Chapter Text
"do not be afraid; our fate cannot be taken from us; it is a gift"
//
— OCTOBER 2017 —
min yoongi is a man of routine.
by routine, of course, he means frequenting the same coffee shop at the same time each morning and ordering the exact same thing without fail. even if he’s running late for work, or has somewhere he needs to be (or not), or is generally not quite functioning like a proper adult — which as it turns out, is a fairly frequent occurrence. his coffee order, though - it’s the only constant in his life. by now he’s pretty sure that a fourth of his paycheck goes directly to his running tab.
(namjoon is constantly telling him he needs more stability in his life than the same cappuccino every morning at eight-fifteen sharp. what about your REM cycle, hyung? you look more and more like a raccoon each day. i bet you didn’t even have dinner last night. yoongi points out that namjoon is wearing his shirt inside out, and the conversation ends there.)
but namjoon unknowingly has the last laugh today, when yoongi stops short in front of the coffee shop near their apartment and stares at the “sorry, we’re closed” sign tacked on the window for a good deal longer than the average person should. as though the sight of it has rebooted his entire brain.
yoongi.exe has stopped working.
they can’t just close without warning him - it’s unjust.
it’s an unwarranted attack on humanity and dignity, he decides, and shuffles back the way he came like a man lost at sea. he needs caffeine. he needs namjoon to not be in his lab course so he can call and complain (though, he’d probably just tell yoongi to go to the nearest starbucks, and then yoongi would have to hang up on him anyway). he needs the stoplight to change so he can return to the apartment in defeat instead of wandering up and down the same stretch of sidewalk aimlessly — he doesn’t even know where he is.
right as yoongi’s about to cross the boulevard, he turns his head sees it — a little bistro, tucked between some bodega and a small hardware store down a side street. it’s the little coffee mug shaped sign that says “open,” neon orange and blinking, that he gravitates toward unthinkingly. impeccable timing; he can practically hear a choir of angels sing at the sight.
the shop is, blessedly, as tranquil as he’d hoped for a place that’s practically hidden from the usual throng of people on the next street over. the bell on the door makes a cheery little noise as he enters.
“hello!” someone calls from behind the register. “welcome to déjà brew!”
yoongi wants to roll his eyes, but the caffeine withdrawal is already overpowering every other instinct in his body. his legs propel him forward to the counter in an eerily robotic fashion. “hi. yes. you have coffee.”
the employee, broad-shouldered and handsome, just smirks at him. “is that a question?”
“no. yes, sorry, i- can i get a medium hazelnut cappuccino, please?”
the guy repeats the order over his shoulder and gives him a quick once-over - yoongi wonders just how closely he resembles a disheveled raccoon today - and adds “make it a large!”
yoongi raises an eyebrow, and the employee grins. “the upgrade’s free of charge. you look like you need it.”
“thanks,” he says, sincere, and leaves a sizable tip in the jar next to the register before moving further down the bar to wait for his order. maybe his day isn’t so cursed, after all.
and it doesn’t hit him just yet, of course, how serendipitous this day is. not until he’s busy untangling the pair of headphones he’d pulled out of his pocket, not paying one bit of attention to the world around him, when a sweet-sounding, almost musical voice reaches out and lurches him back into reality.
“hazelnut cappuccino, to go.”
he looks up — the voice startles him enough, sure, but it’s the actual sight before him that nearly knocks him off his feet. because standing just behind the counter, in an apron and slightly wrinkled sweater, is none other than jeongguk. vivid and here and very much not a dream, looking at him without any sort of recognition in his eyes.
yoongi’s mouth falls open. “holy shit,” he breathes, and everything suddenly begins to fall into place.
//
— JANUARY 2003 —
the first time it happens, jeongguk is six.
he’s trudging through the sand near his grandparents’ house on the coast, following the sound of his older brother’s tinny voice over the crashing waves and wind. it was his birthday the day before, and he’s proudly wearing his brand new rain boots, which are deep blue and have little lightning bolts printed all over. they match his new coat, which he tugs tighter around him — it’s midwinter and the weather along the beach is harsh and unforgiving.
he’s already looking forward to curling up in front of the fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate, and since his father can never quite make it like his grandmother effortlessly does when they visit, it’s all the motivation he needs to dutifully go back inside.
but then he spots a funny looking seashell on the ground, peeking out from under the sand, and just as he reaches down to pick it up with his grubby hands, he staggers a little. begins to tumble forward and lets out a little noise of surprise.
then there’s a bizarre sound over the waves - like a vacuum sucking out all the air around him - and right as he’s expecting to face plant into sand, he finds himself lying on his back and staring upward at the sky, stained brilliant orange and pink from the setting sun.
jeongguk thinks that’s a really funny thing to happen, because where did all the gray clouds go, and wasn’t it morning? - and expects to hear his hyung guffawing at his clumsiness. but then he realizes it’s deadly quiet — the sea is gone, and so is the wind, and — oh. there’s not a stitch of clothing on him.
he scrambles to his feet, heart racing, and looks around.
no sign of his coat, or his brand new boots, or the shell he’d just spotted. he’s definitely not at the beach anymore. the space around him looks awfully like the park in his neighborhood, but that’s - that’s back in his hometown and one minute ago it was bitterly cold, and now it’s that hot, sticky summer heat clinging to the back of his neck. he can hear the drone of the mosquitos, and birds singing around him.
he turns in circles, eyes wide as saucers, counting the seconds as they pass.
then that strange little sound comes back, and suddenly he’s careening forward into his grandmother’s knees, falling right back into the cold, wet sand.
“jeongguk!” she exclaims, and there’s more shouting behind him. his brother and dad and grandfather crowd around them, all loudly admonishing him for disappearing for well over an hour without telling anyone. for going into the water when it’s so cold, and why did you take off all your clothes and leave them in the sand? you could get frostbite, jeongguk! you have to be more careful. you can’t go swimming during the winter, we’ve talked about this before.
“but i didn’t go swimming,” he mumbles under his breath for the zillionth time later that evening. “i wasn’t in the water.” no one believes him, barely even hears him to begin with — they’d all been so panicked that he had drowned or something equally terrible, that his protests practically go unheard. he almost gets put in time-out over it, but the sight of tears welling up in his huge dark eyes had softened his father’s tone, and the lecture had ended with an embrace (and a mug of hot chocolate, of course).
he briefly wonders what all that was. maybe he was just having a dream, he finally decides, as he falls into bed hours later, eyelids already drooping shut from exhaustion.
by the time the car is pulling away from the house a few days later - he and his brother waving at their grandparents through the rear window all the way ‘till they reach the end of the road - jeongguk’s pretty much forgotten the odd experience. to his six-year old self’s imagination, it’s just another one of those wild stories that appa tells him before bedtime that had lingered, stuck to his dreams like sticky toffee on his fingers. there will be another story to hear, full of magic and fantasy and mystery.
just a story, he thinks, watching the trees rush past in a blur as they head back to the city.
( ...but it’s not a story, and it certainly doesn’t end there. )
//
— AUGUST 1978 —
he’s bounding up the stairs three at a time, chest positively heaving with exertion as he desperately tries to escape the security guard tailing him.
it’s his own fault, really, for allowing himself to be caught off guard. most overnight security guards are too oblivious to notice him in the first place, and on the rare occasion that they do, are too uncoordinated and out of shape to keep up with him, anyway. this guy, though — it’s jeongguk’s lucky night, apparently, because the guy must have been former special ops or something and is this close to catching up and hauling him off to the nearest precinct.
jeongguk has no idea where that would be, exactly — he thinks maybe somewhere in sweden, based on the news coverage that he’d managed to catch a glimpse of at the guard’s station before he was spotted. it’s definitely not 2017, that’s obvious: the heavily-saturated picture on the boxlike television (antennas and all), combined with the horrid clothing options that this particular department store had to offer, leads him to venture he’s in the mid-1970’s.
oh, well.
and it’s not like he’s blaming the security guard for doing his job. hell, if he saw some random figure decked out in plaid slacks and a neon pink turtleneck without any shoes, lurking near the mall stairwell hours past closing, he’d probably try to go after the burglar, too.
but... he’s not a thief. not today, in any case.
less than an hour ago he was just a twenty year-old college student minding his own business, waiting for jimin to get out of the shower so he could get ready for work, when all of a sudden he was falling backward into a window display stacked with heavy platform shoes. and now? now he’s just a guy trying to tough it out until the universe decides to catapult him back in the right place and the right time. it will happen eventually, it always does.
this time, however. it’s not like he’s been here any longer than usual, but it’s particularly inconvenient and the guard is still amazingly keeping up with him as they race up the stairwell, like some morbid game of cat-and-mouse. he could really use a win.
the security guard shouts something in a language jeongguk doesn’t understand — it’s probably something along the lines of stop, you dumb fuck, the roof is closed off and i’ll have to arrest you anyway — but miraculously, in the very moment he rounds the corner of the last flight of stairs, the tips of his fingers go numb in that peculiar way that they do and he just... disappears.
jeongguk breathes a sigh of relief as he falls backward into nothing, and materializes with a muffled thump in a very dark, cramped closet, right next to some shelves. the aroma of coffee beans overwhelms him and there’s a muted pop song playing somewhere past the closed door. he breathes easier, knowing he's back in his present time. and as far as reappearances go, it’s definitely been worse. he’s smiling, imagining the look on the guard’s face when he reaches an empty pile of clothing at the top of the stairs — no burglar in sight.
it leaves jeongguk with a very smug feeling in his chest. it is the little things, after all.
he snaps back to reality when the door right next to his face is wrenched open. blinding light pours in, and he makes a sudden, panicked move to shield his eyes (and cover the rest of himself), but it’s all for naught when he hears a familiar snort of laughter.
seokjin is gazing down at him with a very knowing look, and lazily glances at his watch. “good morning. you’re just in time for work.”
jeongguk gives him a half-hearted salute, and reaches for one of the extra sets of clothes they keep in the storage closet for this very reason. just another typical day.
//
— OCTOBER 2017 —
“remind me, again, why i gave you a job?”
jeongguk yawns behind his mug. he can feel the caffeine begin work itself through his system and it’s nothing short of heavenly. “because without me you’d be stuck in graduate school hating your life and this shop would be in, and i quote, someone else’s greasy hands.”
“oh, right,” seokjin drawls. this is a well-established conversation, by now. “how grateful i am.”
“you’re welcome, by the way.”
“so you’ve mentioned.”
“where would you be without me, i wonder?”
“probably getting more sleep,” jin retorts. “not worrying about broken bones or nude dongsaengs. not having to hunt down my own employees. and hey, speaking of, you should cover the bar! i’m shorthanded since taehyung is late. as usual.”
jeongguk blanches — as snarky as he is, manning the counter during the morning shift is one of his least favorite things in the world, a fear only second to jin’s wrath. he enjoys the monotonous routine of dishwashing in the back kitchen, where he doesn’t have to talk to any customers. plus, if he disappears back there, the worst that can happen is a broken dish or two. “hyung—"
“ah, ah. don’t start.”
“hyung,” jeongguk wheedles, “what if i disappear in front of someone? think of the business.”
seokjin gives him a wicked grin. “too bad i’m familiar enough with your genes by now to know you won’t be doing any getaways in the immediate future.” he gives jeongguk a little pat on the head. “get to work, my precious baby bird.”
“i hate you,” jeongguk mutters, tying an apron on over his wrinkled clothing, but jin is already sashaying off, scribbling in his ledger.
“remember, that’s ‘i hate you, hyung,’ to you!”
jeongguk rolls his eyes, but he can’t be mad at seokjin — it’s not even that busy of a morning, and taehyung does turn up in that unbothered way that he always does. though, as a mild punishment he’s relegated to sweeping and mopping the entire back section of the shop - so in hindsight, jeongguk is actually pretty happy with making drinks for once, but he’d never actually say that out loud.
he only has to redo one order that he’d dropped (narrowly missing his shoes), and taehyung has been breaking off bits of the cinnamon coffee cake that they’d made too much of the previous day, sneaking some to jeongguk when seokjin isn’t looking. (not that he’d really mind. a good portion has mysteriously found its way to his own desk in the back room.) their antics and banter are comforting, the crisp october weather beautiful, and the steady flow of customers not too overwhelming — by any count, it’s a perfectly normal day. jeongguk thanks his lucky stars.
jeongguk’s on autopilot as he fixes the next order - only tuning in enough to make sure he doesn’t fuck up the milk - but his thoughts are elsewhere. partly thinking about the upcoming assignment for one of his evening classes, partly thinking about the places he’s been to lately. today had been an odd experience, because the last few times he’s disappeared in recent weeks, he’s ended up at some random farm in middle of nowhere, australia. part of him has been waiting to return there - it’s so remote that he can’t even figure out what year he’s in when he does show up: as far as he can see, just endless land and a blazing sun overhead. it’s an intriguing place, and his misadventure in a swedish stairwell had been the last thing he’d expected this morning. (plus, he’s had many good naps under a specific tree at the farm and he’d been hoping to catch another one soon.)
he’s still imagining the feel of the sun warming his skin, light breeze touching his face, when jin gently prods his shoulder and snaps him back to reality.
“earth to jeongguk. is that order done?”
“yeah, sorry. one sec.” he hastily sprinkles a touch of cinnamon over the foam and breezes over to the counter. “hazelnut cappuccino, to go.”
the lone customer standing close by, fiddling with a pair of headphones, looks up at his voice, and freezes.
jeongguk notes, with a feeling akin to butterflies in his stomach, how striking the stranger is. for one second that seems to stretch into twenty, he takes in the guy’s eyes, piercing and cat-like. platinum blonde hair peeking out from under a hat. a silver earring on one ear, reflecting the light shining in from the shop’s huge windows — and a perfectly shaped mouth that promptly falls open as the stranger stares right back at him.
“holy shit,” the guy mutters, voice a bit raspy but otherwise shocked.
his face goes scarlet. he knew he should have been paying better attention. this dude has probably been waiting on his coffee forever while jeongguk’s been behind the counter, essentially daydreaming. he’s mortified at the thought.
“i’m sorry for the wait,” he says, trying to keep his voice from becoming a squeak. “forgive me. have a good day, sir.”
but the blonde stranger hasn’t even moved — hasn’t even blinked. “jeongguk,” he breathes, almost reverently.
he glances down at his apron out of habit, at the name tag that jimin had so obnoxiously decorated with faux gemstones, and coughs politely. that’s my name, he thinks, but what he says is: “please don’t tell my boss. i can get you another coffee if that’s cold by now-"
“no, no,” the guy says, shaking himself out of whatever stupor had taken over him. “fuck. no, that’s not... i just...” he stops for a moment, still unable to look away, and breaks into a smile. “it’s just good to see you.”
jeongguk freezes, arm still outstretched with the cup of coffee - he’s pretty sure his face is as red as a tomato, by now. or mars. or a tomato that’s on mars, and he replies, eloquently, with, “uh.” the stranger is now beaming at him, face transformed by the joyous (mistaken) notion that they know each other. the guy just keeps smiling, like jeongguk has made his goddamned day just by existing. no one’s ever looked at him like that, least of all some random customer.
“it’s so good to see you,” he repeats softly — earnestly. as though he’s waited a long time to say that out loud. like it’s some revered prayer that’s been waiting on the tip of his tongue, and jeongguk is suddenly very much aware of the stain on his apron and the blush staining his cheeks.
this poor hot dude thinks i’m someone else, his brain supplies, and jeongguk panics. “um. actually i think you. might have me confused with... somebody else?” he coughs awkwardly, and hopes seokjin isn’t waiting on him for some complicated order. “i am sorry. by the way.”
the guy just smiles bigger, eyes crinkling up in the sweetest way, like that’s exactly what he expected to hear, and jeongguk is even more flustered — shuffling on either foot behind the bar in hopes that he can rid himself of this unexpected nervous energy that seems to have manifested in his bones. he’s positive his face is on fire by now, and prays to whatever deity is listening for the ground to swallow him up.
“no,” the stranger says with a chuckle, “i uh... you said this would happen. i’m sorry, i’m going about this the wrong way, aren’t i?”
jeongguk blinks. “uh...”
the man glances around and looks back at jeongguk with a little hint of something undetectable in his eyes. “listen. i know this is really weird, but. we do know each other.” he stares at jeongguk like that’s supposed to mean something, and lowers his voice. “um. you know me... it just. hasn’t happened... yet...”
he raises an eyebrow, inclines his head a bit, and clears his throat.
“you...?” jeongguk says, and then it hits him. “oh!”
although he can’t explain it, he believes him, even though he’s never met this guy in his life. it’s the genuine recognition in his eyes (not mistaken, after all) that makes him realize this is someone from his future. someone important. how else would he - there’s no way he’d know otherwise, and - jeongguk’s pulse is racing. this has never happened to him before.
“oh,” he says again, and the blonde stranger laughs out loud. the sound of it does something terribly funny to jeongguk’s heart. he’s pretty sure he has cartoon birds flying circles around his head.
“listen, will you have dinner with me later? i promise i’ll explain, i’m really sorry for being weird about this. it’s just... it’s been so long since i’ve seen you.”
jeongguk just nods along. “yeah,” he breathes, and smiles a little shyly. “yeah, i get off work at two? we could...”
“how about coffee? or lunch?” the stranger suggests, and then it’s a concrete plan.
jeongguk marvels at his own restraint. it’s clear they have some sort of history (that’s still the future, for him) and he wants to know everything, all at once. he can’t believe he hasn’t demanded to know it all in the span of thirty seconds, but something deep inside his chest tells him to be patient - that it will be worth it, to let the explanation unfold.
“okay,” the man says, and finally takes his coffee order from jeongguk with a relieved little laugh. “okay, i - cool. i’ll be back later, then? at two?”
“yeah,” jeongguk replies softly, feeling strangely electrified all over as he watches him leave. a delayed thought suddenly occurs to him. “wait, i didn’t get your name!”
the stranger stops and turns. his eyes are wide, wide with surprise, and then he grins, sheepish. “sorry... i’m not used to this, it’s usually the other way around. i forgot you don’t— nevermind. i’m min yoongi.”
“yoongi,” he repeats quietly, testing out the sound of it as the guy — yoongi — walks out with a smile on his face. he’s just giving him a little wave when he feels taehyung and seokjin sidle up next to him, interrogation imminent.
but for once in his life, he doesn’t have any answers for them. at least, not yet. there’s a buzz of excitement that settles in his chest at the thought of it - that an unknown part of his life has just fallen into place right in front of his eyes. that yoongi knows the version of jeongguk that hasn’t happened yet.
he imagines his future rolling out like a carpet in front of him, as far as he can see, and daydreams of australian landscapes are forgotten.