Work Text:
Namjoon gets distracted at work pretty easily.
It might have something to do with the decor and off-putting ambience at the Moonlight Movie Theatre. Nothing about it is pleasant. Gaudy neon rainbow color schemes, tacky zig zag patterns and shapes that are outdated and old school, all of which cause his eyes to cross and head to spin.
Sometimes he’ll be confirming to another customer for the billionth time, ‘Yes, this is our small cup size. Yes, I’m sorry it’s so expensive, ” when he’ll look up and catch sight of the horrendous carpeting and have the immediate urge to barf. So far, he hasn’t. He’d think after two years it wouldn’t continue to pose so much of an issue, but it does.
Or, he gets distracted by all the people who stop in. It varies in type: small or large families, young and old couples, teens, singles. If he’s working the matinee shift he likes to come up with little scenarios for the early risers. Are they bored and have no other way to spend the morning? Have they been too busy with life and finally have a chance to catch that movie they’ve been dying to see? Or do they just want to be free of all the crowds due to some crippling social anxiety and simply prefer an empty theatre?
Namjoon can relate with the latter. Life as a single college student with too much debt and not enough time has left him with a bitter taste of loneliness that makes the days long and the nights even longer.
So he needs distractions. And at work, if he were to be honest, his main distraction comes in the form of a brilliant smile, tender presence, and a laugh that births fairies.
Park Jimin.
“Enjoy the movie, kiddo!” Jimin hands a bright green fluff of cotton candy to a small girl who bounces on her toes and tells him thank you.
Namjoon is pretty sure Jimin bounces on his toes right back as he waves the family goodbye and they head off to watch the latest hit animation.
With a sigh, he leans against the counter and watches Jimin attend to the next customer with an even more radiant smile than before.
He’s such a pleasant guy. Always so happy, so welcoming. Genuinely appears to enjoy working at the movie theatre. Namjoon can’t tell if it’s only because he’s four months in and still trying to be a model new employee. But he doubts that. Jimin is just an all around very kind, sweet person.
It’s pretty admirable.
The way he never bitches at people who complain about prices - Namjoon’s number one pet peeve - and simply apologizes, convinces them how it’s worth it because of the experience of seeing a good movie at such a wonderful establishment.
Namjoon wants to roll his eyes, call Jimin’s bluff, but it’s impossible because even he believes him. Finds himself ready to purchase a ticket and buy all the goods under the counter just so he can stare at the angelic face of Park Jimin and hear all about how perfect an experience at the Moonlight Movie Theatre is.
It’s worse when there’s children. Oh god, the way he is with children has given Namjoon a cardiac arrest scare once or twice. He’s so gentle. Caring and attentive as he bends down to their level through the glass to point out all the various, delicious snacks. Tells them his favorites. Asks them what theirs is as well. Sometimes, he’ll even open up a packet and let the kids try it out first - with the parents approval, of course.
The dime to pay for those opened snacks comes out of his own pocket too, like, who even does that?
But it’s magical. The shining light on Jimin’s face as he wishes every customer a good viewing. Or how he presses the lids down on drinks so, so carefully as not to cause a spill. He never charges for extra cheese either - he allows that, too, to come out of his paycheck.
Namjoon wants to scream.
Namjoon wants to scream .
Because Park Jimin is a real gem, a real distraction, and Namjoon dreams about him at night sometimes and it’s not good. It’s not good at all. His feelings for his coworker is just simply not good.
“Excuse me, sir!”
Namjoon startles and jumps up from the counter. Standing before him is a woman and another woman, and the one who yelled at him looks very impatient. The other just looks embarrassed.
“Oh.” Namjoon says, blinks a bit and clears his throat. “I’m sorry. Uh, how can I help you?”
The very impatient woman points to the lady beside her and then at the pretzel machine. “My wife would like a salted pretzel please.”
Namjoon peers behind him. The pretzel machine is empty. He turns back. “We don’t have any pretzels right now.”
She frowns. “Can you make any?”
“Sure. It’ll be about 10 minutes.”
“That’s fine.”
“Also, they’re unsalted.”
Her frown deepens.
The embarrassed woman, who looks even more embarrassed now, pats at her wife’s shoulder softly. “Baby, it’s fine. I don’t need a pretzel.”
“Oh, but I think you do!” An airy, gleeful voice rings out from beside Namjoon.
Then a warm, salted pretzel appears in his peripheral vision.
Park Jimin presents it across the counter with two gracious hands. “For you, on the house!”
The once embarrassed woman, now currently elated, accepts the pretzel with a laugh. “Wow, thank you! That is very nice of you!”
“It’s my pleasure. Anything else I can get you two?”
They both shake their heads, say thank you to Jimin one last time, glare at Namjoon, and saunter away together.
Namjoon glances over at Jimin. Jimin is already looking at him, sparkling grin in place.
It’s devastating.
“Where did you get a salted pretzel from?” Namjoon asks.
Jimin shrugs easily. “I made it.”
“When?”
“Never you mind.” Jimin teases in singsong, pokes at the name tag on Namjoon’s chest. It’s dangerously close to his nipple. Not that that matters. “I’m just glad that they left satisfied!”
Namjoon shakes his head, somewhat in disbelief. “You should of had them pay, you know.”
“Why?” Jimin asks, hardly perturbed.
Namjoon’s mouth falls open. He wants to yell. Wants to kiss him, too. Or something. “Because that’s what customers do! Pay for things. That’s how this works.”
Jimin just shrugs again and picks up a rag from the cleaning bucket - of which he faithfully empties out and refills every half hour - and begins to wipe down the counters. “Well I want people to enjoy their movies and have fun. That’s not a bad thing.”
It’s not a bad thing, Namjoon wants to reply. Instead he watches Jimin meticulously clean the counters, and drink dispenser, and popcorn machine, and has the longing to save this innocent kid.
Not that Jimin’s a kid, really. Only a year younger than himself, and attends another University nearby. They have no mutual friends, have never crossed paths in real life, their only relation to one another being the Moonlight Movie Theatre, and Namjoon doesn’t know how to feel about that.
It’s stupid of him to think he could be friends with someone like Park Jimin.
“How about you be like your lovely, amazing, hard-working coworker Namjoon and make yourself useful, huh?” a voice says from the left.
Namjoon sighs and looks over at his manager, Seokjin. Deliberately, he picks up an ultra max large drink cup, fills it with coke, unwraps a straw, dips it in, and takes a long, drawn out sip.
Then burps. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”
Manager Seokjin shakes his head and points that damn clipboard at him. “You have one more strike.”
“You said that fifteen strikes ago.” Namjoon takes another large gulp.
At the butter dispenser, Jimin laughs.
By the book Kim Seokjin just mumbles for Namjoon to go clean up the bathrooms and walks away.
Namjoon has a suspicion he’s heading out to the ticket booth to ‘check’ on Jungkook. That’s his favorite employee, after all. Namjoon has been trying to get into the ticket booth for months but Seokjin favors Jungkook because he has big eyes, and a cute mouth, and could probably beat him up. All words that came straight out of Seokjin’s mouth.
He has an itch to snitch on Seokjin and this unfair bias, but working behind the front counter hasn’t been too bad. Not when Park Jimin is there.
Jimin turns away from a butter stain that no one has been able to scrub out for days, and looks at him. “I can do the bathrooms for you, Joonie. That’s no problem.”
Namjoon immediately protests. “No, no way. He told me to do it. You stay here, Jimin.”
Jimin pouts just the slightest bit, a sympathetic softness in his eyes. “But I know how badly you hate it. I’d like to help you in any way that I can.”
A part of him wishes Jimin would not have said that. It makes his mind go to twisted places it shouldn’t, and Jimin doesn’t deserve that. He just doesn’t.
Namjoon waves a hand about lightly and heads for the supply closet. “Don’t worry about me. Besides, the customers need you out here more.”
Jimin smiles. Always sunny, always glistening.
With another sigh, Namjoon grabs all the cleaning materials he needs and prays the fumes of antiseptic and bleach will knock him out cold.
/ / /
When the night comes, this is when he begins to worry. Hates it when the sky is at its darkest and fear awakes within him, settles in the hollow of his soul.
See, Namjoon has been having dreams.
Nightmares, really.
Envisions things in his mind's eye he could never imagine during the waking hours of the day. It’s haunting. Debilitating. As a child he used to have nightmares as well. Remembers the times he’d awaken screaming and crying, his mother rushing in to hold him tight and kiss him all over his face, tell him over and over he’s safe. That nothing could hurt him.
This is not like that. His mother isn’t there in the dead of night with a warm hug. There’s no modicum of safety he feels. Namjoon knows this could harm him.
It’s been three weeks now.
“Did you drink the mint tea I gave you at approximately dawn?!” Hoseok screeches into his ear through the phone.
Namjoon pulls it away slightly with a hiss and nods vigorously to himself while he waters his bonsai trees. “Yes, yes I did. No help at all. What kind of witch are you?”
“Oh, shut up.” Hoseok says, and then sighs. Multiple internet searches later and questionable remedies, they’ve been unable to find a cure for his nightmares. If nothing else, the mint tea tasted wonderful. “I don’t know dude. Maybe it’s just time to make friends with your demon.”
“Hardy-har-har.” Namjoon fakes laughs and tries not to shiver at the flash of a wicked, alluring grin and dark eyes. He fingers at a crack in the pot of his bonsai tree. “Think I should give it up and go see someone? Like, this can’t be healthy right?”
Hoseok makes a noncommittal sound. “I mean, it’s obviously bothering you so maybe you should. Shit seems scary.”
“No kidding.” Namjoon huffs, feeling the exhaustion of the day begin to wear on him. He needs to play the lottery, it’s getting real old having to continually attend school and work at a shitty movie theatre.
Maybe then he’ll have enough money to extract the demon right out of his head. Rich people do that, right?
He blinks and sets his watering can down. It’s an early start tomorrow morning, an 8am lecture calling his name. He needs to sleep.
Namjoon heads over to his dresser and grabs the small container tucked away behind his Kaws figurine. “Thanks for the sleeping pills again, man. They do work a bit, knocks me out for at least a quarter of the night.”
“No problem. Whatever helps, and there’s more where that came from.” Hoseok assures.
With a sigh, Namjoon tells his best friend goodnight and hangs up. Maybe it’s a good thing to have someone like Hoseok with an endless supply of connections. It just feels good to have a friend at all, really.
It’s okay. It will all be okay, and things will work out in the end. Namjoon shuts off the lights, sets an alarm for his morning lecture, and pops a pill into his mouth before settling into bed.
He prays for a restful night.
/ / /
The drone of molecular equations and avogadro’s number mulls in the depths of his senses as he stares listlessly at the periodic table in the back of his chemistry textbook. Symbols, and numbers, and an array of colors that aggravates his retinas.
Namjoon is sleepy. He is always perpetually sleepy. And distracted. Is he always this aloof? He zeros in on the letter ‘P’ , and he knows what the symbol stands for, but decides that no longer matters, and thinks about Pretty, and Perfect, and Park.
A pretty, perfect, Park Jimin.
The equation for avogadro’s number is 6.022 x 10²³. It’s the number of times a second Namjoon thinks about the boy with a soul brighter than the moon.
How sad.
His eyes slip away from his book to the broken analog clock on the wall. Five more hours until his matinee shift begins. Jimin works tonight. Through a haze of sleepiness an excitement brews inside of him at the thought of seeing Jimin again. They work together only three times a week, and it hardly seems like enough.
And that sounds a little creepy, but well. His nights are terrible, and scary, and sometimes when the image of a dazzling smile that wisps the sweetest of laughs seeps into his mind it tends to make things a bit less terrifying. Even if he still feels guilty afterwards.
It’s fine. He’s just sleepy is all.
The hottest flick at the moment is this romantic comedy between an Olympic robot swimmer and a man who just divorced his husband. Namjoon tears a ticket apart at the ticket podium and stares dazedly at the poster.
“Enjoy your movie.” He says unenthusiastically without looking away, and wonders how long one can go without proper sleep.
Manager Seokjin rounds the corner with a shit eating grin and looks as though he has the answer just for that. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?!”
Namjoon blinks. “Yeah, sure.”
Seokjin stops in front of him and narrows his eyes a bit, runs his gaze over the length of Namjoon’s body. “Looking a little worse for wear today?”
Namjoon can only dignify that with a grunt.
His manager clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Not in my front lobby. Why don’t you wipe down the arcade area then take a break? I’ll bring Jimin over to take your spot.”
Immediately, his ears perk up. This is what he’s been looking forward too all day. With Jungkook off Jimin has been outside working the ticket booth probably persuading everyone to watch the Olympic swimming robot movie convincing them of how probable that could be. He could convince anyone of anything.
Namjoon nods and rubs a palm into his eye. He’ll steal a few quarters and hide out in the zombie apocalypse game and pray that no children try to bother him. With some luck, he could get a twenty minute nap in tops. “That sounds great, thank you.”
Manager Seokjin gives him another oddly judgmental glare and saunters back the way he came.
Namjoon methodically rips and tears tickets, directs moviegoers to their theatre, and stares off into the swirl of offensive carpentry, barely noticing when a honeysuckle voice squeals. “Oh, Namjoonie!”
Jimin shapes into view in his black shirt with two vertical blue stripes tucked into a pair of sleek black slacks that look detrimental on everyone else but spectacular on his long, toned legs. Namjoon takes in the line of his body, a gorgeous silhouette enhanced with the softest of features. Park Jimin is not of this world.
He just possibly couldn’t be.
A single snap of fingers echoes in front of him. “Hyung?”
Namjoon releases a cough, one that turns into an awkward series of more, and places a hand to the back of his heated neck. “Oh. Jimin! So sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
Jimin’s face does that face where his eyes slowly close while his mouth spreads into a crinkled smile and his entire being glows like something out of heaven. Not that Namjoon would know. He’s nowhere near divinity.
“That’s no problem, hyung. I’m sad I haven’t seen you all day.” Then he pouts, he has the gall to pout, and Namjoon resists the urge to slap his own cheek because this is simply unbelievable.
Instead, he coughs again with a stupid laugh and digs nails into the back of his neck before slipping his hand down to gesture at the ticket podium. “Well, I’ve been here. You know, rip and tear, rip and tear.”
He does the motions of pulling apart the movie tickets, handing them over to a pretend customer, and sinking the spare portion into the theatre box a few times with over exaggeration and playful eye rolls. It tugs a deep rooted laugh out of Jimin, one that hurls his body forward and makes him stumble into the podium. If it wasn’t there he would have landed right into Namjoon. Later, he plans to burn the podium.
“You’re so funny, Joonie! I bet you’re the prankster with your friends, huh?”
Namjoon shakes his head a bit, feels a little bashful. “Definitely not. That title belongs to Hobi. He’s something special. My friend. My only friend, really.”
He really does give his face a slap then. Why would he reveal that to Jimin? That he’s a lonely fuck with one (1) singular friend who supplies him with illegal pills and googles religious rituals to help him sleep. Just the thing to make your crush fall for you.
Jimin seems unbothered however by that embarrassing admission and face slap, just giggles at him and steps around the podium. So close. “I bet Hobi is wonderful. He’s blessed to have a friend like you.”
Namjoon chokes on the sudden copious amount of spit in his mouth just as two small twin girls and their parents approach them.
“Hello!” Jimin greets them while Namjoon desperately clears his throat.
“Hi!” The two girls say back in unison.
Jimin takes the tickets from the adults, rips and tears, and then sets down on his haunches to be at eye level with them. “Oh am I seeing double or what?”
The twins laugh pleasantly, one of the two pointing at him while she looks back at her mother. “Look mommy, he’s pretty!”
And the other points and turns around, too. “Like an angel!”
Jimin covers both hands over his face but it does nothing to hide his glorious grin. “Me? An angel? No way! But today must be my lucky day because I see not one but two angels in front of me!”
The girls giggle again. The parents laugh as well, amused by this beautiful stranger, and usher their gratitude before they head off.
Namjoon stands there in the twilight of awake and asleep and imagines a white glow around the edges of Jimin’s form.
Jimin waves them goodbye until they’re out of view and stands back up, sighing as if it’s all just another good deed completed.
“Did God send you here?”
And, there he goes again. Saying idiotic things.
Jimin moves towards him, a twitch of confusion in his brow but a gleam in his eye. “Excuse me?”
Namjoon takes a step back. “Nothing. I - didn’t even say anything. Seokjin wants me at the arcade so I better, you know, get there.”
He doesn’t give Jimin a chance to respond, simply scurries away like the jellyfish he is and rounds to the front counter. Yoongi has an Ikea catalog open while he shoves skittles in his mouth, and Taehyung has two piles of popcorn spread out, counting them piece by piece.
“Yoon.” He says, waving a hand at the register. “I need a roll of quarters.”
Yoongi doesn’t look up. “For what?”
“To see how many hits it takes to knock myself out.”
He flips a page. “You got a thick skull. Just bang it off the glass here and have at it.”
Namjoon sighs. “Fine, just three quarters. And I’ll go through the theatre seats to give it back by the end of the shift so your drawer isn’t short.”
Yoongi looks up from his cataloged light fixtures and reaches over to pop open the register, takes out three quarters, and hands them over. “Bye.”
“Thanks.” Namjoon pockets them and turns away, listens to the rhythmic count of Taehyung’s .. 23 .. 24 .. 25 ..that follows him to the shadowed, secluded arcade section.
It’s still pretty early in the day. There’s not many kids here to hog and take over the games, just the dull hum of the claw machine and eerie alphabet twinkle from the candy dispenser.
Namjoon looks up. That damn ceiling light has been flickering in and out for months now. Seokjin hasn’t done anything to get it taken care of, and every other shift he has to pull Yoongi down from a ladder trying to fix it himself. Employee liability, or whatever.
He ignores it and sits down in the hooded, zombie apocalypse game in the far right corner. No one will see him here. His vision lingers on the red, blood splattered flash of ‘GAME OVER’ and inserts the quarters.
It starts back up with a deep rumble. He goes through the repeated motions of setting displays and then he’s on a hunt.
Only zombies exist.
No more classes. No movie tickets. No Jimin.
!!Graphic Scene Ahead!!
Just zombies, and Namjoon with a knife.
He sinks the blade into a zombie’s dead set eye and revels in the black, tarred blood that seeps out. Namjoon then twists the blade right and sears it through a crunch of skull and decayed brain tissue before he’s off to another.
It’s a debacle of sliced off limbs and slit throats, cheerful laughs at the string of maggots that tumble out before he plunges the sharp tip of his knife into an undead heart and feels the tough drag of cardiac muscle and bone, the slip of dark blood between his finger tips. Can taste it on his lips, the scent of rot clung to the hairs of his nostrils.
Namjoon’s a hero. The savior of humanity as he hacks a deep wound through zombie abdomen and bloated intestines bulge through. And it’s glorious, the moment he straddles one to the ground with shaking, triumphant hands raised above his head poised to immerse the blade to the center of the zombies head, but then something happens.
The zombie is gone. Now, in its place, is a demon.
His demon.
It’s laying there, staring up at him. Sneering. All too amused. Namjoon’s bloodied fingers tremble around the hilt of his knife and his chest tightens.
In hindsight, this game doesn’t seem much appropriate for children. Maybe he’s not playing the game at all. He must have fallen asleep.
This is a dream.
Namjoon blinks and tries to focus, but it’s somewhat blurry. The outline and form of the demon obscure, as it usually is, but those eyes. Depthless and haunting. Enhanced by teeth that glimmer between gnarled lips. He wants to get a good look. Wants to be able to see this demon for what it is, but he can’t. He can’t, not as the weight of its presence begins to settle in the lines of his arteries and pumps relentlessly throughout his system.
He feels trapped. A sudden, invisible sensation of thick coils wrapping around his torso, his limbs, anchoring him into place.
And negative feedback kicks in. His pathetic, human bodies attempt to center him back to equilibrium; sweat that builds above his brow and drips down his chin, a shiver that rattles his bones, caught between too hot and too cold.
The demons mouth opens in a laugh. One that Namjoon cannot hear. Deafened by the jangle of his teeth, and harsh inhale and exhale of his breath. Black eyes that narrow and focus on him in absolute mirth, mirth that builds with a larger howl, one that spreads its lips so wide the edges begin to crack.
A single crack that splinters off to two, then three, until the demons mouth rips and tears, rips and tears, splits apart and unravels in a black chasm of folds that births the peek of slimy, brown hair.
Namjoon, blade loose between his hands, gasps as he takes in the slow reveal of a mole at the corner of a forehead, full pink lips, a dancers silhouette, and naked flesh coated in a thin sheet of foul goo.
Jimin.
Jimin, smiling at him. Not radiant. Not in a shimmer of heavenly breath. But vile. Utterly iniquitous. Inviting.
“Namjoon.” It says. Jimin says, in that sweet, sweet voice.
Namjoon tightens his grip on the hilt.
Jimin pouts. Oh, that pout. “Hyung?” His slimy mouth, contorted in fear. A shadow of a taunt.
Light consumed by darkness.
Namjoon lets out a scream and fights the unseen hold on his body and lurches his arms down, the glint of the edge of the knife blinding him before his eyes cast open.
‘GAME OVER’ blinks repeatedly, the fluorescent screen assaulting him before he turns and bows out of the machine, throwing up onto the wonky carpet.
!!End!!
“Bro, you alright?” Taehyung yells from the counter. Namjoon looks up. A teenage boy sticking his hand up the candy dispenser slot stares back at him.
Namjoon nearly trips and falls into his own mess in his haste to dash out, hurrying his way across the lobby and towards the front doors.
“Tell Seokjin I’m sick and have to go.” He bellows, ignoring Taehyung’s concerned shouts.
His eyes slip towards the ticket podium. Jimin isn’t there. Namjoon pushes out the exit and runs almost the entire length home.
/ / /
Namjoon calls out of work the next two shifts. Misses three lectures.
He does nothing but stay home and take care of his bonsai trees, pops sleeping pills, and researches the offices of nearby psychiatrists.
Somethings wrong with him.
What happened a few days ago wasn’t normal. He isn’t normal. His brain is messed up and it’d be best to have it analyzed, and maybe have some actual prescription drugs given to him.
He hasn’t dreamt since then. Closes his eyes and immerses into total nothingness until he awakens just as sleepy as before, not an ounce of rest. This must be punishment. Fatigue for the entirety of his days for dreaming of almost stabbing his coworker to death.
It’s what he deserves, really.
The nightmare demon may have left him, but the dread remains. Guilt, lurking in every atom of his body. It won’t matter because soon he’ll lose his job, and flunk out of school, then eviction from his apartment until he can go back home and his mom can rock him to sleep once again. Maybe then he’ll get some rest.
But probably not.
In the middle of googling ‘am i evil buzzfeed quiz’ his phone lights up with a call from Hoseok.
Namjoon sighs. “What do you want?”
“For you to quit being a little bitch.” says Hoseok.
He’s really not in the mood to be bothered right now. “Seriously, what do you want? I’m busy.”
Hoseok laughs at him. “You’re not doing shit but being mopey. Probably taking quizzes to find out if you’re the Devil or not.”
“No, I’m not!” Namjoon says in a way that shows that yes, he is.
Damn Hoseok and is undeniable sense of knowing everything about Namjoon. Why can’t he go mind his business somewhere else?
His best friend would never do such a thing, unfortunately. “You’re not evil just because you keep having demon nightmares, Joon.”
Namjoon closes his eyes and sticks his thumbs into them until he sees stars. “Not true.”
“It is true.”
“Says who?”
“Me.”
There’s a knock at his front door.
Namjoon waits for the galaxy to disappear before he stands up from his couch and unlocks the deadbolt, wrenches it open.
Hoseok stands there with a container of a dozen cupcakes decorated with angel wings and halo pieces.
Namjoon’s eyes absolutely do not well up with tears. “What are you doing you stupid person?”
His best friend pushes the desserts into his chest and bulldozes his way past him into the apartment. “I probably should have bought you a basket of vegetables. What’s the last one you ate?”
“Dry cereal, this morning.” Namjoon closes the door behind him and follows Hoseok to the couch.
Hoseok gives him a disapproving look, but sighs softly. “You have class today.”
“I know.” He says, opens the lid and plucks out an angel wing, bites into it. It is indeed not edible.
“Okay, get dressed. I’ll drive you there.”
“I’m not going.” Namjoon shoves a whole chocolate cupcake in his mouth, spreading icing all over his lips, and that disapproving look on Hoseok’s face only morphs into shame.
He snatches the container from Namjoon’s lap. “Yes, you are. You’re not fucking up your education, not on my watch. Then afterwards I can help you with whatever you need about these nightmares.”
Namjoon swallows and licks at his lips. “You’ve done enough. I don’t want to keep being a bother.”
“But you’re not!” Hoseok demands, takes out his own cupcake and does a daintier bite. “I’m always gonna be here whether you like it or not so shut up, eat another cupcake, then get dressed.”
It’s not like he’ll win this one. He never does. So, Namjoon simply shuts up, nibbles at a halo, it's still not edible, then gets in the shower.
/ / /
He hasn’t told Hoseok about the Jimin nightmare. In fact, Hoseok knows nothing of Jimin at all.
Why would he? They’re just coworkers. Nothing special there, and there never will be.
They spent the afternoon mostly existing in each others company because that’s really what Namjoon needed at the moment, which Hoseok already knew that. They can discuss the rest later. He does eventually make it to class and he feels much relief that he went.
Then he goes home and works on a few assignments he’s late on, and jump starts on a couple more. Distractions. A master at distractions.
The next day he calls Seokjin and apologizes for his rushed exit and not responding to his phone calls or texts. It’s fine. His next shift is tomorrow night.
Namjoon can do that. He can do it.
Still, he does not dream.
Still, he’s very tired.
He shows up on time to the Moonlight Movie Theatre, and that earns him a firm pat on the back from Seokjin. “Well look at you! All it took was a good vomit to get you on the path to employee of the month.”
Sitting on the office floor rummaging through an entirely too expensive looking bag that Namjoon isn’t sure he bought from his wage at the movie theatre is Taehyung who tsks dismissively. “Yeah, right. You owe me a favor after I had to clean up your puke, Namjoon.”
Namjoon nods. “Sure, whatever you want.”
Taehyung taps a finger at his chin and hums to himself. “Know what? I’ll take that favor today. You clean all the windows, bathrooms, take out the trash, and sweep outside for me. I’ll take your shift behind the counter.”
It may come off as a punishment to Taehyung, but it’s quite the life savior for Namjoon. He’s not ready yet to face Jimin, and getting away from the front counters as far as he can is a god send. There’s no need in telling him that, however.
He simply picks up a box of large gloves from the top shelf and salutes. “Aye aye, captain!”
Namjoon sets off to work immediately.
Cleaning is methodical. Cleaning gets him out of his head and into his body, attuned to the back and forth motion of sweeping the broom across the outside parking lot, the bend and toss of throwing out trash. It feels nice out, a cool breeze on his skin. Relaxing. He even has his very own entertainment in the form of Seokjin tragically flirting with Jungkook at the ticket booth.
By the shimmer in Jungkook’s eyes, it must be working.
He takes his break after finishing outside and walks through the mall to check out the bookstore, the candle shop, then sits in the food court and ignores the gangle of teenage girls that stare at him yearningly from a table away.
By the time he begins to wipe down all the windows starting at the main entrance he feels somewhat calm and peaceful. Maybe he should ask Seokjin to switch him to this job instead of the front counter. He’s never been too good with the customers, anyway.
Namjoon sprays cleaner onto the window and gets to work with his squeegee.
“Excuse me, sir. Could you tell me where the bathrooms are?”
The door to the far right closes and a woman approaches him. He opens his mouth to reply, but a soft voice speaks from behind him. A voice that trickles unsettlingly down the column of his spine.
“Just around this corner, ma’am. You won’t miss it. Enjoy your experience at the Moonlight Movie Theatre!” And Namjoon can see the shift in the woman’s expression, a type of wonderment thats shielded in subtle leeriness.
As if she’s being compelled yet pulled away all at once. Then with a lowered gaze and hushed ‘thank you’ , she’s gone.
Namjoon pauses, carefully turns around while the thump of his heart grows stronger, like a live wire. And it nearly sparks and explodes when he catches sight of a set eyes locked onto him, heavy and narrowed. A single brow raised expectantly.
Waiting.
Jimin stands there with hands buried in his slacks, the pinnacle of poise and self reliance. An air that circles around him that’s somewhat stifling, enigmatic. Him, and nothing like him at all.
Namjoon inhales, and gives a smile. “Oh, hey Jiminie. How are you?”
Jimin smiles back. Something genuine, something real. That glow that he adores so much shining through. It makes Namjoon let out a shaky breath of relief. It was stupid of him to even worry, really.
“I’m doing okay. Sad you’re not with me at the front counter today.” Jimin frowns, and how could Namjoon have forgotten how adorable he was?
He laughs and shrugs. “I’m sure Tae is better company than I ever could be.”
Jimin shakes his head and steps towards him. It feels as if he’s being sucked into something, a vacuum of despair that tugs at the edges of his existence. Namjoon’s jaw clenches, fingers tightening around the neck of his cleaning bottle.
“Not at all.” Jimin says, pulls a hand out his pocket and places it at the nape of Namjoon’s neck. “I’ve missed you.”
Namjoon shudders. Jimin’s never touched him before. Jimin’s never touched him before, and his hands are so cold. The pads of his fingers and palm seemingly drawing all the warmth from his body, but he likes it. Finds an odd comfort in it. He renders speechless and simply revels in that singular point of contact that somehow leaves him completely void, and full, simultaneously.
Jimin goes on. “I was worried about you, Joonie. When I found out you had left early and then we didn’t hear from you for a few days, god. I was so scared.”
Namjoon opens his eyes. When had they closed? “I was fine. Just ill, is all.”
The hand at his nape shifts forward to cup the side of his neck, his other hand copying. Jimin moves closer. And that vacuum pulls insistently at the center of his being, and Jimin stares at him as if he can will Namjoon to let it happen. To make him let go.
Says. “That’s a shame. Wouldn’t want anything else to frighten you, now would we hyung?”
Jimin’s lips twist, his eyes turn the shade of onyx, and he starts to pull him in.
“Nope! Big Nope.”
Namjoon looks over to see Seokjin and his clipboard hurling towards them. He quickly moves back, can sense the gradual pool of heat return to his body as Jimin releases him.
Seokjin huffs. “This is not a live action theatre, boys. I do not pay you for that.”
Jimin waves his hands about remorsefully. “Sorry, Seokjin. I haven’t seen Namjoon since he’s been back, wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“He’s more than okay, by the looks of it.” Seokjin gives Namjoon a slow, indifferent once over and then gestures to the front counter. “Tae’s getting slammed, and we know how he gets under pressure. I can’t keep buying extra popcorn for him to count. So, get back to work.”
Jimin nods. He starts to walk away, only to spin on his heel and trot backwards as he stuffs hands back into his pockets, intention on his face as he meets Namjoon’s eye. But he doesn’t say anything. Just watches him. Grinning.
Then he turns back and goes behind the counter, getting to work.
Seokjin laughs. “That was gay.”
Namjoon rolls his eyes and faces the window again, spraying vigorously. “Says the man a second away from sucking eboy dick out in public for free.”
“I can’t confirm or deny that at this time.”
“Sure.” Namjoon says, amused as Seokjin just grumbles to himself with a scribble at his clipboard. Looks like he won’t be getting employee of the month after all.
It’s the least of his concerns. He drags the squeegee down the glass pane and peers into the reflection behind him, catches sight of Jimin. Jimin whose touch is cold and absorbing. Jimin who looks at him like he wants something.
Like he wants him.
/ / /
The days that follow feel like the beginnings of a fever dream.
Namjoon had a bunch of those as a child. Always managed to catch a cold, subject one to get sick and spread it throughout his family. He outgrew it as he got older, but he remembers plenty of days spent laying on the couch being force fed soup and hourly temp checks. The weird moments of delusion that could have been imagined, very well may have been real.
It’s something like that at the Moonlight Movie Theatre when he sees Park Jimin. His presence makes the funky, repugnant atmosphere more incomprehensible. It’s in the way he walks. The way he talks. So out of tune, so unbelievably mismatched.
Namjoon stands at the time clock and wonders if he’s really got the flu.
“Oh, you smell delightful.”
The cool press of a body against his back, saccharine breath that wisps below his ear followed by the tip of a nose at his nape. Namjoon’s eyes flutter, and the fever is back.
“Thank you, Jimin.” He manages to say, a tad breathless.
Jimin giggles, continues to bury his nose in Namjoon’s hair and neck, sniffs a line down the slope of his shoulder until he appears in front of him.
He looks entertained. As if Namjoon is just for him to tease. Simply a plaything, there for his enjoyment.
Jimin leans into the hollow of his throat, breathes in deep a path up, up, until their noses touch. His eyes shimmer. Namjoon trembles.
“Can I wear your shirt, Joonie?”
Namjoon narrows his eyes a bit, a little confused. “I’m sorry, what?”
Jimin raises his arms above his head and grabs a fistful of his back collar, says, “Give me your shirt.” and proceeds to pull off his own.
Then he’s shirtless. Just standing there, shirtless. Without a shirt. And there’s all this skin, and nipples, and abs, and a tattoo , and oh.
Namjoon is sure his head is going to spin right off his shoulders.
Jimin bites at his mouth and nods at him. “Your turn.”
Who is he to tell him no? Namjoon tugs off his shirt and they stand there in the middle of the staff office just a foot apart, and everything about this breaks at least ten workplace policies.
Eleven, including the way Jimin stares at him. As if he’s ravenous. Like he’ll devour every last bit of Namjoon. Hands fidgety at his sides as though the restraint to not do it is just too much.
But then he’s shoving his work shirt in Namjoon’s chest and taking his from his hands, pulling it down over his head. Namjoon likes the way it looks him, a tad loose in the chest and arms, watches the way Jimin tucks the ends into his slacks and shows off the narrow line of his waist.
Then Jimin pulls out the collar and buries his nose in. Grins devilishly. “Mm, now it’s like I’ll be inside a piece of you all day, hyung.”
Min Yoongi walks in. Stops, and sighs. “Is Seokjin doing those weird skin check things again?”
Jimin gives Namjoon an innocent wave and walks out the door.
It takes him a second to process what just occurred. To process the insinuation of Jimin’s words.
Yoongi raises a brow at him. “I’d suggest if there’s no checks happening you put your shirt back on.”
So Namjoon does. It’s a bit tight on him, but the fabric is soft. Smells amazing, too.
He tries to be discreet at how he sniffs at the shirt throughout his shift, but the way an old couple sends him a death glare means he might not be doing a good job at it.
Simply put, he’s not doing a good job at all pretending to not be totally engrossed with Jimin. Namjoon just can’t keep his eyes off him. Notices the way he ignores the cleaning bucket, refuses to allow an older gentleman to use a coupon that expired just the day prior, and even spoils the ending of a film to a family.
It’s bizarre. His head feels funny, and it has nothing to do with how much of Jimin’s scent permeates his nose.
“Can I have that candy bar, mommy?” A little boy asks and points into the glass case. Namjoon stands at the slushie machine and fills up an ultra max large cup.
“Of course, honey.” The mother says, and pulls out her wallet.
Namjoon looks over to see Jimin peer down at the selection, and tilt his head quizzically. “We’re all out of that, little one.”
She pauses in unzipping her wallet to move closer to the case, pointing a perfectly manicured nail at the singular candy bar left. “That candy bar, baby?”
The small boy nods.
The mother stares at Jimin. Something wary passes over her face. Her voice quivers. “Sir, this one right here.”
Jimin kneels down and looks through the glass, making eyes at the child. He lifts a hand and points. “Oh, this one?”
He then proceeds to unlock the box and reach his hand in to grab the candy bar. Jimin stares at the child while he slowly undoes the wrapper, takes a bite, and gives a shrug. “See? All gone.”
And he winks.
The mother gasps and quickly grabs her frowning child by the shoulders, ushering him out the line and through the exit doors.
Namjoon’s hands grow cold and wet, and he looks down to see root beer slushie sloshing over the rim. He abandons the cup and wipes his fingers clean, gets another to fill and hands it off to the customer. When he turns back around, his heart stutters as he comes face to face with a smirking Jimin.
“Hi, hyung.”
Namjoon puts a hand to his chest and swallows the lump in his throat. “Hi, Jimin.”
Jimin raises the candy bar in his hand, bites the corner of his mouth. “Would you like to try?”
Namjoon’s eyes go wide. “Huh?”
Jimin takes his fingers and tears a corner off. He then shifts closer till they’re chest to chest and lifts it to Namjoon’s mouth. His eyes turn dark as he demands. “Open up.”
And Namjoon can’t refuse him. His lips fall apart and Jimin slides it inside, a lovely mix of chocolate and peanuts and warmth of Jimin’s skin.
“Good boy.” Jimin says, rips off another piece to feed him that too. There’s no mistake in how he presses down on Namjoon’s tongue just sightly, glides his fingers through the sheen of spit on his lips. “It’s sweet huh, Joonie?”
Namjoon fights back a whimper. The backs of his knees break out in a sweat and it’s going to happen, his first ever boner at work. He’s made it this far in life without it occurring, but he can feel it. His insides winding up tight, overloaded with the sensation of Jimin everywhere . The taste of him, the smell of him, the sight of him.
The drop of Jimin’s mouth as he watches Namjoon eat just because he told him to, how he slips out his tongue and licks his lips, and.
And.
Namjoon blinks. Jimin raises a brow, runs his tripled split, tentacled tongue over his pink mouth. And, oh. Has that always been there? Is this candy drugged ?
“Y’all got hotdogs or nah?”
He turns his head to see a guy watching them who looks equal parts annoyed and turned on.
Jimin smirks at him. “You like hotdogs, huh?”
The double meaning doesn’t go over the guys head, and he grows red in embarrassment. Jimin pats Namjoon on the chest, spreading the remnants of chocolate, and smiles. “Don’t worry, my friend will take care of you.”
Then he takes another bite of the candy bar, laughs, and walks away. His break isn’t for another hour. Namjoon has no clue why that, of all things, is what he chooses to worry about.
“Two hotdogs, mustard on both.” The guys says.
Namjoon, out of body and out of mind, navigates around the counter trying to remember how to do things, consumed with the thought of Jimin. He stares down at the split open hotdog buns and decides he was seeing things is all.
That is 100% all it was.
/ / /
Namjoon’s not sure anymore if it’s exactly 100%.
Maybe 68%. 45.7%, possibly.
He likes to think about it in numbers, makes it more concrete and factual. No room for error. But then again, at any given moment his numbers seem to drop lower and lower, until he’s pouring three extra cups of cheese and realizes, oh no, he’s at 0%.
0%, without a doubt sure, that his brain did not make that up.
And then he notes that all of his reasoning is backwards and doesn’t make a bit of sense, but a lot of things don’t so what’s one more to a growing list?
Jimin had a split tongue. A tripled, split one that wasn’t like a regular tongue, but like the squirmy legs of an octopus and that’s. That’s not entirely normal, now is it? He’s pretty certain it’s not.
And Jimin has been so different lately. A blunted, abrasive version of himself that no one has seemed to point out, but Namjoon is all too aware of. How could he not be when he thinks about him 6.022 x 10²³ times a second? It’s driving him insane.
He stacks the three, full sized cups of cheese on a dish that has about eight and a half measly nacho chips and hands it over to a young girl. She looks thrilled. Namjoon wishes he could relate. Instead, he feels a bit of anxiety. It doesn’t help that he has yet to get any sustainable rest. This sleep deprivation is going to be the end of him.
“Namjoon, theatre 5 is empty. Next showing is in two hours, could you clean it out please? I’ll send Jimin with you to help.”
Namjoon turns to see Jimin standing there with Seokjin. He appears all normal, and proper, and nice, but Namjoon can see the dance of amusement behind his eyes. A twinkle of something sinister.
And it scares him. He quickly looks to Seokjin. “Jimin can’t do it alone? Who's gonna run the counter?”
Seokjin’s brow furrows. “You, willingly wanting to stay out here and work the front? Something's up.”
Namjoon shakes his head. Has he always been this bad of a liar? “No, I’m just. You know, trying to get employee of the month. Improving myself and all that other good stuff.”
Jimin says nothing. He doesn’t need to, the absolute smugness on his face as he tilts his head and sends him a smirk is more than enough.
Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Go improve theatre 5 and then we’ll talk.”
He walks away.
Namjoon sighs. He meets Jimin’s gaze and feels a chill run through him. What is this sudden fear? This apprehension and nervousness? Jimin holds his eye and steps towards him, a smirk that slowly morphs into a grin.
“Well what are you waiting for, Namjoonie?” He brushes their shoulders as he goes past, and heads towards the theatre’s.
Namjoon catches his breath. This is stupid, he’s being stupid. All he has to do is clean up some trash, wipe down any messes, and go on about his night. 0% or 100%, psyching himself up over nothing is ridiculous. But also, he still should probably make an appointment with a psychiatrist soon. Just because.
He goes to the supply closet for the bucket of products and takes the long way to the theatre.
The screen is playing the standard cinema ads and upcoming movie trailers when he opens the metal door. Namjoon stands in the dark walkway for a moment, allows the surround sound to echo around him. Even after working here for awhile he never gets tired of that nostalgic feeling of entering a dim, resounding theatre.
Then a head peeks over the slanted stairwell wall and beams down at him. “Come on, they’re about to play my favorite commercial.”
Jimin ducks away again.
Namjoon continues up the pathway and turns the corner to see Jimin sat at the very top in a reclined seat. He has one foot outstretched and the other on the chair, which makes him a little nuts, and arms crossed behind his head. “Hurry up, don’t want you to miss it!”
There’s nothing he could possibly miss. Namjoon has seen every preview, and ad, and commercial new and old, but simply goes along with it because telling Jimin no doesn’t seem like an option, and sits one seat away from him.
Jimin looks over at him. There’s a pout on his lips, but a set glower in his brow. “What are you doing?”
Namjoon nods at the screen. “Waiting for your commercial to play so that we can get to work.”
It’s not the right answer. Jimin shakes his head. “No, what are you doing so far away?”
He pauses.
Then says. “Are you scared of me?”
A loud boom reverberates through the room, a flicker of rapid light that flits across the sharp lines of Jimin’s face.
Namjoon sets down the bucket to the floor because suddenly his hands are sweaty and a tad weak. He clears his throat. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Jimin makes a show of a put upon frown, something akin to mockery. “I thought I was the sweetest person you’ve ever met. Kind, and pretty, and perfect. Isn’t that what you think of me, hyung?”
His mouth goes dry. Namjoon stutters to find the words to say, unable to utter a thing. What is Jimin saying? How could he possibly know any of that?
Jimin sighs. “I know how bad it eats at you, the way you feel about me. It’s cute, your little crush. I like it. Hurts that you don’t, though.”
Namjoon’s mouth drops. He feels sick to his stomach. “Who are you?”
He watches the surprise cast over Jimin’s face. As if he’s scandalized by Namjoon’s question. Jimin lowers his arms down and sits up, points a finger at himself. “Who am I? You created me, hyung.”
Bile rises to the back of his throat.
Detached, Namjoon sets his eyes upon Jimin who slowly rises from his seat. His presence feels immense, almost suffocating. The long, sculpted frame of his body a shadowed outline against the backdrop of the movie screen.
Jimin stalks towards him and kicks the cleaning bucket away. “You made me miss my favorite commercial. All because you forgot who I am.”
He kneels down before him. Namjoon goes stiff, muscles bound tight as Jimin presses cool palms just above his knees. It gives him a chill. A sensation that seeps through the fabric of his slacks to his skin underneath, crawling against every nerve ending.
The urge to run away becomes dwarfed by Jimin’s intense stare, keeping him in place. “Don’t feel too bad. I’d try to forget me too if I were you, carrying all that guilt around. Wanting something so, so much until it has no choice but to become real. To become me.”
His lips curl viciously. The face of which he could never forget, a demon that haunts his day and night.
Namjoon starts to panic. “What did you - “
Jimin shakes his head, digs his nails into the meat of his thigh. “ I did nothing but what you wanted, Namjoon. But guess what?”
He leans into him, so close they exchange the same breath while their eyes connect, and there’s a tender softness, a gentle shimmer. A sweet voice that utters. “I want this, too.”
Namjoon inhales lowly, raises a hand to trace a finger across his cheek. “Jimin.”
And he can’t help himself but dive deeper into that one touch. To spread his fingers across the expanse of his face; the delicate cut of his jaw, and small nose, and shape of his pretty mouth. He’s so pretty. So unbelievably wonderful.
Finds himself whispering. “I do like you.”
It’s responsive to what Jimin said earlier, in that it hurts Namjoon does not feel the same way. All of which is further from the truth.
Jimin cocks his head, and as his next words fall from his lips he catches a glimpse of a slit, tentacled tongue. “Then show me.”
Namjoon stares at his mouth, slides his hand back to card through Jimin’s thick, soft brown hair and musters up the nerve to lean in and kiss him.
He doesn’t know what he expects. Not something out of a fairytale or romantic cliché, but instant desperation on his part was not one of them. The moment their lips touch a rooted, harbored craving arises within him. Namjoon licks inside Jimin’s mouth and when three, separate appendages lick back everything sort of crumbles.
It feels so strange. The sensation of three tongues that curl and uncurl around his own, pebbled ridges on top that seem to pulsate and hum. They lick deep between his lips, tasting every inch of him and Namjoon moans the tiniest bit. Completely overwhelmed.
Then Jimin pulls away, eyes him deviously as he grabs at the hem of Namjoon’s shirt and rucks it up. His head lowers, and there, right there, his tongues circle his nipples. Slow, purposeful licks that drag the pebbles over his sensitive chest and makes his body jolt, shiver.
“ Ah , Jimin.” And his moan is undeniable now, laced with need.
But it doesn’t last long. A horrible,despicable tease Jimin is once he lifts up, bottom lip between his teeth. “Like that?”
Namjoon nods like a dunce, head empty. Jimin feathers his fingers up along the length of his thighs and to the button of his slacks. He grins. “You’ll like this more, promise.”
His slacks pop open and Jimin says, “Get up,” so Namjoon obeys, lifting up his hips to slide his pants down past his knees.
Already, he’s embarrassingly half hard. His boxers tented and his work free boner streak is officially ended. But he hardly cares, not as Jimin wets his mouth and cups him through the fabric. Namjoon takes a sharp intake of breath, out of surprise and the coolness of his hand.
“What are you so cold for?” Namjoon asks, and Jimin gives him a firm squeeze once, twice. Slides his fingers down to fondle and tug at his balls.
Jimin narrows eyes at him. “Because I’m a demon.”
Namjoon sighs. “Then shouldn’t you be hot? Like from hell?”
“Be quiet.” Jimin says, pulls his boxers down roughly.
The cry he lets out when Jimin wraps his hand around him is pitiful. His head falls back against the headrest only to pop back up because he doesn’t want to miss this. Shivers at the sight of Jimin’s brows pulled taut as he concentrates on stroking him to full thickness.
It takes no time. Jimin touches at the veins that line his shaft and circles a finger at his head. His tripled split, tentacled tongue that peeks out between plump lips as he plays with the dark hairs curled at his base and massages his ballsack.
Namjoon bites at his mouth and his breaths turn heavy. He goes to ask for more, beg for more, but Jimin, already inside a piece of him, lowers his head and circles his mouth fully around him.
“Oh my god.” He gasps, melting into the seat.
Jimin’s tentacle tongues wrap along the length of his dick and release a rhythmic pulsation, one that vibrates and seeps a substance just slightly thicker than saliva. He sucks and bobs his head relentlessly, one hand stroking at his base while the other spreads the mix of wetness and precum over his sack.
Namjoon whimpers pathetically out into the empty theatre, swallowed beneath the roar of a lively movie preview. His hands tremble uselessly before they find themselves buried in Jimin’s hair, gripped tight at his roots.
He’s going to cum. He just knows he’s going to cum too soon, because his thighs are spasming, and vibrations are passing straight through his dick to his prostate, and how is that possible?
Weakly, he peeks down to see Jimin’s hand now settled beneath his balls and his fingers, they’re no longer fingers, but tentacles just like his tongue, slipped inside his ass and pulsing and leaking around his prostate.
“Holy shit.” He sobs, and cums.
Jimin swallows it down, working his tongues in tandem with the throb of his orgasm, and Namjoon isn’t sure if the stars he sees are from the theatre screen or his own imagination.
Namjoon buries both hands in Jimin’s hair and releases a shaky, heavy breath. “How are you doing that?”
Jimin raises up from his dick and licks at his mouth, pulls wet fingers from his ass. “Hm, doing what? Making you feel so good? Making you cum? You want to again, don’t you?”
Stupidly, he can only moan. His dick twitches at the mere mention, all his thoughts now flirting with the idea of being nothing but Jimin’s cum machine for the rest of eternity.
It’s so twisted and sick, but he wants it so bad.
Jimin peels off Namjoon’s shoes then pulls his boxers and slacks away completely, takes him by the hips and drags his ass to the edge of the seat, his body slumping lower. He lifts Namjoon’s long, muscled legs and props them up on the seats behind him. He slaps his ass. “Keep them still.”
Namjoon nods. He feels so exposed, left in only his work shirt and socks. Jimin’s work shirt, he notes, wearing it for another day. His desperation started long before this moment.
Jimin turns his head in to kiss and bite along his thighs, alternates between the two. Sucks his tongues into the meat of his skin and leaves a small trail of bruises. He sighs contently, feels so adored and revered in that short moment. Then Jimin travels lower, lower, until his teeth nips at his taint.
He grips one hand on the armrest shakily. Settles himself as one tentacle tongue drags a slow circle around his rim, one licking at his perineum, while the other slips inside his hole. Namjoon’s eyes close, back arching the slightest bit. The varying sensations tickle up his spine and makes his toes curl, even worse as that substance begins to secrete again along with dull hums.
Jimin’s fat lips suck at his hole sloppily, begins to thrust his tongues in with earnest and trail along his inner walls, narrowly avoiding where Namjoon needs him the most.
His dick starts to thicken, drooling precum against his black shirt. Namjoon slides his hand underneath the hem and tweaks fingers at his hard nipple, crying out. He feels so out of himself, entirely displaced, as he switches between pinching at both and opening his legs wider like some common whore.
That thought is a lot, and he lets out a noise that’s high pitched and just this side of shameful.
Jimin presses his tentacle fingers in alongside his tongues and fucks them in and out harshly, scissoring him open. And that high pitched noise grows higher, and needier, and his dick is fully hard and making a mess of him.
When tentacle fingers or tongues or whatever finally find his prostate, Namjoon trembles all over. He pulls at his nipples, and his stomach muscles jump, and his thighs begin to close in only for them to suddenly be anchored in place by cool, tight coils.
His eyes fly open to see both of them wrapped in tentacles that extend out the loose sleeves of Jimin’s work shirt.
Jimin looks up at him. His eyes are as black as the night sky. “I said to keep still.”
Namjoon whines and circles a hand around his dick.
Another tentacle comes out his shirt and grips his wrist. Jimin glares. “Keep. Still.”
The tentacle tugs his hand away and loops itself around his dick. Jimin watches him for a second, sees if he’ll try to move again, and Namjoon doesn’t. Digs his fingers into the armrests and ignores the single tear that slips out his eye as Jimin goes back to eating his ass, holding his thighs apart, and fucking his dick.
Namjoon can only lay there and repeat his name in mindless garble, a pitiful chorus of jimin jimin jimin , as he watches tentacles play with his body until he cums, and cums, and cums.
It feels as if he never comes down. His body twitching in aftershocks, tiny sounds that fall from his mouth that he can’t seem to stop.
Jimin finally unravels himself from him and Namjoon’s legs feel like bricks. He struggles to sit up, and Jimin stands with a chuckle, helps him upright.
He stares down at him. “Had enough already, Joonie? Thought you wanted me more than that.”
Namjoon takes a breath and peers up at him. Jimin, standing there with tentacles extending out his shirt, and his fingers, and mouth, and his unruly hair, with a swollen, shiny mouth. Still the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen.
He scoots forward on the seat and takes him by the belt loops, pulls him in and starts to undo his button and zipper. Jimin lets him. Keeps a steady gaze as Namjoon pulls his pants down his thighs. He takes a second to lift Jimin’s shirt and run a hand across his hard chest, fingers along the harsh lines of his tattoo.
Then quickly sweeps his underwear away. He wants to be surprised that his dick is tentacle shaped, thick like a regular one, but more curved at the end and riddled with the secretion pebbles. Namjoon is quick to put it in his mouth. He runs his tongue over the pebbles and moans at the dull vibration against his tongue, licks up and down the length and sucks at the tip. Then wastes no time in swallowing him down his throat, saliva dripping over his chin.
“Fuck.” Jimin groans, holds the back of his head and pushes Namjoon down further. He’s thought a lot about this, sucking Jimin off, and while a tentacle dick may not be nowhere near his fickle fantasies, he’s practiced a lot at home for it.
But he doesn’t want to delay anymore time, pops his head off and gazes up to him. “So you already know how much I need you to fuck me then, yeah?”
Jimin smirks. “Yeah. I know. See, I seem to remember that time you straddled me before. I think you really liked that, how I had you all bound up. You know, that time you tried to kill me?”
Namjoon remembers all too well.
Jimin removes his pants and bottoms fully and sits down on his reclined seat as before, and winks. “Come sit on my dick as an apology, Joonie.”
Slowly, Namjoon stands up and tears off his shirt. He likes the way Jimin looks at him from head to toe, appraising.
He climbs into his lap and ignores how small of a space it is. Instead, he stares at Jimin, and Jimin stares back, and he leans in to brush their lips together.
Whispers. “This apology is forever, right?”
“Yes.” Jimin says, and his tentacles arrange themselves to position Namjoon’s hands at his lower back, coiled around them in a tight grip. “So fuck me like you never want to see me again.”
Namjoon kisses him just once, and then sits up just enough to grind his hips down until Jimin’s dick seats fully inside him. His eyes rolls at the feel of the pebbles against his inner walls. He takes a second to get used to the hold of his wrists, and the fullness inside him, before he moves with more purpose.
It feels too good too fast, already over sensitive with his previous orgasms. His body trembles as he rolls his hips back and forth in Jimin’s lap, gyrating in small circles that hit just right.
“Jimin, shit.” Namjoon moans, his head lolling forward as Jimin meets his thrusts halfway, fucking upwards. His tentacle dick becomes wet and wetter with every second, and his hole is messy and squelching with every slap of their bodies.
Jimin grins at him. “Look at you. Finally getting what you wanted. Taking it so well, hyung. I’m proud of you.”
Namjoon cries and hiccups, fucks down harder until it’s too much and a tentacle slips around his waist to hold him still as Jimin fucks up into him over, and over, and he sobs out loud till his dick spills over a third, spent orgasm untouched.
And it doesn’t stop, not as Jimin moans and continues to use him until he cums deep inside his hole, pebbles pulsating so rapidly Namjoon is certain he’s going to pass out.
The hold on his wrists releases and he falls forward onto Jimin’s chest, breathing heavily. Even the air on his skin feels like an open nerve, and he raises up and off Jimin’s dick with a whimper.
“Oh my god.” Is all he manages to say.
Jimin is quiet, runs gentle fingers up and down his back. They simply lay there and wait to catch their breaths, a commercial in the background relaying the importance of turning ones phone off during a viewing.
After a moment, Jimin speaks up. “You go clean yourself up, and I’ll finish up here.”
Namjoon raises his head to look at him. He doesn’t attempt to over analyze the look on Jimin’s face, or note any differences. He only gives a small nod and climbs off him, pulling on his mess of clothing.
And it feels awkward, and tense. Trying his best to avoid Jimin’s eye, to not say anything untoward.
He walks down the theatre stairs once finished and keeps his head low, all until he nearly rounds the corner, looking up to see Jimin watching him go.
With a sigh, Namjoon continues down the pathway and straight to the bathroom where he makes himself as presentable as possible, and then begs Seokjin to let him finish his shift out at the ticket booth. Thankfully, he agrees.
He doesn’t see Jimin the remainder of the night.
He doesn’t see Jimin the remainder of the night, until he gets home.
Namjoon does his normal nightly routine. Showers, eats, waters his bonsai trees, gets his material set up for class, and shuts off the lights.
Something tells him to forgo the sleeping pills tonight.
He settles into bed, and for the first night in a very long time, Namjoon falls right asleep.
There’s warmth. He can feel warmth, and see it too. A sunny brightness that heats his skin and shines upon his face. An open expanse of grassy field laid out in front of him, healthy and rich. Sitting there, right in the middle of it all, is Park Jimin.
Namjoon approaches him. Jimin is dressed in all white, loose fitting apparel that he could easily swim in, or dance in, and be free. His bare feet and hands sink into the green earth, and his smile grows wider as Namjoon comes near.
“What are you doing?” Namjoon asks, sitting down in front of him.
Jimin laughs. “Nothing. I was sad you weren’t here yet, Namjoonie.”
Namjoon nods at him, grins. “Yeah, me too.”
/ / /
His eyes open.
It’s morning. The clock reads 7:15am. He has an 8am lecture. That’s okay, because Namjoon is awake and not sleepy.
Namjoon feels rested .
He goes to class and listens intently, takes diligent notes and doesn’t nod off once. The rest of his day flows in the same manner, wide eyed and happy as he pays close attention to things he once before wouldn’t. Doesn’t allow instances that use to bother him to no longer do so.
By the time he makes it to his matinee shift, walking across town slow and unhurried, he feels light on his feet.
Namjoon stands outside the theatre looking up at the neon, flickering sign. It’s an ugly old thing, needs fixed like a lot of stuff around here. But he smiles nonetheless, watches a group of children skip past him and up to the ticket booth.
There, he sees Jimin and Jungkook hunched together flipping through what looks to be a comic book. When the children approach Jimin peers up in glee, a beam of unbridled excitement.
Then his eyes shift to where Namjoon is. It’s pretty unbelievable that his smile seems to brighten even more, and Namjoon doesn’t know what to do with that, except stand there and let warmth spread from his fingertips out to the rest of his being. Jimin pats Jungkook on the back and exits out the booth, strolling across the small lot towards him.
Namjoon bites the insides of his cheeks, only just a little bit nervous.
“Hi.” Jimin says, so soft.
“Hi.” Namjoon says back, softer.
And everything about this is paradoxical to their last interaction, two extremes on the end of a scale, but he finds that doesn’t really matter. Not when he feels like this.
He scratches at the back of his neck and lowers his head, bashful.
“So, I - “
“I, well - “
Namjoon shakes his head and laughs, opens a hand out to him. “Please, you go first, Jimin.”
Jimin clasps his hands in front of him and his ears turn a pretty shade of pink, the apples of his cheeks dusted in a flush. “I was just thinking about a dream I had last night. About you.”
His heart skips a beat. “Oh?”
“Yes.” Jimin says, and he runs a hand through his hair that does nothing but showcase just how rosy he is. How beautiful he is. “It’s - god, it’s cheesy. We were holding hands, and laughing, and watching a movie together. So unoriginal, I mean we work at a movie theatre. That’s corny, huh?”
Namjoon is quick to shake his head, taking a step towards him to gently grasp his wrist. “No, no not at all. I like that a lot, actually. To be able to hold your hand, and be together.”
And he can’t believe he’s saying these words, after all that has happened to get them to this point, and it’s all too surreal. But the happiness on Jimin’s face is worth it, as he nods his head and slides his hand fully to lace with Namjoon’s. “Me too. Go on break at 8? Catch that robot Olympic swimmer flick in theatre 5?”
Namjoon grins. He feels dizzy at the mention of theatre 5, but he lets it pass over him. “Sounds like a date.”
Jimin giggles and lifts up on his tiptoes to kiss Namjoon’s cheek.
He feels like he’s dreaming. And it’s the best dream he’s ever had. Namjoon never wants to wake up.
Later that night, he dials up Hoseok while staring in the mirror at the line of bruises along the side of his neck.
“Guess what?” He says before Hoseok has a chance to even say hello.
“You want to marry me? The answer is no.”
Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Hell no. But I might actually get married soon. I went on a date.”
Hoseok gasps. “Who went on a date with you?”
“Jimin.”
“Who the fuck is Jimin?”
He sighs dreamily. “I’m not having nightmares anymore.”
There’s a long pause. A stretch of dead, staticky air until Hoseok bursts into laughter. “All it took was you to go a date for your nightmares to stop? How very you of you, holy shit. Sounds like something out of a movie.”
Namjoon laughs at his reflection. “You don’t even know the half of it.”
And Namjoon spares him all the grueling details. So what if he got fucked by a nightmare demon six ways from Sunday. Hoseok doesn’t need to know that, now does he?