february advent, day 7 for thy
title: do it again
rating: pg-13
pairing(s): namjoon/seokjin
word count: 1,732
warnings: none
a/n: this was meant to be for valentine’s day, i’m so sorry for being late ;;;;; LOVE U THYPIE
How come Seokjin’s acting as if there had been no argument to start with? Surely there had been an argument. Tipsy Namjoon had written a note to himself to ignore Seokjin forever, although he hadn’t explained why. crossposted to ao3
It’s a small argument. Namjoon hopes it is. He hopes it was just the midterm stress catching up to both of them and that it was Namjoon’s fault. If it’s Namjoon’s fault then he can walk in there casually and say he’s sorry, fair and square.
But he’ll have to come up with a vague apology, because he honest to God can’t remember what the fight had even been about. Flavored popcorn? Flavored condoms? Jelly? Movies? Namjoon thinks it probably had to do with condoms - he hazily recalls a feeling of intense disappointment as he stormed out. That, and being maybe a little tipsy. Just a little.
Speaking of tipsy, Namjoon stares broodingly at the contents of his fridge. The bottom row on the door is all cheap beer. He thinks idly about how scandalized his mother would be if she knew, then closes the fridge and sighs.
It was a tiny argument, miniscule. Namjoon can face Seokjin sober. The dorm room around him is crowded with furniture and books, more than a little oppressive. He takes a deep breath and leaves.
In the corridor, an exchange student from Europe or something is trying earnestly to converse with Jinri. Namjoon brushes past the both of them, trying very hard to think and also to not think about Seokjin’s room. It’s pointless; he has it by heart. Even if he didn’t, his feet would manage to get there anyhow.
He jogs his way up to the seventh floor from his fifth, and knocks on the door to the far right. It swings open at the first rap of his knuckles.
“Um,” Namjoon says, peering in.
Seokjin’s sitting reading a disgustingly thick package, and he looks up after Namjoon’s been looking for a few seconds.
“Well, okay,” Seokjin says, putting the package away and crossing his arms. Namjoon’s heart sinks right out of the bottom of his shoes. “I guess,” Seokjin continues, as greeting.
Namjoon deflates, if possible, further. “You guess?”
“I don’t know if you’re going to come in, or just bolt.”
“I feel like bolting,” Namjoon admits. “It wouldn’t be very polite to bolt, would it?”
“No,” Seokjin says, placid. “But you can if you want. I was about to come over myself, actually.”
Namjoon shuffles in at that. “You were?”
“Sure,” Seokjin picks his package up again. Namjoon is very confused. How come Seokjin’s acting as if there had been no argument to start with? Surely there had been an argument. Tipsy Namjoon had written a note to himself to ignore Seokjin forever, although he hadn’t explained why. It’s a miracle sober Namjoon had even managed to decipher his own scrawl the next day. Namjoon couldn’t have made an argument up.
“I mean, you know,” Seokjin shrugs, “To make up. I can get being ignored for a bit. But a week? Over a movie? It seemed a bit much.”
“Movie?” Namjoon repeats, weakly.
“Wait,” Seokjin starts grinning. “You mean you don’t remember?”
Namjoon toes the door closed behind him. “Let’s just,” he flaps his hands. “Jog my memory a bit. Please?”
Seokjin pats the place next to him, and Namjoon very gingerly makes his way over and sits down.
“We had an argument,” Seokjin informs him.
“Yes,” Namjoon reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a note. “I wrote it down so I could stay mad in case I forgot.” He shows it to Seokjin. The note says, I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. BUT IT HAPPENED. IT CAN’T BE UNDONE. HE AND I OVER. It’s very crumply and wrinkly, evidence of Namjoon balling it up and folding and unfolding it countless times since Tuesday night.
Seokjin chews his lips, expression unreadable. “Do you really want to hear about it?” he asks Namjoon. “What if you get mad again?”
Namjoon opens his mouth, then pauses, uncomfortable. “Well,” he says at length. “I was drunk. And it was just a movie. You can’t have been as bad as I’d thought at the moment.”
“You wanted to watch Die Hard,” Seokjin tells him, eyes wide and serious, and Namjoon shrinks into a ball automatically.
“No,” he mumbles.
“You did,” Seokjin says. “I thought that since we’d already marathoned the series thrice - “ here Namjoon tries to disappear between the couch cushions “ - already in our one week’s worth of break, maybe I could choose what to watch now - “ the disappearing isn’t happening, so Namjoon tries to turn into a chameleon, maybe become the same color as the furniture - “but you got really emotional. You know?”
Oh, Namjoon knows. Namjoon knows very well how emotional he can get over Die Hard. But he’s never done this before. He’s never actually full on broken up with a person because of Die Hard. And, pssh, Die Hard? Up until now, he’s never considered Dying so Hard. To walk out on his boyfriend because of this, to have done this in reality, in real life -
“You said Die Hard gave you strength when nothing else did and how could I just take this opportunity away from you like that, and, I mean.”
Yeah, Namjoon knows what Seokjin means. He means, really? Is this kid for real?
“I said I didn’t mean it like that, you know, and I honestly didn’t! I was just trying to apologize, and then I’d said I was sorry and I didn’t mean it that way and I hadn’t realized how important it was to you, but you didn’t let me finish my sentence.”
Namjoon winces. “I’m sorry.”
“Nah,” Seokjin pats him on the shoulder. “It’s okay. You kind of just shot up, and screamed in a really high voice, you know? I had no idea you could sound like that. And you said - oh wait.” Seokjin grins again, wriggles his shoulders and stands up in the middle of the room. “You were right here, and you literally screamed, like someone in opera doing a bad falsetto - realize? REALIZE?”
Seokjin clears his throat and laughs at himself. “Man. And then you slammed your door on the way out.”
Namjoon’s curled up around on the couch now, glasses askew and shivering slightly in his T-shirt.
“Hey,” Seokjin smiles at him, like this is normal and there is absolutely nothing wrong with Namjoon’s erratic, Die Hard-obsessed behavior. He walks back to the couch and sits down again. “C’mere.”
Seokjin lifts his arm, and Namjoon scoots closer, stuffing his head awkwardly under Seokjin’s armpit.
Seokjin laughs, making all the embarrassment worse.
“You know,” Seokjin says, “I had no idea you’d be this surprising. Thought I had you nailed down for a type, but here we are.”
“Are you breaking up with me,” Namjoon mumbles, into Seokjin’s side.
“Absolutely not,” Seokjin says at once. Then he sighs. “Did you know falling out of love with you is something I find virtually impossible? I mean, you’re the maths major here, but I’m pretty sure the actual probability of that happening to me is zero.”
Namjoon takes his head out from under Seokjin’s arm and stares at him.
Seokjin’s smiling and serene and fucking pretty and really at ease, and maybe Namjoon kind of starts tearing up.
“Don’t be so terribly smooth,” he manages to get out, past the bothersome lump in his throat.
Seokjin just laughs again. And the curve of his mouth is so enticing, that squeaky-clean, ticklish laugh so endearing, that Namjoon sits up a little straighter. Hesitates a second before tilting his head to the side and kissing Seokjin.
Seokjin pulls him in immediately, one arm around his neck and the other around his back.
And this, the warmth on him and the easy cadence Namjoon’s heartbeat falls into, Seokjin’s light touches heavy on his skin, the way it all anchors him and sets him soaring - Namjoon has no idea what he did with his life before kissing Seokjin became a regular occurrence in his life.
He has no idea what it was like before Seokjin would bump into him in the hallways and auditoriums, on purpose, twist just a little bit to land a peck - misaimed - on Namjoon’s ear. Before Seokjin started knocking on his door twenty minutes to class, to wake Namjoon up and kiss him on the forehead. Before Seokjin started wandering randomly in when he couldn’t focus on whatever assignment he was doing that night to just kiss Namjoon, and kiss Namjoon, and kiss.
Seokjin makes a throaty little noise, high and pretty, just like the rest of him, and Namjoon arches up against him, trying to get closer, impossibly close.
“You can call me princess,” Namjoon gasps in between.
Seokjin grins at him, quiet and teasing. “Really, now?”
“And nutcracker,” Namjoon adds, trying to catch his breath and pull Seokjin nearer at the same time.
“That’s what Hoseok calls you,” Seokjin reminds him, and Namjoon can’t stand the fond look in his eyes, the way Seokjin’s so easy and comfortable with him, like this is nothing and everything all at once, because it isn’t, it isn’t, Namjoon will never find the words to describe this, will never find an answer to what Seokjin is or what he does to Namjoon, will never -
“Hey,” Seokjin whispers. “Stop thinking.”
“I’ll do anything,” Namjoon tells him. “Anything you want.”
Seokjin kisses him, as if in answer, but the words still burn in Namjoon’s throat, the weight of them ricocheting against his teeth, and Seokjin kisses him, beautiful crooked fingers under Namjoon’s shirt, and Seokjin kisses him and pulls it up, and Namjoon shivers and closes his eyes and Seokjin kisses him, commas and full stops and little stuttered breaths over his chest, his stomach, and Seokjin lifts his head, moves on the couch a little so he can face Namjoon properly again -
“Then stay with me,” Seokjin looks at him, open and honest. Or maybe shuttered. Maybe scared. Namjoon can never tell with him.
Namjoon swallows. “That’s all you want?”
“Stay,” is all Seokjin says. And then he kisses him, another answer, the kind Namjoon could get used to, the kind Namjoon wants more of, everything all at once. Seokjin breaks off, laces their fingers together and breathes out shakily, shuddering against Namjoon.
“Yeah,” Namjoon says, grinning a little, nervous a little, euphoric a little. “I can do that.”
fin.
#1 i didnt rly picture this as my ~bts break~ but apparently it is!!! TY THY!!!!
rating: pg-13
pairing(s): namjoon/seokjin
word count: 1,732
warnings: none
a/n: this was meant to be for valentine’s day, i’m so sorry for being late ;;;;; LOVE U THYPIE
How come Seokjin’s acting as if there had been no argument to start with? Surely there had been an argument. Tipsy Namjoon had written a note to himself to ignore Seokjin forever, although he hadn’t explained why. crossposted to ao3
It’s a small argument. Namjoon hopes it is. He hopes it was just the midterm stress catching up to both of them and that it was Namjoon’s fault. If it’s Namjoon’s fault then he can walk in there casually and say he’s sorry, fair and square.
But he’ll have to come up with a vague apology, because he honest to God can’t remember what the fight had even been about. Flavored popcorn? Flavored condoms? Jelly? Movies? Namjoon thinks it probably had to do with condoms - he hazily recalls a feeling of intense disappointment as he stormed out. That, and being maybe a little tipsy. Just a little.
Speaking of tipsy, Namjoon stares broodingly at the contents of his fridge. The bottom row on the door is all cheap beer. He thinks idly about how scandalized his mother would be if she knew, then closes the fridge and sighs.
It was a tiny argument, miniscule. Namjoon can face Seokjin sober. The dorm room around him is crowded with furniture and books, more than a little oppressive. He takes a deep breath and leaves.
In the corridor, an exchange student from Europe or something is trying earnestly to converse with Jinri. Namjoon brushes past the both of them, trying very hard to think and also to not think about Seokjin’s room. It’s pointless; he has it by heart. Even if he didn’t, his feet would manage to get there anyhow.
He jogs his way up to the seventh floor from his fifth, and knocks on the door to the far right. It swings open at the first rap of his knuckles.
“Um,” Namjoon says, peering in.
Seokjin’s sitting reading a disgustingly thick package, and he looks up after Namjoon’s been looking for a few seconds.
“Well, okay,” Seokjin says, putting the package away and crossing his arms. Namjoon’s heart sinks right out of the bottom of his shoes. “I guess,” Seokjin continues, as greeting.
Namjoon deflates, if possible, further. “You guess?”
“I don’t know if you’re going to come in, or just bolt.”
“I feel like bolting,” Namjoon admits. “It wouldn’t be very polite to bolt, would it?”
“No,” Seokjin says, placid. “But you can if you want. I was about to come over myself, actually.”
Namjoon shuffles in at that. “You were?”
“Sure,” Seokjin picks his package up again. Namjoon is very confused. How come Seokjin’s acting as if there had been no argument to start with? Surely there had been an argument. Tipsy Namjoon had written a note to himself to ignore Seokjin forever, although he hadn’t explained why. It’s a miracle sober Namjoon had even managed to decipher his own scrawl the next day. Namjoon couldn’t have made an argument up.
“I mean, you know,” Seokjin shrugs, “To make up. I can get being ignored for a bit. But a week? Over a movie? It seemed a bit much.”
“Movie?” Namjoon repeats, weakly.
“Wait,” Seokjin starts grinning. “You mean you don’t remember?”
Namjoon toes the door closed behind him. “Let’s just,” he flaps his hands. “Jog my memory a bit. Please?”
Seokjin pats the place next to him, and Namjoon very gingerly makes his way over and sits down.
“We had an argument,” Seokjin informs him.
“Yes,” Namjoon reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a note. “I wrote it down so I could stay mad in case I forgot.” He shows it to Seokjin. The note says, I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. BUT IT HAPPENED. IT CAN’T BE UNDONE. HE AND I OVER. It’s very crumply and wrinkly, evidence of Namjoon balling it up and folding and unfolding it countless times since Tuesday night.
Seokjin chews his lips, expression unreadable. “Do you really want to hear about it?” he asks Namjoon. “What if you get mad again?”
Namjoon opens his mouth, then pauses, uncomfortable. “Well,” he says at length. “I was drunk. And it was just a movie. You can’t have been as bad as I’d thought at the moment.”
“You wanted to watch Die Hard,” Seokjin tells him, eyes wide and serious, and Namjoon shrinks into a ball automatically.
“No,” he mumbles.
“You did,” Seokjin says. “I thought that since we’d already marathoned the series thrice - “ here Namjoon tries to disappear between the couch cushions “ - already in our one week’s worth of break, maybe I could choose what to watch now - “ the disappearing isn’t happening, so Namjoon tries to turn into a chameleon, maybe become the same color as the furniture - “but you got really emotional. You know?”
Oh, Namjoon knows. Namjoon knows very well how emotional he can get over Die Hard. But he’s never done this before. He’s never actually full on broken up with a person because of Die Hard. And, pssh, Die Hard? Up until now, he’s never considered Dying so Hard. To walk out on his boyfriend because of this, to have done this in reality, in real life -
“You said Die Hard gave you strength when nothing else did and how could I just take this opportunity away from you like that, and, I mean.”
Yeah, Namjoon knows what Seokjin means. He means, really? Is this kid for real?
“I said I didn’t mean it like that, you know, and I honestly didn’t! I was just trying to apologize, and then I’d said I was sorry and I didn’t mean it that way and I hadn’t realized how important it was to you, but you didn’t let me finish my sentence.”
Namjoon winces. “I’m sorry.”
“Nah,” Seokjin pats him on the shoulder. “It’s okay. You kind of just shot up, and screamed in a really high voice, you know? I had no idea you could sound like that. And you said - oh wait.” Seokjin grins again, wriggles his shoulders and stands up in the middle of the room. “You were right here, and you literally screamed, like someone in opera doing a bad falsetto - realize? REALIZE?”
Seokjin clears his throat and laughs at himself. “Man. And then you slammed your door on the way out.”
Namjoon’s curled up around on the couch now, glasses askew and shivering slightly in his T-shirt.
“Hey,” Seokjin smiles at him, like this is normal and there is absolutely nothing wrong with Namjoon’s erratic, Die Hard-obsessed behavior. He walks back to the couch and sits down again. “C’mere.”
Seokjin lifts his arm, and Namjoon scoots closer, stuffing his head awkwardly under Seokjin’s armpit.
Seokjin laughs, making all the embarrassment worse.
“You know,” Seokjin says, “I had no idea you’d be this surprising. Thought I had you nailed down for a type, but here we are.”
“Are you breaking up with me,” Namjoon mumbles, into Seokjin’s side.
“Absolutely not,” Seokjin says at once. Then he sighs. “Did you know falling out of love with you is something I find virtually impossible? I mean, you’re the maths major here, but I’m pretty sure the actual probability of that happening to me is zero.”
Namjoon takes his head out from under Seokjin’s arm and stares at him.
Seokjin’s smiling and serene and fucking pretty and really at ease, and maybe Namjoon kind of starts tearing up.
“Don’t be so terribly smooth,” he manages to get out, past the bothersome lump in his throat.
Seokjin just laughs again. And the curve of his mouth is so enticing, that squeaky-clean, ticklish laugh so endearing, that Namjoon sits up a little straighter. Hesitates a second before tilting his head to the side and kissing Seokjin.
Seokjin pulls him in immediately, one arm around his neck and the other around his back.
And this, the warmth on him and the easy cadence Namjoon’s heartbeat falls into, Seokjin’s light touches heavy on his skin, the way it all anchors him and sets him soaring - Namjoon has no idea what he did with his life before kissing Seokjin became a regular occurrence in his life.
He has no idea what it was like before Seokjin would bump into him in the hallways and auditoriums, on purpose, twist just a little bit to land a peck - misaimed - on Namjoon’s ear. Before Seokjin started knocking on his door twenty minutes to class, to wake Namjoon up and kiss him on the forehead. Before Seokjin started wandering randomly in when he couldn’t focus on whatever assignment he was doing that night to just kiss Namjoon, and kiss Namjoon, and kiss.
Seokjin makes a throaty little noise, high and pretty, just like the rest of him, and Namjoon arches up against him, trying to get closer, impossibly close.
“You can call me princess,” Namjoon gasps in between.
Seokjin grins at him, quiet and teasing. “Really, now?”
“And nutcracker,” Namjoon adds, trying to catch his breath and pull Seokjin nearer at the same time.
“That’s what Hoseok calls you,” Seokjin reminds him, and Namjoon can’t stand the fond look in his eyes, the way Seokjin’s so easy and comfortable with him, like this is nothing and everything all at once, because it isn’t, it isn’t, Namjoon will never find the words to describe this, will never find an answer to what Seokjin is or what he does to Namjoon, will never -
“Hey,” Seokjin whispers. “Stop thinking.”
“I’ll do anything,” Namjoon tells him. “Anything you want.”
Seokjin kisses him, as if in answer, but the words still burn in Namjoon’s throat, the weight of them ricocheting against his teeth, and Seokjin kisses him, beautiful crooked fingers under Namjoon’s shirt, and Seokjin kisses him and pulls it up, and Namjoon shivers and closes his eyes and Seokjin kisses him, commas and full stops and little stuttered breaths over his chest, his stomach, and Seokjin lifts his head, moves on the couch a little so he can face Namjoon properly again -
“Then stay with me,” Seokjin looks at him, open and honest. Or maybe shuttered. Maybe scared. Namjoon can never tell with him.
Namjoon swallows. “That’s all you want?”
“Stay,” is all Seokjin says. And then he kisses him, another answer, the kind Namjoon could get used to, the kind Namjoon wants more of, everything all at once. Seokjin breaks off, laces their fingers together and breathes out shakily, shuddering against Namjoon.
“Yeah,” Namjoon says, grinning a little, nervous a little, euphoric a little. “I can do that.”
fin.
#1 i didnt rly picture this as my ~bts break~ but apparently it is!!! TY THY!!!!