in the train station, and Minho had rolled his eyes like he knew better. A million and one reasons.

"Don't be gross," Namjoon was saying, "Jin - Jin's straight, all right? And I - I'm straight, and we haven't been doing anything and I don't know where the fuck all of you got this stupid—"

"I told you they weren't really jokes," Jin interrupted, sliding easily into the kitchen. "Have you all just been grilling Joonie on his nonexistent sex life?"

Namjoon went a little bit purple. "Hey!"

"Hyung," Jimin moaned, turning to hang over the back of his chair so that he could talk to Jin as he moved through the kitchen. "Hyung, Namjoon-hyung said you two really really really aren't dating. Is that true?"

Jin opened the cupboard next to the sink and pulled out a water glass, inspecting it briefly for fingerprints before setting it down carefully on the counter. "Jimin," he said mildly, "I'm sorry to ruin all your hopes and dreams - but no. Namjoon and I are not dating in any way, shape, or form."

Namjoon and Jin traded a look - brief, awkward, strangely electric - before Namjoon glanced back down at the table again. "Told you," he said, voice rough in his throat.

Hoseok slapped a palm down on the table. "That's it!" he hooted triumphantly. "I called it. I win. All you fuckers owe me 50,000 won."