Chapter Text
It’s very, very early when you wake up to the sound of your phone vibrating off the bedside table. Literally, vibrating off the table. It clatters to the floor after a few seconds, which wakes you up more thoroughly than the incessant buzzing. Usually, you remember to turn it on silent before bed to avoid precisely this: still half-asleep, you flail your arm out to try to grab it, only to knock off a vase of fresh roses that you forgot decorates the table and bang your knuckles on the phone-less surface.
Groaning, you roll over, momentarily disoriented.
Right. You’re not at home. You rarely are these days, spending so much time traveling that you’re not even sure why you bother having an apartment at all.
This morning, you wake up in Los Angeles. After two days at The Makeup Show, you stayed in town to attend Digital Forum, and now you’re just hanging around the apartment you rented working on an editorial that’s fallen behind.
If it weren’t for the fact that your phone is still vibrating, you’d ignore it and go back to bed.
[Peach]
Y/N
you have to help me
holy shit
fuck
please be awake
please please please
i’m going to die
Y/N
please
[Margot]
it’s 2pm in paris
she’s probably working
[Peach]
why is she in paris again
omggggg
Y/N PLEASE COME HOME
IT’S AN EMERGENCY
actually why are YOU awake rn
[Margot]
it’s 8 in new york…?
peach what the hell happened
are you okay
do i need to choke a bitch
[Peach]
IVY CANCELLED ON ME 😫😫😫
[Margot]
wtf
four days before the show?
that’s so unprofessional
[Peach]
ikr
okay, she didn’t CANCEL
she was in a car accident
[Margot]
i fucking hate you
[Peach]
i wouldn’t be acting like this if she wasn’t okay!!!
do u understand how bad this is
i can’t go to the show without flawless maekup
i’ll be laughed out of the industry
this is my first awards show!!!!
please Y/N come home 🥺
for me 🥺🥺🥺
just this one teeny favor
🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
[Y/N]
i’m not in paris
i’m in LA
when?
[Peach]
THAT’S PERFECT
THE SHOW IS IN LA
IT’S IN FOUR DAYS
PLEASE
PLEASE I’M BEGGING YOU
I CAN’T FIND ANYONE ELSE
[Y/N]
you’re only asking me because i’m too nice to charge you double for being a pain in my ass 😔😔😔
[Margot]
charge her triple
and remember trixie mattel’s wisdom
you have to beat that face
[Peach]
wtf
it’s not MY fault???!!!!
you two are so rude wtf
fame always changes people smh
smfh
[Y/N]
says the pop star that was nominated for best new artist
😔😔
[Margot]
tf i’m not even famous
you two are the famous ones
in case you forgot, you both abandoned me
[Y/N]
abandoned?
margot you work for la mer
in manhattan
shut up
[Margot]
point taken🤭🤭🤭🤭
[Peach]
anyway
yes? no?
i have to come up with an actual plan if you say no
[Y/N]
you’re lucky i’m already in LA because there’s no way i would have flown from paris for you with this little notice
get me in contact with your stylist asap
and by asap i mean if we aren’t at least on a skype call by eod i’m setting you on fire
[Peach]
THANK YOU
TYSM
OH GOD I’M SAFE
BLESS
DON’T WORRY BECK IS AMAZING
CALLING THEM NOW
[Margot]
don’t call beck right NOW idiot
it’s five in the morning
[Peach]
oh
true
i’ll text them
[Y/N]
i’m going back to bed don’t wake me up before 9am ever again
✌✌✌
[Margot]
setting time rules like you’re ever in the same time zone for more than a week
[Y/N]
🙄🙄🙄🙄
⸻⸻⸻
The nice thing about being in a support role instead of an actual celebrity is that no one is paying attention to you or what you’re doing. They just assume that because you look kinda fancy, you’re probably supposed to be there, but because no one recognizes your face, you can keep a low profile. No one asks questions. Being “on” all the time is one of the most difficult parts of your career, but with Peach absorbing every single ray of the spotlight she can, you’re safe in the background. Peach is the kind of person who doesn’t want to share, you’re the kind of person who doesn’t want to be noticed, it works out.
Walking the red carpet isn’t new, but it’s not something you usually do. There are kids with famous parents, so it’s not that weird for you to walk with Peach, but it still feels a little weird. Cameras are going off at the speed of light with bright flashes that blind you every few steps; reporters call out to Peach, who is admittedly a very hot commodity right now, and it’s nice to see her do her rounds. Peach is suited for fame, you think, watching her flip her hair and pose for cameras, giggle cutely with interviewers, and generally act like a media darling.
The red carpet leads into the theater, where the AMAs will be held, and there are so many people. You pull Peach aside to fix a smudge of mascara and re-do some eyeliner, dab some sweat from her forehead, and renew color on her lips in record time; as soon as you’re finished, you’re jostled down a corridor and led to the parking lot where rows and rows of trailers sit in wait. Inside Peach’s is champagne and fresh fruit and a crystal bowl of only red M&Ms, for some reason.
“Who are you, Van Halen?” you ask, caught somewhere between incredulity and amusement.
“I requested it as a joke,” Peach says faintly. She walks over to the fancy bowl and picks up a handful of M&Ms to inspect them.
“Please don’t cry over the M&Ms, I don’t want to redo your makeup.”
“I didn’t think they would actually do it!” Peach whispers, bordering on hysterical. You tilt your head.
“Welcome to the world of celebrity,” you say, shrugging. “Are you okay? It’s just a bowl of M&Ms.”
“I need fresh air. Y/N, I—I don’t know if I can do this? This is—” Peach takes a deep breath. She looks very near tears. “Like, the biggest event I’ve ever done?”
“You’ll be fine. It’s just another performance.”
“Okay but like—Lady Gaga is performing? And Diana Ross? Oh god, I need fresh air.”
You’ve been inside the trailer for about twenty seconds now, so it’s not like fresh air has been particularly lacking. Fresh air is five steps to the door. Peach has always been at the mercy of her nerves, though, and you feel a little bad. You sure as hell wouldn’t want to perform on the same stage as Diana Ross. Peach is talented, though, which surprised you. Who keeps musical talent like hers a complete secret for years? But knowing that under Peach’s “idgaf” exterior is a very self conscious person, you kinda understand.
“Peach, you’re going to be fine. You didn't get from SoundCloud to the AMAs for nothing. Breathe.”
Peach doesn’t calm down. In fact, she begins to pace. And pace. And pace. You try to keep up a relatively constant stream of encouragement, but it’s not doing much. Maybe this is just a pre-show ritual? Freak out in the privacy of your personal trailer, go inside the venue good as new! You hope that’s what it is, because Peach can’t exactly lose her shit like this on stage.
After about ten minutes of this mini-freakout, the trailer door opens and Beck comes in. They take one look at Peach and chuckle, which you take as a good sign. A better sign when they put their hands on Peach’s shoulders and begin rubbing and whispering soothing words you can’t really hear.
“Hey, Y/N. Nice to meet you in person,” Beck says once Peach is back to her usual self. They stroll across the trailer to where you’re sitting and shake your hand. “You’re legendary.”
“No, no. Bobbi Brown is legendary. I’m just ordin-dary.”
Peach rolls her eyes. Beck laughs awkwardly once they work through what you said for a solid five seconds. You appreciate them humoring you, since it’s not really funny. This must be what Seokjin always feels like.
…
Why are you thinking about him, of all people, right now?
Outside the trailer, you can hear people calling out to each other, people being directed to the correct trailers, some excited whooping. You’re used to it after spending so long backstage in places like this. Ever since your assistant gig at Milan Fashion Week, life hasn’t stopped for you. You’re not Pat McGrath and you never will be, but damn if you aren’t still living in a dream. High profile clients and haute couture runways, editorial work in magazines like Vogue and Elle and L’Officiel. You’ve traveled to some very far corners of the world and toyed with the idea of launching your own cosmetics brand.
That last one will have to wait a while. Not only does it seem to be a time sink, you aren’t ready to venture into a different business mindset. You’ve already put so much effort into your brand as a makeup artist, there’s no need to try to take on more after only a year and a half out of formal training.
Eventually, Peach decides to make her way into the theater to find her seat, taking Beck with her. Being left behind is fine with you, you don’t exactly want to spend hours at the awards show. If you’ve seen one, you’ve basically seen them all. You shrug off your tuxedo jacket and hang it up, flopping down in a massage chair to relax. Maybe you’ll go see a performance or two, though you aren’t sure who’s performing other than Peach, Lady Gaga, and apparently Diana Ross. You should definitely go see those three.
After unknown minutes, you’re bored. Whoops. You can’t decide whether to go find Peach or just walk somewhere for food. You try playing a mobile game for a while, but your concentration is slipping and the game isn’t nearly interesting enough to bring it back. It feels kinda lame just sitting in the trailer now that you’re actually doing it.
Okay, going inside. Should be fine. You’re used to it. You shrug your jacket back on and button it, thinking about how much you don’t want to be in a packed theater with screaming people but knowing it’s inevitable if you want to catch Peach’s performance. It’s been far longer since Peach left than you expected, so the best course of action is likely to just go into the theater and worry about food later. Peach will be coming back to change soon...maybe you can go meet with her outside?
Yes. Good plan.
Except there’s one thing that’s unexpected. One thing you would have never imagined happening in a million, billion years. In an infinite amount of time.
When you exit the trailer, you come face to face with a small swarm of people. You wouldn’t have given them a second glance if they weren’t speaking Korean, really, because a celebrity is a celebrity and you’re not in the business to rub shoulders with them.
And then you make eye contact with Jeon Jungkook.
What the fuck.
You very nearly fall off the little metal stairs that you were in the process of walking down. Time slows down for a second, because Jeon Jungkook is staring at you in shock and wonder, and when you tear your eyes away, you realize that, naturally, Jungkook isn’t alone.
It feels like your brain just shuts off. History you’ve forced yourself not to think about for years springs fully-formed into your mind, closing your throat. Yoongi seems to realize that Jungkook has fallen back; he turns and opens his mouth to speak, then your eyes meet and his mouth snaps shut. A flood of emotions threatens to overwhelm you in an instant. You haven't seen Yoongi this close in so long.
Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok are talking together, unaware that two of their members are a few feet behind them now, staring at you. Seokjin and Namjoon are talking to staff. Seriously, by the looks of it.
It’s only a matter of time until the silence breaks and things get awkward. Only a matter of time until the rest of BTS turns, sees you, and you evaporate on the spot.
So you do the only thing you can conceptualize at the moment: you turn and head to the theater without a word.
No one calls after you. You didn’t expect anyone to.
If you were ever to have a reunion with your old friends, you wouldn’t have wanted it to go that poorly. When you check the schedule, fumbling through the program, you see that BTS is performing tonight. They’re performing at an American awards show. How in the hell did you miss this? How did you not know that they’ve achieved so much?
Admittedly, you stopped keeping track. After a while, it felt too weird and sad. Like you were some crazy ex stalking them or something. Of course that wasn’t the case, but it still felt weird.
Which means you’ve been totally blindsided and are completely unsure how to handle what just happened. Should you message them and apologize? Pretend like nothing happened and let them draw their own conclusions?
There’s also the possibility that they don’t even care. They couldn’t possibly care. After so long, there’s no way.
“Noona! Noona, wait!”
Oh god.
You don’t know how to deal with this.
You turn to face Jungkook, who is—
Holy shit. On second glance, you can plainly see that Jungkook is not a baby anymore. He still has the same bunny grin and big brown eyes, but that’s about the only similarity.
“Jungkook-ah, shouldn’t you be getting ready?” you ask, weak. You aren’t prepared for this, you don’t know what to do, you don’t know what to say.
“Nah, we’re not in a hurry,” Jungkook says. His eyes trail down your body. You’re suddenly aware of how deep the neckline of your bustier is. It was meant to look like there’s nothing under your jacket, and it does. It does look like that. “Wow, you look amazing. Who are you working with?”
“Oh, uh. Peach Cabot, do you know her?”
“Yes! Yes, I can’t wait to see her perform! American Girl is so good!”
Silence falls. You look at Jungkook, who looks at you. All at once, he pulls you into a tight hug, actually lifting you up and twirling you around. What the fuck. You cling to him, one part fondness and about twenty parts confusion. “A-aren’t you angry with me?”
“Nope! We needed time to grow and so did you,” Jungkook says immediately, and his smile is so big, his eyes so bright. “And look at what you’ve done! I’m so proud of you, noona. Why would I be angry?”
“So it really is you.”
Ah fuck. Yoongi’s joined you, and his once familiar drawl sends a shiver up your spine. Jungkook drops you so that you can spin to face Yoongi, who regards you with cool politeness before looking at Jungkook. What…?
“Jungkook-ah, we need to get ready. Come on.”
“Okay, hyung! Noona, can I come see you in your trailer after the show?”
“I don’t think we’ll have time,” you mumble. Yoongi’s stoic exterior has really thrown you through a loop; it's the strangest sense of déjà vu. “Um. If you want to meet up tomorrow…?”
“Ah come on, wait for us noona. Will you? You promised!”
You did promise, sort of? In a different context. You feel too blindsided to protest, though. You glance at Yoongi, who’s looking at you, emotionless. Completely, utterly emotionless. “Yeah, okay. I have an Airbnb nearby, I’ll text you?”
“Yeah, text me! And watch us perform, too! Don’t take your eyes off us!”
“I won’t.”
You meet Peach only a few minutes later and turn right back around to return to the trailer, which you’re now convinced is a space of time-loss and limbo. You’ve already missed so much of the show.
Oh well.
After doing Peach’s performance hair and makeup, you go into the theater to pick a spot where you can see the stage. Nerves are creeping up, for some reason. A reason that you can’t make heads or tails of. You know Peach will be fine. What you don’t know is whether or not you’ll be fine. Everything about this situation is so surreal. How did you miss this? How could BTS performing at the AMAs have possibly escaped your notice?
Peach is on first, and she does beautifully. Her performance is captivating, really, and the cheers that she gets warm your heart. When she announced she was going to go into music, you had no idea that the girl who was studying makeup had spent years posting on SoundCloud, working on an online persona, but you’ve realized that Peach can be a pretty private person. She’s always come across as strong and confident, but even she had parts of her life that she was afraid to share.
You whoop and clap when the lights dim, joining in with everyone else. Whatever worries she had were completely unfounded. She’s amazing.
You watch as a few more awards are passed out, a few speeches, palpable nerves still dancing under your skin. BTS is going on after Peach. You still don’t know why you still feel nervous, or why your fingers are trembling.
When BTS is announced, it’s to ear-splitting screams. You swallow around a lump in your throat when the crowd breaks out in a fan chant, when the opening notes of a song you don’t know blasts through the theater. Your hands are shaking. They’re so, so good. They’re amazing. Different from the boys you met five years ago, from trainees to proper idols, but so much more. Everything about them is flawless.
You can’t stop shaking. History is happening right in front of your eyes, and those are—those were—your boys. You text Peach to let her know you’re going to turn in early, then open Katalk for the first time in a long damn time.
You don’t know what to say, so you turn your back to the stage and snap a selfie to send to the group chat, which after all this time is still intact. As if you were all waiting for this moment, or a moment like it, even if you didn’t realize it.
[Cheonsa]
amazing performance, guys
The Airbnb you’re renting is literally across the street, so you walk over not really expecting anything to happen. Maybe Jungkook will come, maybe he won’t. If he does, it won’t be until late, probably. You imagine they have things to do, like celebrity things and going live for ARMY. It will be late for sure, if he comes.
The group chat stays quiet for a long time. No one is checking it, and you feel weird just staring at it.
Finally, after midnight, you get a message.
[Jungkook]
where’s your airbnb noona?
[Cheonsa]
[address]
room 310
i”m about to order kyochon, do you want some?
[Jungkook]
yes please! get enough for yoongi hyung too
[Cheonsa]
yoongi?
he’s coming?
[Jungkook]
yeah
[Cheonsa]
oh
okay
so i need 2 orders for you and one for me and yoongi to share lol
[Jungkook]
doesn’t sound like enough
anyway we’re leaving now, be there soon
[Cheonsa]
and you’ll be okay? it’s safe for you to come?
[Jungkook]
lol
yeah dw dw
can’t wait to see you again
love you
You get up to put on something a little more presentable than your pajamas and quickly wash your face to be rid of your makeup and the day’s grime.
Love you.
After all this time? Isn’t that a little too good to be true?
Actually, after a second glance in the mirror, you think you should use some dry shampoo, too. And maybe put your eyebrows back on. A little mascara couldn’t hurt, either.
Wait, no. No, they’ve seen you without any makeup. They’ve seen you unshowered and exhausted.
Ugh.
Love you.
You sit down on the toilet and scrub your hands over your face to try to snap yourself out of it. It shouldn’t be this hard. You shouldn’t be this nervous. It’s just Yoongi and Jungkook, and you’re just going to eat fried chicken, and you don’t need to look any specific way to accomplish either of those goals.
What are the fucking odds, though? You’re only in LA because Peach needed you last minute. You could have just as easily flown home, or somewhere else. One small change of events and you would have never been at the AMAs. If you’d left your trailer two minutes later, you wouldn’t have run into them. You wouldn’t know until later that they were even here, and you might have grabbed the chance or you might not have.
Okay, one last check. You glance at yourself in the mirror, where your hair is in a messy puff on top of your head, and you’re wearing an enormous, comfy sweatshirt. With no pants.
You forgot pants. And of course, as you’re realizing you forgot pants, there’s a loud rap on the door. You dart to your suitcase to grab some leggings and clumsily tug them up your legs as you race to the door. Deep breaths. One, two, three, in. Pants are on, breathe out, two, three.
“Noona,” Jungkook says, all warmth, when you open the door. He’s gotten so tall. Broad. Shit, he’s hot.
“Hey, Jungkook-ah. Yoongi.”
Yoongi is just behind Jungkook, evidently fresh out of a shower, unlike Jungkook, who’s makeup looks like it was hurriedly scrubbed off. His fringe is still wet. You realize that you’re just standing there after a few seconds and step back to allow your guests entry.
“You didn’t tell us you were going to be here,” Yoongi says. Not “hi,” or “nice to see you.” Like you’re picking up a conversation that never ended despite the years it’s been.
“Didn’t know I was going to be. And I don’t really keep track of where you guys are, sorry. You’re all over the place.”
“We follow each other on Instagram.”
“Is that your way of saying you’re keeping up with me?”
“He is,” Jungkook cuts in. Yoongi scoffs but doesn’t deny it. “Wow, noona, this place is really cool.”
Jungkook walks over to the floor to ceiling window with sparkling eyes, which leaves you standing next to Yoongi. Both of you watch Jungkook quietly. You have no idea if this feels awkward to Yoongi or not, but you’re definitely feeling weird. Should you apologize for losing contact? Say you’re really glad to see him again? Those would be half-truths. You regret that it happened but you don’t particularly feel like it’s your fault; it’s mostly strange to see Yoongi, awkward and strange, so you can’t say you’re that glad. Quiet, you let your eyes follow Yoongi’s profile, from the platinum fringe falling in his eyes to his round cheeks and razor-sharp jawline, his little button nose. Time has been kind to him; like Jungkook, he’s more handsome than ever.
Yoongi’s eyes move from Jungkook to hold your gaze. Do you look as wary as he does? As lost, as confused?
“You’ve done so well, Cheonsa,” Yoongi murmurs, finally relaxing and offering a faint smile. You let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry it took this long for me to tell you I’m proud of you.”
Your eyes burn a little. A little. You weren’t expecting Yoongi to start with the emotional stuff so soon. There’s a lot about today you weren’t expecting. It’s slightly overwhelming.
“Yeah, you too. Performing a song in Korean on an American stage…wow. I don’t think it’s ever been done before.”
“It hasn’t,” Yoongi says. After a beat of silence, you both dissolve into laughter.
“God, you performed for a crowd of like, two hundred once. What the hell? Who are you?!”
“It was four hundred, thank you.”
“Hey hey, noona, is food almost here?” Jungkook asks from his place by the window. He stretches and flops on the couch with an almighty sigh. “Come sit down, it’s been forever. Tell me everything.”
“Everything? Where do I even start…?” you wonder aloud, moving to also flop on the couch. You could start with having taken a course under Ms. Olo, or applying to her masterclass, or abruptly moving to London. You could talk about Margot and Peach, the things that you’ve learned about yourself, the joy that your friends brought you.
Before you can say any of it, however, your phone vibrates. Over and over. Rapidly.
“Oh. I think they’ve opened Katalk,” Jungkook says. You blink. You check Katalk.
[Taehyung]
noona?
noona you’re here?
ong
omg
NOONA
[Jimin]
NOONA??!!!
[Taehyung]
WHERE ARE YOU
I DEMAND TO KMOW
RIG HT NOW
“You didn’t tell them?” you ask, dumbfounded. Jungkook laughs.
“We thought it would be more fun if we didn’t,” he says.
“What if I hadn’t posted, though?”
“Then we would have brought them,” Yoongi says. The smile hasn’t dropped from his face yet. He sits down on the couch, too, on Jungkook’s other side.
[Hoseok]
IT’S CHEONSA NOONA????!!!!!!!!
WOW
[Taehyung]
NOONA PLS
WHERE
ARE
YOU
TELL EM TELL ME TELL ME
[Seokjin]
what the hell are you guys spamming this chat for
[Taehyung]
NOONA IS HERE
[Seokjin]
??
[Cheonsa]
hey?
long time no see
[Attachment: a selfie of you, Yoongi, and Jungkook crammed onto the couch.]
[Jimin]
JEON JUNGKOOK
HIW COULD YOU
AND HYUNG
[Taehyung]
betrayed by my own flesh and blood
where!!!!!
[Cheonsa]
[address]
room 310
[Taehyung]
COMING
[Namjoon]
[Seokjin]
wow
okay
cheonsa?
wow
[Namjoon]
Do you have room for more guests?
[Cheonsa]
even if i didn’t, i would still expect you to come over
[Taehyung]
STOP TYPING START WALKING
SEE YOU SOON CHEONSA NOONA
[Yoongi]
bring drinks
and food
thanks
[Jungkook]
lots of food
[Taehyung]
WALKING
Half an hour later, you’re surrounded by old friends, snacks, and booze. The smell of pickled radishes and fried chicken fills up the Airbnb, which you only belatedly remember has a “no additional guests” policy.
Ah well.
Taehyung hasn’t let go of your hand since he walked in and hugged you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever come in contact with. You expected it to be a little awkward, maybe even a lot awkward, but it isn’t. Not really. Hugs went around, all of them enthusiastic. Each and every hug forced you to contend with how much everyone has changed: they’re older, of course, but with age has come chiseled jawlines that can cut glass, muscles, broader and taller frames. Bangtan is fucking beefy, is what it all means, and Jungkook exemplifies the transition from boyhood to manhood. You can’t take your eyes off him.
It’s a problem.
Worse still, Park Jimin. Ex-boyfriend, former confidant, gorgeous as hell.
You haven’t bloomed nearly as much as they have, but you’re also not an idol, and you’re pretty damn confident in your appearance compared to shy, awkward, teenage Y/N. “But I’m only me” is a sentence you’ll never be caught dead uttering again, hell no. You’ve worked too damn hard to have an existential crisis in a room full of beautiful men.
“Noona, here,” Jungkook says, pulling your attention from his extremely impressive thighs back up to his face. You hadn’t even realized he was approaching. Or that you were staring. You feel your cheeks heat up. Either Jungkook didn’t notice, or he’s polite enough not to say anything; he holds out a plate piled high with food. “You haven’t eaten anything.”
“Oh, uh. Thanks,” you say. There’s way too much food on the plate, but you take it anyway.
“Noona, how long are you in LA for?” Taehyung asks. Both he and Jungkook start taking wings off the plate, much to your relief.
“Until Sunday.” A long yawn makes your eyes water. “I think Peach would kill me if I didn’t spend at least a weekend in LA.”
“How do you know Peach, anyway?” Namjoon asks.
“We both went to Chastain.”
“Wait, wait,” Taehyung says. He drapes himself over your side. “Only Sunday? Can you stay longer?”
“How long are you guys going to be here?” you ask.
“Until the end of the month. We’re going to be on Ellen. And James Corden.”
“Wh—”
“Noona, noona,” Yoongi says, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Did you know we won a Billboard award?”
“Hey noona,” Seokjin joins in. “Can you tell I’ve become even more handsome? They call me third from the left, Worldwide Handsome.”
“Noona,” Jimin says, but in a much different tone. The little shit is flirting with you. Play flirting, sure, but how dare he. He drapes himself across your lap, knocking Taehyung out of the way. “Did you like our performance?”
“Guys, lay off of her,” Namjoon says, but. It doesn’t help your situation. Jimin just grins. He smells so, so good. Makeup and cologne and a touch of sweat, up close.
“You’re a menace,” you tell Jimin. You smile sweetly and push him off your lap, which makes him fall all over himself laughing, just like you remember.
“Noona!” Taehyung says, loudly, over the laughter and chatter that’s surrounding you. “Can’t you stay longer? Please?”
“I have so much work to do Taehyung, I’m sorry—”
“But what kind of work?”
“I’m working on an article and I really need to have it finished soon.”
“You can work on an article anywhere,” Jimin supplies helpfully. He hasn’t moved from the floor yet.
“Yes, thank you, Jimin,” you say, exasperated. “If you want me to stay so bad, give me a good reason.”
“Because I love you,” Taehyung chirps. Like Jungkook, he says it with absolute confidence. You feel like you should say something, but Jimin grabs your hands and pulls you down onto the floor, too. Taehyung follows in a dive and then they’re both wrestling for no apparent reason. You roll out of the way and sit up on your knees.
“How the hell do you even have all this energy after that performance?”
Hoseok drops down next to you with a plate full of chicken. When you left Seoul, things between the two of you were pretty awkward. Nothing has really changed in your relationship, but he’s not acting like anything is weird. Neither are Seokjin or Yoongi. Or anyone else.
Why do you feel so weird, then?
Maybe it’s just overwhelming. Suddenly seven friends show up out of nowhere and act like nothing has changed. But things have changed! It’s weird to hear Jungkook and Taehyung say they love you when you literally haven’t spoken for years. It’s weird to have Jimin act flirty and sit in your lap.
“Want some air?” Hoseok asks, casual. Soft. Grateful, you nod.
The night is chilly, but not enough to require more than a sweatshirt. You follow Hoseok onto the balcony—which overlooks a courtyard—and close the door behind yourself. The noise from inside is muffled immediately.
“How did you know?” you ask. With just the two of you, you feel a little less weird letting your guard down.
“You chew on your lip when you’re stressed,” Hoseok says, shrugging.
“I—what? I do?”
“Yeah, you always have. What’s up?”
“I dunno, it’s just weird. Nothing major.”
“Heh, yeah. Everything is different now. For a while there you were more famous than us.”
“Ugh.”
“I knew you’d hate fame.” Hoseok laughs heartily and slings an arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer. “You’re so cool, noona.”
“Yah,” you mutter. They’re still so touchy; always seeking contact. “You guys really made it, huh? Your performance was amazing…your sound, your choreo, everything is just amazing. What happened to baby Bangtan?”
“The same thing that happened to baby Cheonsa noona,” Hoseok sing-songs. “Baby-Cheonsa-noona sounds funny.”
“Baby Hope has a nicer ring to it, it’s true.”
“Baby Hob-ah?”
“I always liked Smile Hoya the best, if I’m being honest.”
“See?” Hoseok pinches your cheek. “It’s not that weird. Just relax.”
You try to bat Hoseok’s hand away, but you realize how bad of an idea that was when you slap your own face. Which, of course, results in Hoseok doubling over in laughter, clinging to the rail. It smarts like hell but you can’t deny it’s funny, your own laughter seeming to draw Taehyung and Jungkook outside like a magnet. It’s already past one in the morning, but you spend hours like this: hanging out on the balcony as people rotate inside or outside for company or booze, chicken disappearing mostly thanks to Jungkook. The knowledge that he’s old enough to drink in Korea now is wild, something you have a harder time grappling with than the knowledge that BTS is internationally famous.
As the night goes on, things gradually level out. Things are different, sure. You’ve all changed, yes. So what? All of it is expected.
And isn’t your desire for everything to stay the same what held you back all those years ago, anyway? Changing is better. Knowing that things are different is better.
Not until half-past four does the impromptu get-together dissipate. Yoongi is whining that he’s tired, Namjoon insists they need at least a few hours of sleep, and Taehyung and Jimin are basically asleep already.
“Let’s do breakfast together, okay noona? Before we all leave LA.”
“Yeah, sure. Sounds good. I’m free all weekend.”
Six men file out. Namjoon’s eyes linger over your shoulder, just for a second, where you know Jungkook is hanging back. When you shut the door, you wait, but Jungkook says nothing, other than “um.” When you turn around, he’s fidgeting a lot.
“Is everything okay?”
“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine. Ah, noona…” Jungkook audibly swallows, then takes measured steps toward you, hesitantly, all of his shyness back on full display. “I’m just. Happy to see you again. I thought you were gone forever.”
“Aw, baby.”
“You’re still calling me that?”
“Sorry, Jungkook-ah. If you really don’t like it—”
“No, I like it,” Jungkook cuts you off. He squares his shoulders a little, standing up straighter, meeting your eyes. They’re still so big and expressive, a dark shade of brown that’s warm and soft. “Can I hug you? Is it okay?”
Instead of answering, you close the gap between the two of you and wrap your arms around Jungkook’s waist. His arms wind around your shoulders, tight, one hand splayed over your back and the other tangling in your hair. There’s a touch of longing in it, a tangible sense of the time that you’ve spent apart.
“Don’t leave again, please. Please, noona.”
A lump forms in your throat. You didn’t really consider how it might affect Jungkook for you to slowly fade from his life when he was so young, or how it might have hurt him or made him think that he did something wrong. Emotions aren’t logical to begin with, but clingy teenage boy emotions are probably even less so.
“You know I didn’t leave you, right?” you gently prod. You scratch gently at the nape of Jungkook’s neck, finding it so weird to be so much smaller than him. “I had to go live my life, and I didn’t try as hard as I should have, I guess.”
“Neither did I,” Jungkook says. “I’m sorry. I missed you so much.”
“Let’s make a deal, then. We can talk to each other whenever we want and hopefully between the two of us, we’ll make an entire friendship again?”
Jungkook snorts quietly. “You still talk to me like I’m a kid.”
“No way! You are not a kid anymore, trust me. I can see that just fine.”
Your statement results in Jungkook choking up and hiding his face from you for a solid thirty seconds. Still shy, definitely.
“Ah, baby. I missed you, too.”