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It’s a bad day.
Namjoon knows things could be worse. He’s rich, successful, constantly surrounded by people he’s positive care plenty about him. He sees his family regularly and texts his little sister every night. His dog sort of hates him but he barely sees the thing anyway, and treats go a long way in building a rapport. Best of all, he does the thing he loves most in the world for a living, and that is so rare, so sought after by so many people.
And yet…
He’s lonely. How the fuck is he lonely? He spent the morning rehearsing with his bandmates, the afternoon agonizing over beats with his producers, and after work they decided to go out, have some drinks. Pick up girls.
Or, in Namjoon’s case, he’s the one who got picked up. Youngmi is a little older, so pretty, has good taste in music and great taste in lingerie. He’s met her before, the club a popular place for Idols and debutants to cohort privately, hide from paparazzi. But tonight he chose to take the leap, accept her offer for a ride, spend a few hours in her bed. It was… nice, and she seemed to have a good time. Asked Namjoon to take the lead and show off his own tongue technology, since she’s felt Yoongi’s before. As if they had a competition, when they haven’t kept score of stuff like that since they debuted, have matured in ways Namjoon’s teenage self would find improbable, or even unheard of.
He used to love sex. Crave it constantly and seek it out in country after country, keeping a roster in his cell phone notes until Hoseok pointed out how dangerous that could be. It’s like he needed proof of his experience, a resume of sorts, but just for him. Proof that women wanted him, and eventually, when he got bolder… that men did, too.
Which he never told anyone. His liaisons with men barely forged beyond kissing, a blowjob or two, and only when he was certain it was safe. Chaste pecks on overflowing dance floors. Quick hand jobs in American studios. A junket co-ordinator in Brazil who had him twice in the same day, as the questions became progressively more frustrating, more revealing.
Nowadays, sex doesn’t feel like a reward for his accomplishments, culminations of his hard work. It’s routine, release, but not relief.
Namjoon knows why, of course: there’s nothing intimate in what he shares with strangers. They don’t know him beyond the mask of RM, don’t have time to really meet him even if they wanted to. And he needs time himself, to learn more than their names, their upfront passions. He wants to know the core of people, at least begin to love them before he gets to truly love them. Wants to pleasure them, yes, but also give a piece of himself over, share it. But there simply isn’t time for that, so he’s learned to accept the one-night stands, take whatever comfort he can get.
That’s what he wants, really. Comfort. Wants someone to run their hands all over his body without care if it goes further. Kiss him well, until he forgets his own name, until sex becomes an afterthought to the fucking attention he wants to receive. And maybe that’s selfish, but he wants to give it, too. Wants someone to feel loved by him, wants to feel loved back. Wants love.
Today, he tried to get it. There isn’t time for romance in the middle of a busy schedule, but he’s surrounded by people he loves so much, in so many different ways, and there must be space to show it. So, he offered Jimin a massage during dance rehearsal, rubbed at his neck until Jimin complained it was too hard, crawled over to Taehyung instead. He laughed so hard at one of Jin’s jokes that he threw himself against his hyung, got pushed off almost instantly, told off for being such a klutz. He pulled his chair up close to P-Dogg, brushed shoulders until the producer asked him to record, sent him into the lonely booth. And then tonight… he took his time with Youngmi. Kissed down her neck and clutched at her waist until she writhed and said there wasn’t time, that she had brunch plans the next morning, didn’t want him to sleep over.
Namjoon goes home to the dorm, which he knows is desperate. They barely stay there anymore, all of them owning apartments of their own, but sometimes it’s easier to get to work together when they have an early schedule. Which they don’t, but Namjoon can’t stand the finality of entering his lonely unit, wants at least the possibility of sharing breakfast in the morning, brewing coffee for someone other than himself.
It’s obvious the place is empty as soon as he walks in, lights off and totally soundless before midnight, a rarity if anyone is there. Namjoon sighs. Worth a shot, he thinks. Speeds through showering and half a snack before deciding he isn’t hungry, then grabs a glass of water to bring into his room.
It’s dark, so he should be more careful, but Jin was absolutely right when he called Namjoon a klutz, and like clockwork he rams against his bedroom doorway, drops his glass on the hallway floor.
“Fuck!” he hisses, barely audible over the shattering. He’s not sure why he’s trying to be quiet, since he’s the only one here, but habits die hard.
He can’t see a thing, and he at least has the intellectual wherewithal not to risk walking around, piercing his foot just a week before comeback season. They’re going to America, going to shoot a bunch of music videos and appear on countless talk shows. He needs to be at his best. But… he’s also blind right now, and barefoot, and dressed in nothing but a towel. And he’s home alone and doesn’t know what to do and he runs a palm through freshly-bleached, practically straw hair and he hates the feel of it and hates being alone and no one’s touched him all day and—
“Joon, is that you?”
Namjoon is blinded again when the lights go on, shoves the heel of his palms against his eyes and feels the wetness there, since he’s been crying. Keeps them there, covering his pride.
“Oh fuck, here… I’ll…”
Yoongi’s tip-toeing around him. Glass scrapes against the floor when it’s shoved to the side, and hands against Namjoon’s back lead forward, guide him to his bed. He sits, nearly falls off the edge. Yoongi exhales a tiny snicker, probably trying to hide it, and then Namjoon’s hands are carefully pulled off his face and through his t-shirt sleeves, feet placed almost preciously into his sweatpants. As if Namjoon is as fragile as the glass, too easy to set off, break.
“I’m turning around,” Yoongi tells him, giving him a second to remove his towel, pull his fucking pants up.
He’s like a baby. “Thanks,” he mumbles, face hot in his humiliation.
Yoongi turns back to him slowly, stays back, probably to give him space. He’s in his pajamas, or at least the baggy sweats he likes to wear to bed. All black, but his sweatshirt has rainbow feathers on the sleeves, looks just like one Jin used to wear. God, they’re all deep in each others’ pockets it’s impossible to remember who owns what. “It’s nothing,” Yoongi all-but-mouths, and Namjoon knows it really isn’t, that Yoongi is so used to taking care of him by now it’s practically second-nature to his hyung. It’s embarrassing nonetheless.
“I’m such a fucking spazz,” he tries to joke, gesturing to the glass outside the door. “I probably would have stood there all night.”
“I’m just surprised you didn’t fall and gauge your eyes out.”
“Imagine the headlines: ‘Kim Namjoon dies of thirst, but not the way you’d expect.’”
They laugh, and this is better. It’s funny, how they used to make fun of each other so seriously, but Namjoon isn’t sure Yoongi ever intended to hurt his feelings. If anything, it’s always been a strange way for him to show affection, just gently nudging at his barriers, building some version of trust. Because Yoongi mocked him back then, sure, but defended him just as resolutely. Did the same for Hoseok, when he came to the dorm. The same for all of them.
So he’s embarrassed, sure, but it’s okay if it’s with Yoongi. They’ll laugh, move on, and never speak of it again.
Then: “Why is there glass on the floor?” Hoseok grumbles, peeking into Namjoon’s bedroom.
“I’ll get it!” He’s already rushing to get the broom, but Yoongi snatches his arm, points hastily to the bed.
“No way I’m letting you out there. Seok, keep an eye on him.”
Yoongi leaves them, and Hoseok sleepily paces into the room, dressed himself in boxers and a neon yellow t-shirt at least 3-sizes too big. It’s funny, how Namjoon never really thinks of Hoseok as small. He’s so much when he dances, stage presence enormous enough to fill a stadium, smile bright enough to light a city. But he’s so… delicate, like this, V-neck draped off his shoulder and lithe-muscled legs approaching Namjoon so slow he has to sit down, half-dizzy from the sight.
Hoseok blinks. “Are you crying?” he asks, blunt.
“I was. I’m okay now.”
“What happened?”
What’s he supposed to say? That he spilled some water and couldn’t handle the stress of it? That he went home with a girl and could barely get it up? That he’s been aching for a hug all day but no one read his mind? Hoseok’s looming over him like a parent, and Yoongi’s sweeping up glass in his periphery, and it’s so overwhelming for some reason Namjoon can’t pinpoint, so completely unbearable that he feels his eyes well up again, slams them shut to stop the tears from flowing.
Hoseok’s on him in an instant, slapping his hands away and replacing them with his own, wiping away Namjoon’s tears so gently he almost wants to cry forever, to keep feeling the brush of Hoseok’s soft fingers on his cheeks. He sputters at the thought, and no, that’s bad, makes Hoseok draw back.
“Sorry,” he says, and Yoongi’s finished sweeping now, has re-appeared right next to him. “I know you don’t like being touched.”
It’s so inappropriate, but he laughs. Grasps the hair at the back of his neck and cackles to himself, tears still free-falling off his chin. He must a fucking sight right now, in the middle of a nervous breakdown, at midnight in his multi-million-dollar home.
He doesn’t know how long it takes before he steadies his breathing, dries his face on his own shirt, clears his throat. “Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, is that really what you think?”
It’s too honest, considering what he’s kept hidden, but today can’t possibly get worse.
“What do we think?” Yoongi asks. Not what Hoseok thinks, but what they both think, because they’ve always aligned a way that Namjoon craves. Wants to know anyone as well as they know each other, trust them, earn trust just the same.
They’re like… two halves of the same person. A perfect ying and yang, Hoseok always bright and Yoongi so, so calm.
As calm as he is now. Namjoon can’t relate.
His phone pings from across the apartment, abandoned in the bathroom. They all recognize his text-tone, a quick sound-byte of Jungkook imitating the ‘rrrr-Rap Monster!’ guy, one the kid recorded as a prank. It’s stupid, that he kept it, but Namjoon likes it more than he’ll admit. Likes that he thought about him, wanted to get a rise out of him, make him laugh.
Here, no one laughs. “Want me to get it?” Yoongi offers.
Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s probably Youngmi.”
Yoongi raises a brow. “Song Youngmi?” He waits for Namjoon to nod, ignores Hoseok’s bright red ears, then asks, “So why are you home early?”
Because he left work after 9 o’clock. Took at least an hour at the club. Should be capable of lasting more than an hour or two in the bedroom of a beautiful woman. And yet… “Just wasn’t into it, I guess.”
“Did you go home with her?” Hoseok’s cheeks are flushing, too, this conversation already deeper than they’re used to.
Namjoon shrugs. He might as well talk, since they’re talking. Since he trusts them, and he wants to talk to them, to hear their advice and accept their condolences and maybe, just maybe, finally tell them something true. “I haven’t had a decent lay in a long time, actually,” he reveals, knows he’s too frank. But Yoongi doesn’t flinch, and Hoseok takes a step forward, eases onto the bed.
Soon, all three of them are settled in a triangle there, legs crossed and waiting for Namjoon to keep talking. They used to do this all the time, share worries, lyrics, dreams.
Now, Namjoon shares… whatever this is: “I really like being touched. I know I don’t initiate it much, but after a while I think people assumed that’s because I didn’t want it. Or maybe they could tell I was uncomfortable if the wrong people did it… strangers and talk shows hosts and random fans at airports. But I do. Like it. I like it so much that I notice when it doesn’t happen. When people keep their distance or push me away or just… don’t.” He stares out his doorway, if only to avoid Hoseok and Yoongi’s eyes, which he sees in his imagination just as clearly. Probably soft, understanding. Waiting for more information. Here goes… “I guess I fuck around so much to pretend. Not like, pretend we’re together or in love necessarily, but at least something like that. Adjacent to a relationship, something comfortable. But it never feels comfortable? Like, it’s not awful but it isn’t good. And I put so much effort into making them feel good that it’s never enough the other way.”
It wasn’t enough with Youngmi. She touched him back, sure, but as a means to an end. No tenderness. No care.
“But you…” Yoongi trails off as soon as he starts speaking, like the words slipped out before he let them. Namjoon nods to let him keep going. “You want them to touch you, right? Like, I mean…” He bites his lips. “You’re not… uncomfortable with it, are you?”
Oh. “No, it’s not like that. I guess it’s just… disappointing, more? It’s not as if these women are taking advantage of me or something.”
“It sort of is,” Hoseok pipes in, and like Yoongi, he also cuts himself off sharply.
“How come?”
Hoseok looks to Yoongi for permission. Unsurprising. “You’re the leader of BTS. Of course they want a piece of you.”
“That’s the thing. They don’t.” Blank stares meet him, and Namjoon continues: “Maybe they want to tell their friends or think I’m attractive or something, but it’s not like they actually want me. They don’t want to get to know me or like me or even really know what I like about them. They just want the sex.”
“And you want more?” Yoongi questions, “with them?”
“Not them, necessarily,” Namjoon clarifies. “Just… I want more. I want something real. And I’m not an idiot— mostly— I know I can’t just have the job that I have and a whole relationship at the same time, but… these women touch me, and I feel nothing. It just feels like nothing.”
The thing about Yoongi is he’s always a thousand times more perceptive than you think he is. Always knows everybody’s secrets and doesn’t bring them up unless he needs to, unless it’s absolutely necessary. So it shouldn’t come as such a surprise when asks, “And what about the men?”
Namjoon has no idea what his face is doing. That’s to say, he knows his mouth is hanging slack and his eyes are wide and he keeps glancing back and forth between Yoongi and Hoseok to determine whether they guessed or if maybe he let it slip out drunk one night or they caught him or— “I didn’t think you knew.”
“We wouldn’t, but Taehyungie told us. He heard you in Brazil,” Hoseok reveals, sheepishly rubbing his bare arm.
The co-ordinator came back to Namjoon’s hotel room, which was so stupid, since anyone could see them. And that shitty place had shitty thin walls, and his room was right next to Taehyung’s. Namjoon is such an idiot. “Oh,” he sighs. “Okay.”
“So?” Yoongi poses, like Namjoon knows what the hell he’s asking.
“So what?”
“Is it better with men?” His gaze is pointed, waiting, but not the way he looks when he knows something Namjoon doesn’t. He’s genuinely asking, and that’s nice, that he cares. Then, Yoongi always cares.
“It’s… the same, I think.” Namjoon takes another moment to consider it. “It’s not that I don’t like one or the other, it’s more… the disconnect, yeah? Maybe I don’t like anything at all.”
“Don’t like sex?” Yoongi asks him, and Hoseok looks just as curious as he does, but not at all alarmed.
Which Namjoon is. “Who doesn’t like sex?”
It doesn’t break the tension, but Yoongi exhales a little laugh. “Lots of people don’t like sex, Joon-ah. It’s not a given.”
“Do you not… like it?”
“I do,” Yoongi concedes, “but I’ve met people who don’t. Or don’t usually, but want it sometimes. Or want it all the time and hate having it. It’s a thing.”
Hoseok’s watching Yoongi just as intently as Namjoon is, leading him to ask, “Did you know about this?”
“No,” Hoseok admits, shrugging. “But it makes sense. There’s loads of people I wouldn’t sleep with, so I understand the feeling. Or… lack thereof. And you know…” He crosses his arms to keep his hands from flailing, always so expressive when he speaks. “I tend to defer to hyung on this sort of shit.”
‘Queer shit,’ he doesn’t say, because Yoongi’s never been anything but open about his preferences, at least within the group. Also he said that out loud once and Yoongi poured cold coffee in his hair, a teaching moment for everyone.
“I think I like sex,” Namjoon vacillates, still caught up in Yoongi’s question. “I’m like, the horniest person I know, why can’t I just—” God, this is so frustrating. “Why can’t I just get on with it!? And I have liked it before, like really liked it.”
All three of them blush. They trust each other, sure, but this a lot deeper than they’ve been before, and Namjoon isn’t sure how far he wants to go. “The sex isn’t the problem,” he declares, because it wasn’t even really on his radar until Yoongi said that. "It’s more…”
“The touching,” Yoongi offers, and Namjoon nods.
“Yeah. The touching.”
“You want to be touched,” Hoseok confirms.
“Yes. By the right people, yes. Or… the right way? I want to be touched in a way that lets me feel…”
Yoongi looks so pensive, pale skin furrowed at his brow while he studies Namjoon. “Loved,” he whispers, and that’s exactly it, exactly what Namjoon needs.
He nods.
They nod.
“Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi breathes, “Do you want Hoseokie and me to touch you a little?”
He nearly breaks down right there. Locking his fingers tight, Namjoon focuses on pressing his palms together so he doesn’t do something stupid like crawl into his hyung’s lap, sob into his neck. Which he’d never do, obviously, since Yoongi’s only offering that to be kind. He’s so kind, constantly, always puts the rest of them ahead of his own wellbeing because that’s just how he is. He doesn’t like physical attention much himself, though admittedly he does light up when someone holds his hand.
Sometimes Hoseok holds his hand, in front of everyone. Maybe that’s why Yoongi offered Hoseok up as well, why they’re staring at each other now in silent conversation, determining a plan of action without a single word to Namjoon.
There’s something going on with them. Namjoon’s never been able to identify exactly what they are to one another, but they’ve always been so close knit. So aware of the other’s presence, totally in tune. But lately… something’s been off. They’re not as touchy with each other, don’t take time alone together, don’t joke around on set. Hoseok started singing an old trot song the other day and Yoongi didn’t look up from his phone, which should be nothing, but Namjoon knows them better. Has known them almost 10 years and can tell when they’ve been fighting.
They’re not exactly fighting, but… they’re off. Maybe that’s why they’re both in the dorm tonight. Maybe they were working it out and all of a sudden Namjoon showed up and broke his glass and ruined what could have been a really good night for both of them. Fuck! He’s always screwing shit up for everyone, no wonder they keep avoiding him! No wonder no wants to touch him, let him touch them, be anywhere fucking near him.
The hair on the back of Namjoon’s neck stands up when Yoongi’s hand rests on his knee, and he realizes he’s shrunken into himself, head hanging low over his chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, barely straightening up. “That’s really nice of you to… yeah. But you don’t have to do that for me.”
“I know I don’t have to,” Yoongi agrees, and it’s just him, now, not the two of them. Not Hoseok. “I want to.”
Namjoon doesn’t even know what he’s offering. A hug? A handshake? Full-blown sex?
“Me too,” Hoseok interjects, suddenly, and he can’t possibly know more than Namjoon does at this point. Can’t know what he’s agreeing to when Namjoon doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. What Yoongi wants to give him. “I want this, too.”
Yoongi sneaks a peek at Hoseok, and Namjoon knows what’s in his head. Knows that whatever bizarre thing that’s been going on between the two of them hasn’t ended yet, even if he isn’t privy to the details. They keep orbiting each other, avoiding the real issue, and Namjoon wants so badly to fix it that he blurts, “You’re allowed to kiss in front of me, you know!”
Silence. Yoongi frowns. Asks, “What are you talking about?” Then, getting it, continues, “We’re not together.”
“Why not?” Because they should be together, even they aren’t right now. Even if they’re in a fight or broke up or think they’re not allowed. Because they’re so… perfect for one another, the way Namjoon imagines when he thinks of soulmates, people who take such good care of each other that they wouldn’t thrive alone, even if they might survive. And they’re even better off, because there’s nothing incomplete about them individually.
Yoongi is strong, purposeful, introspective. Knows how to manage his pain and nurture it into something beautiful, his way of giving back.
Hoseok is bold, sharp, enthusiastic. Presses forward even when it hurts, because he wants to know that he can do it, that he can inspire others to do the same.
They’d be so gorgeous together. They’re so gorgeous apart.
Namjoon wants them to have each other, since they would never in his wildest dreams have him.
“Because…” Yoongi drawls, as lost for an answer as Namjoon is.
Hoseok, on the other hand... “It’s because I’m fucking chicken-shit, that’s why.”
Yoongi chokes on his next breath. “Seok—”
“No, it’s okay,” Hoseok insists, still fidgeting his hands all over the place before mimicking Namjoon’s in his lap. “We haven’t talked about it. And… I want to talk about it.”
“We did talk about it.”
“We didn’t. I talked about it and decided for both of us. And I don’t think that’s what you wanted.”
“What’s happening right now?” Namjoon interrupts, and Yoongi rubs his eyes, despite looking wide awake.
He gestures to Hoseok, gives him the floor. Or, the bed, anyway.
Hoseok accepts. Explains, “Yoongi-hyung and I have been sleeping together for seven years.”
Which is not at all what Namjoon expected to come out of his friend’s mouth. Sure, he knew that they were close pretty much from the start, but if he had to work out a time they might have actually done something about it, fully… consummated it… he would have said it’s recent. The last year, maybe two. But— “Since debut?”
“Since his appendix burst. Well,” Hoseok chuckles, “after he healed, anyway.”
Namjoon turns to Yoongi, who nods before adding, “It started before that, just not so serious. And then it got… pretty serious.”
“We were never official,” Hoseok clarifies, still looking only at Namjoon. Like he’s scared to turn his head, see Yoongi’s reaction, when he’s staring at Namjoon too.
Oh, Namjoon realizes. They’re scared of my reaction.
He tries to come off blasé, probably fails spectacularly, but he needs them to know he’s not upset. “I don’t think I understand. You were… friends with benefits, or something?”
“Or something,” Yoongi mutters, and it’s only now Namjoon can infer some feeling on the subject. Can see the hurt.
“I ended it,” Hoseok says, now turning to Yoongi, just as solemn. “I… I dumped you.”
“You didn’t. Like you said, we weren’t official.”
“But we were something.” Hoseok wiggles so he’s on his knees, might stand up and start pacing if his energy holds up. “I kept trying to convince myself that we were just messing around, that it was perfectly fine to fuck your own bandmate as long as it didn’t mean anything. But it does mean something to me, and after a while I realized it means something to you too, and… I lost it, hyung. I’m sorry.”
Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look mad. Confused, maybe, and definitely hurt. At least they’re looking at each other.
“How did you end it?” Namjoon asks. Wants to kick himself right after because it’s none of his fucking business.
They answer anyway, Hoseok first: “We were in New York, after the ball dropped on New Year’s.”
“I kissed him in the dressing room, when all of you had left.”
“It was… really romantic.”
“Too romantic.”
“No. It was perfect. You’re perfect.”
“We went back to the hotel. You let me…” Yoongi swallows.
“We had sex. And I wanted to say it. Wanted to tell you how much I…”
“Jimin texted, invited us down to the bar. You said you were going to pick up a girl.”
“I told you I wasn’t gay.”
“‘Or queer, or whatever.’”
Hoseok snickers. “I didn’t pick up any girls. I had one drink and stumbled back to my hotel room. My own hotel room.”
“And the next day we flew home.”
“That was…” Namjoon looks back and forth between them, their obvious love buzzing through the entire room. “That was just over a month ago.” Not long, in the grand scheme of things, but long enough the hurt to fester, for the void between to get wider and wider until it transforms into something mean.
“I was furious with you,” Yoongi admits, and Hoseok settles back down on the bed, draws his knees up to his chest. “I wasn’t mad because you ended it, but because…” He shrugs.
“Because I lied. Because I am.” Yoongi gives him a look, and Hoseok rolls his eyes. “I’m… bisexual, or whatever.”
Yoongi actually snorts. “I’ll take it, Seok-ah,” he approves.
It’s so strange for Namjoon, watching them say so much while they say so little, watching their affection bloom. They’re healing, right in front of him, and he’s nothing but an intruder, keeping them from what comes next.
What does come next? “You’re both here,” he remembers suddenly, and they’re both pulled off their guard, turn to look at him.
“We were fighting,” Yoongi tells him first. “Not about this. I snapped over a song lyric and PD-nim forced us to work it out.”
“We didn’t,” Hoseok adds. “Went to bed angry.”
“I can’t even remember the verse,” Yoongi laughs, and then they’re both laughing, and leaning into one another, and Namjoon stretches his knees out and swings his legs off the edge of the bed. He can change the sheets tomorrow, or they can, if it goes that far. But they need to be alone together, Hoseok and Yoongi. Need to enjoy their moment of honesty, of relief. Each other. He goes to stand—
“Where are you going?” Hoseok asks first, fingers wrapped around his forearm. Even that feels like so much, so dear, the sweet way he swipes his thumb side to side on Namjoon’s skin.
He steels himself. “I’ll sleep in one of yours, if that’s okay? You don’t have to leave.”
Hoseok grips him a little harder. Yoongi says, “We don’t want you to leave.”
They’re leaving, then. God, that was a weird thing to offer: hey, why don’t you two bang on my bed? Make sure to leave a few stains, goodnight! Namjoon settles back down. “Okay. Right.”
But they don’t leave. They don’t move at all.
And Hoseok is still touching him.
“We haven’t talked about this,” he says, almost certainly to Yoongi, since Namjoon is clueless as always.
“We haven’t,” Yoongi answers him. “But you know how I… yeah.”
“Me too.”
Namjoon bites his tongue, because he keeps fucking up their conversation. Keeps pushing, doesn’t even know where he’s pushing.
Yoongi takes his free hand, the other still hovering over Hoseok’s iron grasp. “You didn’t answer.”
“Didn’t answer what?” Namjoon asks before remembering he wasn’t going to speak, might never speak again in his whole life after tonight.
“We want to touch you. Do you want that, too?”
And Namjoon’s asking before he can shut himself up, “Touch me how?”
“Like…” Yoongi curls onto his knees. Pulls Namjoon’s (warm, he’s so warm) hand up to his mouth, presses lips against his knuckles.
It’s so bright, the feeling that ignites in Namjoon’s fingers and spreads up his wrist, his arm, all the way into his chest.
Hoseok uses his leverage on Namjoon’s forearm to push his palm against his face, nuzzle into it like that’s something he’s waited for, wanted. Namjoon mirrors his thumb motions against Hoseok’s smooth cheek, watches it flush, knows he’s blushing, too.
“And?” he murmurs, already so content, but if they want to give him more, then… he’ll take it. He’ll take anything they’re willing to offer.
Yoongi shuffles forward, letting go of Namjoon's hand in lieu of running his up his arm, up to his shoulder, around his neck. Runs the pads of his fingertips through the short hair there, still a little damp from Namjoon's shower, and over his ear. He strokes Namjoon's cheek, so careful, and Namjoon thinks that he could die like this, barely touched by the two people he loves most in the entire world.
Because he's in love with Yoongi and Hoseok, even if he's never said it. Even if he's never admitted it out loud, or to himself, or in a fantasy. Loving them is second nature. He's known them so long and grown so close to them, the same way they've grown close to him, and he doesn't know when he started wanting more, but here he is. Wanting more, and they're giving it to him, even if to them it means something different.
But Yoongi said...
Hoseok is moving closer now, too, mirroring Yoongi's actions on the other side. Namjoon stops him before another hand reaches his face. “What did you mean?” he gasps, already breathless at what's barely touching. “When you said he knows... what does he know?”
Yoongi lets him go immediately, and that isn't what he wanted. But what does Yoongi want? “We talked about it, years ago. Again a couple months ago.” Hoseok is drawing back, too, but Yoongi keeps explaining, “We talked about how close we are, the three of us. And Hoseok said we're practically brothers, but... well, I'm sure you can see why that sounded weird.”
“I wasn't in a good headspace,” Hoseok whines, seems nervous but comfortable, his knee grazing Namjoon's on the bed. They're still really close, if not as close as before.
Namjoon blinks. “I get that, for the two of you. But why not me?”
He knows they consider him family; they've said as much. All of them, on multiple occasions. But if Yoongi doesn't see him like a brother, then...
“I have feelings for you, Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi drops unceremoniously.
Namjoon’s entire world tilts on its axis.
He’s been in love with Min Yoongi since he knew what love meant, what it felt like, but there was never any indication that he felt the same. They bickered so much, in the old days, and sure they grew fonder of one another and became kinder to each other, but he assumed Yoongi only did that for the sake of the group. Got excited when he recognized a few years in that Yoongi didn’t hate him as a person, actually kind of thought he was cool. Respected him as a colleague, a peer. And sure, he knew when that turned into friendship, knows Yoongi sees him as a best friend, a confidant. Loves him, the way you’d love anyone you’ve lived with for a decade.
For him to love him beyond that is…
“Wow.”
Yoongi grins. “Is that a good wow?”
It’s important that Namjoon turns to Hoseok, to check in with how he’s feeling, if he’s all right with this development. Because Yoongi just said he likes Namjoon, but they’re… whatever they are. Together, in love, in a relationship. It’s still so foggy. But Hoseok’s smiling, wide, reaching his eyes. Namjoon knows this man, knows when he’s faking it. He isn’t faking it now.
He still needs to hear it. “You’re okay with this?”
“Didn’t I just tell you?” Hoseok quizzes him. “I want this, too.”
“You want…” He gestures between the three of them.
“It’s how I worked it out, with hyung,” Hoseok explains, to both of them. “He told me that he loved you, and I kept thinking about how he acted around you. Always deferring to you when he answers questions, trying to be close to you, talking about you to anyone who will listen. Talking about you like you’re the best person he’s ever met, like knowing you at all is something worth bragging over.”
“He’s the same about you.”
“Exactly. I knew hyung was in love because I knew he was in love with you. Which is fantastic,” Hoseok adds, beaming, “because it helped me figure out I loved you, too. Love you.” He brushes his knuckles against Yoongi’s cheek, and the blonde presses into the touch, just slightly. “Sorry I didn’t mention it.”
Gaze so gentle, Yoongi sighs, “It’s okay. You were going through a lot.”
“So were you.”
They still haven’t kissed. They need to kiss. “Please kiss,” Namjoon begs, and they do it within seconds, mouths slotting together like it’s nothing, like it’s thoughtless. Like they’ve been craving it, which they must have been, after so much time apart.
Yoongi dives in first, crawling into Hoseok’s lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. And Hoseok wraps arms around his waist, one hand dipping under his sweatshirt, reappearing on his neck. Their lips were made to fit together, Yoongi’s small but plump and Hoseok’s big but pointed, and when their tongues poke out it’s hungry, smooth. It’s as perfect as their silent conversations, their easy back and forth.
How is it possible they want Namjoon to be part of this? Why would they want him when they have this already, so simple and secure and absolutely fated?
Then Yoongi groans, “Joon,” into Hoseok’s mouth, and he leans in, open to whatever his hyung (his love) is offering.
Yoongi pulls back, one hand still twisted in Hoseok’s t-shirt, and his eyes dart between Namjoon’s and his mouth, asking. Namjoon nods, and then they’re kissing too, just chaste until Hoseok grasps a handful of his hair, presses him in tighter.
Now it’s a proper kiss, Yoongi opening completely for Namjoon, allowing him to explore his lips and tongue and teeth while he works out how they fit, his own mouth always just a bit too big. But Yoongi is better at this than he is, takes the lead after a moment, and everything is close and sweet and so much better than anything Namjoon could have come up with in his head because it’s real, this is real, and Yoongi wants him back.
And Hoseok wants him too, drags him off Yoongi’s mouth to steal a kiss of his very own. He’s… they’re evenly matched, their two mouths, working off each other the same way Hoseok and Namjoon do when they’re talking, rapping, messing around. Push and pull and maybe Hoseok is little needier than Namjoon expected, but he loves that, loves how wanted it makes him feel, reminds him what he wanted from all this in the first place.
“Touch me,” he pants, and Yoongi’s straddling both of them now, pulling Namjoon’s shirt over his head to press kisses down his neck, shoulders, then more cautiously on his chest. Hoseok does the same, bolder than Yoongi as he starts on Namjoon’s sternum, licks a stripe over his peck and nips at his clavicle. It’s so much, so fast, and Namjoon wants to keep going, to find out just how much they’re willing to give, and yet…
“Shhh,” Yoongi hushes between kisses, clears new tears with his lips while Hoseok rubs up and down Namjoon’s sides, comforting him. He’s not sure when the crying started, isn’t sure that he can stop it, but they don’t seem to mind. Hoseok crawls behind his back and hugs him just like that, still pressing toothy kisses in the crook of his neck. And Yoongi’s heavy but pliant in his lap, maneuvering Namjoon’s hands under his sweatshirt to touch him properly, take what they both need. What they all might need.
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon whimpers, and they only hold him tighter. “I didn’t know… didn’t think…” He wants them. He wants them so bad his whole body aches with it, but not tonight. Not when he just wanted a hug and got this instead, whatever they’re becoming.
“It’s okay,” Hoseok placates him, still rubbing hands over his stomach, so soothing. “It’s perfect. You’re both perfect.”
It’s almost too much, Hoseok’s earnest proclamation, but Namjoon’s comforted when Yoongi shivers with him. Smiles down at him, a rare sight. Yoongi feels so small in Namjoon’s arms, but he feels small in Yoongi’s too. “This is perfect,” Yoongi affirms, voice so clear in the dead of night, “but it’s a lot, isn’t it?”
His back feels blisteringly hot in Namjoon’s hands, and Hoseok’s just as hot behind him, all of them flushed with want and love and whatever else is happening. Wait— “You love me?” No, that’s not it… he already knew that. “You’re in love with me?”
Their giggles come in surround sound. “Aren’t you paying attention, Namjoon-ah?” Hoseok chides him.
“I’m in love with you,” Yoongi confirms, so much nicer than Hoseok sometimes. “We both are.”
“I love you too,” Namjoon swears, still crying. “I’m so in love with you both. I didn’t think—” He struggles with the words, because he always does, when it matters. “I love you both so much I couldn’t place it anywhere, because how could it be like this when you’re… you. And I’m all… me. I couldn’t work out where I fit, how we all fit together.”
“Pretty easily, it seems,” Yoongi flirts, winking as he shoves Hoseok’s head deeper into Namjoon’s neck.
Hoseok sniggers. “Like Russian Dolls. Big, medium, miniature.”
“If you want me inside you, you know you can just ask.” It’s Namjoon who sputters at that, and Yoongi smirks, kisses him, mercifully. “Maybe some other time,” he says, like it’s a question.
“Yes, please,” Namjoon answers, like a request.
It’s all very slow after that. Namjoon doesn’t want his shirt back on, is too obsessed with skin on skin to bear the extra layer of fabric, but he doesn’t expect Yoongi to take his off, too. For Hoseok to do the same, for them to guide Namjoon under the covers, sandwich him on either side. It’s not like he hasn’t seen them both like this before, seen them in even less, but there’s something so bare about them now, taking Namjoon to bed between them. Taking such good care of him.
He’ll do the same, when he has the chance, though Yoongi pinches him the next morning when he says that. Reminds him what a good leader he is, what a good friend, and that nothing would have happened last night if he hadn’t been so honest, asked them to make amends. And Hoseok kisses him bravely, force-feeds him avocado toast and tells Yoongi to drink, “more coffee you always sound annoyed when you don’t have enough coffee.”
Part of the coffee ends up on Hoseok’s head again, but only because Namjoon drags them both into his lap, so clumsy. Runs his hands up their still naked spines into their hair and they take turns exchanging kisses, sips of Yoongi’s depleting caffeine supply.
Yesterday was a bad day, but it got better.
And today is going to be so good.