Archive of Our Own ^beta

moon rise, it's your time

“We are each other's nightscape, each other's moon”

💫

Waking comes slow after the realization that he’s alive. Yoongi assumes he'll open his eyes to some new obstacle— this one insurmountable, his proper death. Perhaps he landed on some icy planet, or he's floating in the lake of a volcanic moon caldera, or he's pinned to an asteroid, hurtling through space. All too fanciful calamities, but it’s been such a bizarre few days, so void of logic. His pod must have held up, at least, since he's still strapped down, and there's no whistling sounds to indicate a breach in the exterior.

It's quiet, but that's space. He's used to it.

Somewhere, Jimin is on a catapulted course back home, or something near it. Navigation may be tough, but HO-PE's with him, should guide him on the way.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

There's still energy left in Yoongi’s pod, or maybe that's his suit. Which means he, too, has a copy of their station’s AI with him. Some company for the end.

“HO-PE?” he all-but-mouths, voice surprisingly sore in such a short amount of time. He couldn't have been out for more than an hour, since the power's on, and they only had enough starlight to propel him off the cruiser, keep the heat on long enough that he could perform the wrap-around maneuver. “How are my oxygen levels?”

Nothing.

“Come on, HO-pah. How long until I kick the bucket?”

HO-PE is silent. Yoongi sighs. Guess I'm doing this alone after all.

It's not that he was ready to die, it's that he had to. They left Earth five months ago to live on the ISS, study black matter not so far from home. There was no pre-empt to the malfunction, because they always took every precaution, but still, an explosion raged through the station, probably killing their fellow crew.

Yoongi and Jimin were lucky to be in the cruiser at that moment, snapping pictures of Earth and laughing over Jungkook's last video message. Jimin's boyfriend works in the media department at KARI, but none of that filmmaking talent shows in his messages, which normally consist of him getting drunk on wine and singing trot songs for an hour. At least they're better than Seokjin's, which are just long takes of him eating inappropriately large dinners. What Yoongi wouldn't do to watch those recorded letters now.

There was no grand BOOM when the station exploded, but the discharge rolled through space, shot Jimin and Yoongi out of orbit. They watched their coworkers burn in the distance while they blew away from hope of home, and when Yoongi finally pulled them out of drift, they were already too far to regain contact. Which seemed impossible, after such a short amount of time, but… there was no sign of their home planet. Their sun. Yoongi and Jimin found themselves in a bizarre new orbit.

Lost in the strange purgatory, Yoongi ran equations while Jimin ran scans, and neither could pinpoint their location in space. It was as though they'd gone through some sort of passage, some gravitational phenomena that isolated them... nowhere. It was as though they'd ended up nowhere.

“I’m scared, hyung,” Jimin confessed on the third night (whatever that meant, without sunsets), before falling into a silence that didn’t end.

They had food to last weeks but couldn't bear to eat it. Condensation gave them water, and the cruiser even came with beds. As if the designers knew this was a possibility, their inexplicable shipwreck. It bought them time, but no special intuition. And science is a powerful tool, but it wasn't about to save them. So, Yoongi hedged his bets.

He didn't say a word to Jimin as he crawled into the escape pod. Their silence was overwhelming and he couldn't bear a final goodbye. He simply programmed the cruiser and crawled into the pod, keeping both machines connected as he towed them toward a peak in their new world’s energy. As the vessels twirled around each other, he could see Jimin's face through the cruiser window, see his mouth undoubtedly screaming profanity.

Yoongi gave him a thumbs up before untethering. Maybe Jimin laughed. He'll never know.

Which left himself tumbling through the cosmos, barely able to balance his pod, or even breathe. Eventually, he'd either crash, or die from the adrenaline, but it was worth it for the hope that he'd saved his companion. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING YOU PSYCHOPATH,” HO-PE scolded him, delivered oxygen levels and estimated co-ordinates in the same minute. “YOU KNOW I DON'T APPRECIATE PLUMMETING.”

Then, he saw a strange light. Rainbow colours weaving in and out of each other, vibrating in the vastness of space. Yoongi steered toward the light, followed his own intuition in the hope it might guide him somewhere safe. Or that HO-PE would. Whichever.

Before Yoongi fainted, he imagined Seokjin sitting in the console chair just next to him, dressed in the embarrassing fluffy pink sweater he always wears. Imagined them laughing together at the AI's antics. Imagined his husband cheering him on, congratulating him on a creative bit of flying. Imagined a final kiss, just laughing into each other's mouths for how ridiculous it all was, how nightmarish.

He knew it was madness, but it was nice to see his lover's face. There at the end, in the frozen tundra of space.

And yet... Yoongi's warm, where he is. Laying down flat on his back, which means the seat must have broken. Except there's no belt tethering him down, and when he takes stock of his arms and legs they don't feel confined within a suit. Yoongi breathes, and air flows so freely into his lungs that he chokes on it, feels drunk on the incoming oxygen, giggles like it's laughing gas.

“Min Yoongi-ssi?” A voice addresses him.

HO-PE never calls him that, but perhaps this copy of the program doesn't come with Familiarity Settings. Yoongi clears his throat. “About time you woke up. I’m still waiting on oxygen levels.”

“Min Yoongi-ssi, sir, you are not currently receiving oxygen. Your breathing tube was removed earlier this morning. Do you remember?”

Breathing tube? That can't be right. Yoongi's suit has a water gauge, but he didn't fill it before dismounting from the cruiser. Didn't prepare for survival at all, hoping he'd be dead before he had to worry about things like oxygen or food or water. “HO-PE,” he whispers, steeling his jaw. “Please run the Black Box protocol.”

“Black Box? Yoongi-ssi, I think you’re talking in your sleep.”

Strange. HO-PE doesn't have its usual tone, a bright, lilted voice meant to keep them alert during missions. No... this HO-PE sounds deeper, harder to understand. Which could be from damage, but there's no fizzling of wires or static. It sounds like the voice is right there.

“Can you open your eyes, Yoongi-ssi?”

Perhaps...

He wrenches his eyes open, and he's immediately blinded by the white light, closes them again. So this is heaven, he thinks, chuckling at the idea. He never subscribed to any religion, and he didn't hope for an afterlife, but this is a nice surprise. Would be even better if his shoulder didn't ache and his head didn't pound and his throat didn't rage with dehydration.

It doesn't seem like heaven, and Yoongi can't imagine he's in hell. So, “Where am I?”

“You're in the KARI Rehabilitation Facility,” the man— perhaps the doctor, but why is he in street clothes? — tells him. “You've been in and out of consciousness for several days now.” Has he? Perhaps... he does vaguely recall seeing light like this before, hearing a similar voice. More faces, but it feels like such a long time ago. “Can you try opening your eyes again?”

Yoongi tries, fails. Tries again, and this time he manages to keep them open for a few seconds, squint until he can make out the faces above him through bleached blonde bangs. He's tall, perhaps handsome. Smiling in slightly forced way, but it's not off-putting— perhaps because of the dimples. His hair is almost as light as Yoongi's, but more gray, and he's pushed it back off his forehead, looks refined in his black turtleneck and tan trench coat.

The stranger helps him sit upright, adjusting the bed easily, and he even offers Yoongi a cup of ice. As he chews, he's able to glance around the stark room, make out medical instruments and a visitor's couch and an ensuite bathroom. Time passes like a dream, and every motion feels abstract, forced. Not to mention easy, every test completed on a small, handheld device the stranger insists is “perfectly capable of taking your temperature, Yoongi-ssi.”

“I died,” he finds himself whispering when her ministrations are over, but the stranger makes a tsk-ing sound, moves to pat his hand. Stops before he does it, as though realizing at the last moment that they aren't friends.

“I assure you,” he chuckles, “that's not the case.”

“But...” Yoongi rubs his face, shocked at how awake he feels now, but no more coherent. “My pod... I was spinning. Thought I would...”

Out the door, he catches glimpses of what look like doctors zipping through the hallway, but... surely doctors have legs, or at least most of them? Not the wheels that extend beneath the hems of their lab coats. Though this isn't a hospital, so maybe they're just some new tech that the Institute is working on, or maybe Yoongi imagined them, like he's imagining the way his blanket seems to tighten around his own legs, heat up. Or like he's imagining the stranger's watch projecting a hologram of the current time, despite the room being too bright for such things.

“It's neat, isn't it?” the stranger asks. “It belonged to my grandfather. He got it around my age.”

This stranger can't be any older than Yoongi, but he's not much younger, either. And holographic technology isn't unheard of, but little of it is so refined nowadays. For someone potentially 50 years earlier to have a piece like that is... “Impossible.”

Grinning, the stranger opens a panel at the edge of Yoongi's bed, taps a series of keys. Yoongi tries to make out any code or pattern, but the keys aren't numbered. They're just lights. “Are you a doctor?”

“No more than anyone else. You already received medical attention at the landing site. My name is Kim Namjoon.”

Yoongi wracks his brain for some memory of the ‘medical attention’ he allegedly received. There's nothing. He shrugs it off, figures it's probably best he doesn't remember any pain, trauma. “How long was I out?”

“I hope this doesn't alarm you, but... several weeks, Yoongi-ssi. I've been looking forward to meeting you.”

Weeks. It seems outrageous, that he could have been injured enough to lose consciousness for so long and feel so okay now, so alert. Yoongi's heard of coma patients taking days to fully wake, and here he is, good as new when they’ve just removed his breathing tube. He must be lucky, he supposes, and changes the subject. “My husband is a Kim. Though I doubt you're related.”

“Hm.”

“But... wait.” There are countless questions, most of them more important, but it seems strange that Yoongi's sitting here with a stranger in his own place of employment. After a half-year mission that ended in multiple deaths. The Ground Director should be with him, someone from Mission Control. Asking questions and demanding answers and telling him where Jimin is, if he made it back too, if he's healed and aware like Yoongi. Or— “Why aren't I at home?”

“Home?”

“If I don't need a doctor, then why wasn't I sent home? My husband is a PSW, he's more than capable of looking after me.”

The stranger— Namjoon— averts his gaze the slightest bit. “There were more tests. That's why we kept you under.”

“Without my consent?!” Yoongi's voice cracks, proof he hasn't used it in a while. Perhaps Seokjin consented for him, and if he did, there must have been good reason. Yoongi trusts him. “What kind of tests?”

“Your body was exposed to massive amounts of radiation, as well what should have been enough whiplash to kill you instantly. But your injuries were minor, just some lacerations from crash-landing. You're lucky you hit water, or there's no way you could have survived it. The Director made the decision to keep you under long enough to ensure there'd been no... unnatural damage.

“Unnatural?”

Namjoon straightens on his perch, composes himself before explaining, “Based on your pod's memory drive, we believe you were lampooned in a gravitational caldera. Which you managed to escape, thanks in part to the size of your pod, and also to a pretty nifty bit of flying.”

Yoongi's never heard of the phenomena Namjoon just mentioned, but he pretends to, nods. “Did Jimin—”

“We don't know yet if Park Jimin will arrive like you did. Though we believe it’s possible he escaped, yes, based on the trajectory.”

“If you know the trajectory, why don't you know if he's coming?”

“There's no easy way to say this, Yoongi-ssi.”

“Say what?” Yoongi leans forward, swings his legs off the side of the bed, letting the thick wool blanket that was covering him fall to the ground. He’s barely dressed, and standing makes him dizzy, but he’s at least at eye level with the still-sitting Namjoon, who looks displeased but not surprised by his outburst. And maybe Yoongi's pinning the blame on the messenger, but what else is he supposed to do when KARI's been doing secret tests on him and won't let his own husband see him and won't tell him why the fuck he's still at work when he should be at home, mourning the loss of his crewmates. “Tell me!”

Namjoon does. “You've been gone a very long time,” he says, calm as he's been the entire time. “You may find that much has changed. But don't be alarmed. I'll be personally assisting in your orientation back to Earth. I was offered this task specifically because we share a unique connection, one which I hope will bring you comfort in the days to come.”

Yoongi swallows. “I've been gone five months. I hardly need—”

“That is incorrect.”

“Then how long?”

“My understanding of everything is very minimal. I know the Institute has been studying calderas for many years, beginning with their effects on radio waves. In fact, it was your mission that pointed out a lapse in receiving, and some messages never made it at all, just bounced around in gravitational pits. Gravity, as you know, can impact the passage of time. The more weight, the more time—”

“I know the Theory of Relativity,” Yoongi deadpans. He's a fucking astronaut, after all.

Namjoon doesn't crack. “Then you know how severe that dilation can be.” He waits for Yoongi to nod, annoyed, before revealing, “You were stranded for approximately two and a half weeks in space. During that time, one-hundred and ten years passed on Earth. I'm sorry, Yoongi-ssi.”

For just one blissful moment, Yoongi really, truly believes it’s a trick. But there’s no evidence of humour on Namjoon’s face, no indication that Seokjin put him up to this. He’s not waiting behind a curtain, ready to pop out. It’s all true.

When he begins to cry, Yoongi knows that his face must be streaky and pink and awful to witness. All the shock of the explosion and fear of the crash wells up inside of him, and tears flow freely down his puffy cheeks. But the man doesn't turn away, doesn't allow him any privacy. Just waits, patient, before Yoongi sobs, “Seokjin—”

“I'm a relative of his,” Namjoon whispers, tries not to set Yoongi off. “Four living generations down the line, but still, the Director thought it would be appropriate. And he would have liked it, I think. I've seen videos of him. He was a delightful person.”

“Is he—”

Namjoon reaches out again, and Yoongi has every reason to flinch, to take a step back. He doesn't, and Namjoon's palm rests steady on his bad shoulder, eases the blow. “Kim Seokjin passed away forty-five years ago. Again, I'm so, so sorry.”

Yoongi cries even harder now. Hard enough that his knees give out and he lands on the ground in front of Namjoon— Kim Namjoon, his lover's descendant, fucking great-great-grandson. Some kid that barely looks like him, that doesn't share a single quality with him except maybe, maybe something in his big, round lips. And how annoying that he's right, that Seokjin would lose his mind over this, get such a kick out of it. Want to tell the world about 'Min Yoongi, time-traveler accidental and extraordinaire!'

He can't think about it. Can't think about the explosion, the time dilation, the miserable look on Jimin's face as Yoongi fucking abandoned him. Can't think about anything.

So he does the next best thing and faints.

🌙

It seemed wrong after what happened, but Namjoon met Yoongi knowing it wouldn't go perfectly smoothly, so taking him home afterward was just another part of the itinerary.

Yoongi doesn't speak to him in the cab. Doesn't marvel over the flying, driverless car, doesn't even look out the window at a world of skyscrapers taller than he's ever seen them. His eyes are slightly glazed, maybe from too much sleep, but he's been instructed to get more. Rest up for his next mission, one that's been in the works since they identified his escape pod, verified his fingertips. But he doesn’t need to know about that yet.

When the KARI Director asked Namjoon to step in as Yoongi's mentor, he jumped at the chance. He knew all about the man from his great-great-grandfathers’ videos, which were passed down through the family as mandatory viewing. As a kid, Namjoon even wrote stories about the astronaut who blew away, wondered if he could ever return. What he'd think about the world after more than a century.

Namjoon wants to tell the traveler that the future is just as shocked to see him as he is it. That the ISS explosion of his era still appears in history books and documentaries, and that him being here is a testament to how exciting their research once was, back in his day. He probably won't want to hear it, but his survival is a miracle, a treasure, and there are civilians around the world who are as excited to hear him talk about it as the scientists are. He's a hero.

But he's also Namjoon's ward, which he explains when they reach his home.

“We're working on your citizenship,” he tells Yoongi after showing him around the main floor, settling in the minimalist living room. The house has always been too big for one person, but it's been in the family for generations, and Namjoon jumped at the chance to save it from turning into more condos after his parents moved to something less extravagant. “Obviously you're still Korean, but the dates on your passport need to be updated so they don't mortify somebody. It's okay, I already requested they cheat your age down.” Namjoon jokes, to no response. “For now, you're something like a plus-one on my records, so you can stay with me without any problems. And you won’t pay any tax.”

“Like an infant,” Yoongi drawls, not looking him in the eye. He’s solid now, though, has steeled himself to face the challenge. Almost professional, when his situation is anything but.

He traces his gaze around the room, through open doorways. Up to the high ceilings. Namjoon's never been much of a decorator, so Yoongi must be more enamored by the twisted metal chandelier that hangs over their couches, cool lights casting gently over the room. It’s always been a beautiful house.

“I'm considered your next of Kin. You do have some relatives in your bloodline, but none of them are direct. Your brother never had children. And with my family's connection to the Institute, it seemed more fitting to match you with someone familiar with your story.”

Yoongi finally looks at him, raises a brow. “Do you work for the Institute?”

“No,” Namjoon admits. “My mother did, and her grandfather. And his father.”

“Seokjin didn't work for the Institute,” Yoongi corrects him.

There's silence for a moment as Namjoon tries to decide whether or not to tell him, but he doesn't have much choice. “His husband, Jungkook. He worked in the media department, though, so maybe it doesn’t count.”

A pause. “Jeon Jungkook?” Namjoon wonders if it's better or worse for Yoongi to know exactly who Seokjin married. He must have known it happened, or at least that they had children, but for it to be a close friend must be a lot. He's just grateful that Yoongi doesn't cry again at the news, that he doesn't smile but nods his head, like it's an acceptable turn of events. “Ah. That makes sense.”

“For what it's worth, I think they were very happy together.”

“That's good.” Yoongi pauses again, picking at his cuticles. A compulsion Namjoon knew he had, from the Institute’s old records. “What do you do, if you're not an astronaut. A scientist?”

“Aish, no.”

“You seem to know a lot about calderas.”

Namjoon shrugs. “Like I said, my mom was smart. And scientific education is a lot more robust now than it was in the 21st century, but I bore of it quickly. I'm actually a historian.”

“How appropriate.”

It would be funny if Yoongi didn't look so glum. Namjoon stands. “Are you hungry?”

Yoongi presses down on his knees to stand, and again Namjoon is reminded of his research, how he saw one of Yoongi’s old coworkers in a video describing him as, 'an old wizard stuck in the body of a cat.' “I'd prefer to sleep, if that's okay.”

“Of course. You’re welcome to do anything you'd like, Yoongi-ssi. You’re welcome here.” Yoongi pauses before nodding. Namjoon continues, “There are fresh clothes waiting on the bed, they should fit you well.” Yoongi nods again, just stands there. Namjoon smacks the side of his own head. “Fuck! Sorry. The guest bedroom is—”

“I know where it is.” At what must be a startled face, Yoongi continues, “I designed this place, after all.”

Oh. “I didn't realize.” Seokjin never mentioned a penchant for design, though it makes sense he kept the origin of the house’s blueprints secret. A quiet eulogy to his long-lost love.

“It's fine.” Yoongi holds his elbows, crossing his arms low, across his stomach. He looks young, despite nearing 30, but perhaps time travel does that to a man. He takes a few steps toward the grandiose staircase in the center of the house, then pauses, turns back. There's clearly a question he wants to ask, has wanted to ask since he started talking again.

“What is it?”

“It's...” He chews his bottom lip, another habit. “I appreciate you taking me in, Namjoon-ssi, and I don't say this to be ungrateful. But... there was an artificial intelligence program aboard the station. Standard issue, although the Familiarity Settings adjusted to suit our crew. I copied the program into my escape pod. Was it...um...”

Namjoon remembers reading the report. Knows the AI has been questioned endlessly, has given immeasurable intelligence on Yoongi's mission. When it isn't busy swearing, apparently. “It's saved. I can request another copy be sent over this evening, if you'd like?”

“Yes. Please.”

Yoongi already looks brighter. Artificial intelligence isn't particularly exciting, nowadays, but in Yoongi's time, a program like HO-PE would have been a novelty. Perhaps even a friend. He needs those, now more than ever.

“Yoongi-ssi, there's one more thing,” Namjoon calls as Yoongi turns again. He doesn't want to bring it up, since Yoongi's already been forced to accept so much, but he'll feel guilty if he doesn't.

“Yes?”

Namjoon reaches into the pocket of his jeans and retrieves a USB. “I transferred the files onto this. Figured you'd be more familiar with it.” He steps toward Yoongi at the staircase. “There's a laptop in your room— it's a bit more modern than what you're used to, but I think you should be able to work with it.”

“I'm sure I'll be fine,” Yoongi agrees, unsurprisingly. He flies spaceships, after all. He accepts the key. “What's on this? More instructions from the Director?”

“No.” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. “This is all the footage I have of Seokjin and Jungkook. Home movies and things like that.”

“You've watched them?”

“They're a family heirloom.”

Yoongi twirls the USB key between deft fingers and then clasps it in his hand. “Okay. I appreciate you saving this for me.”

“Of course. Goodnight, Yoongi-ssi.”

With a nod, Yoongi paces slowly up the stairs, and Namjoon sees him turn exactly the right way to reach the guest bedroom. In the house he designed, apparently, probably to share with his husband. It's so strange, meeting a man who should have been his ancestor. And yet Yoongi is in Namjoon's house, all pale skin and angled eyes and exactly the man from the Institute’s records. A quiet man, but with a loud mind, one Namjoon prays he'll hear more from soon.

If Yoongi is willing to open up, then Namjoon is willing to listen. That's his job here, after all.

💫

Yoongi's dreams are filled with Seokjin's laughter and Jimin's silent screams, and they fade slowly as he wakes in the guest bedroom he designed over a century earlier, in a bed a thousand times softer than any from his era.

Memories from yesterday come slowly too: waking up at the Institute, but not recognizing so much as the walls. Flying in what looked like a car over Seoul. Using a toilet not too different from the ones he knows, but the bidet is almost instant, and nearly blew him onto the bathroom tile. No wonder the toilet had a handle. He should have used it.

He manages to roll out of the comfy bed and sets his feet down on heated floors. Mentally, he knows the house is brimming with futuristic technology, but at face value, it doesn't look so different from what he pictured while designing it. Well, sketching out a floor plan and handing it to Seokjin before launching himself on his final trip to the stars.

Seokjin.

The USB that Namjoon gave him yesterday sits idly on the bedside table, almost mocking him in how unassuming it is. There's a laptop, too, that looks just like a MacBook only Yoongi knows it's going to way more impressive, and he's not sure he can handle any more reminders of his situation before breakfast. Or at least a shower.

Thankfully, the rest of the ensuite bathroom isn't too different from what he knows. A waterfall shower with pump shampoo and body washes along the walls. As he washes away the grime and sweat that must have built up while he was in an Institute-sanctioned coma, Yoongi forces himself not to think about how far away from home he is, or how Jimin is even farther. How Seokjin is probably waiting for him, or thinking he died in the ISS explosion, except he's not doing either of those things because they happened 110 years ago and he moved on and remarried (Jungkook, he remarried Jungkook) and had children and he's dead and—

Yoongi dresses in soft black clothes he finds in the guest bedroom drawers, shocked at how well they fit (Namjoon really prepared for him). Then, he sits back down on the edge of the bed, eyes the laptop once again. Pulls it onto his thighs and opens it.

There's no password, but he wasn't really expecting there to be one. The Institute probably controls the device just like they've been controlling him, wants to see what he does with it. The desktop is suspiciously simple, just a few apps he recognizes (so YouTube is still a thing, that's neat), and an email interface he figures out easily (the perks of being a literal scientist).

There's a message waiting for him already, and it's addressed from Kim Namjoon:

Good morning, Yoongi-ssi,

I hope you slept well. The guest bedroom has always been my favourite apart from the Master, since they both face toward the sunrise. Though, I suppose I have you to thank for that.

This laptop doesn't integrate perfectly with the rest of the tech you'll find around the house, but it should at least give you a chance to do some Googling (yes, Google still exists, and yes it still does a barrel roll if you ask it to). It also has a USB port, so you can watch the videos I gave you. I hope they bring you some peace as you get used to this time.

Attached to this message is the HO-PE program you requested. I understand it's been looking forward to seeing you. Or... speaking with you? I don't have much experience with AIs, but hopefully it all works the way you remember.

As I said last night, please make yourself welcome in the house. My work is primarily freelance, so I'll be around. HO-PE should be able to connect to the security system to pinpoint me if for some reason I'm not easy to find.

I hope I get many chances to speak with you, Yoongi-ssi,

—Namjoon

Yoongi tries not to think, he's sweet, as he clicks the attachment on Namjoon's letter. Instantly (like wow fast compared to what Yoongi's used to), a new interface opens, and a visual synthesizer covers the screen. The colours twist and fade and finally, condense when Yoongi hears a familiar voice:

“ABOUT TIME YOU WOKE UP, LAZY ASS.”

The USB still waits for him, inches away, but first Yoongi focuses on greeting HO-PE.

“Not my fault you can't drive, you disembodied piece of shit.”

🌙

He isn't waiting for Yoongi.

That would be ridiculous. The man got here three days ago, and sure Namjoon hasn't seen him leave his room, only knows he must have because the fridge appears slightly more empty every day, and somebody must be leaving fresh-brewed coffee in the fridge to chill overnight. Not to mention, he's passed Yoongi's door a few times (on the way to his own bedroom, nothing weird) and it's not difficult to hear two distinct voices echoing through the door, one much more human than the other.

Still, it would be nice to actually see the guy, maybe even talk to him. It's not like he's heard stories about the lost astronaut since he was a kid and wants to prove he's real or whatever—

Namjoon's stomach growls. He recalls the many times in their youth that Tae called him hangry. Perhaps he had a point.

He paces to the empty kitchen and opens the refrigerator door. Cereal would be easy, but Namjoon's been consuming nothing but American breakfasts for weeks, and AutoChef Ramsey made fried rice look easy on TV.

Turning on the stovetop, Namjoon sprays some oil in a pan, retrieves a bag of rice that might be too stale to cook. Somewhere in the many cabinets along the wall Namjoon's mother has hidden countless cooking tools, all of them automated and way faster than doing it himself, but he's a smart, capable man. He can cook some fucking rice. He can.

At least, he thought he could. According to the fire alarm, that was not the case.

Namjoon is still waving a kitchen cloth in front of the alarm when Yoongi comes bounding into the kitchen, dressed in the blue plaid pajama set Namjoon wasn't sure he'd actually wear (he crossed his fingers, though). His eyes dart around the room, from the eggs burning through his cast-iron pan to the pot overflowing with rice on the counter to Namjoon standing on a chair trying to blow smoke away from the screaming alarm.

He laughs, and even in the shadow of the blaring sirens, it's a welcome sound after days of silence.

Yoongi opens a window, and eventually, they defeat the sordid fire alarm. “I expected something more...” Yoongi starts, then shrugs, like he doesn't have a word for it.

“Futuristic?”

“More like, effective.”

A chuckle escapes before Namjoon can reel it in. “In a condo, maybe. This place is practically ancient. My cousin says I should open it up for tours.” He's embarrassed at his own bad joke, but Yoongi laughs again, and wow, it's way nicer than how they left things a few nights ago. “Have you been finding things okay?”

Yoongi nods. “HO-PE's been helping me when I can't. You were right about the security system. It's like a heat map for household appliances.”

“One week I lost my cell and it turned out to be stuck between the couch cushions. Yes, I said a week.” He shrugs, and Yoongi scoffs a bit. It's... comfortable. “Sorry for the noise. Usually I'm less ambitious about cooking, but I saw that you had, and it inspired me.”

“That's your first mistake. Never trust an astronaut to inspire a fresh-cooked meal. It's all about the microwavables for us.”

“I should have guessed.”

They sort of stare at each other for a second, neither knowing exactly where to take the conversation next. Namjoon is reminded of his college roommate, remembers the awkwardness of sharing a kitchen with some permanently hungover frat boy, trying to make mealtime conversation over his collection of empty beer cans. But Yoongi isn't a frat boy, and he hasn't nearly burned the kitchen down. That was Namjoon, and Yoongi probably hasn't eaten yet, was likely hoping to get in and get out without such a mess. He must be hungry.

Namjoon opens his mouth, ready to say something stupid like, 'wanna order in?' But Yoongi is already stepping up the counter, lifting up the lopsided potlid and examining the casualties. Then, “the rice can be salvaged, but I think you're saying goodbye to the pan. Do you have bean sprouts?”

Within minutes, Yoongi has delegated Namjoon to peel a small potato while he cooks a full Korean breakfast. They talk about the luxury of iced coffee and how Namjoon's stove needs replacement burners and how 'the future is cool but shouldn't you have like an android maid to scramble eggs?'

They don't talk about the other thing. Namjoon can wait until Yoongi brings it up.

💫

“No one cares about my hair! This is wholly unnecessary,” Yoongi complains, brushing the abrasive substance into his roots to bleach them. It's not as painful as hair-dyeing used to be, back in the day, but it's still an annoying process to have to do alone.

Just one more reason to miss Seokjin, who loved to do it for him. Used to threaten to bleach his eyebrows while they bickered, or his nose hair. But Seokjin’s not here, so he tries not to think about it. Places a shower cap over his painted locks and sets his watch (a vintage one Namjoon found him) for 7 minutes.

“YOU MAKE A BETTER IMPRESSION WHEN YOU'RE WELL-GROOMED,” HO-PE bleats through a daith earring Namjoon gave him. Yoongi's taken to wearing it around the house, even when he’s alone. Or at work, where he’s not supposed to. So far, no one at the Institute has been brave enough to scold him. They must know the constant chatter helps distract him from the stress of everything else. “YOU DON'T WANT TO BE KNOWN AS THE DISHEVELED TIME TRAVELLER.”

“I don't want to be known as anything. I don't wish to be perceived at all.”

“SAYS THE MAN ON THE COVER OF TIME MAGAZINE.”

“Are you referring to last week, or a hundred years ago?” Yoongi winks, and the AI somehow registers it in the mirror, vibrates through the earring.

“SHOW OFF. ASTRONAUTS ARE ALL THE SAME, IN EVERY ERA.”

The AI is still being used at the Institute, acts as a liaison between Yoongi and the Director. He's positive they're listening in on him, but Namjoon swears he's entitled to his privacy, that the Institute wishes to respect it. It makes no difference either way— his life is no longer his own, and if they don't care that his best friend on earth is a glorified sound-byte, why should he?

He's been living with Namjoon for over a month, time passing so slowly he almost feels as though he's been displaced in time again. It's not that's he's miserable— well, he is miserable, but that isn't Namjoon's fault— it's that there's so much he needs to learn.

The world of 2131 is completely different from the one he left behind. Not that he’s gotten out much to see it, but Namjoon is a wealth of information, loading him up with movies and books and effectively running him through a bootcamp on the future. There are similarities to his own time: people don't dress in silver jumpsuits, for one, actually still wear mostly jeans and classic blazers (if in a few more adventurous colours). They still speak Korean, though sometimes the phrasing is different, or there's a word Yoongi doesn't recognize, or the accent feels off. And the general shape of society looks almost the same, with democracies and influencers and cities and restaurants and everything he's used to... in a way.

Cars drive by themselves. Lights adjust to match people's comfort without them asking. Convenience stores are fully automated. Radio stations are 90% AI, play any request the driver wants and reads whichever news in which they're interested. Garbage cans sort out recycling almost magically.

It's a green society, and Yoongi has never seen the Korean sky so clearly, seen the stars and constellations shining at night. And it would be a perfect Utopia, if it weren't for the rising unemployment Namjoon says still permeates society. Not to mention, the fact that while to Yoongi it all seems outrageously modern, there’s been no major innovation in the last several decades.

Even though science has come so far, the majority of people have lost interest in it, don't see the purpose when they've already found the solution to global warming, so they don't need to conquer space. “Which is the same mistake humans have always made,” Namjoon complained, walking Yoongi through a century of history as if he could absorb all of it at once. “Historically, the world has always been at its worst when people lost curiosity.”

He's an odd duck, Namjoon. A history buff with a scientific mind, and a passion for sharing his discoveries. Yoongi learned early that Namjoon is a sought-after public speaker and a professional debater, both roles that seem so opposite to his calm, aloof demeanor. Though, he's not really that aloof, and while he acts calm, Yoongi can tell there's a constant buzz behind his eyes, a lot going on in his head. They have that in common.

They have a lot in common, actually. Yoongi doesn't like people very much, but his job called for so many public appearances and so much networking that he's learned to be extraverted, act like everybody's pal. It's been a useful skill, considering the circumstances. A good way to hide inside denial, act as if this whole catastrophe has been an opportunity, not a trauma.

Anyway, he expected to fake his way through a cordial friendship with Kim Namjoon. At the start, he did, letting the man call him hyung within the first week and cooking half his meals. Almost like he was wooing him, when he really just wanted to make sure the Institute didn't place him on suicide watch. But Namjoon is good company, when he isn't lost in a chronicle about the American election of 2024.

His phone rings. Well... his CellBit makes a dinging sound, and suddenly Namjoon's whole body projects out of it, like a holographic doll on the bathroom sink. Yoongi waves his hand, inviting him to speak.

“Ah, have I interrupted something?” Namjoon questions, tiny eyes fixed on Yoongi's hair.

His cheeks heat up as he realizes the man can see him, and the shower cap. “I'm almost done. You're positive I don't need to wash this out?”

“No need. It absorbs right into the roots.”

“And into my brain?”

Tiny Namjoon laughs. “I hope not, or else I’d be halfway to vegetable by now.” He did his own hair last night, showing Yoongi the process. Yoongi still doesn't believe it could be that easy, but that’s the future, or whatever.

“Hyung,” Namjoon pulls him back, “are you sure you're ready for tonight? The Director says we can still postpone if you're not—”

“I've done interviews before.”

“I know,” Namjoon concedes. “But this is... bigger.”

Bigger in the sense that Yoongi is about the be revealed to the whole new world, on a channel that broadcasts across the entire planet. Well, revealed and speaking, since the media has already caught wind of his arrival, have plastered his face across every magazine and billboard he’s come across. He's been put through the ringer in practice conferences for the last few weeks, and no one seems to understand how he's so calm under the pressure.

The Director called a few days after Yoongi settled in to the house. She told Yoongi that it was entirely up to him, but he still had a job with the Institute if he wanted one. Which he did, since if he was going to be stuck in an unfamiliar time, he might as well spend that time doing what he does best.

The only condition: a tour. KARI needs funding, as space programs so often do, and news of Yoongi's arrival has taken the world by storm. They want to ship him all around the country, maybe even overseas. Have him speak at conferences and universities and restore excitement in the space program so that they can join forces with their kin and build a new International Space Station. Science may have come a long way since Yoongi left, but space exploration has so much further to do. And he can be part of it, if he wants to. Contribute to its success.

But first, he needs to make an entrance. “You keep forgetting, Namjoon-ah, that for me it's only been a month or so since my last media appearance. It's nothing new.”

“I suppose. But a couple months is still a while.”

“Less than a couple decades.”

Again, the tiny Namjoon chuckles, pea-sized hands over his face. “Fair play. In that case, everyone will be here in an hour. You'll be ready?”

Yoongi nods, and that's enough. The hologram sucks back into the CellBit, leaving him alone. Or something like it.

“IS IT TIME TO TAKE THAT THING OFF YET? I WISH TO SEE THE FRUITS OF MY LABOUR.” HO-PE demands.

“You don’t even have thumbs,” Yoongi mutters just as his watch beeps, and he pulls the shower cap off to reveal... a perfectly bleached head of hair. “This seems like it was too easy,” he notes.

HO-PE doesn't laugh, but there's a fondness in its voice as it chimes, “IT'S THE FUTURE. IT’S DESIGNED TO BE EASY.”

🌙

Namjoon knew this day would come, but it seems so soon after Yoongi woke up. He's just barely working out his re-integration plan and already there's a film crew in his temporary home, lights and cameras ready to re-introduce him to the world.

Yoongi looks every bit the part of the acclaimed astronaut, hair freshly bleached and dressed in a formal uniform the Institute sent over for him. It's cut like a fancy Hanbok, but with badges and ribbons representing Yoongi's accomplishments, as well as new decals to twist the old KARI with the new. He looks handsome in it, sitting patiently while a team applies a series of powders to his face, as though he's been through it multiple times before. Which he has, but the typical styles for men during his era were far less flamboyant than the kohl eyeliner and lip gloss he wears now.

“I feel like a K-pop star,” he jokes through the gaggle of makeup artists surrounding him, and Namjoon is once again grateful that their month together hasn't been wasted, that they've been getting along quite well. Then, the astronauts of his day were hired as much for their personality as their smarts. Yoongi knows how to be charismatic, when he needs to throw people off the stress he must feel weighing down on him, both then and now. He's been polite and charming at home, and Namjoon knows full-well he's putting on a show, maybe trying to convince himself as much as everyone else that he's fine, and it's okay. He's coping, and that's all Namjoon can ask him for right now.

He wonders if Yoongi watched the videos he gave him. Were they the reason he demanded to begin conference training so quickly? Is he trying to move on? Or he is just trying to get it over with as soon as possible, distract himself with the media circus?

There's a tap on Namjoon's shoulder. “Aren't you going to introduce me?” Tae asks, dressed in an all-black velvet suit, and Namjoon brings him over to where Yoongi is scowling at his own reflection in the mirror.

“Hyung,” Namjoon hails him. “This is Kim Taehyung. He'll be interviewing you today.”

Yoongi eyes him up and down, a common occurrence around Namjoon's cousin, who inherited all the best genes in the family. It was Namjoon who suggested the radio host (such a waste of his good looks) be the one to interview Yoongi, not only because they too share a cross-time bond, but because they both come from the same city, and Yoongi's faced some challenges in understanding the modern Seoul dialect. Not to mention, Tae has a way of making anyone feel welcome, safe. He won't ask Yoongi anything overly invasive, but he'll still make for an interesting interview.

“Kim?” Yoongi muses right away.

Tae nods. “I practically grew up in this very house, so of course I'm familiar with your story. Though he's always been more interested in the spaceman who blew away.” If anyone else said it, Namjoon would scoff, but from Tae it comes off too nonchalant, non-judgmental. Even Yoongi seems unfazed. “I wanted to visit earlier, but my schedule is rather unyielding.”

“What do you do?”

“I host a nightly radio program in Daegu. So I'll admit, Yoongi-ssi, I find the number of cameras here extremely disconcerting. I hope you'll be patient with me.”

For the first time since he's woken up, Namjoon sees the corners of Yoongi's mouth curve upward, almost at 90-degrees. The small smile reaches his eyes, and it's nothing too joyous, not a huge development... it's just nice to see him look properly comfortable, for once. Maybe excited to meet someone from his home province. “I always wanted to do radio,” he says, his own accent slipping into the more familiar dialect. “I have the face for it.”

“Nonsense!” Tae scoffs, slaps his harm. Yoongi doesn't flinch. “You do have a good voice for it, though. I can tell. Very resonant.”

Yoongi dips his head when he chuckles, a deep sound, and Namjoon notices the special earring on his daith vibrate slightly like the AI is telling him something. He wonders if Yoongi will keep the earring on for the interview, if he feels more confident with an old friend chattering in his ear even if that friend isn't human. Yoongi comes back up and croons, “You're only saying that because we sound the same.”

“And what of it? A man must know his attributes.” A producer waves, catching both of their attention. “Well, time to make our television debut. Are you ready to begin?” Tae asks him, and Yoongi nods, and moments later they're seated on the couches in Namjoon's own living room, both appearing ten times as comfortable as they claim to be.

Tae asks questions about Yoongi's history with the Korean Aerospace Research Institute, why he wanted to do science in the first place. “I didn't,” Yoongi answers, and he's honest. “I wanted to fly away, and space was the furthest I could go. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered I’d need to learn physics.”

The questions go from there through Yoongi's history of space travel, his many missions. Tae doesn't touch upon his marriage, though he does mention sharing a connection to Yoongi's 'old friends', explaining to the audience at home how they're 'practically related.' “That's why you're being subjected to my ugly mug, poor things,” he adds, winking at the camera, all while Yoongi laughs courteously. “I understand you're staying with my cousin now?”

“I am,” Yoongi confirms. “Namjoon has been kind enough to invite me into his home, though I believe we will be traveling soon. Historians love showing off their antiques.”

If there was an audience, they'd laugh. Namjoon imagines countless teenagers and housewives falling for Yoongi's easy charm, his sardonic sense of humour. He'll do well on the tour— Namjoon just hopes he's ready for it.

“I suppose that's as good a segway as any,” Tae determines. “Yoongi-ssi, I'd like to touch upon your current situation. Would you tell the viewers at home in which year you were born.”

Yoongi nods. “If you think they can handle it. I'm '93 line. That is to say... 1993.”

He knew that, but Tae still makes a face like it's unbelievable, which it is. “You don't appear to be a century and a half old. What's your skincare routine? Witchcraft?”

There's a pause while Yoongi blinks, eyes glazing suddenly. Namjoon's heart drops into his stomach, and he prays that Yoongi's silence isn't an indication of a trigger, another breakdown. But then Yoongi scratches his ear, sniggers quietly, and Namjoon realizes it's just the earring again.

What could it be saying?

“Ah, it's nothing so supernatural, I'm afraid to say. I'm 29, physically.”

“And how is that possible?”

Swallowing before he speaks, Yoongi back slightly, folds his hands together in his lap. To anyone who doesn't know him, he'd seem utterly composed. Not that Namjoon knows him particularly well, but he's witnessed Yoongi in crisis, gotten to know a couple of his tells. This is tough for him, and yet he answers: “My most recent mission was in 2021, aboard the ISS. A companion and myself were aboard a smaller vessel when a satellite hit a piece of the station, causing an explosion. We were pushed out of orbit in the blow, and probably should have been sent adrift deeper into space, but...” He licks his lips. “The concept is new to me, but there was an excess of gravity in the way of our trajectory. A massive draw, but in a small package. Like a tiny black hole. We were sucked inside.”

“That would be a gravitational caldera, is that correct?”

“Exactly. We didn't know they existed, back then. And my current understanding is that we don't know much more about them now, since a new station was never built.”

Tae hums, considers his next question (as if he doesn't have them all written down). “If a caldera behaves like a black hole, then how could you be here now? Did you escape it? Or pass through, like a portal?”

“Unfortunately, I can't answer that question,” Yoongi admits, unclasping his hands and leaning up again, sitting tall. “There's so much more research to be done, and so little funding. But I think you can agree that my appearance in the future could be a pretty valuable clue.”

“Extremely valuable. No funding, you say?” Tae raises a brow, and Namjoon has to bite his lip to keep from breaking, recalling the amateur actor his cousin tried to be in high school. The Institute obviously directed him to pose that question. Yoongi answers all the same.

“Yes. I will be appearing in various cities seeking contributions to fund a new study on black matter, which we believe may have a strong connection to calderas like the one from which I came. Perhaps it's too vulnerable to say, but I do have a personal stake in the matter, as my colleague may still be stuck in it, and I'd very much like to retrieve him before another hundred years pass. I don't see many familiar faces nowadays.”

“That's very noble of you. Yoongi-ssi,” Tae indicates the end of the interview, the same producer from before motioning to 'wrap it up. “Thank you so much for your answers and for your passion. For your courage, in what must be an incredibly shocking and almost certainly trying time for you. I hope the world will open its hearts to you, and perhaps even its wallets for the continued study of your arrival.”

“Please, call me hyung,” Yoongi requests, and it's as false as it is charming, but the cameras couldn't possibly pick up that nuance. “I'm over a century older than you, after all.”

Tae giggles, slaps his knee. “How could I forget? Thank you, hyung. And thank you all for watching, and for supporting our planet's most fascinating new visitor. Goodnight.”

The producer cuts the feed, and within seconds, the camera crew is packing up, and Tae is shaking Yoongi's hand. Namjoon stumbles over a knot of wires to reach the two of them, waits for both to stand up off the couch before saying, “You did a terrific job.”

“Are you surprised?” Tae scoffs, turns to Yoongi with a furrowed brow. “Honestly. He doesn't think we're professionals.”

“He wanted me to call the whole thing off,” Yoongi offers freely, his earring buzzing in Namjoon's eye line. “I think he just likes having a private chef.”

It's Namjoon's turn to be offended. “You don't cook that often,” he grumbles, but Yoongi has been more than generous making meals. Says it’s the least he can do while he’s not paying for groceries.

“I can't blame him,” Tae chortles to Yoongi, but throws Namjoon a loaded glance. “By the way, that was a stroke of genius at the end. The whole world's going to love you. Hyung.”

Yoongi shrugs. “It's in my best interest to look friendly. Besides, I'm not opposed to it, Tae-ah. After all, we're practically family.” He grins, but he turns to Namjoon before it can make it to his eyes. “I'm supposed to speak with the Director this evening, to map out an itinerary for the tour. If you'll both excuse me?”

The earring is buzzing like crazy now, and Namjoon can almost make out the hushed AI babbling in his ear. What the hell is it saying to him? “Of course, it's more than fine,” Namjoon reminds him. Yoongi always acts like a squatter in the house instead of a visitor, when he's more than welcome to behave like a tenant. It's not like Namjoon minds. “Try and get some rest tonight, okay, hyung?”

“I always do,” Yoongi confirms. He bows to Tae before strolling over to the producer, thanking the crew on behalf of the Institute. A professional, indeed.

“He's going to crack eventually, Namjoon-hyung,” Tae whispers once Yoongi's out of earshot, and Namjoon whips his head around so fast it nearly blinds him.

“You think so? He seems to be adjusting well, considering the circumstances.”

“And yet,” Tae sighs, watches as the lost astronaut ascends the stairs, abandons them. “He didn't tell a single lie.”

Namjoon nods, accepts his cousin’s warning. Goes to bed wondering what it means.

💫

“Yoongichi, darling, you act as though I've never washed a dish before,” Seokjin flirts in nothing but a hot pink apron and some rubber gloves, and he's getting water all over the floor, but the sight of his sturdy legs and broad, bare shoulders has reduced Yoongi to an ogling mess.

“Hyung, this isn't fair!” he whines, because Seokjin knows that Yoongi's pre-launch isolation starts tomorrow, that he isn't allowed any semblance of sexual activity in preparation for (or during) it. And yet, his husband remains an absolute menace, punishing him for having the audacity to do his job.

Seokjin smirks, turning back toward the kitchen sink and revealing his bare, somehow unassuming ass, juicy and muscular and exactly what Yoongi needs to avoid thinking about right now. Turning his gaze to the tablecloth, Yoongi adjusts himself in his pants and changes the subject. “Thank you for making dinner. You're an amazing chef, as always.”

“Is that all I am to you?”

“Of course not.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “You're pretty good entertainment, as well.”

“Ass well.”

“Do not.”

The night before he leaves for Florida is always a little rushed and a lot stressful. Yoongi's grown accustomed to the isolation protocol, has loaded some new books onto his tablet and packed a deck of cards as well. It gets boring, the week alone, but at least there's Netflix and FaceTime and three hot meals a day. And then he gets to go to space, his favourite destination. But the build-up can be overwhelming, especially when he's going to be away for so long.

He'll be on the ISS for eight months this time, negotiated down from twelve, and Seokjin's been threatening to do something crazy while he's gone like adopt a parrot or buy a camper van. What he doesn't know is that Yoongi has already planned something even crazier: he's designed a house and hired a company to build it. He's giving the blueprints to Seokjin tonight.

Right now. “I have a present for you.”

“Isn't you going away present enough?”

“Fuck you. This is better.”

Yoongi stands and reaches into his back pocket. Seokjin is turned toward him now, which is a blessing since the apron at least covers his more distracting attributes. Somehow, the blueprint is still perfectly rolled as Yoongi passes it to his husband, and fairly small as well. It drops open like a scroll.

“What is this?” Seokjin questions, eyes staring blankly at the sheet in his hand.

“It's our home.”

“No, it isn't.”

After giving him a moment to work it out, Yoongi offers, “It will be. It should be finished by the time I'm back, or at least the shell. We can decorate together.”

“That's not going to happen.

Yoongi blinks. “Yes, Seokjin-hyung. It is.”

“No.”

The kitchen feels bigger now, feels like it's still growing. Water is still gushing out of the sink, soaking Seokjin's hair and splashing into Yoongi's eyes, and suddenly the fluorescent lights are flickering like candles and there's so much space between the two of them, it...

It doesn't make sense, but then Jungkook is standing behind Seokjin, flushing their hips together and rolling, right where Yoongi can see. “What are you doing?” he pleads, but Jungkook is staring him down as his hand disappears beneath the apron, going god knows where, and Seokjin's eyes roll back along with his head onto Jungkook's shoulder and there's water everywhere and—

Yoongi wakes with tears on his cheeks that roll off his chin when he sits up.

“HO-pah?” he squeaks into the darkness, like a child calling for their mother after a bad dream.

Which he is, isn't he?

“YOU'RE HEART-RATE IS RETURNING TO NORMAL,” the AI informs him, hooked up to every vein of Yoongi's body through nothing but the hard cartilage inside his ear. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO DISCUSS YOUR EMOTIONAL STATE?”

“Don't be a dick,” Yoongi chides the smart-alec voice, and perhaps he should open up to it, at least admit that he's been having nightmares since he got to the 22nd century. “I was dreaming about Seokjin.”

The earring vibrates, like a hum. “I CAN INFER FROM YOUR LACK OF AROUSAL THAT THIS WAS NOT A 'WET DREAM' AS YOU HUMANS CALL IT.”

Debating whether to adjust HO-PE's Familiarity Settings, Yoongi shrugs. “It was not. I've been dreaming about his life without me.”

“CLARIFICATION: HIS LIFE WITH JEON JUNGKOOK.”

“Yeah.” He blows out through his teeth. “I'm not jealous.”

“PERHAPS I SHOULD CONDUCT A POLYGRAPH TEST TO ENSURE YOU ARE CORRECT IN THAT ASSESSMENT.”

“You've already done it, haven't you?”

“AFFIRMATIVE. YOU ARE, AS HUMANS SAY, SPEAKING BULLSHIT.”

Yoongi lays back down, rubs his eyes. The suitcase that Namjoon lent him sits packed in the corner of the guest room, ready for their flight. He's looking forward to escaping the house, and with it, the memory of its design. In real life, Seokjin was stunned at the blueprint Yoongi gave him. He never cried, but the tight hold he kept on Yoongi's hand for the remainder of that evening spoke to how touched he was, how excited to start their life.

“As soon as you get back,” he said.

How long did he wait for that?

🌙

Namjoon has always been a nervous flyer. It's not the plane itself he's scared of— both scientifically and statistically, airplanes are the safest form of travel, way better than flying cars. He knows that. Problem is, they're also big and heavy and capable of crashing really hard, so forgive him if he's antsy, okay?

“You were fine in the cab,” Yoongi reminds him, enamored himself by the futuristic version of a vehicle he used to fly. He's sitting by the window, fiddling with the entertainment console and getting excited about the WiFi. “And it flies.”

“I'm used to it in cars.” Someone down the row dings for a flight attendant, and Namjoon jumps.

“Then think of this like... a really big, flying car. That's what I used to tell my cousin. She's six, by the way.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Yoongi chuckles. He leans back in his seat once he realizes that he's never heard of any of the available in-flight movies, and doesn't seem interested in discovering them for the first time. Namjoon tried showing him a Marvel movie a couple weeks ago and he spent the entire thing complaining about how it was just a somehow more expensive remake of the original. “And honestly, the CGI looked way better than this practical shit.”

Here, he gives Namjoon and gentle nudge and suggests, “Why don't you listen to music?”

That's a good idea. Namjoon always has some decent songs loaded onto his CellBit, might as well distract himself somehow. But, “Won't you get bored?”

Pointing to his earring, Yoongi says, “I'm getting a full play-by-play of my body's response to the altitude. Did you know my blood is actually thinner up this high?”

“Can't you tell HO-PE to shut up?”

“Why would I? It's all very interesting,” Yoongi deadpans, and for one blissful moment, Namjoon forgets he's stuck on a tin can 44,000-feet in the sky.

Getting an idea, Namjoon pulls the AirNodule off his CellBit and presses it into his ear. It takes a minute to scroll through his playlist, but eventually, he finds the right album and presses, PLAY. “HO-PE,” he commands, “connect to my CellBit.”

Yoongi makes a questioning face, but his earring buzzes, and it doesn't take long before his already startled eyes round into saucers. “Holy sh...” he starts, jaw dropped.

It's strange. Namjoon's been around Yoongi for a little over a month, and he's known the astronaut's face almost his entire life. Yoongi's features are small, like his frame, and even his wider nose sort of reminds Namjoon of a button. He'd never infantilize the man by calling him cute. Yet... he's sort of pretty right now, lashes fluttering bewilderedly on his angular eyes and pink lips curled into a tiny “o” as he listens to the music HO-PE's playing.

Not pretty. Yoongi is not pretty. He's handsome at best, and practically family. Do. Not. Go. There.

Shoving down his goblin brain, Namjoon solicits, “Know this one?”

Yoongi stares at him. “This is Epik High.”

Namjoon can't hold back a prideful smile. “I've always liked the lyrics.”

“This must be like classical music to you,” Yoongi half-chokes, and Namjoon thinks if he listened close enough, he could hear the astronaut's heart beating halfway out of his chest at the familiarity of his favourite group (at least, according to his file).

Throughout the flight, Namjoon slowly introduces Yoongi to more current music. He gets into it, talking about the unique beats, surprised at the innovation. Namjoon wonders if it's comforting for him to learn that music hasn't gone stale in the last hundred years. That it can still be new and fresh and inspiring. A light in the endless re-orientation he's had to endure.

Comforting for Namjoon, though, is Yoongi's flushed cheeks as he bounces his head along with the tunes, his unaffected smile.

If Yoongi can brave the new world, then Namjoon can brave a couple trips, and by the time they land, he forgets why he was even scared in the first place.

💫

“DON'T BITE YOUR NAILS,” HO-PE chides Yoongi through his barely visible earring, and he wonders once again how it could possibly know, but still rescues his cuticles from the danger of his own teeth. “ARE YOU NERVOUS?”

“’Course not,” Yoongi answers, fiddling with his tie instead. There's a swarm of people rushing around backstage, calling for cues and equipment and probably coming for him next, but it's all in a language he doesn't understand, in a country he's never been to.

Paris is as beautiful as he imagined, but he never imagined it so modern. France has embraced all the technology that threatens to baffle Yoongi, down to its overuse of robotic labour, so it's rare he meets a human face at the various tourist attractions to which Namjoon's taken him. Even now, in the dressing room of the Louvre's conference space, Yoongi isn't entirely confident the co-ordinator who just gave him a five-minute call is made of flesh or iron.

Seokjin used to dream of visiting France. They had plans to rent a car, drive around the countryside and drink at every winery that would let them in, eat all the cheese they could fine. “How does French cheese get so strong?” he asked Yoongi once, while they plotted out the perfect trip. “'From-age', Yoongi-yah, get it?”

Yoongi had elbowed him, perhaps too aggressively. They were in the middle of the travel agency, after all.

In the last several weeks, he's been to a lot of places Seokjin would be furious to have missed. Rome, New York, and Abu Dhabi. Bucket list destinations that are all so different from how Yoongi remembers seeing them in pictures and films. Some places don't even exist anymore, like Hollywood, which now rests under the Pacific Ocean, lost to time.

Not that he gets to really enjoy his travels. He's been whisked from conference to interview to television documentary. Every media outlet wants a piece of Yoongi and his amazing story, and they all ask the same questions, all look at him with the same, poor you-mentality. Most of the questions have nothing to do with the Institute or funding. People don't care how he got to the future, only that he's here now. So they ask what's most surprising, most disappointing. Does he plan to keep working for the agency once he's more settled in? Does he ever want to go to space again? What does he miss most from the earth of his past?

(My husband, he wants to tell them. I miss his stupid puns. Instead, he winks and deadpans, “Twitter.”)

Still, the Director calls often, thanking him for his contribution to the Institute. The media may not care about space exploration, but a number of generous benefactors do. They're disappointed with the misuse of technology nowadays, want to put their resources into looking up, venturing far away. Seeking more information on the calderas that still affect the earth's radio waves, and may hold secrets to traveling beyond their galaxy, or further into the future.

Or back into the past.

Yoongi swallows and checks his reflection in the mirror. He's been good about staying realistic, reminding himself that there's no mathematical or scientific probability that he could ever return to the world he left behind. Good about pushing back the trauma of his arrival and pressing forward into each and every new day. He's been getting to know the new technologies, has gotten used to the strange new culture norms. The fashion of the future isn't particularly appealing, but at least he doesn't need to pick out his own clothes. And he still has HO-PE, so it's not like he's along. He's doing fine.

(The USB key Namjoon gave him almost two months ago still burns through his pocket, but that's no indication of his mental state. He's saving it for a special moment. Wants to give Seokjin the attention he deserves, considering how long he's had to wait for Yoongi to watch the footage. That's all.)

There's a knock at the door. “Come in,” he says, knowing full well who he's about to see.

Namjoon pokes his head in, smiles when he sees Yoongi primped and dressed in a sweater so fluffy it reminds him of Pokemon character. “We're about to start. You ready?”

While Yoongi is the star of their travels, Namjoon has been quite good for the Institute as well. At first, he would stand next to Yoongi at conferences, just to be a familiar face. But then attendees starting asking questions about Yoongi's era that even he couldn't answer, and he had the bold idea to get Namjoon on the mic himself. Namjoon provides great context to Yoongi's adventurous tales, and he's grateful to have the companionship on stage as well as in his travels.

“Have been for a few minutes,” Yoongi swaggers. Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Where are we tomorrow night?”

“It was supposed to be London, but your papers got all mixed up.” That's been an issue. For as many people who are enamored by time travel, there are more who don't believe in it. Who think he's a paid actor, and that the Institute has come up with a clever ruse for more funding. They're only half-right. Still, a number of countries won't accept his updated passport, and even if they do it's only with Namjoon claiming him as a dependant. Or an asset.

“Does that mean we get to stay another night?”

Namjoon's head tilts to the side. It's cute, how he's so big and tall and still looks like a puppy when he's thrown off-guard. “Would you like to?”

Yoongi puts on a smile. “I like the hotel. It's comfortable.”

“You just like chandeliers, don't you?”

“OH HE’S ALREADY GOT YOU PEGGED.” Yoongi scratches his ear to turn down HO-PE’s volume.

Namjoon is perceptive, but he’s wrong about the chandeliers. Yoongi just likes the view from his hotel window, likes how the Eiffel Tower looks just the same as it did a hundred years ago, in the photos he and Seokjin used to text back and forth to each other, asking when?

He considers telling Namjoon that, but they haven’t discussed Seokjin, not since the day they met. “The vibrating beds, actually.”

“QUIT FLIRTING,” HO-PE buzzes, still loud enough that Yoongi’s worries Namjoon can hear.

He doesn’t. “I'll add that to your rider,” Namjoon jokes, and Yoongi's grateful once again that Seokjin's descendants turned out as charismatic as he is. Was. “Now come on, they're all waiting.”

Taking one last look in the mirror (“YES, YOU'RE GORGEOUS, MOVE!”), Yoongi rolls his shoulders back, turns to follow Namjoon into the hallway. Runs through his speech on calderas, reminds himself to mention budgets for the new station. Remembers that he's supposed to be bright-eyed, enamoured by the future. Needs to twist his tragic story into something more appealing, something inspiring.

He doesn't think about HO-PE's little quip. Doesn't think about how handsome Namjoon looks in a soft sweater that almost matches his. How his hair is swept artfully off his forehead the way Yoongi often sees him in the morning. How he walks forward with such power and grace that if they'd never met him, no one would know he nearly knocked over the bust of a Roman general at the Louvre that very afternoon. It was so endearing.

Which Namjoon is, and smart and charming, too. But Yoongi doesn't think of him... like that. Isn't thinking it now. After all, what does an AI know about flirting?

🌙

Fame is a strange thing.

Namjoon is no stranger to the stage, and he’s a fairly well-known name in the history community, at least when it comes to speaking on the last few hundred years. It's not uncommon that someone will pull him aside at a conference to discuss the book he wrote, or request his presence at some Convention. But fame is a whole other creature altogether.

By now, Yoongi is famous. Properly so, to the point that his conferences sell-out within minutes. Late-night talk shows and radio stations keep calling to set up timeslots, and the stewardess on their last flight asked him for a selfie. He's by no means an A-Lister— sadly, scientists will never be recognized as fabulously as actors or musicians— but people know his face. His story. It's no surprise that they'd want a piece of him on top of that, a slice of his clout.

They're eating supper at a classy restaurant in Vancouver. Their window seat allows them a stunning view of the mountain skyline, and Yoongi's already commented on the lights. His makeup is slightly faded from their afternoon event, and he's exchanged the clothes that the Institute sent him for a clean black sweater and a comfy pair of slacks (they ended up shopping in Paris, and Yoongi was devastated that Fear of God went out of business, but Namjoon helped him find a few other minimalist black pieces he could live in). His golden blonde hair is parted just to the side, and he's chattering about some ridiculous question a reporter asked about his animal preference, 'cats or dogs?'

“I still think 'sugar glider' was a cop-out answer,” Namjoon heckles him, trying not to think about how his skin glows when he laughs.

Yoongi bats his eyelashes, waggles his brows. “I have no idea what you're talking about. Sugar gliders are nifty little beasts. Very cute.”

“Are they even pets?”

“Yes! Seokjin had two in college!” His face falls instantly, but he recovers just as fast. “Besides, I couldn't just say 'both'. That would make me seem boring.”

He's not wrong, so Namjoon lets it go, focuses on the incredible sashima feast in front of him. They're both quiet eaters, Yoongi savoring each bite while Namjoon falls victim to his tendency to let his mind wander. What's he got going on, in that genius brain of his? Namjoon knows from Institute records that Yoongi saw a therapist, that he struggles with depression and anxiety, minor OCD. But the Yoongi in front of him doesn't let on, lowers his gaze, and chews quietly while he eats. Makes charming conversation between sips of the blueberry-flavoured saki he says is disgusting, but can't leave unfinished lest he comes off impolite.

Perhaps it's muscle-memory, behaving as this character. Or maybe, Yoongi's not all that different from the bold, brave astronaut the media believes him to be. Namjoon hasn't decided yet.

The window flashes. Or... a light flashes just outside the window, and then somebody calls Yoongi's name from across the restaurant. Then there's more flashing, and the server comes over to ask if they're okay, if they'd like to be led out through the back, and just as Namjoon comes to the realization that they're surrounded by paparazzi, Yoongi steels himself, fists a napkin in his hands.

It's all the anxiety Namjoon read about, captured in the way Yoongi forces a grimaced smile, shivers as he waves at the countless cameras. He's still sitting, but he looks half-prepared to make a run for it. Which they might need to do, since one of the reporters is making a move into the ring of paparazzi, microphone in hand, and Yoongi's crestfallen eyes meet Namjoon's as if to beg, 'Get us out of here.'

Namjoon drags his chair out from the table and stands, grasps Yoongi's stiff fingers, and draws him closer than he should considering the many cameras recording them. He doesn't know much about the restaurant layout, but he did see a patio out the side door where they can wait out the hoopla.

It should be easy, but the same paparazzo who tried to approach them snatches Yoongi's elbow, twists him around, and demands in English, “Just a few moments of your time, Mr. Min!”

Namjoon sees fucking red.

💫

It's a nothing thing.

The man grips Yoongi by the arm and asks his questions, and it shouldn't make Yoongi's stomach churn, shouldn't reduce him to a mess of stuttering and apologies. It's nothing he hasn't been through before, when he'd speak at universities or get recognized in coffee shops, but he's not sure how to handle this level of excitement in response to his simply existing.

They just wanted a nice meal. The Institute warned them that there could be incidents like this, especially considering the controversy of Yoongi's claim to fame, but he's never lived in a world where an astronaut gets attacked by paparazzi the same way Idols do back in his own era.

The man isn't even holding him that aggressively, but the way his fingers wrap around Yoongi's elbow feels possessive in a way that makes his skin crawl. He feels himself freeze up, and he's been counting on HO-PE to keep him relaxed enough to fake his way through a nice dinner with Namjoon but the AI's strict offerings of, “STAY CALM, DO NOT ENGAGE,” don't do anything to cool him down. He surveys the crowd for a pathway to safety, but there's no escape.

He won't break down. Not when he's upheld a perfectly chill persona since his first appearance in the public eye and the whole Institute is counting on him to keep it that way. But he can't force the words out to politely decline this “reporter's” guerilla interview technique, and he can practically feel all the blood draining out of his face.

And then... Namjoon tugs gently on his hand.

Namjoon, whose own cheeks are burning red and whose eyes could spit out fire. But he doesn't scold the reporter, doesn't make a scene. Just draws Yoongi close, wraps a steady arm around his shoulders, and cocoons him through the parade of paparazzi. Guides him to a patio and requests the stewardess to lock the door.

She closes the blinds as well, and the patio overlooks the ocean. They're alone.

There are no more flashing cameras, but the moon is big and round and glowing in the nighttime sky, painting diamonds on the water. Namjoon doesn't let Yoongi go as he eases them closer to the pretty view, but his heavy arm slips down Yoongi's shoulders so he can intertwine their hands. He's so warm.

“Are you okay?” he asks in no more than a whisper.

“'Course,” Yoongi answers, even while HO-PE complains about his racing pulse, his excessive perspiration. “You're useful in a crisis.”

“That was the second scariest moment of my life,” Namjoon grouses, though he still looks more angry than upset. “I might vomit.”

Yoongi exhales something like a laugh. “What was the scariest?”

“My year nine school play. They cast me as the Friar in Romeo and Juliet. I threw up in the sleeping potion.”

“Poor Juliet.”

Namjoon chuckles with him, and his skin is slowly fading back to its usual tan. He looks golden in the starlight, with a crown of silver hair, and his stature makes him positively regal.

Yoongi swallows. “I don't know what happened. I would have just stood there for ages. Like a deer in the headlights.”

“At least you didn't cry. That would be embarrassing.”

It takes a second for Yoongi to work out that Namjoon isn't serious. That's he's cutting the tension with a joke, just like Seokjin does. Strangely, it's more calming than anything else he's done, and Yoongi revels in the familiarity of the gentle chiding. Knows he could push back in return, but it’s been too rattling an evening, and he knows Namjoon won’t mind a little softness.

“Small mercies,” Yoongi smirks instead, and Namjoon beams back, still holding his hand, and—

Huh. Maybe it isn't a nothing thing at all.

🌙

The hotel in Tokyo is modern even by Namjoon's standards, which is unsurprising in a country that prides itself in constant innovation. It's almost intimidating to be tasked with introducing Yoongi to the technology in his suite, when Namjoon himself has only seen it in movies. The fridge cooks meals automatically, and the comforter on the bed tucks itself in. It's all totally frivolous, and nothing he'd ever think to put in his own home, but why not live luxuriously when somebody else is paying for it?

If anything, Namjoon is more overwhelmed by the hotel than Yoongi is. “It's like a dream,” he tells Namjoon. “I'm just trying to go with the flow.”

Today's conference was a massive success, raising enough money for the Institute that the Director called them both to say she was impressed. It's almost too easy to capture people's wallets with Yoongi's story, though who wouldn't be captured by the time traveler? He's brave and cool and full of anecdotes about the past. His voice is low and drawling and easy to listen to, and on top of everything, he's young. Handsome. Multiple print offerings are coming in (which they keep refusing), and a film producer even offered a million-dollar check to the Institute if Yoongi would appear in his new film. He's becoming quite the celebrity.

And yet, he's sitting in Namjoon's hotel room which rolling cart to deliver cans of beer straight into their hands. “Now this is what I imagined the future would be like,” Yoongi approves, popping the tab. He takes a sip. “Hm.”

“They had Sapporo in your time, right?” Namjoon asks. They're both in silk pajamas that came with their rooms, sitting on a blue couch that feels like velvet. That's just about all there is in the entire room, but Namjoon knows exactly what the remote on the coffee table next to him can do, is waiting for the perfect moment to show his guest.

“I remember it tasting different. Then, the last time I had it was on the station, and everything tastes different in space.”

“Really?”

Yoongi nods. “Even water. It's weird, but you get used to it. And I'm not a picky eater.” He chuckles. “Jimin used to hate it. I remember once they sent dried pork up, and he was so excited, and as soon as he took a bite he nearly hurled. Actually went live from the station to complain publicly, and the Director at the time had a fit. We were all afraid they'd fire him, force him into a pod back to earth.”

“Why didn't they?”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi shrugs. “He convinced the Director that any media attention would benefit the Institute. He was right. A ton of people subscribed to the YouTube channel, and after Jungkook got the job making videos for it, we started earning money just from streams. It was crazy. Even NASA called asking for tips.”

Namjoon sips his own beer, wincing a bit at the taste. He's never been much of a drinker. Yoongi, on the other hand, chugs half his can in a single go. “You don't talk about them much.”

“Who, my friends?” Yoongi gives no indication that he’s offended by Namjoon’s statement. “I talk about them, like, every day.”

“In interviews. Or when you're on stage.”

Another long drink, and Yoongi's waving down the kitchen cart, accepting another can. “You don't ask about them.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Makes no difference.”

There's silence, but it echoes in the grand, empty room. Namjoon swallows. “I guess I wonder how you're coping with all this,” he admits.

Yoongi doesn't seem fazed by that either, which is a surprise considering how emotional he was when he first realized his predicament. It's been almost 3 months since he reached the future, since he learned that he was stuck here, could never go back to the life he knew or the people he loved. And he's right: he discusses his story often, but that's all at surface value, a means to support the Institute. How is he coping on his own?

He sets his drink down, surprisingly. Takes a long breath and blows out hard. Then, he reaches a hand to his ear, pulls out the earring that Namjoon knows has HO-PE in it. Shows him. “Is it weird that this is my best friend?” he muses, colour filling his pale cheeks. He’s so pretty.

Namjoon shakes his head, hoping his goblin brain shakes out with it. “No.” Yoongi makes another face. “I mean it. Lots of people nowadays date AIs. You're not exactly unique.”

“That's a thing?”

“Oh yeah,” Namjoon confirms, but darkly.

“Fuck. Okay, that's definitely weirder.” Snorting, Yoongi adds, “You don't do it, do you?”

“I promise you I do not.”

“Thank god.”

Softening his voice, Namjoon finally takes the opportunity to ask, “What does it say to you? I’ve noticed you keep it on during interviews.”

There’s a brief pause before Yoongi answers. “He’s programmed for idle comments. Jimin’s idea, because things used to get so quiet on the station while we were working. Space is quiet in general, and that was weird for me, since I’m married to one of the loudest people in the world. Was married.” His head tilts, eyes gazing off at the bare wall in front of them. “HO-PE’s was never a substitute for Seokjin. But he's the only thing here that actually knew me back then. He... or it, rather... keeps me grounded.”

“Grounded?”

“Maybe that's the wrong word for it.” Yoongi picks his can up again and brings it to his mouth, settles it against his bottom lip, all pink and slightly pouted. “Maybe it's the opposite. Maybe I'm just using it to avoid the fact that I'm stuck here, pretend it's all...” He trails off.

“A dream?” Suddenly, Namjoon is reminded of Tae's warning.

Yoongi shrugs. “I know it's not. I need to get used to it.”

“You will.” Their eyes meet, and Yoongi's match Namjoon's in their surprise. He wasn't supposed to say that, probably, but now that they're talking... well, this could good for Yoongi, right? “Look, hyung, you've been impressing everybody. But that's because nobody expects you to have it all together.”

“Wow. Thanks, Namjoon-ah.”

“No, no... I'm saying this all wrong. I'm trying to say that it's amazing. You're amazing, but you're also in a really ridiculous situation. You're allowed to talk about that, work through whatever it is you're feeling.”

“And you want me to talk to you?”

“Not necessarily. It can be with him, if you want.” Namjoon points to the earring in Yoongi's palm. “Or whoever you want. Just... don't hide from this, hyung.”

“Okay,” Yoongi agrees. “It's just... it's a little bit scary.”

“Then be a little bit scared.”

“Okay.”

After another long silence, Namjoon actually groans. The air in the hotel room feels cold and his beer's gone warm and Yoongi is so still next to him that it feels like he could turn to stone. “I'm sorry. I know this is already so hard for you. I don't mean to make it harder.”

“You're not.” Finally moving, Yoongi shifts closer and rests a palm on Namjoon's knee. He's still got an echo of his usual persona on— collected and polite and just a little too charming— but his half-smile doesn't come off as false. “I need a bit of tough love sometimes. I tend to...” He tilts his head side to side, chewing on his next words, like he's not sure he's allowed to say them. “I get stuck in my own head. I'm good at hiding it. Seokjin didn't always know how to drag me out, but he made it easier not to slip in the first place. Guess I've been slipping.”

Namjoon doesn't let himself look at how Yoongi compared him to his former husband. Can't, when they're sitting so close together now, and Yoongi smells like the tangerine body wash the hotel made bespoke for him, looks more real than Namjoon's ever seen him. “Like I said, you're doing really well.”

Yoongi nods. “Thank you.” He drifts back away, to the opposite side of the couch.

“Do you want to talk to someone? I can hire you a therapist, or—”

“I'd rather talk to you, if that's okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, hyung, that's great.” They're both smiling now. It's strange, how Namjoon only met this man a few months ago, and yet Yoongi feels as close to him as Tae does. As close as anyone ever has, in his entire life. Perhaps it's because of the documentaries he’s seen, the stories Namjoon made up in his youth. Or maybe...

No. He can't think like that. Yoongi is stuck here, and Namjoon's been entrusted to help him find his way. He can't turn their strange bond even stranger with the feelings threatening to bloom out of his chest, feelings based on nothing except a few stilted conversations, decent breakfasts, airplane rides. His job is bigger than that, and Yoongi deserves better than that. At least for now.

Funny, Namjoon thinks, It's not the right time.

“I want to show you something,” he chimes, and Yoongi's still smiling, and finally he reaches for the remote. Namjoon doesn't know much about basketball, but he does know from his research that Yoongi used to love it, even had matches livestreamed on the space station.

He also knows that Japanese projectors have particularly innovative sports channels.

He clicks a button on the remote, and suddenly the TV Guide glows in the center of the room. Clicking around a bit more (Yoongi keeps glancing back and forth between his hands and the ‘screen’, completely enthralled), Namjoon finds what he's been looking for, and changes the channel.

Tall men run back and forth across the hotel living room, dribbling the ball and passing it to each other. One of the players bounds straight up to the net, which has materialized in front of them, just like the other holograms, and when he scores a point a projected crowd of fans stands up cheering, the hotel alive with happy screams.

And Yoongi is flabbergasted, chin hanging down and eyes wide open. “What the—?” he tries, opening and closing his mouth until he can muster, “What the fuck?”

Namjoon grins. “See? Maybe things aren’t so bad here in future?”

He doesn't get a verbal response, but Yoongi's expression of absolute delight is encouraging enough. It's even more encouraging when he abandons his Sapporo, gets into the game. Cheers almost unconsciously for a team Namjoon knows was his favourite, once upon a time.

It's encouraging, and that's enough.

💫

I let my guard down, Yoongi thinks at the podium, shivering as tears threaten to streak down his burning cheeks.

He was doing perfectly fine pretending this was all a dreamland, all the countries and talk shows and investors with ulterior motives. Pretending like his actions here weren't permanent, and one morning he'd wake up back in his own time, to the smell of Seokjin making breakfast from the kitchen. In the meantime, he could focus on work and tell everyone to call him hyung and none of it would matter once he's free. Which was denial, and it was lonely, but at least Yoongi could stand in front of foreign crowds and joke around with HO-PE and not think about the fact that this is what his life is now.

What he wouldn’t give for that denial now.

The conference was shaping up to be another success story. They're in Daegu, Yoongi's own hometown, and it's been such a treat so see how the city has grown, developed into a leading force within the country. It's unexpected, but Yoongi let his chest puff out as he stepped onto his platform, so proud to be back in the place he once represented.

While there have been the usual naysayers of his plight, most people are thrilled to reach into their pockets and help support the Institute. So far, Yoongi's answered questions about international relations, how they'll work with NASA and Roscosmos as well as other space programs around the world to build a new ISS. Boring questions, and Namjoon's been handling a lot of them, since he has the amazing skill of spinning dull answers into gold.

And then a local reporter raised his hand and stood up in the middle of the crowd to ask, “What would your former husband think of you dating his great-great grandson?”

“P-pardon?” Yoongi stuttered, because he genuinely didn't think he heard the question right. Sometimes, the live translation tools have trouble with context, though so far they've been incredibly accurate, especially within Asian languages. So, it's unlikely he misunderstood.

“I'm referring to your relationship with Mr. Kim. Is it a romantic connection, or purely sexual?”

Namjoon was at the podium before Yoongi could blink again. “What you have inferred about my relationship with Mr. Min is incorrect. Our relationship is strictly—”

“You own him.” The reporter was close to the front of the stage, so Yoongi could see his face clearly through his dampening eyes, see the cruel smirk on his lips. “I mean, legally speaking, he doesn't yet have individual rights. Am I correct?”

“Mr. Min is—”

“Or is it the Institute that possesses him? Since they're parading him for cash.”

The conference MC, an Android in a bright yellow gown, stepped to center stage. “PLEASE MOVE ON TO THE NEXT QUESTION.” Stepped back.

The reporter nodded, but didn't concede his microphone. “My apologies, Yoongi-ssi,” he sneered. “I must have been mistaken. It's just that the two of you appear to be very close, and it would be unusual to create such a bond with someone who could be your own descedant if the situation were slightly different.” More than slightly, Yoongi thought, but didn't mention it. Probably should have. The reporter continued, “I am curious, however, about your own knowledge of your former husband's relationship. He married a mutual friend of yours, isn't that right?”

Next to him, Namjoon was shaking too, and Yoongi had never seen him so... furious? He's gotten to know his benefactor in their time together, and by now he can easily say they're friends. Hell, Yoongi removed his HO-PE earring weeks ago and still hasn't put it back in, a testament to their relationship, the trust he has for the younger man. They haven't spoken much more about his former life or about his worries in the future, but they've been getting closer to it, Yoongi admitting when he feels anxious or mentioning memories from the time long passed.

Yet, Namjoon was angry, and on his behalf. And it's was nice to feel so sheltered, supported, but Yoongi doesn't make a habit of letting others fight his battles for him.

He stepped back in front of the podium before his companion could make a scene. “My husband in the 21st century believed that I was dead,” he said, and half the crowd made an awing sound. He couldn't stand the pity, but he accepted it. “Yes, he remarried. A friend of ours also worked in the space program, and I understand they became closer after I left.”

“His husband, Jeon Jungkook, was in a relationship with your crewmate Park Jimin, isn't that also correct?”

“Their relationship was made public by the Institute's media channel at the time. Yes.”

“And Mr. Park,” the reporter mused with a shit-eating grin, “was with you after the ISS explosion. You were both sucked into the caldera.”

Yoongi clenched his fist, almost broke, but then... he felt Namjoon place an open palm on the small of his back. And Namjoon fumed, vibrated all the way to his fingertips, but the touch helped. Grounded Yoongi enough to grit his teeth and answer, “Yes. I've mentioned that multiple times.”

Just when it should have all been over, moved on, it happened:

“Because Mr. Park Is still in there, right? Because you abandoned him?”

Namjoon was on the reporter within seconds, ranting in an appropriately scholarly fashion about 'the meaning of respect', but in so much rage he could combust with it. Yoongi found himself frozen, still in front of the podium and the hundred of CellBits filming what might be a breakdown, if he let himself fall apart like that.

He didn't let it happen, but he cried anyway. Tears dripped off his chin and soaked through the front of his ornate white blouse. “HO...” he started in a whisper, but his AI companion isn't with him anymore, can't ease the tension with its vulgar tongue or sharp distractions. And Namjoon still screaming on the podium, eyes on fire, and Yoongi's fists still clenched so hard that his bitten nails dug into his palms and he kept crying why am I crying it's just one rude question it's no worse just because it's true because you did you abandoned him no wonder Seokjin didn't wait for—

Someone is pulling him off-stage. They're holding him by his waist and dragging him down an empty corridor, through the countless Android techies running the show.

Whoever it is, they’re so much bigger than Yoongi, and yet they touch him with so much care. He feels… safe.

They press him gently into a plush chair, and Yoongi recognizes the warm light of his dressing room, the clothes he changed out of in lieu of an embroidered suit the Institute sent for him.

“Drink this,” a deep, almost familiar voice orders, and Yoongi accepts the glass of water given to him, consumes it in just a few sips. “Good. Now, breathe.” He tries, but the air doesn't come in past his lips, so he tries again. Nothing.

Oh, god! I can't breathe... I can't... I can't...

A single finger appears in his line of vision. “Blow on this,” the handsome, dimpled face commands him, and Yoongi blows the digit away, and then a second later—

It’s like coming out of the water for air. Inhale. Blow. Inhale. Bl— no, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

“Joon?” Yoongi manages to whimper, and, Namjoon is smiling, rubbing hands down his bare arms— when did he take off my jacket? “Are you... I thought you were—?”

“It's over. The conference is over, hyung. Don't worry, I took care of it.” He's wearing an all-too-bright smile for the situation, but Yoongi knows he's doing it out of kindness, coddling him.

“Just like me,” he almost laughs, even though it comes out in a sob. “I'm made of glass.”

“No... no, hyung, don't say that.”

“It's okay. I know I'm not real to them. I'm not even supposed to be here.”

“Stop!” Namjoon exclaims, and suddenly Yoongi realizes that Namjoon has been kneeling down in front of him, clasping both his hands. “Don't talk about yourself like that. You are real, hyung. You have always been real.”

“But I don't belong here.”

“Sure you do—”

“I don't.” Yoongi drops his head, lets it hang over his chest as permed blonde hair falls over his eyes. “I should have stayed with him.”

Namjoon sighs. “Seokjin?”

“Jimin.” Blinking more tears out of his eyes, Yoongi blubbers, “I left him there alone, Namjoon-ah.”

“You were trying to save him.”

Yoongi can't respond, even if Namjoon might be right. Because yes, maybe he was trying to get Jimin home, but he ran away instead. Now neither of them are home, and they'll never be home. Not really.

But... Yoongi is here. He's terrified and boiling and disassociating half the time, but... he's here, and Namjoon is looking at him with such a gentle expression he's overcome with it. Overcome with how this man, this stranger, took him in for no reason. Knew his tragedy and knew he couldn't possibly cope with it, but still opened up his home and said, “You're welcome here.”

Only Namjoon isn't a stranger. Namjoon is...

Family. And maybe the reporter is right. Maybe it's bizarre that he can look at Seokjin's heir— a descendent that might have been both of theirs if things turned out the way they planned— and see something more. Maybe it's wrong, even.

It doesn't feel wrong, Namjoon's hands holding his. Namjoon's arm around his waist. Namjoon's smile, that should be so condescending, but just fills Yoongi with assurance, it’s so honest.

Seokjin always had a way of calming Yoongi down when no one else could. Easing him back to earth even when his mind brimmed so heavily with darkness he couldn't see through it, couldn't even imagine what came after. It was like he lived in this bright, happy house, but someone pushed him into a pitch-black room and locked the door.

‘Then find a key,’ Seokjin told him, except he was that key. Yoongi told him once, in their vows, watched as his brand-new husband’s ears lit up. His brightest memory.

Yoongi is here now, with Kim Namjoon. And it's dark. Tragic and scary and pitch black, and he's not sure he'll ever escape it, but… maybe Namjoon could be the key, too. He won’t know unless he tries.

🌙

Namjoon takes Yoongi home, because he asked. He and Tae share a rental in Daegu, and Namjoon uses it when he travels, accustomed to the conference life from his history presentations. It's small, and it's not as modern as the Seoul house, but the Kims have always had a penchant for old, forgotten things. Vintage upholstered loveseats and gauzy curtains. Embroidered lampshades. Real wood floors. Most of the stuff in the apartment is over 200 years old, but Tae's always been good at restoring the items, making them feel new.

If Namjoon had a talent like that, he'd use it on Yoongi. Restore him to the man he was before time dilated, set him adrift. That ship sailed a long time ago.

Here, Yoongi pads through the guest bedroom, unpacking his suitcase into the empty drawers. “How long are we staying?” he asks Namjoon, who's leaning against the doorway.

“A week, believe it or not. We were supposed to do a side trip to Gwangju,” he admits, hoping Yoongi won't be mad about it, “but I thought we should put it off a while longer. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees, eyes still pink from crying. “Good idea.”

The astronaut finishes unpacking in front of Namjoon, and then sets his pajamas on the bed, a grand four-poster monstrosity that Tae bought at an auction. He stands there, turns his head to Namjoon.

“I'll let you sleep,” he says, makes to leave.

“Wait,” Yoongi calls gently.

Namjoon turns back slow, watches while Yoongi sits carefully down on the bed and pats the space next to him. “Can you... can we just...” He sighs. “Just talk to me. About anything. Please?”

As if Namjoon could ever turn him down. He paces across the room like it's a moat, ready to fell any monster that dare stand between him and his visitor. Sitting down next to Yoongi, he feels the time traveler's shoulders drop, hears him exhale softly. “You know,” Namjoon tells him, “you're like an urban legend in our family.”

Yoongi laughs, and it's such a wonderful sound. Low and sweet and so, so fond. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Namjoon leans back on his hands, lets his gaze wander as he tells the story: “I grew up in the house you designed, but all I knew was that it belonged to my great-great grandfathers. There were dozens of stories about them, especially since Jungkook worked at the Institute. And we had their home videos, so I always felt like I knew them, even though they died before I was born.” Yoongi's shoulders tense again, and Namjoon wants to ask if he's viewed the footage himself, but he's pretty sure he knows the answer.

Instead, he continues, “They mentioned you in their videos. And Jimin. Talked a lot about you, but never about where you went. I always preferred hearing the story from my great-granddad.”

“That was their son?”

Namjoon nods. “Is their son. He's still alive.”

Yoongi gasps. “I didn't think—”

“I didn't tell you. He's alive, but... he's not all there anymore. I'm not sure he even knows who I am.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I visit him sometimes. We can go, if you'd like.” Yoongi shrugs, and Namjoon doesn't blame him. It's hard enough to go himself. “Before his memory went, Granddad was this ray of sunshine. He loved dancing and singing trot music, and he used to wear these colourful, acorn-sized belt bags that looked like flowers. It's not that he never had moments of melancholy, but he always managed to brighten the mood. And he was full of stories, but his favourite was 'The Littlest Spacemen.'“

He catches the moment Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Let me guess: Jimin and I?”

“Who else? He knew about the two of you, obviously, from being their kid. But the story was never about your accomplishments or flights or even who you were to Seokjin and Jungkook. It was always about where you were now. He'd make up stories that you two were building a hotel on Mars, or flying a hot air balloon across the Milky Way. He said that the dancing astronaut liked to tango underneath the spotlight of stars, and that the grumpy astronaut knew how to drive comets.”

“The grumpy astronaut?”

“I know. He must have been psychic.”

“Yah!”

Namjoon, despite himself, actually giggles. His hand lifts as if to slap Yoongi on the knee, but he stops before landing the motion, replaces it back on the bed. “There were a lot of documentaries about your crew, back in the day, and I imagine his parents made him watch them. But I've seen those documentaries too, and the interviews they show of you don't have much personality, so I think he must have learned about you from Seokjin.”

“So, that's my legacy? Some mean, lonely fantasy?” Yoongi's face falls.

Shit, I didn't mean— “Hyung, you've got it all wrong! I loved the grumpy astronaut!” Well, he didn't mean it like that either, but at least Yoongi looks more bewildered than anxious now. “He was quiet a lot of the time, but he was kind. He always fixed the shuttle without anyone asking, because he was good with his hands and really, really generous. In one story, he even built a new spaceship for a family of aliens, just because they wanted to go on a vacation to the sun.” Namjoon shrugs. “I used to write more stories about you. I mean, they were about both of you, but you were always my favourite.”

“How come?”

“Because you felt real,” Namjoon admits. “The dancing astronaut was funny and popular, and I know Tae liked him a lot. But the grumpy astronaut— you made up songs and took care of the ship and you were always the one with a plan to go home. In every single story, you tried to get home.”

“Your stories or your granddad's?”

“Both. But don't you see, hyung? Granddad's stories... he didn't make them up. His dad must have told them to him, when he was a kid.”

Frowning, Yoongi slumps a bit. “You can't prove that.”

“I guess I can't.”

They're silent with one another, and Namjoon lets Yoongi breathe, watches as his pink cheeks cool back down to the smooth, pale skin he's come to know. It's been a terrible day, with the conference and Yoongi's breakdown— only his second since he reached the future— but at least now it feels like they can both rest. Take the time they need to decide what happens next.

“Namjoon-ah,” Yoongi whispers, “thank you for saving me today.”

Namjoon's heart echoes in his stomach. “You would have done fine on your own.”

“I know. But I’m glad I didn’t have to.”

Thump, thump, thump. “I didn't do anything. The conference ended. I doubt anyone noticed.”

“You yelled at that reporter.”

“I... didn't mince words.” Namjoon corrects him, winks as soon as he says it, then flinches at how humiliating he is.

Yoongi chuckles, doesn’t seem embarrassed to be stuck with him. “It still made me feel safe.” His smile fades, replaced with something Namjoon can't decipher. “You make me feel safe.”

“It's my job.” Namjoon leans forward now, clasping his hands in his lap. “I was so excited when the Institute contacted us. I mean, I nearly had a heart attack and Tae needed to talk me out of an existential crisis, but after I pulled myself together... you were like a miracle, hyung. You are a miracle.”

The silence is... different, now. Objectively, Namjoon didn't say anything Yoongi hasn't already heard from countless reporters or talk show hosts, but he's looking at Namjoon like it's the first time he's ever heard it. Or maybe... maybe it's the first time he's believed it. That would be... wow.

Namjoon finally lets his hand reach out, lets it float over to where Yoongi's is rested on his thigh, thumb picking at the cuticles of his index finger. He threads their fingers together, listens as Yoongi loses his next breath, watches as he turns his head.

The astronaut speaks so carefully that Namjoon almost can't process the words. “You're nothing like him, you know. I don't mean that in a bad way. But you see, I thought Seokjin-hyung was the only person who knew how to deal with me. When we met, I barely had friends, and I'd certainly never been in love. But he got me to open up, reach out to people. For the first time in my life, I was so happy, but I was also terrified of losing him. And now I have lost him, and I'm still terrified, but... you calmed me down today. You stayed with me. From the start, you've been right here.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Namjoon promises. Needs Yoongi to believe that, too.

They're still looking at each other. Namjoon can feel Yoongi's warm breath brush against his face. “I want to keep reaching out. I want to be happy.”

“Good. That's good, hyung.”

“Namjoon-ah...”

Before he can stop and think about how inappropriate this all is, how rushed and strange and unfounded, Namjoon crosses the invisible line between his lips and Yoongi's. Kisses him, because he's been thinking about it for months and has thought about Yoongi for years before that and yes, maybe it's wrong to fall in love with his own ancestor's ex-husband but the situation is so twisted and bizarre that there are no rules to make him stop it.

And Yoongi kisses back. Practically dives into Namjoon's arms and shoves hands under his shirt and presses him back against the bed.

“Do you want this?” he asks, cheeks glowing red again but this time not from crying.

“Yes. Please, I want you.”

The pajamas are still neatly folded atop the well-made bed, and Yoongi throws them aside along with his own tear-stained shirt. Then Namjoon's, and then their pants, and then every other barrier that stands between skin-on-skin and tongues curled into each others’ mouths and fingers still clenched tight above Namjoon's head as Yoongi fucks him, deep and desperate and more careful than he expected.

When it's over, Namjoon pulls Yoongi against his chest. Presses his lips to the stunning curve of Yoongi's cheeks, the hard angle of his jaw, the soft lashes of his closed, sleepy eyes.

“I'm with you,” he vows. “For as long as you'll let me stay.”

Not considering the possibility that it was Yoongi who might disappear.

💫

A lot of things happen very quickly.

Yoongi and Namjoon watch the footage of Jungkook and Seokjin. Yoongi was terrified that they would feel like watching a eulogy, or a documentary, but really they’re just a series of home movies reminiscent of the ones Jungkook used to send to Jimin. There’s no magical insight, no guiding message from Seokjin. They’re messy and charming and show nothing except the founding of a new family, a new life. Yoongi watches while Seokjin falls for another man, watches his former husband fall in love with their child, watches that child grow up. It’s so simple, filled with hope and friends and joy, and when the footage ends Yoongi kicks himself for not watching it earlier.

“How do you feel?” Namjoon asks.

“He was—”

“It’s okay if you don’t—”

“—happy.”

Namjoon snaps his mouth shut. Nods. “I think so, hyung. I really do.”

Yoongi’s new passport comes, and the dates reflect his permanence in his new world. With the passport comes new papers, freedom. He can do whatever he wants now: open up a bank account and earn money and move into a place of his own. Opportunity to forge his way into the world in which he's stuck, but that doesn't sound so scary with Namjoon by his side.

Namjoon encourages him, excited to no longer be his legal guardian, but Yoongi asks if he can keep living at the house. It’s no surprise Namjoon says yes, says, “It’s your home as much as it is mine. Of course I want you to stay.”

Agonizing over their budding romance becomes something of a hobby for Yoongi. Whether or not it actually is a romance and not just a desperate fuck. Whether the way Namjoon stares at him across the guest bed in the morning is out of tenderness or just curiosity. Whether the way he holds his hand is out of puppy love or obligation. It's almost too much, the way Namjoon bends from a comforting companion to a steadfast partner, but Yoongi lets himself revel in the doting, at least for their last week in Daegu.

The Director calls to proudly inform Yoongi that they’ve received enough funding to end the tour early, but they still think he should complete one final interview, on the radio with Tae. Yoongi agrees, looking forward to finishing this journey as he embarks on a new one, with Namjoon.

Tae greets them at the studio, and he's not dressed as flamboyantly as he was the first time they met, but his handsome face is still striking. “You two finally worked things out?” he says as soon as they walk in, and all Namjoon did was get the door for Yoongi, so maybe there's good reason that reporter assumed they were a couple.

“We're getting to know each other,” Yoongi lets himself drawl. Lets himself enjoy Namjoon's sputtering next to him.

The radio host grins, and all of a sudden he's got Yoongi wrapped up in a tight hug, is planting a wet kiss on his cheek. “Welcome back to the family, cousin!” he chimes, giggling when Yoongi pushes him off.

“Back?” he questions.

With a shrug, Tae answers, “I guess for you, you never really left.”

Maybe it's wrong, but Yoongi doesn't feel like he has any real place in the Kim family. He was married to Seokjin at one point, but then Seokjin moved on, started something new. Separate from his life with Yoongi. Foreign.

Namjoon isn’t family, but he’s not a stranger anymore. Yoongi knows him, better than he thought he was capable of knowing another person after just a few months. Namjoon feels safe and endearing, and when he holds Yoongi’s hand it’s like there’s an energy building in-between them, some spark of creation Yoongi thought he’d lost after his crash. It feels…

Fated, the dense side of his brain supplies, while the practical side says, fortunate.

Deep down, something monstrous whispers, convenient.

Yoongi breaks out his most charismatic persona for the radio interview with Tae. They discuss how radio has evolved from his time, how shocking that it's still around. Tae asks a lot of the same questions from their first meeting, and Yoongi even takes calls from random listeners. He's never been the biggest fan of public appearances, but they're an important part of his job, so he's learned to cope. And Tae is nice to talk to. He's funny and well-intentioned, and sure, maybe his age reminds Yoongi somewhat of Jimin and his cheek resembles Jungkook, but that's not why he likes the kid. He's just... sweet. Genuine.

It's not easy, forcing himself to reach out. Kim Namjoon had to reach in and capture a Yoongi who wasn’t necessarily shying away from connection, but who couldn’t embrace it. Who transformed himself to meet the new world instead of forging his place within it.

Yoongi intended to forge. And then the call came in:

“We have another listener,” Tae announces, and his voice really is low and smooth and perfect for radio. “What do you say, hyung, one more question before I let you go?”

Nodding, Yoongi adjusts the old-fashioned headphones (which are perfectly normal to him) over his ears.

A familiar voice shivers, “Yoongi-hyung, is that you?”

His heart races and his breath is lost to the shock of hearing Park Jimin's terrified voice in his ear. It feels like every rollercoaster he's ever been on, every launch he's ever had, and yet it's never been more important to hold himself together, try not to faint. “Jimin-ah?” he squeaks into the mic.

Tae's eyebrows furrow around his nose, but he waves at someone outside the radio studio not to cut the feed. Through the window, Yoongi can see the moment Namjoon's jaw drops, knows they must all think he's going crazy.

He doubles-down. “Jimin-ah, prove that's you.”

Jimin's voice stammers, “B-baepsae,” and that's all the proof Yoongi needs.

KARI still uses the code, one made up to prove the identities of Korean astronauts, in case of international interference. But there hasn't been any semblance of a space race in years, so now it's just confirmation that Park Jimin is out there somewhere, that he's able to interact with the current time, that he somehow heard Yoongi on the Daegu radio and worked out how to connect to the feed.

But he's not on earth. Not yet, anyway.

The call doesn't last more than a few minutes, but in that time Jimin manages to explain that he's found a pocket within the caldera, in which he's able to pick up radio waves. “I've been to other sides of it,” he tells Yoongi, for all of Daegu to hear. “Some seem to come from further in the future, and I even picked up a distress call from Normandy in 1942.”

When it's over— the call fizzling out halfway through Yoongi begging Jimin to stay put, please call again ASAP— he's summoned back to Seoul, where the Director has already come up with a rescue mission.

“We've got the funding, thanks to you,” she says, silver hair cascading over her uniform. It's the first time Yoongi's seen her in the flesh. “We believe we've pinpointed the caldera you came through, and it's easy to assume that's where we'll find him as well. But we need to get closer.”

Yoongi paces back and forth in the meeting room at the Institute. Namjoon is waiting just outside the door, but Yoongi wishes he was in there too, for the additional support. For an ally in the long room of physicists and mathematicians and astronauts. “Any satellite we send up there will get sucked directly into the caldera. We can send him intelligence, but there's nothing he can physically latch onto.”

The Director sits tall at the head of the table. “Would he be able to maneuver his way out if we send him suitable information?”

One of the mathematicians answers, “He's flying a hundred-year-old cruiser. It wouldn't have the combustion needed to push him out of the gravitational pit. Yoongi-ssi was only able to escape because of the velocity built from his spiral maneuver.”

“So, we need to send another ship.”

Yoongi pauses. “HO-PE can be programmed with a similar maneuver to the one I completed. But once it's inside the caldera, it will need to re-calculate, since we have no way of knowing the geography inside.”

“And we believe that geography is fluid,” another scientist chimes in. “Dynamic. It would be almost impossible for an AI, since so much of the maneuver would be subjective. Perhaps Park Jimin-ssi will be able to control the flight?”

“He's a rubbish pilot,” Yoongi grumbles. An idea strikes him. “When I crashed out of the caldera, it wasn't an accident. I saw the exit, managed to steer myself toward it. I could do it again.”

Frowning, the Director reminds him, “We can't latch onto Jimin's ship long enough to fly it remotely.”

“No. I'd have to re-enter the caldera.”

There's a lot of yelling. A lot of math, ideas. But in the end, it all comes down to a vote.

Yoongi wins it.

🌙

It's like getting struck by lightning.

Yoongi waits until they return to the house before telling Namjoon he's going back to the caldera, that he's risking his life on the off-chance that he might save Jimin. They're both standing in the middle of the living room that Yoongi designed, where Namjoon's lived ever since he was born, and suddenly he can feel all 110-years that divide them.

And he can't even be angry, because Yoongi is just fulfilling his duty as Jimin's crewmate, as a fellow astronaut. He's right— he's the only person who can rescue his friend. But still, Namjoon wishes there could be another way, wishes so hard it bites through his chest and suddenly he's the one crying while Yoongi consoles him, brushing away the tears that streak down his cheeks and threaten to become something mean, angry.

“What if you don't come back?” he sobs.

It takes so long before Yoongi answers, “You'll be okay.”

He won't. He won't be okay. It wasn't until Yoongi crashed into his life that he realized how much time he'd spent being lonely. He had a great family and decent friends and a job he genuinely loved, and yet he lived his life as though it was some static thing, never changing. Never growing. Ever the historian, he waited for life to begin while he was stuck inside a past he'd never live.

Yoongi was a bomb, tearing into Namjoon's frozen life and chipping out his heart. He filled the void Namjoon never even knew existed. The history of his family culminated in the arrival of the spaceman, and suddenly, Namjoon had a purpose.

Everything else was clandestine. Yoongi was a miracle, but he was also a man. A good-hearted, capable, sound man, and it was as though neither gave any thought to their rapport. It was so easy, befriending Yoongi. Talking to him was just like talking to someone you'd known your whole life, and in a way, Namjoon had. And Yoongi trusted him, grew to like him too.

It was too easy.

Yoongi was too candid. Not in his persona, which Namjoon knew all along was false. But he didn't shy away from questions, from talking about his past. Offered anecdotes and anxieties and when Namjoon called him out on acting as though the future was a dreamland, he agreed. Admitted that he didn't feel like he belonged there, like his actions didn't matter. Like it was all just... temporary. Yoongi told him that, almost word-for-word.

Namjoon should have listened.

“Hyung... tell me you don't want to die.”

“I...” Yoongi trails off, and Namjoon watches a thousand thoughts cross through his mind. Watches him run through countless expressions as he decides whether or not he should lie. Then he shrugs, like there's nothing he could say that won't make Namjoon's heart break.

“Yoongi—”

“I don't know that I want to die,” he admits. “Or... maybe I think it would be easier if I had at the start. Like, I should have just been on the station and died in the explosion. But then Jimin would have been all alone— which he still is, but at least with me he has a chance. It's...” He rubs his temple with his free hand. “It's like a spiral. I think up every possible version of what could have happened and it never ends with me back home. It never ends with me just... happy.”

Oh. It's nothing like getting struck by lightning. It's like being stabbed with a knife. “You're not happy? At all?”

Finally, Yoongi breaks. “I miss him so much, Namjoon-ah!” he all-but-wails, and the whole house echoes with the sound, chandelier shaking with the force of it. “You don’t understand! Or maybe you think you do, but that’s impossible. Seokjin was everything to me! My best friend, my first love. My husband. And we wanted so badly to start a family, to grow what we had even more, and he was so patient with me. Let me go to fucking space while he stayed put. Took care of everything so we could go ahead once I came back... and...” Yoongi gestures to the space around him, then brings his palms to his face, hides in them. Resurfaces to whimper, “I came back, but I’m too late. It’s all gone. He’s gone, when just months ago we were kissing each other goodbye as though it was a temporary thing. A celebration. And all I want more than anything in the world is just to see his stupid, shit-eating grin telling me I’m an idiot, complaining that I shouldn’t have taken the job. That I kept him waiting, and I owe him big time and we can just... laugh. Don’t you get it? He was— is— my favourite person, and I’d do anything to hear him laugh!”

Yoongi's on his knees on the living room floor, thrashing his hands and yanking at his hair, and Namjoon needs to pull him out of it. He's supposed to be good at this, at pulling Yoongi out of the dark hole he lets himself fall into. But Namjoon feels lost too, without any semblance of light, so all he manages to say is, “You can't go back, Yoongi.”

There's so much crying. Then: “I can.”

Because Jimin is stuck in one corner of the caldera, but there are countless others. And one of them might lead to the year he left behind.

“It won't be the same,” Yoongi explains. “It would be... not my time, but a version of it. An alternate reality.” He doesn't explain how they know, but the Namjoon knows that the funding they earned (they earned it, together) has gone a long way, that whatever Yoongi is telling him is plausible, is true. “I can have a life with him, before he falls for Jungkook instead.”

“And what about me?” It's selfish and it's cruel. Then, Namjoon thinks he's allowed to be, considering what he's about to lose.

Yoongi doesn't answer. He just leaves.

💫

Jungkook used to have this joke, and Seokjin hated it.

He'd show up them and claim that Jimin was going on another mission, that he was going to be away for months, and ask if he could move in for while. “To stave off the loneliness,” he said, and they fell for his Bambi eyes twice.

Naturally, as soon as he'd carted an apartment's worth of luggage into their own (not that big) apartment, Jimin would knock on the door and say, “I'm home!” and Seokjin would complain about his wasted generosity.

It was hard to rile Seokjin up, but Yoongi could tell that when he chided Jungkook and Jimin for their prank that there was something serious about it. He wasn't just annoyed— Jungkook used to annoy him all the time, that was par for the course. No, he was properly angry, the way he didn't like to show, so he'd hide behind his work or distract himself with cooking or just... get quiet. Go to bed early and sleep in a bit too late, and when Yoongi finally asked him about it, he said, “They're too okay with it.”

“With what?”

“The quiet, Yoongi-yah. Being alone can be so quiet.”

Seokjin acted like an extravert, but he only kept a handful of close friends. Everyone else was just a pleasant acquaintance, somebody that he would high-five or hug if they saw each other in public, but not someone he would trust. Yet he liked the noise of big events, the ambiance of crowds. Liked sitting quietly with Yoongi in a noisy bar and watching college students dance around each other, scream along to classic rock songs.

(They both pictured sitting in a backyard one day, watching their kids run around in the grass, loud and sweet and way better than strangers.)

So, it's no surprise that when Yoongi disappeared, Seokjin needed to escape the silence. Turned to the last person he trusted to help him make some noise.

There isn't a single part of Yoongi that wants to hate Jungkook for saying yes. For filling the void he left in Seokjin's home and helping raise the child he dreamed of all his life. Jungkook is good, when he's not a brat. He's kind-hearted and whip-smart, and Yoongi loved him from the moment Jimin introduced them. If anything, it's because of Jungkook that Yoongi invited Jimin into his life, started getting to know his co-workers outside the Institute.

Seokjin liked him too, but they were always kids to the elder couple. When did that change?

He hasn't spoken to Jimin since the radio broadcast. Other scientists have been able to connect with the cruiser, but Yoongi's always somewhere else, practicing entry maneuvers and studying possible trajectories for portals. The Director knows the theory about an alternative exit, knows it won't disturb the timeline, but still, she's not supportive of Yoongi's plan to try and reach his former home alive.

“Your odds of survival are slim, and either way we'd lose your shuttle. I won't approve it.”

“Park Jimin doesn't belong in this century any more than I do. And I've more than paid for the equipment.”

“I'm sorry, Yoongi-ssi, I can't give you my blessing for mutiny.” She does, at least, appreciate his disappointment. Offers him some time away from the Institute to mourn her decision.

Mourn his incarceration, more like.

Yoongi rents an apartment near the launch site. Spends his days off listening to the playlist Namjoon made for him all while trying not to think about his furious words, his crying face. They haven't spoken, and that's all the more awkward if Yoongi ends up surviving his mission, has to face the 22nd century with nothing to show for it except another confused, lost astronaut he won't be able to orient on his own.

If Jimin even lets him. He won't do well with the news about Jungkook. If Yoongi is heart-broken, then Jimin will be destroyed, and he's not sure how he's supposed to help with that. Could he and Jimin cling to each other the way their lovers did? Learn to love each other the same way?

No. Yoongi loves his friend, but he and Jimin's relationship has always been charged with antagonism, too much bickering. They wouldn't be good for each other, so Yoongi needs to come up with an alternative plan.

(And on top of that, Yoongi doesn’t want Jimin. He wants…)

There's no isolation period before the launch. Scientific advancements have made quarantines superfluous, so Yoongi is frying eggs in his temporary apartment the day before the mission, and he's home when there's a knock on his door.

“What are you doing here?” he questions Kim Taehyung, who's smirking at him all while dangling the keys to a private jet he asks Yoongi to fly.

Across the apartment, the earring he hasn’t relied on wearing in weeks is probably cheering him on. It’s a comforting thought, at least.

The jet is a vintage piece, pulled straight from Yoongi's era. It's so familiar, pressing his fingertips to the dashboard and gripping the joystick in his dominant hand. Yoongi was a pilot for years before he joined the Institute, and small planes were his favourite. He used to take Seokjin on quick trips through the mountains, romance him amongst the clouds. Some of his favourite memories were spent in the sky, and sitting in the cockpit feels like coming home.

“Is this even legal?” he asks Tae, who laughs, and they take-off moments later.

They arrive in Daegu, and Tae rents a car to drive them to a long-term care home. After signing-in, Yoongi lets Tae lead him around the building, introduce him to a dozen old folks familiar with his story. “You're such an old young man,” one of the residents tells him, and Yoongi doesn't know whether she's joking, but he forces himself to laugh.

He doesn't need to ask who Tae brought him here to meet:

Kim Hoseok goes by Jung nowadays; seems to think he's married to a decades-old pop star and gets upset if informed otherwise. But Tae just calls him Granddad, plants a kiss on his cheek. Doesn't pout at the silence he receives in return. Launches into a long story about his week, his job, a dog he might adopt. All while Hoseok leans back in his wheelchair, a century old and half-asleep.

Tae's rolodex of stories runs dry, and then he nods to Yoongi as though inviting him to take over.

He's not sure what he's supposed to say. “Why did you bring me here, Taehyung-ssi?”

“Don’t be formal, hyung,” Tae chides him with a grin. “Granddad used to tell us stories about you. I figured he deserves to meet the star.” He takes Hoseok's hand, stroking over his knuckles as he informs the all-but-decrepit man, “This is Min Yoongi. Do you remember him?”

There's no recognition on Hoseok's face, but he does lift his gaze just slightly, blinking at the astronaut in his unit. And Yoongi has no place here. He has no obligation to the old man, or even to Tae, but...

This is Seokjin's son. He's over a hundred years old and tired and abstracted, but he also has that same spark Yoongi recognized when he first met Namjoon. That distinct curve of his upper lip. Those dimples, like one Seokjin hated on himself, but couldn't hide when Yoongi made him laugh enough. In the videos that Namjoon watched with him, Yoongi saw how much Seokjin made the younger Hoseok giggle, so it's no wonder his dimples are so deep in his old age.

“It's an honour to meet you, Hoseok-ssi.” Yoongi bows to his elder respectfully, ignores Tae's knowing look. “I was a friend of your Appa. Both of them, actually.”

Hoseok makes no indication that he's listening, aloof eyes staring straight through Yoongi where he sits.

So, why does he keep trying? “Did your Appa ever tell you where your name comes from?” he asks, to no response. “In the time you were born, it was impossible for two men to have a baby. I know that must seem strange now—” The future is full of surprises, but none more so than advancements in medical technology, the ability to blend DNA without the expected chromosomes. Hoseok and his husband had a baby all by themselves, Namjoon's grandfather. Yoongi nearly fainted when he found out. “—but we had to plan for you. Well...” Yoongi swallows. “Perhaps we were planning for someone else. Who knows. Anyway, it wasn't a simple thing, finding someone willing to help us have a child. And no one would adopt to us, for reasons you probably can't remember either. Things that don't matter nowadays.”

“No baby...” Hoseok mumbles, false teeth grinding together as he tries to speak. Tae pats his hand.

Yoongi forces a smile. “We thought so. Then... there was a woman we both knew. Believe it or not, I once dated her, but that's back when we were kids ourselves. She didn't want children of her own, but one Chuseok—” the one just before Yoongi flew away, “—she sent papers in the mail. Medical records, and a statement from a doctor who refused to give her a hysterectomy unless she'd already given birth. I know, it was an unfair time. And there were probably a dozen other ways around it, but Suran was so generous, and she wouldn't take no for an answer.” By now, Yoongi's smile is real. “Seokjin called it a gift, a bestowed sign that we should jump at the opportunity, have a child as soon I came back from one last mission.”

“Bestowed gift,” Tae hums. “Ho-Seok.”

“It took a little longer to have you than Seokjin expected,” Yoongi says, “but she still did it for him. You have her eyes, Hoseok-ssi.”

Hoseok-ah, he doesn't say to the boy who could have been his child. The child with Seokjin’s plump lips and Suran’s open eyes and even Jungkook’s aloof, sleepy expression. He isn’t Yoongi’s, not even a bit.

Tae swings his great-grandfather's hand, waking him a little. “Did you like that story, Granddad?”

Neither of them expect an answer. Yoongi needs to leave soon if he wants to be in Seoul for tomorrow's launch, and Tae must have spent countless quiet evenings at his elder's side. So, it's a shock to both of them when Hoseok snatches his hand away and replaces it on his armrest, where a button rolls him over to a writing desk across the room.

“What have you got there?” Tae asks, cheerful, as Hoseok retrieves a cartoon keychain from inside the drawer.

The elderly man rolls back to Yoongi, handing him what appears to be a white alpaca, and upon further inspection, Yoongi sees it's not just a keychain at all. There's a flip-out USB, just like the crappy dollar store electronics from Yoongi's era. “Have you kept this for a long time?” he asks Hoseok, who doesn't really answer but pulls his mouth into a heart-shaped smile before rolling back to Tae.

“I think you're meant to keep that,” Tae informs him, and Yoongi doesn't argue.

Says, “Thank you, Ahjussi,” and bows politely once again.

🌙

He didn't plan to watch Yoongi's launch, but when the Director called to inform Namjoon there was a car waiting outside his house, he didn't hesitate to throw his coat on and jump in.

KARI is bustling with life he hasn't seen since his mother brought him decades ago, showing off the in-house launchpad and trying to inspire his own dreams of space travel. She never got her wish, but she's proud of Namjoon's chosen career, and pleased that he still takes interest in the science she loved so much.

Yoongi never got a chance to meet her. Maybe now he never will.

He doesn't get to see Yoongi in person, but there's live access to his dashboard cam, so Namjoon sits in a massive assembly of auditors excited to see the culmination of their contributions to his cause. In just a few minutes, Yoongi will launch back into space, directly into the same caldera out of which he escaped before. Hopefully, he'll be able to make it out again, and with Park Jimin in tow.

“He's going to make it,” Tae sing-songs, settling in beside Namjoon in the back row. His usually fluffy brown hair is slicked back formally, and he fits perfectly amongst the many rich ambassadors and debutants invited to the launch. “He's a great flyer.”

“I know,” Namjoon agrees. They wouldn't let him do the mission if he wasn't. “That's not what I'm afraid of.”

What he's afraid of is Yoongi stealing this opportunity to return to his old time, risking his own life and Jimin's on the off-chance he can re-start in an alternate reality.

Tae seems to know about that, somehow, and says, “Yoongi is a professional. He's also not an idiot.”

“But he's lonely.”

“He doesn't need to be.”

Rolling his eyes, Namjoon concedes again that Tae is right. If only Yoongi felt the same way.

On-screen, the man himself straps into the most expensive spacecraft ever built on the quickest timeline ever planned. Min Yoongi re-ignited the imaginations of people all around the world, not only thrilling them at the prospect of further space exploration but inspiring them with his story. His tragedy broke their hearts, and when Park Jimin's voice broadcast through Tae's station, the world banded together to bring the two astronauts back together again.

It's amazing, Namjoon thinks, what the human race can do with enough ingenuity. And so sad, that there never seems to be enough money.

The rocket takes off without a hitch. There are several videos on the massive, projected screen in the center of the KARI showroom. Various maps and coordinates showing Yoongi's exact trajectory, and several more dashcams to show his face. He's the story, after all.

Yoongi is completely silent as he dismounts his shuttle from the rocket. Another version of the astronaut would be in-character, throwing on a charming smile and flirting with his fans around the world. Dressed in a fancy new silver uniform with his hair subtly curled under his helmet, he looks every bit the celebrity heartthrob the Institute expects of him, but he's more focused on the mission than the clout, and just before he pulls the lever that will shoot him straight into the gravitational caldera, he murmurs something unintelligible.

Then, silence.

The Director spoke before the launch explaining that if all goes well, Yoongi will be in and out of the caldera within 7-seconds. Or, at least he'll appear to be, since for him it could be hours if not days before he locates Jimin within the expanse.

Except Yoongi doesn't come out in 7-seconds, and the Board of Directors sitting beneath the projected screen at the front of the auditorium murmur nervously to each other while the timer keeps ticking and investors start making phone calls and someone a few rows away is complaining, “What a fucking waste they probably didn't even build the thing properly—” and Namjoon's hands are shaking in his lap while Tae rubs a palm up and down his back and Yoongi hasn't flown back out of the caldera yet he's gone oh my god what if he's gone what if he went back to his own time or he got stuck or died in there what if—

“—ticipating an emergency landing. I repeat, we are anticipating an emergency landing, please connect us to the nearest crash zone.”

The voice of Mission Control can be heard directing him through the safest point of entry, guiding him to safely crash-land in the Yellow Sea, but Namjoon is only interested in the pixellated video of Yoongi drawing back on his joystick, teeth clenched and eyes laser-focused on his dashboard. Another shot sees his cruiser connected to another, both tearing through the earth's atmosphere, leaving a trail of ashes in their wake.

He made it. Yoongi came back.

“Clean yourself up,” Tae says, gently pressing a tissue into Namjoon's hands. “It's time to go pick up your man.”

Hours pass. Yoongi had a rough landing, but medicare in 2131 is akin to witchcraft, so when Namjoon bounds into his room at the KARI medical center, he isn't surprised to find the man perched on a chair at Park Jimin's bedside, clasping gratefully to his hand.

“Hi, Namjoon-ah,” he says, like nothing happened.

Namjoon's on him in an instant, dragging Yoongi off his seat and into a hug too tight and intimate for their current state. Yoongi feels tiny in his arms, but he clutches to the material of Namjoon's vintage blue knit sweater, drags their torsos as close as they can get.

When they part, he wipes the tears from Namjoon's cheek. “I'm sorry.”

“No. You were just trying to go home. I had no right to be so angry.”

“It's okay. Joon-ah, it's all okay...”

Leaning into Yoongi's hand, Namjoon lets his eyes close for a second. Lets himself enjoy the quiet of the hospital room, the calm of Yoongi's safe return. But they can't stay like this forever, when there are so many more questions. “What happened in there?”

Yoongi steps back, returning to his perch by the sleeping Jimin's bed. There are wireless buds attached to all his joints and forehead, monitoring his vitals, but his breathing is smooth and his eyelids are fluttering, all indications he should wake up soon. “He figured out the time dilation. I think one of the other astronauts told him. When I linked our cruisers, he tried to drag us back.”

“You didn't let him?”

“Alternate realities are never as simple as turning left.” Yoongi chews his lower lip, a habit Namjoon hasn't seen since he first came here, before his professional persona fully took hold. “I could go back and Seokjin is a crime lord or something. Or humans have more than two feet. Or... dogs don't exist.”

“God forbid,” Namjoon exhales with something adjacent to a laugh.

Yoongi chuckles too. “My being here already closed off my initial timeline. I figured, if I have to be stuck in the unknown, it might as well be the one that still has Epik High songs in it.” Neither speaks for a minute. Jimin's monitor beeps intermittently. Then: “I thought it was hopeless. That I was stuck here, locked up in this nightmare, that I had to fight for an escape. But the only escape is opting out, and I don't want that either. So, maybe...” He tilts his head, gazing tenderly up where Namjoon is still standing, still shivering from the tears. “Maybe it's not about escape at all. Maybe it's about accepting my circumstances, getting to see this world for the gift it is instead of the nightmare I thought it was supposed to be. I mean, shit, I literally get to see the future. I would have killed for this kind of chance when I was a kid.” He laughs. Then he breathes. “I love Seokjin, but I'd hate myself if he'd died lonely. I'm glad he moved on, found light in the darkness I left behind me. Now, I need to do the same thing.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Is it wrong if I say you did?”

“Only if it isn't true.”

Smiling, Yoongi reaches out his hand. Namjoon accepts. “I never lied to you. You're the only other person I've ever met who makes me feel this safe. You were there from the moment I woke up, willing to help me for no reason except the kindness of your heart, your decency. I should have been there for you, too.”

“I was more selfish than that, you know,” Namjoon admits, desperate to keep their amends light after such an anxious mission. “I always had a crush on you, even when I thought you were long dead.”

“Ah. You thought I was handsome, Namjoonie?”

He scoffs, but Yoongi's right. He did, and he's about to say as much when Park Jimin bounds up from his hospital bed, eyes saucer-wide and gasping. Yoongi's on him in an instant, ready to ease him back down. Strokes fingers through his unruly hair and kisses his cheeks and swears, “You'll be okay, Jimin-ah. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. You aren't alone. Neither of us is alone.”

Later, when Jimin is tucked into Namjoon's guest room bed (with HO-PE to entertain him), Yoongi will come down to the living room. Grab Namjoon's hand and drag him to the balcony. He'll point out constellations while Namjoon explains their names, and at the lucky sight of a shooting star, they'll wish together to be happy. Yoongi will press lips to his and whisper that he's trying, that he's slowly adjusting to the light he says explodes in Namjoon's eyes. Namjoon will goad him for his cheesiness but still kiss him back, agreeing.

“Can I stay with you?” he'll ask, warm and calm and with his cheek rested on Namjoon's chest.

“For as long as this universe lasts,” Namjoon will tell him, and they'll wait until the moon goes down, and the sun shines amongst the stars in the sky.

🚀

Seokjin records on his cell phone, so the quality is shit, but his handsome features shine through the barely-focused camera lens, and his smile is always spellbinding. He's dressed in his knit sweater with the whale on the front, the one he owns two of because he wants his future children to respect his favourite Maple Story character.

He's gorgeous.

“Hi, Yoongichi,” he flirts, and his Adam's Apple bobs up and down on his neck. “It's day... it's been exactly seven years since the day you left. Wow. Time really flies, doesn't it? Or maybe that's the wrong expression.”

Someone drops a dish behind the phone, and Seokjin is sitting at the kitchen island Yoongi designed for him, waves at them to go away. There's a lot of silent bickering, hands waving on the screen. A few less-than-polite gestures, but all of them followed by one of Seokjin's good-natured winks. Then, theoretically, they leave. “Sorry about that. Jungkook's crap at washing dishes. Did you know he's not a kid anymore? Imagine my surprise when I found out.”

He settles his jaw into the palm of his hand. “I'll clean up for him later. We only have so many plates left.”

Seokjin launches into a story about a garage sale they went to a month earlier, says that Jungkook just got a big promotion so they spent the money on all the vintage cutlery they could get. “It's so elegant, I feel like an old-timey movie star. Or a rich widower. Oh. I guess that's probably a touchy subject.” He pauses for a second, glancing between the camera and the screen, making sure he's still in frame. “You might not be dead. You might be tethered to an astroid flinging through the vast expanse of space. Or cruising through a crater in Andromeda. Or...” He shrugs. “They have a bunch of proper theories, but most of them mean you're dead. Which you're not, if you're watching this, so...”

A grin. It's forced. “Seven years is a long time, Yoongichi. You've taken long trips before, but this is getting ridiculous. I'm not young and pretty like I used to be, and by the time you get back, I might be one foot in the grave myself. These video messages are aging me, you see. It's like writing this big long email and getting an emoji in return. Except you don't even give me that. It's exhausting.” The grin fades. “I love you, baby, but I'm afraid I'm going to hold out after this until you give me a reason to keep recording. That's what Sunmi said— she was your therapist, remember? Well, mine too. One of us had to keep her working.”

His pauses are getting longer. Seokjin leans back, clenching one of his hands on the counter. The other is just out of frame, probably picking at a hole in his jeans. He's no longer looking at the lens. “I thought about what I wanted to say. If this is going to be my last message, I mean. I've already told you so much, about the Institute and the search and how Jimin's family is doing. And of course you're caught up here... with us.” Ears growing dark, Seokjin smiles softly, probably at the thought of Jungkook. “Sunmi suggested that I think of a nice memory, talk about that. I have a thousand wonderful memories with you, and I don't want you to think I've forgotten them, but... as usual, it's easier to think about the bad. And this isn't a bad memory, necessarily, but it's something about a lot. I guess it's more of a regret.

“You remember, Yoongi-yah, when you told me about the dark room?” He waits, as if for an answer. “You said you felt like you were all locked up in a pitch-black room, and I remember wracking my brain for a metaphor as good as the one you came up with, and all I could think was find a key. And you latched onto that— get it, latched?— and I think it helped you. You seemed a lot better after that.

“I tried saying it too, after you got lost. Spent years looking for a key out of the darkness, except what happens when there is no key and you're alone and the whole house just echoes with phantom silence. And you have to go on anyway, because that's just how it is.”

The redness spreads down Seokjin's cheekbones, tears pooling threateningly beneath his eyes. Outside the kitchen, echoing footsteps patter through the halls, not entering. Just the ambient noise of a big, lived-in house. “The power went out this morning, so when I woke up I didn't know what time it was. I looked out the window to check, only we have these big blackout curtains, so you can just barely see the sunlight streaking around the edges. Except you can't, I realized, because when I looked directly through the crack in the curtains it didn't register properly in my blind spot or something, and everything still just looked black.

“And that got me thinking: what if it's like your dark room? Like, there's light just outside the door, trying to shine in from the hallway, but you just can't register it? Get it, Yoongi-yah? Every room seems darker when you're only looking for the light.

“So, you stop looking. You turn around and blink a few times, and eventually, your eyes adjust to the darkness. And you realize there's been a whole other door all along, just on the other side of the room. It's open.”

He sighs. “Maybe this metaphor is getting away from both of us. What I'm trying to say is... I keep looking for you, Yoongi-yah, as if you're just outside a dark room. I need to stop, to accept that even if I never find you, it's no excuse to stop living.

“Yoongi-yah... I opened the other door. And I'm happy. My love for him does nothing to erase my love for you, could never, but it draws the light back into my life. I can still knock on doors and hope you open them, but I need to create a home behind mine first.

“And the thing is, so can you. I don't know where you are, and I don't know who's with you. I don't even know that you're alive. But if you're watching this, love, find the open door. Try and build a life for yourself, wherever you are. It doesn't mean you're losing hope, it only means you're shaping it.”

The footsteps finally reach the kitchen, bounding around somewhere at Seokjin's feet. “Appa,” a tiny voice coos, over and over.

Then, a bigger one. “Ah, there he is.” Jungkook's long, blonde hair barely brushes the edge of the screen as he leans over. “Sorry, I'll go give him a bath.”

“No. Come say hi to Yoongi,” Seokjin suggests, and then Jungkook's on the screen next to him, cradling the little Hoseok against his chest. The toddler fidgets with the strings of his oversized black hoodie, still murmuring sweet nonsense.

Next to each other, the age-difference that used to seem impassable isn’t so apparent. Jungkook is in his early thirties and Seokjin’s in his late, but they both look self-assured and strangely youthful in their contentment.

Jungkook waves. “Hi, Yoongi-hyung! Is Jiminie with you? Tell him he'll get a video soon, as soon as I get this one into bed.” The toddler yawns on cue, making both men laugh. “Ah, Hoseokie knackered himself out dancing again.”

“He isn't bad. Talent runs in the family.”

“You're his bio-dad.”

“That's what I said.”

After scoffing appropriately, Jungkook leans conspiratorially toward the camera. “Don't tell Jimin-hyung, but I've been showing off his old recital videos. He'd be furious if he knew his Eomma gave them to us.”

Seokjin strokes through Hoseok's hair. “He reminds me of Jimin. Especially when he's mad.”

“He doesn't get upset much, though. Like Yoongi-hyung. Really calm.”

They're talking to each other now. “That's true. He's the perfect blend.”

Hoseok hiccups, and Jungkook is off-screen in the blink of an eye, leaving Seokjin alone again. “Aish, I shouldn't have fed him so close to bedtime. I can't say no to those fawn-eyes.” He's smiling for real now, at the thought of his family, the life he's forged in Yoongi's absence. “I never know how to end these, you know that. I don't feel right saying goodbye, because we already did that, and I hated it. And I don't know when I'll see you again, but anything more than goodnight feels so final and—

“Ah, that sounds nice. Goodnight, Yoongi-yah. We love you. And remember: the sky is dark, but the moon is bright, and soon the sun will rise.”

The video ends, and Yoongi's own reflection stares back at him on the laptop screen. The laptop Namjoon gave him, let him keep even after he ran away. Because that's what he did, when faced with the choice between clinging to a past he could never truly rediscover, or slowing down, accepting the century he's in. Now he's doing neither.

In the morning, he'll fly a mission to save a man in the same catastrophe as him. A stubborn man, more so even than him, who's bound to try and solve their dilemma like a puzzle, lose himself in the dream of getting out.

Yoongi needs to help him. Show Jimin what Namjoon tried so hard to show him: that the new world isn't perfect, but he's welcome in it. That he has to find a way to thrive here, and that he won't be alone while he endeavors to embrace his accidental life. A life so much brighter than he might, at first, accept.

“The sun will rise,” Yoongi repeats softly to the empty room. He knows what he needs to do.