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"Fuck this shit," from the man beside him is what finally shakes Namjoon out of his stupor after hearing it for the third time in five minutes. There's a glass of whiskey in his hand, a leather duffel at his feet, and a totally wasted year to think through and mourn before he gets anywhere near the airplane set to take him back to New York City.
"Tell me about it," he mutters under his breath, before setting his glass down with a loud clack.
Namjoon had flown to Korea with a plan. And now he's returning home with a crushed pride that's certainly seen better days.
"You too?" the voice asks, and Namjoon is surprised the man is close enough to have heard him.
When he looks up, though, he realizes the bigger surprise is the man's appearance more than anything else.
For all the stranger has been cursing his life the entire time Namjoon's been sitting here, there's an easy smirk across his face that has Namjoon raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
So Namjoon just nods, unsure what the hell he’s getting into by engaging with this stranger. This very hot, very attractive stranger with his thick fingers wrapped around the neck of his Heineken, whose very demeanor screams heartbreak.
Just like Namjoon.
“I flew here from New York to win back my ex, and it turns out she has a new boyfriend.”
The man sucks in a breath through his teeth, shaking his head. “Fuck, that’s hard. I’m sorry.”
Namjoon shrugs. “I should’ve expected it. It’s been a year since we’ve seen each other and she’s just. She’s so good, you know? I can’t begrudge her of the happiness she deserves.”
“Still,” the man says, pausing to look Namjoon up and down. It sends prickles down his spine with the way the man’s eyes linger on his legs, his thighs in particular. “You paid airfare to get here and probably paid a pretty penny to stay in a nice hotel, judging by the fact that you dress nice and own nice stuff.”
That part makes Namjoon laugh. The man isn’t necessarily wrong, but he isn’t completely right, either. “I flew here for free. I’m a pilot. It’s nice, I guess.”
The man gapes at him before collecting himself again. “And you’re off-duty now? You don’t happen to be flying the plane I’m heading home in, are you?”
“Nope, you’re right. I’m off-duty today,” Namjoon replies, thankful for the few and far between moments he gets to walk through airports with the normalcy everyone else takes for granted. He loves wearing his well-earned gold stripes over his shoulders, loves greeting his passengers as they board his A380 or 777 and entrust their lives into his hands. But nothing compares to being himself, catching the tiniest of glimpses of lives all around as they pass him by.
“That’s so cool,” the man intones, and coming from him, Namjoon can immediately tell he means it. So he reaches out a hand.
“I’m Namjoon.”
The man eagerly takes it and his grip is tight as he shakes Namjoon’s hand. “Jungkook.”
“Nice to meet you, Jungkook. What’s your story?” Namjoon asks. He swirls his whiskey in his hand but makes no move to drink from it. The ache in his chest hasn’t gone away, but it doesn’t take over the forefront of his mind like it did only moments ago.
"I've been seeing someone long-distance, but uh. Turns out he's kind of a scumbag and has had a girlfriend this entire time," Jungkook says, and Namjoon's chest tightens at the admission.
"I'm sorry," he replies, because he means it. Jungkook waves it away and brings his eyes back to his beer.
"It's okay, it isn't your fault. But it was really fucking awkward when I ran up to him at the park to surprise him, and he called me Jihyo." Jungkook laughs shyly, and for a brief moment it's as if this entire week hadn't happened for Namjoon.
"Jihyo," Namjoon repeats, as if the name hasn't been on the tip of his tongue for the past year. It feels new on his lips now, colored by realization and rejection and, in its smallest form, regret. “That’s the name of the girl I came back here to woo.”
"Funny if it was the same one," Jungkook retorts. He knocks back his beer in one swig, and Namjoon is transfixed as he watches his Adam's apple bob with the motion.
"Your man doesn't happen to go by the name Seunghyun, does he?"
Jungkook chokes on his beer and immediately brings it back down to the bar. He turns to stare back at Namjoon with wide eyes, and Namjoon thinks he looks a little bit like Bambi.
"No fucking way."
"Wait." Namjoon pauses and looks around, trying to find a hidden camera somewhere. "You're fucking with me, right?"
The beautiful boy next to him shakes his head from left to right. Namjoon groans.
"No way. No fucking way."
Jungkook, to his credit, merely laughs and claps a hand over Namjoon’s shoulder. It’s warm and lovely and if Namjoon leans into it the tiniest bit, Jungkook doesn’t say anything. “I can’t believe this. Seunghyun Choi does it again. Should’ve known it wouldn’t end there.”
“That bad?” Namjoon asks, turning just in time to see Jungkook’s expression melt into a grimace.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Would it be weird to ask if you’d feel comfortable letting her know? Not to ruin her relationship or anything, but because she deserves to know.”
“She does,” Namjoon agrees, and it’s hard to tamp down the part of him that wants to run back and give this Seunghyun guy a piece of his mind for even thinking about hurting Jihyo like this. Jihyo is one of the best people Namjoon knows, ex or not. “It probably would be weird having it come from me, but I get it. I’ll wait a little and text one of our friends or something to see if they can tell her. But my god, is that going to suck.”
“I’m sorry. You literally just met me and here you are frying whatever good relationship you had with your ex. I could just have a vendetta against her for dating my boyfriend, but. I don’t know. I want to say you don’t have to do that but she really does deserve to know.”
Namjoon considers it for the briefest of moments before dismissing the suggestion entirely. Whatever possibility Jungkook is proposing, Namjoon thinks he knows enough about people and the world to be able to come to his own conclusion. It’s only been a few minutes, but the earnestness radiating from the man next to him tells Namjoon that he’s good.
“It isn’t your fault. I’d want her to know regardless of whether it was you or not. She was my best friend before we ever dated and she deserves to know, especially if someone else got fucked over, too.”
Jungkook doesn’t look convinced, just fingers the edge of the Heineken label while avoiding eye contact with Namjoon. There’s something vulnerable there that Namjoon feels drawn to, as if for whatever amount of time they share in this sprawling airport he calls home, it’s up to Namjoon to protect this sweet man who seems like he wears his heart on his sleeve.
“Have some samgyetang with me,” Namjoon offers, and the grin Jungkook shoots back at him is blinding. Namjoon hasn’t seen anything so beautiful since the first time he got to fly along the sunrise from Helsinki to Malmo years ago.
“I haven’t had good samgyetang in so long,” Jungkook replies, cracking his knuckles and stretching out his neck as he moves to his feet. Namjoon lets his eyes linger at the column of Jungkook’s throat, lets himself wonder what kind of privilege it must be to be able to press kisses against it.
He shakes the thought away and makes to pick up his luggage from the ground.
“Good thing I know a place,” Namjoon says, and he can’t stop himself from getting excited as he leads them past gates full of excited parents heading off for a weekend and haggard business travelers loosening ties and scrolling through their phones.
The samgyetang in this terminal is somehow just as good as Namjoon’s favorite in the heart of Namdaemun, and he always makes the point of dropping by anytime he flies in and out of Incheon. It’s something he always recommends to his fellow Korean pilots and crew members who come few and far between, but the prospect of sharing a meal with Jungkook feels heavier somehow, weightier in a way Namjoon never could’ve imagined.
They each pay and pick up their steaming stone bowls of broth and ginseng-stuffed chicken before finding their way to an open table right up against the glass. From here it’s easy to spy on the number of people passing in and out of the duty-free shops, and Namjoon can’t believe he gets to have lunch with Jungkook while fit some people watching in, too.
Namjoon waits in anticipation for Jungkook’s reaction and smiles when he guides his spoon directly into the bowl. Too often people claim that samgyetang on its own is too bland, and it’s hard to find someone who can appreciate a good broth before the proverbial bits of salt are added. It seems Jungkook is one of them; no wonder he and Namjoon click so well.
“Mmm,” Jungkook moans as he swallows his first spoonful of broth. “It tastes like home.”
“Where is home for you?” Namjoon asks as he reaches for a cube of his radish kimchi. He hears Jungkook shake in the salt and stir it in with his spoon, a gentle clink of metal against stone.
So much has changed since the last time he was here, but this hasn’t, and for that Namjoon is grateful.
“Technically I work in LA now, but I was born in Busan. Moved to the states when I was ten, lived in Philly until I graduated, and then I went to school down in Texas. Hook ‘em.” Jungkook makes what looks like the age-old rock ’n roll gesture with his hand and Namjoon stares for a moment before realizing Jungkook’s told him where he went to school.
“An American.”
Jungkook nods. “I got my citizenship a few years ago. Friends back home almost killed me when I told them I didn’t have to enlist anymore.”
Namjoon huffs out a laugh. Having been raised in Minnesota, he’d never had to worry about serving in the military. It was enough just trying to avoid Army and Navy recruiters during his senior year of high school.
“Home,” Namjoon repeats, because while Jungkook is telling him the places he’s lived over the years, he’d asked where home was for him.
And it seems Jungkook understands because he clears his throat and continues. “My parents moved back to Korea when I was in college, so it’s just me and my brother here now. We have an uncle and some cousins in Atlanta, but we only really see them around the holidays.”
Jungkook doesn’t look too torn up about that fact, and for that, Namjoon is surprisingly grateful.
“I was born in St. Paul,” he says, because for all Jungkook’s told him so far, he really doesn’t know anything about Namjoon yet. Namjoon wants to change that.
Jungkook nods and takes another bite of his food, humming happily. So many people mill about all around them, but Namjoon finds that the only thing he wants to look at is Jungkook with his long lashes and smooth porcelain complexion with the black long sleeve shirt that hints at splotches of ink across his skin.
“My parents moved to America after they’d gotten married and ran a dry cleaners my entire life until they retired a few years ago. Now they travel the world on my guest passes and send me pictures from all the places they’ve been wanting to visit their whole lives.”
“Wow,” Jungkook says, waiting to swallow before opening his mouth again. “What’s the coolest place they’ve been?”
That’s easy. “Palau, for sure. They went swimming with jellyfish and sent me all these pictures that I had to scroll through during one of my breaks after flying from Chicago to Beijing. You have no idea how much I wanted to quit right then and there.”
Namjoon pulls out his phone and opens Facebook to his mother’s album holding 653 photos and scrolls to find the ones of his parents wearing snorkels and making little peace signs as hordes of jellyfish swim all around them.
Jungkook’s eyes open wide in wonder as he sets down his spoon and takes his time with each picture, as if treating two strangers he’s never met with the utmost respect.
Namjoon’s only just met this man but he already wants to take him to Palau himself.
Namjoon looks down at his watch and is surprised to see it’s already been over an hour since they finished their meals. A solid three hours since they began talking in the first place, a precious chunk of time that Namjoon wouldn’t have traded for the world.
He got to hear all about Jungkook’s life struggling for more and more words as a freelance fashion writer, fighting both tooth and nail in side jobs to write for free before some publication had finally picked him up as a regular contributor. And Namjoon told Jungkook all about the number of hours needed to be certified as a pilot (much to his chagrin and embarrassment) after the man had asked all about what it was like to fly across the globe numerous times a week, how he felt knowing he carried hundreds of lives in his capable hands.
“I always wanted to be a pilot but my vision was never good enough,” Jungkook had pouted.
“And if you hadn’t been wicked good at writing,” Namjoon had corrected, clenching his hand into a fist upon realizing how badly he wanted to reach out and lift the corner of Jungkook’s mouth into a smile himself.
Jungkook had blushed and turned away, leaving Namjoon to drink in the way his cheeks turned the slightest of pinks right up top.
Luckily, Namjoon himself still has a few hours before boarding and can easily find a crew lounge to rest in before heading back home to New York. But unluckily for him, Namjoon wishes he could stay with Jungkook a little while longer.
“Shit,” Jungkook says, and it’s then that Namjoon hears the voice over the intercom calling, Final boarding call for OZ 204, Incheon to JFK.
“Ah, an Asiana guy. Mad respect.”
The smile Jungkook flashes back at him is an amused one, and Namjoon suddenly wishes he had the courage to ask Jungkook to stay. For what, Namjoon doesn’t really know.
“Have a safe flight,” is what comes out instead, and even though everything in Namjoon tells him he needs to exchange contact information with this man, that the mere coincidence of meeting him at all is more than anything he could’ve asked for or imagined, the words get stuck in his throat.
Then he remembers why he’d even returned to Korea in the first place, mind flooded with images of Jihyo and everything he’d hoped to accomplish during his trip. He doesn’t understand how he can go from pining over someone he’d been in love with for years to feeling the most explosive of sparks with a stranger he’s only just met, so he chocks it up to the beauty of newness that leaves the taste of something sweet on his tongue.
Recency bias, really.
And Jungkook deserves better than that. Jungkook deserves to fly, and Namjoon thinks that regardless of his profession, he isn’t going to be able to give Jungkook what he needs just yet.
“You too, Namjoon,” Jungkook says, and for the slightest of moments he hesitates before thinking better of it and just pulling Namjoon in for a hug. He somehow smells like mint with the tiniest whiff of peaches—the real ones, nothing artificial.
Namjoon lets himself cling to Jungkook for a long moment, all too aware that with each second he allows himself this, time ticks closer to pulling Jungkook away from him. And he shouldn’t be so torn up about it considering that when he first arrived at the airport today, he had no idea who Jungkook even was, but he is. Namjoon is well aware of the fact that none of this makes sense when he considers it objectively.
Subjectively, though, it’s different. A smattering of colors blurred on the page that he has no idea how to decipher.
Jungkook squeezes back one last time and Namjoon decides to take the smallest plunge he can muster for now.
“I really loved getting to meet you,” he whispers into Jungkook’s ear. “I hope the universe brings me back to you one day.”
Namjoon wants so badly to look Jungkook up on Instagram when he gets home, but it’s a miracle in and of itself that he’s able to plug in his phone before passing out for the night. Really though, all he has to go off of are two Korean characters he can’t even spell in English with certainty. Jungkook. Jeongguk? Is there a space between syllables or does Jungkook use a hyphen in there somewhere? What is this dude’s last name, even?
The news about Jungkook remains mum for a few days while Namjoon adjusts back to life in the States, burning through the rest of his paid time off with a number of walks to all the McNally Jackson’s in the city, piping hot Americano ever present in his hand. He isn’t scheduled for another flight until next week, so he tries to make the most of the limited time at home that he has to himself.
Until Seokjin comes over the next night with three cases of Coors Seltzer from the bodega around the corner and demands to know if he needs to drag Jihyo in an Instagram comment or not.
Seokjin’s voice is menacing when he utters an I’ve been waiting, and Namjoon scrambles to assuage any concerns he might have. He tells them of everything that’s happened over the past few days and makes sure to underline the fact that he’s okay, earning himself an it’s alright buddy from Seokjin and a gentle pat over the knee from Yoongi.
But it must not be enough because with a spoon pointed at Namjoon, Seokjin narrows his eyes and sucks in a quick breath through his teeth. “Yah. I know that fucking look. You don’t look as beat up as you should. What’s the catch.”
A shiver rolls down his spine at how scarily accurate Seokjin’s reads of him can be. Sometimes he’s completely off base, offering a free show to watch him fuck Yoongi using the new handcuffs that arrived in the mail the other day or asking if he can introduce Namjoon to his co-worker Jimin, who Namjoon has literally already met at Seokjin’s holiday party two years ago.
Other times though, like today, are different.
So Namjoon tells them everything, which doesn’t take as long as he’d really expected in his head. It’s hard not to oversimplify, but he also realizes it isn’t that elaborate of a story in the first place. He met a guy at the airport bar, shared a bowl of samgyetang with him, then went on his merry way. It’s really that easy.
The glint in Seokjin’s eye at the end of Namjoon’s story is menacing, to say the least.
“You like him.”
Namjoon avoids the opening Seokjin had so graciously left for him. “Of course I liked him. Why else would I talk to him for so long? Hell, why would I even bother to have lunch with him if he was a total asshole?”
“No. You like like him. I know that look.”
Running over a hand over his face, Namjoon tries to decipher what on earth Seokjin could mean by something like that. He shrugs, because the moment is over and gone, and the chances of ever seeing Jungkook again are slim to none.
“So are you going to look him up or what?” Yoongi asks, as if he’s reading Namjoon’s mind, and Namjoon makes the mistake of looking down to see the tiny gremlin man hook his ankle around Seokjin’s. This is what he both loves and hates about sharing an apartment with Yoongi.
“I don’t think so,” Namjoon says, finally leaning forward to take a bite of the fried chicken Yoongi had ordered from the place featured on Crash Landing on You. (“The meat here is bigger and better than the meat at Bonchon, I swear to god,” he’d said. Namjoon begrudgingly admits that he’s absolutely correct.)
“I can’t believe you met the love of your life and you aren’t going to do anything about it,” Seokjin argues, and for what it’s worth, his voice is hard, leaving no room for argument. “It makes no sense to me when you literally got on a plane to go woo your ex girlfriend last week. You reek of dramatics.”
Namjoon chokes on the huge chunk of olive oil fried chicken currently making its way down his throat. “Who said he was the love of my life? Also the flying point really doesn’t mean anything when I literally get on a plane every other day.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes and Namjoon doesn’t make the mistake of hoping for Yoongi’s support here. Not like he used to, time and time again.
“He could be the love of your life, though,” Seokjin says, and there must be something seriously pathetic written all over Namjoon’s face, because he softens. “I know the whole Jihyo thing sucked and you’ll wonder for awhile what you could’ve done differently, but I just. I don’t want you missing out on something better if it’s out there staring you right in the face.”
Namjoon feels his chest tighten at the words, and even Yoongi clucks his tongue in agreement.
“I told him I hope the universe brings me back to see him one day.”
“You what?”
Namjoon laughs nervously. “I might’ve told him that because I was too chicken to say anything more.”
“Anything more—You practically confessed your love for him right then and there,” Seokjin splutters. “I’m surprised you didn’t find some excuse to just. I don’t even know. Propose!”
“I can’t just fall in love with someone over the course of like, two hours, hyung, Be realistic here, please.” The fried chicken tastes way too good in his mouth already, but something tells Namjoon it would’ve been even tastier without all this added drama.
Yoongi’s been uncharacteristically silent throughout this, and Namjoon turns and nearly gasps when he sees those dark, dark eyes staring back at him. Six years of being Yoongi Min’s roommate, and Namjoon is still surprised by the older man’s mannerisms every day.
“I’m shocked you haven’t said anything yet. You always have something to say, hyung.”
Yoongi shakes his head as if he’s waking from a stupor. “You said you hope the universe brings you back to him one day. What the fuck.”
Blood rushes to Namjoon’s cheeks against his own accord.
“You really said that. Oh my god. Joon. That’s some sappy shit right there. What the hell.”
Namjoon shrugs, mentally blaming the warmth in his face on the dumb seltzers Seokjin brought over.
“God hyung, how strong is this shit? And why’d you buy so much while you were at it?”
“It’s for the rivers, dipshit. Can’t you read?” Seokjin points at the empty carton reading something about restoring 500 gallons of river water with every pack, and Namjoon makes a mental note to google those claims later, when he’s much more sober and in need of something to do.
“Besides, you’re missing the entire point, buckaroo. You need to look this guy up,” Seokjin says, and Namjoon can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or his own conviction that has Seokjin peering at him so seriously.
There’s a reason the him of a few days ago decided to go on with his life and let the universe play its cards as it may. Namjoon shakes his head. It’s really not that deep. He met a cute boy and exchanged life stories with him over the course of a few hours.
That’s all it is, and all it ever will be.
(Namjoon hopes he’s wrong.)
“Still hung up on that airport guy?” Yoongi asks from where he’s sitting on the couch after Namjoon’s finished a quick series of flights to Louisville, Oklahoma City, San Francisco, and back.
Namjoon groans. He doesn’t mean to be hung up on Jungkook, or at the very least he doesn’t mean to be so obvious about it. It’s been weeks, and while he doesn’t spend every waking moment thinking about the man (he has a fucking plane to fly most of the time), he finds himself bringing Jungkook up too often, much to Yoongi’s amusement.
Did you know Airport Guy had tattoos?
Airport Guy is the only other person I know who tries their samgyetang broth before putting the salt in.
You know someone who works in fashion, right? That Tae kid who shows up on those Calvin Klein ads sometimes? I wonder if he knows Airport Guy.
And, on a particularly grueling day of delayed pushbacks and too much time spent waiting in line to land at O’Hare:
I wonder if Airport Guy thinks of me, too.
“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees, because there’s really no point in trying to argue when Yoongi is absolutely correct. Namjoon is hung up on Jungkook, and he’s terrified that the more he thinks about him, the more delusional he’s going to get.
Namjoon has a life he’s built for himself over the years, a routine that took forever to establish but was well worth every minute spent refining. He irons his uniform every day regardless of whether he’s at home or in one of the crew hotels for the night and slips into the comfort of cotton and polyester every morning, adjusting his tie and hat just so.
The bus back to the airport is usually quiet when he takes it back in the mornings, flight attendants putting final touches to their makeup before they’re all faced with the stark lights awaiting at whatever airport they’re starting from that day. Namjoon always uses that time to stick his AirPods in his ears and pretend he’s listening to something when really, he just needs a few extra moments of silence on the ground before he transforms into Namjoon Kim, Captain.
On his free days at home in New York, Namjoon makes a point of grinding his favorite coffee beans roasted by the Devoción over in Brooklyn before taking the time to steep it in his Chemex. He meets the friends he never has enough time for, gets caught up in reading hefty tomes and New Yorker articles alike, but most of all Namjoon does everything he can to ground himself all over again.
Namjoon has his life together. Looking in the mirror every morning, there’s a man he’s proud to be, proud to have spent the past few years putting in the work to become. He can’t afford to derail it by getting obsessed with a new guy now, especially not when the likelihood of ever seeing him again is slim to none. He has an ex-girlfriend to get over, a flight schedule to ease back in the groove of, and friends to meet and support as best as he can.
Namjoon is going to be fine.
It’s both harder and easier to get over Jihyo over time, and Namjoon is grateful for the distance that exists between them. If he had to see her as often as he did before they dated and broke up, he isn’t sure it would’ve been so definite.
Namjoon supposes he could be like Yoongi and Seokjin, forever dancing around each other without ever seeking closure, but he’s grateful that the end of an era also means the beginning of a new one. The opportunity for even more beauty and possibility that clings to the horizon every morning.
Some nights are worse than the others, leaving Namjoon tossing and turning over all the opportunities he’d squandered: maybe if he had used more of his vacation time when Jihyo had asked, maybe if he hadn’t allowed his ambition to grow to international flights and the desire to see the world with his own two eyes.
For so long his existence had anchored itself to the hope of reuniting with who he believed to be the love of his life that now, he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to think about when he’s left with the possibility to dream all over again.
And then there are the nights that come with increasing frequency, nights in which he dreams of beautiful eyes wide with equal parts starlight and wonder.
Those are his favorite nights.
Namjoon never paid attention to the array of perfectly arranged magazines provided in the crew lounge most days, but it seems something’s changed with the way he flips through them ravenously now, searching for a name he hasn’t been able to utter aloud in months.
Elle. Vogue. i-D. Gentlewoman. V. Harper’s Bazaar (US and UK). 10. The Love Magazine. The publications all start to blur in a mess of editorials Namjoon doesn’t really understand.
Namjoon even finds himself flying through a Vogue Italia he finds in a layover in Milan during a particularly grueling itinerary from London to Budapest to Milan, all the way back to New York.
Some days he’s successful, some days he isn’t.
The rise and fall of Maria Grazia Chiuri’s pandering feminism, this magazine reads. Namjoon’s heart leaps into his throat when his eyes trail down to the byline.
Jungkook Jeon.
He sticks one of the Post-it flags he always carries around in his bag over the corner of the opposite page. Dog-earing anything has been and always will be an unforgivable sin in his book.
“You know,” a voice interrupts, “I would’ve never pegged you to be such a fashion enthusiast given the one outfit I’ve ever really seen you wearing.”
Namjoon can’t resist, lips pulling into a grin. “You should’ve never pegged me in the first place, then.”
Hoseok laughs and takes a seat next to Namjoon before pointing to the stack of magazines resting on the table between them. His co-pilot takes a loud slurping sip of the tiny juice box in his hands and Namjoon is torn between endearment and disbelief that this is the man he ends up flying with more often than not.
“The search continues,” is all Namjoon says before picking up the thick, glossy issue of Vogue he hasn’t perused through yet.
After a debrief with Jimin at the beginning of his quest in which he’d laughed in his face for ten minutes before finally agreeing to impart his knowledge of fashion on him, Namjoon feels a little more versed in the hierarchy of fashion and its various publications.
Jungkook’s slowly been making his way up the food chain after making circles in the super high fashion and slightly obscure publications, and it seems he’s starting to make it big with how Namjoon had found his latest piece in the issue of LOVE Magazine that weighed nearly as much as he did.
Katie Grand is a genius, Jimin had said over wine that night, and while Namjoon hadn’t gotten it then, he thinks he has some semblance of understanding now.
“Your boy get another piece in one of these?”
“He’s not my boy,” Namjoon automatically corrects, though even he can’t deny how the thought of Jungkook being his boy makes his heart immediately start to race. “But yes, he did. I haven’t read it yet, but I’m sure it’s beautiful.”
He’s just admiring from afar, building appreciation for the emerging fashion writer who has a strong taste for speaking on the intersection of feminism and anti-capitalism in the fashion industry, rooted in his love of food and baseball. A true Renaissance man, really.
Hoseok’s resounding laugh is loud and hyena-like, and it’s a testament to just how well liked he is that no one in the lounge makes to shush him.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy.”
Namjoon finally allows himself to search Jihyo’s name on Instagram, promising himself that he won’t do anything like DM her or like any of her posts. Before they dated, they were the best of friends, and it’s that part of him that genuinely wants to see how she’s doing and what she’s up to.
He finds it doesn’t hurt anymore to see her smile as he scrolls through her feed, knowing full well that realistically speaking, he won’t be the one on the receiving end of them ever again. It looks like she’s been dating someone new who isn’t Seunghyun, and they look at each other like they both hung the stars.
What Namjoon had with Jihyo was good, amazing for what it was. But that was it, and it occurs to Namjoon for the first time that there’s no burning desire to see her or be with her anymore. It’s freeing in a way Namjoon hadn’t even realized he’d been waiting for this entire time, but it’s welcome nonetheless.
Namjoon mentally sends her his best wishes and closes out of the app for the night. Double checking his alarm before sliding his phone under his pillow, Namjoon closes his eyes and racks up some of the best sleep he’s had in ages.
A certain bunny-toothed smile makes its usual appearance in his dreams, but that’s neither here nor there.
“Reservation for Joon,” Namjoon says to the host at the door when he walks up to the restaurant.
Rubirosa is an interesting spot for a blind date, he thinks, but he’s been here enough times with Yoongi and Seokjin that it’s familiar. The tie-dye pizza is a staple in Seokjin’s diet, and god knows Namjoon needs it after spending the majority of the past few weeks breathing in his ever-constant and ever-stale airplane air.
“Joon Kim?” The host asks with a smile, and Namjoon nods.
“Perfect, your guest just got here a few minutes ago.”
They lead Namjoon down the rickety corridor to one of the tables along the wall, and Namjoon has to resist a gasp, because.
That’s.
That’s Jungkook.
Namjoon swears it is. He’d recognize those round doe eyes anywhere.
But it can’t be, because Jungkook is supposed to be in LA. He isn’t supposed to be in New York. He’s off gallivanting with models and celebrities in a city full of palm trees and starlets alike, not here, sitting in a restaurant Namjoon knows so well…waiting for him of all people.
His hair is a little different now, a little longer all over with what looks like a perm, but it’s unmistakable that this is the same man Namjoon met and inadvertently fell for just over a year ago.
It seems Jungkook also had no idea to expect Namjoon, because his eyes widen almost comically when he recognizes him.
“Enjoy your meal,” the host says, leaving the two to gape at each other in silence.
“Namjoon?”
Namjoon swallows and nods, bringing up a shaky hand to wave back at Jungkook. “Hi Jungkook.”
Jungkook immediately slides off his stool to greet him, and somehow it’s even worse now that Namjoon has a full view of him from head to toe. Where all he’d seen before was the black long-sleeve t-shirt with sleeves rolled up Jungkook’s forearms, now he has access to Jungkook’s thick, strong thighs barely held back by the tight skinny jeans with rips up and down his legs, exposing large swatches of golden, sun-kissed skin.
Namjoon hates it.
Namjoon loves it.
Jungkook pulls Namjoon in for a hug, and Namjoon gratefully squeezes back like a lifeline. This time, the younger man smells like peaches and warm laundry and a little bit like wonder, and Namjoon wants so badly to get lost in it all over again.
He’s so happy to see him, so pleased to see Jungkook looking just as happy to see him, too.
“What—what are you even doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in LA?” Namjoon asks when they finally pull away.
“Let me take a look at you,” he barrels on without thinking, and Jungkook laughs as he turns to give Namjoon a complete 360. The low whistle that comes from Namjoon’s lips is one that’s been waiting to make itself known for over a year now.
They both take their seats across from each other, lone Ikea candle flickering between them.
“I moved here, hyung,” Jungkook reveals, and there’s no way Namjoon is hearing those very words come from Jungkook’s mouth. He couldn’t make this up even if he tried.
“What? What about your work?”
“I was flying out here more and more when the bigger mags started picking up my work so I thought, fuck it. Let’s just make New York my home base. And since I only have a few friends here, I was like, what better way to make new friends than by going on some blind dates? But you. God, it’s you. I never expected to see you again, hyung.”
Namjoon doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, doesn’t know if Jungkook is implying he didn’t want to see Namjoon again, but he takes the words at face value.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again, either. I missed you.” The words tumble out of Namjoon’s mouth on their own accord, and he’s about to snatch them back embarrassedly when he catches the look on Jungkook’s face.
He’s looking back at Namjoon with something equal parts unreadable and so, so painfully obvious. It’s tender, soft at the corners of his eyes with a trickle of surprise right in his pupils. As if Jungkook can’t believe Namjoon could miss him.
As if there could ever be a universe in which Namjoon didn’t.
A year was somehow all it took to make Namjoon forget just how expressive and clear those eyes were.
“I missed you too,” Jungkook replies, voice thick. “God, this sounds so stupid saying it now, and you can run the other way cause it’s weird, but. I purposely took more and more meetings in New York in the hopes that I’d get to see you again. Maybe Namjoon hyung will be the captain for this flight. Maybe I’ll see him at JFK in passing.”
The words hit Namjoon like a stone buzzing the surface of the quietest creek, skipping once, twice, three times before settling right at the center of Namjoon’s chest.
Jungkook wanted to see him. Jungkook made the effort to try and find him.
Jungkook, looking so painfully insecure in his confession as he blinks back at Namjoon with uneasy eyes, deserves to know that Namjoon wanted to see him again, too.
“Oh my god,” is all Namjoon can say.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. That’s creepy, isn’t it? I’m so sorry. I know. It’s weird. I-“
“No,” Namjoon interrupts, loud enough that it stops Jungkook completely in his rambling. “It’s not creepy. Fuck, that’s actually super flattering.”
Jungkook scratches his head in embarrassment, but Namjoon isn’t done.
“I—Jungkook. You don’t understand. I wanted so badly to just find you on Instagram and talk to you and see you again. My friends kept telling me to just go for it, but I couldn’t.”
Jungkook furrows his brow. “Why didn’t you?”
“Why didn’t you?” Namjoon counters, and there’s a teasing smile at the edge of his lips that threatens to come out in full force. “I was afraid I’d invade on your privacy and make something out of a random meeting you didn’t want to continue.”
“Oh, fuck that,” Jungkook says, but he’s laughing as he says it. “Did you ever tell Jihyo-ssi that her boyfriend was a scumbag?”
Namjoon groans, because goodness, that was one of the weirdest experiences of his already pretty strange existence.
Jungkook’s lips stretch into a grimace, but he doesn’t say anything more.
“I had a feeling that if I called, she’d think I was lying to her, so I asked one of my friends to text her with a warning that Seunghyun was a cheater. And then she texted me to fuck off.”
“Wow.”
“She texted again a week later with a thanks I should’ve listened to you the first time lmao, and I haven’t heard from her since.”
Jungkook cackles. “She sounds so fucking cool.”
“You would like her,” Namjoon says, though his smile feels sadder than is necessary. It’s not that he’s still hung up on Jihyo, but he misses her friendship the most. It sucks to think about how well she and Jungkook would’ve gotten along, and realize that one of the reasons they’ll probably never know each other is because of him.
“I’m sure I would,” Jungkook replies, already moving on from the subject. “You seem like you have good taste.”
And that’s. That’s flirtatious, isn’t it? Namjoon hasn’t flirted with anyone since, well, the last time he saw Jungkook, really, and he feels so out of practice, but also breathless with the possibility of something new all over again.
“Yeah? I think so too,” Namjoon replies, letting his eyes drag down to Jungkook’s biceps.
“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes, and his eyes are dark when Namjoon returns to meet them. He licks his lips, and it’s as if the hustle and bustle of the old rickety restaurant all around them has come to a hush just for them.
And of course, it’s at this moment exactly that their server returns and asks if they’d like any starters for the table. Jungkook winks at Namjoon before pointing down at the menu.
“The stuffed artichoke for sure, but when it comes to mains…well, I haven’t been here before,” Jungkook says, and his eyes twinkle with mischief as he glances down at the menu again before returning Namjoon’s gaze. “I’ll take whatever he wants.”
Namjoon hears the I trust you that’s left unsaid.
Namjoon feels high off the carbs and takes Jungkook’s hand as he leads them out of Rubirosa and back onto the sidewalk after dinner. He has no clue where Jungkook is living now, whether it’s close or far, but he has a feeling that this night is nowhere near its end. The way Jungkook beams and squeezes his hand tells him he isn’t alone in this.
They stroll past McNally Jackson, pausing for a moment like tourists so Jungkook can peer at the countless books on display. It feels strangely vulnerable to let him see the place Namjoon likes to spend his free time when he isn’t in the air, but Jungkook just seems delighted.
“I’d love to go with you one day,” Jungkook finally says after Namjoon’s pulled him away and they’ve walked a few blocks west into the heart of Soho and all the expensive shops that reside there. He says it loud and clear, but it feels like a secret meant just for Namjoon with the way Jungkook goes out of his way to turn and fix his eyes on him.
“Saturday morning?” Namjoon offers, and he swears Jungkook’s eyes sparkle when he nods, head bobbing up and down like a child’s in equal parts agreement and excitement.
Namjoon can picture it already: maybe he’ll stop by La Colombe for a honey oat latte and pick something up for Jungkook on his way over to the bookshop. Perhaps an Americano, maybe a hot cocoa.
He realizes he’ll have just flown in on the red eye from Seattle early that morning, but the prospect of seeing Jungkook again is worth the blatant lack of sleep.
“I’d like that,” Jungkook says, and he sounds like he means it.
No one’s ever really taken an interest in the quiet routines of Namjoon’s life, always overshadowed by his accomplishments or the fact that he spends nearly all of his waking hours in an airport or in the air. “Thank you,” he says.
Jungkook squeezes his hand and moves to nestle his head between the crook of Namjoon’s neck and shoulder for a moment, trusting Namjoon inherently as they continue strolling. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I want to spend time with you. There’s a ton of lost time to make up for, don’t you think?”
The walk to Washington Square Park isn’t long by any means, but Namjoon and Jungkook take their time moseying over as the sun sets lower and lower in the sky, all with their fingers laced together.
Jungkook laughs when Namjoon reveals his newfound habit of looking for Jungkook’s bylines over the past year.
“So I take it you don’t like Maria Grazia Chiuri,” Namjoon says, remembering the exact moment in which he realized Jungkook’s disdain for the designer all too clearly. He hadn’t known much about fashion before meeting Jungkook, but he knew was versed enough in reading between the lines to understand when someone was throwing shade.
“I hate her,” is all Jungkook says, and the tinkle of his laughter is contagious when it’s paired with the devastating little dimple hidden in his cheek.
Namjoon never thought he’d find so much joy in the most normal of walks in his city, and the majestic view of the arch with the sun setting all around them makes Namjoon’s chest puff with pride.
“So we’ve reached the place where NYU kids congregate,” he starts, but he’s surprised when Jungkook lifts a hand to cover his mouth.
“Shh,” he whispers. “You’re literally conjuring them as we speak.”
Namjoon chuckles and pulls Jungkook the tiniest bit closer into his side.
There’s music coming from near the arch, just as there always is, and Jungkook turns excited eyes onto the man romancing the growing crowd around him with his saxophone in hand. Someone else lands corresponding beats on an overturned bucket from next to him, and together it’s a cacophony of sound and color that feels so quintessentially New York City that it hurts the tiniest bit.
New York shines so bright as it is, and Namjoon looks around to the dizzying array of beautifully diverse people who comprise it. Now, that number has extended to include Jungkook, the brightest star of them all.
“I don’t even know your favorite color,” he whispers to Jungkook with a laugh, because Namjoon’s only just realized that while nowhere near essential, he wants to know. He wants to know everything about Jungkook, no longer underlined in articles he’s written far away, but from the very source himself.
“It’s purple,” Jungkook whispers right back at him, still mesmerized by the performer as a wide smile overtakes his round, cherub-like face. He turns his gaze to Namjoon and squeezes his fingers tight.
“But you don’t need to know that to kiss me, no?”