Thread by @justpeaqi

🌾namseok superpowers AU

• where hoseok has the touch of death and just wants to cuddle soft botanist bf joon
• angst :(

"It's always 'someday' with you, Hoseok," Namjoon whispers. He wishes he could bury his face in Hoseok's chest, wishes he could pepper kisses over the delicate planes of his face.

Hoseok grips the old pillow in his arms, craving human touch desperately. "Someday is all I have."

*in this AU, some people have powers, and it's considered a privelege. Plants are fine, but anything else dies under hoseok's touch. Namjoon on the other hand can manipulate a plant's growth and owns a self-grown flower shop.

The first time Hoseok meets Namjoon, it's in the dead of winter. The temperatures have dropped below freezing, and Hoseok's hands, warm flesh and bone, now feel as they really are: like cold death. It's in these dreadful months that Hoseok craves touch the most. He wishes for

the warmth of a hug, the intimacy of a kiss, or even just the brief humanity in brushing skin against skin. Instead, he searches for the only form of life that allows him a sense of humanity.

His small apartment is filled floor to ceiling with leafy plants and bright flower

arrangements to mask the darkness lurking inside. None of the plants last very long, truth be told, because Hoseok's touch may not kill them, but it seems his presence—or perhaps his loneliness—leeches life all the same.

He heads out on a Sunday morning, all bundled up in black.

There's a scarf around his neck, vibrant yellow; a large puffer jacket, bright red; socks underneath thick pants, emerald green; and gloves over cursed hands, deep black. All the colors he surrounds himself with because they're supposed to make him feel alive. It's all so empty.

Windchimes jingle as he pushes the glass doors open. The shop is unassuming and small, but it's surrounded by a lush garden, plants growing in thick clusters. The man at the counter is tall, made apparent by the way his green apron only reaches mid-thigh, and his smile is dimpled

"Welcome," his tone is pleasant, so accommodating and warm that it gives Hoseok a rush of something that thrums in his frozen fingertips. "How may I help you?"

Hoseok feels a little lost. He shuffles into the store with his head bowed and extends a shaky hand to brush the flower

petals gently. He has to remind himself that plants are okay, that his gloves are snug and snapped in place by rubberbands on his wrist. It'll be fine, fine, fine.

He raises his head and pulls down his woollen mask to smile at the cashier. "I'd like to have a look around, if

that's okay."

The man—Hoseok can see his name tag now: Namjoon—just nods with another polite smile and continues sticking delicate bundles of baby's breath in a bouquet of sunflowers. The flowers are some of the most gorgeously grown ones Hoseok's ever seen, but Namjoon's

arrangement is a little tragic.

Hoseok stifles laughter when Namjoon steps away from his bouquet only to frown upon realizing that the delicate white buds don't mesh well with the bold blooms of the yellow flowers. He hears him sigh deeply and mumble a soft, exasperated, "Why?"

Today, Hoseok goes for small succulents. They're a little too dull for his liking, even though Namjoon's little ones are quite pretty, but they last longest under his care. He brings three to the counter and takes a ready-made bouquet as well. "I'll take these," he says.

Namjoon pushes his failed bouquet to the side with a pout and rings up Hoseok's small stash. He looks so dejected that Hoseok tilts his head towards the arrangement and says, "They're pretty cute. Maybe subtler flowers would work better though."

Namjoon shrugs. "My co-worker

usually makes the bouquets," he says. "I'm really just here to, uh, magic them pretty, I guess."

Hoseok laughs for the first time in a while. "That's your ability?"

Namjoon's brows furrow, and his expression darkens a little. "I know it isn't as cool as others, but I like it."

Hoseok shakes his head. "No, it's—I really like it. Your ability is beautiful."

Namjoon looks at him oddly for a bit. He turns away to bag the succulents and wrap pink twine around the bouquet. He reaches out to hand Hoseok the change, and Hoseok flinches back without realizing.

"Just put it on the table, please."

So Namjoon does. He places the coins on the counter and doesn't ask questions when Hoseok's gloved hands dart out to take them.

"Thank you," Hoseok mumbles, and in seconds, he's gone from the store.

The next time Hoseok comes back, it's a few weeks into the new year, but nothing about the world is new just yet. The trees are still dead, ground still frozen, and Hoseok is unable to tell whether or not the lack of life makes him feel better or worse.

Hoseok is wearing a white hoodie and denim but with the same black gloves snapped snug at his wrists. The bouquet he bought had wilted long ago, and now that weak morning light has begun to filter through his large windows, he's finally found the motivation to visit again.

Namjoon doesn't recognize him, not at first, but Hoseok hadn't expected him to. The bouquets are much prettier this time, vibrant like they're trying to fight off the winter chill. He takes three different ones this time. Celosia and queen's lace, double tulips, pink roses, and

delicate orchids, and a tasteful bunch of colorful wildflowers tied loosely together, almost careless. Hoseok has no doubt it's Namjoon's ability that keeps all the flowers in bloom. He heads to the counter and gives Namjoon a soft smile.

"The arrangements are really pretty

today," he mumbles and sets them all on the counter. Namjoon looks at him as though trying to figure out where he's seen him before. There must not be many customers during the wintertime because a spark of recognition lights up his eyes.

"Last time was a bit of a mess, yeah?"

Hoseok nods with a shy smile.

"Jimin made these ones," Namjoon gestures to the flowers. "How have you been?" he asks, looking down at Hoseok's gloved hands before quickly redirecting his gaze.

"Good," Hoseok says. "The season's been treating me alright."

"Glad to hear that

," Namjoon says. He sets the change on the table with a proud smile as if to say 'See, I remembered.'

Hoseok is grateful Namjoon remembers. He's grateful that he doesn't pry. He takes the change and scoops the bundles into his arms, and with a smile and a wave, he leaves.

The next few weeks see Hoseok at the flower shop more often. Namjoon has long since stopped trying to recommend Hoseok flowers, having realized by now that Hoseok's tastes shift from hour to hour. He meets Jimin, although the man typically stays at the back, and they're both

a similar brand of pleasant, of sweet. It's a flowery sort, soft and pretty and full of life. It makes Hoseok want to let go sometimes, wear short-sleeved shirts and allow his hands to tan, but he tamps down on the desire because a part of his mind is horrified at the prospect of

letting go.

It's March with the air cool and fresh when Namjoon finally grows curious enough to ask. "Do you have an ability, Hoseok?"

Hoseok stills from where he's seated on a bar stool, legs dangling from the height. Ice frosts over his insides and shatters them into shards.

"Yeah," he says softly. "Not a very good one, really."

When he looks, Namjoon's eyes are soft and sad. "Is it the reason why you're always so covered up? Why you never let us touch you?"

Hoseok rests his chin on his hand and finds comfort in the pilled material of the gloves

chafing his own skin.

"I kill people, Namjoon," he says, steady and resigned. "If I touch anyone, they die."

There is only the soft in and out ot Namjoon's breathing, the rush of blood in Hoseok's ears, and the soft snip-snip of scissors working against twine.

Namjoon nods. "Okay," he says.

A customer comes through the door, signaled by the tinkling of ornaments, and Hoseok scrambles, careful still, to move to the corner and wrap a thin scarf around the exposed skin of his neck and jaw.

"Welcome," Namjoon greets, dimples deep.

She buys red roses, a dozen, for this boy she likes. She's maybe 16 and in love, and she's so excited that she grips Namjoon's hands and babbles about him before she pays for the flowers with a bubbly grin.

Hoseok wishes life was that easy for him.

He watches Namjoon's long

fingers flutter awkwardly in the girl's grasp.

Hoseok wishes love was that easy for him. A bouquet of roses. A sweet smile. Eager hands that give warmth and not death.

He turns away when the lump in his throat becomes too big for him to swallow.

Namjoon walks up to him when the girl leaves. "Go on a date with me," he says. Hoseok startles. It's not that easy, really; it can't be.

"What?" he asks in disbelief.

Namjoon doesn't come any closer, but his smile is huge. "Go on a date with me."

Hoseok bristles then. It feels almost like Namjoon's mocking him. What's a date when they can't touch? A relationship when they can never hold each other? Love when they can never find the means to express it?

"Don't mock me," he says instead.

Namjoon looks as though he's expected this. "I'm not," he says. "Just coffee or dinner or brunch. We don't have to touch."

Hoseok closes his eyes when his head starts to ache. "It'll only hurt more when you realize I'm not worth it."

Namjoon shakes his head.

"Why would I?" he asks. "Because the way I see it, you're wonderful and sweet and kind. And I want to see you smile more."

"It's not that easy."

Namjoon grabs the closest flower, a white rose grown in tinted green water so that its leaves color prettily. "It could be."

He extends his hand, fingers touching close to the end of the stem, and Hoseok hesitates before taking it, two fingers pinching at the very base of the flower. Safe, but it's the closest they've ever been.

Hoseok brings the flower close and sniffs it. It smells sweeter than

it normally would, and the petals feel healthy and soft. He looks back up at Namjoon, tall and nice Namjoon who calls him beautiful and kind, and feels hope blossom in his chest. Maybe Namjoon's abilities work on dead flowers too.

"Just one," Hoseok says. "Then we'll see."

So they do. At first it's coffee after Hoseok's visits then a scheduled dinner date. Namjoon takes Hoseok to a fancy restaurant with proper wine and reserves them a room, so he won't have to touch. It's perfect, sweet, like Namjoon is.

They slowly shift away from the formality of dinner dates to themed cafes and cheap midnight meals at the convenience store. Sometimes, when Hoseok is overcome by a sadness so heavy he can't fall asleep, by a fear that he'll touch someone, it's 5 am in Hoseok's apartment

with Namjoon coaxing Hoseok out from his bedroom door. Eventually, perhaps an hour or two, when the sky brightens, so does Hoseok, and always, without fail, Namjoon's holding a tacky, self-made bouquet, and it makes Hoseok smile again, even just a little.

"Hey, I wanna try something," Namjoon says once as he pushes into Hoseok's apartment like it's hus own. His chin is jutting out like he's thinking really hard, and his dimples poke through the slightest bit.

"Try what?" Hoseok asks warily. He's not wearing gloves right now, and

that leaves the rubberband marks around his wrist.

Namjoon is looking at his hands. He's seen them before, but it makes Hoseok self-conscious, and he tucks it behind himself.

Namjoon raises a wrinkled plastic bag. "Can I paint on you?"

It takes a bit of coaxing, but Namjoon brushes away all thoughts of "It's too dangerous" with "I'll wear gloves" and "Look, long sleeves", so Hoseok relents.

They're seated on the floor with newspaper between them, and Namjoon already spilled paint on Hoseok's faux wood floors.

Hoseok's hands end up yellow and sticky. They're covered in smudges made to look like petals and have little, shaky brown centers. They're kind of ugly and kind of beautiful. Hoseok's skin is entirely covered in them, and for the first time, he thinks his hands look alive.

He wants to lean forward and plant his lips on Namjoon's. He settles for using his socked foot to push into Namjoon's knee instead.

"The petals are all crooked," he teases. Namjoon lets out surprised laughter, two sharp peals before he buries his face in his hands, embarrassed.

Namjoon starts coming to his apartment more often after that. They've shifter from strangers to friends and now to boyfriends, and it feels nice, as nice as life can be for Hoseok.

They grow together into summertime. Namjoon enters Hoseok's house a little tanner everyday because

he spends all his time outside picking flowers that are growing much too quickly as they grow out of his excitement and happiness.

Hoseok goes to the store a little less, just because there's always so much people, so they shift too from Namjoon's store to Hoseok's home.

"I come with pizza," Namjoon says, all giggly, when Hoseok opens the door for him. He's wearing thin long-sleeves and pajama pants. His socks are long too, way past his ankles, the way Hoseok prefers.

Hoseok is in a onesie, covered feet sliding softly on the floor.

It takes a bit of maneuvering to arrange Hoseok's sheets and pillows on the floor, but they end up bundled and comfortable with a whole pizza between them and the television open playing a 90's romcom.

Hoseok pulls the hood of the onesie over his head and sets a spare blanket on

Namjoon's chest, covering his neck too, and there, carefully, he settles. His hands are covered by the onesie, so he presses them into the blanket, pressure on Namjoon's chest. His cheek rests on the soft cloth. It's warm and good, so damn good.

He knows he can't stay long

because Namjoon will tire soon, restlessly shift, but he revels in it for now. It feels otherworldly, miraculous. He doesn't watch the movie or take a slice of pizza just yet because there's just so much sensation.

He nearly cries when Namjoon's hand rests on his back, warmth

through fabric, and slowly moves up and down.

Hoseok loses track of time, but eventually Namjoon taps his back gently. "It's getting a little cramped," he whispers, tone a little sad like he wouldn't move if he didn't absolutely have to. Hoseok sits up.

They sit with crossed legs, knees separated by a soft pillow between them. Namjoon rubs his hands soothingly over Hoseok's thighs. "I want to kiss you," he says.

Hoseok feels his eyes water. He ducks down and blinks twice. "Someday," he says.

"It's always 'someday' with you, Hoseok," Namjoon whispers. He wishes he could bury his face in Hoseok's chest, wishes he could pepper kisses over the delicate planes of his face.

Hoseok grips the old pillow in his arms, craving human touch desperately. "Someday is all I have."

It's always obvious when Namjoon's upset, and he's upset now. "You have me, Hoseok," he says.

He grabs one of Hoseok's two silk pillowcases and raises it in between them, obscuring their view of each other. "Just one kiss, Hoseok, please?"

And it's tempting. Heady to think

that he could get a taste of Namjoon's warmth, maybe feel just a bit more alive. Tempting, so tempting, and his resolve wavers like it always does around Namjoon.

"Hold still," he tells Namjoon. It's scary, the feeling right before a rollercoaster drops, the feeling of living.

He presses his lips against the fabric then onto Namjoon's lips. They're warm, thick, and soft against his tentative press. It's everything he's ever wanted and then some, and he presses a little harder, a little longer, before he realizes he's crying.

Out of the fear that his

tears bring death too, he pulls back, panting.

Namjoon pulls the fabric down, and his cheeks are wonderfully flushed. Hoseok wonders how he'd look with his lips properly kiss-swollen, but he thinks it's okay to never know.

It's okay if he can rest on Namjoon's chest, even hug him on occasion. It's okay if they can eat together and watch bad movies late into the night and comfort each other through their tears. It's okay if it's the two of them because Hoseok is so madly in love that the sensation

of it sears into his skin and resides bone-deep in a way he thinks touch never could. Love isn't all he needs, but it's a lot, and Namjoon is more than enough. Love—it's love; it's love. God, Hoseok is so in love that he's crying into his hands now, all stupid and soft.

"I love you," he manages to choke out.

Hands through a blanket rest on his shoulders, and a kiss lands at the top of his head through the hood. "I love you too, Hoseok."

And that love bridges the gap between them that touch never could. It connects their hearts, a metaphorical

press of lips, no, of a joining of bodies. Hoseok blooms under Namjoon's hold, blossoms under his gaze. It's life that he can hold in his vulnerable palms, and it's beautiful. For once, he's not thinking about the end of life but the beginning of it. Namjoon makes him happy.

"I'll kiss you properly someday," Hoseok promises. "In this lifetime or the next."

Namjoon clutches a pillow in his arms. "Someday," he says. "Yeah, that sounds good."

They grow old together. When Namjoon passes, it is in old age and sickness, and he surrenders under Hoseok's lips. The death he grants is sweet, almost lovely, and it takes a while to take hold. Hoseok cries through it, and when Namjoon's gone he repeats, "Someday, someday."

Someday comes. In another life, it comes. Hoseok is born again, human and free, and he does all the things he couldn't because somehow, he remembers. He dances, travels, lets himself tan under the sun. He's happy even when the heartbreak lingers inside him, sore and bruised.

In this life, the first time Hoseok meets Namjoon is in a campus library. His hair is dyed, and he's wearing thick-rimmed glasses, but he sees Hoseok, and oh, he remembers. Hoseok knows he remembers because they crash together in a moment.

Hoseok holds him tight and runs

now-tanned hands over the bare skin of his arms. Namjoon pulls his face close and kisses him like it's the only thing they have left. It feels so good to touch him. A burn soothed, a thirst quenched. Hoseok's glad he has Namjoon for another lifetime, another someday.

"I missed you," Namjoon whispers into his lips.

"I know," Hoseok says, their foreheads pressed together. "I missed you too."

They have forever to spend, then maybe a couple more, so Hoseok kisses him languidly, takes his time. His someday had come, but forever has just begun.

[End]

A/N: thank you guys for sticking through this long thing! here's hobi to sooth the pain 💞