parallax | jikook

Part title

Jimin dropped his box off down the hallway—this was their old apartment, Jungkook would know, he had just stormed out of it a year ago—then came back, crossing his arms and tilting his head. "Are you sure you aren't sick?" Jimin asked.

Something in the way Jimin had his hip cocked out jogged Jungkook's memory; there was déjà vu, and then there was this. If they were standing in their old apartment, then this must be—this must be a memory.

Jimin got close, back of his hand gentle against Jungkook's forehead, breath fanning out over Jungkook's skin, and no memory would feel like this, raising goosebumps along his forearms. Jimin was in front of him, flesh and blood and physically solid. Jungkook couldn't breathe.

"Your temperature feels fine," Jimin noted. He dropped his hand onto Jungkook's shoulder and stepped even closer, stealing a kiss before Jungkook could react. It was casual, offhand. His mouth was soft and Jungkook's hand came down to his waist, a reflex at that point. He remembered, he remembered this. "Sit down if you need to, I'll get the last box from downstairs."

Then he was out the door, and Jungkook felt like he needed to chase him, keep him fixed in his gaze so he wouldn't disappear into thin air. He sat down heavily on a crate. What the fuck was happening?

Jungkook remembered this. It was the day he and Jimin moved into their apartment together, even though the walls looked bare and a little unrecognizable now because he was so used to them filled with posters and photo frames.

Jimin peeked into the room. "Just making sure you're still alive." Fuck, he looked good, he was glowing, and Jungkook remembered how happy he'd been on this day.

"I... am," Jungkook said warily, and Jimin laughed before he disappeared again. It was all too easy for Jungkook to settle into this comfortable familiarity with Jimin; that was the reason it was so goddamn hard to leave in the first place. He didn't know if he was lucid dreaming or hallucinating or what, but he would not let this happen. This Jimin was the Jimin he was dogged by in his fantasies—bright, stunning, a remnant of happier times—late at night when all Jungkook had in the darkness was his blanket and his thoughts.

Jungkook remembered this day even better now that he was living it again. They had unpacked and laid around fanning themselves in the Seoul heat, sucking on popsicles. It was giddy; Jimin had stolen kisses from him at every opportunity, and they ended the day by christening their new kitchen countertop. Jungkook had wished it would never end.

"Jungkook!" He heard his name in Jimin's singsong, and he found himself standing up and making his way over.

Jimin was sorting out their toiletries in the bathroom. It was nice, sink so fancy it was raised. "Can you go find the other box with the rest of our toiletries, please?" he asked.

"Sure, babe," Jungkook replied. The endearment was yet another reflex, felt like a sweet piece of hard candy in his mouth. Jungkook allowed himself to indulge; Jimin had always been addicting. The peck he gave Jimin right after was an indulgence too. Jungkook remembered these kisses, muscle memory at this point. He remembered them all too easily.

Halfway to the bathroom, the world frayed again as Jungkook blinked. He fell.

-

Jungkook landed as he slammed a door, their front door, and he remembered this too. He found himself storming down the stairs before he could even think about it—fuck, he was seething.

This was later in their relationship, when they started arguing, enough to make Jungkook hurt in his desperation. He didn't like fighting with Jimin, but they always did: Jimin somehow angry again at something Jungkook did that Jimin refused to explain. Jungkook's own frustration made him relish cutting Jimin as deep as Jimin cut him.