Work Text:
“I have to be dreaming,” Jimin says a touch tearfully. He sniffles a little, for effect. “This is the happiest day of my life.”
Hoseok laughed, swatting him with a towel as he passes by. There is an embarrassed flush sitting high on the tips of his ears; squished down by a thick beanie. The empty practice room echoes in the early morning. “Shut up, you.”
“But look at him,” Jimin whispers-shout, both hands gesturing to the sleeping little creature clinging unto his shirt. “He’s so cozy. He’s so cute. Hyung, what the fuck.”
Tiny Hobi hiccupped in his sleep before snuggling his entire squishy face in Jimin’s shirt. The dancer made a keening noise, high pitched.
“Oh my god. What do I do. Why is he so cute.”
Hoseok cackled with his entire body, shy. He whapped the towel one more time on Jimin’s arm before retreating to the backroom. “Aish, this kid— you’re so- ah, whatever. Take care of my tiny, I’m going to set up the stereo.”
Jimin wasn’t even listening, his phone zoomed in on a cute drooling face sound asleep on his chest.
It’s a strange concept when you ponder about it too long; the fact that every living human in this world has a miniature version of themselves.
Small, fit to stand in the cusp of your palm— speaking their own gibberish language interspersed with clicking noises no humans can hope to replicate. Intelligent and entirely conscious; a mirror of their human person, perhaps, only they’re travel-sized and unfairly cute dressed in miniature clothes.
“Hyung,” Jungkook was saying, catching Seokjin as he passed by the elbow, to which he dramatically bowls over to tease Jungkook’s recent midnight workouts.
“Augh,” he crumples in the younger’s firm arms, earning a bunny grin and delighted giggles. “Oh, our little handsome gym rat, trying to take off my arm. This is the end. What a dangerous man.”
A little face pops up from the hood of Seokjin’s sweater, little Jin clapping his hands and jumping over to hang by Jungkook’s shoulder. The small creature clicked happily, snuggling into his neck.
The younger man cooed. “Aww, hyung. You love me.”
Seokjin smacked a kiss into his nose. “I do.”
That earned him a blush. Cute.
“Do you need something?” Seokjin asks, still draped rather noodle-like over a gleeful Jungkook.
“Oh! Have you seen Namjoon-hyung today? And his mini?”
“Mm. He’s out to meet the producers, right? The baby is napping with Jimin, last I saw.”
“No,” Jungkook shook his head, squeezing solid arms around Seokjin’s waist, and hey, those gym sessions should never stop if it meant Jungkook can manhandle them all more often— preferably somewhere more horizontal and involving less articles of clothing…
“It was little Hobi napping with Jiminie,” Jungkook was saying, adorably unaware of Seokjin’s fantasies. “I can’t find mini Joonie. Yesterday I promised him some kalguksu— it’s here now, and I don’t want it getting cold.”
Seokjin furrowed his brows, absentmindedly pushing Jungkook forward so the younger would walk backwards and bump against the wall. He barely seem fazed being pinned against a solid surface, hands a nice distraction squeezing and petting Seokjin’s broad back.
“I dunno,” the older man said eventually, trying to recall if Namjoon had brought his smaller self out to the work studios. Which seems highly unlikely, because Yoongi’s mini was with him, snuggled happily in his arms when he left this morning. They don’t make it a habit either to bring along more than one mini at a time. “Maybe he swapped with Yoongichi?”
A hum, vibrating against Seokjin’s chest. He shivered when a curious hand snaked up beneath his shirt, petting warm skin. A smile grew on the younger’s face, something mischievous and leery creeping into the edges. Something he only shows to people on stage and in the privacy of their bedrooms; charming and boyish and irresistible.
On his shoulder, mini Jin swooned, fanning himself with a too-small bucket hat.
That made them break out in laughter.
“You dramatic little gnat,” Seokjin nagged, untangling himself from Jungkook so he could stop wrap his miniature in gentle hands before gravity claimed the little bastard.
“Trash goblin.”
An affronted gasp. “Hyung, you can’t say that to Jinnie!”
“I am Jinnie, dumbass.”
“Not the Jinnie.”
Seokjin rolled his eyes, fond. “This creature? Is a garbage imp. Dumpster diva.” A grinning face between his palms, the little self squirming and enamored by the banter. “Rowdy raccoon. I can go on.”
And of course, because they’re them and they knew each other too well, but mostly because they’re all disgustingly in love with each other, the world stopped to matter for a little while. Just them two, a little part of seven as a whole, hanging out in the kitchen for a snack and to bicker and bloom in each other’s presence.
And maybe they made out some against the fridge, pressed impossibly close with Seokjin’s thigh between Jungkook’s own—
Well. Perhaps not just some making out.
The query about Joonie got lost, for a bit.
(They never noticed the pitter patter of too-light footsteps leave the room; the only evidence someone’s ever been there at all is the ghost of a melancholic sigh.)
There’s never a name for them, or at least not one that everyone can agree on. Some called them chibis. Some called them souls, or sprite. On the other side of the world, people called them daemons. It sounds rather sinister, if Hoseok can be honest.
Daemon…? Like demon? Why would you call your little self something so scary?
He supposed that’s better than the slangs people came up with.
“Mimi,” he called out, poking his head into the living room. No signs of a little blonde head, nor his human. Hoseok pockets his phone and began to search in earnest, the pit in his stomach growing uncomfortable with distance and the amount of time since he’s last spent time with a chibi.
You see, Bangtan has been together for a long time. Even before they got together romantically, their little selves had bonded well. There are scarcely any major fights between the seven minis; even when they had to share a cramped dorm with their respective young adults. Petty fights and childish bouts of anger are unavoidable, clearly; just like the reflection of their human’s true bond with each other.
It’s quite a surprise and not at the same time, when Seokjin first found Joonie and Yoonie pecking lips beneath the glow of late night movie. The little ones were chittering almost inaudibly, definitely lost in each other; flushed and shy and hesitant in the way teenagers are on their first dates.
Hoseok remembered being nudged by Jimin. He remembered the joy and warmth in the cavity of his chest when he glanced over to the loveseat; Namjoon and Yoongi cuddled close beneath a cozy blanket— quite the flimsy cover, as they can see the two petting each other in an embrace.
Like human, like souls.
It’s not long until the seven little ones, affectionately labeled Tinytan, starts to display awkward shyness with each other, tentatively inching away from platonic affection to romantic one. It’s a mortifying night when the six of them ganged up on Hoseok, pointing out how Hobi loves receiving hugs and kisses, and You cringe away when we do the same, but are you being honest?
Hoseok scarcely manage to resist the urge to pick up a sofa pillow and muffle his hysteria into it, remembering the puppy pile of that night. With him. On the bottom of said pile. The seven of their tiny ones chatting and cuddling and making out on the loveseat.
It is difficult to hide an emotion when the personification of your innermost self is standing right there, emoting and yammering gibberish for the whole world to see. But Hoseok likes it that way. He likes holding a chibi of his boyfriend close, feeling that tiny body breathe, listening to them sigh or laugh or sing.
They’re you, after all. They get sick when you are. They cry when your heart ache. When a human die, their little self crumble into dust.
When a mini die, however…
“Krubna!” a voice called out to him, right as something small slammed to the nape of his neck.
Hoseok— justified in his reaction— drops unto a crouch to squeak out a terrified curse.
Mimi cackled in his ear, the little gremlin holding on the hood of his sweater and decidedly not letting go. “Bibi!” he says, kissing the skin behind Hoseok’s earlobe.
“Mimi, you mischievous waffle!” His heart thumps erratically in its cage. “I almost had a heart attack.”
The little one twee’d in delight. It is very difficult to be mad at him.
“Where did you even come from?” Hoseok asks, picking Mimi up to squish those little cheeks. “Did you jump down from the tree house? I thought you didn’t like heights.”
Mimi, his whole torso engulfed in the dancer’s careful hold, chirped something incomprehensible. He poked his cheeks as if to mime a set of dimples.
Hoseok raised his brows. “Namjoon?”
Jimin’s smaller self clicks and babbles again, pointing at the fancy doll house on the top corner of the room. Presumably where he jumps from. It’s appropriately dubbed the tree house— though it’s perched on top of a shelf and has a little elevator running behind the wall.
“Namjoon put you up there?”
A bobblehead nod.
(A memory passes by him, of Jungkook poking his head into the kitchen to sleepily ask: Did you see lil’ Joonie? He wasn’t in my bed.
Namjoon, who’s hard at work, with frowny messages sent into their group chat: going to be busy all day :( won’t be online much lol
The fact that he hadn’t seen little Joonie at all today.)
It took the thought a beat or two to click into place, but when it does, Hoseok stuffed Mimi into the collar of his sweater— earning him a delighted purr of surprise— and got up like a man on a mission.
He pulled out his phone, already making way into the living room.
sunshine: guys
sunshine: guys I think I know where Joonie is
Bangtan always made a point to spend time with each other’s self.
Tete, hanging on Seokjin’s shoulder as the human cooked in the kitchen. Kookie sitting on Namjoon’s lap in the studio to play with his hoodie strings. Perhaps Mimi napping in Yoongi’s arms as the human recorded demo tracks for their upcoming songs.
It’s not strange, at this point, to have a mini self of their boyfriend accompanying the members everywhere. To the gym, backstage of concerts, even sleeping with them; little heads curled close to human chest to better feel their bond and thumps of beating heart.
Namjoon sighs, clicking futilely through window tabs. There will be no work done today. Something has sapped his motivation dry. Not even the usual pull of online shopping seem to appeal to him. It’s frustrating.
“Mrab,” a voice echoed Namjoon’s thoughts exactly from the folds of his soft cardigan. “Nrababa.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Namjoon teased, eyes still locked onto the monitor.
A warble laced with clicks— Yoonie fussed in his cage of knitted fabric, big eyes peering up to glare at Namjoon. He can’t exactly see it, but Namjoon can feel the stare. It’s menacing, in a way. Yoonie is a spitting image of Yoongi-hyung.
Namjoon’s outerwear is being tugged at, revealing a little body leeching off body warmth from his torso. Bidding it a lost cause, the leader peered down on his company.
The little ones have a high, fluting voice. Yoonie’s whistle unhappily at him.
“Are you worried about Joonie?” he asks, and when that elicits a nod, he thought hard of a proper response. It’s difficult to lie to a sprite. They sense emotions; are made of them— and so Namjoon has to speak through loopholes in order to not upset his little hyung with untruths.
“Joonie is alright. He’s a little quiet this morning, but he’s— I’m alright. Just a little burnt out.”
He had thought of snatching Joonie up this morning— big watery eyes and all; his sprite crooning something sad and angry and frustrated. It was a good idea at the time, sneaking out the house with the miserable little creature. That way no one would question the sadness and tears. But damn it all, Namjoon couldn’t bring himself do it. Today is Jungkook’s turn to hang out with his sprite. Jungkook loves Joonie. Namjoon is not sure he can explain to the maknae why he wanted to bring tiny Joon out instead of little Suga. What even can he say?
I need space? That just sounds like he’s had a fight with someone. I want to hang out with myself. A horrible answer bound to attract more questions. I don’t feel like going with Yoonie today— no, no, that’s the worst one of the bunch.
Perhaps that’s why Namjoon decided to hide little Joonie in the doll house.
Ever since they got together romantically, the seven of them rarely ever took off with their own mini. Why would he need to? They’re in a huge relationship, one that needs time and effort to maintain. Seven humans, seven minis. Namjoon isn’t exactly an introvert. Spending time with himself… while it’s not anything strange or taboo, Namjoon knew he’ll be getting questions. And he doesn’t feel like answering questions. Really doesn’t feel like it.
Namjoon just… needs a day.
Just one day. For him to gather himself. For him to catch up with work, so that people with trust in him wouldn’t be disappointed.
So he hid Joonie in the doll house— the one perched high in the corner of the living room— buried him with comfort cookies and soft pillows— and called it a day. Wishing his boyfriends would not notice the little one’s disappearance.
(He plopped Mimi in there before leaving. Namjoon can’t help it. The minis deserved to know where their tears-soggy boyfriend had gone.)
Funny that he’s so focused on worrying about the ones back home, Namjoon got caught off guard to be interrogated by Yoonie.
Big eyes are staring up at him in worry.
Ah. Perhaps Namjoon had zoned out.
“I’m okay, promise.” He tried to say, “It’s just, the PD-nims were asking about my progress last night? And I don’t really know how to respond to that— I can’t just say oh, I’ve been rewriting the same song for the last three weeks.”
There are so many things he’s got to do. Meetings, scheduling, dance practices, producing and recording and organizing—
His head throbs, low and aching.
But he can’t leave Yoonie upset. “I’m just being dumb,” he says, laughing a little. He pulls the small creature close to a loose hug. “Joonie caught my dumbness, and he threw a little tantrum. You don’t have to worry about us.”
Yoonie made a low, angry voice. Namjoon drew back in surprise. “Huh?”
More angry noises. Little palms slap against his flesh. They barely sting, but still; what’s suddenly gotten into him…?
“Hyung?” he asks, carefully letting his arms go— thinking that maybe he’d crushed Yoonie by accident, but still wary of the mini falling off the human’s lap. He’s gesturing quite a bit to compensate for the language barrier; warbling all the while.
“Arbdbafan,” he demands of him; a request so great Namjoon’s mortal brain could not hope to comprehend.
“What? I’m sorry hyung, I don’t really…”
Yoonie turned around; hurrying and half-stumbling in his attempt to reach the human’s keyboard. Though his reach is small, the mini is adept in navigating the cursor and tapping the hotkey to create a text file.
Namjoon’s gut twists the littlest bit, lifetime of being together with Yoongi-hyung and his mini warning him of an incoming lecture.
He’s patient, watching Yoonie type.
Don’t say such mean things about Joonie.
… and lecture he did get.
The human laughs. Oh, that made sense. “Sorry, didn’t mean to talk smack about your boyfriend when he’s not here to defend himself.” He’s apologizing for something else, too, but it’s implied. Namjoon does not have to say it out loud.
Joonie’s moods are influenced by his own. While Namjoon is already used to not express his frustrations outwardly, Joonie is an entirely different case. Minis cannot help what they’re feeling. If their humans are sad, they’re sad too— it doesn’t matter if the mini has just had a good meal and a nice nap— they’ll still turn morose and gloomy.
It must’ve been frustrating for Tinytan, wanting to cheer up their boyfriend but not being able to help.
It just adds to Namjoon’s guilt. Which does not solve the problem; making it worse instead.
“He’ll get better as soon as I get my shit together, promise.” Namjoon pointedly did not specify when is ‘soon’. Time frame is not something he can afford to promise when his whole body felt like an aching bruise; a heft of migraine slowly pounding and compressing his brain.
Yoonie still looks upset.
“How about this,” he offers, “I’ll get you extra blankets when we get back. You can stay and cuddle with Joonie— I’ll catch a quick shower and snack before meeting with coordinators.”
Yoonie squints at him, turning around to type some more. Namjoon placed the fervent keymashing as frustration.
You overwork.
Don’t be so mean to yourself.
Namjoon does not know what to say, so he stayed silent. The few words on his screen stayed unchanging, the last sentence both an accusation and reassurance. The cursor blinks.
Yoonie types again. Joonie is you, and you’re him. The mini stared at the screen for a beat. Unwavering, like a cat. Then he adds: be happy, dummy.
“Dummy? That’s a personal attack,” Namjoon noted with fondness, heart warming up at the awkward attempt of cheering up. This is his hyung, after all.
“I’m happy, hyung.” He said. His tongue feels odd forming those words. They don’t ring true, but that can’t be. Namjoon repeats. “I am happy.”
“Nabarfd,” Yoongi says, pointing at the monitor. You overwork.
The human hums. “Well.” He says, leaving the word at that. Under Yoonie’s observing eyes, Namjoon closed programs and saved works that he’s yet to be satisfied with. It tempts him; the urge to keep on going and work just for the sake of being productive, but it wouldn’t be right to make music when his heart isn’t in it.
The computer chimes softly as it powered down.
The chibi nods, satisfied.
Namjoon’s lips fought not to quirk up. It is a losing battle.
“Let’s go home.” Namjoon faked an exasperated sigh, setting Yoonie on top of his shoulder. “I’ll catch a short nap before the meeting.”
A little trill. Yoonie’s small fingers came up to clutch onto Namjoon’s collar for stability.
(It delights him to see dimples crease Namjoon’s cheeks. He might be small and his verbal words might not transfer well, but at least he can still make Namjoon smile.)
With an extra weight perched on top of his shoulder, warm and small and very much alive, the human locked the studio and set on a little adventure home.
“Unbelievable,” Taehyung exclaims, descending the folding ladder. There’s a pinch to his eyebrows, an edge set in his jaw. “These blankets and cookies weren’t here yesterday.”
It came as no surprise that escape master Joonie was no longer burrowed in the tree house.
It is surprising, however, to see the amount of comforting items scattered about the doll house.
“Little Joonie must’ve been miserable for Namjoon-hyung to build a nest like this.”
The implied fact that Namjoon himself was feeling terrible too did not fly past anyone’s head. Jungkook furrowed his brows, discontent. “But why’d he hide his mini?”
When the mumbled question goes unanswered, the youngest adds, louder: “Joonie was with me last night.”
“Oh. How’s he doing?”
“He seemed… quieter than usual. I thought it’s just lethargy. Apparently not, because we’re supposed to have kalguksu today and Joonie didn’t show up.”
“He’d never pass that up usually. Where is he?” Hoseok says, going through security camera footage on his phone. The rest of the guys aren’t home, off doing their own schedules. It left Taehyung, Jungkook, and Hoseok to do a little treasure hunt— the treasure being Joonie.
“Should we call Namjoon-hyung?” Taehyung asks, taking over Hoseok’s phone. It’s difficult, trying to spot such a little being in grainy footages, especially when you don’t have a time stamp in mind. “Nobody’s seen Joonie today. I’m worried.”
“I really don’t want to,” Hoseok sighs, watching Tae swipe out of the security camera app to KakaoTalk for a call. “Namjoonie is already stressed. But if his mini is missing…”
The dial tone rings for two beats, before the front door opens. Jungkook’s head whipped around.
“Is that—?” he starts.
The call connects. Namjoon’s voice filters through two places: the phone in Taehyung’s hand, and beyond the hallway.
“What’s up, Hobah?” the voice asks, puffing a little for breath. Some shuffling, presumably the leader taking off his shoes.
The three stare at each other, unsure where to start. Jungkook broke the silence. “Hyung, come to the living room.”
Namjoon made a surprised noise. “Jungkookie? What are you doing on Hobah’s phone?”
“We are looking for a wanted criminal,” Taehyung calls, head craned to the direction of the front door. “Come here, hyung. Just turn off the call.”
“What criminal?” the object of their focus asks in amusement as he walked in, Yoonie perched on top of his tousled hair. “Did Tete got into the honey jar again?”
Three pairs of eyes tracked Namjoon’s movements, staring rather obviously— a testament to Namjoon’s exhaustion that he didn’t even seem to notice the attention. He did not take off his outerwear, nor did he empty his pockets of chapstick and keys and knick knacks. He did, however, goes on tippy toes with Yoonie in hand. The mini hopped off his ride and zoomed inside the tree house.
There are a lot to unpack from the small acts. Namjoon’s planning to leave again, soon. And Yoonie knows about Joonie being sad. That, or little Suga has his own suspicions.
“Where’s Tete anyway?” the train of thought continues, Namjoon turning around to face them. “I kinda want to bring him out to meetings later.”
“Meetings?” A stunned voice asks. “As in more than one? Namjoon-hyung, you just got home.”
“The grind must go on,” Namjoon teases, sinking his entire body into the plush couch. The cords of tension left as soon as the weight was taken off of them, and with a sigh of relief, he melted into the cushions. “Man,” he half moans, stretching arms upwards. Crack, goes his spine.
Hoseok’s pretty sure his left elbow gave a pop, too.
“I’d love a nap,” Namjoon yawned, silvery thread of sleep ready to drag him under. He visibly fought with said drowsiness, pushing himself up to sit. “But the meeting is in fifteen minutes, so maybe not, actually. Can you guys fetch Tete for me?”
It’s terrifying, the way they didn’t notice the signs. With the release of an album so close, their leader is stretched out thin to all directions. The answer of why he’s been hiding himself— why he’s been hiding Joonie— is right under their noses this whole time.
Before they can argue Namjoon out of the meeting, Yoonie’s head pops over the ledge of the doll house. He clings on a little fence, warbling to get their attention.
“What’s wrong?” Namjoon asks, brows furrowed.
Yoonie does not speak because he knew they would not understand. Instead, he held up a piece of crumbled cookie and made a distressed noise. Three pairs of eyes lit up in understanding.
“Joonie’s gone missing.” Jungkook blurted.
Namjoon’s spine straightened with a jolt.“What?”
“No! No, don’t say that, we don’t know for sure yet—”
“What do you mean he’s missing?”
“He’s not in the tree house.” Taehyung interjected. “We just realized he’s gone, we haven’t checked the rest of the dorm yet.”
The leader breathed his relief. “Gods. Bunny, never scare me like that again.”
They hesitate in askance.
It’s such a petty act, when they clearly know the answer why. A low blow, perhaps. But Namjoon is distracted, and he’s leaving again soon— if he barely saw the question coming, maybe he’d be more honest.
“Why’d you hide him up there in the first place?”
Instantly, they knew it was incorrect to ask.
Masking emotions is an essential survival skill for idols like them. Constantly being put under cameras and magnifying glass— sometimes you just have to reign in whatever you’re thinking and smooth it over with a smile.
In real time, filled with a slow-crawling sense of devastation, they watched as Namjoon’s mask slid into place within a split second. Practiced. Subtle. Quick.
Natural.
“The little one wanted to nap.” Namjoon reasons, smoothly avoiding eye contact with Jungkook, Taehyung, and Hoseok; standing up from his seat. He shoved his hands into loose cardigan pocket to eliminate fidgets. “And I figured, uh, what’s a better hidey hole than the tree house? For uninterrupted sleep.”
For how well it was delivered, the lie was a terrible one. The chibis can sleep anywhere. It doesn’t matter if you prop them upside down against a cushion during action movie explosions— they’ll sleep right through it. They always had uninterrupted sleep. Joonie can just snuggle into Jungkook’s pocket and it’d made absolutely zero difference.
Why hide him, then?
Why’d Namjoon lie?
Hoseok frowns, about to call Namjoon out and sit him down; meetings be damned, because they do not hide conflicting emotions from each other— most of all not one so important that a boyfriend would feel the need to hide their sprite away.
“Prebhj,” a voice called from below, breaking the tension like shattered glass.
It was Tete.
Holding hands with an absolutely exhausted looking Joonie.
“You found him!” Taehyung gasped happily at his smaller self, making Namjoon flinch in realization that yes, he hadn’t seen any other mini since he got home. It made perfect sense for the minis to check into small spaces to look for their partner.
How did that very important detail slip his mind?
“Joonie,” Jungkook cooed, walking over and lowering himself to a knee. “Joonie, I’ve missed you. Where have you been?”
Tete babbled something up at them, miming this and that in his excitement and success— I found him!, that little face seem to say. Switching his attention between the humans present and his partner, head ping-ponging at their grave expressions, Tete’s face dawned in realization. He seem to take it as a clue to leave them to talk.
He must’ve felt Taehyung’s distress, too.
Not that it stopped the mini from landing a little peck unto Joonie’s cheek, the sprite blushing madly at the sudden attack. “Ah,” he reprimanded, watching Tete walk over and slip into Namjoon’s cardigan pocket.
Silence, for a beat.
Namjoon busies himself, making as if he’s going to leave the room. “Well,” he said sheepishly, mask wobbly and smile not looking quite real. “Meeting is soon. I might come back later tonight to drop Tete off— will be at studio again since I didn’t have much success with my work earlier. The chibis need to sleep anyway, and I think I’ll be alright without mini company for a bit…”
As Namjoon rambled on, desperate to distract them from probing at an open wound, he forgot one very important detail: Joonie is here.
Masking emotions is supposed to be a temporary solution to a temporary problem. No matter how good you are at hiding a problem; no matter how trained you are at settling your facial expressions, your sprite still has no control over the linked emotions.
Cupped in the palms of Jungkook’s hands, little Joonie trembled. His big eyes watered, face crumpling. “Auh,” he whimpered, quiet, rubbing tears away almost angrily.
The humans’ spine straightened; Namjoon going quiet and pale. Alarmed, Jungkook brought his hands closer to his face to see Joonie closer.
“It’s alright,” he soothes, while feeling half confused by the duality of emotions— Namjoon looking mad and frustrated, and Joonie crying like somebody had told him of a forest fire. Do they not link?
“Are you hurt?” Taehyung asked the mini. That’s one possible conclusion. “Did you fall?”
Their leader closed his eyes in resignation while his boyfriends crowd around his little self. There’s nothing to be done about it, he mourned the inevitable questions and possible blaming— walking out of the room so he can ring someone about missing the meeting.
(They, too, were not happy about him cancelling. This made something deep within Namjoon ache. The knowledge that he had let people down, again.
It is not a good feeling to have.)
When he returned, Joonie is already looking like he’s halfway to shutting down. His purple hair mussed and his face is puffy from crying. The little creature is shaking apart— feeling a want that Namjoon is very familiar with. Of wanting to fold himself impossibly small, just like a paper crane; something they can tuck close within a palm, to be held and protected.
“You’re okay,” Jungkook was whispering to him, barely audible. “You’ve worked hard.”
Something spider-webbed in Namjoon’s chest, fine cracks thin as hair.
Something broke.
He must’ve let out a noise; or done something with his face— heart and exhaustion laid bare for all to see, because three pairs of human eyes turn to him, within them nothing but care and concern.
“Oh, Namjoon,” Taehyung says, approaching close to cradle his face with warm hands. The leader crumples into that touch— eyes burning and nose stinging— a paper crane with overburdened wings finally unfolded; soft from too much bend.
He’d gone too far. He’d pushed himself too far, this few weeks, past the breaking point, and with his stubbornness he’d also dragged his little self off the cliff.
He’d been too harsh on himself.
He’s just so tired. The kind of tired that won’t go away with sleep, the kind that hangs around you like a heavy fog.
It made sense, at the time, to think that letting the members know about his inability to function and exhaustion would result in nothing but them seeing him as a burden.
Now, cradled close in warmth, Namjoon is beginning to see how horrifying that thought had been. How harmful, and how untrue.
His words come sticky from his mouth, voice burning, somber; like honey-wine and forgotten homes. Namjoon has to count the beats, has to think and consider the syllables as he speaks. One of the hands cupping him slid to tuck loose strands behind his ear, warm as it stays.
“I,” Namjoon says, swallows. Joonie is crying openly now, great heaving sobs buried into the sweater of his human boyfriend; Tete in the folds of his knitted cardigan crooning something sad and heartbroken. Taehyung’s eyes brim with tears.
Worry and sadness tainted their home, and for the first time since this fog descended on him; Namjoon thought: let it stay so we can make peace with them.
“I think,” Namjoon attempts again, stepping close to bury his face in the crook of Taehyung’s neck. “I think I need a break.”
And they sat, patient with the silence of acceptance; slowly untangling the clutches of responsibilities too heavy for a single shoulder to bear.
It’s not easy, Yoongi thinks, to stand at the top of the world. And it is narcissistic and childish to think that they’ll stay standing at the top of the world forever. It’s required nothing short of blood, sweat, and tears for them to reach up here. They won’t have anything left to give, eventually. They won’t have this high forever.
But this, the second oldest smiles, setting his bag down near the entrance of the living room, this happiness we can have ‘til the end of time.
A little puppy pile forms in front of the TV. The volume was low; the credits of whatever show previously on now scrolling by to the blissful ignorance of four idiots napping on the couch.
The little ones were asleep, too. A head of tousled purple stays in the center, looking peaceful and content.
Shaking his head, fond, Yoongi pads off on socked feet to the showers.
Maybe he’ll join them soon.