Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jeongguk’s well familiar with the chaos of the green room: the overlapping conversations, the hum of the hair dryers, the low thump of the music as it plays from a portable speaker. Over the years, it’s grown to be something he doesn’t mind—it’s one of the many things he’s gotten used to after being an idol for so long—but there are still times when it all gets a bit…much. When the chaos is overwhelming and the noise is grating, there’s nothing more he wants to do than just go home.

“I want to go home,” he says.

Seokjin, who’s sitting next to him, yawns. “Me too,” he replies.

As an idol, there’s a lot of sitting around and waiting. A lot of being poked and prodded at too, and oftentimes these things happen concurrently. You’re bored and tired and waiting for the time when you actually get to do the fun part of your job and a stylist comes up to you to reapply powder and tuck a strand of hair that’s fallen out of place. Then you sit super still and wait so as you don’t make the stylist’s life harder, but somehow that same strand of hair falls out of place and there she is again, tucking it back in. Then you sit. And wait. And get prodded at. Rinse and repeat.

He isn’t sure what they’re waiting for now; they’d just finished the fan sign to promote their latest album, but it’s clear that their work day is far from over. Their stylists are still hovering and tucking strands of hair in, cameras are set up all around the green room, and Jeongguk’s pretty sure their manager is on the side arranging logistics for something.

Jeongguk frowns. “What do we have after this?” he asks Seokjin.

Seokjin wrinkles his nose as he thinks. “A…photoshoot,” he replies slowly. “I think we’re shooting in subunits.”

Oh, right. Jeongguk remembers hearing about something like that. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be with Jimin-hyung.”

“Lucky.” Seokjin stretches, yawning again. “I’m with Namjoon.” His head lolls off the couch and falls onto Jeongguk’s shoulder as his eyes grow half-lidded. He’s in prime neck-slicing position, and Jeongguk doesn’t resist the impulse.

“Hey,” Seokjin exclaims immediately, pulling away and slapping Jeongguk on the thigh. “You’re truly a brat, you know that?”

Jeongguk slaps him back. “Don’t fall asleep on me. I’ll leave you here if you do.”

“Why can’t you just carry me into the van?” Seokjin whines. He starts ranting, and the tone of his voice is enough to make Jeongguk start giggling. “After everything I’ve done for you—fed you, bathed you, brushed your hair, gave you the clothes off my back during the harsh Seoul winters—”

“You did not—”

“—and you can’t do this one thing for me? Just this one thing?” Seokjin tries to lean on Jeongguk’s shoulder again, but Jeongguk slides down the couch to avoid it. Which makes Seokjin lean even more, which then makes Jeongguk slide down even more. By the time they’re done Jeongguk’s sure they look ridiculous, bent almost ninety degrees in a strange position.

“Jeongguk-ssi, your hair,” Jeongguk’s stylist calls. That’s enough to have them both straightening up in their seats, trying their hardest to make sure their hair is still somewhat presentable.

Still, his stylist walks over and fixes his hair, brushing out the one strand of hair and tucking it firmly back into place.

“God,” Jeongguk says when she’s gone, looking around the green room. “What are we supposed to be doing right now? Where’s everyone else?”

Seokjin shrugs. “No idea,” he replies. “I think Jimin and Taehyung went off to explore or something.”

At that exact moment, the door to the green room opens, Hoseok and Namjoon spilling in. They don’t spare Seokjin and Jeongguk a glance as they move through the room, deep in conversation with each other. Namjoon says something that makes Hoseok laugh, doubling over and slapping Namjoon on the shoulder.

“Oh,” Seokjin says. “There’s Hobi and Namjoon.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Thanks,” he says sarcastically. “Definitely didn’t see them there.”

The door to the green room opens again, and this time it’s Yoongi who steps in. He’s got a stability brace clipped over his left shoulder, and he seems to be searching for something, his eyes darting around the room quickly. Unlike Hoseok and Namjoon, he freezes when his eyes land on Seokjin and Jeongguk, who are very obviously watching him. His slightly shocked expression settles into something impassive, and he averts his gaze, pretends he didn’t see them, and grabs his phone off the table.

Seokjin’s snort is derisive. “And there’s Yoongi,” he says. His tone is almost scathing. He lets his eyes slip shut after that.

Yoongi joins Hoseok and Namjoon, and Jeongguk watches them curiously, wondering what they’re talking about. It seems…important, Jeongguk deems, judging by how impassioned Namjoon seems to be. Important and fun. Maybe it’s the theme of their next album, or a discussion about a song they’re working on. There’s a part of Jeongguk that wants to wander over and join them.

The more rational part of him knows that there’s no real point to it. Those three haven’t shared anything with him in a long time.

The three of them don’t linger; it’s not long until they’re out the door once more, still deep in conversation. Once they’re gone, Seokjin breathes out a sigh and shifts around to find a more comfortable position on the couch.

“I need a nap,” he mumbles, then he slips a hand into his trouser pocket and pulls out a small, plastic packet of gummy worms.

It’s not unusual for Seokjin to have a packet of gummies; he often gets cranky when he’s hungry, and he’s recently taken to keeping one on him for long work days such as today. What is unusual is that he has one with him now. Jeongguk knows for a fact that he didn’t have any with him before the fan sign—their stylists are often adamant that they don’t keep anything in their pockets so as not to ruin the silhouette. He’s also been with Seokjin since they’d gotten backstage, so he knows that Seokjin didn’t grab one from their snack table.

Besides, Jeongguk doesn’t think this came from the snack table—it doesn’t look like any of the brands they usually get. The packaging is designed with black and purple whirls in the background, clearly intended to represent the galaxy, with white dots to symbolize stars. In the foreground, it features baby versions of the BT21 characters they came up with in 2017, looking lost and crying. It’s strangely pretty, and yet strangely surreal. The only way he can even tell that there are gummy worms inside it is through the small, gummy worm icon in the upper right corner.

Jeongguk peers at it curiously. “Where’d you get that?” he asks.

“Someone gave it to me,” Seokjin replies.

“Who, someone?” 

Seokjin shrugs. “Don’t know,” he says. “Just someone. Handed it to me from across the table.”

“From across—you mean a fan gave it to you?” Jeongguk sputters out. When Seokjin doesn’t reply, he continues speaking. “Hyung, we aren’t allowed to accept food from the fans.”

“Once won’t hurt,” Seokjin counters. “Besides, the fan that gave it to me was so sweet. She said she saw it and thought of me because the packaging is just as cute as I am.”

“Right,” Jeongguk says skeptically. He reaches out to grab it from Seokjin. “I don’t think it’s safe to eat that.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes, pulling it away from Jeongguk. “Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Poison.”

“You’ve been watching too many spy movies.” Seokjin holds out the package to Jeongguk, pointing at the ridges on the top. “Look. It’s sealed. How could they have poisoned it?”

“There’s probably a way.” Jeongguk ducks his head down to try and get a better look at the packaging. Tots , the label reads in thick, loopy cursive.  

He’s never heard of this brand before.

“Maybe—maybe you shouldn’t eat that,” Jeongguk says, feeling uncertainty rise in his chest. “You know, just to be safe.”

Seokjin stubbornly ignores him and rips open the bag. He carefully picks up a gummy worm and pops it into his mouth before Jeongguk can stop him, then holds the packet out to him. “Want one?”

Jeongguk blinks at the bag. “Uh, no thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Seokjin carefully selects another one and pops that into his mouth too, before slipping it back into his pocket. He lets out a quiet, happy moan. “Oh, wow, they’re good.”

There’s a weird, sinking feeling in Jeongguk's stomach. “You know if Namjoon-hyung finds out that you ate food that a fan gave you, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Which is why he never has to know.” Seokjin slides down the couch until his head is resting in such a way that it doesn’t mess up his hair. “Namjoon can be so annoying sometimes.”

“He’s our leader.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like he really cares,” Seokjin counters. “Like I’ll admit it, he’s good at being the group’s spokesperson, especially when we’re dealing with the company, but within the group, he’s just…” He trails off, shakes his head. “I think he only really cares about what Yoongi and Hobi think.”

There’s a slight edge to his voice. Jeongguk gets it though—he doesn’t remember the last time Namjoon had looked at him instead of past him. The same can be said for Yoongi and Hoseok, too; they all always look like they’re mulling something over, way too caught up in their thoughts.

“Anyway, it’s really not a big deal,” Seokjin finishes. He shuts his eyes after that, clearly signaling the end of the conversation.

Jeongguk huffs, turns his attention back to the room at large and tries to find something to do to pass the time. Jimin and Taehyung aren’t back yet, which makes him pout a little—those two are always good fun to play around with. Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon aren’t back either, but they’re pretty exclusionary with their conversations, so it’s not like it really matters if they’re here. Their managers seem busy, their stylists look tired. He could take a camera off one of their cameramen and film some things, but he finds that he’s a little too lazy for that right now.

So he turns back to Seokjin, intending to start up another conversation with him. But to his surprise, Seokjin isn’t there anymore. 

Instead, in his place is a child no older than five, staring at him with a dazed expression.

Jeongguk blinks. “Uh?”

For a moment, it looks as if the child can’t hear him. But then he shifts in his seat, blinking a few times like he’s just woken up from a daydream. The haze in his eyes clears off slowly.

Jeongguk looks around, but there doesn’t seem to be anybody keeping an eye on the child. In fact, nobody seems to have noticed the toddler, who’s somehow managed to sneak past their security team and the groups of people that follow them around on a daily basis. He tries to see if he can spot where Seokjin has disappeared to, but he’s nowhere to be found.

The child is now looking at him with wide eyes. “Um, hey,” Jeongguk begins awkwardly, unsure of what to do. “How’d you get in here? Where are your parents?” He looks down, and realizes that the child is sitting in clothes that are five times too large for him. “And your clothes…?”

The child just stares at him. Jeongguk stares back.

It’s weird, because the child looks strikingly familiar. Like, Jeongguk-sees-him-very-often kind of familiar. The longer Jeongguk stares at him, the more he’s convinced that he knows him—the sharp edges of his eyes, the slope of his little nose, the thickness of his lips all come together to form a face that he’s seen before.

In fact, he kind of looks like—

The child’s expression shifts, a hint of panic crossing his features. He looks around, taking in his surroundings, looks down and sees the huge clothes he’s comically wearing. 

And then his eyes fill up with tears and he lets out the loudest, highest-pitched wail Jeongguk’s ever heard.

Everyone in the room jumps, heads whipping around to look at the source of the sudden noise. But the attention only serves to make the child cry louder, voice getting shriller and tears flowing down his face. He grips the huge shirt he’s wearing with a fist; some part of Jeongguk’s brain registers that as Seokjin’s shirt, the same one he’d been wearing just a few moments prior.

Jeongguk’s brain short-circuits. There’s a conclusion to be made here, one that he’s having trouble making, simply because there’s just no way—

“Jeongguk-ssi,” one of their managers calls over the din. “Whose child is that?”

“He’s—” The child whimpers in an inhale, and then practically screams louder than his little lungs should allow him to. Jeongguk winces, and so does everyone else in the room. 

“Hey,” he says to the child, reaching out a hand in an effort to calm him down. But it’s the wrong thing to do; the child shies away from him like he’s been burned and jumps off the couch. He’s a little wobbly on his legs, but he manages to get his balance and breaks into a full sprint. He deftly avoids chairs and other people’s legs, and the shirt he’s wearing slips off his shoulders and falls to the ground, but he makes it to the other side of the room and crawls under the table.

And now there’s a tiny, naked, crying, Seokjin-lookalike child under the table. This has to be some kind of a prank. It has to be.

“Jeongguk-ssi?” the manager asks again, but Jeongguk ignores him, hopping to his feet and heading towards the table. The Seokjin-lookalike child has tucked himself into the farthest corner of the room curled up in a ball and continuing to cry bloody murder.

“Please stop crying,” he begs as he falls to his knees, trying to meet the child’s eye. “You’re okay, hyu—ah, Seokjin…? Seokjinnie…? Fuck.”

The Seokjin-lookalike child shakes his head, squeezing himself tighter into a ball.

“Where’d he come from?” one of their personal assistants asks, dropping down next to Jeongguk to try and help. “Where are his parents?”

Jeongguk just shrugs. 

There’s nothing child-friendly in the green room, so Jeongguk and a few stylists try to calm him down with numerous snacks. It doesn’t really work, because the Seokjin-lookalike child resolutely ignores them as he keeps crying into his knees. It’s a little heartbreaking to witness.

Eventually, the commotion draws in Jimin and Taehyung.

“Woah, what’s going on?” Jimin asks as soon as he enters, puzzledly looking around at the sudden chaos. “Why’s there a crying baby?”

“Jeonggukie made someone’s baby cry,” Taehyung replies, a teasing grin on his face. The expression fades as soon as he catches sight of Jeongguk’s face. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

Jeongguk feels at a loss for words. “Hyungs,” he panics. “Help me.”

At the sight of Jeongguk’s expression, Jimin and Taehyung immediately spring to action. They push through the crowd until they’re right next to him, dropping to their knees and peeking at the Seokjin-lookalike child underneath the table.

“What’s he doing here?” Taehyung asks, wide-eyed in surprise.

“Where are his parents?”

Jeongguk shrugs, focusing on shaking a bag of chips at Seokjin in an effort to distract him.

With three of them crouched down under the table, Jeongguk isn’t sure if they’ve made the situation better or worse. Jimin tries to sing him a lullaby, and Taehyung, notoriously good with kids, makes faces at him, occasionally speaking to him in a quiet voice. Their attempts are futile, though—the Seokjin-lookalike child stays resolutely crying.

“It’s not working,” Jimin says, and the Seokjin-lookalike child cries grow more and more distressed. “Fuck, what happened? What did you do?”

“Why is he naked?” Taehyung asks.

“I didn’t do anything!” Jeongguk replies. “And I don’t know why he’s naked! I–I was hanging out with Jin-hyung, and then he—and then the baby—”

It’s difficult to say I think that Jin-hyung might have turned into a baby out loud. Partly because the idea is ridiculous, and partly because Jeongguk’s still not a hundred percent certain that this isn’t some kind of hidden camera prank.

He tries to crawl under the table. But he hits his head, and the action makes the Seokjin-lookalike child look even more terrified, his eyes filled with fear as he regards Jeongguk. 

Jeongguk feels guilty. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he says, pitching his voice as calmly as he can. “I—look, we’re here to help you.”

“We’re friends,” Taehyung says. “Please stop crying.”

“What’s going on?” Namjoon’s voice floats in from the entrance of the doorway, and the three of them turn to find Hoseok, Namjoon and Yoongi standing by the doorway, looking confused by the commotion. “Why’s the child screaming?”

“I didn’t know someone brought a baby,” Hoseok says. “I didn’t see one the whole day.”

“There’s a child under the table,” Jimin explains. “We don’t know where his parents are.”

That makes both Namjoon and Hoseok’s eyebrows rise. “Where’d he come from, then?” Hoseok asks.

Jimin shrugs.

The Seokjin-lookalike child is practically hoarse now, a raspiness to his cries that wasn’t there earlier, but he’s still screaming, his pitch getting higher and higher. Any higher and Jeongguk’s sure all the windows in this building will shatter.

“Make him stop,” Yoongi says, wincing.

“We’re trying,” Jimin shoots back. He reaches out; the child only tucks himself further into the corner and keeps crying. “God. Please calm down, I—”

“The table,” says Taehyung. “Let’s move it.”

They push themselves to their feet and try to shift the table; the instant it moves the Seokjin-lookalike child immediately darts out from under it and makes a break for the open door. 

He’s so fast. Maybe it’s pure fear and adrenaline running through his veins, but he sprints at a speed that seems almost inhuman. He’s agile too, ducking away from outstretched arms, slipping under other tables. He zooms past Hoseok, and literally slides in between Namjoon’s legs.

But just as he’s about to reach the door, he’s scooped up by Yoongi.

“No!” he screams, and it’s the first real word he’s said today. “No, no, no!”

Yoongi keeps the toddler dangled in mid-air. It must be hell on his shoulder; already Jeongguk  can see the hint of pain seeping into Yoongi’s features, his confused expression slowly morphing into a wince. But still, Yoongi doesn’t put him down—he keeps the toddler aloft as he continues to wail, flailing his arms and kicking his feet out.

After a moment, he chokes on his own spittle, coughing long enough that he loses his momentum. He takes a deep breath, pries his eyes open, and then just…stops.

He and Yoongi stare at each other, at a loss for what to do next.

Jeongguk takes a moment to catalog his features. His face is all red from the crying and the running, tear tracks down his cheeks and snot dripping down his nose. He looks like a mess, but despite that, it’s so easy to see his resemblance to Seokjin. And it’s clear that Yoongi sees it too, because his expression shutters off, and the downturn of his mouth grows more pronounced. He looks away and tries to put the child back down.

And of course, in a non-surprising turn of events, the Seokjin-lookalike child starts crying again. “No,” he wails, his voice hoarse from use. “No, no, no!” 

“Hob-ah,” Yoongi hisses. “Take him.”

Hoseok steps towards him, but the child only struggles more. “No!” he says again. “No, no, no, no!” There’s power behind his kicks; Jeongguk sees Hoseok wince when his foot makes contact with his arm.

“Fuck.” Yoongi shakes his head, and in one swift movement, perches the screaming child on his hip. There’s a beat where the Seokjin-lookalike child just stops, processing what happened. Then, just like magic, all the energy drains out from him, and the Seokjin-lookalike child sniffles and throws his arms around Yoongi’s neck, wiping his face on Yoongi’s shirt.

Yoongi looks displeased. “What the fuck,” he hisses.

The Seokjin-lookalike child mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like bad word.

Yoongi, however, is undeterred. “Where is he?” he demands.

“Where is who?” Hoseok asks, confused.

“Seokjin-hyung.” Ah, of course Yoongi would immediately look for Seokjin. “He has some fucking nerve, bringing his secret child here, of all places.”

Taehyung blinks. “That’s Seokjin-hyung’s child?” he asks, getting to his feet and moving closer.

“Of course it is,” Yoongi replies, scoffing. “He looks exactly like him.”

“No way,” Hoseok adds, crouching down to peek at the child’s face.

“I didn’t know hyung had a son,” Jimin says, also getting to his feet. “He never mentioned anything.”

“Why would he?” Yoongi shoots back. “He knows something like this would fuck up our careers.”

There’s so much vitriol in his voice. If he’s being honest, Jeongguk doesn’t think they’re at a stage in their career where a rumor like this would cause everything they’ve worked for to crumble at their feet, although he’s sure that the fallout wouldn’t be good. Sometimes, he thinks that Yoongi just enjoys being provided an opportunity to be angry at Seokjin.

“Why did he even bring him here?” Yoongi continues, heated. “And why is he letting his son walk around naked?”

On Yoongi’s shoulder, the Seokjin-lookalike child turns to peek at the commotion, then immediately hides his face against Yoongi’s shoulder once he sees everyone staring at him. 

“Oh no, hey, it’s alright,” Taehyung coos. “We’re not angry at you. I told you, we’re friends!”

“Where’d Jin-hyung go?” It takes a minute for Jeongguk to realize he’s being spoken to, Jimin looking at him quizzically. “You mentioned you were hanging out with him, right? Where’d he run off to?”

It takes a moment, but Jeongguk finds his words. “I…I didn’t see,” he says carefully.

Jimin blinks. “You didn’t see him leave?”

“No, I…” Jeongguk casts a glance at the child who seems perfectly content in Yoongi’s arms, idly watching as Taehyung makes faces at him. He replays the last fifteen minutes in his head: he and Seokjin talking, Seokjin eating some sour gummy worms, Seokjin suddenly disappearing and being replaced by this lookalike child. 

The conclusion is glaring, but Jeongguk needs just a little bit more confirmation.

Shakily, he gets to his feet and heads back to the couch, picking up Seokjin’s pants from where they’d fallen to the floor. He digs through the pockets and manages to find the packet of sour gummy worms, flipping over the packet to inspect the label more closely.

Tots, it reads. Beneath it, a small byline: for baby fun and cuteness overload!

He looks up, feeling all the color drain from his face. About twenty pairs of eyes stare back at him, waiting.

It’s a little easier now to say the words. “Hyungs,” Jeongguk says, voice wavering. “I know you’ll think I’m insane, but I think…I think that child is actually Jin-hyung.”

They don’t believe him at first.

It takes ten minutes for Jeongguk to convince them to hear him out, and another twenty to detail the whole story. At one point, Jeongguk’s certain they don’t want to believe him; Yoongi keeps shaking his head at every word he’s saying, whereas Namjoon looks like he’s barely just holding himself from arguing. Their reaction makes Jeongguk a little resentful, and there’s a part of him that wants to grab them by the shoulders and shake them—Why would I be joking? Why would I lie about this?—but he refrains, just sticks to parroting the same story over and over again until his mouth feels dry and his eyes have filled with tears.

Eventually, they decide to organize a search party for Seokjin. Namjoon’s adamant that Seokjin just has to be around here somewhere, and he, Hoseok and Jimin go off to try and find him. Some of the staff join them in searching, whereas their managers speak with security to try and identify the fan that gave him the gummies. Jeongguk and Taehyung stay behind, and so does Yoongi, who looks unhappy with the fact that the Seokjin-lookalike child is clinging to him. Still, he doesn’t push the toddler away, and even helps Taehyung dress him up in one of Jimin’s spare shirts, holding him still as Taehyung ties knots in strategic places to cover all the bits that need to be covered. It’s still huge on him, but it’ll do for the meantime.

They’re not sure what to do for pants, though. Jeongguk prays to whoever’s up there that he’s at least potty-trained.

An hour later, they call off the search party. Their managers make a few phone calls, the rest of their schedules for the week get canceled, and the six of them head back to the dorms, Baby Jin-hyung in tow.

The state of their dorm is what can only be described as a mess, moving boxes and furniture askew, with clothes haphazardly thrown on every surface. It’s a consequence of moving out—disorganization is at its peak when everyone’s packing and sorting through their things, trying to figure out what to take and what to leave behind. There’s ten years’ worth of life within these walls; Jeongguk only hopes they can figure out how to pack all that before their lease ends. 

Namjoon almost trips over a packing box as he lets them all in, takes a few steps, then trips over another one. That tips over the box and sends the contents of it spilling, toys and figurines that Jeongguk’s pretty sure belongs to Taehyung.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, affronted. 

“Sorry.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, and immediately crouches down to start picking up his things. 

Honestly, Jeongguk’s a little relieved to be moving out. There’s barely any space left in the dorm, what with the amount of stuff they’ve accumulated over the years. Add to that how awkward it is nowadays to live with the other members; there always seems to be some weird, underlying tension in the dorm. In the beginning, it was somewhat manageable—it was only Seokjin and Yoongi who had a problem with each other—but over the years it grew, festered, made it so Jeongguk always felt like suffocating whenever he stepped out of his bedroom. Nowadays, it’s awkward for all seven of them to hang out in the living room together, to even take their meals together. It’s easier in little groups. It’s easier alone, even.

They’ve all got their own lives, their own interests, their own friends, and there’d been no more point to living together when they all started turning up to dance practice individually. When some days, there was just nothing for them to talk about.

Baby Jin-hyung had fallen asleep in the car on their way home, and despite the sudden commotion, he doesn’t even stir, his eyes shut and his breathing deep, his cheek pressed against Yoongi’s shoulder. There's a quiet, hurried discussion to put him in Seokjin’s dorm bed for the time being, and Jeongguk takes his time arranging Seokjin’s pillows around him so that he doesn’t accidentally roll off.

The longer he looks at Baby Jin-hyung, the more certain he gets. This is Seokjin. This has to be.

Back in the living room, the six of them settle on their giant sectional, the events of the day weighing heavily in their minds. The silence is so thick it’s suffocating, and Jeongguk feels a little like he’s choking.

Namjoon’s the first to speak. “So,” he says. “This is really bad.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok agrees slowly.

“He’s a baby,” Jimin says. “Our hyung is a baby.”

Namjoon pins Jeongguk with a gaze that makes him feel like shying away. “Jeongguk,” he says, “are you a hundred percent certain that’s what happened?”

Jeongguk resists the urge to stomp his foot. “Why would I lie about this?” he asks. “Hyung, why would I—do you really think I’d make this up?”

“I’m just saying, maybe you saw something wrong.”

“I know what I saw,” Jeongguk argues. “He was sitting right next to me, and then ten seconds later he was gone and in his place was a naked child who looked exactly like him.”

“Could it be some kind of hidden camera prank?” Jimin pipes up. “Something Jin-hyung set up to fuck with us?”

“If it was, I think Jin-hyung would’ve called it off as soon as he saw us panicking,” replies Jeongguk. “You know Jin-hyung. He’s silly, but he isn’t malicious. He wouldn’t draw it out for this long.”

Jimin deflates. “Yeah, I guess,” he says. “But it’s just so hard to believe. Something like this should be impossible.”

“But it happened,” Jeongguk insists. 

“But it’s impossible.”

“But it happened.”

“What Jimin’s trying to say,” Hoseok cuts in, “is that this isn’t really something that happens. In fact, it sounds like it came from a storybook.”

Jeongguk resists the urge to say but it happened, again just because he knows it’ll fall on deaf ears. Instead, he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, slumping back down on his couch.

“We need to figure out what to do next, then,” Hoseok continues. “If this is really him, I mean. If this is really Jin-hyung. He can’t stay like this.”

“Definitely not,” Namjoon agrees. “It’s—we need him back. We have so much work lined up, and we can’t do all that when he’s a toddler.”

“We’ve already had to cancel our music show appearance tomorrow,” Taehyung says worriedly. “And world tour rehearsals start next month. Plus all the interviews we need to do, all the photo shoots. We don’t—” He cuts himself off, takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what to do,” he finishes, his voice wavering slightly.

Jeongguk wishes he had something to say to comfort Taehyung, but he doesn’t know what to do either. None of them do. It just feels so crazy that this is something they have to deal with. That Seokjin, their eldest hyung, has just been transformed into a child.

“I think firstly,” says Namjoon, “we should tell Producer Bang. If anything, he can try to figure out a way to help us.”

“We should tell hyung’s parents, too,” Jimin volunteers. “I’m sure they’d want to know what happened to him.” 

“Definitely.” Namjoon’s eyes flicker with an idea. “Maybe he can even stay with them until this whole mess is sorted out.”

Jeongguk blinks. “You’ll give hyung back to his parents?”

“I mean, yeah,” Namjoon replies like it’s obvious. “We can’t keep him.”

“Why not?”

Namjoon blinks. “Because we have nowhere for him to stay,” he replies. “We can’t keep him in the dorm, our lease is ending. And I don’t think one of us would volunteer to care for him alone.”

“Plus a toddler requires whole-day supervision,” Hoseok adds. “And we do need to go back to work eventually. We can’t have two members of BTS missing because one is a toddler, and the other is spending the day taking care of him.”

“But…” Jeongguk trails off when all the others turn to look at him. He’d barely even said anything, and already they look skeptical—kind of like they can’t fathom the idea of keeping Baby Jin-hyung here longer than necessary. 

Jeongguk knows they have a point, but there’s a part of him that’s upset at how there was barely any discussion about it, at how the idea wasn’t even entertained. It’s Seokjin, after all. He’d been only nineteen years old when he took all of them under his wing, brought them food and kitchenware from his own home and drove them to school and back. The least they could do, Jeongguk thinks, is take care of him while he’s like this.

But he’s sure that the other members don’t even remember that about Seokjin. And even if he speaks up, it’s not like the others ever really listen to him. So Jeongguk just shakes his head mutely.

“I’ll get him some clothes,” Taehyung pipes up, pulling out his phone. “We can’t just keep him in Jimin’s shirt.”

“Good idea,” Jimin says, also pulling out his phone. “I’ll get him some toys. And maybe a car seat, just in case we need to bring him somewhere.”

“It’s settled then,” Namjoon declares. “We’ll tell both Producer Bang and Jin-hyung’s parents what happened. We’ll also discuss giving Jin-hyung back to his parents to take care of so we can head back to work.” He lets out a breath. “Hopefully we can figure out a way to turn him back.”

“And if we don’t?” Hoseok asks.

Namjoon purses his lips, shakes his head. “I don’t really want to think about that possibility right now, Hob-ah,” he says gravely.

Throughout this entire conversation, Yoongi hasn’t said a single word. He’s just sitting next to Jimin, gaze trained impassively ahead while everyone else discusses the situation. He doesn’t look like he’s listening. Or even thinking. He just stares blankly ahead, a little like he just doesn’t care.

He probably doesn’t, Jeongguk thinks. It’s not like he and Seokjin are friends. Their dislike for each other has hardened into something closer to hate, into something that manifests into snide comments and mutual disregard for each other. It’s been years since they’ve gotten along. Jeongguk doesn’t think they ever will again. 

Once, Jeongguk had asked Seokjin about what happened, curious about the abrupt change in their relationship. Seokjin had said, he’s just not who I thought he was, his tone polite, perfunctory, and inoffensive. But the look in his eyes told Jeongguk there was more to the story, that what happened hurt him deeper than he’d ever let anyone know.

“Okay,” Hoseok says, standing from the couch. “I’ll call hyung’s parents. Namjoon, call Producer Bang. The rest of you, just…keep an eye out for when he wakes up. We need to make sure someone’s always around in case something happens.”

Jeongguk sighs, feeling all his frustration from the day seep out of him. “Okay,” he says. “God, I hope he turns back soon.”

“Me too,” Taehyung says. “But, I mean, it could be worse.”

“How so?” Jimin asks.

Taehyung shrugs. “At least he isn’t hurt,” he says. At everyone’s skeptical look, he elaborates: “He ate random food someone gave him—things could’ve gone horribly wrong. Even though he turned into a child, at least he’s okay. Kind of.”

For some reason that gets a reaction from Yoongi, who abruptly gets to his feet. He doesn’t say a single word as he heads to his room, shutting the door behind him with a finality.

The silence he leaves behind is deafening. Nobody moves, unsure of what to do next. Jeongguk exchanges a glance with Taehyung, who looks confused about Yoongi’s sudden reaction.

“I’ll talk to him,” Jimin sighs, heaving himself to his feet. He follows Yoongi to the bedroom door he’d disappeared to, slipping inside without even knocking.

There’s a long pause. “Anyway, help me pick some clothes,” Taehyung says. He holds out his phone to Jeongguk. Jeongguk looks over, and he can’t help but smile amusedly when he sees Taehyung browsing on the kid’s section of the Thom Browne website.

“Okay,” he says, huddling closer to Taehyung to try and peek at the options. 

About an hour later, Jeongguk notices that Seokjin’s bedroom door is slightly ajar. When he looks closer, he spots Baby Jin-hyung hidden in the shadows, peeking through the open door. He shies away when Jeongguk approaches, but otherwise doesn’t burst into tears, which Jeongguk takes as a good sign. At least he’s calmer now.

“Hey,” he says, crouching down so he’s at eye-level with Baby Jin-hyung. He tries to make his voice as gentle and sweet as possible. “Did you have a nice nap?”

It takes a moment, but Baby Jin-hyung nods, the action stilted. He mumbles something Jeongguk can’t make out.

“What’s that?” 

Baby Jin-hyung’s ears turn red, and he shifts his weight from one foot to another. “Bathroom,” he says, louder.

“Oh!” Jeongguk tries not to let his disgust show on his face. “Um, here, let me help you.”

It takes a bit of maneuvering, mostly because Baby Jin-hyung is tiny and their toilet isn’t really made for toddlers, but Jeongguk eventually finds a way so that Baby Jin-hyung gets his business done. Thankfully he’s potty-trained, and as an added bonus, hygienic—he thoroughly washes his hands after—and really, Jeongguk will take any silver linings he can get.

He doesn’t really know what to do after Baby Jin-hyung’s bathroom run, so he takes him to the living room and plops him on the couch. He manages to find old episodes of Pokémon on Netflix, and it seems to be the right thing to do because immediately Baby Jin-hyung is riveted, posture straight as he keeps his eyes trained on the TV.

He’s actually kind of cute like this. Jeongguk sneakily snaps a photo and sends it to the group chat. 

the baby is awake and watching pokemon, he types. this is definitely jin-hyung, lol.

One by one, the other members emerge from their bedrooms, joining them in the living room. Even Yoongi appears, dragged out of his room by Jimin, whose curiosity is written all over his face. The sudden influx of people in the living room makes Baby Jin-hyung squirm, slumping against the couch and curling around the pillow. His discomfort is evident; luckily, Taehyung preempts any crying by sitting next to him and grinning.

“Hi,” he says, smiling sunnily at him. “Don’t worry, all the hyungs here are nice! We just want to be your friend!”

Yoongi coughs, clearly taken aback by the statement. “Hyungs?”

“Well, he is a toddler,” Hoseok muses. 

“But he was our hyung,” Jimin replies. “We should still show respect.”

“I don’t think this kid will understand if we call him hyung, Jimin,” Taehyung says. “In his brain, he’s still a child.” He cocks his head in thought, eyes curious as he regards Baby Jin-hyung. “How old are you?”

Baby Jin-hyung looks like he doesn’t want to answer. “Three,” he mumbles.

“I’m twenty-eight,” Taehyung replies, grinning encouragingly at him. “My name is Taetae-hyung! What’s your name?”

“…Jinnie.”

“Do you know your full name?” Namjoon presses.

Baby Jin-hyung looks around the room, and notices everyone watching him. The tips of his ears turn red. “Kim Seokjin,” he mumbles.

“So it really is him,” Jimin says, awed. 

“I told you,” replies Jeongguk.

Baby Jin-hyung’s brows draw inward, confused and a little uncertain at the turn of the conversation. It’s clear that he wants to bolt and hide once again, so Jeongguk smiles as sweetly as he can, nudging him gently to catch his attention.

“Hello,” he says when Baby Jin-hyung turns to look at him. “I’m Jeongguk. Hyung,” he adds belatedly. “Jeongguk-hyung.”

It’s a little weird referring to himself as hyung to the (future?) person who used to take care of him, back when he was still a teenager and new to Seoul.

Yoongi seems to think so too, because he mutters, “This is so weird,” loud enough for everyone to hear.

Everyone ignores him. 

“I’m Jiminie-hyung,” Jimin says, giving him a small wave.

“Ah, and I’m Namjoon-hyung,” Namjoon adds, smiling.

“And I’m Hobi-hyung!” Hoseok exclaims happily. “We’re all very excited to meet you!”

Hoseok’s energy makes Baby Jin-hyung smile faintly. His eyes flicker to Yoongi, who still looks displeased—his arms crossed and his mouth downturned. 

And Jeongguk isn’t sure if he’s imagining things, but something in Baby Jin-hyung’s expression changes as he takes in Yoongi. His eyes get rounder, his face grows more open; he kind of looks like he’s hanging off every single one of Yoongi’s (non-existent) words.

Hoseok elbows Yoongi. “Hyung,” he hisses. “Come on. He’s only three years old.”

Jeongguk can physically see Yoongi resist the urge to roll his eyes. He does, however, turn back to Baby Jin-hyung, and Jeongguk can see his expression immediately soften.

“Hello,” he greets. He sounds stiff, but kind of like he’s trying to be, tamping down a gentleness that comes naturally to him. “I’m, ah, Yoongi.” He winces when Hoseok elbows him again. “Yoongi-hyung. God, this is really so strange.”

And despite Yoongi’s stilted introduction Baby Jin-hyung absolutely lights up, his grip on the couch cushion loosening. “Hi,” he replies. He points to the TV, where Pokémon is still playing. “Do you like Pokémon?”

Yoongi startles, clearly taken aback by the reaction. Jeongguk blinks, also surprised—he’s never known Seokjin to react that warmly to Yoongi.

Hoseok squeals. “Oh my God, he’s so cute,” he says. He raises his hand. “Me! I like Pokémon!”

Baby Jin-hyung pays him no mind. He just keeps staring at Yoongi, who looks unsure about what to do with this sudden attention.

Finally, he speaks. “Yeah,” he says. “I like, uh, Charmander.”

Baby Jin-hyung grins. “Me too!”

“Um, so Jinnie,” Jimin interrupts, calling Baby Jin-hyung’s attention from Yoongi. “Now that we’re all friends, do you want to hang out with the hyungs for a bit?” Baby Jin-hyung nods. “Are you hungry? Do you wanna eat something?” A pause, and then Baby Jin-hyung nods again, looking shy. 

“But what are we going to feed him?” Namjoon asks, tone worried.

That’s a good question. “We have some ramen in the kitchen,” Jeongguk replies. “I guess can make him some.”

“Can toddlers eat ramen?” Hoseok wonders.

“I don’t see why not. It’s food. It’s edible.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s good for babies.”

“He’s not technically a baby though,” Taehyung pipes up. “He’s just in the form of one.”

“See,” Namjoon says, “that’s still something we need to confirm—”

Yoongi’s sigh is loud, and it cuts off Namjoon’s train of thought. He pushes himself onto his feet, looking a little like he’s just bitten into a sour lemon. “I’ll see if I can make him something,” he says, and then heads off to the kitchen. 

There’s a moment, and surprisingly, Baby Jin-hyung crawls off the couch, lands on his feet, then runs off to follow where Yoongi’s gone.

“Yoongi-hyung?” Jeongguk hears Baby Jin-hyung say from the kitchen. “I wanna help!” And either Yoongi doesn’t reply, or Jeongguk doesn’t hear him reply.

But when Jeongguk walks into the kitchen a few minutes later, just to check if Yoongi needs any help, he finds Baby Jin-hyung standing on a chair by the stove, eyes wide as he watches Yoongi sautée some rice.

Dinner ends up being six packets of ramen and a side of kimchi fried rice, and it’s barely enough for everyone. Still, they make do, portioning out the ramen and leaving most of the kimchi fried rice to Baby Jin-hyung as they sit at their dinner table. 

The entire experience is strange. It’s been a while since all seven of them have eaten together like this, and it’s evident in ways no one really thinks about—elbows awkwardly bumping and hands accidentally reaching for the same thing across the table. The funny part is that Baby Jin-hyung doesn’t actually notice; he just happily eats his kimchi fried rice all while trying to make conversation with Yoongi.

They’re not sure what to do with him after dinner—don’t toddlers have to follow some sort of schedule or something?—so they bring him back to the living room to play. Jimin goes into Seokjin’s room to try and find something for Baby Jin-hyung to play with, and comes back with an RJ plushie he’d unearthed from one of Seokjin’s packed boxes.

“This is so weird,” Namjoon mutters as he watches Jimin explain to Baby Jin-hyung that RJ’s an alpaca who ran away from his family in Peru, and that he gets angry whenever he gets dirty. Baby Jin-hyung is listening intently, nodding every so often like he understands. “He’s literally Jin-hyung, but, like, littler.”

Jeongguk gets it. It’s a little unnerving to watch a toddler and recognize Seokjin’s exact same mannerisms—the way he moves his arms, the expressions that cross his face. In the short time they’ve had him, Baby Jin-hyung has already pulled a few faces that made Jeongguk pause, made him want to curl into a ball and cry because that’s his hyung. Every single time, he’d shaken it off, tried not to think about it too much.

“And with a strange fondness for Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok adds, something knowing in his voice.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Baby Jin-hyung calls at that exact moment, pushing himself up onto his feet. He’s holding RJ by the arm, and it’s a little amusing—if not devastating—how little he actually is, arm raised carefully just so RJ’s feet don’t touch the floor. “Yoongi-hyung, RJ needs to go to school!”

Yoongi’s attention is fixed on Baby Jin-hyung. “Does he?” he asks. There’s a strange expression on his face—kind of like he wants to smile but is actively stopping himself from doing so. 

Baby Jin-hyung nods. “Yeah, but he has to—he has to take a bath first,” he says seriously. “He needs to be clean so he’s not mean to his classmates!” He places RJ on Yoongi’s lap. “Can you help me?”

“But doesn’t that mean that Jinnie isn’t actually Jin-hyung?” Taehyung asks Hoseok. “I mean, he likes Yoongi-hyung a little too much to be Jin-hyung, don’t you think?”

Jeongguk sighs loudly. “I told you, he is Jin-hyung,” he says, for what seems to be the hundredth time today. “He literally—look, he said his full name was Kim Seokjin earlier. Why would a three-year-old lie about their identity?”

Taehyung considers that. “Still doesn’t explain why he likes Yoongi-hyung so much,” he eventually says. He gestures to where Yoongi is now patiently pretending to give RJ a bath, Baby Jin-hyung standing next to him pretending to hold some shampoo while bossily dictating what he should do next. “Aren’t they, like, mortal enemies?”

“Yeah, but they were friends before.” 

“Ages ago.”

“I mean, he probably doesn’t remember disliking Yoongi-hyung,” Jeongguk says. “Or, I don’t know. Maybe he just thinks Yoongi-hyung is cute. Toddlers are weird like that.”

Taehyung mulls that over. “I guess.”

When Jeongguk looks over at Hoseok, he finds the latter with a weird expression on his face—kind of like he’s holding himself back from saying something. He drops the expression and grins when he catches Jeongguk staring, but even still Jeongguk can see a slight edge to the curve of his lip.

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “Toddlers are weird.”

“This is weird,” Namjoon says again, still looking like he’s about to have an existential crisis.

“We know, Namjoon-hyung,” Taehyung says, exasperated.

Eventually, Baby Jin-hyung gets a little whiny, and there’s a unanimous decision to put him to bed. Jimin tries to bring him to the bathroom to get ready for bed, but he fusses, extending both arms out towards Yoongi in what’s probably the universal please pick me up gesture. Yoongi hesitates, but when Baby Jin-hyung starts to whine some more he gives in, stepping forward to take him from Jimin.

Once Yoongi and Baby Jin-hyung have disappeared into the bathroom, Namjoon slumps down on his seat, scrubbing a hand down his face. “This is wild,” he says, mostly to himself. “I—fuck, I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

Something about Namjoon’s despair resonates with Jeongguk, dredging up a sadness that’s been slowly building throughout the day. Seokjin, their hyung, is a baby, and none of them know how to turn him back. No one has any answers, or any ideas; this is something way beyond their capabilities. 

Jeongguk thinks back to the events of the day, remembers the last conversation he had with Seokjin before he de-aged. It upsets him to think that he may not ever be able to speak with Seokjin—his hyung, the person who took care of him when he first moved to Seoul—ever again.

Jimin rejoins them on the couch, squeezes himself into the space between Namjoon and Taehyung. “When are hyung’s parents coming?” he asks.

“Tomorrow,” Hoseok answers for Namjoon. “Namjoon will be meeting Producer Bang tomorrow, too.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon exhales. Jeongguk watches him shut his eyes. “Let’s just hope he knows what to do.”

Jeongguk swallows. “Yeah,” he says.

No one says anything for a while. Jimin has curled into Taehyung, evidently thinking, while Namjoon and Hoseok seem to be having a telepathic conversation. Jeongguk feels sad, feels empty, feels alone—with no one to talk to, no one to comfort him.

“I’m gonna see if Yoongi-hyung needs any help,” Jeongguk says, and heads off before he can burst into tears.

Chapter Text

Taehyung wakes up the next morning to the sound of screaming.

For a moment, he ignores it, burrowing back under his duvet and squeezing his eyes shut. He’d been having a fantastic dream—the kind that’s long and immersive, filled with insane plot twists and heightened emotion. In his dream, he’d been a knight of some sort, journeying around the world alongside his dragon companion named Yeontan. He’d been on his way to face his arch nemesis Jeon Jeongguk, who’d been terrorizing the kingdom by cursing the beloved Prince Jimin into turning into an ogre every full moon. There was going to be some gunslinging. Some sword fighting. And of course, cake for the winner.

He’s just about managed to drift off when the screaming starts up again. 

”No!” a shrill, high-pitched voice yells at the top of his lungs. “No, no, no, no! I don’t want to!”

It takes a moment for him to place the voice, and another moment to remember the events of yesterday. 

So that was real, he muses, pushing himself to a sitting position on the edge of his bed. Seokjin really did turn into a baby.

Either that, or someone’s just stolen a screaming child. Both equally terrible options. 

The screaming gets even louder. Taehyung’s hung out with his younger cousins before—he’d been in charge of babysitting them when their parents had all gone to the market—so he knows the warning signs of a full-blown tantrum. So with a sigh, he heaves himself onto his feet, wrapping his blanket around him like a cloak. He stumbles out of the bedroom, deftly avoids tripping on some packing boxes in the living room, and follows the sound of yelling to the kitchen, where there appears to be some sort of standoff happening between Hoseok, Jeongguk, and the child who is apparently Seokjin.

“What’s going on?” he asks through a yawn. “Why are you yelling so early in the morning?”

Hoseok and Jeongguk turn to him, desperate expressions on their faces. 

“Hyung,” Jeongguk says desperately. “Help us.”

“We’re trying to get Baby Jin to eat his lunch,” Hoseok adds, equally desperate. “But he’s—”

“I don’t want to,” Seokjin—or, well, Jinnie—whines, slumping dramatically on the table. He’s still wearing the shirt they fashioned for him yesterday, and the knots are coming loose. “I’m not hungry.”

At least he’s warmed up to them enough to be dramatic and demanding. 

“What time is it?” Taehyung asks.

“Just a little past noon,” Jeongguk replies. “He’s been up since six in the morning and hasn’t eaten anything since.”

That’s a little worrying. Taehyung takes the seat next to Jeongguk, eyeing the sandwich cut into halves on the plate and the juice box sitting next to it. Must be the lunch they’re trying to feed Jinnie.

“Where’s everyone else? Where’s Jiminie?”

“Still asleep,” Hoseok answers. “No idea where Yoongi-hyung and Namjoon went, though. Maybe to the office.”

Taehyung sighs quietly. Guess it’s up to him, then. 

He pulls the plate with the sandwich closer to him, bending down a little so he can meet Jinnie’s eye. Even at just three years old, he already seems averse to eye contact.

“Jinnie,” he says, doing his best to speak to him gently yet authoritatively. “Listen to hyung. You need to eat.”

“But I don’t want to!” Jinnie shoots back. “I want to watch Pokémon!”

From his other side, Hoseok snorts. “Thanks, Jeonggukie, for introducing a three-year-old child to the wonders of Netflix binge-watching.”

Jeongguk stomps a foot, affronted. “What else was I supposed to do? He was awake early and bored.”

“Oh, I don’t know, take him to the park, maybe?”

“But what if someone sees us?”

Taehyung ignores their argument. “Eat first,” he tells Jinnie, “then you can watch Pokémon later.”

“No,” Jinnie insists stubbornly. “I want to watch now.”

His expression reminds Taehyung of Seokjin whenever their managers stop him from doing something—the same pronounced pout, the same furrowed brow, the same angry eyes. The striking similarity catches him off-guard for a moment, and he blinks, a little unnerved.

He definitely needs some time to get used to this.

“You can’t watch when you haven’t eaten,” Taehyung tells him, his voice wavering slightly. He takes a deep breath to collect himself. “Here. You’ll be able to watch sooner if you just eat. Open wide, here comes the airplane—”

“No!” Jinnie screams, bodily throwing himself sideways so he’s as far away from the sandwich as possible. “No, no, no, no! I don’t like you!”

“Remind me never to have kids,” Hoseok comments dryly.

Taehyung puts down the sandwich. “You need to eat something,” he says, frowning. “What do you want? Rice? Eggs? Ramen?”

“I’m not hungry!”

“You want samgyupsal? Jeonggukie-hyung can make you some samgyupsal.”

“I already offered,” Jeongguk says at the same time Jinnie screams, “No! Pokémon only!”

Taehyung resists the urge to roll his eyes. He never would’ve thought that Seokjin was such a difficult child. “What, should we just eat the Pokémon then?”

At that, Jinnie’s pout grows even more pronounced, and there’s a look in his eye that tells Taehyung he’s horrified at the idea. Taehyung winces, braces himself for the inevitable crying; he didn’t mean to make Jinnie cry, he was just getting a little frustrated—

But the tears never come, because at that exact moment, Yoongi pops his head into the dining room. “Why is there screaming?” he asks, looking annoyed. He doesn’t give anyone the time to answer. “Also Taehyung, a bunch of boxes just arrived for you.”

Taehyung brightens. “Oh, that must be Jinnie’s clothes! And some toys I bought for him!”

“I thought Jimin bought him the toys.”

“I bought him some too!”

“Yoongi-hyung!” In the blink of an eye, Jinnie is out of his chair, hurtling the length of the dining room and attaching himself to Yoongi’s leg. “Yoongi-hyung, I don’t like them! They’re mean!”

“Hey!” Jeongguk protests. “We didn’t even do anything!”

Jinnie shakes his head. “Mean,” he repeats. He hides further behind Yoongi, occasionally peeking out to shoot them a glare. He’s acting like he’s been personally victimized by a sandwich.

Yoongi just blinks at them, then down at Jinnie, confused by the sudden turn of events.

“What’s going on?” he hedges slowly. 

“Nothing,” Hoseok replies. “The little brat just won’t eat.”

“I’m not a little brat!” Jinnie yells.

Yoongi’s expression grows even more confused. “Maybe he’s not hungry?”

“He hasn’t eaten a single thing since six in the morning,” Jeongguk says. “I don’t think starving is good for child development.”

Taehyung resists the urge to chime in with technically, he’s a thirty-year-old man, mainly because he doesn’t think it matters, nor does he think it will solve anything. Instead, he keeps silent as Yoongi walks into the dining room, a strange expression crossing his face when he spots the sandwich.

“Is that what you’re feeding him?” he asks.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “I offered to make him samgyupsal too, but he refused.”

“I don’t want samgyupsal,” Jinnie calls, petulant and pouty.

Yoongi lets out a sigh. “Seokjin,” he chides, turning towards Jinnie. Jinnie just blinks up at him, puppy-eyed like he hadn’t just been terrorizing three grown men with his high-pitched screaming.

Yoongi shakes his head, and he goes over to Jinnie and scoops him up without even a word. Then he walks back into the room and immediately plops him down onto the dining chair.

“Stay here,” he tells Jinnie. He disappears into the kitchen.

It soon becomes blatantly apparent that Jinnie likes Yoongi more than the rest of them because he actually listens. He stays put, sitting quietly in his chair and kicking his feet out as he waits for Yoongi to return. He almost looks like the polite, mannered child Seokjin always boastfully claimed he was—one who would sit quietly while the adults were talking and do as he’d been told.

Taehyung’s never going to believe any of the lies Seokjin tells him about his childhood ever again.

Yoongi’s only gone for about ten minutes, but when he returns, he’s carrying a small, steaming bowl in his hand. The smell tells Taehyung it’s samgyetang, probably a leftover someone brought home, and it must be something Jinnie likes because he perks up at the sight of it and clambers to his knees excitedly when Yoongi sets it down in front of him.

“Careful,” Yoongi warns. “It’s still hot.” Then he goes back to the kitchen.

He returns with a bowl of rice and some chicken shredded on a plate. Then he uses a spoon to scoop out some soup onto the rice, mixing them up together.

He tastes it a few times, blowing on it to ensure it isn’t too hot. Once he decides it’s okay, he hands Jinnie the spoon.

Jinnie immediately starts eating the food.

“Oh my god,” Hoseok says, awe in his voice, “He’s eating.”

“Thank God,” Jeongguk mutters in reply. “I had half a mind to let him starve.”

There’s a part of Taehyung that’s ecstatic that the screaming has finally come to an end, but first— “How’d you know to feed him that?” he asks Yoongi.

Yoongi shrugs, pulling the forgotten sandwich towards him. He picks up a half and takes a bite of it, chewing before he speaks.

“Jin-hyung likes samgyetang,” he says. “I had some left over, and I thought he might like it. Besides, Jin-hyung doesn’t like sandwiches. He never eats them.”

That’s news to Taehyung. “Oh,” he says. 

“Yeah.”

They’re silent as they watch Jinnie eat. Yoongi finishes his half of the sandwich. There’s a bit of a weird look on his face, his expression oscillating between repressed smiles and little frowns. 

There’s a part of Taehyung—impulsive, reckless, and just the slightest bit daring—that tells him to press further, push harder.

“How’d you know Jin-hyung doesn’t like sandwiches, though?” he asks before he can talk himself out of it. “I thought you didn’t like Jin-hyung.”

There’s an abrupt silence. Jeongguk seems to have frozen from where he’d been reaching for the other half; Hoseok looks like he doesn’t even dare breathe. Only Jinnie seems to be oblivious to the sudden tension in the room, heartily chowing down on his food like he’d been starving all along. 

“Yummy,” he declares and clumsily dips his spoon into the soup.

Yoongi’s expression is neutral, but very slightly teetering towards anger. “I just noticed,” he says, and the tone of his voice tells Taehyung to drop it.

Hoseok lets out a quiet breath. Jeongguk resumes taking the sandwich.

Yoongi wasn’t always like this, Taehyung thinks as he waits for Jinnie to finish his meal. In fact, back when they were just starting out, Yoongi had been a much happier person—he smiled a lot more and even joined in on playing pranks with the rest of them. He’d been more open with his emotions, and he and Seokjin were so close they were practically joined at the hip. 

Back then, Seokjin was always making Yoongi laugh. They both had a lighter, freer aura to them, like they had nothing to worry about. 

But then they fought. Badly, Taehyung assumes; eight years later and things still haven’t gone back to the way they were before. Yoongi’s closed-off and angry all the time, and Seokjin does his best to act cheerful but Taehyung can tell that it takes a lot out of him. And despite Taehyung’s best efforts at finding out, no one wants to tell him what actually happened.

Jinnie drops his spoon onto the bowl with a clatter. “I’m full,” he declares. He reaches for his juice box and takes a sip. “Can I watch Pokémon now?”

“Clothes first,” Yoongi says. He turns to Taehyung. “You said those were his clothes that arrived, right?”

“I think so,” Taehyung replies.

“Go with Taehyung-hyung, then,” Yoongi tells Jinnie. “He‘ll help you pick an outfit. Then you can watch Pokémon, okay?”

“But can you watch with me?” Jinnie asks, two tiny hands reaching out to grab at Yoongi’s larger one. “And can you—can you wait for me before you press play?”

“Can I watch with you, too?” Hoseok asks.

Jinnie takes a moment to think about it. “Okay,” he allows. “I like you now. But I’m gonna sit next to Yoongi-hyung!”

Yoongi looks a little taken aback, almost like he’s unsure what to do with all this three-year-old attention. “Um, sure,” he tells Jinnie, voice stilted. “I’ll watch with you.”

Jinnie beams. “Yay!” He climbs down from his chair and tugs frantically at Taehyung’s shirt. “Taehyung-hyung, let’s go!”

Taehyung resists the urge to squish him. “Alright,” he says, unable to resist a laugh. An idea crosses his mind. “Race you there.”

“No, he just ate!” Hoseok protests. But it’s futile—Jinnie squeals, clearly excited about a race, and immediately darts off as fast as his spindly legs allow him. Taehyung shrugs at Hoseok, amused, picks up his blanket, and follows.

The clothes are adorable. Taehyung takes great delight in unboxing them all, gasping every time he pulls something new out. He lays them all out on the bed, matching items together, and by the time he finishes, he has seven different outfits for Jinnie to wear, complete with hats, jackets, socks, and shoes.

“Oh, my God,” Taehyung gasps when he finishes putting the first outfit on him. “You look so cute—wait let me get a photo—”

Jinnie keeps still as Taehyung puts him in the first two outfits, but he grows bored by the third. 

“I wanna watch Pokémon,” he whines. He tries to shrug the jacket off.  “I don’t wanna wear this. It’s hot.”

“Wait,” Taehyung says, aiming his camera at him. “Keep that on. Five seconds.”

Jinnie only lasts three.

“Okay, okay.” Taehyung quickly pockets his phone, picking up the jacket from where Jinnie had angrily shucked it off. Jinnie seems to be against the shirt too, because he’s currently battling with it; Taehyung has to reach over and help him pull it off his head. 

“You can’t go out without a shirt though,” Taehyung points out before Jinnie can run off. “You have to wear something.”

Jinnie heaves the loudest sigh he can muster from his little body. It makes him sound closer to the thirty-year-old man he’s supposed to be.

“Hey,” Taehyung scolds. “Respect your elders.”

Jinnie ignores him, turning to inspect the rest of the clothes. It’s clear he’s not interested; Taehyung watches as his eyes pass over some of the cuter shirts Taehyung had bought for him.

But then his attention falls on a Thom Browne sweater Taehyung had laid out on the other end of the bed, slightly hidden because Taehyung didn’t quite like it, and suddenly, he perks up in interest.

“Fish?” he asks, pointing to the little whale fin detailing stitched onto the shirt.

It’s a sweater that’s similar to one that Seokjin already owns. “Yeah,” Taehyung says, feeling a sudden pang in his chest. “It’s a whale, actually. Do you wanna wear that?”

There’s a pause, and then Jinnie nods.

“Okay.”

Taehyung helps him get dressed. Jinnie stays perfectly still, letting Taehyung pull his arms through the sleeves. Once done, he breaks out into a small smile, tucking his chin to his chest to look at the whale detailing better. 

The simple, yet overwhelming happiness on Jinnie’s face makes something clench in Taehyung’s chest, the feeling of missing Seokjin crashing into him like a wave. Seokjin had always found joy in the smallest things, and it’s equal parts comforting and upsetting to look at Jinnie and recognize that same trait in him. It’s difficult to wrap his head around the fact that Seokjin is here, but he isn’t really; that those are Seokjin’s habits and mannerisms, but it isn’t him, exactly. 

He shakes it off. “Come on,” he says, holding out a hand for Jinnie to take. “Let’s go show Yoongi-hyung your fish.”

Jinnie seems overjoyed by the prospect, completely bypassing Taehyung’s hand and running off to the living room. When Taehyung manages to catch up, he sees Jinnie already standing in front of Yoongi, who’s sitting with Hoseok, Jeongguk, and a newly-woken-up Jimin on the couch.

“Yoongi-hyung, look!” Jinnie says excitedly, puffing his chest out. “I have a fish!”

There’s a moment where Yoongi just takes in Jinnie’s outfit, a quick flicker of pain crossing his face when he recognizes the sweater. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “You do.”

“He chose it himself,” Taehyung tells him, making his way to sit next to Jimin. Instinctively, Jimin curls into him, throwing his legs over Taehyung’s.

Jinnie just beams at that, climbing up onto the sofa and onto Yoongi’s lap. Yoongi grunts, surprised at the action, but Jinnie isn’t deterred—he arranges himself so that he’s seated comfortably on Yoongi’s thighs, leaning his tiny body back onto Yoongi’s chest. 

“Jeonggukie-hyung said there was going to be a Charizard,” he says, as if he’s imparting deep wisdom. “A big one.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah! A big and–and scary one!” Jinnie raises his hands over his head to demonstrate the size of this Charizard. “Jeonggukie-hyung said he was going to eat all the people!”

Yoongi’s eyes crinkle in the corners even though his face is all pinched up, kind of like he’s stopping himself from smiling. “I thought Pokémon don’t eat people.”

“It’s mean,” Jinnie says, like that answers all the questions.

“I see.”

Beside him, Jimin shifts, enough that he can rest his head against Taehyung’s shoulder. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice just low enough that neither Jinnie nor Yoongi can hear.

Taehyung takes stock of himself. “Yeah, fine.”

“How’s Jinnie been?”

“Good. A bit whiny,” Taehyung adds. “Honestly, I didn’t know Jin-hyung was such a whiny child. Jin-hyung always said he was very well-behaved.”

Jimin snorts. “Well, now we know that’s not true.” 

“It definitely isn’t.”

There’s a pause.

“How’s Yoongi-hyung?” Taehyung asks.

Jimin takes a moment to think about that. “Yoongi-hyung’s…I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with him, you know? He’s always been a little weird when it comes to Seokjin-hyung.”

“True.” Taehyung glances at Yoongi, who’s now indulgently listening to Jinnie telling him a story about a monster Charizard, complete with wide eyes and huge arm gestures. Every so often, he breaks into a smile, almost like he can’t help himself.

“It’s a little funny though,” Taehyung begins. 

“What is?”

“The fact that Jinnie doesn’t want to leave Yoongi-hyung’s side,” Taehyung continues. “I never thought I’d see the day Jin-hyung and Yoongi-hyung would be friends again.”

Jimin cracks a smile. “Yeah, I guess,” he says. “Who would have thought Jin-hyung just needed to turn three years old for that?”

“Yeah.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything else after that. His eyes are trained on Yoongi and Jinnie, watching the way they interact with each other. It’s obvious that there’s something on his mind, but Taehyung decides not to press, just scoots down the couch and rests his head against Jimin’s shoulder.

When Seokjin and Yoongi had fallen out, it had been quick. It had been sudden. One day they were laughing about a joke no one else understood; the next day, they weren’t speaking to each other. Yoongi couldn’t bear to look at Seokjin. Seokjin refused to be in the same room as Yoongi.

At the time, Taehyung thought it would pass. They all did—what was friendship without a few fights, after all? But it became increasingly clear to them over the next few weeks that this wasn’t just a simple fight. What happened between them seemed to be something nuclear.

And that’s the thing with close friendships—the fallout may be terrible, but the aftermath’s worse.

At first, Taehyung let them have their space. Indulged their refusal to engage with each other, did his best to spend time with both of them. But that had caused them to retreat further away from each other, until Taehyung felt like he was stuck in the middle, pulled from opposite directions.

What even happened? he remembers asking Seokjin at one point, confused and just wanting this thing to end. Why can’t you and Yoongi-hyung just be friends again?

Seokjin had shrugged one shoulder. Because he doesn’t want to be friends with me, he replied. Back then, there was sadness in his eyes; over the years Taehyung has seen that same sadness harden into hurt, then into anger, then into a cold indifference. 

And then what happened can only be described as a chain of events—Seokjin and Yoongi pulled, and pulled, and pulled in opposite directions until the tension had grown too much to handle, and something in the group splintered, then broke.

Nowadays, Taehyung feels like he’s living in a shell of a reality. Nothing really seems to matter anymore as long as they show up, do their jobs well, and go home. Gone are the days when it was genuinely fun to be in the group; now Taehyung feels like he’s going through the motions, going through life using muscle memory. Everything feels hollow and bleak. Everything feels meaningless.

He can barely even remember a time they all laughed together. 

But, he supposes, that’s just how it is. Eventually, relationships change and people get caught in the crossfire. You just have to accept that what’s gone is gone, and this is the reality you have now. There’s no point in trying to hold on to the past. The only way is to move forward.

(He’d be lying, though, if he said he didn’t think about those early days sometimes, back when they had no one else but each other. Back then, the days had felt brighter despite the hardships. It felt like the world was at their feet. 

Back then, they were all best friends at the heart of something legendary.)

After-lunch Pokémon only lasts an hour. Taehyung spends the time heckling at the characters on the screen, making up random backstories for his and Jimin’s amusement, but soon Jinnie starts to yawn and Yoongi declares that he’s had enough screen time for now. Jinnie protests a little, but he yawns in the middle of complaining and eventually caves when Taehyung takes him to his bedroom for a nap. Still, he stubbornly fights his drowsiness, and Yoongi has to sit next to him and hold his hand before he allows himself to fall asleep.

Asleep, he actually looks angelic, not at all the same three-year-old prone to screaming when he doesn’t get his way. Taehyung snaps a quick photo, amused and fond at how he’s curled up against RJ, making the plushie about half his size.

He and Jimin settle back on the couch while the others disperse to do their own thing. Hoseok heads out, as always, while Yoongi and Jeongguk retreat to their own rooms—Yoongi to work and Jeongguk to catch up on sleep since he’d stayed up all night and gotten stuck taking care of a toddler who’d woken up early. After a while, Jimin sets up the Nintendo Switch, and they spend a bit of time playing a bit of Overcooked.

They’ve just finished a particularly hectic round that involved more than one occasion of Jimin burning down their kitchen when Namjoon returns to the dorms. 

“Group meeting,” he says by way of greeting, and the look on his face is enough to stop Taehyung from asking any questions.

He and Jimin work to wrangle the rest of the members into the living room. It takes a while, mainly because they have to wait for Hoseok to return, but eventually, all six of them are sitting in the living room, matching grim expressions on their faces. Namjoon looks at each of them for a moment, and then takes a deep breath.

“I spoke to Producer Bang,” he begins.

Immediately, the mood of the room shifts into something uncertain. 

“What did he say?” Hoseok asks.

“He already knew what happened,” Namjoon says. “Apparently, the manager-hyungs called him freaking out. He’s a little skeptical, but, well. All of us told him the same thing.” He shrugs. “He’s got contacts in the medical field. Scientists, doctors, researchers—you name it.”

“So we’ll be able to get Jin-hyung back,” Jimin says, hopeful. 

Namjoon bites his lower lip nervously. “That’s the thing,” he says, uneasy. “They’re not a hundred percent sure that it’ll work.”

The silence that rings out is heavy. 

“What?” Taehyung musters up the courage to ask.

“I mean, it’s to be expected,” Namjoon rushes before someone else can speak up. “This isn’t just some normal medical condition. It’s—he got turned into a baby . It’s fucking insane if you think about it. Like, how does this even happen?”

“Namjoon.” Hoseok interrupts seriously. “What do you mean they’re not sure it’ll work?”

Namjoon ducks his head. “Well, what Producer Bang told me is that they’ll definitely try—they’ll do some bloodwork, run some tests, all that—but we have to be aware that this is…a little risky. This is all very experimental, after all. It’s not like people are being turned into toddlers every day.”

“And so…so what?” Jimin asks. His face has gotten pale, and he’s obviously terrified of what he’s about to hear. “What does that mean then if it doesn’t work?”

Namjoon opens his mouth, but it’s Yoongi who responds. “It means there’s a very big chance we won’t get Jin-hyung back.”

A pause, and then Namjoon swallows. “Yeah,” he confirms quietly.

Not get Jin-hyung back. The words echo in Taehyung's mind, dread pooling in his stomach. It’s never crossed his mind that he might not have Seokjin—might not have any of them—next to him one day, and the horrible reality of it sets in now. Without Seokjin, they can’t be BTS.

This feels like a death sentence. A premature end to something that should’ve spanned decades. But instead, all they got was ten years.

Taehyung’s chest feels tight.

“No way.” Jeongguk’s the first to collect himself, slamming a hand down the coffee table angrily. “No. I refuse to believe that.”

“Jeongguk,” Namjoon says. “We need to consider—”

“No,” Jeongguk insists. There are tears in his eyes. “We’ll get him back. We have to. I’m sure there’s a secret, a chance to increase the probability somehow—”

“There isn’t a sure way,” Namjoon reiterates. “Look, I’m sure they’ll try their best. Producer Bang's going to do everything in his power to try and get us Jin-hyung back. But I’m afraid that this is something we have to consider.”

“But this must’ve happened before,” Jeongguk asks desperately. He’s clearly taking it hard; he’s always been the closest to Seokjin. “That wasn’t—the gummies worked a little too well. Someone else must’ve experienced this, too. It can’t just be him.”

“Maybe, but there’s no record of it anywhere.” 

“What about the fan?” Jimin jumps in. “The one that gave him the gummies? Maybe she knows something.”

“Maybe, but they’re still looking for her. We can’t afford to lose time just searching.” Namjoon takes a deep breath. “Look, with the doctors—I gave them the gummies, and they’re reverse-engineering the ingredients as we speak. If there is a cure, they’ll find it. They’re the best in the business. But if there isn’t, we may have to accept that Jin-hyung will just have to grow up all over again.”

The idea of Seokjin growing up all over again, unaware of his life and everything he’d already accomplished, makes tears spring into Taehyung’s eyes.

“Is there anything we can do?” Hoseok asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Like, to help? Maybe we can speed up the process somehow?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says sadly. “It’s…Research takes time. We can only wait.”

“Wait and pray,” Yoongi murmurs. To anyone who doesn’t know him, Yoongi’s expression looks impassive, almost uncaring. But Taehyung knows where to look, knows how to pinpoint the cracks in his façade; knows that Yoongi’s holding back tears just like the rest of them are.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk mutters. He swipes a hand at his eyes angrily. “Fuck, this is so stupid. I can’t believe—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Jimin consoles, wrapping an arm around Jeongguk’s shoulder. “There’s still a chance we’ll get him back. We just have to try.”

Jeongguk just shakes his head.

No one says anything for a long while. Taehyung tries to imagine what life would be like without Seokjin. There’d be no more terrible dad jokes for one, no more playful teasing. No more squeaky laughter and joking fights he always tries to start with them. 

But there’d be no one just as supportive as him. No one who’d look out for them the way he does—often making a fool of himself to ease Jeongguk’s shyness or to make Taehyung feel better whenever he embarrasses himself. No one who’ll cheer them on the way he does, his voice loud over the cacophony whenever they play games. And there’d be no one as caring as he is too; uncomplaining whenever Taehyung asks him to cook, always offering to share his food when Jimin still looks hungry.

Taehyung would miss him. Taehyung already misses him, the hole in his chest aching at his prolonged absence. 

All of a sudden, the buzzer to their building rings out. Everyone’s heads whip towards the sound.

There’s a pause. 

“That must be hyung’s parents,” Hoseok says, jumping to his feet to buzz them in.

It’s a little difficult to look at Seokjin’s parents. They’re as gracious and lovely as they always are, but Seokjin has always been his parents’ son, and their resemblance to him is even more striking now. Taehyung sees Seokjin in the shape of his father’s face, in the way he stands; sees him in his mother’s posture, in the way she chooses her words. They sit together on one end of the couch, two people who resemble Seokjin in different ways, and Taehyung has to resist the urge to curl up in a ball and cry.

Nobody seems inclined to start the conversation. Luckily, Seokjin’s mother saves them the trouble. 

“It seems the packing’s going well,” she says, smiling as she looks around the dorm. “When are you guys set to move out again?”

“In two weeks,” Namjoon replies. 

“That’s soon,” Seokjin’s father muses. “I hope you get everything done by then.”

“We hope so, too.”

“It must be exciting for you guys, finally getting to live on your own,” Seokjin’s mother says. “I know Seokjin enjoys having his own space.” She sets down her glass of water—courtesy of Jimin, who needed something to get him out of the room when they arrived—and faces them directly, smiling. “Speaking of which—where is he? Is he here?”

There’s an awkward pause. Taehyung meets Jeongguk’s eye, then Jimin’s, then categorically decides to keep quiet.

After a while, Namjoon speaks up. “Um, yes,” he says awkwardly. “Actually—you see, eomonim, regarding Jin-hyung, we’ve kind of encountered a little…problem.”

Seokjin’s mother raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon continues. “He’s just—”

“Well, he’s happy,” Hoseok jumps in before Seokjin’s parents can panic. It’s a good call; Taehyung sees their faces relax immediately. “And um, healthy, I think. He’s fine. Relatively.”

“What do you mean by ‘relatively’?” Seokjin’s father asks. “Relative to what?”

“Relative to—” but Hoseok doesn’t get to finish that statement because at that exact moment, a bedroom door opens, and Jinnie toddles out yawning, dragging his RJ by the arm behind him.

“Hyungs,” he whines, rubbing his eye with a tiny fist. Then, he looks up, spots his parents, and freezes.

It’s clear that neither of Seokjin’s parents knows what to make of the situation. Their expressions are confused as they stare at Jinnie, but Taehyung thinks he sees a flicker of recognition in Seokjin’s mother’s eye, a little like she’s seen him before but can’t quite place from where. Jinnie stares back at them, his expression slowly dropping—brow furrowing like he’s about to cry.

And there must be some truth to the age-old adage of mother’s intuition because all of a sudden, Seokjin’s mother gasps. 

“Oh my,” she says, one hand covering her mouth. “I—Seokjin? Son, is that you?”

Jinnie just stares at her. Then, he hurtles across the living room and throws himself on Yoongi’s lap.

Yoongi startles, surprised at Jinnie suddenly clinging to him. Namjoon says, “Um, yeah. So.”

Seokjin’s mother’s eyes are wide. “That’s—what—how?” she asks. 

“What do you mean?” Seokjin’s father asks, clearly lost. “What’s going on? Why are you calling him Seokjin?”

She clutches his arm, her grip so tight Taehyung can see her knuckles turn white. “That’s him,” she says, so shell-shocked her voice almost comes out as a whisper. “I’m sure of it.”

“We were at a fan sign,” Jimin jumps in smoothly before Seokjin’s parents can start bickering. “And hyung was—I don’t know, I think a fan snuck him a bag of sour gummies. He ate some in the dressing room and it de-aged him.”

“De-aged him?” Seokjin’s father asks, tone rising incredulously. 

“We think that’s what happened,” Hoseok confirms. “One moment, hyung was sitting next to Jeongguk. The next, he was three years old and crying.”

Seokjin’s mother isn’t paying attention to what they’re saying. 

“Seokjin-ah,” she says, leaning forward to try and catch Jinnie’s attention. “Seokjin-ah, it’s me. It’s eomma.”

Yoongi gently pries Jinnie from his leg and picks him up, situating him on his lap. Jinnie fidgets, unhappy at the attention, and turns around to bury his face into Yoongi’s shoulder.

“That’s him,” Seokjin’s mother says again, this time more certain. “He used to do that all the time.” There are tears in her eyes; Seokjin’s always been somewhat of a mama’s boy, and seeing him like this must be difficult for her. “Oh, Seokjin. What did you do?”

Yoongi rubs his back gently. “Seokjin,” he says, his voice low. “Those are your parents. Can you say hi to them?”

“No,” Jinnie replies, his voice muffled against Yoongi’s shirt.

“Please? They’re worried about you.”

“No.”

“So now you see why we called,” Namjoon says, continuing the conversation. “Producer Bang knows, and he’s working with a few researchers to figure out a cure.” He hesitates, but evidently decides to keep speaking. “But it might take a while until they find something, and well, we’re not—I don’t think we’re equipped to care for a toddler.”

“He’ll stay with us,” Seokjin’s mother volunteers immediately. Her eyes are glued to Jinnie. “Of course we will. He’s our son.”

“Are you sure that’s him, though?” Seokjin’s father asks again. The expression on his face tells Taehyung he recognizes Jinnie, but he still can’t understand how this situation came about. “What if it’s just a child that looks like him?”

She shakes his head. “It’s him,” she says, not an ounce of doubt in her voice. “I’d recognize my son anywhere.”

Seokjin’s father mulls that over, then decides to take his wife’s word for it. 

“Seokjin-ah,” he says, leaning forward. “It’s appa. Can you look at appa, please?”

Jinnie stays resolutely put.

“How about eomma?” Seokjin’s mother tries. She swallows, her voice breaking on the last word. “Please?”

Somehow, that seems to get a response from Jinnie, who shifts unsteadily on Yoongi’s lap and turns around to face them. He still looks so shy, but he’s so obviously trying—chin pushed out bravely even as he clutches RJ tighter.

“Oh,” Seokjin’s mother says. A tear rolls down her eye. “Oh, Jinnie.”

“I know it’s a bit of a difficult situation, eomonim,” Jimin jumps in, “but I promise the company’s doing everything in its power to get him back to normal.”

“We aren’t BTS without him,” Taehyung says.

“And we miss Jin-hyung, too,” Jeongguk adds. There’s a slight waver in his voice.

Seokjin’s mother exhales a shaky breath, quickly wiping tears from her beneath her eyes. “So, what do I—what’s next? What should we do?”

“We have some clothes for him,” Taehyung says. “We can pack that for you. We got him some toys too.” The next part hurts a little to say, but he forces himself to.. “Then you can bring him home.”

There’s a pause, and then she nods.

Yoongi’s expression is unreadable. Taehyung watches as he ducks his head down, enough so he can speak softly to Jinnie. “Seokjin,” he says, and Jinnie turns to him like a flower to the sun, eyes wide, trusting, and innocent. “Why don’t you show RJ to your parents? I’m sure they’d be excited to meet him.”

Jinnie squirms for a moment, evidently hesitant. But then Yoongi nods encouragingly—an action that he parrots—and he allows himself to be set on the floor.

Taehyung watches as he walks up to them, expression timid. Then, once he’s close enough, he holds RJ out like an offering.

“His name is RJ,” Jinnie says shyly. “Jiminie-hyung told me he’s a…” He pauses, taking great care to enunciate the syllables, “…apa—apla—alpaca.”

His mother’s expression softens. “It’s nice to meet you, RJ,” she says, reaching out to shake the plushie’s hand.

Jimin and Jeongguk go with Taehyung to pack up Jinnie’s stuff, while the others stay in the living room with Seokjin’s parents. They work quickly folding up Jinnie’s stuff and rounding up his brand new toys, and it takes no time for all of his clothes to be packed and zipped in an old bag Jeongguk pulled out from one of Seokjin’s packing boxes.

“It feels weird, giving Baby Jin-hyung to his parents,” Jeongguk says, leaning back against Seokjin’s bed and angrily picking at the carpet underneath it. “I don’t like it.”

“I know.” Jimin’s quick to soothe, throwing an arm around Jeongguk. “But we’re not equipped to care for him. Our dorm is a mess, and we’re all moving out soon. Not to mention our schedule.”

Jeongguk’s brow dips further. “But hyung took care of us,” he argues. “He was so young himself when he became our hyung, but he—he made sure to take care of us.”

It’s true. Seokjin was barely nineteen when he became the eldest hyung of BTS, and yet he’d taken it upon himself to feed and care for the six of them. Taehyung can still recall walking home from school to find that Seokjin had cooked him something—a simple meal with ingredients he’d stolen from his parents’ house—so that Taehyung would have enough strength for late-night dance practice.

Something lodges in his throat, and for a moment, it’s a little hard to breathe. Taehyung swallows, shifting closer to Jeongguk. 

“You’re right,” he says, leaning his head against Jeongguk’s shoulder. “It feels a little weird. But it’s not like the others would listen to us if we told them that.”

Jeongguk’s sigh is quiet. He doesn’t say anything, but Taehyung already knows what he’s thinking.

Half an hour later, they’re back at the living room, the bag of Jinnie’s stuff neatly placed by the front door. Taehyung sits next to Yoongi as he watches Jinnie play on the floor with his mother, all initial apprehension gone. He’s telling a made-up story about RJ’s alpaca family leaving him behind; Taehyung tries not to read too much into it.

Beside him, Yoongi is still. When Taehyung glances at him, he finds Yoongi watching Jinnie, something almost sad on his face. It’s gone the moment he realizes Taehyung’s watching him, expression built back up to neutrality. Taehyung lets out a sigh, turning away. It’s fruitless trying to speak to Yoongi.

During a break in the story, when Jinnie asks for a drink, Seokjin’s mother stands, brushing dust off her pants. Jinnie looks up at her as he’s gulping down his father’s glass of water, eyes questioning.

Seokjin’s mother speaks slowly. “We have to go now, Jinnie, okay?” she tells him gently. “We can play more at home.”

“Okay,” Jinnie replies.

“Which means you have to say bye to the hyungs.” Seokjin’s mother maintains a calm, loving tone as she speaks to him, evidently aware of his penchant for screaming. “They have to stay here.”

Immediately, there’s a flash of panic in Jinnie’s eye. He turns around, his gaze falling on Taehyung. 

“You’re not coming?”

Taehyung feels a sad smile creep up as he shakes his head. “I’m not, Jinnie,” he says. “I have to stay.”

A sad pout begins to form on Jinnie’s face. He runs up to Yoongi, two tiny hands reaching out to grip the fabric of his pants. 

“Can you come?” he asks Yoongi plainly, a slight tremor in his voice.

An expression of sadness crosses Yoongi’s face. Namjoon says, “I’m afraid not, Jinnie.”

Jinnie’s pout grows more pronounced. He stays in place, both hands still gripping Yoongi’s pants like he’s afraid he’s going to be ripped away. 

“But—but I want you to come,” Jinnie says quietly.

Yoongi shakes his head. “Sorry,” he offers. His voice is hoarse. “Sorry, Seokjin-ah.”

There’s a strange stillness that rolls over the room. Jinnie’s grip on Yoongi’s pants only tightens.

Then—

“I don’t wanna go,” Jinnie declares to the room at large.

“Seokjin,” Seokjin’s father says. “You have to.”

“No.” Jinnie shakes his head stubbornly. “I don’t wanna go. I wanna stay with the hyungs.”

“But you can’t,” Seokjin’s mother says. “The hyungs are busy and they can’t take care of you.”

Her words go in one ear and out the other. “I wanna stay,” Jinnie repeats, voice decisive.

The thing about Seokjin is that he usually isn’t stubborn, except for the moments when he is. Then he’s probably the most ornery bastard in the world, standing his ground and arguing his point until he’s hoarse. He’s gotten into fights with their company like this—with a conviction like his, it’s hard to make him do what he doesn’t want to.

“Look, Jinnie, it’s only for a little while,” Namjoon is saying, pitching his voice as gently as he can. “The hyungs will see you soon, I promise! We can hang out and play with RJ some more.”

“No.”

“Next time, we can even—”

“No.” Jinnie’s voice has gotten louder, and his lower lip starts wobbling. “I won’t go.”

Seokjin’s mother crosses the room. “Seokjin-ah,” she says, reaching for him. But Jinnie shies away from her, crawls onto Yoongi’s lap and latches onto him like a lifeline.

“No!” he yells. “I’m gonna stay!”

“Seokjin—”

“I’m staying!” 

“But—”

“No!” Jinnie shouts. “I don’t wanna!”

“Can someone—” Hoseok begins, but Jeongguk’s already on it, making his way to Yoongi and prying Jinnie off him. 

But it’s the wrong thing to do. As soon as Jinnie loses his grip on Yoongi, he lets out the loudest wail known to man.

“No,” he screams, kicking his feet out. “No, no, no, no!”

“It’s only for a little bit,” Namjoon reasons—or as much as one can reason with a wailing toddler. “I promise the hyungs will come see you soon.”

“No,” Jinnie cries. He struggles in Jeongguk’s grip. “I wanna see you now! I don’t wanna go!”

“But Jinnie, your parents—”

“No!”

“Look, the hyungs will see you next week, how about that?”

“No,” Jinnie yells. “No, no, no!”

He’s screaming as loud as his lungs will allow him. There’s just been so much yelling today; Taehyung thinks about the neighbors, and mentally sends them an apology.

Jinnie twists violently, trying to squirm out of Jeongguk’s grip. “I don’t wanna go,” he cries. “Please, please. I don’t wanna go.”

“Seokjin-ah,” his father says. “Don’t be difficult—“

“I don’t wanna go,” Jinnie repeats, his voice already growing hoarse. He continues to thrash in Jeongguk’s grip, his face red from the screaming and the crying. “I wanna stay with the hyungs. I wanna stay here. I wanna stay with Yoongi-hyung!”

“But Yoongi-hyung’s busy,” Seokjin’s mother explains. “Look, why don’t we ask Yoongi-hyung to come over next week?”

Jinnie shakes his head. “No,” he replies. He reaches out to Yoongi. “Yoongi-hyung…Yoongi-hyung, please!”

Yoongi averts his gaze, evidently unsure. Jinnie just keeps reaching for him. “Yoongi-hyung, please. Please!”

“Seokjin-ah, that’s enough,” Seokjin’s father scolds. But it doesn’t work; if anything, it only makes the situation worse, and Jinnie cries harder.

“No,” he cries, like this whole thing is breaking his little heart. “I wanna stay with Yoongi-hyung.”

“Okay,” Seokjin’s mother says. “Eomma promises you’ll see Yoongi-hyung tomorrow, how about that?”

“No! Not tomorrow!” Jinnie’s crying in earnest now, his chest heaving as he lets out loud sobs, undeterred by hiccups. “Now! I wanna stay!”

“Seokjin, please don’t be difficult—”

“I don’t like you! I only want Yoongi-hyung!”

“I’ll take care of him!” 

The sudden outburst cuts through the commotion, and everyone pauses, even Jinnie, and turns to the source of the noise. Yoongi’s standing from the couch, his expression twisted in pain, his eyes glued to Jinnie.

Yoongi takes a deep breath, collecting himself. “I’ll take care of him,” he repeats, voice quieter but no less decisive.

For a moment, no one says anything. Seokjin’s mother is the first to get her bearings, though. 

“Don’t be silly,” she says. “He can stay with us. I know how busy your schedules are.”

“It’s fine, eomonim,” Yoongi replies. “It’s not a problem.”

“It’s not?” Namjoon demands. “Because I seem to remember seeing our schedule, and between work, rehearsals and interviews, we barely have enough time for ourselves as it is. Now you want to add a baby into the mix?”

“But he’s not a baby,” replies Yoongi. “That’s…that’s Jin-hyung.”

“Yeah, Jin-hyung, who is currently three years old.”

“I don’t—” Yoongi shakes his head, but Namjoon presses forward.

“Hyung,” he says. “He’s a toddler. Toddlers need full-time attention.”

“He was a little difficult at this age, too,” Seokjin’s mother says. “I truly think it’s best that we take care of him.”

And Yoongi, because he’s just as ornery as Seokjin is when he wants something, shakes his head. “I can make time,” he replies. “It’s not impossible. I’ll figure something out.”

“Like what?” Namjoon sounds like he’s about to lose his mind. “How will you do it?”

Yoongi shrugs, unsure.

It’s difficult because Taehyung understands the urge; like Jeongguk said earlier, it feels weird to give Seokjin back to his parents, especially since years ago, an eighteen-year-old Seokjin took care of them without complaint. But he also gets Namjoon’s point, which is that they’ve made it to a place in their careers where they’re in high demand, and they just don’t have the time to care for him. Additionally, their dorm isn’t the best place to keep a toddler—their lease ends in two weeks, and the whole place is full of boxes as they try and sort out how to go their separate ways after nearly ten years of living together.

Taehyung meets Jimin’s eye from across the room and finds that he’s already looking back at him, looking just as uncertain as Taehyung feels.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says. “We are not equipped to care for a baby. We’ll mess it up.”

“It can’t be that hard,” Yoongi argues.

“It is that hard, what the fuck are you saying—”

“Namjoon-hyung’s right,” Jimin says timidly. “He can’t stay here. He needs to go with his parents.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t want to go,” Yoongi shoots back. He gestures for Jeongguk to set Jinnie back on the floor, and Jinnie immediately darts across the room to hide behind Yoongi’s leg. “I don’t want to force him if he doesn’t want to.”

“But it’s not right,” Jimin insists. He looks a little torn, eyes darting from Yoongi to Seokjin’s parents. “Children should be with their parents.”

“And we really don’t have the bandwidth to care for him,” Namjoon adds. “Our work is hectic enough as it is.”

“But what if,” Jeongguk suddenly speaks up. Everyone immediately turns to him, and he fidgets under the combined attention. “What if we took a hiatus?”

There’s a moment. 

“A hiatus?” Hoseok replies.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk says. “Just…just for a little bit. Just until we get Jin-hyung back. I mean, BTS is seven, right? So maybe we can take a hiatus until we figure this whole thing out.”

“But this thing might take a while,” Hoseok replies immediately. “And if we took a hiatus, it could kill the momentum.” He swallows. “We’re in demand right now, and we have so many things lined up—the interview for the Grammy Museum, performances for the UN, hell, even the start of the world tour. We can’t stop now.”

“It’s really best if he just comes with us,” Seokjin’s father says. “At least that way, he won’t affect your schedules.”

“It’s okay,” Yoongi replies. He takes a deep breath. “We don’t have to take a hiatus. We can just…scale down appearances.”

“Scale down appearances?” 

“Yeah, like.” Yoongi’s clearly got an idea, a stubborn look in his eyes. “We cut back on our schedules. We won’t go to everything we planned, but we’ll hit the important ones. And if asked, we just say that Jin-hyung’s ill and has to sit out a few things, and we’re waiting for him to get better. It’s not like it’s our first time promoting when another member’s sick.”

“Yeah, but it’s our first time promoting when one of our members is a literal baby,” Namjoon says. “It’s a little different.”

Yoongi swallows. Taehyung sees his hands curl into fists. “I can do it,” he says. There’s a determination in his voice. “I’ll take care of him.”

“That’s…” Namjoon also seems to be at a loss for words, eyes darting from Yoongi to Jeongguk, to Jinnie, who’s once again gravitated towards Yoongi, one hand gripping the end of his shirt. His eyes are still teary, his cheeks wet, and Taehyung sees Namjoon’s expression soften at the sight of him.

“But where will he stay?” Seokjin’s mother asks. “You’re moving out soon.”

Yoongi’s quick to reply. “Here, at the dorm,” he says. “I think I can talk to the company and convince them to extend the lease. I’ll stay with him here.”

“I will, too,” Jeongguk adds.

“We can all stay with him,” Taehyung says. “We’ll help Yoongi-hyung take care of him.”

“Just…just one month,” Yoongi continues when Seokjin’s parents don’t reply. “Let him stay with us for a month. And if it doesn’t work, we’ll…we’ll reevaluate.”

Seokjin’s parents still look unconvinced. But to their credit, they don’t protest; instead Seokjin’s mother crouches down until she’s eye-level with Jinnie. Jinnie steps back, hiding further behind Yoongi, but he dutifully meets her eye.

“Seokjin-ah,” she begins, her voice gentle. “Do you really wanna stay here?”

There’s a pause, and then Jinnie nods, stepping closer to Yoongi. “With Yoongi-hyung,” he says, his voice hoarse from the crying.

Seokjin’s mother sighs. “Okay,” she says. She pushes herself to her feet. “Okay.”

And that’s that. 

Seokjin’s parents hang around for another half an hour after that. They sit with Yoongi at the kitchen table, drawing up a list of things they remember about him from this age—favorite toys, favorite foods, favorite movies to watch. Yoongi listens quietly, listens intently. Writes a few things down in his notebook so he doesn’t forget. It’s been a while since Taehyung has seen him so determined.

Taehyung and Jeongguk are tasked to keep Jinnie company, which isn’t hard considering that Jinnie’s more subdued now, after the crying—curled up around RJ as he listlessly watches Pokémon. They feed him some rice and samgyupsal as he watches, and he eats without complaint. Occasionally, he’ll push himself to his feet and hang off the back of the couch to peek into the dining room, checking if Yoongi’s still there. Like he’s afraid of getting left behind.

Eventually, Seokjin’s parents decide to leave. 

“Seokjin-ah,” Seokjin’s mother says to him by the door. “Can eomma and appa have a hug goodbye?”

Jinnie’s hesitant, and he looks up at Yoongi for guidance. Yoongi smiles down at him, one hand resting on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go with them if you don’t want to,” he murmurs, and Taehyung sees Jinnie relax minutely before stepping forward to dole out the hugs.

He quickly returns to Yoongi’s side, though. Namjoon, Taehyung notes, still looks uncertain about this, his jaw tense and his hands curled into fists. 

Seokjin’s mother seems to notice too, because she shoots him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry too much,” she says. “He’s kind of a pain at this age, but he was also a pretty self-sufficient child. He’ll let you know whenever he needs something.”

Namjoon nods, but the action is stilted. His jaw has clenched tighter. 

“If you need anything, let us know,” Seokjin’s father says by the door. “He always has a home with us.”

“Thank you abeoji, eomonim,” Yoongi says. He bows at them in farewell, and only deflates when the door behind them closes.

“Well then,” Hoseok says after a moment. “Any ideas what to do next?”

“I’ll call the agency,” Namjoon says immediately. “I’ll tell them about what we just talked about.”

“And Jinnie needs a shower,” Taehyung says. “And to get ready for bed. I’ll get him ready—Jeongguk? Can you help me?”

“Sure,” replies Jeongguk.

Jinnie doesn’t look too pleased at the idea of a shower, his lower lip jutting out once more. Taehyung’s just about to open his mouth and tell him how much fun bath time is when Jinnie looks up at Yoongi, tugging his shirt a few times to get his attention.

“Yoongi-hyung,” he says, uncertain. “Can you read me a story before I go to sleep?”

Yoongi’s stoic expression softens. “Sure.”

But Jinnie isn’t satisfied. “Do you—do you promise?” he asks, his voice lilting up at the end. Unsure, like he’s afraid he’ll walk out and Yoongi won’t be there, and he’ll be all alone.

There’s a pang of guilt in Taehyung’s chest at that realization.

“I promise,” Yoongi says.

Jinnie studies his face, then relaxes. Then he lets go of Yoongi’s shirt, and obediently follows Taehyung and Jeongguk into the bathroom. 

When he and Jinnie return to the bedroom, they find Yoongi sitting on the bed beside RJ, waiting. Jinnie, all pajama-ed up in Taehyung’s arms, instantly relaxes when he spots Yoongi, all the tension seeping out from his little body. He squirms until Taehyung puts him down on the floor, running all the way to the bed and climbing into the space next to him.

“Fish,” he says, pointing to the tablet that’s on Yoongi’s lap. 

Taehyung can hear the smile on Yoongi’s voice. “It’s a rainbow fish,” he says. “Do you wanna know the story of the rainbow fish?”

Jinnie picks up RJ, curling around him. He rests his head against Yoongi’s left shoulder. “Uh-huh.”

Yoongi’s smile is so soft, it feels almost too private to witness. “Okay.”

Taehyung’s heart warms at the sight of them tucked into each other like that. He doesn’t mean to intrude, but he also can’t quite bring himself to walk away. It’s rare to see Yoongi like this—years ago, it was a much more common occurrence to see him smile with this much fondness. Taehyung still remembers the days when those smiles were directed at him; Yoongi, exasperated but amused at whatever shenanigans he would come up with. 

Yoongi’s voice is low and gentle as he reads, uncaring of Taehyung lingering by the door. It doesn’t take long until Jinnie gets sleepy; Yoongi’s only halfway through the book when Jinnie’s droopy eyes fall shut entirely, his breathing evening out. He startles, however, when Yoongi moves, blindly reaching out in his direction.

“Don’t go,” he cries softly.

Impossibly, Yoongi’s expression softens more. “I won’t,” he promises, setting down his tablet. He shifts so he’s lying on the bed, and Jinnie curls toward him, his nose buried in his RJ. Yoongi hums a song quietly, reaching out to stroke Jinnie’s hair.

Taehyung takes that as his cue to walk away.

Outside, the dorm is a buzz of stilted activity—Hoseok and Namjoon talking to each other in low voices by the dining room, Jeongguk boiling water for some ramen in the kitchen. Taehyung finds Jimin, who’s just sitting on the couch and staring at the TV impassively, and takes the seat next to him. Taehyung doesn’t say a word; just leans his head against Jimin’s shoulder.

Jimin takes that as his cue to speak. “What are we doing?” he murmurs, evidently worried.

Taehyung shrugs. 

Jimin sighs. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” he wonders. “Keeping him here with us? Do you think we’ll actually be able to take care of him?”

All very good questions. Taehyung shrugs again, unsure. 

For a moment, he lets himself dwell; thinks of Yoongi the first time he saw Jinnie backstage at the fan sign. Thinks of the way he knew exactly how to handle Jinnie, how to make food he’ll eat. He thinks of Yoongi listening to Jinnie’s stories about Charizards eating people, thinks of Jinnie crying his little lungs out to stay here with him, with them. Thinks of the way Yoongi impulsively agreed to take care of him, his face twisted up like he wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he was determined to try anyway.

There’s a word, maybe, for the strange resolve that settles at the bottom of his stomach, the overwhelming feeling that everything’s going to be fine. Divine intervention, or maybe even divine certainty. Taehyung imagines that it’s his angels speaking to him.

“Maybe,” he replies. “We’ll see.”

Chapter Text

The Baby-hyung, Jimin notes woefully, has been whining non-stop about Pokémon for what seems to be an hour now. 

It’s one part endearing, two parts kind of annoying. Because the lung capacity that Seokjin has spent years cultivating to perfect his high notes seems to have been retained during his toddler transformation, and now Baby-hyung just won’t shut up, not even to breathe.

“Jeonggukie-hyung,” Baby-hyung whines. He reaches over to grab the joycons, but Jeongguk pulls them away from his grasp. “Catch it, come on! Catch it!”

Jeongguk’s face is screwed up in concentration. “No,” he says. “Our entire team is made up of Caterpies. Let’s catch something else.”

“But I want more,” Baby-hyung insists. 

“We can’t battle with just Caterpies!”

“But I wanna make butterflies!”

Jimin wonders if this is how his parents felt when he was young and also couldn’t stop talking about Pokémon.

It’s a bit of an adjustment living with a Baby Seokjin. Aside from the mad dash to extend the lease and toddler-proof everything, it’s just so strange having to cohabitate with someone who’s essentially the baby version of their hyung. On one hand he’s extremely adorable and an absolute darling when he’s in a good mood; on the other he cries like a maniac when he doesn’t get his way. There’s also the fact that even though he’s only three years old, he already has the mannerisms of older Seokjin—Jimin gets whiplash sometimes when he hears Baby Seokjin say things that normally would come out of older Seokjin’s mouth, things like I wanna eat fish! or Jiminie-hyung, am I cute? Whenever that happens, he finds he just kind of misses Seokjin a bit more.

Rationally, he knows it isn’t Baby-hyung’s fault that he misses Seokjin, considering that he is, after all, Seokjin. It just makes things complicated. 

Their lack of work only exacerbates the feeling. Their scaled-down workload means they’ve been left with a lot of free time, which Jimin ends up spending at the dorm with Baby-hyung. It’s fun, but it’s also really stressful and even a little bit sad; there’s always a weird, melancholic feeling that washes over him when he sees Baby-hyung giggle and smile, while knowing at the back of his mind that this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, nor is it what Seokjin is supposed to be like.

So, it’s complicated. Downright terrifying too, when he thinks about how there’s a chance that Seokjin may never come back. And he still isn’t quite sure it’s the best idea to keep a three-year-old away from his mother, but tears were shed and decisions were made. 

All he needs to do is adjust.

“No,” Jimin can hear Baby-hyung protest, whining about whatever Jeongguk’s doing in-game. “Why didn’t you catch that one?”

Jeongguk’s voice is exasperated. “We have too many Caterpies. We don’t need any more.”

“But more butterflies are prettier!”

“But we need other types on our team, too. If we go to battle and we have to fight a Pidgey, all our Caterpies will die.”

Baby-hyung’s lower lip juts out. “I don’t want the Caterpies to die,” he says.

“Yeah, which is why we have to catch other Pokémon,” Jeongguk replies. He doesn’t notice that Baby-hyung has started to pout. “If we catch other Pokémon, then they’ll protect the Caterpies.”

Baby-hyung’s lip wobbles. His brows draw inward and his expression turns sad. Oh no, Jimin thinks, and scooches closer to try and stop him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jimin says, but Baby-hyung doesn’t pay attention to him.

“I don’t want the Caterpies to die,” he says again, his voice unsteady this time. He draws in a deep breath. “I want them all—I want them all to be butterflies.”

His voice cracks at the last word, and that’s all the incentive he needs to burst into tears. Jimin and Jeongguk startle, and Jeongguk’s head immediately whips towards Yoongi’s door (closed after he’d declared his intention to nap) as Jimin tries to calm Baby-hyung down.

Honestly, he’s so quick to cry. The first few times he burst into tears, it was panic-inducing; now it’s just a regular daily, no, hourly occurrence.

“Hey, shh,” he says, pulling him into a hug. It’s partly to comfort him and partly to muffle his cries; Jimin doesn’t want him accidentally waking Yoongi, who’s been crazy overprotective over him. Just yesterday, he snapped at Jeongguk because Jeongguk had made Baby-hyung cry by changing the Netflix show without warning. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

“But I wanna—” Baby-hyung hiccups, tears flowing freely down his face, “—I wanna make lotsa purple butterflies.”

“We’ll make many, I promise,” Jimin placates, using a hand to wipe away his tears.

“But Jeonggukie-hyung said they’re gonna die!” Baby-hyung wails. “I don’t want them to die!”

“They won’t,” Jimin assures him. He turns to glare at Jeongguk. To his credit, Jeongguk looks guilty, fidgeting slightly in his seat, eyes darting from Baby-hyung to the door like Yoongi’s about to burst out of there and skin him alive. “Jeongguk-hyung won’t let them die. Right, Jeongguk-hyung?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk readily agrees. He presses a few buttons on the joycons, and somehow, another Caterpie pops up on the screen. “Oh, would you look at that! Another Caterpie! Wow! If we can catch this, he can join his family!”

Thankfully, that’s enough to redirect Baby-hyung’s attention from crying back to the screen. “Catch it,” he demands, sniffling.

Jeongguk does so with no protest.

Crisis averted. Jimin checks once more just to make sure Yoongi hasn’t woken up before he breathes out a sigh of relief, sinking into the couch cushions. He watches the game absently; Jeongguk seems to have learned his lesson, and he finds another Caterpie without being told and goes through the motions of catching it. Baby-hyung’s sniffles fade, and he watches the screen, rapt.

He’s wearing the same expression Seokjin usually has when he’s hyper-fixated on gaming, jaw tense and eyes focused. Once again, Jimin’s hit by a sudden wave of melancholy, and a small part of him feels like curling up in a ball and bursting into tears. 

Because that’s him. That’s Seokjin, their hyung. And this is how he’ll be until they miraculously manage to find a cure for him.

It’s an idea that’s difficult to reconcile.

All of a sudden, a message pops up on the screen. 

“What? Metapod is evolving, ” Jeongguk reads, and Baby-hyung practically screeches at that, jumping up and down on the couch in excitement. 

“I wanna see, I wanna see!” He watches the evolution with wide eyes, a small smile breaking out on his face once it's done. “Wow! It’s a butterfly! It’s so pretty!”

“Yeah!” Jeongguk agrees. 

“Good job, Jinnie,” Jimin praises, reaching out to pat his head.

Baby-hyung bats his hand away. “I wanna show Yoongi-hyung,” he declares, hopping off the couch. He tries to zoom to the direction of Yoongi’s room, but Jimin’s able to grab him before he gets too far, swooping him up and depositing him back on the couch.

“Maybe later,” he says when Baby-hyung looks up at him, betrayed. “Yoongi-hyung’s sleeping.”

“But what if the butterfly goes away before he wakes up?” Baby-hyung whines.

“It won’t,” Jeongguk chimes in. “Jeonggukie-hyung will keep it safe.”

“But I wanna show him now.” Baby-hyung tries to get off the couch again, but this time he’s stopped by Jeongguk, who simply picks him up and situates him on his lap.

“We’ll show him later,” Jimin repeats. “Let’s let Yoongi-hyung sleep for a little bit longer and catch some more Pokémon. I don’t think he wants to be woken up to see just one butterfly.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Baby-hyung starts to pout, tears springing into his eyes. “Yoongi-hyung doesn’t wanna see my butterfly?” he asks sadly.

And—well. Like Jimin said: this is something he needs to adjust to.

A few days later, Jimin heads to the office.

The HYBE building feels looming, intimidating in a way their previous building never was. Some days, it feels impersonal, with its wood and chrome accents and impeccably designed interiors, every room planned out to the smallest of details. It’s such a far cry from how they began: in a small, one-room office on the second floor of an old building in Nonhyeon-dong.

It’s been two years, but it still makes Jimin’s head spin sometimes when he looks up and realizes that this is a product of their hard work, the fruit of all their labor. That this is something they managed to achieve with their music. When he’d joined the company eleven years ago, they’d only been a handful of people practicing in a moldy basement; now, there are more artists and labels under their roof than he could have ever dreamed of. 

And they all look up to him, too. Jimin keeps a practiced smile on his face as he walks through the hallways. Some of the junior idols stare at him, starry-eyed; the new trainees bow a full ninety degrees then scuttle away behind a pillar to hide. He greets everyone as much as he can, but there’s a part of him that wants them to look away, that thinks he doesn’t really deserve all this fanfare. 

Because no matter how hard he worked, it all really just boils down to some crazy stroke of luck. He knows everyone looks at him—well, at BTS—as some sort of success story, the one South Korean group that made the world fall to their feet. But the success is hollow when it’s all based on superficiality, when the ‘genuine friendship’ they tout to the media isn’t really there at all. It’s not really success when all their off-camera group interactions have a terse air to them, or when they all go and celebrate their group’s achievements separately. Or when their last contract negotiations had been so brutal that Jimin thought about walking out and leaving. Just for a second, though, but even still—it’s not something he can unthink.

Whether re-signing was a good decision to make still remains to be seen.

Yoongi’s studio is on the sixth floor, and it’s hard to miss; despite the move, he’d kept his rude cat rug. Jimin unceremoniously ignores the cat’s polite request, as he always does, and rings the doorbell once, and once more when Yoongi doesn’t answer fast enough.

It’s another moment until the door actually opens. Yoongi blinks at him from the other side, his neutral expression shifting into one of mild annoyance when he catches sight of Jimin.

Jimin grins. Perfect time to catch him, then.

“Can I help you?” Yoongi asks, point blank.

Jimin puts on his best pout. “What, you’re not happy to see me?”

“I see you literally every day,” Yoongi replies dryly, but he steps back to let Jimin in. It’s clear he’s working; Jimin can spot Cubase pulled up on his monitor, a few tracks loaded onto the software.

Which. “What are you even doing?” Jimin asks, flopping down onto the couch. “I thought we were on hiatus.”

“We’re not on hiatus,” Yoongi shoots back. “We just scaled down our workload.”

“The fans seem to think we are.” 

They’d released the announcement a few days ago, and immediately, the internet exploded. Social media was flooded with hashtags such as BTS IS SEVEN and GET WELL SOON JIN, which easily brought a tear to Jimin’s eye. There’s always some latent level of worry, of guilt whenever decisions like these are made—they’re public figures, and having to take time off to sort things out always makes them feel like they’re letting all their fans down.

But this is something they need to figure out on their own, away from the prying eyes of the media and anyone else who wants a piece of the things they keep private.

“Yeah, but we’re not,” Yoongi counters. “We still have things lined up.”

“Weeks from now.”

“Doesn’t mean we don’t have to get ready for them.”

“But you’re not getting ready for them,” Jimin argues, crossing his arms. “You’re here, holed up in your studio writing new music.”

Yoongi gives him a sidelong glance. “Have you ever known me to stop writing new music?”

“No, but our priorities are a little different now,” Jimin replies. “Haven’t you heard? There’s a toddler in the dorm. One that woke up from his afternoon nap all cranky because you weren’t there.” He raises an eyebrow knowingly. “You are his favorite, after all.”

That makes Yoongi let out a loud sigh. “Look, if you’re upset about us taking Seokjinnie in—”

“I’m not upset,” Jimin interrupts. “Why would I be upset?”

“Because you sought me out in my studio when you have no real reason to. Clearly, you want to talk about something.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m upset,” Jimin shoots back, affronted. “Maybe I just wanted to see how my hyung’s doing. And maybe ask him a few questions.”

“Such as?”

Jimin cocks his head, keeping his eyes fixed on Yoongi. “Hyung,” he says. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

He doesn’t elaborate, but judging by the expression on Yoongi’s face, Jimin knows he understands. Yoongi averts his gaze and shrugs, the movement a little stilted. “I mean, I can’t be doing that bad,” he replies, tone a little wry. “He doesn’t seem miserable, does he?”

“No, but he’s also three years old,” says Jimin. “I don’t know how much experience you have extensively caring for toddlers, but personally, I have none. And it’s not like he’s just any three-year-old either—he’s Jin-hyung.”

“So?”

“And so,” Jimin emphasizes, “you don’t even like Jin-hyung.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” Yoongi counters. Jimin waits, but Yoongi doesn’t elaborate further.

“Are you sure?” Jimin presses. “Because two weeks ago you refused to look him in the eye. You even left the room entirely as soon as he entered.”

“Because he doesn’t like me,” Yoongi replies. “That’s why we’re not really on good terms.”

“Yeah, and I don’t volunteer to take care of people I’m not on good terms with in their baby form.”

“Because they don’t have a baby form.” Yoongi throws his hands up, exasperated. “Look, it’s not like this happens every day, Jimin. He’s our bandmate who got turned into a toddler. Of course I have to look out for him.”

“By which you mean ‘go all protective mama bear on him.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m not a protective mama bear.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Taehyung told me about the sandwich thing.”

“He was refusing to eat. What was I supposed to do?”

“Taehyung also told me that you read him a bedtime story.”

“Yeah, `cause he asked so politely.”

“And yesterday, when you snapped at Jeongguk because he made Baby-hyung cry?”

“That was—” Yoongi breaks off, scrubbing a hand down his face. He takes a deep breath in, then out, like he’s trying to calm himself. “Well, he changed the show even when Seokjinnie didn’t want him to. He was wrong.”

Jimin points at him triumphantly. “See?” he says smugly. “That’s not something you’d do for someone you’re not on good terms with.”

Yoongi scowls. “Jimin, he’s three years old. He’s going through a scary and maybe even traumatizing period in his life. The least I can do is be nice.”

“This is more than ‘being nice’ though,” replies Jimin. “‘Being nice’ is taking care of him for an evening and letting him stay with his parents. ‘Being nice’ is not scaring everyone so nobody else watches anything on the TV besides Pokémon. And like, Bluey. And those weird dancing fruit sensory videos. You know those were made for infants, right?”

“I knew you were upset,” Yoongi mutters.

“I’m not,” Jimin insists. “I just don’t get it. Like, you and Jin-hyung aren’t on good terms—sure, whatever. But if that’s the case, why are you suddenly his three-year-old form’s guardian angel?”

There’s a beat. “I don’t know,” Yoongi replies.

Jimin blinks. “You don’t know?” he repeats. “Then why’d you volunteer?”

“It’s complicated.” 

“Complicated how?”

“He’s a baby when he’s supposed to be a thirty-year-old man. Is that not complicated enough?”

It’s clear he’s deflecting. Jimin’s known Yoongi long enough to recognize when he doesn’t want to talk about things, when any further attempt at pushing will just be met by more resistance. There’s something he’s hiding, something that must involve Seokjin, somehow.

After all, the way they fell out was far too quick and far too sudden. 

“I guess so,” Jimin relents. “But there’s something you’re not telling me. After all, I don’t think Baby-hyung would be this attached to you if Jin-hyung truly disliked you. Unlike adults, children aren’t very good at pretending.”

Yoongi scoffs. “That’s dumb,” he shoots back. “You’re assuming Seokjinnie and Jin-hyung are the same person.”

“Well, aren’t they?”

“Technically, sure, but Jin-hyung’s—and Seokjinnie’s—“ Yoongi cuts himself off, shaking his head. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Look, I don’t think any of Seokjinnie’s decisions are representative of Jin-hyung’s mindset.”

“Maybe,” replies Jimin. “But he still chose you over his parents. That has to mean something, right?”

Yoongi looks like he still wants to argue, but he evidently thinks the better of it at the last minute. Instead, he sighs, turning back to his monitor. His jaw is clenched, and his right hand unconsciously comes up to rub his left shoulder.

“Anyway, why are you even here?” Yoongi eventually asks. “To judge the choices I make in my life?”

“Always,” Jimin quips, and he’s rewarded by a quick glare. “But no. I’ve been tasked to get you back home at any cost. I wasn’t lying when I said someone woke up cranky. Taehyung and Jeongguk are doing a great job at distracting him, but he’s incredibly upset that you left without saying goodbye.”

Yoongi’s demeanor immediately softens. “Fine, I’ll come home,” he acquiesces immediately—no argument, no fuss, no fight. The speed in which he relents catches Jimin off-guard, because it’s a well-known fact that getting Yoongi out of the studio is as difficult as pulling teeth. There have been countless times that Jimin’s had to drag him out of the studio, if only to get him to eat something.

But apparently, Baby-hyung is different. 

“Wow,” Jimin says. “I was fully prepared to have to drag you out of here kicking and screaming. Do you miss him that much already?”

“Don’t push it,” Yoongi warns as he saves his work and shuts down his workstation. “Seriously, he’s such a spoiled kid. I guess that’s what happens when you grow up rich.”

Jimin doesn’t point out the apparent fondness in his voice, lacing through his words like ivy and twine. “And yet, you keep spoiling him.”

Yoongi just ignores him as he gathers the last of his things. He gestures for Jimin to head out first—which he does—and Jimin hangs around as Yoongi changes into his shoes and ensures that the studio door is locked.

The walk to the elevators is quiet, the weight of their conversation hanging heavy between them. Yoongi looks to be lost in thought, eyes distant and contemplative. Jimin wonders what he’s thinking. Knows for a fact that Yoongi would never tell—it’s been years, after all, since Yoongi was open with him. Since he’d been open with any of them.

But still, Jimin decides to try.

“Hey,” he says, right before the elevator doors ding open. Yoongi makes an inquisitive noise in response, eyes darting to Jimin curiously. “I know there’s a lot that you aren’t telling me. But just know I’m here whenever you want to talk about it, okay?”

Yoongi is silent for a few moments. Then, “I know,” he says, tone carefully impassive like he’s afraid of giving too much away. A pause. “Thank you, Jimin-ah.”

It’s as much honesty as he’ll get for the day. Jimin smiles at him, one that Yoongi tentatively returns, then heads into the elevator. 

Something Jimin learned after years of filming content is that he has terrible luck. It shouldn’t be surprising anymore whenever he loses games; rather, it should be something that he comes to expect. But he never really does, which is why he’s always upset when he loses.

“No,” he whines as everyone around him shoots him a mixture of pitying looks. Everyone except Hoseok, who’s just triumphantly won the last round of rock-paper-scissors by throwing paper against Jimin’s rock, and Namjoon, who looks just as dejected as Jimin feels,

“So that settles it then.” Hoseok shrugs, a hint of smugness in his voice. “Namjoon and Jimin will take Baby Jin to the doctors.”

Jimin inwardly curses himself for his bad luck. 

“Rematch?” he asks.

“Nope,” Taehyung crows. “You both lost, fair and square.”

Jimin turns his glare at him for good measure. He opens his mouth, about to argue back, but he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s fine, Jimin,” Namjoon says. 

“Yeah,” Jeongguk adds. He looks far too amused by the proceedings. “I’m sure Baby Jin-hyung will be happy to spend some time with his Jiminie-hyung and his Namjoonie-hyung.”

“Whatever,” Jimin mutters, crossing his arms. 

The actual problem isn’t spending time with Baby-hyung. Far from it, actually—Jimin quite enjoys playing with him, charmed by his innocence and his easy amusement. No, the problem is that they’re going to the doctor’s, and Jimin’s about ninety-eight percent certain it’s going to be a disaster. Baby-hyung hates the doctor’s; the six of them had taken him there the last time, and he’d cried his little lungs out the whole time. He’d been terrified, poked and prodded and examined by a bunch of researchers, unable to comprehend what was happening or how to verbalize his discomfort. He was practically inconsolable until Yoongi calmed him down by letting him snuggle into his chest and murmuring some comforting words. 

It’ll be even worse this time, Jimin knows—after all, they’ll be drawing his blood this time. And to make matters worse, Yoongi’s unable to make it, held up in some work meeting at a different company. 

Jimin has an inkling that even if he snuggled Baby-hyung and murmured some comforting words, he still wouldn’t be able to calm him down.

“Can’t we just reschedule?” Jimin pleads. “He’s still napping, anyway.”

Hoseok levels him with a raised eyebrow. “You want Jin-hyung turned back or not?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “But if Baby-hyung comes home bawling his eyes out, tell Yoongi-hyung it wasn’t our fault.”

The plan is to take Baby-hyung as soon as he wakes up from his nap, so the others disperse while he and Namjoon go and get ready. Taehyung’s proactively prepared a bag filled with some water, snacks, a change of clothes, a Nintendo Switch and some Pokémon figurines, and Jimin hopes that’s enough to keep the tears at bay. 

It’s another fifteen minutes until Baby-hyung wakes up. 

“Hyungs?” Jimin hears him call, his voice quiet and a little hoarse. 

He and Namjoon exchange a look. There’s a quick moment where they have a telepathic argument, afraid to be the one to break the news to Baby-hyung and deal with the ensuing bout of tears, but in the end, Jimin gives in, sighing as he heaves himself onto his feet and heads into the bedroom.

Baby-hyung is sitting in the middle of the bed, his eyes still droopy and half his hair matted to his head. The sight of him makes Jimin smile.

“Hi, Jinnie,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Did you nap well?”

Baby-hyung just yawns in reply. 

Jimin decides to rip the bandaid off. “So…we kinda have to go to the doctor’s again.”

Baby-hyung’s eyes widen in fear.

It takes a while to get him ready. Namjoon comes in after a few minutes of Jimin trying to reason with Baby-hyung, and they end up tag teaming to explain to him what the doctors will be doing and how they’re doing this because they want him to get better soon. Still, Baby-hyung doesn’t look convinced, lower lip wobbling like he’s about to start crying. What finally convinces him, though, is (to no one’s surprise) a quick phone call with Yoongi, which Namjoon offers in a stroke of genius. Baby-hyung is close to tears as Yoongi talks to him, his voice low, gentle, yet firm.

“Be brave, okay?” Yoongi’s voice comes out tinny through the phone speakers. “You can do it, Seokjinnie. I’ll see you when I get home.”

Once he’s picked out his fishiest shirt to wear and stalled for time by making sure RJ was properly dressed (which was a little amusing to Jimin, considering RJ lived his life freely, with only a red scarf around his neck and fur covering his important bits), Baby-hyung finally agrees to go. He bids goodbye to the other hyungs and holds Jimin’s hand as they ride the elevator to the parking garage.

The company’s car is already there waiting for them, and Jimin straps him in, ensuring he’s securely buckled. Namjoon picks the playlist, settling for one that’s filled with tinkling pianos and quiet guitar chords. 

Baby-hyung is quiet as they pull out of the parking lot and hit the road. His brows are dipped in a frown, and it makes his whole face look serious. Like this, he seems older, closer to how Seokjin normally looks. The resemblance is uncanny, and Jimin can’t stop staring at him.

Baby-hyung keeps his gaze trained on the scenery as they drive, cars and skyscrapers passing them by. Every once in a while, he squeezes RJ tighter and buries his face into the plushie’s head.

Jimin leans over. “Hey,” he says. “Don’t be scared. This is just so you get better soon.”

Baby-hyung shakes his head. “I’m not scared,” he mumbles. “I’m brave.”

And he is. He doesn’t hide behind Jimin when he sees the doctors, greeting them with his posture straight and sitting where he’s told to. He lets the doctors poke and prod and take his vitals, performing everything he’s asked to do with the same single-minded determination Seokjin showcases during their dance practices. He holds himself throughout the numerous x-rays and scans, even though Jimin can tell by his face that he doesn’t want to be here. He only whines once when he gets bored while waiting, but Jimin’s easily able to placate him by pulling out the Nintendo Switch and catching Pokémon.

The biggest thing, though, is the blood draw. Jimin watches worriedly as the doctors clean Baby-hyung’s skin and tie a tourniquet to his arm. But Baby-hyung doesn’t move a muscle, looking down at his arm like he’s determined not to cry.

“This is gonna hurt a little,” one of the doctors, a lovely older woman, tells Baby-hyung, smiling kindly. “But you need to relax. Breathe in and out.”

Baby-hyung does as he’s told, albeit shakily. 

After a few more deep breaths, the doctor slips the needle into Baby-hyung’s skin in one careful, practiced movement. Jimin winces, and so does Baby-hyung, his lower lip wobbling as his eyes fill with tears slowly slipping down his cheeks. Jimin reaches out to hold his other hand to comfort him, and Baby-hyung cries quietly, but very bravely holds still. 

“All done!” the doctor says cheerfully, gently pulling the needle out and efficiently cleaning up his arm. Warmth floods Jimin’s chest as he watches Baby-hyung; how he doesn’t move a muscle until a cotton ball is securely taped onto his arm, how he allows her to stick a cute good job sticker next to it. He only slumps down on his chair once she leaves the room, curling towards Namjoon for comfort.

“I wanna go home,” he says, in between hiccuping sobs.

Namjoon shushes him gently, picking him up to situate him on his lap. “Soon,” he promises. “You did such a good job, Jinnie. We’ll go home soon, I promise.”

It’s another thirty minutes until they’re officially released. Baby-hyung holds Jimin’s hand quietly as they walk back to the parking lot, every so often checking his arm to make sure he doesn’t move his cotton ball band-aid too much. 

The drive back to the dorm is uneventful; Baby-hyung falls into a light doze as soon as they leave, clearly exhausted from the events of the afternoon. Jimin reaches over to smooth his hair back from his forehead, smiling at the peaceful expression on his face. He makes sure RJ is securely tucked into his arms before he leans back, enjoying the quiet for the rest of the drive. 

Baby-hyung only startles awake when he gets unbuckled from his booster seat; he raises his arms and asks Jimin to carry him. Jimin holds him from the garage to the elevator to their front door, rubbing a hand on his back to wake him up.

“We’re home now,” he whispers while Namjoon swipes the keycard. “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s alone on the couch watching TV, but he looks up sharply as they enter. His eyes go from Namjoon to Jimin to Baby-hyung, still curled up against Jimin’s shoulder, and the worry in his eyes grows. 

Jimin crouches down and sets Baby-hyung on the floor.

Disoriented, Baby-hyung looks around, trying to get his bearings. Then his eyes fall on Yoongi and he walks over to him, standing with his spine straight, his hands behind his back.

“I was brave, like you said,” he begins, voice unsteady. “I only cried a little.”

Yoongi’s smile is so gentle that it aches to look at. “Good job, Seokjinnie.”

Baby-hyung nods slowly, and carefully clambers onto Yoongi’s lap, making sure not to rip off his band-aid accidentally. “I got an owie,” he says once he’s seated, showing Yoongi his arm. He looks up at him hopefully. “Kiss?”

And then it feels like the whole room holds its breath.

Yoongi-hyung would never, is Jimin’s first thought, and he immediately feels bad for thinking it. It’s just that Yoongi’s so closed off, so guarded, and so stoic at times that it seems like he’s unfeeling. He’d never be outright mean, and the past few weeks have shown that he’s capable of being gentle, but still—

That’s Seokjin. His ex-best friend. That’s someone he normally chooses to pretend doesn’t exist. Yoongi isn’t good at openly expressing his feelings, and yet that seems to be the only thing Baby-hyung wants. 

Yoongi looks like he’s having an entire debate by himself, his expression hesitant as he takes in Baby-hyung’s arm, then Baby-hyung’s expression. Baby-hyung just stares up at him hopefully, eyes wide and pleading, looking at Yoongi like he’s his entire world.

A part of Jimin wants to crawl into Baby-hyung’s brain and dissect it, pull it apart and follow his toddler logic. He obviously feels safest with Yoongi, but the question is—why? What did he see? They were all essentially strangers to him that first day, so why Yoongi?

What nuance, he thinks, is he missing?

After a few heartbeats, Yoongi lets out a quiet breath. He ducks down, his movements slow and stilted. He presses a soft kiss on Baby-hyung’s skin, right next to the cotton ball. 

“There,” he says, voice so quiet Jimin has to strain to hear him. 

The smile that lights up Baby-hyung’s face could probably power an entire city. He throws his arms around Yoongi’s neck, tucking his head against Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi holds him back, and seems content just to breathe him in.

There’s something that feels so private, so unspoken about how Yoongi handles Baby-hyung and how he easily returns the love he’s so freely given. It’s so different from how he interacts with Seokjin normally that Jimin finds himself lingering, wondering; watching them for a few more heartbeats.

Around Seokjin, he’s cold, awkward, and distant to the point that he’s almost rude, yet with Baby-hyung he’s the complete opposite. He’s warm and gentle and filled with so much fondness, and there’s a tender ache in Jimin’s chest, building and building because that’s how he used to be. When Jimin thinks of them as rookies, that’s always how he remembers Yoongi: headstrong yet kind, gentle yet unyielding, and laughing—always laughing—with his shoulder pressed to Seokjin’s.

After a split second, Yoongi looks up and catches Jimin watching. Their eyes meet; there’s a long moment where they stare silently at each other. 

Then, Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

Jimin wants to speak, but thinks the better of it. He shakes his head, turns away, and heads to his room.

After a few days, they get the first results of Baby-hyung’s cure.

“It failed,” Namjoon tells them, his brow furrowed, the downturn of his mouth displeased.

“What do you mean?” Jeongguk demands.

“Exactly that,” replies Namjoon. “The first batch of the cure didn’t work.”

“Why not?” Taehyung asks.

Namjoon shrugs. “They said one of the ingredients had a weird reaction to Jinnie’s blood and it neutralized the entire thing,” he replies. “So it just…didn’t work. They’re looking into alternatives now.”

Jimin lets out a sigh and slumps back on the couch, his eyes darting to Baby-hyung, who’s obliviously playing out a skit between RJ and a plushie Charmander that Hoseok had gotten him. “This is so…” he starts, but isn’t quite sure how to finish.

“And the fan?” Hoseok asks. “Did you get any updates about her whereabouts?”

“None,” Namjoon replies, shaking his head. “They have security footage of her up until she left the venue. And then it’s like she vanished into thin air.”

“Of course she did,” Jeongguk mutters, loud enough to be heard by everyone.

His tone gives Namjoon pause, and he turns to Jeongguk, an eyebrow raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, an edge to his tone.

Jimin sees Jeongguk’s hands curl into fists. “It’s the twenty-first century,” Jeongguk replies, tone even. “I don’t understand how, with all the security cameras and phones and all this fucking technology around us, that this fan can disappear without a trace.”

“I’m sure she’s just somewhere—”

“And I don’t think they’re trying hard enough,” Jeongguk explodes, loud enough that it makes Baby-hyung startle, turning to them with wide eyes. “No one—none of them are trying hard enough. Not the company, not the scientists, no one. Because if they were actually trying, we would’ve figured out a cure by now.”

His voice is raw, an audible desperation to his voice. Jimin knows that out of all of them, this de-aging thing affected him most—he’s closest to Seokjin, and he’d been there, after all, when Seokjin had transformed. It must eat him up with guilt, Jimin realizes, every time he looks at Baby-hyung and sees what he could’ve prevented.

“Jeongguk, calm down,” Namjoon says. “I’m sure the company’s trying their best. The scientists, too. It’s just that these things take time.”

“Well then, they should try harder. You should tell them to try harder, Namjoon-hyung.”

Hoseok jumps to Namjoon’s defense. “Namjoon’s doing the best he can,” he says, a hint of steel in his voice.

“Is he?” Jeongguk throws back.

“Jeongguk—” Taehyung starts.

“I think that your anger is a little misplaced,” Yoongi speaks up, obviously in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “There’s nothing we can do about the situation except wait.” Jimin sees him draw in a breath, as if to calm himself. “Believe me, everyone is doing all that they can. We want Jin-hyung back, too. Just as much as you do.”

Jeongguk’s eyes harden even more. “No, you don’t,” he replies. His eyes dart from Namjoon to Hoseok and then finally to Yoongi, and he holds his gaze like a challenge. “None of you care for him as much as I do.”

“Jeongguk—” Taehyung says, but it’s too late; Jeongguk jumps to his feet and walks to his bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

A deafening silence rings out.

“Jeonggukie-hyung?” Baby-hyung says, his voice small and timid. He abandons his toys and gets to his feet, looking back and forth from the closed door to the six of them, still sitting in the living room. “What happened to Jeonggukie-hyung?”

It’s Taehyung who replies. “He’s just sad,” he says, giving Baby-hyung a small smile. “Give him time.”

Baby-hyung cocks his head in thought, then seems to notice Yoongi, who looks shaken by the confrontation. He doesn’t even pause as he runs and clambers onto Yoongi’s lap, settling like he belongs there, weaseling his way beneath the crook of Yoongi’s arm for some semblance of a hug.

There’s nothing to say after that. Taehyung goes off to try and talk to Jeongguk while Hoseok and Namjoon converse in low tones, every so often looking in the direction of Jeongguk’s room. Yoongi stays on the couch with Baby-hyung and Jimin, wanting to be anywhere else but here, leaves—heading to the kitchen to find something to distract himself with.

He should eat something, he knows; he hasn’t eaten since the night before, and it’s already nearing three in the afternoon. But even as he opens the cupboards to grab the ramen packets, he finds he isn’t quite hungry.

Seokjin wouldn’t like that he hasn’t eaten, Jimin thinks as he sits back down at their dining table. Seokjin would always ensure that there was food set aside for him.

There were many things Seokjin would do for him. He’d made sure Jimin stayed sane within the hurricane of the idol industry, made sure to talk to the staff whenever he saw Jimin getting way too stressed out. He was always there to listen to Jimin’s worries and offer some wisdom. Jimin learned early on that Seokjin always knew exactly what to say to make him feel better.

Helplessness is a terrible feeling. It paralyzes you and taints your vision, makes you feel like you’re drowning, and your only two choices are mercy or salvation. You can’t do anything, you can’t save yourself—the only thing you can do is wait and see how it turns out.

Back when he was a trainee trying to make the debut line-up, Jimin had felt helpless, too. But even then, that helplessness was different—he could sing until his voice was hoarse, dance until his muscles gave out. This is something he can’t do anything about, and he gets why Jeongguk blew up—he’s just as frustrated with the situation, too.

It’s not fair, he thinks, feeling his throat close up with tears. It’s not fair that Seokjin had always looked out for him, and now the only thing he can do is wait. It’s not fair that he can’t do anything.

That he hasn’t been able to do anything to help for a long time. 

After Seokjin and Yoongi fought, Jimin found himself caught in the middle. Things were tense, but the group was close, and in his eyes, it was just something they could weather. 

But the tension had festered, exacerbated by Yoongi’s emotional distance and Seokjin’s evident hurt, and soon enough, it had seeped into their relationships, creating an emotional chasm nobody really knew how to address. It wasn’t just Seokjin and Yoongi at this point—it was all of them. 

And Jimin had tried his best to keep everyone together, tried his best to maintain the bond that made them BTS. But it wasn’t enough; at one point, everyone else stopped trying. Until he was the only one left still holding on, stretched thin and doing his absolute best to keep them from falling apart. 

He doesn’t realize he’s started crying until he feels a wetness on his cheek, rolling down to his chin. He bites his lip, but he can’t stop the sobs from wracking through him, and he buries his face in his hands.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there crying until he hears the tell-tale sound of tiny footsteps pattering into the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, takes a moment to dry his tears, and then schools his face into something a little more presentable.

When he turns around, he finds Baby-hyung staring up at him with a neutral expression. Jimin smiles—or at least, he tries to—and he’s just about to open his mouth and ask if he needs anything when Baby-hyung darts forward, quickly clambering into the chair next to him and dropping a packet of bungeoppang on the table.

“You’re sad too,” he observes, with all seriousness a three-year-old can muster. “Like Jeonggukie-hyung.”

Jimin contemplates lying, but he knows that Baby-hyung would never believe him. “Yeah,” he says, wiping away his tears.

“Jeonggukie-hyung told me that he’s sad because he misses someone,” Baby-hyung continues. “Do you miss someone, too?”

There’s something so Seokjin about the way Baby-hyung is looking at him, and immediately Jimin feels like crying even more. “Yeah,” he says again, doing his best to hold back tears. “I think Jeonggukie-hyung and I miss the same person.”

“Yoongi-hyung too?” Baby-hyung asks. “He’s sad too.”

“Yeah,” Jimin replies. “All the hyungs miss him.”

Baby-hyung cocks his head, curious. “Where’d he go?”

“He’s…” Jimin pauses, thinks about how to phrase it. “He’s a little lost, right now. We’re trying to help him, but it’s hard.”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t know what to do,” Jimin replies. “Because we can’t really do anything.”

Baby-hyung mulls that over, his lips in a thoughtful frown. “Why not?”

“Because—because,” Jimin says, unsure how to explain everything to a toddler. “Because it’s not that easy, Jinnie. There are some things the hyungs can’t do, and we have to let the experts do it. Like—like when you’re sick, you have to go to the doctor because they’re the expert.”

Baby-hyung makes a face at the mention of the doctor. “I don’t like the doctor,” he says.

That makes Jimin laugh. “I know you don’t. You still have to go, though.”

Baby-hyung pouts at that, but he seems to realize that this isn’t the time and place to complain about the doctors. “When I’m sad,” he tells Jimin seriously, like he’s imparting deep wisdom, “I always ask Yoongi-hyung for a hug.” 

He crawls onto Jimin’s lap, maneuvering himself so he can throw his arms around Jimin’s neck in a semblance of a hug. Jimin can’t help but smile at the comfort, clumsily given and innocent, and he ducks his head and breathes in the smell of Baby-hyung’s baby shampoo.

“Then,” he continues, his voice right by Jimin’s ear, “I eat a snack. Yoongi-hyung always says that I need a snack when I’m cranky.”

“I think being cranky and being sad are two different things,” Jimin says, but he allows Baby-hyung to shift and turn around. 

Baby-hyung grabs the bungeoppang in front of them and pulls it closer, twisting around so he can give it to Jimin.

“I have fishie bread,” Baby-hyung says. “Jeonggukie-hyung gave it to me. I wanted gummies, but he said I wasn’t allowed.”

That makes Jimin smile. “He’s right,” he says. “You shouldn’t be eating gummies anymore.”

Baby-hyung ignores him, pointing to the bungeoppang in front of him. “I saved this one for you, Jiminie-hyung,” he says simply.

Something about the kind, innocent way Baby-hyung stares at him makes Jimin’s throat feel thick, and he has to swallow a few times to try and dispel it. 

“Oh,” he says, voice a little hoarse. “Thanks.”

“So don’t be sad anymore, okay?” Baby-hyung says. “Fish should make you happy!”

Warmth blooms in Jimin’s chest, and he’s unable to stop his small smile from growing. “Okay,” he says. He picks up the packet, ripping it open. “Do you wanna share with me?”

Baby-hyung’s face lights up.

And as he’s helping Baby-hyung rip off a piece of the bungeoppang, Jimin finds that whether Seokjin’s an accomplished adult or a clumsy toddler, he still knows exactly how to make Jimin feel better.

(Later, Jimin realizes that Baby-hyung is as observant as he is precocious. When Yoongi comes to take him to the bathroom for his nighttime bath, he shakes his head.

“No,” he tells Yoongi. “I want Jeonggukie-hyung and Namjoonie-hyung to help me.”

And it’s something of a sight, Jimin thinks, to watch Jeongguk and Namjoon hold each of his hands as he happily leads them into the bathroom.)

Contrary to what one would think,  Baby-hyung isn’t actually clingy, not really. He’ll happily do his own thing, and he’s pretty independent, able to do things by himself as long as he knows someone is in the near vicinity.

The only thing is that he doesn’t like being left behind.

“I’m coming,” Baby-hyung declares imperiously. He’s in an extremely good mood—Jeongguk had taken him on a quick excursion to the nearby convenience store as an apology for being upset the other day, and he’d given Baby-hyung free reign to buy whatever he wanted. Which meant that they’d arrived home with two bags filled to the brim with random snacks and toys, and a brand-new Pikachu cup and cutlery set for Baby-hyung to use.  “I wanna go too.”

“No,” Namjoon replies. “You can’t.”

Baby-hyung shakes his head. “I can,” he argues. He’s got both his arms and legs wrapped around Jeongguk’s leg like a monkey, sitting directly on Jeongguk’s foot. “I wanna come."

“Seokjinnie, you can’t,” Yoongi says, bending down to reason with him. “You need to stay here with the manager-hyungs.”

“I don’t wanna stay with the manager-hyungs,” Baby-hyung replies. “I wanna go with the hyungs.”

“The hyungs are going to work.”

“I wanna go to work, too.”

“But the hyungs will be at dance practice for a long time, and you’ll get bored. It’s better for you to stay here.”

“But I wanna come,” Baby-hyung whines. “I wanna see the hyungs dance.”

Yoongi’s expression gets all fond, which Jimin’s come to learn after watching him deal with Baby-hyung means that he’s already given in. Yoongi’s marshmallow-soft in secret, a fact that he tries to hide from everyone, so Jimin decides to crouch down and swoop in before Yoongi starts promising him the HYBE building.

“Jinnie,” he says, and Baby-hyung turns his puppy eyes to him. “The hyungs will be working, and we can’t take care of you while we’re working.”

“I can take care of me,” Baby-hyung says. “I’m big.” And then he puffs up his chest the best he can.

“He’s so cute.” Jeongguk looks like he’s about to burst into tears because of how adorable Baby-hyung is. He bends down and picks him up, and Baby-hyung goes easily, squealing. Once he’s situated on Jeongguk’s hip, he reaches out to mash his tiny hands against Jeongguk’s cheeks.

“You look like a fishie,” he giggles. Jeongguk wrinkles his nose, which only makes Baby-hyung giggle some more.

“No, but Jinnie, listen—listen,” Jimin says, bringing them back to the topic at hand. He straightens up, gestures for Jeongguk to turn Baby-hyung towards him. “Yoongi-hyung will be working, which means that he can’t take care of you when you cry.”

“I won’t cry,” Baby-hyung replies. “I’m brave.”

“No, I know that, but you might get bored,” Jimin says. “The hyungs can’t play with you.”

“I’ll play by myself,” Baby-hyung says. “I’m a good boy, I promise.” He pins Jimin with an expression so adorable that Jimin would think he’s weaponizing it, if three-year-olds knew how to do that sort of thing. 

Jimin tries to hold out, he really does. But even he knows it’s fruitless, especially when Baby-hyung tacks on a “Please, Jiminie-hyung?” all nice and polite, like the absolute darling of a toddler he is when he wants to be. Jimin feels himself crumble, and then fully cave in.

“Well,” Jimin says. “If it’s just this once…”

Baby-hyung brightens.

Namjoon’s sigh is resigned. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. Can someone help me pack his bag?”

If Hoseok and Taehyung are surprised to see Baby-hyung happily dancing to Baby Shark in the practice room, they don’t show it. Despite his obvious fatigue, Hoseok squeals and scoops him up, making Baby-hyung laugh as he throws his hands around Hoseok’s neck. 

Baby-hyung runs up to Taehyung as soon as Hoseok sets him down, talking a mile a minute about Baby Shark. Taehyung’s got a wide smile on his face as he regards Baby-hyung—one hand filming on his phone, the other behind his back, hiding the present he’d snuck out of his bag while Baby-hyung was distracted with Hoseok.

“I have a surprise for you!” Taehyung says as soon as Baby-hyung takes a breath. 

Baby-hyung blinks, then an expression of delight crosses his face. “What is it?” he asks, giddy.

Jimin watches as Taehyung pulls out a small Vaporeon plushie from behind him.

Baby-hyung gasps. “A Vaporeon!” he exclaims, and jumps up and down to grab it, his hands stretched above his head. Taehyung bends down to hand it to him, and Baby-hyung immediately pulls it to his chest, squeezing tightly. 

“Thank you, Taehyung-hyung!” he says politely. Jimin’s heart warms as he watches Baby-hyung press his face against its nose.

But the Vaporeon plushie is promptly overshadowed by the appearance of Yeontan, who yips in his carrier, asking Taehyung to let him out.

Baby-hyung’s eyes go wide. “A doggy!” he gasps, setting Vaporeon down and running over to Taehyung’s bag.

Baby-hyung’s silent as Taehyung pulls Yeontan out, hands over his mouth like he wants to reach out but isn’t sure he’s allowed to. Yeontan immediately zeroes into him as soon as he’s free, his tail wagging.

“His name is Tannie,” Taehyung tells Baby-hyung gently as Yeontan sniffs curiously at Baby-hyung. “He told me he wanted to come play with you!”

Baby-hyung’s eyes are round. “Tannie’s my friend?”

“Of course he is!” replies Taehyung. He coaxes Baby-hyung to hold his hand out, helping him run his fingers through his coarse fur. “See, he likes you already!”

Baby-hyung’s smile only grows. “Hi, Tannie,” he says quietly, petting him gently. He squeals when Tannie suddenly turns around to lick his fingers, pulling his hand away quickly. “Yoongi-hyung, look! He’s my new friend!”

All in all, dance practice gets delayed for thirty minutes due to the cuteness tandem that is Baby-hyung playing with Yeontan. No one, not even their choreographer, has the heart to stop them, everyone watching amusedly as Baby-hyung runs around the practice room with Yeontan trailing behind him. Yeontan even crawls up Baby-hyung’s lap to give him a few kisses, and it’s such an adorable sight that Jimin can’t help but whip out his phone and take a few photos.

“Alright, alright.” It’s Hoseok, their ever-reliable dance leader, who finally calls for them to begin. “Jinnie, the hyungs have to practice now, okay? Why don’t you sit with Tannie over there?”

“Okay!” Baby-hyung chirps and obediently makes his way to sit at the corner of the room with Yeontan.

Jimin’s a little surprised at how well Baby-hyung keeps his promise. He spends most of the practice sitting quietly, playing happily with his Vaporeon plushie and with Yeontan. Occasionally, he ropes their managers into his games; at one point, Jimin sees Baby-hyung giggling with one of their managers, pretending to make Vaporeon roar at him.

But at times, Jimin looks over to see him completely riveted by their dance practice. Funnily (or not-so-funnily) enough, he looks exactly like Seokjin trying to remember their choreography—his brows drawn inward and his eyes laser-sharp with focus. Something in Jimin’s heart twinges at the recognition, and he has to shake his head and look away before he bursts into tears.

The rest of the dance practice passes by in a blur. It's already dark out when they break for ten minutes, but Baby-hyung is still filled with energy as he runs up to Yoongi. 

“Yoongi-hyung!” he exclaims. “You were dancing!”

Yoongi chuckles. “Yeah, I was,” he replies. Jimin spots a note of exhaustion in his voice, but Yoongi manages to hide it well, keeping his smile fixed in place as Baby-hyung babbles at him. 

It’s only when Jeongguk scoops Baby-hyung from the ground and steals him away that Jimin sees his expression drop, wincing as he rubs at his bad shoulder. 

Jimin scoots over, just until he’s next to Yoongi.

“You okay?” he asks lowly.

“Fine,” Yoongi replies. He sits down stiffly, doing his best not to jostle his arm. 

“Is it your shoulder?”

Yoongi grunts, doesn’t say anything else.

When they were trainees, Yoongi, working part-time to deliver food, had been involved in a car accident. Their company was nice enough to pay for his medical expenses, but despite the extensive medical care he’d received, the incident had left him with a shattered left shoulder that now often gives him trouble. Yoongi’s always done his best to work through it; when they were younger, he hid it well, never letting anyone know he was hurting. But Jimin knows that years of intense dance practice has taken a toll on his body, and some days—usually whenever he over-exerts himself—he can barely lift that shoulder up.

“You should call it a night,” Jimin says.

“I’m fine,” Yoongi dismisses. He takes a sip of water. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

Yoongi shakes his head. Jimin watches the way Yoongi’s eyes instinctively seek out Baby-hyung. “I’m used to it.”

His eyes grow a touch warm when they land on Baby-hyung, already on the other side of the practice room with Taehyung and Jeongguk. Then he takes a deep breath, clenching his jaw as he speaks.

“Anyway, I’ll be fine,” he reassures Jimin, even as he rubs at his shoulder again. After a moment, he stands and leaves, making his way to the other side of the room. 

Jimin watches the way Baby-hyung’s face lights up as soon as he spots Yoongi, watches the way Baby-hyung immediately asks to be held. Watches the way Yoongi expertly masks his pain as he picks Baby-hyung up with barely even a protest.

Two hours later, they call it quits on dance practice.

They all collapse on the floor, sweaty and exhausted, and Jimin takes a sip from his water bottle as he relishes in the ache of his muscles after a long dance practice. Most everyone’s gone home—we’re probably the only ones still here, Jimin thinks as he wipes his sweat away with a towel. The night sky has long since settled, and the building is quiet, the serenity of the evening washing over them. 

At this time of night, everything feels hazy. Unreal, like someone had overlaid a filter which made every edge shimmer, every corner blur. Jimin moves slow, feeling a little like his limbs are underwater—he wants to close his eyes, fall asleep, and wake up in his bed.

He looks to the side of the room to search for his practice bag. His eyes fall on a small figure lying on his side on the floor, his head pillowed on one of their manager’s lap, tucked under a jacket too big for him and breathing evenly.

“Oh,” he says, caught off-guard. “Jinnie’s still here?”

Their manager shrugs. “He didn’t want to go,” he replies, running a hand through Baby-hyung’s hair. “I tried to take him to the dorm, but he said he wasn’t tired.”

“Not tired,” Baby-hyung parrots, surprising Jimin. Turns out he’s still awake. “Want—want Yoongi-hyung.”

“Jinnie, you know it’s not good for you to stay up past your bedtime,” Jimin says.

“Don’t w’nna sleep without Yoongi-hyung,” replies Baby-hyung. He yawns, pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. His eyes are droopy, and Jimin worries he’ll fall asleep where he’s standing, but somehow he manages to get his bearings and make his way to where Yoongi’s sitting.

Yoongi startles in surprise at the sight of him. “Seokjinnie?” he asks. “What—why are you…?”

“Yoongi-hyung.” Baby-hyung’s syllables are slow, laced with sleep. He crawls onto Yoongi’s lap immediately, throwing his arms around his neck.

“You should’ve gone home earlier,” Yoongi chides. “It’s late. The manager-hyungs could’ve taken you home.”

Baby-hyung shakes his head. “Wanted to wait for you,” he mumbles, leaning his cheek against Yoongi’s shoulder. 

Yoongi can’t pick up Baby-hyung now, not in the state his left shoulder is currently in. He looks around the room, meeting Jimin’s gaze. 

“Jimin-ah, can you…?” He trails off, gestures to Baby-hyung, curled up against him. 

“—home,” Baby-hyung whines, like the brat he is sometimes. “Yoongi-hyung, can we go home now?”

For some reason, that makes Yoongi smile. “We will,” he promises. “But you need to get up first, okay? Hyung danced too much, he’s a little too tired to hold you.”

“Mmkay.” Baby-hyung yawns again, eyes squeezed shut, mouth hinged open. Obediently, he pulls away, but he doesn’t go far—he stays comfortably seated on Yoongi’s lap.

“Jinnie,” Yoongi says.

“No, but…” Jimin sees a little bit of acuity return to Baby-hyung’s eyes, and he cocks his head like something’s just dawned on him. “I r’mber. Yoongi-hyung has an owie.”

“An owie?” 

Baby-hyung nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Stayed because I wanted to—wanted to help.”

Then two of his hands reach out, hovering on Yoongi’s left shoulder. Yoongi freezes, eyes wide and unsure of what to expect.

There’s a moment where it feels like the whole world stills, waiting with bated breath to see what happens next. Baby-hyung’s expression has morphed into one of quiet, albeit sleepy determination, single-minded in his goal.

“I’ll help,” Baby-hyung says.

Then he leans forward, his lips puckering; Jimin watches as he places the gentlest little kiss on Yoongi’s shoulder.

For a split second, Jimin feels like he’s been flashed back eight years ago, back to Nonhyeon-dong and their tiny one-bedroom dorm, back to when Seokjin constantly fussed over Yoongi, making sure he ate or slept. Back to when Yoongi would actually listen to Seokjin’s fussing—he’s allowed to because he’s the oldest, Yoongi had always claimed back then. But anyone could see that he just liked it whenever Seokjin took care of him.

And there was something precious between them, a silent understanding that, Jimin thinks, many people would spend lifetimes searching for. One that, even as a three-year-old child, Baby-hyung seems to be fluent in, what with the way he seems to know even the things Yoongi doesn’t speak about. 

“There,” Baby-hyung says once he’s done, pulling away. “All better.”

Yoongi’s expression is pained—almost like he’s about to burst into tears at the tenderness of it all. “Thank you,” Jimin hears him say quietly. His voice is thick with emotion.

Baby-hyung smiles up at him, then gently pushes himself off Yoongi’s lap and waits patiently as Yoongi pushes himself to his feet. Once Yoongi is standing, he reaches up to slip his hand into Yoongi’s—an anchor, Jimin thinks, but he isn’t sure for whom.

“Now can we go home, please?” Baby-hyung asks.

Yoongi swallows. For a moment, he’s unmoving—a little like he might suddenly burst into tears. But he manages to get ahold of himself, and when he smiles down at Baby-hyung, it’s sincere.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Let’s go.”

And it must be hard to take that much love, that much tenderness from someone you’ve hurt in the past. Jimin watches them go, thinks of the last eight years between Seokjin and Yoongi, thinks of their sudden falling out and the quiet heartbreak that follows them around to this day. It’s not something that goes away, no matter how kind and sweet and gentle Baby-hyung is. It’s not a story easily forgotten.

There are just some hurts, Jimin thinks, that a child can’t just kiss away.

Chapter Text

“So,” Namjoon begins. “Are you ready?”

For a long moment, Toddler-Seokjin doesn’t reply. Then he nods slowly, his expression serious, his eyes alight with determination.

There are certain moments in life, Namjoon thinks, that you just can’t come back from. Moments where one decisive action seals your fate. You turn right instead of left, and your entire future changes course. You decide red instead of blue and a well of possibilities opens up. You open that box, and Schrödinger’s cat, inside, takes on one of two states: dead or alive. The future is malleable, and the choice is in your hands.

In these moments, you only get one shot, one chance to change everything. There’s no going back, only forward. You can’t turn back time. And you can’t erase what’s been etched in stone, when it’s been etched in stone.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds before blowing it out. Toddler-Seokjin mimics him, his eyes glued to Namjoon’s. They stare at each other in mutual understanding, the tension of the moment hovering over them. The air feels supercharged with electricity. A lightning storm waiting to happen.

“Okay.” Toddler-Seokjin speaks lowly, seriously.

Namjoon digs deep, tries to find that one sliver of inner peace. He can’t be too wound-up—too much nerves and he becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. He deliberately keeps his mind blank, lets nothing but emotion wash over him, waits for the crest of his emotions to morph into unwavering certainty. 

Then he rips open the packet. 

Toddler-Seokjin’s gasp is loud, both his hands flying up to cover his mouth. His eyes flicker from the packet to Namjoon, like he isn’t sure what to do next. 

Namjoon swallows nervously and holds the bag out. “Here,” he says.

With a hesitant hand, Toddler-Seokjin reaches into the bag. He looks terrified but determined, his eyebrows slanting down to make him look almost angry. After a moment, he pulls out the sticker, setting it facedown on the table. 

“On the count of three,” Namjoon instructs. “One, two… three!”

Toddler-Seokjin flips it around, and for a split-second, they stare down at it, uncomprehending. Then it dawns on Namjoon just what exactly he’s looking at, and his eyes widen in disbelief, his chest filling up with a sudden elation.

“Oh my God,” Namjoon says, heart thumping. “Jinnie, it’s a Dragonite.”

The squeal that Toddler-Seokjin lets out is so loud and so high-pitched that Namjoon’s sure that everyone in the entire building can hear him. But Namjoon doesn’t mind—can’t do anything but grin at him, grin down at the sticker on the table, because it’s a fucking Dragonite. It’s the sticker he’s been looking for for weeks.

“I did it!” Toddler-Seokjin bounces happily on the chair, his cheeks all squished up from smiling. He leans over the table to peek at the sticker again, his hands held close to his chest in glee. “I got you a Dragonite, Namjoonie-hyung!”

“You sure did,” Namjoon praises. “Hyung couldn’t have done it without you. You’re my lucky charm.”

Toddler-Seokjin’s answering smile is so wide that Namjoon melts. He reaches over the table to give him a high-five.

It’s at that moment the front door to their dorm opens, and Yoongi steps in, shrugging off his jacket and toeing off his shoes. He raises his eyebrows when he catches sight of Namjoon and Toddler-Seokjin sitting at the coffee table. 

“Are you guys drawing Pokémon cards again?” he asks.

“Pokémon stickers,” Namjoon corrects as Toddler-Seokjin exclaims, “Yoongi-hyung!”, pushing himself to his feet and running up to him.

“Look, look!” he says, grabbing one of Yoongi’s hands and tugging him further into the living room. “Namjoonie-hyung got a Dragonite and I helped!”

“Oh, did you?” Yoongi allows himself to be pulled further into the living room and then pulled down so he’s crouched on the floor with them. Toddler-Seokjin immediately throws his arms around Yoongi’s neck. “How did you help?”

“Namjoonie-hyung said that I’m lucky, and—and that I should get the sticker,” Toddler-Seokjin says. He squeezes Yoongi, and Namjoon watches amusedly as Yoongi flails a little before managing to catch his balance. “And I got him a Dragonite!”

Yoongi maneuvers them until they’re seated on the floor, peeking over Toddler-Seokjin’s shoulder to look at the sticker. “Cute,” he muses, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. “What are you gonna do with it?”

“Put it in—in Namjoonie-hyung’s book!” Toddler-Seokjin responds, letting go of Yoongi to run around the coffee table. He grabs Namjoon’s binder from the couch, struggling a little at its size, and places it on the coffee table. His expression is excited as he flicks through the binder. “Namjoonie-hyung and I chose a spot for him and that’s where we’ll put him!” He points triumphantly at an empty spot on a page, marked by a tiny fish sticker and a post-it note that says Dragonite - Jinnie in wobbly lines. Namjoon had helped him write that. He’d had Toddler-Seokjin hold the pen while he drew out the strokes. “He’s next to all his friends!”

“Put it in,” Namjoon tells him, pushing the sticker towards him.

Toddler-Seokjin’s face is pinched up in concentration as he peels off the post-it note, and carefully slips the sticker between the plastic sleeves. The Dragonite sticker fits perfectly, Toddler-Seokjin’s tiny fish sticker adorning its corner, and Toddler-Seokjin beams as he looks up at Namjoon. “I did it!”

“Good job!” Namjoon praises. He gestures for Toddler-Seokjin to hold the binder up, pulling out his phone. “Smile!”

“Kimchi!” Toddler-Seokjin smiles so wide his eyes squeeze shut. He’s absolutely adorable like this; Namjoon takes about ten photos of the sight before he puts his phone down.

Toddler-Seokjin returns to his favorite place called Being Close To Yoongi, and he and Namjoon split the bread from the packet. Toddler-Seokjin talks the whole time, flicking through the binder and pointing out his favorite stickers to a bemused and fond Yoongi.

“And this is a Wooper,” Toddler-Seokjin says, his mouth full of crumbs as he points to a sticker. “He’s blue and round! He’s a Water-type and a Ground-type. So he likes to play in the water and on the ground!”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Yoongi scolds as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a thumb, but Toddler-Seokjin isn’t deterred. 

“Namjoonie-hyung said he looks like you!” Toddler-Seokjin squints at Yoongi, then back at the sticker, like he’s comparing them. 

“Does he?” Yoongi looks at the sticker, baffled. “I don’t think he does.” He waits until Toddler-Seokjin looks back at him before he mimics Wooper’s expression.

The resemblance is uncanny. Namjoon actually lets out a snort as Toddler-Seokjin bursts out laughing, both his hands coming up to press his hands against Yoongi’s cheeks. 

“Yoongi-hyung, you’re a Wooper!”

“I told you,” Namjoon tells him smugly.

“You look silly,” Toddler-Seokjin giggles. “Again, again!”

Yoongi good-naturedly rolls his eyes but complies. Toddler-Seokjin laughs again, his infectious happiness filling the apartment, making everything look brighter.

A little later, after Yoongi’s left to go to the studio and it’s just him and Toddler-Seokjin hanging out in the living room, Namjoon opens his binder, and pulls out the Dragonite sticker.

“Here,” he says, handing it to Toddler-Seokjin. “This is for you.”

Toddler-Seokjin blinks down at it, evidently confused. “But what about the book?” he asks, even as he takes it from Namjoon.

Namjoon shrugs. “That’s okay,” he says. “You’re my good luck charm, remember? I’m sure you’ll get me a new one.”

The smile Toddler-Seokjin gives him makes Namjoon feel warm. “Thank you, Namjoonie-hyung,” Toddler-Seokjin says politely, giving him a hug. 

Namjoon returns it easily. “Do you wanna stick it on your Switch?” he asks, and he can’t help but chuckle when Toddler-Seokjin lights up, immediately getting to his feet and running over to grab it.

The thing about Toddler-Seokjin is that he’s Seokjin, but not really.

There are a lot of things about him that Namjoon recognizes from older Seokjin: the habits, the mannerisms, the different expressions he makes in different situations. He likes the same things Seokjin does, enjoys the same food as Seokjin does. He even has a strange fixation on fish, which is admittedly quite funny to witness in a three-year-old. 

But Toddler-Seokjin differs in ways that are difficult to ignore—age notwithstanding, he’s emotional, tactile, and open. He wears his heart on his sleeve, voices out every thought he has, and has a bit of a spoiled streak whenever he doesn’t get things his way. He seeks comfort in touch; he always unthinkingly cuddles into someone, whether it’s Yoongi, Hoseok, the maknaes, or even Namjoon. In the few weeks they’ve had him with them, Namjoon’s lost count of how many times Toddler-Seokjin has climbed onto his lap to show him something and simply just…stayed there. He’s happy most of the time. Mind free from any heavy burdens.

It’s such a far cry from how closed-off Seokjin is nowadays: face impassive and eyes guarded, as if showing the true depth of his emotions could be categorized as a sign of weakness. He laughs around the maknaes, but around Namjoon, he shuts down. He hardly speaks unless it’s necessary. And when he does, his every word would be polite, perfunctory, as if he’s only been tasked to deliver lines from an already-written script. There isn’t a single ounce of warmth or sincerity in his voice. Some days, it didn’t even sound like he cared. 

(And Namjoon knows Seokjin has his reasons for that, but even still, it hurts a little when he comes over to try and join the conversation and witnesses Seokjin shut down in real-time.)

In some ways, Namjoon prefers Toddler-Seokjin—he’s just more straightforward. He’s so transparent about his feelings that Namjoon doesn’t have to overthink; he can simply accept the love that Toddler-Seokjin so freely doles out. There’s no weird, unspoken tension between them, no unaddressed hurt or anger. No guilt. No bitterness. No apathy.

But it would be selfish of Namjoon to try and keep him like this just for his own comfort, just because he’s easier to deal with this way. Ultimately, Toddler-Seokjin still isn’t Seokjin. And despite whatever grievances he may have against Namjoon, Seokjin is supposed to be a thirty-year-old man.

And Namjoon, despite the stoicism and the aloofness, misses his hyung.

(Seokjin wasn’t always this way. Once, when Namjoon was younger and a lot less mature, he’d also been at the receiving end of Seokjin’s squeaky laughter. Seokjin was kind and loving; Seokjin told him long, convoluted stories that often ended in dad jokes. He’d dealt with every issue the same way water rolls off a duck’s back, and Namjoon—still learning to live with the debilitating pressure of trying to lead a boy group to success—often looked to him for guidance and strength. They’d gotten along well. They’d laughed together a lot.

Namjoon misses his hyung, but the sad truth of it is that this isn’t a new development. The sad truth of it is, he’s been missing Seokjin all this time.)

When Yoongi had impulsively volunteered that he (read: they) take care of Toddler-Seokjin, Namjoon had imagined many things. He’d imagined a chaotic dorm filled with toys and clothes, imagined sleepless nights where Toddler-Seokjin would cry. He even dramatically imagined them accidentally starving Toddler-Seokjin—with their conflicting schedules, it was highly possible that they would all leave the dorm only to return and realize that he’d been left alone for eight hours, helpless and scared and crying.

What he never imagined though, was for Toddler-Seokjin to be so incredibly coddled that he’d be spoiled about it. And yet here he is, sitting at the dining table and scowling down at his food like it’s personally offended him.

Namjoon doesn’t even know why he’s pouting.

“It’s tempura,” Namjoon tells him, confused. “I thought you liked tempura.”

Toddler-Seokjin’s frown grows more pronounced. “No.”

Yoongi sighs. “Yes, you do,” he says, sounding every bit the exhausted parent he’s been embodying for weeks. “Eat your food, Seokjinnie.”

“No,” Toddler-Seokjin says again. “It’s too little.”

“What do you mean?” Namjoon asks. He surveys the food in front of Toddler-Seokjin. “It looks like it’s enough for you.”

Toddler-Seokjin crosses his arms, his forehead furrowing even more. “No,” he argues. “Jeonggukie-hyung likes tempura too.”

“But this isn’t Jeonggukie-hyung’s food,” Yoongi says. “It’s yours.”

“But the rainbow fish shared,” Toddler-Seokjin argues. “So I wanna share.” 

Yoongi blinks. “I mean,” he begins, but it’s clear he’d been caught off-guard by Toddler-Seokjin’s logic.

Toddler-Seokjin lets out a long-suffering sigh—which, what is he even stressed about?—and expertly clambers down his chair.

“I’m gonna get Jeonggukie-hyung,” he declares imperiously and immediately runs out of the room before anyone can stop him.

There’s a pause. Namjoon exchanges a look with Yoongi, who looks baffled and far too amused about the whole situation. Although Namjoon likes to think they’ve sort of gotten used to taking care of a child, he’s coming to learn that there’s really no getting used to things when dealing with a toddler. They’ll refuse to share their toys, then suddenly lecture you on the merits of sharing during mealtimes. It’s difficult to argue with toddler logic. Hell, it’s difficult to follow their train of thought sometimes. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to figure out what to do next because a few minutes later, Toddler-Seokjin reappears in the dining room, dragging Jeongguk by the hand. “...And there’s tempura,” Namjoon hears him tell Jeongguk. “And tempura is yummy! So I want you to sit with me. But you can’t sit next to Yoongi-hyung, that’s my spot!”

Jeongguk looks confused, but his expression turns uncomfortable when he spots Namjoon and Yoongi. It’s clear he still feels a little awkward around them after his big blow-up last week.

“I don’t think—” Jeongguk begins, but Toddler-Seokjin doesn’t let him finish.

“No, no, no,” he says. “Tempura is yummy! There’s lots and we have to share!”

There isn’t really, considering Yoongi and Namjoon ordered enough tempura for a three-year-old stomach, but neither of them say anything as Toddler-Seokjin chatters on and pushes Jeongguk to an empty seat.

Then he looks around, nods proudly like he’s just done a good job, and says: “I wanna share with Taehyung-hyung, too!”

“Seokjin—” Yoongi doesn’t get to finish because Toddler-Seokjin just dashes out of the room. He’s literally lightning-quick. Namjoon wonders how children have limitless amounts of energy.

There’s an awkward moment.

“Um,” Jeongguk begins after a few more seconds pass. Namjoon turns to look at him—he’s fidgety, a little uncertain. “I’m not—well, I think maybe I’ll just go—”

Yoongi’s loud sigh cuts him off. “Stay,” he says.

Jeongguk’s eyes widen. “But I don’t—but there isn’t enough food,” he says.

Yoongi shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says, getting to his feet. He’s deliberately not looking at Jeongguk—he’s always been a little awkward with displays of sincerity, especially towards the maknaes. “There’s ramen and pork belly in the kitchen. If Taehyung is joining us too, then we should probably make more food. Do you think you could make some ramen while I fry up some pork belly?”

A pause. “…Me?” Jeongguk stutters, unsure.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. There’s a playful twist to his lips, an expression he usually wears when he’s teasing. “I’m not having Namjoon in the kitchen, he might burn down the whole dorm.”

“Hey,” Namjoon interjects. “I can make ramen.”

And it’s apparent that Jeongguk isn’t really familiar with this side of Yoongi because he still looks confused, a little like he’s just been thrown into an alternate dimension. But Jeongguk’s never really been good at hiding his emotions, and Namjoon can spot a small smile in the corner of his mouth, threatening to break free.

“Sure,” Jeongguk eventually says, pushing himself onto his feet.

“Namjoon, stay here,” Yoongi instructs. “Seokjinnie will cry if he comes back and sees there isn’t anyone at the table. Just tell him we’re making more food.”

“Okay,” Namjoon replies. “But just for the record, I can actually make ramen. It’s literally boiling water. Even I can’t fuck that up.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “Honestly, I’d rather be safe than sorry,” he says, his voice teasing, before he disappears with Jeongguk into the kitchen.

Yoongi’s right—when Toddler-Seokjin returns with Taehyung just a few moments later, he stops abruptly when he notices the empty seats. His lower lip juts out, and his eyes start to water as he turns to Namjoon, evidently hurt at their sudden disappearance.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Namjoon soothes before he can burst into tears. “Yoongi-hyung and Jeongguk-hyung are just making more food. So we can all share!”

That makes Toddler-Seokjin perk up immediately. “Oh!” he exclaims. “Then I’m gonna share with Hobi-hyung, too! And Jimin-hyung!”

Namjoon has no idea if Hoseok and Jimin are even in the dorms. But before he can tell him that, Toddler-Seokjin leads Taehyung to an empty chair, babbling about how I’ll come back, don’t take my spot next to Yoongi-hyung!  before running out again.

Taehyung looks around the table, his eyes wide, his hands against his chest. “He wants to share his lunch?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Namjoon replies. “Although there isn’t really enough, so Yoongi-hyung and Jeongguk are making more food for us.”

Taehyung melts even more at that. “He’s so cute.”

“He really is,” Namjoon agrees, and they both share a warm grin.

Only a few minutes later, Toddler-Seokjin returns with Hoseok in tow, who’s currently dressed like he has lunch plans elsewhere. “Hobi-hyung said he’ll come share with us!” he yells happily, tugging Hoseok into the dining room.

“You are?” Namjoon asks him, a little surprised. Namjoon knows Hoseok well, and he knows that when Hoseok’s dressed to go out, there’s hardly anything that’ll stop him from leaving. 

Hoseok shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. He peels off his jacket, folding it neatly before tucking it in the crook of his elbow. “Jinnie asked so nicely, I can’t say no. Where do I sit? Can I sit here?” He points at Yoongi’s chair, marked by his phone.

“No,” Toddler-Seokjin immediately says, blocking—or well, attempting to block—Hoseok’s line of sight with his tiny body. “That’s Yoongi-hyung’s chair.”

Hoseok’s grin only grows. “Oh, okay. Can I sit here then?” he teases, pointing to Toddler-Seokjin’s seat. “Ooh, is that a Pikachu cup? I like Pikachu. Is that for me? Can I use it?”

Toddler-Seokjin reorients his position. “No, that’s mine!”

And by the time Toddler-Seokjin brings in Jimin—who looks like he’s just been rudely awoken from a good nap—the dining room has been completely transformed. There’s a freshly cooked pot of ramen in the middle of the table, and Yoongi and Jeongguk are in the middle of bringing over some samgyupsal, some kimchi fried rice and banchan. Hoseok is setting some drinks out while singing, and Taehyung is sneaking bites from the dishes already laid out, pretending to be innocent when Toddler-Seokjin calls him out on it. It’s loud and messy and chaotic, a scene so full of life that Namjoon can’t help but sit back and observe, a smile slowly creeping up his face.

The last time they ate together was months ago, and it was a far cry from this moment—filled with a stilted awkwardness and a preference for interacting with their phones. In fact, Namjoon can’t remember a time eating together as seven felt this way, except—

Except that time years ago, sitting on the floor in a cramped, one-bedroom dorm. It had been their first anniversary as a group, and despite how little they had, they made do. Namjoon doesn’t even remember what they ate back then, only that they were happy, wide smiles on their faces as they ate together.

A strong wave of nostalgia washes over him, and Namjoon blinks a few times to dispel the tears that have formed. It wouldn’t do well to cry right now, he thinks amusedly, as he distantly listens to Toddler-Seokjin and Hoseok bicker. He’s happy. They’re happy.

Toddler-Seokjin climbs back onto his chair, pushing Hoseok’s hand away from where it’s teasingly reaching for his Pikachu cup. He looks to make sure Yoongi sits back down next to him before he picks up his tempura and bites into it, using his other hand to reach for his juice box.

Solitude is a funny thing. If Namjoon told anyone else, they wouldn’t blame him for often choosing to eat alone; living in a dorm with six other boys can get overwhelming, and trying to carve out these little pockets of peace makes sense. But the problem with solitude is that after a while, it teeters closer to isolation, to alienation—to selfishness even, when you stop considering anyone else but yourself.

In the beginning, it’s just a tiny sliver of space you put around yourself. Then, as time passes, the space grows into a hole, then a chasm; the sudden emptiness around you becomes just a fact of life. It becomes a familiar constant—the loneliness, the silence. So commonplace you barely even recognize it anymore.

He thinks that maybe, that’s what happened to him: Namjoon had gotten so used to eating alone, that he’d gotten used to the missing; to the empty space the rest of his members used to fill. 

But love is as loud as it is quiet. Love is companionship and laughter; love is sharing meals no matter how little you have. And that’s clearly something Toddler-Seokjin understands, something Seokjin himself understood years ago, back when he used to cook them meals on the meager allowance he received from his parents. 

And whether he’s three or thirty, whether he’s an adult or a child, Namjoon finds that Seokjin’s always invented new ways to love them. 

Toddler-Seokjin is now in the middle of another argument with Hobi, who’s still sneakily trying to steal his Pikachu cup. “It’s mine!” he whines, holding it close to his chest. “Don’t touch!”

“Can’t I use it?” Hoseok pleads. “Just once?”

“No!” Toddler-Seokjin’s nose is wrinkled from how hard he’s making himself scowl. “Hobi-hyung, you’re not my best friend.”

The threat is so adorably uttered that it makes everyone around the table burst out laughing. Jimin pulls his phone out and starts filming, wanting a record of this entire conversation.

“That’s okay,” Hoseok replies, still grinning. “Yoongi-hyung will be my best friend.”

“No,” Toddler-Seokjin argues. The furrow in his brow gets deeper. “Yoongi-hyung’s my best friend!”

There’s a pause. “Really?” It’s Yoongi who speaks, and there’s a strange lilt to his tone.

“Yeah!” Toddler-Seokjin replies enthusiastically. “You’re my best friend and Jeonggukie-hyung is my best friend and Taehyungie-hyung is my best friend and Jiminie-hyung is my best friend and Namjoonie-hyung is my best friend.” A pause. “Hobi-hyung is not my best friend.”

“Aw,” Hoseok pouts while the whole table laughs again. “But Yoongi-hyung said I’m his best friends.”

“No!”

“Can I be Yoongi-hyung’s best friend?” Taehyung jumps in.

“No! Yoongi-hyung’s best friend is only me!”

The conversation continues after that, with Hoseok asking Toddler-Seokjin if he can be friends with anyone else in the room. But Namjoon isn’t paying attention anymore, his attention turned to Yoongi. Yoongi’s previously open expression has shuttered, his face neutral, impassive. His eyes, however, are contemplative, as if Toddler-Seokjin had just told him something profound.

As if there was more behind his words than just a simple, throwaway thought.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow at him, quietly asking if he’s okay. Yoongi just shakes his head, averting his gaze. Namjoon watches as he picks up his chopsticks, clearly intending to continue to eat, but is suddenly stopped by a small hand on his arm.

“Yoongi-hyung,” Toddler-Seokjin says. He’s wearing a particular expression on his face, pure and open and loving, and it’s one that Namjoon knows Yoongi could never resist, whether it’s worn by Toddler-Seokjin or Seokjin himself. “I’m your only best friend, right?”

A pause that lasts just as long as a hitching of breath. Jimin’s still recording, phone steadily trained at them. Yoongi’s expression turns pained.

After a moment, he melts and nods. “Yeah,” he says gruffly. He swallows. “Yeah, you are.”

Toddler-Seokjin grins at him just as Taehyung starts heckling, complaining about wanting to be Yoongi’s best friend too. But it’s clear that that’s all Toddler-Seokjin needed to hear; he stops responding to the heckling and goes back to happily eating his food. 

Yoongi’s eyes are still pained, the way they are when he’s silently agonizing about something but would rather convince everyone around that he’s doing just fine than say a word about it. Namjoon knows better than to be fooled by it, but he lets him be, lets himself get sucked back into the warmth and laughter of the table. 

Lets himself enjoy what he didn’t realize he’d lost a long time ago, brought back by a stubborn toddler insistent on loving them.

And that’s how it starts: a smile, a shared meal, raucous laughter. Love and warmth and companionship, and slowly, whatever’s long dead comes back to life—its tendrils creeping upwards, breaking through the soil.

Yoongi smiles more. Jeongguk speaks a little louder. Hoseok and Taehyung talk about something cute that Toddler-Seokjin did. Jimin teases Namjoon and Taehyung joins in, the both of them wearing matching mischievous grins. Yoongi tells a dad joke. Hoseok laughs with his entire body.

Then these little things grow—the smiles come more often, the small talk turns into actual conversations. Jeongguk makes a joke that turns into a running joke, which turns into the six of them cracking up whenever it’s mentioned. Taehyung teases Jimin, who in turn teases Yoongi, who then responds, lightning-quick, with either a witty remark or a dry comment. Hoseok stays home a lot more. Toddler-Seokjin insists on more shared meal times.

When they visit Seokjin’s parents with Toddler-Seokjin, who welcome them like their sons, it feels like a loud family get-together.

And it really isn’t terrible, Namjoon thinks, to be sitting in a dining room with the seven people he’s practically grown up with. In fact, it becomes something he starts to look forward to every day.

There was a time a few months ago—during the spring, when all the flowers had bloomed back to life—that Namjoon had gotten on the metro and rode it all the way down to Yeuido Hangang Park. He’d spent the afternoon braving the spring cold, sitting on a park bench and watching the cherry blossom petals float down, down, down, down. They only truly live for a week, Namjoon remembers thinking. They’d waited all winter just to bloom for a week.

He hadn’t realized it back then, but there was something to be learned from the flowers, from the trees, from everything that dies in the winter and comes back to life in the spring. For a long time, he’d given up on the rest of the group—had instinctively thought of their relationship as a lost cause. After Seokjin and Yoongi had fought, everything had gone nuclear, and Namjoon, young and a little immature back then, hadn’t really known how to navigate complex relationships. Hadn’t really known what to say to fix all this. Had buried his head in the sand and let everything else slip through his fingers.

It’s something he can only really blame himself for.

But now, watching the slow reflourishing of their relationship, Namjoon knows that this is something he never wants to lose again.

He thinks of the cherry blossoms sprouting after the harsh winter. Of how, despite their short lifespan, they’re still there year after year—growing steadily, unflinchingly. Over and over, again and again. 

He thinks about resilience, and everything that should mean for them. Everything that says about love.

Everything that means about the six other boys sitting in the dining room of Seokjin’s parents’ house, laughing together like no time has passed at all.

Namjoon lets out a deep sigh as he ends the call, running a hand across his tired features. He slumps back, closes his eyes, and just takes a minute to breathe, the hurt, anger, and sadness swirling in his chest.

“What did they say?” Hoseok asks. His tone is uncertain.

Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s not…good news,” he says slowly. He looks around the room; five pairs of eyes stare back at him, guarded. Wary.

Being the leader is a thankless job. As the leader, he’s the point person, the representative; the one people speak to when they need to relay news to the group. As such, he serves as the conduit, passing messages from one end to the other, ensuring they don’t lose their original meaning in the process.

But sometimes, he’s told something sad to hear. Horrifying, even—something that makes his chest seize up in anxiety and his stomach drop down from hopelessness. In those moments, he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and makes the executive decision to lessen the force of the blow. 

He thinks of a way to phrase his news. Curve out the vowels and round out the edges, sound it out gently so it lands softly. 

“The first tests were unsuccessful,” is what he says, rather than it failed. 

There’s a collective intake of breath.

“What happened?” Taehyung asks.

“They—” administered the serum to a few mice test subjects and it killed them all. “—Well, there was an aggressive reaction of some sort. I think the serum wasn’t stable enough.”

Jeongguk lets out a heavy breath, pillowing his head in his hands. He doesn’t say anything else after that.

“They’ll…they’ll try again though.” The words feel stilted on Namjoon’s tongue, but he pushes forward anyway, trying to offer comfort. It’s better if they don’t know. It’s better if they hold on to hope. “Revisit the ingredients. It’s not—well, we just have to be patient. In the meantime, they want more blood samples from Jinnie. They need to run more tests.”

“Okay,” Yoongi says quietly. “I’ll take him there tomorrow.”

“I’ll come with,” Taehyung volunteers.

There isn’t much to say after that. The others stay in the living room, drawing comfort in each other’s presence; Namjoon heads to his room, needing some time to himself. Everything feels just a little too much, a little too overwhelming; his shoulders weighed down by a burden that’s a little too heavy to carry.

He closes his eyes, sucks in a few breaths—in then out, in then out. Until his heartbeat no longer feels erratic. Until he stops feeling like he’s about to burst into tears.

In his room, he feels small. He feels contained. He feels like he isn’t the leader of a world-famous group, but rather he’s just Namjoon—a boy made up of bony knees and clumsy edges. A boy with fewer problems than his bandmate being de-aged. 

In then out. In then out. Until he no longer feels like he’s going to shatter into a million pieces.

Something that Namjoon still hasn’t told anyone was that when he went to speak to Producer Bang the first day after Seokjin had transformed, he’d met the researchers too, and Namjoon had told them everything he knew about the de-aging. He’d witnessed their reaction to the news, too—the blatant doubt, the obvious uncertainty.

You’re asking the impossible, one of the researchers had blurted out after he’d finished explaining everything. Still, they agreed to try, and that was all that mattered.

That was all the others needed to know.

So that night, Namjoon had gone home and condensed everything into as few words as possible. He didn’t tell them about the skepticism. He didn’t tell them about the incredulity. Instead, he said, they’ll try, but they aren’t certain it’ll work.

But that’s just what happens when you’re the leader. Over the years, Namjoon’s learned to absorb the bad, rephrase everything he’s been told into something softer, something just a little kinder. 

He’s not sure how long he spends in his room, lost in thought. But when he finally feels a little more human, the sun’s rays are at a lower angle. Everything else floods in all at once—the darkness of his room, a few voices talking, the audible hum of the TV from outside. It’s a children’s show, based on the tone of the voices, and Namjoon feels a slight twinge of amusement when he realizes that this is now something he can easily discern. 

He pushes himself to his feet, stretches, and heads outside to find Yoongi and Toddler-Seokjin in the living room, the latter sitting snugly on Yoongi’s lap.

Toddler-Seokjin’s just woken up from his nap—there are pillow creases on his cheek, and his hair matted onto his head. But he’s awake, entranced by the show playing on the TV— Bluey, Namjoon’s brain supplies. His head tucked under Yoongi’s chin comfortably. Every so often, he turns to look at Yoongi, as if to check if he’s still watching with him.

He leaves them be, heading to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. Once he feels a little more put together, he heads to the kitchen, intending to grab a snack. However, on the way there, he’s stopped by the quiet sound of someone crying. 

Namjoon looks around, realizing that the sound is coming from Seokjin’s room, the door left slightly open. It’s not Toddler-Seokjin crying—Namjoon checks to make sure he’s still sitting with Yoongi in the living room—and after a quick look around, he lets himself in.

He’s slightly surprised to find Jeongguk in the room, sitting on Seokjin’s bed with his head in his hands. He looks up in surprise when Namjoon enters, jumping onto his feet like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been. His eyes are wide and red-rimmed. He must’ve been crying for a while, then. 

“Oh, um,” Jeongguk begins, quickly wiping tears from his eyes with a sleeve. “I was just…” He gestures to the bed. “I was just going to fix Jinnie’s bed.” 

Toddler-Seokjin’s bed has already been made, evidently by Hoseok—the duvet laying flat, the sheets tucked squarely into corners in the way only he knows how to do. The only thing out of place is the slight wrinkle on the edge, made by someone who sat down on the bed. Namjoon looks at it, then turns his attention back to Jeongguk.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

Jeongguk sniffles. “Fine,” he says, turning away to smooth down the crease. 

Jeongguk’s always been a terrible liar. “You sure?” Namjoon asks.

“Yeah.” Jeongguk’s voice breaks on the word. Namjoon hears him take a deep breath. “I’m just…” he trails off, unable to finish.

Of all the members, Namjoon’s probably the most awkward with Jeongguk. It’s just something that’s happened over the years, a side effect of Seokjin and Yoongi’s falling out. One minute Jeongguk was the starry-eyed boy who followed Namjoon to BigHit; the next he couldn’t even look Namjoon in the eye. He’d stuck closer to Seokjin while Namjoon had stuck closer to Yoongi, and whatever friendship they’d managed to strike up fizzled over the years.

And even though their group relationship is slowly mending, even though it’s easier now to smile around each other, Namjoon still finds himself a little hesitant with Jeongguk, unsure of what to say, uncertain of where he stands. He knows Jeongguk feels the same way—knows that he’s probably still thinking about last week, when he’d blown up at him and at Yoongi.

Namjoon takes a step forward. “What’s wrong?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

Jeongguk shakes his head, keeps his lips pressed together.

“You can tell me,” Namjoon continues, taking another step forward. “Whatever it is, I’ll listen. I promise.”

And that seems all the incentive Jeongguk needs to let his defenses fall, sitting back down on Seokjin’s bed and holding his head between his hands. “No, it’s just—I just miss him,” he confesses, his voice small and broken. “It’s such a fucked up situation, and I miss him, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” A pause. “He always took care of me, he was—he was the first person to look out for me when I moved to Seoul. And now he’s like this and I can’t—” His voice cracks on the last word, “—I can’t help him the way he always helped me. I don’t even know if I’ll ever get him back.”

There’s a part of Namjoon that wants to offer platitudes, tell him, no, of course we’ll get him back, but even he knows it would be useless. It’s not something he can be certain about, and any words he could give to that effect would be surface-level—insincere and shallow. 

And that’s not what Jeongguk deserves. For the first time in years, Jeongguk is here, genuine and open and vulnerable with him, and he deserves more than empty platitudes and pretty banalities. He deserves empathy, deserves grace; deserves the same emotional vulnerability he’s giving Namjoon now, after years of hiding it away from him.

Namjoon takes one last step forward, then slowly lowers himself on the bed next to Jeongguk. 

“Yeah,” he replies. It’s not hard to reach for that same overwhelming feeling from earlier. Namjoon thinks a little wryly that maybe he hadn’t actually done a good job of banishing it away. “I get it.”

He takes a deep, shaky breath, feeling his throat thicken with unshed tears. “When I think about Jin-hyung,” he begins, “I think about…laughter. About his kindness. About the way he’d looked at six, rowdy boys cramped together in a one-bedroom dorm and stole his parents’ cookware and groceries just so he could feed us.”

Jeongguk lets out an exhale, one that could maybe double for a chuckle. Namjoon pushes on. “I think about how hard he worked. Especially when we were preparing for our debut. He was in university then, and he must’ve been exhausted, but he still tried so hard.”

Namjoon leans back on his hands, swallowing as he casts his eyes to the ceiling. “And I’m angry,” he admits, the words falling from his lips like a dam breaking. “I’m angry that my best memories with him are from eight years ago. I’m angry that I didn’t—that I let whatever fight Jin-hyung and Yoongi-hyung affect us all. I’m the leader, and I didn’t—I’m angry that I didn’t reach out to him, didn’t check in on him, and we barely even spoke before he turned into a child.” 

A tear slips down Namjoon’s cheek, and Namjoon lets it flow. “And I’m upset too, because he had to turn into a child just so we would speak again.”

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything.

“So I get it, Jeongguk-ah,” Namjoon finishes, his voice hoarse. “I miss him too. I think that I—I’ve been missing him for a while, actually.”

It’s silent for a good few moments, nothing but the low hum from the TV outside punctuating the silence. Then, ever-so-slowly, Jeongguk moves–leans his head against Namjoon’s shoulder, the act gentle and comforting. Namjoon lets out a shuddering breath, closes his eyes; enjoys the warmth, the comfort, and the solidarity they share.

After a while, Namjoon speaks again. “It’s okay to cry,” he says, keeping his voice quiet. “I feel helpless, too. But I think the best thing we can do is take care of Jinnie. Just…love him the way Jin-hyung always loved us. If we can at least do that, then it isn’t—it isn’t all hopeless, I think.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk says. A pause. “Thank you, Namjoon-hyung.”

Namjoon shakes his head, feels the corners of his lips turn up in a semblance of a smile, and wraps an arm around Jeongguk’s shoulders.

Over the years, Namjoon’s perception of Producer Bang has evolved—from a strict, no-nonsense boss to someone kinder, someone almost like a friend. Nowadays, it’s easier—and less nerve-wracking—to bring up a concern with him. But for some reason, Namjoon feels that old, familiar churn of nervousness in his stomach when he enters Producer Bang's office and finds him already waiting, a smile on his face.

“Namjoon,” he greets. Namjoon bows in greeting, and is promptly waved into the empty chair across the desk.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” Producer Bang says, probably having read something on Namjoon’s expression. “I just called you here to ask how everything’s been with the group.”

“It’s going well,” Namjoon replies slowly. “Or, as well as things can go with this whole situation happening.”

Producer Bang hums. “How’s Baby Jin?”

“He’s okay,” Namjoon answers. “Doing pretty good. He’s with Yoongi-hyung and Taehyung right now, actually. They took him to the lab today. I’ll be picking him up from Yoongi-hyung’s studio in a bit.”

“Ah,” Producer Bang replies. “I see.” He pauses. “And he isn’t difficult to care for?”

Namjoon considers this. “Well, he is,” he replies. “But aren’t all toddlers?”

“I suppose so.” Producer Bang is smiling, but there’s a look in his eye that tells Namjoon that there’s more to this line of questioning than just asking how they’ve been coping.“It seems like you guys have gotten the hang of it, though.”

“I mean, I guess so,” Namjoon says. “I think we’ve pretty much worked out a system between us.”

“That’s good. Makes your life a little easier then.”

“Yes, sir.”

There’s a quiet moment, then Producer Bang steeples his fingers together, leaning forward. 

“You know, Namjoon,” he begins, “You don’t have to do this.”

“Pardon?”

“You don’t have to take care of Baby Jin, I mean.” Producer Bang's expression turns serious, eyes boring into Namjoon’s own. “Have you guys thought more about letting him stay with his parents?”

Namjoon blinks. Truthfully, they haven’t yet; the last few weeks were a whirlwind of a sudden toddler acquisition and learning everything that comes with that. It’s only recently that they’ve worked out the hiccups, figured out the kinks, and devised a system where they’re all working together and helping each other.

Helping each other. The thought makes him smile slightly. It’s been a while since they felt like a team outside of work. 

“We don’t have any definitive timelines for the cure,” Producer Bang continues. “At this point, we still don’t know if we’ll be able to find anything soon. And you’ve already been on hiatus for a month.” He hesitates. “It might be best if he goes to his parents. Then you could start working again. Pick up where you guys left off.”

It’s a tempting thought. Namjoon knows, in the back of his mind, that keeping Toddler-Seokjin with them is an unsustainable solution—they can’t keep their careers on hold for a cure that may never happen. Sooner or later, they’ll have to go back to work with or without Seokjin; sooner or later, they’ll have to figure out what the future looks like for them, and whether they’re six in the group or seven. Going back to work now would be a push forward in that direction.

From a business perspective, it makes sense, and Namjoon can understand why Bang PD-nim is a little antsy to know where they stand. But…

But Namjoon thinks of smiles and of laughter, of shared mealtimes—long gone and suddenly returned. Of Taehyung teasing him, eyes alight with mischief, smile so wide his cheeks scrunch up. Of Jeongguk and his open vulnerability with him after so long. Of Jimin and how his smile comes easier now, how his footsteps tread lighter.

He thinks of Pokémon stickers, of quiet excitement, of hugs so freely given. He thinks of the gentleness on Yoongi’s face, of Hoseok’s raucous laughter.

He thinks of how years ago, in a small one-bedroom dorm in Nonhyeon-dong, Seokjin had brought them together, and now, even as a tender-hearted three-year-old, it was still him who’d brought them back to life.

The decision’s a little easier to make after that.

Namjoon shakes his head. “I understand what you’re saying, sir,” he says, and his resolve bleeds through in his voice. “But I personally think that our careers can wait a little bit longer.”

Producer Bang raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Namjoon nods, and chooses his words carefully. “I think that it wouldn’t be right for us to give Jin-hyung back to his parents,” he says. “Not when…not when he doesn’t want to go. Not when he’s always cared for us.”

He pauses, feeling the corners of his lips turn up in a small semblance of a smile. “I think that we’d like to do our best to care for Jin-hyung for as long as it’s feasible.”

When Namjoon drops by Yoongi’s studio after his meeting with Producer Bang he’s greeted by the sight of Toddler-Seokjin parked in front of Yoongi’s computer, cuddling a MapleStory Orange Mushroom plushie and happily singing along to Baby Shark.

Namjoon squints at the screen. “Did you put him on YouTube?” he asks.

“It was either that or Cubase,” Yoongi mutters. He’s on the couch, watching Toddler-Seokjin, and it’s obvious he’s doing his best to look annoyed, but the fond curl of his lips betrays him. “And I think he’s a little too young to be using that.”

“Daddy Shark doo-doo-doo,” Toddler-Seokjin sings, carefully dancing along to make sure he doesn’t accidentally drop his mushroom plushie. “Daddy Shark!”

“So you thought an endless loop of Baby Shark would be better.” 

“It’s not an endless loop,” Yoongi argues. “Jinnie watches some other stuff too.”

“Yeah, and what’s that other stuff like? Just as annoying, I presume.”

Yoongi shrugs, averting his gaze from Namjoon. “As long as he enjoys it, I don’t mind,” he says.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “Okay,” he says dubiously. “Where’d he get the mushroom?”

“He picked it out at the store.”

“Wait, you bought it for him?”

“He’s very convincing. And Taehyung was no help, he was just as convincing.”

“Where is he, by the way?” Namjoon asks, settling further into the couch. “Taehyung, I mean?”

“He had to run, said something about needing to talk to Pdogg.” Yoongi rubs at his left shoulder, wincing a little at the pressure he puts on it. 

It must hurt, Namjoon thinks, especially after having to hold Toddler-Seokjin for the whole day. 

“He told me a little about his ideas for his mixtape, and I gave him some of my thoughts,” Yoongi continues. “I think he got a little inspired.”

Namjoon hums. “I hope you told him he’s not allowed to write a song about Jinnie.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen. “He wouldn’t,” he says, but he sounds uncertain. A pause. “…Would he?”

Namjoon shrugs. “It’s Taehyung,” he replies. “Honestly, half the time, I have no idea what he’s thinking.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to reply, but there’s an abrupt break to their Baby Shark soundtrack, the song cutting off in the middle of a verse. “Oh, fuck,” Toddler-Seokjin says solemnly, the word so crisp and clear in his high voice that there’s no mistaking just exactly what he just said. 

Namjoon’s eyes blow wide, and he bursts into laughter just as Yoongi’s head whips around to Toddler-Seokjin, scandalized.

“Seokjin!” Yoongi scolds. “Don’t say that word!”

Toddler-Seokjin doesn’t even look fazed at Yoongi’s scolding—probably because he knows it doesn’t hold any water, Namjoon thinks wryly. Instead, he looks up at Yoongi, eyes rounded and innocent. He squeezes the mushroom plushie, leaning his head against it adorably. “Can you put Baby Shark back?” he asks.

And just like clockwork, Yoongi’s stern expression softens. He bends down and reaches for the mouse, clicking it a few times until the first few ominous-sounding chords of Baby Shark play out. Immediately, Toddler-Seokjin refocuses on the screen, expression serious like this is the most important thing he’s ever seen in his life.

“If you want to watch something else, use this.” Yoongi waits until Toddler-Seokjin’s attention shifts back to him, before directing him to the mouse and moving it in circles. “See that little arrow there? You can move it around with this. Then if you want to watch something, point the arrow at it and click this button.” He demonstrates with a few clicks of the mouse.

It always catches Namjoon a little off-guard how caring and patient Yoongi is with Toddler-Seokjin, especially when that same patience doesn’t extend to his older version. Namjoon’s lost count of the times a simple difference in opinion had led to both of them walking out, stubbornly refusing to compromise.

But with Toddler-Seokjin, Yoongi is gentle, sweet. Kind, caring and patient, incredibly fond and fiercely overprotective.

Toddler-Seokjin nods, two hands impatiently reaching for the mouse. Yoongi relinquishes it to him and returns to the couch next to Namjoon.

“He’s such a handful,” he mutters, tone fond.

“Did you realize you’re raising an iPad kid?” Namjoon quips.

Yoongi glares at him, but there’s no real heat to it. After a moment, he deflates and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Namjoon hums. “Long day?” he asks sympathetically.

“Not really,” Yoongi replies. “It was okay.”

“How was Jinnie earlier?”

“Fine. He didn’t cry that much at the lab. I think he’s getting used to it.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “And you?” he asks point-blank. “How are you?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Fine, I guess,” he says. But he must understand what Namjoon’s really asking, because he turns away, averting his gaze.

And that’s the thing about Yoongi—he always tries to deflect. Always tries to act like things don’t bother him, even though Namjoon can tell they’re eating him up inside.

“Hyung,” Namjoon says, “you don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I know this whole thing has been difficult for you.”

“One of our bandmates is a baby,” Yoongi replies dryly. “It’s been difficult for all of us.”

“But you, more so than anyone else.” Namjoon looks over at Toddler-Seokjin, just to check that he’s sufficiently distracted. When he speaks again, he keeps his tone quiet. “Jinnie really likes you.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “You say that like it’s supposed to mean something.”

“Maybe it does.”

“Maybe it doesn’t.”

“I mean, there has to be a reason he’s so attached to you,” Namjoon reasons. “After all, we’ve seen that he’s very much Jin-hyung, just…shrunk down.”

The background noise of Baby Shark suddenly changes, replaced by an upbeat, bobbing nursery rhyme—The Wheels on the Bus. Namjoon looks over at Toddler-Seokjin again, and he can’t help but smile at the sight of Toddler-Seokjin leaning forward on the desk with his mushroom plushie on his lap, both hands on the mouse, slowly and determinedly clicking videos by himself.

Yoongi shakes his head, one hand reaching up to rub at his left shoulder. “If that were true, we both know he’d want nothing to do with me.” 

“I don’t think so,” Namjoon says. “I’m pretty sure Jin-hyung’s always liked you. Even now.”

Yoongi scoffs.

“Really,” Namjoon insists. He pauses, tries to think of a gentle way to word his next point. “I think he’s just…hurt.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything to that. 

“I imagine it must be hard to put yourself out there only to be rejected,” continues Namjoon.

Yoongi’s jaw muscles twitch, and there’s a sudden tension in the set of his shoulders, kind of like he’s bracing for impact. When he speaks, his voice is low. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“I know,” Namjoon soothes. “But you were his best friend, hyung.”

Yoongi draws in a sharp breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” he says again, a slight urgency in his tone. “You know I didn’t. We were just—our careers were just taking off, and it would’ve set us back. Hell, we’d literally just gotten our first music show win when he confessed. I was just—I was…”

“Scared,” Namjoon finishes gently. “You were scared.” 

Yoongi pauses, then nods once. “When he told me, all I could think about was how we’d worked so hard to get here,” he continues. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t do that to you. To any of you.”

“And so you lashed out.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t claim to have done the right thing,” he says. “But I freaked out. Everything was so fragile back then. This…this thing would have destroyed everything we worked for.”

“I get it,” Namjoon replies. “But you were his best friend, hyung. You were his best friend, and he loved you, and you rejected him in the worst way possible. It’s not something that’s easy to get over.”

“Well, he hates me now, so I assume he did.”

“And then he turned into a three-year-old and now looks at you like you’re his entire world.” When Yoongi doesn’t say anything to that, Namjoon pushes on. “Look, hyung, I can’t—I’ll admit, I don’t know exactly what Jin-hyung’s thinking. But I know you well enough to be able to tell whenever you’re bothered by something. And it’s a little obvious to me that you don’t know how to deal with Jinnie’s adoration. He loves you, and you feel guilty about that because of how badly you rejected him.”

Yoongi lets out a long breath, scrubbing a hand down his face. 

“And that’s why you coddle him, right?” Namjoon finishes quietly. “Because in your head, you’re trying to make up for hurting him?”

There’s a long pause. “I just—I don’t want him to be upset,” Yoongi eventually replies, his voice cracking between the words. “I’ve already hurt him before, badly, and I just want to make damn sure he never has to experience that again.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to reply, but then the song in the background cuts off abruptly once more, replaced by a long, echoing chord. It takes Namjoon a few heartbeats to recognize the music, and it seems that Yoongi does too because he’s out of his seat in a flash, his eyes wide, his posture tense.

And it’s a little bit surreal, a little bit of a strange feeling, to look over at the toddler version of your bandmate and find him watching his older self dancing and singing about catching a super tuna with rapt fascination.

The song is only about a minute long, but right now, every second drags on excruciatingly slowly. It’s clear that Yoongi has no idea what to do, unsure of where to turn his attention to—at the screen, where Jin-hyung’s grin is so familiar it hurts to look at, or at Toddler-Seokjin, who’s very evidently entertained.

When the video ends, there’s a long moment of silence. Then Toddler-Seokjin squeals, giggling. 

“Again, again!” he says, clumsily reaching for the mouse and clicking fruitlessly on the screen. 

Namjoon casts a sidelong glance at Yoongi, finding his expression blank—only the curl of his fists betraying how he’s truly feeling. 

He pushes himself to his feet, going over to where Toddler-Seokjin is still fruitlessly clicking on the screen. “I think that’s enough YouTube for now,” he says to Toddler-Seokjin. “We have to head back home, okay?”

Toddler-Seokjin’s eyes flicker to Yoongi, still standing behind Namjoon. “Will Yoongi-hyung come with us?” he asks.

Namjoon shakes his head. “Yoongi-hyung has to stay for a little bit longer,” he says as gently as he can. “He has to work now. But don’t worry, you’ll see him later.”

Toddler-Seokjin mulls this over and then climbs down from the chair in one practiced movement. He stands in front of Yoongi and holds both arms out, and Yoongi, always so indulgent to his whims, picks him up, wincing a little at the pressure that puts on his shoulder.

Once in Yoongi’s arms, Toddler-Seokjin hugs Yoongi, resting his chin on his shoulder. “Later, can we—can we play with RJ and Charmander and Vaporeon and Mushroom-nim before I go to bed?” he asks Yoongi, his voice lilting and sweet.

Yoongi swallows. “Yeah, we can,” he replies, a slight waver in his voice. 

Toddler-Seokjin pulls away, and studies Yoongi’s face. Then, once he’s satisfied, he nods. “Kiss?” he asks, lifting his arm where his cotton ball bandage is, and Yoongi barely hesitates—leans down to press a gentle kiss on Toddler-Seokjin’s arm.

“It’ll be better by morning,” he promises, and Toddler-Seokjin’s smile is bright like the sun.

Getting Toddler-Seokjin ready to head home is a bit of a slow affair. Toddler-Seokjin insists on putting on his shoes by himself, and it’s an excruciatingly slow process to watch. During that time, Namjoon locates Toddler-Seokjin’s bag, double-checks it to make sure he’s packed everything, and picks up the mushroom plushie from the office chair, handing it to Toddler-Seokjin as soon as his hands are free.

“Okay,” Namjoon says, holding out a hand to Toddler-Seokjin. “Say goodbye to Yoongi-hyung for now.”

“Bye, Yoongi-hyung,” Toddler-Seokjin parrots obediently. Not-so-obediently, he adds, “I love you!” like it’s the easiest thing to say.

Immediately, sadness flickers through Yoongi’s expression. He smiles at them, gives them a small wave that Toddler-Seokjin returns, and then he and Namjoon are out the door, the studio door beeping as it shuts behind them. 

The walk to the elevator is quiet. Toddler-Seokjin, funnily enough, seems deep in thought, brow furrowed as he looks down at his feet. Namjoon waits until they’re in the elevator and nudges Toddler-Seokjin playfully, making sure to keep a smile on his face.

“Hey,” he says. “What are you thinking about?”

Toddler-Seokjin looks up at him. “I don’t want Yoongi-hyung to be sad anymore,” he says, squeezing his mushroom plushie closer to his chest, sounding as miserable as a toddler could ever be.

At the age of three, Toddler-Seokjin is emotional, spoiled, and demanding. He’s far from independent, no matter how precocious he is, and he’ll cry about everything if given the chance. But he’s also the sweetest, kindest, and most loving person Namjoon knows—untainted by the world, unafraid to bear his heart.

In the short time they’ve had him, Toddler-Seokjin’s already taught Namjoon so much. And yet, he thinks, there’s still so much he can learn.

“Me neither,” he tells Toddler-Seokjin. He reaches down to pick him up and lets Toddler-Seokjin rest his head on his shoulder. “Me neither, Jinnie.”

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, Baby Jin develops a fixation on himself. Literally.

It would be a little bit amusing if it wasn’t so downright weird. He wakes up in the morning and immediately asks for Moon, and if anyone (mainly Jeongguk) suggests he watches something else, his lips wobble and his eyes fill with heartbreak. Throughout the day, he moves on to other songs: he favors Abyss when he's just playing on his own, and Epiphany when he's eating.

His absolute favorite, though, is Super Tuna. Which, Hoseok thinks, definitely checks out.

“Su-per Tu-na!” Baby Jin yells at the top of his lungs, fists pumping the same way older Seokjin does on the screen. He squeals once the song ends, jumping up and down in front of the TV.

“Again, again! Hobi-hyung, again!”

“Make him stop,” Jimin mutters next to Hoseok, hiding the movement of his lips behind a can of soda.

Honestly, Hoseok gets it. It’s probably the sixtieth time Baby Jin played it today. And he gets it—Seokjin is talented, handsome, entertaining, charming, and a great singer, but Hoseok can only take so much of him. He’s already been hearing Super Tuna in his dreams.

Still, he holds in a sigh and reaches for the remote, only because he knows if he doesn’t do it, Baby Jin will cry, and if Baby Jin cries, Yoongi will appear out of nowhere like a vengeful angel, ready to smite whoever caused his tears. 

Not that Hoseok thinks that’s a fair reaction. Considering that Yoongi’s currently holed up in his room working (or as Jimin puts it, ‘avoiding the current barrage of Seokjin media’), he has absolutely no right to be mad if Baby Jin cries. He’s not out here with them on the front lines. He doesn’t know the Super Tuna terror like he and Jimin do.

“Alright,” Hoseok tells Baby Jin, who once again jumps up and down in excitement. “But just one last time, okay? Hyung wants to listen to something else after.”

Baby Jin tilts his head innocently. “Moon?”

Hoseok holds back the impulse to scream. “No, not Moon. Just…” He beckons Baby Jin closer and uses a towel to wipe the sweat from his face. “Actually, why don’t we watch Pokémon after? I heard Yoongi-hyung wants to see the next episode.”

And at the mention of Yoongi, Baby Jin lights up. “Okay,” he acquiesces easily, then ambles away from Hoseok. 

Hoseok waits until he’s fully turned back to the TV before he lets out a quiet sigh, exchanging a knowing glance with Jimin. Playing the Yoongi card is always a gamble, but when it pays off, it pays off well. Baby Jin always cries when someone attempts to pull him away from his self-marathon unless Yoongi is mentioned. Then it’s absolutely fine.

Baby Jin positions himself in front of the TV again, but at the very last moment, he stops, whirling around suddenly to face Hoseok. He narrows his eyes at Hoseok, and for a split second, Hoseok feels like it’s older Seokjin standing in front of him.

“Are you lying?”

“No!” Hoseok exclaims at the same time Jimin bursts into laughter, leaning back on the couch as he covers his mouth with a hand. “I’m not, Jinnie, I promise. Yoongi-hyung wants to know what happened to the, uh, Charizard.”

Baby Jin appraises him, kind of like he’s weighing the possibility of bringing out the waterworks. Then he says, “Don’t touch my Pikachu cup,” which sends Jimin into another fit of hysterics.

Hoseok blinks at him, then grins. “But what if I bought my own Pikachu cup?”

“No!” Baby Jin argues. “That’s mine! You’re not allowed!”

“How about if I bought a Charizard cup? Or a Squirtle cup?”

“No!”

“Hobi-hyung saw a Wooper cup in the store the other day,” Hoseok continues, enjoying the teasing far too much. “A big one. Taehyungie said he’s going to buy it for me.”

“No!”

“Are you actually trying to make him cry?” a voice drawls from the side of the room, and both Hoseok and Jimin turn to find Yoongi leaning against the wall watching them, the slight curl of his lips a distinct contrast to the budding threat of don’t push it in his eyes. 

Baby Jin gasps at the sight of him, and immediately sprints across the room, latching himself onto Yoongi’s leg and clinging on like a monkey. 

“Yoongi-hyung, Yoongi-hyung!” he says, all of Hoseok’s teasing completely forgotten. “Hobi-hyung said we’re gonna listen to Super Tuna one last time and then we’re gonna—we’re gonna watch Pokémon!”

Yoongi raises both eyebrows, surprised. “Oh, really?”

Baby Jin nods. “Yeah! But we have to dance first!” He straightens up and tugs at Yoongi’s hand, leaning all his weight back to pull Yoongi further into the living room. “You have to dance Super Tuna with me!”

Yoongi looks pained at the prospect. “Why not Hobi-hyung? Or Jimin-hyung? They’re better dancers than me.”

Baby Jin stubbornly shakes his head. “No, you!” He drops Yoongi’s hand all of a sudden and sprints into the living room, running around like he’s chasing daylight. “I’m super fast, like super tuna!” Hoseok hears him yell out just as he comes to a stop in front of the TV.

Yoongi looks baffled even as he goes to follow Baby Jin. “What did you feed him?” he asks Hoseok, his voice low enough that Baby Jin can’t overhear.

It’s Jimin who replies. “It’s just child zoomies,” he says. “Honestly, someone should tell Jin-hyung about the detrimental effects of his music on children.”

“I think it might just be detrimental to himself,” Yoongi quips. “I don’t think anyone else in the world loves fish as much as he does.”

Baby Jin doubles back then, pulling Yoongi and making him walk faster. “Yoongi-hyung, stand here!” he says. “We have to dance or else we won’t catch a super tuna!”

Yoongi does as he’s told. “I don’t think that’s what they said in the song.”

“But that’s what the police said,” Baby Jin argues. His nonsense argument causes Hoseok and Jimin to burst into laughter, falling over each other while Yoongi purses his lips, doing his best to hold back a laugh.

“Hyung, you’ll be arrested if you don’t dance,” Jimin heckles, pulling out his phone to film a video. 

“You go to fish jail!” Hoseok adds. “No Super Tunas in there!”

Yoongi looks like he’s about to argue, but one look at Baby Jin’s stubbornly determined face makes him sigh, shaking his head. “Okay, okay,” he relents, and obediently takes up the spot Baby Jin points him to.

Baby Jin beams, throws his arms around Yoongi, then turns back towards the TV. His expression morphs into one of determination as Hoseok cues up the song, looking like he’s about to perform Super Tuna at the halftime show of the Super Bowl. 

“Think of it this way,” Hoseok snickers when the song starts up and Jimin starts filming them. “At least he’s going to sleep so well tonight.”

There are some things Hoseok enjoys about having Baby Jin in the household.

That’s not to say he’s enjoying the entire situation—just like the rest of the members, he’d readily admit that he would prefer to have Seokjin here rather than Baby Jin—but there are some things he thinks that are kind of nice. Namely:

• His excitement and enthusiasm for everything, from repeated playthroughs of Super Tuna all the way to the brand-new toys they can’t help but buy for him;
• His fondness for hugs, kisses, and all types of physical affection;
• The fact that he makes it a point to do things with everyone, seeking them out whether to play or just to hang out;
• And the fact that he brings a sort of levity to the dorm, a happy innocence that chases away all the shadows that have made their home here over the years.

The last point is something they’ve never really spoken about, ignored in favor of pretending that everything between them was fine. Hoseok’s lived with these six boys for more than ten years now, and he’s had a front-row seat to the way they slowly fell apart, to how long conversations shifted into one-word answers, into saying nothing at all. In the beginning, they all lived together because it was easy and fun, but in the last few years, they lived together just because they thought they had to. A united front, Namjoon would say during their group meetings. For the fans.

Always for the fans. Hoseok has a gut feeling that had it not been for the fans, they would’ve disbanded a long, long time ago.

Anyway—Baby Jin. Despite the fucked up situation, Hoseok can’t help but be a little grateful to him. He’s brought Bangtan back to some semblance of life, even though he was screaming and crying as he did that. And he’s also—a thought that makes Hoseok tear up a little when he thinks about it too long—made Yoongi smile again, proper genuine ones that makes his eyes squint and his cheeks bunch up. It’s something Hoseok hasn’t seen from him in a long time.

“Nooooo,” Baby Jin squeals, giggling as he playfully kicks his feet out. Yoongi’s got him thrown over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, the result of chasing him around for the last ten minutes. “No, Yoongi-hyung, I don’t want to!”

“You have to,” Yoongi argues back. “You’re stinky and we have to go visit your parents.”

“I’m not stinky! I’m clean!”

Yoongi breathes in deep and then pretends to gag. 

Seeing Yoongi playful is still a little startling. Hoseok had gotten used to the silence, to the iciness; gotten used to the grunts and the one-word sentences. It’s been a long time since Yoongi had walked around without the ever-present sadness in the corners of his eyes, and honestly, Hoseok had forgotten what a happy Yoongi even looked like. If he casts his mind back, he can dredge up a memory of their early days, of Yoongi dancing around and singing nonsense lyrics and teasing everyone, but it hasn’t been that way since—

Well. Since his fight with Seokjin, actually.

Hoseok watches as Yoongi continues to pretend to retch, making Baby Jin laugh harder. He thinks that it’s a little bit of a shame that Seokjin had to turn into a child for that part of him to return.

“Noooo, I’m not stinky,” Baby Jin says, in between giggles. He reaches out for Jimin. “Jiminie-hyung, help me! Save me!”

“I’ll save you,” Jimin declares dramatically from the couch. He jumps to his feet, bravely takes a few steps forward, then inhales a big breath and pretends to pass out from the smell.

Taehyung and Jeongguk, both filming the whole scene, simultaneously burst into laughter.

“See,” Yoongi says. He adjusts his grip on Baby Jin so he’s better situated, wincing a little at the pressure that puts on his left shoulder. “You need a bath.”

“I don’t!”

“Yes, you do. Remember, RJ turns into DJ when he doesn’t take a bath.”

“I wanna be DJ,” Baby Jin declares. He furrows his forehead, his eyebrows straight, angry lines on his face. “I’m mean and angry.”

“Jinnie,” Taehyung calls. Baby Jin turns to look at him without dropping the expression, and Taehyung laughs again, zooming into his face. “Oh, cute!”

“Alright, that’s enough playing,” Yoongi says, a hint of sternness in his voice. “If you don’t take a bath, I’ll give all your Pokémon bath toys to Hobi-hyung.”

That’s enough for Baby Jin to drop the expression. “No! Those are mine!”

Hoseok gasps, pretending to be surprised. “Can I really have them, Yoongi-hyung?” he asks teasingly. “Can I have the new Squirtle water gun?”

“No! Hobi-hyung, don’t touch!” Baby Jin yells, kicking his feet out in protest. Hoseok laughs as Yoongi huffs, an amused smile playing on his face as he carries him the rest of the way to the bathroom. “That’s mine! That’s mine!” 

There’s a momentary silence from when Yoongi shuts the door to the bathroom.

Then distinctly, Hoseok hears Baby Jin squeal “Squirtle! I wanna play with Squirtle!” to which Yoongi says, “Jinnie, no, don’t spray it at me—”

And then he, Jimin, Taehyung and Jeongguk all burst into laughter, falling into each other. Hoseok laughs and laughs, and thinks that he hasn’t felt this light around the other boys in years.

The maknaes decide to start up a game of Overcooked while waiting for Baby Jin and Yoongi to return, and Hoseok easily accepts the other controller from Jeongguk when he’s offered it. He has no idea what to do, but he finds that he can’t stop smiling, even as their virtual kitchen descends into chaos and their tomato sauce catches fire.

He gets so engrossed in the game that he doesn’t notice when Yoongi and Baby Jin reemerge from the bathroom, the latter freshly bathed with his hair wet. He does, however, notice when Baby Jin rejoins them in the living room, a bowl of freshly-sliced strawberries in hand.

“It’s on fire,” he giggles through a mouthful of strawberry, watching the gameplay avidly. “The kitchen is on fire!”

“That’s Jimin-hyung’s fault,” Jeongguk tells him. “As always.”

“Hey,” Jimin replies, sounding affronted. “This game’s hard, okay?”

Hoseok ignores their bickering. “I have the rice,” he says to the room, a little baffled. “What do I—where do I put the rice?”

It’s at that moment that Yoongi walks back into the living room, his shirt partly soaked from where Baby Jin obviously tried to splash him. He’s got a plate of crackers and a bowl of strawberries, and in a surprising move, sets it down on the coffee table, right between all of them.

“Some finger food for you,” he says. “There’s also some hotteok in the kitchen if you want some.”

“Where do I put the rice?” Hoseok wonders again.

It takes a moment for him to realize that Jimin, Taehyung and Jeongguk have suddenly stopped playing, frozen in their seats as they exchange wide-eyed, confused glances with each other.

Taehyung speaks first. “For us…?” he hedges, tone uncertain.

Yoongi shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Like, for us…to eat…?” Jimin questions.

A confused furrow appears on Yoongi’s forehead. “Yeah.”

“You bought food…for us…to eat?” Jeongguk clarifies.

“You have to say thank you,” Baby Jin interjects, tone casual. “Say ‘thank you, Yoongi-hyung!’”

Yoongi just huffs. “Why are you guys acting like it’s weird for me to be giving you food?”

“Because it is weird,” Jimin says. He sounds touched. “You haven’t bought us food since the stone age.”

“That’s not true,” Yoongi argues. “I bought you all food recently.”

“Really?” Taehyung asks. “When was the last time?”

Yoongi frowns. “The last time was…” he trails off, the furrow in his brow deepening as he thinks.

That seems to be proof enough for Jimin. “See,” he crows triumphantly. “You can’t even remember.”

“No, I…” Yoongi’s confusion only grows, and he turns to Hoseok. “Hobi, back me up here.”

Hoseok shrugs. “I don’t know what to say, hyung,” he volunteers, unhelpfully. “They’re kind of right.”

“No, they’re not,” Yoongi argues stubbornly. A thought occurs to him. “I bought you food a few weeks ago, Hobi! Remember, when we went to eat? I paid then.”

“Yeah, but you fed me,” Hoseok replies. “This time you’re feeding them.” He juts a thumb towards the three maknaes, all of whom are still staring at Yoongi like he’s just grown a second head. “And besides, it’s not like you fed me of your own volition—you literally barricaded yourself in your studio and I had to knock on your door for three days straight just so you would come with me and actually eat something.”

“What’s a barricade?” Baby Jin wonders.

“Kind of like a fort,” Jimin explains kindly. 

Baby Jin’s eyes grow wide. “Yoongi-hyung built a pillow fort in the studio?” 

Yoongi shakes his head. “It hasn’t been that long since I bought them food,” he insists, but this time his voice comes out a little unsure. His eyes flicker to the maknaes, and the confused expression on his face turns chagrined.

“It’s okay,” Hoseok says before Yoongi can say anything else. “I don’t think it’s a big deal. It’s just…you always tend to hang out alone. Or well, you tended to. It’s just nice to have you around again.”

Yoongi ducks his head, shy. Hoseok feels his smile grow.

“I can’t believe Yoongi-hyung actually likes us,” Taehyung speaks up, pitching his voice to be as dramatic as possible. He picks up a cracker, takes a bite, and promptly proceeds to fall on the floor, rolling around a few times.

“It’s so good,” he moans, pressing both hands onto his chest. “I think this is the best cracker I’ve ever eaten.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but Hoseok can spot the slight curve in the corner of his mouth. “Get up from there.”

Baby Jin, naughty as ever, scoots over the edge of the couch and attempts to rest his feet on Taehyung’s forehead.

“No,” Taehyung squeals, pushing his feet away. “Do not put your stinky feet on my face.”

“I’m not stinky anymore,” Baby Jin protests. “I just took a bath!”

“Thank you, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin jumps in before Taehyung and Baby Jin can devolve into a squabble. “We really appreciate the gesture.”

Yoongi’s expression grows warm. “Of course,” he replies. “Anytime.”

“So I can really get some hotteok?” Jeongguk asks meekly, still a little uncertain.

The smile Yoongi directs at him is kind. “Go for it,” he says. “I bought enough for everyone.”

Jeongguk beams at him, then hurries off to the kitchen to grab it.

And when he returns to the living room a few moments later with a hotteok in hand, he doesn’t hesitate to bound up to Yoongi, immediately wrapping him in a bear hug. Jimin and Taehyung, easily swayed, join in, and they all squeeze and shuffle around until they collapse laughing onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. They don’t let go though, which ends up making Baby Jin a little jealous—he huffs and starts whining about how Yoongi-hyung is his best friend. That sets off another bout of teasing, Jimin and Taehyung arguing with Baby Jin about how they’ve known Yoongi longer, all while Yoongi watches fondly on, his smile wide, his eyes shining.

When Yoongi and Baby Jin eventually leave for Seokjin’s parents’ house, Taehyung leans back against Hoseok’s legs, a whimsical expression on his face. “I like Yoongi-hyung like this,” he says quietly, but still loud enough for Hoseok to hear him.

Hoseok smiles. “Me too,” he says, grabbing a strawberry and biting into it.  

As he said before: there’s definitely things he enjoys about having Baby Jin around.

In contrast, there are some things Hoseok doesn’t like about having Baby Jin in the household. He’s spoiled a little—no, a lot— of the time, has a possessive streak that’s a mile wide, and he has a tendency towards tantrums when he doesn’t get what he wants.

Oh, and he’s a baby. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a baby, it’s just—they’re a lot to deal with.

The dorm is an absolute pigsty when Hoseok arrives back from his lunch with his sister; chairs upturned, pillows strewn about, Baby Jin’s things littered everywhere. Hoseok lets out a loud sigh as he accidentally steps on a toy, leaning down to pick up a small Pokémon figurine. It’s actually insane how many things Baby Jin has in their dorm, considering he’s only lived here for the last couple of weeks. But then again, it’s hard to tell the maknaes what to do with their money—if they want to buy Baby Jin a shit load of toys to play with, then they can.

Hoseok steps on another Pokémon figurine and sighs. “What happened here?” he calls out, already exhausted.

The voice that responds comes from next to the couch. “Jinnie made a mess and won’t clean up,” Jeongguk calls back.

Hoseok frowns, ventures further into the room and rounds the couch.

Immediately, he’s greeted by the sight of Baby Jin in the middle of one of his tantrums—dramatically lying face down on a fluffy blanket with RJ next to him. Namjoon and Jeongguk hover around him, equal parts confused and concerned. 

Hoseok bends over to tickle a finger into Jinnie’s side. Jinnie squirms, but otherwise doesn’t move.

“Is Jinnie asleep?” Hoseok stage-whispers at Namjoon and Jeongguk.

“`m not asleep,” Baby Jin argues, his words muffled by the blanket. He wriggles away when Hoseok pokes him again, reaching out to blindly slap his hand away. “No.”

“Jinnie,” Jeongguk scolds.

“No.”

“Jinnie.”

“No.”

Hoseok sighs again. “What did you do?” he asks Namjoon and Jeongguk, because they’re honestly his best bet at finding out what exactly happened here. Baby Jin is bullheaded and very unforthcoming with his words when he’s angry.

“We didn’t do anything,” Jeongguk replies, defensive. “We were just—I was playing with Jinnie, and then Namjoon-hyung said there was a song he wrote that he wanted to show me. We went to his room to listen to it, then when we came back out, he’d already made a mess.” He gestures to the room around him.

“He got upset when we told him he needed to clean up,” Namjoon adds.

Well, that’s not good. Hoseok frowns. “Jinnie.”

“No,” Baby Jin says again. He’s so stubborn; sometimes Hoseok feels like he’s pulling teeth trying to get him to listen.

“Seokjin.”

“No.”

“Kim Seokjin,” Hoseok says sternly, ignoring the part of him that feels silly for using Baby Jin’s full name. “Sit up and listen to me.”

A moment later, Baby Jin heaves out a sigh, pushing himself up into a seated position. The expression on his face tells Hoseok he’s not happy about doing it.

“I don’t wanna clean up,” he says, reaching out and curling up around his Mushroom plushie.

“You have to,” Hoseok says. “Your toys are everywhere.”

“I’m still gonna play with them later.”

“Then take them out again later.”

“No,” Baby Jin says, tone on the verge of whining. “I don’t wanna clean up. It’s too hard.”

“It’s not hard.”

“It is,” Baby Jin complains. 

“If you don’t clean up,” Namjoon jumps in, voice threatening, “I’ll tell Yoongi-hyung and you won’t be allowed to watch Super Tuna anymore.”

And that turns out to be the wrong thing to say—Baby Jin’s expression gets even angrier, and he picks up and throws RJ away. “No,” he says again. “I wanna watch Super Tuna! I wanna watch Jin!”

“Then clean up,” Hoseok counters.

“No! No, no, no! I don’t wanna!” Baby Jin bursts, and then he starts crying, throwing himself dramatically on the blanket and wriggling around. He angrily swats at a few of his toys, kicks some of his plushies around and then starts screaming loudly .

Hoseok’s sure he’ll develop a headache. Or hearing loss, whichever comes first. 

Honestly, he’s grateful that Yoongi’s at the studio right now. Because Hoseok doesn’t think he’d be able to handle Yoongi scolding him for making Baby Jin cry on top of all this.

“He’s overstimulated,” Hoseok tells Namjoon and Jeongguk over the sound of Baby Jin’s screaming. “He missed his nap, didn’t he?”

Two matching expressions of realization dawn on Namjoon and Jeongguk’s face. “Well—” Jeongguk begins a little sheepishly.

Hoseok shakes his head. “It’s fine.” When Baby Jin sits up, arm poised to lob a Pokémon figurine across the room, Hoseok decides to intervene. He crouches down and grabs Baby Jin’s arm.

“Hey, hey,” he says, his voice stern. “Listen.”

“No! I don’t wanna!”

Hoseok gently grabs his other arm, forcing Baby Jin to look at him. “Listen,” he stresses, infusing a bit of authority in his voice. Somehow, that manages to calm Baby Jin, sniffling a little as he angrily stares at Hoseok. “Jinnie. We don’t throw our toys when we’re mad.”

“But—"

“We don’t. Throw our toys. When we’re mad,” Hoseok repeats. “You can hurt someone.”

Baby Jin sniffles again, but otherwise doesn’t say anything.

“What if—what if Taehyung-hyung and Jimin-hyung walked in while you were crying and you threw your toys at them by accident and you hurt them and they needed to go to the hospital?” Hoseok asks him. 

Baby Jin, evidently remembering his experiences at the hospital, frowns even more.

“And what if—what if, you left your toys lying around, and Yoongi-hyung came home and stepped on RJ and hurt his foot?”

“Yoongi-hyung can’t hurt his foot,” Baby Jin mumbles. “RJ is soft.”

He’s such a wiseass. “Your Pokémon toys then,” Hoseok amends. “What if Yoongi-hyung came home and stepped on one of your Pokémon toys and hurt his foot? And then he’s not able to dance Super Tuna with you? Do you want that to happen?”

Another long pause, that’s followed by a sad shake of his head.

“Right,” Hoseok says. “So clean up. Put all your toys in the baskets hyung bought for you. That way, no one has to get hurt. Understand?”

For a moment, it looks like Baby Jin’s still about to argue. But after a split second he deflates, his eyebrows still furrowed angrily even as he nods reluctantly.

Well, baby steps. “Good,” Hoseok says. He lets go of Baby Jin’s arms slowly, still a little wary in case he impulsively decides to throw something. “Now, apologize to Namjoon-hyung and Jeongguk-hyung for being mean and not listening to them.”

“I’m sorry,” Baby Jin mumbles. “I was mean.”

“Oh,” Namjoon replies, sounding a little awed. “Uh, that’s okay.”

“Now, give them a hug,” Hoseok prompts. 

Baby Jin pushes himself to his feet and gives Jeongguk a big hug, followed by Namjoon.

“Good job,” Hoseok says. He waits until Baby Jin is looking at him again before he speaks. “So this is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna clean up all your toys. The hyungs will help you. After that, you’re going to go take a nap.”

“I don’t wanna take a nap,” Baby Jin argues immediately

“Well, you have to,” Hoseok shoots back. “Go clean up.”

Baby Jin’s still clearly upset, but turns around and walks towards the toy baskets. Hoseok waits until he’s a distance away before he deflates, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Woah,” Jeongguk says, tone hushed but awed. “Hyung, you were so cool.”

Hoseok shakes his head. “Yoongi-hyung’s too soft on him, I swear,” he mutters. He keeps a watchful eye on Baby Jin—he’s now obediently gathering his toys, gathering a whole bunch of them in his arms and dropping them into the basket. “Let’s go help him. Then I’ll put him down for his nap.”

Namjoon bends down, picking up RJ. “Honestly, you’d be a great dad, Hob-ah,” he says conversationally, smiling in such a way that his dimples come out adorably.

Hoseok snorts. “Please,” he replies. He picks up the blanket off the floor, folding it up and setting it on the edge of the couch. “No more kids.”

Two days later, Hoseok goes to visit Namjoon at his studio.

“Namjoon!” he greets warmly, beaming as Namjoon pulls open the door. “Can I come in?”

Namjoon looks befuddled by his presence, but Hoseok still spots a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Sure,” he says, pulling open the door further so Hoseok can slip inside.

If there’s one person in the group Hoseok trusts wholeheartedly, it’s Namjoon. The two of them hadn’t always been the closest of friends; initially, Hoseok had always felt that there was a bit of distance between him and Namjoon, a boundary he wasn’t sure how to cross. Eventually they’d figured out how to deal with it—either by necessity or by sheer force of will—because if they hadn’t, Hoseok strongly suspects BTS wouldn’t be here today. Without their carefully-cultivated friendship, Hoseok’s pretty sure the group would have disbanded a long time ago. It was him and Namjoon, after all, who first signed their renewal contracts. Everyone else had simply followed suit.

Namjoon sits back on his office chair. “Is there anything I can help you with?” he asks. 

Hoseok shakes his head. “Nah,” he says. “I’m just hanging out. I got a little stuck on the song I was working on. Figured I should probably take a breather.”

“I see,” Namjoon says. He spins around to face the monitor, clicking on the screen with the mouse. “I’m just finishing a song now, too.”

“Is it the song you let Jeongguk listen to a few days ago?”

“Yeah. He really liked it. He said he’d be willing to record a guide for me, so I have to work quickly before he changes his mind.”

That makes Hoseok laugh. “He’s not going to change his mind.”

“Well, he might. You never know what he’s thinking.”

“You always know what he’s thinking,” Hoseok counters, amused. “It’s Jeongguk. He literally can’t lie to save his life.”

“Yeah, well.” Namjoon doesn’t follow up after that, going back to clicking a few things on the screen. He looks preoccupied. Not for the first time, Hoseok wonders what he’s thinking.

One thing Hoseok knows well about Namjoon is that he never stops thinking. The man clearly has something against stagnancy—his brain is always whirring a mile a minute as he tries to parse through his thoughts. He waxes poetic about nature, muses philosophically about the universe. He thinks through problems that haven’t even existed yet. Mulls over epiphanies the rest of them aren’t privy to.

It’s a trait of his that makes him such a good leader to BTS. There must be some things he gets told that he can only keep to himself, some discussions that he actively chooses not to burden them with. Hoseok isn’t naive; he knows that company meetings can be brutal, and some executives can be scathing with their words, but not once has Namjoon ever not cushioned the blow. 

It’s the real reason why Hoseok’s here, after all. To see if maybe he can help ease Namjoon’s mind.

Hoseok leans back on the couch as Namjoon continues to work on his project, the sound of the clicking soothing him a little. Hoseok gives him some time; Namjoon will speak once he’s given the opportunity, but it’s only a matter of time—

“The lab called again earlier,” Namjoon says, no preamble whatsoever. 

“Oh?” Hoseok asks curiously. “Any updates?”

“Barely,” Namjoon says. He visibly hesitates, then sighs, deflating like all the fight’s just left his body. “They’ve—well, they’ve figured out how to age the mice.”

Hoseok blinks. “That’s…good…?” he says slowly. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it isn’t—” Namjoon huffs. “It isn’t the cure still. Yeah, they’ve aged the mice, but now the fucking mice are dying of old age.”

“Oh.” That’s…not good, Hoseok thinks. And really, that’s the extent of his thoughts—just fucking reactions to whatever this situation throws at them. To all the information he’s been given.

This is a situation that’s so complex, something so far beyond what any of them—even Namjoon’s relentless brain—can comprehend. They were trained to sing and dance; they signed up to entertain. They didn’t sign up for de-aging and all the scientific minutiae behind it.

And it fucking sucks, because if Hoseok could do something to push things forward, he would. He’d volunteer information, he’d give suggestions. But unfortunately, all he can do is sit here and wait, take care of Baby Jin and react to whatever news they’re given.

Namjoon blows out a heavy breath. “Guess it’s back to the drawing board. They said something about adjusting the ingredients, or—or triggering the RNA or something.”

“Is that possible?”

Namjoon just shrugs. “Who knows? We’ll see. But we can’t give Jinnie this version of the antidote.”

“Yeah.” Not that Seokjin being a toddler is a great thing altogether, but it would be trading poison for another. They’d still left with the same problem. “No way we’re giving him that. I prefer him young than at risk of death.”

Namjoon smiles, but there’s little humor in it. “It would be bad for us,” he says. 

“Terrible,” Hoseok agrees. “The maknaes would be inconsolable.”

“Yoongi-hyung too.”

They fall silent after that. Neither of them say it, but Hoseok knows they’re both trying not to think about a life without Seokjin, a life where he’s just…gone. Briefly, the image of it flashes through Hoseok’s head; it would be—quiet, he thinks, twisting his hands on his lap. Far too quiet. He and Seokjin haven’t spoken much in recent years, Seokjin preferring to keep his distance, but Hoseok would still miss him terribly, miss hearing the squeaky way he laughs whenever he’s telling the maknaes a joke, distinct even from another room.

And the thought of just not hearing that for the rest of his life overwhelms Hoseok, and he has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself, thumbing away the tears that spilled beneath his eyes.

“Wow,” Hoseok says, in an effort to distract himself. “Whew. Speaking of, how’s Yoongi-hyung? Have you spoken to him about that at all?”

Hoseok can tell Namjoon’s grateful for the sudden change of topic. “Yeah,” Namjoon replies, blinking his own tears away. “He’s doing as well as anyone can be in his situation. By which I mean to say, not well at all.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say that,” Hoseok says. “He seems…well. Not happier exactly, but lighter. Freer. Kind of like a huge weight’s been lifted off his shoulders.” He cocks his head in thought. “He smiles more now, did you notice?”

“He does.”

“And he’s been buying the maknaes food too. The other day they hugged him so much that Jinnie got upset about it.”

Namjoon snorts. “I can see that happening,” he replies, amused. “That kid is so spoiled.”

“Seriously.” Hoseok shakes his head. “I think Yoongi-hyung should be a little more stern with him.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’ll happen,” Namjoon replies. He purses his lips, clearly intending to say more. “When I spoke to him, Yoongi-hyung basically admitted to me that he coddled Jinnie because he felt guilty.”

“Guilty?”

“You know, because of what happened between him and Jin-hyung.”

“Ah.”

“He told me he doesn’t want to see Jinnie hurt,” Namjoon continues. “Considering how much hurt he’s already caused Jin-hyung.”

Outside of Seokjin and Yoongi, Namjoon and Hoseok are the only ones who know what truly happened between them. Yoongi had been the one to tell Namjoon the whole story, and Hoseok—well, Hoseok had found out when he’d found Seokjin the night after everything had gone nuclear, shit-faced and slumped over the tiny dining table in their old dorm. Seokjin had been quiet, but when Hoseok had approached, he’d burst into tears and threw his hands around Hoseok. 

He doesn’t love me, Hob-ah, Seokjin had slurred in between sobs, burying his face into Hoseok’s shoulder the same way Baby Jin does whenever he’s upset. Yoongi doesn’t—he said that I’d–I’d ruin us—

Hoseok blinks the memories away. “So him being lenient is…some weird, convoluted way to make up for all the hurt he’s caused years ago.”

“Yes? No?” Namjoon scrunched up his face. “Honestly, it’s hard to tell with him sometimes. You know how he is.”

“I guess.” Yoongi’s the type to hide his emotions, the type that’s unwilling to share even a glimpse of what he’s thinking. The type to run away and hide when confronted with a truth he isn’t quite ready to face. 

There was a time, Hoseok thinks, when Yoongi was the complete opposite.

It’s a little funny how everything that changed can be traced back to Seokjin and Yoongi.

“But… only because he feels guilty?” Hoseok queries.

“What do you mean?” Namjoon asks. “Would there be any other reason?”

Hoseok shrugs. “I mean, maybe,” he says. “Possibly.” He doesn’t really elaborate on what he’s thinking. “It’s a little ironic though that his guilt has made him a happier person in general.”

That makes Namjoon crack a smile. “I do enjoy it,” he admits. “I’ll miss it when it’s gone.”

“Why, you don’t think it’ll last?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “It’s…hard to say,” he replies vaguely. There’s a hint of resignation in his voice. “I mean, we still don’t know when the antidote will be ready, so we don’t know how long to wait, but it’s still just…different circumstances, I guess. With Jinnie—well, with children in general, actually—it’s so easy for Yoongi-hyung to be emotionally open to the rest of us because Jinnie’s so emotionally open.”

It makes sense. Children are—oftentimes, they’re messy with emotion, messy with love. They let everything they feel play out on their faces no matter the circumstance. They’re direct, blunt, and straight to the point, but they’re also the sweetest, kindest things on the planet, the ones who’ll sit next to you and happily chatter away about whatever crosses their minds. 

It isn’t a hardship therefore for Yoongi to reciprocate Baby Jin’s adoration, simply because it exists. It pours out from him. It’s tangible, brought to life by hugs and cuddles Baby Jin regularly seeks out. And it spreads, enough that it’s easier for Yoongi to laugh with the rest of the members, to let his guard down; to let them in slowly after years of pushing them away.

“But with Seokjin-hyung…” Namjoon pauses, clearly thinking of a way to phrase his words. “Seokjin-hyung completely shut down after he and Yoongi fought. So it’s harder for Yoongi-hyung to be as warm and emotionally open as he is now, simply because Seokjin iced him out. It’s hard to be emotionally vulnerable without some kind of…assurance, so to speak.”

“Yeah.” Hoseok imagines the convoluted mess of emotions as some kind of string, weaving tighter and tighter as the years went on. Right now, it probably looks like some sort of tangled tapestry, with no clear way to unravel it—try to pull it apart and you’d find yourself stuck in a dead end, try to cut it up and you’d lose too much of its intricacies. “I mean, look where that emotional vulnerability got Jin-hyung.”

The corner of Namjoon’s mouth ticks up. “And look at us, still dealing with it eight years later.”

“Exactly.”

There isn’t much else to say after that. Namjoon turns back to work on his song while Hoseok lingers on the couch, a little unwilling to leave. Years ago—and it’s a blurry memory to Hoseok now—Seokjin had been more present in the group, and Yoongi had laughed more. Then Yoongi had gone and broke Seokjin’s heart, and—

(—and then Seokjin got drunk and cried into Hoseok’s shirt, broken-hearted and inconsolable;

—and then Yoongi had locked himself up in the studio and refused to face any of them;

—and then Taehyung and Jeongguk rallied around Seokjin, while Namjoon consoled Yoongi;

—and then Jimin had stretched himself thin, trying to hold what was left of them together.)

It’s kind of funny how one tiny, stupid moment can be the event that defines the rest of their lives.

With all due respect and humility Jin-hyung would be proud of him for, Hoseok thinks he's a lot more observant than people give him credit for.

Not that Hoseok really minds—he’s happy to play distraction, to be bubbly, happy-go-lucky J-Hope, around whenever someone needs a laugh. But what that really means is that it’s easy for people to let their guard down around him, to let how they’re truly feeling shine through because they don’t think he’s paying attention.

Here’s an example:

A few days after Seokjin and Yoongi fought, Hoseok had gravitated closer to Yoongi. He hadn’t really thought about it extensively at the time—he’d just wanted to help out the same person who’d comforted him when he moved to Seoul for the first time. Yoongi had been a wreck back then, his skin pale, his cheeks sallow. He looked lifeless, empty. He looked heartbroken.

Just as heartbroken as Seokjin was when he’d curled into Hoseok, chest heaving with sobs. 

Here’s another example:

A few days after Seokjin and Yoongi fought, Yoongi had slipped up. Hoseok was busy being his bubbly, joyful self, trying to entertain Yoongi, when Seokjin had passed by. He’d barely spared them a glance, but even Hoseok could see that he was angry. Yoongi had been unable not to look at him, and Hoseok watched as Yoongi’s eyes followed him across the room, his face falling further the farther Seokjin walked away. When Hoseok had asked if he was okay, Yoongi just shook his head, averted his gaze. I just miss him far more than I really know how to deal with, he’d said, but Hoseok could hear the heartbreak in his tone.

And that’s the funny thing about Seokjin and Yoongi, about Yoongi and Seokjin: despite the years of emotional distance, there’s still that profound sense of alignment between them, kind of like they’re still on the same page. Hoseok’s watched them through the years, and always, they’ve had the exact same pain reflected in their eyes, the exact same longing in their expression. Eight years after all this and they’re still so inextricably bound to each other, by each other. 

So it wasn’t surprising to Hoseok that when Seokjin turned into a three-year-old, he latched onto Yoongi, loved him wholeheartedly and without reservations. Nor was it surprising to him when Yoongi had returned the sentiment.

Because Hoseok knows, through careful observation, that they’ve loved each other through the years. 

It’s something he thinks about as he sits in the living room with the others for an impromptu movie night. Jimin and Jeongguk are curled up against both his sides, the both of them lazily watching Finding Nemo; a little ways away, Taehyung’s leaning his head against Namjoon’s shoulder. On the far end of the couch sit Yoongi and Baby Jin, the latter snuggled comfortably on Yoongi’s lap and intently focused on the screen. Every so often, he shifts, turning to Yoongi to ask a question; Hoseok watches as Yoongi bends down to listen, a small, warm smile already on his face.

With Baby Jin, Yoongi is lighter, softer, and so, so gentle it aches to watch sometimes. With Baby Jin, Yoongi smiles more, laughs more; acts more like how he was years ago, when he and Seokjin were still the very best of friends. He looks kinder, younger. Gives love away so freely whenever he’s asked for it. He looks happy.

Hoseok looks at Jimin and Jeongguk, turns to catch Namjoon already looking at him, a small, pleased smile on his face.

They’re all happy.

And this is something they'd lost in the aftermath of that stupid fight. This warmth, this happiness they all feel with each other, a bond that’s worth more than its weight in diamonds, more than its weight in gold. 

It hits him like a lightning bolt now—he should’ve said something years ago. He shouldn’t have let it fester, he should’ve spoken up, should’ve nipped it in the bud the first chance he got. He shouldn’t have played distraction for far too long—Yoongi may have appreciated it, but ultimately, that’s all it was: a distraction. No matter how hard Hoseok laughed or how much space he took up, the last eight years have proven that this isn’t something that’s just going to go away. 

A few days ago, he’d lamented the fact that he couldn’t do anything to help push things forward for a cure. And sure, maybe he can’t. He doesn’t know anything about science. But he knows Yoongi. He knows his members. He knows that the elephant in the room is still just as large and just as looming as it was eight years ago, and it’s something they’re going to have to deal with eventually.

He doesn’t realize he’s frozen in his seat until Jimin shifts next to him, curling in closer. “You okay, hyung?” he asks, keeping his voice low so that Jeongguk can’t hear. 

Hoseok forces himself to smile. “I’m fine,” he murmurs back. Jimin pulls away to look at him, his eyes searching, then he nods, settling back in.

Hoseok takes one last breath—in, and then out—before settling back into the couch and tuning into the movie.

Later, after Baby Jin has gone to bed and the rest of the boys have retired to their rooms, Hoseok slips out of his and makes his way to Yoongi’s.

“I think,” he says, once Yoongi opens the door, “we need to talk.”

Yoongi blinks but doesn’t question it. “Okay,” he says, stepping backward to let him in.

It’s a little hard to pull his thoughts together, disjointed as they are. There are so many questions he wants to ask, so many details he wants to bring up, but each point sprints every which way to new tangents and arguments.  

In the end, he decides to just be straight with it. “So, what are you gonna do when Jin-hyung comes back?”

That gives Yoongi pause. “What?” he asks. He’s returned to the chair by his desk; Hoseok notices he’s pulled up a project file on his computer.

Hoseok settles down on Yoongi’s bed, making himself comfortable. “What are you gonna do when Jin-hyung comes back?” he repeats.

There’s a beat. “Am I supposed to do something if he comes back?” Yoongi asks. He sounds puzzled.

“I mean, probably, considering you spent the last six weeks taking care of his toddler form.”

“Yeah. So?”

Hoseok lets out a frustrated sigh. “Are you really going to be this stubborn?”

“Well, are you really going to be this vague?” Yoongi shoots back.

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Jin-hyung,” he says slowly. “You. This weird…thing between you two. It has to end.”

“I was unaware that something even started,” Yoongi replies dryly.

“Of course it did!” Hoseok nearly explodes, the sudden volume of his voice so loud it startles Yoongi. “It started eight fucking years ago when he confessed to you. You have to be nearly blind not to see how it affected him. How it affected all of us.”

“I mean, yeah,” Yoongi replies. “I know it did. And I also know I did the wrong thing. But it already happened, and it’s not like I can change the past. Now we just have to live with it.”

“No, we do not just have to live with it,” Hoseok argues vehemently. “I’m fucking tired of having to live with it. This isn’t—it’s exhausting, hyung.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do about it,” Yoongi replies, defensively raising both hands. “Talk to Jin-hyung? In case you missed it, he’s a fucking three-year-old right now.”

Hoseok resists the urge to shake him. “I’m asking you what you’re going to do when he comes back,” he says through his teeth. “God, hyung, you’re so fucking stubborn.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to argue but Hoseok steamrolls over him. “I think that it’s dumb and stupid that you’ve let this go unresolved for this long,” he rants. “And I think it’s dumb and stupid that the rest of us just had to live with this tension while you two stewed in your emotional constipation. You’re both so—do you realize that it could’ve been easy? So fucking easy?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yoongi says. There’s a hint of steel in his voice.

“Don’t I?” Hoseok shoots back. “Let’s look at it this way: Jin-hyung loves you.”

“He doesn’t.”

“He does,” Hoseok insists. “It’s why Jinnie wants to be around you all the time.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t correlate. Jinnie’s a baby, he just likes to hang out with whoever plays with him.”

Hoseok ignores him. “He loves you,” he repeats. “And I know for a goddamn fact that you love him back.”

The words roll off his tongue before he can stop himself, hanging heavily in the air between them. Yoongi startles back like he’s been punched in the gut; his eyes are wide, terrified.

“Wh-what?” he manages to get out.

For the longest time, Hoseok’s been too quiet with his opinions. He’d refused to speak up, even when he knew both Seokjin and Yoongi were hurting—an inaction that had caused everything to fall apart. But now he’s done playing distraction, done pretending that he doesn’t see exactly how they’re hurting, done pretending like the way out from this mess is as complex and difficult as they’re making it out to be. 

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Hoseok says quietly. “You can’t—you’re good at pretending, hyung, but those who really know you can tell.” Lean in, he tells himself, gathering the courage to push forward. “And I think Jin-hyung knew that too eight years ago, and that’s why he decided to take the risk.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything in reply. Hoseok watches as he swallows, looks away, his hands curling into fists.

“You love him,” Hoseok repeats, tone more certain. “You’re in love with him. You have been ever since.”

For a quiet moment, nobody moves. Hoseok doesn’t think Yoongi’s even breathing. Then Yoongi sighs heavily, his shoulders curving inwards.

“It’s not that easy,” he says, his voice so quiet Hoseok has to strain to hear him. He rubs at his left shoulder, wincing at the discomfort.

“I think it’s the easiest thing in the world, actually,” Hoseok replies evenly.

Yoongi shakes his head. “It isn’t,” he insists. “Look, it doesn’t matter how I feel,” he says. “It doesn’t matter how he feels. It’s our careers that are on the line, Hobi.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s not like we’re allowed to just…do anything we want to.” Yoongi carts in a breath to calm himself, his hands squeezing tighter into fists. There’s a half-smile on his face, the curl of his lip sad. “Going into this, becoming an idol, I knew that I’d never be able to live a normal life. That there’d be things I’d have to give up. And this was—at the time, we were just gaining traction. We were finally getting somewhere. If I fucked that up, I would never have forgiven myself.”

“But that was then,” Hoseok replies. “There’s nothing stopping you now.”

“It’s been eight years,” Yoongi says. “It’s a little too late now. He hates me.”

“And I told you, he doesn’t hate you,” Hoseok says, slightly exasperated.

Yoongi’s half-smile twists into something bitter, laden with remorse. He shakes his head, turning to avert his gaze.

“I think,” Hoseok begins, “whatever’s between you and Jin-hyung—you need to discuss it. Hyung, you guys were best friends,” he emphasizes. “You loved each other. I know it’s been eight years, but I don’t think whatever you felt for each other just goes away that easily. I think, if you guys talked to each other, you’d find that there’s still something left to save.”

Hoseok pauses, but Yoongi doesn’t say anything, just stares down at his lap.

“You were different with him,” Hoseok continues. “And he was different with you, too. And it’s been nice, seeing the old you come out again—seeing you happy.” A pause. “I just—it would hurt me, I think, to lose you again once Jin-hyung comes back.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything to that. 

“Just…just think about it,” Hoseok finishes. He waits, but Yoongi doesn’t say anything else, his gaze trained on his hands, unseeing. With one last smile, Hoseok stands from the bed and leaves the room, leaving Yoongi with nothing but his thoughts.

It’s not something Hoseok brings up again. In fact, it’s not something they get the chance to talk about again, the rest of the week passing by in dance practices and toddler care. It’s getting harder and harder for Namjoon to get the higher-ups at the company off their back, so they start getting busy again, the frequency of their dance practices ramps up as the date of their upcoming world tour gets closer and closer. Adding to that, they start filming content—interviews and commercials and VCRs that they need to prepare ahead of time. Which means that Baby Jin ends up in the care of their managers more and more often (a change he’s made abundantly clear that he’s against), and the lack of time they spend together makes him cranky.

On top of that, he catches a cold, which then develops into a low-grade fever. Honestly, kids are such hard work.

“No,” Baby Jin says angrily, bodily turning away from Hoseok. He’s cuddling his mushroom plushie, and the look he’s currently giving the guk is so intense that Hoseok wouldn’t be surprised if it just started slowly drying up.

“You have to,” Hoseok cajoles. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“No.” Baby Jin glares at the food, glares at Hoseok, then glares at nothing in particular. “I don’t wanna.”

“But Jinnie—”

“No!” Baby Jin shouts, the sudden volume of his voice making Hoseok wince. The effort is clearly too much for his scratchy throat because he sniffles and then starts coughing, his eyes welling up with tears. “I don’t like you! No!”

It’s hard to tell what’s wrong. Even during his worst tantrums, Baby Jin was communicative—no matter how upset he’d been, he’d always find a way to tell them why, whether that was through yelling or through screeching tears. But right now he’s closed off, angrily staring at everything with red-rimmed eyes and absolutely refusing any and all attempts at conversation.

He’s not even supposed to be awake. Hoseok’s pretty sure that Jimin put him to bed two hours ago.

“Can you at least tell me what’s wrong?” Hoseok asks him, dropping the spoon back into the bowl and setting it aside. He offers him a sip of water from his beloved Pikachu cup, and Baby Jin angrily pushes it away. “I can’t fix it if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Baby Jin just shakes his head. “I don’t like you,” he just cries, curling tighter around his plushie. “Go `way.”

The logical part of Hoseok knows that Baby Jin doesn’t really mean it, but somehow it still hurts to hear. 

“I give up,” Hoseok says frustratedly, setting the bowl down on the coffee table and getting to his feet, joining the rest of the members hiding out in the kitchen. Four pairs of eyes look up at him hopefully when he enters; Hoseok shakes his head and watches them deflate.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” he says. “He just keeps saying he doesn’t like me.”

“Yeah, he’s been saying that since woke up,” Jeongguk replies, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Are you sure you actually put him to bed, Jimin-hyung?”

“Hey,” Jimin says, affronted. “When I left the room, he was snoring.”

“Then what happened?” 

“How the fuck should I know? He just woke up crying!”

“Don’t fight,” Namjoon interrupts wearily. “Guys, please don’t fight.”

“Any luck?” Hoseok asks Taehyung, who’s got his phone pressed to his ear. When Taehyung shakes his head no, he sighs. “Honestly, where the fuck is Yoongi-hyung when you need him?”

It’s a bit of a rhetorical question; Hoseok knows that currently, Yoongi is at the studio with Yijeong, intently working on a song together. He’d left just a little after Baby Jin had fallen asleep and had told the rest of them not to wait up. Usually, it’s difficult to get ahold of them when they’re working in sprints, removing all distractions to focus on the music and the music only. But this is a bit of an emergency.

Really, if Yoongi’s that busy tonight, Hoseok hopes he’s at least thinking about their talk the other day. Hopes that it’s haunting him like the ghost of Christmas Future.

“Taehyung, give me the phone,” Namjoon says to Taehyung, holding out a hand. “Can you go out there again and try to feed him? He needs to eat so he can take some medicine.”

“Okay,” Taehyung says. He passes the phone to Namjoon and scurries out into the living room.

Hoseok decides to head back out too, just in case Taehyung needs any help. He makes it just in time to see Baby Jin slap Taehyung’s hand away, spilling porridge and sending the spoon skittering on the floor. 

“Jinnie!” Hoseok scolds. “That’s not nice! Taehyung-hyung is just trying to help you!”

“No!” Baby Jin yells, his voice turning hoarse. “No help!” He’s started crying in earnest now, sobs wracking through his little body as he screams. “No, no, no!”

This isn’t a normal tantrum. It’s clear that something is bothering Baby Jin, but he’s too young to be able to communicate what’s wrong—too young to do anything but lash out. 

“I give up,” Taehyung says, and Hoseok can hear the barely concealed tears in his voice. “I miss Jin-hyung.”

“Fuck,” Jeongguk swears under his breath. “Here, maybe if we just—” The TV across the room suddenly flickers to life.

Considering how many times it’s been played over and over the last few weeks, it’s not hard to find Super Tuna. It takes a few moments, but soon the familiar chords ring out, loud enough to be audible over Baby Jin’s screaming. And it seems that Baby Jin recognizes it too—his cries taper off, his eyes open slowly, and he stares at the TV reproachfully, but silently.

Hoseok breathes out a silent sigh of relief. 

When Super Tuna ends, Hoseok braces himself for more crying. But instead, Baby Jin just frowns at the TV. “Want Moon,” he demands, sniffling, and Jimin and Jeongguk trip over each other in their haste to change the video. 

Somehow, that’s enough to keep the tears at bay. Baby Jin stays silent as the performance plays out, only demanding an “Again!” once it ends. He seems content to just sit there and watch the video over and over so they leave him be, occasionally looking over just to make sure he isn’t about to start screaming once again. In a fit of courage, Jimin offers him some guk; Baby Jin just pointedly ignores him.

“I wonder what’s wrong,” Taehyung says, frowning. “He’s never like this.”

“He doesn’t want to go to sleep,” Jeongguk replies, sounding just as worried. Hoseok looks over; sure enough, he catches the moment Baby Jin’s eyes flutter then snap back open, like he’s actively stopping himself from falling asleep.

It’s on the eighteenth replay of Seokjin’s performance that the front door beeps, whirring as it unlocks. Baby Jin perks up at the sound, instinctively knowing that it’s Yoongi at the door, but then for some reason, he stops himself; he visibly tamps down his excitement and his brow furrows even more as he tightens his grip on his mushroom toy.

Huh.

“Hey.” Yoongi rushes to Baby Jin’s side immediately. He pulls off his mask and his cap, running a hand through his hair. “How are you feeling?”

Baby Jin doesn’t reply. 

Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. “Did you eat?” he continues, looking towards Jimin and Jeongguk. Jimin just gestures to the now-cold bowl of guk on the table, and Yoongi’s expression of worry only deepens. “Jinnie, you have to eat.”

“No.”

“But you’re sick. You need to eat to take medicine.” Yoongi reaches over to press his hand against Baby Jin’s forehead, but Baby Jin angrily pushes his hand away.

“No,” he repeats, voice angrier. He bodily turns away from Yoongi. “Go `way.”

In all the weeks they’ve had Baby Jin, he’s never once pushed Yoongi away like this. He’s pushed the rest of them away, but Baby Jin had always afforded Yoongi a level of love and admiration far beyond what he gave the rest of them. So Hoseok sees it when a flash of hurt crosses Yoongi’s face, his hand hovering mid-air.

There’s a silence so loud, it’s deafening. Then Yoongi directs his next question to the rest of them. “What happened?” His voice is unreadable.

“No idea.” Jimin is the one who replies. “He was asleep, you left, he woke up crying, and suddenly he’s like this.”

Yoongi mulls that over. “Seokjinnie,” he says. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Go `way,” Baby Jin huffs again. “Don’t like you.”

“Did hyung do something?” There’s a note of hurt in Yoongi’s voice, one that he’s very clearly trying to mask. “I didn’t—did hyung do something to hurt you?”

“You’re mean,” Baby Jin replies. “You said you didn’t love me.”

“Wh—what?” Yoongi asks, his face turning pale. “I didn’t…I never said that.”

Baby Jin shakes his head. “You did,” he insists, voice shaky. “An–an’ you said I’d hurt the hyungs. That they wouldn’t be able to sing and dance anymore because of me.”

Hoseok blinks, taken aback. “Yoongi-hyung?” he asks, confused.

Yoongi just shakes his head, a flicker of horrified recognition crossing his face. He stares at Baby Jin, frozen, one hand curling into a fist.

There’s something Hoseok’s missing here. He stares at Yoongi, then at Baby Jin, who doesn’t look like he’s up to speaking anymore, curling back around the plushie.

As prickly as he can be, there’s no way Yoongi would ever say that to Baby Jin. There’s nothing Yoongi would ever do to make Baby Jin cry—even though sometimes, Hoseok thinks he deserves to be scolded. Yoongi’s only ever been gentle, kind, and loving. He’s never even raised his voice.

He woke up crying, Jimin said earlier.

It clicks in Hoseok’s mind: a nightmare.

“Seokjinnie,” Yoongi begins quietly. “Did you–did you have a bad dream about hyung?”

And Hoseok spots it when Baby Jin’s expression gives, his lower lip pushing out into a pout. He draws in a loud inhale, but otherwise doesn’t say anything in reply.

“Do you wanna tell hyung about the dream?” Yoongi asks. No reply. “You don’t wanna talk about it?”

A moment, and then Yoongi lets out a sigh. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay. But Jinnie, it was…it was just a dream, okay? Hyung’s here. Hyung will take care of you.”

That makes Baby Jin look over his shoulder at Yoongi, his lower lip wobbling dangerously. After a few heartbeats, he breaks—his face contorts as he lets out a loud, heartbroken wail.

“Oh, shh,” Yoongi soothes. He reaches over to hold Baby Jin, and this time Baby Jin lets him, his plushie falling to the floor as he curls into his chest and sobs into his shoulder. He’s saying something; Hoseok has to focus to make out the words. 

“You were bad to me,” Baby Jin sobs, voice muffled. “You did-didn’t—you didn’t—” he hiccups, “Want—wanted cuddles but you did-didn’t hold me. You didn’t—didn’t like me.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says thickly, rubbing comforting circles into Baby Jin’s back.

“Then I said I loved you but you didn’t—you said—you said you didn’t love me,” Baby Jin continues, hiccuping as he speaks. “And that you didn’t wanna—wanna be my friend anymore. You said that I—I was a ru-in.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen at the same time a flicker of pain crosses Yoongi’s eyes. “That’s not true,” Yoongi says, but his voice sounds shaky. “Jinnie, that wasn’t real.” 

“Was real,” Baby Jin cries. He takes a deep breath, curling further into Yoongi. “Was so, so real.”

Hoseok exchanges a knowing glance with Namjoon. In his fever-addled brain, the dream must’ve felt so realistic—the kind that leaves you confused, disoriented.

But how much of his dreams, Hoseok wonders, are from a reality he hasn’t lived yet? 

Yoongi looks stricken. “No, I—I’d never,” he says, his words coming out in a rush like they’ve been punched out of him. Like he’s trying to convince even himself. “Hyung will always want to be your friend.”

There’s a certain weight to his words, a cadence that denotes sincerity but alludes to so much more tucked beneath the crevice of each word. Baby Jin keeps crying, but his sobs quiet down, and Hoseok sees Yoongi’s grip on him tighten just a fraction. 

“Woke up an’ you weren’t here,” Hoseok hears Baby Jin mumble. “I was s-scared.” 

“I’m here now,” Yoongi promises. “I’m right here.” He leans down, presses a soft kiss on the top of Baby Jin’s head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Hoseok turns to meet Namjoon’s eye, and Namjoon jerks his head towards the dining room—the universal sign for let’s go. Namjoon grabs Jimin’s wrist, who then grabs Taehyung’s hand, who then reaches out to pull Jeongguk by the hood of his sweatshirt, and the four of them head back to the dining room. Hoseok watches them leave for a moment, then finds his eyes drifting back to Yoongi and Baby Jin. 

He lingers for a little longer, watches them for a few, long heartbeats. By now, Baby Jin has calmed down a little, sniffling and coughing as he tries to catch his breath. But he hasn’t moved away—he’s still got his face pressed against Yoongi’s shoulder, his eyes half-lidded as he draws comfort from the touch. As Hoseok watches, Yoongi starts humming a song, a melody Hoseok’s never heard before.

Hoseok smiles, takes a step back, and leaves them be.

Chapter Text

Seokjin’s always nervous whenever he has to sing. He hides it well, but it’s obvious when you know where to look. 

For example: there are two lines that form around his mouth whenever he’s called to the recording booth, a tell-tale sign that he’s unconsciously pressing his lips together. His back is also ramrod straight, kind of like he’s being pulled from the crown of his head by some invisible string. On some occasions, there’s also a slight flush that overtakes the tips of his ears. It’s funny—Seokjin can command every muscle on his face, but his ears are something he’s never able to control, two rogues that betray exactly how he feels. His ears are perhaps the most truthful parts of him. The only two pieces of him he can never really hide.

Yoongi still remembers the first time he learned all of that, standing on the other side of the recording booth as he’d talked Seokjin through the opening line of Autumn Leaves. Seokjin was different back then: he was shy, timid, and a little uncertain. He often looked to Yoongi for guidance when it came to music—most of the vocal line did, but Yoongi secretly liked it best whenever Seokjin did. There was always something in the way he looked at Yoongi, an intensity that made Yoongi feel like he was actually being listened to. It was a welcome contrast to the way Jeongguk looked at him cluelessly, or to the way Taehyung looked at him bored out of his mind. 

It’s different nowadays. Before he’d turned into the three-year-old version of himself, Seokjin barely spoke to him, barely even spared him a passing glance. Their interactions have been limited to cordial words during public interviews and the quiet pass me that, please, they have to exchange every once in a while. 

But it’s difficult to unknow someone, difficult to forget the things you’ve learned about them. He and Seokjin may not speak to each other anymore, but Yoongi still remembers all of Seokjin’s nervous ticks.

It’s something he finds himself searching for in Seokjinnie, who’s perched on his lap like he always wants to be, sitting in front of Yoongi’s studio computer and pretending to play producer.

“I’m gonna sing,” Seokjinnie declares. He’s wearing Yoongi’s headphones, which are comically big on him—Yoongi’s adjusted the band, but he’s just so little that they keep tipping down and slipping off his head. 

Yoongi gently reaches out to push the ear cups against Seokjinnie’s ears. “What are you gonna sing about?” he wonders.

Seokjinnie thinks for a moment, his head cocking adorably. “Fish,” he eventually replies. His eyes light up in realization. “Like Jin!”

Like Jin, indeed. Yoongi would be lying if he said he’d learned to properly manage Seokjinnie’s fascination with his older self—whenever Seokjinnie mentions him, Yoongi always feels like curling into a ball and hiding away. There’s this weird mixture of pride and melancholy that washes over him, a swinging pendulum of I always knew you were brilliant and I wish I could tell you that. But Seokjin’s currently three years old, and even if he wasn’t, Yoongi’s long since lost that privilege.

Yoongi realizes he hasn’t said anything for a long while when Seokjinnie’s expression turns worried, the crease in his brow appearing. 

“Yoongi-hyung?” he asks, concerned, and really, how could Yoongi not love him, how could Yoongi not spoil him when he’s like this, all sweet and loving and observant to everything Yoongi doesn’t even talk about? Yoongi knew, from the first time Seokjinnie had curled into him, that he would do anything to ensure that he never made Seokjinnie cry again.

Yoongi forces himself to smile. “Like Jin,” he agrees, and waits for Seokjinnie’s answering grin. He leans forward to reach for his mouse, going through the motions of setting up a new project. “A new song about fish by Jinnie, coming right up.”

“And Pokémon,” Seokjinnie adds.

“A new song about fish and Pokémon,” Yoongi amends.

“And RJ.”

“And RJ.”

“And—and Tannie and Mushroom-nim!”

Yoongi holds back a laugh. “You can’t sing about everything, Jinnie.”

“Why not?”

Honestly, Yoongi doesn’t have a real reply for that. “You know what?” he says. “You’re right. Go wild, Baby Jin.”

“I’m not Baby Jin,” Seokjinnie corrects. “I’m Big Jin! I’m a big boy!”

“Yeah? What about Super Tuna Jin?”

Seokjinnie thinks about it. “He’s just Jin,” he decides. He pushes himself onto his knees and leans forward on Yoongi’s desk, then points at the monitor. “What’s that?”

“That’s the project space, where we’ll work on your song,” Yoongi explains. “When you sing into the mic, your voice will go here.” Yoongi uses the mouse to point to an audio track. “Squiggly lines will appear there. And then the music will go here.” He points to another audio track.

Seokjinnie looks up at him, surprised. “I have music?” 

Yoongi huffs out a laugh. “Of course you do,” he says. “You can’t make a song about fish and Pokémon and RJ and Tannie and Mushroon-nim without music, right?”

Seokjinnie gasps, because he’s dramatic even as a three year old, then squeals. “I wanna see my song!” He pitches forward, almost as if he’s about to fully climb into Yoongi’s computer, and Yoongi steadies him with a hand on his arm.

“Not too close,” he scolds. “I’ll show it to you, just give me a second.” He makes sure Seokjinnie sits back down before clicking back to his files. 

Yoongi has hundreds of unfinished beats stored on his computer. Technically, he could just give Seokjinnie one of those—it’s not like this is a serious project anyway, and all Seokjinnie really wants to do is hear his voice echoed back. But he finds himself clicking through layers and layers of folders, searching for one specific song he’d written and long since buried.

“Here it is,” he tells Seokjinnie when he finds the project file, one he’d aptly named for him. Seokjinnie watches with round eyes as Yoongi loads it into Cubase. “I wrote it for you.”

Or, Yoongi thinks, some version of you, at least. A slow ballad, quiet yet atmospheric. Made for a voice clear like bells, with a cadence like silver. 

Yoongi tries not to think about how this may be the only time he’ll ever get to give Seokjin his song.

“Do you wanna hear it?” he asks, doing his best to keep the waver out of his voice. 

Seokjinnie nods so quickly that the headphones tip off his face. Yoongi chuckles, righting them on Seokjinnie’s head before he presses play.

Seokjinnie starts listening with his brow furrowed; as the song progresses, Seokjinnie’s expressions change, lightning-quick flashes of excitement and delight on his face. Realization too, especially when the song reaches the chorus mark and Seokjinnie recognizes the melody.

“It’s the sleep song!” he exclaims, his voice coming out a little too loud due to the headphones covering his ears. “The one you sing when I go to sleep!”

Yoongi nods, unable to help his smile. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

Seokjinnie scrambles closer to the monitor, uncaring for how the headphones slip off his head once more. “I’m gonna sing!” he yells. “I’m gonna sing! I’m gonna sing! Hyung, I wanna sing my song!”

“Okay, okay.” Yoongi makes Seokjinnie sit back down and sets the headphones back on his head, taking a moment to ensure they’ll stay on before reaching forward to swing his microphone stand. He adjusts the height, low enough for Seokjinnie to sing into. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he begins, and Seokjinnie sits up straighter, his expression getting all serious like Yoongi’s about to impart some secret of the universe. “Hyung is going to press this button—this is the record button. Then when the song plays, you’re going to sing over it. Once you’re done, we’ll play it back and listen to it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Seokjinnie replies. He looks at the project again, almost like he’s trying to remember Yoongi’s instructions, then turns back to Yoongi. “I’m ready!” 

“Okay.” Yoongi clicks a few buttons on the project, ensuring it’s set up for the recording. “Let’s go.”

He presses play. After a moment, he presses record.

It’s not going to be a masterpiece—Seokjin may have been doing this long enough to hardly need more than a few takes, but his three-year-old version doesn’t have that same kind of experience. Still, he closes his eyes and sings like it very much is one, uncaring for melodies or musical keys. In a way, it’s refreshing to watch—for years, Yoongi’s been in an industry where music is everyone’s lifeblood. It’s kind of nice to see someone just have fun with it.

“My name is Jinnie,” Seokjinnie sings happily, his voice high and clear, the rhythm in dissonance to the backing track. “I am three years old! I like fishies and Pokémon and doggies like Tannie!”

Yoongi props his head against his hand and watches him, unable to stop himself from smiling.

“RJ is white and soft and fluffy,” Seokjinnie continues, not even in the same key. “When he’s angry he is DJ. He’s my favorite toy but I have many toys to play with!”

Seokjinnie takes a deep breath. “My other favorite toy is Mushroom-nim,” he sings, “because Yoongi-hyung gave him to me. I love Yoongi-hyung. I love all the hyungs too, but Yoongi-hyung’s my best friend!”

And then he finishes up with a long “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah,” like he’s trying to sing an adlib. 

Yoongi can’t help his laughter. 

“I’m done!” Seokjinnie announces, turning around and pulling off the headphones in one quick movement. Yoongi stops the recording and the song, scrolling the playhead back to the beginning. “Can we listen now?”

“Sure we can.” Yoongi changes the audio output settings, so that it’s blasted from his speakers. He unmutes the track with Seokjinnie’s voice on it, then presses play.

As expected, Seokjinnie instantly starts giggling when his voice flows out of the speakers. He kicks both his feet out in glee, covering his mouth with both hands as he listens to himself sing.

“I’m silly,” Seokjinnie giggles when his impromptu adlib comes on. “Yoongi-hyung, aren’t I silly?”

Yoongi can’t help the fond smile that crosses his face. “The silliest,” he agrees easily.

(A little later, right when they’re about to head home and Seokjinnie is determinedly putting on his shoes by himself, Yoongi pulls up the project once more, saves it onto his computer. It’s not a masterpiece by any means, nor is there any inspiration to be found in the recording, just—

There are just some things, Yoongi thinks, that are too precious to lose.)

Sometimes, Yoongi categorizes his life in one of two ways: before or after.

It’s easy to sort them out if he wants to, if he strips himself bare of every emotion as he approaches each memory. This is a before, and this is an after. This is what happened before, and this is what happened after.

In his memories, there is a Seokjin and Yoongi before, and there is a Seokjin and Yoongi after.

But cold logic has never really been his strong suit, and categorizing often requires an impartial scientific curiosity he’s never truly able to muster. It’s easy to sort them out, but easier still to fall into them, to get lost in their vividness and all their nuances. It’s the only place, after all, where Seokjin isn’t angry at him. The only place where things feel right again.

(The before memory he thinks about most is the two of them eating at a small Korean restaurant a good distance away from their dorm, eating gukbap and sharing a bottle of soju. Seokjin’s eyes sparkled under the fluorescents, and his skin was tinged red from the alcohol. He was happy, the happiest he’d ever been—Yoongi had let him listen to the final version of Autumn Leaves, and hearing his voice front and center had made him chattier than usual. 

“—And Jimin told Taehyung that you promised you’d write him a song,” Seokjin said then, his eyes widening emphatically. “A whole song. Why is it that with the maknaes, you promise them the world and a half, but with me, your only hyung, I have to beg to get lines on all your songs?”

He was joking, of course he was—Yoongi’s never once made Seokjin beg for anything, much less for lines on a song. Still, he said, “I kind of like it when you bribe me,” if only to make Seokjin squawk some more.

“I knew it,” Seokjin said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “I knew that you were up to no good. That you were using me for nefarious reasons.”

Yoongi propped his chin against his palm, enthralled by the play of shadow on his face, by the fact that even under some frankly terrible lighting, he looked like a sculpture brought to life. “What nefarious reasons are those, hyung?”

“Free food,” Seokjin listed, as if that sounded nefarious at all. “Free alcohol. Free naps in my bed—now don’t you dare deny it,” he says, when Yoongi opens his mouth to protest. “I know for a fact that it’s not just Jeongguk sleeping there when I’m gone.”

Yoongi shrugged a shoulder. “What can I say?” he said. “I think my mattress is ruined.” 

“Well, that’s a problem you’re going to have to figure out,” Seokjin shot back. “Seriously, Yoongi-yah. Hyung does all these things for you, and you won’t even write me one song? Just one?”

And Seokjin didn’t know it, but on Yoongi’s computer, there was a half-finished melody sitting, written feverishly while Seokjin was deep asleep next to him after a movie night. Yoongi had been lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling and coming up with reasons as to why he shouldn’t sleep in Seokjin’s bed for the night, when Seokjin had shifted, and then sighed. Yoongi, he’d murmured—that, and nothing else, and yet Yoongi heard a secret melody tucked in the curl of his tongue. Made for a voice clear as bells, with a cadence like silver. Seokjin had breathed it to life.

“I’ll write you one, hyung.” It was more a promise than anything else, one that Yoongi had given away so easily that even Seokjin was startled. Yoongi remembers him blinking a few times, a flush of color suddenly overtaking his ears.

After a moment, he replied, “You better,” with all the posturing of an entitled child. But his smile was fond, soft like the early dawn.)

The next few weeks pass in a haze, the late summer days bleeding into early fall evenings. Yoongi loses himself in their routines with Seokjinnie, immerses himself in caring for a toddler. He tells himself not to think too much about the past, or even the future—two things he knows he’s incapable of changing. Instead, he focuses on the now, on Seokjinnie and everything he needs. Everything Yoongi can give him.

The news comes one random Tuesday, unusually warm for early October. Seokjinnie’s in the middle of his afternoon nap, which means Yoongi’s got some free time. He’s in the living room watching Hoseok and Jimin play a farming simulation game, trying his best to comprehend the random rules they’ve added to create some competition when Namjoon bursts through the door.

Namjoon’s in a frazzled state, his eyes wide, his hair a mess on top of his head, kind of like he’s been running his hands through them. The sudden change in the room’s energy gives all three of them pause, all their attention turning to Namjoon.

“Breathe.” Hoseok is the first to speak, setting down his controller and making his way to where Namjoon is standing. Namjoon does so obediently and subtly shakes his head when Hoseok shoots him a meaningful glance.

“We—they—I—” he begins, sounding a little out of breath. He takes a few seconds to collect himself, probably to let his heartbeat settle.

“They figured it out,” he eventually says. His eyes dart from Hoseok to Jimin, and finally to Yoongi. “The scientists, I mean. They think they’ve figured it out.”

When they all gather together, the air in the room is a little tense. 

“I mean, this isn’t something that’s up for debate, right?” Jeongguk asks. He’s probably the most agitated of them all—body tense, expression the slightest bit frustrated. “It’s a cure.”

“But it’s not that simple,” Namjoon replies. “Or at least, I don’t think it is.”

“But it works,” Jeongguk says confusedly. 

“Yeah, on mice.”

“But it’s either that or doing nothing,” Jeongguk argues. “And I can’t—I can’t just do nothing. Not when we have a cure that’s available to us.”

“But is it really a cure?” Namjoon shoots back. “Because it may work on the mice, but that doesn’t exactly guarantee that it’ll work on Jin-hyung.”

At the mention of Jin’s name, Seokjinnie stirs in Yoongi’s arms. He’s still half asleep, curled up around Yoongi, only out here because he’d woken up, saw everyone gathered in the living room, and refused to go back to his room. Yoongi kind of hopes he doesn’t realize they’re talking about him.

“Look, I’m not saying that we should do nothing,” Namjoon says. “I’m just saying that we need to weigh the risks. Yeah, we have a cure, but we can’t be sure it’ll work on Jin-hyung. There’s no other situation to test it out on. At the end of the day, we could get something that would re-age Jin-hyung, or we could get…something else.”

Something worse, is what Yoongi hears, laden under the syllables of his words. With a situation like this, the outcome is unpredictable, and the future is unknowable. The worst-case scenario is always a possibility.

“So we need to really think about it,” Namjoon finishes.

“We’ve been thinking about it,” Jeongguk argues, a little exasperated. “What do you think we’ve been doing these last six weeks?”

Yoongi sees Jimin and Taehyung exchange a wary glance, almost as if they’re communicating. “What do his parents say?” Jimin asks. “Did you tell them?”

“I did.”

“If anything, they should have the final say on this. They’re his parents.”

“Honestly, I think they aren’t sure what to do either,” Namjoon says. “Jin-hyung’s dad was just quiet. Jin-hyung’s mom kept asking about what we thought.”

There’s a pause. “This is a lot,” Taehyung admits, and he kind of sounds like he’s close to tears. “I don’t really know what to do.”

“I think we should give him the cure,” Jeongguk says.

“Isn’t it too risky?” Hoseok argues.

“Let’s go back to the facts,” Jeongguk suggests, and there’s a sudden, determined fire in his eyes, a conviction Yoongi hadn’t known he was capable of.

“Jin-hyung is a three-year-old.” When Jeongguk speaks, it’s slow, certain, and persuasive. “And the scientists think they’ve found a cure to that. But we don’t know if the cure is going to work, just because it hasn’t been tested on a person before.”

He shrugs. “To me, there’s no point in waiting a little longer—nothing’s going to change. The scientists have probably tested as extensively as they could. They can’t tweak and give us something that’s more certain, simply because they’ve done all the tests they could. It already works . So in the end, it all boils down to us doing something, or us doing nothing.”

It’s a little startling for Yoongi to realize just how much Jeongguk’s grown—a self-assuredness in the set of his shoulders that he didn’t have eight years ago. Yoongi had been too checked out, too busy wallowing in the depth of misery to notice how much Jeongguk’s changed.

“He has a point,” Jimin says. “Knowing the caliber of scientists Producer Bang spoke to…they’ve probably done everything they could. The only thing we need to do now is to take that risk.”

“I guess…” Taehyung trails off, sounding uncertain.

“But it’s too much of an unknown,” Hoseok replies. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“But what if it does?” Jimin counters. “Think about it for a moment. If we have the chance to get Jin-hyung back, why wouldn’t we take it?”

Jimin’s words ring out, settling heavily in the sudden room. No one else seems to know how to proceed next, shooting each other uncertain looks. It’s a circular argument—there isn’t one right answer. There isn’t anything left to do but to make a decision.

Yoongi looks down, tightens his grip around Seokjinnie.

“Yoongi-hyung?” 

All eyes turn to him. Yoongi looks up at them, inwardly braces himself for the inevitable question.

“You haven’t said anything,”  It’s Taehyung who speaks, blinking at him expectantly. “And you’ve been closest to Jinnie.What do you think we should do?”

“I—” Yoongi stops. Falters. Draws in a breath and closes his eyes, nosing into Seokjinnie’s hair as he grabs onto this stillness, this sudden pausing.

This is a decision that’s so massive that it’s suffocating. Which among the two, Yoongi wonders, is the lesser of two evils? Which decision would be the best choice for him?

A selfish part of him wants to say no to the cure, wants to keep Seokjinnie like this, squirrel him away from anything that could cause him harm. He doesn’t deserve any more pain, Yoongi wants to scream. He doesn’t deserve any of this.

But it wouldn’t be fair to Seokjin either if they were to keep him like this. Nor would it be fair to the other members, or to his parents. Or even to his fans—the many people around the world who love him.

Yoongi closes his eyes. Imagines a coin flipped, spinning around in the air so quickly that it’s a blur, a mirage of silver suspended in the air. Probability-wise, it’s a fifty-fifty chance for either side. There’s truly nothing he can do to sway that, nothing he can do to increase his chances.

What he can do, however, is play the odds.

It’s a proven fact: no one’s ever won big without taking a risk. No one’s ever achieved greatness without something on the line. No one’s ever achieved peak happiness—the one that overwhelms you, that lights you up from within—without opening themselves up to the chance of getting hurt. 

So, sure, it could all go wrong. But what if—just what if—it all went right?

Yoongi swallows, lets out a quiet breath. Raises his head to look at the rest of them. They all watch him back, waiting. They must all know by now how much Yoongi cares for Seokjin. How much of Yoongi’s heart he carries with him.

If they don’t do it, they’ll never know. They’ll always wonder if things could be different.

“I want to do what’s best for him,” Yoongi says, his words hardened with resolve. “Give him the cure.” 

Taehyung insists on taking a goodbye trip.

“It’s not a goodbye trip,” Taehyung argues when Yoongi calls it as such. “It’s just…a trip. A normal trip. Just a few days for us to spend time together, before—” He cuts himself off at the last second, eyes darting to Seokjinnie who’s just a few ways away, helping Hoseok choose and pack up a few of his toys to take with them.

There’s a pause. “Before,” he eventually finishes, sadness passing over his face.

After Yoongi had voiced his opinion, even Hoseok had caved, and the decision had been unanimous. With that unanimous decision came the calls to schedule Seokjinnie’s final check-up, his final lab tests, and the actual day they’d bring him to the lab and inject him with the cure. It’s a simple thing, but the act of it feels monumental. Feels like a massive undertaking.

This is them, playing the odds. If it all goes well, Seokjinnie will be aged up, turned back into the age he’s supposed to be.

So on a technicality, Taehyung’s right—it’s not a goodbye trip, considering they’re not really losing Seokjin. But somehow, it feels like one, what with the melancholy that’s fallen over them, with the way everyone seems a little quieter, a little cuddlier with Seokjinnie. They have a few days left with him, and it’s bittersweet to think that this is a part of Seokjin they’ll never get to see again. 

Yoongi will miss him. Truly, wholeheartedly and terribly. He’ll miss Seokjinnie most.

The house that they booked in Jeju is right by the beach, but far enough from the city proper that it feels private. It was probably a bit of an operation to get them all here secretly—it must not have been easy flying six members of a world-famous K-pop group and their de-aged bandmate to the other side of the country—but their company had managed it, and somehow they’re here. Seokjinnie looks thrilled to be somewhere outside of Seoul, immediately going to stand by the giant bay windows of the house to watch the waves crash into the shore.

“Wah,” he says, while everyone else is unpacking. “It’s the sea! I wanna catch a tuna!”

That makes Yoongi smile. “I feel like you’re too little to catch a tuna.”

“Nuh-uh,” Seokjinnie argues. “I’m big! I can catch one that’s this big!” He extends his arms out on either side of him. 

“Okay, that settles it,” Hoseok calls, grinning. “Jinnie will be catching us tuna for dinner tonight.”

They head down to the beach right after unpacking, ready to sit by the sand and dip their toes in the water. Taehyung’s changed Seokjinnie into little swim trunks that Jimin had bought for him, and it’s clear he’s excited about the prospect of going swimming, holding Yoongi’s hand and singing nonsense songs about fish as they walk down to the sand. Hoseok is insistent that Seokjinnie should wear sunscreen; Seokjinnie avoids that by running away. It takes them about ten minutes to catch him, but eventually, Jeongguk manages to catch him and Hoseok’s able to slather him in sunscreen.

Still, being covered in sticky lotion is barely enough to dampen Seokjinnie’s spirits.

“I’m gonna catch a tuna,” he sings, bending down to grab handfuls of sand. “A big, big one! And I’m gonna eat it and share it with everyone!”

Taehyung and Jeongguk volunteer to head into the water with Seokjinnie, while the rest of them decide to stay on the shore, finding a spot on the sand to settle. The weather’s nice—warm for fall, but not so hot that it’s unbearable. There’s an ocean-cool breeze blowing through the shoreline, seagulls squawking in the air above them. Jimin whips out his phone to take a few photos of the beach while Hoseok and Namjoon start up a quiet conversation, the sound of their voice wafting over.

Yoongi lays down on a beach towel and shuts his eyes.

Out here, it feels like an entirely different world; here, it feels like they’re unimportant, like they don’t have countries upon countries judging them, watching their every move. Here, the only thing that exists is the now: the ocean breeze and the crash of the waves, Hoseok and Namjoon’s quiet conversation, the click of Jimin’s shutter, and the distinct sound of Seokjinnie’s giggles as he plays in the water with Taehyung and Jeongguk. Right now, there’s nothing else that matters. Nothing else more important.

Yoongi listens to the sound of all his friends, and feels, for the first time in years, like he’s finally come home.

The next day, they go hallabong picking. 

It’s a well-known fact that Seokjin likes fruits; Yoongi’s lost count of the number of times he’s seen Seokjin come home from a few days off with boxes and boxes of fruits. He gives away strawberries and shine muscat like it’s nothing, sends over boxes of melons and Asian pears as tokens of his appreciation. Even Yoongi had been on the receiving end of his fruit generosity—way back when they were still on good terms, Seokjin had gifted him a box of strawberries, each one of them perfectly red. It’s from my uncle’s farm, he’d told Yoongi back then, the tips of his ears turning as red as the strawberries. I don’t know, I just—well, we didn’t see each other for a few days and I just wanted to get you something.

(Yoongi swears, to this day, that he hasn’t eaten a strawberry as sweet as the ones Seokjin had given him.)

Anyway—Seokjin likes fruits. It seems like Seokjinnie does too, with how excited he’d gotten when he’d seen all the hallabongs, his eyes growing as large as the citrus fruit themselves.

“I want that one!” Seokjinnie whines, pointing at a hallabong that’s growing a little too high for him to reach. He looks back at Yoongi, blinking at him. “Yoongi-hyung, please! That one!”

Yoongi reaches over to pluck it, and hands it to him.

“Thank you!” Seokjinnie chirps politely, running over to where Taehyung is to dump it into the bag. Yoongi hears him yell “Jeonggukie-hyung, look!” as he goes, and Yoongi chuckles as he pushes himself to his feet.

After a moment, Seokjinnie returns to Yoongi’s side, immediately slipping his tiny hand into Yoongi’s larger one.

“Ah, I’m being neglected,” Yoongi hears Hoseok declare to no one in particular, and Yoongi looks over at him, eyebrow raised in question. Hoseok just shakes his head, crouching down and angling his phone to Seokjinnie.

“Jinnie, look here!”

Seokjinnie playfully sticks his tongue out at Hoseok, which makes Hoseok laugh loudly.

When Hoseok turns away to film Jimin and Taehyung horsing around, Seokjinnie moves closer to Yoongi. “Jeonggukie-hyung says he picked a lot of pretty hallabongs,” he confides. “We have to pick more prettier ones than him.”

Yoongi smiles, amused at his competitive streak. “Okay,” he says. He points to a fruit growing a little ways away. “How about that one?’

Seokjinnie squints at it. “It looks too squishy,” he declares and tugs Yoongi forward.

Funnily enough, Seokjinnie is meticulous with hallabong picking. He often tries to get as close as he possibly can, looking at it from all angles to ensure that it’s as round and ripe as he wants it to be. Yoongi isn’t sure what he’s looking for—he tries to help by pointing a few good ones out, but Seokjinnie seems to know exactly what he wants and barely pays a glance to the ones Yoongi directs him to.

Still, Yoongi doesn’t mind. He’s happy to let Seokjinnie do the majority of the picking, only stepping in when the shears need to be used or when he’s reaching for fruits that are a little too high for him. 

It’s not long until their bags are filled to the brim with fruit. They stick around for a little while longer, settling on a bench to enjoy the scenery and eat some of the fruit they picked. Jeongguk and Seokjinnie seem to have forgotten their earlier competition and have now turned to an equally competitive game of tag, running through the rows of trees and giggling with each other. Every so often, Seokjinnie takes a moment to run back to Yoongi and ask for a few slices of fruit, before running back to play with Jeongguk.

“Make sure you chew properly,” Yoongi calls after the third time Seokjinnie runs away with the fruit still in his mouth. Seokjinnie pays him no mind, just keeps chasing Jeongguk around.

“I’m gonna get you!” he squeals. The only reply is the sound of Jeongguk’s answering laughter. 

Yoongi shakes his head and sighs fondly, popping a hallabong section into his mouth. He’s so preoccupied with watching them play that he barely notices when Namjoon takes a seat next to him.

“I’ll miss him too.” It takes him a moment to realize that he’s being spoken to, Namjoon’s voice quiet enough so as not to be overheard. “Jinnie, I mean. It was kind of nice having him around.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says.

“It felt a little like we had old Jin-hyung back.” Namjoon’s smile is nostalgic, a distant look in his eyes. “Remember when he used to play pranks on us?”

Namjoon’s voice is light, but his words fire straight at the tender part of Yoongi’s heart, making him ache all over. Before their fight, Seokjin had been a completely different person—playful and quick to laugh, with a funny remark up his sleeve at all times. Sweet at some moments, a downright menace at others. His energy was infectious, his aura bright. He was the group’s moodmaker. Everyone else had simply played off him.

After their fight, he’d become almost a shell of that person—cautious, distant, and hesitant. Yoongi has no one else but himself to blame.

He swallows, doesn’t say anything in reply. Namjoon takes his silence as a sign to keep talking.

“I just…” Namjoon draws in a breath, a clear indication that he’s trying to think of the best way to phrase his words. “Hyung, you know it’s not too late, right?” The tone of his voice tells Yoongi he isn’t talking about Seokjinnie anymore.

It should be, Yoongi thinks but doesn’t say, the words dying painfully on his tongue. Eight years is a long, long time. Whatever shattered between them has long since been swept away; whatever hurt they felt has long since fossilized. There should be nothing left to salvage, nothing in the ruins of them left to save. 

(For a moment, he thinks of Hoseok’s words and the certainty with which he’d uttered them. Jin-hyung loves you. It makes something wrap around his throat in a vice-like grip, stealing him of breath for a few moments.)

Yoongi clears his throat. “Yeah,” he replies gruffly. Some things, he thinks, are best left unexplored. Some hopes are best not kept. 

“Yoongi-hyung!"

In an instant, Seokjinnie materializes in front of them, wide-eyed and out of breath. He’s sweaty from chasing Jeongguk around, streaks of dirt on his cheeks and his forehead. Still, he clearly isn’t tired yet, judging by the way he instantly grabs Yoongi’s hand and tugs at it, leaning all his weight back in an effort to pull him to his feet. “I need help!”

Yoongi exchanges a glance with Namjoon. “What is it?” he asks, getting to his feet.

Seokjinnie leads him back towards the trees, down a few rows. He seems to know exactly where to go and what he’s looking for, his head held high and his grip on Yoongi’s hand firm and insistent.

Finally, he abruptly stops and points. Yoongi follows his finger to a hallabong growing closer to the top of the tree, large, round, and perfectly ripe.

“I want that one,” Seokjinnie says. 

Yoongi surveys the distance. It’s growing pretty high; if he reached up, the tips of his fingers would just barely graze the bottom of the fruit. But it isn’t impossible to reach, and Yoongi knows that if he lifted Seokjinnie up, he’d be able to grab it and pull it off the tree.

“Why didn’t you ask Jeongguk to get it for you?” he asks Seokjinnie.

Seokjinnie pouts. “Jeonggukie-hyung’s mean,” he sulks. “He said I can’t pick more prettier fruits than him.” He turns to Yoongi with puppy eyes. “Please, Yoongi-hyung? Please?”

Yoongi lets out a fond sigh. “Alright,” he says. He squats down, just so he’s at eye-level with Seokjinnie. “But we have to work together.”

Seokjinnie nods obediently.

“Turn around,” Yoongi instructs. “I’m gonna lift you up and you’re gonna reach for it. Grab it quickly, okay?”

“Okay,” Seokjinnie says, his forehead furrowing in determination. He turns around, letting Yoongi fit his hands beneath his arms. “I’m ready!”

Yoongi takes a deep breath. “One,” he counts. “Two…three!”

He lifts, and Seokjinnie goes airborne. Yoongi holds him up, up, up , until he’s high enough to reach up and grab the fruit. Seokjinnie isn’t heavy by any means—he’s still tiny that it’s not difficult to carry him most days, but holding him like this is a massive effort, the weight too much for his fucked-up shoulder. It aches in protest—a sharp pain shooting from the socket and down to his arm. Yoongi winces, but does his best to ignore it, schooling his expression into something neutral.

And right when the pain starts to become a little too excruciating, Yoongi hears the leaves rustling as they’re disturbed, the tell-tale snap of the branch.

“I got it!” Seokjinnie crows, holding the fruit aloft, and Yoongi presses his lips together as he slowly lowers Seokjinnie down. He rubs at his shoulder and plasters a smile on his face as Seokjinnie turns around, the fruit comically large in his hands.

“Look, Yoongi-hyung!” he exclaims happily. “It’s so pretty! Thank you!” 

He throws his arms around Yoongi in a quick hug, before pulling away and running off to find his bag of fruit. Yoongi drops his expression, rolling his shoulder a few times to set it back in place.

When he finally straightens up, he sees Jeongguk a short distance away, quietly watching. “I was going to help him,” he explains when Yoongi gives him a questioning look. “I was just teasing him a little.”

“I know.” Yoongi shakes his head, rubbing at his shoulder. The pain has dulled to a low ache; Yoongi knows he’ll be feeling that for a few days.

Jeongguk seems to notice his discomfort. “Hyung,” he asks tentatively. “Are you okay?”

Yoongi waves a hand. “I’m fine,” he replies, and goes off to find Seokjinnie.

Seokjinnie’s bedtime is at seven, but it becomes clear to Yoongi that he isn’t going to bed without a fight tonight when Jeongguk starts up the karaoke machine. Immediately, his eyes widens, his expression lights up, and he turns to Yoongi with a ready pout on his face, the sauce from the jjajangmyeon he’s eating for dinner still all over his mouth.

“Please Yoongi-hyung?” he asks adorably. “Can I stay up late with all the hyungs?”

His puppy eyes are lethal, and Yoongi takes a moment to wonder when he’d learned to weaponize them. Still, just like every other time, Yoongi feels himself cave—unable to deny Seokjinnie anything, unable to stand the sight of him upset.

“Just tonight, okay?” And Yoongi’s chest warms at the sight of Seokjinnie’s answering smile, as bright as the sun.

It takes some effort to get Seokjinnie to wipe his face and wash his hands, but once he’s done all that, Yoongi leaves him to do whatever he wants. Seokjinnie immediately runs to the living room, where Jeongguk’s in the middle of singing a song—he stands right next to him and watches the video change on the screen.

“I wanna sing too!” Yoongi hears him say over the sound of Jeongguk’s voice. “I wanna sing Super Tuna!”

Jimin brings out a few bottles of soju while Hoseok rips open a few packets of chips, and they all sit back and relax, drinking and singing a few songs. Taehyung creates a dance that he insists everyone has to do, and Namjoon gets drunk enough to start scream-singing, his voice going high and loud enough that it makes Yoongi wince. 

All in all, it’s good fun. Yoongi spends the evening laughing, cheering the rest of the guys on when they sing and getting roped into singing a few songs. Seokjinnie is a blur of motion as he alternates from zooming around the living room, singing, and dancing, his laughter loud over the din. There’s nothing but pure, unblemished happiness on his face, his joy so unbridled, so wholehearted. Yoongi watches him, thinks this is how he should always be; thinks of the first day after their stupid fight, the first time Seokjin looked at him devoid of any emotion.

Something rears itself in Yoongi’s chest, making its presence known. It’s not something he usually does, but he lets himself explore this feeling now, probes into its ridges, its sharp edges, all its darkest parts. Guilt, after all, is an old friend. No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, it’ll remain there—as much bone as his ribcage is now, an extension of himself. It’s something he’s lived with all these years, and some morbid part of him thinks it’s something he’ll be buried with, too.

He loves you, Hoseok had said to him, and I know for a goddamn fact that you love him back.

But then—so what? After eight years, their fight has grown beyond what he can handle. He’d left it to fester, and now the shadows have evolved into a monster too terrifying to face. He isn’t quite sure where to begin should he want to fix this. He doesn’t know how to make the first move.

And so he drinks, lets the soju burn down his throat, trying his best to drown out the crippling guilt. Selfishly, Yoongi hopes that the universe might be kind, and take pity on him; that when Seokjin returns, he’ll have magically forgotten the slow deterioration of their relationship. Or maybe he’ll remember the time he spent as a three-year-old, and he wouldn’t begrudge Yoongi for it—maybe, he’ll be the one to approach Yoongi first. Yoongi’s never been good at initiating, which is kind of why their relationship fell apart: Seokjin was angry at him, so Yoongi left him alone.

Gave him all the space in the world.

It would be easier if Seokjin remembered. Because Yoongi’s always been too terrified to take that leap and explore what could’ve been. Too afraid to risk it all for a man who loved him. 

For a man he loved back.

(And that’s what hurts most, when Yoongi thinks about every after, because it was never really a question of whether or not he loved Seokjin. To him, Seokjin had felt like a homecoming, had felt like peace in moments of chaos, had felt like an old soul he’d known for lifetimes. No, it was never really a question of love.

It was a question of bravery.

“I love you,” Seokjin had whispered in his ear right after their first music show win, while they were still on stage. It was three syllables that Yoongi held onto like a prayer, like a lifeline, and he could only grin back at Seokjin, euphoric.

But then—

But then the stage lights dimmed and they were shepherded back into their dressing room. But then they headed back to the company for a meeting about what their next steps would be to keep this momentum. But then Yoongi looked at the faces of the rest of his bandmates—young, tired, yet still so filled with determination despite every hardship they’d faced. 

And Yoongi knew, at that moment, that he would never do anything to jeopardize their career.

So later, when Seokjin and Yoongi returned back to their shared room, Yoongi had stayed silent, avoided Seokjin’s gaze. Refused to respond to Seokjin’s prompting until Seokjin had grabbed him, physically sat him down and asked him what was wrong.

Yoongi remembers thinking that Seokjin was so lovely, back then—worried, with leftover eyeliner smudges around his eyes. But that wasn’t enough to pull his mind out from the dark place it had crawled into, every terrible outcome of loving Seokjin back flashing through his brain at the speed of a freight train.

Fear crept up his chest, clamped down on his throat. Yoongi couldn’t breathe for a few moments.

“You shouldn’t,” was all he managed to get out.

Seokjin frowned at that. “Shouldn’t what?” he asked, oh-so-gently.

And if he were smarter, if he were wiser, this is where he would’ve ended the conversation. This is where he would’ve said never mind, we’ll talk about this tomorrow; where he would’ve given himself the grace to deal with his sudden anxiety, let it recede before attempting a serious conversation about this. Seokjin didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to talk about it anyway—Yoongi knew Seokjin, and Seokjin would never push if Yoongi wasn’t comfortable. He’d always been so cognizant of Yoongi’s needs.

But Yoongi’s a stupid man, and back then, he was a little reckless, too. Still young enough to think that he could handle anything life threw at him.

“Love me,” he replied, the words forced through the sudden tightness of his throat.

The silence that came after that was weighty. Seokjin had kept looking at him, eyes widening imperceptibly—for a moment, Yoongi thought Seokjin was going to deny it. But a strange resolve seemed to cross Seokjin’s features, and his grip on Yoongi’s hands tightened.

“Why not?” Seokjin challenged.

The certainty in his voice threw all of Yoongi’s thoughts in disarray, added fuel to the fire that was already suffocating him.

“Be—because,” Yoongi floundered. “This isn’t right.”

Seokjin looked like he’d been slapped in the face. “I mean—”

The anxiety in Yoongi’s chest had grown, pushed him to speak some more. “Do you realize that this could destroy everything we’ve worked for?” he asked rhetorically. “That this could end us?”

Even then, Yoongi could already see he was hurting Seokjin—his resolve slipping, the natural warmth of him slowly disappearing under an ice-cold mask. All of a sudden, his features were sharp, intimidating with an imperceptible anger.

“I’m not following,” Seokjin said.

Yoongi’s tongue felt like it was running away from him. “Hyung, we literally just got our first music show win,” he’d said. “After two fucking years of nothing. Things are finally looking up for us. And now you want to throw all of that away for…for this ?”

His words had come out angrier than he intended for them to sound. But the fear had been all-encompassing, the tendrils creeping into the darkest corners of his mind. He couldn’t do anything but succumb to it.

“I didn’t say we had to throw anything away,” Seokjin shot back, defensive. “I just—I thought you’d like to know—”

“It’s a scandal waiting to happen,” Yoongi cut in. Seokjin’s expression continued to shut down. “If word gets out about this, about you, everything that we worked for would be over. We’d be laughed at, degraded, blackmailed—everything. We’d never make it any further in the industry.” He swallowed. “I can’t do that to Namjoon, I can’t do that to Hobi. I can’t do that to the maknaes.”

I can’t do that to you, he wanted to say, but felt the words die a horrible death in his throat.

“I think it’s selfish of you,” Yoongi continued, “to expect me to give everything up for this. I don’t—I don’t—I can’t love you back. Not if we want to get somewhere.” 

He took a deep breath, felt the final, definitive words bubble up from his chest and spill out from him. “You’re going to ruin us,” he finished.

He knew, as soon as he’d said it, that that had been the wrong thing to say.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, only the sound of Yoongi’s raw breathing punctuating the air. Seokjin’s features were dark and angry, nothing but pure vitriol in his eyes. Yoongi still remembers his heart sinking in his chest—he’d never once seen Seokjin look at him like that.

He’d opened his mouth to say something—to apologize, or to just say something, when Seokjin had snapped.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t realize you thought that highly of me, Yoongi.”

His voice had sounded hard and unforgiving, his anger like red-hot steel. 

“And you know what, that’s great to know,” Seokjin continued, each word coming out angrier and angrier. “Considering that I thought we were friends.”

“I—”

“You know what, I thought you would be better,” Seokjin said, completely steamrolling over him. “At the very least, I thought you’d be kind about it, when I told you. I didn’t realize that you thought me loving you was the worst fucking thing in the world.”

Seokjin’s eyes were shiny with tears. I did that, Yoongi thinks, and the realization was enough to make his heart splinter, then shatter altogether.

“Hyung—”

“Save it,” Seokjin snapped, his voice cold as ice. “I’m done listening to you. You’re a fucking asshole.”

He turned away to leave; unconsciously, naturally, Yoongi reached out to him. All the anxiety he’d felt suddenly disappeared, replaced by the terror of losing Seokjin, of watching him walk away.

When Yoongi’s hand brushed his arm, Seokjin pulled his arm away roughly.

“Fuck you,” he said, his voice breaking. “Truly.”

And then he’d left, the sound of the slamming door echoing in his wake. Yoongi wanted to go after him, but for some reason his legs had felt like lead, weighing him down.  All he could do was sit on his bed and wait.

I’ll give him some space, Yoongi thought then, nervously nibbling on the skin beside his nails. Let him cool off. When he comes back to the room, I’ll apologize.

But Seokjin didn’t return that night, or even the next one. He didn’t step foot in their dorm, nor did he reply to Yoongi’s worried text messages. A few days later, Yoongi found out from Namjoon that Seokjin went to stay with his parents for a few days.

The next week, Yoongi returned to their shared bedroom and found all of Seokjin’s things gone.

Later, when Seokjinnie is fast asleep next to RJ, tuckered out from the events of the day, Yoongi slips into the room, stands by his bedside. Watches the slow rise and fall of his chest, and wonders once again, if he can just keep Seokjinnie like this—unburdened and pure and untainted, squirrelled away from everything that can hurt him. Naive enough to put his trust in Yoongi. Innocent enough to wear his heart on his sleeve. 

But Yoongi’s been selfish for far too long, years and years wasted away wallowing in his heartbreak, in his thoughts. It would do no good if Yoongi just kept him like this for his own benefit. At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is what’s best for Seokjin. 

At the end of the day, there is nothing, if not Seokjin. Yoongi can’t hurt him like this.

Yoongi carts in a breath, holds it in his lungs. Lets it out in one fell swoop, and feels something inside him crumble, all his feeble defenses crashing down until he’s laid bare.

“Seokjin,” he says, the word choked out through the sudden closing of his throat. “Seokjin, I am so, so sorry.”

His voice breaks at the last word, and the tears spill like a dam breaking. He cries, burying his face in his hands—cries for eight years’ worth of guilt and eight years’ worth of heartbreak. Cries for everything he lost, everything he could have had; cries for the friendship they once had. Cries for Seokjin and for Yoongi, for the people they once were, lost in the aftermath of their stupid fight. Cries for when they were happy. Cries for when they were in love. 

It shouldn’t have been like this, he thinks as he cries. We shouldn’t have ended up like this.

They could’ve been great. They could’ve been happy. Instead, Yoongi was young and dumb and foolish, and he’d freaked out over what could’ve been the best thing in his life. And like dominoes, everything came tumbling, one after the other, until Yoongi was knee-deep in a mess of his own making.

He draws in a deep breath, tries to calm himself as he reaches out to brush a finger against Seokjinnie’s cheek. Seokjinnie doesn’t stir, too lost in his dreams. 

Yoongi leans down and brushes a soft kiss on the crown of his head.

“I’ll be better,” Yoongi murmurs. “I promise.”

On the day they have to leave Jeju, Seokjinnie looks up at him, his puppy eyes already firmly in place. “Can we stay here forever?” he asks, his voice lilting and sweet, while the others load their bags into the car.

And Yoongi would move mountains for him, if he could. He’d part the oceans and reverse time, change the weather if it meant Seokjinnie had to want for nothing. But this is something they need to do, something they can’t run away from. A reality they need to return to.

Yoongi does his best to commit this moment to memory. 

“I wish we could, Jinnie,” he replies. “I wish we could.”

Their last few days with Seokjinnie pass by in a blur. Yoongi does his best to slow it down, to hold onto every fleeting moment, but time marches on unhesitatingly. They have practice and interviews and meetings; Seokjinnie goes and spends a few days with his parents and his hyung. 

Yoongi misses him immediately, but he knows the time spent isn’t something he can deny Seokjin’s family—they knew him first, and for much longer. They’re his blood relatives; Yoongi’s just someone Seokjin loved once, lifetimes ago.

With Seokjinnie out of the dorm, Yoongi buries himself in work. He passes the last days in the studio, writing feverishly about anything he can think of. For the first time in a long time, none of the others bother him. He sits and writes in silence, and when he eventually cries, it’s in relative peace.

Seokjin’s family agrees to meet them with Seokjinnie at the hospital, where Yoongi finds himself waiting, sitting in a stark-white hospital room with the rest of the members. Jimin’s holding one of his hands and Taehyung the other, and normally, Yoongi would pull away from the skinship, but right now he can’t bring himself to.

“They should be here by now,” Hoseok says, frowning down at his watch. 

And as soon as he says that, the door of the hospital room opens, revealing Seokjinnie with his family on the other side. Yoongi’s out of his chair before he knows it, and Seokjinnie runs to him immediately, throwing his arms around Yoongi the first chance he gets.

“I missed you,” Seokjinnie says, tears audible in his voice. Yoongi has crouched down, and Seokjinnie mumbles the words into Yoongi’s bad shoulder. “Why didn’t you come stay with me?”

Yoongi shakes his head, drops his nose into Seokjinnie’s hair and just breathes him in.

Seokjinnie says hi to the other members, but it’s clear that he doesn’t want to leave Yoongi’s side. He stays close even as the others bring out some of his toys from the dorm—a few Pokémon figurines and some of his favorite plushies. And even as he plays, he makes sure he’s holding onto Yoongi; his grip is tight on Yoongi’s shirt, as if he doesn’t want to be left behind.

They’re only able to play for a little bit before the doctors come in. Seokjinnie gives each of them a wary glance, before climbing onto Yoongi’s lap and throwing his arms around Yoongi’s neck. He’s always been so perceptive; he must realize that this isn’t like his other visits to the hospital.

Yoongi and Jimin change him into a hospital gown that’s huge on him. It looks comical now, but if—when—Seokjinnie re-ages, it should fit him perfectly. Yoongi sets him down on the hospital bed; Seokjinnie keeps one of his hands in Yoongi’s, the other one gripping RJ tightly.

He's obviously one gentle word from crying.

“Hey,” Yoongi murmurs. He sits on the edge of the hospital bed, smooths Seokjinnie’s hair back. “You’ll be okay.”

Seokjinnie’s chin wobbles. “What’s happening?” he asks.

He’s never once asked that before, trusting Yoongi and the other members to know what’s best for him. Yoongi thinks he deserves an explanation now, no matter how simple it may be.

“They need to give you some medicine,” he says. “Just so you get better.”

“Remember, Jinnie?” his hyung pipes up. There are tears in his eyes, ones he’s barely holding at bay. “Eomma and Appa told you about this. It’ll hurt, but we want to make sure you’ll get better.”

The vital-taking happens quickly. It’s heartbreaking to realize how used to the process Seokjinnie is—he barely even flinches, and he already knows when to hold still, when to breathe deeply. The doctor notes a few things down in Seokjinnie’s chart before leaving, presumably to get the preparations underway.

As soon as she’s gone, Seokjinnie hugs RJ close, burying his face into its soft head. “I don’t wanna get better,” he cries quietly. “I wanna go home.”

Home. To Seokjinnie, home is the four walls of the dorm, the empty apartment now filled with warmth. It’s his home, because he’s brought it back to life. Filled it with laughter and light and love the way only Seokjin can.

“You will.” It’s Jimin who replies, his tone soothing.

“You just have to get better,” Jeongguk chimes in. He’s been silent for most of the earlier proceedings, and now Yoongi knows why; his eyes are shining suspiciously, and when he speaks, his voice is wobbly. “And then we can—we can catch all the Butterfrees you want. And pick all the pretty fruits.”

“I’m gonna pick the prettiest fruit,” Seokjinnie says, his voice quiet but still audible to the entire room. It makes them all laugh, the sound wet with tears.

“Tannie will be waiting for you when you get out,” Taehyung says.

“And you still promised to help me get a Dragonite,” Namjoon adds.

“And I still have to steal your Pikachu cup!” Hoseok says. The twist of his mouth is a sad little thing.

“Eomma and Appa have lots of toys for you too,” Seokjin’s mother adds gently. She’s smiling, but barely.

Seokjinnie raises his head, meeting each person’s eye. Eventually, his gaze lands on Yoongi. “I’m scared,” he admits.

Yoongi’s heart shatters. “You just…you just have to be brave again, okay?” he says. He doesn’t bother to try and conceal it anymore, all his sadness bleeding through his voice. “Just…just one last time. For me. Then we can do anything you want.”

It’s at that moment the doctor walks back in. She’s hesitant about it, but when Yoongi looks at her, she gives him a gentle smile. 

“It’s time,” she says.

There’s a pause.

“Okay,” Seokjinnie says quietly. 

Three years old or thirty years old, the fact of it remains the same: Seokjin’s always been brave. Braver than him. 

They make quick work of hooking him up to the machines. Seokjinnie keeps RJ close, occasionally burying his face against his head when it all gets too overwhelming for him. After he’s been hooked up, the doctor leaves, comes back with four scientists, who are all peering at Seokjinnie’s chart with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

“The first syringe is anesthesia.” One of the scientists, a man, steps forward. He points to a tray with two syringes, each one clearly marked. “It’s just to put him to sleep, so this process is as painless as possible. After five minutes, we’ll administer the cure. You’ll see him start to change immediately after that. According to all our tests, he’ll stop growing at the exact age he was right before he turned.”

Laid out like that, it sounds like the simplest thing in the world.

Beside him, Seokjin’s mother starts to cry, quiet sniffles breaking the silence. Seokjin’s father reaches out to rub a hand down her back. 

“Yoongi-hyung?” It takes a slight moment for Yoongi to realize that Seokjinnie’s calling him, and he pushes down every inch of fear he has and steps forward to his bedside, taking Seokjinnie’s hand and smoothing down his hair.

“What is it?” he asks gently.

“Will you—will you stay with me?” Seokjinnie stutters, the question sweet in the lilt of his voice.

Yoongi smiles, leans down to press a kiss on Seokjinnie’s forehead. “Of course I will,” he says. “I’ll be here the whole time. Up until you wake up.”

“Promise?”

The words fall from his tongue before he can even think twice about it. “I promise.”

“So Jinnie, this is just gonna hurt a little,” the doctor says, stepping forward with the first syringe in her hand. Seokjinnie’s eyes flash in fear, but after a moment, he bravely extends out an arm. His other hand stays rooted in Yoongi’s grip, tiny fingers disappearing into his palm.

Seokjinnie winces in pain as soon as the needle goes in, tears immediately spilling down his cheek, but he doesn’t get the chance to cry before the drug kicks in, sending him into a fitful sleep.

Yoongi swallows, looks up. Everyone else stares back at him, differing shades of worry, fear, and helplessness on their faces.

“Okay,” the doctor says. She looks back at the scientists, who nod at her. “Now the cure.”

Yoongi tightens his grip on Seokjinnie’s hand.

Fuck you, Yoongi, Seokjin said angrily eight years ago. 

I love you, Yoongi-hyung, Seokjinnie said a few weeks ago.

Both statements said by the same person. Both statements uttered with the same conviction one would have saying a prayer. 

Yoongi closes his eyes as the doctor injects the cure.

And for a moment, nothing happens. Then Seokjinnie starts growing, flashing through the years in seconds. His features change, from toddler to child to teenager to adult. His shoulders broaden, his limbs lengthen. He shoots up in height.

From the other side of the room, everyone watches at a standstill. Seokjin’s mother is still crying, but now, so are Taehyung and Jimin—curled up into Jeongguk like they’d bring him comfort. Seokjin’s father is stone-faced. Hoseok’s holding Namjoon’s hand; Namjoon even doesn’t seem to be breathing.

Yoongi looks down at Seokjin’s hand still in his, the size a marked difference from how it was just five minutes prior. Please, he thinks, tightening his grip. Please—

Then abruptly, he stops growing. And there Seokjin is, broad-shouldered and handsome as Yoongi remembers him to be. He’s still but he’s breathing—Yoongi can see the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. 

“It worked.” Hoseok is the first to speak, sounding awed. “Oh my God, it worked.”

“He should be back to normal when he wakes up,” the scientist says kindly. When Yoongi turns to look at him, he finds him smiling, relieved. “But we’ll keep him here for a few days, monitor him to see if there are any anomalies. If all is well, he should be released next week.”

All the scientists bow to them in farewell, before leaving the room. The doctor checks Seokjinnie—no, Seokjin’s—chart , bows and does the same. There’s so much paperwork to do, Yoongi hears her say before the door falls shut, bathing them in silence.

Then it’s just them, and Seokjin—alive, unharmed, and thirty years old.

“Next week,” Jeongguk says. He’s crying but also smiling, looking a little like he’s at war with himself about which emotion to give into. “He’ll be back with us next week.”

“Yeah,” Jimin says. “I’m glad he’s okay.”

Yoongi looks down at Seokjin, who’s still asleep, eyes shut and his expression relaxed. Like this, he looks younger, almost like he’s three years old again, and something in Yoongi’s chest seizes at the thought.

It’ll be different now, he thinks, and his heart feels like it’s grown too large for the confines of his chest, pushing aside all his internal organs painfully. Because now Seokjin isn’t three, he’s thirty. And Yoongi’s no longer his favorite hyung—he’s back to being the asshole who broke Seokjin’s heart.

There’s a part of Yoongi that hopes that Seokjin remembers his time as a three-year-old, that this is where they’ll start now—put their long, contentious history behind them and start fresh, maybe even as friends again. There’s a small chance, but Yoongi clings to it anyway.

All of a sudden, Seokjin’s hand in his tightens its grip. 

“He’s waking up,” Taehyung says, and in just a few short moments, Yoongi’s surrounded by everyone else in the room. They all peer down at him curiously. Jimin looks like he wants to reach out and touch; Taehyung gives into that urge and pokes Seokjin in the shoulder, then in the stomach. 

“Hyung,” Jeongguk calls. “Hyung, can you hear us?”

“Jin-hyung,” Jimin says, voice cracking.

Seokjin wakes up slowly, almost like he’s just getting out of a long nap. His eyes remain closed, but his forehead furrows and his nose wrinkles a little as he tries to orient himself. Yoongi tracks his movements, microscopic as they might be: the way his lips part, the way his throat works as he swallows, even the way he stretches, pushing his chin to his chest and arching his back slowly.

Yoongi stares down at him, his heart in his throat. Maybe—maybe he remembers, he thinks. Maybe it won’t be so bad anymore.

“Seokjin-ah,” Seokjin’s mother says quietly. 

The lines on Seokjin’s forehead grow deeper. In Yoongi’s hand, his grip spasms and relaxes.

In the next split second, his expression smoothens out, his face relaxes, and Seokjin—

Seokjin opens his eyes.

Chapter Text

The two things Seokjin hates most about the hospital are the scratchy bed sheets and the borderline-inedible food.

One would think that with all the power and money his company has, they’d be able to get him into a hospital with better quality resources. But apparently, that’s not how it works; apparently, even private hospitals provide their patients with beds that feel like the shittiest one-ply toilet paper and terrible, terrible food. 

It’s actually unfair. Seokjin shouldn’t even be here—he should be back home in his apartment, staying up late playing MapleStory. Instead, he’d apparently eaten a gummy and scared the living shit of everyone around him, and now he has to stay here for a week while they monitor all his vitals and ensure he’s not going to randomly turn into a three-year-old child. Again.

You know, because that’s a thing that happens.

It wouldn’t even be so bad if the maknaes didn’t fuss over him as much. And in all the wrong ways too—whenever they visit him at the hospital, they ask him things like how are you feeling? or do you need anything? and do you have the uncontrollable urge to get up and dance Super Tuna right now? (No, he doesn’t, thank you for your concern, Taehyung.) Then they just stare at him all wide-eyed and awed, happy about the fact that he’s here, and proceed to ignore him when he tells them that the only thing he needs is for someone to smuggle him some mulhwe. His entire hospital stay would be better with some mulhwe. His entire life, even.

And then they tell him stories, too. Stories that Seokjin’s a little unsure he wants to hear, things about how cute (read: annoying) he was as a toddler, how he’d wanted this and that, how they had to learn to deal with him. It’s incredibly jarring, because, to Seokjin, it just feels like he took a long nap. But apparently, while he was sleeping, he also lived his three-year-old life to the fullest.

A life he doesn’t remember at all.

So to him, it’s simple: he ate a gummy, fell asleep, and woke up in the hospital.

To everyone else though, it’s a completely different story.

The story of his three-year-old life can be summarized by three main events:

First, the transformation.

“You were so shy at first, hyung,” Jeongguk tells him the first day Seokjin’s allowed visitors at the hospital. “You were like, naked and crying like a banshee hiding under a table in the green room after you first transformed. Then we took you to the dorm after you calmed down and you looked like you were about to cry every time we spoke to you.”

The gist of it is: Seokjin—as most everyone already knows—transformed into his three-year-old self and stayed like that for almost two months. He cried a lot, whined a lot, and played a lot. The other members agreed to keep him in the dorms, but in general, they had no idea what to do with him.

“You would cry too if you were naked and cold in a room full of strangers,” Seokjin accuses.

Jeongguk grins at him. “Would not,” he replies. 

“Would,” Seokjin counters. He narrows his eyes at him. “Between the two of us, who was the one who always cried pre-debut whenever he was asked to sing?”

“I wouldn’t have cried,” Jeongguk still insists, because sometimes he just likes to try and get on Seokjin’s nerves. “You were just a crybaby.”

Second, the adaptation.

See, stories are easy to tell but hard to believe. Seokjin doesn’t think the maknaes were lying, but he also doesn’t truly believe them either, unable to completely wrap his head around the fact that these six—yes, six—boys ended up caring for him as a toddler. Yes, including the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named member. The one who walks around with a perpetual scowl on his face.

But he’ll get to that later. Right now, it’s hard for Seokjin to truly understand the trials and tribulations he’d put them through. One, he remembers nothing, and two, the three, over-worried puppy humans aren’t exactly the best storytellers either. They talk over each other a lot, and Seokjin—or Jinnie, as they refer to him—by their accounts, was a myriad of things: shy and playful and sweet, moody and annoying and a spoiled pain in the ass (said lovingly, Taehyung disclaims). Which makes sense, as Seokjin is a complex, multi-faceted human, and he has no doubt that his three-year-old self embodied that same complexity as well. But it just makes comprehension a bit of a pain.

At least, until Taehyung gets the genius idea to pull out the photos. And the videos.

“And this was when I bought you clothes and you hated wearing them,” Taehyung says cheerfully, swiping through a series of photos where his three-year-old self looked annoyed and frustrated. “You were so cute. Oh, and this was when we brought you to the practice room and you played with Tannie the whole time.”

There’s this weird sense of otherness, of isolation to watching these clips—kind of like he’s looking from beyond a glass window. He swipes, and lands on another shaky video of his three-year-old self dancing to Baby Shark; in the background of it stands Yoongi, his eyes crinkled and his smile wide as he watches Seokjin.

There’s a sudden lump in his throat. “You brought me to the practice room?” he asks, a little hoarsely.

“Yeah!” Taehyung says. “We always took you there when we had late-night rehearsals! You always insisted on coming along because you said you wanted to go to work too. And you always got cranky and sleepy towards the end of it, but you refused to go home until Yoongi-hyung was going home too.”

Seokjin tries not to dwell too much on Taehyung’s last statement. “Taehyung-ah, can you send those to me?” he asks. “I wanna watch them on my own time.”

Taehyung blinks. “All of them?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Taehyung hesitates, and then shows Seokjin his camera roll.

That’s how Seokjin comes to learn that his time as a three-year-old is well-documented. Like, extremely well-documented.

The third event isn’t so much an event rather than a general theme of his toddlerhood, a recurring thing that he has to address. Or well, at least think about.

And if he’s being honest, it’s something Seokjin would rather avoid—he’d rather bury his head in the sand and pretend that it didn’t happen—but the proof is in the pudding. Or at least in all the photos and videos Taehyung sent him. Seokjin figures that thinking about it once (and never again) will be enough.

The premise is: as it turns out, Jinnie had quite a few hyperfixations. One of them was Pokémon, which was a fantastic choice; another was fish, which was yet another fantastic choice. But then he’d also developed a hyperfixation on Seokjin—his older self—which is kind of trippy if he thinks too long about it, and harbored a keen interest in, well, Yoongi.

Like, his bandmate Min Yoongi. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Min Yoongi. 

“Every time Jinnie opened his mouth, it was Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin pitches his voice higher at the last word, like he’s imitating Seokjin’s three-year-old self. It’s a little insulting, because Seokjin’s sure that not once in his entire life has he ever sounded that annoying. “It was Yoongi-hyung for everything. Breakfast? Yoongi-hyung. Pokémon? Yoongi-hyung. The hundredth replay of Super Tuna? Still Yoongi-hyung. You always wanted to stay with him.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, even though there’s a sudden weird feeling in his chest. “There’s absolutely no part of me that wants to stay with Yoongi.”

“Well, you did,” Jimin points out. “You liked us all, but Yoongi-hyung was the clear favorite. If we couldn’t get you to do something, we’d ask Yoongi-hyung to convince you.”

“And let me guess,” Seokjin says, scoffing. “Yoongi would just roll his eyes and tell me what to do like I was some sort of pest.”

Jimin frowns. “No,” he says, confused. “Yoongi-hyung loved you. He was the one who insisted that we take care of you at the dorms. We wanted to give you to your parents.”

Seokjin doesn’t like thinking about Yoongi being loving. Doesn’t like thinking about Yoongi at all if he’s being honest, but sometimes his thoughts go in that direction or the situation calls for a bit of Yoongi-thinking. Yoongi isn’t caring, or nice, or gentle. He’s capable of being all that, which is something Seokjin will begrudgingly admit, but Yoongi’s true, default state is a gremlin with a stone heart and no regard for anyone else around him. He’s focused, selfish, and driven; he will do anything to achieve what he wants. And if some things get trampled along the way, then so be it.

Seokjin’s had to learn that the hard way.

“You’re lying,” he says, even though he knows that Jimin isn’t. He’d seen it for himself, after all—in all of Taehyung’s videos and photos. “Yoongi doesn’t care about me.”

Jimin’s frown deepens. “I’m genuinely not,” he argues. “He loved you, hyung.”

And, well. That’s enough of that discussion, Seokjin thinks.

Seokjin has to stay in the hospital for a whole week, which is probably the worst punishment of his life. There’s absolutely nothing to do—he’s got a TV and not much else in the hospital room, and he’s not allowed to leave. Even with the maknaes and his parents visiting him near daily, by the end of the first day, he’s bored out of his mind; by the end of the second day, he’s climbing up the walls. His parents visit again on the third day, this time with his hyung and his sister-in-law, and he all but begs them to take him away from here.

“I’m just so happy you’re okay,” his mother says, after he finishes a long, two-minute rant about how he’s fine and would very much like to go home now, thanks. It’s the same thing she’s told him the last two days, with the exact same expression—wide smile and tears in her eyes.

“And I appreciate that, eomma,” Seokjin replies, trying not to let the frustration bleed through his voice. “But don’t you think a week in the hospital is a little overkill? I mean, it’s not like I have a life-threatening illness. I just turned into a baby.”

“It very much is not overkill,” his hyung interrupts, “considering you might be the first person to turn from man to baby, and then back to man.”

“There might be complications to the cure,” his sister-in-law adds. “The hospital wants to make sure you’ve fully flushed it out of your system before they let you go.”

Seokjin knows that. It’s the same thing the doctors and nurses tell him when they go to check on him. But knowing something isn’t the same as liking it, and Seokjin should be allowed to complain about it, considering he’s the one who supposedly underwent a traumatic experience.

“Just use this time to rest,” his father advises. There’s a paternal smile on his face. “You’re very loved, son. I know that it’s frustrating that you can’t do anything, but trust me—you’re here because there are so many people who just don’t want to lose you again.”

Something in his father’s tone gives Seokjin pause, a weird, self-conscious feeling erupting from his chest. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, a little chagrined. “Okay.”

On the fourth day, Hoseok, Namjoon and Yoongi drop by.

Seokjin had known that it was inevitable, and he’d kind of been dreading this moment, but still, he musters up a polite smile when they walk in. He knows, logically, that they only want to know how he’s doing—they did take care of him when he was a three-year-old, Yoongi especially—but Seokjin would rather they didn’t. He’d rather that they poke their head in the doorway, take one look at him, and then leave immediately.

The only consolation to their presence is that they seem to have brought him food—there’s a takeout bag branded with the name of Seokjin’s favorite mulhwe restaurant hanging from Hoseok’s hand. Seokjin supposes he can spare them five minutes of his time for that.

“Hi, hyung!” Hoseok greets, all bright and sunny. He raises the bag. “We brought mulhwe!”

Taehyung, because he’s here and he also lives to make Seokjin’s life just a little bit harder, gasps dramatically. “For me?”

Hoseok blinks. “Sure,” he agrees easily. He hands the bag over to Taehyung. “You and Jin-hyung can share.”

Seokjin snatches the bag from Taehyung so quickly that Taehyung barely has the chance to blink. “If you take this from me, I’m never, ever going to make you food ever again,” he threatens. “You can eat my hospital food.”

Taehyung pouts, but there’s no real sadness behind it. He’s a demon; Seokjin knows that he’s already planning to exploit Seokjin’s kind, tender nature and beg for a bite.

Namjoon watches the entire exchange amusedly. “We just wanted to see how you were doing, hyung,” he says. He sits down on the space Taehyung offers him. “Sorry we didn’t drop by sooner.”

“We just didn’t want to overwhelm you,” Hoseok adds. “But from what Jeongguk and Jimin are saying, you’re pretty overwhelmed already.” The smile on his face is teasing.

Yoongi, standing a little behind Hoseok, doesn’t say anything. His eyes are glued on Seokjin, and Seokjin isn’t sure if that’s uneasiness or concern shining through them. 

If Yoongi is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Hoseok and Namjoon are his Bellatrix Lestrange and his Lucius Malfoy. His right-hand men. His two best friends who are loyal to him no matter the weather, no matter the cause. They stuck to Yoongi when he and Seokjin fought, which Seokjin gets—he’s not ungracious enough to think that Yoongi shouldn’t have a support system, gremlin as he may be—but it still stings a little that they sided with Yoongi even though Seokjin’s sure they know exactly what happened.

Seokjin ignores Yoongi’s gaze, averting his eyes to the takeout bag on his lap. “I’m fine,” he answers as neutrally as he can.

Taehyung, however, is feeling quite chatty. “Jin-hyung’s been complaining about how boring the hospital is,” he shares, scooting over to give both Hoseok and Yoongi a place to sit too. “He said the food is terrible, the bed feels like one-ply toilet paper, and everyone is treating him like an invalid.”

That makes Hoseok laugh.

“It’s just a precaution,” Namjoon says, eyes sparkling with amusement. He reaches out to clap a hand on Seokjin’s shoulder. “We were all very worried.”

“Yeah, I know,” Seokjin says. He shifts on the bed, unsure of how to deal with this sudden attention. “I still want to leave, though.”

“Soon,” Namjoon replies. “Hopefully the mulhwe makes your stay a tiny bit better. It was Yoongi-hyung’s idea, he said the one from that restaurant’s your favorite.”

Seokjin resists every instinct he has to look up at Yoongi, to acknowledge his presence. How does Yoongi know that? he thinks angrily, and then tells himself to unthink it, to bury it below layers and layers of absolute nonsense so he never has to think about it again. He doesn’t need to know how Yoongi knew that. It’s none of his business if Yoongi pays attention to him.

“Thanks,” Seokjin mutters.

Yoongi clears his throat. “You’re welcome,” he says so quietly that Seokjin can barely hear him.

Namjoon’s grin widens a touch.

“So aside from the food and the bedsheets, how’s the hospital stay going?” Hoseok pipes up. He jabs a thumb towards Taehyung. “He’s not giving you too much trouble?”

Despite the awkwardness, Seokjin feels himself crack a smile. “So much,” he laments, unknotting the top of the bag to get to his wonderful, delicious soup. “He, Jimin and Jeongguk never leave me alone. I think they tag team.”

“We’re helping,” Taehyung cuts in, unapologetic. “And we’re catching him up on what he missed.”

“You mean the whole Jinnie thing?” Namjoon asks.

“Yeah. He should know how he spent the last few weeks.” Taehyung’s eyes widen. “Oh, Hobi-hyung, you have that video, right? The one from when we went hallabong picking in Jeju?”

Seokjin stares at them incredulously. “You guys took me to Jeju to go hallabong picking?”

“Yeah!” Taehyung nods enthusiastically as Hoseok pulls out his phone to look for the video. “It was my idea. You like fruits, so I thought you’d enjoy it. Namjoon-hyung had to literally fight the company just so we could bring you there.”

“I did not fight them,” Namjoon cuts in. “I simply presented a very logical, very straightforward plan of action—”

“He broke a table,” Hoseok says, leaning towards Seokjin and covering his mouth like he’s imparting a secret.

“That wasn’t related,” Namjoon shoots back, slightly frustrated. “How many times do I have to tell you, the table breaking was an accident.”

Seokjin resists the urge to curl up in a ball and bury his face into his pillow, suddenly overwhelmed. They did that for me, he thinks, and pushes those thoughts aside as Hoseok leans forward to show him the video.

The video starts off shaky, the result of Hoseok walking on unsafe ground. “Hallaboooong,” Seokjin hears Video-Hoseok sing, before the angle changes abruptly and the camera is directed at one Park Jimin. “Jimin-ah, smile!”

Jimin, the kind of man that he is, strikes the most awkward pose as he pretends to bite into a hallabong still hanging from the tree. It makes all four of them in the hospital room laugh.

“Terrible,” Video-Hoseok says, laughter evident in his voice. “Absolutely terrible.” He turns the camera to Jeongguk. “Jeonggukie, smile!”

Jeongguk gives him the blandest smile ever, before immediately turning back to the hallabong trees.

The angle changes once more, shifting until it stabilizes on Jinnie, pouting up at a tree. “Jinnie, smile!” Video-Hoseok says, and Jinnie turns to him, his pout deepening.

“I want that one,” Jinnie whines to the camera, pointing upward. He turns around, and the camera pans to Yoongi, who’s standing a distance away, watching him fondly as he holds the shears in his hand. “Yoongi-hyung, please! That one!”

Seokjin watches as without a word, Yoongi cuts the hallabong from the tree, crouching down to give it to Jinnie.

“Thank you!” Jinnie says politely, and then zooms off to God-knows-where, yelling “Jeonggukie-hyung, look!” as he goes. The camera lingers, and Seokjin is left with a clear shot of Yoongi’s expression—the tenderness in his eyes, the gentle fondness in his smile. Jinnie is back to Yoongi’s side in a moment sans hallabong, reaching up to hold Yoongi’s hand as he looks around the farm. 

The camera immediately flips. “Ah, I’m being neglected,” Video-Hoseok declares, and the video ends abruptly.

Hoseok, Namjoon, and Taehyung immediately burst into laughter.

“That was fun,” Taehyung says, grinning. “We should go back!”

Seokjin’s heart, however, feels like it’s stuck in his throat, the image of Yoongi’s fond expression seared into his mind. He swallows, looks up from the phone to look at Yoongi who’s still lingering a little ways away, watching him. He gives Seokjin a small smile when their eyes meet, and the action makes Seokjin’s lungs constrict, unable to draw in enough air.

“Can you…can you send that to me?” Seokjin asks Hoseok before he can think twice about it. “Actually, do you—do you have videos of me too? From that time? Can you send all of them to me too?”

Hoseok doesn’t even protest. “Sure,” he agrees easily, swiping back to click on all his photos and videos of Jinnie. Beside him, Namjoon pulls out his phone and does the same thing.

Seokjin doesn’t bother to ask Yoongi for his.

Seokjin still isn’t sure if he’ll even watch all the videos he’s been sent. In fact, he’s not sure if he even wants to. But there’s a part of his brain that’s itching to know about all the time he missed, to go over each interaction with a fine-tooth comb and understand, exactly, just how much Jinnie was loved.

Once all the videos and photos have been sent, Namjoon gets to his feet. “Well, we should be going,” he says. “We just wanted to stop by and see if you were okay, hyung.”

Taehyung immediately pouts. “You’re not staying?”

“I’m afraid we can’t,” Namjoon says. “I promised I’d meet Jeongguk at the studio. We’re going to do a songwriting sprint.”

Seokjin blinks, a little confused. The last time he remembers seeing Namjoon and Jeongguk interact, Jeongguk had looked like he was about to have a stroke—not in the starry-eyed way he had before they debuted, but kind of like he was about to pass out and die.

But he supposes that’s one of the things that changed while he was away. In fact, even Taehyung seems happy to be around Hoseok, Namjoon and Yoongi now, very different from when he used to zone out as they spoke. 

“And Jimin asked me to come and film a dance challenge with him,” Hoseok adds. 

Taehyung pouts more. “Yoongi-hyung?” he asks.

Seokjin doesn’t want Yoongi to stay. There’s absolutely no part of him that wants to spend any more time with him; these last fifteen minutes have been long enough, and Seokjin can’t wait to get back to his own, private, Yoongi-less space. He stares down at his lap and keeps silent, thinks please leave as hard as he can at Yoongi. 

Some part of Yoongi must pick it up. “I have to go meet Yijeong,” he says. “Sorry, Taehyung.”

Hoseok jumps to his feet. “But we’ll come visit again tomorrow if that’s okay with you, hyung.” For the first time during this entire interaction, he looks uncertain, like he’s worried he might be overstepping. “I know you need your rest.”

Seokjin’s first instinct is to make up some sort of excuse for them not to come. They’re not friends like that, and they haven’t been in a long time. But then he thinks of all the videos he’s seen so far, of the way he’d been loved—by the maknaes, sure, but also by Yoongi and Hoseok and Namjoon. They stepped up and cared for him when it would’ve been easier to give him back to his parents, but at no point in time did they ever choose to do that, keeping him at the dorms even though he probably derailed all their plans. They loved him too, in their own way. 

Seokjin supposes he can tolerate a few more visits for that.

”Sure,” he says, and watches as both Hoseok and Namjoon’s expressions light up. “You guys can come.”

“Why is it,” Taehyung interrupts pouting, “that you want Hobi-hyung and Namjoon-hyung to come visit you, but when it’s me you’re like ‘Taehyung, can you please leave me alone’?”

“I’ve never once told you to leave me alone,” Seokjin protests.

“Yeah, but you’ve thought it,” Taehyung shoots back. “I can see it in your face. My eyes aren’t big for no reason.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes, but he’s unable to stop his smile from forming. 

“So we’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Hoseok says, back to being all smiley. “Bye, hyung. Bye Taehyung-ah.”

”Bye,” Namjoon adds, waving. Then he and Hoseok slip out of the room and back into the bustle of the hospital.

Yoongi, however, lingers by the door for a few moments. His eyes rake over Seokjin, assessing; Seokjin feels himself flush at the attention, the tips of his ears growing warm. Still, he pretends that nothing’s happening, fixing a bland, unassuming smile as he stares right back at Yoongi.

Yoongi looks like he wants to say something. His shoulders are tense, his hands curled into fists by his sides. Seokjin braces himself, unsure of what to expect.

But at the last second he hesitates, and he seems to lose his nerve. His shoulders slump, and he shakes his head, a small, rueful smile playing on his lips.

”Rest well,” is all he says, before slipping out of the room.

Seokjin waits until the hospital door clicks shut behind them before he lets himself relax, letting out a quiet breath. He tries to keep his tone light as he asks, “Since when are Namjoon and Jeongguk close enough to have songwriting sprints together?”

“Hm? Oh,” Taehyung says, his attention already zeroed into the bag of mulhwe on Seokjin’s lap. “It was when you were three. They fought, but three-year-old you insisted that you wanted the both of them to help you clean up before bed. Then Jeonggukie told me that he was crying in your room and Namjoon found him and gave him some words of comfort.” 

“Oh.” And Seokjin knows he shouldn’t, knows it’s a bad idea to ask after him, but he still can’t stop himself from doing so. “And Yoongi?”

”What about Yoongi-hyung?”

”Since when is he…” around, he wants to say, but it’s a stupid question—he already knows from all the maknaes’ stories that Yoongi had become a regular presence in the group after Seokjin turned into a child. He shakes his head, rephrases his question. “Since when have you been comfortable around Yoongi?”

Taehyung shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “He’s always around now. He makes me food.” Then he looks up at Seokjin, ramping up the puppy dog eyes. “Hyung, can I have some?” he asks. “Please?”

Seokjin rolls his eyes, passes the bowl to Taehyung so he can have the first sip, doing his best to push all thoughts of Yoongi out of his mind.

There was a moment when he woke up at the hospital—a split second right after he opened his eyes—that Seokjin is certain he dreamed. 

Yoongi was looking down at him, backlit by the fluorescents, his hair long and framing his face and he looked unreal. Like a version of him plucked straight from Seokjin’s deepest memories, the same ones he tells himself not to think about anymore because they’re long gone.

For one long heartbeat, Seokjin thought he was twenty-two again, waking up to Yoongi climbing into his bed. Yoongi always did that before—on the nights he didn’t want to sleep alone, he’d quietly slip into Seokjin’s bed, then roll over and peek at his face to check if he accidentally woke Seokjin up. Most nights he did, but back then, Seokjin didn’t mind. He was so used to it happening that it was easy to sigh and make space for him.

But this Yoongi hovering over him looked different. Older somehow, with sharper features and laugh lines condensed in the corner of his eyes. He looked terrified too, teary-eyed as he regarded Seokjin.

“Hyung?” he’d said, and it was then Seokjin realized that his hand was in Yoongi’s,  crooked fingers tucked into a calloused palm. And it was that piece of contact that grounded him, that fully woke him up, every single memory rushing back like a freight train.

The sudden realization must’ve shown on his face because Yoongi suddenly hesitated, his grip on Seokjin’s hand loosening, then letting go altogether. Seokjin didn’t get a chance to ask him what he was doing there because he took a step back at the same time everyone else rushed forward, blubbering and crying and fussing over him.

“Jin-hyung,” Jeongguk said through his tears. “Jin-hyung, I missed you so much.”

“We missed you,” Jimin corrected, immediately leaning down to envelope him in a hug.

“I missed you most,” Taehyung argued, trying to pull Jimin off.

And due to the commotion, Seokjin didn’t notice Yoongi slipping out of the room.

Something Seokjin would never admit, even under the threat of death, is that this whole thing scares him a little.

Logically, it should be easy to grasp—he turned into a child, he spent some time as a child, and then he turned back into his rightful age—but there are moments. Moments when he forgets. Moments when he looks at the calendar and panics, realizing that there are weeks that he has absolutely no memory of. A whole life he lived, and he wasn’t even there. He doesn’t even remember.

And it’s not like he’s returned to everything exactly the way he left them—so many things have changed, and it’s a little overwhelming to grasp. Jeongguk’s buddy-buddy with Namjoon now, Taehyung jokes around with Hoseok. Jimin speaks about Yoongi like he’s the kindest soul in the world, and not some stoic miser camping out in the studio like Seokjin remembers him to be. It’s all different. It all feels like a fever dream.

Seokjin feels out of his depth, feels like an impostor in his own life. Feels like he’d woken up in a parallel universe where everything is exactly the same but also not really.

He thinks he’s mostly been graceful in handling all this, but every so often he’s hit by a wave of anxiety. He doesn’t know how to talk to Hoseok and Namjoon, for example. He hasn’t done that in years.

But it turns out Hoseok and Namjoon don’t mind filling his silences, don’t mind smoothing out his abrasiveness. The two of them come to visit the next day (this time with Jeongguk) and they chat easily—updating him on what they’ve been doing and what their plans are for the future. They even ask him some questions, which Seokjin tries not to be too awkward about answering. And it’s difficult trying to find his footing in this new group dynamic—Seokjin imagines it feels a little like having to use phantom limbs—but he’s trying. Kind of. 

Eventually, as it always does, the conversation wanders back to the topic of Jinnie. Hoseok fondly tells him about all the toys the others had bought for him, Namjoon shows him a few more photos of himself. Seokjin listens, unsure; the uncertainty only exacerbates when Namjoon shows him a photo of Jinnie, sitting in their dorm living room, cheesing at the camera as he shows off some Pokémon stickers.

Seokjin swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m not him,” he blurts out, and it’s probably the most vulnerable thing he’s said to Hoseok and Namjoon in, well, ever. “Jinnie. You know that, right?”

What he wants to say is: You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to. You don’t have to take care of me anymore.

There’s a moment. 

“Of course we do, hyung.” It’s Hoseok who breaks the silence, smiling at him kindly. There’s a look in his eye, one that serves to lend depth to his words. “We’re not here visiting you because you used to be Jinnie.”

“We’re here to see you,” Namjoon continues. “Because despite everything, you’re our hyung and we care about you.” 

Seokjin feels a little silly for bringing it up, a little choked up from their words.“Oh,” he replies. “Okay.”

Namjoon grins at him. It’s bright—free and unburdened. It’s been a while since he smiled at Seokjin like that.

“Hyung,” he says, “I really missed having you around.”

Eventually, Seokjin is discharged from the hospital. 

He’s not in the clear yet; they still have to monitor him for a few weeks to ensure there are no delayed side effects from the cure, but for the most part, he’s free to go home and live his life. He bows gratefully to all the scientists and the doctors, takes a moment to thank them for watching over him well, before he gathers all his things and leaves, heading down to the underground parking lot. There’s a company car already idling and waiting for him, and Seokjin doesn’t even hesitate to pull open the door and slip inside, feeling all of the stress from the last week drain out of him. 

He can’t wait to be alone. He can’t wait to be home.

The apartment he purchased for himself is in the same complex as their dorm, which had made moving out a breeze; Seokjin had simply taken his things and moved them a few buildings over. But despite its relative closeness, he’s already expecting it to be a mess—he was a child for six weeks after all, and he’s pretty sure that none of the other members or his parents stepped foot in his apartment while he was gone.

To his surprise though, he finds everything immaculately clean. There isn’t even a single layer of dust on his things, everything dusted and swept and mopped as if in preparation for his arrival. There are none of the dirty dishes he’d left in the dishwasher, none of the trash he’d left behind. The only thing untouched is his laundry, which actually he appreciates—he’s not sure he wants someone else washing his underwear for him.

The company must’ve hired a cleaning service for him while he was gone.

He immediately gets started on his laundry, basking in the peace and quiet of his home. It’s really quite nice, being back. Although mentally Seokjin only feels like he’s been gone a week, his body instinctively reacts to the time away from home, and as soon as he’s done cleaning, he melts onto the couch and falls into a restful nap.

When he wakes up, the room’s a touch bit darker, and there’s a text on his phone from Jimin. we’re over at the dorm if you want to come hang :), it reads. 

Seokjin blinks. They’re at the dorm? 

As far as Seokjin can remember, barely anyone hung out at the dorms. They’d all bought their own places at that point, and they all just preferred to hang out on their own, using the dorm as a crash pad after late-night practices and red carpet events, Seokjin understands that they’d partially moved back in when he’d de-aged just so they could take care of him, but that’s done and over with. He’s back to being a grown adult again. There’s no reason for them to be hanging out there anymore.

And yet, there they are.

Seokjin tries his best to ignore the text—he starts up MapleStory in an effort to distract himself, but for some reason, he can’t focus on it for more than five minutes. There’s a weird, niggling feeling at the back of his brain, a curiosity he can’t quite shake. A small part of him wants to be there, hanging out with them too.

After ten minutes of sitting around, he gives in. He sighs, slips on his shoes, grabs his key card, and makes his way to their dorm.

Seokjin isn’t really sure what he’s expecting to see when he enters, but it’s certainly not the child’s playmat rolled out on the floor, moving boxes haphazardly unpacked, or the cloth bins stuffed full of a daunting amount of toys. Hoseok wasn’t lying—they’d all truly bought him a shitload of toys.

Jimin’s the first to spot him, looking up from where he, Namjoon and Taehyung are watching TV.

“Oh, Jin-hyung!” Jimin greets. “You’re here!”

“Hi!” Taehyung beams, curled under a blanket and his attention fixed on the TV.

“Jin-hyung!” Namjoon calls, raising a beer bottle.

It’s quite a sight to behold.

“What are you all doing here?” Seokjin asks.

Jimin shrugs. “Just chilling,” he replies. “Taehyung’s watching Pokémon.”

“I’m invested,” Taehyung says. “I need to know how Ash is going to win this gym battle.”

That makes Seokjin crack a smile. “I see,” he says, even though their replies didn’t really answer his question.

Fortunately, Namjoon turns out to be perceptive enough to pick up on it. “The company extended our lease on this place by another three months when you de-aged,” he says kindly. “We didn’t know how long the cure was going to take and we needed to watch over you. So a lot of our stuff’s back here.”

“Including the beer,” Hoseok adds, emerging from the living room. He’s tailed by Jeongguk, who’s holding the aforementioned beer—one in each hand, which he sets on the table. “Apparently, that’s the most important thing.”

“Boo,” Taehyung suddenly heckles at the TV. “No one likes you, Brock!”

“I think everyone likes Brock,” Jimin says.

“Not me!”

Hoseok takes a seat next to Jimin, pretending to squint at the TV. “Which one’s Brock again?” he asks, a teasing grin on his face.

Both Jimin and Jeongguk turn to look at Hoseok as if they’ve been personally offended.

“We have to re-pack all our things,” Namjoon tells Seokjin. “But that’s a problem for another day.” He pats the seat next to him. “Why don’t you join us?”

And it’s at that exact moment that Yoongi emerges from the kitchen, frowning down at a large plate of crackers in his hand. He looks up, stops short when he sees Seokjin, his expression going slack.

“Oh,” he says.

It’s only been a few days since Seokjin last saw Yoongi. He knows, logically, it hasn’t been that long—how much can really even change in a few days?—but Seokjin still finds himself staring, unconsciously tracing Yoongi’s features, categorizing the different parts of him. One day, he thinks—one day he’ll crack the code for how not to look at Yoongi, figure out how to stop all his cells from perking up in his presence, like a sunflower turning to face the sun. But Seokjin’s just been discharged from the hospital, which theoretically means he’s still weak, which means that he’s allowed to forgo self-control and be selfish, for once; drink Yoongi in like he’s a man parched.

Yoongi looks good with long hair. It’s truly infuriating.

“...Hi,” Yoongi eventually says, breaking the silence. 

Seokjin presses his lips together in some semblance of a smile, before turning away to sit next to Namjoon.

Seokjin fully expects Yoongi to walk past them and head straight into his room; he’s never been one to join in on group settings, always claiming that there’s work he needs to get back to. He’s surprised, therefore, when Yoongi walks straight into the living room, depositing the large plate of crackers on the coffee table.

He doesn’t say anything, but it becomes clear to Seokjin that he doesn’t need to—immediately, the plate is swarmed by Hoseok, Jimin, and Jeongguk, each reaching out to grab a cracker while their eyes remain fixed on the TV.

“Thanks, Yoongi-hyung,” Jeongguk says, munching on a cracker and sitting back down on the couch. Yoongi smiles at him fondly, his eyes flickering to Seokjin; he seems to mull something over for a few moments before he turns around, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Of course he’d run away, Seokjin thinks. Typical Yoongi—afraid to face things head-on, would rather hide away in his room or in his studio and wait for the storm to pass.

He lets himself get lost in the sounds of his bandmates. He gets mildly engrossed in the show despite Taehyung’s heckling; he’s always loved watching Pokémon growing up, and even now he’ll sometimes put it on just for nostalgia. It’s also kind of nice being around everyone again—their company, Seokjin finds, is soothing, makes him feel a little like his heart has found its place.

It’s surprisingly not long until Yoongi returns from the kitchen. Seokjin pretends not to notice, keeping his eyes glued on the TV even though his every instinct screams at him to turn and look. But there’s no point in pretending; Yoongi heads directly to him, clearing his throat softly to catch Seokjin’s attention.

Seokjin looks up at him warily. Yoongi has his gaze averted, expression hidden even as he extends a bowl of perfectly halved strawberries to Seokjin.

”Here,” he says. Seokjin blinks at them, then blinks up at him, lost.

”Uh?” he replies eloquently.

Yoongi makes a quiet noise of frustration, holding out the bowl even further. “It’s for you,” he says, like Seokjin needed that part explained to him. “You need to eat more to recover.”

Uncertain of what else to do, Seokjin reaches up and accepts the bowl. Yoongi’s shoulders slump in relief, and he gives Seokjin a small smile, one that makes his cheeks bunch up.

He leaves before Seokjin can say anything else, squeezing into the space next to Taehyung. Taehyung immediately leans his head against Yoongi’s shoulder, still riveted by the show.

A small part of Seokjin blusters, angry at the sight of Yoongi here, angry at the fact that Yoongi just gave him strawberries like it’s the most casual thing in the world. You don’t care, he wants to yell—make a fuss, throw a tantrum. You’ve never cared, stop pretending that you do!

But he swallows that anger down, does his best to extinguish it. There’s no point in getting angry when nobody else seems bothered by Yoongi’s presence. In fact, they seem to welcome it, easily engaging him in conversation. Jimin asks him a question, Jeongguk shows him something on his phone. It almost looks as if Yoongi belongs there amongst the chatter, amongst the chaos he’d spent years avoiding.

Seokjin doesn’t realize he’s gotten to his feet until Namjoon looks up at him questioningly.

“I’m just gonna,” he begins but doesn’t finish. He sets the bowl of strawberries down, untouched, and jerks a thumb towards the bathroom.  He needs to be alone, just for a little bit.

“Sure,” Namjoon says, his eyes kind. 

Seokjin smiles back at them, then escapes the room.

He tries to ignore the feeling of Yoongi staring at him, his eyes boring holes into his back.

Seokjin gets the all-clear to go back to work, which he’s actually quite happy about; normally, he’d be loath to go back, but everything’s been weird since his return from the hospital, and he finds that he just wants some sort of normalcy to cling onto. He throws himself back into it—scheduling individual dance practices to catch up, attending all the meetings he’s invited to, even spending hours on WeVerse live reassuring the fans that he’s okay—and it’s reassuring to know that despite everything, the scope of his job still hasn’t changed. That there’s still a part of his life that he can recognize even after the storm.

It’s difficult to adjust, but Seokjin would be lying if he said things were better the way they were before. It’s a lot more nuanced than that. Sure, it’s hard to adjust to a new dynamic, but at the same time, he can’t begrudge the change, especially seeing what it did to everyone else. Jeongguk speaks up more, Taehyung’s more present during conversations. Jimin’s smile is freer, Namjoon looks more relaxed. Hoseok’s laugh is both louder and brighter. And Yoongi’s…well, Yoongi’s around now, which is a marvel in and of itself. 

Seokjin wants to say that Yoongi’s increased presence means nothing to him—he’s still, despite everything, the stupid fucking asshole who broke Seokjin’s heart. But if he’s being honest, it’s getting a little harder and harder to cling to that same anger every day. There are days when Yoongi looks at him, expression open in a way that hasn’t been directed at Seokjin in years, and Seokjin feels a little like he’s coming undone.

But for the most part, it’s a positive change. The others all look happier. They all look thrilled to be sharing company. And there’s a small, niggling part of Seokjin that wants to find that same ease, that same happiness, too.

The others keep hanging out at the dorm, so despite the relative closeness of Seokjin’s own apartment, he finds himself hanging out there, too. 

It still is a little awkward for him—the others treat him kindly, sure, but it’s unnerving to suddenly be in the middle of this group dynamic without having been there to watch it develop. More often than not, he feels like an outsider looking on, a stranger who can only smile politely while everyone’s laughing at an inside joke. 

“You bought it out?” When Seokjin walks into the dorm kitchen after an intense gaming session with Jeongguk, Taehyung and Namjoon are already there, talking and sharing a plate of strawberries. Taehyung’s eyes are wide, almost disbelieving. “Every single one of them?”

Namjoon nods, his eyes just as wide. “Yeah,” he says. “And still—nothing.”

Taehyung leans back, whistling. “Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Whatever they’re discussing sounds serious. Seokjin’s just about to turn around and leave—maybe it’s a private discussion between the two of them or a secret they don’t want Seokjin to know. But then Namjoon and Taehyung turn to look at him, curious at the new presence, and both their expressions light up at the sight of him.

“Hey, hyung,” Namjoon greets. He gestures to the plate of fruit on the table. “Want a strawberry?”

“Namjoon’s just telling me about his Pokémon sticker collection,” Taehyung adds. 

Oh. Well, that doesn’t sound so serious, then. Seokjin hesitantly takes a strawberry and sits on the empty seat next to Taehyung.

“You have a Pokémon sticker collection?” he asks.

Namjoon nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ve been collecting the stickers from the convenience store bread. I’ve been trying to find the Dragonite one.”

“Namjoon-hyung bought the whole convenience store next to us out of Pokémon bread,” Taehyung tells him seriously.

Seokjin blinks. “You did?” he asks, feeling his own lips curl up in a smile.

There’s a pause, then Namjoon nods his head dejectedly. “You would think at least one of them would have it,” he says. “But no. Still no Dragonite.”

Taehyung reaches over to pat him on the back. “You’ll find one,” he consoles. “You pulled one once, and you can do it again.”

“I guess,” Namjoon replies. “But I can’t keep buying out the convenience stores. We end up with too much bread. We already have a shitload in the dorm.”

He sounds a little too forlorn for a conversation about bread. Seokjin purses his lips to try and hold back a giggle, exchanging a look with Taehyung.

“Don’t worry Namjoon, I’ll help you look for one,” he says. “I’ll buy Pokémon bread for you.”

Namjoon perks up. “You will?” he asks, dimples coming out in full force. “Thank you, hyung. I really appreciate that.” There’s a beat. “You always were my good luck charm.”

Something about the way he says that makes Seokjin think there’s more behind the words, a reference he isn’t quite getting. But before he can ask, Namjoon shakes his head, starts asking Taehyung about his English classes.

(It’s only later, when he’s in his old dorm room looking through some of his three-year-old self’s things, that he finds his Nintendo Switch, tucked away in a drawer. And on its back: a Dragonite sticker, next to a few tiny fish ones.)

“Hyung,” Hoseok says. He’s standing by the dorm living room all dressed up, wearing a jacket and a hat. “Jimin and I are going out for some food and a few drinks. Do you wanna come?”

And the polite refusal is immediately balanced on the tip of Seokjin’s tongue, a no, thanks he only has to say out loud. He hasn’t been out drinking with Hoseok in years, the entire evening is just going to end up incredibly awkward. Seokjin would rather save himself the embarrassment.

But Hoseok’s looking at him, his eyes shining with hope.

Seokjin opens his mouth, pauses. Gives himself a moment to mull over the offer. Sure, it could end up being incredibly awkward. But it could also end up being incredibly fun.

“You know what,” he replies. “Why not?”

Hoseok’s expression immediately lights up, his grin spreading wide. Seokjin grins back at him

Thinks, it’s kind of nice having Hobi smile at me like that again.

Jeongguk is clearly the happiest that Seokjin’s back with them, and he refuses to go where Seokjin isn’t—always insisting Seokjin have dinner with him after their schedules, always crashing at Seokjin’s place despite having a dorm bedroom that’s literally in the same apartment complex. His clinginess is exasperating, although Seokjin can’t be too mad about it; he’d heard from Jimin that Jeongguk took it the hardest when he’d de-aged. He’d missed Seokjin the most and he’d cried often, and he’d been the one to push for administering the cure. And for that, Seokjin can’t thank him enough.

But still. 

“Just go home,” he tells Jeongguk tiredly, pushing him towards the door. “Or to the dorm. Hyung’s tired, he wants to sleep.”

Jeongguk doesn’t even budge an inch. “Then sleep,” he says easily. “I’ll be here.”

”This is not your house.”

Jeongguk looks at him, and Seokjin swears his eyes get purposefully rounder. ”But hyung will let me sleep over, right?”

Seokjin thinks he’s starting to understand what Jimin meant when he said that Jinnie ‘weaponized his puppy dog eyes’.

”Go home,” he says again, although there’s no real force in his voice. “Seriously. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

”Hyung,” Jeongguk replies, hurt creeping up his tone.

Seokjin hates that he has such a weak spot for this kid. ”Okay, don’t go home,” he says. “But you sleep on the couch.”

Jeongguk’s flashes a grin at him. “The couch is fine with me,” he says.

Seokjin shakes his head. “It’s a dirty couch,” he warns, heading to the bathroom to get ready for bed. “It’s full of dust. It hasn’t been cleaned since I moved in.”

“That’s not true,” Jeongguk immediately protests. Seokjin can hear him flop down on the couch. “I know for a fact that it was cleaned while you were at the hospital.”

That makes Seokjin pause. “And how do you know that?” he asks, turning around a little to face him.

Jeongguk shrugs. “I was there,” he says, bouncing on a couch cushion. He grabs one of Seokjin’s throw pillows and squeezes it to his chest, as if checking how soft it is. “Yoongi-hyung was adamant that we clean every inch of your apartment. So that you would be more comfortable when you returned.”

Immediately, Seokjin feels like he’s been doused in ice-cold water. “Oh,” he replies. He swallows. “Yoongi cleaned my apartment?”

Seokjin’s shock must be audible in his tone because immediately Jeongguk looks up at him, his eyes wide. “Oh, uh,” he stutters, looking chagrined. “Yoongi-hyung told me not to tell you. He said you might be mad about it.”

Well, Seokjin supposes mad is a word for it. “You let him in?” 

“He promised to buy me lamb skewers…?” When Seokjin doesn’t reply immediately, Jeongguk gets to his feet, walking over so he’s standing in front of Seokjin. 

“Look, hyung, I know you don’t really like him, but he’s nice,” he says, his eyes shiny in the way they get when he truly, genuinely believes something. “He took care of you when you were Jinnie. I think he wants you guys to be friends again.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “I’m not sure if that’s going to happen, Jeongguk,” he says gently.

”But why?” Jeongguk asks. “What even happened? Why won’t you tell me?” He pauses, and Seokjin sees him swallow. 

“Why can’t we all just be happy again?” Jeongguk finishes quietly. 

Something aches in Seokjin’s chest, a serrated knife digging deeper into the tender flesh of Seokjin’s heart. There’s nothing more that Seokjin wants than for them to be happy again. But if this happiness depends on Seokjin and Yoongi, then it’s a lost cause.

They can be peaceful. They can be friendly. But happiness is a pipe dream, light years away and eight years left behind.

Seokjin’s thoughts must’ve played out on his face because Jeongguk frowns, taking a step forward. 

“Hyung,” he says. “I promise you. Yoongi-hyung really cares about you. He just—he always wants to make sure you’re okay.”

Seokjin shuts his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath to calm himself. “You can sleep on the couch,” he says, then disappears into the bathroom. 

It’s a few days later when he and Yoongi accidentally end up alone.

Seokjin’s by himself in the dorm dining room, drinking a juice box while boiling water for some ramen when Yoongi walks in. He’s got his head down as he scrolls through his phone, but he looks up when he realizes there’s someone else in the room. His eyes widen when he spots Seokjin, and for a split second, he looks like he’s about to bolt, expression panicked as he takes an unconscious step back.

But then, he stops. His panicked expression fades, and for a long moment, they just look at each other—unsure of what to say, uncertain of what to do next.

Again, Seokjin tells himself to look away. Tells himself not to trace Yoongi’s delicate features with his eyes, to categorize the pink flush on his cheeks, on his nose. Tells himself not to pay attention to the single strand of hair that frames his face so prettily, not to follow the slight curl of it to the strawberry red of his lower lip. He’s not looking, because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t.

Yoongi clears his throat once, the sound of it loud in the empty kitchen. “Hyung,” he greets, and his voice is quiet yet warm—like sunlight on an early winter’s morning. He smiles. “How are you…how are you feeling?”

Yoongi’s not once cared about his well-being. The fact that he pretends to now is pissing Seokjin off to no end, a combative why do you care, already half-formed in his mouth. But Seokjin’s supposed to be trying, supposed to be fitting himself into this new dynamic; supposed to be working the newfound peace they’d cultivated while he was a toddler.

Besides, Yoongi may not have cared about Seokjin, but he cared about Jinnie. For some, goddamn reason, he cared about Jinnie.

“I’m fine,” he says as distantly as he can, trying to end the conversation once and for all.

Yoongi, however, doesn’t take the hint. “That’s good,” he replies. There’s a slight smile on his face now, the corners of his mouth ticking upward. He takes a step forward. “You look like you’re getting better.”

It’s the first time since their fight that Yoongi’s ever tried to strike up a conversation with him. Before, he’d often take a step back, leave Seokjin alone, refused to utter a word to him unless it was something truly unavoidable. But today he’s here, standing directly in front of Seokjin, staring straight at him like there aren't years of emotional distance they have to address.

It’s strange though, that he’s still here. Seokjin doesn’t know where Yoongi lives exactly, but he’s picked up from the others that he lives close by, just like Seokjin does. Seokjin wonders if maybe Yoongi’s trying too, like he is. If he’s also finding his footing.

”You need to rest more, though.” Yoongi’s voice turns gentle in the same way Seokjin’s heard him speak to Jinnie in the videos. For some reason, that makes Seokjin’s heart pick up on his chest, thudding loud enough to be distracting. “It was a crazy experience. I’m sure you still need some time to recover.”

“I’m fine,” Seokjin replies, unable to say anything else.

Yoongi’s eyes soften. “I told the others not to visit you that much in the hospital, but they insisted,” he says. “They missed you a lot, you know.” He hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he weighs a thought. “We all did.”

Seokjin draws in a sharp breath, Yoongi’s words like a punch to the gut. He stares back at Yoongi, at a loss for what to say. His heart has picked up its pace traitorously, his hands curling into fists. 

Yoongi doesn’t care about him—that’s something he made clear years ago, back when Seokjin was still young and naive. He doesn’t care and yet here he is, telling Seokjin that he missed him, looking at Seokjin like he’s the most precious thing on this earth, like Seokjin means something to him. 

Eight years, Seokjin thinks angrily, tears prickling the backs of his eyes. Eight years and it’s infuriating Min fucking Yoongi still has this effect on him, still has the ability to cut through to Seokjin’s core with just a few words.

Seokjin kills the stove, abandons his packet of ramen on the counter. Pushes past Yoongi with as much force as he can muster, exiting the dining room and heading straight for his dorm room. 

He just—he needs some space to think. He needs some space to figure out what this means.

Later that evening, Seokjin’s back at his own apartment—unable to settle, unable to do anything but think. He’s got his phone in his hand, the screen lit up with all the photos and videos the others have sent him, and he goes through them one by one, searching.

For what, he doesn’t quite know.

The first time he’d looked through them, he’d gone as quickly as he possibly could, focused on gleaning as much information as he could about the six weeks he’d lost. Now, he sits with each photo a little longer, studying every detail and trying to parse out an epiphany.

The more logical part of his brain wonders if there even is an epiphany to be had. If looking through all this would point to something more—a realization hidden in the pixels, an explanation tucked beneath the sound waves. A secret kept in the sound of Jinnie’s laughter. Or a fundamental truth, perhaps, in the curl of Jinnie’s hand around Yoongi’s.

Just something.

Seokjin swipes, lands on a video taken on the hallabong farm in Jeju. Immediately, he realizes what this is. Jeongguk had been the one to send it to him, and the first time he’d pressed play, he’d only made it about halfway through before he couldn’t bear to watch anymore. It had been too much, he remembers, the emotion swiftly choking him up. A little too devastating.

Now though, he lets the video play out fully.

“Grab it quickly, okay?” Yoongi tells Jinnie in the video, expression both exasperated and fond. Jinnie’s brow is furrowed in determination, and he turns around to let Yoongi fit his hands beneath his arms.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m ready!”

Video-Yoongi braces himself. “One, two, three,” he counts, and then he lifts Jinnie high enough to reach the fruit.

And immediately, Yoongi’s expression changes, his face twisting in silent agony. It’s clearly painful—Yoongi’s shoulder has always caused him a myriad of issues—but despite it all, Yoongi doesn’t move to put Jinnie down. For eight excruciating seconds, Yoongi keeps Jinnie airborne; for eight excruciating seconds, Yoongi ignores his own debilitating pain just to help Seokjin’s three-year-old self reach for a piece of fruit.

He loved you, hyung, Jimin said to him at the hospital, brows knitted together like he’d been certain about it too. And Seokjin’s not dumb enough to contest that when the evidence is as clear as day, but he just—

He wants to know why.

Why, after everything that happened between them, did Yoongi choose to hold Jinnie up with a shattered shoulder and care for him, to love him without any reservations, without asking for anything in return?

Seokjin watches the video all the way to the end, eyes burning with tears. Then once it’s over, he pulls the playhead back and watches it again. And again.

He falls asleep with the video burned behind his eyelids. 

Seokjin’s a little out of it the next day. He’s not in the mood to engage with anyone; he smiles politely when people speak to him, but for the most part, he stays in his corner, stewing in his emotions. 

It just doesn’t make sense. Yoongi broke his heart. Yoongi never cared. And yet Seokjin had turned into a three-year-old and all of a sudden he’s different, warm, and gentle where he used to be icy and uncaring. He welcomed Jinnie with open arms, he let all of the others in. And now, he’s here in front of Seokjin, attempting to cross the insurmountable distance between them.

Why now? Why now, after all these years of nothing?

He must stay quiet for too long because all of a sudden there’s a movement, and then Yoongi is taking the seat next to him. He’s close enough that their shoulders could brush if he leaned a little closer, but he doesn’t, holding himself carefully to keep his distance. There’s a brace on his left shoulder. He smiles at Seokjin like they’re old friends.

Seokjin blinks at him, dumbfounded.

“Tired?” Yoongi asks. His voice is so quiet that only Seokjin can hear it. “It’s been a long day.”

Seokjin doesn’t say anything.

That doesn’t deter Yoongi, however. “Here,” he says. In his hand is a water bottle which he extends to Seokjin, and he waits patiently until Seokjin gives in and takes it. 

“Just rest,” Yoongi says, his eyes curved like crescent moons. Seokjin’s heart thuds in his chest. 

He’s about to open his mouth to say something in reply when Yoongi smiles at him and gets up, heading back to whatever cave he crawled out from. Seokjin stares at the back of his head as he goes, and something inside him snaps, a frayed thread finally breaking. A whirlwind of emotions flashes through him, all the photos and videos of Jinnie in those six weeks flashing through his mind like a film reel, and not for the first time, he feels like screaming. 

But he refrains, clutches the water bottle in between his hands as he watches Yoongi go. There are tears prickling his eyes, but Seokjin pushes them away, focusing on calming himself down. 

He’s waited eight years. Seokjin thinks he can wait a few hours more.

The instant they’re back at the dorm, Yoongi takes off, heading to his room and shutting the door with barely a word to anyone else. Seokjin immediately goes after him, and his fury must show on his face because he’s immediately stopped by both Jimin and Taehyung. Still, that doesn’t serve to deter him—he pushes past them roughly, stalking to Yoongi’s bedroom and throwing the door open with a loud bang.

Yoongi looks up from where he’d been shrugging off his jacket. He doesn’t look surprised, only resigned. He’d been expecting this, then.

Somehow, that little fact only serves to make Seokjin even angrier.

”You,” Seokjin begins but can’t finish, his fury making his voice tremble. He stops, wets his lips, and tries again. “You piss me off, you know that?”

Yoongi smiles, but there’s no real humor in it. “Guess that’s something that hasn’t changed,” he quips.

Seokjin wants to punch him. He really, really does. 

“You’re a fucking asshole,” he spits, uncaring of the way the door is still open behind him, the other members creeping closer to listen in. “You—you fucking reject me, refuse to speak to me for eight years, you hate me, and then I turn into a three-year-old in some freak accident and suddenly you’re the most loving person in the world,” he rants. “You’re suddenly so nice to me and I—I don’t understand you, Yoongi. I don’t understand what you fucking want from me.”

”Nothing,” Yoongi replies. “I don’t want anything from you.”

”Then tell me why.” Seokjin slams a hand against the door frame, the sound loud in the sudden silence of the dorm. “Why the fuck are you doing this, then? If you don’t want anything, then why are you—why would you—”

Why would you take care of me? he wants to ask, but the words get stuck in his throat.

Yoongi stares at him, and for the first time in years, he doesn’t look impassive; rather, he looks vulnerable, both fear and uncertainty flickering in his eyes. For the first time, he looks closer to the boy Seokjin knew eight years ago—his best friend, whom Seokjin would’ve given the world to.

Seokjin takes a deep breath, then another. When he’s calm enough, he speaks. 

“You took care of me. When I was three. Why?”

There’s a ghost of a smile on Yoongi’s face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Not for the first time, Seokjin thinks about punching him in the face. “Why would you, when you didn’t have to?” he asks, trying to stay level-headed. “You could’ve given me back to my parents. Jimin told me you insisted on keeping me. And I’ve seen the videos, I was the most annoying child in the world—”

”Don’t,” Yoongi interrupts. “Don’t talk about yourself like that—”

”—and yet you still cared for me,” Seokjin finishes, ignoring his protest. “You played with me, you danced with me. You sang me songs, you read me stories, and you—you helped me pick all the hallabongs I wanted, even if it hurt your shoulder.” He takes a deep breath, curling his hands into fists. “I just…I want to know why.”

“And I told you, why wouldn’t I?” Yoongi insists. “You were three, hyung.”

“And so? You hate me,” Seokjin replies, the words falling out of his mouth without hesitation. “You want nothing to do with me.”

Yoongi looks stricken. “That’s not true,” he says.

”It is,” Seokjin insists. “You haven’t spoken to me in eight years.”

“You haven’t spoken to me in eight years,” Yoongi throws back, a hint of hurt creeping up his voice. “You were the one who wanted nothing to do with me.” He looks away, wrapping both arms around himself. “You were angry—rightfully so, because I was a fucking asshole to you—and I just…I only kept my distance because I wanted to give you some time to cool down.”

His words give Seokjin pause. It’s true that Seokjin was angry, and that he’d stayed away, but he’d only done that because Yoongi clearly thought so lowly of him. Yoongi thought he was going to ruin every single thing they’d worked so hard for; he thought that Seokjin would be selfish and throw away their one shot at success. 

Why wouldn’t Seokjin stay away from someone who saw him as a liability?

But maybe—maybe it wasn’t hatred, Seokjin thinks, as he stares at Yoongi standing here, open and emotional and vulnerable. Maybe it wasn’t indifference either. Maybe it was just a scared boy, giving him the space he needed, giving him all the space in the world.

Waiting, this entire time, for Seokjin to let him back in.

Seokjin swallows. He opens his mouth to say something, but Yoongi beats him to it.

”But there was never any question,” Yoongi says, and he’s looking at Seokjin in earnest now, unguarded sincerity as far as the eye can see. “Of course I would take care of you. You were three, hyung. And despite how badly we fought, I would’ve moved mountains to make sure you would be okay.”

Seokjin’s heart picks up in his chest. He wants to interrupt, wants to say something , but he finds that he’s physically unable to, his throat closed up with tears. He can only stand here, trembling like a leaf as Yoongi plucks his heart from out of his chest once again, his hands around it either a bastion or a weapon.

“I would take care of you whether you’re three, or nineteen, or—or even sixty,” Yoongi continues. His eyes look misty. “Hell, I’d take care of you now, if you’d let me. I’d take care of you at any age, in any fucking form you end up in.”

He cuts off, takes a deep breath. “I’d be—no matter what, I’d be whoever you needed me to be. I’d do anything just to make sure you’re okay.”

Seokjin feels a little like he’s going insane, a little like he’s coming apart at the seams—all the emotions he’d bottled up gushing out from him like a geyser. He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a few, shaky breaths.

Once he’s mustered up the strength to speak, he says, ”You still haven’t told me why.”

There’s a sad little smile playing at the corners of Yoongi’s lips. “Even after all that, you still don’t know why?” he asks.

Seokjin curls his hands into fists. “Yoongi,” he says evenly.

”Hyung,” Yoongi insists. “You know why.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Yoongi,” he says again. “Please. Tell me.”

There’s a pause after that, one that rings out so long that Seokjin starts to think that Yoongi won’t say anything. Then—

“I love you.”

Yoongi says it so simply, so easily—as if it’s nothing for him to give, as if there hasn’t been eight years of build-up behind these three syllables. Seokjin draws in a sharp breath, and behind him, a few of the members gasp too, caught off-guard by the sudden turn in the conversation.

”You don’t,” Seokjin counters. “Loving me and loving the three-year-old version of me isn’t the same thing.”

Yoongi shakes his head. “No,” he agrees. “But I didn’t love you because you turned into a three-year-old. I’ve loved you for years.”

He pauses, and for a split second, he looks years younger, closer to the same, scared twenty-two-year-old that Seokjin had known like the back of his hand. “I’ve loved you for years,” Yoongi reiterates, his voice thick with tears. “I loved you when you were eighteen and we slept in a shitty dorm and you would let me crawl into your bed at night so I wouldn’t have to sleep alone. I loved you eight years ago when you told me you loved me after that music show win. Hell, I loved you last month, when you terrorized the entire dorm with Super Tuna—”

“You’re such a dick,” Seokjin cuts in, because he can’t not say anything, because his own tears have started to spill after eight years of being held at bay. “I can’t believe you would call my wonderful song about fish an act of terrorism.”

Yoongi’s laugh comes out wet. “I love you now,” he continues as if Seokjin didn’t say a single word. He’s looking at Seokjin like he’s the most precious thing in the world. “I’ll love you tomorrow. And I know for a fact that I’ll love you ten years from now even if you decide by then you want nothing to do with me. I just—you’re it for me, hyung.” He blows out an exhale. “I’ve loved you for so long that I don’t really know how to stop.”

It’s silent after that, only the sound of Yoongi’s raw breathing permeating the air. Seokjin wants to scream, wants to throw something at the wall, wants to do something to let out this sudden anger and frustration inside him, rolling in his chest like a thunderstorm. 

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. Seokjin’s worked so hard to build up his defenses over the years, and with just a few words, Yoongi’s able to send them crumbling down.

”Fuck,” Seokjin breathes out, the word punched out of him. There’s a strange sort of burning in his lungs, and it hurts, but it almost makes him feel alive. “Fuck, Yoongi.”

“I know,” Yoongi says. “I’m an asshole.”

”Such an asshole.” Seokjin’s mouth feels dry, unbearably so.

”The biggest asshole in the world.” Yoongi takes a step forward, nothing but pure, unabashed sincerity in his eyes. “I just…I was just scared, you know? You were—God, hyung. You made me so happy back then, but we were just starting out. I didn’t want to lose everything we worked for.”

”I know,” Seokjin replies. “I was terrified too, back then.”

”But you still took that leap of faith,” Yoongi says. “You still wanted to try.” He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling in the corners. “You always were brave.”

“I’m not.”

”Braver than me,” Yoongi amends. He’s still looking at Seokjin like he’s the only thing that exists right here and right now, like they’re light-years away from everything else. 

Seokjin takes a breath to calm himself. The desperate courage that had surged up in him earlier has dissipated, replaced by this slowly unfurling nervousness, this sudden quiet. Like the calm after a war, standing among the wreckage and wondering where to even start rebuilding.

“I don‘t know what to do now,” he admits to Yoongi quietly. “I don’t—fuck, Yoongi.”

“I know.”

“You can’t do this to me,” Seokjin says weakly. “You terrible fucking gremlin of a man, you can’t fucking do this to me. You’re such—you’re a terrible person. Seriously.”

Yoongi huffs out a quiet laugh. “I know,” he says again. His expression drops, and he bites at his lower lip, nervous. “Look, hyung, I don’t—I don’t deserve you. I know that. And I don’t know if I can ever really make up for the hurt I caused you. But I just—” He cuts himself off and draws a breath, like he’s steeling himself. “I’d like to try being friends again. If you’d—if you’d let me.”

There’s nothing left, Seokjin wants to say, words already poised on the tip of his tongue. It’s been eight years, and everything that could be saved is long gone, buried under dust and swept away by the tide. Rationally, there should be nothing to fix. Nothing left to salvage. 

But see, the truth is—

The truth is Seokjin’s always loved Yoongi differently—loved him something greedy, something true. The truth is, Yoongi’s stubborn and borderline unreasonable, and Seokjin’s no better. Any wise man would have moved on a long time ago, but Seokjin clung to the scars, picked at them to keep them bleeding. He didn’t want to forget. He didn’t want to lose Yoongi.

The truth is, Seokjin could have walked away years ago, but he’d stayed, basked in this hurt, just because he never stopped loving Yoongi either.

He never really wanted to.

”Okay,” Seokjin says quietly. The ache in his chest flares, then gradually fades out, replaced by something a little more solid. A little more true. “Okay.”

Yoongi smiles at him. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

It becomes, after a while, something they joke about.

“Question,” Hoseok reads out from the Weverse live comment section in English. He’s recently picked up some classes and Seokjin knows he wants to use any and every opportunity to practice. “Five Jimins, or five-year-old Jimin?”

The entire group clamors to answer first. 

“Five Jimins,” Taehyung says confidently.

“I think you could order five Jimins around like slaves,” Seokjin adds. 

“Wouldn’t that be annoying though?” Yoongi muses. “Having five Jimins bothering you all the time?”

Jimin bristles. “Hey,” he says, affronted. “No. I bet you’d fall in love with them.”

Yoongi wrinkles his nose and sticks out his tongue playfully.

“I think five-year-old Jimin,” Namjoon says, nodding like he’s just made an incredibly serious decision.

“Five-year-old Jiminie would be so cute,” Hoseok adds, grinning.

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk cuts in, sounding dubious. “I think I’d go with five Jimin-hyungs. I don’t know if I wanna take care of baby Jimin-hyung.”

“But don’t you think a five-year-old Jimin would be easy to handle?” Hoseok asks.

“Yeah,” Jimin agrees placidly. “I was an angel. My parents always said so.”

”They only said that because they love you,” Jeongguk jabs. It makes the entire group burst into laughter, Jimin leaning over just so he can pretend to smack Jeongguk.

“Ah, no,” Taehyung insists. “Five Jimins.”

”Five-year-old Jimin,” Namjoon argues.

“Well, I think I could handle a five-year-old Jimin,” Yoongi says. The tone of his voice turns dry. “I think I could even handle a three-year-old Jin-hyung.”

And that sends everyone into a fit of giggles, all of their heads whipping around to look at Seokjin. Seokjin laughs a little and ducks his head, the tips of his ears flushing red. 

“Moving on,” Namjoon says quickly, despite his laughter. He reads through a comment in English, long enough to fully divert the topic. While he reads, Seokjin takes a second to look inward, tries to dredge up that familiar feeling of embarrassment—the one that he’d felt for weeks everytime the others had brought up something Jinnie did—but he finds that it isn’t there anymore.

In its place is warmth and laughter, filling him up and spilling over. Seokjin smiles, shakes his head, and focuses back on whatever Namjoon’s saying.

Yoongi approaches him after the live ends.

“Hey,” he says. He’s adorably nervous, hands interlaced politely in front of him as he shifts his weight from left to right. 

Seokjin keeps his expression pleasantly neutral, inclining his head to let Yoongi know that he’s listening. 

Yoongi clears his throat. “I don’t know if—well, maybe you were uncomfortable about me bringing it up, but it was just—I was just joking around. I didn’t really mean—well, I guess I did kind of mean it, but I don’t want you to think that I was—what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. I guess. If you were offended.”

Seokjin lets him ramble for a while. It’s been four months since they hashed it out, and although they’re kind of friendly now, he still likes to do this sometimes—let Yoongi squirm for a little bit as he tries to figure out where he stands with Seokjin. He doesn’t do it often, and never really for very long, but a part of him is petty, and this feels like rightfully deserved retribution. After all, Yoongi closed himself off from everything for eight years. He could stand to be uncomfortable for an extra ten seconds.  

Once he thinks Yoongi’s agonized for long enough, he shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he replies. “I wasn’t uncomfortable at all. I actually thought it was kind of funny.”

Yoongi blinks. “You did?”

“Yeah.” Seokjin shrugs, tries to make it sound nonchalant. “And it’s not like you were lying. You can definitely handle three-year-old me.”

Saying that used to feel weird, kind of like he’d been describing one of his more convoluted, nonsensical fever dreams, but over the last four months Seokjin’s grown to accept it as a part of his life—that happened, and Yoongi took care of me, and we’re all the better for it. He doesn’t really like to dwell. At least, not anymore, when there are so many brighter things ahead. 

A small smile spreads on Yoongi’s face. “I definitely have experience in that, yes,” he says, tone dry.

“A veritable expert.”

“Second only to your parents, probably.”

Belatedly, Seokjin realizes that he’s smiling too. He averts his gaze, schooling his expression into something less fond. “But yeah, you’re fine,” he says. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

For some reason, that makes Yoongi smile even more, cheeks bunching up and laugh lines creasing the corners of his eyes. He makes to leave, but then he hesitates, turning back around to meet Seokjin’s gaze. 

“You know what, hyung?” he asks. His voice is quiet, but there’s a clear certainty behind his words. “I really like it when you smile at me like that.”

Seokjin’s cheeks burn. He rolls his eyes, attempting to play it off, then averts his gaze. “Yeah, well,” he replies. There’s a weird feeling in his chest—the beginnings of a hurricane, going round and round, leaving him breathless. “Don’t get used to it.”

Even he can hear how unconvincing he sounds. Yoongi’s grin only widens, eyes sparkling with something akin to joy, before he turns around to talk to Jimin.

Seokjin won’t say it’s been easy picking up the pieces.

Despite what they’ve discussed, eight years is still eight years, and so much can happen in that time. People have changed—he’d read once in a book that all the cells of the human body replace themselves within seven years. By eight, they’re completely new people. Every aspect of them has changed, every part of them worn out by time. 

They’re not the same Seokjin and Yoongi that they once were.

Still, Seokjin wonders if there are still similarities. If there are parts of each other they may recognize. If the same gravitational pull that had them orbiting around each other is still there, still capable of pulling them closer. They’re not the same Seokjin and Yoongi after all this time, but neither was Theseus’ ship when all its parts were replaced, and yet its fundamental purpose remained the same. 

Ultimately, all Seokjin wants to know is if there's something they can still go back to.

So it’s not easy. Definitely a little strange sometimes, as they go through the motions and figure out the parts of them that stick. But it’s not a bad strange; it’s the kind of strange that keeps you cautiously optimistic, the kind that keeps you uncertain about what to expect but still kind of looking forward to it anyway. Seokjin’s not sure where he fits in Yoongi’s life now, but he'll let the pieces fall where they fall, and rely on his gut instinct to steer him where he needs to go.

Some things remain grounding, however: the dance practices, the group meetings, even the recording sessions for their next album. Seokjin may still not know how to be friends with Yoongi, but he does know how to be Yoongi’s co-worker.

“Can we do it again from the first line of the verse?” Yoongi’s voice is quiet through the intercom, professional in its tone. “From the part that goes, Although we’re apart now / our hearts remain the same. And try to make it sound more heartfelt, hyung.”

“Okay.” Seokjin focuses on the sheet of paper in front of him—the lyrics to their new song, which he’d annotated. He picks up his pen, scribbles down more heartfelt above the aforementioned verse, and circles the words he thinks he could sing lighter, underlines the words he could emphasize more. “I’m ready.”

Yoongi presses play. The music floods through his ears, and Seokjin watches through the glass as Yoongi cues him in, silently counting down from five. When he points at Seokjin, Seokjin closes his eyes and sings.

He lets his mind wander, thinks of how far they’ve come as a group—how their relationships with each other have improved and how sharing space with the other members no longer feels like a hardship. He thinks of how, despite a rocky few years, they’re here, growing together and enjoying each other’s company. He thinks of the laughter and warmth that’s replaced the icy stiltedness. He feels himself smile as he sings.

Once he’s done, he lets out a breath, opening his eyes to ask if that was okay. The question dies in his throat when he finds Yoongi watching him with his chin propped up on his palm, a fond smile on his face and something like nostalgia shining through his eyes.

Seokjin clears his throat, feeling the tips of his ears heat up. Yoongi’s smile only grows.

“That was great, hyung,” Yoongi says. He turns away to do something on the computer, eyes darting across the screen. “I think we’re good for the day.”

Seokjin takes off the headphones, hangs them up on their designated hook, and exits the recording booth.

He’s not entirely sure why he lingers—he’d usually be gone as soon as Yoongi says they’re done, unwilling to spend more time around him than necessary. But maybe this is a byproduct of trying, of figuring out how they fit back together, of learning, once more, how to be friends.

Yoongi’s eyes flicker from the computer to him. Seokjin’s tongue suddenly feels like it’s too big for his mouth.

”Um,” he says. “Thanks, I guess. I’ll see you.”

He turns away before he can embarrass himself further. But just as he’s about to pull open the door—

“Jin-hyung.”

A long-buried part of Seokjin’s resurfaces, reminds him that he’s never been able to ignore Yoongi, not when he utters Seokjin’s name like that—softly like a secret, gently like a psalm.

“Yeah?”

Yoongi takes a moment before he speaks. “So, I’m just about to finish up here,” he says casually. “And I don’t know, I kind of had this craving for some mulhwe.” A pause. “Do you, maybe, wanna join me?”

Seokjin immediately recognizes it for what it is: bait. But that’s probably what he and fish have in common—a primal instinct that renders them unable to resist when food is dangled right in front of them. 

That, or it’s Yoongi’s smile he’s unable to resist—the gentle arc of his lips, the way laugh lines form in the corners of his eyes. 

Seokjin’s ears burn red. “I don’t know,” he replies. “Are you buying?”

“I could.”

“Then who am I to say no to free food?” Seokjin shrugs, turns his gaze to a point just beyond Yoongi’s right shoulder, just so he doesn’t feel quite as overwhelmed. “Anyway, it’s time you bought me some food. Especially after all the meals I bought for you before.”

He realizes as he says it that it’s the first time either of them really acknowledged their old friendship—the special bond they shared, the way their friendship was something else, something almost cosmic. Yoongi realizes it too, judging by the way something wistful flickers over his expression; it’s gone after a split second, but Seokjin knows he didn’t just imagine it.

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. A pause. 

Then ever so quietly, he adds, “I’ll make it up to you, hyung.”

Seokjin doesn’t know if he’s talking about the meals or something else, but his heart thuds loudly, and the feeling in his chest is akin to standing on the edge of a precipice, waiting to free fall.

“Yeah, yeah.” Seokjin waves a hand, knows that he isn’t quite selling the nonchalance. “Whatever. Make it quick, hyung’s hungry.”

Yoongi’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “Yes, hyung,” he replies obediently, and turns back to his computer to finish what he was working on. 

He and Seokjin are out of the recording studio in less than five minutes.

Movie night has become a staple within the group. 

The first time it happened was at Taehyung’s apartment after he’d poked and prodded and whined about wanting everyone to be there to watch the Pokémon season finale with him. Everyone had grumbled a little, but they all dutifully showed up, and what resulted was a night full of alcohol, raucous laughter and the beginnings of (hopefully) a long-standing tradition.

Honestly, it’s a lot more fun than Seokjin would admit. He gets to watch good (or terrible, depending on who picks) movies, drink, and laugh at the others when they inevitably start making fools of themselves. The funniest moment so far had been when they were watching the Harry Potter movies and Namjoon started waxing poetic about the injustices of the Wizarding World, only for Jeongguk to drunkenly yell Wakanda Forever and tackle-cuddle Namjoon in an attempt to get him to shut up.

(“Wakanda Forever?” Jimin asks, as Hoseok roars with laughter next to him. “Did you mean Avada Kedavra?”

Namjoon looks confused. “You were trying to kill me?” 

Jeongguk’s eyes widen in realization, and he stutters for a few moments before he tears start pooling in his eyes. “No,” he says, and the way his voice cracks makes Seokjin laugh, hiding his face in Taehyung’s shoulder. “No, no, I—hyung, I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to say that—”)

They’re all at Jeongguk’s place today, beer bottles and boxes of fried chicken on the coffee table. Someone’s put Toy Story on the TV, and Seokjin’s only half-watching, sitting in between Jimin and Namjoon as he munches on the food in front of him. 

On the screen, the toys flop down on the floor as Andy comes into his room, and immediately jump to their feet as soon as he leaves. Seokjin feels himself grin around a mouthful of chicken, a thought randomly occurring to him.

“I wonder what RJ does,” he says, once he’s swallowed. Six pairs of eyes look at him questioningly, and he elaborates, “You know. When I’m not home.”

Namjoon and Hoseok snort. Taehyung cocks his head in thought.

Yoongi says, “I think RJ’s a secret superhero in disguise.”

“RJ? No way,” Seokjin replies. “He wouldn’t want to get his fur dirty.”

“He could be a superhero without getting his fur dirty,” Yoongi says. “A clean superhero. He stops cats from jumping out of windows and hamsters from escaping their cages.”

“Maybe.” Seokjin mulls that over. “I always thought he was kind of lazy, you know? But he does have a heroic air to him.”

“His little red scarf could transform into a cape, and if you gave him one of those little black masks, he could pass for Alpaca Batman.” Yoongi pauses. “Either that or he logs into your computer and plays MapleStory to pass the time.”

Seokjin snaps his fingers. “I knew someone else was playing on my account,” he says. “There’s no reason I leveled up that quickly.” 

Yoongi gives him a sidelong glance. “How long did you play last night?” he asks.

“Until around four in the morning, but that’s not even that long—”

Yoongi nods. “Definitely RJ’s doing then,” he says seriously. “Stops cats and hamsters from escaping, and, as an added bonus, helps you level up quickly on MapleStory.”

“He truly is an Alpaca Batman.”

“Respectfully, hyungs,” Jimin interrupts from between them, “what the fuck are you two talking about?”

He looks to be a cross between amused and annoyed, brows knitted together despite the smile threatening to break free. Seokjin laughs while Yoongi says, “It’s RJ lore. You wouldn’t understand,” with the most mischievous grin on his face, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Like hell I would.” Jimin shakes his head, patting Seokjin on the thigh a few times. “Switch with me,” he says. “Some of us are actually watching the movie.”

“I was watching,” Seokjin protests, but Jimin pays him no mind. Jimin stands from the couch, the movement making Seokjin sink into the empty space, and he uses Seokjin’s abrupt displacement to squeeze in next to Namjoon.

“There,” he says happily, leaning his head against Namjoon’s shoulder.

Like this, Seokjin finds himself squeezed next to Yoongi, his body one warm, long line on his side. He shifts in his seat to try and put some distance between them, but that only serves to press their knees together.

“Oh.” Seokjin feels a little silly. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Yoongi shifts, and the movement puts a small sliver of space between them. Seokjin finds that he misses their point of contact immediately.

He turns his attention back to the movie, about to immerse himself in it. But just as Woody’s about to make some big speech, Yoongi speaks up again.

“I think RJ could even fly,” he says. His voice is quiet enough that only Seokjin can hear.

Seokjin chuckles. “A hundred percent,” he says. He hesitates, then gives in to the impulse—leans the slightest bit closer, just so their shoulders brush. “RJ can do anything.”

Yoongi, Seokjin’s secretly delighted to find out, lives approximately five minutes away from him. A part of him wants to make a joke, say something along the lines of, so you really followed me around, huh?, but he refrains, unsure of how Yoongi will take it. Their budding friendship is still a little too sensitive, and Seokjin doesn’t want one callous comment to undo the work they’ve put in.

So they’re neighbors, sort of. Friendly neighbors, too: sometimes Yoongi will text him something along the lines of ran out of soy sauce, could you spare me some? and Seokjin, in an act of friendly neighbor goodwill, will shoot him a thumbs up, allowing Yoongi to drop by to pick some up. Sometimes, Yoongi will call him up and ask if he wants some food, (“I’ve made too much, hyung, and I can’t finish it”) and Seokjin, lazy to cook and even lazier to clean, will agree, walking the five minutes to get to Yoongi’s apartment and pick it up. Sometimes they linger in each other’s apartments, caught in a conversation. Sometimes, they end up staying for dinner.

Like Seokjin said: friendly sort-of-neighbors. 

(But if he gets a little eager to invite Yoongi to dinner, well. That’s between him and the two-meter large RJ statue in his living room.)

Big Hit Min Yoongi:

hyung

biggest favor

i left my hard drive at home :( i’m at the studio now

can you please bring it to me?

Kim Seokjin:

wow

i’m not your personal errand boy you know?

Big Hit Min Yoongi:

i know

i’ll make it up to you i promise

dinner on me

Kim Seokjin:

where is it?

Big Hit Min Yoongi:

on the coffee table in the living room most likely

if not check the nightstand in my bedroom

my apartment code is 0001

just let yourself in

Kim Seokjin:

…

we have got to have a talk about safety

It takes about thirty minutes for Seokjin to arrive at the office. He takes the elevators to the sixth floor, wanders down the hallway until he spots Yoongi’s cat rug flipping him off. He tries the same 0001 code on Yoongi’s studio lock, and when the light flashes red, he sighs, ringing the doorbell once to announce his arrival.

The door opens almost immediately. Seokjin toes off his shoes and pushes his way inside, flopping down on Yoongi’s studio couch without waiting for an invitation.

“Your hard drive was neither in the living room nor in the nightstand in your bedroom,” Seokjin says by way of greeting, pulling out the offending item from his pocket. “It was in the kitchen, next to the coffee machine.”

Yoongi’s blinks come in a tiny burst. “Oh, yeah,” he says, realization dawning on him. “I made a coffee before I left. I must’ve left it there.”

Seokjin shakes his head, handing over the hard drive. “Whatever’s on this should be worth it,” he threatens, half-joking. “Hyung had to stop his gaming session just to bring this to you."

A grin flashes on Yoongi’s face. “It always is,” he replies.

His quiet confidence makes Seokjin’s stomach clench, his heart suddenly making its presence known. He ignores it, turning his attention to Yoongi’s studio, trying to see all the little knick-knacks he keeps in his space. There’s a guitar, a signed basketball jersey, a few KAWS figurines. A cat pillow, a framed album, and a tiny cactus. A MapleStory Orange Mushroom plushie sitting on his desk, leaning next to one of the speakers. Seokjin recognizes it from the videos of Jinnie.

“So.” Yoongi’s voice startles him, and he tries not to jump out of his seat. He’s sure he failed, judging by the amusement on Yoongi’s face. “Food. Any preference? Or should I just choose a restaurant?”

Seokjin scoffs. “Of course I’ll choose,” he says. “What’s the point of inviting me to dinner if I don’t get to choose where we eat?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Make a decision, then.” Seokjin watches as he plugs the hard drive, clicking through his folders.

Seokjin gives himself a moment to think. “Maybe…fish,” he eventually decides. “That one sashimi restaurant, by the Han River. The one we went to for your birthday in 2014.”

He doesn’t mean to say that last part out loud, and he resists the urge to slap himself as soon as he does. In front of him, he sees Yoongi’s movements falter, his head cocking as he mulls over Seokjin’s words, but then Seokjin blinks and he’s moving again, opening program after program with a scary amount of efficiency.

“Sure,” Yoongi replies. He drops a file onto Cubase, and the wavelengths fill up the screen. He works quickly as he starts to edit the track, his movements certain. Seokjin thinks there’s a hint of a flush creeping up his neck. “This will just take me a little bit, though. You okay to wait?”

“As long as I get to hear all the new songs,” Seokjin says, sitting back on the couch and pulling the cat pillow onto his lap.

Yoongi gives him a look over his shoulder, a small, fond smile playing on his face, and presses play.

They run into Taehyung upon leaving the building.

“Hyungs!” Seokjin hears as they’re waiting for the elevator, and all of a sudden there’s a clingy, curly-haired boy attached to his back, arms around his neck. 

After a moment, he lets go, and Seokjin sees him go for Yoongi, who scrunches up his nose and tries to push him away. 

“What are you both doing here?” Taehyung’s grin takes up half his face and his eyes dart from Seokjin to Yoongi, then back again. “It’s our day off. Why aren’t you guys at home? Are you guys going out? Am I interrupting something? Please say yes, I wanna tell Jimin that I witnessed something spicy.”

“Taehyung,” Yoongi says, exasperated, and Taehyung laughs, lighting up like the sun.

”I’m just teasing,” he says. There’s a playful twinkle in his eye. 

“What are you doing here?” Seokjin queries, turning the question around to him.

Taehyung shrugs. “Mixtape work,” he replies. “Had a flash of inspiration while at home, and couldn’t wait to write it. So here I am.”

“Ah, shit,” Yoongi suddenly says. Seokjin turns to find him staring down at his phone, a furrow in his brow. “Yijeong’s calling me. I’ll be right back.”

He doesn’t give Seokjin a chance to reply to that, just walks off with his phone pressed to his ear. Seokjin can vaguely hear the conversation as he goes: yes, I’m still here—yeah, yeah, I’m walking back, I’ll send it to you now.

As soon as Yoongi rounds the corner, Taehyung turns back to him. The look in his eye is less playful, more knowing.

“So,” he says. “You and Yoongi-hyung again, hm?”

“It’s not like that,” Seokjin protests immediately. “He asked me for a favor, and he’s just buying me dinner to say thanks. It’s just—it’s nothing. There’s nothing going on between us.”

Even he can hear how weak his voice sounds. Impossibly. Taehyung’s grin widens.

“I didn’t say there was anything,” Taehyung says.

“Yeah, but you implied it. There’s nothing to imply, we’re just figuring out how to be friends again.”

“I see.” Taehyung nods, and the act makes his curls flop into his eyes. “Look, I’m not judging. I’m just really happy you’re both trying to get along again, however that may look like.” His expression gets a little sad. “It was a long eight years.”

There’s a pang of guilt in Seokjin’s chest. “It was,” he agrees. “We were just young and selfish. I guess we both didn’t see how our actions would affect everyone else.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Well, it’s all in the past now,” he says, waving a hand. “We’re all happy now, aren’t we?”

Seokjin considers that. They’re definitely not unhappy. Though they all fully moved out of the dorm, that didn’t make the newfound warmth and laughter disappear; it lives on in group dinners and regular movie nights, in bad jokes and mischievous smiles.

“Yeah,” he says. “We are.”

It’s at that moment that Yoongi returns. “Sorry about that,” he says, stepping up next to Seokjin as he slips his phone into his pocket. He squeezes Seokjin’s arm once lightly, as an apology, and Seokjin feels all his thoughts narrow down to that one point of contact. “Yijeong was just asking about a project. Anyway, dinner? Taehyung, you wanna join us?”

Taehyung shakes his head. “I’ll pass,” he says. “I still have some mixtape stuff I wanna finish.” The knowing smile on his face hasn’t faded yet. “I’ll see you guys soon.”

Yoongi nods. “Alright. Take care.”

And then Taehyung’s gone as quickly as he’d arrived, disappearing down the halls towards one of the studios. Yoongi watches him go, an exasperated smile on his face before he turns back to Seokjin. He’s closer now than he was earlier, enough that Seokjin can count his eyelashes, can see the skin on his lower lip, peeling from how much he’d chewed on it. 

Seokjin’s heart feels like it’s just run a marathon.

“Shall we?” Yoongi asks, inclining his head to the open elevator. Seokjin hadn’t even realized it arrived.

It takes a moment for Seokjin to find his words. “Yeah,” he says. He averts his gaze, doing his best to will his sudden flush away. “Let’s go.”

The friendly sort-of-neighbors relationship he and Yoongi have sometimes involves casual dinners that turn into their own movie nights, the both of them sitting on opposite ends of the couch and sipping wine as the TV entertains itself in front of them. And by sometimes, Seokjin means that it’s happened the last three times they had dinner together. They eat, they talk, they put on a movie for pretense as they keep talking, and then suddenly it’s two in the morning and both their eyes are drifting shut. Someone, either him or Yoongi, alway stays later than anticipated.

Tonight, it’s Yoongi who ended up staying, drifting off halfway through the movie, and tipping over slowly until he’d ended up curled up on the couch. Right now he’s snoring a little, mouth parted open in a way that should be unattractive, and yet Seokjin still finds himself unwillingly endeared. He’s infuriatingly adorable. Seokjin resists the urge to smooth his hair back.

He doesn’t have the heart to wake him and make him walk the five minutes back to the apartment, so instead he grabs a blanket from the closet and carefully tucks him in. He grabs a pillow from his guest room too, just so Yoongi can have something to lie on. After that, he goes about cleaning the remnants of their evening—the dirty dishes go in the sink, as well as their wine glasses. He’ll deal with them tomorrow.

Once that’s done, he turns off the living room light, heads to his room, and gets ready for bed. As he drifts off, he finds himself thinking of Yoongi, asleep outside on his couch. Maybe he’ll still be here when Seokjin wakes up. Maybe they can have breakfast together, share another meal before they part. He’s already stayed longer than he planned to—what’s a few hours more?

That’s the last thought Seokjin has before sleep takes him under.

(The next morning, Seokjin wakes up to the sound of something frying. After taking a few moments to check that he isn’t dreaming, he gets out of bed, blearily stumbling into the kitchen to check out what’s going on. 

There, he finds Yoongi, standing in front of his stove—two pancakes on the grill, a stack of them on a plate. He’s got a bed head and a few sleep lines on his cheek, and his face is rounder, softer in the morning light. 

“Morning,” Yoongi says without turning around. His voice is low and raspy and it makes something curl in Seokjin’s gut, a low burning flame that flickers to life. “Thought you might be hungry.”

Seokjin watches him for a few moments. Then, he pushes himself off the door frame and steps forward, pulling out two mugs from the cupboard.

“I’ll make coffee.”)

And that’s how it goes:

They fall back into each other’s lives with surprising ease, with surprising simplicity. It’s like all the years they’ve spent apart have fallen through, and beneath all the hurt and the arguments, they’re still the same two people, drawn together by some inexplicable pull of gravity. They laugh together, they eat together. They go fishing together, they go biking together. They go to dinner with Seokjin’s parents, who fawn over Yoongi like he’s their own son. Yoongi won’t stop smiling. Seokjin finds that he can’t stop, either.

A part of Seokjin wants to be smart about it, wants to take a step back and evaluate everything that’s going on, but he can’t when he’s always too busy laughing with Yoongi, their sides aching over some nonsensical conversation. It’s just…it’s easy. It feels right. It feels good.

And so when Yoongi impulsively invites Seokjin to take a trip up to Daegu one weekend, Seokjin doesn’t even think about it before agreeing.

“Oh, my God, grass,” Seokjin gasps as they’re walking through one of the parks in Daegu. “And trees. Wow, you really grew up in the wilderness, Yoongi-yah.”

Yoongi’s eye roll is audible. “Stop pretending like you haven’t seen grass before, hyung.”

“I haven’t, though,” Seokjin replies. “I’m a Seoul city boy through and through.”

“There are parks in Seoul. Besides, you grew up in Gwacheon.”

“That’s kind of Seoul.”

”No it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.” Seokjin nods. “The metro passes through there, so I lived my life in the concrete jungle.” He gasps again, this time louder and more obnoxious, if only to annoy Yoongi. “Oh my God, are those chickens? This truly is the countryside.”

“For the last time, Daegu is not the countryside.”

“But there are chickens! In a pen!”

“Which you’ve seen in Seoul! Or in Chungcheongnam, where your uncle’s farm is!”

Yoongi’s laughing as he speaks—of course he is. His cheeks are bunched up, and when he turns to Seokjin, his eyes crinkle like half-moons, crow’s feet appearing in the corners. Windswept and backlit by the Daegu sun, he looks radiant, the kind of art that you can’t stop looking at, marveling at its soft brush strokes, at its play of color. He’s an explosion of light, the one bright, shining thing in this entire world, and Seokjin feels the ache in his chest grow as he stares at him, spreading until it’s all he can do not to lean in and kiss him. 

Seokjin wants to kiss him. Wants to kiss him softly, until the world fades; kiss him slowly as everyone speeds past them. Wants to make up for the eight years they lost, chase down the minutes and the seconds in the gentle curve of his lip. Wants to taste Yoongi’s smile on his tongue, swallow down the sound of his laughter, feel that same happiness bubble up and grow exponentially until he bursts with it.

Happiness. Huh. He never thought that he’d be this happy around Yoongi ever again.

And maybe that was Seokjin’s folly: the way that for years, he always thought of them as broken. As if all they ever did was chip and break and fall apart. As if all they ever did was hurt each other. 

He’d forgotten, for the longest time, that they were happy together too. That they were always happiest together.

“Hyung?” 

Yoongi’s voice snaps him out of his trance. He’s looking at Seokjin all concerned now—brow furrowed, a slight downturn to his mouth. “You alright?” he asks. “You suddenly got quiet there.”

They’ve stopped in the middle of a path; Seokjin feels someone jostle him as they walk past him. He steps closer, and Yoongi moves a little to accommodate him, not quite pulling away, but not quite staying either. Just giving Seokjin the space to decide how he wants to proceed.

“Yeah,” Seokjin manages to get out through the sudden thumping of his heart. He clears his throat. “I think seeing country life in action really just moved me.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes again, but Seokjin knows the action is fond. He holds out a hand, and the curve of his lip is inviting. 

“If you really liked that,” Yoongi begins, “I know where we can go to see some cows.” 

Seokjin stares at his hand—at his calloused fingers and his wide palm, at the same hand that gently held his months ago, when he was decades younger. It had been instinctive, back then, for Jinnie to reach up and slip his hand into Yoongi’s, just as it’s instinctive for Seokjin to do the same thing now.

He reaches out to take Yoongi’s hand. 

“Lead the way,” Seokjin replies. In his chest, there are vines growing, buds bursting open, reaching towards the light. The butterflies in his stomach flap their wings, make their homes amongst the flowers. He feels breathless. He feels dizzy. 

He feels that same, familiar resolve from eight years ago, the same exact certainty that made him whisper a quiet I love you in Yoongi’s ear amidst the chaos of a music show win.

Seokjin thinks Yoongi can read the play of his thoughts on his face because his expression, impossibly, gets even softer. But he doesn’t point it out; instead, he just squeezes Seokjin’s hand and pulls him away.

Falling in love with Yoongi all over again goes against all of Seokjin’s rational thoughts.

He’d promised himself, years ago, to protect his heart; told himself not to bring to the surface what he’d spent years hiding, tucked carefully beneath his rib cage. He’d been vulnerable once and he’d gotten hurt; he’d loved once and got his heart broken by the same man who’s once again standing in front of him.

Logically, he knows he shouldn’t. 

But Yoongi’s smile is kind and his gaze is tender. But the feeling of Yoongi’s hand wrapped around his makes something heady pull at his chest. Yoongi never pushes either—though he hovers and he lingers, he lets Seokjin set the pace, content to follow where he leads. Allows Seokjin to take all the time in the world.

And Seokjin had forgotten what it felt like to be in Yoongi’s orbit like this, to have him close by and still want to dive right into him. Back then, Yoongi’s close presence made him reckless and greedy. Years later and Seokjin, though better at restraining himself, still feels that same impulse rise up like a tidal wave. It’s been eight years, and Seokjin isn’t one for hints of faiths or horoscopes but he thinks it may mean something, the fact that they’ve found their way back to each other. 

The fact that, despite the jagged ways they’ve broken and the parts of themselves they’ve long outgrown, they still fit perfectly in each other’s lives.

And so Seokjin lets himself free fall. He laughs. He holds Yoongi’s hand. He dreams of kissing him slowly. It’s not bad to be in love, he thinks. There are worse people to fall in love with.

He takes his heart from where it’s been hiding, and wears it on sleeve. 

“I’m telling you,” Yoongi says. They’ve just had dinner in Yoongi’s apartment, noodles and fruit soju that they bought from a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant nearby. The conversation devolved five minutes ago, and now Yoongi’s saying something nonsensical about how noodles are made, eyes lit up in a way that makes it obvious he’s bluffing. “There’s a guy out there in Gangwon, right, and all he does the entire day is pull apart the noodles by hand.”

His cheeks are rosy, his laughter light. His flush travels all the way down his neck, and Seokjin’s spent the last five minutes staring at it, idly wondering how far down it goes. 

“No, there isn’t,” he replies.

“Yes, there is,” Yoongi insists. He picks up a noodle with his chopsticks, holding it out to Seokjin. “It’s a different texture, you see here. Hyung, hyung, look here, see how the noodle spirals a little, and—”

Seokjin kisses him.

Yoongi immediately stops laughing.

He tastes like green apple soju. Like the seafood from their noodles. Like the whimsy of jazz music, notes floating in the air, dulcet tones resonating. He tastes of the past and the future, of being eight years too late but thirty years too early—where have you been, I’ve been waiting so long for you. There’s still so much for us to see together.

There’s a multitude of lifetimes in the curl of his tongue. Seokjin wants to get lost in it.

The kiss is over before it truly even begins, Seokjin pulling away after a brief moment. Immediately, Yoongi latches onto him—hand on his wrist, fingers against his pulse. His eyes have gotten brighter. The remnants of his laughter are tucked in the corner of his lips.

Seokjin breathes in, breathes out. “Hey,” he says, his voice shaky.

Yoongi’s eyes crinkle in the corners. “Hi,” he replies.

They’re eight years older now, and possibly also eight years wiser. They’re not the same young, reckless boys they were before. But when Yoongi leans back in to kiss him again, soft and gentle and tender, Seokjin closes his eyes and thinks, it’s you. 

It’s always been you.