Chapter Text
Jimin
Jimin was already having a shitty day before his brother called. He’d woken up and his hair was worse than usual. He’d discovered a new pimple on his chin. The breakfast cafeteria served only burnt toast instead of crumpets. His interstellar flight attendant report came back and he’d failed three sections, one of which was aisle walking. Aisle walking. Who the fuck failed aisle walking? Apparently, he did.
And now, his little brother was calling with, possibly, the best news of the galaxy.
“What?” Jimin said. “What did you just say?”
Chanyeol’s miserable voice drifted through the speaker. “I’m in jail.”
“Ha!” he said. Then he let out an even bigger, “HA!” And then he stopped when he realised Chanyeol wasn’t joining in. “Wait, what?” he said.
“I’m in jail,” Chanyeol repeated.
Jimin rubbed his nose. Gnawed on his bottom lip. “Like, jail jail?” he tried again after a few seconds. “Not just some police station?”
“No."
“Not monopoly jail?”
“Jimin. I’m in a cell in the Neptunia Detention Centre for Juvenile Youths.”
“Well, fuck,” Jimin said.
If Tae was here, he’d scream at him. Threaten to cut his balls off if he didn’t explain himself in the next two seconds. But he was Jimin and, damn it to Jupiter and back, the only thing he’d ever been good at was failing to be justifiably angry. Instead, he blinked a couple of times. Scratched the pimple on his chin. Looked out of the phone box. Watched an asteroid drift by in the inky darkness.
“Cool,” he said. “That’s cool.”
“Not really,” Chanyeol said.
Jimin started to twist the phone cord around his fingers. “Do I want to know why you’re in jail?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Chanyeol said.
“Awesome. That’s awesome.”
“Can you not tell mum?”
“I don’t know man. Pretty big secret to keep from her.”
“I know, I know. I just - don’t want to make her worried, you know?”
“I don’t think that’s a potential problem.”
“Jimin.” Chanyeol sounded tired. “Can you help me?”
Jimin watched the asteroid move from one corner of his vision towards a cluster of space junk. It looked cold outside. He tucked the hand not holding the phone up under his arm.
The last vestiges of heat from the solar flare was dying. Jimin knew that soon, the luminary glow of the stardust clustered above the ceiling of the phone booth would crystallise into a focussed, cold glitter. The classrooms would grow darker and the voices of people in the hallways would grow sharper and Tae would try to make that small heater in their dorm room turn on and he would fail, like he did every year and resolve to cupping his hands around his mouth to blow hot air onto them, trying to create a feather of warmth in the lonely hours of Neptunian winter.
It was growing colder. The eclipse was coming soon.
“Well fuck, Chanyeol,” Jimin finally said. Even when everything was awful, he couldn’t stop himself. “When have I ever said no?”
Taehyung
When Jimin said that he wanted to skip class, Taehyung’s first response was to raise his eyebrows. His second was to grasp Jimin’s arm. His third was to look into his eyes and say, “I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”
The fish room was dark, kind of like an indoor swimming pool except that the water was filled with genetically-modified giant trout instead of excited, screaming children. The walls were made of tempered glass, built to withstand the pressurised environment within the room, and if Taehyung allowed his eyelashes to brush together, he could almost believe he was floating, suspended in orbit around the murky blue swirls of Neptune, blinking starlight of pulsars and pockets of dark matter.
They didn’t turn the lights on but sat cross-legged at the edge, stabbing loaves of pumpkin bread onto their hooks. It wasn’t until Taehyung was swinging his rod across the water that he actually started to wonder why they were here. Or why, specifically, Jimin was here.
Jimin never missed a class. Never. Not even boring afternoons of safety drills in transit, not even when class was optional, not even when he had gastro and was throwing up and shitting like crazy, sometimes simultaneously.
Jimin swung his line out too. The bait bobbed for a couple of seconds, before a pair of lips, as wide as Taehyung’s hips, rose from the water and gulped it down. Taehyung dragged his own bread lazily back and forth, making a couple of other trout chase for it in the water.
A couple of footsteps resounded from behind the entrance door. Jimin’s head shot up and he looked at Taehyung with wide eyes. Taehyung shook his head and put a finger to his lips. After a tense couple of seconds, they faded. Jimin’s shoulders and back relaxed. Taehyung continued to listen closely and when he heard nothing, he returned back to his own fishing.
“Chill, Jimin,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”
It wasn’t like they weren’t not allowed into the fish room, per se. They were, however, supposed to be in class and skipping to feed Patty and co. pumpkin bread was definitely not allowed.
Jimin reached for another piece of bread. “I know everything’s fine,” he said a little crossly. He took an aggressive bite out of it then hooked the rest onto his rod. “No one will come in, you know. Don’t worry.”
Taehyung rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m not.”
Jimin sighed as the end of his line was swallowed again. “I don’t think I can eat Patty for dinner,” he said. He gave his line a tug and the giant trout, still attached to the end of his line, happily let itself be pulled towards him. “I think I’m getting attached. Let’s skip.”
“Woah.” Taehyung looked at Jimin. “Who are you?” he said, a little accusingly. “Why are you suddenly Daring Daphne? Skipping class and dinner?”
Jimin laughed, paused for a couple of seconds, then shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Just felt like it, I guess. Let’s go to Seokjin and Namjoon’s place. We can get Hobi to pick us up. You know he will.”
Taehyung pursed his lips. Something was up. Jimin wouldn’t tell unless he wanted to though; Taehyung knew from experience. He was like a mussel, he clammed up more whenever anybody prodded him.
Jimin didn’t skip training. Jimin didn’t skip dinner. Jimin wasn’t your average twenty-year-old, he always knew exactly what he was doing, even if it meant enrolling into flight attendant academy when he had the galactic scores to go to any college, like Tritonia or even the Interstellar Institute, because he knew he had to graduate fast to earn money for his sick mother. Taehyung? Taehyung was your average twenty-year-old and he had no idea what he wanted to do except follow his best friend to the ends of the universe.
Taehyung resisted the urge to sigh. He couldn’t do much for Jimin. He couldn’t do much but if there was one thing he could do, it was not asking questions even when it was killing him. If Jimin wanted his privacy respected, then Jupiters above would he respect the ass out of it
Outside, space, if possible, turned blacker. Deepened, so that it seemed to transcend black, seemed to create a new colour, a void that encroached on everything, shivering with the anticipation of devouring the entire universe, so that Taehyung wasn’t even sure if the room, Jimin’s crossed legs, the conversation, was real. The eclipse was coming soon.
There was silence, save for the gentle sounds of water swishing. They sat together shoulder-to-shoulder in the darkness, fishing rods extended over the vast pool. There was silence and nobody spoke – but Taehyung felt both closer and further away from Jimin than he ever had.
“When Hobi comes - ” Jimin said, but his voice went a bit funny near the end, like it went weak all of a sudden, and he had to stop. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. When Hobi comes, can you tell him that skipping was your idea?”
Taehyung looked at hm. Smiled a little, trying to be something light, something bright. He took one hand off his rod, reached out and put an arm around his best friend.
“Of course,” he said. “Anything for you.”
Hoseok
“Yo, princess!”
Hoseok pushed open the door of Stardust with a little jingle. Inside the diner, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of buttermilk pancakes. Pink neon signs cast a pretty glow over the booths and chequered linoleum floors – Yoongi had told him that his grandparents had remodelled it after the place they had their first date, which itself was remodelled like a 1980s milkshake diner.
“So lame,” he had said, rolling his eyes. Hoseok had pinched his cheek, watched his pink, doll-like mouth deepen unconsciously into a pout.
“Nah, I think it’s cute,” he replied and Yoongi had smiled, this small, relieved thing, before kicking Yoongi off the counter.
Now, the diner was almost empty, save for a small group of bleary-eyed college students and an elderly couple, all looking up at Hoseok’s door jingle then promptly returning to their pancakes. Hoseok ignored them and strode towards the middle of the floor.
“Yo, princess!” Hoseok shouted again, only louder. “Yoon-ie!”
The blue-haired boy barely even looked up from where he was wiping the counter. “Shut up,” he said. “Don’t act like you’re the only customer here. And don’t call me that.”
“Aw,” Hoseok said. “Yoon-ie or princess?”
“Both.”
Hoseok hopped onto a bar stool and put his face onto a hand. “But it’s so cute. You’re so cute.”
Yoongi finally looked up and Hoseok grinned his most wolfish smile. A guy from a blind date years ago had told him how charming it was. Made him look like a kind of Puck, a peculiar vagabond-troublemaker-bad-boy, especially when combined with his earrings, pink boiler suit, and combat boots. Hoseok wasn’t sure he agreed, although he did consider himself a maverick. But he liked the image. It put a charming twist on what would’ve otherwise been called a miscellaneous life; put a filter on him; made him a character, a somebody.
“What do you want?” Yoongi said, like he was pretending to be all no-nonsense but Hoseok could see that his ears were growing red.
Hoseok picked up a laminated copy of the menu in front of him and traced a finger down its options.
“I had Blueberry Bliss last time, right?” he asked.
Yoongi nodded in affirmation.
“Devil’s Delight then,” Hoseok decided.
Yoongi nodded and started to head back into the kitchen. “What are you going to do when you eat through the menu?” he said over his shoulder.
“Start back over!” Hoseok called. Yoongi snorted. Hoseok watched his slender back disappear through the clear flaps hanging over the door. He looked out the window. It was an obsidian black – not much atmosphere surrounded the small moon Yoongi’s diner was situated on. In the distance, the stars of the Milky Way twinkled. Hoseok felt like he was in that diner in Grease, waiting for his prom date on a hot summer’s night. Everything felt familiar, yet airy. Warm but not stifling. He wondered if Yoongi ever felt lonely when the diner was empty.
Hoseok jumped off the bar stool and headed into the kitchen.
Yoongi was at the counter-top, mixing the batter a large metal bowl. He looked unsurprised at Hoseok’s sudden intrusion.
“Get out,” he said. “You know you’re not allowed in here.”
“Says who?” Hoseok said.
“Says the boss.”
“But you’re the boss.”
“Exactly.”
“Aw, but it’s no fun out there by myself,” Hoseok whined in that voice he knew Yoongi hated.
“You’re a menace.”
Hoseok walked around the table and hopped onto the counter to watch Yoongi quickly whisk the mixture until it became soft and fluffy. He moved over to the grill and started to ladle the mixture on it in perfect circles.
Hoseok sidled closer and grinned at the pink flush staining the pale skin of Yoongi’s neck. God, he was cute. A minute later and the tops of each pancake was bubbling. Yoongi flipped each over with a kind of light ease. Such precision, Hoseok thought, watching his slender hands. Such skill! God, he was hot.
“You’re so hot,” Hoseok said.
“What?” said Yoongi.
“What?” said Hoseok.
Hoseok looked at him suspiciously for a second before turning back to the pancakes and shaking his head a little, as if to clear his ears. Hoseok took the opportunity to recollect himself behind Yoongi’s back. Get it together, he thought, slapping his face a couple of times.
“Do you know what’s next week?” he tried again.
“Hm, I don’t know,” Yoongi said, watching the pancakes. “Your birthday?”
“Nope."
“Your dog’s birthday?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Your mum’s birthday?”
“No.”
“What?”
Hoseok spread out his arms. “The eclipse!”
Yoongi frowned. “Wow, man.” He flipped the pancakes onto a plate and drizzled them with chocolate syrup. “I was expecting something exciting.”
Hoseok rolled his eyes. “It’s not the actual day that’s important,” he said. “It’s the positive externalities. Seokjin and Namjoon hold a party every year. An eclipse party. Lots of shitty costumes. Lots of good food. A father figure to hold your hair back when you vomit. A mother figure to make sure you don’t wander out without an aeromask and asphyxiate. Want to come?”
Yoongi pushed the plate of pancakes through the gap that separated the kitchen from the outside diner and avoided Hoseok’s eyes. “I have to work,” he said, in a neutral tone.
“I know,” Hoseok said. “But you can come after you close. It’s going to be until late.”
“I close late, though.”
“Close early then.”
“I don’t like parties. And I know no one there.”
“You know me. I’ll take care of you.”
Yoongi finally looked at him. His eyes, so small and sleepy and pretty, were devoid of any emotion. Hoseok received the sense that numerous thoughts were rushing through his head, like comets or shooting stars or flying fish: questions, unknown variables, new situations, strangers, possible conversations, risk calculations surrounding a hundred billion different scenarios. Yoongi continued to stare at him for a couple more seconds before looking off to the side, a sequence of actions which had always confused Hoseok at first but now he recognised as Yoongi’s sign for you’re putting me on the spot which I really don’t like and I need time to think about it.
Hoseok sighed, but it was fond. He hopped off the counter and walked towards the door, ruffling Yoongi’s hair as he passed. “Think about it?” he smiled sweetly.
Yoongi looked up at him from under his lashes and nodded. Hoseok resisted the urge to squeal. Fuck, he was so cute. He jumped onto a bar stool outside the kitchen, picked up a knife and fork and started to dig into his chocolate pancakes.
Yoongi pushed past the door flaps to stand behind the counter to watch him eat.
“So what are you doing now anyway?” he said. “Cleaning out blocked sewers again?”
Hoseok almost choked. For somebody so evasive, Yoongi really got down to it sometimes. “No,” he said. “I’ve moved on to higher places.”
“Like what?” Yoongi asked. “Gas giant mining? Space ship sales consultant? Dark matter removal services? Or, God forbid it, club security?”
Hoseok hesitated. Could he tell Yoongi? He had only known him for a short while, maybe half a year. But he trusted him. Yoongi looked out for him. Hoseok had the intuitive feeling that he actually cared. Nobody did, except his friends. Yoongi was kind and he cared and he spoke carefully and slowly and whenever he made a joke that was even slightly mean, he amended it straight away and Hoseok loved it, this unconscious sweetness, this instinctive care.
Hoseok leaned forward. Yoongi mirrored him and Hoseok cupped a hand so that nobody could hear the words that passed from his lips into the delicate shell of Yoongi’s ear.
“Moonstone smuggling,” he whispered.
When Yoongi leaned back, he looked worried and angry instead of impressed.
“What?” he said. “What? Are you serious?”
Hoseok shrugged. Suddenly, he felt a lot less cool than he thought he would. He looked down and pushed around a piece of pancake on his plate. “It pays well.”
“Yeah, but, it’s dangerous.” Yoongi was gripping the front of his apron. Hoseok realised now that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to tell after all. “It’s illegal,” Yoongi said, as if Hoseok didn’t already know.
“Yeah, I know,” Hoseok said. He could feel his voice going sullen but he couldn’t help it.
“Then why are you doing it?
Hoseok hesitated. The truth was embarrassing. He didn’t want to say it. What was it really? It wasn’t even a proper reason. He wanted life experience. Fuck, he wanted life experience, he wanted to be interesting, and he thought this would make him happy.
Graduating from high school, not going to college, working all kinds of jobs, getting up to no good. He’d thought that this was always what he wanted. But recently Hoseok found himself wondering if he had made a bad decision. Not being tied down had its perks but it was also dangerous. It was so easy to untether himself and float up and away, until he couldn’t find his way back anymore.
And besides, seeing so many other people struggle trying to live life the only way they could afford to, like the guys he’d cleaned sewers with, like the miners he’d eaten lunch with, like, heck, even Yoongi washing the dishes in his diner on his lonely moon, made Hoseok realise how naïve he had been, how naïve he still was. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He felt tired and stuck and a little like he was wasting his life, an idea which scared him more than anything else. He didn’t know how to go backwards, he didn’t know how to stop, he was carried forwards only by the inertia of his own ennui.
So Hoseok shrugged. “It pays well,” he repeated. Watched Yoongi’s face close a little, like he knew Hoseok wasn’t telling him something but didn’t want to push.
“Well,” Yoongi said. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his apron and spoke quietly, like he wasn’t sure if he was entitled to voice his opinion. “Well. I just think it’s dangerous. And I don’t like it. You don’t know who can find out. You can go to jail. You know that, right? You can go to jail. That’s fucking serious, Hobi.”
Hoseok smiled. He shrugged again. “I know,” he said. His pocket suddenly vibrated. Hoseok pulled out his ansible. A small holographic text appeared in the air.
Hey dickhead!
Hoseok knew without even checking that it was from Tae. He sighed.
Hey dickhead! Come pick us up. I want to eat at Seokjin and Namjoon’s place tonight.
Hoseok slid the small device back into his trousers.
“Sorry, I’ve got to go,” he said, sliding his empty plate back towards Yoongi. “It’s the boys.”
Yoongi nodded. He knew about Hoseok’s group of friends, he knew about Hoseok’s whole life. Fuck, was there anything he hadn’t told Yoongi yet?
“Be safe, okay?” the blue-haired boy said. His grip loosened on his apron and fell to rest at his sides. He was doing that unconscious pout again and Hoseok had to check his urge to reach out and put a hand to cradle his face. “Take care.”
“You know I always do,” Hoseok said, grinning wolfishly again.
Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Don’t smile like that,” he said. “You look constipated.”
Hoseok stopped immediately. Yoongi laughed. “Get out,” he said. “Or else you’ll be late.”
Hoseok hopped off the bar stool and made his way towards the door, blowing Yoongi a kiss along the way. “Bye, princess. I’ll see you later.”
Yoongi gave a wave. He looked small behind the counter. “Bye, Hobi.”
Jimin
“God, what’s taking him so long?” Tae was holding his arms and jumping up and down on the spot, voice muffled by his aeromask. “It’s fucking freezing.”
Jimin nodded in agreement, too cold to do anything else. The temperatures within the loading dock were always low but with the eclipse soon approaching, everything naturally dropped a further ten degrees. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and peered out into the inky, star-dusted blackness of the windows
As if he’d heard Tae complaining, a whirling filled the air a few seconds later. Jimin covered his ears with his hand and grasped the plastic handle of the dock with the other. The panels on the floor slid open and Hoseok’s spaceship floated up to hover precariously over the painted yellow lines. The panels closed and it landed with a dull thud.
“Get in, lads!” he hollered from inside.
“Fucking finally,” Tae muttered as he ran over. He slid open the passenger gate and clambered in. Jimin followed suit. Inside, Hoseok sat in the cockpit while Tae navigated empty bottles of soda, packets of chips and gum and magazines (was that a saw he saw?) until he reached the shotgun. Jimin settled at the back, opening up all the ventilations slots before clicking the safety buckle tight around his hips.
“This is fucking filthy,” Tae said, wrinkling his nose. “How do you live in such squalor?”
“Hey, hey!” Hoseok said. He pointed at him with one gloved hand. “Don’t insult the ship. One more word and you’re out.”
Tae plopped his feet up on the dashboard and rolled his eyes. “You don’t have the balls to kick me out.”
Hoseok ignored him and turned around. “Hey Jimin,” he said.
“Hey, Hobi,” Jimin replied, laughing a little.
“How are you?”
“I’m good. How about you?”
“Good, good. Nobody giving you a hard time?”
“Nope.”
“How’s training?”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s fucking boring,” Tae cut in. “Get us out of here before I kick you off and drive myself.”
Hoseok raised his hands. “Okay, geez. I’m just trying to have a normal conversation here.”
Jimin giggled. “Let’s just go before an instructor comes in,” he said.
“Your wish is my command,” Hoseok said. He entered the automatic route to Seokjin and Namjoon’s place on the small galaxy tracker and the ship responded with a low hum as its gears started warming up. He pushed the lever and slowly, the spaceship lifted into the air. It took another couple of minutes for the panels to slide open once again, but soon enough, Hoseok was able to reverse out of the loading dock and then they were navigating through stardust and drifting asteroids, zooming past floating clusters of junk and steely satellites
Jimin placed his head against the window. Colonies glittered on the distant moons and dwarf stars burned in the distance. How impossible it was, he thought, not to feel melancholy in the midst of such distance. He wondered what his brother and mother were doing. If he ignored just how far away they were, they still felt close. Even after living his entire life in space, even after learning and memorising all the facts and figures, he couldn’t imagine the real, physical distance between their bodies. When he imagined them, they were close. Everybody was always in his head, in his heart.
It didn’t take long for Hoseok to reach Proteus, one of the smaller moons surrounding Neptune, from the flight academy spaceship.
“We’re here!” he sung, as the vessel drifted to a landing on the cratered surface. Jimin peered out and saw the familiar block of apartments rising out of the blue sand dunes.
“You couldn’t have parked any closer?” Tae complained.
“Fuck you,” Hoseok shot back. “Do you know how expensive parking is in this part of the galaxy?”
Jimin ignored them. With some difficulty, he pushed open the hatch and stepped out. The gravity-base around the suburb was fairly strong yet his footsteps still felt light and airy as he made his way, foots sinking a little into the moon sand, towards the bright streetlights.
“Come on!” he called back to Tae and Hoseok who were still bickering behind him. When they continued to argue, Jimin rolled his eyes and started to run as best as he could, his steps turning into floaty leaps and kicking small clouds of cerulean dust into the atmosphere.
Jimin loved Seokjin and Namjoon’s place. It was a new municipal apartment– they’d gotten lucky because they had been looking as the colonies were really starting to pick up on Proteus. It took Jimin five minutes to reach the suburb, then another to locate the block with the apartment. The one-bedroom place was cosy. It had wooden floorboards, sheer curtains, lots of plants and shelves and shelves of stacked books: thick novels, small paperback crime-fiction, sci-fi, hard textbooks. Maybe Jimin loved it so much because he loved Seokjin and Namjoon. Maybe he loved it so much because he wanted to be one of them and it was like the mirage of a reality he would never have.
Jimin reached the block, punched in the code at the front door, rushed up the stairwell inside, punched in the second code at the apartment door, pushed it open and promptly tripped over a mysterious soft lump.
“Francis!” he said, picking it up. The French bulldog stared at him balefully. “Stop lying down at the door.”
He carried him into the living room.
“You’ve gained weight, haven’t you?” he whispered in his ear which twitched. “Haven’t you?”
“Yeah, he totally has.”
It was Namjoon. He was sitting at the table and wearing his glasses. They were the nerdy ones that were too small for his face with black frames. They were nerdy and too small for his face and objectively very ugly but Jimin thought he was still so cute. And, although it was fast approaching the eclipse, his long limbs and stupid round face were bronzed in the way only Namjoon could be, as if he existed in some summer realm the rest of them were excluded from. He gave him a dimpled smile and Jimin’s chest felt tight. They could have this conversation, right? It would be weird not to. He could have this conversation, he was entitled to this, he would let himself this one guilty pleasure.
“Hey Jimin,” he said.
“Hey Namjoon,” Jimin replied. He put Francis down and fiddled with an earring. “How’s the thesis going?”
Namjoon hummed, standing up. “It’s really not,” he said.
Namjoon was studying for his doctorate in Avionics Engineering. (“You’re studying for years to become an electrician,” Hoseok was fond of saying. “For someone so smart, you’re a fucking idiot.”)
“Oh really?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Kind of sucks but whatever.”
He stood up and stretched, his golden arms stretching towards the ceiling. If Jimin looked closely, he could see the outline of his muscles through the silhouette of his loose shirt. Stop it, stop it, he chanted to himself. He looked down at the floor.
“So, I guess Tae and Hobi are coming too?” Namjoon said.
Jimin nodded.
“Cool. Help me with dinner?"
Jimin nodded again.
He was about to follow Namjoon when somebody came out from the kitchen with crossed arms.
“Back off,” Jungkook said. “I’m helping Namjoon with dinner.”
He was still in his high school uniform, sleeves rolled up to expose muscular forearms and tie loosened. Jimin noted that in the week he hadn’t seen him, he seemed to have grown even taller. His black hair flopped over his forehead, loose and soft unlike its usual gelled swoops.
Jimin gave him a look. “Hi,” he said pointedly. “It’s nice seeing you too.”
Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said. “I’ll help Namjoon with dinner. You can just stay in the living room.”
“What, why?” Jimin asked. He tried to walk through but Jungkook blocked the doorway. He tried to dart past him but he spread himself into a starfish shape, planting both hands and feet on the frame.
Jimin scoffed. “Stop being so stupid,” he said. “Let me through.”
He raised a hand to push him in the shoulder but he moved before he could touch him.
“I said that I could help Namjoon,” he whined. His lower lip unconsciously stuck out in a pout. Jimin grinned. There was the baby he knew. He laughed and ruffled his hair. “You’re so cute, bunny boy,” he said and Jungkook frowned.
“Were you guys fighting again?” Namjoon called from the pantry.
“Yes,” Jimin said, as Jungkook said, “No.”
“It’s a love-hate relationship,” Jungkook clarified.
“No, it isn’t,” Jimin laughed again. He stroked the underside of Jungkook’s chin like he was Francis. “Do you hate me?” he crooned.
He pushed his hand away and scoffed.
“Your ears are red, Kook,” Namjoon chuckled as he passed the younger boy several daikon radish. “Here, you and Jimin can skin these. We’re having braised beef stew tonight.”
From the kitchen, Jimin heard Tae and Hoseok stumble into the apartment and start to play with Francis.
Jimin stood next to Jungkook, peeling the radish over the sink.
“How’s school?” he asked him.
“Boring.”
“Aren’t you graduating really soon?”
“Yeah, in November. Thank Jupiter.”
Jimin laughed. “It’s not that bad, right? You have friends.”
“You guys are my friends. It’s not the same.”
Jimin looked at him but Jungkook had his head down, concentrating hard on peeling. A rush of pride suddenly filled his chest. It seemed like yesterday when he had to prod him, comfort him, sit with him for hours until he said anything about what made him upset. Jimin wanted to hug him but he knew it would embarrass him. Instead, he leaned in close and teased, “Aw, we’re your friends? I didn’t realise."
“Shut up,” Jungkook said, his ears turning red. Then he sighed. “It feels like I’ve been stuck in high school forever.”
“Nah, you’ll get out soon enough,” Jimin said but he felt bad for him. Being the youngest in their group meant that he had spent two years alone. Jimin knew, that behind his handsome face and muscles, he was just a baby. He was just a baby, so innocent and self-conscious, so kind and insecure behind what other people thought was stoicism but Jimin knew was shyness.
It was strange for a group of people of different ages to be such good friends, Jimin knew, but when they were together, it always felt natural. Jimin, Tae, Hoseok, Seokjin and Namjoon had attended high school at the same time. Then Seokjin and Namjoon graduated and Jungkook came in as a freshman and, after a couple of weeks of hanging out in Namjoon’s parents’ basement (he and Seokjin still hadn’t moved in together then), everything was so natural and perfect it was as if they had all gone to school together anyway. And now, Jungkook was still there alone.
It must be so awful, Jimin thought. Kind of like living in a memory alone.
He heard the front door opening. He looked up. Namjoon immediately walked out of the kitchen.
Jimin heard him call, “Jin?” in a low, gentle voice.
Jimin couldn’t help it; he put his peeler down and tried to listen. Next to him, Jungkook also stilled.
There was a soft murmur. The rustling of some clothes, probably Jin’s coat. Namjoon hanging it up on a hook and taking his bag. Or maybe it was the sound of him wrapping his arms around him and Jin pressing his face into the crook of his neck with a sigh.
Jimin stared down at the peeler at his hands. It was so pathetic. He was so pathetic. Suddenly, he wanted to cry. It was so stupid: out of everything that had happened today, everything that had happened over the past year, and this was what upset him. He was such a bad person.
There were some footsteps and then Jin entered the kitchen. He held her arms open and Jimin and Jungkook walked over obediently for their obligatory group hug. Jin’s smell, something that reminded Jimin of soap and unconditional love, calmed him down a little, enough for him to blink back the tears behind the cover of the older man’s shirt.
“Back from the hospital?” Jungkook asked when they detangled themselves.
Jin nodded. He worked as a xenopathologist, researching alien diseases at the local hospital on their moon, and often worked long hours that only ended when Namjoon dragged him home to eat and sleep.
He swept an eye over Jimin, still in his academy attire, and Jungkook, in his school uniform. “Jigging again?”
“No,” both answered at the same time then glared at each other.
Jin laughed. “Ah, I miss jigging,” he said fondly.
“That’s because you were a menace,” Namjoon said from where he stood at the doorway with his arms crossed.
“Oh, shut up,” Jin said. “Let me try to be sentimental at least.”
Namjoon rolled his eyes but he was smiling. “Aren’t you tired?” he said.
“Hm, a little,” Jin said.
“Go take a nap. The kids and I can prepare dinner.”
“Really?” Jin crossed his arms. “But I can help. I should help. You know I cook better than you.”
Namjoon rolled his eyes. “There is, like, literally no difference in our cooking.”
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
“No,” Namjoon said. “I was stretching my eyes.” He demonstrated again, pointing his eyes around different corners of the room and Jin let out an unwilling giggle.
“Hmmm,” he contemplated. He swept an eye over the room and seemed to decide that everything would be survive without his help. “Should I rest then?”
“Yeah.” Namjoon walked up and smoothed his hair back. “Go take a nap. I’ll wake you up when we’re done.”
Jin nodded, eyes already closing at Namjoon’s touch. He walked out, waving a hand behind him. “Don’t mess up anything!”
“Yes, mum,” Jimin and Jungkook echoed.
He disappeared into the hallway and Namjoon went back into the pantry, resuming digging out all the ingredients before he had gone out to see Jin. Jimin sighed and went back to peeling his daikon radish. He saw Jungkook give him a glance.
“What’s wrong?” he asked after a second.
“Nothing,” Jimin said.
“Bullshit. That’s such bullshit.”
Jimin scoffed. They continued to peel the radishes in silence.
It was crowded at Seokjin and Namjoon’s round table when they finally finished cooking dinner and they all gathered around. Hoseok was complaining that he could get them a bigger one if they just let him (“But from where?” Jin had asked pointedly. “And in what state?” Namjoon had added.)
Tae was talking about this anti-gravity food fight scene he’d seen in a film and how he wanted them to try out the same thing. Jungkook butted in with how it would end up with them swimming in food instead of being hit by it and, as if to prove otherwise, Tae flung a piece of beef brisket at him. It hit Jimin instead, who squealed, and Jungkook, always one who loved practical fun, fired a quick enfilade of carrots back at Tae which hit Namjoon instead, who calmly picked them off his face, reached over to pick up Jungkook and started to push him under the table.
Then Jin was yelling at him to stop it while Hoseok joined in on Namjoon’s side and Tae and Jimin on Jungkook’s and then, they were all just one big bundle of legs and arms, pushing and pulling at each other
A sudden thought came to Jimin, whose sides were aching from how hard he was laughing. This was it. These were his friends. These were people he loved and would anything for. And, the pain (or maybe because of the pain), despite everything uncertain and frustrating and scary (or maybe because of everything uncertain and frustrating and scary), being here, right in the present, with these people, was the most beautiful moment of his life.
And if it was, Jimin would take it with open arms, because those who ask for more always got less and those who ask for less were always given more and Jimin knew exactly what type of person he wanted to be.