Chapter Text
Namjoon heard the door open before he saw him... a soft creak, then the quiet click of it closing.
Namjoon's heart thudded once, loud enough to feel in his throat, and then Hoseok stepped into the room.
Hoseok looked dangerous. His hair was damp, sticking to his forehead, and sweat still clung to his jaw. The tank top clung to his shoulders, leaving the tattoo on his neck completely visible. It curled like smoke from an invisible fire, fierce and restless, a permanent mark of something Namjoon could never tame.
Hoseok's knuckles looked red, the skin raw where the bandages rubbed, and there was a faint cut on his cheek that hadn't stopped bleeding yet.
Namjoon's eyes traced him despite himself, lingering on the tattoo, then on Hoseok's face. Their gazes locked across the room, and the air seemed to thicken, charged with something sharp and unspoken. Hoseok's stare was unreadable, cold enough to make Namjoon's spine straighten, but there was a weight in it that made Namjoon's gut clench.
Neither of them spoke at first. Hoseok's presence filled the room. Heavy. Quiet. It was impossible to ignore. His eyes swept over Namjoon, as if checking that he was still whole, still there, and then returned to meet his gaze again.
Namjoon wanted to say something. About the fight, about the lie, about the fact that he had been terrified the entire time. But the words caught somewhere in his throat.
Hoseok's expression gave nothing away. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, almost emotionless.
"Good. You stayed." Hoseok said.
It was not praise, not really, but it was the closest thing Hoseok ever gave.
Namjoon swallowed, forcing down the sharp words he wanted to throw back at him. Hoseok was cold, distant as ever, but Namjoon couldn't stop looking at him, at the sweat, the bruises, and the ink on his neck that seemed to burn hotter with every second of silence between them.
Namjoon's throat felt tight, words gathering there but refusing to come out. He wanted to ask why Hoseok had lied about the office. Why he had made him sit and worry while the fight raged below. He wanted to demand an explanation, maybe even scold him. But the sight of Hoseok standing there, bruised and bleeding, his body taut with exhaustion yet unbroken, kept Namjoon frozen.
Hoseok's gaze didn't waver. Cold and distant as always, it pinned Namjoon in place, but there was something else beneath it, subtle and heavy, that made Namjoon's stomach twist. He realized with a jolt that Hoseok had carried the fight. Every hit. Every cut. With the thought of Namjoon somewhere in his mind. Protecting him. Namjoon didn't know if his reasoning was right or wrong, or something completely bizarre, but in that moment, it was the only thing that comforted him.
Namjoon swallowed hard, forcing his voice out in a whisper.
"You are hurt." Namjoon uttered those words so cautiously as if his voice could hurt Hoseok further.
Hoseok didn't flinch. He only let his eyes flicker toward Namjoon briefly before returning to their fixed, unreadable stare.
"I am fine." Hoseok said. The words were flat, almost dismissive, but the tight line of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
Namjoon stepped forward a little, his fists clenched at his sides. He hated feeling powerless. Hated that Hoseok's coldness still kept him at a distance. And yet, every time he looked at the fire tattoo on Hoseok's neck, every time he saw the bruises and sweat, a strange mix of fear and awe coiled in his chest.
"You shouldn't have left me up here." Namjoon said, voice low but firm. "I was worried."
Hoseok's lips pressed into a thin line. There was no apology, no softening. But Namjoon noticed the smallest pause, a slight shift in his posture, as if Hoseok had felt the weight of his words.
For a moment, the room held only the sound of their breathing. Namjoon wanted to bridge the gap between them. To reach out. But Namjoon stopped himself.
Hoseok still remained untouchable, unreadable, and yet the very distance between them made Namjoon ache.
Hoseok's eyes flicked towards Namjoon briefly, sharp and guarded, then returned to the cut on his own cheek. He brushed a smear of blood from his jaw with precise, automatic movements. His hand lingered only long enough to clean himself before lowering it, expression unchanged.
Namjoon's chest tightened. He read too much into that small motion, imagining care where there might be none. Hoseok was always controlled, distant, and nothing about him invited closeness. And yet, Namjoon could not stop looking, tracing the lines of bruises, the sweat on his skin, and the magnetic tattoo on his neck.
"I told you to stay." Hoseok said flatly. His voice held no warmth, no hint of concern. Like Hoseok was talking to a stray dog rather than a human being. Like Namjoon was supposed to obey anything he said without a single protest.
Namjoon's eyes met his, searching for something, anything, but found nothing. Hoseok's gaze was unreadable, a wall of calm and cold that made Namjoon's stomach knot.
Namjoon wanted to speak, to demand answers about the lie, to express his frustration and worry, but he remained silent. Hoseok did not soften. Did not look away. He did not acknowledge the tension between them in any way. He simply adjusted his stance and waited, his expression unchanging, leaving Namjoon to wrestle with his own racing thoughts and clenched fists.
Seeing no emotion on Hoseok's face, Namjoon clenched his jaw but did not speak. He walked over to the old mini fridge in the corner, the small hum of its motor filling the silence. Opening it, Namjoon grabbed a water bottle and a protein bar. He hesitated for a brief moment, wondering if Hoseok would even take it.
Holding it out, he met Hoseok's gaze. The stare was flat, unreadable, and utterly cold, the same expression that had made Namjoon feel both drawn to him and frustrated at the same time.
"I don't need that." Hoseok said without even looking at the things in Namjoon's hands.
"Just take it." Namjoon insisted. "Please."
Hoseok's eyes flicked to the bottle and the protein bar for barely a second before he took them with a sharp, dismissive motion, as if Namjoon's efforts were insignificant.
Namjoon watched him drink, his hands tight at his sides. Hoseok's jaw flexed with each gulp, but his body remained tense, unrelaxed, almost daring Namjoon to intrude further. He could feel the weight of Hoseok's indifference like a wall pressing against him, but he stayed, silently insisting on the only way he could: by simply being there.
When Hoseok set the bottle down, it was with a precise placement on the table, almost as if he were erasing any trace of Namjoon's action. Hoseok did not look at Namjoon as he tore the wrapper of the protein bar and bit into it. He did not offer a word of thanks, not even a glance that suggested acknowledgment.
Namjoon could feel the distance between them stretching taut, but he could not step back. He knew Hoseok did not want care. He did not want Namjoon's concern, yet Namjoon could not stop himself from offering it. It was a quiet, invisible struggle, a battle of wills where Namjoon refused to retreat even if Hoseok made it clear his presence was unwelcome.
After carelessly throwing the wrapper into a dustbin, Hoseok straightened, adjusting the strap of his tank top as if Namjoon were not even in the room. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid, every movement deliberate and controlled. He did not speak, did not look at Namjoon, and the silence stretched between them like a living thing.
Namjoon swallowed, feeling the urge to close the distance, to say something, anything, that might break through the wall Hoseok had built around himself. He stepped a little closer, careful not to touch, and lowered his voice, almost a whisper.
"Do you want me to get ice for that cut?" Namjoon asked. He didn't know why he was even trying. It was disrespectful, being ignored like that. Yet, Namjoon kept going.
Hoseok's head tilted slightly, just enough for Namjoon to see the faintest recognition, but his expression did not soften. He shook his head once, briskly, and turned his gaze back towards the corner of the room, as though the question had never been asked.
Namjoon's hands curled into loose fists at his sides. He wanted to argue, to insist, but he knew from experience that Hoseok's coldness was a shield. One that could not be pierced by words or concern. Namjoon simply nodded, stepping back slightly while keeping his eyes on Hoseok.
The air between them remained heavy, charged with unspoken thoughts. Hoseok's indifference was absolute, yet in the quiet, Namjoon could sense the slightest tremor of tension in the man's body. A reminder that even coldness carried its own weight. Namjoon remained still. Watchful. Knowing that offering care to Hoseok would always be a careful, quiet negotiation, not a shared understanding.
Hoseok moved towards the door, each step measured and controlled. His posture was rigid, his expression unreadable, as if Namjoon's presence didn't matter.
Namjoon's chest tightened, frustration coiling in his stomach. He could not let him go like this. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed Hoseok's arm.
Hoseok froze. His body tensed instantly, sharp and rigid, as though Namjoon's touch was an intrusion he had not anticipated. His gaze snapped to Namjoon, piercing and cold, unreadable as always.
"You can't just--" Namjoon started, voice tight with worry, but Hoseok cut him off with a single, flat glance. No words came.
Hoseok's arm remained under Namjoon's grip for a heartbeat before he pulled it free with precise control, as if the contact had never happened. Hoseok did not soften. He neither flinched nor did he betray any emotion.
Namjoon stepped back, jaw clenched, heart pounding. He hated that Hoseok could remain so untouchable, so impervious to concern, and yet he could not stop himself from trying. The tension between them was palpable, unyielding, a silent battle of wills where care met coldness and neither gave ground.
Namjoon's hand hovered for a moment after he let go of Hoseok's arm. His pulse was loud in his ears, a reminder of how much he hated seeing Hoseok like this. Bruised, bleeding, and exhausted. Namjoon stepped closer, lowering his voice to a soft, careful tone.
"I want to take a look at your cuts." He said. There was no accusation, no anger, only a quiet insistence in his voice. "Just let me help. Please."
Hoseok's eyes narrowed. The faint crease of his brow gave away nothing of his thoughts, but the tilt of his jaw suggested annoyance.
"You don't need to." Hoseok said flatly. His voice was controlled. Even. Entirely devoid of warmth. "Go away."
Namjoon did not move. He stayed, letting the silence stretch, the weight of it pressing against him like a tangible thing. His hands twitched slightly, the urge to touch, to reach, to do something to make Hoseok safe, making him restless.
Namjoon couldn't understand himself anymore. He had always been extremely kind, but he was far from a doormat. He never let people walk all over him like this. Yet, he stayed rooted to the spot, not moving even an inch.
Hoseok exhaled slowly, the sound controlled, careful.
"I said go." Hoseok repeated, firmer this time. The sharpness in his tone should have made Namjoon retreat, but it didn't. He had stayed through worse. Through the fight, the silence and the cold stares. Namjoon could stay through this.
"I am not going anywhere." Namjoon said softly, almost pleading, though he did not raise his voice. "Just let me do this. Please."
"Aren't you afraid of me?" Hoseok asked. His gaze lingered on Namjoon, sharp and piercing. Hoseok's voice was low and controlled, but the question cut through the tension like a blade.
"No." Namjoon shook his head, meeting Hoseok's eyes steadily.
Hoseok's jaw flexed.
"You should be." Hoseok muttered, the corners of his mouth tightening as if he were testing Namjoon, challenging him to admit a weakness.
Namjoon's throat tightened, but he refused to yield. "I am not." he said again, voice unwavering.
"Not even after the fight?" Hoseok asked, a strange edge to his voice. Namjoon couldn't decipher if it was disbelief or distrust. Maybe both.
"No." Namjoon said for the third time in a short while. His voice was soft but firm.
Hoseok's gaze remained on him, hard and calculating. His jaw flexed, a muscle ticking under the skin, betraying only the tiniest sign of internal debate. He didn't speak. He didn't move. He simply held himself like a wall of ice, unyielding.
Namjoon swallowed the knot in his throat and took a careful step closer. His eyes followed the cuts along Hoseok's knuckles, the smear of blood across his cheek, the small bruises darkening on his shoulders.
"I will be careful." Namjoon said, voice gentle, radiating patience. "I just want to clean you up, nothing else."
Hoseok's lips pressed into a thin line.
He shook his head slightly.
"I said I don't need it." He repeated. His voice was flat, but there was a subtle undercurrent, something he did not intend for Namjoon to read.
Namjoon's fingers curled slightly.
"I know you don't want help," he said quietly, "but you don't have to do everything alone. You don't have to--" Namjoon stopped himself. He did not want to argue; he only wanted to reach out. To make Hoseok safe. "Please let me help. Just this once."
Just this once? Hoseok didn't believe Namjoon's words in the slightest.
For a long moment, Hoseok said nothing. He tilted his head slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if weighing the request, testing Namjoon's resolve. Namjoon did not move. He stayed where he was, breathing shallow, silent except for the soft pleading in his eyes.
Finally, Hoseok let his hand fall, stiff, and calculated. He made no motion toward softening, no sign of surrender. Instead, with a controlled exhale, he allowed Namjoon to step forward.
"Fine." He said, voice low, clipped. "Do it. But don't touch me unnecessarily and don't get in the way."
Namjoon's chest lifted with quiet relief. He moved carefully, methodically, bringing the water and a clean cloth closer. He wet the cloth gently, then dabbed at the smear of blood on Hoseok's cheek. Hoseok remained rigid, jaw tight, shoulders stiff, eyes fixed somewhere beyond Namjoon, unreadable as ever.
Namjoon cleaned slowly, tracing over the bruises on Hoseok's knuckles with careful hands. Every time his fingers brushed the raw skin, Hoseok's body tensed, but he did not pull away. Did not snap. He let Namjoon work, silent, controlled, but distant. Every inch of him still untouched by sentiment.
"You are bleeding less than I thought," Namjoon murmured softly, not looking up. Hoseok said nothing, only flexed his knuckles slightly, as if testing his own control. Namjoon's hands hovered over the cuts, gentle, deliberate, steady. He did not rush. He did not flinch at the coldness radiating from Hoseok.
Minutes passed like this. Hoseok's presence filled the room like a wall of ice, yet Namjoon remained calm. He cleaned each cut, dabbed at each bruise, spoke only in soft, low tones, making no demand for response. Hoseok's tattoo burned in his vision. The frozen fire, wild and untamed, a reflection of the man himself. Namjoon's fingers lingered near it, careful not to touch, awed by the living defiance in ink.
When he finished, Namjoon set the cloth aside and looked up at Hoseok. The man's posture remained rigid, expression unreadable, but Namjoon felt the smallest victory. Hoseok had let him in. He had let someone else see him like this, let someone else touch the parts of him no one else was allowed near. Hoseok's coldness had not softened, but the wall had been cracked, if only slightly, by Namjoon's quiet insistence and genuine care.
Namjoon stepped back, hands at his sides, and met Hoseok's eyes. The air between them remained charged, tense, unbroken. Hoseok said nothing, but Namjoon understood enough. In that silence, Namjoon carried both relief and anticipation, knowing that Hoseok had allowed it, without surrendering himself, without betraying the coldness that defined him.
Hoseok stood there for a few minutes after Namjoon had finished tending to the cuts. His body rigid, jaw tight, and hands still clenched at his sides. He told himself it meant nothing, that he had allowed it simply because it was convenient, because Namjoon insisted. And yet, a strange tension lingered in his chest, a pull he could not name and could not ignore.
Hoseok's eyes had traced Namjoon's movements without the younger man noticing. He memorized the quiet way Namjoon had worked, the careful precision in his touch, the soft steadiness in his voice. Hoseok shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the feeling, but it lingered, prickling at the edges of his awareness. He could not place it, could not define it, but every time Namjoon looked at him, every time he felt the persistence of Namjoon's presence, a faint, unfamiliar tug pressed against the walls he had built around himself.
Hoseok stepped back, exhaling slowly, telling himself it was nothing. And yet, the thought of Namjoon, where he was, what he was doing, how close he had been, refused to leave his mind.
"Stay here." Hoseok said, his voice as cold as ever.
"I will go collect the money from Frank." Hoseok exclaimed.
"What money?" Namjoon asked with a frown.
"My money. You don't think that I fight for free, do you?" Hoseok exclaimed, his eyes unreadable. The condescending tone made Namjoon's skin prickle, but he controlled himself.
"You work for me, now. I can give you money as your salary." Namjoon said, his voice careful. Like he was offering it more out of concern than command.
"No. I don't take handouts." Hoseok's voice came. Sharp. Cutting. Commanding. His pride, cold and unyielding, wouldn't allow him to accept charity. Hoseok would collect his cut from Frank because it was earned. Because it was proof that he did not depend on anyone, not even Namjoon.
Before Namjoon could say anything else, Hoseok turned on his heels and left the room.
Namjoon stared at the door, his heart heavy, when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled out his phone and saw Seokjin's name flashing on his screen. Namjoon answered the call, pressing the phone against his ear. The network in the club was weak, the signal flickering in and out, and Namjoon could barely hear anything.
With a frown, Namjoon stepped out, hoping the open air would give him a stronger connection.
The narrow alley outside the club was poorly lit, a single buzzing streetlight casting a sickly yellow glow that barely pushed back the darkness. Trash littered the ground, crushed cans, and cigarette butts scattered near the entrance like careless remains of the night's chaos.
Further down, figures lingered near the walls, their silhouettes restless, like wolves waiting for their prey. Their low voices carried scrapes of conversation. Bets, curses, and the occasional sharp laugh that sounded more threatening than amused.
Namjoon shifted his phone to the other ear, distracted, stepping just far enough from the entrance to get a clearer signal. He didn’t notice how quiet it had become behind him or how a few heads had turned to watch him. The shine of his expensive watch caught the weak light, flashing once before disappearing into the dark. Enough to draw the wrong kind of attention.
Namjoon was entirely consumed by his phone, swiping and tapping at the screen, completely oblivious to the shadows moving closer. Until, he was surrounded from all sides.