Fuck, I Guess I Will Not Sleep Today 😂

Enjoyable one shot!

pairing: namjoon x reader / word count: 9.3k / genre: pwp/smut

summary: You’ve been letting your laundry pile up for a little too long. Fortunately, your neighbour Namjoon is there to lend you a hand.

warnings: sexually explicit content, masturbation, edging (kinda), unintentional voyeurism (briefly), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms (f receiving), bigdick!joon, dirty talk, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, overstimulation (reader gets fucked dumb), praise, aftercare (please heed the warnings, and let me know if I need to clarify/add any!)

–

For most people, Sunday is a day of rest. But not for you.

Sunday means chores. Sunday means tidying up, dusting, vacuuming. Sunday means finally doing all the Adult Things you’ve been too busy/lazy to do for the rest of the week (or even longer than that, as evidenced by your overflowing laundry basket). Sunday means work. 

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He is breathtaking 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

breathtaking

Ok, I’m hooked on this couple! I can’t believe I haven’t read the whole series yet!

kakistocracy Namjoon and y/n talking about their career aspirations which ultimately prompts a sweet conversation about their future together 🥺

hello. here u go, hoe + happy birthday to namjoon!!!!

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masterlist

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My favorite person

Weverse - Black and white - Selcas - 2019-2023

magazine.weverse.io

Development notes on RM’s solo album, Indigo - Weverse Magazine

Album design as a work of art

Development notes on RM’s solo album, Indigo

Album design as a work of art

More Than Anything Else (two) [M]

This took almost two months. I’m sorry! This is unedited, so please excuse any errors.

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: CEO!au, smut, fluff, angst

Words: 12.8k

Warnings: Unprotected sex 

two 

To say that you felt completely out of place would be an understatement. The mansion was lavish, positively gleaming with the glitz and glamour from the decoration as well as the guests. You pulled at your pencil skirt, feeling overwhelmingly under-dressed looking at the elaborate gowns, jewelry and makeup of the rich specimens around you. You felt a little like a voyeur, head turning, almost involuntarily, in the direction of every immaculately dressed individual who passed by in front of you.

For a brief minute, you were so enamored by this party that you forgot your initial intention for being in such a place. You could handle the few side glances and snickers from some snobby rich people. That was hardly a problem. But, the only reason you were prepared to unnecessarily endure it all was so that you could get Namjoon to listen to you, to talk to you and try to resolve this stupid misunderstanding.

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Well said Yoongles, well said 👏👏👏

YOONGI SAYS LOVE YOURSELF

The Lease Chapter One: The Meeting

(A/N: Super excited to put this out! The first chapter is mainly just a set up of what's to come but I hope you guys like it!! I'm so excited to see what you guys think!)

Read Preview Here.

masterlist.

It was one of those rare days of utter perfection.

Crisp, wintery air holding you suspended in the world with the promise of spring warming the earth beneath you. The sun was out for the first time all week, shining brightly in the sky without a cloud in sight. It was the kind of day you'd ideally spend alone, in a park or hiking or journalling by the river. Things were better when you got to spend time outside, it lifted a weight off your shoulders and reminded you that the world was much bigger than whatever problems you had.

Everyone had gotten used to it at this point, knowing that on a day like today- a bright and shiny one, that there was no use making plans because you'd be busy spending time in the world alone. It was the kind of thing you did all the time, turning your phone off for the day and just secluding yourself to reconnect with nature.

It was exactly what you were doing now, taking a walk in one of the few parks you hadn't visited yet. You didn't normally think too deeply on these days, but this time was different. You couldn't stop thinking about something that seemed to be an open wound in your brain, bleeding into other areas of your life.

See, you had a theory.

The ability to love genetic- it had to be. There was no other explanation for every relationship in your life to fail the same way every relationship in your family failed.

If couples in your family weren't divorced then they should've been. It had to be some sort of a curse or a genetic mutation in your DNA dictating that you weren't meant to stay in love with anyone for longer than a couple of years or so.

You longest relationship had made it to a year and a half, ending when your ex proposed. He thought he loved you- you believed that he thought that, but all you could see was yourself in five years, stuck in a loveless marriage just like your parents had found themselves in. You were too young for that level of commitment, too young but you could see the end so clearly.

No way- that wouldn't be you.

You didn't think about your ex often, like you just mentioned- you hadn't really been in love if you could already tell it would all go to shit. You didn't think about your ex often, but you thought about him now, staring at a couple in the park making out unabashedly.

You tilted your head, very openly staring at the obnoxious shiny watch on the man's wrist. Your ex liked that brand too, said it made him feel expensive. You got him a platinum one for his 23rd birthday, two days before he proposed. It really was expensive. When you turned him down he threw it at you, ripping your favorite sweater.

Looking down at your sleeve, you eyed the sewn up tear near your elbow. The tear was invisible to everyone else but you could see it, plain as day. You remember the time it took to sew it up and the number of times you pricked your finger. You could see the threads you had painstakingly mended the tear with, a slightly more matted finish then the rest of the beige colored material. No one else could see the tear, but you could.

Yeah, you definitely made the right decision in ending things.

Besides, things were different now. You had a whole new life, a new apartment with a view of the city, a new job at your best friends' coffee shop. You were selfish with your time but it was yours and yours alone. You liked it this way, for the first time you owned every part of your life in its entirety.

Whatever- this was supposed to be a leisurely walk in nature, secluded and detached. Secluded and detached, secluded and detached.

You turned on your heels, taking two steps before swiveling around and walking the other direction on instinct. Leisurely walks require little to no navigation, you have to go where your feet take you and right now, they wanted to go towards the pond you spotted out of the corner of your eye instead of away from it.

There were park benches all along the pond begging to be sat on, three choices laid out in front of you. One was covered in bird shit, instantly eliminating itself as an option. That left two- one with a woman who was talking too loudly, which annoyed you just enough to detour you from sitting there. The last bench was under a tree but miraculously clear of any bird poop with a man quietly sitting on one end of it, scribbling furiously into a notebook.

Furious scribbler it is.

You stared at the pond in front of you, watching as a random swan swam across your viewpoint gracefully, another following it closely. How the fuck did two swans even end up in the middle of a city park anyway- what kind of traumatic experience brought them here? They probably didn't even like each other, probably just decided to stick together like humans often did. It was trauma bonding- nothing else.

"You know people think swans mate for life, but they don't. Even swans get divorces- if they can't mate successfully or if one of them dies or whatever. Scientists actually did a study and one in six swans are actually illegitimate."

You turned your head slowly, looking anxiously at the man who you had chosen to sit next to. You figured he looked normal enough when you had approached the bench. You would've gone even farther to say that he was attractive- flawless skin, sharp eyes that softened slightly when you asked if you could sit beside him, but clearly he was a freak and you should've sat with Chatty Cathy.

Or had you just ranted about trauma bonding aloud? You frowned, feeling deeply confused and slightly dazed.

The man seemed completely unaware of how bizarre his rant had been regardless of your own internal conflict, eloquently explaining the sex life of a bird stared as he straight ahead with a disapproving look on his face. The swans flocked together, entangling their necks to make a cheesy little heart shape.

"What a letdown," You said flatly, looking back at the swans.

The man next to you clicked his tongue and a silence fell over the two of you. See, you thought, not even birds could stay together. Yet another piece of evidence that long term monogamy was a farce.

You thought about the swans far too often until saw the same man a week later, a rice ball in his hand and a frown on his face.

All in all, you were having a shit ass day. A customer yelled at you, you had dried up whole milk on your shoes, and you were pretty sure your dinner plans fell through for later that night.

"Hey, snap out of it."

You blinked, snapping your head towards the sound.

Suddenly, the world around you was engulfed in noise. The sound of milk frothing, the low hum of espresso shots being pulled. You could hear people laughing, coworkers chattering to each other. Working at a coffee shop was a hectic environment, zoning out in the middle of your shift should've won you a medal for maladaptive daydreaming. Instead, your best friend and boss was glaring at you with mock annoyance.

"I'm gonna fire you if you keep dissociating," She warned, gesturing towards the multiple people in line waiting to be attended to.

"I'm the only one here who knows how to run a business, you'd go to shit in an hour." You pointed out, rolling your eyes. "You didn't even know what a wholesaler was before you hired me."

"Well, I do now!" Binna snapped back, stomping her foot down petulantly.

You smiled at the next customer, a short man with a nervous look on his face, and took his order- medium cold brew with sugar free hazelnut syrup and a splash of 2%. You passed the order on before spinning on your heels to face Binna, "Oh yeah? What's the name of the guy who we get our coffee beans from?"

Binna stared at you blankly, tilting her head before laughing awkwardly, "Okay- fine. Maybe I'm not the best at stuff like that, that's why I need you to pay attention so I don't go bankrupt!"

You grumbled but focused on clearing the line, helping the baristas by picking up half of the orders and making them yourself while Binna called out completed orders. Things slowed a little after, giving you time to make yourself a chai latte.

"But seriously, why are you so spacey today?" Binna asked, knocking her hip against yours.

You shrugged, pouring oatmilk into your cup, "Just one of those days- Did you know swans don't actually mate for life?"

Binna rolled her eyes, leaning against the countertop, "Please don't tell me you're about to compare humans to swans right now."

"It's true!" You cried, throwing your hands up, "If swans don't do it, why should humans!"

She threw you a pointed look, shaking her head, "You need to get a boyfriend."

You willfully ignored her, going back to making yourself a drink. Managing the shop was somewhat of a random career switch for you from your old corporate job but when Binna called you, sobbing about how in over her head she was, you were happy to help. Sure, your mom didn't understand it and it was a lot more responsibility, but working with your best friend was fun and the endless supply of coffee wasn't so bad either.

Except for days like today.

It was like you had a storm cloud hanging over your head, striking you with a lightening bolt of disdain every now and then. It hadn't been until your shift ended that you realized it was another perfect day outside. Less perfect than last week, you spotted a cloud on the way over here. But still, too good of a day to be wasted on your bad mood.

Suddenly, none of it mattered- two steps into the park and suddenly the day was turning itself around.

"Still looking at that pond, huh?" You asked jokingly, approaching the man slowly.

"Wha- Oh," He said, a look of recognition crossing over his face, "Sorry, is this your usual bench or something? I can move."

"It's fine," You said quickly before he could move to get up. "It's a public park, we can share ownership of the bench."

He stretched his lips into a tight smile and nodded, going back to eating. Sweet smile, cute dimples. You snuck glances of him every now and then, taking note of his large stature that took up more than half of the bench. His skin was tanned and his hair cropped short, although you could barely see it with the way he had a beanie pulled over his head.

"You got any more bird facts?" You mused, pulling your knees up to your chest and hugging them tightly.

You had no idea why you were making conversation with him, but after the day you had had, a little conversation wouldn't hurt. You liked the tone of his voice, mellow and low almost to the point of intelligibility, forcing you to put your undivided attention on him.

"No, just that they're pretty territorial. They've been known to attack people for getting too close," He smiled awkwardly.

"A slutty bird with trust issues," You said slowly, "Sounds like me."

The man laughed at that and you felt pride blooming in your chest. It was a little embarrassing to admit, but you started looking for him everywhere after that. Strange, how foreign a face could be one moment and then the next you were double taking every tall man on the west side of town in hopes that it was Bird Man.

Thankfully, you knew you'd see him at least once a week. It was the beginning of an unspoken tradition: every week, you'd share custody of the bench between the two largest oak trees at the park near your house facing the pond. You'd watch the birds and talk about stupid shit.

Sometimes you'd bring him coffee from work- an iced americano or an iced oatmilk latte with an added shot of espresso. Sometimes he'd bring you a rice ball, always tuna mayo and never salmon for some reason.

There were a lot of variables between the two of you, you were more different than alike, but one thing you agreed on wound up being the most important thing-

"So, you come here a lot." He said one day, handing you a rice ball wordlessly.

You snorted and nodded, taking it from him gratefully and willfully ignoring the way your fingertips grazed against his, "So do you."

"I come here to write- I'm a writer." He explained, a far too humble look on his face.

You raised your eyebrows and eyed his notebook and then his shoes. His notebook was old and the leather was cracking, held together by two jumbo sized rubber bands with a cheesy little pen with a tiny cactus on the end of it stuffed between the pages. His shoes were nice and looked too expensive for you to afford yourself.

Writers were usually broke if they were no good- but from the looks of his shoes and the worn down edges of his notebook made you curious- could you find his prose in a bookstore? What name would you look for him under? You really should ask for his name.

"Why are you always here?" He asked, cutting your train of thought off. You blinked blankly once before processing what he had said, smiling awkwardly.

"For the swans?" You joked, "I guess I just like nature, I dunno- I've just always been like this. I prefer being outside. It makes me feel...better, somehow."

"Less insane," He nodded, a look on his face saying he felt exactly the same way as you did.

You stared at him, astounded that someone could feel the exact same way as you. You tilted your head, wide eyes scanning the shy smile on his face. It was like someone lifted a veil over your eyes and suddenly there he was, the handsome stranger you had randomly befriended. You weren't sure if it was because you were finally taking the time to look at him, like really look at him- or if it was his mindset that suddenly made you all the more intrigued by him.

Ah, shit- you've got a crush.

"What did you say your name was again?" You asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

He grinned, leaning back against the bench with a satisfied smile, as if he knew exactly where you were going with this and why you were asking his name, "Namjoon. My name is Namjoon."

You smiled, a blush blooming on your cheeks. Namjoon. It paired nicely with your name, not that that mattered, "I'm glad we met, Namjoon."

taglist: @vanilla-sky01

Really impressed with how well this is written, the amount of details and story background. Really super excited to read the rest of the story!

Chapter 2: Coffee

The double doors opened to reveal a spacious boardroom, lit by bright lights and furnished with a long table and around it, twelve white leather chairs. The air was filled with a mix of strong colognes and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. Seated at the head of the table was a portly yet amicable-looking gentleman clad in a navy suit and silver round-rimmed glasses, quietly talking with another man who I assumed to be the CEO, Mr. Bang Si-hyuk. A few more men and two women were scattered around the room, some at a small coffee cart, brewing cups for themselves. As Ming and I entered the room, the chatter among them gradually died down, and all eyes turned towards us.

I start to fix my face in a friendly smile, blinking quickly and clasping my hands over my shoulder bag in front of me. I'm glad I put my hair up because I could feel the sweat coming. That also means the frizzis going to be wild. Ming gestured for me to place my bag down where I'd be sitting.

"Get a coffee, if you want to," she said to me and crossed the room to speak to a thin man with slick black hair in a green blazer and khakis pouring cream into his coffee mug. They shared a laugh as he glanced my way with a nod.

I settled into my seat and began organizing my laptop, bag, and phone on the tabletop in front of me. The situation felt somewhat reminiscent of the first day of school. I noticed from the corner of my eye that a well-dressed guy with broad shoulders was sitting across the table from me, his gaze fixed downward at something on his lap, presumably his phone. After adjusting my belongings, I finally looked up just as he lifted his eyes from his phone and our gazes met. He gave me a friendly, closed-mouth smile and a nod, raising one eyebrow slightly. My eyes widened for a moment.

Those eyes. They're... piercing. holy shit. The purple-haired idol from the K-pop shop, right? Except his hair isn't purple now. It's neck-length and raven black, shiny and glossy. His skin is beautifully honey-toned, and whoever did his makeup this morning deserves an award. He's dressed in a black turtleneck and blazer, and he's peering through square-rimmed glasses. Silver hoops in his ears and various ornate rings on long, elegant fingers. Gorgeous.

"jalie anj-ja, jebal." Let's have a seat, please" the man in the round-rimmed glasses announces to everyone and makes a welcoming gesture with his hands.

He takes his seat and patiently waits for everyone to find their seat, scrambling with organizing papers and setting down steaming coffee cups while quieting down with their attention focused on him. A few glances still shoot in my direction. I guess curiousity presents in different and interesting ways. I feel like a shiny ornament on a Christmas tree.

Ming takes the seat next to me and hands me an Ipad.

"You'll see the English translation automatically through the app as Mr. Bang speaks."

“Like, live interpretation? Cool.” I reply.

Mr. Bang begins by welcoming everyone this morning and comments on being grateful for the good weather finally. (It's been raining for a week straight in Seoul.) I start to see the English text start to populate on my screen. He continues by thanking the crew for being patient while some things were ironed out in the most recent "mishap" and that the extra security around the building would continue for the next two weeks. Damn. What could've happened?

Mr. Bang turned his focus on Ming and began explaining to everyone that there would be a new colleague in the office for the next two weeks as well. I perk up in my seat and put on a reserved passport-type smile.

"Please welcome our American colleague Maggie Marsden from the Focus Marketing and Advertising agency."

Ming pokes me in the arm to stand.

I stand up from my seat to face Mr. Bang and bow in respectful acknowledgment. He nods back at me and continues in Korean:

"She will be working closely with our staff to collect data and details in assistance with the promotion of RM's upcoming solo music project and full-length album release in the U.S."

RM, what does that stand for? Radio Man, Really Modern, Respected Moron? I snorted to myself as I wondered about the meaning of the abbreviation.

The attractive guy sitting across from me gave me a quick glance and then returned his focus on Mr. Bang as he continued to speak. I felt my eyes widen again, realizing I needed to pay attention. Wait, could this be the "RM" that Mr. Bang is speaking to?

"We wish RM the best of luck on his new journey in musical artistry, here in South Korea and abroad."

The whole room erupts in respectful applause, a mix of golf claps and encouraging smiles from everyone present.

"RM" stands and bows to everyone in the room with a pretty, bright smile.

"I'm honored to have your continued support. Fighting!" He says, excitedly pumping his fist and looking at the faces around the table, one by one.

His gaze shifted to me, and in English, he said, 'Thank you for taking on the project.'

He bowed graciously, his gleaming-white smile confirming that he was, in fact, the same purple-haired guy from the photocard. Perhaps the purple hair was a relic from his boy band days, and he had kept his natural black now for a more mature image.

I nodded in response, still smiling. 'I'm glad to be here. Thank you for having me,' I replied.

The formality of the exchange reminded me how admirable the mutual

respect in this culture is. Compared to Americans, whom I believe can be so rude, I wish there could be some similar habits formed in my own culture. Maybe we could learn a thing or two from the Koreans in terms of politeness.

Well, well... It seems we have our idol. An idol that goes by "RM". I haven't wanted to call Hana so badly in my life. She's gotta know who this guy is and what group he’s in. For now, I keep my professional composure. After a few more discussions from the group, the meeting ends.

Mr. Bang thanked the group again and asked me to stay behind for introductions. The others began chatting amongst themselves and gradually left the room until only Ming, Mr. Bang, Mr. Green Blazer, and Mr. 'RM' were left.

Ming took the tablet from me, and Mr. Bang approached me with an outstretched hand for a handshake and I clasp his with a smile.

"dangsin-eul mannaseo joh-eun. ulineun dangsingwa hamkke ilhage doeeo gippeuge saeng-gaghabnida."

Oh, shit. Mr. Bang seemed to assume I was well-versed in Korean as he smiled politely and handed me a key card on a lanyard. I accepted it with both hands, and Ming quickly translated his words. Mr. Bang expressed his happiness that I was here and shared that he and his marketing team were looking forward to working with me. He also mentioned that I would need to take a package of media with me before leaving. This was the part where I was assigned homework, often consisting of a dossier-type folder containing legal documents, contracts, and other paperwork for me to sign. The package usually included a statement of the company's image and ethics, as well as the various red tape involved. I was meant to sign everything and return it the following day.

"RM" walks over to join the conversation and extends his hand to shake mine, a bright smile still on his face.

"Miss Marsden, it's nice to meet you. On the label, I go by RM, leader of BTS, but my given name is Kim-Namjoon. You can call me Namjoon if you like."

He spoke in very clear English, with sort of an American accent. His deep, velvety voice caught me off guard. Just as our hands met, we were both surprise by a burst of static electricity.

"Oh!" We both exclaim and laugh, surprised and startled by the effect.

"Namjoon, is it?" I say, smiling widely still. "I look forward to hearing all of your ideas. I’m excited to help you promote your project.”

"I appreciate that. Has anyone given you the tour yet?" Namjoon peers around at his team.

Ming-Hee abruptly steps forward and tells him she is on her way to doing so after the meeting ends.

Mr. Green Blazer steps in and finally introduces himself too.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Kim's personal assistant, Lee Seokjin.

I shake his hand and bow, and he and Namjoon chat quietly as Ming hands me a business card of what looks to be a lounge in Seoul.

“Hoesik tonight at 7. You’re invited.” Ming says as she gathers her belongings.

“Sorry, way-sick? I’m not familiar with what…” I said, as Ming cut me off to explain.

“Drinks and a meal with the team. Mr. Bang pays for everyone. It’s mandatory.” Ming told me. She made it sound like he was making us run laps or something.

“Oh, fun, I’ll be there.” I smiled. Ming did not.

Namjoon and Mr. Lee nodded at Ming and I from across the room before they concluded their conversation and walked out together. Namjoon glanced back at me just before turning the corner, a lingering look that left me staring at the spot for a few moments until Ming suddenly poked me in the arm, jolting me out of my stunned state

"You good or not?" She asks, puzzlingly looking at me like I had a third eye.

"I'm good." I respond with a nod, rubbing my arm in the spot it was violently poked and start to gather my things from the table.

“Get a badge photo done before you leave. Front desk. See you tonight." Ming said.

I nodded again and made my way to the reception desk downstairs for the obligatory photo and to sign some papers.

I was anxious to get out of there so I could finally call Hana back and give her all the details.

Outside, I spotted a cafe a few steps away and decided it was time for some lunch and to sit down to call Hana. The cafe was named "Wisteria Cafe", according to Google Translate, and it looked cozy enough, just as the rain started to pour down again.

I sat at a small table covered by a dainty mint green tablecloth next to a window and ordered a turkey sandwich on a ciabatta roll with an iced green tea. I pulled out my phone and called Hana. I did some quick math to figure it was 8 pm the previous day in Seattle.

"Hey, girl! Damn, you must be getting paid or something ‘cause you're too busy to call your bestie."

Hana giving me shit for not calling her is classic, no matter the circumstance.

"Sorry, girl. I arrived with half of my brain last night. It was late."

"Yeah, so how’s it to be back in Seoul? How's the weather?" Hana asks.

"It's raining, of course. But it's pretty. Rain smells sweeter here.”

"Girl, you're the only Seattlean who likes rain, I swear to God. I want to know what the job is like. I've been waiting all day for you to call so you can tell me who the freaking idol is that you get to work with. It's been driving me crazy since you left. Is it Jennie from Blackpink? I heard she's going solo. Rose’ is, too…" Hana rambles on with more possibilities and I have to cut her off.

"All I know is he goes by RM and his real name is...Nahmshoon...June? oh, shit. I already forgot. I know they called him RM for sure."

...silence…

"Hana? Did I drop the signal? Are you there?" I ask, listening to dead air for a few seconds.

"Mags. Did you say RM, or do you need a new phone? You...you... have no idea what you're talking about here. Holy fuck. W-what did he look like?"

"I mean... he's a very tall, dark-haired, impressive-looking Korean guy with earrings, really intense eyes, and a deep voice. He's gorgeous like every K-pop idol you’d expect to be."

"Fair." Hana said. "Mags, in your entire existence, have you ever heard of the group BTS?"

"Yeah, I've heard of them. I'd probably know them if I heard one of their songs, I guess." I answer.

Hana sighs heavily.

"Well, let's just say that your Mr. ‘RM” belongs to one of the biggest, most successful K-pop groups in the history of K-pop. We're talking the equivalent of Korean Beatles here. I've been a fan since middle school. I had all their photocards. I can't believe you don't remember that!" Hana says.

"Oh, photo cards! I passed a cute shop earlier on my way this morning that had a bunch of those in a stand. Just a bunch of idols and glossy headshots of them all. Did BTS ever have purple hair?” I ask.

“Yeah, they all have at some point. RM did, like five years ago. Why?” Hana asks.

“That’s weird. I saw him before I got to the office this morning. His picture was there. I almost killed myself by getting my heel caught in the pavement, walking by that place.” I said.

“Yeah, he had purple hair at one point. Then blue, green, pink... He’s on the rap line. Meaning he’s a rapper... not the best of singers, but rapping is what he’s known for. Not my bias, but still... I can’t believe this shit. MAGGIE! You met RM? “You’re working with him? God, he’s fine too. I’d give my left tit to meet ANY of those guys.” Hana huffed.

“I got kind of dumb around him, to be honest,” I admit. “His eyes wrecked me. I couldn’t think of words. I almost forgot my own name.” I said.

Hana sighs heavily.

“I can only imagine. I can't believe this, Maggie! Here’s your homework, homie. You go back to your place, get on YouTube and go down the BTS rabbit hole. I want you to watch live performances especially. Music videos, a show called RUN BTS and I want you to witness the phenomenon that is BTS, got it?

“Well, I can’t tonight. They invited me out for “hway-shik”. I guess I have to go.” I said.

“Hoesik? Oh, good luck. They’re going to feed you shots of Soju to see how much liquor you can hold. Consider it a challenge.” Hana laughed.

“Not me, girl. I only drink whiskey and gin in mixers.” I said.

“You have to take a shot or else they will think it’s rude. It’s like turning down a gift.” Hana said.

“I’ll take one for the team.” I said.

“Take three.” Hana laughed again.

“Alright I gotta go run a delivery for the shop. Appa is sick with a cold again.” Hana said.

“Aww, tell him I said ‘get well soon’. I said.

“Yep, will do. Rabbit hole! Talk later, girl.” Hana makes a smooch sound and hangs up.

I finished up at the cafe and caught the train back to Myeongdong. The sun was shining and the fog finally lifted off of the Han River. When I got back to the Air B&B, I had a few hours to kill before dinner out with the team, so, I took Hana’s advice and spent some time looking up BTS on Youtube. I felt like Alice falling down the k-pop rabbit hole and felt a little overwhelmed by it. I was amazed by the impact these guys had on the industry here. BTS paved the way, it would seem. They had gone through some shit to get there, though. Their humbleness was apparent, their fandom, “ARMY”..well… insane, in the best way. So supportive. I was in awe of the choreography, the outfits, the hair changes, the charm and sex appeal all of them exuded on stage. RM definitely played the part of leader. Translating everything into English for the group when they traveled abroad, organizing the group photos, taking questions in interviews. It was apparent that he carried a heavy burden to ensure their success as a group. It made me feel bad for him, in a way. Was he carrying too much? Was it taking its toll on him? The seemingly peaceful expression on his face looked almost forced most of the time. What do I know, though?

This is something I knew relatively nothing about. I grew up in a completely different environment altogether, my parents, practically hippies, always listened to classic rock and folk, singer-songwriter tunes. Mom grew her own alfalfa sprouts in the family garden for green smoothies, always had dirty bare feet and sang Doobie Brothers at the top of her lungs. Our house was an old bungalow built sometime in the 1950’s. Dad built model ships and wore his sailor cap around the yard smoking cigars when he wasn’t at sea crab-fishing for months at a time. My brothers and I grew up building sheet forts under the pines out back and lived in the garden, stealing cucumber snacks in the shade. A vast contrast to the glamor of the city life in Seoul. The high-fashion, the luxury cars and the gleaming skyscrapers. It made me wonder what sort of childhood Mr. Kim Namjoon had lived.

Hours seemed to fly by as I watched dozens of various videos and it suddenly became 6pm. Time to go out. I changed into some black chinos and a silk blouse with ballerina flats and my gold Cartier watch, hoping the attire was casual enough, but stylish enough for a dinner out with work friends. The card Ming gave me had the address on it and decided I’d request an Uber instead of hopping on the train tonight.

The lounge was in Euljiro, which wasn’t too far from where I was staying here in Myeongdong. The place was colorful and bright, sticking out from a street corner and loaded with people, most still dressed in suits and ties. Neon beer mugs blinked in bright, golden yellow and beamed through the rain above the front entrance. I quickly Googled how to ask to be seated at my company’s table and approached the host station. The hostess asked me to follow her and lead me through a curtain down a hallway stacked with boxes and supplies, bottles of liquor and glasses stacked high. This cannot be right. Just when my suspicion peaked, we turned a corner through another curtain and saw a long table with my work mates sitting together enjoying their first beers of the night. Ming stood up and waved me over to sit next to her.

“I’m glad you made it before Mr. Bang arrived. He just pulled up. Sit here.” Ming said, sipping her glass of what looked like Brandy.

“I wasn’t expecting a place so…basic.” I turned to Ming and said.

“It’s been Mr. Bang’s favorite place since his trainee days. We meet here once a month.” Ming said, rolling her eyes and taking another sip. “But, the food is good and the soju is cheap.”

I could hear a raucous of voices coming down the hallway and entered the room where we sat. Mr. Bang, Mr. Lee and Mr. Kim Namjoon entered together, seeming to be joking around and laughing at some inside joke. The group stood and bowed toward Mr. Bang and greeted him enthusiastically. I stood and bowed with a smile, eyeing Namjoon while he smiled and shook a few hands then gestured for the server to place an order.

“moduleul wihan soju.” he said.

Damn, I at least understood soju was a part of that sentence. He gestured toward the whole group when he said it. I better gulp down some water while I can. My body isn't ready. Ming observed the gentleman taking their seats and chatting with the ones at the table finishing off their beers and Ming chimed in where she could amongst the excitement. Namjoon flashed an interested look my way, smiling and nodding toward our end of the table. It was the sort of circumstance where you think someone recognises you on the street and waves, but unbeknownst to you, they’re waving to someone behind you. You awkwardly wave anyway, just in case.

I flash my eyes at him, inadvertently and smile back, feeling the blush warm my face, giving me away, as usual. He kept looking my way, making me feel self-conscious as to whether it was me, Ming or someone else he was eyeing around us. I squirmed in my seat a little, hoping for the arrival of the soju to at least help take the edge off. I was already feeling anxious, being the only non-Korean speaker among the group. Namjoon's frequent glances didn't soothe my nerves. He stood up from his seat and made his way over to our end, pulling up a chair next to Ming and I. He was dressed in a beautiful royal blue button-up under a black blazer, a thin gold necklace sparkled from behind his collar. His black hair loose around his eyes and shining in the lamplight. It was hard not to hold a gaze on him. He listened as Ming laid out the traditional rules of drinking soju.

“You should sip the soju when it arrives, don’t shoot it like vodka. You don’t drink it until the eldest at the table drinks and you turn your face away from him when you drink it.” Ming instructed.

I felt flustered already, but I knew there were certain customs when it came to the drinking culture here in Korea. I felt grateful for Ming’s help. Namjoon studied my expression as I listened to Ming’s instructions, noticing my apprehension.

“Hey, it’s not a big deal. Just enjoy yourself, Maggie. We’re all friends here.” He said with a wink.

The soju arrived and was passed around the table to each of us. I waited with the glass in hand for the signal to salute a round of cheers. Mr. Bang stood and made a speech which Ming roughly translated for me. He welcomed us and congratulated RM on his new venture and then raised his glass my way and welcomed me to the team. I raised my glass toward him and nodded. Everyone shouted “Jjan!” in unison. I did the same and caught Namjoon’s glance as he nodded and raised his glass, then turned his head away from Mr. Bang and sipped slowly from it. I made a face like I had just ingested a hot pepper and widened my eyes at Namjoon. He lowered his eyes, laughing and fidgeting with a menu in front of him. Ming noticed our subtle interaction and fussed with her napkin, exhaling sharply.

Plates of meat and vegetables were passed around the table and a few small tabletop gas grills were lit. Ming instructed how to grill everything and the etiquette for using chopsticks in every instance. I was giddy to learn the customs and propriety of a customary Korean Hoesik and felt grateful to be amongst the comradery. Another round of Soju came around and another. I made sure to eat enough food to hold onto the amount of liquor I was consuming but started to feel tipsy after the fourth shot. Everyone at the table chatted happily and I started feeling the golden glow of intoxication and contentment just observing my team relaxed and having fun grilling meats and cracking jokes. Namjoon stood and made his way around the table joking with everyone and asking who was taking the next shot with him. The server then brought a large bottle of a transparent liquid with a large root soaking in it. Ming informed me that it was a special liquor made with ginseng root, for immunity, health and general well-being. She said it had a strong flavor and I might want to hold my nose while shooting it.

“It smells like piss.” Ming laughed.

Her cheeks were red-flushed and her forehead glazed with perspiration. Surprised at her expression and her laugh, which sounded like a goose honking, made me almost spit my water and I let out a quick cackle, causing the entire table to cease their conversations and stare in our direction. Namjoon was smiling widely with raised eyebrows, looking directly at me. The bottle with the suspicious-looking root creature inside was passed around the table and poured by whomever was junior in age of the person next to them or across from them. Another ritual I knew nothing about until tonight. Everyone tipped up their glass and I held my breath, hoping I wouldn't catch a whiff before bringing the glass to my mouth, emptying it down my throat. It tasted like how ethanol smelled. Pure fuel. My eyes burned and my throat lurched. Nausea started creeping up and I got up to excuse myself to the restroom. I watched Namjoon staring at me, his eyes following me across the room as he held the bottle and a glass in his hands. Ming stood with me, a flustered look of concern on her face. She gestured with her hands flailing in the air for the server to escort me and the server took my arm, guiding me to the exit of the room and down the hallway to the restroom. I made it just in time and puked into the first sink closest to the door. The server looked at me with widened, mortified eyes, but helped me pull my hair back into a clip she had clenched to her apron and handed me a towel.

“You O.K?” She asked me and I nodded, wiping my mouth and washing my hands. She left me to it and I finished getting myself cleaned up, feeling like a wreck and embarrassed to boot.

How could I return to that room and face the group after that? As I was wiping the sweat and spit off of my face, there was a knock at the door. Odd, since it was a multi-stall type of bathroom.

“Uhh, come in?” I squeaked out.

A deep, manly voice behind the door was asking for me.

“Maggie? Are you alright in there? I brought you a glass of water.” It was Namjoon.

Jesus, I wish I could find another way out of here. He knocked again and pushed the door open slowly and peeked around to find me kneeling on the floor next to the trash can. I covered my face and cowered behind my hands.

“Don’t. Please. I’m O.K.” I said through my hands, voice muffled.

Namjoon slowly took a few steps to me, looking cautiously around the bathroom and stood hovering over me offering the glass of water. He tapped on the back of my hands gently with his finger.

“Hello in there? I’m sorry we fed you too much soju. It’s pretty heavy for someone not used to it.” He said sweetly.

I looked up at him from the floor as he towered over me. I took the glass from his hands and thanked him.

“How’s the weather up there?” I said, dazedly.

He sat down beside me on the floor, seemingly unbothered as his Gucci pants were now dusted with the grime on the ground. I cautiously sipped the water, careful not to embarrass myself in his presence by puking again. He removed his blazer and tenderly draped it over my shoulders. The jacket carried a pleasant scent that enveloped me.

He regarded me with a concern on his face, looking up at me tenderly. 'How about I get you a coffee as well?' he suggested, his eyelashes casting a soft shadow over his eyes.

“No, I’m ok…Just make the room stop spinning, please?” I asked him, laughing at myself.

He laughed with me and stood up, offering his hand to help me.

“Let’s just start with standing.” He said.

An elderly woman came through the door just then and was shocked to see us both in there together. She gasped, excused herself and began to turn to leave. Namjoon bowed and excused himself in Korean. It sounded like he was trying to explain himself and his purpose for being inside the ladies’ room. The woman nodded nervously and kept walking.

“Shit, um… Maggie, love, will you come with me, please?” He reached down and picked me up under my arms, hoisting me up effortlessly to my feet. He opened the door and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, leading me out into the hallway. I looked at the face of a blurry Namjoon beside me and thanked him again, stumbling slightly. Glad I wore these ballet flats tonight. I must have said that out loud, because Namjoon looked down at my feet just then and smiled with arched eyebrows.

“They’re cute, too. He said, politely observing my shoes.

I continued sipping my water and propped myself against the hallway wall, attempting to get my bearings.

“Mr. Kim, I’d rather not face everyone again. I’ll just go home.” I said, with pleading eyes.

“It’s Namjoon, please Maggie. Mr. Kim is my father. I’ll go grab your handbag and be right back, ok? You good right there?” He asked.

I nodded. He returned a few minutes later with my bag and began to hand it to me, then pulled it back, hesitantly.

“I don’t feel right about sending you on the train. Seokijn and I will give you a lift back, ok?” He patted the side of my arm and smiled, looking a little concerned.

“Oh, I’m good, really. I’m fine.” I said as I fumbled my handbag.

Namjoon caught it before it hit the ground. He raised his eyebrows at me again with concern and a tilt of his head. I rolled my eyes and nodded, sighing heavily. I reached inside my bag and pulled out a box of Altoid mints and popped one in my mouth to disguise my sour vomit breath.

“Hit me.” Namjoon said, with an outreached hand. I placed two Altoids into it by accident.

“Trying to tell me something, Maggie?” He said with a chuckle.

I squinted at his open hand and laughed with him. He walked me outside to the curb, opening the back door of a black S-Class Mercedes Benz with blacked-out windows. Mr. Seokijn was seated in the driver’s seat. Namjoon made sure I was safely seated, checking for my feet and shutting the door gently. I nodded off here and there during the ride home and I could hear Namjoon and Seokijn quietly exchanging words in Korean, the car stereo playing soft jazz. As we arrived at my rental home, Namjoon gracefully opened the car door for me and extended his elegant hand." I placed my hand into his and thanked him. He walked me to the door and bid me goodnight like a perfect gentleman, making sure I got inside safely. I thanked him profusely and apologized for being a light-weight.

"He chuckled and commented, 'Impressive how you managed to take more than one shot of soju, let alone four.' I smiled weakly in return and responded, 'That's just my competitive nature coming out.' He narrowed his eyes and calculated silently before running his fingers through his glossy hair. 'See you at the office tomorrow?' I asked, and he replied with a salute before stopping at the gate and smiling sweetly before I closed the door behind me. I found myself melted in a puddle behind the door."