041121. namjoon & seokjin.

[lovestrippedbare]

SPRING.
April 11, 2021.

WHO namjoon & seokjin
WHAT rinse and repeat

WHERE gas station
TIMELINE cycle 1/2

CYCLE 1-A



SEOKJIN The gas station is out of his way. It's been two years. He shouldn't have driven here but the second he'd turned the ignition, Seokjin's mind had gone strangely blank, already rattled from his chance encounter that morning when he saw Jungkook in front of the school. It's a sensation he's become accustomed to, the shutting down of his mind as he goes from place to place. The car rumbles to life and he drives.

Seokjin meant to go...well. He doesn't really remember where he meant to go. His mind tuned out and autopilot kicked in and he'd driven to a place that was once his first port of call. In two years, the station has barely changed. It looks smaller, feels dingier, but it's almost exactly the place that is preserved in his memories. He pulls up and the manager's son comes out and Seokjin has to kick around in his own memory for a few minutes before he recalls the guy's name. Jiho. Seokjin can't remember a time when Jiho was the one to pump gas for him.

He'd always waited for Namjoon.

Jiho trips over a bucket, cursing, and Seokjin ducks his head and tries not to smile. That much hasn't changed at least. He doesn't expect Jiho to recognize him. If he does, Jiho remains totally polite as he pumps gas. Only a quarter tank, because when Seokjin had started the car this morning, he hadn't really been planning to come here.

In his sideview mirror, Seokjin sees a flash of movement. Familiar broad shoulders, the curve of a cheekbone he memorized with his fingertips. He freezes, afraid to turn back and look. It's Namjoon. It can't be Namjoon. How could he have disappeared for so many months and then reappear here, gone back to doing the same job, still wearing the same snapbacks and jacket. It's him. It can't be him. His ears ring to the exclusion of all other sound until Jiho's voice startles him again. "Sir. Did you need anything else?"

Seokjin's throat constricts but he shakes his head. "No. Thank you, I'm good." He pays in cash and tips too generously. He drives away with his heart in his throat.



NAMJOON "Shit! Who left this here? Fucking... now I gotta..."

Jiho's cursing breaks Namjoon out of a haze, but only slightly. Enough for him to see that he was ending a transaction with a customer, in the middle of thanking them and wishing them a good evening. He didn't control these actions anymore, really. Namjoon knew how to do his job, so the him in his head didn't need to be there for it. Sometimes he watches as he goes about his routine, sometimes he doesnt. It didn't really matter where he was. it hadn't mattered in a long time.

The woman in the car smiles at him and drives away, giving Namjoon a little time to look in Jiho's direction, making sure nothing too exciting happened.

It was nothing, though. Nothing that needed Namjoon's attention. Of course. As usual.

He retreats back into the fog, letting himself return to autopilot, but something catches him as he does. The truck Jiho was servicing. Namjoon knows that truck exactly. He didn't see who was driving it before his body turned and greeted a new customer, but who else would it be? Only Seokjin would be driving Seokjin's truck.

He could be imagining it, he thinks, somewhere far back in a safe corner of his mind. When was the last time he's even seen it? Does he even truly remember what it looks like? With his eyes away from it now, he's not sure anymore. Namjoon is talking to a man in an expensive car that smells too much like expensive cologne and the him in his mind isn't sure he wants to look back to check.

Because what if it's him?

The implications and eventualities and all the things Namjoon would have to face crash down on him at once and he has to push them away so that his body can go about its work. He has to push them away because he's terrified, horrified of them. He doesn't want to know if it's him. It isn't. It can't be. Please just... please don't be him.

The truck that isn't Seokjin's leaves the station and Namjoon catches a glimpse of the driver, not that he was trying to. Feelings he desperately didn't want to have reach out through the fog and no, no, no, this isn't happening, he didn't see you, he doesn't think that you

"Hey, you clumsy fuck! Do you know how much this car costs? What? Don't look at me like that, I didn't do anything, you're the one who's going to have to pay for this!"





CYCLE 1-B



NAMJOON Namjoon doesn't pay much attention to what he does at work anymore. He doesn't pay much attention to many things anymore, and that was okay with him. He was free from the burden of thinking when he was working, and not thinking made it easier to work.

If he were to slip up, start thinking at work, he would be a much angrier person; someone unpleasant and unfit for customer service, for certain. It wasn't that he was frustrated at the people who came into the station night after night; they were just living their lives around him, and he was just an inconsequential blip on their radar. It wasn't their fault he had to cater to them. If anything, the person he was frustrated with was himself. He was the one in this situation, and he was the one who was too useless to manage to take a simple escape route. He had followed all the instructions, so why

The fog is a good safety mechanism. It knows when to come, rolling in and across his mind to save him from being pulled into an abyss. He takes the out now, as his attachment to his thoughts dissolve. The next thing he knows, Namjoon finds that he's now ending a transaction with a customer, in the middle of thanking them and wishing them a good evening. The woman in the car smiles at him and drives away, leaving Namjoon to watch himself turn towards the next vehicle that drives up to him.



SEOKJIN Seokjin doesn't really remember how he got here. Probably, that should bother him, but lately so much of his life has been a haze. His whole day has felt off, ever since he woke up from a strange dream. He can't remember what he dreamed but it left him feeling unsettled and that, in turn, had reminded him of another night after a bad dream years ago. That time, he'd woken up and felt safe because of someone's arms around him.

This morning, as he has for the last two years, he woke up alone.

Autopilot took him here to the gas station and he wishes it hadn't, but he's already pulled into the line and the social pressure of not wanting to seem weird keeps him there even though his tank is three-quarters full. It really hasn't changed much, down to the manager's son–Jihoon? No, Jiho–still working there.

He almost doesn't hear Jiho ask, "All done. How would you like to pay?" Jin's eyes slide over his sideview mirror and he sees a familiar profile, one he'd once memorized and known perfectly.

"Sir?"



NAMJOON Something moves beside Namjoon's face and it brings him somewhat back to presence because the routine was off. He had serviced the expensive car that smelled too much like expensive cologne, and he sees now, his hand outstretched for money, but the man had tossed it out the window at him. He watches it brush past his cheek and drop to the ground. Distantly, he hears a dry, cruel laugh.

"Well, what are you doing, staring at it? Pick it up."

Namjoon's eyes linger on the man for a moment much longer than he should. Through the fog, he wonders what kind of asshole this guy is at home, how he must pretend to be cool to his co-workers. But ultimately, the man was right. This is Namjoon's job, and Namjoon has to pick up whatever junk gets thrown out the window at him.

He turns, and freezes midway. The truck Jiho was servicing. Namjoon knows that truck exactly. He can't see who is driving it, but who else would it be? Only Seokjin would be driving Seokjin's truck. And he's not imagining it.

His eyes drift down to the crumpled up bills on the ground. Chances are that Seokjin had seen him, that he's watching him now. Even if he wasn't, even if it wasn't Seokjin in the truck, he can't help but wonder what Seokjin would think of him. Hiding from the world in a train car pretending to be an apartment, working for some small, crumpled up bills he has to pick up off the ground whenever some rich bastard feels like fucking around with someone inconsequential.

There's no soft, warm beds here. No expensive apartment they have all to themselves. No excess of warm, cooked food with many side dishes that they can throw out if there's too many leftovers. There's no smiles across the table at each other because that only could happen when they knew had everything they needed, and didn't lack in any way. He doesn't mean to, but he imagines Seokjin in an expensive truck that smells too much like expensive cologne, watching Namjoon with disgust as he waits for him to pick up trash he's thrown on the ground.

"Are you stupid? Hello, are you there? I said pick it up!"

Namjoon swallows hard, turning perhaps a little too fiercely, a hand reaching out for the cash - because really, he is lacking in every way, and he does need the money. His eyes defocus as he lets himself dissolve into the fog again. It's the only way he can make himself do it, with Seokjin there.

"Hey, you clumsy fuck! Do you know how much this car costs?"

It takes Namjoon more than a second to realize what happened, turning back around to see that he had hit the man's side mirror with his elbow, but he can't find it in him to care. Some part of him knows he should be horrified. Something like this could get him in real trouble with his boss, but the fog is up now and these feelings don't reach through. He just looks at the man, thinking about Seokjin, remembering that Namjoon had always, always been worthless alongside him. And even when he wasn't alongside him.

"What? Don't look at me like that, I didn't do anything, you're the one who's going to have to pay for this!"

The man gets out of the car, chest puffed out in his expensive suit like he's supposed to be big, intimidating. Fist in the air like he's threatening to physically deal with this useless attendant he's disgusted to even look at. Namjoon doesn't feel intimidated, though. He feels something but it's hard to tell with how distant everything is. The money on the ground is so far away. Seokjin in Seokjin's truck is so, so far away.

With his face an empty, blank mask, he takes a step towards the man, wanting to see if he'll hit him.



SEOKJIN Namjoon turns away to deal with his customer and not seeing his face makes it so much easier for Seokjin to invent excuses. He's working. He left. He probably doesn't care about Seokjin anymore. Why should he say hi to Namjoon anyway? Isn't he the one who left without a word? On and on and on, they tumble through his head as he drives forward down an empty street. Free of that gas station, the bubble of association that surrounds it, Seokjin's thoughts drift and the excuses quickly turn stale.

I should've said hi to Namjoon, he thinks, letting his real desires surface if only in the privacy of his own mind. I wonder how they're all doing. Do the others know Namjoon is back in town? Maybe that means Yoongi is around too. Maybe he found Jungkook. Maybe, if he'd been a better friend, Seokjin would already know these things. He'd done his best to keep up with the remaining four but coordinating video chats and time zones around everyone's schedules had only gotten harder as the school years progressed. Now he can't remember the last time he even sent a text.

Probably for the best. They don't need him making their lives worse.

He hears the thud, feels himself slam the brakes, watches the cracking of the glass of his windshield. Every part of him reacts except for his mind, which can barely process what's happened. There's a person on his car. A person that fell hard enough to shatter glass.

Which means that's no longer a person. It's a body.

A body with a pale, bloodied face and eyes wide open in death. A face that Seokjin knows. He saw that face this very morning, probably on the way to one of his last few months of classes. Jungkook. Jungkook's body is on his car. Jungkook is dead. Jungkook...Jungkook...Jung...

Seokjin's heart pounds and he thinks maybe he's dying too. His vision frays, clouding what he can see, the way it always used to in tense situations. People are surrounding him, the car, the body. Someone is telling him to do something. Seokjin hunches over himself as his vision goes blurry and everything appears to fracture.




CYCLE 1-C



NAMJOON Namjoon doesn't pay much attention to what he does at work anymore. He doesn't pay much attention to many things anymore, and that was okay with him. He was free from the burden of thinking when he was working, and not thinking made it easier to work.

Because, if he were to start thinking, he'd start wondering what he was doing with his life; a life some part of him stubbornly clings to for reasons he couldn't find. "You must survive." Yeah, but for how long?

If he was thinking, he'd start wondering how long he could do this for, alone, scraping by. How long until he's taken by something small, because he can't take care of himself? He had gotten a cold that had lasted all winter, a cut that feels like it is going to get badly infected if he doesn't do anything about it.

And he's not going to do anything about it.

The fog is a good safety mechanism. It knows when to come, rolling in and across his mind to save him from being pulled into an abyss. He takes the out now, as his attachment to his thoughts dissolve. The next thing he knows, Namjoon finds that he's now ending a transaction with a customer, in the middle of thanking them and wishing them a good evening. The woman in the car smiles at him and drives away, leaving Namjoon to watch himself turn towards the next vehicle that drives up to him.

It's an expensive car that smells too much like expensive cologne.



SEOKJIN When he woke up this morning, Seokjin had been curled halfway into a ball. His hand had been clenched around nothing and he'd had to force himself to flex and relax his fingers as he tried to shake off. Everything had felt muzzy, his throat dry like he'd been screaming. As usual, Seokjin didn't remember his dreams but it must have been bad. He tries not to let himself think about the night he woke up from a nightmare with someone to put arms around him and soothe the bad dreams away with kisses.

It must have been about his friends, because he hunts through his suitcase and boxes until he finds them. A stack of instant photos from a frigid December day, protected by a dingy white bear.

He blames that train of thought for bringing him to an old, familiar gas station. It's so unchanged that when he sees Namjoon walk out, Seokjin is half-convinced he's making it up. But no, it really is Namjoon. It's only been two years but he looks changed in a hundred tiny ways. More mature. Tired. In his memory, Namjoon is unchanged, less burdened. This is real. His eyes linger on Namjoon too long and Jiho has to repeat his question to move him along. The exit is this way sir.



NAMJOON "Well, what are you doing, staring at it? Pick it up. Are you stupid? Hello, are you there? I said pick it up!"

There's too much new information for Namjoon to handle in the state he's in, and it all manages to cancel out any action, leaving him standing there, staring at the crumpled bills on the ground. He should pick it up, like the man said. It's his job to pick up whatever junk gets thrown out the window at him.

But Seokjin's truck was there, he's not imagining it, and only Seokjin would be driving Seokjin's truck.

Has he noticed him? It's likely. Would he be watching now? Will he see Namjoon being bossed around by this person and realize what he should have realized all along? He doesn't mean to, but he imagines Seokjin in an expensive truck, watching Namjoon with disgust as he waits for him to pick up trash he's thrown on the ground.

He turns away, in the end, putting his back to Seokjin and Seokjin's truck. His eyes defocus as he lets himself dissolve into the fog again. It's the only way he can make himself reach out for the cash on the ground, with Seokjin there. He must know, by now, after all this time, all the silence, and after seeing Namjoon here. He must know that it's not worth it. He's not worth it.

"Hey, you clumsy fuck! Do you know how much this car costs?"



SEOKJIN I feel like I'm forgetting something important. The sense nags at him as he pulls away from the gas station, trying not to hunt for the shape of Namjoon as the building gets smaller and smaller in his rearview. He shouldn't have come here, hadn't meant to. Seeing Jungkook this morning had thrown him off badly and now he's making it worse. Still, the sense of forgetting keeps poking at his thoughts and Seokjin pulls over by a convenience store. A can of coffee and a snack will hopefully set him right.

Once again, he asks himself what it is he can't remember. He's so lost in his thoughts that he almost doesn't hear the thud behind him.

Somehow, horribly, Seokjin knows what he's seeing before he even gets a full look at the person–the body–in front of him. Jungkook, blood, the world shattering around him.

Am I too late?




CYCLE 2



NAMJOON "Shit! Who left this here! Fucking..."

Jiho's cursing barely reaches Namjoon through the fog. He doesn't react to it. He doesn't look over towards him. He doesn't see the car he's servicing nearby. The voice only serves to bring Namjoon to the point where he is vaguely aware that he is in the middle of ending a transaction with a customer, thanking them and wishing them a good evening. It's business as usual, and Namjoon doesn't want to pay attention to it. Namjoon wants to hide in the back dark corners of his mind, where nothing can trigger any thoughts. Thoughts were dangerous nowadays.

Thoughts about how hungry he was, and how the cut on his hand burns in a way that cuts that are healing normally shouldn't. Thoughts about how his mistakes had brought him to the point of no return. Thoughts like how insignificant he was to the people he interacts with. Thoughts about how, perhaps there was still a way out of all this.

The fog is a good safety mechanism. It knows when to come rolling in and across his mind to save him from being pulled into an abyss. The woman in the car smiles at Namjoon and drives away. He can feel himself smile back, but, is it a smile? Hopefully it's something that looks like a smile.

His face falls the moment he doesn't need it anymore - smiling takes a lot of energy - and he rests comfortably in his fog, watching himself turn towards the next vehicle that drives up to him.



SEOKJIN When he wakes up this time, for his fourth April 11, he remembers everything. So many terrible things are going to happen today unless he acts on the knowledge he has. When he gets into the car, he only has half a plan, still strung along by his own autopilot as much as the goal of getting to Namjoon. The closer he gets, the more butterflies he feels in his stomach, no matter how much he chastises himself. He has to focus on saving their lives, not on reminiscing about a relationship that met its abrupt end two years ago. As he turns a corner, Seokjin forces himself to contemplate the reality that he means nothing to Namjoon anymore. And that's okay. This isn't about him.

He arrives at the gas station and then waits, counting the cars in line and then calculating when to pull forward so that he's in Namjoon's queue instead of Jiho's. Simple enough. He takes a deep breath and puts on his neutral smile, pulls forward.

There's a second of giddy excitement mixed with absolute dread as Namjoon's face appears on the other side of the glass. Seokjin briefly entertains the thought of driving away to live with his guilt but he knows he can't. Hand trembling, he presses the down button for the window.

"Namjoon, it's been a while."



NAMJOON With all of his comfort in routine and familiarity and the allowance to live on autopilot, this situation was exactly the opposite of what Namjoon had been expecting tonight.

"Jinnie! Ah. H-hyung."

His eyes dart to one side, suddenly concerned that Jiho was within hearing range of his uncontrolled exclamation. He sees him with a customer, quickly glancing up towards Namjoon and flashing a confused thumbs up before Namjoon nods and he goes back to his business.

When Namjoon looks back, Seokjin is still there. He's dreaming. He must be. It feels like he is. Sort of. His thoughts feel shattered, split between a foggy haze and hyper aware of reality. Stuck in the area between asleep and awake. It's Seokjin, here, in Seokjin's truck, in front of him, and Namjoon's face gets hot and his stomach twists and he's forgotten how to breathe.

But he really should say something.

"I... Hi. I mean... Yeah, it has. Been a while."

He knows. The thought takes over, suddenly, unbidden. A chill runs down his spine as Namjoon considers - no, believes at least for the moment - that Seokjin knows exactly how long Namjoon has been back for, how long he's been hiding for, and has come to confront him about it like he's always feared.

But that's not right. Right? Seokjin was away too. Or, had been. Right?

Namjoon has no idea what his face looks like while he scrambles to grab scattered pieces of thoughts and ideas and put them together in some sort of coherent manner.

"I heard that you went to... You're back?"



SEOKJIN And this is roughly as far as he'd gotten in the plan. He hadn't expected to hear that nickname again, nor for his heart to constrict. Namjoon looks confused but not angry, but so very worn down. It was one thing, seeing it in the mirror of his car. It's another to look Namjoon in the eye and see how tired he must be. There are hollows under his eyes and his cheekbones seem a little to sharp and Seokjin wishes he had permission to care for him the way he used to, calling friends together, making a meal.

The moment passes for too long and they stare at each other before they finally remember how to speak.

"I just got back," he says. "Last night. I have an internship." It's been two years, so much has changed, but it's Namjoon and Seokjin lets his guard down and scrunches up his face, letting Namjoon see just how much he's looking forward to working in his father's office.

Smiling, letting himself hope, Jin glances over his shoulder at the line or lack of it. "If I pull off and park, is it okay if I stay while it's not busy?"



NAMJOON Seokjin isn't angry at him. He's only gotten back yesterday. He doesn't know. He's not angry. Why isn't he angry?

Namjoon's eyes drift across Seokjin's face, remembering all of the shapes and curves of it, the little expressions he makes while he speaks. It's really him. Namjoon can feel himself splitting on the inside. Half of him wanting to reach out, to touch, to connect with someone important to him for the first time in so, so long, after all this time of being isolated. The other half wants to burn on the spot.

A quick, sharp honk of a horn breaks him from his contemplation. An expensive car pulls up into the empty space Jiho had been working in.

"Joon-ah! I'm sorry, can you..?" Jiho calls from behind one of the pumps, gesturing to the mess he had made earlier and was now trying to clean up. Namjoon waves at him before turning back to Seokjin.

"Um, yeah sorry, I've gotta... It'll be quick, and, yeah. Yeah, you can stay. Sorry. I'll be quick."

He still can't seem to orient his mind, even when he tries to sink back into work mode, jogging over to the car that was waiting, noticing the smell of expensive cologne.



SEOKJIN Namjoon stares at him like a passage in a book that has to be read multiple times before understanding and Seokjin can't remember the last time anyone looked at him that closely. At school, he's made a point of being part of the crowd. Though he has friends, he keeps all of them at a distance if only because he knows they'll never measure of to the friends he's missed for so long.

The honk of the car behind him makes Jin startle along with Namjoon and then his heart starts pounding. In his rearview, he can see the car and can't help his immediate judgments. That vehicle is the kind of ostentatious piece of money that someone only enjoys having to show off and inconvenience others. Not that his truck is much more subtle, but Seokjin thinks he at least has enough dignity not to flaunt it.

"I'll park," he agrees, pulling off into one of the very few spots outside the convenience shop. As he gets out, he nods at Jiho, though there's no flash of recognition.



NAMJOON Namjoon's thoughts are a mess as he works on the next car. It's hard to do this, when he's gotten so used to working without paying attention. Seokjin came back from America and just showed up to see him, as if it was a casual visit. As if Namjoon didn't leave him without a word. He manages to keep himself relatively calm, though, trying not to think about the things he will have to own up to when he's done here. Thankfully, his hands find familiar motion, and the familiar fog comes rolling back in, returning Namjoon to safe thoughtlessness.

Something moves beside Namjoon's face and it brings him somewhat back to presence because the routine was off. He had finished with the car and he sees now, his hand outstretched for money, but the man had tossed it out the window at him. He watches it brush past his cheek and drop to the ground. Distantly, he hears a dry, cruel laugh.

"Well, what are you doing, staring at it? Pick it up."

Namjoon's eyes linger on the man for a moment much longer than he should. Through the fog, he wonders what kind of asshole this guy is at home, how he must pretend to be cool to his co-workers. But ultimately, the man was right. This is Namjoon's job, and Namjoon has to pick up whatever junk gets thrown out the window at him.

His eyes drift down to the crumpled up bills on the ground. Cold, shameful chills creep down his neck, knowing he was being watched by more than one person. He can't help but wonder what Seokjin is thinking of him. A shadow of his former self, hiding in a train car, working for some small, crumpled up bills he has to pick up off the ground whenever some rich bastard feels like fucking around with someone inconsequential.

There's no soft, warm beds here. No expensive apartment they have all to themselves. There's no smiles across the table at each other because that only could happen when they knew had everything they needed, and didn't lack in any way. He doesn't mean to, but he imagines Seokjin in an expensive truck, watching Namjoon with disgust as he waits for him to pick up trash he's thrown on the ground.

"Are you stupid? Hello, are you there? I said pick it up!"

Namjoon swallows hard, turning perhaps a little too fiercely, a hand reaching out for the cash - because really, he is lacking in every way, and he does need the money. His eyes defocus as he lets himself dissolve into the fog again. It's the only way he can make himself do it, with Seokjin there.

"Hey, you clumsy fuck! Do you know how much this car costs?"

It takes Namjoon more than a second to realize what happened, but he can't find it in himself to care. There were too many different emotions crackling through him, and it was too much, too quickly. He hadn't been ready for it after so long simply drifting and it all served to cancel out, burning his nerves, becoming numb to anything new. He just looks at the man, thinking about Seokjin, remembering that Namjoon had always, always been worthless alongside him. And even when he wasn't alongside him. Namjoon had never been worth anyone's time. If Seokjin didn't know that then, he surely will now.

"What? Don't look at me like that, I didn't do anything, you're the one who's going to have to pay for this!"

The man gets out of the car, chest puffed out in his expensive suit like he's supposed to be big, intimidating. Fist in the air like he's threatening to physically deal with this useless attendant he's disgusted to even look at, and Namjoon accepts it.



SEOKJIN The moment comes. Seokjin has replayed the conversation from the detention center so many times, imagined how it went, but this customer turns his stomach. With his expensive, ostentatious car and expensive, overbearing cologne, there's no way he isn't trying to throw his weight around, probably determined to hide shortcomings in manners, looks, or class. He treats Namjoon like a scuff on his designer sneakers and Seokjin hates him immediately. It takes a lot to reach into his jacket and pull out money rather than curl his hands into fists, to lay into that guy before Namjoon does.

The customer is begging for a fist in his expensive sunglasses but Seokjin reminds himself that there's a plan and that plan involves not getting anyone thrown in jail. He waits a beat longer before stepping between Namjoon and the other guy, holding out the cash. The customer sneers, asks who the fuck Seokjin is, and there's a second when he's tempted to flex his wealth, his father's company, just to watch him crumble. But he's always hated that. He's always hated outright claiming to be a chaebol.

"Take this and leave," he says. Pointedly, he looks away from the other man, using every rehearsal of every acting class he's taken over two years to convey his utter contempt. He looks at Namjoon, face softening in apology. Seokjin already knows that this will offend his pride and he can't even explain why he's doing this, not in a way that will make this seem justified.

"You're worth ten of him. Don't stoop to his level."



NAMJOON He's about to take a step forward, to see if the man really will hit him, but suddenly, Seokjin is there. Namjoon's distant gaze slowly returns, and it's the back of Seokjin's head he sees, his shoulders, his arms that reach toward the man, his hands that... pay him.

Namjoon's face is still blank when Seokjin turns towards him, except for the angry tension around his eyes that he means to direct towards the customer, but Seokjin is in the way. He shifts a little to one foot, wanting a peek at the expression of the man as he, clearly defused, tries to figure out what to do.

"No, you're not worth anywhere near this much," he says, raising the bills with one hand so Namjoon could get a look at it all. "You're not even worth that much." He points to the money on the ground a few feet away. Namjoon's eyes dart to it, and then back, taking a half step forward in response but Seokjin is still in the way and all he can do is glare as he watches the expensive man get into his expensive car and speed off, as if being chased.

It's suddenly too hot. Namjoon feels a sickening fire in the pit of his stomach, only growing while under Seokjin's eyes that he can't meet. It was harder to tell in high school, because they all lived the same life, under the same roof for so long. Even with the apartment and the truck and everything else, it was enough that Namjoon often forgot.

Forgot that Seokjin was one of them.

"You didn't have to do that." His voice feels like gravel, like sharp stones grinding together in his throat. Much like the way Seokjin turned away from the man, though he doesn't think of it this way, Namjoon sharply turns away from Seokjin, stepping over the discarded bills that still laid on the ground. He tells himself that he's going to clean something up at Jiho's pump, but he's not sure what he's doing, just knowing that he needs to do something with this angry energy that wasn't directed at his friend.



SEOKJIN There's fury in Namjoon's eyes and Seokjin isn't sure if it's meant for the customer or for him. His back to the stranger, Seokjin lets his expression wilt into resignation. Whatever they are to one another now, whatever they were, Seokjin knows that Namjoon's one ironclad rule has never changed. This, above anything else, had been forbidden and now he's casually thrown money at Namjoon's problems like the bills mean nothing to him.

If he put on sunglasses now, would he look all that different from the man behind him? Just another rich asshole.

The car speeds away and all of Seokjin's confidence follows with it. His shoulders slump and he tries to look at Namjoon but his eyes find the pavement instead. "He would probably have pressed charges," he says, like it's speculative instead of a horrible truth he's doing everything he can to avert.

A Namjoon who hates him but is safe is better than a Namjoon sitting in a cell.



NAMJOON This wasn't the reunion Namjoon had imagined, back when he was Namjoon, and when a reunion seemed within the realm of possibility. He finds himself praying for the fog to come back so he doesn't have to feel this anger in his limbs, this cold shame down his spine, but reality is stubbornly persistent right now and everything hurts and he hates it.

Muscles still more tense than they should be, Namjoon finds a few paper towels to throw out for Jiho while he deals with the one remaining car in the station, but other than that, there's nothing to do. For once, he finds this frustrating. For once, Namjoon wants there to be some sort of work, some place for him to be, something to occupy his hands with. But there was nothing, so he balls fists into his pockets, turning back towards Seokjin, though still not meeting his eyes.

"Pressed charges for what? I didn't do anything." Namjoon scans the station, as if there was still something for him to do.

He hates the tone of his own voice, doesn't like being short like this with someone he's loved. Loves? Well, it doesn't matter which, and there's no way he's about to investigate. Seokjin had loved him too and he knew better than anyone. He knew. He knew, but he did it anyways.

His eyes drift to the street, to the myriad of cars speeding by, wondering if there was an easy way to make this feeling stop.

"I don't think he was actually gonna hit me. What an asshole."



SEOKJIN "If you didn't hit him, I probably would have." Seokjin tries to crack a smile but it all feels so hollow. This isn't how things should be. In the back of his mind, he's ticking through the minutes. Jungkook from the rooftop. Yoongi. He needs to find them too but he also can't walk away from Namjoon. No matter how many times Seokjin tells himself that his own feelings don't matter, it still stabs right into his heart to see the wall coming down between them.

"I didn't want to get you in trouble." It's a weak explanation that probably just twists the knife a little further. "I just wanted to make him leave."

He wants to ask Namjoon not to hate him. Like it's even a question. Seokjin can't think of a truer betrayal of everything they once had than using money the way he just did.

He should just go...



NAMJOON "I know."

He can feel his face soften a little. The hatred and embarrassment and shame combine to form a solid weight that drops into his stomach as Namjoon becomes more resigned to the situation. He knows there were only good intentions in Seokjin's actions, that Namjoon's frustration about this came from his own meaningless personal hangups, but it doesn't make it go away. He finds himself almost wishing Seokjin hadn't come by tonight. At least then, Namjoon would have been shamed without these eyes on him. At least then he could move on, pretending it never happened. But now Seokjin knows. He knows what he should have known years ago.

Namjoon finds that he's able to look at him now, with eyes that have a little less anger behind them. He considers trying to push past it, like he would on his own, asking Seokjin something about being overseas or... something else. But he can only maintain eye contact for a few seconds before he remembers the way he had left him without warning. Then his eyes accidentally land on the crumpled up bills still laying on the ground and, yes, nevermind, the frustration comes back.

"He was right, though. That guy. So you didn't have to spend all that money on me."



SEOKJIN Of all the things that Namjoon could have said, that last one manages to hurt the most. "I don't believe that," he says. "I never believed that." Finally, he finds a little courage and raises his eyes in the hopes of catching Namjoon's. If this were another conversation, one not separated from the last by two years, he'd ask Namjoon if he really thought Seokjin would love someone worthless. There was so much more to Namjoon then besides his poverty and–despite the hollow look in his eyes–there's still more to him now.

But maybe Namjoon isn't worthless, it's that Seokjin is hopeless. Looking away, he lifts his gaze to the skyline, searching over it as if he might be able to pick out Jungkook against the night.

"I can go. I shouldn't have made trouble," he says. Because even if he's saved Namjoon a trip to prison, it feels more like he's ruined something in the process. That's fine. The point of this isn't to rekindle something that's probably gone for good. The point is to save all of his friends.



NAMJOON Namjoon does manage to meet Seokjin's eyes, and it makes his heart clench, his chest tighten. He can tell he's not lying when he says he doesn't believe Namjoon is worthless and Namjoon gets the sudden feeling like he needs everything to stop. He wasn't ready to see Seokjin tonight. He wasn't ready to be speaking to someone who cared about him after two years of social isolation. He was, above all things, not ready to deal with kindness of any sort.

"Hyung didn't make any trouble, you fixed it," Namjoon concedes, though it doesn't sound like an apology to his ears. Seokjin had fixed the problem in a way Namjoon knew he never could.

"But maybe you should go."

He hates the way those words sound, so flat and matter of fact. He hates the way he's directing them at someone who was helping, even after Namjoon left him in the worst way possible. He shouldn't be saying this to Seokjin of all people, who had always kept him close and cared for him and loved him.

But maybe that was the problem.



SEOKJIN Seokjin doesn't know what he expected. He's long stopped playing out any version of a fantasy where Namjoon reaches forward and takes his hands or kisses him on the mouth. That's a fairytale for someone else, someone better than him. It's better to think of himself the way he did before he met them. Kim Seokjin is a cog in the machine of everyone else's fates, be it his brother, his father, or his friends.

Two years is a long time to let love run thin.

"Yeah. I guess...yeah," he says. "But I was wondering. Have you talked to Jungkook lately? Are you still in touch?"



NAMJOON Waiting for the moment where he can drift away from all this again, Namjoon flinches at the question. "No." It comes out hard, frustrated, though this time it wasn't at anyone but himself, for hiding away and letting so much time slip by him.

"I..." His thoughts go to Jungkook and he can feel something inside of him start to break just before all of his defense mechanisms activate immediately, sinking his memories into a cold, deep sea of apathy. His hand flies to his stomach, as if covering a fresh wound. He can't go there. Especially not tonight. If he hadn't been ready to see Seokjin, letting himself remember how badly he had failed Jungkook would destroy him right where he stands.

His face twitches, eyes still on the ground as he hardens himself, shaking his head. "No," he says again, with a voice more soft and broken.



SEOKJIN How is it possible to watch someone drown when he's standing on dry land? For a moment, Seokjin wants to close the space between them and hold Namjoon, to make the kind of naïve promises he made when he was young but that time is long gone. If there was any hope of rekindling what they had, Seokjin killed it with money.

"I saw him while I was driving this morning," he admits. "Passing the high school." And by the end of tonight, if he doesn't do anything...

"I'll see you around, maybe?" Unlikely.



NAMJOON Namjoon closes his eyes for a second before looking back at Seokjin, not quite glaring but there's a hardness and desperation to how he eyes him. A why are you doing this to me? as he struggles with all he has not to picture Jungkook's face, to remember how he looked when he was happy -- and when he was sad.

Namjoon can't answer, his jaw is clenched firmly shut, so he just nods, pausing for a long moment, and then turning slowly away. He moves to another pump in measured, deliberate steps, scouring it with his eyes for something to do while his muscles burned and his stomach twists and his insides still feel so, so cold.

He doesn't know why Seokjin showed up tonight and he doesn't know how to make everything stop and he doesn't want to think, but now, here he is, thinking in the worst possible way. With a frustrated grunt, he kicks a now empty bucket that sat on the concrete, watching it bounce and skitter along the ground into the space beyond the reach of the gas station lights. Sighing, his shoulders slump as he walks into the darkness towards it. He doesn't look back at Seokjin again.


CODE BY TESSISAMESS