#DAY 0.5: FORGET THE PLANE; I’M SWIMMING THERE.

"No, wait. — I can't believe this actually happened."

Taehyung stopped walking in an absurdly abrupt way right in the middle of the airport. A woman who had to be at least sixty years old swerved — or rather, was forced to swerve — around his suitcase and shot him an indignant, outraged look; you could swear you heard her mutter some kind of curse at him.

As Taehyung dramatically carried on, Juria kept walking beside you; both of you were already accustomed to his reactions. Shaking your head, you glanced down at your phone as you made your way through the crowded terminal. Notifications were piling up on the screen, messages from the wedding group chat coming in nonstop, boarding reminders, and emails you kept pretending you would answer later.

An urgent meeting at the publishing house you worked for? — Or a coworker considering changing your time off? — That was a problem for future you; and that future version of yourself was about to inherit one hell of a mess.

"It happened, Tae." — Sometimes, the things that happened at your best friend’s workplace sounded like stories that could easily show up on Reddit or as the narration of some TikTok

"Juria, you’re lying." — Taehyung tried to catch up with your pace, nearly tripping over his own suitcase. It was easier — and safer — to carry the oldest’s suitcase and let him handle yours; judging by the number of near-accidents that morning, the theory was proving itself right. — In response, the redhead simply answered, “unfortunately, i’m not.”

At that hour — 9:12 A.M. to be exact — the airport was packed; you couldn’t believe there would be such a huge crowd on a tuesday. People crossed the terminal in every direction, announcements echoed through the speakers, and the smell of coffee mixed with expensive perfume and air conditioning created a strangely unpleasant combination.

Not to mention the endless check-in lines, children running between suitcases, groups of young people gathered near the international departures holding phones and discreet signs, and the constant feeling that some celebrity was about to walk through the terminal. — For a moment, you tried narrowing your eyes to make out the name written on the signs, but eventually gave up.

Did Jin invite the entire world to his wedding?

Pulled from your thoughts, you felt your phone vibrate. New messages had appeared in the group chat — and you were fully aware that this was, at least, the sixth version of its name in less than forty-eight hours; every single one involved or mentioned the groom’s name. — You didn’t waste any time opening them.

jin (09:17 A.M): updates on my favorite guests?

jin (09:18 A.M): EVERYONE LEFT THE HOUSE?

hoseok (09:21 A.M): we've been at the airport for ten minutes, hyung

you (09:24 A.M): can you believe Taehyung almost ran over an elderly lady?

"Ha, ha,." — Taehyung faked a laugh, keeping an ironic, grumpy expression on his face. Reaching over, you lightly pinched his cheek with your fingers. — "The funniest person i know." — After making it through security, the three of you decided to wait for the rest of the group, settling down near the boarding area. — "Seven days."

"Yeah." — You replied, looking down at your phone. Juria had posted a picture of the airport entrance and tagged you and Taehyung. You heard him mutter something along the lines of “seven whole days” and turned toward him. — "Still seven days."

"Basically, it’s a spiritual retreat, and no one is going to believe it." — Juria sighed at the man’s assumption. Taehyung had mentioned the exact same thing on the way to the airport. Since she was standing beside you, you caught the look of disbelief on your best friend’s face. — "Usually, it’s around this many days." — No. It probably takes months, you thought.

"Taehyung, do you even know what happens at a spiritual retreat?"

jimin (09:41 A.M): namjoon left his ID on the café table near the entrance

juria (09:41 A.M): yay

namjoon (09:43 A.M): important to mention that i already have it in my hands

taehyung (09:45 A.M): we’re at the boarding gate, by the way

jimin (09:47 A.M): arriving in five minutes ;)

Without breaking their promise, the small group met up with you within the agreed-upon time — something that honestly surprised you. Of the four guys, only Namjoon was wearing glasses, clutching his passport like his life depended on it — or like he had only just managed to get it back. You couldn’t help but feel secondhand embarrassment. They seemed to be talking about something and, if you had to bet your money on it, Namjoon’s passport was probably the subject of conversation.

As you got closer, you could hear Yoongi gesturing animatedly and saying something along the lines of, “…almost made us miss the flight.” You knew you could’ve made some good money on that bet. It didn’t take long for everyone to settle into their seats, waiting for their flight to board; the countdown showed one hour and three minutes remaining. — In the meantime, you sipped the coffee Hoseok had bought you while listening to Yoongi and Namjoon’s conversation. You could have looked for the book that was probably buried somewhere at the bottom of your bag, but you decided to save it for the flight instead. — Not really involved in the conversation, you stayed on your phone, occasionally feeling Jimin glance over and look at your screen. You didn’t mind, nor did it bother you.

Another notification from the group chat. — Unlike the previous ones, this message belonged to someone who hadn’t said a single word all morning; and whose number wasn’t saved in your contacts. And, honestly, you had no intention of saving it anytime soon.

Before the message came through, you had been watching some video. You paused it, but never went back to it; your thumb hovered over the notification icon. You didn’t know whether to open it immediately or wait a few minutes before checking it.

+XX XXXX-XXXX (10:15 A.M): i just arrived. Where are you guys?

Unfortunately — without any dramatic twist — the world did not stop. The airport didn’t fall silent, the announcements didn’t cease, and the people rushing through the corridor in front of you didn’t suddenly disappear. Children didn’t stop screaming and laughing, either. — You read the message once. Then again. And once more, making it three times in total. It was simple. Nothing surprising or particularly special. But your stomach twisted in an unsettling, strange way. You were used to his presence, but in this case, you were being forced to deal with it. — Sometimes, in fact, most of the time, it felt as though that one year and seven months had never existed at all; on either side.

Funny, it had been almost two years. Long enough to delete a contact, erase a profile; long enough to pretend certain memories didn’t resurface at the most inconvenient, unnecessary moments. — Taking a slow breath, you tried to ignore the tightness in your chest.

My God,. — It was your friend’s wedding. There was no room for emotional plot twists, inconvenient nostalgia, or feelings that insisted on coming back without an invitation. — Of course Jin would never, under any circumstances, choose between one of you for such an important moment in his life; and you had known that from the moment you received the invitation.

namjoon (10:18 A.M): we are in the departure lounge

namjoon (10:18 A.M): do you want me to pick you up?

+XX XXXX-XXXX (10:20 A.M): no need, hyung ;)

Your thoughts were pulled away from whatever spiral they had been heading into when you heard Jimin call your name, asking if you were okay. In response, you murmured a quiet “yes” and returned your attention to your phone, hoping to find something that could distract you. The whole situation was, frankly, embarrassing. — So you thought about the book in your bag again. Something to keep your mind occupied.

After a few seconds of wrestling with tangled earphones and chargers inside your bag, you finally found the book at the bottom, its edges slightly crumpled; but you barely had time to open it. — Hoseok suddenly called for everyone’s attention, interrupting the various side conversations around you. You automatically lifted your eyes in his direction; and only then realized you hadn’t noticed him arriving.

Well, some part of your consciousness definitely had not been avoiding looking toward the entrance of the boarding area. Definitely not. — That would have been ridiculous. Childish, even.

Jungkook was there, a few steps behind Hoseok. — A black backpack hung from his left shoulder, his earphones resting around his neck, not to mention the suitcase he was carrying. He looked more… comfortable, for lack of a better word. Something about Jeon had changed, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what; His haircut? Did he look stronger than the last time you saw him? — maybe it was simply because it had been two months since you had last seen him in person. — No. Stalking his Instagram profile definitely didn’t count as human contact or any kind of contact, for that matter.

Your gaze dropped from his face, and you noticed that the labret was no longer on his lip, though the piercing at the corner of his mouth remained firmly in place.

Wait. — Why did you even care about that?

As if he could feel you staring, Jungkook lifted his eyes toward you. You had never been good at hiding absolutely anything, and you hated that about yourself. However, the eye contact didn’t last long because you both immediately turned your attention back to Hoseok’s words.

"..so, can we go?"

"Shit, i forgot we’re separated." — While standing in line for boarding, you heard Jimin grumble behind you. Jin had taken responsibility for everyone’s tickets, insisting on handling everything himself. According to him, the flight was completely full, and there was no way to guarantee seats next to each other for everyone; though he hadn’t ruled out the possibility.

"Three hours, Jimin" — You tried to reassure him. The line began moving quickly. When it was your turn, you handed your passport and boarding pass to the airline employee, receiving an automatic smile in return. It didn’t take long before you continued toward the plane. Looking down at your boarding pass, you checked your seat number; 18A. — Window seat. At least you’d have a nice view for the next three hours.

Dodging people who had stopped in the middle of the aisle to arrange coats, backpacks, and their entire lives inside the overhead compartments, you made your way down the plane. — One man nearly smacked you in the face with an enormous backpack while hurriedly trying to shove it into the compartment, forcing you to awkwardly lean to the side; courtesy really was a magical thing.

Adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, you finally found your seat. It was empty, which brought a small sense of relief to your chest. At least you’d have a few minutes of peace before finding out who would be occupying the seats beside you. — It was impossible to deny that you struggled a little with getting your suitcase into the overhead compartment; you spent a good while wrestling with it, trying to find the right angle to make it fit. — Once it was finally in place, all that remained was your bag, which would stay with you throughout the flight.

Allowing yourself to sit down, you settled comfortably into the seat. You pulled your book and earphones from your bag and rested your head against the headrest, taking a deep breath as you watched the activity outside the window; ground crew members walked across the tarmac, luggage carts crossed the apron, and the late-morning sky was almost obnoxiously clear.

Your phone vibrated almost immediately.

jin (10:55 A.M): is everyone on the plane?

Um sorriso escapou dos seus lábios antes mesmo de responder.

you (10:55 A.M): yes, dad

Because you were focused on your phone, you didn’t notice someone standing beside your row. They were probably looking for space for their suitcase; and you were right. There was movement in the overhead compartment, and you could only hope your own suitcase hadn’t been shoved to the very back beneath everyone else’s bags; you prayed it hadn’t.

Then a low, familiar voice — far too familiar — sounded in your direction, and you immediately realized who was standing there. And instantly regretted everything.

"Excuse me,.."

Your thumb froze against your phone screen as another notification popped up. — Honestly, you were seriously considering switching to Do Not Disturb. — Slowly, you lifted your eyes toward the owner of the voice.

The aged, poorly maintained, yet honestly warm apartment seemed to exist outside of time; it also felt far too small for everyone gathered there.

The dim lights, stained by the warm orange glow of the lamps attached to the peeling, badly painted walls, turned the place into an old movie — one that would be praised, positively, for its cinematography — like an old recording forgotten on some VHS tape. At the same time, it could be considered a memory; the kind of flashbacks that usually happen in movies. It was exactly that.

Beer and soju bottles were scattered across the floor and the old wooden coffee table, exposing just how much alcohol inhabited the apartment, accompanied by crushed cans around the broken television. — There was no real need for the TV; it had no functionality anymore and served only as a peculiar decoration. — On the radio beside the bookshelf filled with comic books, an unfamiliar song played softly, too low for you to understand the lyrics; no one really cared, anyway.

The smell of cheap alcohol mixed with cigarettes and a distinctly woody cologne that someone — and you would bet your last coins on Namjoon — had clearly overdone this time, wrapped around the room.

Somehow, it comforted you, and you knew you would never be able to replace it with anything else; an inexplicable combination, yet impossible to forget. — You were more used to it than you probably should have been, and that was not hard to admit.

"Seriously..." — You muttered, amused. You lifted the beer bottle, nearly empty by now, to your lips, savoring the cheap drink as you sank deeper into the worn black leather couch; the tears in the leather lightly scratched against your thigh. Sometimes you thought about getting up, but you always abandoned the idea. — You could take off your jacket and place it beneath you to avoid the contact, but even that felt like too much effort.

"Wait, wait…”— Hearing your name called loudly and clearly, you turned toward the voice. Taehyung had appeared behind the couch, startling you, looking as though he was about to show you something in his hand. Before you had any chance to respond or scold him, he placed something on your head. — "This is perfect for you.”

A cowboy hat, which you touched immediately to confirm what it was, now rested on your head, drawing attention from everyone around you. The fit was surprisingly perfect; it neither squeezed nor irritated you, though judging by the smell, it had to be old. — You wondered who it had belonged to, and silently prayed that the previous owner was not dead. — When you tried to take it off, Taehyung stopped you, leaning in until he was face-to-face with you.

“Taehyung, this is ridiculous!” — You laughed, setting the bottle on the floor so your drink wouldn’t spill while you reached for the hat. Your friend’s hands adjusted the accessory, his fingers brushing lightly against your face. He took a few small steps backward, nearly tripping over the table, to examine you, like a film director admiring his masterpiece.

“Don’t say that.” — He placed a hand dramatically over his chest, pretending to be wounded by your comment. Pulling the sunglasses down from the top of his head, he formed a rectangle with his fingers, imitating a camera. — “You look like an actress from an old movie,” — He said. — “Like one of those western films!”

“He’s right…” — You hadn’t even noticed Jungkook standing near the table. He was holding a camera, and it looked like he had just turned it on. He had always liked documenting things, taking photographs of moments no one else thought to keep. — “Looks like you got the lead role in the Johnny Guitar remake,” He teased. Rolling your eyes at the reference, you left the hat on your head, accepting your new fate.

You were pretty sure you heard Chisa whistle at you flirtatiously, fanning herself dramatically as if she were trying to cool down from the heat.

It wasn’t that bad. Jungkook had taken a picture of you, becoming the first person to capture a photograph that night, and promised he would develop it as soon as possible. — In the end, he agreed that it suited you.

Still drinking, you watched Yoongi return from the balcony. He carried with him the scent of nicotine, grass, and damp earth; his green hair, a soft mint shade only slightly faded, fell into his eyes as he walked toward you. The oldest sat down beside you, closer than he usually did, without asking for permission or announcing himself. Your shoulder brushed against Yoongi’s, and neither of you moved away.

“So,” — Yoongi said, taking the bottle from your hand, your drink, and taking a sip. The smell of cigarette smoke still clung strongly to him, but it was tolerable. — “…does this mean you’ve become a Hollywood star?” — In response, you lifted the bottle after taking it back, using it as a toast. The green-haired man tugged the brim of your hat forward, briefly covering your eyes. — “Now all that’s missing is a horse knocking on the door.”

“Don’t start, Yoongi.”

For a brief moment — an indeterminate amount of time, though you were certain it had not lasted very long — both of you chose silence and comfort instead, preferring to listen to the chaos unfolding throughout the rest of the apartment.

Your friends were making the most of the night, acting as if there were no tomorrow; Hoseok and Chisa were laughing loudly about something Taehyung had said, while Jungkook photographed every moment, whether the picture would come out blurry or not. But as if the apartment itself remembered that someone was missing, your gaze slowly wandered across the room.

Jimin wasn’t there.

Not being completely sober, your eyes swept across the room, searching for him in every corner, but you couldn’t find your best friend. As far as you could remember, before you had been gifted the hat, he had been with Taehyung. Since then, you hadn’t seen him anywhere in the living room.

During your search, Yoongi noticed. — “I was coming back, and i ran into him in the hallway,” he informed you. “He went out to get some air.”

Right.

Without saying a word, you nodded in acknowledgment, but almost immediately, you felt something stir in your chest. It was strange, almost unfamiliar, and you had no desire to examine it too closely; it was probably just the alcohol talking. — Besides, your bottle was empty. You took the last sip that remained and decided that your alcohol quota for the night was officially over. — Lifting your eyes again, you noticed Jin leaning against the wall near the kitchen, talking to Namjoon. The oldest’s gaze met yours.

It was instantaneous.

Jin raised one eyebrow, as if in reprimand or perhaps just surprise and silently mouthed something in your direction. — It looked like "he’ll be back", though you weren’t particularly good at reading lips. — As you quickly looked away after being caught staring, Jin smiled to himself and returned to his conversation with Namjoon. Deep down, he knew there was something growing between you and the orange-haired boy.

Speak of the devil.

The balcony door opened quietly for the fourth time that night, revealing Jimin’s presence. He carried with him the scent of wet grass, though the familiar trace of his cologne still lingered strongly around him; irresistibly so. His hair was messy, the wind outside apparently much stronger than expected, and a few orange strands seemed even more vivid under the apartment’s warm lighting. — For a few seconds, he remained completely still, his fingers resting on the doorknob.

Jimin’s eyes found you immediately. You were the first thing he looked for when he stepped back into the apartment, as if he had been searching for you, too.

Still sitting on the couch, you wore the cowboy hat slightly tilted to the side, with the empty bottle resting against your knee. — After a moment, you set it down on the floor beside the end of the couch. — Your expression was a little unfocused, almost sleepy, though you were clearly fighting against it; a look Jimin knew better than anyone.

You laughed at something Yoongi was muttering under his breath, and the conversation seemed to continue for a while; the orange-haired boy found himself curious about what they were talking about. Trying to make sense of your words through lip-reading, Jimin managed to catch fragments that sounded like “things change” and “they always do.”

“Come on, man.” — Namjoon stepped in front of him, holding two cups that were probably filled with something much stronger than beer. The interruption pulled Jimin out of his thoughts and away from staring at you for too long. He accepted the drink from his friend.

“What?” — He asked after taking a sip, immediately noticing the overwhelming taste of alcohol. Jimin preferred beer; he had never been particularly close to other kinds of drinks.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow at the younger man’s innocent tone and subtly pointed in your direction. Jimin quickly shook his head.

“That,” — Namjoon said, sitting down beside him. Lowering his glasses slightly, he followed Jimin’s gaze until it landed on you again. — “You look at her as if, if she moved even an inch, you’d have to memorize the entire way back to her all over again.” — Jimin swallowed hard and took another sip of the drink.

“You’re exaggerating.” Jimin laughed nervously, choosing not to believe the oldest’s words. Namjoon, however, only sighed, looking like someone who had seen this story unfold before; in other forms, in other lives.

“I don’t think i am.”

The nervousness was obvious. Maybe mixing feelings with alcohol was not the healthiest idea; Jimin could not come up with a single argument against Namjoon.

Maybe because there wasn’t one; the pink-haired man was right. In fact, he usually was.

Jimin looked away, rubbing the back of his neck before noticing a pair of white sunglasses beside him. He picked them up and put them on, looking suspiciously similar to Namjoon. — Then the words slipped out before he could stop them, “she’s my best friend.”

There was a seriousness in his voice that made it clear he was not joking or trying to dodge the conversation.

“I know, Jimin.” — Namjoon understood the importance of those words, but he was looking for something beyond the label; something more honest, more vulnerable. Across the room, Hoseok was playing with your hat, pretending to fire an imaginary gun with his fingers, and you laughed as you mimicked him. — “But you don’t look at your best friend as if you’re trying to decide whether you’re allowed to fall in love with her without ruining everything.”

Jimin didn’t answer; not a single word.

For a moment, he felt as though he might drop the cup onto the floor and wouldn’t even care about the mess.

“Just don’t let this become a regret, Jimin,” — Namjoon said quietly, his voice softer this time. — “Because you’re already halfway there.”

Jimin’s ears turned a faint shade of red, and this time it had nothing to do with the alcohol. He felt embarrassed, a little shaken, but he refused to dwell on the feeling.

Straightening his posture, he composed himself and instinctively lifted his eyes toward you. — Park hadn’t expected to meet your gaze waiting for him.

And, to his surprise, instead of looking away as you always did whenever you caught him staring, your gaze stayed on him. Jimin watched your lips curl into a gentle, delicate smile; you looked genuinely happy to see him again. — Without any hurry, you winked at him; a small, intentional gesture that felt almost too intimate for a room filled with people.

Jimin felt ridiculous. — The air caught in his throat; his stomach twisted, and he could no longer tell whether it was the alcohol or something far more dangerous. Honestly, it felt as though he had been caught doing something forbidden, something terrible.

Park Jimin, at that moment, felt absurdly like a teenager again.

Before he could think of any response, his thoughts were interrupted — once again — this time by a white pillow colliding directly with his face. The impact left him completely stunned and disoriented. A string of muffled complaints escaped him as he tried to identify the culprit.

Jungkook was laughing brightly, almost hysterically, while running toward the other side of the room. Another pillow was already clutched in his hands, prepared for a second attack.

A few feathers from the pillow he had thrown at Jimin drifted onto the floor. The pillows were old, at least, but thankfully free of mold or dust; still, they were a pretty obvious spoiler of what was about to happen in the next few seconds. — And just like that, a full-scale pillow war erupted throughout the apartment.

Hoseok threw a cushion at Taehyung, who lost his sunglasses and fired back without even checking his aim. Chisa let out a dramatic scream when a cloud of feathers exploded against her face. Jin snatched Jungkook’s camera and immediately started filming the chaos.

Little by little, soft white feathers began to take over the apartment, floating through the air like snow until the entire floor was covered.

“You’re dead, Jungkook!” — Jimin grabbed a pillow from the armchair. He pulled his arm back and hurled it toward the younger boy with all his strength but at the exact moment he threw it, Jungkook ducked.

The old pillow sailed straight toward...

You.

It hit you squarely, knocking the cowboy hat sideways as feathers burst around you, several strands getting caught in your hair. — Jimin froze, his eyes widening in horror at what he had done. He opened his mouth to apologize immediately, your name already leaving his lips in a panicked, embarrassed tone.

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” — He blurted out, squinting through the blizzard of feathers. — “I swear!” — His desperate apology was cut off by the sound of your laughter.

“Park Jimin!”

Pushing yourself off the couch, you grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it back at the redhead. The impact was not particularly strong, but it hit him directly in the chest, sending another round of laughter through the room. At that point, the war spiraled completely out of control.

Jimin tried to defend himself while you chased him around the room. Wanting to fully commit to the game, you even considered retrieving your hat.

Feathers clung to Chisa and Taehyung’s hair, and to the sleeves of Namjoon and Jin’s jackets. Yoongi remained on the couch for a while, watching the entertaining disaster unfold before finally giving in and smacking Hoseok across the back with a pillow. — It was absolute chaos.

As you ran through the apartment trying to escape Jungkook — who had somehow stolen your hat and was now wearing it proudly; you were irrationally jealous of the old accessory despite rejecting it at first — someone collided with you in the middle of the confusion.

The feathers covering the floor made everything dangerously slippery. Losing your balance at the exact same moment, both of you went tumbling down into a pile of feathers. The scattered feathers softened the fall, almost like a white mattress surrounding your bodies.

Jimin hit the floor first. He twisted quickly to keep your head from striking the ground, carefully supporting the back of your neck with one hand.

The old apartment remained noisy around you; it felt as though the word end was forbidden there, and it would not be allowed to enter that place anytime soon. Yet, in that small space surrounded by white feathers, everything suddenly seemed far away; impossibly far away.

Jimin’s face was only a few centimeters from yours, close enough for you to notice every detail with unfair clarity. It was beautiful in a way that almost hurt; almost angelic. A few orange strands had fallen across his eyes, and he neither blinked nor looked away. For once, he was not running from you.

A tiny feather had gotten caught in his hair. Smiling softly, you reached up and removed it, your fingers brushing lightly through the orange strands.

“I think you knocked me down on purpose.” — A breathless, short laugh escaped him. Almost immediately, he looked like he was about to sneeze; there were simply too many feathers everywhere.

“If i told you it was strategy, would you believe me?”

“Never.”

Jimin lifted his hand and gently brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, the touch light and impossibly comforting. You had always loved Jimin’s affection.

Shit. — The world around you was still pure chaos, filled with laughter, shouting, and feathers flying through the air but inside that moment, none of it seemed to exist. — There was only you and Jimin.