Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

OCTOBER

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Hoseok knows nothing about hockey. It’s hard to give more than a passing thought towards other sports when his entire career has been riding on championships and little else.

It’s been years since a Korean skater placed at Prix finals, much less grasping for the podium at the Olympics, squeaking past bronze with less than a quarter point difference. He’s always been somewhat of a stage whore anyway, obsessed with the crowd and less with the kiss and cry, but retirement’s a looming beast in the back of his closet and things suddenly start feeling a little more permanent than they used to.

Jimin’s calling it his midlife crisis. Hoseok wants to tell him to shut up, but he’s too busy crying over the phone to disagree.  

“God, press would be all over this if they knew,” he sniffs. It’s supposed to be a joke, but his voice goes tight and weird at the end and the next thing he knows, Jimin’s letting himself into Hoseok’s apartment to break their diet together.

“There goes my 3A,” Hoseok says, shoving another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. Jimin’s making faces at him over his own tub — how sad is it that they keep each other’s favorite flavors in overstock at their own damn places — with those big, rounding eyes of his.

“You’re going to be fine,” he says firmly. He’s trying to be serious, and a good friend, but Hoseok’s automatic reaction to anything is to cover it up with bad jokes and a cheap laugh so he ducks his head and tries not to cry.

Hoseok sniffs, head lolling against the couch cushions. “Says you,” he pokes Jimin with his foot.

Their banter is mindless and half-hearted, both tired from practice. Jimin’s lucky to get out of the gym before five and still have the energy to call a cab to come to Hoseok’s apartment. They don't get to spend a lot of time together now that their careers really started to take off, but Jimin's here for Skate America and had pushed and his coaches finally let up and now he’s got a spare toothbrush crammed into his mouth in Hoseok’s tiny bathroom.

They’re close, closer than competitors should be, but it’s always been that way. The two of them fumbled their way up the levels as kids before Jimin left to train in Canada — something about being home that made him skate better — Hoseok flipping between the US and Korea and that one blessed year they weren’t against each other during the Prix circuit. He hadn’t placed, but Hoseok gotten a lot of media attention when his costume had ripped and he’d spent half his free skate trying to ignore the fact that he’d been the owner of a backless, strapless top that still hasn’t died — making it’s customary rounds on the internet pre-competition season.

Still, it’s Hoseok’s one day off tomorrow, the start of the season when breaks aren’t supposed to exist, but he’s just agreed sleepily to go with Jimin to a Bangtan game on grounds of wanting to ogle their goalie. Or one of them, at least.

“You want to get married and have three kids with him?” Hoseok asks, on the way to the venue. Jimin’s strangely excited about the rink (Hobi there’s all this stuff on the ice) and teaches him terms that go straight over his head (Chirping? Like a bird?). They’ve got their ISU badges on and related paraphernalia in Hoseok’s bag, hoping to cop some sort of right to hang around after the game so Jimin can wait for Taehyung to finish changing.

“Yea. I wanna fuck him so hard he can’t go to practice,” Jimin says seriously, ignoring the way their Lyft driver chokes, swerving hard into a nearby lane. “And then make him breakfast in bed afterwards.” 

When they get to the venue, Jimin takes Hoseok around to the back entrance instead of the ticket booth up front, flashing his badge like a pro. The guard looks at it for a long while, and then picks up his phone, asking Hoseok if he’s got the same clearance before he turns away and pulls out a binder from under his desk. It gets them tickets, eventually, ones right up to the glass, and another set of passes they have to hang alongside their ISU cards.

Hoseok contents himself following Jimin around the stadium, and sitting down when they find their seats. He’s not supposed to have soda or any of the concession stand snacks, so all he can do is wait there in agony for the game to start while the guy behind him very nearly pours hot dog grease all down the back of Hoseok’s shirt.

It’s intermission when the first pap finds them.

He’s a little too familiar with the names, shoving a camera in their faces and failing to sell the same three questions that have been beaten to death since Hoseok’s second year as a junior. Sweat beads up on the guy's forehead. “Incredible to see you two here tonight,” he's saying, overly cheerful. “I’d image you guys would be busy practicing for your next competition instead of coming to watch—”

Hoseok snorts, and ignores the thinly veiled insult. “Ah, day off,” he says, slathering his Korean accent on so thick the guy doesn’t know how to respond for a minute, blinking daftly from behind the camera. Jimin plays up the whole Canadian thing when the mic goes to him after, with eh’s and hoose and the pretty smiles, hands folded politely in his lap. They’re both capable of acting like adults sometimes, but it’s funny to spin this guy in circles, and at the very least, it gets him to leave before he can ask anything else.

When Bangtan wins 3-2, Jimin’s starry-eyed and bouncing his toes, waiting for both teams to clear the ice. He shoots to his feet as soon as the rest of the crowd does, and stays standing for a long while afterwards, even when the arena is empty and they’re waiting around for Taehyung to show.

“He’ll come out, don’t worry,” Jimin promises.

“”M not worrying,” Hoseok says. “It’s okay.”

It’s not long before Jimin makes a happy noise, turning away from Hoseok so he can run up to Taehyung and fling himself into his arms while Hoseok, very purposely, tries to keep his eyes fixed on his phone and not eavesdrop.

“Hi,” Jimin says, breathlessly. His feet dangle off the ground. Taehyung’s strong, and a little damp from his shower. It also looks like he’s dressed as fast as possible because he’s missing a sock and his shoes are on the wrong feet, but even Hoseok has to admit he really does look unreal even at a distance, something akin to a statue come to life. 

“Hi,” Taehyung says, a little awkwardly.  

“You were amazing tonight!”  

“Thanks,” he ducks his head. “Um, I didn’t know you were a fan.”

“A fan, yes. Big fan,” Jimin says. “Big, big fan.”

“Great,” he says, sounding strangled.

“Here’s my number,” Jimin says, once he’s on his feet again. He hands Taehyung a piece of paper, folded nicely, and reaches up to pinch his cheek. “You should text me sometime.”

Hoseok gets to his feet when they start talking about Yeontan, who, he learns, is actually a dog and not Taehyung's boyfriend, shoving his hands in his pockets to look for something to do. He checks his emails and then SNS, and looks up curiously when half the team spills out from the tunnel, yanking one of their teammates along.

Now, here’s the thing. Hoseok’s hot, he knows this. His body’s to die for, and he’s wearing skinny jeans instead of sweats tonight and a turtleneck that clings to his waist, but the guy that’s being shoved forward from the group is all sorts of well-proportioned — legs that go on for miles, a nervous laugh spearing dimples on his cheeks.  

“Do I speak Korean?” he’s hissing over his shoulder.

The short one shrugs. Hoseok remembers him from the ice. “He’s Korean right? Might as well.”

When Hoseok glances up from his phone again, the guy’s eyes are practically boring themselves into his skull as he inches his way across the floor. Hoseok pastes a dinky little smile on, and eyes the cell phones that come up the minute the skater’s face goes panicked and surprised, body snapping rigid into itself. His friends snicker behind him.

“Hello,” the guy says, very formally. “My name is Kim Namjoon, and I—”

His Korean’s not bad, not at all, but Hoseok can see how nervous he is, fumbling words and twisting his fingers together in the hem of his shirt.

“I can speak English,” Hoseok says, instead. He is not unkind, cracking a smile when it knocks Namjoon stupid, standing there in silence while he begs his friends for help.  

Eventually an overgrown kid with violently pink hair says, “Hyung’s a big fan of yours. He’s been watching you since you were a junior, and he thinks you should have more costumes like that one you wore for, uh, senior debut.”

Hoseok doesn’t know how to respond. He thinks his half smile drops off his face, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“No, I’m—” Namjoon blurts out, terrified. He takes a step forward, and ends up rolling an ankle and tripping his way to the floor, taking Hoseok down with him in a truly spectacular mess of limbs.

They hit the ground hard, Hoseok wincing when one of his shoulders cracks with the impact. Namjoon’s knee somehow ends up wedged between his legs, their faces are really fucking close, holy shit, his eyes are really pretty and his lips are— Hoseok’s blinking away stars at the edges of his vision and he can feel his pulse from where they’re pressed up together, that’s how bad it is, everything hurts from where the wind’s been knocked out of him from the fall.

Namjoon managed to get an arm under Hoseok’s head before he could give himself a concussion, and he hates to admit that he kind of likes the feeling Namjoon’s hand in his hair even though he’s trying not to panic, struggling to one elbow and pushing lightly on his shoulder. Hoseok’s let up without hesitation, but even that’s not fast enough for him to stop the embarrassed flush to creep up past the collar of his turtleneck. 

Hoseok scrambles to his feet without taking the hand that Namjoon offers. He doesn't quite know what to do with himself, so he bows, avoiding Namjoon's attempt at eye contact, head already spinning with what ifs and the nauseating possibility of waking up to headlines with his name on them in the off season. It's nearly an Olympic year, and he's not about to get outed before he has another shot at gold.

Hoseok bows. It's rude, he knows, turning on his heel without another word, but he thinks he might vomit if he stays any longer out here, managing to mumble an excuse and all but flee the rink.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

koyabear

Hi, I hope I have the right person!

Jimin gave me your KKT last night after you left.

You don’t have to respond to my messages, but I wanted to let you know that I’m sorry about what happened after the game.  I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances.

[sent 6:21pm]

mangmang
oh
namjoon
hi

mangmang
sorry
i do not know what to say
thank you for messaging me 

mangmang
it feels strange because
you have been following my career for so long
except i don’t know about hockey
i am sorry about that :p
[sent 11:58pm]

koyabear
no it’s ok 

mangmang
please do not post that video because
the season is starting
[emoji]

koyabear
they won’t i promise
im so sorry again 

mangmang
my publicist will speak to your team soon?
sorry, i can not have scandal floating around
[emoji]

mangmang
my team will handle everything
you do not need to message me about it
don't worry too much 

koyabear
okay
sorry again 

mangmang
it’s ok

koyabear
let me make it up to you?
i don’t think you’d want to come to another practice
like coffee or dinner maybe?
we’re probably both on diets anyway lol
we can get chicken and broccoli together
[sent 1:56pm]

mangmang
i don’t drink coffee but dinner sounds ok
are you in town this week?
[sent 11:31pm] 

koyabear
yeah our next couple games are at home

mangmang
you can text me the address to any restaurant
and i do not have dietary restrictions 

mangmang
for one night only :-) 

koyabear
oh cool
i can also have no dietary restrictions
for one night only :-) 

koyabear
how does 7pm for tuesday sound?
i can get us reservations 

mangmang
reservations?
sounds expensive :p

koyabear
uhh
dont worry about the price
this whole situation is my fault anyway

mangmang
but we don't know each other ???

koyabear
it’s on me!
not much of an apology dinner if you’re paying too haha
[sent 2:03am]

mangmang
Okay
Thank you.
[sent 9:45am]

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

To say Namjoon’s nervous is an understatement.

He’d showered an extra twenty minutes today and even washed his hair, furiously scrubbing out hockey stink from his skin in an attempt to match Hoseok’s level of plain fucking pretty. Seokjin’s over, and he eyes all of Namjoon’s outfits before he sends him back to his room to change when something doesn't meet his standards.

“I’ve seen Jung Hoseok,” he grunts, yanking the hem of Namjoon’s shirt down all the way. “For a max of maybe thirty seconds with my own two eyes,” he slides Namjoon’s skinny jeans lower on his hips. “And I know for a fact that he’s so far out of your league you can't even see the league.”

Namjoon's not...entirely sure what that means. “Thanks, hyung,” he says dryly.

Seokjin had arrived at five and had been pestering him ever since, making sure he got out the door at the right time, and even a little early for their reservation at a restaurant downtown.

Hoseok had said something about money — which left Namjoon confused, thinking about prize wins and his rankings and all sorts of championship titles in his back pocket — but Namjoon has an obscene number of zeroes sitting in his bank account and he figures this is the place he can splurge and not ask too many questions.

He arrives at Constellations Steakhouse and Bar ten minutes early, waving goodbye to Seokjin in the parking lot.

Hoseok, to his credit, is very punctual. He arrives the minute Namjoon’s phone flips to 7:00 PM on his lockscreen, sliding his shades off when he walks in. He either doesn’t see Namjoon right away or he’s too busy thinking of something else because he stands there for a moment, long enough for Namjoon to note his nice shoes and expensive looking skinny jeans and a shirt that’s all silk and unbuttoned so far it’s nearly indecent. He’s got his phone in one hand which he uses to check the time, and then glances over at the smooth line of seats until he stops at Namjoon, almost surprised to see him sitting there.

Namjoon gets to his feet politely. He meets Hoseok halfway. They exchange pleasantries and handshakes and Hoseok even offers him a smile, as weak as it is.

“Thanks for coming,” Namjoon says, quietly relieved that the two of them arrived at different times. He already knows which table they’re supposed to sit — the one in the corner, half hidden by potted trees and a changing screen. He guides Hoseok over with a hand over the small of his back, some unconscious, forgotten habit of his.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Hoseok says, quiet. He’s not quite meeting Namjoon’s eye, busying himself with the menu and studying restaurant decor when they sit down. Their table is big enough that both their legs fit comfortably underneath, but their knees bump when Hoseok scoots his chair in at first. It sends a giddy thrill through Namjoon’s chest, but he swallows it down and stares hard at the drinks section for the next minute.

There are things Namjoon notices about Hoseok now, things that the cameras don’t pick up, and only serve to make him more real. Tangible. The way his cheeks dimple, and eats his bread crust-first. He keeps fiddling with his ring, and he has this cute accent when he talks in English — barely noticeable, but softens the edges of his vowels; Hoseok admits that he’s embarrassed about it after they order.

It takes a while for the conversation to warm up between them, but by the time their food arrives, Hoseok’s smiling shyly down into his plate as Namjoon gushes about Worlds last year.

“That SP was flawless,” he insists. Hoseok shakes his head. “Okay sure, you did a 2A instead of a triple axel, but who cares?” he says. “Your interpretation of the music; it’s amazing. Everyone’s all about hiking up their PCS but I really think that you bring something different to skating—”

Hoseok ducks his head, “Please, no,” he says, laughing. “I don’t know anything about hockey and you're talking to me about my career like a commentator.”

Namjoon’s fork almost misses his mouth. “Oh,” he says. “I can stop if you want me to.”

“Not like that,” Hoseok says, touching the back of Namjoon’s hand lightly. It’s a split second, and barely any pressure, but Namjoon feels the heat of his fingers spread all the way up his arm. Hoseok smiles at him, eyes crinkling. “I want to talk about you too. You’re Korean?” 

“Korean American,” Namjoon says. He twists pasta around his fork just for something to do. He’s awkward and bad around people sometimes, and he’s sitting across from Hoseok who — granted, isn’t anything like Seokjin — but still way out of his league; he doesn’t think he’s anything that special. Hoseok nods attentively though, resting his head on his hand. “My parents immigrated here, so I can speak and write okay.” 

“How did you get into hockey then?” Hoseok asks. He hasn’t even touched his food yet.

“Got sent to Canada for school,” Namjoon explains. He says his next sentence through a mouthful of pasta, and forgets he shouldn’t speak when he’s chewing, even if he’s shoved most of the noodles into one cheek. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind, staring at him with this sweet half-smile on his face. He’s smitten, so clearly, very smitten, but Namjoon can’t really think straight right now, if at all. “So I got put on skates my first day at school and never really took them off after.”

“Then you got drafted in the NHL.”

Namjoon ducks his head. “Then I got drafted in the NHL.”

“Not easy huh,” Hoseok says. “Breaking into the professional world.”

Namjoon shrugs. “I try not to take myself too seriously, I guess,” he says. “Going pro wasn’t really a dream of mine until one day I woke up and I realized it’s all I ever wanted to do because I— sorry talking about skating again,” Hoseok waves him off, “Until I saw your Chopinania program. I was like, oh God Kim Namjoon, you better get your act together.”

Hoseok frowns. “I was fourteen,” he says.

Namjoon shrugs. “You made me cry so I figured. I— I figured, um, that I should just keep following you and I did and,” he stutters. “And. Yeah.”

Hoseok’s looking at him with something in his eyes that Namjoon can’t name, all raw underneath, and he thinks, suddenly, that maybe this is the first time Hoseok’s talked about his career so openly outside his circle of skating friends. 

Instead, Namjoon says: “You’re not eating your steak.”

Hoseok barely glances at his plate. “I’m not that hungry.”

Namjoon furrows his brows. “Don’t you have practice tomorrow?”

Hoseok smiles at him again, and this time it’s genuine — eyes crinkling at the corners, cheeks full. “I’m too tired, if I’m being honest,” he says. “I don’t think I can even lift my hand up anymore.”

“I can feed you,” Namjoon blurts out, and then immediately tries to shove his metaphorical foot into his mouth.

He’s expecting the same reaction from Hoseok that he’d gotten in the stadium — the wild, hunted look of someone looking to escape — but then Namjoon glances up at him, and he’s actually leaning in, leaning in and pushing his plate closer to his side of the table. “Yeah,” Hoseok says amiably. “Yeah, okay.”

Namjoon stares at the steak knife for a long time before picking it up.

His hand is shaking when he lifts the first piece up to Hoseok’s lips, stupidly grateful that he’s met halfway, Hoseok tucking his legs under himself as he scoots his chair forward. He chews quietly, then makes a happy little noise when he swallows.

The rest of dinner passes this way: uneventful and really, really awful for Namjoon’s sanity. The bill comes, and Hoseok sits straight up in his chair, color draining from his face. “Shit,” he says. “I didn’t even think—”

“No, I got it,” Namjoon says, fighting for the check. He hands his credit card over when their waiter comes back, waving off Hoseok’s well-meaning fumble for his wallet.

They walk to the door, hands brushing, waiting awkwardly while Namjoon tries to think of something to say.

“Thank you,” Hoseok says. He smiles easier now, and bigger, looking at Namjoon differently.

They loiter outside the door of the restaurant for what feels like ages, until Namjoon turns to Hoseok and asks: “Do you want to come to my place?” but it still comes as a surprise when Hoseok shrugs, and says—

“Sure.” 

They end up taking Hoseok’s car. Namjoon pulls up Google Maps on his phone to tell him where to turn, trying not to feel bad when Hoseok’s beat-up, second hand sedan looks mortifyingly out of place in Namjoon’s nice neighborhood. There’s the whole money thing again, and he feels like Hoseok’s death grip on his steering wheel means he doesn’t want to talk about it either.

Hoseok stops in the doorway of Namjoon’s house, a little breathless and so frozen he doesn’t take his shoes off — just stands there and cranes his neck up to take in the entire foyer, barely breathing.

“It is so big,” he says, laughing a little. “Um,” he swallows, taking the slippers that Namjoon offers him. “Your house is beautiful,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He feels poor and stupid here. He doesn’t know why he let Namjoon invite him over.

“Make yourself at home,” he says, moving easily through to the kitchen.

Hoseok takes his time walking around, trailing his hand across the marble and granite and furniture he could only ever hope of owning. There are things more expensive than Hoseok’s entire apartment — the one that he chose because utilities are covered and he can’t really afford anything else.

“Do you want a drink?” Namjoon asks, tugging his fridge open. “A beer or something? I’ve got a shit load leftover from training camp,” he says, voice muffled as he digs around the drawers.

Even his kitchen appliances are state of the art. Hoseok knows for a fact that stainless steel doesn’t just stay that bright without constant scrubbing or a homeowner that never uses his stove.  

“Ah, I don’t drink,” he says, settling on a bar stool.

Namjoon shuts the fridge door. It’s almost a foot taller than he is. “Oh, that’s chill,” he says. He tosses Hoseok a bottle of OJ, unopened. “Hope that’s okay.”

He’s technically not allowed fruit juices, but he did tell Namjoon that he’s got a one night pass on his dietary restrictions, so he pops the cap and downs half of it in one go. He doesn’t mean to, and isn’t even that thirsty to begin with, but he’d rather not talk to Namjoon if he can help it — not sure what would come out of his mouth if he did.

Somehow the two of them end up in the study, Hoseok’s eyes going wide when he sees Namjoon's KAWS collection, pressing his face up to the glass and asking if he can touch. Then comes the studio, then all his jerseys, then the trophies that he’d won with what Hoseok assumes is the little league version of hockey as a kid.

Namjoon startles when his phone goes off, tumbling off the couch as he fumbles to unzip his pocket, grinning sheepishly as he picks up. “Eomma,” he says, rubbing his hip with one hand. “Hi, how are you doing?”

Hoseok’s throat clams up.

It’s difficult to listen to their conversation, all sorts of dumb, every-day talking that Namjoon’s familiar with. He asks about a dog, then about dad, then if his cousins are doing well. He tells his mom to eat more, and to stop sending him things that aren’t in his diet plan because his nutritionist will kill him if he eats his body mass in meat again.

“I’m doing fine, don’t worry,” Namjoon says. “I gained more weight than last season though, so coach is happy.”

His mom replies with something unintelligible.  

“Yeah, yeah,” he hums, shooting Hoseok a concerned look. “Look— eomma, I gotta go. Um, I’m kinda busy right now,” he says. “I have someone over, um. Okay. Okay, cool. Love you,” he says. “Call me later— yup. Okay, bye.”

Hoseok gets to his feet before Namjoon can say anything else.

“I’m going to go,” he says in a rush.

Namjoon opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“I have morning practice,” he says. “Sorry.”

Namjoon looks like he wants to say something else, but Hoseok’s already on his feet and what comes out of his mouth is: “No, no, I get it,” Namjoon says. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

He actually ends up walking Hoseok all the way to his car, shivering a little when the wind picks up. His house looks so big and lonely from here, the garage lights on but the rest of it dark.

“Before you go,” Namjoon says. “I’m really sorry for what happened.”

Hoseok’s rolled down the window of the passenger side of the car, and Namjoon leans over from where he stands on the curb, arms folded over the open door. His eyes are soft when he lets out a breath, not heavy enough to be a sigh. “Thank you, Namjoon,” Hoseok says. “Really.”

“And, um,” he stutters. “I think it was all just a misunderstanding, if you,” he shakes his head. “If you want to come to practice sometime, I’m sure the guys would want to apologize and talk it out.”

Hoseok gives him a smile, and it’s strange around the edges. “I’ll text you on KTalk,” he says. “I’ll see when I’m free.” 

“Cool,” Namjoon grins. “Drive safe.”

“I will,” he says, and it’s almost uncomfortably domestic, sitting heavy in Hoseok’s chest. “‘Night.”

Namjoon steps back, waving as Hoseok rolls the window up. “Night,” he says, one hand in his pocket.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

People don’t really know is how hard it’s been. Hoseok doesn’t talk about that kind of stuff. How he paid for everything himself: blades and boots and the handmade costumes. The rink hours. The coaching fees.

When sponsorships start coming in after senior debut, Hoseok’s quality of life goes up significantly. The only problem is that he’s so far in debt none of it matters anyway: his parents’ debt, his sister’s debt, his family’s debt. His own debt. Add on twenty years of slogging through major surgery and rental costs and plane tickets and hotel stays and Hoseok has very little of anything left over.

He tries to be friendly, he really does, but he thinks it’s something about his ruthlessness for gold that keeps the cameras at a distance. At this point, Hoseok’s head is so full of…everything that he’s afraid stopping means he’s going to crash. So he doesn’t.

He warms up in the rink half an hour before he’s supposed to start, skating lazy circles and figure eights as he swings his arms back and forth. His knee’s started to bother him again, and he knows it’s because he didn’t take enough time off after the operation last year, but Olympic season is around the corner and he can’t afford to waste time now. He figures he’ll just push through Worlds and then collapse after it’s all over.  

Alone, Hoseok thinks about the night before at Namjoon’s place. His nice house and his pretty smile and the fact that he’d covered dinner, all as an extended apology. His fingers and soft wrists and the cut of his shoulders underneath his shirt; it clung to him well. He was polite. He was funny, a little dumb sometimes, like he wanted to slam his knee into the bottom of their dinner table every time he opened his mouth. Even if he texted Hoseok and did nothing else, he’d be impressed with the fact that Jimin chose to give his KTalk handle to someone else without Hoseok being there. 

Sondeuk shows up, and Hoseok forces out three clean skates before collapsing on the ice. He feels a little like punching the air afterwards, but he still hasn’t run through his FS yet and it’s making him nervous.

His coach calls for lunch, and Hoseok breaks off to put his blade guards on and shiver his way to the changing room. His legs feel like lead when he walks out, always weird to acclimate the difference between boots and sneakers, swinging his lunchbox back and forth as he climbs the steps to get outside. The other skaters that split a coach with him eat at the lounge, but Hoseok likes the fresh air — likes huddling down on the curb and poking half-heartedly at his thermos.

It’s not like…it’s not like he’s a complete hermit or anything. He’s just not as close as Namjoon is with his team.

Sometimes he hates his parents for making him the person he is now, but he goes to visit and cries every time because he could never really— he couldn’t ever stop loving them. Feels like he’ll never make up the time they hadn’t spent together when he was a kid, when he had more freedom and wasn’t so focused on his career like he is now. He supposes he never appreciated them enough. Maybe he still doesn’t.

He doesn’t participate in Skate America, but Cup of China he’s been invited to, and he’s in the pre-competition flurry of frantic cleaning and stamina practice. He’s exhausted at by the time he’s finished with cross-training, lugging his boots home so he can clean the blades and switch the laces out of nervous habit, but he doesn’t complain. He’s doing what he loves, even if it grinds him down past the bone and then some. Hoseok wishes, sometimes, that his entire future didn’t rest on gold, but it is and every time he feels like giving up he thinks of his sister and he pushes through. 

It’s all they know how to do, skate through the pain.

“I don’t think I’m gonna get gold at the Olympics,” Hoseok says, scrubbing his face hard with his Apeach town.

“We’ll do something new next year.”

Hoseok sighs, slumping hard against the side of the rink. “Maybe silver again if I’m lucky.”

“It’s still early. You shouldn't be saying stuff like that,” Sondeuk says, patting Hoseok’s arm. He’s a good coach. He knows when to push, and when to step back. Hoseok’s always been an overachiever, the desperate perfectionist that loses sleep over the fact that his lutz was under-rotated in performance three months previous. It’s habit now: a habit that he doesn’t know how to kick.

“You don’t need gold, Hobi,” Sondeuk says, offering him a smile.

Hoseok folds up his towel just for something to do, a little tired and a little sad. He’s not sure how long the money will float his sister, but he’s been thinking of taking a year off to nurse his injuries, and if he’s got an Olympic title under his belt, he’ll be in high demand for coaching. He could do choreography, and then charge an awful amount of money for it. It could be enough, Hoseok thinks. It really could.

“Ah,” he says. “I think I need to.”

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

koyabear
how are u?
do you want to come to practice? 

mangmang
sorry
not really
i have to leave for china next week
i am kinda busy 

koyabear
oh no it’s ok
that’s totally fine
good luck competing! 

mangmang
thanks namjoon :-) 

koyabear
wish i could cheer you on! 

mangmang
if you are ever in town for a competition,
you can just message me
i will get you Tickets even if i am not performing
or you can hang out with me backstage 

koyabear
omfg you are shitting me right now 

mangmang
no 

koyabear
ahhhhhh i can’t believe you said i could hang out w u backstage that’s amazing 

koyabear
also hoseok…
are you okay? 

mangmang
U are always ask the hard questions??
but not really. i am sorry 

koyabear
what happened?
do you want to talk? 

mangmang
[typing] 

mangmang
alone?
i feel alone

koyabear
come over
[sent 10:01pm] 

koyabear
i know we don’t know each other that well
but don’t be alone :((
[sent 10:43pm]

koyabear
hoseok?

mangmang
sorry i was on the phone with my sister
is it ok?
you will have to get up early tomorrow? 

koyabear
no, tmrws off
yes come we can
break our diets together or something
you remember my address right?
[location sent]

mangmang
yeah
thank you namjoon
see you soon 

koyabear
text me when you’re here
drive safe

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Hoseok looks absolutely miserable when Namjoon opens the door.

He’s nothing like the person Namjoon's used to seeing on the ice, the happy-go-lucky kid that laughs almost as much as he talks in every interview. Still, he finds this new side of Hoseok refreshing, even if he’s not pretty. Namjoon’s not pretty either, but they’re real like this — standing on Namjoon’s stoop with the dark falling all around them.

“Hi,” Hoseok says, hugging himself with both arms. It looks like he left in a rush, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a cartoon pajama top and no socks.

“Hoseok, come in, come in,” Namjoon says, ushering him inside. “You’ll catch a cold— here.”

He hands him a hoodie from the coat rack by the door and cranks the thermostat up for house while he’s waiting. When he turns around, Hoseok’s shuffling around in Namjoon’s jacket, all sorts of too big for him: hanging off his shoulders, sleeves too long, the hem halfway down his thighs. It’s oversized on Namjoon, and it practically swallows Hoseok up, his bare feet squeaking on the floor.

Namjoon notes the pained, raw quality of his toes, the way his skates have left blisters and bruises and bunions all over his bones. Even his ankles look different to Namjoon, who’s familiar with the look of hockey-busted bodies by now.

“Hey,” he says, a little softer now. “Do you want anything to eat? You said you didn’t have dinner yet?”

“It’s midnight,” Hoseok says, finally cracking a smile.

“I eat at all times of the day, Jung Hoseok, you have yet to learn,” he grins. “What my nutritionist doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“Okay,” he relents, following Namjoon into the kitchen. He’d waved off the offer of house slippers, sheepishly admitting that the cold feels nice to his sore feet, swiveling around on the barstool as Namjoon rummages in his fridge. 

“I’m actually super bad at cooking,” Namjoon says. “So Seokjin, um, he’s one of my teammates, he usually makes something if we’re not eating together.”

“Oh, cool.”  

“D’you want like…tea or something?”  

Later, they sit in front of the television, fighting over the last piece of beef. Hoseok wins the chopstick war but ends up feeding Namjoon anyway, falling victim to his sad face. He always runs cold, so he tucks his feet under him at some point, shivering, and too tired to care about Namjoon wrapping an arm around his shoulder to pull him close. 

“Thanks for everything,” Hoseok murmurs, pulling his knees into his chest. “You are a really good person, did you know that?”  

Namjoon shrugs, ducking his head. “You seemed like you were having a bad day,” he sucks in a breath, Hoseok feeling his chest swell with it. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Bad life, actually,” he admits. “But yeah, yeah— okay.”

Namjoon squeezes his arm (his really fucking thin arm) through the fabric of his hoodie, trying his best to project reassuring, I definitely know what I’m doing vibes the way Taehyung does, standing there in the changing room patting everyone’s backs before a big game.

“So,” Hoseok says, taking a breath. “It’s an Olympic year soon.”

Namjoon nods.

“And I have to get gold.”

“Oh,” he says. Way to get straight to the point. Namjoon fumbles for words, not quite sure what to say. “Do you— I mean, you’re already so accomplished, Hoseok, and I don’t think it’s your coach or anything pushing you for it; you’ve basically made it, I— you placed at Prix and Worlds since your second year as a senior.”

“It’s my sister.” 

Namjoon frowns. Sister? “What—” 

“No, no, not like that,” Hoseok shakes his head. “She’s in the hospital,” Namjoon freezes. “Stage three leukemia. She’s, um. She’s terminal, so you know.”

“Oh, no,” Namjoon says. He feels awful. 

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok says, dropping the subject before he can finish a proper explanation. “I’m being an awful guest, aren’t I? Stealing your clothes and snotting all over them,” his accent’s gotten thicker, and he’s a little difficult to understand, but Namjoon thinks it’s cute, even though he’s all kinds of wrecked and looks like he’s just been run over by five trains in one go.  

“No, you’re not,” Namjoon says, thinking it’s about time to go to bed. “I invited you over anyway. I knew what I was getting myself into—”

“I think I’ll just go back to my place.”

“You should stay!” Namjoon bursts out. Hoseok freezes. “We can, um,” he stutters. “Watch a movie or something; I don’t trust you driving this late. If you crash and die then that’s on me for the rest of my life.”

“Oh,” Hoseok says, surprised. He doesn’t look like he believes him, and Namjoon doesn’t either, but he still presses his lips together a thin smile. “Sure,” he concedes. “If you are so worried.”

Namjoon tells himself that it’s late, which is why he ends up leading Hoseok by the hand up to his bedroom. He tells himself that it's because his Gibli collection is upstairs, that he hired some tech guy to install all the nice speakers in the living room but he kind of likes the way his hand-me-down television box crackles every so often, the way the room goes soft when it’s just the glow of his star lamp on and the overhead’s dark, and he pulls the curtains down and he’s surrounded by his Ryan plushies, that it has nothing to do with seeing Hoseok in the dim half-lit warmth of his room or being anything close to in love.

“I’ve only seen Totoro,” Hoseok admits quietly, buried under the covers. The two of them have managed to put up a fort, dragging an air mattress out from Namjoon’s closet and blowing it up by themselves. It’s a little hot with all the blankets they’ve piled together, and the three bedsheets on top of the tent-poles, but Namjoon cracks the window open — enough so that the cold air comes in and forces the temperature down.

Hoseok’s grabbed one of his larger Ryans, cheek squished up against it as he squints at the TV set. Namjoon spreads out Ghibli Starter Kit in front of him: Howl’s Moving Castle, Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away, Kiki’s Delivery Service. He looks up expectantly. Hoseok frowns. 

“We can watch all of them if you want,” he shrugs. He’s basically a lump under the blankets now, just his face and a riot of hair poking out the top. “Just one that is not too scary,” he wiggles further down, until only his eyes are visible, sleepy. 

Namjoon deliberates for a moment, filing Mononoke away for later, before shoving Kiki into the VHS player. The TV lets out a familiar groan, and then Namjoon’s squishing in next to Hoseok, eyes brightening with the opening theme.

Hoseok’s hand finds it way into his at some point, and he laces their fingers together without saying anything, cheeks pink. It isn’t until he asks a question though, too quiet for Namjoon to hear at first, does he realize how close they are, doesn’t realize that Hoseok’s shoulder is pressed up against his and all he has to do is lean up a little and tilt his head and kiss him: soft and sweet and on the edge of nothing.

Namjoon kisses him back because, of course he does, he’s been dreaming about this since he was sixteen and realized he was gay, because ten years of practically falling in love with someone doesn’t go away once you know some of their deepest, darkest secrets, but also because Hoseok is pretty and kind and funny, quieter than the caricature he’s put up on camera.

It doesn’t prepare him for the hand that comes up to his cheek afterwards, and the way Hoseok looks at him.

“You are very beautiful,” he murmurs, when they break apart.

“Oh,” Namjoon says, at a loss for words. “Um. You too.”

Namjoon realizes they’re speaking in Korean after the fact, right when the ending credits and rolling and Hoseok says they should just sleep here on the floor together, all his words jumbled together. It’s a good thing he’s dealt with Taehyung drunk before because he’ll start speaking in nonsense dialect, and his pronunciation is everywhere.

Hoseok pushes him around until he deems Namjoon a comfortable enough pillow, ignoring the stack of plushies spilling out under the bedsheets. “Do you like me?” he asks, head on Namjoon’s chest.

“What?”

“Do you like me?” Hoseok asks again. “Boyfriend, like me?”

Namjoon falters. “You…haven’t known me for very long.”

“I’ve given it thought,” Hoseok smiles. “This is how you Americans do it, no?”

Namjoon wants to say something, protest maybe. Say they should go on a date first, but he’s never been good at self preservation and the star of his every romantic comedy or terrible wet dream is asking if he wants to date and he can’t find it in him to refuse. Seokjin will throttle him for this.

“It’ll be hard.”

Hoseok nods. “I know,” he says. He puts a hand on Namjoon’s chest, right over his heart. “But when I’m with you, it just makes me feel…” he struggles for words. Even switching back and forth between two languages, he struggles. “I feel like there is more for me than skating.”

Chapter Text

NOVEMBER

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Cup of China goes about as well as Hoseok would expect.

He stumbles during practice when Jisoo bursts through rink doors from nowhere to yell about how nice his ass looks, Hoseok giving her a thumbs up when she puts him on her Snapchat and then disappears before he can ask her what she's doing. He doesn’t break his personal best, short about three points, but he pulls a beautiful quad lutz in his short program and it shoots his score up past the hundred mark. 

When Prix assignments had come out late June, Hoseok had been so relieved he was competing at Rostelecom with people that he knew, Jimin calling him up shrieking the minute he’d heard. It’s always a toss-up every year to see if their schedules sync up before finals, and Hoseok’s going to waste hours in Jimin’s hotel room, taking dumb videos of each other to make up for the months they’ve been apart.

But he spends most of his time thinking about Namjoon, if he’s honest.

The game they played during the ladies’ event had fit right into Hoseok's lunch break; he'd cracked open his computer for the first time at the hotel, and clicked impatiently through the playback to watch all of Namjoon’s parts. It’s not super interesting, mostly because Hoseok doesn’t understand anything he’s talking about, but it’s nice to see his face after spending so much time on the ice.

koyabear
HOBI !!!!!!!!!! CONGRATS ON FIRST PLACE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
IM WAITING FOR YOUR EXHIBITION SKATE !!!!!!!!!!!!

mangmang
haha thank you :-)
also good job on your game today
i watched !

koyabear
ahhh thanks
i thought you said you didn’t know anything abt hockey
lol

mangmang
u r right
i do not
but i watched your interviews becoz u are cute~

koyabear
omg……
why are you in china rn i wanna kiss u

mangmang
:-( i want to kiss you too
my flight is soon!
do not worry
maybe we can eat breakfast again when i land

koyabear
yay
txt me
i’ll come pick you up!!

mangmang
…you dont have a car

koyabear
i have a CAR.
of course i have a car

mangmang
but i land at 6am
 it is too early

koyabear
shut up it’s not
i’m sure you have a thousand bags to take home

mangmang
well
yea i guess i do

mangmang
my flight is UA 991

mangmang
do you have practice?

koyabear
yeah
it doesn’t start until 10am tho
i can skip media

mangmang
captain is breaking the rules???!??

koyabear
it’ll be a good time to meet the team if you wanted

mangmang
oh
maybe
i will think about it

koyabear
okok
don’t feel pressure tho
you can come visit our rink!
and test our ice
or at the very least we can have dinner together

mangmang
i will pay this time

mangmang
oh i have to go
almost miss start of exhibition skate
oops

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Maybe it's stupid for Namjoon to be watching the livestream during practice, but it's not like he's doing much anyway. He's between sessions in one of the side rooms, legs kicked out in front of him and computer balanced precariously on his lap. He's sleepy and still, so when the motion-censored lights click off, and the room plunges into darkness, it's enough for him to make out the rest of Hoseok’s costume before the start of his program.

He’s dressed in all black, and what look like latex skinny jeans, looping big circles before he makes his way to the center of the ice. He’s got this choker on that’s more leather than necklace, and Namjoon genuinely fears for Hoseok’s ability to breathe in that thing as he rolls out his wrists and waits for the music to start up.

His shirt’s tight, and so low cut that Namjoon can see it slipping off one shoulder, and wow does he want to follow that train of thought — except that Hoseok’s all the way across the world in China while Namjoon tries, very forcefully, to will away his boner in case half his team happens to walk in on him, most of them either rookies or so green he could stick them next to broccoli and they wouldn’t look out of place.

It’d be a little ballsy for Hoseok to debut a new skate wearing...whatever that is, but it’s gala night and Namjoon knows that if he was competing with this program, he’d have swept every awards ceremony in the Prix circuit, no question. He's nothing but legs and arms and skin, bleeding sex appeal through the lagging footage on Namjoon's laptop.

The minute Hoseok finishes his bows (and bows, and bows, and bows), Namjoon gets a notif from KKT. He glances briefly at the door, and decides — whatever — and opens it up. It’s not like his every move's being watched anyway.  

mangmang
DID YOU LIKE IT!

koyabear
loved it! !!!!!

mangmang
THANKS JOONIE !!!!!!!!
i tried my best
and also thought of you :DD

Namjoon puts his head in both hands. Jung Hoseok—

“Yo!” Shotput says, barging into the room. Namjoon jumps a foot in the air, managing to both knock the chair next to him over and shove his laptop back into its sleeve before the rest of them can catch him red handed. He forgets about his phone though, and the screen lights up guiltily before he can get it in his pocket and pretend it doesn't exist.

“Who are you texting?” Ducky asks. He doesn't quite have the courage to wheedle it out of him like Jungkook and Taehyung would, but it's enough to make him flush with embarrassment.

“No one,” he says hastily.

Spanner tries for a pout. "You got a girlfriend, Cap?" he asks, lisp heavy. He’s still got braces from that one awful shot that nearly knocked all his teeth out last season, leaving him bleeding in the rink because he’d dove straight to the ice trying to stop a goal and subsequently almost broke his jaw open. He’s soft and a little round-cheeked, barely nineteen. “Is she cute? Is she,” he lowers his voice. “Sexy?”

They’re good kids, even if they’re too eager sometimes.

“He’s very cute, yeah,” Namjoon says, a little nervously, getting to his feet.  As much as he loves them, he'd really rather not be having this conversation right now. He tries to ignore the way his phone buzzes in his pocket.

mangmang
it is banquet time !
my friends want to say hi :-)

mangmang
can we video chat?
on ktalk is O.K 

"Boyfriend then," Shotput corrects easily. He's unruffled, and standing there same as ever. Namjoon inches his way out the door, laptop tight under one arm. "Wait, Cap, where are you —"

He's gone before he can finish his question. Namjoon gets down both flights of stairs in record time, bursting through three sets of double doors before taking a right down to the rink. "Jinnie," Namjoon gasps, when he spots him running drills with Jungkook.

“Hey," Seokjin says, a little confused. "What’s up?” he shakes up to the half boards, and leans over on his stick. Namjoon looks sickly-flushed and nervous, jittering through his words.

“Hoseok wants to video chat,” he says, holding out his phone. Seokjin leans in and squints at the screen. “I couldn’t do it alone,” he says.

mangmang
ok!
you can call me when U are ready 

“Aw, Joon,” Seokjin says, flicking him on the forehead. “I’ll vet him later; stop using me as an excuse.”

Namjoon glances back down at his phone. "I —"

"What are you waiting for?" he says, making these little shooing motions with his hands. The entire rink is empty, and it's not like Seokjin's particularly interested in watching the two of them interact. He's not that kind of person.

Namjoon swallows. "I should just...?"

Seokjin's eyebrows go up. He points, somewhere up high where Namjoon's voice won't carry as much. "Don't keep him waiting," he says, and shoves at his shoulders until he starts moving. His feet are on autopilot now, but Namjoon can't help but glance nervously at Seokjin over his shoulder as he texts Hoseok back, hands shaking.

koyabear
sorry sorry
i had to go somewhere else :((

koyabear
calling now

mangmang
hope ur ears are prepared LOL

It takes a while for the video to connect, but when it does — Namjoon gets a close up of Hoseok’s forehead and then the glittering chandelier that hangs from the ballroom ceiling. It’s noisy in there, packed with skaters and staff and coaches, and Hoseok doesn’t realize the call’s gone through until Namjoon’s worried a hole into the floor from pacing so much.

“Namjoon!” Hoseok says, hastily pulling his phone farther from his face. He flashes a blinding smile, all teeth and dimples, and waves. His hair’s a little disheveled, and he looks flushed around the edges, like it’s too hot in his suit or he recently took a shower. Even the way he says his name is cute, the pronunciation so Korean that Namjoon’s breath twist up in his chest all funny.

Neither of them can get a word in edgewise before the phone’s snatched up by Chang Seungyeon, and her face fills up the screen. Her skate makeup’s still on — heavy wings and dark lipstick — and her hair tumbles over her shoulder when she turns her head and yells: “Is this him?! The boyfriend?”, presumably at Hoseok.

Immediately, there’s half a stampede to get to the phone from the other end, leaving Namjoon waving sheepishly at the camera as he turns down the volume some.

“Oh, he is cute,” Jisoo says, shoving at Hwitaek’s shoulder. She’s not talking to him, not really, looking up at someone behind the phone, a half-smile on her lips. “He’s got those,” she makes vague hand motions. “Shoulders you know? And I bet his thighs are amazing.”

It’s too loud to hear the reply she gets, but whatever it is, she can't stop laughing about it.

“This was a really bad idea,” comes Hoseok’s voice. Namjoon hates that he perks up at that, grin splitting his face when Hoseok finally wrestles his phone back into his own hands and scurries into the corner of the room so they can talk alone.

“Hi,” Namjoon says.

Hoseok smiles, soft and gooey. “Hi,” he says. “How’s your day been?”

Namjoon glances at the kids. “Hectic,” he says. “Congrats on first. Watched everything live.”

“Oh, thanks,” he says, cheeks heating. “You always do that?”

Namjoon ducks his head. “Yeah,” he admits. Smiles. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

"Me too," Hoseok murmurs, almost too intimate for a call like this. Namjoon wishes that he had headphones in, at the very least. "You really don't have to, you know."

"I wanna see you."

If Hoseok was next to him right now, Namjoon feels like he'd punch his arm, ears gone red. "Kim Namjoon," he manages. "You? A secret romantic?"

His nose scrunches up. "Maybe you're just cute."

"Sure," Hoseok hums, disbelieving. Then: "How's everything going?"

Namjoon shrugs. It is what it is, sometimes. "Okay," he says truthfully. "Same as ever, you know."

Hoseok's eyebrows go up. "I actually don't," he says, trying to keep the smile off his face. "But I'll take your word for it."

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something else, but there's this big crash from Hoseok’s end, and the footage goes blurry, moving too fast for the camera to catch. His forehead reappears after a noisy moment, terribly bright until the camera adjusts to new lighting.

“I’m sorry, I think I have to go,” Hoseok says, distracted, already getting to his feet. “There’s been, ah,” his expression is conflicted. “There’s a situation.”

“No, I understand,” Namjoon says. He puts his chin in his hand. Even now, seeing him still makes his heart skip a beat. “Stay safe.”

“Thanks,” he says. Another crash, and what looks like a bottle of champagne flying at Hoseok’s head. The video goes blurry as he topples over, and then cuts sharply to nothing. “Bye—”

“Oh,” Namjoon says, even though he knows Hoseok can’t hear him. “Bye.”

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Hoseok flies in from Beijing at some ungodly hour, hair sticking all up off his head. When he gets off the plane, Namjoon’s waiting for him with a sign at arrivals like he’d promised, HOPE printed on it in carefully scripted Hangul.

“Hey,” Hoseok says, wanting so bad to lean in and kiss him. He doesn’t think anybody knows who they are, but Namjoon’s already taking his checked bag for himself and rolls out in the direction of the parking garage, so he doesn’t get the chance, stacking luggage in his trunk like it weighs nothing.

“How was the flight?” Namjoon asks, letting Hoseok’s hand creep up his thigh. He’s tired, and it’s not really going anywhere, but it’s nice to be close, and to touch.

“Ah, long,” Hoseok says. He’s tired, and his English suffers.

The drive to Namjoon’s house is long, and Hoseok falls asleep halfway through. He wakes up when they’re pulling into the driveway, bumping up on the curb with painstaking slowness. It’s a slow process getting his stuff inside, Hoseok tugging his bags up the steps to the front door, and rubbing at his eyes while he waves Namjoon off at the same time.

“When do you have to leave for practice?” Hoseok asks, watching Namjoon bustle around the living room. He’s taken up post on the couch, stretching out his legs as he wiggles around on the leather.

Namjoon’s head pops up from behind one of his cabinets. “After breakfast,” he says, reaching to turn on his Keurig.

Hoseok looks at the clock, then back at Namjoon, and catches him struggling to fix himself dry ramen. “That's breakfast?” he asks, eyebrows shooting up past his hairline.

Namjoon gives him this punch-drunk look of embarrassment, but doesn't stop trying to tear open one of the flavoring packets with his teeth. His coffee machine gurgles happy behind him. Hoseok makes a wounded noise when Namjoon puts the whole thing in the microwave, and finally gets to his feet just so he can wave him off and dump the entire thing in the trash. 

“You can wait on the couch,” Hoseok says, poking him with a pair of chopsticks. "Go, go," he says.

Namjoon opens his mouth to protest, but doesn't have anything good to say, so he just slinks off sadly, feet dragging over hardwood.

Hoseok turns back to the fridge, and stares at it for a long time, disappointed but not entirely surprised by its contents. Despite its size, the only fresh produce in there is a head of cabbage, and a half-used carton of eggs. Namjoon doesn't even have milk, just a bottle of Gatorade that's already been opened.

What comes out of the pan is a beast not entirely of his own making. It's vaguely reminiscent of an omelet, Hoseok too tired to do anything but throw stuff together, and when it slides, steaming, onto one of Namjoon's nice plates, he stares at it for a while with his spatula clutched in one hand and isn't sure how to feel. He shrugs, and figures it’s better than the fire alarm going off at six in the morning and Namjoon showing up to practice on an empty stomach. They eat together on the couch, Hoseok leaning against Namjoon and getting hand-fed through the replay of last night’s game.

“You could stay here,” Namjoon says, peeling himself out of his shirt in the middle of the living room. He normally changes upstairs, but Hoseok doesn't feel like getting off his ass, and it’s not like he's been self conscious of his body since cameras started barging into the changing rooms his first year in the NHL anyway.

“Ah, but it’ll be lonely,” Hoseok says. He presses a glass of ice water to his face, and then his neck. He tries to wake himself up. Namjoon forgot how strong his accent gets when he’s tired, but when Hoseok beams at him with these swollen-shut eyes and full cheeks, he really doesn’t have the heart in him to say no. “I’ll bring my skates too,” he says, sliding up to Namjoon, pressing to hands against his bare chest as he leans up for a kiss. “I want to have some fun.”

Namjoon slips his jersey on over both their bodies — Hoseok whip-thin and a sack of wiry bones and not much else — pressing their foreheads together. He looks like he wants to pass out, but then he tips his head to the side and Namjoon meets him halfway, their lips slotting together and back again, until they’re making out and giggling and it gets too hot for the two of them to be so close.

“You’re gonna be late for practice,” Hoseok murmurs. Namjoon can pick apart every one of his lashes when his eyes flick down to his lips. He slips away easily, and picks his duffel up where it sits by the side of the couch. “Come on,” he smiles, lazy and kiss-pink.

When they get to the rink, both Yoongi and Jungkook’s eyes narrow in on where Hoseok leans against Namjoon with almost terrifying precision, coming up to him with apologies, shoulders stiff and tongues even stiffer. Jungkook bows.

Hoseok gives him a smile, sweet at the edges.

“Thanks,” he says, and that’s the end of it.

At the end of practice, Hoseok's bullied onto the ice even though his feet are still swollen from the plane. He almost doesn’t fit into his skates, but he’s spent years going from airport to ice rink so he makes it work somehow, promising himself he’ll spend the rest of his weekend off his feet and do nothing to make up for it.

He does warm up laps with the rest of the team, not really paying them much attention as he struggles to get his gloves on, working out the stiffness in his legs. He speeds up for the last one — cutting backwards across the ice to stretch his back out — ignoring the way he’s left the others behind. Hoseok’s not that short, but compared to them he’s small and light and speedy, laughing when Namjoon sends everyone off to skate suicides and beats Yoongi by a full three seconds.  He even pulls a spin combination out of his ass after, arms everywhere.

“You’re different,” Yoongi says, afterwards, when they’re alone, Hoseok still on the ice. He’s gliding back and forth, lazy, because he likes the feeling, even if his hands get cold through his gloves and he doesn’t have pockets to shove them in. “Today. You’re different.” 

Hoseok shrugs. “I’m tired,” he says. He’s not even breathing hard.

Yoongi hums, unlacing his skates. “You make him really happy, you know,” he says. It really is just the two of them left. Even Namjoon’s been herded out by Seokjin’s promises of snacks and a lunchbox, Hoseok leaning against the half boards, his blades skritching over fresh ice. Yoongi doesn’t look angry or accusing or anything really, other than clinically deadpan, leaning back against the seat.

“Okay,” Hoseok says, a little at a loss for words.

“You make him happy,” Yoongi says again, and this time he switches to Korean. It’s a seamless thing, and so native he’s got Daegu in him, curling his tongue. “You realize that?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says. His mouth is dry. His head dips.

They’re quiet for a while afterwards. It’s just the whirr of the air conditioning, and some of the rink filters. Yoongi’s tapping his foot against the floor, the sound muffled by his sneakers, worn out from treadmill bottoms and the tacky gym floors.

“Is this,” Hoseok says, first to break the silence. He looks up, and tries for a tentative half smile. “Your version of a shovel talk, Min Yoongi?” he asks.

Yoongi’s face goes warped, mouth tugging down. “What?” he says. “No.”

“It is,” Hoseok says, feet scraping happily against the ice. He pushing off the wall to skate a circle around himself. When he comes to a stop, he actually gets up off the rink, slipping his blade guards on as he puts an empty seat between himself and Yoongi.

“There's a lot I can't promise,” he says. He’d been forming these words in his head since he fell asleep next to Namjoon on their makeshift, blown-up excuse of a bed, and worded them all so carefully in English on his plane ride back from China. Now that they’re speaking in Korean, it tumbles from his mouth without reason. “But I’m gonna do my best because I don't want to lose him.”

Yoongi purses his lips. His arms are crossed over his chest, stubborn and almost a touch petulant. “Okay,” he says, after a long while. “Okay, okay,” he sighs.

Hoseok beams at him, toes hitting together.

Then: “Call me hyung,” Yoongi says, and offers him a hand up.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Hoseok finds Namjoon in the gym after twenty minutes of walking into locked doors and dead ends. Everything’s swaying a little under his feet, but it’s not too bad, so he pushes into the room and ignores the stares he gets.

Namjoon’s doing something with weights in the corner, making faces at Jungkook. He’s sweating, and wearing nothing but a tank, so Hoseok sits himself down on one of the benches to admire his arms, legs crossed over at the knee. There are a couple kids on the treadmill. Someone’s bench pressing what looks like close to two-hundred, grunting as he lowers the bar to his chest. Hoseok winces, and turns away. 

Jungkook’s the one who notices him first, trading his dumbbells for something heavier, eyes going wide when he sees him sitting alone.

“Hi,” he says, a little tentative. He’s shy, and ducks his head when Hoseok smiles at him, eyes flicking back to Namjoon in the corner before he makes his way over to Hoseok, tugging the corner of his shirt down nervously. “Um, are you looking for…?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “I don’t want to interrupt,” he says. “I’ll just stay until you guys are done. I’m not in the way, am I?”

“Oh— no,” Jungkook says. He twists his foot a little. “But, uh, Coach kind of has this rule where you have to be working if you wanna be—”

“Ah, chill man,” one of the guys laughs, upside-down, sprawled out on the floor. He’s covered in sweat and breathing hard, hands red. “Dude isn’t even here, just let ‘im hang. He’s with Cap right?”

It’s a miracle Namjoon hasn’t heard any of this through his earbuds yet. Hoseok tilts his head to one side, and nods. He can only assume Cap is sort for Captain is short for Namjoon, who is still ripping out bicep curls like he’ll die if he stops.

“It’s okay,” Hoseok says, getting to his feet. Jungkook, if anything, looks more nervous when he walks his direction, even though all Hoseok’s doing is edging away from the big weight racks and rowing machines. “I’ll just stretch. Maybe even do a push up or two,” he jokes.

Hoseok’s not sure if the teams knows he and Namjoon are together, so he doesn’t say anything else, just slides right into his splits and pulls his phone out to check his email. He’s busy typing out a reply to his publicist about an endorsement they want him to pick up when something drops with a clang, and everyone in the gym laughs. Hoseok looks up from his phone, surprised, to see Namjoon staring at him, and then at the weight he’s left on the floor, a little too close to his foot for comfort.

“H-Hoseok,” he stutters, whole face flushed. It’s a good thing he’s been working out, because Hoseok can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or sweat that’s keeping him so red. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Yoongi gave me the shovel talk,” Hoseok grins, knees cracking as he gets up. He’ll have to cycle out the soreness sometime, but maybe when he doesn’t feel like he’s going to fall over. “And then I got bored waiting for you to show up again, so I came looking.”

“How’d you know I was gonna be here?”

Hoseok frowns. “Some kid,” he says. “Asked for a picture and an autograph and then told me you were in the gym. I couldn’t find Seokjin so I settled for him.”

In their defense, his teammates pretend very, very hard that they’re not eavesdropping.

“I’m not bothering you am I?” Hoseok asks, switching to Korean. There are some things he doesn’t want other people to hear, but judging by the way Jungkook suddenly turns up his music, maybe it’s not just the two of them. “I can catch a ride back, Namjoonie. I didn’t— I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“No, it’s not that,” Namjoon shakes his head. He offers Hoseok a weak smile. His headphones are hanging around his shoulders, and he’s not out of breath anymore, looking prettier than anybody should while dripping sweat. He coughs awkwardly, then clears his throat, looking everywhere but at Hoseok. “They all know.”

Hoseok’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh,” he says. He gestures between the two of them. “Like…us? They know,” his brows pull together. “All of them, Joon?”

Namjoon ducks his head. “Yeah,” he says. “Everyone— except,” he says, rushed. “Except the media team. But I know they’ll keep it quiet, I promise because they still don’t know about Seokjin and Jungkook either, so it’s okay and we’ve got practice with it, but— if your publicist still wants to talk, then we can figure something out with just them and the team, so.”

Hoseok shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says. His eyes flick to the group in the back of the room, who go from staring at them to clutching the nearest piece of equipment and pretending they’re highly interested in the mechanics of a StairMaster 2000 series. “I’d rather not have this conversation here, but, um. Later,” he says. “We can talk.”

Namjoon nods, a bobblehead. “I’m actually off early today,” he says. “We can get lunch and go back to my place. Let me just,” he points awkwardly behind him. “Finish my workout first?”

There’s a smattering of “ooh’s” that come from the treadmill section, and Hoseok levels them with a glare, mouth pulled down. Unimpressed. They stop almost immediately, heads disappearing in a flash.

“I’d love to,” Hoseok says.

They stay a while longer: he finishes up his emails, and Namjoon lifts an ungodly number of heavy things with the rest of his teammates. When Hoseok molds himself against the floor to he can stretch out his hips, he gets eyes and a wince, Jungkook shaking his head hard when Hoseok asks if he wants to join him on the mat.

“I do two hundred pushups a day,” Jungkook admits later, very seriously. He’s quiet about it, which is the funniest part, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a towel draped over one shoulder. He’s done with his routine, nursing a bad ankle, so he explains that he’s taking it easy until his sprain’s healed over all the way.

The Jungkook that’s talking to Hoseok now is very different than the one he’d met the first time, loud and a little wild, like all his inhibitions were down. Now he’s tight in the shoulders, and keeps his mouth shut, staring wide-eyed at Hoseok when he’s addressed. He doesn’t even blink.

“That’s really great,” Hoseok says, not sure how exactly to reply. They’re talking in a mix of Korean and English, trading conversation quietly back and forth on the floor of the gym. It’s probably dirty as hell, but Hoseok can’t exactly bring himself to care, eyeing the way Namjoon’s nose almost touches the ground when he does a pushup. “Listen—”

“Hyung does them with weights on his back sometimes,” Jungkook says, following his line of sight.

Hoseok  “What?”

“You can sit on him,” Jungkook repeats. “He can do, like, two when it’s me, but you’re probably lighter so…five? Maybe?”

“I don’t really think so,” Hoseok says, thumbing at the corner of his mouth.

Jungkook shrugs. “Might as well be worth a try right?”

“Ahh,” he sighs, as an excuse. He’s trying to tell himself no, but Jungkook’s looking at him with these big eyes and he knows he’s being manipulated and phones are probably going to make an appearance soon, but  Hoseok puts his stuff down anyway and gets to his feet, eyeing the way Namjoon’s arms just— wow.

“Namjoonie?” he calls.

He gets a grunt in response.

“Jeonggukie said I should hitch a ride.”

“He what— Hoseok, oh my god.”

Namjoon almost collapses under him when he takes a seat, not even leaning his full weight against him. Namjoon's doing this spluttering, not-quite-breathing thing again, and Hoseok has to bend down to check if he’s alright. He wheezes when Hoseok wipes the sweat from his eyes, only managing half a push-up before he’s out, Jungkook laughing his ass off where he’s curled around his phone.

“Sorry,” Hoseok apologizes. “It was his idea,” he grins, helping Namjoon to his feet.

“I figured,” he grumbles, snatching up his water bottle where it’s leaning against the wall. There are a couple of his teammates left over, and they all turn around hastily when Namjoon looks at them. “We should go.”

“You’re done?”

Namjoon's nose wrinkles. “I am now.”

“Wait, no,” Jungkook whines, scrambling up to his feet. “Don’t leave without me.”

Namjoon’s already halfway out the door. Hoseok’s hands are dirty, but Jungkook’s cheeks are dirtier, so he reaches out and pinches them without thinking. "One time pass," he says, Jungkook failing to keep the smile on his face when he loops his elbow around Hoseok’s and drags them to the changing room.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

“I don’t want us to be a secret,” Hoseok says, after dinner. They’d stopped at a grocery store on the way to Namjoon’s house, and he’d made beef soup and fried rice, the dishes stacked up in the sink to soak.

Namjoon’s squatting down next to the bottom shelf of his KAWS collection, picking out things for Hoseok to take home with him. Hoseok’s got his knees pulled up to his chest, and his whole face is tired, hair mussed as he leans against the oversized beanbag for support.

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, and he sits back heavily on his ass. He chews on his lip, thinking about both their careers and not knowing how to phrase things the right way.

“But I don’t think I can be public about it,” Hoseok says, running a hand through his hair. It sticks up for a second, and then curls back over his forehead. “I’m too dependent on my career right now, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh,” Namjoon says, feeling relief seep from his chest out. “Oh, me too. Okay.”

“I’m paying for my sister’s treatment,” he says. He picks at the material of his pants. “So, um. I wouldn’t say the ISU is homophobic, but they’re definitely not going to be my friend if they find out we’re together.”

“It affects your scores?”

Hoseok nods, blinking slow. "Yeah," he says, hollow. "It does." 

“Um, okay,” Namjoon bobs his head, staring at the hardwood flooring. Then: “Okay, okay, we can keep it quiet for now,” he says. “I didn’t know if you’d be mad or, or angry because it’s not like I want to treat you like a dirty secret or something— you’re not, and I’ve been out since I was a rookie, but then the media if I say anything would. They would…you know.”

“No, no, I get it,” Hoseok says, letting out a breath. Namjoon realizes that maybe he does get it more than anyone else he knows. Seokjin and Jungkook are happy together, but they’re not Namjoon, trying not to break the fragile thing he has with Hoseok in half. “I’m not offended or anything.”

Namjoon swallows. “Yeah, well, uh, neither am I,” he forces himself to admit, even though he wants to keep the words bottled up inside him forever. “For the record.”

He looks up, and Hoseok gives him a watery smile, his whole face softening at the sight of him — sighing out an “oh, oh don’t cry” when Namjoon can't do much except crawl up between his legs and buries his face in his chest. Hoseok’s arms come up around him, stroking down his back, and kissing softly all over the top of his head; he feels like an overgrown kid in his lap. Namjoon's been putting on muscle ever since this season started, which is good, but it feels like he’s practically crushing Hoseok under him now, all slim hips and narrow shoulders.

The reason why he's loved hockey for so long is because he stops thinking once he’s on the ice. Everything about him becomes streamlined into some single-pointed focus, and Namjoon doesn't worry about taking up too much space, a graceless and hulking thing. But Hoseok, compact little Hoseok who moves like river water both in and out of skates, like he just knows what he’s doing, like the ground just melts away for him, is so different to anyone that's looked twice in Namjoon's direction, and he's so afraid he’ll break him on accident— barely move his arm and make him bleed.

He likes the way Hoseok laughs, and kisses his nose. Hoseok, who folds his hands over Namjoon’s and plays with his fingers and says that he’s pretty, as if that’s a word anyone’s ever associated with him before. He pushes hands through Namjoon’s hair and treats him like spun glass, even though they haven’t spent that much time together yet, and somehow makes him feel smaller, as if every inch of him counts.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Namjoon hiccups, voice muffled where his mouth’s mushed against Hoseok’s sweater. “I’m not, I’m not, I promise.”

“Oh, shh,” Hoseok shushes him, stroking his hair. “I’m not ashamed of you either, Joonie. I think it’s good we both agreed on this; we need some time first.”

He shifts so that his back’s lined up against the beanbag, managing to juggle Namjoon in his arms at the same time until they’re settled easily together, pressed up at the chest and hips; Hoseok spreads his legs out on the floor, and holds his face down to his neck. He's warm to the touch, and Namjoon doesn't think when he tugs Hoseok closer by the waist. It’s been so long since he’s been held like this, Hoseok running his hands through the short hairs on the back of his neck and cooing at him.

Namjoon looks up to ask for a kiss, the seam of Hoseok's sweater bright on his cheek.

“Oh,” he teases, voice low. “A kiss?”

Namjoon nods.

“Well,” Hoseok murmurs. “How about one here?” he pushes hair off his face and presses his lips to Namjoon's forehead. “Or here,” high up on his cheekbone. “Or here,” the other side. “Or here,” his nose. “Or here?” dipping down to his chin.

They’re close like this, almost going cross-eyed from the proximity. “You missed a spot,” Namjoon rasps. His throat works, feeling impossibly dry.

“Mm, I don’t know,” he teases. Namjoon can feel his breath across his cheek, and their lips almost touching, Hoseok trying to bite down on a smile and failing. “Did I?” he asks.

Namjoon doesn’t reply, just tilts his head to the side and presses their lips together.

And— God. It’s electrifying.

Kissing Hoseok feels so good, feels right even close-mouthed and chaste, Hoseok’s hands tightening in his hair. Namjoon opens his mouth a little, and swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, everything falling open when they're together. He's half hard and glad that he’s in sweats, sliding a hand down the seam of Hoseok’s track pants just to feel him shudder. He doesn’t have serious intention of going past second base because this is still so new, and Namjoon doesn’t think he’s ready for anything else, but also because he doesn’t have any condoms at home. Also also because he’s pretty sure his lube’s expired and Hoseok’s so tired, skin cool when Namjoon slips hands under his shirt.

Hoseok pulls away first, and knocks their foreheads together. “Don’t get me wrong here,” he murmurs. “But I really need a shower, and I think I might fall asleep on the floor.”

“You can use my bathroom,” Namjoon blurts out, cheeks burning.

Hoseok smiles lazily at him. “Okay,” he whispers, stealing another kiss. “Thanks.” He bats at his shoulder until he lets him up, groaning as his knees pop when he gets to his feet. “You joining me, Joonie?”

Namjoon glances down at the four figurines he’s left standing on the floor, and tries to convince himself that they’ll be fine outside the glass for a night. “Yeah,” he says. “'M coming.”

He lets himself get pulled into the bathroom, and stands there, confused, as to why he hasn't been kicked out yet after he's already found Hoseok a spare towel and turns the water on until Hoseok starts takes off his sweater, and Namjoon almost gives himself a concussion when he turns around to face the other way. He barely misses the overhead cabinets, throwing hands up to cover his eyes.

“Namjoon?” Hoseok asks, tugging at his sleeve. He hasn’t even gotten his shirt off, just the jacket, folded up neatly by the edge of the sink. He sounds worried. “If you don’t want to, you can leave, I promise.”

“No— I just,” he stutters. “I really do, I’m just…I’m just me, but you’re you, and,” he despairs. “I’m, I don’t know. But I want, I want—”

Hoseok hooks his chin over Namjoon’s shoulder. The water’s still running, but it’s running cold because the house is so big the boiler’s about five thousand feet away, and Hoseok’s sliding his hands across the thick waistband of Namjoon’s sweats.

“Is that a yes?” he asks. “Because I need a yes.”

Namjoon’s brain almost shuts down. He nods, and nods again. “Yeah,” he rasps, clearing his throat. “Yes.”

Hoseok’s fingers are nimble when they help push Namjoon’s shirt off, and then work fast at the fly of his own pants. He gets both of them down to their boxers with startling efficiency and walks them back towards the shower stall. The bathroom’s huge, and Namjoon presses Hoseok up against the glass door, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, before he takes of Hoseok’s shirt and—

“Christ,” Namjoon breathes, running a hand down his stomach.

“Yes, I have abs, great talk,” Hoseok says, tossing his boxers somewhere on the floor next to him.

The water’s hot now, and Namjoon almost faceplants when he struggles to take the rest of his clothes off, sliding up behind Hoseok because it’s cold now, mid-November with the temperature dropping fast.

The thing is, Namjoon’s dick has probably been on national television too many times to count. He not— he's not embarrassed when he sees someone naked, much less himself, but now he’s strangely self-conscious when it’s Hoseok with him in the shower instead of his teammates stripping down cold in the locker room. All they’re doing is standing under the spray, Hoseok wrapped around him because his legs won’t hold him up anymore, but Namjoon still feels like he can't breathe, his whole mouth gone dry.

Hoseok's hair is all wet from where Namjoon helped him wash, and he presses up against him like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else — familiar, domestic. It’s terrifying how much Namjoon wants this to be the rest of his life.

“You could use your abs as a washboard,” Namjoon says later, when they’re toweling dry. Hoseok’s stands shivering on the bathmat, dripping everywhere with a towel twisted up on top of his head. He tells Namjoon he’s always like this, too lazy to change until it’s really too cold for him to stand.

“Thanks, Joonie,” Hoseok says, quietly amused. “It’s like you’ve never seen a six pack before.”

Namjoon shrugs. Hockey kids aren’t really about muscle definition, just about muscle. More mass, more weight, easier time playing on the ice. “Jus saying,” he grins, lopsided.

He rubs hard at Hoseok hair until he’s giggling, bangs falling out of the towel and over his eyes. He ends up wearing something of Namjoon’s, the collar stretched out and the hem worn down where it falls mid-thigh. 

When Hoseok goes downstairs to ransack his suitcase for underwear, he returns with his shirt slipping off one shoulder, jumping into bed on all fours as Namjoon tries to stop staring at his collarbones and the heat of his shoulder, the line of his throat as he crawls close.

“Hi,” Namjoon says, as Hoseok curls up against him under the covers, their legs tangling.

“Hi,” he replies, lips stretching into a smile. He tucks his hands up cutely against his chest and says something else in Korean, too quiet for Namjoon to hear.

“What?” he asks.

Hoseok shakes his head. “Nothing,” he yawns, and passes out before Namjoon can say anything else.

Chapter Text

NOVEMBER

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

They start seeing each other more after that.

It’s hard to sync up their days between travel and rink hours and practice schedules, which means Hoseok lets himself into Namjoon’s house sometimes, and curls up under the covers even though he’s not home. He doesn’t even text, really, before he comes over, Namjoon’s whole place smelling of Seokjin’s handiwork, a plate left out for him on the table every time.

Hoseok always gets up first those days, and puts breakfast in the oven before he sneaks out at six in the morning. He starts buying yogurt and leaving it in Namjoon’s fridge, and things like fruits and vegetables and actually edible produce. Gochujang ends up in the empty cupboards, next to sesame oil and soy sauce and the chips they’d fought over in the grocery store until Namjoon had put them back on the shelf looking so devastated that Hoseok sighed and said he should just get them if he was going to risk crying in a supermarket.

Namjoon pays for groceries every time and says that it's because Hoseok’s got bigger, more expensive things to care about, because he’s a millionaire, if he can make it easier then he wants to make it easier because he doesn’t really know how to do anything else; he’s not— he’s not good at anything else the way Hoseok is. He doesn’t cook, he can’t clean, his house has never been so spotless until Hoseok starting spending more time in it: washing the sheets every week because Namjoon doesn’t like to shower before he pounces on him in bed sometimes, letting Hoseok bully him into finally taking out the trash from all the rooms upstairs.

He doesn’t mean to treat him like a charity case, hand to God. They have their first fight after Namjoon visits Dawon and pays for her treatment for the next quarter, Hoseok shoving the stupid letter to his chest and almost punching him in the hospital lobby because it isn’t supposed to be like that, Namjoon blinking down at him with this dumb, wide eyes before telling him that he has too much money and he doesn’t like seeing Hoseok run himself into the ground worrying so much, I’ll just buy less toys, like it’s that simple.

Hoseok doesn’t talk to him for three days, and eighty texts later, he finally shows up at his front door and tells him, “thank you.”

Their time together is short. They’re both professional athletes at the peak of their careers — Namjoon captain of a Stanley hopeful, and Hoseok just. Hoseok, with his championship titles and in the thick of Prix season and an expected Olympic crowning in the coming year. Their days off rarely sync up, and neither of them feel like doing anything except sleeping for twelve hours straight and then staying in bed for the rest of the day, so it’s a strange feeling to be piling up at a local restaurant for a team dinner, their food on the table and a couple kids fighting over the dessert menu thirty minutes too early, to have Seokjin spot Hoseok sitting across from someone two tables and a wall over, looking like they’re having an argument.

Hoseok hasn’t touched his salad, and Namjoon can’t see who he’s with because his back’s turned to the team, but the guy’s shoulders are tense under the cut of his button down. Namjoon, who’s dropped abruptly from the conversation, can only stare, even when the other guys start noticing Cap’s boyfriend in the corner— trying not to gawk as their voices get louder over restaurant chatter.

The guy pushes his chair back abruptly and gets to his feet, tossing a wad of bills on the table as Hoseok stares up at him with shock, then anger. He’s still wearing an overcoat and gloves, jacket flying out behind him as he storms after him, catching his arm only to be shrugged off. Whatever words they exchange are sharp, and cut.

Namjoon can’t hear what they’re saying — the diner’s so loud with kids and family and packed full of people — and they’re speaking in rapid fire Korean, but they still draw the team’s attention when they recognize the orange of Hoseok’s hair, and his legs slim in his jeans, the way the door’s slammed shut in his face and he kicks it open right after.

They stand outside for a minute, and Hoseok’s all up in the guy’s face, and the guy all up in his face. Still, it comes as a surprise when the man takes a step even closer and backhands Hoseok so hard he stumbles, knees buckling under him.

“Holy shit,” Taehyung says, Namjoon shooting to his feet. Hoseok looks like he’s going to get himself arrested if he keeps going like this, pounding a fist to the guy’s chest and backing him up off the sidewalk.

Namjoon nearly tears the door off its hinges as he slots himself between the two, grabbing Hoseok’s wrists and hearing him choke on his next words as he registers what’s happening, and them collapses bonelessly against Namjoon’s chest, tight in his arms.

“년!” Hoseok spits, over his shoulder. His voice is brittle now. “쌍놈!”

Namjoon doesn’t have to turn around to know that the guy’s stalked off, footfalls so loud it sounds like he’s trying to murder concrete.

It’s silent for a moment, Hoseok’s breath still coming fast, head pressed down against Namjoon’s chest. He shakes and shakes, out of anger or fear or what, Namjoon doesn’t know, but he hates the fact that he’s wound up tight in his shoulders.

“What was that?” Namjoon asks, when Hoseok pulls away. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, jerking his head to the side when Namjoon tries to get a good look at him. He catches his chin in one hand and forces Hoseok to meet his eye, darting down to his split lip and reddening cheek. He stops Namjoon by the wrist when his free hand moves to cup his jaw before shaking his head. “Just a disagreement.”

Namjoon snorts. “Some disagreement,” he says, and glances at his team through the restaurant doors, all glass. “They’re all watching, you know.”

“I know,” he sighs, backing up when Namjoon’s hands fall to his sides. “I should get going.”

Namjoon frowns. “But…your food?”

“Don’t feel like eating,” Hoseok says, already at the door. He shakes himself out, visibly, for a moment. “Sorry for crashing your dinner.”

Namjoon watches numbly as Hoseok goes back in and asks for the check, picking up the wad of cash left on the table between thumb and forefinger like rotten fruit, probably telling the waitstaff to keep the change. He doesn’t really register the fact that he’s back in his seat until Jungkook’s shoving at him and saying he should get Hoseok to come over, the same Hoseok who’s abandoned his salad and sliding down the back of his chair with his phone pressed to his ear. He looks miserable, hand on his forehead and then crossed over his chest when he’s talking, ending the call with a sigh before he even musters up the energy to leave.

In the end, it’s not even Namjoon who stops him from leaving. The team, by mutual consensus, yells Hoseok’s name so loud half the restaurant startles and turns to look at them too, Hoseok pressing a hand to his chest with a jump.

Taehyung’s already pulled out an extra chair for him at the end of the table, no shortage of elbows or legroom an issue for an already overcrowded seating arrangement, but it’s not until everyone dissolves back into conversation does Hoseok finally relax, slumping against Namjoon with a sigh.

“Hey,” Hoseok says, scooting closer.

“Hey,” Namjoon replies, smiling as fingers creep up the inside of his wrist. “You want my food?”

Hoseok scrunches up his nose. “Not really,” he says.

“Aw, come on,” he wheedles. “I’ll feed you.”

There’s a moment of silence where he can see Hoseok fighting with himself not to give in, but Namjoon knows he’s weak for the puppy eyes and eventually forces out a “fine” and lets his mouth drop open.

Now, Namjoon knows he should be careful. He knows they’re in public and a restaurant that’s busy and full of people that might be fans, and fans with cell cameras, but he’s tucked up in the far corner with Hoseok and part of him couldn’t care less if someone saw and the news broke out even though he knows it selfish because Hoseok’s so attached to his career right now, but his boyfriend is right there next to him chewing on a mouthful of chicken pasta with his cheeks puffed up and trying hard to keep his expression displeased that he’s just pouting, and he’s so cute that Namjoon can’t help it. He cleans off his plate, and lets Hoseok take sips from his lemonade too, reaching over to wipe the cream sauce off the corner of his lip.

He knows he’s going to get teased about this tomorrow, just knows the minute he shows up for practice tomorrow morning they’re going to be ruthless about it, headlocks and noogies and jokes about tonight already tucked into their back pockets.

“It’s not my cheat day,” Hoseok says, smiling now, all soft around the edges. “Open up,” he says, holding a piece of cake to Namjoon’s lips. He feeds him the whole thing that way, and then sticks the fork in his mouth after it’s gone.

“Are you coming over?” Namjoon asks, when Seokjin calls for the check.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Hoseok scolds. He’s smiling, though. “I can if you want.”

Namjoon nods vigorously. He chews with his mouth shut, trying not to choke when Hoseok looks at him — dimpled and sweet and curling the corners of his eyes.

It doesn’t take long to split the bill, and then have Hoseok waiting for Namjoon by his car while he says goodbye to his team. He’s leaning a hip against the door, a long line of shapely limbs and devastating with his hair all across his forehead, the cut of his overcoat tight to his waist. It’s cold tonight, already mid November, but it hasn’t started snowing yet. Namjoon bites his lip when he slides in shotgun and studies the sharp line of Hoseok’s face and neck when he looks over his shoulder to back out of the parking lot, thinking about how he’d look in the snow.

When they pull into Namjoon’s driveway, the engine idling, Hoseok leans over and kisses him. He’s got his keys on a little ring with a sun charm, metal clanging together when he unlocks the door, and leads Namjoon in by the hand, dropping his skate bag in the foyer.

They take their time undressing each other, then again in the shower, Hoseok looping his arms around Namjoon’s neck like they have all the time in the world. By mutual agreement they get in bed even though it’s only eight, because Hoseok has to wake up early for practice in the morning and Namjoon doesn't have anything to do either.

He turns on his little reading light and picks up the book he’s been meaning to finish for ages, one hand settling in Hoseok’s hair where he’s draped across his lap, mumbling sleepily through a conversation.

“When are you leaving for Moscow?”

“Thursday,” Hoseok yawns, rubbing his face against Namjoon’s thigh.

“Nervous?”

“Hmm?” he says, “Ah, not really.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“Just wanna make it to finals.”

“You will.”

“Knock on wood, Joonie,” Hoseok says. “You never know.”

“Well I know.”

“Mhm, sure you do. Big brain of yours huh?”

Silence.

“Want me to send you? When’s your flight?”

“One am or something. Don’t bother.”

“I want to.”

“You need to rest, I’ll be fine. Not like I’m traveling alone anyway.”

“Oh. So your coach…?”

“Nah, some rinkmates. We’ve got a whole squad.”

“That’s cool.”

Hoseok laughs. “You can pick me up if you want,” he says. “When I get back. I’ll text you the flight details, but if you’re busy don’t you dare.”

Namjoon hums. “I’ll think about it,” he says. He rubs the shell of his ear affectionately. “Goodnight, Hobi.”

“Night,” Hoseok says, with a pleased shudder.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Russia is fun.

Jimin meets him at the airport with a squeal, and they jump around in the parking lot for ten minutes too long before actually getting their shit together. They take the ISU shuttle all the way to the hotel, bumping around in the backseat with Hoseok’s stuff. Jimin says he’s been doing well, and that he and Taehyung both deciding that the long-distance thing wasn’t really going to work anymore so they broke it off a couple weeks ago.

When they get to the hotel lobby, Chanyeol is there — a Canadian pair skater who’s got the most amazing arms — and he greets Jimin with a kiss on the cheek, slipping a hand around his waist, and oh, Hoseok blinks. A lot of things are starting to make sense now.

It’s freezing in Moscow, Hoseok with his three layers of jackets and thermal leggings, and a pair of thick boots. Jimin, the freak, isn’t even phased, and he just shrugs on one of those big ski coats and leaves it at that. At the very least, he puts on gloves to prove that he’s human.

They walk around for a long time, first, Jimin taking a bunch of photos of Hoseok standing in front of all the buildings in the Red Square. He’s backlit and looks like the Michelin tire man in all of them, but he’s flushed and happy and doesn’t really care. 

They fumble around without Google Maps until someone points them to a Korean restaurant half a mile down, and the food’s not groundbreaking, but it tastes a bit like home, the two of them sitting by the glass window and playing footsie while they fight over the last mouthful of rice.

“I think my room has a fridge,” Hoseok says, when they can’t finish their soup.

“We’ll get a box then,” Jimin says, signaling for the check.

The meal is good, and hot, warming him up from the inside out. It makes him feel braver about pushing out the doors into the cold and snow again, hiding in his face mask as he shivers the entire journey back to the hotel.

Hoseok pushes hard during conditioning the next day, determined to get his leg up in his spiral. Things hurt, and he’s reminded of the big R word looming in the back of his head like a demon when he sees some of the younger seniors leaving the ice before him.

They do barre holding onto the sideboards, and he eyes their extensions where he’s skating warm up laps. Some of them are promising, but others only okay — Hoseok’s greatest appeal the fact that he incorporates typically female elements for extra points, so he’s making sure the younger, possibly more attractive version of himself isn’t coming to knock him off the podium yet. He needs another year, maybe, to comes to terms with it at the bottom of a tub of ice cream next to Jimin on his shitty couch.

The two of them get prime seats to watch the ladies programs, and even primer seats to watch the men’s singles from backstage, Hoseok doing crunches with Jimin sitting on his feet and monitoring in anticipation. He eyes himself in one of the floor length mirrors after, adjusting his costume so it sits better at the neck and wrists. The bodice is mesh and tulle, cut up in little rivulets of lavender fabric, sequins bleeding down all sides. It’s pretty, if gaudier than anything he’s worn before, having the whole thing commissioned for the first time by one of Jimin's friends.

There are cameras everywhere, and they follow Group 2 out as Hoseok finally sets foot on the ice for warm up. It’s easy for him to breathe in the smell of the rink and push himself out of his own head like this. Familiar. Just routine. He slips into the upstream, feeling it thrumming under his skin even as he disappears backstage when the lights finally come up again.

He’s not sure who’s performing now, but Hoseok knows he drew the lucky card of skating last, so he’s got at least twenty minutes before he has to go out again. He catches Jimin by the waist as he’s leaving kiss and cry when one of the managers backstage tells him he’s up next, and they have half of a moment there in the archway before Hoseok’s gliding out on the rink and the entire stadium goes quiet.

Hoseok has allowed himself this: a moment with his parents and their touch before his mind goes still and blank and silent instead.

Inhale. Exhale. Center ice.

His music starts.

He knows he's getting a yellow box for a shaky flip the minute he lands, but he’s so far removed that he doesn't spare it a second thought, already cutting into the step sequence that smashes his SP score through the one hundred mark. Granted, Hoseok knows it’s his jumps that get him the most points, but he’s proud of L4’s anyway. Sometimes the ISU doesn’t appreciate creativity as much as they do his tricks.

The kiss and cry goes well. He gets up and waves before waddling backstage into Jimin’s arms, and undoes his laces as soon as he finds somewhere to prop his feet up. He’s got his blade guards on, mismatched in pink and green, and aches all over when he’s changing his shoes to go back to the hotel.

“I really thought I was out on that flip,” Hoseok laughs, groaning as he gets out of the cab.

“You did great,” Jimin says, through a mouthful of granola. Hoseok opens up obediently and lets Jimin to shove a spoonful in his mouth, leaning against the wall as they wait for the elevator doors to open. “Did you see my corkscrew? Mess.”

“They didn’t dock points though.”

“Nah,” Jimin scrunches up his nose. “I’m too cute for that.”

Hoseok snorts, shoving at him, and they both make dinner plans, trying to juggle three different group chats at once. Chanyeol has his own little Canadian pack, and he’s trying to recruit Jimin to come with, except he and Hoseok have been part of their own clique for the past couple years in the Prix circuit, a smattering of international skaters that have been together since senior debut. It’s nice to be able to talk about something other than skating when everyone’s around. To be familiar with faces that’ll at least make it to finals before disappearing into the void.

They end up going with the second group, and Christine — a rookie senior with a whip of dark hair and half Russian — out to eat, toasting the girls for their free skate the next day.

“Don’t remind me,” Seungyeon groans, sliding down in her chair. “I’m going to murder the entire ISU before I even step foot on that damn rink.”

“Cheers to that,” Jimin says, downing his champagne in one go. He doesn’t make it a habit to drink in the middle of a competition, but it’s not a lot of alcohol by his standards, and he leers at Hoseok when he gets ribbed in the side instead of setting his glass down. The rest of the table goes up in cheers as Christine downs a shot, and Hoseok sticks his tongue out at Hyerin from behind the bread basket.

It’s so different, being top five. Competing is stressful and it’s all their careers have or probably ever will amount to, those seven minutes on the ice, but he only ever sees his friends a couple times a year and getting to catch up with them is intoxicating, even if Hoseok’s dinner is nothing but soup and a sad, dressingless salad.

The last day of official practice is hard. Hoseok has a terrifying moment of I can’t do this when he keeps falling out of his Biellmann and has a stitch in his side that won’t go away all practice.  The cameras follow him around the entire time, reporters with their beady, hawk-eyed glares that track him across the rink as he cuts up his FS into chunks, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing the whole thing before the actual event. He’s pissy that way, and wants so very badly to tell them off, but he can practically feel the headlines going up online from here — Jung Hoseok, curses out local reporter, falls from grace…and his triple axel?

“You’re doing well,” his coach says, when he catches Hoseok stretching in the gym. He’s currently got his leg hoisted up past his shoulder, chest low to the floor. “I have faith in this program, Hope.”

Hoseok ducks his head. “Thank you,” he says, because if anything, Sondeuk deserves his best after all the years they’ve spent together.  He says it again later, when he’s about to go on the ice. There are cameras everywhere, but it’s too loud in the arena to hear anything else, so he clasps their hands together and tries to feel the music before it even starts, the ice like hard love beneath his blades. This, he tells himself, is a life he knows.

“Be great,” Sondeuk replies, and lets him go.

“Hoseok, Jung,” the announcer says, English right after the Russian. “Representing South Korea.”

Hoseok skates out with a smile, eyes bright as he sails through his first circle, and again before he settles in to center ice. His arms come up over his head. The cheers are deafening.

The thing is, no matter how many commentators refuse shut up about his technical score, he's never cared as much as they think when he's like this, just the way his hair sways and catches on his ear when he cuts backwards across the ice, trying for faster, bigger, more. He forces his hips level before getting his leg behind his head to spin himself out of the combination.

The next thing he knows, he’s on both knees at the end of five minutes, the ice is cold where damp seeps through the fabric of his gloves; Hoseok’s sleeves — overlong and cuffed at the wrists — are sticking to him with sweat.

He pushes to his feet with a disbelieving laugh. He stomach lurches and sways, and the crowd won't let him go to the kiss and cry the first couple times he tries, so he circles the rink to pick up a Snoopy plushie and clutch it to his chest while he milks his bows. His knee aches, just like everything aches, but when his score comes up six points above two hundred and absolutely decimates his season’s best, all he can do is double over in shock and hide his face with his hands when the cheers triple in volume.

Sondeuk helps him up, and then they’re making their way backstage, a whirlwind of press and media and people coming up to congratulate him at the same time. Hoseok doesn’t know where to look or which camera to pay attention to, so he ends up ignoring them all, going straight to Jimin and crushing him in a hug.

“I’m sweaty,” Hoseok laughs, flicking hair off his forehead.

“I don’t care,” Jimin says, and his voice is shaking. “You’re so winning finals this year.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, starting to tear up.

Seunghee shows up in his hotel room later and cries her eyes out, their little group going to celebrate again, Hoseok sagely taking the bill for himself before he’s told that everyone’s already swiped their cards when he’d gone to the bathroom. It’s not even finals, and he’s living like this, oh God.

Later, he’s still riding a high during his exhibition skate. He picked a song this year so different from the rest, bass a heavy, dull thing in the pit of his stomach when it floods the stadium. There’s electric guitar and swing eights and piano, Hoseok almost tearing his shirt down the front in poor parody of his senior debut in France all those years ago; he gets so into it. He hopes Namjoon’s watching.

It’s sad, leaving the stage after that, trying to think about the trashbag of Snoopys he’s taking home with him instead of the people he has to leave behind. His carryon isn’t much more than extra boots and his costumes, Hoseok staring at them dejectedly when he goes to take a bath, sitting there until he turns into a prune. He can’t stay long after the competition, but it’s enough to get another massage before showering off the oil and pouring himself into a plane appropriate outfit, Jimin clinging to Hoseok when they have to part ways at their gates.

Customs, as usual, is a nightmare. His phone is still on airplane mode when he leaves the luggage carousel with an extra bag, so when he sees Kim Namjoon, fucking Kim Namjoon hockey star extraordinaire, standing there with a new name card and grinning like a fool when he recognizes Hoseok through the flimsy disguise of sunglasses and sweatpants, his heart does a dizzying swoop in his chest and his throat goes thick and funny when he swallows and he feels all twenty-something hours of travel drop from his shoulders and he runs into his arms.

“Oh, my God,” Hoseok says, tucking himself up close.

It’s a little embarrassing, if he's being honest. They'd only been apart for a week and they're acting like they haven’t seen each other for months, but Hoseok's always handled this weird rollercoaster of emotions alone and having someone wait for him — a surprise, but having someone wait for him — when he gets off the plane makes him feel full to bursting.

He wants to kiss Namjoon, like he always wants to kiss Namjoon, but they’re in public and he hasn’t brushed his teeth, only popped some gum during the plane’s half hour of landing. He settles for rolling them out arrival doors with vicious determination, not even bothering to ask where Namjoon’s parked. Hearing him laugh is enough.

Namjoon tugs him gently in the opposite direction when they get outside, and tells him that Seokjin’s waiting by the fourth exit. The bubble in Hoseok’s chest grows bigger when he sees Jungkook through the windows, fuzzy Christmas socks propped up on the dashboard, one hand on his boyfriend’s thigh.

“I made you dinner,” Seokjin says. And true to word, there’s a lunchbox on one of the seats, Hello Kitty design, the chopsticks and containers all piled up together.

“Oh wow,” he says, a little choked up. He wasn’t expecting Namjoon, but he was expecting this even less: a car full of people he can call friends, and balancing a homemade meal on his lap as Seokjin eases out of his parking space and onto the freeway exit. “Thanks, hyung.”

They spend the trip home talking, a low and steady thing. Hoseok still defaults to Korean around Namjoon, and Namjoon to English, but Seokjin doesn’t mind switching between the two — reaching over to swat the back of Jungkook’s head and tell him off for playing video games while the car’s moving. “You’ll lose your eyesight,” he says. Jungkook whines, but puts his phone away, head lolling against the back of the seat.

Seokjin’s Korean is amazing. His cooking is even better. Hoseok unscrews the first container and his beef smells so good that he feels bad about being the only person eating, so he takes turns feeding the others between his own bites, leaning forward as much as his seatbelt will allow. Namjoon ends up finishing off his fried rice and Jungkook drinks all his soup, leaving Seokjin with the vegetables at the bottom of the thermos, cackling as he whips out his phone again to play Candy Crush.

“How was your competition, Hoseok-ah?” Seokjin asks, turning a corner. “Namjoonie said you got first.”

“Ah,” Hoseok ducks his head, embarrassed. “It was fun. I’m leaving for finals in a couple weeks.”

Seokjin hums, the buildings starting to look more familiar now. “Excited?”

No bills to pay. Hoseok squeezes Namjoon’s hand where it’s fallen between them. “Nervous,” he says. He doesn’t want to disappoint his fans, but Namjoon most of all. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

“If we have time, I’ll let the whole team watch during practice,” Seokjin says. “Singles events are four days in a row, right?”

Hoseok’s surprised. “Yeah,” he says. “How did you know that?”

“You can't spend most of your waking hours with hyung and not learn the entire competition timetable before it even starts,” Jungkook says. “He’s been talking about you for years, hyungie.”

“Oh,” he says, at a loss for words.

“He’s technically not supposed to abuse the powers of captaincy, but," Seokjin smiles, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Sometimes he tweaks the schedule so we all have longer lunch or something. It all depends on where the venue is though,” he says. “That one year you guys were Barcelona we had a game and I think he cried when he found out.”

Namjoon’s cheeks are pink. “No, I didn’t,” he hisses, refusing to meet Hoseok’s eye. He ruins the lie by saying: “That was supposed to be our secret,” he despairs.

“Ahh, Namjoonie,” Seokjin sighs. “Lying to your hyung now?”

“Oh look, we’re here!” Namjoon says, practically springing out the side door when Seokjin pulls up the driveway. Even though his car’s bigger than Namjoon’s, he tackles the curb significantly smoother, already unbuckled and out of his seat to heft Hoseok’s luggage out of the trunk.

“Thanks for picking me up,” Hoseok says, when Seokjin’s about to leave. He’s leaned over by the window, and smiles at him, then at Jungkook. “I’ll wash your stuff and have Joonie bring it to practice tomorrow.”

“Don’t sleep too late tonight,” Seokjin says, pinching his cheek. “And if I don’t see you before the month’s over, good luck.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Hoseok grins, and waits until the tail-lights of Seokjin’s car have disappeared down the road.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

They don’t have a lot of time together before Hoseok has to leave for Grand Prix finals. Only two weeks until he’s competing, and he’s trying desperately to keep his head up — backloading jumps in practice. He comes home sore and barely able to walk, fusing with the shitty mattress of his apartment when Namjoon’s at away games, and then fusing with Namjoon’s significantly less shitty mattress when Namjoon’s at home games.

“I’m back,” Hoseok says, finally managing to unlock the door. He’s so tired he can’t hold his bag up anymore, and it lands in a sad heap on the floor before he kicks it over where it’s supposed to be. Out of the way.

“Hi,” Namjoon says, scooting in from the living room for a kiss. Hoseok’s still gross from ballet, but he doesn’t care, tangling their fingers together on the way to the kitchen.

Between their first dinner and this one, Namjoon's started to feed Hoseok on a semi-regular basis, first as a joke between them, and then becoming more of a necessity the fourth time Hoseok had almost slammed his face into his bowl of rice falling asleep at the table.

Namjoon coaxes his mouth open, and then shut, smoothing Hoseok’s hair off his forehead as he swallows without chewing, slipping off his chair with boneless grace. He insists that he’s not that tired, but Namjoon having to drag him up the stairs and into the bathtub says otherwise.

“Epsom salts,” Hoseok said, seriously, when he’d gotten a blank stare from Namjoon the first time he’d brought a bag of them over. “Are the only reason I have both legs and am still walking.”

Namjoon runs a bath and Hoseok curls up against his chest in the tub, so big there could probably be three more of them and not have any issue lying down together. Hoseok’s mouthing absently at his collarbone before he tilts his head up to kiss along the underside of his jaw, in that familiar way of his. He just likes being close. His nose presses up against Namjoon’s pulsepoint, and then scrapes gently with his teeth, sighing as Namjoon digs fingers into the small of his back.

“Ouch,” Hoseok sniffs.

“‘S a knot,” Namjoon laughs, under his breath. “You’ll be feeling it tomorrow if you don’t roll it out.”

“I’m feeling it now,” he whines, hissing when muscle gives way under Namjoon’s hand. “Ow, ow, ow,” he squirms, when they’re out of the bath and Hoseok’s on his stomach, trying to pull his legs up to his chest. He looks like a dead fish, flopping around on the covers while Namjoon sticks his elbow in his calves, face pressed up against the pillows.

“You’ve got some rocks in there, babe,” Namjoon says conversationally, while trying to end Hoseok’s life. Bitch.

“I hate you,” he mumbles.

“No, you don’t,” Namjoon grins. He pulls away, and manages to worm the blankets out from under Hoseok’s dead weight, wrapping him up like Christmas candy. It’s cold now, winter heavy in their bones, so Namjoon’s cranked up the heating to make it a little more bearable. Hoseok’s impression of a rock is truly breathtaking, even when he cracks open one eye to peer up at Namjoon.

“C’mere,” he says, words slurred heavy together. It used to be hard to pick out exactly what he was saying, but Namjoon’s Korean has gotten significantly better with Hoseok around, poking at him with a spatula and telling him to move out of the way. Once he’d realized Namjoon could understand most of what he said, English went out the window. “Miss you.”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Namjoon says, softly now.

“Mm,” is all Hoseok says, rolling over to him. “Yeah.”

They’re quiet for a while, all the lights off and both their phones charging on the nightstand, an alarm set on Hoseok’s. Their hands are twisted together over Hoseok’s stomach when he asks, so sleepily it’s almost inaudible: “Did you visit noona without me?”

Namjoon flushes, thankful Hoseok can’t see in the dark. “Yeah,” he says, embarrassed. “You said you try to hang out with her every week and you couldn’t when you were in Russia, um— we, we watched you compete together.”

Hoseok doesn’t say anything for a long while, and Namjoon’s both afraid that he’d taken too many liberties with his sister and maybe Hoseok’s jealous now or upset or maybe he’s accidentally fallen asleep when Hoseok finally says, “Thanks,” like it hurts. “I’m always worried about her, I guess. She doesn’t have a lot of friends in America.”

Namjoon kisses the back of Hoseok’s head. “I don’t think I was cute enough for that.”

“Oh, shut up,” he says, shoving at Namjoon’s arm. “There’s no way she wouldn’t like you. Bet you even took out the trash, huh?”

Namjoon pauses. “I made her tea,” he relents.

“You charming motherfucker,” Hoseok says, very fondly.

“Well, I’m your charming motherfucker, so take that,” Namjoon says, pressing his lips to the top of Hoseok’s head, hair damp from the bath.

“Will you come with me tomorrow?” Hoseok asks. “Dawon said that she’s making noodles.”

It’s quiet for a moment, while Namjoon juggles his schedule for tomorrow. “I don’t think that’s in my diet plan.”

“It’s not in mine either.”

Namjoon grins, even though Hoseok won’t be able to see. “Pinky promise?” he says, looping his pinky around Hoseok’s. “Our coaches won’t know.”

“Pinky promise,” he agrees, curling their fingers together.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Dawon looks amazing.

She answers the door without her cane, and Hoseok knows it’s a good day, letting her sweep him up in her arms and usher both of them inside. She’s wearing a headband that Hoseok had given her as a joke, something with Tinker Bell on it, faded green as the stitching writes out Junior World Grand Prix 2008 across the top. Hoseok got it in a goodie bag years ago, and he’d thrown it at her in a fit of frustration when they’d started fighting about hot chocolate, of all things, over the kitchen table, Hoseok storming off into his room and slamming the door shut as loud as he dared.

Namjoon, the fool, almost drops everything he’s holding because apparently his parents said he shouldn't show up to someone’s house empty handed — taking his mother’s word so literally that he’s holding a bottle of mimosa in one and cider in the other and had to rely on Hoseok to press the doorbell.

“I like your dress,” Namjoon says shyly, setting a bag of clothes on the table. He’d sent the team’s PA to the shopping center during practice, out of breath and afraid that he wouldn’t be able to find anything in time, and trusted her with his accounts as she’d torn her way with terrifying efficiency through the entire mall.

There’s Kate Spade and Louis Vuitton and some other name brands and Hoseok had only dreamed of buying for Dawon, and he has to press down hard on the flare of jealousy that comes up his gut. They’ve already had this conversation; he’s not going to beat a dead horse into the ground tonight.

“What’s this?” Dawon asks, covering the pot. She wipes her hands on her apron and comes over, eyebrows raised. She looks at the bags on the floor, and then the bags inside the bags — a Gucci clutch, and a Coach wallet, things like that — and sets sharp eyes in their direction. “Kim Namjoon,” she says, hands on her hips. “You did not.”

Namjoon shrinks back, trying to hide behind Hoseok even though he’s taller and is terrible at making himself small. She doesn’t even have to take off her slipper. “I’m sorry!” he yelps, ducking his head. “I’m sorry!”

“Better be,” Dawon says. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

Namjoon’s hiding his face in Hoseok’s neck, Hoseok patting his back like he’s an eight year old. “I know,” he says, wincing.

Dawon beckons him over. “C’mere,” she sighs, opening up her arms.

She, if possible, is even smaller than Hoseok is. She doesn’t look ill today, but the last time Namjoon driven her to her appointment, bouncing his leg in the waiting room until a nurse had her wheeled out to a private bed, he’d sat by her side for the entirety of visiting hours and held her hand while the color drained from her face.

Namjoon didn’t know what to do, so he rubbed her back the way his mother always rubbed his, his hand looking so big against the thinness of her spine and shoulders. He helped her drink water, and then settled back into his chair, waiting for her to finish whatever story she’d been in the middle of telling.

So when Namjoon goes to hug her, he flounders for a minute. She’s a head shorter than what he’s used to, but he’s had to deal with a lot of younger fans before, so it’s not the height that bothers him as much as the fear of crushing her alive. The sound of Hoseok pulling out a chair and dropping into it is loud, even with the soup bubbling away on the stove.

“Yah, Jung Hoseok,” Dawon says, flicking Hoseok hard on the forehead as she passes by. He almost topples over in his seat, and gives her these sad, puppy dog eyes. “Go help your boyfriend set the table.”

He lets out an aggravated sigh, but says, “Yes, noona,” getting to his feet obediently.

“Get the nice dishes, Hobi.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, dragging his slippers on the kitchen tile as he opens one of the cabinets. “Yes, noona,” he repeats, and goes up on his toes to try and reach the top shelf. He gives up after a painful minute, and eyes the kitchen counter, wondering if he’d fall over if he tried climbing up on it like he used to when he was a kid. “Why do you put them so high up?” he whines, deciding against it. “You’re even shorter than me.”

“I don’t eat from the nice dishes, stupid,” she says, shoving a wad of chopsticks in his hand and telling him to count them out. “I don’t have space for them with the rest of the Snoopy shit you keep giving me.”

“But he’s so cute!”

“I got it,” Namjoon cuts off, sliding up behind Hoseok. He crowds him in against the counter, one hand on Hoseok’s hip as he pulls three bowls out, and then a couple plates after. He steals a kiss when Dawon’s not looking, Hoseok with his fingers splayed light across his jaw to hold him in place, and then another and another.

“I saw that,” she says, out of nowhere.

Hoseok jolts, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the fridge, trying to pretend he’s not as scared as he really is. “Sorry, noona.”

“Mhm,” Dawon says, sitting herself down. “You better be.”

Hoseok rinses the dishes off in the sink while Namjoon brings the entire pot over to the table, and pats them dry with the hand towel before he goes to serve the noodles. Dawon’s strong, one of the strongest people he knows, but sometimes she gets tired from doing too much, and cooking always takes it out of her. He just wants to have a quiet dinner tonight before crashing in the guest bed, kicking his feet against Namjoon’s under the table.

Dawon’s dining table is round, so they bump elbows all the time going for more, Hoseok watching Namjoon inhale his noodles for ten minutes straight.

“I don’t know how you can eat so much,” he says, Namjoon freezing where he’s in the middle of chewing, mouth full of vegetables and rice. Hoseok loops their ankles together, comforting. “I’m just kidding, Namjoonie,” says gently, reaching out to brush hair back from his face. His voice drops comically. “You have to grow those hockey muscles, baby.”

“Mm,” Dawon hums, putting her chopsticks down. She leans over to Hoseok’s side of the table, as if Namjoon isn't right there. “They couldn’t move my wheelchair through the door at first so he just,” she mimes picking something up, “And put me in it.”

“He's a charmer, noona. I warned you.”

Namjoon ducks his head in embarrassment, and stares hard into his half-eaten bowl of noodles, poking one chopstick around in his soup. Hoseok kisses his cheek, rubbing his thumb across the back of Namjoon’s hand even as the conversation changes, things like game season and doctor’s appointments and competition.

“I’m flying out on Tuesday,” Hoseok says. Dawon can tell he’s nervous. He’s good at hiding his emotions, but not that good when it comes down to twenty years of knowing him. “I’ll work hard.”

“I know you will,” she says, eyes softening. “Namjoon and I watched your Rostelecom events.”

Hoseok beams. “Ya, he told me.”

“If I don’t have a game, we can watch finals together,” Namjoon pipes up, finally. “We can go to my place; some of my teammates want to come over, um, and join. If it’s not too far.”

Dawon’s an hour and a half drive from where Hoseok and Namjoon live, one county over where the nice hospitals are. It’s quieter here too, and the Korean community’s big, but it’ll be good for Dawon to be with them, Hoseok thinks, worrying his lip. Namjoon pulls out his phone to load up Seokjin’s Instagram, promising he’ll be there, and if Seokjin’s there than Jungkook’s there — the two of them attached at the hip and smacking each other around all the time — and he hopes that Taehyung will go, and maybe even the boy he’d bumped into on his search for Namjoon that time he’d wandered around the arena too.

“You have my number,” Dawon says. “I’ll text you my treatment schedule.”

“Sounds good,” Namjoon says, smiling so wide his cheeks dimple.

Hoseok’s so busy staring at him he doesn’t really hear the rest of their conversation, but it’s low, every day sort of talking. Comfortable, even when it gets quiet between the two of them and Dawon helps Namjoon finish off the last of the beef. A little gochujang’s left over in the corner of his mouth, and he’s gesturing wildly with a wad of rice stuffed in one cheek.

Hoseok reaches out and wipes the sauce off Namjoon’s lips with his thumb, closing his mouth for him because he tends to get too excited and forget these things, one hand under his chin. He doesn't really processing what he's doing, all of it automatic and thoughtless, even when the whole table falls silent and they give Hoseok looks: Namjoon’s flushed, Dawon’s knowing.

“Sorry,” Hoseok says, blinking hard, after nobody talks for a long time. “Joonie likes to talk with his mouth full.”

“Namjoon-ah,” Dawon says gently. She eyes his empty bowls, and tilts her head back towards the spare bedroom. “Could you give us a moment?”

She gets a confused look, but he nods anyway.

“What’s wrong?” Hoseok asks, when Namjoon extracts himself from the table with his typical grace. He ambles over to the guest bedroom, and shuts the door behind him. He must be playing video games because the next minute, Hoseok hears the familiar blast of Tiny Towers before Namjoon swears and frantically lowers the volume.

“Hoseokie,” Dawon says, and he sucks in a breath at how serious her voice has gotten. She reaches over and puts two hands over his on the tabletop, and he stares down at them, unable to meet her eye. “I’m going to be gone soon,” she says.

Hoseok’s throat goes dry with pain, and he blinks away the tears, the way his nose bridge tightens up. It’s so sudden, this topic.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. He sounds like a kid on the verge of a tantrum, but he doesn’t care. “Dawon—”

“I don’t know when, and neither do the doctors,” she says. Dawon reaches up and brushes a thumb across his cheek. “I wish I could’ve done my job better as your sister,” she says quietly. “You’ve been so strong, Hoseok-ah. I hate to ask you to be strong again.”

He shakes his head once, a tight, awful thing. “Shut up,” he says, and that's the only thing he manages to get out before his voice cracks and he bites hard on the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet.

“But I don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone the way you love him; I can tell,” Dawon continues, still treating Hoseok like he’s six and just scraped his knee falling off his scooter again.

Hoseok frowns, looking everywhere but at her.

“When I die, Hoseokie,” she says, like it’s the most casual thing to talk about over dinner scraps. “I don’t want you to be alone like you always are. You’re not allowed to just throw yourself into skating like you always do.”

Hoseok crosses his arms, and doesn’t say anything.

“You promise me,” Dawon says, firm, at his lack of answer. “You have friends now, I know— Jimin doesn’t count. Look at him: Namjoon’s not going to leave you the way Donghyuk left you, so don’t ruin it for yourself, okay? I’m expecting the two of you to get hitched and to finally adopt him as my favorite little brother.”

“Fine,” Hoseok says. He’s clutching hard at her hand, hoping that the less he blinks, the less he’ll cry. “Fine— I promise,” he says. “I promise.”

Dawon leans over and kisses the top of his head like she always did when they were kids. “Namjoon-ah?” she calls. “You can come back now.”

He reappears in the doorway after a minute, phone stuffed awkwardly in his pocket and not really knowing what happened for Hoseok to look up with tears in his eyes and his cheeks swollen and crawl over into his lap on one of the dining table chairs and turn into a miserable ball of human being, but neither of the Jungs are willing to give answers, so he shrugs and runs a hand down Hoseok’s back, telling Dawon to leave the dishes; he’ll get to them later.

“I think you broke him,” he says mirthfully, pressing his lips to Hoseok’s temple. He just won’t let go.

“Ah, he’ll be fine,” Dawon says, watching Hoseok finally peel himself away to help Namjoon clear the table.

He scrubs hard at the bowls, brows tight together, and when they go to watch a nature documentary, Hoseok pulls Namjoon aside and kisses him in the archway of his sister’s kitchen, tilting his head to the side so he can slot their mouths together. Namjoon’s fingers are threaded through the belt loops of Hoseok’s skinny jeans to pull him close; Dawon pretends very badly to be busy with the remote control.

“Is everything okay?” Namjoon asks, concerned. Clearly whatever they talked about rattled him hard.

Hoseok presses their foreheads together, and closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. He takes a breath. “Yeah.” Then, like he’ll forget if he doesn’t say it now, blurts out: “I love you.”

Namjoon’s breath stutters in his chest, everything twisting under his feet. Hoseok’s never been the most forthcoming with things like this, despite the few times he’d caught him vulnerable by chance, and for him to be the first to say it out loud crushes the voices in the back of Namjoon’s head that have been telling him Hoseok doesn’t feel the same way about him, or as deeply as Namjoon does. Now he…now he—

“You’re supposed to say it back, dumbass,” Hoseok’s voice is thick, and he punches Namjoon’s arm, face pink with embarrassment.

Fuck, oh— “I love you,” Namjoon breathes, the words rolling off his tongue. “Since I was fifteen,” he says, intoxicated. “Oh, my God, I love you.”

Hoseok’s laughing now. “Shut up,” he says.

“I thought you wanted me to—mmpfh!”

Hoseok drags him down for another kiss, this one harder. It’s a little wet, but it still makes him feel warm all over, Dawon cheering alone in the background from where she sits on the couch. He fondles Namjoon’s chest, half joking and half because he wants to, laughing into his mouth before pulling away to crush him in a hug, so happy. He’s so fucking happy.

“Love you,” he says again, catching his eye, just because he can.

“Love you too,” Namjoon says, a touch softer. He leans down and presses their foreheads together, thinking: I’m never going to let you go.

Chapter Text

DECEMBER

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

American commentators talk to much. This is fact, and not opinion. Namjoon sighs when he turns the lights off in his living room. There’s popcorn everywhere, and the entire house has finally gone silent, Jungkook shushing everyone as the commercial break ends.

“Hoseok, Jung,” the announcer says blandly. “Representing South Korea.”

Taehyung settles down on the floor between Yoongi’s legs, miming zipping his lips shut when Jungkook looks at him. The footage on the television cuts away from the bird’s eye view of the crowd, painting the room blue.

Hoseok skates out onto the ice after a moment, big strides while he circles the rink. He looks confident, like he always does, even though Namjoon had almost bit through his tongue watching his ranking fall past fifth with his short program two nights ago. Hoseok hadn’t answered his texts since. Now, he’s got his eyes closed as he sends a kiss up to the ceiling, the big, airy sleeves of his free skate costume rippling as he glides, blades black and smooth and seamless. The rest of the bodice glitters under the lights.

“Up next we have Hoseok Jung,” one of the commentators says. Namjoon thinks his name is Tony, but he honestly couldn’t care less. He’s here to watch Hoseok skate, not to listen to some American know-it-all talk over his music. “Big eyes out for him, he’s a three time World and Grand Prix champion, and he’s taken home all sorts of smaller titles from challenger series and ISU competitions. A little disappointing to see him end sixth after the short program on Monday, but I have high hopes of him getting on the podium this year.”

On screen, Hoseok shakes out his hands, and comes to stop in the center of the rink.

“I had the chance to watch him at Rostelecom, and, Maya, let me tell you, this program was just phenomenal,” Tony continues. “I’m thinking a world record is in the making here tonight.”  

“I agree with you, Tony,” Maya says, voice pitched higher but still equally as annoying. “He’s just the best skater I’ve seen in years.” 

The tiny Hoseok on the television, with his mussed hair and eyeliner and pinched mouth, looks up as the music starts. He rolls his wrist, then his elbow, the movement traveling all the way up to his shoulder before twisting his arms together above his head.

“Skating to Dustin O’Halloran’s Quintett No. 1…” Tony says, quiet when the music pauses briefly, Hoseok sneaking in his first jump. “And a quad lutz to start off,” he says, having to raise his voice over the noise of the crowd. “That takeoff just so insanely hard, but he does it like it’s nothing.”

“Same from me,” Maya says. “He’s got even more— look at that jump combination: triple axel, triple toe,” she says, “All green boxes for those solid landings there; he’s really coming for this championship medal this year.”

Hoseok twists himself around into a camel spin, hands spread. His footwork, his choreography, his costume. Every time he competes it’s like a show.

“His musicality is completely unrivaled on the ice right now,” she says. “I was lucky enough to be invited to his open practice, and I have a feeling he’s going to go for more than what he’s got planned. He’s always been determined to shock everyone around here.”

“I have to agree with that, Maya; I have to agree.”

So far, Hoseok’s only crossed off one of his three planned quads. With what his short program’s score looks like, he’s either going to have to backload a ton of his jumps for the extra points with them being in the second half of his skate, or he’s giving up gold and settling for something less. Namjoon, genuinely, doesn’t know which one he’s going to pick. 

The music strains, and Hoseok with it, running out across the ice before lowering himself to the ground.

“His Ina Bauer,” Tony says, distracted.

“He’s coming up out of it now,” Maya says. “And— two quads, fully rotated,” she says, struggling to keep up. The crowd roars. “A sal and loop just one right after the other, what a monster.”

Hoseok whips out a triple Salchow, just slightly under-rotated but not enough to dock him too much. “I guess underestimated how much he wants gold tonight,” Tony laughs, disbelieving. “He’s just tossing things out of the way for these jumps. Unbelievable.”

Hoseok launches into his step sequence, a complicated mess of arms and legs and feet and ending with a spiral, speeding past the judging panel. His leg’s hiked up in the back, and he twists, somehow, into a spin before getting on with the rest of his program.

“Another quad, single, triple combination,” Maya says, watching Hoseok land with his leg solid underneath him. “I’m really smelling a Prix title for him today. I think he can make up with the disparity, I really do.”

“That’s what I was thinking as well,” Tony says. “He’s altering his choreography on the spot, I just want to mention. I watched him yesterday, and he didn’t have any of these elements in there.” 

“Oh yes,” Maya says, distracted. “And I think— I think this is our last triple flip, triple toe, double axel!” 

Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat. Knowing Hoseok outside of his professional life is strange in so many different ways, and getting to see him on international broadcast makes Namjoon feel weird inside. A degree of giddy separation knowing that Hoseok’s so good at what he does.

Hoseok bends himself back into his Biellmann now, thirty seconds left to his program. It looks like he could spin for hours and not get tired from how easily he moves, all liquid in the spine.

“And here, he’s still hiking up those points with this last combination,” Tony says.

“Gorgeous position there,” she says. "What an ending."

The crowd surges to their feet. The tiny Hoseok onscreen presses his forehead down into the ice when the audience roars, gasping in what looks like relief, hiding his face from the cameras with his arms. Snoopys bounce across the rink, scattered like leaves by the half boards.

It’s absolute chaos in Namjoon’s living room. Everyone's yelling, and then he thinks Jungkook knocks over the mostly-empty bowl of popcorn in his rush to sweep Spanner up in his arms and cry together, but Namjoon can’t tear his eyes away from Hoseok on the screen, and the way he runs his hands across the ice after his program.

He’s smiling so wide, and wipes at his sweat when he finally gets back on his feet. He waves to the audience, and turns to each corner for a bow, mouth moving but the words drowned out by the roar of the stadium. He curtseys, and then again.

By the time he goes to skate off the exhaustion, most of the Snoopys have been collected, but Hoseok picks a big one at random and blows a kiss to the crowd as he makes his way over to the back exit.

Another camera picks up a shot of him hugging his coach, and a breathless tumble of words as he fits on his blade guards — mismatched colors, neon pink and teal this time. He turns back to the arena and gives them a final wave, laughing, before he waddles over to the kiss and cry.

The judging panel has to review his footage — taking a look at all the things they want to check for proper point deduction — so it’s a minute before Hoseok comes back onscreen after all the replays. He’s wearing his Korea Skate jacket by then and hugging the Snoopy to his chest as he grins at the camera, shooting it some finger hearts before he goes back to talking with his coach. 

“The scores for Hoseok, Jung,” the announcer says.

There’s a pause, both in real time and over the speakers, everyone on the edge of their seats. The whole stadium goes quiet. Hoseok’s last, so there’s no question as to his ranking once they know what how his FS went, and he knows it too, digging his hands a little nervously into the belly of the plushie, eyes fixed on the jumbotron.  

“Has been awarded two-hundred and eighteen points for his free skate program, and is currently in first place.”

Hoseok’s mouth drops open as the whole audience comes back to life, too shocked to even scream with them. He leans forward to look at the screen again, then turns to his coach to ask something like is this real? Is this real? eyes so big as he double and triple checks the figures.  

Sondeuk pushes him to his feet, and Hoseok wobbles when he stands, one hand still pressed to his chest, breathless and waving to the crowd for ages until he’s pulled aside for the stadium interview. His accent’s coming out stronger now, and he has to swallow around his words a couple times because he’s still breathing unevenly, thanking his fans for their support and his gratitude to his peers and coach and family. 

koyabear
CONGRATS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

koyabear
I HOPE YOU HAVE FUN IN CANADA AFTER THIS
BREAK UR DIET
GET FAT  

mangmang
i thought you only loved me for my body :-( 

mangmang
but thank you (~￣³￣)~
did you watch on TV?
or just google haha 

koyabear
?????OF COURSE I WATCHED
LOOK AT EVERYONE WHO CAME
[group.jpeg] 

mangmang
oh wow
[picture]

koyabear
don't you still have the awards ceremony ???

mangmang
the awards ceremony in long time
i’m wait backstage 4 thirty min
i’ll do whatever i want >:-( 

koyabear
is jimin there?
tell him congrats too plz!
also tae says hi
[tae.jpeg] 

mangmang
of course he is here
jimin says hi too! 

Later, Seokjin gets the boys to set the table for a dinner, tossing throw cushions onto the floor around his coffee table. Namjoon has to fight the rest of them for seconds, and then thirds, their squabbling louder than all the commercial breaks. It’s a little late to be eating, but it’s been dark outside for hours now, and all the jokes get shoved aside when the awards ceremony finally starts up.  

There’s not much to watch — the exhibition skate tomorrow has actual performances — but Hoseok’s beaming when he links his fingers with Jimin’s, taking their victory laps together, and Namjoon couldn’t care less. There are more Snoopys, and he has to scoop them all up in his arms without the little ice cleaners on the sidelines.

The podium is over within four minutes, all three medalists posing for the camera a couple times and then jumping down to finally get out of their skates. Hoseok has to stay over to do an interview, doing the classic “You’re my hope, I’m you’re hope!” line, Jimin lingering on the sidelines.

They go backstage, arm in arm, skipping as much as their blade guards will allow. They’re singing something, too faint to be picked up by the cameras that follow them backstage, only to blocked by the DO NOT ENTER stickers plastered over the doors.

Hoseok sends Namjoon a selfie soon after; it’s of him fresh out of the awards ceremony, hair curling over his forehead and eyes crinkling from how wide he’s smiling.

Later, Namjoon will go to bed with his phone in his hands, staring at Hoseok’s face until his eyes blur and he knocks out for eight hours.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

The time Hoseok’s spent with Jimin has been good, even he can see it in the mirror.

He hasn’t got anything to think about until Four Continents, and he didn't realize how much he missed having parents until he woke up in the same bed as Jimin and smelled food from downstairs. Jimin’s mom, half a head shorter than both of them but wicked with a knife, comes up the stairs to wake the boys up every morning, Hoseok nearly slamming his head against the ceiling as he tries to roll out of the top bunk.

“Food’s ready,” she says. Korean is kind to Hoseok’s ears, and no matter how much he loves Jimin, the Canadian is too much sometimes. “You boys should be up and about, come on.”

“Eomma,” Jimin whines, hiding his face under his pillow. “Five more minutes.”

“Five more minutes and your father’s going to finish your fried rice without you.”

That’s what gets both of them up, Hoseok falling out of his bed and scrambling to get two sweaters and a pair of sweatpants on over his pajama bottoms.

They lets themselves binge that entire week, lounging around on the couch and catching up on each other’s lives, breaking off pieces of a Godiva chocolate bar that one of their fans had gifted to them outside the finals venue, slowly becoming one with the sofa and hating how much they actually like it. Hoseok’s going home with a big suitcase full of Snoopys again — ones that he’s going to sign and then auction off for charity — and he always tucks one up under his chin as they squirm around on the lower bunk, giggling about something they’d seen on Twitter.

Chanyeol comes over a lot, and Hoseok does a poor job at third wheeling, considering both Jimin’s parents are on break from work and they entertain him in the living room for a long time. They’re close, even though Hoseok doesn’t see them often; maybe two weeks a year at most, but he supposes there’s still familial obligation there. 

Jimin's mom pinches his ear like a mother would, and ruffles his hair before she gets up off the couch, eyeing the way Jimin and Chanyeol disappear upstairs together. Hoseok doesn’t think they’d be fooling around, judging by the way Chanyeol struggles even just to talk around his boyfriend, but he wouldn't mind if they are. He likes being a part of their life, unfiltered and real.

They go out to eat later, driving down to go skating around the big Christmas tree at city center. Hoseok and Jimin both bring their own skates, and they fool around for a while, too many people crowding up the rink to do anything big. They get stares for half-hearted spin combos, and pose for pictures with people who recognize them, signing phone cases and arms and anything within reach. 

He holds up fine that night, and the night after that, but it’s not until Hoseok’s out shopping with Jimin does the pain gets really bad for the first time. His injury’s been bothering him all season, but finals must’ve been too much because he fights to even walk when they find somewhere to sit down for lunch.

“Is it your knee again?” Jimin whispers, after their server walks away.

“Yeah,” Hoseok says.

Jimin's eyes are big. “I think you should pull out of 4CC.”

Hoseok sighs. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation, but he knows doing it in person with Jimin is the best thing he could ever hope for. “Honestly, I don’t know,” he says, sparing their waiter a smile after he takes their orders. “It’s not that bad right now.”

“Olympics are next year.”

“I was thinking I could push through Prix.”

Jimin clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “I think you shouldn’t go to Worlds, then.”

“I wish,” Hoseok says, arranging his utensils just for something to do. “But you know…Dawon and my grandparents,” he shrugs. “I need the sponsorships.” 

Jimin’s eyes are soft when he looks at Hoseok, but not pitying. He’s been there since the beginning of both their careers, the two of them competing to see who could get singles and doubles and triples and quads out first, all sorts of spins and tricks on the ice. He knows how much Hoseok has to deal with, money-wise. “You can figure something out,” he says, biting his lip. “Maybe coach the juniors; I’m sure they’d love to have you at camp.”

Hoseok doesn’t tell Jimin about what Namjoon had done for him — the hospital bills. “Yeah,” he says lamely. “Maybe,” and leaves the conversation at that, thinking everything over in his head the entire lunch.

It’s sad, having to leave, even sadder because Jimin’s parents are the ones who send him to the airport, hugging him at the departures gate before he checks his bags. Two weeks doesn’t really amount to much unpacking, but they help him organize his stuff anyway, insisting on standing in line with him while he gets his boarding pass, and then stalling as much as they can at the terminal. He makes promises to visit more when he has the chance, and he and Jimin both cry hard when they say goodbye.

The flight is short, but it’s exhausting, Hoseok curling up in his seat and leaning his head against the window, the sun setting just outside. When he gets through to arrivals, Namjoon’s waiting there, like it’s not two in the morning and he has practice in eight hours.  He doesn’t look tired, if Hoseok's being completely honest, standing with his shoulders loose while he holds up another name card with HOPE printed on it, one hand in his pocket. He takes Hoseok’s extra bag from him and rolls out to the parking lot when he comes around the gate, neither of them taking much.

Hoseok’s eyes are sore when they get back to his place, and he clings to Namjoon when the front door closes behind them, and speeds through a shower before cornering him on the couch in his office.

“I missed you,” he says.

Namjoon slides his hands up the back of Hoseok’s thighs and come to settle them heavy on his hips, slipping his thumbs under his hoodie and the clothing-hot skin underneath. “Me too,” he says.

“I can’t believe you got everyone to watch my free skate,” Hoseok murmurs, trying for a smile. “Noona said you made her stay here for a whole week; she finally believes me when I say you can’t cook.” He reaches up and tucks some of Namjoon’s hair behind his hair, now that it’s soft and just washed, falling into his eyes.

“We had fun together, what are you talking about?” Namjoon scoffs, thumbs rubbing circles into Hoseok’s stomach. “The guys wanted to come anyway. Listen, it was Jinnie who made us dinner, if Taehyung had been the one to—” 

“Mhm,” Hoseok hums, lids drooping as he looks down at Namjoon. He wants to kiss him, so he does. “She told me you almost set the kitchen on fire trying to microwave instant rice.”

Namjoon flushes. “Ugh,” he says, knowing he can’t hide anymore. “Traitor.”

“It’s okay. Take it from me,” Hoseok says, running a hand down Namjoon’s arm. How he’s wearing a tank top in this sort of weather in beyond him; he’s cold even with the heating on and wearing two pairs of socks. Hoseok slips a hand under his shirt to splay his fingers against Namjoon’s stomach, biting his lip to keep the grin off his face. “When I say that you have many other redeeming qualities.” 

“You’re awful,” Namjoon says, laughing. He indulges him anyway, and indulges him so much that he carries Hoseok over to the bedroom with him shrieking the entire time. Namjoon dips down and bumps their noses together, smiling when Hoseok’s eyes crinkle up in response. 

He reaches up to kiss the corner of Namjoon’s mouth. “Let’s watch a movie,” he says. “I wanna get through your entire Ghibli collection before the season's over.”

Truthfully, it’s because Hoseok doesn’t think he can sleep, even as exhausted as he is. Namjoon’s hesitant until he suggests they blow up the air mattress again to build a fort, saying that he’s probably tired and needs to rest and whatever, but slots Spirited Away into the VHS obediently as Hoseok tugs extra sheets out from the linen closet.

Namjoon has a late start tomorrow, so he waves it off and says he’ll nap it off before the game. It’s a stupid plan, but he’s functioned on less sleep in worse conditions and when he’d looked Hoseok in the eye earlier, there was something underneath that he couldn’t put a name to. It’s the same thing that has him twisting their fingers together and pressing it up against his cheek, quiet.

“Wait, don’t move,” Namjoon says, when Hoseok looks up at him from his little blanket cave. His cheeks are flushed from the heat, and his hair is unruly across his forehead, light breaking over his profile. He smiles for the camera when Namjoon finally digs his polaroid out from the drawers, and turns his face away so he can get a side shot in — wide, a little blurry, just the impression of lips and teeth and his unbroken, aquiline nose.

Namjoon gets another of Hoseok’s rings, and his hands curled up over his jaw, only the lower half of his face now, and the blueness of the blankets washed green from the TV. Neither of them are really watching the film anymore, Namjoon arranging his polaroids in a little collection on the floor before he snaps a picture with his iPhone. Hoseok kisses all up and down the swell of his shoulder, and presses his cheek to his arm.

It’s hard to tell who’s in these, and that’s sort of the point. Hoseok’s features are prominent, but the whole picture of him isn’t; even Namjoon has some pictures of him in the mix: a smile, and the shape of his ear and jaw. He wants to upload the scatter shot to Instagram, and then a close up of one he likes the most. It’s Hoseok, right as he’d turned away to laugh.

“This okay?” Namjoon murmurs, showing him the post.

Hoseok smiles, “Yeah,” he says. He switches between the two photos. It’s hard to see who it is, just how desperately intimate everything feels. “You’re a good photographer.”

“You’re a good model,” he says.

The movie plays out in front of them. Namjoon posts, his followers somehow online even though it’s edging four in the morning. He plugs his phone in to charge, then falls asleep next to Hoseok on the floor half an hour later, the TV off.

He sleeps well, and he sleeps deeply, the two of them tucked up into each other like bean stalks. The sun’s up when Namjoon finally wakes. He can hear Hoseok brushing his teeth in the bathroom, and then washing his face, but his boyfriend’s still bleary eyed when Namjoon shuffles in next to him and does the same.

The next picture Namjoon takes of them is sneaky.  Hoseok's got the hood of his stolen jacket up, some big thing that Namjoon wears often enough his fans have given it all sorts of names and make fun of him for it, but he still hasn’t got around to throwing it out because he’s lazy and it’s comfortable to lounge around in. He thinks it looks better on Hoseok, the sleeves too long for him and massive by far, but he knows he’s biased. He doesn’t care.

They're chest to chest, Hoseok hooking his chin over Namjoon's shoulder because he thought his voice sounded funny that way, back to the camera. The hoodie’s worn at the hems, and so long it looks like Hoseok’s not wearing anything underneath. All his clothes are in the laundry machine downstairs, still running his sweatpants through the wash, his skinny little hips unable to fit into Namjoon’s stuff. It’s not bad actually, just annoying, rendering him unable to walk without hiking his sweats up every two seconds.  

“You’re so warm,” Hoseok mumbles, and then laughs because he sounds like a fly. 

Namjoon hums mildly, turning his head so he’s pressing a kiss to the side of his head, not even looking at the camera when he takes the first couple photos. Hoseok’s feet are turned in from the cold, a brace he’d dug up from his luggage this morning tight over his right knee. It’s hard to tell exactly who’s with him, which is good; Namjoon even gets Jungkook to edit the photo for him.

bunnie boy
ur bf looks cute  

monnie boy
thanks XD
he is 

bunnie boy
you look happy.
:) 

Honestly, Namjoon’s face is barely visible too, and Jungkook’s kept the focus of his editing that way, the contrast of bare skin to the ripped denim of his jeans, the large, uncropped frame that shows off part of his room — light spilling in through the open window. There are faded spots all over the picture, and he knows it’ll look awkward on his feed because Jungkook’s so good when it comes to these things, but Namjoon doesn’t care, and never has, really. It goes up on Instagram without second thought before he slips his phone into his pocket and goes on a Hoseok hunt.

He finds him in the kitchen with a pair of Christmas socks on, clutching the spatula they’d bought together a month ago. He’s dancing around a little, humming under his breath as he checks on his eggs, and startling when he turns around to see Namjoon staring at him from the doorway.

“Hey, baby,” Hoseok grins, sliding over to him easily on the hardwood. He thinks it’s funny, how it’s a bit like skating, and the two of them professionals at their own sport. “Someone’s looking good today.”  

He shakes hair out of his eyes. Namjoon’s throat goes dry. “You too,” he says. There’s an awkward pause. He clears his throat. “Um, what are you making?”

“Breakfast,” he says, scooting over to the toaster when it pops out a bagel.

He plates it, then gives it to Namjoon to hold, shooing him off with a spatula and his left hand. “It’ll be done soon; you should eat.”

Hoseok only looks travel tired at first, slumping into his chair and stretching his legs out under the table. He hasn’t got a shirt on under Namjoon’s hoodie, so at one point it falls off his shoulder while he cracks his neck, and scratches absentmindedly at the inside of his elbow. He looks bright, happy, so Namjoon doesn’t notice anything’s wrong it until they’re clearing the table.

Hoseok had gone through his plate of fruit and two eggs, stealing bites of Namjoon’s second round of toast before he got to his feet and stopped, abruptly. He’s pressing down hard on the table edge. His face is pale, and he’s sucking in these scared, sharp breaths through his teeth.

“Hobi?” Namjoon asks, from where he’s drying his hands off by the sink. He comes over, concerned, when he doesn’t respond. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says. He tries for a smile. Shakes his head, as if to clear it. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sick?” Namjoon frowns. He slips a hand under Hoseok’s bangs to check his temperature.

Then he remembers. “Your knee?”

He hadn’t mentioned it at the airport, when Hoseok had been limping. The brace came as an answer to his question, but he didn’t realize that it was bad until the grin dropped of Hoseok’s face and his hands shake when Namjoon makes him go sit down on the couch to keep his leg up. 

“You should go see a doctor,” he says, ass on the rug next to the sofa. He’s trying to get a closer look at it — definitely not a physician but familiar with the difference between an injury and a hiccup, not really brave enough to poke at it either. “I’m really worried.” 

“That’s what Jimin said.”

Hoseok winces as Namjoon peels the brace off and sticks a bag of ice over it.

“Do you need to go to the ER?” he says, immediately.

“No, s'okay,” Hoseok laughs gently, rubbing the shell of Namjoon’s ear. “I booked an appointment for tomorrow at sports med."

“I’ll drive you there.”

“You’re not busy in the afternoon? I can just get an Uber or something.”

“But they won’t help you out of the car or the elevator or—”

“Baby, slow down,” Hoseok smiles, pulling Namjoon in for a kiss. It lingers, his hand light under Namjoon’s chin to coax him up. “I’ll be okay,” he murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. 

Namjoon closes his eyes around the tightness in his chest, and breathes out on Hoseok’s count. “Okay,” he says, shoulders dropping. “Okay.”

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

namjoonupdates

[photo]
movie night #ghibli #spirited_away

#kim namjoon #nhl #hockey #updates #instagram #month: december   

hobihoobb

UHHHHHHH that is DEFINITELY team korea’s jacket, hoseok’s team korea jacket to be specific, ON NAMJOON'S BED??????????????????????????

#my mind is?????? # what is happening???

taehyungoalie

are they dating lol

#i don’t follow figure skating but this is…actually super cute wtf

hobisnoopy

not to be creepy or anything bc i know namjoon thought he was being really sly w those polaroids but that’s definitely hoseok in them…
i’d recognize that profile anywhere

#also the hands

jiminsfscostume

if namjoon’s really up watching ghibli moves at 3am with JUNG HOSEOK + also taking polaroids of him and then posting it on instagram when he hasn’t updated in legit 7 months then i don’t even know how to feel. god is good...?
[.gif]

#kim namjoon #jung hoseok #namseok #??????is that a good ship name???

hobibaby 

ok yea not to overanalyze but also that’s…hobi’s SP costume hanging in the closet ???are they living together?? and hobi getting namjoon to actually post on instagram ?his POWER

#MY HEART IS LITERALLY SINGINGJFHASJDLGNALDGH AAAAAAAAA #and yea samira I LOVE NAMSEOK THATS SUCH A CUTE SHIP NAME  

seungheeluver 

nothing’s confirmed right now but if kim namjoon, mister hockey player extraordinaire, who came out in the most awkward way possible when he was asked if he liked looking at the girls who came to bangtan’s games and asked him to sign their boobs or whatever and accidentally blurted out that he was gay and wasn’t into that on national, live television broadcast, and jung hoseok are together and in love then i don’t know what im supposed to do anymore theyre both so fucking cute and like?? how is anybody supposed to top that?? tbh they literally win. everyone else go home

#kim namjoon #jung hoseok #figure skating #hockey #namseok

seokjin00heart 

i’m just a casual fs fan but hoseok is super cute! i’ve watched some of his interviews and his english is actually really good.
i can totally imagine the two of them together for some reason, even though our ice fandoms never really coincide like that

#ive been following you for a while tho quinn!!! #time for a namjoon post spam LOL 

jeonggukseokjin

dude namseok is literally the only valid power couple

jeonggukseokjin

why? because
they’re both at the top of their field right now, rankings wise
they both are korean
they both look like THAT
they both are the sweetest kids on the planet oh wow
94z????
at the height of their careers
etc

#i love jinkook but also at the same time #to have that sort of … barrier i guess?  #between hockey and fs get broken by none other than some of the world’s best #is really amazing #i honestly don’t really believe it myself yet OmO

hobisfreeskate  

okay, so i was really hesitant about posting this at first since i’m a really big believer that some things are too intrusive for fans to talk about or to discuss publicly, but i feel like this wasn’t super recent so i can share with you guys.

i had been coming back from a trip to russia for a linguistics convention (to those who are new here, i’m a student at stanford btw!) and i was on the same flight as hoseok getting back to america. we were sitting pretty far apart, but when i went to get my water refilled in the back, i saw him sitting by the window with this snoopy in his lap. he really is super into them i guess haha. congrats to the lucky fan who’s plushie he took from rostelecom!!

anyway, i have some checked bags because i had way too many papers i needed to carry on my person, so my clothes had to go in a separate luggage, so i’m waiting at the carousel for my stuff to come out, and hoseok’s basically…right next to me the entire time.

it was a cool experience in my opinion because he had his skate bag (the one i see on tv all the time wtf) and his snoopy and then you could tell he travels a lot by the way his suitcase looked, etc. 

so i get my stuff first and leave since he looked really tired and i honestly didn’t want to bother him and i looked like a MESS lol but then it turns out i’d dropped my headphones since i didn’t zip up my purse so i go back to get them, and THEN i finally get out to the arrival’s gate to look for my girlfriend.

instead of her, what do i see …? kim namjoon waiting there with a little cardboard sign? and hoseok running out past me to hug him ?and they have a little moment together at the gate? ugh :(  

it was so SO cute because you could really tell they missed each other a lot. hoseok did that couple thing where he hid his face in namjoon’s neck & i couldn’t figure out exactly what they were talking about since most of it was in korean, but holy shit namjoon’s voice is so deep and hoseok practically was shooting hearts and stars out of his eyes when he pulled away lmao.

obviously i wasn’t going to take any pics or film stuff because that’s so rude and they looked like they were having a moment together that i didn’t want to interrupt, but basically moral of the story is, i personally think that they’re dating from what i saw, but if they’re not they could just be really good friends. we all know the whole horror story of jihope before everything got cleared up and now jimin and chanyeol are together

they weren’t holding hands or anything, but namjoon looked like he was really in love w hoseok from what my sleep deprived little brain could remember and i dream about that face every night tbh

#personal #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #namseok #anyway i share this with the confidence that you guys will be polite about things #since we aren’t a big or super active fandom anyway when it comes to possibly harassing NJ/hobi 

namjoonupdates

[picture]
baby it’s cold outside ❤

#kim namjoon #nhl #hockey #updates #instagram #month: december

rainbowhobi

holy. fucking. shit.

#rumors ending they are actually in love and dating what the fuck

soft—joonie 

oh my god????

#he’s never posted two photos in a row like this #im actually crying rn that is SO sweet 

jeonggukseokjin 

THAT IS THE CUTEST SWEETEST MOST DARLING PHOTO I’VE EVER SEEN IN TH ENTIRE WORLD NAMJOON LOOKS SO HAPPY OH MY GOD I’M SO GLAD HE’S DATING AND HAPPY?? SERIOUSLY I’VE NEVER SEEN HIM SMILE LIKE THAT HE LOOKS SO CONTENT UGH FUCK. MY HEART THIS IS MY NEW LOCK/HOMESCREEN HGHAJSLHG WHAT AM I DOING W MY LIFE

#namseok #THIS SHIP CAME OUT OF NOWHERE BUT ITS THE BEST SHIPEVERYONE ELSE CNACELED #except jinkook i love jinkook

yoongisgay

dude namjoon really said fuck the hetties
hoseok’s actually wearing that stupid jacket of his

#not to be a fs stan for a hot second but that is SO cute #look how big the shoulders are on hoseok im dead #actually just look at how big the whole thing is on hoseok. im DEAD

jiminschanyeols 

EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR A MINUTE AND LOOK AT HOW HAPPY NAMJOON IS HES ALWAYS SO SERIOUS AND WHEN HE POSTS ON SNS HES USING LOWERCASE EVERYTHING AND ALWAYS THE MOST UPTIGHT CAPTIONS AND WEIRD ASS LANDSCAPE PHOTOS HE LOOKS SO ??? OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK LOVE IS REAL

#LOVE IS REAL #TELL UR FRIENDS… LOVE IS REAL. #namseok #namjoon #hoseok

Chapter Text

DECEMBER

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Namjoon wants to bring Hoseok home for Christmas this year, and he spends all week worrying about how to ask. What if Hoseok says no? What if he wants to stay with Dawon or he’s too scared and freaks out about it? He's so caught up about it,  basically skating himself into the boards after practice before Yoongi knocks him over and drags him off the ice himself.

“Get outta here,” he says, yanking the stick out of Namjoon’s hands and slapping his ass with out. “The worst he could say it no. Go eat dinner. Call him. Text him; I don’t know. Stop being miserable where I can see you.”

Namjoon sighs, aggravated, but agrees that Yoongi’s probably right, so he trudges from the rink to the changing room to the showers to the car, and then stares at his phone for way too long with his knees bumping up against the steering wheel. He doesn’t know if he should send Hoseok a text, or if he’s even coming over today. He’s been at Namjoon’s place more often than not these days, and he’s never really allowed himself to admit out loud how much he likes occupying that space with Hoseok, of all people.

mangmang
heading home~
i’m making dinner tonight 

Namjoon’s heart skips a beat when the message comes through. He puts his head down on the wheel. He turns his face to one side, reads Hoseok’s text again. Clutches his phone to his chest. Lets out a painful noise.

He thinks he breaks the speed limit twice on his way back from the rink.

“Babe,” Namjoon says, breathless when he opens the front door and Hoseok’s handling all sorts of pans on the stove. He turns, surprised, and greets him with a kiss when Namjoon almost crashes into him on the kitchen counter. His phone is a lead weight in his pocket.

“Hi,” Hoseok says, smiling. “How was work?”

Namjoon’s chest hurts. He loves him so much, sometimes.

“You said you were heading home,” he blurts out.

Hoseok beams at him, if confused. “I did.”

“But this is— this is my place,” he says. “And you didn’t just say like, like…”

“I did.”

“Hobi, I—”

“Home is you,” he interrupts, very gently. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

Fuck. “I love you,” Namjoon fumbles, for lack of things to say. He can’t put it into words, but Hoseok seems to understand, the whole line of his shoulders softening as he pulls him in for a hug, kitschy apron on and everything. 

Namjoon buries his face in Hoseok’s shoulder and breathes the smell of him in: woodsy and whatever he’s got on the stove, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s holding Hoseok by the waist, and he wants to wrap his arms tighter around him but he’s afraid he’ll pop under the pressure, Hoseok running a hand up and down his back.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

“I, um,” he says, “Come home with me for Christmas?”

“I’m here.”

“No,” Namjoon shakes his head, pulling away so he can rub hard at his eyes. Hoseok tilts his head to the side, confused. “To my parents’ house,” he says. Something flickers in his eyes. “Home,” he says. “With me.”

Namjoon’s holding both of Hoseok’s hands in his own now, and he notes the difference between them. The length of their fingers, and the callouses across Namjoon’s palms, the place where his gloves always dig into the bone of his wrist and now there’s a welt of a scar left over. Hoseok’s hands are smooth, and his nails trimmed nicely, fingers so thin compared to his own.

“Oh,” Hoseok says, and is suddenly quiet. He bites his lip. “Can we save this until after dinner?” he says, brushing the back of Namjoon’s hand across his cheek. He swallows hard. “Let’s save this until after dinner.”

Yoongi was wrong. This is worse than being outright rejected. “Yea,” he nods, a little choked up. “Of course.”

Hoseok presses up on his toes to kiss the corner of his mouth, and then goes back to the stove to plate the stew, and the rice. He lets Namjoon carry the dishes over to the table, and hangs up his apron before he gets out the nice chopsticks and the newer bowls, spooning rice into each and handing one to Namjoon.  

Dinner is a quiet affair: Hoseok swallowing down the words he knows he should’ve said before, and Namjoon pretending hard not to be watching Hoseok, even though he is, chewing anxiously on his lip. There’s something wrong, and it’s bothering Hoseok so, by proxy, it’s bothering Namjoon, who ends up going for the same piece of chicken as his boyfriend. Hoseok knocks their chopsticks together playfully, and lets him take it. For some reason, it’s more reassuring than anything he could’ve said.

Hoseok’s wearing cartoon socks again — pink ones with a little dog character printed all over — and he twists their ankles together under the table when Namjoon won’t look him in the eye anymore. They’re still not talking, but Namjoon cleans up the entire table by himself before Hoseok can even get to his feet, stacking everything in the dishwasher and closing the door with more force than necessary.

Hoseok’s perched on the living room couch when Namjoon goes to find him, patting the space next to him where he’s curled up against the arm of the sofa. He’s squished a big Snoopy plushie to his chest, and picks at a loose thread as Namjoon gets settled, throwing his legs over his lap. Namjoon rubs circles into his ankle, smoothing halfway up his calf and back down again over his pants.

“I’ll go with you to your parents’ place, Namjoonie; you didn’t do anything wrong,” is the first thing Hoseok says. The relief rushes so fast into Namjoon’s lungs that all the air leaves his chest at once, and he slumps back into the cushions, dizzy with it. “I just,” he swallows, looking down. “I just feel like I owe you an explanation for a lot of things. Like my personal life and, and my family situation and whatever— Korean’s okay right?”

Namjoon nods. “Korean’s okay,” he replies, throat a little dry.

Hoseok’s hand is shaking when Namjoon takes it in his.

“Okay, well, um,” he tries, laugh shaky. “I don’t talk a lot about myself in general. I think…you already knew that.”

Namjoon nods. As much hype there is when it comes to Hoseok’s popularity, and that one 60 Minute documentary he did with ABC News, he’s pretty much a public enigma. His SNS is somewhat abandoned, most of it either sponsor ads or press photos with congratulations captions after ISU competitions. One or two posts about charity signings and Hoseok’s other auctions.

He didn’t know about Dawon until Hoseok told him late September, when it was just the two of them and the big house Namjoon hadn’t felt right in yet. Jimin, he knew about, but everyone knows about Jimin, and Namjoon’s only hazarded guesses as to the rest of his family.  He probably visits once a year; no idea why his sister’s in America if the other Jungs are halfway across the world, but it’s never been his place to ask, because Hoseok’s always respected his boundaries too.

“Noona got sick a couple years ago,” Hoseok says. “I’d been training in America for a while since then — I got lucky with my coach, he’s Korean but his rink’s over here, and I couldn’t leave her alone, so I took her with me. Insurance is really expensive for non-citizens, but the ISU got me figured out in more ways than one; I know you probably wonder why I’m so poor,” Hoseok laughs, ducking his head. “I don’t have a lot of choice, trying to pay for all the skating things and medical treatment is hard even with the sponsorships.”

Namjoon nods, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hoseok says, almost automatically. “You remember that one year as a junior when I stopped competing for a while?” 

“Yeah.”

“I was in an accident,” he says. Namjoon stops breathing, so much has started to fall into place. “It was a four car pile-up on the highway. My parents were in there with me,” his fingers tighten in Namjoon’s. “We flipped twice and skidded three hundred feet, and the vehicle behind us had, um, crushed in the back seat.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says. “The seatbelt didn’t really save me there, but thank god Dawon was at home. We were coming back from dinner when it happened ’n she wanted to stay in the apartment to watch her dramas or something.”

Hoseok sucks in a breath, and doesn’t let it go for a long time.

“I’d twisted my knee really badly and lost a lot of blood — glass everywhere you know. I don’t remember a lot, anyway. They said I inhaled smoke and had all sorts of things wrong with me and they wouldn’t tell me where my parents were,” he rasps, tugging hard on the ears of his Snoopy. “They wouldn’t— I kept asking, it was all I asked until I coughed up so much blood I pretty much passed out in the hospital — they wouldn’t tell me.”

“Hoseok…” 

“I went into surgery right away. A lot of my uncles and aunts came and then they brought Dawon because she was eighteen and she would’ve walked all the way to Yonsei if she could, and they wouldn’t tell me either,” Hoseok says, voice thick in his throat. “They wrapped my whole body up and said I couldn’t drink water right away and my arm was broken and my ankle was broken and I was lucky getting away with minor burns from the gas fire.

“I was in the hospital for twenty three days, and not once,” he says, old anger coming up now. Not once did they tell thirteen year old me that my dad died on impact, and that the paramedics didn’t even bother bringing my mom to the fucking hospital— just left her corpse out on the street like a dog.”

Hoseok’s face is scrunched up, and the tears that roll down his cheeks are vicious, angry things. He scrubs hard at his eyes, and he cries ugly this time, teeth gritted and throat tense, whole body burning next to Namjoon’s.

“Basically a whole month before I get out and I’m barely allowed to walk on my own and I go home to find out that we don’t have a home anymore because how is an eighteen year old supposed to afford rent like that? And I have to quit skating for the family’s sake,” Hoseok laughs, bitter.

“But you didn’t quit.”

“Of course I didn’t quit,” he says. “I worked my ass off to get where I was, there’s no way I would just let that go,” he shudders, sucking in another breath. “So I had to win. I needed that prize money from every competition I went to, if I didn’t stand on the top of that podium I could kiss my entire fucking career goodbye.”

“So your Chopin skate…”

Hoseok nods. “That was my first program after my accident,” he says. “I choreographed it myself because I could barely afford the coaching fees,” he ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed. “I was very lucky that Jimin’s family came to me when they did. I’m not sure I’d still be here if it wasn’t for them. They paid a lot of my way through school at first; that’s why we’re so close.”

Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” is what he settles on.

Hoseok shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says, finally looking up at him. “At least, um, now you know why family’s hard for me to deal with,” he finishes lamely. “It’s really nothing against you, Namjoon, I promise.”

“So Dawon…?” 

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

“I know.”

Neither of them have the energy to keep the conversation up, so Namjoon just rubs these tiny circles into Hoseok’s calf, lets out this sigh that sinks between them.

“My mom's  gonna," Namjoon starts, then looks at Hoseok for a long while without speaking. Starts again. "She's gonna love you, Hoseokie. I promise,” he murmurs. “She’ll probably try to adopt you and then kick me out of the family by the time Christmas is over.”

“Shut up,” he says, shoving at his shoulder. 

“Dawon can come if she wants,” Namjoon says. Their fingers tangle together against his thigh. “We can pick her up on the way. It’s, like, a thirty minute drive from her place.”

Hoseok sighs. “Oh, she’s going to love it,” he murmurs. “We haven’t spent Christmas with anyone for ages.” 

“They’re expecting us to stay for two nights, you know.”

“Am I going to have to bring presents for them?” Hoseok asks. His eyes go wide. “Shit, I’m going to have to bring presents for them.”

“I have stuff,” Namjoon says. “We can gift together, it’s fine.”

A beat. Two.

“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok says, quieter this time. Serious. 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Namjoon’s whole face softens. “You’re welcome,” he says, and pulls Hoseok close.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Christmas at the Kim’s is a little bit of a trainwreck.

When they get to Dawon’s apartment, she’s wearing the earrings Namjoon got her, and using that little Gucci bag too, standing back shoulder to shoulder with Hoseok to watch him lift her suitcase into the trunk. She doesn’t have many clothes in there, mostly pajamas because nobody’s willing to go out in this kind of weather anyway and apparently Namjoon’s family does Christmas dinner in loungewear, but she has medication and a whole cannula system going on for car rides.

“Oh, thank god,” is the first thing Namjoon’s sister says when they get out of the car. “Unnie, you are the best part of my brother’s stupid relationship,” she says, already talking Dawon’s ear off as she takes her inside.

“Kyungmin!” Namjoon yells, letting out an affronted noise when she flips him off before toeing off her shoes and going inside. “You’re supposed to help me take their stuff in!”

“You’re the big bad hockey player,” she yells back, sticking her tongue out. Kyungmin’s still holding onto Dawon’s hand, eyes shining. “You’ll be fine.”

By general consensus, Dawon gets the biggest room because it has the bath attached, while he and Hoseok get Namjoon’s old bedroom. The blankets are thick, and Hoseok wastes no time rolling himself up in it and lying there uselessly watching Namjoon unpack.

“I saw you on the TV yesterday, Hobi-yah,” Namjoon’s mom says during dinner, looking very interested over her bowl of rice. She’s so eager, and it’s always nice to hear Korean from a native tongue, makes him feel closer to home. “Namjoonie told me to watch your performance,” she smiles. “Not like I haven’t been hearing about them for the past six years anyway.” 

“Ah,” he says, embarrassed. He doesn’t really know what to say. “Yeah, um.”

“Very elegant,” she says, “I googled you earlier. Your Wikipedia page is much longer than my son’s.”

Hoseok chokes a little on his spit.

“I never expected him to be able to snag someone like you,” Kyungmin interrupts, deadpan. She spoons up some soup, and blows on it a little. “You’re literally famous.”

“Hey!” Namjoon says, indignant.

Kyungmin sends him a withering look. “Have you broken any world records lately?” 

They dissolve into a round of bickering.

Christmas Eve is a strange experience, in a big house full of people, and not just Hoseok and Dawon rattling about an apartment by themselves. He's even allowed to help with food prep while the Kim siblings spend three hours arguing over Christmas tree decorations in the living room.

“Thank you for the food,” Namjoon’s mom says, bowing her head.

“Thank you for the food,” the rest of the table echoes back, and starts carving up the Christmas turkey. Dinner’s a strange blend of American and Korean, Hoseok having to fight Namjoon for the last of the radish before he gives in and feeds it to him with a wad of rice, kissing the corner of his mouth.  

The Christmas tree gets lighted after the Kim siblings clear the table. Namjoon’s parents insist on pulling out their selfie stick and taking a thousand pictures of all six of them sitting together, and then Kyungmin’s scurrying off to get her nice camera for a longer photo op, saying Hoseok looks too good to pass the opportunity up.

Dawon and Hoseok get some unit photos. Then the Kim siblings, and their parents. All of them together, the camera balanced precariously on a pile of books with the self timer blinking furiously at them from across the room. There end up being a lot of Hoseok and Namjoon, and Kyungmin sends them over the newly created KTalk group with a series of crying emojis.

Hoseok, brushing Namjoon’s hair from his eyes. Hoseok, letting Namjoon drink from his cup. Hoseok, his head against Namjoon’s chest and between his legs, arms around his shoulders. Their foreheads pressed together, eyes squeezed shut and laughing, the blurriness of a kiss when all the lights had been off and they were backlit by the window. 

“Smile for me?” Namjoon asks, catching him off guard with his polaroid. The picture ends up going in his wallet, and he gets this pleased little look on his face every time he sees it.  

Kyungmin and Namjoon end up squabbling over the camera later, and again in the morning when they race downstairs to try and get to the presents first, Namjoon almost cracking his head open falling off the wrong side of the handrail. The Jungs follow, slower and filming the entire thing, collapsing over each other on the couch laughing too hard on their fifth rewatch.

They decide to open presents after breakfast, Kyungmin practically vibrating out of her seat before it’s even her turn to gift something. Dawon goes first, because she’s closest to the tree, and also because Namjoon forgot to bring his stuff down the night before and ran upstairs to get it before anyone could open their mouths to protest.

“Namjoon,” Dawon gasps, after peeling back some of the wrapping paper. She looks about ready to throw the box at him, mouth half open. “How many times have I told you not to do this?”  

“There’sagiftreceiptinthere,” he blurts out, shrinking behind Hoseok for cover. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what you’d like, so I just— went to a store and it had dresses and stuff in the window, I don’t know anything about shopping; I’m really stupid!”  

Dawon folds her hands up in her lap wordlessly.

Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. “Um,” he tries. “I think it would look good on you?”

Kyungmin laughs herself to tears. “I think so too,” she claps, handing Namjoon a bag. “Open mine next, bro.”

He gives her a wary look, but undoes the bow anyway, ripping apart the paper in his haste to get the box underneath open. He pulls out a sweater that looks half decent, and a book that Namjoon smiles at, and then goes back to rummaging in the back when he freezes, arm still buried under tissue paper.

“Min, you did not,” he says. He puts the bag down, slowly, between his feet.

She giggles, blinking innocently at him. “Save it for later,” she says. “I even bought the expensive kind.”

“Min,” Namjoon hisses, cheeks burning. “How am I supposed to look anybody in the eye after this, you freak?”

“Namjoon—” his mom says disapprovingly.

“It’s okay, eomma,” she says. “He’s just upset because it’s something he’s been too scared to get it for himself.”

“MIN!” Namjoon yells, crushing the bag as he jumps off the couch and tries to tackle her on the floor of the living room. She escapes, just barely, running up to the top of the stairs and sticking her tongue out at him as he fumes. “You’re in so much fucking trouble!”

“I’m twenty now,” she says, leaning on the banister. “You can’t stop me.”

“I hate you!”

“Say that after you get laid!” she yells, and then disappears in one of the bedrooms upstairs. The lock clicks. Namjoon chases after her, pounding his fist against the door and demanding to be let in.

After a moment of silence, Namjoon’s mom claps her hands together and says, “Hoseok, why don’t you open what eomma got you?”

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

The days pass almost too quickly — Namjoon not even having time to properly unpack their bags before they’re driving to Dawon’s and celebrating late Christmas with her and Taehyung’s mass messaging everyone in his contacts to make sure they don’t forget about his invite on the 31st, Namjoon groaning when he sees the notif and proceeds to bang his head on the hardwood floor.

The annual Bangtan New Years Eve party is something he both looks forward to and dreads an equal amount every December. It’s an awful mix of too much alcohol and Taehyung doing strip teases to the Chicken Song and strobe lights that Jungkook found from some garage sale when he was sixteen and brings back every year, the whole thing an affair that ruins Taehyung’s house until he bribes his team with offers of donuts and coffee to help him clean up the morning after. 

He lives with Yoongi, and Yoongi hates the fact that he does, except he can never give Namjoon a good explanation as to why he’s still there after five years of so-called “Taehyung Hell”. For all the relationship advice he’s given Namjoon, Yoongi’s still got his head up his ass, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he’s been in love the entire time they’ve lived together.

Taehyung’s a pretty open guy, Namjoon knows. He’s weird in the way that goalies are always weird, and he’s chill with a lot of things that others would find strange — like guests making out with his plants after one shot too many, and inviting players from other teams that he’s barely spoken to before to his party if they’re in town and letting them bring a plus one. He tells Namjoon he should take Hoseok as his date this year, patting him on the shoulder after practice is over and telling him to think about it.

“There’s just,” Namjoon winces, perched on the edge of his bed as Hoseok puts an outfit together. “A lot of alcohol involved.”

“Just because I don’t drink during competition doesn’t mean I don’t drink at all,” Hoseok scoffs, tugging on a pair of skinny jeans. The material’s closer to latex than leather, and half his thigh’s exposed from the rip up his left leg which is…definitely something that’s happening, Namjoon choking a little on his spit. Hoseok does a little spin for him, arms out. “Good?” he asks.

Namjoon swallows. “Yeah,” he rasps. Um. “Good.”

He’s really too fucking sober for this.

When he gets to Taehyung’s house at nine, he feels like they’re already late for the party, the house almost rattling off the sidewalk from how loud the music is.

Hoseok — proper, pretty Hoseok — suddenly looks too comfortable with this kind of scene, molding into the atmosphere like a chameleon the minute he sets foot on the foyer. Taehyung greets them at the door with a glass of punch in one hand. He downs the entire thing after it’s offered to him, turning on his heel to grin at Namjoon and pull him deeper into the crowd.

Namjoon usually sticks to the sidelines, or a couch with Yoongi during these things, but Hoseok’s holding his hand and he doesn’t really want to let go because he’ll probably end up dancing with someone else and also because it never occurred to him that Hoseok would know his way around his body off the ice, unlike him, loose-limbed and liquid when he presses up close.

“You really don’t know how to dance, do you?” Hoseok laughs, completely in his element. Something about the music’s turned him into a fiend, and his hair falls over in his eyes when he turns around to loop his arms around Namjoon’s shoulders.

“I really don’t,” Namjoon says. “I barely know how to walk.” 

“It’s okay,” Hoseok grins. He guides Namjoon’s hands low to his hips, splayed hot over the skin where his jeans are riding down far enough to be indecent. The room’s too dark to notice when Hoseok lets him slide a hand down his ass, and everyone else is making out with girls or friends or each other anyway, but Namjoon still flushes all the same. “I’ll teach you.”

When the song changes to something deeper, heavy with bass, Hoseok grinds his hips up into Namjoon’s, and tugs him so close it’s hard for them to move. Hoseok leaning in to mouth along the line of his throat. He’s not scraping hard enough with his teeth to leave hickeys, but Namjoon shudders anyway, slipping his hand up the back of his boyfriend’s shirt.

“Loosen up, Joonie,” Hoseok murmurs, trailing a hand down his chest. Hoseok’s never been so forthcoming as he is now, Namjoon’s mouth drying up when he does something wicked with his tongue.

“Isn’t he sexy?” Jungkook leers, when Namjoon excuses himself to get a drink.

He jolts, spilling punch all over his wrist. “Holy fucking shit,” he swears. “Warn a guy before doing that, will you?”

“Nah,” Jungkook grins, all teeth. “Where’s the fun in that, Cap?”

“You're gonna give me a heart attack someday.”

“Hobi’s gonna get there first,” he shakes his head, leaning opposite of him against the counter.

Namjoon follows Jungkook’s line of sight, to the break between three bodies as Hoseok comes into sharp relief in the middle of a dance circle, all hips and legs and tongue. Thank god he’s already sitting on a barstool. Namjoon fumbles for the shot that Jungkook gives him, tequila, judging by the smell, and downs it in one go, putting his head down on the island counter. The granite is cold against his forehead, and he feels a bit like crying.

“He’s so hot,” he moans. Jungkook pats his back soothingly. “I want to die.”

“Don’t do that,” he says reasonably. 

“I’m pretty sure he could rip my organs out, and I’d say thank you,” Namjoon says, to nobody in particular.

“Okay,” Jungkook says. A pause. Then: “Oh, he’s coming over.”  

“What?” 

“Don’t fuck this up,” is the only thing he says, before he disappears back into the crowd.

Hoseok slides up next to Namjoon the minute Jungkook’s gone. “Are you okay?” he asks, concerned. He ducks his head to try to put their faces level with each other, rubbing Namjoon’s back. “Do you need to go home?” Hoseok asks gently. “We can go home if you’re not feeling well.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m okay,” Namjoon manages, turning to hide his face in Hoseok’s stomach. He knows he looks pathetic and like a really fucking sad excuse of a human being right now, but Hoseok’s stroking his hair the way he likes, so he doesn’t even care. Jungkook could be filming the whole thing and he wouldn’t even care. “Feel bad that you have to dance with me.”

Hoseok hums, and tilts Namjoon’s head back so he can see the fond little smile on his face. “Good thing I don’t,” he says.

It must be something about the alcohol or the atmosphere or the way Hoseok steps between Namjoon’s lets like he owns him, but he suddenly wants to kiss him and kiss him hard, so he gets to his feet and swallows down Hoseok’s squeak of surprise when he presses him up against the kitchen island and slots their lips together. 

Hoseok tugs him closer by the belt loops after a second, laughing breathlessly when they pull apart for air, and then goes back to making out with Namjoon: open mouthed and filthy. They haven’t really done this before, and Namjoon would be embarrassed about the fact that he’s hard if Hoseok didn’t slip a hand between them to palm at his dick through his pants, humming happily.

When he leads them back out to the living room floor, Hoseok grinds up against Namjoon, slow, as they kiss and kiss and kiss until they can’t breathe anymore. “Tae’s playing Truth or Dare upstairs,” Hoseok murmurs, when they’ve all but stopped dancing. “Wanna join?”

“Sure,” Namjoon mumbles.

He lets Hoseok lead him blindly to the second floor, and then to one of the big guest bedrooms, blinking hard when the brightness of the overhead hits him.

“Hope!” Taehyung cheers, almost knocking over his cup and punching Yoongi in the face. There’s a loose circle of people scattered around them — Jungkook and Seokjin and some of the younger kids — and they all look up as Hoseok leads Namjoon in by the hand. “Have you come to play?”

Hoseok smiles. “If you guys haven’t started yet.”

“Nonsense,” Taehyung says, pushing his shoulder up against Yoongi’s as he clears space for them. Spanner looks ready to pass out when Hoseok chooses to sit next to him, stuttering out a red-faced hello, hands curled tight together in his lap.

“We waiting on anyone?”

“Nah,” Jungkook grins. “Let’s play!”

He lays out the ground rules first: pick either truth or dare, and follow through or someone’s going to get their ass slapped. Taehyung starts out, and then the questions go clockwise, meaning that Yoongi’s first and Namjoon’s last. Things are fairly tame to begin with — do you really have two hundred photos of Yeontan on your phone? and I dare you to try and hold your breath for a minute and a half kind of stuff — but someone shows up with a couple six packs of beers from the cooler downstairs and things get raunchier, shooting up from PG-13 to completely explicit the minute Taehyung asks Seokjin if he’s into wall sex.

“It’s not really comfortable,” he says thoughtfully, after swallowing a mouthful of his drink. “I’m kind of boring, I think the bed’s my favorite place to fuck.”

“Jeonggukie’s strong though, I’m sure he could hold you up,” Taehyung says.

“Ahh, he doesn’t even like shower sex,” Jungkook says, slapping Seokjin hard on the thigh.

“Hey!” he says, chopping Jungkook across the neck. “How am I supposed do anything with you spilling lube all over the damn place, huh?”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers, barely managing to steer the conversation back to the game.

“Truth,” Namjoon sighs, when the room turns to look at him, knowing that whatever option he picks, he’ll suffer.

“Have you and Hoseok fucked yet?” Taehyung asks before anyone else can open their mouth. Everyone “oohs” dramatically.

“What?” he splutters. Hoseok’s fingers tighten around his. “No!”

“Laaame,” Taehyung says. He wiggles his eyebrows at Jungkook. “Those two have been going at it since day one.”

“Only because this slut came up to me in the locker room your first day and asked me if I wanted to sleep with him,” Seokjin sighs, thumbing tiredly at his forehead. 

“And you did!” Jungkook says, indignant. 

“Yeah, and people aren’t wrong when they compare you to a rabbit,” he says, pinching Jungkook’s face hard with one hand. “I have to deal with your dick every night,” he turns back to the group at large. “Fuckin’ insatiable.” 

“That’s just what it’s like to be young,” Jungkook sing-songs, toppling over when Seokjin shoves hard at his arm. 

“Five years, you shit,” Seokjin says. “I’m breaking up with you.”

Taehyung looks at the rest of the group, very seriously. “Joon's schlong is huge,” he says quietly, and out of nowhere. The change of topic so abrupt that Namjoon's head spins, and he struggles to breathe.

"I'm sorry?" he says.

“Listen at— no, no, look at Hobi; I feel like he’d just break,” he hiccups, downing another shot when he’s handed one. “‘Coz I’m sure we’re all worry about his prostate health now that he’s part of the family.”

Hoseok, who, at this point, has crawled drunkenly into Namjoon’s lap and all but gone to sleep, snorts. “I’ve seen his dick before,” he says, ignoring the way he tenses. Hoseok strokes the inside of Namjoon’s arm gently, and then kisses the back of his hand. “Very worried about my prostate health too.”

“Yah, see?” Seokjin says, slapping his boyfriend’s chest. “Dick too bomb,” he mimes something being crushed. “And little beansprout.” 

“Skinny legend,” Jungkook nods, very seriously.

“Skinny legend,” Taehyung echoes.

“Skinny legend,” Shotput echoes.

“What the fuck.” 

“Yeah, okay, okay, moving on,” Yoongi says, from behind his glass of whiskey. “Hoseok—”

“Dare,” he says without hesitation. “’N make sure it’s not a boring one.” 

There’s a moment of thoughtful silence before Jungkook leans over and whispers something in Taehyung’s ear. “Go, go,” he hisses, making little shooing motions with his hands when Taehyung looks back at him again.

“Dare, dare, dare, dare,” Shotput’s chanting, pounding his hand on the carpet.

“Oi, be quiet” Taehyung scolds, and clears his throat, after a minute of a silence.

Then: “Jung Hoseok— drumroll everyone,” he pauses for effect. He nods when satisfied, expression pleased. “Is to give the incorrigible Kim Namjoon a lap dance to any Beyoncé song of my choosing—” and before Hoseok can say anything edgewise, he interrupts with, “And, and, and has to be longer than thirty seconds.”

“Oh, shit,” Yoongi swears, when Hoseok immediately crawls out of his lap, who yelps and lets both hands fly up to cover his crotch. He’s bullied into one of the chairs, and sits back as Hoseok gets to his feet and lowers himself into his lap.

At some point, Taehyung's started playing music a little too close to Namjoon’s ear to be entirely comfortable, but then Hoseok does something complicated and flexible and oh, wow that’s his leg okay, before he turns around and hooks his arm over Namjoon’s neck — back to chest. Hoseok turns around to kiss him, and lets Namjoon hold him by the waist, opening his mouth easily when he slides his tongue across the seam of his lips. 

“Um,” Jungkook says, when things get a little too heated. The music stops. Namjoon’s eyes are struck dumb and dilated when Hoseok pulls away and plops back down on the floor. The group applauds diligently, and he curtseys like he’s on the ice and just finished a big program.

Namjoon’s out of it for the rest of the night after that, everyone skipping over him as the game goes on. Hoseok keeps himself plastered to his side the entire time, giving him this concerned look when Namjoon mumbles out a half-assed excuse about needing to use the bathroom and all but disappearing afterwards.

He doesn’t answer his texts, even fifteen minutes later, so Hoseok goes out to look for him, poking his head into all the rooms before he finds him on the balcony, shivering in his too-thin jacket.

“Namjoonie?” he asks, coming up behind him. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, course,” Namjoon rasps, opening his arms so that Hoseok can slide into them. “Sorry— I. Usually do this alone.”

“The countdown?” Hoseok asks. He nods. “I can go if you want.” 

“Oh, what? Don’t,” he says. He offers him half a smile, and kisses the top of his head, and then his temple. “I’m glad you’re here.” 

They can hear, from here, the rumble of the party downstairs, and people yelling out: thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight—

It’s quiet between them.

“I read a tweet that said the last thing we say every year is ‘one’,” Hoseok says, just to break the silence. “The first one’s ‘happy’.” 

Namjoon hums. He’s warm, even now, when there’s snow on the ground and Hoseok’s icicle body is pressed up against his. “Ah, I don’t know.”

Fifteen, fourteen—

He bumps their noses together. Hoseok smiles at him, and fists his hands in Namjoon’s shirt.

“Ten,” Hoseok whispers, whole face bright from the glow of the house. “Nine.” 

“Eight,” Namjoon cuts off, just to humor his boyfriend. His eyes are almost closed, their lips brushing when he talks.

Three, two— 

“I love you,” he says. 

One.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Namjoon wakes up with one hell of a hangover, nothing but his boxers on, and the sound of someone puttering about in the kitchen downstairs. There are two painkillers sitting on a napkin by the bedside, and the blackout curtains are practically taped shut to the walls.

“Are you an angel?” Namjoon asks, after he’s slogged his way through toothpaste and a face full of cold water.

“No,” Hoseok says, from where he’s poking at something on the stove. Namjoon buries himself face down in one of the couch cushions. “But I am your hope,” he teases, and plates his eggs before bullying Namjoon upright on the couch. Hoseok gets him to eat breakfast this way, leaving him to sulk into a cup of coffee while he goes and takes a shower. 

Hoseok has all the lights off when Namjoon finally goes upstairs to look for him, and the window in the bathroom streams light from above both their heads, spilling out across his chest as he rinses his mouth and runs a brush through his hair. 

Namjoon fumbles for his phone. He wants to remember this.

Hoseok hands are up against his head for the first photo. It’s faceless, just the outline of him in the bathroom as he looks himself in the mirror. He’s seen from the side, and then again when he dips his head down to look for his contacts. There’s the slope of Hoseok's legs where they kick out behind him as he leans close up at his reflection when he shaves, and arms above his head to hang his towel up.

Namjoon posts three of them on Instagram without really thinking about it, sliding back and forth between the silhouette of him with this strange swell in his chest. He knows Hoseok won’t see these — he’s not following anybody on SNS — but Namjoon likes the fact that he can caption with happy new year and have everyone just know.

jinnie boy
nice post

bunnie boy
first like >:) 

Hoseok ruffles his hair when he wanders over, smelling of orange and lemon and whatever’s in his moisturizer, humming as he searches the closet for something to wear. He shrugs on one of Namjoon’s big flannels, and folds a pair of sweats down over his knee brace. “You wanna do anything today?” he asks, over his shoulder.

Namjoon shakes his head. “Not really,” he says, wincing at how rough his voice comes out. “It’s cold,” he whines.

“Yeah, I figured,” Hoseok huffs, laughing. He comes over and crouches down to thumb at the bags underneath his eyes, which are reaching truly monumental proportions worthy of playoff season. “You should’ve drank more water last night.”

“Maybe,” Namjoon says. “Ugh.”

“Ugh,” Hoseok copies, trying not to smile. “Ghibli marathon?” he asks.

Namjoon nods.

“Which ones have I seen already?”

“Kiki and Spirited Away, I think.”

“Ah, I want to see the Moving Castle one,” he says, already going over to the stack of videocassettes piled up by the TV. “And Totoro.” 

“What about Princess Mononoke?”

Hoseok sits himself down by the VCR, legs stretched out on either side of him. “Isn’t it scary?”

“Not bad.” 

“Let’s save it for later,” he smiles, and— Namjoon’s so fucking weak for him, he’ll do anything Hoseok asks. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Course.” 

Neither of them have the energy to put a fort together, but Namjoon drags a bunch of blankets onto the floor so he can bury Hoseok with his Ryan plushies and calls it a day. Hoseok stretches out on his stomach, cat-like and satisfied, after the lights are off and Namjoon’s playing hard to get with the remote control. 

“You’re gonna have to rewatch all of these,” he huffs, later, when Hoseok ends up too busy sucking hickeys onto his collarbone. He’s pulled down the top of Namjoon’s shirt and it’ll probably look terrible when stretched out, but he can’t really bring himself to care. Hoseok’s lying on half on top of him, Namjoon curling an arm around his waist to keep him from toppling over.

“It’s okay,” he says, pulling away. “I’ve seen this one already.”

“Is that why you said we should watch it first?” Namjoon asks, voice strained. He doesn’t mean to feel Hoseok up, but it’s hard when they’re so close together.

He rolls his eyes, kissing the side of Namjoon’s throat. “Both of us finally have time off in which we don’t want to pass out on the bed for half a day?” he says. “”Course I want an excuse to make out with you.”

For all of Hoseok’s experience with guys (limited to, he’d admitted him a while ago, exactly one), he’s really good with his tongue, biting down on Namjoon’s lip when his mouth falls open under his. His eyes are bright when they break for air, and he bumps their noses together with a squeal.

Namjoon’s hand runs up the knobs of his spine when the kisses peter out into lighter, lazier things, just the press of lips to lips. Hoseok wiggles a little on top of him, and seems content just lying there with his head pressed to the crook of Namjoon’s neck, body warm from being so close.

“When does practice start?” Hoseok asks, when they’ve readjusted to get a better angle to try and at least pretend to watch the movie. He’s tracing little circles on the inside of Namjoon’s wrist. “I have to go back next in a couple days.” 

He sighs. “Me too,” he says. Namjoon’s going to miss this. “You’re not worried about Four Continents?”

“Not really,” Hoseok says. He took more time off than he usually does after finals, scattering in a few days of training after Prix and between Christmas and New Years, begging off because of his knee and Sondeuk finally celebrating the fact that he has somewhat of a social life now. “It’s not like it’s a challenger series anymore, so. Reputation saved.”

“You’re not gonna flop at 4CC though.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hoseok says. “Maybe my blade will come off in the middle of my skate and I’ll have to crawl out of the rink on all fours.”

“Oh, my God— shut up,” Namjoon whines, voice thick with embarrassment. He wants to curl up into a ball and die. “I can’t believe the one time you go watch a game—”

“It was cute!” Hoseok protests.

“You and Seokjin were still laughing about it three hours after it was over,” he says, even with Hoseok squishing him down into the blankets.

Hoseok opens his mouth to say something when his phone rings — shrill and sudden and too fucking loud. He jerks, slamming his head into Namjoon’s, and then rushes to apologize when he groans, hands flying up to his face.

“I’m so sorry, Joonie— oh my God, wait let me—”

“Just answer your phone,” Namjoon says. “I’ll be fine.”

Hoseok’s phone rings, and keeps ringing, even when Namjoon lets him kiss his cheek and apologize again. He groans when he gets to his feet, patting the bedspread blindly with one hand before he takes the call to the next room, stiffening when he sees the caller ID. 

Namjoon lays on the floor and watches Totoro while he nurses his bruised face. It’s not bad — he’s suffered worse on the ice — but he wants to be babied so he’s being dramatic about it.

With the bedroom door shut, he normally wouldn’t be able to hear whatever Hoseok’s talking about, but after almost twenty minutes of him being gone, the conversation increases in volume until he’s practically shouting into the receiver. Namjoon hears him going down the stairs, and the familiar noise of the side doors opening and then Hoseok’s in the cold wearing nothing but one of Namjoon’s big shirts and a pair of sweats and summer socks.

It’s snowing, out there, and Namjoon scrambles to his feet when he finally hears him come back inside.

“Hi, sorry about that,” Hoseok mumbles, tossing his phone into his skate bag. He’s shut it down and throws it away like it’s nothing.

“What happened?” Namjoon asks. Hoseok looks miserable, cheeks and eyes pink with cold, shivering as he takes up Namjoon’s offer of a hug, whole body frozen to the touch. “Are you okay?” 

Namjoon’s scrambles to pause the movie, and gone to wrap a fleece around Hoseok's shoulders, bumping their cheeks together.

There’s a long silence. Hoseok breaks it when he sucks in a breath and says, “My ex,” admits. Namjoon’s head jerks in his direction, up from where he’d been playing with their fingers. Hoseok gives him a watery smile, and shakes hair from his eyes. “He just called me.” 

“Oh,” he says. He doesn’t know how to respond. “Is he…?”

“We didn’t end on very good terms, I guess,” he murmurs. Namjoon twists one of the rings Hoseok wears around on his finger. “He always wanted different things than I did, and we broke up a while ago, but he’s either not over it or he wants me back just as a power play or something— I don’t. I don’t know.” 

“Is he threatening you?” Namjoon asks, horrified.

Hoseok presses his lips together. Namjoon’s hands tighten around his, afraid that he won’t be able to—

“Not really,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know if you remember, but that— but that one time we were at the restaurant and you…?”

Namjoon nods. There’s really no way he could’ve forgotten the look on Hoseok’s face after the guy had stormed off out in the parking lot, had forgotten when Hoseok had been slapped so hard that skin broke, like he was an animal, the blood on his lip and cheek after that. 

“Yeah,” he huffs. “That was him.”

“Fuck,” Namjoon breathes.

“Don’t be angry; I'm sorry,” Hoseok shakes his head. “It's over already." 

His head spins. “Why are you apologizing?” he asks, arms like lead weights around Hoseok’s hips. “You’re not him.”

“I don’t want you to be angry,” he sighs, resting his forehead against his shoulder.

Namjoon’s got an idea of what their relationship used to be like in his head, even with Donghyuk flying in from Korea for God knows what reason and trying to win him back over at dinner and Hoseok putting his foot down and saying he’d found someone else. Someone better. 

“He didn’t really hit me that much,” Hoseok says, cheek turned so it’s pressed against Namjoon’s collarbone. He slips a hand out from under the blanket, turning his wrist over and over again. “Pretty sure I did him worse.”

“Hey, no,” Namjoon frowns, drawing his hand back so it rests by his chest. “He hurt you.”

“I know,” Hoseok sighs. He shifts a little, shaking hair from his eyes. “Ah, why were we together for so long? I think I even loved him for a while.” 

He’s quiet for a moment.

“You deserve someone better,” Namjoon says resolutely.

“I know,” Hoseok smiles. He runs his hands down Namjoon’s sides. “That’s why I have you.”

Chapter Text

MARCH

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

When things start to pick up after that, they really pick up. It’s still months away from playoff season, but coach is driving hard for the Cup this year, says they should be picking up the winter slack as games start meaning more, being more.

Hoseok’s on the ice again after three weeks off, and his knee’s doing better. He ices at home and he goes to PT and he takes it easy on the jumps for a long while, only really adding them in when he doesn’t have the option to skip out on them anymore. Four Continents hangs painfully over his head as the days count down, and he keeps himself up late rewatching his old performances from this season, passing out in increasingly inventive positions for Namjoon to come home to from games.

4CC goes well, when it comes down to it. It’s not like the big Prix circuit and Worlds, Hoseok relieved to hear some Korean in the mix when he arrives at the rink. He holds up fine for both programs and even the exhibition skate with his one jump sandwiched halfway through the choreography, but he comes home tired even with the silver medal bumping around somewhere in his backpack.

Namjoon posts another photo of him clutching a Snoopy to his chest, the plushie so big that it covers up Hoseok’s face when he lifts it up to show the camera. He smiles wide when Namjoon’s FaceTiming his mom, and makes these cute little sound effects in the background when he’s playing with his dolls.

When he has time off, Hoseok hangs out with Namjoon’s friends. He pulls Yoongi aside once, and asks him if there’s anything going on between him and Taehyung and ends up getting his foot stepped on before Yoongi storms back out into the living room and proceeds to glare at Hoseok for the rest of the night.

Namjoon gifts him a jersey at one of these things. Hoseok doesn’t really know what it means until the group “ooh’s”, giving Namjoon suggestive looks when they think Hoseok can’t see. “Thanks,” he says, and leans over to kiss him. It’s chaste, and barely on the corner of his mouth, but Namjoon still flushes bright pink anyway, hiding his face in his hands. 

“It’s kind of big,” Hoseok frowns, when he slips it on at home. He’s in a pair of drawstring shorts, so he gives Namjoon a little twirl, smiling cutely at him after. “I’m supposed to wear a shirt underneath?”

“It might be cold,” is Namjoon’s only explanation, which is…kind of useless and also doesn’t answer his question, but Hoseok gives up on him and tucks the jersey away on his side of the closet anyway.

He wears it to the next game he goes to. Bangtan’s playing on home turf this time, so Hoseok decks himself out in a cap and his mouth mask to watch. His hair’s long enough to fall over in his eyes, and he sits up in the stands, careful not to let the cameras catch him here: wearing Namjoon’s number and only perking up when he’s rotated out on the ice.

Hoseok waits around afterwards so he can drive both of them home, letting Namjoon arrange him obediently around one of the house lamps so he can take a picture of the jersey from behind. Hoseok keeps his head down but his hands up in a peace sign, giggling when he sees what he looks like.

namjoonupdates 

[photo]
when he wears ur number (╥_╥)

#kim namjoon #bangtan #hockey #instagram #month: february 

taehyungsgoalie 

namjoon REALLY isn’t letting anyone forget that he’s gay lol

#iconic #ur faves could never tbh :/ 

yoongionice

literally every insta post is about his boyfriendjdjdghjaskflkdgh i wish i could relate

#and if that boyfriend happens to be jung hoseok? hm. #thrive #namjoon 

jiminsfscostume 

hoseok makes him so happy :(

#oh my god do you see how cute his latest pictures are?? #namseok

jeonggukseokjin

namjoon’s been looking Real Fine lately wtf

#namjoon #im glad he’s got a BOYFRIEND??????! #king of the gays 

hoseokiiee 

ahh i got the chance to see hobi at 4CC this year!! he was even more amazing in person!! i’ll write up a longer post if you guys are interested, but basically he ended up taking out a quad (as you all know from the vids already) but his musicality was just as strong as GPF. you really couldn’t take your eyes off of him. 

both his SP and FS were both super emotional but i’m glad he was able to have fun during his exhibition skate! he was super happy on the podium too !! he’s been glowing lately.

i also got to meet him at the final panel. they let some fans into the venue and even took questions from us. of course my korean is not good so i spoke in english, but my english is not that good either haha. i almost started speaking in chinese T__T but he was very sweet and waited for me to get my words together…! his english is actually really good. the answers he gave to a lot of journalist questions were very detailed.

also…the best part of my experience is that he took MY snoopy after his short program! i ran all the way down the steps after his SP and almost twisted my ankle but he was facing me when i was down there and he saw the snoopy blanket and even came to take it from me after he finished bowing becoz he didn’t want it to touch the ice TT he is even prettier in person

thank you jung hoseok!! you are an angel!!

#jung hoseok #hobi #four continents #4CC #figure skating #personal post

jinsleftshoe 

if hoseok and namjoon are dating i dont wanna see any of this fetishization bs here y’all better be respectful because they seem really happy together and i can’t speak about hoseok but i went to another bangtan game a couple weeks ago and namjoon really is a WHOLE new man. don’t ruin this for him or a mf really gonna play

#namseok #hockey #figure skating #p.txt  

hobilysm- 

UMMMMMMM I JUST RANG HOSEOK UP AT WALGREENS????? he didn’t really buy anything just gum and stuff like that BUT I JUST RANG HOSEOK UP AT WALGREENS???? 

he was wearing his knee brace again which makes me :( but he was really really nice and also there was nobody in line so he took a selfie with me and HE HAD TO SEE THAT MY LOCKSCRMEEN WAS HIM AT PRIX FINALSJFAHDLGH I HATE MYSELFHFHDASGLHADGJALSDG

but he was so gracious about it jus laughed and then said “big fan?” AND HIS ACCENT UGH and his SMILE DOUBLE UGGHHHHHHHH and then he signed my phone CASE AND SOME RANDOM PIECE OF PAPER FOR ME HOMEGIRL’S REALLY BOUTTA DIE .

#hoseok #figure skating #sophia.txt 

hobiboy

guys!!! just a reminder that worlds is coming soon, and we should all support hoseok as much as possible. remember to be respectful of all the other competitors as well, since most of them are his friends 

i’ll be posting some livestream links closer to the event if you guys want to watch. the competition is being held in italy this year, so you should calculate timezones accordingly

#figure skating #hoseok #worlds #ISU worlds #worlds figure skating 2018

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

“Tired?” Hoseok asks, when they’re sitting in the tub together.

“’S not bad,” is the reply. Namjoon’s half-leaning against his chest, Hoseok making a bubble mohawk for him as he helps wash his hair, giggling as he bumps their noses together. Hoseok rinses the bubbles out with the showerhead later, and traces his fingertips along the reddening callouses all across Namjoon’s fingers. “Worlds is soon.”

“Ah,” Hoseok says. “Yeah.”  

“You flying out tomorrow?”

“Three in the morning.”

“Pick you up after?”

Hoseok smiles. “‘Course,” he says. He lets Namjoon kiss him breathless, loving and lazy between the two of them. “Only if you can though.”

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Worlds sort of goes downhill before it even starts.

Hoseok flubs most of his jumps in practice, and then spends ages getting frustrated with himself in his hotel room, punching the pillows hard because he can’t even sweat it out in the gym like he wants. He hasn’t seen Jimin in months, but Chanyeol’s here too and Hoseok isn’t going to be that shitty friend who subjects him to a temper tantrum whose fault is nobody’s but his own while Jimin could be having fun with his boyfriend — going out and seeing Italy the way he should.

Whatever texts he sends Namjoon are short and disinterested, their timezones not quite lining up for proper conversations anyway. Hoseok spends his practice days renting out a local rink at ass in the morning so he doesn’t have to deal with press while he’s busy acquainting his face with the ice. But it could be worse, Hoseok knows, so he keeps his head down and his boots tight and tries not to count down the days until he has to compete.

Still, it comes out of nowhere.

When Yuto gets back from the kiss and cry, Hoseok’s about ready to swallow his own tongue out of nervousness. He skates out to cheers — the Italian fans always kind like that every time he comes around — waving half heartedly at the crowd and trying to tell himself that he’ll be fine.

His program starts out well. He lands a quad lutz that shoots his confidence levels up three notches, and he doesn’t faceplant on his death drop the way he kept stumbling over it during rehearsal. Still, Hoseok has to save an embarrassing number of jumps, two-footed on his axel, and he knows that every commentator’s going to be on about it too, but all he has is this last loop and it’s done. Barely over three minutes, and then he’s done.

When he opens up into his prep, his takeoff is good. Whether his landing is fully rotated is something he doesn't even bother to think about. He’s taped what feels like his entire right side and gone to PT and didn’t skate for weeks just so he could recover some and he’s done everything he knows how to do to stop something like this from happening, but none of it matters when he lands his jump and his knee makes this noise that knees shouldn’t be making and he feels pain burst up his entire leg like nothing he’s ever felt before in his whole career, maybe close to the way he’d woken up from the crash at thirteen and the EMTs had to pull the piece of metal frame that he’d been impaled on out of his body while he screamed and screamed because he didn’t know what else to do — it was all consuming — and Hoseok’s aware of everything in a distant, hazy way when he hears the crowd gasp. 

Normally he’d just catch himself on both hands and spin out of the fall like he’s always done but Hoseok’s vision’s graying at the edges and he goes down hard, splitting his skin open at the temples and forehead on the ice.

Everything goes hot and blurred around him, the whole world shifting like river water.

Someone yells his name, and if he could see, he’d know that it’s Jimin — kind, pretty Jimin who yanks off his blade guards and leaves them haphazard on the non-slip as he tears through the rink without second thought. Who skids down in front of him with none of the grace he normally possesses.

Jimin can’t find it in him to breathe when Hoseok sits up on one knee, seething and furious when the reporters who do nothing but push each other around to get the best angle of Hoseok’s blood on the ice and his hazy-thick eyes, blood lacing his teeth.

“Hoseok?” Jimin asks, a small thing. “They’re getting the— the staff they’ll take you to the hospital. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Hoseok can’t really put words together, afraid he'll vomit if he does, the whole world lurching strangely under him. He doesn’t know what’s wrong besides the knee, he doesn't know if he can stand, but Jimin’s eyes are frightened and wide and he’s not touching Hoseok’s leg— oh God, what if he’s never able to skate again, it’s not even an Olympic year, he promised Dawon, he told Namjoon, he said he’d do it what if Hoseok’s useless forever, what if he’s never able to walk again what if, what if, what if. “I can’t,” he tries, tongue thick in his mouth. “Feel my leg— Jimin,” he says. “I can’t feel my leg.”  

Jimin keeps his eyes fixed resolutely on Hoseok’s face. “You’re going to be fine,” he says. “Listen to me,” he keeps his voice firm. His eyes flick to the side when the staff finally get through the crowd, yelling at camera crew to move out of the way. “Hobi, I’m here. I’m here.”

He's half-carried off the ice, face fixed in that stupidly intense expression that Jimin wants to slap off his face; he's trying so hard to keep it together. When staff lead him out through the back tunnels, Jimin leaves only to get both their bags with a change of clothes and when the judges protested, wanting him to compete, Jimin had unlaced his boots right there next to Hoseok’s blood on the ice and flipped them off. 

The first thing Jimin does when they’re finally alone is call Namjoon. He picks up after one ring, breathing hard.

“It’s Jimin,” he says, before he can open his mouth. They’re in the back of some ambulance, the doors sliding shut as Jimin buckles himself up to one of the side seats. It feels a little overkill because Hoseok's sitting up and talking, almost arguing, with the paramedic about his leg, but his words are slurring and there's fucking blood, Jesus Christ. “He's fine, but I’m going with him to Emergency.”

“Oh, my God,” Namjoon breathes. “What happened? I just— saw on the livestream—”

“It’s not bad, I think it’s just his knee but,” Hoseok blinks blearily at Jimin, dried blood down the side of his face. “He hit his head on the way down.”

“Yeah, I saw. The cameras didn’t cut after you went out.”

Jimin swallows down on his anger. “How much did they film?”

There’s silence, and the staticky sound of Namjoon’s breath on the other end.

“Everything,” he says quietly, after a while. “You blocked off most of his face though. I was so worried…I thought. I’d thought that—” he can’t finish the sentence, cutting himself off when his voice breaks.

“Yeah,” Jimin says softly. “I know.”

He’s still in his costume and sneakers when he follows the paramedics out to the ER. They take Hoseok away, and Jimin’s next of kin so wherever they go, he goes, plugging his headphones in so that he can stay with Namjoon over the line.

Hoseok’s out of it for a long time, and passes out for a while once a nurse takes his vitals and they get him on a bed. Jimin sees the mess of his knee for the first time there, and he has to blink hard against angry, guilty tears because he'd told Hoseok to sit out this season and maybe he should've tried harder to convince him of it back in December.

Sondeuk finds his way to Hoseok’s floor, two and a half hours later.

“They took him for tests,” Jimin says, sinking into the nearest chair. “He’s okay, just disoriented.”

“Are they going to operate?” 

Jimin shakes his head. They had an interpreter, but he picked up what he could from the broken English too. “He can go back to the US and get it done. His insurance isn’t international, is it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ll go with him,” Jimin says. “To America. I’ll go with him.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m his family,” he says firmly. “I was at the place of the accident. I’m going with him. You have to stay for the rest of your kids right?”

“They’ll be okay without me.”

“Hoseok will be okay without you too,” Jimin says, and almost regrets what he’s said. He knows there’ll always be the separation of professionalism between coach and skater, but Jimin knows, in his heart of hearts, that between him and Namjoon and Dawon there’s going to be nobody else that Hoseok trusts when he’s like this. “They’ll prescribe him something for the flight, and I’ll just wheel him out when we get there.”

“I—”

“Relatives of Jung Hoseok?” one of the English nurses says, Jimin shooting to his feet the moment he hears Hoseok’s name.

“Present,” he says, and makes his way over.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

pjm
he’s ok
they’re not even keeping him overnight for observation

koyabear
oh thank god
jimin i love you
thank you thank you thank you 

pjm
don’t mention it
i’m staying with him this week
we’ll fly back soon
tixs booked, IA 731* 

koyabear
i’ll be there to pick you guys up 

pjm
you have a big car right? 

koyabear
yeah i’ll have room

Hoseok’s popping painkillers like breathmints when Chanyeol finally sends them off to the airport. He thanks him profusely, pale and sweating bullets in his shirt, wishing he could get up off his ass so he doesn’t have to feel so embarrassed about everything. The flight itself is bad. It’s long, for one, and Hoseok’s anxiety is through the roof hours before they land, clutching onto the armrests on the way down.

It’s a bit of a fight through customs and out to the luggage carousel, Jimin not having enough hands for the amount of stuff they both have, but he makes do. Hoseok's expression flicker when he sees Namjoon for the first time, and he wastes no time hitting his arm after Hoseok buckles himself in, but gets a kiss in return: one on the forehead, the other on the lips.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Namjoon says seriously. He’s cradling Hoseok’s hands gently between his own, and rubs circles into his delicate wrist, his roughed up palms.

“I know,” Hoseok sighs, too fond to hide with annoyance. Jimin has to look away from where he’d been waiting to close the side door for Namjoon, and walks around the car so they can have time alone. And he thinks: they’re really forever people. "I love you."

“I love you too,” Namjoon says. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“Stupid,” Hoseok laughs. “I’m glad you weren’t.”

They go to the hospital first, all the skating bags rattling around inside the trunk. Namjoon heroically offers himself up to be used as Hoseok's crutch before Jimin finds a wheelchair and they take him up the elevator to sports medicine, and then wait outside for the hour it takes him to get through the appointment and x-ray.

The good thing about being rich is that sometimes you can pay people off. Namjoon doesn’t often exploit this part of his somewhat celebrity status, but he signs a few autographs and takes pictures and promises he’ll gift someone kid a jersey before they’re taking Hoseok in for a follow up right there, instead of a week later.

Hoseok’s gone this terrible gray color when the nurse finally wheels him out to the lobby.He’s clutching hard onto a prescription slip, and some kind of doctor’s note that Namjoon knows he’ll reread twenty times a day because he’s just like that. His hand shakes, and whatever half-joking mien they'd all adopted drop with the sudden gravity of prognosis.

“They want to operate,” Hoseok says later, around the dinner table with Seokjin next to him. Never in a million years would past-Jimin expect Hoseok to be opening up about his personal life with people other than himself and not even a bottle of wine on the table, but he’s glad things have changed. That Hoseok doesn’t care Jungkook sees him squeezing the circulation out of Namjoon’s fingers where their hands rest in his lap. “I might not— if it goes badly. I might not be able to skate again.”

They’re all professionals, on and off the ice. It’s easy to understand what that sort of thing means.

“We’ll figure things out,” Seokjin says, spooning more food into Hoseok’s bowl.

"Yeah," he says, distracted, like he doesn't believe himself either. "Thanks, hyung."

“You can take the guest bed,” Namjoon says kindly — later when they’ve cleared the table and the others have gone home. “If you wanna throw your clothes in wash or something, the laundry room’s second door on the left.”

“I’ll run a load with Hoseok’s stuff,” Jimin smiles, tired. “Thanks.”

Namjoon gets Hoseok up the stairs and into the bed, slipping in next to him when he finds the book he's been looking for under a terrible pile of them by the lamp. Hoseok’s uncharacteristically quiet, barely moving, and limp. It’s terrifying, seeing him like this. Lifeless.

He helps Hoseok take his meds later, when they’re curled up in bed under the covers. Hoseok cradles Namjoon's head like an infant’s, and kisses the damp from his lips after he finishes a glass of water.

“They scheduled for Tuesday,” Namjoon says.

“Okay,” Hoseok sighs. He’s quiet for a long time. Then: “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Namjoon says. He wishes he could take away the hurt. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be there, right?”

“‘Course.” 

They talk for a while before Hoseok falls asleep first. The only other signs of Jimin being in the house with them the laundry machine beeping from downstairs, and footsteps across the hardwood as he passes by the door, humming under his breath.

Hoseok's pale faced and sour cheeked when he wakes up on Tuesday. He's only allowed a cup of water, and he sips at it dejectedly in the car, pressed up close to Jimin’s side. Namjoon’s not family, and he’s nowhere near next of kin, but the three of them make a good team when they send him off in the waiting room.

“Good luck,” Namjoon says. “See you soon.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says, running a hand through his hair. “Bye.”

Namjoon’s eyes soften. “Bye.”

One of the nurses comes and gets him a minute later, and Hoseok stares very resolutely ahead when they wheel him past a set of double doors. He breathes in, like he’s on the ice before a big program. He doesn’t look back.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Hoseok doesn’t really remember much after he comes out of surgery.

He can’t feel his body, and things are hazy, out of touch. He dreams his mom is there, and if his throat wasn’t bone dry he’d call out for her. Dawon comes to see him, but she’s only twelve, and then eighteen but fresh out of the car crash. Just a ghost, and her broken corpse.

He stares at her until sleep comes for him again. One of the nurses talking wakes him up some time after. He hasn’t seen a clock in his room so far, and Hoseok’s head feels so heavy he can’t move it on the pillows, so he lets her do whatever she’s meant to before he drops off again. 

When he dreams, it’s painful. Most of the time there is just the dark.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

“Hi,” Hoseok rasps, when he wakes up for the first time with Namjoon clutching one hand in both of his. There’s a book upended by next to his pillow, and so many Snoopys by his side that Hoseok has to blink a couple times to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

“Hi,” Namjoon smiles back, a little tight around the corners. He presses Hoseok’s hand to his face, his lips. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’m on drugs,” he slurs. He tries lifting his arm up, but he can’t, so he settles for staring down at the IV line in his elbow, and looking like he’s going to be sick. “Guess they put me on the good stuff this time.”

“I yelled at them until they did,” Namjoon huffs. He closes his eyes when Hoseok twists his wrist to brush a thumb across his cheekbone, then his jaw. “You kept,” he swallows. “You kept— making sounds. I don’t know. The doctors all said there weren’t any complications, but.” 

Ah, Hoseok thinks. The nightmares.

“Did I scare you?” he asks quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No,” he says. He sucks in a breath. “Um, I booked you for PT already, if that’s okay,” he pulls a piece of paper out from the front cover of his book, patting around on the bedspread until he finds it. “And they gave me a whole list of things that you’re not supposed to do. They said you’d be, uh, tired for a while.”

Hoseok nods, he’s familiar with this, after last year’s surgery. “You gonna carry me everywhere, Prince Charming?” he teases quietly, pinching Namjoon’s cheek. “Bring me breakfast in bed?”

“They said the less you’re on your feet the better,” Namjoon replies. He’s very serious about it, and Hoseok smooths a hand over the lines on his forehead with this look in his eyes, as if he's been here before. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. Namjoon drops his face into the bed again. “I’m okay, Joonie. Worst part’s over now.”

“Easy for you to say,” Namjoon says, voice muffled. He doesn’t mean for it to sound so bitter, but he and Jimin waited for hours before Hoseok came out of surgery, and even the doctors had said something about complications which didn’t mean much except unexpected blood loss and then they’d wheeled Hoseok to his room — hooked up to a thousand different things: some nameless IV and an oxygen monitor and machines that beeped and spun and he had no name for. He’d been so still, there, like he was dead. Namjoon went home with Jimin, restless and unable to sleep.

Objectively, Namjoon knows Hoseok’s barely been out for twenty-four hours. He hasn’t been cut open anywhere bad, but this is the first time that he’s been through something like this and anything, Hoseok being hurt scares him. All of this, it scares him. 

The team’s already visited before practice, piling into the room to bring Jimin food because the hospital cafeteria is genuinely awful, and they’re so rich that he even got the really expensive tasting coffee from the artisan place uptown.

“They’re letting me take you home in a couple of days,” Namjoon says.

“You aren’t busy?”

“I can take time off.”

“Press will have a field day about that,” Hoseok jokes.

Namjoon shrugs. “It’s just a week. We don’t have any games, besides.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, eyes slipping shut. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, but Hoseok’s already asleep.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

It’s almost a new life for them, after.

Hoseok’s been doing well — able to hobble around on his own and start cooking his meals again instead of getting them delivered and feeling awkward limping to the front door every time. He’d deleted Instagram off his phone and refused to even go on the Internet in case there were articles about him floating around that he didn’t want to see, never wanted to see, and had somehow mustered up the energy to send Jimin off to the airport when two weeks were up after his surgery. 

It felt strange, like goodbye, when they were at the check-in counter together, knowing that Hoseok wasn’t going to compete for a while and they wouldn’t get the chance to see each other the way they’ve always met up at hotels and venues and the second floor of some arrivals terminal.

Jimin makes him promise to text, and to call. He tells Hoseok to visit his sister. To take care of himself. Hoseok promises, and then drives back to an empty house.

It’s in the thick of playoff season, so Namjoon’s been gone and exhausted for weeks at a time. He’s either on the bus or in a hotel, sharing a room with a rotating cast of teammates and video chatting with Hoseok whenever he has time.

Tonight, it’s Spanner, who comes in flush-drunk and then stops in his tracks when Namjoon looks up at him from his phone, Hoseok’s little face peering out of the screen. The internet connection isn’t the greatest, but neither is their conversation — Spanner stumbling over every other word he tries to get out and then hides his face in his hands when Namjoon goes back to talking with Hoseok.

It’s low, quiet chatter, and about nothing in particular: how the games have been going (I watched on TV), if Hoseok’s been to see his sister, the blister on Namjoon’s foot that messed up the insides of his socks and now he’s sad about it. If you asked him, Namjoon honestly wouldn’t know what city he’s sleeping in tonight. The only constant is his team and the rink and seeing Hoseok’s face at night, sometimes the time difference meaning that Namjoon picks up the book in his suitcase while Hoseok gets ready for bed and then watching him fall asleep with the nightlight on.

Hoseok’s never been keen on the dark, so Namjoon got him this little snowflake plug-in that he’s put up next to the outlet by the lamp, and with the overhead lights turned off, it casts Hoseok’s face in yellow-orange — a damp color that softens with the blur of the video. They talk and talk until one of them stops, words coming slow and thick like honey in the throat. Namjoon always wakes with his headphones tangled around his neck.

When he comes home, Hoseok’s made a big dinner. It’s nice to have the house warm when Namjoon rolls his suitcase through the front door, looking a mess and a half. Hoseok doesn’t care though, and he's grinning when he comes over to kiss him, and smooth down the greased half-points of his hair.

Then Hoseok sends him up to shower, slapping his ass when he does move fast enough.

“God, I missed you,” Namjoon breathes. They finish their food in almost record time: Namjoon practically inhaling something that’s finally warm, and not the weird wraps that catering always puts out or their nutritionalist actually approves from some fast food joint.

“I missed you too,” Hoseok smiles.

Namjoon tells him to stay put while he does the dishes, too tired to do much except rinse them out and stick them in the machine for a cycle, but they climb into bed together after and all the ache in his bones goes away when Hoseok runs both hands through his hair and brings their faces close together. Namjoon shifts to press his nose to Hoseok’s cheek with a sigh, eyes falling shut.

Hoseok’s smoothing his hands over his arms like he always does, and he murmurs quiet nothings the entire time Namjoon pushes up to him like a needy cat. He dips his head down to the junction of Hoseok’s shoulder and neck, and then the side of his throat. He latches onto his pulsepoint, Hoseok's fingers digging into his shoulders.

Even their breathing starts to sync up after a while, an unconscious sort of thing. 

Of course Namjoon doesn’t really get breaks, both of them know those aren’t really things in their line of work, and he gets mushy and emotional about it because Hoseok knows, and he knows that Hoseok knows and he’s never pushy about it.

Hoseok doesn’t go to any games, which is understandable, but he teases Namjoon about his sad attempt at a playoff beard, and calls him after it’s all over and he’s back to the hotel room to ask him how it went.

Sometimes Namjoon’s over the moon — excited about an assist or how one of his teammates played out on the ice and can’t stop talking a mile a minute — but other times he’s barely speaks; Hoseok doesn’t have anything to say to him either. Namjoon stays on the line to hear the static of his breath anyway, and thinks about all the things he wishes they could do together. To go on a date in public. To kiss, to hold hands, for Namjoon to tell the entire world that maybe this is it for him, and whatever they have feels old and ancient and grows roots.

Hoseok always tells him to stop worrying, with that little smile of his, and Namjoon feels like the weight’s been lifted off of him. He's good to Namjoon like that, can read him like that.

Namjoon never stops telling him I love you. He does it twice, maybe even three times when they’re on the phone together, even if it’s Hoseok asking if he wants anything from the supermarket, and texts it to him before games. He says it when he leaves, he says it when he returns. Hoseok holds him by the back of his neck and his eyes shine like little moons. I love you too, he replies, even when Namjoon’s interrupted him in the middle of a sentence.

And the thing is: Namjoon’s so busy that he doesn’t really notice the change. Looking back on it, he wonders if he thought Hoseok had always been this sad since the surgery, and maybe he has; maybe his memory is faulty and the ripples keep warping as time passes through, but they haven’t spent much time together — the change so gradual it snaps him back into reality when Yoongi finally points it out to him one night at team dinner. 

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Hoseok shakes his head, when Namjoon brings it up later. It’s strange, for him to say something like that now, because they’ve been so open lately, like they’ve each been split in half and part of Namjoon’s heart had crawled into Hoseok’s, and it makes the worry spiral up a little higher in his chest. “There’s too much up in the air right now.”

“You can tell me,” Namjoon promises, pained. He’s supposed to be rooming with Yoongi tonight, but he’s since disappeared to hang out with Jungkook and doesn’t look like he’ll be coming back. “Whatever it is— it’s not too much, I promise.” 

Hoseok runs a hand across his mouth, and he looks away from the camera. His eyes are red, like he’s been rubbing them for a while, and his mouth is curved tightly downward in the way it is when he’s upset.

“Babe—”

Hoseok shakes his head, a sharp, terrible thing. Namjoon snaps his mouth shut.

He keeps quiet even when a tear slips out of Hoseok’s eye and he swipes furiously at it, trying to stop himself from crying because once he starts he won’t be able to stop. “‘M sorry, Joonie,” he says.

Namjoon wishes so bad he wasn’t in Nevada. He wishes so bad that he could go home so it'd be the two of them, instead of Hoseok alone in that big, cold bed.

There’s something playing softly in the background, and the light of the TV is overloading in the phone camera, so he can’t tell what movie it is, but he knows it’s Ghibli. He just does.

“Noona wants to stop her treatment,” Hoseok says, finally. He’s breaking up, glitching all over the screen, but Namjoon still manages to catch something about progression to stage four and going home and Hoseok refusing to say die and letting the word hang heavy in between them, hooked inside both their chests.

Namjoon doesn’t know what to say.

“—back to Korea yesterday,” Hoseok relents, refusing to look at the camera. “Bought her first class and everything,” he says. “I miss her—”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon says. “Sweetheart,” and, oh, that’s a new one. He puts his face up close to the camera, as if it’ll shrink the distance between them into nothing. “I’m sorry, I wish I was there.”

Oh, God, Hoseok drove Dawon to the airport alone, had watched as staff wheeled her through security and past the gates and some place he couldn’t follow. The one thing in his life that Hoseok’s been able to keep, and not even Namjoon— he couldn’t be there to keep him warm. He knows the loneliness that festers under Hoseok’s skin is a terrible cold, like ice. Frostbite.

He says this again when he comes home half a day early, Hoseok almost shattering his cup when Namjoon surprises him in the kitchen. Namjoon catches his mug before it falls, and sets it gently on the counter before he has to duck Hoseok's angry little kick, his face twisted up in the way that means he's trying to look angry but is failing terribly.

It’s only a week before the first of the finals games when Namjoon wakes up with his bed empty and his phone blowing up with notifications. They’re scrolling too fast for him to read, even with him on Do Not Disturb. Namjoon doesn’t think much of it until he sees a text from Yoongi at the very top.

Namjoon feels like all the air’s been punched from his chest.

Yoongi doesn’t text. He notoriously doesn’t text, not just Jungkook-level not text. He’s only ever sent one message to Namjoon and it’s “hi, this is yoongi. i just got traded to bangtan and this is my contact info” from the beginning of their first season together.  

yoongi: don’t look.
yoongi: you need to come to the rink now.

Namjoon doesn’t think when he throws his practice gear on. He scrubs hard in the shower and trips his way down the stairs, frowning at the absence of Hoseok in the kitchen, or his shoes in the rack by the front door.

Hoseok’s been driving one of Namjoon’s cars lately, because it’s less conspicuous in the neighborhood, and also because it’s convenient not to have to send him back and forth between his apartment and whatnot, but both cars are parked in the driveway when he rushes outside. Namjoon doesn’t think anything of it at first, and tosses his stuff shotgun before he pulls out onto the street.

“Hey,” Seokjin says, pushing off the wall right behind check-in. He looks scared. Sad. Fear rests uneasy in Namjoon’s gut when he sees. “They’re waiting for you upstairs.”

“They?” he asks, even as he trots after him to the elevators. “Hyung, what’s wrong?”

Seokjin’s face is a pale and drawn thing when he refuses to look Namjoon in the eye on the ride up. “I’m sorry,” he says, and hugs him tight in the hallway outside the meeting room. “I don’t know how,” he clenches his teeth together, hands closed up into fists. “I’m sorry, Joon-ah. I’m sorry.”

For the next hour and a half, Namjoon doesn’t even breathe.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

The picture is of them at the New Year’s party: dancing together, then another against the wall. Namjoon’s kissing Hoseok in the second one, and somehow through the terrible quality of the phone camera and the awful lighting of the living room, it’s so clear.

“How long have the two of you been dating?” Namjoon’s publicist asks, the PR board spread out in front of him, pity in their eyes and the line of their suits. “We’re going to have to release a statement about this after considering your posts.” 

Namjoon closes his eyes. He puts his face in his hands.

Hoseok doesn’t come home until half a week later.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

The team is there with Namjoon on the couch when the front door clicks open.

Jungkook frowns, and does a head count: all five of them are together, drunk and trying to deal with the clusterfuck of practice and pictures leaking and everything in between. Namjoon’s been strange at work, falling in and out of his own head the whole time because Hoseok still hasn’t answered his texts, hasn’t checked his phone, and Namjoon would know — he’d left it on the bedside drawer the morning he’d disappeared.

Namjoon’s lucky he hasn’t had much press come up to his house, but when he’d drove by Hoseok’s looking to check in with him, his apartment had been swamped. Journalists camped out on the front lawn, and the security guard looking frazzled, harried. He pressed a little harder on the gas, and left before any of them could turn around and see.

Namjoon turns, and finds Hoseok staring back at him from the door. He doesn’t even notice how Hoseok doesn't hug back, at first; he's so happy. That when they pull away he barely speaks — bags under his eyes, sallow in the skin. Hoseok's gaze flicks over to the group on the couch when Namjoon drags him closer, but then refuses to move once he’s within five feet of them, putting his foot down and saying: “Namjoon.” 

His tone is firm.

“Hoseok. Hi,” Namjoon replies, coming to a stop.

He sees the look on his face. It’s a blank thing, so much like when he’d first come home from Worlds with his knee broken and the three hours before his surgery.

Namjoon reaches out to touch like he’s been living a drought this week without him, and Hoseok— Hoseok he. He flinches back. He flinches hard, and then schools the look on his face down tight into the mask he’d been wearing before. He knuckles are white where his hands are curled into the front of his trousers, and he looks straight ahead like Namjoon isn’t there in front of him.

He feels the recoil like a blow to the gut.

Hoseok speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says. He talks in Korean, and very formally. “Please forgive me.”

Namjoon’s throat closes up on itself. “What?” he struggles. “Hoseok what—”

It feels like all of this has been scripted, like they're in some B-grade movie: Hoseok shut off and unseen in the slope of his chin and his jaw and the way he thinks he can hide it from Namjoon when they haven’t been able to do that for months now, frozen to the touch.

“Hoseok,” Namjoon tries, again. It stings to call him that, now. “What’s going on?” he rasps.

“Your PR team reached out to me,” he says. He blinks, and he’s now crying, but his face is still impassive. He stands at ninety degree angles. “They would like you to make a statement.”

“But I…I haven’t told them what I’m— going to say yet.”

Hoseok’s hands are shaking. “You can tell them you’re not in a relationship with me anymore,” he says. “I think it’s— it’s…better for both of us.”

There’s noise from behind. Confusion. Anger. The sound has gone strange and marbled in Namjoon's ears, though, and he can’t really focus on it at all. He takes a step towards Hoseok, feeling like everything is underwater. Hoseok backs up. He doesn’t look pitying, just the misshapen shell of someone Namjoon used to love.

“My coach moved back to Seoul,” Hoseok says, like none of it matters. Like Namjoon’s entire world isn’t crumbling around him with every word that comes out of his mouth. “Additionally, the Korean Skating union has strongly recommended that I return home—” 

Home.

Not here, anymore. 

That’s what breaks him, what forces Namjoon down and to crawl. He crawls after Hoseok, grabbing his hand before he can pull away to beg, to grovel, to do anything to get him back, to keep him from leaving, please you can’t leave Hoseok what am I going to do without you, what do you mean you’re going back to Korea, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—

“To continue my training for the Pyeongchang winter games.”

Hoseok doesn’t see him. His eyes are glazed over like he’s medicated, and if it wasn’t for the hitch in his breathing than he’d be flawlessly machine, only. If he wasn’t crying, Namjoon would think that Hoseok doesn’t even care, and from where he’s collapsed on the floor, doesn’t see Jungkook until it’s too late.  

He has a mean right hook, the kind of thing he doesn’t often pull out on the ice because Seokjin’s there to catch his fist before it connects, but Seokjin’s still on the couch, right now, and Hoseok isn’t prepared for this kind of thing. Jungkook’s punch almost knocks him out: splits his lip and bruises his cheek and puts blood in his teeth, stumbling back on his heels with his hands flying up to his face. It turns him back into the Hoseok that Namjoon knows, eyes wide, wheezing a little.

“Take that the fuck back, asshole!” Jungkook screams, fisting two hands in Hoseok’s sweatshirt and shoving him up against the wall. His face is red from how angry he is, and it takes both Seokjin and Taehyung to wrestle him away from Hoseok. “Fuck you. Coward!” he yells, spittle flying. Seokjin turns his head away sharply. Jungkook’s anger is a bright thing, like coal and flame. “Fucking coward!”

Hoseok gives him a tired look. “I apologize for my actions,” he says again, and Namjoon gets up to his knees just to try and make him stop. He hiccups, coughing unattractively around the tears as he gasps for breath between every word. He says something like “no, no, Hoseok please, no”, but he’s not sure if any of it comes out coherent.

“I'm leaving tonight,” Hoseok says. The whole group shifts with him when he steps backwards towards the foyer. “You won’t have to see me again,” he bows, briefly. “I apologize for my actions.”

When he says that, Namjoon knows he means you won’t see me again for the rest of your lives. That he’ll become the cold, star-studded persona he’s always admired on television, that Namjoon's never going to be able to stay away because Hoseok’s always been electrifying when he skates, and even if it hurts to see him onscreen, he’s still going to put his programs on repeat the nights he can’t sleep and wants to cry about something, about the way he shapes to the music, about the way he ripples and expands and moves like water and pain, like he’s always been known by him.

“Seok—” Namjoon tries again, clambering to his feet.

Hoseok freezes where he stands. He stops.

“Whatever I did wrong,” Namjoon gasps, pulling him into his chest. “I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

It feels like a figment of his imagination at first, when Hoseok’s arms come up around his waist like they always do, even if it’s hesitant and feather-light, almost skittering away.

Namjoon can't let him go. He wants to convince Hoseok to stay. Wants to tell him that his career will be okay, wishing that he could cure cancer right now, that Dawon wouldn’t be sick, that the universe wasn’t conspiring to keep them apart, that they could be in love and it won't have to end with hurt.

Namjoon cradles Hoseok’s jaw with both his hands and kisses him like the world is ending.

He tastes like toothpaste and gunmetal and blood, and salty from the tears, but Namjoon doesn’t care. He pours it out to him like this, unashamed. Hoseok lets out this sob with their mouths still pressed together and then slips his hands around Namjoon’s waist like there’s nothing else to it, and they have forever. 

“I have to go,” Hoseok says, when they pull apart.

“I love you,” Namjoon blurts, a desperate, pitiful thing. Hoseok’s hand tightens on the handle of the front door, and he rolls an ankle in his surprise. “I love you,” he says again. “More than I’ve loved anybody in this whole world.”

Hoseok's face crumples, but it’s so much better than the veneer he’d painted on earlier — that mask he’d slipped into like smooth marble. “I love you too, Kim Namjoon,” he says. His cheeks are flushed sickly red. Everything sounds like a hymn: the motor-vehicles outside, the rush of wind. “I’m sorry,” he says, holding himself back from putting his hand to Namjoon’s jaw and letting him kiss the inside of his palm like he’s always done.

The front door swings open under his weight. Hoseok takes a step outside, his coat whipping in the wind. Namjoon wants so badly to chase after him, but he sees in the weight of Hoseok's eyes that he's not allowed.

It’s spring now, and late in the season, tree blossoms twisting around Hoseok's feet.

“Goodbye,” he says.

Namjoon shakes his head. “Don’t go,” he says, voice cracking. His bones shake. “Please—”

His chest does something complicated and hopeful when Hoseok slows, turning to look at him over his shoulder. It's just to offer a smile, though, weak at the corners.

Namjoon stands in the yellow glow of the doorway, in his big house, just like the first time they'd came here after dinner and the steak, and the stupid KAWS toys that he never gave to Hoseok like he said he would — it didn’t really matter when they were living together anyway — with his friends behind him, silent, watching Hoseok slip out into the night and the halo of the moon.

He doesn't know exactly when, but Hoseok becomes a shadow in between one breath and the next, like all the other things on the street. Unknown.

The car door slams. Headlights come on. The engine moans, rumbles, barely held together with life.

Namjoon forces himself to watch Hoseok’s car disappear down the road until it’s nothing but a piece of darkness in the darkness, until there is no sound except the wind in tree branches and passing birds overhead. A plane, six thousand something feet in the air.

He watches and watches and watches as Hoseok goes back to the life he’d come from, in that beat up, secondhand sedan he’s been driving since eighteen.

The life that had always been terribly cold, and very much alone.

Chapter Text

APRIL

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Namjoon worries more about Hoseok than he does himself, in the coming days.

He's distracted and hazy during practice, and can’t do anything right: either too harsh with his team or barely able to piece together a coherent sentence. They don’t have time for him to fall apart, but Namjoon feels the numbness spreading out from the center of his chest and up past his collarbones no matter what he does, and all he can do is put one foot in front of the other and stop processing the world going by.

He gets a lot of concerned looks from the younger kids, and he waves them off when they ask what’s wrong, not wanting them to know he’s been having trouble finding a reason to get out of bed lately because…because— Hoseok isn’t there and he’s always been there, putting eggs on the table before he left for morning practice and yogurt and that granola blend that has too much sugar, but Namjoon doesn’t care because it has chocolate in it and it tastes good and he gets to tease Hoseok until he stops frowning.

It’s only a week until playoffs, but they used to go to the store together on Thursdays and there’s no fucking yogurt in the fridge, just a spoonful or two at the bottom of an empty tub, and even the peanut butter’s about to run out and Namjoon just stares at the carton of eggs on his kitchen counter after he’s taken them out and starts crying so hard he doesn’t make it to practice on time.

Everything reminds him of Hoseok. He can’t stand it. The place he liked to eat brunch on the weekends because it’s cheap and on the way to both their rinks, and his house keys he’d left in the little bowl by the foyer. The emptiness of the closet and the missing toothbrush and the face wash that he took with him when he fled.

Hoseok had been meticulous, and exactly when he cleaned this all up, Namjoon will never know — staring down at the string lights and tent poles they always use to put their forts together and realizing he hadn’t even left the battery adapter at his place either.

(But out of everything in the whole universe, Namjoon just wants him back.)

Seokjin’s quiet, and gentle when he talks to him, but it’s not the same as when Hoseok used to do it, and that absence of reminder is so jarring that he’s struck dumb for the rest of the night, everything aching and unfocused around him.

Namjoon gets benched at the next game. He plays poorly and he knows he plays poorly, practically asking to get rotated out when he pulls a foul and doesn’t even fight when he’s taken off the ice. The fans are confused, and flood his Instagram after Namjoon sits his stupid ass down on the far end of the row and doesn’t move for the next two periods, not even realizing the game’s over until Taehyung hauls him to his feet.

He doesn’t have to think when he gives up captaincy at the next practice.

Namjoon’s not…really sure if that’s a thing that can be done, but he can't stand the idea of just thinking when he's got so much on his mind already. It’s not like anybody mean their protests anyway. Seokjin and Jungkook are both weirdly charismatic when they’re together anyway, and Namjoon agrees that it’s nice to follow. He can do little tricks on the ice with his feet and ignore the mess of his life for once.

There’s no official announcement about the transfer, like there was about Namjoon’s terribly worded statement regarding him and Hoseok while trying not to let out that he’s not even in the fucking country anymore, the two of us dating is the least of your worries and the biggest one of mine, but he tells his coach to keep him off the ice as long as he’s able. So Namjoon spends playoffs in his uniform, in a chair, thinking about everything’s he’s done wrong in his life while somehow still getting paid for it.

Namjoon, objectively, knows that he’ll be fine. He has his teammates, he has his friends. His parents are two hours away by car and Kyungmin is too angry for a med student her age, but even swamped with three hundred pages of reading, she still replies to all his texts within a minute.

When it’s late and he can’t sleep without Hoseok on the other end of a video call, he scrolls up through their chat history in hotel bathrooms and tries to pretend Hoseok’s still waiting on the other side. He’s shoved up against the door, and he can’t stop staring at the selfies that he’d sent a long time ago. They’re genuinely, truly bad, but they made Namjoon laugh whenever he saw them, and the dinky edits Hoseok uploaded to their chatroom.

He misses the small things. The grocery lists. Complaints about spiders in the basement, to hear Hoseok pattering about upstairs while Namjoon cycles his way through playbacks of his games and then whine about how much his arms hurt, and both of them struggling to haul all the wet laundry into the dryer. Hoseok grinning when he makes a stupid joke, the flush of his whole face when he drinks alcohol, and even down his arms and chest and neck.

Namjoon misses his voice. His smell. His skin. Everything about him.

Now he’s halfway across the world and he’s never coming back.

The final game’s a tense one, and somehow Namjoon gets swept up in it too from where he’s behind the glass, stick clutched between his gloves. He sees Seokjin go down hard, not quite as fast as Yoongi to shake himself off and get to his feet, and they’re neck and neck at 3-3 when overtime starts. It’s late morning in Korea. Namjoon wonders if Hoseok’s watching.

In the end, Bangtan doesn’t win. It’s a close thing, barely a second left before the Penguins score against them, the whole stadium’s shaking when it happens. It’s a hard loss, but Taehyung’s never known to take it personally; they fought hard. He knows it, Namjoon knows it. Things aren’t too bad. They even go out for drinks later.

They’re quieter than usual when they squeeze in past the doors. Seokjin winces and rolls his shoulder back a couple times when he’s sitting at the bar, Jungkook hovering protectively over him when he puts his head down on the counter and sighs, almost loud enough to be heard over the music at one point. His whole side’s bruised up and he’s sprained fingers, but it’s not the worst any of them have dealt with by far. Seokjin’s just starting to feel the years now, and it’s showing.

Namjoon slogs his way back to a room with Taehyung when it’s all over, and offers to switch Yoongi in if he wants. He smells like sweat and cheap beer and the whiskey that Jungkook had been knocking back like water, feeling disgusting even as he scrubs his hands vigorously in the sink.

“I actually wanted to talk to you, hyung,” Taehyung says, sitting on the edge of his bed. His long legs are sprawled out in front of him, and he leans back on his hands, watching Namjoon drop into the office chair opposite him. “You’ve been different lately.”

Namjoon huffs. “Mm,” he says.

“Whatever happened already happened,” Taehyung says. “I’m not gonna question that,” he licks his lips. “I just didn’t think Hoseok leaving would be so bad for you.”

Namjoon struggles not to flinch, so he wrings his hands together in his lap instead, somewhere to put the nervous energy. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t want to hear Hoseok’s name in the mouth of someone else, even his own.

“I didn’t know it would be either,” Namjoon admits, finally. He scrubs a hand down his face when it comes out more bitter than it should. He wants get up and shower just to end the conversation before Taehyung can get anything else out, but his legs aren’t really working anymore, and he doesn’t want to embarrass himself trying.

“I think you should see someone about it.”

“Like a therapist?”

Taehyung shrugs. “If you think it’ll help.”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Namjoon says, quietly. He still can’t look Taehyung in the eye. “Thank you for," he flaps his hands vaguely, "...you know, I just—” his shoulders slump. “I just think I need time.”

“I know,” he says. “You’ll be okay, Cap. Promise.”

Namjoon nods, fingers twisting in the fabric of his pants. “Thanks,” his voice cracks.

Even with a loss riding on their shoulders, it’s a good thing the season’s over.

Namjoon hopes the trip he takes with his friends to Hawaii will be enough to wake him up again — the whole world like slow honey and TV static in his brain. Replaying the words “Jung Hoseok and I are not in a relationship” over in his head, every sentence of that statement feeling like betrayal. Maybe that’s why they broke up, in the end. Hoseok had always known it could never be the same.

He’d taken so much of Namjoon when he walked out the door in June, and now they’re both left with ghosts: Namjoon just knowing Hoseok would want henna tattoos from the lived-in parlor just outside the AirBNB, that he’d be wearing cargo shorts to the beach, that he’d stop to film the bird trees on the way to dinner.

He’s always liked being by himself, but Namjoon’s never felt so acutely lonely than he does now, sitting on the empty beach and getting sand up the back of his pants. He wishes Hoseok were here. The stars, overhead. The sky, darker than it’ll ever be in the city. Everything so much more — saturated with pigment and a whole wheel of color.

Namjoon rests his chin on his tucked up knees and wishes it would feel more to him than shades of gray.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

BREAKING — Hockey Star, Kim Namjoon, Announces He Is Not In a Relationship With…
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BUZZFEED — Although It Seemed Like the World’s Best Internet Couple Was Canon, It Turns Out That…
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❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

namjooniemolle

i really wish these news outlets would stop trying to profit off of namjoon (and hoseok’s) breakup. i know he said officially that they aren’t together, but it’s obvious that they used to be. like. it’s the skating community’s worst kept secret :)

#personal post #i know writing this won’t stop anything but seriously #i needed to get it out

jiminsfscostume

i can’t believe nj stepped down as captain?? AND apparently he asked to not play for the rest of the season because he felt like he wasn’t doing a good enough job so why are people still writing articles about him jfc

#i don’t even know how to feel#i never thought this would happen

jeonggukseokjin 

it feels like he hasn’t smiled in weeks honestly fuck the nhl

#i miss him #he was so happy when they were together

taesgoalie

i’m going to be throwing hands if we find out that namjoon and hoseok were forced to break up because of the nhl or because the ISU says they’re open minded about skaters being gay but also don’t let them date since it gives them a “bad image”

#im so angry #im livid im sitting in my room crying fucking shitty stupid angry tears we know that their relationship was probably the best thing they’ve had in years

hobihosbi

hoseok spotted entering seoul training center yesterday
[source]

#sorry i hate posting these magazine spreads bc they’re actually so bad for privacy #but in the light of the last couple days…

seungheeluver 

hoseok’s in korea again? what

#oh no

Twitter
Trends for you
#fuckthenhl
#fucktheISU
namseok
Jung Hoseok

jiminserendipity

did …. hoseok just move back to korea holy fucking shit

#to train?

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Hoseok barely exists for a long time.

He thought moving home would help him forget, staying at his grandparent’s while apartment hunting. It’s easier when talking and getting around, but he’s lived in America for so long that he’s not used to some things anymore: the bus, and the subway system, small things that have slipped away after spending time in another country.

It’s busier in Seoul, even up north away from most of the tourists. It’s a little far from where Dawon lives, but it’s quiet and almost abandoned and he likes that, desperate to get out of his own head so he can start thinking about whether or not he’s taking the year off, wishing he could talk about this with someone other than Sondeuk — someone who would know.

The doctors keep saying that he can go back to skating in a couple weeks, and the orthopedist at the training center tells him no jumps and practically anything on one leg with Hoseok jittering away in his chair opposite, antsy to put himself back on the ice. He just doesn’t want to think about himself for a while. Skating puts a blank on everything in his head.

It’s slow going with his knee. Hoseok’s terrified and impatient at the same time, annoyed when he can’t go more than an hour before he has to call it off, zipping his Team Korea jacket all the way up past his chin and watching the others start run throughs of new programs in the off season.

When he rests on the sidelines, he starts putting his programs together, and he stays up all night trying to find music for two weeks in a row. Nothing fits. Too upbeat, too slow, too sexy, too happy, too sad, wrong, wrong, wrong. He tosses his notebook at the wall sometime around three in the morning, and then falls asleep at his desk. He doesn’t know why it feels so weird waking up there too, neck stiff, until the doorbell rings and he Donghyuk’s standing on his doorstep with hands shoved into his pockets.

Hoseok tells himself he doesn’t really want him back.

He doesn’t.

The first couple times, he doesn't bother to answer the door, but then Donghyuk doesn’t stop coming back and stands there like he’s owed something, so when Dawon’s staying at the hospital for treatment again and Hoseok feels stretched thin and about to snap, crying himself to sleep and waking up exhausted, sometimes even hating the fact that he’s alive and never wanting to skate again and telling himself that he can’t do this anymore, he gives up fighting and slips into a pair of jeans to let him in.

He’s never been good with these things.

Their conversation is stilted and stopping at first, Hoseok eyeing Donghyuk from where he’s standing from across the kitchen. They end up going down to the corner store for food, Hoseok shrinking into himself when they go to the park and eat, not really wanting to talk because there are people, sometimes, and he’s never liked being in public or alone with him, even though Donghyuk keeps pushing. Whatever they had before was a violent thing, less about blood and pain and more about the way they fucked at night like animals, full of anger. High on it.

Once Hoseok’s resolve crumbles, it’s easy to slip back into the one thing he knows better than the rest.

He goes with Donghyuk back to his place. All he had to do was ask.

(Hoseok doesn’t think about anything at all, really, just puts one foot in front of the other and lets himself get lead by the hand down to the subway station and then up to the elevator of Donghyuk’s apartment building with his head like TV static, buzzing in his ears.)

He rocks his weight back on his heels when he’s pressed against the bedroom door, hands slipping across his ass and down the front of his pants, and then Donghyuk’s lifting him up and walking him backwards to the bed until he folds over onto the mattress.

“What do you want?” Donghyuk’s asking. “What do you want?”

He pressed up behind Hoseok — chest to back and hip to hip — caging him in and dipping down and holding him like that until Hoseok can’t take it anymore and he begs him, begs him and says: “Make me forget.”

He even says please.

He spends his days like this: fucking and fighting and skating in between. When his sister’s home, he doesn’t go to Donghyuk’s place, but Dawon yanks his collar down one night and sees the bruises scraped across his skin and doesn’t even have to ask before she just knows. It was always like this, before, the two of them together even though Hoseok keeps trying to stop.

“Hoseok,” Dawon says, and he keeps his head down. He presses his lips together and doesn’t say anything, just stirs his fried rice in the pan and cracks an egg into it with shaking hands. “Why?”

He’s holding onto his chopsticks so hard that his hands hurt, but he can’t seem to let them go. Sometimes, he thinks. Because sometimes I don’t know how to be anything else.

He and Donghyuk fight again the next day. Someone throws a chair, Hoseok screams a lengthy insult at him that's been building up for a while now, and the door slams shut after him as he storms off, punching the door close button on the elevator before Donghyuk can get in after him. Hoseok goes home with a split lip and spits blood into the sink when he brushes his teeth too hard, ignoring the desperate voicemails he gets later in the night, listening to Donghyuk apologize and call him “baby” as if that’ll make up for everything.

Hoseok doesn’t see him for a week and a half, stubborn, busying himself with piecing a program together. He’s still prepping jumps and not actually doing them, but he’s got choreography working itself out in his head, stretching in the gym while he scribbles shit down into his notebook, crossing out every other line he writes. The texts stop after a while.

He hates his first skate. Hoseok looks over at his coach and Sondeuk’s only comment is “it doesn’t feel like you.”

He agrees. It doesn’t feel like much of anything at all.

Hoseok ends up giving the whole thing away to an up and coming junior for a shit load of money and a flight out to a rink in Japan for a whole week’s worth of sessions together. It’s strange and new and exciting, this coaching life, and he somehow finds himself fitting better in his skin the minute he steps foot into it, laughing for the first time in months when he messed up the counts again on the step sequence.

It comes to him then, the last night of his stay in Saitama. Hoseok bolts awake in his hotel room and screeches at Yeeun for hours over the phone before she agrees to get something pieced together for him by the time he’s in Seoul again.

Hoseok looks over at his coach from center ice when he’s finished his first run through with the final mix, breathing hard and knowing in his warped, weird bones that this is something meant for gold. Sondeuk looks back at him wordlessly, arms folded over his chest, and nods.

“How’s the knee?” he asks.

Hoseok puts a little weight on his right side. It’s gone back to aching. “It’s good,” he shrugs. “I’m still worried about the jumps.”

“We’ll figure it out,” his coach says, and waves Hoseok to the side. “Take a break tomorrow,” he says.

Sondeuk seems to know when Hoseok’s feeling off, and Hoseok’s feeling off, slipping into warm ups and his earbuds when he heads out the door and into the heat of Seoul summer. It’s hanging onto the cusp of August now, days almost tumbling into September, but the weather’s worse than in the States. Hoseok had been used to it years ago, but the body is malleable and easy to forget, so he endures.

He’s out of shape, barely making it his usual hour and a half session before he has to collapse in a chair and sweat it out, knees knocking together as he speeds his way through a cold shower. He just about passes out on his bed until noon the next day, his chest weird with the thought of everything he’s left behind.

Hoseok still hasn’t downloaded KKT on his phone because he’s scared of the things that he’ll see if he logs in, heart sinking when he clicks into Instagram and realizes he hasn’t unfollowed Namjoon yet: some photo of him in Hawaii the first thing that’s on his feed.

He stares at it for a long time — too long, actually, to be healthy — trying to zoom in on the shadow of his profile through the filter he knows Jungkook picked, swiping across the screen for the rest of the photos.

Namjoon looks good. Hoseok had forgotten how beautiful he is, hands in his pockets for a KimDaily, the sliver of skin above his waistband when he turns to the side and stretches legs out in front of him. It feels like a blow to the chest, seeing his face for the first time in months. Like everything he’s been trying to shove under the covers since he’d fled from Namjoon’s house in the dead of night has come back to him: gathered up in grits under his fingernails, and places he didn’t know could cause pain.

He stares too long for it to be healthy, finger hovering over the like button, scrolling through the fan comments and feeling his face soften when he reads some of them, biting his lip when he comes across the ones that mention his name. Hoseok’s not blind; he’s always known there was speculation about their relationship, but nothing ever concrete enough for the ISU to take notice.

Hoseok regrets it. He never wanted to leave, but it all came down so fast — the insecurity that Namjoon was going to break it off so he had to do it first — and everything had knocked him clean off his feet and then stamped him into the dirt and the press out his window had left his anxiety skyrocketing, and a piece of him wishes he could take it back, but the louder, firmer part of him knows it was never going to be an option.

His career comes first.

Hoseok tells that to himself again when he leans over the sink in the morning, and runs concealer under his eyes. He does it when he finally picks up Donghyuk’s call and lets him promise Hoseok everything he could ever want and call him angel and agree to pick him up for dinner.

Hoseok changes into something nicer, even though he knows it’ll end up on the floor the minute Donghyuk shuts his apartment door behind him, but he needs someone to fuck away the…thing that’s unspooled inside his stomach like river rocks, and still rippling, even if he wakes up numb down to his fingertips.

He and Namjoon were close, intimate together, but they never fucked, so Hoseok’s body only knows touch like this: going with Donghyuk to bed and promising him that he’s the only thing he sees, that if he does well he’ll be the only thing he thinks about too.

Even so, Namjoon’s always on his fucking mind. It gets better as the weeks pass by and winter comes cold outside his window, but there are some days when he slams his way into Donghyuk’s apartment and they fuck hard like that, almost fully clothed. Angry.

It goes around and around for months: Hoseok comes over, he stays the night. They’re kind in the morning and then on dates before one of them snaps and the fists are coming out and they almost break each other’s faces open on the nearest surface, screaming insults before Hoseok throws something across the room and slams the door shut behind him.

It’s weird, how this becomes routine again after so many years apart.

Maybe, Hoseok thinks, when he takes his shirt off after practice and sees the red-green bruises Donghyuk left all over his ribs from their last fight, I deserve this.

OCTOBER

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

The off-season was difficult for Namjoon, but when he returns to the ice, he’s a better captain than he used to be.

The press, of course, has a fucking field day when games start picking up. Media traction is big when it comes to him now, every damn journalist out there trying to get something out of him for their articles. Hoseok comes up often, and if Namjoon hadn’t spent all summer trying to figure out how to get over him, he thinks he’d have punched one of them before the questions even left their mouths.

He’s still worries about Hoseok on his own. Namjoon wants to know how his knee is doing, how Dawon is doing, how it feels to be in Korea again. Hoseok’s been on media blackout for a while, and Namjoon prowls the forums under some stupid username to see what everyone’s saying about him.

People have their own theories as to what Hoseok’s up to, but the one thing they all agree on is that he might be retiring this year. His coach had been unavailable to comment, and there had been rare photos of him wandering Seoul and the National Training Center, but he’s pulled out of the whole Prix circuit, and 4CC is too far to begin predicting.

Namjoon chews on a nail and thinks about the Olympics.

He’s worried Hoseok won’t come back to the ice again, after what happened. The guilt of their breakup is immense — even though he’d seen it coming for a while — so much had been on their plates at the time, Namjoon carrying the least of it but still feeling like he had the world on his shoulders. Even now, sometimes, he wakes up alone in bed and wanders his big house, staring at the places Hoseok used to fill. His voice echoes back at him in the bathroom, and again in the shower, Namjoon’s chest twisting when he opens the fridge and he sees the big bucket of granola he’d bought at the store on Sunday — the same kind that he and Hoseok used to eat together.

Namjoon gets to the rink on a half day to find everyone huddled together in the locker room, whispering in hushed voices and whipping around to face him when he knocks on the door jokingly asks what’s up.

“It’s all over the news,” Seokjin murmurs, when he’s pulled him away from the crowd. Only his friends follow, leaving a lot of the younger kids behind, save Jungkook, and they watch nervously as he slides his phone in front of him.

Namjoon wishes he could say he read the headline first.

NYTIMES BREAKING — Star Skater Jung Hoseok Allegedly Files Restraining Order Against Former Partner Shin Donghyuk, Citing Domestic Abuse Charges
[read more]

The first thing he sees, though, are photos of Hoseok with blood on his cheek and the close-ups of the bruises that litter his wrist and arm and sides, his scratched up ribs. There are some fantakens from him leaving what Namjoon can only assume is the courthouse, sunglasses so large they almost cover his entire face, and the one video is shaky and audioless, just Hoseok pushing his way through the crowd outside the door, getting into a car and yanking the curtain curtain shut as the driver speeds down the street.

Namjoon scrolls hastily through the article. There’s not much information about the hearing since the whole thing had been so hush-hush, but someone’s posted pics of Donghyuk in the thread, and having seen him up close before, Namjoon knows it’s him. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

He drops his phone on the meeting room table, and puts his head in his hands.

Namjoon’s not stupid. He’s read the speculation in the article comments, but he knows too much of the truth to be blind to it. Donghyuk and Hoseok, both in Seoul, both ex-boyfriends, and Hoseok fresh out of a breakup with nobody really there except maybe Dawon; it’s not unrealistic that the two would end up fucking, at the very least.

He just didn’t think it’d go this far.

“Namjoon?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head into his line of vision. He jumps, surprised, and looks up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he rasps, then coughs to clear his throat. “Yeah,” he tries again. “I’m fine— just. Need some time to,” Namjoon gestures vaguely in the direction of his phone. Then he remembers they don’t know who Donghyuk is. It’s Hoseok, but doesn’t mean so much to them until he says: “That guy’s his ex. Um, he’s the guy who hit him outside the restaurant— do you…?”

“I remember,” Yoongi says, and he sounds a lot angrier than Namjoon thought he would. “Fucking asshole.”

“Yup,” Namjoon’s throat closes up on him.

He gets to his feet, abruptly, before they can say anything else. He needs to clear his head.

“Joon—”

“It’s fine,” Namjoon shakes his head. He glances at the clock. “We should start practice.”

“Joon—”

“We can do this over dinner,” he says, and looks up at Seokjin, finally. He offers him a weak smile. It’s not him, after all, whose been so hurt. “I— it’s kind of a lot.”

Namjoon itches to call. He doesn’t think Hoseok’s changed his number, but he not sure if hearing his voice again after something like this would do them any good. Just seeing his face was enough of a punch to the gut. He doesn’t even know what he’d say anyway: I’m sorry? I wish I was with you? You don’t have to do this alone?

Everything he tries sounds ironic in his head, like he’s trying to hard or mocking Hoseok for the months they’ve spent apart.

By the time practice is over, something's trending on Twitter, and Namjoon’s phone is practically vibrating out of his hockey bag when he unzips his bag. #HoseokStrong is a little unoriginal, all things considered, and not entirely something Namjoon thinks Hoseok would want to hear, but he supposes it’s the thought that counts.

After an hour of heated debate, Namjoon says fuck it and posts an edit of Hoseok on his Instagram.

He tosses his phone onto the ground when his feed refreshes and the likes start flooding in, screaming into Yoongi’s shoulder as he pats him awkwardly on the back.

It’s only after a late night ice cream run when he finally sees. Namjoon doesn’t have notifications turned on unless it’s a mutual follow, like his teammates or his sister, and he doesn’t think anything of some new comment until sees who it is and promptly drops his phone into his milkshake.

“Oh, my God,” he says. His phone is sticky now, and so are his fingers, but Namjoon doesn’t care, hands shaking when he refreshes the page and checks again, and then a third time.

The top comment on his latest post is the most liked, racking up over 10k, which — to be fair — isn’t entirely disproportional considering both their followings and the media storm of the last eight hours, but it’s just so…short for all the attention it’s getting, and he likes it in a rush, then pushes his phone across the table for the rest of his friends to see.

junghoseok
thank you joonie
i miss you :-)

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

namjoonupdates

[photo]
caption: #staystronghoseok

#kim namjoon #hockey #nhl #instagram #month: december

namjoonupdates 

[photo]
comment from hoseok

#instagram — type: comment #jung hoseok #month: december

seokjinstaehyyung

oh…
my god.

jiminsfscostume 

he calls him…joonie…
[photo]

#i am literally speechless

taesgoalie 

holy fucking shit

#namseok just did that.

hobihobbs

i…

jiminchaneyeol 

does anybody else feel like namseok’s breakup was a matter of circumstance and not because they had a fight or they hated each other or fell out of love or anything

#just me? ok…

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

dailyhoseok 

[photo]
caption: but i still want you

#jung hoseok #kim namjoon #namseok #figure skating #fucktheisu #fuckthenhl #instagram #personal #nonendorsement

hoseokskates

happy new years jung hoseok posted a polaroid of himself and namjoon kissing boy really said fucktheisu with his whole ass chest like

#damn he really coming for their throats too #AND we still dont know if his ass is retiring or not #hoseok

hobishortprogramm 

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW

jeonggukseokjin

when we call him a gay icon we REALLY call him a gay icon

#namseok are just That Powerful #they break the internet every open their mouths #fucktheisu

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Hoseok’s ready for the criticism after he uploads the photo to Instagram. It’s his first post in eight months, and it’s one that Taehyung took of the two of them kissing: his arms slung over Namjoon’s shoulders with hands on his waist and no space between their bodies; he couldn’t be more obvious about it. It’s not like this is the first picture of them making out anyway. There’s the one from the New Years party that ruined his life back in June.

He’s nervous to go out, but the paps haven’t found his place yet, it seems, even after the dizziness of the court hearing and all that came after, so when he gets down to the garage to drive himself over the first press conference of the Olympic season, he doesn’t think anyone believes he’s actually going to show up.

Hoseok’s been invited, of course. He’s been invited since the last one in Russia and had sat on the sidelines for the others, but he’s been MIA for months now and when he gets out on the floor for the first panel, he knows press is going to be jumping down his throat trying to get answers out of him.

Hoseok pulls up into the company parking lot, scanning his badge before the security guard lets him through, pointing to the empty section near the third floor elevator. He sucks in a breath and holds it for a long time. His head spins. The sound of his car door closing echoes for ages as he waits for the lift, tapping his foot nervously when he hits Floor 5 and takes the private hallways through to the back.

He’s already told the rest of his team that he’s competing this year, so there’s really no reaction from the rest of his rinkmates when he slides into place backstage, just a clap on the back when he fiddles nervously with his sleeves. They all agreed he’d come in last, just so the others could answer a question each, at the very least, before Hoseok shows up like an absolute dickhead and takes all the attention off them.

Seunghee pats his ass affectionately as he chews on his lip and texts Jimin back: nothing more than incoherent keysmashes and a slew of random emojis before the stage manager starts calling them over.

Even with the twenty minutes of warm up interviews before Hoseok gets out there, it still feels like his heart stops when he finally steps out from behind the curtain with a pair of sunglasses. He can’t even hear the MC over the noise.

“Hoseok-ssi will only be answering questions about his professional career,” she says, very pointedly over the rim of her glasses. “You will be removed from the venue if you attempt to ask him about anything else.”

There’s a disappointed sound that ripples through the crowd, and Hoseok has to hold back a snort when notebooks disappear and people start rifling through their bags so they don’t have to meet his eye. He’s taken off his sunglasses now, and leans back in his chair, as casual as he can manage.

“Hi, Jeremy Scottsdale, Sun News,” a guy in a blue polo says. He’s American, Hoseok can tell from the outfit alone, so he sighs and switches over to English in his head. “Uh,” he laughs into the mic, scratching his nose. “Well…I guess I’ll just ask the question I think everyone’s been waiting for.” He pauses. Hoseok presses his lips together. People like these are the ones who’ve ruined his life, who turned him into a headline sensation and nothing else. “Are you retiring after your injury from Worlds last year?”

Hoseok gives him a tight smile. He leans forward in his chair, arms still crossed over his chest. The whole room shifts his direction. “No,” he says.

He sits back again.

Silence.

He knows that media are used to his bubbly, too-friendly personality. It’s kind of a given when it comes to interviews, but Hoseok’s just gone from a long talk with both Dawon and Jimin on the phone, and he’s had one of the best things in his life ruined because some freak leaked his photos to every big news outlet in the west and he’s had enough of the public trying to control his life; he doesn’t care anymore. Perhaps, as the kids say: Hoseok snapped.

The mic goes to another guy in the front. “Arnold Brown, Saturday Oracle,” he says. “Will you be competing at the Olympics?”

Hoseok gives him an unreadable look. “What do you think?” he says dryly.

More silence.

“Last question,” the moderator says, shuffling her papers on the stand. The noise level spikes, frantic, and there’s a vicious catfight for the mic before some girl in the back yanks it out of a guy’s hands with this smug little look on her face. She reminds Hoseok of Yoongi, bangs all over her forehead and sporting these big, round glasses.

“Molly Liu, NY Times,” she says, glancing down at her notepad. Someone taps a pen against their camera bag. “Can you give us any information about your programs today, Hoseok-ssi? Perhaps a theme or genre of music?”

Hoseok’s eyebrows go up. Her question is good. It’s not one he’d been expecting though, so it takes a while for him to come up with a good answer. He may be rude today, but he’s always been honest, so he pulls his mic close and says: “It’s about love.”

The room erupts.

“—one more,” Liu shouts, half out of her seat when Hoseok holds his hands up and waves the guards off. She’d directed his program for 60 Minutes years ago, and for all the shit that he’s been through, Hoseok still trusts her with his story.

“What was it like?” she asks. “Loving Kim Namjoon?”

The air drains itself from the room.

Hoseok knows he said only skating, but Namjoon is…this is the whole universe slotting into place for him. Their eyes meet when she looks up at him, and he swallows, then again. He hears Dawon’s voice in his head: just tell him, just tell him.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. Truthfully. He looks into her crew’s camera and smooths his hands nervously down his thighs. Hoseok lets out a shaking breath. “I haven’t really stopped.”

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

BUZZFEED — Namseok Breaks the Internet…Again?!
[read more]

CNN — Jung Hoseok Declares He Is Still In Love with Kim Namjoon at Olympic Skating Panel…
[read more]

POPSUGAR — #Namseok Isn’t Dead After All?
[read more]

NYTIMES — Two-Time Olympic Medalist Jung Hoseok Not Retiring, Will Compete at Pyeongchang 2018
[read more]

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

dailyhoseok

[video]
Hoseok cut at Team Korea skating panel from Olympic interview

#jung hoseok #pyeongchang18 #olympics #figure skating #fucktheisu #video

jiminsfscostume

LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
JUNG HOSEOK REALLY TOLD THE ISU TO FUCKING DIE LMFAOOOOOOOOOO
BITCH LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NEVER GONNA STOP LAUGHING ABOUT THIS LMFAOOOOOOOO THEY CRUSTY ASSES CAN CHOKE LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOO

#BITCH THIS IS LITERALLY TRUE LOVE

jeonggukseokjin 

AAHGGAGGAGAGAWENFHAGJGNHWEGAJEMSNGAHESGLKH

HOSEOK SNAPPED…!HE REALLY WAS NOT TAKING ANY OF THEIR BULLSHIT TODAY BIHTJNCH HIS SUNGLASSES ..WALKING OUT LATE…THAT SMUG ASS LOOK ON HIS FACE WHEN THE MODERATOR TOLD EVERYONE NO QUESTIONS ABOUT HIS PERSONAL LIFE .. HE REALLY TOLD THEM THIS A GAY’S EVENT ONLY …!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#SUCK HIS FAT DICK AHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHGHAHGHAGHAH

Chapter Text

Namjoon’s not supposed to be here. It’s the middle of the season; he has a game in four days and this isn’t even the weekend, but he hasn't been able to watch the world move for him so easily since Hoseok left, and he can’t let things get away from him just because he's scared.

It’s fine, he tells himself. It’s just a red-eye to Pyeongchang and a pass that Jimin had practically blackmailed the Olympic Committee for, and then if things don’t go well Namjoon’s only got one night in a local hotel before he’s leaving for the airport in the morning.

During the flight, he very carefully doesn’t think about the fact that Hoseok’s been a ghost this season. Pulling out of every competition except for the Olympics, and even then — unable to participate in team skate because of his track record for the past six months. He’s injured, and can’t risk it. At least that’s what their coach had said.

It’s a good thing Namjoon’s so familiar with travel by now, because he barely has time to stumble his way through check-in and up to his room: tossing his suitcase down and running cold, then too hot, through a two minute shower before he's out the door again, jittering around in his shoes. If he's being honest, he has no idea how things are going to go. He’s prepared himself for the worst, he really has.

“Okay, okay,” he mutters to himself, patting his pockets. “Phone,” charged. “ID, ticket, badge— fuck, shit where’s the—” he upends his suitcase looking for it. “Got it, okay. Badge, um. Bag…”

He gets a cab there. His Korean’s rusty, since Hoseok’s been gone.

It's a long ride from the hotel, so Namjoon shows up and heads over to the competitor’s entrance, exchanging his ticket for a lanyard that bounces against his shirt as he jogs the length of backstage corridors. He still has a whole hour to kill before the event starts. 

pjm
hobi drew last lol
you can come in after G3 warm up
he won’t notice anyway

koyabear
thank you so much
thank you thank you thank you

pjm 
whatever happened between you two
it’s…not my business but
it killed him

pjm
so don’t fuck this up, kim namjoon

koyabear
i won’t
i promise

pjm
better not.

pjm
sorry i have to go
warm up

Namjoon can practically feel the cameras on him the minute he climbs down to take his seat. He’s on the wedge one rise over from the judges, so a lot of the people next to him are either part of the Union or retired skaters, Namjoon giving the lady next to him a tight smile when he settles in.

He’s sure that pulling his phone out first thing isn’t doing him any favors with her either, but he’s so nervous for some reason, taking his bag off his shoulder and putting it between his feet. He thinks about his pathetic stub of a rose in the side pocket, and the truly massive Snoopy he’d scoured the internet for months previous, blowing an exorbitant amount of money to get it shipped to his house.

Namjoon squirms in his seat, ducking his head when Hoseok passes by his section during warm-up. He’s not even looking at the audience, doesn’t notice anybody else except the other people on the ice the way Jimin promised, but it feels…wrong to watch without him knowing. Once Namjoon starts staring, he knows he won’t be able to stop.

To be honest, the first four programs are a blur. Time slows down for Jimin when he spots Namjoon during bows, his smile a secret thing between the two of them. Yuto goes after him, and then Namjoon feels his chest wind up and tighten to the point he can’t breathe when he gets up to leave the kiss and cry.

“Representing South Korea,” the announcer says, and the noise of the crowd drowns out their voice for a long while. “Jung Hoseok.”

Namjoon’s head snaps up to the skater's entrance.

The jumbotron flashes Hoseok’s face and then his ISU photo. His age, his country. His music. Princess Mononoke, it reads, in fine print on the bottom. Namjoon sucks in a hard breath, tries so hard not to hope.

Hoseok steps foot on the rink with people screaming his name, hysterical and religious, gliding over the ice with a half smile. He sends a kiss up to the ceiling, Namjoon finally understanding why, before tightening looping circles. He stops dead center, eye closed, folding his arms over his face.

His costume is beautiful, like all things are beautiful when it comes to Hoseok. It's difficult, seeing him so close for the first time after he'd left, like a photo overexposed. Namjoon has to duck his head down when it’s too much: the hero-Hoseok, and the real-Hoseok with his dark head down, glittering in a new costume. It makes him look like a fairy, pale greens and golds and a riot of diamonds all up his collar— the sleeves overlong, hanging in his face while he stands there and waits for his music to start.

If Namjoon had fallen in love with Hoseok through the dirty screen of his computer, there’s no way to explain how it feels to see him here — as if he could just reach out and touch — Hoseok nothing but a passing blur when he starts picking up speed. None of it feels real. Just raw, like how it feels to climb into the skin of someone else and press on the bruises from the inside, and Namjoon wonders, distantly, why he's never watched Hoseok really skate before. 

His first quad. The cello. The way he opens his arms up and pushes off across the rink: backwards, forwards, backwards again.

Hoseok's throat is tight and dry-mouthed by the time he reaches the halfway point.

His jumps are sloppier than they used to be, and the pain shoots up his knee every time he lands, but Dawon had held him by the hand on her bed the night before and smoothed back his hair and told him to let out the river that had grown roots in his spine, even if nobody was around to hear; how else could Namjoon know? And Sondeuk had said: whoever you made this program for, you skate it for them too.

Hoseok has always told the truth, when it comes to his sport. He does it now, too — telling him I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, as if time and distance could move like planets for them.

Does Namjoon want him back? He doesn’t know. Maybe he’s moved on, Hoseok doesn't fool himself into thinking it couldn't happen, and there’s fear in that and in his fingers when he twists into himself, in the eyes he gives the judges, asking: is this what you wanted from me every time I came to perform for you?

He decided, somewhere between Donghyuk and Dawon, that he didn’t care if this was the most technically disappointing performance of his entire career. He could fall on all the jumps he’s put into this program, ruin his spins, his choreography, his step sequence; he just hopes Namjoon’s watching.

There’s a whole list of things Hoseok needs him to know. He wrote it over the kitchen counter like a grocery list, as if he could compare every line of it to the people they used to be.

First: I’m sorry.

Second: I know you.

Third: I see you, I love you.

Fourth: For the rest of time, if you asked me, I would say it’s true. Lash me to the tree and drown me on the riverbed, and it would be true. I’m sorry it took so long, because now I understand it’s more, and every time I saw your face I felt flayed open and wanting. My seams tore, my stuffing came out. I vomited up the ugliness inside of myself and then tried to swallow the viscera down again because the good you had put in me still clung to the meat of my bones and teeth like quiet sound, and I’m selfish: I couldn’t even let the last part of you leave me then.

I heard your voice and it started snowing inside me.

There’s this moment that stretched out for years between the end of his music and the crowd screaming out his name where Hoseok lets out this sob that feels like it echoes for miles then, burying his face in his hands as he doubles over on the ice. Exhausted.

He presses his forehead to the rink and feels the weight of everything holding him down: Namjoon, Dawon, Donghyuk, his parents, Jimin, like Atlas with the world on his back. His legs are weak and they shake, the audience is somehow still cheering for him when Hoseok manages to get on his feet for bows. There’s sympathy in the sound, his face scrunched up into itself with the tears as he tries to give them a smile, something pretty for the cameras, but he knows it’s not really doing him any good.

He waves, arms up and head back so he can see everyone up in the stands, bowing and bowing again. He only turns back around when he’s halfway to the boards for the kiss and cry, Sondeuk pointing at something over his shoulder. He looks over at the crowd, and follows their line of sight until he sees what they’re seeing.

Hoseok drops the Snoopy that he’s holding.

Namjoon, standing at the bottom of the staircase against the rink sides. He's got a toy clutched to his chest and a flower in his back pocket and Hoseok’s so far away, but he can’t do anything except try to catch himself on the way down, knees buckling with shock.

He’s crying again, and it’s so stupid how badly he’s messing up his eyeliner, but Hoseok isn’t able to comprehend anything that’s happening— Namjoon shouldn’t be here, he should be in America, he should be winning games with his team, it’s the middle of the season, they haven’t talked in months and months—

Namjoon looks good. He looks amazing. His expression slips something closer to concern when Hoseok doesn’t get up for a long time, tears messy over his cheeks.

He has to crawl the first few steps. Then Hoseok gets to his feet, shaking when he skates out a couple strides, picking up speed with every one until he’s a blur, fumbling the side door open before he folds forward into a bow, pressing his head into the ice over and over and over like this, Namjoon scrambling to get down on the same level as him and prying him upright.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok gasps. It’s electric, when they touch again. Like everything has just been righted. Time shrinks to nothing between them. “I love you, I’m so sorry— Namjoon, I’m sorry, I was wrong—”

“Shut up,” Namjoon says, pulling Hoseok into his arms, feeling him fist hands in the back of Namjoon’s jacket and pressing his face down into his shoulder. Even after the year and a half they spent apart, he still remembers the shape of Hoseok’s body, and the smell of him, how they fit together like beach pebbles. “It’s not your fault,” he says. He had Dawon and the whole country waiting on him. The whole world, even. “You did the right thing, I promise.”

Hoseok’s shoulders shake.

“I love you,” Namjoon says, pressing his lips to Hoseok’s hair. He’s sweaty, but he doesn’t care, he just wants to be close. “I love you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Why don’t we start over?” Namjoon murmurs.

Even with the whole stadium watching, the entire thing broadcasted live, it still feels like it’s just the two of them — Hoseok clutching his hands tight, the whole line of his body pained, reaching out to cup Namjoon’s face in his hand and run his thumb across his cheek.

Hoseok’s eyes flick down to his lips, and then back up again. He doesn’t even have the time to ask. Namjoon closes the distance between them without even thinking, mouth parting under Hoseok’s with a sigh and an arm coming up around his waist to keep him close. They tip back towards the ice, Hoseok’s blades skidding out from under him.

It feels like coming home.

“You waited too long for me,” Hoseok says, wet, when they pull apart. He presses their foreheads together, and then tilts his head to the side for another kiss and another and another, the noise of the crowd doubling when they do.

“I’ll never stop waiting for you,” Namjoon promises. His eyes are shining, and they’re holding hands, still, Hoseok lowering his head so Namjoon can tuck the rose behind his ear, and press the huge Snoopy to Hoseok’s chest. It’s hard to look away from that, and Namjoon’s pretty sure they’re just smiling stupidly at each other for ages before Hoseok jolts, remembering he’s still waiting for his scores.

He decides to take Namjoon with him over to the kiss and cry. He knows he probably isn’t allowed, but he doesn’t care. He sits with their legs and knees pressed together, Namjoon wrapping an arm around Hoseok’s waist and resting his head against his shoulder and saying something that the cameras don’t catch — something that makes Hoseok laugh and run a hand through Namjoon's hair, smoothing bangs away from his forehead. Their free hands are tangled together in his lap, a little nervous.

“The scores for Hoseok, Jung,” the announcer says, after a moment.

The two of them are still talking. Hoseok’s shoulders are loose, and he leans back to bump his shoulders with Namjoon's.

“Don’t want to know how you did?” Namjoon teases.

Hoseok shakes his head. “I don’t care.”

“I mean that much to you?”

“Stupid,” Hoseok says, whole face softening. He pinches Namjoon’s chin, scrunching his nose up. “You mean more.”

“—two hundred and twenty-three points. He is currently in first place, and secures the gold medal for South Korea in figure skating, men’s singles—”

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

hoseokupdates
[!!!] Hoseok is now an Olympic champion with a record-breaking free skate score of 223.7! Congrats Hoseok!
#jung hoseok #figure skating #pyeongchang18 #olympics #olympics 2018

hoseokfave
not only did hoseok win gold but HE WON HIS MAN BACK IN FRONT OF INTERNATIONAL TV BROADCAST TO OVER SIXTY COUNTRIES LEGENDS ONLY
#HOSEOK #WHATHFUADJSNAHWERSFJDLKNJGAWRHEJOFSLDNAGH

taesgoalie
HOLY FUCKING SHIT OH MY GOD
#WHAT THE FUCK

jiminchanyeol
[photo]
[photo]
THE ICON JUMPED OUT PERHAPS
#FUCKTHEISU #NAMSEOK DID THAT AND HOSEOK STILL B FUCKING WINNING LMFAOOOO #HE TOLD HOMOPHOBES TO DIE !!!! #THIS A GAYS ONLY EVENT!!!!!!!!

hoseokgoldmedal
AAAGHA3WRUEPSF;LDKNGAJSEGDJLAKNJWRHUESFJDLKAKJSHGASE’DHGAKLAHLSGEWJTLFSKNDGKJASELDGKNJAUHESLGASG JUNG HFUCKINGHSOEOK HFANLSJEUHFJVLKHGAS JFUGNSFAEHSJP
#HOSEOK WHAT A FUCKIGNF LEGEND

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

The post-competition interviews are a rush.

Hoseok’s limping a little, and he’s on such a high that his accent’s coming out stronger every time he speaks in English. Most of the questions are in Korean though, Hoseok failing to tamp down on a smile with every one. He drags Namjoon along by the hand for the whole thing, even though he doesn’t talk unless prompted, ducking his head with embarrassment.

Hoseok admits that he’s on painkillers, something about how his knee’s still not completely recovered, and it shows, by the end of the day. He’s so strong, and Namjoon wants to die from how much he loves him, his chest swelling with it. Looking at it now, the distance hadn’t even done him any good, considering how he can’t stop staring at Hoseok from across the room, this goofy smile on his face whenever their eyes meet and he’s reminded that he’s got him now, again. Forever.

Jimin punches Namjoon, when they meet up again at the gala. He yells, and then he cries, leaving Namjoon silently begging Hoseok for help while he pats Jimin reassuringly on the back, not sure what he’s supposed to do with an armful of silver medalist.

During podium, Hoseok had skated right up to the boards during his victory lap, putting his chin in his hands and blinking cutely at Namjoon. He took the slightly crushed bouquet of flowers with him to the podium, and shot him finger hearts the entire time he was supposed to be posing for photos.

“Are you doing exhibition tomorrow?” Namjoon asks sleepily, watching Hoseok towel his hair dry in the bathroom mirror. He’s squished his face down on the pillow, arms starfished out by his sides.

“That’s the plan,” Hoseok smiles, crawling into bed next to him. Namjoon latches on almost immediately, something in his chest finally settling down when he can rest his forehead against the warm curve of Hoseok’s neck. He tangles their fingers together over his stomach, tracing lines up the back of his hand like he’s always done. “Don’t you have a game before then?”

“Ah, they’ll sub someone in,” Namjoon says. “Coach said I should, um, probably take the week off or something. ’S not playoffs yet.”

“Okay,” Hoseok says. He’s quiet for a long time. He wonders if it’s selfish of him to want Namjoon back so fast, and all of him, the way he does now. They should probably talk about what happened, but his knee aches and so does his chest and he doesn’t think he can do it right now, so fresh from the gates.

Still, Namjoon is there in the morning. There with him to breakfast, there when Hoseok’s phone lights up with the hospital’s number and his hands are shaking bad when he answers, somehow just knowing.

He sits there for a long time, afterwards.

Namjoon comes back from the gym and finds him there, packing an overnight bag.

"I have to go," Hoseok says. He runs a hand down his face. "Dawon—"

“Not alone,” Namjoon replies. “Let me come with you.”

The car ride is four grueling hours, the two of them rushing up to Seoul National without even bothering to wait for the elevator, climbing all twelve flights of stairs to get to Dawon’s room.

There’s some family waiting outside, but they clear out for Hoseok wordlessly, eyeing Namjoon when Hoseok refuses to let go of his hand as he yanks him inside, the door closing behind them.

Namjoon has to lead him across the room then — to where Dawon’s bed is raised just enough to clear her lungs and she can look at her brother and try to smile, as if Hoseok hadn’t been with her the hours before he’d left for Pyeongchang, as if her body hadn’t become the shell of something that once held life, and her voice doesn't grate with every breath like wind through dead leaves.

Namjoon barely manages to push the chair under Hoseok before he collapses into it, bringing Dawon’s hand to his lips with two of his own without speaking. Namjoon gets down next to him quietly. He hooks his chin over Hoseok’s shoulder, forehead to cheek, and slides his eyes shut. Just breathing. All three of them: just breathing.

“Did you watch?” Namjoon asks, eventually, when it looks like Dawon keeps trying to talk, but not being able to. “He did really well.”

Dawon manages a smile. “Yeah,” she rasps. “‘M proud. Both of you,” she says.

When she breaks away for a coughing fit, Namjoon takes the glass of water from Hoseok because his hands are shaking worse than Dawon’s, smoothing down the collar of her gown after she settles in again.

“Guess noona can die for real now,” she huffs, raising an eyebrow. “You two finally got your shit together.”

“Shut up,” Hoseok says, a tight thing that barely makes it out of his throat. “Shut up, shut up, shut up—”

“You love him, right?” Dawon asks, even though she doesn’t have to. “I know.”

Hoseok flushes.

“You’re gonna get married, yeah?” she grins, thin at the edges. “White picket fence, two kids. Dog?”

“I,” Hoseok falters. He glances at Namjoon, and rolls his lips together. “Yeah,” he chokes out. “You’re invited to the wedding,” he says. “And we’re both gonna get really drunk together.”

“Ah,” Dawon says. “Don’t wait up on me, stupid.”

“Who says I am?” Hoseok laughs wetly. “I’m gonna make you the maid of honor and everything.”

“Rings?”

“No diamonds.”

“No diamonds.”

Hoseok bites the inside of his cheek. “Maybe sapphires,” he says. “Silver and blue. It’s um,” he says. “It’s Joonie’s birthstone.”

“I bet,” Dawon says. “Cake?”

“The ugliest neon green you’ve ever seen,” he says. His voice shakes. “You’re gonna hate it so much.”

Dawon groans. “Shrek themed?”

“Two ogres on top,” Hoseok says. "Onion flavored."

"The caterers are going to hate you."

One of the nurses comes in. She closes the door behind her.

“Yeah, I'm a bridezilla,” Hoseok says. “And you’d have to listen to me call you at midnight so I can rant about the caterers ‘coz they’ll suck no matter what.”

Dawon hums, and closes her eyes.

“Noona,” Hoseok says, breathless. He wants to take her by the shoulders and shake, as if they’re kids again and she’s not up in time for Christmas morning. “Wake up,” he says. “You can’t go yet.”

“Give her some time,” the nurse says, and she busies herself with the machines. “Not long now.”

Dawon struggles on the next breath. “Hoseokie,” she murmurs. Hoseok bites his lip to keep the sounds down, pressing his face into the bedsheets. It doesn’t even smell like her, just hospital detergent and rubbing alcohol. “You remember? What I said,” she coughs. “You remember?”

He nods. “I’m gonna love him until I die,” Hoseok vows, desperate and wild with it. “Just wait, I promise. You’re gonna see—”

“No,” she cuts off, though not unkindly. “No more.”

He makes this sound: bitten, and full of pain.

“You need to start,” she says. “Living for yourself.”

The nurse glances at her charts, and then at one of the monitors. She turns the dial up on the control panel by the headboard.

“I didn’t need gold,” she says. “My precious boy. Jus’ you.”

“Will you,” Hoseok starts. He cries and cries and can’t stop. Namjoon has to look away for a moment, hands tight together in his lap. “You’ll tell mom and dad that you’re— you’re proud of me, right?”

“Course,” she says. “Always.”

Dawon stretches her fingers out, and brushes the hair back from Hoseok’s eyes. She’s weak, so it’s barely more than touch, but she gets the message across anyway.

“Take care of yourself,” she says. Hoseok can’t lift his head up. She looks at Namjoon, cheek shifting on the pillows. “Take care of him,” she asks. “Please.”

Namjoon nods. “I will.”

Her next breath is rattling. Hoseok gives up on being quiet. He can't tear his eyes away from Dawon’s face, wanting to crawl into bed with her and have a sleepover again, as if pain could be detached from the body, could be worn like a suit of armor.

“Be brave, baby. Okay?” she murmurs, eyes barely a sliver of black. “Last time. For me.”

Dawon’s chest kicks, and one of the great machines wails with it, silent a moment after, then loud again. The nurse puts one hand on the railing, and pretends to be busy with the controls for Hoseok’s sake.

“I will,” Hoseok gasps. “I promise, I promise,” like prayer.

Namjoon pulls Hoseok close, feels his rabbit heart beating hard against his own skin.

“Noona’s sorry,” Dawon says, so quiet it’s almost nothing. She swallows, and swallows again. Where she finds the energy to press her hand against Hoseok’s cheek, he doesn't know, but he clutches onto her wrist like a lifeline. “I love you.”

Hoseok’s chin wobbles. “I love you,” he says.

“Then smile for me, stupid.”

“I can’t,” he gasps. “I can’t.”

“Aw, come on,” she murmurs. “For me.” 

It’s the last thing she’ll ever ask of Hoseok, he knows. He sucks in a breath and holds it in his chest. He tries. He tries so hard, turning the corners to his lips upward and forcing it out through the tears, holding it there even when Dawon makes this noise that sounds like a sigh, like rocks in her chest, like ocean tides.

Her eyes slide shut and her fingers loosen against Hoseok’s and then he can’t hear anything else except the sound of the big machines as her heart stops beating — forcing himself up, knocking over his chair and clutching onto her gown to press his ear to her chest and try to find a sign of life even when her skin is no longer kind to the touch.

He gives her warmth until even that flees from beneath her ribs.

“No,” Hoseok says, none of it registering properly. He touches her face, and her closed eyes, like he doesn’t believe any of this is real. “No,” he repeats, louder this time. “Dawonnie,” he says, and he sounds like he’s eight years old, crying over a skinned knee. “Come back, come back,” he begs.

Namjoon has to turn away. Everything feels raw and split open in his chest. Hoseok sounds so young. “You said you wouldn’t go, please come back— I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.”

Hoseok hunches over Dawon’s corpse, hands fisted in her unwashed hair, cupping her thin cheeks. “Please, please, please,” he sobs. “I love you— just,” his voice breaks, and it’s so loud in the silence. “Come back. You have to come back—”

The nurse is giving Namjoon this look, having rolled a cart over. She picks up the edge of a sheet.

“Hope-ah,” Namjoon murmurs, pulling Hoseok’s hands away. “You need to let go.”

Hoseok doesn’t seem to process anything around him, and he fights Namjoon hard — legs kicking, hysterical. “Stop— they’re gonna take her away. Noona just has to wake up,” his words are slurring now. "She jus' has to wake up."

“I’m sorry, baby,” Namjoon says, pressing his lips to Hoseok’s hair, and his temple. He wishes he could make it go away. He wishes Hoseok wouldn’t hurt. “I’m sorry.”

His feet kick out underneath him like a tantrum, and through the haze of denial, he thinks that it’s Namjoon who drags him back off the chair and away from the bed. It has to be Namjoon, who’s solid and sure underneath him, who keeps Hoseok close to his chest with this sad, setting look on his face, who shushes him like a child even when he does his best to escape. It has to be Namjoon, because he’s still gentle with Hoseok through the whole thing, cups the back of his head with his warm hands and whispers things to him through the chaos.

The trip back to Hoseok’s apartment is awful after that, and he feels like he’s mist, corporeal, unable to touch. He curls up with Namjoon on the couch, and cries so hard when he goes to the bedroom and sees his and Dawon’s beds shoved up together from the last time they’d had movie night, collapsing into himself like a supernova.

He shows up to the funeral with Namjoon, looking like a ghost. The eulogies are short, and he doesn’t speak, even though half the attendees are looking at him, Namjoon having to field the sympathy for Hoseok’s sake. Hoseok only reacts when he's the one talking, holding onto him with both hands.

“You two are sweet together,” one of Dawon’s old classmates says. She tucks hair behind her ear, and gives Namjoon a wavering smile. “She’d be happy.”

Namjoon thinks about the promises Hoseok made by her bedside before she passed. “Yeah,” he rasps. Hoseok’s fingers tighten around his arm. “Um. She is.”

Hoseok keeps his eyes low. They wander. There’s a picture of the two of them from Christmas that Kyungmin had taken, and he stands at the table to stare at it for a long time before he walks away.

Hoseok doesn’t remember the final procession, doesn’t remember how he gets back to the hotel, or how Jimin took him from Namjoon for a day and a half so he could have time for himself to sort things out with his team.

The press comes, because they always come, asking why Hoseok hadn’t shown up at the exhibition gala, why Jimin is so closed-mouth about it too. Namjoon holds his hand and leads him through the crowd, tipping both their heads down to get to the car.

Alone, it takes Hoseok weeks to clean the apartment out.

Chapter Text

MARCH

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Hoseok had forgotten how it felt to live by himself again.

Namjoon had gone back to America a couple weeks ago, and the two of them promised to keep working things out, Hoseok kissing him hard before Namjoon had disappeared through security doors. He stood in the terminal for a long while after, not entirely sure his legs were even functional, until his phone had lit up with Namjoon’s number on the screen and Hoseok had to catch a cab back to his place so he wouldn’t end up crying in the airport.

They video chat when they can: when it’s so late it’s almost morning, and Hoseok using Namjoon's calls as an alarm to get him out of bed sometimes. He sets his phone up by the sink so he can brush his teeth and scrubs his face down, watching Namjoon wrap himself up in a blanket and try so hard not to pass out. He still falls asleep to Hoseok's voice the easiest.

Still, in the hours between, Hoseok sits for a long time on the floor without speaking, and tapes up boxes of Dawon’s stuff.

She hadn’t brought much to Korea, but she’d brought enough — Hoseok pressing his face down into her pillows and crying himself stupid for days on end. He goes to the rink when he knows he’ll be alone, and he never made plans to compete at Worlds anyway, it’s not like he’s got a program to rehearse. He sits alone at the park. He goes on walks by the river. It’s cold in Seoul, and his breath goes up in white when he breathes, fogging up mirrors and glass for a moment before it disappears.

He finds that flowers seem to die faster in the winter.

“Hi, noona,” Hoseok says, shuffling his feet nervously together. The bouquet he’d left a couple days ago is already wilted and shriveled up strangely, so he brushes her headstone off when he goes to throw it away, replacing it a prettier one. Hoseok tries not to get her the same stuff every time. It’s lilies today, and something pink he doesn’t have a name for. He turns, a little, to the left. “Hi eomma. Hi appa.”

They’ve been buried next to each other, and the ground is cold when he sits between them. It’s been so long since his parents died that he forgets how to talk to them without feeling guilt bud up in his chest, barely had time to visit when since he’d been training in America. He leans against Dawon’s stone instead. He’s stuck his hands in his pockets because he’s absolutely freezing, you’d make so much fun of me right now— voice cracking before he says “if you could”, shiver-jittering his ass off.

Hoseok talks about every day things with her when he comes over, like they would over meals, and at night in their little bedroom. He talks about how Namjoon’s doing, how he’d managed to set the smoke alarm off trying to make toast, and the impressive collection of bruises that he’s been putting together as the season wears on.

Hoseok promises Dawon that he’s taking care of himself, honest. Sometimes he has trouble sleeping and trouble eating, but he doesn’t let on. Figures that if she’s listening, she knows already.

He thinks about the the packing boxes he’s amassed in the living room, and how the clutter makes it easier to breathe somehow. As if the motion and heat of another body could be replaced with the removal of space. “And, um,” Hoseok says, tucking his knees together. “I think this might be the last time I see you for a while.”

He’s sold most of his stuff off, or given it away to their grandparents. It’s a slow process. Hoseok’s not even completely certain of it himself; there are too many things he feels like he owes to family here, he supposes.

“I’m thinking of moving back in with Namjoon,” Hoseok admits. “We’ve been talking a lot over the phone, and—” he has to look up, away from her for this. He shakes his head to fill up the silence. “I don’t know. I miss him?” he says. “He makes me happy.”

The wind rolls his bouquet over itself, and then again.

“You said I should chase those things, and I should…I should go live for myself, yeah?” he says, trying to muster up the courage to just let go. “So I just don’t know if I can stay here anymore.”

Hoseok thinks of Dawon, and the way she would tell him to leave. Of when he’d shown up at the rink for practice with none of his things and told Sondeuk I have to go, his tongue crawling up his throat like that, and the only thing he’d said was: then what are you waiting for? and Sondeuk had smiled at him, soft everywhere he spoke.

“Are you gonna be lonely here?” Hoseok asks, choked up all of a sudden. He flattens his fingers against the elegant carving of her name, the obsidian of her headstone. “I don’t want you to be lonely.”

Hoseok sees a family of four tottering through the gates. A kid, eighteen at most, who stares down at someone’s name — empty-handed. Hoseok has to look away.

“Anyway— I got you Snoopy to keep you company,” he says, fumbling around in his bag and pulls the plushie out. He’d weighted it down with a couple rocks: cutting open its careful insides and putting them all along the legs. It topples over when Hoseok tries to sit it upright at first, and then leans it backwards so that it goes still.

He sucks in a breath. “So, um,” he says, pressing under his eyes. “I hope you’re having fun without me.”

The sky, suddenly, feels too vast. She could be anywhere.

“Don’t eat too many of God’s pastries,” he says, wet. “Uh. Tell mom and dad I say hi? But I guess— I don't know. You can tell them about Namjoon if you want,” he feels his chest swell. “I’m gonna marry him soon, I promise.”

Hoseok shifts the vase around needlessly, to stall. He rolls over onto his knees, and then pushes himself back so he sits on his heels. He reads over the inscription: Jung Dawon. Hoseok didn’t want the loving sister on it. It’s simpler like this, and fits her better anyway.

“I miss you,” he says, head dropping down. “I hope you’re doing well. Being healthy and stuff.”

The wind picks up. Hoseok shivers, and tucks his face further down into the collar of his big jacket.

“I think I’m,” he says, flinching. He glances over his shoulder. “But I think I’m gonna have to go.”

He doesn’t apologize this time. Dawon wouldn’t be very happy with him if he did. Hoseok bows, once.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promises. “Love you.”

Hoseok gets to his feet, knees cracking. His hair’s up in his eyes, and twists up all around his brows. He looks at Dawon again, at the Snoopy and the flowers, and the little bits of dirt around the foot of her stone.

“Bye, noona,” he says.

Hoseok turns, on his heel. It snaps the thing inside him. He pushes his shoulders back, and the air of almost-spring roughs up the skin on his cheeks. He walks away.

He doesn’t look back.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

Hoseok flies to America with his life packed up in a suitcase and a half. His clothes, and books. His skate bag, and Namjoon’s necklace. Dawon’s rings.

When he lands, Namjoon’s waiting for him with a shiny new namecard at the gate, worrying his lip. They kiss there, in public, because they can do things like that now, and because it’s been months since they were last together.

When Namjoon says Seokjin’s driving them home, Hoseok has to let go of his carryon and has to sit down hard on the curb. Jungkook’s half passed out shotgun, legs tucked up to his chest and more undone than he’s seen before, quiet the entire ride. Hoseok keeps trying to get out an apology even when he can’t get sound past his lungs. Seokjin just hugs him like that, and says that he’s gotten so thin since he left; come on, I made you dinner.

He’s gross from the plane when they leave, and feels strange walking through the front door. He didn't have the guts to look back when he'd finished packing before their breakup, but even with a year gone, Namjoon's still left pieces of his room empty: the broken clock, the closet space. By the time Hoseok's finished showering, Namjoon's propped up against the headboard with his glasses on, frowning at his phone. He jumps, startled, when Hoseok leans against the door and knocks playfully to catch his attention. 

"You're gonna give yourself a migraine like that," he grins, coming up around to Namjoon's side of the bed. Hoseok slides his glasses off, folding them up neatly on the side table. Namjoon blinks up at him daftly.

"Um," he says. He goes a little cross-eyed when Hoseok kisses his temple, twisting fingers up in his sleep-shirt to try and keep him there.

"I see your bad habits haven't gotten any better," Hoseok huffs, digging fingers into the back of Namjoon's neck, smoothing out the knots with practiced ease. Namjoon makes a strangled noise, trying to get away because, ow Hobi it hurts, but only ends up pulling Hoseok on top of him instead, Hoseok have to fumble for the headboard so they don't knock each other out on the way down.

"Hi," Namjoon wheezes. 

Hoseok fails to keep the smile of his face. He's on his elbows now, caging in Namjoon's face between his arms. "Hi."

“I missed you,” he says, face red.

“I missed you too,” Hoseok murmurs. He traces a finger across the seam of Namjoon's lips, then, presses down a little and watches him open his mouth and. Oh. His eyes are dark when he looks up at Hoseok, sucking his finger into his mouth and tilting his chin back to bare his throat.

It’s early spring, barely anything at all, and the light comes in rectangles through the half-open curtains.

He’s not sure who moves first, and who meets the other halfway, but Hoseok ends up shoving Namjoon’s shirt off and pushing him up against the headboard, dropping into his lap and rolling his hips down, Namjoon making this choked off noise that Hoseok swallows, hands coming up to rest against his hips.

Hoseok could probably put Namjoon’s dick in his mouth and bring him off like that, but he wants to be closer — wants to feel Namjoon everywhere, out of breath when he finally reaches over and fumbles for a bottle of lube from the bedside drawer.

“Kyungmin’s present,” Namjoon explains messily, when Hoseok raises his eyebrows. He distracts him with another kiss. “Um, I’ve never really done this before, so—”

“It’s okay,” Hoseok murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Even now, they don't have to say much, Namjoon hiding his face in his hands when Hoseok tips him onto his back, runs a hand up the inside of his thigh. He's saying things that make Namjoon's face go red — calling him pretty and baby and sweetheart — but he's so turned on it's unbelievable, choking on his own tongue when Hoseok says he wants everyone to see the bruises, already three fingers deep. 

"Fuck," Namjoon gasps, hips bucking. 

Hoseok's leaned over him, and his eyes curl up sweetly, like he knows exactly what he's doing. "Okay?" he asks, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Okay?" 

"Yeah, I—" is all he can force out. Namjoon's tongue isn't working right though; the words come out jumbled, slurred.

And the thing is: Namjoon isn't a virgin, if messy teenage trysts are notable enough for a list, and he's gotten himself off enough to embarrassing sex dreams where Hoseok had pinned him down like he's pinning him down now, eyes hot and dark the way they get when he's on big competition ice, almost like he could kill someone, for him to think he'll be fine whenever they inevitably fall into bed together for something other than sleep, but the real Hoseok's better than anything Namjoon could ever dream up and he figures that out when Hoseok rolls his hips down for the first time and he can't control the noise he makes.

"Hey, no," Hoseok frowns, resting his weight on a pretty arm as he pries Namjoon's hands away his mouth. "I wanna hear you." 

That is the worst thing Namjoon thinks Hoseok's ever said to him.

"Oh, my God," he says, stomach going tight with heat. This is so embarrassing. It's like Hoseok's listened in on all his terrible teenage fantasies, just knowing which buttons to press without having to ask.

It gets worse when he sits back for a minute and Namjoon lets himself reach up and splay a hand over Hoseok's stomach, to see his wiry-thin body, corded. He's skinny, yeah, but there's something about the way he pins Namjoon's arms above his head and brushes hair back from his face with the other that makes him nod: fast and stupid when Hoseok asks if he thinks they're making a pretty picture together.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?" Hoseok murmurs, watching Namjoon squirm underneath him. "Just lying there and taking it, huh?"

Namjoon barely has time to think — oh no — before Hoseok gets fingers around his cock, teasing at the slit, the spot right underneath the head which has Namjoon's limbs going disgustingly numb with how good it feels, and he must sound like a B-grade porno, but his brain's decided to put out on him and his mouth refuses to form coherent words even though his vocabulary's limited to nothing but yes, and please by now.

"I'm," Namjoon chokes out, hips kicking. "Hobi—"

Hoseok replies with a disinterested hum, stroking him off faster now. "What was that?" he asks.

"Please," his tongue is so thick in his mouth it's a miracle the word even gets out of his throat. "I'm gonna, I'm gonna—"

"Come for me, baby," Hoseok orders, leaning down to suck a bruise into the hollow of Namjoon's throat as his orgasm hits him so hard that his vision whites out, registering nothing but Hoseok kissing along his jaw, wet and open-mouthed, before everything goes black.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

It’s almost like it used to be, when they start living together again.

Hoseok moves his stuff back into Namjoon’s closet after putting them through the wash, but the breakfast he's halfway through making is rice and something warm, only remembering that he’s in America when he gets a face full of diced fruit and yogurt in the fridge, Hoseok letting out a sigh and moving to hit his head against the granola shelf, dragging a finger down his cheek in an exaggerated imitation of a tear when Namjoon finally stumbles out of bed and finds him in the kitchen.

“You’re not gonna eat?” Namjoon asks later, through a mouthful of egg. He shuts up and swallows when Hoseok taps his chin, eyes softening.

“I’m okay,” Hoseok says, pushing his bowl aside. He'd been feeling okay earlier, sidling up to Namjoon and kissing all the bruises that poked up out of his collar, but he'd forgotten he promised Seokjin that he'd come to practice with Namjoon today and he's weirdly nervous about meeting Yoongi, and Jungkook, who'd ignored him the entire ride back from the airport.

Namjoon’s concerned, jutting out his lower lip when Hoseok tries to get up from the table.  He sighs and pretends to be annoyed, but indulges him anyway, making it through half the bowl before he gives up, letting Namjoon clear the table and staring at the ground, meanwhile, trying not to throw up.

“Hey,” he says, crouching down in front of him. Hoseok unfolds slowly, and leans his weight against Namjoon as he strokes down the ridge of his spine, more prominent now that he's been gone. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Hoseok hums. “I know,” he smiles. “You’re always so good to me.”

Namjoon has to get changed for practice then, and Hoseok goes with him upstairs just to ogle like he always has, and it’s then when Namjoon realizes things are going to be difficult to navigate now, with Dawon gone and the rest of Hoseok’s friends on Namjoon’s team, and Namjoon on his own team too, with all of them in the middle of competition season.

“Jung,” Yoongi drawls, when they finally meet at the rink. He goes rigid, flicking his eyes up from his phone. “Interesting seeing you here.”

“Hyung,” Namjoon says.

They slog through a truly awful conversation, and Hoseok’s hands are sweaty when Seokjin finally forces himself between him and Yoongi at the start of practice. Namjoon has to drag his teammates to a side room after practice when they keep shooting Hoseok looks through the glass, Hoseok pulling out his phone and ignoring them after they've made it clear they aren't going to let up.

“Can you guys stop?” Namjoon asks, closing the door behind him.

Jungkook’s arms are crossed, and Yoongi looks like he’d rather be eating flies than having this conversation.

“It’s not his fault,” Namjoon continues, when it’s obvious neither of them want to speak up. “And obviously— he feels really guilty about it already.”

“He broke up with you,” Jungkook frowns. “That’s fucked up.”

“We had an agreement,” Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “He had to foot his sister’s hospital bills. We both knew he couldn’t have a scandal on his shoulders.”

“He left you for Korea the same week,” Yoongi says. “And he doesn’t have the guts to have this conversation with us? You keep having to do his dirty work, Joon. I don’t like that.”

“He takes care of me too,” Namjoon says. “He’s alone, Yoongi; if I can carry something for him, I’m gonna do it.”

“He has his sister.”

“Dawon’s dead,” he says flatly.

The room falls suddenly, and very sharply silent.

“Yeah,” Namjoon leans back against the door. “Didn’t know that, right?” He raises his eyebrows. “I stayed an extra week because they were doing a rush funeral.”

Jungkook runs a hand across his mouth. “Fuck.”

“He can’t skate either,” Namjoon says. “’N he was alone for months like that, didn’t even want to move back in with me because he felt like a charity case, so just,” he sucks in a breath. “Please,” he says. “Please be nice to him.”

Yoongi sizes Namjoon up for a long time. He’s trying to put himself in Hoseok’s shoes. He’ll never admit, but Yoongi’s heart is big that way, and when he pinches his mouth together and lets out this tired sigh, Namjoon knows he’s won.

“Fine,” he says, throwing his hands up. “Fine, but if he breaks your heart again I’ll end him.”

“He won’t,” Namjoon says, relieved.

Hoseok looks up when the three of them appear in the doorway. Yoongi must do something with his face that’s at least mildly friendly because his shoulders drop half an inch.

When Taehyung invites them over for movie night, Hoseok’s about to vibrate out of his skin, pressed up against Namjoon the minute they get out of the car. It’s the first time the whole group is going to be there, and even though Seokjin had been kind, he’s still not sure how the rest of them will be.

“You’re not going to eat?” Yoongi asks, breaking Hoseok out of his daze. He eyes him from across the table, silent and blank-faced.

“Huh?” Hoseok asks. Namjoon’s hand tightens reassuringly over his thigh. “No— I’m fine.”

“Hyung,” Yoongi says, pushing a dish closer to him.

Hoseok’s brows furrow. “What?” he asks.

“Call me hyung,” Yoongi says, and taps his chopsticks on the edge of the plate.

Hoseok opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it again after, excusing himself to the bathroom when everyone migrates to watch a movie upstairs.

“Hobi,” Yoongi says out of nowhere, scaring Hoseok so bad that he almost slams his knee into the bottom of the sink. He’s clutching the counter, having just rinsed his mouth out. Yoongi leans against the door, arms crossed.

“Holy shit,” Hoseok swears. 

“Are you sick?"

"What?"

"Your sister," he says, in lieu of an explanation. He even fidgets a little. "I'm sorry."

Then he turns on his heel and disappears out the door.

Hoseok stands there for a long time after, trying to fight the way his stomach twists, cheeks red and the flush climbing out the collar of his shirt, not exactly sure what's just happened. He's relieved, for some reason, putting his face in his hands and letting his breath come quick, almost with laughter.

The rest of the group tries to pretend they’re not watching Hoseok settle later, playing with the rings on his hands, twisting them around and around. When Namjoon falls asleep in his lap, Hoseok keeps one hand cupped around the back of his head while texting Jimin with the other, humming softly to coax him back to sleep when the movie keeps waking him up.

They’re good for each other, even with everything’s that’s happened in between. Namjoon’s face rounding and soft when he'd looked at Hoseok. He flushed every time Hoseok caught his eye, and offered the beginnings of a smile. He’d been distant, almost faraway, so smitten that Jungkook gagged at one point, then went back to stuffing his face with popcorn.

Namjoon's drunk-stumbling his way to the car, drooping with sleep, Hoseok dragging him in shotgun and driving home with a hand on his thigh, turned up so Namjoon can lace their fingers together.

He leans his head on the cold window, glass fogging up with the heat, and watches the shape of Hoseok's profile in the dark.

"What are you thinking about?" Hoseok asks, out of nowhere. 

It's a little jarring in the silence. 

"Nothing," Namjoon says haplessly.

But, just on the tip of his tongue: how you light the way home. 

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

kimnamjoon

i know a lot of you guys have been wondering what happened between us, and to be completely honest, even I don’t really know. All i care about is the fact that hobi  makes me happy (happier than I’ve been in a long time) & I don’t care about anybody else when we’re together.

he's my best friend. he makes me breakfast becoz otherwise I’ll set the kitchen on fire, he trips over my hockey bag because i always leave it in the middle of the floor, he wears my clothes because he thinks its funny; He’s so beautiful. i love his eyes, and the way he smiles. I love when he holds my hand. i love how he kisses me at night, i love him in the morning, watching him brush his teeth in the bathroom with all the lights off, even if he leaves his socks on the floor sometimes.

i don’t think I ever say it enough.

i love him.

i love him.

i love him.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

namsocks 

“he’s so beautiful”
Ha Ha.Bye

#my life is over.

jeonggukseokjin

how do i tell namjoon that ive been lying on the floor for the past 6 hrs w tears just streamign down my face lmao

#this is...fine. #im fine

jiminsfscostume

HES BY BEST FRIEND HES MY BEST FRIEND HES MY BESTFIREND HEJSSMY FBESTFREIFNEMD HESMFYG BYESTJJFRIEND

#someone: u ok sal #me: I WANNA FUCKING DIE

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

junghoseok

my joonie,

i guess we are writing love letters to each other online now? PLZ excuse my english!!!!!

i hope you know that U are my most beautiful and cherished person in my life. you, who dresses quite silly sometimes, and gets upset when i make fun of your outfits. you, who loves the stars more than you love yourself. you, who could be an astronaut with the poetry you put into me. i wish i could better explain myself, but all these feelings remain trapped inside, unlike the way you are able to let yours out (ー { ー;)

every day, i count my blessings and put you first. you were there for me, not from the beginning, but for when the hardest times came. i thought for a long time that you hated me and wanted nothing to do with foolish and afraid jung ho seok, yet you surprised me at the olympics again when you had no reason to show me love.

there is so much i wish i could tell you, but fail to articulate it in the way you could understand. i remember when i first created my princess mononoke program. i think everyone knows by now that it was all 4 you, and i think my coach somehow understood that without even knowing (?) he told me there was someone i was waiting for; it wouldn't work until i started performing it for U. it was just too ambitious. looking back at it now, i am glad i still competed with it although i didn’t expect you to be watching.

it’s only when i get onto the ice when i can explain myself accurately and thoroughly, becoming my better self. i become more elegant, so i am sorry i’m not able to skate for you now to show you how you make me feel. even when i am flightless, you still love me??????!?? (╥_╥) thats all i ever wanted out of someone, so i can’t really believe it.

ahhh, kim nam joon…i am so proud of you. thank you for putting up with me all this time. i will work harder to repay you and show you a better version of myself soon (๑•̀ㅁ•́ฅ✧)

P.S. i love you too ｄ(*￣o￣)

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

taesgoalie

jung “i’m not good @ english” hoseok literally just wrote namjoon an entire love letter but go off

#namseok #so what i cried

hoseokhobi 

i wish i could quote my favorite part of his “letter” but uhhhhhhh i’d have to copy and paste the whole thing here lmao

#find u a man who loves you as much as hoseok loves namjoon

ananmjoon

can we talk about the fact that hoseok called namjoon “my joonie” like. its fine i didn’t need my heart anyway

#my soul shattered from the force of his love #im GONE

jiminchanyeol

HE WAS SKATING HIS MONONOKE PROGRAM FOR KIM NAMJOON, LOVE OF HIS LIFE SHUT THE FUCK UP I HATE THESE TWO

#NAMSEOK #DO THEY KNOW HOW TO CALM DOWN LMFAOO #it must be so tiring carrying the weight of the lgbt community on their shoulders :(

namjoonie

hoseok has literally never posted about any Other person ever on his instagram page but now he has all these cute photos he took of joon when they went out on dates (??i think??) and. time to perish i guess

#perhaps im no longer part of this earth #also that caption like lmao 

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

There are good days and there are bad days. Sometimes there are just days, and Hoseok feels like he’s floating from one dream to the next in each one.

He goes on a long hunt for a psychiatrist, and finds himself in a pretty, streamlined office every Tuesday and Saturday before he curls up on the sofa at home after he’s stared at all his issues laid out in a row in front of him for hours, cheek mashed up against the pillows. At the very least, it’s a very comfortable couch. Namjoon comes with him sometimes, his long legs stretched out in front of him in the waiting room chairs as he plays games on his phone.

He’s still busy, now that it’s edging the start of playoffs, and if he’s not at the rink then he’s napping at home, groaning when Hoseok digs the rocks out of muscles to wake him up for a game. Namjoon doesn’t sleep until early morning these nights, too much adrenaline in his system, and Hoseok hears him running it off on the treadmill and plays sleepily with Hoseok’s hair until he finally drops off. They go to the rink together when Hoseok feels up to it. He digs out his skating bags at some point and when he slings one over his shoulder; Namjoon freezes in the doorway, this hopeful, half-lit smile on his face.

It’s not really allowed, and it’s nowhere near conventional, but Hoseok picks up this habit of going to Namjoon’s rink and fooling around when it’s empty — all the lights off. He’s a leftover from practice, starting to make friends with the WAGs that show up sometimes, watching their kids when it’s the weekend and the parents need to use the bathroom.

The first time it happens, Hoseok doesn’t do tricks, barely any technique to it, sloppy with arms everywhere. He’s not sure where everyone’s gone, but Hoseok pushes off the wall for the first time in a long while and feels everything rush back into him so fast it hurts. Like time compresses itself into a bigger infinity.

Hoseok closes his eyes as he circles the rink: once, twice, six times in a row. He flips backwards, shaking his hands out. It’s strange, to be wearing gloves again. His blades aren’t fantastic, but they’re the ones he had at Olympics and the noise they make is comforting. He’d forgotten how to be himself, after all this time. Too much had stood in the way.

Hoseok tries a spin combo. Something light. Prepping for an axel and then chickening out at the last second, listening to his laugh echo across the glass before he manages a delayed single without his knee buckling underneath him. It’s fun, just him, no audience, nobody here to watch. He almost doesn’t want to leave when the hour’s up, but his phone buzzes with a new text from Namjoon asking where he is, so Hoseok shakes the ice from his blades and packs up.

He does his best to be better. He wishes, sometimes, that he wouldn’t be so much a burden for Namjoon, and he brings this up with his therapist almost every session because he can do things like that now. She always gives him this little cube to play with, and then laces her fingers together, watching for a moment. Hoseok knows that look.

“I get the sense that you love him very much,” she says, eventually. Her eyes are very dark behind her glasses, and she barely blinks. She shuffles her notes around. “You know we spend most of your sessions talking about your boyfriend?”

Hoseok stiffens. He keeps his eyes on the way her shirt looks: the orange and reds. “Yeah.”

“He’s important to you.”

“Um,” he says. “Yeah.”

“Do you think the two of you are codependent?” she asks. “Unhealthily so?”

Hoseok presses his lips together. He thinks about it for a while, fingers twitching in his lap. Namjoon’s good to him, and the year they’d spent apart had been a grueling, painful thing. “I don’t know,” he says, very honestly. “I like it when we’re together. I like…I like taking care of him.”

It’s true, and not just in bed. 

He’s sworn off competitive skating indeterminately, and he’s not even doing coaching like he thinks he will, barely toeing the line of burning out now. Namjoon likes doing the laundry, because he’s very particular about it, but Hoseok cooks and he cleans since he worries for world safety if he leaves Namjoon in the kitchen for longer than a minute.

He thinks he does it because he’s afraid of uselessness, his body not used to stopping and getting to breathe, even though Namjoon always tells him isn’t a burden. Words like those just roll off his tongue. He wonders, not for the first time, how it’s possible for someone like him to exist.

So Hoseok hits his ass every time he passes by — still in the gingerbread apron Namjoon had given him as a joke — and a pair of chopsticks clutched in his other hand.

Out of everything they do together, Hoseok likes grocery shopping the most. He makes Namjoon push the cart, because professional hockey players with arms like that should be taken advantage of at every given opportunity, and also because it keeps both his hands busy with something other than trying to buy every snack in the chips aisle. Hoseok gets him a bag for cheat day, and promises they’ll go out to the ice cream place Namjoon really likes after dinner.

They get sushi at some hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and Hoseok rolls his eyes when Namjoon insists on ordering everything on the menu. Every doctor he went to couldn’t prescribe him anything except a therapist, and then his therapist couldn’t prescribe him anything except a diagnosis with ten words too many which essentially boiled down to something about repressed emotions and childhood trauma. Hoseok didn’t really pay attention to that part, so he's largely ignoring his problems in favor of sending Jungkook photos of Namjoon choking on his food instead.

There are nights, though, when he wakes in tears, legs numb. Hoseok stumbles out of bed and crashes to the floor in a tangle of limbs before he gets his bearings and run-crawls to the bathroom. He coughs up liquid and bile into the toilet, until there’s nothing left in his throat except transparent sick. He never means to wake Namjoon up, but suddenly he’s around him and everywhere, pushing sweaty bangs off Hoseok’s forehead and cradling him in his arms, up to his feet, stroking one hand down Hoseok’s spine as his chest cracks with breath.

Everything is overwhelming, even the snowman nightlight by the sink, and the sound of the faucet running when Namjoon helps him rinse his mouth out. Hoseok would rather crawl his way back to bed instead of getting helped across the room because he’s not— he’s not weak, but Namjoon doesn’t really give him any choice. Hoseok presses his swollen face into his neck after, so close it’s like they’re trying to fit into the same skin. It’s days like these where it’s painful to be alive.

When Namjoon comes home from a bad practice, Hoseok tries to give him the best version of himself too.

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

“Could you watch Lucy tomorrow?” Yanan asks. The two of them are out for lunch: Hoseok having made fast friends with him the first time he’d shown up with Shinwon’s stuff. He’s younger than Hoseok, but they’ve been together for eight years now, married for the last three of them. “She wants to go to the game, but I have an overnight.”

Yanan works at the hospital, has a kid, juggles the handful of his husband at the same time.

“Sure,” Hoseok nods. He usually doesn’t watch these things himself, but Lucy’s cute and well-behaved and Yanan’s looking more frazzled by the day. His hair’s always immaculate and he's endlessly patient, but the stress is starting to show. Or maybe Hoseok just knows where to look. “I can pick her up before dinner.”

“Thank you,” Yanan says, sliding down in his chair a little. “I couldn’t find anyone else I trusted to bring her, and you know how some of the others are.”

Hoseok nods. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I got you.”

It’s only until Hoseok had a nine year old buckled into the backseat of his car does he realize it’s a little past her bedtime.

“I tried to talk her out of it all week,” Yanan whispered to him when he’d ushered Hoseok inside and offered him a pair of slippers. “But Shinwon hasn’t been home a lot, and I think she just misses him. It’s Friday anyway, I’ll have them stay in tomorrow.”

Hoseok nods. “I get it,” he says. “I can leave early if you want me to.”

“Ah,” Yanan laughs. “No worries. She’ll sleep anywhere, trust me.”

True to word, Lucky gets tired even before third period starts, so Hoseok sticks her under his hoodie and warm against his chest, her head barely poking out the top. Then even Namjoon comes over just to kiss him — the bastard — giving Hoseok this devastating smile, knowing he can’t stay mad at him.

“She was very good,” Hoseok says, when he delivers the kid to her father later. Hoseok’s a little flustered from the proximity, and how she clings to him before she realizes what’s happening and lets go of his shirt so fast that it nearly knocks Hoseok off his feet. He forgets English. “Cute baby.”

“Hope she wasn’t too much trouble,” Shinwon says.

Hoseok shakes his head.

“Thanks, owe you a ton,” Shinwon laughs.

“No problem,” Hoseok says. “Really.”

The next couple weeks, all Namjoon does is look at photos of Hoseok and the girl, trying to be discreet when he searches fanvideos of them on Instagram at night. He turns his phone of hastily every time Hoseok catches him online, and tries to mumble away an explanation.

“Do you want a kid?” Hoseok says quietly. He’s afraid he can’t give Namjoon everything he wants, now that he feels less of an equal on the ice. They’re sitting on the porch swing, Namjoon's legs tucked up underneath him. The light is yellow, and breaks across his profile. There’s this guilty look in his eyes when he realizes Hoseok knows.

They’re curled up together, Namjoon's head on his shoulder. Hoseok's tired. Part of his heart is exhausted from loving so much, he thinks, but other days it overwhelms him: how much he feels. How much he wants.

Hoseok smooths fingers out on one hand, and twists Namjoon's rings around out of habit. “I’m sorry I can’t—” his voice breaks. Namjoon’s hands curl, flexing. “If I wasn’t a— I’d.” he says, and can’t get the rest out.

If Hoseok was a girl, would he feel so guilty about leaving? Would he even have left in the first place? They could probably have kids: one with Namjoon’s eyes, or the fine slope of his brows. His pretty lips and his long body, his kind smile. Maybe they could belong more wholly to each other, and Hoseok would be softer, quieter. Hoseok wonders when they’re going to stop being a political statement every time they step out of the house. If Namjoon ever gets tired of fighting.

“But I don’t want anyone else,” he says. His voice is strained, and he presses his head to Hoseok’s cheek, the ceramic curve of his face. It's gentle, when they kiss.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok says after, thumbing at his collarbone. It feels like he’ll never stop apologizing. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Namjoon murmurs, somehow making it sound like he’s saying it for the first time, every time. Hoseok touches him like air; like water; like salt. How they both came together in the womb, and was birthed again in the aftermath of their collision like a supernova.

Later, they climb the roof and lay there to watch the stars, Namjoon’s head pillowed on Hoseok’s chest. He points out the constellations when he's asked. Hoseok only knows the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, so he's very curious about the rest, the neighborhood so quiet around them that they whisper to keep the silence intact. They become one with the rush of cars, in the very, very distance, and the hum of the crickets. The whole sky turns overhead.

Hoseok falls for Namjoon here: again and again and again. The light in his eyes, and his surprised smile when he doesn’t tell him to shut up, so worried about being pushed away that Namjoon had swallowed down his words with every breath. Who else would it be, though, if not him?

“I think I was born to love you,” Namjoon confesses, because looking up at the vastness of space makes him feel small and limitless, like there’s a galaxy in his chest too, just waiting to be let out.

Hoseok tugs at his ear.

The silence is a liminal thing between them, held at two points. “Me too,” he says eventually, so quiet his words almost get lost in the tumble of leaves. He doesn’t feel like it’s a great power, or anything awe-some the way Namjoon might, but it’s the truth, and sometimes that towers immensely, above all else. “It scares me, if I’m honest," he huffs. "Like — how do to say?" he asks, brows furrowing. He blows breath out from between his lips. "Like a tsunami."

It'll carry me away soon.

Namjoon’s heart skips a beat in his chest.

“Same tsunami,” he says faintly.

Hoseok laughs. It’s low, and sounds like bells. “Same tsunami,” he agrees, linking their fingers together.

Chapter Text

JULY
1 yr later

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

It’s going to be this year, Namjoon knows. Something about how the air tastes, the thrum of his bones in his skin, the look on Seokjin’s face when they actually make it to Cup finals instead of knocking it out during playoffs. They’re playing on home turf too, by some chance and huge miracle. Hoseok held his hand all the way to the locker room before Namjoon went to change, had spread his fingers over Namjoon’s cheek and kissed him there, over the rush of his heartbeat.

The team's quiet in the changing room today. Someone keeps trying to interview Yoongi, and Yoongi keeps trying to brush them off, Taehyung having to catch him by the shoulder at one point and pull him aside. Namjoon catches Hoseok’s eye when the team comes out the tunnel for the first time, tightening his teeth around his mouthguard as he lowers weight into his knees like a violent, angry thing. He wants it bad, this year. For more reasons than one.

The game's vicious all three periods. 0-0 in first, and the Canadiens are leading in the second. One of the boys gets called out for roughing, and twice more for tripping, but Namjoon only nods when their eyes meet across the rink. Stakes are high, and with people like Seokjin and Yoongi on this team — almost deadbeat from years in the league — he knows the kids don’t want to disappoint.

Bangtan scores.

Seokjin goes down. One minute he’s up and the next he’s got the wind knocked out of him from how hard he’s been checked, holding his stick weird when he gets to his feet, shaking his head at Jungkook when he catches his eye from across the rink.

“Shit,” is all Namjoon can say when the gloves come off for the first time. Three of Seokjin's fingers are broken, and they’re starting to swell without the pressure.

“Joon,” he warns, tears tape off the roll with his own teeth. Yoongi snaps the bones into place, and Seokjin doesn’t even bother icing before he's rotated back onto the ice. “Don’t get distracted.”

Namjoon presses his lips together, looking away. Seokjin, older and wiser and sometimes feels like a whole different level of professionalism from him sometimes, knocks their helmets together, who fought his way through everything; he can’t disappoint. There's expectation holding him down too.

Third period.

It’s twenty minutes of hovering at 5-5, Namjoon feeling like someone’s blown out his back from how many times he’s been shoved up against the glass, and he can feel the sweat down his neck, squealing in his gloves. The Canadiens are strong with offense, and he spends most of his time trying to track the puck without breaking his face open following with his stick. He doesn’t know when his legs went numb, and why, but he does fistbump Seokjin after a particularly nasty assist anyway, grinning impishly.

Even in times like these, it’s not hard to remember why he loves hockey so much.

Thirty seconds left, and he swears his arms are going to give out before the clock’s up. Then the puck skids out next to him, and it’s too perfect an opportunity to ignore; Namjoon sends it over to Yoongi on autopilot. He thinks of legacy and time and things that hurt, blinking the sweat from his eyes as his vision sharpens in —

6-5. Four seconds.

Silence. Slow-motion.

Yoongi scores.

"Cap —"

Everything comes to a stop: the way Jungkook skids to pause, chips flying out under his blades. Seokjin putting a hand to his mouth and then to the ice,  Namjoon's too shell-shocked to do much else except stand there like an idiot, mouth half open.

Taehyung's the one who breaks out first. 

He picks up speed so fast that he knocks the wind out of Yoongi when they crash into each other, toppling him over as their helmets ring with the impact. Namjoon blinks, again, before Seokjin pushes past him and heat suddenly floods his cheeks, and then he's laughing hard and crying hard, but he doesn’t care. He can’t even think straight. The whole world buzzes overbright in his chest, and he doesn’t even realize the team’s pushing him to take the fucking trophy until Taehyung yanks his helmet off and yells it in his ear.

Namjoon probably looks so stupid and sweaty, but the rest of the team looks stupid and sweaty too, piling up together for press photos in the middle of the rink after the Cup's tottered out onto the ice.

He tears his gloves off with his teeth, and feels like he’s gonna drop it, whole base cold to the touch. Of course he lets everyone kiss the stupid thing when he gets it in his hands. He finds Hoseok where he’s sitting when Yoongi has a long moment with the Cup and Taehyung both, and he looks so proud: like it’s all Namjoon’s doing, like he’s in love and doesn’t care, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the glass with this dopey smile on his face.

Then Jungkook starts chanting Namjoon's name, pushing him around like a fool, not really sure what's happening until Seokjin tilts his head in Jimin's direction where he's standing by the rink doors, holding out the box that Namjoon's been hiding in his bag for ages now. His fingers are curled together, but Namjoon knows from the shape and size and color exactly what he's offering up, stomach swooping with the weight of it.

He stumbles. The little freak’s not even supposed to be here. He’s supposed to be in Canada taking a break from Worlds or figure skating or whatever shit he does on the off-season; Namjoon had made an agreement with one of the WAGs that she’d bring it over so Namjoon wouldn’t have to put the thing in his underwear. No pockets, and probably a bad idea, but it’s just.

With Hoseok everything’s just.

Jimin passes the box off as a hug.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” he grins, and then skips off to drag Hoseok onto the ice.

Namjoon loses sight of them for a minute, swept up in interviews and his teammates howling like idiots at him as Jungkook pulls Seokjin in by the front of his jersey and keeps him there, the two of them skating a lazy circle around the rink behind the others.

Then Jimin's little silver head is bobbing up and down through the seats, fingers clamped around Hoseok's wrist as he shoves camera crew and commentators out the way, swinging around and dragging him forward again. Hoseok's protesting, something about how he’s not allowed on the rink: he’s just wearing street shoes, they’re busy, the team’s still there, Jimin, we live together.

Someone shoves at Namjoon from behind when he doesn’t move, struck dumb after Hoseok gives him an embarrassed smile and fiddles with the exit latch without actually opening the door. Yoongi skids to a stop in front of him and undoes it himself, offering him a hand up.

Hoseok stares at it for a long while, unsure, before he gets onto the ice and glides forward nervously, barely a foot off the boards. It’s strange to be in tennis shoes on the ice, Namjoon knows, but doesn’t get a chance to complete the thought before his friends push them together and then circle back around.

“Hi,” Hoseok says, fixing Namjoon’s cap a little. He has to reach up to do it properly, but he doesn’t mind. Namjoon’s face is young, and unguarded when he looks at him.

“Hi,” he swallows. He bites his lip, and smiles.

Hoseok’s eyes are glittering. “Congrats, Cap,” he teases. “I have no idea—”

Namjoon drops to one knee so fast the ice cracks.

He doesn’t know where his gloves have ended up, but the only thing that matters is that they’re gone and he still fumbles like an idiot with the ring-box for ten seconds too long and dimly, belatedly registers the fact that the entire stadium’s gone dead silent and all the cameras are on the two of them, that Hoseok skids half a step back when he rocks his weight onto his heels. His eyes are huge and a little terrified, hands over his mouth because it won’t close no matter how hard he tries.

“Um,” Namjoon starts, and then promptly wants to shove his entire boot in his mouth. Goddamn it. His tongue feels so fat against his teeth, and he forgets everything he practiced in the mirror before the game, everything he wanted to say to Hoseok. “I had a whole speech I— wait, please don’t cry.”

"I'm not," Hoseok chokes out.

“I love you,” Namjoon blurts, because he just wants to hear him say yes, and also because his knee kind of hurts from how hard he hit the ice going down. “And the year we weren’t together was the worst year of my entire life, and I don’t—” oh God, he really had to fuck this up in front of a hundred different cameras. 

Hoseok sucks breath in through closed-mouth teeth. Namjoon forgets how to speak.

“Please?” is all he manages to get out. He doesn’t think Hoseok will say no, but he can't get sound out of his throat no matter how hard he tries, closing his mouth and opening it up again and feeling his face go ugly red with embarrassment.

“Will I marry you?” Hoseok asks for him, instead, when all Namjoon wishes the ground would split open and swallow him whole so he doesn't have to be reminded of his failures for the rest of his life. “Of course, I— yes. Did you even have to ask?”

The team starts shrieking at the top of their lungs, and Hoseok doesn’t even wait for Namjoon to get up before kissing him. He reaches down and holds his face with both his hands, tender; feather-light, and presses their lips together. The engagement band is cold against Namjoon’s cheek, and Hoseok doesn't let him struggle to his feet without pulling away.

Everything's so loud, and Namjoon knows they’ll be on front cover of every damn newspaper in the country in an hour, but he doesn’t care. He knocks their foreheads together when Hoseok pulls away, and then Namjoon hides his face in his neck, hands through the back of his sweaty hair. Hoseok cradles his head like a child's, feels him shaking, holding on like he's the only thing that's keeping him from keeling over because if there's one thing he knows better than the rest, it's that Hoseok will keep him safe somehow, even in a place like this. He always does.

Olympic champion Hoseok, Worlds champion Hoseok, Prix champion Hoseok who’s taking a year off to coach because he can, and should. Impossible, otherworldly Hoseok, someone who makes Namjoon feel like there aren’t enough words to describe him the way he should be.

Namjoon fists his hands in the back of his jacket and crumples to the ice, dragging him down too. Hoseok's got his arms hooked around his, and all he can do is hold Namjoon as he cries and cries and cries.

"It's okay, it's okay," Hoseok shushes, when he tries to pull away but can't get his legs to hold him up anymore. "I've got you."

It's so loud in the stadium that his words are more sound than anything else.

"Hey, come on," Hoseok murmurs. "You know you don't have to hide from me." He reaches out to wipe Namjoon's tears away with the end of his sleeve, running his thumb across the crease one on cheek, curling his fingers around his wrists to keep his hands away from his face.

“I love you,” Namjoon tells him, again, because he can't quite think of anything else to say.

Hoseok thumbs at the corner of his lips. His eyes are very kind.

He smiles, and it’s like looking at the sun. “I love you too.”

❆ ❅ ❄ ❅ ❆

junghoseok
thank you.