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Chapter Text

I

Caretaker Park’s years of employment had taught him the art of handling complaints. The residents were amenable to most suggestions if phrased in a polite, considerate manner.

Sitting in the caretaker’s office of Riverside Complex, he examined the notes for the young man in 510: a reminder to avoid loud noises from nine at night to seven in the morning because as it happened, a neighbour had reported that perhaps the newcomer did not realise how easily sound carried – which, of course, was only natural! How could the young man know? And so Caretaker Park was informing him, as was his duty.

He had delivered similar complaints many times in his twenty-year career, but never, ah. Quite over a case like this.

He squared his shoulders.

Be informative and polite.

Stick to the script.

He fixed his collar and headed out.

He soon rang the doorbell of 510 of Building 104 and waited patiently, hands clasped in front of him. When the young man opened the door, Caretaker Park bowed and offered a greeting, and the man responded, pleasant as always but with a confused air.

The resident in 510 was a man in his early twenties, and even Caretaker Park had initially been taken aback by how handsome he was: dark black hair, long dark lashes, a small face and plump lips more fitting, in Park’s view, a young woman. That was likely old-fashioned of him, but men simply had not been pretty like this in his youth. Young people these days had trendy haircuts and were so fashion conscious, while Park himself owned two jackets: a thick one for winter and a thin one for summer.

It was nevertheless rare to come across young people raised properly these days, Caretaker Park thought. This handsome man in 510 had been a pleasant surprise in this regard – thoughtful and soft spoken since the day he’d arrived, just like his uncle had said he’d be, so of course Caretaker Park’s shock had been great when…

“Unfortunately I have received a noise complaint, but there is no reason to be alarmed,” he said – this was how he started the handling of every such complaint. This new resident, however, did not look aghast – only mildly curious. Caretaker Park steadied himself, willing himself not to think of the accusations. “You see, voice carries very easily between the floors and walls of this building, so it is quite common that this catches newly moved residents off-guard. It is not your fault by any means but rather a weakness in the building's design.”

The young man frowned. “Someone is saying I'm being too loud?”

“Ah, it is rather that this is a building that is better suited for gentler tones.”

“Gentler tones?”

“Ah, well, what I am trying to say is that henceforth it would suit all residents better if we were mindful of noise in order to create a harmonious and soothing living environment.”

There was movement behind the young man: two other youths, one with blond-dyed hair (quite unorthodox but trendy, Caretaker Park supposed) and the other with dark brown curls (also a striking choice). Music was playing – not too loudly.

“Seokjin-ah, come help me choose my outfit!”

“Just a minute, hyung!” the man called back, and to his credit he seemed to connect the dots between the current circumstances and the complaints. He nodded at the door behind Caretaker Park. “It was 511 who complained, wasn’t it?”

Caretaker Park flushed. It was vital not to reveal which neighbour had brought forward a complaint – conflict between neighbours was to be avoided.

“That is not pertinent—”

“Seokjin-ah, come already!”

“Yeah, I'll be right there! Ah, I am very sorry, I must go. But I of course did not realise how thin the walls are.” A polite bow, but not as deep as Caretaker Park would have liked. “Please tell Mister 511 that I will be more mindful in the future.”

“But—”

“Have a nice day, Caretaker Park, and thank you.”

The young man bowed again and closed the door with, “I’m coming, Jimin-hyung!”

Caretaker Park stayed where he was for a few beats, wondering if this truly had solved the situation or made it worse.

Such a seemingly polite young man… But a bit rash and— Even so, the man did not seem like the type to… but perhaps it was always the quiet ones who…?

Sighing deeply, he walked back to the lift.

That had nevertheless gone relatively well, considering that Doctor Kim of 511 had come to him that morning with a stern, stormy look on his face and said, “You gotta tell the boy in 510 to stop fucking so goddamn loud at all hours of the goddamn day!”

Such language and temper were wholly unusual for Dr Kim Namjoon!

Back in the caretaker’s office, Caretaker Park tuned the old radio to his favourite trot station.

Jeon Jungkook stalled outside Dr Min’s office on the second floor of the Department of Music. He’d done his undergraduate degree in the same place, and now he was back for a Masters degree.

Returning to campus as a graduate student made his shoulders rise. Some of these kids had been in school just months earlier, and they looked it too! Young and clueless, with no idea where to go.

But Jungkook knew the campus well, and he knew the music department exceptionally well. Staff recognised him and were still congratulating him for winning The Best Undergraduate Dissertation award. Dr Min Yoongi had been his supervisor for that. He hoped Dr Min would be his supervisor again.

Yet, standing outside the slightly ajar office door, Jungkook understood how little he knew. How Socratic of him! Dr Min, Senior Lecturer in Music Psychology, was talking to Dr Kim Namjoon, Lecturer in Contemporary Music, about Dr Kim’s new book. He couldn’t make out everything the two lecturers were discussing, but it all sounded smart and impressive. These were the people who wrote all the books students like him read!

He idolised them a little, that was true. Jimin teased him about it often.

Dr Kim said, “I feel like it’s not ready, but the university press is breathing down my neck.”

“Namjoon-ah, the manuscript was already ready when I read it last summer, and the reviewers’ feedback largely agreed. You have to let it go, you know that, don’t you? And look, the closer to publication this book is, the better it will look when you’re assessed for tenure.”

“But I just want to develop it a little further.”

“I’m telling you, it’s done. Listen to your elders. Now, what I don’t understand is why you printed out a three-hundred-page manuscript and scribbled in final amendments by hand.”

“Because my eyes hurt if I stare at a screen too long – you know that.”

“And, what, typing in the edits now won’t hurt your eyes?”

Jungkook checked his phone. It was now five minutes since his scheduled meeting with Dr Min, and he didn’t want Dr Min to think he was tardy. He knocked.

“Ah, Jungkook-ssi, there you are. Have a seat!”

Dr Min’s office was compact, with shelves full of thick books and framed music posters on every available space left.

“Jungkook-ssi, I heard you’re back,” Dr Kim said, giving him a slightly distracted smile as he arranged a thick book manuscript on his lap. Dr Kim had black hair parted in the middle and thick-rimmed glasses – a little bookish, as one might expect. He also had the body of a tall, muscular male model, and many of Jungkook’s peers had been desperately in love with him during their undergraduate years. In all honesty, Jungkook could not blame them. Those thick thighs… Those dimples…

Dr Kim smiled at him. “Don’t hesitate to book yourself into my office hours if you have any questions this year, alright? It’s a step up from undergraduate to postgraduate, but I know you work hard.”

“Thank you, Dr Kim. I’ve signed up to one of your classes for next semester!”

The manuscript was finally a neat stack. Dr Kim hummed looking at it, pleased. “You have? Good stuff. I look forward to having you. I’ll call you later, then, hyung?”

Dr Min nodded, while Jungkook was awed by how close the two men were. “Just do the edits and send the manuscript in, alright?”

Manuscript under his arm, Dr Kim sighed. “I’ll try, but working at home has been difficult. I’ve got that new neighbour and… Well, that’s enough on that for now.”

Dr Min smiled after the door closed behind Dr Kim, his black hair down to his shoulders like the mane of a rockstar. He wore a band t-shirt (Pink Floyd) and over this a chestnut blazer. God, he was so fucking cool. But no wonder, as this was the man who had written Korean Popular Music and Depression: the impact of music cultures on mental health. Jungkook had read it twice.

“Well, shall we get into it?” Dr Min said.

Jungkook was more than ready.

Mrs Choi had hired Seokjin based on his looks. She had told him so in no uncertain terms.

The luxury vintage shop was small and often quiet, down a side street in the student-filled district of Mapo-gu. Mrs Choi was hardly ever there – she travelled extensively and would send in her finds from Paris, New York, and Singapore. Old Flame was a pet project because Seokjin much doubted that they turned in a profit. Alison, the English girl with decent Korean who Seokjin had been hired to replace, said there were rumours of Mrs Choi’s late husband having been a millionaire.

Old Flame specialised in luxury brands, sustainability, and hot people. This was where Seokjin’s model-like looks had come in when he’d desperately needed a job some six months back. He’d moved into Riverside Complex, just a short twenty-minute walk away, a few months later. Now he rotated shifts with a girl who actually was a model, and a hot law student Kijung, who Seokjin had not succeeded in seducing. The man wasn’t bicurious and was in love with his girlfriend – what was Seokjin to do except admit defeat?

But the two were part-timers, whereas he had ostensibly become the manager and the king of Old Flame. The shop opened in the late afternoons when Seokjin had recovered enough from the previous night to show up, and he closed up shop when it was time to transition to one of the many nearby nightclubs.

All of this at the doorstep of his uncle’s apartment where he was staying under the agreement of Take Care of the Place and Water the Plants! Seokjin had truly and well landed on his feet, despite his parents’ dismay that he’d failed to graduate.

If only his parents knew how well everything was going for him! Jimin had worked at a bar three blocks down from Old Flame when he’d been a student, and because Jimin still knew the staff, they got drinks there at half price. This was where Seokjin usually met Jimin and Taehyung if the three of them were going out, which they did several times a week. Jungkook, who wasn’t much into clubbing, joined them a few times a month.

Fridays and Saturdays were a must for clubbing, of course. Thursdays, fondly known as ‘Little Fridays’, could make for a good night out, but a three-day bender was bad for Seokjin’s skin. Wednesday was a daring choice, and Tuesday was rebellious. Sundays and Mondays were usually skips.

Today was a Thursday, which saw Seokjin close up Old Flame around ten at night and head over to meet Jimin and Taehyung for a few pre-drinks. One of the benefits of working in a luxury vintage store was that Seokjin got first dibs on stellar items – and, sometimes, he would pull on a faux fur coat for the night, then return it to the store the next day, diligently cleaning it up before putting it to the clothes rack.

That day he’d spotted a 70s silk shirt with a flower pattern – blues and pinks. The garment hung over his toned upper body perfectly, broadening his shoulders, slimming his stomach and waist. Leave the top three buttons undone, pair it with ripped, black jeans. Brush his hair off his forehead, put some hairspray in to get it to stay. Golden.

He shivered in the cold despite the coat, with Seoul at subzero, but the outfit made him look hot, and he would not change it.

Jimin and Taehyung were already two drinks in when he got to the bar, the three of them sitting on barstools and getting tipsy on soju cocktails. “I hope there’s cute boys out tonight,” Jimin said, rolling his neck to limber up, like a tiger getting ready to hunt.

“Me too,” Taehyung said. Seokjin already knew that if these cute boys did not materialise, his two friends wouldn’t be too upset: they were in an open relationship and had each other. Still, it was dull to only have sex with one person, wasn’t it? Talk about suffocating a good relationship with forced monogamy. Taehyung and Jimin had no interest in that.

“Me three,” he said. He was a flirty drunk and had a high sex drive, and together with his friends they often compared notes of conquests and bragged about who had the highest body count. So far Jimin was in the lead, but Seokjin was not far behind. Men, more or less, threw themselves at him.

They were all in luck that night too. After some drinks and dancing at the club, Seokjin finally saw a man he wanted. Not all clubs allowed foreigners, but this one did, and a tall, blond, white man was now on the dance floor.

“I’ve always wanted to hook up with a foreigner,” he shouted to his friends over the music, eyeing up the man, imagining that body radiating heat against him. Top? Bottom?

Taehyung snorted. “Yes, you have. There was that French guy?”

“And that Spaniard,” said Jimin. “Or wait, that guy was Basque, wasn’t he?”

“Right, he made us all look it up on a map.”

“But they weren’t blond,” Seokjin pointed out, already on the move.

The man was Norwegian, exploring the mysterious and exotic Far East from what Seokjin could understand from his yelled explanations. Exotic? Mysterious? Pfft. But look, if they both were exoticizing each other to the same degree, then the exploitation was mutual – and that was the kind of cultural appreciation Seokjin could get behind.

Olaf (like the snowman from Frozen!) was staying in a shared room at a hostel, so naturally Seokjin had to take him home. The language barrier was high, but the man understood sign language, like Seokjin pressing a finger to his lips when they exited the lift on the fifth floor.

It was two in the morning.

They silently moved to the door of 510, passing the door to 511. Seokjin looked at his neighbour’s door, inanimate, silent.

Uptight piece of shit…

But he didn’t want any complaints to reach his uncle.

Soon Seokjin had a 190-centimetre tall and blond Viking descendant humping him into his mattress. They both moaned in languages the other could not understand, which was hot and made up for the lack of rhythm and Olaf orgasming disappointingly fast. The bed frame slammed against the wall with Olaf’s forceful climax-thrusts. Seokjin groaned, whimpered, moaned.

“Korean boys are so hot,” Olaf said, panting beside him afterwards. That much English Seokjin understood. “Thanks, Sock-jean.”

They woke up around five o’clock to fuck again.

Olaf left early. He was flying to Laos to find himself.

Caretaker Park looked anxious when Namjoon went into his office to ask if he’d had a word with 510. Caretaker Park had, and the young man had been very receptive to it!

"Sure, alright," Namjoon said, pinching his nose and then rushing for his nine o’clock lecture, which would be poorly attended, of course, because the lecture would be uploaded to the university intranet later, and students thought this meant they didn’t need to show up. Then why the hell did Namjoon bother showing up? Why not just upload an old recording from three years ago – what, would the students have felt cheated by that? Namjoon felt cheated, too!

Cycling through Mapo-gu towards campus, he tried to focus on the day ahead. But, at 2:23am: oh, ah, fuck me harder! 2:26am: take me to Valhalla! Namjoon was relatively sure he had misheard that one. 5:13am: a bit deeper, ah just a bit more! 5:17am: I’m gonna come, ah, ah!

How could anyone get any fucking sleep in that noise?

Namjoon was all about sex positivity, and clearly his new neighbour was a sexually active man getting fucked or pegged on the regular – the how of it all really wasn’t Namjoon’s business. What was his business was his sleep, which had been ruined for the past few months.

He’d let it slide at first. Maybe a young couple had moved next door, and they were in their honeymoon phase. It’d peter out, surely, and he’d slept through some of it initially, too.

But as it’d become clear from the groans and moans, it was not always the same two people. It was his neighbour, sure, and a rotation of Special Guests. His subconscious started anticipating the sex noises, and he now stirred from sleep at the first ‘oh yeah, fuck me’.

He hadn’t met the neighbour face-to-face but knew that the man liked having his hair pulled and his ass slapped.

This was not information he’d ever wished to know, for god’s sake. The mental image he’d constructed was of a cock-hungry twink with insatiable stamina and the IQ of a banana.

Namjoon, for his part, didn’t get it on at home, with a neighbour on the other side of the wall. He went elsewhere – to a gay sauna a brisk half an hour’s walk away, typically – as was proper and considerate. It was a good system that he’d set up after the breakup.

He reached campus and locked his bike outside the Department of Music, breath rising in the air as he walked towards the teaching hub for his morning lecture. Third years – twenty-eight enrolled into the class.

Five had shown up.

Exhausted, sleep deprived, and demoralised, he wasn’t sure why he even bothered. Twenty-three students, after all, didn’t think it worth their time to come to a nine o’clock lecture on a Friday.

He got the PowerPoint up, pressed record, and started giving the lecture anyway – trying to focus through the severe lack of sleep.

He’d have to confront the neighbour himself.

But when he knocked on the door of 510 that evening, there predictably was no answer.

“I really can’t stay long,” was the first thing Namjoon said to Hoseok when meeting him for a Sunday brunch. Namjoon was editing his book manuscript all through the weekend, but this was why Hoseok had intercepted him. Namjoon needed some fresh air and downtime! Besides, Hoseok missed his elusive, big-brained friend.

The popular brunch café was teeming with customers, and they sat by the window of the second floor, watching the cars slipping by on the street below. It was Yoongi who had tipped him off with: Namjoon needs a break. He’d texted back with, say less.

The three of them had been close friends for nearly two decades, which made Hoseok oddly nostalgic. Aish, maybe it was because he and Namjoon were both thirty-nine now, officially pushing forty, that Hoseok had been sentimental lately. How had life happened to them all so quickly?

He was living his best life at thirty-nine by a long shot. He ran a small jewellery company, and after a decade of hard work they were now not only financially stable, but making a notable profit. In the past few years they’d expanded considerably, and Hoseok could finally call the company a success. In a recent kdrama, the lead actress had worn their earrings, and the product had sold out the following day!

Business was booming, he was financially comfortable, and he was in good health, so no, he wasn’t angsty about turning forty, although of course he wondered about some missed chances in life. He wished he’d had more confidence when he’d been younger, but then again what was life if not growth to recognise that?

He worried about Namjoon, however, sitting beside him and shovelling pancakes into his mouth. Namjoon, who had barely taken a week off of work in the last three years and who lived on 7-Eleven meals. Namjoon, who took good care of himself in some ways – a regular at the gym and always a smile to give to his friends – but did Namjoon ever give himself the time and space to just… be?

“You really should come on holiday with us this summer,” Hoseok coaxed. “There’s space for a few more at the beach hut. Well, let’s be honest, it’s more of a villa.”

“Ah, I’ll have to wait and see. I just have so much work to do… Does the place have wifi? I could work remotely, I guess.”

“We’re going to a tropical paradise island – no work allowed.”

“But look, I have to peer review articles, catch up on research, revise articles, update the department’s feedback policy—”

“Namjoon-ah. You need to learn how to say no.”

Namjoon shook his head, chewing on pancakes. “I will once I get tenure. I’m nearly there.”

Hoseok convinced Namjoon to come shopping with him afterwards. There were excellent second-hand clothes dotted around Mapo-gu, aimed at hipsters and the notable student population, but also fashion-conscious shoppers like Hoseok. Namjoon finally seemed to relax, going through piles of jumpers and old jeans in basement thrift stores.

In a small shop down a side street, Hoseok found a tan leather jacket with an expensive price tag. Despite the sleepy and dusty atmosphere, the compact shop was upscale: only limited numbers of stylish items on display, with no t-shirt piles in sight. Vintage Gucci, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Hermes…

A young chocolate-eyed man with a model’s facial features and slender physique was standing behind the counter, looking like he could throw on any item in the store and hit the runway.

Namjoon was at the sunglass display, trying on aviator style glasses and checking himself out in the mirror. The shopkeeper – youthful and enviously stunning – was looking at Namjoon and then pretending like he wasn’t, turning to scribble in a notebook.

Namjoon had already noticed this. When the man looked down at his notebook, Namjoon sneaked a look at him. When the man looked up again, Namjoon instantly turned back to face the mirror.

Hoseok paused. Grinned.

“Do these suit me?” Namjoon asked, carding back his hair, sunglasses on – making a show of it on purpose. The shopkeeper sneaked another look at Namjoon. Let his gaze travel on Namjoon slowly.

Hoseok bit the inside of his cheek, the expensive leather jacket forgotten. He sidled up to Namjoon, muttering, “Well, you’re putting on a show.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Namjoon said, taking the sunglasses off. As he picked out another pair to try, he glanced towards the counter. Put the next pair on. “He’s too young.”

Hoseok shrugged, pretending to examine sunglasses too. “Mid-twenties, I’d say? Go ask for his number.”

Namjoon adjusted the sunglasses with a slightly irritated air. “I don’t date, you know that.”

Cue another reason why he and Yoongi privately worried about Namjoon. They’d both been shocked when Namjoon and Sangwook had split up after a literal decade together – sweethearts since their undergraduate days. So settled together, and such a good match… In it for life, surely? When Sangwook had been offered a permanent job at a university in Osaka, the two had made long-distance work. Sangwook had flown back to Seoul regularly, in truth spending as little time in Japan as he could. The two had still seemed happy.

Then, two years into this arrangement, Namjoon had announced their breakup. “It was time I let him go,” Namjoon had said, which Hoseok thought was a ridiculous thing to say about the love of your life.

He’d found out about some of the cracks later. The long distance had been difficult, and after a mature discussion they’d given each other the freedom to fuck around. Sex was just sex, after all, and they were men with needs. If they were committed to each other, then what did it matter if they also slept with someone else here or there?

Maybe that had been their mistake – that they weren’t actually the ‘open relationship’ kind of people. Who could say? But eventually Namjoon had left Sangwook, who now lived permanently in Osaka. Hoseok was still friends with him on Instagram – Sangwook was living with a handsome Japanese film studies professor who had a greying beard, was fifty or so, and had that intellectual look to him.

Namjoon, meanwhile, had not dated since their breakup. Said, in fact, that he did not intend to date at all.

Of course Hoseok was worried. He remembered a twenty-two-year-old Namjoon saying he hoped to meet the love of his life soon. Romantic, hopeful.

Hoseok took another look at the shopkeeper sneaking interested glances at Namjoon. God, how good-looking! Was that natural or surgery? Cute button nose, pouty pink mouth, flawless, smooth skin. Men like them should be deeply flattered if someone that young and handsome looked their way even twice.

He pulled a price tag off a pair of Gucci sunglasses. “Go ask him how much these are. Just go! I’m not saying marry the man, just rizz him up a little.”

“Ri— What? What was that word?” Namjoon glanced at the man again. Made up his mind and headed over.

Hoseok slithered towards the counter to overhear the conversation, pretending to be feeling up the vintage silk scarf at the accessories section.

“Hey there. Busy day?”

The place was completely quiet apart from the three of them. Dust floated in the air.

“Overwhelmingly busy,” the man said, taking Namjoon in with obvious interest. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“You tell me,” Namjoon said – oh, how smooth! “I’m Namjoon, by the way.”

The man smiled. “Seokjin. Nice to meet you.”

The two stared at each other, and Hoseok sensed sparks flying. When their ogling turned from normal to awkward, Namjoon did his lethal shy chuckle, dimples employed, and averted his gaze. Seokjin blinked hard. Oh, a goner for sure!

Namjoon said, “Ah, I wanted to know how much these glasses cost.”

Seokjin took the pair. “Hmm… Well. What are you willing to pay?”

Namjoon tilted his head. Smiled. Weaponised those dimples of his. “Are they very expensive? Do you think I have a shot at, ah… getting them?”

Seokjin smiled. Leaned over the cash desk slightly. “Oh, I think you have a shot.”

Goddamn! Hoseok was observing the opening scene of a porno!

Namjoon’s alluring smile hardened slightly. “Before we talk numbers, can I ask you a personal question?”

Go on, my son! Get that phone number! Or wait, was that too old fashioned? Go get that TikTok handle!

Seokjin turned a little red, but his smile was seductive. “I love personal questions.”

How did someone have that kind of confidence at that age? Well, the neighbourhood was up-and-coming in the queer scene, and Namjoon had initiated the flirtation. More to the point, with a face like that, how could you not be confident?

Namjoon leaned closer, both hands on the counter. “Great. So, indulge me: does your birth year start with one or two?”

Seokjin frowned. He clearly had not expected such a question. “A two, duh. Why?”

“Just curious,” Namjoon said before he took a step back and took on a professional air. “Have a good day, Seokjin-ssi.”

Hoseok followed Namjoon out of the store, catching the shopkeeper looking after them in indignation. Snubbed by a dimpled hunk! Hoseok would have wounded his pride, too.

Walking back towards the main street, he said, “Why the hell did you do that? He was so into you!”

“I told you – too young.”

“Come on, don’t pretend you ID the men at that sauna of yours.”

“That’s different,” Namjoon argued.

Reason the Third he and Yoongi worried about Namjoon, who worked too much and refused to date: that the only men he seemed interested in were the anonymous hook ups at a gay sauna, and even then the interest lasted only for the twenty minutes it took for them to fuck in a playroom.

Hoseok didn’t judge – he’d been to gay saunas once or twice, always a good and sexy time – but Namjoon had lived this way for years now and refused Hoseok’s diligent attempts to set him up with people he could date and not just fuck.

Of course the Gen Z shopkeeper with the ‘fuck me’ eyes wasn’t Namjoon’s soulmate, but maybe Namjoon could go on a date or two? Cuddle? Hold hands? Have more of a human connection with quite literally anyone other than Nameless Piece of Meat of The Month?

Namjoon looked back over his shoulder, and Hoseok could tell he was still thinking about the young man. But because this wasn’t a darkly lit bathhouse, but midday on a weekend, with real names exchanged, Namjoon had walked away.

Hoseok would have to report all this back to Yoongi. Invite Yoongi around for a few beers so that they could really psychoanalyse their friend together. Maybe Yoongi might even spend the night.

“Have I told you about my sex addict of a neighbour yet?” Namjoon asked.

A week later, Seokjin pushed a note across the bar table for Taehyung to examine. “Can you believe the audacity of this man?”

Seokjin hadn’t noticed the note until he’d been leaving for work, and he wasn’t sure if it'd been slipped under his door last night or that morning.

Dear neighbour, it read. As we share a bedroom wall, it is very easy for sounds to carry through – I believe this has been brought to your attention already. If disturbances continue, I will make a formal complaint to the residents’ association. Sincerely, Dr Kim, Apartment 511

The letter was likely a direct response to an encounter Seokjin had just had with a cute gym bodybuilder type who’d been visiting Seoul for the weekend. When the man had showered post-sex, Seokjin had checked the time on the man’s phone. The lock screen image was of the man on his wedding day, kissing his wife.

Seokjin had laughed.

The man had worn no ring.

Well, why would he wear one to a gay club?

Not Seokjin’s business. Shit, what did he care?

But he’d breathed easier once the man had left his apartment.

It was not the evenings he feared.

It was the mornings.

After sleeping it off, he’d found the letter waiting for him.

The letter was a threat. 511 would make a formal complaint?! And signed by a Dr Kim. Doctor! Pulling rank like an arrogant son of a bitch!

He’d never met 511 properly – had seen a man go into the apartment once just as he’d stepped out of the lift, so he had a vague mental image of a tall, broad middle-aged man. Lived alone, of course. Probably bitter that Seokjin was getting down and dirty. Or! Perhaps the man was homophobic! Yes, that was it – the guy would have been masturbating to Seokjin’s sex life if a rotation of girls was dropping by, but no, no, the grunts were too low and masculine for his sicko neighbour to pleasure himself to.

“I mean, you probably need to make peace with the man,” Taehyung said, reading over the note. “You don’t want your uncle to hear about this. Either that or, you know, you start going to hotels.”

“Or this perv of a neighbour could just not listen,” he said, snatching the note back. Who was some total stranger to come and tell him what to do? He didn’t want to go to pay-by-the-hour love hotels, which were seedy and in which he always worried about hidden cameras. He had the right to fuck in his own home!

That night, however, he ended up hooking up with a guy around his age, and they split the cost of a hotel room for a two-hour rental. Two hours?! Ha! The guy lasted for two minutes, and Seokjin had to pretend he wasn’t disappointed. The guy was crazy hot, however, a really athletic type, so Seokjin still counted it as a win. Why go out if you weren’t gonna get laid? What was the point of it all if not to find new, cute boys to fuck?

When he came home at four in the morning and passed 511, he flipped off the door.

He took some painkillers – the guy had been rough, and he felt sore and a little down – and then hit the hay.

The replying note read: Dear neighbour, please find luxury earplugs outside the door. Sincerely, Mr. Kim, Apartment 510

True to his word, there was a small box on the other side of the front door, containing a pair of fancy looking earplugs.

Namjoon had to stop and laugh, looking at the door of 510 in astonishment. The arrogance!

He did not have time to go knock on 510’s door, however, as he had to go teach a seminar to his second years.

The seminar wasn’t a success – the students were unprepared – and Namjoon had a headache as he cycled to one of his favourite cafés afterwards to get some caffeine into him. As he sipped on his drink and organised the semester’s first set of marking, he prepared himself to stay in the café until closing time. He also wondered what to do about his neighbour. To his surprise, he was more amused than furious. Buying him earplugs...! It was so cheeky that he marvelled at Mr Kim of 510. The man must be a little mad.

He started reading through his students’ submissions – grammar abysmal, punctuation a mess – and focused enough to work through a decent chunk of them over the next few hours. But, of course, his thoughts and gaze wandered, and he found himself staring absently at a man bundled up in a camel-coloured winter coat and a chunky knitted scarf who was queuing up to get a drink. Dark lashes and dark eyes, thick black hair, button nose reddened from the cold. Achingly beautiful.

He was the man from that vintage shop – which, as Namjoon now realised, was only a few blocks away from his favourite cafe.

Namjoon stirred, sitting up straighter, feeling warmth in his belly. Still gorgeous.

Even Hoseok had realised that Namjoon was attracted to the man – him, at his age. This shopkeeper – Seokjin, yes he remembered now – would likely never be as handsome or desired as he was right then. A man with that kind of a face and physique could walk into any gay club and choose whoever he wanted. By the time you were thirty, most gay men considered you an antiquated has-been who couldn’t get it up anymore. Seokjin flirting with him even for a minute had done wonders for his ego.

Seokjin collected his drink and moved to sit at a table by the window, untying his scarf and unzipping his coat. He settled in and got out a notebook and started writing. A diary? Poetry?

Seokjin was absorbed in the task, whatever it was, with the time pushing ten o’clock at night.

Namjoon tried not to sneak glances. He knew he was attractive for his age. Every year a few students would crush on him – usually female students – because he wasn’t over fifty and overweight and wearing unflattering suit jackets like the other staff members. He was also popular at his regular gay sauna, where he was hardly ever turned down and got to pick which man to hook up with.

Still, there were categories that all gay men belonged to. A category determined by your age and height and body fat and dick size and bank balance. This category determined the pool of men you could hope to hook up with.

Namjoon had his pool. Someone like Seokjin had his own, and it was very likely to be infinite – a boy like that could get anyone. And so Seokjin acknowledging him at the vintage shop had been flattering – was he in Seokjin’s pool? Really? – but Namjoon was not a fool. He knew full well just how childish many people in their twenties were.

Fuck with kids, get kid problems.

He focused on ignoring Seokjin’s presence and marked another essay. Ten o’clock turned to eleven. Turned to midnight.

Seokjin was still there.

In fact, they were the only two people left this close to closing time, and Seokjin had noticed him – their eyes met when Namjoon next glanced his way. Namjoon refocused on his laptop screen, his throat tightening. When had Seokjin noticed him? Just now or an hour ago – or, even, from the moment he’d walked in?

Seconds later, Seokjin sat down at the empty chair across from him. “Aviator glasses guy.”

Namjoon stalled, unsure what to do. Flirt again or feign ignorance?

He pushed the laptop screen down slightly. “I prefer Namjoon,” he said, and Seokjin smiled almost sweetly – but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Seokjin’s coat and scarf were still on a chair across the café.

“What are you working on?” Seokjin asked with unprovoked familiarity, as if them remembering each other meant they were on chatting terms – or, perhaps, it didn’t occur to Seokjin that someone would not wish to talk with him.

“Grading student work.”

“Oh? You’re a teacher?”

“University. Lecturer in Contemporary Music.”

“Oh, like a professor?” Seokjin said, sounding surprised. “That sounds cool. And, like, a real job. I have a friend who’s doing a degree in music theory or something.”

Namjoon felt just as captivated by Seokjin’s beauty as he had been in the shop. Hoseok was right – he did not ID the men in the gay sauna. Usually the place attracted men from their late twenties into their late forties, so he often slept with men who could be anywhere from ten years older to ten years younger than him. Seokjin looked so full of youth and vigour, however, that he was definitely at the younger end of men Namjoon would go for.

Don’t do it.

He said, “And what about you? Why is someone like you hanging out at a café so late?”

Seokjin looked around the café, his cheeks ever so rosy. If Namjoon had to guess, Seokjin was not as confident as he pretended to be. Why pretend, then? Hubris? The folly and arrogance of youth?

Seokjin shrugged. “Living alone gets dull. And it’s a Monday. No one goes clubbing on Mondays.” Seokjin's gaze focused back on him so fast that Namjoon almost startled. “Also, what do you mean by someone like me?”

“You just seem like someone who’d be popular.”

Seokjin nodded. “I am. But even popular boys need downtime, right?” Seokjin smiled at him sweetly, seemingly fully aware of his charms. Namjoon chose not to respond as Seokjin leaned back in the chair, taking him in. “Since you asked me about my birth year, can I ask how old you are?”

Namjoon nodded. Only fair. “Thirty-nine.”

“Korean age or international?”

He held back a smile. “They abolished Korean age, remember?”

Seokjin laughed, brows knitting. “So what’s being practically forty like?”

“My back hurts but I finally have wisdom and money.”

“Ha. Witty.”

“Also comes with age.”

Seokjin’s eyes were warm and inviting as he leaned in closer. “And you’re not married? No? Plenty of older guys I meet have wives.”

Namjoon knew well the types of guys Seokjin likely met. He met them too at the sauna. Some of them took their rings off – many didn’t. A quiet, desperate hunger in their eyes.

Instead of admitting this, he said a measured, “Maybe you should meet different kinds of guys.”

Seokjin looked at him sharply. Were they chatting? Flirting? Namjoon wasn’t even sure.

“Maybe,” Seokjin granted and fixed his posture. “I was born in 2000. Hence that two.”

Namjoon nodded just as his laptop screen darkened from inactivity – work forgotten as long as Seokjin was sitting opposite him. So Seokjin was sixteen years younger than him. Too young, too young…

“Born at the millennium. The promise of a new era,” he said, softly.

Seokjin did not respond. Did not move – but watched him with dark eyes.

Expectation was thick in the air between them. Even if Namjoon hadn’t been flirting then, he’d made his interest known when they first met and could not take it back.

What to do with the desire that simmered in his belly?

He could take Seokjin home, of course. Make that arrogant neighbour of his listen to him have sex for once. He wanted to – could almost feel it and taste it already. The softness of Seokjin’s hair. The warmth of his body. The taste of his sex.

Take the boy home. Find out how good he is at taking cock. Maybe make him cry a little from overstimulation, twitching and moaning in mindless pleasure.

But to what end?

He cleared his throat, which to his surprise made Seokjin smile knowingly.

Seokjin bit on his lower lip. “I haven’t met someone playing hard to get in a long time. It’s interesting.”

This did not surprise Namjoon, exactly. Who the hell would turn Seokjin down?

Seokjin stood up, pushing his hair back with a casual air. “So, I work most weekdays and close up around ten.”

Namjoon’s crotch felt fuller than it had been a few minutes ago, a semi-chub there. Great. “Why are you telling me that?”

Seokjin cocked his hips. He was wearing a large, blue jumper and baggy sweatpants, but even in this outfit it was clear that he had a lean, boyish frame. “I think we both know.”

Namjoon was used to bold propositions. At the sauna, that was how everyone communicated: a hand slipping beneath a towel to grab a feel instead of saying ‘hello’. If one wished to speak, then a whispered “Wanna go to a playroom and fuck?” did the job. Straight to the point. No pretending they were there for small talk.

But somehow he could not bring himself to such directness here and with this man. Even if he wanted him.

They both knew that he did.

“Drop by soon, won’t you?” Seokjin said with one knowing look shot his way. A minute later, Seokjin had left the café.

He considered running after him – out into the cold and snow and all. Pin the boy into a wall and kiss him senseless.

He shook his head, getting the laptop going again. Who did he think he was – the leading man in a romantic drama? People of Seokjin’s age – namely his students – often took interest in him. He knew how to brush it off, even as he was flattered.

But he glanced back to the café door, restless.

Wanting.

Yoongi rolled his eyes and slapped his hands to his knees. This was his way to say he meant business.

“I can handle it, really,” Namjoon protested, but Yoongi was having none of it. He knew that Namjoon had a sex pest living next door and that there had been a back-and-forth of passive aggressive notes, but this? Sending Namjoon earplugs? Who the fuck did this guy think he was?!

Namjoon had that book of his to finish, and – this Yoongi did not openly admit to Namjoon – it was important that Namjoon got the work published. The two of them had had similar careers: Namjoon had started a bachelor’s degree in Music only a year behind him, and they’d become friends through the audio engineering club. A whole lifetime later, they both now had doctorates, worked in the same university and the same department, but. But.

Yoongi had gotten a scholarship that he did not truthfully need to fund his doctoral studies. His family was well-off, his mother a professor of economics back in Daegu, and his father the operations manager in a nationwide cultural heritage charity. They were a bookish, academic family – his father was doing a PhD now in his sixties as a ‘hobby’. Yoongi had always been heading for a similar path in life and enjoyed parental approval.

Namjoon, always a step behind him, was as brilliant of a scholar as he was. In truth, he suspected Namjoon was more brilliant than him.

But Namjoon was the first in his family to go to university and had received only a partial scholarship for his doctoral studies. He had subsequently worked part-time as a sound engineer throughout his studies to make up the difference. Since getting his doctorate, which had dragged on due to financial woes, Namjoon had been on a string of short-term lectureship contracts in three different universities in the Seoul area. Yoongi had landed a tenure-track postdoctoral position three months post-viva.

Namjoon needed this book on his CV to get that permanent contract he’d been working towards for over a decade now – and Yoongi was damned if some sex freak next door was going to ruin it for his best friend.

It was a Thursday morning, and they had met at Namjoon’s apartment because they were working on a funding bid for a conference. “What do you need these earplugs for?” he’d asked, and Namjoon had sighed – deeply.

Now the two of them were outside 510, and Yoongi was pressing the doorbell repeatedly.

“I can handle it,” Namjoon insisted behind him.

It wasn’t that Namjoon was too nice or anything like that – he was a big boy and not a fool. Namjoon was simply a lot more diplomatic than Yoongi was. Yoongi had spent much of his youth being angry at the world – fuck capitalism, fuck conservatism, fuck this, fuck that, and fuck you! – although he had largely grown out of it. But, when the occasion called for it, he could be as blunt and angry as needed.

“You look like you haven’t slept in weeks,” he said. Apparently, the man next door had had another ‘busy’ night just last night, keeping Namjoon awake from two to four in the morning. “I’ll just have a quick word with this man, that’s all.”

“Hyung, can’t you let me handle—”

The door finally opened. It was almost noon, but it was obvious that the man in the blue pyjamas had just woken up, squinting his eyes and trying to flatten his bedhead. He was young and incredibly good-looking. That, Yoongi figured, accounted for all the sex.

“Can I help you?” 510 asked through a yawn, blinking at them in confusion.

“I don’t know, can you?” Yoongi asked and lifted the luxury earplug box to eye level.

510 squinted. Smiled. Seemed to wake up a little. “Oh, are you Dr Kim? I hope the earplugs are working well!”

The boy said this with complete sincerity, surprising Yoongi. The earplugs were a clear ‘fuck you, dude!’ – a declaration of war! But here this Gucci model lookalike was, giving him a smile that was almost sweet. 510 was taller than Yoongi – Namjoon’s height nearly – and looked a little underfed and skinny. Perhaps the guy really was a model.

Yoongi was momentarily speechless, disarmed by 510’s lack of hostility.

Namjoon, however, stepped up. “It’s you.”

510’s gaze landed on Namjoon, and suddenly he seemed wide awake, confused and intrigued at the same time. “Oh. Hi? How did you, ah. What brings you here?” 510 flicked his hair and cocked his hip seductively, even with his mussed hair and rumbled pyjamas, and allegedly after having had sex all night long.

Sure, Kim Namjoon was an attractive man, but even so.

Yoongi looked between the pair in confusion.

Namjoon was visibly irritated. “What brings me here? I live next door.”

510 frowned. Then laughed. “What? You’re Dr Kim? Wait, then who are you?”

“Dr Min Yoongi. A friend. And you are?”

510 looked between the two of them, astonished. “Kim Seokjin. No PhD – or, well, any degree.”

Yoongi was clearly not on Seokjin’s mind as he took in Namjoon coyly. “Guess you never needed to come by the shop to see me after all. How funny is this? I thought the guy next door was some old loser, but we’ve been living next door to each other all along.”

Namjoon finally looked angry, the way Yoongi would have expected him to be over the earplugs. What shop? Where had these two met? Ah, Hoseok had told him about some young shopkeeper who’d tried hitting on Namjoon! Had it been this guy?

Namjoon took a step closer. “You know it doesn’t matter what kind of a person is living next door, you still have to be courteous. And I can hear everything that goes on in your apartment. You realise that, don’t you?”

Seokjin frowned, standing up straighter. Heat was creeping up his neck. “Well, surely not everything. Besides, I got you the earplugs!”

“Yes, everything. And no, the earplugs can’t make the bed frame ramming into the wall go away. All this time I kept wondering what kind of a person is dragging in one-night-stands – but now it makes sense, seeing how easily you throw yourself at people.”

Seokjin’s nostrils flared, and Yoongi sensed all this going very wrong very quickly. Seokjin studied Namjoon up and down, gaze despising. “Wow, you’re either pissed off because you’re sexually suppressed – which, frankly, checks out – or you’re angry that I never invited you over.”

Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, you’ve tried inviting me. But it’s not a very exclusive invite, is it?”

“Are you shaming me for having an active sex life?” Seokjin asked, voice getting shrill and loud, and Yoongi glanced nervously along the corridor, hoping most other neighbours would be at work right then.

Namjoon scoffed. “Trust me, your sex life is of no interest to me whatsoever. And that’s how I want to keep it – understand?”

“Then move your bed to the other side of the apartment! And I’ll have these back, thank you,” Seokjin said, snatching the ear plugs from Yoongi’s hands. “Now please leave – goddamn weirdos.”

The door of 510 slammed shut.

Namjoon stared at the door angrily, chest rising and falling with deep, angered breaths.

Yoongi, who had kept his mouth shut for the entire exchange, said, “Well. That went horribly.”

Jimin watched Seokjin pace the living room of his and Taehyung’s Itaewon apartment, ranting about his obnoxiously handsome, sex-shaming, arrogant neighbour. “I can’t believe I thought he was hot – he’s an old, bitter creep! And you know what makes it worse? Is that he’s gay, or bisexual, or something else, I don’t know – down to fuck for sure. But I always thought the fucker next door was some straight loser! He’s not straight! You know what this all is? It’s internalised homophobia.”

Seokjin stopped to catch a breath and plopped down on the couch next to him, with Jimin’s other visitor Jungkook on the other side. Jimin and Taehyung were the same age, and so were Seokjin and Jungkook. Seokjin, born in December, was the baby of their friendship group. As such, Jimin felt some responsibility over him – they all did.

If Seokjin got kicked out of his uncle’s apartment, he had nowhere to go. Jimin knew Seokjin was far too proud to ask his parents if he could move back in with them. Seokjin could sleep on their living room couch, maybe, but the place at Riverside Complex was nice, twice the size of their place, and it would be a colossal loss for all of them if Seokjin got evicted!

At the same time, he was angry on behalf of Seokjin too. Who was some stranger to make remarks on Seokjin’s private life?

They all loved cock-chasing and finding the hottest men on any given night. Often, of course, that hottest man in his view was Taehyung. They’d been together for two years now and had been in an open relationship the entire time – this worked well for them, although of course it required work and basic ground rules. Perhaps Jimin had been jealous once or twice, but the same went for Taehyung, too. In the end, they were always reminded that while they fucked other guys, there was only one person they loved.

Seokjin’s neighbour sounded like the kind of man who was sexually oppressed – no question about that. Maybe one of those ‘monogamy is great’ types of gays, although Jungkook was one of those too, and they all loved Jungkook very much.

People wanted different things out of relationships and out of sex – Jimin had learned that a long time ago. Jungkook wanted commitment and exclusivity, he and Taehyung wanted commitment but no exclusivity, and Seokjin, well, wanted neither. He was in his slut phase, as he should be with that god-given face and body of his.

But now Seokjin’s neighbour’s complaints were risking his lifestyle.

Jimin liked puzzles. Problems. Balancing different people against each other and trying to figure out the outcome. Taehyung called this his cunning streak.

“I think the solution is clear,” he said, patting Seokjin on the shoulder.

Seokjin sighed. “I know. I have to—”

“Kill him?” Jungkook asked, frightened.

“Fuck him,” Seokjin said.

“Apologise to him! Fucking fuck, what is wrong with you two?” he asked.

Jimin had put their little friendship group together – an achievement of which he was proud. He and Taehyung had been inseparable since the first week of university, acting as a duo for a few years. Then he had befriended Jungkook at the taekwondo class he went to, concluding that the shy but sweet fellow Busanian needed friends. Besides, Jungkook was enviably handsome, and that would come in handy when going out clubbing. Around that same time he’d met Seokjin, who was even more handsome – they’d tried picking up the same guy at a club, and they had failed because the man already had a boyfriend. Jimin did not wish to have a rival like Seokjin, and so joining forces had seemed the best tactic.

That cunning streak of his.

And so his duo with Taehyung had doubled, and their group chat was active 24/7. Jungkook rarely came out clubbing with them because he was busy studying and because he thought clubs were too loud. Jungkook was still eager to hear all the gossip, however – who’d made out with who, who had slept with who, and so forth.

They knew all about Seokjin’s struggles with a middle-aged neighbour, who it now turned out was a well-built, sexy professor with internalised homophobia.

Seokjin shrugged, pouting. “I just thought that if I seduced him, he can’t complain about my hook ups anymore. Seeing as he’d be one of them, you know.”

Jungkook said, “But you just said how arrogant and rude he is. I don’t think you should sleep with someone you don’t like?”

“Maybe the burning hatred would make it hotter,” Seokjin said in a wondering tone, sounding worryingly intrigued by the idea.

“You need to focus on your uncle not kicking you out,” Jimin pointed out – the voice of reason. Seokjin’s uncle was chill, but was he ‘the neighbours say you’ve turned my apartment into a sex den’ chill?

“I don’t think this guy knows my uncle, thankfully,” Seokjin said.

Jimin got up to fetch his laptop. As he came back, he said, “Look, we’re gonna type up an apology. Like a real one, just to stop things from escalating. Trust me, old people love written apologies.”

Seokjin’s eyes narrowed. “I will not apologise to him.”

Jimin typed quickly, laptop balanced on his knees. “Luckily for you, you don’t have to.”

Dear Dr Kim,

I hope this letter finds you well. I want to sincerely apologise for the recent noise disturbances from my residence. I understand the impact it may have had on your peace, and I'm taking immediate steps to address the issue.

I am committed to being a considerate neighbour, and I appreciate your understanding as I work to rectify the situation. If there are specific concerns or times that are particularly bothersome, please let me know.

Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Sincerely,
Kim Seokjin

The note had been waiting for Namjoon upon his return, pushed under the door again. The letter had been printed and then folded in two and slipped into an envelope. The tone was polite, with just a hint of remorse that Seokjin had not shown at all when confronted.

Namjoon sighed, heading into the kitchen to prepare a cup of herbal tea. He drew curtains over his wall-length windows, hiding the winter dark from view. He was cold, tired, and regretted his confrontation with 510. He didn’t really know what had gotten into him.

Except that he did, and he was reluctant to admit it.

He showered, changed into loose boxers and a t-shirt that functioned as sleepwear, and read the letter again as he sipped on his cooled down chamomile tea.

510 turning out to be Seokjin, the cute shopkeeper of Old Flame, had surprised him completely. Yes, Seokjin had been flirty and confident with him, leaving little for misinterpretation. But the faceless man in 510 had been… well, someone easy and sleazy and arrogant. This Seokjin, who he had met only twice, had seemed sexually direct, sure, but also sweet. Scribbling into a notebook late at night. Blushing a little even as he confidently tried chatting Namjoon up.

Ah, that was why he’d lost his temper.

Because he’d romanticised Seokjin in his head already. Because he’d imagined himself dashing after him only to engulf him in a heated kiss – and then spending the entire night fucking him until he whimpered ‘hyung, hyung’ and nothing else.

Those naïve imaginings had shattered when Seokjin had turned out to be Mr Fuck-A-Lot. Namjoon, wanting to save face, had torn into him.

Now this letter.

To be fair, a few days had passed, and he had heard nothing untoward from next door. He had not moved his bed. Had Seokjin moved his?

But something about the tone… Something about how clinical the letter was… Like it said all the right things – exactly what you might expect to hear – without making any direct references to their confrontation.

No real substance.

Namjoon went to his home office, which in fact was a large mahogany desk placed in the corner of his living room, with full bookcases next to it. He now placed his laptop on the desk. He read the letter again, then opened ChatGPT. write a letter of apology to a neighbour over making too much noise, he instructed.

Text started to appear on the screen: Dear [Neighbour’s Name],

I trust this letter finds you in good health. I am writing to sincerely apologise for the recent disturbances originating from my residence. I understand that this may have caused you inconvenience, and for that, I am truly sorry.

I recognise the importance of maintaining a peaceful living environment, and I want you to know that I am taking immediate steps to address the noise issue. I value our neighbourly relationship and will do my best to ensure a more peaceful coexistence.

Thank you for your understanding and patience.

Sincerely,
[Your Name]

ChatGPT was not giving him an identical copy of the letter, likely because whatever prompt Seokjin had given it had been worded ever so differently – even so, the similarities were undeniable. AI, after all, had no creative brain to speak of.

He scoffed. Seokjin had gotten a goddamn machine to produce an insincere apology and thought he wouldn’t notice! But he did – reading AI produced student work had quickly trained his eye for the kind of vapid nonsense that ChatGPT produced. Last semester he had twice called a student into his office and told them to explain their thinking and argumentation for the essay they’d submitted. The students had panicked, unable to discuss the topic whatsoever – because they’d made AI write it for them.

And Seokjin had thought Namjoon wouldn’t notice!

He’d considered apologising to Seokjin. His comments on Seokjin’s, ah, sex life had been out of line, after all. He knew that.

Now, printed in front of him, was proof of how little this Seokjin truly thought of him – and most people, all in all.

Young, arrogant, vapid.

He balled up the letter and dropped it into the recycling bin.

Feeling agitated and full of restless energy, he considered the half an hour walk through the neighbourhood to the sauna – to blow off some steam. To take his mind off of this mess.

But visits to the sauna were most satisfactory when he was feeling himself, and that night he decidedly was not.

Exhausted, he slipped into bed.

Thankfully, it was a quiet night.

In the dream, Sangwook is there. He has that trademark boyish smile of his and the pearly white teeth, the artsy and messy black hair that he grew out during his doctorate, and the intelligent eyes. They’re at a family gathering – Namjoon’s family, his late uncle is there, miraculously alive again – and they’re holding some kind of a celebration, but Namjoon doesn’t know what exactly.

Sangwook is there with him, and they’ve gotten back together somehow. Namjoon isn’t sure how he feels about it: excited, content. Reserved and guilty.

He and Sangwook are in the bathroom of the house they are in, and they’re making out. They want to have sex in the toilet before the party starts, and Namjoon wonders if someone will notice them missing.

I love you, he thinks as he kisses Sangwook’s mouth. I loved you. Why have I taken you back? Was this inevitable? Were you really the only one for me – the only one I could ever open up to? The only one I could ever love?

He wants to fuck Sangwook but feels guilty for doing so. Feels guilty for still wanting him. Years have passed – why does he still want him? But they are back together, like they always were supposed to be. Sangwook kisses him. The party is about to start. Namjoon is a swirl of joy and shame.

When he wakes up, he doesn’t quite remember the dream, but then pieces of it come back to him. Sangwook. His desire for him. His longing. His turmoil.

He fears that he will always dream of him – always, until his old age, until his grave, as an emblem of the only person he ever had the courage to love.

It’s humiliating to dream of a man he knows he will never speak to again. Does some part of him still want Sangwook? Love him, even – or his memory?

He dreams of Sangwook and wishes he didn’t.

Chapter Text

II

His name wasn’t Sweetie, but after arriving from Jeolla province that was what he decided to be called. “Sweetie, Sweetie!” his friends would call out, welcoming and happy. It always got a chuckle out of men. “What’s your name, cute thing?” “Sweetie.” “Oh, I bet you are.”

Sweetie was a regular at a few different saunas. His grandmother had run a bathhouse, a small neighbourhood jjimjilbang, and as a child he’d helped her in scrubbing the floors and washrooms, in washing and folding the towels. It was knuckle-bruising work.

So he knew bathhouses, which were a second home to him, and gay saunas were but an extension of these childhood environs. A few differences ought to be noted, of course: this was not your typical jjimjilbang where people were given beige pyjamas to wear and where customers would make cute lamb head towels for themselves.

Gay bathhouses were a mix of spas and sex clubs.

Most glaringly, there were the small rooms for sex where lube and condoms were available in small baskets. In some gay bathhouses, these playrooms had doors, but in others only curtains could be drawn for privacy or left open if you wished for an audience. Some of the playrooms had a plain mattress on a simple bed frame, some had a harness hanging from the ceiling, some had glory holes. Some bathhouses had a bar, too, where patrons could get drinks and socialise in the dimly lit rooms where techno played at low volumes.

The all-male clientele too, of course, indicated that this was no regular bathhouse – there was no separate section for women. Hot men prowled the place with small white towels wrapped enticingly around the waist. Cupping butt cheeks. Tenting over a bulge. Drop by on No Towel Tuesday if you want even more of a feast for the eyes!

The small pools reminded Sweetie of his grandmother’s bathhouse, with men soaking in the warm water, arms resting on the tiled edges. In his childhood these pools had been filled with the neighbourhood ahjussis, grunting and wheezing, with greying chest hair and suspicious looking moles on their arms.

Here the men were younger, fitter, and they looked at each other openly, sometimes just flirting and talking, getting to know each other a little. Some kissing and touching before retreating to a playroom. No fucking in the pools, please – no one wanted to soak up in a bathtub of semen. (Well. Maybe the kinky ones did.)

In the bathhouse of his childhood, there had been none of this hungry watching of other men – the men soaked with their eyes closed. Talked about fishing and the weather if they spoke at all.

Sweetie gravitated towards these new, sensuous bathhouses with ease, having enough of a touching point with them for them not to feel alien to him, while they still offered an exciting, new playground. He much preferred them to clubs – he’d never been a dancer or a heavy drinker.

Sex was a simple need for many, Sweetie included. Having observed the dating life of his straight and gay friends alike, he concluded that relationships were messy regardless of sexual orientation. Power battles of give and take, emotional struggles of loyalty and fidelity. If we fuck now, will he think I’m easy? If I push for sex tonight, will she think I’m using her?

The patrons of the sauna never wondered about such things. Sure, perhaps someone met a man that they would go on to see outside the sauna, too, but that was not the goal whatsoever. They were men who wanted to fuck. Everyone had a good time, and then you left, your body sated and your balls emptied, and you strolled a few blocks over to the handmade soap shop to buy a birthday present for your mother, quietly pleased by whatever encounter you’d had.

Really, it was a wellness regime, kind of like going to the gym. Straight people wished they had such simple, no-strings-attached opportunities.

A few years in, Sweetie considered himself an expert in Seoul’s gay sauna scene. He liked this one in Mapo-gu in particular: the Steam Box. The clientele were mostly men between twenty-five to forty-five, and because of this the men tended to be a little more toned and fit than in other places. He also knew where to go if he wanted a man with grey in his hair because who didn’t love getting fucked by a sixty-five-year-old ahjussi every now and then?

Not that exceptional physique was a prerequisite, of course: most patrons had regular bodies, without bulging muscles and some with a slight beer belly developing, with modest to mediocre dicks. Who cared? They still wanted to fuck.

But, of course, the hotter you were, the pickier you could be with your partners.

Sweetie also visited Steam Box because of him. The Dragon. Yes, there were the regulars – the married chemistry teacher with two kids and the sports journalist rumoured to be dating a noted and deeply closeted footballer. But, as he walked around the common room with its dimmed lights, the white towels shimmering in the dark like promises of cock and cum and ass, sex and desire thickening the air, he – as he always did – scanned the place for The Dragon.

He didn’t know the man’s name or occupation. He knew nothing about him at all, except that he was perfect: black-haired, dark-eyed, tall and broad. Dragon eyes, long nose, plump lips. Sculpted chest, round dark nipples. Defined six pack, a sturdy waist. Generous, thick cock – he’d seen the man naked a handful of times in the locker room and the pools. Muscular thighs and calves. Great ass. A wet dream, the envy of anyone with eyes.

The Dragon did not visit with any discernible pattern, at specific times or days. Sweetie never knew if he’d see the man when he visited, but for nearly a year now he’d desired The Dragon.

But, ah, a man like that could come into a sauna like this and choose anyone at all! The Dragon was a little older than most of them there – well into his thirties, while the youngest visitors were in their early twenties. Many of Sweetie’s friends thought that after twenty-five you might as well unalive yourself for being irrelevant and past your physical peak and beauty, but The Dragon showed that wasn’t the case at all.

The Dragon had never chosen him. Maybe Sweetie wasn’t attractive enough. Maybe he wasn’t bold enough.

He tried doing his very best ‘fuck me’ eyes whenever he saw The Dragon – the last time months ago now. He’d brushed his neck, tilted his head. Batted his eyelids, parted his mouth.

Please, you’re perfect. You’re the sexiest thing any of us have ever seen.

But The Dragon had disappeared into a playroom with someone else, and Sweetie had walked past slowly, listening to the sounds of them fucking heatedly. He had lingered with a painful hard-on, wondering if they wanted a third party to join them, but neither man had looked to the hallway as a quiet invite.

He had moved along.

There was always someone hotter. Newer. More exciting.

But even as Sweetie roamed the dark rooms of Steam Box each week, coming to the bitter conclusion that, once more, The Dragon was not there that night, he knew one thing: that he would wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Caretaker Park was not in the habit of eavesdropping on the residents of Riverside Complex. In fact, it was hardly his fault that Dr Kim of 511 and Mr Kim of 510 did not see him in the waste disposal room of Building 104, where he was attaching the right collection stickers to pieces of furniture that Mrs Han in 302 had asked him to sort out for her.

He was already in the basement room when the door opened, and Dr Kim walked in with a paper bag that he dumped into the paper recycling bin. Caretaker Park craned his neck from behind old furniture but said nothing, crouching as he was to attach a sticker to the old, broken coffee table.

Dr Kim was heading out for one of his evening runs, wearing trainers, a sporty winter jacket, and thick, grey sweatpants, with a headband on to keep his ears warm. He was nearly at the door when it opened again, and Mr Kim of 510 walked in. Both men stopped. Mr Kim was in slippers and what the kids these days called sweatpants, with a long cardigan wrapped around him like he’d just woken up despite it being seven at night.

“Oh. Good evening.” Mr Kim bowed slightly – he was a polite young man.

Dr Kim said nothing, however.

Mr Kim dropped two bags into the general waste bin and cleared his throat. “Did, ah, you receive my letter?”

Caretaker Park’s ears pricked up. A letter? Were the two still arguing or had they made up?

“Oh that? Yes, I did. I thought it was clearly articulated.”

“Ah, was it? I mean, of course it was, I spent a long time on it.”

Dr Kim arched an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Really? Because I know an AI written apology when I see one.”

Mr Kim’s mouth dropped open. “What? Are you accusing me of— That’s a lie, I— Well, ah. I just asked for a prompt, you know, to help me get started. But I edited it all myself!”

Dr Kim raised both eyebrows this time, face otherwise neutral and unimpressed. “How touching.”

Mr Kim looked annoyed.

Dr Kim hesitated, however, looking restless. He rubbed the headband over one eyebrow. “That aside, I was out of line with my remarks back then. I’m sorry.”

The two men had clearly had some kind of a confrontation, and Caretaker Park’s heart sank. Had his intervention not been enough? But, ah, he was so good at delivering complaints! Twenty years, and residents had always made up, and disagreements had never escalated. The conversation wounded his professional pride.

Mr Kim seemed taken aback by the apology, cheeks rosy. Dr Kim smiled at him and patted his shoulder. “See? A human-made apology isn’t that hard. So maybe I’ll wait for some real remorse from you too, shall I? Have a good night, Seokjin-ssi.”

Dr Kim exited the room, and Mr Kim stared after him, crossing his arms and mumbling “goddammit” to himself. How familiar Dr Kim had been! Not overly confrontational – well, a little – but stern and to the point. That was what the young generation needed, some firm guidance from upright men like Dr Kim.

Mr Kim stared at the door intently and yelled, “I will never apologise – you smug, conceited know-it-all!”

Caretaker Park shook his head. Well, that was not polite language at all! The situation was worse than he’d feared.

Mr Kim took in deep breaths, hands on his hips. “Goddammit, why does he look so good in a stupid headband?”

With this question left unanswered, Mr Kim left the waste disposal room. Caretaker Park remained crouching amidst Mrs Han’s unwanted furniture and wondered about the mysterious inner lives of the inhabitants of Riverside Complex.

On the way into his office, Namjoon ran into their Head of Department, Professor Lee – a world leading expert on eighteenth century Korean folk music.

She stopped him in his tracks. “Ah, I’m glad I ran into you – could you step into my office for a minute?”

Professor Lee’s office was bigger than the rest of theirs, with office sizes quietly signalling what rung of the career ladder they all were on. Namjoon had been working at the department for years now, having done a postdoc and a research fellowship in other Seoul universities before that. His dream, however, had always been to work here: the same university where he’d done his PhD.

Everyone cared deeply about university rankings: they were in the country’s top 10, at sixth place. The senior management was determined to push them into the top 5.

Namjoon was proud of having landed a prestigious role in such a noted institution. He’d worked brutally hard for his career – the son of an administrative clerk at SK Energy. Become an engineer, his father had always said. Namjoon could get a scholarship through SK Energy to study science!

But his love of music had been too strong. Hell, he’d even thought he’d become a musician – a rapper! In university, he, Hoseok, and Yoongi had started a hiphop group and released a few albums on a small label, performing at local festivals. We’ll become world famous, they’d boasted!

They hadn’t become world class superstars, but two university lecturers and a business owner.

Even so, he’d beaten the odds. First in his family to go to university. Lecturer in Contemporary Music.

Professor Lee took a seat behind her desk and said, “As you know, we will be hiring a permanent Lecturer in Contemporary Music soon, and I very much look forward to interviewing you.”

Namjoon having to be interviewed for the job he already had was a necessary bureaucratic hurdle to change his contract into a permanent one. He was willing to suck it up – to finally get out of the loop of having his contract renewed yearly.

“But to keep things in line with university guidance, we have to advertise the role externally, too – not just internally. So I hope you’re ready to handle some competition,” Professor Lee said good-naturedly, but Namjoon stared at her in astonishment.

He thanked her for the update and said he had students coming to see him.

He was nearly out of her office when she called after him with, “Oh, and Namjoon-ssi? Is that book of yours with the publisher yet?”

He gritted his teeth. “Nearly.”

Yoongi wasn’t in his office.

Namjoon went into his own – half the size of Professor Lee’s.

He’d been promised that job. That he would be interviewed and no one else. It was a formality, that was all!

And now the job would be open to all applicants, which meant dozens of researchers would apply from all over the country. He would have to fight complete strangers for his job!

University guidelines… That was fucking bullshit! Professor Lee was doing it as a power move, just to make Namjoon remember he ought to be grateful.

Professor Lee, the daughter of a banker. Even Yoongi was the son of a noted economist. Nearly all of his colleagues came from some kind of wealth or prestige, while Namjoon had not. They had lived simply on his father’s salary. Due to health issues, his mother had never worked full-time.

Namjoon had learned quickly, however, how to appear as if he belonged in these more privileged social classes. He had even learned to golf some years ago, although he found the sport tremendously boring. Never mind that, of course – the simple act of golfing was a class marker, and he needed basic skills should he ever be invited.

His parents, who did not understand the extent to which he had had to blur his background, were immensely proud of him. The years after his coming out had been difficult for them as a family, but his parents had found a way to accept him. Namjoon was a lecturer in one of the country’s top ten universities! They thought he was living like a king.

But within the castle that was the university itself, he wielded no power or influence. At thirty-nine, he was still on a temporary contract, and now Professor Lee wanted him to jump through yet another fucking hoop.

He couldn’t stay in his office to work – he was too enraged.

As he cycled homewards, he knew he’d suck it up: not complain, apply for the vacancy just like everyone else, attend the interview politely. He knew he interviewed well – he was confident, even, in keeping the job he had.

But the rules being changed so suddenly, the precarity of his position being dangled in front of him, reminded him of his first few weeks of grad school, when he had listened intently to the speech patterns of the smart, rich kids, and learned to copy them.

He changed the route halfway, leaving his bike a few blocks from the sauna. The place would be quiet mid-afternoon, although perhaps there’d be some guys there on a late lunch break. He wasn’t too worried: there was always someone worth hooking up with at Steam Box.

And on a day like today he needed to take a break from it all.

Seokjin returned to Old Flame with a cup of coffee and his head held high. Two girls were waiting outside the door, heeding the ‘back in five minutes’ sign that he’d left there half an hour ago.

Dr 511 had cycled right past him when he’d stepped out of the café. 511 was a grown man, but didn’t own a car? Embarrassing. Good for the environment, though, seeing as the planet was shrivelling up before their eyes and Seokjin’s generation would see coastal cities drown after the ice caps melted, but still it was pretty lame of Namjoon to be a cycling professor dude.

Seokjin had observed Namjoon park the bike further down the street. Where was he going? Not home, clearly, and not the usual coffee shop.

The neighbourhood had shrunk over the past few weeks: they both lived at Riverside Complex, went to the same nearby cafés, and Seokjin also worked (and partied) in the area. There were a few universities nearby too, and Seokjin assumed that Namjoon worked for one of these – he had not bothered asking which one.

And so they must have passed each other before, but without realising this. Why would they take notice of strangers?

Now, Seokjin saw Namjoon everywhere. He tried to think what shops or eateries were in the direction that Namjoon disappeared to but remained unsure.

After one of the girls had bought an old Chanel dress, Seokjin studied the map of the neighbourhood on his phone and tried to figure out where Namjoon had gone. To get his hair cut? To see a friend? To a noraebang?

Over drinks with Jimin and Taehyung that evening, he told them his theory that Namjoon had a second job as a pet groomer, because he’d left his bike around the corner from a pet salon.

“Professor by day, pet groomer by night. A weirdo, just like I thought,” he said, nibbling on a chicken bone conspiratorially.

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “You’re, like, weirdly obsessed with him.”

“What? Am not!”

Taehyung shot a sceptical look at him. “He’s all you’ve talked about for weeks now.”

“Yeah, what he said. Just how hot is he?”

“I mean, he’s hot for his age, you know, like if you have to turn forty, then the least you can do is have that kind of a body, or whatever, but he wears these dorky nerd glasses and parts his hair in the middle, which is kind of a shame because he’s actually quite handsome, and he grades student papers in this café late into the night, doing the stupidest concentration face that makes him look kind of endearing, or it might if you squint, you know.”

Jimin and Taehyung exchanged glances. Seokjin huffed. He was not obsessed! He didn’t want Dr 511 except to beat him in their turf war. His ChatGPT apology had only been intended as a temporary measure to buy him some time.

Jimin smiled knowingly. “Just admit that you have a crush on him.”

Seokjin gawked. “What? After he slut-shamed me right to my face? I don’t think so.”

When they had run into each other in the basement waste room, Namjoon had said that he’d crossed the line with his remarks. Namjoon had sounded heartfelt and sincere, with a soft look in his brown eyes, which had made Seokjin’s heart skip several beats. Then he recalled the smirk and the ‘see, it’s not that hard to say sorry’, or whatever the fuck Namjoon had said, and he seethed again.

He knew that he had an active sex life, but what of it? One of the joys of being gay was being free of the monogamous thought patterns that inflicted most people – or, at least, was inflicted upon them by society. People like him, however, viewed sex completely differently. There was no need to turn sex, a basic human need, into some kind of a me-or-no-one-else blackmail situation! Shit, weren’t they all just trying to get some?

He loved the thrill of meeting someone new – of tasting them for the first time, of touching them for the first time. He loved the addictive high, and there were simply so many fuckable men in all of Seoul that he refused to be shamed for his desires, especially by a bicycle riding loser who had more than made it clear that sleeping with Seokjin was a prospect that intrigued him – at least until they had realised that they were neighbours.

“I am actively planning his demise,” he declared.

Taehyung looked intrigued. “What have you got in mind?”

Seokjin deflated. “I’m not sure yet.”

They all leaned back, sharing the disappointment. Maybe a few more drinks could help them come up with some good ideas.

Namjoon nearly tripped on the box left outside his door. ‘Apartment 511’, the printed shipping label read, and he picked the box up and placed it in his entryway before rushing to work. He wasn’t sure what he’d ordered, but maybe it was the three free copies of an edited volume for which he’d written a chapter about the role of an underground acid trance movement on the 2020 legislative election.

The winter semester was getting on, with students realising that exams and deadlines were looming – his office hour was busy as students sought advice. He had the energy for it, however: he’d been sleeping well the past few weeks.

Disastrous as it had been, Yoongi confronting Seokjin had changed the man’s habits. There had been no loud fuck fest at three in the morning anymore. This was all Namjoon had ever really wanted, and so he hardly cared about the ChatGPT apology, even if he had teased Seokjin about it.

Seokjin had looked cute and flustered when they’d run into each other. He had these pink, plump lips, and when heat rose to his cheeks the shades of red nearly matched. He had dark, soulful eyes, which narrowed dangerously when he was angry. How could Namjoon not tease him a little?

“Dr Kim?” a student asked, and he realised he had been absently staring at her bullet point essay draft without a single productive thought in his head.

He cleared his throat, nodding. “Ah, yes – well, I think you want to reflect on the structure of this piece. Think about the flow of your argument.”

That evening, he stayed late typing in the edits of his book manuscript – he still had a hundred and twenty pages to go – and he nearly tripped on the box again when he got home.

Tired but relatively content, he carried the box to his round dining table, which was placed between the kitchen and the large windows looking onto the complex grounds. He pulled the tape off and pushed a hand into loose polystyrene chips that filled the box – and pulled out a twenty-centimetre dildo.

The purple dildo was pristinely packaged, its ridges and ‘lifelike’ contours visible through the plastic casing. The back said that the suction cup base would make it easy to attach the dildo to, say, a shower cubicle wall for ‘hands-free fun’.

Namjoon could not recall having ordered a twenty-centimetre dildo. That seemed like the kind of thing he’d remember ordering.

He pushed into the polystyrene pieces again and found a packaged, black silicone butt plug, and a three-piece cock ring set.

He studied these items, perplexed. He then closed the box and read the label: Apartment 511, Building 104, Riverside Complex Yes, that was him. Hapjeong-dong, Mapo-gu, Seoul…

His gaze moved back to the top. Recipient: Kim Seokjin

His throat tightened, and his hand squeezed around the packaged butt plug. He hadn’t even bothered checking the name.

Apartment 511: Dr Kim.

Apartment 510: Mr Kim.

Seokjin had made a mistake when ordering this – or someone else had made that mistake when ordering these for Seokjin.

He stuffed the toys back into the box because he was thinking about it. Visualising it. Seokjin using these toys – the dildo, the plug, the cock rings. How loud he’d be, how into it he’d be. He knew Seokjin was loud and needy during sex, boldly asking for exactly what he needed. To see him moaning and trembling, all fucked out… Maybe just a little helpless and a lot overwhelmed…

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t like he’d never seen, used, or owned sex toys, for god’s sake. He had sex toys of his own in the bedroom, and he knew already that his neighbour was frisky.

He went to drink a glass of water. Calmed down a little.

He should go to the sauna more often – burn off some of this energy. As it was, however, he hadn’t had much free time lately.

He did not bother to retape the box as he headed to knock on Seokjin’s door.

Seokjin was in the same blue pyjamas he’d been the time he and Yoongi had confronted him. He had a slight smudge of toothpaste in the corner of his mouth, like he’d just been getting ready to go to bed or, conversely, had only now gotten up.

“Namjoon-ssi?” Seokjin frowned, holding the door open. “You can’t tell me I’ve been making too much noise – I’ve been reading all night!”

Seokjin read? What kind of stuff? Fiction, non-fiction? The Kama Sutra?

Namjoon pushed the box into his arms. “This had the wrong address. It’s for you, but I opened it by accident. My apologies.”

Seokjin clutched the box to his chest with an air of suspicion. “So wait, you opened up my mail?”

Namjoon bit his tongue and stepped back, but the world turned into slow motion as Seokjin pulled out the plastic encased dildo. Seokjin’s eyes widened and his lips twisted into a smile. “Oh, it’s this. I was wondering why it was taking so long – the website promised express delivery.”

Want me to show you how to use it? – he did not say, thank fuck. Seokjin seemed like a twenty-three-year-old who knew full well how to use a dildo. In a shower. With water cascading down his naked form. Enjoying hands-free fun. Knees shaking. Letting out those needy moans Namjoon knew so well.

To Namjoon’s frustration, Seokjin owning his sexuality was incredibly attractive. Could Seokjin really take a twenty-centimetre dildo? Who even needed that many… Who even had that many…

“Happily united,” he said as neutrally as he could.

Seokjin kept the box under his arm while holding the dildo. “And urgently united, seeing as I can’t bring guys over anymore.”

“I never said you can’t bring guys over. I just said to be quiet at night.”

“Same thing, no?”

“It’s really not.”

Seokjin bit on his lower lip, exhaling deeply. His dark brown eyes carefully looked Namjoon over. God, he was beautiful.

If the circumstances had been a little different – if he were younger, if they just met in a bar or a bathhouse – then he would go to bed with Seokjin, no questions asked. He knew that, and the admission simmered low in his belly like molten lava. Seokjin was his type, or what a younger version of him would have considered to be his type.

Seokjin said, “Well, I am clearly taking the initiative here and taking matters into my own hands. Literally. Are you not proud of me?”

Namjoon blinked. Did Seokjin seek his approval now? For what? Masturbation?

“I don’t think it’s any of my business beyond some peace and quiet,” he said, calmly.

Seokjin dropped the dildo on top of the polystyrene. “Well. I’ll try my best to be quiet tonight, but I make no promises. Should I aim to climax at nine o’clock exactly so that I don’t break the curfew?”

The swirling attraction and want simmered down.

He held back an eyeroll. “Word of advice, Seokjin-ssi? Grow up.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re well into your twenties. There’s no need to act like an uppity teenager.”

Seokjin’s eyes narrowed. “Wow, you really hate it, don’t you? That I’m young and free and living my best life.”

He scoffed. A so-called best life. This?

“Oh, this is your best life? Fucking by night, scratching your balls by day?”

“I do not—”

“It’s more comfortable, isn’t it, to live like you don’t give a shit – because then you don’t have to admit that beneath the bravado, you’re scared shitless that no one will ever love you for who you are?”

Seokjin looked at him with wide, shocked eyes, and Namjoon already regretted what he’d said. Sangwook had been in his dreams again.

“Enjoy,” he said, motioning at the box of toys. Sharp anger burned in Seokjin’s eyes as he turned around and walked back to his apartment, half-expecting some kind of a snarky comeback.

But Seokjin said nothing at all.

Lying in bed that night, Namjoon struggled to sleep, listening as he was for noises from the other side of the wall. Small moans of pleasure. Sighs of ecstasy. The rhythmic, restless movement of wanton hips.

His imagination added himself to that scenario, using the toys on his neighbour. There would be no snarky comebacks when Seokjin was trembling under his administrations, legs splayed open.

He shifted restlessly, ignoring blood rushing to his groin. No – out of the question. Out of bounds.

He heard nothing at all through the wall and could not sleep.

Taehyung gasped as the three of them were sitting in the small dining area of the nearby 7-Eleven eating ramyeon. “Wait, you ordered sex toys to his apartment on purpose?”

Seokjin nodded, taking a stern sip of his peach iced tea. “This is psychological warfare.”

“In what? Fifty ways to tell your neighbour you’re gagging for his dick?” Jimin asked, making Seokjin stare at him viciously.

For the most part Namjoon was a quiet, respectful neighbour – if one overlooked the fact that Namjoon thought he could say whatever shit he wanted to Seokjin, schooling him like he was a brainless idiot. All that stuff about– about him partying because he didn’t love himself! Again he paraphrased because Namjoon’s actual words were not worthy of being memorised.

How the hell did Namjoon think it was okay to say that to him? Hadn’t Namjoon already once apologised for insulting him, only to do it again?

Of course he had ordered those sex toys to Namjoon’s apartment on purpose. Just to fuck with him, but that hardly justified Namjoon going off on him like that! He was childish? As if!

Jimin pushed the cup of ramyeon they were sharing over to him. “Come on now, eat a little more. You can’t skip meals just to be ready to bottom for the ahjussi next door at a moment’s notice.”

“Oh ha ha,” he replied, picking up chopsticks and going for the noodles. “He goddamn wishes he could have me.”

The 7-Eleven was quiet on a Saturday night, and usually the three of them would be having pre-drinks in a bar before going out clubbing, but Taehyung had a mild cold and Jimin refused to go out without him. Seokjin had had a mild cold a month ago and no one had doted on him over it. Ugh, couples.

Taehyung squinted at him, eyes twinkling. “Seokjin-ah, are you really this dramatic about being rejected?”

“I can handle rejection!” he defended too loudly, making the girl behind the counter look up from her phone. Seokjin flashed a polite smile at her – he recognised her from past visits; she always seemed friendly and sweet.

In a quieter tone, he said, “I do get rejected. There’s always a self-conceited top who thinks he can find someone hotter, and I’ve always handled it totally normally, thank you. Besides, I’m not trying to seduce my neighbour, I’m trying to best him.”

He focused on eating, listening to Jimin complain about Taehyung leaving their small kitchen a mess whenever he cooked, and Taehyung defending himself that dishes did not need to be washed immediately. Their tones were fond throughout, their bickering more akin to familiar flirting. Jimin and Taehyung had been best friends already when Seokjin had met them – he’d assumed them to be a couple at first, but they had clarified that wasn’t the case. Yes, they’d slept together a few times, but that was just some friendly sex. It wasn’t too long after that they’d realised they wanted to be boyfriends, and they had been obnoxious about their love ever since.

As he slurped on the noodles, the door to the 7-Eleven opened and the cashier perked up. Seokjin, to his surprise, watched Namjoon step inside.

He froze – a deer caught in headlights.

Then he ducked his head, trying to hide behind his friends.

Shit, shit, shit! He couldn’t let Namjoon see him in the convenience store, eating ramyeon from a cup on a Saturday night! Saturday night! He should be doing something fabulous, but instead he’d come out in his sweats with no makeup on!

Namjoon looked surprisingly handsome in the bright store lights. Those high cheekbones, those pouty lips, those dragon eyes… Ah, Namjoon wasn’t wearing his usual, black-rimmed glasses – probably had contacts in. This de-aged him. Was Namjoon on his way home or was he heading out?

Namjoon nodded to the cashier and headed to the drink display. Seokjin, hunched over, kicked at Jimin’s ankle. “It’s him. The tall guy looking at the drinks.”

Jimin and Taehyung nearly broke their necks from turning to look.

“Oh! He’s hot,” said Taehyung.

“Mm, he looks manly but also has quite delicate features?” said Jimin.

“I know, I know,” he whispered, trying to hide behind Jimin’s small frame. “What’s he doing? Don’t stare so much, just tell me, hyung!”

“Picking a drink and going to the counter. Now he’s talking to the cashier.”

“Wha, he’s got an energy to him, doesn’t he?” Taehyung said, rubbing at his lower lip.

Jimin hummed in agreement. “Yeah, like a sexy daddy vibe. The shop girl is turning bright red just from him buying an energy drink. Oh, and now they’re laughing and— dimples? I get your obsession now.”

“One, it’s not an obsession. Two – an energy drink? At this hour?” he asked, finally lifting his head, suspicion filling him. Namjoon had his back to them, wishing the cashier a good night.

Seokjin processed this for a second. Two. Three—

He stood up so fast that the chair screeched. “Let’s follow him. No, I’m not kidding – come on!”

Jimin and Taehyung exchanged glances, but he pouted at them, and his hyungs could not say no.

Namjoon was tall enough for them to easily spot him turning at the corner ahead – away from Riverside Complex. Namjoon was not walking home.

A few blocks in, Jimin said, “Does this constitute stalking? I’m asking for the police report I’ll presumably have to sign later.”

“Shh,” he said, although they kept a decent distance, with Jimin and Taehyung having linked arms.

They entered a busier area with restaurants and bars, and enough people were around for the three of them not to look suspicious for heading the same way as a tall man one block ahead. Namjoon walked past all these bars, clearly knowing where he was heading. Was Namjoon meeting friends? A lover? A shrink? Namjoon seemed to be downing the energy drink as he went.

“I’m texting Jungkook so that someone has our last location in case we mysteriously disappear,” Jimin said, walking and texting at the same time.

“Stop gossiping about me,” he complained, eyes firmly fixed on Namjoon, who crossed the street and turned left.

“Jungkook says that this sounds illegal and that he recommends that we delete the messages because this could be used as evidence in court.”

“Walk faster or we’ll lose him!”

And, sure enough, they rounded the corner and came to a stop. The street continued in slight uphill, but Namjoon was no longer ahead of them. Seokjin stopped. Swirled around, confused. Namjoon had gone somewhere, but the few shops on the narrow street looked closed.

“Where did he…?” he muttered, hastening up the street.

“Seokjin-ah.” Taehyung had stopped, eyes fixed on the shop fronts across the street. There was a closed hair salon and a clothing store, and between them was a shop with no windows, just a black door.

Seokjin took this in, confused – not seeing what Taehyung was seeing. “What?”

The sign above the door was a black square with white, squiggly vertical stripes, like vapour.

Jimin let out a low whistle. “That’s Steam Box. You know, the gay sauna?”

As if on cue, the black door opened and a man with a cap, mask, sunglasses and hood over his head stepped out, head low, walking away briskly – a firm ‘I was never here, and no one saw me’ beeline up the street.

Seokjin stared, astonished.

Gay sauna.

Oh god. Namjoon was a pervert! Which was not a critique, of course – Seokjin loved perverts. But Namjoon had been so holier-than-thou all this time, pretending to be an angelic puritan, when in fact he had a habit of dropping by the neighbourhood gay sauna on a Saturday night?!

He took two steps onto the street, but Jimin hauled him back. “We are not going in!”

“Of course we’re going in! Don’t you want to know what he’s doing there?”

Taehyung laughed, still clinging onto Jimin’s arm. “He’s doing what everyone else is: fucking.”

“That’s what gay bathhouses are for,” Jimin said matter-of-factly, like he was somehow an expert on them.

Seokjin had never been to Steam Box or any gay bathhouse, although of course he knew they existed. There were plenty of gay bathhouses around, mostly in Itaewon. Steam Box was, as far as he knew, the closest such establishment to Riverside Complex.

He was dismayed. Gay saunas, to him, signalled hedonistic orgies and closeted married men, and he wondered what exactly the draw for someone like Namjoon was.

Well. Maybe the orgies and closeted married men?

Jimin would not let go of his jacket sleeve and pulled him back down the street. “Come on, let’s get going. My Taehyungie is getting cold.”

They discussed these developments on their way to the nearby subway station. Jimin thought gay saunas were kind of old-fashioned, something invented when the only option was to be closeted, and Seokjin mostly shared that impression. Besides, Jimin said, didn’t bathhouses essentially commercialise and depersonalise and capitalise gay sex? Taehyung disagreed, saying that gay saunas were a wonderful celebration of sexual liberation, honouring the boning of hot dudes like baby Jesus intended.

Seokjin was not sure where in scripture baby Jesus had said that, but Taehyung had been brought up by a very religious grandmother, so maybe baby Jesus had known what’s up.

Jimin said, “Sure, I take your point – it’s great to have a safe place for men to have casual sex. But when I think of the closeted men or married men whose only option that place is…”

“But we don’t know their lives,” Taehyung argued. “Don’t they deserve to get off, too? And, if you think about it, don’t they deserve male touch more than anyone? Besides, the vast majority of guys who go there are out, anyway. Let’s face it: fucking strangers is sexy, and the bathhouse exists to make that easy.”

Was it sexy or not? Seokjin could not make up his mind.

Seokjin stayed up late, awake and alert, until shortly after midnight he heard Namjoon return home.

Alone. Of course.

After all, why would Namjoon ever need to bring anyone home? He’d already concluded his business at the sauna.

He smiled to himself, pleased. He had him – god, he had him.

Afterwards Seokjin wondered if he’d been too defiant. He was in a mood, that was for sure, spending the next few days feverishly gathering up the courage to go to Steam Box. He went to gay clubs often enough with the intent to fuck – this wasn’t so different, was it?

A gay bathhouse was, however, a completely different world.

There were likely rules that he wouldn’t be privy to, and not knowing how the saunas worked made him anxious. He watched a few pornos set in gay bathhouses, but these of course took some artistic licences. He then read articles on gay sauna etiquette, which confirmed what Jimin had said: they existed for men to fuck other men. If you didn’t want to fuck, that was fine! Don’t feel pressured – you can say no, that’s not a big deal! But, p.s., everyone else there is down to fuck.

Reading about all this fucking left him quite riled up, of course. He listened to Namjoon coming and going during these days, whenever they both happened to be home at the same time. Was Namjoon going out for a run? To work? To meet a friend? To fuck men in that bathhouse?

There was no clear rhythm to Namjoon’s days and weeks that he could discern. If he was quick enough, he’d rush to turn on the doorbell camera to see Namjoon depart. Running clothes… Nerdy professor clothes… Oh, no glasses! Did that mean the sauna? It was smarter, after all, to wear contacts there.

(Were his friends right? Was he obsessed? No! He was normal!)

All this thinking led him to Grindr to find someone interested in some afternoon delight. He soon started chatting with a man advertising himself as a top with a sixteen-centimetre cut dick. After they’d exchanged dick pics (more like thirteen centimetres, he estimated, which was fine enough), he sent the man his address.

The guy was in his late twenties and not bad looking - dark eyes and a chiselled jaw. Many men on Grindr did not include pictures of their faces for fear of a coworker spotting them, which was one of the reasons Seokjin preferred clubs: that way you knew what you were going to get.

(Was that why Namjoon preferred the gay sauna – seeing men in the nude so that you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into?)

The guy was relatively attractive. Not overly smiley or friendly, barely reacting to Seokjin’s jokes about shoe sizes indicating dick size as he left his trainers at the door. Seokjin was a little disheartened, but they were not there for comedy, he supposed.

Yet there was something about Thirteen Centimetres that he did not quite like. It was like there was a disconnect between his mouth and eyes: when he smiled, it did not reach his eyes.

They still went straight to bed, and soon the guy humped on top of him vigorously.

Seokjin tried to get lost in the encounter, but his mind wandered. It was late afternoon, so he wasn’t disobeying Namjoon’s wishes to keep it quiet at night. Ergo, he could fuck during the day – correct?

(Was Namjoon home? Could he hear them?)

Namjoon seemed to work from home at least half of the week. Sometimes he heard faint music, but this was always turned off around nine o’clock the latest. At other times, he heard voices and laughter. Friends? Family? Lovers?

Namjoon was painfully single – who would date someone with such serious personality defects? – although perhaps Namjoon also had sex buddies or more casual relationships with men who weren’t invited to his home. After all, having sex with just one person was kind of a bummer. It was good to have options. Take Jimin and Taehyung, for example: yes, I love you and I am committed to you, but I have a high sex drive and want to have sex with others too. That’s just sex after all – I’m not dating them, and I am not in a relationship with them. I get off, and then I come home to you, because you’re the person I love and am committed to.

Jungkook sometimes pushed back on their shared convictions that open relationships were simply the only way to go – bless his monogamous heart.

And so to Seokjin there was a certain kind of honesty in his neighbour’s sauna orgies, which he could not truthfully discredit Namjoon for.

(Was Namjoon home right then? Was he listening? Was he—)

“Ugh, I’m gonna come,” Thirteen Centimetres announced. Oh fuck, Seokjin had forgotten all about him!

The guy pulled out and fisted his dick until he came on Seokjin’s stomach. ‘What, already?’ Seokjin wanted to ask, but he’d learned to take these kinds of situations as compliments. Men got riled up around him easily.

Thankfully, the man sucked his dick until he climaxed. Some tops lost interest in such favours as soon as they came, so the guy got points for this.

Seokjin went for a shower, feeling a little calmer after getting fucked – it always helped relax him, and no that wasn’t because he secretly hated himself or whatever shit. Was Grindr, now that he thought of it, a digital gay bathhouse? The comparison did not feel out of place.

Seokjin pulled on a fresh pair of red briefs and, upon returning to the bedroom, found Thirteen Centimetres fully dressed and stuffing Seokjin’s recently purchased Samsung Notebook in Rose Gold into his backpack.

Seokjin stopped. Stared.

The man stared at him.

The man was robbing him!

“Hey, what the fuck are you—”

Quick on his feet, the man pushed Seokjin aside and ran out of the room. He stumbled, almost fell over, but caught the doorframe and steadied himself. He ran after the man, heart racing – that was his fucking laptop! – but the guy had already pushed his feet back into the trainers he’d left at the door.

“Hey! Hey, stop the fuck there!”

Seokjin reached him, grabbed the black hoodie and tried reaching for the backpack, but the guy snatched his wrist painfully and forced him to let go. The guy shoved him backwards, and he landed ass first onto the floor. He was aware of pain at his wrist as he tried to break his fall, but in the rush of it all this barely registered.

“Pathetic loser – and a lousy fuck,” the guy spat at him with a venom that chilled him. Seokjin stared up at the stranger he’d invited into his house. The man’s eyes were black.

The man opened the door and ran out, but Seokjin got up and followed in nothing but his underwear, yelling, “Hey! Hey, stop, you motherfucker!”

The guy was already heading down the stairs. Seokjin stopped by the lift to press the arrow down, cursing as he realised this was useless. He followed the guy down the stairs, skipping steps as he tried to catch up. The guy was at least two flights of stairs ahead, but Seokjin was quick on his feet.

The man reached the ground floor before him, and Seokjin ran out into the small lobby that housed the lift and the mailboxes, hot in pursuit.

As the man was heading for the doors, they opened ahead of him. Seokjin’s heart dropped – the guy would run straight onto the complex grounds! Seokjin, shoeless, would never catch up to him!

Someone was entering the building, stepping right onto the thief’s path. It was Namjoon, Seokjin realised through a rush of adrenaline, who was idly scrolling on his phone, but he looked up and saw the two of them running towards him. One in a black hoodie, the other in nothing but bright red briefs.

The thief moved to run past Namjoon, with Seokjin too far behind to reach him even as he tried to yell for him to stop.

The man reached the doors. His left foot was already outside.

Namjoon stuck out his leg.

The man tripped violently, falling right in the doorway, face first. He rolled onto his side awkwardly with a groan, the heavy door thumping his head as it tried to close. The backpack flew onto the lobby floor.

Seokjin stuttered to a halt. Namjoon shot a sharp, bewildered look at him.

“He— He took my— In his bag, he—”

Namjoon kicked the backpack towards him and, as the guy was trying to get back up to his feet, Namjoon pressed him back down with the press of his shoe. Seokjin’s hands shook as he struggled with the zipper. He pulled his laptop out and dropped the bag, clutching the laptop to his bare chest.

“That’s it?” Namjoon asked, still holding the guy down with the press of his boot.

Seokjin nodded, startled, and Namjoon stepped back. The guy grabbed the backpack and staggered out the door, coughing loudly, before breaking into a run.

Seokjin stared after him, heart beating wildly in his chest. “And I’m not a lousy fuck!” he yelled after the man angrily while he still could.

Namjoon looked after the man with his jaw set tight, gaze darkened.

Seokjin tried to catch his breath enough to give an explanation. The two of them had been— And then the guy had— Out of nowhere and—

Namjoon approached him, but no coherent explanation came to him. Namjoon took off his coat and wrapped it around his bare shoulders. He looked down in surprise – oh, right, he was practically naked.

Namjoon gently took a hold of his elbow and turned him around with, “Come on.”

Five minutes later, Seokjin was sitting at the round dining table of Namjoon’s apartment. They had nearly the same layout, he’d discovered, except mirrored. This was why their bedrooms were pressed together.

The place was full of books and art – real art, not prints you bought of impressionist masterpieces in museum gift shops. It looked like a grown up lived there. Namjoon even had quite a few houseplants. You had to be at least thirty to keep that many plants alive.

The kettle came to a boil and clicked off just as Namjoon returned from the bathroom. Seokjin was now wearing an extra-large t-shirt that Namjoon had picked up from the couch and told him to pull on. He’d obeyed, taking off the coat and pulling the shirt over his head. The white t-shirt had an abstract swirl of colours on the front and, designed to be oversized, covered him to mid-thigh. The fabric smelled good, like an earthy cologne. Namjoon. He smelled good.

Namjoon sat down and turned the dining chair to face him. “Let’s see.”

Seokjin offered his right wrist, which hurt like hell as he tried to bend it. They’d concluded it wasn’t broken – Seokjin would know if something had snapped in two. Still, he’d twisted it badly when trying to break his fall, and he hissed as Namjoon wrapped a black, orthopaedic wrist support around his hand.

“I get bad wrist pain during marking season,” Namjoon explained, voice perfectly calm and level, but Seokjin had not forgotten the fierce, angered look on his face from only moments earlier. Like some kind of a beast. A dragon. “I spend hours and days reading student work on the marking software the university uses. Constant clicking, typing, scrolling. After a few days, my right hand starts acting out. The wrist support helps.”

Seokjin looked around the kitchen and living room blankly, wondering how the apartment could feel so different from his own.

In the corner of the living room was a large desk with two monitors. On both sides of the desk were wall-length bookcases full of thick volumes. Closer to the windows that faced the grounds of the complex was a TV and a couch, and once more a wall-length shelving unit – this one full of LPs, with a side table for a record player. The music that Seokjin could sometimes hear through the wall likely came from there. The colour palette was full of dark browns and forest greens. A few scented candles were placed here and there on the shelves and tables.

Seokjin’s apartment was just next door. His uncle had put most of his stuff in storage when leaving for Sri Lanka, telling Seokjin to decorate as he wished. In all these months, he hadn’t decorated at all. The place felt neglected, and he hadn’t realised it until then.

“Seokjin-ah?”

He stirred, focusing on Namjoon again. He was still a little dazed.

“The water boiled,” he managed.

Namjoon served him lukewarm chamomile tea. They sipped their drinks in silence, with him lifting the cup with his left hand. He could tell Namjoon was busy thinking. His rescued laptop was on the round dining table as an awkward memento of what’d happened, next to a thick stack of papers.

“What’s that?” he asked, just to say something.

“My book manuscript.”

“You’ve written a book?”

The corners of Namjoon’s mouth turned upwards ever so slightly. “It’s my second book. It’s sort of what we researchers do.”

He nodded like he’d known this. His mathematics lecturers had definitely been busy publishing papers, so it figured that Namjoon did that too. His supervisor had told him that she thought his planned undergraduate dissertation on the Weissmann Conjecture might be worthy of publication, too, if he polished it up afterwards!

Not that he’d ever done that.

Or even written the dissertation to begin with.

He was grateful that Namjoon had intervened in the lobby because buying a new laptop was expensive. At the same time, it was difficult for him to save face in a situation like this.

“Well?” he said at length, sighing. “Aren’t you going to tell me how stupid and reckless and childish I’ve been?”

“Why would I tell you that when you already know?” Namjoon asked, still not looking at him but lost in thought.

“I can’t do a background check on every guy I meet.”

“Of course not. Most guys just want sex, after all, and then leave.”

Seokjin frowned, not having expected Namjoon to be on his side. “Well. Yes. Exactly.”

Namjoon finally looked at him, but Seokjin struggled to meet his gaze. “But you should be more careful. You’re lucky this guy was after a laptop and nothing else. Take home whoever you like but trust your gut. If he makes you uneasy, walk away. Don’t be dumb.”

In truth, he could think of a handful of hook ups who’d made him uneasy, including Thirteen Centimetre Fucking Thief Guy. He decidedly did not admit this to Namjoon.

Namjoon looked at him sternly. “Do you have someone to call if shit ever hits the fan? A friend – a real friend, not just someone you go clubbing with, but someone who actually cares if you pass out from overdrinking?”

He usually had a few drinks at clubs to get him to relax, but beyond that he wasn’t actually a big drinker. Even so, the mental image of his lifeless body made something inside his chest feel icy and pained.

“Yeah, I have real friends. They’re good people.”

“Good. And have you ever thought of taking self-defence classes? Don’t roll your eyes – I’m not saying you’re defenceless. At least you’re bigger than most people. Oh, come on, I wasn’t calling you fat – if anything, I think you should get fat. You’re skin and bones.”

“I’m naturally lean. And this is muscle!”

“Uh huh, sure. Look, you’re not small, that’s what I’m saying. You’re, well – kind of the size I was at your age. I used to be quite skinny,” Namjoon said, motioning at his thick, muscled form vaguely. Seokjin stirred with interest, wondering where to see pictures of Namjoon in his early twenties. Had he been hot then too? “If you learned how to correctly land a punch, you could beat most people. Might be worth considering.”

Was that where Namjoon had learned to stomp on someone like that – a self-defence class?

“I’m fine, really. That guy just— took me by surprise.”

“Alright,” Namjoon conceded, still sounding irate and taking a sip of the tea. Namjoon rubbed his brow. “But look, if you ever find yourself doing dumb shit and need backup and your friends aren’t picking up, for whatever reason, then… come knock on my door.”

A wave of intense emotion that Seokjin could not identify washed over him. Namjoon’s offer begged a snarky response – something with mockery and condescension. Yet nothing came to him, nor did he search for such an answer.

Sitting at Namjoon’s dining room in an oversized t-shirt and red briefs, he simply said, “Sure. Whatever.”

This was his way of saying ‘thank you’.

He hesitated before deciding he had nothing left to lose. “Is, ah. Is that why you go to Steam Box? Because it’s safer than bringing guys home?”

Namjoon did not react at all at first, seeming to freeze slightly. He then looked completely surprised. “You go to Steam Box?”

“Why? Have you never seen me there?” he challenged, lying through his teeth. He jutted out his chin a little. Sure, he went to Steam Box! Or he could, you know, if he wanted to!

Namjoon’s arrogant, smart brain was clearly having trouble processing the news. Seokjin sensed instantly that Namjoon was not happy to have his secret revealed, with Namjoon refusing to meet his gaze. “The, uh, I don’t go that often, so— Did you see me there? When?”

He’d hit a nerve.

He shrugged. “A while back, I don’t remember exactly. But I was in the pool, so you probably didn’t see me.”

He’d been to Steam Box’s website and seen the small pools and jacuzzis. He didn’t know how believable his scenario was, but a faint blush had emerged on Namjoon’s cheeks. He was uncomfortable, Seokjin could tell. Ha, he had unearthed Namjoon’s dirty little secret! See? They both had habits that were, for the vast majority of people, unorthodox.

“You should be careful there too. The same rule applies – if he makes you feel unsafe, don’t go into a playroom with him.”

Playroom. Fuck.

Namjoon stood up with restless air, picking up their emptied teacups. Namjoon clearly did not want to talk about Steam Box. Was he ashamed? How interesting if so.

Seokjin followed him into the kitchen.

“I can handle myself just fine,” he said loftily, before recalling he was in briefs and a t-shirt in Namjoon’s apartment, his wrist all wrapped up.

Namjoon seemed to pick up on the irony too, looking incredulous as he placed the cups by the sink. “Can you? Because I think you’re a mess.”

Seokjin balked. “What makes you think you can criticise me all the time? I think it’s you who has some serious issues like–”

Like frequenting the neighbourhood gay bathhouse while pretending to be morally superior, he did not say, because Namjoon did an aborted move.

Like he was about to reach out and touch Seokjin’s hair, perhaps brush strands behind his ear, but then stopped himself at the last second.

That split second nevertheless made Seokjin’s heart skip a beat, leaving words to die on his tongue.

They looked at each other quietly.

The room smelled of chamomile tea.

Namjoon walked through campus slowly, taking the place in with fresh eyes. The department had just advertised the vacancy of Lecturer in Contemporary Music – his job.

An unsettling feeling at the pit of his stomach now reminded him that it was no longer guaranteed he would continue at the university after the summer break. It was not guaranteed he would have any kind of a job at all.

The campus had been modelled after American universities – vast open spaces with tall trees and well-maintained lawns, quadrangles lined with imposing, white-stone and modern university buildings. If one looked over the buildings, the mountains of northern Seoul loomed in the distance, and a step out of the campus gates brought one immediately back down to the whirlpool of a bustling metropolis.

Namjoon was always inspired walking around campus. Around him were centres of knowledge and expertise – brilliant minds hard at work, developing a new theory of philosophy or postulating what really went on in a black hole. The campus always made him want to strive for excellence. The Music Department was amongst the best in the country, and people gave him credence purely upon learning his affiliation.

He had done his PhD there and dreamt of one day working at the same institution – he and Sangwook both. Neither of them had worked there after their PhDs, however. They’d found fellowships in other institutions, struggling to find permanent jobs, until Sangwook had gotten the contract in Osaka. Namjoon had been happy for him. When he got the temporary role in his dream institution – their shared alma mater – Sangwook had been happy for him, too.

They’d already split up then.

Namjoon told him the news in an email.

It was early March, and in a few weeks the cherry blossom season would arrive. The days were significantly longer, the sun coming up earlier each day and setting later. Namjoon felt like he was waking up after a long, dark winter – which was true, of course. He felt that waking up intensely when looking into the eyes of Mr Kim of 510. Seokjin. What a mess that boy was.

Yet it had increasingly started to feel like it was a mess he was now in.

How had Seokjin known about the bathhouse?

He doubted whether Seokjin had ever actually been to Steam Box – or, if Seokjin had, then certainly he was not a regular. Maybe Seokjin had gone once out of curiosity. Plenty of men did. But had that one visit really coincided with Namjoon’s own presence?

If so, how had he not seen Seokjin there?

It was evening already, and so the campus was quiet, the day’s lectures having long since finished. Still the library looked busy with students, the doors opening and closing – was that Jeon Jungkook in the distance? Yoongi had reported he was doing well, no surprise there.

Namjoon unlocked his bike and got ready to head home after a long day. He still had to work on his book edits that evening, so he was far from being done. And, of course, he now had to start writing a job application for his own job.

Humiliating.

He knew how he’d normally treat himself right then: he’d cycle to Steam Box, be given one of their white towels, then get changed in the locker room. After this he’d shower and go soak in one of the pools for ten or so minutes. Decide who he wanted to fuck.

Get out of the water, extend an invite. Sometimes he’d get rejected, but in truth that was a rare occurrence. As a top vers, he easily outnumbered the bottoms. Then, enter the darkened corridor with playrooms – find a vacant one. Hell, or don’t: find an occupied, unlocked room and fuck next to another couple. Maybe even swap if everyone was into it.

Back to the shower room. Clean up. Rub at his aching shoulder. Get dressed. Dump the white towel into the laundry bin at the exit.

Cycle home. Eat dinner. Work late into the night.

This was what he would normally do.

Now: what if Seokjin was at the sauna? What if he was there with his dark eyes and long lashes and red lips and perfect face and perfect hair and perfect skin?

He had a vivid memory of Seokjin in nothing but red briefs – aggressively red, kind of cute – all flustered after that guy had tried robbing him. Long, pale legs and toned arms. Broad, strong shoulders, but a narrow waist. A flat, smooth stomach, and dark, erect nipples. The frozen image was erotic: Seokjin had a beautiful body, lean and strong, and the briefs had left little to the imagination. But once the still image shifted back into motion, fearful anxiety filled Seokjin’s eyes as he chased after the thief. Namjoon felt a pang of guilt for having noticed the physical at all.

And yet he remembered it. The brush of his fingers against bare, soft skin as he slid his coat over Seokjin’s exposed shoulders.

Of course he’d helped Seokjin. He’d spent the night worried, even, wondering what the hell to do about the kid. Not that it was his business, of course – not my circus, not my monkeys.

But what if Seokjin brought home the wrong kind entirely? Someone violent or abusive? One of those deeply closeted men who flipped out and turned on you for making them gay.

See, the bathhouse was better that way. If anyone stepped out of line, they’d get thrown out fast.

Strength in numbers.

Aish, Seokjin should be more careful…

But Seokjin was young, free, and deeply desirable, so why not throw caution to the wind and have some fun? Namjoon thought that perhaps he, too, had been fun once. A very long time ago. The bathhouse had been fun too, at first – and of course it still was. The thrill of a new conquest, the mystery of who these men were… But the sauna was also a habit, something to do when he was horny and needed to get off.

He’d started going to the sauna after he’d suggested an open relationship to Sangwook. Sangwook had agreed and flown back to Osaka, and Namjoon had been left wondering what to do with this newly acquired sexual freedom. He’d been with Sangwook for eight years at that point – how did you find hook ups?

Once he’d made his way to the sauna, he’d never looked back. There was no need for chitchat and seduction, no need to pretend you didn’t want sex. It was exciting and efficient – and discreet, of course, which he valued. He was in a relationship, after all, and while his sexuality was an open secret amongst his colleagues, he didn’t advertise it. The world was not that tolerant.

After he told Sangwook that they should break up, just some four months before their tenth anniversary, he kept going to the sauna. It was a habit by then, he supposed.

This was how he had lived since.

It was funny that, between losing his virginity and his mid-thirties, he had only slept with a handful of men.

Since then?

He’d lost count.

He cycled downhill to the campus gates and started heading south.

Should he go to the sauna or just straight home to work on his book? God, that book. He was staying up until two in the morning each night to get the edits done, but he was so close to it being finished.

And yet he had that itch. That want.

Perfect hair, perfect skin. Clean, manly scent – a trace of that musky shower gel that was on offer in the shower room. The warmth of him, the feel of him, the fast, rushed breaths as this man he didn’t even know got close to orgasm, and all the while someone was at the open door watching them, and it made it hotter, so much hotter, and—

But if Namjoon went to the sauna and Seokjin was there, he’d do something he’d regret. He’d realised that the second Seokjin had brought up the sauna. A sinking, burning feeling in his gut: that if he walked in on Seokjin sitting in the steam room, white towel unfolded, leaning back with glistening skin, he would get down on his knees.

No sauna that evening. No sauna until the book was done.

Making up his mind, he cycled home, dragging his imagination away from the dimly lit rooms that Seokjin might occupy.

He sensed spring in the air.

Chapter Text

III

Taehyung examined the wrist support closely. “Wiggle your fingers for me.”

Seokjin obeyed, wiggling them. “See? It’s fine. I don’t think I even need to wear this thing anymore, but it makes for an interesting fashion statement.”

“Wha, I can’t believe you kicked that guy’s ass,” Taehyung said, admiring Seokjin’s hand and making Jimin nod in agreement.

Jungkook was trying to catch up on all of this.

His Masters studies had started in full force, and he’d fallen behind on the latest updates from his friends. The last that he’d checked, Seokjin had been fighting with a neighbour of his, who apparently was an old yet surprisingly fuckable professor that frequented gay bathhouses. Jimin had whispered in his ear that Seokjin had a crush on this man, but this didn’t seem like Seokjin, who’d never had a boyfriend. Seokjin liked hooking up with guys – the handsomer, the better.

Speaking of which, some guy Seokjin had slept with had tried stealing his laptop, and so Seokjin had kicked the guy’s ass and kicked him out. He had a sore wrist to prove it!

They were all awed. Who knew Seokjin had such skills? But, then again, Seokjin was extremely athletic.

They spent most of the evening discussing Seokjin’s dramatic encounter, although the rest of them got to share their stories, too, about annoying bosses and work projects.

Jungkook was the only one still studying. Well, technically speaking this was not true: Seokjin was still registered as a student with his old university – he’d been doing a degree in mathematics – but because this was a sore topic for Seokjin, they did not bring it up anymore. Besides, Seokjin seemed content working at Old Flame, with his university days behind him.

Jungkook did not feel as mature as he would have liked, hanging out with his friends who had stories about office rivalries, competitive coworkers, and apartment building dramas and all of it.

All he could report was that Dr Min was still the coolest lecturer ever, and that his Dr Kim had promised to read over his research proposal. “Not Seokjin’s Dr Kim – my Dr Kim, who is really cool, handsome, and smart,” he boasted.

“Maybe we could swap,” Seokjin suggested, making them all laugh.

Jungkook was glad that Jimin had befriended him in taekwondo some years earlier because he wasn’t very good at making friends. Even now his friends were likely heading to a club to hit on boys, but Jungkook would cite all the reading he had to do and go home. Clubs and strangers made him nervous. Seokjin had been the same when they’d first met, the two of them playing video games late into the night instead of going out drinking, but at some point, Seokjin had changed. Right around the time he’d flunked out of university.

Fine, Seokjin had been sleeping around campus too – they’d heard plenty of those stories – but the air with which Seokjin conducted his affairs had turned, well, messier since then.

But, again, they didn’t bring that up anymore.

Seokjin surprised him that night, however, by joining him instead of Jimin and Taehyung, who were heading to a trendy gay club nearby. And so they walked together through Hongdae, which was busy with youngsters and foreign students.

“Why didn’t you go to the club? It’s Friday night,” he asked.

“I go to clubs to pick up men but imagine the handjob I’d give right now. It’d be a miserable time – flop, flop,” Seokjin said, mimicking a limp jerking off motion that made Jungkook laugh. “Besides, my neighbour is still testy about too much noise. Sad, old perv.”

A group of guys passed them, staring at them openly. Well, at Seokjin, who was handsome, but maybe at him a little too. He didn’t look half-bad in his own estimation, and Jimin was always telling him how handsome he was and that he should be more confident.

“Do you think they wanted me or you? I’d say you,” Seokjin said.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

Seokjin poked into his ribs with his good hand, and he took the bait, trying to get Seokjin into a headlock. This turned into a scuffle of them trying to best each other, with Seokjin kicking at his feet and yelling that it was unfair to attack someone already wounded. He let Seokjin go without hurting him.

Seokjin straightened up and fixed his hair, cheeks rosy and eyes bright. “I will get you one day, old man. One day.”

“Sure,” he said, biting back a grin. “And I’m only three months older than you, kiddo.”

The way those men had looked at Seokjin lingered in his mind: hungry eyes undressing him. Given the fight Seokjin had gotten into with the Grindr guy, walking his friend home seemed the least he could do.

“You know how you’re into boxing these days,” Seokjin said as they walked along.

“What of it?”

“Well, maybe I could join you. You know, once my wrist is better. Learn some basic moves.”

He smiled. “Yeah, that’d be fun. I think you’d be good at it, too.”

Seokjin nodded but exhaled deeply. “I just can’t take punches to my face. There won’t be any of that, will there?”

He assured Seokjin that it wasn't a problem for the kind of boxing he did.

They were only a few blocks away from Riverside Complex when Seokjin stopped outside a café. Seokjin squinted, peering inside. “Oh. He’s actually there.”

“Who?”

“My neighbour.”

“The sauna guy?”

“Yeah, the guy at the back.”

Jungkook looked at a man sitting far inside the café with his back to them. He appeared to be typing on a laptop – had neat black hair, broad shoulders, and that was all Jungkook could make out of him.

“So that’s your enemy.”

Seokjin frowned. Bit on his lower lip. “What? No, I… I wouldn’t call him that.”

Jungkook laughed. “Two weeks ago you were telling us he was your nemesis. Remember all that stuff about slut-shaming? And now it turns out he’s no saint himself?”

“Well, he’s got a big deadline coming up for his book. I didn’t know that back then. Sounds stressful, right? Like, imagine writing an entire book. He was right that I wasn’t being a considerate neighbour.”

Jungkook stared at his friend in disbelief. “Did you guys make peace? When?”

“No, nothing like that. I still think he’s an arrogant prick – and so goddamn patronising.” Seokjin scraped at the asphalt beneath their feet with the tip of his shoe, gaze focused on it. “He’s working late on a Friday night. That’s pretty sad, right?”

Jungkook sensed Seokjin’s reluctance in leaving, but they did. Jimin had teased Seokjin about having a crush, but only then did Jungkook think Jimin was right. The guy was way older and reportedly rude, but Seokjin seemed driven to distraction by him. Jungkook was left perplexed trying to figure out why Seokjin was interested in a man like that at all.

Seokjin bid him farewell at the bus stop, telling him to study hard. This surprised Jungkook. He’d been worried, maybe, that continuing his studies would be a painful reminder to Seokjin that he hadn’t finished his bachelor’s degree. But Seokjin said it sincerely, and this eased Jungkook’s mind.

Seokjin then tried to launch on him and put him into a headlock, but Jungkook had seen this coming and blocked him.

“Alright, alright, I was just testing you,” Seokjin said.

“Be more careful, Mr. Hand in Cast.”

“Yah, it’s a wrist support!”

From the back of the bus, he glanced over his shoulder to see Seokjin walk away from the stop. He frowned because Seokjin did not cross the street to enter the grounds of Riverside Complex.

In fact, it looked like Seokjin was taking the path they’d come, heading back into the neighbourhood.

Back to the café?

Aish, Seokjin was so stubborn! Once something caught his attention, he would not let it go. Poor Dr Kim was about to find that out for himself.

Ah, what to do with their youngest, Seokjinnie? A wild child – only Jimin reached the same level of chaos.

Speaking of whom, Jimin had sent their group chat a picture of him and Taehyung with soju shots in their hands, the background a blur of colours and half-naked men and go-go boys. He smiled at this – he loved his friends. He didn’t know what he’d do on a Friday night without them.

Once home in the four-bedroom apartment that he shared with three other postgraduates, he started working on his research proposal so that Dr Kim could look it over.

Hoseok felt deeply concerned when Namjoon informed him that he was sleep working. Sleepwalking he’d heard of – that was actually a thing. Sleep working, however?

“I’m telling you, that’s what happened,” Namjoon said, pushing a restless hand through his hair as they sat in Namjoon’s office at the Music Department. Hoseok had come to collect Namjoon and Yoongi to an art exhibit that a friend of his had some of her work in.

“So, let me get this straight,” he said, voice measured. “You were editing your book in the café, and you still had a chapter and the conclusion left when you fell asleep, and then… you woke up and the edits were done?”

“Exactly!” Namjoon said, motioning around wildly with his hands. “It was all finalised! The café staff had to nudge me awake because it was closing time. But I can’t, for the life of me, remember having done it. I did it while I was asleep!”

Hoseok let out a whistle, crossing one leg over the other. He’d have to tell Yoongi that Namjoon needed psychiatric help.

Namjoon had, however, finally sent the manuscript to the publisher, and the publication date had been set for late summer. This needed celebrating. Did it really matter how Namjoon had done it as long as it was done? Namjoon had been stressing out about this book for several years now.

“Aish, I could have still made the book better,” Namjoon said, gathering up the papers on his office desk as they got ready to leave.

One of the papers caught Hoseok’s attention, and he snatched it from Namjoon’s hands.

On one side was a page from Namjoon’s book manuscript with his pencilled in edits. On the other side was a scribble in different handwriting: A real apology. Call it even? KS Next to this was a rough, artistic doodle of a man sleeping at a café table, head buried in his arms.

Hoseok raised a speculative eyebrow and showed the doodle to his friend.

Namjoon frowned. Took the A4 from him. “What the…?”

“Someone’s been watching you sleep.”

Namjoon turned pale.

The three of them walked around the art exhibit in Insadong that evening with Namjoon repeatedly shaking his head in disbelief. No, he wasn’t “sleep working”, whatever nonsense that was. His neighbour had done the edits for him!

So, that pretty boy Namjoon had been having such trouble with was a force to be reckoned with. Hoseok was patiently observing that whole situation: it was something in progress.

“They were good edits. He even reworked a few sentences in a way that made them more lucid – and he’s not a subject specialist at all,” Namjoon said, mumbling to himself as he sipped on the prosecco and walked past the intricate charcoal drawings on display. “Impeccable grammar, stylistically polished… It can’t be him. Can’t be.”

Yoongi, who had spent two minutes laughing at Seokjin’s drawing of a passed-out Namjoon, now studied the art on display with a calm expression, prosecco in hand. Hoseok stayed close to him. Ah, Yoongi was so handsome…

“So,” Yoongi said, glancing at Namjoon. “You’ve now discovered that the boy next door is, in fact, gifted. Guess you didn’t expect that of someone working in retail?”

Hoseok knew that Yoongi was being a shit on purpose. They’d both been to Namjoon’s childhood home, a humble two-bedroom in an apartment building in a less-than-affluent-neighbourhood of Ilsan.

“Oh come on, I never leapt to that conclusion based on where he works. But fine, yes, I made some assumptions about him because of the stupid shit he does. He gave me a ChatGPT apology letter, for god’s sake – that’s what my less talented students would do.”

“But why did he think typing in the last of your edits would make you two even?” Hoseok asked, but Namjoon only said that he’d helped Seokjin out with something, but the story was too long to explain.

Hoseok dropped Namjoon off at the gates of Riverside Complex later that evening. He and Yoongi waved Namjoon off, watching their tall friend walk away.

Hoseok held his breath, his attention now focused on the man on the passenger seat.

“So,” Yoongi said, voice low and steady, “you want to come to my place for a nightcap?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” He had an overnight bag in the back of the car ready to go. “At some point we gotta tell Namjoon that we’re dating, right?”

Yoongi nodded. They’d both thought that Namjoon would pick up on this at some point – they weren’t exactly hiding it. Yet Namjoon didn’t seem to have a clue, and neither of them knew how to tell him. Namjoon had been so persistently single since Sangwook that they both feared a bad reaction to the news. Yes, even if the breakup had happened several years ago now.

Hoseok just didn’t want to make Namjoon feel even more single than he clearly was.

Yoongi placed a hand on his thigh. “He’ll figure it out one day. And if he doesn’t, I’ll rattle him until he does.”

Hoseok laughed and flicked the indicator.

Namjoon loitered on the side street in the late afternoon sunshine.

He had cycled back to the neighbourhood after the monthly departmental meeting on campus. He had a pile of work to get back to – yes, even now that his manuscript had been sent off – and dozens of emails that needed his replies, and yet here he was.

The shop up ahead looked quiet, the shop front not particularly inviting. The gold letters on the large display window spelt out ‘Old Flame’.

There were three young Japanese men in the shop, looking at vintage jackets as Namjoon walked in. Behind the back counter was Seokjin, who did not look up as the door opened, although he said an automatic, “Hello. If you need help, please just ask.” Seokjin had his eyes glued on a notebook that he was scribbling in.

Bored receptionists and shop assistants were a common sight everywhere, and usually these people could be found scrolling on their phones. He had never seen Seokjin, however, doing so.

He stood by the neatly organised t-shirt rack, taking in his neighbour, before building up the nerve to walk up to him. “Hello.”

Seokjin looked up, eyes widening and hand closing the notebook he’d been writing in. “Oh. Hi.”

The three Japanese patrons were going through the jackets in the corner, talking amongst themselves.

Namjoon placed an iced americano on the counter. “For you.”

Seokjin blinked rapidly. “For me? Why? What did you put in it? Rat poison?”

“Come on, it’s a… gesture. So that you stay hydrated,” he said, avoiding the real answer.

His heart was beating harder than usual, a warmth simmering in his guts. Seokjin had black strands of hair sticking out at the back of his head, and Namjoon wanted to smooth them over.

“How’s your wrist?”

Seokjin’s slender fingers looped around his right wrist, rubbing the skin slightly. He was no longer wearing the support. “Oh, this? It’s all healed. It was never, like, properly hurt or anything.”

“Sure.”

Seokjin had looked so soft sitting at his dining table in that old t-shirt of his. A lost little lamb. A poem Namjoon had learned in high school returned to him: The mire was deep, and the child did weep, and away the vapour flew…

“Why are you really bringing me coffee?”

“Well, a better question is why did you finish the edits for my book?”

Seokjin did not deny this, nor did he seem surprised that Namjoon had come to discuss the matter. Seokjin shrugged. “I did those edits because I was bored.”

It really had been Seokjin. Namjoon still couldn’t believe it.

“What? Bored enough to edit forty pages of an academic monograph on a topic you’re not a subject specialist in?”

Seokjin’s nose twitched slightly, eyes fixed on the group of boys – avoiding meeting Namjoon’s gaze. He held his head high. “Well, I thought it was kind of interesting, actually. Like, once I got to reading all that stuff about the underground acid trance movement in Busan. Fair, it’s nothing I know much about, but I got the gist of it quick enough.”

Namjoon held his breath before nodding. In truth, he would barely trust a second- or third-year PhD student with those kinds of edits, and here Seokjin was – following Namjoon’s highly specific notes to edit a piece of advanced, academic research. Because he’d been bored.

Like anyone could do it.

“You’re not in school,” he stated. This was fairly obvious, given that Seokjin was in the shop in the middle of the afternoon. Come to think of it, Riverside Complex was not a cheap place to live. How did Seokjin fund his lifestyle, exactly? Surely this place didn’t pay much. Feet pics online? Generational wealth? Sugar daddies? “Have you ever considered studying?”

Seokjin stared at him with clear apprehension. “Why?”

“Because I think you might be talented.”

Seokjin raised both eyebrows. “Really, you think so?”

He nodded, encouraged. “Yeah, I do. Based on the work you did, I think you have significant academic potential. You might just not be aware of that.”

“Really? Wow, that’s, like, super crazy? Even little old me could study?”

“Well listen, I know university admissions procedures well. If you ever want to look into applying for something, I’m more than happy to talk you through the requirements, and—”

Seokjin shot such a hateful look at him that he was startled. The boy was not awed or intrigued at all!

Seokjin leaned closer. “Is that why you came to see me? Out of concern for my wasted intellect? Poor little Seokjinnie stuck in a menial job – is that what you thought?”

“I didn’t—”

“Ah, smart men like you get to work in universities giving lectures, but the rest of us dum-dums have to run cash registers. Please, sir, can you save me from my cerebral mediocrity?”

“Okay, I did not—”

“No? Then what I do is none of your business,” Seokjin said with heat high on his cheeks, and Namjoon held up his hands, not understanding why Seokjin had turned so hostile out of nowhere. Seokjin picked up the iced americano, sipped on it, and said, “Oh, I hope the caffeine doesn’t stimulate my peasant brain too much.”

“I came in to tell you you’re smart,” he cut in, frustrated.

Seokjin stilled, tilted his head. Smiled. “I know that I am. You’re the one who didn’t. And what kind of a payment is an americano, anyway? Buy me dinner. Some place fancy. Or if you want to skip all that, then take me straight to bed. Now that’d be a sign of gratitude.”

Namjoon took in a sharp, shaky inhale, stomach in knots. Seokjin stared him down, seemingly both pissed off at him yet desiring him. They’d flirted plenty – insinuations, looks. More recently those looks had been somewhat hostile, but something simmered between them nevertheless. But for Seokjin to say it out loud, for him to put it out there…

In broad daylight he could say no. It’d be too messy, and they lived next door to each other, for crying out loud. And more to the point—

“I don’t, ahem. Do that,” he said, pleased that his voice was steady.

Seokjin raised an eyebrow. “What? You don’t fuck? We both know that’s a lie.”

“Go out on dates.”

“That part was optional.”

“I have a system. The sauna, you know,” he said, avoiding the actual topic at hand. “What I’m saying is—”

“Ah, don’t say anything,” Seokjin said, cutting him off with a rudeness that one should not use with one’s elders. “I’m giving you time to think about it.”

Seokjin was nothing if not persistent.

Namjoon again tried to say something, but Seokjin continued, “You know, as I was reading that book, I thought that you must have worked really hard to get it done. Must have been a lot of long, lonely nights. A lot of stress. Must have left you a little wound up. So, don’t you think you deserve to relax a little? Just something to think about.”

He thought of how good Seokjin had looked in those red briefs and white t-shirt. How soft his skin had been.

“Listen—”

“I said to think about it. And, for the record, I was a top five student throughout my high school years, then a valedictorian, got into SNU, and stayed in the top ten of my degree program until the final year.”

When he did not respond, mostly out of sheer shock at this impressive academic record, Seokjin rounded the counter, approaching the group of boys with perfect Japanese: “That jacket is an excellent choice!”

Namjoon, feeling exposed and chastened, left the store.

“I shouldn’t have thrown myself at him,” Seokjin groaned, distraught. “I don’t even know what came over me! He just looked so good, and I was so pissed off that he’s not even trying to get me into bed with him! Instead he’s trying to get me to study! Study! When he could be balls deep in me!”

He had not told Jimin and Taehyung about his genius move on his neighbour, but he’d told Jungkook – the only friend who he could guilt trip into keeping his mouth shut.

Jungkook wiped at his brow, hands in boxing gloves. Seokjin had come to the gym with him that morning to learn how to take a motherfucker down, but so far all he’d done was hold the punching bag still for Jungkook and lament about his unwise life decisions.

“I mean, it’s an original way to pursue someone,” Jungkook said with flushed cheeks and a sweaty forehead.

See, Jimin would have told him that begging for dick was humiliating, but Jungkook called it original! This was why Seokjin liked his fellow ’00 liner the most.

“Yeah but imagine him rejecting me and me having to see him in our building. Like that’s gonna be so embarrassing.”

“Then take a guy home and have loud revenge sex?”

“Well, that goes without saying,” he said, steadying himself as Jungkook landed another round of punches on the bag.

They cooled off in the weight section, Seokjin sipping on an electrolyte drink and Jungkook doing bicep curls with 15-kilogram dumbbells. Seokjin knew Namjoon was on campus that day – he’d heard him leave early that morning – and Kijung the part-timer was minding Old Flame, sorting through a delivery from Mrs Choi.

In theory, Seokjin had all the time to…

“Do you want to go relax in a spa after this?” he asked.

Jungkook shrugged. “Sure, sounds good.”

Forty minutes later, Jungkook stared at the front of Steam Box, cheeks bright red. “Seokjin-ah!”

“Oh, just come on! You remember how I went to ten laser sessions last year to get the ultimate hairless anus? What was it for if not this?”

“You didn’t just laser your anus, but your balls, too,” Jungkook deadpanned.

“The pain lives in my memory,” he sighed, but was pleased he had a well-groomed VIO area – a trimmed V, a velvety smooth I and a hairless, pristine O. The tops of this world were welcome, although one guy had once lamented his lack of a hairy asshole. Guess everyone enjoyed something different.

“Come on, please? Let’s just have a fun, sexy look around the place! We can soak in the pool, and we don’t have to do anything. I’m not expecting you to have sex in there! And you know what bitchy queens are like, rejection is part of the game – just say no to anyone you’re not into.”

Jungkook bit his lower lip, but then sighed. Nodded.

Seokjin beamed.

This was how they found themselves at the reception of Steam Box, which was decorated with black walls and dimmed ceiling lights, reminding Seokjin of a club entrance. The guy at reception was in his mid-thirties and had a corny, fake gold tooth, his expression brightening up visibly at the sight of them.

“Well hello, boys,” he all but purred. Although Seokjin wanted to pretend that he knew what he was doing, he admitted it was their first time in this gay bathhouse. They’d been to plenty of others, of course!

They paid the entrance fee (more expensive than clubs) and received their white towels. They’d just missed the weekly No Towels evening, but the receptionist said they could come back next week if they were feeling naughty. They also had Mingling Days on Wednesdays if you wanted to meet men willing to meet outside the bathhouse (married men would avoid that day for sure), and a monthly Daddy Thursday and a Twink Tuesday. The receptionist said they qualified for Twink Tuesday, and Seokjin was always thrilled to hear that he was still young enough to be a twink.

“If you want me to give you a personal tour, just drop by the desk and I’ll get someone to cover for me,” the man said with a wink. Not even inside yet and they’d been solicited – what a wonderful place!

Seokjin felt at ease and welcomed, his nerves subsiding. Hooking up with men was a game that all were playing, and this was yet another playground.

They were given electronic key wristbands, opening their designated lockers. They got undressed, wrapping the white cotton towels around their waists – naked otherwise. Jungkook looked amazing – all that dieting and working out showed, and Jungkook would make the men there swoon. Jungkook, for his part, was bright red, eyes shifting around shyly.

“Just relax – you look fantastic,” Seokjin encouraged.

“I just don’t need rejection before noon,” Jungkook muttered, rubbing at his tattoo-covered arm self-consciously.

“Who’d reject you? Don’t be crazy!”

There were two men in the shower room – no cubicles, no curtains, just an open space with showerheads attached to the walls. The men were on their way out, while the two of them were coming in. They all showered butt naked, lathering some of the shower gel to their groins and armpits. Everyone was sneaking glances. The guys were a little older than them, but with hot, toned bodies. The atmosphere was sexually charged, but Seokjin managed not to pop a boner then and there – you didn’t want to seem overenthusiastic, did you?

So this was where Namjoon came to have fun – where he showered, where he sneaked glances… God, Namjoon must be popular with that physique of his…

One of the showering men was trying to make meaningful eye contact with Seokjin, but he didn’t return the subtle invite, busy as he was imagining Namjoon there.

Towels back on, they started their tour of the premises, with Jungkook practically glued to him. All the walls were black, and the lighting was artfully embedded in the walls and ceilings, set low. The common room was the first area they came to, with lounge chairs and fountain machines for soft drinks and coffee, and next to these was a tasteful arrangement of fresh fruits – as if anyone was there for fruit, but it added a certain ambiance. There was a relaxation room with loveseats and a wall mounted TV showing Interstellar out of all movies.

The common room led to the spa area where they found a sauna, a steam room, a jacuzzi, and two, small circular pools. From here they had to return to the common room to enter the play area. The receptionist had told them that at the end of the playroom corridor was a dungeon room and a group room, but the rooms before that were simpler and smaller – stalls, nearly – some with lockable doors and some with no doors at all. “Pick your poison,” he’d winked.

They could hear people having sex in the play area as they passed the darkly lit corridor, but the place wasn’t exactly popping at this time of day. Still, there were a few handfuls of men there – a few in one of the pools, a few more in the jacuzzi – and they all took each other in, evaluating each other, cruising. Perving with their eyes a little, one might say. Seokjin noticed Jungkook checking out a handsome guy in the jacuzzi, with the guy also returning his interested gaze.

But, alas, they were gay men, and pretending you weren’t interested was the one thing they did better than anyone in the world.

After an inspection of the place, Jungkook said, “This doesn’t seem so bad.”

“This place is amazing – it’s so sexy. No wonder my neighbour is a regular. I’ve told you how hot he is, right?”

“Several times,” Jungkook assured him. “What do you want to do? Sauna?”

They entered the sauna, which was empty. It was clearly the wrong time of day to be there, but Seokjin was still pleased – many men there had looked at him hungrily, satisfying his vanity.

They sat down on the second highest row. No sex in the sauna, the sign on the wall read.

“This is fun, right?” Seokjin said, but he’d already determined that none of the men there interested him. What were the chances of Namjoon coming by? Should he just stay in the sauna for the next few days, legs spread and ass offered, until Namjoon bothered to drop by?

Ugh.

Maybe Jimin was right – maybe he didn’t handle rejection well.

“It’s got a relaxed atmosphere,” admitted Jungkook, who seemed to have been imagining a full-on orgy pit in the middle of the spa complex.

Seokjin looked at the locker key on his left wrist – put it on your left hand if you want to bottom, and on your right if you want to top. Left ankle if you’re versatile, and right ankle for no anal, the receptionist had advised, making Jungkook turn scarlet.

Seokjin moved the band from his left hand to his right ankle. He had not seen anyone who he wanted to be topped by, but maybe a blowjob wouldn’t hurt?

“Tell me again why you’re so obsessed with this guy,” Jungkook said.

Seokjin held his breath. Wondered about the question seriously. Namjoon was incredibly hot and, on top of that, Seokjin suspected that he was a kind person. That combination in and of itself was rare. But—

“I don’t know. I’m just, like, really drawn to him,” he admitted. “Not just sexually.”

He flushed a little admitting that last part, but thankfully both of them were turning pink from the heat. He hardly ever fixated on a man like this – it was embarrassing to admit it to his friends. But once he got to sleep with Namjoon (a when, not an if!), his interest would be sated and he’d move on with his life, right? Right. Of course!

The door opened, and the cute guy from the jacuzzi entered. He was in his mid-twenties, very good-looking and extremely tall – a muscular build, dark hair and dark eyes, a modelesque face with a thin nose, with the locker key on his right wrist. Top. Yet he had not followed them for Seokjin’s sake, that was clear.

The man took a seat opposite them, leaning back and manspreading slightly. The air of the sauna was hot, bringing sweat to their skins. “Hi,” the man said to them after a while – or, specifically, to Jungkook, whose band was around his left ankle to signal versatile. The guy had a kind, inviting smile.

Jungkook said nothing, busy as he was gaping, so Seokjin said, “Hey.”

“Haven’t seen you guys around before.”

“Yeah, uh,” Jungkook said.

The man raised his knee, wrapping an arm around it. The towel loosened, giving them a view of the crown jewels. A respectable half-chub there. Seokjin was taking notes on how the guy was making his move. Jungkook’s mouth was hanging open.

“Well, I might go to the pool – no, you stay,” he said, pushing Jungkook back down.

The cute hunk raised an eyebrow. “You guys aren’t a couple?”

“No, this guy is super single and looking for love,” he said, motioning at an embarrassed Jungkook. He beamed at them encouragingly and left.

A while later, from his vantage point in the pool, he saw the cute guy leading Jungkook towards the common room – and, thus, the playroom corridor. What a matchmaker he was! They’d been there for barely a half hour, and he’d gotten Jungkook laid!

An older guy was in the pool with him and tried some underwater footsie to signal his interest, but Seokjin wasn’t feeling it – and, again, gay men were the masters of rejection.

When Jungkook re-emerged half an hour later to come get him, Seokjin’s fingers had turned into prunes. They got cleaned up in the shower room, dressed in the locker room, dumped their towels into the laundry bin, and returned their wristbands to reception.

Outside, the residential Seoul neighbourhood was enjoying some spring sunshine. They both blinked against the brightness like trolls emerging from a cave, passing a group of preschool children in safety vests on their way to a nearby park. The two of them continued to a neighbourhood café.

“Tell me everything,” Seokjin said, having purchased them iced americanos.

Jungkook looked at him owlishly, as if still processing for himself what had happened. “Um, I don’t know. Like, we went into one of the rooms and they had condoms and lube there, which, ah, was good. And there was a tissue dispenser and a bin. You could adjust the light too, like if you wanted it to be fully dark, or dim, or full light. And then, like, there was this raised platform, taking up the back of the stall, with a mattress on it, kind of like a gym mat? And that was it.”

“And? What did you guys do?” he asked, not caring for the interior design.

Jungkook flushed. “Uh, we had sex. And it was really nice. He was really nice.”

“See, this morning you had no idea you’d be getting off by lunch time,” he said, knowing he could ask for more details, but Jungkook wouldn’t give them – too much of a gentleman.

Jungkook took a sip of the iced americano. “We, ah, we’re having brunch on Saturday, and then we’re going to an art exhibit.”

Seokjin blinked. Processed. “Wait, you set a date?”

Jungkook smiled at him shyly. Nodded. “Mingyu wants to get to know me.”

“You exchanged names?”

“We chatted in the sauna a bit first. He asked me for my ab routine,” Jungkook said with a dreamy look in his eyes.

God, of course Mr Romance over here would take Mr Playroom out on a date after some fucking in a gay sauna! So much for anonymous, never-see-you-again fun. Jungkook had never been that type.

But Seokjin knew that he himself was the type. Of course he was! This, the abundance of anonymous sex, was the best part of the lifestyle.

He understood Namjoon’s hobby now – the bathhouse was a shortcut to the honey pot.

And who, after all, didn’t want some honey?

He also recalled the wanting looks men had given him, all too easily indicating they were up for it. Where was the fun in that? Men like Seokjin wanted a game. The thrill of the hunt.

You always wanted the man that you didn’t think you could get.

Maybe Namjoon was like him: he wanted the honey, but he also wanted to hunt for it.

This wasn’t a problem.

Seokjin simply needed to give Namjoon the pleasure of the chase.

Kijung had worked at Old Flame as a part-timer for nearly a year now, balancing the work with his studies to become a paralegal. Mrs Choi, who had hired him because he was handsome, was a character – he had seen her only twice over the past year: when she’d hired him and when she’d dropped by at the end of the year to give them all a bonus of 500,000 won. Considering that Old Flame was not making a lot of money, Kijung had been surprised by the bonus, but accepted it gratefully. He had taken his girlfriend out for a nice meal.

Seokjin, as their manager, had been given a bonus of a million. Seokjin had started at Old Flame several months after Kijung, but he’d liked Seokjin instantly. In truth, Kijung did not really know many gay people – his family was straight, his friends were straight, and the people he studied with were straight. As such, he’d simply never had much exposure.

Seokjin had swiftly tried hitting on him, and Kijung recognised this as great flattery. Seokjin, after all, was incredibly good-looking. (“I only hire attractive people,” Mrs Choi had informed him.) He had to tell Seokjin that he was a straight man in love with his girlfriend, and Seokjin sighed, saying there was little, then, that he could do.

He nevertheless liked Seokjin’s wild stories of his conquests and parties and club nights. It was so alien to the world Kijung knew – he considered these stories to be educational, teaching him about the highs and lows and struggles of sexual minorities.

Seokjin seemed to have new men in his life on a weekly basis. Seokjin didn’t give intimate or inappropriate details, but he made vague references to busy nights and handsome men. Seokjin was also gay in the old-fashioned meaning of the word: happy and cheerful.

And so, when Kijung came in to start his evening shift and found Seokjin in a foul mood, he instantly asked what was wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“No? But you look a little…”

Pissed off.

Seokjin waved this off. “I’m busy plotting, that’s all.”

But as with so many of Seokjin’s stories, this too was mysterious and given no context.

Kijung went into the miniscule staff room in the back to leave his backpack full of legal study texts and to fix his hair. Mrs. Choi wanted them to look their best while on shift.

He was preparing himself a coffee when Seokjin rushed into the back, swearing, “Shit, shit, he’s just outside – how do I look? Flawless?”

“Y-Yes?” he ventured.

The front door opened, and he checked his watch for the time: 17:01. Technically his shift had started, and so the customer who had walked in was now his concern.

Seokjin, however, exhaled shakily, then pulling on an invisible piece of string down his chest to centre himself. Seokjin cleared his throat and stepped back out with, “Hel– Oh. It’s you.”

Curiosity piqued, Kijung pushed aside the curtain that separated the back room from the front and saw a handsome, tall, bespectacled man at the counter. Seokjin was standing with perfect posture, and the two were looking at each other intensely. Kijung instantly felt like he was intruding (on what?), letting the curtain partially close again.

“A wonderful Yves Saint Laurent dress from 2003 came in two days ago,” Seokjin said breezily, having changed completely from the sour puss Kijung had greeted minutes earlier. “I think it’d look amazing on you. Did you come to try it on?”

“Do you think I did?” the man said a little softly and with some humour. Ah, they knew each other then!

Seokjin shrugged. “Alright, I guess the dress might be too tight on you. Did you come by because of what I offered last week? Because I hope you didn’t take that seriously. I have so many other things to do with my time other than that– that thing I said.”

What offer? What thing?

The man did not look pleased to hear this. “Oh, right,” he said, flashing an uncertain smile at Seokjin. He rubbed at his eyebrow briefly, frowning. “So, let me get this straight. When you said you wanted to sleep with me, you didn’t mean it?”

Kijung held back a gasp! Seokjin had said what?! He was taking mental notes because he told his girlfriend all about Seokjin’s adventures and misadventures, and this man – a little older, maybe around forty or so? – was clearly one such (mis)adventure.

Seokjin let out a fake laugh, crossing his arms, but Kijung could see the back of his neck turning red. “Well, you know, I entertained the idea, because clearly we have a bit of a vibe here, right? But really the offer was valid for forty-eight hours max. To be honest, I lost interest after that. Hope you’re not, like, upset?”

The man looked doubtful – intrigued, perhaps, or dismayed, Kijung couldn’t tell.

Kijung got his phone out and texted his girlfriend: omg this older guy came in who seokjin-hyung said he’d sleep with but now he’s taken the offer back? Not sure what’s happening but I’m eavesdropping on their convo. Really good-looking guy

She was instantly online. Whaaat?? Another one??

She had a point. Seokjin might not know this, but it was not uncommon for a handsome man to drop by in the middle of Kijung’s shift and ask for Seokjin, only to be visibly disappointed that Seokjin wasn’t around.

The man brushed through his thick hair slowly – a needlessly sexy move. He was well-dressed and carried an air of sophistication, with hair parted neatly in the middle and black-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. The guy was big – shoulders, chest, wearing a neat, beige jumper that hugged him just right. Worked out for sure. Definitely Seokjin’s type.

“I’m not upset at all. I always thought it would be ill-advised, given our acquaintanceship. And look, I happened to be walking by, and so I thought I’d drop in and ask if we’re good. And by the sound of things, it sounds like we are?”

“Oh, of course we’re good,” Seokjin said like that was obvious, but it didn’t feel to Kijung like things were, in fact, good at all. Both men seemed annoyed. “I guess we’ll see each other around, then, but solely for neighbourly business.”

babe they’re neighbours???

neighbours who fuck?!?! she replied.

neighbours who want to fuck! he texted.

“Sure. Solely on neighbourly business,” the man repeated, almost turning to leave but then changing his mind. “Just, ah, for the record. I was flattered by your interest, of course, even if it only lasted for forty-eight hours. Quite a short attention span, don’t you think?”

Shots fired!

“Well, like you said, it’d be ill-advised. And, in truth, I have plenty of men to choose from.”

Shots fired back!

“Guess we saved ourselves from a serious mistake,” the man said, and Kijung clutched his chest. they are two seconds away from boning on the counter istg

free show!!

above my paygrade?? he corrected her.

The man said, “So. See you around, then? Whether that’s within forty-eight hours or not.”

“I’ll count diligently,” Seokjin said.

The man raised a single eyebrow. “Will you?”

“I count well, I assure you,” Seokjin said, and Kijung knew that was true. Seokjin calculated the discount or value added tax of any item in seconds, and he had seen Seokjin scribbling in those notebooks of his: pages and pages of calculations. He’d heard a rumour that Seokjin had studied mathematics in university but hadn’t graduated. Kijung did not know if that was true and wasn’t dumb enough to ask. “And like I said, I have other things to do tonight. Jacuzzis to soak in, steam rooms to sweat in. Boys to meet.”

What jacuzzi? What steam room?

Seokjin-hyung just said he’s gonna go hook up with other men??

INSANE POWER MOVE, his girlfriend replied. How’s the guy taking it??

He looks kind of tormented

The man tapped his knuckles against the desk once before taking a few steps back. “Well. Good luck, Seokjin-ah – with all those men.”

The man turned around and left the store.

As the door closed, both Kijung and Seokjin exhaled. Oh, so much to unpack!

Five minutes later, Seokjin had gathered his belongings and had his coat on, giving Kijung a quick rundown on Old Flame updates. “You won’t be able to reach me later, so ask now if you have any questions.”

He smiled. “All clear – thanks, hyung.”

Seokjin nodded, clearly a little indignant, but perhaps also pleased. Why? Had Seokjin rejected the man or had the man rejected him?

Maybe the question was clear on his face because Seokjin patted his shoulder in a brotherly manner. “You wouldn’t understand, Kijung-ah – it’s a gay thing. But just know that I’m winning.”

Looking pleased with himself, Seokjin left.

Kijung called his girlfriend immediately. “Babe, you won’t believe—”

Namjoon didn’t care if Seokjin went to Steam Box and hooked up with the men there. He had a book review to write, laundry to do, and he wanted to get a manicure – and the salon nearby was open until late.

Peak hours at Steam Box were from around eight o’clock to eleven, especially on a Friday night. After that, the place got a bit messy with people coming in after drinking, and besides Namjoon wanted to go to bed early when he could.

Outside the confines of the sauna, they were accountants, teachers, salesclerks, mechanics, gynaecologists, janitors, stockbrokers, electricians, software developers, nannies, baristas, architects, librarians, government officials, waiters, social workers, traffic policemen. Come Friday night, many wanted to relax – to get off, to make a new conquest. To feel something akin to intimacy and affection.

Namjoon hadn’t been to Sweat Box on a Friday night in a while because he’d been busy with his book. When life had been less hectic, a Friday night had been a favourite of his – lots of men to look at, lots of men to try and seduce.

If Seokjin went that night like he’d insinuated, men would make fools of themselves trying to win his favour. Heads would turn, cocks would rise. Seokjin would likely pick the hottest guy there and lead him to a playroom.

What was that to Namjoon? Nothing.

Because Seokjin no longer wanted him, anyway. Good! The boy had come to his senses!

Namjoon didn’t care.

He paced around his apartment and didn’t care.

One minute Seokjin was making ‘please take me’ eyes at him, then the next he was taking it back. Childish, immature…

At eight thirty, he decided to get his nails done.

He reached the nail salon, but mysteriously kept walking. He wanted some fresh air. The air was pleasant, not too cold, and this was how he ended up walking the street Steam Box was on. Well, since he’d happened to pass the place on his evening walk, he might as well go in. Why not?

He greeted the receptionist – nice guy, they both enjoyed a bit of opera – paid his fee and got changed in the locker room. The place was busy, just like he’d known it’d be. The men in the shower room were a sight to see: men in their twenties, thirties, forties – tall, short, muscular, toned, round, hairy, hairless. Twinks, thunks, daddies. Steam Box let anyone in, at least in theory, but in truth the place attracted fitter men because the less fit generally did not return. Too much rejection.

Seokjin was not in the shower room. Seokjin was likely not there at all. All talk and no action, that man.

Namjoon poured himself a glass of water in the common room and did a check of the premises. Some patrons were watching a movie (Love, Actually), and all the pools were in use. The steam room looked busy – a popular spot for handjobs and blowjobs – but if Seokjin was there, Namjoon didn’t spot him.

He walked into the playroom corridor, which was a world of its own. Some men cruised there, lined up to the walls, gazing at those who came and went. Waiting for a connection or an invite.

From the stalls to his left and right, moans and groans sounded.

Again, he didn’t spot the man he was looking for. Some rooms had doors and locks, but the ones further back had no doors at all – bodies moved there in dimmed out rooms, but he couldn’t see if Seokjin was amongst the men there.

He felt men watching him and knew he could make a move on some of the cruisers. He opted for one of the pools instead.

See? No Seokjin in sight. God, how stupid. Seokjin had provoked him on purpose, just to fuck with him, and he’d fallen for it. He’d figured that the mature thing would be to tell Seokjin in person that nothing would ever happen between them, and as such he’d gone to Old Flame. It was better than leaving something unresolved in the air, given that they lived next to each other.

His visit had not resolved anything. Seokjin had already moved on, had he? It’d been a temporary desire, was it?

From the pool, he watched men going into the sauna and steam room, then heading out with a newly made friend. The pool fit perhaps ten men, and six of them were enjoying the warm water, looking at the rotation of men at the doors as well as each other. A few were chatting about local politics, while others were taciturn.

Namjoon had a knot in his stomach. Desire without a name.

Several eyes fell on him. Some of his admirers were new, some he recognised from past visits. Like that young guy over there, heading into the sauna but looking his way intently. Cute enough on all accounts, but Namjoon just didn’t feel that hint of lust for him – not that his disinterest had stopped the man from approaching him several times in the past. A Jeolla satoori.

“What are you into?” a guy sliding up to him in the pool asked. Namjoon wore the key on his right wrist – top. This, in truth, often assured his popularity.

He did not respond, and the guy shrugged – a ‘well, worth a shot’ gesture.

Should he just go home? He’d paid the fee and felt riled up. What a waste of money and time.

The door to the spa area opened. Seokjin walked in, the white towel wrapped around his waist.

Heads turned. Cocks rose.

Namjoon, too, felt a rush of blood to his groin.

He’d meant what he’d said to Seokjin: the boy wasn’t small, but it wouldn’t hurt him to gain a few kilos. He had broad shoulders, his upper body narrowing down to a slim waist. His nipples were dark, and his stomach toned, and his legs were long with lean thighs. Of course, it was the face card that completed the picture – Seokjin was easily the handsomest man there with those dark eyes and perfect lips.

Namjoon’s chest felt unexpectedly tight, like a weight had been pressed against it.

Seokjin entered the room with an air of confidence bordering on arrogance – gaze washing over men like pieces of meat, which admittedly they all were. ‘You wish you could have me’, the aura said, but Namjoon had learned that Seokjin pretended to be a lot more confident than he was. The wristband was on Seokjin’s left wrist.

Signalling what he wanted. What he offered.

They matched.

He let his gaze travel on Seokjin’s body – the soft looking skin, the hint of muscle, the cute belly button. God, he wanted to suck kisses to Seokjin’s stomach while fingering him open, making those slender legs shake.

At the thought, he shifted. His swollen cock swayed underwater like a reed.

Then Seokjin spotted him. They locked eyes.

Namjoon, for his part, was in water up to his nipples, arms resting on the tiled edge behind him. Water dripped from the ends of his hair. He knew he looked good.

Seokjin looked away quickly, in a slight jerking motion. Almost pretending he hadn’t seen him. He walked to the sauna and disappeared inside. At least two men got out of the pools to follow him.

Namjoon exhaled. Closed his eyes and rolled his neck back. Fuck. Fuck.

His heart was beating so hard that the beats thrummed throughout his body.

Seokjin would be in the sauna in nothing but that small towel, with men drinking him in with their eyes. Why the fuck were they looking? He thought of Seokjin standing in the lobby in those red briefs, exposed to the world. Goddammit, look elsewhere – only Namjoon wanted to take in the sight of him.

Goddammit.

God fucking dammit.

He got out of the pool, dripping water. He was hard, and others noticed. He took the towel from the hook he’d left it hanging on, wrapping it back around his waist. This did nothing to hide his erection.

There were several men in the sauna, sitting on the second and third tiers. Busy. The light was medium low – here you could see better than the other areas. Seokjin was sitting to the left of the door on the second row, and Namjoon took a seat to the right, second row, which was pleasantly empty.

No one spoke a word. In general, there wasn’t much talking beyond the common area.

Namjoon’s arrival attracted attention, in no small part because his towel was tenting at the front. That easily read as an invite – who wants to give me a hand? – but the sign on the wall read finish in the playrooms! Start here. Bring to conclusion elsewhere.

Two men in the middle row were touching each other, hands under their respective towels. A few further men were watching the handjob pair. At least three men were watching Namjoon, including that cherub faced boy with the Jeolla accent who so often tried to hit on him. Four men were watching Seokjin, Namjoon included.

The air was thick with want.

Who wanted whom? Who would get lucky?

The tension and desire made the hot air feel hotter. Seokjin was looking at him, that familiar, defiant look in his eyes. It was a little smug too.

You little shit, Namjoon thought, followed instantly by, god, you look good.

Namjoon let himself manspread a little. Lean back against the step behind him. His cock pushed through the loosened towel, the white cotton dropping onto the wooden slabs. Now everyone was looking at him – and his cock, flushed and curved, resting majestically against his belly.

He didn’t usually… He’d let someone grab a feel in the sauna, perhaps, then continue in a playroom.

The stakes were higher tonight.

He grazed down his stomach absently, brushing over the black pubic hair and the base of his swollen cock. His size was generous.

Seokjin’s chest was rising and falling with fast breaths, taking him in with open desire. Seokjin’s towel, too, had swelled at the front. And here Namjoon was – casually brushing his cock, putting on a display for him. Just to let Seokjin know he was the best specimen there.

Abruptly, Seokjin stood up, nodded at the door in a clear ‘follow me’ – and, as he opened the door, took a second look at Namjoon with intent, dark eyes.

There could hardly be a clearer invite.

Doesn’t want me anymore, does he?

Please.

Namjoon tied his towel but did not rush in following Seokjin. Do not look desperate. He walked out at a normal pace, sensing the bitter disappointment of the men they left behind.

Seokjin was waiting at the entrance to the play corridor, watching his approach. They were being observed by several patrons.

He stopped in front of Seokjin, leaving barely any space between them. Crowding him in. Making Seokjin take a faltering step back until his back hit the wall. Placing a palm against the wall by Seokjin’s head.

“Thought you were over it?” he asked, voice so low and deep that only Seokjin heard his words. From the play area, sounds of men fucking reached them.

“I’ll try anything once,” Seokjin replied, standing his ground – meeting his gaze without flinching. Cheeks rosy, lips so beautifully red. He looked a little self-satisfied.

Had Namjoon caved or had Seokjin caved? He wasn’t even sure anymore.

His hand slid to the back of Seokjin’s neck, feeling the too-hot skin against his palm. Stepped even closer. Their bodies were touching, crotch to crotch, chest to chest. Seokjin was hard. Body pliant. Eager.

“Just a one-off, right?” he asked, his voice a low drawl.

“Yeah – absolutely,” Seokjin said breathlessly, hands landing on his waist. The touch sent electric sparks all throughout his body.

He pulled Seokjin closer by his neck and kissed him then and there, in plain view for all to see. The kiss deepened instantly, and he tasted Seokjin on his tongue.

Seokjin wrapped arms around him, and he was lost.

Another night, another failure.

A shiver had run down Sweetie’s spine upon spotting The Dragon in the pool. Finally! He hadn’t seen the man in so long! Eventually, on one of these days, Sweetie would simply be the most fuckable option in Steam Box, and even The Dragon would understand that.

He hadn’t joined The Dragon in the pool but had given him his best ‘come hither’ eyes.

Then The Swan had shown up. Was he a swan? Was he perhaps a snake? Around Sweetie’s age, but with features that he wished were the result of Gangnam plastic surgeons rather than natural, because otherwise the envy was too much. Doe-eyed, cherry-lipped, dark-haired, smooth-skinned, and the body of a Grecian statue representing idealised youth. Sweetie was perhaps a little more muscular, but he didn’t have a face so perfectly symmetrical!

When The Swan came into the sauna, was it any surprise that The Dragon had come in shortly after? The Dragon and a few other men. As if those others stood a chance, of course, once The Dragon had taken his seat, towel unfolded, meaty thighs and thick cock on full display. Casually playing with himself.

Fucking fuck, Sweetie was so fucking horny watching him that he might die. His kingdom to suck that cock at least once!

Who turned down a mating call like that?

Envious yet painfully turned on, he watched the pair disappear into the play area. Always someone hotter, more beautiful, more exciting…

Aish, just leave them! Go to the steam room and give a blowjob to the first willing man!

But Sweetie liked to torture himself, and after pretending to watch a few minutes of Love Actually (watching that Hobbit actor hump at a woman really was not a turn on), he headed to the play area – which, in contrast, was a turn on. The darkness. The moans. The ‘oh yeah, harder’s.

Friday night was busy – playrooms on both sides were occupied. That was why, he discovered, The Dragon had taken his prey into one of the doorless rooms further down the corridor. There were two circular lights embedded into the bed platform, giving off a surreal blue light that lit up the occupants while still leaving room for imagination.

Sweetie walked past the open door – slowly, very slowly, upon recognising the two figures. The Swan had his palms against the cubicle wall, and The Dragon was taking him from behind. Oh, the boy was getting fucked good – you could hear it from the needy, helpless moans, like he was trying to catch up on what was happening, but the pleasure overwhelmed him.

And as for The Dragon? He was devouring the man. Not just holding onto the waist and ramming his cock in, but biting onto the man’s neck, nipping at his shoulders, kissing his mouth, which The Swan craned his neck to receive. They couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, nor could they stop staring at each other.

Sweetie kept walking, reluctantly, cock throbbing beneath the towel. He completed his loop. The dungeon room at the end sounded like another show. When he again passed The Dragon’s den (ha!), someone else was standing there, watching the display.

He exited the play area, mind whirring. Poured himself a glass of water and sipped it, watching another few minutes of Love Actually, hoping for his raging erection to calm down. A few men glanced at him with interest – yeah, yeah, yeah, big guys. Are you gonna fuck me like that?

Goddammit.

He went back into the corridor. Passed the men hanging out there, waiting for company.

He stopped outside the same playroom again.

They’d made it onto the bed platform now – the Swan’s legs were in the air. In the blue light, his stomach glistened with droplets. He’d come already, but he was also hard. What, again? The Dragon was pumping into him with steady thrusts, keeping the man’s legs on his shoulders. They were both so into it that they seemed oblivious to the audience at the door. Three of them – no more fit there, but Sweetie was glued to the spot.

The man was moving his hips well, was taking that big cock so well. “You fuck me so good, hyung,” he said, sounding breathless and fucked out, letting out constant, blissed out moans.

It was clear to the appreciative audience that The Dragon indeed was fucking him good.

“Hyung… please,” the Swan begged, sounding like he was close to tears.

The Dragon bent down to kiss him, and their hands tangled in each other’s hair as the kiss turned into a passionate sucking of mouths. It was strangely intimate for two strangers, the lust between them unexpectedly intense.

He watched in awe as The Dragon kissed down the smooth chest, moving to suck on a nipple. The Swan arched his back, begging for more – legs trembling. The Dragon licked down to the specks of cum, tasting his prey.

The guy next to Sweetie stroked his arm. They were both standing there with hard-ons. Sweetie glanced at the guy’s hands and ankles. Ah, versatile? Quite good-looking. Nice body. Definite potential.

The Dragon picked up The Swan, cock not even slipping out, and stood up and started fucking him against the wall. Just like that. Dear god, there was someone who didn’t skip leg day!

The Swan wrapped his arms and legs around his partner, and the Dragon cupped his ass firmly to hold him up, arm muscles bulging. The Dragon started fucking the man against the wall, hard, precise, wanting.

Well, now they were just trying to make the rest of them look bad!

The Dragon was moaning – deep and short grunts, foretelling an orgasm. He sounded like he was barely holding on, fucking The Swan hard, and The Swan was loving every second of it, moaning, “Yeah, ah, please, ah—”

The vers guy stroked Sweetie’s lower back.

Fine, then.

Sweetie nodded – a ‘this way’ signal – and found a cubicle further up where he had a pretty good time getting his dick sucked. Well, he was so riled up that how couldn’t he?

But get this.

When he and the vers left their small room, The Dragon and The Swan weren’t done. They were, as the French might say, still fucking each other’s brains out.

For the next two weeks, the regulars at Steam Box talked of little else.

Chapter Text

IV

When Yunjin had started as a part-timer at the 7-Eleven three years back, she’d been grateful to have any kind of a job. Gradually, she had taken on more shifts as people flaked out or got sick or simply quit, leading the manager to conclude that Yunjin was reliable. At first, she had been happy to be made into a full-time employee until it’d hit her: this was her life now.

This.

Standing behind the counter and stocking shelves at the 24/7 convenience store, wasting away the best years of her life. Her aunt ran a small shop back in Sangju, so she didn’t mean to look down on the profession. It was just that her family had dreamt of her becoming a lawyer, a doctor, or an engineer, and so her actual career trajectory had disappointed them all, herself included.

Never mind that she’d never wanted to become a lawyer, a doctor, or an engineer, really. She’d never had a dream.

The plus side of being the Queen of 7-Eleven was that she saw people from all walks of life, and she liked to wonder which of their professions she’d take on in her next life. She recognised many of the regulars – there were a few apartment complexes along and across the road.

She also enjoyed imagining which of the regulars she’d pair up with each other. Matchmaking had always fascinated her, and lately she had been thinking that could be her future career. Not finding love for people – love was secondary for a marriage – but the right, appropriate match for a successful family life.

On her phone, she kept notes of her regulars and who they should marry, in her humble opinion. High on her list as Ideal Husband Material had temporarily been a handsome man who had started dropping by in the autumn, buying cup noodles and jellybeans at two in the morning.

Sure, this customer was still too young for marriage, and yes, his diet and sleeping habits seemed questionable, but dear god how handsome! And so polite! Think of the children he’d father!

Yunjin observed the frequency with which Jelly Bean bought condoms, lube, and hangover cures, however, and – on one memorable occasion – had talked on the phone about a guy he’d just slept with, and Yunjin had realised she’d had him all wrong. Jelly Bean was gay!

Well, that was a business opportunity, wasn’t it? Eventually same-sex marriage would be legalised, and then men like Jelly Bean would need husbands too. In fact, Yunjin could even specialise in that kind of matchmaking! Who knew, maybe there was a gap in the market?

Even so, Jelly Bean was so good-looking, with soulful brown eyes and a small, innocent face, that Yunjin dreamt of finding him a wife. Ah, he’d make such a handsome husband for a pretty woman somewhere! And he always greeted her so sweetly and had once even said that he liked her earrings!

Yunjin perked up whenever Jelly Bean dropped by. For such a good-looking, tall, and broad-shouldered man, Jelly Bean did not seem conceited at all. She would find a wife/husband for him in a heartbeat!

Then there was Dr Kim, the university professor, who was the other Most Marriageable Man in the Neighbourhood. In his thirties, ideal age for marriage! She knew Dr Kim’s profession because he had run into a student at the shop once, and she had eavesdropped on them discussing Dr Kim’s class.

Dr Kim came in to buy protein shakes and kimbap rolls and always seemed to be in a rush – but ah, he had these sweet dimples and intelligent eyes, and although he was getting on in years he was at the peak of mature handsomeness! And still a bachelor!

Yunjin had matched Dr Kim with five of the female regulars, determined to find him a wife.

Yunjin, aged twenty-seven and fearing she was doomed to a life of boredom behind the 7-Eleven counter, kept herself energised and entertained through these matchmaking schemes. She had many other favourite regulars in her notes, of course, but Jelly Bean and Dr Kim both competed for the top spot – yes, even Jelly Bean. Many gay men married women, after all.

And then, one day, the unexpected happened.

She had to revise her notes and match Jelly Bean and Dr Kim with each other.

Namjoon looked up from his laptop screen at the students in the small seminar room, gathered in clusters and debating the topic he’d given them. Upon arrival, he’d spent five minutes talking about Wham! performing as the first western artist in communist China back in 1985 and George Michael’s progression into a queer activist later on in his life, before one of the students had finally said there’d been nothing in their reading about that at all and they’d never heard of a George Who?

Namjoon had apologised, realising he’d mixed up this group with another. What had their reading been about? Protest songs in 2010s Myanmar? Right, of course! He’d hastily opened the right materials on his laptop and played the song they would now analyse and discuss.

Objectively, Namjoon thought that he was a bit of a mess.

He’d been a bit of a mess all week, listening with hyper awareness of noises from the apartment next to his own. When leaving his home, when arriving home, he moved stealthily.

He already had run into Seokjin a few times since Steam Box – always so briefly that they hadn’t exchanged a word, like when Seokjin had stepped out of the lift into the lobby just as Namjoon and a woman from the fourth floor had been waiting for it. They had exchanged quick looks of recognition that knew too much, tongues tied with all the things neither of them could say. Another time he had spotted Seokjin leaving the complex grounds while he’d been cycling home, watching Seokjin cross the street.

He had decided not to catch up to him.

Eventually, they would have to cross paths properly.

Have an honest discussion.

With most of his tricks, there wasn’t anything to talk about, however. They both knew the score: casual, anonymous, and something they could quickly forget about.

He liked it that way.

This time he was still processing having slept with Seokjin – letting Seokjin seduce him, or had he seduced Seokjin? He wasn’t sure even now, but the memories of fucking Seokjin against the wall of the playroom were as fresh on his mind as ever. Seokjin had been so sensitive and so responsive – a mix of assertive and needy. God, it’d turned him on. People had been watching them. That’d turned him on too.

Afterwards he’d escorted Seokjin out of the playroom, towels back on them. Led them both to the shower room, feeling a responsibility to get Seokjin out of the place in one piece – too many devouring eyes were on Seokjin. On them.

Seokjin had showered and then said he’d go relax in the jacuzzi. Sure, Namjoon had said. Sure, see you around?

Seokjin had stood there, hair dripping with water, eyes dark, skin flushed, lips swollen, freshly fucked. Yeah. See you around.

Namjoon had watched him walk away, uncharacteristically conflicted.

If he were to rank his encounters, put together a list of the most memorable… Seokjin had been…

He cleared his throat, telling the students they had one more minute before he’d ask each group to present their analysis. His thoughts wandered throughout the remaining seminar, counting the session as a failure when they all packed up.

He couldn’t focus.

He was still in the playroom, panting into the crook of Seokjin’s neck, skin slick with sweat, thrusts hard as his cock pushed into the tight heat of—

“Oh, sorry,” he managed, having nearly walked into a student on the campus grounds.

“Don’t apologise,” the woman said, batting her eyelashes at him.

He decided to hide in the library for the remainder of the day, feeling relief as he lost himself in research. It was only a sudden sense of hunger that finally alerted him it was getting late.

He’d taken the bus to work that rainy morning, and now he walked back to clear his mind. Of course Seokjin had been a great fuck. It wasn’t like the boy lacked practice, was it? He knew how to take it, how to move his hips, how to arch his back…

But their encounter had not been anonymous, nor something they could easily forget.

He reached Riverside Complex, walking up the slope from the complex entrance with a plastic bag from the nearby 7-Eleven where he’d briefly chatted with the friendly cashier as usual while buying his dinner. His steps slowed as he spotted a man exiting Building 104.

He took a steadying breath.

Good. It was time for them to confront each other.

Seokjin spotted him quickly, too, and the fifteen seconds it took for them to reach each other felt like an eternity. Seokjin looked great in a black bomber jacket and jeans, nothing too extravagant but suiting him perfectly. It was almost nine o’clock. Seokjin must be heading out to a bar. Somewhere where men would fawn over him.

They stopped, and Namjoon squeezed the plastic bag. “Seokjin-ah. Hi.”

Seokjin cocked his head slightly, almost as a challenge. “Hi, hyung.”

The ‘hyung’ was provocative, recalling the way Seokjin had moaned ‘harder, hyung’ in the playroom. It was the kind of ‘hyung’ you only said to a man you had a sexual history with, and it made him want Seokjin.

He steadied himself. “Going out?”

“It’s a Thursday night, isn’t it?”

He nodded like that was self-explanatory. “Sure. To a club, or…?”

“Or what? A bathhouse?” Seokjin asked, taking him in with a knowing expression.

“Or that, sure,” he said neutrally, glad Seokjin had brought it up first. They both had slept with and were sleeping with plenty of men. This didn’t have to be awkward or some huge thing. “Speaking of which, I guess it’s good that we finally get to talk. We should probably establish where things are.”

Seokjin raised both eyebrows. “Why would we need to establish that?”

“Well—”

“I mean, I had a good time. You did too, I think. It was a fun, one-time thing.”

He blinked, digesting this. He’d been conflicted all week, wondering if he should go over to 510 and explain that what happened at Steam Box stayed there. Now Seokjin was explaining it to him, even when he most certainly was the bathhouse expert out of the two of them.

“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he said, only a little awkwardly.

Seokjin was promiscuous, and Namjoon acknowledged he was promiscuous, too – there was no need to explain anything. Ah, hang on, ‘promiscuous’ sounded judgemental. What had that one student told him last year? Sex positive, that was it – the new politically correct and judgement free way of saying the same thing. They were ‘sex positive’. (But why did that sound like something you should see your doctor about?)

Considering, then, that this was what they both were like, why were they standing there chatting? He should haul Seokjin upstairs and eat his ass instead of this microwave dinner and—

“I better get going – a go-go boy I know promised me free drinks if I dropped by tonight,” Seokjin said, coolly aloof – always in demand, always with men trying to get him. A go-go boy? Figured.

“Sounds like an offer you can’t refuse,” he said.

Seokjin’s eyes were dark and knowing. “I thought so too. Well, have a great night. Hyung.”

Seokjin continued on his way, leaving Namjoon to stare after him. To his surprise Seokjin slowed down, turned to walk backwards, and said, “It was a great fuck, by the way. Quite a show.”

Quite a show. A great fuck.

Understatements.

Namjoon could not remember the last time he’d let himself get so lost. Wild. All those men had watched him fucking Seokjin. Let them watch, let them be envious, let them be jealous. He’d fucked Seokjin with a want so dark that he hadn’t known he had it in him.

“Yeah, ah. It was memorable,” he admitted.

Seokjin smirked, turned back around, and went on his way.

Huh.

Guess their little fuck fest had been of no consequence at all to Seokjin. What, had he worried Seokjin would get clingy? That the boy would misunderstand their encounter for something more than the sexual release it had been? Had he even worried that he’d enjoy Seokjin getting clingy?

Ridiculous.

He continued on his way. He’d dodged a bullet, clearly, because Seokjin was too young to… To what? Fuck? No, not that.

Too young to know what he wanted? No, not that either.

Just too young for him. Seokjin having moved on to other men already was only a good thing.

But he still wanted Seokjin. Wanted to know what further pleasure they could get out of each other.

In the lift, he rubbed at his brow. On his menu for that evening was microwave bulgogi. On Seokjin’s menu was a go-go boy.

Who’d used who? The jury was out.

Donggil was a go-go boy at Bulge. Everyone knew him. He had the kind of overly muscular body and perky ass that the rest of them could only dream of, and in the white thong he captured the audiences of Bulge – with his, ah, bulge.

Seokjin had wanted to sleep with him for a while, mainly out of vanity and to get bragging rights. Donggil wouldn’t sleep with just anyone, after all.

And then Donggil had slipped into his DMs. He hadn’t even needed to do any chasing himself! A simple hey saw you at the club this weekend, a shame we didn’t get to spend time together

How could they spend time together (a euphemism) when Donggil had been shaking his ass on stage, accepting ten thousand won bills from thirsty, cock-struck bottoms?

In many ways, fucking Donggil the Go-Go Boy could be considered as the highlight of one’s cruising career. And so Seokjin did it, less than a week after Dr Kim Namjoon had railed him in the bathhouse. He was on a roll, one might say – or so he hoped.

He had lunch with Jimin the following day, showing up at the small kimbap shop ahead of his hyung and ordering far too much food.

Jimin arrived in Sexy Office Core, wearing black slacks, a white dress shirt, and a black suit jacket, work as he did at a financing firm as a junior analyst, where his blond dyed hair and earrings pushed the boundaries – yet Jimin was so talented that he got away with it, putting his business school degree to good use.

“I have thirty minutes,” Jimin said, sitting next to him at the window seats just as the ahjumma put down the order of ham kimbap, tuna kimbap, kimchi kimbap, and more. Jimin thanked her, but his gaze sharpened quickly. “Seokjin-ah? What’s wrong?”

He sighed, picking up a piece of kimchi kimbap with the chopsticks. “He was mid.”

“Who was?”

“Donggil.”

“Donggil? Mid?”

“He had the most gorgeous cock I’ve ever seen, like I swear to god whatever you’re picturing doesn’t do it justice. Big, girthy, like the kind of cock you’d draw for a pornographic anime. He is one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen, like not an inch of his body isn’t sculpted to perfection. And the sex was… forgettable,” he said, tone distant. He felt detached from the world, like he had woken up in some surreal alternative reality.

Jimin was stuffing kimbap into his mouth, rushed as he was for time, but his eyes shone brightly. “I can’t believe it. Tell hyung everything.”

And so he did, explaining how they’d gone to Donggil’s place from the club. Perfect body, perfect dick – universally drooled after. Donggil had fifteen thousand Instagram followers, for god’s sake!

They’d fucked twice, mainly because Seokjin had thought maybe the second round would make it better. The sex had been okay, and Donggil definitely fucked hard and fast. But Donggil hadn’t had a clue where his prostate was, nor had he thought it especially important to find out. His cock was big so that was enough, right? And Seokjin, mainly, had played the part of A Recipient Hole rather than An Active Participant.

Come to think of it, most men fucked him much the same way.

“But he didn’t,” he said, the plates of kimbap emptied.

Jimin was holding back a smirk, even as he said, “Not this again.”

“I’m serious!”

The first few days after Steam Box he’d been dismayed – was it possible he’d been having bad sex his entire life? Because in the playroom he’d had something akin to a celestial experience.

He thought of all the little ways Namjoon had guided them through the sex – positions, depth, pace. He thought of Namjoon not just humping a load into him and buttoning up, but rather taking care of him as they fucked, from start to finish. The sex was something they did together, rather than something that was done to him, and Namjoon had kept checking in and made sure he was getting pleasure throughout.

It sounded so simple when you thought of it, but Seokjin could not recall a hookup who’d done the same.

A bite to his earlobe and a, “This good?” Slight shift in angle. “This better? Sounds like yes.” Assertive, cocky – but pleased.

Because Seokjin’s pleasure had been important, too.

He’d come so fucking hard that he’d trembled all over. Several times.

Towards the end of it, Namjoon had figured out what he liked without needing to ask, and Seokjin had never felt so desperate to get a man to come inside him – because he wanted it to be as good for Namjoon as it was for him. He’d felt so connected and tethered and wanting.

After the elation came dismay, and after the dismay, he’d felt elation once more. He’d learned something new and valuable that would improve his sex life! And then Donggil had gotten in touch, and he’d been convinced that a whole new era of his sexual life had begun! Thanks, weird neighbour!

And instead…

Hump hump hump. Squirt. Finito.

“I genuinely think my life might be ruined,” he said, staring out the window.

“I would say that is needlessly dramatic.”

“Well, if fucking the hottest go-go boys in the scene isn’t the answer, what is? Old, nerdy professors? Like, is it an age and experience thing – do I start fucking fifty-somethings exclusively? Are we all just having bad sex without realising it?!”

“I’m not having bad sex,” Jimin said, looking offended. “But of course Donggil was different from Dr Great Fuck. Sex is different with different people.”

Jimin launched into one of his Hyung Is Wise speeches.

“The sex I have with Taehyung is intense and more, well, personal? When I sleep with someone else, it’s usually still great but in a different way. Hookups have this added excitement to them. The thrill of something new, you know, the pleasure of a conquest and all that. It’s impossible to have that with a long-term partner – but what Tae and I have instead is familiarity and an emotional bond that leads to great sex, anyway. Both kinds of sex are good in their own ways.”

“Then why aren’t all my new hookups good, thrilling conquests?” he asked, feeling a headache coming on.

He hated Namjoon more than ever – sure, it’d been a thrilling conquest. Donggil had been a thrilling conquest too. So why, exactly, had Seokjin been so unimpressed with Donggil drilling into him?

If Seokjin truly had been having horrible sex all his life, then who was Namjoon to show this to him during a lengthy, heady, sweaty, incredible sexual encounter? Why had Namjoon spoiled his greatest past time? That goddamn asshole! Sauntering up to him outside their building, looking all sexy in his professor core outfit, saying they should clear the air or whatever!

Seokjin, on his way to meet Donggil, had played it off coolly. Sexually enlightened – advanced to the next level!

Only for him to come crashing down like this.

Seokjin hadn’t known then that he couldn’t replicate it that easily.

God, Namjoon had looked so handsome. He always did.

He could still see Namjoon standing under running water in the shower room after they’d fucked – the way the water had cascaded down his flawless body, from the dark hair of his armpits to the pubic hair of his groin. He’d been taking in each detail because he could see more of Namjoon in the lights of the shower room than the playroom – god, I just had him. Other men were admiring Namjoon – the muscular back, the sturdy waist, the thick thighs. The thick cock. He’d felt weak at the knees, his mind only slowly recovering from how hard he’d come.

Seokjin hated everything.

“Well,” Jimin said, “I personally think that you and Jungkook need to stop fucking randos at this bathhouse. First you dragged Jungkook there, and what happened? He found a boyfriend! Mingyu seems lovely, actually – can you believe his physique? And so tall! He should be a go-go boy, my god. But even so, it was irresponsible of you to take a hopeless romantic like Jungkook to a bathhouse. I’m surprised Jungkookie didn’t find five boyfriends, frankly. And as for you, screwing your neighbour in front of a goading audience? …Well, that’s exactly the kind of thing you would do. I’m not angry or disappointed. For the most part, I’m just impressed – but you need to move on, Seokjin-ah. Alright?”

Jimin paid for their lunch, patting him on the back with some sympathy.

As they stepped out of the shop, Seokjin said, “You know I don’t fuck guys more than once, but what if everyone is mid compared to him? What do I do then?”

Jimin buttoned his suit jacket and shrugged. “Maybe he’s worth fucking more than once, then. I mean, imagine having something like that available right next door – how lucky would you be?”

Incredibly lucky, but everyone knew sleeping with the same guy again was lame. You had to keep pushing the boundaries, trying to find the hottest possible man and seeing if you could bed him. You had to play the game because everyone else was – and, if you were the only one not playing it, then you became the sucker.

Besides, he’d already made it known to Namjoon it would not happen again.

He was in demand and proud of it, to be quite frank.

He didn’t do repeats – god, why would he?

And yet…

As the first customers came into Old Flame that afternoon, Seokjin thought he’d sure fucked around.

And he’d sure found out.

Hoseok tugged on Yoongi’s sleeve, stopping him from entering the barbecue restaurant. “Are you sure we need to do this?”

Yoongi looked at him calmly. “It’s been months and he’s still dumb as shit. So yes.”

Hoseok sucked in a breath and gazed through the window. Namjoon was already at their table, busily typing on his phone. Who was he messaging – a cute man he’d met, perhaps? But, knowing Namjoon, he was likely typing in a work email, even late in the evening in the middle of a barbecue restaurant. Yoongi was right: Namjoon was never going to figure this out on his own.

He followed Yoongi inside.

After the three of them had shared two platters of meat, finished four bottles of soju, and let Namjoon complain about work, Yoongi cleared his throat and said, “Namjoon-ah, we need to tell you something.”

“We? We who – you two?”

They nodded, and Yoongi looked at Hoseok meaningfully. Right, that was his cue.

Namjoon’s expression was one of blank and benign curiosity, and Hoseok realised there was no correct way to do this. “We’re seeing each other!” he announced like this was the darndest thing. Why cushion it with explanations?

Namjoon frowned before his mouth twisted into a smile, dimples appearing. “Yeah, sure. What is this? Early April fools?”

“We actually are,” Yoongi said, and Namjoon started looking doubtful.

“Yeah, ah, for a few months now,” Hoseok said.

“Six,” corrected Yoongi.

“Right, right, six months. Which, wow, time goes by fast. We were both kind of surprised by it, not sure what it meant at first, so we kept it to ourselves. But, ah, now it’s gotten kind of official.”

“And we’re moving in together,” Yoongi added, and Hoseok felt horrible for not having told Namjoon any of this. The three of them had been best friends for nearly two decades – not telling Namjoon felt like betraying his trust. But he was quite pathetically in love with Yoongi and, honestly, he’d just assumed Namjoon would be able to see that. It felt so obvious.

But no: Namjoon looked gobsmacked. “Wait, what?”

Right, the abridged version wasn’t going to cut it.

They spent the next while talking it over, explaining how they hadn’t wanted to tell anyone because they’d been trying to figure out if this was just a friends-with-benefits scenario or something more. Sometimes, they figured, close friendship could lead to something else – sometimes it was the path to love.

Eventually Yoongi shrugged, reaching out to hold Hoseok’s hand under the table. “We figure we’ve been friends for over fifteen years so the risk of us moving in together to discover we can’t get along is pretty low.”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to waste any more time not waking up next to him,” Hoseok said, making Yoongi give him one of his quick and poorly hidden warm looks. Yoongi wasn’t flashy with his love, nor was he a man to put it into overflowing songs and poems. His love was in what he did, quietly and on his own, with Hoseok finding a newly purchased charging cable for his phone in the evening when he lost the old one in the morning.

Yoongi’s love was calm and steady. Unassuming and ever-present. For Hoseok, it was everything.

And now Namjoon knew.

Namjoon had shock etched to his face, even as he stood up. “Fuck. Fuck, this is great news. Fucking hell, come here!” Namjoon pulled him into a tight bear hug, then did the same to Yoongi. Namjoon clutched their shoulders, studying them. “I can’t believe this. Like, this makes such sense and yet I couldn’t have imagined it. I’m so happy for you guys.”

Namjoon was not a good liar, and so he meant what he said. Hoseok relaxed, a weight lifting off of him. Namjoon had taken it well! Why, exactly, had they thought that he wouldn’t? Why had they been so nervous?

They were both in their forties now. They could handle a mature, adult relationship with a person who meant so much to them. (They thought. They hoped.)

Namjoon ordered a bottle of fine liquor to the table, saying they had to celebrate. “Dinner’s on me!” he insisted, smiling widely. “Come on, we’re celebrating! Look at you two shacking up like respectable, law-abiding citizens.”

He sighed. “God, we’re getting old.”

“Suits me just fine,” Yoongi said.

When Yoongi went to the bathroom, Hoseok double checked that Namjoon was fine with it. Namjoon assured that he was, joking that maybe it’d only been a matter of time before some kind of a couple was born out of their triad. Hoseok nodded because he liked to believe in fate and destiny. That was what Yoongi felt like: destiny.

“Honestly, this is so great,” Namjoon said, getting a little emotional. Right, that was enough booze for him.

“Guess this leaves you as our token single friend,” he said, and Namjoon rolled his eyes. Hoseok hated being that person, but being with Yoongi had made him realise all over again how great love was. God, it was so great! Like this infinite source of energy and comfort that just made normally dull everyday life marvellous. Everyone should have it! Namjoon should have it! But–

“You know, I could set you up with someone if you want to go on a date. Give that neighbour of yours some noise to complain about for a change.”

Namjoon looked suddenly uncomfortable, rubbing at his neck. “Yeah, ah… You know, I’m alright. So busy with work and…”

Hoseok had known Namjoon far too long – usually Namjoon would just plainly tell him no, and not squirm like this.

He squinted. “Have you met someone?”

“What? No. Nothing like that. No, there’s no one. Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Hoseok absolutely worried about it, noting Namjoon getting evasive. Namjoon had always been a romantic. Hoseok refused to believe that was a trait that could just vanish with age.

They eventually parted ways outside the restaurant, and for the first time he and Yoongi could openly say they were going home together. Namjoon congratulated them again a little drunkenly, disbelief still tangible in his words.

In the backseat of the taxi, Yoongi rubbed at his thigh reassuringly as the car took off. “See? I told you telling him would go just fine.”

Hoseok nodded, taking a deep breath. He assessed the situation – read the pauses and the avoidant glances. “He’s met someone.”

“What – him?”

“Hmm. He just hasn’t admitted it to himself yet.”

Yoongi smirked. “Based on what exactly?”

“Intuition.”

“Hmm.”

“Just you wait.”

“Sure. I’ll wait. However long you want me to.”

Yoongi took a hold of his hand, their fingers slotting together.

With Yoongi, life was only about to start.

Caretaker Park examined the cherry blossom trees on the complex grounds, admiring the petals that had emerged. This was always the most beautiful time of year at Riverside Complex, and each year he wished that the season would last longer, but that did not take away from the magic as it happened.

He picked up the rake and gathered some dead grass together, in good spirits. Mr Kim of 510 also appeared to be in good spirits, calling out, “Hello, Caretaker Park!”

He returned the young man’s greeting, blinking against the sunshine.

Mr Kim stood on the cobblestone path, smiling widely. “A beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Very,” he said, pleased that a resident had actually stopped to talk to him. Most of the residents were always in such a hurry, only talking to him when they wanted something.

And, of course, so did Mr Kim: information.

“Have you seen Dr Kim this morning?”

“Dr Kim? Saw him on his bike early today. Heading to work, I suppose.”

“Ah, of course. Was he, ah, with anyone?”

“No.”

It’d been some months since Dr Kim’s fierce complaints about his neighbour, but Caretaker Park had not heard of the matter since. He felt uneasy about it – the case seemed unresolved.

“Why do you ask? Is there, ah, a residential quarrel between you two?” he said, deciding to ask up front – Mr Kim was young enough for him to be more direct with. Dr Kim lived alone. Why would he have been with someone?

But Mr Kim waved him off. “Oh no, no quarrel at all! Dr Kim and I, ah. We get on fine.”

He blinked. “You do?”

Since when?

“Yes, it’s a very civil relationship. I’d say we are quite, ah, closely acquainted, even.” Mr Kim’s cheeks looked as pink as the cherry blossom petals. “Well, I must be off to work – have a good day, Caretaker Park!”

The man walked towards the complex gate and Caretaker Park shook his head. What an odd kid. Odd, but charming.

He was fixing a broken lock on one of the mailboxes of Building 104 later that day when Dr Kim walked through the underground car park door – this was where bicycles were also stored.

“Ah, hello, Caretaker Park.” Dr Kim opened his mailbox and took out a few letters, looking through them. “The, ah, have you seen Mr Kim of 510 today?”

Caretaker Park stood up straight, dusting his hands together. “Mr Kim? Saw him around lunch time, heading to work.”

“Hmm, and has he— returned?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Dr Kim looked both pleased and displeased to hear it. He nodded, clearing his throat slightly, avoiding eye contact. Shifty. “Well, then – have a good day.”

They bowed at each other, and Dr Kim took the lift up to the fifth floor.

510 and 511 didn’t appear to be fighting, but something was strange about all this. Did they want to run into each other or not? He couldn’t make sense of it.

What an odd pair – this Mr Kim and Dr Kim.

Namjoon breathed in the moist air of the steam room, the white towel loose around his waist. He kept his eyes closed, listening to the susurrus around him – of men getting to know each other, of comparing notes on what sexual acts they wanted to engage in.

In the midst of these familiar conversations, he tried to clear his mind.

So, Yoongi and Hoseok were moving in together. He’d been to their new apartment that morning, a standard two-bedroom in a modern high rise, but a little more spacious than most apartments. Each extra square metre a small signal of affluence in the tightly crowded city of Seoul.

Their steps had echoed in the empty apartment. The moving company would deliver their belongings that afternoon. Namjoon had offered to help, but his friends had paid for an unpacking service. Another small sign of moving up in the world – they weren’t twenty-somethings asking their friends to carry a second-hand couch to the fourth floor.

He’d never seen his friends so happy.

That happiness had transferred onto him, making his heart feel twice its usual size. He remembered moving in together with Sangwook and how happy they’d been. And hopeful. And young. And naïve. He remembered them moving out, too.

Life ebbed that way. Apartments, relationships, lovers, coming and going. Bracketing their lives. Creating new beginnings and closing chapters.

He was happy for his friends, surreal as it was to think of Yoongi and Hoseok holding hands and skipping off into the sunset. And yet they were already such naturals with the way they communicated, the way they called out ‘baby’, the way they bickered. Like they’d been together for years instead of months.

They had closed a chapter. Started something new together.

Namjoon wondered when he would close this chapter of his life. He knew it so well already. When would it change? Well, probably when he secured tenure. It was about time.

Someone moved to sit next to him – a lean and toned guy with a chiselled jaw and soulful eyes that he’d never seen before. Bracelet? Ah, there. Bottom. Nice body. Nice chest.

He closed his eyes again, not wanting to seem too eager. Sweat rolled down his neck.

A slight disappointment filled him that the man hadn’t been Seokjin. How could it be? He’d come to Steam Box today, at this time, precisely because he knew Seokjin very likely was at work.

The man brushed his arm – a tentative touch that retreated quickly. Time for Namjoon to ignore the man or show a sign of interest.

“Hey,” he said, deciding the man sufficed.

The man smiled. Tilted his head, giving him a demure smile. “Hi, handsome.”

Together they headed to a playroom, with the world slipping away in the darkness that surrounded them.

Yet Seokjin stayed on his mind. He felt surprisingly confused touching the man and finding his body different from his neighbour’s – like he’d already gotten used to it after only a single encounter.

That happened, of course: getting used to someone. A man, a lover. A body. He’d felt this disorientation before.

He had never told anyone what, exactly, had made him break up with Sangwook, least of all Sangwook himself. Hoseok and Yoongi didn’t know all of it either.

Yet he distinctly remembered the moment he’d realised their relationship was over.

He had been beautiful -- the guy at Steam Box. Beautiful like the guy he was with that day, too. Fun, flirty, with sparkly brown eyes.

He and Sangwook had been in an open relationship for well over a year at that point, so going to Steam Box had already been a regular pastime. What had been different that day? Namjoon had had a lump in his throat the entire time.

All through their late twenties and early thirties, they’d been monogamous. Why? Maybe because they came from quite traditional families, and that was what they thought relationships should be. When Sangwook moved to Osaka – a tenured post, of course he was accepting it – they started doing long-distance. Not even six months into this, they’d both slept with someone else. Did it even matter who’d done it first?

Sangwook had thought it was him. Contrite, ridden with guilt. A conference – a wine reception…! The man had a wife, it was just a fuck, baby I’m so sorry—

A week later, Namjoon confessed his own infidelity.

They both needed more sex than over one weekend every two months. Plenty of gay couples were in open relationships, so why not them too? They could still be together, live in different countries, and have their needs met.

It’d been exciting at first. Namjoon had only had sex with one person for so long, and so it was liberating to sleep with any man he wanted. He didn’t ask Sangwook questions, and Sangwook asked him no questions. When they were together, they firmly pretended that a man, or two, or three, or ten hadn’t crossed their beds or dicks during their time apart.

Whenever he called Sangwook and didn’t get an answer, he thought: he’s fucking someone else – someone better, or hotter, or more well-hung, or more muscular, or younger, or prettier.

He suppressed the jealousy by refusing to think about it. By fucking men of his own.

He was fine. They were happy and sexually fulfilled and committed and in love. It was a great arrangement!

Eventually, over a year into this, Namjoon looked at the man he’d just had in a Steam Box playroom. A man he’d never met and did not know the name of. A man who could be anyone – anyone at all.

A man in no way comparable to the life partner he had loved for nearly a decade.

“Can you hold me?” he’d asked. Quietly. Ashamed.

The nameless man had indulged him, wrapping arms around him, holding Namjoon against his chest in the dim lights of the playroom, with groans of physical pleasure sounding around them. Namjoon had closed his eyes and listened to the man's heart beating.

Open relationships were so great, everyone insisted, but here he was, asking for a stranger to hold him. Because no one had held him in months. It was term-time, and he and Sangwook were too busy to see each other, and so no one had as much as hugged him in weeks.

It wasn’t enough. What he and Sangwook had – the scraps of the love that they were still clinging onto. It wasn’t enough.

He had started to cry at the realisation, and the man had held him even tighter. Hadn’t asked any questions, hadn’t pushed him away. But Namjoon had known, then, that his love affair of nearly a decade was over.

He could handle asking other men for sex – he didn’t think sex was necessarily a rare, precious commodity you could only receive from one person. But love? He could not handle asking strangers for love.

It was over.

"Let it out, baby," the guy had whispered, rubbing at his back as tears wetted the man’s chest.

Those who thought the only intimacy that dwelled in a gay bathhouse was sexual had no idea.

Years later, Namjoon was in Steam Box again. Older and wiser. Not thinking about Seokjin at all, and not crying except out of pleasure.

“You want to connect on Kakao?” the guy asked after they were done, using the tissue dispenser on the wall to wipe his stomach clean.

Namjoon, sitting on the edge of the bed platform, shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m alright.”

The guy took another look at him in the darkened playroom. “You’re not only on Facebook or something, right?”

Namjoon stopped tying the towel back around his waist. The guy was in his late twenties, probably – or was he actually much younger?

“Of course not,” he defended. How old did this upstart think he was?! Besides, what was wrong with Facebook? There were excellent house plant communities on there!

He got dressed in the locker room and left his towel in the laundry basket.

At reception, the guy at the counter greeted him warmly. “Did you find something you liked?”

“Why else would I keep coming back?” he returned – this slight flirtation with the staff was part of the Steam Box ritual. “See you next time,” he said, but just as he turned to leave, the front door opened and Kim Seokjin of 510 and Old Flame and SNU and his constant thoughts walked in.

They stopped at the sight of each other. Seokjin’s eyes grew wide, heat rushing to his cheeks.

Sudden warmth filled him – surprise, anticipation, and memory all mixing together.

Only a few rooms away was a stall where they had—

Seokjin recovered first. “Are you leaving?”

He nodded. They’d just missed each other.

God, just his luck.

He hastily corrected himself: no, no, this was good, of course – how messy would it be for them to hook up again? He knew he’d make excuses if they ran into each other here. In the dark, after all, they were all nameless and faceless. He’d lead Seokjin back into that playroom, and that would be foolish.

It’d been a one-time thing, just like Seokjin had said.

But it did not feel like a one-time thing as they took each other in, slightly transfixed.

Too young. Too literally-next-door. Too beautiful. Too addicting. Too reckless.

“Have fun,” he said, leaving Seokjin in the reception to pay. Seokjin was in his prime – let the kid fuck whatever moves. Wasn’t that the right and privilege of twenty-somethings?

Too enticing. Too seductive. Too perfect. Too everything that a twenty-five-year-old version of him had dreamed of finding.

He stepped out into the darkening evening, letting out a shaky exhale. Fucking hell.

He headed down the street and turned right, with his heart hammering unexpectedly hard. He suddenly thought of the nameless man who had held him all those years ago, then of the way that laughter had echoed in Hoseok and Yoongi’s new apartment that morning, then of the new nameless man who had clenched around his cock not even fifteen minutes ago, and finally of Seokjin’s reddening cheeks when running into him just now.

If life had a lesson to teach you, it was how to let go.

He’d become good at that over the years. Let go, let go, let go – including 510. Including him.

“Hey! Hey, hyung!”

He didn’t react, not thinking anyone was speaking to him.

“Namjoon-hyung!”

He turned around in confusion, finding Seokjin running up to him, his perfect, black hair in slight disarray.

Seokjin looked as stubborn and defiant as the day they’d met as he came to a stop, catching his breath, hands clutching the strap of the vintage crossbody bag that he often had with him. He brushed his hair back into place, moving a strand that had caught at his long, dark eyelashes.

God, Namjoon wished he were younger – a decade, even. Just a decade. Then he—

“Buy me dinner.”

“Excuse me?”

Seokjin motioned at the noodle place across the street. “Buy me dinner.”

Namjoon had never even noticed the Chinese restaurant before.

“I’m hungry,” Seokjin added, as a demand – like this was not his problem, but Namjoon’s.

To Namjoon’s surprise, this declaration did feel like his concern.

“Well?” Seokjin said, stepping closer to him.

They looked at each other more intently than was proper. Seokjin didn’t flinch or look away. Neither did he.

They were going to end up in bed together. Again.

Namjoon felt something ending, and something new beginning.

They both ordered jjajangmyeon, and Seokjin successfully talked Namjoon into buying him a beer. Fine, he’d actually tried getting Namjoon to buy them rice liquor or something else a bit stronger, but Namjoon had refused.

“So, how was he?” he asked Namjoon after he returned from the bathroom, having needed to go check how he looked. Nothing stuck in his teeth, no boogers up his nostrils. Totally fuckable. He’d pinched his cheeks slightly to make them redder – that was alluring, right?

Back at the table, Namjoon took a sip of the Tsingtao, effortlessly handsome in the yellowing lights of the restaurant, hair wet from a shower, eyes dark. “Who?”

“The guy you fucked just now.”

Namjoon raised a single eyebrow, eyes shifting in the general direction of Steam Box. Then he gave Seokjin a stern look. “Rule one of gay etiquette – don’t kiss and tell.” Namjoon said this so coolly that Seokjin felt his stomach drop.

Namjoon then said, “So, you studied mathematics.”

“What?”

He did not understand how Namjoon knew that or how that was relevant.

Namjoon nodded at the leather bag Seokjin had left on the table, which now had been moved to the vacant chair next to him. His notebook was peeking out of it – the one with endless pages of his…

Mortification flooded him, and he rushed to close the bag properly, even if it was too late.

“The auntie knocked the bag onto the floor when she came with our drinks, so I picked everything back up. You know, I always thought you were writing a diary, or maybe some kind of a catalogue of all your hookups.”

“Who writes a diary?” he said, feeling hot for all the wrong reasons. He wanted to be seductive! This wasn’t seductive!

Namjoon again looked unimpressed, saying matter-of-factly, “Everyone. That’s what modern social media is, you realise that, don’t you? Public diary writing, just exchange the heartfelt confessionals to a narcissistic search of a viral moment.”

Why did Namjoon have to be such a professor all the time? Then again, Seokjin had recently been wondering if that was what made Namjoon such a great lover – that insufferable competence and attention to detail.

Namjoon continued, “At first, I felt like I was looking at the crazed calculations of a conspiracy theorist. The simpler answer, however, is that this is what you studied.”

He shifted self-consciously, took a steadying breath, and then focused on being handsome, sexy, unattainable, and cool. He shrugged, ignoring how hot his ears felt. “Not that I graduated, but yeah.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “Really? I was thinking literature, maybe. You have such well-developed reading comprehension. Why didn't you graduate?”

This was not why he’d run after Namjoon at all!

“Because I never submitted my final research paper.”

“Why not?”

His sexy aloofness was starting to wear thin, annoyance slipping into his tone. “Because I wasn’t happy with it, and so I ran out of time, and so I failed that course, and so I didn’t get to graduate. Not enough credits for a BSc. That’s it. What else do you want to know? The topic? The Weissmann Conjecture. It’s a mathematical paradox from the nineteenth century. It’s never been solved.”

“And you were trying to solve it?”

He shrugged in response again. Yeah, kind of.

Namjoon stared at him in open astonishment. “You’re that good with numbers?”

Numbers had logic – and beauty, and art. It was the world, however, with all its grand expectations, that he found difficult.

Namjoon put his beer down. “Doesn’t that sound kind of advanced for a bachelor’s degree? I mean, if you’re trying to solve a two-hundred-year-old mathematical conundrum, and you do, doesn’t that earn you a life-time position at a Mathematics Department somewhere?”

“But I didn’t solve anything. It was a huge L.”

On the day of the deadline, he’d walked to a nearby hospital and complained of severe chest pains. He’d felt horrible, each heartbeat feeling like someone was punching his chest from the inside. He hadn’t slept in days. He wasn’t sure, even, what day it was anymore. He felt faint, he was hyperventilating, he was dizzy, he was having a heart attack, he—

They’d put him on an emergency IV drip. Extreme fatigue combined with an anxiety attack, the young doctor had eventually told him. They gave him something to help him sleep, and by the time he came to, the deadline had come and gone.

He’d found the job at Old Flame afterwards. Walked away. Started over.

“Why didn’t they give you an extension?” Namjoon asked, nosy as anything. “I mean, students miss deadlines all the time. Universities have extension guidelines for a reason.”

He took a swig of the beer, then waved the bottle around. “Because I realised I’d only have a shot at the conjecture if I was given ten years to work on it and nothing else. What difference would a one-month extension make in that case? But I still like testing different formulas. Just for fun. That’s what the notebook is.”

Since the age of fourteen, he’d had a mantra: get into a top university and get a degree in mathematics! Become the best! Become a theoretical mathematician! Or, wait, maybe a statistician? Mix it with economics! Get hired by a big company! Become a consultant! Become a millionaire! Don’t fail! Don’t fail, don’t fail, don’t fail, don’t fail don’t fail don’t—

He’d studied and studied and studied his entire life. Stayed in the top ten percent of all of his peer groups consistently.

All of it, gone in a single day.

Because he’d burnt out.

Because he hadn’t been as clever or as capable as he’d thought.

It’d felt like a fate worse than death.

Then, liberating.

Now he could become anyone at all – say, the most desired man in all of the gay scenes he moved in.

And by god, he’d been a success. Not a failure at all.

“Why have you never told me this?” Namjoon asked, making him frown. Why would he tell Namjoon anything about his studies?

Besides, wasn’t it obvious?

“Men don’t want hookups who are smarter than them. They want pretty, brainless bottoms with tight holes and no gag reflexes. What, you think the Weissmann Conjecture would get me laid?”

He scoffed at the thought, and Namjoon’s silence hinted that he knew this was true. In the circles they moved in, degrees were not the qualifications anyone was looking for.

“Is that what you think I want?” Namjoon asked at length, but their orders arriving saved him from answering immediately. He crossed the room to the side dish station, picking up pickled radish and kimchi.

They mixed their noodles in silence. Seokjin shoved jjajangmyeon into his mouth, hummed in pleasure at how good it was, chewed and swallowed hastily. Only then did he say, “Of course it’s what you want. In the same way I want a muscular top who knows how to weaponize his monstrous cock.”

“Language,” Namjoon said warningly, glancing at a family of four eating at a nearby table. Their children were being noisy, however, and Seokjin cared little. He only noted the hint of desire that stirred in him from being told off.

Namjoon had a slightly reddened mark circling his right wrist. That was from a locker key given at Steam Box, signalling what he offered. That he wanted someone to fuck.

Namjoon had already been with someone that evening. The thought made Seokjin restless, almost a little uneasy, but still wanting.

Thankfully, it did not make him despair. Namjoon looked at him with want in his eyes. He felt Namjoon’s gaze on his mouth and his neck, in lingering looks that Namjoon cast when he thought he wouldn’t notice. The want was evident in Namjoon agreeing to buy him dinner in the first place, a knowing tension having followed them from the reception of Steam Box to here. It was that unspoken hunger that had made him run after Namjoon. Had made him ready to risk it all.

Yeah, he was good with numbers. Good at balancing the odds. At calculating the winning hand.

“To answer your question, I never told you about my studies because it was never relevant to what we want from each other,” he said, making his use of the present tense intentional.

Namjoon smiled – to himself, it seemed, dimples appearing. Seokjin resisted climbing over the table to crawl into his lap. “Okay. So what do we want from each other?”

Namjoon really wasn’t so bad when he was being compliant.

“A mutually beneficial arrangement,” he said, in a way that would have made business school graduate Jimin proud.

Namjoon met his gaze steadily. “So what are you suggesting, exactly? That, ah, it wouldn’t be a one-off?”

Fuck me in the middle of this restaurant, he thought.

“I thought about it. About the time it takes to go out cruising, finding the right match, and not knowing if you’ll, well, have good chemistry or not. It’s very time-consuming. But you and I live twenty seconds from each other. Door to door.”

“That is true,” Namjoon said, voice deep.

Fuck me on this table.

Seokjin shifted in his seat. He was half-hard. Fucking hell. “So, I thought, why not? We could just message each other if we have the evening off. It’d be completely casual.”

Save me from the Donggils of this world, he did not cry out. Donggil had looked so perfect on paper – or on social media and the go-go boy stages. Hell, Donggil was perfect – that perfect body! That majestic cock! The stuff of dreams! And yet Seokjin had never felt so disappointed.

This was all the fault of the music lecturer sitting across from him.

Nerds made the best lovers.

It was devastating.

Namjoon put his chopsticks down. “You know I’m too old for you, don’t you?”

Pin me against the wall and fuck me until I can’t walk.

His stomach dropped, his confidence denting. “I said it’d be casual!” he defended. Yeah, Namjoon was kind of old, but who cared? He’d clearly taken good care of his body! And—

“You can find casual arrangements with guys your own age, too – not someone sixteen years your senior.”

But they don’t fuck me like you do, he thankfully did not say.

“But they don’t live next door,” he said instead. Besides, all this age stuff was more of a breeder problem, for people with biological clocks and life stages and ‘oh but when are we having children’ and ‘I must be married by thirty’. None of that applied to Seokjin and his friends.

Age sure was a number, but good dick didn’t age.

He’d fucked older guys before, too – guys well into their thirties. He’d always found it kind of hot. Sixteen years? That was hot too. Namjoon must have done and seen so much, and yet he would be fucking Seokjin out of every single hot guy he’d ever met?

That was hot.

He knew these guys perceived him to be young, and he liked feeling that way because god, next year he’d turn twenty-five, and that was so old. Getting fucked by appreciative older men made his confidence soar – a win-win scenario for both parties.

“Well?” he prompted, fearing rejection.

Namjoon was going to get all high and mighty about their age difference after making him orgasm in front of complete strangers, like now they had to be proper! Now they had to be platonic neighbours who minded the sixteen years between them! What a hypocrite Namjoon was. What a load of crap this—

“We need rules,” Namjoon said, lacing his fingers together.

“I agree,” he said, heart skipping a beat. Oh my god, I’ll do anything.

“Well?” Namjoon prompted, gaze dark.

Now was not the time to come across as an inexperienced kid. Thankfully, he had plenty of friends in situationships and fuckationships with rules and agreements.

“The main agreement is that we keep it casual – if you booty call me and I already have plans, that’s that. We ask no questions, and we don’t owe each other anything. No cock blocking, and no explanations.”

Namjoon nodded. “Sounds fair to me. Anything else?”

“That we don’t take it personally if the other says no.”

“Also astute,” Namjoon said, leaning back in his chair. Let me sit on your cock and ride it until I forget my own name. “Here’s mine. First, we both get tested regularly – I go for tests every three months.”

“I do too.”

“Good, so we keep doing that. Second, no spending the night. We’re meeting up for sex, not slumber parties. After we’re done, I’m going home, and vice versa.”

“That’s fine with me.”

Namjoon’s cool façade wavered, eyebrows drawing together. “And one last thing. I’m not going to hold you afterwards. That’s not what this is, so don’t ask me for that.”

“Sure,” he said, because cuddling rarely had been a part of his experiences, anyway. “Anything else?”

Namjoon’s gaze was evaluating. Seokjin tried his best to exude whatever was being measured.

“Just this: that you tell me the day it stops working for you. Because if it stops being fun, we stop. Again, no explanations required, and no harm done.”

That, too, sounded fair.

He nodded. They had an agreement. He had babygirled his way to renewed access to Dr Sex God.

God, his manifestations were powerful.

He broke into a smile. “I think we have an agreement for some good old-fashioned fucking.”

“Language,” Namjoon said again, but this time he was biting back a smile, looking so handsome that Seokjin pined. Fuck me from behind as you pull my hair and tell me how tight my hole is and—

They finished their beers and left the restaurant, turning towards Riverside Complex. They walked close together, but not so close that their arms were brushing. Seokjin was burning up, mind spinning with what he should say next. Namjoon seemed to enjoy the silence as if waiting for him to fill it. Not a challenge as such, but a learning moment as was to be expected of a boring pedagogue.

As they got closer to the complex grounds, he said, “So, do you have plans tonight? Do you want to come back to my place, maybe?”

Namjoon shot an amused glance at him.

Steady.

“And what would you like for us to do?”

The gauntlet.

Seokjin waited for two people to pass them before he said, as breezily yet confidently as he could, “I’ll let you fuck my mouth.”

“That’s one way to finally shut you up,” Namjoon said, and he let out an audible gasp. This son of a bitch!

Namjoon caught Seokjin’s instinctual reaction to smack his opponent. Seokjin got nowhere close to making contact, with Namjoon catching his wrist. Holding him firmly but without hurting him. Pulling him closer.

In the evening dark and under the cautiously budding green hues of spring, Namjoon held him close. Looked at him with open desire.

Seokjin’s breaths came out fast, heart thudding. Take me until there’s nothing left.

Namjoon tilted his head slightly. “Here’s what I was thinking. First, we’ll find that purple dildo that you have, and I’ll use it to open you up – nice and slow. I’ll fuck you with it until you come, which we both know will not take long. After that I’ll flip you onto your stomach, and I’ll kiss down your back and eat you out. Then, when you’re desperate enough, I’ll finally fuck you.”

Seokjin was fully hard, standing right there on the street. Namjoon let go of his wrist, and he stared at him in awe.

“Is that what you say to the guys at Steam Box?” he asked, breaths coming out shallow and quick, want burning him up.

Namjoon looked amused, eyes twinkling. “No – the men there are horned up enough already. But in my opinion people often forget that the most erotic organ we have is the tongue – capable of putting into words what we desire. Sex is often all about the anticipation.”

Fuck anticipation – he grabbed Namjoon’s jacket and tried to pull him into a heated kiss, with his other hand going straight for a crotch grab. To his surprise, Namjoon laughed, their lips brushing only for a second before Namjoon pushed him and his hands back.

“Behave.”

He held back a frustrated groan. God, fuck me right here! Shit, what did he care? Fuck me against that— that tree or lamppost or car or that old man walking his dog or—

“Come on,” Namjoon said, and Seokjin followed willingly, drunk on promises. He pushed into the warmth of Namjoon’s body, recalling its heat and shape from the playroom. Offering himself without any sense of shame. Namjoon had a hint of disapproval in his gaze – a ‘what am I going to do with you?’ Seokjin knew what. Namjoon had told him exactly what.

Almost in defeat, Namjoon curled an arm around his back.

Once they got to the lift of Building 104, he turned to Namjoon and pulled him into a wanting, desperate kiss. Finally Namjoon let him, arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him close, and already it was better than Donggil. Already. How?

“I’ll make you forget all about him,” he promised, hands pushing into Namjoon’s thick hair, lips locking with his.

“Who?”

‘The guy you fucked tonight’ was the answer – but he did not say this, realising he had already achieved this goal.

He all but dragged Namjoon inside 510.

The door closed firmly behind them.

Yunjin had come to expect little of nightshifts at 7-Eleven. When the clubs closed, drunken people usually came in to buy snacks, and some regular insomniacs would drop in to get some basics since they were awake anyway. After five o’clock, the early risers would start dropping in to get breakfast on their way to work or the gym.

That night shift, however, had not been completely boring. Yunjin had successfully matched the kindergarten teacher that she liked with the foreign English tutor who also lived in the area. Matched them, at least, in the confines of her imagination. They both worked in education, were vaguely the same level of attractiveness, and they were both smokers! Surely that was enough for a happy union?

This revelation had come to Yunjin around midnight, and it was now half past two. The excitement over the imagined match had faded, and boredom had once more filled her.

Yet the instant noodle section needed refilling, and so she carried a large carton box of noodles to the aisle. She started restocking the shelves slowly, dragging out the task to beat the dullness, when the bell above the door rang.

Yunjin lifted her head to assess the customer and relaxed upon recognising Jelly Bean. He, too, came in at night every now and then after the clubs closed.

Jelly Bean looked handsome as ever, with his broad shoulders and stylish black bomber jacket. His hair was a bit of a mess and his lips a little swollen, making him look like he had been…

Yunjin did not finish the thought, fearing she’d blush.

Jelly Bean looked at the empty counter and carried on to the fridge section without spotting her.

Yunjin considered standing up from her crouching position and rushing to fill up the banana milk section just to say hello to Jelly Bean, but before she could do this Dr Kim walked in. Dr Kim! At this time of night?

Yunjin couldn’t believe her luck. Two of the most eligible bachelors in the vicinity – at the shop at the same time!

Dr Kim, likewise, headed to the fridge section without spotting her.

Yunjin was still reeling from this when she heard a voice from the other side of the shelves: “I want these.”

“Energy drinks? At this hour?”

That was Dr Kim.

“What? Can’t handle it?” Jelly Bean coaxed.

Yunjin’s heart started to beat fast. Jelly Bean and Dr Kim knew each other! She clasped a hand over her mouth. How? Since when?!

“I have work in the morning, Seokjin-ah.”

“And my shift starts at two in the afternoon, so that sounds like a you problem.”

Yunjin listened intently, squeezing a noodle pack with her hand.

“And let’s get these protein bars and, oh, these jellybeans for sure. This should keep us going for a while longer.”

“The world isn’t ending tonight, you know.”

“And yet with each second we’re closer to our graves,” Jelly Bean mused, making Dr Kim chuckle, the sound of it disbelieving but warm.

Yunjin then heard something… moist. A kiss? No. No, of course not! Then a sigh. One might even call it a slight moan.

No. No!

What was her wicked imagination doing?!

After these disturbingly erotic noises, she heard, “So, I’ll grab this and wait for you outside. You get the other stuff. Thanks, hyung.”

Yunjin hastily stood up as Jelly Bean headed to the counter. Dr Kim was still at the wall chiller, looking over a boiled chicken breast packet.

Yunjin greeted Jelly Bean and sold him the electrolyte drink. He was full of his usual good cheer, a smug and pleased look on his face. Closer up, Yunjin noticed that Jelly Bean was completely dishevelled, like he’d pulled on his clothes as an afterthought. He paid and left, but not before casting a final, intent look at Dr Kim, gaze lingering on him.

Dr Kim did not move until the door closed, only then looking after Jelly Bean, expression thoughtful. Behind the counter, Yunjin’s head was whirring. No. But also clearly… No. Could it…?

Jelly Bean was standing outside, just like he’d said. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Dr Kim started heading her way, then stopped. Shook his head – why? – then headed to the aisle with toiletries.

Yunjin smiled at Dr Kim as he came to the counter, throat closing slightly as he placed the purchases down.

Protein bars.

Energy drink.

Jellybeans.

Lube.

Condoms.

Dr Kim had never purchased the latter three items from her. Jelly Bean, however, did so often.

Dr Kim paid by card, took the small plastic bag with his items, and told Yunjin to have a good night. Dr Kim had buttoned his shirt wrong, she noted with an air of abstraction – the buttons were all askew. Hastily done. Another afterthought.

She should be thankful the two men had bothered getting dressed at all.

Dr Kim left the 7-Eleven, and Jelly Bean turned to the door as it opened, breaking into a stunning smile. Dr Kim shook his head – in disbelief or defeat, Yunjin wasn’t sure – which only made Jelly Bean’s smile broaden.

Yunjin stared after them numbly, the two men heading the same way. Jelly Bean all but pushing himself tight to Dr Kim’s side. Dr Kim letting him.

The most eligible bachelors in the neighbourhood…

Yunjin took out her phone and opened her extensive matchmaking notes. She found Jelly Bean and she found Dr Kim, and, into the profiles of two men, she added a new Top Spousal Candidate.

For Jelly Bean, Dr Kim.

For Dr Kim, Jelly Bean.

Yunjin stared at these updates in silent awe and disbelief. She put her phone down, feeling dizzy.

She needed to sit down.

Chapter Text

V

Jockstrap competition night at Bulge always brought out the most fuckable guys in the area. Many of the competitors walked around the crowded club well before voting started, naturally only wearing jockstraps. Hyukjin slapped a few asses as he moved through the crowd, earning appreciative smirks. He wanted to bend over each of the men and smack those firm buttocks repeatedly while ramming his cock deep into some tight boy pussy.

His friend Sweetie thought that ‘boy pussy’ was a gross turn of phrase that somehow managed to offend everyone, but Sweetie was just jealous he couldn’t get guys as hot as him.

Hyukjin’s plan was simple: to fuck the winner of the upcoming contest – the ultimate prize. But then he saw him. On the leaner side, definitely not the muscular gym type like the contestants, but god so beautiful. Dark, wanting eyes, perfect blowjob lips, long legs and a narrow waist.

“I’m taking him home,” he said with determination, watching the man grinding with a shirtless hunk on the dance floor. The hunk was a bit short and had his eyes too close together. Hyukjin, who did part-time modelling work, wasn’t threatened.

Sweetie craned his neck. “Who? That guy? He’s pretty ho– Oh fuck, it’s him!”

“Him who? You know him?”

“Ah, not technically, but he fucked the hottest guy at the bathhouse some time back. I watched them go at it. Forget any porno you’ve watched, it was some of the hottest fucking I’ve ever seen. The two of them were just… feral.”

Hyukjin liked this report.

“I’ll bust a nut in his tight little boy pussy before the night is done,” he said.

Sweetie made a face of disgust, even as he kept looking around. “What happened to eloquent metaphors? Hmm, no sign of The Dragon.”

“The who?”

“Well, never seen him in a club, anyway… Ugh, I hate clubbing.”

Hyukjin ignored this and headed over to the group of men dancing, all hotter than the next. The blond guy and the man with dark curls were more or less grinding up on each other, so there was little point in trying to break them up. Next to them were two tall guys, one with a tattoo sleeve and a sweet smile, the other with bulging, muscular arms, and they had been making out and slow dancing to the fast techno beat for nearly five minutes now.

Truthfully, Hyukjin would have been happy to squirt into any of them. He only topped, of course, which meant that he was always in demand. In this world he was the hunter and the others prey throwing themselves at him. He was the great penetrator, il grande penetratore, while the rest were penetratees.

He’d spent two months in Puglia on a language exchange program.

Amongst the penetratees was the handsome, black-haired, red-lipped stunner, who made suggestive eye contact with him as he crossed the dance floor.

Hyukjin slithered up to the guy, moving in close with confidence. The man smirked at him, eyes dark, and let Hyukjin move behind him – their bodies touching, hips moving, ass to crotch.

The hunk dancing with the guy took the hint and, in defeat, started dancing with someone else.

They danced to Twice and then to (G)I-dle, at which point they turned to face each other. Hyukjin’s cock was half-hard, arousal pulsing in him. This guy was fucking hot – insane face card – and he was giving him inviting ‘fuck me’ looks, and Sweetie had reported he was cock-hungry. Perfect.

Hyukjin went for a kiss, smirking as this was returned. Soon they were making out on the dance floor. Easy seduction. He was a part-time model, after all.

Should they go fuck in the toilets? No, he’d take this guy home. A guy like this needed his hole filled at least a few times.

Besides, Hyukjin had had a tough week at work as an escalator repairman – he deserved a juicy piece of boy pussy, deserved to get off.

“You want a drink?” he shouted over the music, and the guy nodded, sweat glistening on his brow.

The guy’s friends were at the bar, the blond and curly haired ones smirking at the two of them. “Having fun, boys?” the blond one said.

“Always,” the guy said. “This is, ah— What’s your name?”

“Hyukjin.” He grinned at the four very attractive men. “A pleasure.”

He got them beers, keeping a hand on the man’s – Seokjin, a pretty name – lower back. Just so that no one tried intercepting him.

Soon Blond and Curls were back on the dance floor, shaking ass with a shirtless hunk between them, while Tall and Tattooed stayed with them. The tattoo sleeve guy was speaking into Seokjin’s ear, and Hyukjin sipped his beer, eyes washing over the few hundred scantily clad men having the time of their lives. The music was loud, the lights bright – Hyukjin loved it. The jockstrap competition was about to start, with some commotion up on the stage.

“Sure, you two can use my apartment any time,” Seokjin yelled to his friend, patting his arm. “Just change the sheets.”

This made his friend blush, despite him having sucked the face of Tall and Handsome on the dance floor.

“Hey, you want to get out of here?” he cut in, wanting to speed this up.

Seokjin smirked. “That eager, huh? Well, sure.”

They left their barely finished beers on the bar counter, and soon they were outside on the alleyway.

Hyukjin was feeling himself. “You know you’re really lucky because I’m always really popular. I do modelling – you probably guessed that, right? Oh, and I only fuck raw, so I hope you’re not uptight about that.”

He wasn’t going to shoot his wad into a condom like some loser.

Seokjin did not react to this. He’d got out his phone and was holding up a finger to signal ‘pause’ as he started reading a message. Hyukjin waited restlessly. Was Seokjin unaware of the kudos he’d get from sleeping with him? He was a known stud around these circles!

Seokjin’s expression lit up like a kid at Christmas. Good news, clearly, but Hyukjin did not want to be familiarised with the interiority of his trick.

“Well?”

“I gotta go.”

He blinked. “Wha— You’re kidding, right?”

Seokjin’s eyes were still glued to the phone screen as he quickly typed something. “No, not at all.”

“But—”

“I got a better offer. Thanks for the beer, though. Fighting, Minjin!”

“That’s not my—”

Seokjin was already far in the distance.

A better deal? A better deal?! No one rejected him! Him, the ultimate breeder!

Who the fuck could be a better deal than him?! Who the fu—

Namjoon paused in typing his work emails as he faintly heard the door of 510 opening. He checked the time – quarter past midnight. He oddly did not hear the door closing, but this still signalled one thing.

Seokjin was home.

Namjoon did not get up immediately but rather sent an overdue email to a colleague at Chiang Mai University. Bought himself some time.

Seokjin wasn’t particularly concerned about any of their neighbours picking up on late night visits between 510 and 511, but Namjoon knew that the lawyer in 506 had a keen eye and that she was very friendly with Caretaker Park. He did not need any rumours circulating around Riverside Complex.

Even if the rumours were true.

He glanced at the wall. Flexed his fingers.

For the past month and then some they… Just once a week… Or, perhaps, twice a week?

They lived next to each other.

It was too convenient.

Seokjin was too…

He rolled his shoulders. Stretched his neck. He’d intended to go to the gym that evening but time had gotten away from him. Not that his gym plans had received a very positive response, anyway – a message on his phone read: fine whatever, I’m going clubbing

Fifteen minutes later, he’d heard Seokjin leave. Noisily, door slamming.

Now he was back.

Namjoon looked to the wall again. Estimated that enough time had passed.

As he got to the door of 510, he found it left ever so slightly ajar with a slipper stuck between the frame and the door. This made a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

He slipped inside. “Seokjin-ah?”

He’d been to 510 a good number of times by now, finding it decorated with impersonal furnishings, like it was a show apartment no one had put much effort in. Seokjin’s diet was abysmal if the fridge contents were anything to go by, but at that age you were somehow immune to weight gain and needing good nutrition.

In the bedroom, the head of the double bed pressed to the wall that 510 and 511 shared. The too-thin wall that had been the start of all their problems. The wall that could be blamed for Namjoon ending up here.

But as he entered and took in the sight of Seokjin languidly resting on the bed, shoulders propped against the pillows, perfectly naked, he could not bring himself to regret any of it.

God, Seokjin was beautiful. The embodiment of perfect youth and beauty and sex appeal. Long limbs, golden skin. Dark pubic hair, a half-hard cock resting against his pubic bone.

There should be odes about men like him. Come to think of it, there likely were – from several civilisations, from thousands of years ago. Let me drop down to my knees and worship you. Let me give you whatever you want to receive.

Seokjin stopped typing on his phone, lifting his gaze.

They looked at each other.

Without saying a word, Namjoon started stripping. Seokjin watched him. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. Undid his belt, pulled it out of its loops. He was glad he’d always kept himself in good shape – to match, at least a little, the allure of the man resting on the bed.

He stepped out of his jeans, feeling amused as Seokjin raised an enquiring eyebrow at the bulge in his briefs.

He took everything off and approached the bed – and, to his surprise, was stopped by Seokjin lifting a leg and pressing a foot to his chest. He halted.

“You’re lucky,” Seokjin said, voice smooth and low, gaze evaluating. “I’d already picked up my trick when you messaged me.”

He took a hold of the ankle, the skin warm to the touch. He agreed: he was lucky.

“You could have just ignored my message, then. That’s the deal, isn’t it?”

He had both hands on Seokjin’s leg, massaging his calf, moving up to the knee. Seokjin’s legs were spread apart, and he knew where he wanted his hands to end up.

It didn’t bother him that Seokjin was sleeping with other men. He was doing the same – just two weeks back at Steam Box he’d had a sexy Japanese guy, and then he’d come home and knocked on the door of 510 and had Seokjin, too.

Seokjin was his favourite, however.

Easily.

“Of course that’s the deal, but I chose quality over quantity, I suppose. I still don’t understand why you would go to the gym, though, when I can give you a workout, too?”

His cock had hardened fully, and Seokjin eyed the erection knowingly.

“I didn’t go to the gym – got stuck finalising a presentation.”

“A presentation more important than me?”

“For my tenure interview so yeah, actually. But don’t worry, you’re far better company than PowerPoint. And I still need a workout,” he said, not wanting to think of work right then. The department had finally lined up the interviews for his job, which had been delayed by several weeks because the university was an inefficient, bureaucratic clusterfuck. He needed this jumping through hoops to be done and for him to be rewarded with his own job already.

Seokjin huffed and pulled his foot back before relaxing against the bed like a meal to be devoured. Over the past weeks, he had learned how to read Seokjin – how to decipher his mood swings and claims that he had other plans. Whenever Seokjin pretended that he didn’t want him, he did.

He grabbed a hold of Seokjin’s leg again, but this time he pulled and twisted, making Seokjin flip over onto his stomach. Seokjin let out an offended yelp, but he moved willingly and pushed out his ass as he settled.

Namjoon smirked, spotting only then the lube and condom packet placed by the pillows. He got onto his knees on the bed, the mattress dipping from his weight, moving between Seokjin’s legs.

He smoothed his fingers up the backs of Seokjin’s thighs, seeing the full body shiver this caused. He pressed his palms to the buttocks, kneading. Watched the flesh bounce as he smacked the left cheek.

Seokjin moaned and moved his hips against the bed. So horny, god – but he had never encountered Seokjin not being in the mood.

“Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?”

“Yes, but I always like hearing it.”

He pressed a kiss to Seokjin’s back, kneading his buttocks. “You’re so beautiful and sexy… Something to be revered… I go crazy thinking about the things we do together…”

“Hyung,” Seokjin breathed, sounding needier.

He pulled the cheeks apart, revealing the tight, dark pink furl. He rubbed his thumb over it. Seokjin shivered.

Seokjin had been an impatient lover at first – a lot of demands to be fucked instantly until he seemed to have realised that taking their time made the sex better. Made Seokjin come harder. Now Seokjin let him touch and prod and play without complaints, had even learned to ask for the kind of praise that seemed to really work for him.

The praise was easy to give.

Anyone would be lucky to have Seokjin.

Namjoon was lucky. God, he was lucky.

He reached for the lube and poured some between Seokjin’s cheeks. Seokjin’s hole clenched.

He pressed his nose to the dip of Seokjin’s spine and kissed his way up to the nape of his neck, moving over him, pressing them together. Pushing his cock into the wetted valley between Seokjin’s cheeks. Rubbing himself over him.

Seokjin was breathing fast, body tense with desire, and Namjoon wasn’t even inside him yet. He reached for the condom and quickly rolled it on, his patience wearing thin.

He caught Seokjin’s earlobe between his teeth, then pressed a kiss to the skin behind the ear. “Another one-off. Right, baby?”

“Yes, hyung,” Seokjin said, voice breathless as his cockhead rubbed over Seokjin’s hole. He grabbed a hold of Seokjin’s waist, holding the base of his cock with the other, and pushed inside.

Seokjin let out a wanting, blissed out cry that came deep from his chest – Namjoon had gradually become obsessed with that sound. Easy, easy – slowly, stretch Seokjin out, push deeper gradually… And the entire time Seokjin moaned and shivered and offered himself, so tight around his cock that he had to breathe calmly through the first minute to get a hold of himself.

He was glad some other man didn’t get to have Seokjin that night.

His cock sank in deeper, sending pleasure throughout him. God, no doubt about it: Seokjin was his favourite.

“Fuck me,” Seokjin breathed, hands clutching the sheets. Seokjin looked over his shoulder, mouth agape, eyes burning with overwhelmed want. “Hyung, fuck me.”

Hyung did.

Namjoon stirred awake in the dark, disorientated before realising that he’d passed out in Seokjin’s bed after the second round.

Beside him, Seokjin was lying on his back, fast asleep. His long, bare limbs were relaxed and bent in odd angles, and his cock was resting flaccid against his belly. A couple of orgasms knocked Seokjin right out.

Namjoon, too, felt the strain in his body, but a deep contentment followed it.

He breathed out the initial confusion. What time was it? Did it matter?

He reached out in the dark, hand drifting to Seokjin’s thigh. He loved these thighs – smooth, soft. Sensitive.

His hand slid upwards, and Seokjin shifted but did not wake. The sheets smelled like them.

Seokjin looked like Sleeping Beauty, face relaxed and princely. Like being beautiful was truly so effortless that he didn’t even need to be awake for it.

It was strangely intimate to watch someone sleep. He’d forgotten that.

His hand stilled on the warm upper thigh. The flesh beneath was soft.

Reluctantly, he removed his hand.

He should not get sloppy.

“I gotta go.”

He knew from experience that Seokjin wouldn’t react to this whatsoever.

He pressed a fleeting kiss to Seokjin’s shoulder and got out of bed, finding his clothes on the floor. He pulled on his briefs, his jeans, his socks, his shirt… Actions rehearsed.

Not the first time he’d snuck out of Seokjin’s apartment in the middle of the night.

Not the last either.

He picked up his phone from the desk and noticed a new notebook there. He paused before picking it up. Flipped through the first ten pages that had already been filled.

Page after page, numbers. Formulas. Mathematical equations.

He took in Seokjin’s sleeping form again – relaxed, slightly curled up. Fucked to exhaustion.

But when Seokjin was awake, his brain was working overtime. He buried it under vintage silk shirts and Grindr dick pics and wild club nights and casual fucks.

And all the time his brain was whirring.

Namjoon left the notebook right where it’d been.

Once he settled into his own bed, he heard the distant echo of traffic that was non-stop in a city like this.

From the other side of the wall, he heard nothing at all.

He’d finally figured out how to shut Seokjin up.

Taehyung walked into Old Flame with a box of fried chicken and two diet cokes. As he’d expected, there were no customers in, and Seokjin looked suitably bored.

“Did you bring me snacks?” Seokjin asked, expression brightening.

In truth, Taehyung was there at Jimin’s behest. Jimin had concluded that they needed some intel, and if Jimin started snooping around, Seokjin would instantly become suspicious. Jungkook, on the other hand, was a terrible liar, and Jimin didn’t trust him with the task. This left Taehyung, who felt confident he could pull this off.

They sat on chairs in the small back room, curtain left open so that Seokjin could see anyone coming in.

“The jockstrap contest at Bulge was so much fun. It’s a shame you missed it,” he said, helping himself to some soy glazed chicken, both of them wearing plastic gloves to keep their hands clean.

“Ah, but I went to that guy’s place, remember?”

“Shit, yeah, I forgot,” he lied, eyes lingering on a love bite on Seokjin’s neck. The mark was faint, looking more like an accident than something intentionally done.

Seokjin had not gone home with that guy he’d danced with. The man had returned to the club shortly afterwards, and Mingyu had overheard him complain about Seokjin taking off on him.

Where oh where had Seokjin gone?

They all knew that Seokjin was sleeping with his hunky professor neighbour because Seokjin had told them this, extremely loudly and in vivid detail. Taehyung remembered clearly what the neighbour looked like, too, from the time they’d followed the man to Steam Box: tall and handsome, a whole snack of a daddy. Who knew, apparently, how to fuck real good.

Seokjin and Dr 511 had been fucking for a while now, completely casually of course. Hell, how could you not keep at it when they lived right next to each other?

Seokjin had been acting smug and blasé for weeks, glowing in the fact that he had a sexy professor as an on-duty top. God, the privilege, Jimin had said more than once.

And yet.

Yet.

“Seokjin’s falling for him,” Jimin said matter-of-factly after Seokjin disappeared from Bulge. “He dumped that hottie just like that and headed home? It’s barely midnight!”

Taehyung had sipped on his beer, watching the jockstrap contest being held on stage. “So what, you’re saying he’s spending the night with Dr 511 instead?”

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“I’ve only seen the guy from afar once. Is he really as hot as Seokjin claims?” Jungkook yelled over the noise, with Mingyu backhugging him firmly. Jungkook made himself small to fit the larger man’s frame, looking pleased with himself and the world.

“Yes,” Jimin said matter-of-factly. “And when a guy like Seokjin starts choosing cosy nights in over a good fuck with the hottest guy at the club?”

Mingyu let out a whistle, eyes widening. “He’s a goner.”

“Exactly,” Jimin smirked. Such detective skills! Ah, his Jimin was so smart.

They had all stood in the noisy club, processing this in awe and disbelief.

Seokjin had never talked about boyfriends, had never expressed interest in dating, had never wistfully dreamed about settling down with a cute boy. Perhaps a straight group of friends would have pointed out to Seokjin how unusual that was, but in their circles relationships were not a de facto goal at all.

That night Jimin had gone to a love hotel with a firefighter who had come second in the jockstrap contest – for real, the guy had been an actual fireman – and Taehyung had ended up having a threesome with a couple looking to spice up their love life. Over brunch the next day, they had told each other in detail about their respective conquests, and they’d been so turned on by this sharing of information that they’d ended up in bed themselves.

None of them had ever dreamily talked about boyfriends, not even him and Jimin. They’d just gotten accidentally lucky in that department. Jungkook, of course, had always been the outlier, and now with Mingyu was living his best Devoted Monogamous Boyfriends dream.

But Seokjin? No. He couldn’t be in love, could he?

Taehyung eyed the faint bite mark again. “So how are things with Dr 511? Are you still hooking up?” he asked, aiming to sound perfectly neutral, like any answer would make sense.

“Of course. What, you think that level of sexual servicing is easy to find?” Seokjin said, going for the gochujang glazed chicken. “But you’d think with him next door he’d be easy to get a hold of, right? But no, he’s always working late or flying abroad for a conference or organising a workshop in Jinju. Honestly, a complete workaholic.”

“I guess you have to be in that line of work,” he shrugged, although he’d always assumed academics didn’t work that hard. Guess he’d been wrong. “And how’s the sex? Still good?”

At this, a dark cloud appeared in Seokjin’s eyes. “Fucking exceptional. Still.”

He laughed. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“It is when he’s the only place I can get it.”

Every guy Seokjin had hooked up with lately had received the report of ‘not as good as 511’.

This sighing over a hookup, lamenting his busy schedule – pining, one might say – was wholly new of Seokjin. And, more to the point, Seokjin had hardly ever slept with the same person twice, let alone semi-frequently over several weeks.

Maybe Jimin was right. That Seokjin had become attached and, with attachment, came feelings.

And Seokjin didn’t even know it yet. Wah, how adorable…!

As they finished the chicken, Taehyung told Seokjin of his threesome, providing him with all the scandalous details. Seokjin, in turn, showed him his Top 5 dick pics he’d received on Grindr that week.

Jungkook walked into Old Flame with a spring in his step. “Seokjin-ah, you’ll never believe what Mingyu got me for our nine-week anniversary!”

Seokjin looked pleased to see him, standing behind the counter and putting down the shirt he had been folding. Upon hearing the topic at hand, however, Seokjin looked disengaged.

Seokjin had told him more than once that he and Mingyu were being “obnoxious bunnies”, whatever that meant. Jungkook had last been in a relationship during his first year of university – with a girl, because he hadn’t quite figured himself out yet.

This, with Mingyu, felt like all the things he had been looking for and imagined, except even better. And no, it was not obnoxious that they celebrated their anniversary each week. How amazing it was to have anniversaries!

“Stop pouting just because I have a boyfriend,” he said sternly.

Seokjin scoffed, crossing his arms. “I am not pouting. I just miss the days when all our conversations didn’t revolve around Mingyu this and Mingyu that. Who has twelve best friends, anyway? That’s sus.”

But when Jungkook wasn’t talking about Mingyu, Seokjin would be talking about Dr 511. Jimin had a theory on that, as they all knew, but they had sworn not to tell this to Seokjin himself.

The operative word was ‘thorough’ – “He’s so thorough when he fucks me,” Seokjin had explained to him. “We always fuck more than once, always. The other day I was riding him until my thighs felt like jelly, but I still couldn’t stop. And when he came? Like an explosion, honestly. Cum on the ceiling.”

“Stop exaggerating!”

“I’m not!”

And so he ignored Seokjin’s comments on Mingyu – who was not sus at all, thank you! – and opened his backpack, carefully pulling out a vinyl record. On the cover was a neon-coloured cartoon cat with its paws up like it was dancing, surrounded by multi-coloured flames – Let It Burn, the album title above the cat read. The band was called The Provincial Clan.

He showed the record to Seokjin. “My supervisor used to be in a band!”

Dr Min had mentioned this off-handedly in a seminar some weeks ago, but Jungkook’s ears instantly pricked up. Dr Min had been in a band? What, a hip hop collective? Wah, how cool! He’d mentioned it to Mingyu in passing, and of course his boyfriend was the best and had somehow found one of the band’s records for him!

Seokjin shrugged. “Well, it’s a music department, isn’t it? Figures that the lecturers are nerds. Come to think of it, I wonder if 511…”

Jungkook placed the LP on the counter. The album folded open like a book: on the left-hand side was a picture of the band and on the right were the credits and ‘thank you’s. He pointed out the blond-haired man in the middle of the three-member group, wearing baggy jeans and an oversized hoodie. “That’s Dr Min Yoongi when he was our age! He looks so young here, it’s wild.”

Seokjin frowned, glancing down at the picture that was upside down for him. “Min Yoongi? Why do I feel like I’ve heard that name before…?”

“Uh, because he’s the coolest lecturer in the department and I talk about him all the time? And this is Dr Kim right next to him! They were in a band together! Can you believe that? You’ve got that record player here in the store, right? Because I don’t own one, so I hurried over – I really want to listen to this! It’s not on Spotify or anything!”

Seokjin was peering at the upside-down trio standing in a derelict building, posing with crossed arms and jutted out chins. He turned the vinyl around to face the right way. His forefinger moved from Dr Min to the third man that Jungkook knew from the credits was Jung Hoseok, wearing plenty of black eyeliner with a baseball hat on his head. Seokjin then tapped the figure of Dr Kim, who had black hair shaved short at the sides but kept longer at the top and swept back for the photo.

“He looks familiar.”

“Dr Kim. Teaches Contemporary Music.”

Seokjin flinched, looking from him to a young Dr Kim again. “Uhh. How old did you say this album is?”

“Not sure, like fifteen years? I think they’re in their mid-twenties here.”

“And the, uh. This man here, uh. He, er. He is your Dr Kim?”

“Yeah, Kim Namjoon. And he was in a band toge— What?”

Seokjin had gone perfectly pale. He looked between Jungkook and the band in slow motion. “Your Dr Kim. Is Dr Kim Namjoon?”

“Yeah, and that’s Dr Min! Come on, let’s put this on.”

Wah, Dr Min and Dr Kim were so cool! And who was this Jung Hoseok that they’d been in a band with? Jungkook would have to find out!

He got the record player going, and loud and aggressive hip hop music filled Old Flame, where usually old nostalgic classics played. Although the album had been recorded ages ago, Jungkook recognised Dr Min’s voice – rapping hard and fast like a beast.

He stood next to Seokjin in the middle of the shop, staring at the side table where the record player was – rarely used and displayed mostly for nostalgic decoration. Oh wow! Dr Min was so fucking cool! Then rapped a second voice – tinnier, lighter, but then lowering into a growling snarl. Finally, a third voice. Jungkook recognised it too.

“This is Dr Kim!” he enthused.

“Holy shit,” Seokjin breathed, his entire face bright red. Seokjin avoided Jungkook’s questioning gaze. Well, when good music hits you, it hits you!

There were only three songs on the A-side of the LP. Seokjin flipped the record over while Jungkook studied the credits and thank yous. He couldn’t believe Mingyu had found this – god, he loved Mingyu so much!

“Dr Min thanks all of his haters! Fuck, he’s so fucking awesome! This Hoseok guy thanks his mother. Dr Kim thanks like fifteen people, well he’s always been popular, I guess, even on campus everyone’s fawning over him like—”

“Everyone’s fawning over him?” Seokjin asked sharply, snatching the album from him as a new song started to play. He let Seokjin read, focusing on vibing to the next song. He’d have to tell Dr Min that he’d found his album! And Dr Kim too, of course! God, he’d have to do something special for Mingyu to thank him for this.

“Seokjin-ah, can I borrow your apartment to cook Mingyu a meal for our ten-week anniversary? I have to do something really special for him!”

“Uh huh, sure,” Seokjin said, reading the thank you notes over and over, and then studying the picture of the band, showing the three men as they had been all those years ago.

They looked so young: Dr Min, Dr Kim, and Jung Hoseok. Young, handsome, and sickeningly talented! Who’d known that his lecturers had a past like this?!

“You know, I’m so used to seeing these guys giving lectures that it’s kind of mind-blowing to realise they’re people with private lives and histories,” he said, digesting this. “I always think of them as so proper and authoritative. Like, I really admire these guys. They’re my role models, really.”

Seokjin scratched his head. “Well, uh… That’s er… interesting… Um. Jungkook-ah. This Dr Kim of yours…”

“Yeah, what about him? He kind of feels like a father figure to me, you know. Students love him, and of course the girls and gays just obsess over him.”

Seokjin blinked. “They what now?”

He laughed. “Everyone dreams of seducing him, more or less. He’s the hot professor type – and we didn’t even know he used to be a rapper! I had a bit of a crush on him at first, too.”

This made Seokjin hand him back the album covers, muttering ‘son of a bitch’ to himself. “You just said he’s like a father to you, but now you want to sleep with him? That’s sick, Jungkook-ah! That’s incest and illegal!”

“Uh, what the hell?”

“Get some help!” Seokjin snapped, like Jungkook wasn’t happily with Mingyu! Of course he wasn’t hitting on Dr Kim – was Seokjin insane?

Jungkook did not see what Seokjin had to be angry about. This had nothing to do with him and all to do with Jungkook!

Kijung showed up for his shift before the B-side finished. Jungkook coaxed Seokjin to finish listening to it with him, and maybe then they could hang out? He worried that he had been ignoring his friends in favour of Mingyu.

But Seokjin said he was in a rush and hurried out – or stormed out, rather – looking visibly annoyed, with heat high on his cheeks.

Jungkook turned to Kijung with a frown. “Where was he going in such a rush?”

Kijung raised a single eyebrow. “Lately? Probably to rendezvous with his Dr Kim.”

“He talks to you about him too?”

Kijung laughed. “Me and my girlfriend know more about their sex life than we do about our own.”

Jungkook chuckled and focused on the next verse rapped by his Dr Kim.

Funny that Seokjin had a Dr Kim, too.

Seokjin couldn’t believe how dumb he was, not connecting the dots. He vaguely remembered a man with shaggy black hair knocking on his door months ago, in the company of Namjoon. Dr Min Yoongi, the man had introduced himself.

Jungkook gushed about a Dr Min Yoongi all the time.

Jungkook also gushed about a Dr Kim. What of it? There must be thousands of Dr Kims! Yes, even in music departments like the one where Namjoon worked and the one where Jungkook was studying.

Seokjin had never, not once, bothered to ask which university Namjoon worked for.

He should have.

Now he walked through the campus gates, a black cap on his head and a mask over his mouth. He didn’t want Namjoon to spot him – he was here to spy.

An uneasy thought had entered his mind upon realising that there was only one Dr Kim that he and Jungkook had spent months talking about: that Namjoon would react badly to finding out Seokjin’s best friend was a student of his. Namjoon talked about his students sometimes – fondly, with exacerbation. “They’re still so young – just figuring it out,” he’d said more than once.

Kind of like an adoptive father figure.

Now it turned out that half of these youngsters were throwing themselves at him! Sick little fucks!

Seokjin hadn’t realised how little he knew of Namjoon’s life until Jungkook had showed him the Provincial Clan album, too. Namjoon never told him anything. Namjoon just… well, fucked him. And then left.

It’d never bothered him before.

Now a strange bitterness filled him, and so he’d decided to come see for himself. To his plight, he had told Jungkook everything, from the dimensions of Namjoon’s dick to what his orgasm face looked like.

Namjoon would not want Jungkook to know those kinds of things, and likely vice versa.

Oops.

If you thought about it, Seokjin was the real victim here. How was he supposed to know?!

He studied the campus map on the information board and located the music department. Once there, he recognised Namjoon’s bike in the bike rack to the side of the building. God, so this was where Namjoon worked! This fancy, three-storey, vaguely Europeanesque white brick building on this large, sparkly campus.

Namjoon was such a nerd.

But, according to Jungkook, a sexy nerd who endless students lusted after.

Namjoon had never mentioned that.

Seokjin bristled. These people wouldn’t swoon over Namjoon if they knew how uptight and obnoxious he was! If they knew how annoying it was for Namjoon to be so perfect!

He walked into the Music Department, entering a large foyer with corridors to his left and right, and a large staircase up ahead. Someone was playing the cello somewhere.

He stopped two girls. “Excuse me, where’s Dr Kim Namjoon’s office?”

The girls looked at each other and giggled. “Upstairs, the corridor to the left,” the shorter one said.

“You’ll know it from the girls hanging outside,” the taller one said.

Suck my dick! he thought. Girls hanging outside? What, was Namjoon the stud of the department? Had none of these clueless straight girls developed even a half-functioning gaydar?!

He headed upstairs, brooding. Son of a bitch! Namjoon had never said a word that he had a goddamn female-leaning fan club at work. No wonder he was so cocky – that contributed to an inflated sense of ego.

The corridor to the left was mostly vacant, however. He passed offices, some with open doors and some with closed doors. He read the names: Dr So and So, Professor So and So… Ah, Dr Min Yoongi. The door was closed but covered in stickers and posters of various bands. ‘I’m not like other professors – I’m a cool professor’, the door said. Stop trying so hard, Seokjin thought.

But this man had been in a band with Namjoon eons ago – was a very close friend.

Two doors down from Min Yoongi was Namjoon’s office, but the door was closed, and no girls lingered outside. Good, because Seokjin would have told them to stop being delulu. Namjoon’s door had a few A4s pinned to it, advertising symposiums, talks, and conferences. One such poster advertised a talk happening that day.

“Is Dr Kim in?” a hopeful voice asked him, and he turned to a very visibly queer teenage boy – the purple, permed hair and Nirvana t-shirt said ‘I’m alternative and not part of your lame mainstream culture, Eomma. You wouldn’t understand!’ The rainbow flag pin on the boy’s denim jacket, of course, was also a giveaway.

“No, he’s not,” he said, reaching for the talk poster and yanking it off the door.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing,” he said, folding the paper and stuffing it into his pocket. “Why do you want to see Dr Kim, anyway?”

“Ah, well, I wanted to ask him about the lecture he gave my class yesterday…”

“Send him an email. Better yet, send a letter. Attached to a pigeon.”

The boy was eighteen? Nineteen? Fresh out of school – a child! And he wanted to talk to Namjoon about his lecture? Please. These campus crushes on professors were so childish and juvenile! Seokjin fumed. Did everyone here want to fuck his neighbour?! These absolute kids! They were far too young for Namjoon! Had they no common sense?!

He left the kid standing outside Namjoon’s door and headed back out. He got out the poster, checked the venue, and started walking across campus. So Namjoon was giving a talk, was he? Seokjin would go listen, then – sit at the back, pull the cap low over his eyes. See Namjoon in action to understand what on earth all this fuss was about. Even Jungkook admitted to having a crush on him!

Namjoon really was nowhere near as cool as all these people, Jungkook included, seemed to think.

At the same time, could all these people please stop perceiving Namjoon? Yes, he was tall, handsome, and dimpled – and that was frankly no one’s business except Seokjin’s.

“Seokjin-ah?”

He stopped outside a large modern building, turning at the sound of his name. He blinked against the sun, taking a moment to recognise Jang Nayeon from the BSc in Mathematics programme at SNU.

“Nayeon-ah,” he managed, surprised because she’d had a complete transformation from a mousy, bespectacled girl to having long, orange-dyed curls and a mini-skirt teetering into macro territory. Unlike the Music Department kids, however, she looked mature – sexy and in her prime.

Nayeon beamed, coming in to hug him. She only came up to his shoulders. “What are you doing here? Oh! Are you a postgrad here too?”

She spoke fast, gushing about the graduate program she was on for mathematical science. The differential geometry class she was taking was incredible, and she intended to do her research paper on algebraic geometry. She had also just applied to the KARI internship program. “If I’m accepted, I’ll get to work with astronauts!” she said with a confident, self-assured smile. “What about you? Where are you studying? Oh, are you working? Who for? Statistics Korea? The National Assembly Budget Office? So many places were fighting over top graduates like us!”

His tongue felt thick and his throat sore. Worse than this, heat was rising up his cheeks.

The hard, heavy beating of his heart reminded him of late-night study sessions with deadlines breathing down his neck, and him working on his laptop, trying to get the numbers to behave – panic rising as they didn’t.

Nayeon had been at the top of their class at SNU, too, right alongside him. They had been going places, to bright futures and amazing careers. And now? She was getting top marks for her postgrad degree and was heading to work for the national space agency.

He was rarely at a loss for words.

Nayeon’s life sounded so fucking cool that a sharp emptiness filled him.

Shame started to bubble in his belly.

“Yeah, uh,” he started, shifting his feet.

What was he supposed to say? ‘Oh I’m a manager at a small, vintage clothing store that this rich lady keeps open as a pet project. We barely make any money and I use absolutely none of the skills that I picked up in university.’

Old Flame was a cool gig in some ways, but it wasn’t what any of his peers were doing. It was beneath them. Beneath Nayeon.

Beneath Seokjin, too – or should be, in the eyes of others.

Nayeon seemed to catch on. “Ah, I know you had to postpone graduating. Oh, is that why you’re here – for an Open Day? I can tell you all about the Master’s degrees they offer!”

But you couldn’t apply for a postgraduate degree when you had no degree at all to begin with. How was he supposed to tell Nayeon this? That he hadn’t actually graduated at all?

For all he knew, he’d work at Old Flame for the next ten years.

At the thought, panic swelled in him again.

“I, ah, was actually just dropping by to have lunch with my boyfriend.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, um, he’s a professor at the Music Department and we’re super in love and we’re going to French Polynesia in the summer and he owns a Porsche.”

Nayeon’s eyes widened, but she nodded, digesting this. “Well, no wonder you’ve found yourself a successful boyfriend. You were always so popular.” Her smile was painfully sympathetic. She saw right through him, and shame grew inside him. “See you around then, alright? Hit me up if you ever want to grab lunch!”

He waved Nayeon off, then started walking away with determined steps, like a man about to get a lift in a brand-new Porsche, but in truth he had no idea where he was heading. He just wanted to look busy and important, like someone who had just applied for an internship at KARI.

Once around the corner, he stopped, catching his breath.

Humiliation burned his cheeks.

He hadn’t been clever enough.

He hadn’t been enough.

He bit hard on his lower lip, but tears welled up in his eyes, anyway.

Namjoon stepped out of the lift and headed to his door, lost in thought, and registered the man sitting on the top step of the stairs with delay.

He stalled. Turned. Took in Seokjin leaning against the wall of the stairwell on the fifth floor landing, scrolling on his phone.

“Seokjin-ah?”

No response. He approached Seokjin, and only when looming over him did Seokjin stir, pulling out an earbud and blinking up at him. “Hyung. Hi.”

He arched an eyebrow, which was enough to ask why Seokjin was loitering in the hallway late at night. Had Seokjin been waiting for him to come home, perhaps? No, surely not. That was too familiar.

Yet he was relieved at the sight of Seokjin. For two days now, Seokjin had not replied to his state-of-the-art booty DM of you busy? He had heard some movement from next door, so he’d known Seokjin was alive. Just busy, he figured – yet his attempts at seduction had never been ignored before.

This silence had been nagging at him the entire time. Why wasn’t Seokjin replying? Had he found a better deal? A new, hotter conquest?

In truth, had he really expected Seokjin’s interest in him to last beyond a month?

Well. That had always been their agreement. Completely casual – no explanations, no hard feelings.

And, as his DM remained unanswered, he hardened himself to the fact that their brief affair was over.

He had never expected it to feel like a loss, like something bright and warm diminishing and then fading out altogether.

But it had.

‘Why haven’t you answered my message?’ he did not ask. ‘God, would it hurt to let me know you’re alive and well? I’ve been worried, you fool.’

Now Seokjin sighed and motioned down the hallway to 510. “My friend asked to use my apartment for celebrating an anniversary with his new boyfriend. They both flatshare so they wanted privacy, and Jung– I mean, my friend wanted to cook for their special day, and— and anyway, I said sure. But I forgot it was tonight.”

Namjoon looked to the door of 510. “Oh.”

Seokjin shrugged and turned back to his phone. “Anyway, I’m scrolling Grindr for the first guy who will invite me over to his place. Better than sleeping on the floor of Old Flame.”

He ground his teeth. “Seokjin-ah.”

He had learned many ways to say Seokjin’s name, in different tones. This tone meant ‘you’re being stupid and reckless’. Going with whichever random guy told Seokjin to come over? What, like a mass murderer?

Namjoon took in a calming breath. He’d had a long day at work, and he’d gone over to Yoongi and Hobi’s apartment (still a strange concept), enjoying dinner and drinking perhaps a bit too much wine while taking in his lovey dovey friends.

He was happy for them – of course he was.

But he envied them. He’d admitted that to himself sometime around his third glass of wine.

His own affairs seemed so randomly patched together in comparison, including the pouting boy on the top step with whom he may or may not be in a sex pact with. He wasn’t even sure anymore.

Seokjin looked tired, like he hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. Lacking his usual mirth and spark.

“Come in,” he said, countering Seokjin’s surprised face with, “What, you want me to feel good about letting you go off with some sadistic murderer? It’s getting late. Come on.”

With a sigh, Seokjin stood up, clutching the strap of his crossbody bag. “Worse ways to go than being choked to death mid-sex.”

“Seokjin-ah.”

This earned an eyeroll from Seokjin.

In the living room Seokjin left his bomber jacket draped over the back of the couch, taking the place in with an uncertain air. Namjoon said, “You can have the couch.”

“Yeah, sure,” Seokjin said, looking around the apartment. Namjoon knew why Seokjin was doing so: whenever they hooked up, it was at 510. Being the visitor made leaving easier.

As such, during all of these weeks Seokjin had barely stepped foot in his apartment, despite having visited a few times before their arrangement began. Seokjin looked surprisingly lost – and unsure, which was not like him. Seokjin was always in his face, overflowing with a confidence bordering on the obnoxious.

Namjoon had always thought that an unappealing trait of defiant youth. Now that it was missing, however, he realised how much he missed it.

“Seokjin-ah? Everything alright?”

Seokjin took a moment to react, then nodded belatedly.

Worry grew inside him.

“Have you eaten? Sit down, I’ll find you something to eat.”

Seokjin took a seat on the couch, tucking his socked feet under his buttocks.

He returned from the kitchen with a box of plain crackers and a bottle of iced green tea. “Sorry, I rarely cook so… Here you go.”

He sat down on the office chair, swirling it around so that they were facing each other. He leaned back slightly, manspreading, feeling like he was the therapist and Seokjin was the patient on the couch. Seokjin cast a suspicious look at him and ravenously stuffed crackers into his mouth.

“Where’ve you been the past few days?”

“At work. Around. In places,” Seokjin said.

Right, none of Namjoon’s business. No explanations needed. But—

“Are you okay?”

Seokjin nodded so quickly that the question likely hadn’t properly registered. Seokjin was taking large gulps of the iced tea. “Sure, I just— haven’t slept much lately. So, I’m sleeping on this couch?”

“It pulls out into a bed.”

Seokjin glanced down, as if re-estimating the couch. “Alright. Can I borrow a towel then? I need a shower.”

He huffed, but truthfully was pleased that the overly confident and presumptuous Seokjin that he knew was still there. “Sure. Fine.”

He gave Seokjin chequered blue and white pyjama bottoms and an old, white t-shirt to change into, and, while Seokjin showered, he made the bed. He considered stripping and joining Seokjin in the shower – could almost feel the warmth of Seokjin’s skin, scrubbed clean – but Seokjin had not indicated in any way that he wanted him.

Maybe Seokjin had been out partying for the past few days. At clubs, in raves. Orgies, sex parties. With men, younger and more attractive than him. Who was he kidding? He was old, too old. Seokjin knew that too but wanted entertainment.

He took the bomber jacket to the entryway and hung it up between his coats. The small crossbody bag was by Seokjin’s shoes. Three notebooks had been stuffed into it and it wouldn’t close. Namjoon glanced towards the bathroom, where the shower was running. He picked up the bag, pulled out the notebooks – new ones, because he hadn’t seen them before. He flipped through them.

More of what he’d come to expect. Some attempt to crack the Weissmann Conjecture, he assumed. Notebooks’ worth of such attempts, freshly made.

Suddenly Seokjin going MIA made sense.

Seokjin not sleeping for days made sense.

Aish, this kid…

He left the bag where he’d found it.

When Seokjin padded back out in pyjamas too big for him, the living room couch had transformed into a bed, with the coffee table moved out of the way. The sheets were a lilac colour.

Namjoon, sitting at his desk, stopped flipping through the book where he’d been trying to find a citation for an article he had in the works. He took Seokjin in, shower fresh and wearing his clothes. His chest felt tight.

“Do you need anything else for the night?” he asked, closing the book as Seokjin sat on the edge of the bed, testing it – the bed squeaking under him slightly.

“A good fuck?”

He raised an eyebrow because Seokjin didn’t suppress his desire with him, getting handsy and needy often. Everything about Seokjin right then, however, signalled that he didn’t want sex.

Many men would have ignored those signals and fucked Seokjin anyway. The thought made his hands curl into fists. Bastards.

Seokjin carded through wet strands of hair, eyeing his extensive LP collection. “You used to be in a band.”

“Yeah, kind of. With a few friends. How did you know?”

“You never tell me anything.”

“Was I supposed to?”

Seokjin shook his head, and concern swelled inside him.

It was past midnight already, and so he wished Seokjin goodnight and went to wash up himself. When he returned from the bathroom, the lights were off in the living room and a Seokjin-shaped lump was curled under the covers, unmoving.

Namjoon stopped, taking the sight in. Hesitated.

Then he retreated to his bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him.

Namjoon lay in bed, wide awake. Seokjin had turned the living room floor lamp on a few minutes after he’d slipped into bed, and now light shone from under the bedroom door. Seokjin hadn’t been sleeping, just like he’d guessed.

He shifted restlessly, eyes on the ceiling. He could simply walk into the living room, kiss Seokjin, and fall into bed with him. Or, less instinctively, force Seokjin to tell him what was wrong.

But that had never been the deal.

No explanations – no questions.

And yet he ached.

When a slight bang sounded from the living room, he got out of bed.

He found Seokjin at the vinyl collection, sliding an LP back into its place. Seokjin looked over his shoulder, looking embarrassed. “Shit, sorry. Did I wake you?”

He asked this innocently, as if he wasn’t snooping around Namjoon’s living room in the dim, yellow light in Namjoon’s too-big pyjamas.

Namjoon stood in the doorway, holding back a worried sigh. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just browsing.”

Seokjin pulled out another LP, this time the second Provincial Clan album. The three of them had released two albums and an EP – a pet project, nothing huge, but for a few months in the summer of 2010 they had actually been sort of, vaguely semi-famous in the greater Seoul area.

“I want to listen to this. Is it any good?”

“Depends on your taste, I guess.”

Namjoon wasn’t prepared for the next question.

“And this Sangwook that you thank in the acknowledgements for brightening up your world – is he the same Sangwook who is now a Lecturer in Musical Composition at the University of Osaka? You know, the one who wrote that book.”

Seokjin motioned at Sangwook’s monograph that had been placed on the coffee table. Seokjin had found that too, had he? From the hundreds of books on his shelves…? Clever little thing. Cunning.

He took a deep breath, studying Seokjin’s faux curious face. Seokjin was a goddamn menace.

“Yes,” he said, distracted by Seokjin looking at his half-dressed form – he slept shirtless. “He’s my ex. We broke up five years ago.”

“Did you date him for long?”

“Almost ten years. Is that why you can’t sleep? Because you’re busy charting my past love life?”

Seokjin shrugged. “I’m just bored.”

Seokjin did this a lot – claimed that he was bored. Namjoon was starting to realise that was never, in fact, true: Seokjin was always busy plotting and planning and observing.

Seokjin did not ask him to explain this breakup, just pushed the Provincial Clan record back into its place.

If Seokjin only knew how rare it was for Namjoon to have someone over – someone he was attracted to, someone he wanted to have. But he’d always made a distinction between sex and the rest of his life, not wanting ever again to confuse physical pleasure with emotional intimacy.

And yet here Seokjin was, with those pyjama bottoms all too big for him, making Namjoon wonder what he’d look like first thing in the morning.

“How many ex-partners do you have?”

“Just the one,” he said, feeling slightly ridiculous that he would be turning forty soon but had only ever managed one long-term relationship. Hoseok had always had long-term boyfriends – two years with this one, three years with another. A year and a half with him, oh and an actual four years with him, with a mix of monogamy and open relationships – each relationship was different. Yoongi had dated less but had also had several long-term relationships. Now, the two had found each other.

“Ten years,” Seokjin repeated thoughtfully, in a tone like the number displeased him. “That’s a crazy long time.”

“Tempus fugit.”

Seokjin shot a confused look at him. “Fuck what?”

Namjoon bit his tongue to hold back a laugh and shook his head.

Seokjin let it go, shrugging. “I think the only thing I’ve ever spent ten years on is wanting to graduate from one of the big universities. It was my dream, I guess, already when I started middle school. But I gave up right at the finish line.”

“You gave up – really?”

Seokjin pretended to examine the vinyl collection. “Or I got burnt out, I guess. I was hospitalised for exhaustion. Just for a few days, but still.”

A chill travelled down Namjoon’s spine, followed by anger. Seokjin had told him that he’d failed to hand in a final assignment – that kind of thing, truthfully, happened all the time. But Seokjin had said nothing about being hospitalised.

“Maybe I’d be interning at a space agency right now if I’d been stronger mentally,” Seokjin muttered. “Instead I’m…”

Namjoon had seen students crumble under pressure numerous times. Sometimes they just needed to cry in his office, sometimes they vanished by no longer coming to class or submitting any work. Sometimes they ended up in the hospital, like Seokjin had. The really bad cases.

Namjoon felt for younger generations. Everything was so competitive, the pressure even more immense than it had been in their youths. What did it take to get into SNU to study mathematics? Years of academic excellence, years of late evening hagwons. Seokjin must have been brilliant to get in.

And, just before the finish line, Seokjin had collapsed.

Concern filled him. “Are you feeling better now? I mean after the whole…”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m fine. It happened. I moved on,” Seokjin said. There was a strength of character to Seokjin that made Namjoon believe at least half of what he said. Mentally weak – Seokjin? Not the man he knew.

But had Seokjin moved on?

He thought of the notebooks again.

Seokjin shot a restless glance at him, just as a faint, distant animalistic sound reached them. Seokjin frowned, looking around. “What is that? Is there a dog downstairs?”

Namjoon shook his head. “No.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Seokjin said firmly.

He walked over and grabbed Seokjin by his wrist. “Oh, I will show you what that is.”

He pulled Seokjin into the bedroom, seeing confusion and then anticipation filling Seokjin’s eyes. He, however, let go of Seokjin and motioned at the back wall.

Seokjin stared at him blankly. Cocked his hip. Crossed his arms. “What?”

Then they heard it. Louder. Clearer.

The creaking. The thumping. The high-pitched moans. The deep grunts like an orangutan figuring out how to use a tool for the first time.

Seokjin’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

Namjoon was full of schadenfreude. “Welcome to my reality.”

“Oh my god, we can’t listen to this,” Seokjin objected, pulling him back into the living room. Too late, Namjoon was sure: the visual of Seokjin’s friends at it was imprinted onto both of their minds.

Seokjin closed the bedroom door and pressed his hands to Namjoon’s ears. “You can’t listen to that! It’s Jung— I mean, one of my good, nameless friends!”

“But I believe a valuable lesson has been learned,” he said, hands landing on Seokjin’s raised forearms. If Seokjin thought he’d forget about this small trip to a hospital due to extreme burn out, he was very wrong. He could also tell that Seokjin would be unlikely to answer any questions he might have about it.

Back in the entryway were full notebooks, accounting for Seokjin’s absence that week. It wasn’t that Seokjin had grown tired of him.

What a complicated man 510 had turned out to be.

“Now you’ll know what I endured for all those months you were having your little fuck fests,” he said pointedly.

“Oh come on, that was hot! Don’t tell me you never jerked off to it.”

“I definitely didn’t jerk off to it.”

“You’re such a liar.”

He smiled – good, he wanted Seokjin feisty and doing his best to annoy him. A defeated, quiet Seokjin? He barely recognised that man.

“My jerking off habits are my own private business. Now, I have a lecture early in the morning, so you go sleep on the sofa bed like a good boy, and I’ll go sleep in my bed, and—”

“What, to listen to them fuck? They’re still at it!”

This was true – the simian grunts echoed faintly.

Jutting out his chin in defiance, Seokjin went back into the bedroom and then re-emerged with Namjoon’s pillow. He threw it onto the pull-out bed and said, “We’re sleeping here. Don’t look so horrified, I’m not gonna try and fuck you, old man, but I sure as hell am not gonna have you jerk off to the sounds of my best friend. Besides, it’s very likely they’re gonna fuck all night.”

Namjoon could not believe he was getting bossed around by someone who did not even remember a world before dial-up internet. Yet, out of dismay more than anything, he conceded, getting onto the pull-out bed, feeling surreal as he did so.

He suddenly felt like a stranger in his own home.

Seokjin turned off the floor lamp and got into bed, too.

“I share beds with my friends all the time, and they tell me I don’t snore at all,” Seokjin said into the dark that settled upon them, throwing the duvet over them both.

Namjoon never shared a bed with anyone, the concept so foreign to him that his heart felt pained.

“Sure,” he managed.

They both lay on their backs, tensed up and sleepless. As background music continued the muffled sounds of enthusiastic lovemaking.

“They have stamina,” he noted, overly aware of Seokjin’s body laid out next to him. They had been in bed numerous times, and not once had he felt flustered over it. But now—

“Fitness freaks,” Seokjin said, sounding bitter. “Copulating in my bed. Filthy freaks!”

“You handed your apartment over for an anniversary – you honestly didn’t think they’d fuck?”

“Sure I did, but I didn’t think about you overhearing it,” Seokjin complained, making Namjoon laugh. The intensified grunts of a climax sounded, followed by a faint ‘Oh god, fuck me!’ Seokjin tatted his tongue, then turned and pushed to Namjoon’s side. “Don’t listen.”

“I’m not listening.”

He was barely breathing.

Seokjin curled up against him so gently that he couldn’t bring himself to reject him. Seokjin fidgeted around slightly, then rested his head on his bare chest, one long leg coming to curl around his own.

Namjoon’s heart was beating fast. His limbs felt stiff and awkward. What was he supposed to do with his hands? How was he supposed to move? How had this kid disarmed him so completely?

The sex noises quieted after the obvious climax. Namjoon thought it equally poetic and ironic that the two of them were not copulating but were listening to the sounds of another pair.

“I think they finished,” Seokjin said sleepily.

“I think you’re right.”

They lay in the dark, listening to each other breathe. Seokjin felt fragile somehow, and Namjoon wanted to wrap him up in his arms.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” Seokjin said, breath warm against his bare chest. Namjoon’s cock had hardened from the proximity – from the clean smell of Seokjin’s hair – but he did not act on this bodily impulse.

“You’re welcome,” he said. He steadied himself and finally wrapped an arm around Seokjin’s shoulders. Seokjin cuddled into him further, body relaxing. Like it was that easy for him.

He slowly rubbed Seokjin’s back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I will be.”

He hesitated. “Don’t leave me on read. I get worried. Alright?”

“Alright.”

He pulled Seokjin in and closed his eyes. Pressed his nose into Seokjin’s wet hair, the musky scent of him making him melancholy.

Seokjin’s breaths evened out. He’d been right: he didn’t snore. Rather he breathed steadily and barely moved, shifting in the dark only to burrow even more tightly against him.

With a lump in his throat, he pulled Seokjin in even closer, and held him.

When Namjoon woke up in the morning, he was in the pull-out bed alone, and he was late for class. Seokjin had left without waking him up, his belongings gone. He barely had time to process any of this, running around as he was to get dressed and head to campus.

As he rushed to the kitchen to get his protein drink, he spotted a note on the kitchen counter:
They went at it again at five in the morning and I had to bail. Thanks
p.s. Do you know you snore?

He pocketed the note and rushed out, slowing down only to take in the very tall man stepping out of 510. “Good morning,” the man said at the sight of him – handsome enough to be a model, offering him a quick and slightly startled bow.

A classic walk of shame.

“A fun night?” he said, unable to resist, unsure if this was Seokjin’s good friend or the boyfriend. The man flushed red in either case, and Namjoon left him to it, taking the stairs because the lift was busy.

On his way to campus he kept thinking of Seokjin curled into his side, making himself small – which Seokjin wasn’t, but he’d tried.

He thought of early mornings with weak sunlight, a warm, familiar body pressed to his own, the manly, musky scent of a lover, the sleepy want of finding each other awake and aroused. He imagined that person being Seokjin – and abruptly thought of something else.

Too young.

“Ah, morning, Jungkook-ssi,” he said, crossing paths with the student on the steps of the Music Department. “You’re running late too, huh?” he added as they both rushed inside the building.

“Yeah, ha, I slept through the alarm,” Jungkook laughed, and Namjoon nodded and continued on his way, recalling that through his slumber he’d heard an alarm echoing somewhere in the building that morning. Yoongi had reported that Jungkook was doing superbly well – no surprise there.

When he finally got to take a rest after two seminars and a lecture, he went into his office and took out the note again. Do you know you snore? He did know, but that hadn’t been an issue for a long time now. Who could he possibly disturb?

He rubbed a finger over the text, confused by the deep fondness filling him.

He couldn’t deny it any longer: he’d forgotten how special that was. That kind of closeness.

And god, he missed it.

Seokjin was such a pain in his ass, and yet…

He stared at the note a while longer, then cleared his throat.

He started making some calls.

“I’m close – ah, god, I’m so–”

“Hold that thought,” Hoseok said, pressing a finger to Yoongi’s lips.

Yoongi stared up at his lover (boyfriend, life partner), panting into the heated air of their bedroom where they were enjoying a midweek afternoon fuck. Hoseok, sitting astride him and on his cock, reached for the phone ringing on the nightstand.

Yoongi would like to say this was the first time Hoseok had stopped mid-sex to take a phone call, but alas Hoseok ran a successful yet demanding business and had many calls he needed to take. “Oh, it’s Namjoonie!” Hoseok said happily, pushing sweaty hair off his forehead, body shiny with a sheen of sweat – golden in the lights of the bedroom.

“So it’s not urgent,” he pointed out, reaching out to brush Hoseok’s stomach.

Hoseok, however, took the call, and Yoongi held back a groan. “Hi, Namjoonie! What’s up?”

“We are,” he pointed out, wrapping his fingers around Hoseok’s cock. This made Hoseok bite back a moan and shoot a heated look at him.

Even so, Hoseok proceeded with the call.

“Uh huh… Really? I mean sure! No, that’s a great idea – yeah, of course. Leave it with me, absolutely. Oh, this is so exciting! … Definitely, I think you’ve made the right decision. And we’ll support you! Uh huh, I’ll put out some feelers. … Uh huh, perfect. Great. Okay, I’ll let you know.”

As the call ended, Yoongi stopped his lazy stroking of Hoseok’s cock. “What?”

Hoseok looked surprised but pleased. “Namjoon wants to settle down.”

“He what now?”

Hoseok grinned, hips shifting slightly as Yoongi thumbed the swollen cockhead. “Ah, fuck, that’s— Ah, he, um, he said he’s thought about it and wants me to set him up with someone. He is, and I quote, ready for a relationship. End quote.”

“Well, it only took two hundred Steam Box twinks to get there, am I right?”

“Try five hundred. Now he’s looking for someone smart, funny and good-looking. Bottom or vers, thinks he could make it work with a top vers too. A bonus if they’re into the arts. Oh, and it has to be someone who is thirty-five or older.”

“What if the perfect man is thirty-four?”

“Then he won’t date them. He was quite hung up on the age thing, said it has to be age appropriate.”

“Since when did he care about that?” he asked, knowing that gay saunas were popular with younger men, too. He slid a hand to the back of Hoseok’s neck and pulled him down for a fierce kiss. Hoseok took the hint, dropped the phone, and started riding his cock again.

“I, ah– Fuck, hyung, I— I– ah, am gonna have him coupled up in no ti—”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Hoseok did.

Seokjin picked up the mail on his way to work, opening the envelopes at the cash desk of Old Flame. He had a bill from Riverside Complex that went out to all residents on building maintenance – Uncle Mansik would pay it, thankfully – and a letter with the SNU logo in the corner.

He opened the letter, frowning.

He read it once.

He read it twice.

“I’m sorry, I need to close up shop,” he told the man who’d just walked in, ignoring the man’s protests. “Come back another time! Goddammit, is that so hard?” he asked, mind whirring.

Soon he was back at Riverside Complex, knocking furiously on Namjoon’s door. Was the fucker in or was he on campus? This goddamn fucking asshole!

Namjoon opened the door, frowning – then looked alarmed, expression turning angry. “Who did it?”

“I assume you!” he said, shoving the letter in Namjoon’s chest.

Namjoon took the letter and looked it over – too quickly. Not appearing overly surprised. Goddammit, Seokjin had known it was him! He should never have told Namjoon anything about his huge fucking fail at SNU at all!

This was what the letter said: that he, Mr Kim Seokjin, had been successful in his application for extenuating circumstances for his missing coursework. He now had until the end of August to submit his research paper which, if given a passing grade, would see him graduating the following January. His status as a registered student would therefore not expire on the first of June, as it had been about to, but rather it had been extended.

“I never applied for an extension,” he seethed.

“Yeah, but I did, though. In your name, of course,” Namjoon said calmly, folding the letter neatly. A snake in the grass!

“You had no right to—”

Namjoon pressed the letter back to his chest, stepping closer and using his two-centimetre height difference as leverage. Seokjin ignored the way this made his heart skip a beat.

“You’re bored to tears in that vintage shop. What you really want is to— what, work for a space agency? Great, I think that’s an excellent plan. Well, guess what? You need to graduate to get there, and this is how.”

“Who are you to interfere—”

“When you’re my age, you will wish more than anything that you’d gotten your BSc.”

“Will not! I plan to jump off a bridge the day before I turn thirty!” he threatened, and Namjoon looked sceptical. He took the folded letter, full of anger.

Namjoon pushed hands into his pockets, looking all professor-like in a brown cardigan and glasses. “Here’s the deal – you come do your work in my apartment. Use the dining table while I work at my desk. I always found sharing a space productive for concentration.”

“This isn’t enough? You want to keep tabs on me, too?!”

“No, but I can give you basic pointers so that the project doesn’t get out of control again.”

“You’re not a mathematician! You’re a— a social scientist,” he said, appalled that he was sleeping with such a man.

“Humanities, actually.”

“Even worse!”

Namjoon smiled – the self-satisfied, smug bastard!

“There’s an extra stipulation that I think you’ll find motivating.”

Seokjin was full of suspicion, even as a part of his brain was busy processing this all. A research paper? A problem to solve? God, yes please, let’s get to it, let’s start crunching numbers, let’s fucking go, let’s—

He ignored this excitement. “What stipulation?”

“That if you choose not to do this, our little agreement is off.”

Seokjin started. Sputtered. Reeled.

“What? Why?”

Namjoon raised a single eyebrow. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

What?! This asshole! This self-righteous, old, past-his-prime motherfucker! He really thought he was the best dick in town!

…and he was.

He actually was.

Devastation filled him.

“Are you blackmailing me?” he asked, shocked Namjoon was willing to sink so low.

Namjoon frowned. “What? Of course not. I think of it as motivation.”

Motivation?!

He was going to have to graduate just to get good dick.

His mouth hung open, no words coming to him.

Namjoon nodded and hummed. “Yeah, I thought that’d be persuasive. So. From here on out, I expect you at my door at eight o’clock sharp on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays to put in at least four hours of work before you start your shift. Forget about clubbing afterwards – bed by midnight.”

“But—”

Namjoon reached over to pat his cheek. Infantilising. Infuriating. “Growing up a little isn’t going to kill you,” Namjoon said.

Namjoon then stepped closer and pressed a kiss to his lips.

Seokjin’s world slowed, the kiss catching him off guard. He lost his breath, everything in him soaring. Namjoon’s lips were dry and familiar, pressing against his mouth almost innocently. A hint of coffee lingered in Namjoon’s breath, with Seokjin’s bottom lip caught between his lips. Warm, soft.

He tried to follow Namjoon’s mouth even as the kiss broke.

Namjoon smirked at his still puckered lips, but something uncertain was in his gaze. They stood too close to each other, and Seokjin’s heart wouldn’t calm down. Out of all things, he thought of the night they’d spent on the pull-out couch, of waking up early when Jungkook and Mingyu had… But he’d cared little for their endeavours.

Namjoon had been holding him so tightly while in such deep sleep that it had taken Seokjin nearly fifteen minutes to dislodge himself – like, somehow, letting him go wasn’t an option for Namjoon. The thought had made him happy. Had made him feel safe.

Startled by such thoughts, he’d fled the apartment, feeling unnerved for no obvious reason.

Now Namjoon kissed him so perfectly and then looked almost alarmed to have done so, and with a new awareness Seokjin understood why he had fled Namjoon’s guest bed that morning.

Namjoon took a hold of the door handle. “So, see you tomorrow, then, eight o’clock sharp. Alright, Mr BSc?”

The door closed.

Seokjin stood in the corridor, the extension letter in his hands, fixed to the spot. As if he could leave. As if he would want to be anywhere else.

He blinked, feeling dazed.

He was in love.

Chapter Text

VI

Kijung thought that Seokjin had been acting strange lately. Of course that was partly because Seokjin had picked up his studies again, vowing he was going to graduate and become the next president or world overlord or something along these lines, but Kijung sensed it was more than this.

Seokjin had always spent his days doing calculations behind the Old Flame desk – the only difference now was that this seemed to have a distinct purpose, whereas before it hadn’t.

Was this renewed sense of purpose what had changed Seokjin?

Not so fast. Kijung estimated it was something else. Something that had, in fact, dented Seokjin’s impressive ego.

Seokjin seemed… how to put it? Softer.

One early summer evening when Kijung came to take over for the evening shift, Seokjin asked him something that completely caught him off guard.

“Kijung-ah, how did you know you love your girlfriend?”

Kijung blinked, still in the middle of taking his denim jacket off.

Seokjin remained behind the desk, chewing uncertainly on his bottom lip. “Like, how could you tell it was something more than just liking her?”

“Um.”

This was about that doctor – the handsome professor next door. Who else?

Holy shit.

“I didn’t know,” he said, trying to recover from the shock. He tried to imagine what a Seokjin in love would be like and couldn’t picture it. “I felt it.”

Seokjin crossed his arms. “Okay, fine, you felt it. But how? What did it feel like?”

“Like love.”

“What, that’s it?”

“Sorta?”

“Real help you are,” Seokjin said and went to the backroom to get his things.

Kijung was dismayed, wondering how he’d recount this encounter to his girlfriend. She would be beside herself that Seokjin the King of Conquests was even half-admitting that he’d fallen in love with someone. The lucky man being significantly older only made it more delicious.

Kijung gingerly approach the cash desk, letting Seokjin slip out first. He pondered Seokjin’s question as seriously as he could.

“Hyung?” he asked just as Seokjin was at the door. He hesitated, knowing Seokjin had far more experience with flings, conquests, sex, and romance than he likely ever would. Who was he to say anything?

Yet he knew love inside and out.

“Maybe… maybe even reaching the point of wondering if it’s what you feel means that’s what it is. Love, I mean.”

Seokjin stared at him blankly, but he did not seem elated or overjoyed. He looked worried and, perhaps, a little surprised. “Oh, I see.” Seokjin cleared his throat. “Well. Must go get some pre-drinks before the BDFE party at Bulge.”

“The bee dee what?”

Seokjin raised an eyebrow. “Big dick, free entry.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Seokjin waved him goodnight.

Left alone, Kijung missed his girlfriend – unexpectedly and intensely. That happened, he figured, when you loved someone.

When Namjoon finally opened the door to 511 for him, Seokjin said, “Why can’t you just give me the passcode?”

“Because you don’t live here,” Namjoon replied, protein shake in hand, wearing loose slacks and an old, out of shape jumper, with some hair sticking up at the back of his head. Barely awake, with a hint of toothpaste on the corner of his mouth.

Seokjin’s stomach somersaulted. Perfect.

He then told himself to get a grip. Namjoon early in the morning was hardly that seductive or even at all seductive.

He followed Namjoon in.

In his opinion, he might as well live in 511. He’d been spending several mornings at the apartment, hunched over his laptop and going over old coursework to get his research paper started. He was rusty, not quite remembering where he’d left off, unsure if he had this in him still.

Namjoon worked these mornings at his desk, writing articles or sitting in boring Zoom meetings or writing new lectures while Seokjin drank more coffee than was wise.

“I hate all of this, and I hate you for making me do this,” he said that morning as he opened up his laptop and took a sip of the coffee that he’d poured himself. Namjoon had started preparing enough for two.

“So you keep telling me,” Namjoon said, sitting at his desk. He always started his day by checking his emails and then moved onto other tasks. Seokjin had studied his routines thoroughly.

The length of the living room was between them, and Seokjin sighed. Indicated that he was being forced to do all this.

The truth was, however, that he was putting on a show. For Namjoon, his friends, himself.

Because he loved this. Watching Namjoon working away, wearing those sexy nerd glasses. He loved taking small walks around the apartment to stretch his limbs, feeling Namjoon’s gaze on him. He especially loved the work, recalling just how much he’d actually thrived on studying.

But mostly he just loved this. Being where Namjoon was. Chatting with him before they both set to work. Watching him. Being near him. Imagining the two of them eloping or buying a house or maybe a mansion, well definitely a dog at least, and Namjoon getting a tattoo of his name and face on one of those bulging biceps.

Whenever his thoughts strayed this way, he startled and tried to snap out of it. Yet these thoughts persisted, and he had no idea what to do with them. How does he feel about me, he had pondered more than once.

He had never asked such questions about any man before in his life, discounting a few early high school crushes.

“You’re staring again,” Namjoon said coolly, not looking up from his work.

Seokjin flinched. Felt flustered. Felt unlike himself. “Just wondered what you’re working on.”

“An article I need to revise for publication.”

“That’s hot. Want to fuck me over your desk?”

“Sorry, I only fuck twinks with degrees.”

“That’s classist and elitist. And besides, I am getting my degree.”

Namjoon glanced at him and smirked, and butterflies fluttered in his belly. Aish, what the hell was this?

But Namjoon was right: he should get his BSc. The man of his dreams had a doctorate, after all, and so he should have something to his name, too. Maybe he would go on to study more, hell maybe he’d do a doctorate on the Weissmann Conjecture! Why not? Dr Kim & Dr Kim. Ah, what a pair they’d—

He flinched again. Since when did he fantasise about getting hitched instead of getting railed?

“I’ll need another half an hour to finish these revisions, but after that I’ve got time for a quickie,” Namjoon said, typing on his laptop, voice perfectly level. “How’s your schedule?”

Seokjin felt alert. “Uh huh, works for me.”

Sex he knew. Sex he understood.

When a little later Namjoon fucked him within an inch of his life, the world made more sense again. Namjoon fitted tight between his spread legs, and he admired Namjoon’s muscular chest and lean stomach, the way the muscles worked and felt under his touch. Namjoon’s flushed cock pushed into him, sliding in deep with each thrust as Namjoon got closer and closer to orgasm.

Was there anything hotter than making a usually composed man like Namjoon lose control? Making a top struggle with his breaths, watching him get flushed and moany and overwhelmed? And why? Because he felt so amazing to fuck? You’re welcome, Top of the Day.

God, he loved seeing Namjoon come undone.

He tugged Namjoon down to a kiss, obsessed with the way Namjoon was fucking into him – with more need than reason, with more want than grace. There was a vulnerability in seeing a man reach this point that made him feel so wanted and accomplished.

Namjoon kissed him wildly. “So fucking good, baby…”

“Yeah?”

“God, yeah.”

“Mm, fill me up – need you so bad,” he said breathlessly, because the needy baby act worked so well for so many, Namjoon included.

Namjoon fucked him, staring deep into his eyes – just a little out of it. “You need it?”

“Yeah, I really need it,” he encouraged, which was barely a lie because the next moment he came, surprising even himself, nails digging into Namjoon’s lower back.

Namjoon climaxed right after with a deep, pleasured groan, fucking into him hard and tight. Namjoon’s teeth grazed his neck, nipping his skin ever so slightly – body trembling. Oh, that’d been a good orgasm for both of them – at least a nine out of ten.

Namjoon collapsed on top of him, and together their heavy breaths filled the bedroom, their bodies warm and slick with sweat. Namjoon was still deep inside him, and Seokjin had come so hard that he felt dizzy. His body was sore, and his hole ached from the stretch, but god, he’d never felt so satisfied.

“Stay,” he said when Namjoon tried to move. His palms pressed to Namjoon’s lower back, pulling him in. “Stay inside me – it feels so good.”

Namjoon nosed at his throat, pressing a lazy kiss there. “Anything for you.”

He buried his nose in Namjoon’s warm hair, breathing in the musky scent of him. God… God…

“Do you think you can fuck me again?”

Namjoon laughed, and Seokjin wanted to stay in bed with him for the rest of the day. Rest of the week. Rest of his life.

“Already? Give me a minute. Or you could fuck me instead, you know – switch it up a little.”

“Why would I top?” he asked, appalled. Yes, he’d topped sometimes, and it’d always been stressful as hell. So much performance anxiety! So much pressure! If you were a mediocre top, you could be sure that the bottom would be unable to hide his disappointment. No thank you. Fine, fine, fucking a tight ass felt amazing, but that did not take away the stress.

Namjoon, still in him and heavy on top of him, pressed more slow kisses to his neck. “One day even you will experience twink death. Yes, even you. And after that, you will need to start topping just to get laid. It’s what happens to all of us. The gay life cycle. The natural order of things.”

A horrified chill went down his spine. Twink death!

“That will never happen to me.”

“You sure?” Namjoon said, pulling away a little to look at him with amusement, brushing his brow with the pad of his thumb. “I used to bottom a lot more when I was your age. I was really good at it, too. You know, I kind of credit that to my talents as a top now. It’s a time to take notes, this twink bottom phase.”

“How dare you say this to me?”

Namjoon smirked, eyes sparkling.

“Maybe I’ll just stick by you to make sure I always out-twink my hookup,” he said threateningly, and Namjoon laughed before kissing him deeply, cock still inside him. Bliss. This was bliss.

He kissed back hungrily, wrapping arms around Namjoon’s neck.

What had Kijung said? That you just, what? Felt it?

Namjoon made him want to feel it.

He moved restlessly, pushing a hand through Namjoon’s hair. “Hyung?”

“Sure, baby, we can go again,” Namjoon said, voice thick with want, the notion of a ‘quickie’ long forgotten.

Fuck, they were really going to get that dog together, weren’t they? Probably a Dachshund.

Hoseok and Yoongi had set him up with a Lecturer of Azerbaijani from the Hankuk University of Foreign Studies. Jeongwoon had been born in Seoul but became fascinated by the Caucasus region as a teenager. Now he spent each summer there, doing research in the Azerbaijani mountains and then meditating in monasteries in Georgia or Armenia.

“I’m not a very good Christian,” Jeongwoon explained to him, “and by the time it’s day five of silent retreat with the local monks, I mostly just think how much I’d like to get laid.”

Namjoon laughed, sipping on his red wine. They’d come to an expensive, western-style steak house with a view of Namsan Tower for their first date, both of them dressed to the nines like heading into a job interview, discussing art and culture and languages and music.

The formalities could be excused. They were, after all, interviewing each other for the vacancy of life partner.

Jeongwoon was forty-three – a few years older, and as such perfectly acceptable.

Namjoon hadn’t been on a date in years, the first half an hour passing with awkward smiles and nervous jokes, but they eased into it, and soon Jeongwoon made the date feel easy.

Namjoon relaxed and drank more wine. Hoseok and Yoongi had chosen well.

“I have to ask,” Jeongwoon said as they ate chocolate cake for dessert, “how is someone like you single?”

The same could be said for Jeongwoon: a handsome face, a strong jaw, dark sharp eyes, full of intellect and charm, and backed by a solid career.

“In all honesty?” he asked, waiting for Jeongwoon to give him a nod of encouragement. He hesitated – but this was an adult date, and they were grown men. They could be straightforward with each other, especially if they hoped for this to go anywhere. “I was with my last partner for almost ten years, and when it ended, I just thought that if he and I couldn’t make it work – happy and monogamous, or happy in an open relationship, because we tried both – then there was no way I could find contentment with anyone at all. So, I simply gave up on the idea of a relationship.”

They had kept the conversation light, a little flirty, but not overly serious. At this, Jeongwoon studied him carefully, and Namjoon feared he’d been too honest too soon.

Jeongwoon reached out to place a hand over his. The first touch. “Thank you for being so open with me. That’s really brave of you.”

Jeongwoon’s hand retreated, and Namjoon studied his face. Tried to summon a spark of intense desire somewhere deep within himself.

They felt a connection, this was clear, like patients on the same cancer ward.

“Us gay men aren’t particularly encouraged to settle down, but committed types do exist,” Jeongwoon added with a humorous wink.

Namjoon nodded, suppressing a chuckle. “And while everyone claims they’re not looking for anything serious, everyone’s always dating someone new to try and find a real connection. I find it a little preposterous. Or demotivating. Or both. That everyone’s looking for love but are pretending they’re not – you can’t say aloud that you want love, because others would just laugh at you if you did. And if you find a real connection, then you don’t know what to do so in a knee jerk reaction you move onto the next man instead.”

Jeongwoon nodded. “I completely agree. Nothing as fickle as a fairy, a friend of mine used to say. Can we say that anymore? Fairy?”

“My students are cancelling you on TikTok as we speak,” he said, and Jeongwoon laughed.

As the night wore on, they bonded over their academic lives and their minority positions especially within that framework, complaining about research culture and entitled students, but always falling back on how much they loved what they did. Jeongwoon played the kamancha – an Azerbaijani flute – and deeply loved music. Namjoon tallied up all the languages they spoke between the pair of them, wondering how much of the world their linguistic skills would open up for them in the future.

On paper, they were an ideal match.

Namjoon was feeling optimistic about his love life in a way he hadn’t in years. He could find someone to love – someone who wanted the same things he did. He just had to step out of his comfort zone to find that man.

Because that was what he needed, right? A Sangwook replacement. A person like Sangwook, but not in fact Sangwook.

A Sangwook without flaws.

Encouraged, he leaned closer. “You know, that ex of mine? These days he’s living with a film studies professor. Monogamously. He and I did a whole song and dance of how we needed to be this open-relationship couple freed of the heteronormative oppression of monogamy, but the truth is that he and I just weren’t connected like we had been when we’d first fallen in love. It’s not that he didn’t want monogamy – he did, even when we messily tried to have an open relationship. He wanted monogamy, just not with me anymore.”

Jeongwoon nodded. “Relationships fail because people change in different directions.”

“Exactly,” he said.

His phone beeped to intone a new message. He apologised, having forgotten to put it in silent mode. On the screen read: 1 new message from Demon of 510. He hesitated, almost clicked the message open, then slid the phone back into his pocket. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“That the whole open relationship trend is endemic. We think so little of ourselves that the idea of real love and commitment is something we can’t even fathom to have. And so we reject real intimacy because we’ve internalised that no one could ever really love us because our parents didn’t. What? Too Freudian?”

Namjoon shrugged. “A little. Because in my view some men think so much of themselves that commitment just seems like a prison – because their parents loved them too much, say. They’re a gift to the world, and it would be cruel to rob others of their sexual prowess.”

Jeongwoon whistled. “I’ve met some of those men, too.”

“Right? So in some cases I agree, sure – that some of these boys need therapy, not cock.”

“And some of us need both,” Jeongwoon said with a raised eyebrow, making him laugh. Jeongwoon was vers, Hoseok had told him in his report via Kakao. Definitely way past twink death. They both were.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Demon of 510, he sensed.

“Anyway, my point is that all this endless glorification of sex is outdated,” Jeongwoon said. “The bathhouses and sex parties, that kind of thing. It’s so eighties, so pre-epidemic. Corny and clichéd.”

Namjoon held his tongue, forking into the chocolate cake. “Right. Imagine going into a bathhouse.”

“Feels unhygienic to even think about, right?” Jeongwoon laughed.

Namjoon breathed out slowly. Let it slide, let it slide…

He put his fork down, wiping his mouth with the napkin neatly. “In all honesty, though, monogamy is a scam if it makes you unhappy or unfulfilled but it’s the only dish on the menu. Each person is different, right? We’re not a monolith, even if outsiders treat us like we are. So one way of life isn’t superior to the other, and one way of connecting with your sexuality isn’t better than another. Why are we so obsessed with trying to make others be like ourselves, anyway? I often wonder about that.”

Jeongwoon smiled, seemingly unsure what to say.

His phone vibrated yet again. Seokjin was likely home. Likely wanted him to come over.

The thought of Seokjin waiting for him left him restless. He could see Seokjin’s pout and big, mournful eyes – just a show and light-handed manipulation, of course, but turning that expression into one of Seokjin’s bright smiles gave him such pleasure.

He finished his dessert in a slight rush.

As they parted, Namjoon said he’d like to see Jeongwoon again. He was thirty-nine – rejecting a date too soon was a luxury that men his age didn’t have. Besides, Jeongwoon ticked nearly all of his boxes.

If this thing with us works out, he wanted to ask, would you mind terribly if I sometimes sneak next door to fuck our twenty-three-year-old neighbour? Asking purely theoretically. Say, if he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. If he made me feel not so very old, and if he made me stay up all night, fucking and laughing and talking. If he reminded me why life is worth living.

You know, the way we used to feel when we were young and captivated by someone. When we felt like we could colour our lives in the shades of our wildest, most optimistic dreams.

You remember those times?

Would you mind terribly, then, if I went to him, just every now and then?

Just sometimes.

“Well, I’ve had a lovely time,” Jeongwoon said.

“Me too,” he assured.

They shared a surprisingly good first kiss and, chastely, bid each other goodnight.

Jungkook’s steps slowed as he passed the staff common room on the ground floor of the Music Department. The room was half-full with staff members, a lunch buffet on display with fruit and mini-sandwich platters. Many were dressed up – Dr Kim was in a black, three-piece suit – but Dr Min was sporting his usual band t-shirt and blazer combo. Ah, so cool…

“What’s going on?” he asked a PhD student he vaguely recognised but could not remember the name of.

She stopped and peered into the common room, too. “Ah, they’re interviewing for the new Lecturer in Contemporary Music today.”

This confused him because Dr Kim Namjoon was the Lecturer in Contemporary Music. Perhaps there would now be two? How cool!

He glanced into the room again, at the people nibbling on food and making small talk – networking. Which ones were the candidates? The well-dressed ones he didn’t recognise?

Professor Lee, Head of the Department, was talking to a confident-looking woman wearing a pencil skirt and grey suit jacket. She surely was a candidate – something about her seemed like she was busy trying to sell herself. The atmosphere didn’t feel relaxed.

He kept going.

Early summer was a beautiful time on campus, and there were only a few weeks of teaching left before their summer break.

He ambled along and sat down on a bench shaded by the lush oak tree that would turn even greener over the next few weeks. He messaged the chat of his study group pals, waiting for Mingyu to show up for their lunch date.

“There’s leftover food in the staff common room,” a voice said.

He looked up and saw Dr Kim’s familiar and handsome face.

“Go help yourself before the hungry PhD students take it all. The university would just bin it, anyway.”

Dr Kim looked frighteningly smart in the black vest, white shirt, black tie, and black trousers. He had the shirt sleeves rolled up and the black suit jacket draped over his arm – black glasses, his hair also black now. It had been a dark brown some time ago.

Jungkook had a boyfriend, but Dr Kim still made his heart race a little. It was the academic brilliance that made him nervous, of course – that was all!

“Thanks, Dr Kim,” he said, gratitude filling him. He never turned down a free meal in this economy.

Dr Kim smiled and nodded, but he seemed restless, glancing at his watch.

Jungkook sat up straighter. “You know, um, me and a few others were listening to The Provincial Clan the other day.”

Dr Kim looked startled but then laughed. “What? How the hell did you find any of our stuff?”

Jungkook grinned, encouraged. “We had to browse some vintage record shops.”

“Please don’t call it vintage, Jungkook-ssi, I do not need to feel that old,” Dr Kim said but in good humour. “Well, let’s have it. What did you make of it?”

“You were talented.”

“But?”

“…A bit rough around the edges?”

Dr Kim nodded, brushing his hair back. “I think that’s fair.”

He wanted to say much more than this about Dr Kim’s past rap career but felt too shy to go into it.

He nodded towards the Music Department. “So there’s interviews going on today? I hope they find someone good.”

Dr Kim looked around the campus grounds intensely. “Me too.” He glanced at his watch again. Sighed. “Times like these I wish I smoked.”

Jungkook flushed – Dr Kim was being so frank!

“Namjoon-ah!” Dr Min had stepped out of the building and was waving him over. “They’re just about ready for you.”

Dr Kim pulled the suit jacket back on, despite how warm it was. He fixed his sleeves with a thoughtful expression. “Don’t forget about the food, alright? Take all of it, even, and give some to your friends.”

“I will,” he promised, watching Dr Min wait for his friend.

No wonder Dr Kim was everyone’s favourite lecturer – well, him and Dr Min. They both seemed like they actually gave a shit about the students and not just their own intellect. Many professors made terrible teachers – not these two.

He watched Dr Kim walk away, which was a beautiful thing to see. Maybe he should ask for his glutes routine…?

He startled when a large figure sat down next to him but laughed as Mingyu pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Found you,” Mingyu said, looking at Dr Kim entering the building with Dr Min. “Oh, I know him.”

Jungkook much doubted that, although he’d talked about Dr Kim plenty. “There’s some leftover snacks we can—”

“He’s Seokjin’s neighbour, isn’t he?”

He shot an incredulous look at Mingyu. “What? No. No, you’ve gotten confused.”

Mingyu looked thoughtful, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. I saw him the morning after our anniversary. He kind of smirked and asked if we’d had fun. He must have heard us at it. Trust me, that stuck with me.”

“…Saw him where?”

“Coming out of the apartment next to Seokjin’s.”

A freezing chill travelled down Jungkook’s spine. “What? No. Seokjin’s neighbour is this guy called—”

Dr Kim.

Dr Kim.

Mingyu rubbed at his mouth. “Wait, I thought he looked familiar then, too. You know, I think I’ve seen him at Steam Box before, just without those glasses on? Never hooked up with him because, well, two tops. He’s super popular there, though. Amazing body. …Wait, is this the guy Seokjin’s involved with?”

Steam Box. Seokjin’s neighbour. Dr Kim.

Steam Box. Seokjin’s neighbour. Dr Kim.

Steam Box. Seokjin’s neighbour. Dr Kim.

“Babe? You’re getting all pale. Babe? Are you breathing? Babe!”

Namjoon could not recall the last time he’d felt such freedom. He’d gone out for dinner with a few colleagues to celebrate, Yoongi included of course, and he’d perhaps had a bit too much to drink. God, he hadn’t admitted to himself how much this interview business had weighed on him the past few months.

Done, at last.

His step was lighter, his brain less foggy. He’d made it – survived, persevered. Just like he always had.

When he checked his phone after dinner, he had a slew of messages from ‘Demon of 510’: come quickly I need you and hyung I need you so bad and hyung please only you can help.

He also had a message from Jeongwoon: hey, crazy suggestion – are you up for some golf this weekend? Or if you’re feeling wild maybe some pickleball? Wild I know lol

He answered one of these men after he left the restaurant and hailed a taxi.

The neighbourhood café was half-full as usual, always popular with students late into the night. His eyes flew over each patron, searching.

He finally found Seokjin sitting at a corner table upstairs with two empty iced americano cups next to a laptop and a stack of notes. His eyes were glued to the screen, his hair messy from repeatedly pushing his hands through the strands. His jumper was too large for him but still tight at the shoulders, and his knee was bouncing from all the coffee. He was wearing round glasses that were simply for aesthetics – apparently, they “served student chic”.

He stopped, taking in the messy, bookish look that would have made every library patron fall in love instantly. The masculine jaw and long, exposed neck, with the loose cut of the jumper showing a glimpse of collarbones. The glasses, too, aged Seokjin, hinting that at twenty-five, twenty-eight, and thirty he would only be even more handsome than he already was.

Seokjin frequently boasted about his good looks. The irony of that was that Seokjin understood his beauty superficially, without a clue of how it made someone like Namjoon feel. He imagined meeting Seokjin when he too had been in his early twenties – about the anvil that would have hit him at once. What does he see in me?

Seokjin looked up from the screen, spotted him, and gave him a blindingly bright smile. “Hyung!”

Seokjin was like the rising sun – even then, late in the evening.

“You called,” he said, taking a seat at the table.

Seokjin huffed, adjusting his unneeded but stylish glasses with a complex flick of his wrist. “Messaged like a million times. You didn’t respond.”

“Was busy. What’s with the flick?”

“What flick?”

He imitated Seokjin’s flick wrist, adjusting his own glasses.

“It’s my signature move.”

“Oh, you have a signature move?”

“Obviously.”

“Right, so I shouldn’t do it then.”

“No, you’d owe me copyright royalties.”

They smiled at each other.

Seokjin eyed his black suit. “So were you at a funeral? Wait, never mind. No questions, right?”

He huffed because that stipulation wasn’t intended to stop them from discussing how their days had been. Besides, he knew much about Seokjin’s life because Seokjin was chatty. He knew about Seokjin’s older brother’s restaurant business, about Kijung the Tragically Straight Coworker, about Seokjin’s group of friends – what was his name again? Jimin, right, the hyung who kept the rest of his friends in line. He knew about Seokjin’s childhood pets, even: about Mario the Hamster, who disappeared from his cage one day and was never seen again.

He wasn’t sure when exactly he’d acquired all this information, but he liked knowing it.

He pressed the laptop screen down much to Seokjin’s chagrin. “I had my tenure interview today. You should ask how it went. Well? ‘Oh Namjoon-hyung, how did the tenure interview go?’ Swimmingly, thank you.”

Seokjin’s suspicion dissipated, a smile tugging at his lips. “Really?”

“A breeze,” he said – boasted. Easy to say now that it was over. He’d truthfully been nervous all week, and even more anxious on the day. The interview committee would let him know in a few days’ time, but their enthusiasm for him had been clear. The other candidates, while with their merits, lacked his experience. “I messaged you that I was on my way, you know.”

“You did?” Seokjin reached for his phone on the desk and started to go through staggeringly many notifications. “Why has Jungkook tried calling ten times…?” he muttered.

“Who’s he?” he asked, knowing there were hundreds of men on Seokjin’s phone.

“The, ah, just a friend,” Seokjin said, putting the phone away hastily.

Just a friend? Ten missed calls?

He recognised the names of most of Seokjin’s friends. Jungkook was new.

Of course Seokjin would mention a conquest or hookup here or there, but Namjoon wasn’t threatened. He knew he was a better fuck than most of them, and Seokjin had often chosen him over other men. Spring had turned into summer, and they still couldn’t get enough of each other.

He thought of Jeongwoon and pickleball. The smart thing to do would be to accept the invite. He was almost forty. That was pickleball time – who was he to fight it?

Yet he was too distracted by Seokjin to worry about it for now. He removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Now, what’s so urgent you’ve texted me a dozen times tonight?”

Seokjin reopened his laptop and showed a seven-page introduction draft to his research paper. “Can you tell me if it’s any good?”

He pulled the laptop closer. His eyes moved over the text fast, and Seokjin nervously chewed on the edge of his thumb nail. “Well?”

Seokjin had transformed after the extension. Sure, Seokjin still went out clubbing but a lot less than before, showing up at his door at eight o’clock sharp three times a week as agreed (hungover a few times, but even so he showed up).

Seokjin was driven – and, in truth, that had nothing to do with Namjoon’s threats of breaking off their agreement (a threat he wasn’t sure he could follow through on, anyway).

Reading over the text, he realised Seokjin was more ambitious, astute, and quietly brilliant than he ever could have guessed. When getting Seokjin the extension, he’d soon run into some challenges. Deadlines had passed, committees had already met, and it was impossible to make an exception for Seokjin, the administrators at SNU had told him.

He knew, however, that there was always room for exceptions. You just had to know the right people.

God, there had to be someone at SNU that he personally knew – someone who he could ask for a favour, or someone who would know someone at the mathematics department, and so forth.

When he’d finally made a connection, he’d almost laughed. Yes, he knew someone at SNU – say, the vice chancellor, whose medieval harp music record he’d been the audio engineer for back in his postgraduate days.

It was a flimsy connection, sure, but he had good memories of this medieval historian who very much adored harps and wanted to record a whole album of them. On top of this, Professor Hong was bisexual, at least – not that they had openly discussed that, but Hong had insinuated in passing that he was queer despite, on the surface, being married to a woman and having two daughters. Him becoming the vice chancellor at SNU was a surprise to say the least. Was he one of the gay men who married a woman to gain social acceptance and career advancement? Maybe. Many did. Who was Namjoon to judge?

And so Namjoon had gotten in touch.

Professor Hong had remembered him instantly and asked if The Provincial Clan was making a comeback anytime soon. Tragically they were not. Professor Hong also said he remembered their one visit to an Itaewon bar fondly – did he still go sometimes? Such good times. Well, well, nice to hear from you!

Namjoon almost felt sorry for him – almost. This was a man of immense influence and a cut-throat executive, whether he played the harp or not, and whether he was permanently closeted or not.

“I called to ask if you know Professor Yan who runs your Department of Mathematics?”

Yes, Professor Hong knew him. They were fishing buddies and were heading out to catch some salmon that very weekend. Did Namjoon know Professor Yan too? What a small world if so!

He’d cleared his throat – you couldn’t ask for a favour outright. Rather, he had to present his slight inconvenience and let Professor Hong tell him if he’d do anything about it.

“Oh, is that all? What’s the name of the student? Right, right, I’ve written it down. Leave it with me, Namjoon-ssi,” Professor Hong laughed.

Just like that – all complications of deadlines, committees and procedures cast aside. Namjoon only had to promise to produce Hong’s second album if the man ever decided to make a comeback of his own. And, perhaps, they might go to an Itaewon bar for a beer or two if so?

Less than a week later, Seokjin had received the extension.

Namjoon didn’t want Seokjin to ever find out what had happened behind his back – what strings he’d had to pull, how far he’d had to reach. The last thing Seokjin needed was extra pressure.

Reading Seokjin’s work, however, made it evident that this had been a worthy cause.

He loosened up his tie and pulled it off. “I’m gonna need coffee for this.”

Seokjin was instantly on his feet, rushing to get an iced americano from downstairs – Namjoon should start reading already, no, no, just stay there and get started!

Namjoon chuckled, focusing on the laptop screen. He’d read the first paragraph when Seokjin’s phone started ringing. He glanced towards the stairs, hesitated, then reached for the phone. This mysterious Jungkook was calling again.

He frowned.

Of course Seokjin had suitors, but endless missed calls was a bit much. His finger hovered over ‘answer’. Maybe this Jungkook needed to be told that Seokjin wasn’t interested?

But maybe Seokjin was.

Against his better judgement, he turned the phone off, then placed it exactly where it’d been. Good, now he’d get Seokjin to himself.

He paused. Frowned.

Why on earth had he just…?

He had nothing to be jealous about. Nothing! And yet…

When Seokjin returned, he said, “Your phone went off – it was distracting so I turned it off. Sorry.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Seokjin said, handing him the drink and settling back down. Seokjin did not reach for his phone – did not hurry to check who was calling him.

Namjoon relaxed. This Jungkook was not a high priority for Seokjin. Duly noted.

Even so, confusion lingered from his own actions. Switching the phone off, like a petty impulse.

He took in Seokjin restlessly, feeling a pain in his chest over Seokjin’s perfect features and the round, non-prescription hipster glasses. You look so beautiful with those. You look beautiful without them, too.

“Well? Can you read it over already?”

He cleared his throat and started reading, enjoying Seokjin’s rapid attention on him, content in the knowledge he’d take Seokjin home that night.

He eventually did his walk of shame from 510 to 511 shortly before half past four. The sex had been unexpectedly intense, perhaps due to all the pent-up energy of that week. Seokjin had ridden his cock slowly, taking his time. Savouring it. Keeping the nerd glasses on upon his request. Did Namjoon have a suppressed kink he didn’t even know about?

They’d stayed awake talking afterwards until all the caffeine had worn off and Seokjin had fallen asleep in his arms. He’d meant to get up and leave but had fallen asleep too.

Funny. Each time he pushed the timing of his retreat further and further into the morning.

Funny. Strange.

In the morning he showered the scent of Seokjin off himself and ordered a pickleball paddle with express delivery.

“Remember, I am here to mediate,” Jimin said, keeping his voice calm and level as they approached Old Flame.

Unfortunately Jungkook was not calm, and he was not very, er, levelled. Turned out that Seokjin’s Dr Kim was also Jungkook’s Dr Kim – this was shocking and deliciously scandalous in and of itself, but that wasn’t all. Jungkook also claimed that Seokjin had known for a while that these were the same man, but he hadn’t told that to any of them. Hadn’t told or warned Jungkook!

“When I showed Seokjin their old album, he recognised Dr Kim! And he said nothing to me!” Jungkook fumed.

Now Jungkook had accidentally had extremely loud sex with Dr Kim just on the other side of the wall, and Jungkook had bemoaned for hours that he had to move to Mongolia to become a yak herder because the humiliation was simply too much.

Jungkook frankly didn’t know which of Seokjin’s betrayals he was the most upset about, and Jimin likewise was unsure where to start.

Jungkook and Seokjin bickered all the time, but that was how they communicated – in jest and with humour. They never actually fought.

Alerted by actual shit going down, Jimin had decided to intervene. (Besides, he wanted to know more about this Only One Dr Kim business. Seokjin had been fucking Jungkook’s professor this entire time…?! His and Taehyung’s jaws had dropped!)

When they got to Old Flame, however, the shop was still closed. He took Jungkook to a nearby café to get them drinks, and when they returned fifteen minutes later the shop had opened. Seokjin, as always, had been fashionably late.

“Just stay calm, alright?” Jimin told Jungkook, who nodded obediently, even as his brows knitted together in displeasure.

They walked in.

“Oh? Morning, guys,” Seokjin said through a yawn, standing behind the counter and pointing at the speakers with a remote control to adjust the volume. “Did you bring me coffee, too? I’m exhausted – 511 and I fucked all night again.”

This, alas, was Jungkook’s last straw.

Jungkook, dressed head to toe in black and with stompy combat boots on, walked to the counter and slammed down his iced coffee. “So that’s why haven’t you been taking any of my calls? Because you were too busy debasing Dr Kim again?!”

Seokjin blinked, eyes shifting from Jungkook to Jimin with ‘what the hell is his problem?’ written all over his face. “Uh, I texted you to just text me whatever your deal was. Why are you being weird?”

“Seokjin-ah!”

Seokjin flinched, becoming increasingly alarmed. Shit, this was not going to be calm, was it?

Jungkook paused, as if completely unsure what to say next. He pushed strands of hair back restlessly, swallowing hard, and glanced to Jimin for moral support. Jimin motioned for him to just spit it out.

“Mingyu recognised him! I mean that I know and that we all know, and I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, that you would deceive us like this, that— And he heard! Mingyu and I! Do you realise I have to move to Ulaanbaatar and become a yak herder now?!”

Jimin interjected with, “Stop with the yak business already.”

Seokjin looked between them. “Uh, what the hell are either of you talking about? Jimin-hyung, can you translate?”

Jimin stepped up, talking to his dongsaengs in soothing tones. “So, ah, Seokjin-ah. Here’s the thing. Your Dr Kim? Also Jungkook’s Dr Kim. Which Jungkookie here found out yesterday, but which you found out a while back, we think.”

Seokjin’s eyes widened and heat rushed to his neck. Confirmation. So it was true!

God, Jimin was impressed – what an insane power move to fuck your best friend’s professor!

Jungkook stabbed his forefinger against the counter. “Stop sleeping with him right now!”

Seokjin looked shocked. “What? No!”

“Right now!”

“No! We’re two adults and can do whatever we—”

“Oh please, you know that you’re way too young for him!”

“No, I am not, and I can choose who to have relations with. Him too!”

“You seduced him! At the bathhouse!”

“Please, he was begging me to—”

“It’s inappropriate!”

“Of course it’s not! He’s not my professor!”

“But—”

“He’s my hot neighbour and I can fuck him if I want to!”

Jimin cut in with, “I think we’re getting off track here.”

Both men stopped to breathe deeply, cheeks aflame with anger.

Jimin said, “I believe the point here is that you should have let us know when you realised who this guy is.”

Seokjin jutted out his chin. “Why? What difference does that make? It’s his private business, after all. Who am I to—”

“Oh come on, even a few days ago you were giving me explicit details about your fuck fests,” Jungkook said in an offended tone. “You just thought it funny that I had no idea who he really was, and that’s shitty of you.”

Seokjin shot such a sharp look at Jungkook that Jimin knew Seokjin had been caught. Shit, Seokjin really had thought it funny.

“You know I respect him, but now it turns out he’s just a pervert fucking guys half his age in bathhouses. I thought he was— different.”

Seokjin squeezed his hands into fists. “He’s a brilliant man. And you judging him for his private life says more about your puritanism than about his character!”

“I am not being puritan – stop trying to put the blame on me! And okay, fine, I get you sleeping with him, god knows many people want to, but why the hell is he sleeping with you? That makes no sense!”

“You have seen me, correct?”

“Yes, but— He’s so…! And you’re so…!” Jungkook paused again, exasperated. “So what is this? You’re in love with him, is that it?”

Seokjin turned from bright red to white, like blood suddenly drained out of him. “Am I— What? That’s absurd, I—! What the hell makes you—”

“Everything. The way you talk about him, the way you are about him,” Jungkook listed, but he sounded perplexed by this. “I mean, we all guessed that, anyway – that you’ve fallen in love. You can’t hide it at all.”

“That’s none of your goddamn business!”

“Is he in love with you too?”

Jimin had never seen Seokjin look so uncomfortable. “What am I, a mind reader? How the hell would I know?”

“So he’s not,” Jungkook said, and Seokjin flinched, quickly averting his gaze. Jungkook seemed disturbed by Seokjin’s lack of confidence too as he backed off. “You should have told me. You know you should have. Instead you’ve let me embarrass myself.”

“He didn’t know it was you next door! Besides, he thought you two had great stamina.”

“You were both listening?!”

“Yes, we were having an intimate sleepover, and I debased your beloved professor with my sleazy tricks! Is that what you want to hear?” Seokjin said with frustration. “You don’t know anything about me and him! And I knew you’d freak out, and I was right, you have. Jimin-hyung, do you see him freaking out?”

Jimin held up his hands – he would not let Seokjin drag him into this. He was an impartial party!

“You should’ve told me!” Jungkook repeated, shooting a hurt look at Seokjin. “I thought you were my friend.”

Seokjin’s eyes widened in shock, and Jimin felt sorry for him.

With this, Jungkook stormed out, the front door slamming shut behind him.

For a few beats, they were both silent. Jimin recognised that he had failed to mediate, getting too caught up in seeing how this would play out. He hadn’t known either of his friends had it in them for such a blowout.

“He forgot his coffee,” Seokjin said faintly, the shop eerily quiet after all the shouting.

Jimin sighed, rubbing at his brow. Right, this had been funny at first but now not at all. He looked at Seokjin sternly. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Seokjin looked hesitant but then held his head high. “Thank you.”

“Apologise to him – I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. If you don’t, don’t bother messaging any of us,” he said, knowing it was cruel, but he had to be firm. Seokjin’s antics had always amused them all, but Seokjin had never made them – least of all Jungkook, so easily embarrassed – the butt of his joke.

A friend who couldn’t see that was no friend at all.

Seokjin said nothing, his usually smooth brow furrowed, his shiny eyes darkened.

Jimin left the store, briefly considered going after Jungkook, then determined he was better off going back to the office. can you come get me from work tonight? he messaged Taehyung. I need a hug

Taehyung messaged back instantly: I’ll be there at six o’clock on the dot, hug-a-ready

Dr Han Hayeon had enjoyed the one-day symposium on ‘politicising pop cultures’. Given the topic, it was no surprise that Dr Kim Namjoon had given the day’s keynote lecture in which he explored the influence of Confucianism in the political worldview of a noted 1990s folk singer. A more thorough examination of related themes could be found in his upcoming book, Kim Namjoon had told the enthralled audience.

Hayeon had clapped less enthusiastically than the rest. She had known Namjoon for over a decade, the two of them having met while working on their doctorates in their respective universities. She worked on music theory, which she found more scientific than the kind of mix of political science and pop music that Namjoon worked on.

All these years, and Namjoon was still here.

Hayeon was surprised. Namjoon had seemed like the kind of man who would realise to find other pursuits in life than academia – because, even if she did not wish to admit it, Namjoon was very clever. As such, Namjoon surely knew as much as the rest of them that he did not belong. The son of two nobodies fighting in the big leagues – come off it.

Hayeon had been shocked, frankly, when Namjoon had started in his current lectureship position. His university was higher in the rankings than hers! What on earth…? Throw on top of that the open secret that Namjoon was a gay man, and she could not believe that he had been appointed over other more suitable and palatable candidates.

Yet word had reached her through the grapevine that made it easier for her to listen to Namjoon’s keynote calmly. The envy and dismay that she had felt for many years, whenever they ran into each other at functions like these, was kept at bay this time.

In fact, as the symposium ended with a wine reception, she grabbed a glass of red and went over to Namjoon. As expected of a keynote speaker, a small crowd around Namjoon were asking follow-up questions about his lecture, and Namjoon chatted with them all pleasantly.

Hayeon’s mouth pursed. An arrogant nobody, that was what Namjoon had always been.

As the crowd dispelled, Hayeon stepped forward and said, “A very interesting lecture.”

Namjoon’s gaze focused on her, his smile narrowing. “Ah, Dr Han. I am glad you found it stimulating.”

Hayeon smiled and took a sip of her wine. “Very. You must have been very busy as of late! I heard your department held interviews this week – Lecturer in Contemporary Music. Quite a few excellent scholars I know were interviewed.”

Namjoon smiled at her but without warmth. “Yes, we had a very excellent selection of candidates.”

“I’m glad you got to meet them – they have very interesting projects I think you could learn a lot from. That would greatly benefit your department also. And also congratulations on your upcoming book! Many of us have been waiting for years for the publication. I look forward to finding out what necessitated such a slow writing process.”

Hayeon had three monographs to her name and was a year younger than Namjoon.

“Perfectionism,” Namjoon said coolly.

“I am sure,” Hayeon laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she did so. Perfectionism! Rather than just admitting he was a second-rate scholar. “How do you think you did at the interview?”

Namjoon kept giving her a blank, polite stare. “You can only do your best, can’t you? It’s always about the department finding the right fit.”

Hayeon held back a smile. Not so brilliant after all, was he?

Men like Namjoon thought they had a hard time because they’d grown up poor or because they belonged to a sexual minority. Shit, try being a woman in this field! Hayeon had taken off a week after giving birth to her son and then she’d been back on campus, teaching her classes, taking breaks to cry in the toilet and to change shirts because she’d kept lactating – and when she got home she had a petulant manchild of a husband whining for sex and a son who cried when she picked him up, no longer recognising her and thinking that the nanny was his mother.

Two good female colleagues of hers had been interviewed for Namjoon’s job – and he thought he deserved it?

Men!

She was so tired of all these goddamn men who had ruled the world since time immemorial.

From her husband to her nine-month-old son to her personal trainer who after one foolish kiss wouldn’t stop sending her dick pics like that was seduction.

And Namjoon was just as arrogant as the rest of them, thinking that by the grace of his cock alone he could take for himself what belonged to hard-working women, like lectureships and scholarships and awards and keynote invites just fell into their laps. Try being a woman! Try being a married woman, a mother.

“And? When will they announce who was successful?” she asked.

“By early next week. You know how slow universities are – bureaucratic nightmares.”

She did her best to look surprised. “Oh? So you really haven’t heard a thing? Because one candidate I know got a call last night about her salary expectations.”

Namjoon’s neutral expression finally cracked, his eyes widening.

Ah, what a wonderful day this was. A win for hardworking women who had clawed and crawled and pushed their way to the top!

These cocky male scholars – especially these provincial nobodies who rode a fake minority victim card – could go right back to the small villages where they’d come from.

The future is female, Hayeon thought – get out of our goddamn way.

Namjoon’s maternal grandfather had been a construction worker second and an alcoholic first, leading to his death in an alcohol-fuelled on-site accident when he had been forty-one. His grandmother, left alone with two children, had against all odds thrived without him.

This thread of family saga had always made him weary of liquor. Hadn’t studies shown that alcoholism was genetic? He was turning forty soon and felt like he had barely started living. His grandfather, dead at forty-one.

Exchange their lives, and he would only have a year and then some left to live.

The thought sent a chill down his spine as he downed a shot of soju in the tent of the streetside food vendor. A small smattering of customers was around him eating sundae and chicken feet, bottles of soju on everyone’s tables.

He downed another shot.

His grandfather could never have imagined that one of his grandchildren would go to university – get a doctorate, become an academic. That wasn’t something someone with his background and pedigree could do, and yet Namjoon had done it. Finding pockets of funding here and there, written dozens and dozens of scholarship applications. Nearly giving up a handful of times, but always at the last minute something had saved his neck.

Not this time. Not anymore.

They’d given his job to a Dr Gye, who specialised in the aesthetics of kpop, and who now was writing a book on kpop business models. Her work sounded fascinating. Namjoon would have to read it – well, he’d have time, wouldn’t he? Nothing but time.

His contract would end on the first of September. A few weeks later, he would turn forty. Forty.

He downed another shot.

Professor Lee – head of the department, one of his interviewees – had called him into her office for what she’d described as a ‘productive chat’.

It’d been a very close call! A very, very tough decision. But, see, these kinds of permanent roles really should be given to people whose loyalty towards the institution was guaranteed – people with families and the like, people who would really commit. Namjoon was still single, wasn’t he? Ah, it was different once you had a family. Perhaps he’d understand that one day.

But, Professor Lee noted, there likely was a teaching assistant post that they would need filling next year. Would Namjoon agree to apply for that, perhaps?

The teaching assistant role was an insult. Namjoon was far too experienced and too far into his career for something like that.

Back in his office, Yoongi had threatened to quit, calling it discrimination, but Professor Lee had never said that Namjoon’s sexuality played a part in the decision. Merely that the panel had considered Dr Kim and Dr Gye to be of equal merit, and what had tipped the decision in her favour was that she needed the job more. She would be more loyal. She would, presumably, work harder.

Because she had a husband and two kids at home to support.

“Discrimination! Blatant, glaring homophobia!” Yoongi had ranted.

“That, and Dr Gye’s first book won awards and she also won a big scholarship a few years back. She has less experience than me, true, but her track record is very promising. How she did that all while having two kids is beyond me.”

“Who the fuck cares? It’s your job!”

Yoongi had threatened to quit, saying he couldn’t stay in an institution like this. Fuck them all! But, Namjoon had said, one of them having a permanent job and waving the raging queer flag was better than neither of them doing it.

Yoongi wasn’t mollified. “This is all about connections!”

“Yes. That’s how you got your tenure track position all those years ago, isn’t it?” he’d asked, not seeking to be hurtful. It was simply the truth. Yoongi had sucked in a breath, hands on his hips.

At the streetside tent, he finished the bottle of soju. Ordered another.

Seokjin had tried calling him several times. So had Hoseok, and so had colleagues as the news spread. Messages of dismay and support and ‘I enjoyed very much working with you’ had started pouring in.

What poured for him was soju.

He thought of his grandfather, who never could have imagined him – his education, career, or sexuality. Who never could have even conceived the idea of him.

Who had died, aged forty-one. A child in the grand scheme of humankind.

What were you going to do? Cry about it?

He downed his shot. The soju tasted smooth and went down like water.

He had to find his students new supervisors. Had to play his part, commit to the grind – although no reward would come his way for it.

He had to. He had to.

Hoseok dragged Namjoon out of bed and all but pushed him into the shower. He then returned to the kitchen where Yoongi was plating out the food they’d brought.

“Need a hand?” he asked, but Yoongi shook his head.

Hoseok opened the curtains to let the bright noon sunshine into apartment 511 and then proceeded to make Namjoon’s bed.

Hoseok was in Efficient Emergency mode, but someone had to be. Yoongi was usually great at something like this, but he felt awful for having a permanent contract while his best friend was getting the boot. Yoongi blamed himself for it, as if somehow he could have influenced a different outcome.

“It’s all internal politics,” Yoongi had said the night before, having too much whisky as he worked through his feelings. “And what’s shitty about all this is that it’s happened to Namjoon before, like when he got only a partial scholarship for his PhD. And he’s better than them! But he’s never complained. Just kept at it. And now…”

And so Hoseok had two hungover, crisis-riddled academics on his hands.

He yanked all of Namjoon’s sheets off, determining they needed to be washed. He raised an eyebrow at a pair of shiny, red briefs that peeked out from under the mattress as he was pushing in a new sheet. He pulled the briefs out, holding them between forefinger and thumb. The briefs had a laced waist band and a generous pouch, straight from the shelves of any self-respecting gay lingerie shop.

Namjoon would not wear these in a million years. Also, they were a size too small for him.

He went to the kitchen, holding the briefs at arm’s length. “He’s had guests.”

Yoongi looked up from where he was leafing through a pile of papers on the dining table. “Guess that’s one way to mourn.”

He dropped the briefs into the kitchen bin and washed his hands. Whatever trick had left them was unlikely to come back.

Was Namjoon bringing men home now? That was unusual.

Yoongi offered him a stack of papers. “Baby, look at this – I think he’s really lost it.”

Hoseok raised an eyebrow at the pages of calculations, unable to figure out what the hell the numbers were trying to do. “He’s having a breakdown,” he said, the gravity of this pressing hard against his heart.

He wished ardently that he could give his loved ones all that they deserved – the job of their dreams, the health they longed for, the finances they needed, the love that they deserved. His inability to do so moved like rough seas in his belly, making him uneasy.

Yoongi poured out three bowls of the hangover soup. Shortly after Namjoon came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, looking slightly fresher than when they’d stormed in on him still fast asleep.

“Get dressed and come eat,” Hoseok said.

Namjoon glanced at Yoongi sitting at the dining table, flitting through the papers. “Those are Seokjin’s,” he said, as if that explained anything, and disappeared into the bedroom.

He and Yoongi glanced at each other. Seokjin was that pesky neighbour – Hoseok still remembered the handsome youth flirting with Namjoon in the vintage store all those months ago.

Why would the man have anything of his at Namjoon’s apartment?

“Come look at this,” Yoongi said, leading Hoseok to the kitchen cupboards. Yoongi opened one and gestured at a bag of jellybeans, to which had been attached a note of ‘hands off – my special treats!’. A useless warning – Namjoon would never put such pure sugar into his system.

Hoseok thought of the shiny, red briefs again. His nose twitched. His ears itched. “Something has been happening here. With that boy.”

“You think they…?”

“I told you he’s met someone, didn’t I?”

Yoongi looked towards the bedroom. “Fucking hell. But I guess no man who has a heartthrob like that in his bed is about to jump off a roof. Why wouldn’t he tell us about it?”

He closed the cupboard door, mulling this over. Because the boy was so much younger, most likely. Guilt, shame – the usual suspects?

They returned to the table as Namjoon joined them at last. “Thanks for this, guys. I mean it,” Namjoon said, spooning some of the soup into his mouth. He looked tired, and Hoseok pushed a glass of water closer to him.

“What did you do last night?”

“Me? Went for a walk. That and, fine, had some soju to lessen the pain.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “And maybe had some boys too? You know, for the pain.”

“Maybe the boy next door, even,” suggested Hoseok.

“Like in a porno,” said Yoongi.

Namjoon shook his head. “Not last night. Although yeah, we have. Historically speaking.”

Hoseok bit his tongue – Namjoon hadn’t told him this! Since when? How often?! Why?!

Namjoon cast a calm look his way, blowing gently on a piece of beef. “Since March. And often. And why wouldn’t we.”

Hoseok blinked. How the actual fuck had Namjoon just read his—

“Self-medicating?” Yoongi asked pointedly, making Namjoon roll his eyes.

“Then why did you want me to set you up with Jeongwoon?” he asked, baffled. If Namjoon had gotten involved with that dark-eyed, model-faced piece of art, why was he wasting time on Jeongwoon?

“Because obviously me and Seokjin can’t…” Namjoon began but then cleared his throat. “Jeongwoon and I are having dinner again next week, and we’re going to play pickleball sometime soon. It’s going pretty well.”

Hoseok nodded slowly, digesting. Okay, Namjoon was half-crisis, half-action. Jeongwoon was a great guy!

But Seokjin had underwear in the bedroom, snacks in the cupboard, and some kind of work papers on the table. Of course Namjoon would brush it off, but this was momentous. How had Seokjin weaselled this deep into Namjoon’s life in just a few months?

Well, Seokjin was young, wasn’t he? It’d take someone stubborn to break through Namjoon’s defences. Who had that kind of patience at their age? No one.

The youth, however? Ah, they had the right kind of patience and certainly the delusion.

“It’s great that you’ve been, er, exploring your options,” he said, going straight from shock to support. That was what Namjoon needed right now – support, and a new job. Jeongwoon had reported after the first date that Namjoon seemed great, but was he really interested?

Namjoon claimed he was. But looking around this apartment, Hoseok was less sure.

“So, have you looked at what jobs are going right now?” Yoongi asked, politely changing the subject.

The two started talking through the lectureship positions currently available – not a huge number, because music departments were limited around the country. Yoongi had heard that KHU had received funding for a new, large, political research centre – maybe Namjoon should venture into that direction?

Namjoon, however, shook his head. “I’ve been interviewed by a politics department three times in my life – always a disaster. They don’t get my research at all.”

Well, in that case there was an arts university in Busan looking for a fixed-term lecturer, and a pretty poorly rated university in Gunsan with a permanent post going at their small music department.

Slim pickings.

“Have you thought of looking abroad? What with hallyu and everything, maybe there’s something in the US,” Yoongi suggested.

“What, and get gunned down on my first day?” Namjoon said, shaking his head. “I research Korean music but none that is really considered kpop. I’d be wasted abroad.”

“But Gunsan…?” Yoongi asked faintly suspiciously.

Hoseok hated the thought of Namjoon leaving Seoul but said nothing. Even Sangwook had moved to Japan because finding a permanent contract was so difficult.

But Namjoon’s entire life was here. His family, his friends, his lovers…

Hoseok glanced towards the wall, where this man who had broken at least some of Namjoon’s defences lived.

Maybe Namjoon didn’t know it yet, but something told him Namjoon wouldn’t be going anywhere.

When Namjoon finally showed up, it was almost midnight.

Seokjin had been sitting in the hallway outside their apartments for hours, wondering if Namjoon had been hit by a bus, wondering if he should go search the playrooms of Steam Box, wondering if he was wasting his time.

Jungkook hadn’t been taking his calls since storming out of Old Flame the day before, and now Namjoon wasn’t taking his calls either.

That morning had been their usual study session, and Seokjin had been at Namjoon’s door at eight o’clock, all ready to work, but no one had come to the door. He’d hoped to tell Namjoon about Jungkook, awkward as it would be, but maybe someone just needed to tell Jungkook it was no big deal! Maybe Namjoon could do it – remind Jungkook that he was a person entitled to a private life?

And then they would all laugh it off, and Jungkook would stop being mad.

But Namjoon hadn’t appeared to be home, and Seokjin had been unable to reach him all day.

He had unboxed the oddly long parcel that had been left outside Namjoon’s door and found a pickleball paddle. Pickleball? What the fuck even was that? He’d looked it up online and concluded it involved middle-aged rich people desperately trying to find a personality.

Why was Namjoon interested in that? He wasn’t a boring person at all!

And then, finally, Namjoon showed up, carrying a cardboard box full of books.

“Hyung,” he said, scrambling up to his feet from beside the open pickleball delivery.

Had Namjoon been shopping – what, at this hour?

“Hyung,” he said, more gingerly.

Namjoon stopped at the sight of him, frowned, then continued to his door. The box was heavy, but Namjoon managed it. He looked tired – not at all thrilled at the sight of him.

He bristled. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Where were you this morning? Didn’t you check your messages? I called like a—”

“Not now, Seokjin-ah.”

“But I—”

“Not now!” Namjoon said, voice stern and clipped, and Seokjin’s voice died in his throat. Namjoon had raised his voice at him only in the past – when they’d still been strangers, arguing. Never since then. Never, until now.

Namjoon pressed in the code, balancing the box of books awkwardly. “I can’t right now. Alright?”

“But I need to tell you something – or, well, a lot of things, and— Ah, this came for you. Why are you playing pickleball?”

“Why did you open that?”

“I got bored. What are all these books?”

“I’m emptying my office on campus.”

“But why?”

“Because pretty soon I won’t work there anymore.”

Seokjin didn’t understand, staying put as Namjoon went inside. Why wouldn’t Namjoon work there? Hadn’t they just given him tenure? They’d fucked all night to celebrate!

But now that seemed to have changed.

He’d like to think Namjoon had gotten a better offer, but the defeated air clinging to Namjoon suggested otherwise. Had the university kicked Namjoon out? Was that something they could do?!

The door soon opened again, and this time Namjoon picked up the pickleball paddle delivery.

“They hired someone else?” he asked, shock spreading in him as Namjoon nodded. But how could they! Namjoon was the most popular lecturer they had – even Jungkook was half in love with him! “What, just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“But what happens now?”

Namjoon exhaled, looking down the corridor aimlessly. “Now I find another job – and, in the meanwhile, play pickleball with Jeongwoon.”

He stared at Namjoon. Felt an icy cold spread in him. “Who’s Jeongwoon?”

“The man I’m seeing.”

“The man you’re…? Since when?”

The two of them saw each other all the time! How could Namjoon be seeing another man without him knowing about it?! Jeongwoon who? He’d never even heard of a Jeongwoon!

That was only possible if… if Namjoon had hidden it from him on purpose.

He felt ill.

Namjoon sighed, adjusting his hold of the paddle parcel. “Since now, I think. Look, I… I need to stop fucking around. With my life, my career. With—”

“But are you in love with him?” he asked with a sense of dread, everything in him sinking. Who the fuck was Jeongwoon? Why was he better than him?!

Namjoon let out a chuckle and shook his head, the usual spark gone in his soulful eyes. “It’s not about love, and no, it’s not even about sex. Sometimes it’s about… about fitting in. Playing the game. That’s what this fucking pickleball is. An aspirational game.”

He couldn’t make any sense of this at all. Their agreement worked because they weren’t dating each other or other people. When did Namjoon change those rules?

Even as he knew the answer, he asked, “But if you’re dating him, where do I fit in?”

Namjoon’s jaw set tight, lips drawing together. “I’ve been wondering about that too.”

“And?”

“And you don’t fit in. You don’t.”

He stared at Namjoon with disbelieving pain in his chest. No explanations, no questions. No need to ever explain anything. The rules had always been clear.

Now this had turned into a game Seokjin didn’t want to play anymore.

Anger bubbled in him. Stop with this Jeongwoon business, whoever the hell he even is! Just go tell Jungkook to stop being dramatic and then come to my place so we can have sex all night. Stop this… this moody brooding – we’ll find you another job! All of these things – these distractions, these hiccups – we can figure out together. But you need to talk to me first! You need to see me first!

But Namjoon stood right in front of him and didn’t see him at all.

He swallowed hard. “This… this isn’t fun for me anymore.”

Namjoon looked at him intently, eyes flashing with recognition. The get-out-of-jail card.

Seokjin wanted Namjoon to fight him on it. To refuse his declaration.

Instead Namjoon nodded, gravely. “That’s all you ever needed to say. Seokjin-ah.”

His name had never been said so melodically somehow. So melancholically. So fondly, and yet so distantly. Namjoon gave him a half-smile, fleeting and tight, and went inside.

Leaving him standing in the corridor – easily discarded.

That was, after all, what he had foolishly made himself to Namjoon.

He looked around the corridor in disbelief, not knowing what to do with himself. What to even feel. What the hell had just…? It hadn’t supposed to go like…

He took the subway to Jungkook’s shared student apartment. A hauntingly unfamiliar but sharp pain travelled with him.

It took persistent ringing of the intercom before Jungkook opened the door for him. Annoyance clouded Jungkook’s face and mistrust filled his eyes. Jungkook had never looked at him like that before, and Seokjin began to see just how much he’d fucked everything up.

Without stopping to catch his breath, he said, “I’m sorry. You were right, I should have told you when I realised who he was. I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I really didn’t – I didn’t think about how you’d take it, that’s all, and I wasn’t thinking. It was foolish. I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

With a lump in his throat, he added, “And you were right about the other thing, too.”

“The other thing?” Jungkook asked.

“That I’m in love with him. But he’s not in love with me.”

Jungkook’s coldness faded, mouth dropping open. “What? Do you want me to kill him?”

“And he’s dating someone else.”

“No! How dare he?!”

At this, his smile wavered slightly. He shrugged to indicate that he did not know and started to cry.

Jungkook pulled him into a tight hug, and he breathed in the floral fabric softener scent of Jungkook’s hoodie, hands fisting the fabric at the back. Tears rolled down his cheeks – tears of indignation and frustration. Anger, too. And, of course, the obvious thing.

Because it turned out he wasn’t immune to heartbreak after all.

Chapter Text

VII

Yunjin wondered if she’d summoned Dr Kim from the depths of her imagination when he walked into the 7-Eleven that evening. She had been thinking about him intently for the past twenty minutes, after all.

This was because Jelly Bean had come in to eat instant noodles a little earlier. After buying the seafood flavoured ramyeon, a cheese stick, and a soy-marinated egg, Jelly Bean used their food prep station to fix his dinner and sat down at one of the tables. Jelly Bean scrolled on his phone as he slurped on the noodles, deep in thought.

Yunjin had newly written notes on Jelly Bean – and, well, on many of her regulars.

The realisation that gay people were prevalent amongst her regulars had changed her perspective. She had assumed everyone to be straight unless proven otherwise – Jelly Bean, at least, had given her pause to think when chatting over the phone about cute boys.

Not everyone would give her such obvious confirmation, however. That girl who worked in marketing for an imported goods company? Perhaps gay! How could Yunjin know? She had to keep an open mind if she was to find good matches for all of these people. She had to stop being so very, very heteronormative (a word she’d picked up from a gay rights organisation’s blog – she had been educating herself).

And so even Jelly Bean had multiple male candidates these days, and, yes, still a few women. Perhaps he was bi – keep an open mind! Of course Dr Kim was at the top of this list with a ‘C’ for ‘confirmed’, and Yunjin wasn’t sure who could compete with him when he was such a catch.

Still, on the list Dr Kim was followed by that gorgeous medical student who had the body of a god, and then the somewhat uptight corporate salaryman who Yunjin estimated would be a good balance to Jelly Bean’s bright personality.

Which of these men suited Jelly Bean best? Was it still Dr Kim?

And then Dr Kim arrived, and Yunjin became overly alert like a freshly activated sleeper cell. The hot neighbourhood couple!

Dr Kim nodded a hello to her and was making his way to the wall cooler – kimbap and chicken breast for dinner, most likely – when he spotted Jelly Bean, who had his eyes glued to the phone.

For weeks and weeks Yunjin had been wondering what was happening with the two men. She had seen them independently of each other, buying snacks, meals – condoms, lube… Ahem.

She expected Dr Kim to rush to Jelly Bean and sweep him up in his arms and carry him out bridal style or something else sweet and romantic. (Oh no, was that a heteronormative thought? Well, carry him out groom style. No, wait, walk out hand in hand as equals…? Aish, she was still working on this!)

Dr Kim, however, hesitated.

Yunjin frowned. Why would he?

Then, like an engine starting after a few tries, Dr Kim rigidly approached Jelly Bean.

Yunjin was too far away; she wouldn’t hear anything of their conversation! Yet it was immoral to eavesdrop, and an old gentleman was just coming to the counter to buy a red bean bun.

She sold him the bun, eyes darting to where Dr Kim and Jelly Bean were now talking. No laughter, no smiles. Both men tensed up.

Yunjin’s heart sank.

Damn it, she had to know!

She grabbed a handful of protein bars from the counter and moved to the crackers and snacks aisle close to Jelly Bean’s table, busying herself with organising the shelves with her back to the men.

“—than happy to read anything, of course,” Dr Kim said.

“My supervisor’s reading through the latest draft, so I don’t need any help – but thanks,” Jelly Bean answered.

“Sure. Fine. Well…”

An awkward silence.

What’d happened to the two men canoodling? Had they fought? If so, apologise immediately!

“So, how are things with the boyfriend?” Jelly Bean said.

Yunjin froze up.

What. The. Actual.

Dr Kim did not reply instantly, but his tone was cool when he said, “Good, fine. He teaches at a linguistics focused university.”

“Teaches what?”

“Azerbaijani.”

“Bless you. Is it monogamous?”

Yunjin’s mind reeled. Jelly Bean was so bold! That was such a personal question!

Had Dr Kim dumped Jelly Bean for another man or had Jelly Bean dumped him? Yunjin couldn’t tell. What fools either way!

“Well, we haven’t been seeing each other for very long yet, so…”

“So no.”

“So we haven’t had that talk yet.” Dr Kim cleared his throat. He didn’t like Jelly Bean’s line of enquiry. “Well. I’m glad you’re getting on with your studies. I guess I worried that you’d lose interest.”

“Me, lose interest? What, did you think I was finishing off my degree for you?”

“No, but—”

“I’m doing it for myself.” The chair scraped the floor as Jelly Bean stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me – I’ve got someone coming over.”

Jelly Bean binned the emptied noodle cup and left the store, visibly irate. Dr Kim looked after him, shoulders drawn tight and jaw clenched, but then he headed to the wall cooler.

Yunjin loitering in the men’s vicinity had barely registered, which should have been offensive except that Yunjin had gotten used to it. Many customers barely saw her, even when she was right before their eyes.

Her heart was racing, and she pressed a hand to her chest.

Dr Kim and Jelly Bean had been her favourite match. They’d been so… so happy and smitten and, well, into each other just a few months back, and she’d thought it so refreshing because they hadn’t been a typical couple. Yin and yang, and all that.

And now Jelly Bean had other men to meet, and Dr Kim had a boyfriend, and the two were engaged in taking sharp jabs at each other’s private affairs?!

What on earth had gone wrong?

Yunjin sulked on her way to the counter to sell dried apple slices to a girl she vaguely recognised. After this, Dr Kim bought a kimbap roll and a vacuum-packed chicken breast.

“That’ll be five thousand two hundred,” she said, but she wanted to say much more than this. What idiots! What fools! Jelly Bean had never done a single thing wrong in his life, she was sure of it – not with that angelic face of his. Yes, this must be Dr Kim’s fault! But no, he was so handsome with such kind, warm eyes. Surely he’d never hurt Jelly Bean?

“Have a good night,” Dr Kim said, and Yunjin almost called after him but held back. What on earth could she say? Dr Kim looked humourless and tired. Yunjin felt this deep in her bones.

She studied the matchmaking notes on her phone after Dr Kim had left. Rationally, she should remove Dr Kim and Jelly Bean as each other’s top matches – upgrade the medical student who she thought would make a cute couple with Jelly Bean.

Her finger hovered over the screen but retreated.

No. She refused to change this just yet.

The neighbourhood’s most promising couple had parted ways, but they were on talking terms. Bickering terms. Scorned lovers terms.

Dr Kim and Jelly Bean cared, whether they admitted it or not.

A customer walking up to the till snapped her out of her musings. “Ah, Caretaker Park,” she said, smiling at the old man. “How are you this evening?”

Seokjin picked up Youngsoo and his friend from the gates of Riverside Complex, showing them the way to his apartment.

“Hope you’re ready for a long night,” Youngsoo smirked, and Seokjin assured him that he was – he’d been getting ready all day.

It was Seokjin who had slipped into Youngsoo’s DMs with a ‘hey remember me?’ message. Youngsoo of course did – who could forget Seokjin? It took a few weeks for them to arrange to meet, but they kept chatting throughout, with Seokjin sending pictures to whet Youngsoo’s appetite.

Needless to say, Youngsoo was ready to go.

Youngsoo’s friend he knew by name – they had met before, but Seokjin didn’t remember him.

“Well, I used to look different. I’ve had a bit of work done,” Cholho explained.

“Oh, the nose? It’s so well-shaped.”

“Yes, you’re right! And then, well, I didn’t do much. Just the eyes and the jaw and the lips.”

Cholho looked handsome, but also a little generic – that was the risk with plastic surgery. Seokjin thought that since he didn’t remember the man pre-surgery either, Cholho had likely never looked very memorable.

Cholho introduced himself as a photographer, and this at least was interesting. He was due to go photograph a band playing nearby but he had a few hours to kill first, and so had asked to tag along. Well, the more the merrier, right?

“Say, you ever done modelling work?” Cholho asked him. “I mean, you’ve got such a face for it. And body, too.”

“Never have, although you’re not the first to ask me that,” he said, flashing Cholho a quick smile.

“Would you want to model for me sometime?”

At least he was young and hot – Cholho could appreciate that, even if Namjoon couldn’t.

“That could be fun,” he said, and Cholho gave him a bright, winning smile. A little too pleased by his answer.

Seokjin would have to look up this Cholho guy when he got a minute.

Whether he was bringing new guests to his home or not, Namjoon’s presence next door haunted him.

Of course he knew that Namjoon was dating Pickleball Man now. He had heard laughter from next door a few times and once also sex. It’d sounded like good sex, too, and he’d been jealous and sickened. Was this his life now? Lying in bed with a hard-on while Namjoon pleasured a man who was not him?

Damn it all to hell.

He had done his best to avoid Namjoon, apart from one run-in at the convenience store. This, surely, would make Namjoon apologise profusely for the biggest mistake of his life.

Namjoon had not apologised.

In fact, Namjoon hadn’t protested his decision to end things at all. He’d expected Namjoon to at least try and win his favour again. Try and persuade him, try and charm him. Instead Namjoon had transitioned smoothly into Dating, with a capital D, this Pickleball Man, without even a single call or text or knock on his door.

And for a while there Seokjin had thought that they…

“We’ll just get the lift up,” he said to Youngsoo and Cholho in the lobby of 104, pressing the lift call button.

The doors opened immediately like magic, and the three of them came face to face with Namjoon.

Seokjin’s world slowed down.

Namjoon was in athletic shorts and a matching, loose t-shirt, looking amazing from the muscular calves to the broad chest. Just his presence, his proximity, made Seokjin’s heart race and his palms sweat. The same had happened at the convenience store.

He noticed belatedly that Namjoon was not alone – his boyfriend was with him.

Dr Pickleball was handsome with a strong jaw and intelligent eyes, and he seemed intimidatingly mature. This sense of maturity was intangible; the man simply carried himself with a calm confidence, looking very has-a-pension-plan and very paid-his-taxes. He was older than Namjoon if he had to guess.

Here, at last, was his nemesis in the flesh.

New Boyfriend was also in sportswear and was carrying a paddle bag. They nearly walked into Youngsoo because they were so deep in conversation and laughing in low middle-aged man tones that they weren’t looking ahead of themselves.

It wasn’t the Namjoon he knew.

“Oh, sorry!” Youngsoo said, stepping out of the men’s way. “Ah, are you off to play pickleball? I love pickleball.”

Of course Youngsoo did – he was thirty. Cholho, for his part, looked around the same age.

“Ah, yes,” Pickleball Boyfriend said, a little taken aback that strangers were talking to him but still polite, lifting the paddle bag.

New Boyfriend looked at Youngsoo with curiosity, just like any gay man did when running into a hot guy. Youngsoo had a ‘sexy hunk who hits the gym thrice a week’ vibe to him. Youngsoo often posted pictures of his gym routine, too – shirtless. What a sight… Cholco was a little leaner, but not bad looking either, even if a little Gangnam plasticky in the face.

Seokjin ignored all of these men and looked at Namjoon steadily. The yearning that he felt constantly was so much more acute with Namjoon right in front of him. God, he missed having Namjoon inside him.

Namjoon looked at him, gaze dark, then at Youngsoo and Cholho, then at him again. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were knowing.

Seokjin’s insides felt hot.

Seokjin was bringing not only a man, but two men home. Namjoon didn’t need a maths degree to figure that one out. Besides, everyone had been in a few threesomes in their life, surely – especially those who visited bathhouses, where invitations to join were common.

Please let him be jealous. Let his day, week and month be ruined. Let him be tormented by the thought of Youngsoo and Cholho and me.

Namjoon’s eyes briefly moved down Seokjin’s body, then back to his face again. His expression was closed off, lips pursed. He looked like he wanted to say something but was holding it back.

God, why couldn’t he just forget about Namjoon already? Forget all of his wonderful traits and quirks and how he tasted and smelled, and the way Namjoon made him feel like he’d ascended, become someone better and happier?

Cholho was holding the lift doors open. “Which floor is it?”

“Five,” he said automatically, finally moving past his neighbour. They were close enough to touch. Close enough to grab each other’s wrist.

Neither of them did.

“Well, see you later,” Seokjin told the pair, feeling Pickle Boyfriend’s eyes roam on him too. Should he seduce the boyfriend? Show Namjoon that he was the ultimate prize? But the thought of giving his nemesis any pleasure, let alone sexual, irked him.

He and Namjoon took each other in one last time, and he felt the weight of what neither of them could say.

“See you later,” Pickleball said politely, and Seokjin wanted to flip the guy off.

As the lift doors were closing, he called out, “Oh, and don’t exert yourself, ahjussi – it’s really hot out today!”

At this, Pickleball shot a startled, dismayed look his way.

He smirked – a small victory was a victory nevertheless.

Namjoon found a new job as a fixed-term lecturer at an arts college outside of Seoul.

The college did not have a noted reputation of any kind, and he had been warned there’d be a lot of admin and plenty of teaching. In other words, he would not be paid for research, and he likely would not have much time for it either. In other words, career suicide. The commute to Yongin would take two hours each way.

He accepted the downgrade.

“This is just a step on your way to something better,” Hoseok, ever the hype man, told him.

Yet the feeling of failure lingered. What was his plan B? For his career, the rest of his life…? Maybe he’d retrain as a baker. A florist.

Jeongwoon had been a big help to him, in truth, and a great motivator. “Start putting a big grant proposal together – come next spring you’ll jet off to an Italian university with funding spilling out of your pockets. You’ll take me with you, of course – I’ll make a great Italian house husband. Make pasta from scratch every morning and all that.”

That was another career option – a pasta connoisseur?

Namjoon was grateful that Jeongwoon understood the academic struggle, and if anything they had grown close fast because of Namjoon’s professional ordeals.

So he had sorted out his immediate future, and yet something kept bothering him, pulling his attention away from these more pressing matters. Something, someone – a set of dark, inviting eyes that he hoped to see whenever he went to Steam Box.

Sex helped him to not think, his mind quieting as physical pleasure took over, and as such he’d been over frequently as of late. The sex he had with Jeongwoon was good, but he had to be more present with him – and, sometimes, he just wanted not to be present at all.

Jeongwoon became aware of Seokjin quickly, too, leaving Namjoon tongue-tied.

“Hey,” Jeongwoon said as he arrived one evening – fried chicken and stiff cock was on the menu – leaving his sandals in the entryway. “I ran into that kid again – the one who called me ahjussi.”

Jeongwoon had had a mini-midlife crisis over this, which was likely exactly what Seokjin had intended. The Demon of 510 was living up to his name.

Namjoon made sure to just brush this off, however. “Ah, that’s Seokjinnie. He lives next door.”

“He does?” Jeongwoon asked, eyebrows rising.

He nodded, pressing a kiss to Jeongwoon’s mouth in greeting. “Hope he said nothing untoward this time?”

He held his breath – Seokjin, in truth, could say anything.

“No, he was incredibly polite. Wished me a good summer and said all lecturers deserve a break from all the hard work. How does he know what I do, anyway?”

“I must have mentioned it,” he said, leading Jeongwoon to the kitchen. He saw Jeongwoon grow confused but curious, so he added, “I’ve helped him out with his studies a little. He’s a dongsaeng, you know. Was he, er, by himself?”

“Oh, I see,” Jeongwoon said, placing down the bags of food he’d brought with him. “No, he was with that bulky guy again.”

Namjoon got out plates, nodding. The good-looking guy – hook up of the week or, well, one of them if you counted the guy who’d had work done too. Was Seokjin seeing one or both of them?

He hoped they were done with the topic, but Jeongwoon said, “I’d be careful with that.”

He busied himself with getting beer out of the fridge. “Careful with what?”

“The boy next door,” Jeongwoon said like it was self-explanatory, and it was. Of course it was. Any gay man their age understood the inherent danger of someone like Seokjin: his looks, his vivacity, his charms, his youth. Top of the food chain – a half-deity. “You wouldn’t want to make a fool of yourself.”

“Me, make a fool of myself?” he asked in an exaggerated tone. “Unprecedented.”

Jeongwoon laughed, and Namjoon swallowed down the truth.

Why not just admit that he’d already had Seokjin? Brag about it. Boast about it. Tell Jeongwoon how passionate it had been, how much Seokjin had wanted him. Yes, him.

But Jeongwoon would question this affair, and Namjoon wasn’t sure what the answers were.

Besides, it seemed like Seokjin had swiftly moved on to other men – plural. He did his best not to imagine what Seokjin was getting up to with them. It was too much.

They had dinner, watched a movie, had a good and meaningful discussion about post-Brechtian theatre, and fucked. It was a Friday night – Seokjin would not be home to hear them.

“I could get used to you, I think,” Jeongwoon said as they lay in bed afterwards.

“Me too,” he said and meant it. Jeongwoon felt solid; he was funny and interesting and handsome, and he knew everything from Spanish winemaking to every phase of Uhm Jungwha’s career. “It’s a shame you won’t be here this summer.”

“Well, I have to give you a chance to miss me too, right?” Jeongwoon said and kissed him.

They’d clean up nice, he thought. He could see them at wine receptions, well-dressed and deeply engaged in meaningful conversations with their academic peers.

They could be that kind of a gay couple – spotless, polished. Acceptable.

They could be.

When Youngsoo came by again the following week, he asked to use the bathroom before their session. Seokjin showed his guest the way.

In the living room, he sat down on the couch, psyching himself up for what was to come.

Youngsoo had a reputation in their circles, and so far he had lived up to it. There would certainly be no sleep for them that night, and Youngsoo went hard on all of his partners.

Before another marathon session, however, he placed his laptop on his lap and continued his search of Namjoon’s boyfriend – the annoyingly handsome pickleball enthusiast who he’d run into again the day before. The guy couldn’t be a model or anything, but he took care of himself and had his eyebrows done professionally. Perhaps a seven out of ten in gay rankings. He’d have to see the man naked to see whether that’d push him to eight or six.

The man was easy enough to find amongst the staff profiles of his university – not many people teaching Azerbaijani around these parts. He found a pdf of the man’s CV and downloaded it, reading through the many fellowships and teaching posts, all of his publications, and all of his degrees.

Nausea swelled in him.

He did some basic maths – if the man had graduated that year, then he must have been born in or around… Wait. The guy was very likely exactly twenty years older than him.

His throat felt tight, the man’s long list of accolades filling his mind. He would submit his final research paper soon and then wait for the winter graduation ceremonies to get his BSc. And, even then, it was only a BSc.

It wasn’t fair, goddammit. He hadn’t been given an extra twenty years to gain accomplishments, to make himself impressive. How could he ever hope to win Namjoon’s attention when this was what he was up against?

Youngsoo walked into the living room, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, I’m ready. Same deal as last time, right?”

He held back a smile, nodding. “Works for me.”

“Yeah? Because it got kind of intense last time.”

“Please – it was a great time.”

Youngsoo hesitated. “You sure?”

Seokjin closed the university staff profiles and opened up his calculations. “I’m super sure. Now, like I was telling you last time, this attempt at MIT from 1983 keeps giving me a headache – I can’t figure out at what point they went wrong.”

“Let me take a look!” Youngsoo said, practically rushing to him. “Oh, this shit is interesting.”

Youngsoo had won every mathematics prize at SNU and been the sunbaenim that they all admired. Youngsoo had been doing some teaching on the side back then, but these days he worked as a financial planning analyst at a notable investment firm. Youngsoo had also had a crack at the Weissmann Conjecture during his reckless and wild undergraduate days and had been enthused when Seokjin DM’ed him about his final assessment that focused on recounting why past attempts at solving the conjecture had failed. Youngsoo had replied instantly – a nerd through and through. Seokjin’s screenshots of his paper had riled Youngsoo up even further.

They started making some progress, but eventually stopped to order some food.

As they waited for their noodles to arrive, Youngsoo said, “I’m glad you’re finalising this project. Professor Kang was pleased you’re doing this too.”

Professor Kang was the most noted mathematician at the department and was acting as Seokjin’s supervisor. Back in the day, she had been Youngsoo’s supervisor too – one of the students who had been granted into her inner circle, and to this day the two remained good friends.

“I’m glad to be finalising this too,” he admitted, flattered that the two had discussed his progress together.

Youngsoo kept scrolling down the MIT calculations even as he sipped on iced tea. “She said it took a lot of wrangling to get you back in.”

“What, really?”

Professor Kang had said nothing about that to him. He’d simply received the extension letter and assumed that Namjoon had said something so persuasive or pitiful about his hospitalisation that the request had been accepted.

“Yeah, apparently it went all the way to the vice chancellor.”

Seokjin frowned. “The vice chancellor of SNU stepped in?”

“Yeah – you didn’t know?”

He shook his head, checking his phone when it binged, but instead of an update on their delivery, Cholho had messaged him. “It’s Cholho. Did I tell you I agreed to model for him?”

“Yeah? He wants every hot guy he meets to model for him. Not to make you feel less special or anything.”

“Don’t worry, I figured as much,” he smirked, eyes refocusing on the formulae Youngsoo had gotten up on the screen. He put his phone down, refocusing. “Right, where were we?”

As expected, they stayed up all night.

On Tuesday Namjoon went to Steam Box when he knew Seokjin wasn’t working.

Perhaps Seokjin would be there.

Perhaps they’d cross paths.

He hadn’t lied to Seokjin: he and Jeongwoon hadn’t had the talk of ‘what are we’ and ‘what are the rules’. They were still figuring each other out, determining if they had enough here for a serious relationship.

And so he went to Steam Box because he could. Because he’d never promised any kind of fidelity and, amongst gay men, it was rarely instantly assumed.

And because maybe he and Seokjin could excuse it there. Bury the hatchet, accept that these were exceptional circumstances. Maybe it’d be fun for Seokjin again. Maybe he’d let Namjoon back close, back in, back inside, skin to skin, and they could lose themselves in that whirlpool of pleasure and familiarity.

But Seokjin was not at Steam Box when he visited that day – or the day after that.

Instead he heard the door of 510 open and close – heard, a few times, Seokjin having sex next door, although whether that was with just one man or two or more, he could not say. He saw, sometimes, Seokjin in the building or on the complex grounds. Alone or with another man.

There and not there.

Close and yet not close enough.

He had other things to worry about. Other men to satisfy him.

And yet each night he lay in bed asking himself a question: is tonight finally the night?

The night when I get up and go knock on his door. Ask to be let inside. Cup his cheek and ask for forgiveness. Ask what I can do to make it better. Ask him if he’s sure – if he meant it. Tell him that maybe I need an explanation after all. Why did you end it? Even if I’m seeing someone, surely we can still meet? And talk. And laugh. And fuck. And lie in bed afterwards in the sweet afterglow. Talking and laughing some more.

Let’s do all of that again.

Let me get lost in you again.

Is it tonight?

No?

Then maybe tomorrow.

When Seokjin went to Cholho’s studio in Seochon, he decided to bring up the vice chancellor of SNU. The remarks had kept bothering him – the whole thing sounded odd – and Cholho had studied in the arts faculty, where the vice chancellor had been a professor once. Perhaps Cholho knew something about the man from his student days?

While he didn’t quite understand the intricacies of university administration, the affair was akin to a prime minister dropping by to fix a pothole in a small, low-income neighbourhood: incredibly below their paygrade.

Cholho’s studio was on the top floor of a three-storey house nestled deep in the neighbourhood; a mix of residential houses and cool, trendy brunch cafes. The studio was a relatively small but bright space that Cholho shared with a few other artists. They had a rota for it, and Cholho got the place on Tuesdays and Saturdays.

Cholho welcomed him with a confident and knowing look on his face, even giving him a tight hug.

Seokjin wasn’t dumb – Cholho clearly wanted to sleep with him, and Seokjin was half-considering it. Cholho was pretty good-looking, especially after all that work he’d had done. Still, the ‘model for me’ ruse seemed unnecessary, like Cholho was trying to appeal to his vanity as a mode of seduction. Seokjin would rather Cholho admit straight up he wanted to fuck him. Not only was that more honest, but also more erotic.

Namjoon had excelled at that. Whispering in his ear what he wanted to do to him – messaging, a few times, what he had in mind. God, it’d riled Seokjin up each time.

Perhaps because he didn’t like Cholho’s attempts at being sly, he decided not to sleep with him but rather pose for him only. Sensually, seductively, as per Cholho’s wishes.

“I’m a little nervous, to be honest,” he said. He photographed well but he’d never posed professionally.

“Don’t be – these will turn out great,” Cholho said.

He sat on a black stool in denim jeans and a white t-shirt, against a simple white backdrop. He’d been taking killer selcas for years so knew a little how to pose, but Cholho also guided him in ways that better suited the camera’s perspective.

“Amazing! Incredible! My god, you’re sexy!”

Seokjin liked this – he’d needed a goddamn confidence boost after Namjoon’s rejection and Cholho’s offer had seemed like the perfect remedy. He was a little flushed, but he was forcing down the shyness.

Cholho paused to reposition the light boxes. “How do you feel about showing a little more skin? Up to you, of course, but most guys say yes. We’ll never be as beautiful as we are today.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So, what? Shirtless?”

“I mean, for a start,” Cholho said and winked at him.

Nudes.

Well, Seokjin should have seen that coming.

He visualised erotic nudes of himself, tastefully in black and white – the contrast of his skin and his dark pubic hair, the roundness of his nipples and the contours of his muscles. God, he would look so fucking hot.

“Well?” Cholho said, holding the camera.

He felt exposed already – all this attention was on him, and it felt intense. Yet he pulled the t-shirt over his head.

Cholho smiled. “That’s the good stuff.”

Once he got home, he realised he had forgotten to ask about the vice chancellor rumours – he’d been too caught up in modelling. First shirtless, then undoing the buttons of the jeans, underwear showing. The atmosphere had changed to sexually charged; Cholho had obviously wanted him.

these pictures turned out so good… so sexy, so hot…. Cholho messaged him that evening. i feel so inspired by your beauty. please tell me you’re coming back for a second shoot because i think this is the start of a sensual artistic journey we can take together

Seokjin snorted – just say you want to film us fucking and be done with it – but Cholho sent him one shot from that afternoon: of him in nothing but the jeans, leaning back on the stool and staring straight into the camera. Bedroom eyes, hair a little messy, lips parted like an invitation, neck elongated. Erect nipples, chest smooth – toned with firm muscle. God, even he wanted to fuck himself.

See? He was fucking sexy. So many men wanted him. Why the fuck couldn’t Kim Namjoon be one of them?

He stopped his narcissistic admiration of himself, putting the phone down and refocusing on the SNU website where he was finally looking up the vice chancellor properly. Had Youngsoo been right that his extension had gone that high up the food chain? Why?

He found an interview with the vice chancellor, both in transcript and video, intended to make the senior university executives feel like Real People instead of Soulless Overlords.

Vice Chancellor Hong Youngpil was sitting in a grandiose office, exuding calm, quiet power in his exquisitely tailored black suit. Seokjin determined he’d never met the man. What was one student’s extension to Professor Hong in a university of thousands?

Something, however, stirred him. He studied the sixty-something aged man carefully. The tone of his voice. The microgestures. There was just a little something… queer about him.

He jerked.

Had they fucked?!

When?!

Maybe at last year’s pride when he’d gone to that sex party…? He’d made some reckless decisions that night.

No. This man wasn’t his type.

A secret admirer…? If so, why not just call Seokjin up to his office and demand a blowjob in return for the extension like any old creep with too much power?

The interview ended with Professor Hong Youngpil talking about his background as a medieval historian specialising in thirteenth century harp music. He had even released an album in his name.

God, what a nerd.

A gay music nerd working in academia.

Seokjin stilled. That was a very specific profile.

Instinctively, he gazed towards the direction of Unit 511. No. Unlikely. Namjoon clearly didn’t give a shit about him – hadn’t then and didn’t now.

Yet he grew restless and spent the next half an hour researching Hong Youngpil further, but he found nothing alarming and most importantly no connections to him whatsoever. The man’s nerd music album was on YouTube, however, and it sounded as weird as one might expect.

He chewed on the edge of his fingernail, pondering.

Jungkook stood outside Dr Kim’s office, listening to him and Dr Min talking. The building was otherwise quiet; the summer break had started, and no classes were being held.

Inside the office Dr Min was trying to convince Dr Kim to apply for a senior researcher role at KHU, but Dr Kim said it’d be a waste of his time. It seemed to be because this vacancy was at a politics department, and Namjoon didn’t think his work fit there.

Jungkook had also heard, as had many students, that Dr Kim had a new role in a small college somewhere.

He was worried about how Seokjin would take this. Was Dr Kim moving? But perhaps it’d be good if the man didn’t live next to Seokjin anymore, especially after his audacity to dump Seokjin for someone else.

Okay, fine, Dr Kim hadn’t dumped Seokjin exactly – the two hadn’t been dating. And yes, technically it was Seokjin who had called off their fuck buddies agreement. Still, Jungkook had plenty of reasons to be angry with Dr Kim, and yet… yet he felt sorry to lose him as a potential mentor.

“So you are coming to dinner at our place, right?” Dr Min asked, and Jungkook silently moved away from the ajar door, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.

Dr Min soon walked out and turned towards his office, not noticing Jungkook further down the hall. The door was left ajar.

Jungkook chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling nervous.

Seokjin had told him not to get involved, and he hadn’t. He had perhaps thought that Seokjin would recover quickly – his friend had a propensity for exaggeration, this supposed heartbreak included. Seokjin was infatuated with Dr Kim, and Jungkook frankly understood why, but perhaps it would fizzle out quickly and Seokjin would find a new man to obsess over. Right?

Seokjin had not, however, forgotten about Dr Kim Namjoon quickly at all. Seokjin was putting on a brave face, that was clear, but he was still upset over it. A while ago Seokjin had called them all when he’d discovered that Dr Kim’s new boyfriend was twenty years older than him.

“Twenty years older!” Seokjin had all but shouted during the four-way video call. “If I’d known he wanted to fuck a corpse I would have thrown myself off a bridge!”

“Yeah, but for your Dr Kim that guy is only a handful of years older,” Taehyung had said, incurring Seokjin’s wrath.

“I can count, thank you,” Seokjin had snapped. “I can’t understand them dating at all. What if it’s a forced marriage? Or financial debt – or blackmail?”

“What if you’re so jealous you’re malfunctioning?” Jimin had asked, which had prompted Seokjin to end the call, telling them not to get in touch if they weren’t going to be nice to him.

Jimin had taken Seokjin out for drinks that night and reported that Seokjin had eventually gone home with some hot guy. Problem solved? No. The next day Seokjin texted them: twenty!! years!!

A little later, Seokjin had informed them he’d done an erotic, semi-naked photoshoot with some friend of a friend who claimed to be a photographer.

You know, normal Seokjin things.

Jungkook remembered how upset Seokjin had been about his little arrangement with Dr Kim coming to an end. Seokjin had told Jungkook about his true feelings but hadn’t confessed these to Jimin and Taehyung. Their two older friends could be excused, then, for not quite understanding the extent of Seokjin’s upset.

Jungkook increasingly felt that he had to interfere before Seokjin eloped with a leather daddy who belonged to a motorcycle club or some shit.

And so he knocked on Dr Kim’s door, entering a room stripped nearly bare. All bookshelves stood empty, and only a few boxes were on the large desk. His stomach sank. Dr Kim was really leaving – would never return.

Dr Kim was standing by his desk in navy shorts and a loose, white t-shirt, a very casual off duty look that surprised him. “Oh, Jungkook-ssi – come on in,” Dr Kim said, greeting him with warmth like always. “Sorry about the mess – or, well, the lack of it.”

“You’re really leaving,” he said, his chest feeling pained.

Dr Kim gave him a half-smile, placing a few more books into one of the boxes before motioning for him to take a seat. He did.

Dr Kim moved to the front of the desk and leaned back to sit on the edge, adjusting his black glasses. His thighs were huge. So girthy. So meaty.

Jungkook made sure to snap his eyes up. Mingyu’s thighs were just as beautiful!

“Well, what can I help you with? Your summer research plans?” Dr Kim asked, crossing his arms. Also meaty. Also girthy.

Contract-wise, Jungkook was quite sure Dr Kim no longer was obliged to help him with anything, and yet he was offering his expertise. It was hard for him to merge this man with the person who’d been involved with Seokjin all spring – and yet he got it. God, he really got it.

“Nothing about my studies. I came here on a personal matter.”

Dr Kim looked surprised but willing to listen.

Jungkook’s palms started to sweat. “Well, uh. The thing is that… Uh…”

Just spit it out! Was there anything else to it?

“That Seokjin is my best friend. Actually. ”

Dr Kim did not react at first. He only became very still, and the only indication that he’d heard Jungkook was his friendly smile diminishing and his eyes widening. At length, he cleared his throat and rubbed over his Adam’s apple. “Ahem. Well. I, ah. Had no idea.”

“I didn’t either,” he hurried to say. “Or, I mean, I knew that a Dr Kim lived next door to him, but not that it was… you.”

Dr Kim started coughing, beating his fist to his chest a few times, then motioning for Jungkook to remain seated. “I’m fine, it’s alright. I just got something in my throat there. Ahem. Okay.”

Dr Kim took a few deep breaths, but he was visibly rattled. The benign warmth had vanished. Jungkook flinched. He was being scrutinised, but he was unsure why. Dr Kim finally nodded with an air of finality. “Fine. Alright. So we both, then, know Seokjin well.”

“Yes.”

“And I suppose now we have the talk.”

“The talk?”

“That’s why you came, didn’t you?”

“I mean, yes, I did,” he said, blood rushing, heart pumping. The talk! He was ready. How dare you hurt my precious friend – stop being a jerk! You don’t get a free pass just because you’re handsome and smart and cool and sexy! Yes, he had the talk ready. That’d show Dr Kim!

Dr Kim looked grave. “So, let’s get straight to it. How long have you been in love with him?”

Jungkook jerked. “What?”

“How long have you been in love with him? That’s why you’re here, correct? Because you’ve secretly been in love with him all this time, but now you found out that he and I were involved.”

He had never felt so confused. “What, no, I— I have a boyfriend! Mingyu. He’s the one I’m in love with, not Seokjin!”

“Oh?”

Heat was creeping up his cheeks. “You’ve met Mingyu. Well, briefly, I think. We, uh, celebrated our anniversary at Seokjin’s apartment last month. Back when I didn’t know you lived next door.”

Dr Kim had a searching expression on his face before his eyes widened. Their passionate sex noises resurfaced in Jungkook’s mind like nearby gongs – he wished they’d kept it quieter, been at least a little bashful. They had not been.

A new life on the plains of Bayankhongor had never sounded so tempting.

If it was of any comfort, Dr Kim looked like he’d rather be anywhere else on earth right then. “Ahem. Alright. Uh. Seems to me, Jungkook-ssi, that we know an uncomfortable amount about each other’s sex lives.”

“Yeah, you could… say that.”

Despite the emptiness of the office, the place felt uncomfortably small. They both squirmed and avoided looking at each other.

Dr Kim carded his hair back restlessly. Wow, arms. “So you’re just friends. You’re not in love with him?”

He didn’t understand why Dr Kim seemed so sceptical of this, but he shook his head. “He’s been one of my closest friends for years. And I knew that he was, uh, involved with his neighbour… But to be honest, he has a lot of men, so I didn’t think much of it at first. But now I think I have to ask about it.”

Dr Kim cleared his throat again and stood up fully, grabbing one of the books still on the desk, firmly avoiding looking at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t discuss my private affairs with students,” he said, resuming his packing.

“But I’m not one of your students anymore,” he pointed out in a rush. He had come to confront Dr Kim for a reason – someone had to give it to him straight, and he didn’t think anyone would. “I need you to apologise to him.”

Dr Kim stilled, turning to him again. “Sorry?”

“You need to apologise to him,” he repeated, articulating clearly. Dr Kim looked like this had never even occurred to him. How could he be so thoughtless?! Emboldened, he said, “I know you have a new boyfriend now and all that, but Seokjin, he– he’s really sensitive. Even if he doesn’t show it. And he liked you. A lot. More than a lot.”

Dr Kim looked too surprised to respond to this.

He stood up, relief filling him that he’d said what he’d come to say. “Well, that was all. So, uh. Thanks.” At the door, he stopped. “Oh, and Dr Kim?”

Dr Kim was standing in the middle of the gutted office, holding a biography of Tupac. What was the university thinking, letting him go?

Namjoon stirred, as if awakening from a haze. “Yes, Jungkook-ssi?”

He held his breath. Curled his hands into fists. “If you hurt him again, I will break your nose. Respectfully.”

Dr Kim raised one eyebrow, and for a moment they studied each other. Estimated each other’s strength. They both worked out. Both lifted weights. Who’d win?

“...Noted,” Dr Kim said at length, in a tone that indicated he respected this threat to have weight to it.

Jungkook nodded, his heart squeezing unpleasantly. It was no fun at all to threaten Dr Kim with slight violence, but if you made Seokjin cry? Be ready to deal with his wrath. Only he was allowed to make Seokjin cry, and then usually only because he’d accidentally kneed his friend’s balls in a scuffle.

Once he was outside the building, he exhaled, feeling dizzy. He’d done it! Confronted Dr Kim!

He called Jimin immediately. “I did it – I confronted him! And he thought I was in love with Seokjin, can you believe that?”

“That’s so juicy,” Jimin gasped. “Was he surprised? Relieved? Angry?”

He thought about this as he walked away from the Department of Music with quick, slightly nervous steps. “I don’t know what he thought. He seemed a bit defensive, to be honest? Wait, not that. Something else – I can’t place it.”

Jimin’s question stayed with him, and something haunted him for the remainder of the day. It was only that evening that it hit him: Dr Kim had seemed upset. Yes, that was it.

Not angry at being challenged, although it was a little similar.

No, Dr Kim had thought Jungkook was in love with Seokjin and been upset about it.

At the realisation, his indignation mellowed. Although Seokjin claimed that Namjoon had cared very little about him, that didn’t seem to be exactly true.

What on earth had happened between those two?

Namjoon got ready for dinner with Jeongwoon and a few of their friends – Hoseok and Yoongi, of course, but also a few friends of Jeongwoon’s that he had not met before. This, too, was a test: will you get along well with my friends?

The dinner was also their last before Jeongwoon headed to Azerbaijan for the second half of the summer. Namjoon would not return home until the next day, intending to spend one last night at Jeongwoon’s apartment.

As he got ready, he was overly aware of the faint sound of music from next door.

Did Seokjin have someone over?

He’d told no one about being admonished by Jungkook. It was a certain kind of humiliation to get checked by a student – fine, a former student. He knew that him and Seokjin calling things off hadn’t gone smoothly but also that Seokjin, for the most part, had only gotten his pride wounded.

Not his heart.

Jungkook claimed otherwise.

He’d remembered afterwards that he’d seen a Jungkook calling Seokjin’s phone – this being Jeon Jungkook from the music department had, of course, never crossed his mind. Yet it made sense: Jungkook was goddamn gorgeous and, as he now knew, gay. Seokjin likely knew all the gorgeous gays of Seoul. Therefore, Jungkook and Seokjin knew each other.

This made him restless. He moved around the apartment, all ready to go but it was still too early to leave. Needing distractions, he started going through the stack of mail that had accumulated on his dining room table.

He paused on a thick envelope with the KHU logo – a very good university, one of the best in the country. He had a half-finished job application on his laptop to that very university. The job was amazing: KHU had secured a very comfortable lump sum to establish a political science research centre and now they were hiring everyone from the senior researchers to the junior researchers and PhD students.

Namjoon knew, however, how slim his chances were – the application alone with a 12-page research plan to become a senior researcher was a hell of a lot of work for a job he would likely never be interviewed for. His research was too bizarre – too humanities based for something like this.

The mail from KHU had nothing to do with this application, however; rather it was a brochure for their Masters degrees. He’d ordered this for Seokjin some weeks back when they’d been talking about Seokjin’s future plans.

“I’ll order you a brochure,” he’d said, and Seokjin had looked at him like he was mad. Order a brochure? What, like a paper copy? Why?! Seokjin could get the pdf online!

Now the brochure Seokjin had never wanted had arrived, and Namjoon studied the cover showing happy, laughing students walking on the university campus on a sunny day – typical PR, with one white girl thrown in for diversity.

Ever since Jungkook’s surprise visit, he’d been looking for an excuse to knock on Seokjin’s door. Finally, he had it.

Anticipation filled him and he hurried out of his apartment.

Clearing his throat, he pressed the bell of 510, unease curling up in his stomach.

Seokjin clearly checked who was at the door because it took a while for him to open it, and his expression was reserved as he did so. Considering they had been in each other’s company nearly constantly for a while there, this reunion felt off. They could see each other whenever they wanted – reach each other in seconds.

But for weeks now neither of them had been making use of this.

Namjoon didn’t want to read into him crossing the distance first.

“Hey. Can I come in?” he asked, willing to accept a refusal.

Seokjin looked suspicious but nodded, and so once more he slipped into 510. A tightness settled across his chest, in his guts.

The door closed behind them.

How unnatural it felt not to be kissing Seokjin right then – to not be pinning him against the wall and removing his clothes, just like they once had done.

Seokjin led them into the living room, glancing over his shoulder. “So what do you want?”

A small holdall was on the couch, stuffed full. “Just brought you this. You going somewhere?”

“Pohang for the open day. Ah, is this for KHU? I can’t believe you ordered this.”

“KHU is as good as POSTECH,” he said instantly, guessing easily what open day in Pohang Seokjin was heading to. When it came to Seokjin’s discipline, there were excellent options outside of Seoul, too.

He realised for the first time that Seokjin might leave Seoul. Might leave Riverside Complex. Might cease to be the Demon of 510.

Why? Because he had actually hurt Seokjin? Was living here painful now?

The tightness across his chest felt more uncomfortable.

Seokjin leafed through the KHU brochure, looking more beautiful than he had let himself remember. The men of Pohang were woefully unprepared.

Seokjin glanced at him, and his stomach dropped.

He can’t leave.

Seokjin closed the brochure. “So I heard you have a new job. Congrats.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.”

“But I also heard that you’re applying for another job at KHU, except that you don’t think a department of politics would hire you.”

“Care to tell me how you know all that?”

Seokjin shrugged, faux modest as he crossed his arms. “Jungkook told me. He said that you guys talked.”

“Right. We did, although not about my job,” he said, pushing his hands into his jean pockets. At least this meant Seokjin wasn’t eerily clairvoyant – the students at the department were savvy, often knowing all the corridor talk. “So he’s a friend of yours.”

“Yeah. Who could’ve guessed, right?” Seokjin said, sounding a little evasive. Did Seokjin know Jungkook had threatened to punch him, too?

He still wasn’t quite convinced that Jungkook wasn’t in love with Seokjin, boyfriend or not. If anything, didn’t Jungkook’s anger suggest that he was in love with Seokjin?

“Did Jungkook tell you what we talked about?”

“Not particularly.”

He glanced at his watch. He had to leave for dinner soon. “Well, he told me I owe you an apology, and that’s why I dropped by. I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Seokjin’s mouth dropped open. “Wow. How heartfelt. Is that the best you have, really?”

“He helped me realise I might have been tactless.”

“You were tactless,” Seokjin said, and Namjoon flinched. He’d been too caught up in his own head.

“I’m sorry,” he said and meant it. Seokjin hadn’t known about Jeongwoon – fine, alright, he understood that Seokjin had been blindsided. Technically, of course, the two of them had only been having casual sex and, to Seokjin, he had only been one lover out of many. From that perspective, Namjoon dating someone really wasn’t Seokjin’s business.

Be that as it may, he’d handled it badly. He had never thought Seokjin would particularly care, dragging multiple attractive men to his apartment on a regular basis.

But Seokjin had cared. This left Namjoon trying to decipher the man in front of him. His chest felt so tight that it was starting to ache.

He glanced at his watch again.

Seokjin’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your rush?”

“What? Nothing. Just meeting friends for dinner.”

“Including Pickleball?”

“He has a name, but yes.”

Seokjin held the rolled up brochure tightly in his fist. Namjoon first took this stance for arrogant pride – a stand-off position – but to his surprise realised it was defensive rather than offensive. Seokjin mentioned Jeongwoon not with mockery, despite the nickname, but with a certain disquiet.

Seokjin hesitated. “I’ve never been in a relationship. Is it nice?”

The question caught him off-guard. He detected no sarcasm in Seokjin’s tone at all – Seokjin was being sincere.

“It can be,” he said.

“What’s nice about it?”

He sometimes thought Seokjin was painfully twenty-three: the arrogance, the recklessness, the lack of self-awareness. At other times he thought Seokjin was wise beyond his years: the observation skills, the lateral thinking, the self-assuredness.

This was a new kind of twenty-threeness: inexperience. It wasn’t something he had seen on Seokjin before.

He thought about the matter before answering, trying to match the sincerity of the question. “Many things are great about relationships. The best ones are having someone to love. Having someone by your side. Sharing your life with them.”

Seokjin took this in with reddening ears, then turned away from him, putting the brochure down on the coffee table by the usual stack of notebooks. “That sounds nice.”

“It can be,” he said, again and softly.

That was what his affair with Seokjin had taught him: how nice it could be. How, after all this time, that closeness was what he wanted. He ached so deep that it felt more than an ache.

Seokjin had never sought out a relationship – why tie yourself down to someone at that age?

At the same time he couldn’t understand Seokjin being twenty-three without anyone ever having loved him like that – in the ‘I want to kiss you in the morning and kiss you at night’ way; the ‘I will rebuild my world around you’ way. Because that seemed so easy to him; loving Seokjin like that would be so incredibly easy. How had no one done it yet?

He was about to say all of this when his eyes landed on a stack of photographs next to Seokjin’s notebooks. They were of Seokjin – recently taken and professional looking, nicely glossy. Seokjin was looking at the camera with perfect ‘fuck me’ eyes, a hand in his hair – shirtless, wearing tight jeans that had filled out at the front.

They were stunning and perfectly obscene.

He felt winded, moving to pick them up. “What are these?”

Seokjin had seven of these pictures, each a work of art. Three of him wearing a t-shirt, two of him shirtless, and the last two of him shirtless and the jeans undone. In the very last one Seokjin had his hand down the front of his underwear, eyes intent on the camera.

The tightness around his chest stirred. Arousal seeped in.

“Who took these?” he asked, looking at one after the next. If Seokjin said ‘oh my good platonic friend Jungkook took them’, Namjoon’s entire world might collapse.

Seokjin shrugged. “This guy I modelled for.”

“Guy? What guy?”

“This photographer. A friend of a friend,” Seokjin said, none of which put Namjoon at ease. The guy had seen with precision all of Seokjin’s best features, found the best, most alluring angles. Each shot felt sexually charged. Namjoon wanted to examine each picture in detail even as he wanted to hide these pictures somewhere where no one could ogle at them.

They could be from a softcore porn magazine, had they still made those.

Seokjin was so attractive that his throat felt dry.

Seokjin stood next to him, gazing at the shots. “I guess they can commemorate me before the inevitable twink death.”

“Is that why you had these done?” he asked, incredulous.

Seokjin ignored this. “He wants to do a second session – said I was a natural.”

“What’s his name? Where does he work? Did he pay you? Or did you pay him?”

“It wasn’t about money. He said I inspired him.”

He looked at the picture of Seokjin staring at the camera with parted lips, dark eyes, and a hand plunged into his underwear, touching himself. The photographer had had this same view. Had been in the room. Had been the person Seokjin was gazing at.

“Was this all? Just some pictures?”

Seokjin’s eyes narrowed. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Sure. But is he a photographer or a pornographer? Do you even know?”

Seokjin snatched the pictures from him while Namjoon thought of this man, whoever he was, taking such intimate and arousing pictures of Seokjin. Oh the guy felt inspired? Sure. Of course he did.

“You must think I was born yesterday,” Seokjin snapped.

“Must I remind you of that time one of your tricks tried robbing you?”

“Okay, fine, my track record isn’t perfect. But if you think I went to this guy’s studio without asking around if he was legit or not, then you really must think I’m an idiot.”

He held his breath. How were they fighting again?

“I think you’re damned smart, actually,” he corrected. Smart, but impulsive.

Seokjin wasn’t appeased. “How about you focus on your own issues.”

He hesitated. “My issues?”

Seokjin’s eyes flashed with anger. “Yeah, your own ridiculous drama – like oh, I can’t apply for this vacancy because I have this set, fixed idea of myself and god forbid anyone challenges me on it. God forbid I step out of my comfort zone even a little! Or god forbid I am seen with a man who isn’t the most average, middle aged gay to have ever existed.”

“You don’t get to talk about Jeongwoon like that.”

“Oh, I don’t?”

“And I step out of my comfort–!”

“No, you don’t. Besides, all of your work examines the intersection of modern politics and music. You teach a module on the modern protest song, for fuck’s sake! And what, you think you can’t work for a political research cluster or whatever the hell it is? Of course you can! You can’t let your preconceptions of yourself limit how you live your life! And fuck what others think your place is, and fuck what you think your place is. And fuck what you think I should do, too – you don’t see me. I’m right in front of you, and you don’t see me!”

“Of course I do, I’m looking right at you!”

“That’s not what I mean!” Seokjin snapped, and an unfamiliar panic rose up in him. What did Seokjin mean? “And then you come here and complain about me posing for—”

“Don’t pose nude for this man, you hear me?”

Seokjin glared at him. “You don’t get to control my sexuality just because we’ve fucked around!”

“Oh for god’s sake, I’m not trying to control your–” He stopped to take in a calming breath. “I just want you safe, Seokjin-ah. Don’t you know it’d kill me if something happened to you?”

“Strangers jerking off to my nudes would hardly be the end of the world. Besides, masking controlling behaviour with faux protection is, like, red flag 101.”

He gave up. “Fine, alright. Go make pornos then if that’s what you want. Move to Pohang, star in a porn film! Be too stubborn to take any advice!”

“At least I put myself out there! Whereas you give up the second it gets hard, or too unfamiliar, or too intense, and you retreat into your boring little box. Into your neat little boxes!”

Namjoon bit his tongue to hold back another remark, taking in Seokjin’s fiery eyes and flushed cheeks. He wanted Seokjin. Still.

Startled and conflicted, he turned around and left the apartment. Goddamn demon – goddamn him! Who was he to read Namjoon like that or to accuse him of unwanted interference when all he wanted was to make sure Seokjin was okay?

He showed up to the final dinner more than fashionably late and was in an awful mood all night. Jeongwoon’s friends were not impressed.

There were two customers in the small vintage shop on the narrow side street when Hoseok walked in. The women were being assisted by Namjoon’s infamous neighbour, whom he recognised instantly.

He remembered that this had been a man of exceptional good looks, but his memories had not done Seokjin much justice. The man’s glossy and silky black hair was styled in one of those trendy it-boy cuts and his jawline was even better than his own (he was proud of his could-cut-glass jawline, especially at forty). Seokjin had beautiful dark eyes and plump, pinkish lips, and a tall, lean frame with long legs, broad shoulders, and a slender waist. A cute boyish butt, too, and a charming, room-brightening smile.

Well. Namjoon had never stood a chance, had he?

Hoseok busied himself examining the jewellery section – professional hazard – but listened to Seokjin help the women choose a dress for a summer party over the sound of rather unusual harp music playing from the speakers.

Jeongwoon had flown out to Azerbaijan that week and would not return until the end of summer. At Jeongwoon’s unofficial leaving do at a trendy Manchurian restaurant, Hoseok had tried probing, gently, where Jeongwoon and Namjoon were leaving things off, but the answer appeared inconclusive.

“We’ll just carry on once he’s back,” Namjoon had told him distractedly. Namjoon had shown up late and been in a terrible mood, although he had done his best to hide this.

“But what a shame that he’s off to do research right when you’re still getting to know each other,” he’d said.

“There’ll be time,” Namjoon had assured him, without any of the heated restlessness of a besotted lover.

When Jeongwoon went to the bathroom and the others were distracted, he leaned in close to Namjoon. “But you like him, right?”

“Oh definitely, a lot. We’ve got so much in common.”

Namjoon and Jeongwoon spent the rest of the evening being appropriately close, with Namjoon keeping an arm around the back of Jeongwoon’s chair – no PDA otherwise. The two left together, too, finally holding hands as Jeongwoon led Namjoon to the taxi. They made a handsome couple, he thought.

As for Jeongwoon, his report over the phone the next day had been, “I think the distance will give us a good chance to assess how we feel about each other at this stage. I’ll do a ten-day silent retreat at the end of the trip – trust me, I’ll have time to reflect on it.”

“But you like him, right?” he’d pestered him too.

“A lot, of course. We’ve got so much in common. Anyway, I have to go – my taxi is almost here.”

So the two men liked each other ‘a lot’ and had ‘so much in common’. This, however, left Hoseok the Matchmaker underwhelmed. A head-over-heels Namjoon would have flown halfway around the world to join Jeongwoon in the monastery, and no, they were not too old for those kinds of grand, romantic gestures. If anything they meant more at their age, when the time of youthful infatuation had passed.

Take Yoongi as an example – like the time he’d surprised Hoseok with a candlelit dinner some months into their messy friends-with-benefits-wait-is-this-happening-what-are-we-ship, and Hoseok had felt the carpet being pulled under his feet.

“I thought you might be hungry after a long day,” Yoongi had said as if that accounted for the home cooked three-course meal with wine pairings, the bouquet of roses, and the lit candles in Yoongi’s kitchen.

Yoongi didn’t know how to say what he felt, but he was trying to show it.

They’d made love all night.

Was Namjoon going to cook Jeongwoon that meal upon the man’s return?

Hoseok just didn’t think so.

And he thought this was because of the man now ringing up the green floral dress and telling the women to come back again. This man who, out of nowhere, had persuaded Namjoon to apply for a prestigious role in one of the country’s top universities.

“He kept saying that I was limiting myself to a fixed little box,” Namjoon said as a bitter throwaway comment to explain having applied to KHU after all. Hoseok in fact thought this was an astute observation showing developed understanding of Namjoon’s psyche. Why had Namjoon listened to this man when he’d refused to listen to the rest of them?

After the women left the store, Seokjin approached him at the jewellery display. “May I help you?”

“Ah, yes. I’m trying to find something for my husband-in-all-but-law. Maybe a ring.”

“Something special?”

“Yes, ideally.”

“Hmm, we’ve got some higher quality rings at the counter. Would you like to see them?”

He followed Seokjin to the cash desk, taking in the small stack of university brochures there advertising graduate school programs in mathematical science. There was SNU, Yonsei – clearly Seokjin was aiming high – also KAIST in Daejeon and POSTECH in Pohang.

He recalled the stacks of papers at Namjoon’s apartment, full of some kind of mathematical formulae none of them could understand.

Not just a pretty face, then.

But, then again, Namjoon would never fall for someone who was only a pretty face. Nor could a pretty face make someone stubborn like Namjoon go for the KHU job that he, as a defeatist, was convinced he’d never even be interviewed for.

Why did Seokjin even care where Namjoon worked? What was in it for him?

He estimated Seokjin carefully. Could this man be it for Namjoon – this young, talented youth? Did he have it in him?

Seokjin placed a tray of gold and silver rings on the counter between them, pointing out which ones were for men or were unisex. “I mean rings really don’t care about gender, but I guess we want to make sure the ring is big enough for your husband-in-all-but-law.”

“Ha, very true,” he said, picking up a beautiful gold band with a small, embedded emerald (or a cheap piece of glass, his keen eye detected). For Yoongi’s pinkie? Was it cute or a bit too extra? “So, are you moving to Pohang?”

“What?”

He motioned at the top brochure. “Pohang.”

“Oh. Well, they gave me that at their open day. I’m applying for grad schools right now,” Seokjin said with a quick, professional smile shot his way.

“Pohang would feel like a backwater after Seoul, I’d imagine,” he said, although he’d been to Pohang and thought it quite lovely, actually. But Seokjin was not allowed to move out of Riverside Complex – Hoseok did not want to deal with a moping, pretending-to-be-fine-and-unaffected Namjoon that coming winter.

He held out his hand with the ring on his pinkie. “What do you think? Would you, ah, give this to the man you love?”

Seokjin gave the ring an evaluating gaze and shook his head. “No, I’d give him this.”

Seokjin picked up a beautifully engraved silver band. A lot less flashy, and a little outdated in style – mid-nineties, he estimated – but beautiful, and without fake gemstones.

“That’s really beautiful, actually. Maybe, ah, you should keep that ring, though. And give it to the man you love,” he said, waiting for a reaction. Well?! Spit it out, young man! Are you passionately in love with my best friend or not?

Seokjin frowned, eyes lifting from the ring. He looked at Hoseok anew, tilting his head. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

“Oh. Well, er, I’ve been in this shop before,” he said, getting nervous.

Seokjin’s frown deepened but then he laughed, putting the ring down. “Right, I got it. You’ve come to ask me out.”

“What? No, I—”

“I’m flattered. You’re very attractive.”

“Oh? Am I? Really? Well, thank you, I put on this snail serum night cream every— Ah, I’m Hoseok, Namjoon’s friend.”

What an interrogator Seokjin was! He had practically gouged the information out of him!

Seokjin’s entire demeanour changed, eyes widening, looking him up and down. “Wait. You’re the guy from The Provincial Clan?”

“Yes, that’s me! Wow, Namjoonie’s even told you about our group?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t recognise you without the fake ice.”

“But otherwise I’ve barely aged, right? It’s that collagen rich snail serum,” he said boastfully, smiling at Seokjin to indicate that he meant no harm.

So Namjoon had told Seokjin of their band, even? Ha! That whole neighbours-with-benefits arrangement seemed more ridiculous the more he learned about it. The two men seemed incredibly involved in each other’s lives despite these absurd claims that they’d just been having casual sex.

Casual his ass.

“I’ll buy the ring. For my husband-in-all-but-law.”

Seokjin cast a suspicious look at him but started ringing up the purchase. Hoseok flinched at the price – he hadn’t even asked what it was.

Seokjin moved restlessly as he searched for a ring box. “I think Namjoon-hyung’s mentioned you a few times.”

“He’s mentioned you a few times, too. Often actually,” he returned, even if it was a lie because Namjoon had been damned secretive about Seokjin. “You live next door to him, right? You were quite close even, at one point.”

Seokjin glanced at him, estimating. “Yeah. You could say that.”

It was obvious that Hoseok knew about the two’s affair, and that Seokjin knew that he knew.

He wanted to say that he didn’t know precisely what had happened between them, but Seokjin had come damned close to breaking through to Namjoon. The only person who had!

So don’t give up now! Don’t let him go so easily. Keep fighting! He’ll be worth it, I promise – yes, he’s a little obtuse and stubborn and clueless, but he’s so worthy of love. And god, he’d love you back so deeply that it will leave you breathless! I just know it!

He'd sound crazy saying any of this, so he held his tongue and paid for the ring.

He had to be blunt. “Well, maybe I’ll see you at Riverside Complex sometime. Yoongi and I drop by Namjoon’s place every now and then – and more now, probably, what with Jeongwoon being away all summer. Oh, he’s the—”

“I know who he is,” Seokjin said, still full of suspicion but a sudden gleam had entered his eyes. Seokjin was pleased to hear Jeongwoon was out of town.

Hoseok felt horrible. He’d met Jeongwoon through Yoongi, and they had bonded over a love of dance. For him, that was street dance; for Jeongwoon, it was the traditional dances of the Caucasus. Still, Jeongwoon had always been pleasant, interesting, and funny – it was a ‘dinner twice a year’ kind of friendship between the three of them.

He’d thought Namjoon and Jeongwoon might hit it off. And they had – they were fucking each other, for goodness sake.

Just not very enthusiastically, and you wanted it to be enthusiastic. If it wasn’t, why fuck at all?

He put away his phone after paying with it, clearing his throat. “Although maybe Namjoon will be busy getting ready for an interview at KHU.”

Seokjin’s eyes gleamed again. “For that new research centre? He applied for it?”

“Oh, you know about that?”

“Well, I mean, he mentioned it in passing once, I think,” Seokjin said quickly. This man was so interested in Namjoon’s affairs, even now when the two had supposedly parted ways.

He took the small paper bag that the ring box was in. “Sure, well anyway, thanks for the ring. And nice music.” In truth, the old-timey harp music sounded horrendously out of place. “You know Namjoon worked on an album of this genre once? Way back when he did audio engineering.”

“He did audio engineering?” Seokjin asked. Aha, at last something the boy didn’t know about Namjoon!

Hoseok nodded. “Oh yeah! Part-time to support his studies. Very multi-talented, our Namjoonie.”

He was the wingman of the year!

Seokjin rubbed at his brow. “The, uh. Was he working with the harpist Hong Youngpil by any chance?”

Hoseok tilted his head. “Hong Youngpil? The name does ring a bell – you know what, I think it was him, you’re right! Wow, you must know your harp music well?”

So full of surprises. Maybe the kids were the future!

“Well, thanks for the ring!” he said and turned to leave, then quickly turned back to the desk, making Seokjin flinch. “Seokjin-ssi. Don’t give up! Do you understand? Fighting!”

He held up his fist to convey all that he could not say, hoping the boy was smart enough to get it. Seokjin blinked at him rapidly, cheeks turning red. Good lord, he was beautiful.

Hoseok exited the store after his little pep talk, pleased.

This would be a nice story to tell at Namjoon and Seokjin’s commitment ceremony.

Sweetie had no grand expectations of Steam Box that evening. He, of course, hoped to come across someone attractive – someone with a pretty smile and a generous cock. He’d been rejected by a very hot guy the last time he’d visited, and so it’d taken him a while to recover and return.

He decided on a different tactic for this visit. Upon entering the spa area, he did not go to the sauna or one of the pools to check who was there, which was how he usually started cruising.

But no – this time he’d lure men to him rather than put himself out there. (Fine, the rejection from last time still hurt.)

He decided to go for the Sleeping Beauty technique. Not many of the playrooms were in use yet, and he was able to find a vacant one with ease.

He adjusted the lights to dim, debated whether to keep his towel on or off, but then decided he’d remove the towel if it didn’t seem like he was getting much interest. ‘You’re a capable, handsome young man!’ his grandmother had always told him, and he kept her encouragement in mind in the dog-eat-dog world of Steam Box. He had this!

With the door left open, he lay down on his stomach on the bed – the only piece of furniture in the small room.

Muted pop played from the common area, mixed with the sounds of men fucking nearby. Steam Box always brought with it a charged, sexual excitement, and Sweetie hoped that he’d get lucky.

He closed his eyes. Listened to the sound of men walking past the playroom. Stopping to look in. Assessing him on the bed, waiting for company.

He lay still, giving the illusion of being asleep. Of course he wasn’t – he was waiting for someone to enter the room and approach him.

When he sensed he was being watched, he opened one eye and saw the darkened silhouette of a tall and skinny man. Locker key? On his right wrist, so a top. But no – not attractive. Too skinny, nothing special.

He turned his head away, rejecting the man without needing to say a word.

The man huffed but moved on.

He hadn’t been there very long yet. Come on, surely he could do better than that guy! He’d been going to the gym a lot to work on his glutes. His butt had grown, it really had! Even Hyukjin thought so!

Speaking of whom, his dear friend Hyukjin had tested positive for three separate STIs that week. Not surprising in Sweetie’s opinion. Hyukjin was gorgeous – a part-time model (and part-time lift repairman), as they all knew – but not very responsible.

His hole was nicely STI-free, thank you, and he took PrEP like a good boy – most people who enjoyed casual sex in gay saunas did. He was prime quality ass! He was capable and he was handsome!

He stilled – a new figure at the door. He glanced at the man. Tall. Broad. Big in all the right ways. God, so perfectly muscular and—

Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. It was The Dragon. Puff up, buttocks! Be enticing! Call him to you! What have I been doing Bulgarian split squats for?!

The Dragon stepped in. Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh—

“Hi,” The Dragon said.

Be chill, be chill, be chill, be—

“Hey,” he said, voice low and alluring.

The Dragon closed the door, leaving them in the dimly lit playroom. Oh dear Lord, oh magnificent, patient Buddha, oh my god he is taking off his towel, oh my god, that perfect, perfect cock, thank you universe for making me gay, thank you when men like him exist, oh god it’s finally happening, he’s finally chosen me, he’s—

The Dragon got on the bed platform behind him, keeping him down with a simple command of, “Just stay where you are.”

He was being hypnotised.

The Dragon pulled the white cotton towel off of him, kneaded his buttocks, and let out an appreciative hum. Reached for the condom and lube dispensers.

Sweetie was about to d word.

Soon The Dragon was working in that big cock of his and then he started to fuck him all hot and precise and tight. The Dragon located his prostate in two strokes, made him whimper and beg, left him feeling just the right kind of used.

“Ugh, god, fuck that ass,” he moaned out – asking, begging. The Dragon fucked him harder and faster, yes, yes, yes, yes, this was it, the best night of his life! He had peaked! “Oh, I’m gonna come,” he moaned a few minutes in, body trembling, hips grinding, thighs quivering, hole clenching.

“Go ahead, but I’m not done yet,” The Dragon said, teeth scraping his shoulder.

That alone was enough to make him come. Oh god, make me your cum bitch – he managed not to moan this aloud, but he certainly thought it.

The Dragon guided him to his hands and knees, and then kept fucking him, bringing him to climax a second time. A second! Time!

His hole was sore from how girthy The Dragon was, and his dick was chafed from how hard he’d fisted on it. Oh my fucking—

The Dragon pulled on his hair, one hand gripping his waist. Hard thrusts were accompanied by deepened, needy groans. That’s it, that’s it – he worked his hips, offered his hole, focused on taking the big cock, and— Ah, there. The Dragon climaxed with deep, satisfied groans.

Sweetie felt deranged. Oh, he’d been fucked so good. He’d seen heaven, reached nirvana. Please take me home to be your domestic sex servant, honestly we can figure out the rules later (he, again, managed not to say).

He panted against the thin, PVC mattress beneath them with The Dragon pressed tight against his back and buttocks. They were heaving and covered in sweat. He suppressed a whimper as The Dragon pulled out. That had been amazing. Incredible. What a day to be alive and get fucked.

The Dragon was up on his feet, depositing the condom in the small bin by the door. Sweetie rolled over, catching his breath and trying to avoid the spot slick with cum. The Dragon pulled tissues out of the wall dispenser and handed him some. So thoughtful.

“Thanks,” he said, sitting up to wipe himself and the thin, plastic mattress clean. He was glistening with sweat and was only slowly regaining his senses.

The Dragon was cleaning himself up with the tissues. He had such a beautiful body – and now a part of that body had been inside his. Did he want to get married, maybe?

“I’ve seen you around before, right?” The Dragon asked.

He remembers me!

“Yeah,” he said. I come here often. I’ve fantasised about you for a year at least. You’re in my Top 3 of Guys I Hope Will Fuck Me list. “I come by pretty regularly.”

“Me too.”

He hesitated, nerves filling him. “So, uh, why tonight?”

“Sorry?”

“Why tonight? Just, you know, what was different now? We’ve seen each other here plenty and never hooked up,” he said, hoping this didn’t sound whiny. “Was it my bubbly personality that impressed you? Or my endless charms of lying still on this bed like a dead fish to lure you in?”

The Dragon chuckled, dimples appearing. God, what a beautiful man.

“You’re funny. And sweet.”

“That’s what they all say,” he said, fighting back a smile.

The Dragon looked thoughtful, as if to show he was genuinely thinking things over. “Well, tonight I thought you have a really cute ass.”

Sweetie’s heart soared. He had a really cute ass! Those Bulgarian split squats!

“Thank you,” he said.

The Dragon smiled at him, then pushed back his hair. Sweetie paused to admire the dark dusting of armpit hair. Would The Dragon let him lick his pits, maybe?

“So you probably recognise plenty of the other regulars,” The Dragon said.

“Sure,” he said, unsure where The Dragon was going with this.

The Dragon was now adjusting the towel back around his waist but didn’t seem in an instant hurry to leave. “There’s this guy. Around your age. Small face, dark hair and eyes, pink lips. Long neck and these strong, broad shoulders. A little boney, a slim build, but muscular. Slightly crooked fingers—”

“I know him.”

He’d known it was The Swan the second The Dragon had started speaking. Some of the warmth in him evaporated.

The Dragon stopped adjusting the towel and looked at him keenly. “Yeah?”

“Everyone knows him. Did you know he hooked up with Donggil, the go-go boy?”

“I… do not know who that is.”

Sweetie didn’t suppress his gasp. Everyone knew Donggil the go-go boy! The most lusted after man in all of Hongdae!

“You should follow him on Instagram,” he told The Dragon earnestly, wishing he had his phone on him to show The Dragon the goods.

The Dragon didn’t seem interested in this.

“So has he been around lately? That guy, I mean. At the sauna. Have you seen him here?”

“Sometimes, but not often,” he granted, the realisation sinking that The Dragon hadn’t wanted him in particular, cute ass or not. They’d finally fucked, and all the man wanted to know was The Swan’s whereabouts.

The sex had been good, but it hadn’t been like when Sweetie had watched The Dragon and The Swan fucking. The Dragon hadn’t picked him up and fucked him against the wall, kissing him wildly. Hadn’t bent him in half on the bed, legs on shoulders, and fucked him like his life depended on it.

That had been months ago, but The Dragon was hung up on it. Sweetie felt chided, but also endeared. Who’d have thought The Dragon had such a soft side?

“Don’t take it personally,” he said.

The Dragon flinched. “What?”

“The guy you’re thinking of. He only fucks men once.”

“Just once?”

“Everyone knows that. So even if he were here, he’d likely have rejected you. What? What’s funny about that?”

“Nothing, I just… He used to never get enough of me. That’s all.”

Sweetie’s jaw almost hit the floor. What? What?! Had The Swan – Seokjin, that was his name – actually slept with someone more than once? No! But it would be The Dragon, wouldn’t it? That only made sense; they were both so goddamned attractive.

But Seokjin had a reputation too. Was known for getting bored of you as quickly as he’d bedded you.

And here The Dragon was, telling him that he and The Swan had been actually involved.

“You dated?” he asked, just to confirm this.

“No. Well, not really. I mean maybe. Sort of. But it was casual.”

This sounded exactly like every situationship he’d ever been in.

No wonder The Dragon hadn’t fucked him like that, like he was burning up with passion! Because he’d already spent it all on another man.

“And now you miss him,” he said softly, making The Dragon flinch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s poor manners, my grandmother would say.”

The Dragon’s jaw had clenched, his brows furrowed. “I cared for him. Or what I mean is that— that it was complicated.”

Sweetie nodded – it was always complicated.

“And now we just fight or argue or… He had some guy take these half-nudes of him and when I got concerned – like who is this guy? – he just accused me of controlling his sexuality which, I mean, is absurd. Him controlling his sexuality is the most erotic thing about him,” The Dragon said, sitting on the bed.

Sweetie nodded, reaching to the tissue dispenser to pull out a handful. This was not the first post-fuck confessional he’d ever witnessed. He had to be ready for The Dragon to start sobbing about his childhood.

“So you didn’t break up because you were fighting over who’s sleeping with who? Because that’s usually how it goes.”

“Not at all,” The Dragon said, rubbing his brow. “Or, well, because I started dating this man, non-casually. But then we fell out over the dating, not the sex. Anyway…” The Dragon paused, holding his breath for an unnervingly long time before exhaling. “It’s not going to work out with me and that man I started dating. We’re not the right fit, and I… I’m thinking about someone else instead. About him. But I wonder if the damage has already been done. If I acted too hastily.”

How had The Swan not fallen madly in love with The Dragon? He seemed so soft-spoken, so thoughtful and gentle.

“He must be made of stone.”

“Sorry?”

“That guy who comes here. He must be cold-hearted for not having fallen in love with you when you were seeing each other.”

The Dragon shook his head. “No, he felt something. In truth we both did. I just didn’t see it or didn’t want to admit it. And he wouldn’t be so damned snappy with me if he hadn’t… And if I hadn’t… But it’s so… so big. Admitting something is more than just sex, especially in circles like these.”

Sweetie huffed, nodding, taking in the small playroom they were in, sitting on the bed they’d just fucked on. Them – two strangers who didn’t know each other’s names. The Dragon was right: admitting that you wanted more than sex was seen as a weakness, not a strength.

“You’re in love with him,” he said, smiling at The Dragon encouragingly. Love, after all, was a beautiful thing.

The Dragon startled and stared at him with wide eyes. “…I am. Yes.”

“Not surprised. He’s the most beautiful out of us all, I think. From what you’re telling me, he’s likely in love with you too.”

“He might be leaving Seoul.”

“Even so.”

“He’s a lot younger than me.”

“Even so,” he shrugged, and they sat in the comforting, familiar sounds of men copulating in the rooms surrounding them.

The Dragon looked rattled and stood up. “Well, I just… thought you might know if he still comes around or not. That’s all.”

“Sure. No problem.”

The Dragon squinted at him. “Are you from Jeolla?”

He smiled widely. “Yeah. I’m Swee— Chan. Actually.”

“Namjoon.”

His smile broadened. He could fall in love with a man like Namjoon, he thought.

“Well, enjoy the rest of your night, Chan-ssi,” The Dragon said, leaving him with mixed emotions.

Typical, wasn’t it?

That amidst all these men who roamed the dark rooms of the bathhouse, someone always wanted the man who wanted someone else instead.

Tragic, nearly.

The Dragon hadn’t wanted him. He’d wanted The Swan.

Sweetie sat with that slight unease, even as his heart felt full – from the good sex and from the welcome reminder that love was real.

But it was damned hard to admit it here. The Dragon was right about that.

The Dragon had left the door open, and Sweetie hadn’t moved when a new man appeared there, checking him out. Oh? He was cute. Not particularly muscular – more of a barrel belly, but still firm and manly. And Sweetie had been fucked open nicely… All he needed was to bend over and take it…

He leaned back, realising this was his lucky night. The Dragon and this handsome hottie?

“Hi,” he said.

Three men had fucked him by the time he left the sauna that evening, including The Dragon who had easily been the most memorable. The other two had been fine, too.

He was floating – glowing. He was popular! In his prime!

Ah, those Bulgarian split squats!

Chapter Text

VIII

Dr Kim Namjoon was young at only thirty-nine – barely an adult in Professor Nam’s view. Still, the man had been impressive in the interview. Calm, clear, composed. Out of all the people they’d interviewed that week, Dr Kim had stood out to the point that Professor Nam had ordered a copy of his new book.

Dr Kim’s CV was a little unusual, however, and as the committee had noted Dr Kim had taken longer than others to get his qualifications. His research outputs still bridged the gap between him and others, surprising them.

Professor Nam scrolled up and down Dr Kim’s CV on her laptop screen, trying to make sense of the man contained within.

Then, of course, there was the frankly surprising amount of project management that Dr Kim had done. The man had been given tasks that in all good conscience more senior academic staff should have taken on due to their scope and complexity.

Professor Nam wasn’t sure what Dr Kim’s university had been thinking, exactly. A lack of internal leadership, perhaps, that Dr Kim had been called upon to fill?

She removed her glasses, cleaning the lenses with a cloth, her movements precise. After she put them back into place, she emailed Dr Kim, inviting him back to see her.

“I expected a phone call, to be honest,” Dr Kim said when she collected him from the lobby of KHU’s Department of Politics the next morning. Dr Kim was a head and a half taller than her, but she claimed plenty of space in her silently authoritative way – she had perfected this over her long career.

“Yes, I understand,” she said, guiding him to the lift.

Five more years and she’d retire – move to Jeju with her girlfriends, just like they’d always dreamt of in their youth. They’d already started looking at properties. As for her husband? Well, he could stay in Seoul and come visit every now and then. A perfect marriage.

Dr Kim looked a little unsure as he took a seat in her office, and Professor Nam thought she better put him at ease. After a job interview, you were usually simply told a yes or no – she hadn’t told Dr Kim either yet.

“As you know, this new research cluster is going to be very ambitious,” she said, placing her clasped hands neatly on her desk.

Dr Kim was dressed smartly, from the polished black dress shoes to the black tie, despite the intense summer heat outside. She’d liked him instantly at the interview. There was something unpretentious about him, about his ability to break down complex subjects to non-specialists. Dr Kim researched politicised popular cultures – how refreshing. How atypical. Ah, she looked forward to reading his book.

“We will need excellent tenure-track researchers to ensure we become a world leading research centre,” she continued, and Dr Kim nodded. “I, however, would think it a disservice for you to join such ranks.”

Dr Kim didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. He only studied her with a neutral expression. “I understand.”

Professor Nam frowned. No, no, Dr Kim clearly did not understand her at all!

Ah, so young – only thirty-nine! Unmarried, which had been surprising given Dr Kim’s good looks, but the word had reached her since the interview that Dr Kim was gay, and out, too, although he didn’t go out of his way to advertise it. This meant Dr Kim would always be an outsider – that was simply the brutal truth. Distance, however, gave perspective, and Dr Kim would benefit from it.

“Thank you for the opportunity nevertheless,” Dr Kim said, standing up and bowing deeply.

“Dr Kim, sit down.”

Dr Kim did, fixing his tie, brows furrowed.

“It would be a disservice for you to be a senior investigator, like I said. The committee feels that with your experience, you can handle a real challenge.”

Dr Kim looked deeply suspicious, but he’d need a healthy dose of scepticism to deal with the fools in this university.

“Like what, exactly?”

“Like running the research cluster itself.”

Dr Kim froze.

They had interviewed four candidates for the vacancy of centre director – none of them had ticked their boxes. Dr Kim from the Senior Researcher pool, however, had the right kind of management and executive background, which was odd given that officially he had been in a more junior role.

It was a risk, of course, the committee had agreed. Only thirty-nine, with all the experience without official recognition… Ambitious, clever, focused…

Professor Nam had a gut feeling about this. Over the years, she’d learned to trust it.

Dr Kim smoothed over his tie, one leg crossing over the other. “So we are discussing the role of, uh, the… the director of the research centre?”

She understood his hesitation. “Of course it’d cut into your research time, but you’ll have an assistant to help with the administrative burdens. A lot of meetings, of course, and the trillion won budget…”

Dr Kim cleared his throat. “And what of my research project?”

“Yes, it was an excellent proposal. I recommend that you hire a co-principal investigator so that it can go ahead. You can also teach whatever you like – one or two modules a year, however you like.”

“I see.”

She almost had him. “And usually with roles like this, the first opportunity for promotion is after five years, but given the calibre of the position, I would put you up for promotion in three years’ time.”

Professor Kim Namjoon, didn’t that sound good? Dr Kim would be reaching the milestone at a younger age than most academics. Professor Nam had been forty-eight herself.

Dr Kim took a deep breath. “So, in sum, Professor Nam, you’re offering me a fast-track tenure position with an executive workload and an entire research centre at my behest?”

“All of that will be reflected in your salary, of course,” she assured him quickly. Dr Kim had applied to run his own team of four to five people – not a research centre of forty researchers. “There’ll be very proficient professional services staff to support the centre’s leadership team,” she added in case the magnitude of the task seemed horrifying to Dr Kim.

“Of course,” Dr Kim said and smiled politely, dimples appearing. Oh, the people around here would eat out of the palm of his hand! Dr Kim’s initial shock had started to fade. “It is my pleasure to accept.”

Only a fool would have said no, and this man was not a fool.

Dr Kim would do well, she thought, as they shook hands. A nice, firm grip – yes, Dr Kim could easily spend the next twenty years at the Department of Politics at KHU and learn how not only to run the research centre, but perhaps the entire department. She had an inkling about that, too.

“Go home and pop open a bottle of champagne,” she said. “Celebrate with a special someone.”

A look of uncertainty crossed Dr Kim’s face – was he wondering if she knew already? – before he smiled. “Yes, I’ll be sure to do that.”

Hardly a surprise – a man this accomplished would have someone keeping his bed warm.

When the time came, Professor Nam would depart from the Department of Politics with an easy conscience. She’d hired enough people with basic common sense to keep the place going, counterbalancing some of the absolute fools she’d endured the past few decades.

In her Seoul campus office, she could feel the gentle Jeju winds already caressing her skin.

Seokjin closed up shop shortly before ten o’clock, then lingered in the doorway waiting for the rain to pass. Pools formed on the narrow side street, droplets bouncing back up from how hard they hit the ground.

He perused Grindr as he waited. There were a few guys he’d been messaging with, but he couldn’t decide which of them to invite over that week. He had an itch – a longing to use his body, to enjoy it, to be filled, to be satisfied – but dear god finding a viable top was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Tops really were an endangered species.

Maybe going to Steam Box would be more efficient, but the place forever reminded him of Namjoon. So did his own bed, however, and so he had to suck it up.

He received a new message as he stood still, gripped by indecision as how to entertain himself. Unexpectedly, a familiar name flashed up on the screen. He jerked, surprised – heart starting to thud wildly. ‘1 message from Namjoon-hyung’

Their DMs had been active at one point with suggestive invites and discussions of explicit plans (and pictures… and some videos…) and indecent booty texts. Since calling everything off, however, these and all other messages between them had ceased.

Given that their last encounter had involved them yelling in Seokjin’s living room, he’d assumed that no messages would ever be sent between them again. Good – so be it!

His blood still boiled thinking of Namjoon staring at his very tasteful semi-nudes and flipping out on him. The man had fucked him in front of strangers and now he decided to be prudish? What fucking double standards!

After Namjoon had practically stormed out, however, his indignation had faded – bitter, persistent longing taking its place.

He clicked on the notification, trepidation filling him. On Grindr, the messages were usually short and simple: ‘you up?’ and ‘what are you into?’ and ‘wanna fuck?’ and ‘are you into fisting?’

Namjoon, however, had sent him a long and perfectly punctuated message: I wanted to let you know that I’ve landed a new job at KHU. It’s a great tenure-track position, and the truth is that I wouldn’t have gotten it hadn’t you torn into me about playing things too safe or staying in a constricted box or however you phrased it – so thank you. And I know I crossed the line with my comments about the pictures. I’m sorry. You’re right, it’s not my business. I hope you’re doing well. If there’s anything you ever need, just come knock on my door. I definitely owe you one.

Warmth in him burned hot, his eyes flying over the text repeatedly. Namjoon owed him one? Sounded like Namjoon owed him dozens, actually!

But he started to beam, a quiet brooding he hadn’t even been aware of lifting. He’d been so mad at Namjoon’s university, then anxious that Namjoon would leave Seoul, then saddened that Namjoon would go work in some obscure college somewhere, but now? Now he had a new position at KHU a reasonable subway ride away.

He beamed even harder, typing, I accept cash payments.

He then deleted this, heart beating wildly. He was supposed to be angry with Namjoon, apology or no apology. His semi-nudes were not Namjoon’s business whatsoever! But he hadn’t gone for a full-nude photoshoot either because Cholho had seemed too keen on it – too keen on him, and he had known it even during the semi-nude photoshoot. He’d enjoyed the attention, of course, but he didn’t want to mislead Cholho and end up in an awkward situation.

Cholho was a nice guy, people said, and Seokjin hadn’t managed to dig up anything creepy about him. He likely just had a crush on Seokjin, but since that feeling wasn’t returned, he’d already told Cholho he didn’t need a second photoshoot. Cholho had been disappointed but accepted it. The offer was always on, of course!

Still, Namjoon didn’t need to know that he’d changed his mind.

He read the message again: If there’s anything you ever need, just come knock on my door. He could almost hear Namjoon’s voice as he said it – the warmth, the weight, the sincerity. Could imagine, nearly, the steady, intimate look in Namjoon’s eyes, the scent of cologne on his skin, the brush of his fingers on Seokjin’s forearm.

He felt breathless.

He typed: congratulations, hyung. now we’re even.

He added a harp emoji, just to make the subtext obvious.

He’d handed in his missing research paper that week – the final obstacle between him and graduation. And, as he now knew, this had only happened because Namjoon had pulled strings for him and gone to the Vice Chancellor of SNU on his behalf.

He’d never asked Namjoon to do any of that, and thinking about it made his heart squeeze. That Namjoon had gone through the trouble behind his back. Had thought it worthwhile – had thought him worthwhile.

He read his response and, thinking it sounded too cold, added: hope you didn’t have to fuck him, tho

The rain kept pouring as he chewed on the edge of his nail, waiting to see if Namjoon would respond.

To his delight Namjoon did: how the hell do you know about that?

He laughed, sensing the confused indignation. ‘your weird ass bestie’, he did not say. I have my sources. so how’s his head? does he take out his dentures for it or…?

No he kept them in because I like a good nibble

He gasped but was delighted. you guys sound like a match made in heaven

Namjoon sent him a gif of a woman rolling her eyes. Oh god, Namjoon was such a boomer.

All I did was call him, Namjoon sent. But if you want to personally thank him, I’ll send you his address. You can tell me later if he keeps the dentures on or not.

He clutched the phone tightly. He wanted to be wherever Namjoon was. Wanted to laugh into his neck, wanted them to tease each other like this in person. He wanted to press into Namjoon’s familiar body, breathe in the scent of his skin. Could he knock on Namjoon’s door for that? Or was that out of bounds?

I think I’ll pass this one time but thanks for the offer
anyway, I’ve handed in my final assessment, so thank you for helping me make that happen. it means a lot

He then wanted to ask how Namjoon was celebrating his new job and perhaps smoothly ask about Dr Pickleball – who, he knew, was out of town.

Such a question was too obvious, however. He couldn’t embarrass himself by letting Namjoon think that he cared.

God, how could he ever go knock on Namjoon’s door? How could he so blatantly beg for or demand Namjoon’s attention and time and body and all of him, when Namjoon had already chosen someone else?

Maybe he should accept that it had been a brief, passionate affair – his first love, at the old age of twenty-three – and that it was now over. That Namjoon had cared for him, and still did in some ways, but that was where it ended.

And when Namjoon did not reply, disappointment filled him. Maybe Namjoon had thanked him only out of a sense of duty, like a quick footnote in that new book of his. How could they be neighbours but feel so far removed from each other? How could they have been so close for a few messages to feel like entire letters?

He lifted his head. The rain had stopped.

He walked to the subway station, having made plans with Taehyung. He was waiting on the platform when he checked his phone again.

Namjoon had replied.

You don’t need to thank me.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.

Jimin whistled, reading the messages as they walked towards Riverside Complex. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he read aloud, still trying to decipher the words.

Seokjin tapped the phone screen with a conspiratorial glee in his eyes. “See?”

“Yes, I learned to read when I was six, thank you.”

“No, not that! The underlying message! The subtext!”

“Which is…?”

“That he fucking loves me! That’s what it means – he’s saying he loves me!”

It did sound like a confession, Jimin had to admit that, but he also thought that Seokjin was getting a little carried away. Namjoon’s “confession” had been sent eighteen minutes past ten on a weekday. Had Namjoon been drinking, perhaps? Or was this simply a booty text? And then this whole ‘knock on my door whenever you want’... Wasn’t this man supposed to have a boyfriend?

Seokjin had not replied to the final message, which Jimin approved of. A power move – good, good, he had taught his dongsaeng well. Always leave a man pining.

But while Seokjin thought this was Namjoon trying to confess his feelings, Jimin was more sceptical. In all likelihood, Namjoon was just trying to get laid while his boyfriend was out of the country, and why not target the boy next door who he’d previously been screwing, anyway?

He didn’t have the heart to tell Seokjin this.

They cut into the inner courtyard between the complex buildings, the darkening but warm summer evening around them. “He’s hung up on you, that’s for sure,” he said diplomatically. That, at least, was true.

Seokjin grabbed the phone as they entered the building. “Of course he is! How could anyone not be? And remember how I told you that a friend of his dropped by the store and was asking me all kinds of personal questions?”

“Yeah, that was sus,” he admitted.

“On god,” Seokjin said, and they got into the lift. Seokjin crossed his arms and looked thoughtful. “I guess the ball is in my court now, right? He’s probably waiting for me to confess, too!”

Perhaps Seokjin should go seduce his neighbour if that was what they both wanted – show up on Namjoon’s doorstep in a trench coat with nothing underneath, that kind of thing, and fuck away the night. It sounded like something Seokjin would do. But, to Jimin’s slight concern, this whole affair had stopped being about sex months ago.

Seokjin had never admitted to him and Taehyung that he’d ended up in tears over Namjoon, but Jungkook had disclosed this to them. Jimin didn’t like anyone making Seokjin cry, no matter how beefy or smart or professor-ly. Maybe they should unleash Jungkook on the man so that these suggestive messages would stop.

Jimin was lost in this scenario when they got to the fifth floor. Stepping out of the lift, they heard muted music and laughter coming from 511 – Dr Kim’s apartment.

Seokjin’s steps slowed down. “What? Is he having a party? He doesn’t host parties.”

“Maybe it’s his birthday.”

Seokjin shook his head and stopped outside Namjoon’s door. “His birthday isn’t until next month. He’s so handsome for forty, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” he said and managed to drag Seokjin to 510.

They had more pressing matters to attend to, namely that evening’s dress code. It was safari night at Club Temptation, and they were expected to dress up. Seokjin had borrowed some animal prints from Old Flame, and Jimin wanted to choose something that matched his personality. A lion? A tiger? Wait, did they have tigers in Africa? He hoped so.

They checked Club Temptation’s Instagram advertising the ‘Safari Night’ theme, ideal for anyone who wanted to wear a leopard print thong and nothing else. Ah, all those go-go boys wearing next to nothing…

Seokjin changed into his outfit for the evening; a zebra print shirt and black trousers. Simple, but it did the trick. Jimin, for his part, put on a tiger ear band, matching this with his otherwise black outfit. No one wanted to fuck someone in a tiger onesie, after all.

As they got ready and had a few beers, music and chatter sounded from next door. Seokjin kept looking at the wall, distracted.

“We’re not going to crash his party,” he said when he finished fixing the tiger ears. What would Taehyung wear? He’d been secretive about it all week.

Seokjin turned to him with his trademark I-will-get-what-I-want pout. “Oh, come on, hyung. Don’t you think the party being right next door means we’re technically invited?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s how it works. Besides, I thought he and you…”

“But that was before, and I quote, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for me – end quote.”

“Nothing but invite you to his party,” he said, and Seokjin shot a dirty look at him. Usually Jimin loved love! And, in all honesty, a big part of him had been rooting for Seokjin and his neighbour. Why not? Namjoon was tall and beefy and gorgeous – very sexy for his age and maybe he could be the kind of grounding force for Seokjin that Taehyung had been for him.

But he strongly suspected that Namjoon was playing his friend, and that he did not tolerate.

“Come on, let’s go get some pre-drinks,” he said. Best to lead Seokjin away and help him find someone new.

As they exited the apartment, however, they ran into two men outside Unit 511. One of them had messy, long black hair and a handsome doll-face, wearing all black. The other one was dressed stylishly in baggy jeans and a multi-coloured loose t-shirt.

“So we meet again!” the bright one said to Seokjin, motioning at the long-haired man. “My husband-in-all-but-law Yoongi here loved the ring, Seokjin-ssi. Thank you for choosing it!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Seokjin said, greeting the man with a suddenly and suspiciously polite smile. “Jimin-hyung, this is Hoseok-ssi – Namjoon-hyung’s best friend. And this is his partner Yoongi. I remember we’ve met before too.”

Yoongi nodded, taking Seokjin in carefully. Ah, so these two were Namjoon’s close friends – right, no wonder Seokjin was suddenly in suck up mode.

“Are you guys having a party?” Seokjin asked innocently, although the music from 511 had now quieted.

“Yes, Namjoon’s book has been released. Isn’t that exciting?” Hoseok asked, motioning at the door. What a happy individual. “We were having a few drinks before heading to a bar to celebrate – we’ve organised a little get together.”

“Ah, I see. Well, uh, we’re heading into Itaewon. A club is doing a theme party,” Seokjin said, motioning at Jimin’s tiger ears.

Hoseok tilted his head like a curious puppy. “How cute! Yeobo, doesn’t that sound cute?”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “Sure. As it happens, we’re heading to a bar in Itaewon too. Maybe you guys want to come by for a drink?”

Hoseok looked doubly excited. “Ah, that’s such a good idea! Come, join us! Namjoonie would love for you to come by!”

And, just like that, the universe had given Seokjin the invite he’d wanted. Seokjin shrugged casually, a ‘why not’ when minutes earlier he’d been burning up with a desire to go. So much for pre-drinks at the drag bar.

But Jimin didn’t protest too much, sensing that puzzle pieces were conveniently falling into place. He wanted to see Dr Sex God again, up close and personal – hadn’t Jungkook’s threats to punch the man done the trick? Why was he still trying to woo Seokjin like a sexual harassment suit just waiting to happen?

Jimin would put the man in his place, hopefully without Seokjin realising so that he wouldn’t get his feelings hurt again. How cruel to get Seokjin’s hopes up like this, sending him these sweet, romantic messages, how–

The door of 511 opened, and Dr Kim Namjoon stepped out. “Alright, I’m good to– Oh. Hello.”

Namjoon was dressed in a cream-coloured linen shirt with short sleeves, showing off golden forearms – Namjoon had been out in the summer sun. The top three buttons of the shirt were undone, showing a sliver of muscular chest. This had been paired with beige chinos, matching loafers, and an expensive looking leather belt; chic and casual. Namjoon wasn’t wearing glasses, so he likely had contacts in, and he’d pushed his hair back, exposing his forehead.

Oh, that was not a snack. That was a whole goddamn meal.

Jimin felt want curling up inside him and was glad that he was in an open relationship – because men like this existed, and he and Taehyung both understood that.

But in spite of Dr Sex God looking absurdly sexy, the man looked like he’d walked into a wall at the sight of Seokjin. Namjoon looked at nothing, nowhere, and at no one except at Seokjin, gaze becoming unfocused and soft. All this while Seokjin was wearing a silky zebra print shirt!

“Hi,” Seokjin returned, taking in Dr Sex God with an equally dreamy, smitten, breathless air.

Jimin felt, keenly, that he was intruding. They all were.

“This is Seokjin’s friend Jimin. They’re coming for a drink at the party,” Yoongi supplied.

Namjoon blinked as if suddenly remembering the others, taking Jimin in belatedly. Jimin was not used to men, especially gay men, barely noticing him.

Namjoon nodded. “Oh. Sure, great. Nice to meet you. You’re both very welcome.”

Namjoon had a deep, velvety voice. Ah, what a shame gay code vowed you should not fuck men your friend had been in love with. If Seokjin and Namjoon had kept things totally casual, then Jimin could go for it – but, alas…

Seokjin blinked at Namjoon slowly – was that what cats did when signalling they loved someone? – and Namjoon’s hands curled into fists.

Jimin considered shoving Seokjin into Namjoon’s arms and yelling, ‘My god, just take him!’

“It’s a book release party?” Seokjin asked.

Namjoon rubbed at the back of his neck a little sheepishly. “A joint book release slash new job and promotion party. Just, ah, a small thing. Pretty boring. Lots of academics.”

Modest, too!

“That sounds fun,” Seokjin said, although this gathering was clearly the opposite of fun.

Jimin met Hoseok’s amused gaze and, despite them having met approximately two minutes ago and having barely exchanged a word, Jimin could read Hoseok’s thoughts because they mirrored his own: these two fucking idiots.

Hoseok rolled his eyes at Jimin, and he bit back a laugh.

“So we should get going, then?” he suggested.

Hoseok linked arms with Seokjin and pulled him along. “You’ll share a taxi with me, right?”

Brian was late to his friend Namjoon’s book release party. There were usually very stiff affairs held in the dusty staff rooms of university departments, or perhaps in a lecture hall with a mini-lecture before the wine reception, if one wanted to be tremendously boring.

Namjoon, thankfully, was far from boring. Brian had established this in his first week in Korea, freshly arrived in the country from Winnipeg. Many of his new colleagues at the Department of Music spoke passable English but were too timid to talk to him, but Namjoon had approached him warmly, speaking with the vocabulary of a West Coast rapper. As it turned out, Namjoon was a big hip hop fan.

Brian was now in his fifth year in Korea, and he had thankfully picked up the language reasonably well. He had no plans of returning to Canada, even if on some mornings a breakfast run to Tim’s would have made him weep.

He had settled in well, and the initial loneliness of an expat had given way to a busy social life. (Fine, he should call himself what he was: an immigrant, the word that so many westerners pretended they weren’t when moving abroad out of fear that locals would treat them like they had treated immigrants in their own country. Irony, eh?)

Namjoon’s book launch/promotion party was very much on his radar as part of his packed social life, and the trendy Itaewon bar was busy when he got there. Half of the bar was reserved for them, and guests were freely mixing, moving from one table to the next, every now and then darting to the table with a snack selection and then to the bar for more drinks.

He passed the sign with ‘private event’ to reach the reserved back half of the bar, instantly greeting Namjoon with a hug. “Congratulations! Let’s have it, then – what is the title again?”

“The book or the job?”

“Let’s start with the job.”

Namjoon smiled a little cockily. “Senior Lecturer in Political Popular Cultures and, also, the Head of the Innovative Political Research Centre. IPRC, for short.”

“That’ll catch on for sure,” he said, feeling a slight tinge of envy. The KHU role was goddamn incredible – but, then again, so was Namjoon.

Namjoon was set for life now, and they all knew it. Had come, overnight, a significantly powerful authority to be reckoned with.

He had worked with Namjoon and Yoongi for two years but had moved institutions after that. Still they’d kept in touch – and ah, there was Yoongi with his friend-turned-partner Hoseok. He recognised a whole handful of other academics from their discipline, chatting and sipping on wine. At the end of the day they all knew each other, forming a complex network that stretched across the universities of Seoul and beyond.

“Grab a drink, take a seat,” Namjoon said. “I’ll catch you in a bit.”

Namjoon headed over to a tall, stunningly handsome young man Brian did not recognise. Was he a PhD student Namjoon had been supervising? Hmm…

Brian headed to get himself a drink, but then slowed down. Namjoon had touched the young man’s lower back, his hand resting there over the zebra print shirt only for a few seconds.

That, however, was enough.

This party had just got interesting.

The dating pool in Winnipeg for a bisexual man like him had both prepared and not prepared him for the dating scenes of Seoul. It had prepared him for the endless rejection, that was for sure, so he was thankful for the thick skin he’d arrived with. ‘No foreigners’ was a slogan he had gotten used to at the doors of many bars and clubs and from people on dating apps, too. The flipside of that coin was that sometimes men and women fucked him just to ‘fuck a foreigner’, and then he never heard from them again.

It had taken him years to figure out the intricacies of gay and straight dating in Korea (not interchangeable at all in some aspects, and cannily identical in others), with him plundering his way through many encounters with clueless Canadian goodwill.

No wonder so many of those men had not called him back, and the straight dates had not gone much more smoothly either. Last year, however, he’d met someone at Pride – a fellow bisexual man, and they’d taken it slow and actually gotten to know each other. It’d been very mature of them and, well, nice. They’d both prioritised compatibility over just hooking up with someone.

When he’d still been single, however, he had once or twice wondered if he should send a suggestive or downright explicit DM to his ex-colleague Namjoon. You know, just to test the waters – they were both single after all… And Namjoon was so goddamned gorgeous…

And now. Now!

Brian sipped his beer, studying this black-haired, red-lipped, doe-eyed Adonis that Namjoon was hovering around. Tall and lean, amazing proportions. And that face! Twenty-five, maybe?

Was he a student of Namjoon’s? Scandalous. No, that man had to be a model. Could Namjoon possibly know models?

Namjoon departed from the man slowly, like leaving him caused Namjoon pain, but soon the youth was talking to Dr Moon Seunggyu from the Physics Department of their ex-university – a drummer in his free time. Brian, for his part, was a bassist. Yoongi played guitar, and this was how they’d tried putting a band together some years back but then they’d all gotten too busy to pursue it further.

The handsome man said something that made Seunggyu laugh, and Brian reeled. Seunggyu the stoic physicist laughing? What on earth…?

He focused on the easiest target: Hoseok.

“Hyung, good evening,” he said, which made Hoseok chuckle because a foreigner like him using Korean honorifics often endeared people.

Hoseok slung an arm around his shoulders, giving him a side hug, and Brian asked about Hoseok’s summer – oh, he and Yoongi were going to Palau to celebrate Hoseok’s fortieth birthday? How wonderful!

“Namjoonie was supposed to come too, but he decided against it – three’s a crowd,” Hoseok said, sounding both mournful and understanding. Brian had thought Yoongi and Hoseok becoming a couple would be the big news that year, but frankly that was now overshadowed by New Developments.

“Hyung,” he said, standing in the back of the bar with Hoseok, “correct me if I’m wrong, but last I heard Namjoon was dating that linguist Jeongwoon? And, seeing as my intel is rarely wrong, who, ah, exactly is that dream of a boy over there?”

“Oh, him? That’s Seokjin, his neighbour,” Hoseok said, but he sounded evasive.

Seokjin was still talking to Seunggyu, but his eyes darted to Namjoon frequently. Likewise, from the snack table, Namjoon kept looking over to him.

The air between them sizzled.

“His neighbour? So he’s not, say, having an affair with a handsome student?”

Brian liked the Korean phrase for cheating: baram piuda. Baram, of course, meant ‘the wind’, and the phrase loosely translated meant ‘to stir a wind’ – someone was changing directions, was changing their mind; was choosing a new lover, now feeling differently towards their old one. Flimsy, unpredictable.

He had always thought it a poetic way to describe something messy.

Hoseok’s eyes bulged a little, and he shook his hand quickly. “Of course not, nothing like that!”

Across the room Seokjin talked animatedly, making the usually morose Seunggyu crack a smile. Seokjin looked a little nervous upon closer inspection – by far the youngest attendee and standing out because of it, but he was holding himself up well.

Hoseok had flushed red. He leaned in closer – always a lightweight, the two beers had gotten to him. “Look, uh, between you and me, yes Namjoon has been seeing Jeongwoon, but he plans to end it when Jeongwoon comes back from his research trip. Namjoon just thinks breaking up over the phone is childish.”

He nodded. They were all grownups here, far past the ‘i’m breaking up with you’ texts or, worse still, simply ghosting someone. Still, wouldn’t you rather know your lover was making heart eyes at a younger man in your absence? That the man you’d been seeing had, in fact, already chosen your replacement and was showing him off to all your mutual friends?

Nearly all of Namjoon’s academic friends were painfully straight, however, and therefore oblivious to the tension between Namjoon and Seokjin. ‘What good friends’, they would think, or ‘what good neighbours!’ So naïve…

The rest of them, however, had eyes.

Seunggyu, in his late forties and painfully heterosexual, did not have eyes. Brian motioned him over when Seokjin moved to talk to someone else, and Seunggyu greeted him warmly. “Is he a student of Namjoon’s?” he asked, feigning innocent curiosity and pointing at Seokjin, who was now talking to Dr Lee, a jazz specialist.

“Oh, no, no – he’s a mathematician! I know, I was surprised too. We talked about the Weissmann Conjecture for a good ten minutes. I’ve heard of it, but I learned so much more just now. Wonderful to meet inquiring young minds, isn’t it?”

Seokjin had been making his way through the guests since Brian had got there, introducing himself to people, bowing politely, and charming just about everyone. Namjoon would periodically flock to him, join in on the conversation, and then continue on his way – his hand landing, however briefly, on Seokjin’s arm, shoulder, or lower back. Standing far closer than he needed to. Looking at Seokjin with attentive care. As for Seokjin, he lit up from these small gestures, staring at Namjoon with almost a defiant air.

Brian did not know what was going on exactly, but there was no way those two had not fucked already. No, no, these two had definitely… Those intimate touches, the intense eye contact…

Something was blossoming before his very eyes, between the two men. He had certainly never seen Namjoon act like this with any man before.

When Seokjin finally reached him, Brian greeted him in Korean, and the man relaxed as he did not have to speak in English. Seokjin introduced himself as a ‘friend of Namjoon-hyung’s’, saying nothing of them being neighbours (or lovers). He politely enquired how Brian knew Namjoon, and soon Brian was chatting with Seokjin pleasantly, unable to resist such a handsome face. The man was charming, but also nervous – hiding it well, but Brian recognised social anxiety because he had bouts of it too. Why was Seokjin putting himself through the trouble of mingling with everyone then?

The answer came when Namjoon joined them, his arm briefly circling Seokjin’s waist, like an intimate greeting, a quick claim, before retreating. “You enjoying yourselves?” Namjoon asked – not him, but only Seokjin, who nodded firmly, hiding his nerves even further. Ah, so Seokjin was trying to impress Namjoon!

Brian was endeared.

Yet it was terribly cliché for a senior academic to date someone in grad school – Seokjin had told him he would be starting his Masters degree in January. Where? Oh, well he had not quite yet decided, but likely KHU.

Huh. What a coincidence.

It was tasteless, in all honesty, that male scholars in the grips of midlife crises so often left their wives and children for a starry-eyed twenty-two-year-old who ‘understood them’.

Namjoon, of course, had no wife and kids he was abandoning – just a linguist boyfriend he had sort of maybe been dating.

Brian wanted to think of this pairing as tasteless, too – his Catholic upbringing rearing its head, loving to pass judgement – but perhaps his own years of trying to find a life partner had softened him. Perhaps these two had potential. Seokjin would certainly make Namjoon much more interesting and the envy of everyone, and Namjoon meanwhile would clearly be the most attentive and adoring sugar daddy of a boyfriend Seokjin could ask for. Besides, didn’t absurdly hot people always end up dating other absurdly hot people, anyway, regardless of age?

The two men looked at each other warmly. Christ almighty, alright for some, huh?

Brian was glad he was in a relationship because otherwise these two would have made him feel awfully single.

And so the evening carried on, getting louder and more restless as people started getting drunker.

When a young, blond man with a tiger ear band appeared out of nowhere and said, “So who’s coming to safari night?”, Brian and even some of the straights started to consider it.

“This is a disaster,” Namjoon said, standing in line at the Itaewon gay club. He, Yoongi, and Hoseok had not gone clubbing in years, recognising that they had passed the appropriate age to go to places like these.

Everyone else in the queue was twenty-something, gorgeous, and peak fuckable, while the three of them stuck out like a sore thumb. Seokjin and Jimin had already gone ahead while Namjoon had stayed behind at the bar to say goodnight to the guests who weren’t keen on clubbing.

This had been a mistake: it would have been wiser to come with Jimin and Seokjin. Now they were holding up the queue as Hoseok continued negotiating with the bouncer.

The club didn’t let in people over thirty unless you were on the special VIP list. They were not on the special VIP list – Brian, bless him, had already been turned away because of a no-foreigners rule. Namjoon wasn’t at all shocked by the wide range of discrimination from age to nationality. He should have anticipated it, really – some gay bars would refuse you for your hairstyle. And as for the three of them, it wasn’t like they were a year or two over the limit either; they were a decade too old to be there.

The last thing Namjoon wanted right then, however, was for Seokjin to be reminded of his age.

“Come on, our friends are in there,” Hoseok said, gaze sharpening. “Surely we can, er, come to an arrangement?”

“You’re not even dressed for the theme,” the bouncer noted.

Yoongi blinked at the man. “Meow,” he said.

The bouncer raised an eyebrow before his gaze focused on Namjoon. He looked him up and down. “Okay, how’s this? I’ll let you three in if we, ah, come to an agreement and he goes shirtless.”

“Deal,” Hoseok said, leaving Namjoon no time to protest. As Hoseok undid his shirt then and there, ignoring his dismay, he said that Namjoon worked out all the time. What was he doing it for if not to show off a little? Besides, the chinos and bare chest was definitely giving some safari vibes.

“My, my, daddy,” a twenty-something in the queue behind them said, biting on his bottom lip and checking out Namjoon. He felt violated.

“See, it’s working!” Hoseok said and ushered him into the club while slipping the bouncer a hundred thousand won.

“The most humiliating way I’ve ever entered a club,” Yoongi deadpanned but followed his boyfriend.

Namjoon was still trying to protest the theft of his shirt, which now was hanging loosely over Hoseok’s t-shirt. He was very fine with public nudity and semi-nudity – the bathhouse made this seem commonplace, after all. The difference was, however, that in a bathhouse everyone else was just as naked as him.

Thankfully plenty of men were shirtless at the club, too, making him ease up a small increment. The theme was half-assed with some animal cardboard cutouts and fake grass skirts on the go-go boys on the dance platforms.

Still, the place was packed at midnight, and the party was just getting started. All around them gorgeous, half-dressed young men were dancing, drinking, flirting, grinding, and doing poppers; having fun, making friends, making lovers, and enjoying their youth.

A few older men were there, too – thirty and forty-somethings from the special VIP list who probably used the place as their own personal hunting ground for fresh meat.

Perhaps he should have let Seokjin continue his evening without him, but in the moment he hadn’t wanted to let Seokjin go. If Seokjin was willing to put up with a book release party, then surely Namjoon could endure a club night.

“Let’s do some shots!” Hoseok said, and Namjoon acceded. (“Water for you, babe,” Yoongi told Hoseok, which was a wise move.)

He hadn’t expected Seokjin to come to his party, let alone meet a significant number of his friends – or, on top of all of that, to behave. Perhaps this third matter had been the most surprising of all, almost un-Seokjin-like, given his demon status.

But Seokjin had been charming, articulate, mature, and polite, with many coming up to Namjoon to ask who exactly he was. “A friend of mine,” he’d said, which had made him feel like a fool.

Thinking about his recent visits to the bathhouse, he thought he’d already made himself a fool. Never had he fucked someone in a playroom only to be given a sympathetic look and be told that he clearly was in love with a boy. Was he that obvious, he’d thought.

He’d had the same thought again and again that same night: was it obvious? Whenever he looked at Seokjin, he felt intensely nauseous at the sight of him, his breath short and his skin burning up. He thought it must be obvious to everyone, Seokjin included.

You’re in love with him, the man at Steam Box had said. Yes. Painfully so. Just look at the foolish things he’d been messaging Seokjin in moments of weakness.

He was old enough to understand, however, that being in love with someone didn’t necessarily lead to anything.

And yet he was looking around for Seokjin, worried one of these go-go boys had beaten him to it.

“Wanna dance?” a guy very suddenly in his space asked, the man’s forefinger sliding down his bare chest.

“Maybe later,” he said, making the guy scoff and toss his head as he walked away.

“You’re popular,” Yoongi said, passing him a shot glass. The two of them downed their shots (a surly Hoseok had water), and Hoseok then turned to the bar to order them beers. As pack animals, they vaguely nodded their heads to the music.

Across the crowded dance floor, he finally spotted Seokjin.

Seokjin was talking to a man Namjoon recognised as Taehyung. He’d never met this man, but Seokjin had shown pictures of some of his friends, and the black curls and handsome face were distinctive. Taehyung was in a full-on tiger pyjama onesie, and Namjoon couldn’t believe they’d let him into the club wearing that. Then again, with a face like Taehyung’s, of course they had.

Jimin was with them, having stayed at the book launch for an hour or so before going to a drag bar to meet with his boyfriend, but he’d returned to collect Seokjin dutifully. Jimin was a combination of platinum hair dye and attitude, but Namjoon got the sense that the man had a softer interior than the flashy exterior suggested. They had spoken briefly at the party – “So I hear your boyfriend is out of town,” Jimin had said very pointedly.

“The man I’m seeing, yes,” he’d corrected.

Jimin had tilted his head and crossed his arms. “Oh, right. The man you’re seeing. Sure.”

Jimin was now tugging both of his friends onto the dance floor. Seokjin protested at first but then laughed, bright and warm and beautiful.

Seokjin was easily, without a doubt, the most beautiful man there. Was he biased? Plenty of men there were painfully attractive, fitting the kind of man he was easily attracted to. But Seokjin had this energy to him – it was in the way he laughed and the way he moved; in the way his eyes sparkled, the way he smirked. The way he now flirted with the guy dancing with him, wrapping long arms around the man’s neck. That cocky, overconfident persona that Seokjin donned so easily, hiding the more reserved man beneath.

Hoseok snapped fingers before his eyes, and he flinched, the rest of his surroundings reappearing. “Sorry, what? Thanks for the beer. The music’s real loud, huh? Also why are all the songs sped up – why not play them at their real speed?”

“TikTok’s ruined these children’s attention spans,” Yoongi said with deep disdain.

“Go talk to him,” Hoseok said, pushing him towards the dance floor. “That’s why we came, right?”

He wasn’t sure how much Yoongi and Hoseok knew or suspected. He’d told Jimin that Jeongwoon was not his boyfriend, and that wasn’t a lie. Yet there was a slight sense of obligation to… well, not start dating someone else at the very least, even if they were both free to fuck whoever. An obligation not to be a complete asshole.

God, life had been much simpler when he’d kept everything contained at Steam Box. Now he had the love life of a chaotic teenager.

“Listen, guys,” he said, unsure what to say next. How to explain his behaviour that night after telling his friends that things with Seokjin had ended, but here he was following him into a club like a dog on a leash. Hoseok and Yoongi had introduced him to Jeongwoon – had given them both assurances that they were a good match.

“It’s a shame, but we get it,” Hoseok said before he could say anything. “You can’t force these things. You tried – you both did.”

Yoongi took a sip of his beer. “Seokjin might get you arrested at an illegal rave somewhere, but I’d take that over a pickleball tournament. Personally.”

So everyone had known before he and Jeongwoon had that it wouldn’t work out.

Men around them were dancing, touching, exploring. Options were endless in a city like Seoul – men who were older, younger, buffer, leaner, muscular, slim, tall, short, cut, uncut, cute, boyish, manly, androgynous, on and on and on. Namjoon enjoyed these endless possibilities, the sense of adventure, the thrill of conquest. In each encounter you could learn something new about yourself – about humanity, about your own psyche.

The night club didn’t have a full-on back room for fucking but there was a dark nook with couches where you could do just about anything but full-on penetration. There were figures there making use of this – a man on his knees on the club floor, giving someone a blowjob, while others danced next to them.

Namjoon felt the same sense of liberation here as he did in the sauna – a haven where judgement wasn’t passed, where exploration was encouraged. There was love in a place like this that went beyond the physical. And, he acknowledged, there was love in him too that on that night could only be for one specific person.

He took a deep breath and pushed into the crowd, making his way through the men dancing, feeling a few hands brush his arms and back as he passed – invites, a ‘hey there’. Flattering given his age, but most men he pushed through were not this bold. Expressions of interest were often simply looks.

Seokjin saw him coming, turning away from the man he was dancing with (a shorter guy in a jungle print shirt – jungles were not safaris, Namjoon wanted to note). “Hey, you guys made it! What happened to your shirt?” Seokjin said, gaze not on his face whatsoever. Seokjin bit on his lower lip in a way that made Namjoon fear for his sanity.

“Made a deal with the bouncer,” he admitted, and Seokjin laughed. The age restriction probably hadn’t occurred to Seokjin either.

Seokjin moved closer, fingers briefly brushing his lower stomach. The touch alone had him burning up. “Well, since you’re here… you wanna dance?”

With Seokjin, always.

Seokjin’s fingers brushed over his belt buckle. He’d had a few beers, and some part of him wanted to pull Seokjin into that dark nook. He should be anywhere, doing anything, except standing in the sweaty night club, half-dressed and heart hammering from Seokjin looking at him with dark eyes.

“I want to talk to you,” he said.

A song faded and blended into a new one with a heavy, deep bass making the air around them vibrate. Two men next to them started kissing – all tongue, wet-looking. ‘My body is burning for you’ the song vowed, and the men’s hands moved below waist level. This was no place to talk.

Seokjin nodded, and the two of them pushed their way through the crowd. On a dance platform, a go-go boy was getting playfully spanked, making people laugh and cheer.

They passed Jimin and Taehyung, who were dancing with a handsome hunk wearing a gorilla t-shirt. Seokjin had told him once that the two were in an open relationship, but clearly this was different from the one Namjoon had shared with Sangwook. They had never gone manhunting together, had never seen the other hooking up with someone else. No, he and Sangwook had always hidden their conquests from each other, knowing it was happening but avoiding the subject. Plagued by a silent guilt – that they had failed at being loyal, that they were cliched promiscuous gay men after all, that they were ultimately betraying each other and society’s expectations of what a respectable, palatable, straight-friendly gay man was supposed to be.

Then there was Seokjin’s best friend, Jungkook, who had so firmly declared to be in love with his boyfriend – not interested in anyone else at all, which was admirable but which Namjoon couldn’t relate to either. Perhaps that was why Jungkook wasn’t at the club – he and his boyfriend wouldn’t enjoy the buffet on offer. Hoseok and Yoongi, still at the bar, were also only interested in each other, and Namjoon respected that but also knew he would find their kind of relationship stifling.

And then there was him and Jeongwoon, sleeping together often, but neither convinced enough by their connection to put any labels on it.

The indecision and soul-searching of men like them was endless, but Namjoon knew, or thought he knew, what he wanted. He had a vision of the future, of a path, filled with love and joy and liberation.

During his small party, as Seokjin to his surprise had chatted with everyone from music theorists to physicists, this vision had emerged in his mind with startling clarity. He’d pictured another party a year from now – a party five, ten years from now. Seokjin at twenty-four, thirty-four, forty-four, and still smiling at him from across the room and winning over all of the tedious academics he worked with. Him walking over and, instead of a tentative touch, he’d slide an arm confidently around Seokjin’s waist. Pull him close, press a kiss to his temple. Hi. Hey.

And Seokjin was welcome to do the same, of course: drag Namjoon along to whatever boring business dinners he’d have to endure in his career, whatever it might be. How exciting was it that neither of them yet knew what Seokjin might even become? Seokjin would be brilliant at whatever he settled on.

And he’d seen this so vividly during the party, all the things the two of them could become together. If, indeed, they both had that same vision – if Seokjin could even think so far into the future. Maybe Namjoon could carry that vision quietly for now.

But he saw it, in a way he hadn’t seen a future with anyone else, not even six months into the future. It had startled him and filled him with longing and worry in equal measure.

How to say this outloud?

But he saw it – saw Seokjin as he was, inside and out. Saw Seokjin, who had accused him of not seeing him at all. There was truth in that accusation.

By the side of the dance floor, Seokjin leaned closer. “So what do you want to talk about?”

This. Them. That their affair clearly wasn’t over for either of them.

“About Jeongwoon,” he said instead, and Seokjin’s beautifully confident smile faded somewhat. Not a name he’d wanted to hear. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “The truth is that for weeks I’ve been postponing having the talk with him – the one of us saying what we are. And that’s because I know he wants monogamy, but I don’t think I can commit to it. Not with him, and not with anyone.”

Seokjin nodded, showing mild and cautious curiosity.

Namjoon took a deep breath, wondering how this club of all places was where he was now telling Seokjin all this, but Seokjin needed to know, needed to understand.

“I met Sangwook, my ex, when I was around your age, and we fell in love. We were together for years. Then when Sangwook got a job in Osaka, we started doing long-distance and that’s when things stopped working. We both slept with other people or, well, we cheated. The both of us. Sex had always been important to us as a couple, but we hadn’t realistically thought how we’d go without it when only seeing each other once a month, and so we both messed up.

“But we admitted it, and we talked about it, and I said we should have an open relationship. And we talked about it for hours, debating if it’s the right thing to do, repeating how much we loved each other, how sex is different from love like it was some kind of a radical idea, when now I think it’s just self-evident. Of course it is. But back then we were still confined by society’s ideas of what relationships should be, and so we cried, we hugged, we made love. Then we started fucking other people, and it brought some fire back to our relationship too, I admit that – it was pretty exciting at first. But it didn’t make us any happier, and pretty soon it made us feel neglected and jealous – we started obsessing over who the other was fucking, and everything disintegrated quickly from there. And I know the obvious answer is that being in an open relationship didn’t work for us because we started off on the wrong foot. We transitioned into an open relationship to try and salvage our love. Of course it never could have worked. Because what I know in hindsight is that…”

He fought for words but understanding flashed across Seokjin’s face. “It was already dead.”

He felt sorry for his past self – for the man he had been, and the man Sangwook had been. For their inability to see that they’d already outgrown each other, and that the kind of relationship they’d pursued for years had never been the right fit for them.

“Yeah. Exactly. So it ended, and for a long-time I’ve been fine with casual sex. I’ve learned so much about myself through it, through meeting all these people, and I don’t want to give it up. But now I also want a relationship. I thought I didn’t, but I do. But it has to be something flexible, something between monogamy and an anything-goes relationship. I don’t know exactly what that is or what it would look like, and so I don’t even know how to put it into words.” He took a breath, the air thick and unpleasantly warm. “But that’s what I want now. I guess to many that might seem too ‘have your cake and eat it’.”

They moved closer to the wall as two boys holding hands pushed past them, wearing nothing but leopard-print thongs. He kept looking to Seokjin for a reaction as the multi-coloured flights flashed on them.

“I don’t think that’s asking for too much,” Seokjin said. “Each relationship is different. You can have commitment without monogamy – everyone knows that. You just need to make sure you’re on the same page, that you’re pursuing the same thing.”

He wished he’d known such an ‘obvious’ truth when he was Seokjin’s age, but he hadn’t. His heart hammered, wondering if Seokjin at all knew of how tightly he’d fallen under Seokjin’s spell.

“And what about you? What are you pursuing?” he asked.

Seokjin’s eyes were a deep, dark brown, like sand dunes under moonlight. The sand would feel cool and silk-like, Namjoon knew.

“Right now?” Seokjin asked, moving closer to him. His hand came up to his shoulder, fingers caressing over his collarbones. “You.”

Seokjin had him.

“And tomorrow?”

Seokjin looked thoughtful, giving him a sweet, innocent shrug. “Well, maybe that new go-go dancer everyone’s been raving about lately. But also still you.”

Namjoon’s throat felt tight.

“You look like you want to kiss me,” Seokjin said.

“I do.”

Seokjin’s hand was warm on the small of his back, pulling him closer. “Then what’s stopping you?”

Some box he’d placed himself in and accepted the restrictions of, having internalised those boundaries subconsciously. Lately, however, he’d been practising breaking through them.

He pulled Seokjin in from the back of his neck and kissed him.

Jungkook and Mingyu were late for safari night, and their outfits were only so and so. Mingyu was in a hunter outfit: khaki shorts and an open vest, showing some chest. Jungkook in turn was wearing a tight t-shirt with a bunny on it because he hadn’t managed to find anything else. Still, he looked pretty good, he thought.

Jimin had messaged him an hour earlier that they were heading into the club and that Dr Kim was coming too. He couldn’t believe it! Dr Kim?! At safari night at Club Temptation?!

Jimin was winding him up, he was sure of it, but still he kept looking around the packed club as soon as they walked in. Apparently Seokjin and Jimin had crashed Dr Kim’s book release party in a nearby bar, which sounded so cool that Jungkook was full of envy. keep an eye on this space because those two are totally back on, Jimin had sent.

This had alarmed him. Had Dr Kim not listened to his warning not to toy with Seokjin? Would he have to punch his favourite lecturer after all – here, on safari night?

“I’ll hold you back,” Mingyu had promised on their way over.

They found Jimin and Taehyung with a good-looking gym bro in a gorilla t-shirt. Jungkook had no idea which of the men this boy planned on going home with (or, perhaps, the both of them). “What did we miss?” he asked.

Taehyung was in a tiger onesie, and Jimin was wearing tiger ears. Cutely, they matched, and Jimin was enamoured despite himself. Did tigers eat gorillas or the other way around?

“Apart from the reconciliation of the decade?” Jimin asked, making Jungkook look around even more anxiously. Dr Kim wouldn’t come to a place like this…! Besides, did they even let in men that age? No, so of course Jimin was lying and–

“Oh god!” he said, grabbing Mingyu’s bare forearm. That was Dr Min Yoongi! On the dance floor! Kissing with that man from The Provincial Clan – Jungkook recognised him instantly; the man had barely aged. “Dr Min,” he gasped as Dr Min squeezed his companion’s buttocks, the two grinding together.

Pornographic! Salacious!

“Wow, they’re really sucking face! You know, I hope we’re still together when we’re their age,” Mingyu said.

“Me too but with less public groping,” he said, mind spinning, and he hadn’t even had a single drink yet.

Jimin sidled up to him, pointing to the other side of the dance floor. Jungkook craned his neck, gaze searching – seeing nothing at first, but then.

Then.

Dr Kim was holding Seokjin fiercely in his arms, kissing him like he didn’t need air. He was perfectly, worryingly, and obscenely shirtless. Seokjin’s arms were around Dr Kim’s neck like vines, hands in Dr Kim’s hair, and their bodies were pressed together in a way that made all their naughty bits acquainted with the other’s. Their embrace was restless, wanting, and they only briefly came up for air before resuming their scandalous behaviour.

“They’ve been making out for, like, ten minutes now,” Jimin informed him.

“What happened to his shirt?” he asked, mouth dry. Dr Kim’s physique was even more incredible than he’d thought. Oh goodness. Oh my.

“No idea but I’m not complaining,” Taehyung said, eyes drinking in Dr Kim.

He was at a loss. “Do I go punch him?”

Seokjin didn’t look like he was in trouble – in fact, Seokjin looked like he was having the time of his life.

“I can punch him for you, babe,” Mingyu said.

Taehyung shook his head. “Nah, leave them be. There’s no point trying to keep those two apart.”

He had known, intellectually, that Seokjin and Dr Kim had carnal knowledge of each other. Seeing it unfold like this, however, before his very eyes, made that knowledge visceral. Dr Kim of the vast lecture halls and the smart books was here, shirtless, hands slipped beneath Seokjin’s zebra print shirt, kissing his best friend deeply.

They looked like the rest of the world didn’t even exist to them.

“But doesn’t he have a boyfriend?” he persisted, lest the others had forgotten.

Jimin gazed at the two men knowingly. “Don’t worry – he won’t by morning.”

In the taxi to Riverside Complex, Seokjin wondered why he’d never given out his number to any of the numerous men he’d slept with in the past few years. So many of them had wanted his number after their night together, trying to ask him out on dates. It had never been quite true that he only fucked men once – there were several guys he’d slept with a handful of times, usually because their sexual chemistry had been good. But even when one of these men had asked him out, he’d declined and ended their affair.

Why had he rejected all of these men? He didn’t even know. Plenty of them were cute and hot, but it was a knee-jerk reaction to say no.

Then again, if Namjoon had asked him out that spring, he would have said yes. He pictured them out in a nice restaurant, somewhere with white tablecloths and candles, and Namjoon sipping on a glass of wine with his sexy nerd glasses on, dimples deepening as he laughed. Those luscious lips, those pearly white teeth… That deep rumble of his laugh… Them playing footsie under the table and ordering dessert… Then going home and fucking all night.

Yeah. That seemed like the kind of date Seokjin would go on.

Maybe the truth was that in each casual fuck lurked the quiet hope that it would turn into something more – a love affair. And perhaps the boys who had asked him out had been more aware of that yearning than him, while he had fiercely pretended that longing wasn’t there.

Of course not everyone felt that longing – say, all of the men who hadn’t asked for his number.

But his own tendency to reject men was a self-defence mechanism in a dog-eat-dog world – a boy-eat-boy world, figuratively and very literally. This was how they raised each other, struggling to position themselves in a world where they remained as the outliers.

But here Namjoon was: a man who not only had his number but also knew more about him than any man he’d ever been involved with. Who could come before him again and again without ever causing that knee-jerk reaction to refuse him.

And, as Seokjin pressed in the door code for Namjoon’s apartment, Namjoon discovered Seokjin knew a lot about him, too.

“Since when have you known my door code?” Namjoon asked, eyes wide.

“Please, it’s five digits and I’m a mathematician.”

Unexpected nerves filled him as they entered.

He asked to use the bathroom, then splashed water on his face although he knew it’d compromise the foundation he had on. He patted his face dry carefully, taking in his reflection. He looked hot as fuck – well, that was to be expected.

He checked his breath, despite his lips already being swollen from kissing Namjoon. Breath was fine – alright, good.

Namjoon had been direct at the club – had, unexpectedly, started talking about his ex. Seokjin had memorised each detail already, understanding the value of the information. No wonder that the set-up with Sangwook had failed. No wonder it’d made Namjoon so sceptical of trying that again.

Seokjin took a deep breath, nervous anticipation swirling in him. He was rarely nervous, let alone with a man he’d already slept with.

This, however, was not a random hookup – far from it.

In the living room, Namjoon was sitting on the couch they’d slept on during Jungkook and Mingyu’s anniversary night. The record player was on, playing some kind of R&B. Namjoon had the cream linen shirt back on, but the bottom buttons were undone – the dressing hastily accomplished in the doorway of the club as their taxi waited.

Namjoon said nothing, just watched him with dark, inviting eyes.

“It’s been a while since I was last in your apartment. Have you been thinking about me?” he asked, glad how steady and confident his voice sounded. Seductive, sexy.

Namjoon nodded, eyes fixed on his body. “Of course.”

He tilted his head. “What about me?”

“All of it,” Namjoon said, which was somehow more explicit than most things men said to him. They knew how they fit together, how they tasted, how the other’s skin felt. How they trembled in the aftershocks.

He held his breath. “And him. That guy. Has he been better?”

Namjoon did not reply at first, and Seokjin was worried he’d ruined it.

“No,” Namjoon said at length, sitting up straighter but also spreading his legs, broad and inviting. Namjoon was hard, his cock curved against the thin fabric of the chinos. “He’s different. But he hasn’t been better than you.”

Seokjin stepped closer.

Namjoon motioned him to stay where he was. “The other men that I… They’re different from this. From you.”

“So what are you saying?” he asked, stopping in front of Namjoon, staring down at him. Namjoon’s hair was messy from him pulling on it, his lips reddened. Obscene already. “That you’ll fuck some random guy in a bathhouse but not me? That’s where the line in your situationship goes?”

Namjoon looked like he didn’t have a good answer to that.

He shrugged. “Fine, then don’t fuck me. But I’ll go get that purple dildo I have – you know the one. And I’ll place it here on the floor with that oh so handy suction cup, right in front of you. Hmm, maybe here? Yeah, right on this spot. And then I’ll strip naked and get on my knees, and I’ll let you watch me sit on it, like in that one video I sent you. Remember that? And I’ll sit down on it all the way – god, it’s so big to take, but I’ll do it. And then I’ll suck you off as I fuck myself on it, imagining there’s two of you – one in my mouth and one inside me, taking me from two holes at the same time, and I’ll keep going until we’re both spent. There, how’s that? You can say to your non-boyfriend, hand on your heart, that you didn’t fuck me.”

Namjoon swallowed hard, eyes almost pleading. The bulge had grown in size. “Seokjin-ah…”

He raised an eyebrow. “Or I can go home and tell you not to call me until you’ve officially ended your little non-relationship. But I don’t want to go home. And you don’t want me to go home either.”

Namjoon shook his head.

He sat astride Namjoon, desperate want filling him. Namjoon pulled him tight into his lap, firm hands cupping his ass, the scent of Namjoon filling his nostrils, the warmth of Namjoon already everywhere. Their erections pressed together, and Seokjin was too full of want, too pent up to sit still – he started grinding, creating pressure between them.

“So what would you like me to do?” he asked, mouth hovering over Namjoon’s, then pressing a kiss below his ear. “Any thoughts, hyung?”

Namjoon breathed in his skin, nose pressing to his jugular. His hands squeezed his buttocks. “It’s just that we don’t know what we want from each other.”

“But that depends on what we’re willing to give,” he said, cock throbbing as Namjoon pressed a wet kiss to his throat. His hands moved to the buttons of the cream shirt, undoing them, hands soon gliding on smooth skin. Namjoon was leaving burning kisses on his neck, knowing all of his weak spots, hands slipping under his shirt.

He moaned, finding Namjoon’s mouth and kissing him. “Another one-off, hyung?”

Namjoon was heaving, chest rising and falling, dark nipples erect. Namjoon cupped his cheek, pulling him closer. He shook his head. “No. Not this time.”

Namjoon’s couch was, perhaps, one of the rare places in the apartment where they hadn’t fucked before. The bed would have been more comfortable, of course, but once they got their hands on each other, relocating didn’t cross their minds.

He ended up beneath Namjoon, neither of them properly undressing in their rush to consummate. Seokjin was still wearing the white tank top he’d had under the zebra print shirt when Namjoon pushed inside him, and the cream shirt was thrown on the floor only when it was already damp with sweat.

“I forgot how good you feel,” he moaned when Namjoon was deep inside him, pressing against the most sensitive nerve-ends and sending mind-numbing pleasure throughout his body. Namjoon filled him so well, leaving no part of him unsatisfied.

A cushion went flying, the couch getting smeared with the leftovers of the lube sachet Seokjin had had on him. They didn’t care.

Namjoon kissed him wildly, fucking deep into him. Namjoon was perfect – oh god, he was perfect.

“Hyung?” he asked, breath catching in his throat as Namjoon licked over where his nipples were hard against the fabric of the tank top. The wet warmth of tongue and the scratching sensation of the fabric against the sensitive bud nearly made him weep. “Hyung,” he said again – lashes wet, ass stretched full, hips bucking restlessly. Desperate, lost – found, found. “Baby,” he managed, voice broken.

“Hmm?” Namjoon asked, sounding like anything that took him from his task of teasing Seokjin’s nipples was a distraction.

“Don’t stop,” he pleaded, biting back another moan as Namjoon hit his prostate perfectly.

“You about to come, baby?” Namjoon asked, kissing his collar bones, kissing him everywhere, constantly moving and filling him. “Already? They don’t know how to fuck you, do they?”

“Oh god, I—”

Namjoon’s hand twisted around his cock, and he cried out. Namjoon kissed his lips. “Let’s take our time, baby. We’ve got all night.” A not-so-gentle bite on his earlobe – another sensitive spot.

“I love you,” he said, half-delirious but meaning every syllable, surprising himself with how easily it slipped out. He’d been fucked plenty by dozens of men, without him ever having said or needing to say anything of the sort. “God, I really…”

Namjoon looked surprised, fingers smoothing over his cheek. “Honey…”

He pulled Namjoon closer to kiss him.

As Namjoon undid him on the living room couch, each thrust and kiss and touch sending him reeling, the feeling was so strong that he couldn’t deny it. He’d be bruised all over tomorrow, neither of them gentle – the sex was rushed and urgent and rough, and yet so intimate.

His hands slid down Namjoon’s broad back to his buttocks, and he pulled Namjoon in even more, fitting him tight between his spread legs. Namjoon kissed him deeply, thumb rubbing over the leaking slit of his cockhead, thrusts hard and precise.

“I love you,” he said again – the last coherent sentence he managed before coming undone, with Namjoon biting on his neck and pulling his hair.

Namjoon did a double loop around the 7-Eleven, trying to determine what would be an acceptable breakfast – or, technically, brunch at this hour. His hair was wet from a shower, and exhaustion clung onto him from having overexerted himself. He should be mindful of his age – less than a month and he’d be forty. Then again, he had a lover whose pace he needed to match.

He and Seokjin had not left the apartment once the day before, having ordered food to the door of 511 but otherwise staying in bed. Seokjin had even called in sick, fake coughing down the line to some guy called Kijung. Namjoon likely had a minimum of two dozen emails waiting for him too – and yet he’d stayed in bed, letting himself enjoy Seokjin’s sweet laughter and lingering kisses.

He was feeling stiff, which was to be expected, and he went to the counter with the small basket, having picked out too many things. “Ah, let me just get one more thing,” he said at the last second and soon returned with a bag of jellybeans.

The cashier froze slightly before picking up the bag and totalling his purchases, breaking into a knowing smile – although what she knew, he did not know.

“Have a very good day,” she said, handing him the bag.

“You too, Yunjin-nim.”

The woman looked startled.

He motioned at the nameplate attached to her uniform. “It’s right there,” he said by way of explanation, hopefully to make the point he hadn’t stalked her. Besides, they’d definitely talked about the weather at least a few times before.

“Oh,” Yunjin said, glancing down at her shirt. “So it is. Of course. Well. See you next time, Dr Kim.”

Now it was his time to flinch. How did she know his name? Was she a student of his? Maybe a former student…? He wasn’t sure but just nodded a goodbye.

At the gates of Riverside Complex, he ran into Caretaker Park minding the flowerbeds and wished him, too, to have a nice day.

Outside the doors of Building 104, he stopped to check his phone. It was twenty past eleven. Baku was five hours behind so… Twenty past six in the morning in Azerbaijan. Jeongwoon was a very early riser, meditating for fifteen minutes each morning.

He pushed a hand through his still wet hair, restless, but it was time.

He called him.

“Oh, Namjoon-ah,” Jeongwoon’s warm greeting came. “I tried calling you yesterday! Was starting to miss you.”

He felt like an asshole. He was one – why pretend he wasn’t? And because there was no good way to say it, he just said it. Maybe, he thought to himself as he rambled something apologetic to Jeongwoon, in another life Jeongwoon would have been it for him. A life in which he was more mature, perhaps, or less cock-hungry. Was that too crude?

But this was the truth: that even if Jeongwoon had been the poster boy of healthy open relationships, within weeks Namjoon would have tripped on an invisible cord and landed back in Seokjin’s bed.

The two didn’t compare in his heart.

“I’m not completely surprised you’ve come to this conclusion. I’ve had my doubts about us too,” Jeongwoon admitted, and Namjoon knew that they both had. Still, Jeongwoon sounded disappointed. They talked for a while longer, with him saying he’d wanted to talk in person, but he didn’t want to mislead Jeongwoon for weeks either. He was sorry – he thought Jeongwoon was a great person, truly.

After he’d explained all this, Jeongwoon asked, “So have you met someone else?”

He rubbed at his neck, shifting restlessly. He hadn’t mentioned Seokjin at all, but a chill went through him.

He thought, not without guilt, of what was waiting for him up on the fifth floor.

“…Yeah. Yeah, I have actually,” he admitted and, because the truth would only come out anyway, “you’ve met him. Seokjin – he lives next door to me.”

Jeongwoon’s silence felt scorching, and Namjoon knew everything that Jeongwoon was thinking right then because he’d thought all of it himself. What had Jeongwoon’s warning been? Don’t make a fool of yourself. Seokjin was young and beautiful, was sexy and flirty. The ideal. The unattainable.

When Namjoon was about to ask if Jeongwoon was still on the line, Jeongwoon said, “I hope you’re smart enough to see that a guy like that will get bored fast.”

He thought of Seokjin splayed out beneath him, moaning confessions of love into their kisses. ‘I love you…’ Had Seokjin meant it or only said it in the throes of passion? In any case, Seokjin hadn’t declared his love after that first night, leaving Namjoon a little unsure if he should bring it up or not. They’d been cuddling and fucking all of yesterday, however, laughing into each other’s mouths. Some things didn’t need to be said.

He squeezed the phone to his ear. “It’s a distinct possibility that he’ll dump me next week, yes.”

Jeongwoon sighed. “Well, don’t come running to me when he breaks your heart. That’s all.”

Then, Jeongwoon hung up on him.

The day was hot and humid, which added to the discomfort that filled him. He put his phone away, his conscience none the lighter.

When he walked into Unit 511, he did so slowly, making sure not to bang the door. As he got to the bedroom door, however, he saw that he needn’t have worried: Seokjin was still in his bed, buried under the duvet, fast asleep, black hair sticking out everywhere.

He exhaled, taking in a sight he could get used to.

Jeongwoon was right to be sceptical. Namjoon was too – his vision of them twenty years from now was foolishly romantic. For now, however, he had Seokjin’s devotion. He should ease them into this, avoid coming on too strong. Show Seokjin that this didn’t have to be some big, serious thing from the get-go. That way, perhaps, Seokjin could adjust.

Yes, that sounded like the way to do this.

But even as he told himself to keep his cool, standing in the doorway watching Seokjin sleep peacefully, he thought that Seokjin looked like he belonged right there in his bed, like a delicate and precious source of light.

He put the groceries away and then slipped back into bed. Seokjin stirred, did not wake, and pressed back into his arms.

I’m gonna kill him, Seokjin texted the group chat.

just wait and jungkook will do it for you, Jimin replied helpfully.

but why?? Taehyung asked before sending a picture of himself, Jimin and Jungkook posing with Yoongi and Hoseok in the middle of the dance floor of Club Temptation, with half-dressed men in animal outfits dancing around them. All five men were giving the camera finger hearts, except Yoongi who was offering a solid thumbs up. Mingyu took this after you two left – we said it’s the pre-wedding groomsmen picture!! and now you want to kill your husband-to-be already?? hasn’t it only been, what? three days?

not KILL kill him, he corrected although he wasn’t ruling that out just yet. everything was amazing but now he’s being distant and quiet and WEIRD, and also now that I am not distracted by his dick in me, I am pretty sure I told him after the club that I loved him and he HAS NOT EVEN ACKNOWLEDGED IT and fffffff what if he got the ick?? oh god I ruined it already, he’s regretting all of this

“Who are you messaging?” Namjoon said, glancing up from his laptop screen. Namjoon was sitting at his work desk as usual, sorting through job applications to KHU’s new research centre.

Seokjin had spent the last two nights in Namjoon’s bed, dropping by his own place only to pick up fresh clothes. Now, however, real life was calling, and he had to leave for his Old Flame shift soon. Could he come by that night too? Did Namjoon want him to go to his own bed?

Communication was key – he should just ask. He’d never dated anyone before.

But then he got nervous and tongue-tied and said nothing.

He remained sitting on the couch, feet tucked under him. “Just the guys, you know,” he said.

“Say hi for me,” Namjoon said, giving him a smile.

he says hi btw, like WHAT DOES THAT MEAN
if he’s changed his mind already I will really murder him

wait you really said you love him? Jimin asked.

Seokjin had, yes – because he did love him.

The looming rejection of that confession made him stand up and announce he was leaving for work.

Namjoon saw him to the door where he kissed him goodbye sweetly and deeply, which just confused him further. Even so, he loved the way Namjoon cupped his cheek and held the back of his neck when they kissed. He melted into it every single time.

Maybe he shouldn’t have confessed his feelings so soon. He wasn’t sure when was the right time – he’d never done this before! And, perhaps, after what Namjoon had told him about Sangwook, his onslaught of feelings was a turnoff for Namjoon the Commitment Phobe.

God, he’d screwed this up already. Fuck, fuck, f—

Namjoon pressed one final sweet kiss to his swollen lips and said, “I’ll see you tonight, alright? I mean, if you want to.”

If you want to…! Of course he fucking did! He wanted them to make love all night and then tell each other about their respective childhood traumas and plait each other’s hair and all that other shit people did when they’d just admitted their feelings to each other. Or half-admitted – seeing as Namjoon had given him nothing.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, I’ll message you when I finish,” he said, hoping to come across as cool rather than clingy.

Namjoon frowned slightly but then gave him that same, frustrating, unreadable smile. “Great.”

At Old Flame, Kijung was unprepared for his meltdown. “Teach me how to be straight, Kijung-ah,” he said, clasping the man’s hands between his own. “I’m so tired of men’s bullshit. Do you even know how I suffer? But women are so regal and majestic, and they always smell so nice. Maybe I could learn to love them?”

Kijung looked sympathetic. “I don’t think that’s how it works, hyung.”

“Ah, well, I gave it my best shot.”

“You sure did.”

When he closed up shop a little early, he messaged Namjoon like he’d promised – as if he hadn’t spent the last several hours obsessing over what to message him, with what emojis, and in what kind of tone. hey wrapping up soon – want to hang out?

A totally chill message to send a man he’d told that he loved! Unbothered! Moisturised! In his lane! Not at all overbearing!

God, he missed Namjoon already. If he didn’t get to fall asleep breathing in the scent of Namjoon’s skin, he’d likely cry. Everything felt so good when they were together – Namjoon had even let him spend a good ten minutes poking at his dimples the night before. It was so easy to be with him, and love was supposed to be easy.

sounds great, I’ll be back in two hours or so, Namjoon sent back.

He read the message, stunned. He was so close to unleashing Jungkook on this man.

cool no problem, he sent. Deep inhale. where are you

just getting to the sauna
I’ll come by your apartment when I get back

He read the message a few times just to make sure his reading comprehension skills were up to the task. Namjoon had gone to Steam Box. Already. A mere, what? Forty hours after Seokjin had confessed his love – after they’d fucked on the couch, and then in bed, and then exchanged friendly morning handjobs, and the list went on. Because what Namjoon was definitely missing in the past few days of his life was sex.

“What the actual fuck!” he yelled into the thankfully empty shop. He was heaving, furious. Okay, okay, stay calm – Namjoon had told him he didn’t want exclusivity. That was fine! He didn’t want that either – there were so many men he still intended to fuck! But couldn’t they do at least a single fucking week of exclusivity?!

He closed up shop and did not head home. Fuck home! Fuck this! Fuck Kim Namjoon!

He reached Steam Box in record time, paid for entry, and left his belongings in a locker. He scrubbed himself clean in the shower room, barely even looking at the naked men showering around him. He did not have time for suggestive glances and flirtatious ogling!

Namjoon had, he estimated, a half hour head start on him. If Namjoon was already in a playroom, he’d have to pinpoint him on the sound of his grunts alone.

He tied the small white towel around his waist and entered the dimly lit common room where Mamamoo was playing. No Namjoon in sight. He checked the jacuzzis – no luck – and the steam room – nothing, again. He was getting agitated.

When he walked into the sauna, however, he found Namjoon sitting on the highest bench, golden skin glistening with sweat. He must have been in the sauna for a good while to sweat that much. The white towel around his waist was tied but he was manspreading slightly, showing meaty inner thigh suggestively. There was a bruise there from their lovemaking.

God, Namjoon was gorgeous.

Namjoon had attracted admirers. To Namjoon’s left was Twink of the Week leaning towards Namjoon, making ‘come hither’ eyes at him. To Namjoon’s right was a more muscular guy, brushing his fingers down Namjoon’s arm. It was this man Namjoon was talking to, probably to figure out what kind of fucking he wanted.

Seokjin stopped in the middle of the sauna, looking up at this display, and ignored the handful of other men sitting in the small, heated room. He saw red.

“What the fuck!” he yelled loudly, breaking just about every rule Steam Box had. Everyone turned to look at him, including Namjoon. The suggestive smirk vanished from his face, surprise replacing it. Seokjin realised, to his horror, that he was about to have a meltdown in a gay bathhouse. No. He refused to. Refused to!

He steeled himself and pointed at the men in the sauna. “So, who are you fucking this time? Him? Or him? Or wait, everyone here?!”

Namjoon recovered quickly. “Seokjin-ah–”

“Excuse me, but who the hell are you?” the man who’d been touching Namjoon demanded with annoyance, like it was Seokjin who had done something wrong! This motherfuc–!

“Who the hell are you?” he asked in turn, sucking in a breath when the man placed a hand on Namjoon’s thigh. Someone to the side was snickering, saying to his friend that ‘a lovers’ quarrel happens every couple of months in this place’. “Can you please keep your hands off of him?” he asked, voice getting loud and shrill. Who the fuck was this asshole…!

“Are you together?” the man asked, looking at Namjoon doubtfully.

Namjoon, mouth hanging open, said nothing.

Seokjin bit on his bottom lip. “Yes! We are. Even if he’s too obtuse to admit it,” he said, hands curling into fists. He was glad he was too angry to cry. “I don’t care who you fuck, alright? I really don’t. But you need to tell me what the fuck we are before you do.”

He squared his shoulders, knowing he looked ridiculous, knowing that he was being humiliated, that he would be the laughingstock of this place for weeks to come. He didn’t care.

When Namjoon seemed too stunned to say anything, he said, “Fine! Fine, then! I guess I’ll go fuck everyone here too. Why not?”

He pushed the door open just as Namjoon called his name, but he didn’t stop – hearing, distantly, Namjoon rushing down to follow him.

He crossed the spa area, passing the men in the pools, each more gorgeous than the next, including that nice boy from Jeolla who he’d spoken to a few times. Right then, however, he didn’t care for any of them. He pushed through the door to the common area and was almost back to the shower rooms when Namjoon reached him, grabbing his arm and turning him around.

“Can you wait a—“

He pulled his arm free and shoved Namjoon back, hands pressing to the warm, slick skin of Namjoon’s chest and meeting Namjoon’s alarmed, confused stare.

He stared Namjoon down. “Just admit that you’re in love with me!”

He yelled this right there in the middle of the common room where each patron was staring at them with confusion and amusement. Namjoon’s alarm visibly doubled, and he bit back the urge to cry at last. He pulled off the towel and threw it at Namjoon. “Goddamn you!”

The white towel hit Namjoon’s chest and dropped at his feet.

Namjoon reached for him. “Wait—”

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted, pulling back from Namjoon’s grip a second time.

Namjoon held his hands up. “Okay, alright, I admit it. I admit it – are you listening? I’m in love with you.”

Someone whistled. Seokjin barely registered it.

Namjoon lowered his hands, something painful filling his eyes. “I’m in love with you. God, of course I am.”

Victory! God, here was victory!

“There! Was that so fucking hard?!” he asked and, instantly, tears started filling his eyes. No! Don’t cry at the bathhouse! Don’t– He sucked in a breath and wiped at his eyes, feeling happy and angry and overwhelmed and confused and relieved and overjoyed and– “You are?” he asked, voice small. He shifted his feet. “Because I can’t tell.”

“What? God, baby, of course I am,” Namjoon said, stepping closer and removing the towel he had on. Namjoon wrapped the towel around his waist instead, and he didn’t protest.

He let out a small laugh, however. “Everyone here has seen me naked.”

“Even so,” Namjoon said, smoothing up his arms, standing naked in the middle of the common room instead. Well, he had the ass for it. “I thought you’d want some time to yourself after we… It’s been an intense few days. I don’t want you to feel…”

“Trapped?” he guessed, wondering if Namjoon really was that goddamned stupid.

Namjoon hesitated but nodded.

His mind was spinning. Was that why Namjoon had gone to Steam Box? Because he’d thought Seokjin would think it burdensome for them to keep exploring what they had together first? Stupid! So stupid!

“For someone with a doctorate, you’re so fucking stupid.”

Namjoon brushed over his hair gently, nodding. “I’ll accept that. I told him yesterday, by the way – Jeongwoon. It’s done, and there’s just you now. If that’s what you want.”

“Of course it’s what I goddamn want. I want you, all the time.” He sucked in a breath, trembling.

Namjoon smiled, even if concern did not fully leave his warm gaze. “Finally a page we’re both on.”

He kissed Namjoon fiercely, making someone jeer while someone else clapped sarcastically. Seokjin had not known clapping could sound sarcastic until that moment, but he did not care. He kissed Namjoon again and again, managing to return to himself after perhaps a little mildly losing his shit.

The kiss broke, and Namjoon pressed a kiss to his forehead, still cupping the side of his face. “You want to go someplace and talk things out? And I mean really talk. Our communication could do with improving.”

Yeah, no fucking shit.

He nodded, and Namjoon kissed him again before taking a hold of his hand and leading him to the showers.

Namjoon was still holding his hand when they nearly walked into a tall, muscular, first male lead in a kdrama looking guy at the door of the locker rooms. The man was like an apparition of dripping sex appeal in his white little towel.

The man halted, too, eyes roaming on them – pausing on their clasped hands for a few seconds. “Well hi, you two,” he said, smirking. He nodded in the opposite direction. “Playrooms are that way, boys. Want me to, ah, show you?”

Seokjin lost his breath. The man was propositioning them. Them!

“My god, he’s hot,” he managed in a stage whisper that made this god of a man grin. His locker key was on his left ankle to signal vers – oh, the options were endless.

Namjoon seemed to be at a slight loss for words, taking in the man’s perfect physique. “Wow, he’s really, uh… fucking perfect.”

Seokjin’s mouth ran dry, mind going through the different scenarios – fuck it, let’s get to it, you don’t see men like him often, who needs to go talk somewhere about their feelings? Not them! – but then, like a grounding anchor, he became aware of Namjoon’s warm hand still holding his own.

“Sorry, uh, we’ve got our hands full right now,” he said, casting an unsure but hopeful look at Namjoon. “But, er… threesomes are next week?”

Namjoon’s dark eyes lingered on the man as he nodded. Okay, good. They both thought that sounded fair.

“Well,” This God Among Men said, walking past them, fingers brushing both of their shoulders. “Guess I have a reason to come back next week, then.”

Seokjin watched the man walk away with him casting one, final inviting look over his shoulder. Seokjin had never struggled attracting men as a solo show but knew that a guy that attractive would still weigh his options before approaching him. Now, as a couple? The guy hadn’t wasted a second.

Oh god.

“We’re about to have the hottest fucking sex life,” he said, completely awed. “My god. We’re so powerful.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, tugging him along – pressing a kiss to his hair. “Let me treat you to dinner before we start making such grand plans.”

The neighbourhood was bathed in evening sunlight as they left the sauna, distant birdsong from a nearby park mixing with the sound of traffic. Namjoon reached for his hand, their fingers slotting together. Seokjin had never held hands with anyone before.

Together, they walked to the end of the street and turned right.

Caretaker Park’s years of employment had taught him the art of handling resident registrations. There was a form that residents had to fill out, and he would then file it on their behalf.

When Kim Seokjin dropped by a little before Christmas to say he was moving out of Unit 510, Caretaker Park felt a sense of loss that he experienced whenever a resident that he liked was leaving. “Here’s the form,” he said nevertheless.

Seokjin stood in his small office, eyes flying over the form quickly. “Okay, great. And can I have a second one to register moving in?”

“I’m sorry?”

“To 511. I’m just changing apartments, you see.”

He was startled but gave Seokjin a second form. So Dr Kim was leaving, was he? Perhaps moving closer to KHU? They all knew that Dr Kim was a big shot at this university now.

He ran into Dr Kim that afternoon in the basement parking hall of Building 104. “So I heard you’re moving,” he said mournfully. He should learn not to get attached to residents like this! But ah, what could he do? He had an old man’s heart.

Dr Kim, however, frowned. “Not at all. Who told you that?”

“Well, er. Mr Kim of 510 said he is moving into your apartment.”

Dr Kim laughed. “Ah, that! Yes, yes he is. We will share the apartment.”

“Oh? But…”

“Now, have a good day, Caretaker Park.” Dr Kim bowed politely and went on his way.

Well!

Well, well, well. This confused him thoroughly. 510 and 511 were same-sized units. Where on earth would Seokjin sleep? There just wasn’t the space for two bedrooms! Were the men experiencing financial trouble? But Dr Kim was a director at KHU, which he imagined was well paid. But, he supposed, the cost of living was on the rise these days.

It snowed gently that evening, and his footsteps left trails on the pavement as he went to 7-Eleven after finishing work. He bought a coffee and, despite the cold, went to sit on the bench outside to drink it, watching the glimmer of the apartment buildings rising around him and the evening traffic slowly moving along. His breath rose in the air, mixing with the steam from his drink.

The bell above the shop door rang, and Yunjin stepped outside wrapped up in a duffel coat. “Caretaker Park, aren’t you cold?” she asked even as she sat down beside him, likewise holding a cup of coffee.

“Not me, no. I enjoy the chill,” he said, smiling at the girl. Anyone younger than fifty was a child in his eyes. “I’ve had the most confusing day.”

“Oh? What is it?” Yunjin asked, helpful as always.

Yunjin was soon quitting her job at the 7-Eleven; she was starting a matchmaking service. He approved of this – very traditional work! But he would miss their little chats. Aish, this was all too much change for an old man like him.

“Mr Kim of 510 in 104 is moving out and moving into 511 of 104. But, and this is the oddest thing, Dr Kim of 511 isn’t moving out! He’s staying put. They’re sharing the apartment, he told me. Now, what do you make of that? Isn’t it terribly odd? I suppose they might have debts to pay off.”

Yunjin laughed, covering her mouth.

“What? What’s so funny about that?”

“Nothing at all,” Yunjin assured him, linking arms with him and patting his forearm. She reminded him of his granddaughters who lived in the US – he hoped they’d come visit him in the new year.

“Well? What do you make of it?”

“Such things happen sometimes. People finding each other and realising that the other has what they need. The unlikeliest of people sometimes – the person you least expect. And then, suddenly, they’re all you need.”

“Is that what it is?”

Yunjin looked down the street, snowflakes decorating her black hair. “Oh I know so. I just know so.”