Chapter Text
Namjoon
Namjoon's apartment is flooded with more noise than most at five in the morning, if only because none of its inhabitants have actually been to sleep yet. He doesn't have the best track record for going to bed before midnight—or three a.m.—or even later (earlier?) in the day. He especially has a hard time settling down when it's Youngjae's turn to stay the night (or week).
Namjoon's a writer, which means a lot of his evening hours are spent tapping away on his laptop, trying to bullshit his way through another article before his next publication date creeps up on him. Youngjae, on the other hand, is an avid gamer. He likes to stay at Namjoon's better than at Sungyoon's or Jihoon's (or Sungcheol's or Jeonghan's or Wonwoo’s... He's as competent at couch-surfing as he is at PC gaming). Of the various places he takes shelter, Namjoon's the only one with a desktop that can handle half the shit Youngjae's downloaded onto it.
Yes, Namjoon has a desktop and a laptop, but don't get any ideas. He's far from rich. The laptop whines the entire time it's being used, occasionally spitting dust from its noisy fans, and it's a hand-me-down from Hoseok, the dancer in 2A (not to be confused with the dancer that moved into 1A this week).
Coincidentally, Hoseok got it as a hand-me-down from his older sister, who got it as a hand-me-down from their aunt. From the way Hoseok talked about it before he gave it to Namjoon, he made it sound like it had belonged to a lot more family members than just his sister and his aunt. Bless him and his scholarship that paid for a new MacBook Air, rendering his shitty laptop useless enough to give to Namjoon free of charge. But also, damn him. He has a fucking MacBook Air.
Anyway, Namjoon's supposed to be working at night, but he just can't when Youngjae's around. He's up during the hours Namjoon is accustomed to spending alone, and it's not like ugh, Youngjae's invading my space or ugh, Youngjae's clicking the mouse too loud. Namjoon actually finds the victorious yelps Youngjae makes when he levels up to be quite endearing.
In truth, Namjoon has lived a life in solitude thanks to his inability to shut up his brain and just go to sleep. Having someone to keep him company makes for a nice change.
So, no... Namjoon didn't get any writing done last night. But his deadlines and his existential dread can catch up to him later. Right now, the sun's coming up, Youngjae's stretching after hours spent in the same spot, and Namjoon's tabbing through the Netflix queue on the hunt for another documentary they can watch. He feels great.
"You want anything?" Youngjae asks, padding into the kitchen. He's got that lightning-strike look to him. Electric dishevelment. Evidence of the all-nighter. "I'd offer coffee, but I'm thinking we should crash soon."
"I could go for coffee," Namjoon says.
"Really? You wanna stay up 'til noon or something?" Youngjae asks. He's pulling a filter from the cupboard and gearing up to make a pot as he speaks.
"Yeah, I might as well. You can tap out if you want, though."
"Probs will," Youngjae says, raising his voice to rival the rush of the tap. The sink squeaks when he shuts it off, and with the water added, the coffee machine's a loaded weapon. He fires it up and continues to hover until Namjoon asks—
"Breakfast?"
Youngjae smiles, bright as the golden sunrise. He starts banging around in the kitchen, pulling ingredients and pans from the various disarray.
This is arguably Namjoon's favorite part about Youngjae and the rest of the ensemble that is his rotating roommate brigade: Food. Namjoon is nothing if not a fire hazard on legs. He doesn't trust himself in the kitchen, and the amount of times he's nearly set the whole complex ablaze doesn't help the other residents trust him very much, either.
Namjoon nearly dozes off to the tune of oil sizzling and coffee gurgling. A distant explosion interrupts the kitchen's noises, successfully jarring him awake.
Youngjae's eyes widen. "What was that?" he asks, never faltering in his pancake flippage.
"Dunno," Namjoon says, slurring in his sleepiness. His muscles protest the tiniest movements, but he ignores the bodily uproar and makes it to the coffee maker. He pours himself a cup. He fixes it the way he likes it. That is to say, undrinkable by any coffee lover's standards. He's got a raging sweet tooth, and once he's finished with the creamer and the sugar, his drink doesn't resemble coffee anymore. "Want me to go check?"
"Tell me if something cool happened," Youngjae says, which is Youngjae's way of saying he wants Namjoon to find out what blew up.
Namjoon nods and shuffles to the door. He stuffs his feet into a pair of slippers. He's in the hallway, slurping his coffee, when he realizes he has no idea where to start looking. There's no way of telling where the explosion occurred. He thinks it came from downstairs, which doesn't help much. He's on the fourth floor.
There's footsteps on the stairwell, loud and hurried. Jin emerges, breathless and red in the face. Unsurprisingly, he's beautiful. Namjoon understands why Jin's made a career based on his looks.
Jin's relieved when he sees Namjoon. He jogs over, closing the distance between them. When he comes to a stop, he shouts, "I thought you died!"
Namjoon swallows his mouthful of liquid caffeine and asks, "Why?"
"The explosion?"
"Wasn't me this time," he says. "Did you run all the way down here from the seventh story?"
"Maybe," Jin replies.
Namjoon hides his smile behind his coffee mug.
Jin keeps talking while he's drinking. "To be fair, I was already on my way to the lobby. I'm meeting with a few directors this morning. They wanted to secure my position for the lead role. My last production's not even wrapped yet. The perks of keeping friends in the business!" He brags in a way that Namjoon knows is accidental.
"That's awesome," Namjoon says.
"They're almost done writing the script. I have a couple days off until I need to start memorizing lines again. I meant to ask..."
Namjoon blinks too slowly, or he wavers on his feet. Whatever it is, it makes Jin's expression darken with concern.
"Have you gone to sleep yet?"
"Was that what you meant to ask?" Namjoon asks. He's stalling the inevitable lecture Jin will give him about staying up too late.
"You're drinking coffee, too," Jin says. "What have I told you about drinking coffee after not sleeping at night?"
"It's a great laxative?" Namjoon tries. Jin looks like Namjoon's hurt his feelings, and Namjoon almost feels bad.
"Joonie," Jin whines. He's pouting now, with his bottom lip on full display. He's a professional at pouting.
Scratch the almost. Namjoon definitely feels bad.
"It's bad for my heart," Namjoon sighs. "I know. I'm sorry. Youngjae's with me this week. You know how it is..."
"I thought it was Jinyoung's week?" Jin asks, confused. Namjoon must look equally as confused—he can never keep track of whose week it is—because Jin shakes his head and says, "Not important. What I meant to ask was... Are you free this evening?"
"I should be," Namjoon says. "Why?"
"I got a bottle of wine from a fan recently... I thought we could pop it open? Watch something fancy and British?”
There are more footsteps on the stairwell. This time, it's Taehyung. He's dressed like an homage to the '90s. He automatically latches onto Jin, and Jin allows it. Encourages it, even.
"Jiminie's mean," Taehyung says. "I'm glad his air conditioning broke."
"So that's what the explosion was," Namjoon mutters.
Jin raises an eyebrow. He's more interested by Taehyung's first comment than the second. "Did you invite him to the party like I asked you to?"
"Yep! Jungkook, too."
Jin's tantalization morphs into pleasure. He smooths a hand through Taehyung's hair and asks, "Did you eat?"
Taehyung flashes a granola bar at him, then places it back in his pocket.
"Door's open for you," Jin says. "There's leftovers in the fridge with your name on them. In case you get hungry later?"
"'kay, thanks. Good luck with that meeting," Taehyung replies, and then he's gone, most likely penthouse-bound.
Namjoon's always thought of Taehyung as Jin's roommate, but Taehyung doesn't have a key. They're touchy-feely and Namjoon can't help but wonder. He's yet to find the courage he needs to ask what their situation is.
"Will I be seeing you later?" Jin asks.
Namjoon jolts like he's been caught, and in a way, he has. He tears his eyes away from the stairwell where he watched Taehyung disappear. He takes another swig of his coffee before saying, “I'll text you when I wake up.”
Jin flashes him a thumbs up.
Taehyung
Jin's character on the K-drama, December Days, is a broody romantic, a rich man's tragically poetic son who manages to get with every new girl in town, despite the character's existential moaning.
Real Life Jin could not be more opposite. The self-made gay son of a tailor and a shopkeeper, Jin is privileged, but not pretentious. He's capricious, but never cruel. He's got a laugh like a goose strapped to a windshield wiper, and the sound of it always surprises Taehyung.
Real Life Jin came to Seoul on a scholarship at 16. He then climbed steadily through Xylitol ads and variety shows before landing steady gigs on TV. Now he presides over a motley kingdom of bohemian misfits from atop his crumbling tower in the southeast hills of Seoul, and he laughs and laughs and laughs.
Taehyung loves TV Jin and Real Life Jin, and all the versions of Jin in between.
He is perfect.
Except that every side of Jin seems to share the exact same flaw:
Jin is never alone.
This evening's guest is Namjoon, the writer from 4C. They laze like kings on Jin's plush white sofa – Namjoon in black-on-black with a beanie snugged over his brows, and Jin still clad in pastel satin pajamas. They're drinking white wine in actual wine glasses and watching some British corset-y drama on Jin's giant-screen TV.
Taehyung feels a pinch of envy at seeing them sprawled so comfortably on the couch, facing each other, their legs a loose tangle between them. He tries not to be jealous of Namjoon, who is witty and punny and roguishly kind. Namjoon and Jin are from the same world, and their conversations sometimes sound like this:
“Blah blah, Herodotus.”
“Well, blah blah, Herman Hesse.”
“Oh yes, but blah blah, Oscar Wilde.”
Then they laugh, and Jin's vigorous honking fills his spacious penthouse.
Through the sliding glass doors of the wraparound balcony, Taehyung watches them. Namjoon looks rigidly frantic as he talks, gesturing with tight jabs to punctuate his sentences. Jin listens and nods, and when Taehyung pushes the door open, he waves with his wine glass but doesn't interrupt Namjoon's invective, which goes something like this:
“If I don't get the next chapter to the publisher on time, I won't get my advance, which means I won't be able to pay my rent, which means I'll lose the apartment.”
“Joonie, you won't lose the apartment,” Jin soothes. “You have, what – seven roommates?”
“Therein lies the other issue,” Namjoon cuts in. “The lease designates Jackson as my roommate, but during last month's inspection, Sihyuk found BamBam asleep on my sofa.”
Taehyung sees his window and grabs it. “Oh yeah, was that when you called the landlord a racist?”
Jin's lips purse with interest.
Namjoon rushes to explain. “Actually,” he says, “I suggested that Sihyuk couldn't tell a Thai person apart from a Chinese man.” He presses the heels of his hands to his forehead and gives his eyes a good scrub. “I think I'm doomed. I'm going to lose my place and become some homeless wretch.”
Jin laughs. He pats Namjoon's shoulder. “You aren't going to lose your home,” he says.
Taehyung thinks that's quite enough comfort from Jin and forcefully flounces down between them. “Well, if home is where the heart is,” Taehyung says. “You'll find me at the Burger King.”
Namjoon chuckles. “You can't hate on the BK,” he agrees.
Jin resettles his feet in Taehyung's lap. He passes him the wine glass, and Taehyung takes it between his palms, savoring the cool smoothness of the glass before taking a sip.
“So,” Jin says, shifting the topic. “Did you invite Yoongi and Hoseok to the party?”
“Hoseok, yes,” Taehyung says. “But Yoongi was too upset, serious anger issues, so I decided to let him cool down a bit.”
“What was he upset about this time?” Namjoon asks, though they all know by now it's always the same thing.
“Hope,” Jin and Taehyung say in unison. Jin smiles, and Taehyung feels it like a stab deep, deep down in his heart. He has to clear his throat before he can speak again.
“They were at it again this morning,” Taehyung says. “Yoongi's learning this new piece, and Hobi's just a little puppy. Then Jimin's AC exploded, and then Yoongi exploded. Things got ugly.”
“It hurts me to know those two are so miserable,” Jin says.
Namjoon swirls the wine in his glass. He says, “The miserable have no other medicine, but only hope.”
“Yeats?” Jin guesses.
“Shakespeare,” Namjoon says. Jin rests his chin in his hand and hits Namjoon with his bedroom eyes. Taehyung knows that look and knows that it can only mean one thing.
Thinking fast, Taehyung says, “What they really need is a nice, long shag.”
He realizes that mentioning sex at this moment may not be the smartest thing he's ever done. But Jin's bedroom eyes morph into an expression of puckish intrigue. “Taehyung,” he says. “You're a genius.”
“I am?” he says.
Over Taehyung's head, Jin meets Namjoon's gaze.
“Hold up,” Namjoon says. “Are you suggesting we Much Ado About Nothing them?”
Taehyung is adrift. He's in way over his head. He is lost. But he'll be damned if he lets either of them see it. So he nods and smiles and sips Jin's wine.
And Jin says, “That is precisely what I have in mind.”