Chapter Text
Some days were easier than others. Good days left Namjoon tired but satisfied with the work he produced. Great days let lyrics and melodies and rhythms fall fully formed from his head onto pages of notebook paper and bars of music in his studio. But bad times always had a way of creeping up on him. One lukewarm reaction from the other members on his ideas could whisper its way into his heart in the darkness of his room at night, one frustrating interview could turn his smile forced and plastic for all armies to see online forever.
To be fair, though, those days where Namjoon had good reason for feeling shitty were far preferable to those where everything should be perfectly fine.
His day had been average at best: dance rehearsals with the group all morning, a quick lunch of take-out eaten on the rehearsal room’s floor, and an afternoon whiling away time on new materials in MonStudio. At the very least, he should feel at least semi-accomplished. He woke up early enough to eat breakfast and everything, which on its own was a bit of an achievement.
Yet, by the time he had made it home, a tiny niggling worm of frustrated pessimism found its way into his brain. The usually beautiful dusty purple of evening seemed drab and tired as he shuffled his way to his bedroom and collapsed in a heap onto his unmade bed without bothering to turn on any lights. He rubbed roughly at his eyes, but visions of those godawful wraparound shades he wore for most of 2013 and of that one time he legitimately forgot every bit of choreography in the middle of a performance all to the tune of Expensive Girl danced behind the technicolors he was creating. Groaning, he rolled onto his side to eye his bookshelf. Any plotline of any book had to be better than chasing endless circles in his head.
After five minutes of just lying there staring at book titles, still reliving every embarrassing thing that he did as a thirteen-year-old, Namjoon huffed and rolled out of bed. From the hallway, he could hear the water from Jungkook’s shower running and the beeps and quiet murmurs of Jimin and Taehyung playing phone games in the living room, could see the light pooling from Hoseok’s open bedroom door. Turning away from that, he quietly stepped past Yoongi’s dark room, its occupant still finishing up at the studio last Namjoon heard, to push open Seokjin’s door.
There was something innately calming about Seokjin’s room. Maybe it was the mildly woody scent of pet bedding or the general tidiness or some other random feng shui thing that Namjoon couldn’t be bothered to care about. All that mattered was that he felt the endless spirals of thought loosening as he eased through the door.
“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin said, glancing up from his Switch and untangling himself from some elaborate pretzel position on his bed. “I didn’t notice you were home yet.”
“I haven’t been in for long,” he replied. Despite how easily Seokjin could make room for him, Namjoon settled himself against the wall by the large cage across from the bed, causing the sugar gliders inside to stir. He pressed his hands to the bars, smiling when the little creatures scurried over to press their tiny noses to the pads of his fingers. Odeng blinked his wide, round eyes at Namjoon before losing interest. Seokjin shifted towards the edge of the bed in his peripherals, moving to sit on the floor across from him.
Tapping Namjoon’s foot gently, Seokjin asked, “How was your day?”
“You were there for most of it,” Namjoon chuckled. Dodging Seokjin’s playful slap, he continued, “Fine—my day was fine. Nothing special.”
Seokjin hummed and leaned back against his bed. The silence was like slipping into a hot bath at the end of a tiring day, a release of tension that seemed to slide down his shoulders and off. Namjoon let his head loll back against the wall.
“Hey, if you fall asleep in here, I won’t bother carrying you to bed,” Seokjin spoke with a voice full of false exasperation. Not bothering to open his eyes, Namjoon shrugged, making a show of sliding down the wall. He couldn’t fight the smile that Seokjin’s laughter incited. “Fine, sleep on my cold, hard floor all you want. I’ll just sleep in your bed, instead.”
Namjoon peeked at him through half-open eyes. “Rude.”
“I’m your hyung, I can be rude all I like.”
Resisting rolling his eyes, Namjoon readjusted to a more comfortable position on his back and let his gaze settle on Seokjin’s hands where they rested on his knees. His mind wandered onto a melody half-formed in his head as he traced the lines of Seokjin’s fingers with his eyes.
“Have you eaten dinner yet?” Seokjin asked softly.
“No, not yet. Yoongi said he would order fried chicken tonight, so.”
Seokjin hummed. He reached out to tap Namjoon’s wrist, before—Crash! “What was that?” he yelped, flapping his arms in startled confusion.
“Oh, shit,” Namjoon grunted, jumping up and tearing out towards the living room. His socked feet skidded across the marble tiles. Using one of the armchairs to come to a halt, he took in the mess that was the living room.
Jimin was hanging off of Jungkook’s neck, free arm grasping for the remote held triumphantly over his shorter height and legs kicking in a desperate attempt to fell the taller boy. Taehyung reclined across the couch with his eyes glued to his phone as if Jimin and Jungkook hadn’t already knocked over two of the three lamps already. The armchair Namjoon was clutching lay propped on its side.
“Give it back, you dickwad!” Jimin gritted out over Jungkook’s maniacal laughter. “Tae Tae, help me, what the fuck!”
“Oh, no, stop,” Taehyung mumbled, fingers still tapping away at his phone screen.
Jungkook’s mirthful eyes turned to Namjoon, taking in his mildly horrified look. “Hey, Hyung! Catch!” he shouted just as Jimin’s foot finally landed a solid blow to the back of Jungkook’s knee.
Instead of casually tossing the remote in Namjoon’s direction, he whipped the thing.
In hindsight, Namjoon probably should have ducked or run or done literally anything, but nope. He simply stared aghast as the tv remote flew a perfect arch to smack him full length across his forehead, his socked feet losing purchase against the tiled floors.
Landing hard on his back, his stomach pitched upwards like he was riding a swing, and his ears popped.
Everything went black.