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The Captain’s chair of the Starship Bangtan will always be the best place to stargaze. The command’s bay peripheral windows definitely worth the slight transgression of borrowing Captain Namjoon’s seat, with its 180-degree view offering a twinkling spectacle that still, after years of space travel, just takes Jungkook’s breath away every damn time.
Jungkook strums his guitar to a mindless beat, voluntarily not keeping track of how much time passes. It’s not like he’s planning on going back to bed anyway. He purposely chooses beats that are slightly more complicated than his talents permit. It keeps his mind busy. Far from the thoughts that woke him up in the middle of the night. Or what is considered night when the lights automatically turn to their lowest settings, making the closest stars shine their brightest, like a string of incandescent light bulbs.
The melody eventually shifts to a fingerpicking pattern remembered from an old Earth song. The eerie pattern echoed in the command room, a melancholic piece almost harmonizing with the occasional beeping of the navigation panel.
What were the words again?
“Remember me, love, when I’m reborn.” Jungkook’s soft singing fills the room.
And then something about a bird and a thorn. A shrike and a thorn. “As the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn.” But, for the life of him, Jungkook just can’t remember how the song starts. Or how it ends. If he could just remember the first phrase, then surely, he would remember the rest?
It’s such a beautiful song, though, this Jungkook remembers. He tries the pattern again and again, hoping instinct will stir up something from his memories like it usually does. No such luck, though. Jungkook continues to pluck the cords until it just doesn’t sound like it should. The words even farther from his mind than they were at first. He used to be able to play this one by heart.
Jungkook reaches for the control panel before stopping his movement half-way. The impulse to do a quick search for the lyrics halted by the knowledge that they’ve been outside of the Solar System for weeks now. He’s not sure how he could have forgotten, even for a second. Why he would allow himself to forget. The brief moment of peace it brought definitely not worth the pang of longing that punches him in the gut when reality sets back in.
“You’re an outlaw, you idiot.” His voice barely a murmur. There’s no such thing as Solar System Comms when you’ve fled to uncolonized space territory.
A laugh crawls out of his chest. The humourless sound quickly morphing into a small whimper. Jungkook realizes it’s the first time he’s allowed himself to say it out loud. Outlaws. That’s what they are now. Not soldiers. Not decorated fighters. These titles stopped meaning anything when their side of the war lost. When they had to flee their home like criminals. The seven of them just little specks of dust floating in infinite space. With no guarantee that they’ll ever find a civilization willing to take them in.
Jungkook discards his guitar, balancing it precariously against the nearest wall before slumping in the chair. There is no going back home. No way of getting close enough to their home database to search for stupid lyrics he used to know by heart. No way to connect to a communication line to know if his parents and brother were able to flee before that last strike on Earth.
The whisper of the automatic doors sliding open draws Jungkook out of his thoughts. He half-heartedly wipes the tears running down his cheeks as Jimin makes his way to him, balancing two cups of tea. He wordlessly gives one to Jungkook before sitting in his pilot chair, rotating it to face the windows and making a point not to mention Jungkook’s red-rimmed eyes. For a long while, they both look at the stars, the silence only broken by the sporadic sound of one of them sipping their cup of flowery infusion or a quiet sniffle coming from Jungkook.
Space has never felt so massive and unfamiliar as it does now.
“I was wondering when it would hit you.” Jimin finally breaks the silence, voice soothing and inviting conversation. “You’ve been scarily functional during the last couple of weeks.”
Jungkook scoffs. “Everyone seems pretty well adjusted to me.”
Jimin looks baffled. “We’re professionals, I’ll give you that. But do you mean to tell me it was normal for Yoongi to freak out when he spilled that last bottle of cold brew we had left? I mean, that shit is good, but not that good. He was practically hyperventilating.” Jimin turns back towards the starry view. “We all have our ways to cope. I cried myself to sleep that whole first week after we fled.” He adds in a low voice, his confession only for Jungkook and the stars.
Jungkook remembers Jimin’s puffy face. Even though Jimin looks better now, less sad, it makes his heart ache. Now that he thinks about it, it’s true most of the crew seemed to have lived the worst of it during the first weeks. There were loads of sudden outbursts and snappy retorts, instead of the usual familial banter. Jungkook had kept himself busy and blank, doing his job, working out and going through the motion as if on autopilot. Jimin would sometimes hover in the engine room, finding trivial excuses for being there. To give Jungkook a bottle of water, to tell him diner was ready. He usually left shortly after some meaningless small talk. Jungkook had continued his daily activities, seemingly unaffected, at the price of disconnecting from what was going on around him. Not once expressing how grateful he was to Jimin for caring and for checking up on him.
Jungkook wishes he had done more. That he’d noticed Jimin was struggling that much. Maybe if he’d spent more time hanging out with him, Jimin wouldn’t have cried himself to sleep every night. He wishes he could say he had been the same support as Jimin currently was for him.
“I’m fine, though.” Jungkook insists. He wants that sad look of empathy off Jimin’s face. “I was just mad at myself for forgetting the lyrics of the song I was trying to sing, and it’s not like I can search for it now.” Jungkook laughs weakly.
Wrong thing to say, clearly. Even though Jimin is still facing the blackness of space, Jungkook notices his shoulder tensing. “Whatever.” Jimin says. “If that’s how you want to play it.”
Jungkook’s not good at this. If he had a superpower, it would be to always have the perfect phrase to make Jimin smile and laugh.
“How did you know I was here?” Jungkook decides to change the subject.
“It’s my sixth sense. It told me someone needed a cup of tea to cry into.” Jimin’s sarcastic tone is less biting than Jungkook expected.
He doesn’t know what to answer. Jimin doesn’t wait for one and continues. “I can hear the footsteps of people coming in here from my room. I started noticing you often come here during the night. When the air converter stops running, I can hear you play guitar and sing.”
“Oh, I can be more quiet next time.” It must barely be passed five in the morning if he judges by the ship’s lights starting to gradually shine brighter. It’s gonna be a long day for Jimin.
Jimin twists in his chair to look at him with exasperation. “Jungkook. It’s fine. I like it. You can make all the noise you want. It won’t wake me up if I’m tired enough to actually be asleep. It’s just, like, been really uneventful for the last few days. I don’t have much to do. Too much time to think.” Jimin deflates and hangs his arms over the headrest. “Just don’t wake the Captain. He’ll kick your butt if he sees you in his chair.”
“He wouldn’t.” Jungkook smiles. For all the respect Jungkook has for Namjoon, he knows that’s not where his authority lies. “It’s not like he’s going to notice anyway. He’s not exactly a morning person.”
Jimin concedes with a small laugh. “Yeah, well, you might be right on that. Why do you always sit there, though?”
“It’s the best spot to see all the stars.”
“No, it’s not. My seat’s even better.” Jimin says with confidence.
Jungkook cocks his head, ready to argue.
“Come here.” Jimin takes the co-pilot’s place and taps his pilot seat invitingly.
Jungkook hesitates only for a second before obeying. It’s not something that they do. Get close to each other. It’s against protocol. But what does protocol mean when every power high enough to punish you has dissolved.
The seat is still warm from Jimin’s body heat, and that realization feels oddly personal. Jimin’s pilot chair is much more personalized than any other seat in the command bay. Maybe that’s why Jungkook never was bold enough to try it uninvited. There are little stickers around the dials, some figurines are glued to the dash. They must have sentimental value because the little bunny sitting beside the yellow chick are both made of cheap plastic. The lack of details on them laughable. Jungkook makes a note of finding something pretty to give to Jimin to add to his collection. Maybe he has something in his quarters. If not, he’ll have to look around to buy one when they reach some form of civilization.
Jungkook turns to find Jimin looking at him intently, his gaze is piercing. Sitting at the edge of the co-pilot seat, his face is barely inches from Jungkook’s. If Jungkook leaned over, he could easily reach Jimin’s lips with his own.
Jimin is the one who makes a move by covering Jungkook’s hand with his own. For a second, Jungkook can only marvel at how he can’t even remember when was the last time he was touched by someone else. With that kind of intent, especially. He knows what Jimin wants. He wants it too. But it feels like a lot of walls to shatter, all at once, in that one moment.
It makes Jungkook retreat quickly. Quick enough that his head makes a thumping sound when it hits the headrest. Too much of a coward to act on it. He removes his hand from the warm embrace to rest it safely on his thigh.
A look of disappointment flashed on Jimin’s face before he quickly schools his features, making a show of sitting back comfortably in the co-pilot seat. “Look up.” he says. Jungkook tears his eyes away from the plastic bunny and finally looks at the stars.
The view is indeed breathtaking. Jimin cheated a bit by activating the filters allowing the colouring of cosmic objects with multicoloured hues that would otherwise be invisible to the naked eye. It’s usually used for navigating, but with no particular destination in mind, they rarely use it anymore. The spectacle of countless stars and of a vibrant nebula right above their heads is stunning. It makes goosebumps travel on Jungkook’s arms and legs. Since he’s sitting closer to the nose of the ship, the windows go beyond Jungkook’s field of vision and completely envelop him like an immense blanket. It is indeed the best place to stargaze.
“We’re so tiny and alone.” Jungkook says with unplanned honesty. He hesitates but then continues his train of thought. It feels important right now to share with Jimin what’s really been on his mind. “It made me really sad earlier. That we’re so tiny. It feels okay now.” He doesn’t feel so alone anymore.
Jimin remains silent, seemingly happy to let Jungkook go on with his babbling. “We were just teens when we started this rodeo. It was so black and white back then. We were on the good side, and we knew what the rules were, and we woke up every day and did our job, non-stop, without ever looking back. Hell, we did it fucking well. I know it. I know it’s not why we lost the war.” Jungkook sighs. “It ended up so muddy, though. War makes people act like animals, whatever side you start on.”
“Maybe… Maybe, that’s what we need right now.” Jimin offers. “To be tiny and unimportant. We’re not part of anything bigger now.”
That’s all they have known so far, fighting and surviving. And somehow, they survived. Maybe it’s time the seven of them start living for themselves.
“I’m gonna stop cutting my hair.” Jungkook declares firmly. Screw protocols.
Jimin burst out laughing, hard enough that tears come streaming down on his cheeks. “That’s what you get from all of it?” He struggles to say between hiccups of laughter. “You want to let your hair grow?”
Jungkook can feel his cheeks turn red and hot, but Jimin’s laugh is contagious. A comfortable silence takes over once they’ve calmed down.
There a lot more he wants to do if he’s going to live for himself. If that’s all there is, after all. The possibilities are as endless as the shimmering spectacle before his eyes. There are so many choices to make, so many things to say, he can’t even put it into words right now. He doesn’t need to anyway. Not yet. For now, he knows that Jimin is by his side like he always has been, and it’s as good of a start as he could hope for.