Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If Jungkook doesn’t get his morning coffee in the next twenty seconds, he doesn’t feel like he should be held responsible for the person he’ll turn into, or what he’ll be yelling uncontrollably at the giggling schoolgirls in front of him, who are busy debating the varied flavors of cream lattes on the menu. He’s barely reining in his annoyance. It’s a good thing, then, that the girls finally make up their minds and move away from the cashier.

“My usual, please,” Jungkook says through gritted teeth, striving to speak more politely than he feels.

“Having here or to go, today?”

Jungkook hesitates. He glances at the large wall clock behind the counter, then at the couple of remaining empty tables in the cafe. Despite his impatience, he actually does have a little time, he thinks. He shrugs, already less annoyed, feeling much more amiable at the prospect of an unhurried jolt of caffeine in his bloodstream. 

“I’ll have it here,” he says. 

But he further underestimates how long it takes for the overworked, underpaid baristas to produce the two fussy drinks of the girls who were in front of him, and by the time he realizes he should have snagged a seat first, the two empty tables have been snapped up. Jungkook lets out an exasperated sigh, his fragile peace once more disrupted. Winding his way through the cafe, he spots a table for two that’s occupied by a party of one. All right then. Good enough. He can be friendly for as long as it takes to down his drink.

He stops in front of the table and clears his throat.

“Hey man,” Jungkook says politely. “Mind if I share your table for a bit?”

The stranger shrugs noncommittally without even looking up. His face is half hidden in his book, his Americano half drunk and cooling on the table. His voice filters from behind his book. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Thanks.” Jungkook tugs the chair out with his foot and settles in, impatient to get his coffee. He’ll need the caffeine and sugar boost to make it through the day. He remembers Wooju saying something about a new shipment coming in that evening, and he’ll need to stay late to help unpack after closing hours. 

He doesn’t mind the work, honestly; in fact he really enjoys it, even if his mother thinks he isn’t much more than a glorified salesman. It’s always fun to see what comes in from their artists and suppliers, whether original art or reproductions of more famous artworks. Some of them are picky about the way things are displayed and bring their art personally to negotiate placement, but others are happy for them to work it out themselves. There’s something he really likes about unpacking crates of art for the shop. Jungkook supposes it’s similar to the unboxing videos people like to watch online; he gets all the thrill and excitement of opening packages, without having to spend a single cent.

Yeah, he’ll enjoy helping Wooju unpack the crate, even if his boss doesn’t exactly pay him overtime for the extra work.

Jungkook steeples his fingers under his chin and stares moodily out of the cafe window. 

It’s just that Jungkook still doesn’t quite know what he’s doing with his life. Working for Wooju has been…fine. It pays the bills. It’s pleasant enough. But it’s certainly not what everyone expected him to do when he graduated from SNU - after all, most graduates are desperate to be hired by a big corporation and climb up the ladder.

The only thing Jungkook had been absolutely sure of, fresh out of school, was that he would rather die than do just that. He remembers using the words ‘soul-sucking’ and ‘corporate zombie’ to his classmates, who just shook their heads, pity and bewilderment in their eyes, and put more distance between him and them as they busily compared job offers and starting pay.

Jungkook, on the other hand, spent a couple of weeks morosely wandering around Seoul. For all his preaching, he had no clue what he really wanted to do. He took on odd jobs here and there - he was a waiter for a little while, then did some freelance work, just enough to pay the bills, but nothing he really enjoyed. He was this close to capitulating and actually drawing up a resume when he stepped into Wooju’s shop in Insadong on a whim, all because of a painting he glimpsed in the window that he really liked. It must have been serendipity, because an hour, a cup of tea and a chat with Wooju later, to his utmost surprise, he was offered a job that he felt actually suited him. 

Jungkook winces to himself, remembering the conversation he had with his mother when he told her about the job he applied for on impulse and got. 

“A…retail job?” his mother said, trying hard to hide the concern and almost-distaste in her voice. “But sweetheart…” and she trailed off, clearly wanting to be supportive, but unable to wrap her head around the fact that her only son, a fresh graduate in Seoul, had chosen to take up a dead-end sales position when the ink on his university certificate was hardly dry. “Is it an art gallery?” she asked hopefully. “Like the kind with really expensive art in it?”

Jungkook let her down gently. “It’s like a consignment shop, eomma,” he explained. “It’s quirky and cute. We sell a whole range of art, from reproductions to originals, but no, not usually the really expensive stuff. Local artists send their artwork in for sale, and the shop gets a cut. I get commission too,” he adds hastily, to soften the blow.

“Are you earning enough?” She sounded dubious, and Jungkook honestly could hardly blame her. Money has always been tight for them. He doesn’t want her to worry.

“It’s more than enough, eomma. Don’t worry.”

His mother went quiet for a moment, and Jungkook was genuinely abashed enough to start to say something, but then she sighed, indulgence winning out over concern. “It sounds…nice,” she said hesitantly. “Maybe it’s what you need?” she asked. “Like a break, after all that studying, before you look for a job in a big company?”

Jungkook wasn’t sure how to explain to her that taking up a job in a big corporation like everyone else does would be sure to crush his soul even further. 

“He’s taking a break” is how his mother would end up delicately describing it to others. Jungkook has given up trying to explain it any further than that.

Jungkook stares out the window of the coffeeshop, a dour look on his face, and shifts restlessly. 

Nothing’s wrong, really. He’s been coasting, doing okay. Nothing he can complain about. 

But still.

He just doesn’t know what’s out there for him. He can’t fight this feeling of ennui, the dispiriting feeling that he’s missing something. Someone he’s supposed to be. Something he’s supposed to do. Someone he’s supposed to be with, even. 

It’s like a giant void in his soul that he can’t fill, even though he really loathes the way this might sound to other people. Like he’s some sort of spoilt brat, some privileged kid who wants to mooch about and find himself, or something of the sort. Jungkook worked two jobs to put himself through university, after all. It’s not like he floated through on his parents’ money.

But Jungkook doesn’t even know what it is that he’s missing - so how can he fill it? He just knows he feels hollow, unearthed, uprooted. Unmoored.

He just doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. 

Jungkook must have sighed too loudly, because his table mate shifts a little bit and makes a small annoyed noise, and Jungkook ducks his head apologetically. He glances over at the other man, and then tilts his head and frowns. Jungkook recognizes that book title - they have some copies for sale at the shop. 

It’s not everyone who enjoys reading about interpreting modernism in Korean art. Cool, Jungkook thinks. A kindred spirit. 

Jungkook is about to say something to break the ice, and he opens his mouth, but then their eyes meet. There’s a shockwave that runs through Jungkook’s body, and this time his mouth falls open all the way. The other man sucks in a surprised breath. The book, forgotten, slips from his fingers into his lap. 

They stare, slack-jawed, at one another.

The first thing that strikes Jungkook is the man’s almond-shaped eyes. There’s almost a glint of gold in them. Eyes hooded and heavy-lidded, the man’s gaze is warm and direct and penetrating, as if he can see right through Jungkook to the heart of him. The ground beneath Jungkook’s feet seems to tilt. The other man is staring at him with such surprised wonder, such open delight, that Jungkook feels deeply unsettled by the expression on his face. Something shifts disquietingly in Jungkook’s chest, and yet…even as he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the other man’s, it somehow feels like something is slotting neatly into place. For some reason, the man looks strangely familiar, as if there’s a name hovering just out of reach at the edge of his memory. 

At the same time, Jungkook is absolutely sure they’ve never met. 

Jungkook would have remembered a man like this. Those eyes - those dimples - 

His vision is almost blurring. There’s a sensation in his mind of gold flecks, fire flashing, heat and sparks and a metallic shimmer, the smell of hot iron, glowing from the forge. Time stands still for a moment more, until Jungkook finally blinks, and frowns. 

What on earth is happening to him? 

He feels faint, dizzy, jolted, and he opens and closes his mouth to gasp for air. In front of him, the stranger half-rises to his feet and reaches toward Jungkook, his fingers curling as if he’s about to take Jungkook’s hand, and Jungkook stumbles to his feet and backward, utterly confused. There’s so much naked hope in the man’s expression, raw and open and almost desperate. 

Jungkook flinches away from the weight of that much emotion.

“Wait,” the other man says hastily, “please,” but Jungkook takes another step backward, and the man must be able to transcribe the dazed bewilderment in Jungkook’s eyes because he, too, hesitates. 

“Do you…do you know who I am?” he pleads almost urgently, and Jungkook shakes his head vehemently, lost. How could he know who this utter stranger is?

“No, I don’t - I’m sorry, I-” Jungkook stammers, and then he manages to take a complete breath, even though the air burns like molten metal in his lungs. He shakes his head again, this time to clear it, and hurries for the exit, ignoring the man’s outstretched hand.

As Jungkook pushes quickly through the doors of the coffeeshop, dashing through the drops of the drizzle that’s begun to fall, he’s so busy running away that he completely misses the way the man’s face crumples behind him.

Jungkook strides quickly through the damp streets of Seoul. By the time he reaches the sanctuary of the shop and opens it up, the sweat on his clammy hands has dried and his heart rate is back to normal. He can almost convince himself that nothing really happened.

Jungkook sorts through the mail - a meaningless task to keep his hands too busy to shake. These are bills, to open and file neatly for Wooju to settle later. This one - a delivery notice for the crate that arrived yesterday. The next few are flyers, and Jungkook sets them aside for recycling. 

He takes a deep, steadying inhale of oxygen to flood his lungs and chase the confused tension that still clings under his skin.

Nothing really happened, anyway, right? 

That man. His expressive face. Those almond-shaped eyes, that glimmer in them. So familiar…

Clearly they thought they’d recognized each other, but Jungkook knows they must both have been mistaken. Perhaps some odd case of mistaken identity, or déjà vu even. No matter how strange that sounds. And maybe Jungkook just needs a little more sleep, or his blood sugar is low, or… 

He shakes his head. It feels as though there are clouds inside his skull. Jungkook groans, thinking yearningly about the coffee he inadvertently left behind in his rush to leave. He’ll have to head back on his lunch break later and hope it’s still there, or pay for another cup; either way it’s an inconvenience and an extra expense he doesn’t need - plus he’s working with a brain full of cotton wool. 

“Excuse me,” someone calls from the door. Jungkook glances up. The rain has stopped, sunlight shining feebly in patches down from the cloudy sky. 

“Hello, welcome,” Jungkook says automatically, but the lady isn’t coming in. She just stands there, in the doorway of the shop, holding something out to him expectantly, so he goes over to see what it is.

It’s a paper cup bearing the logo of his usual coffee shop - the one he just fled from. Jungkook doesn’t understand, and frankly he feels like he’s endured enough weird encounters with strangers to be polite. “Uh,” he frowns. “Sorry, what’s this?”

“Someone asked me to pass this to you,” she says uncertainly. She looks over her shoulder, as if the person is still there, but the street is mostly empty. The bewilderment on Jungkook’s face must be clear to her, because she shrugs noncommittally. “I guess it’s coffee?”

“Who…?” 

“I don’t know,” she says, clearly eager to get going. “Some guy. He was right here. He just tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I would pass this to the man inside. You.”

Jungkook takes the cup hesitantly. “Um, thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem,” she says over her shoulder, already off and grateful to be done with the encounter.

Puzzled, Jungkook cracks open the lid of the cup and sniffs, then sips. He closes his eyes in gratification. He checks the slip stuck to the side of the cup.

It’s not just any coffee; it’s his specific daily order. 

He can’t imagine that the (overworked, underpaid) baristas would have had the time or the inclination to put his coffee in a go cup and walk nearly half a kilometer down the street to pass it to him. He’s pretty sure he can guess who his unknown benefactor is (can almost picture his almond eyes and his dimples, even), and he’s not entirely sure how he feels about it.

It occurs to him, disquietingly, that the stranger now knows where he works.

Jungkook spends the rest of his shift feeling somewhat out of sorts and trying to move past it, even though the unexpected coffee has helped to lift his mood. There aren’t many customers, thankfully, and by the time the clock winds down toward closing time, Jungkook’s more or less feeling better. He can almost forget the man with the familiar, piercing eyes.

There’s a jangle at the door, and Jungkook looks up sharply, then relaxes when he sees curious faces at the door. “Hello,” he says. “Welcome! Let me know if you need any help.”

The couple that strolls in nods shyly. Jungkook doesn’t really mean to watch them as they browse, but there isn’t anyone else in the shop, and the couple’s cute together. The woman is clearly keen on art; she easily identifies some of the artists they carry, and enthusiastically (and adorably) bubbles about some of her favorite pieces. The man doesn’t seem quite as knowledgeable, but he’s a rapt listener and nods solemnly as she chatters away, asking enough of the right questions to keep her going. 

It’s cute, Jungkook thinks. So nice when a partner listens and appreciates the same things you like.

“Oh,” the woman breathes as her eyes land on their assortment of art prints. “The Blue Side. I love their art.” She flips excitedly through the poster boards of samples until she finds one that makes her eyebrows crease into an expression of transcendent delight. “Look, jagiya,” she exclaims. “This was from their New York exhibition. The peonies, and the serene look on the woman's face…isn’t it gorgeous?” 

Jungkook comes a little nearer, smiling at the couple. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and the man is gazing at the print with what seems to be a newfound interest and appreciation. 

“That's a depiction of Mago, our creator goddess, of course. The original is acrylic on wood,” Jungkook says. He traces a finger over the clouds curling against the rich, dark indigo hue of the sky. “You’ve got a good eye,” he compliments the woman, who beams at him. “Did you get to visit their recent New York exhibition?”

“No,” the woman says regretfully. “Actually, I’m just someone who likes to look at pretty things,” she admits in a rush of flustered honesty, ducking her head in embarrassment. “I don’t really know that much about art, or value.”

But Jungkook is already shaking his head at her. “The value of art is in how you appreciate it personally,” he says reassuringly. “We can’t all be rich art collectors, or art historians, or…artologists, or whatever,” he rolls his eyes teasingly, heartened when it elicits a laugh from them both. ”As long as you get something out of the artwork, as long as it touches something within you, that’s where its value lies.”

The woman nods eagerly. Jungkook’s words have clearly struck a chord with her. “I know what you mean. There’s something about this that really speaks to me, you know? The serene look on the mother’s face. The unfolding flowers and the double moons. The idea of her role as both mother and daughter - I always thought the smaller face beneath was her daughter aspect, right? The way Korean heritage is woven into a modern narrative. I love it.” She clasps her hands under her chin and gazes lovingly at the print as if she can’t bear to walk away. 

Jungkook totally gets it. He smiles, pleased at her response. He turns to the man, who’s looking at the woman with adoration, and murmurs to him, “Just so you know, our art prints are going for twenty percent off right now, and we happen to have this exact print for sale. Acid- and lignin-free, of course, so they won’t yellow over time, even if exposed to sunlight.”

The man’s eyes crinkle, and Jungkook knows he’s sealed the deal; it‘s easy enough with the relatively inexpensive posters. 

“We’ll take one,” the man says decisively. “Why not? It’ll look amazing in our entryway.” He grins, pleased at the way his partner’s mouth rounds into a delighted O and her eyes light up. 

“Wonderful,” Jungkook says briskly. “We have a wide selection of frames that fit this exact size too, if you’d like to pick one up. Saves you the trouble of looking for one, or getting it custom framed. We have lots of different colors to match your decor - even gilt.”

“Yes, of course,” the man says, “that’s perfect.” They move over to the counter, where they peruse the brochure for frames. Jungkook grins. Time to move in for the kill. He hums cheerfully as he checks the number of the art print and retrieves the corresponding roll from the shelf, then almost as if on an afterthought, he pauses, taps his chin, and turns to the woman. 

“You know,” Jungkook says thoughtfully. “We have some of TBS’ kintsugi vessels, if you’d like to take a look?”

The woman emits a little squeak in the second before she claps her hands to her mouth., her eyes round with excitement. “The broken pottery repaired with gold?”

“That’s right, I knew you’d be familiar with them,” Jungkook says, already leading the way. “They’re right here.” He grins and indicates the shelf with a flourish, pleased to hear the woman gasp. He bends and murmurs conspiratorially, “I personally recommend getting three to display together - one isn’t quite enough, is it?”

It’s a tricky proposition - the kintsugi vessels are distinctly harder on the pocket than a simple art print - but Jungkook’s effusive charm and the woman’s obvious delight mean that not fifteen minutes later, their items are being rung up, and Jungkook proffers the machine with a flourish for the man to tap his credit card. The woman is practically shining with joy, and going by the fond look on her partner’s face, Jungkook feels satisfied that they’re happy with their purchases. 

“Here’s our card,” Jungkook says before they leave. He slips it into the paper bag and hands the whole thing to them. “Please follow our social media for updates! We’re expecting a shipment of art tonight, so we’ll have lots of new things to look at very soon.”

He waves them out of the shop, and watches with the smallest hint of wistfulness as they leave. Right in front of the store window, not realizing that Jungkook can see them - or perhaps not caring - the woman winds her arms around the man’s neck and kisses him, although the kiss doesn’t last long because the smile on her face is simply much too difficult to contain. The man’s lips move as he says something, and she throws her head back and laughs in delight. She slips her arm into his and they stroll away. 

Jungkook smiles faintly to himself. They’re a sweet couple. And if the experience has deepened the longing inside him for something more, well.

That’s on him. 

A clatter at the back door shakes him out of his reverie, and Wooju pops his head into the shop and beckons at Jungkook.

“Ah, Jungkook,” he says, “lock up and gimme a hand, would you?” 

Jungkook locks the front door of the shop, turns the sign so it reads CLOSED, and heads into the storage area. The back of the shop is almost as big as the front, with things stacked neatly on carefully labeled boltless shelves, and a large open space in the middle with an island for packing and unpacking. Wooju already has the crate sitting in the middle of the open space.

“Heads up,” Wooju says, and tosses Jungkook a pry bar which he catches easily.

They don’t talk much to each other as they work in companionable silence. They’ve done this enough times for them to have the routine down pat. They work away at individual ends of the crate to lever the wood up along the seams, and by the time they have the lid off, Jungkook’s worked up a nice, healthy sweat. 

Wooju grunts. “Here we go.” They set the lid on its end against the wall, and Jungkook peers into the crate.

“So many pieces?” Jungkook asks. They start lifting out bubble-wrapped items onto the table, starting with the smallest on top. 

“Yup. The Blue Side sent a full crate, this time.”

Jungkook raises a brow, impressed. TBS really is his favorite art collective. Based in Seoul, the group of six artists is famously private, and very uniquely, the artists release all their works under the name of the collective rather than as individuals. 

He whistles.

“How do you manage to get your hands on their stuff? Aren’t big artists like these exclusive to the bigger galleries?” It’s an understatement. Works by The Blue Side are highly sought after, and Jungkook can’t imagine how Wooju’s been consistently able to snag entire crates of their art pieces. He’s itching to unwrap them. 

Wooju grins, pleased. “Apparently the collective has a soft spot for small, quirky art shops, run by locals,” he explains. “I met their manager a couple of times when he came into the shop to browse, and he offered to send us some of their smaller items and reproductions from their merch line. None of their big, expensive pieces here, obviously - those go to the big galleries, like you say. But once in a while, they send us some of their drafts, or their test pieces, or the things they make for fun, and that way even small shops like ours get to sell artworks from TBS.” 

Jungkook nods, impressed by Wooju’s coup and now extra keen to unpack everything. They’re halfway through the crate by now. Each bubble-wrapped package is clearly numbered, so Jungkook calls out the numbers and arranges the smaller pieces on the island, larger pieces flat on the floor, while Wooju checks each item off the packing list. 

“Okay,” Wooju says finally. “Everything’s accounted for.” He puts the clipboard down, barely able to disguise his glee. He’s practically rubbing his hands together like a small child on Christmas Eve. “Now we open them.”

Jungkook shakes his head at his boss and laughs. “Do you want dibs?” 

Wooju spreads his arms out, the picture of generosity. “You do one, I’ll do one,” he says. “It’ll move faster. Just call out the number and what you get so that I can double-check with the list.”

They start carefully slicing open packing tape and bubble wrap. The contents of the crate are eclectic, to say the least. Jungkook and Wooju uncover a dizzying variety of pieces: there are ceramic and wooden sculptures, bowls, plates and all manner of pottery. Jungkook sighs wistfully when they unwrap a series of pale, perfect miniature moon jars made in an array of sizes - the smallest one fits comfortably into the palm of Jungkook’s hand. There’s a selection of metal jewelry and finely-worked leather items, including a set of quirky abstract face brooches that Jungkook can’t stop smiling at. Wooju practically coos when he pulls out wall-hung tapestries made from traditional Korean knots. The last few are paintings, small but exquisite minimalist canvases executed with bold strokes.

When they finally have everything unwrapped and cataloged, the two men sit back and sigh at a job well done. 

“No wonder they’re so sought-after,” Jungkook breathes, surveying all the art around them. “Every single piece is amazing.” The fine workmanship that went into each item is clear as day, each one lovingly crafted with a tremendous level of skill. The TBS artists are incredibly talented. Jungkook wishes he could have a peek into their workshop. It must be heaven. 

Casting his expert eye over the bonanza laid out on the island, Wooju looks almost drunk with giddy delight. “It really is amazing,” he says. “They sent professional photos, too, so we can already start getting them up on the website for online sales.”

“Which ones do you want to display in the shop?” Jungkook asks.

His boss taps a thoughtful finger on his chin. “We have space for some of the bigger canvases on the left wall,” he says, “and we can move some things around, make room for a couple of the moon jars…” Wooju’s still musing over his options when Jungkook spots a lump of bubble wrap. Something that hasn’t been opened yet.

“Wait,” Jungkook says. “What’s this?” He picks up the sizeable lump and hefts it curiously. There’s clearly something solid inside.

“Oh, right,” Wooju says. “I forgot about that one. The delivery guy passed it to me along with the crate. It isn't numbered, so it's not on the packing list.  I’ll have to contact TBS and find out.”

“Can we…” Jungkook’s fingers are already tugging gently at the bubble wrap, trying to find the edge of it. “Can’t we open it and take a look?”

Wooju shrugs nonchalantly. “I suppose so,” he says. “Why not?”

Jungkook slices carefully across the heavy packing tape with the blade, and then eases the plastic wrap gently away from the object beneath. As he unearths more of it, his breath catches painfully in his throat. It’s beautiful, he thinks, his mind hazing over. It’s so beautiful.

For some inexplicable reason, Jungkook could swear that somewhere, somehow, he has seen this beautiful thing before. 

The bubble wrap falls away to the floor, forgotten, as Jungkook turns the porcelain dragon over and around in his hands. For the second time that day, his chest seizes, and he can’t speak as he takes in every detail of the sculpture in his hands. The dragon’s gleaming white body curves sinuously upon itself, each corded fin on its back ridged and flowing with movement. Its tiny claws are splayed out for balance. One forearm tucks a round orb close to its body as if to show how precious it is. The only color on the porcelain is on the dragon’s gold-tipped claws, and the gleaming pupils of its lidless eyes. Jungkook strokes a finger over the cold porcelain warming in his hand, marveling at how perfectly each finely carved scale lies along the dragon’s body. Something about the sculpture tugs at something deep inside Jungkook’s heart. It feels…inexplicably proprietary. 

This is mine, he thinks longingly. I want it. It should be mine. It belongs to me. 

He jolts, just the tiniest bit, when Wooju comes up beside him. He forgot his boss was even there. Jungkook feels almost jealous when Wooju reaches out to touch the dragon, but if his boss notices that Jungkook pulls back slightly, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Now that,” Wooju says reverentially, “is a piece of fucking art.” 

Jungkook tries to laugh in response, but he can’t quite get it out. It sticks in his throat like a lump of cold gristle.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Yeah, I guess it is.” 

He has to fight the urge to close his hand around the dragon and run off down the street. It’s a miracle that he even manages to get his hand to set the sculpture down on the table. Even as Wooju bustles around, giving him instructions on what to shelve and what to bring into the shop to display, Jungkook simply can’t stop his gaze from constantly straying back to the little dragon, curving gracefully into the air like an arrogant god. 

It doesn’t belong to him. Not even a little bit. 

He knows that. 

But it doesn’t stop him from believing it does. 

It’s stupid late by the time Jungkook gets home and crashes, bone weary, onto his bed. He’s pretty fit, but even then the constant bending and lifting has him sore. He rolls his shoulders and settles into the soft warmth of his bed. His pillow is plump and inviting, his blankets just the right thickness to snuggle into. Jungkook has perfected the art of making a bed in his desperate quest for a good night’s sleep, but it never works, and it’s not the bed’s fault. 

“Please,” Jungkook mutters to himself. “I could do without dreams for just one night.” He knows it’s fruitless, though. He hasn’t had a dreamless sleep for years. The second he drops off, he knows the bad dreams will come, harrying and oppressive and utterly confounding. 

He’s used to it by now. He’s learnt to live with them, even though the dreams make sure he never quite gets enough rest. 

Still, Jungkook knows some rest is better than none. He tosses and turns, finding it difficult to fall asleep. Every time he closes his eyes, he feels the solid weight of a porcelain statuette in his hands, sees gold-flecked eyes and claws gleaming in the muddy dark. 

Sleep is a long time coming. 

When he finally drifts away, Jungkook dreams as he always has. 

Jungkook, a voice whispers, sad and lonely and utterly bereft, a voice which Jungkook should know, but doesn’t. Baby, where are you? 

I can’t find him, hyung, another voice mourns. It’s so full of pain, so tired, Jungkook yearns to reach out and hold the person and soothe their hurts away. His heart swells with longing. He tries to answer, but his mouth won’t work. 

Here I am, Jungkook screams soundlessly. I’m right here. 

But the voices are growing more distant, fading off into the background, and panic wells up hard and heavy in Jungkook’s chest. 

Come back, he sobs. Please. Don’t leave me here. 

He flinches in his sleep and kicks off the blanket. 

A disembodied hand reaches out toward him, and Jungkook reaches back out, but abruptly he’s falling backward into blackness, gold eyes shimmering above him, and screams echo around.

Jungkook is falling, falling, falling. 

He thrashes awake. His shirt is soaked with sweat, cold in the night. Tears are gathering in the corners of his eyes and his heart is rabbiting away. Sitting there on his bed, the last vestiges of his dream fading into oblivion, Jungkook swallows hard, chasing the feeling, but it’s gone. He can never remember what he’s dreamt when he wakes; all he carries with him is the unsettling sense that there’s something lying just beyond his reach. 

Jungkook scrubs his hand over his face wearily, then tugs off his uncomfortably damp shirt and tosses it into a corner. The glowing numbers on his digital clock read 5:30AM.

He tries his utmost best. He closes his eyes and deliberately slows his breathing, but there, in the slowly lightening dark, the mercy of sleep eludes him. 

Jungkook isn’t sure what he’s hoping to find when he pushes through the door of the coffeeshop. If he’s being frank with himself, he’s been avoiding it for a few days. He hasn’t felt ready for another run-in with the stranger. Today, though, he feels a little braver, and so he’s almost disappointed when a tentative scan of the cafe tells him that the man he’s looking for - or not looking for - isn’t there. 

“Morning,” the cashier chirps. “The usual?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Jungkook says. He hesitates. “Hey, last week - did, ah, did someone grab my coffee for me?”

“Oh yeah,” the cashier says brightly. “The tall guy you sat with? He asked if we knew where you were going, and said he’d bring it to you, so we told him you worked in the art shop just down the street. He knew the shop’s name, said he’d been there before.” She looks a little anxiously at him, suddenly uncertain. “Was that okay? I’m sorry if we shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jungkook says. “I got the coffee. Thanks.” He smiles and nods reassuringly.

No point testing fate. Jungkook decides to get his drink to go, and an odd mix of victory and disappointment courses through him as he actually makes it all the way to the art shop without bumping into any strangers with compelling almond-shaped eyes. 

Opening up the place, he does a quick once-over to see if Wooju’s sold anything significant from the day before; he’ll check the point of sale system, of course, but it’s always fun to see if he can spot what’s gone. He sees that the TBS line silhouettes made from metal wire have been sold, and the trio of brightly colored plastic Buddhas, but the absence of the most important thing makes his heart race just for a second before he finally spots the little white dragon. 

“There you are, my lovely,” Jungkook murmurs. He strokes it with a gentle finger and tugs it out from behind the counter, but to his consternation there’s a note beneath it: “Someone from TBS will come today to pick up the dragon. -Wooju.”

Damn it. Damn it, damn it. Jungkook’s heart sinks hard and fast.

He was really hoping to buy it. 

He’s been mooning over the dragon for days now, unable to keep his eyes (okay, and his hands) off it. Jungkook knows it’s utterly ridiculous, but he genuinely feels like it belongs to him. 

He lets out a long-suffering sigh. Handing it back to the representative from TBS is really going to hurt. Jungkook’s been keeping the dragon near him during all his shifts. His fingers keep returning to it, touching it and holding it, caressing the sleek waves of its body, feeling the points of its tiny fangs and antlers. Jungkook briefly debates running for his life, the statuette safe in his pocket, running home and locking the doors and never coming out ever again, and -

Jungkook frowns at the little dragon, its glassy gold eyes fixed on the horizon. He must be crazier than he thought. Why on earth is he so obsessed with a porcelain creature?

Just then, the bell above the shop door rings, and Jungkook looks up. With a gentle finger, he slides the dragon back under the counter.

“Hey there,” he says. “Welcome.”

The customer who’s just ducked into the shop looks back at him with a happy, engaging grin, and Jungkook can’t help himself. He smiles back, even though he’s pretty sure he hasn’t done anything that makes him worthy of the full wattage of this stranger’s heart-shaped smile. 

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Jungkook asks.

The man looks straight at Jungkook for a long moment, his gaze piercing and almost searching, but just as the silence between them teeters on the edge of awkwardness, he looks away, hums and trails his hand idly along a table. 

“Sort of,” he says. “I’m just going to poke around for a bit, if you don’t mind.”

“Be my guest,” Jungkook says. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.” 

He watches for a couple of minutes as the man literally pokes around - walking his fingers over ceramic pots, running them along the edges of sculptures, but fortunately refraining from touching the painted canvases, or Jungkook would have had to say something. The man is simply but stylishly dressed, with a linen shirt pulled over a white undershirt and straight, loose jeans, and Jungkook admires his casual confidence as he strolls through the shop. 

“Can you tell me more about this piece?” the man asks, pointing at a small canvas. 

“Sure. It’s by one of our up-and-coming artists.” 

As Jungkook enthusiastically shares about the piece and the artist, he can feel the man’s gaze lingering on the side of his face. They fall into an easy conversation, chatting about some of the other works that catch the man’s eye, but it feels as though the man is angling for an opening to talk about something else, and he finally takes it. 

“You really know your stuff,” the man says. “Have you worked here long?”

Jungkook shrugs genially. “Just under a year,” he says. 

“Mm. Didn’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“Aw, do you only come in once a year?” Jungkook teases. “We’d love for customers to visit us a little more often than that.”

The man laughs louder and longer than Jungkook expects from his feeble joke, and darts a quick, interested look at him. “Now that you’re here, maybe I’ll visit more often.”

Jungkook tilts his head, amused. Is this guy flirting with him? He can’t say he’s entirely opposed. The reckless curl of the man’s hair at his nape is begging for someone to slide their hands through it, and the openness of his face makes Jungkook feel like he’d be someone who would listen to all of his deepest, darkest secrets and never judge him for them.

God, Jungkook thinks, nearly wistful, it’s been a moment since he’s been on a date with anyone he really liked. 

“This is really nice,” the man says finally. He points at one of the TBS pieces, a corded wall hanging made to look like an extra-large norigae, the traditional knotted accessory that women hang on their hanbok. The man turns back and peers at Jungkook, his smile light and inexplicably, indefinably cheeky. Jungkook wants to see him smile all the time. “Do you know who the artist is?”

“That’s by The Blue Side,” Jungkook answers happily. “My favorite artists.”

The man perks up even more. His eyes are sparkling, wide and bright and filled with open mirth. “Are they really? Your favorite, I mean.”

Jungkook nods fervently. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard of them, but TBS is an art collective. All of their artists make such spectacular things. They're famous for their modern take on heritage crafts. I’d kill for a chance to walk through their workshops, but they’re very reclusive, apparently. Hardly anyone even knows what they look like.”

“Oh, they’re my favorite artists too,” the man confides, although the way he looks like he’s repressing a laugh has Jungkook wondering what’s really going through his mind. “So which of their artworks is your ultimate favorite?” the man presses. “I want to know.”

Jungkook hesitates, thinking of the porcelain dragon, but unsure if he should mention it. 

“Come on, be honest,” the man coaxes, grinning. “Is it the norigae? Or their kintsugi? No, I bet it’s their jiseung pots, isn’t it? Tell me! I promise I won’t tell.”

Jungkook laughs heartily at the joke. It’s a good one. Whom would this adorable stranger tell? Someone from TBS? Please.

“Honestly,” he admits, “I can’t choose. Their works are so eclectic, so varied, and all so perfectly rendered. I love them all. It’d be like picking a favorite finger.” 

The other man chuckles boisterously at that, and doesn’t press. “What a pity. Maybe I could have gotten you your favorite.”

“They’re pretty pricey,” Jungkook grins. “That would be some present.” But Jungkook, as usual, can’t get the dragon out of his head, nor the odd urge to share him with this complete stranger, and finally he confesses, “Actually, I do have a favorite, but it isn’t for sale.” He reaches behind the counter and pulls out the dragon. “It’s weird - they have so many spectacular pieces - but right now my favorite is this little guy here.”

The man goes very quiet, such an abrupt change from his bubbling self that Jungkook glances quizzically at him, only to find him staring silently at the dragon in Jungkook’s hands. The man’s eyes are suddenly strangely damp, and the gaze in them travels from the dragon back up to Jungkook’s face.

 Before Jungkook can say anything, though, the man clears his throat, his voice coming out husky. “Yeah, he’s gorgeous, isn’t he?”

Jungkook startles when the man refers to the dragon as a “he” instead of an “it”. It’s exactly how he’s been thinking of the dragon, himself. The man’s unexpected response prods Jungkook into a rare, open honesty. 

“It belongs to The Blue Side, not to me, unfortunately,” Jungkook tells the man. “We think maybe they sent it to us by accident with the rest of their art, so…we’ll have to give it back.” He strokes the dragon with a finger. “It’s going to kill me to say goodbye.”

“Maybe it was fate that he ended up in your hands,” the man says quietly. He reaches out his own finger and rubs the dragon’s nose almost affectionately. Jungkook expects to feel the same curl of jealousy he felt when Wooju reached for the dragon, but there’s nothing. If anything, he feels thrilled to share; he opens his hand a little more so the man can reach it easily. He’s standing so close now that Jungkook can just about pick up the undertone of scents hanging on his clothing. Turpentine, wood shavings, the earthy smell of fresh clay. The gears in Jungkook’s head are turning much too slowly, so that the man’s next words still come as a shock. 

“You know,” the man says, the glimmer of a smile in his eyes, “if he means so much to you, I can let you hang on to him for a little longer.”

Jungkook startles, and stares at the man in growing shock and realization. “You…wait. What?”

“Tell you what. You keep our dragon for us until you’re ready to give him back, and if you’re still interested in seeing our workspace then, give me a call.” He presses a card into Jungkook’s hand and winks, clearly delighted by the dumbfounded expression on Jungkook’s face when he looks at the card and sees the blocky cerulean logo of The Blue Side. He heads to the shop door and pulls it open, then glances back and chuckles out loud when he sees Jungkook standing stock still, unable to move, jaw still unhinged.

“Hey, Jungkook,” the man calls from the door, his voice sweet and persuasive and full of sunshine. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Jungkook smiles uncertainly and nods, a warm, surprising pulse coursing through his body. He finds his voice. “I…” he stammers. “Okay?”

The man smiles back encouragingly. “I’ll see you around, then,” he says, his eyes crinkling, and then he slips through the entryway and blends so quickly into the peak hour crowd that Jungkook loses sight of him in an instant.

It takes a minute for Jungkook to gather himself, the dragon in one palm, the card in the other, and then he stands there in dawning realization that he’d never told the man from The Blue Side his name. 

The trip back home is a long, silent one. For once, Hoseok doesn’t turn on music; he drives back to Chuncheon in contemplative silence. The scenery whizzes by unnoticed. 

Hoseok’s brain is buzzing. He finally saw Jungkook, they laid eyes on each other, and Hoseok’s heart had tripped heavily over itself in anticipation, but…nothing.

Nothing.

Hoseok can remember, all the way back several centuries, every single time he met Jungkook’s eyes in every single lifetime. He remembers the thrill of the buzz that runs down his spine, into his fingertips, that electric jolt that tips them both into instant recognition and memory.

He remembers every single time he’s met all of his six lovers. In every lifetime, it’s been a gift, something they have grown to take for granted. Every time they come back and find each other again and the moment they do, they remember all the past lifetimes they’ve shared.

And yet this time it hasn’t worked, not for Jungkook, who looked at him with no recognition whatsoever. 

Hoseok can’t understand it. No zap, no jolt, no recovered memory. He’s shaken to his core. It should be such a gift - finally finding the last piece of their puzzle - but instead both he and Namjoon have been left bereft. Hoseok is exhilarated at finally meeting Jungkook, but at the same time despondent. 

He doubts, for a brief second, if it really is Jungkook. It’s the only possible explanation for it, and yet it’s one that Hoseok can’t accept. Ever since he locked eyes with Namjoon in this life, twelve years ago, he’s had every memory he’s ever kept for the last few centuries. 

Hoseok knows exactly who the loves of his life - or lives - are. He would recognize Jungkook anywhere, anytime. It has to be him. And yet Jungkook looked back at him with no spark of familiarity in his eyes. Hoseok frowns deeply, his brow creased in anxiety.

He’s had twelve years with the others in this lifetime, knowing Jungkook has to be out there somewhere, but no one found him - until now. And now that they finally have - Hoseok can’t figure it out. Now he understands Namjoon’s desperate sorrow and worry when he told them about meeting Jungkook in the coffee shop.

By the time he reaches Chuncheon and parks the car, he’s no wiser. When the others clamor around him at the door, eager for news of his meeting with their lost lover, they take a quick look at his face and know the news isn’t good.

“I’m sorry. He didn’t recognize me,” Hoseok says without any preamble, not eager to prolong the agony. “I looked him right in the eye. Nothing.”

He drops heavily onto the couch, tucks his head into Jimin’s shoulder, desperate for comfort. Jimin takes the cue and wraps his arms around Hoseok, rubbing his thumb along the back of Hoseok’s neck, easing the pressure throbbing beneath skin and muscle. Hoseok leans into him gratefully. 

“I don’t understand,” Taehyung frowns. “You’re sure it’s him?”

Hoseok’s voice is hollow. “I’m sure. Namjoon was right. He looks exactly the same. It’s him.”

As always, Taehyung’s stormy and ready to argue. “But maybe he just looks like our Jungkook. How do we know it’s really him?”

Hoseok recalls the tender look in Jungkook’s eye as he held the little dragon in his hands, the way he called the dragon his favorite. “No,” he says with finality, hopelessness tingeing his voice. “I’m sure it’s him. He just doesn’t remember us.”

Seeing Jungkook was like rain falling on parched ground - Hoseok is desperate for more, to run back to that little shop in Seoul and soak in every precious second, but at the same time it was exhausting to keep up the sunniness and the pretense that he doesn’t know who Jungkook is. 

“He has the dragon statuette,” Hoseok muses. “Namjoon was right about that, too. The way Jungkook looks at it…as if there’s something about it that triggers something inside him.”

“But that’s good, right?” Yoongi asks. “That means there’s hope.”

“Namjoon-hyung said he felt something, after all,” Jimin adds in his quiet, sweet way. “A frisson. A spark. And he was sure Jungkook felt…something…too, even if it wasn’t the deluge it should have been.”

“I didn’t feel anything at all,” Hoseok says dejectedly. “If I’d passed him on the street before I’d met Namjoon, I might not even have recognized him. Maybe…maybe it’s already even happened.”

The thought is equal parts horrifying and dispiriting. Taehyung wilts a little, pressing himself back into his seat. 

“So what did you say to him?” This from Seokjin, who’s on the other end of the couch, long legs draped over Yoongi’s lap. “Does he know who we are? What we do?”

Hoseok cheers up considerably at this question. “You should have seen him, hyung. The way he lit up when he talked about The Blue Side. He said we’re his favorite art collective! We’re his favorite artists!”

Seokjin chuckles. “I guess some things stay the same, even if he doesn’t remember us.”

“Ah, Lady Fate,” Yoongi murmurs. “She won’t be denied, the tenacious little bitch.” But his tone is teasing and fond, and he works his hands gently along the curve of Seokjin’s calf. 

“Bet he likes my stuff the best,” Taehyung says, smug as if it’s already a known fact.

Hoseok rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I actually asked. He wouldn’t cop to a favorite. He said, and I quote, that our work is so eclectic, so perfectly rendered, that he loves them all.”

Cue delighted gasps, coos and awws from the other four. 

“He said it’d be like picking a favorite finger,” Hoseok adds, and everyone laughs like he knew they would. 

“That boy,” Seokjin sighs, delighted. “That darling boy. He always was such a sweet, smooth talker.”

“He loves us all the same.” Jimin is pleased, his voice soft and light and musical against Hoseok’s head. “That’s definitely our Jungkookie, right there.”

But Hoseok shakes his head. He doesn’t want them to misinterpret, to hold false hope so close to their hearts that it devours them and turns them bitter. “No,” he corrects unwillingly, “don’t get me wrong, but what he loves is our art. He doesn’t…he doesn’t know who made what. And he doesn’t know who we are.”

Hoseok hates the way they all look shattered in some way. He hates that he feels like he did this to them, like he carries the massive responsibility of being the only one here who’s actually met Jungkook in person. 

“What should we do?” Jimin asks, frowning. “How can we fix this?”

“If Joonie doesn’t even know how…” Taehyung trails off. If Namjoon doesn’t know how, the sentence continues brutally in everyone’s heads, nobody knows how.

Silence hangs in the room for an over-tender, bruising moment. 

“Well, Namjoon’s not here,” Seokjin points out. “He won’t be back for a couple of weeks. It’s up to us to figure things out while he’s gone.”

“We’ll fix it. We do this the hard way,” Yoongi says determinedly. “Like everyone else does.”

“You mean…” Seokjin bites his lip, unhappy but resigned. “I guess we don’t have a choice.”

“I gave him our card,” Hoseok tells them. “I told him to call if he wants to meet us.”

“That’s good,” Yoongi says. “That’s the first step. So now we wait for him to come to us. It has to be his decision.”

“Wait?” Taehyung looks shocked, almost appalled. He jerks upright. “You mean - you mean we’re just supposed to sit around and wait for him to think about whether he wants to meet us - six strangers - he doesn’t even know who we are. What if he isn’t interested? What if he never calls us?” Taehyung’s eyes are blurry with sudden tears. “Hyung, I don’t know if I can do that.”

“We have to, Tae-bear,” Seokjin says gently, reaching out and tugging him closer, pulling him into the crook of his arm. The pet name makes Taehyung’s eyes smart, and Seokjin drops a kiss on the top of his head. “He needs to come to us.”

“He’ll come,” Yoongi says, sure of himself. “He’ll come.”

“And maybe he’ll remember,” Hoseok says hopefully. “Maybe he’ll remember us.”

At those words, Jimin shivers, his warm hands falling off Hoseok’s shoulders. “But what if he remembers everything?” he whispers, raw and afraid, and the way he says it, very different from the way Hoseok did, makes everyone go very still and quiet. 

What if he remembers everything?

Be careful what you wish for, the saying goes, because you just might get it. 

Jungkook bolts upright in bed, his heart racing and his head aching. The sliver of sky framed in the crack of his curtains is pitch black. Jungkook holds his hands up in front of him. 

They’re still trembling. 

He drops his chin to his chest and braces himself on the bed with one arm. He’s so tired. So damn tired. Jungkook wills his heart rate to slow down, taking deep breaths, even as the dream has already faded from his mind’s eye. 

He can’t remember what he’s been dreaming, but Jungkook swears they’re getting worse, like a disease coming out of remission. For years, the dreams have been disturbing, but he’s largely been able to get some rest. Lately, however…Jungkook scrubs his hand over his face wearily. He’s been waking multiple times a night, drenched in a cold sweat, his head throbbing fit to burst.

Some nights, he can’t even make himself fall asleep. 

Jungkook glances at his bedside table. The digital clock informs him that it’s barely past three in the morning, but what Jungkook really wants is sitting beside the clock. He reaches out a trembling hand and scoops up the cold white dragon, turning it in his hands, finding comfort in its solid weight. Its gold eyes gleam in the scant light, and gradually Jungkook’s hands grow steady around it.

After the man from The Blue Side left, Jungkook decided it was his prerogative to bring the dragon home. As far as Wooju knows, the dragon’s already gone back to the collective, and if it’s really sitting in Jungkook’s jeans pocket all day and next to his bed at night, well, Jungkook feels he has as good as gotten permission from its rightful owners to do so. 

Jungkook rubs his thumb over the dragon’s back, running the smooth ridges of its fins against his skin. His heartbeat has slowed enough that he feels like his body is moving through thick mud.

“Help me,” Jungkook whispers dully. “I’m so tired.” He closes his eyes, heartsick, and a tear slips down his cheek. 

Through the crack in the curtains, distant lightning flashes, and rain begins to fall. 

A week passes, and then another, and still Jungkook does nothing more than dubiously eye the card he’s tacked to the back of the counter, and doesn’t make any move to call the man from The Blue Side. He’s curious, for sure, and he really, really wants that tour of their workshops - but he thinks about what the man said and something stops him from calling.

“You keep him for us until you’re ready to give him back, and if you’re still interested in seeing our workspace then, give me a call.”

He’s not sure entirely if the man meant every word, but Jungkook is definitely not ready to give up the dragon. If he has to choose between holding on to the little dragon and visiting his favorite artists’ workshops - well - a dragon in the hand is worth two in the bush, surely?

Jungkook doesn’t want to return the statuette. Not even close. He picks up the card and turns it around in his hands. The cerulean logo is simple and elegant, stylized to look like a traditional Korean seal. 

“What’s that?”

Jungkook jerks his head up, startled, thinking it’s a customer. It takes a few seconds for him to recalibrate, to realize it’s Wooju asking him a question. He’s been zoning out, waiting for Wooju to finish the paperwork before unpacking the new shipment. 

“Uh…” Jungkook blinks, hard, trying to focus. “What’s what?”

Wooju points at the card under Jungkook’s tapping finger. “Is that from The Blue Side?” he asks. “I see their logo.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah.” Jungkook waves the card absently. “They invited me to their workshop, I guess.”

“They what!” 

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, abashed at Wooju’s reaction. “When one of them came to pick up the dragon.”

Wooju laughs, incredulous and excited. “One of their artists came in person? To our shop?”

Jungkook blinks. Now that he mentions it, Jungkook isn’t entirely sure if it was one of their artists. “Um, that’s the impression I got. He said to call him if I was interested.”

The sound that comes out of Wooju’s mouth is garbled and incomprehensible. “So when are you going?” He stares at Jungkook incredulously as Jungkook lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “You haven’t called the number?”

“I guess I haven’t really decided?”

His boss goggles at him for a moment. “You’re nuts,” Wooju remarks flatly. “You have to go. Look at everything. Don’t break anything. Make sure they like you, and get them to sign an exclusive contract to send us their art for the next fifty years.”

Jungkook sniggers, finally knocked out of his doldrums. “Opportunist,” he accuses Wooju.

Wooju doesn’t deny it, just laughs airily. “Look, Jungkook,” he says, “contracts aside, if The Blue Side invited me to go get a firsthand look at what they’re doing in their workshops? I’d crawl over broken glass and lava to get there.”

A muffled laugh comes from Jungkook. “I can see where you’re coming from,” he says. He exhales, rolling his shoulders. He can’t admit to Wooju that he still has the dragon with him, currently snug in the pocket of his baggy jeans, and that he’s afraid that going to visit them means having to give it up.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Wooju advises, oblivious to Jungkook’s internal dilemma. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. What are you waiting for?”

Jungkook sighs. “I’ll think about it,” he says instead. 

Wooju’s brow wrinkles. He’s known Jungkook for nearly a year, and this doesn’t seem like him. He comes over and presses the back of his hand to Jungkook’s forehead. 

“You okay?” The older man frowns and peruses Jungkook’s face. “Are you coming down with something? You’ve seemed pretty out of it lately.”

I can’t sleep at night, because I have dreams that make me physically ill, even though I don’t remember any of it when I wake up.

“M’fine,” Jungkook answers instead of spilling his guts about his nighttime miseries. “Probably just…just need to get some sleep. Haven’t really been able to sleep well lately.”

Wooju looks unconvinced, but he doesn’t press it. “Well, get some rest, and when you’re feeling better you need to call The Blue Side and fix a date.”

“Got it.”

“Speaking of The Blue Side, anyway,” Wooju continues conversationally, “they sent in another small box yesterday.” He doesn’t miss the way Jungkook snaps upright in surprise, and a small smile curves along his face. “Want to open it with me?”

“Heck yeah.” Jungkook follows Wooju into the back. “How come they sent another one so soon?”

Wooju’s running his fingers over the crate. “Maybe they got tired of waiting for you to call them,” he teases, and Jungkook rolls his eyes. He waits for Wooju to take point, but Wooju shrugs. “Go ahead.”

Jungkook bites his lip, but gets the crowbar and self-consciously pries up the top as Wooju hovers in curiosity. Putting the crate cover aside, Jungkook pulls out a wrapped canvas and a couple of smaller items. The first package he opens contains a pair of delicate blue rice wine cups, veined with gold. Jungkook smiles over them.

“Lovely,” Wooju remarks. “The smaller ones are easy to sell.”

But Jungkook isn’t listening. He’s peeling the wrappings off the canvas, and as he does, it feels like there’s a huge, yawning pit in his belly. The painting is an oil, applied skilfully in a thick impasto, and the figures are deliberately indistinct. Seven silhouettes are ranged along train tracks, facing a setting sun. They’re positioned closely together in a way that suggests intimacy and closeness; they have their fingers tangled together, or arms around shoulders, each one touching in some way. 

Jungkook very nearly drops the painting.

Suddenly, he has a rush of nauseating clarity, for the first time in his life.

I dreamed this. Jungkook stares at the painting in his hands, dazed and completely confused. He never remembers his dreams. Never. But this time Jungkook feels like he’s drowning in cold, clear realization. I dreamed this exact scene last night.

Before Wooju can pick up that there’s something wrong, Jungkook very carefully puts the painting down on the island. His head is swimming.

“Oh wow,” Wooju says, admiring the canvas. “Bold, and expressive. Look at those palette knife strokes. Gorgeous.” He’s clearly unaffected, appreciating the painting simply for what it is. 

“I’m just…I’m just gonna…” Jungkook clears his throat. “Bathroom.” He escapes quickly, before he can throw up on the floor. He locks himself into the shop’s bathroom and leans against the wall. He’s gone pale, he can see from his reflection in the mirror, and sweat is pearling along his hairline.

Try as he might, Jungkook can’t shake the dizzy feeling in his head. 

“What the fuck is going on,” Jungkook whispers faintly to himself. He slips his hand into his pocket, intending to rub the little dragon for comfort, but the sharp corner of a card rakes across his skin as he does, so Jungkook pulls out the card instead. He stares at the logo of The Blue Side for a long, perturbed second.

It can’t hurt, he tells himself. Just a phone call.

Then he takes out his mobile phone and dials the number, before he loses his courage.

“Hello?” He takes an unsteady breath. “This is Jungkook.”

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, what?” Jungkook says, stunned. “I thought…I thought you were based in Seoul.”

The man on the other line is just as charming as Jungkook remembers, but the chagrin in his voice is plain to hear. “Ah, you’re sort of right. Our office and warehouse are in Seoul,” he says sheepishly, “but our live-in studio is in Chuncheon, and that’s where we are now. It’s not that far, really,” he hastens to add. “A couple of hours’ drive, if you’re fast.”

Jungkook balks. He doesn’t have a car. Going to see TBS now seems like an enormous amount of trouble, and it also feels unconscionably rude to barge into their actual living space. It’s already evening - by the time he reaches Chuncheon, it’d be well past dinnertime. “I can’t impose on all of you,” he starts to say, but the man is already interrupting. 

“Please, don’t worry, you wouldn’t be imposing at all. We’d love for you to come if you don’t mind the journey. We’d all be awake, we work well into the night,” he laughs. “Honestly, we’re awful, we have the worst sleep habits.”

Despite himself, Jungkook smiles. “I don’t sleep much at night either,” he confesses quietly, even if he conveniently leaves out the real reason why. 

“Well then,” the man says, warm and engaging even over the phone, “It sounds like we’re a perfect match for each other. I’ll text our address to your number?”

What the heck, Jungkook thinks. You only live once, right? He’ll rent a car, or something. He’ll figure it out. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, sounds good.”

“Great. I’ll see you soon!”

“Wait,” Jungkook interjects, “I, uh…I don’t even know your name.”

There’s a small pause, and Jungkook hears the other man take a deep, almost unsteady breath. “I’m Jung Hoseok.”

“Okay. Great. Yeah. I’ll see you soon, Jung Hoseok-nim.”

As Jungkook hangs up, he can already feel some of the tension leach out of his shoulders. He splashes some water on his face and dries it. By the time he emerges from the bathroom, he finds Wooju in the main shop, hanging the oil painting on the wall. Jungkook steps back to gaze at it one more time. It’s unsettling, how familiar he finds this scene, the way it might as well be a photograph in his memory. 

He takes out his phone, centers the painting on the screen, and snaps a self-indulgent picture. Something he can look at more closely later on. Something to help reorient this strange, amorphous feeling bubbling inside his chest.

Something he might ask Jung Hoseok about, if he manages to scrape together enough of the fluttery bits of courage under his skin.

Jungkook shakes his head and catches the last bit of what Wooju is saying.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Wooju says proudly. “Glad they sent us this one.” He raises an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Aren’t you leaving? We’re pretty much done here.”

Jungkook has a sudden flash of inspiration. 

“About that,” he says. “You uh…you got any plans for your motorbike tonight?“

Wooju thinks back to the accident he got into a couple of months ago, and the look on his wife’s face when she walked into his hospital room. He laughs ruefully and shakes his head. “My wife told me if I get back on that thing she’ll skin me alive, and I like my skin attached to my body, thanks very much.”

“Still can’t bear to sell it?”

“Maybe someday,” Wooju says, wistful for the old days when his wife thought he looked cool riding the motorbike, before he’d broken his collarbone on unforgiving asphalt. “But it is not that day.” His gaze narrows on Jungkook. “Why are you asking?”

Jungkook tries a hopeful smile. “Would you mind if I rode it to Chuncheon?”

“Chuncheon?” Wooju squawks in shock. “You want to ride my bike up north to Chuncheon? Why on earth would you go there? At this time?” 

Jungkook shrugs and tries to stifle his widening grin. “So it turns out that The Blue Side has their workshops by the lake there,” he says slyly, and he’s barely finished his sentence before Wooju is swiftly pulling the bike key off his keyring and tossing it to him. 

“Take it,” Wooju says immediately. “Please, god, go and take lots of photos and tell me all about it.”

Jungkook barks out a laugh. “Thanks, boss,” he says fervently, already backing away, tossing the key in his hand. 

“Just don’t crash her or I’ll kill you!” Wooju yells, and Jungkook flutters his fingers in a quick acknowledgement as he exits through the backdoor to pull the tarp off Wooju’s neglected motorbike. 

Jungkook’s forgotten how thrilling and at the same time how therapeutic a bike ride through the countryside can be. The GPS directions are easy enough to follow, and he’s snug inside the leather jacket he’d thankfully stashed in his locker at work for unexpectedly cold days. Wrapped safely in plastic bubbles and rolled up in a spare T-shirt, the ceramic dragon is tucked deep into the hard-shell pannier behind him.

But as the road stretches on and one hour pushes into two, Jungkook’s brain fuzzy from lack of sleep, it feels almost like limbo, as if suspended in a state of awareness where Jungkook is only conscious of the humming road beneath him and the greenery whizzing past him. The sun is rapidly setting. It would be beautiful, if Jungkook had more bandwidth to appreciate it: tendrils of pink and orange light seeping across the cloud-spattered sky. The pale crescent of the moon is gleaming somewhere above him. But Jungkook just focuses on the asphalt and the darkling line of the horizon, and hopes he can reach Chuncheon before the light goes completely. He decides to make one last pit stop for a toilet break. 

Jung Hoseok
Hey, Jungkook, you doing okay?

Jungkook
Yessir. GPS says about a half hour away

Jung Hoseok
Great!! Can’t wait ^_^

Jungkook almost giggles when he sees the message. The man is an enigma to him; a renowned artist who sends cute little emoticons in his text messages? Jungkook would be lying if he said he wasn’t apprehensive about meeting them, but the fact that Hoseok seems so easygoing has done a lot to ease his nerves. 

It’s sorely needed, because when Jungkook finally turns the bike into the secluded driveway of the address Hoseok sent him, he’s completely caught off-guard by how big everything is. Not for the first time, he wonders just how many of them there are in TBS. The gravel lane itself is slim, just wide enough to accommodate a single car. Before him, there are two separate buildings on a grassy verge - he assumes the larger one is the house they live in, and the other, humbler building is their workshop - both overlooking a single-story cabin set almost directly over the lake. The view is spectacular, even in the dark of the early evening. Jungkook can make out the curve of the glimmering lake and the green hills that offset it, sturdy and staunch and hunkering down behind the water. He pulls off his helmet, cutting the engine at the end of the narrow road, and the sudden silence is sobering until it’s broken by a happy shout.

“Jungkook-ssi!” 

He ducks his head shyly as he watches Hoseok approach with another man in tow, someone tall, broad, and just as good-looking as Hoseok is. 

“So glad you could make it,” Hoseok beams, and he looks almost like he’s about to barrel into Jungkook for a hug. Jungkook takes a startled step backwards, and at the last minute Hoseok changes his mind and sticks out his hand instead. Jungkook shakes it, relieved. “This is, ah, this is my. This is,” Hoseok unexpectedly trips over his words as he gestures towards the other man, and to Jungkook’s surprise, Hoseok reddens slightly before he recovers and continues. “This is Kim Seokjin, one of our artists here at The Blue Side.”

“Hello,” Jungkook says politely. He holds out his hand to Seokjin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You must be Jungkook.” Seokjin smiles warmly at him and sandwiches Jungkook’s outstretched hand in both of his, shaking enthusiastically. “It’s so lovely to meet you.” 

“I’m sorry to bother you so late,” Jungkook starts to apologize, but Seokjin waves it off. 

“Not at all. We’re glad you could come and take a look at what we do.”

“I was starting to get worried,” Hoseok says, “that you weren’t going to call.” His eyes crinkle, and he angles his chin at Jungkook. “What made you decide to come?”

“I mean, anyone would love to tour your workshops, see what you’re making at the moment,” Jungkook stammers, but that’s not the answer that’s tugging inside his chest, and he wrestles with himself for a couple more seconds before he pulls out his phone, opens up the camera roll. “But this -” he shows them the picture of the oil that shook him. “You sent this to us? My boss said you were clearing your warehouse.”

Hoseok and Seokjin look at the painting together, then share a loaded glance. “What about it?” Seokjin finally asks gently.

Jungkook fumbles for an answer, one that won’t make him sound like he’s crazy in front of these people who have been nothing but kind to him. “It…uh. It really spoke to me, I guess.”

The corners of Seokjin’s mouth quirk upward in a half smile, as if he can sense there’s something Jungkook isn’t saying. “So much that you immediately had to get on a motorbike and ride all the way to Chuncheon?”

Abashed, Jungkook pinches the bridge of his nose, but something in the way the two men are regarding him, open and willingly listening, makes him feel like he can be honest. “It reminds me of something. I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere before.” Jungkook hastens to explain himself. “I don’t mean the painting itself. I mean the scene. I thought…I thought I’d dreamed it. It threw me for a loop. I felt like…like I had to come see for myself.” Jungkook hesitates. “Is this you guys? Are there seven of you in The Blue Side?”

“Right now…” Hoseok exhales quietly, while Seokjin just looks too stunned to speak. “Right now there are six of us.”

“Oh.” Jungkook looks at the photograph of the oil again. It wasn’t the answer he’d expected. He can’t help the small twinge of disappointment inside him. He thought that he’d find an answer here.

“We used to be seven, in another life,” Seokjin says so softly that Jungkook has to strain to listen. “We’d like to be seven again.”

Jungkook isn’t quite sure what he means. 

Hoseok clears his throat. “One of our members painted this from memory,” he says cautiously. “So when you say you dreamed this - it’s odd, don’t you think?”

“From memory?” Jungkook is unsure, not really following what they mean, but there’s obviously something that the two men are tiptoeing around, something that makes their chests tighten and unspoken words evaporate from their mouths. He can sympathize. He knows what it feels like to hold a secret in your belly for so long that it turns everything bitter. “Who painted it?”

Seokjin blinks, and abruptly the charm is back, overlaying the sadness that was so visible just a moment ago. “Well - that would be telling you who’s who in The Blue Side,” he teases. “Do you think you can keep that secret?” Seokjin extends his little finger, and Jungkook nervously wraps his own pinky around it, tingling just a little bit when they touch each other. “Good boy.”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide. “You trust me?” 

“Absolutely,” Hoseok says, and he beams back at Jungkook, bright and happy and full of sunshine. 

When they push through the door of the building, Jungkook blinks in awe and surprise. It’s enormous and yet much neater than he expected a workshop housing six artists to be. It’s warm and brightly lit and open almost all the way to the back, with a small loft on one end overlooking the workspace. The equipment that Jungkook can see is all spotless, every workspace arranged carefully with supplies on shelves. The smell that permeates the workshop reminds him of what he smelled on Hoseok when they first met - turpentine, wood, clay. 

From what Jungkook can see at a glance, the workshop is segmented into eight sections, each with its own purpose. Six of the sections clearly belong to a particular artist; they’re personalized differently, and focus on a different craft, while a seventh section seems empty. The back wall of the loft has a well-stuffed couch and a fully-stocked bookshelf against it, the spines of the books rising and falling in a sinuous sequence like the arched back of a sleeping lizard. In the eighth section is a nondescript dining table with, of all things, a fruit platter on it.

Seokjin follows his curious gaze and laughs. “The boys are always hungry,” he explains fondly. “I try to encourage healthy snacking. Bananas for potassium. Oranges for vitamin C. You know.”

To this, Hoseok snorts and whispers conspiratorially to Jungkook. “Hyung talks a big game about healthy snacks, but if you look inside his cabinet he’s got a hidden stash of junk food…”

Jungkook giggles as Seokjin, in mock outrage, smacks Hoseok on the shoulder. 

“So each one of you has his own area, I guess,” Jungkook says with wonder. 

“We do our best to keep things neat and tidy, otherwise it can be a problem, but we work best when we’re near each other.” Seokjin puts a light hand on Jungkook’s back and steers him to the left. “So, you already know what kind of art our collective makes. Woodworking, ceramics, weaving, painting, metalwork. We do mixed media too, of course, and work with each other on those larger-scale pieces.”

“You guys must be really busy,” Jungkook says, and he finds the courage to look at Seokjin with a tentative smile. “I’ve been a fan of your work for a long time.”

“Have you?” Seokjin claps, delighted. “Clearly a man of good taste. So,” he looks slyly over at Hoseok, “I hear you can’t name a favorite, but it’s just between the three of us - which pieces do you really like best?”

“Stop it, hyung,” Hoseok grouses cheerfully. “Don’t badger our guest.”

Jungkook laughs, warming up easily to their easy banter. “I really couldn’t name a favorite, Kim Seokjin-nim.”

“Please, there’s no need to be so formal,” Seokjin insists. “All right, I won’t hold you to an answer about your favorites.” 

“Do you all have a specialty?” Jungkook asks.

Hoseok nods. “Pretty much. So…I’m the weaver of the group. The norigae are mine,” he confesses, grinning. “I was hoping you’d say it was your favorite. Maybe you’ve seen the jiseung pots and sculptures we exhibited recently? Those are mine too.”

“Those are incredible,” Jungkook breathes in amazement, recalling the elegant, monochromatic pots in the exhibition. “Those hanji paper cords? They’re woven so tightly.” He spots several sheaves of the cords on the table, and he leans in closer to take a look. Jungkook remembers how taken he was with the TBS jiseung pots. The pots were remarkably sturdy for something woven out of nothing but fragile paper, and the mastery involved in creating the unique, fluted shapes was evident. Traditional jiseung vessels were round or flat, but the TBS vessels were delicately shaped, curved and fluted and asymmetrical in a modern take.

“You know about hanji?” Delight spreads over Hoseok’s face.

“Not a lot,” Jungkook admits. “I actually had to research it after your exhibition, but it’s fascinating. The cords are made from the mulberry tree, aren’t they?”

“That’s right. It takes up so much time and effort to hand-make every strand, but it’s worth it,” Hoseok says. “But it’s also why I can’t rely on making jiseung every time. Honestly, when the weaving is driving me mad, at least I can make other things like the norigae.”

“How do you do it?”

“Years of grueling practice while being yelled at by my mentor,” Hoseok says ruefully. “And honestly, my fingers get the brunt of it. Here, feel.” To Jungkook’s chagrin, Hoseok grabs his hand and drags the tips of his fingers softly over Jungkook’s palm. 

“I don’t…” Jungkook spaces out for a second and goosebumps run down his back. What’s he supposed to be feeling? His brain goes blank.

“Calluses,” Seokjin supplies helpfully. “Hoseok presses with so much force to get the cords tight and secure that he’s got calluses on all his fingers. He bled on so much paper when he was learning that we joked we’d have to make a red collection,” he says ruefully.

“Wow. Uh. Got it. Okay. I see.” Jungkook knows that his vocabulary could probably use some work, but Hoseok’s fingers don’t feel rough at all, and the soft, surprising pressure of Hoseok’s hand against his is distracting. It’s only with great reluctance and the pressing reminder of social niceties that he pulls away. 

“Woodworking over here,” Seokjin waves an arm. “This is our Yoongi’s department. Metal over there, that’s Jimin’s.”

“I saw the giant filigree hearts displayed at the Seoul Art Museum. Those were his?” Jungkook asks with raised eyebrows, and Seokjin nods, thoroughly pleased at his familiarity with their work. “The hangeul line silhouettes he created from a single piece of wire? We sold out of those in two days.”

Hoseok lets out a breathy chuckle. “Jiminie will be pleased to hear that.”

On the woodworking bench is a large square piece of wood, resembling a crumpled piece of paper or cloth. At first, Jungkook thinks it’s been carved, but on closer inspection, he realizes that it’s made up of hundreds of layers of wood delicately lined up against each other. The sculpture is breathtaking; the curves of the wood smooth, organic and fluid. Jungkook is hugely impressed. 

“That’s Yoongi’s latest work,” Seokjin says, indicating with his chin. “Jimin’s taking a break from sculptures and working on some wearable pieces right now, so those strips of hammered metal you see there on his bench will probably become bracelets, earrings, and the like.”

Jungkook’s head is swimming. He can’t believe how privileged he is, to get a sneak peek at the works in progress. The pieces left in view are meticulously executed, their artistry more than evident. Even Jimin’s wearable pieces look so structural, so elegantly formed, that Jungkook knows they’re going to cost a fortune, and will probably only be afforded by the richest of chaebol families. They poke about the workshop some more, and the two artists show him as much as they can, chatting about their ongoing pieces and some of the pieces Jungkook’s seen in their past exhibitions. Jungkook is utterly enamored. It’s one thing to sell the artworks, but it’s quite another to be able to see the source and examine their works in progress. He files everything away meticulously in his mind, memories tucked away like little pieces of paper he can unfold and coo over at a later time.

“Now over here - this is Taehyung’s workspace. He does a bit of everything, really, including painting. Lately he’s been really absorbed by modern shapes and forms, more abstract than the rest of us,” Hoseok says. 

A wide jiseung platter (made by Hoseok most likely, Jungkook now knows), filled with random leather scraps, is sitting on Taehyung’s otherwise empty table, and Jungkook immediately recognizes the familiar textures and colors of the bits and pieces. 

“He painted the Mago with peonies,” Jungkook murmurs with delight. “And the quirky abstract faces. We sold so many of the leather brooches in your merch line. It’s such a distinctive style. I love it.” 

“Exactly. And this - the potter’s station is mine,” Seokjin says. “I’m the ceramicist of the group.” He peeks at his own hands, and holds them out for Jungkook to inspect; there are faint traces of red clay veined into the creases of his palms. They hover right there under his nose. To his alarm, Jungkook has to stop himself from reaching out to trace the lines.

He quickly diverts his attention by looking around the workspace. There are two separate potter’s wheels - one seems to be reserved for porcelain clay, while the other is used for stoneware. Large red wodges of iron-rich clay, the color matching Seokjin’s palms precisely, are being aired on plaster batts along the wall. What particularly draws Jungkook’s attention, though, is the row of delicate vessels lining a shelf. Each vessel has cracks running through it, and each crack is lined with gold. 

“Your kintsugi pottery,” Jungkook says, excitement lacing his tone. “I just sold a couple of these the other day.”

“I have such a soft spot for them, even though they take surprisingly long to complete. I use pure lacquer and powdered gold, here,” Seokjin crinkles his nose, “no industrial polymers or colored paint for me. The broken pots and vases and plates come to me from collectors, ceramicists…from all over, really.” Seokjin smiles. “I like the ones that have a story.”

“I love them.” Jungkook ducks his head, bashfully aware he’s been using the word “love” with abandon, applying it recklessly to everything he has seen in their workshop. He barrels on nonetheless. “And the idea behind kintsugi. The concept of…” he trails off.

“Wabi-sabi?” Seokjin asks. “Yes - it strikes a chord with me too. The embracing of the flawed and imperfect…”

“...all the cracks and the breaks,” Jungkook continues. “They’re just an event in the life of the vessel, not the end of it, and yet…”

“...the gold repair means that the breaking of the pot gives it more value, rather than less…”

“...and not only is there no attempt to hide the repair, but it’s showcased, highlighted - illuminated, even.”

Seokjin and Jungkook beam at each other, alight with the joy of finding a kindred spirit who gets it. The back-and-forth leaves Jungkook breathless. 

“You know what I love most about kintsugi,” Seokjin says quietly. “It’s knowing that the pieces I repair exist over and through the time I spent on them.”

“They’ll be here when we’re long gone,” Jungkook nods. “Kintsugi ensures the pieces persist, even though they were broken and thought worthless.”

“Exactly.” The corners of Seokjin’s eyes crinkle, and he regards Jungkook with a look that seems full of deep affection. Jungkook feels warm and self-conscious under the attention, but when he flicks his glance over to Hoseok, the other artist is regarding him just as earnestly, a wealth of unspoken emotion in his eyes. Jungkook flushes, then he looks up abruptly in dawning realization. He stares at Seokjin, speechless, his gaze searching. “The, uh, the porcelain dragon that you sent us by mistake,” he says hesitantly. “Is that your work? Did you make it?”

Seokjin doesn’t answer the question. Instead, with a searching gaze he asks, “Did you bring it?” 

Jungkook nods. His heart sinks, a stone falling all the way into the pit of his stomach. This is where they’re going to ask him to return it. He almost forgot what he was afraid of in the first place. “It’s in my pannier,” he says hopelessly, and makes an abortive motion towards the door. “I can go get it for you.”

Seokjin shakes his head adamantly. “No. It’s yours. Keep it.”

Jungkook blinks, unsure if he’s heard correctly. “Wait. Really?”

Seokjin must have the loveliest, plushest smile in existence. “Seriously. We’d love for you to have it. I have a feeling it was meant for you.”

“No way.” Jungkook can’t hold back the giant disbelieving grin spreading across his face. He doesn’t care how obvious his surprised delight is, nor even if it makes him come off as pathetic. He grabs Seokjin’s hand and pumps it up and down, then turns to Hoseok and does the same. He’s smiling so hard his face hurts. 

“Oh my god,” Jungkook babbles, “it means so much to me, you have no idea.” He doesn’t realize that Seokjin hasn’t answered his original question, nor does he know why they’re both looking at him so fondly, other than the fact that he must look absolutely dopey. 

Hoseok abruptly clears his throat, but he’s smiling too. “You must be tired and hungry after your trip. We’re just about to have something to eat, actually,” Hoseok says, “and we always make too much food. We’d love it if you joined us.”

They really do eat dinner late, then. Jungkook’s really trying to play it cool, but his traitorous stomach hears the word ‘food’ and promptly makes a very loud, very distinct grumble. He flushes. There’s no point declining now. 

“Um,” he says hesitantly. “Yeah, I’d love that, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all,” Seokjin says. “Food’s ready and everyone’s up at the house. Oh, except Namjoon; he’s so sorry he won’t be back in time to meet you. We’re all so excited you’re finally here!”

Jungkook’s somewhat confused, his head whirling. “Who’s Namjoon?” he asks, although the second question he really wants to ask is, why would everyone be excited to finally meet him? He doesn’t notice Hoseok poke Seokjin sharply in the ribs, nor Seokjin wince and catch himself.

“Oh, that’s right,” Seokjin says sheepishly as they trudge up the driveway to the main house. “I forgot you, uh, you don’t know who Namjoon is. He’s the leader of our collective, our manager, so to speak. He’s away on business.”

He pushes the front door open and ushers Jungkook into a wide, brightly lit living space with an open kitchen, where a slight man in an apron looks up from his chopping board. The hot, savory smell of sizzling beef makes saliva pool instantly in Jungkook’s mouth, and he swallows. 

The living room is clearly well lived in. There are piles of books stacked on side tables, a sweater slung haphazardly over the back of a long, L-shaped couch made of a buttery, luxurious leather, and shoes that have been toed off and abandoned just inside the doorway. 

Hoseok tsks loudly. 

“Sorry, these heathens might keep the workshop neat, but in here they never clean up after themselves,” he sighs. “No matter how much I nag.” He nudges the shoes into line with his foot, scoops up the sweater in one deft move and hangs it on a hook. He moves through the living room, tidying swiftly as he goes. The book stacks get straightened, knick-knacks pushed into line, and stray items of clothing are added efficiently into the bundle of his arms. “Be right back,” Hoseok says. “Let me put all this away first.” 

“Yoongi, my love,” Seokjin says to the man in the kitchen. “Our guest is here.”

“Just in time. Food’s ready.” The man tugs off his apron and smiles at Jungkook with a piercing gaze and a surprisingly gummy smile. “You’re Jeon Jungkook, right? I’m Min Yoongi.”

Dazzled, Jungkook bows. “Min Yoongi-nim,” he says sincerely. “You’re the woodworker. I’m honored to be here.”

“I’d offer my hand to shake, but I might have some sauce on me,” Yoongi says, lifting one shoulder in acknowledgment. “It’s good to meet you, Jungkook. Why don’t you take a seat at the table? I’ll bring the food right over.”

Jungkook shakes his head emphatically. His mother didn’t raise him to be that kind of guest. “No, please,” he insists, “let me wash my hands and help. What can I do?”

Yoongi seems about to protest, but sees how eager Jungkook is and changes his mind. “Of course,” he says. “Can you help set the table? Forks and knives in this drawer, and plates are already on the counter. Six places, please.”

Jungkook hangs up his jacket, then steps into the kitchen and cleans up quickly at the sink. Yoongi is clearly a proponent of wash-as-you-go, because the kitchen is spotless, despite the fact that he’s been cooking up a storm. Six places, Jungkook calculates. He’s met three of them, now. There must be two more. 

“Boys,” Seokjin says into a wall phone near the entryway, “dinner time, chop chop.”

Jungkook ranges the plates neatly on the table and is in the midst of setting down the last few sets of cutlery when he hears two new voices. 

“I was in the middle of a game,” one of them complains. “What’s the rush?”

“Jungkookie’s not here yet, is he?” 

Jungkook startles at this odd familiarity from someone unknown, and he fumbles the last steak knife with a clatter. He looks up. The two newcomers are younger than Jungkook might have expected from such established artists. One of them, a lanky man with an abundant mop of dark curls, has draped himself over Seokjin’s back, tugging lazily at the shell of the older man’s ear with his teeth. The other, a man with sweet eyes and ridiculously pretty features, is mid-yawn when he catches sight of Jungkook leaning over the dinner table. They both freeze. 

“Tae,” the man says urgently. “Tae, he is here.”

“What?”

“Taehyung,” the pretty man hisses. “Jungkook’s here.”

Jungkook bites his lip. But when the man behind Seokjin quickly extricates himself and stares at him, eyes wide and surprised, Jungkook feels an odd flutter, something almost like recognition but not quite. The man has an intense gaze that seems to shoot right through Jungkook, and for a second Jungkook’s sure he’s seen his face before. 

An awkward silence falls over the room. The other newcomer smiles tentatively at Jungkook and flutters his fingers. He has a beautiful smile, and his eyes crinkle up. 

“Hi, I’m Park Jimin,” he says, “and you…you must be Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods. “Hello,” he says, and then he hesitates, because the man with the curls is still staring, and he glances over so that their eyes meet for a long, charged moment. Jungkook tilts his head. There’s a quality about him that seems somehow familiar. “I’m sorry, but…have we met?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from the man, and it feels uncomfortably like everyone in the room has arrested breath, motion and speech to listen to what they’re saying. 

“I’m not sure,” the man says cautiously in response to Jungkook’s question. “Have we?”

A frown pinches the middle of Jungkook’s brow. “I’m not sure,” he echoes slowly, uncertainly. “It feels like I might have seen you somewhere before.” He racks his brain a moment more, then shrugs apologetically. “Maybe you were featured in a magazine, or something?”

The room seems to breathe, the tension broken. 

“Maybe,” the man says. He looks unconvinced, but he flutters his fingers in a little wave. “I’m Kim Taehyung.” 

“Jeon Jungkook.”

“I know,” Taehyung says, and the slow, brilliant smile that lights up his face is so bright and inviting that Jungkook can’t help but smile back, even though everyone’s acting just a little emotional and a little strange, and Jungkook is honestly starting to wonder if he’s being kidnapped by a bunch of eccentric artists. 

He briefly considers running for the door, but he can’t move a muscle. 

He doesn’t really want to. 

Yoongi quickly breaks the strange silence by clearing his throat, and the moment passes. “Here,” he says loudly, “someone help me with these, and the rest of you can get seated.” 

“These” turns out to be a wooden board piled high with steak sandwiches, and bowls filled with side dishes that Yoongi has probably slaved over for a significant amount of time. There are garlic butter mushrooms, an artfully tossed bowl of greens and fresh strawberries, and succulent chicken nanban: golden, fried slabs of chicken slathered over with egg salad. In his seat between Seokjin and Yoongi, Jungkook’s abashed and still feeling very out of place, but across the table, Hoseok notices the expression on his face.

“Hey,” Hoseok says reassuringly, “this is just a regular weekday meal for us. Sometimes Yoongi-hyung just likes to spoil us a little bit, isn’t that right?”

Judging by the uncontrollably fond look on Yoongi’s face as he looks around the table, Hoseok doesn’t seem to be exaggerating, and Jungkook does his best to relax. 

“Everything looks and smells so good,” he says with genuine feeling. “Thank you, really, for having me.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Seokjin says. “Come on, don’t be shy. Take more.” He piles Jungkook’s plate with so much food that Jungkook protests laughingly. Seokjin pouts teasingly, and what can Jungkook do, really, in the face of someone who looks as handsome as that? He takes the plate and bobs his head in abashed thanks. 

“Thank you for dinner, hyung,” Hoseok says to Yoongi, and the others echo him. Jungkook notices that Seokjin is the only one who omits the ‘hyung’ - he guesses he must be the oldest. 

“Dig in,” Yoongi says, waving at the food. “Every last morsel. Don’t put my efforts to waste.”

For the next few minutes, it’s clear that everyone is taking Yoongi’s words to heart. There’s nothing but the sounds of enthusiastic munching and the occasional clank of silverware as they apply themselves diligently to Yoongi’s food. Jungkook’s eyes nearly roll back into his head when he gets his first bite of the sando. He’s never had beef this juicy and tender, perfectly savory, juices bursting in his mouth. Heaven.

“So, Jungkook,” Jimin says conversationally, “Hobi-hyung tells us you work at an art shop?”

Jungkook does his best to swallow before speaking. “Oh, you mean Jung Hoseok-nim?” he asks. “Yes, it’s just a small place in Insadong. We sell mostly art pieces by local artists.”

Jimin hums. “We’ll have to drop by the next time we’re in Seoul,” he says sweetly. “Maybe you can show us around.”

“It’s a really small shop,” Jungkook says apologetically. “It’s not much.” He must be dreaming - TBS coming to visit Wooju’s little art consignment shop? He can just imagine Wooju fainting if one of the TBS artists showed up at the shop unannounced. Or announced. Either way.

“You stock our retail pieces, after all.” Taehyung says archly, pointing a finger at him. “It’s gotta be pretty good, then.”

They hoot with laughter around the table at this insouciance, and Taehyung just leans back in his chair and smirks, pleased at the reaction he’s gotten out of them. 

“Brat,” Yoongi says to Taehyung lightly, as he casually puts more bread on Jungkook’s plate. “Show some humility, will you?”

Jungkook laughs. “No, he’s right, honestly, stocking art from The Blue Side makes us that much better.”

“Tell Jimin,” Seokjin says with a mouth full of food. “About the sales.”

“Our shop sold all your abstract hangul silhouettes in less than forty-eight hours after we unpacked them and put them on display,” Jungkook tells Jimin obligingly.

Jimin beams toothily at the news, but looks straight at Jungkook, eyes keen and searching, as if Jungkook’s opinion is far more important to him than any sort of sales figure. “But did you like them?” 

“They’re so fluid, like they’re in motion,” Jungkook says, fervently. “As if metal could flow.” He doesn’t mean to gush, but he hopes Jimin can see the sincerity in his eyes.

“Metal does flow. All you need is enough heat.” Jimin’s gaze rakes slowly and purposefully over Jungkook.

There is heat, glowing warmth in Jungkook’s face, creeping up his ears, as he interprets the way Jimin’s looking at him, like he’s a treat he wants to taste, and to his surprise Jungkook thinks he might actually like it. He flushes anyway.

“Don’t mind him,” Yoongi says reprovingly. “He likes to tease. Jiminie, behave.”

But Jimin’s voice is suddenly gentle and his gaze is penitent when he speaks again. “I won’t tease, I promise. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Jungkook.”

Jungkook ducks his head, embarrassed by the sudden attention. “S’ok,” he mutters (“I don’t actually mind,” he doesn’t say out loud), and hides his flaming face by applying himself diligently to the mountain of food they’ve heaped on his plate. 

The rest of the dinner is fairly uneventful; the five artists ply Jungkook with questions about himself that he does his best to answer. They’re polite, engaging and friendly - and their interaction flows surprisingly easily, with all of the five drawing Jungkook into the conversation. Jungkook finds himself thoroughly enjoying the dinner, despite his initial reservations. He would have been happy enough to just listen to them chatter amongst themselves; after all, it’s plain to see how comfortable and close they are with each other, with a familiarity that sits easily on them. It’s enviable, really. 

By the time they’ve made a significant dent in their dinner, most of them have begged off finishing whatever’s left, too full to continue, and to Jungkook’s surprise they all quickly and efficiently help to clear up; Hoseok pulls on yellow rubber gloves and begins washing dishes, while the others pack up leftovers and clean the table. They’re so cheerful and sunshiny while they work, teasing and chattering away, that Jungkook feels quite content watching them, almost wistful for the relaxed, cheerful banter they share. 

What must it be like to have this every day? 

But Yoongi unwittingly breaks him out of his reverie. 

“Here,” Yoongi says, patting the couch next to him, “would you like a drink? You don’t need to do anything, you’re our guest.”

Jungkook remains standing, however, and a quick glance at the wall clock confirms his decision. “I really should get going,” he says regretfully, although he allows himself a tiny, yearning look back at the kitchen. “It’s a long ride home and it’s almost midnight.”

“Yah,” Seokjin snaps his head up sharply from where he’s been bent over the dining table, wiping up the last of the spills. “Look here. We can’t possibly let you bike all the way back to Seoul this late at night.”

“It’s very dangerous,” Taehyung pipes up helpfully from the kitchen.

“And very dark,” Jimin adds soberly.

Abashed, Jungkook shifts his weight from foot to foot, unsure of what to do next. He has to admit that the thought of getting back on the motorbike in the dead of night and riding two or more hours back to Seoul on a full belly isn’t very appealing. Perhaps he could head to a motel or a sauna for the night. He wonders where the nearest one is. He could search on Naver - the town shouldn’t be too far away.

But then Hoseok calls over his shoulder from the sink, “We have room, you know. You could stay the night here. Leave in the morning.”

Jungkook startles at this, his eyes going round and wide. He hasn’t slept over in anyone’s house since he started having dreams, worried that he might wake up screaming or worse. “I couldn’t possibly impose on your generosity anymore,” he says slowly.

Jimin pops his head from around the refrigerator door where he’s putting boxes away. “We have a private guesthouse,” he offers. “The cabin down by the lakeside. It’ll be no trouble at all, and you’d have the whole place to yourself. The rooms are always kept prepped for guests.”

Jungkook’s resolve, already weak, is rapidly crumbling. Down by the lake, a good walk from the main building, no one would hear him if - when - he woke up from his dreams. “Well…” he stammers. “I don’t…I don’t really have anything…”

“That’s fine,” Yoongi says comfortably. “You’re about Namjoon’s size, maybe. Or Jin-hyung’s. We can lend you some spare clothes if you need some, and the guest rooms are already stocked with toiletries and things.”

Five pairs of expectant eyes stare at him. Jungkook bites his lip, but clearly there’s no real reason for him to resist, and he caves easily when he realizes they have everything sorted out for him. “I’ll leave straight away in the morning,” he promises fervently. “I won’t bother you guys more than I already have.”

With a dismissive hand, Seokjin waves away his protestations. “It’s really no bother. I’ll show you to the lake house. You had a long trip out to get there; you look like you could use some rest.”

“Sleep well, Jungkook,” Hoseok says warmly, and Jimin and Taehyung echo their goodnights. Yoongi just smiles and waves, the faintest crook of his slim fingers. 

Jungkook hastily bows to them. 

“Thank you so much, all of you,” he says sincerely, wishing for better, more eloquent words than his frazzled brain is capable of. “It’s been… I had a really nice evening.”

And as he follows Seokjin out the door, it suddenly strikes him that for the first time since he laid eyes on the porcelain dragon, he hasn’t thought about it once for the last few hours, except for the moment he was told he could have it. 

“Here we go,” Seokjin says. “It’s not fancy, but it’s cozy.” 

He pushes open the last of the doors in the lake house. It’s a simple room, with a minimalist wooden platform bed and a table and not much else, but Jungkook’s attention is caught by the long casement window that frames the perfect view of the lake and the hills behind it, lit very dimly by the bright, full moon. 

“You’ll see more of it when the sun rises,” Seokjin tells him, guessing what he’s staring at. “It’s too dark right now to fully appreciate the view.”

“It’s still beautiful,” Jungkook insists. They peer out the window together, as if to verify what Jungkook is saying. The hills are still visible in the dusky light, gentle smudges of shadow that hint at their verdant beauty. They slope all the way down to the lake, where the rippled surface throws back reflected glints and glimmers. It’ll be even more scenic in the morning, Jungkook knows, but right now he loves how it looks at twilight. He turns to say this to Seokjin, but the other man is already smiling at him as if he knows exactly what’s on Jungkook’s mind.

“We think it’s beautiful too,” Seokjin agrees. “It’s why we bought this place years ago.” He pulls open the door of the built-in wardrobe and shows Jungkook the contents. “Pajamas and slippers, extra blankets and pillows here, if you need them, okay? The bathroom was the first door on the left when we came in. There are toiletries in there already, and fresh towels in the cabinet. Just throw whatever you use into the laundry hamper when you’re done.”

They really do have everything prepared. Jungkook feels less like he’s imposing, and is starting to relax despite the prospect of spending the night in an unfamiliar room.

“Got it.“ Jungkook takes a last look out of the window, then turns and stops Seokjin as he’s about to leave. “Kim Seokjin-nim, about the painting. The one with seven silhouettes in it.”

“What about it?”

“You said one of the members painted it,” Jungkook says cautiously. “Who was it?”

Seokjin smiles, and it’s a little sad, and wistful, and fond. “Our leader,” he says. “Kim Namjoon.”

“Oh.” Jungkook thinks about this for a moment. “You didn’t mention him in the workshop, what he does.”

“He’s more of a collector and our manager than a contributing artist,” Seokjin explains. “Hopefully you’ll get to meet him soon.” He glances at his watch. ”I won’t keep you,” he says. “You should get some sleep, rest up. You have a long ride back to Seoul tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Kim Seokjin-nim. You’ve all been just…really kind.”

Seokjin winces, but the expression is more rueful than annoyed. “Maybe we can dial down the formalities a bit,” Seokjin says. “I think we’ve gotten to know each other a bit better, haven’t we?” When Jungkook nods tentatively, he smiles. “All right, then.” He turns to leave the room, and then as if on an afterthought, he turns back at the doorway. “You asked if I made the dragon,” he says. “I didn’t.”

Jungkook frowns. Isn’t Seokjin the ceramicist? Who else has that level of skill, to create such a detailed piece of art?

“It belonged to Namjoon, but someone else made it, a very long time ago,” Seokjin says. Jungkook’s eyes widen in confusion, while Seokjin’s twinkle. “You should ask Namjoon about it when you meet him. Goodnight, Jungkook.”

“Goodnight…Seokjin-ssi.”

The door closes quietly. 

Jungkook doesn’t take too long to wash up and get into the bed, which is more comfortable than it looks. Through the window, the moon is just visible through the wisping clouds, and although Jungkook could have drawn the curtains to keep it dark, he decides he’s probably not going to get much rest anyway, and that he’d rather lie in bed under the light of the moon, with the gorgeous vista of the lake and hills silhouetted behind it. 

Jungkook lies in bed and waits apprehensively for his dreams to wreck his night. His eyes flutter shut, his breathing slows and steadies, and he slips into sleep quicker than he has in months.

Jungkook sleeps, and for the first time in ages, his sleep is long, blissfully deep, and utterly dreamless.

“So.” Seokjin’s smile is tremulous. He can’t believe they’ve all held it together so well the whole night in front of their visitor. “What do you think?”

Jimin can’t even speak; he’s too choked up to make a sound. It’s Taehyung, whose arms are around Jimin, stroking his back tenderly, who speaks for him. “You were right,” Taehyung admits, and his voice is tinged with wonder and not a little bit of sadness. “He is our Jungkook.”

Yoongi exhales, long and slow, his eyes unseeing as he thinks back to the events of the evening. “He doesn’t remember anything at all,” he says quietly. “You could see it in his eyes. He didn’t recognize any of us, did he?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “No,” he says regretfully. “Nothing.” He perks up, beams a hopeful smile out at the others. “I think he likes us, though?”

“Who wouldn’t like us?” Taehyung shrugs. “I mean seriously, look at us.” He gestures around the room, eyebrows raised cockily. “We’re fucking cute.”

Grinning despite himself, Seokjin clobbers him over the head with a cushion, and Taehyung yelps and ducks, laughing. Jimin is still noticeably quiet though, and Yoongi, coming back into focus, wraps a hand loosely around Jimin’s wrist. 

“C’mere,” he says in his low, raspy voice. He tugs gently, and pulls an unresisting Jimin onto his lap, running his nose along Jimin’s temple. “You’re so sad, sweetheart.”

“Just…” Jimin sighs, heartsick. He leans into Yoongi’s comforting embrace. “I can still recall what it was like, ten years ago, when I looked into Namjoon-hyung’s eyes and remembered…everything.” He spreads a helpless arm out and shrugs. “That moment, hyung. You know what I mean. That life-changing, life-defining moment. In every lifetime, we’ve always had that, but it’s not working this time.” His eyes go glassy with fear. “We’ve waited so long to find him. What if Jungkook never has that moment? If he doesn’t remember us?” Jimin gulps audibly. “What happens in our next lifetime? What if this is it?”

“Stop it,” Seokjin says firmly. He leans over and cups Jimin’s face in his hands, stroking his cheekbone with a thumb. “You’re going to spiral if you keep thinking that way.” 

But Jimin’s too far gone to stop himself now. “What if we lose him?” Jimin begins to tremble in Yoongi’s arms, ignoring the way Yoongi desperately tries to soothe him. “We already lost him once. It was hard enough before. We can’t…I can’t lose him again.”

“None of us wants to lose him again,” Hoseok interjects gently. “Jimin-ah, come on, honey…” but it’s too late. Jimin’s entire body is wracked with sobs, and they all share a look of guilt and worry. Hoseok, miserable, cards his fingers through Jimin’s hair, while Yoongi sweeps his hand across the plane of Jimin’s back, over and over, trying to ease the taut lines of his constricted muscles, as if he can draw Jimin’s grief and fear out through his skin, murmuring against his ear. 

Taehyung springs to his feet and paces. He can’t stop glancing back at the sorry sight of Jimin huddled and shuddering on Yoongi’s lap. “Namjoon-hyung should be here,” he declares finally, almost angry. “I know he has that conference in California, but we need him to help figure things out. He should be here.”

Seokjin bites his lip. “I already called him,” he confesses, somewhat guiltily. “He said he’ll rush home as soon as he can.”

Jimin looks up at this, face splotchy and tear-stained, his breath still hitching in his throat, but hopeful. “Namjoon-hyung’s coming home? He’ll see Jungkook?”

“I don’t know if he’ll make it,” Seokjin says apologetically. “But he’s flying back.”

“In any case, Namjoon already saw Jungkook once, and nothing happened,” Hoseok reminds him gently. “Don’t…don’t get your hopes up, baby, okay?”

Jimin nods. “I know,” he whispers, then has to duck his head again to hide another onrush of tears. “God, I’m sorry,” he says, muffled against Yoongi’s shoulder. “So fucking stupid. But it just hurts so much that he’s right there, in the lake house, when he should be in here with us.”

Seokjin stands up abruptly, feeling responsible, desperate to do something to make things right. “All right. Come on,” he says. “We’re going to go wash up, and then we’re all going to go into the family room and cuddle. No one sleeps alone tonight.” He winces suddenly, praying the others won’t pick up on his mistake, but Taehyung is as quick as ever.

“Jungkook’s sleeping alone,” he observes needlessly, misery lacing his tone. They all turn and glance out the picture window at the lake house, barely a couple of hundred meters away, but the distance might as well have been a hundred miles. The lights are off, as far as they can tell. 

Earlier, Seokjin had noticed the dark crescents lining Jungkook’s eyes, and the way his shoulders slump almost as if defeated. He hopes that somewhere deep inside his shuttered mind, Jungkook remembers their home, and finds it inexplicably comforting, and sleeps well and deeply.

“We’ll fix this,” Seokjin says with more confidence than he can actually muster. He feels it keenly, that he’s the oldest, that he should be able to take care of all of them. The guilt goes shatteringly bone-deep that he’s not quite managing it. But he infuses his voice with as much authority and comfort as he can, and gently herds his boys up the stairs and away from the window, even as he sneaks one last look at the lake house and the man who doesn’t know they have loved him for lifetimes, invisible and asleep within its walls.

When Jungkook rouses the next morning to the harsh jangle of his alarm, he stretches, brushes sleepy dust from the corner of his eyes, and blinks groggily. The light morning sun is filtering through the window and onto his sheets. He yawns and stretches, breathing in and blinking at the scenic view. He smiles sleepily. That beautiful lake and the hills, just like Seokjin said last night - 

Jungkook bolts upright, his eyes wide and shocked, realization sweeping over him like a tidal wave. The bright morning sun. The lake and the hills. Everything from the night before floods back into his brain as he recalls where he is. But most importantly… most importantly… Jungkook’s used to being jolted violently awake in the dark of the night, long before the sun can ever rise.

It dawns on him that his night passed completely uneventfully, without a single dream.

Jungkook can’t remember the last time he didn’t dream, and didn’t wake in the middle of the night from it. He hasn’t slept better for the last decade or more. 

“What the fuck?” Jungkook mumbles to himself, disbelieving and delighted. “What the fuck!”

He can’t stop a giant, stupid grin from spreading across his face. What’s happening? Is he cured? Are the dreams gone? Maybe a night in Chuncheon in the guesthouse of five artists was all he needed to put a stop to the endless dreams that have haunted his nights for years. Jungkook snorts out a laugh. If he’d known it would be this easy he’d have hunted The Blue Side down a long time ago, would have demanded they give up their little lakeside cabin for him to sleep in. Would have invited himself in for dinner, would have done whatever he could to charm his way into their good graces…

Would life have been vastly different?

But Jungkook doesn’t have time to dwell on the ramifications of his wonderfully dreamless sleep. His hair is tousled, all curled and tangled from the night’s sleep, and he combs his fingers through as he checks the time. It’s just before seven in the morning - and Jungkook remembers that Hoseok said the artists all stay up late into the night. They’re probably all still asleep; it might be hours before they get up, and they probably have a busy day ahead of them.

The dream is over. It’s time for him to pack up and return to Seoul. He needs to get back in time to open the shop.

Jungkook moves quickly and efficiently, washing up and tossing the pajamas and towels into the laundry hamper there. He makes the bed neatly, tucking every last edge in - they’re probably just going to strip it and wash the sheets anyway, but Jungkook doesn’t want to leave the bed impolitely mussed as if he’s a paying guest at a hotel. He carefully straightens everything he touched, and then takes one last look out the window at the ridiculously beautiful view. 

The sky is lightening. When the sun rises, Jungkook supposes it will burn off the morning fog that curls, thin and wispy, around the tips of the verdant hills, drifting lazy tendrils down to the surface of the lake. It must be cool outside, and it’ll be colder when he’s on the bike. Jungkook tugs on his leather jacket and makes sure to zip it up snugly, closing the door of the lake house behind him as he leaves. 

The air outside is pleasantly chilly. Jungkook savors one last, deep breath and the cold morning air sears its way into his lungs. Both the workshop and the house on the hill, as expected, are quiet, their windows darkened, and Jungkook walks away from them not without a great deal of regret. The mist has covered the seat of the motorbike with condensation, and Jungkook pops the pannier lid to get a cloth out to wipe it dry. He really doesn’t want to bike all the way back to Seoul with a soaking wet ass.

“There you are,” Jungkook murmurs, distracted for a moment by the T-shirt bundle inside the pannier. He unrolls the shirt and plastic wrap just enough to expose the snout of the dragon and rubs it for luck. He wonders if Hoseok and the others will invite him to come back. He devoutly hopes so. 

He’s so focused on reacquainting himself with his little dragon that when he hears the soft but heavy thump on the grass behind him, he vaguely thinks it might be a cat. He doesn’t quite react until someone gently clears his throat.

Jungkook turns around, expecting Seokjin or one of the other artists to be there, but he jerks in surprise.

There, smiling at him, his gaze as warm and direct as Jungkook remembers, is the tall, burly man from the cafe, the one with the almond-shaped eyes, standing there as if he owns the place. 

“Hi,” he says, perfectly casually. “Remember me?”

“You?” Jungkook blurts in astonishment, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “What are you doing here?”

The man doesn’t answer his question. “Were you planning on leaving without saying goodbye?” he asks, but lightly, without any reproach in his voice. 

Jungkook gapes at him, this brash and smugly confident stranger who seems to think nothing of trespassing, and stalking, and who knows what other crime he’s capable of, when he looks like that? It’s been a very confusing series of events, and his head is starting to hurt. Jungkook thinks he must look like a fish gasping for air, the way his mouth opens and closes and no sound comes out, but he’s getting really fed up. 

“I have to be back in Seoul for work,” he stammers defensively. “My shift starts at half past nine. Wait. Who the hell are you?”

The man’s smile broadens, and his dimples deepen, and his eyes are so limpid. “I would have introduced myself sooner,” he rumbles. “But you ran away so quickly the first time we met.”

Jungkook’s suddenly incensed. Utterly enraged by the liberties this man has taken. Who does this guy think he is? What if he makes trouble for The Blue Side? Would he perhaps make Seokjin and the others regret ever inviting him to Chuncheon? Jungkook bristles, wrathful at the thought, and takes a step forward right into the other man’s personal space. 

“Look here, mister,” he almost spits out. “Just because you bought me a coffee doesn’t mean you can fucking stalk me all the way here?” Jungkook drills a hard, threatening finger into the man’s very solid chest, and sneers when the other man flinches and winces. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but this is private property, and if you don’t get lost this instant we’ll call the police!”

“We?” The man sounds almost injured. “Who’s we?”

“None of your business. Go on. Get the fuck out.” Jungkook jerks his chin at him. 

The man puts a hand over the spot that Jungkook has so mercilessly jabbed with his finger. “That hurt,” he says, but he’s clearly biting back a smile, and Jungkook is so infuriated and entirely bewildered that he’s almost ready to call the dude’s bluff, pull out his phone and dial the police. 

Then the other man lets out a small sigh. “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he says. He puts out a hand, his impish grin back on his face. “Before you make any other threats, I should tell you my name,” the man says, his dimples winking in and out as he speaks. “I’m Kim Namjoon.” 

Kim Namjoon?

Where has Jungkook heard that name before?

Then the penny drops, and it drops hard. 

Jungkook claps a hand over his mouth and muffles a single, horrified squeak as he stumbles backward, staring at the grinning man in front of him. It’s about half a minute before he can force a sound past his own lips. “You’re?” Jungkook wheezes. He coughs and tries again. “Nam…joon? Kim Namjoon-nim?” He chokes briefly. “The…leader? The TBS leader? Is you?”

“That’s me,” Namjoon says. He’s still patiently holding out his hand. He’s tall and broad, probably just a smidge less broad than Seokjin, Jungkook thinks fuzzily, but then again Seokjin is a tough man to beat in the shoulders department. Namjoon’s eyes, so intense on their previous meeting, are dancing with barely hidden mirth. The dimples are dimpling. Jungkook hates that he can’t stop noticing.

Fuck, Jungkook knows he’s flushing. He’s so embarrassed. “I didn’t realize!” He stops and clears his throat, because words are somehow coming out of his mouth in a shrill squeak. “God, I…uh. I’m so sorry I…”

“Tried to chase me off my own property? Accused me of stalking you?” Namjoon sounds much too amused for his own good. “Poked me in the chest with a very stiff finger?” He rubs the spot theatrically.

“God!” Jungkook’s face is burning. He thinks he might bite off his own hand in apology. He bows hastily and deeply. He is never going to live this down. “Kim Namjoon-nim, I am so, so sorry, I really…” A corner of Jungkook’s flustered mind realizes he’s probably completely blown any chance of being invited back. Ever. His heart sinks.

Fuck. Jungkook needs a deep, dark hole to crawl into. 

But Namjoon, tired of waiting with his hand stretched out, leans forward, grabs Jungkook’s hand and shakes it firmly. “You’re Jungkook, I know,” he says cheerfully. “I’m the one who should apologize. It’s my fault, honestly, for teasing you. I’m sorry. And actually, I’m very grateful you were so quick to defend my property and my family.” His eyes are twinkling. 

Family? Jungkook’s brow crinkles into a brief frown. He hadn’t realized they were all related. Don’t they have different surnames? Cousins, maybe? But then he shakes his head. It’s moot. They’re all going to be mad as hell when they find out how badly he’s insulted the head of their family. Jungkook winces.

“I’m sorry I missed you last night,” Namjoon continues. “I was away at a conference, and I couldn’t come back any sooner.” His smile is so warm, so inviting, Jungkook really can’t help but smile tentatively back. “I hope you’ll come again soon.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says inanely, and then mentally kicks himself for his profound lack of vocabulary. He’s just incredibly relieved that he hasn’t inadvertently socially exiled himself. “I’d really like that.”

“Great,” Namjoon says heartily. “You’re welcome anytime, okay?” He smiles. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Don’t be a stranger. It’s the same thing Hoseok said to Jungkook when he left the shop. 

“Thanks.” Jungkook is taken aback by Namjoon’s generous offer, after everything, but he tries hard to school his face into a neutral expression. “I would have said goodbye,” Jungkook says finally, “but I didn’t want to wake anyone up. I uh…I left a note in the lake house.”

Namjoon chuckles. “You guessed right. They’re all still asleep. Those boys behave like they’re still teenagers, sometimes. They’re up until ungodly hours of the night and then sleep in all morning.” The deep fondness for the men he’s talking about is clear from the expression on his face.

“Yeah…I figured. I texted Hoseok-ssi just to be sure, and he didn’t reply, so…” Jungkook shrugs one shoulder, smiling faintly. “They were really nice to me yesterday. I had a great time.”

“That’s good. Did you see the workshop? I heard you were really keen on it.”

Have they all been talking about him? Jungkook ducks his head self-consciously. “Yeah, they walked me through it. It was awesome. And uh…I heard you painted the oil I like.”

“Yes, that’s one of mine. I don’t paint very often anymore, actually. That was a one-off.”

“Hoseok-ssi said you painted it from memory.” Jungkook hesitates, struggling to frame the question he wants to ask without sounding absolutely insane, and decides to go with the simplest question. “Could you tell me more about that?”

Namjoon glances at him keenly, but doesn’t ask why, and Jungkook is grateful for it. Namjoon scratches his chin with the edge of his thumb. “It’s from a long time ago,” he says slowly. “A time when our family was happy and complete.”

Happy…and complete? Jungkook decides not to press this time, even though he’s curious. He’s worried he’ll drag up some sad memories - didn’t Seokjin mention they’d used to be seven? Maybe they’d lost one of their cousins. “It’s a beautiful painting,” he says instead. “I just thought…” Jungkook trails off. “Thought it looked like something I’d seen before.” He can’t quite read the inscrutable look on Namjoon’s face.

“It’s a fairly recent painting, if that’s what you mean?”

“No, I…” Jungkook wrinkles his nose. “I just…I dreamed something exactly like that, except I only remember seeing six people in my dream.” He shrugs and laughs self-deprecatingly. “Sorry, it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly if it made you take up Hoseok’s invitation,” Namjoon says reassuringly. “I promise I’ll be here next time you come, and we can chat more. About that, too,” he says, gesturing at the little dragon still in Jungkook’s hand. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook answers, smiling hesitantly back at Namjoon. “Yeah, okay.” He’s suddenly conscious of the time, and he glances at the other man apologetically. “Hey, I’m actually gonna be late, so I think I’m gonna go, and-” Jungkook makes a distracted gesture towards the bike. 

“Of course.” Namjoon nods and steps back. “We’ll see you soon, I hope.”

Jungkook packs the dragon carefully back into his pannier, conscious of Namjoon watching him do so. He mounts the bike, pushes back the kickstand with his booted heel, but then glances back at Namjoon and tilts his head, curious. He can’t get their first meeting at the coffee shop out of his mind, the way they’d stared at each other, the vague but pressing feeling that he recognizes Namjoon from somewhere. 

“Hey, uh,” Jungkook says uncertainly. “Kim Namjoon-nim. Have we met before?” 

He’s not prepared for the sudden wave of sadness, wistfulness and yearning that washes over Namjoon’s face. The other man exhales slowly, and his almond-shaped eyes never leave Jungkook’s face.

“Perhaps we have,” Namjoon says quietly. “In another life.”

Namjoon watches, his heart squeezing, as Jungkook rides down the gravel path and out of sight. Even after Jungkook is long gone, Namjoon stands, ramrod straight, watching after him, his eyes clouded over. He isn’t sure how long he’s been standing there in the chill breeze of the early morning, lost in thought, but the cuffs of his pants have already become soaked in dew when he feels arms curl around his belly. A face presses into the dip of the back of his neck, and Namjoon lets out a tiny sigh, his body relaxing into the familiar embrace. 

“I missed you.” Jimin’s voice is muffled, his mouth barely moving against the nape of Namjoon’s neck. 

“Missed you too.” Namjoon tugs Jimin around and nuzzles into the top of his head. Jimin’s scent fills his lungs, warm and sweet and smelling of the other four still fast asleep in the giant family bed. Namjoon has to squelch the immediate urge to sweep Jimin off his feet and bundle him back into bed to cuddle with the rest. Instead, he gently tilts Jimin’s chin up and leans in for a kiss. 

Kissing Jimin, Namjoon knows full well, always feels like coming home. The velvet plushness of Jimin’s bottom lip, the soft tenderness of mouths meeting; it’s like sinking into a cloud at the end of a long, draining day. Namjoon slides his hand into the curls at the base of Jimin’s neck. Sunlight warms around them, and Namjoon sighs contentedly into the kiss before Jimin breaks it off. 

“Hey,” Namjoon says lazily, lipping at the tip of Jimin’s nose. “I wasn’t quite done.” 

Jimin smiles, but it doesn’t really reach his eyes, and he doesn’t kiss Namjoon again. He worries at his lip for a second, and then his glance flickers over to the gravel lane, and the brown, scuffed indents where Jungkook’s bike had been parked. 

“Did Jungkook leave already?” 

“About fifteen minutes ago.” Namjoon thinks of the tall young man with the dark circles under his doe eyes, and once again his chest twinges. 

Jimin looks at him knowingly. “Yeah,” he says. “Makes your heart hurt, huh?”

Namjoon doesn’t need to answer that question. Jimin knows him inside and out, every last atom. Years of history between them will do that. “How did it go last night?”

Jimin’s expression is forlorn. “Oh, it was so good, but so tough, too. I think we all looked straight into his eyes at some point, but nothing. He doesn’t recognize any of us. It’s not working, hyung. Why isn’t it working?”

“I wish I knew.” Namjoon draws in a ragged breath. “This has never happened before.” Of all of them, he’s the one who should have a handle on everything, and yet this phenomenon utterly confounds him. He hates that he can’t fix this, that he doesn’t even know where to begin to fix this. He cards his fingers through Jimin’s hair, a gesture that is a futile attempt to calm himself as much as it is to soothe Jimin. 

Namjoon aches, deep down. No matter how happy the six of them are, there will always be a gaping hole still, an emptiness, that they will never be able to fill, until they’re reunited as seven. He had so much hope, that moment when he locked eyes with Jungkook at the cafe, that the time had finally come, that they would finally be complete again. Devastation broke over him like a wave of ice when he understood that Jungkook hadn’t actually recognized him, despite his first jolt when it almost seemed as though something had flickered in Jungkook’s eyes, before a wall had come down between them. 

Namjoon cannot figure it out. Everyone’s hurting, all of them, and Namjoon is crumbling like bitter ash inside, ready to disperse on the wind, because he can’t figure out how to fix it. The breeze around them grows chilly, and Jimin shivers. Namjoon tightens his arms around him apologetically.

“Hey.” Jimin holds Namjoon’s face in his palms, alert to the internal battle Namjoon is waging with himself. “Don’t beat yourself up. The most important thing is that we found him, right?”

Namjoon nods wordlessly, thankful for the soothing touch of Jimin’s dry hands on his face, grounding him to the present. “Yeah,” he says finally. “At least we found him.” He manages to smile, and Jimin smiles back, reassuring and full of love. 

“You know, Yoongi-hyung said we should do this the hard way,” Jimin remarks. He tucks a stray lock of hair behind Namjoon’s ear. “It’s not a bad idea, is it?”

Namjoon raises a brow, assessing the thought for a moment, mulling over the possibilities. “You mean - win him over, all over again? Court him? As if we don’t have hundreds of years of history behind us?”

Jimin shrugs lightly. “You say it like it’s a bad thing. It won’t be a chore, you know.”

Namjoon has to admit, it’s really not a bad thing. An enjoyable thing, actually, to relive this romance he has already lived nearly twenty times. He thinks, longingly, of the first time he wooed Jungkook. The first time they kissed, on a road beside a rice paddy somewhere in Busan. The first time Jungkook carefully tugged his hanbok open, sliding a tentative but determined hand across the small of Namjoon’s back. The conversations they had until way after nightfall, Jungkook earnest and bubbling over with delight, laughing at the others’ jokes. Namjoon blooms, just a little, at the memories. Yes, he thinks, his heart soaring. It’s not a bad thing at all. 

“It’s a start,” Jimin says, “and it could help him remember. And even if it doesn’t…” Jimin suppresses a shudder at the thought, but his eyes are hopeful. “He might still fall in love with us anyway.”

“You’re right.” A sigh gusts out of Namjoon. “Yoongi’s right.”

“It’s a start,” Jimin repeats. “And it’s something for us to do. We can’t…we can’t just sit around and stare at him and hope it suddenly clicks. We have to do something.”

“Okay,” Namjoon whispers, before Jimin can get more worked up. “We’ll try it. But we have to go slow. We don’t want to scare him away.” 

The look of hope on Jimin’s face makes Namjoon soften, and he drops a tender kiss on his crown, reveling in the feel of Jimin’s cornsilk hair on his lips. He suddenly misses the others, misses the way everyone curls into each other in the family bed. 

“Are the rest still sleeping?” Namjoon asks, and Jimin catches the faint wisp of yearning in his voice.

“Like logs,” Jimin says. He curls his fingers into the hem of Namjoon’s shirt and leans in to catch Namjoon’s lip between his teeth. He tugs, for a moment, and then lets go, laughing teasingly at the look that has suddenly darkened Namjoon’s eyes. “Come on, you big baby,” Jimin sighs, and he leads an obliging Namjoon towards the house. “Let’s go back to bed.”

It’s been almost a week since Jungkook returned from Chuncheon with a bad case of helmet hair, a sore tailbone, and a not-so-secret yearning for beef sandos and a certain house with a lake view. To his abiding disappointment, the dreams returned with a vengeance when he got back home, and a good night’s sleep has been as elusive as it has ever been. 

Jungkook muffles a yawn, and even just doing that makes his face hurt, as if he’s been in one position for much too long. He’s had a busy week. The TBS items have been popular - not only for sales but for enticing would-be customers into the shop to browse, with the last triptych of Seokjin’s moon jars placed strategically in the shop window below one of the minimalist oil paintings. Even if customers don’t buy the TBS art pieces (understandable, since they tend to be on the pricier side), they usually end up buying something else that catches their eye. 

The oil of the seven silhouettes hasn’t sold yet, though there have been several who admired it. Jungkook deliberately put it where he can periodically glance at it from his perch at the counter. Those train tracks… Jungkook frowns, as he has a hundred times that week. What did he dream? What happened in his dream? It’s a maddening itch he can’t quite scratch. It’s frustrating to suffer the effects of dreams he can’t even recall the next day. A wave of exhaustion rolls over Jungkook, smothering him like a heavyweight eiderdown. Jungkook lets his eyelids droop. It’s almost closing time. No one’s going to come in this close to…

There’s a loud, violent buzz, and Jungkook snaps upright. He glances blearily at his phone. It’s just past closing time; he must have dozed off for a couple of minutes. Checking his messages, he finds a whole bunch from an unknown number. 

Unknown:
Hello
Is this Jungkook?
This is Yoongi
Ah, Min Yoongi from The Blue Side?
I asked Hoseok for your number, I hope it’s okay
Sorry if I’m bothering you
I’m in Seoul, and I was just wondering if you’d like to grab a bite before I head back to Chuncheon
Let me know if that’s okay?
If you’re free, I mean

A smile quirks at the edges of his lips, and Jungkook raises his eyebrows. He’s been texting Hoseok once in a while, nothing too major, and this is…unexpected. But he’s certainly not opposed. He’s tickled, rather, by the deferential, polite way Yoongi is reaching out. And meeting Yoongi for dinner is a much better way to spend his evening than vegetating on his couch, mindlessly channel surfing, as he’d planned to.

Jungkook:
Sure, Yoongi-ssi. Just need to close up first. Where should we meet?

He doesn’t wait for a response and starts closing up: shutting down the sales system, doing a last quick run-through and tidying up the counter. He locks the front door and pulls down the aluminum shutters, keying in the code for the security alarm. By the time he’s ducked into the bathroom to dampen his hair and run his fingers through unruly locks just on the edge of too long, his phone is buzzing again.

Min Yoongi:
I think I’m in the parking lot behind the shop
No rush - whenever you’re ready

Mildly surprised by Yoongi's alacrity, Jungkook raises his eyebrows again. The man moves quickly. He finger combs his hair one last time and dashes out the back door. A black MPV is sitting in the lot, its engine off. Jungkook can just about make out Yoongi’s face through the windshield, and he waves tentatively as Yoongi emerges from the car. He’s dressed casually - baggy cargo pants and a black tee, so Jungkook doesn’t feel too self-conscious about the fact that he’s in smart casual work clothes himself. Yoongi gives Jungkook a gummy smile, so cheerful that Jungkook can feel how pleased he is to see him. It makes something inside him light up. 

“Hi,” Jungkook says breathlessly. “Thanks for coming all the way here to pick me up.”

“Long day? Are you tired?”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook lies. He’s only too conscious of the persistent throbbing in the back of his head, a clear sign that he’s exhausted, but he smiles back at Yoongi. “Do you want to come in for awhile? Take a look around?”

Yoongi hesitates. “I don’t want to intrude,” he says, but his quick side glance to the door of the shop gives his obvious interest away. “Hoseok said he really loved what he saw.”

“It’s no trouble at all. I’d love to show you around.” 

Jungkook leads the way into the shop, flicking on the lights and watching Yoongi’s expression carefully for his reaction. Yoongi doesn’t say anything at first, but Jungkook can see the way his eyes tick around the room, and his shoulders seem to relax a little. 

“Wow,” Yoongi says eventually. “I wasn’t expecting this.” He looks surprised and pleased, and Jungkook watches as he moves carefully around the shop space, even picking up some items to take a closer look. He smiles when he sees the oil painting Jungkook loves so much, and Jungkook ducks his head shyly when Yoongi glances back to the counter, apparently making the connection that it’s been strategically placed there so that anyone seated at the counter would have it in his line of sight. 

Much like Hoseok, Yoongi asks thoughtful questions as he moves through the shop and points out the pieces that catch his eye. He lingers over a small marble sculpture displayed on a side table. It’s a smooth disc of honed marble, beset on either side by ruffled clouds, and rising from rugged mountain peaks. “This is beautiful,” Yoongi says softly. He crouches down to have a better look. “Can I…?” 

“Please,” Jungkook says, delighted with Yoongi’s visceral reaction to the piece. “That’s a replica of ‘Full Moon’, by Baek Jinki.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of him,” Yoongi murmurs. He reaches out a single finger and runs it ever so lightly over the top of the marble moon, admiring it for a long moment more before he straightens up and continues looking around. “I love how you made this place so inviting. It feels warm, and cozy. A lot of people feel that art is…”

“Beyond their reach?” Jungkook nods as he completes Yoongi’s sentence. “Yeah, it was my idea to create these displays to look like someone’s living room, to show people how art can so easily integrate into your own homes. Wooju loved the idea and we created the displays together over a few months? I curated these parts - this side, see?” Jungkook points out his favorite display, a live-edge teak bookshelf with books and meticulously chosen pieces of art arranged just so on its shelves, including a long, lithe wooden cat from TBS that Jungkook now realizes must be one of Yoongi’s. Taehyung’s leather brooches are pinned onto a cloth pennant hanging on one side. “Everything here is for sale, but we wanted it to look organic. Like it can so easily be part of someone’s home, it’s not out of reach, you know? We want to show that art is attainable. It doesn’t have to be super expensive, not like…” Jungkook trails off, remembering belatedly that TBS displays many of its art pieces in pricey galleries.

Yoongi grins at Jungkook knowingly. “It pays the bills,” he jokes. “No, but you’re absolutely right, there’s a place for art in everyone’s lives. It’s why we deliberately send our small pieces, mass-made pieces, and the B-grades to shops like yours, to make them more accessible to everyone, not just the people decked out in Louis Vuitton.”

“I hope we’ve done your work justice,” Jungkook says shyly. 

Yoongi hums appreciatively, and Jungkook feels warm at his obvious approval. “You absolutely have,” Yoongi says. “Thank you for showing me around. Hoseok was right. I love this place.” They smile at each other for a second longer, Jungkook pink and pleased from Yoongi’s praise, before Yoongi finally clears his throat. “So. Are you hungry?

“Really hungry, so your text was heaven-sent.”

Yoongi laughs at that, amused. “Heaven-sent, huh? Is there anything in particular you’d like to eat?”

Jungkook doesn’t want to impose. “Anything’s fine,” he says, then he adds cheekily, “I should warn you though, I have a really healthy appetite.” 

“I know,” Yoongi murmurs, his eyes crinkling at the corners with fondness. “You always did love your food.” Puzzled, Jungkook frowns briefly, but Yoongi immediately senses his bafflement, realizes his mistake, and corrects himself, saying: “I mean - from the way you enjoyed dinner at our place.”

“Hard not to put away those beef sandos,” Jungkook answers. “They were really, really good. I think I’m salivating just thinking about them.”

“Okay, so that sounds like we should go eat some meat,” Yoongi muses. “Fried chicken?” The way Jungkook’s eyes immediately light up makes Yoongi snort gently. “Fried chicken it is. Are you okay if I pick the place?”

Jungkook hesitates, wondering if rich, famous artists eat fried chicken at fancy restaurants rather than the usual neighborhood franchises, and how much fried chicken could possibly cost if he lets Yoongi choose the restaurant. But he’s too shy to say anything, so he just nods. His bank balance will just have to stretch to accommodate whatever Yoongi picks. “Sure thing, Yoongi-ssi.”

Jungkook was initially worried that it could be awkward, alone with Yoongi, but it turns out that Jungkook has absolutely nothing to be worried about. Yoongi is just as down-to-earth and easygoing as he remembers, and they slide easily into conversation in the car as Yoongi drives. He is so good at listening, with his incisive responses and his clear interest in what Jungkook is saying, that Jungkook finds himself quite happily rambling on about his degree in art management to an openly admiring Yoongi, and his post-graduation crisis that led him to his current humble job. 

“Art management,” Yoongi muses. “That explains a lot. Namjoon’s gonna love that. What about art, though - do you - are you an artist yourself?” He gives Jungkook a sideways glance. 

Jungkook demurs quickly. “I can draw and paint some, but I’m just an amateur, honestly.”

“I’d love to see some of your work sometime,” Yoongi insists. He makes a left turn, cruising along the street for a place to park. “I’m sure you’re downplaying your talent.”

“I’m talking to an artist from The Blue Side,” Jungkook says in amusement. “I’m not sure I can downplay my talent enough.”

Yoongi snorts. “I’ll be the judge of that.” He glances sidelong at Jungkook. “If you’re comfortable showing me your stuff, that is.”

“No, happy to let you take a look.” Jungkook shrugs cheerfully. “I’m not in my head about my art. I know where I stand, and it’s okay that I’m not one of the best. I like selling art more than I like producing it.”

“So young and so self-aware,” Yoongi jokes. “Ah, here’s a space.” He deftly maneuvers the large SUV into the parking space, and when they alight from the car, Jungkook’s surprised that they’re in a nondescript street lined with a row of brightly lit pojangmacha doing brisk business. Yoongi leads him to one that sells chimaek, and they waste no time placing their order. 

“No, I’ll buy,” Yoongi squawks hastily, as Jungkook pulls out his wallet. “It’s on me, okay?”

“Come on, Yoongi-ssi,” Jungkook protests, neatly reaching around Yoongi, pushing money quickly at the seller. 

“You’re younger than me, I can’t let you pay!”

“You cooked a whole dinner for me last time, and this is just chimaek, it’s no big deal, let me pay!”

Yoongi won’t relent, though. There’s a quick and spirited tussle over Jungkook’s wallet, in which Yoongi gets very close to Jungkook’s face, which burns with warmth at his unexpected nearness. In order to put more distance between them, so that Yoongi can’t get any hint of his racing, traitorous heart, Jungkook quickly gives in and steps back to allow the older man to pay. They eventually snag a seat farther away from the moist heat of the grill, and Yoongi rubs his hands together when the lady plonks their food down - paper trays of steaming hot fried chicken, and two bottles of beer. They slide on plastic gloves and dig in. Jungkook is pretty sure he’s never imagined the elegant Min Yoongi of TBS grabbing a goopy wing nonchalantly with both hands and snapping the joint in half. The sight is delightful, and Jungkook watches him with the slightest bit of awe.

“You look surprised,” Yoongi notes around a mouthful of fried chicken dripping with yangnyeom sauce. 

“Just wasn’t sure the internationally renowned artists of The Blue Side knew how to eat chicken with plastic gloves,” Jungkook says airily. “In a pojangmacha, no less.” Strangely, he already feels comfortable enough with Yoongi to dare to tease a little, confident that Yoongi won’t take it amiss. Sure enough, Yoongi just chuckles in response, not bothered one bit.

“Ya,” Yoongi protests, laughing. “We’re really not that fancy.” 

“Beef sandos and truffle fries for dinner?” Jungkook scoffs. He smothers a laugh and ducks to the left as Yoongi holds up a retaliatory hand covered in sticky spicy sauce, threatening to swipe it against his cheek. 

“I have something to confess. That’s not really a regular dinner for us,” Yoongi says mildly. He gives Jungkook a sideways glance. “It was a little bit fancy because we had a guest we wanted to impress.”

Jungkook isn’t quite sure what to say to that one. He decides to sidestep it for now. He takes a sip from his bottle of beer. “So,” he changes the subject, “all of you at The Blue Side. Are you guys cousins, or something? Brothers?”

“What? Who?” Yoongi chokes on his chicken. 

Alarmed, Jungkook pats Yoongi on the back feverishly. The question goes unanswered until Yoongi grabs a hefty gulp of water to wash down the meat stuck in his throat. 

“Um,” Yoongi says eventually. He isn’t sure what to say. “We’re not…we’re not related, no.” He hesitates for a second, then takes the leap. “It’d be pretty gross if we were related, because, uh.” Yoongi waves his hand helplessly. “You know, six of us are…we’re all together.”

Jungkook gets it almost immediately. “Oh. Ohhh. ” A flush mantles Jungkook’s face, the pink and red of it spreading across his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Namjoon-nim said you were a family, so I assumed…”

“Yes, well.” Yoongi clears his throat, his eyes twinkling. “Not that kind of family. Chosen family, we call it.”

“Right. So like, uh…” Jungkook trails off. “Okay, I understand. You’re all dating each other.”

The laugh that comes out of Yoongi’s mouth is more than a little amused. “Um, I’m not sure I’d call it dating…” he trails off, looking flustered. “I’m sorry. Yes, I guess it’s sort of like we’re dating, except we’re not.”

“You’re not?” 

Yoongi lets out a huffed breath. “I mean we wouldn’t call it dating because we’ve been together for…” he pauses contemplatively. “A very long time. There isn’t really a good word for it, I guess. Boyfriends isn’t my favorite word. I guess you could say we’re committed partners, all of us together.” He smiles. “Family.”

“Wow.” Jungkook takes a minute to think the logistics of this through, more fascinated than anything else. Somehow it makes sense, even though he only briefly saw them interact that night in Chuncheon, although he’s not quite sure what Yoongi means by ‘a very long time’ - he’s fairly sure they’re all only slightly older than he is. Jungkook suddenly recalls Taehyung nipping boldly at Seokjin’s ear, draped over his back, and his blush deepens. 

But Jungkook just has to ask, even though he knows how transparent the question will be. “So uh…” he pinks up, just barely. “So do you guys date other people, or…?”

Yoongi glances up and his gaze sharpens. “We don’t date other people, usually,” he says slowly, and then he smiles, “but we would make an exception if the right person for all six of us comes along.”

An unexpected feeling buzzes in Jungkook’s belly. “Okay, yeah. All six of you, together. I guess…I guess it makes sense.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi sounds relieved, watching Jungkook’s expression carefully to gauge his reaction, and he seems satisfied with what he sees. “Most people don’t know about our relationship, and we don’t bother sharing it with everyone.” He shrugs. “We want the focus to be on our art, not our sleeping arrangements.”

“Of course.” Jungkook’s honored that they’d confide in him. “It’s no one’s business but your own.”

“Cheers to that.” Yoongi lifts his drink, and they clank bottles cheerfully.

Jungkook must be more exhausted than he’s realized. The two bottles of beer go quickly to his head, and by the end of the meal, even though he’s really enjoying the easy conversation with Yoongi, the last bit of energy he has is melted away into thin air. He’s feeling almost light-headed, his eyelids heavy, and when he gets into the car beside Yoongi, he badly wants to succumb to the urge to let his eyes close. The alcohol is coursing pleasantly through his system and Jungkook tries his best to fight it off. He doesn’t want to be rude, for one, and he doesn’t want to jolt awake screaming from a nightmare in front of Yoongi, so he tries his best to make conversation and keep himself awake. 

“Thanks for the ride home,” he says. “It’s late though. How are you going to drive back to Chuncheon?” 

Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly. “We have a rented apartment here in Seoul that we stay in when we need to,” he says. “Don’t worry, I’ll head there for the night.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t be able to go back to Chuncheon tonight.” 

“No, please, it’s fine,” Yoongi says, waving it off. “I can always call a driver if I really want to get back home.”

“Perks of the rich and famous?” Jungkook taunts cheekily. He likes the way Yoongi rises gently to his bait, amused enough to joke back, and never taking it the wrong way. It’s new and exciting, the way they’re feeling their way around this friendship. 

Jungkook really likes it.

Yoongi groans and laughs. “See if you get beef sandos next time you come for dinner,” he warns, wagging a finger in Jungkook’s direction, and Jungkook’s heart thrills at that. 

“Next time?” he asks, and then kicks himself for being so terribly obvious. Even though both Seokjin and Namjoon have invited him back, he still wasn’t sure if it was just courtesy or if they really meant it. Third time’s the charm, Jungkook decides. 

“Sure,” Yoongi says, giving Jungkook a smile. “You’ll come for dinner again, won’t you? We cook for six all the time; one more mouth is easy to feed. You’re welcome anytime.” 

“Okay,” Jungkook says, and it’s so good, the warmth creeping over his chest, the feeling that these talented artists seem to enjoy his company and like him as a friend. “Yeah, I’d love to come visit you guys again.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, Yoongi’s playlist churning out smooth drive-time songs. The next time Yoongi glances over at Jungkook, though, about to ask Jungkook about his favorite music, his heart lurches in his chest. Jungkook’s asleep, his eyelashes fluttered shut over his closed eyes, his lips just barely parted as he breathes, even and slow. He’s so pretty, so fragile, the dark blooms under his eyelids looking almost translucent in the dim light of the cabin. Yoongi aches to lean over and press his lips to his. It’s been a lifetime since he kissed Jungkook. A lifetime of missing him desperately. 

Yoongi presses his lips together instead and resolutely keeps his eyes on the road. 

When he eventually pulls up at Jungkook’s building, however, he’s not sure what to do. He can’t bear to wake Jungkook up, but Yoongi wants to get him safe and snug in bed - surely he’d get better rest that way. He unbuckles himself and leans over. He hesitates for a moment, then rubs a thumb gently over Jungkook’s arm. 

“Baby, hey,” Yoongi says softly. He doesn’t even realize the endearment has slipped out accidentally. “We’re home.”

Jungkook smacks his lips, but he’s so far gone that he doesn’t rouse. Yoongi pats the back of his hand, trying to wake him gently, but he freezes stock still when he feels Jungkook curl his fingers into his. Yoongi’s eyes widen, and he glances frantically at Jungkook’s face, but his eyes are shut and he is clearly still fast asleep. 

Yoongi looks at their entwined hands, and he almost wants to cry. Having Jungkook’s hand in his after so long, after everything that’s happened, Yoongi never wants to let him go again. His heart is beating out of his chest, but despite how right it feels, it also feels wrong. Yoongi knows Jungkook wouldn’t do this if he were awake. 

And so regretfully, slowly, Yoongi attempts to slip his fingers out of Jungkook’s hand, but to his surprise, Jungkook just tightens his grip.

“Hyung,” Jungkook murmurs in his sleep. “Don’t go.” 

Chapter Text

“Jungkook,” Yoongi says. He feels warm, flushed, but it’s not from the beer. Carefully, unwillingly, he tugs his hand out of Jungkook’s before trying to wake him up again. “Hey. You up?”

“Uh…” Jungkook blinks blearily, then sits upright abruptly. He squints out the window when he realizes the car’s engine is no longer running, trying to make out the blurred shape of the buildings around him. Where is he? Home? Jungkook rubs his eyes, still a little too out of it to respond with any sort of alacrity. “Yeah, I uh… Yeah. Sorry. Are we…?”

“We’re outside your place,” Yoongi says, gesturing outside the car window. “But…are you okay?” His gaze is fixed on Jungkook’s face, eyebrows knit together. 

Jungkook panics, just a little. The concern in Yoongi’s expression worries him. Did he have a nightmare he doesn’t remember? “I’m sorry,” Jungkook says, almost frantically. “I get these bad dreams, and sometimes I react badly to them. Shit. Why? Did I say something?”

Yoongi frowns. “You don’t remember what you dreamed?”

“I never do,” Jungkook says. He winces, conscious of Yoongi watching him closely. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He peers at Yoongi in the dimness of the car’s interior. “Did I…did I scream or something? Cry?”

At this, Yoongi only frowns harder. “What do you mean? Does this happen a lot?” Yoongi asks, his voice quiet. “The nightmares are that bad?”

Jungkook shrugs, unsure of what the look on Yoongi’s face means. He searches Yoongi’s face, trying to parse his expression. “I guess,” Jungkook answers, wanting to downplay the nightmares. “I’m actually used to it.” He shakes his head, and tries for a light smile. “I have them almost every night. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Yoongi says finally. He sits back in his seat, digesting what Jungkook has just told him. “I don’t think you were having a nightmare. You…you called me hyung.”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s taken aback. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this. 

“You held my hand,” Yoongi offers almost casually, but his eyes hold a keen look in them. 

Taken aback, Jungkook splutters in surprised embarrassment at his own impropriety, but Yoongi doesn’t look bothered at all. In fact, the other man just smiles. 

“It’s okay,” Yoongi says, arching one of his brows. He opens his door and gets out of the car. “I kind of liked it,” Yoongi says over his shoulder, before he closes the door. 

Jungkook sits in the dark, stunned, confused, trying to reorient his thoughts when Yoongi comes around to his door and opens it. 

“May I walk you up?” Yoongi asks lightly, as if he hasn’t just made Jungkook‘s heart skip several beats. “I’d feel better if you weren’t alone, since you’re so tired.”

“Um,” Jungkook says stupidly, wondering why and how he’s always lost for words around these men. “Yeah, okay.”

In the elevator, Yoongi purses his lips and then breaks the silence. “You said you have bad dreams every night. How bad are they?”

“Pretty bad,” Jungkook confesses. He doesn’t look at Yoongi, but he feels the sudden need to be honest. “You know,” he says quietly, “that night when I stayed in your lake house? I didn’t have any dreams at all. That was the only night I’ve ever slept well in the last few years. Maybe longer.”

A look of pain and worry flits across Yoongi’s face, barely disguised. “If you sleep well in Chuncheon, then we should have just gone there tonight.” 

“I don’t mean - I’m not angling for an invite,” Jungkook starts to insist, horrified, not wanting Yoongi to misunderstand, but Yoongi quickly shakes his head. 

“I know,” Yoongi says firmly, “and I’m inviting you because we all want you to be there. And now that you say you don’t have nightmares there…why don’t you come with me tomorrow afternoon when I drive back? Stay the night? Then we can see if it happens again. Or doesn’t happen, rather.”

Jungkook hesitates, mentally flipping through his schedule, surprised that it fits. He only has a half day shift the next day, and the day off after that. It’s a gift he hasn’t looked for, that he hasn’t expected to receive, but he can’t bear to let go of it now that it’s been offered.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” he says finally, almost disgusted with himself for the naked hope in his voice that is impossible to disguise. 

But Yoongi’s smile is so wide and happy in response that Jungkook feels instantly better. “None at all.”

By this time they’re at Jungkook’s door, and Jungkook taps in his code, beeping it open. 

“Well, this is me,” he says. He isn’t sure what to do next. Does Yoongi expect to be invited in? But Yoongi is already shifting away from Jungkook’s door. It’s apparently enough for him to know that Jungkook is home and safe. 

“All right then,” Yoongi says. “I hope you sleep well tonight. Thank you for dinner, Jungkook-ah.” The smile on his face is unaccountably soft. It shouldn’t be possible, but Jungkook thinks he saw a similar smile on his face when he looked at the others in Chuncheon. 

“Oh no, thank you for the ride home.” Jungkook leans against the doorway, trying to squelch the impulse to reach out for Yoongi’s hand and ask him to come in for a coffee, ramyeon, anything to delay his leaving. It’s a struggle, but he reminds himself Yoongi has not one but five partners waiting at home for him. 

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” Yoongi says. He waves, and turns down the corridor, but then he turns again, as if struck by an afterthought. “You know, you can call me hyung, if you want.”

The harsh white light of the overhead lights limns Yoongi’s face in a surprisingly pearly glow. Jungkook wants to stare, and stare, in a world where he wouldn’t get told off for staring. The way Yoongi’s lip curves up in the corner, like the smallest of smiles that should look smug but doesn’t, makes the tips of Jungkook’s ears turn pink. He isn’t sure he trusts himself to speak, but Jungkook takes a breath and nods anyway. 

“See you tomorrow…hyung.”

That night, the ceramic dragon gazing sightlessly from its perch on his bedside table, Jungkook dreams of unquenchable fire. 

Hyung, save me , he sobs desperately, his breath catching in his parched throat. The next breath he takes sears the inside of his mouth. 

Flames are licking at his feet. The heat is intolerable. His shoes have caught fire, and the skin on his arms has begun to blister. Screams - not his - echo in his ears. He curls into himself, tucked into a corner with his cheek against his knees, trying desperately to delay the inevitable. 

Alone, all alone. 

This is the end for him. This is how it goes. 

I love you, he whispers hopelessly, finally understanding that no one is coming and that this is the end. I love you all, so much. 

When Jungkook struggles awake, weeping, he’s not sure if it’s from grief or relief. The dream itself is long gone, leaving nothing but ash in his mind and a sour taste in his mouth.

“Need the bike today?” Wooju asks with a raised eyebrow. He eyes the big duffel bag Jungkook’s stashed under the counter. He’s already heard all about how Jungkook ended up staying the night in Chuncheon, and marveled with envy at Jungkook’s private tour of the workshop. He’s promised not to breathe a word about their identities to anyone. 

“Ah, no,” Jungkook says. “Actually, Yoongi-ssi’s driving.”

“Yoongi-ssi?” Wooju whistles, long and low, impressed. “You’ll be calling him hyung soon.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer this, just coughs and turns to hide the expression on his face, knowing that it would give everything away. Somehow this is something he wants to keep to himself. He isn’t quite sure how Wooju would react to the knowledge that he is so quickly growing closer to the band of artists. Jungkook himself isn’t quite sure where he stands, the friendship between them so new and so fragile, and so he decides that it is information he’ll keep close to his chest for now.

When Yoongi texts Jungkook to say he’s out back in the car, nothing Jungkook says can stop Wooju from following him. 

“Cut it out,” Jungkook hisses, laughing as he hefts his backpack over his shoulder. “Play it cool, okay?”

“I’m cool,” Wooju hisses back frantically. “I’m so cool I’m an ice cube.”

“You’re an ahjussi, that’s what you are,” Jungkook snarks. He halts abruptly when he realizes it’s not just Yoongi in the car. The doors open, and Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok are getting out, and Jungkook abruptly finds that he really needs to breathe right now at the sight of the three of them casually emerging from their black minivan in the shop’s back alley. He chances a glance behind his shoulder at his boss and smothers a nervous laugh. If anyone is about to have an aneurysm, it’s Wooju, whose breath is shortening and whose eyes are growing enormous at the understanding that half of the famed TBS collective is standing right there in his humble shop. 

“Hi,” Jungkook says breathlessly, as all of them beam at him, seemingly thrilled to see him. “I didn’t know all of you were coming. This is, uh, this is my boss, Choi Wooju.”

Yoongi pulls off his sunglasses and holds out the other hand for Wooju to shake heartily. “Hello,” Yoongi says. “I’m Min Yoongi. It’s good to meet you.”

“I’m Choi Wooju. Wow, I’m so flattered,” Wooju babbles. “Kim Namjoon-nim, we’ve met of course, such an honor, very long ago, maybe you don’t remember? And you are…?”

“Jung Hoseok. It’s a pleasure!” 

Jungkook stands and fidgets as the other four make small talk, Wooju clearly dazzled and over the moon and the three artists more than gracious with their time. He gazes at each of them, all dressed in some combination or other of sweats or jeans with tees, and each one exuding an air of comfortable confidence. How do they look so comfortable and assured and perfectly put together in such casual clothes? How do they look so damn effortlessly handsome?

Filled with confused want and envy, Jungkook sighs internally.

“Namjoon speaks very highly of your shop,” Hoseok’s saying. “We’ll have to send you more of our pieces.”

“That would be amazing,” Wooju breathes. He’s so starry-eyed that Jungkook stifles a laugh, until he realizes with a start that he probably looked like that himself when he first met the artists. 

“Actually, we’re holding an exhibition soon,” Namjoon says pleasantly. His voice isn’t loud, but it’s so calm and commanding that Jungkook instinctively looks up. “In the Chuncheon Art Gallery, near our studio. We’re looking for someone to curate and manage a pop-up shop there while our exhibition lasts.”

“I don’t suppose you know anyone who might be interested,” Hoseok says, and the teasing note in his voice prompts a sharp intake of breath from both Wooju and Jungkook. 

“Is that…I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but is that an offer?” Wooju asks hopefully.

Yoongi laughs comfortably. “It is,” he says. “We love the way you so thoughtfully curate and display our works here, and we trust you to do the same in Chuncheon. Jungkook gave me a tour of the shop yesterday, and I was very impressed. I told the others that you guys would be perfect for the job. If you want it, of course.”

“We want it,” Wooju says, buzzing and alight with excitement at the possibilities. “Of course we do.” He grins suddenly, looking meaningfully at Jungkook. “You know,” Wooju says very casually, “it might be hard for me to travel between Seoul and Chuncheon often. I still have to run this shop, after all.”

Quick to catch on, Hoseok muffles a sudden chuckle, instantly grasping what Wooju is getting at. 

Jungkook just gapes at Wooju disbelievingly as his boss glances cheekily his way. “I’m more than happy to set up the pop-up shop under our shop’s name, and we’ll work together, of course - but I think it’s a great opportunity for Jungkook to helm this project. He’s young, but he’s full of enthusiasm and good ideas.”

“Seriously, hyung,” Jungkook mutters in Wooju’s direction. He knows he’s turning scarlet, but his heart is also leaping in his chest. He really wants to do this. 

“That sounds perfect,” Namjoon rumbles. He looks at Jungkook carefully. “Only if you want to do it, I mean, we don’t want to-”

“I’ll do it,” Jungkook interjects quickly. “Yes. I really want to take this project on.” Damn it, keep it together! He can’t stop the smile from spreading foolishly across his face. It’s a dream project for him. Dream clients. 

“Then it’s settled. The project’s yours,” Namjoon says, and he claps Jungkook on the back, his large hand lingering for a moment on Jungkook’s shoulder. “We’ll arrange a meeting and talk things out later on, but for now, I think we’re eager to get going. We have a long drive back home.”

“Of course,” Wooju says, bowing to the three men. “I really appreciate you giving us this opportunity.” He waves as they all get into the minivan, Hoseok taking the driver’s seat, and Jungkook waves back as they reverse out of the lot. Almost immediately, Jungkook’s phone buzzes, and when he taps on the notification, he bursts out laughing. Wooju’s sent him a message that’s nothing but a large, animated, dancing ice cube. When Namjoon, amused by Jungkook’s giggling, asks what the joke is, Jungkook explains it to them. 

“Your boss seems nice,” Yoongi says, and Jungkook nods cheerfully. 

“He really is, Yoongi-ssi…hyung,” he amends, and the way Yoongi lights up at this makes Jungkook feel a little funny somewhere deep in his chest. “He’s been really good to me.”

“Ah,” Namjoon says, and he leans toward Jungkook, his handsome face full of warmth and good humor. “Now I’m envious. You’ll call me hyung too, won’t you?”

“And me,” Hoseok chimes in, refusing to be outdone. 

A surprised laugh bubbles out of Jungkook. “I only just got to know you, really,” he demurs, “it’d be impolite,” but Namjoon wrinkles his brow at this.

“It’s not impolite if we say it’s okay, right? And technically, I met you first, at the coffee shop, so really if you think about it, it’s unfair if you call Yoongi ‘hyung’ and not me…”

“I met you second,” retorts Hoseok, not to be outdone even though he keeps his eyes fixed on the road in front of him. “Ya, you can’t leave me out just because I’m driving!” 

Jungkook can’t stop giggling at their insistence, and Yoongi snorts softly. “You might as well give in, Jungkook-ah,” he says, “they’ll never let it rest until you do.”

“I’ll try,” Jungkook promises, heartfelt. “Hey, I…thank you, really, for giving me the chance to curate the pop-up shop for TBS. I’m really looking forward to it. I promise I’ll do the best job.”

Namjoon shrugs lightly, and when he turns his gaze fully onto Jungkook, his almond eyes are like deep dark pools that Jungkook wants to sink slowly into. “We know you will. It’s a no-brainer, Jungkook,” Namjoon says seriously, “you clearly know what you’re doing, and you’re brilliant at it. You’re a perfect fit for us.”

Jungkook is startled at his words, and he flushes a little, pleased at Namjoon’s praise, even though he knows he means it purely professionally, and it helps to dispel the niggling doubt that maybe they’re giving him this project because they feel sorry for him. He straightens up. He knows he can do this. 

A perfect fit for them, Jungkook thinks wistfully. 

He’s not sure why this makes him feel so sad, all of a sudden.

Jungkook drops his bag on the floor of his room in the lake house, looking around in wonder. They’ve spruced it up for him, fully prepared this time for him to stay. Someone has thoughtfully laid out fresh pajamas and towels, neatly folded and arranged on the perfectly-made bed. The room is scented pleasantly with something warm and spicy simmering in a humidifier in a corner of the room. Jungkook cocks his head, sniffing and trying to identify the smell. It’s oddly familiar, somehow, the way smells can trigger a wisp of forgotten memory in the deepest recesses of the brain, but Jungkook can’t put a finger on what it is. He shakes his head and shrugs. 

There are lush houseplants nestled in a couple of Seokjin’s glazed vessels now, the greenery livening up the space beautifully. Jungkook’s favorite is some sort of viney plant curling down from one of Seokjin’s signature kintsugi pots: the creamy striations in the leaves bring out the beautiful gold cracks in the pottery. Next to it is a knotted tapestry hanging on the wall. Jungkook smiles fondly as he fingers the heavy tassels, recognizing Hoseok’s signature work. 

It reminds him of something important. Turning back to his bag, he starts to unpack it, unrolling the single heavy winter sock he’s pushed right into the middle, then carefully tugs the dragon out from its snug wrappings. He puts it down on the table and adjusts it just so. Its proud snout reaches upwards, claws stretched possessively over its pearl, right below the long picture window Jungkook loves so much.

Somehow, it feels right, the dragon perched right there. It fits. 

He’s unpacking his things, hanging his spare set of clothes in the closet, when there’s a hesitant knock at the door. 

“Come in,” he calls out. 

It’s Jimin. The other man peeks almost shyly around the doorframe, his lower lip caught between his teeth. 

“Do you like the room?” Jimin asks anxiously. “We wanted to make it homey for you.” He sidles in, encouraged by Jungkook’s welcoming demeanor. 

“I love it,” Jungkook says earnestly. “You shouldn’t have.” He smiles at Jimin, and angles his body towards him. “I appreciate the effort. You guys have been so thoughtful.”

“Yeah?” Jimin perks up, and the light shining in his eyes makes Jungkook warm. “Taehyung and Jin-hyung helped, too.” 

“It’s great. Makes me feel right at home.” Jungkook puts the last shirt on a hanger in the closet. “Is that some sort of essential oil or something?” Jungkook asks, gesturing at the humidifier placidly puffing gusts of condensation into the air. 

“It’s sandalwood. Your favorite.” Jimin beams, thrilled, then his face twists, and he stumbles over his next words. “I mean, uh, a favorite. Our…favorite.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever smelled it before, but it’s really good,” Jungkook says. 

Jimin looks somewhat nervous, which is oddly reassuring to Jungkook; it’s a relief to know he’s not the only one feeling a little shy and self-conscious around someone new. The smile that Jimin aims in Jungkook’s direction makes his eyes squint and his nose scrunch up, and Jungkook suns himself in Jimin’s obvious sincerity.

“There’s a skylight, you know?” Jimin says suddenly. He points up at the ceiling. “Right there. If you like, I mean, sleeping under the stars. You can open it.“

“Cool.” Jungkook brightens up and moves to open it immediately; it’s a simple sliding mechanism, and the wooden panel moves smoothly away to expose a rectangle of glorious, shimmering blue. Jungkook tips his chin up to savor the light pouring through. “That’s amazing.”

“I knew you’d like it.” Jimin claps his hands. “Anyway, I came to ask you if you want to come up to the main house,” he continues. “Yoongi-hyung is making something to eat, and the rest are all hanging out.” He points to a phone next to the doorway. “We just installed the telecom system in here for you, by the way - the number codes are on the handset, so you can call the workshop or the main house if you need any of us.” Jimin’s ears turn slightly pink. “And maybe we could all exchange phone numbers, too.”

Jungkook grins. “I have your number,” he says, “Hoseok-hyung gave them all to me. Maybe I’ll text you later so you can have mine?”

Jimin actually blushes, and Jungkook’s grin just gets wider. He loves the way Jimin’s mouth moves, the way a smile flashes over his face so quickly it lights it up from chin to forehead. He’s enjoying flustering Jimin; the other man seems so easily affected by just a little of Jungkook’s teasing. Jungkook likes it. It’s been a long time since he felt like teasing anyone, especially someone who looks at him so sweetly as Jimin does. 

As they stroll up to the main house together, Jimin chatters away nineteen to the dozen. He quizzes Jungkook on the customers who bought his line sculptures, asks aloud (but doesn’t exactly wait for an answer) how Jungkook plans his shop layouts, and manages to cadge an invitation to the shop along with the others. Together, they muse about the upcoming exhibition (Namjoon usually handles these things, Jimin says, the rest of us just want to make art, anonymously) and in return Jimin excitedly extends an invitation to watch them at work - ostensibly because it will help Jungkook plan the pop-up better.

It’s true, Jungkook convinces himself, but that’s because he doesn’t yet have the courage to admit to himself that watching their hands move over wood and metal, clay and thread, is to be part of a process so intimate that he thrills at the very thought of it. This is a group who firmly wants to stay out of the spotlight, to go unseen, and yet they seem to be so readily welcoming Jungkook into the fold. 

Namjoon pulls open the door when he hears them outside, and Jimin leans forward and casually kisses him almost without thinking, and then he’s moving past Namjoon and into the house. 

Jungkook glances up at Namjoon. He looks just the slightest bit self-conscious about Jimin’s open display of affection, but they just smile at each other. 

“Come in quick,” Namjoon says. “It’s getting cold outside.”

“Jungkook!” Seokjin calls delightedly from the living room. “Just in time. Come play.”

Yoongi groans from the kitchen. “Don’t,” he warns. “Jin-hyung is very competitive.” 

Jungkook raises his eyebrows when he sees what they’re playing. “Halli Galli?” he asks. “I’m pretty good at it, myself.”

“Lovely,” Taehyung says from his cross-legged position on the floor. “Come play with us, Jungkook, we’ll give Jin-hyung a run for his money.”

“You’re not playing?” Jungkook asks Hoseok and Namjoon, but they just laugh and shake their heads firmly. 

“I know better than to play Halli Galli with hyung,” Hoseok laughs. “I’m just going to help Yoongi with the food.” 

Twenty minutes later, Seokjin yells triumphantly, not for the first time, and his hand smashes down on the bell.

Taehyung throws his hands in the air and grimaces. “Seriously, this isn’t fair,” he gripes. “I swear hyung can’t be beaten.” He gets up in a huff and stalks away as Seokjin, smug as all hell, gathers up the cards on the floor. 

“Two down, one to go,” Seokjin says. He ostentatiously straightens his pack of cards and grins wolfishly at the last surviving opponent. Jungkook grins right back, unshaken.

“Told you not to play him,” Yoongi pipes up from the kitchen, where he’s making food for everyone. “Jin-hyung is a terror at this game.” 

Taehyung, clearly sulking, winds his arms around Jimin’s waist on the couch, where they’ve both retreated after being summarily knocked out by the reigning champion.

“Last one standing,” Hoseok shouts. “Come on, Jungkookie!”

“You may be cute,” Seokjin warns Jungkook coolly, “but I give no mercy.”

Jungkook won’t allow himself to be swayed by the compliment, even though it gives him a funny turn in his belly. Instead, it gives him a sneaky idea. 

“Not expecting any.” Jungkook leans forward on his elbows, a competitive glint in his eye. “Your turn, Seokjin-ssi.”

Seokjin deals the first card, and Jungkook follows suit quickly, cards flashing down on the table. Seokjin takes an early lead, striking the bell rapidly when the cards on the stacks add up to five strawberries, and casually gathering the cards up to add to his burgeoning deck. Jungkook scowls, but restarts the game. The cards go down. They both stare intently at the growing stacks. Five bananas. Jungkook and Seokjin’s palms both go crashing down, and Jungkook only just barely nicks the bell before the older man does. Jungkook gathers up the stack. Their packs are just about even now. He smirks triumphantly, but Seokjin just raises his eyebrows back at him. 

“Go ahead. You needed a bit of a boost anyway,” Seokjin says airily. “Don’t get complacent.”

Despite themselves, the others are watching and laughing, playfully calling out bets on the outcome. Jungkook laughs, full of satisfaction when he realizes they’re all taking his side. 

“Ya,” Seokjin protests, never taking his eyes off the growing piles of cards. “How can all of you bet against me? Traitors, all of you!”

Jungkook’s voice is pitched deliberately low. “That’s because they know I’m going to win…hyung.”

Seokjin inadvertently jerks, and his eyes flutter upwards and land on Jungkook’s face, wide and astonished, his mouth slack with surprise. Jungkook deals the last card, unperturbed, and then slams his palm down on the bell at the sight of five oranges. The bell jangles loudly in the sudden silence, then Jimin leaps from the couch, whooping with glee. Jungkook gathers up all the cards smugly. The others erupt into cheers and laughter, coming round to clap Jungkook on the shoulder, and tease Seokjin for sitting there with his jaw dropped. But Seokjin isn’t looking at the cards, he’s staring at Jungkook, whose face is flushed with victory, smiling hugely at the others.

“That was a low blow,” Seokjin finally says, but his mouth twitches with repressed laughter and there’s a gleaming sparkle in his eyes. 

Jungkook shrugs winsomely and blinks innocently at Seokjin. “What did I do?” he asks. “Hyung?”

Seokjin almost growls. “Using that against me,” he says. “That had better be the only thing you call me from now on.”

Jungkook winks, and he can hear Taehyung and Jimin hooting, Hoseok’s delighted cackle. Even Namjoon and Yoongi are laughing all the way from the kitchen. He feels warm with all the attention. It feels good. It feels nice. 

“I can do that, hyung,” he says, partly to tease Seokjin, partly because he likes the way the word feels in his mouth, round and lush and surprisingly intimate, and Seokjin reaches out and tugs him quickly against him in a brief hug.

“Good boy,” Seokjin says. Jungkook flushes. 

Yoongi claps. “All right,” he says, “time to eat.”

They all gather around the kitchen peninsula, with dishes laid out on it, rather than at the dining table. The spread is simple but hearty - plates loaded with the makings of ssam and jumeokbap, and various banchan that they’ve already started eating straight off the plates. Namjoon’s picking a grain of rice off Hoseok’s face, the latter standing still, eyes trusting and wide. Yoongi passes chopsticks out.

“Oh, are we less fancy today?” Jungkook chuckles, darting a cheeky look at Yoongi. 

“Brat,” Yoongi says, and ruffles his hair lightly. “The food was supposed to make it to the dining table, but it looks like everyone is too hungry to wait.”

“It’s more fun like this, anyhow,” Taehyung says. He deftly tucks a perilla leaf around meat and kimchi, and holds it up in his plastic gloved hand at Jungkook, eyes twinkling. “Say aah.”

Taken aback, Jungkook complies, obediently opening his mouth and letting Taehyung push the ssam in over his tongue. It’s delicious, and he makes a happy sound as he frowns in concentration around his mouthful. 

“Mm,” he says almost angrily. How dare the food be this tasty. “Mmmm.”

“Oh, I know you like it when you get mad about it,” Namjoon laughs. “Lots more where that came from.”

“There you go,” Taehyung says. He hands Jungkook a plate and plastic gloves and grins. “First one was free. From here on you make your own.”

“That’s no way to treat a guest,” Namjoon says, gently reproving.

Taehyung gapes at him. “Guest? It’s Jungkook,” he says, astonished, as if he doesn’t understand. Then he gasps as if in realization, and bites his lip. “I mean,” Taehyung stammers, then he gulps and goes quiet, his face beet red. 

“Of course I’ll make my own,” Jungkook says quickly, not wanting to ruffle any feathers, unsure but aware of the odd undercurrent pulsing palpably underneath the thin, brittle silence. “Please don’t treat me like a guest.”

There’s another beat, then Hoseok is the one who clears his throat and comes to the rescue. “Tae just means that it feels like you’ve always been here, don’t you think?” 

And in the face of Hoseok’s brilliant heart-shaped smile, with five other faces looking hopefully back at him, Jungkook can’t find it in himself to do anything else but nod shyly, something blooming inside his chest. 

Maybe it’s weird, and maybe it’s too fast, but for once in his life, Jungkook feels like he belongs.

Namjoon walks Jungkook back down to the lake house in companionable, comfortable silence. It’s late - very late, because even though they all did pretty much nothing after dinner but lounge around the living room and chat and laugh while a movie went completely ignored in the background, time passed so quickly that it’s already nearly three in the morning. Jungkook still can’t figure out how he feels so at ease with all of them. 

Perhaps it’s wishful thinking, too, but Jungkook has noticed the way they gaze at him when they think he’s not looking, the way their hands linger just a little on his arm, his shoulder, and on one occasion, his waist. A smile flickers over his face. After all, he’s been leaning into the touches, beaming back at them, enjoying the way they bloom when he calls them hyung. 

He can’t remember the last time he ever felt like this.

Maybe never, he muses. Probably never. 

But now he feels like a puzzle piece has neatly slotted into place in his life, and he’s almost afraid to wonder what it could mean. Had he really been aimless and drifting just a couple of weeks ago? Now he has an exciting and challenging work project to look forward to, a circle of new friends who seem to find him attractive, and his feeling of ennui has all but dissipated. 

If only he could sort out his dreams, Jungkook thinks wistfully. If only he could figure out what they are - and if they mean anything, and how they’re connected to Namjoon’s painting. Heck, if he’s honest, he’ll settle for a lifetime of dreamlessness, if it means getting a good night’s rest every night and never having to stress over falling asleep ever again. 

They reach Jungkook’s door too quickly, and Jungkook hesitates as he opens the door. He glances up at Namjoon. 

“You’ll be okay?” Namjoon asks, and Jungkook nods slowly. He’s a little on edge, perhaps, thinking about sleeping, wondering if the dreams will come, wondering if perhaps he was being too hopeful about staying in the lake house. He fidgets, and Namjoon catches the movement. His eyes crinkle in concern. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably vegetate for a little bit before bed.” 

“All right,” Namjoon says. “Goodnight, Jungkook.”

But as Namjoon turns to go, Jungkook suddenly can’t bear for him to leave. He reaches out without a second thought and catches Namjoon by the wrist. The other man instantly turns around, his eyebrows raised, his expression soft and inquiring.

“Maybe you could stay for a bit,” Jungkook ventures beseechingly. He winces internally. “To uh, discuss the pop-up?” He’s furious with himself, with the piss-poor excuse and the pleading expression he’s sure is plastered all over his face. He doesn’t actually want to discuss the pop-up. He’s sure Namjoon can see right through him, can guess how he doesn’t want to be left alone. 

But Namjoon just nods. Even if he guesses at Jungkook’s true intentions, he says nothing about his suspicions, and doesn’t question the late hour or Jungkook’s earlier protestations of exhaustion. “Okay,” he says, and he steps into the room and plops himself down on the platform beside the bed. 

Jungkook immediately has a crisis of confidence. Namjoon looks so calm and leisurely, sitting there, and then he pats the platform next to him. Jungkook lets out a tiny breath and goes to sit beside him, drawing one of his knees up to his chest.

“Did you really want to talk about the pop-up now?” Namjoon says with an absolutely straight face.

Jungkook chokes on his own tongue, suddenly realizing how this looks. “Um,” he says. He winces again. “I just…” he trails off lamely. “I’m really not trying to…”

Namjoon laughs, and he’s so relaxed and comfortable that it instantly puts Jungkook at ease. “I know,” Namjoon says, “don’t worry. It’s nice just to hang out, isn’t it?” He flicks his gaze upward. “I see you opened the skylight.” 

“It’s perfect.” Jungkook tilts his chin up to look. “You can’t see all these stars in Seoul, with the air and light pollution.”

“You love the stars.” It’s a statement, not really a question but Jungkook nods in affirmation.

“I really do.” Jungkook sighs happily at the view. “It’s like this room was made for me.”

Namjoon chuckles. “And you’ve brought this little one with you, too.” He jerks his chin at the ceramic dragon coiled arrogantly beside them. “Do you take him everywhere?”

“Almost everywhere.” Jungkook looks fondly at the dragon. He’ll never get tired of it, he thinks. So strong, so elegant, so beautiful. “He makes me feel safe, somehow. I know, it’s stupid. It’s just a statuette.”

“It’s not stupid at all.” Namjoon leans back, bracing his palms on the platform. “But why do you feel unsafe?”

Jungkook startles at this. He’s never thought about it this way. He frowns, trying to parse his feelings into words. It’s a struggle, and finally he ventures: “Maybe not unsafe, per se, but unmoored.”

“Aimless?” Namjoon says, as if he gets exactly what Jungkook means. “Lost? Like there’s something missing?”

A flicker of misery pulses through Jungkook. “Yeah,” he mutters, somewhat uncomfortable, feeling exposed yet understood. “I guess so.”

Namjoon looks like he’s about to say something, and then he changes his mind. “I hope you figure out why,” he says gently. “And I hope that being with us here makes you feel better, too. If the dragon brings you comfort, then I’m very glad you have him.”

Jungkook remembers something that Seokjin said. “The dragon belonged to you, didn’t it?”

Namjoon nods, and he seems far away in that brief moment, before he shakes himself and refocuses his gaze on Jungkook. “Someone made it for me,” he says, “an artist from long ago.” Namjoon’s smile is a little sad. “Someone who inspired all of us to become artists in this life.”

“Who is this artist?” Jungkook asks curiously. He’s fairly sure he’s never heard this part of TBS lore. An artist who inspired them? 

Namjoon clears his throat, but no words come out for a long moment. His almond eyes are fixed on Jungkook, great, deep pools of emotion. "Someone who’s long gone,” Namjoon says eventually. He drops his gaze to the floor, but not before Jungkook sees the moisture slide into the inner corners of his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says, alarmed and guilty for raking up what is clearly a difficult memory for Namjoon, of someone he obviously cared about deeply. Jungkook scrambles up on his knees, desperate to soothe Namjoon’s hurts, and instinctively reaches to pull him into a hug. To his surprise and dismay, Namjoon jerks away at first. He looks up at Jungkook with wide eyes, but Jungkook can see that he’s still somewhere lost and far away, so Jungkook leans in again, this time slowly and carefully, sliding his hand over Namjoon’s shoulder and coming in close. This time Namjoon’s arms come up around Jungkook and cling to him, holding on for dear life. 

“It’s okay,” Jungkook croons softly. “It’s okay, hyung.”

Outside, there’s a light patter, that Jungkook eventually identifies as a gentle drizzle when he glances out of the window. That’s sudden, Jungkook thinks, the sky was completely clear earlier, no hint of rain, but then he pushes the thought away and focuses on the man in his embrace. Namjoon isn’t exactly crying, but he’s taking great shuddering breaths in Jungkook’s arms, holding on tightly to him as Jungkook murmurs meaningless words against his ear and strokes his back. They sit there like that for a good long moment. Jungkook’s thigh nearly cramps up, but he can’t make himself move away before Namjoon is ready.

“Sorry,” Namjoon says eventually, his voice still a little shaky. “Didn’t mean to go all fragile on you like that.” He rests his forehead on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Thanks for the…for the hug.”

“S’ok,” Jungkook says. “Anytime.”

Bashful, and a little awkward now that the moment is over, they separate. Jungkook sits back on his haunches. Namjoon is slightly curled into himself, hunched over and leaning his weight on one arm, his palm flat on the wooden platform.

“Do you want the dragon back?” Jungkook asks quietly. “It clearly means a lot to you.”

Namjoon shakes his head vehemently. “No, please keep it. I like knowing that it’s here. Watching over you.” He takes a deep breath. “It gave me comfort for so long, and now it’s yours.” He shifts his weight from side to side restlessly. “Maybe I should…” he waves one hand wordlessly in the air, his eyes still hazed with the hurt he carries from some despairing memory deep inside his mind. “You must be tired.”

In that second, with Namjoon looking like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, Jungkook completely forgets that the other man has no less than five lovers who are doubtless ready and willing to coddle him and hug him and caress his worries away. In that second, Jungkook wants, selfishly, to be the one to do all that for him. 

“You can stay here,” he whispers, as if speaking softly will make it easier for Namjoon to ignore it if the invitation isn’t welcome. “I can hold you. If it will make it better.”

He catches the tiniest hitch in Namjoon’s breath and steels himself to be rejected, but then Namjoon nods, a quick up and down movement that Jungkook might have missed if he hadn’t been watching his face. 

“Yeah?” Jungkook asks, just to be sure.

“Yeah.” Namjoon nods. 

Slowly, almost worried that if he moves too quickly Namjoon might startle and run away like a wild animal, Jungkook gets up and turns off the light. He crawls into bed, and after a beat, Namjoon follows, climbing in next to him. Namjoon hesitates and then turns so that his back is facing Jungkook. Jungkook winds one arm carefully around Namjoon’s waist, then because he simply cannot stop himself, presses his lips very briefly and very lightly to the back of Namjoon’s head.

“Goodnight, hyung,” Jungkook murmurs.

There’s no answer.

Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed after a couple of seconds, and despite his earlier worries, he slips away into sleep almost instantly. He doesn’t hear Namjoon whisper, “Goodnight, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook dreams.

A golden eye, a bright eye, a single, slit-pupiled eye, that tracks every step Jungkook makes. But there’s no fear rippling through Jungkook, just utter delight.

He steps forward and flings his arms around a neck, burnished and gleaming in the dark.

Hyung, Jungkook says breathlessly. Hyung, you came.

I’ll always come for you, Jungkook-ah.  

Jungkook shouts with laughter as he’s jounced up and down.

Ya, another voice says teasingly, what about us?

Love you, Jungkook says, his heart burning with fierce joy. I love you all so much.

The phrase echoes, seven different voices, as if in some sort of great, deep chamber.

Love you, the wistful echo goes. Love you, love you, love you.

In the bed in the lake house, under the shimmering stars on a clear, cloudless night, one arm tucked around a gently snoring Namjoon, Jungkook smiles in his sleep and doesn’t wake till morning.

As the days roll by and his notes and ideas pile up, Jungkook’s easily persuaded, night after night, to prolong his stay in Chuncheon with the artists. Eventually, he only returns to Seoul on the occasional weekend to pop back into his apartment and pick up things he needs, or to drop by the shop to update Wooju in person. Even with his newly hectic schedule, staying in Chuncheon means that Jungkook has never gotten better sleep.

It’s not to say he hasn’t been dreaming at all, but they’re not as frequent, they’re clearer, and they don’t always jolt him awake at night - and when they do, it’s easier to fall back asleep with the dragon beside him and the stars above him. His room at the lake house is really his, now. Jungkook loves walking out onto the little boardwalk around the lake house when he wakes up, to sip a hot coffee, breathe in the fresh air and watch sunlight shimmer on the water.

The work for the pop-up gets well under way, and Jungkook has never enjoyed himself quite so much. It’s hard, exacting work, but Jungkook loves it. He’s run off his feet with meetings and planning and discussions with Namjoon, Wooju joining in virtually from Seoul; not only does Jungkook have to work out exactly what kinds of merchandise TBS can make and sell at the shop, he’s also in charge of deciding what other products can share the space as well. Curating the pop-up shop is a fascinating, if tricky, puzzle for Jungkook, but one he’s enjoying thoroughly.

The exhibit is an introspective, Namjoon explains, meant to explore how we can learn from our collective past in order to create new, beautiful futures. Jungkook nods seriously. They’ve titled it Mikrokosmos.

“Mikrokosmos,” Jungkook repeats, pronouncing the unfamiliar word slowly. They’re sitting around the dining table in the workshop so that Jungkook can pick their brains, get some ideas. “What does it mean to you? How does it relate to what you’re choosing to exhibit?”

“Infinity,” Seokjin answers. He throws his arms wide, as if to encompass an entire universe. “Eternity.”

“Worlds within worlds,” Hoseok says. “Like a terrarium.” He grins at the man curved against his back. “You like that idea, don’t you Joonie?”

Namjoon smiles back, his arm wound comfortably around Hoseok’s waist, warm and sturdy and so boyfriend that it makes Jungkook’s chest ache a little bit. Rapt, he realizes he’s been watching them a little too long and catches himself, flicking his gaze away quickly before they see him staring. 

“A capsule,” Taehyung muses. “Like a pill.” Jimin snorts and pushes him hard. “What?” Taehyung frowns and pouts. “Isn’t that right?”

“Don’t you mean like a capsule collection?” Jimin asks with fond annoyance. “Like a small thing that represents a bigger thing?”

Taehyung brightens up. “Maybe,” he says thoughtfully, “yes, I think that’s it,” and he laughs this time when Jimin slaps his shoulder and groans. 

“Stars,” Jimin says, when Jungkook looks at him, and he doesn’t say anything else, just shrugs winsomely.

“The little things. The things you don’t see unless you look really hard.” This from Yoongi, who looks thoughtful. 

Jungkook turns his gaze to Namjoon. “What about you? Any insights?” He grins playfully at them. “Not like you’re making my job easier with all these varied ideas.”

“For me? Connections,” Namjoon replies. Jungkook loves watching him; Namjoon gestures to punctuate each of his ideas like a conductor directing an orchestra. “Like the lines we draw between constellations. The invisible connections between people, and nature, and the entire cosmos.” He looks so earnest, so sure of himself, everyone’s watching him, rapt. “A microcosmos is the human scale of the universal issue, you know? The epitome of a larger unity. It shows us the connections between something minuscule and something so much larger than ourselves - so enormous we can’t even begin to comprehend it.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Jungkook looks helplessly at Namjoon, trying to hide how infatuated he is with his intelligence and thoughtfulness, and then realizes everyone is gazing at Namjoon the same way.

“Ya,” Taehyung says, grinning at Namjoon. “Are you trying to make all of us look stupid?”

“No!” Namjoon protests. He’s utterly abashed by their adoration “Hey! We discussed all this before, when we were deciding on the theme for the exhibit!” All six of them are laughing at him openly and fondly. 

But it helps - every bit of information helps - and Jungkook does his research thoroughly. He taps on some of the artists and local craftsmen that supply their wares to Wooju’s shop, but not all - they need to meet Jungkook’s exacting standards and match The Blue Side’s aesthetic, and fit in with the overall story of the exhibition. The TBS artists draw him into their work, as well, asking him constantly for his input and his opinion - and it’s not until Seokjin chides him for his reticence that he understands they really do want to know what he thinks. 

The confidence that this infuses into him is thrilling. Jungkook blossoms, the more they show that they treat him as an equal, that they fully value his thoughts, and the more he learns, the more he’s sure of what he’s doing for the pop-up. He likes to curl up on the couch every day in their workshop, making himself scarce but watching them work intently and piecing together their creative and thought processes from his observations. He can’t get enough. 

One morning, Yoongi surprises him with a handmade chair and table, a simple, squared-off functional set which they slot into the empty seventh space in the workshop so that Jungkook can work properly there instead of alone in his room in the lake house, or squished up on the workshop settee with his laptop. 

“Sorry it’s not very fancy,” Yoongi says, scratching the back of his neck with a callused hand. “I’ll make you a nicer one after the exhibit is over and we have more time to breathe.”

“No, this one’s perfect, hyung,” Jungkook says firmly, and Yoongi ducks his head shyly. Jungkook is awed by how quickly Yoongi put the furniture together, with beautifully classic tapered legs and smooth finish. Jungkook runs an admiring hand over the table. He’s never had furniture made specially for him before. Not only will it probably last a lifetime, Jungkook knows he’ll never treasure another chair and table more than these.

He also likes the way the workshop looks, to have that empty space filled. 

Like it’s complete.

It’s often ridiculously noisy in the workshop, with the whine of some machine or another ringing in the air, but Jungkook doesn’t mind it. He likes the busyness, he likes being near them, and he loves watching them at work. It’s so easy, too, to get used to the way one of them will silently put down a steaming hot coffee, or a pastry, or a pack of chips now and then, the way Jimin leans over to look at what he’s doing, breath fluttering agreeably over his cheek. Hoseok massages his shoulders occasionally. Jungkook sits there, face reddening and trying not to moan gratefully as he leans into the firm press of Hoseok’s delicate but strong fingers.

He notices, too, that sometimes they pause to watch him - whether he’s typing up a proposal, on the phone with a vendor or muttering to himself while sketching ideas for more merch. Sometimes the look is terribly fond and very soft. Other times, Jungkook has noticed sharper, hungrier looks. Jungkook won’t lie. He enjoys it, and sometimes when he becomes aware of these looks, he angles himself a little more, runs his hand through his hair, stretches to make his shirt ride up around his waist. 

He particularly likes the way Taehyung looks at him - like he’s interested in tasting. 

But Jungkook is reluctant, almost afraid, to complicate what has now become a working relationship. After all, he loves being in the thick of things in the workshop - most of the time, the room is buzzing with frenetic but silent activity. Occasionally, there’s a mild hum of conversation as they seek each other’s opinion and feedback on something they’re making, but by and large they’re focused on work. Once in awhile, Yoongi turns red and swears loudly at whatever’s on his workbench, and then storms out of the workshop. The first time it happens, Jungkook is alarmed and gets up to go after Yoongi, but Jimin waves nonchalantly at him to sit down, hands covered in metal polish. 

“Let him be,” Jimin says calmly. “He’ll want to be alone. He just needs to go out and get some fresh air and he’ll be fine.” Sure enough, half an hour later, Yoongi comes back into the workshop quietly and sits back down at his bench. Taehyung walks over casually, kisses the top of his head, and murmurs something sweet into his ear. Surprised, Yoongi glances up at Jungkook and clocks his worried expression. 

“I’m okay,” Yoongi reassures, loud enough for Jungkook to hear. “Didn’t mean to worry you. Just needed a break.”

Jungkook nods, wide-eyed. The next time it happens, Jungkook’s more prepared and less alarmed. When Yoongi returns, pensive and quiet from his time out, there’s an iced Americano on his table waiting for him. He glances around, and even though Jungkook is industriously Not Looking at him, Hoseok grins and jerks his chin at Jungkook. Yoongi smiles faintly, nodding. 

It makes Jungkook feel like this is one of his roles here, to comfort them and reassure them whenever he can. He doesn’t talk to the others about how some nights, Namjoon knocks quietly at his door on the pretext of discussing something or another about the exhibition. He doesn’t say anything about how on these nights, it’s not uncommon that Namjoon ends up falling asleep beside him, even though Jungkook is sure that the others are aware; it’s in the knowing glances Jimin shoots them on those mornings, in the way Yoongi has already two mugs of coffee prepared for them when they walk into the workshop at the same time. 

All seven of them sleep late and work late, and dinner usually starts somewhere around ten or eleven at night. “A terrible way to live,” Namjoon concedes somewhat shamefacedly, “but it works for us, so far.” The dinners are their way of unwinding after a long day of hard work, and are more often than not eaten either sitting cross-legged around the coffee table or standing at the counter.

It’s fascinating to Jungkook. Even though they literally spend almost all day together, they usually work parallel rather than with each other. Each artist is wrapped up in their own process and their own work, and so dinner time, and an hour or so afterwards, is their time to reconnect; playing games, watching television, or just chatting over tea or the occasional soju. 

Jungkook loves these moments. He doesn’t think he’s ever really had friends this close. Sometimes he even forgets that the other six are together - except when sometimes they disappear up the stairs after dinner in twos or threes, giggling and handsy and occasionally tipsy - because they’ve made him feel so welcome. He doesn’t even mind that he’s the only one who isn’t perpetually in physical contact with the others - even though that barrier is slowly breaking down.

He really likes it when they comb fingers through his hair, or pat his shoulder, or place a casual hand on his waist to move him. He can’t help leaning into their touches, and he can’t help returning the favor with skinship of his own. 

Jungkook likes that he’s learning who they are, and vice versa. With every day that passes, that pervasive feeling of aimlessness and disconnection fades a little more. The lines between them have begun to blur; no matter how he reminds himself that he’s technically just a guest. He feels so at home with them, his heart opening up and widening for six beautiful, talented men. 

Jungkook knows he’s sunk. 

Often, one of them will wander down to the lakehouse to come get him for breakfast (or lunch, as it more often is). Jungkook doesn’t tell them how much he loves the thought that he’s the first thing on their mind when they wake up. 

Today, it’s Hoseok, and the two of them trudge up to the house together, chatting about anything and nothing at all, comfortable and easy in the coolness of the day. 

“The weather’s perfect.” Jungkook turns his face up to the sun and lets the buttery light wash over him like a wave.

“Yeah,” Hoseok says. He copies Jungkook’s motion, enjoying the warmth splashing over him, and his cheeks pull up in a beautiful smile. “Namjoon must have woken up in a good mood.”

Jungkook tips his head to the side, trying to make the connection. Maybe he’s just too sleepy to get it. “Namjoon?” he asks, slightly confused.

“Oh -” Hoseok pulls up short. The smile that Jungkook had just been admiring drops just a little bit and trembles, like someone’s let go of the string holding up the corner of his lips. “I just mean it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Is Namjoon awake?” Jungkook asks, still trying to make sense of Hoseok’s comment. 

“He should be,” Hoseok says evasively. He pulls open the front door. The scent of hot dough and maple syrup wafts out, and Jungkook immediately forgets what Hoseok was saying as he bounds over to the kitchen counter and eagerly offers to help Yoongi taste test the freshly-made waffle he’s pulling onto a plate. 

“It’s hot,” Yoongi warns. “Don’t burn your tongue.”

Jungkook sticks said tongue out at Yoongi. “I won’t,” he says. “Feed me, hyung.”

“If you burn your tongue, Taehyung would probably offer to kiss it better,” Seokjin comments slyly from the dining table, where he’s already tucking into the first batch of waffles. 

“Kiss it better?” Hoseok is confused. “A tongue?”

There’s a beat of silence as Hoseok envisions this, and then he rolls his eyes and everyone laughs uproariously at him. Hoseok shakes his head in remonstration. “You guys…”

Still chuckling, Jungkook looks up, his mouth full, when he hears someone coming down the stairs. It’s Namjoon, and just as Hoseok suggested, he has a massive grin on his face. 

“Guess who called this morning,” he says loudly, and doesn’t wait for an answer. “Art Basel! They’re inviting us to exhibit in Hong Kong.” He pumps his fists into the air and hollers in triumph as everyone cheers.

“Well done you. Does this mean you’ll need to fly in?” Seokjin asks. He stands up and walks to where Namjoon is on the second lowest step, the perfect height for Seokjin to look up at him and kiss him deeply. Jungkook is unabashed about watching them, grinning at their shared delight; no longer shy about their open affection. He doesn’t realize how wistful he looks, or that the others are watching him watch the other two.

Seokjin pulls away first, his lips plush and shiny.

“Won’t be flying in that soon,” Namjoon says. “Maybe in two or three months. Let’s get this exhibition on the road first.” He looks so happy, hair still tousled from sleep. Jungkook aches to run his hands through to settle the strands. “Morning, JK.”

“Morning,” Jungkook says. “Congratulations on Art Basel, hyung.”

Namjoon beams at him. “You’re going to have your work cut out for you,” he says comfortably, and cheerfully leans over and steals the bite of waffle Jungkook has on his fork, ignoring Jungkook’s squawk of protest at the loss of his breakfast. “You’re coming with me to Hong Kong for the recce trip when we get it in the calendar.”

Jungkook gapes, trying to make sense of what Namjoon is saying. “I’m sorry, what?”

Yoongi calmly forks another waffle onto Jungkook’s plate. “He’s saying you’re hired, Jungkook.”

“Hired? For Art Basel?” Jungkook can hear himself, as if he’s listening to himself from a distant plane. His voice is a shocked squeak.

“Of course. Your work is impeccable and you know exactly how we like things to be done. I’m not working with anyone else.” Seemingly unaware of the turmoil he’s causing in Jungkook, Namjoon comes up behind Yoongi and sniffs the top of his head lazily and happily. Not as equanimous as Seokjin is of public displays of affection, Yoongi makes a huffing sound and hip bumps him away. 

Jungkook’s brain is making an odd buzzing noise, still stuck on Namjoon’s nonchalant offer. He tries to remember how to close his mouth.

Hoseok laughs and slings an arm around his shoulders, squeezing Jungkook close. “Ya, Namjoon-ah, look what you’ve done. He’ll choke on his waffle.”

Jungkook can’t hear anything they’re saying, can’t process the jokes they’re exchanging as he understands fully what Namjoon means. The warm, syrupy feeling soaking through his entire body is something he eventually identifies as delight. They want him to keep working with them. They want him to work on something as big as an Art Basel exhibit.

It really is a beautiful day, Jungkook thinks dizzily, and the blinding smile that he offers up to his hyungs is only a tiny reflection of the light blazing like a meteor inside his heart.

They’ve been in the workshop for three straight hours before Jungkook finally concedes he needs a break. He stands and stretches, trying to work the kinks out of his back where he’s been bent over his laptop for far too long. Glancing around to take stock, he sees Namjoon is fully absorbed in whatever he’s doing on his computer. Yoongi’s slotting long wooden slats together on his latest work, earplugs firmly in to blunt the noise of Jimin buffing strips of metal. Taehyung and Hoseok are sprawled on the couch scrolling through their phones, clearly taking a break. Seokjin is standing by the counter beneath the window, working on a large block of clay. 

Jungkook fills a cup with cold yuzu tea from the fridge and brings it over to Seokjin, putting it to his lips so he can sip even though his hands are full of clay. Seokjin gulps down the refreshing drink gratefully and smiles at Jungkook, who sets the mug down.

“What are you doing?”

“Wedging clay,” Seokjin says. He’s puffing slightly with the effort, pushing down with all his might and rotating the heavy lump of iron-rich clay as he goes. It’s so very pretty, Jungkook thinks; as Seokjin moves, the clay curls around on itself like an ammonite shell. “It’s from my reclaim. All the trimmings, slip and scraps. The pieces that flopped. Sometimes hyung makes mistakes.” Seokjin winks as he shapes the clay under his hands into a rough cone. “Getting a second lease on life. It’s what I really like about clay.” The smile he aims at Jungkook is sweet and light and beautiful. “Nothing goes to waste.”

Jungkook watches for a moment, mesmerized by the flexing of Seokjin’s forearms and the way the clay comes together, the air bubbles methodically pushed out by Seokjin’s rhythmic movements. The noise of the others in the workshop fades away as he watches, completely entranced.

“Are you going to make something with that right now?”

Seokjin glances at him and grins. “Not with this clay, but I’ve got some you can play with. Do you want to try?”

“Really?” Jungkook perks up, his eyes wide and excited. “Could I?”

“‘Course. Come here,” Seokjin says. He hooks a nearby stool with his foot and drags it behind the seat affixed to his wheel. “You haven’t done this before, have you?”

“Not really,” Jungkook says, settling onto the chair in front of Seokjin. “A little bit of pinch and coil, but never a wheel.”

“Okay, get your hands wet.” Seokjin slaps a lump of clay onto the wheel and taps it firmly to center and anchor it. “Brace your arms here, for stability. Gentle, even pressure, okay?” Seokjin tucks Jungkook’s hand around the clay, their thumbs in the center. “All right. Gonna start the wheel. That’s right.”

Seokjin’s hands are reassuringly steady and sure, pressed against Jungkook’s. The clay spins goopily beneath their hands, soft and wet and sticky. Jungkook is not doing anything, really, just staying pliant and letting Seokjin guide his movements and how hard they press. He watches with wonder as a simple bowl takes shape under their hands, until finally the wheel slows to a gradual halt. 

“That’s it,” Seokjin says cheerfully. “Wire it off carefully.”

His lip caught between teeth, Jungkook maneuvers the wire around the base of the bowl and lifts it off. He sets the bowl on the side and swings round, laughing in sheer delight. 

“Wow,” he says proudly, then smugly: “We did it! Hey - that was a lot easier than it looks.”

Seokjin is chuckling at his enthusiasm. “Oh, was it?” he asks innocently. “Well, you try it on your own then.” He gestures at the wheel, and as he expects, Jungkook leaps enthusiastically at the challenge. 

“Okay,” Jungkook mutters in concentration. “I center it-” he slaps a lump of clay down into the middle of the wheel - “and, whoops, okay, here we go…” He sets wet hands carefully on either side and presses his thumbs into the middle of the clay, pressing to form a divot. The clay spins goopily and unevenly beneath Jungkook’s untutored hands. 

“Aish,” Jungkook says. He hisses in annoyance. The clay is obstinately lumpy and misshapen in his grip, its walls uneven and much too thick. “I feel like I should know how to do this.” He frowns down at his clay-covered hands and the wobbly mess of dripping clay. 

Seokjin laughs, not unkindly. “It takes awhile to learn how to throw on the wheel,” he says. “I’d be surprised if you got it first time.” 

Jungkook is still scowling at the clay rotating clumsily on the wheel. “I feel like I should know how to do this,” he repeats stubbornly. 

Seokjin is quiet, but then Jungkook feels him settle in behind him again. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his hands around Jungkook’s and takes over the pedal. The wheel begins to spin again, and under their combined hands, Seokjin guiding Jungkook gently, the walls of the bowl even out until they’re thinner and more regular - not as serviceable and nowhere as good as the first, but at least salvaged from the disaster Jungkook created. 

“There you go,” Seokjin says finally, reassuringly. “That’s better, don’t you think? We can shave it down a little more and smoothen out the walls after it’s leather hard. But it’s a good try for a newbie!”

Jungkook eyes the bowl critically. It’s functional, he supposes. Definitely not a work of art. “Better,” he allows. “But I think I’ll leave the wheel to you, hyung.”

Seokjin chuckles warmly, his breath gusting over Jungkook’s cheek, and he rubs his thumb gently over the back of Jungkook’s hand in a familiar caress. “Handbuilding and sculpting was always more your thing, anyway,” he says genially. “Remember when you made the-” 

Seokjin freezes abruptly, and stops talking, gasping as if someone’s punched him straight in the belly.

Jungkook twists a little in his seat, just enough to catch Seokjin’s eye. Seokjin has gone pale, his jaw tensed up, and his hands have stilled over Jungkook’s. He looks utterly devastated, his breathing shallow and quick.

“Hyung?” Jungkook says cautiously. “You okay?”

Seokjin swallows. His smile is wobbly, but it’s there, even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he says automatically, “sorry. I uh…I think I got mixed up.”

Jungkook tilts his head, wanting to be gentle, trying to understand. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

There’s a flustered panic in Seokjin’s eyes that Jungkook can’t parse. Seokjin just shakes his head and quickly changes the subject as he stands. “The clay will take a day or two to get leather hard,” he says instead. He doesn’t quite look at Jungkook as he moves the bowls over to the plaster batts. “We can work more on them then, if you like?”

There’s something here, something strange, the way they keep referring to things that he should remember, things he couldn’t possibly remember, and then clamming up like they’ve said something wrong. It should be a red flag, Jungkook thinks, but Seokjin looks sad more than anything else, and Jungkook aches to ease his heart. He comes up behind Seokjin and lays a careful hand on his waist. Seokjin flinches just a little, then stills under Jungkook’s touch, still facing away from him so Jungkook can’t quite see his face. 

“Hyung,” Jungkook says quietly. “You know you guys can talk to me about anything, right?” 

Seokjin hesitates. “Yeah,” He finally says. His voice is only the tiniest bit shaky. “We do.”

Jungkook waits for a second, just to be sure, but Seokjin doesn’t say anything else. He can tell that he’s shaken, however, so Jungkook lingers, unwilling to leave it at that. “Okay then,” Jungkook says, nodding. He smiles, the corner of his lips crinkling upwards. “Can I hug you?”

Seokjin hesitates again, then without saying anything, leans back slightly so that his back fits into the curve of Jungkook’s front. Jungkook’s arms come up around Seokjin and wrap tightly around his chest as Seokjin lets out a long, weighty breath. They stand there, just like that, for a long time, their backs to the rest, Seokjin melted against Jungkook’s chest with his eyes closed, until Jungkook feels a careful touch on his shoulder. It’s Namjoon.

“Both of you okay?” Namjoon asks in an undertone. His voice is a deep rumble, overflowing with concern. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Jungkook says quietly. With a quick glance around the workroom, he suddenly realizes that it’s gone completely silent. Everyone has stopped what they’re doing and is watching them worriedly. Seokjin’s eyes fly open when he hears Namjoon’s voice, but Jungkook doesn’t let go, just keeps his arms wrapped around Seokjin. “Hyung,” Jungkook says, a murmur in Seokjin’s ear. “You all right?”

“I’m okay,” Seokjin says, still cushioned against Jungkook for support and seemingly reluctant to let go. “I’m okay, Namjoon. I just - just needed a moment.”

“Yeah?” Namjoon looks carefully at Seokjin, then smiles at them both, seemingly reassured that Jungkook has things under control. “Okay then.” He squeezes Jungkook’s shoulder warmly and steps away. A quick nod from him, and the others turn back to work and give Seokjin and Jungkook privacy - as much privacy as can be had in a busy workshop. 

Jungkook thrills to know they trust him, even with someone as precious as their Jin-hyung.

Seokjin turns around so that he’s facing Jungkook, in the circle of his arms, and huffs out a sigh. His eyes are downcast. “Sorry,” he says softly. “I wish - I wish I could explain it.”

Jungkook shrugs lightly. “When you’re ready, maybe?”

“Yeah…maybe.” With reluctance, Seokjin steps back from the embrace. “Thank you, Jungkook-ah.”

Jungkook nods. Letting Seokjin go is difficult. “Anytime.”

And even as he walks away, back to his table and his laptop and his work, all Jungkook can think of is how good and how right Seokjin felt in his arms, and how empty his arms are now.

“So that’s all I have for right now,” Jungkook says, shutting his notebook and letting out a sigh. “I’ll follow up with the last two vendors tomorrow, but it looks like everything’s on track, and we can start setting up on-site next week.” He blows out a breath, satisfied. 

Onscreen, Wooju grins. “Looks like you have everything in hand. Let me know if you still need my help with the box supplier, but other than that I think you’re doing really well, Jungkook.” Wooju theatrically wipes a fake tear away. “I’m so proud. I knew you could do it.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook laughs, absurdly touched by his boss’s faith in him. “Just doing my job.”

“Job well done,” Wooju says matter-of-factly. “Really well done.”

Jungkook shifts, pleased but uncomfortable with the praise. “How’s Soobin doing with shop shifts?” 

“Oh, he’s getting used to working for his uncle now,” Wooju laughs, glancing fondly off-screen to where his nephew, Soobin, is presumably manning the counter. “He’s been trying some new things with the displays, but he says he likes the way you’ve done them. Reluctant to change it up too much, you know?” 

“I was like that when I started,” Jungkook recalls. “He’ll get more confident as time goes by, don’t worry. He’s a good kid.” Abashed, Jungkook scratches his chin with his thumbnail. “Sorry he’s had to take on so many shifts for me.”

Wooju shakes his head and waves Jungkook’s concern away. “It’s fine. It was about time he started helping out more, anyway.” His look turns sly. “And you’re enjoying staying in Chuncheon, aren’t you? Don’t miss Seoul at all?”

Jungkook groans quietly. He should have known. “What are you up to?”

His shrug is casual, but Wooju’s eyes are twinkling. “Just saying you seem to be spending lots of nights there. Is there someone in TBS you have your eye on, hmm?”

If only Wooju knew that Jungkook has his ambitious eye on six men all at once. He hedges. “Well - you said it yourself, hyung, it’s easier for me to stay here, right?”

“Right,” Wooju says dryly. “I’m glad it’s working for you. They’re treating you well, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “I think I’ve put on a couple of kilos - when there’s food enough for seven guys it always feels like we go overboard a little bit.” He pats his belly. “They’re going to have to roll me back to Seoul.” Over the sound of Wooju’s endeared laughter, Jungkook bites his lip. “Wooju-hyung,” he says softly. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“I, uh.” Jungkook wants to say this right, to not worry Wooju or give away too much. “Do you think it’s okay for people to keep secrets from people they love?” 

He doesn’t expect Wooju’s swift response and nonchalant shrug. “Of course it’s okay,” Wooju says. “But I don’t think that’s the question you mean to ask.”

“What do you mean?”

Wooju looks at Jungkook, and even through the screen Jungkook feels like Wooju can tell what he’s thinking. “We all deserve to have secrets. The question is whether it’s a secret you should keep.” Wooju shifts, and he looks more serious. “Are you the person with the secret, or the person who should know?”

“The…the person who should know, I guess.”

Wooju’s brow wrinkles. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. Yes, everything’s fine,” Jungkook says hurriedly. “I was just wondering, you know. If you knew something about someone - like if I knew a secret about your past, maybe - would you…would you want to know?” Jungkook bites his lip. “People would want to know, right?”

Wooju looks pensive. “You’d think so,” he says, and his words are slow, and measured, “but I don’t necessarily agree.”

“Really?” Jungkook is thankful that his boss is taking his question seriously, and without prying, but he’s surprised by Wooju’s answer.

“There are secrets that don’t do anyone any good,” Wooju says pragmatically. “Some things you’re better off not knowing, you know?”

“Don’t you think the person should have the right to decide if they should know or not?”

Wooju laughs. “That’s the hard part. How do you ask a person if they need to know a secret without telling them that there’s a secret they might need to know about?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says, frowning. “But I guess in this case…I do know that there’s something there.”

Wooju tips his head to the side. “Is it a bad secret?”

“I - actually, I don’t think so,” Jungkook muses. “It just feels like there’s something I’ve forgotten, but I don’t know what it is, and maybe they do.”

Perhaps he’s let on more than he should have. Wooju is gentle, his eyes filled with concern. “I’m not sure what’s going on over there, Jungkook, but if it’s getting too much…”

“No,” Jungkook says firmly. “I’m fine. And it’s not anything bad, I promise.”

Wooju’s gaze is piercing and assessing. “Okay then,” he says finally. He smiles. “You’re a big boy, Jeon Jungkook. You can take care of yourself, huh?”

“Yes, appa,” Jungkook rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I will, I promise.”

Jungkook logs off the call pensively. He wasn’t lying when he said he was fine, but it’s still something that nags at him, like a word that he can’t remember, like something has slipped through the narrow gaps of memory that he can’t retrieve. And yet it doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it could. He feels safe with them, a sense of rightness and belonging permeating every molecule of his being. 

He just wishes he knows what they see in their mind’s eye when they look at him that makes them want to cry.

Tonight, after an exhausting day in the workshop where nothing went right and everything was frustrating, no one is really in the mood to cook a proper meal, so by mutual assent Jungkook dumps ten packs of instant ramyeon into the biggest pot they have while Hoseok portions out kimchi and other side dishes from the fridge. 

“God,” Seokjin moans in misery. “I’m exhausted and burned out and ready to throw my wheel into the lake.” He crawls onto the couch and curls up in a fetal position. “I think I might actually hate clay.”

“You don’t hate clay,” Yoongi says mildly. “Come here, hyung.”

When Jungkook glances over, Seokjin has nestled his head into Yoongi’s lap, the younger man lacing his fingers through the older’s hair, tender, caressing, soothing. The way Yoongi is looking down at Seokjin is so unimaginably tender that Jungkook feels almost as if he’s intruding on a private moment. Taehyung is at the other end of the couch, lifting Seokjin’s feet into his lap and rubbing his aching arches with his thumbs. 

“Here,” Jungkook says quietly. He sets the heavy pot down on the table, Jimin trailing behind him with bowls and chopsticks. Hoseok lays out the dishes of kimchi from a tray.

“You must be hungry,” Hoseok says to Seokjin. “Come on, hyung, you’ll feel better with some hot soup inside you.”

“You know what else is hot you can put inside you, hyung, and it’ll make you feel so much better,” Taehyung says naughtily.

Seokjin groans and slaps his shoulder, glancing hurriedly at Jungkook.

“What?” Taehyung says innocently. “I meant tea.”

“Please,” Jungkook says, flippant and casual as he ladles out the ramen. “You meant Tae.”

There’s a brief, shocked silence, and then the others dissolve into howls of laughter. 

“He got you there,” Yoongi says, raising his eyebrow at Taehyung, who’s gone pink with amusement. “I think that’s exactly what you meant.”

“Fine,” Taehyung says airily. “It is what I meant. And I’ll give it to you hyung, if you want it.” He waggles his eyebrows and nudges Seokjin teasingly with his elbow. 

“Filthy,” Seokjin shakes his head, but he grins. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that later.”

“Can we discuss these things privately?” Namjoon remonstrates with a side glance at Jungkook. 

“It’s fine,” Jungkook says, waving it off, unbothered. “I don’t mind.”

“They can be a lot,” Namjoon says soberly. “It’s important that we’re not making you feel uncomfortable, or…”

Jungkook groans. He’s self-conscious that his joke has been dragged out longer than he’d like. “C’mon, hyung,” he says. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

Jimin slips his arms around Namjoon. “Hyung’s all about consent,” Jimin comments, a twinkle in his eye. “Aren’t you, Joonie? Because some of the things he likes to do…”

“All right,” Yoongi interrupts wearily. “That’s enough. Before I make everyone do a status update.”

Taehyung points his chopsticks mock threateningly at Yoongi. “No work talk at dinner, hyung, you promised.”

Yoongi relents amid groans and a well-aimed shove from Hoseok. Once dinner is over, though, Taehyung doesn’t disappear up the stairs with Seokjin as Jungkook expects them to do. Instead, Taehyung stretches. 

“That new detective drama is out on Netflix,” Taehyung says. “Anyone interested?”

“Oh - me,” Yoongi says, perking up. “The one about time travel? It’s got good reviews.”

“I’m in. Gong Yoo is in it.” Jimin swoons dramatically. “He’s so handsome.”

“That’s your type?” Jungkook asks in surprise. “Really?”

“I have many types,” Taehyung says cheerfully. “Six types, to be exact.”

Jungkook scoffs teasingly. “Who’s number six? Yourself?” He laughs. “Tae, you only have five partners, you’re not supposed to count yourself as a type.” Everyone’s smiling, amused; Jimin’s laughing openly, fondly, and Jungkook chuckles along. Silly Tae. An easy mistake to make.

“If you’re going to watch, why don’t you head to the family room,” Seokjin says from the couch where he’s playing a game on his phone. Namjoon is comfortably ensconced in his lap. “I don’t feel like moving.”

“Sure. Hoba?” 

“Nah, I’m beat. I’m off to bed.” Hoseok rubs his eyes and yawns. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?” 

At the top of the stairs they part ways, Hoseok to his room and the other four to the family room. Jungkook has been up here a couple of times to hang out and watch movies. The first time he saw it, he exclaimed loudly over the enormous custom made bed, large enough to fit all six comfortably, before blushing furiously when he realized what else probably goes on in the room.

“Cuddles,” Jimin had explained airily. “Lots of…cuddles.”

But that was more than a month ago, and Jungkook has since lost his reservations. He crawls right into the middle of the bed and makes himself comfortable, pleased when Yoongi and Jimin bookend him on either side as Taehyung puts the show on and the intro starts playing. 

“You don’t have to go back to your room later,” Jimin reminds him. “You can stay in this nice big bed right here.” He smiles at Jungkook in his sweetest, most persuasive way, his eyes crinkled up into slits. 

It’s not like Jungkook particularly needs persuading. It’s not the first time he’s bunked down in the family bed while the others went back to their own rooms. He doesn’t actually feel like getting up to go downstairs, crossing the field in the chilly dark in the middle of the night, and crawling into bed there all alone. Especially with his head pillowed on Yoongi’s shoulder and Jimin snuggled up beside him, and Taehyung sprawled at his feet. So Jungkook lets himself be enticed to stay, until finally the end credits are rolling and Yoongi yawns widely.

“I’m exhausted,” Yoongi says hoarsely. He turns and brushes his lips almost absent-mindedly across Jungkook’s head. “I’m off to bed.” He stretches and stands and holds out his hand to Jimin. “Come with me?”

“Aww, Yoongi-hyung,” Jimin coos, delighted. “Of course.” He takes Yoongi’s hand and plasters himself to his side. 

Yoongi glances back at Taehyung and Jungkook, his gaze oblique in a way Jungkook doesn’t quite understand. “Don’t sleep too late, you hear?” 

“Okay, hyung,” Jungkook says. “G’night.”

Taehyung is fiddling with his phone, scrolling through something. He flutters his fingers goodbye without looking up at either Yoongi or Jimin as they leave, and then he grunts in satisfaction when music starts playing through the speakers.

“Dance with me,” Taehyung says. “Come on, Jungkook, dance.” He lifts his arms and shakes his hips, and Jungkook laughs and laughs. 

“What are you doing,” Jungkook says affectionately. “Aren’t you tired?” 

Taehyung reaches out and tugs Jungkook off the bed, his beautiful face lighting up when Jungkook stumbles up to his feet to join him. “Not tired enough. Come on, dance with me.”

“Like this?” Jungkook starts to shimmy along to the music, and Taehyung whoops. They dance together, fooling around and snickering, enjoying the fun of it. Jungkook tips his head back and bounces on the heels of his feet, twirling Taehyung, laughing uncontrollably at each other’s antics, until the song changes, and something more sensual comes on, something with a slinkier beat, slow and sexy. They hesitate, staring at each other, and then Taehyung reaches out and wordlessly pulls Jungkook closer. 

They don’t say anything, lost in their dancing and the closeness of each other’s bodies. Taehyung slips his arms around Jungkook’s neck and sways, his eyes fixed on Jungkook’s, dark and liquid and full of open desire. Jungkook’s heart is hammering. He tightens his fingers on Taehyung’s hips. They’re so narrow. If Jungkook just flexes - there, just like that - then they’re an inch closer, so near each other that Jungkook can tell they’re both semi-hard, because they brush tantalizingly against each other with every grind of their hips. The sensation is electrifying. Jungkook can’t stop staring into Taehyung’s eyes, until Taehyung gulps and glances at his mouth.

“Jungkook.” The name leaves Taehyung’s mouth in a puff of air. Jungkook wants to catch it with his own lips, swallow it down until it burns in his belly. Taehyung takes a step so that he’s tucked up directly against Jungkook’s body, warm and wanting. Jungkook can’t stop himself. He winds his arms around Taehyung’s waist. He feels perfect, right there, tucked into Jungkook’s arms. The music fades away. The bass is overlaid with the thumping of his own heartbeat. 

Jungkook wants. With every fiber of his being, he wants. But he’s desperately afraid of getting what he wants. Taehyung nudges even closer, and Jungkook swallows a moan that he can barely hold back.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook says quietly, and it’s simultaneously a warning and a plea. “Please. I can’t… I won’t stop you if you keep going.”

Taehyung’s eyes are dark and deep but clear. “I don’t want you to stop me.”

Jungkook tangles his hands tightly into Taehyung’s shirt. If he doesn’t, he knows he won’t be able to stop himself from touching. His mouth is inches away from Taehyung’s. The amount of strength it takes to stop himself from closing that gap is immense. “The others,” he says, a last-ditch effort to remind Taehyung of the cost. “What would they say?”

But Taehyung laughs breathily, unconcerned, affectionate. “Baby,” he murmurs, and Jungkook’s hips kick forward uncontrollably at the word. “We all want you. We always have. Want me to prove it to you? I could call them in,” he offers. Taehyung bends forward and nibbles along Jungkook’s neck, goosebumps popping up in the wake of his lips. “Want them all to join us?”

“What are you saying?” Jungkook asks almost desperately. His head tips back on a moan as Taehyung reaches the hollow beneath his ear. “What do you mean - all of you?”

Taehyung sighs, his breath gusting along the curve of Jungkook’s ear. “You could have any one of us,” he says. “You could have all of us.” He pulls back and stares straight into Jungkook’s eyes as his hand travels slowly down the plane of Jungkook’s stomach. “Say yes, baby.”

“I don’t -” Jungkook thinks his brain might be failing him. “What?”

“We want you,” Taehyung clarifies. “We all do.” He nuzzles against Jungkook’s throat.

There’s definitely some short-circuiting happening between Jungkook’s ears, and it definitely has something to do with Taehyung’s mouth, whether it’s what he’s saying or what he’s doing with his lips.

“All of you,” Jungkook repeats, stunned. “All…six of you?”

“Say yes, Jungkook-ah. I need you. We need you. We’re not complete without you.” Taehyung leans in, face to face this time, and hovers right there, his lips a breath away. In theory, Jungkook can walk away. Can stop this right now. The pull is magnetic and irresistible, however, and Jungkook knows his destiny is already engraved in stone. There’s no possible way he can turn back. Helplessly, Jungkook finally closes the distance and crushes his lips onto Taehyung’s. 

Jungkook doesn’t think he’s ever kissed anyone like this. It feels burning hot, frenzied and desperate like a flame consuming a fuel-soaked cloth. Taehyung moans heartrendingly into his mouth and Jungkook swallows the sound. His hands are tight on Taehyung’s hips, his thumbs almost pressing bruises into the bone, crazed for more. 

“Please.” It’s Taehyung who begs, first. “Please, baby.” He covers Jungkook’s hand with his and slides it over the tantalizing bulge of his groin. “Touch me.”

Jungkook can’t breathe, not with Taehyung twitching under his palm, rock solid and thick and sturdy and so full of promise. He squeezes and Taehyung whines and bucks into his hand. So responsive, Jungkook thinks hazily. He wants to find out what else will make Taehyung moan and press his body so deliciously against his, to watch him ripen and thrust and gasp, blind, into the dark. Jungkook is so, so thirsty. 

“Tell me again,” Jungkook mutters. “How everyone wants me.” 

Taehyung collapses to his knees and pulls Jungkook’s shorts off him. His cock is hot and heavy, pre-come pearling at the tip. Jungkook grasps it at the base and tugs a couple times, gasping as his foreskin rubs over the crown. 

“All of us,” Taehyung says. He opens his mouth slightly. An invitation. Jungkook rubs his cockhead over Taehyung’s lips, tentatively at first, then more assertively as he sees the way Taehyung’s eyes glaze over, the way he chases Jungkook’s cock. “Every single one of us. We all want you.” He takes Jungkook’s cock in his hand and Jungkook trembles at his touch. “You like it when I lick you here,” Taehyung says darkly, running his thumb under the soft, satiny flare of the head. “Don’t you?”

But Jungkook has no time to answer as Taehyung bends and envelops the tip of his dick in his warm, lush mouth. True to his word, he rubs under the crest with his lips, and Jungkook’s knees buckle.

“Fu-uck!” Jungkook moans. “Fuck, that…that’s exactly what I…” He slides his hand into Taehyung’s hair, disbelieving. “Don’t…don’t stop.”

Taehyung works at Jungkook’s cock, pulling pleasure easily from him as though he knows all of Jungkook’s secret places, and Jungkook can’t do anything but brace himself between the wall and Taehyung and make animalistic sounds he can’t contain. He feels like he’s floating, tethered to the earth only through the sweet, aching anchor of Taehyung mouthing messily at his cock. He only comes back to himself when he realizes Taehyung has his own hand in his lap, sweatpants pulled down enough so he can jerk himself off. 

“I want to -” Jungkook has to clear his throat before the words are intelligible - “I want to do that. Come here.” They stumble over to the bed, Taehyung managing to ditch his pants on the way, and Jungkook pulls Taehyung down over him so that their cocks press together, hard and firm and sliding slick against each other.

“Jungkook.” His name sounds so tender in Taehyung’s mouth, a precious thing, weighed down with emotion that Jungkook can’t quite parse in the moment. “Jungkook-ah.” Taehyung kisses all around Jungkook’s face, his lips, desperate and yearning, as if he can’t quite believe he’s allowed. “Please, baby, let us… We want to…” Taehyung’s voice is husky. “You don’t know how much we…” 

He can’t finish any of his sentences. 

Jungkook slides his fist up along both their cocks, trying to grapple with them both, but Taehyung’s big and he’s not small himself. Still, he manages, and the sensation of them both pressed so tightly together, his hand slicking over the tops, is enough. Taehyung cries out and ruts against him. 

“You want me?” Jungkook asks again, desperate to confirm that it’s true, even with Taehyung writhing in his lap. “You all want me. All six of you. Not just you.” He can’t get over this idea, this bizarre concept, this thought that he really could be part of what they have. One of them. 

“Want you,” Taehyung breathes in response. “All of us, all of us, please, please say yes.” 

“Yes,” Jungkook says helplessly. His voice breaks at the thought of it, of belonging, of being loved, of being able to touch them. Of being allowed. “Yes, fuck, yes.” 

And then he realizes he’s speeding towards the edge and he can’t hold back any longer. Jungkook throws his head back, his body arching away so that his come splatters up between them and dribbles down his fingers. He lets go of himself when it gets too sensitive to handle and works on bringing Taehyung over the edge with him. When Taehyung finally spills, he opens his mouth and closes his eyes. Jungkook savors the expression of soundless pleasure on his face, light bursting behind Taehyung’s eyelids, the way he exhales with the last of his spurts.

I did that, Jungkook thinks reverently, I made him look like that. 

And then his post-nut clarity and the realization of exactly what he’s just done hits him like a truck. 

Carefully, he pulls his sticky hand away, and Taehyung slumps bonelessly down onto the bed, sated, unaware of the thoughts flooding Jungkook’s brain like a tidal wave. 

“I’ll…I’ll be right back, okay?” 

In the bathroom, Jungkook washes his hands and stares at himself in the mirror. His heart is hammering, not just from the orgasm, but from his understanding of what Taehyung said. 

Do they really…? Want him? He lets the hot water sluice freely over his hands, his mind racing. What does this mean for them? What happens now? He can’t quite move. He can’t quite think. But it seems like he’s taking too long, because the door opens and Taehyung steps cautiously into the bathroom, catching his eye in the mirror. 

“Everything okay?”

“Sorry,” Jungkook says quickly. “I was just gonna…” he gestures vaguely, trying to find an excuse for why he’s hiding in the bathroom. “Not sure where the towels are.”

Taehyung points silently to the rolls of fresh hand towels right beside Jungkook, in a basket on the counter. Jungkook flushes and ducks his head. 

“Hey,” Taehyung says quietly. “Don’t...don’t. It’s okay.”

He steps up behind Jungkook and slowly winds his arms around him, the same way Jungkook did for Seokjin a few hours before. Jungkook shivers convulsively. Taehyung strokes across Jungkook’s chest gently, soothingly. He drops his chin onto Jungkook’s shoulder and stays there, plastered to Jungkook’s back, until he finally stops shaking.

“I need to know if you meant it?” Jungkook’s voice is a whisper.

“I meant every word,” Taehyung says. “We want you. And you can have us, if you want all of us, too.” 

Jungkook looks at their twin reflections in the mirror. Taehyung looks back, seemingly impassive, but Jungkook can see the vulnerability gleaming in his eyes and the imperceptible trembling of his lower lip. Jungkook likes how they look together. They look right. It feels right. He pictures the rest. Seokjin, curling an arm around them. He imagines lifting his lips to Namjoon’s, pulling Yoongi in for a hug. Thinks about sliding his hands into Jimin’s shirt, and rubbing a thumb over Hoseok’s perfect, heart-shaped smile. His heart soars.

“I meant it too,” Jungkook admits hoarsely. “I want to be with all of you.”

The smile that lights up Taehyung’s face is so illuminating, so beautiful, Jungkook has to catch his breath in the second before Taehyung tugs him around and kisses him deeply and thoroughly. 

They kiss all the way into the shower stall, and under the sudden spray as Taehyung fumbles blindly for the faucet. They kiss as they soap each other up, and rinse off the bubbles, and kiss as Jungkook clumsily wraps a towel around them both. Still dripping wet, hardly dry at all, they tumble into bed and kiss some more, until their lips are bruised and swollen and full, until they’re both semi-hard again. 

“Stay here with me,” Taehyung says huskily, and Jungkook nods. Where else would he go? Of course he will stay. Legs tangled, arms around each other, they drift in and out of sleep just like that, water droplets still beaded on their bare skin, so that Jungkook is still half awake when the door opens. 

Jimin says nothing when he slips into the room, but he stops short when he sees them wrapped naked around each other. His eyes crinkle with delight, and when he sees this Jungkook doesn’t feel self-conscious at all, just pats the bed next to him invitingly. Without hesitation, Jimin slides in beside him, arms twining around him, and it’s utterly natural that Jungkook should kiss him too. When their lips touch, Jimin inhales sharply and presses closer, but unlike Jungkook’s first kiss with Tae, they keep it soft and sweet, Jimin’s lips plush and the kisses drugging. Jungkook wants so badly to kiss him more, but he yawns, and Jimin giggles. 

“Sleep,” Jimin murmurs. “It’s okay. We have all the time in the world.”

“Is Yoongi-hyung asleep?”

Jimin snorts gently. “He conked out so fast he started snoring.”

“Tae said…” Jungkook is suddenly nervous again. What if Taehyung was wrong? “Tae said you all… that all of you want me.”

Jimin nuzzles his nose with his own in implicit agreement. “We’ve waited so long for you to realize it.”

“Do they know I want them too?” Jungkook mumbles. “The others.”

The smile lights up all of Jimin’s face. “I think they get the idea. But we can talk to them tomorrow, baby. Tae?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer, his head pillowed on Jungkook’s arm, his breathing evened out. 

“Wore him out,” Jungkook says, letting out an embarrassed half laugh. 

“I’m envious,” Jimin teases lightly, and he chuckles when Jungkook trails a sleepy but inquisitive hand down his back to the top of his ass. “No, baby. Go to sleep.”

Jungkook presses one last kiss to Jimin’s nose as his eyes flutter shut.

“I’m just so happy you’re finally here,” Jimin whispers before Jungkook falls asleep. “With all of us.”

With all of you.

All of us.

Finally.

Chapter Text

“He’s awake, he’s awake, cut it out.”

Jungkook cracks open an eyelid and mutters an imprecation when a shaft of light from the window hits him precisely in the eye. 

“What time is it?” he muffles. His left arm feels dead to the world - he realizes belatedly it’s because it’s been playing pillow to Taehyung’s head the whole night long. On his other side, Jimin is slowly uncurling from his side, raising a tousled head to squint sleepily at the intruders at the door. 

“It’s lunchtime,” Hoseok says from the doorway, “unless you three are going to go back to sleep.”

“If you’re going to go back to sleep, I’d like to join you,” Seokjin adds casually. “Actually, even if you’re not going back to sleep, I’d like to join you.”

Jungkook suddenly recalls where he is and what he did last night. He also remembers that he’s stark naked. Blushing furiously, he sits bolt upright, dislodging Taehyung, who grumbles loudly in annoyance at the disruption. 

“G’way,” Taehyung groans. “Too early.” He buries his face back into the pillow. 

“Early?” Yoongi deadpans. “It’s past noon.” 

Jungkook rubs his eyes until his vision resolves. There, in the doorway, are Hoseok, Yoongi and Seokjin, all wearing expressions on their faces ranging from delighted to amused to see Jungkook snuggled up with two of their partners. Jungkook blinks, very slowly, his heart hammering, and glances down when he feels Jimin purposefully drape an arm across his waist in a comforting gesture. 

“So can we join you?” Seokjin asks, his eyes trained on Jungkook’s face.

“Um, you can,” says Jungkook, then he adds unnecessarily, “but I’m not wearing anything.” He pulls the blanket over his morning wood, but steadily looks back at the three men crowded in the doorway. He wants them to be very clear about what he and Taehyung have been up to the night before. He’s not going to hide. He wants them to know, so that they can be free to register their displeasure and anger if they want to, so that Jungkook can figure out exactly where they stand and verify if what Taehyung and Jimin said was true. 

Seokjin’s lips flicker into a grin, even though his gaze doesn’t move from Jungkook’s face. “I can see that.”

Jungkook can feel himself twitch. “Well, if you really don’t mind…”

“I don’t mind at all.” Seokjin closes the distance rapidly, climbing onto the bed and straddling Jungkook’s knees. “Good morning, baby.”

“Am I really?” Jungkook asks thickly. Seokjin leans in and kisses his forehead almost chastely. “Your baby.”

“Do you prefer something else? Jagiya? Sweetheart? Darling?”

Jungkook swallows. It’s beyond his wildest dreams to have Seokjin this close to his face, eyes dark and promising, seemingly uncaring of his morning breath, murmuring terms of endearment to him. “Baby… baby’s fine.”

“I know,” Seokjin says matter-of-factly, as if it’s an universal truth that Jeon Jungkook likes to be called baby. “Then yes, you are my baby.” He leans in and very gently touches his lips to Jungkook’s, but Jungkook allows it for only the briefest second before pulling away. He covers his mouth in embarrassment. 

“Hyung,” Jungkook muffles. “I really want to kiss you but…I’d like to brush my teeth first.”

Hoseok cackles from the doorway. “Jin-hyung doesn’t mind.”

“I mind!” Jungkook squawks self-consciously from behind his hand. Seokjin smiles, slow and sweet. Jungkook’s heart does flip-flops inside the cage of his ribs.

“Well then, go brush your teeth. There are spare toothbrushes in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. We can wait.” Seokjin nudges down beside Taehyung and spoons up against his back, pressing the long line of his back against Jungkook’s thigh. 

“We?”

“There’s two more of us here you haven’t kissed yet,” Hoseok observes pertly. “I’d like my turn, too.”

The flush on Jungkook’s face is crawling down his neck, and Yoongi nudges Hoseok. 

“Hey,” Yoongi says carefully from the doorway. “Let us know if we come on too strong, or if it’s too much, okay? This is…” Yoongi gestures vaguely in the air, “new for you, and for us. And we don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Jungkook shakes his head fervently, not wanting Yoongi to misunderstand. “No,” he says urgently, “hyung, I really want to kiss you. I want to kiss all of you. If you want to kiss me too.” He pauses. “I just would like to do it when my mouth smells good.”

“Well then,” Yoongi says without missing a beat, “go brush your teeth and be quick about it.”

Hoseok bursts into raucous laughter, slapping Yoongi appreciatively on the shoulder. Jungkook shakes his head, grinning behind his hand, and crawls off the bed towards the bathroom, trying not to be too self-conscious that he’s swinging freely. He snags his shorts on the way from where he dropped them in a pile on the floor the night before. He’s pretty sure that Hoseok, lacking any of the self-control Seokjin exhibited, cheerfully eyes his bum on his way into the bathroom. 

“Please,” Jungkook hears Taehyung grumble as he closes the door behind him. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

When Jungkook finally emerges from the bathroom, mouth smelling fresh, and butt ensconced safely in shorts, everyone’s puppy piled on the bed, snuggled up and cuddling chastely. Yoongi has his nose buried in Jimin’s hair, one arm snug around Seokjin’s waist, while Hoseok is on his belly using his phone, tucked into the curve of Taehyung’s body. He clicks the phone off when he sees Jungkook. 

Jungkook should wonder where he fits in this crowd of people, but instead he climbs onto the bed without hesitation and the puppy pile parts right down the middle to make space for him. 

Yoongi is the first to lean down, an unspoken question in his eyes, until Jungkook shudders minutely and closes the gap. Seokjin’s arms go around his waist from behind him like an anchor. Yoongi kisses gently, but Jungkook can feel the bridled power behind it. What would it be like to unchain that power, to slip the reins off Yoongi’s self-control and be right there in the eye of the storm when it happens? Jungkook makes a small sound and deepens the kiss until Yoongi pulls back for breath. His pupils have darkened. 

“God, Jungkook…” Yoongi rakes a hand through his hair. He’s already looking a little unstable. 

“More,” Jungkook murmurs, and it’s Hoseok who rises silently and comes to join him in the middle. Hoseok nudges a knee between Jungkook’s thighs, kneeling over him and almost immediately pressing his tongue between Jungkook’s eager lips. It’s like they’re both parched. 

The minute they come up for air, Seokjin’s there to take over. 

“I love…I love tasting them on you,” Seokjin confesses quietly, and Jungkook surges forward and mouths at him fiercely, demanding and taking what he’d been too shy to allow just five minutes before. Seokjin gasps under his attentions but submits gladly. 

“My turn,” someone says from the door, and Seokjin releases his grip on Jungkook. Taehyung and Jimin by now have roused fully, and they press up on elbows to see. 

Jungkook’s lips feel swollen and tender. He’s never had this many kisses early in the morning. He’s definitely never kissed five different men so early in the morning, and as Namjoon pads toward him, his footfalls absolutely silent, Jungkook feels like he’s burning up. The others are watching intently as Namjoon reaches the edge of the bed and stands there, holding his hand out in an implicit invitation. 

“Jungkook,” Namjoon says softly. “My sweet love.”

The phrase burns a blaze through Jungkook’s chest, igniting something inside him he didn’t know existed. He sucks in a breath. Suddenly, he feels light-headed, giddy, as if he’s wading through tendrils of fog, as he moves on his knees on the bed toward Namjoon and takes his proffered hand. Namjoon pulls him close. Their chests are pressed up together. Jungkook’s head is swimming with flashes of light. For the briefest moment, he swears he sees Namjoon’s eyes flicker a deep, warm gold. 

Their lips touch. 

Laughter drifts on the breeze. 

“Don’t stop, Namjoon-hyung.” A gasp, cut off, and then a need-filled moan. 

Almond eyes closing against his cheek, feather-light lips moving over his throat, his collarbone, drifting over a small, taut nipple. 

“There. Please, I need…” A rustle of clothing, breath panting, bodies pressed so tightly together there’s no space for anything but love in between them. “Hyung, I need you.”

“I’m here, Jungkook. My sweet love.”

“Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook whispers. His eyes have gone blind. He doesn’t know where the words are coming from, but he says them anyway. “You came.”

The other man makes a choked sound, somewhere between grief and finally fulfilled longing. “I’ll always come for you, Jungkook-ah.”

Namjoon kisses him like rain falling on a field, like wildflowers swaying, like fireworks spattered across a pitch-black sky, like cherry blossom floating on the wind. Jungkook tilts his head back helplessly and gives back what he can. It’s so tender, so much yearning packed into one long kiss that feels strangely familiar, as if it’s unlocking a memory of this precise moment lingering somewhere inside his head.

As if sometime in the past, sometime in history, Jungkook knew the shape of these lips as well as he knows his own. As if when Namjoon slots his mouth against his, a puzzle piece is falling into place. 

The kiss both sates and provokes his hunger for more, so that when Namjoon finally unlocks his mouth from his, Jungkook draws in a shaking, unsteady breath and fights the need to surge against him again. The other five stay close around them, watching quietly. Despite the electricity coursing through him, the atmosphere is suffused with emotion, warm and welcoming and calm. There’s nothing Jungkook wants more than to pull Namjoon down into the jumble of bodies on the bed, to curl into him and kiss him until they fall asleep, safe and warm and everyone wound around each other like a ball of twine. 

Jungkook’s never felt like this before, like every nerve in his body is alight, like he’s starting to remember something that he’s sure never even happened. The shapeless shadows moving inside his mind are starting to coalesce into something more.

“I don’t know what this is,” Jungkook whispers uncertainly. “Hyung, what is this?”

Namjoon’s eyes are all at once full of sadness and joy as he stares at Jungkook, that faint glimmer of gold in his gaze like quicksilver in the light. “It just means you belong with us,” he answers huskily. “It means this is right.”

“It’s right,” Jungkook echoes, and it makes sense, Namjoon makes all the sense in the world, because when Jungkook presses his mouth back onto Namjoon’s, he knows it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

Dating six people at once is both much easier and much trickier than Jungkook expects. 

Its main perk, obviously, is that Jungkook now has six people who are incredibly demonstrative in their affection for one another. He leans into it. He’s never felt more secure, more attached, more loved - how can he not, when he gets to lean on any one of them, kiss them, pull them into hugs whenever he feels like it? When they allow him absolutely anything, and reciprocate so enthusiastically that there’s not a shred of doubt in his mind about their obvious feelings for him? 

Jungkook’s unused to such a deluge of love and attention, but he’s thrilled by it.

He leans into it, hard. 

He runs possessive hands along Jimin’s narrow waist, back hugs Hoseok tightly so that he has to walk with Jungkook stuck on him like a limpet. He nuzzles Seokjin as he tries to make sandwiches and laughingly complains when Seokjin accidentally gets mayo on his arm, then swallows hard and tries to squelch his natural reaction when Seokjin holds his gaze as he casually licks the mayo off his skin. He tangles fingers with Taehyung everywhere they walk, drapes his legs over Yoongi’s lap whenever he has the opportunity to, and smugly leverages his position as maknae to claim the right to tuck himself into Namjoon on the couch. 

Somehow, even in the midst of frenetic preparations for the exhibit, they scrape together time to have occasional decadent picnics on the lawn - inevitably someone’s head is pillowed in someone’s lap, while some are running and screaming and chasing each other with water pistols, others calmly dishing out food and others taking turns to rack up poorly but energetically scored points at table tennis. 

Once or twice, they push the little canoe into the water and paddle about. Taehyung once stands up in the middle of the lake to serenade Namjoon to the exuberant cackling of the others. One hand pressed to his heart, the other holding on to his paddle, Taehyung belts out a trot love song solely for Namjoon’s benefit, and almost tips over into the water when the waves lap too hard on one side. After a hearty scolding from the older ones, he doesn’t dare do that again, much to Seokjin’s relief and Jungkook’s amusement.

Jungkook learns to cook under Seokjin and Yoongi’s patient tutelage. He learns to dance, Hoseok’s patient hands directing his hip and pelvis, and they jitter and jive with Taehyung and Jimin to the beat of their favorite songs. He learns Namjoon’s patience and idiosyncrasies as they work together on the exhibit. 

And in bed, Jungkook learns how to give and receive pleasure from people he actually loves. He learns each one of their bodies - what makes them giggle unexpectedly, what they enjoy, what makes them fall apart in his arms, moaning and writhing and eager to reciprocate. 

He’s never loved like this before. 

Jungkook spends none of his nights alone now. Someone or other inevitably either sneaks into his bed or pulls him into theirs at the end of the day. It’s not even always about sex - many nights it’s just about exhaustedly falling into bed, limbs wound around each other in twos or threes and occasionally all seven in the family bed. 

Jungkook secretly likes these nights the best, when all seven of them fall into bed together, loose-limbed and craving warmth and comfort from each other’s touch. If he sometimes misses his star-filled sky out on the lake house, it’s easy enough to lure one or more of them down there with him instead. There’s a sweetness to the way they tug him in and coil around him, the way Jungkook can nestle his head on one man’s shoulder and throw a leg over another man’s waist, the way there’s always someone to kiss him goodnight, or in tonight’s case, to discuss food options after exhausting themselves in each other.

Jungkook’s nights, every single one of them, are blessedly dream-free. 

Tonight, it’s Yoongi that Jungkook draws into his bed, both of them simmering over with heat and want. Jungkook presses him down in the circle of his arms, willing and warm and eager, and swallows Yoongi’s moans down as if he can get drunk on them. He loves the sounds Yoongi makes. He wants to hear them forever. 

He moves his hips in a tight circle so that Yoongi hisses and clenches under him. Jungkook smiles triumphantly.

“Like that, hyung?” he asks, and thrusts harder, searching for the spot he hit so he can hit it again, and again, and again. Yoongi falling apart beneath him is so utterly exhilarating, so delicious. So empowering. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi mutters, and pushes his hair back from where it’s falling in his eyes. He clenches once more, and this time it’s Jungkook who hisses in response. “Jungkook,” Yoongi says, and it sounds like a prayer, like a hymn.

But Jungkook is the one who wants to worship. He pushes impossibly closer as if he can get any deeper than he already is. 

“God,” Jungkook says, heartfelt. “I just want to take you apart.” He drops his head and leans over Yoongi, his breath coming hot from his mouth, eager to fuck him just right.

By the time he’s spending inside a moaning Yoongi, who already spent, five minutes earlier, inside his own fist, Jungkook feels like he’s accomplished this mission. He kisses Yoongi like a drowning man until Yoongi laughs into his mouth and pushes him off.

They lie there, starfished and catching their breath, the stars glimmering down through the skylight onto their sated bodies. They’re heedless of the drying saliva and sweat making their skin tacky. Jungkook flops over and nudges into the curve of Yoongi’s side.

“Are you hungry? I think I could go for some fried chicken,” Jungkook muses. Neither of them have the energy to stand up and herd each other into the bathroom just yet, but Jungkook is already thinking about how to replenish the energy he’s just expended. 

Maybe if he has some meat in his belly, he can convince Yoongi to go again, to tip him towards where gravity already works the strongest in the middle of his bed, or even convince Seokjin to join them.

It won’t take much, Jungkook thinks smugly. He knows this first-hand.

“Fried chicken?” The corner of Yoongi’s lip tugs upward and he tucks a stray lock of hair behind Jungkook’s ear. “Like what we ate on our first date.”

“Was that a date?” Jungkook asks dreamily. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of Yoongi’s armpit. The smell is heavenly. He’s still floaty, coming slowly down from his orgasm. “You didn’t tell me it was a date.”

“I’m just going to say it is. So that I get to say I had the first date with you.” Yoongi looks very, very pleased with himself. It’s something to teasingly lord over the others, the fact that he took Jungkook out alone before anyone else did.

“Well, I dream about that fried chicken,” Jungkook says wistfully. “It was so good. We’ll have to go back when we’re in Seoul sometime.”

Yoongi’s hair is lightly matted against his forehead with perspiration. Jungkook wipes off a droplet with the back of his hand, and then raises his eyebrows when he sees Yoongi’s expression grow serious at his flippant mention of dreams.

“Do you still have bad dreams?” Yoongi asks guardedly. “You told me about them, remember.”

It’s odd that Jungkook has had these dreams for so long, has painstakingly structured his life around poor sleep and restless nights, and yet within a couple of months in Chuncheon, he’s adjusted so easily. It’s so damn good, so freeing, to fall asleep at night in someone’s arms without the abiding fear of jolting them awake with fearful, uncontrollable screams in the middle of the night. 

Jungkook shakes his head as if to clear away the cobwebs from inside his skull. He smiles at Yoongi, moved that he hasn’t forgotten a throwaway comment Jungkook made so long ago. “You remember?”

“I remember everything,” Yoongi says gravely. He boops Jungkook’s nose. “So do you still have them?”

“No,” Jungkook insists. “I’m fine. Really, hyung.”

“No more waking up screaming and crying?” 

It’s an amusing and preposterous notion, and Jungkook tells Yoongi why. “Hyung,” Jungkook remonstrates with playful exasperation, “how often have I slept alone these past weeks?”

Yoongi pretends to think, and he can’t stop the smile pulling up on his face as he taps his chin. “Oh really,” Yoongi remarks airily. “I wouldn’t know. You don’t always sleep with me, you know.”

“I’ve never been alone,” Jungkook says firmly. “I don’t want to sleep alone. Any one of the others would have said something if I’d woken up upset.”

“That’s true,” Yoongi concedes. “You’ll tell me if they come back right? The bad dreams.”

“I don’t think they will,” Jungkook says with conviction, and he smiles sweetly at Yoongi. “Not now that I’ve found all of you.”

The light that dawns over Yoongi’s face at this is so brilliant, so full of wonder and love and adoration, that Jungkook wants to bask in it all day long. He almost wants to brag in public: look, he wants to say, look how much he loves me! Instead, he just lets his lover tug him up off the bed, his hand a warm, solid weight in his, the smile spreading across Yoongi’s face full of sweetness and light. 

Jungkook wants it all, every bit.

“Come on, maknae,” Yoongi says, his voice husky with emotion. “Let’s wash up and go get us some fried chicken.”

But to tell the truth, Jungkook hasn’t been completely honest with Yoongi.

The dreams have actually started to return, somewhere around the time that the seven of them formalized their new relationship with each other. But they haven’t been awful, the way they used to, and so he hasn’t wanted to say anything. Hasn’t really seen the need to. The dreams are mostly benign. He doesn’t wake screaming or in cold sweats as he used to do. 

No - these days, Jungkook could swear that his dreams are actually…good. 

But the biggest surprise is that these days, he thinks he’s actually starting to remember. When he wakes in the morning, legs tangled in blankets and often between other legs, Jungkook can still summon the tiniest flashes of his dreams if he doesn’t open his eyes straightaway. The best way to do it, he’s found, is to let himself gradually and slowly drift awake, and let the last remnants of his dream come back to him. 

So far, Jungkook remembers the glint of fiery golden eyes and voices calling his name, tenderness rounding out the vowels - and not much else. He doesn’t want to say anything to anyone until he has a better mental picture, but the bits he can remember from these good dreams are still more like sensations than actual images - the flash of something bright and shimmery, arms tight around him, the feeling of being so, so loved. 

It’s almost indistinguishable from how he feels right now. The dreams seem long ago and far away, separate from this little world they’re building for themselves in Chuncheon. As time passes though, he can feel these sensations resolving, getting clearer, easier to grasp. Jungkook’s still trying to figure out these strange flashes of what seems like memory, still trying to parse the way he feels like he’s known them forever. 

After all, things are better in his life than they have ever been. The overwhelming rightness of being part of the group of seven has cast a beautiful warmth over his life. He hardly remembers what the start of the year felt like, when he was alone and drained and ennui was all he had to look forward to at the end of the day. Instead, his days are full - brimming with art, work that he values, people whom he loves. 

And yet there now seems to be a different sort of void that Jungkook has to tiptoe around; an itch he can’t ever reach to scratch, made all the more apparent by the others’ occasional wistful, lingering glances, confusing references to past events that Jungkook cannot possibly have been part of, and the niggling feeling that maybe…he was. Even though he doesn’t understand it.

It’s a frustrating blip on an otherwise blissful existence.

It starts to happen more and more often. One time, the smile falls off Jimin’s face and he falters, breath hitching, when he watches the way Jungkook, Seokjin and Namjoon cuddle on the couch, as if he can see, overlapped with reality, a time past when they’d done the same thing. Taehyung chokes up unexpectedly and has to turn away to collect himself when Jungkook tries to feed him tteokbokki with his fingers on the front lawn of the house. 

Another time, Yoongi’s hunted glance follows Jungkook around the room when he mentions a small northern seaside town he visited as a child. Jungkook doesn’t understand why Hoseok freezes in panic when he casually asks about the origin of the norigae Hoseok makes. When Jungkook starts to add them up, all the blips are small, perhaps, but significant enough that they have started to worry Jungkook, to sit in his heart like an ache, marring the otherwise beautiful perfection of this new seven-way relationship. 

It hurts Jungkook, that no one seems to want to talk to him about it, even though he probes gently. They’re open and forthcoming with anything and everything else, but it’s so obvious everyone is tiptoeing around these strange half-memories and buried hurts. Jungkook doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, or how to make it right - or even why it needs to be fixed in the first place.

The first person he attempts to broach the subject with is Namjoon. All he wants to do is try and unravel a little bit of this mystery. It’s easy enough to get Namjoon alone - or any of them alone, for that matter - all it takes is a sweet smile, slipping his fingers into Namjoon’s, and a murmured request - “Hyung, do you want my company tonight?”

Namjoon’s face lights up as he nods. “My room?” he asks hopefully, and Jungkook agrees.

“Don’t sleep too late,” Hoseok admonishes them. “Long day tomorrow.”

“We’re just going to sleep,” Jungkook complains at Hoseok’s insinuation. He laughs as Namjoon puts on a comical look of despair in response.

“Just sleep?” Namjoon asks with a pout. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Namjoon shrugs easily, unbothered and still delighted to have Jungkook twined around him in his bed, all to himself. “Okay then.”

Hoseok, looking at them from the bottom of the stairs, eases into the heart-shaped smile that Jungkook loves so well. “Goodnight then, sweethearts.”

“Goodnight, hyung,” Jungkook says. He follows Namjoon into the room where they get ready for bed, Jungkook picking his favorite of Namjoon’s sleep-soft shirts to wear. He thinks about what an untold luxury it is that his nights are in actual fact, good: free of disturbing dreams, full of contented sleep.

So good that Jungkook agonizes, sometimes, wondering if it’s real.

He sits on the edge of the bed, watching Namjoon’s muscles flex as he pulls off his own T-shirt (Namjoon prefers to sleep shirtless, after all).

“Come here,” Namjoon says, and Jungkook obliges easily, sliding across the bed to end up for all intents and purposes in Namjoon’s lap. Namjoon frames Jungkook’s face with his palms, that beautiful, familiar face, Jungkook going nearly cross-eyed as he stares into Namjoon’s dragon eyes. 

“God,” Jungkook says, heartfelt, melting easily. “You’re so beautiful.”

Namjoon lets out a short bark of a laugh. “Me?” he says dismissively. “Hardly.”

“Listen when I’m telling you something important,” Jungkook scolds. He presses his forehead to Namjoon’s and just about resists the urge to kiss him. “You’re beautiful.”

“If you say so, baby,” Namjoon replies with amusement. His gaze travels lovingly over Jungkook’s face. “I think you are, too.”

Why resist? Jungkook asks himself quite reasonably, and leans in to lip at Namjoon’s mouth. They sink into the kiss with a sigh, Namjoon splaying his fingers over the curve of Jungkook’s spine. There’s nothing more intoxicating than this - mouths meeting, fingers brushing against skin, Namjoon’s warm, familiar scent.

“Sometimes it feels like this is all a dream,” Jungkook says with a sigh. 

“A good one, I hope,” Namjoon says.

“The best kind.” But Jungkook frowns. That doesn’t feel entirely truthful to him, but he doesn’t know if he should tell Namjoon how he’s been feeling. “You know,” Jungkook says carefully. “I have - or used to have - bad dreams.”

“Bad dreams?” Namjoon idly cards his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, but his expression turns serious. “What kind of dreams?”

What does he have to lose? Jungkook decides to be fully honest. “They were really pretty awful. I’d have them every night. Vivid enough to leave me disoriented and crying and jolting awake, but I’d never be able to remember what I dreamt about when I woke up.”

Namjoon’s hand stills on his head, his eyes full of concern. “You never remembered any of it?”

“Nope.” Then Jungkook glances at Namjoon. “The only thing I remembered dreaming about was that scene you painted. The one at the train tracks.” He shrugs, just enough to be casual. “I don’t remember anything else about it. Flashes of gold, maybe? Voices, but I don’t remember what they say. I only remembered the trainyard scene because of the painting - though I think I only see six people in my dream.”

He doesn’t miss the emotion that flashes across Namjoon’s face before the other man schools his expression.

“How long has this been going on for?”

“Ages. Long enough.”

”You said ‘used to have’…?”

Jungkook smiles. “The first night I stopped having them was the first night I stayed here.” He scrunches his nose up. “Like a good omen, right?” Conveniently, Jungkook doesn’t mention that the dreams have started to come back, even though they aren’t bad anymore. He doesn’t mention he’s started to remember more of them. 

“Right,” Namjoon says, and he smiles back, but the smile is somewhat terse, and it doesn’t quite reach his eyes until he sighs. “Then it’s a very good thing you’re here with us, if it means you sleep well.”

“Here… it’s like a dream world. Kind of like a bubble,” Jungkook says quietly, in a flash of introspection. He’s talking about the workshop, the house, everything removed from Seoul, the fact that they’re partners and lovers and colleagues and everything in one place. It feels almost hermetically sealed off, separate from time and space and the rest of the world. 

Like a dream he could wake up from and never remember what he dreamt.

“What do you mean?” But Namjoon knows precisely what Jungkook means, even if he shies away from what Jungkook is implying. 

“This,” Jungkook gestures around them vaguely. “Chuncheon. This house. Us. It’s a bubble.”

Namjoon cocks his head and studies Jungkook’s face. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

The younger man shrugs. “A little of both. I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the bubble to pop. Maybe I’ll wake up one morning and you’ll all be gone and I’ll realize I dreamed it all.”

“I promise you,” Namjoon says softly, “that every morning you wake up, we will be right here with you. None of us are going anywhere. And we’re not letting you go either.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything to this at first. He just lets Namjoon hook his finger into the hem of his shirt and tug him gently in for another drugging kiss. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says quietly. “Yeah, I hope so.” He hesitates, unwilling to let it drop. “I sometimes feel a little bit like I’m on the outside looking in, like there’s some subtext I’m missing, something I’m not getting. Maybe it’s just that you guys have been together so much longer.”

Namjoon’s jaw tenses up at this, and Jungkook strokes a thumb over it, instinctively trying to ease the sting of his words, even though he’s unsure why this feels like it upsets Namjoon so much. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. 

Finally Namjoon says, “Time doesn’t matter. You’re just as much an equal partner in this as any of us.” He looks desperate for Jungkook to understand this, his hand laid over Jungkook’s and squeezing. 

But Jungkook thinks about the painting that Wooju unwrapped that day in the shop, which seems like a lifetime ago. The oil painting of seven silhouettes along the train tracks, facing a setting sun, that Jungkook swears he saw in a dream. A one-off, Namjoon said. A painting he made because it was a memory he couldn’t stop thinking about. 

How could they remember the same thing from a time they never knew?

Jungkook thinks of all the times they’ve mentioned a memory that they somehow imply Jungkook should remember, even though he couldn’t possibly, and an ache seeps into his chest. 

“Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook says softly. He watches Namjoon’s face. “Why does it feel like I’ve met you before this?”

Oh, Namjoon is good. Very good. He angles his face away carefully so Jungkook can’t quite see his expression, and his breath is deliberately steady. But Jungkook - somehow - knows the lines of this man’s body as well as he knows his own, and the sudden tautness of the muscles in his arms betray Namjoon’s tension to him like lines read aloud from a much-loved book.

“Maybe you have,” Namjoon answers finally. “Why, do you…do you remember something?”

Back to this again. 

“Am I supposed to?” Jungkook asks, suddenly frustrated. He can sense the disappointment, masked behind a quiet exhale and the tightening clutch of Namjoon’s arms around him. “What am I supposed to remember?” What Jungkook doesn’t say is: how does one forget something that never happened?

“You tell me,” Namjoon says carefully. “Do you remember how we met?”

“In the café? Of course. I thought you were familiar, even then.”

“Yeah.” Namjoon exhales again, harsher this time, but he doesn’t say more than that. He just lies there, stroking Jungkook’s hair.

Jungkook knows, instinctively, the depth of Namjoon’s emotions for him, but this leaves him muddled and confused. What aren’t they saying? What hasn’t he understood? “Hyung,” he says slowly, “did you find me familiar?” 

In the dark, in Namjoon’s eyes, Jungkook sees the briefest flash of gold. Namjoon sighs and pulls Jungkook down into the crook of his arm. Jungkook lifts his chin and kisses Namjoon soft and slow, long and deep, almost desperate until they finally pull apart, panting for breath just inches from each other’s lips. 

“Baby,” Namjoon whispers, his voice unsteady, “I’ve loved you since the day I first saw you.”

“You mean that day, in the coffee house?” Jungkook frowns. He wants to be sure. 

But Namjoon doesn’t reply, and there in the dim and the waning light, tucked into his lover’s arms, Jungkook is still no wiser. 

Then perhaps there’s another question Namjoon will answer.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says. He doesn’t wait. He just twists the knife. A clean cut, because he can’t bear to hurt Namjoon more than he has to. He’s connected enough of the dots to figure bits of it out, but he needs confirmation. “Then would you tell me - who’s the seventh person in the oil painting? Jin-hyung told me that you lost someone. Was he the artist who made the dragon? The one who was so important to you?”

Namjoon’s eyes fly open, wide, shocked and glimmering with a sudden grief, breath arrested in his throat. The grip he has on Jungkook’s arms tightens, and Jungkook’s heart aches at the obvious pain he’s causing. And yet… and yet. If they’re going to be together, if they’re going to love one another, Jungkook thinks surely he has a right to know.

“Was he?” Jungkook presses. He lays his hand on Namjoon’s cheek, pleading, staring into Namjoon’s eyes. “You can tell me. Please.”

There’s a long, frozen silence, but Jungkook is so very sick of frozen silences. 

“Namjoon-hyung.”

Namjoon flinches at the sound of his name spoken so firmly. He looks old and tired all of a sudden, his brow furrowed, but he doesn’t look away from Jungkook. He opens his mouth, and closes it, and opens it again. The pained whisper that finally emerges from his mouth splinters in the air like a shattered dream.

“Yes.”

Jungkook catches his breath at the confirmation. “I’m so sorry,” he says sincerely, and presses his lips to Namjoon’s forehead in an effort to soothe. Namjoon grasps his waist like a drowning man, his breath ragged. 

“Will you tell me about him?”

“That boy was the best of us.” But it’s not Namjoon who answers, and Jungkook looks up to see Hoseok slip into the room on noiseless feet. He must have been caught some of their conversation through the door, which they left ajar; maybe alerted by the broken sound of Namjoon’s voice. 

“Hoseok,” Namjoon mutters thickly. He clutches at air before his hand lands on Hoseok’s and he pulls him in almost desperately. Hoseok slips another buttressing arm around Namjoon. His eyes are bright with emotion as he gazes at the two of them. 

“Shh,” Hoseok croons. He strokes Namjoon’s temple, presses a kiss to Jungkook’s cheek. It’s clear that it hurts to say anything about it, but Hoseok forges ahead anyway, determined to answer Jungkook’s question. “He was so sweet, so lovely, so full of joy and laughter. We called him our golden maknae, because he was good at everything, anything he put his mind to, he could do it.” Hoseok shrugs lightly, but Jungkook can see his candor is costing him. “He was an insanely talented sculptor.”

Jungkook nods sympathetically, grieving with them, longing to absorb their pain and make it his own. He thinks he should feel jealous, perhaps, of this boy who they loved before him, but all he can feel is a deep, terrible ache for their loss. It can’t have been that long ago; Jimin and Taehyung are not that much older than he is. “He made the dragon. He must have been so good, if he was the maknae. He must have been so young.”

Namjoon sucks in a breath as if he’s been punched directly in the solar plexus. “He was so young,” he repeats brokenly, “we didn’t have enough time.”

“There’s never enough time,” Jungkook murmurs, “to spend with the ones we love.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen at this, and he nods silently, his arm wrapped around Namjoon’s shoulders. His voice is a thinly exhaled breath. “Yes. He…he would have agreed with you.”

It doesn’t have to be said, honestly. Jungkook knows how fully they love, how wide and depthless their hearts are, how easily they’ve expanded around him and enclosed him in themselves. But it’s a truth to be spoken out into the universe, a recognition of someone so important to them that ripping him away has left irreparable holes in the fabric of their being, so Jungkook says it anyway, like a finger that cannot help pressing a bruise: “You must all have loved him very much.” 

A wounded sound, this time from Namjoon, and Jungkook flinches internally from it, even as the three of them stay tightly wound around each other. His fault.

“We did,” Namjoon says haltingly. “We love…we loved him very much.”

Hoseok seems to agree, because he smiles, albeit sadly.

“We did love him,” Hoseok murmurs soothingly, “and it’s okay. You’re here with us now, Jungkook-ah.”

“I’m here,” Jungkook repeats. He curls himself into two of his lovers and holds on tight to what he can see and know to be true. “I’m here.” 

And so there it is. There was someone before him, someone whom they loved deeply, who was taken from them before his time. Jungkook thinks he understands, now, why they tiptoe around him sometimes and why they look at him with a hidden pain. Perhaps they see their maknae in him; he can see how they might slip up when they miss him too much. 

He gets it, to some extent; he can understand what grief does and how it can linger like an unwanted, unwelcome guest long after someone is lost. But Jungkook wants to be clear with them. He’s not here to patch the holes that other man left behind - he knows that void will never be whole again. He doesn’t want to be a replacement for another man.

He’s here to knit a new fabric with them. To start again.

Jungkook prays that they will let him.

The work is tough, but time flies, and too soon, their hard work is being seen out to its natural conclusion. They’re on a special night visit to the Chuncheon Art Gallery to do one last walk-through of their exhibit before it opens. It’s been a long time coming, and Jungkook can’t contain his excitement. None of them bar Namjoon has seen his final layout for the retail store. He’s understandably nervous about showing it to the others, but also barely controlling the fizz of excitement under his skin. 

“Are we ready?” Jungkook asks. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“Ready,” the others chorus. Namjoon in particular is gazing at Jungkook with pride. The others have their faces hidden mostly behind glasses, masks and caps or beanies, to maintain as much anonymity as possible. 

“Okay,” Jungkook says. He blows out a nervous breath and stuffs his hands in his pockets in a show of forced casualness. “Okay.”

Taehyung places a steadying hand on the small of his back. “Breathe, hey?” he murmurs. “You’re doing great.”

Jungkook looks gratefully at him and leans into the touch. They’ve finally finished the first part of the inspection, which took them nearly three hours to check every last thing from the integrity of the displays to the font size of the write-ups on the informational plaques. There hasn’t been much to critique - Namjoon’s done an impeccable job as curator, as usual - but they’ve been thorough and meticulous anyway, pointing out small amendments or corrections that have to be made. Namjoon finally puts away the little black notebook he’s been jotting notes into. 

And now, Jungkook thinks, it’s his turn. He’s going to bring them to see the pop-up for the first time. He can’t help but be nervous, even though both Namjoon and Wooju have assured him he’s done a brilliant job. There’s always that nagging “what if” in his head.

Like - what if it’s awful, what if they hate it but they don’t tell him the truth because they don’t want to hurt his feelings?

Jungkook shakes it off. Jimin’s come up to thread his fingers through his. 

“C’mon,” Jimin says, and even under his mask Jungkook can trace the sweetness of his smile. “I wanna see.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says one last time. “Let’s go.”

Jungkook apprehensively leads the way into the gallery shop, which he’s taken over for the period of the exhibition. It’s the culmination of months of hard work on Jungkook’s part. He almost can’t look at them to gauge their reactions, and he thinks it’s probably better he keeps quiet and lets them see it for what it is rather than babble away in nervousness. He flicks on the light. The momentary silence makes him tense up, but then he’s heartened when gasps of admiration and surprise come from each of the members. Namjoon’s grinning. He’s seen it all already, of course.

“Jungkook, I…” Hoseok trails off, turning around in wonder. “This is incredible. I can’t believe you were hiding all this from us.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook’s cheeks are pink. “Do you…do you like it?”

One side of the shop has been done up entirely as if it’s someone’s living room. A black spindle-backed bench sits on one side, a hand-knitted throw in galaxy colors tossed casually over one arm and quirky cushions in the middle of the seat. Beside it, floating wooden bookshelves bracket the ninety-degree corner of the wall, laden artfully with little ceramic pots, books and trinkets. Jungkook particularly likes the plants he arranged to cascade down from the pots, even if the plants are by necessity fake. Art prints in simple thin black frames, surrounding a metal sculpture, line the wall above the seat. 

“This is brilliant,” Jimin breathes. “It looks so cozy.” He drops Jungkook’s hand and goes around marveling at the display. Namjoon comes up behind Jungkook and slings his arm over his shoulder, a bulwark for Jungkook’s nerves. Jimin turns and squeals, “That’s Tae’s drawing up there! And my line art!”

“Is everything for sale?” Taehyung inquires. “Because I really want that dipped pot on the wall shelf. It’s adorable.”

Seokjin pokes him in mock disgust. “You’re kidding. It’s cute, but I’m right here, and that is a mass-produced souvenir.”

Taehyung turns a dazzling grin on Seokjin. “Then you’ll make me one for free, won’t you hyung?”

Trapped, Seokjin makes a grumbling noise, and Taehyung beams. 

“Whipped,” Namjoon says laughingly, and Seokjin sneers. 

“As if you aren’t,” Seokjin says, and Namjoon doesn’t even bother to dispute it. “Anyway, Jungkook, I think that vintage telescope setup is my favorite. And those star charts are gorgeous.”

“Using that old chest as a coffee table is cute, too,” Hoseok says, nodding in approval. “And even the extra stock is displayed so prettily. I love the way those T-shirts are stacked on the side table.”

“They’re all from local artists or vendors, particularly around the Chuncheon area wherever possible,” Jungkook says in a rush. “Some of the items are handmade, some were commissioned specially to match the ‘Mikrokosmos’ theme.” Jungkook watches them carefully, warmth blooming in his chest when he understands that they’re genuinely impressed and endeared by his work. “Canvases have been made into art prints, and some have been screen-printed on shirts. We have totes and socks, factory-made replicas of some of the art pieces on display. A limited-edition run of Jimin’s jewelry.”

Hoseok shakes his head in admiration, seemingly lost for words, and he comes around to give Jungkook a quick squeeze around the shoulder. 

“You’re amazing,” he says quietly. 

“I love that cushion,” Jimin squeals. He points at the motley collection on the bench. “The dog in the spaceship. It’s so cute.”

Yoongi clears his throat as he wanders around the shop, touching a few things and examining them like he did the first time he visited Wooju’s shop. “You know the dog Laika died in space,” he says conversationally. “She wasn’t meant to survive the trip, anyway. Heatstroke probably killed her in just a couple of hours.”

Jimin’s jaw drops open. “Can you - can you just appreciate the cuteness of the pillow?”

“It’s cute,” Yoongi agrees obligingly. “Just remember Laika’s noble sacrifice to the space exploration cause while you cuddle her likeness at night.”

Jimin gasps, points accusingly at Yoongi and whirls toward Jungkook, who’s laughing. “Do not let Yoongi-hyung write any of the promo!”

“It’s all done, actually,” Jungkook says shyly. “Wanna see the brochures?” He leans behind the counter and comes up with a sheaf of brochures, fanning them out on the counter. His heart twinges when they eagerly rifle through them, thumbing through the pages and murmuring approvingly over his painstakingly written details. The little paragraphs aren’t completely new to them, of course; Jungkook had them all read through and sign off on his work, but it’s the first time they’re looking at the finished product. 

Taehyung nuzzles behind Jungkook’s ear at the same time Yoongi squeezes an arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. 

“This is gorgeous,” Hoseok says, twirling in a circle with his arms held out wide as if to embrace the air. His face is alight. “I love everything. Everything! This is seriously amazing.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever had a shop display as good as this,” Yoongi agrees, and the praise makes Jungkook tingle. “Fabulous work, Jungkook.”

Namjoon’s grinning at Jungkook. “I told you,” he said comfortably. “You were worried for nothing.”

“What were you worried about?” Jimin nudges Taehyung out of the way and slips his hands under Jungkook’s shirt. “You know we have the utmost confidence in you.”

“Yeah, well…” Jungkook trails off, unable to focus his thoughts with Jimin’s hands lingering around his midriff. “I really wanted to live up to your expectations, you know?”

“You have,” Yoongi says firmly. “Exceeded them, actually.”

“We’re all professionals,” Hoseok adds as he raises his eyebrows, “and we have our own reputation on the line, Jungkook-ah. Rest assured we wouldn’t just put our pop-up in the hands of anyone we didn’t think would do the best possible job.” He pops his tongue inside his cheek, poorly hiding sudden amusement. “Regardless of whether he’s one of us or not. And you are.”

A creamy flush settles into Jungkook’s neck, and he tugs at his collar, embarrassed but pleased. He really has put so much into this that it’s incredibly gratifying to have his work assessed and complimented, not just by six artists he has a huge amount of respect for, but for the six men he now shares his heart with.

“Wow,” he says finally, and grins at Hoseok. “That’s…that’s some high praise, hyung.”

“We’re just so glad it’s you,” Jimin says quietly, and rests his forehead against the back of Jungkook’s neck. 

“Come on,” Namjoon says. He claps Jimin on the back. “Shall we grab some dinner? My treat. A reward for all your hard work.”

“You worked hard too,” Taehyung says indignantly. “We’ll treat you to dessert.”

“Shall we have meat?” Jungkook says hopefully. “Grilled pork?”

“Of course. Whatever you want. You’ve earned it.” Namjoon leans down and kisses Jungkook slowly, languorously. Hoseok whoops with delight, even as Jungkook’s head spins, still trying to adjust to the concept of being able to kiss any of them in public..

“Why does he get to kiss Jungkook?” Taehyung complains. “Why do I have to wear this mask? I want to be kissed too.”

“Kim Namjoon-nim,” someone calls out, and Jungkook gasps and pulls away from Namjoon quickly before they can be spotted in a clinch. Unbothered, Namjoon turns, calm and composed, and slips his hand into Jungkook’s before he can move. 

“That’s why you’re wearing the mask,” Seokjin hisses at Taehyung. 

“Yes, hello manager-nim,” Namjoon says genially. “Thank you for letting us roam around the gallery so late. We’re just about done.”

“Not at all,” the gallery manager says. She bows politely to everyone amid their murmured greetings. She can’t see much of their faces, all hidden behind masks and tinted glasses, but she’s still in awe of being in the presence of the entire noted TBS collective. “I do hope everything’s in order? Is there anything I can do?”

“We’re very pleased with everything we see. We have a couple of amendments to make, but nothing major; my assistant Jungkook will compile a list of our requirements and email it over to you by tomorrow so that you have ample time to make the changes. But don’t worry, they’re all minor,” Namjoon informs her. “I’m confident we should be ready to go by opening night next week.”

“Ah, we’re really looking forward to it,” she says. “We’re so honored to have The Blue Side exhibit here. And Jungkook-ssi has been working so hard here to put the shop together. We love how it looks, honestly, a real change from our usual shelves.”

Jungkook ducks his head, pleased. 

“If you’re ever looking for a job, just know we’d be happy to have you,” the gallery manager says to him. Then, with a twinkle in her eye as she glances knowingly at Namjoon’s hand wrapped snugly in his, she adds, “but I don’t suppose we can pry you away from TBS.”

Jungkook laughs. He’s over the moon. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m actually employed with a shop in Seoul. This is a one-time project.”

“For now,” Namjoon interjects smoothly. “I think we’re done, so thank you again for letting us come in here so late, and I’m sorry for keeping you.”

“I’ll look forward to receiving your email tomorrow.” 

“Of course. We’ll go now - we don’t want to keep you from home and your own family. Thank you again.”

They all exchange bows, the masked members of TBS bowing as deeply as possible to convey their hidden smiles, and finally take their leave, piling into the MPV.

It’s no surprise that they want to have meat to celebrate. Why not? There’s no better time for it. Seokjin scrolls hastily on his phone, looking for a place that will suit, fielding the demands being thrown at him left right and center. A place that doesn’t need reservations, a place near enough that it won’t take longer than thirty minutes to drive to, a place with street parking, a place that can fit all of them easily… Finally Seokjin jabs decisively at his screen, plugs the location into the GPS and they cheer as they set off. His efforts pay off handsomely (just like me, Seokjin says smugly and winsomely) and within fifteen minutes they find themselves squished into the biggest booth they have, centered around three grills. Taehyung doesn’t waste a single moment ordering three of the largest, most lavish barbecue sets the place has to offer. Marbled hanwoo, short rib, brisket, pork jowl, you name it, the laden plates arrive, and Namjoon accuses them laughingly of trying to empty his bank account.

“Aish, come on, we can afford it,” Hoseok teases. “Can’t we?”

Namjoon kisses Hoseok’s temple affectionately, so easily and happily defeated. “I’ll buy you anything you want, Hoba.”

The sound of sizzling fat fills the booth as Seokjin and Yoongi load meat onto the hot grill, as ever the self-designated cooks for the group - here, let hyung do it for you . The kimchi is just the right amount of salty and sour, the perilla leaves are fresh and crisp, and the heavy, fragrant smoke from the melting fat wafts straight up to the bronzed exhaust ducts. It’s easy to tune out the tinny pop music coming through the speakers and the chatter of the other patrons. Jungkook’s mouth is watering, and he doesn’t miss the fact that his hyungs are putting the best pieces of meat onto his plate. 

He’s so incredibly spoilt, and he knows it. 

“God,” Jungkook laments, pouting, “I’m going to miss all of you so much next week when I’m back in Seoul.”

“I know, Seoul sucks,” Yoongi commiserates. “But you’ll be back soon. It’s just a weekend, right?”

“It’s Seoul-sucking, get it?” Taehyung cracks up, high-fiving Seokjin across the table while the others groan in amused exasperation. 

“Just a weekend,” Jungkook confirms. He sighs. He’s really not looking forward to it. He’d much rather be here in Chuncheon, surrounded by the men he’s falling in love with, surrounded by trees and water and beautiful sunsets. 

Safe inside their bubble. 

“Well, your part in the pop-up is more or less done,” Namjoon says, neatly wrapping meat, garlic and kimchi in a perilla leaf and offering it to Jungkook. “And you blew it out of the park. How did you like it?”

Jungkook bites his lip thoughtfully. “It was really fun, and I enjoyed it a lot. I learned so much doing this. Made a lot of mistakes, and I couldn’t have succeeded without you. But I think…I think what I really want to do is what I studied in school, you know?”

“Art management,” Yoongi supplies, “wasn’t it?”

“He wants your job, Joonie,” Seokjin teases amid laughter.

“No,” Jungkook says hurriedly, “no, that’s not what…?” But Seokjin is already twinkling at him, one hand on his thigh under the table, and Jungkook understands it’s a joke. He relaxes.

“You know, it’s honestly too much work for me to do this myself,” Namjoon says. He smiles at Jungkook. “I’d be more than happy for someone to do this with me. Especially someone I trusted with the TBS vision.”

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook asks cheekily with his mouth full of meat. “That’s high praise, hyung.”

Namjoon raises an appraising eyebrow. “Of course I do. Who else would I trust if not one of us?”

One of us. Jungkook’s soul lifts like a song on the breeze, like a boat on the lake with a high wind coming.

Maybe it’s time for him to tack into the wind and let it fill his sails.

The hardest part of the exhibition - the prep work - is technically over. The good thing about TBS being anonymous, Jungkook finds, is that they don’t actually have to attend things like the opening night. Freed from the tedium of red-carpet events and the inevitable bowing and scraping, they watch the gallery opening on a live feed comfortably ensconced on the family bed, cheering and whooping as the gallery director cuts the red ribbon on the screen, and cracking open countless bottles of soju to celebrate.

Jungkook isn’t sure if Hoseok and Namjoon told the others that he knows about the maknae. He can sense, though, that they’re tiptoeing around him a little more - just enough for him to notice. 

And he hates it. 

Eggshells aren’t for walking on, he wants to tell them. He’s insatiably curious about this person; who he is, whether he was an artist with the rest of TBS and which works might have belonged to him. Surely as an equal member of this family, it’s something he deserves to know about, even its history.

There’s a nagging feeling, however, that it’s not his place to ask. With such a sensitive topic, perhaps it’s better they take the initiative to tell him when they’re ready. After all, it’s completely understandable that the loss of their partner deeply affects all of them and so Jungkook is loath to push. Particularly when they seem so fragile about it. 

It’s even worse that they treat him as though he’s fragile, too. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to lie to himself. It rankles, even though he wants to be the bigger person about it. He wishes they would trust him enough to shed some light on what they’re thinking. A tiny part of him wonders if he’ll ever match up to this person they lost. An even tinier part of him wonders if he’s just a replacement. He desperately wants them to love him on his own terms - not because they look at him and see a shadow of the boy they loved. 

But when it comes down to it, Jungkook’s too chicken to find out the truth, in case it’s something he doesn’t want to hear. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to burst the bubble. 

The thing about bubbles, though, is that they tend to burst on their own.

It happens when he’s alone with Jimin one evening, sitting on the picnic bench out on the lawn and watching the sun settle down over the lake. The makgeolli bottle between them is half empty, a result of easy conversation and flirty teasing. Jimin is lax and loose and his chin is cupped in his hands, a dreamy smile playing over his lips as he gazes out over their amazing backyard view. 

“Sunsets are spectacular here,” Jungkook says wistfully. “I’m going to miss all this when I’m back in Seoul.”

“Do you really have to go?” Jimin pouts, his lips full and inviting, irresistible. “You should take me with you.”

Jungkook entertains the thought for a moment but regretfully dismisses it; he knows Jimin and Yoongi already have plans for the weekend, a new concept piece for Art Basel, and Jungkook doesn’t want to admit to being the sulky little boy who can’t live without his boyfriends for a night or two.

“I wish I could, but I have to get some stuff settled with Wooju.”

“Well, we’ll be waiting for you.” Jimin smiles at him, all sweetness and light, and Jungkook feels his heart burst into pieces for this beautiful, lovely man. 

How did he get so lucky?

“Look, baby,” Jimin says. The sunset casts a beautiful pink and orange light over the water and suffuses their faces with a pearly glow. Jimin sighs in contentment. “What a sunset. Isn’t it beautiful?”

An image flashes, unbidden, into Jungkook’s mind. A sunset in shades of glorious pinks and purples and orange lighting up the sky. 

“It really is,” Jungkook agrees. “It’s just like the sunset in that oil that Namjoon-hyung painted.”

Jimin nods happily, lost in the lights playing across the water. “Yeah,” he says, gazing out at the water, “although that sunset was much prettier. It was such a good day, remember?” he says, lost in pleasant nostalgia. Jimin takes another sip of his makgeolli. “We’d found Hobi-hyung not long before that, he was the last one in that lifetime.”

We? 

In that lifetime? 

“Mm,” Jungkook says noncommittally. He hopes Jimin will keep talking. Maybe he can shed some of that metaphorical light onto Jungkook’s confusion. 

Gazing over the river, Jimin chuckles. “They’d just built the tracks from Gyeongseong to Incheon, remember? You wanted to see the fancy new steam locomotive… so we waited all afternoon, but that blasted train never did come along.” He looks so fond, so unaware of the trap Jungkook has unwittingly set for him. “We ended up taking a long walk as the sun set. Namjoonie always said it was one of his favorite memories.”

He’s right, Jungkook thinks suddenly, and he frowns. He’s right. That’s what happened. 

How does he know Jimin is right? How can that memory be sparked in him? Is Jungkook just recalling what he dreamt - or is it something more? 

How could he have dreamt this?

But he did. He did. 

Something’s fluttering insistently at the edge of Jungkook’s brain, but he can’t put his finger on it, no matter how he chases it. He frowns, trying to recall something about trains, something about train tracks, something… something there. But it’s as if there are clouds in his head. 

Something other than those train tracks. What was it? 

“I think… I remember something about a train,” Jungkook says hesitantly. “A train…? But in my dream I was alone. I was alone, and something… the smell… of smoke?”

In the burnished glow of the sunset, it’s as if Jimin has become a still life. He freezes and the smile drops off his face as he turns to stare at Jungkook, aghast.

“Don’t do that,” Jungkook murmurs sadly. He recognizes the reaction he gets every time he comes too close to something they don’t want to tell him. His heart swells with emotion: guilt for making Jimin anxious, but relief that something is out, that he knows a little more than he did before. He takes Jimin’s hand between his and chafes it. “Please, Jimin, don’t be upset.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Jimin whispers, and his face is pale and still like wax and Jungkook hurts so badly for him. “Baby, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“No, you’re right,” Jungkook replies quietly, implacably. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m here with you, and you’re here with me, and somehow…somehow that’s still not enough for any of you.”

Jimin gasps, a sharp, panicked intake of breath, and stumbles up to his feet. Alarmed, Jungkook comes around swiftly to hold him before he can crumble. Jimin’s hands come up to cup Jungkook’s face. Usually sweet and smiling, now Jimin looks as if he’s reliving some horror that only he can see. 

“You’re enough, more than enough,” Jimin insists wildly. “Baby, believe me.”

Jungkook soothes him automatically, his hands swooping up and down the line of his back, but he shakes his head. 

“There’s something you’re all hiding,” he notes, “and I don’t know what it is. Why won’t anyone tell me?” He can barely hide the frustration simmering below the surface, even as he holds Jimin close and tries to smooth the tension from his body.

Jimin doesn’t speak for a long while, just breathes into the hollow of his shoulder until his chest finally rises and falls at a gentler pace.

“Look, I…” he trails off. “Do you think that dream could be a memory?”

“A memory?” Jungkook barks out an incredulous laugh. He’s had an inkling, from the things they’ve been half saying and not saying, but to hear Jimin admit it out loud is jarring. “How could they be? Hyung, I… I’m not an amnesiac or something. This isn’t some crazy drama serial, right? I haven’t forgotten a part of my past, or something. I’m just… I’m just me. Boring old Jeon Jungkook from Busan. I remember my whole life, and I’m not missing any of it.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin says, his voice thready, “believe me - I wish I could explain everything to you.”

Jungkook tries very hard not to feel hurt, and fails. “Why can’t you?”

Jimin waves his arm fruitlessly in the air but no words come from his mouth. “I don’t know,” he mutters finally. “Namjoon-hyung said you need to remember it for yourself.”

The snort that erupts from Jungkook is laden with derision and frustration. “How,” he asks irritably, “can I remember something that never happened?”

“Don’t say that. It happened. It’s real. Even if you don’t remember us,” Jimin says. It’s clearly taking him effort to stop his voice from shaking.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not that boy you lost,” Jungkook says defiantly. “I can’t be someone I’m not.”

Jimin recoils, looking as though he’s been slapped, and his voice comes out feather-light and fragile, crumbling at the seams. He looks small and broken. “I - I know.”

It feels so desperately unfair to Jungkook, that he should have found these six men he loves more than anything else in the world, but to still feel cheated in some way of his perfect, storybook ending. 

Jimin looks so pale and so wounded. Jungkook feels the guilt claw its way up into the cavity of his chest. He regards Jimin in complete silence, already knowing what he needs to do, but he can’t leave Jimin like this. Sighing, Jungkook bends and kisses Jimin thoroughly, deeply, infusing the kiss with every ounce of love he can. Jimin presses into his arms and against his lips eagerly and desperately as if he can erase Jungkook’s frustration this way.

When Jungkook finally pulls away, he sighs.

“I’m gonna go,” he says quietly.

“Go?” Jimin frowns in confusion. “Where? Back to your room?”

“Back to Seoul.” Jungkook places a hand on Jimin’s cheek even as Jimin’s eyes go round with shock and he starts to shake his head in denial. “I need some time away, and I was gonna leave this weekend, anyway. I just… I need to go. I need some space. I need to think.” He presses his lips to Jimin’s forehead. “I love you, okay? Tell me you know that.”

“I know that.” Jimin tells himself he won’t cry. “You’ll come back, right?”

Jungkook hesitates long enough that Jimin’s composure begins to fray, but Jungkook’s next words are a scant comfort.

“I’ll come back,” Jungkook says quietly. “I just don’t know when. I’m not leaving you guys, okay? I’m just… I just need to think about all this.”

Jungkook can’t really bear to look at Jimin anymore, because he can’t look at how broken Jimin seems without desperately wanting to patch up his hurts. 

“How are you going to go? Yoongi-hyung was supposed to drive you next week.”

“I’ll get to the station and just take the train,” Jungkook starts to say, but Jimin grabs his arm hard enough to startle him. 

“No,” Jimin says quickly, and there’s something in his eyes very much like fear. “No, Jungkook, take my car, okay?” and he fumbles in his pocket for the keyfob, pressing it urgently into Jungkook’s hand. “Take my car. I don’t need it.” He laughs jerkily. “We have too many cars.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Jungkook folds his fingers around the keyfob. He chances one last look into Jimin’s expressive eyes. “I’ll text you all when I get back home?”

“This is home,” Jimin whispers fiercely. The light in his eyes has dimmed. Jungkook pushes away the guilt that he was the one to cause it. “You’re already home. Your home is with us.”

Jungkook shrugs and steps away, hating that every step widens the enormous gulf that’s growing between them. “Tell them for me,” he says, “and I’ll text you all when I get…when I reach Seoul.”

Helpless, Jimin can only nod, devastation written all over his sweet face, and finally Jungkook turns his back and walks into the lake house to start packing his things.

Chapter Text

“Stop it,” Jungkook mutters, shamefaced. He doesn’t - can’t, really - meet the ceramic dragon’s impassive stare from where he’s tacked down to the dashboard of Jimin’s car. “Don’t get all judgy on me.”

The dragon’s lips are pulled back from its teeth in a proprietary snarl, its eyes glassy and bright and unseeing.

“Yeah, well, it’s not breaking and entering if I work there, right?” Jungkook reasons aloud. “And it’s not theft, I’m just… borrowing it.” He glances embarrassedly at the oil painting on the passenger seat, which he’s nicked from the shop. It’s after hours, and he didn’t want to bother his boss, who would be at home resting with his family. But Jungkook is fairly sure Wooju won’t mind that he went in. And… he won’t mind that Jungkook took the canvas without permission. Right? He’ll give it back tomorrow anyway, Jungkook tells himself. Or maybe next week. 

Or maybe he’ll pay for it and keep it forever. 

He’ll figure it out eventually.

For now, Jungkook’s heading home - to his lonely apartment in Seoul - weary and heartsick from his impromptu fight and flight from Chuncheon. He mutes the family group chat, after a barrage of notifications from them blows his phone up during his drive to Seoul. He squashes the feeling of guilt creeping up his throat. He feels awful, leaving Jimin to explain what’s going on to the others. He probably should have said something, but he simply can’t find the words - and to be honest, Jungkook feels as though they owe him space. 

He loves them so much, but he needs to figure this out. 

And if they won’t tell him what he’s supposed to remember, then he’ll just have to force it himself.

Even if it hurts.

Back in his apartment, which is dusty and musty from a couple months of neglect, Jungkook tries to quash the nervous anxiety closing up his throat. He puts the dragon on his bedside table and angles it one way, then another, until he’s finally satisfied. The painting he puts right behind his pillow against his headboard. 

If this doesn’t work, he doesn’t know what will. 

The dragon and painting are his most tangible connections to whatever is hiding in his subconscious. And since he doesn’t have bad dreams when he’s with the six of them, well, then - that’s why he’s decided to come back here. Back in a space far away from them, all alone in his bed, determined to trigger bad dreams for the first time in his life, whether for better or for worse.

Jungkook just prays he’ll remember the dreams when he wakes. 

It’s been a long time since he’s dreaded falling asleep. Jungkook lies in his bed, afraid and alone, waiting for sleep to claim him. He wonders what the others are doing in Chuncheon. He checks the clock restlessly, its neon numerals implacable in the dark. It’s nearly midnight. They’re probably sitting in the living room, trying to eat dinner. Maybe Jimin is crying. Yoongi’s face would be stormy, and Namjoon silent and wounded. Seokjin’s probably cracking some weak jokes, but no one would be laughing. Hoseok would be pale and distressed, Taehyung sullen. 

And it’s all his fault. 

Jungkook flinches at his own imagination, tearing vicious bloody holes in himself. 

He misses all of them so much, like an empty, yawning crater in his chest where his heart should be.

But they’re in Chuncheon, and he’s in Seoul by himself, and he has an uncomfortable task at hand. 

Jungkook tilts his head up and stares mulishly at the oil painting. 

Seven silhouettes against a setting sun. 

He tosses and turns restlessly, then finally forces himself to lie still with his eyes closed. It takes a long time but eventually, Jungkook drifts off into a rough, uneasy sleep.

Jungkook dreams.

There’s the crunch of gravel beneath his feet, a warm hand in his, and a head pillowed on his shoulder. He’s surrounded by the quiet murmur of conversation, punctuated by the occasional outburst of Hoseok’s sweet, light laughter. Jimin presses a gentle kiss against Jungkook’s temple and hums happily. Yoongi and Seokjin pass out gimbap. 

It’s raining, just a little bit, so they’ve found a spot they can huddle beneath the overhang of a tin shed, so they don’t get too wet. 

They’re waiting for someone. It’s obvious by the way they occasionally crane their necks to look about and around, the way their feet tap with anticipation. The void Jungkook still feels, even with five of his lovers around him. 

Taehyung says something, low and amused, and reaches out to tug cheekily at Hoseok’s hanbok, trying to loosen the knot at his waist. Hoseok evades his hand and bursts into giggles, falling against Seokjin in his amusement. No one else hears the joke, but they don’t have to; everyone laughs anyway, just because. 

Fuck, Jungkook loves them all so much, it’s like a physical sensation, warm and solid and real, something he can feel suffusing his chest and all the way down into the tips of his fingers. He presses his forehead against Jimin’s and smiles. 

Then the patter of the rain abruptly ceases, and ever sensitive, Jimin is the first to notice. He rises to his feet, heedless of the last cool drops dripping from the edge of the tin roof. The sky warms and a gap opens in the clouds just above the shed, sunlight tinting the edges of the cloud cover silver. 

Is that him? Jimin asks, searching the empty skies, then with more certainty he says, beaming, It’s him! Namjoon-hyung’s here.

At first there’s nothing to prove him right - just that bright gap in the overcast sky - but then a jeweled carapace flashes as it twists sinuously through the break in the clouds and plummets towards the trainyard. The rain has completely stopped now. They all get up and gather around Jimin. Six upturned faces break into grins, absurdly thrilled at the sight of the wondrous creature flashing down towards them.

The dragon touches down, his tail making a soft thump even as he lands light on velvety catlike feet onto the gravel-laid ground. Jungkook is the first to reach him.

Hyung, Jungkook breathes, and throws his arms around a broad, glitter-scaled neck. We missed you.

Namjoon turns his massive head and noses along Jungkook’s throat. He whoofs a breath out, ruffling hair and hanbok strings, and makes them all giggle when Yoongi’s gat blows right off his head. Namjoon’s golden eyes glint with rich amusement and adoration as he regards his six lovers, all gathered around him by this time, each one with a hand caressing his gleaming scales. 

Hello, sweethearts. Sorry I’m late, Namjoon says. His white teeth flash in a winsome grin. Traffic, you know.

Hoseok’s delighted laugh is the loudest, ringing out like bright bells, and almost simultaneously the sun bursts into cheery view overhead. Thrilled, Namjoon nudges Hoseok’s chin gently, reveling in his joy, and Taehyung leans on the dragon’s broad shoulder. 

I’m so glad you’re back, Taehyung murmurs. What a relief we’re seven again.

Seven, Dream Jungkook thinks, and a smile curves on his face. He feels whole now, complete, replete. Seven, seven, seven. 

You must be tired, Yoongi says, and he runs a gentle hand along Namjoon’s shimmering flank. You are going to shift, aren’t you? We don’t have enough gimbap for a whole dragon. 

Namjoon laughs, soundlessly, and then there’s a blurring of reality, a shift in the atmosphere, and the dragon fades away and Jungkook finds his arms wound around a tall, dimpled man with expressive almond eyes - no longer golden, but still shimmering with a deeper, otherworldly light. He gazes deep into them. 

Jungkook, Namjoon says tenderly. Jungkook tilts his face for a kiss, so that the next words are murmured from Namjoon’s now-human lips right into his mouth. My sweet, sweet love. 

Jungkook bolts upright, but this time not from fear or a lingering sense of unease. No - he feels just fine. This time the dream seemed so real, the sensations still sharp in his mind. This time he remembered every bit of it. The seventh person at the trainyard. Jungkook had wanted to know who he was. 

Now Jungkook understands why he only saw six people in his dream.

The seventh was himself.

But how could that be? Jungkook can still see the simple hanbok the men wore in his dream, hear the old-fashioned dialects they spoke in; the words they spoke that aren’t used in modern vernacular, that have passed out of fashion decades before his birth - and yet Jungkook understood every word. How could he be remembering something that took place before his lifetime? He stretches out his hand and stares at his fingers. He can almost… he can almost still feel the smooth chitin of dragon scales under his fingers, feel the breath whooshing from between sharp white teeth to tickle his face and make him laugh.

Namjoon-hyung? A shapeshifting dragon?

What the hell?

Those bright golden eyes from his dreams. It’s all coming back to Jungkook now, flashes and snippets of dreams and nightmares that he’s had in the past. They’re fuzzy still, but that image of those eyes rises unbidden to the surface of his mind. Always, always those unblinking golden eyes, warm and full of love and light. Jungkook finds himself yearning towards the memory, a sense of longing and want bubbling up inside him like - 

No. Jungkook shakes himself back to his senses. This can’t be right. He must be dreaming crazy things - could he actually be crazy? Wildly, Jungkook glances over at the statuette on his bedside table. Inscrutable, implacable, the miniature dragon arches its back proudly and gazes back with equanimity.

With gleaming, golden eyes. 

Jungkook sucks in a breath, sudden realization flooding through him.

Those golden eyes.

That’s what he’s been dreaming of?

Impossible.

Jungkook makes an inarticulate noise. He can’t square it, can’t figure it out, but despite the apparently insanity, despite the bizarreness of it all, Jungkook can’t shake the instinct that somehow, the memory feels right. Real. Solid. Like something has slotted perfectly into a blank space in his memory that he didn’t even know existed. 

But can that mean Namjoon really is a dragon? Jungkook claps his hand over his mouth to hold back the hysterical giggle bubbling up from his throat. This is absurd.

There’s a sound - Jungkook cocks his head to listen, then suddenly realizes what it is. A knock at the door. Jungkook knows, immediately it has to be one of the six, maybe even all of them. Reluctantly, he hauls himself out of bed to peer through the peephole. 

Sure enough, speak of the devil. Or the dragon, Jungkook’s brain helpfully supplies, before he shuts that thought down.

It’s Namjoon.

Namjoon’s eyes are rimmed with red, and he scrubs his hand over his face tiredly. He has nothing with him at all. He looks as though he ran straight out the door in Chuncheon after Jungkook without a second thought - which, to be fair, is likely the truth. Jungkook squashes the little voice in his head that urges him to gather the man he loves up in his arms and kiss him like crazy and hold him and offer him whatever comfort he can. Instead, Jungkook reminds himself sternly that he’s the one who needs comforting, and that Namjoon owes him a very extensive, highly detailed explanation - and the most heartfelt apology he can muster. 

To that end, Jungkook stands there and puts on a ferociously wrathful face to properly demonstrate to Namjoon how Extremely Serious he is about the whole thing. 

He yanks the door open and glares as fiercely as he can at the man in the hallway.

“Hi,” Namjoon says winningly, but the beseeching smile he offers is weak, and Jungkook stands his ground, arms crossed and legs apart in the doorway. It isn’t the open-armed welcome Namjoon is clearly hoping for, and he wilts just the slightest bit. 

Jungkook gives no quarter. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

A fruitless gesture, a helpless shrug. “I needed to make sure you were okay. You weren’t answering your phone. Jimin said…” Namjoon hesitates. “Everyone is really worried about you, and I just -”

Jungkook doesn’t want to hear it, partly out of guilt and partly from frustrated exasperation. Instead he jerks his chin angrily and interrupts Namjoon’s stammering. “Is it true?” he demands. 

A frown creases Namjoon’s forehead, and he shoots Jungkook a cautious glance. “Is what true, exactly?”

The indignant noise that emerges from Jungkook’s mouth is unexpectedly loud. He narrows his eyes even further and almost growls. “Oh,” he hisses. “I don’t know. I dreamt about something. Scales, and golden eyes?” 

“That’s me!” Namjoon says eagerly. “Baby, you dreamt about me?” He actually begins chuckling, the happy fool, and takes a half step towards Jungkook before clocking that the expression on Jungkook’s face is not precisely welcoming. Namjoon halts so fast he nearly trips over his own feet and knocks his shoulder into the doorframe. 

“You should have told me!” Despite his hostility, Jungkook watches Namjoon intently to measure his reaction; predictably enough, Namjoon visibly winces, and the defeated slump of his shoulders is more than enough to confirm it for Jungkook. 

“Um, I…” Namjoon falters. “It’s kind of hard for most people to believe, don’t you think?”

“So it’s true? You’re really a dragon?” Jungkook almost screams. 

Palms hastily raised in penitent surrender, Namjoon’s eyes dart around the corridor, concerned someone might overhear and misunderstand - or worse, understand. 

“Not out here, can I-” he gestures into Jungkook’s apartment, his expression plaintive. “Do you think I could come in?”

Jungkook glowers and doesn’t budge. Let’s see what Mister Dragon can do.

“Please?” This time the smile is a little more winsome, the dimple winking into deliberate view, and Jungkook’s traitorous heart twinges. Fine, he supposes Mister Dragon has some tricks up his sleeve after all. Jungkook can’t say no to the dimple. He has no recourse but to thaw just the slightest bit. Grudgingly, he steps back from the doorway, just enough to admit Namjoon into the apartment. 

“Thank you,” Namjoon says fervently as he steps into the house. “I flew here straight from home, and I…” he trails off as Jungkook’s eyes bug out alarmingly, because he’s pretty sure Namjoon doesn’t mean on a plane. 

“Flew? You flew?”

“Um.” Namjoon twitches nervously. He can’t seem to meet Jungkook’s horrified gaze, but Jungkook can’t seem to let it go, his jaw jutting out, brow furrowed with confused anger. 

“What do you mean, you flew?”

Namjoon looks desperately like he would rather be anywhere else, instead of facing an increasingly incredulous and unhinged Jungkook. He waves his hand vaguely in the air. “Like uh. You know. Like a bird. Uh, in the sky?”

A garbled scream escapes Jungkook’s throat. “In the what?”

Namjoon’s entire face is written over with panic. “I thought you remembered that I’m a dragon!” 

“Yes, but I don’t-” Jungkook splutters, incomprehensible. “In broad daylight? In front of my apartment building? In the middle of Seoul?”

“Baby - Jungkook,” Namjoon amends hastily when Jungkook’s scowl grows more pronounced, “no, yes, I mean, okay, it’s true, but I swear no one can see me, and I landed on the roof, and...” he trails off, suddenly aware that this level of detail is not quite helping his cause. 

“You landed on the roof.” As if this is some sort of normal, some sort of okay. Jungkook buries his face in his palms. “A dragon on my roof,” he says, muffled. “I don’t fucking believe this.”

“I’m not just any dragon,” Namjoon mutters. He sounds slightly wounded. 

“You. Are. A fucking dragon.”

A weary sigh, this time. “I really would feel better if we could sit down and talk about this,” Namjoon offers tentatively. “Please, Jungkook. I promise I’ll explain.”

Growling under his breath, Jungkook accedes unwillingly. He jerks his thumb towards the couch. “It’s a bit dusty in here,” he says grudgingly. “I haven’t been here for… for a long time.” What is he saying? Of course Namjoon knows he hasn’t been here for a long time. After all, he’s been comfortably ensconced in Chuncheon, with the rest of them. 

They sit on the couch. Jungkook pointedly makes sure there’s plenty of space between them. He won’t be tempted, he swears, no matter what Namjoon says, to reach out and touch him, or forgive him, until he hears everything. Namjoon reaches out, in fact, in an abortive attempt to touch Jungkook’s knee, but Jungkook primly moves his legs to the side before Namjoon can make contact. 

“All right,” Namjoon says quietly. He looks defeated, almost devastated, by this denial of physical contact more than anything else. 

Guilt is clawing up Jungkook’s chest but surely - surely he deserves the truth. Deserves to know everything about his lovers that they have been holding back. He meets Namjoon’s gaze determinedly. 

“Tell me,” Jungkook says guardedly, “everything.”

Namjoon shrugs lightly, one shoulder rising and dipping quickly. He clearly wants to get the difficult part over and done with. “I’m more than a thousand years old,” he says quietly, his eyes never straying from Jungkook’s. “And we’ve loved each other for four hundred years.”

Jungkook’s mouth opens, closes, and opens again, but no sound comes out. His vision blurs. The noise in his brain becomes a distant buzz. 

Namjoon looks at the utter bewilderment on Jungkook’s face and sighs, a woeful, mournful sound. “This is going to be hard to explain,” he says morosely. “I’ve never had to explain things to you before.”

“First time for everything,” Jungkook croaks. 

Jungkook thinks perhaps he might be going slightly insane, and even as Namjoon begins to talk, his earnest eyes never leaving Jungkook’s, it all feels like a particularly delirious fever dream. 

“I really am a dragon,” Namjoon starts. He’s a yong, he explains, an ancient immortal, existing through time, never aging. He can shift between human and yong form (Jungkook privately yearns to see this for himself, but decides now is probably not the time to ask). 

The others - his six lovers, with Jungkook as the first, have been with him for generations. 

Jungkook tries to keep the incredulity out of his voice, but it’s difficult. “Did you say four hundred years?” 

Namjoon nods. “Seems like just yesterday,” he says lightly, and is heartened when Jungkook unwinds enough to respond with a watery laugh. Namjoon’s dimple winks into view. “We’ve been together all these centuries, and we’ve only loved each other more every day.”

“How does that work, though? We’re not - I mean we can’t all be immortal like you?”

“No, you’re all mortal, unfortunately.” Namjoon has to discreetly clear his throat when it clogs up as he explains that the worst thing about being immortal is constantly outliving the mortals he loves. But as a dragon’s lovers, they are blessed with rebirth each time, and Namjoon has always been able to find them again when they’re reborn. 

“We’re reborn?” Jungkook whispers thickly. “All six of us? Every time?”

“Every single time,” Namjoon nods, his face serious. “We share an eternal bond, you see - because six of you are a dragon’s mates. And every time you’re reborn, we find each other again.” He frowns. “Something seems to have gone wrong this time, though. Usually, the mere act of locking eyes with any of us will trigger your memory of all your previous lives. It’s been like this every time.”

“But not this time?”

The expression in Namjoon’s hooded eyes is bleak. “No. And we don’t know why.”

Jungkook leaps to his feet, too restless to stay seated, frustration written all over his face. He wrings his hands unconsciously. “So if what you’re saying is true, you mean - everyone remembers me? But I don’t remember anyone? Just… just hundreds of years of accumulated memories that have somehow slipped my mind? And that’s why - that’s why all of you keep talking as if I should remember things.” He stops short, aghast, and stares at Namjoon in undisguised horror, his body curling in on itself to ward off the imagined blow. “Do you think - maybe I’m not who you think I am. Maybe I’m not the man you’re looking for.”

A full-body shudder wracks Namjoon, as if his entire body rejects that possibility. “You are,” he insists vehemently. “I know you are. You remember bits and pieces, don’t you? Subconsciously. You dreamt of me. There was something undeniable when we first met at the cafe. Our first kiss. The way you feel when you look at my painting - when you look at the little dragon.”

Jungkook’s breath comes in stuttered gasps. “My porcelain dragon,” Jungkook whispers, realization hitting him like a sack of wet sand. “Is that - it’s you?”

Namjoon nods painfully. “That’s me.”

Ice trickles down Jungkook’s spine, a cold and numbing feeling. “Then - you mean,” he splutters, “I made it? Me? I’m the boy you were talking about,” he says with dawning shock. “I’m the maknae. I’ve always been the maknae? You said he… you said he died young. You meant - you meant in our previous life?”

Namjoon doesn’t need to say anything. His silence is answer enough. 

Jungkook stares at his hands - hands that in another life must have pressed and molded and smoothed wet white clay into the shape of a proud, beautiful dragon; hands that placed it inside a kiln where it baked and crystallized into its current form. 

No wonder Seokjin had talked about his aptitude for hand sculpting. 

“I made that painting after you died,” Namjoon murmurs. His eyes are wet. “Of us at the trainyard, gazing at the sunset. I wanted a picture of all seven of us happy together.”

“That’s what I dreamt last night,” Jungkook says thickly. He swallows, shattered inside. “But everything else… I don’t remember any of it.”

“I know.” Namjoon looks destroyed. “I can’t understand it. I thought maybe - maybe -” but his mouth evidently won’t let him finish the thought, and Jungkook doesn’t know what Namjoon intends to follow the word ‘maybe’ with, because Namjoon drops his head into his hands and starts to weep. Outside, thunder crackles from the sky, and Jungkook’s heart splits wide open.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon croaks. Grief courses through his wrecked voice. “Baby, please let me hold you.”

This time, Jungkook’s hesitation lasts only a fraction of a second before he propels himself into Namjoon’s arms. The enduring sorrow rippling through Namjoon is so palpable that Jungkook cannot bear to withhold comfort a second longer. His mind is whirling with confusion, but through it all he has a burning certainty of one thing - he loves Namjoon too much to let him bear this misery alone. 

Namjoon makes a choked gasp as Jungkook thuds solidly into his chest. That familiar weight of Jungkook’s head on his shoulder, the comforting press of arms around his neck. Outside the window, there’s the distant rolling rumble of thunder. 

They sit like that for a good, long time, Jungkook doing little more than stroking Namjoon’s back and resting his cheek against Namjoon’s hair.

If Jungkook closes his eyes as he presses his nose into the divot behind Namjoon’s ear, he can almost, almost conjure up those faint memories that flicker dimly in the back of his head. It’s infuriating, the way they slip out of his grasp like quicksilver, but what he does remember is how safe, and how loved, and how wanted he was in those dreams. 

He wants that again. 

“So what’s this dragon deal?” Jungkook asks finally. “How does it work - what’s it like?”

Namjoon is dismissive, almost contemptuous. “It’s not a big deal, actually,” he shrugs. “Big, scaly, can fly. Magic…ish. You know.”

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth twitches. “No, I don’t know. I thought it would be a little bit more than that.” 

Namjoon shrugs again. He doesn’t seem very interested in discussing it. Instead, Namjoon’s fingers curl into the locks at the nape of Jungkook’s neck. He has to clear his throat, twice, before his throat works. His voice comes out as a deep rumble. 

“Will you come back to Chuncheon with me?” Namjoon murmurs. “Everyone misses you. It’s not the same without you.”

“It’s hardly been one night,” Jungkook points out, but his heart isn’t at all in the argument. Already he can feel the ache in his bones calling him to return to the ones he loves, back to the lake house where he never has to be alone. 

“We’ve had far too many nights without you already.” 

The truth of this sends a shudder through Jungkook, even though he knows Namjoon alludes to a number he doesn’t remember. Even this one night apart has been surprisingly difficult to bear, perhaps because of the way he left. Somewhere beyond his knowledge is a deep, abiding certainty that Namjoon is right. Perhaps it doesn’t matter that he recalls little of his own volition - only the fragments that flash like faded Polaroids in his mind’s eye.

What matters is what they have here and now.

And now that he knows… maybe things will be different. Maybe they can try to move forward, carve a different path. 

Jungkook draws in a ragged breath. 

“Okay,” he whispers, and Namjoon tenses in his hold, sensitive, unsure, hopeful. Jungkook aches, feeling somehow as if he isn’t enough, like he’s a cheap replacement for the man they’ve loved for four hundred years. But Jungkook is selfish enough that he wants it anyway. “Let’s go home,” he says. 

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” Jungkook lets out all the air in his lungs. He looks around at his empty house, no longer a home - and then he thinks about Chuncheon and the warmth of the workshop, the house, the family bed - and his heart yearns so hard he shudders in Namjoon’s grasp. “Come on, hyung. Let’s go home.”

But going home isn’t exactly everything Jungkook thought it was going to be. He slides into the driver’s seat with an enormous pout on his face. The car! If he was going to be a dragon’s lover then surely it had to come with some sort of benefits? This was not how he’d envisioned - fine, hoped - they were going to get home, and he doesn’t hide his disappointment one iota. 

Jungkook frowns hugely at Namjoon. “I thought we were going to fly!”

Namjoon throws his hands up in exasperation. “I can’t take passengers! Have you seen dragons? No, I mean -” He lets out a surprised chuckle as he dodges a vindictive punch that Jungkook aims against his bicep. “I meant pictures! Of dragons! How would you hang on to me mid-flight? You’d fall off in a second! It’s a very long way down!”

“Haven’t you watched Spirited Away?”

“That is fiction,” Namjoon complains. He buckles himself in, his bulk just slightly uncomfortable, wedged into the passenger seat of Jimin’s sleek little sports car. “Haku is a river that becomes a dragon! How is that realistic?”

“Don’t you dare come for Studio Ghibli! You know their movies are my favorites!”

“Haku is Japanese, too, totally different from Korean dragons, I mean-”

“Excuse me,” Jungkook seethes, “for not being up to date on dragon mythology, when I didn’t even know dragons existed last night!”

“Technically you’ve known we existed for four hundred years,” Namjoon mutters, but when he feels the full weight of Jungkook’s glare on the side of his face, he immediately quails in abashed regret. “Sorry, baby, I just meant…”

Jungkook turns the music up and pointedly ignores him for the next hour. Namjoon doesn’t hold grudges though - he manages somehow to be ridiculously cheerful, buoyed by the fact that his quest to bring Jungkook home has concluded so successfully. Somewhere into the second hour, Jungkook has thawed enough to grunt at some of Namjoon’s pithier comments. 

It’s not until they’re approaching their driveway that the slowly curdling anxiety in Jungkook’s belly coalesces into a lump he can’t ignore. After running out on his lovers with not much more than a second glance, he’s afraid of the reception he’ll get, the recriminations that are sure to follow. The car trundles to a gentle stop, but Jungkook doesn’t move. His eyes go glassy. He chews on his lower lip. He doesn’t realize he’s doing it until Namjoon rubs a gentle thumb over his mouth, aware of the way Jungkook is beating himself up inside. 

“Hey,” Namjoon says. His voice is quiet but steady. “It’s okay. It’ll be fine. It’s just us.”

Jungkook turns his face into the warm cup of Namjoon’s palm and closes his eyes. 

Jungkook knows he has an excellent memory (even if his hyungs have gotten him questioning the fact). He remembers, for example, that when he was a child, he’d been more than a bit of a handful. He remembers the way he used to run frenziedly around the playgrounds, jumping and climbing everything in sight and fearlessly tackling every obstacle he could find. If it could be vaulted, he vaulted it. He dangled perilously from the tops of the climbing frames and leapt off the swings from the apex of the parabola, his lithe body following a similar trajectory as he flew through the air. 

And Jungkook remembers the first time he finally felt an ounce of fear, a split second after he’d recklessly stepped right off some playground equipment only to realize he’d vastly miscalculated how high off the ground it was. In that brief moment Jungkook’s mind had swiftly flashed through a number of things:

1. Boy, his parents were going to be so mad. 
2. If he broke his arm would he need a cast? That would be so cool. 
3. But first his parents were going to kill him.

But as the ground yawned to meet him and Jungkook winced for the impact of skin and bone on asphalt, he found himself thudding into a broad, heavy chest instead, the scent of his father’s aftershave filling his nostrils. Warm, familiar. Steadying. Home. 

“Appa,” he said breathlessly, amidst the shock of unexpected relief. “You caught me.”

His father’s hands trembled only the slightest bit, tightening quickly with relief around his son’s intact body, before he lowered Jungkook to the ground and smacked his butt and heartily yelled at him for being so careless. Little Jungkook, his cheeks burning, almost wished he’d hit the ground instead. A broken arm might have been easier to bear than the shame of getting spanked in front of all the other kids at the playground. 

But what Jungkook always remembers about that incident, clear as day, is that immediate sense of cool relief, of being caught safe and secure when he expected to crash and burn. As he allows Namjoon to stroke warm fingers across his cheek, the same feeling washes over him: the sense of being saved. Warm, familiar. 

Steadying. 

Home. 

“Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook murmurs, his eyes still closed. “I’m glad you came to get me.” 

Namjoon’s voice is slightly hoarse, but his response comes instantaneously, a call-and-response directly from his soul. “I’ll always come for you, baby.” 

Jungkook keeps his eyes closed, just so he can savor the sensations, so he can commit this feeling to memory. This, he promises himself, he won’t forget - the gentle buzzing of the car’s air conditioning, the cotton-clean scent of Namjoon’s palm, the sweet stroke of a thumb across his chin. But with his eyes closed, he doesn’t see the single tear that slips down Namjoon’s cheek, or the way his lower lip trembles the slightest bit before it firms up. By the time Jungkook opens his eyes, Namjoon is smiling at him, albeit a little mistily. 

“Did you tell them that I know?”

“Not yet,” Namjoon says. “Do you want me to?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I want to talk to them myself.”

Namjoon’s expression is serene, understanding, as if he’s come to terms with it himself. “Whenever you’re ready.” He nods, then glances up at the house. “Shall we go in?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

The door opens before Jungkook can lift a hand to do it himself. They must have been watching from the house; must have tracked their progress, an impersonal blue dot on a digital map, for every one of the interminable minutes it took for them to travel from Seoul. Jungkook knows that’s what he would have done. There, right in front of him, is Jimin, hair falling messily over his face. Jungkook clocks the rest of his appearance in an instant: disheveled shirt slipping off his narrow shoulder, dark rings lining his eyes. Behind, in the kitchen, Yoongi is frozen in the act of snipping freshly grilled meat with a pair of kitchen scissors, Seokjin beside him, their eyes trained on the man standing unsurely at their front door. 

Jimin and Jungkook stare at each other in complete silence. The pain and anxiety in the older man’s eyes are almost too much for him to bear, but Jungkook can’t move. Can’t breathe. Feels the guilt inside him begin to rise up like a choking wave.

Then Jimin takes a hesitant step forward, a tentative attempt to bridge the distance between them. There’s a gentle pressure on Jungkook’s lower back, and it takes him a second to realize that Namjoon is nudging him towards Jimin. Jungkook closes the distance himself, then, and stumbles up to pull Jimin into his arms. With a soft sound, Jimin clings tightly to him and pushes his face into Jungkook’s shoulder. His slender body is trembling in Jungkook’s arms. Instead of guilt, sweet relief warms his veins. Jimin isn’t angry. Jimin still loves him.

That makes two. Four more to go. 

“I guess you’re home,” Taehyung says from behind Jimin, and in contrast to the warmth of Jimin in Jungkook’s arms, Taehyung’s voice stays cool, even though Jungkook’s heart thrills that Taehyung says “home”. There’s a brief hesitation before Taehyung follows it up with: “You’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” Jungkook answers shakily. Above the crown of Jimin’s head, Jungkook looks Taehyung straight in the eyes. “I’m sorry for leaving like that.”

Taehyung melts almost immediately. Undone by the apology, he steps forward and wraps his arms around them both. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” Taehyung confesses quietly in Jungkook’s ear. “It’s just that I missed you so much.”

“I know,” Jungkook whispers. “Me too.”

Time stands still as Taehyung works one hand into the hair at the base of Jungkook’s neck and strokes, while Jimin nuzzles into Jungkook’s shoulder, their arms tight around each other. The trio stands like that for a good few minutes, everyone watching with fondness in their eyes, until Seokjin finally clears his throat. His voice is suspiciously husky. 

“Ya, you three, you’re leaving Namjoonie out in the cold!”

“It’s summer,” Yoongi points out drily, but Seokjin turns and swiftly stuffs a piece of samgyeopsal into his mouth so that Yoongi has to chew or choke. 

The trio at the door finally separates. Overwhelmed, Jimin turns to kiss Namjoon next, breathless and silent and with his arms wound around Namjoon’s neck. Jungkook knows, without asking, that it’s gratitude for bringing him home safe and sound.

He understands the sentiment. He’s thankful, too. 

“You’re just in time for dinner,” Seokjin says to Jungkook, trying his hardest to paste a shaky smile on his face as if Jungkook hasn’t been away a whole night without a single word to any of them.

But Jungkook goes straight over to him, not even giving the food a second glance, and pulls Yoongi and Seokjin into another sandwich embrace. Yoongi doesn’t even try to make a half-hearted complaint. Jungkook feels twin kisses pressed into either side of his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook starts again, but they both shake their heads. Seokjin finally gruffles and pushes away tearily to look at Jungkook’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Seokjin insists. He looks pained. “I wish we could tell you -”

But Jungkook doesn’t have the mindspace to handle that right now. “Later,” Jungkook interjects. “We’ll talk about that later, okay?” 

“We’re just glad you’re back,” Yoongi says simply, and Jungkook nods. He can’t trust himself to speak. He’s glad to be back too. Two more down, he thinks, just one more.

He looks around, then opens his mouth to ask, but Seokjin glances meaningfully up the stairs.

“Hoseok’s in his room,” he says quietly. “You’d better go up alone.”

Upstairs, Jungkook finds Hoseok’s door slightly ajar, as if someone inside wanted some semblance of privacy, but to still be able to hear what was going on downstairs. He knocks anyway.

There’s no answer.

“Hyung,” he murmurs. “Hoseok-hyung, it’s me.”

Silence. 

Jungkook pushes the door open enough to slip inside, his feet almost soundless as he pads across the floor. The room is pitch dark. Dimly, he can see the blanket mounded high on the bed. Maybe Hoseok is sleeping. 

He sits down on the edge of the bed and hears a quick intake of breath from the mound, feels the mound shrink slightly into itself. 

So - not asleep. 

Out of all the six, Jungkook should have known Hoseok might be the most upset. The man with the stunning heart-shaped smile has always been the most open, the most giving, the most vulnerable in the family. From the moment Hoseok walked into the shop, what now feels like years ago, Jungkook knows he’d fallen in love with that beautiful smile. It radiates warmth and love and sunshine, and Jungkook can’t bear to think he might have done something to erase it. 

And Jungkook is acutely aware that he’s wounded his lover deeply. He doesn’t try to touch Hoseok. He just adjusts his weight carefully and swallows before he starts to talk. 

“Hoseok-hyung, I’m sorry that I hurt you,” Jungkook says quietly to the still, silent mound. “I don’t have an excuse for it, really. But I want you to know that I left because I realized I don’t actually know who I am, and who I was. I left because none of you would tell me what you knew, and that really hurt me.”

The mound doesn’t move. Doesn’t even seem to breathe.

“So I went back to Seoul because I needed to figure my shit out. I thought I’d be able to do that without you guys. I thought maybe I could… I don’t know. Sort my thoughts out. Maybe trigger some of those memories you guys think I should have.” 

Jungkook inches his hand nearer to the mound until his pinky is resting against it. He rubs his pinky gently against the curve of the mound. 

“There’s still a lot I don’t know. I haven’t… I haven’t fixed anything, yet. I was only away for one night. But I realized I don’t want to be without all of you. If I’m going to be lost and confused, then…” Jungkook swallows, feeling overwhelmed by his emotions. “I want to be lost and confused with you guys.”

There’s a small, pained gasp from the mound. Hoseok throws the covers back and looks straight at Jungkook. Even in the dim light Jungkook can see his hair is mussed and rumpled, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, just like Jimin’s.

“I don’t want you to be lost and confused at all.”

“Hyung.”

Hoseok lurches forward, making Jungkook let out a soft ‘oof’ as he crashes into his chest and presses himself urgently into Jungkook’s embrace. It makes Jungkook feel large and strong and also terribly, terrifyingly soft. He strokes Hoseok’s back up and down and nuzzles into the spot right at the top of his head, and then meets Hoseok’s lips with his own in a tender, bruising kiss.

It occurs to Jungkook, suddenly that he doesn’t just want them. It’s not just about wanting, anymore.

It’s about wanting them, and wanting to keep them, and wanting to keep them forever. 

Chapter Text

The next morning, Jungkook has to take a second to reorient himself, blinking muzzily awake. The blurry shape in front of him resolves into Hoseok’s face. 

“You’re up already?” Jungkook rasps. “What, have you been watching me sleep?”

Hoseok is not at all abashed at being caught. Laughing, he claps a hand over his nose. “Your breath stinks,” Hoseok snarks, and giggles when a grinning Jungkook very deliberately huffs directly at him. “Hey, sleepyhead, there’s breakfast waiting for us downstairs.” 

But Jungkook hooks his leg around Hoseok’s calf and tugs strategically so that Hoseok shrieks and collapses directly into Jungkook’s arms, swinging his face left and right to avoid his breath.

“Don’t you dare,” Hoseok muffles, laughing uncontrollably. “What happened to no kissing before brushing teeth?”

“That was then,” Jungkook says smugly, “now I know you’ll love me anyway,” but he obligingly turns his mouth away from Hoseok’s face and runs it along the curve of Hoseok’s neck instead. It drives him crazy, the long line of Hoseok’s throat; silky skin and the pulse hammering just below his ear. Jungkook wants to suck a bruise into it just because he can. He settles for a gentle nibble instead, and he enjoys the way Hoseok’s breath hitches, his throat working under Jungkook’s mouth. 

“You’re supposed to be eating breakfast,” Hoseok reiterates breathlessly. “Not me.” He wrinkles his nose when Jungkook glances at him with laughter in his eyes. “That’s not what I meant, either!”

“No,” Jungkook says, relenting, “no, hyung, I just want - just let me just hold you for a minute?”

Hoseok immediately relaxes into Jungkook’s embrace, just like that. Jungkook may be the maknae, but he loves being the big spoon - and he takes the opportunity to wrap himself around Hoseok and luxuriate in the hug. Hoseok smells good, as he always does. Fresh and clean, something citrusy. Warm. Welcoming. 

The night before was surprisingly difficult. They gathered in the family room to talk - and they had been effusive in their clear delight and relief when they found out that Jungkook was finally aware of their history. Now, as Jimin put it in a rushed, heady tone, with tears gathering in his eyes, they could be completely honest with one another.

Well, then, to be completely honest - and of course he wasn’t - Jungkook was utterly overwhelmed. 

Amidst all the excitable chatter, Namjoon, and perhaps Yoongi, could see it on his face. 

“Settle down,” Yoongi said, chastising the others. “This is still very new for Jungkook.”

Relieved, thankful, Jungkook uncurled a little bit from his ball on the couch. Namjoon glanced over - I’ve got this written on his face, and he too played defense on Jungkook’s behalf. 

“This isn’t just new for Jungkook,” Namjoon said. “You guys need to remember he hasn’t actually gotten his memory back.” In fact, Namjoon likened it to dating someone who has retrograde amnesia - which Jungkook kind of resents, even though it is true. But Jungkook still remembers nothing, other than that one dream, and that shouldn’t even count because Jungkook forced its hand by running away, sleeping alone, and, as he avoided mentioning, committing grand larceny.

(Damn it, he forgot to return the oil painting to the shop! He’ll have to call Wooju and confess his crime and ask meekly if Wooju can pick it up from his house.)

Jungkook is back, then, in the fold, with his six lovers in Chuncheon, but he still has zero recollection of their past lives. And so it’s hard for him to look at Taehyung’s hopeful eyes and Jimin’s beaming smile and all the others gazing at him in wonder and adoration like they’ve found their long lost maknae, home at last. 

He still doesn’t feel like that person, even though he desperately wants to be.

Jungkook shakes himself back to the present only to find Hoseok staring at him keenly; his lips have stilled on Hoseok’s neck long enough for him to notice Jungkook lost in thought. Hoseok tucks a stray lock of sleep-mussed hair behind Jungkook’s ear, kisses him on his forehead. Looks at him with eyes far too knowing for Jungkook’s liking. 

“Come on, baby,” Hoseok says only, voice soft. “Breakfast? Or lunch, rather. It’s nearly gone two in the afternoon.”

Jungkook nods. Food sounds good. Better than all this self-flagellation. 

But when they emerge downstairs, following the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans, what they find is Taehyung and Jimin poring over a collection of items spread out over the dining table. 

“Had a good rest?” Seokjin calls from the kitchen. “There’s coffee and gukbap.” He doesn’t wait for their answer, just turns on the burner under the ttukbaegi on the stove to heat it up. “Your favorite. Dwaeji gukbap.”

Jungkook groans in excitement, his face already twisted into a grimace at the thought of that heavenly, familiar taste. “Hyung!” he says. “You spoil me.” Gukbap, Busan style, exactly the way he would eat it back home. It takes a long time and effort to make the soup from pork bones. He beams at Seokjin. He must have woken up earlier than usual to prepare it for him. 

“What are you looking at?” Hoseok asks, glancing at the table, then he says, “oh.” He’s faintly frowning, unsure. “Boys, I don’t know if we should…”

“Kookie, baby! Come look,” Taehyung interrupts. The excitement in his voice is palpable and at odds with Hoseok’s dubious tone. Jungkook steps over to see what they’ve got laid out on the table. 

It’s a strange assortment of items, to say the least. There’s a small whale figurine, a nondescript strip of linen, a battered gold ring. amongst other things. Jimin looks almost reverential as he runs the strip of linen through his fingers. 

“Cute whale,” Jungkook says.

“Yeah?” Taehyung grins. “What do you think?” 

Curious, Jungkook picks it up and turns it over in his hands. It’s somewhat clumsily made, he can tell that much - even though he hasn’t much training in pottery, he can see that the glaze wasn’t evenly fettled, leaving bumps here and there where the glaze was baked into drips. It feels awkwardly heavy too, and he knows from watching Seokjin that perhaps the sculptor hadn’t taken enough excess clay off. The whale itself is sculpted quite beautifully, though, curving in a lithe, arrogant way that looks almost familiar. Jimin and Taehyung gaze at him expectantly, as though they expect him to know what it is.

“Did you make it?” Jungkook asks, slightly confused. “Is Jin-hyung teaching you?”

“You made it,” Jimin says. “In our last lifetime, when you were learning to sculpt.”

Jungkook stills in a flash of understanding. “So - all these things…? They belong to me?”

“We decided a long time ago that we shouldn’t keep things from our previous lifetimes,” Seokjin explains, coming around with the bubbling tteukbaegi and placing it on the table. “Imagine how much baggage we’d have if we insisted on holding on to everything! Four hundred years of clutter! No, that’s quite untenable. The only thing that stays with us through all these lifetimes is this plot of land, which Namjoon is the caretaker of, but then, well, you know how sentimental Taehyung and Jimin get.” 

“We whined. A lot. Until they gave in.” Taehyung delivers a boxy grin, so hard to resist. Seokjin tweaks his nose and he yelps.

“So we compromised and agreed to pick one thing from each lifetime that we want to keep, and that’s it. And it has to fit in a box.”

Lifetimes, laid out on the table, reduced to a handful of items that he doesn’t even recognize.

“Oh,” Jungkook says.

“This is the tie from your favorite hanbok. You were wearing it when you met Namjoon-hyung,” Jimin says proudly, holding the strip of cloth up. “From our first lifetime.”

“Four hundred years old?” Jungkook asks wanly.

“Give or take,” Taehyung says brightly. “But who’s counting?”

Who indeed?

“Yoongi-hyung bought you this ring a couple of lifetimes ago. And this wooden spoon, Namjoon carved it as a present for someone’s baby - who was it, hyung?” Taehyung asks Seokjin. 

“Choi Suwon,” Seokjin says after a moment’s thought. “She ran the village bakery, and she made these amazing buns. Light. Fluffy. Perfect.”

Taehyung snaps his fingers. “That’s right, Mrs Choi! Namjoon-hyung carved that spoon for the baby and carefully burned their family name into the handle, look! Isn’t it pretty? And then-”

“And then he lost it,” Jimin chortles. “Had absolutely no clue where he put it. Yoongi-hyung was so annoyed, remember!”

“...so we ended up getting something else for the baby instead, and…”

“And of course Namjoon-hyung found the spoon after that.” Jimin chuckles. “He felt so bad about it.”

“The baby’s surname just happened to be Jeon, too, you know, so you claimed it and said it was perfect for you, and it became your favorite spoon.”

“Guys,” Hoseok starts to object, glancing over at Jungkook, but Jimin laughs, bright and silvery and unaware.

“We just thought,” Jimin persists, “that if you saw all these things, maybe it would, you know,” he waves his hand vaguely in the air, “stimulate your memory, or something.” He gazes hopefully at Jungkook. “Anything?”

Jimin’s eyes are so bright. There’s a lump in Jungkook’s throat that he can’t quite swallow down. He’s not sure the gukbap will help, either. 

“No,” he mutters.

He takes a seat at the other end of the table and pulls the tteukbaegi towards him. The side dishes are already on the table - green onions and saewoo jeot and gochujang, and Jungkook loads his bowl to perfection. Steam rises up and warms his face like a blessing. 

“Careful,” Seokjin admonishes. “It’s hot.”

Obligingly, Jungkook blows on his spoonful of gukbap before he puts it in his mouth. It’s delicious. Just the way his mother makes it. Somehow Seokjin knows exactly how he likes it, even though he’s never cooked gukbap for Jungkook before. 

Not in this lifetime, at least. 

The others have no problem remembering.

It’s only Jungkook who does.

“Jungkook, don’t you want to take a closer look?” Jimin presses. “I really think if you handle them, maybe if you spend a bit of time with them-”

“Jimin,” Hoseok says, insistently this time. “That’s enough. He doesn’t remember.”

“It’s worked before.” Stung, Jimin frowns at Hoseok, not quite understanding or perhaps mulishly refusing to understand. “That’s why Namjoon-hyung gave him the dragon, right? And the oil painting. They helped him remember, a little bit.”

Jungkook frowns. “Is that why you sent them to me?”

“It was after Namjoon-hyung saw you at the coffee place,” Taehyung says. “He knew it was you, and he thought, you know, if you saw something familiar from our past lives, it might help you. And it worked, didn’t it?”

“Ease up, babies,” Hoseok says quietly. “Let’s take it slow, okay?”

“I’ll look at them later,” Jungkook says suddenly. They’re right about the dragon and the painting, after all. “I will, I promise.”

“After breakfast?” Taehyung pipes up. 

Despite Hoseok’s look, full of misgivings, Jungkook nods. 

But looking through the items, one bowl of gukbap later, does nothing to stir Jungkook’s memory. They are just as they are - a threadbare strip of cloth, a wooden spoon, a ring - none of which hold any meaning for him even though he touches them all carefully, searching inside himself for a flicker of memory, a glimpse of something, anything. 

But -

“Nothing,” he says, and he fights to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Sorry. I wish I could remember.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Jimin says, immediately regretful when he sees how awful Jungkook feels. “We’re sorry for stressing you out. It was worth a shot, that’s all.”

“Who knows, maybe he’ll remember something when he sees Namjoon-hyung in dragon form.”

At this, Jungkook perks up. Yes - that’s something he’s looking forward to immensely. He can’t wait to see Namjoon in all his draconian glory. If he looks anything like the little dragon figurine, Jungkook knows he’s in for a treat.

Still, it’s clearly important to them - or at least to Taehyung and Jimin - that he remembers their past. And he feels so bad that it doesn’t work. 

Seokjin ruffles his hair. “Well, at least we tried, and if it didn’t work, it’s okay. There’ll be something else.”

“Yeah, but what if there isn’t something else?” Jungkook thumps a frustrated fist onto the table. “What if I never remember?”

Hoseok is immediately there, taking Jungkook’s hand and stroking it. “Then you never remember,” Hoseok shrugs. He tilts Jungkook’s chin with one hand and makes him meet his eyes so he can see how sincere he is. “So what? Our sweet maknae. Who cares about all the other lifetimes? We have you now. That’s all that matters.”

“That’s all that matters,” Jungkook echoes. He wants that so much to be true. 

“I mean,” Taehyung shrugs, “it’s not so bad you don’t remember the times I beat you at games.” He examines his fingernails pretentiously. “Just so you know, in all our previous lifetimes, I beat you at games a lot, and oh, I was way taller than you, too.”

Unable to help himself, Jungkook snorts. “You wish you beat me at games.” He stands up and ostentatiously measures himself against Taehyung’s full height. “And you really wish you were taller than me. Bet I was always taller.”

Delighted, Taehyung throws his arms around Jungkook and kisses him noisily. “See? Lots of things not worth remembering,” he crows, “like all the boring stuff and the stupid fights and the…and the…” he falls awkwardly silent, then, and when Jungkook glances around, Seokjin is biting his lower lip. 

This again, Jungkook thinks, exasperated. First they want him to remember, and then they don’t. He finally decides to help Taehyung out, if only because he feels guilty about not being able to remember anything. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging, “who wants to remember the bad stuff?” 

“Yeah,” Hoseok interjects smoothly. “Not worth it.” He grins at Jungkook with his sweet, heart-shaped smile. “Come on, maknae,” he says, “let’s prove to Taehyung you can beat him at games just fine in this lifetime, too.”

Always ready for a challenge, and particularly because he’s keen to kiss the little smirk off Taehyung’s face when he proves he’s right, Jungkook rises from the table. 

“Go on,” Seokjin says, flapping his hands at him when he makes a move to clear the tteukbaegi. “Hyung will do it. I’m making another batch, anyway, for Yoongi and Namjoon.”

The other three are already heading out the door, but Jungkook hesitates and turns around. 

“I love you,” Jungkook says suddenly. It feels like something Seokjin should know. He pushes into Seokjin’s space and kisses him. He tastes of gukbap, he’s sure, but Seokjin meets him eagerly anyway. 

“What was that for?” Seokjin murmurs. His hand comes up to cradle the back of Jungkook’s head and he dips in for a second kiss, slower, more lingering. Jungkook loves the roll of Seokjin’s plush lower lip. He could taste it forever. Maybe he’ll get to. 

“Do I need a reason?” Jungkook asks. 

“No,” Seokjin admits quite happily. “But I bet the gukbap helped.”

“It was perfect, hyung. Just the way I like it.”

Seokjin looks at Jungkook, soft and wistful and yearning, his eyes seeming to see more than what’s before him. “I know.”

When Jungkook finally sees Namjoon shift into dragon form, it’s a sunny but brisk morning a couple days later. They’ve gathered on the lawn where just the night before Jungkook thrashed Taehyung at table tennis, three matches to one, amidst bursts of hilarity and laughter and teasing accusations of cheating. 

Not entirely sure what to expect from Namjoon’s transformation, Jungkook’s antsy. He can’t stop wiggling, his nervous energy manifesting through the way he bounces on the balls of his feet and repeatedly runs his fingers over whoever is close enough to touch. 

Namjoon looks rather abashed at all the attention. 

“This is weird, isn’t it,” he says self-consciously, regarding the way the other six are lined up on the lawn to watch him shapeshift. Uncharacteristically shy, he waves an arm vaguely in the air. “Too much fanfare. I mean it’s just. It’s just!”

“Yes, for you maybe it’s just, but it’s also kind of Jungkook’s first time,” Seokjin points out, grinning. “So make it good for him, Namjoon-ah.”

“I remember my first time seeing Namjoon,” Taehyung adds wistfully. “I’m the only one who saw him as a dragon first and not as a human.” 

“I never get tired of seeing him change,” Hoseok confides. 

Jungkook’s eyes are huge as he takes it all in. Yoongi, who’s the nearest to him, laughs a little at his blatant excitement. If Jungkook is the only one who knows that Yoongi, standing half behind him, has a calming hand on his lower back rubbing soothing circles against his skin, that’s fine with him. 

“You’re gonna love him,” Jimin tells Jungkook, his eyes sparkling, “Namjoon-hyung’s so pretty as a dragon.”

Namjoon frowns in mock annoyance. “What do you mean, pretty? I prefer adjectives like ‘majestic’, or ‘imposing’, or ‘magnificent’. ‘Glorious’, even.”

“Pretty,” Jimin repeats airily, “very sweet and very darling.” He dodges Namjoon’s playful swipe, giggling. 

“He is pretty,” Jungkook whispers, thinking of his dream and of the little dragon statuette. If what he remembers from his dream is accurate: “I know it’s true.”

Namjoon looks at him with so much warmth that Jungkook feels it like a wave drenching him from his head to his toes. He fidgets. 

“Enough stalling,” Hoseok interjects with a laugh. “Come on, Namjoon.”

Jungkook has no clue what to expect. A magic wand? An arcane incantation in ancient Korean? A puff of smoke, perhaps, or some sort of complicated hand sign? But in the end the change is just as anticlimactic as Namjoon insisted it would be. Right in front of them, Namjoon is human, and then in the next breath he’s just - he’s just a - 

“Dragon,” Jungkook squeaks. He chokes up, unable to say any more than that, just gazing wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the impossible sight in front of him. There sits Namjoon on glossy scaled haunches, his tail winding around him, the fins gleaming bright in the morning sun. Another white fin, ridged and fluttering, runs up the length of his back all the way up to his head, where ruthlessly sharp-tipped ivory horns curve up and into the air. Sunlight shimmers reflectively over his scales, a mesmerizing shift of chrome green and blue-black and shades in between. 

Majestic, Jungkook thinks helplessly. Imposing. Magnificent. Glorious. And also - so, so pretty.

Unthinkingly, Taehyung starts forward, eager to get to Namjoon, but Seokjin, anticipating his lover’s impulse, quickly lays a gentle hand on his shoulder before Taehyung can take another step.

“Let Jungkook go first,” he says in an undertone. Taehyung falls back immediately, nodding sheepishly. 

But Jungkook is frozen where he stands, his emotions too overwhelming to parse. Namjoon turns his head sideways to regard the maknae more fully. His whiskers, each as thick as a finger at its base, rise and fall as he whuffs an inquiring breath out. 

-Aren’t you going to come give me a kiss?- Namjoon asks teasingly. His mental voice sounds exactly the same, except Jungkook hears it in his head, and not so much with his ears.

Jungkook is thrumming with some urgent need, his hand half outstretched. He knows that if he looks at the dragon’s face, he’ll see those golden eyes - although he’s half afraid to look directly at Namjoon, as if it might make him disappear. Jungkook wants so badly to touch. He glances back at the others, his eyes desperate to convey his inner turmoil without words. 

“Go on,” Yoongi says quietly. “It’s just Namjoon.”

-It’s just me,- Namjoon confirms. - Come to me, my sweet love.-

“Hyung,” Jungkook chokes out, absolutely entranced. The pet name, said so lovingly in Namjoon’s own voice, unlocks something inside him. His feet unfreeze. He stumbles forward, closes the gap in a few steps and touches a tentative hand to the dragon’s cheek. He traces the line of the jaw, feeling the soft scales with his fingers, then strokes experimentally across the ridged velvet of the forehead. Namjoon almost preens at the attention and nudges his broad face into Jungkook’s palm.

-Hello, you.-

“It is you,” Jungkook says with wonder. “Namjoon-hyung.”

When Jungkook finally meets the gaze of the piercing golden eyes he sees in all his dreams, he feels as though sunbursts are exploding in his eyes, in his chest, in his head. He thought he knew what a dragon would look like, and what a dragon might be like. He’s memorized every line of his little dragon statuette. 

But Jungkook was never prepared for this.

“You really are so pretty,” Jungkook blurts out artlessly, and laughs in delight when the dragon manages to wrinkle his brow in a characteristically Namjoon way. 

-Ya, what happened to all the other words I gave you?- Namjoon complains laughingly. He butts his muzzle against Jungkook’s belly. - What about those?-

“Yes - all of those, too,” Jungkook says in a rush. Namjoon must be able to see the all-encompassing awe in his eyes, because the dragon tilts his head and noses lovingly along Jungkook’s shoulder.

-All right then,- Namjoon says with a hint of amusement in his voice. -If you and Jimin think I’m pretty, then I’m pretty.- 

Jungkook can’t get enough of running his fingers along Namjoon’s neck, his shoulder, his sinuous body. Namjoon stands patiently, his body rising to meet Jungkook’s strokes and caresses, not unlike the way a cat arches its back towards a petting hand. 

“Wow,” Jungkook babbles, “wow, Namjoon-hyung, you’re - wow.” He’d thought the artist - his past self - had done a beautiful job sculpting the little dragon statuette. But now Jungkook understands that no artist past or present could ever hope to capture the ineffable splendor of an actual dragon - his dragon. 

Theirs. 

He turns to the other five and gestures at Namjoon, utterly thrilled. “Are you seeing this?” he exclaims. “Isn’t this insane?” Jungkook knows he’s grinning all over his face like a fool. He knows, obviously, that the others have in fact seen Namjoon as a dragon countless times. He doesn’t care. He wants to share this deep, inutterable joy with every single one of the men he loves. 

“It is insane,” Seokjin agrees hoarsely, but he’s watching Jungkook run his hands over Namjoon. Seokjin’s heart is aching in the most wonderful way. In this lifetime at least, their family is finally together and whole.

The five of them can’t take their eyes off the sight of Jungkook completely rapt, his face pressed against the dragon’s, all of them luxuriating in this precious, precious moment. Taehyung has his arms wrapped around Hoseok and Jimin, and Seokjin and Yoongi are holding hands. They all get it. 

Jimin sniffs noisily. “Why am I crying?” he half laughs, half sobs. “We’ve seen Namjoon turn into a dragon a million times.”

“Jungkook hasn’t,” Hoseok says gently. “At least - not in his living memory. And that’s why you’re crying - because of all of us, we’ve never seen Jungkook’s first time.”

Taehyung beams, boxy and beautiful. “And now we have.”

“I love them so much,” Jimin hiccups. His voice cracks. “I love you all so much.”

“We know,” Yoongi says. Obvious, but somehow necessary. Yoongi leans over and thumbs a tear away from Jimin’s cheek, then chases it with his lips. 

-Come here and kiss me too,- Namjoon says. He looks around with golden eyes alight and beckons them over. -All of you.-  

The words are barely echoing in their heads before the other five scramble towards them. They collide with Namjoon and Jungkook, each of them making and finding space to hold on to both the dragon and another person. 

“We’re finally together,” Hoseok murmurs. “Took us long enough but we got here at last.”

“We won’t lose you again.” The fervent promise slips from Jimin’s lips, so quietly that Jungkook half thinks he imagined it. 

Squashed somewhere between Namjoon’s neck and Hoseok’s shoulder, Seokjin’s arm snug around his waist, with everyone else a hair's breadth away, no one notices when Jungkook goes quiet. 

Content to savor the moment. Jungkook closes his eyes. For a fleeting moment, it feels like a puzzle piece in his life has snapped neatly into place. 

That night, Jungkook can hardly keep his hands to himself, and he drags Namjoon into bed with him with an urgency that makes Namjoon’s eyes go hungry and dark. Jungkook is sure that there was a time in his life when he could keep himself together during sex, but when he’s with any of the other six, he often feels like he’s lost his mind, particularly when there’s more than two of them together. 

What Jungkook has discovered to his chagrin, though, is that it’s even worse - better? - with Namjoon. It’s as if Namjoon’s entire body, everything he is and does, was created specifically to drive Jungkook absolutely wild.

Whether he’s down on his knees, hungrily sucking Jungkook in, or like right now, pressing close and jostling him with his long thighs and his hard cock, Jungkook’s mind is utterly scrambled. All he can do is moan as Namjoon nuzzles down his throat and sucks a bruise into the soft skin at its base. 

“Hyung,” Jungkook says muzzily. “Ah, fuck, hyung -” He ruts up against Namjoon’s hips, seeking what friction he can find to ease the ache in his groin. He needs to breathe. He needs to breathe before Namjoon can wreck him beyond redemption. 

“Wait,” Namjoon murmurs right before his lips close around Jungkook’s nipple. “Want to taste all of you. Let me?”

Jungkook feels Namjoon’s fingers sliding under his balls and towards his taint, and he’s fairly sure his brain ceases to function for a good ten seconds. “Wait,” he gasps, “hyung, I want to - I can’t -”

“You just lie there,” Namjoon breathes, “and let me.” He gives Jungkook’s nipple a little more attention, swirling his tongue over the taut bud, before he kisses his way down towards Jungkook’s bellybutton and the vee of dark hair below it. “So sweet, baby,” Namjoon groans, and despite himself Jungkook thrills at the compliment. 

Even as he props himself up on his elbows, unwilling to just lie there and be pampered, Jungkook knows he’s leaking; he can feel the way the delicate skin on his cockhead is stretched so taut and tight it almost hurts as Namjoon rubs his lips against it. 

“I’m not usually…” Jungkook trails off, inhaling and clenching inadvertently as lubed fingers tap gently against his rim. “I’m not used to being the passive one.” 

Namjoon hums, amused, around the cock in his mouth. Let me , his eyes are saying, and so Jungkook makes himself breathe out and lean back and allow Namjoon to take the reins. 

His fingers prod gently at Jungkook’s opening, testing the give of the slick muscle until it opens enough to let him in. Jungkook gasps. He likes it slow, likes to be opened up with care and attention, and Namjoon has always known exactly what he needs. Even now as he gently works Jungkook open, Namjoon never lets up suckling on and around the tip of Jungkook’s cock to take his mind off the insistent pressure beneath. Carefully, slowly, he adds a second finger, then after more time spent stretching Jungkook out, a third. 

“You’re spoiling me.” Jungkook smiles breathlessly, one hand locked in Namjoon’s hair. But Namjoon just continues, relentless, slowly working Jungkook open and getting him ready for his cock. Even though the angle makes it hard to see, Jungkook knows Namjoon is rock hard and probably leaking too; he knows by now that Namjoon gets off on giving them pleasure. It’s what lets him relax and let Namjoon do his thing.

Finally, Jungkook feels like his entire body is floating, caught on the brink. He’s been held upon the precipice so long he can’t wait to fling himself directly off it and drag Namjoon down with him. 

“Fuck me,” Jungkook grits out. He clenches around Namjoon’s fingers. “I’m ready.”

“I’m not,” Namjoon points out reasonably. Before Jungkook can let out a little scream, Namjoon slips his mouth off Jungkook’s cock and nuzzles his way lower, mouthing over his balls one by one, all the while fucking his fingers slowly into Jungkook’s already puffy hole.

“Ungh.” Jungkook arches his back, slapping his hand down on the bed and moaning at the delicious pressure building in his groin. He tries not to writhe too hard, to fight the urge to press himself deeper into Namjoon’s mouth, against his long, agile fingers. He wants to hold off as long as he can. It’ll be impossible if Namjoon continues to crook his fingers up against his prostate, and he squirms, an exercise in futility. 

“Hyung,” Jungkook pleads. “Please.”

This time Namjoon finally acquiesces. He slides off and out of Jungkook and lets Jungkook pull him down for a kiss. Their lips part and meet and Jungkook drinks him in hungrily. There’s something intoxicating about the sweetness of Namjoon’s breath puffing from his lungs straight into Jungkook’s mouth, the flavor of him that lingers. 

Jungkook slides his hand down between them, gratified at the way Namjoon’s breath stutters as Jungkook closes his fist around his dick. True enough, Namjoon is hard and straining in his hand, incredibly turned on just from sucking Jungkook off; Jungkook presses his thumb lightly into the slit and pulls a tacky strand of precome away, sliding his wet thumb around Namjoon’s cockhead. 

“Tell me what you want,” Namjoon says hoarsely. He shudders when Jungkook’s thumb slips into his slit again and spreads more precome all over his tight, satiny cockhead. Jungkook can’t help himself. His hips buck forward, craving friction, craving contact, and as he rubs himself along Namjoon’s solid thigh, he decides he really doesn’t have a good reason to wait any longer.

Namjoon lets out a little ‘oof!’ as Jungkook rolls him over and clambers onto his lap. Namjoon’s eyes narrow with anticipation.

“Ah,” Namjoon says, grinning, “I know what you want.”

Jungkook doesn’t have a comeback in his head. There’s nothing in his head but bliss, really, as he reaches behind him to center Namjoon’s cock against his slicked up hole, so he says nothing at all. Groaning softly at the pressure, Namjoon reaches to lift Jungkook’s balls up so he can watch the way his tip breaches its target. 

“Fuck,” Jungkook says, his voice breaking on a moan, just feeling the way that fat cockhead sits inside him, the way Namjoon palms his balls. Bracing one hand on Namjoon’s knee, he lowers himself slowly, inch by gradual inch, his mouth slack with pleasure as he fits the shape of Namjoon deep into his body. “Why are you so fucking big?”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “You’re tight,” he points out, sounding undoubtedly pleased. He grips Jungkook’s hips so hard there will probably be marks tomorrow, but he needs the leverage, needs to hold on tight, because he can’t resist thrusting up into Jungkook’s warm, wet heat. Jungkook falls forward with a full-voiced moan. 

“Mean,” Jungkook huffs out. His thighs clench up. “I’m supposed to be riding.”

“Ride then,” Namjoon says teasingly, and he rolls his hips up hard again so that Jungkook churns out a desperate sound from deep in his chest. It’s impossible for him to ride, honestly, as Namjoon jostles his cock into him over and over again, but that’s okay. He only really likes it slow when he’s being prepped. When it’s time to fuck and be fucked, he likes it fast, hard and sloppy, and it’s easier like this, when he’s at Namjoon’s mercy, when thumbs are digging into his hips and Namjoon is thrusting up into him at an unforgiving pace, just the way he likes it. 

All Jungkook can do is hold on.

It doesn’t take long after that. As Jungkook bursts over his own belly, Namjoon follows soon after with his eyes heavy lidded and a simple, deep exhale. Jungkook drops onto his chest, panting. This way, he can feel Namjoon’s heart hammering alongside his, a thundering melody that soothes. He catches Namjoon staring at him, a universe swimming in his gaze. 

If he wasn’t already flushed, he’d pinken up under that gaze.

“What?” 

Namjoon just shakes his head. The deeply tender look in his eyes makes Jungkook almost bashful, so he leans down and presses his lips silently against Namjoon’s. 

He’s not sure he’s ever known this: the sweetness and lightness of postcoital kisses, the soothing way Namjoon rubs his hand over the curve of his flank. No words are spoken, but they don’t need to be. They just drink each other in, just savor the moment. Jungkook relaxes against Namjoon’s body and sighs happily against his lips. They’re both exhausted. It doesn’t take long for them to slip into sleep, coddled against each other.

Where are you? Baby, where are you?

Where are you?

Jungkook! 

Cold sweat. Clammy skin. Echoing screams and the bitter scent of smoke and burning flesh clogging his nostrils. An all-too-familiar nausea roils in Jungkook’s belly.

His eyes fly open in a split second. An agonized sound claws its way out of his dry throat. Even as Jungkook shudders awake, even as his heart judders painfully in his rib cage, in that second of consciousness he remembers exactly where he is, and he musters enough control to swallow his sob and still his body carefully so that he doesn’t rouse Namjoon. 

The nightmares are back. 

Jungkook feels sick to his stomach.

Luckily, in his sleep, Jungkook must have rolled away just enough for there to be a sliver of space between them - not much, but enough. It’s dark, but Jungkook can still make out the gentle swell of Namjoon’s chest and the dark threads of his lashes on his closed lids. Even in sleep, Namjoon is usually attuned to his partners’ movements, but this time he hasn’t roused. Thankfully. 

Jungkook eases off the bed very slowly, trying not to shift his weight too quickly. His heart is still rabbiting away. 

He reaches the bathroom not a moment too soon and vomits into the toilet bowl. It’s not much, barely a couple of mouthfuls, but Jungkook can’t shake the taste of sour bile no matter how much he rinses his mouth out afterwards. He washes again, and then stares at himself in the mirror. His eyes are bloodshot. His face is pallid. 

He can still hear the desperate screaming in his head. 

Jungkook scrubs a hand over his face tiredly. He told Yoongi he hasn’t had bad dreams since he moved to Chuncheon. 

That fact was true until about an hour ago. 

What the hell is going on?

Jungkook wants to cry. He wants to sob and scream and throw something across the room. He’s had so many dream-free months in Chuncheon that he’s built up this iron-clad belief, this expectation that this is his safe space, his haven, his bubble. He thought the bad dreams, at least, were behind him. Already the images have faded, no matter how he tries to dredge them up again, tries to force his brain to summon up the things he knows he saw in his sleep. 

But they’re gone. 

All Jungkook is left with, as always, is a yawning pit of dread in his belly and a lingering sense of despair he can’t shake. 

It must have been seeing Namjoon as a dragon. It must have unlocked something inside his head. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Should he tell the others? But no - Jungkook stares at his haggard face in the mirror and makes the implacable decision not to let them know. He doesn’t want them to worry; doesn’t want to see that look of anxiety on their faces again. He knows how much it hurt them when he went back to Seoul. He doesn’t want to dredge any of that back up again. It’s not worth it, he thinks, his heart sinking like a stone. 

No, Jungkook knows he won’t - can’t - say a word. 

But if he doesn’t want them to know, that means he can’t risk falling asleep beside them anymore. 

Jungkook rinses his mouth out one more time and then very pointedly avoids looking at his own reflection anymore. He heads back into the bedroom and hesitates. He stands there for a beat, then two, watching Namjoon sleep. He’s so beautiful, this otherworldly man, who for some reason seems to love him too. Jungkook’s heart aches and aches, a physical pressure that makes his ribcage feel two sizes too small for his body.

He stands there in the dim light, unable and unwilling to move, memorizing the serene way Namjoon’s chest lifts and falls, fighting the terrible, desperate urge to crawl right back into bed and into the safe, warm nest of Namjoon’s embrace. To seek solace and comfort and the reassurance that everything, everything could possibly really be okay. Jungkook’s left foot inches forward despite himself. It would be so easy, just to slip right between Namjoon’s arms, to nuzzle into that sweet space in the hollow of his throat and forget everything he -

Then Namjoon sighs in his sleep, the barest sound, but it breaks Jungkook’s reverie. 

He takes one last look, then, swallowing hard, he turns and leaves the bedroom, closing the door behind him as quietly as he can. It’s a chilly, lonely walk back to the lake house. The bed is cold and empty. The stars in the skylight offer no solace. 

And Jungkook curls up in his bed, afraid and alone in the dark, waiting for the sun to rise, just as he has done for all his life.

It’s barely dawn when Jungkook trudges back up to the house, having not slept a single second more after waking from his dreams. He hasn’t missed this fuzzed-brain feeling, like his head might pop off and fly away if someone jostles him too hard. He can’t shake the deep-seated anxiety that gnaws at his belly, but at least he can attempt to clear the cobwebs in his brain.

Failing some sort of miracle, an answer explaining his dreams falling straight from Heaven like a bolt of lightning into the blue, caffeine is the next best solution. A great number of rungs lower on the hierarchy of possible solutions, in fact, but in the circumstances, it will have to do. 

Jungkook pushes open the main door, fully expecting it to be empty - the others hardly ever wake up past ten in the morning - but he tries and fails to conceal his surprise when he smells fresh coffee in the air. 

The bigger shock comes when he sees who’s fiddling with the coffee machine. 

“Hyung,” he says faintly. He can’t scrape up enough presence of mind to hide his blush. The lack of sleep has left him threadbare.

Namjoon looks up and smiles cheerfully. There are two cups beside him on the counter, both filled with ice. 

“Where’d you go, baby?” Namjoon asks. “I woke up to use the bathroom this morning and found the bed empty.” He pouts just the slightest bit. It’s normally fatally distracting - Namjoon doesn’t often employ aegyo - but Jungkook is too nervous and upset this time to let the cuteness get to him. The lack of sleep and the weight of his secret make his temper unnecessarily short.

He shrugs gracelessly. “Just needed some fresh air,” Jungkook replies. “You’re heavy, you know. You were squashing me.”

He almost hates himself. Of all the excuses he could have improvised, this one hurts Namjoon. He can tell. It’s in the way a tiny wrinkle appears between Namjoon’s brows, the way he draws back just a little bit and something darkly golden flickers deep in his eyes. Namjoon’s jaw firms up in a way that makes Jungkook ache to run a thumb over it. 

Jungkook thinks about the powerful dragon he saw just the day before, gleaming like a sunbeam on their front lawn. In his dragon form, Namjoon could easily rip him in half if he wished - but Jungkook knows instinctively that Namjoon could never hurt Jungkook. He thinks about the abiding love he saw in those golden eyes, and the pained glimmer he sees in them now. 

He tamps down the guilt oozing through him like toxic waste. 

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon says slowly, frowning just a little bit. “Next time you can just shove me to the side though, it’s fine.”

“I just wanted some air.”

“All right.” It doesn’t sound like he really believes Jungkook, but Namjoon’s expression relaxes, and he smiles. “I figured you’d want coffee, if you didn’t get enough sleep.” He pours steaming coffee over ice and slides the cup invitingly over the counter. 

In a world where Jungkook has more self-control, he might have resisted the cup, but this Jungkook is made of weak, weak stuff. The fragrance of fresh roast is a siren call. Saying no to coffee, made personally for him by a very handsome man whose dimples are deep enough to drown in, is something Jungkook simply cannot manage, not on a scant hour of sleep. Particularly when said handsome man holds coffee in one hand and Jungkook’s feebly beating heart in the other. 

The first sip of iced Americano goes straight to his head and he muffles a thankful moan. His eyes roll up. “God,” he utters. “I needed this.”

“Not God,” Namjoon says. Amusement colors his tone. “Just me and the coffee machine.” He pats it avuncularly, as if acquiring such an expensive, complicated gadget had been his own genius idea, when it was actually entirely Hoseok’s. 

Jungkook’s good humor is returning with each sip of coffee. The caffeine is doing its job, seeping into his bloodstream and burning out the fog in his head. This newfound clarity is illuminating. Of course, Jungkook will figure out the dreams later. It’s probably a fluke, he reasons, brought on by seeing Namjoon in dragon form. That’s all it is. Things will be fine from now on. 

He’s sure of it. 

Restless with the need to make it up to him, Jungkook moves into Namjoon’s space and burrows into his side, an unspoken apology for his earlier poor attitude. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I’m just really tired.” Not a lie. And yet…

“I can tell,” Namjoon says, accepting the excuse at face value. He sniffs deeply at the side of Jungkook’s head. It’s a habit he has. He loves the smell of Jungkook’s head, Namjoon confided once, isn’t it a miracle that no matter how many lifetimes have passed, whatever Jungkook washes his hair with, he still smells the same? When Jungkook queried, laughing, what this particular smell could be, Namjoon thought very seriously and answered, home. Overcome with adoration, Jungkook had then tackled him to the bed and kissed him very thoroughly.

Remembering this, Jungkook turns his head so he can catch Namjoon’s lips in a quick kiss. They both taste of coffee. Lulled into a sense of security, Jungkook lets out a happy sigh, his body relaxing easily against Namjoon’s. 

Then-

“Go back to bed, baby,” Namjoon says persuasively. “Pick any bed. They’re all still sleeping. You could get a couple hours more sleep.” He slides his hands up the small of Jungkook’s back, rubbing gently at the spots on either side where Jungkook always carries knots. 

And Jungkook stiffens. It sounds good, so temptingly good, slipping into bed where he knows Seokjin will curl around him without even waking, with the soft comforting rumbles of Taehyung’s snores (even though Tae will never admit he snores). Yet in the same moment he envisions himself screaming and thrashing awake, kicking Yoongi in the shin, Jimin pushing hair out of his face to peer out of sleepy, unfocused eyes, Hoseok’s worry spilling out of him in waves. 

He can’t do it to them.

“Thanks for the coffee, hyung,” Jungkook says instead, and nudges gently away from Namjoon’s side. “I’m already awake. Think I’ll go to the workshop, get some stuff done, get ready for the trip.”

Namjoon looks straight at him with those piercing eyes that seem to see right through Jungkook’s flimsy excuse. 

Jungkook looks away. 

Perhaps if Namjoon had then taken his hand and held on to it, if he had insisted to be told what was wrong, Jungkook might have folded easily; he might have broken down and confessed that the dreams were back. Perhaps things would have taken a different turn. 

But Namjoon is too forgiving, too sweet, and he doesn’t push. He just nods. “Okay,” he says quietly, and he lets Jungkook go.

Jungkook soon finds out, though, that while it might be possible to get away from one lover at night, it’s impossible to evade six. He gets the inspiration to invent an illness - a few convincing coughs and a lie about a mild fever help his cause. The other six are solicitous and reluctantly respect his request to ride the contagious period out alone. 

“I don’t want you to fall sick too,” Jungkook beseeches them through a video call from his supposed sickbed in the lakehouse, making his eyes extra large and gooey to really sell the point. Taehyung in particular coos at his thoughtfulness, even though Jimin looks ready to smash his door down and kiss him silly to catch whatever he has so that they can quarantine together. Yoongi brews dark, savory herbal soups which he leaves in flasks at Jungkook’s door - meant to cleanse and purify and heal.

If only they worked to cleanse and purify and heal Jungkook’s soul.

In the end, Jungkook manages to buy himself enough time to quarantine for a few days, just to see if the dreams would return. Maybe they won’t. Maybe it was a fluke. 

A man can hope. 

But it’s all for nothing. Jungkook’s hopes are quickly dashed. They come every night - vicious and frightening and ephemeral as smoke. The third night that he thrashes awake, dripping with sweat and coughing for real this time to rid himself of a bitter taste in his mouth, Jungkook pushes his face into his pillow and screams in rage and despair.

He should have known that good things don’t last.

Jungkook hasn’t been very good at it, he knows, but he’s running out of excuses not to sleep with them. There are only so many times Jungkook can slip away quietly, or plead tiredness, a headache, even just that he wants to get work done or be alone. Once, tired of lying, he faked falling asleep with Jimin and Taehyung, only to lie in bed between them stressed and anxious all night long, struggling to stay awake. He can’t do that too many times; even his dream-interrupted bits of sleep alone in the lakehouse are better than no sleep at all. 

For someone who spent every night in somebody’s arms and in somebody’s bed for the last few months, it’s getting harder and harder to explain why he no longer wants to. 

But he wants to. God, Jungkook desperately wants to. He misses them all so much.

Jungkook’s only consolation, at this point, is that there’s only one night left before he leaves for Hong Kong with Namjoon. At least while they’re staying in a hotel, he won’t have to keep coming up with excuses about why he doesn’t want to sleep with the others. 

When Yoongi and Seokjin asked Jungkook to come fish with them, he thought it would be fun, a good diversion. He stinks of bait, he’s sweaty, and he knows he’s being irrepressibly whiny. He’s fairly sure that fishing is Not His Thing. Still, he misses sleeping with them so much that even spending time fishing with them feels like something to be desperately thankful for. 

“We’ve been sitting here for three hours, and we haven't caught a single fish,” Jungkook complains half-heartedly. 

“It’s not the end goal but the journey that’s important,” Seokjin declaims, throwing one arm out dramatically. He shrugs off the snickering from the other two, confident in his ability to hold his audience. “Back when we started fishing together,” he reminisces, “all those lifetimes ago, we didn’t have all this fancy fishing gear. All we had was a straw basket and a lot of hope.”

Yoongi yawns. “And a lot of patience. Which I am quickly running out of.”

“We caught loads of fish back then, though!”

“I think there were just more fish back then.” Yoongi stares glumly out at the placid waters of the lake. “Maybe we’ve already caught all the fish, or they know we’re trying to catch them. This sucks.”

“I thought you like fishing!”

“I like you ,” Yoongi says. He grins at Seokjin. “That’s the only reason I fish with you.”

Seokjin’s tone manages to be both amused and accusatory. “I distinctly recall you telling me you like fishing!”

“I liked it a few hundred years ago,” Yoongi drawls. “Because I was trying to win you over.”

“Ya, Min Yoongi!”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Yoongi turns and winks at Jungkook, who’s stifling a giggle. Wiggling a fresh hook through a piece of shrimp, Yoongi casts the line out into the water. 

Jungkook has to agree with Yoongi. He doesn’t think he really enjoys fishing, definitely not the way Seokjin relishes it, but he knows what he does enjoy - sitting by the water with two of the loves of his life (lives?) and watching the sun slowly sink under the horizon. 

It reminds him of the brilliant sky in the painting, which now hangs on the wall in his lake house. Wooju finally accepted a token amount for it after Jungkook refused to take it for free, and now it’s the first thing Jungkook wakes up to every morning.

He thinks about that one vivid memory he has, of eating gimbap at the train yard.

“Jin-hyung,” Jungkook says quietly, “tell me something else. Not from this life. From before.”

Seokjin and Yoongi exchange a loaded glance. They’ve been trying to go slow, though now that Jungkook knows about their shared history, it’s been tough for them to hold back their endless stream of comments and references to things that happened before. Jimin, ever the hopeful one, thinks it could be a good thing in hopes of perhaps triggering Jungkook’s lost memory, but Yoongi, as always, advises caution and a moderate pace. Of all of them, Namjoon seems the most acutely aware of the panic and anxiety that simmers like acid at the back of Jungkook’s mind, the nagging worry Jungkook carries with him that maybe he’ll never remember what he’s lost. 

Even if Namjoon doesn’t know about the dreams that burn every last vestige of sleep from Jungkook’s body.

It’s easy to see that it’s difficult for the others to hold back. For them, there isn’t any barrier between their memories of this life and the ones before. It’s all part of their shared history, and of course they refer to their memories from time to time - Jungkook wouldn’t dream of curtailing that, and already feels bad that they’ve been holding back on his account for so long. But it’s hard on Jungkook when they chatter about past lives and memories that mean nothing to him. It feels like he’s behind a glass, looking in, like he’s an outsider who will never get the in-joke no matter how hard he tries. 

The worst part is that he should get the in-joke. He was there for all of it. They’re his jokes, too. 

How the hell did Jungkook end up as a character with memory loss from one of those ridiculous dramas? He’s always thought the amnesia trope was unrealistic and over the top - but look where he is now. 

If there is an in-joke, Jungkook thinks wearily, the joke’s on him. 

So they’re treading slowly, trying to find a middle ground. They talk now and then about little things from the past - like fishing - and nothing too heavy. Jungkook can see the trepidation on Seokjin’s face at his request, but then the older man smiles, warm and sweet.

“Yoongi fell into the water once, when he was fishing, two or three lifetimes ago,” he points out smugly. 

This revelation is met by an indignant squawk from Yoongi. “You promised you wouldn’t make fun of that!”

“Straight into the drink,” Seokjin says airily. “Completely drenched. Angry as a wet cat.”

Picturing Yoongi falling into a river and squalling, Jungkook laughs despite himself. 

Yoongi hisses goodnaturedly. He sounds exactly like the cat Seokjin claims he resembles. “You could at least tell him why.”

“He fell into the river,” Seokjin says conspiratorially, “because he saw a handsome man.”

“Ya,” Yoongi says, laughing, “tell the story properly if you’re going to tell it!”

Bubbling over with curiosity by this time, Jungkook looks between his two hyungs. “Who was it?” he asks. “Who did Yoongi-hyung see?”

Yoongi smiles, ineffably tender. “It was you.”

Jungkook jolts. His eyes grow wide with self-conscious wonder. 

“You were with Jin-hyung and Jimin and Namjoonie. You’d found each other already in that lifetime,” Yoongi recalls, his eyes growing misty. “And you three were out riding together, but you’d ridden ahead of them. Competitive as always, aren’t you?” He puts out a hand as if to touch Jungkook, then thinks better of it - his fingers still have raw shrimp slimed across them. “I was checking my fish traps in the river, not far from my village, and when you rode past you glanced at me, and our eyes met.”

“And you remembered our past lives,” Jungkook whispers in awe.

“We remembered each other,” Yoongi nods. “That’s all it took. That’s how it works.”

“That’s how it works,” Jungkook echoes hollowly. 

Yoongi throws him a hooded glance, knowing instinctively the destructive path Jungkook’s thoughts are taking, but he keeps going anyway. “When all the memories come rushing in…it’s a shock, to say the least. So I fell over, right on my butt into the river, just as Namjoon and Jin-hyung caught up.” Yoongi glares at Seokjin in mock outrage. “Yes, I got completely soaked. And hyung has never let me forget it since.”

Seokjin just grins and blows him a lavish air kiss. 

“Hey,” Yoongi says, turning his attention back to Jungkook, “the past is past. What matters is here and now, right?”

Jungkook nods, but he’s not entirely convinced. 

“I’d rather have you here with us than not have you at all,” Yoongi says then, and it’s the sincerity and almost-desperate emotion in his voice that gets Jungkook leaning his forehead on Yoongi’s shoulder, suddenly overwhelmed. 

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah. Okay.”

Seokjin nudges Jungkook with his shoulder. “The most important thing is, we’re here for each other.”

Jungkook burrows deeper so that neither Seokjin nor Yoongi can see the expression on his face. He’s never been good at hiding his feelings. 

“I know,” he agrees, muffled. 

How long more can he hide from them? How long before he shatters into pieces like one of Seokjin’s flawed vessels, thrown into the shard bucket and smashed into even tinier pieces with a hammer?

How long can he last?

As if he can sense the turn Jungkook’s thoughts have taken, Seokjin comes up behind him and kisses him on the tender spot behind his ear. Jungkook shudders.

“Stay with us tonight,” Seokjin murmurs. He runs his lips up against Jungkook’s ear, and it’s so hard not to melt, sandwiched between them. “We’ve missed sleeping with you, baby.”

“I need to pack for Hong Kong,” Jungkook says. He tries to hide the exasperation in his voice. If only they would stop asking , so that he wouldn’t have to keep coming up with flimsy excuses, so that he can stop breaking his own heart every time he says no. “Namjoon-hyung and I leave tomorrow morning, and I haven’t packed.”

“It’s just one night,” Seokjin points out, pouting, “there can’t be that much to pack.” 

“We could help you?” Yoongi offers, but Jungkook is already pushing away. It’s a good thing Yoongi’s hands are covered in shrimp guts and he can’t really hold on to Jungkook. Seokjin steps backward, surprised.

“I just want to pack by myself in peace,” Jungkook says. “That’s all.” His eyes have begun to smart. The simple joy of spending time together with them has fizzled out abruptly. He hates having to lie. He hates having to say no to any of them. The frustration bubbles under his skin like a palpable rash.

“Baby, is something wrong-” Seokjin starts, but Jungkook shakes his head. He can’t stand the way they’re looking at him, confused and sad and full of love. He can’t stand the way he yearns to crumble into their arms. 

“Can we just - I leave tomorrow, and I don’t want to…” Jungkook can’t hide the way his voice breaks ever so slightly on the last syllable. “Can we just fish, please?”

Seokjin opens his mouth, but Yoongi catches his eye and shakes his head imperceptibly.

“Okay,” Yoongi says, and once more Jungkook almost wishes one of them would grab him and yell at him and force the words out of him, but Yoongi just looks at him with sad, wise eyes. “Okay, baby.”

Jungkook sits back down on the dock, but the joy is gone, his mood spoiled, and he blinks back the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He can’t even escape from them to hide in his own room - the dock literally encircles his lakehouse. But a few minutes later Seokjin stretches dramatically.

“I think we’re done for the evening,” he says. “Light’s almost gone, and we should start dinner, Yoongi, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Quick to catch on, Yoongi’s already starting to pack up, reeling in the remaining rods. “Dinner will be simple,” Yoongi says to no one in particular. “Shouldn’t take too long, but everyone will be there. Since you’re both leaving tomorrow, and all.”

“I’ll go wash up,” Jungkook says quietly. He puts away his own gear as quickly as he can and ducks into the lakehouse to take a shower. He can hear the receding sounds of their voices outside and surmises that they’re heading back to the main building. He’ll let ten, maybe twenty minutes tick by before he joins them, just to avoid any more questions. 

Jungkook opens his bag on the platform next to his bed and throws a couple of arbitrary things in - his favorite black tee, and a hoodie that has been hanging on his chair for a few days now. That way if any of them comes down to the lakehouse after dinner, persistent about cuddling the night before he leaves, Jungkook at least has an alibi ready, the one he gave Yoongi. It’s a handy excuse and at least this time it’s real. He’s left off packing for the Hong Kong trip till the last minute. Jungkook is both excited and nervous, of course - it’s his first overseas trip for work with Namjoon. They’ve prepped extensively for the presentation to Art Basel and he knows they’re ready, but still - it’s a milestone, a real experience. 

Then he furrows his brow. That isn’t his hoodie. Someone must have left it behind in his room; he’s not sure who. Picking it up, Jungkook buries his face in it and inhales. Almost immediately he wells up. 

It doesn’t really matter whose it is. 

The point is, it smells like home. 

“What are you looking at?” Hoseok comes around behind Jimin, and nestles his chin in Jimin’s shoulder. He follows the line of Jimin’s gaze to the lighted windows of the lakehouse, and his breath comes out in a long, sad sigh. “Oh.”

“I miss him,” Jimin murmurs sadly, his eyes fixed on the lakehouse. “He hasn’t been the same since he came back from Seoul.” 

“Did he say anything to you? He just brushes me off every time.”

Mournfully, Jimin shakes his head. “I wish he would say something.” But the last time Jimin tried asking Jungkook if everything was okay, if he could make him feel better, Jungkook just shrugged and changed the subject. Jimin’s never felt Jungkook so deliberately closed off to him before, and it hurts desperately, a stinging, aching pain he doesn’t know how to countenance. 

They stare silently out at the lakehouse. They can’t see directly into any of the windows, but they take scant comfort knowing Jungkook is in there, awake, maybe thinking about them. 

Or maybe he isn’t. 

Hoseok was hopeful, when Jungkook came back from Seoul; when he told Hoseok if he had to be lost and confused, he’d rather be lost and confused with them. Hoseok believed him. And yet suddenly something happened - a switch flipped - and abruptly the sweet, tactile Jungkook he knows and loves has become withdrawn, stiff and quiet, nudging out of embraces instead of into them. 

Everyone has been tiptoeing around Jungkook, afraid to trigger him. Worried that if they say something, he might explode, or worse - leave again. 

And yet, having known the agony of living without him, Hoseok thinks he would rather have Jungkook like this than no Jungkook at all. 

“I think he wants to leave us,” Jimin chokes out. “I don’t think he’s going to stay.”

Hoseok doesn’t say anything at first. He just tightens his arm around Jimin, trying to offer whatever comfort he can, because he’s had the same, uncomfortable prickly feeling in his chest for some time now. That their precious boy, the last puzzle piece, is pulling away from them, slipping out of their fingers, and there’s nothing they can do to stop him.

“I don’t know what changed,” Hoseok says finally. “He was so happy with us, wasn’t he?”

Jimin winces at the past tense. “After what happened last time…we can’t lose him again. Not when we’ve lived without him so long.”

“You know it’s his choice to make.”

“I know that.” Jimin’s face is wet with tears. “I do, I know that. But we need to fight for him, hyung.”

“Of course we will.” Hoseok draws a gentle hand over Jimin’s face and lifts a tear away with his thumb. “You know we’ll fight for Jungkook, sweetheart.”

From the bed, Taehyung stirs. “Jungkook?” he mumbles sleepily, hopefully. His hand reaches out in a grabby motion. “Is Jungkook here?”

“No, Tae,” Hoseok says gently. “Go back to sleep.”

Taehyung lets out a little sigh, his mouth in a pout, but he rolls over obligingly and within seconds, Jimin and Hoseok can hear his breathing return to the slow, even pulse of deep sleep. Jimin doesn’t say anything, but Hoseok can feel him crumple in his arms ever so slightly. Jimin has always been a little more vulnerable, his heart more open and receptive and therefore more prone to hurt. Hoseok can’t bear it. He can’t see any of his loved ones hurt. 

“It’s okay,” Hoseok says to Jimin fiercely. “I promise. We won’t let him go without a fight.” 

But as Hoseok wraps Jimin in a close embrace, eyes still fixed on the light in the windows of the lakehouse, he can’t help but wonder how big a fight it’s going to take to keep Jungkook with them.

Chapter Text

Fuck, Jungkook thinks despairingly, staring blindly down at the marble countertop in front of the hotel concierge. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He digs the heel of his palm into his forehead. He’s already short on sleep and now he’s short on temper.

He’s been so laser-focused on preparing the brief for the Art Basel presentation over the last few weeks that he left the logistics and planning entirely to Namjoon, when he had initially intended to settle it as a good assistant should. But Namjoon is letting him take point on the presentation, and it has been a lot - the scope and scale of the exhibit is much bigger than Jungkook’s used to. Jungkook has been stressed about it, to put it mildly. So when Namjoon, so sweet, so attentive, massaged Jungkook’s shoulders a few weeks back and said, “Don’t worry about the flights and accommodation, baby, I’ll take care of the all the arrangements,” Jungkook was nothing but joyously grateful for one less thing to worry about. 

And then everything happened. He ran back to Seoul, and found out Namjoon was a shapeshifting ancient dragon, and he let Namjoon talk him into going back to Chuncheon, and then the nightmares started again, which means he’s been avoiding falling asleep with any of his six partners…

Which means that Jungkook has entirely forgotten that on this Very Important Work Trip, he and Namjoon would be sharing a hotel room - and a bed. 

Jungkook doesn’t know how he’s going to stay awake for - he calculates rapidly in his head - a little more than 120 hours. His heart sinks.

Fuck.

Maybe it’s possible, though? He does a quick Naver search. Huh - the longest anyone has gone without sleep is 264 hours. So it’s doable, he thinks hopefully. He could plausibly stay awake for five days and four nights without dramatically dying in Namjoon’s arms from sleep deprivation. 

Right?

The sound of the concierge tapping busily on her keyboard brings him to his senses. It’s a good thing she speaks Korean; Jungkook would never have been able to sort this out otherwise. He looks at her expectantly, but he can already tell from her expression that things are not going to go his way.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the concierge says, even though she doesn’t sound apologetic at all. “Unfortunately, we have no more vacant rooms with twin beds.” She frowns as she looks over their information to double-check. “But I see here that you indicated on the booking form that you wanted a room with a single king-sized bed - isn’t that correct?”

“Well - yes, it was correct at the time,” Jungkook admits reluctantly. “But things have changed, and…” he sucks in a breath. “Or maybe you could give us an extra bed?”

She’s already shaking her head. “We’re all out of those. Sir, it’s peak holiday period.” She makes a regretful little “what can you do” shrug of helplessness - she’s putting on an act, Jungkook is sure of it. “We have a lot of family bookings during this time, you see, and -”

Jungkook is not in the mood to listen to her feeble explanations. “What about a second room?”

The concierge taps on her keyboard and then brightens up. “We do have an available room, if you want it,” she says. “The presidential suite…?”

Jungkook thunks his forehead gently down onto the cool marble, ignoring the mildly affronted gasp from the concierge.

“Everything okay?”

Feeling hunted, Jungkook whips around. Namjoon is approaching, looking concerned at how long check-in is taking. “No,” Jungkook says quickly, “we might have to change hotel, hyung, there’s something wrong with the room, and…” If he can just usher Namjoon away quickly, perhaps they can use the free wifi to look for a different hotel, one with separate beds, separate rooms - that isn’t the presidential suite. 

But Namjoon frowns. “What do you mean, something’s wrong?” He gently nudges Jungkook aside to speak to the concierge himself, and Jungkook knows that’s it. It’s all over. Namjoon fixes the concierge with a dazzling smile, and she falters, her eyes glazing over, pinned and helpless under the sheer force of his charm. Jungkook almost feels sorry for her, if he didn’t have so much at stake. 

“Well,” Namjoon says briskly, smiling warmly at the concierge as if she’s the only person in the world, “what could possibly be the matter? I made the reservation almost a month ago, and I’m sure our booking confirmed that the room would be available.”

“Yes, sir,” the concierge says breathlessly. She’s practically swooning, so much that she fumbles the keycards she proffers eagerly to Namjoon, concrete proof that she’s done exactly as he asked. “Actually, we have the room all ready for you, but Mr Jeon says it’s not what you requested.” She indicates Jungkook with a polite hand and Jungkook huffs in quiet indignation. Traitor, he thinks without any real spite.

“Not what we wanted?” Namjoon turns to Jungkook, confused. “Did I miss something, baby?”

The only satisfaction Jungkook is getting from this entire exchange is the way the concierge’s face falls ever so slightly at Namjoon using the term of endearment on him. Resigned to his fate, he sighs heavily. “It’s fine,” he says. “My mistake.”

Without looking at her, Jungkook takes the keycards from the concierge, but he’s not above taking a sneaky glance back. He doesn’t miss the way the concierge’s gaze lingers longingly on Namjoon even as they walk across the lobby. Perversely, Jungkook slips his hand into Namjoon’s, and his other hand comes up to squeeze Namjoon’s sizeable bicep. He hopes she’s looking. 

“What was all that about?” Namjoon asks curiously, once they’re heading up to their room.

“Nothing,” Jungkook lies. He looks away, though he doesn’t let go of Namjoon’s hand. He can’t bear to. It feels solid and steady in his. Grounding. An anchor. He blinks away the spiderwebs in his eyes. “Thought there was a mix-up, that’s all.” 

“Hey,” Namjoon says, soft and low and persuasive and tinged with the slightest hint of reproach. “Won’t you tell me what’s going on?” He slides two fingers under Jungkook’s chin and tugs a little, just enough to reroute Jungkook’s gaze. His brow crinkles and he looks straight into Jungkook’s eyes. That beautiful golden gaze. Jungkook can’t look away. 

He inhales sharply. Maybe oxygen will clear up the pounding in his head. Plausible deniability for now, until he can figure things out. If he ever figures things out. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jungkook plasters a smile on his face, hoping it’s enough to convince Namjoon. “I’m just nervous about the presentation, that’s all.”

Namjoon leans over, in the heartbeat before the elevator doors open, and runs his cheek against Jungkook’s. Jungkook shudders, his body uncontrollably leaning into the curve of Namjoon’s warm, solid chest. He’s so weak for this man. How can he resist? How can he not? 

Why can’t Jungkook be free to love him? 

But Namjoon is pressing his lips to Jungkook’s ear, and all Jungkook can do is melt. 

“You’ll be fine,” Namjoon promises. “You’ll do great.”

But Jungkook does not do great. He doesn’t even do fine. 

He knows he has this presentation down pat. He rehearsed it countless times, with and without an audience, Taehyung and Jimin in particular wide-eyed and thrilled no matter how many times he ran through the pitch. It was especially heartening when Jimin subconsciously mouthed his speech along with him. It isn’t easy - Jungkook has to present in English, after all, the curators from the museum don’t speak Korean - and he really regrets not paying more attention in the English modules in university. 

But he has it down. He really does. He memorized the entire script that he worked so painstakingly on with Namjoon’s inputs. He should know this like the back of his hand. 

And yet now, his brain full of cotton wool from lack of sleep, Jungkook can’t seem to get his mind in order. He shuffles through his papers, which seem to be out of order, repeatedly accidentally presses “back” on the remote rather than “forward” so that the slide deck is jumbled up, and stumbles over his halting, broken English so self-consciously he can see an almost-pity in their eyes. 

He knows he’s letting TBS down. 

Painfully, Jungkook struggles through the rest of the presentation, knowing he’s messing most of it up. He can’t even breathe a sigh of relief at the end: in the midst of going through the last slide, he shifts a file and inadvertently knocks his pen off the table. Out of reflex he lunges to catch it and for the first time in his life, fumbles a simple catch. The pen clatters noisily to the floor, the sound seeming to echo uncomfortably in the silent room. His ears burn as he stoops to retrieve it. 

“Sorry for…for my fault,” he says stiffly as he stands back up. He winces. He knows something sounds a little off about the sentence, but he isn’t sure what. It kills more of what’s left of his confidence. “Do you have any questions for me?”

One of the curators - the tall one with the freckles - asks him a complex sounding question in English, pointing to the photograph of one of their Chuncheon displays, and Jungkook, horrifyingly, blanks. He memorized a whole list of possible questions, but he can’t think which one this is, if it even is on the list, and he frowns. He glances at the picture, at the curator’s questioning expression and tapping finger, and back at the picture. 

“I, ah…” Jungkook says nervously. “Sorry, you…you can repeat the question?”

Under the table he can feel Namjoon lay his hand on his knee, squeezing in what is evidently meant to be a comforting gesture, but it just makes Jungkook feel worse, and serves to overload his stressed brain even further. He tenses up and tries to pay attention as the curator repeats his question, but once again it all just sounds like gibberish to him. 

A sense of horrible defeat washes over him. God, he thinks desperately, don’t cry now?

Adrift, Jungkook opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. 

Namjoon comes to his rescue, his voice calm and collected and effortlessly fluent. “I think it might be better for me to answer this question,” he says to the curator, “since this part really was under my purview.” And then he’s off, responding smoothly to the question that Jungkook couldn’t grasp, and Jungkook feels a terrible mixture of relief and guilt. Namjoon’s answer is so much more polished than Jungkook could ever have managed. Even if Jungkook had gotten enough sleep. 

Honestly, Jungkook wonders now why they even let him take over the presentation. It’s obvious that Namjoon can do an immeasurably better job than he ever can. 

Everything feels so hopeless, like a coal burning in his chest, snuffing out all the oxygen in his lungs. What does Jungkook even add to this group? Six insanely talented artists. A palpable bond between them, and a shared history that Jungkook isn’t party to. A love that goes beyond life and death. What does Jungkook bring to the table? 

A broken memory, endless nightmares, zero artistic talent. He can’t even pitch them properly, not even doing a good job like he should be. 

Where does he really stand in this family? Why do any of them really need him around? 

And how long before they realize that he doesn’t actually belong?

Spiraling in his head, Jungkook completely loses focus on what Namjoon is saying. He can only see the admiring nods and smiles on the faces of the curators as they listen to him expound on the art they plan to display at the exhibition. The beautiful, otherworldly dragon with his dark golden eyes and honeyed words. They’re all caught in his lovely spell, just like he is.

Was.

You know what, Jungkook thinks tiredly, it’s easier for six people to be dumped by one person than for one person to be dumped by six. 

Namjoon trails slightly behind Jungkook on the way out of the museum. He can feel the strength of Jungkook’s distress, and yet he can’t shake the feeling that Jungkook’s mad at him at the same time, that something is wrong. He tentatively reaches out to brush at Jungkook’s hand - usually a sure way to get him to hold hands - but to Namjoon’s dismay, Jungkook ignores this touch. He just keeps walking, back hunched, head down, laptop and folders clutched to his chest.

Namjoon’s heart twinges, hard. Why won’t Jungkook talk to him?

“My sweet love,” he tries. “Hey. Talk to me?” 

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He stays silent and half a step in front of Namjoon the entire short walk all the way back to the hotel. He isn’t sure if he should be thankful that Namjoon picked a hotel so near the museum. The distance is too short for him to walk off his hazy frustration, and yet it’s somehow also too long. He doesn’t know how much longer he can put one foot in front of the other in his condition. 

But by the time they beep themselves back into the privacy of the cold, impersonal hotel room with its white sheets and sanitizer, Jungkook can’t hold it in any more. His pain, confusion, despair. The prospect of losing his lovers. It’s too much for him to handle.

In the relative comfort and safety of the hotel room, his brain helpfully informs him that it’s done holding him together. It’s time for the falling apart segment of the program. 

“Hyung,” he gasps, doubling over. His eyes fill with tears and he holds out a hand in Namjoon’s direction, unseeing. “Namjoon-hyung.”

Confused, Namjoon hurries forward in an instant, full of shocked worry, and gathers the miserable bundle of Jungkook’s unresisting body into his arms. “Baby. What’s wrong?” 

“Just hold me,” Jungkook says between sobs. “Please just hold me, hyung, because I can’t - I can’t -”

“My sweet love,” Namjoon repeats, his throat burning with unshed tears. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

But Jungkook shakes his head and just cries into Namjoon’s shoulder. There, on the floor, Namjoon strokes his hand over Jungkook’s hair over and over again, crooning as Jungkook falls apart. They both lose all sense of time - Jungkook heaving with hard, painful sobs, and Namjoon desperately wishing he could magic all of his pain away. Feeling useless and terribly afraid, Namjoon presses Jungkook close to his heart until his limbs are numb and the sky turns dark. 

What’s the use of being a dragon if he can’t even salve the hurts of the people he loves? 

By this time, Jungkook’s sobs have subsided. His eyes are closed, his brow serene, and he hiccups every so often. His body is soft and lax in Namjoon’s hold.

Namjoon tucks a curl behind Jungkook’s ear. My poor baby, Namjoon thinks. He’s cried himself to sleep.

Gathering up his strength, he lifts Jungkook gently into bed. Carefully, slowly, he tucks himself around his youngest-oldest lover. He kisses the crown of Jungkook’s head tenderly. If Jungkook can just get some sleep, he’d feel better. Namjoon is sure of it. He’s probably just been really stressed out about the presentation; probably hasn’t been getting enough rest. Namjoon strokes his thumb lightly over the black circle under Jungkook’s eye and sighs. 

Hopefully he’ll feel better after a good night’s rest.

Jungkook dreams. 

It’s tangled and twisted and confusing, but he dreams.

He dreams of the first time he sees those beautiful almond eyes with their deep, golden glint. 

Come here and kiss me, Namjoon says in an old dialect that Jungkook shouldn’t understand, but does. Namjoon’s voice is roughened with desire, and Jungkook dreams of the way their lips fit together, warm and soft and perfect. He loves me, Jungkook marvels, this perfect being, this mystical dragon, he loves me.

And I love him. 

Forever and ever and ever.

Ya, Seokjin laughs, stop hogging Namjoon. My turn. 

But instead of letting Seokjin have his turn kissing Namjoon, Jungkook slips his arms around the other man instead, his hand drifting over the curve of Seokjin’s ass, thumb slipping over the top of the crack, mouth flirting over the corners of Seokjin’s lips as he sucks in a ragged breath. 

Jungkook, Seokjin whispers, undone by the unexpected attention. Baby. Namjoon comes around to sandwich Seokjin between him and Jungkook, and Seokjin moans as Namjoon’s fingers creep under his hanbok. 

It doesn’t matter how many lifetimes we have, Jungkook murmurs in Seokjin’s ear, we’ll always have each other. 

The scene changes. 

He dreams of a beaten path in a sunny forest, and a beautiful man who’s fallen on his behind in a cold river, and the tinkling laugh of Jimin echoing through the trees. 

Yoongi-hyung, Jimin says cheekily, we finally found you, but what are you doing in the river?

Brat. Yoongi reaches out an arm to be pulled from the water. Why do you never get more polite with each lifetime? He reaches out for Jimin, heedless of his sopping robes, and kisses Jimin long and slow as the others watch, thrilled to be reunited. Is it only five of us? Yoongi asks. I’m not the last one?

We’re still looking for Taehyung and Hoseok, Jungkook says comfortably. I’m sure we’ll find them soon. We always do . He smiles as Yoongi leans to kiss him, their first in this lifetime. There’s just something so special, so deliriously wonderful about that reunion every lifetime, that irrepressible joy at defeating death and finding each other over and over again. 

Not even death can part them. 

Jungkook will never tire of it. 

The scene changes. 

We’ll miss you, Yoongi tells Namjoon. Bring us back something tasty from Busan.

I’ll go and come back safely, Namjoon promises. He looks around at them with warm, golden eyes. I’ll miss you all very much.

Jungkook blinks, and an enormous, very beautiful dragon nuzzles him gently before he pushes off the ground and soars up into the air. The updraft blows Jungkook’s gat off, and Taehyung snorts with barely concealed laughter when Jungkook comically races after the hat tumbling and rolling away. 

Still a brat, Yoongi remarks. Taehyung grins saucily and reaches out to tweak Yoongi’s nose, but gets his hand smacked away for his efforts. 

Taehyung pouts enormously. 

That was hardly anything, Hoseok chides him. We smack you harder than that in bed. 

We’re not in bed right now, Taehyung points out, but all that gets him is a belly laugh from Hoseok. 

We could be, Hoseok murmurs, nuzzling close against Taehyung’s neck. Do you want to be?

Taehyung laughs, leaning into Hoseok’s arms, but shakes his head. Namjoon-hyung just left and he won’t be back for a week. It doesn’t feel right. He looks very thoughtful for a moment. We should be sad for at least an hour before we jump each other. 

By this time, Jungkook has returned, gat safely tucked under his arm. He nods sagely in agreement. I think Namjoon-hyung would understand. Forty-five minutes will be enough.

Laughing, they twine arms around each other and walk back up to the hanok together. 

The scene changes. 

This time, Jungkook dreams of a golden eye, slit-pupiled, gleaming in the dark, but this time the feeling is different, the light is all wrong, and Jungkook feels the sensation of a wave of disappointment and temper crash over him. He scowls, and the almond eye glints. 

Hyung, Jungkook says, fruitless and frustrated, Namjoon-hyung, you’re being childish.

A storm swirls in the air, an electric current that sizzles and sparks, and Jungkook, for the first time in his dream, turns away from the being who loves him more than life itself. 

I can’t be with you when you’re like this. I’m going to Seoul whether you like it or not, hyung, and you can just fuck off if you’re going to throw a tantrum and storm all over. 

There’s a twist, a shimmer in the air; Jungkook watches, defiant but heartsick, as Namjoon soars angrily into the darkened sky, twisting and coiling as he goes.

Thunder crashes like a terrible cymbal overhead. 

The scene changes. 

Fire, always fire. The whole world flickers orange and red. It’s a dream, Jungkook tries to tell himself, but why is it so hot he swears he can feel the radiation shimmering off his face, the fine hairs on his skin crisping? 

Dream Jungkook stumbles through a corridor, bent double in a bid to stay below the thick, billowing smoke above him. In his haste he brushes against a metal rail on the wall, and he screams; it’s so searing hot that his skin instantly sticks to it and singes off. When he pulls away, the flesh on his arm is left raw and oozing, pain he can feel down to his bones. 

He grabs his injured arm and tries to sob, but there’s no moisture left in his body. 

What will it feel like, he wonders, to burn to death? 

Namjoon-hyung, please. Please save me. 

The way in front of him abruptly flares into a wall of impenetrable flame. Jungkook stumbles back and screams again, even though the sound that emerges from his mouth is hoarse and barely there. 

I want to go home. 

Please don’t let me die here. Please. Where are you?

I want to go home. 

The unearthly sound that comes from Jungkook’s mouth is heartrending as he shoots upright. He thrashes at the blanket to get it off, everything smothering him, everything too close, too tight, he needs to get free, he needs to - 

“Baby.” 

Jungkook’s gaze is still wild, his breath coming in ragged spurts, but the sound of Namjoon’s voice calms him down somewhat. He tries to focus on the tangible things around him, to ground himself in reality. This is Namjoon’s hand, resting on his lower back. This is a blanket, tangled around his legs. This is the face of the man he loves, full of anxious concern. 

I want to go home.

“Baby,” Namjoon repeats. “I’m here. It’s okay.” His voice is gentle. He doesn’t make any move to get closer to Jungkook except for the light touch on his back, as if he knows that any movement right now could have Jungkook bolting like a frightened rabbit, as if he knows Jungkook can’t bear the thought of anything closing him in. Just that grounding connection on his lower back, and that’s as much as Jungkook can take.

He concentrates on his breathing - in, out; in, out; until his heartbeat is no longer roaring in his ears and his breath isn’t quite as stuttered. 

Until he doesn’t feel quite like his skin is on fire.

Exhausted, Jungkook slumps. 

“Here.” Namjoon flicks the side lamp on. He stretches for the bottled water on the hotel nightstand and opens it for Jungkook. “Drink some for me?”

Grateful, Jungkook chugs half the bottle before he finally chases the ashy taste from his mouth. When he looks up, he almost wishes he hasn’t - Namjoon’s expression is at once assessing, concerned, and - if Jungkook is reading it right - guilty. 

“Bad dream?” Namjoon asks. 

“It’s nothing,” Jungkook mutters. He caps the bottle and hands it back to Namjoon. “Thanks for the water.” He begins to turn away, fully intending to hide under the blankets for the few hours left till daylight breaks. 

This time, the hand on Jungkook’s arm is arresting and firm. “Jungkook. Talk to me. What did you dream about?”

Jungkook tries - he really does - but as always, the dream has long since gone up in smoke. 

Then he hesitates for a second. It’s as if he can smell fresh grass and feel a ghostly hand stroke along the muscle of his back. Stop hogging Namjoon, a voice whispers teasingly in his ear. It’s my turn.  

Shaken, he looks up at Namjoon’s worried but clueless eyes, and just like that the tiny memory shreds into the wind. Jungkook clenches his fist, frustrated.

“I don’t remember what I dream about!” Jungkook says. He’s dismayed to find that his voice is trembling, and that he can’t stop himself. “I don’t remember anything when I wake up!”

“You were screaming,” Namjoon says quietly. Jungkook is shocked to see that Namjoon’s eyes are welling up. “You were crying.” He reaches out and thumbs a tear away from Jungkook’s cheek, and for the second time Jungkook is astonished to see tears he didn’t expect. 

“It happens,” Jungkook says dismissively. “I can’t do anything about it.”

Namjoon sounds vaguely accusatory, his eyes boring into the side of Jungkook’s face. “I thought you said you stopped having bad dreams.”

Jungkook doesn’t want to admit that he had returned to Seoul with the express purpose of triggering them, and that in hindsight it was probably a Very Stupid Thing to do, because now he doesn’t know how to turn them back off.

“They came back,” is all he says. He shrugs. “After I saw you as a dragon.”

Namjoon is quiet, watching him intently, until Jungkook almost squirms from the attention. Finally - “This is why you’ve been avoiding sleeping with any of us, isn’t it? You didn’t want us to find out that you’re having bad dreams again. Like this.”

Caught, Jungkook shifts restlessly on the bed, with no excuses to offer in his own defense. 

“Is this why you wanted a different room?” Namjoon looks terribly betrayed, his expression hurt. “You didn’t want to sleep with me?”

Jungkook immediately shakes his head, his eyes smarting. “I always want to sleep with you. Always.” Jungkook feels awful. “But I don’t want to disturb any of you.” 

“You wouldn’t be disturbing us,” Namjoon protests, looking aghast, but Jungkook shakes his head. 

The temperature is dropping outside, so much that Jungkook can feel a decided chill, even in the insulated hotel room. He shivers and pulls the blanket more securely over his legs. 

“I’m so tired, hyung.” A tear slips down Jungkook’s cheek. “I’m bone tired. My brain hurts, all the time, because I’m exhausted. I’m so afraid to be a bother. I don’t want to hold any of you back.”

“I had no idea you felt this way.” 

“I fucked up today’s presentation, too. I don’t know why you guys even want me. I don’t do anything to add value to this family. I don’t remember anything from our past. I’m just this extra bit of trouble that you guys don’t deserve to have to deal with.”

“Jungkook.”

“It’s true.” There’s a heavy weight on Jungkook’s chest.

“No. Baby- I - we’ve never made you feel that way. Have we?” Stricken, Namjoon is welling up too. “I don’t - we haven’t…?”

There’s a bright flash of lightning and a sudden, uproarious clap of thunder, and Namjoon flinches. His hunted eyes dart to the window. 

“Sorry,” Namjoon rushes. He looks distraught. “Let me just - let me just get this under control.”

He takes deep breaths, clearly trying to ease up and calm down, and although the rain keeps pouring, a bewildered Jungkook notices that the sky visibly lightens, and the lightning and thunder come to a stop.

Confused, Jungkook follows his gaze to the rain bucketing down outside, then stares at Namjoon’s teary face. Suddenly something clicks; bits of Jungkook’s dream of the train yard filter back into his memory, things that the others have mentioned in passing, and he gapes at Namjoon in abrupt realization. 

“Wait. Did you - are you doing this? The rain? Is this a dragon thing?”

Namjoon flinches. “Well - I mean - yes. When I feel particularly strongly, my emotions manifest in the weather.”

Jungkook stares at him. “Your emotions do what.”

“If I get really upset, it rains or storms - snow if it’s winter. I guess the good part is that if I’m in an extraordinarily good mood, the weather is particularly nice. I usually have better control over it, but…I’m sorry,” Namjoon trails off, clearly uncomfortable. “I know I didn’t tell you.”

Jungkook flings his hands into the air, absolutely exasperated. “You should have told me! You know my entire reference for dragon lore is Spirited Away!” 

Despite himself, Namjoon snorts, the corners of his lips twitching. “Haku is a-”

“Fictional Japanese river dragon, yes I know,” Jungkook snaps without much heat. But the tension has dissipated. He can’t seem to hold on to his pique, what with how charming Namjoon can be. Jungkook’s mouth purses into a pout.

Terribly endeared, Namjoon shifts his weight forward and tentatively touches his fingers to the apple curve of Jungkook’s cheek, rejoicing inwardly when Jungkook doesn’t pull away. The rain outside has slowed to a distant patter.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon apologizes. “I - I should have told you.”

Something about the apology seems hollow, but Jungkook exhales and turns his cheek into Namjoon’s broad palm. 

His hand is trembling.

Jungkook puts his hand over Namjoon’s to soothe him. Whatever it is, he knows Namjoon deserves an apology from him too.

“I…should have told you about my bad dreams, too.”

They lie there, cuddled up together, both acknowledging mistakes made in accepting, judgment-free silence. Jungkook thinks back to the first time he saw Namjoon - arresting almond eyes, a book falling from his nerveless fingers, a coffee cup left cooling and forgotten on the table. That electric shiver that ran down his spine, a physical reminder that even though his mind doesn’t remember Namjoon and his five other lovers, perhaps his body never forgot them.

Jungkook wonders, his heart cracking apart, what Namjoon really sees when he looks at him; what does he see in his mind’s eye? What memories does the ancient dragon hold of the first time they really met, centuries before? No matter how he tries, all Jungkook can remember is from this lifetime. He wishes desperately he could remember those years upon years of looking at each other with love.

Perhaps, though, this is enough. Because Namjoon is looking at him with a deep, immeasurable love, an expression that Jungkook perhaps cannot remember from lifetimes past, but which is right there in front of him now. 

Maybe this is enough.

Maybe.

As if he can read Jungkook’s mind, Namjoon says quietly, “We do love you, you know.” 

“I know. I love you too. All of you.” Jungkook breathes. “I don’t want to get this wrong, hyung.”

“Come here.” Namjoon tugs gently, and Jungkook crawls into the circle of his embrace. It feels so good there - warm, broad arms pressed around him, his legs around Namjoon’s waist. He leans his head on Namjoon’s shoulder. He smells so good. 

But Namjoon isn’t done talking. He looks Jungkook full in the face, willing him to understand how serious he is about it. “Now listen to me. You are not a burden.”

Ready to argue, Jungkook opens his mouth, but Namjoon catches his hands and looks fiercely at him. “In the first place, it doesn’t matter to us if you remember past lifetimes or not. What’s important is here and now, isn’t it? What we have, all seven of us, is real - right now.”

It always sounds so easy when the other six tell him this. It’s a pity, Jungkook thinks, maudlin, that it’s the voice in his head that sounds louder than theirs when it comes to self-pity and self-doubt. Throw self-loathing in - why not?

Namjoon is still talking. He looks tired, but determined to hash it out with Jungkook. “Secondly we’ve told you before - you do add value to our family. We are infinitely better with you than we are without you. And even if you were an absolutely useless little gremlin - which you’re not -” Jungkook lets out a hapless laugh at this - “we’d still love you and want you for who you are. You know that, don’t you?” 

Beaten, Jungkook nods muzzily. “I know,” he admits, chagrined. He tucks his head down low, draws little circles on Namjoon’s thigh with his thumb. “I’m not very…” he takes a breath. “I’m not very good at being with other people.”

“Hey.” Namjoon pulls back just enough so they can make eye contact. “We’ll get there. But first - you need to get some sleep.”

Jungkook winces. “I can’t,” he frets. The bad dreams will come, he’ll jolt himself awake, and neither of them will get any sleep at all. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Look. If you start making sounds or moving, I’ll wake up, right? And then I can wake you up. Stop the dream cycle, or something, so you can maybe fall back asleep again before it gets too bad. At least you’d get some sleep. And when we’re back home, we can take turns.” Namjoon nods decisively. “This is why it’s so good that there are seven of us, right? Share the load. Even if you feel guilty about us losing sleep, we’d each only lose one night. That’s really not too bad.”

Overcome, Jungkook nods. His heart is too full to let him speak. It sounds so easy this way - because he hadn’t truly considered what his family would do to make things better for him. 

Perhaps he really has been alone too long. It’s hard enough adjusting to being wanted by one person, but he has six, and maybe he just needs to forgive himself a little more. Let them in. 

Jungkook exhales. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, we’ll talk to them when we get back.” 

“Okay,” Namjoon repeats, relieved. “Lie down with me, okay?” He smooths Jungkook’s hair back from his forehead.

“Hyung,” Jungkook says quietly, his eyes closed, “I miss everyone. I want to go home.”

Undone, Namjoon kisses him full on the mouth. “My sweet love,” he says, “we’ll be home soon.” 

But even as an uneasy sleep claims him, Jungkook feels invisible heat crawl over his skin and hears his own words echo in his head. I want to go home. I want to go home. He shivers imperceptibly, enough that Namjoon’s arms tighten comfortingly around him. 

I want to go home, his own voice echoes in his head. 

Please, hyung. Where are you?

I want to go home.

The flight back is largely uneventful, though Jungkook fights sleep once more, afraid to dream. Namjoon had gently shaken him awake twice the night before. Sweating, his belly unsettled, Jungkook had at least managed to rouse before the nightmares had truly caught him in their iron grip.

He’s still exhausted, though. He’s still running on only a couple hours of broken sleep, even though it’s already better than none at all.

Jungkook frowns. The fragments of dreams that he can remember are starting to coalesce more in his head. He puzzles through the bits and pieces coming through. Fire. A train. That desperate terror and longing that sticks with him even when he wakes.

What does it all mean?

“Hey,” Namjoon says, interrupting his train of thought. “Come look at this email. From the Hong Kong curators.”

Jungkook winces. His humiliation is still fresh in his mind. If there was anything he could forget, it’s the way he fumbled and mumbled through the entire presentation in front of all those curators. 

“Do I have to?” he says plaintively. His eyes round with horror at a sudden realization - has he fucked this up for TBS? “Art Basel still wants us, right?”

Namjoon laughs warmly. “Stop it. Come here.” He tugs Jungkook by the sleeve and points at his laptop screen. Reluctantly, Jungkook peers at the email that Namjoon has kindly clicked auto-translate on. 

“Inspired interpretation…fresh perspective… appreciate the deep thoughtfulness and effort your protégé has clearly invested into the always tedious prep work, with commendable results…our regret that we couldn’t afford him the right to speak in his own language, but his thoroughness shone through… our pleasure to host TBS’ latest introspective...” As the full meaning sinks in, Jungkook goes speechless for a good minute, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. He swallows and looks up at Namjoon with shining wide-eyed wonder. “They…they liked my work.”

“Of course they did.”

“I didn’t fuck it up.”

Namjoon laughs then, a full-bodied chuckle that makes the woman in the next aisle clear her throat in annoyance. “I told you, you didn’t fuck it up, baby. I never doubted you.”

Jungkook gently presses his thumb against that little divot in Namjoon’s cheek, the dimple that always tells him how happy Namjoon is to be with him, without needing words.

“Thank you,” Jungkook says. 

“For what?”

“Believing in me.”

Namjoon grins comfortably and presses his nose into Jungkook’s hair to inhale deeply. “Always.”

It’s a good thing, Jungkook thinks ruefully, that at least one of them has such deathless confidence in him. It’s certainly not Jungkook who does. But with Namjoon’s warm, calloused fingers woven through his, Jungkook feels a little more ready to take on the world.

The view of the house in Chuncheon as he enters the driveway has always been a heartwarming sight for Jungkook, but never as much as now. The main building looks so warm, so inviting; the workshop tucked at its side almost begging him to step through its doors and run his fingertips over metal, wood and clay. He gazes on the lush, verdant field in front of the house where weeks before they’d run, screaming and laughing, spraying each other wildly with water guns. 

His body almost thrums with the deep need to be with the others. Next to him, Namjoon smiles and says nothing when he sees the hungry way Jungkook stares out the window, but he runs his hand over Jungkook’s and squeezes comfortingly. 

Almost there , Jungkook thinks longingly. Almost there.

He practically tumbles out of the taxi when it rolls to a stop, ignoring the duffel Namjoon tugs out of the trunk. 

“Ya,” Namjoon says, laughing. “Wait for me!” 

But Jungkook is already dashing over to the workshop, and the strong smell of turps and wood shavings that hits him when the door opens is so wonderfully familiar that he stops just to inhale. 

There’s Yoongi, sanding down a piece of oak, sawdust all over his aproned front. Taehyung, napping on the couch at the back, his legs draped over Jimin’s lap. Hoseok has his earbuds in, as usual, as he concentrates his entire attention on the silken cord he’s carefully winding between his fingers. Seokjin is bent over a pot on his work table.

His lovers. His partners. His family. 

“It’s me,” Jungkook croaks. He isn’t very loud, but Seokjin, Yoongi and Jimin look up immediately. The smiles that blossom on their faces makes Jungkook’s heart squeeze in his chest. 

He’s home. 

“You’re back! How was Hong Kong?” Jimin, the only one whose hands aren’t busy, slides Taehyung’s legs off his lap and scrambles to his feet. His face is illuminated with a smile and his oversized tee slips off his shoulder as he dashes forward. He skids to a stop almost comically in front of Jungkook and opens his mouth to say something, but Jimin notices Jungkook’s wan face and he instantly knows something is wrong. His face falls; his brow knits. 

“What is it?” Jimin asks worriedly, even as his arms wind around Jungkook’s neck and pull him close. “Is everything okay? Where’s Namjoon-hyung?”

“Jiminie,” Jungkook says into Jimin’s shoulder, muffled. “I missed you so much.”

“You silly. It was just a couple of nights.” Jimin’s voice is soft, and tender, and full of adoration, just what Jungkook needs to salve his wounded heart. He leans into the gentle hand stroking his nape. How could he ever have thought about walking away? This embrace, this comfort, this is what he needs.

By this time, Hoseok has looked up and removed his earbuds; Jin is leaning against his desk and Yoongi has dusted his hands off. Taehyung is rubbing his eyes and sitting up on the couch, bleary but good-humored, and all of them are smiling and watching Jimin and Jungkook fondly.

Jungkook can almost feel the warmth of their unconditional love and affection wrap around him like a quilted blanket. 

Maybe Namjoon was right. 

“I have bad dreams,” Jungkook blurts out. He almost sags with relief against Jimin, that he got it out without any difficulty. “Really bad nightmares that wake me up in the middle of the night. And I’ve been avoiding sleeping with any of you because I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.”

Yoongi, predictably, is the first one to react, being the only one who knows exactly what Jungkook is talking about. He frowns, leaning forward. “The dreams came back?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook swallows. 

Lines crease in the corners of his eyes. Yoongi looks like he’s about to say something, but he shakes his head after a moment and pushes his hair out of his eyes, heedless of the sawdust he’s leaving in his hair. “I’m glad you told us,” is all he says. 

“Dreams? Nightmares?” Hoseok looks from Yoongi to Jungkook, perplexed. “How bad?”

“Bad,” Jungkook answers, even though it’s difficult to be fully honest. “Wake up in a cold sweat, yelling and heart-hammering kind of bad. Can’t go back to sleep after bad.” 

“I think it might be his repressed memories,” Namjoon says soberly from the door, where he’s just popped his head in. “Past life memories coming through.”

Seokjin takes a step forward at that, his brow furrowed, considering the ramifications of this. “So he remembers something?” He turns to Jungkook, eyes sharp. “You remember something?” 

“No - I mean, I don’t know. I don’t really remember anything from my dreams.” But Jungkook suddenly hears a plaintive voice in his head. “I can’t be with you when you’re being this childish,” the ghostly voice whispers. He freezes.

“You don’t have to worry about disturbing us,” Jimin says softly, putting Jungkook’s sudden stillness down to guilt. “We can take turns, or something.”

“That’s what I said,” Namjoon says, somewhat smugly. Jimin glances at him with a little smile. 

“We don’t mind,” Taehyung shrugs sweetly. They’re all standing around him by now. “You know we don’t mind.”

“I mind,” Jungkook says with the barest of pouts. “I don’t want to bother anyone.” He’s weakening, though. It’s very, very hard to stay stubbornly principled when six of the most beautiful men he’s ever known are gazing at him with so much love and warmth. 

Seokjin frowns, his tone censorious but not disparagingly so. “Jungkook-ah, you will never, ever be a bother to any of us.”

“Okay.” Jungkook looks around at all of them with watery eyes. “I got it.”

There’s a beat where Jimin sniffles audibly and Hoseok just grins, his smile beatific and heart-shaped. Jungkook longs to press his lips against his. Taehyung sneaks his cold hands under the hem of Seokjin’s shirt, and he yelps. Namjoon somehow manages to lean his head on Yoongi’s shoulder even though Yoongi is half a head shorter than he is.

“All right. Come on. Enough work for the day. I have suyuk in the slow cooker. We’ll have bossam for dinner.” Yoongi claps Jungkook on the shoulder, and everyone groans and waves away the cloud of sawdust that Yoongi inadvertently releases. 

“Race you to the house. Last one gets first shift with Jungkook tonight.” Hoseok gives Jungkook a sly look, but Jungkook can only laugh because he recognizes the teasing for what it is - an effort to make Jungkook feel better.

“If I win, I’ll choose who I kick awake tonight,” Jungkook tosses back, and then it all descends into chaos as Jimin and Taehyung promptly shriek with unrestrained delight and hurl themselves after Jungkook and Hoseok, battling to be the first to get through the door. 

The remaining three look at each other more soberly as Hoseok and the maknaes run giggling up to the main house. Left alone, they can speak a little more seriously, thankful that Hoseok has intuitively taken the more emotionally vulnerable ones up to the main house.

“So. Tell us the truth. Is he okay?”

“All this time he’s been having these bad dreams,” Yoongi says. “He told me he had them even before he met us in this lifetime. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t remember us. He’s blocked out his memories or something. Repressed them.”

“He dreamed of fire,’ Namjoon mutters. The other two jerk with surprise at this. “He screamed it in his sleep.” His eyes are downcast, as if he can’t bring himself to meet their eyes.

“So they are his memories,” Yoongi says soberly. He exhales hard. 

“The dreams were bad. He screams and thrashes awake. It’s hard to see. We’ll have to warn the others not to freak out. Especially Jimin.”

“If it’s already this bad, just with the dreams… what’s going to happen when he remembers?” Seokjin whispers, throat tight. His eyes flicker with memories that he wishes he didn’t have, himself. “If he’s dreaming of fire…”

“Hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is firm, meant to stop Seokjin from going further down that fruitless path. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“He’s had these dreams for a long time,” Namjoon says quietly. “He says he never remembers them.”

Yoongi kisses Seokjin’s cheek. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

Seokjin nods, his chin shaky. He leans into Namjoon’s side. The three of them stand, bolstered by the way their shoulders and hips touch - often even without them meaning to. Not for the first time, Namjoon’s heart swells with deep gratitude that these six men have stayed with him through space and time. He may be a dragon, powerful and wise and immortal, but Namjoon doesn’t know how he would have lived all these centuries without his lovers constantly by his side. 

And yet, despite his brave words, a tiny part of him throbs with a desperate fear that Jungkook might choose to walk away.

What will they do then?

“Let’s go,” Namjoon says finally. He smiles at them. “Before Yoongi’s suyuk gets overcooked.”

That night in the family room, Jungkook lies snuggled up next to Seokjin, who predictably won the spirited round of gawi bawi bo that they’d played to compete for the chance to sleep with Jungkook. He’s pretty sure they’re doing it just to cheer him up and make him laugh, but Jungkook has to admit it does help buoy his spirits.

It's a good thing Namjoon's room is next to the family room; it means he's close by, just in case things get bad and Seokjin needs to tap out. It’s some relief for Jungkook, knowing he’s there.

He’s missed this, being tucked into the curve of Seokjin’s arm. Jungkook can hardly believe he stayed away for so long, that he’d so harshly denied himself this source of comfort and love. He still worries, though. That he might kick them or hurt them, or that despite their earnest declarations otherwise, he would disturb their sleep beyond their limit of tolerance.

Jungkook tries to remind himself that they love him enough to have hung around for four hundred years. 

The little ceramic dragon is poised on his bedside table, yet another guardian watching over Jungkook and his terrible nightmares. Jungkook rubs its snout lovingly.

“So I wake you if you start moving or making noises?” Seokjin asks. He looks a little unsure, brow crinkling in that way that it does when he’s concentrating on the tricky bits of trimming his pots. His finger traces the tattoos curling around Jungkook’s arm. 

“I guess so?” Jungkook is unsure, himself. After all, he’s always asleep when it happens, and he tells Seokjin as much.

Seokjin laughs, not unkindly. “It’s a little like when Namjoon snores. I’ll just need to poke you to get you to stop,” he says, winking, and Jungkook finds himself laughing at Seokjin’s blitheness. It almost makes him believe everything will really be okay.

But it isn’t quite so simple. When Jungkook thrashes upright two hours later, voice hoarse from screaming, forehead gleaming with beads of perspiration, Seokjin is kneeling over him, face ashen. 

“I tried to wake you,” he says frantically. “You wouldn’t wake. I tried to wake you.”

Still reeling, Jungkook licks his lips, but his mouth is paper dry. He tries to reorient himself in space and time. Where is he? It takes him a moment, but he gets there. Under his legs are a mattress, not a burning floor. He’s in boxers, not a singed hanbok. He’s here. In bed. With Seokjin. Not alone. Not alone. The blanket is gone - likely in a tangled heap on the ground. His breath puffs out of him in erratic gasps. He can feel soot coating his tongue. 

He can still hear his own screams in his head. And this time - this time he can still catch some of last bits of the dream. Not all of it, just bits and pieces, but enough to start connecting some dots and drawing some conclusions. 

Jungkook licks his dry, cracked lips. 

“Here,” Seokjin says quickly, passing Jungkook his cup from the side table. 

Jungkook takes a gulp. The water does little to wash the bitter taste from his mouth, but it helps moisten his throat, at least. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you to wake up quicker.” Seokjin shakes his head, still stricken. “You were in deep.”

“Hyung,” Jungkook says. He clears his throat. He knows he sounds rough. Missing hours and hours of sleep due to nightmares does that to a person. “Will you be honest with me?”

“Of course I will.” Seokjin sounds almost affronted. “Always.”

“What happened to me in our last life? One of you said I died young. How did I die?”

The ensuing silence is deafening. Jungkook can see the way Seokjin’s face has crumpled, the way his fist tightens in the bedsheet. Agony is writ large in his expression. Seokjin has never really been able to hide anything. An open book. Jungkook knows, in that second, that this is the boundary he’s uncovered, the line none of them will cross. Seokjin won’t - can’t - tell him. Jungkook closes his eyes, thumbs at the space between his brows in a fruitless move to rub the brewing tension headache away. 

All their pretty words, all the love that crashed over him, all of it was a lie. 

Finally Seokjin answers. His voice is shaky. “Why are you asking? Why now?”

“Because I remember bits of my dreams now,” Jungkook rasps. He takes a deep breath. “I always used to forget my dreams, but I’m… I’m starting to remember, and it’s starting to click.”

Seokjin looks almost frightened. “I don’t -” he starts, but Jungkook holds up a hand.

“I keep coming back to this. No matter how happy I am here, no matter how sure I am that I love you and you all love me, there’s still this shadow hanging over me. And none of you want to talk to me about it.”

“Jungkook-”

But Jungkook will no longer be deterred. He stares Seokjin down. “How did I die in my previous life? Was it Namjoon-hyung?”

Pale, sweating, Seokjin looks positively sickened, as if he’s the one who’s been dreaming his death over and over again for the last decade, and not Jungkook. But he raises his voice anyway, his tone shimmering with panic and defiant desperation. “No! That’s not… that’s not what happened!”

“No one will tell me what happened!” Jungkook yells, and is completely unsurprised when Namjoon bursts into the room, wild-haired and wild-eyed and frantic.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“Fix this,” Seokjin hisses at Namjoon. His eyes are stony, colder than Jungkook has ever seen. “You need to fix this, now, before it gets even worse. This is between the two of you, but it hurts us all.” He turns to Jungkook and hesitates. “Remember that we love you.” 

Incapable of sense, Jungkook snarls at this, too filled with wrath to hold anything back. His eyes now glistening with hurt, Seokjin quickly slips from the room. Jungkook is unable to dredge up the slightest amount of guilt. His attention is now entirely fixed on the man with the almond eyes in front of him. The orange glow of the bedside lamp makes the golden gleam in Namjoon’s gaze flicker like flame, and for the first time Jungkook hates what it reminds him of. 

Torn between his two lovers, Namjoon, predictably, is confused and angry. “You upset Jin. What did you do?”

This, unfortunately, is the wrong thing to say. 

“What did I do?” Jungkook screams. He’s dizzy, almost, his head floating from exhaustion, but he has never felt more clarity in his mistrust and rage. “I give in, all the fucking time, because I’m the only one who’s off balance in this seven-way relationship. I know there’s something none of you are telling me, but I keep quiet because I don’t want to rock the boat. Jimin cries and I feel guilty and I squash all my doubts because I can’t fucking see him cry.” 

Namjoon drags a hand through his already mussed hair, trying to get control of the conversation that has so clearly escaped him. “Jungkook. What the hell is going on here?”

Oh, that’s rich. Jungkook’s own ire rises, sour in his belly. “You tell me!” he yells, eyes blazing. “If you all love me so much. Isn’t there something you’re all hiding from me?”

Namjoon’s eyes have gone wide. “What…what do you mean?”

“Why does Jin-hyung look at me like I might break? Why did Jimin-hyung nearly have a breakdown when I said I was going to take the train back to Seoul? What is it you’re not telling me, hyung?”

Namjoon’s mouth hangs open so comically that Jungkook could almost laugh. Almost.

“You keep pulling me back with sweet words. You all talk a good game about honesty, but I don’t think you really know what it means.” Jungkook’s eyes smart with angry tears. “God, such fucking bullshit. You know what I dream of? I dream of fire. I dream of fire, over and over again. I dream I’m alone, that none of you are with me. I dream I’m begging you to save me, but you don’t. You don’t come. You leave me to die.”

It’s funny, Jungkook thinks, how clearly you can see a man’s heart breaking on his face. But it’s the terrible guilt in Namjoon’s expression that most precisely confirms Jungkook’s accusations and suspicions. 

He’s been proclaiming love and had it proclaimed to him, but all this time they had been harboring a terrible truth that would have proven to be their ruin - his ruin. They’d taken him in and nourished his need for love and acceptance, only to flay his heart wide open and leave him with scars that would never heal. Has it been like this every lifetime? Is this why he can’t remember? Jungkook can feel everything he’d felt for them burn away in a white cold heat.

“What else are you hiding?” Jungkook yells. His throat is raw by now, and the ashy taste is back in his mouth. He inhales to fuel the next outburst, because if he doesn’t, his brain might explode from lack of oxygen. “Because I think I know why you’re all fucking terrified of telling me the truth. Because you killed me, didn’t you, hyung.” He spits the last word out as if it’s acid in his mouth. 

With almost sickened satisfaction, Jungkook observes the way Namjoon’s mouth opens and closes. There are no words Namjoon can conjure up this time, no convenient excuses, no pretty declarations of undying love. Instead, there’s a white flash and a crash of thunder so loud even Namjoon jumps. Jungkook curses tiredly. 

The silence is filled with the deafening drumbeat of raindrops so loud on the lake house roof that it sounds like hail. Namjoon gazes at Jungkook, eyes wet, mouth closed, his face so full of misery that Jungkook suddenly feels like shit. The commotion outside helps to drown out the buzzing in Jungkook’s brain, but it can’t block out the fact that Namjoon has absolutely nothing to say in his defence. 

Nothing at all. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, exhaustion swelling and breaking over him like a terrible wave. “I thought so.” He gets off the bed and pulls on his clothes roughly. He doesn’t know where he’s going to go. He just knows he needs to get out. 

And away.

Jungkook reaches for his phone on the bedside table. Suddenly aware of his intent to leave, Namjoon blurts out in panic, “Wait, please,” and lunges across the bed to seize his wrist, to try and get him to stop, to listen, but instinctively Jungkook pulls back quickly. So quickly that his motion knocks the little ceramic dragon right off the table and onto the floor.

There’s no room left for emotion in Jungkook, so he stares at the broken pieces of the dragon on the floor and just blinks for a second or two to process it. It should have fallen in slow motion, Jungkook thinks. That’s how it would have happened in the movies. 

But instead it’s anticlimactic, the way his beautiful little dragon simply, undramatically toppled over and cracked into pieces with a little clink. 

How easily things break. How quickly things fall apart. How simple for something centuries old to be destroyed. He would have expected this to agonize him, but instead he looks at the broken dragon dully. 

It’s just another thing lost that never really belonged to him in the first place. 

Namjoon still reaches for him futilely, his hand grasping as if he can still fix things. As if in a waking dream, this time Jungkook lets him twine their fingers together and stares at their joined hands. 

There was a time he believed that with his hand in Namjoon’s, he could conquer the world. Was it only that morning?

It feels like a lifetime away.

Desperate, Namjoon cradles Jungkook’s hand in his. 

“Jungkook. My love. Please. Let me… I…I can explain.”

But there’s nothing Namjoon can say to plead his case, because Jungkook can no longer scrounge up enough grace to believe him. He pulls his hand free and stares straight into Namjoon’s eyes, red-rimmed, devastated. Golden, almond, lying eyes.

“It’s too late for that.” Jungkook digs deep, but he feels nothing. “Maybe in another life I knew you,” he whispers. The bitterness flooding his mouth is overwhelming. “Maybe in another life we were meant for each other. But not this one.”

Cold, almost detached, Jungkook watches his words slice into Namjoon. He might as well have stabbed him between the ribs with a blade, the way Namjoon’s eyes go blind, the way he sucks in a sobbing gasp and doubles over and loses the ability to breathe.

Jungkook pulls the door open and walks into the storm alone. 

Jungkook half expects someone to stop him. Anytime now, he thinks, one of the other five will burst out of a room to grab his shirt or his arm, to tearfully beg - but the living room is deserted, the room doors stay closed, no one emerges, and he makes it to the front door of the house without being interrupted. He’s almost glad. He hopes they go to Namjoon and comfort him. He hopes they don’t leave him alone.

The way Jungkook is now. Hollow and emptied out, like a melon scraped down all the way to the rind. 

The main doors now shut behind him, Jungkook gazes morosely at the pouring rain. It’s probably not wise to venture out into this kind of storm - a dragon-induced storm, with all of Namjoon’s despair and agony behind each lightning bolt and thunder strike like glass smashing in the blackened sky. Jungkook lets out an inarticulate noise, but takes a step forward anyway.

There’s nothing left behind for him.

Well. He wanted to feel something, didn’t he?

Fuck it. 

Jungkook marches out into the raging storm in nothing but a t-shirt and sweatpants. Almost instantly, the rain soaks him utterly to the skin. It’s warmer than he thought it would be, and even though his skin is turning red from how hard it’s hitting him, there’s something incredibly liberating about walking out in the rain, uncaring and heedless. 

Maybe everything can wash away in the rain, clean, fresh and pure. Like washing ash off him. Like rinsing off his bad luck. The raindrops feel like tiny bullets bouncing off his bulletproof skin. 

Wooju’s motorcycle is still sitting forlornly on the gravel path where he left it, covered with a dirty tarp, gathering little pools of water in the dips and hollows. There are streaks of black running down the sides of the gray-green oilcloth where the rain has driven lines right through the dust. There’s something poetic in it, if Jungkook can just get his mind to work at it, but his brain is too stiff and numb to do anything but direct his arms and legs to move mechanically. 

He starts to pull the cover off Wooju’s motorcycle. He figures he can outride Namjoon’s stormy grief in less than an hour, maybe grab something to eat at a convenience store on his way back to Seoul.

But the tarp snags on something. Exasperated, Jungkook wipes rain out of his eyes and reaches over, trying to free the tarp, desperate to get on the bike and ride away. He tugs, intent, and while he struggles fruitlessly with the stupid sheet, suddenly a bright, blinding flash lights up the night.

Jungkook doesn’t immediately grasp what happens next. 

A crack booms around him and his world, already narrowed to the microcosmos of the motorcycle, explodes into all-encompassing whiteness. It’s as though he’s been hit with an enormous, percussive force. Ears ringing, eyes blind, Jungkook’s entire body feels as if it’s been levitated into the air. He can’t move. Time stills and the world goes blank around him for what seems like a full minute - frozen, suddenly silent.

And then Jungkook crashes back into the world. He arches his back and screams at the sudden, boiling sensation of a billion furious red ants stinging under his skin. He crumples to the ground, only dimly aware that Wooju’s motorcycle is teetering above him. The rain falls on his face. The sky bursts into light once more. He tries to gasp at the enormous weight that has crashed down on his chest and the taste of copper in his mouth, but he can’t seem to breathe. 

Lightning? Jungkook thinks hazily. Then: will anyone help me?

He attempts to make a noise, anything to call his hyungs to him, but his body has short-circuited, and all of his brain-limb connections have seemingly gone offline. Instead, Jungkook’s eyes roll up into his head, his bones shiver loose, and Jungkook sinks, sinks, sinks into the blessed black.

Chapter Text

Jimin pleats the blanket restlessly between his fingers, his head cocked to one side as he tries to hear what Namjoon and Jungkook are fighting about in the other room. The intense storm is making it too difficult, though, and Jimin sighs.

He knows only too well what weather like this means. 

“I can’t hear anything, but it doesn’t look good,” he says finally, despondent. 

Yoongi has been frenetically pacing the floor since they left Namjoon and Jungkook to fight it out. “Namjoon hasn’t made a storm this big in ages.” He frowns at the window, assessing the severity of the storm, and resumes pacing. 

Seokjin makes a face. “It’s definitely not good.” 

The five sit, equal parts frustrated and upset, wondering how everything could have gone this wrong; from being positively idyllic a couple weeks back to everything crashing down around their ears. Seokjin murmurs something low and comforting to Taehyung. Hoseok’s arm winds around Jimin’s waist. Yoongi continues pacing. 

“Wait,” Jimin says suddenly. He holds up a hand and cranes his neck. “Did they stop shouting? I feel like they stopped shouting.” And yet for some inexplicable reason Jimin can’t imagine that’s good news.

“Maybe… maybe they’re working things out,” Hoseok says dubiously, but his tense side glance out the window at the tempest outside shows that he doesn’t really believe what he’s saying either. 

“Maybe they’re kissing,” Taehyung says, eyes wide. Hope springs eternal for him. “Maybe they -”

But Seokjin gasps, then, from his perch at the window. “Jungkook’s leaving,” he says, almost confused. “Where’s he going?”

“What?” Horror-struck, Jimin scrambles over to Seokjin’s side, peering anxiously through the curtain of rain. Jungkook can’t be leaving - he can’t! They’ve just gotten him back. But it’s true, and Jimin gapes in disbelief at the sight of his youngest lover storming out into the rain. “No! He’s really leaving?”

“Leaving? But Namjoon-hyung - what - really?” It’s Taehyung’s turn to jostle for space, cupping two hands on the window for a better look, while above them Yoongi and Hoseok grimly watch Jungkook pull the tarp off the motorbike. They’re not sure what to do. What can you do, really, when the love of your life decides it’s time to quit on you?

And so it is that all five of them have their noses pressed to the glass, watching in disbelieving despair, when lightning strikes and Jungkook falls to the grass like a puppet with its strings cut. 

Unconscious, Jungkook tips back into the familiar landscape of his nightmare.

It may only be a dream, but Jungkook still knows this place inside and out - after all, the seven of them have lived on this patch of land for centuries. When they first moved here, the family home was a humble hanok with bark shingles and a dirt square in the front yard. Years later they were able to build a bigger hanok with actual clay tiles and long wooden beams. After the war and the subsequent damage, to Jungkook’s eternal regret, they pulled down the beautiful structure and built a nondescript, weather-beaten single-storey house with a zinc roof. 

That’s the house that’s sitting on the grass right now. The modern, clean-lined building with the wooden lakehouse and workshop, where Jungkook has been spending most of his days laughing and working with the others, is nowhere to be seen.

It dawns on Jungkook then that he’s not seeing this lifetime, but the one before.

Yeah, he thinks, this is definitely a dream.

One thing hasn’t changed - the wide indigo river, snaking through the hills. But Jungkook can’t enjoy the beautiful, placid scenery the way he wants to, because abruptly the sky begins to turn gray, and he hears a door slam, hard and loud and full of uncaged anger. Raised voices echo through the house.

It’s not that I don’t trust you, Namjoon yells from inside, frustration shredding his voice into spiky shards. Why won’t you listen to me?

Jungkook winces. He doesn’t remember what they were arguing about - he supposes it isn’t really that important, after all - but what he does remember is how fiercely stubborn they both were, the way nothing any of the other five said could ease the brutal sting of the fight. He glances furtively at the darkening sky. It’s a hellish dreamscape of angry clouds massing. 

He knows what he’s dreaming, then. It’s the last day of his previous life.

Jungkook inhales, bracing himself for more pain. 

The scene changes.

In his dream he pauses, suitcase in hand, right before he boards the train. The thunder growls almost nonstop now, a constant, menacing rumble in surround sound. There are lots of other people waiting to get on the train, but he’s the only one who knows the real reason for the thunderstorm. 

A brutal but beautiful line of lightning breaks through the clouds, a jagged line cracking through the sky. Jungkook frowns. Was Namjoon really that angry? Yes - yes, he remembers, heart sinking. 

They both were. 

Doesn’t Namjoon know he’ll come back? He’ll always come back. Of course he will. He just - he just needs to do this.

Somewhere in the distance, the dragon tips his glossy head back and roars in high temper, but the sound is distant and tinny in Jungkook’s head. Is that thunder, that incessant rumble? Or is it the busy rattle of wheels on a track?

All Jungkook knows, as the train begins to chug and pulls away from the station, is that now he’s all by himself. 

In his dream he sees another flash - a brilliant burst of white - and then a tentative crackle that grows louder by the second, until the world is red and orange and yellow and blazing, burning hot. Screams of terror echo fruitlessly in his overwhelmed head. Jungkook attempts to run down the corridor, but there’s fire everywhere he turns. There’s no way out. His heart plummets. He remembers. This is how it ends. 

The words bubble to the surface unbidden, even so. 

He can’t change his past. 

Hyung, he sobs, save me. I need you. Where are you?

But the dragon is long gone, and no one hears Jungkook’s cries. 

Licks and whorls of flame are pawing at his feet. He can feel his hair singeing and his skin blistering. He can smell the horrible stench of charring meat. The screams around him have stopped. 

He can’t breathe, because the air itself is setting his lungs aflame. 

Namjoon-hyung, Jungkook weeps. Jin-hyung, Yoongi-hyung. Jimin. Taehyung. Hoseok-hyung. My loves. I didn’t want to leave you like this. 

He knows no one is coming to save him. 

No one is coming.

Even through the terror, he wants them to know he doesn’t blame them. 

It’s not your fault, hyung. It’s okay. 

When he finally resigns himself to the knowledge that all is lost, that it’s time, Jungkook closes his eyes against the fiery inferno. 

I love you all, he whispers, the sound crackling from his throat. His eyelashes have burned away. The heat sears the inside of his mouth. His sleeve catches alight even as he shrinks against the wall. His lungs are screaming for air, but there’s none to inhale. His only hope is that the smoke will kill him before the fire can fully consume him. 

I’m sorry. Please. Find me in the next lifetime, okay?

We have forever, don’t we?

Please find me. 

I love you all.

When the dream fire roars over him, Jungkook feels his body go boneless as it begins to crisp and burn and melt. 

In a field in Chuncheon, in front of a beautiful, clean-lined building with a lakehouse and a studio, under the pouring rain and pinned inextricably by a motorcycle, Jungkook’s heartbeat slows until it stops. 

“Jungkook!” Jimin screams, hurtling across the lawn towards the crumpled form on the grass, pinned by the fallen motorcycle. “Jungkookie!”

Hoseok gets there a scant heartbeat before Jimin, and drops to his knees as if he’s praying. 

It’s not far from the truth. 

“Help me get it off him,” Hoseok gasps, pushing desperately at the heavy motorcycle, trying to relieve the terrible pressure on Jungkook’s chest. The rain is still falling, large, heavy drops making everything slippery and muddy, but at least the thunder and lightning seem to have eased up. Jimin presses his shoulder beside Hoseok’s and together they heave the motorcycle off Jungkook. 

“He’s not breathing.” Jimin is white. He pats desperately at Jungkook’s face. “What do we do? He’s not breathing!”

“Move,” Yoongi snaps behind him, and Jimin stumbles obediently aside. Yoongi is only dimly aware of the others getting utterly drenched in the rain beside him as he moves quickly and competently, tipping Jungkook’s chin back to clear his airway. He pushes down on Jungkook’s chest - ten compressions, twenty, thirty. Two rescue breaths. More compressions. Rescue breaths. Yoongi’s world narrows to the impact of his hands forcing blood through Jungkook’s heart, his mouth desperately inflating Jungkook’s lungs. Outwardly he’s calm, but inside Yoongi is fraying at the seams.

He doesn’t need to look. He can feel the others standing behind him, a wall of silent support, pleading and terrible, uncontrollable tension. 

Yoongi gulps in air and pushes it into Jungkook’s mouth and all he can think about is how white Jungkook is, how deathly still his body is, the soft, uncomplaining way his ribcage compresses under the heel of his palms. He wills it to resist, to move on its own.

For the first time in any lifetime, Yoongi prays for Jungkook to push him away. 

Please, Yoongi thinks desperately, breathe. Please. Baby, please. Breathe. Come back to us. 

Time oozes by like molasses. Compressions. Rescue breaths. Compressions. Yoongi’s wrists and arms are aching but he refuses to stop. 

And then he feels the faintest of flutters. 

He freezes, and feels it again: a tiny butterfly motion beneath his stilled fingertips. Jungkook’s chest rises and falls on its own, and not because of the steady pressure of his hands. 

Yoongi sucks in a shocked, sobbing breath. Behind him, Jimin makes the tiniest, cracked little sound, as if he’s trying his best not to fall apart. 

“Did you see that? He moved,” Hoseok says disbelievingly, and that’s all Yoongi needs for confirmation. 

“He has a pulse,” Yoongi croaks, and stumbles back on his heels, nearly falling backwards in exhaustion. He feels almost faint, himself, as if he’s fought a war and survived. But there isn’t any time to waste. Jungkook’s heart may be beating again, his lungs may be pulling air into his body, but his eyes remain firmly shut. 

He isn’t waking up. 

This time it’s Seokjin who crouches and pulls Jungkook’s unresisting body carefully over his back. Taehyung reaches out a steadying hand. “We got him,” Seokjin says, more to himself than to anyone else in particular, and he straightens up, wobbling slightly as he adjusts to Jungkook’s dead weight. Seokjin smiles shakily at Taehyung. “I’m good, baby. I got him. Let’s get him inside.”

Namjoon is at the foot of the stairs when they come in. Eyes red-rimmed, hands trembling, a cry like a wounded bird is torn from his throat at the sight of Jungkook lifelessly draped over Seokjin’s back. 

“What the fuck happened?” Namjoon asks frantically. “Jungkook!”

“We need to get him warm and into bed.” Seokjin doesn’t wait for Namjoon to have his crisis. He just pushes past him and heads up the stairs to the family room. Jimin looks apologetically at Namjoon, but follows Seokjin without a word. 

Namjoon is deathly white, his eyes fixed on Seokjin and Jungkook’s limp form as they disappear around the corner at the top of the stairs. “No,” he chokes out. “Not again. This can’t be happening again.”

“You’ve had several centuries as a dragon. Maybe you need to learn some control over your emotions,” Taehyung says tartly as he brushes past Namjoon. “We can’t be running for cover every time you get mad.”

The words cut right to the bone. Namjoon flinches, stung, but Yoongi is the one to grip his shoulder and shake him. 

“This is no time for self-pity. This is not the same. He’s alive. Do you hear me? We got him. He’s alive.”

“But he’s not conscious.”

“No.” Yoongi is gentle. He can afford that much sympathy, because Namjoon looks so brittle, so agonized, like he’s about to shatter into pieces on the floor. “But his heart is beating. He’s still with us. Let’s warm him up first.”

Hoseok laces his fingers with Namjoon, a comforting, steady presence. Namjoon’s eyes have gone blind with tears. 

“Let’s go,” Hoseok says, quiet but still optimistic, and with his other hand in Yoongi’s, Hoseok hurries them both up the stairs towards Jungkook. 

In the room, Seokjin has laid him on the family bed, and Jimin and Taehyung are quickly pulling his sodden clothes off him. 

“Towels,” Yoongi says brusquely. “We need to get the thick ones, and a couple of winter blankets.”

Hoseok and Seokjin move quickly to obey, but Namjoon is still and silent and he cannot take his eyes off Jungkook, pale and comatose in the bed. But then his brow furrows. 

There’s something… Namjoon tilts his head, puzzled, almost as if straining to hear something no one else can hear. It takes him a moment, but then when it finally clicks, he gasps and gropes blindly for Yoongi’s hand. 

It’s a clarion call that cuts straight to the heart of him. 

“I can feel Jungkook,” Namjoon whispers. “Hyung. I can feel him. He’s in there.” He gulps, his palms clammy, his heart racing at the realization. “He’s calling for me.”

Yoongi doesn’t even hesitate. “Then you need to go get him.” Yoongi squeezes his hand, and kisses him hard, something he rarely does with Namjoon. “Bring him home, you hear me? You can do this. Go get our boy back.”

Namjoon climbs on the bed beside Jungkook and settles into a cross-legged position. He takes Jungkook’s pale, limp hand in his and looks up at the rest of them. A deep ache settles in his chest, an ache telling him how much he loves every single one of them.

“Whatever you do,” Namjoon tells his family quietly, “don’t try to wake me up.”

“Ya, Kim Namjoon,” Taehyung says, and Namjoon cracks the smallest of smiles at Taehyung’s calculated, desperate rudeness. “You’d better come back to us, you hear?” 

But Namjoon has already closed his eyes. Jimin gropes for Taehyung’s hand as their oldest and youngest go down into the dark.

Jungkook floats in a dark, cool sea. 

It’s so wonderful. Blessedly quiet. How he would imagine one of those sensory deprivation tanks might feel. He can barely feel his limbs; it’s as if he’s a small, feather-light blob in space, suspended in an ocean of tranquility. At first the only sound is the erratic throb of his own heartbeat, but even that begins to fade until there’s nothing left but glorious, serene silence. 

For an endless moment, he drifts, weightless and worry-free. The entire cosmos swirls gently around him, a nebula of stars wafting through the vast expanse. The world, for all intents and purposes, has ceased to exist for him. 

Jungkook feels like he could do this forever. It’s a rare kind of peace, the way his head feels light and empty and free. The inky, misty darkness stretches on for an eternity around him. The stillness is idyllic.

A nameless amount of time passes. 

But then an odd sort of static starts to crackle around him. His fingertips tingle, and his chest aches. It’s horribly jarring.

Thrown off, Jungkook tries to ignore it. He just wants to reclaim his equilibrium and float in his endless void. But the static gets louder and louder, until it gradually resolves into a rhythmic, repetitive thump. Startled, Jungkook realizes the sound of his heartbeat has returned.

That’s not the end of it. Muffled, amorphous sounds begin to filter through. Jungkook frowns, his peace shattered. At first he tries to block it out, but then the sounds begin to get louder and more defined. 

“...ing…” he hears. “...not…wake up.”

Something twinges in Jungkook’s chest.

“...leave us again,” someone begs. “Please, Kookie.”

Ah, Jungkook thinks, a twinge of sympathy in his chest. It’s Taehyung, of course. His fingers twitch reflexively, as if he wants to take Taehyung’s hand and chafe it, comfort him, assure him. I’m okay, he would tell him. Don’t worry. I’m fine. 

But Jungkook can’t. His body doesn’t work. All he can do is float. The voices echo around him, muffled and tinny, but clear enough to be audible. 

“…my fault,” someone says tearfully. “Should have stopped him. Can’t believe this is happening again. I can’t lose him again.”

“We won’t lose him again.” Yoongi, this time, Jungkook’s sure of it. Disoriented now, Jungkook feels a sense of unhappiness ripple through him. His perfect reverie is over. He yearns to bury his nose in Yoongi’s neck and snuffle the way he always does. He remembers the way Yoongi smells. 

His heart squeezes.

“We’ve waited a whole lifetime,” Seokjin whispers, “do we have to wait another one?”

“What if he still doesn’t remember us, next lifetime? What do we do then?”

A sharp intake of breath, cut off halfway. “We can’t, without him. No. We can’t. The last time - it was too hard, after he died so young. We can’t go through that again.”

Jimin and Hoseok-hyung, Jungkook thinks sorrowfully. He misses them so much, a physical pain like a fist shoved under his breastbone.

No, Jungkook doesn’t want to go through that again either. He only just found them. 

But how does he get back?

Around him, the sky glimmers with amber, streaking through the dark.

Jungkook thinks of almond eyes and dimples that tell him how much he’s loved before words can. A jolt of yearning shudders through him. 

Maybe he doesn’t want to stay here, after all, in this perfect, comforting void. 

With a Herculean effort, Jungkook strives to put a call out, to make himself heard. 

“Namjoon-hyung,” Jungkook whispers, plaintive. “Where are you? I need you. Come get me.”

Golden light flickers through the void. 

The voices recede. Jungkook falls back into the endless sea, light, cool, and weightless. 

He drifts, until he hears the sound of muffled sobbing. He wants to ignore it at first but then he finds that he can’t. He follows the noise, and a gravel path appears. Plants grow rapidly up around him - first grass, then budding flowers, bushes and sprawling trees. Vines droop and drape from the branches and fluffy cotton ball clouds begin to scud lazily across the sky. A hanok sprouts from the ground. A mountain springs up behind him, a winding river in front of him. 

But it’s not perfect. In the distance, the picturesque vista is marred. The valley is surrounded by a dark ring of ugly, oily black clouds, like a barrier cutting him off from the outside world.

Within the barrier, however, it’s pretty enough, although somehow a little too perfect. Almost…fake. And everything is strangely quiet. The silence isn’t threatening or strange; it just is, as if someone has muted the volume and forgot to turn it back on.

There should be birds singing, Jungkook muses. He remembers watching squirrels chatter across the hanging branches. The sound of leaves rustling, and the gentle lap of waves in the river. 

Above all, the sound Jungkook remembers most from this scene is a raucous, happy noise. He remembers the sound of little gasps and stolen kisses, the low murmur of conversation. He remembers someone giggling as they roll in the grass and the cheerful clack of yutnori sticks, the snap of damp laundry being hung out to dry. Itinerant vendors with their trays of pickled vegetables and gimbap calling to advertise their wares.

The lack of sound doesn’t sit right with him. 

He glances up at the black cloud barrier, then squints at the hanok, but the doors and windows are empty. No one runs past, nothing flaps in the wind. Another oddity. That hanok should be full of life, Jungkook thinks wistfully, life and love and the exuberant, boisterous laughter of seven joyful men.

Instead, there’s only one sound Jungkook can hear. He tilts his head and concentrates until he understands what it is. Someone is crying, somewhere behind the massive tree beside the hanok. 

He…knows that voice, dimly. 

It’s someone who means a great deal to him. Someone…but Jungkook can’t quite place who. All he knows is that he longs to take that person into his arms and comfort them. Make their tears stop flowing. Make them smile again.

Jungkook recalls a dimple so deep he could push his finger into it.

He trudges up the grassy knoll towards the heart-wrenching sound until he can see a large shape huddled against the base of the tree. 

“Ah…excuse me,” Jungkook calls uncertainly. “Are you okay?”

The crying cuts off abruptly with a sharp intake of breath.

Jungkook cranes his head to see. 

“Jungkook?” The voice is so plaintive, so full of longing. “My sweet love.”

That pet name. That voice. Jungkook finally knows who it belongs to. 

“I’m here,” he says with a rush of relief. “I’m coming.” And as he moves nearer to the dark, huddled shape uncurling under the umbrella of the tree’s branches, he suddenly remembers everything. Not a flash, not an explosion, just a slow dawning like a warm, welcoming tide that flows over him and soaks through every cell of his being. Every memory he lost washes back into his mind’s eye - all the way back to the moment he first saw narrow almond eyes flash gold at him four hundred years ago and fell so hard he couldn’t stay away from the man who wasn’t a man. 

The dragon at the foot of the tree lifts his head and blinks away tears. Jungkook crouches beside the love of his life and runs his hand over the supple, glossy scales of the dragon’s neck. “Namjoon-hyung. I’m right here.”

Namjoon aims a watery smile at him. The dragon says quietly, “You found me.”

“You came for me.”

Although he’s in dragon form, Namjoon seems smaller and less imposing than the last time Jungkook saw him like this. With his arms wrapped tightly around the dragon’s neck, Jungkook takes a deep breath, luxuriating in the spicy, familiar scent of his lover. Like smoke and honey, whiskey and wood. 

Like home.

“What is this place?”

Two golden, slit-pupiled eyes blink cautiously at Jungkook. “What do you think it is?”

Jungkook looks around at the humble, homely hanok, where he and Namjoon had built a home together, and then welcomed five more beautiful souls into their family. This place should be that home, and yet he knows what he’s seeing isn’t quite real. The trees, the hanok, the mountains - they almost shimmer with an otherworldly heat haze that doesn’t exist in real life. Beyond them, the black clouds roil threateningly.

Jungkook shakes his head. “I’m not sure.”

“It’s a place you made,” Namjoon says. “A perfect place, a haven. It’s what you think of, when you think about home.”

That makes sense to Jungkook. “Is that why you’re here, too?”

The dragon startles a little, then he nods his head. “Maybe,” Namjoon answers slowly, as if it’s an idea that’s also only just occurred to him.

“But what are we doing here?”

Namjoon doesn’t say anything. The evasive tilt of his head clues Jungkook in.

“It’s an in-between place, isn’t it,” Jungkook guesses, “for moving on?” By the stricken look on Namjoon’s face, he’s hit the nail on the head. “Well then, what are you doing here?” Jungkook asks Namjoon reproachfully. “It’s not your time. It never will be. You’re immortal.”

Namjoon’s muscles bunch up and relax as his lithe, sinuous body twines closer around Jungkook, as if the dragon can stop him from leaving that way. His claws leave little furrows in the ground. 

“I don’t know if I want to be,” Namjoon whispers. “It’s me who chains all six of you to this - to me. Over and over again.”

Jungkook shrugs. The beginnings of a smile plays around his lips as he brushes them against Namjoon’s burnished brow. “We said we would, didn’t we? We said we wanted to be together, no matter what.”

A beat, and then Namjoon snaps his heavy head up, his almond eyes wide. “Do you - I mean, you remember?”

Jungkook nods. His eyes are almost glazing over as he passes his gaze over the serene lushness of the grass and the mountains and the river. “I remember. We sat right there, on a bamboo mat in front of the hanok. Seokjin-hyung made rice cakes and gimbap. I remember the pungent, garlicky smell of the fresh radish kimchi that Hoseok-hyung was scooping from the jar. Jimin…Jimin was in that beautiful pink and white hanbok, he knew how pretty we thought he was in that outfit, except his gat had flown away in the breeze and it got stuck in the tree over there.” Laughing, Jungkook gestures over to the tall willow near the waterline. “Taehyung was busy with the kitten in his lap, remember, the little gray one with the folded ear. Yoongi-hyung had just finished his scholar’s exams.”

Now Namjoon is the one who starts to look distant as he travels back in his mind’s eye, remembering the exact scene that Jungkook is describing so unerringly. His scales ripple instinctively, and Jungkook soothes him instantly with a gentle stroke of his palm. 

“You told us - confessed! - what loving a dragon would entail,” Jungkook continues. “You said you didn’t want to condemn us to eternity.” Jungkook laughs, then. “As I recall, Taehyung called you a big lughead, and Hoseok-hyung told you very fiercely that it would be a privilege - no, a blessing - to spend the rest of time with each other. We held hands, and made a promise. As long as we were together, all seven of us, as long as all of us wanted in…”

Jungkook’s voice trails off abruptly.

“But you don’t want in, anymore,” Namjoon points out hoarsely. He swallows, twice, before he can get out the rest of the sentence, the terrible truth that has been echoing in his head for a lifetime. “Because I killed you.”

Frowning, Jungkook kneels in front of Namjoon, just so he can look the dragon properly in the eyes. The grass is soft under his knees as he holds Namjoon’s face in his hands. Once again Jungkook feels his heart swell with an immense wave of love. Those eyes, those beautifully expressive eyes. Jungkook thinks he’d gladly drown in them for the rest of time. 

“You noble idiot,” he sighs. “You colossal idiot.” 

Namjoon blinks, but doesn’t protest. 

“You let me think you killed me, but you didn’t.”

This time, Namjoon drops his gaze and shakes his head mutely. 

Jungkook frowns. “Why didn’t you tell me what really happened?”

“Because it doesn’t change anything,” Namjoon insists, wracked with terrible guilt. “I did it. It was me.”

“You were upset. Because we had an argument about me going to Seoul.”

“Yes.”

“I went anyway. You were so upset, because I wasn’t listening to you. And you made it storm.”

His shame palpable, Namjoon’s head hangs low, his eyes hooded and full of self-reproach. “I did it,” he whispers. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

“You thought your storm caused the fire that destroyed my train. The fire that killed me.”

Namjoon can’t speak for shame. 

But Jungkook shakes his head adamantly. “Namjoon-hyung. Listen to me. The fire didn’t happen because of your storm. It wasn’t you who set my train on fire.”

This, at least, shocks Namjoon into looking up.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Jungkook can practically see the word impossible ricocheting around inside of Namjoon’s clearly too-thick skull. He doesn’t blame him. Namjoon has believed a different truth for a very long time, a truth that was in fact a lie. A confusion. It was never his fault. 

But before Namjoon can open his mouth and give voice to his thoughts, however, Jungkook tightens his grip on Namjoon’s face, just enough so that the dragon can physically feel the sincerity emanating from Jungkook’s being. He wills Namjoon to really grasp what he’s saying, because from the blank look in the dragon’s eyes, it’s not quite hitting home. Jungkook frowns, not sure how to say it plainer than this, but he lays it out as explicitly as he knows how.

“Listen to me. The fire was not your fault,” Jungkook repeats quietly. “I was there, hyung. It was nothing but a burning ember from the coalbox; I heard them yelling about it from the front. I tried to help put it out, but the fire grew too fast. It wasn’t anything you did. It was sheer bad luck that took me away from you.” 

Sheer bad luck. 

With all the blame Namjoon has sat with, nursed for a lifetime, let grow until it’s consumed him and broken him into jagged, aching pieces, he’s never ascribed any of it to sheer bad luck. 

And yet there it was. 

They both hold their breath at this revelation until finally Namjoon, stunned, gasps like it’s a punch to his solar plexus. Absolved of blame by the one he’s failed - after a lifetime of agony? But it can’t be that easy, it can’t, and Namjoon shakes his head, still distraught, still looking for a reason to punish himself.

“But even then, I didn’t come for you. That’s on me.”

“How could you know? Of course you’d have come if you’d known. Oh Namjoon-hyung…when we decided to do this, we already knew. We have to be born again, over and over again, but you have to watch us die, over and over again. It’s harder on you than it is for us, but that’s the price we agreed to pay to be together.”

“It was still my fault,” Namjoon says brokenly, still grasping at reasons to shoulder the guilt slipping through his fingers. He’s been carrying this shame for so long, he can’t seem to let it go. “I should have been there. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. I -“

“No. We were mad at each other. We were both idiots. This isn’t only on you.” Jungkook cradles Namjoon’s face in his palms. He’s desperate for Namjoon to understand, and yet there seems to be all the time in the world to make him see. Jungkook smiles ruefully. “It’s okay to feel sad about what happened, hyung. But it’s time to separate the guilt from the grief.”

Namjoon keeps quiet, but Jungkook can see the glimmer of pained hope deep in those almond eyes. Maybe he is finally getting through that thick dragon skull. 

“You need to forgive yourself.” Jungkook points at the black cloud barrier surrounding them, locking them in this lonely, silent facsimile of paradise. “Look up there. Don’t you see? That’s all the guilt you’re carrying from my death, hyung. You’re keeping my memory captive here, chained up, all alone. That’s why I couldn’t remember any of you in this lifetime. Until you let go, I won’t remember, and if I can’t remember, I can’t truly be yours again. Forgive yourself, hyung.”

Namjoon shudders and exhales. His golden eyes shimmer with naked emotion. 

“Say it,” Jungkook demands. He shakes Namjoon’s face gently. “Say it wasn’t your fault.”

“It…it wasn’t my fault,” Namjoon repeats. He stumbles through the words, but they’re filled with conviction, even if he’s shaky. “It…it wasn’t my fault.”

It’s almost as if the air around them has warmed. The dark, roiling clouds bordering the hanok flicker, as if startled, and abruptly blink out of existence. The uncovered sky is so very beautiful. It’s filled with streaks of pink and orange and purple as far as the eye can see, just like the trainyard sunset Jungkook now remembers so well. 

Distantly, Jungkook thinks, he can hear the lilting melody of birdsong.

Here in his palms, a dragon gazes at him with so much love Jungkook feels as though his heart might burst from receiving it. 

He gazes back and his heart thrills with joy.

“Kim Namjoon,” Jungkook says, smiling through his tears. “I love you.”

It’s hard to look at his beautiful boy lying there so pale and lifeless, his eyes firmly closed. Hoseok wills his fingers not to tremble as he wipes Jungkook’s brow tenderly with a damp towel. But then Hoseok frowns. Something has changed, he isn’t quite sure what, but he thinks Jungkook’s breathing seems a little easier, his face more relaxed. 

Maybe he’s turned the corner. Maybe this time Jungkook can be saved. 

Unwilling to devote himself entirely to baseless hope, Hoseok at least lets himself take the deepest breath he’s dared to take since he saw their youngest lover topple over unconscious on their lawn. Yoongi places a careful arm around his waist and squeezes, giving him a questioning glance.

“He seems…better…?” Hoseok says quietly. “Do you think Namjoon might’ve…?”

Glancing at Jungkook, Yoongi shrugs, but the motion is gentle and noncommittal, not dismissive, and Hoseok sighs once more. Seokjin presses in on his other side, silent but supportive. 

“They’ll wake up eventually,” Seokjin says with conviction. “I know they will.” 

The three of them gaze solemnly and silently at the forms of Namjoon and Jungkook, unmoving on the bed. Seokjin’s eyes smart with tears. He gropes for Hoseok’s hand for comfort.

Behind them, however, Jimin’s attention is suddenly caught elsewhere. 

“Look,” Jimin whispers, his voice so full of wonder and hope, so different from his earlier misery that the rest all turn to him immediately. He tugs at Taehyung’s hand, and they look out the window to see what Jimin is talking about. 

It’s Hoseok who gives voice to what they all realize at the same time. “Oh,” he says, and the smile that bursts onto his face is a reflection of the sunshine dawning slowly but surely outside. “Look. The rain’s stopped.”

“So how do we get back to the others?” Jungkook asks. He snuggles close to Namjoon, enjoying the sturdy solid length of the dragon’s body like a bulwark pressed up against him. He feels comforted and protected like this. Like nothing can ever hurt him again. 

“You want to come back?” Namjoon asks guardedly. “To…to us? To the real Chuncheon?”

“What? Of course I do.” Shocked, Jungkook stares at him almost accusingly. Why wouldn’t he want to return to his home, his time, his family? But he softens when he sees the obvious relief wash over Namjoon, the way his scaled shoulders slump in a barely concealed shudder. “Hyung. Of course I do.”

In fact, Jungkook misses the rest more than he can say. He may have Namjoon here, but he doesn’t have the others, and he will never be complete without them. This place may be peaceful, may be perfect, but Jungkook knows that it isn’t real - and more importantly can never truly be perfect without the other five. 

He can’t wait to be with them.

“They’re waiting for us,” Jungkook says quietly. “I want to go home to our family.”

“Okay,” Namjoon says, and the simple word is full of joy and eagerness and above all, contentment. It’s a sort of penance in its own way. This time, at least, Namjoon can bring Jungkook home safe and sound. He stretches up on his front legs and nuzzles into the hollow between Jungkook’s neck and shoulder, making him giggle when his whiskers tickle. “Well then. You’re gonna love this part.”

Jungkook blinks in confusion. “What part?”

Invitingly, Namjoon flicks his long, crested tail out so that his flank is clearly on offer, his knee crooked so that someone could ostensibly use it as a step up. His golden eyes glint with lazy good humor. “Come on, my sweet love. Climb on.”

“What? You can’t be serious.” Eyes huge, Jungkook sucks in a long, indrawn, delighted breath. “No. Really?”

The draconian grin on Namjoon’s face gets wider. “Oh yes,” he purrs. 

“But you said…you said humans can’t ride dragons!” Despite his disbelieving words, however, Jungkook has every faith in Namjoon. He already starts clambering on, beaming uncontrollably, almost making a happy squeak as he fits his knees carefully on either side. Namjoon’s scales glitter burnished bronze and warm underneath Jungkook’s eager palms.

“In the real world, you can’t,” Namjoon agrees. “But this isn’t the real world. It’s your perfect dream world. And this is how we get out.” He glances back at Jungkook. “Ready to go home?”

“Ready,” Jungkook breathes. “They’re waiting for us.” Inwardly, he says the tiniest of prayers. Hold on, he thinks, delirious with finally realized joy. We’re coming. We’re coming home. 

Namjoon crouches, his powerful muscles bunching and rippling, and then he launches into the air in one surprisingly balletic motion, swooping smoothly into the sky. 

“This is crazy!” The wind in his hair, Jungkook whoops with sheer delight, daring to throw his arms in the air even as Namjoon glides into a loop above the hanok. He knows for sure something magical is happening because he stays effortlessly on Namjoon’s back no matter how the dragon moves, his seat solid and sturdy and sure. Namjoon’s body flexes under his thighs as he curls left and upwards. Exhilaration fizzes deep in Jungkook’s veins.

Far beneath them, the vista of their not-home reveals itself. It’s picture perfect, Jungkook knows, but he wants the real thing. Otherworldly, beautiful, utterly serene, the sinuous blue river unwinds in the benevolent shadow of the verdant hills, the surface sparkling like diamonds under the sun. The dragon with the man on his back circles around one last time, then with a joyous roar, soars up into the sunset and straight into the light. 

He feels like he’s falling. Slipping off Namjoon’s body, spiraling into unseen depths. Jungkook throws out an arm to anchor himself on the dragon’s suddenly slippery body, but to no avail, and he tumbles into darkness. 

Arms flailing, eyes blind, Jungkook jerks upright, choking and coughing and gasping. His arm is numb, but he’s alive.

“Jungkook,” he hears someone gasp. “He’s awake!”

It’s Jimin. Jungkook sobs out his name and holds out his working arm and is swiftly rewarded with somebody colliding into him so hard that they’re both knocked back onto the bed. Choking out a laugh, Jungkook buries his face in the shoulder in front of his face. It’s Jimin; Jimin’s smell, Jimin’s lithe, wiry body, Jimin’s soft lips pressed against his cheek. 

He’s back where he belongs. 

They stay like that, just cocooned tightly against each other, breathing in each other’s scent, feeling like the world is right again. It feels incredible to have Jimin in his arms, whispering tearful nonsense against his ear. Almost perfect, and then Jungkook hears a muffled sob. 

He lifts his head and forces his heavy lids to open, and the room eventually swims into blurry view. 

They’re all there, every one of them. 

Standing nearest to him is sweet, sweet Seokjin, staring at him with wet eyes and a barely trembling lower lip, his arm snug around Taehyung. Taehyung’s hand is in Hoseok’s, who has tucked himself tightly around Yoongi and is trying very hard but failing not to cry out loud. 

And dear Namjoon in human form is here too, wide awake, propped up on one elbow on the bed right next to him and gazing at him with dizzying warmth in those knowing almond eyes. Jungkook hiccups a breath and reaches out to tangle his fingers with Namjoon’s.

You came for me, Jungkook thinks, teary, his heart ablaze with love. You saved me. We fixed it, this time.

In the depths of Namjoon’s eyes, a coppery swirl of gold gleams hotly, like tumbled sunshine and hot honey and fiery whiskey.

“Your arm,” Hoseok says, suddenly noticing his left arm is hanging limp at his side. “Are you okay?”

Jungkook confesses, “It’s kind of numb. I can’t really move it right now.”

“Oh, Jungkook.” Disentangling himself from Taehyung’s vice grip, Seokjin takes a hesitant step forward, distressed at the thought of his maknae injured.

“I’m fine. Really,” Jungkook muffles into Jimin’s shirt. “I promise I’ll see the doctor later. But now I just want everyone to hug me. Please.” 

Taehyung is the first to barrel forward, until they all come tumbling onto the bed in a desperate, teary mess. Bowled over by the tricky but wonderful task of hugging all six of his lovers at once, Jungkook wheezes out an amused breath right at the bottom of the wriggling pile.

“Can’t breathe,” he laughs finally, his voice muffled by people. 

“All right, get off,” Namjoon drawls lazily, insinuating his arm around the topmost body of the pile - which just happens to be Hoseok - and hauling him off the fray and into the curve of his own chest. “That’s enough, give the boy some air, and be careful of his arm.”

There’s some half-hearted whining (mostly from Taehyung), but the pile wriggles some more and resolves itself into seven individual bodies with a little bit more breathing space between them. Hoseok wipes his eyes on Namjoon’s shirt, and threatens to blow his nose as well when Namjoon feigns annoyance. There’s a lot of sniffling, and a lot of hand holding, and Jungkook just can’t stop flitting his eyes between all of them to drink in the beautiful, beautiful sight.

“You came back,” Yoongi observes unnecessarily. His gaze is level but full of warmth and fondness. He’s almost unconsciously kneading at the meat of Jungkook’s numb arm, getting the blood to move around, trying to bring feeling back into his flesh. 

“No,” Jungkook says with clarity and sincerity. “I came home.” He looks around at the six pairs of eyes regarding him. He thinks about why he stormed out in the first place, and sighs, bone deep, mind swimming with uncountable regrets and would-haves and what-ifs. He peers up from under his lashes. “I wish I hadn’t left, but-”

“But he had to.” Namjoon’s rumble isn’t loud, but it’s firm, and everyone swivels over to regard him. “We weren’t…” he swallows. “I mean, I should have told him everything.”

“Listen.” Not willing to rehash this conversation, Jungkook leans over, adamant. “We’ve been through this, and I don’t want to go through it again. I needed to remember for myself. I wish you all had told me, and let me decide for myself, but what’s done is done, and I remember now.” He curls a tender hand around Namjoon’s cheek. “I remember, and I’m here, and that’s what matters.”

“You remember?” Seokjin asks cautiously. “What do you remember?”

“I remember that it wasn’t Namjoon-hyung’s fault that I died in my last lifetime.” Amid the shocked gasps and murmurs of oh, Jungkook , he forges on to share the truth that has finally been unburied in his memory. He needs them all to know this. “It was a freak accident, that’s all. It was no one’s fault. It’s time we moved on and started living in this lifetime, not the last.”

Jungkook turns his eyes on Seokjin’s teary, hopeful expression. He thinks about something to say, something that will convince him beyond a doubt. “Do you remember, Jin-hyung? When I finished making my dragon, when I pulled it out of the kiln,” Jungkook says, “you were the first one I showed it to. You went quiet for a moment and your eyes glistened with tears because you loved it so much. And then when you found your voice, you sniffed and told me it was far too pretty, and that Namjoon-hyung would be awfully full of himself when he saw it, knowing that was what I thought of him.”

Dumbstruck, Seokjin’s mouth opens and closes and opens again.

“And Jin-hyung was right,” Taehyung mutters. “Namjoon-hyung was strutting around for days, going ooh, Jungkook thinks I’m majestic, and ooh, Jungkook knows how powerful I really am, and ooh -” Struck, Taehyung inhales and falls silent and stares at Jungkook with wide, shocked eyes. “Wait. When you said you remember…”

“Everything?” Hoseok asks, and his voice is strained and wobbly in a way that Jungkook wants to kiss away. “All our lifetimes?” 

“Everything,” Jungkook confirms breathlessly. He winks at Hoseok, licks along the edge of his lips as if the small motion can wipe away the last, lingering remnants of Hoseok’s grief. “I remember what we got up to in the field behind the hanok last lifetime, when we told Yoongi-hyung we were going to dig up sweet potatoes.”

Mouth twitching into a grin despite himself, Hoseok hides his face and giggles loudly, and Jimin outright laughs, his slender frame shaking in Jungkook’s arms.

“Gross,” Seokjin groans. “What is wrong with you two! In the dirt?”

“Against a tree,” Hoseok says smugly. 

“I knew it,” Yoongi says loudly, “I knew you were skiving!” Jungkook can see that he’s blinking back tears, for all the bluff and bluster he’s trying to inject into his voice. His heart aches for everything they’ve been through together, but they’re here, finally, on the other side.

Jungkook almost smirks. “I made up for it with you and Jimin that night, didn’t I?” 

“Brat,” Yoongi mutters, but his ears have gone pink at the edges, and he’s gazing at Jungkook with such a soft look that Jungkook yearns to bury his face in Yoongi’s shoulder. 

“I can’t believe it,” Seokjin says softly. “I can’t believe it.”

A relieved laugh bubbles past Jungkook’s lips. There’s a lightness in his chest. It’s as if he feels able to breathe deeper than he ever has, as if all his life he’s been inhaling a poor substitute for oxygen and he’s only just discovering how sweet air can really be. How wonderful it is to have inside jokes again that he’s privy to. How wonderful to remember things that happened beyond this lifetime. How wonderful to remember all of them and every year gone by. 

But more importantly, Jungkook thinks, they can now look forward. Make new memories. Live in this lifetime without a shadow hanging over them. 

For the first time in ages, he no longer feels plagued by a darkness he can’t dispel. Eyes shining, he lifts his face and smiles at Jimin, who hasn’t spoken since he leaped into Jungkook’s lap. Jimin’s mouth works for a second, his eyes shining, before he manages to parse his thoughts into words.

“You’re here,” Jimin whispers, “everything’s okay now,” and he leans into Jungkook and meets his lips softly, sweetly, as if Jungkook is the most precious thing he’s ever held, as if they have all the time in the world.

And the miracle is that they really, really do.

That night, all seven of them snuggle down together, arms wrapped tight around each other. They settle in soft and sleepy, in perfect peace as they haven’t been for a very long time. Tucked close against the others, Jungkook is so exhausted he knows he’ll fall asleep at once and for once he can’t wait to drift off. 

Surrounded by his six lovers in the family bed, Jungkook sleeps deeply and dreams.

He dreams of sunlight-dappled trees, laughter-tinged kisses, and the metallic gleam of dragonhide. He murmurs in his sleep, nothing more than a small, incoherent mumble, and turns his face into the shoulder of the person beside him. 

It’s Namjoon, who stirs. He cracks open an eye and gently rubs Jungkook’s shoulder. Feeling is gradually starting to come back into Jungkook’s arm, and he knows it’ll soon be good as new. 

“You okay?” Namjoon whispers. 

Half-awake at this, Jungkook lets out a long, drowsy sigh and nuzzles closer into Namjoon. “Mm,” he murmurs back. “M’fine. Just dreaming.”

“What did you dream about?” Namjoon asks hesitantly. 

Without even opening his eyes, Jungkook smiles and answers, “All of you.”

The weather is perfect. 

It’s warm enough that they finally don’t need to turn on the heaters in the workshop. The winter was relatively mild, though there were a couple of nippy days that made Jimin half-seriously suggest that they build a tunnel leading from the main house to the workshop to stay out of the cold.

Taehyung just laughed and wrapped himself around a largely unprotesting Jimin like a blanket, promising that between him and Jungkook, Jimin won’t need a tunnel to keep him warm. 

Jungkook loves these halcyon days. With the warmer spring weather they’re able to grill meat out on the lawn when they feel like it (often). The workshop is filled with noise and laughter and the spicy potpourri of oils, earth and metals they work with. Tucked into a corner of the workshop, cocooned together, Namjoon and Jungkook finalize their plans for Art Basel. 

The Chuncheon exhibition, now concluded, was a roaring success. Buoyed by his new sense of peace and balance, Jungkook, with nudging from the others and Namjoon’s expert guidance, curated several different guided tours for specific groups like casual tourists, art aficionados, and even schoolchildren. The tours ended up being so popular that he had to hire some extra help for the run of the exhibition. Jungkook hadn’t expected to find that as fulfilling as it turned out to be. He approached Wooju for recommendations and ended up hiring his nephew, Soobin, and his best friend Yeonjun. Jungkook really thoroughly enjoyed himself working with them. In fact, Jungkook found himself bonding quickly with Yeonjun, who turned out to be his junior from university. 

“They’re good kids,” Wooju had told Jungkook. “Eager to learn, and not at all afraid of hard work. But you just have to tell me if they don’t pull their weight and I’ll set them straight.” Jungkook didn't need to do that at all. The pair had been beyond thrilled to find themselves working with the famous Blue Side artists. Despite being fairly inexperienced, they were enthusiastic and repaid Jungkook for the opportunity by digging their heels in and making sure their every effort met up with their sunbae’s exacting standards. 

Jungkook doesn’t think that the exhibition could have gone any better, and of course the others lavished generous praise on him for his efforts - but it wasn’t until the reviews started to come out that he really, truly believed it. 

In the end, Jungkook framed up his favorite articles. He needed some prodding, of course. He still isn’t sure who left the glossy art magazines on his table, casually opened to the relevant pages, but it was Yoongi who made the custom frames for the cutouts, and Taehyung who insisted that they should go on the wall in the workshop. 

“Incandescent,” one of his favorite reviews gushed. “The mysterious TBS collective displays an almost otherworldly intuition for intertwining Korean heritage crafts with modern art…The guided tours provided fascinating insights, enhancing the experience with expert commentary and thoughtful interpretations, dispensed with particular enthusiasm by the competent docents. And the gift shop?” the review continued. “A treasure trove of perfectly matched souvenirs, offering a curated selection of unique keepsakes inspired by the exhibition, every item a testament to the artistic vision celebrated by this exceptional showcase.”

Embarrassed but thrilled speechless, Jungkook had read those lines over and over until he was pretty sure that if pressed, he could recite them with his eyes closed. 

Now, as he listens carefully to Namjoon run through the finer details of their upcoming exhibition, Jungkook can only marvel at how everything has fallen into place. He’s fully settled in now, not just in his rightful place in the family but in his own niche. 

He really, truly has come home.

“Are you even listening to me?” Namjoon pokes Jungkook, but his tone is playful, and Jungkook blinks. 

“I am, I am,” he says guiltily. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay if you’re tired,” Namjoon starts to say, concern coloring his tone. “Does your arm hurt?” 

Jungkook’s arm has regained some of its strength and mobility, but it still feels a little weak, and buzzing pain sometimes ricochets down it when he’s used it too much without resting. It’s gotten a lot better, though, with rehab and exercise, and it feels fine just then. Jungkook shakes his head.

“No, I was just -” Jungkook hesitates. Is it the right time? Funny, for a group of men who literally have all the time in the world, that Jungkook should worry about such a thing as the right time. So he firms his chin with determination. “Hyung, I want to show you something.”

Six pairs of bright eyes follow Jungkook as he crosses the workshop to Seokjin’s section. Grinning, knowing exactly what his youngest lover is after, Seokjin reaches under his worktable and pulls something out and hands it to Jungkook.

For a moment, Jungkook stands and looks at the precious thing in his hands. In his now expanded memory he recalls the heartstopping moment he first caught a glimpse of a man with limpid almond-shaped eyes. He recalls the lifetimes he’s spent with six men for whom love has endured beyond literal space and time. He recalls years upon years upon years, shifting like sand beneath his feet and yet a solid place to stand on. Namjoon is gazing at him now, with those dark, gleaming eyes, in a way that makes Jungkook feel wanted and loved and needed. 

It feels like every path has led him here, to this place, to these people, to the black velvet bag he’s holding, and the six men who have now gathered to stand around him, sheltering him like a ship anchored in a safe, warm bay. And yet, suddenly uncertain, Jungkook toys restlessly with the strings of the velvet bag. 

What if Namjoon doesn’t like it?

“Go on,” Seokjin says softly, as if he can hear Jungkook’s little, restless, unspoken doubts. He presses a kiss to Jungkook’s cheek, reassuring and supportive. “Show him.”

Jungkook swallows. “I needed to fix it,” he says, not quite looking at Namjoon. “It turned out that Yoongi-hyung kept the pieces for me, and Hoseok-hyung suggested trying to put it back together. Jin-hyung showed me what to do. And I practiced a lot, until I got the technique right, enough that Jin-hyung finally let me do it on the real thing. I finished it earlier this week. I’m sorry I broke it,” Jungkook mumbles, his ears aflame, “but I wanted to make it right.”

He reaches into the bag and pulls out the little porcelain dragon, placing it gently into Namjoon’s outstretched hand. A wave of regret runs through Jungkook. The last time Namjoon saw the dragon, it was in jagged shards on the floor. God, it breaks his heart to think of the dragon in pieces. But now it is whole again - not precisely the same, but precisely repaired - the shards fitted carefully together, the cracks lined smoothly with gold. Patched but still regal, the dragon’s eyes and claws gleam as they catch the light. Its arrogant snout points to the sky once more, its claws curled possessively around the perfect, round pearl. 

Namjoon lets out a breath and runs a wondering finger over the cool porcelain. Jungkook knows what he feels - a completely smooth surface. Seokjin had worked him hard over this for weeks, pestering and nagging so that he’d get the mix of the lacquer right and the surface as seamlessly patched as possible. Seokjin’s shard bucket beneath his workstation is filled with Jungkook’s test pieces, discards where the lacquer was too lumpy or too clumsily applied, before he got good enough to try it with the real thing. True to form, though, hardly anything goes to true waste - Seokjin grinds some of the pieces into a fine powder to add back into fresh stoneware clay, and the rest of the broken pottery is regularly shipped to another artist who uses their discard for mosaics and terrazzo.

The cycle repeats, over and over: clay molded into vessels, vessels broken, pieces glued back together, smashed down and ground back into clay and coming back to life as another art form under another sculptor’s hands.

The metaphor is so obvious that it needn’t be belabored, but also it means so much to Jungkook that he longs to needlessly point it out, wishes he could explain it to whoever will listen in insufferable detail so that every last trace of doubt can be sniffed out and thoroughly erased. 

He settles for aiming a watery smile at Namjoon. 

“In that lifetime, I made it for you,” Jungkook murmurs. He closes his hand over Namjoon’s. “I can’t make you a new one - I don’t have that talent in this lifetime - but I can fix it. And now I want to return it to you.” 

Speechless, Namjoon looks at the dragon and at Jungkook and back at the dragon, eyes wet. 

“Envious,” Taehyung mock grouches. “A Jeon Jungkook original. Namjoon-hyung, if you don’t take it, I will.” His tone belies the tears gathering in his eyes, and Jimin laughs and tugs him in. 

“My sweet love,” Namjoon chokes out, and then he’s throwing an arm over his eyes, a fruitless effort to hide the tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“You’re such a softie,” Yoongi grouses, but he’s gentle, and the smile on his face tells everyone what he really thinks. Hoseok takes Namjoon’s hand and squeezes it. 

“Stay with me,” Namjoon whispers hoarsely. “Please, everyone, stay with me.”

Already moving, everyone pushes in close, arms around one another. There’s no need for Namjoon to ask. Lifetimes, they’d promised. We’ll stay with you always.

They’ve already worked out, together, that Namjoon only fully loses his control over the weather when he is terrified of losing them. Together, they’ve worked out with Namjoon that he never has to worry about something like that. 

Never.

Together, they’re making it right. 

“No one’s going anywhere,” Jungkook says. “We’re right here.”

It’s so easy, Jungkook thinks, for them to affect Namjoon so deeply. So clear how much he loves and is loved in return. Namjoon, his beautiful golden-eyed dragon, broken but patched in his hands. 

As good as new. Changed for the better. 

They’ll stand the test of time yet. 

Jungkook runs over the list one last time, just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything. He wants to be thorough, careful. But it’s okay. He hasn’t missed a thing. “We’ve finalized the shipment, arranged the courier,” he says. “I like this shipping company. It’s a new one, but I find they’re very reliable.”

“Got it. I saw the packing list you sent to my email. Looking forward to getting everything.” Jungkook can hear Wooju smile, even over the phone. “Pity you won’t be here to uncrate like old times.”

“I swear that’s the best part,” Jungkook complains without any heat. “I really loved opening those crates, although I guess packing them is pretty fun too. Oh, hyung - don’t know if you saw, but I’m sending over a few of the mixed media masks that we displayed in Germany.”

He’s so very proud of those masks. They had been his original concept, but executed with Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s skillful craftsmanship. Jungkook had been delighted to find out, while researching, that the original t’al nori masks had been made out of hanji - the mulberry paper weaving Hoseok specializes in, while hahoetal masks were carved from alderwood. Together, the three of them figured out a way to incorporate both materials into the final pieces. 

Jungkook means what he said long ago that his forte is management and that he isn’t interested in the art side of things (not in this lifetime anyway) but the process was enjoyable, more so because it was with two of his favorite artists, of course. It all started with a throwaway comment while conceptualizing an exhibition, and Taehyung leapt on the idea, encouraging Jungkook to develop the idea further, telling him how good it was. One thing led to another, and, well. 

The results spoke for themselves. The intricately carved masks had been extremely well received in their debut exhibition. They had been a massive labor of love between the three of them, a modern reinterpretation of the stock characters of traditional dance, recreating the faces of other traditional Korean mythological figures. 

Jungkook’s favorite, of course, is the dragon mask. 

It’s far too big to fit in their keepsake box, so Hoseok and Yoongi specially made him a custom palm-sized version. 

“This is way harder when it’s so small,” Hoseok groaned, but of course he managed it in the end. Jungkook is so grateful. He already knows that this is what he’s going to keep from this lifetime, a token that he will always hold dear to his heart.

“The giant dance masks?” Wooju’s voice is awed. “Wait - you’re sending them to me? You sure?”

“Please. I know you’ll sell them. I bet you already have some names in mind.” 

“I guess I have a few,” Wooju laughs in sheepish acknowledgement. With the gallery name attached to the recent TBS pop-ups as a collaborator, their clientele has grown in leaps and bounds. Wooju will always carry the smaller, more inexpensive, more accessible merch line, of course - he’d say that’s the heart of his humble shop - but with the capacity to serve clients with bigger budgets and looser purse strings, Wooju’s bank accounts have had more breathing room. It’s the least Jungkook could do for the boss who believed in him from the beginning and gave him space to grow. 

Business concluded, Wooju sighs. “Are you taking care of my baby?” he asks. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s definitely better off with you, and my wife is absolutely thrilled that I’ve sold her.” He sounds vaguely sulky about this, but Jungkook knows him better. Happy wife, happy life, Wooju always says. Jungkook had used to envy their comfortable, easy rapport, the way they fit together like it was the simplest and most natural thing in the world. 

He doesn’t need to feel that way anymore.

“Your motorbike is fine, hyung,” Jungkook laughs. “Eats up the road in Chuncheon like she was made for it. Better than being stuck in traffic jams in Seoul.” It’s no exaggeration. He brought Namjoon for a joyride on the bike just a couple days ago, a smooth, scenic ride down the quiet coastal roads. It was just them for miles and miles. 

Jungkook decides he doesn’t have to tell Wooju how good it felt to have Namjoon pressed against his back, arms tucked around his waist, lips pressed against the nape of his neck. He doesn’t have to tell Wooju it made him feel like the king of the world. 

Maybe he’ll never be able to ride on Namjoon’s back again, but they’ll find other ways to fly.

Wooju sighs, wistful for his biking days. “Speaking of Seoul, Soobin tells me you gave up your apartment.”

“Quite a long time ago, actually. No reason to keep it.” 

The TBS apartment they keep in Seoul is much bigger and fits all seven of them, anyway. There’s really no need for him to hold on to his own place. 

“So I guess you’re definitely not coming back.” Wooju says. “Can’t say I didn’t see this coming.”

“Ah, hyung, I’m sorry -”

“Nah. Please. Don’t be.” Wooju clicks his tongue, more satisfied than resigned. “I’m really glad to see you happy, you know? It’s like you finally seem…fulfilled. You’re like a different person.”

Jungkook chuckles at that. For all intents and purposes, he is a different person from the man Wooju knew in Seoul. The Jungkook Wooju knew had lost all his history and everything that made him who he was. He isn’t that little lost boy any longer: full of ennui and missing his purpose in life. Now he’s content, living his best life in his forever home, with his family and work that truly engages and inspires him. Only now does he realize what he was missing all this time - what he might never have found if he hadn’t stepped into a busy cafe and asked to sit beside a man with dragon eyes. 

He looks up at the painting above his work table. Seven silhouettes against a sunset. 

Wooju had given it to him, insisting it belonged to TBS, anyway, and wasn’t Jungkook part of TBS now? 

Jungkook smiled at that. Of course. He’s always been.

“Don’t worry. You know I’ll still work with the shop to distribute TBS art,” Jungkook adds reassuringly. “You know I’ve been going back to Seoul every few weeks, too. And I’ll still be tagging Soobin and Yeonjun to help out if they want to. It’s not the end, hyung.”

“No,” Wooju agrees cheerfully. “It’s not the end.”

Far from it. 

What a beautiful beginning.

“Tell me what happens in this movie,” Yoongi says. “I’m the only one who hasn’t seen it, right?” He sets the plate of snacks down; before the plate even touches the bed tray, Jimin and Hoseok grab crab crackers off it and make delighted noises with full mouths. They happily ignore Yoongi’s remonstrations not to get any crumbs on the family bed. 

“It’s about a girl who loses her parents,” Seokjin says. “And how she gets them back.”

“It’s about a girl who gets a job in a bathhouse,” Hoseok says.

“It’s about a funny ghost that eats everything in sight,” Taehyung says. “And a really fat, giant baby.”

“It’s about a witch and her - no, I won’t spoil it for you,” Jimin insists. “Just watch it, hyung!”

“Come on, it’s about a magical dragon,” Namjoon objects, laughing. “Surely that’s the most important part.”

Adored and adoring, Jungkook smiles at his family, his partners, his lovers. The most important part? They’re right here, next to him. 

“It’s about never giving up on love,” he tells them. “That’s what it’s all about.”

Outside the house, the sun is shining.