Archive of Our Own

For a moment, everything is still; there is oxygen flowing to and from his lungs, but his limbs are frozen, and there is a ringing he can’t quite erase from his ears. Somewhere in between the silence and the screams are frantic footsteps circling him like vultures, so he closes his eyes, begs his fingers to curl against themselves until they’re finally grasping onto some invisible string that would hopefully, somehow pull him up from under.

It takes another millisecond for the reality to sink, for the quaking of the ground to shake him awake from the blank slate his mind has become. He gasps abruptly, blinking as a body pushes past him and out the doors, where the air is a little thicker and the chaos a little louder. Fumbling feet drags him out as well, and he takes the next second to remember, to regather the details he’s managed to somehow lose.

There is an earthquake—ongoing, presently. He’s at a restaurant—was at a restaurant—until the earthquake happened, and everything surged into calamity. His hyungs had been there, sitting next to him, their shoulders pressed against each other in a back booth of the new American diner Taehyung had been raving about, until they weren’t. Something happened after—he thinks someone pulled him out of the booth, rushed him towards the doors, but then they separated, the mass of petrified diners pulling him away. He’s now pressed against one wall, breaths a little shallow and uneven as his gaze trails after the last person rushing through the diner doors.

Beneath him, the earthquake groans a little louder, and another string within him snaps. Automatically, he pushes himself off the wall and stumbles through the crowd that has begun to scatter slightly; there are different streams now, diverging down multiple paths. Blindly, he hastily trails after one, fingers playing with the loose thread on the inside of his pocket.

Something falls from him then—his phone, he realises, and he picks it up just as it begins to vibrate against the shake of the gravel. A thin voice shivers against his ears when he picks up; it’s Hoseok, and the fear thunders against his skin.

“Jeongguk-ah?” Hoseok begs, and it’s then that the ache in the ground finally falls, finally stops its frazzled tremors and settles back into a sudden calm. The world around him, though, remains distressed; somewhere across the street, a woman cries over a piece of a building that had collapsed. Jeongguk tears his eyes away. “Where are you?”

He turns to look down the street. The diner is still within view, but the sign that decorated its front no longer blinks proudly at him under the afternoon sun. Another shaky breath evades him, and he turns to look down the opposite way. “I’m still by the diner. Somewhere to its left. In, um, in the middle of the street.”

“Okay, don’t move,” a new voice says—Namjoon, this time, somehow a little steadier. He thinks he hears Seokjin in the background, his voice barely carrying over the shouts of the crowd they are undoubtedly in, and Jeongguk wonders if he was the only one to have been torn away from his friends. There’s no echo of Yoongi or Taehyung, though, so maybe they had managed to lose them as well. “We’ll come get you, okay?”

“Are you,” Jeongguk begins, lets his eyes find that woman again. There is blood on the sidewalk, and he rips his gaze away harder this time. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Namjoon reassures. “We’re okay. Are you?”

He shakes his head, then squeezes his eyes close. He feels sick. “I’m okay.”

“Seokjin-hyung went to go look for Yoongi-hyung and Taehyung,” Namjoon continues as though he knew Jeongguk needed the distraction. Needed the reminder that his hyungs are fine and alive. Jeongguk himself hadn’t realised the constant gentle, calm murmur of Namjoon’s voice is something he craved in the midst of this disaster, and when it continues, he finds it easier to breathe. “Hoseok is coming with me, though. They’ll meet back up with us by the diner. You said you’re to its left?”

“Yeah. Like, to its left if you’re facing it.”

A hum. “Okay, we’re coming from that side. Can you wave your arms or something? Maybe we’ll see you.”

He obeys, bringing one arm up and waving it above him.

In the distance, someone waves back.

“I see you,” comes the relief in Namjoon’s voice, and a second later Jeongguk finds himself wrapped in the arms of a shaking Hoseok, his hyung’s nose buried into the crook of his shoulder. Namjoon appears a second later, his face worn as he also reaches out to hug Jeongguk tightly.

They stay like that until somehow their hearts have calmed. Hoseok presses himself tighter against him even after Namjoon has pulled away, and a moment later, he feels another pair of arms engulf him, this one new but familiar. Yoongi trails after Taehyung with shaky eyes, searching quickly up and down everyone’s body until he's satisfied.

He releases a shaky breath as Seokjin joins them, lets his finger play with a loose thread at the end of his sleeve. They shake despite the distraction; slowly, Jeongguk detaches himself from Hoseok and Taehyung and latches onto Yoongi instead.

The elder hooks his chin over Jeongguk’s shoulder, voice thrumming in calm waves as they both grounded each other. “Everyone okay?”

Hoseok clings tighter to Taehyung. “We’re—we’re not hurt.”

“I think we’re still pretty shaken up,” Namjoon whispers, and Seokjin winces, grimacing in his direction.

“Bad word choice,” he chastises.

Namjoon presses his lips together, runs a hand through his silver hair. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Yoongi bends to tie his shoelaces. Behind him, an upturned Hyundai sits a few hundred metres away from them; if Jeongguk squints, he can make out more blood, and he closes his eyes, tries not to think of how easily he could’ve lost his friends today.

The same thought must echo in everyone’s minds because Taehyung’s voice finally peaks from the crook of Hoseok’s shoulder, fresh fear still tightly laced into each chord. 

“There was an earthquake,” he whispers. His eyes look at Yoongi, Seokjin and Namjoon for guidance. “I thought—I thought we weren’t supposed to get earthquakes?”

Yoongi presses his lips together as he stands, gaze flicking to Namjoon briefly. “I don’t think any place is completely free of earthquakes. But Korea doesn’t get earthquakes of this size. The biggest one we’ve ever had was—“

“2016,” Namjoon interrupts. “On my birthday in Gyeongju. Magnitude 5.8, I think.”

“This one was an 8.6,” Seokjin whispers, eyes lifting from the phone he’s been staring at. His shoulders are shaking. “A lot of buildings are destroyed—a portion of Hongdae has completely crumbled.”

Jeongguk thinks of the collapsed building across the street. Of the fallen diner sign and the debris he probably couldn’t see. “This street could’ve disappeared.”

“Naver’s calling it the end of the world,” Seokjin announces, and suddenly, the summer air feels too cold.

Hoseok frowns, digs his fingers a little harder into the muscles on Taehyung’s arms. “What do you mean?”

Seokjin glances down at his phone again. Despite his firm voice, his hands are shaking. “Earthquake hits Seoul, a tornado disrupting a small, Italian town, Indonesia suffering through a second tsunami wave in just two days—yet no one can explain why all these disasters are happening simultaneously and in such a short time.”

Yoongi presses his lips together. Jeongguk grabs his hand. “The end of the world.”

“We’re all gonna die.” Taehyung whimpers, and Hoseok clings onto him even tighter.

“Shit, my mom.” Namjoon digs into his pocket for his own phone, rapidly taps the screen for her contact. He runs a hand through his hair, nails biting into his scalp. “Fuck, she probably thinks I’m dead.”

“Oh my god,” Hoseok shrieks, pushes himself away from Taehyung and scrambles to make his own call. “How the fuck did we forget to call our parents?”

Taehyung swallows, looks to Seokjin for guidance. “What if they’re dead?”

“There’s no news of disasters hitting Geochang-gun,” the eldest reassures with a tired smile; he moves to sit down on the curb and leans his head against the streetlight. “They should be safe.”

“For now,” Yoongi mutters, and Taehyung looks at him, appalled.

“My mom’s not answering,” Namjoon curses. Jeongguk has never seen Namjoon cry, but tears decorate his eyes now, panic encompassing every fleeting thought. “My sister goes straight to voicemail. If my dad doesn’t answer—”

“I’ll drive you home,” Jeongguk promises, but then Seokjin’s shaking his head, opening his eyes as his breath stutters from its even intakes.

“The roads are damaged.” He peers down the street, at the disarray of mangled cars and anxious people. “It’s not safe to travel unless it's a short distance.”

In the background, Hoseok’s voice crackles with relief. “Noona? Oh, thank god you answered—are you with Mom and Dad? Are you safe?”

“Buses and taxis aren’t in service right now. Subways aren’t ideal either,” Yoongi says as he detangles his hand from Jeongguk’s and moves to sit beside Seokjin. “We’d have to walk.”

“To Ilsan?”

“According to Naver Maps, it’ll only take you around six and a half hours.”

Namjoon whips around to stare down at Yoongi, at the way he’s lethargically sitting with his legs pulled up to his chest. “Can you be serious for one second?”

Yoongi glares. “I’m trying not to spiral into a fucking panic attack, so let me crack my fucking jokes or I will lose it.” He pauses, then softer, he begs, “Please.”

Namjoon swallows at that—carefully crouches until he’s sitting in the empty space beside Yoongi. Jeongguk watches as his hyung silently wraps his arms around the other, moulding themselves until Yoongi is completely surrounded in Namjoon. Jeongguk wraps his own arms around himself and stares down the street at a mother yelling for her child.

“I’m gonna call my mom,” he croaks, and no one but Seokjin nods, so Jeongguk just turns to sit on the hood of a parked car a few metres away, his hyungs still in his line of sight. His fingers are unsteady as he searches his contacts for his mother’s details, and he somehow almost misses her number when he tries to tap it once.

He hopes he hears her voice. Needs to hear her voice.

His dad answers instead. “Jeongguk-ah?”

The sobs fumble out immediately. “Dad.”

“Jeongguk—honey, Jeongguk’s safe!” Then clearer, “Sweetheart, where are you right now?”

“Dad,” Jeongguk can only cry; he wishes he was home right now, in the apartment he grew up in some neighbourhoods away from the beach. Would love to have his mother’s fingers gently combing through his hair, for his father to fill up the large space with his booming laugh and bright eyes. “I wanna go home.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” his mother’s voice says this time, and Jeongguk can hear the strain and worry in her tone. “KBS just mentioned there’s a typhoon coming and that it’ll probably hit in the next few hours. I don’t—” Her voice breaks. “I don’t think it’s safe, sweetheart.”

“We can go to Seoul,” his dad suggests instead, knowing there’s a protest, a need aching in Jeongguk’s lungs. “I’ll call your brother and have him quickly pack an overnight bag, okay? And then we’ll catch the first bullet train to Seoul.”

“Alright,” Jeongguk agrees, and then without a second of hesitancy, “I love you, Mom. Dad.”

His mother smiles through the phone. “We love you too. We’ll see you in a bit, okay? Everything’s going to be okay, sweetheart. Wait for us.”

“We’ll call you when we board the train,” his dad promises, and then the call ends, and Jeongguk listens to empty dial as Taehyung, too, wraps up his own calls and Seokjin speaks with his family. He approaches them carefully, listens to Namjoon reassuring Yoongi’s mother that he’s safe; he hears him repeat to Yoongi that his mom is already on a train to Seoul with his father. His brother’s still in Jeju, calls unanswered.

Taehyung hugs Jeongguk tightly and wipes the leftover tears from his eyes. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, everything’s good.” He inhales, exhales. “Everything’s fine.”

“I’m going to try and catch a train to Gwangju,” Hoseok announces when Namjoon ends the call with Yoongi’s mom, and Yoongi whispers his thanks, slowly detaching himself from the younger. “I also looked it up, and they’re working on setting up emergency stations all across the affected areas. They’ll be providing transportation to those who live outside Mapo-gu and its surrounding districts.”

“You don’t have to walk six hours anymore, Joon-ah,” Yoongi jokes, and Namjoon laughs.

“Hyung, I’ll go with you,” Taehyung decides, turning to Hoseok. “To the station, I mean. I’m going to try to catch the bullet train to Jeonju.”

Seokjin rejoins them; he looks grim. “Parents are safe. Building isn’t, so they’re being relocated. I’m going to try and meet up with them.”

“So we’re all splitting up?” Namjoon asks, and Hoseok shakes his head.

“Eventually, I guess but—we should find one of those emergency stations first. And then we can maybe split off in groups if it’s safe?”

Jeongguk thinks of the crowd waiting at those stations, at the chaos and demands panicked citizens would create. He thinks of his apartment fifteen minutes away—by car, that is. It might take him longer on feet, but at least it’ll be emptier, safer. The blunt ends of his fingernails scratch at his palm. He tugs on Namjoon’s sleeve after he rises.

“I think—I think I’m gonna head home.”

Taehyung pulls himself away from him. “Are you sure? Want one of us to come with you?”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. You guys should try and head home too.”

“Stay safe, Jeongguk-ah,” Yoongi urges, and Jeongguk smiles at him. His hyungs look like they’ve aged a few years. Jeongguk wonders if he still looks twenty-five.

“I’ll try.”

His parents don’t get to ride the next bullet train; the typhoon hits Busan hours early, and Jeongguk is left to stare out his apartment window alone, the blankets he’d been preparing abandoned on the ground. He couldn’t even hear their voice before the storm stole what few seconds he had with them on the call, and the only communication he received otherwise was a KakaoTalk message that had apparently taken five minutes to send.

At least his hyungs are doing okay. Namjoon and Seokjin managed to get on buses heading to their respective cities, while Taehyung, Hoseok and Yoongi boarded the one heading to Seoul Station together.

He tries not to envy them.

It’s hard not to.

A heavy sigh escapes him as he stares out the window to watch a dissipating crowd. It’s been two hours since he made the initial trek home; unlike his hyungs, he’s lucky his apartment lies in the heart of Mapo-gu, a fifteen minute drive away from the diner. His car still sits there, parked around the corner of the street. When he passed it earlier, another shop’s sign had fallen atop.

It’s probably unsafe, he thinks as he removes himself from the window, to stay in his apartment, but Korea is built upwards instead of across, so there isn’t anywhere else to go but tall buildings standing on perhaps, maybe shaky legs. There hasn’t been another quake, though. He deems it safe enough for now.

The fridge is mostly empty when he opens it except for a tub of kimchi and a few cans of beer; he takes one, snaps it open and chugs two mouthfuls. Moves to sit on the couch instead of by the window and blankly stares at the news that’s been murmuring in the background since his arrival.

The government is urging everyone to return to their families, to spend time with their loved ones as they worked on tallying the casualties and reuniting families and friends who lost each other in the frenzy. On his phone, the media presses the importance of love in humanity’s final moments.

Somehow, their urgency revives a memory he’s almost forgotten.

He hasn’t heard from Jimin in two years—not since he left for Boston all those years ago. Tentatively, he wonders how he’s doing. If he’s safe, if he has friends, if the world is ending there, too.

If he’s heading back to Korea now that their country is at its end, and their families are sitting ducks in the middle of Korea’s biggest typhoon.

His phone rings then, an unknown number blinking up at him from the screen. At first, he ignores it, but then he wonders if maybe, somehow, it’s his family, and so he rushes and answers, presses the device to his ear and waits for his father’s or mother’s or brother’s voice to greet him.

“Hello?”

The voice that replies is none of those. “Jeongguk-ah?”

He freezes.

“I—is this the right number?” A pause, and then an apology, “Ah, sorry, I must have dialed the wrong one, excuse me—”

“Jimin-hyung?” he whispers, and there’s a second of bated breath before the relieved sigh filters through the crackles, some kind of cackle echoing in between.

Even after all these years with who knows how many miles apart, Jeongguk can perfectly envision Jimin’s smile. “Jeongguk-ah. Hey. It’s, uh… been a while.”

“Yeah, um.” He blinks, looks down at the number. “You’re in Korea?”

“Yes. I, uh, arrived two days ago. Are you still in Seoul?” Jimin clears his throat. Jeongguk pretends he didn’t hear the cracks in his voice near the end.

“I am,” Jeongguk confirms, then sets his can of beer on the coffee table before him. “I, uh. I’m surprised you remembered my number.”

Jimin pauses again. “I still have it saved, yeah.” Then, hurriedly, “I have everyone’s number saved.”

“Right,” is the only response Jeongguk can think of, and he’s back to staring out the window. From this distance, though, he can’t make out the streets, and his only company is the view of the building across. “Taehyungie-hyung changed his number, by the way.”

“I know. He told me.”

Jeongguk ignores the sting in his chest.

“I’m in Seoul too,” Jimin diverts. “The situation in Korea was getting worse, so I was planning on heading back to Busan, but you know.”

“Yeah.” Jeongguk swallows at the thought of his family. “The typhoon’s pretty bad.”

Jimin hums. “Yeah, I saw the reports on KBS so I’m—I’m staying in a hotel for the time being.”

“I see.”

There’s another break in the conversation, and Jeongguk’s not used to this—to the pauses and silent questions and the floating, hesitant syllables. He’s not used to the world ending either, but somehow, the severity of the situation weighed nothing in comparison to the tension grasping at his neck.

He swallows, releases a heavy breath.

“I don’t know why I called,” Jimin apologises suddenly, his laugh a nervous stutter. “Sorry, I just—I needed to talk to someone, I guess, and I figured you’d be alone, too, considering you can’t travel home and—”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk interrupts, and he doesn’t know how this thought arrived or where it’s going, but all he knows is that his friends are heading home to their families, and that he’s supposed to be with his loved ones but he’s here, in his fifth-floor apartment in Mapo-gu, alone, craving comfort and warmth from someone familiar—someone he loves. Because despite the years between them, Jeongguk still finds himself yearning. Still calls Jimin love in his head despite Jimin having lost every right to be called that.

Still, though. Still.

The words tumble out. “Want to come stay with me?”

Jimin sharply inhales. “A—Are you sure? I don’t wanna impose—”

“Please.”

He hears Jimin swallow from the other end. “Send me your address.”

Jeongguk smiles bitterly. “It hasn’t changed.”

Jimin doesn’t arrive for another hour. The traffic is still heavy, even though Incheon is supposedly barren. Jeongguk spends the minutes waiting watching the television as he cleans what little mess decorates his apartment of one; he downs the rest of the beer and chucks it into the recycling.

Most of Seoul is destroyed, it turns out; large parts of Gangnam-gu are gone, and Seocho-gu’s buildings are barely holding on. He watches as images of the various districts flash on screen, the blanket meant for his parents—now Jimin—wrinkling in his hand. Most apartments are destroyed, he realises. He considers himself lucky.

The doorbell rings just as the news anchor begins to talk of the number of casualties, and Jeongguk turns the TV off. He floats to the door, blinking in and out until he realises he’s seconds away from seeing Jimin again.

He hasn’t seen Jimin in two years.

His hand pulls the door open before he could start thinking more, and there is Jimin, standing with a small, carry-on suitcase and a backpack across one shoulder, the familiar faded jacket wrapped against his lean torso. His eyes are tired but they still smile up at him, curving until they disappear in that pretty, enchanting manner of his.

Jimin’s hair is brown.

“Hi,” he whispers almost cautiously.

Jeongguk takes a shaky breath and smiles carefully back. “Hey. Come in.”

Jimin toes off his shoes and pulls his luggage in. He pauses in the entryway and stares at the small space Jeongguk has called home for the past three years. “It really hasn’t changed at all.”

He’s not sure whether the comment was meant for him, but he replies anyway. “There hasn’t been much of a reason to redecorate. And given the circumstances...”

“Oh. Um, makes sense.” A tongue darts across Jimin’s lips. Jeongguk wonders why he still remembers that as his nervous habit.

He doesn’t mention it though; instead, he turns, leading the short distance from the door to the couch. “I hope you don’t mind bunking out here. I still only have one bedroom.”

“No, of course. It’s your apartment, after all,” Jimin reassures, pulling his things behind him. He settles them on the ground, shrugs off the jacket from his shoulders and lays it against the armrest. There’s a small tattoo on his left elbow that Jeongguk doesn’t recognise.

“Yeah.”

Another lapse of silence. Jeongguk wonders when those became a norm for them.

“So, how’s your mom and dad? Your brother? Were you able to contact them?” Jimin asks when Jeongguk doesn’t add anything more, and Jeongguk swallows at the blank TV.

“I haven’t been able to hear from them for the past few hours,” he answers honestly. The thread he’s been holding on threatens to snap, but as much as he still feels for Jimin, he refuses to cry. Mostly, he’s tired; partially, he’s weary. “They’re safe, though.”

He doesn’t add that he doesn’t know for how long, but Jimin seems to understand.

A soft hum, and Jimin settles onto the couch. Jeongguk doesn’t join him. “That’s good. I haven’t been able to hear from mine.”

“I’m sorry, hyung.”

Jimin shakes his head. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not but… I just—I hope they’re safe. It’s only a typhoon, right?”

“Right.” Jeongguk swallows. “At least we know for sure that the hyungs are safe, though.”

“Ah, right,” Jimin says, relief dragging his shoulders down slightly. “I didn’t get to message Taehyung to ask how he is. I’m glad he’s okay.”

A part of him wants to ask about that—why Jimin still contacts Taehyung but never bothers to even say hello to him. He knows that their relationships with Jimin were different—are different—but he’s always considered himself special when it comes to Jimin’s affections. Maybe he’s wrong, though. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“He was able to get to Seoul Station, last I heard,” he elaborates, realising that it’s about time he checks in with his hyungs again. Yoongi’s parents have probably made it to Seoul by now; he wonders if they have a place to stay, if Yoongi’s apartment is even okay. “They’re setting up emergency travel stations all over the city since it’s hard to get around right now.”

“I know. I had to find one to get here.”

Jeongguk nods, scratches the back of his neck. 

“How are the hyungs, though?” Jimin inquires after another second. He clears his throat. “Are Hoseok-hyung and Yoongi-hyung heading back to their hometowns, too?”

“Yoongi-hyung’s parents were already on a train to Seoul when he first contacted his mom. They should’ve arrived by now, if the tracks aren’t too damaged.” Jeongguk glances at his kitchen, at the refrigerator humming softly in the background. A good host would’ve offered his guest a drink, but other than tap water, Jeongguk only has beer—is that appropriate? “I’m not sure if Hoseok-hyung managed to catch a train to Gwangju, but he’s planning on heading home. MBC says Jeolla-do is relatively safe.”

“That’s good.” The ghost of a smile appears on Jimin’s lips—it’s a mixture of sad joy, pained relief. Jeongguk remembers the last time he saw that smile, how it haunted him weeks after. When he’s not at the receiving end, it looks beautiful.

Maybe he’s always thought it to be.

“I think Seokjin-hyung’s home now, and Namjoon-hyung said he made it to Ilsan. They should both be with their families now.”

“Hopefully that’ll be us soon, too,” Jimin says wistfully, and Jeongguk glances down at his phone across the room on the dining table by the window. He’d have to pass Jimin to retrieve it.

There isn’t much else to respond with, so he nods, swallowing the thickening lump forming at the base of his throat.

“Well, you’re probably tired, so I’ll, uh, let you rest,” he decides, and he finally glances at Jimin only to find the elder already staring back. Something glistens in his eyes, not quite tears but somewhat reminiscent, and suddenly Jeongguk finds himself standing in his living room from two years ago, the same sofa seating a younger, less haggard Jimin.

In his throat, the words he uttered then is stuck again.

Jimin smiles up at him. Jeongguk wonders what he sees. “Thanks.”

He turns away, heads to his bedroom and tries to forget how two years ago, their conversation had ended the same way.

They fall into cohabitation; it’s rather easy, Jeongguk finds, despite the fact they’ve never lived together before.

Jeongguk cooks their meals.

Jimin washes the dishes.

Jeongguk does their laundry.

Jimin hangs them dry.

Jeongguk takes out the trash.

Jimin vacuums and dusts.

It makes him wonder if this is what it would’ve been like if Jimin had stayed. If at the end of the day, Jimin had chosen him. Not for the first time, Jeongguk loses himself in the image, in the could-have-been and would-have-been, and finds the heaviness from that day returning again.

He tries to shake it off.

He finds that he can’t.

Instead, he watches Jimin from the couch, where the news plays mindlessly in front of him. Stacks of paper are scattered all across the surface, a calculator sitting atop the shortest one. Jimin has a pencil behind his ear and another in his mouth as he rubs at the notes he’s been taking with an eraser, his other hand moving up the trackpad of his laptop. The scene is so reminiscent of their college days that once again Jeongguk thinks his past has somehow become his present, but then Jimin would look up and freeze beneath Jeongguk’s gaze, his throat bobbing as he swallows heavily the palpable tension that fills the air.

If this were the past, Jimin’s eyes would crinkle at him instead.

“I’m going to work now,” Jeongguk announces after another moment; Jimin keeps his eyes on Jeongguk as he stands to turn the TV off. He searches the couch blindly for the tie he discarded and loops it beneath his collar. With his free hand, he finds his backpack and slings it over one shoulder.

Jimin calls after him before he heads out. “Stay safe.”

Jeongguk turns back. Behind Jimin, the rubble of Seoul paints a picturesque view. “You too.”

Seoul has changed much in the past three days since the earthquake; campsites fill the roads that are still safe to traverse, and at every corner, government emergency stations have been set up for transportation and other essential services. It was at these stations that he and Jimin had received their food coupons for the week. Starting next week, though, they wouldn’t need them anymore; if things all goes according to plan, the government mobile app should be complete then, and they can finally shop a larger grocery catalogue.

A minibus arrives to take Jeongguk to Yeouido-dong. The seats are almost nearly taken, but he finds one near the middle next to a woman in her early thirties. She blinks at him when he takes his seat and quickly looks away after a curt nod back.

In the forty minutes it takes to get to his office, he busies himself messaging the hyungs. He mentioned, a few hours after Jimin made himself at home, that Jimin had returned to Korea. For the most part, his hyungs were surprised; Taehyung was the only one who was confused and late to reply.

How do you know?

He’s kind of at my apartment right now.

What the fuck do you mean he’s in your apartment right now, Yoongi’s message had read, and Jeongguk had to carefully explain the typhoon and Jimin’s call and how he had randomly begged for Jimin to come stay with him until they could part again in Busan.

Hoseok had sent a sticker of a shocked cartoon character just as Namjoon replied, You’re a fucking masochist.

I know, he responded back.

Add him to the chat.

Jeongguk did, and Taehyung pretends he hasn’t spoken to Jimin these last two years.

The bus pulls up in front of the building he works at; the company sits on the fifth floor and doesn’t span any more than three stories, but the brand is still reputable enough that Jeongguk’s proud of being its employee. He clambers off, thanks the driver, and heads into the building. The security greets him as usual at the front after he checks Jeongguk’s ID badge, since the scanners aren’t working anymore. And then it’s five flights of stairs.

He doesn’t expect work to be particularly grueling today; since the earthquake, the pace has significantly slowed down. The global economy is at a standstill, and he knows businesses are feeling the impact of the disaster. So, he expects to get off early just as he had the past three days.

He doesn’t expect to be dismissed within an hour.

“I’m sorry, Jeon-juim,” he hears his manager say. “You’ve done exemplary work in the almost two years you’ve been here but…”

“The earthquake, I understand.” Jeongguk stands to gather his things from his desk. There isn’t much; the potted succulents Namjoon had gifted him shattered during the earthquake, and the framed picture he kept of his hyungs from a year ago had cracked. He bows when he’s done and slings his bag across his shoulder again. “Thank you for taking care of me these past two years.”

His manager purses his lips, smiles sadly. “You should receive your final paycheck by the end of the week.”

“Have a good day, gwajang-nim,” he greets, and then they part, the manager heading off to deliver more devastating news and Jeongguk to catch another minibus.

When he arrives home an hour later, when Jimin looks up at him in confusion, he cries.

“I lost my job,” he mumbles, and suddenly, he’s thinking about the rent and the bills and the food they’ll have to buy since they’ve used up their government coupons. The world might be ending, but everyone is still pushing to survive.

He feels a hand pull at his arm, guide him to the couch before grabbing a cup of tap water. The liquid glides down his throat, and from his half-closed eyes he sees the way Jimin hesitates before sitting down beside him.

When he speaks, Jeongguk isn’t very surprised. “Wanna get drunk?”

“I mean, sure. All we have is beer anyways,” he says with a half snort, wiping away the trailing tears; somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers how Jimin had said the same thing four and a half years ago, back when Jeongguk was merely a struggling college student concerned about graduation. Back then, though, Jimin had his arms around Jeongguk, his fingers wiping at the tears falling from Jeongguk’s eyes, and his eyes glistened with something so, so warm Jeongguk believed him to be a furnace—a cozy hearth Jeongguk could curl up next to on stormy days.

Jimin’s lips pull upwards with a smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I’ll get the beer, you get the blanket?”

His heart thunders inside him. He nods. “Rooftop it is, then.”

They separate after that—Jeongguk to his bedroom, Jimin to the kitchen. Jeongguk hasn’t touched the blanket they used to take with them on days like these, when the world was just a little darker than the day before. Jimin would always bring the alcohol, and together they’d clamber up the stairs of Jeongguk’s building—all nine flights of them—until they reached the Seoul sky view.

It’s no different this time. Jimin is already waiting by the front door with both his and Jeongguk’s backpacks, both probably filled with beer. Jeongguk opens the door for them, and Jimin grabs his sleeve to pull him up nine flights of stairs.

The sun is bright above them when they exit onto the roof, clouds forming mindless patterns in the sky. Way below them, a line of people move dazedly as they round the corner to the nearest government food distribution centre to get their week’s worth of food. A poster haphazardly stuck to the wall of the building across advertises the government mobile app that’s in development.

On the streets, long cracks trace each lane like claws digging into skin.

Jimin brings a can of beer to his face and cracks it open. “To the end of the world.”

Jeongguk laughs lightly, takes the can from him. He pulls the brim to his lip and lets the alcohol finally warm him. “To the end of the world.”

He doesn’t know how many cans they drink total; all he knows is that the world gets a little blurrier and his head gets a little woozier and Jimin a lot prettier. His eyes trace the way Jimin’s lips move as he talks, rambles about the information he’s read today, and Jeongguk finds himself missing.

Jimin turns to him, eyes still sparkling. The sky is even bluer now.

“I worked in HR,” Jeongguk finally says.

Jimin stops talking.

“I know it’s not what you were probably expecting.” He breathes out a laugh. “I know I was super passionate about my film degree and dead set on climbing my way up the industry but—I don’t know. I didn’t intend to stay—I only needed some kind of full-time job experience—but then I ended up kind of liking it.” His fingers curl into his thigh. “I got to meet kids who were just as scared as I was entering this big, scary adult workplace and help them settle in. They looked to me for answers, and I felt useful because I could be of some help to them even when I didn’t know the answer. It was satisfying. I really, really liked it.”

There’s a pause as Jimin continues to stare at him, eyes unblinking. Jeongguk lets him, watches the pink in Jimin’s cheek and the slow rise and fall of his chest. He looks like a dream, lying down just inches away from him on the blanket from their memories. “Did they say why they let you go?”

“Well, I mean.” He turns his head, looks up at the sky instead. “The earthquake destroyed a lot of things, hyung. They’re not hiring anymore. And what use is a hiring assistant when there are no hires?”

From the corner of his eye, Jimin purses his lips. “The world is cruel.”

“It really is.” He doesn’t mean to say it—he really doesn’t—but when he turns back, he sees Jimin from two and a half years ago, from three years ago, from four. He sees Jimin, who he spent afternoons kissing in classroom corners and hallways and nights in the elevator up to Jimin’s one-bedroom in Dongdaemun-do. He sees Jimin, the one who he fell in love with. Still loves.

He pulls a smile; it’s sinister, wicked and pained.

“After all, it took you away.”

Jimin sucks in a sharp breath, his face flickering through a thousand emotions at once. Jeongguk watches them all find a temporary home—the anger, the offence, the hurt. The sadness, the exhaustion, the conflict. The regret. “Jeongguk.”

“If you had known the world was ending,” he begins, eyes fixing on Jimin’s, “would you still have left?”

“You know it’s not like that,” Jimin reasons, desperate. Like he’s clinging onto a rope, like he’s clawing at the walls of a chasm. The problem is the rope is already broken, and he’s already fallen down, down, down to the bottom. “It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that aligned with my dreams.”

“But would you?” Jeongguk presses. “If you had known that in two years the world would end, would you still have broken me?”

Jimin stares at him, at the steady breaths leaving his lungs and the unwavering vibrations of his voice. They’re both drunk enough to find courage in the stupidest things, and so when Jimin doesn’t answer him, Jeongguk isn’t surprised. He welcomes the searing kiss that Jimin presses onto his lips again, greedy and desperate and longing for something that was lost long ago. His hands wander to Jimin’s waist as he pulls Jimin on top of him, feels Jimin’s legs cage him so familiarly he breaks and gasps. Jimin just pulls him right back in again, fingers grabbing at the collar of his shirt, and Jeongguk falls, falls so deep into the chasm he knows there isn’t a way out.

He doesn’t know how they make it work, but they do; they climb down nine flights of stairs still wrapped in each other, still heatedly sharing final breaths. Fumble with the keypad and shuffle through the door, and then into Jeongguk’s bedroom where Jimin lies with Jeongguk hovering over him, eyes blurry and dazed.

Jimin feels like a fever dream, and he doesn’t really want to wake up.

“Kiss me,” Jimin pleads.

Jeongguk gives.

They don’t talk about it. Jimin simply wakes up next to Jeongguk and leisurely walks into the bathroom across, while Jeongguk just blinks his eyes open and searches the floor for a clean shirt. He takes out the trash, and Jimin hands him a new towel after he’s done and Jeongguk returns. When he enters his room again, the windows are open and the bed is made.

Jimin is outside in the dining room chewing on toast and reviewing his papers again; Jeongguk always wonders what they were but never asks. Instead, he does what he always does—grabs a bowl and pours some milk then spills cereal on top, pressing it under with his spoon.

When he looks up, Jimin is looking up at him in disgust. “I forgot you were a heathen.”

“Huh?”

He points down at Jeongguk’s bowl. “You pour your milk before your cereal. An abomination.”

“Hyung, you pour your milk before your cereal, too.”

“But at least I don’t enjoy mint chocolate ice cream,” he counters, wrinkling his nose. “And you like pineapples on pizza.”

Jeongguk smiles amusedly. “Again, you like pineapples on pizza.”

“Three strikes,” Jimin continues with a little twirl of his finger, “and you’re out.”

“Well, you also bite your ice cream, so that’s three strikes for you too, Jimin-ssi,” Jeongguk teases, and Jimin pulls a face, eyebrows quirked and lips pulled and cheeks bunching up a little. Jeongguk laughs at the sight and pushes his bowl of cereal forward for Jimin to have some.

Jimin grabs Jeongguk’s spoon and pushes it into his mouth. “You do too. Four strikes. I win.”

“I didn’t notice this was a competition,” Jeongguk says with a laugh. He takes the spoon from Jimin and takes another mouthful.

“Of course it is, brat. You think you can copy me by being born in Busan and somehow outperform me? Hell no, I keep a tab of your flaws.”

“Thank you for humbling me,” Jeongguk jokes, and Jimin grins, grabbing the spoon back.

He watches as Jimin brings the spoon down into the bowl and scoops up a lump of cereal. Traces it to his mouth and watches his lips close around it, before Jimin’s pulling the spoon out. Briefly, his mind reminds him of the places Jimin had explored with his tongue and lips earlier that afternoon, but he shakes the image out of his mind, the ache in his chest a little too raw for his liking.

What they have right now is nice—the tension has dissipated, and Jeongguk can pretend for once that they’re both okay. He can pretend that nothing really has changed while acknowledging, somehow, in the far back of his mind, that it did.

Jimin hums as he puts the spoon back into the bowl and presses the cereal deeper into his milk again. “Speaking of your flaws, you should probably get groceries. I mean, I’m not judging you for eating cereal at eight in the night, but you could be eating a proper meal if you had things to cook with.”

At the comment, Jeongguk’s cheeks burn. “Oh. Right.”

“We can go together, if you’d like,” Jimin offers with a gentle smile, but Jeongguk sees the flicker of hesitance and uncertainty in his eyes. “The supermarkets should still be open now, but I don’t think the minibuses are running anymore.”

“Probably not,” Jeongguk agrees softly. “But I’d like that, I think. Going together.”

“Yeah?” This time, Jimin’s smile is a little brighter. “I think that app the government was developing launched today. It’s not complete, but there should at least be a list of survival essentials we should have.”

“I’ll download it,” Jeongguk offers, and Jimin nods, waiting patiently. His fingers hastily finds the App Store and searches for the aforementioned app, then hits on the little Install button beneath its name.

They watch it load together, the phone lying somewhere in between them. He taps on the app once it’s done, and the first question they receive pertains to their household size.

“Um,” he begins, swallowing, and dares to look up at Jimin.

His cheeks are pink as Jimin stares at the phone, and then Jimin’s running a hand through his hair, tilting his head casually to one side. “You can put one.”

“No,” Jeongguk finds himself saying. “I’ll put two.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Hyung,” he interrupts, laughing when Jimin glares over the spoonful of cereal Jeongguk shoved into his mouth. “I asked you to stay with me, didn’t I? I’ll put two.”

Jimin’s gaze softens again. “Thank you.”

Jeongguk just smiles back. He goes through the rest of the questionnaire easily—his name, his Resident Registration Number, his approximate address. Jimin’s name, Jimin’s RRN. Their ages, their relation to one another. Jeongguk checks off Roommates and hits the submit button.

Once they’re in, they review the list the government’s put together on things they would need to get through the end of the world. There’s also a small section on groceries with the limits the government is loosely enforcing right now, at least until they can invoke rations more optimally with app updates in the upcoming week. Together, they make a quick list to take to the store, and then Jeongguk’s grabbing his jacket and Jimin his wallet before they exit the apartment together, the front door automatically locking behind them.

Jimin leads them to the stairs, to the streets where jagged cracks line the asphalt and parts of the pavement had shifted under the violent shakes of the earth. Jeongguk carefully treads over an uneven slab just three steps away from his building, ignoring the dark stain that lines the massive rubble another ten steps ahead.

“This is creepy,” Jimin comments under his breath. Above them, the street lights flicker.

Jeongguk hums in agreement. “The end of the world does have that effect.”

He feels a bump to his shoulder. Beneath the yellow light, Jimin’s amused smile gleams. “I meant how empty Seoul is.”

“Oh, true.” He stares down the street as they make a corner, at the collision up ahead. It seems that the government has yet to start clearing the street ahead; Jeongguk understands why no one’s particularly excited about walking at night. “Usually it’ll be a lot more crowded.”

“Definitely isn’t the Seoul I thought I’d see when I returned,” Jimin confesses sadly, and Jeongguk pretends he doesn’t hear Jimin’s words nor feels the way his heart both collapses and leaps.

Instead, he just tugs on Jimin’s arm and leads him further up the street. “Come on. It’s late.”

E-Mart appears shortly in the distance; surprisingly, its bright lights are still intact, and save for a few crumbled walls and the line of rubble decorating its storefront, Jeongguk wouldn’t have guessed they were facing calamity just by looking at it. The inside is alive, too, filled to the brim with people shopping for groceries. Jeongguk guesses these are the people who have redeemed their food coupons and consumed it all.

People like him and Jimin, who fight over shopping carts and anti-bacterial wipes to clean the handles.

Jeongguk offers to push the cart as Jimin leads them into the store, directing them straight to the fresh produce section on the most right-hand side. A lot of it is barren, save for a few sad cabbages and other leafy greens. The garlic’s almost out, too, and Jimin frowns, eyes shifting through their options as he glances down at their list.

“Let’s get the cabbage first,” Jeongguk guides, leaving the cart by Jimin and moving over to grab a small plastic bag. The leftover cabbages are sad and small, but they’re also a versatile ingredient and safe choice. He snatches the two best-looking ones as a middle-aged woman starts to make for them; a sheepish, apologetic smile is sent her way before he shuffles away, dropping it into the cart.

Jimin bites down on his lip as he grins, and turns to check vegetables off their list. “Anything else?”

“Scallions?”

“Ooh.” Jimin pulls the cart along as Jeongguk pushes on it from behind. “Good idea. We can make jeon with that.”

“What kind, though?”

“Seafood?” He throws a sack of potatoes into the cart. “Ah, but seafood goes bad fast, doesn’t it?”

“So do vegetables, actually,” Jeongguk teases, but then redirects Jimin’s gaze before he could retaliate. “But I mean, we can also just get some meat for other meals.”

Jimin perks at the idea and begins pulling the cart in the direction of the butcher’s. “Do you have a grill, by any chance?”

“Obviously,” Jeongguk says, then requests for eight hundred grams of different cuts of pork. “I know how to eat well, hyung.”

Jimin pokes at his side. “Well, sorry for assuming otherwise.”

“You’re forgiven.” He takes the meat from the butcher and thanks him kindly. Together, they wheel away towards seafood, where Jimin grabs some pre-packed shrimp before quickly walking away. Jeongguk chuckles at his speed, knowing fully well how much Jimin disliked the smell of seafood. “Should we get snacks?”

At this, Jimin laughs aloud. “We’re facing the end of the world, and you’re concerned about snacks? Typical Jeon Jeongguk.”

“Hey, what does that mean?”

“Nothing, you big baby,” Jimin teases, guiding them to the snack aisle. “Go choose your snack, then.”

He grabs a bag of Turtle Chips, mindful of the government limits, and tosses it into the cart. “You’re not allowed to have any, by the way.”

Jimin just snorts and bumps his shoulder with his again, the way he did when they had just left Jeongguk’s apartment. “Sure.”

“I mean it!”

“Hey, do you think we could get a few bottles of soju?”

Jeongguk guffaws but allows Jimin to steer them in its direction anyways. “You alcoholic.”

“It’s to share, Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin defends as he loads six bottles. “One bottle a day.”

“Alcoholic,” he repeats, but his heart flutters, and his cheeks are warm, and briefly he thinks he can get used to this.

They shop for a little longer, grabbing a few other things they need—garnishes, sauces, instant rice. Jeongguk grabs a couple packs of ramen, too, just to be safe, then moves onto things like soap and first aid kids. By the time they’re done, the clock has already slipped past ten at night, and Jimin heaves two bags into his arms, letting Jeongguk carry the other three.

As they round the street, the lights of E-Mart finally turn off.

“Pancakes in the morning?” Jeongguk suggests as he closes the fridge later, once they’re safe in his apartment again. The kitchen looks better with the food and ingredients they bought lining up the refrigerator shelves and kitchen cabinets. A little more like they’re a bit prepared for the end of the world.

Jimin yawns from the couch, the blanket Jeongguk lent him on the day of his move-in pulled up to his chin. He turns on his side and smiles sleepily. “Sure. Goodnight.”

Jeongguk turns off the living room lights for him. “Goodnight.”

The morning wakes them up with a storm. Jeongguk hears wind hammering against his window, and when he stumbles out of his bedroom in a shirt and boxers, Jimin’s already watching the news.

“Typhoon,” is the brief explanation. Jimin’s eyes are glued to the screen, eyebrows furrowed and fingers digging down into the fabric of his bright purple hoodie.

“Yikes. It looks bad,” Jeongguk comments, glancing outside.

A breath escapes Jimin’s lips, an almost shuddered sigh, and he turns to Jeongguk then, nervous smiles grabbing at the corners of his lips. “Not as bad as Busan, though they’re still asking us to stay in.”

“Probably for the best.” There’s a pause as they both listen to the reporter on the screen, her syllables coming out sharp and immaculate. Jeongguk wants to sit by Jimin and absorb the information, but his muscles are too tense and his stomach too angry.

A genuine laugh slips out of Jimin as he stands and stretches his limbs. He turns the TV off and hugs his arms around himself. “Maybe we should make those pancakes now.”

“Probably,” Jeongguk says sheepishly, and then moves to start with the prep. “Do you want to help?”

“You trust me that much?” Jimin jokes but follows Jeongguk into the kitchen anyways.

Jeongguk merely replies with a chuckle, too afraid to admit, Yes.

The kitchen Jeongguk owns is small, a narrow space containing only one counter and nothing to separate it from the living room. Jeongguk moves to the fridge as Jimin leans against the counter, tilting his head to the right when Jeongguk opens the refrigerator door towards him. “What do you want me to do?”

“You can cut up some fruit?” Jeongguk suggests as he takes out the eggs and milk they bought yesterday. There are some leftover strawberries from the food coupons they redeemed three days prior, and he hands those to Jimin, along with some half-peeled oranges from the bowl he stuck in there late last night. “There are also bananas behind you.”

Jimin turns to look at the counter, beaming when he spots two leaning sadly against each other. “Um, where are the knives and the cutting board?”

“Here,” Jeongguk directs, moving to the left floor-to-ceiling cabinet that separates the kitchen from the entryway. He pulls open the one above the microwave and takes out a medium-sized knife from its holster. “The cutting board is in the first drawer below the stove.”

“Thanks,” Jimin says, carefully taking the knife from Jeongguk, and then moving to grab the board. He sets them both on the counter, along with the strawberries and oranges, and gets to work on cutting up the bananas first.

They work side by side, on the single counter because there’s nowhere else to work. Jimin takes up the half closer to the sink, cutting board half-dangling over it, while Jeongguk’s bowl half-sits on the electric stove. Sometimes, Jimin would reach out and nudge Jeongguk with his elbow, and Jeongguk would grin and bump his hip lightly against Jimin’s. A part of Jeongguk thunders whenever they make this tiny exchange, heat crawling up to occupy his cheeks. 

They used to do this, too, once upon a time. Even though Jimin had the bigger kitchen, they only ever ordered delivery there, preferring to cook in Jeongguk’s. Maybe it was the short distance between them, the small space that forced them to press their sides together. How effortless it was for laughter and mistakes to fill up the rest of the apartment. How easy it is for Jeongguk to reach out and remind himself that Jimin is here, present and alive with him, in the city where they fell in love and broke apart.

Behind them, the storm rages on. Jeongguk dumps the milk and cracks the egg before whipping them violently in the bowl.

From the corner of his eyes, he spies Jimin watching him, eyes trailing up the veins on his arm. Jeongguk tries not to smirk, but he does feel his cheeks burn brighter, heart beat louder.

He makes a total of ten pancakes, which he separates into two stacks of five. Now that Jimin has all of the counter to work with, he happily decorates the plates they’re sitting on, placing random slices of strawberries, oranges and bananas on top. He adds more bananas on Jeongguk’s plate knowing he enjoys them, and Jeongguk grins when it’s handed to him, shoulder shoving Jimin lightly.

He almost leans in to kiss him when he remembers they don’t do that anymore.

“Let’s eat at the table,” Jimin says as Jeongguk grabs a knife and fork for them both.

“Perfect, I’ve always wanted to have breakfast with a front-row view of the end of the world.”

“Technically, you’ve been doing that all week.” Instead of sitting across from him, Jimin joins him on the side that faces his large window. If Jeongguk pulls his chair a little closer to Jimin, Jimin doesn’t seem to mind.

“Ah, but that was looking at the after,” Jeongguk argues while he digs into his pancakes. He pushes a cut of five into his mouth, pleased when Jimin laughs. With his mouth stuffed, he adds, “Fe stowm ish own-going.”

Jimin snorts. “Don’t speak with your mouth full.”

He swallows. “The storm is ongoing.”

“So we’re getting a live show, then,” Jimin jokes, humming around a pancake and an orange. They stare at the whipping wind and the hard rain, listening to the pounding they drum onto the earth. “Do you think this is when we die?”

Jeongguk blinks, the orange he’d been chewing bursting inside his mouth. He swallows, stares at the pancakes on his plate. “Kind of feels like it.”

“It’s so fucking unfair,” Jimin mumbles. His knife and fork have been abandoned on his plate. “I had plans, things I wanted to do next year.”

“I had a bucket list and everything,” Jeongguk chimes, and he feels Jimin turning to look at him, eyebrows curved upwards and eyes alight with curiosity. He gives Jimin a slight smile; unlike Jimin, who speaks endlessly of his aspirations, Jeongguk has always remained tight-lipped about the future.

Maybe it’s because he knew his version would never see the light.

“What was on your list?” Jimin asks, voice soft and gentle—warm, as though Jeongguk could reach out and curl up right beside it.

He cuts himself another bite of pancakes to think about the list he’d long forgotten. It probably has to be adjusted, given the current circumstances. A lot of it can’t come into fruition when their foundation is long gone. “Silly stuff, to be honest. Like dyeing my hair a bright-ass colour because I’ve always been too afraid.”

“Well, now that you don’t have an office job, that’s pretty easy.” Jimin grins. “I’ll help.”

Jeongguk quirks his lips upwards. “Yeah? What colour?”

He feels Jimin’s finger run through his hair; it’s the first time Jimin’s touched him like this in two years, and Jeongguk’s eyes instinctively close, relishing the way Jimin weaves in and out of the tresses in easy patterns. “Maybe blue or purple? I think purple would suit you better.”

“Okay.”

Jimin’s fingers leave his hair. His eyes open again.

He clears his throat. “And what about you?”

“What about me?” Jimin asks as he resumes breakfast.

“Do you have a list?”

Jimin pauses. “I wouldn’t call it a bucket list—more like goals, things I wanted to accomplish.”

“Tell me about them,” Jeongguk whispers despite both of them knowing Jeongguk knows them well.

Jimin indulges him anyways, but the way he cuts into his pancakes has turned slow. “I wanted to finish my research on CRISPR, get published and earn an honour or award or something.”

“Sounds easy. You should dream bigger, hyung.”

“Says the one whose goal is to dye his hair,” Jimin teases.

Jeongguk leans against the wall and stares at Jimin, at his cheeks full of pancakes and his tousled brown hair. “Hey, that’s a big decision for my virgin hair.”

Jimin just grins and then turns to look at him. Jeongguk pretends he doesn’t see the pink in his cheeks. “Any other goals I should know about?”

“Oh, lots.” Jeongguk kicks his feet up onto the bench on the opposite side. “I want to finish my sleeve.”

He feels Jimin’s eyes flicker to the ink on Jeongguk’s arm. They hadn’t been there when they broke up, and briefly, Jeongguk wonders what Jimin sees; in the week they spent together, Jimin hasn’t commented on it much, barely looked at it even. He feels naked under his gaze now, exposed.

He finds that he doesn’t mind, though.

“Anything else?” Jimin asks without looking away.

“Wanted to go grocery shopping with a roommate, but I think I can check that one off now.”

Jimin’s eyes crinkle with his smile. “And?”

“I want to release a song, maybe on Soundcloud,” he admits embarrassedly, but Jimin is nothing but proud, eyes alive as he finally looks at Jeongguk’s face again.

Without thinking it seems, Jimin brings his hands to his face. “You should! You have a beautiful voice, Jeongguk-ah. I love listening to you sing in the shower. You can totally record your own.”

He blushes, embarrassed that he’s been caught; it’s easy to forget when he lived alone that sound travels. But now he has a roommate, and even though Jimin has heard him sing before, Jeongguk doesn’t think he recalls ever granting Jimin daily concerts. It’s hard to when they lived apart, after all. “It’s a little more complicated than that. I’ll have to produce and write something original, unless I want to cover a song.”

“You can do it,” Jimin encourages. His thumbs strokes hearts into Jeongguk’s cheeks, and Jeongguk leans forward, his own hand now trailing to Jimin’s thighs. “And the hyungs can help with the more difficult bits.”

“Yeah.” Jeongguk bites on his bottom lip. “I also wanted to, uh, to become a parent.”

The hands leave his face. “Oh?”

His own hands retreats from Jimin’s thighs, and he’s back to staring out the window, to pretending the world around him has melted away. “I guess that’s more of an aspiration, though, huh?”

“You can do it,” Jimin says instead. Then, hesitantly, “You can adopt a dog, right?”

Jeongguk turns to Jimin, to the way he’s poking at his pancakes, and laughs. “Oh. I suppose I can.”

“You’d be a great dad,” Jimin continues. “And I’d be the annoying uncle who keeps spoiling your baby to the point I’m banned from your apartment.”

He doesn’t know whether they’re still talking in the context of adopting a pet anymore, but he entertains the conversation anyway, too scared to ask. “That’d be kinda hard, considering you live here now.”

Jimin grins. “Is that your whole list?”

“Pretty much,” Jeongguk concludes, thinking about it again. “It’s not very long. Just… little things I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

“It’s still longer than mine.” Jimin stands after he stuffs his mouth with his last bite. “So I say let’s do it.”

“Do what?”

“Your bucket list.”

Jeongguk grins. “Yeah?”

“First thing’s first,” Jimin says as he walks to the kitchen, “we need hair dye.”

Jeongguk follows him and shoves a whole pancake into his mouth. Jimin laughs as he takes the now empty plate from him, then runs water across its surface. “Back to E-Mart?”

“Can’t wait until you’re a grape,” Jimin teases with a sponge full of soap, and Jeongguk just grins, scrunching his nose as he leans against the counter.

“Shut up.”

He does look good in purple; Yoongi and Hoseok tell him as such over their video call, the sound coming a little fuzzy with the blender roaring in the background.

“Sorry!” Hoseok yells. “Noona’s making a protein shake or something!”

Yoongi mutes him. “So anyways.”

Jeongguk laughs as Hoseok mouths something on his side of the screen.

“You wanted to release a song, Jeongguk-ah?” Yoongi asks, propping his arm onto his desk and then leaning against it.

He nods, teeth biting on his lower lip. From the dining area, the tell-tale clicks of Jimin’s keyboards permeate the walls, followed by the occasional curse. Jeongguk smiles lightly when Jimin does it again, expletives running from his mouth as he yells at his calculator.

In the chat box, Hoseok’s message reads, UNMUTE ME YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.

“Jimin and I were talking about bucket lists back when we were stuck inside because of the typhoon,” Jeongguk explains as Namjoon suddenly appears on screen. He waves in greeting while Namjoon asks, “Why’s Hoseok muted?”

“He’s fine,” Yoongi dismisses with a wave of his hand, and Namjoon just nods in confusion.

Jeongguk clears his throat. “Anyways, we decided to complete my bucket list, and releasing a song on Soundcloud happens to be one of them.”

It’s then that Hoseok realises he can unmute himself, and the sound of the blender crackles through the screen once more. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT GENRE, THOUGH?”

This time, Namjoon’s the one to mute him.

In the chat, Hoseok writes, FUCK YOU TOO.

Jeongguk suppresses the laughs threatening to escape, wills himself to be a little more serious as Namjoon ignores Hoseok’s message in favour of pulling out a pen and paper. “Not sure, but I’m thinking ballad? I’ve always liked ballads most.”

Yoongi snorts. “You’re asking three hip hop fans to help you write a ballad. Makes perfect sense.”

“It’s the end of the world, might as well branch out,” Namjoon muses. The pen clicks in his hand. “Okay, so ballad. What do you want the song to be about?”

When Hoseok unmutes a second time, the blender is finally gone. “Bet he wants to write about Jiminnie.”

Jeongguk blushes. “Hyung.”

“How’s that going, by the way?” Yoongi asks, and for a second Jeongguk thinks he’s teasing, but his eyes are serious and his eyebrows are furrowed.

He knows why Yoongi’s especially concerned; he’d been there the day when Jimin broke up with him, the one to pick up the shards of Jeongguk’s heart along with Seokjin. Together, the three of them camped Jeongguk’s couch and then his bedroom, talking for him when Jeongguk refused to talk for himself. Held his hand a month later when they all went to see Jimin off, and then held him again when Jimin didn’t reach out the way Jeongguk thought he at least would.

Out of all his hyungs, Yoongi knows the fragility of his and Jimin’s relationship best. He remembers the dangerous edge in Yoongi’s message when Jeongguk first told their chat of Jimin’s return, and the private conversation that came after. Yoongi’s trying to be casual about it now, but Jeongguk knows he’s still worried, still nervous about Jimin staying with him because he knows how cruel the breakup had been on Jeongguk especially.

So when he replies, he makes sure to beam. To filter all the good into his tone, the happiness and joy he’s felt. The tension has long dissipated, after all, and aside from fleeting memories of the past, Jeongguk hasn’t felt too sad or stuck. He’s been content, and he tells Yoongi as such. “It’s been good. Jimin dyed my hair.”

“Ooh, how domestic,” Hoseok teases, and Jeongguk flushes darker.

Namjoon looks at him fondly, proudly. The way he had when Jeongguk had first told him that he’d asked the sunbae he’d been crushing on out on a date. “I’m glad Jimin’s staying with you, by the way. The end of the world is shit; neither of you deserve to be alone.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything as he purses his lips, but then when he flits his eyes upwards again, his gaze is soft. “Yeah. I’m glad you have each other.”

“Me too,” Jeongguk agrees.

“So, the song?” Hoseok asks, and then, just as Yoongi’s opening his mouth to speak, a vacuum roars from his side of the screen.

Hoseok immediately mutes him, and Yoongi’s silent curses infiltrate the chat, Namjoon’s laughter echoing with Hoseok’s.

Jeongguk just smiles with them and decides he knows what he’d like his song to be about.

He adopts a little white Maltese which he names Kongie because she’s tiny and easy to lose. They keep her on a leash when Jimin decides that today, they’ll finish off Jeongguk’s sleeve; Jeongguk doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’ll probably take more than a day, given that he still has sections he’s yet to work on.

The tattoo parlour they visit is the one where Jeongguk got his first tattoo, almost a year after Jimin had left. He had come in drunk the night of his appointment, just shortly before the shop was meant to close, and started crying when the artist began tattooing the little J on his ring finger. He doesn’t really remember what he’d said, but upon his second visit, the artist apparently had to pull him aside and apologise because she hadn’t known the J stood for his ex, because otherwise, she would’ve refused.

He just shook his head then as the needle sank into his skin to begin the tiger lily design. “It’s okay. We’ve been broken up for a long time now.”

A different artist tattoos him today, and Jimin watches from the corner in fascination as the needle traces waves into Jeongguk’s upper arm. Kongie sleeps on the ground in between Jimin’s feet, and Jeongguk just watches them both, his smile faint and his chest loudly drumming.

“When did you get yours?” Jeongguk asks, gaze travelling to Jimin’s elbows when the elder looks at him in confusion.

“Oh.” He rubs at the back of his arm, at the number 10.13 inked there. “On my birthday two years ago, I think. Another fellow wanted to get tattoos and asked if I wanted to go too, so I thought, why not?”

The buzzing stops for a second as the artist cracks their knuckles. Jeongguk’s glad this one isn’t too big on conversation; he would feel bad for not engaging with them. “Is that what they called people like you at Harvard? Fellows?”

“Well, the program is called a Fellowship,” Jimin reminds. “But I mean, I was also a student, so.”

“You were?” Jeongguk blinks. He hadn’t known that.

Jimin doesn’t seem to mind because he just nods, eyes still following the artist’s hands in fascination. “I had to be a grad student to even receive funding for my research, so yeah. I’m actually enrolled in Harvard.”

“What the actual fuck,” Jeongguk breathes. His eyes glistens proudly. “I can’t believe I was dating someone attending Harvard.”

His words register a millisecond later, but just as he’s about to apologise, Jimin laughs. “Almost attending. Back then I hadn’t quite started just yet.”

The conversation then shifts to something more current—the state of their families, who they finally were able to contact, to how Seokjin and Taehyung are doing, since Jeongguk hadn’t had a chance to call them just yet. Briefly he wishes they could speak more on their past; their relationship hadn’t been mentioned since Jimin’s arrival, at least not between the two of them. He’s sure Jimin’s received a comment or two from the hyungs the same way Jeongguk had during that one video call, but when it came to just the two of them, the past remains a sealed, untouchable part of their history, almost as though it had lived only to be forgotten.

But Jeongguk can’t forget—not when Jimin lingers even longer in his mind now. Not when every time they so as much touch, a wave of the past comes rushing back, drowning him until he nearly forgets where in their timeline they currently sit.

There’s a lot of things Jeongguk wants to say. A lot of things he’s been thinking about over and over in his head. Half of it are regrets, words he kept to himself after and even during the time they existed. The other half, though, are newer—realisations that dawned after Jimin filled up the spaces Jeongguk hadn’t realised had started gathering in hidden corners of his apartment.

Like how easily Jeongguk had given up when there was still so much that he could’ve fought for.

The buzzing stops, and the artist pulls back completely, cracking their neck. They nod at the work they’ve done and start wrapping it, prattling on the care instructions as part of routine. Jeongguk half-listens while Jimin seems to be engraving the instructions into his mind. Kongie awakes slightly when Jeongguk moves to take the leash from Jimin, and he bends to scratch her behind the ear while Jimin trails after the artist to ask a few more questions.

When they meet up at the front, Jimin loops his arm into Jeongguk’s.

“So, that’s another item done?”

“Technically, I still have sections I want to fill,” Jeongguk admits as he guides them to the end of the street, where another emergency station has been propped up. This side of the district is far less crowded, and it only takes them a few minutes to find a minibus with enough space for the two of them and Kongie.

Jimin gathers the puppy in his arms, his right one looping through a pole. Jeongguk hesitates for a second before wrapping them both with his left one, his right arm holding onto the rail at the top. “How many tattoos are you planning to get?”

He chuckles, leans a little closer to Jimin until his heart stops beating. The minibus shakes a little with all the potholes the earthquake had created, but Jimin and Kongie don’t sway much thanks to Jeongguk’s grip. If Jimin rests his back a little against Jeongguk’s chest, Jeongguk pretends not to feel it.

“Two or three more,” Jeongguk says as the bus comes to a stop at a light. He finds it funny how the drivers still adhere to traffic rules when these buses are the only vehicles that are still running these days. “I haven’t decided if I wanted to get two big ones or one big one and two small ones.”

“What would they be?”

“I was thinking of the sun for one of them. To match the waves, I guess.”

Jimin hums. “And the other?”

“Something related to music and film. Not sure if I want to combine it into one giant piece or if I’d rather have them be two separate designs.”

“I think two smaller designs would look pretty,” Jimin comments as the bus makes it to another emergency station, and Jeongguk releases both Jimin and Kongie from his embrace to climb off the bus together.

“Yeah?” Jeongguk looks at him softly. “Maybe you should sketch something for me.”

“I’m not an artist.” Jimin laughs. “But maybe one day, we can get matching tattoos or something.”

“If the world doesn’t end before then.”

“If the world doesn’t end before then,” Jimin repeats.

Jeongguk’s lips quirk upwards, then he nods at the street. “You should get home. I’ll text you when the next bus comes.”

“Stay safe,” Jimin pleads, fingers curling into his own bicep. “If there’s another typhoon, stay at Yoongi’s, even if they say it’s safe to head out.”

“Okay.”

“And if there’s an earthquake—”

“I’ll call you,” Jeongguk promises. He reaches out and gently pries Jimin’s fingers from his self-embrace, careful to ensure Kongie won’t fall even with only one arm holding her up. Before he lets go, he slips his hand into Jimin’s and squeezes. “I’ll be careful.”

Jimin’s breath comes out shaky, but he smiles regardless, eyes curving in that familiar, lovely way. “Okay.”

“See you later,” Jeongguk bids as Jimin’s hand falls from his, and Jimin opens his mouth before closing it again.

“See you,” is what he says instead, and Jeongguk watches as Jimin walks backward before turning away completely, walking quickly down broken pavements and chapped streets.

He glances back once, and Jeongguk waves.

When Jimin rounds the corner, the minibus headed to Yongsan-dong pulls up to the curb.

Jeongguk wonders what Jimin was going to say.

The recording goes well; surprisingly, they finish in a day, and Yoongi tells him he and Namjoon and Hoseok will work on polishing it up for the rest of the week. If everything goes well, Jeongguk will have the song by next Monday, and then he can finally upload it to Soundcloud, and Jimin can check off another item from Jeongguk’s list.

He returns home somewhere close to midnight, but Jimin’s still up waiting for him, wrapped in his blanket and blankly watching TV.

At Jeongguk’s voice, he launches himself into Jeongguk’s arms and squeezes tight.

“You’re back.”

Jeongguk carefully wraps his arms around Jimin’s waist. “I’m home.”

On Tuesday he uploads Still With You to Soundcloud and pretends he doesn’t hear Jimin cry at night, the song echoing through the walls on repeat.

It’s a Friday when another earthquake hits, and though this one isn’t as bad as the first from nearly a month ago, Jeongguk panics. He scrambles, grabbing Kongie and running straight down the stairs and out the building, his fingers fumbling for his phone in a desperate attempt to reach Jimin.

Because of course the day that Jimin leaves to meet with Taehyung is the day disaster hits.

Jeongguk nearly cries with the earth shaking beneath him and people screaming around him when the ringing only continues without an answer. He almost nearly yells out in frustration, nearly throws his phone to the ground in anger and hysteria, but stops himself last-minute, breath shaky and uneven.

He focuses on pushing himself with the crowd, heading to the designated area the government had marked in case of another earthquake.

When he arrives, the earth has finally calmed, and his phone rings with the tone he set especially for Jimin.

He answers immediately. “Hyung?”

Jimin’s crying on the other side. “Jeongguk-ah?”

“I’m okay, I’m fine, it’s just—” The words die in his lungs, and when Kongie noses his face with a whimper, he realises his cheeks are wet, too.

“I’m coming home,” Jimin tells him.

“Stay on the line. Please.”

“Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin calls again.

“Yeah?”

“Can we talk? When I get home?”

Jeongguk swallows. “Of course, hyung. Whatever you want.”

It takes Jimin four hours to arrive, and the first thing he does is throw himself into Jeongguk’s arms. They sit there on the floor in between the kitchen and the living room, Jimin sobbing into Jeongguk’s chest as Jeongguk himself shakes, arms squeezing Jimin as tightly as he can as though to reassure them both that they were real. He feels his lips move as well, but he isn’t sure if Jimin knows what he’s saying; he sure as hell doesn’t know what he’s saying, the syllables sounding well underwater.

When they pull away, Jimin doesn’t remove himself completely. He just sits there in Jeongguk’s limp arms, his fingers slipping down onto Jeongguk’s chest.

“I thought I’d lose you again,” he admits no louder than a whisper. “I’m so, so sorry, Jeongguk-ah.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk interrupts, but Jimin just cries, the ache from their separation suddenly so evident on his face.

For a long time, Jeongguk thought he was the only one who’d been suffering, but now he realises that conclusion was stupid, selfish.

Jimin, after all, had loved him just as much.

His grip hardens, fingers clutching desperately onto Jeongguk’s shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

“Let’s go to sleep,” Jeongguk decides, and when Jimin doesn’t move, he carries him into his bedroom, pulling off both their jeans and leaving them in boxers.

Jimin curls under Jeongguk’s arm, which he wraps around Jimin’s waist.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers again.

Jeongguk kisses the top of his head. “Me too.”

Jimin serves them tea later that night after they’ve showered, and Jeongguk places two servings of jjajangmyeon and a plate of pajeon on the dining table after moving Kongie to his bedroom. The apartment soon fills itself with the tinkling of chopsticks against ceramic bowls, but unlike the first night, Jeongguk finds the silence comfortable.

They don’t mention the elephant in the room because they know it’ll make itself known sooner or later. Jimin is desperate to talk about it, after all. Jeongguk can see that much.

“I finished my research,” Jimin finally says after another beat of silence, and Jeongguk looks up with a curious tilt of his head.

“Yeah?”

“Well, technically I finished it two months ago, before all this ‘doom of humanity’ shit started happening and all.” He spins his chopsticks in his bowl and lets the noodles fall. “I’ve just been reworking calculations and finishing up my notes and conclusions.”

Jeongguk wants to reach out and squeeze Jimin’s hand but decides against it. “Congratulations, hyung.”

“Thanks.” Jimin smiles slightly at him. “I guess that’s one thing from my bucket list down.”

“What were your other two again?”

“Get published and win an honour or award.” He laughs. “Both impossible now, seeing as the world is finally at its end.”

Jeongguk licks his lips. “Well, I can’t help you get published right now, but I can help with the second one.”

Jimin’s eyebrows furrow. “Jeongguk-ah?”

“Be right back,” Jeongguk promises, reaching out and squeezing Jimin’s hand before he rises and retreats back to his bedroom. Kongie barks at him when he enters, and he puts a finger to his lips, scratching behind her ear. She sits between his legs as he searches his desk for a blank sheet of paper and his laptop before pulling up Adobe Illustrator to quickly draft a certificate, which he prints after typing in Jimin’s name. He also has to rummage his drawers to find the dojang stamp he uses for official documentation like civil services, but he finds it eventually and rubs it in red ink. Once he presses it onto the paper, he heads back to the dining table, where Jimin is still sitting with his bowl of jjajangmyeon that’s now empty, expression shining with amusement and interest.

“Welcome back,” Jimin greets as he grins, but his eyes are now focused on the paper Jeongguk’s holding tightly in his hand.

He slides it across the table, mindful of potential stains. “There, an award for your research. And before you complain, it is legit—you can see my ingam right there.”

Jimin practically guffaws and almost falls off the bench that lines the side of the dining table closer to the window. “Oh my gosh, you’re so cute.”

Jeongguk colours under Jimin’s gaze, and it takes everything in him not to look away. “Thanks, I try.”

“I can’t believe you took out your seal,” Jimin muses in between giggles, but he’s holding up the certification as though it’s the highest honour he could receive. He gazes at Jeongguk almost longingly, clearly lost for words. In the end, he settles for, “Thank you.”

“When you finish your final draft,” Jeongguk begins, “I’ll help you get published.”

“And what’s your plan for that?”

“Uh, Postype?”

Jimin cackles again. “You want me to post my research on a service where things like gay fanart are frequently uploaded?”

“Hey, a lot of different things get uploaded to Postype, like custom Kakao themes. Gay fanart isn’t the only medium, you know,” Jeongguk points out. “And besides, with Postype, at least you can enforce capitalism and require people to subscribe in order to read your publication. Since that’s, you know, a thing you snobby people do.”

“Hey!”

“Knowledge should be free. I stand by what I said.”

The smile on Jimin’s face seems to break his face apart, his eyes glowing brighter than they ever did. They glisten, too, under the dim light emanating from the living room, and Jeongguk helplessly watches as tears pool in them before they fall.

He doesn’t wipe them away because he knows Jimin needs this, even though he’s already cried earlier today. Instead, he moves from his seat and slides into the bench next to Jimin, holding his hand as they look at the certificate together.

“Congratulations, love.”

Jimin just laughs again, but this time, the sound is broken.

“You know,” he begins, sniffling as he turns to look at Jeongguk fully. Jeongguk grabs a tissue at the end of the table that’s pressed against the wall and wipes the snot from Jimin’s nose. “I would’ve stayed.”

Jeongguk’s heart stutters.

“On the roof, you asked me if I still would've broken up with you had I known the world was ending.” Jimin’s voice is soft, careful. As though he’s treading on glass, the shards slowly cutting into the soles of his feet. He holds Jeongguk’s hand a little tighter. “Of course I wouldn’t. I—I didn’t even want to break up with you when the world wasn’t ending. How could I want to even if I knew it was?”

The world spins, and Jeongguk finds the air too thin. “But you broke up with me. You wanted to leave.”

“I wanted to succeed,” Jimin corrects, running a hand through Jeongguk’s hair. He untangles the knots that have formed during their sleep, carefully undoing every coil and mess. “I’ve told you before, about my aspirations.”

“You wanted to do research, get published, win an award.” Jeongguk quirks his lips despite himself. “I might’ve heard about it once or twice.”

Jimin nudges him, slides his right hand down from his hair to his face. He cradles it there, with fingers slowly tracing patterns into his skin the way he did that day they were talking bucket lists and futures they once dreamed off. “I wanted to make an impact on the world. Mean something. To me, my goals—my career—has always been my highest priority. But that didn’t mean I was eager to break up with you, Jeon Jeongguk.”

“I wasn’t eager to end things either,” Jeongguk admits after a heartbeat. He swallows, struggles to find the words he’s been thinking over and over the past two week since the initial video call with Yoongi and Hoseok and Namjoon. It’s easier to imagine them, he realises, than to utter them aloud. “It’s like you said—I knew about your aspirations. From the moment we started dating, you warned me of them. That you wanted to set out to do great and big things, that relationships weren’t really your priority then. It’s why you kept me at an arm’s length for two years, right?”

“I didn’t want to fall in love and get attached,” Jimin confirms. “But I did anyway.”

“I was so happy,” Jeongguk confides lowly, out of breath. “The sunbae I was following around like a puppy finally, actually saw me. I was determined to be your best, even if the time we had was short.”

This time, it’s Jimin’s turn to have his lungs collapse, to tense as he slowly pieces the wordless confessions Jeongguk has just revealed. In Jeongguk’s right hand, Jimin’s grip tightens.

“I mean, I wasn’t expectantly waiting for you to break up with me,” Jeongguk clarifies when Jimin doesn’t say anything. “But I knew our futures wouldn’t align. You’re super realistic, focused. I’m up in my head most of the time, dreaming fantasies that are always a little out of reach. So I knew we wouldn’t last, but we lasted longer than I thought we would.

“I was actually going to ask you if you wanted to move in together, on our third anniversary.”

Jimin sharply inhales.

“Was actually about to close a deal with the realtor too because I wanted to surprise you, but then you surprised me first.” He laughs; it’s funny now, thinking about it as an event that has passed because there’s nothing that can change what has happened. It’s part of their history—part of what made them Jimin and Jeongguk—and he realises that now. It’s somewhat liberating to acknowledge, but the sadness that coats the event then can still be felt somewhere in his heart. Even devastation lingers in the aftermath, regardless of how much has healed. “And I let you go. Because I thought it’s what I should do.”

Jimin strokes his cheek again. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Jeongguk apologises, and this time, it’s his turn to cry. “For giving up on us before there was an us to begin with.”

“It’s okay,” Jimin whispers, leaning closer. “You were only protecting yourself. I would’ve done the same.”

They stay like that, with Jimin’s left hand in Jeongguk’s and Jeongguk’s face cradled in Jimin’s right, just staring at each other as the words shared slowly sink underneath their skin. Jeongguk breathes in the scent he’s known so long, the one Jimin has worn since his return and even before he left. Instead of the sadness associations of the past often brings, Jeongguk only finds warmth.

“I kept asking Taehyung how you were doing,” Jimin adds after a while, finishing the rest of his confession. “That’s how I knew bits and pieces of your life and why I was still in contact with him. I know you were wondering when I mentioned it that day.”

“I was,” Jeongguk admits.

Jimin leaves Jeongguk’s grasp in favour of fully cradling his face with both his hands. “He asked me why I broke up with you if all I was going to do was cling to you. He pointed out I could’ve just asked you to do long-distance.”

Jeongguk closes his eyes and leans into Jimin’s touch. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t think it was fair to ask you to wait for me.” A pause, but Jeongguk keeps his eyes close, his mind slipping slowly into sleep. “And because I was afraid. Like I said, my career has always been my top priority. I was afraid if I kept what we had…”

“You’d lose sight of your initial purpose,” Jeongguk fills.

“I wanted to stay true to myself, to see my dreams through. So I broke up with you. I know you were wondering about that, too.”

Jeongguk hums. “I was.”

“But I did intend to come back to you,” Jimin reveals, and Jeongguk snaps his eyes open again. Jimin’s much closer now, his breath nearly tickling Jeongguk’s lips, and his eyes are sad, forlorn. “I promised myself that once I accomplished this milestone, I’d let myself look at a new dream. And I had every intention to come and find my way back to you so I could love you even deeper than I did.”

“And if you were too late?”

“I would let you go.” Jimin presses his forehead against Jeongguk’s. “So that’s my answer. If I had known the world was ending, I wouldn’t have let you go. But even if the world wasn’t ending, I would’ve found my way back to ask if you would have me again.”

Jeongguk smiles. “It’s a good thing the world is ending, so you get to have me right now.”

Jimin’s breath hitches, but then he laughs, twinkling bells and stars bursting into euphoria inside Jeongguk’s chest.

He leans closer, until he’s almost on top of Jeongguk. “Will you have me again, Jeongguk-ah?”

Jeongguk presses a kiss onto Jimin’s lips, the years they spent apart moulding into one emotion. “You’ll always have me, love.”

That night, they fall asleep on their bed in tangled sheets.