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There’s a place between sleeping and awake.
It’s the space between sunbeams and dust swirling in the air beneath the window panes.
It’s a little place bathed in warm lights on the corner of a darkened empty road, in the middle of a bustling city.
No one goes there, this place. It’s right there but when you look it’s way, your phone rings. Your mom is calling. You keep walking, answering the phone and explaining your weekend plans and why you can’t come to dinner on that particular night. The dark and empty street is blocks behind you and you’ve already forgotten you were trying to look at something in the first place.
This place.
JK’s Place.
The lettering on the exterior leaves no room for guessing. This place belongs to him, every stool and mug and splintered soul.
This is his domain.
The coffee is either the very best or the very worst you’ve ever tasted, there’s no in between. The pie is perfect no matter what. The Americana breakfast is warm, but not as warm as the smile that greets you when you walk through the door.
The last stop at the end of the line.
The last stop before the hereafter.
…..
A bell chimes overhead when Seokjin finds himself at the front of house in what appears to be a diner straight out of the movies. There’s a little sign on a stand that says Please Seat Yourself , so he wanders in past the empty host’s station.
Directly in front of him stands a jukebox, neon technicolor, the lights pulsing in time to a gentle oldie crooning through the speakers. Looking around, he sees that he’s in a junction between two spaces. To the right, tables of varied sizes, flanked in mismatched chairs, create a near labyrinth between him and the dingy sign that reads bathrooms. The shades are partially drawn over bullet hole marred glass. There’s a couple sitting at a table not too far away, slumped into each other, visibly inebriated even in the dim lighting and a few others scattered around at tables for one.
To the left, a glossy wooden bar stretches the length of the rest of the diner, the brightly lit space framed in wide open windows. Each stool is perfectly placed, the lettering on the chalkboard loops and swirls in a perfect artist’s touch.
There’s a man behind the counter, a glass and rag in hand, uniform tidy and pressed. When he catches Seokjin watching he smiles and tilts his head in a beckoning gesture. Young and practically careless with how striking he is, coy and cocky in perfect equilibrium.
Something shifts in Seokjin, far from a settled feeling, but akin to the draw of a magnet. Like he knows he’s found himself in a place he was always destined to be. A sinking of a weight into the depths; a worm on a hook. The end of a line and he’s not sure if he should be afraid, but it might be too late for him because he’s already thinking in terms like hook, line and sinker.
The shining windows, nearly floor to ceiling, catch Seokjin’s eye as he passes by. With the streetlights just out of sight and the sun long set, the spotless glass becomes perfect mirrors.
His reflection looks out of place and far removed. He’s just a salary man that’s wandered into a late night eatery with a kitschy theme, nothing extraordinary or odd and yet he feels like the image before him shouldn’t sit right.
Movement over his shoulder catches his attention.
Seokjin turns just in time to see the man behind the counter disappear through a swinging door. He approaches the elegantly sweeping bar and placed directly in front of him is what appears to be a steaming, foaming latte.
No one is sitting near it, and maybe it's presumptuous, but Seokjin feels like it’s for him. So, he steps up to the bar, he makes a home at one of the stools and he drags the otherwise uninteresting mug closer.
It smells heavenly.
When he finally takes a sip, it’s rich and nutty. He figures there must be some sort of syrup mixed in, which normally he’d find too sweet and cloying, but it’s balanced so well against the darker roast of coffee.
He can’t help but hum in appreciation. His indulgence is interrupted by a snort from the end of the bar.
“He must be trying to impress you.”
Seokjin is a little startled by how handsome the man is. Tall and broad and dimpled, he’s the kind of man Seokjin would have gladly picked up in his youth. It’s one thing for a good looking guy to work somewhere like this on the graveyard shift, but another entirely for someone to be sitting there willingly, still looking fine under such bright lights.
“Why would he be trying to impress me? I’m gonna pay him either way.”
The man looks at him with a placating sort of smile and a gentle nod as he returns to a well worn paperback and his own coffee. Seokjin is beginning to lose his patience for this place.
His manners have him sitting down to finish the cup of coffee he was served, despite never ordering it. He’ll empty the mug, leave some cash on the counter, and be on his way.
It warms his hands and his soul as he sips. He lets his eyes wander. He watches the man read for a bit. Idly takes in the menu on the board without actually reading the items listed. There’s a large opening in the wall, a bell placed at the edge. Wide eyes peek over the ledge at him.
A bell chimes somewhere.
The man doesn’t stir from his book.
Seokjin finishes his coffee, fishes out some bills from his wallet, leaving them tucked beneath the lip of the saucer. The window to the kitchen no longer holds watching eyes.
He scoots in his stool and makes his way back to the entrance.
The soft crooning music of before has been replaced with something more dancey, something the kids would listen to, full of synth and pop and liveliness meant for music videos on tv. A brightly dressed but well put together man stands in front of the jukebox watching the vinyl spin.
Seokjin plans to give him a wide berth, pass quietly by and out into the night and along his way. Back to whatever he was doing before. However, the man steps back from the jukebox, nearly colliding with Seokjin. They stumble a bit, hands grasping at elbows. The man beams a shining heart shaped smile at Seokjin as they right themselves, Seokjin bashfully dusting off non-existent lint from his suit.
“Sorry, I didn't see you there!” His voice is bright, just on the edge of laughter, already infectious to Seokjin, his own lips pulling into a smile.
“Oh, it’s alright. I’m only getting clumsier in my old age.”
The man’s eyebrows quirk, along with a slight head tilt but he laughs, leaning into Seokjin a bit.
“Let me get you a drink at least,” he offers, gesturing back towards the bar.
“Oh, no. It’s no problem. I was on my way out anyway.”
“I insist.” He loops an arm through Seokjin’s, pulling him in closer. It’s bold, catching Seokjin off guard and obliterating his defenses.
In a daze, he’s led right back to the bar. The same barkeep watches them, wide eyes tracking from clasped arms to faces and back again before Seokjin is sat down at his now pristinely cleaned spot, his new companion sitting beside him.
“H-hello, welcome to JK’s. What can I get for you?” The barkeep asks them.
“Hmmmm. What would you suggest?”
“Oh…” He bites absently at the corner of his lip, eyes a little unfocused. “Well, I can really make anything, I guess.”
“Anything?”
He nods, meeting the stranger’s eyes.
“A dirty Shirley.”
“A what?” Seokjin laughs looking at the man beside him.
“You know,” he says, waving his hand through the air.
Seokjin doesn’t know. At all, actually. But he guesses the barkeep does as he gives the man a single nod.
“And for my friend… what was your name?”
“Seokjin.”
“Hoseok. Pleasure to meet you, Seokjin.” He smiles brighter than any light in the room. “For my friend, Seokjin-“
“Just another coffee, thanks.”
“You sure?” Hoseok looks a little disappointed that he’s not joining in the fun.
“Sure, sure. Gotta get these old bones to bed soon.”
Hoseok laughs loudly, with his whole body and for a moment Seokjin isn’t so sorry he’s been pulled out of his comfort zone.
The barkeep whisks around behind the counter, grabbing glasses and jars. Seokjin can’t decide if he looks like a dancer or a mad scientist. Faster than Seokjin can really comprehend, another saucer and cup of coffee is being slid in front of him and a tall cocktail glass, fizzing red, cherries nestled in the ice, in front of Hoseok.
“Thank you.”
The barkeep nods, neck flushing red as he turns away from Seokjin.
“Oh wow!”
Hoseok is already happily sipping his drink, comically pursing his lips around the straw. Seokjin laughs despite himself.
The coffee is just as delicious this time around, and though it warms him up, it doesn’t quite distract Seokjin from the feeling of being watched.
The barkeep is still standing in front of them, watching as they drink their beverages. Seokjin clears his throat but the man doesn’t seem to take a hint.
“Maybe we should finish our drinks at the tables,” Seokjin suggests, under his breath when he catches the man that was reading before, peering over the edge of his book at them as well.
Hoseok finally keys into just how awkward the situation is and nods, gathering his sweating cocktail.
No one says anything to them as they relocate to the other end of the diner.
Hoseok grabs the first table they come to, settling himself and looking like he manages to belong in this strange space. As if this level of oddity can’t touch him.
The drunk couple is still nestled in the corner. An older gentleman wanders in the space leading to the bathrooms. At a nearby table, a man eating a sandwich pulls a fresh napkin from a dispenser to wipe his hands after every single bite, he reads the newspaper and the napkins begin to pile high. Another man has his head down on a table, asleep maybe or passed out, another drunkard.
Seokjin would like to leave this place.
“What do you do, Seokjin?”
“Huh?”
“Work. What do you do?”
“Oh. A- accounting?” He frowns down at his coffee. Accounting… right?
Hoseok laughs a funny unexpected guffaw of a laugh. It has Seokjin startling a little, but smiling nonetheless. “I know, not a very sauve answer.”
“No, no, numbers are very hot.”
“And what about you? Can you top such accrual job as accounting?”
Seokjin laughs at his own ridiculous pun, loud and squeaky and drawing far more attention than he’d really like, but it has the intended effect and makes Hoseok laugh, tipping into Seokjin’s side. Perhaps he remembers how to flirt after all these years, even if he knows there’s no chance in hell it could go anywhere with someone as young and vibrant and beautiful as Hoseok.
Still. It feels nice.
“Can you keep it down?”
Seokjin realizes it’s coming from the man with his head down on the table. Since they’ve sat down, he’s turned towards them. He’s younger than Seokjin would have guessed from the hunched over position. He doesn’t look drunk so much as tired, but Seokjin guesses he could be both. He’d look soft, cute even, if he didn’t look so damn grumpy.
“Maybe you should try sleeping at home,” Seokjin suggests with a little bit of bite. They’re in a public establishment for crying out loud.
“Idiot,” the guy mumbles, turning away from them without really lifting his head from the table. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
Seokjin really considers arguing with him. Wants to jump right out of his seat and ask who he thinks he is, but Hoseok puts a hand on his arm and really what’s the point? Just some young punk looking to stir up trouble. Why give him the satisfaction?
He tries to find the thread of conversation from before, that tentative ease he so rarely finds with a stranger. He lets his eyes roam while he does.
All in a row across the top part of the room are several old televisions, suspended above the tables and patron’s heads. Every single one of them is playing the same visual of animated horses racing around a track, looping endlessly just as the horses loop around the dirt Derby track.
“So… what is it that you do, Hoseok?” Seokjin asks. He feels a little out of body.
“Um.”
A loud clattering noise breaks the odd reverie of the moment. It makes Hoseok jump next to him as well, so Seokjin at least doesn’t feel like such a fool when he nearly spills his coffee.
On the table between them forks, spoons and butter knives splay in every direction. A pile of inexplicable loose silverware.
Seokjin looks up and the barkeep stares back. He places another handful of loose silverware on the table.
It’s the only thing to be heard over the gentle noise of the jukebox.
“Ready to order any food?”
“I’m fine with just coffee.”
“I’m good for now too, thanks.”
The barkeep nods once. He lingers but eventually wanders to the next table. Seokjin watches him place a hand, gentle and almost intimate, on the back of the surly man they’d interacted with before. They don’t exchange words and soon enough he’s off to the next customer.
“This place is kinda weird,” Hoseok says quietly.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t even remember what made me stop by in the first place.”
“Fueling up after a night out?”
“I guess…” Hoseok's eyes are unfocused somewhere up near the TVs.
“I must have worked late. Stopped for coffee on my way home.”
Their amicable companionship has shifted into a tense silence.
Seokjin can’t finish his coffee fast enough.
He overhears the drunk couple ordering food, the barkeep nods diligently. He doesn’t write it down when the woman slurs out “ two scrapple…twice .”
Hoseok and Seokjin both watch him return to the other end of the diner until he’s fully out of sight.
“You’ll never remember the before.”
“This guy again,” Seokjin huffs. “Do you have any manners?”
“You’re in hell now, what’s the point?”
Hell.
“What?” Hoseok asks. His words are tinged with an almost laugh, an incredulous disbelief and dismissal of this stranger that has been stirring up shit since they sat down.
“Welcome to hell,” he says with a snide gummy smile. “You’re dead. Whoever you were before doesn’t exist anymore.”
You’re dead.
Hoseok laughs but it’s cold. When Seokjin looks at him, he looks sharp, severe. Fierce.
“You know, you’re a real fucking buzz kill.”
It surprises a laugh out of Seokjin, which in turn startles Hoseok back into his previously more relaxed and amiable disposition. He leans back in his chair and finishes off his cocktail.
“What do you think? Wanna get out of here?”
On another day, in another life… you’re dead … he’d hope that Hoseok was coming onto him. That he was asking for them to go back to one of their places for a night cap and see where the evening took them. But right now, it feels like hatching an escape plan.
“Desperately.”
“You won’t be able to.”
“Nobody asked you,” Seokjin says haughtily to the man as he stands from his seat.
“There’s no doors.”
Seokjin turns his attention to him against his better judgement. “Of course there are doors. How else would we have gotten in here?”
“I don’t know. How does anyone get into hell?”
“Stop saying we’re in hell.”
“Come on,” Hoseok urges, taking his hand.
They leave behind the labyrinthian tables and their personal harbinger. Seokjin only looks back once. The man eyes him lazily from under a hood before placing his head back down on the table.
Dramatic orchestral music, sweeping and vibrant, plays their entry into the host’s station. The blue and pink lights of the jukebox dance into purple where they glow on the pristine white outfit of a man standing there.
“Can’t be hell if there’s angels around,” Hoseok teases, with a nudge and a wiggle of his brows as they approach.
Seokjin wants to find it amusing. He wants to even have a moment to be entranced by the ripple of muscle he sees through the semi-sheer fabric of the man’s shirt, a surprise considering the gentle controlled fluidity with which he turns out of their way. But instead, Seokjin’s focus is past the handsome new stranger. His eyes are trained on the area just past the host’s station. The other side of the sign that had welcomed him in is emblazoned with Thanks For Coming!
Where there should be a door is nothing but a broad expanse of dark wood paneling.
“What…”
Hoseok’s voice sounds like it’s making its way to Seokjin’s ears through water. He’s vaguely aware of the new guy asking what’s going on, but he can’t care, he’s not even sure if Hoseok answers or not.
Seokjin takes shaky steps forward, hoping to see a seam. A door knob. Anything.
He runs his fingers across the wood, but all he feels is the rough grain.
“What do we do?”
“I don’t know,” Seokjin mumbles.
Before he can really give it much thought, he throws all of his weight against the wood.
It doesn’t budge.
“Um… excuse me?”
Seokjin and Hoseok turn their heads in unison. Despite the out of body experience he’s having, Seokjin is maybe finally able to appreciate the aesthetics of the man in front of them.
Pretty face. He’s compact, now that Seokjin’s paying attention, but he gives the sense that he could easily hold his own. Much like Hoseok, he doesn’t really seem to belong in a place like this with his delicate jewelry and immaculate clothing. Hoseok, however, had exuded this sense of belonging whether you liked it or not, that he had chosen to be there and so that’s where he belonged.
But had he chosen to be there?
“Can you tell me where the phone is?” He asks, attitude starting to sneak into the carefully constructed polite interaction with what probably appeared to be a couple of nutjobs.
“We don’t work here,” Hoseok answers helpfully.
The man huffs, annoyed. He turns in place, taking in the atmosphere of both sides of the diner. He must catch sight of the barkeep and heads towards the left.
When Seokjin looks at Hoseok, he realizes Hoseok is already watching him. They lock eyes for a moment and Seokjin makes a decision right then and there.
They follow after the man in white.
“-use your phone?”
“We don’t have a phone,” the barkeep answers.
“What place doesn’t have a phone?” He asks it with a laugh, as if this must be some silly prank. He’s waiting for a punchline, a gotchya moment.
Seokjin is waiting for it too.
“You’d be better off with a ouija board,” comes that irritating, gravelly voice over Seokjin’s shoulder.
“Yoongi, please,” the barkeep says quietly, eyes pleading.
“Look, I just need a phone, a payphone is fine. Call a friend or a cab to come get me?” He rummages in his pockets. “I don’t have much on me right now, but if I need to order-“
“No, it’s fine,” the barkeep interrupts. “If you’re hungry, I’ll make you something.”
The room is charged like the beginnings of a summer storm rolling in. It’s an odd response, and the man in white grows embarrassed and in turn, angry.
“I’m not a charity case.”
The barkeep looks surprised, eyes wide. “I didn’t say-“
“I’m going to pay for what I order and you’re going to let me use your phone.”
“We don’t have a phone.”
The silence is heavy, pressing out until it fills the room, wall to wall.
The guy in the hoodie and leather seats himself at the bar. Seokjin expects him to look smug, but he just looks tired. As if from nowhere, the barkeep slides him a perfect, plain, iced americano.
“Is it because we’re in hell?” Hoseok asks, fingers tucked into the back of Seokjin’s suit jacket. It’s the only signal that he’s not fully in control here, that he isn’t the picture of confidence and ease. Seokjin won’t give him away.
The barkeep takes a breath.
“We’re not in hell,” the man at the end of the bar says, putting his book down.
Eyes shift to him. Seokjin keeps his eyes on the barkeep instead. He looks relieved as he shares a small private smile with the man with the book.
“Shut up, Namjoon,” grumbles the man from earlier, hood up, sipping on his iced americano.
“Good to see you under actual lighting, Yoongi.”
“You look like shit in fluorescents.”
Nobody bothers to tell him that this Namjoon guy definitely doesn’t look like shit under whatever lighting they’re in. They look completely ready to continue bickering back and forth in what is obviously a well worn dance, but the barkeep clears his throat. Barely even an audible noise really, but it catches the two men’s attention anyways.
They apologize in unison, like scolded school children.
“Where’s the door?” Seokjin asks.
His ears turn violently red with how quickly attention shifts to him. As if they just remembered he existed. Hoseok holds his shirt a little tighter.
“What do you mean, where’s the door?”
Pretty angel boy turns, the fight in his eyes for some reason now aimed at Seokjin as if he has anything to do with anything.
“You were there,” he says, definitely not at all high pitched. “There wasn’t a door.”
He turns quick, like physics bends to his will to look at the barkeep again. “Well?”
Alarmed, the barkeep’s eyes grow even wider. His eyes dart around as if someone is going to save him again. “Um. There’s no door?”
“Is that a question?”
“No?”
“And there’s no phone.”
“No…”
He comes to stand closer to Seokjin and Hoseok, a clear divide in the room.
“I want to leave,” he states firmly.
“Ditto,” Hoseok chimes in.
“I would also like to leave.”
“You will,” the barkeep says, again in that placating tone that Seokjin wants to believe but absolutely doesn’t want to believe. “When it’s time for you to leave.”
“Well that’s ominous.”
Hoseok nearly yanks Seokjin over in their surprise at a new voice. The deep timbre is mellow, playful almost, coming from the man seated at the very first stool of the bar. He sits perched on the stool, an elbow on the bar top, long legs folded delicately, a coy yet curious smile giving him a rather boyish appearance. For just a moment, it’s quiet enough to hear soft jazz drifting over from the jukebox.
“You!” The man in white points a finger directly at the newcomer.
The coy smile slips. “Uh, me?”
He marches towards the other man, full of intent, the room holding its breath. “How did you get in here?”
“I just came in I guess.”
“You guess?” It’s accusatory. Seokjin starts to step forward, not even really sure what he would do, but feeling the need to protect the man with the boyish charm. But he also want’s answers, so he doesn’t fight it when Hoseok gently tugs him back.
“Yeah,” he pouts. The somewhat suave, almost modelesque visage shattered and replaced with a puppy.
“Put those eyes away and tell me how to get out of here.” He looms over the other man, though Seokjin suspects if they were both standing that the height difference would be reversed.
“I can’t tell if they’re about to fight or makeout,” Hoseok whispers to Seokjin, causing him to snort loudly.
Those fiery eyes are back on Seokjin, burning holes where they land.
“I need to make a call. I need to go!”
“Where?” Yoongi drawls. “It’s not like you remember where you were going.”
It catches the man off guard which seems to really piss him off. “Of course I do.”
“Where were you headed then?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It’s okay,” Namjoon aims for placating, missing spectacularly. “None of us remember before.”
“And that’s not alarming to you?!”
Hoseok lets go of Seokjin to maybe stop an all out brawl from happening, or maybe join in, Seokjin isn’t really sure. He can feel his heart racing. His palms are clammy. He kind of wants to throw up maybe.
He doesn’t want to be here.
He would like to leave now.
He realizes he’s sort of pacing, his circuit becoming more erratic before it teeters into a twitchy apprehensive return to start.
Just like the horses running around their track.
The noise continues behind him, paying his breakdown no mind. The Seokjin in the window’s reflection doesn’t look very dead.
The wood of the back of a chair near the window creaks under the pressure of his tight grip.
“Thinking of smashing it?”
Seokjin isn’t really even in his body enough to properly startle. He nods at the soft voice. He feels the chair shift in his grip until it’s more firm in his hold. The presence at his side is calming.
Magnetic.
He finally looks and isn’t at all surprised to see the barkeep.
“Will you call the cops if I do?”
“No phone, remember?” He says it like it’s a funny secret only they know.
Seokjin nods his head. Sure.
He lifts the chair and lets it go as hard and as fast as he can in the direction of the perfect glass windows. With a crunch he feels in the pit of his stomach, the chair breaks and splinters, ricocheting off into every direction.
The glass remains flawless.
“Oh gosh, I shouldn’t have let you do that.”
Seokjin looks at the mess he’s made, ready to offer to split the job with the barkeep before strong hands move him around gently, turning his face towards the light.
“Oh, Seokjin,” Hoseok says, coming closer, the argument clearly dropped in the excitement of a bar fight of one. “Your face is bleeding.”
Seokjin feels around absently until the pads of his fingers connect with something warm and slippery. The barkeep pulls them away, keeping Seokjin’s hand cupped in his own as he leads him back to the bar.
He seats Seokjin near to Namjoon, grabbing some napkins from a dispenser to wipe at Seokjin’s fingers. He makes Seokjin hold the napkins, probably so he doesn’t touch his face again, while he ducks back behind the bar. In the meantime, Hoseok and the two from the other end of the bar have gathered to get a look. Hoseok looks worried, but the other two-
“Wow, that was really cool!”
“I’m actually… kind of impressed. You seemed like someone with no backbone.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“He said your name is Seokjin, right? I’m Jimin.” He offers his hand. Seokjin shakes it awkwardly with his clean hand, Jimin only looking mildly embarrassed at the oversight.
“I’m Taehyung.” He waves, smile big and boxy and boyish. “You were like an action movie.”
Seokjin doesn’t feel much more than the creeping numbness of the ebbing panic attack. “Thanks.”
The barkeep appears back in his line of sight. He takes the sullied napkins from Seokjin, cleaning his hand more thoroughly with something that smells biting. When he applies the same thing to Seokjin’s cheek he learns it’s not just the smell that has bite.
“Shit!” He reels his head back, but the bartender holds him steady.
“Sorry.”
He makes quick work cleaning Seokjin up and placing a small bandage on the curve of his cheek bone.
“So we’re really stuck in hell then.” No door, no phone, unbreakable glass.
“You’re not in hell,” the barkeep says with a sigh. “And you’re not stuck… just waiting.”
“Okay, so where are we then?” Jimin asks.
“JK’s.”
“What?”
The barkeep gives a little gesture around himself. “JK’s.”
“I don’t think that’s as helpful as you seem to think it is,” Hoseok says, taking a seat at the bar next to Yoongi.
“It’s as close an approximation to purgatory as anything else,” Namjoon says.
“Purgatory?” Hoseok asks, voice pitching close to hysteria.
“So…we’re dead?” Taehyung asks.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everyone,” Yoongi grumbles.
Seokjin thinks maybe there’s something special about Taehyung, a gentle understated kindness that has him not saying anything to Yoongi about how he wasn’t here for any of that. He wasn’t told anything. He’s been… dead? Are they really all dead?… for all of twenty minutes but he’s taking it in stride as much as anyone really can and he doesn’t bother to correct Yoongi. Really what good would it do anyway?
“Um, yes. You’ve all passed on,” the barkeep confirms.
“And we’re in purgatory,” Jimin murmurs. Taehyung takes his hand. Seokjin is surprised when Jimin lets him hold it, though maybe he shouldn’t be. His fingers twitch on the counter top.
“So then, are you like God?” Taehyung asks.
Yoongi snorts, even Namjoon laughs. The barkeep bites at the corner of his lip and shakes his head. “No, no. I’m just tasked with taking care of you while you’re here.”
“So, an angel,” Hoseok tries next.
He shrugs, nose scrunching at the idea. “I’m just JK.”
Seokjin kind of zones out a little bit, lets the conversation wash over him. It’s not that he isn’t worried about the same things the others are, but he’s not sure what exactly it is he’s meant to do about any of it.
How are they all so quickly moving past “ You’re dead?”
Seems like really the only part of this worth thinking about.
“Why don’t we remember before?” He’s vaguely aware that he’s just interrupted Namjoon explaining something to Jimin. He’ll apologize later.
“Sometimes it’s better, not to remember,” JK says, voice soft. That same gentle tone from before like a summer breeze. “It’s easier when it’s just here and now.”
“Isn’t that sad though? That I don’t really know who I am or what kind of life I led, and now that it’s over, I don’t even have the memory of it to cherish?”
“Not everyone has something to cherish,” Yoongi says.
Seokjin looks at him clearly for the first time since their paths crossed. The exhaustion wasn’t from needing to sleep off one too many drinks. It was from carrying the weight of memories in a place where you were meant to leave everything behind.
“So you remember.” He isn’t sure how he guesses that after everything that’s been said, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.
“Once you do, you can’t forget,” Namjoon warns.
Seokjin glances over his shoulder. Suspects Namjoon must remember his life as well, then.
“How do we remember?” Jimin asks.
The silence stretches out until Seokjin is preparing to repeat the question. It surprises him when it’s Yoongi that answers.
“You put in an order.”
“What like memory soup?” Taehyung laughs.
“I asked for a whiskey bomb,” Yoongi says, finally cracking a smile. “But to each their own.”
Yoongi’s words stick in Seokjin’s chest. How long will they be stuck in this diner? What if forgetting is keeping him from the trauma of his death or any number of moments of pain and suffering throughout his life?
Does he really want to know?
“Can I get a delicious memory hot dog, please?” Seokjin asks JK. The barkeep tips his head back in a ridiculous laugh that puts an endeared smile on Seokjin’s face.
“I’ll take a memory milkshake. Chocolate,” Taehyung adds enthusiastically.
Jimin still seems a little hesitant when he orders his slice of memory cheese pizza with a coke on the side, but he does it anyway and then acts like it was no big thing when Taehyung shakes their still clasped hands in the air.
Hoseok remains silent. He’s staring past everyone, corners of his lips pulled back until tiny dimples appear. Seokjin’s feet start getting a little cold. He’s been in this with Hoseok from the start, if Hoseok isn’t in-
“What’s the special of the day?” Seokjin nearly falls over from laughing. Hoseok’s mouth relaxes, eyes going round. “What? What?”
He had been looking at the menu board.
“It’s Mac ‘n Cheese.”
Hoseok gasps. “Mac and cheese,” he sings, bobbing his head a little. “Memory Mac ‘n Cheese, please!”
JK nods his head, stepping back and disappearing into the kitchen. Seokjin watches for a moment for shiny, wide eyes in the order window. His ears go red when JK does peek over at him, those eyes getting comically large before vanishing quickly.
Maybe the afterlife works differently, but Seokjin imagines four dishes will take a little bit to whip together. He feels restless. The not knowing eats at him, but the impending onslaught of memories that he can’t prepare for also scares him.
He pushes back from the bar and decides to walk off the nervous energy.
Hoseok makes eye contact with him, giving him a smile when Seokjin nods that he’s okay. The others fill in around the bar, talking. Hoseok locked in conversation with Namjoon and Jimin and Taehyung looking like they’re taking turns harassing Yoongi but he really doesn’t look all that upset about it.
Seokjin walks back towards the jukebox. It’s lit up purple, little pops of other colors dancing around the edges of the glass case. The music playing doesn’t sound familiar at all, gently distorted guitar strumming.
It surprises him a little as he crosses into the other part of the diner to hear lyrics for the first time coming from the machine -
“ Will you stay…”
The dimly lit half of the building is empty now. The drunk couple and the man with all the napkins are nowhere to be seen, their tables spotless as if they’d never been there in the first place. He looks at the table that he’d sat at with Hoseok, their cups cleared, table tops wiped down, chairs pushed in at perfect angles.
“Jin-”
Seokjin turns, his breath catching in his chest. “No one’s called me that in… a long time, I think.”
JK’s cheeks color nicely, the jukebox backlighting him in technicolor. “Sorry, I-”
“Are you one of us, JK? Are you dead too?”
If it’s impolite to ask, JK doesn’t show it. His smile is small when he shakes his head. “No. I’ve always been here. Well, here wasn’t always here , but this is what I’ve always done.”
Seokjin hums. “Does JK stand for anything?”
“If it ever did, I’ve long forgotten it.”
“Maybe you should have some of my hot dog,” Seokjin says before choking on his own words. It makes Jungkook laugh though, so he won’t take it back, he supposes.
“You should have a proper name,” he tries to recover, running fingers across a polished table top. “Who wants to answer to letters?”
“And what would you call me?” He asks through a giggle.
Seokjin gives it thought. More serious than he tends to be, here in the quiet end of the diner facing the unknown of an entire lifetime of events in the span of a moment. He goes with his gut and doesn’t question it.
“Jungkook.”
“Hmm. Jungkook. Jungkoook,” he tries it on for size. “Jungkook it is.”
Seokjin can’t help but smile back at the peek of bunny teeth when Jungkook smiles at him. He clears his throat to cover the tender moment.
“Where did the others go?” He asks, gesturing at the empty tables.
“It was their time to go.”
“Oh…” Seokjin considers the stark difference between this side of the diner and the other. How different it had felt sitting over here. “Why isn’t this side as nice as the other?”
Jungkook is slow to answer this time, as if each word needs to be weighed before presenting to Seokjin. “Unlike in life, there is not much you get to choose in death. This place is one of very few exceptions. From the time you arrive, you decide where to sit, what to order, who you want to spend your time with.”
“Why would someone choose to sit over here though?”
“I think with or without memories, some people on some level want to punish themselves.”
Seokjin thinks of Yoongi, head down on the table.
“Should we get back to the others?”
“Yeah, the memories are ready, they’re just waiting on you.”
Seokjin’s spine straightens and he cranes to look back towards the bar. Everyone is seated, more quiet than when he’d left them.
“Sorry, I came to get you, but I guess I got distracted.”
Seokjin waves it off, letting Jungkook lead the way back to the other end of the diner.
Namjoon and Yoongi haven’t moved and the spot Seokjin had been in before is set with what does actually look like a really delicious hot dog plated with steaming fries and a cup of ketchup. On the other side of Yoongi, Hoseok has his Mac ‘n cheese, Jimin with his melty cheese pizza, and Taehyung with a decadent chocolate shake in a vintage glass topped with cream and cherries.
“Well. I guess here goes,” Taehyung says, pulling the milkshake close to him and closing his lips around the straw.
Seokjin picks up the hot dog and takes two large bites, cheeks bulged while he chews. It’s just as tasty as it had looked.
For a moment nothing happens.
He sits there wondering if maybe it had all been a prank-
-when the world tips sideways and the end becomes the beginning and the here becomes the then and the time before becomes the now.
Born in 1905 to farmers, he’d made a meager but honest living. There hadn’t been much schooling in those parts, but his mother took him to church when the seasons permitted. He’d married one of the girls from church. Pretty and kind and sweet on all little animals. They hadn’t been able to conceive but they’d had a good life. With no kids to pass it down to, they’d sold the farm when they grew too old to tend to it and tried their hands at anything that struck their fancy. His wife found work at a local animal shelter and Seokjin greeted shoppers at a local market. He’d worn an old secondhand suit everyday, two sizes too big, despite his young coworkers telling him he was overdressed. He’d always tell them you never knew who’d see you next.
He’d passed sometime in the late 1970’s, old age, pneumonia, the same old song and dance.
It had been a happy life and Seokjin was happy to remember it, but it wasn’t the only thing he remembered.
He remembers the first time he ever laid eyes on JK… Jungkook. It hadn’t been earlier this evening. He remembers how charmed he’d been then and every time after.
He’d met Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok that night, though only in passing. And then he’d met them again and again and again. Sometimes he’d only meet one of them on a given night, the others tucked at their own ends of the bar, engaged in their own conversations. Taehyung showed up one night, though they wouldn’t have known this was any different, each night was new, nothing before ever remained. Then finally Jimin and something shifted.
Others came and went, their time at the diner at an end, but for the six of them, it stretched like taffy in the store front window.
He remembers the first time he kissed Namjoon, one too many vodka cranberries, feeling young in a way he now knows he never felt in life. The way Namjoon had made him feel smart and heard and brave.
With Yoongi, they’d been quiet, soft, tender. Hands brushing and lingering looks while the jukebox played something slow and smooth. There was always an unspoken promise of next time, a maybe we’ll see each other around. But the next time around was always the first time around again.
Hoseok, bright and beautiful and full of life even in death, always managed to sweep Seokjin off his feet on the nights they set their sights on each other. They would laugh, boisterous and infectious and often dragging at least one or two of the others into the commotion with them.
Heat hits his cheeks and his stomach when he remembers having sex in the grimy bathrooms with Taehyung. The only one he’s ever fooled around with here. Caught somewhere between a game of chicken and tenacious flirting, he’d been drawn in like a moth to a flame. And even on the nights when the heat was more of a simmer, he remembers swaying in each other’s embrace in front of the jukebox.
And sweet Jimin, radiant and warm as the summer sun. Always ready to laugh at one of Seokjin’s bad jokes and happy to be silly in turn. Yet, they weren’t only playful with each other, often talking solemnly long into the night about anything that struck their fancy. While Namjoon made philosophizing an every man’s sport, Jimin made idle chatter feel intimate.
Endless nights of meeting each other for the first time over and over again. Falling for strangers they’d known for years.
Then there were the nights that Seokjin had sat alone at the bar for one reason or another. And every time he’d wondered if it was inappropriate to leave his number for the handsome barkeep.
They’d had their own conversations, JK always knowing what to say to make Seokjin smile or put him at ease… well after the first couple years that is. He’d been shy and awkward at first, often ducking into the kitchen mid sentence, until eventually he knew them all well enough to lead the conversation and entire interactions where he wanted them. But tonight had been different. It had felt like those early days…
The memories.
This wasn’t the first time they’d been offered to get their memories back.
It was Namjoon first. Something Jungkook had mentioned in passing. Seokjin isn’t sure, even now, if it was a slip up or purposeful. How Namjoon had even realized they weren’t alive or on the mortal plane any more… but he’d requested his memories back.
The others had watched confused but worried as it looked like the man they’d been chatting with earlier in the evening was overdosing on something.
Is that what Seokjin looked like right now?
It had only seemed like moments then. Namjoon had gotten off the floor with Jungkook’s help and cried but thanked him.
The next time Namjoon met Seokjin, he remembered him but Seokjin didn’t. Namjoon remembered the taste of Seokjin’s lips and the quiet conversations they’d shared, and Seokjin told him to go bug someone else with his drunken stupor, he was trying to have a nice night.
Namjoon had spent god knows how long trying to convince any one of them of their situation. Any one of them to make the request. To remember him. They’d thought he was crazy. Drunk. On drugs. Not their problem.
He gave up eventually. Too downtrodden. Too heartbroken.
One night Yoongi must have tried to order him a drink at the bar, Namjoon having learned if he sat at the end, reading a book, he was less likely to be approached by the others. Namjoon had asked Yoongi how he knew what his own drink of choice was. Without the memory of life, how does one know what their preference is? He’d barely looked away from his book when he’d asked, but it had affected Yoongi enough to mention it when he came back to the group with the round he’d been tasked with getting.
He’d gone back after passing out the drinks and he didn’t come back.
Seokjin remembers the next time he saw Yoongi, he was meeting him for the first time and Yoongi cried. He’d avoided the strange man for the rest of the night, had spent his evening with Hoseok.
Namjoon and Yoongi fought often after that. Of course the others wrote it off as drunk lover’s quarrels or friends falling out and paid them no mind. They often kept to opposite sides of the bar. Namjoon seemed to find it hard to interact much with the others after, but it was like Yoongi couldn’t quite help himself. He couldn’t seem to find a way to pretend he didn’t know each of them, so often those interactions turned to petty squabbles, but anything to have their attention on him for a moment.
He too had tried to convince them.
It had never worked before, so why now?
It was their time to go.
With a shuddering lurch, Seokjin lifts himself off the ground. Namjoon, Yoongi and Jungkook are all hovering over him, Hoseok, Jimin and Taehyung, each jerkily starting to come to.
Taehyung gulps back a broken whimper.
Seokjin’s hand reaches out blindly, a warm palm there to catch him instantly.
“Are you alright?” Jungkook asks him.
Seokjin shakes his head, then stops abruptly when that sends the room spinning. He opens his eyes slowly, the lights overhead, far too aggressive. It’s Yoongi holding his hand.
“I’m so sorry,” Seokjin whispers before it crests into a sob.
Yoongi’s arms are around him in an instant. He feels the others move around them, arms and hands. Foreheads pressed together and leaning against each other’s backs. A mess of tears and misplaced guilt. Delayed longing for someone that had been right next to him the entire time.
He feels lips along his hairline and doesn’t much care whose they are.
After a small eternity, and they know what eternity feels like now, they pick themselves off the floor, tearstained but happy.
At some point Jungkook must have stepped back from the group, though Seokjin could have sworn he’d felt his hand running along his arms, his shoulders. He stands near the bar, that same warm smile in place.
Seokjin hates it.
“You’re kicking us out?” He tries not to sound angry. Hurt. “We remember everything now and you’re kicking us out.”
“It’s your-”
“What if I say it’s not our time, huh? What if I call a time out?”
Jungkook’s smile this time is a lot more genuine. “It doesn’t work like that. You’ve all been here a really long time.”
“Why were we all here so long?” Jimin asks. “There were so many others that came and went, were we that bad we had to stay in purgatory?”
Jungkook watches his shoe rub at an imaginary mark on the perfectly clean floor. “Sometimes there are people that stick around here. For each other. When it’s their time… they go together.”
“So you think that’s us?”
Jungkook nods.
“What happens? When we go?” Hoseok asks.
Jungkook bites at his lip. That silly nervous habit Seokjin loves so much. “They go again, but this time they have the opportunity to have a life with each other.”
“Reincarnation?” Seokjin isn’t really sure he believes what he’s hearing, but how is it any different from wasting away in purgatory?
Jungkook nods.
“They aren’t guaranteed to have a life together?” Taehyung asks quietly. Everyone turns to look at him and Seokjin feels in his heart they’re all thinking the same thing.
We aren’t guaranteed to have a life together?
“Free will is still a thing. A beautiful thing. But I try to give them the best chance I can. I think that’s why it couldn’t happen until you all remembered. I wouldn’t have been able to send off all of you at the same to time and convinced you to hold tight long enough.”
“What does that mean?” Yoongi asks, finally speaking up. Seokjin had figured in their growing distance maybe Yoongi and Namjoon had asked all of their questions, but Yoongi had kept much closer after all.
“Time and Space move differently out there. If I sent all of you at the same time but you didn’t keep hold of each other all the way through, you could end up anywhere and any time.”
“So we hold hands?” Jimin is already grabbing tightly to Taehyung, pulling him in close. Hoseok clings to Namjoon as well.
“It’s not so hard sending two or three people out with their hands held tightly after a well spent night talking, but six is a bit trickier,” Jungkook chuckles. He reaches over the bar for something. “I’ve had a plan though, just in case. This is going to be way easier with your memories though,” he says with a grunt, tip toes barely touching the floor before standing upright.
Looped through his fingers is a length of deep red string.
He approaches Seokjin, and holds out his hand. Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to put his hand into Jungkook’s. The string is soft where it gets looped and tied around Seokjin’s wrist. He moves to Yoongi, tying the string to him as well. Hoseok is next, one hand held out to Jungkook, the other still holding Namjoon who in turn gets secured the same way like mirror images. Jimin holds out his and Taehyung’s clasped hand, making Jungkook laugh. He makes sure to still loop them individually as well just in case. Jimin leans his head against Namjoon, for the time being at least.
“When I send you off, this will help-”
“Wait,” Seokjin interrupts.
He marches down the line, which of course creates a ridiculous ripple effect of pulling all of the others along with him until they’re looped back onto each other in a circle. He takes the leftover end of string hanging off of Jimin and Taehyung’s wrists and reaches for Jungkook’s hand.
Jungkook gently pulls his hand back while Seokjin is trying to tie it in place.
He looks somewhere between apologetic and miserable when Seokjin looks up, heart in his throat, a million pieces as painful as sandpaper.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not how this works.”
“Who says?” Seokjin’s voice cracks. “Maybe you were waiting for us.”
There’s a silence that follows, precious hopeful breath bated.
Jungkook looks down at the string still held tightly in Seokjin’s grasp. When he looks up, his eyes shine with unshed tears.
Seokjin hands him the end of the string.
“Just don’t let go.”
Don’t let us go.
A chilly rush goes down Seokjin’s spine. He feels weightless like he’s been dropped into the deep end of the pool. He feels a little tug at his wrist. Looking down he sees a red string, he traces along the slope of it until he finds the dark sleeve of a leather jacket. He grabs hold of it. Makes sure Yoongi stays close. He can’t see much beyond that.
He trusts the others. He trusts Jungkook’s plan.
Now he just has to hope.
…
December 4th, 1992
Anyang, Gyeonggi Province, South Korea
Take Two
…
Will you stay?
I want to hold onto the time t hat’s flying by
...With me...
Will you go?
What look will we have on our faces, standing there
Those dawns that I can’t even remember anymore