Archive of Our Own

There was a real live person standing in the middle of the End of the Line museum.

A real live person.

“Are you seeing this Hansung?” whispered Seokjin as he peaked around the corner trying not to draw attention to himself—or to the ghost he was talking to.

“Yeah,” confirmed Hansung. “He’s cute.”

“You’re not helping.”

Seokjin glared at Hansung. After knowing each other for so long it didn’t have much effect. Hansung simply grinned back at him.

“That depends on your definition of ‘helping’,” countered Hansung. “You’re alive. He’s alive. You’re here. He’s here.”

“Those are woefully low standards,” muttered Seokjin.

“Well, you’ve had woefully low opportunities to meet someone new—”

“I meet people—”

“Someone who isn't dead.”

Well…Hansung wasn’t wrong about that.

Seokjin sighed. At the very least he needed to find out what this living, breathing human was doing here. That was basic customer service. Seokjin still hated it. He knew what to do with ghosts. Ghosts were easy. Humans…

Humans…

As if sensing his dread, Hansung patted his back—

And then shoved him.

Seokjin stumbled and quickly righted himself. He glared at Hansung before he turned his attention back to the human in their midst—the human who was unfortunately already staring at Seokjin.

Seokjin willed himself not to blush as he straightened his suit jacket. He wasn’t sure how successful he was as he crossed the museum. His dress shoes seemingly extra loud and squeaky against the wood floor.

“Can I help you?” asked Seokjin in his best polite voice.

And, shit, Hansung wasn’t wrong. This human was cute. Made cuter as he flashed a smile—and a pair of dimples.

And it wasn’t a great time for Seokjin to remember that he was, at heart, horribly socially awkward.

“Ah, yeah,” said the human as he ran a hand across the back of his neck. “This might sound silly—maybe more than silly—”

“Trust me,” interjected Seokjin and he couldn’t help but smile. “Whatever it is, I assure you it’s not silly.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Cool. I was just wondering…” The human trailed off and his eyes wandered around the room. “What…is this place?”

“This is the End of the Line museum.”

“Yeah,” replied the human absently. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Oh,” said Seokjin brightly because this was an easy question to answer. “Would you like a tour?”

“I—” The human hesitated. Quickly glancing at the watch on his wrist before he looked back up at Seokjin with a smile. “Sure. I’ve got some time.”

“Great! Let me show you some of my favorite pieces.”

Seokjin threw open a set of double doors and was delighted to find the room already arranged for him. He patted the door frame as a small thanks to the museum before he walked in.

Technically Seokjin had never given a tour before. Ghosts came and left. With the exception of Hansung none of them lingered, none of them were interested in what the museum held, in all of the stories that it guarded.

Seokjin had learned the stories but he had never gotten a chance to share them with anyone before. He gestured towards a pedestal with a clay teapot and four tea cups sitting on it.

“Ah, this is a tea set.”

The human politely paused in front of it—taking the time to read the plaque with the names and dates etched onto it—but it was obvious that he was more than a little baffled.

“The tea set was made by a woman who loved making pottery,” continued Seokjin. “She tried to make a living off of it but unfortunately was unable to succeed. She still loved it as a hobby til the day she died. This is a tea set that she made and gave to her son. The son…used it every day.”

Seokjin smiled as he recalled the story. It was one of the first he had ever learned while working at the museum.

“He had many fond memories of his mother working at the pottery wheel. It was a time when his mother always looked at peace with herself and the world around her. And after she died her son would drink tea in the morning and try to recapture that feeling.”

The human cocked his head to the side. It was a curious gesture. Clearly more interested now than he was a few moments ago.

“And this—this is a coat! A father scrimped together the last of the family’s savings for this coat because his daughter was leaving them to go to college in Seoul. She was the first person to go to college in their family. She was their pride.”

And though the human had seemed in a bit of a hurry he still let Seokjin tell him about every piece in the room. He asked a few questions here and there, but mostly he listened intently to each story.

Even after the tour was done the human still lingered, his eyes wandering around the museum, as Seokjin walked him back towards the front door.

“I could have sworn that I’ve never seen this place before and then today…” The human shrugged as he trailed off. Sheepish and shy and…adorable. His eyes flicked down to the name badge that Seokjin was wearing before he looked back up at him with a smile. “It was nice to meet you, Seokjin-ssi.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” replied Seokjin automatically and was surprised to realize that he meant it.

The human ducked his head before he pushed open the door—and disappeared behind it.

Seokjin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

It was a shame that he would never see him again.

—

This ghost had taken the form of a young woman. She looked happy as she talked about the wooden horse in her arms. Her grandfather had carved it for her when she was a child. The horse’s features had been worn over time. The wood patinated to a dark brown. It bore all of the marks of being well loved and well taken care of.

Seokjin promised that that would continue to be true.

The ghost clutched the horse to her chest one last time before placing it on the pedestal. The museum then conjured up a plaque with a date and a name and the story as she had told it.

The ghost bowed to Seokjin and Seokjin bowed back and by the time he raised his head…

The ghost was gone.

—

The human was back.

“Ah, hi.” The human gave an awkward little wave. And Seokjin had the horrible realization that he was just as cute as he remembered. Even more so when the human shrugged…and smiled and said, “I’m back…?”

“I can see that,” said Seokjin, more than a little bewildered.

“I…um…hope that’s okay.”

Seokjin gave himself a mental shake. It didn’t matter how or why the human was back. What mattered was that he was here and Seokjin had a job to do.

“Of course it’s okay,” replied Seokjin as he flashed his best smile. “Did you come back for another tour?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Seokjin’s smile was a little more genuine this time. “Follow me.”

The human followed him.

Seokjin walked down the hall. There was so much of the End of the Line to see. There were so many stories to tell. He wondered where to even start.

Strangely enough, the human seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“This place…” The human shook his head in wonder. “It seems endless.”

Seokjin nodded because he had worked at the End of the Line for a while now and even he hadn’t seen every object in it’s possession.

This time for the tour the museum provided a fountain pen that had been passed down from father to son, love letters that had to travel hundreds to kilometers to reach each other, a taekwondo second place trophy, crocheted pot holders—

“I’ve never thought about objects as metaphors for a person’s life,” mused the human. He seemed startled that he had voiced the opinion out loud. He glanced at Seokjin and gave a sheepish shrug. “Sorry. I’m a writer. Sometimes…sometimes I can’t help it.”

Seokjin shook his head. “No. It’s okay. Don’t apologize.” Seokjin looked around the exhibition hall and all of the objects sitting in it. “I think what we value says a lot about ourselves. Especially at the end of our life.”

The human hummed in agreement. He looked a little lost in thought before he snapped himself out of it and flashed Seokjin a small smile.

“Sorry. It’s just…really interesting?”

Seokjin returned the smile as he stepped up towards another set of double doors. “Let’s see what else we’ll have for you today.”

—

Even after all these years Seokjin enjoyed aimlessly walking through the halls of the End of the Line. He liked visiting all of the items on display. He liked remembering all of the stories that no one else remembered. He liked the quiet and the calm and—

“Hyung!” yelled Hansung as he popped out in front of Seokjin without any other warning.

Seokjin jumped—and screamed. Clutching his hands to his chest in order to steady his rapidly beating heart.

“Hansung! We’ve talked about this!”

“Yes, yes,” replied Hansung, waving off Seokjin’s impending lecture about not walking through walls. “But, hyung, doors are boring.”

This was an old argument between them. One that Seokjin knew from past experiences would go nowhere so he let the subject drop.

“What’s the big hurry anyway?”

“Your human is here.”

“He’s—he’s not—” sputtered Seokjin. “He’s not mine.”

“Well, he’s not mine either,” replied Hansung with a shrug. “But…”

“But…?”

“But…”

Seokjin sighed. “Hansung.”

Hansung sighed right back. “So…the human.”

And Seokjin knew he would regret asking, but he still had to ask, “What about the human?”

“I was just thinking…” mused Hansung. “Maybe it’s time to ask the human for his name.”

—

Hansung was right of course.

It was time to ask the human for his name.

Especially when Seokjin found him standing in the entryway holding a bag full of takeout—that honestly smelled delicious.

The human smiled in that sheepish way of his as he held up the bag. “I was wondering if you’d eaten lunch yet.”

Seokjin hadn’t eaten lunch in…years? He lived in a strange museum that existed in a strange pocket of time and space where silly human things like hunger and aging didn’t exist.

So really Seokjin wasn’t lying when he said, “I haven’t eaten.”

The human beamed back at him.

Seokjin led the human to a formal dining room table. It was a huge, wooden table with enough chairs to sit eight comfortably. Seokjin pulled up one of the chairs and gestured for the human to do the same.

Except the human hesitated.

“Are you sure? This is a museum piece.”

Seokjin glanced at the table again. “The owner wouldn’t mind. He wanted a large family but him and his wife couldn’t conceive. This table is full of memories of just the two of them. They were happy.” Seokjin smiled as he carefully ran his fingers across the tabletop. “Despite life giving them a path they didn’t think they would take.”

Seokjin glanced back up at the human and was startled to realize he was close to tears. Seokjin jumped out of his seat, scraping the heavy chair back in his haste.

“I’m sorry—”

“No, no,” said the human waving his hands out in front of himself. The gesture was trying to get Seokjin to sit back down and reassure him that he was fine. “This is really embarrassing. Please sit. I’m sorry. That was just…”

The human trailed off. He had started to sit down. And then had stopped. Caught somewhere halfway in between. The human laughed and finally took his seat.

“Humans are amazing, aren’t they?”

Seokjin smiled. “Yeah…I guess they are.”

The human unpacked two bowls of jajangmyeon and two bottles of Coke. And Seokjin wanted to cry after he took his first bite. He had forgotten what it was like to eat food. To taste it. To savor it. It was the most amazing thing to happen to him since he walked into the museum.

“Is the food really that good?” asked the human, clearly amused.

“Yes,” admitted Seokjin immediately because there was no way he could hide his reaction. “It’s amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure what you would like.”

Seokjin hummed happily. “I’d like anything. I’m not really picky.”

“Oh,” said the human as he glanced down at his own bowl and then back up again. “I’ll remember that. You know…for next time.”

Ah…

Seokjin looked down at his own bowl. He knew what he had to do. He knew what he should do. It was just…

Names could make the impersonal, personal. They had the potential to forge a connection, a bond. They could establish a level of familiarity that Seokjin hadn’t reached in decades. Not with anyone living at least. Ghosts came and went. Seokjin gladly learned their names and their stories. But none of their names or their stories had taken root in Seokjin the way he feared this human would.

As the curator of the End of the Line museum, Seokjin was the keeper of not the objects themselves but the memories they held and the relationships they anchored.

But at the end of the day, objects were objects. They were loved but could not love back.

People…

People were different. They could love.

And love…

Love often started with names.

Seokjin absently ran his fingers along the edge of the dining room table. Feeling the subtle knicks and dings in the wood. Feeling the proof of being well used…and well loved.

“What’s your name?”

The human startled as if not expecting the question. “Oh. I’m Namjoon. It’s nice to meet you.”

The human—Namjoon—smiled…and held out his hand.

Seokjin was proud of himself for not hesitating to shake his hand in return. Though the feeling of it…was jarring to say the least. Namjoon’s hand was warm and solid and real. So real it made everything else around them feel like a dream.

Seokjin curled his fingers. Holding on to the feeling.

“It’s nice to meet you, Namjoon-ssi. I’m Seokjin.”

—

Namjoon started to bring food with him.

And Seokjin knew that he probably should have tried harder to hide how delighted he was with this new development. Because having lunch with someone fairly regularly was the start of forming an attachment. But…

But…

Namjoon would show up with his hands full of take out containers and his smile warm and excited as he explained to Seokjin what he had brought this time.

And Seokjin looked forward to it.

Namjoon would bring him samgyeopsal or tteokbokki or jjigae or hamburgers or pasta or pizza or tacos or five different kinds of instant ramen.

He seemed to like surprising Seokjin.

And Seokjin liked being surprised.

Most of the time.

“So…um…” Namjoon cleared his throat as he absently picked at his naengmyeon. “What time do you get off of work?”

And Seokjin felt himself freeze. Because…because…

“Don’t you know?” he said with a laugh that was a little too loud and a little too forced but that was the best that he could do in the moment. “I’m married to my work.”

—

“Oh no,” replied Hansung dryly as Seokjin finished telling him about his dilemma. “The cute human is a good listener and is interested in you.”

“His name is Namjoon.”

“His name is Namjoon,” repeated back Hansung, grinning his wide boxy grin. “Hyung. Come on, you have to hear yourself.”

Seokjin sighed because, yeah, he could hear himself.

—

For the first time in a long time, Seokjin could tell that, outside in the real world, time was passing.

There had never been a consistent way for Seokjin to keep track of time before. But, now that he thought about it, he must have met Namjoon in the winter. Namjoon had been bundled up in a heavy coat and a scarf. Cheeks pink from the cold. The boots on his feet tracking in the snow.

Namjoon must have started bringing lunch in the spring.

Seokjin took note of Namjoon wearing jeans and a t-shirt and a lightweight blue jacket.

Of the way Namjoon smiled as he said, “The cherry blossoms are blooming.”

“Oh,” said Seokjin, perking up. “I think we have some lovely art of cherry blossoms. Do you want to see them?”

Seokjin wasn’t sure why he bothered asking anymore. Just like every other time Namjoon smiled and said, “Of course,” and followed Seokjin down one of the many hallways of the museum.

Seokjin showed off his favorite cherry blossoms.

There was one that was nothing more than a rough pencil sketch, but it had been drawn by a great great grandfather while taking a short break from working on the farm.

There was another fingerpainted by a child. The cherry blossoms nothing more than pink blobs made by clumsy fingers. The fingerprints could still be made out in the paint.

There was a statue carved so delicately the petals looked real. It had been a gift from a husband to his wife on their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

They passed hundreds of cherry blossoms—painted in watercolor or drawn with pastels or charcoal. There were scrolls with poems about cherry blossoms. There were photographs. There were songs—on records, on cassette tapes, on CDs. There were dried cherry blossom petals that had been carefully preserved.

Namjoon looked at each with the same interest he always showed.

They paused in front of a film reel. The footage was of a clear, spring day. A group of friends were gathered together under the branches of a cherry tree. The petals falling around them as they laughed and ate lunch and waved at the camera.

Seokjin knew their faces. He knew their names. He knew a little bit of their story. But they were strangers to him. Strangers who had died long before Seokjin had started working in the museum. The memory of them forgotten by anyone living.

Everyone…except Seokjin.

And maybe Namjoon.

Except Namjoon…

He still followed Seokjin from object to object. He still seemed interested. He still listened.

But this time he paused. Looking up and down the hall. His brows furrowed in a way that put faint creases on his forehead.

Seokjin wanted to smooth them with his fingers—but since he couldn’t he asked, “Is something wrong?”

Namjoon startled and turned back towards Seokjin. “No. Nothing is wrong. It’s just…”

Seokjin cocked his head to the side. “It’s just…?”

“These are all wonderful pieces, but…” Namjoon flashed Seokjin a sheepish grin and a short shrug of his shoulders. “There’s nothing like seeing the cherry blossoms bloom in person, you know?”

It was Seokjin’s turn to look up and down the hall.

Because he didn’t know.

—

Spring turned into Summer.

Namjoon now arrived at the museum in shorts and t-shirts. His skin tanned from hours spent under the sun. The anecdotes about his own life were now about mountains climbed and new spots found along the river and aimless bike rides through nature.

He brought Seokjin bingsu.

Seokjin gasped when he saw it. It was just so…beautiful. He held it up and down and side to side as he tried to take in all of the fruit piled on top. Their colors vibrant and glossy.

And Seokjin was only a little bit embarrassed when he realized that Namjoon was watching him.

“What?” he asked as he accepted the spoon Namjoon had been holding out for him for who knows how long. “It’s pretty.”

“It tastes even better,” replied Namjoon with a smile as he dug into his own bingsu.

And he wasn’t wrong.

Seokjin hummed happily as he ate and listened to Namjoon as he talked about his day.

He missed the bus this morning and was late to his meeting with his editor. He found a used bookstore and ended up buying almost more books than he could carry.

(“On the ride home I only spilled them all over the floor of the bus once,” Namjoon told him proudly.)

Namjoon ate a late lunch and then spent the rest of the day working on the suggestions his editor had made.

“What are you working on?” asked Seokjin before he could curb his curiosity. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind,” replied Namjoon in between bites of bingsu. “It’s a little different from my usual work. I’m trying my hand at short stories this time. It’s…”

Namjoon let out a huff of a laugh. “You know, it’s kind of funny…” He trailed off and shook his head embarrassed. “Ah, nevermind.”

“What?” asked Seokjin, intrigued.

Namjoon sighed, still looking embarrassed. He still asked, “Can I tell you a story?”

“Of course.”

“I started writing my own stories when I was still in elementary school—just…really silly stuff, you know? Back then I didn’t really understand that writing could be a job. My only goal was to entertain myself. And I guess I always thought that writing would be that easy—and for a while it really was.”

Namjoon gave a short, self-deprecating laugh.

“So you can only imagine how terrifying it was for me to wake up one morning and realize that I had no more words in me, no more stories to tell. I was a writer that wasn’t writing and it was…well…it was the worst.”

Namjoon shook his head. “And then I found this place.” He gestured with his spoon in order to encompass the whole museum. “Finding this place—meeting you—it made me realize…there really are endless stories to be told. And endless possibilities in life. We just have to look for them.”

Namjoon smiled, small and…pleased.

“Isn’t that exciting?”

And Seokjin didn’t know what to say to that. So he didn’t say anything. Instead he nodded as he looked down at his bingsu.

He didn’t think Namjoon noticed how the bingsu never melted.

No matter how long it sat.

—

There was a receipt in one of the takeout bags.

And Seokjin wasn’t sure why he took it. Crumpling it in his hand and stuffing it into the pocket of his pants before Namjoon noticed.

He smoothed it out after Namjoon had left. And besides being horrified at how much triangle kimbap cost—

There was also a date printed at the bottom.

Seokjin didn’t even realize that his knees had given out from under him. Not until he was sitting on the floor. Not until he was curled up on himself.

He blinked rapidly hoping against hope that he was reading the date wrong. Because if it wasn’t wrong that meant…

That meant…

Seokjin had been in the museum for ten years.

—

It had been a long time since Seokjin had felt well and truly alone.

Not since the day he had first wandered into the museum.

But that feeling struck him again—suddenly and deeply—as Hansung smiled at him and said, “Ten years? Is that all?”

—

Every once in a while Namjoon would ask for a tour.

And even Seokjin could tell it was nothing more than a pretense at this point.

It was more of an excuse to walk together and talk together. To spend just a little bit more time together. An opportunity for Namjoon to casually ask questions like,

“Where are you from?”

“How old are you? Ah. You’re my hyung then.”

“Oh. What did you major in in college?”

“How long have you worked here?”

And Seokjin was pretty sure Namjoon had noticed that he brushed off most of the personal questions. There were some things he wasn’t ready to admit. Some of them were embarrassing, like his dream of being an actor. Others…he just didn’t know how to explain.

He had worked at the museum for ten years now.

Seokjin…hadn’t really come to terms with that fact. And the idea of trying to explain the how and the why to someone—someone like Namjoon—well…that brought up a lot of things that Seokjin had been trying to forget.

So Seokjin tried his best to avoid outright answering the more personal questions. ‘Tried’ being the key word. He still felt as if he was giving so much of himself away. His allergies to potatoes and garlic. His weakness for songs about love and heartbreak. His dorky sense of humor.

Ghosts shared a part of themselves with Seokjin but—with the exception of Hansung—Seokjin never shared a part of himself with them. The transaction was only one way.

It had been a long time since Seokjin had been the subject of someone’s attention.

And part of Seokjin wanted nothing more than to run. Run away from Namjoon. Run away from the increasingly confusing mess of thoughts and emotions and…feelings.

But that was the thing about the End of the Line Museum.

It was the End. There was nowhere else to run.

—

“Do you remember what it was like to be alive?”

Hansung gasped. “That’s rude, hyung.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t—” Seokjin cut himself off as Hansung dissolved into a fit of giggles. “I’m trying to be serious here.”

“Sorry, hyung.” Hansung leaned against him. His smile bright and boxy and Seokjin immediately forgave him. “To answer your question, of course I remember what it was like to be alive.”

“Do you mind being dead?”

Hansung looked like he was going to make another joke but stopped himself when he saw the look on Seokjin’s face.

“No. Of course not. I got to meet you. I got to find this museum. I have my hwarang hyungs. Doors cannot stop me! But, hyung…” Hansung trailed off and he looked a little lost in thought. “I would be lying if I said that I wouldn’t want one more day to feel the sun on my skin.”

Seokjin nodded.

Hansung knocked his shoulder against Seokjin’s shoulder. “Does this have anything to do with your human?”

“He has a name.”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry,” said Hansung. “Does this have anything to do with your Namjoon-ssi?”

Seokjin let out a long breath but didn’t bother to correct Hansung—much to his delight. Seokjin looked down at his hands. He had balled them up into fists and he couldn’t bring himself to release them.

“I…” started Seokjin in a voice that was nothing more than a whisper. “I don’t want to stop being the curator.”

Hansung reached out for Seokjin’s hands. He gently uncurled Seokjin’s fingers and then laced them with his own.

“It’s scary. I know.”

Seokjin gave a short nod.

Hansung smiled at him. “You should talk to your Namjoon-ssi.”

“What if he won’t listen?”

“He’ll listen.” Hansung squeezed Seokjin’s hand. It was supposed to be a comforting gesture but Seokjin could barely feel the way their palms pressed together. “He’s been listening.”

—

Seokjin was halfway through his bowl of jajangmyeon before he finally mustered up enough courage to ask, “Can I tell you a story?”

Namjoon froze for a moment before he carefully set down his chopsticks. “Yeah, of course.”

Seokjin poked at his own noodles more to have something to do than anything else. He wasn’t ready—he couldn’t look Namjoon in the eye. Not if he was going to get through this.

“I…um…I was—I am the last of my line. I don’t have any family. I had acquaintances in my life…but no real friends.” Seokjin grimaced as he finally set his chopsticks down. His hands shaking too much to hold them properly. “The day before my 30th birthday—I found this place. This museum. And with it…I found a job that I love. I found…a purpose.”

Seokjin sighed as he finally glanced at Namjoon.

Namjoon.

Who sat quietly listening, patiently waiting for Seokjin.

Like he always had.

“That was ten years ago,” admitted Seokjin finally. “I’ve never left.”

“Ah,” said Namjoon, clearly taken aback.

Seokjin could physically see him scrambling for something to say in response. And Seokjin couldn’t blame Namjoon. It wasn’t every day that someone told you they had been living unchanged in a museum for a decade. Seokjin would be surprised if Namjoon politely made an excuse to leave—and never came back. It was honestly—

“Well, you look great for your age.”

That surprised an ugly little snort laugh out of Seokjin and Namjoon smiled at him just as fondly as before. And Seokjin realized he didn’t know when Namjoon had started to look at him like that. Like he cared. Almost…almost like he loved.

Namjoon hesitated—seemingly needing to work up the courage to ask, “When is your birthday?”

It had been awhile since Namjoon had last asked Seokjin about himself. And Seokjin now knew that he could change the subject and Namjoon would respect his decision. He almost did deflect out of habit—but…but…

There was still the feeling of fear. There was still the instinct to run away. But now more than either of those things was a simple truth.

He wanted Namjoon to know.

Seokjin let himself inhale and exhale.

“December 4th.”

Namjoon nodded and Seokjin knew—with startling clarity—that he would remember the day.

It was just his birthday. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was a tiny, almost insignificant detail. Just a small sliver of truth…

That Namjoon would carry with him when he left.

—

They didn’t talk about it again.

Namjoon continued to visit and time continued to pass.

Summer turned into fall and Seokjin learned that he didn’t like mint chocolate ice cream. He learned that Namjoon didn’t either but he wanted to know Seokjin’s stance on it because apparently, out there in the world, the opinions surrounding mint chocolate were highly contested.

“I wanted to see if you were on my side,” said Namjoon with a grin.

And Seokjin didn’t tell him but it was becoming increasingly difficult to imagine not being on Namjoon’s side.

—

It must have been getting colder again because Namjoon arrived at the museum bundled up in a coat. It wasn’t enough. Namjoon’s hands were freezing when Seokjin brushed against them to take some of the bags he was holding.

Seokjin promptly set the bags on the floor so that he could place Namjoon’s hands between his own.

“You’re freezing. Where is your hat and your scarf—and your gloves! You’re going to catch a cold like this. Aish. What were you thinking going out in weather like this?”

It had been a long, long time since Seokjin had someone to worry about. Someone who’s health and happiness was just as important as his own. Someone to care for. Someone to love.

And that really was what Seokjin was feeling. No matter how he looked at it. No matter how much he denied it. No matter how much it scared him.

And it did scare him.

Especially when Namjoon looked at him so happily and said, “I brought dinner and a movie this time.”

“That…” Seokjin hesitated and he hoped against hope that Namjoon couldn’t feel the faint tremor in his hands. “That sounds an awful lot like a date.”

Namjoon smiled. “Yeah…it does.”

And if Namjoon’s intentions weren’t clear before they were when he finally finished setting up.

Seokjin had walked back into the room to find a full spread for dinner complete with a variety of side dishes. Namjoon had borrowed a makgeolli set from the museum along with an assortment of candle sticks. Because Namjoon had brought him not just dinner—a candle lit dinner and a movie.

Namjoon showed him ‘Iron Man’.

And it was the most amazing thing Seokjin had ever seen.

“There are two sequels,” said Namjoon with a smile after Seokjin had stopped rambling about how much he had loved the movie. “And actually a whole connected universe. It’s…well…it’s kind of convoluted to be honest—but it’s fun.”

Seokjin felt his eyes go wide. “What is a connected universe?”

Namjoon laughed. “Ah, well, how much time do you have?”

“I have all the time in the world,” replied Seokjin honestly.

“Oh,” said Namjoon as he glanced down. “Right.”

And Seokjin was reminded that time was passing for Namjoon. That what they had wasn’t preserved in a small pocket of time. One day Namjoon might realize that he has his own life to live. One day he might stop visiting Seokjin. That one day…Namjoon will grow old and die.

And Seokjin…

Seokjin would still be here, still a day away from his 30th birthday, still as perfectly preserved as the day Namjoon left him.

—

“Are you scared of dying?”

Namjoon glanced at Seokjin, obviously surprised and Seokjin couldn’t blame him. The question had come out of nowhere. They were wandering the halls lined with handmade hanboks and Namjoon had been telling him about his day—about his job and his editor and the friends he had met with for lunch and the conversation he had with his mother and Seokjin had been struck with a sudden thought—

Namjoon’s belongings wouldn’t end up in the End of the Line Museum.

There were too many people in his life who would carry his memory even without those physical reminders.

Namjoon surprised Seokjin right back by laughing. “Of course. That’s just a part of being human.”

“Yeah,” said Seokjin as he glanced down at his shoes. “I guess that’s true.”

And Seokjin figured that was the end of the conversation, but Namjoon chuckled again as he shook his head.

“What?” asked Seokjin, curious despite himself.

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” replied Namjoon. “It’s going to sound pretentious.”

Seokjin smiled because Namjoon was pretty adorable when he was embarrassed. “Tell me?”

Namjoon ducked his head. “Ah, well, I was just thinking about how I am scared of dying but…”

“But?”

Namjoon glanced at Seokjin and gave a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “I’m more scared of not living.”

And for the first time in a long, long time Seokjin was starting to believe he was right.

—

“I’m scared,” admitted Seokjin quietly.

He was sitting on a bench with Namjoon pressed against his side. They had been watching a slideshow of family photos. Of a family that wasn’t Seokjin nor Namjoon’s.

“What are you scared of?”

Seokjin pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his knees. “I’m scared of leaving this museum.”

Namjoon nodded. “That’s understandable. You’ve been given a big responsibility.”

“But more than that…” Seokjin swallowed as he tightened the hold he had on himself. “I’m scared that if I leave…I’ll just end up alone again.”

“Ah,” said Namjoon before he turned and watched the slideshow. They had been sitting here long enough that the photos were repeating. He still watched them as if they were new and exciting as if they were people he knew and loved and not strangers. “If I’m being honest…I think that’s something we all fear—in here—out there. Humans…I don’t think humans were meant to be alone.”

Namjoon let out a long breath before he glanced back at Seokjin.

“If you decided to leave. Leave because you want to leave. It’s as simple…and as complicated as that.”

“But…but you’ll be there if I do?”

Namjoon reached out and squeezed his hand. “Of course. And I would love for you to meet my friends and my family—” Namjoon’s eyes went wide as he realized the implications of what he just said. “I mean—”

Seokjin squeezed his hand back. “I would like that.”

—

“You know…” started Namjoon. “Today is the day before your birthday.”

Seokjin stopped walking. “What?”

“Tomorrow is December 4th.” Namjoon smiled. Flashing his dimples. “What kind of cake would you want?”

And for some inexplicable reason…

Seokjin wanted to cry.

—

Seokjin dropped his head onto Hansung's shoulder. “What should I do?”

They were sitting together in a room full of nothing but sofas.

Hansung had a favorite—a brown leather chesterfield sofa that had been imported from New York in the 1960’s. They were curled up on it now. Hansung in his Hwarang uniform. Seokjin in his museum uniform. The feeling of the well worn leather was familiar. The familiar feeling of Hansung—his body caught somewhere between corporal and not. Solid but not. Cold but not. And yet, Seokjin found it no less reassuring.

“Can I be honest with you?” asked Hansung.

“Sure.”

“Do you remember when you first arrived here? You wandered in looking so lost.” Hansung patted his leg. “Back then the museum knew you needed it. It welcomed you and gave you a purpose. Until…”

Seokjin nodded because he knew that. He had always known that on some level that he needed the museum more than the museum needed him. He had buried that fact deep down, more than happy to ignore it, until—

“The museum let Namjoon in because…” Seokjin let out a long breath. “Because I needed someone to remind me…what life could be like—out there.”

Hansung hummed in agreement. “I think so too.”

The End of the Line museum was a place where stories could be kept and collected and remembered. Seokjin had never considered the possibility of them being found and heard and cherished.

Had never considered that possibility for himself.

“Hyung,” said Hansung quietly as he dropped his head on Seokjin’s shoulder. “We’ll be okay. The museum will be okay. The museum existed before you showed up and it will exist even if you chose to leave.”

“I’m still scared.”

Hansung nodded. “Living is the scariest thing a person can do. You should know, you’ve been running from it for ten years now.”

“Running…is a strong word. It’s more like…I put my life on pause.”

“Sure,” agreed Hansung, easy enough. “But I think you’re missing the point.”

Seokjin had a strong suspicion what the point was…

Hansung still told him.

“Hyung, you only have one life and you should live it.”

Seokjin looked down at his hands. He had been clenching them into fists. He tried to force his fingers to relax and found that he couldn’t. Seokjin took a breath and was surprised when he shuddered through it. He was less surprised when his vision blurred. When the first tears hit his lap.

“But what about you?”

“I will miss you! Of course I will!” exclaimed Hansung as he threw his arms around Seokjin and hugged him as tightly as a ghost possibly could. “But you should know better than anyone else that this isn’t goodbye.”

“You make it sound like I’m leaving.”

“Yeah. I did.”

Seokjin hugged him back just as tightly.

—

“I love you, hyung.”

Seokjin pulled back from the hug to look at Hansung. “I love you too.”

Hansung grinned. His smile bright and beautiful. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

And Seokjin found himself choking back either a laugh or a sob. He wasn’t exactly sure which. Either way he smiled back at Hansung and gave a short decisive nod.

“Yeah. Later.”

Seokjin reached up and took off his name badge. He was surprised when he realized there was an empty pedestal for it. He placed his name badge in the center before taking a deep breath and stepping away from it—

And towards the door.

Seokjin reached up so that he could pat the doorframe. He looked up and around and behind. Taking in one last look at the museum—and at Hansung who waved cheerfully.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” said Seokjin.

And he could feel the tears forming in his eyes as he forced himself to turn away, to take ahold of the door handle—and to push—

The sunlight was blinding and for a terrifying moment Seokjin was lost. Nothing more than a stranger caught alone between worlds. Seokjin swallowed as he blinked back his tears. His eyes finally adjusting enough to see—

Namjoon standing there.

“Hyung!”

Namjoon looked just as surprised to see him. One of his hands was outstretched as if he had been reaching for the door of the museum. The other hand…was holding a take out bag with the name of a bakery scrawled across it. Namjoon had bought him a birthday cake just like he promised.

“Namjoon,” breathed Seokjin. “I—I…um…hi.”

“Hi.”

Namjoon was smiling but his own eyes were suspiciously watery as he reached up as if to touch Seokjin. He pulled back at the last minute but not before Seokjin noticed that he wasn’t wearing any gloves.

“Aish,” said Seokjin as he clasped Namjoon’s hand with his own and was surprised to find his own fingers just as cold. “Where are your gloves?”

“I…I forgot them. Sorry. Hyung—”

Seokjin suddenly spun around at the sound of the front door closing shut. And Seokjin felt a sob catch in his throat as he watched the museum slowly fade.

The End of the Line Museum.

A place where forgotten things found a home—

A place that Seokjin no longer needed.

“Hyung?” asked Namjoon tentatively.

Seokjin turned back towards Namjoon—and instead took in the winter sky. The clouds as they subtly shifted in shape and size, the airplane leaving behind a white streak across the expanse of blue, the bright sunlight. The cars passing on the street. The billboards flashing their ads. At the people—all of the people—alive and moving.

At Namjoon watching him carefully, a cautious smile on his face.

“Okay?”

Seokjin took a deep breath. Feeling the sharp cold in his lungs. Feeling the tears running down his face. Feeling himself squeeze Namjoon’s hand as he smiled—

“Yeah. Okay.”

Feeling brilliantly, painfully, wonderfully alive.