DNA- A BTS Fanfiction

1. The Award Ceremony

His presence demands attention even though he himself doesn't. His shoulders seem to be set permanently to "leader" setting, always a picture of perfect posture. Cold and alluring are the words strangers would attach to him. A business man would have been another fitting career option for him but after enlisting in the navy, as was required, he quickly gained ranks with his sheer intellectual prowess. Having a successful career and nothing to go back to, he never thought there was another option for him. His unwavering gaze scans over the faces in front of him with stern respect. The tall, thin man's words, even at it's lowest volume, resonates power and control, "You have been doing well on your own training the new recruits. I expect you to keep up the good work. The time to match this week is 8:25 or they repeat the run until they do. You can give them, at most, a ten minute break. Don't be soft on them, they're the future. Any of you caught being soft on them will get suicides for two hours straight."

The uniformed naval officers in front of him nod in sync and chant in unison, "Yes, Commander Kim!" Clicking the heels of their black dress shoes together, they turn and march out of the room in step, Namjoon watching them go. Once the tapping of their shoes on the linolium is gone, the tension in his shoulders relaxes. Straightening his uniform, he glances up at the clock, "Just enough time to avoid the early and late rushes." He walks swiftly out of the building and into the cooling evening air. Not pausing to enjoy the breeze dancing along his cheeks, Namjoon approaches his dark grey car and, getting in, sets off for the award ceremony for a combination of military and navy personnel.

Turning on his signal, he starts to slow the car. Taking a left into the parking lot, he notices the heavy rain clouds gathering in the golden orange sky. He sighs to himself as he finds a parking spot near the middle of the packed lot. He turns off the car and sits for a moment thinking to himself, "Why don't we honor those that died with as much respect as those that do well? They have given much more than those of us still living and they've lost the most after all. Their poor families suffer as well..." In the fading light, his flashing green clock on the dash tells him he's going to be late if he doesn't get going soon.

Forcing himself out of the car, he sighs again as the dark colored door closes behind him with a reassuring thunk. The car lights flash as he walks away, he's too smart not to lock his car even if it is a nice neighborhood. The large building casts a shadow over him in the fast fading light and his shoulders become taut, his face blank. Walking in, he's greeted by a smiling man in a tux and directed to his seat near the middle of the large ballroom.

The round table is covered in a white table cloth, wine glasses, plates, napkins, silverware and flowers in the center. Namjoon's table mates are strangers for the most part. The man across from him, he remembers vaguely from a joint military and navy meeting. The chubbier man next to him, chatting incessantly, he remembers clearly from every navy meeting he had ever been required to attend. The chubby man has a nasty habit of getting into everyone's business and spreading the news like the plague. Namjoon figured that out right off the bat but some of the other people still fell prey to him. Immediately to Namjoon's left is a woman dressed in a long black dress and next to her, her husband off which arrogance oozes.

The only person at his table that he doesn't find instantly repulsive is the blond man to his right. The man looks much older than he is, only two years older than Namjoon. The man is quiet and reserved. After a quick observation, Namjoon deduces that he is a high ranking military officer and due to the minor curl of the man's right shoulder, he had been injured most likely in the last battle of the war. Namjoon notices that his blonde hair is getting long and almost falling into his eyes. Anyone who paid enough attention for more than a few seconds could tell that this man wasn't feeling well. Maybe it's the far-off pained look hidden in his eyes, his lack of interest in anything around him, or the mild wrinkles in his clothes that would have been easily avoided if he had taken the time to carefully hang his clothes. Namjoon decides that no matter what, he'd get a name from this man if not a conversation.