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bangtanexchange2015-06-14 11:37 pm
bangtanmod) wrote in bangtanexchange2015-06-14 11:37 pm
Entry tags:
08. far away you were made in a sea
Title: far away you were made in a sea
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
markerlimes
Pairing: Jungkook/Jimin, OT7 (Everyone/Jungkook, really)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3633
Song used: Where Did You Come From?
Summary: The scriptures speak of peace. The end of a 900 year war and that Jeon Jungkook will be the one to usher in an era of peace, but first he has to stop waking up underneath the kitchen table. fantasy/magical realism au [alternatively- bangtan raise a jungkook from a different universe]
Author's notes: written for bangtanexchange’s 2nd anniversary discography festa! based off of Bangtan’s “Where Did You Come From?” from Skool Luv Affair. also inspired by the story where Jin finds Jungkook sleeping in random places- including underneath their kitchen table...
There’s ash in Jungkook’s lungs paired with the image of the temple ruins going up in flames as Jimin’s pained screams ring in his ears.
There are frozen fingertips digging into his skin and Yoongi’s quiet incantation protecting him so that the blunt nails feel like nothing more than an icy prickle. He remembers Hoseok’s light spells fading in the distance as Namjoon leads him out the back tunnel into the dark- the cold, cold dark when-
“Jungkook?” a voice sounds from above. Jungkook’s eyes fly open. The ground beneath him is cool. Nothing is on fire, or even remotely warm. He turns his face towards the direction of the sound- his cheek making a sticky sound from how long it’s been plastered against the wood.
The voice above him is scratchy, but not threatening. It sparks a note of familiarity Jungkook can’t quite place.
He coughs weakly, unsettling dust. When he comes to, he’s lying on the ground and above him is Seokjin, but that can’t be right- Seokjin is dead. He died in the last war, charred and burned on the stake for refusing to reveal Jungkook’s location, but he’s here and very much alive as he pokes Jungkook’s thigh with a fuzzy socked foot.
“What are you doing underneath the kitchen table?”
---
The world Jungkook wakes up in magicless. There’s no wind beneath his fingertips, no fire flooding his veins. The water does not beckon to his call nor does the earth whisper its secrets into his ear when he lies down to greet it.
For the first time since he was born, Jungkook hears nothing.
In contrast to the silence of this world, the dorm he inhabits is filled with weird noises. The shower squeak jolts him awake and even in his groggy state he’s vaguely aware of someone singing, a low voice echoing within the walls.
He’s on a bed. The Seokjin of this world must have moved him from beneath the table last night.
Jungkook doesn’t remember leaving the shelter of the dining table, but the mattress beneath him is a nice change. It’s soft, nearly foreign in its plush comfort because the last time Jungkook has slept in a real bed must have been at least three years ago, long before the revolution.
Slowly, Jungkook shifts to his side beneath the covers and listens.
The floorboards creak. There’s the sound of cabinets opening and voices, low and scratchy from sleep, conversing. They speak quietly like they’re afraid of him overhearing. There’s something familiar about the conversation they’re having and if Jungkook listens closely, he can catch snippets of laughter, the words- again, irresponsible and back soon. All around him, the dorm is bustling with life.
For a moment, it feels like he’s traveled back in time rather than to another universe and the notion of it gives him hope. Jungkook sits upright, whispering a spell he knew as readily as breathing and waits. He listens for the quiet hiss of wind between his teeth.
There’s nothing.
---
From what Jungkook can gather, he’s a singer of some sort, maybe a dancer. Maybe a bit of both and for whatever reason, he’s also supposed to be good at both.
They call him golden- golden child, golden talent. Bangtan’s golden maknae.
It certainly has a better ring than the Harbinger or the chosen one, so Jungkook takes it in stride. No matter how he looks at it, it’s infinitely easier to be a popstar than the child of prophesy that spiraled his entire world into two fractured, warring sides.
Together the seven of them are Bangtan.
Jungkook likes the sound of it: bulletproof. Invulnerable, yet battered from experience. It’s a proud name, boastful in nature and it’s certainly not the same as being invisible (not the way Jungkook has been trying to be for the last four years of his life).
There’s a sharp knock on the door and Jungkook scrambles to his feet, alert.
“Breakfast is ready!” Seokjin’s voice carries itself through the paper thin walls. It sounds so hauntingly like Seokjin’s that Jungkook can’t help but let his guard down, absence breeds disillusionment.
Seokjin drags him out of the room and into the kitchen where the rest of them are. Jungkook idles at the edge of the counter, smiling stiffly as Seokjin pulls him to an open seat and sits him down. Everything seems normal, give or take a few hair colors and Jungkook revels in the sight of familiar faces.
Seokjin in particular is exactly how Jungkook remembers him. The only difference is that he makes eggs for Jungkook in the morning on a contraption in this world called a stove instead of the blue flames from his fingertips.
“Here you are,” Seokjin says. He slides the egg from the pan down onto the plate in front of Jungkook. It’s scrambled, light and fluffy- his favorite.
Jungkook bites down warily. The Taehyung of this world does not offer to taste his food for him in case of poison. Jungkook feels like it shouldn’t matter, because no matter what world he wakes up in, the eggs Seokjin makes for him always tastes the same.
---
After breakfast Taehyung, not his Taehyung, slings an arm around Jungkook, burying his nose into Jungkook’s hair. Jungkook leaps back, eyes wide.
“Sorry,” Taehyung says, not sounding horribly sorry at all. “Habit.”
“It’s okay,” Jungkook says. He sits back on the bed Seokjin had placed him and tucks his chin into his knees. He watches Taehyung pull out a book with monochrome pictures and little squares, humming loudly to himself.
“I forget sometimes,” Taehyung says to no one in particular, although it’s obviously meant for Jungkook since the two of them are alone in the room. “That bastard always leaves whenever he feels like it.”
Nothing much of what he’s said makes any sense to Jungkook, but he nods along, settling into his own covers. Taehyung continues reading his book with animated expressions. Every now and then he’ll lift his face up like there’s something he wants to say to Jungkook, but remembers not to.
Seokjin peeks his head in a little after the sun sets and tells Taehyung to go back to his room. They’ve got a long day tomorrow is what Seokjin tells him, but Jungkook only nods mutely and bows his head down low when Namjoon enters the room, looking exhausted.
The Namjoon of this world snores as loudly as his did. Jungkook takes the sound, an unlikely anchor and wraps it around himself as tightly as he can as he slips into sleep.
---
The managers, or at least that’s what Jungkook hears Jimin call them, arrive before the crack of dawn to usher them into the vans. They hand him papers, a small booklet, and tell him not to be late for his flight.
Flying is not what Jungkook imagines it to be. Flying back at home is an experience of soaring through the clouds and the freedom of being one with the wind- not the confinement of steel walls that curve in like monstrous ribs and vibrate with the same monster’s growl.
“You’re scared of flying,” Hoseok says turning to him. It’s a confirmation more than question and Jungkook tries to shake his head slightly when a sudden jolt of the startles him. The area beneath his feet
“C’mere,” Hoseok says. He wraps an arm around Jungkook, warm and solid.
The morning light of the window casts itself from behind Hoseok and for a second if Jungkook squints, it could look as if Hoseok had conjured the light himself. The image is comforting, the illusion of it so strong, that Jungkook has to tuck his head into head into Hoseok’s shoulder so he can’t see him cry.
---
Crowds are never a good sign. Jungkook’s become more or less used to the unrest of this world, but not concentrated like this.
“Stay close,” Taehyung warns, as Jimin’s hand finds his wrist. Jungkook barely has time to react before the doors open and the chaos unfolds.
The crowd surges and Jungkook feels the air in his chest pushed out in a panic. In his mind, there are the memory of riots on the streets. The cruel cajoling of the crowd for his death and the wild fervor of bloodlust that sends him quaking in his dreams.
Yet these people here are armed- not with swords and pole arms, but with black, sinister boxes that send lightning into Jungkook’s eyes. Their screams are just as fervent, deafening in both volume and pitch. It’s terrifying, a sea of nameless bodies eager to grab and pull at him in any way they can and for a second Jungkook fears that he very well might drown out here.
But then Taehyung pushes him forward as Seokjin’s arm wraps itself protectively around Jungkook’s shoulder. Hoseok’s hands wrap themselves around his elbow and Jungkook lets out a sigh of relief. From the corner of his eye, Jungkook registers Namjoon pushing his way through at the head of their group, forging a path ahead for them to take. Yoongi brings up the rear, pushing them along steadily.
Step by step, the seven of them make it out. The presence of outside air is a relief. Slowly, Jungkook regains his breath, smiling as Hoseok leans over to dab the sweat off his brow with a gentle sleeve.
A universe away, in every wrinkle in time, and now, Jungkook thinks. His hyungs are still doing the same.
---
Their managers drive them to a hotel- a building taller than Jungkook has ever seen before. The glass windows stretch up into the sky, nearly brushing the clouds. Not even the palace back home in all its opulence and grandeur can compare.
“Close your mouth country boy,” Taehyung teases lightly from his side of the car. “It’s just a hotel.”
The tone of his voice suggests that there is so much more in this world for Jungkook to see and even the idea of it makes him giddy. The idea that this universe might be his permanently scares Jungkook as much as it excites him. It bothers him that the Jungkook of this world won’t have any magic at his disposal, or that maybe his powers would be greater than Jungkook’s seeing how he somehow managed to displace them across separate time flows. It hurts his head to think about the implications of their switch and to chase the strings of what-ifs to each daunting end.
For now, he just files neatly in line with the rest of the group as they’re handed their key cards- a security measure Jungkook’s not entirely sold on, judging just by how thin and flimsy the keys appear.
He’s meant to share a room with Jimin and out of all the choices, Jimin’s presence is the most comforting in face if nothing else.
Jungkook’s Jimin is of templar heritage, assigned to protect Jungkook from the day he was born. He knows all of Jungkook’s secrets, his fears and is the closest person to Jungkook who will come close to understanding the burden of his fate.
(After all, if there’s a task more daunting than bringing peace to a world ravaged by war for nine centuries, wouldn’t it be to protect the sole source of hope for world peace?)
The Jimin of this world seems just as observant about the very Jungkook he is not. He corners him in their room where there is truly nowhere to hide. Jungkook’s half-dressed, pulling his shirt up to change into something more comfortable for bed when Jimin captures his wrist and pulls him over to sit on the bed.
“You’re not our Jungkook,” Jimin says softly. He says it easily like he’s done this so many times before. “Are you?”
Jungkook shakes his head. His Jimin is an air mage. A diminutive force of smiles and galewinds. Watching the Jimin of this world dance is haunting, because it takes Jungkook minutes to parse out their differences. The way both of their bodies move is so familiar with its agility like the wind regardless of the presence of magic.
Jungkook’s wrist tingles under Jimin’s touch, familiar like it’s reacting to his magic- tickled by the wind. His Jimin had always held Jungkook like he was the most precious thing in the world, as if he were peace itself that the world could break in a moment’s notice. Two separate universes later, some things just don’t seem to change.
“Does your Jungkook...leave often?” Jungkook asks awkwardly. He’s never gotten the hang of referring to himself in third person, but it’s undeniable that the Jeon Jungkook of this world is a completely different person.
“He doesn’t tell me every time, but I’ve gotten the hang of knowing when he does,” Jimin answers cryptically. He grins at Jungkook, his eyes pressing into familiar crescents. “I think we all have.”
“Do you know where he goes?” Jungkook asks. He’s genuinely curious and it’s starting to finally make sense why none of the other boys seem the least bit phased about Jungkook not being theirs. It’s weird to think that they’ve done this before. That he isn’t the first Jungkook to have passed through their world, displaced when their Jungkook went off.
“He doesn’t tell me,” Jimin says, sounding sad. He bites into his bottom lip. “Tell me about your world. Where are you from? Is it dangerous?”
Jungkook holds his breath, unsure how to answer the question. He focuses on Jimin’s grip on his wrist and the way his fingers stroke idly over Jungkook’s pulse point.
“It’s difficult to say. Every world has its dangers, but…” Jungkook trails off, watching the line of Jimin’s body go rigid. “He’s surrounded by people like you. People that risk their lives for him every day.”
At that Jimin laughs. A faint giggle that bleeds out with the tension in his shoulders. “I wouldn’t go that far. Some days I think about strangling that brat, honestly.”
Jungkook must look alarmed, because Jimin instantly pulls back. “Him, not you, and...I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “I think I understand.”
Jimin hums in agreement, laughing slightly. “I think if you had a chance to meet him, you would understand.”
Jungkook nods a little wistful as Jimin pulls back to flop on his own bed. “Now tell me about your world.”
Jungkook tells him as much as he can without the gory details.
He talks about magic, the way the world speaks to him in whispered breezes or the rush of raindrops from the sky. He talks about their rag tag group of seven, the survivors from the temple and the kind of life they lived before the fall. He leaves out Seokjin’s death and Taehyung’s disappearance, because for a moment he’s convinced that the way Jimin’s eyes light up in wonder might be a kind of magic in itself.
“Are you worried for him?” Jungkook asks finally hours later when they’ve turned the lights off. He peers into the darkness, listening for Jimin’s quiet breathing.
“Nah,” Jimin says, sounding confident. “Jungkook always makes it back.”
“He’s really lucky,” Jungkook decides after a moment. The covers are heavy on his body, laden with sleep. “He must be so thankful.”
“Nah,” Jimin replies, voice light. “He’s a spoiled brat. That’s what he is.”
Jungkook drifts, dreamless and thinking that he wouldn’t mind be spoiled like this from time to time.
---
They reassure him that he won’t have to sing or dance or kiss them if he doesn’t want to. Jungkook nods along to the instruction, feeling the bottom slip out of his stomach.
It’s just a fanmeet. You smile, you sign your name on things, and you shake hands. It sounds simple enough, but Jungkook’s not sure what part of it is easy at all.
“I was joking about the kissing part,” Taehyung grumbles under his breath. Jimin shoots him a look and pretends to press a smooch into his cheek. Jungkook watches them for a moment and wonders that if he hadn’t objected so strongly in surprise, if they would follow through with the kissing.
He wonders if the Jungkook of this world partakes in the kissing and if there is one person in particular Jungkook looks forward to kissing the most. It’s a strange train of thought to follow and Jungkook’s still deep in thought when Yoongi curls a hand over his shoulder, startling him.
“Don’t blow your cover. We’re all so screwed if you do,” he says coolly. He mutters something that sounds like ‘good luck’ under his breath and Jungkook smiles, feeling the weight of fear lift off his shoulders.
Yoongi’s gruff consolation feels like the closest thing Jungkook’s heard to a prayer or an incantation in so long and it takes him a second to convince himself that there is no spell cast over his form, protecting him as he walks into the tent and takes a seat at the table.
---
The sound is deafening inside the tent, but Jungkook feels bolder this time around. Jimin tells him that there are people here from all across the world and Jungkook wonders if any of them are like him- transposed across universes, lost but lucky enough to visit this one.
He watches the line of fans slowly make their way down the table, hands trembling in anticipation as the first one makes it over to him.
“Jungkook-sshi,” the girl cooes. Her eyes sparkle as they hand over a box shaped item into Jungkook’s hand. “You’ve grown up so well. You look really healthy!”
“Thank you,” Jungkook says a little numbly. He scribbles something and draws a smiley face next to it- something that Taehyung taught him to do roughly an hour ago. She continues beaming at him, clearly just as nervous when Jungkook hands her the item back.
“Thank you so much. I love you,” she says fervently, shaking his hand.
He smiles back without thinking, feeling warm. Later, Taehyung slings an arm over him when they take photos and this time Jungkook doesn’t flinch back, curling to fit his body into the space where the six of them snuggle against so readily.
---
Part of Jungkook feels wistful, cheated almost, by the fact that he will never get to meet the Jeon Jungkook of this world.
He’s curious to know just who exactly Jungkook is and how he’s managed to earn the loyalty and adoration of so many people far and wide across the world. He wants to know, really get to know Jungkook and learn how he’s done it all and why the hell he would ever consider leaving his own universe for anything else.
Most importantly, he wants to know the story of how Jungkook of this world met his six hyungs that live, breath, and raise Jungkook as if the three actions were equally intuitive, to the point they defined each other as much as themselves.
---
On the plane flight back, Jungkook’s arm begins to fade. He’s sipping from the plastic cup of apple juice when his fingers stop casting shadows around the cup. They turn translucent, no different from the thin plastic of the cup that Jungkook can see the apple juice slosh past.
He sets the cup down slowly, eyes wide.
Jimin leans over, wrapping his fingers over Jungkook’s so he doesn’t have to see. “It’s okay. This is normal.” His grip on Jungkook’s hand, the warmth and pressure, is the only reason that Jungkook can convince himself that his hand is even there.
“It means he’s coming back,” Taehyung adds from his other side. “His trips have a limit after all.”
“The kitchen table was a first though,” Seokjin grins good naturedly from the row in front of them. He reaches a hand back to ruffle Jungkook’s hair, carding through his bangs.
Yoongi digs something out of his backpack, tossing it over. “Put those gloves on. Let’s not freak security out like last time.”
Jungkook lets Jimin help him slide the gloves on and wonders idly if Jimin has done this before for the many Jungkook’s before him.
“Think you can hold on until we make it home?” Jimin asks quietly. Jungkook nods, tongue feeling dry. For a second it feels like he can hear wind in Jimin’s voice, a quiet beckoning that it’s time to go home.
---
Jungkook’s neck begins to fade into the background by the time they pull him back into the safety of the dorm. Yoongi pulls a chair out for him and Namjoon hangs back, crossing his arms in anticipation. The rest of them crowd around him, patting his arms and making soothing gestures.
Seokjin’s eyes search his. He’s worried, Jungkook realizes with a slight pang of guilt.
“Be good,” is all he says. Jungkook nods, feeling faint. “I will.”
He glances into the mirror, watching in wonder as the afternoon light passes through him, hardly refracted at all. His skin is pale, ghostlike and if Jungkook squints hard enough he thinks he can make out the edges of an unfamiliar scar on his cheek.
Suddenly the room spins and Jungkook feels the seat beneath him shake. His skin is translucent now, fading fast into the light as he feels the wind stirring in his fingertips. Slowly, he tilts his head back and closes his eyes.
“Take care maknae. It’s time to go home,” Hoseok says. His voice is bright. So so bright. “Safe travels.”
“I will!” he smiles reaching out a hand to greet the light.
He will bring home music, the warmth of the hour, and the feeling of six hands wrapped around his own. He will bring the sound of their voices mixed into his own.
He will bring home peace.
Author:
markerlimesPairing: Jungkook/Jimin, OT7 (Everyone/Jungkook, really)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 3633
Song used: Where Did You Come From?
Summary: The scriptures speak of peace. The end of a 900 year war and that Jeon Jungkook will be the one to usher in an era of peace, but first he has to stop waking up underneath the kitchen table. fantasy/magical realism au [alternatively- bangtan raise a jungkook from a different universe]
Author's notes: written for bangtanexchange’s 2nd anniversary discography festa! based off of Bangtan’s “Where Did You Come From?” from Skool Luv Affair. also inspired by the story where Jin finds Jungkook sleeping in random places- including underneath their kitchen table...
There’s ash in Jungkook’s lungs paired with the image of the temple ruins going up in flames as Jimin’s pained screams ring in his ears.
There are frozen fingertips digging into his skin and Yoongi’s quiet incantation protecting him so that the blunt nails feel like nothing more than an icy prickle. He remembers Hoseok’s light spells fading in the distance as Namjoon leads him out the back tunnel into the dark- the cold, cold dark when-
“Jungkook?” a voice sounds from above. Jungkook’s eyes fly open. The ground beneath him is cool. Nothing is on fire, or even remotely warm. He turns his face towards the direction of the sound- his cheek making a sticky sound from how long it’s been plastered against the wood.
The voice above him is scratchy, but not threatening. It sparks a note of familiarity Jungkook can’t quite place.
He coughs weakly, unsettling dust. When he comes to, he’s lying on the ground and above him is Seokjin, but that can’t be right- Seokjin is dead. He died in the last war, charred and burned on the stake for refusing to reveal Jungkook’s location, but he’s here and very much alive as he pokes Jungkook’s thigh with a fuzzy socked foot.
“What are you doing underneath the kitchen table?”
---
The world Jungkook wakes up in magicless. There’s no wind beneath his fingertips, no fire flooding his veins. The water does not beckon to his call nor does the earth whisper its secrets into his ear when he lies down to greet it.
For the first time since he was born, Jungkook hears nothing.
In contrast to the silence of this world, the dorm he inhabits is filled with weird noises. The shower squeak jolts him awake and even in his groggy state he’s vaguely aware of someone singing, a low voice echoing within the walls.
He’s on a bed. The Seokjin of this world must have moved him from beneath the table last night.
Jungkook doesn’t remember leaving the shelter of the dining table, but the mattress beneath him is a nice change. It’s soft, nearly foreign in its plush comfort because the last time Jungkook has slept in a real bed must have been at least three years ago, long before the revolution.
Slowly, Jungkook shifts to his side beneath the covers and listens.
The floorboards creak. There’s the sound of cabinets opening and voices, low and scratchy from sleep, conversing. They speak quietly like they’re afraid of him overhearing. There’s something familiar about the conversation they’re having and if Jungkook listens closely, he can catch snippets of laughter, the words- again, irresponsible and back soon. All around him, the dorm is bustling with life.
For a moment, it feels like he’s traveled back in time rather than to another universe and the notion of it gives him hope. Jungkook sits upright, whispering a spell he knew as readily as breathing and waits. He listens for the quiet hiss of wind between his teeth.
There’s nothing.
---
From what Jungkook can gather, he’s a singer of some sort, maybe a dancer. Maybe a bit of both and for whatever reason, he’s also supposed to be good at both.
They call him golden- golden child, golden talent. Bangtan’s golden maknae.
It certainly has a better ring than the Harbinger or the chosen one, so Jungkook takes it in stride. No matter how he looks at it, it’s infinitely easier to be a popstar than the child of prophesy that spiraled his entire world into two fractured, warring sides.
Together the seven of them are Bangtan.
Jungkook likes the sound of it: bulletproof. Invulnerable, yet battered from experience. It’s a proud name, boastful in nature and it’s certainly not the same as being invisible (not the way Jungkook has been trying to be for the last four years of his life).
There’s a sharp knock on the door and Jungkook scrambles to his feet, alert.
“Breakfast is ready!” Seokjin’s voice carries itself through the paper thin walls. It sounds so hauntingly like Seokjin’s that Jungkook can’t help but let his guard down, absence breeds disillusionment.
Seokjin drags him out of the room and into the kitchen where the rest of them are. Jungkook idles at the edge of the counter, smiling stiffly as Seokjin pulls him to an open seat and sits him down. Everything seems normal, give or take a few hair colors and Jungkook revels in the sight of familiar faces.
Seokjin in particular is exactly how Jungkook remembers him. The only difference is that he makes eggs for Jungkook in the morning on a contraption in this world called a stove instead of the blue flames from his fingertips.
“Here you are,” Seokjin says. He slides the egg from the pan down onto the plate in front of Jungkook. It’s scrambled, light and fluffy- his favorite.
Jungkook bites down warily. The Taehyung of this world does not offer to taste his food for him in case of poison. Jungkook feels like it shouldn’t matter, because no matter what world he wakes up in, the eggs Seokjin makes for him always tastes the same.
---
After breakfast Taehyung, not his Taehyung, slings an arm around Jungkook, burying his nose into Jungkook’s hair. Jungkook leaps back, eyes wide.
“Sorry,” Taehyung says, not sounding horribly sorry at all. “Habit.”
“It’s okay,” Jungkook says. He sits back on the bed Seokjin had placed him and tucks his chin into his knees. He watches Taehyung pull out a book with monochrome pictures and little squares, humming loudly to himself.
“I forget sometimes,” Taehyung says to no one in particular, although it’s obviously meant for Jungkook since the two of them are alone in the room. “That bastard always leaves whenever he feels like it.”
Nothing much of what he’s said makes any sense to Jungkook, but he nods along, settling into his own covers. Taehyung continues reading his book with animated expressions. Every now and then he’ll lift his face up like there’s something he wants to say to Jungkook, but remembers not to.
Seokjin peeks his head in a little after the sun sets and tells Taehyung to go back to his room. They’ve got a long day tomorrow is what Seokjin tells him, but Jungkook only nods mutely and bows his head down low when Namjoon enters the room, looking exhausted.
The Namjoon of this world snores as loudly as his did. Jungkook takes the sound, an unlikely anchor and wraps it around himself as tightly as he can as he slips into sleep.
---
The managers, or at least that’s what Jungkook hears Jimin call them, arrive before the crack of dawn to usher them into the vans. They hand him papers, a small booklet, and tell him not to be late for his flight.
Flying is not what Jungkook imagines it to be. Flying back at home is an experience of soaring through the clouds and the freedom of being one with the wind- not the confinement of steel walls that curve in like monstrous ribs and vibrate with the same monster’s growl.
“You’re scared of flying,” Hoseok says turning to him. It’s a confirmation more than question and Jungkook tries to shake his head slightly when a sudden jolt of the startles him. The area beneath his feet
“C’mere,” Hoseok says. He wraps an arm around Jungkook, warm and solid.
The morning light of the window casts itself from behind Hoseok and for a second if Jungkook squints, it could look as if Hoseok had conjured the light himself. The image is comforting, the illusion of it so strong, that Jungkook has to tuck his head into head into Hoseok’s shoulder so he can’t see him cry.
---
Crowds are never a good sign. Jungkook’s become more or less used to the unrest of this world, but not concentrated like this.
“Stay close,” Taehyung warns, as Jimin’s hand finds his wrist. Jungkook barely has time to react before the doors open and the chaos unfolds.
The crowd surges and Jungkook feels the air in his chest pushed out in a panic. In his mind, there are the memory of riots on the streets. The cruel cajoling of the crowd for his death and the wild fervor of bloodlust that sends him quaking in his dreams.
Yet these people here are armed- not with swords and pole arms, but with black, sinister boxes that send lightning into Jungkook’s eyes. Their screams are just as fervent, deafening in both volume and pitch. It’s terrifying, a sea of nameless bodies eager to grab and pull at him in any way they can and for a second Jungkook fears that he very well might drown out here.
But then Taehyung pushes him forward as Seokjin’s arm wraps itself protectively around Jungkook’s shoulder. Hoseok’s hands wrap themselves around his elbow and Jungkook lets out a sigh of relief. From the corner of his eye, Jungkook registers Namjoon pushing his way through at the head of their group, forging a path ahead for them to take. Yoongi brings up the rear, pushing them along steadily.
Step by step, the seven of them make it out. The presence of outside air is a relief. Slowly, Jungkook regains his breath, smiling as Hoseok leans over to dab the sweat off his brow with a gentle sleeve.
A universe away, in every wrinkle in time, and now, Jungkook thinks. His hyungs are still doing the same.
---
Their managers drive them to a hotel- a building taller than Jungkook has ever seen before. The glass windows stretch up into the sky, nearly brushing the clouds. Not even the palace back home in all its opulence and grandeur can compare.
“Close your mouth country boy,” Taehyung teases lightly from his side of the car. “It’s just a hotel.”
The tone of his voice suggests that there is so much more in this world for Jungkook to see and even the idea of it makes him giddy. The idea that this universe might be his permanently scares Jungkook as much as it excites him. It bothers him that the Jungkook of this world won’t have any magic at his disposal, or that maybe his powers would be greater than Jungkook’s seeing how he somehow managed to displace them across separate time flows. It hurts his head to think about the implications of their switch and to chase the strings of what-ifs to each daunting end.
For now, he just files neatly in line with the rest of the group as they’re handed their key cards- a security measure Jungkook’s not entirely sold on, judging just by how thin and flimsy the keys appear.
He’s meant to share a room with Jimin and out of all the choices, Jimin’s presence is the most comforting in face if nothing else.
Jungkook’s Jimin is of templar heritage, assigned to protect Jungkook from the day he was born. He knows all of Jungkook’s secrets, his fears and is the closest person to Jungkook who will come close to understanding the burden of his fate.
(After all, if there’s a task more daunting than bringing peace to a world ravaged by war for nine centuries, wouldn’t it be to protect the sole source of hope for world peace?)
The Jimin of this world seems just as observant about the very Jungkook he is not. He corners him in their room where there is truly nowhere to hide. Jungkook’s half-dressed, pulling his shirt up to change into something more comfortable for bed when Jimin captures his wrist and pulls him over to sit on the bed.
“You’re not our Jungkook,” Jimin says softly. He says it easily like he’s done this so many times before. “Are you?”
Jungkook shakes his head. His Jimin is an air mage. A diminutive force of smiles and galewinds. Watching the Jimin of this world dance is haunting, because it takes Jungkook minutes to parse out their differences. The way both of their bodies move is so familiar with its agility like the wind regardless of the presence of magic.
Jungkook’s wrist tingles under Jimin’s touch, familiar like it’s reacting to his magic- tickled by the wind. His Jimin had always held Jungkook like he was the most precious thing in the world, as if he were peace itself that the world could break in a moment’s notice. Two separate universes later, some things just don’t seem to change.
“Does your Jungkook...leave often?” Jungkook asks awkwardly. He’s never gotten the hang of referring to himself in third person, but it’s undeniable that the Jeon Jungkook of this world is a completely different person.
“He doesn’t tell me every time, but I’ve gotten the hang of knowing when he does,” Jimin answers cryptically. He grins at Jungkook, his eyes pressing into familiar crescents. “I think we all have.”
“Do you know where he goes?” Jungkook asks. He’s genuinely curious and it’s starting to finally make sense why none of the other boys seem the least bit phased about Jungkook not being theirs. It’s weird to think that they’ve done this before. That he isn’t the first Jungkook to have passed through their world, displaced when their Jungkook went off.
“He doesn’t tell me,” Jimin says, sounding sad. He bites into his bottom lip. “Tell me about your world. Where are you from? Is it dangerous?”
Jungkook holds his breath, unsure how to answer the question. He focuses on Jimin’s grip on his wrist and the way his fingers stroke idly over Jungkook’s pulse point.
“It’s difficult to say. Every world has its dangers, but…” Jungkook trails off, watching the line of Jimin’s body go rigid. “He’s surrounded by people like you. People that risk their lives for him every day.”
At that Jimin laughs. A faint giggle that bleeds out with the tension in his shoulders. “I wouldn’t go that far. Some days I think about strangling that brat, honestly.”
Jungkook must look alarmed, because Jimin instantly pulls back. “Him, not you, and...I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “I think I understand.”
Jimin hums in agreement, laughing slightly. “I think if you had a chance to meet him, you would understand.”
Jungkook nods a little wistful as Jimin pulls back to flop on his own bed. “Now tell me about your world.”
Jungkook tells him as much as he can without the gory details.
He talks about magic, the way the world speaks to him in whispered breezes or the rush of raindrops from the sky. He talks about their rag tag group of seven, the survivors from the temple and the kind of life they lived before the fall. He leaves out Seokjin’s death and Taehyung’s disappearance, because for a moment he’s convinced that the way Jimin’s eyes light up in wonder might be a kind of magic in itself.
“Are you worried for him?” Jungkook asks finally hours later when they’ve turned the lights off. He peers into the darkness, listening for Jimin’s quiet breathing.
“Nah,” Jimin says, sounding confident. “Jungkook always makes it back.”
“He’s really lucky,” Jungkook decides after a moment. The covers are heavy on his body, laden with sleep. “He must be so thankful.”
“Nah,” Jimin replies, voice light. “He’s a spoiled brat. That’s what he is.”
Jungkook drifts, dreamless and thinking that he wouldn’t mind be spoiled like this from time to time.
---
They reassure him that he won’t have to sing or dance or kiss them if he doesn’t want to. Jungkook nods along to the instruction, feeling the bottom slip out of his stomach.
It’s just a fanmeet. You smile, you sign your name on things, and you shake hands. It sounds simple enough, but Jungkook’s not sure what part of it is easy at all.
“I was joking about the kissing part,” Taehyung grumbles under his breath. Jimin shoots him a look and pretends to press a smooch into his cheek. Jungkook watches them for a moment and wonders that if he hadn’t objected so strongly in surprise, if they would follow through with the kissing.
He wonders if the Jungkook of this world partakes in the kissing and if there is one person in particular Jungkook looks forward to kissing the most. It’s a strange train of thought to follow and Jungkook’s still deep in thought when Yoongi curls a hand over his shoulder, startling him.
“Don’t blow your cover. We’re all so screwed if you do,” he says coolly. He mutters something that sounds like ‘good luck’ under his breath and Jungkook smiles, feeling the weight of fear lift off his shoulders.
Yoongi’s gruff consolation feels like the closest thing Jungkook’s heard to a prayer or an incantation in so long and it takes him a second to convince himself that there is no spell cast over his form, protecting him as he walks into the tent and takes a seat at the table.
---
The sound is deafening inside the tent, but Jungkook feels bolder this time around. Jimin tells him that there are people here from all across the world and Jungkook wonders if any of them are like him- transposed across universes, lost but lucky enough to visit this one.
He watches the line of fans slowly make their way down the table, hands trembling in anticipation as the first one makes it over to him.
“Jungkook-sshi,” the girl cooes. Her eyes sparkle as they hand over a box shaped item into Jungkook’s hand. “You’ve grown up so well. You look really healthy!”
“Thank you,” Jungkook says a little numbly. He scribbles something and draws a smiley face next to it- something that Taehyung taught him to do roughly an hour ago. She continues beaming at him, clearly just as nervous when Jungkook hands her the item back.
“Thank you so much. I love you,” she says fervently, shaking his hand.
He smiles back without thinking, feeling warm. Later, Taehyung slings an arm over him when they take photos and this time Jungkook doesn’t flinch back, curling to fit his body into the space where the six of them snuggle against so readily.
---
Part of Jungkook feels wistful, cheated almost, by the fact that he will never get to meet the Jeon Jungkook of this world.
He’s curious to know just who exactly Jungkook is and how he’s managed to earn the loyalty and adoration of so many people far and wide across the world. He wants to know, really get to know Jungkook and learn how he’s done it all and why the hell he would ever consider leaving his own universe for anything else.
Most importantly, he wants to know the story of how Jungkook of this world met his six hyungs that live, breath, and raise Jungkook as if the three actions were equally intuitive, to the point they defined each other as much as themselves.
---
On the plane flight back, Jungkook’s arm begins to fade. He’s sipping from the plastic cup of apple juice when his fingers stop casting shadows around the cup. They turn translucent, no different from the thin plastic of the cup that Jungkook can see the apple juice slosh past.
He sets the cup down slowly, eyes wide.
Jimin leans over, wrapping his fingers over Jungkook’s so he doesn’t have to see. “It’s okay. This is normal.” His grip on Jungkook’s hand, the warmth and pressure, is the only reason that Jungkook can convince himself that his hand is even there.
“It means he’s coming back,” Taehyung adds from his other side. “His trips have a limit after all.”
“The kitchen table was a first though,” Seokjin grins good naturedly from the row in front of them. He reaches a hand back to ruffle Jungkook’s hair, carding through his bangs.
Yoongi digs something out of his backpack, tossing it over. “Put those gloves on. Let’s not freak security out like last time.”
Jungkook lets Jimin help him slide the gloves on and wonders idly if Jimin has done this before for the many Jungkook’s before him.
“Think you can hold on until we make it home?” Jimin asks quietly. Jungkook nods, tongue feeling dry. For a second it feels like he can hear wind in Jimin’s voice, a quiet beckoning that it’s time to go home.
---
Jungkook’s neck begins to fade into the background by the time they pull him back into the safety of the dorm. Yoongi pulls a chair out for him and Namjoon hangs back, crossing his arms in anticipation. The rest of them crowd around him, patting his arms and making soothing gestures.
Seokjin’s eyes search his. He’s worried, Jungkook realizes with a slight pang of guilt.
“Be good,” is all he says. Jungkook nods, feeling faint. “I will.”
He glances into the mirror, watching in wonder as the afternoon light passes through him, hardly refracted at all. His skin is pale, ghostlike and if Jungkook squints hard enough he thinks he can make out the edges of an unfamiliar scar on his cheek.
Suddenly the room spins and Jungkook feels the seat beneath him shake. His skin is translucent now, fading fast into the light as he feels the wind stirring in his fingertips. Slowly, he tilts his head back and closes his eyes.
“Take care maknae. It’s time to go home,” Hoseok says. His voice is bright. So so bright. “Safe travels.”
“I will!” he smiles reaching out a hand to greet the light.
He will bring home music, the warmth of the hour, and the feeling of six hands wrapped around his own. He will bring the sound of their voices mixed into his own.
He will bring home peace.
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