|Sooner or later — it's bound to happen sooner or later, Namjoon tells himself for what might just be the hundredth time that day as he squints in an effort to see through the window of their karaoke room. On the other side sits Jeongguk, eyebrows pinched as he leafs through the song book, and— Well, that's about all Namjoon can make out from where he is. Apart from the display on the television and Jeongguk's figure, too familiar after all the years spent memorizing the shape of his lips, face, his body, the stretch of his limbs, there's nothing else that he can really see. The lighting in the noraebang is already bad, as it is, and if you add to that the fact that he gets too goddamn teary-eyed everytime he remembers he has a damned ring in his right pocket and probably the cheesiest letter he's written in years in his left, then—|
Just do it, hums a voice in his head. Dammit, Namjoon — just fucking do it. He's spent weeks writing and rewriting what would soon be a speech he'll trash to just give up, again. He's laboured too many months planning out the whole thing and orchestrating what he hopes would be the best proposal ever to just... throw everything away (and he'd rework the same plans to come up with something simpler, too, because goddamn, Jeongguk's psychic as fuck when it comes to these things). And he's spent — no, wasted — so many years asking himself why it had to take some twisted encounter in a house party with too much alcohol sloshing around in his head and a drunk Jeongguk on the other side of the bathroom door to realize that he'd long stopped seeing Jeongguk as Jonghyun's older brother when really, really Jeongguk had always been a bit... more.
He's spent nearly his entire life trying to deny himself of the simple joy of kissing Jeongguk senseless, in a crowded room. He's getting old and a lot fonder. He—He can't waste time anymore.
"Just do it," he whispers to himself this time, then takes a deep, shaky breath. Replays in his mind all the times he's had to put off bringing out the stupid ring even when he already had his fingers threaded through Jeongguk's own, then gulps down hard when a dull ache blooms in his chest. The worst that can happen is for Jeongguk to turn him down and tell him he's not ready yet. Or that he suddenly doesn't like cheesy geeks anymore, No, hyung, that's not how you do it. You can't bawl while asking me to marry you. That's just— Why are you like this? Why? The worst that can possibly happen is for him to have to wait for a couple more years to pop the question again, and better, so really, really — what does he have to lose?
He bites the inside of his cheek as he peers through the window for a quick second. Jeongguk catches him this time and mouths something that can be C'mon, hyung, we only have two hours! or Hyung, I'm so hungry I could eat a horse! or Hyung, I want to sing with you 'til I'm hoarse! The possibilities are endless. So he nods to himself, feels for the box in his right pocket for a quick second, then wraps the same hand around the knob to give it a firm grip, a gentle twist.
Right. The possibilities with Jeongguk are endless, he thinks to himself. He can't wait to find out what probability number one looks like, even more when he gives the door a light push and in comes the sound of Jeongguk belting out Westlife's biggest hit the same way he did during their first date.
Namjoon pulls out the box from his pocket and grins. He can't wait.
airplanewishes, you're up!