Worst Behavior | KNJ

Chapter 6: Warm Like a Gun

I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing against the nightstand, the pale light from my laptop still illuminating the room. The emails could wait. I needed more rest, more time away from the endless responsibilities and thoughts that kept me up at night.

I turned over, sinking back into the warmth of my bed, trying to ignore the nagging thoughts in my head. But they were insistent and persistent, dragging me back to reality. And like always, reality brought thoughts of Namjoon.

During our first year of college, I spent more time in Namjoon's dorm than I probably should have, sprawled out on his beanbag chair while he wrote verses or played beats off his ancient laptop. He used to be a really good rapper back then, especially when it came to freestyles. His words always came so effortlessly, his voice carrying that rhythmic confidence that made even the tackiest lines sound profound. I still remember the day he told me what his rap name would be—Rap Monster.

At first, I thought he was joking. Namjoon, the guy who wrote me poems about stars and the passage of time, wanted to be called Rap Monster. It was so corny, so unlike the deep, thoughtful Namjoon I knew. But even then, I could see how much he cared about it. The excitement in his eyes, the way he waved his hands around, trying to explain how "Rap Monster" wasn't just a name but a whole persona. He was serious about it, even when I couldn't take it seriously. And the funny thing was, I never wanted to discourage him. His written lyrics pure magic. The way he could weave words together and pour his heart out so beautifully without fail always left me in awe. I missed those nights in my dorm, his voice filling the room with a rhythm and flow that made me believe he could do anything. He was everlastingly passionate.

Even now, whenever I think about those moments—his unshakable confidence, the laughter we shared, and the quiet belief I had in him—it makes me smile. I didn't fully understand it back then, but I knew one thing: whatever Namjoon put his mind to, he would make it his own.

I sighed, rolling onto my back, staring at the ceiling. Namjoon was so talented, so intelligent. He could have been anything he wanted—an artist, a scholar, a leader. Instead, he'd chosen this life, the one that pulled him deeper into Samuel's world. It started small. A few favors, a couple of jobs "just to help out," as he used to say. Now, it felt like that world had its claws in him, and no matter how much I tried to pull him back, he was slipping further away.

He always said it was because he owed my father, because my mom had been like a mother to him, but I couldn't help but think it went deeper than that. I knew Namjoon better than anyone—at least, I thought I did. His sense of responsibility ran deep, but I had this sinking feeling he was hiding from something bigger. What that was, I couldn't say. But he wasn't running toward his dreams anymore. He was running away.

I glanced over at my laptop, the blinking cursor on the screen a reminder of the work I still needed to do. But I couldn't focus. My thoughts were still tangled up in Namjoon. He should've finished his degree. He should be working on his music. He was too good to be stuck in this mess, and I couldn't help but feel that I'd failed him somehow. Maybe if I'd pushed harder, stayed closer, I could've stopped him from falling into this life.

But I couldn't save him, no matter how much I wanted to. I had to accept that. And that's the hardest thing, isn't it? Watching someone you care about make decisions that break your heart a little every time. I loved Namjoon in ways I couldn't put into words, but love wasn't enough to fix this.

A knock at my door startled me from my thoughts. I sat up, rubbing my eyes. "Come in," I called out, already knowing who it would be.

The door opened, and Namjoon stepped inside. His tall frame seemed even bigger in the dim light, but his eyes were tired, with dark circles beneath them that told me he hadn't been sleeping much. He smiled when he saw me, those dimples flashing. My heart did its usual flip when I saw them—those damn dimples always got me.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft, like he didn't want to disturb the quiet of the room. "Am I interrupting?"