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Jungkook's sprawled alone on the couch in the dark, pajama-clad legs hanging over the back cushions and damp hair splayed behind him, when the tang of ozone hits his nose. A rising whirr thrums behind him in the unlit room, then a sharp crack, and the air abruptly stills, stifling for the barest moment before relaxing back into its air-conditioned state of a late summer night spent indoors. All is the same, except there's an intake of breath that definitely doesn't come from Jungkook, and he knows he's no longer alone.
"Hyung," Jungkook says, not looking up from his phone, "it's August 29th."
"Fuck," Seokjin says, then, "I mean, this is absolutely intentional. I meant for this to happen. Yep."
Jungkook glances up at that, amused. Even in the dark, he can make out Seokjin's poker face, cheeks and plush lips lax in faux-nonchalance. Only his slightly widened eyes and the overly energetic movements his silhouette makes as he fumbles for the lightswitch betray his guilt.
The living room lights flicker on. Jungkook swings himself upright with ease, cheeky grin in place. "When'd you come from this time?"
Seokjin sighs, running a hand through his hair, and Jungkook notes the disheveled, slightly matted strands, the sheen of sweat on the older's neck. His black t-shirt is rumpled and half-tucked into his ripped dark pants—ending ment material. "Wrapped up a concert," he says vaguely, and Jungkook hears the unspoken one that hasn't happened yet underneath the opaque answer. "Just got to the hotel."
"And you came here before showering? Aw, hyung, I'm honored."
"Shut up," Seokjin huffs, striding forward with outstretched hands, "I'll hug you and then you'll be sweaty too, don't test me—"
Jungkook yelps, his bare foot snapping up to kick at the other's chest and push him away. "Ew, no, hyung I just got ready for bed, and these pajamas are freshly washed and smell great, come on!"
"Should've thought of that before complaining, brat! I came all this way after working my ass off on stage and this is how you thank me—?"
Sticking out his tongue, Jungkook gives one final shove before darting to the far end of the couch, letting Seokjin land face-first on the now-empty cushion with an oof. Instead of straightening to continue on his threat, Seokjin sighs into the upholstery, breath muffled, and lets his limbs go limp.
Jungkook pulls his knees close to his chest and stares at the back of Seokjin's head. "You good?"
"Mm. Just a little tired." Seokjin inches to the side, knees shifting on the floor, to get close enough to reach out and pat Jungkook's head. He threads his fingers through the younger's long, dark strands, the tips reaching so far that they brush his cheeks. Seokjin smiles when Jungkook leans into the touch, breathing out contentedly. "You really grew it out, huh."
Jungkook stills and glances up at Seokjin worriedly. "Wait, what? Do I not keep it?"
With his free hand, Seokjin mimes zipping his lips shut, and when Jungkook pouts in response, Seokjin laughs, a genuine staccato. He scoots closer. "You know, you've really grown up too, Jungkook-ah."
They fall silent and bask in the quiet for a time, Seokjin still running his fingers through Jungkook's damp but drying hair. The hum of the air conditioner runs steadily in the background, filling the room with a sterile but cool alternative to the muggy summer heat. The cicadas, with no such relief, drone their summer song outside the window. Jungkook closes his eyes, the LED light still faintly filtering through his eyelids, and savors the silent skinship and the comforting presence of his eldest hyung.
This break has been glorious and much-needed. Jungkook's missed moments like these anyway.
If he breathes slowly enough, he thinks he can imagine he's in the old dorm again, dog-tired from the day's practice and barely sixteen, lungs emptied and spent from another hour of vocal homesickness and self-doubt, nodding off under what had been Seokjin's unfamiliar yet soothing touch, light humming enveloping him in sleepy white noise.
You've really grown up, Seokjin had said. Jungkook absently wonders if Seokjin's taken a detour before this visit, stepped out of whatever frothy, multicolored temporal stream Seokjin calls his personal taxi to see that Jungkook, that wide-eyed, baby-faced him, because Seokjin's sentimental like that.
In what feels like an eternity yet also a mere seconds later, Seokjin's warm touch leaves Jungkook's forehead. Maybe it's all the same when you're used to weaving back and forth through the threads of time. (But Jungkook knows, from many an overheard late-night musing with Namjoon, that Seokjin's nonetheless determined to treat each and every second like a drop of gold.)
"Time's up," Seokjin says, a tad bit forlornly. He doesn't say how he knows, doesn't explain why he chose now of all times—or then, rather—to come.
Jungkook doesn't ask. "Oh," he says instead, not resentfully.
Seokjin briefly grasps Jungkook's shoulder, tight and comforting, before taking a casual step back. "Happy early birthday, BigHit Jeon Jungkook," he says brightly. "Tell the others I was first!"
Jungkook snorts, but beams nonetheless, sticking his hands under his thighs and rocking on the edge of the couch. "Thanks, hyung. See you soon."
Seokjin smiles fondly, the edges of his tightly pressed lips plushing his cheeks up, and he turns on his heel. Ozone thrums, the air stills, and when Jungkook blinks, Seokjin's gone.
Jungkook exhales and sits there for a moment, basking in the phantom sensation of fingers tangled in his hair. Eventually, he heaves himself to his feet and heads for the door, carpeted floor soft beneath his bare feet. In a few days, he knows, his phone screen will flicker with a flood of notifications and well-wishes, buzzing off his nightstand with the weight of his fans' support, his hyungs' love—but for now, he holds down the power button, smiles toothily, and switches off the lights.