Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jungkook’s alarm goes off. His heart rate increases to the sound of the blaring and he scrambles to shut it off. Lamp, book, old dishes, chopsticks—where’s his phone? He groans and opens his eyes in the darkness, looking to his left at his bedside table. He spots the screen glowing and has to physically swing his legs out of bed before he can reach it and shut it off.

Rubbing his eyes, something feels strange. 

He jolts, lifting his feet off the floor and hugging his knees to his chest.

“What the fuck?” He mutters into the dark.

He squints at the ground. Carpet. There’s carpet there. Where’s the wood flooring? What the fuck? He lets his feet touch the floor again and tugs the chain on his lamp, soft light flooding his—

“What the fuck?” He says louder.

It’s a hotel room. He’s in a fucking hotel room. Has he been kidnapped? Is he being held hostage? Are he and Yoongi still on vacation? What’s happening? Where is he? He turns to look back at the bed, blood running cold when he sees that the right side is empty. Yoongi should be there. His husband should be there. And yet...he’s not. Jungkook’s alone, in a strange room, and he’s trying not to panic as anxiety bubbles up in his chest. He rubs his face over and over again, praying that the room will fix itself or that he’ll wake up—but nothing changes besides a sharp spike of fear down his spine.

There’s so much he’s supposed to do today. So much. Seokjin is arriving early to help him make breakfast—they’re going to try and recreate the breakfast foods Yoongi and Jungkook ate when they road tripped across America (but he’s gonna make galbi too, because Yoongi loves it)—and then Namjoon and Taehyung are going to come, then Hoseok and Jimin later in the day. He can’t wait for that, for all his friends to be together again after so long, and now he’s here—wherever here is—all plans thrown out the window. 

Jungkook finds the light switch and the room is bathed in white. It’s a big room, with a large bathroom off to one side. It’s size so impressive there’s even a couch and television beside a small kitchen. It’s a suite. He goes to the windows and pulls back the curtains, sun dull on the horizon line. But in front of him, is the city. Skyscrapers and lights, cars far below on the streets, he’s in downtown Busan. He’s not far from home then—not far at all. He just needs to get out, get there, and find Yoongi. He’s overwhelmed by emotions, by the aching desire to see his husband as he flounders—at a loss for what to do. 

This is where Yoongi’s reassuring presence would come in handy. Just seeing his face would help loads. But he’s not here, Jungkook’s alone.

He steps back and searches the room for shoes. He finds a few pairs beside a suitcase, which he opens and blinks at upon seeing the tidiness of the clothes inside. Taking a t-shirt in hand he examines it, lifting it up and holding it out in front of him. It’s plain black, but it’s his black. His style. Basically his clothes, which is impossible because his clothes are at home, being plain black hanging next to Yoongi’s clothes. His clothes are at home in a closet where he can hardly distinguish their stuff from each other’s. This can’t be his black, but the similarity is jarring.

It’s unnerving, but Jungkook pushes it to the back of his mind. He leaves the phone behind, hardly daring to touch it in case it can somehow cause more trouble. 

Jungkook goes to the door, shocked to find the handle turning. He’s not locked in? Is he not kidnapped? What happened? He doesn’t even feel groggy—he wasn’t drugged or knocked out. It makes zero sense. The hall is long and carpeted, totally deserted. He tentatively steps out, letting the door stay open a crack so the click doesn’t alert anyone. Inch by inch he goes down the corridor, listening for footsteps or voices, but there’s nothing. He’s about to turn a corner, when a hard body rams into him. 

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook blinks up, pushes his hair aside. It’s longer than it should be, almost like he’s wearing a wig, or has extensions, which just adds to the curdling in his stomach. Which dissipates when he sees who ran into him.

“Seokjin-hyung! What are you doing here? Where are we? What’s happening?”

Seokjin ignores his questions and instead says, “You ready for our run, or what?”

The elder is dressed in running clothes, and it seems like he was in the midst of exercise if his breath is anything to go by. His hair is purple, which is odd. But what’s even more odd is Seokjin is meant to be visiting Jungkook and Yoongi at their house, arriving around eight to help cook. This Seokjin looks—different. He’s skinnier and his outfit more expensive. It’s like Jungkook’s running into Seokjin’s twin brother, and having a totally out-of-body experience.

“Hyung, where are we?”

“What? Jungkook, are you gonna run with me or not?”

And with that, Seokjin turns on his heel and starts jogging down the hallway. Jungkook chases after him, falling in stride beside him. 

“What’s going on? Why am I here?” Jungkook tries again.

“You good, man? Did you drink last night? Or this morning?” Seokjin snickers, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation.

“No, I didn’t drink—well. I did. But that’s not the point, is it? Hyung,” he grabs onto the elder’s arm and stops him in his place “I literally have no fucking clue what’s happening right now. Why are we in a hotel?”

Seokjin breathes heavy, looking Jungkook over with a furrowed brow. 

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Jungkook pleads, “tell me what’s going on. I want to understand. And where’s Yoongi? Where is he?”

“He’s in his room,” Seokjin tells him, “And that’s Yoongi-hyung to you. Jungkook—“ he sets a hand on the younger’s shoulder— “Where do you think we are?”

“Busan.”

Relief floods Seokjin’s features, “Yes. You’re absolutely right.”

“Oh,” Jungkook stares, “Good.”

“And we’re here for Muster, yeah?”

“Mustard?” 

“Must–er,” Seokjin corrects. “We’re practicing for our concert.”

Jungkook makes a strangled noise, tries to cover it with a cough that only makes his friend’s growing concerns deepen.

“We should take you to Sejin.”

“Sejin?” Jungkook looks up in worry. It’s the first time he’s heard a name he’s not familiar with. The first sign that he’s not going totally mad, that something really is going on here that he knows nothing about. “Why do we need to see him?”

“I think you’re sick,” Seokjin suddenly presses a palm to Jungkook’s forehead, “A fever.”

“I’m just warm from jogging! I’m not sick,” he argues, eyes wide.

“Ah,” Seokjin smiles, “There’s the Jungkook I know and love. You are sick, aren't you? You don’t need for act out instead of just being honest. We’re not gonna be mad that you’re sick.”

“But I’m not sick!” Jungkook tries again, strung along by the taller‘s arms leading him down the corridor. “Hyung, really. I’m just...”

He trails off as Seokjin knocks on one of the hotel doors with urgency. He keeps a grip on Jungkook so he can’t twist away, and the door opens to reveal an older man with a kind face, black-rimmed glasses and messy bedhead. 

“Jin-ssi? Jungkook-ssi?” He looks the pair up and down, “What’s going on?”

“Jungkook’s sick.”

Jungkook doesn’t speak up this time. Maybe if he just goes with it someone will answer all his questions. Explain to him what this place is and what they’re doing here. A concert? That’s what Seokjin said. So they’re going to see a concert in Busan, but who's concert? And why is Jungkook here? And where the fuck is Yoongi? The other two exchange concerned words and continuously glance at Jungkook as the youngest peeks down the halls, searching for a sign. His heart nearly skips out of his chest when a man in a black security outfit walks past an intersection and disappears. Security guards? Is he actually trapped here? 

“Do you need to lie down? Should we call a doctor?” The man, Sejin, asks directly to Jungkook.

“Um.”

“Can you sing? Is your throat okay?”

“Sing?” Jungkook repeats, bewildered.

“Yes, are you worried you won’t be able to sing tomorrow for the concert?”

With two sets of eyes heavily trained on him Jungkook isn’t sure what to do. He can sing, kind of. He’s definitely not sick and he sings sometimes with Yoongi at home. But he’s not a trained singer or a skilled one in his view (though Yoongi would disagree in a heartbeat, or before the words could even get out of Jungkook’s mouth). He doesn’t want to lie to Seokjin, or this stranger, all he wants is for them to listen to him and answer his questions. No matter what is actually going on though, the fact remains that Jungkook is not a singer, and whatever they’re expecting him to be able to sing for this alleged "concert" is something he will not be able to do.

“I don’t think I can sing at the concert,” Jungkook tells them quietly, not meeting their eyes. He feels bad even though he can’t grasp what he should be feeling bad for.

“You sound okay though,” Sejin muses, “Your voice sounds normal.”

“Uh.”

“When did you first notice something was wrong?” Seokjin questions.

“Last night?” Jungkook offers.

“Jungkook,” the elder frowns, “You know you’re supposed to tell us as soon as you feel something like this coming on. You know better.”

It’s weird to have Seokjin chastise him like this, and it makes Jungkook annoyed even though he knows he shouldn’t be. 

“I’m sorry, I thought it would pass.”

“I know,” the other softens, “I know.”

“Jin is right though, Jungkook,” Sejin interjects, “You need to keep me in the loop about these things, no matter how early or late it may be. We need you in your best condition to perform. You’re gonna need to take it easy on your voice today during rehearsals, make sure to get lots of liquids and lozenges. They need you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Jungkook agrees because that’s appearing to be much easier than arguing. It’s not as though he feels like he’s in danger. It just feels like Jungkook has amnesia, maybe, or—

Maybe he’s just dreaming.

“Are you still wanting to run?” Seokjin asks as Sejin bids them goodbye and shuts his door.

“I’m hungry,” Jungkook tells him. “And I want to see Yoongi.”

“Yoongi-hyung,” Seokjin tsks and bats Jungkook’s arm. “Why are you so obsessed with seeing him?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, hyung? I need to make sure he’s okay.”

Seokjin slings an arm over the younger’s shoulders, “He’s fine, silly. He’s sleeping still, you’ll see him at rehearsal. I need to keep going but I’m pretty sure Jiminie is in the lounge.”

“Jimin-hyung is here?” He lights up, “Where?”

“Like I said, in the lounge.”

“Where’s that?”

Seokjin rolls his eyes, “You must have a serious head cold, Kook.”

“I’m not—“ he cuts himself off— “Maybe. I just don’t remember where it is.”

Seokjin leads him through the maze of halls until they pass through an archway that  opens up into a room. There’s dozens of people here, all wearing badges on lanyards and carrying binders, smartphones, or earpieces. They’re all in a rush, like breakfast isn’t a meal, it’s just another chore they have to do. There’s long tables set out with pastries, but the rest of the food consists of rice and curry dishes, assorted banchan and coffee. Sure enough, Jimin is there amongst the crowd. He’s sitting at a table in a far corner, a girl with sleek black hair pinned up in a bun is talking to him as they eat. 

Jimin must sense their presence because he looks in their direction, waving and grinning. He looks different too. Black hair that’s freshly cut, and when he flings his arms around Jungkook for a hug the younger feels his hair, which is dry and flat like it’s been bleached and dyed a dozen times, like Jungkook’s own. Jimin looks tired, maybe a little thin, but also buffer than he’s used to. His eyes glitter and Jungkook can see an icy-hot patch poking out from under his shirt. Jungkook’s head swims with concern for his friend, but the increase in confusion about the situation he’s found himself in drowns it out.

“Jimin-ssi, you’re here too?”

“What? Yeah, I’m getting food. What do you want? They have Korean pancakes, they’re delicious. And their kimchi is extra spicy.”

“Oh, um, sure,” Jungkook follows him, Seokjin getting sidetracked by a man in a tracksuit. 

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Jimin asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, um. I’m just having a weird morning. Uh—“ Jungkook scratches the back of his neck as he picks up a plate and stares at the heaping trays of food. “I don’t think I’ll be able to, um, sing today.”

“Why?” Jimin turns big eyes on him, “Is your throat hurting? Did you tell Sejin?”

“Yeah, I talked to Sejin. He said I should rest it.”

“Your voice sounds fine.”

“I know, but uh—“

“We should get you some tea with honey, that’s always good. Did he give you lozenges?”

“No,” Jungkook says, following his friend as he rushes down the line, piling foods onto the younger’s plate. 

“Don’t worry, I have some in my room.”

“Okay.”

Jimin and he lean against the wall as they share food, Jungkook watching his friend with curiosity. There’s something about Jimin that’s off. Like how he moves with such urgency, and speaks with such familiarity. Jungkook and Jimin know each other, incredibly well at that, but Jimin seems to know Jungkook even better than he—than he should. Down to the kind of creamer he wants in his coffee, and exactly how much food to spoon onto his plate. Jungkook wants to ask him a million questions, but Jungkook is realizing that asking questions isn’t getting him anywhere. Everyone here seems to be living in another reality. One where Jungkook is having a concert in Busan, not one where he’s living with his husband Yoongi in their house.

“Hyung.”

Jimin hums around a red bean bun.

“What are we doing today?”

“Well,” Jimin pulls out his phone, “We’re eating. The hyungs are having some kind of conference call to talk about Shadow, and you, me, Tae, and Seokjin-hyung are going to go practice Dimple and do sound checks for rehearsals today.”

“Shadow?” Jungkook asks before he can stop himself.

“Yeah, they got some song themes they want to brainstorm on. Hoseok-hyung is taking the charge on another song and he wants some advice from Bang.”

It occurs to Jungkook in this moment that he really, really, needs to get a handle on what’s going on. He needs his phone—or at least the phone that he assumes is his—and he needs to do a Google search. Because as far as he’s gathered, he’s in a band—an idol group—with all his friends. Yoongi included, and presumably Namjoon as well. Between falling asleep last night and waking up this morning he’s been transported into a universe not unlike his own, but in this one his life took a turn for stardom alongside Yoongi (instead of just watching him from the sidelines).

“Hyung,” Jungkook frowns, “Can you take me too Yoongi?”

“Yoongi-hyung has a meeting, I told you.”

“Doesn’t he need breakfast?”

“Hyung doesn’t eat breakfast, you know that.”

“But he should.”

“Yeah, but he makes up for it by eating a shit ton later.”

“But he should eat now,” Jungkook pleas. 

Jimin gives him a confused look, “Why are you so concerned about hyung?”

Jungkook sighs, pushing his plate into Jimin’s hands. 

“I need to get my phone.”

“Okay,” Jimin agrees skeptically, “Change too, we’re gonna be leaving soon.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll grab you stuff for your throat!” Jimin calls after him. 

And with that, Jungkook takes his leave. Seokjin spots him as he passes by in a rush and reaches out, the younger ignoring him and dodging Sejin who has just walked into the breakfast room. His shoes pad softly over the carpet as he scans the doors for the one he left earlier. He finds it eventually, 497, and twists the door handle.

It’s locked. The door got knocked shut somehow and now Jungkook can’t get in.

“Shit.”

It’s locked, which means Jungkook is locked out of answers. The only reassurance is that he knows he hasn’t been kidnapped, but maybe this is somehow worse. Dropped into an impossible situation with no guidance, virtually alone, since everyone seems dead set on keeping him away from Yoongi. Maybe—he pauses and scratches his head, maybe he can find where the conference call is. Surely, if they’re all in a group together they wouldn’t mind Jungkook sitting in on the conversation. It would shed light on what’s happening, and also let him see Yoongi. Sweet, sweet, Yoongi.

It’s almost their anniversary. One year since they got married in Los Angeles on the beach, with their friends and family there to share the love. Yoongi and he exchanged vows with waves lapping at the shore, a Korean priest from a local community church marrying them. Maybe the shore wasn’t the most convenient place for the reception—everyone got sand in their shoes, food, and hair—but it was beautiful, it was special, and it was theirs. They were together for four years prior to that, gone through ups and downs and then found themselves at a point where they were falling in love with each other all over again. The feelings as pure and intense as they were when they first got together, overflowing with joy and desire. So they got married. It was one of the most beautiful moments in Jungkook’s life thus far, and he was about to get the opportunity to celebrate it all over again.

Only—he’s here. 

And he doesn’t think this is a dream. It’s too vivid, the ground is too hard and his skin is too tight. The food went down and he heard people speaking clearly. It’s not like the dreams he sometimes has where he’s walking down a red carpet with press snapping photos of him, or like the one where he spills an ice cream cone onto the floor. It’s not like the dreams where he makes Yoongi a hot air balloon and they have French cuisine while soaring over Seoul, and it’s nothing like the dreams where he lives alone with twenty pet dogs that just tackle him with wet kisses and gentle paws. 

This dream is kind of like the one where he meets Troye Sivan and Justin Bieber and makes out with them on stage, or the one where he’s in Yoongi’s recording studio—only it’s him on the other side of the glass, singing, not the one with headphones just watching. It’s like the one where he’s been inducted as an honorary member of Twice and joins them on variety shows. 

But if this hotel is a fabrication of his mind, then it is almost certainly sewn together by the stray, shameful bits of guilt and jealousy that caused Jungkook—two years ago—to nearly shatter his and Yoongi’s relationship to pieces. He was stuck in his own head, being stubborn and prideful, and he’s learned now. He feels comfortable now, better about how their careers have balanced out. But sometimes—sometimes the part of himself that can’t bear watching other people work as he sits idly by gets frustrated, gets fed up, and it swells in his chest until he nearly bursts.

If this is a dream—then it’s an anxiety dream. 

One dictated by his mistakes and selfishness. If this is the case—he wants to wake up from it soon. He doesn’t like being stuck in his headspace. It’s unhealthy for him, his relationships, and just—unnecessary. 

It’s what nearly cost him Yoongi. And Jungkook—

He can’t lose him. He can’t lose Yoongi. This dream, this universe, whatever it is, must be laughing at him. Whatever entity, whatever cruel twist of fate brought this on him, must know that he still carries the guilt and dread around with him. Folded small and locked away in a drawer of secrets he keeps in his chest. Hidden from the world, from Yoongi, from himself. It’s irrational to feel the way he did, the way he still sometimes does, and the best way he’s been able to cope with it is by compartmentalizing and pushing it down. Confrontation isn’t Jungkook’s strong suit, and it never has been.

“Jungkookie.”

Jungkook jumps at the sound of Taehyung’s voice. The elder is sauntering towards him in slippers and a long robe, silk pajamas glistening in the light. His hair is dark, growing long on the ends. He has big grin on his face, an eyebrow quirking.

“You locked out?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathes. “I need my phone.”

Taehyung stops in front of the door and waves a white card in Jungkook’s face, then sticks it in the slot by the door handle. The little red light blinks green, and Taehyung pushes the door open. 

“There you go.”

“Oh, thank you!” Jungkook exclaims, relieved. 

“Sure thing. Good thing I stole this from you.”

“Hey,” Jungkook pouts in his direction as Taehyung follows the younger into his room. “Why’d you do that?”

“Because you stole all the ramen packs, and you took my wine, why else? Did you really think I was gonna be fooled by the Sprite bottle in my fridge?”

Jungkook snorts, not entirely certain what Taehyung is referencing but fairly certain that this world’s Jungkook swapped a wine for a Sprite as a placeholder. 

“That must have been Jimin-ssi,” Jungkook shrugs, grabbing his phone and sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest. Taehyung lounges on the other end, seemingly in no hurry to get out of Jungkook’s space. 

“Sure, Kookie, sure.”

Jungkook ignores him, and opens Safari. He stares blankly at the search bar, not sure how to get the answers he needs, and not even sure of his own questions anymore. Regardless of whether this is a dream or a parallel universe, it’s real enough that he's in full control of himself, and real enough that there’s a history he doesn’t know about. 

Search: Jeon Jungkook

AllKpop

International fans show great enthusiasm for Jungkook’s “Boy With Luv” ending pose

KBS

Bangtan Sonyeondan arrives in Busan; Jimin and Jungkook return to their hometown

SBS

BTS’ 6th Muster “Magic Shop” - a special treat for fans

Half the words on the page are meaningless to Jungkook, but he infers that most of them are songs and albums. He has his own Wikipedia page, which he can’t help but gape at. Some parts are the same as his real life, but not all of it. He’s younger here than at home, only 21, and he’s—he’s famous. There’s videos from American award shows, including the Grammys, and dozens of fancams of himself singing and dancing on stage. There’s thousands of pictures of himself with new hair colors, styles, name-brand clothing, bucket hats, at fansigns and photo shoots and airports. They’ve traveled to different parts of the world—all seven of them together. And it seems that with each passing year since they debuted their success has increased exponentially.

Jungkook squints as he scrolls through a YouTube page run by their company, where there’s hundreds of uploads of him and the group messing around and hanging out. Videos of himself eating, taking pictures, having his makeup done. It’s like every inch of their life has become a spectacle. There’s even footage of their bedrooms and car rides and flights to be found online. Never a second alone, always a lens in their faces. With fame there’s a cost, and while Yoongi is leading a successful musical career back home, it’s nothing like this. He’s a behind the scenes producer—someone most people will never know is a name attached to some of chart-topping records worldwide. And if Yoongi’s hardly known, then Jungkook is invisible.

Here though, it feels like too much has been exposed. The versions of himself he sees on the screen seem normal, natural, like a camera is nothing new to him. But—

“What are you looking at?” Taehyung whispers.

Jungkook snaps out of his daze, “Huh?”

“You’re staring very intensely at your phone, are you playing something?”

“Oh, no.”

“Messaging someone?”

“No.”

Taehyung stretches his leg out over the couch and nudges Jungkook’s ankles, “What then?”

“Nothing, hyung.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung sighs, getting up. “I need to put on some clothes, will you be ready for rehearsal soon?”

“Yeah, give me ten,” Jungkook waves him off and Taehyung rolls his eyes, shutting the door on his way out.

So—they debuted in 2013. And as chance would have it (more like destiny, more like fate, more like universes colliding) the anniversary of their debut is the same day as Jungkook and Yoongi’s wedding anniversary. The timelines have lined up, which either means this is a cosmic phenomenon that’s resulted in him swapping places with an alternate version of himself, or his dreams are good at shaping nonsense into something meaningful. Their group—Bangtan Sonyeondan—will have been together for six years come tomorrow. Six years in the spotlight, and a few in darkness before that. They’ve known each other for so long.

They’ve lived and breathed and cried together, grew up together. In Jungkook’s world, they didn’t meet until he was 19. And even then, they all had to part ways and return to their homes and jobs. They keep in touch and meet up as often as they can, they text and FaceTime each other, but it’s not the same bond that’s been burned into their bones here. 

Within all that, Jungkook still hasn’t found the answer to the question that’s making his chest ache. He abandons the internet and it’s limited knowledge in favor of his own photo album. Hundreds of photographs—but none that help him. He opens his messages and clicks on his conversation with Yoongi.

Yoongi is called Yoongi-hyung in the phone, and in so many ways, he already has his answer. Still—he reads the messages. There aren’t many. In fact, their conversation is practically empty. Perhaps neither of them are avid texters in this world either.

Hyung

Here yet

Me

Just pulled up

Hyung

I’ll meet you in the lobby

They’re just fragments of their daily lives, about schedules and food, a lot of stuff about food. Nothing substantial or deep. 

Me 

I like that bit you added in shadow 

It’s very oooooooo BoooMmm

Like it sneaks up on you

Hyung

Like a ghost

Me

That says boo!!

That’s clever hyung

Have you thought about backing vocals? I think it could help on the words you’re emphasizing 

Hyung

Which ones?

Me

Like “bigger deal” “never heal” and the bit you repeat 

When you say “bigger badder stronger darker” the backing vocals could increase with each syllable, make it build and crescendo 

Hyung

Woah hang on

That’s a great idea

Will you record it for me? At least a draft?

Me

of course hyung!

you really like it

Hyung

Yes so much! I think it’s just what it needs 

Some extra oomf

Me

Yeah some oomf

Hyung 

oomf

Me

ooooooomf

Hyung

:)

Me

What?

Hyung

nothing

Me

>:/

Hyung

:D

Me

>:((

Jungkook thumbs through the rest, and it tells him that everything he was terrified of is true.

In this universe, he and Yoongi aren’t together. They’re not dating, or seeing each other secretly, flirting, or having rendezvous’ in practice rooms. They’re friends. Good ones, sure, but that’s it. Just friends. Haven’t even tested the waters for anything more. Maybe—maybe Jungkook doesn’t have feelings for Yoongi like that in this world, but frankly Jungkook is having a hard time picturing any world where he’s not in love with Min Yoongi. But maybe Min Yoongi isn’t in love with him, and that’s where the issue lies. 

No matter the case, it stings. It stings because now Jungkook knows that if he runs into Yoongi that he can’t kiss him or tell him he loves him or anything close to it. He has to keep his feelings in check, keep his habits under control, and try to refrain from  calling him baby, or honey, or just plainly—Yoongi. Does this mean Jungkook’s truly alone here? Does he have to escape by digging deep and facing his inner demons? Jungkook has gained so much emotional intelligence over the years—prior to his and Yoongi’s wedding and after it. It feels like this is a reset, like he has to see what could have been had he chosen a different path in life.

Because there was one thing in the Wikipedia page that stuck out to Jungkook. The auditions and music shows; Jungkook did that in his own world when he was young—just a kid. Jungkook used to sing, but he doesn’t really anymore. Music is Yoongi’s area of expertise, and he’s more visually gifted. He fell into filmmaking, it feels so right to him. But here those auditions landed him offers into entertainment companies and he joined one, eventually becoming an idol beside his best friends. Is this supposed to be more appealing than his real life? Or is it supposed to show him why this dream was never going to be worth it?

With conflicting emotions overwhelming his systems, he begins to type out a message. Whether this is his Yoongi or the one from this universe, he needs to talk to him.

Me

Hyung where are you

I need to see you 

Please come talk to me

I need you 

I’m so scared that I’m doing the wrong thing 

But he doesn’t send the messages. Tears sting his eyes as he presses the screen to his chest and swallows hard. He can’t change the relationship this Jungkook and Yoongi have, it’s not his life and not his choice to make. He deletes his cries for help and shakes his head. Jungkook needs to get changed, needs to follow his hyungs to rehearsals and try not to completely fuck things up. He can’t tell them what is going on, because clearly that wasn’t working with Seokjin. They won’t believe him, or they’ll just think something is wrong. He needs to see Yoongi, but maybe it’s better if he doesn’t. Maybe it would hurt too much to see the man he loves in a world where they’re not in love—a world where Yoongi looks at Jungkook like a dongsaeng and a brother, not a partner. 

He’s not sure what to wear for a dance practice, but he pulls on sweats and a t-shirt, yanking on a hoody for good measure. Seokjin shows up knocking impatiently, and Jungkook strains to wear a smile.

“Let’s go, huh? What’s the hold up?”

“Coming, coming,” Jungkook grabs his room and key and phone, following after Seokjin.

They meet Taehyung and Jimin, Sejin deliberately shoving a fistful of lozenges into his hands and insisting Jungkook have one immediately. The youngest does just to ease their concerns, but he has no plans to sing.

Unless. Unless he has to. Unless this hallucination (or dream or mirage or what the fuck ever) lasts too long and he’s forced to blend into this life. He’s hoping that doesn’t happen. That he wakes up in his own bed with Yoongi next to him soon.

See. 

Yoongi had been recording a demo track. They’d been dating for nearly two years at that point, and Yoongi’s career had taken a sudden and swift turn upwards. He got himself an American agent and record deals as a producer for some of the biggest names in Western music. It came with countless hours of travel, interpreters, meetings with musicians and artists and other producers. It was intimidating for Jungkook who came along with Yoongi, seeing it as an opportunity to adventure and film. How naive he’d been. Because he’d hoped to spend nights with Yoongi eating and exploring the cities they visited, but it wasn’t like that.

It was hard because Yoongi had to work, and mostly just work, while they were on these business trips. And Jungkook felt so—so—out of place. He wasn’t supposed to be there, he felt like he was a burden to Yoongi, holding him back from giving his all to the music and to his passions. But part of it was just that Jungkook was insecure. He felt like he had nothing to offer Yoongi. Yoongi who was so talented and hard working and relentless, never giving up and allowing himself confidence and pride. Jungkook didn’t have that, and still struggles with it.

So when Jungkook was in the listening booth, watching Yoongi through the glass as he rapped over the beat he’d been working on for weeks. Jungkook had grinned, heart swelling with love and pride for Yoongi and the place he was carving out for himself in the industry. But Yoongi had suddenly stopped, the track still playing in the background. They were the only two there, the only time they had to hang out was if Jungkook followed Yoongi around at his work, so of course he did as often as possible. There had been a gnawing sensation in his chest though, that maybe he should have just left Yoongi alone, got himself a real job instead of pretending like he had a shot in the filmmaking world.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi had said into that microphone, his voice reverberating softly in Jungkook’s headphones.

“Yes?” He replied, holding down the speaker button.

“Would you want to—will you—would you—“ Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck.

“What?” Jungkook asked fondly.

“Will you marry me?”

Yoongi met Jungkook’s eyes through the glass and the younger hadn’t been able to contain his disbelief, heart thudding to a stop and mouth falling open. 

“Marry you? What—what do you mean?”

“Like. I love you so much, and I want to make it official, I guess. Even if that’s dumb, but we can get married here in America. And I want to marry you, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook had swallowed hard, looking away as guilt spread through his veins and selfishness crept onto his tongue. 

“Yoongi, no,” he shook his head. 

“I’m sorry, you can think about it. We can talk about it,” Yoongi said softly. “But would you maybe want to?”

“No,” Jungkook had repeated, louder this time. “I can’t—I can’t marry you.”

“What?” Yoongi’s face had fallen, he looked confused and hurt and rightfully so.

“I can’t,” Jungkook had repeated—looking back, Jungkook wishes so badly he has done something different. Gotten his head out of his ass and paid attention to what was right in front of him. 

With that, he’d left. Left the recording studio, the building, the block, and walked. Walked so far the sky turned black and he was lost in a city he didn’t know. 

It was such a dumb, dumb, stupid fucking thing to do. So fucking stupid. But Yoongi had (has) the world in arms reach, and Jungkook was practically living off of him. He’d quit his job so he could travel with Yoongi, and he’d become dependent on him in a way Jungkook couldn’t find it in himself to justify. Sure, he was making videos and practicing the art form he loved (loves), but he’d been doing that before when they lived together in Seoul. And there he’d been on equal footing with Yoongi, both of them working hard to save up and make something of themselves. Putting food on the table and paying their bills together. They’d been a team.

But when Yoongi started getting bigger and better opportunities came, that life style didn’t work for him anymore. Which is why Jungkook dropped everything to follow Yoongi as he made his dreams a reality. But Jungkook’s passions and his dreams of grandeur remained stagnant, and no matter how much time and energy he’d been investing in videography over the years it hadn’t paid enough—and Jungkook doubted (doubts) it ever would.

This was fine. Jungkook loves Yoongi more than anything, and he wanted to see Yoongi happy and successful and doing the things he loves. And if Jungkook’s dreams never came to fruition then that’s just what it was gonna be. But Jungkook felt distinctly like he wasn’t contributing anything of worth to their lives and to Yoongi’s life. Jungkook was jealous of the way Yoongi thrived on music, because for so long the younger had been thriving on Yoongi. Not his sucky job or his film efforts—it was Yoongi that brought him the greatest joy. And then, it seemed like Yoongi needed to refocus his energy and love towards his career. And Jungkook, like an idiot, believed that meant something it didn’t. 

Jungkook turned down Yoongi’s proposal. 

Of course, they’re married now. Everything worked out in the end. But it’s the principle of the thing. It’s the fact that it happened at all that leaves Jungkook burning up inside, angry at himself for behaving immaturely. 

They arrive at the stadium after some long-standing traffic, an entire entourage of black window-tinted SUVs accompanying them. They really are something, huh? He can’t quite picture it—or at least he can’t feel the weight of this job. He saw the videos of their fans and how many of them follow their accounts, but to Jungkook those are all just numbers. 

Jimin, Taehyung, and Seokjin talk a lot as they drive. Jimin describes memories from his childhood in Busan, reminisces about the last day he spent here before traveling to Seoul, and tells them about a rice cake shop he used to eat at every morning with the spare change his mom gave him. Jimin—and all of them, really—aren’t much different than the versions of them Jungkook knows in his real life. Seokjin might be more guarded here, and Taehyung with an extra layer of maturity and muscle under his skin. But more or less, they are the same in the most important ways. They care immensely for each other and for Jungkook, as showcased by the way they keep trying to include him in the conversation.

“You don’t need to feel bad, Kook-ah,” Seokjin tells him. 

“Yeah,” Tae chimes in, “We understand that you have a sore throat, it’s out of your control.”

“It’s those riffs we’ve been practicing, probably,” Jimin suggest, “We did spend a lot of time on HOME yesterday, and it’s hard to sing live.”

“For sure. As long as you take care of your throat and are good for tomorrow, that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook forces a smile, “For sure. But I’m sure you guys could make it happen without me if you had to.”

The silence his words are met with make him realize he’s said something wrong. 

“You know we can’t,” Taehyung says softly as the others stare. “We need all seven of us, we need all of us, we’re a team. We need you.”

Jungkook nods, at a loss for what to say. He peers out the window, watching the city fly past. It’s practically identical to the Busan he’s used to, but one of the bridges is lit up in purple—which if he did his research earlier correctly, that purple is there because of them. Because of their group. Because they’ve had some kind of sensational national influence and have grown into international front-runners—the first to break down countless barriers and prove that language doesn’t determine how far your power can reach when you use your talent and platform to spread goodness. If Jungkook knows his friends at all, then he knows that in any universe they may be in, they are beautiful souls. 

Sometimes people tell Jungkook he’s childish, or just assume he’s fucking around, when he tells them he believes in destiny. Words fail him when he tries to explain why he believes in destiny, why he thinks (knows) Yoongi is his soulmate, and how the cosmos orchestrates events to make sure things ends up one way or another. Jungkook has always told them that it’s not about having one path to reach a destination—it’s that no matter what choice you make, no matter how far you leap, you will always have a place to land. There’s always a net to catch you, always going to be a certain outcome that guides you. You can’t cut the strings of fate no matter how far you run.

“Hyungs,” Jungkook glances up at them with wide eyes. He needs to know, needs to ask. He doesn’t care if he sounds crazy, if Seokjin pesters him about having a fever, and doesn’t even care if he makes things awkward for the Jungkook who actually belongs here. 

“Yeah?” Jimin shifts in his leather seat, Jin turns his head and Taehyung hums.

“Have I ever said anything about—about—Yoongi-hyung before?”

Seokjin shoves through the bag at his feet and pulls out his water bottle, “What about him?” 

Jungkook avoids their gazes, “How I—how I feel about him?”

Jimin and Taehyung share a look.

“No,” Seokjin replies, confusion lacing his tone. “What do you mean? Are you not getting along?”

“No, no, not that at all,” Jungkook stops himself right there. “Never mind, never mind. I’m just...I’m just thinking.”

“What’s going on, Jungkookie? You seem odd today.”

“Nothing,” Jungkook says too fast, earning him even more concerned looks. “I promise, I’m just—processing.”

“Processing what?” Taehyung presses, “Did something happen with hyung?”

“No, Yoongi isn’t a part of this.”

“You did keep asking to see him,” Seokjin brings up, making Jungkook frustrated at his past self. “I thought that was strange.”

Strange. Strange. Strange. 

He and Yoongi aren’t—

It’s not like Jungkook didn’t expect this. He saw how lack luster his and Yoongi’s conversations were in his phone. But he thought maybe the other members might have picked up on some underlying feelings, or maybe the Jungkook from this universe had said something previously to hint at it. Though if he had, the other members either hadn’t picked up on it or just simply don’t want to bring it up out of fear Jungkook would shut down and go into denial. Which, honestly sounds like him. But he’s not that Jungkook. He the Jungkook who is married to Yoongi. He is Yoongi’s husband. And he’s the Jungkook who believes in soulmates and fate and destiny.

But maybe. Just maybe. Not every universe is one where he and Yoongi end up together. He supposes, that by the law of averages, there has to be some world where he and Yoongi don’t fall into each other’s arms at night. One universe where they don’t fall in love, or the love is unrequited, or the love grows sour. Or even worse—a universe where the love is impossible because of the pressures and responsibilities they carry on their shoulders. And if any place were to have unrealistic expectations, this would be it. Here, he and Yoongi are two of the seven members of a world-renowned idol group. They have millions of eyes watching their every move. So much is dependent on them being stable, staying strong, and being seven. There isn’t space for just two. Even if the Jungkook and Yoongi here are in love with each other—

Jungkook feels tears swell in his eyes and his chest squeezes tight. Even if they do love each other here, they may never be able to be together. 

Fate is cruel like that. Sometimes the good things aren’t meant to be. 

(Maybe his own universe is the odd one out. Maybe his life with Yoongi in Busan is the only universe where they end up together, and everywhere else they don’t. That makes this even worse. Makes Jungkook feel even more scared. Because maybe his universe isn’t even the one where they spend their whole lives together, maybe the other shoe has yet to drop. He doesn’t know what to do or what to think. Doesn’t understand the reasoning behind waking up here this morning. What is he supposed to gain from this experience besides fear and doubt and longing for—)

Hyung 

Jungkook 

Where are you?

Jungkook stares at his phone, the message shocking him numb. 

He doesn’t get the chance to reply because they’ve arrived at the venue for rehearsals. Walking into it is like an out of body experience. The sheer size, coupled with thousands of seats and crew members already making quick work of the stage set up, is hard to believe. Jungkook can’t imagine ever getting used to this—being expected and anticipated by a crowd this large to perform something worthwhile. They’re escorted into the back, through musty halls and into an open makeup room, stylists prepping outfits and looks for today’s dress rehearsal. 

Seokjin and Taehyung go right to one of the stage managers who they seem to know well, but Jimin stays behind with Jungkook as he watches the scene unfold. 

“What was that about?” Jimin tugs on his sleeve.

“What?” Jungkook replies, trying to sound nonchalant.

“In the car, what you said about Yoongi-hyung?”

“Nothing, it’s not important,” Jungkook hushes his friend, hoping to nip this in the bud.

Jimin doesn’t stand for that. 

“Jungkookie,” Jimin makes the younger turn to face him, searching his face. “Is this about your feelings for hyung? Did something happen?”

Simultaneously Jungkook’s stomach plummets and his heart soars. It makes him nauseous. So—Jungkook does love Yoongi here. Or at the very least, likes him. Likes him enough that he’s told Jimin about it, but apparently not everyone has noticed. 

“No. Nothing's happened.”

“Stop it,” Jimin frowns, “Stop lying to me.”

Jungkook’s chest swells with air as his mind races through a dozen possible scenarios. He’s not sure what Jimin knows and what he doesn’t. Mostly, he’s not sure what the Jungkook in this universe feels and what he thinks. They’re the same person, but they’re also not. This Jungkook grew up surrounded by the group members and the people in their agency. This Jungkook has been shaped by the pros and cons of fame, the demands of an idol, and the limitations of a schedule. 

But Jungkook—Jungkook finished school, went to college, has had nothing more than average jobs while pursuing his passions as side projects. He has traveled the world with Yoongi without the pressure of having to do it in secret. The only film cameras he’s ever around are the ones he holds in his own hands, and he’s never done a photo shoot or recorded music in his life. Jungkook has room to breathe, has freedom. Space. This Jungkook—well. It seems like his life is terribly ironic. He has the world in the palm of his hands, except it’s inside a glass sphere, and he’s not allowed to touch it.

“I’m sorry, hyung. I just feel weird. My head hurts and I feel bad about not being able to sing. I’m just confused right now. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without—“ without Yoongi here, he wants to say, is how he feels. But can’t— “being able to do my job and contribute.”

“You being here is enough. I know it sucks but it’ll be fine. Tell me what you’re confused about? Are you thinking of telling Yoongi-hyung?”

“I can’t do that,” Jungkook says automatically. “Would any of you even be okay with that? Would the managers be okay with that?”

“Hyung-nims don’t need to know. And of course we’d be okay with that. We just want you to be happy, don’t feel like you need to stay silent for the sake of anyone else. We’re strong. And we love you.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows. If it’s not the members or management that are making the Jungkook from this universe feel like he has to remain tight-lipped, it's just himself. Himself, or a distinct impression that Yoongi doesn’t feel the same.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course, I’ll keep telling you this until you do something about it. It seems like lately you’re getting even antsier around him, you can’t keep denying yourself.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“You are,” Jimin disagrees, shoving Jungkook by the shoulder and towards the others to begin practice. “But you’ll figure it out. You’re smart.”

“Sure.”

Jimin levels him a glare and sighs.

~

As it turns out, Jungkook can’t dance.

He’d thought maybe the universe would help him out here—after all, he’s not in his own body, he’s in the body of the Jungkook who belongs here. A body that’s been training in dance for the better part of a decade, and a body that should have the choreography hammered into its muscles. Jungkook steps onto the stage, the backing track of their song Dimple beginning to play. He had sucked in a breath, shut his eyes, and tried to let his body lead him, guide him, allow him to flow through the day without any more trouble than it’s already been. Hoping the routine came naturally.

His body did lead him, and it lead him straight into Taehyung, the both of them toppling over and falling to the ground. Jungkook blinks at his friend, stunned. And Taehyung gapes back, equally surprised that Jungkook royally fucked up two seconds into practice.

“Uh.”

“You okay?” Seokjin stands above them. “What was that, Jungkook? You looked like a scarecrow.”

“Scarecrow?” Jungkook snorts. “What?”

“He looked drunk, is what he looked like,” Jimin chides. “You’re not drunk are you?”

“Of course not!” Jungkook says defensively.

“Here,” Seokjin offers them each a hand up, Jungkook dusting himself off as he stands.

“Okay,” Tae claps his hands together. “Let’s try again.”

“Okay,” Jungkook begrudging agrees.

This time, he keeps his eyes wide open. He focuses hard on the way Jimin is moving in front of him, attempting to mirror it, but then they all switch positions around him, moving gracefully and slyly, and Jungkook panics. He thinks he’s meant to step forward to center, but Seokjin does it at the same time and they bump hips, Seokjin elbowing Jungkook’s side and yelping an apology.

“Shit, sorry! What are you doing there?” 

“Fuck, sorry.”

“Jungkook,” Seokjin looks at him hard. “You good?”

The younger has never been more grateful for the alibi he got stuck with earlier. 

“I feel dizzy, I think I’m sick,” Jungkook says quietly, pressing a hand to his forehead and shutting his eyes. 

“Kookie,” Jimin is now beside him, rubbing his arm. 

“Hell,” Seokjin mutters. “Why didn’t you say something this morning? You said it was just your throat.”

“I felt better then,” Jungkook says. He feels bad for lying, he really does. The disappointment and concern radiating off of them makes him want to curl up in shame. These aren’t even the friends he’s used too, but it's still them. He still knows them even if they’re different versions of themselves. 

“Let’s sit you down,” a manager Jungkook doesn’t know the name of appears at his elbow, a rolling chair already on the stage for him. “Sit down, we’ll get you water. I’m going to call Sejin and let him know. We need you well for tomorrow.”

“I know,” Jungkook nods, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry. I’m just concerned, you don’t usually say something unless it’s really bad,” the manager says under his breath.

Taehyung hands Jungkook water, Jimin rubs his shoulders, and Seokjin is messaging someone on his phone. 

Jungkook feels useless.

(And for some reason, the feeling isn’t unfamiliar. Rather, it’s something he’s been feeling for some time now. He’s kept it corked and bottled, stored in a cellar in the dark. Lurking out of sight, like a corner of a bedroom where old clothes, boxes, and tchotchkes get dusty and unused. You know they’re there, but you choose to ignore the ugly mess in your peripheral vision. It’s not a feeling he’s discovering for the first time in this world. It’s one he feels at home, on the planes, and the hotel rooms, and in studios beside Yoongi.)

The others continue rehearsals as Jungkook watches from the side. He manages to put on a reassuring grin and shoot the thumbs-ups when they look his way in worry. A medic comes to his side and takes his temperature, his blood pressure, asks Jungkook a bunch of questions about his condition that he bullshits his way through. The medic is perplexed, which Jungkook is guilty about, but what choice does he have? He can’t dance. He doesn’t know these songs. He still doesn’t even know what he’s doing here—what lesson this universe is trying to teach him.

He’s given some aspirin, Powerade, and someone places icy-hot patches on his shoulders and neck. It’s bizarre to be waited on like this. To be treated like his health is of the utmost importance to all of them. Their jobs and revolve around keeping them—this idol group—in tip-top condition, though. Jungkook is amazed by how friendly all the crew is with him, he suspects they must have known each other for years, and at this point even though the seven of them are the stars, behind the scenes they blend in with everyone else. They are all still the humble, kind friends Jungkook knows in his own life, and the fact that fame didn’t change them is admirable—but not surprising. 

“Jungkook!” 

Jungkook whips his head around to see Hoseok marching his way, waving excitedly. 

“Hyung!” Jungkook lights up.

“Jungkook! Are you okay? Seokjin said you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m a bit better now,” he says as his friend approaches, unable to stop himself from staring. “They’ve been giving me all sorts of stuff to help. I just don’t think I’m ready to dance yet.”

“Is your voice shot too?”

Jungkook touches his neck self-consciously, “Um. No. Not my voice, just my throat if I strain it too much. I don’t wanna risk anything.”

“Smart move,” Hoseok ruffles his hair fondly. 

“Yeah. Hopefully I have a miraculous recovery tomorrow,” Jungkook thinks of home, and how much he wants to be switched back to the place he belongs.

Which reminds him—

“Where’s Yoongi?” He coughs, “Yoongi-hyung?”

“He and Namjoon are on their way. We took separate cars.”

“Is he okay?”

Hoseok tilts his head, “Yoongi-hyung? Yeah, he’s fine. Why?”

“No reason,” Jungkook shakes his head. He remembers the text Yoongi sent him earlier, and he still hasn’t replied. He should. Or should he just wait it out for Yoongi to arrive? He’s still holding out hope that Yoongi—his husband Yoongi—got transported here with him. But he’s not sure how to ask without sounding crazy, in case it’s Yoongi the idol-rapper. 

Hoseok jostles his shoulder and walks last to join the others who have just completed their odd-numbered practice. The people around Jungkook finally figure that they’ve done all they can for him after checking for a concussion and about yesterdays diet and still coming up empty. 

He watches the group go over the blocking and staging for the freestyle songs, discussing where they should walk and how to coordinate making sure they visit all parts of the stage at least once. 

Jungkook smiles at them and feels his heart swell with admiration, and adoration, for his hyungs. This life is a total 180 of his own, but it is incredible to witness how much his friends are willing to give. The way they talk about their fans, how to engage with the audience, and how to level up their performance demonstrates how selfless they are. The show, the anniversary of the group, isn’t so much about them as seven members and how far they’ve come. It’s more about how they’ve grown because of the motivation, inspiration, and validation they’ve received from their growing ARMY. They want to give back, not take more.

“Enjoying the show?” A familiar voice jokes.

“Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook grins wide, “Hi.”

“Hi yourself. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Jungkook assures, “Where have you been all morning?”

“Concept meeting. It was about some of the tracks we submitted to the production team last week, we were talking about which ones they approved and stuff.”

“Good news?”

Namjoon shrugs, “Guess so. The title track is still way behind schedule. It’s hard to find the right color for the song. We want it darker, but we don’t want to copy Fake Love, and we still need something performance worthy.”

“We’ll get there, I’m sure. The greatest minds are working on it,” Jungkook laughs and Namjoon’s dimples deepen. 

“Yeah. Speaking of great minds, Min Genius over there has—“

Jungkook doesn’t hear the rest of what Namjoon says. He’s too busy spinning his entire chair around, searching for Yoongi. He spots him at the far end of the stage, trudging up the steps.

Jungkook feels the breath get knocked out of him. His heart pounds and his legs feel like jelly. Yoongi. Yoongi. Yoongi. He leaves his water bottle behind in his seat and runs, Namjoon calling after him. Yoongi sees him coming, his expression unreadable, and pauses.

Before he’s mentally prepared himself, Jungkook is already in front of Yoongi. The shorter is wearing a black bucket hat and black Adidas jogging pants. He has a big sweater on and his dark hair is sticking out. He looks small even with the way the clothes hang heavy around him. There’s a drink in one of his hands, his Android phone the other. Those two things are undeniably a parallel to Jungkook’s own Yoongi, but he can’t tell if that's just a coincidence or if—

“I was texting you,” Yoongi says quietly. His voice is rough, like he’s holding something back.

Jungkook grabs his phone out of his back pocket and scrolls through the notifications.

Hyung

Jungkook 

Where are you?

It’s been a weird morning

Are you doing okay? Seokjin said you’re not well

Is it serious? Please let them give you medicine 

And rest!

Should I bring you food? What would you want?

Do you like kimchi burgers?

It’s that question that makes Jungkook look up at Yoongi, tears swelling in his eyes despite efforts to keep them down. Kimchi burgers. That’s something they’ve always eaten out at Korean-American restaurants when they’re in the US. Jungkook always gets extra kimchi on the side and piles it stupidly high on his burger, not caring how gross he looks when he wolfs it all down. Yoongi always chuckles at him and snaps pictures. Together, they rank how good the kimchi is and if it’s worth coming back for again. 

“Yoongi?”

“Jungkook.”

“Yoongi. Yoongi...are you?” The younger searches Yoongi’s eyes for the warm steady glow of love he always sees in his husband's. He thinks it’s there. He hopes it is. He reaches out and presses a hand against the elder’s, fingers trailing over his ring finger.

Yoongi nods, “What are we doing here, Kook-ah?”

Jungkook swoops in and hugs him tight around the waist, Yoongi returning it as best he can with full hands, burying his face in Jungkook’s shoulder. 

“I don’t know.”

“I’m so glad you’re here too,” Yoongi whispers. “When I woke up alone this morning I was so scared. I had no idea what was happening. Namjoon and Hoseokie kept talking about our album and our concert and all this stuff I didn’t understand, and I just wanted to see you.”

“Same,” Jungkook squeezes him tighter. Then, laughing, “I want to kiss you.”

“I want you to kiss me too,” Yoongi steps back a bit and they just stare at each other. “But I think the others would freak out if that happened.”

“Fuck them,” Jungkook mutters, leaning in. His mouth meets Yoongi’s palm and he feels his glare. “What?”

“We can’t do that. What about when the other Jungkook and Yoongi come back? We can’t kiss for them. These are their bodies, they should be able to kiss each other for the first time when they’re ready.”

“But, baby,” Jungkook whines.

Yoongi snorts, “No. Oh my god, you can call me baby though—just once. Just to keep them on their toes,” he nods at their friends. 

“Do you really think the other you really likes me though?”

Yoongi frowns, “What kind of question is that? Of course he does.”

“But—“

“But nothing. I love you no matter what universe we’re in.”

“We could be different here, though,” Jungkook argues. “We might not work here.”

“Whether we work or not is a lot different than loving each other,” Yoongi says, “Yeah, it would be a lot harder for us to have a relationship here. But nothing stops love from happening.”

“But what if—“

“Jungkook. Why does it matter?” Yoongi says, his tone apprehensive. It makes Jungkook flinch, because he already knows his thoughts are dumb and totally unfounded, he doesn’t need Yoongi confirming that for him. 

“Never mind,” Jungkook breathes.

Yoongi’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s made a mistake, lips parting and his fingers reaching for Jungkook. The younger steps back, not ready to talk about this. 

“Jungkook, I’m sorry.”

“Not now, later,” Jungkook tells him. Just in time too, because Seokjin and Jimin join them seconds later. They’re both wearing smirks, like they have some inside joke.

“So,” Seokjin nudges Jungkook, “What’s up you two?”

“That was quite the reunion,” Jimin comments, brows raised.

“Straight out of a drama. You practically ran into each other’s arms.”

“Stunning, really.”

“I almost thought you were gonna kiss,” Seokjin hums.

Yoongi coughs, “Shut up.”

“Why would you think that?!” Jungkook squeaks, anxious.

“No reason,” Jimin lies through his teeth. Jungkook squints at him. “You two are just cute, is all.”

“We’re cute?” Yoongi repeats. “How exactly are we cute?”

“Oh, you know,” Jimin shrugs.

“No, I don’t know.”

“Well—“ Jimin begins, but is cut off by Seokjin laughing loudly, obnoxiously, clearly a distraction from whatever the other was about to say.

Jungkook and Yoongi share an amused look, and Yoongi raises his brows suggestively.

Jungkook can’t keep a straight face when he says, “Babe, let’s get back to rehearsal, okay?”

Their friends blanch as Yoongi comes to walk and Jungkook’s side. They laugh together and Jungkook’s heart swells. He’s so happy. So fucking happy his Yoongi is here with him. Even if he has no idea how to get back home, why they’re here, or how they’re gonna deal with this whole idol thing—he’s reassured by Yoongi merely being here. Together they can figure it out, like they always have. 

“Are you gonna rap?” Jungkook asks him.

“I don’t know. I mean—I could, but I don’t know the words to the songs. Do you think it will just come naturally if I try?”

“Nah,” Jungkook tells him about how he thought the same about dancing, and how that miraculously failed. “I wish it were that easy though.”

“Me too. Hell, what are we gonna do? I don’t know what to say to explain why I can’t practice.”

“You could just disappear.”

“What—hide?” Yoongi shakes his head, “Wouldn’t that make it worse?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m scared of messing something up for them. It’s a good fucking thing their concert isn’t tonight or we’d be royally fucked.”

“That’s what I was thinking too.”

“How about a family emergency?” Yoongi brainstorms. “I could fake getting a phone call and then have to step out.”

Jungkook slings an arm over Yoongi’s shoulders, that seems innocent enough he thinks. 

“How are you gonna fake a phone call?”

Yoongi hums, “I’ll figure it out.”

“How about I just call you?”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” the elder points out as they near Hoseok, Namjoon, and Taehyung. The three are sitting in a circle flipping through a clipboard. 

“I can run to the bathroom.”

“Gross. You’re gonna call me from the toilet?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, “No. C’mon. Just let me help. That way your phone can ring and we can just talk a bit.”

“Okay. But I think we’re supposed to be here for three hours, how we gonna make that work?”

“Part of it’s just wardrobe, we can manage that.”

“Okay,” Yoongi agrees at last. “When it seems like we’re about to start dancing slip away and call me.”

“Sure thing,” Jungkook grins, slumping into his seat again.

“What’s that face?” Yoongi scrunches his nose cutely.

“What face?” Jungkook asks coyly.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Like what?” Jungkook teases, grinning wider.

Yoongi sighs exaggeratedly and walks away to join the group. Jungkook thinks that maybe it would be more convincing if he went with him—just because he can’t dance doesn’t mean he can’t go over the schedule and stuff—but he takes this opportunity to instead just admire Yoongi. Yoongi who is his husband on the inside, but looks different on the outside. There’s not a dramatic change, just the hair and the clothes don’t look like something Yoongi would have at home.

It’s not long before Seokjin and Jimin join them, and the crew grabs a mic to give them directions. Each member is given in-ears and Jungkook knows that’s his cue.

Finding the bathroom is easy after he asks someone, they gesture the way and he hurries down a set of stairs and down a hall, dark and hidden beneath the stage. He hears music come to life above him, and he ducks into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He pulls out his phone, and hits call.

“Hello? Mom?” Yoongi answers after a few rings. Jungkook can hear the music through the phone.

“Hey baby,” Jungkook purrs, “Can you believe our anniversary is tomorrow?”

He hears Yoongi swallow hard, “What happened? Is everything okay?”

“Mm, everything is great honey. I can’t wait to celebrate with you. I love you so much. I can’t wait to have anniversary sex. Should we do it the same way as our wedding night? Slow fucking, sweet love making. God, I wish I could kiss you right now.” He bites his tongue, awaiting Yoongi’s response.

“That’s terrible. Can you see him?” Yoongi says, voice steady. Jungkook smiles to himself. Yoongi is playing hard to get. “Sorry, guys, it’s my mom. Something happened. Can I step out for a minute? Something happened.”

Jungkook overhears murmurs, Yoongi telling them to keep practicing without him.

“Jungkook, what the fuck?” Yoongi hisses. 

The younger snickers into the phone, swapping hands and pressing it to his other ear as he leans back against the door.

“Couldn’t resist.”

“You’re a fucker, you know that?”

“Because I fuck you? Yeah, I know. And I’m good at it too.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yoongi grumbles, Jungkook can hear him walking. “What if I’d had you on speaker?”

“Why would you have your mother on speaker?”

“I don’t know! But what if?”

“Well, then we’d be pulling a prank wouldn’t we? I’m sure there must be some antics that go down with all seven us living together. I’m sure we pull shit like that all the time.”

“Shit like dirty-talking our band mates? I don’t think so.”

“You never know. I’m sure we’re horny all the time.”

“Oh my god, shut up. Remind me why I married you?”

“Because you love me. I’ll make sure I remind you of that tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother,” Yoongi mumbles.

“Why not?”

“Because you remind me every day just by being you.”

Jungkook awwws dramatically, “So sweet, Yoongi. You’re such a sweetie. What is my anniversary present?”

“I’m not gonna tell you?”

“Why not? I’ll tell you what I go you,” Jungkook bargains.

“No! Surprise me.”

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

“I could punch you right now. You’re so antagonizing sometimes.”

Jungkook grins, “That’s my middle name.”

“Dear god.”

Someone knocks on the bathroom door, and Jungkook gets up from where he’s been leaning. He unlocks and opens it, eyes meeting Yoongi’s. He hangs up the phone, mirroring his husband, and then he grabs the elder by the hands and tugs him inside. He shuts the door behind them, palms cupping Yoongi’s waist.

“Are you sure we can’t kiss?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Yoongi scowls, But Jungkook can tell he wants it just as bad as he does.

“Fine,” Jungkook pouts, pulling the shorter right in and nuzzling his nose into his neck. He breathes in cologne and deodorant and old hair spray. And there’s that underlying scent just underneath it all. The scent of Yoongi. Of home.

They stay like that for a long time. Breathing each other in. Listening to heart beats and lungs expanding. In some ways it’s more intimate than a kiss—which can end in a blink of an eye. This reminds them they’re alive, they’re really here, but most importantly—they are together. It’s more relaxing than a massage and more rejuvenating than a night’s rest. Emotionally they’ve been drained today, and this is healing the wounds that broke open in fear of being stranded, alone, in what feels like a film set because it isn’t their real life. 

“Do you think it’s weird?” Jungkook breaks the silence. “This place, I mean. Do you think it’s weird that we’re all idols?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not really. It makes sense. If circumstances were just a little different in our universe, who knows, this could have been us.”

“But then wouldn’t we just be them?” Jungkook muses. 

“Maybe. But if there’s this parallel universe, then there’s probably a lot more of them. And some of them might be really similar to each other, almost identical. Ours is pretty different.”

Jungkook hums. “Why do you think all seven of us are together here too?”

“I don’t know. Destiny, I guess.”

“It’s written in the stars.”

Yoongi snorts, “Are you referencing the John Legend and Wendy song?”

“Maybe.”

Jungkook presses their foreheads together and then tilts his head to brush his lips over Yoongi’s bangs.

“Hey,” Yoongi pouts, “I felt that.”

“It doesn’t count. You really think Jungkook hasn’t given Yoongi-hyung forehead kisses before?”

Yoongi hushes him, then pats at his chest. 

“You should go back out there.”

“Why?”

“So they don’t get suspicious.”

“What do they have to get suspicious of?” Jungkook asks.

“I don’t know. But our friends aren’t dumb.”

With a long sigh, Jungkook agrees. 

~

It takes ages to finally get to costuming. But eventually, they’re shuffled into a room with Yoongi joining them (after a sneaky text message on Jungkook’s part and a reminder to appear forlorn). One wall is just mirrors and makeup counters. Seven seats and seven sets of makeup, different stylists and cosmetologists filling the space, babbling and prepping. They seem excited when the members step inside, like old friends. Jungkook doesn't know the older ladies who guide him into a changing room and presses down the fold of his shirt and button his cuffs, by they know him. 

“Sweets, you’re about grow out of your own skin.”

“I don’t think I’m growing anymore.”

“You are!” They pat his arms and smooth out the crinkles. “You definitely are.”

Yoongi looks stunning. Jungkook turns around to see him decked out in white, practically glowing.

“Wow, Yoongi,” Jungkook teases, “You should dress like that all the time.”

“Only special occasions,” Yoongi replies blankly, fingers fumbling with the ends of his sleeves cutely.

“You ready to get your makeup done?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow.

“Are you?” Yoongi retaliates.

“Of course,” Jungkook brushes a hand dramatically through his bangs and then drops his voice, “I wanna look perfect for you, baby.”

Yoongi scrunches up his face, but nothing can hide the slight blush on his cheeks. Even in this universe, even after a year of marriage, the elder is so easy to fluster. 

“You already are,” Yoongi murmurs. Jungkook grins, heart warm.

They’re guided into seats next to each other, but their friends surround them on all sides. The makeup artists step in and wipe their faces clean. Moisturizers, sprays, gels, concealer—all gets layered on Jungkook’s face. It feels heavy on his skin, an unfamiliar sensation. Looking in the mirror, he has to admit he kinda likes it despite the way they’re plucking his eyebrows, making him flinch in pain. After plucking, they fill them in with a pencil and he watches his features become defined as brushes glide over foundation. Jungkook reaches up to touch his lips and the artist stops his hand before it can get there.

“Jungkook-ssi! Wait, it’s still wet.”

“Oh, sorry!” He apologizes and then glances at Yoongi, sheepish.

Yoongi already looking at him, one hand hanging just a little too far in the aisle between them to be accidental. Jungkook loosely takes Yoongi’s fingers in his own and squeezes. 

“You look the same,” Yoongi says.

“What? No I don't. I’m so smooth now.”

“Oh,” Yoongi frowns, “they covered your scar.”

Jungkook almost touches his cheek but refrains, “They did?”

“Yeah. I like that scar.”

Jungkook snorts, “You do? It such a stupid scar though. Wouldn’t it be better if I had a cool manly one?”

“What’s your definition of a cool scar?”

Jungkook motions a line down one side of his face, “Through my eye. Like I was a warrior and battled and got sliced by a sword. And everytime someone asks about it I can just say, you should see the other guy.”

Yoongi laughs, “That would be pretty cool.”

Someone clears their throat and Jungkook drops Yoongi’s hand, heart already straining to hold it again. Yoongi smiles at him sadly.

It’s settling in, isn’t it? The paralyzing thought they might be stuck here. That they may never wake up beside each other again. That they could have to live a life where they can’t be together, because they’re too busy with everything else. Jungkook tries to picture it. Imagines himself in a dance studio learning choreography he’s supposed to already know, learning lyrics to songs he’s supposed to have already performed hundreds of times. Trying to catch up to meet the expectations of their millions of fans. They’re six years into success, and he’s been dropped in the middle of it—with skills far behind where they’re supposed to be.

It hasn’t even been one day yet. Not even a day in this place and Jungkook already wants to leave. (He feels guilty. Feels weak for being certain that it would be too hard to try and mold himself into this life. If he’s being completely honest, what he’s scared of most is losing Yoongi. If they’re stuck here, if they can’t figure out how to leave and the cosmos doesn’t take mercy, then his and Yoongi’s relationship might have to be sacrificed in order to merely survive in this new environment.)

They test out the outfits by running around on stage as they adjust lights and cameras to pick them up properly. Jungkook expects to get his makeup taken off when they return to the dressing rooms, but all they do is change back into old clothes and they’re escorted away and into black SUVs. As they drive away, Jungkook turns and peers back through the window. 

He shoves Yoongi who’s next to him, and the elder gets the message to look back at the venue.

Outside, around the front entrance, are people. Hundreds crowded, with their phones out, facing the black vehicles as they speed away. Some fans are running in the distance, and he thinks he sees some press. They are famous, he thinks distantly. Because until now he’s still had his doubts. He hadn’t seen it in the flesh and it was hard to believe. Yoongi and him meet eyes, wonder and surprise passing between them. It’s unlike anything they’ve ever seen before. They slide back down into their seats, and if they’re nestled closer together than necessary in the spacious car, then too bad.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Namjoon says, a crinkle in his forehead. “Are you guys okay? You’ve been really quiet.”

“Yeah,” they answer him at the same time and then laugh nervously.

Namjoon’s frown only deepens, “Did something happen?”

“What kind of something?” Jungkook plays dumb. “Nothing happened.”

The leader hums, unconvinced. Yoongi shakes his head and bumps his knees against the youngest’s, a sign to stay quiet. Jungkook craves to intertwine their fingers between them, to snuggle closer and lie his head on Yoongi’s shoulder, but he can’t and it’s hard. Their makeup is still coated on their faces, accentuating Yoongi’s small nose and making his eyes even more cat-like. His lips are shiny and Jungkook wants to kiss them but Yoongi said no, and Yoongi is right. If the Jungkook and Yoongi of this world ever get their shit together (if that’s even what’s destined to happen here) then they deserve to have their first kiss be entirely their own.

“Are you really sick, Jungkook?” Namjoon suddenly asks, flat out. Stare impenetrable.

Jungkook can’t help how his eyes widen and jaw slips open. He’s not sure he can get away with lying straight to Namjoon’s face. But he’s been doing it enough today, been pulling it off so far. Besides, what reason would the real Jungkook have to lie? 

“Why would you think he’d lie?” Yoongi glares before Jungkook has the chance.

“I don’t know, Yoongi. Did you really get a phone call from your mother?”

This leaves Yoongi smacked silent, and Jungkook’s mouth dries. He twists his fingers into his clothes and takes a breath.

“Namjoon-hyung, why are you angry?” Jungkook pouts slightly, hoping to win him over.

Namjoon softens, “I’m not angry. I just—“ he pinches the bridge of his nose— “I can’t help but think that you seem fine, Jungkook.”

The younger swallows, “I know. But I wish I were better. I’m definitely not at peak condition and I’m nervous about tomorrow. I want to be as healthy as I can be, and I needed a rest.”

Namjoon nods, “I understand. But next time just say that. You know they will let you rest if you need it.”

Jungkook nods, “I’m sorry, hyung.”

Namjoon sighs, tells him it’s okay, and then folds his arms. He leans back and rests his eyes, looking peaceful as the hum of the car takes over. 

Jungkook pulls out his phone.

Me

do you think we should have told him the truth?

Hyung

Would he have believed it?

Me

Idk

Maybe

Namjoon likes space theories and multiverse and weird stuff like that

Hyung

This definitely qualifies as weird

but like with everything else

It’s probably better to wait and let him talk with other us when they get back, assuming they get together in /our/ universe

Me

Wait

You think so!!?!?!!!

But what if they’re just freaking the fuck out

Hyung

But wouldn’t they try and fit in like us? Especially with Seokjin and everyone coming over, wouldn’t they have to? 

I don’t think our friends at home would buy a crazy story like this

Things are more normal there

And here is

Me 

Here is a miracle already

The idol group is miracle

And did you see those fans?

Wow just wow 

Hyung

I know

so weird to think we did that

Me

what do you think other us thought when they woke up in bed together?

Hyung

lmao

Probably what the fuck

Me

Did we fall asleep with clothes on?

Hyung 

yeah, but I was wearing yours

Me

hehe

“Are you texting each other?”

Jungkook glances up to see Namjoon wearing an amused expression.

“Maybe?”

Namjoon just smiles and shuts his eyes again.

~

At long last, they get to eat again. Granted—they’re eating in between getting photos taken by Dispatch (which Yoongi and Jungkook are both delighted and horribly intimidated by) and it’s more like snacking rather than eating. It’s better than nothing. 

They’re redressed and makeup changed, taking turns doing solo shoots and then lining up together on a staircase, on a terrace, in the outdoor garden. Jungkook’s face feels stony, like it’s cramping, and he’s not sure how to be natural. Yoongi is better at it than him, and he’s sad to be separated from his husband when they’re taking photographs all together. Everyone else moves with practiced ease, and if something seems off no one comments on it.

After that, it’s nearing seven at night and still, they’re busy. Jungkook hadn’t expected the day to go quite like this, and he thinks that this is definitely the short end of the stick when it comes to fame. Yoongi’s producing gigs in the US are much preferable to the level of strain they’re experiencing right now. His friends don’t seem bothered, if anything they seem relaxed and he thinks Jimin mentions this being a slow day for them. If that’s true, he wonders what a busy day is. 

Jungkook noticed the cameras earlier, but now they’re everywhere. They’re not the photographers from Dispatch, they’re people from BigHit with handheld cameras shooting the members as they snack, sit, chat, sleep. It’s unnerving, and it makes Jungkook hold his tongue every time he has something to say. He’s not sure what’s allowed and what’s not, not sure if he could do something wrong that gets him in trouble and so instead he sits still, and tries to make as little commotion as possible. It’s hard to be still though, since the space around him is in flux as employees refill the snack tables, lights and curtains get moved, and dozens of assistants help with clothes and makeup. 

He wonders how his other self does it. How he manages to breathe in a place like this that’s feels so—so—

Jungkook’s thoughts freeze. 

This world seems impossibly difficult to cope with. It transcends his knowledge and experience, it is an underwater kingdom and he is a terrestrial creature drowning despite the beauty around him. The Jungkook here has done something he’s only ever dreamed about. This Jungkook has followed his passion to its extent, and then kept going deeper. He probably didn’t think he belonged here either when it all began, but he grew into it.

The truth is, Jungkook is jealous. Not jealous of the fame, fashion, or friendships. Jealous of the self-confidence and insatiable hunger to improve his other self has. He’s jealous of the confidence he must have after spending years in the spotlight, and jealous of the opportunities he’s had the mind to take advantage of. Jungkook on the other hand, has played it safe. He's terrified of making a mistake and falling behind even further. Everyone around him has careers and stability and goals—but he doesn’t have that. For the longest time he’s told himself he’s content staying by Yoongi’s side and being his support, his biggest fan, but that just doesn’t sit right anymore. Especially after seeing what another version of himself has achieved after unlocking his potential. That’s what Jungkook wants to do—prove to himself that he is capable and then continue to develop his skills.

(He’s jealous of himself and he feels so dumb for it.)

When the photo shoot wraps up and they get changed once more, Jungkook is completely drained. He just wants to crash into his bed and curl up with Yoongi and sleep and sleep and sleep. Unfortunately, that’s not a realistic option.

At long last, they’re set free. After being released onto their reserved hotel floor (which it now makes a lot more sense why it was so quiet and empty this morning), they can order room service or send one of the gophers (go-for?) to get them dinner. Jungkook trails after Yoongi when they exit the elevator, their friends clamoring around them. It sounds like everyone’s going to take some time to themselves, which is perfect, because then Jungkook and Yoongi can—

“Your room?” Yoongi falls back, whispering at Jungkook’s side.

The taller nods and leads the way, trying to remember his room number and grateful he’s been able to hang onto his keycard all day. He’s about to unlock the door when—

“What are you two doing?” Hoseok throws an arm around each of them and squeezes them together.

“Uh,” Yoongi says blankly.

“Just gonna eat,” Jungkook smiles as convincingly as he can. Well, it’s not like they’re gonna do anything else besides eat because they literally can’t. 

“Can I join?” He asks, well meaning—sure—but terribly inconvenient.

“Um,” the eldest looks startled and Jungkook isn’t sure how to handle this either.

“We were kind of hoping, uh, to spend some quality time with each other?” Jungkook tries.

Hoseok pats their backs and steps back, “Okay. That’s cool,” he grins at them. “Have fun.”

He walks away with a skip in his step, Jungkook staring after him and then looking back at Yoongi. They both burst into laughter.

“Do you think he knows?”

“What part? That we bullshitted our way through today or that—“ Jungkook stops himself there and just laughs instead, opening his door when it pings.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi shakes his head,  smiling. “What do you want to eat?”

“Everything,” Jungkook replies, searching the room for the menu.

“Sounds good.”

“Doesn’t it? I can’t believe we’re staying in this hotel.”

“I know, right?” Yoongi plops onto the edge of the bed. “This place is expensive as shit.”

“Here, look at this,” Jungkook hands over the menu and then sits next to his husband. He moves up close, chest pressed to Yoongi’s back and one arm hanging around him.

Yoongi holds the laminated booklet up in front of them and flips through the pages, scanning the options.

“Hotteok, dwaeji gukbap, milmyeon.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“All three,” Jungkook clarifies. “Lots of hotteok. And maybe some cider? We could get a whole bottle.”

“That sounds delicious,” Yoongi agrees. He shoves the menu towards the younger and says, “You call and order.”

Jungkook gapes, “No! You call and order. You’re my hyung.”

Yoongi wrinkles his nose, “It’s so weird having you call me that. And don’t play that card just because you don’t want to talk on the phone, or else I’m gonna say you should take care of your elders.”

“I don’t want to call,” Jungkook shoves the menu back, Yoongi stopping him midway. “Hey.”

“Hey you, you call.”

“You call.”

“You.”

“You.”

“I won’t!” Yoongi laughs as Jungkook tackles him onto the bed, tickling Yoongi’s ribs and stomach. “No, no, no—“

“I won’t stop tickling until you agree!” Jungkook threatens, enjoying watching Yoongi squirm beneath his hands. 

“Jungkook—Jungkook—“ Yoongi grapples for the talker’s hands and finally manages to suck in a breath, tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. “Fucking hell, fine. Fine.”

“You’ll order for us?” Jungkook tentatively sits back up, ready to pin Yoongi back down if anything happens. 

“Yes,” Yoongi nods and gets up. “Oh my god, I hate that you can tickle me to death.”

“I love it,” Jungkook smirks and swats at Yoongi’s backside as he walks towards the bedroom phone.

Yoongi’s shoots him a halfhearted glare and Jungkook giggles, pleased with himself. 

Yoongi reluctantly makes the call down for room service, and when he’s done he’s wearing a huge pout. Jungkook’s face scrunches up and he grins at his husband, waving him over. The elder comes and sits on Jungkook’s lap. How the younger wishes he could kiss him. Kiss the pout away and they could lazily make out on the bed until their food arrives. He restrains himself and just hugs Yoongi’s waist, biting his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt gently. Yoongi laughs into his ear and hugs Jungkook close.

They stay like that for awhile. As close as they can be to each other without doing anything else. They’ve always felt that intimacy outside of sex was important in their relationship anyway. Shoulder rubs and kisses, and make out sessions that don’t lead to sex. Lots of hand holding, and they specifically talked about hugs are important to them. That they don’t want to lose something they did all the time as friends. It brings comfort and reminds them that their burdens are shared between both their shoulders—no matter what it is. 

“Do you really think I wouldn’t love you in every universe?” Yoongi whispers.

Jungkook stomach swoops and recoils. He doesn’t say anything.

“Because I would,” Yoongi goes on. “I would love you no matter what planet we’re on, no matter what jobs we have, and I definitely love you here, in this universe. And you know how I know that? Because the passcode to my phone was your fucking birthday. Because I have text messages to Seokjin talking about how hard it is to keep my feelings bottled up. And I know because I know myself, and I know I will always need you.”

“I love you,” Jungkook replies, kissing Yoongi’s arm over his shirt. “And thank you. That means so much to me. I love you so much, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Jungkook—“ Yoongi begins, tone more serious than before. He shifts off of Jungkook’s lap and bites his lip. “Why are we here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are we here? I don’t think we’re here for me. What’s going on with you?”

The younger swallows hard, “I don’t know.”

“Kook-ah,” Yoongi frowns, sitting next to him and intertwining their hands. “It’s okay.”

Jungkook is about to speak. About to unravel the truth that’s been sinking in, burning his bones and stuffing his thoughts full. Yoongi’s right—this is probably happening because of Jungkook. Because he’s terrified of so many things—but above all he is achingly, painfully—shivering with anxiety—at the thought of screwing something up between himself Yoongi accidentally. 

“I—“

There’s a knock on the door, and Jungkook gets up to answer it. 

The food has arrived, and Jungkook graciously accepts the silver trays and sets them down on the table. The waiter has chopsticks and dishes for them, and he bows and exits in a rush. He’s young—and looks at Jungkook with wonder. It’s odd to be on a pedestal for something he himself didn’t achieve. 

“Jungkook,” Yoongi stands and wanders to the taller, who is still hovering over the food.

“Okay. Okay,” he looks at his husband and flattens his lips. “Start eating, okay? I think I know now.”

Yoongi nods and removes the silver dome tops from the dishes, the smell of hot noodles, soup, and pancakes hitting Jungkook’s nose in a mouthwatering waft. He can’t wait do dig in, but he has to explain first. He owes Yoongi that. And like this universe has been trying to teach him—he owes himself that. When Yoongi is at last situated around the food and slurping it up, Jungkook sits down in the cushioned chair across from him and takes a deep breath. 

He’s not sure how to say this. But simply is always best.

“I want to do more film making.”

Yoongi eyes widen, his cheeks full of food. He looks adorable, and it makes Jungkook’s heart tighten. 

“I want to do more film making, but for me to do it seriously, I don’t think I—I can’t—“ the tears are swelling and he hates that, hates that so much. He coughs to cover it up, and takes another shaky breath. Jungkook grips the edge of the chair and plows on. “I can’t come with you to America—or at least. Not as much.”

Yoongi wipes his mouth and nods. 

“All of the opportunities for me are here, or they’re in Seoul. Being considered for BIFF right now is fucking insane, Yoongi. I’m so excited for that. But I’m more interested in making it, like, my actual job.”

“You should,” Yoongi speaks at last. “You absolutely should. Jungkook—Jungkook you’ve been with me the last three years as I chased my dreams. You deserve all the same chances. It’s your turn, you know? I understand. You want to find your people, your power. I really, really, want that for you too,” he reaches over and sets his hand on the table in front of Jungkook. “I’ll come with you. I’ll come with you to Seoul, I’ll stay in Busan. I’ve been so glad to have you by my side, and I want—“

“You don’t need to do that, Yoongi. I don’t want to stop doing what you love just so you can come with me. I want to keep doing you, and I can start doing me.”

“But I made you drop everything for me,” Yoongi says quietly, remorse in his eyes.

Jungkook covers the elder’s hand with his own and squeezes. 

“No, no you didn’t. I left my old job because I love you, and because that job has never been my passion. You were my passion. If you hadn’t taken me to America and around the country and everything, I never would have started video making so seriously. You inspired me, you motivated me. I want to show you that I can do something great just like you have, but I want to do it my own way.”

“Oh,” Yoongi frowns. But it’s not a sad frown, it’s a frown like his heart is burning up from how much emotion is charged between them. “Yes, yes. We could do it, couldn’t we? I mean—“

“Long distance would be scary,” Jungkook voices their shared worrry, “But it might be worth it.”

“It would be, Jungkook-ah. I’d miss you like hell, but it’d make our times together so sweet. And when we retire—“

Jungkook snorts and Yoongi squints at him.

“—when we retire we’re gonna have like fifty fucking years together. We have forever, Kook-ah.”

“But I don’t want to miss anything, you know? I’m scared I won’t be there to celebrate with you, or comfort you, or just be with you.”

“It would be the same for me,” Yoongi shrugs, sad but determined all the same. “I would miss you so much. But I could never let myself hold you back from achieving your dreams. You’ve done so much already, and I can’t even imagine what you could do if you dedicated your time to filmmaking.”

Jungkook nods, “I don’t know either. But I want to try at least, you know? Maybe it’ll be awful, or maybe I’ll be bad, but I don’t think I can let it pass by. I mean—what else am I going to do? I love what I’ve been doing, but I’m just at the start of it.”

“Ah,” Yoongi grins, “Your passion is so pretty.”

Jungkook snickers, “If I say—I just want to be a day player on a film set and call for last looks on the talent so we can get that shot during the magic hour—does that turn you on?”

“That’s so hot,” Yoongi says exaggeratedly and Jungkook laughs. 

“So—“ Jungkook grabs his chopsticks and clicks them together excitedly, staring at the platters of steaming Busan classics in front of him— “Where should I start?”

“The gukbap,” Yoongi answers, swooping into to eat more. “Definitely the gukbap.”

Ultimately, it doesn’t matter whether he and Yoongi are in love in every universe, whether they’re together in every universe. It doesn’t matter because they’re together in their own, and because their souls find each other regardless of their individual destinies and what dimension they reside in.

Jungkook doesn’t need to compare his life to anyone else’s, including another version of his own. 

His fears haven’t really been fears, they’re more like anxiety energy. And it’s his choice whether he uses that energy to grit his teeth, or directs that energy towards an outlet. In his case, filming and creating is his passion. It’s how he can process the world, and create visual representations of how he feels. It stores memories. And he likes to think that one day he and Yoongi will be able to look back onto them and reminisce over what was, without feeling sad that it has passed. There’s no point in clinging onto what was. Using it as fuel for the fire is the best way to honor your own mistakes and experiences. Your past self would want your future self to do and be better, and that’s exactly what Jungkook is trying to do.

Forgive himself for his decisions, because every choice he’s made has led him here anyway. Wherever he leaps, there will always be somewhere to land. Because isn’t that what destiny is?

A warning that yes, things will be hard. But a promise that it would be worth it. And Jungkook knows, and Yoongi knows, that when he says that their fates are intertwined—what he really means is that he will never let Yoongi go. When he said Yoongi would leave behind a legacy in music, he meant that Yoongi would touch the hearts of those who know him. And when Jungkook said he’s scared they’re not destined to be together in every universe, what he really meant wasn’t that he was terrified that there’s a universe that exists where he refuses Yoongi’s proposal, and they really never got married.

When Jungkook says that they’re soulmates, what he means is that—really—he believes that in every universe, in every timeline, in every world—they are happy. They are happy, they are together, and the details of how don’t matter.