Chapter Text
The breeze that slipped in from the barely cracked window was cool with a thin edge of warmth, the gentle bite of a lingering spring. Normally, Jin would treasure that warmth, glad to be done with the winter, but with the summer came endings. Jin hated seeing this semester end.
Yoongi flicked his cigarette, sending a spray of still glowing ash from their third story window—one that they’d had to half-break to get open in the first place.
Outside, the world was that particular kind of orange haze that lingered over the city at night, too much light pollution for there to be a darkness with any depth. They were positioned towards the city itself, away from the water, so the open window only amplified the sounds of sirens and tires and random shouts, even tucked deep into the University campus. Jin’s eyes had long since glazed over, his fingers scrolling mindless through twitter on this phone instead of sorting through his entrepreneurship notes. Studying was a luxury afforded only by those students who still gave a shit this deep into April.
“I never thought I’d be that bitch whining over missing Korea, but, fuck, I miss Korea,” Yoongi sighed, blowing a thin stream of smoke through the tiny gap in the window between their bunk beds and their desks pushed against the opposite wall.
“We’ll both be home soon,” Jin replied. He set his phone onto his pillow gently as he turned to look over at Yoongi. “Then, we’ll remember all the reasons why we got the fuck out of there in the first place.”
With a chuckle, Yoongi half-turned to face Jin sprawled across his bed. “What’s that dumb, grandma phrase people say all the time? Distance—”
“—makes the heart grow fonder,” they finished in unison.
When Jin had arrived to the University of Chicago, it had still been sticky and oppressive near the lake, like opening an oven door and getting a blast of steam to the face. He’d arrived alone at his own insistence, claiming some shit to his parents about how he wanted to “test his willpower,” but his anxiety had risen with each progressive step towards his year studying abroad. Seeing Yoongi curled on the tile floor when he’d arrived to his assigned dorm had been like a sign from the universe that maybe he wasn’t alone in this, that everything was going to be fine.
And he had been. More than fine, really.
Yoongi was probably a huge reason why, honestly. Him and his little thinking noises and disregard for authority and his need to have the last word on anything. Rolling onto his side to better look at him covered in a giant hoodie despite the warm air, Jin couldn’t help but smile.
“Yoongichi, if you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?” he asked wistfully.
Taking a deep drag from his cigarette, Yoongi blinked slowly, taking Jin’s question seriously enough to actually take his time with it. “I think maybe Yongsan Electronics Market, I need a new mixer pretty bad. Or maybe the Empire State Building. I go fucking nuts for that art deco shit,” he said as the smoke curled around his lips.
It was nice. Jin had always hated the smell of tobacco, had always associated it with the creepy old men that filled his father’s board rooms, but Yoongi made it nice.
“What about you?”
Jin shrugged, his brain thinking immediately of the Ellinia Forest level in Maple Story. He liked the music in that location, it was sweet and calm and relaxing. But that wasn’t really an answer, it was a cop-out fantasy, and Jin was far too old for that kind of thing.
So, instead, he thought of the farthest place from what home felt like. Somewhere far removed from the lights and sounds of Seoul, just enough that it seemed like a different world, distant enough that no one would think to look there. Somewhere just far enough away that he might just be able to leave reality behind.
“I don’t know. Anywhere. Alaska.”
Yoongi let out a small laugh and flicked his cigarette butt outside in a beautifully executed arch. “Maybe you could hitch a ride with my friend. He’s moving up there for school next month, driving the whole damn way like a fucking crazy person.”
“Which friend is this?”
“Namjoon. The genius one.”
Jin let his eyebrows convey his skepticism as he said, “I still don’t fully believe he’s real, no one is as perfect as you make this mysterious Namjoon out to be.”
“Believe whatever the fuck you want to, dude, I don’t give a shit,” Yoongi shot back.
“Can you imagine, though?” Jin sighed, rolling onto his back and staring up at the white, textured ceiling. “Hope he likes to drive.”
“Nope,” Yoongi shrugged as he climbed onto his own bed underneath Jin’s. “Hates driving with a passion, but apparently driving is the way to do it according to everyone he’s talked to. So, the crazy fucker is doing it like the maniac he is.”
Jin pressed his hand to his heart. “Amazing, he’s my fucking hero.”
“That’s probably the stupidest reason anyone has ever had for idolizing Namjoon, but it is you talking, so I’ll let this one go,” Yoongi retorted, but his tone was amused and fond.
But, when Jin closed his eyes, all he could see was the road rolling out in front of him, so far that he couldn’t see where it ended, so far that it reached up to touch the sky. It looked like a dream.
It looked like freedom.
>>>
Seokjin tapped out a random beat against the plain, white counter corralling the line at the post office. There was only one more day of finals week left, but Jin was miraculously already done, having all of his tests and projects front-loaded into his week. It had been oddly relaxing knowing that he could practically fail most of his finals and still pass, a weird luxury compared to the coursework he had grown accustomed to in Korea. Every test felt like the most important grade yet, but his solid work throughout the semester had given him a healthy bubble here at the end of the year.
Hell, even his high school years had felt more stressful than this, desperately cramming information into his head so he could get accepted to an “appropriate” school. Boring, endless days bent over his desk, trying to focus on equations and formulas and strings of English that he could never quite memorize as Ggukie ran around the house complaining that Jin was “boring” now.
Jeongguk was the one shining, bright spot about going home.
“I can help who’s next,” the woman at the main counter called, her eyes connecting with Jin’s.
“Hello,” Jin murmured. He hated the way English felt on his tongue, flat and wide and uncertain, but that was the sacrifice he made in studying in the States. Hefting the package in his hands onto the counter, he paused to smile softly at the woman, hoping that it would be enough to plaster over his abysmal English-speaking skills. It was package number four, the last of his accumulated junk that refused to fit inside his carry-on and checked bags. With this box gone, his side of the dorm room looked bare and unlived in. Not that Yoongi’s side looked any more filled, but still.
“I need…” he began, trailing off as he gestured to the parcel in his hands with the customs form in his other.
Luckily, the woman simply nodded, giving him rapid-fire commands that Jin only partially understood. The form was pulled from his hand, the parcel scanned and sorted, the money exchanged quickly and painlessly before Jin was nodding a half-bow as the woman moved her attention to the next person in line.
Okay, maybe being surrounded by Korean speakers again was the other bright spot about home. But that was about it.
Walking back outside was like hitting a wall of warmth, the May sunlight reflecting off the cars and streets. The weather in Chicago was unpredictable, changing rapidly throughout the day in a way that Jin was most certainly not going to miss. Freezing sleet in the winter, rising heat wafting off the concrete now that the snow had melted away for good. It was like Seoul with an attitude problem.
The image made Jin laugh as he cut through the crowds along the sidewalk. Jin hadn’t come here expecting to like it or anything, this weird middle city, crammed against the shores of Lake Michigan, had chosen the university based only on the fact that the reputation alone would convince his parents to let him study abroad while simultaneously being too out of the way for them to want to visit. Yet, Jin liked how faceless he was, blending neatly into the crowd of people too wrapped up in themselves to give a shit about him or his father or anything.
It had been a long time since he felt like he was moving through the world without needing to act like he was Kim Seokjin, Kim Yeongchul’s first-born son.
Here, he was just Jin.
He took his time walking home, weaving between the stoic, gothic buildings that dotted the campus, setting the university away from the more American feel of Hyde Park. Yoongi would likely have something interesting to say about why Jin felt the world outside dimming a little as he passed by cathedral-like buildings, but Jin didn’t really need to know why he felt something. Feeling it was more than enough for him.
International House loomed over the midway, a long strip of a park that divided the campus into north and south. Just another silent, gothic building, but Jin’s home for the past nine months nonetheless.
He glanced at his watch, trying to remember when Yoongi’s last final was as he took the stairs up to their woefully empty dorm. It was strange to think back to those first few mildly awkward days, trying to find a way to live around someone so closely, strange to think about not having Yoongi’s music, turned down low out of politeness, putting him to sleep each night. Jin had plenty of friends back home, but Yoongi was his actual best friend now. His first best friend.
Well, his first that wasn’t also coincidentally his baby brother. Maybe he’d bring Jeongguk along with him to visit Yoongi once they were back in Korea. Shenanigans were almost guaranteed with a trio like that.
Yoongi was perched on the radiator cover positioned underneath the little window when Jin wandered in.
“I swear you look more and more like a cat every day,” Jin giggled as he sank onto the edge of Yoongi’s bed.
“You know what? I’m in such a good mood that I’m actually going to put up with your bullshit today,” Yoongi declared, stretching out his legs to dangle over the white paneled box. “I never have to talk to those dumbfuck group members ever fucking again.”
“I take it that your presentation went well?”
“I fucking nailed it, dude,” Yoongi smiled, his widest, brightest grin. “Our professor asked a bunch of really pointed questions at the end of the presentation, and I fucking nailed it. Just one after the other. All of those judgmental fucks who thought I was an idiot because of my English can eat my entire ass.”
Imagining the stupid looks on Yoongi’s classmates, all of the idiots who doubted him, being forcefully put into their places, Jin sighed dreamily, “I fucking love poetic justice.”
“Architectural justice, but, yeah, it was the perfect way to get the fuck out of here,” Yoongi laughed.
Jin hummed a reply, but couldn’t find it in him to respond. For Yoongi, this year had been a way to break out of a mental rut, to beef up his portfolio before graduation. But for Jin? This had been an escape from the caged in boundaries of his life. Of his future.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to let it go, even with some architectural justice.
But he pushed the thought aside, much preferring to feed Yoongi’s delighted spirits than indulging in his own. As Yoongi began to detail the presentation beat by beat, Jin felt a little buzz from his phone, tucked deep into his front pocket. Without bothering to interrupt Yoongi’s diatribe, he glanced down at the screen.
It was a Line message from Jaehwan, an old friend who hadn’t texted him in months.
His brows lowered in confusion as he pulled up the message, a simple, “WOW congrats man!!” and an attached article. When he clicked open the article, Yoongi’s voice seemed to fade away, Jin’s entire focus narrowing to the screen in his hand.
“Geumhwa Group Chairman Instates Eldest Son as Vice-Chair.”
The phone in Jin’s hand began to buzz erratically as the messages began to pour in, his header blinking with each new message, but Jin felt…nothing. It was like he had pulled the tether from reality for a minute and was simply floating along the ceiling. This couldn’t be real, this had to be a joke, he hadn’t even talked to his father this month, let alone about him being named to the motherfucking board of directors.
“—Hyung? Jinnie-hyung?”
Jin jumped when Yoongi grabbed his shoulder, startling him from his mental spiral. “Hyung? What’s wrong?” he asked, face pale with concern as he peered down at Jin.
“I’m—” Jin threw out his hands in a wide, bewildered shrug. “I’m? I don’t even fucking know.” He shoved the phone into Yoongi’s hand just as the hysterical laughter began to burble up in his chest. “I’ve been fucking promoted.”
“Did you know that this was coming?” Yoongi asked faintly as he scrolled through the article, flicking past the dated pictures of Jin: of him graduating with his bachelor’s, of him cutting the ribbon outside their current office in Hongdae two years ago, of him walking next to his father. Jin looked away, his laughter petering off as quickly as it began.
“I knew it was coming eventually, but I thought it was years off. I assumed I’d have some warning or something at least before it did,” Jin said distantly. “I don’t even officially have an MBA yet.”
Yoongi frowned deeply as he sank into the bed next to Jin. “I mean…” He rubbed his chin for a moment, then let his hand hover over Jin's before patting it roughly. Biting at his lip, Jin could read the gentle hesitance in Yoongi, wanting to comfort but uncertain if Jin would want it.
Jin turned his palm upwards, his shoulders relaxing when Yoongi latched onto his fingers.
“Congratulations, I guess?” Yoongi mumbled. “Hey, hyung, look. I know that this isn’t ideal or any shit like that, but you can figure this out. You’re one of the smartest people I know, just…” He shrugged, then leaned into Jin’s shoulder as he continued, “Just talk to your dad. Maybe he thought this was what you wanted.”
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Jin sighed, leaning into Yoongi, as well. “He doesn’t care, he’s literally never even asked.”
“C’mon, hyung, that’s—” Yoongi abruptly stopped, glancing down to Jin’s phone still held in his hand as it rang. The screen displayed his father’s contact info, the tune of the underwater theme from Super Mario jingling from the tiny speakers.
Jin took a long inhale, breathing out slowly through his lips trying to stay calm, calm, calm, but his fingers were shaking when he slid his phone from Yoongi’s hand.
“It seems as if the news broke earlier than expected,” his father drawled, the pleased sound of his voice clashing harshly against Jin’s silence. “I’m assuming you’ve already seen our little announcement.”
“Little?” Jin echoed softly.
“Figured you deserved a well-earned treat after your successful yearabroad,” his father continued.
Something deep, buried so far underneath all of the things Jin had given up over the course of his life, under all of the motivation to protect Ggukie, to maybe earn his father’s respect, the supports holding up Jin’s life seemed to fracture. The bottom fell out and scattered all of the little pieces of himself to the wind as his father spoke.
“A treat?” Jin retorted. Yoongi was squeezing his fingers so hard he couldn’t even feel them, but maybe Jin had stopped feeling much of anything right now. Maybe some other force had taken over his body, pressing down on his lungs until he said the words he usually buried so deep in himself that he often forgot that they were even there. “You told me my whole life that this is business, that I had to earn my way, and you just hand me this? Now?”
Jin could hear his father take a breath, clearly ready to reply, but Jin was too far gone to wait for permission this time. “I’ve been a middle manager in marketing for two years, I’ve taken a whole year off just to finish my degree, how the hell am I supposed to know how to be a vice-chair?” His voice broke gently. “Dad, I don’t—I can’t do this.”
“Seokjin.”
Jin’s teeth clicked together reflexively at his father’s tone, stern and commanding, unfortunately more familiar to Jin throughout his life than the pleased, smug tone at the beginning of their call. Yoongi was tapping out a beat with his free hand, and Jin timed his breaths to it in an effort to regain his poise, to fight off whatever had possessed him. He could picture his father so clearly, likely already at work, piles of reports stacked neatly beside his morning coffee, the dark wood of his office making the morning sunshine dim.
“This is an honor I’m giving you. Don’t make me regret it.”
With a strangled laugh, Jin asked, “An honor? An honor to who, dad? I’m not ready—”
“Seokjin, you’re acting like a ridiculous child. This isn’t like you,” his father stated, his teeth clearly gritted together.
“How would you even know that?” Jin replied, low and dark. He felt distinctly like a feral dog, back pressed up against a corner with no means of escape, with nothing for protection except his teeth. “How would you know what I’m like? When have you even cared?”
“I refuse to be talked to in this way, least of all by my ungrateful son. We will continue this conversation when you decide to act like a mature adult,” his father shot back before the line went dead. He sat frozen, phone still pressed to his ear. Everything he assumed was true and guaranteed about his life felt so empty all of a sudden. Like the path he’d been walking had come to a sudden halt without him even realizing that it could end.
“Holy fuck,” Yoongi mumbled.
“Holy fuck,” Jin responded, staring down at his phone. This was…not optimal. As the last dregs of the conversation settled over Jin, he realized what exactly he’d done, how he acted. This wasn't the actions of the polite, obliging Kim Seokjin who'd left Seoul nine months ago, but they were his words. His terrified, uncertain words. Sure, he’d been preparing to work under his father his whole life, had known someday that he would be selected for the Board, but not like this. The thought of shifting from his worn-in role as a pencil pusher to the motherfucking vice-chairman was horrifying, unforgiving. He would look like the useless, spoiled chaebol his subordinates and peers assumed he was.
He would fail in a minute, and he’d worked far too hard mastering shit that he hated to do that.
“So, uh…” Yoongi gestured vaguely in front of him, looking as bewildered and lost and uncomfortable as Jin felt. “That didn’t go as planned.”
Flopping back onto Yoongi’s messily made sheets, Jin let out a long, hissing sigh. “Yeah, that’s a fair assessment.” He let go of Yoongi’s hand to press his hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”
“It’s cool,” Yoongi replied, still tapping his fingers against his leg. “This just kinda sucks. Why the fuck didn’t your dad talk to you first?”
“Probably because my dad is too self-absorbed to pay attention to the fact that I occasionally have opinions on stuff. God, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Jin grit out as he pressed his hand still harder against his eyes, willing himself not to cry. “It's not like I've argued back, really. And it’s just…dad’s busy, he’s always been too busy to care about much except the business. He’s a genius businessman, but—”
“Kinda a shitty dad?” Yoongi finished.
Jin shrugged, feeling cold and sad. “It could be worse,” he mumbled, finally letting his hand fall away from his eyes as he felt the prick of tears ebbing away.
Yoongi hummed, not really agreeing or disagreeing, before he asked, “What about your mom? Maybe she could talk him down or something?”
With a laugh, Jin shook his head. “She’s just as bad. She refuses to get involved with the business, she’s way too wrapped up in her little pet projects for that.” At Yoongi’s confused look, he continued, “She’s got her dinner parties and her museum openings and her cocktail hours and her plays and her whatevers. Likely, she’s not even in the country right now.”
“I’m assuming your brother couldn’t help?”
“Ggukie?” Jin laughed even harder. “I can’t remember the last time he had a civil conversation with dad, they don’t see eye to eye on anything. Fuck, he’s probably going to be a dick to Gguk now because of me, accuse him of ‘being a bad influence’ or something.”
Yoongi whistled softly with a wince. “So, you’re fucked.”
“I’m fucked. And maybe out of a job.” Jin kicked out his legs a little, another burst of hysterical laughter punching through his chest, “Maybe out of the family, too, who knows?”
“C’mon, it’s not that bad, is it? My family fights a lot dirtier than this, and we still work shit out eventually,” Yoongi said as he curled himself into a little ball next to Jin. “This is what families do: they push at each other and come back together. It always seems worse from the outside, but things have a way of falling back into place.”
Jin nodded, trying to ease whatever worry Yoongi was feeling. They were just about to go home, they were still meant to be riding the high of being done for the semester, and, soon, done with school for good. Yoongi had no need to carry whatever shit Jin should have bundled away by now. Maybe other families could come together and sort out their issues, but Jin’s family was far more likely to bottle that shit up forever and throw it out to sea.
Jin’s family was business.
“It might take some work, but things are going to be okay,” Yoongi stated, his voice quiet but assured as he patted Jin’s head. “All you have to do is go home.”
“Home.”
The word conjured murky images from the back of Jin’s mind, of running wildly through their gated community hand in hand with Jeongguk, of childhood birthdays in his grandfather's garden, of a minimally decorated house and formal dinners. But it all felt like some dream Jin had once, too long ago for any of the details to be clear or fresh.
How long had Jin's home been just a façade?
>>>
Two days later, Yoongi pulled the last polaroid picture off the wall over his desk, removing the last piece of either of them from the room. The RA was scheduled to arrive in a few minutes to walk through the room and give them the final okay to head out for good. Jin carefully smoothed out the nametag he’d created for their door, a mandated activity. It was meant to draw them into the group of their peers, their fellow students, but Yoongi and Jin had pretty quickly excused themselves from the majority of group activities. Still, he liked the nametag he’d created, his full name written in mystery blocks with a tiny, jumping Mario. Yoongi’s had been black and blue, messy and frenetic.
Now the door was empty, devoid of personality.
“I got some good shots in, didn’t I?” Yoongi smiled down at the stack of polaroids in his hand. Most of his shots were of buildings, of detailed cornerstones and city lights reflected off windows, but there were a few of himself mixed in. There were only two of them together. Yoongi slid one into Jin’s hand, the polaroid of them standing like schoolchildren outside the front doors of International House, cockeyed and blurry on the edges.
“Thanks, Yoongi-yah,” Jin said, biting his lip to keep any stray mushy feelings in. “We had a lot of development as friends over the year. I’d say life would have been pretty pola-devoid without you.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes deeply back into his head, but his laughter peeked through his words, “God, I hate you sometimes.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe on the floor, sighing softly as he sorted through his thoughts. Jin would miss this, would miss the easy way they lived around each other.
After a moment, Yoongi dug around in his large black duffle bag to pull out his camera case. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Jin. “I feel like maybe you’ll need it, I don’t know.”
“Are you sure?” Jin asked as the vintage case was pressed into his hands.
“Obviously,” Yoongi replied, flashing his grin up at Jin. He fought for composure as he straightened himself to his tallest height, pointed his finger threateningly up at Jin, and said, “If you keep bitching, I’ll take it back.”
“Oh, Yoongichi.” Wrapping his arms around Yoongi, Jin squeezed him tightly just to hear him wheeze. “I’ll miss you, too.”
Outside, the noise of the campus, alive with students moving out of their dorms, families visiting for graduation, and the many passerby that constantly dotted the grounds, pierced their little bubble. The air was warm with the promise of summer, but humidity was still low enough to be pleasant. Yoongi dropped his duffle on the front steps and stretched, looking out at the people milling around the midway.
“So, my friend who I tricked into driving us to the airport, he should be here in a minute, but he’s always kinda terrible at keeping track of time. Can’t really speak for his sense of direction, either,” he said through a yawn. After a beat, Yoongi continued, “He’s the one you claimed is your hero.”
“What?”
“The Mysterious Namjoon. The guy who’s driving to Alaska,” Yoongi explained. “I’ll finally prove to you that he’s real.”
Jin bit his lip, trying to quell the leap of something filling his chest—jealousy maybe? The imagined image of the open road slipped back into Jin’s psyche, looking beautiful and perfect and so, so tempting. Whatever was waiting for Jin back home felt dull, oppressive in comparison.
Along 59th Street, cars jostled for space as they slowly rolled along with the traffic, avoiding the random pedestrians darting casually through the lanes. There was an averageness about the scene that Jin wanted to imprint into his brain, knowing that this was the last time he’d see it. These treasured months abroad had slipped between his fingers so fast, he hadn’t even bothered to try to catch them before now. From the lines of cars, a green Subaru cautiously, so very cautiously, pulled to the curb in front of International House.
“Sup, Namjoonie,” Yoongi called out, and Jin felt himself halt for a solid heartbeat.
From the driver’s side, a man emerged, tall and waving as he rounded the car to meet them. He was nearly all leg, his strikingly handsome face grinning in their direction under an artfully messy head of ashy blond hair.
Yoongi hadn’t bothered to mention that his mysterious, genius, maniac friend had fucking dimples.
“Hey, hyung, sorry about being a little late,” Namjoon replied. “Traffic was…” He shrugged gently, letting out a tiny laugh. It was light, clearly meant to sound casual, but Jin could hear the edge of anxiety on it. “It always sucks, but it’s the weekend, so.”
“Whatever, man, we’ve got time,” Yoongi yawned again. He gestured to Jin, hovering at his side and most certainly not ogling Namjoon. Not at all, nope. “I’m sure you guessed, but this is my roommate, Seokjin.”
Jin felt himself shifting softly, standing a little more demurely as Namjoon’s eyes met his. He could feel the edges of his smile curving knowingly as Namjoon’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Sure, Jin was more than aware of what he looked like, but being noticed by someone worth being noticed by always felt like a crown around Jin’s handsome brows.
But Namjoon seemed to catch himself as he offered his hand, bowing a little as he did so. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, his closed lipped smile stretched so wide that his teeth peeked out from between the corners of his lips.
Shit, this guy was lethal.
“It’s nice to meet you, as well,” Jin murmured back. From the corner of his eye, he could just make out Yoongi rolling his eyes back dramatically.
After a gentle moment, Namjoon’s hand wrapped warm around Jin’s, he pulled back suddenly, sending a bright smile in Yoongi’s direction. “Cool, so, the airport. It’ll take us about an hour to get there with traffic, so,” he said as he strode to the back of the SUV to open the rear door. Once their luggage had been carefully arranged in the back, they settled in, Jin in the backseat behind Yoongi in the passenger seat.
From his vantage point, Jin could see Namjoon take a careful breath before he turned on the car. They slid slowly back into the traffic streaming along 59th, quickly passing by the gothic quadrangles and green patches that had been Jin’s entire world for a year. There was something almost novel about seeing Chicago from a car instead of a bus or the L train, the buildings seeming condensed and more real than before. Maybe it was the fact that Jin would likely never see these buildings again, or that he knew that this was the end of something.
What that something was, he couldn’t be sure, but he could feel it withering away around him.
“You all packed up already or did you put that off until last minute?” Yoongi asked as they turned along the road that followed the lake, the water stretching out to the horizon outside Jin’s window.
Namjoon laughed a self-conscious little bark. “I’m like 90 percent done. Plus, my dad came up last weekend to take a carload of books back down to my parents' place, so I might actually be able to see out the back window.”
“That seems mildly important,” Yoongi replied drily.
“It took me so freaking long to decide which to keep with me, it was awful.” Namjoon sighed wistfully, hands gripping the wheel dangerously tight. “But, to answer your question, yeah, I’m pretty much set to leave tomorrow.”
Jin bit his lip as the conversation fell slightly, still unable to push aside the image of the open road, of mountains he couldn’t name. But his eyes were glued to Namjoon’s hands and the tense set of his jawline. “It sounds like such an adventure,” Jin said, hoping that his tone was encouraging.
Namjoon laughed that same strange burst of sound, and Jin could see his knuckles pulling full white under his tanned skin as he gripped the steering wheel. “Ha, yeah, sure. An adventure. ‘Sounds like’ being the optimal words,” Namjoon replied. Somehow, his grip on the wheel tightened still further as he merged from the entrance ramp onto the interstate snaking its way north, giving little glimpses of the downtown Chicago skyline.
Without meaning to, Jin found himself laughing at Namjoon’s rather pessimistic reply. He could see the way Namjoon’s concentration broke at the sound of his laughter, the way his shoulder angled sideways as if he was going to turn before he corrected himself. The car swerved slightly within their lane.
As they met the interstate, built high over the city, the view opened to show Chicago stretching flat around them. Jin’s eyes skated over the buildings, his brain turning around a thought.
A very stupid, potentially very disastrous thought.
“No, I know it’s a once in lifetime kind of thing,” Namjoon continued. “And apparently Canada is really nice to drive through. I just know I’ll be too distracted by driving to actually enjoy any of it,” Namjoon sighed after Jin’s squeaky giggles tapered off.
“That’s a shame,” Jin responded gently, as he turned back to the window.
Outside, the four-lane road began to taper into various directions. Namjoon’s navigation app chirped happy directions in English, but he kept asking Yoongi to check which lane he needed to be in. Entrance and exit ramps weaved over and under each other, their lane sending them under a maze of branching bridges and ramps. The car slowed as Namjoon glanced over his shoulder to shift lanes, angling them towards the sign labelled with a distinctive crest with 90 written in bold white. As the skyscrapers spreading to the right of the long lines of cars inched closer and closer, Jin’s brain circled back to his inkling of an idea.
Namjoon’s anxiety was palpable, his shoulders edging higher as they joined Interstate 90. If Jin worded this perfectly, he just might agree, but Jin needed to be cautious. The last thing he needed was for Namjoon to think that he was a crazy person or something.
“So, um, Seokjin-ssi,” Namjoon said, his voice dipping slightly. “Are you on the same flight as Yoongi-hyung?”
Jin could have laughed at the subtle serendipity, Namjoon’s question playing neatly into the plan forming in his mind. “No, actually. My flight leaves in about six hours or so. We decided to carpool more to save money on bus fare than anything else.”
“Oh. Cool.”
The sunlight dimmed as they drove under a wide bridge, only to emerge to the full view of downtown stretching out before them. The contrast of older buildings against the modern lines of skyscrapers crammed around the branching interstates was beautiful, distinctly American in a way that Jin couldn’t quite put into words. Namjoon’s shoulders were stiff as the traffic pressed in on both sides, and Jin found himself folding his hands delicately on his lap to keep from reaching out. It was an odd impulse for him, physicality not really a realm he was confident in.
No, Jin’s realm was bullshitting.
“You know, I’ve heard that a lot of parents like to leave Chicago after their kids are born,” Jin said, leaning forward to position himself in the gap between the two front seats. When Yoongi looked back at him with a confused expression, he had to fight back his giggles in anticipation of the punchline. “They don’t want them to grow up to be too Illi-noisy!” he managed to say before dissolving into laughter.
Yoongi looked mildly disgusted despite his little chirp of laughter, but Jin didn’t really give a shit. All because Namjoon practically lost it, leaning forward as he barked out distinctive little “ha”s.
Leaning back into his seat, Jin grinned out at the tall buildings, now blotting out the sun as they drove past. The tenseness pulling between Namjoon’s shoulders was still there, but less than before. A solid win in Jin’s book.
“God, that’s so fucking dumb,” Namjoon giggled, his English quick and mumbled, but just intelligible enough for Jin to understand.
Okay, a half-win, but, whatever, Jin still did what he intended to.
Yoongi shook his head as he said, “This is exactly why I never introduced you two, Jin-hyung is full of idiotic comments like that.” His words were harsh, but his tone was loving in a way that pulled at Jin’s raw, barely repressed emotions.
“It’s all for you, Yoongichi,” Jin sighed wistfully.
But his attention was quickly diverted as Namjoon’s shoulder lifted in a half shrug. “Sure, puns are stupid, but they’re not really ‘idiotic.’ It takes a lot of linguistic understanding to be able to craft a portmanteau that works in multiple contexts.”
“Oh, here we go,” stated Yoongi with a little wave and an indulgent smile. Clearly, something in there was a thing, something that Jin would know if he knew Namjoon at all. The thought rubbed at Jin, like an itchy patch that appeared on his arm without him knowing the cause.
“Ha ha, yeah. Whoops,” Namjoon mumbled, only a little self-consciously, but still putting an end to the topic.
Jin kind of wanted to toss his shoe at Yoongi’s head for cutting the subject off. For alluding to something he couldn’t possibly know, then dismissing it like it wasn’t anything even worth acknowledging. It was all very rude, Jin’s curiosity simmering just beneath his polite demeanor.
An image slipped into the back of his mind: Jin’s tiny hand wrapped around his mother’s as they strolled up the stone steps to his family’s company building. Of him excitedly reciting dinosaur facts he had learned the day before, ending his tirade with a rather pointed question about coprolites.
“Mommy, scientists learn so much from poop! What do you think scientists would learn from my poop?” he’d chattered as they waited for their elevator to arrive.
He could remember distinctly the weird little laughs of the other adults waiting for the elevators, the way his mother’s fingers gripped his so hard they hurt, the way her voice hissed through her teeth as she leaned down to whisper, “That you are a rude little boy, Seokjin. We don’t talk about impertinent things.”
The world dimmed again as the lanes stretched through a tunnel, under the trundling lope of the L train overhead. Behind them, the towering heights of downtown slipped away and reality filtered back in, pushing away Jin's memories.
The interstate curved into the expressway as it met the L lines. The traffic picked up, cars darting easily from lane to lane in front of Namjoon. In the front, Yoongi was trying valiantly to talk Namjoon off the edge of anxiety with detailed run-downs of every concert he’d seen during his two semesters—some that he had drug Jin along for. It seemed to be doing enough, Namjoon’s quick smiles catching Jin’s attention even as he was turned to watch the city streak by. Older brownstones were buried deep into edges of the city along the interstate, modern glass and concrete buildings peeking through seeming to crowd at them.
Yoongi’s voice was measured, slow but emphatic as he discussed some seedy show he’d taken Jin to last month.
Jin remembered the frontwoman of the band distinctly as he sunk even further back into the seat, lulled by Yoongi’s descriptions. It had been an old punk band, one that Jin had never heard of before, loud and powerful and wild. The guitarist and the bassist had been entertaining, sure, but the frontwoman was electrifying. She’d looked out into the crowd with laser like focus, looking Jin dead in the eye as she delivered lines too loud for Jin to process. That’s what control looks like, he’d thought to himself at the time.
“Wish you hadn’t been so busy, Joon, you would have fucking loved it,” Yoongi sighed.
Their pace slowed as more and more cars flowed in from entrance ramps. The distant roar of air traffic mixed with the squeaking reverberation of a train rumbling past between the incoming and oncoming lanes of traffic.
“How much further is it?” Namjoon asked, tilting his head towards his phone resting in the front cupholder. It hadn’t bothered to chirp any new directions for multiple minutes, their path leading them in a fairly straight line through the city.
“Less than ten minutes,” Yoongi responded after glancing at his phone. Pointing to a green sign labelled with a white airplane symbol, he continued, “We’re almost to our exit.”
“Fantastic,” Namjoon said, his tone making it almost sound like a swear.
The lanes spread as they followed the long, slow curve of the exit lane, a wide swath of green extending out beyond the lanes of traffic. Huge LED signs gave traveler’s information between terminal gate directions, all of which Namjoon leaned forward to nervously scan. Yoongi pushed Namjoon back in his seat gently, pointing him towards the correct terminal. The lanes branched off, sending them angling around a long, glass building with low overhangs.
Namjoon slowed the car to a gentle, cautious stop outside the ANA terminal.
Jin let out a slow breath. This was where he needed to make his choice, his last chance to do the responsible thing. But, watching the harsh line of Namjoon’s shoulders as he turned off the car, Jin knew that he’d already made his decision.
He waited for a moment, letting Yoongi and Namjoon slam their doors closed before slipping out himself, trailing them both to the back-hatch door. Together, they pulled out Yoongi’s large roller bag and stacked his duffle on top on the sidewalk beside the car. But, as Namjoon grabbed the handle to Jin’s bag, he reached out a hand to stop him. When Namjoon glanced up, Jin simply smiled, shaking his head just a little.
“Let’s leave those for a second,” Jin said softly, trying not to alert Yoongi in the process.
But he found no such luck today as he strode over to wrap Yoongi in a hug. “What the hell are you up to?” Yoongi muttered into Jin’s shoulder as they clung to each other for a moment.
“Nothing much,” Jin assured him as they slowly let go of each other. “At least, nothing that you should be worried about.”
“I’m always worried about you, hyung,” sighed Yoongi. Taking Jin’s hand, he looked up into Jin’s eyes as he stated, “But I trust you for some idiotic reason, so just make good choices, alright? Look after yourself. And text me or whatever if you need anything.”
Jin nodded jerkily, hating the watery halo of tears in his eyes. “Of course, Yoongi-yah.”
He stepped back, giving himself a moment to compose himself and giving Namjoon a private minute to say his goodbye to Yoongi. Together, they waved Yoongi off, shouting out reassurances as he finally pulled himself away and entered the departures building.
Namjoon and Jin watched silently as Yoongi checked his bag, then nodded at the staff as they printed off his ticket. When Yoongi finally aimed one last broad, gummy smile to them through the wide windows before he wandered off into the heart of the airport, Jin finally turned to Namjoon.
“So, do you need me to drop you off at another terminal or something?” Namjoon asked before looking over at Jin. When he saw Jin’s hand, held flat out to him, a clear indication that he was asking to be handed something, Namjoon glanced up to Jin’s face skeptically. He waited for a beat, brows furrowing still further when he saw Jin’s slowly widening smile.
Jin thought of his father’s voice, dripping with condescension as he accused Jin of being childish, thought of his mother’s cold, stoic embarrassment whenever he seemed like anything less than the perfect son she so desperately wanted him to be. He could picture the looks of mortification painting their faces and thought, good.
If they were going to be ashamed of him, they might as well be ashamed of who he really was. Of who he really wanted to be.
“You don’t need to drive me anywhere,” Jin laughed, hand still held aloft. “Because I’m going to drive you to Alaska.”