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oftenderweapons · 3 years ago

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Lavender Honey | KNJ | Part 1

A Sons of Midas story

Pairing: Chaebol!Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Honey)

Wordcount: 19.1k

Genre: angst, smut, fluff. Childhood friends turned fwb turned enemies turned (eventually, potentially, hopefully) lovers. Also, everybody is pretty much filthy rich.

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: Namjoon — man of many women, successful businessman is nothing but a rotten piece of soul living in memories and what-ifs. His life is nothing but completing his endless tasks fast enough to hide himself in a sweet scent from the past. What happens when the gentle perfume waltzes back into his present together with the only one he ever loved?

One large disclaimer and a smaller rant. I've recently seen a very popular bts gif blog accusing a writer of being toxic simply because they depicted one of the boys as a "fuckboy", and proceded with slutshaming the writer for writing smut. Now, if you can't understand the difference between a character from a work of fiction and a real person, that is probably a very good reason for you not to read this piece of fiction. I do not condone any of the behaviour in this fic: I am but a mere narrator.

Trigger warnings: both Namjoon and Honey engage in extremely disreputable antics. Namjoon is depicted as a selfish womanizer, therefore if this bothers you, please do not read any further. Namjoon has also blatant issues with alcohol and anxiety. Again, if this makes you uncomfortable, please scroll away now. I repeat, I do not condone alcoholism; it was vaguely hinted through the fic since I didn't want it to become an unbearably heavy theme for myself and other more sensitive readers. In terms of smut, we have several hints at oral sex (m&f receiving), public sex and public masturbation, hate sex. There is mention of cheating (just a kiss). Mentions of threesome and foursome. Biting and marking. Borderline fetishism (perfume). Swearing and obviously consumption of Alcohol.

Acknowledgements: all the ladies involved in this collab, starting from @joheunsaram. Mars, my beta, my love. Thank you for everything. @taegularities, too precious for this world. @honeyj00ns, thank you for your kind affection. @biaswreckme, my newest friend. @hobiandsprite, my strongest possum, and an honorary mention to @aroseforyoongi, unspeakably precious.

The link to my masterlist can be found here

The Spotify playlist can be found here

Enjoy 💜✨

[PS. Part 2 OUT HERE]

A laugh echoed through the final swirls of sleep before the alarm swept into his dream and washed it away.

Reality was bitter on his tongue while the scent lingering in his nostrils was anything but.

He stretched his arms above his head, his pectorals softly aching with the best remnant of effort. He remembered the leggy blonde from Friday night. And the sweet, kinky best friends from Saturday — and a good part of Sunday.

His grin disappeared slowly as he stood, feeling a slight headache.

Any sort of lightness evaporated once he saw the agenda for the day.

The Royal Garden — meeting at 10.

He sunk back into the mattress. He decided to send an email to Milla, his assistant, and tell her he would be working from home until the meeting.

He felt too raw to be in public. He simply got up and headed to the shower.

He hated everything for a few seconds.

He hated himself more than everything.

And then he remembered it was not his fault.

He was alone, but it was not his fault. It was not his choice.

He checked himself in the mirror.

He was young. Hot. Rich. Not that young anymore, actually. But that added to the charms.

He didn’t bother brushing his teeth and went for breakfast. The day was already too upsetting to go for fresh fruit and muesli and unsugared yogurt.

He threw everything away and stretched all the way to the top shelf, finding his priced stash of heavily sugary breakfast treats. Nutella. Lucky charms.

He grinned and filled himself to the brim with artificial sweeteners, until it almost made him numb, too energised to be bothered with minor inconveniences such as The Royal Garden.

He tried to work, and then he tried harder; still, he already knew he would remain unfocused until that unfortunate investment would be one of his little pastimes, nothing more.

He wasn’t too heavily involved with it anyway, but whenever the name appeared in his agenda, his stomach would unsettle, his legs would shake and his soul would turn into a black hole, dragging in everything light and happy.

He would splurge on sugar and alcohol and women. So many women…

Too many.

He managed to waste time, lost in his mind, staring at the documents he was pretending to read. Luckily, he managed to come back to earth in time to get properly dressed and get his driver’s call.

The Cho Beauty Industry was as usual busy, incredibly animated. Namjoon strolled through the lobby coolly, unbothered, Milla greeting him in front of the meeting room.

“Do you need me to take notes?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Milla.”

“Don’t worry. I got you.” The secretary touched his shoulder with a kind smile. “Did you sleep?”

He nodded absentmindedly, refusing to expose just how exhausted he made himself before he managed to sleep like a baby.

“How was your weekend?” He asked, sitting down beside her in the large room.

“Nara came over. It was a good weekend.”

Namjoon nodded. “Good for you.” He took his tablet, already setting up the layout for some notes, sadly knowing he wouldn’t be able to take any.

The man standing beside the projection screen bowed in acknowledgment before Namjoon bowed even deeper.

The meeting started without ceremonies, diving deep into discussion of the several points. Mr Cho was an organised, straightforward man, characteristics that Namjoon had learnt to love through the years but that left an unpleasant feeling in his heart. He detached himself from that.

He detached himself from the unsettling sensation of Mr Cho’s eyes staring at him. He suddenly felt sad. Lonelier. Observed and judged.

He was far from heaven — probably the farthest he’d ever been — but he didn’t care. He didn’t believe in heaven. Although in hindsight, he knew he had known heaven once. He’d been there too.

The shape and colour, and vibrant, steady and calm determination of those eyes reminded him every single time.

Mr Cho’s cool voice came like an unintended shot in the dark. A bullet with an unexpected trajectory.

“After careful thinking and planning we are discontinuing The Princess.”

Milla’s eyes immediately went to Namjoon’s face, Mr Cho staring at the young man, feeling extremely sorry that Namjoon had avoided all the emails and calls and attempted meetings when he’d tried to break the news to him in a delicate, heartfelt way.

Mr Cho already knew the man would give him a hard facade and then go home, disappear from everything and everyone for a few days, only to come back with one more wrinkle on his face and one more notch on the bedpost. Or maybe seven.

A boy he’d raised almost as his own was wasting away and he couldn’t do anything. He was one of the most remarkable businessmen in the city — actually in the whole country, and then some — and he’d landed some of the most important achievements in the history of his firm before turning thirty. He was slowly coming undone, but there was no actual proof of the inner decay he had been undergoing for a few years now.

Namjoon’s face was indecipherable, completely impassive in some sort of indifference he’d mastered ages ago.

Inside, he was the opposite.

Inside he was feeling his memories fade away. Lavender flowers, stretching out for metres and metres in a long line. A gentle smile. Honest, fearless eyes rolling shut in bliss. The sweet feeling of soft hair wrapped around his fingers. Tender lips against his neck. Giggles echoing in an empty room. The sound of a breathing body laying beside him in the sun. Moonlight reflected on the lake. Gingham dresses. Sunlight coming in through lace curtains. Cherries. The taste of almond lip balm. Moans echoing in the lake house. Bubble baths. Candles. Lavender. Picnic baskets. Honey. The sound of water against the row boat.

Namjoon inhaled.

Lavender honey filled his lungs.

And disappeared.

“I oppose.”

Many people in the room went quiet.

“It’s a line that needs to be renovated. It’s old.”

“Then redo the packaging.” Namjoon felt his heart beat twice as fast while his entire being slipped in criminal coldness.

“We intend to discontinue the line.” Mr Cho repeated, trying to be as clear but also as tactful as possible.

“It’s a bestseller.”

“We intend to invest in new products.”

“Why give up on a product that made your brand? It’s a sure source of income. Working on new fragrances will take time, and you’ll have to build a new target customer. It will be expensive. Too expensive, in my opinion,” Namjoon crossed his arms, his jaw flexing in a way that made his teeth hurt.

“The Princess is old by now. We need to make way for a new concept. New flowers in our garden.”

Namjoon froze at the secret meaning of the sentence.

The rest of the meeting went on without a hitch, Namjoon so tuned out that he didn’t realise the event was over.

Mr Cho politely fretted through greetings and goodbyes, refusing lunch invitations and all those formalities to try and reach Namjoon before he left.

Milla met Cho’s gaze and hesitated before calling her boss back to reality.

“Namjoon, boy. I tried to warn you—”

He looked up at the man as he felt his shoulder being touched. “It’s okay.”

“I really wanted—”

“I’m not a child anymore, I can handle it. I’m just considering if I’m interested in this project anymore.”

Mr Cho felt his heart sink. He had always known that the tie between Namjoon and The Royal Garden was something fickle and nostalgic, but at the same time something that ran too deep to be forgotten.

“You’re not interested in The Knight?”

“I don’t want The Knight. You know it.” Namjoon’s eyes were filled with freezing rage. “What’s the next flower?”

“Namjoon—”

“Give me The Princess,” his eyes were softening in a way Cho hadn’t seen in almost two decades. Actually there was a night he’d seen them from very up close, but he didn’t like remembering it.

He could still see the young man dragging his feet up the stairs, ricocheting between the wall and the railing as he climbed up, stumbling, barely upright until he crawled to the room he knew like his own, crying his lungs out, balled up on the carpet like an abandoned child, mourning for an unphysical loss that shouldn't have made him feel like his guts had been clawed out.

“Give me The Princess,” Namjoon’s voice broke. “Please.”

Cho rubbed the man’s arm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Milla hinted at greetings. “Need me to call someone?” She asked as the young man grabbed a small bottle from a slot in the car door.

The smell of gin filled the car quickly.

Milla did not judge. She already knew what was coming.

“Call Nina.” Namjoon took a large sip. “And Lia. I’m out for the day.”

“My child! My flower! She is home! Finally!” Your father’s arms welcomed you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe.

“Dad!”

“Quiet, my baby is back!” He shushed you, pressing your cheek to his. “You’re back.”

“I’m back,” you confirmed, holding your dad close and welcoming the sweet comfort his arms offered. He had a question he was dying to ask, but he would hold himself back, at least for a while.

“Your friends will be so eager to see you!” He hinted, giving you a meaningful stare.

“Sure, they already know I’m back. We’ll have a reunion soon. I was considering dinner. Something relaxed, like barbecue. I missed it!” You smiled, trying to make your way out of the dangerous topic. There was only one friend your dad could be referring to, but you had no intention of discussing that already.

“Your room is still the same!” He said enthusiastically but also softly.

“I was scared you had turned it into Lola and Lars’ playroom,” you commented, watching the two dogs sniffing at you, especially since you were almost a stranger to them.

Spending nine years abroad meant many things, like your mother getting dogs to find someone else to coddle and spoil and spend time with, but also losing ties with anyone, feeling like a plant suddenly changed of environment, the new soil filled with nutrients, new occasions, but also awfully unfamiliar.

All you knew was that the moment you entered the room, you felt a punch in the guts. There were signs, everywhere, like claw marks spread across the room.

It wasn’t your bedroom anymore. It felt like a crime scene.

You stepped in it carefully, watching films unfold everywhere. It was a call for disaster.

Scenes started unfurling in your head, old ghosts coming for you, crawling like fog from pictures, dried flowers, books—

“Dad.”

“Yeah?”

“May I take the guest room?”

Your father felt silence capture his mind. “Sure thing, my flower.”

Once in the pristine room, you laid your suitcase on the floor. “Your things will be arriving in a few days,” your dad announced. “Just tell me where you want me to put those.”

You were still too unsettled to choose. “I’ll tell you as soon as I know.”

He nodded. “I don’t know what happened but—”

“Nothing.” And it was true. Nothing had happened. That’s precisely how everything had come undone.

“He’s—”

“I’m sorry, dad, but the trip was long and I’d like to rest,” you admitted, energies drained.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s nothing,” you repeated, already opening your case and finding your pyjamas.

“Would you like me to keep you company?” He asked, lifting the sheets to get the bed ready.

“Don’t you have work to do?” you asked with a knowing smile.

“I’ll bring my laptop. I know the sound of typing relaxes you. You’re still my daughter.”

You smiled and nodded. “That I am.”

“It’s good to know you’re back,” Swan gave you a warm look and you felt infinitely better. Four friends, a few bottles of soju and the heavy smell of roasted pork meat was the best feeling in the world.

“Hard times, I tell you.”

Candy looked at you fondly from the other side of the table. It was truly good to have you back. Maybe some old balances would be refound — maybe the guys would find again the two pieces they lost the day you left. She was hopeful all at once, forgetting about how hopeless her situation was.

“I still can’t believe you pulled that trick on all of us,” Peach added. “Out of the blue. Puff, you were gone. And now puff, you’re here!” She laughed cheerfully. “You missed out so much.”

“Like what?” You asked with a mischievous grin.

“First. Taehyung became a heartthrob.”

“A what?” You exclaimed, remembering only the sweet face of a seventeen year old with ruffled hair.

“A heartthrob. A gentleman. A Casanova. A ladies’ man. And what a man,” Peach commented, wide eyed and swooning.

Candy wheezed and shook her head. “Come on, it’s not like that…”

“Our Taehyungie?” You asked, almost pouting at Swan, giving her a questioning look.

She blushed to her ears, looking at the other woman with mild discomfort in her eyes. “He’s a very good looking young man. You and I both know he isn’t difficult to love.”

Swan admitted.

“Well, if he takes after his brother… By the way, the female population of Seoul would like to offer you their gratitude and give you an honorary medal,” Peach hinted, making you look down with a blush on your cheeks.

“I didn’t do much—”

“You trained a beast!” She remarked.

“Peach,” Candy hissed with a concerned stare.

“Hey, don’t worry,” you reassured her, touching her forearm. Your conversation with Peach about Namjoon was very old business. She had slept with him and you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind one bit. It was just the umpteenth demonstration that you had lost all feelings for him.

“You don’t want to know about him?” Peach asked, trying to insinuate doubt in your mind.

You ceased. “How is he.”

“Rich as filth. Successful like no man his age. But cold to the bone.”

Swan looked away just as Candy pursed her lips. She was not okay with how you looked. She felt like she was still failing you, somehow; which of course wasn’t true. Your faith in Candy was unbreakable.

“He keeps binging on girls and alcohol. But he’s a ghost, babe. A hot ghost though, I’m not going to lie about that.” Peach explained, knowing that there was no reason to butter things up with you. “I can’t believe you kept up with him.”

Candy would have snapped if she didn’t know she could trust Peach, that the two of you had your own terms and agreements to talk about Namjoon.

Your smile was bitter. “We were just dumb kids.” But you’d been the dumbest of the two.

All about the night unsettled you. The crowd walking through the corridors, the white walls and the pretentious paintings, the stupid artists wearing stupid clothes that were supposed to give them a certain 'je-ne-sais-quoi', as some of them called it with their preposterous accents and ignorant mannerisms.

Fortunately, you had found the ones you actually appreciated, taking your time talking to them while they greeted your mother, glittering at your arm like a precious jewel, while you stood at her side gently and shyly, clad in pastel tones and a watery scent. It was nothing like the heavy perfumes most of the ladies were wearing, mixing in the room and creating a cloud of disturbing, clashing fragrances.

You were getting a headache. Still you stood at your mother's side, faithful as your role required you to be, avoiding the several questions about your mysterious disappearance and your prodigious return.

The night was like too many before, too suitable for hard reminiscing and crying yourself to sleep.

You remembered when the same night had felt like champagne bubbles nine years ago, bare feet on the grass and sticky hair and pants echoing across the wooden walls of the boathouse.

You stared at the painting in front of you as tears welled up in your eyes. At least it was a painting you could genuinely feel emotional about.

With cold determination, you rebuilt yourself. Like you would need to do a million more times.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

Namjoon liked this sort of gatherings. They were the easiest.

Lots of beautiful women, lots of wine, lots of chances to show off his flawless social skills and charm dreamy, naive girls through his knowledge of art and his relationships with artists. He didn't even need to show his wealth: the Rolex at his wrist did that for him and, in case he needed extra support, he would introduce the girl to the artists he had commissioned a piece or two from.

However, tonight he would not play that game. Tonight he would be his mother's chaperon, make her proud with a dimpled grin, gentle, impeccable manners and a strict no-alcohol rule. He would smile, make conversation when invited to and redeem himself from the heart breaker, womaniser image he had made for himself.

And everything went according to plan before he spotted a leggy little thing across the room, nape and shoulders invitingly exposed, her dress so simple and delicate that Namjoon knew only a stunner would feel comfortable wearing such a plain thing to an event so important.

Mrs Kim immediately noticed her child's attention shifting, subtly changing the direction of her path as she continued to observe the pictures.

Namjoon looked at his mother with a suspicious glance before she grinned at him with that familiar smile that was just like his own.

“Mother.”

“My treasure.”

“I believe this is not the correct order of exhibition.”

“I believe you are mistaken,” she parroted him jokingly. “There is no order of exhibition.”

Namjoon gave her a small smile before continuing his sonly duties, doing so impeccably until a familiar whiff caught his nose.

He grew more attentive, closing his eyes as vision interfered with his sense of smell. That was it. The chances of the perfume being anything but his most prized one were too slim. At the same time, the chances of it belonging to one of the old ladies were too high, although he assumed no one would dare wear it before the creator's wife, especially knowing the meaning it carried.

A sick part of him wished it was the plain stunner. It seemed to suit her, conceptually. His brain was already thinking how easy it would be to pretend.

He disgusted himself for a second, but it passed quickly.

“Eunyeong?” His mother addressed the older woman at the Stunner’s side.

Namjoon felt himself die and be reborn in a millisecond. It gave his soul whiplash.

That name meant only one thing.

“Oh, my prayers! The Princess has returned?” His mother exclaimed before joining her hands before her stomach, excitement overwhelming her.

The plain stunner bent deeply. “Hello, auntie.”

Namjoon's veins iced over. He was not alive anymore. Could he be getting a stroke? He felt his left arm tickling before his mother tugged him down in a bow to Cho EunYeong. “Such a special circumstance! Namjoon, aren't you glad?”

He was glad. He was also extremely stupid, highly malfunctioning and infinitely unfortunate. Staring deep into your eyes, he spoke the only words he could muster. “Hello, Honey.”

The greeting felt old and unused on his tongue. He missed the way it used to roll off of it, the way it was second nature once to pronounce the word even when it was practically unneeded and unnecessary.

“Oh, come here, sweetie, let me hug you! Look at you, you're a stunning young woman, isn't she, Namjoon?” His mother spurred him on.

“She's always been a pretty girl. There was no way she would become any less,” he offered back coolly.

“Don't listen to him, darling, you're absolutely lovely, come here,” she exclaimed, hugging you, earning the envy of the other ladies in the room. It was clear you had a special friendship with the Kims, and the bond between such two powerful families was making everyone snobbish.

“You've been missed oh-so-dearly, Princess. I can't believe you never came back home in nine years.”

Apparently she was busy adding flowers to the garden, Namjoon thought harshly, forgetting about the poppy field he had made for himself — overpopulated and filled with extremely short lived blossoms.

“I was very busy, auntie. And I took a chance to spend time with the American branch of the family.”

Namjoon felt his chest cave.

You were so beautiful. You had always been, and he’d always fallen for it. He felt too young for the way his heart stopped and started beating twenty times faster, his whole chest fluttering with it. He breathed in slowly.

Lavender. Soothing, calming, slightly balsamic.

“Hello, Namjoon.”

It had been ages since your tongue had to wrap around the syllables of his name. It was painful and so familiar, like finally entering your home barefoot, but with shards of glass disseminated across the floor.

Namjoon didn’t accept the way excitement filled him, fireworks going off in his mind. What would he not give to touch you, to feel the sharpness of your jaw against his lips, to feel your hands on his chest, in his hair. He looked down, knowing just how easily you could still read him. He could read you just the same.

Truth is you had learnt to read together. You had been each other’s first experiment. You had been each other’s first everything, each other’s beginning. And now you were there, so close, so apart. And still the call was there, magnificent, like magnets, hands shaking with need, and a craving so primal it was hard not to answer.

He had become way more majestic and intimidating than once. The shy, soft guy that stood about a head taller than you now seemed to dominate the room, carrying himself so proudly and classily, like he owned the whole world and then some.

From what you had been told, he had each and every right to stroll around like a panther, sleek and lethal, but you didn’t allow much privilege to him: you knew he was still a scared kitten somewhere inside him. He had always had a talent for dissimulating just how much fear and insecurity he had in him.

Your eyes met his. “You’re back,” he said plainly.

“Apparently.”

The calm, warm smile you gave him made him remember too many things at once, like a supercut of eighteen years lived together, side by side, like the world would dissolve the moment the two of you would, like you were the center of the universe and its birth and its death. He could remember it in the cold light of the library, in the neon glittering effects of a club, under the verdant foliage of a summer afternoon, glimmering with water, your hair wet, your white dress sticking to your skin, and then under the grey winter skies, lips dry and broken with the cold, nose red, eyes excited at the first snowflakes falling.

He felt like a haunted house covered in blooming ivy. He had missed you.

You were right in front of him and he still missed you.

Etiquette told him he should stand at his mother’s side, like a pillar. Still, he was but a pillar of sand, eroded by your calm, cold abyss.

“May I be excused?” he said, not even waiting for his mother’s reply as he felt salt in his throat, his shirt and jacket too tight, his face too hot.

He found the closest door and headed for the garden.

“Please, excuse him. I believe you know the situation wasn’t easy on him,” Aeri, his mother, spoke softly, simply, making you suck at your lips, swallowing heavily before straightening your back, squaring up for whatever fight you had to face.

“There was no easy side to pick.”

“Maybe you could use some time to talk. Say all those unsaid words,” your mother suggested.

“I have said everything I could. The moment he’ll have something to say, I’ll wait with arms open. Now if you don’t mind, the punch looks very appealing. Mother?”

She shook her head. “Just go,” she encouraged you, waiting for you to turn before sending a stern look to her lifelong friend.

“I’m sorry, Eunyeong,” Namjoon’s mother gave an apologetic pucker of her lips.

“She’s still not there,” your mom replied drily. “I don’t know what happened. I’m still so confused. She refuses to talk, she avoids the subject like the plague and— I really don’t know. I’m so sorry about your son.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. He had all the tools to be more balanced. We already talked about this, Yeongah. Not her fault. Not his either. We just missed a bit in the equation. It doesn’t make sense to us, but apparently it does to them. Let’s just hope it will heal someday.”

Your mother nodded. “I don’t think it will.”

Aeri sadly had to agree.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

The garden was relatively empty. You already knew why you were there. You knew it because you had walked down that path so many times in your head, the Japanese dome so inviting near the pond, among the maple trees. You already knew he would be there. Water and plants naturally called to his meditative self.

“You’re here,” you spoke softly, standing a few steps behind him while he leaned against the railing, elbows propped on it.

“I needed to think.”

You nodded, looking away, pacing back and forth. “What are you thinking about?”

“About the last nine years.”

You nodded. “I… I’m—”

You felt something snake in where body and soul become one. Nostalgia so deep it hurt.

“Don’t apologise. You chose your path. You thought about yourself.” He sniffled.

Your jaw clenched.

“I wish I’d been that smart.” He snickered, sarcastic and cold. “I had to play catch up for a bit. I guess we both know who won.”

“It’s not a matter of who suffered more or who became more successful,” you replied with a sneer. “It’s not a competition.”

“You only say that because you’re the winner, Honey. Thought you’d be smarter than that. I guess we really do become duller with age.”

You felt tears well in your eyes. “I guess you really became meaner. Don’t think I didn’t keep tags on you, mister Dorian Gray. Wicked and corrupted to the bone.”

“Did they also tell you about The Princess?”

You looked away. “No use to keep the dead living.”

“Was it your choice?” He asked, turning around, face drenched in tears.

He felt slightly relieved when he noticed you had matching wet lines down your face. “I can’t stand it anymore. I’m older. I’m different.”

“You’re wearing it tonight.”

“My mother insisted. She’s wearing The Queen. You still have The Knight.”

“It’s my place.” He swallowed, trying not to sob. It was too difficult. He gave up. “Let The Princess be, please.”

You shook your head. “Don’t let that haunt you. It’s the best for both of us.” You tried to fix your makeup.

“Have you forgotten it entirely? How it was?” His voice was like a quiet whisper of the wind.

You blinked rapidly. “Joonie—”

“Tell me you still remember how good it was to have each other.”

For a second you thought about lying, but lying to him would be lying to yourself. You found all your strength and nodded. “I remember everything.”

He looked at you, taking a small step towards you. “You do?”

You nodded as you felt your lip wobble. “That's why we need to let it go.”

He wanted to come back home. He had wanted to for so long. Hopeless and helpless, he strode towards you before wrapping his arms around you, holding you to him, his eyes rolling shut as relief swallowed him whole.

Lavender. Pitch black nights and starry skies. Comfort. Sleep.

You held him as you felt him inhale. “Namjoon,” you called, rubbing his back. “We have to go.”

“Just one more more minute. It's been nine years,” he whispered, feeling your body under his palms. “Why did you leave?”

“I needed to.” Still, it hadn't worked.

“How long will you stay here?” He asked, his eyes studying your face.

“I don't know yet. It depends on the plans. I don't have any so far.”

He stared into the void for a bit. “Aren't you going to work in the company?”

You shrugged. "Maybe.”

He felt you shiver. “We should go inside.”

You smiled timidly. “How's my make up?”

He took his kerchief from the pocket, painfully remembering how many times he had fixed your mascara for entirely different reasons. He dried your face, dabbing at it delicately. “Nice and pretty,” he said with a smile. “Let's go.”

You both knew you stood on precarious ground, and you also knew there was a pages-long list of reasons you should stay away from him; nevertheless, you had to admit you loved being back in his arms. Just like all his other women did.

Daydreaming about the fine man Kim Namjoon had become was turning into a daily activity you despised and slipped into on a daily basis.

Everytime you did think about him sweeping you off your feet, you calmed down by making a probably incomplete mental list of all the women he’d been with, even uttering their names out loud when the thoughts about him got you to blush and hyperventilate.

It was inevitable that through the summer you would meet again, during one of the several events your families expected you to attend.

The Kang Foundation event was just the first of many, your father and your mother unfortunately busy with your grandparents so that they had to send you alone, not even a chaperon at your side — which was already in itself a recipe named disaster, further magnified the moment Kim Namjoon appeared in deep blue slacks and a thin linen shirt with fine silver swirls embroidered all over it.

You doubted a man could look elegant and properly dressed for a soirée without a jacket on, still he managed to pull it off effortlessly.

The event was notoriously on the cocktail side rather than the formal one, mostly attended by the new generation of business people — and usually the most influential one. You eventually spotted some familiar faces here and there, with their warm smiles and cold composure. Eventually all faces turned towards you at some point or another. You simply arched your eyebrows and looked into the only eyes that held the kind of courage you wished you had.

Namjoon stood still, straight like a column, trying to be as strong as he needed you to be, watching you walk to the counter of the bar, ordering something as everyone stared at you, at your cute, puffy gingham dress, at the way your skin gleamed under the mild lights.

He could notice some gossipers already running to you; they would surely ask you about the time abroad — or more specifically, what had led you away, and what had brought you back. For a second, he considered rescuing you before realising you could perfectly handle it by yourself. Moreover, he reminded himself who you were.

She left you, Namjoon. Without telling you a word. Without texting. One moment she was there and three days later she was on a plane taking her eight time zones away. She didn’t answer your calls. She let you waste away. She left you alone. Hurt. With no one to count on. She broke your heart. Fuck her.

No. No fucking, he reminded himself.

Too late.

His brain was already half gone, careening into all those memories of lace and bliss, of laughs and moans and childish tickles. He was still attracted to you. He would always be, he realised.

Memories became more painful as he noticed you float around the room in your ethereal dress, stopping here and there to say hi to old classmates and potential future business associates. He felt a bit wilder when he noticed the little mother of pearl accessory in your hair.

And then his heart entirely exploded at the view of your necklace. The fine choker looked absolutely poised and refined around your throat, still he was far from not noticing the pendant right in the middle.

The tiny cherries dangled right over the hollow between your collarbones, and within a second he knew he wasn't yet entirely forgotten: he was too deep in your roots for you to spit him out and throw him away. No matter how hard you wanted to move on, there were so many pieces of him with you that you could never get rid of them all.

The gift had been a fickle, stupid one, yet that summer he had felt like he owed you. He wanted to give you way more expensive things. He wanted to confess and give you a ring, wait until you graduated from university to substitute it with an actual ring — an engagement one — and then with a thin golden band, a year or so later. A classy, chic ceremony with one hundred guests maximum. A honeymoon in Nicaragua. A pretty house with all the special kitchenware to make jams and cook all those strange dishes you loved so much.

The only thing he gave you was a cherry pendant, because it was your favourite fruit, he had told you — but actually, because even though you had gifted him your innocence, you would forever stay pure in his eyes. You would forever be the summer child he had fallen in love with, and the melancholic winter fairy he wished to keep warm when snow fell.

“Namjoon,” you called, approaching him, glad that you had someone you could actually count on.

“Honey,” he replied coolly, glad for the slight background noise while his heartbeat accelerated. You were still so painstakingly beautiful. He wanted to kneel and hug your legs and rest his face against your lap. He wanted to worship you but also bite you, kiss you, devour you until he was the only one who would have you.

“Would you lend me a minute?” you asked, pointing to the terrace.

He already started walking out without waiting for you to join.

“What brings you to this humble servant?” he asked half teasingly.

You chuckled. You had always appreciated his vocabulary and his skills in rhetoric. “Business.” You went straight to the bone, trying to keep yourself as far away from him as possible. Your whole brain was very aware of how dangerous this game could become.

He arched his eyebrows and stared into the skyline expanding all around the terrace. “Not a chance of emotions. They called you Princess, but dammit, you’re an ice queen, Honey.”

You clicked your tongue. “I’m just on an errand on my father’s account. He wanted to make sure he could keep counting on you for The Royal Garden. Just business, you know.”

Namjoon nodded, frowning before bringing a fist to his lips, pondering whether to attack or let it be. He chose the stinging solution. “You know, maybe your father is used to the inconsistent side of our generation. I’m steady, reliable. And when I’m going to drop out, I say it beforehand. I hand in a notice. I communicate. Negotiate. Do you know what that is, Honey?”

“In which language do you need me to define it,” you asked sarcastically, spitting venom right back at him as you rolled your eyes.

“Still impossible, I see. Some things never change,” he mused. He looked around as you leaned against the railing, right beside him. There was no one in the terrace, mostly due to the fact that nobody was interested in missing out on the alcohol or losing their seats or their chances at socialising.

“Do you negotiate with all the girls you fuck too?” you asked, refusing to let him go unpunished.

“Jealous?” he provoked you.

“Just wondering if you still lose it after two strokes.” Dangerous territory. Very dangerous.

“Maybe you should test your theory yourself,” he suggested, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You chuckled. “I’m your typical easy prey. We can’t have that happening, Namjoon.”

His hand landed atop yours, his body turned towards you as his fingers traced a light line up, to your elbow. “Why not?” he mused. “Why not?” he asked again, his eyes locking with yours. His nose caught a whiff of your perfume. “For old times’ sake. Just to get it out of our system. I know you feel it just as I do.”

You closed your eyes. The featherlight touch of all those years ago had survived. You almost expected hard tugs and bruising grips from the man who was so used to taking everything he wanted; yet, he caressed you tenderly, like a devoted boy. “Joon. We’re older. Smarter.”

“Are we really?” His arm slid around your waist, gently inviting you closer. “We’ve seen just how many things haven’t changed at all. Just like the fact that you’re wearing my necklace tonight.”

You bit your lip. “I forgot it was yours. It was in my drawer after all.”

“Don’t act smart with me. You know what I mean,” he scolded you as he skilfully sandwiched your body between his own and the railing. “And even if you forgot about it, you’re still wearing The Princess.”

“I didn’t notice,” you mumbled. “I guess it’s just the dress.”

He snickered and dipped his face to the crook of your neck. “Is it really, Honey? Don’t lie to me,” he growled against the shell of your ear.

“The dress, I told you.”

Your brain was calling you an idiot. The wetness between your thighs was heartfeltly singing your praises. “Let’s shut your lying mouth.”

And like that his lips glued to yours needily.

He was all set on making you pay for it.

Make you pay for it all.

Hunger deep, visceral and unending devoured you both, dragging you under in an abyss of longing and desperation. You had missed it. You felt stupid but you had missed it, you had missed him and the feeling of his large palms around your waist, his chest underneath your fingers, his smooth, silk tongue claiming you endlessly with the laziest, most possessive strokes.

“Doesn't it feel good, Honey? Didn't you miss it?” he asked, almost making your thoughts emerge into reality. “I can still make you feel so good, uh?” He hid his face into the crook of your neck, body falling limp as he felt you engulf him further in your flowery embrace.

“You still turn me on so bad, Honey. You still smell so fucking divine,” he growled, grabbing your ass, making sure that not an inch of his need was lost on you. You could feel all of it. “Please, make me feel good, Honey. That's all I want.”

You wanted to hear him beg. But you also wanted to sate him and soothe him and finally cut this preternatural bond that held the two of you together.

“Say it. Say what you want. Beg for it. Make it worthy of my time. Worthy of the nine years we were apart. Of all the years to come. Make it grandiose. Magniloquent. Use those pretty words and that silver tongue of yours,” you seethed at him, his eyes already falling shut as your palm landed on his crotch, stroking him through his trousers. “I deserve to hear you beg, don't I?”

He pushed into you, pleasure getting too strong a hold of him. “Please. I'll beg. You smell so good, Honey. Just…” He groaned, feeling your hand grab his balls, massaging him just a tiny bit too aggressively.

In the meanwhile you tried looking around, just to make sure no one could catch the two of you in such an inappropriate situation; however, all that could be seen was a man standing in the corner of the terrace, looking at the skyline. You were barely visible behind him — only your legs appearing between his parted ones could give you away — and then again, you would simply pass as a couple making out or romancing in front of one of the most beautiful views of the city.

“Please. Just once, I wanna… I promise I'll make you feel so fine, Honey. Please,” Namjoon begged, so lovely you wished you could kiss his lips and comb his hair and have him in a bed to spoil him for hours, to properly get you out of his system, to fulfill all his wishes so you could finally move on and he could finally build his own life without the need to destroy himself.

Sometimes you thought he felt guilty for your departure, however you knew he was far from being that sensitive now. If he had been hurt, that was your fault. If he was a dickhead, that was entirely his fault.

Nevertheless, poor you, you were undoing the dickhead's belt, hand sliding into his trousers.

“Goodness, fuck, Honey, you're glorious, darling. Just there, babe. Keep doing that,” he murmured as he felt your fingers squeeze around him deliciously.

“Sorry, my hand is dry,” you murmured, sincerely apologetic, your other hand cupping his nape, stroking his hair, still clad in hairspray like all those nights you escaped formal meetings to get lost in each other's arms.

“Don't worry, Hon. It's okay, just keep going,” he purred, breathing heavily, completely uninterested in the fact that he would mess up his underwear and feel uncomfortable for the rest of the evening.

“Does it still feel good?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Better than the last time,” he managed to say before moaning softly. “Missed you so much,” he whispered, his hands diving underneath your dress, touching the bare back of your thighs. “I hate you so much for leaving. I hate you so fucking much, Honey.”

You knew how he felt. Because you felt just the same: you had missed him dearly, even though the man he was now was miles away from the one you used to love. And though you hated him and everything he had become, you still managed to feel the unsettling, vibrating feeling in your stomach and the calm relaxation he brought to your mind. He was the only one who could make you feel so calm, and though you felt a tornado of emotions all around you, you were in the serene eye of the storm. And there he was, standing right at your side, where he had always been before you tried to push him away.

As giggles erupted in the terrace, your quiet focus broke, the sudden presence of another couple making you stop. Mercifully, the music coming from the party was loud enough to cover Namjoon's sounds; however, the moment was now entirely ruined.

“Joon, we're not alone,” you warned him, trying to hide into him to escape prying eyes.

He exhaled, frustration clear in his voice. “They won't know.”

Still, you got out of your sinful predicament and tried to recompose yourself. “We should go inside.”

“Let's go to my place instead.”

You shook your head. “No, Joonie.”

He rolled his eyes. “We said to get out of each other's system. One more time! For old times' sake!” He hissed.

You shook your head, making sure that your hand wasn't actually dirty as you started thinking about the closest bathroom. “I think we should be smart enough to keep the distance.”

Namjoon shook his head. He had already begged once. It was more than enough. “Fine. Then, goodnight, I guess.”

“Goodnight, Namjoon.”

And just like that, you made your way to the restroom.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

The rest of the evening was uneventful, your brain disconnected. You didn’t care anymore about the wetness between your legs, you didn’t care about the insecurity making its way into your reason, like a rattlesnake emitting a menacing buzz that killed all the noise in the room. You were lost and confused, standing in the outskirts of every social circle, glad for the half unknown faces surrounding you as a familiar linen shirt appeared at the opposite side of the room, almost as if you had summoned its bearer with your thoughts.

What you hadn’t summoned was the woman at his side, definitely too close to be a casual acquaintance, his hand too familiar with her large breasts, his lips too near to her ear while his eyes pinned yours in place, almost physically forcing you to watch as she giggled and grabbed his arm, turning to strategically slot it against the naked crevasse of her breasts.

You kept a stoic, indifferent expression, catching every detail, smiling at him as he smirked and arched an eyebrow cockily. You raised your champagne flûte at him in a congratulatory fashion before turning away.

They left a few minutes later.

You resisted twenty minutes before heading back home.

Entering your room, you stared at the carpet. On your earliest days abroad, your father had attempted to bring you back home by telling you about a drunken, sobbing Namjoon knocking at the door at three am, crawling upstairs to sleep in your room.

It was almost absurd to imagine his long legs balled up to fit underneath your covers.

You stared at your room some more, turning the light on and listening carefully to all the voices that called you.

A picture of you and him for your first public event. Another picture, this time of a baby you and a baby Namjoon sharing a bathtub, playing with rubber ducks, a pile of bubbles atop his head. He was playing magician while you lifted the ducks with your hands, as if he were making them levitate. Namjoon riding a bike while you classily sat in the back, your thighs placed across the small carrier instead of astride, your knees pressed together underneath the white sundress.

And then a way more intimate picture. It was half blurry, your body clad in frilly underwear and an oversized white shirt as you emerged from a pool at twilight.

You still remembered the smell of chlorine, how hot Namjoon’s chest had felt against your wet skin, the early June dawn way too cold for you to appreciate the five am dive.

It was the night after your last test. You had drunk champagne, eaten cake from wine glasses, stayed up all night doing stupid stuff, watching Friends, revisiting all your inside jokes, talking about the plans and dreams he was always too reluctant to share. And at dawn, when he feared the best night of his life was coming to an end, he had kissed you.

The picture had been taken a few seconds before the kiss, before he placed his phone down and walked to you and caught you in his arms and pressed his lips to yours.

It was all so far away now.

You turned your back to the picture, closed the lights and exited the room, shutting the door.

Pictures were all that was left of the Namjoon you had loved like the Moon.

Another stupid party.

More stupid people.

Exhausting strangers asking you about the future of your father’s firm. Whether you intended to stay or to go. If you already had valuable suitors.

You fixed your chiffon dress around you, making sure no one would step on the gown. You felt slightly naked under the sheer, sparkly organza of the loose jacket you wore to hide how revealing the top half of the dress was.

The garden party was overblown but pleasantly classy, as it had always been, women being futile and men being futile and vacuous.

Lanterns lit the way as you walked down the path to the main glasshouse the Kims had hired for the night. Your parents followed you, still you knew they would stay around for an hour or so, perform their social duties and head back home to their quiet.

You felt glad you recognised more people, your parents stopping by every now and then to greet some friends or business partners and reintroduce you to them; you rarely felt uncomfortable, especially under your father’s proud and loving gaze. You were almost glad to interact with the other guests a few times, especially with an art history teacher that regularly cooperated with the auction house that was part of the Kims’ business.

It was easy to stay distracted as long as your parents acted as gatekeepers; you felt safe when your dad courteously dismissed inappropriate, rude allusions and assumptions, and when he managed to serve eluding, vague replies that kept you just out of reach.

Your parents managed to extend their stay by half an hour, just enough to greet everyone, make small talk, and most importantly meet the hosts.

There stood your most recent nightmare.

Your smile to him was more a baring of teeth, a warning that your claws were out and all your weapons were on you.

“Hello.”

You rolled your eyes and went on, back straight and shoulders rolled back.

You were officially ready for a war.

You didn’t quite know what had furtherly set your ire aflame towards him; nevertheless, your hatred towards Namjoon had been renowned and strengthened.

Your eyes turned to his mother, your expression to her just as sweet as it had been sour to her eldest son.

“Hello, Princess!” She said, looking at you affectionately as you gave a small bow. “I can’t believe our most beautiful flower is walking among us tonight.”

You blushed and averted your gaze. “Your gaze is biased, auntie. How have you been doing?” you asked politely, engaging in a conversation that only felt uncomfortable when you were reminded of Namjoon standing close by, making similar small talk with your parents — especially your father.

“I hope Namjoon hasn’t been too hard on you. He told me the two of you talked,” she began, exhaling heavily once she felt her sentence had come to an end.

Curious how he had carefully selected which parts to tell her, ignoring the small detail about him asking you to tumble with him in his sheets and subsequently, promptly substituting you.

“Yes, we talked.”

She nodded, not entirely content as she noticed your neutral expression. “It will take time, but eventually you’ll manage to be close once more. It would make me immensely happy. Maybe he will find some peace with you again at his side.”

“I believe his tastes have changed.” Your reply was lapidary, your stare drifting away as you noticed an old friend. “Oh, I… I really have to go,” you said, not letting your godmother reply as you followed that half known face. “Tae?”

The man that looked at you was far from being your best friend’s little brother.

Beautiful.

You couldn’t find other words.

He looked so ineffably gracious and manly, so ethereal in his baby blue suit. “Princess!” he replied, greeting you with a hug and a smile. “Hi!” He squished you to him, completely oblivious to etiquette and all of that, your friendship too old and visceral to bother with skinship rules of any sort. “It’s been so long! You haven’t aged a day.”

“You’re all grown up instead,” you replied with a small laugh. You weren’t sure the opaqueness of his presence was due to maturity or some state of upsetting, but the way his gaze drifted away told you he was hiding something. “How are you doing?” You fixed your jacket around you and gave him a small, apprehensive smile. He was like the little brother you had never been given.

He tried to look happy, you noticed it, but the way his eyes fell to the lower left corner told you he was lying. “Oh, I’ve been really busy with my job lately. It keeps me occupied for sure,” he gave a mirthless smile. “What about you? I’ve heard about your dad releasing a new perfume after years. I can’t believe he went back to creating. Is the garden expanding?” he questioned, genuinely curious.

“No, not on my behalf at least,” you gave a gentle chuckle. “I heard you were given a new market. And I heard about your little acquisition recently!” You alluded to the news of him getting a quite prestigious flute.

“Oh,” his gaze turned sad. Infinitely sad. Misery fell upon him like a heavy cloak. “Yes. Yes. I was lucky.” You saw him shrink in size, his lithe body almost withering before you as his shoulders curved in.

“Is everything alright?” You placed your hand on his shoulder, your gaze apprehensive.

“Yes. I’m just… It was a stressful week, so I was hoping I could spend the weekend in a less straining environment.” His lips strained to a tired smile.

“If you want I can let them know you weren’t feeling well,” your hand caressed his hair, the styled look by now significantly dishevelled.

When his eyes opened, they were lined in silver. “Would you really?”

“Yes, Tae. You know you’re like a brother to me.”

He nodded and touched your shoulder. “Thank you.” His voice was too deep and too quiet to be heard.

“It’s okay. My number has changed but you know how to find me, right?”

He nodded, lips sucked in his mouth as he tried to hold himself together.

“Go,” you told him with a tender expression, watching him give a little bow before he strode away.

You stretched your neck when you felt a shadow hovering over you. The private niche in the back of the glasshouse was half in the dark. You were suddenly aware you wouldn’t get a way out tonight.

“Honey.”

You shook your head, psychologically squaring up before you turned. “Hey.”

“I saw my brother leave. What’s going on?”

You looked at him. “Surprisingly, you can’t recognise heartbreak when you see it. Keep an eye on him.”

You tried to slide through the small space between Namjoon’s frame and the green, vegetal walls encasing you in a way too small, way too intimate place.

There was no way anyone would stumble there. It was so blatantly made for lovers to be swayed: the niche made of concrete, the small bench, the plants concealing it from the main room. The darkness and the night did the rest.

“Honey,” he called again, this time grabbing your wrist.

“My parents will be looking for me.” Your reply was dry and cold.

“They have left. I told them I would have you sent home with our driver.”

You looked lost, your eyes wandering around, hoping to find a way out.

“Hey. What’s going on?” He noticed the alarm in your eyes.

You shook your head. “I’d like to be elsewhere.”

His breath stopped. He let go of your wrist. “Do you want to leave?”

He made it hard to want anything else but him, his touch, his reassuring closeness, the feeling of his breath running down your spine—

No. You had to be strong.

“I think I should go home.”

“Is it my fault?” His voice betrayed only a sliver of panic before he cleared it.

“No. Just me.”

He looked at the floor. “You'd leave me here, all alone?” When he looked up, he used the strongest weapon of his collection. His head still bent down, he looked at you from below his lashes, eyes glimmering and imploring.

Biting your tongue, you sat on the bench, getting a coy smile from him. He was still your favourite rollercoaster. “You should thank me.”

“Thank you, Honey,” he cooed, sitting at your side.

“Did you have fun with the girl from the party?” You looked away, sneakily announcing the matter of your warmongering mood.

“Which one?”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, his hands reaching your waist and pulling you to him. “I was joking, Honey, come on sweets.”

He wasn't joking and you knew it, still you let yourself fall on his lap, trying to triplicate your weight in an attempt to castrate him.

It worked only partially, causing him to hiss against your ear. “Were you jealous?”

You shook your head no, his hands still wrapped around your waist. “Of her? Why?” you acted indifferent.

“I thought about you all night,” he murmured in your ear. “Till dawn. And then some.”

“You know how it works, Joon.”

“How does it work for you, Honey?” he asked softly. “Is it still the same as before?”

You shook your head again, turning slightly so you sat across his thighs. “No. I would never let a man treat me the way you do with all those girls.”

He looked at the curve of your neck. He couldn't believe he had a thing for such a stupid detail. Maybe it was because of the sweet and soothing scent coming from it.

Even in the smell of damp soil and plants, he could feel it, bringing him to life. “You're not like the others. I would respect you.” I would love you, he thought, the cruelty of his situation making his brain halt. He couldn't think clearly.

“I think you lost the notion of respect a long time ago.” Your reply was curt, as polite as you could be at this point. “Do they all hope to redeem you? To save you?”

“They just come for what I have to offer.” His hands parted from your waist and started fidgeting with your jacket, toying with the hem.

“What can you offer?” Your eyes met his, sparks flying like two swords clashing together.

“Would you like a reminder?” His gaze was powerful and sultry. You knew you would never resist it in a million years.

You didn't expect him to kiss your shoulder as his eyes rolled shut. “I believe my memories are still pretty vivid.”

He bent forward, leaning his head closer to your neck. Your arm naturally snaked behind his shoulders, letting him close. He basked in the reprieve you were offering him; all the tension, the fear, the anger melted away. “You don’t know how much it soothes me,” he whispered, reaching closer to your chest, almost feeling like when he was allowed to rest his head on top of it, your skin naked, clammy and warm against his cheek. It felt like millennia ago. He took in your scent, which seemed to have a unique way to resonate with your personal perfume. “Promise me you’ll leave The Princess to me. At least that.”

You shook your head, looking around before doing — arguably — the most stupid thing in your life, twisting all the way till you could straddle his lap, his hands helping you shift your gown around you till he could run his fingertips on your naked thighs. “I’ll let you have me now if you give up on it,” you tried to bargain, looking at the top button of his shirt.

“What if I wanted both?” he replied, his hands undoing the buttons of your see-through jacket and prying it open so he could feel your chest bare against his face. Your heartbeat was wild and he grinned for it.

“You can’t always get what you want,” you hummed, smiling at him and slipping your fingers into the neckline of his shirt.

“But sometimes you do get what you need,” he paraphrased, hiking your skirt further up and looking into your eyes. “And I need you. Just once.”

You fought against your better judgement. As much as you needed a loyal man at your side, a steady and reliable partner, you also needed to have him one final time, once and for all, just to remind yourself he wasn’t at all extraordinary and you’d be able to find something way better with someone else. You could kill two birds with one stone: namely, Namjoon and the scent that would always take you back to him. “Give up The Princess.”

He took a pause.

And he nodded.

“Say it.”

Obediently, he stared into your eyes with ardent devotion. “I give up on The Princess.”

You smiled and started unbuckling his belt.

He tutted at it, without truly opposing. “Well, at least you could have brought me to a nice place, with a bed. You didn’t even offer me dinner.” His teasing lasted little as you licked your hand lewdly, sensually before bringing it between his legs, grabbing his half hard cock and pushing it out of his trousers and underwear.

“No need for dinner, you’ll get to feast on me, darling.”

For a second Namjoon genuinely thought he had you back. Grinning, he let his head fall back heavy against the concrete wall behind him, his hand held your waist, feeling you while he forced his eyes to open so he could take in your expression once you would lower yourself on him.

“Condom,” you ordered, harsh and unforgiving.

He looked at you like you had slapped him. “I always use it. It’s us. We can—”

“It’s not about you. This is about me. My safety. Give me a condom or get gone.”

He nodded and rummaged in the inner pocket of his jacket. It didn’t surprise you he had one on him.

You took the package from him, ripping it open easily and handing back the foil to him, quickly stretching the latex on him. “See, that didn’t kill you.”

He hummed and kissed your chest, nuzzling against it. There had been a time when he could enter you naked and feel you warm and tight and so welcoming around him. He tried to nuzzle closer for the intimacy and privilege he had once had but now no longer.

Meanwhile, you tried to use his dick to push your panties aside, twice as happy for the loose fit that kept you fresh on the humid summer night. You didn’t waste any time, getting his tip inside straight away.

“Careful, Honey,” he whined. “Stretch, sweetie.” Goodness, you were so eager, so needy and so determined. He felt like he was dreaming.

You were wet, drenched, incredibly, unexpectedly so. “Joonie,” you called, hoping to give him what he wanted once and for all.

“Oh, damn. Baby — God!” He grunted as you sunk on him to the base. “Honey, fuck. Yes.”

“My game still good?” you murmured with a chuckle, your hips beginning to twirl on him.

He nodded, bringing himself to open his eyes to study the vision of you riding him, eyes barely open, lower lip caught between your teeth, breasts moving gently in a barely-there bounce as your heavy breathing and the up-and-down motion started to mix. He stretched to touch his lips with yours. “Your game is fucking phenomenal, Honey. Always been,” he said before biting your lip himself, causing you to moan as he sucked it into his mouth.

As he grew increasingly busy with the movements, swirls and twirls and strokes mixing together, he tried to play his trick. “Stop this idiocy with The Princess.”

You kept going for a couple seconds before processing his request. “No.”

He gripped your ass punishingly. “It's a dumb move. Fucking stupid.”

You tutted and pushed him away from your face, depriving him of your lips and kisses. “The Princess is dead.”

He fought you, strong enough to bring you to him, shushing you by swallowing your lips, suddenly completely possessed by his as he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

You let him.

Even if you wanted to shut him out, he had a passepartout to your body. It would always unlock for him.

“She is very much alive,” he murmured, pressing his mouth below your ear. “She's here. Eager to be fucked. Like all those years ago.”

You shook your head and gripped his shoulders, jacket shoved aside, his crisp white shirt creasing under your grasp. “You should be thanking me.”

Namjoon felt your sweet scent linger on your neck and float all the way to his nostrils.

He pushed into you from below, feeling the smooth ease of slipping inside you. “I'd thank you if you stayed quiet, you're going to get us caught.”

“It's not like you're super quiet,” you replied, grabbing his face and pulling him away. Still he resisted you, stubbornly diving back for your neck.

He couldn't stay quiet. He couldn’t give a damn about getting caught: you were the only woman he wanted to be in a scandal with, letting everyone associate you to him, your names tied together for anyone who read those dumb magazines. If he couldn’t get you to have his surname, he might as well claim you through gossip and rumors.

But right now his priority was getting you to talk, even if you spit poison all over him, he would make you talk, maybe even snicker, maybe even laugh.

He missed your laughter.

He missed the sound hitting the crook of his shoulder, the small giggles, the light breathlessness that followed. He missed it like air, like redemption, like peace.

He was a man starved.

So he banqueted.

His hands gripped your ass tighter while his mouth pressed against your neck to try and shut himself up while his thrusts became faster, needier, almost as if he were trying to hide into you.

You were a stupid woman.

You held him closer, offering him your sweet embrace as bliss finally caught him and swept him away, your mind too caught up in cruel reality to follow him.

All you could do was hold him to you and wait for him to be done. Soon hostility and regret would come, so you simply hugged him tighter and waited for the end.

His hair was covered in hairspray, holding it perfectly still, like the night of your mother's gala all those years ago, running to the boat house, giggling in the dark, hiding under the sheets as he kissed your breasts and murmured name of pretentious paintings on his way down.

You were far from heaven still.

Maybe farther now.

Namjoon allowed himself to press just one kiss below your jaw, murmuring a 'thank you' before he slipped out. You un-straddled him and allowed him some space to slip off the condom, tie it up and wrap it haphazardly in its foil.

“The Princess is all yours to kill.” He tucked himself back and tried to muster some nerves. “I'll go first,” he whispered before recomposing the perfect gentleman image, walking to a small basin nearby and opening the tap, washing his hands. He didn’t even turn before he spoke. “Can't you say something?”

“Just go.”

He averted his gaze, looking at his hands as he dried them. They were so dirty.

He allowed himself to stare at you just one more time before leaving the alcove.

Once he was far enough, you allowed yourself to cry. Only for a minute, you told yourself.

You cried for the boy you had loved, and that you probably loved still, hiding far away from the man he had become. You cried for the princess, for the home you had dreamed with him, for all the years together, for all the stupid plans and expectations.

Lastly, you cried for yourself, for what you had hoped to become at his side.

Ready to nurse your tears induced headache — or rather, outdo it — you headed for the bar, hoping to emanate as many hostile vibes as you could so no one would approach you.

You didn’t count on hostility made person to approach you with a glass in hand.

“You look like you could use a drink,” the quiet distinguished rascal spoke.

You smiled. “I hope you spiced it and are gonna drag me home afterwards.”

The woman grinned like the devil. “I wouldn't need to spice it, Princess.”

“Right back at you, Candy. Looks like you’re already deep in the party,” you assumed out loud, looking at her flushed cheeks and nose.

“A girl gotta have distractions. And in terms of proportions your distraction needs to be humongous. Maybe thrice the usual,” she said before looking right behind you.

“Am I gonna see the lame beginning of a threesome right behind me?” You asked, downing the glass in a go before looking over your shoulder.

You couldn’t even be surprised by what you saw: Namjoon, looking like a god, freshly fucked, with that laid back, sexy allure all over him. You couldn’t blame the three girls around him, hoping to get his undivided attention, trying to touch him, or to be touched as he gracefully gesticulated.

“Fuck, you could have said they were three. Foursome it is,” you sneered before cocking an eyebrow. You would never even remotely consider such a thing.

“I said: thrice the usual. I’m half drunk, I can’t maths, Princess,” Candy threw an arm around your shoulders. “Choose your weapon.”

“Whisky?”

She nodded. “If it were me I’d pick the brunette,” she commented staring behind you. “She looks subby as fuck.”

You were glad for the laugh she got out of you.

“Which one would you go for?”

You gave a look at the three of them. “The small one with blonde hair. She seems sweet. Now please, let’s get rip roaring drunk.”

Candy bowed deeply, almost losing balance as you caught her, making the two of you explode in giggles. “My pleasure.”

Turning around, you smiled at Namjoon and waved.

From tonight, he was just a memory.

And from tomorrow, The Princess will be free to disappear.

From the moment Namjoon’s eyes met yours, he immediately recognised fear, insecurity and worry.

“Honey.”

He hadn’t seen you for a whole month. One entire month.

The day after your hookup at his party, he had sent a formal email to your father, and to you as a carbon copy, where he formally gave up on his claims on The Princess, confirming that he indeed was okay with the production to be discontinued without it impacting on his participation in The Royal Garden.

Namjoon had managed to resist for four whole days with unscented sheets before he sent his assistant, his driver and his cleaning lady to raid the city for any single item scented as The Princess. Maybe he could accumulate just enough for the collection to last a few years. Maybe he could convince your father to keep making at least the fabric wash just for his personal use.

Nevertheless, he was desperate. And as more and more time passed since your last encounter, the more he felt hollow. After that night, for some reason or another, he could no longer feel the need to get lost in other girls.

He wanted to be alone, because that night reminded him exactly why he drank himself to a stupor on Jackson’s birthday the first time he had sex with someone who wasn’t you. And even that night in the greenhouse, it was far from what it used to be. He had got his pleasure and got rid of you. It was nothing but a transaction — he didn’t owe you love or bliss or feelings.

The Princess for one last chance at a temporary heaven.

And now he knew that it had been the last chance indeed.

You were afraid of him and in a few seconds he perfectly understood why.

A hand appeared at your waist, holding it with surety and affection.

“Hi there, I’m Christopher, nice to meet you!”

Namjoon’s eyes scanned the stranger quickly.

He wasn’t a stranger at all. He was simply the heir to one of Seoul’s most influential plastic surgery clinics. Namjoon knew him because after all, most of the girls he had dated had somehow a connection with that place — or at least, the wealthiest ones.

The man was tall, muscular and disturbingly kind. He had a pretty face.

A handsome face.

Dimpled one.

Maybe one of the prestigious doctors there had worked their magic on him too.

Namjoon kept studying him as he introduced himself, Christopher being incredibly polite right from the start even though Namjoon acted laconic and stern. The young man fit you. He was genuinely courteous to you — though a bit handsy.

Namjoon thought that he would have been the very same had he been in the other’s shoes. He also thought that he could never compete with Christopher’s clean face and genuine ways. He looked so handsome and angelic.

Namjoon was anything but.

For the whole night, he kept interactions to a minimum, too busy observing the two of you. He seemed to reassure you just enough for you to be comfortable talking to strangers as his arm stayed around your shoulders, or draped respectfully around your waist, your pinkies locked together when you stood a bit more apart.

Namjoon wanted to act as your best friend. He really wanted to. He wanted to support you dating a good person who could assure you a solid future, a house, a family, who would spoil you and grant you financial safety. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be your best friend.

All he could see was how handsome the almost-stranger looked, how bright his smiles for you were, how polished he seemed — and how ugly and rotten Namjoon felt.

No wonder you hadn’t come back for him. You had something better — someone better.

He tortured himself with questions like how long the two of you had been dating, how much intimacy you had allowed him, if you had kissed yet, if he’d tested the smoothness of your hair, the warmth and tenderness of your skin… of your flesh.

As soon as Christopher was busy with one of his friends you asked to be excused. You really needed to talk to Namjoon and clear a few things up.

You actually just wanted his approval.

You found it absurd that after all these years you still needed his opinion before taking a decision.

You found him lingering by the balcony and quickly asked him to accompany you outside; you wanted away from the crowd, where you could talk without having to shout to each other.

“Hey,” you began, leaning against the wall.

“Hi.” His reply was tense.

“How is it going?”

He shrugged. “Not my ideal type of night.”

You could only imagine what his ideal night looked like. You thought of three girls, a jacuzzi and a light buzz.

He actually meant curled up on a sofa with you, a cosy, handmade woolen blanket thrown over the two of you, a fire crackling quietly from the fireplace while he read a book and you napped on top of him.

“What do you think of Chris?” you asked, no longer capable of holding back your insecurities.

“Nice dude. Polite. Good looking. Sweet. Rich. He has it all, hasn’t he?” His reply would be almost reassuring if it weren’t for the vitriolic undertone.

“Namjoon.”

He inhaled and leaned against the wall right at your side. “Sorry. He really seems like an excellent person. And he looks very considerate.” He looked down. “That doesn’t mean I’m not surprised.” His jaw clenched. “What happened to us, Honey? Once you would have told me the second he texted you.”

The back of his hand brushed against yours. “I know. I wished we could go back sometimes, but there’s just so much distance from then to now. And from what we used to be to what we are. We’re not safe for each other, Joonie.”

He nodded. “Has he kissed you yet?”

You hesitated, “Mh.”

Again, he nodded. “Is he a good kisser?”

“A decent one. There’s room for improvement.”

“You deserved to be kissed excellently.” Namjoon looked in the distance. “You’re an excellent kisser. I’m sure you’ll train him well.”

You chuckled. “I had a good teacher. Plenty of practice.”

His laughter mixed with yours. “Plenty of plenties.”

“In another life—”

Namjoon had to interrupt you. He couldn’t stand the thought of that sentence being completed. “So, did you interrupt The Princess already?” he asked, babbling out the first thing he could come up with.

You inhaled and leaned your head against his shoulder. It felt so natural you could cry. “I know you’ve been hoarding a small fortune in The Princess’ products.”

Namjoon snickered. “Who told you?”

“Your mom told my mom. Who told me.”

“They still want us to be friends.” Namjoon moved his arm so that he could cup the back of your head.

You closed your eyes and felt how familiar it still was to you. Nothing could ever feel like that, no matter how right and proper Christopher felt — with him everything sounded and looked clumsy, uncomfortable, a bit made up. You already knew in whose arms you were meant to be. You stopped yourself from imagining.

“Don’t you have anyone, Joonie? What about the guys? Candy? Tae? How haven’t you found a girl yet? You’re such an excellent candidate! Sure, you might have a bit of history going around, but hey, that adds to the charms.” You hid your face from him. You knew he could read you so easily and he wouldn’t dance around your lie.

If I’m an excellent candidate, then why haven’t you picked me? Namjoon ignored the thought. “You know how it works. I was raised on filet mignon and now I can only see breadsticks around me. They don’t sate me, Honey. They never do.”

“You just need to get used to the taste.”

He inhaled, holding in his breath, his emotions, every confession and every tear. “I don’t want to.”

You didn’t let him dwell on the topic. “You can’t give me what I need. We know it. And I can’t give you what you need, either.”

“What is it that you want?” He chuckled. “You’ve never known it. For your entire life, you’ve never known.”

“Marriage. Family. Children. A dog.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “The same girl who left everything for education and ambition wants to be a lowly housewife? Come on, Honey…”

You bit your lip, feeling ready to spit at him. How dare he speak about what you wanted when he’d literally set it all on fire till it was nothing but ash? You genuinely wanted those things. Once upon a time you had wanted them with him.

Fuck it, you still wanted them with him.

You loved him. You love him.

Actually, you loved the boy he used to be.

“I need to go.” Your reply was icy. “And there’s nothing lowly in being a housewife.”

“Honey,” he begged, regretting his words immediately.

“No.”

“Please,” he whispered, and you hated him, you hated him with everything you could find within you.

Yet your heart could never come to even remotely dislike him. Your mind despised him twice more just because of that.

Namjoon saw a tall man stand in the doorway.

And though all his wits told him not to, he did the most hurtful thing he could muster.

With his hand on your cheek, he bent down. His lips met yours.

Your first reaction was to shove your fists as hard as you could against his chest.

It wasn’t the first time.

It was just an old anthem. A dance the two of you could dance with your eyes closed and your hands tied in a burning room.

You fought. You made up. You kissed, you tumbled back into each other, you tangled up in each other’s arms and legs and hair and it was always so familiar and so passionate and so loving, no matter how much anger you put into it, bites becoming a way to claim rather than a way to hurt, hands gripping flesh, holding on, praying for the tide to wash out, away, to finally be unpossessed, only to come back for more because once you experience the fullness everything else feels a ridicule, desperate imitation, a surrogate that will never suffice or sate.

Your legs grew wobbly.

Namjoon held you.

He moaned.

You swallowed his sounds.

He gripped your waist.

You tugged at his hair.

You whimpered.

He growled.

It was like that and it would always be like that. There was no other way it could ever be.

“Sweetheart.”

There were ways it needed to become.

With a deep inhale, you parted from Namjoon and turned.

There, Christopher. So handsome. So confused.

So hurt.

“I— I think we should go.” Christopher’s voice was frayed.

“I think you can. Honey can choose for herself.”

“Let’s go,” you replied immediately, leaving Namjoon behind as Christopher reached for your hand.

Namjoon observed the scene. He felt his jaw flex and his eyes well up. He let just one tear roll down before drying it up.

The way he needed to hear you say you loved him — that you still love him…

However, that was the Prince, while he would forever be just a knight, standing on the sideline, reaching for the Moon.

There wasn’t much you could recall from your discussion with Christopher, still it was all you could think about as you headed to your next — and hopefully final — event that entailed Namjoon’s presence.

The yacht already felt disturbing from afar, even more disturbing than the paparazzi that had snapped pictures of you at the dock.

You rolled your shoulders, feeling like a boxer squaring up for the ring. Just one final stunt, one final trick and you’ll be done with this forever.

Moving from the taxi boat to the yacht was a complicated ordeal, finding yourself grateful that you hadn’t fallen into the cold, deep blue sea.

The music was already disturbing, and it got worse once it started mixing with the chit chat.

You had arrived late, and you planned on leaving early, your focus on finding Jungkook, wishing him a happy birthday, hanging out with Swan and Candy, faking a headache and finally up and leaving.

Of course your mission was infinitely more complicated.

Hyuna started chatting you up about your latest rumor with Namjoon, apparently forgetful of all her past foul plays, describing in detail what people had seen during the latest party, and the rumors about the soirée at the botanic garden. Next, she had the brilliant idea of asking about The Princess, what you intended to do with the family business and if Christopher was once again free territory.

Your patience already running thin, you stumbled upon the last conversation you hoped to ever testify.

“You finally got your hands on her, uh?”

“Of course. I want it, I got it. Fuck, she’s so needy. She never had enough!”

The laugh that followed made blood curdle in your veins.

“She got used to getting it nice and dirty, no wonder the pretty prince couldn’t do her right. No way he could keep her sated. She only wants me.” Namjoon’s cruel, acidic chuckle made you nauseous.

“You ruined another one, mate!”

You inhaled. You finally felt that bond snap as his words reached your ears. “Yeah, maybe he’s not happy I ruined her for him! Anyway, time to move on, maybe I’ll find the next one tonight. Or the next four, who knows!” His fake laugh didn’t make you feel anything. You felt too drained, like standing in the eye of a storm.

Without even knowing what you were doing, you walked to him, cold and rigid as a statue as you stood right before his eyes.

You wanted to be violent. You wanted to be aggressive because, after all, anger and violence and hate felt better than the quiet, the nothingness that overwhelmed you.

"I'm not your toy, you fucking bastard,” you whispered before you poured your drink down the front of his trousers.

From the look in his eyes, you could tell he was half hazy already. You felt disgusted by him, so deeply, so disturbingly. "I’m disappointed in you. I had one good thing and you took it from me, like you always do. That’s why you are despicable and unlovable. Enjoy your disgusting, lowly, miserable life."

You turned, placed your glass on a tray and made your way to the back of the yacht, your escape interrupted by the lack of a taxi.

The only way you could save yourself was finding a private room and praying the heavens you could hide there possibly forever.

Just as you tried to close the door, Namjoon tried to get in. “Honey?”

You shook your head. This time you had had enough. For real. “Get the fuck out.”

“Honey. Let me in,” he growled, grabbing the door and shoving it open, locking it behind him once he was in.

“Who the hell do you think you are? ‘No way he could keep her sated. She only wants me.’ You dumb fucker!” you growled, hurt, angry, shoving him away by his shoulders. Finally, you were exploding. “You asshole! Acting so fucking patronising. ‘Maybe he’s not happy I ruined her for him.’ You stupid, patronising, mysoginistic pig. You think it’s cool? To use women—”

“I have never used anyone. I’ve always been clear. No strings attached. They knew what they wanted—”

“You said you would respect me!” Tears started falling, Namjoon half furious and half terrified.

“Didn’t I?”

“Oh, yeah. ‘She’s so needy. She never had enough.’ You said it, Namjoon. Your words. Are those respectful?” you screeched, turning away from him. “I’m not your sex toy, you prick. I’m a human being—”

“Was I a human being to you when you fucked me to get the greenlight on cancelling The Princess? Didn’t you think about my emotions? No. You never do.”

“I was building something good, Namjoon. I was finally getting away from you and you ruined everything!”

“I ruined it? Me? No, no no, Honey. You did it, with your own hands. You came to me, time after time. And now you don’t need me anymore and you throw me away. How typical!” He pressed a fingertip against your chest. “You? You like calling the shots. You like saying yes and no and you like saying it’s someone else’s fault when you don’t like the consequences. And right now you’re saying it’s my fault you can’t be in a relationship when it’s you being fucked up.”

You bit your lip. You had always known there needed to be something wrong with you as you refused to love anyone but him. You hated him for stabbing you right in your weakest spot. “Oh, but you’re not fucked up? Mister ‘I sleep with girl after girl after girl because I can’t keep it in my pants’. You’re disgusting.”

“And you keep coming back to this disgusting man.” His words were dead quiet. “At least I know devotion. Faith. Trust. Love. I don’t abandon the people who love me.”

You looked into his eyes. There was so much pain. You didn’t let it get to you. “You have no right to pull the love card.”

“I do, you stupid, pathetic, self-righteous bitch, I’ve loved you since I was twelve. I didn’t know life without you. We’ve been together since the day you were born. You were my peace, the only one who could calm me down and listen to me. You were the only one I wanted to be loved by. I lived to make you smile. I bent over backwards to get your attention.” He swallowed, his eyebrows furrowing as tears started streaming down his face. “You were my sun. And my moon. And all of the stars. I’m so helplessly in love with you and it doesn't stop. It never stops.”

You leaned against the closest surface you could find, hoping to find something to keep you on your feet. He was just using words to manipulate you. There was no way he was true. “You don’t love people and say that shit.”

“You do once they stab you in the back. Wanna know how it went since you’re too dumb to see it? I loved you that summer, when I told you I had never slept with anyone because I wanted to do it with you. And I loved you when you fucked me and used me while I made love to you. I loved you when I first kissed you, I loved you when we ran from your mother’s gala and made love in the boathouse and when I kissed you by the lake at dawn, watching the sunrise. I loved you when you left your lakehouse out of the blue and I still loved you when you changed your phone number after you left the country. I loved you when I was drunk at three am, knocking at your parents’ door to sleep in your room, weeping like a baby curled up in your bed. I loved you every day after that, for nine years, with your perfume on my sheets because I missed you, I missed my home, my partner, my confidante, my lover, my peace, my biggest, wildest dream. I had no one but you to count on. You were my strength, Honey. You were the only one I could be weak and young and afraid with. You were my guardian. You were all I had. And you left me alone. And then you came back and fuck it! Fuck me! I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to break you like you had broken me. But I forgot I can’t hurt you because you’re a cold-hearted bitch who doesn’t give a shit about me!” He caught his breath after the long tirade.

“This doesn’t excuse the insulting things you said. The things you've done to me.”

Namjoon sneered. “You know I was angry. I am angry. And I hated seeing you with him. My whole soul hated it.”

You shook your head. “Don’t use that excuse on me. It’s a pattern. Wanna know my side of the story? The night before I left, at the boathouse — the one where you say you made love to me, I found you talking shit. Just like two minutes ago. You said I was just a boring ride. You told her you only did me because you wanted to keep the connection between our families.” Your world crumbled. “That night. At the boat house. You— You told her— You said I was a means to an end. That—” a sob left your lips, “—that you couldn’t wait for university to find someone less boring and plain and inexperienced and… and needy. You called ten thousand times after I left. I picked up, one night, only one time. And it was her. She sent me pictures of the two of you. Pictures of her, in your bed, you at her side.”

Namjoon didn't know what you were talking about. And then, the conversation dashed through his brain. “Honey. I was talking to Hyuna. She wanted to use you. To hurt you. She was going to hurt you so she could hurt me for not liking her back.”

“She was kissing you. I saw you!” you murmured through the tears. You didn’t even know when you had started crying.

“She kissed me and I was confused and I pushed her away,” he explained, the events so clear in his mind. He had felt so panicked that night. He only wanted to keep you safe.

“You slept with her, after I was gone.” You looked away. “She called me from your phone to say so. She sent me pictures. That's why I changed my number.”

Namjoon felt ice freeze in his veins.

“That's why you changed it?”

“I needed to stop letting you hurt me.” He seemed shattered. The last nine years of his life were suddenly being rewritten from another perspective.

“But you picked up the call that night?” He rubbed his face with his hands. Why, why that one time.

“I had realised I had to have misheard or misinterpreted the situation. Her voice from your phone told me just how much I hadn't. Maybe, after all, you liked her more. Maybe you wanted her.”

“I was drunk off my ass.” He confessed. “Because every time I got drunk, I could pretend they were you.”

You shook your head. “I cannot trust you anymore.”

Namjoon looked at your face. All of a sudden, he knew this fight wouldn't be like the previous one. There would be no return from this.

“All those lowly housewife dreams were exactly what I wanted with you. A husband, kids, a pretty house, a dog. It went all to hell! Fuck me, regretting not giving you a chance to talk it through, discuss, clarify. There’s nothing to clarify.”

Namjoon had frozen a couple sentences before. “A husband?”

You nodded. “I’ve always dreamed of marrying you. Living at the lakehouse. Having three kids and a golden retriever. And love you, only you, till I would be just dust in the wind.” You grimaced and shook your head, drying your face.

Namjoon inhaled painfully, his body feeling too heavy. He let go and slowly sat on the floor. He felt too unstable to stand. “That sounds beautiful, Honey. That sounds like a dream, love.”

You nodded, looking away, the first tear streaming down your face. You let that dream out, once and for all. It was time for it to fade. “I’ve dreamed about us for so long. And I went away because I was hurt and all the time I thought… I thought it was my fault. That I should have given you a chance to explain.”

Namjoon rose to his knees, placing his hand on your waist. His heart felt like a field of poppies. “You were hurt, love,” he murmured, stretching to touch your face before you kneeled in front of him. He didn’t care how much he’d suffered: he could have you back. Finally the equation had been solved. Your paths had crossed again, and he could hold you.

He could hold you.

How could he make you believe him? “That night was a drunken mistake. And earlier, I don’t know why I said those things. I was sour. I’m so sorry, love. I’m so sorry, Honey. But please, give me a chance. Just one. I love you, Honey. I love you so much that it hurts me. We can start from here. We can heal. Together.”

You knew he was an instinctive man, who spoke before thinking, hurt, damaged. But you also reminded yourself that it wasn’t your duty to fix him. The hope in his voice broke you, the look in his eyes, of trust, and love and admiration, of vulnerability and deep, bottomless faith was your undoing. One part of your brain reminded you that if he had started down that spiral of debauchery, it was all because of your silent, mysterious departure, and you refusing a confrontation. “I’m so sorry, Joonie. I apologise to you.” You said through gasps.

His voice spoke through a smile. “We’re here now. We can—”

You shook your head. “I cannot. I— You hurt me, Namjoon. And I don’t mean back then. I mean in the last three months. You’ve become a man I despise. Wholeheartedly. I desperately clung to the parts that made me hope for the boy I had known so deeply and fondly. But I have no hope left. You have disrespected me, used me, insulted me and acted against my well-being.”

Namjoon felt very cold. And then very hot, all at once. He shook his head. “Honey.”

“I kept coming back for you. And I used you too.” You tried to take a breath. “I recognise I abandoned you and hurt you, but that does not allow you to let yourself rot away. Nor speak of me in those terms. No amount of anger could ever excuse the hateful words you spoke against me.”

Namjoon started shaking his head, grabbing your hands, bringing them to his face. “I apologise with my whole heart, Honey. You know I’m not what you saw. I was just acting up, please. Please, stay at my side. Help me, please. I’ll be the man you’ve always dreamed me to be, Honey. I promise, love. I will change.”

“We’re a curse to each other. You will not change and we both know it.” You let yourself touch his face. He was crumbling, slowly.

He shook his head harder. “With you at my side I can do anything. Please.”

“I promise I will not come back this time. I will let you heal.”

He slammed his fist against the floor. “No. No, Honey. No.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt as he felt like he was suffocating. “Please stay. Haunt me. Please.” He bowed with his head to the floor, his hands on your knees. “Please,” he whispered tentatively around an earthquake of sobs.

“I know I’ll have to drink myself to a stupor to stomach this decision but I need to fix myself and you need to fix yourself, Joonie. We cannot keep playing this game of who hurts the other the most.”

“Don’t leave me,” he whimpered. “I need your help.”

From knowing how proud he was, you realised how desperate he must have been to ask for your assistance.

You stood up, only for him to wrap his arms around your lap, placing his head on your belly. “I will love you. Forever. And I’ll love only you.”

You caressed his hair. “You will find someone who can accept you for the man you are.”

“I still love you,” he spoke through wobbly lips. “I still want you.”

You took a long breath and detached yourself from him, exiting the room without looking back. Walking down the corridor, you snatched a bottle before entering a semi-dark room. You were ready to settle yourself before noticing a woman was already sitting on the loveseat in the corner, a small lamp lighting her glass. “Uhm, hi there? Are you okay?”

The woman vaguely startled, her eyes focusing on you. “Oh, hello. Yes, I’m fine, just taking a moment to myself. It’s a bit chaotic outside, don’t you think?” She looked confused.

You felt like she was calm and aloof enough that you could at least exchange a few words. Plus, being in front of a stranger somehow forced you to maintain some sort of composure. “Oh, I agree. Would you like to be on your own?” Maybe she wanted to be left alone?

The stranger’s eyes widened before she shook her head briskly. “No, that’s alright! I wouldn’t mind some company.”

You forced your lips into a tight line that could vaguely resemble a smile before taking a few steps closer to the sofa. Once you sat beside her, you were close enough to notice her facial features.“You’re Seokjin’s, aren’t you?”

The young woman tensed. “Depends what you mean by Seokjin’s, honestly.”

You grimaced as you realised how rude it must have sounded. Same old you, after all. “Sorry, I was being abrupt. I mean, I’ve seen you with Seokjin a few times? I recall?” You huffed out a stressed breath. “I might be mistaken, sorry.”

The woman seemed to read your neurotic laugh as a sign of stress and immediately looked apologetic. “Oh, there’s no need to apologise! Yes, I came with Seokjin tonight. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours by now. We caused quite the stir coming together.”

You bit your lower lip and shook your head. “I haven’t been in the rumor mill for a while. I hate those. Ran away from those a long time ago.” You eyed your bottle meditatively, noticing a set of glasses on the small table beside you, but avoiding them entirely. You simply decided to take a sip, scrunching your face at the burn of the alcohol — you’d never been a drinker. “Just people running their mouth ‘cause they’re too selfish to care about someone else’s wellbeing.”

The woman smirked and lifted her glass. “True that. Unfortunately, when you come to a highly publicised event such as tonight on the arm of your ex boss, people talk, point fingers, and stare at you for ‘seducing’ your boss. Absolute bullshit, in my opinion. Sorry, I tend to swear more when I drink.” She pressed her fingers to her lips, looking vaguely ashamed before you waved your hand.

“As you said, no need to apologise. My best friend swears a lot,” for a second you wondered when exactly Candy had replaced Namjoon under the ‘best friend’ label. Your brain was too hazy to think. “People should just mind their own business. Plus, from the way he looks at you, I don’t think there was much seducing to do. One look at him and any smart individual could tell he adores you.”

The other snorted. “Smart, you say? So you’re saying over three-quarters of the people on this oversized boat are dumb, huh?”

You grinned before you could voice your idea. “Money can’t buy neurons, apparently. I hate these places. So many dumb— no, not dumb. Just… Ignorant. They ignore everyone who doesn’t fit their stupid, fickle standards. And they’re up for conversation only when they want something out of you. But I’m digressing here,” you let the sentence fall before letting a small laugh out. Apparently, one third of the bottle had been enough to pick up your spirits.

Your friend — friend? — joined you in your chuckle. “They think money speaks for itself. Which, it does, but oftentimes it’s the opposite of what you think. Nothing says ‘I’m a right pompous git’ like fat wads of cash sealed up in the secret vault behind the not-so-subtle gilded book on great-great-great-great-great grandmother’s shelf. Speaking of money, that’s a very pretty outfit you have on. Don’t get me wrong — I’m greatly enjoying your company — but shouldn’t you be schmoozing? I know that’s what Seokjin came here to do.”

You frowned and took another sip. The heat in your veins felt welcome “Schmoozing,” irony possessed you. “I think I had my fill of social interactions until my funeral.” You paused for a second. “I guess I’m not good at that. I’ve never been, truly.”

The woman seemed happy to be given a chance to rant. “Now isn’t that a shame? I sincerely hope for your sake that you have someone on your side who won’t let anyone hurt you. If you’ll allow me to be somewhat candid, many people of your social status live to knock down anyone they deem unworthy of their stupid, fickle standards, as you so aptly put. You’re a rare gem, and it’s refreshing to know that there are still people in the upper echelons of society that have their head screwed on correctly.” She looked so elegant as she sipped her drink, nothing like your messy sucking at the bottle. She looked classier than people with a thousand times her money.

Suddenly, you trusted this unnamed woman. You trusted her enough to reveal fears you’d never voiced out loud. “Most people would say I’m the odd one out. That’s why I’m on the solitary side, I guess.” That was enough for now. “Anyway, what do you think, should we stay here until the ruckus dies down?”

The woman — did Seokjin call her Beauty in the group chat? — swirled her glass — wow, so classy, you thought, amused — and peered at the contents. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan. Seems like I’m fresh out of alcohol, though. Shame.” She pursed her lips in disappointment. “I need a lot more if I’m to stay on this oversized flotation device without going crazy.”

You laughed very loudly, a few snorts peppered in between, signalling that you were nearing hurricane drunk. “Lemme check.” Standing seemed a very complicated task, becoming even more challenging as you looked around the room. “Homo Expensivus keeps their stashes in selected locations, usually to optimise the obstentation of wealth… which leads me… Right… Here!” You sort of stumbled through the room, only to find a see-through cabinet where some bottles were kept. “I won!” you called with a giggle before crashing back on the sofa, gin bottle in hand.

“Great find! Princess, was it?”

You lifted your head and looked at her funny, startled by the nickname. “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to call me, yes,” your chuckle was gleeful, but awfully short lived as your voice slipped into sarcasm. “Did Seokjin tell you everything about how I ran away and broke his best friend’s heart?”

Beauty seemed unbothered as she calmly kept pouring a generous amount of gin into her glass. “Not in that many words, but yes, he did hint at it. Of course, if you’d rather not talk about it, that’s fine by me, too. Something tells me you didn’t sniff out which room I was in to talk to a near stranger,” she spoke, half sarcastically half drily, holding up the bottle to the light to peer at its contents, “so you must have been looking to escape from something or someone.”

You nodded. It seemed easy to explain to her. “Well, this boat is a ticking time bomb for past-me. Lots of people who’d like to see me out of the picture. And I guess his friends — or ex-friends? I don’t think he’s keeping up with them — would all love to have a very heartfelt talk about how I should have thought about him before I flew out of the country like a criminal, maybe drop a hint, or prepare him or them for the hurricane I would cause.” You huffed out, taking another sip. Halfway. “And now I broke his heart again — not that he didn’t deserve it because who basically calls their soulmate a kinky slut in front of everyone? Come on!” You accidentally swung your bottle very dangerously as you gesticulated, causing Beauty to lean away and hug her gin bottle to protect it.

“Well,” the other replied, placing the bottle firmly on the ground next to the sofa, out of danger, “you talked a lot about what his friends think. Which, I assure you, Seokjin does not blame you for, but what do your friends think? I’m sure Candy would have a few choice words for you if she heard you talking down about yourself, wouldn’t she?”

The way she looked at you made you hide your head between your shoulders, her inquisitorial glance disappearing as she grimaced at the taste of pure alcohol.

“I guess I haven’t really been thinking about that. It’s been hard to think since he came back into my life.” Do not get sad drunk. Do not... “But I don’t think it’ll be easier either now that he’s gone.”

Beauty seemed to notice your emotional difficulties. “H-hey, it’s gonna be alright. Do you…” She started looking around in a way that made your head ache. “Do you want to watch videos of Cookie? Candy’s puppy? I have a few that are pretty cute.”

Your reply was a loud, endeared ‘aw’. “I love Cookie, Yes, please?”

Beauty was endeared by your large sparkly eyes, grinning as she found a way to lighten your mood. “Here, I’ll send you Cookie’s private instagram page later,” she mumbled, scrolling through the picture. “Did you hear the story about Cookie’s name?”

Your heart warmed. That was your family. “Yeah, I kinda was on the phone with her when she chose it…” you mumbled, the conversation with Beauty flowing out easily, relaxedly. You didn’t even notice it was time for you to head home.

⫷ ⁛ ⫸

By the time the party was over, Namjoon had sobered up, found a change of clothes and made himself look decent again. He was sitting on the bench near where the taxi boat would moor in hope he could find you. The chases of you having already left were high, but he needed to be one hundred percent sure you weren't still on board. He was vaguely surprised to see you arrive haphazardly, your body leaning heavily against Seokjin's assistant as she accompanied you to a taxi boat.

“Hand her over, I’ll take her home,” he said, looking at you and Beauty in miserable conditions.

With the way your arms reached for him, Beauty did not hesitate leaving you to him, not without granting he wouldn't make a move on you. “I know your secrets, so don’t try anything with her.” Namjoon frowned confusedly at the slurred threat.

“One wrong move and you’re over.” she continued, slightly more clearly as she pointed a finger to his chest.

Namjoon arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me, I’ve taken care of her since she got drunk with champagne at sixteen.”

“Bang up job you’ve done taking care of her then, she’s been wobbling around drunk half the night on the verge of tears,” she hissed.

Beauty was right. Namjoon deserved a scolding. He deserved far worse. “I'll accompany her to her parents' house.”

The woman waved noncommittally to the taxi, dismissing him self-sufficiently.

“Beauty, do you want to come with us? Will you be okay?”

She seemed to be confused by the question. “I think I will.”

He fixed an arm around your waist, leading you safely on the taxi boat. “Come on, I’m driving you to your parents’.”

You shook your head. “Don’t let them see me like this,” you whined, slapping his chest as you tried to stand by yourself. He let you stumble and almost fall before he caught you.

“I have to drive you home, Honey,” he reminded you. “Your parents won’t be home. I promise.”

He watched you as your lip turned wobbly. “I don’t wanna be alone. I’m always so lonely. Why the hell did you change! We used to be so close!”

He bit his lip and shook his head. He thanked the heavens when the taxi boat docked to a quiet, empty side of the port, away from photographers and similar. He noticed his car and wrapped his arm tightly around your waist as he hurried towards it. He had never, ever seen you half that drunk. He stopped right before the car. “Honey, baby. Do you need to throw up, love?”

You shook your head and punched him relatively hard for the amount of alcohol in your blood. “Don’t call me that. Bastard!”

He gathered all his patience and opened the door, ushering* you in. “I’m so sorry, Milla,” he apologised to his assistant. “I will pay you extra, I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry,” he repeated again, and he wanted to apologise to the whole universe, to his family, to your family, to you and all your shattered dreams and burned letters and dried flowers.

He felt miserable, but at least he could take care of you, even though he knew this would be the last time he would be able to.

“It’s okay,” Milla replied from the driver’s seat. “Is she okay?”

“We’re driving her home. She’s the princess,” he said dryly, sitting at your side and making you lean into him, holding you upright.

Milla’s eyes gleamed in surprise and understanding. “Tell me where to drive you.”

He gave her your address and held you close, looking for anything that could save his car were you to throw up.

Mercifully you made it to your house, Milla looking at Namjoon as you fought him about your passcode.

“We fought. She’s gonna hate me every day from tomorrow. I swear I have only good intentions,” he explained, Milla sweet-talking you into giving her the passcode, which she inserted quickly as Namjoon tried to keep you calm and standing.

“I’ll go, then,” Milla informed curtly, Namjoon nodding.

“You’re getting three extras. And dinner for you and Nara. Choose the place.”

She grinned and turned, giving a small wave before leaving.

“Honey. The stairs, love,” he murmured, picking you up and taking you upstairs. He naturally headed to your room.

“Not here!” you screeched.

“It’s your room.”

“Guest room. I hate my room. It’s not my room. Away!” you managed to use your legs as leverage to push yourself away from the door.

“You hate it?”

“I know you slept there. When I was gone. You’re everywhere. It hurts.” You whined. “Away. I want my pjs. Joonie. Pjs,” you ordered as he sat you on the bed in the guest room.

“Can you shower? By yourself?” he asked, kneeling and removing your shoes. “You need a shower—”

“I’m not feeling well,” you mumbled, just in time for him to grab the bin and place it under your mouth.

For the following half hour, he held your hair as you stayed bent over the toilet, letting out everything you had forced in. And every time it would subside, he would tear a piece of paper and clean your mouth, letting you rinse it before he'd grab a wet cloth and press it to your heated face, letting you rest your head against his chest, eyes closed while his arms held you. You allowed yourself to believe in it until the sickness subsided and you were left alone to wash yourself.

Soon he would become an exile, he realised. No longer your knight. No longer your prince. Just a stranger.

Once you reappeared, clad in a terry cloth pyjamas set, he managed to take one last look at you, eyes red and puffy with tears, hair wet, no makeup, knees weak.

Had he been a smarter man, a better man, you wouldn’t have been feeling miserable right then, and he would be your husband, your spouse by now, not only allowed, but even entitled to take care of you.

You settled underneath the sheets. “We’ll be strangers from tomorrow,” you said, and it sounded like all your love had been shut in a tomb forever. “Stay until I fall asleep for today.”

He nodded, sitting at your side on the bed and petting your hair. “I know it won’t change a thing, but I need you to know you’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”

You nodded with your eyes closed. “I wish you had loved yourself more while I was gone,” you grabbed his hand and kissed the back of his palm. “If I left, It’s also because I needed you to learn. I needed to make sure you could survive without me. At the beginning I was angry, but then I realised I wanted you to learn to fly with your own wings. You simply… fell.”

He dried a tear. “You were my wings.”

“An angel should never borrow wings, Joonie.”

Tagging: @thejooncrew @ggukkieland @luvaffaire @bluesharksandfish (sending this through dm since tag does not work)

[P.S. PART 2 OUT HERE]

#namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #lavender honey #kim namjoon fanfiction #houseofddaeng #thetruthuntoldnet #bangtansorciere #thebtswritersclub #sonsofmidas

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