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rerefundslocals · 7 months ago

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Soo cute 😍 💕

shot glass full of tears | oneshot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: veterinarian! jungkook x cat mom! reader, exes to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

Word Count: 19.7k+

Chapter Warnings: JUNGKOOK WEARS GLASSES !! unprotected sex (you know the drill), oral (f. receiving), mentions of pet injury, blood, inaccurate veterinary advice and diagnosis (sorry, i'm not a vet so just roll with it), there's so much yearning and hurt and comfort

A/N: back with another long ass oneshot with my fav trope of all time. i'm so utterly in love with this jungkook and istg idk what took over me when i was writing this. i hope everyone finds a man written by a woman (cher) lmao ALSO I WISH I HAD A CAT AHHHH.

"Make sure you keep Milo hydrated and monitor any changes in his appetite." Jungkook advises gently, his tone professional yet reassuring. The teenage boy in front of him nods earnestly, his hands stroking the small Maltese on the bed with careful tenderness.

"Got it. Thank you so much, Dr. Jeon." the boy says, his gratitude evident in the way he bows slightly before scooping up Milo. The dog's soft, snow-white fur brushes against his chin as it wiggles in his arms, tail wagging enthusiastically.

Jungkook watches them leave, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he exhales quietly and tugs at the knot of his tie, loosening it a bit. The fabric feels constricting, a small annoyance after a string of back-to-back appointments.

Stepping out of the examination room, Jungkook nods briefly at his receptionist, Hwayoung, who greets him with her usual smile. "That was the last one for today, Dr. Jeon." she informs him, her tone light.

"Thanks, Hwayoung." he replies, throwing her a quick thumbs-up before heading towards his office. The familiar quiet of his personal cabin envelops him as he enters, offering a brief respite from the bustle of the clinic.

Jungkook sinks into the leather chair by his desk as the weight of the day clings to his shoulders, but his movements are steady, almost methodical, as he pulls his laptop closer to check his emails one last time.

Each message is a mix of routine and responsibility... follow-ups on treatments, updates on upcoming surgeries, and the occasional thank-you note from grateful pet owners.

After typing out a quick reply to an inquiry about post-operative care for a golden retriever, he leans back, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. His gaze shifts to the corner of the desk where a stack of patient files waits to be filed, but for now, he decides to leave them.

Putting his glasses back on, he stands and reaches for his briefcase, placing his stethoscope neatly inside.

Opening the middle drawer of his desk, Jungkook retrieves an envelope... some important mail he had placed there earlier. But as always, his fingers falter when they brush against something else.

The tiny, velvet-coated blue box.

Jungkook's fingers hover over it, trembling slightly before he pulls it out and stares at it. The box feels heavier than it should, not in weight but in what it represents... a future that never came to be.

He lets out a weak sigh, the kind that seems to carry months of unspoken grief. The box has been there, unmoving, for the past five months, hidden in the depths of his drawer like a ghost he can't bring himself to confront.

He hasn't found the strength to get rid of it or perhaps, deep down, he doesn't want to. A sliver of hope still lingers, faint but stubborn, clinging to him like a shadow. A hope that maybe, just maybe, things could somehow go back to the way they were.

It's been five months since you walked out of his life. Five months since everything he thought he knew about love and forever crumbled in the quietest, most heartbreaking way.

You had sat across from him that evening in your shared apartment, your hands trembling slightly, but your voice, steady and composed, delivered the words that still haunt him."I don't think I'm even a part of your life anymore, Jungkook."

Your tone wasn't laced with anger or bitterness. That was what made it hurt so much more. It was calm, resigned, as though the weight of carrying the pain alone had finally crushed you.

He remembers sitting there, stunned into silence, the truth of your words striking like a cold blade to his chest. He couldn't argue with you because deep down, he realized you were right.

Jungkook had unknowingly let work consume him.

The long hours at the clinic, the endless parade of appointments he volunteered for, and the late nights spent reviewing patient files and various case studies had blinded him to the cracks forming in your relationship.

He thought he was building something meaningful for the both of you... a solid future, but in doing so, he had let the present slip right through his fingers.

He hadn't noticed the exhaustion etched into your face after long days at work, or how you stopped sharing the little stories about your day because you knew he wouldn't be fully present to listen.

He remembers the meals you had prepared, waiting for him to come home and share them with you. But he was always late, and by the time he arrived, the food was cold, and you had given up waiting. He remembers slipping into bed beside you, only to find you already asleep, curled up on the edge of the mattress, your back turned to him.

Neglect wasn't a loud thing... it didn't scream or break things or demand attention. It was silent, creeping in like a shadow, eroding the foundation of a relationship until there was nothing left to hold onto.

And by the time Jungkook had understood that, it was already too late.

As ridiculous as it might sound now, he truly thought everything was fine. In his mind, every long night at the clinic, every extra appointment he took, every ounce of energy he poured into his work, it was all for the future he was building for the both of you.

A future where he could finally give you everything you deserved.

That's also why he had spent months searching for the perfect ring, obsessing over every detail to make sure it was as extraordinary as you were. He wanted it to be a symbol, a promise of the forever he was so certain you both wanted especially after being together for 4 years.

But when he finally found it, he simply held onto it, waiting for the "perfect" moment. He kept convincing himself he'd find the right time to propose, to tell you how much you meant to him and how he couldn't imagine his life without you.

But life isn't patient, and love doesn't wait for perfect moments. By the time he was ready to give you that ring, you were already done with him.

The realization still cuts him like glass. You had loved him with everything you had and so did he, but love alone isn't enough when one person feels invisible.

And now, that tiny blue box sits in his desk drawer, a reminder of everything he lost... not just you, but the life he thought you'd share together.

If only he had noticed sooner. If only he had listened. If only he had made you feel like you were enough, like you were his priority.

If only he hadn't been so blinded by his own ambition, so wrapped up in his work that he couldn't see the loneliness in your eyes.

If only he had paused long enough to hear the quiet pleas in your silences, the way you had stopped fighting for his attention because you had already given up.

If only he had reached out when you started to pull away, if only he had seen how much you needed him to fight for you.

If only he had cared more about the present and less about the future he was trying to build, the future that now felt empty without you in it.

If only he had recognized the signs, the small cracks in your smile, the way you withdrew a little more each day.

If only he hadn't assumed that love could wait until tomorrow, until the perfect moment, until the time was right.

If only he had told you how much you meant to him when you were still by his side. If only he had made the effort to show you that you were everything to him, before you walked away.

If only he had loved you the way you deserved to be loved.

But sadly, "if only" doesn't change anything.

All it leaves behind is regret.

He clutches his briefcase as he walks past the receptionist's desk, glancing at Hwayoung who's wrapping up for the day, gathering her things. "Get home safe, Hwayoung." Jungkook says, offering her a gentle smile.

She looks up, returning his smile with a bow. "You too, Dr. Jeon. See you tomorrow."

Jungkook nods in acknowledgment as he turns and heads towards the exit, his mind still swirling with thoughts of you.

The air outside is cool, the evening sky bathed in the soft, fading hues of twilight. As Jungkook walks towards his car, the weight of your absence presses down on him with each step, an invisible burden that grows heavier as time passes.

He misses you so much and every day, the reality of your absence becomes harder to accept.

Five months have stretched out into what feels like an eternity, and still, he finds himself wishing.... desperately wishing, that he could see you again, hold you close, love you the way he should have before.

He still hears updates about you, filtered through the mutual friends you both shared during the course of your relationship. Namjoon, who works in the same office as you, occasionally mentioned how things at your job had been improving, that the pressure had finally started to lift a little.

Seokjin, who, ironically, was the one who introduced you two, had casually told him how you had adopted a little cat in your new apartment. Taehyung, too, had shared how his girlfriend, Seulgi keeps trying to convince you to go on random blind dates.

The news about the blind dates gnaws at him. He can't help but feel a pang of discomfort, even jealousy, twisting in his chest. But he knows he has no right to feel that way. You deserve to meet new people, to move forward with your life and search for things he couldn't provide.

After all, he had failed you. He had failed to give you the attention, the care, the priority you so desperately needed but still, the mere thought of you with someone else... someone who might be able to offer you the things he couldn't, tears at his heart in ways he never imagined possible.

But, as much as it hurts, he knows he has to accept it. He has to face the reality of his mistakes, the ones that led him here, even if the weight of it threatens to drown him.

Yet, despite it all, a part of him can't let go of the hope that maybe, just maybe, he could have another chance. But he doesn't know how to approach you anymore, how to bridge the gap that has grown between you two.

For months, he has tried to rebuild himself, to make sense of his mistakes. He's started leaving the clinic at reasonable hours, something that had once been an afterthought for him. He takes time now to reflect on his actions, on how he had let his work consume him, how he had taken you for granted.

He understands now that his priorities had been upside down. He sees the things he had overlooked and it aches in ways words can't explain.

He knows that if he is ever blessed with another chance with you, he won't waste it. He will cherish you, love you in the way you always deserved. But the question lingers... how does he even begin? How does he take the first step to prove that he's changed, to show you that he's ready to be the man you need him to be?

Jungkook shakes his head softly, a wave of frustration settling deep in his stomach as he grips the steering wheel, pulling the seatbelt across his chest. The engine hums to life, but as he starts to drive, the city outside blurs into a swirl of distant lights and noise.

He comes to a stop at a traffic signal, his fingers absently drumming on the steering wheel, his gaze drifting towards the chaotic life of the city he's so disconnected from.

Suddenly his dashboard lights up, indication that someone's calling. The name that flashes on the screen hits him like a punch to the chest, sending his heart into a frantic rhythm.

You're calling.

After five long months, this is the first time you're calling.

His breath hitches, his heart leaping into his throat. Anxiety gnaws at him, but there's also a wave of joy so overwhelming it almost feels suffocating. The confusion, the fear, the hope... it all crashes into him in a single breath, and before he can process anything, he presses the screen to accept your call.

"Hel—" His starts, but you speak before he can finish. "Kook..." Your voice crackles through the speakers of his car, barely a whisper at first, but there's something raw and desperate in it that makes his blood run cold.

He leans forward, gripping the wheel tighter, as he hears you sniffle on the other side. His pulse quickens, heart hammering in his chest. "Y/n?" he asks, his voice thick with concern, but it's the quiet, almost choking sound of your breath that cuts through him.

"Kook, please... please, come home..." you beg, and it's like your voice shatters with each word. "Skittles... Skittles is bleeding... and I don't know what to do... please, Kook... I can't—I'm so scared..."

Skittles. He knows that's the name of your cat. The one you adopted after moving into your new place.

The tremor in your voice pierces through him like a dagger to his chest and the sound of your sobs reverberates in the quiet of his car. He can hear every desperate breath you take and it's as if your pain is now his own.

His heart is racing, a wild storm of worry rising in his chest, but he doesn't hesitate even for a second. "I'll be right there, Y/n." he says, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "I'm on my way."

You never thought you'd be contacting your ex-boyfriend after five long months... especially not for an emergency like this.

It wasn't just any emergency, it was Skittles, your cat, who was bleeding through his nose and in distress. The usual vet you took Skittles to, wasn't answering, and with your heart racing and panic clouding your mind, you couldn't think straight.

And then, like a force of instinct, you found yourself dialing Jungkook's number.

You had initially gotten Skittles as a form of coping.

When you moved out of the apartment you'd once shared with Jungkook and into a new place, the silence that followed felt suffocating. The ache of the break up was overwhelming and you desperately needed something, anything, to fill the void that had settled in your heart.

And that's when a friend at work suggested adopting a pet, and suddenly a chunky british shorthair who you named Skittles became the center of your universe.

Though the void left behind by Jungkook was never truly filled, Skittles did his best to heal you, in his own cute little ways. His presence brought some comfort, but the emptiness you felt without Jungkook lingered, persistent and heavy.

You craved the presence of the love of your life... the warmth of his smile, the sound of his voice, the gentleness of his touch. You missed it all so fiercely, and no matter how hard you tried, it seemed like nothing could ever replace what you had lost.

You had loved Jungkook with everything you had, body and soul, and to lose him was like losing a part of yourself. But somewhere along the way, things changed. It wasn't his fault but the growing distance between you both became unbearable.

You started feeling lonely even when he was right beside you. It wasn't that he didn't care, you knew that. It was because he was so consumed by his work, so consumed by his endless hours at the clinic that he didn't even realize you were left behind, watching from the sidelines of your own relationship, a spectator to a life you thought you were building together.

The more you gave, the less you felt seen. The more you tried to reach out to him, the more you felt like you were losing yourself in the process. You felt invisible, as if you were fading into the background of his busy life.

And that ache, that loneliness, started to chip away at you. You kept convincing yourself it would get better, that things would change, but they never did. And in the end, it felt like you were carrying the weight of it all on your own.

It wasn't an easy decision, leaving him. It felt like you were breaking your own heart, but there came a point when you couldn't pretend anymore. You couldn't keep holding on, not when it felt like you were slowly losing yourself.

The love you had for him was still there, still so strong, but you had to let go.

You thought that after the breakup, the emptiness would fade... that you'd find yourself again, rebuild your life, and finally feel whole. But the truth was, it was harder than you'd imagined. The grief lingered, and as much as you tried to move on, you couldn't stop missing him.

No matter how many blind dates Seulgi convinced you to go on, none of those men could ever come even the slightest bit close to what Jungkook was. None of them made your heart race the way he did, and none of them carried that comforting presence that felt like home.

And now as you cradle Skittles in your trembling arms, his tiny body squirming in distress and his nose bleeding, the tears spill uncontrollably down your cheeks as you anxiously wait for Jungkook to arrive.

The instant the doorbell rings, you carefully place Skittles on his little bed beside the couch, making sure he's as comfortable as possible. Hastily, you wipe at your tears with shaky hands and rush to the door, swinging it open.

"Hey." Jungkook pants, his voice slightly breathless, and it's immediately clear that he's taken the stairs... all twelve flights, to reach your apartment. The sheen of sweat glistening on his temples and the way his hair clings to his forehead tell the story.

"I'm sorry I'm late. The elevator... was occupied, and it felt like it was taking forevr to come down." he explains, already stepping inside without hesitation.

"Thank you for coming." you sniffle, your voice barely audible through your tears. He pauses, his eyes softening the moment they meet yours. The tension in his face eases as he takes you in, clearly seeing how frazzled and scared you are.

"Hey..." he murmurs gently, setting down his field bag that contains his emergency veterinary kit against the wall. He slips off his shoes in one smooth motion and steps closer, placing both hands firmly yet comfortingly on your shoulders. "Everything's going to be fine, okay?"

Your eyes begin to brim with tears again, but you take a shaky breath and swallow them back, forcing yourself to nod. Jungkook offers you a soft, reassuring smile before reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Where's Skittles?" he asks.

"In the living room." you manage to reply, your voice wavering slightly. He nods and immediately steps away, collecting his stuff and makes his way into the living room.

The moment Jungkook steps into the living room, his eyes land on Skittles curled up in his tiny bed, his little body trembling and his nose streaked with blood. A pang of concern flashes across his face, but his movements remain calm as he slowly kneels on the floor, lowering himself to Skittles' level without making a sound.

You watch anxiously from a few steps away, your hands clasped tightly together, unsure of how Skittles will react. This is their first meeting and your cat, with his shy nature and cautious disposition, doesn't warm up to people easily.

Jungkook seems to sense this instinctively, his demeanor gentle and unthreatening as he observes the trembling cat. "Hey there, buddy." he murmurs softly, his voice low and soothing, as if he's speaking to a frightened child.

He doesn't reach out immediately, instead giving Skittles a moment to take in his presence. "I'm not here to hurt you, I promise. Let's see what's going on, okay?"

Skittles' ears flick nervously, his tail twitching as he eyes Jungkook warily. But the gentle cadence of Jungkook's voice seems to work some kind of magic. Slowly, cautiously, Jungkook extends a hand, palm up, giving Skittles the chance to sniff him if he chooses.

Skittles hesitates, his whiskers twitching, but before he can dart away, Jungkook makes his move, scooping your cat up with practiced ease.

You hold your breath, half expecting Skittles to claw his way out of Jungkook's arms, but to your surprise, he doesn't struggle much. He wriggles slightly, letting out a small, distressed meow, but Jungkook holds him securely, his hands steady and reassuring.

Carefully, Jungkook places Skittles on the couch just above, making sure to support him with one hand while the other reaches for his veterinary kit. His movements are fluid, efficient, as he retrieves a stethoscope and a few other tools.

You stand frozen, unsure of what to do, watching as Jungkook expertly shifts into vet mode.

"I found him like this when I got home from work..." you blurt out, your voice trembling. "His nose was bleeding, and I don't know what happened. He was fine this morning..." Your words come out in a rush, guilt and fear laced in every syllable.

Jungkook glances up briefly, his expression softening. "It's okay..." he says gently, his voice steady. "We'll figure it out."

He begins his examination, his fingers light yet firm as he tilts Skittles' head up to get a closer look at his tiny nose. "Hey, little guy." he murmurs, his tone soothing as he keeps one hand on Skittles' back to steady him. "This might feel a little weird, but it won't hurt. I promise."

You watch, your heart pounding, as Jungkook works with meticulous care. He checks for swelling, tenderness, or any signs of a deeper injury, all while murmuring softly to Skittles. The sight of him, so focused and patient, tugs at something deep within you.

He's still the same Jungkook you fell in love with, calm under pressure, always putting others at ease.

"He's scared..." you say quietly. Jungkook looks at you briefly, his gaze warm. "He's okay. He's just not sure what's happening. We'll get him through this."

After a few minutes, Jungkook straightens slightly, his brow furrowing in thought. His gaze shifts around the room until it lands on the coffee table nearby and he points towards the sharp edge. "I think this might be what caused it." he says. "The edge is just the right height, and if he bumped into it too hard while jumping or playing, it could've scraped his nose."

Your eyes widen as you follow his gaze. "Oh my god..." you whisper, guilt washing over you like a tidal wave. "I didn't even think about that. He must've hit it when I wasn't there."

"It happens." Jungkook reassures you. "Cats are agile, but accidents like this aren't uncommon. The good news is, it's nothing serious. It's just a small cut, and it's already starting to clot. There's no swelling or signs of a deeper issue."

Relief floods your system, though your chest still feels tight. "So, he'll be okay?" you question, your voice soft. "He'll be fine." Jungkook answers with a reassuring smile. "I'm going to clean the wound and apply some antiseptic to help it heal faster. You'll just need to keep an eye on him for the next few days and make sure he doesn't scratch at it."

You nod, your eyes never leaving Skittles as Jungkook prepares the antiseptic. He works with precision, his touch so gentle that Skittles barely flinches. "You're being so brave." Jungkook chuckles to the cat, his voice filled with warmth. "Just a little more, and you'll be all set."

You've seen Jungkook take care of animals before.

Back when you first started dating, you'd often visit him at his clinic, waiting patiently for him to finish his appointments. During those moments, you'd catch glimpses of him in his element... gently talking to animals, giving them belly rubs, stroking their fur, and soothing them when they were in pain.

It was one of the things that made you fall for him... how naturally compassionate he was, how every creature seemed to trust him implicitly, as if sensing the kindness in his soul.

And now, as you watch him, your heart twists. It's not just Skittles he's calming, it's you.

Once Jungkook finishes cleaning Skittles' wound, he gently places him back in his bed, his hand lingering for a moment to softly stroke the cat's head. "He's going to be just fine." he says as he turns to you. A soft sigh escapes your lips, the weight that had been pressing down on you finally easing.

You step closer, crouching beside Jungkook as your fingers find Skittles' soft fur. Gently, you stroke his head, and he lets out a small meow, making you giggle. "Hi, cutie." you murmur, your voice soft and affectionate. "Feeling better?" It's as if he understands, because he replies with another little meow.

Jungkook watches the exchange, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "You really named your cat after your favorite candy?" he teases lightly.

You glance at him, the teasing lilt in his voice drawing your attention, and it's only then that you realize just how close you are to him. His face is mere inches from yours, and for a moment, your heart stops.

It all comes crashing down now... every suppressed thought, every buried feeling. You're seeing him after five long months, and the sight of him is almost too much.

He hasn't changed a bit. If anything, he's grown even more handsome, the edges of his jaw sharper, his eyes just as warm, yet tinged with something you can't quite place.

The realization hits hard, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest. You've missed him more than you thought was even possible.

You awkwardly stand up, trying to create some space, your eyes darting around the living room as if searching for an escape. "Uh... yeah, it... it was Jin's idea." you reply, your voice quieter than you intended.

Jungkook notices the sudden shift in your demeanor... the way your shoulders tense, the way you avoid his gaze, nibbling on your lip in that nervous habit he knows all too well.

Though the sight tugs painfully at his heart, he respects the invisible boundary you've drawn. He stands up, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. "That's nice." he says softly, though his tone betrays a hint of wistfulness.

He watches you fidget with your fingers, your unease palpable. He knows this moment isn't easy for you. It isn't easy for him, either.

"I think..." he starts, his voice gentle. "I think I'll head out."

At his words, you finally lift your gaze to meet his. "Um... yeah, sure." you reply, stepping aside as he gathers his things and walks towards the front door.

When he bends down to slip on his shoes, you just stand there, awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot to the other, your fingers nervously twisting together. The silence feels unbearably loud.

"Um... Kook..." you call out softly. He pauses, straightening up and turning to look at you. "Hmm?"

"I'm sorry." you blurt out, your words tumbling out in a rush. "I'm sorry I called you like it was nothing after five months. I wasn't thinking straight." Your throat tightens as guilt wells up inside you. "I know the breakup must've been hard on you, and I—" You pause, biting back the lump in your throat. "I know you didn't see it coming."

For a moment, he simply looks at you, and you brace yourself for anger or hurt. But then he smiles... a soft, bittersweet curve of his lips that only makes the ache in your chest deepen.

"You don't have to apologize." he says gently, his voice as warm and understanding as it's always been. "On the bright side..." he continues with a light chuckle. "I finally got to meet Skittles." He shifts his bag on his shoulder and tilts his head slightly, his eyes crinkling with a faint smile.

"Do you know how many stories I've heard from Jin hyung and Tae? I was almost jealous that I was the only one who hadn't met him yet." The playful tone in his voice doesn't mask the lingering melancholy beneath, but his words bring a small smile to your lips.

It's so like Jungkook to ease the tension, even now.

"Anyways, it was good seeing you." he says softly as he takes a step towards the door. "I'll be leaving now." His hand reaches for the handle, but just as he's about to turn it, he hesitates. The pause is so brief you almost miss it, but then he stops entirely, his shoulders stiffening for a beat.

Slowly, he glances back at you, something uncertain but determined flickering in his gaze. "Um... Y/n." he calls, his voice almost hesitant, like he's unsure if he should even be speaking.

"Yes?" you respond, stepping closer on instinct.

He turns fully, facing you with an expression that's softer than you expect. "I'd like you to bring Skittles to the clinic in about a week." he says, his voice soft yet professional, though you can tell he's treading carefully. "I want to check on the healing and make sure there's no sign of infection or lingering issues."

"Of course." you manage to say, nodding. Your voice wavers slightly, and you pray he doesn't notice. "I'll bring him."

Jungkook nods in return, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. "Good. And... if anything feels off before then, call me. I'll come right over."

The sincerity in his words hits you like a tidal wave, and for a second, it's almost too much. You glance down at your hands, fidgeting nervously, then look back up at him.

His gaze hasn't left you, and you're not sure if that makes it better or worse. "Okay... Thank you so much." you reply.

There's a moment of silence hanging between you both, heavy with everything you want to say but can't. You think he might say something else, the way his lips part slightly and his brows furrow as if he's debating it, but then he catches himself.

Instead, he gives you a small nod, one last fleeting smile, and turns back to the door.

This time, he doesn't stop.

The door clicks shut behind him, and the quiet that follows feels deafening. You stand there for a moment, staring at the door as though willing it to open again.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath and turn back towards the living room. Skittles is curled up in his bed, breathing evenly now, looking peaceful. You crouch down beside him, stroking his fur gently.

"Looks like you made quite the impression." you murmur softly, your voice breaking ever so slightly. Skittles meows sleepily, and you let out a quiet laugh, though it feels hollow.

As you sit there, the weight of Jungkook's absence presses down on you even harder. Seeing him again after all these months was like reopening a wound you'd barely begun to mend, yet somehow, having him here, even if it was brief, felt like breathing fresh air after being underwater for far too long.

And now, he's gone again, leaving behind the familiar ache that never truly went away.

"So, you're telling me Jungkook treated Skittles?" Namjoon asks, his tone light but curious as the two of you step out of the elevator.

"Yes." you reply with a small shrug, clutching your bag a little tighter. "I didn't have much of a choice. The usual vet I go to wasn't picking up."

Namjoon hums thoughtfully, falling into step beside you as you walk across the bustling lobby of your office. "How was it?"

"What?" you ask, glancing at him in confusion. "Seeing him after five months." Namjoon clarifies, his tone softer but probing.

You falter for a brief second, your mind replaying the impromptu encounter... the way Jungkook made sure Skittles was okay, the way he looked at you, the warmth in his voice, the way the past five months had melted into nothing in an instant.

"Well..." You let out a slow breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "I didn't even get to process it at first because I was just so scared about Skittles." Your fingers brush absently over your coat, as you nervously lick your lips.

Namjoon gives a small nod, silently urging you to continue. "But then..." you trail off as Namjoon gently guides you through the large revolving doors and the crisp evening air greets you the second you step out.

"But then, we had this—" you pause, searching for the right word, your lips parting before pressing together again. "Moment, I guess? Well, honestly I don't even know if it was a 'moment,' you know?" You shake your head slightly, the memory of Jungkook's gaze flashing in your mind.

"It was brief, but it hit me like a truck. It just... really sank in. That I was seeing him again. That he was right there, in front of me, after five months." Your voice drops slightly, as if saying it aloud makes it more real, as if it solidifies the emotions you've been trying to suppress.

Namjoon watches you, his expression understanding. He doesn't rush you, doesn't fill the silence with empty words. Instead, he lets you sit in your thoughts, lets you sort through the mess of emotions swirling inside you.

"And I just felt so guilty..." you continue after a brief silence. "I called him out of nowhere after five months of complete silence. That was the first time I spoke to him since I moved out, the first time I saw him... and yet, he still showed up without a second of hesitation." You exhale, shaking your head slightly. "And that made me feel so... horrible."

Namjoon watches you carefully, his usual sharp gaze softening as he steps a little closer. "You don't have to feel horrible." he reassures you gently. "Jungkook would've shown up if you needed help, no matter what. Regardless of the situation or how much time has passed."

"I know." you murmur, your eyes drifting towards the dimly lit parking lot, the distant sound of traffic filling the silence between you. "I know... and that's what makes it harder."

"He's always been so understanding, so mature." you continue, your voice thick with emotion. "Even when I was breaking up with him, he didn't fight me on it. He didn't try to come up with excuses or reasons to make me stay. He just... understood." You swallow the lump in your throat, the memory of that evening still vivid in your mind.

"He even apologized. And when he asked me to reconsider, he did it in the gentlest way possible. But I was just so exhausted back then... I refused. I was so sure I was doing the right thing."

Namjoon listens intently. He doesn't interrupt, letting you pour out the thoughts that have been pressing down on you for months.

"But now..." you exhale shakily, running a hand through your hair. "Now, with the way I'm feeling, I can't help but feel so stupid and wonder if I made the biggest mistake. Maybe I should've held on a little longer. Maybe I should've tried harder, understood him better. Maybe—"

Namjoon spots his car up ahead and slows his pace, gently placing a hand on your back as he guides you towards the passenger side. He opens the door without a word, waiting until you slide in before closing it behind you.

The second he settles into the driver's seat and starts the engine, he finally speaks.

"Look..." he starts, his voice steady but filled with something deeper, something reassuring.

"I know you. And I know that when you ended things with Jungkook, it wasn't because you stopped loving him. It was because you were hurting. Because you felt alone in a relationship that was supposed to make you feel safe. And that kind of loneliness?" He shakes his head, taking a brief pause. "It eats you up from the inside. It makes you question everything... yourself, your choices, your worth. You needed space. You needed air. And there is nothing wrong with that."

You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. Namjoon sighs, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as he slows at a red light. He turns to glance at you, his eyes filled with quiet understanding.

"You've spent so much time convincing yourself that breaking up was the right thing to do... that walking away meant you were strong, that it was the only way to take care of yourself. And maybe at the time, it was..." he pauses, letting the words settle between you. "But just because it felt right then, doesn't mean you're not allowed to feel differently now."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you turn your gaze towards the window, watching the city outside. "You keep saying you feel guilty, but Y/n... love isn't a math equation that has a solution every single time. It's messy. It's confusing and you can't always justify the way you feel. You don't have to beat yourself up just because your heart still aches for him." he says.

Namjoon exhales and continues. "Maybe breaking up made you realize just how much you need him in your life... not in a desperate way, not in a way that takes away from who you are, but in a way that just makes life feel fuller. Maybe what you had was rare, something worth holding onto, and maybe the space you took was necessary for you to see that."

Your fingers tremble slightly in your lap, and Namjoon notices. He reaches over, giving your hand a comforting squeeze before placing it back on the wheel.

"And yeah, maybe now you're realizing just how much he meant to you, just how much love was really there..." he goes on, his voice softer now. "But Y/n, that doesn't make you weak. It doesn't make you foolish. And it sure as hell doesn't make you stupid."

You bite onto your quivering lower lip, staring down at your hands.

"You don't have to punish yourself for still feeling this way..." he murmurs. "Love doesn't just disappear overnight. It lingers, it settles into the cracks, it makes a home inside of you whether you want it to or not. And sometimes, it takes losing someone to realize just how deeply they were woven into your life."

Tears prick the back of your eyes, and you press your lips together to keep them at bay.

"You don't have to feel stupid for still missing him or even.... loving him..." he says firmly. "Love doesn't just vanish because you decide it should. And it's okay to admit that maybe you were scared. That maybe, in trying to protect yourself, you let go of something you didn't actually want to lose."

You close your eyes for a moment, his words cutting through all the layers of doubt and guilt you had buried yourself under.

"And if you still love him, if there's even a part of you that wonders if there's a way back... then maybe it's not too late to figure that out."

The light turns green, and Namjoon starts driving again, but your mind is stuck replaying his words, every single one of them hitting deeper than you expected.

For the first time in months, you let yourself sit with it. Let yourself feel it all.

Once you've paid the cab driver, you step out of the car, carefully holding Skittles in his transparent carrier. "You okay in there, cutie?" you murmur with a soft smile, lifting the carrier slightly to get a better look at him.

Skittles gazes up at you with wide, inquisitive eyes, his tiny nose—now much better—twitching as he takes in the unfamiliar surroundings.

It's been a week since the incident, and you've followed Jungkook's advice, ensuring Skittles' wound healed properly. You monitored him closely, kept him from scratching the area, and showered him with endless affection.

And now, just as Jungkook suggested, you're bringing him to the clinic for a check-up—to confirm his recovery and ensure there's no lingering infection.

But even as you focus on Skittles, your mind remains tangled in a web of emotions. Ever since your conversation with Namjoon, your thoughts have been in disarray, shifting between reason and longing. You've been weighing your choices, trying to make sense of it all, trying to figure out what you truly want.

You still think of a future with Jungkook. How could you not, after everything? The history you share is too vast, too deeply woven into your life to ignore.

And yet, a small, lingering fear clings to the edges of your heart. What if missing him blinds you into making a hasty decision? What if, despite all your love, you find yourself back in the same place... the same pain, the same loneliness?

And above all, what if it's already too late?

Because while you're still trying to find your way back, you have no idea if Jungkook is still waiting.

You shake your head, attempting to brush all your thoughts aside, and as you draw closer to the clinic, a quiet exhale escapes you.

The clinic stands before you, its familiar building stirring up a wave of memories. Taking a steadying breath, you push the door open and step inside. The sterile scent of antiseptic mingles with the soft murmur of conversation, grounding you in the present.

You take a brief moment to look around... nothing's changed. The waiting area still holds its rows of metal chairs, a few pet owners settled in, each waiting with their furry companions.

You approach the reception desk, and the moment Hwayoung spots you, her face lights up in recognition. "Oh my gosh, Ms. Min! You're here!" she beams, quickly standing up to greet you.

Hwayoung has always been a ray of sunshine, her kind demeanor making every visit to the clinic a little more pleasant. "Hello, Hwayoung." you reply warmly, offering her a small smile.

"Dr. Jeon told me you'd be coming today." she says excitedly, clasping her hands together. "He asked me to send you straight in."

Your brows furrow slightly in surprise. "Oh, really? Isn't he busy?"

Hwayoung shakes her head, an almost mischievous smile playing on her lips. "He told me to clear his schedule after 5 p.m. just for you. These people are waiting for the other vet." She gestures towards the small queue in the waiting area.

You blink, caught off guard by her words. Jungkook cleared his schedule for you? That's... unexpected.

You'd come here fully prepared to wait at least an hour, assuming he'd be swamped with appointments. The idea that he made time specifically for you sends a strange flutter through your chest, though you try to shake it off. "Ah, I see." you say softly, nodding. "Thank you, Hwayoung."

She grins. "Of course. Go on in... he's waiting for you."

Clutching Skittles' carrier a little tighter, you take a deep breath and head towards the door leading to Jungkook's examination room. Each step feels heavier than the last, your heart picking up it's pace as you near the familiar space.

You can't help but wonder if this was just professional courtesy, or was there something more to Jungkook clearing his schedule? You shake your head, pushing all your thoughts aside and raise a hand to knock lightly before stepping inside.

"Oh, Y/n !! Hey." Jungkook greets warmly the moment you step into the room, his face lighting up with a genuine smile as he fixes his glasses over the bridge of his nose. His crisp white coat hangs perfectly over his broad shoulders, paired with his usual work attire, a light blue shirt along with dark slacks.

"Come in, take a seat!" he gestures, stepping forward to take Skittles' carrier from your hands. The brush of his fingers against yours is brief, but it's enough to make your heart stutter.

"Thanks." you manage to say, settling into the chair by the examination table. Jungkook carefully places the carrier down, leaning in slightly to peer inside. "Let's see how our little guy is doing." he murmurs with a soft chuckle.

He carefully unclasps the carrier, extending a hand towards Skittles.

Skittles hesitates for a brief moment, sniffing Jungkook's hand before stepping out, his tiny body brushing against his fingers. "Hey there, buddy." Jungkook says in a voice as soft as a whisper, gently stroking Skittles' head.

To your surprise, and perhaps a little bit of jealousy, Skittles purrs loudly and rubs against Jungkook's stomach, clearly at ease.

"Wow, someone's warming up fast." Jungkook giggles, lifting Skittles with care. "How's your nose, little guy?" he asks, raising him slightly for a better look.

You smile softly at the way he speaks to your cat. "I made sure he didn't scratch at the injury... and I baby-proofed all the sharp edges and corners in my apartment. You know, just to be safe."

Jungkook laughs at your words. "That's good, Y/n. You're a great cat mom." he says, his smile genuine. You feel a warm blush creep up your neck, pride blooming at his words. "Thanks." you murmur, quickly looking away.

Gently, Jungkook places Skittles back on the examination table and begins his check-up, starting with his little nose.

"His nose looks great... clear, no irritation, and his breathing is steady. That's a really good sign." he informs a few seconds later. You lean forward slightly, relief flooding you. "That's a relief." you say softly.

Jungkook continues his thorough examination, his hands moving with care over Skittles' small body, checking for any discomfort or lingering issues. Skittles, completely at ease, purrs contentedly throughout the process.

"Looks like he's healed beautifully." Jungkook says finally, his tone filled with pride. "There's no sign of infection, and he seems as energetic as ever."

"Thank God." you exhale, a weight lifting off your chest.

Jungkook lifts Skittles once more, holding him close as the cat nuzzles into his chest. "You're lucky, little guy." he murmurs softly to Skittles before his gaze shifts to you. "Not everyone has someone as caring as Y/n right here."

The way he says it, his eyes locking with yours, makes your breath catch. You're not sure if he's still talking about Skittles, and the realization sends your heart racing.

"Thank you for fitting us into your schedule." you say quickly, hoping to steer the conversation back to a safer ground. Jungkook smiles, but there's something softer in it now, something almost wistful. "I'll always make time for you, Y/n. Please know that."

You don't know what to say to that, so you just nod, feeling your cheeks heat under his gaze.

Just then, your phone buzzes with a notification, and almost in perfect sync, Jungkook's does the same. Both of you pull out your phones, eyes reading the notification.

"Was that Seokjin?" you ask, still scanning the message. "Yeah..." Jungkook replies. "He's invited all of us to a party this weekend." His gaze shifts to meet yours.

"Yeah... his housewarming party." you echo, your voice trailing off as you both linger in the moment.

A wave of nostalgia hits you, almost out of nowhere.

It's funny because... Seokjin's parties had always been the backdrop of so many things, including your first meeting with Jungkook. That's where it all began 4 years ago.

And ever since you and Jungkook broke up, Seokjin hadn't really hosted any parties, mostly because life and work had kept everyone busy. It's also one of the reasons you hadn't seen Jungkook at all these past 5 months.

"So, you're going?" Jungkook asks, his voice pulling you back to the present. You swallow, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. You know Seokjin would be disappointed if you didn't show up, but the idea of being in the same space as Jungkook makes your stomach do flips.

Still, thinking about it, it doesn't sound too terrible. After all, you're here with him now, and the tension between you two has eased a little. Besides, what's the worst that could happen? Right?

"Yeah." you answer simply, giving a quick nod. Jungkook smiles softly, a look of relief crossing his face as his shoulders seem to relax. He's not about to admit it aloud, but he had no intention of going if you weren't, but the moment you decided you were going, he knew he was going too.

"So, I'll see you there, then."

"Oh my god, your ass looks absolutely incredible in this." Seulgi exclaims, her voice laced with playful admiration as she gives your butt a gentle smack, strolling behind you.

You roll your eyes at her words, sending a quick, pointed glare her way as you both make your way towards Seokjin's new apartment. "What? I'm just stating the obvious." she teases with a shrug, stepping into the apartment right behind you.

"Though, I get the feeling you mostly wore it to catch someone's attention." she adds, wiggling her brows and nudging you with her shoulder. "Oh my god, Seulgi, seriously, stop." You laugh, playfully pushing her away as you both weave through the throngs of people already gathered at Seokjin's place.

"Come on, I know Jungkook's going to be here tonight." she says, a knowing smirk dancing on her lips. "Yeah, and?" you respond, trying to sound nonchalant as your gaze sweeps across the room, taking in the sight of guests casually mingling and admiring the minimalist decor and sleek details of Seokjin's newly acquired apartment.

"I know you still love him." Seulgi says, her voice barely cutting through the low hum of conversation. "I mean, there's a reason none of those blind dates worked out for you." she adds, almost too casually.

At this, you pause mid-step and glance at her, a raised eyebrow betraying the flicker of uncertainty she's just stirred. "Come on, Seulgi, none of those guys were my type." you reply.

"Sure, sure." Seulgi grins, unconvinced, but she doesn't push further.

Instead, she suddenly shifts her attention when she spots her boyfriend lounging on the couch. "Tae!!" she calls out, her voice high and eager. Without hesitation, she grabs your hand and starts weaving through the crowd, dragging you along.

"Oh hey, babe." Taehyung greets with a sweet smile as he rises from the couch to embrace Seulgi. You stand beside her, your gaze naturally drifting over to Yoongi and Hoseok... two of your closest friends, seated on the couch before settling on the figure seated at the very edge.

Jungkook.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take him in.

You've seen him without his glasses a thousand times, but somehow, he still manages to look effortlessly breathtaking. And that shirt... God, it's unbuttoned just enough to reveal the sculpted expanse of his chest, exactly the way you like it.

His hair isn't slicked back like it usually is when he's at the clinic. Instead, it falls freely across his forehead, soft waves framing his face in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

Your gaze flickers downward, landing on his exposed forearms, one of them adorned in intricate tattoos. A shiver runs down your spine as memories flood back. The way those arms used to hold you close. The way your fingers used to absentmindedly trace each inked design, learning them by heart.

While you're lost in a trance, so is Jungkook.

His eyes rake over you from head to toe, lingering just a second too long. You still look as stunning as ever and you still seem to have that effect on him, the kind that makes his pulse stutter and his breath falter.

His heart pounds against his ribcage as his gaze trails down your legs, pausing at the way your feet sit so delicately in those black pumps.

It's as if the world has faded away, leaving just the two of you locked in this unspoken moment.

But before either of you can say anything, the spell shatters.

"Oh hey, Y/n !!" Hoseok's cheerful voice snaps you and Jungkook back to reality. His signature grin is as bright as ever as he pushes himself up from the couch, stepping forward to pull you into a warm embrace.

You return it with a soft smile, willing yourself to shake off the daze you had just been in. "Hi, Hobi. Long time." you say, pulling away.

Yoongi greets you next, offering a small nod and the three of you quickly fall into easy conversation, catching up over small talk. Soon enough, Taehyung and Seulgi join in, and the group buzzes with laughter and chatter.

Everyone here knows about your breakup with Jungkook, but no one dares to bring it up and you're grateful for it.

Eventually, Namjoon arrives, his presence adding even more liveliness to the party. The evening moves along, and soon, you find yourself tagging along as Seokjin proudly gives a little tour of his new apartment.

The place is stunning with sleek furniture and tastefully chosen decor. The living room is filled with soft, golden lighting, and a massive floor-to-ceiling window offers a breathtaking view of the city skyline.

A well-stocked bar stands in one corner, already surrounded by guests mixing drinks, while the balcony doors remain open, letting in the crisp evening air.

At some point, you find yourself in the kitchen, reaching for a glass of cranberry juice. You had decided early on to stick to non-alcoholic drinks tonight, just to be on the safer side.

As you take a slow sip, like always your mind betrays you, drifting to Jungkook once again.

You're sure that throughout the night, your eyes have met his at least a million times. And yet, it's never awkward. No, it's something else entirely... something lingering and heavy with longing.

Like you're both reaching for something, craving something, but the words to bridge the distance simply don't exist.

Before you can dwell on it for too long, a few familiar faces approach, pulling you into easy conversation. The topic shifts between work, life, and other trivial things, grounding you back into the present.

Eventually, you excuse yourself, slipping away from the kitchen in search of your friends.

Your eyes scan the room, catching sight of Seulgi nestled against Taehyung, their heads tilted towards each other, lost in their own quiet world. You don't have the heart to interrupt, so you decide to look for someone else instead.

You weave through the scattered crowd, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor as you make your way down the hallway. The house is larger than you expected, each turn revealing a new space filled with people engaged in their own conversations.

You peek into a few rooms, but none of your friends seem to be around.

Then, as you approach a quieter stretch of the hall, a voice reaches your ears. "Is it not awkward seeing her tonight?"

It's Hoseok.

Your breath catches slightly, your steps faltering. Something deep in your chest tightens because you somehow already know where this conversation is headed and who they're talking to. You know should turn back. You know should leave.

But you don't.

Instead, you linger by the door, which is slightly ajar... just enough for a thin streak of warm light to spill into the dim hallway. You lean against the wall, careful to keep out of sight, heart thrumming as you strain to listen.

"Not really." Jungkook's voice comes next, steady but laced with something fragile, something hesitant, something almost forced. "I mean, I saw her a few days ago, so it's not that bad tonight, you know." He pauses, and you hear the faint exhale of breath, like he's trying to convince himself of his own words.

"I went to her place once, and the second time, she visited me at my clinic." He explains. "She needed some help with her cat."

"Ahh..." Hoseok hums knowingly and just then, another voice chimes in. "How have you been holding up, dude? Honestly." It's Yoongi.

You expect Jungkook to answer right away, but all that follows is another stretch of silence.

Your heart pounds. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be listening. But you can't move, not yet. Not until he answers.

"Honestly, hyung... I'm not okay." Jungkook's voice is soft, but it crashes into you with full force.

Your fingers tighten around the glass in your hand and you can't help but feel like you're intruding on something deeply personal, something meant only for the people inside that room... but still, you remain frozen in place, your feet betraying you.

"We were together for four years, hyung. She was... everything to me." There's a hollow laugh towards the end of his sentence, but it holds no warmth, no amusement... just emptiness. "I understood why she wanted to break up. And as much as it took everything in me to beg her to stay, I couldn't, because..." He exhales shakily, voice cracking just slightly.

"Because of the pain in her voice. The way she looked... she... she was just so tired." His voice fractures at the edges, the weight of his words pressing into the silence. He pauses, and in that pause, you swear you hear his heart breaking... splintering into pieces too small to ever put back together.

"I knew she needed to leave, and I couldn't be selfish. I couldn't be the reason she felt trapped."

Your throat tightens as your fingers tremble against the glass you're holding.

"But, fuck..." His voice is raw now, stripped of every carefully constructed wall. "Knowing all that doesn’t make it any easier. Doesn’t make it hurt any less." he admits, his frustration laced with something devastatingly vulnerable.

Yoongi exhales, thoughtful. "Kook, maybe you should try seeing other people."

"Yeah." Hoseok chimes in gently. "She’s been going on blind dates too. It obviously won’t be the same, but maybe, eventually, you can move on, you know?"

A brief silence follows. Then, Jungkook sighs, a sound so weighted, so utterly resigned, that it feels like the air shifts even around you.

"She can see other people..." he murmurs, voice quieter but tinged with something almost bitter. "Because, in the end, I wasn’t everything she needed." He pauses, and you swear you can hear his breathing hitch before he continues.

"But for me... what’s the point? When everything I need, everything I want... every damn part of me, still belongs to her?"

Your breath stutters.

You press yourself against the wall, as if that could somehow steady the way your knees goes weak. His words crash into you, leaving you wrecked with the weight of the truth he’s spilling so effortlessly.

And god, do you feel like the shittiest person alive.

You want to push the door open, to run to him, to tell him he’s wrong... so fucking wrong because he is everything you need, everything you want as well but somehow you feel like a statue.

The silence that follows is suffocating, stretching between them like an open wound. And then, after a few agonizing moments, Jungkook speaks again.

"I was going to propose to her."

Your entire world screeches to a halt. The air is sucked from your lungs, your heart lurching into your throat as the words settle in, heavy and staggering.

"What?" "Oh my god, really?"

Yoongi and Hoseok's voices overlap, their shock mirroring the storm that rages inside you.

Jungkook was going to propose to you? He was going to ask you to marry him?

You feel like you've been punched in the gut, like the ground beneath you is crumbling, and yet, you can't move. You can't do anything but listen.

"Yeah..." Jungkook exhales, the word leaving him in a breath so fragile it nearly shatters. "I even got the ring and everything but—" He pauses, a bitter chuckle slipping past his lips. "Like an idiot, I kept holding onto it, thinking I'd wait for the right moment." His voice cracks, the regret seeping into every syllable.

"And because I kept postponing it, I let shit fall apart without even realizing it." A hollow silence follows before he whispers, almost to himself. "I'm such a fool."

Your vision blurs, your fingers tightening around the glass so hard you think it might shatter.

And before you can think, before you can make sense of the storm raging inside you, your feet finally move, carrying you far, far away before your heart betrays you, before the lump in your throat turns into a sob you can't swallow down.

Before you lose the last shred of strength keeping you from running straight back to him.

You push through the crowd blindly, your breath uneven, chest tight as if a vice has wrapped itself around your ribs.

By the time you reach the bar, your hands are trembling. You barely register the bartender's gaze as you mutter out an order, gripping the counter like it's the only thing anchoring you to the present.

You promised yourself you wouldn't drink tonight. You swore you'd keep a clear head.

But now?

Now, you need something to burn away the ache in your chest. Something to dull the sharp edges of the truth that just carved its way into your heart.

Jungkook was going to fucking propose to you. He was going to ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bile rising in your throat. How could you not have known? How could you have been so blind... so utterly selfish?

The drink is set in front of you, and your fingers curl around the glass, but you don't lift it to your lips just yet. Your reflection stares back at you from the polished surface of the bar, and all you can see is the face of someone who wrecked the one person who ever truly loved her.

You had convinced yourself that walking away was the right thing, that it was the only choice, the only way to set things right for yourself.

You believed that by leaving, you were also freeing him... unburdening him so he could fulfill his ambitions, and live a life unchained from the weight of your love.

But all you did was leave him shattered, carrying the weight of an unspoken future... one he had been ready to give you.

A future you never even let yourself consider.

Your hands tighten around the glass, the sting in your eyes growing unbearable.

You never fully understood, not until this moment, just how deeply you had broken him.

Jungkook paces through the hallways, his eyes scanning the crowd in search of you. It feels like an eternity since he last caught a proper glimpse of you, ever since the moment Seokjin had given a tour around his apartment, and you'd slipped quietly out of sight.

The space around him seems to stretch with the quiet absence of your presence. He just wants to find a way to talk to you, anything that could serve as an excuse to be near you again.

As he rounds the corner, he spots Taehyung, and without hesitation, he approaches him. "Hey, have you seen Y/N?"

Taehyung's brows furrow as he thinks for a moment. "I think I saw her at the bar earlier." he replies, a slight concern in his voice. "She looked pretty wasted."

Jungkook's heart leaps at the information, his eyes widening instinctively. Without a second thought, he weaves through the crowd of guests, heading straight towards the bar.

As soon as he steps into the space, his gaze immediately lands on you. You're hunched over the table and for a moment, he wonders if you've fallen asleep, but just as quickly, you lift your head, mumbling something under your breath that he can't quite make out.

His eyes then fall to the several empty shot glasses scattered in front of you, and his eyes widen.

He knows you... knows how little you drink and this isn't like you at all. You only drink like this when something is worrying you, when you're trying to numb something that hurts far deeper than anyone can see.

"Y/n?" His voice is soft, hesitant, as he approaches. Your eyes, heavy and unfocused, flicker open, barely managing to turn your head in his direction. "Koo?" you slur.

Your voice is thick with inebriation, and you struggle to open your eyes further, but the effort is clearly beyond you. The sight of you like this, makes something inside him break just a little.

"Hey..." His voice is softer now, as he gently reaches for you, bringing his arms to steady you on the stool. Without any hesitation, you lean into him, your head instinctively resting against his chest, your body gravitating towards his warmth like it's the only thing familiar in the whirlwind of your drunken haze.

"Where were you, Koo?... Missed you." you murmur again, your words slurring together, and before he can fully process what you've said, your arms are wrapping around his torso.

Jungkook instantly stiffens and swallows hard, the rush of emotions flooding his chest and god, the proximity is killing him.

But he knows that right now, his only priority is getting you out of here, away from the alcohol, away from the sharp ache in your eyes that he knows you don't want him to see.

"Let me take you home, Y/n." he murmurs softly. "Come on." he says, his hand gently guiding you upright.

You barely manage to stand, your legs swaying, unsteady. His arm instinctively wraps around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him as he supports your weight, steadying you as best as he can.

Together, you stumble away from the bar, his eyes scanning the crowd for any familiar face to let them know he's leaving with you. But the sea of guests is thick with noise and movement, and no one stands out to him.

With a sigh of resignation, he makes the decision to leave without saying a word to anyone else.

He leads you out of the apartment, through the hallway, and into the elevator. As the doors close, he steals a glance at you, his heart thundering in his chest as he watches the way you lean into him, your breath soft against his shirt, your fingers still loosely tangled around his waist.

He wonders, for a brief second, if you can feel how much he's been holding back.

When the elevator doors slide open, Jungkook gently guides you towards his car. His hands are steady, but there's a tremor of care in every motion. You're so drunk, your body pliant, swaying with every shift he makes.

He helps you into the passenger seat, and you barely register the motion while he puts on your seat belt, your head lolling back against the seat as you blink slowly, fighting to bring your surroundings into focus. The world around you feels disjointed, like it's floating in slow motion.

As the car begins to move, you turn your head to the side, only to find Jungkook in the driver's seat. The sight of him, seems to pull you in, and you want to speak, to ask him something, anything. But the words never form.

The fatigue in your body gets heavier and the effort to focus slips away like sand through your fingers. Before you even realize it, your eyelids grow heavier, and the world around you blurs into a soft, swirling haze and with a quiet sigh, your eyes flutter shut, the thoughts of what you wanted to say fading away.

When Jungkook finally pulls the car to a stop right outside your apartment building, he takes a moment to let his gaze linger on you. There you are, asleep, your chest rising and falling with every soft, rhythmic breath you take.

A quiet smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he watches you and his hand lifts instinctively, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender, as though afraid to disturb the fragile serenity that surrounds you.

For a long moment, he just watches you, lost in the beauty of the silence.

After a while, he exits the car, and then moves to your side, slowly opening the door. With quiet care, he unbuckles your seatbelt, his movements slow and careful so as not to jolt you awake.

But when he looks down at you, he sees how deeply you're sleeping, and he can't bring himself to wake you up and make you walk all the way to your flat.

Instead, he gently grabs your purse, draping it over his arm before scooping you up into his arms, lifting you as though you weigh nothing.

He kicks the door shut behind him, and with you cradled against him, he walks through the lobby of your building and soon, he steps into the elevator.

He can feel you stir in his arms, the subtle shift of your body and the faint flutter of your eyes opening just a crack.

When the elevator reaches your floor, he steps out and stands before your door, only to realize with a quiet curse that he needs the keys to unlock it. A soft sigh escapes him, and he carefully lowers you, letting you stand with his support.

"Give me a minute, baby." he murmurs and the little nickname slips out before he even thinks, but it goes unnoticed by you in your half-conscious state.

He steadies you against him, his hand gently resting on your waist, as he reaches into your purse, fishing out the key.

The moment Jungkook unlocks the door, a soft meow greets him, and his gaze immediately lands on Skittles, who is sitting on the floor, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Hi there, buddy." he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He steps inside, still holding you close and makes sure to close the door behind him, preventing Skittles from darting out into the hallway. As he moves further inside, Skittles follows closely, his little paws tapping softly against the floor.

Jungkook places your purse on the couch while Skittles' gaze flicks between Jungkook and you, his paws reaching out to gently nudge your feet as you sleepily stumble beside Jungkook, guided by his steady support.

"Your mom's drunk." Jungkook chuckles. "Is this her room?" he asks, his tone playful as he looks down at Skittles. Jungkook tilts his head in amusement, as if expecting an answer, but of course, all he receives is a meow in response.

He decides to trust his gut and push the door open and when his eyes fall on the neatly made bed, the sheets and pillows arranged with a quiet sense of order and the soft scent of lavender in the room, he knows instantly this is where you sleep.

Carefully, Jungkook helps you to the bed, lowering you gently until you're lying down. As he pulls away, his gaze softens, noticing the faint smudge of mascara beneath your eyes.

If there's one thing he's learned after living 2 whole years with you, it's that you can't stand going to bed with a face full of makeup.

"Where's the bathroom?" he asks, glancing back at Skittles, who sits idly by the door. Not waiting for an answer, he steps out into the hallway and spots the door next to the kitchen.

He walks towards it and steps inside, taking a moment to survey the bathroom and his eyes land on a shelf by the sink, neatly organized with all your skincare products and a pang of nostalgia hits him hard.

It's exactly the way it used to be when you lived with him.

With a soft sigh, he instantly reaches out for the makeup remover. Skittles, ever the curious little companion, follows Jungkook into the bathroom, rubbing against his legs.

"Any idea where your mom keeps the cotton pads?" Jungkook chuckles softly and just then, his eyes land on the small cabinet right above the shelf. He rummages through it briefly before finding the cotton pads.

Once he has everything he needs, he heads back to the bedroom with Skittles trailing right behind him.

When Jungkook steps closer, he notices the slow, almost languid way your eyelids flutter open, your gaze hazy as it shifts towards him. "Hey..." he greets gently, noticing the faint confusion still clouding your eyes.

"You awake?" he asks and the way you look at him tell him you're still very much drunk. "Where... am I?" you murmur, the words slurring together as if speaking itself requires too much effort.

"Your room." Jungkook answers with a soft smile as he leans forward slightly, carefully pouring makeup remover onto the cotton pad and his eyes move back to you, making sure you're still with him. "Close your eyes, let me remove your makeup."

Without hesitation, you comply, your body too weary to resist the simple request. Jungkook watches you, his heart tightening a little as you surrender to him, trust in your eyes even if you're too inebriated to fully grasp the moment.

He's done this countless times before, back when you lived together, but as he runs the cotton pad over your face, he realizes, almost with a pang, just how long it's been since the last time he did this for you.

"All done." Jungkook says softly after a few minutes, his voice a comforting whisper in the stillness of the room. You slowly open your eyes again, and this time, it's like your vision is finally coming into focus, the fog of alcohol beginning to somewhat clear.

You shift uncomfortably, a subtle fidget that doesn't escape his notice. The tight dress you're wearing suddenly feels suffocating, clinging to your skin in all the wrong ways. "Wanna change?" he asks, his voice gentle and you nod, the motion small and slow.

Jungkook immediately scans the room, his gaze landing on your closet. He walks over to it and and somehow ends up finding a pair of pajamas.

Once he returns to your side, Jungkook takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself against the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He forces himself to remain composed, to act like this is nothing more than a simple, routine act... just him, helping you because you're drunk.

But deep inside, he knows the truth. The familiarity of it all stings, each little gesture piercing him with the sharp reminder of how things used to be, back when the two of you were together.

He's done this so many times before, almost as if it were second nature. Taking care of you when you were drunk, helping you remove your makeup after a long, exhausting day. It used to be part of a rhythm, a routine that was comforting in its predictability.

But now, those moments feel like an ache in his chest because what truly cuts him is how these tender, quiet acts became rarer towards the end of your relationship.

He was always too late, always too tired, always lost in his own world of responsibilities. The simple things he used to do for you were all being pushed aside for something that, in hindsight, never truly mattered as much as you did.

Once he's done helping you change, Jungkook gently lays you back down on the bed, the blanket settling softly over you as he tucks you in with the tenderness that has always come so naturally to him.

As he smooths out the blanket, he catches you staring at him. "What?" he asks quietly, his lips curving into a small smile.

"I miss you." you whisper suddenly, the words slipping out like a raw confession, unguarded and fragile.

Jungkook's heart catches in his throat, his entire body going rigid. He can feel the weight of your words, even if he knows the alcohol is speaking for you.

For a moment, everything stills but he knows he can't give in right now, especially when you're not in the right mind or he'll truly crumble.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally pulls himself together, his voice soft but firm. "Get some sleep, Y/n." he says, though the words taste bittersweet on his tongue. He tries to walk away, but something about the way your gaze holds his makes him hesitate.

However, just as he's about to leave, he feels your fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling him back.

You sit up slowly, your movements slow, as you pull him closer until he's sitting on your bed, facing you. As you stare into his eyes, you blink softly, trying to steady the way your insides twist and churn.

You're not sure if it's the nagging haze of the many vodka shots you downed back at the party or if you're simply losing your mind... but right now, none of that seems to matter.

Without thinking, your body leans forward, the distance between you closing as you let your lips rest lightly on his.

It's not a kiss, not really, but the mere press of your lips against his is enough to send a shiver through both of you.

Jungkook's entire being freezes, eyes wide in disbelief, caught between the fog of longing and the clarity of what this moment means.

Oh, how he's missed this. The feel of you, the taste of your lips, the familiar comfort of your presence after all this time. It's like the world is stitching itself back together, making sense again, piece by piece.

But the moment he starts to melt, he instantly pulls himself back because he knows this isn't right.

Despite every inch of him craving more, despite the overwhelming ache of wanting to surrender his very being to you, he knows he can't right now.

Not when you're like this... so vulnerable and extremely intoxicated, likely not to remember a thing tomorrow. It's not fair to either of you.

He brings his hands up to your shoulders, his grip firm as he gently, but decisively, pushes you back.

"Koo... kiss me...." you whimper weakly, your voice thick with longing, your body leaning towards him again. But this time, he's quicker, catching you before your lips can meet his once more.

"Y/n..." his voice is strained, a quiet plea full of restraint. "We can't."

He stands up abruptly, as if it's the only way to protect himself, the only defense he has against the storm of emotions threatening to consume him. "Go to sleep, Y/n." he murmurs.

Carefully, he eases you back down onto the mattress, tucking the blanket around you once more, ensuring your arms stay inside this time, because if you reach for him again, if you hold onto him like you did before, he might just break.

You pout at him softly, your drowsy eyes still heavy with sleep, and for a fleeting moment, he almost falters. Almost.

But he exhales sharply, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of all his thoughts. "Good night, Y/n." he says, his voice quieter now, almost like he's telling himself to let go.

And before you can say anything, before you can pull him back into something he knows he can't resist, he's out the door.

You scrunch your nose in your sleep as a warm, wet sensation grazes your cheek, followed by a soft, persistent nudge and a low whine escapes your lips. "Skittles..." you groan groggily, weakly attempting to push him away, but his relentless licking persists.

Then, as you shift, a sharp pain shoots through your skull, making you wince. "God..." you mumble, finally forcing your heavy eyelids open. Skittles meows at you, his tail flicking playfully before he leaps off the bed, completely unbothered, like he didn't just drag you out of your deep slumber.

You exhale slowly, forcing yourself upright, but your entire body feels weak, weighed down by exhaustion. You bury your face in your hands, taking a moment to steady yourself against the pounding in your head.

The memories of last night come in flashes as you try to recall just how many shots you had, but the details remain frustratingly out of reach.

You sniffle softly, finally taking in your surroundings as the haze of sleep begins to fade. Your brows furrow in quiet confusion because all you can think about right now is how did you make it back home last night.

All you remember is overhearing that conversation between Jungkook, Yoongi, and Hoseok and how Jungkook's confession sank into you like stones in the water. The way your stomach twisted, the way your heart raced, and the way you stumbled towards the bar, desperate for something—anything—to drown it all out.

Shot after shot.

That's where the memory cuts off.

The rest is a blur and the gaps in your recollection feel like gaping holes, unsettling in their emptiness. Your gaze drops to the pajamas draped over your frame, and immediately, you just know, there's no way you changed into these yourself.

Your fingers ghost over the fabric, tugging absentmindedly at the hem as you try to piece it all together. Then, your eyes drift towards the nightstand, where your makeup remover sits beside a stack of used cotton pads.

You blink once. Twice.

And then it hits you all at once and a loud gasp leaves your lips.

Did Jungkook bring you home last night?

Your mind reels in panic, a storm of fragmented thoughts crashing into one another. Frustration bubbles up as you grip your hair, willing your brain to cough up even a single memory, at least something that might give you an insight about what truly happened last night.

But unfortunately, nothing comes up and that's when the dread settles in.

What if you said something weird? What if, in your drunken haze, you let something slip... especially after what you overheard?

"Fuck." You mutter under your breath, shoving the blanket off and swinging your legs over the bed. Your body protests as you stand, the weight of last night's alcohol still heavy in your system, but you push through the haze, determined to regain some semblance of control.

You step out of your room, eyes scanning the space for your purse so that you can check your phone. When you spot it on the couch and just before your fingers can reach it, the door bell rings.

Your brows furrow as you glance at the clock. It's a little past 8 and you wonder who's here so early, especially on a Sunday morning.

With a slight grimace, you run your fingers through your hair in a feeble attempt to fix it, then make your way to the door. Skittles trails behind you, his tail flicking lazily, oblivious to the fact that you're about to open the door to an unexpected visitor.

When you swing it open, your breath catches in your chest.

"Hey." Jungkook greets with a soft smile. He's standing right outside your door in the hallway in his work clothes... his crisp, white shirt, neatly pressed trousers, and his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, looking as effortlessly composed as ever.

You blink, caught off guard, before your gaze inevitably drops to the paper bag in his hand and a chill runs down your spine as you notice the familiar logo on it. He catches the direction of your eyes and lifts the bag slightly. "I thought I'd drop by with your favorite hangover soup before heading to work."

Your heart sinks, the weight of his kindness rushing over you. This man... he's really going to be the death of you.

Not only did he bring you home last night, change your clothes, and remove your makeup like it was all his duty, but now he's standing here on an early Sunday morning just before work, offering you comfort as if you were still a part of his life, as if you hadn't shattered everything between the two of you.

He extends the bag towards you, and in that moment, you sense he's only here to deliver the soup and leave and somehow, you don't really like the idea of that.

"You're not coming in?" you ask, unable to mask the faint trace of hurt in your voice. His eyes widen slightly. "You... want me to?" he asks, the hesitation and confusion evident in his tone.

You don't trust yourself to speak, your thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and emotions you can't quite untangle. So, instead, you step aside, wordlessly giving him the space to enter, silently hoping that somehow, he understands everything you're too scared to say.

Jungkook gulps as he slowly steps inside but the second Skittles meows at him, his expression softens, a smile tugging at his lips. "We've been seeing each other a lot, haven't we, buddy?" he chuckles, crouching down to stroke your cat, and you can't help but watch with your heart racing as Skittles melts into his touch with such ease.

A few seconds pass, and Jungkook is already heading towards your dining table. You take a seat awkwardly, feeling the tension in the air, as you watch him carefully pull out the container from the paper bag. "Here." he says softly, opening it and pushing it towards you with a spoon.

You stare at the soup for a few moments, the warmth of it rising up to meet you, before looking up at Jungkook. "Thank you for bringing me home last night." you murmur softly.

Jungkook's lips curl into a gentle smile, his eyes soft as he responds. "You don't have to thank me, Y/n." His words, like a balm, seem to lift the weight in the air, and for a moment, you wonder how this man always seems to magically ease the tension between you, making everything feel just a little bit lighter.

"Please, sit down." you say, a quiet request, and he obliges without hesitation, pulling out the chair across from you and settling into it.

"Did you have breakfast?" you ask as you proceed to take a sip of the soup, and the moment it hits your tongue, you let out a contented groan. It's almost like your hangover is already melting away, the warmth instantly spreading through your body and soothing the ache in your head.

Jungkook chuckles at your reaction, a soft giggle escaping him, but he answers your question with ease. "Yes, I did."

"You want some?" you ask, gesturing towards the soup with an eyebrow raised, but he shakes his head with a smile. "It's all yours."

You smile back at him, the simple act of him caring somehow comforting. You take a few more sips, savoring the relief, but then a question suddenly nags at you, one that makes your stomach churn.

"Did I..." you begin hesitantly, unsure how to phrase it. "Did I do anything weird last night?"

Jungkook stiffens slightly, a brief flash of something in his eyes, but he quickly masks it, not wanting to remind you of anything you might regret. He doesn't want you to hate yourself for it. "No, don't worry." he reassures you, his voice smooth, accompanied by an easy smile that feels like a promise.

You nod at his words, though doubt lingers in the back of your mind. You return to your soup and as the silence stretches between you two, your thoughts begin to drift, and suddenly, the memory of the conversation you overheard back at the party floods your mind.

You find yourself staring at your bowl, lost in the sudden intensity of your thoughts. Your fingers linger on the spoon, and suddenly you have the urge to talk.

"Kook..." you murmur, your voice a little uncertain. You lick your lips, trying to gather your thoughts, before finally meeting his gaze. He hums softly in response, his eyes already fixed on you, waiting for the next words to leave your mouth.

"How have you been?" you ask. He tilts his head slightly, caught off guard by the suddenness of your question. "I realized we never really caught up after the breakup, you know? I never asked how you've been." you explain, your voice quiet but filled with sincerity.

He parts his lips, nodding slowly as he absorbs your words. "Right..." he murmurs. "I've been... okay." he says.

Lies.

You remember the conversation you overheard last night, the cracks in his voice and the way you could literally feel his pain even through the door. You know the words he's saying aren't true, but you don't call him out for it.

He hesitates for just a moment, and then his lips part, his gaze never leaving yours. "You?" he asks, the question softer than you expected, as his eyes search yours with a tenderness that's hard to ignore.

"I've been okay too." you reply, but the words feel hollow as they leave your mouth.

You both know you're lying, but you say them anyway, because it's easier than revealing the truth. Easier than admitting how far from 'okay' you both truly are.

When you're finally finished with the soup, you stand up as you gather the empty container in your hands but before you can make your way to the kitchen, Jungkook is already on his feet.

"Let me take that." His voice is soft, almost tender, as he reaches for the container. Your heart flutters as he makes his way towards the kitchen and despite yourself, you find yourself trailing behind him, drawn to his every movement.

You watch him as he throws the container into the trash right below the sink, and as he washes his hands, each simple action sending waves of emotion crashing into you, stirring a need deep within that you can no longer ignore.

Your heart aches with a realization so raw, so painfully clear, that you can't hold it in any longer. "You know what..." you begin. Jungkook looks up from where he stands, wiping his hands.

"I'm actually not okay." you say, and the words feel like a confession. He freezes, the towel still in his hands as his lips part. "What?" he asks, but somehow he already knows exactly what you mean.

"I'm not okay, Kook." you repeat, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. A tightness forms in your chest, but it's not just the hurt of the past... it's the ache of the present, of how much you still feel for him, how much you've missed him. You take a breath, and as you look into his eyes, the words come out before you can control them. "I miss you."

He doesn't say anything back, and it feels like the silence is suffocating you. It presses against you like it's crushing the air from your lungs. Your heart pounds so loudly, it feels as though it's thudding in your ears, every beat a reminder of how much you've missed him, how much you've lost.

Anxiety spirals inside you, a cyclone of fear and confusion, and it feels like you're being pulled deeper into the vortex with every second that passes without him saying anything.

You can't stand it any longer. You can't hold it in. The words are clawing at your throat, desperate to escape, and you open your mouth without thinking. "I know I probably look really stupid right now..." you say, your words stuttered, almost like you're trying to convince yourself more than him.

You can't even look at him, your gaze falling to your fidgeting fingers instead, trying to focus on something, anything, to distract yourself from the overwhelming emotions crashing over you. "I'm standing here, saying I miss you when... when I was the one who left, the one who ruined everything between us. I destroyed us, Kook. I thought if I just let you go, I would feel better, like it would make the pain go away, but I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong..."

You pause, trying to catch your breath, but it's like the weight of everything you've been holding back is choking you. The words feel like they're suffocating you from the inside out. The reality of your mistake, the loss of him... it's all too much, and you're drowning in it.

You glance up at him, but it's too much, too hard to meet his gaze. Your chest tightens painfully, and your hands are shaking uncontrollably, so you keep talking, the words tumbling out faster now, desperate to make him understand.

"I thought if I broke up with you, if I pushed you away, I'd feel less alone but god, I was... I was so wrong. I thought I could do it on my own, but it's worse, Kook. It's so much worse than I ever imagined. I feel empty, like there's this giant hole inside me, and nothing I do, nothing I say, can fill it. I thought I'd be fine, that I'd get over it, but the truth is... I've never felt more lost... I've never felt more broken."

Your voice falters, and you can barely get the words out. You want to stop, you want to shut up before you embarrass yourself, but the dam has broken, and there's no turning back. The tears start to fall, hot and unrelenting, and you wipe at them furiously, but they keep coming.

"I miss you, Kook." you whisper, your voice trembling. "I miss you more than I can even begin to explain. It hurts so much to admit that I was the one who walked away, to know that I pushed you out of my life when all I really wanted was to pull you closer. And now..." You falter, your voice cracking on the last word.

"And now, I don't even know how to fix it. I don't know how to—"

"I miss you too." he finally interjects before you can go any further. "God Y/n, I miss you too. So fucking much." he finally lets out, taking a step closer as he places the towel somewhere near the sink.

You look up at him, and when your eyes meet, you see something that breaks you all over again.

His own eyes are glistening, a reflection of everything you've just said, everything you've both been carrying, buried beneath months of silence and pain.

"And it's my fault, Y/n." he says, his voice shaky, as if the words are a heavy weight he's been carrying for far too long. His eyes shine with a mixture of regret and pain, and a tear slips down his cheek, betraying the quiet anguish that has been festering beneath the surface.

"I should've noticed how alone you were. I should've seen the signs. I should've paid attention to the way you pulled away, the way your eyes... they lost that light when you looked at me. I was too blind, too absorbed in my own plans and the future I wanted to build, that I missed all of it. I missed you." His voice trembles as he shakes his head.

"I was so focused on what was next, on this perfect life I thought we could have together, that I didn't realize how I was hurting you in the process. I didn't realize that the present... our present... was slipping right through my fingers while I was busy building castles in the sky, thinking that the future would somehow fix everything. But it doesn't work like that, does it?" He pauses, his chest rising with a sharp breath as he moves closer.

"I thought that if I worked harder, made more plans, secured a future for us, then everything else would fall into place. I thought I was doing what was best for us, but all I was doing was pushing you further away. All I was doing was making you feel like you weren't enough, like your needs didn't matter as much as the grand vision I had in my head. And I should've known... I should've known that the moment you stopped feeling seen, stopped feeling heard, was the moment we were already slipping apart."

Your tears don't stop as you listen to him unravel in front of you but when you part your lips to say something, he speaks again.

"I didn't notice, Y/n. I didn't see it when you started to close yourself off, when the space between us grew wider and wider with every passing day. I didn't see that the silence wasn't just comfortable....it was suffocating. And now, I'm left here, trying to put together the pieces of something I broke." he says as more tears slip out of his eyes.

"I should've been there for you when you needed me. I should've been there when things got hard, when you were struggling, when you felt like you were carrying the weight of evrything on your own. But I wasn't. I wasn't there, and I regret it every single day." he cries.

He looks down, his eyes full of remorse, his body tense as if every word is another stone being placed on his chest. "You deserved more than the excuses I gave. You deserved someone who saw you, who loved you for who you were in every single moment... but... I wasn't there when it mattered the most, and I wish with every part of me that I could go back and fix it. But I can't." he says weakly, resting his palm on his chest.

"All I can do is beg you to give me the chance to make it right. To love you the way you deserve to be loved. To be the person you never had to feel alone with." His hand trembles as he reaches for yours, his thumb brushing across your knuckles, every touch like a silent apology.

"I would do anything for another chance, Y/n. Anything. I would undo every mistake, every moment I took you for granted, every time I failed to see you for the incredible person you are. I just want one more chance to prove to you that I can love you the way you deserve. The way you always should've been loved." His voice breaks, and the rawness of his emotions spills out, uncontained and unashamed.

"I want to hold you, protect you, cherish you in a way that makes you never question your worth again. I want to love you the way you always deserved to be loved, the way you've always wanted... the way I should've been loving you from the start. I just want to be the one who shows up for you, every single day, without hesitation. I want you to feel like I'm home, not just a place you visit when it's convenient, but someone who is always there, always present, always with you."

His words are a plea, a heart laid bare, and you feel the weight of everything he's saying, every syllable a desperate wish for redemption. "Please Y/n..." he begs, his grip tightening around your hand. "Please give me another chance."

His gaze never wavers from you and your hand trembles slightly as it reaches up to gently caress his cheek, the warmth of your touch sending a surge of emotions through both of you.

The moment your fingers make contact, his body softens, and he leans into your hand, his eyes fluttering shut as if your touch alone is enough to revive him, to bring him back from the edge of the ache that has been consuming him.

"I love you." he murmurs softly as he leans further into the warmth of your touch. Gently, he lifts his own hand to place it on yours. "I love you so much." he repeats, turning his head to press a kiss against the delicate skin of your wrist.

He doesn't stop there. One kiss leads to another, each one tender and slow, as though he's savoring the very essence of you. He moves across your wrist, his lips pressing against your skin, until he reaches the tip of your thumb.

Each kiss feels like an affirmation of everything he's ever felt for you, a quiet vow to never let go, to never make the same mistakes again.

"I love you too." you finally say it back, the words escaping your lips like a fragile confession. His eyes meet yours, glossy with emotion, and in that moment, it feels like time pauses.

A soft smile curves your lips with a tear slipping down your cheek, and in that instant, you take a step closer to him. It's as if the distance between you both has become unbearable.

The moment your body moves towards his, he leans in and his lips find yours almost instantly and the kiss is slow and tender, like a gentle reinvention of everything you once had. His arms encircle your form as he hugs you, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss.

Your tears blend with his, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer as if to merge the spaces between you. His grip on you tightens, like he's afraid you might slip away again, and his lips move against yours with a longing that feels almost desperate.

His lips still claim yours as he walks you backward. The sudden press of the kitchen counter against your back makes you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue teasing against yours.

Before you can fully process it, his hands find your waist and he hoists you up onto the cool marble surface effortlessly. Your breath hitches as he places himself between your legs and his hands settle firmly on your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make you shiver.

Still catching your breath, you watch as he tilts his head slightly and with one hand, he reaches up, slipping his glasses off and places it on the counter a little away from you.

When his eyes meet yours again, you lift your hands to cup his face, your thumbs grazing over the sharp lines of his jaw as you pull him in once more. Your lips meet in a kiss that's slower this time.

Jungkook sighs into your mouth, his hands gliding up from your thighs to your waist as he pulls you flush against him, and you moan into his mouth when you feel his hard on press against your core.

The sensation is dizzying, a cruel reminder of just how much you've missed him... missed this.

"Fuck..." he exhales against your lips, his voice hoarse and strained. His forehead rests against yours as he fights to catch his breath, but his hands refuse to let go. "If we keep going..." He pauses, jaw clenching as he pulls back just enough to look at you. "If we keep going, I don't think I'll be able to stop."

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare into his dark, stormy eyes. Licking your lips, you lean closer. "Then don't stop." you whisper. You trail your fingers down his neck, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse beneath your touch. "Don't ever stop."

Your fingers reach the collar of his shirt, tugging at his tie, pulling him closer until there's no space left between you. That's all the restraint Jungkook has left to fight.

With a sharp inhale, he crashes his lips against yours once more. His hands tighten around your waist as his lips trail from your mouth to the curve of your jaw, then lower... ghosting down your neck.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, gripping tightly as he nips at the delicate skin of your collarbone, sending shivers cascading down your spine. "Kook..." you whimper.

His hands find the waistband of your shorts, fingers hooking onto the fabric and with a firm tug, he slides them down as you lift your hips to help him. A quiet, shaky breath escapes him when he takes in the sight of your soaked underwear.

"God..." he exhales, his voice thick with reverence. His fingers ghost over your thighs, his touch featherlight yet searing. "Let me make you feel good, baby." he murmurs, his voice laced with an aching tenderness. "Let me make it up to you... for everything."

He peels your underwear down with the same patience, watching the way your breath hitches when the cool marble beneath meets your skin, but the warmth of his hands as they settle on your knees quickly replaces it.

He spreads your legs with a gentle but insistent grip. "Let's get rid of this too." he whispers, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt. In one fluid motion, your shirt and bra are discarded, leaving you completely bare on the kitchen counter.

Jungkook kneels down, now coming face to face with your glistening core. "My pretty girl." he coos, the words drenched in adoration as his lips brush against the inside of your knee. His lips trail higher, a slow, reverent path marked by lingering kisses and teasing nips.

His hands slide up your thighs, his grip firm yet tender, as though grounding himself in the reality of having you here, of touching you again, of tasting you again.

The anticipation coils deep within you, winding tighter with every second that passes as you watch him inch closer to where you need him the most. Your core clenches around nothing and your body betrays you as your hips buck forward, seeking him.

You don't say anything, but he understands like he always does.

A shaky breath leaves you when his lips finally press against your wet entrance, the sensation sending a tremor through your entire being. When he does it again, your head falls back, a broken moan slipping from your lips, fingers threading through his hair as he holds you steady on the counter.

He groans against you, the sound vibrating through every nerve in your body. "I missed you like this." he murmurs, his voice thick with longing. "Let me show you how much I've missed you."

His tongue slides against you, a hot, wet stroke that sends shivers down your spine. You moan, your hands gripping the cool countertop for support. He explores you with his mouth, teasing and tasting, taking his sweet time.

He nips and suckles, drawing out the pleasure. One hand leaves your waist as his fingers expertly find your clit. You jolt, a gasp escaping your lips, but he holds you firmly against the counter, his touch both possessive and gentle, urging your legs wider.

He continues his exploration, his touch igniting a fire within you. You find yourself grinding against his face as he devours you, the pleasure way too intense and your moans grow louder as he buries himself even further, savoring every bit of you.

His nose presses firmly against your entrance, and with each groan that rumbles against your core, stars seem to burst right behind your eyelids.

"Oh god..." you whimper, breath catching in your throat. Your legs tremble but his grip remains firm, his fingers digging lightly into your flesh as he keeps you wide and exposed for him. "Kook...oh my god."

Your moans only seem to fuel him as he responds instantly with his mouth quickening and his jaw working in perfect rhythm and he instinctively moves one of his hands down to palm himself through the fabric of his trousers.

"I'm—" you get cut off by another involuntary moan and the coil of tension in your stomach, wound tight to the point of breaking, finally snaps without warning. A wave of pure sensation washes over you, your body quivering as you release completely into his mouth.

Jungkook hums in satisfaction, as he continues the ministrations of his tongue and mouth, savoring every drop of you.

Once he's swallowed every bit of your arousal, he ascends slowly, pressing soft, reverent kisses along your hips before his tongue flicks out, tracing the delicate curve of your navel. A trail of fire ignites across your stomach as he continues his upward journey with continuous kisses.

Your hands find purchase in his hair once more, your fingers tightening slightly as he pauses at your breasts. He lingers there, his breath warm against your skin, before placing soft, lingering kisses on the swelling flesh.

He circles around, exploring every inch of your skin with his lips and tongue and you bite down on your lower lip, the blissful sensations carrying your mind to a realm of pure ecstasy.

"Oh..." you breathe, the sound a sigh of pure surrender when his mouth closes around one of your nipples. He tugs gently, pulling you closer, the intimate contact sending a jolt of pleasure through your core.

He teases, nipping at the sensitive bud, eliciting a soft cry from your lips. He continues his delicious torment before finally, as if by magic, his lips find yours again.

When you taste yourself on his tongue, a moan escapes your lips as you deepen the kiss. You wrap your legs around his waist and he instinctively slides his hands beneath your thighs, easily lifting you off the counter.

He begins to move, carrying you out of the kitchen, your lips never breaking contact. You hold on tight as your fingers tangle in his hair and you sense him making his way directly towards your bedroom.

He nudges the door close with his back and the next instant, your back meets the plush surface of your mattress. He pulls away, straightening to his full height as his gaze sweeps over you, a smoldering intensity in his eyes.

He tugs at his tie, the knot loosening instantly and begins unbuttoning his shirt, the fabric parting to reveal glimpses of the toned physique beneath. The sight of his naked torso, sculpted and defined, sends a jolt of awareness through you.

Your thighs instinctively close, your core clenching in anticipation. Had he been spending extra time at the gym these past five months?

He notices the way you stare, the heat in your gaze, and a knowing smirk curves his lips. He continues undressing until his pants and boxers fall to the floor, freeing his rigid, insistent erection that springs forth.

He moves onto the bed and carefully parts your legs, settling between them. He gazes into your eyes longingly, as if he's trying to convince himself that this moment is real, that you're finally here again.

"I love you." he whispers, his breath ghosting across your lips. "I love you too." you reply, the words a soft sigh as your fingers instinctively find their place at the nape of his neck.

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. "I don't think I'll last long." he admits, his eyes darkening with desire. "It's been too long. I haven't been inside you for five months."

You giggle softly and arch your hips slightly like a silent invitation. "Fuck me already, Dr. Jeon." you murmur, the words laced with a playful command that sends a shiver down his spine. Something about the way you say it, the raw desire in your voice, has his mind reeling.

God, he's missed you so much.

"Dr. Jeon, huh?" he smirks, his eyes locking with yours and just then, you gasp softly when you feel him adjust the tip of his cock at your entrance.

He slowly pushes himself inside and a simultaneous moan escapes both of you as he fully sinks into you. "I..." Jungkook chokes out, the word lost in the wave of sensation. "Fuck, I need a minute." he says shakily, his eyes closing as he truly drowns in the feeling of your warmth enveloping him.

He swears he could fucking explode right then and there.

"God..." you whisper, your head falling to the side as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him even closer.

He eventually begins to move, his thrusts slow and leisure, as if savoring the long-awaited reunion. His elbows remain perched on either side of your head, providing balance as he begins to deepen his thrusts.

"Kook..." you moan, the sound a mixture of pleasure and anticipation, as he slowly begins to pick up the pace, each thrust more insistent than the last. The rhythm builds, his hips now moving with a growing urgency, each thrust pushing him further inside, deeper into your core.

He moves his hands to grip your thighs, as if he's trying to fuse your bodies together. "Tell me how good this feels." he commands, his voice a low growl. "Oh god, Kook..." you gasp, your head thrown back as intense waves of pleasure hit you all at once. "It's...it's perfect."

"Perfect isn't good enough." he murmurs, his eyes burning with desire. His pace quickens, the bedsprings groaning beneath the force of his movements.

He pulls you closer, his hands now cupping your ass, lifting you to meet each thrust with increasing intensity. You clench around his dick, your pussy swallowing him whole. "You're so tight." he groans, his breath catching in his throat. "So fucking tight."

He leans down, his teeth nipping at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. He pulls back slightly, his eyes filled with adoration as he gazes at your body, his hands now tracing the curves of your hips and waist.

"You're so beautiful." he murmurs, his hot breath ghosting against the shell of your ear. "Every inch of you...God, I've missed it so much." He kisses your cheek, the sound of your skin slapping against each other filling the room.

"You're all mine." he whispers against your skin and you arch your back, offering yourself to him completely, your body open and receptive to his every touch.

"I'm all yours." you respond, your voice trembling with desire. He lets out a guttural roar, his thrusts becoming deeper, harder, as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

He reaches between your legs, his fingers finding your clit, teasing it mercilessly as he continues to pound into you, the rhythmic pressure building with each thrust. The combination is overwhelming, the pleasure so intense it makes you want to scream and cry at the same time.

"Cum for me, baby." he urges. "Let me feel you cum around my cock." he says.

And that's all it takes for you to cry out, your body convulsing as you reach your peak, your release echoing through the room, a testament to the raw, untamed passion that consumes you both.

He doesn't stop, his movements becoming even more frantic as he rides the wave of your orgasm, his own release building rapidly like a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume him.

He pushes himself deeper, burying himself as far as he can go, and lets out a final, triumphant roar as he spills his seed deep inside you. He collapses against you, his breathing heavy and ragged, his body still trembling from the force of his orgasm.

He nuzzles his face against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. You stay like that for a while as both of you try to come down from your highs. His lips pepper soft kisses against your shoulder and neck, as though savoring the moment.

"Please, don't leave me again." he suddenly whispers. The plea is raw, desperate... an admission of just how much he needs you, how broken he's been without you.

You feel his heart hammer against your chest, as if it's echoing your own. Your thumb strokes his shoulder blade, offering a silent comfort, a reassurance that, no matter what, you're right here.

He slowly lifts himself off you, eyes searching yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His gaze is softer now, like he's trying to find the right words to bridge the distance between you, to rebuild everything that once felt so broken.

"Please, don't leave me again, Y/n." he repeats, and this time, his voice trembles, a quiet plea that holds so much more than the words themselves.

"I don't know how to live without you. These five months... god, they were hell for me." He shakes his head, as though trying to shake off the memories of a time so dark, so painful.

His hand comes up to gently caress your cheek, his eyes filled with the kind of love that only grows after surviving the deepest scars.

"I'm going to be a better man for you... I promise you, Y/n. I won't let you feel alone again. I swear it, with everything in me. I'll give you all of me... every part of me... and I won't let go. I won't ever let you go again." His words are soft but firm, the promise echoing with a depth of emotion you've always longed to hear, a commitment to love you the way you've always deserved.

You smile softly, your heart swelling with a tenderness that only he can evoke. You crane your neck up, cupping his cheeks with both hands, your touch as gentle as the words you can't quite bring yourself to speak.

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead, a kiss filled with all the understanding, the forgiveness, and the love you've always had for him.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Y/n." His voice is soft, yet it carries the weight of a lifetime's worth of longing, vulnerability, and certainty. There's something in the way his words wrap around you, settling deep in your chest, like the promise of forever.

"I want everything with you." he adds, and a smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

You know exactly what he means by that. You remember the conversation you overheard last night, the one that made you realize just how serious Jungkook was about you.

But you don't bring it up, knowing how torn he'd be if he found out you knew. You're certain he wanted it to be a surprise, and now that you're back together, he probably still holds onto that plan, hoping to make the moment unforgettable.

So, you decide to keep it as your little secret because deep down, you know that it doesn't change what matters most.

And what really matters is that he truly wants to commit to you, to build a life with you, and that knowledge is enough.

"I want everything with you too." you respond, smiling at him and he instantly returns it with the same warmth as he leans down for a kiss. You melt instantly, pulling him closer until your bare chests are pressed together.

But then, just as you're lost in the moment, the soft scratching sounds right behind your bedroom door catch your attention. Both of you pull away, glancing at the door, already knowing who the little culprit is.

"I think Skittles misses you." Jungkook says, with a laugh. "You think he saw me giving you head on the kitchen counter?" he asks with a smirk.

You freeze for a moment, eyes wide. "I cannot believe we just did that in front of our child!" you gasp in exaggerated disbelief.

Jungkook laughs, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Our child? So I'm officially his dad now?" he asks, tilting his head. You narrow your eyes, lips curling into a playful smirk. "What? You don't want to be?"

"Of course I do." he says quickly, pretending to be offended. "But that means we need to figure out how much child support I owe you for the months I wasn't around? Should I start making the payments in advance?"

You laugh, swatting his bicep playfully. "Oh, you think you can just pay your way out of this? I'm gonna need a little more than cash to make up for all the time you've missed!"

He grins mischievously, licking his lips. "Well, then I guess I'll have to make up for it in other ways." he says, leaning in for a kiss. You laugh, shaking your head in mock disapproval. "You're lucky you're hot, Dr. Jeon."

—fin. ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

A/N: should i make a drabble where jungkook proposes? let me know !!

my masterlist <3

permanent taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @kimyishin @somehowukook @allie-in-the-moon @nightappple @jksoftii @mimi1097 @yooforeaa @jkaxl @jinglthembalslikethat @puppybunnyjkay @jiijeon97 @ninisica @rerefundslocals @kgamboa11 @lizzikoo @madussthoughts @kelsyx33 @mafersame @yoonstaar @autumnbear @jksusawife (let me know if you wanted to be added !! <3)

#jungkook fic #jungkook #jungkook fanfic

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rerefundslocals · 7 months ago

Text

This will be done very soon

Coming home to you. teaser + moodboards

summary: when Jungkook returns to Willow Creek, what happens when he meets you again, struggling to make ends meet.

pairing: tattoo artist!Jungkook x fem!reader

trope: childhood best friends to lovers(small town romance)

genre: smut, fluff, angst

warnings/tags: 3D!Jungkook, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, whipped!jungkook, tae, jimin, joon, cutesy scenes, reader is going through it, daddy issues, nct jaehyun is an asshole, oral(f and m recieving), unprotected sex, rough sex, choking kink, cum eating, dirty talk, makeout sesh, aftercare<3

release date: 25 January 2024 @ 20:30 ET

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MOODBOARD(READER)

MOODBOARD(JUNGKOOK)

authors note : very excited for this one, my writers block is over and stuff, please tune in!

#bts #jungkook x reader #jungkook

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rerefundslocals · 7 months ago

Text

won't lie, might push this to 26th. It's getting longer than expected

Coming home to you. teaser + moodboards

summary: when Jungkook returns to Willow Creek, what happens when he meets you again, struggling to make ends meet.

pairing: tattoo artist!Jungkook x fem!reader

trope: childhood best friends to lovers(small town romance)

genre: smut, fluff, angst

release date: 25 January 2024 @ 20:30 ET

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MOODBOARD(READER)

MOODBOARD(JUNGKOOK)

authors note : very excited for this one, my writers block is over and stuff, please tune in!

#bts #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook fanfic

97 notes · View notes

rerefundslocals · 7 months ago

Text

Coming home to you. teaser + moodboards

summary: when Jungkook returns to Willow Creek, what happens when he meets you again, struggling to make ends meet.

pairing: tattoo artist!Jungkook x fem!reader

trope: childhood best friends to lovers(small town romance)

genre: smut, fluff, angst

release date: 25 January 2024 @ 20:30 ET

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MOODBOARD(READER)

MOODBOARD(JUNGKOOK)

authors note : very excited for this one, my writers block is over and stuff, please tune in!

97 notes · View notes

rerefundslocals · 7 months ago

Text

Coming home to you. teaser + moodboards

summary: when Jungkook returns to Willow Creek, what happens when he meets you again, struggling to make ends meet.

pairing: tattoo artist!Jungkook x fem!reader

trope: childhood best friends to lovers(small town romance)

genre: smut, fluff, angst

release date: 25 January 2024 @ 20:30 ET

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MOODBOARD(READER)

MOODBOARD(JUNGKOOK)

authors note : very excited for this one, my writers block is over and stuff, please tune in!

#bts #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #rerefundslocals #jungkook

97 notes · View notes

rerefundslocals · 7 months ago

Text

ARUGHHHHH NO PART 3 😓😓😓😓😓😓😓😓Need to start paying attention to authors notes omg

I love you, I'm sorry

part 1 , part 2

Synopsis: Diagnosed with a terminal illness, your husband decides to live his remaining days crossing off items from a bucket list with you. This is part 2 of "I love you, I'm sorry."

pairings: Jungkook x black reader

warnings: mentions of grief and acceptance, domestic fluff, pure angst

Word count: 3.3k

Author’s note: I'd like to thank everyone who kept up with this little ball of mess, and I'm sorry I had to wrap it up so quick (uni's been insane lol) but I promise I gave it the best execution for ya'll. This fic is just purely emotional uff, and keep in mind, it's PURE fiction, just throws of my imagination at it's works. Thank you to all the people who commented and kept up with this work. I love ya'll.

tags: @rerefundslocals @aretha170 @fancypeacepersona

Everything you built together has collapsed—a fragile house of cards scattered in the winds of despair.

The sheer terror etched into his family’s faces would haunt you for the rest of your days. Their expressions, frozen in disbelief, begged for answers you didn’t have the strength to provide. His mother’s trembling hands clutched her chest as if bracing against a physical blow, and his father’s hollow, tear-filled eyes burned into yours, demanding an explanation.

You’d never forget the moment his mother’s legs gave way, her anguished cry muffled behind her shaking hand. His father and brother rushed to catch her, their own composure unraveling like loose threads. Then his father asked the question you’d been dreading, his voice brittle and raw:

“How long?”

The words caught in your throat, choking you. “A month,” you whispered, though you knew it wasn’t enough to soften the blow. His brother’s glare cut through you, searing with anger and betrayal. In that moment, you weren’t his sister-in-law but a stranger—a trespasser in their grief.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” His brother’s voice shook, each word laced with venom. “You knew, and you said nothing. Why?”

You couldn’t answer. How could you explain the promise you’d made to Jungkook, the man you loved more than life itself? How could you tell them he had begged you to keep his secret, to shield them from the torment of knowing their youngest son was dying?

“I promised him…” Your voice cracked under the weight of your guilt, your hands trembling as you struggled to breathe. “He didn’t want you to worry. He wanted to—”

“You should have told us,” his brother snapped, cutting you off. His laugh was bitter, a hollow sound devoid of warmth. “We’re his family. We had a right to know.”

The accusation hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. “I know,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to—”

“Didn’t want to what?” he spat, his voice rising. “Didn’t want to break a promise? Didn’t want to face us?”

“Enough!” his father barked, his voice stern despite his grief. “This isn’t her fault. You don’t speak to your sister-in-law like that.”

The room fell into a suffocating silence, but his father’s defense did little to quell the storm of emotions swirling within you. You stood there, helpless, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. The weight of your guilt pressed down on you, bruising your chest with an ache that felt endless.

Time seemed to crawl, each second an eternity. You found yourself silently begging for the doctor to rush out with good news, to tell you that Jungkook was stable, that the surgery was a success, and that this nightmare would end.

Instead, you were trapped in the endless loop of accusations, his brother’s anger, and the anguish painted across his family’s faces.

“Did you take care of him?” his mother finally asked her voice a fragile whisper, raw with tears. “Did you make sure he took his medications? That he ate on time?”

You gripped her hand feircley, your voice shaking as you replied, “I promise I did. He was so careful, even more than before. He stopped drinking, stopped smoking—”

Your words trailed off into silence, as hollow as your heart felt at that moment. You couldn’t bring yourself to say more, to explain the swell of hopelessness that began to consume you from within, tearing you apart from within.

“He’s going to be okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. “Jungkook is strong. He’ll make it through this.”

But the words rang empty, a desperate attempt to convince yourself of something you no desperatley held onto, a prayer to cast away your nightmares.

As you stood in the sterile hospital hallway, the weight of everything unsaid pressed down on you. You had promised Jungkook to protect his secret, but now, faced with the consequences, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made the wrong choice.

The minutes dragged on, stretching into an unbearable eternity. The fluorescent-lit hall seemed to close in around you a stark contrast to the storm of emotions surging within.

Jungkook’s mother sat slumped in a plastic chair, her frail figure trembling as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. His father stood stiffly beside her, his hands gripping the back of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. His brother paced restlessly, muttering under his breath, every now and then casting a piercing glare in your direction.

You wanted to say something—anything—to break the suffocating tension. But the words caught in your throat, heavy and unwieldy. What could you possibly say to soothe their anguish when you couldn’t even ease your own? They were your family afterall.

The double doors to the operating room remained firmly shut, a cruel barrier between you and the man you loved. Each time they swung open to allow a nurse or orderly to pass through, your heart leaped in your chest, only to sink again when no one came to update you on Jungkook’s condition.

And then, finally, they opened.

A doctor emerged, his face masked with professional detachment, but his eyes betrayed a weariness that sent a jolt of fear straight through you. You surged to your feet, your hands trembling as they clutched at the fabric of your coat.

“Doctor,” you croaked, your voice barely audible. “How is he?”

“He’s in a coma” he said, his voice low and heavy. “He needs a transpalnt within the next few hours...Or he won’t make it.”

The world around you shattered.

“What…?” The word fell from your lips in a breathless whisper, disbelieving and desperate. You staggered back, a wave of disgusting nausea pooling in your gut, flooding your throat.

You felt as though your soul had been ripped from your body. A numbness settled over you, muting the cries and chaos around you. The air felt too thin, too thin for your lungs to function.

“Wh-What can we do…where can we get a doner?” you choked again, shaking your head as if denial could undo the truth. “Please that’s my husband…I-I can’t lose him…He was supposed to be okay—He was fine—” Your voice snapped, hot tears burning down your cheeks.

The doctor spoke again, something about making arrangements as soon as possible, and excusing himself, but his words barely registered. The only thing you could hear was the echo of Jungkook’s laughter in your mind, the memory of his toothy smile—the way he’d held your hand just days ago and promised, “We’ll stuff our faces with pizza.”

But now he was on the brink of what you feared more than anything—death.

Through the haze of grief, you realized his mother was calling your name. You turned to her, your movements sluggish and mechanical. Her tear-streaked face was a portrait of heartbreak, her trembling hands reaching out for you.

“You were with him,” she sobbed, her voice cracking. “Was he…was he in pain?”

You shook your head, though the memory of his strained breathing and the fear in his eyes in those final moments would haunt you forever. “No,” you lied softly, forcing the words past the lump in your throat, pulling her in close.

The hours that followed passed in a blur. Calls were made, arrangements discussed—they found a heart, fresh from a 20 year old male, a nurse in purple scrubs informed you that a team of the best doctors were all working on the transplant and that hopefully it would all go well, that Jungkook would be okay,

You went through the motions like a puppet on strings, nodding when spoken to, and answering when asked.

But inside, a steel blade was twisting, deeper and deeper with every hour that passed. You gazed at the barrier that divided you from your husband, and hoped with every vessle in your body that the operation would be a sucsses. That everything would work out perfectly and you would see his precious smile, and bright boba eyes light up once again.

He needed to be okay.

Another doctor, a women in bright blue scrubs walked into the deserted waiting room. Jungkook’s Mother shot up, awake and alret for any news. His father stood up alongside his brother.

“Is he okay? Did everything go well…?” His brother spoke, his voice hoarse with tears.

Her pause felt like an eternity, each second carving a deeper chasm of dread in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” She soft spoke, her voice low and heavy. “We did everything we could, but his body rejected the transplant...He didn’t make it.”

Jungkook’s mother let out a heart-wrenching wail, collapsing into her husband’s arms. His father’s stoic composure crumbled as tears streamed down his weathered face. His brother froze mid-step, his expression shifting from shock to devastation.

And you—

You felt as though your soul had been ripped from your body. A numbness settled over you, muting the cries and chaos around you. The air felt too thin, your lungs unable to draw in enough to sustain you.

The hours that followed passed in a blur. Calls were made, arrangements discussed, condolences offered. You went through the motions like a puppet on strings, nodding when spoken to, answering when asked.

But inside, you were torn to shreds.

When you finally found yourself alone, standing in the dim light of your shared bedroom, the weight of your grief came crashing down. You sank to the floor, clutching one of Jungkook’s sweaters to your chest, you didn’t even bother retreiving your bagage, for all you knew it was shipped away. “I can’t do this,” You gasped, shoulders jerking with every violent sob that clawed out of your chest, against the warm fabric of his hoodie. “I can’t do this, I can’t–I have to wake up…” You coughed, burrowing your face deeper into the material, drowining yourself in his warm lingering scent.

“You’re okay, I know you’re okay. I’m gonna wake up.” You sobbed again and again, until your voice strained and your throat burned with lies.

For days your mourned the love you’d lost, the dreams you’d shared, and the future that had been stolen from you. The kictchen where your best memories were made, the living room where you both stayed up till 4am binge watching the cheesiest films. How could you live in a space that was so full of him?

Days turned into weeks, but time felt meaningless. The world moved on without Jungkook, and you were left behind, stumbling through the ruins of a life you no longer recognized.

The funeral had been agonizing, a stark reminder of everything you had lost. His family had surrounded you, their grief mirroring your own, but no amount of shared sorrow could fill the void he left behind. The memory of standing beside his casket, your trembling fingers brushing over the polished wood, still haunted you.

Even now, you could hear the faint echo of his mother’s sobs, and feel the weight of his brother’s resentful gaze. Though his father had defended you, the tension between you and Jungkook’s brother lingered like a storm cloud, unspoken but palpable.

You returned once again, to an empty home—a place that once thrummed with his laughter, his voice, his life. Now, the silence was deafening.

Every floorboard, every wall, and even his toothbrush and razor, you lost half of your soul and you couldn’t even accept that your husband was six feet under, buried along with every dream you shared. That you would never finish your bucket list, or get a little brown dobberman like he always hoped for, or go on 2 am diner stops and order greasy cheesy fries and milkshakes.

His favorite mug still sat on the kitchen counter, the faint imprint of his lips on the rim a painful reminder of how quickly life had changed. The blanket he always used to wrap himself in while watching TV was draped over the back of the couch, and his cologne lingered in the air, ruining you with memories of him.

You spent hours sitting on the floor of your bedroom, surrounded by his things. His notebooks, filled with sketches and half-finished ideas, lay open on the bed. His favorite jacket hung on the back of the door, still faintly carrying his scent. You found yourself clutching the poloroids your had taken over the years. In one of the drawers, tucked beneath a pile of neatly folded shirts, you found a notebook you’d never seen before. Its cover was fresh, the edges sharp, and your name was scrawled across the front in his familiar handwriting.

Your hands shook as you opened it.

The first page was dated months ago, shortly after his diagnosis.

“If you’re reading this, I guess I’m not there anymore. It’s scary, a pretty damn shitty thought, but I don’t want to think about that, well, at least I’m trying not to, it’s too hard. But there are things I need you to know, things I couldn’t say out loud. I hope this notebook finds you when you’re ready to hear them.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you flipped to the next page.

“First, I need you to know how much I love you. I know, ugh Jungkook you say that a lot jeez, but you are my whole world, okay? You always will be. The best part of my life was you.”

The words blurred as your tears fell onto the page, smudging the ink. A hand muffled over your mouth as your choked back an ugly sob.

The entries continued, some days just a few lines, others pages long. He wrote about his fears, hopes, and the things he would miss—quiet mornings together, the way you laughed at his jokes, even how you nagged him about leaving the cap off the toothpaste, or finishing your serums. The way you would stay up at the wee hours of midnight planning baby names and gender reveal parties for the far future.

"I’m sorry for leaving you with this burden. I wish I could’ve spared you from it. But I know you’re strong—you always were stronger than me, even if you didn’t see it. You’ll find your way through this. I know it’s gonna be hard, but I believe in you. You are Mrs. Jeon afterall, you know? Take care of my Eomma and Appa for me, you know how much they love you, and always know that they’re there for you okay? My prettiest angle, I know you’ll be okay. I want you to be happy, never hold yourself back from anything that brings you that happiness in the future, and never feel any guilt. I’ll see you soon, somewhere better I hope."

PS. Do whatever you want with Jeon Entertainments, it’s yours. I wish I were here to guide you through it all, but if you give up, I won’t be upset, not at all. Being a CEO is crazy. Anyways, I love you so much sweetheart, more than you would ever know.

You clutched the notebook to your chest, the weight of his words both comforting and devastating.

For the first time since he passed, you felt the faintest flicker of something other than grief. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was the beginning of it—a small spark in the overwhelming darkness.

Jungkook had left you this piece of himself, a roadmap through your sorrow, and though it wouldn’t erase the pain. You still held fragments of him, listening to his voice recordings and watching the videos you took together, scrolling through the endless pictures that sat forever-still in your camera roll.

And in the quiet of that room, surrounded by the echoes of his presence, you whispered the words you hadn’t been able to say before:

“I love you Jungkook, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Three Months Ago

Jungkook knew about the appointment you had scheduled the day before your flight. As much as he hated lying to you, he had long mastered the art of staying one step ahead. It wasn’t to deceive you—it was to protect you. He saw the way worry etched itself into your face, the way you carried the weight of his illness like it was your own. He couldn’t bear to add to that burden.

The truth was undeniable. No medication could reverse what was happening to him, and each day the symptoms grew more unforgiving. But he had vowed to keep you smiling, to put on a brave front even when his body betrayed him.

Weeks before your shared appointment, Jungkook had gone alone to see the doctor. The same office. The same man in the white coat. Only this time, there were no hopeful reassurances, no discussions of new treatments or recovery.

“So, you’re saying I don’t have much time?” Jungkook’s voice was soft, steady, but his fingers betrayed his anxiety as they twisted the silver wedding band on his finger, then tugged at the steel ring on his lip. The nervous habits he thought he’d long outgrown resurfaced in full force.

The doctor sighed, his expression heavy with empathy. “I’m afraid so. Things aren’t looking good, Jungkook. I respect your decision to keep this from your family, but… are you sure you want me to tell your wife everything is fine during your upcoming appointment?”

“Please.” Jungkook exhaled, his hand running through his dark hair. The gesture was slow, deliberate as if he could somehow smooth away his mounting fear. “That would mean everything to me. She’s been planning this trip for months, and I just want her to have a great time. No stress, no worries—just us.”

The doctor studied him for a moment before nodding. “I understand. And I’ll respect your wishes. I will say, I’m glad you’ve been coming in regularly for your bi-weekly checkups. It’s helped us manage this as best we can.”

Jungkook offered a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I promised her I’d stay on top of it. And… I had to make sure everything was in order. With my management, the lawsuit—it’s all squared away now. Just in case I drop dead tomorrow,” he joked weakly, the humor falling flat even to his own ears.

The doctor’s expression softened, his hand extending in a firm, reassuring shake. “You’re a brave man, Jungkook.”

“I get that a lot.” Jungkook mustered a brighter smile, the kind that could light up a room, even now. “Thank you, Doc. For everything.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” the doctor said, his tone laced with genuine admiration.

Later that day, as Jungkook pulled into the driveway, he sat in the stillness of his car, forehead resting against the steering wheel. His chest rose and fell with a deep, shaky sigh. This was his reality now—balancing the unbearable weight of truth with the fragile lie he’d crafted for you.

Finally, he straightened, locked the car, and punched in the code to the front door.

“Hey, baby,” he called softly, his voice carrying the weariness of the day, though his tired chuckle warmed the air between you. “Sorry—am I too late?”

The sight of you made his heart skip a beat. The way your eyes lit up when you saw him, the soft glow of your deep brown skin, and the silk slip that fell gracefully over your frame—it all reminded him why he fought so hard to hold on.

“Jungkook!” you chirped, bounding toward him. Your braids swayed with each step, and the pretty bow at the end was a perfect touch that made his chest tighten with love.

When your arms wrapped around his neck, he felt the world fall away. The warmth of your embrace, the way you rose on your tiptoes to press kisses all over his face—it was you who kept him alive. Not the pills he swallowed out of obligation, not the doctors or the treatments.

It was you.

Your smile, your laugh, the love you poured into every corner of his existence—that was his heartbeat. That was the pulse that carried him forward, even when he knew the days were slipping through his fingers like sand.

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t let you see.

And at that moment, with you in his arms and the weight of his reality tucked away behind a smile.

For now, that was enough.

#bts x reader #jungkook x black reader #jungkook fanfic

87 notes · View notes

rerefundslocals · 9 months ago

Text

so yummy 🤭 but yet so confused...😓

xii. rotten angelcake ⇾ kth. [M]

⎡ She’s as sweet as angelcake; he likes her honeyed rotten. ⎤

chapter twelve : in the wings⤑ ❝ late to the theatre, you're caught in taehyung’s grip. pleasure and power collide and you find yourself in an interesting position. ❞

⇽ prev. | masterlist | next ⇾

⌁ pairing; ceo!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.)

⌁ genre/rating; s2l, ceo au, sugar daddy au, smut, fluff, 18+

⌁ word count; 9.3k

⌁ warnings; dom!taehyung, daddy!taehyung, sub!reader, brat!reader, virgin!reader, daddy kink, praise kink, corruption kink, bdsm themes, dirty talk, exhibitionism, use of sex toy, overstimulation, a bit of cum play, pussy spanking, teasing, begging

⌁ 🎧 now playing... ✩

» prefer ao3? keep reading here

ও huge thanks to jen ( @itaeewon ) for the amazing new banner and a very special thanks to jen ( @anobodyslove ) for beta-reading this in such short notice! i really appreciate it !

You’re late.

And, despite the teasing texts from Taehyung, you swear it’s not your fault.

Whether it be her general dislike towards you or your impromptu day off last week, Marina has been bitchier than usual. She has found new ways to torture you, trading her normal tactics of endless to-do lists for assigning useless work instead. Yesterday, she ordered you to fill out countless forms, only to remember that they were out of circulation once the task was completed. She then forced you to shred them while she “supervised” with a gloating smirk.

This morning she had you running around the building looking for a certain data specialist for an important meeting. She had promised attendance to the interns. After hours of questions and several flights of stairs, you found out he had quit a month ago. You missed the meeting and needed to stay after work to digitise the minutes and send copies to the department managers.

Frustrated and exhausted, Taehyung’s suggestion returns in quiet echoes. It’s not as though you’re above quitting. It’s been your goal since your first day. This job was only meant to be temporary anyway. But, if you quit now, with less than three months of experience at a highly recognised company, all your work would be insignificant. More than that, all the crap you’ve endured thus far will be for nothing. Three months is not nearly enough credible experience to transfer to other jobs. You might be able to spin it in your favour during an interview, but you doubt your resume will even be selected.

Pushing the thought away, you secure your hair back in a low, loose bun with another pin, then reach for the hairspray. You’ve gone back and forth too much for someone in a rush. But it’s your first time going to the opera or ballet (you’re not really sure what Taehyung had said and don’t have the time to scroll through messages to confirm). You just want to make a good impression on his colleagues.

That is the only reason he invited you, you remind yourself. This is not a date.

Swarovski diamonds sparkle on your deep-necked dress. You tug at the short hem near your mid-thighs and adjust the edges of the plunging bust. You thought the lace would make you itchy, but find it is lined with soft silk. Elegant and creme-white, it would resemble a wedding dress if it was longer, you can’t help noticing.

Rolling your eyes at the thought, you grab the matching earrings Taehyung had bought you– a pair of silver wings at the base with a dangling tassel of diamonds. He has impeccable taste. You almost wish he could style and dress you daily, like his personal doll.

A shiver runs down your spine. Your legs press together.

Deep breath in— your chest fills, eyes shut— deep breath out.

“You must be Taehyung!”

You hear Mrs Chu exclaim, eyes snapping open. What the fuck is he doing up here? You told him you’d be down soon, not even a second ag—

Shit.

Mrs Chu has been trying to meet Taehyung for weeks. Luckily, you’ve always been able to come up with some sort of excuse, usually revolving around a lack of time. She’d often try to corner you in the morning, just as you’re on the way out, asking countless questions about Taehyung’s schedule. In a rush, you tell her he’s just really busy this week and bolt out the door.

Grabbing your phone, your fingers tremble as you unlock it. A glance at your last message shows it was really sent about twenty minutes ago. You find he initially replied with acknowledgment, sending you a black heart. Later, perhaps growing concerned from your delay, he warned that he would be coming up if you’re not down in the next sixty seconds.

You shut your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. With a huff, you grab your clutch, tossing in your lip gloss, keys, phone and wallet, and rush out into the hall.

Taehyung stands in a full black suit, only a silver tie shining between the lap of his coat. He towers over a five-foot-six Mrs Chu. His hair is slicked back, a sliver-cuffed earring pinned to his lobe. He offers her a smile, a gentle nod.

He says something. The deep tone of his voice masks the words from a distance.

She’s practically giggling, though. Her face is a shade pinker and she has to force herself to look away.

Is this what you look like? Is this what everyone sees? He towers, you cower, bashful and dazed, inching closer towards him. He calls, you fall, helpless and desperate, playing with the buttons of his shirt.

Is this why no one believes you’re just friends?

Taehyung, eyes lazy yet intrigued, lips easy yet curved, draws Mrs Chu’s attention back.

“I see why ____ is so smitten,” she teases.

Your eyes widen. Heat rushes to your cheeks, hands suddenly clammy.

“Mrs Chu,” you call before she can go on any further.

You feel Taehyung’s eyes on you but can’t bring yourself to meet them. You keep your attention on Mrs Chu, making your way towards her.

Slipping between her and Taehyung, you pointedly glance at the couch. “Isn’t Wheel of Fortune on soon?” You ask through gritted teeth.

Mrs Chu rolls her eyes. She leans in towards you, peering up over the rim of her glasses, and mutters, “Subtle.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from groaning and you swear you hear Taehyung stifle a laugh behind you.

She then looks towards him, and smiles. “It was nice meeting you, Taehyung.” She then feigns surprise and adds, “I just remembered Wheel of Fortune will be on soon.”

“How is that any less subtle?” you whisper.

Mrs Chu opens her mouth to most likely scold you when your breath hitches. You stumble back as her eyes fall to your waist.

Taehyung wraps an arm around your middle, pulling you back against him. He’s steady and warm, but you fight against the urge to lean into his touch. As comforting as it is, especially after a hellish day at work, you cannot let your feelings for him get the better of you or risk Mrs Chu making this bigger than it is.

“I would love to continue this subtle conversation,” Taehyung says, “but we really should be going.”

You can hear the smirk in his words, feel the muted laughter deep in his chest. You even feel the deep timbre of his voice resonating into your spine. You stiffen, refusing to let the soulful lure soothe your anxieties.

Mrs Chu is at a loss for words. You’ve never seen her so surprised. She’d experienced life to its fullest. A wild college girl in my day, she always says. An honour roll student, valedictorian, three scholarships, co-captain of the cheer team, married her college sweetheart— divorced him a year later for the love of her life.

And here she stands, perfectly still, before you. She gawks over her glasses, jaw slack, brows raised, bouncing her attention between you and Taehyung as if you had just announced him to be the father of your child.

You shift your weight, hand moving over Taehyung’s to gently brush it off.

You hear the shifting fabric of his pocket as he shoves it in before clearing his throat, “Let’s grab your shoes, Angel,” he whispers, lips hovering near the top of your head.

Mrs Chu blinks at the nickname. She looks at you, like she’s waiting for an explanation, maybe even a correction.

You’re not sure what to say. ‘We’re just friends’ seems like a lie now— you hate the fact that it’s all you will probably ever be. And you doubt you’ll be able to utter that last word without choking on it.

Instead, you let out a breathy chuckle. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

Before either one of them can reply, you hurry down the hall and back into your room. As you search your closet for your heels, you wonder if you also have enough time to shut the door and scream under the covers.

“Your room is not as pink as I imagined it.”

Clutching the shoebox against your chest, you turn to find Taehyung standing in your doorway. He nearly fills the entire frame with his impressive height and broad shoulders. The black of his suit contrasts starkly against the cream walls, making the trim along the ceiling and the base of the deep maple hardwood floors seem almost fragile beneath his inquisitive gaze.

He’s right, though– there isn’t nearly as much pink in your room as you’d like. The space is tiny, barely accommodating your twin bed, a small vanity, and the rack of dresses Taehyung gifted you a couple of months ago. As he steps inside, you press your back against the closet door. The room suddenly feels suffocating as he surveys the small space, gazing with quiet interest, lingering on every detail.

Your bed, lent to you by Mrs Chu, is pushed against the wall beneath your window. Its frame, a regal black metal with subtle gold accents, feels almost too grand for the tiny room. You’ve indulged in pink silk sheets and a fluffy white comforter. It was an impulse buy after the first surge of funds Taehyung transferred nearly seven months ago. At the foot of the bed, a cluster of plushies sit neatly. You don’t sleep with all of them, but their presence is comforting.

A couple of books, lip balm, and hand cream sit on top of your oak night table, right beside your bed. Neatly stacked to the right are several more books. It’s not your entire collection, just your favourites. You often reach for them when you need to unwind or seek some comfort. The rest of your library remains boxed under your bed due to the limited space.

Above the bed hangs a gallery of impressionist paintings, each piece a relic of Mrs. Chu’s undergrad days. The vibrant scenes of grassy meadows, serene portraits, and abstract landscapes fill the wall with a patchwork of moods and colours. The adjacent walls are functional: one holds your closet, while the other features a large window nearly spanning its width. Framed by white cotton curtains and fairy lights, the window allows soft daylight to bathe the room.

Taehyung’s eyes settle on the vanity on the other side of the room. He tilts his head at the array of perfumes, bows, and makeup brushes that sit in organised chaos. His fingers graze the dangling chains of your necklaces before his attention settles on one of your smaller plushies. A smile plays on his lips at the collection of remaining stuffed animals you have littered around your room. He picks up a tiny Totoro plushie, turning it over in his hand, his expression soft with amusement.

“Cute,” he hums before putting it back.

You catch a soft look in his eye and cannot fight the heat creeping up your neck to your cheeks. “You don’t like it when I touch the things around your office,” you point out, stepping towards him as he picks up a perfume bottle.

He lets you take it from his hand and return it to its rightful place, suppressing an amused smirk. “When has that ever stopped you?”

You bite your lip to suppress your own guilty smile.

Then, he steps closer. A crisp herbal blend, where floral notes of white tea are grounded by earthy impressions of sage infiltrate your next inhale. Hints of cedarwood and amber, with citrusy touches of begoment, are laced in with his usual musk– no doubt the doing of his cologne. You swallow thickly, resisting the urge to press your thighs together. He smells so delicious, so clean and rugged and Taehyung.

You tilt your head back to properly meet his intriguing, half-lidded gaze. At the sight of your pout, Taehyung nods towards your bed. His lack of words reminds you of the fact that you left him waiting for twenty minutes downstairs. Following his silent order without your usual air of defiance, you take a seat on the edge of your bed.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter before opening the shoebox to take out your sliver, strappy ribbon heels.

Taehyung kneels. He wraps a hand around your ankle and pulls your foot up to his face. His lips are soft. They press firmly on the knot of your ankle. Then, he sets it down on his knee.

You feel your face heat, flesh pricking with goosebumps. You try your best not to shiver, but fail as he takes the shoe from your hands and begins to slip your foot through. He’s careful with the straps, delicately looping the ribbon around your calf.

His silence usually alludes to something sinister. He’s always so calm before a punishment. The anticipation is often exhilarating. Wondering what he might do, what he might say makes you want to misbehave. How relentless will he be before finally giving into you? How harsh of a punishment will this act yield? These questions excite you but watching him be so deliberate in deafening silence almost makes your toes curl.

However, being this late, you doubt he will execute any physical punishment. Genuine anger may be the reason behind his lack of communication. He does have a habit of issuing a lack of attention as a punishment over texts.

Taehyung grabs your other foot and kisses your ankle again.

“I had to work late,” you try to explain.

He slips on the other shoe.

“The time just got away from me.”

He wraps the ribbon around your leg. His fingers are soft, brushing against your smooth skin.

He doesn’t even grunt an acknowledgement. You wonder if an explanation is doing more harm than good.

His nails are short, but you feel them gently scratch at you as he ties a bow under the back of your knee.

You pull your lip between your teeth, thighs trembling as you continue to resist the urge to press them together.

There it is— a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip.

Before you can utter another apology, Taehyung spreads your legs. The heady scent of your neediness fills the air as your wet, white thong is exposed. His grip on your knees tightens at the smell, the action aggressive enough to trigger a quiet moan. His lips, however, are soft, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh.

Another gasp cinches at the base of your throat. You want to ask him what he’s doing. You want to remind him that you’re late, that Mrs Chu is on the other side of the slightly ajar door and can easily walk in on you. She might even be able to hear you right now, struggling to keep your breaths even. But you can’t find the words to stop him, or perhaps— you don’t want to.

You grasp on the edge of the bed. Your eyes flutter shut. You lean back, hips rolling up, up, up towards his chin.

His breath fans over the apex of your thighs. He breathes in deep, nose nuzzling against the damp fabric of your thong.

You bite your lips to hold back a moan.

Friends don’t do this, a little voice in your head whispers.

Friends don’t smother their perfect faces against your wetness. Friends don’t quietly moan and attempt to get you off to the mere vibrations of their voice. Friends don’t coax you into grinding against their firm noses.

But, perhaps, best friends do.

“No more cute sounds for me tonight?”

You peek down at him. He’s pulled himself away from your hips, licking the taste of you off his lips. A mischievous twinkle dances in his gaze.

You glance at the door, about to remind him that you’re not alone.

The smack of his hand against your clothed crotch cuts you off instead.

You’re only just able to catch your yelp, or so you think as a breathy whine breaks through. Eyes wide, you cannot believe he just spanked your pussy. And now he’s rubbing the pad of his thumb firmly against your bundle of nerves.

Your eyes dart to the door. You hear the catchy tune of the game show, the distant voice of the host but cannot make out any footsteps.

Taehyung does not seem to care. All playful indications in his features disappear. His attention burns through you, boiling your blood with needy passion. Your hips buck against the measly bouts of slow pleasure.

And all he does is stare.

Your toes curl, jaw tightens. How can he be so calm right now? Your wetness glistens on his chin, his breath smells of you, his hand is drenched with your neediness and he still kneels between your legs like it’s the only place he wants to be found. He presses harder against you, coaxing another whine.

It’s starting to infuriate you. Does he even care about you, risking your relationship with Mrs Chu so casually? Is this all for his own sick satisfaction? He gets you to trust him, to let him in, only to humiliate you in front of your surrogate grandmother?

God, he’s insufferable.

“We’re late,” you begin, parting your lips to continue when he cups your chin with his other hand.

You melt to his touch all too quickly, allowing him to pull down your head and maintain eye contact.

“And who’s fault is that?” He asks, reaching into his pocket.

“I told you that I had to work a bit later than usual,” you reply, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “My job is important to me.”

“My promises are important to me.”

You raise a brow. “To who?”

That cocky smirk is not lost on you. Taehyung loves a good game— a good show. He likes watching you squirm under his sexual scrutiny and burn with jealousy.

It is the realisation of finding yourself in this position all over again— legs spread, Taehyung in between, and your pride shrivelled up in the corner, you are exactly where you swore you would never be agai—

“Ah!” you whine, eyes wide.

Taehyung continues to push the little toy into you.

“Shh,” he soothes.

You swallow thickly, clenching around the cool silicon. “What is that?” You whisper, voice fragmented and faint.

His gaze softens, thumb brushing against your clit. You resist the urge to buckle your hips up.

“A vibrator. It’s pink, shaped like a heart,” he explains as a smile graces his lips. “It was meant to be a gift for later, but,” he quirks his head to the side, ceasing his ministrations and fixing your panties. “It will work just as well for a punishment.”

You roll your eyes, moving to close your legs. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you it wasn’t my fault.”

“I stood out there for twenty minutes.”

“You have a jacket, don’t you?”

Taehyung stands. He chews on the inside of his cheeks, hands slipping into his pockets.

You press your legs together.

“We fighting today?”

You bite on the inner corner of your lip, attempting to suppress a smile. The quirk of your brow is hard to mask, however. One of the first things Taehyung admitted he was drawn to was your swift wit. He likes to hear you bark only for him to bite. He finds it amusing and pitiful and absolutely thrilling.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you mumble. Your voice is small but you stand with confidence, leaning your head back to maintain his gaze.

He’s so close now, you can taste the rich scent of his cologne. He nods once, lips brushing against your chin.

“We’ll discuss this in the car,” he whispers against your skin. The deep bartone of his voice sends shivers down your spine. You find it hard to keep your hands to yourself. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you inch forward on your toes to press your chest to his.

A fight is never really a fight, more like a challenge of endurance. How far do you dare to disobey him? How long can he last before doing something about it? But in this moment, all alone in your little room with his hot breath fanning against your lips, you don’t feel the urge to push his buttons anymore.

Taehyung does not remove his hands from his pockets. He stays still, expression stoic. If you couldn’t feel the fast beat of his heart or the hardness of his length, you would think he doesn’t want you touching him.

A pout tugs on your lips at the lack of attention. Softening your voice in hopes that he will at least grab your waist, you ask, “Are you really ma–”

“Don’t,” he hisses, voice husky and low. “Don’t you dare make me repeat myself.”

You whimper. It’s pathetic and strained, but you cannot stop the sound from slipping out, let alone your lips from quivering. You miss him so much, need him so bad. Your heart aches with want, and for a second you cannot understand why things have to be so complicated. You love him and want him to be yours, in every sense of the word. You want to introduce him to Mrs Chu as your boyfriend, not just some guy you happen to be friends with and he just happens to buy you whatever you want. You want to hold his hand, call him sweet terms of endearment and flaunt your relationship in front of your stupid, bitchy boss. You want his attention, his time, and most of all– his lips on yours.

But then the rational part of your brain makes a reappearance and reminds you that this yearning is one-sided, and acting on it would mean risking the little bits of attention you’re getting right now.

So you swallow thickly, slide your hands off his broad shoulders and down his strong chest, then back to your side. You grab your purse and the white fur coat Taehyung bought you from the bed, and lead the way out.

“We’re going,” you call to Mrs Chu as you unlock the door.

She waves you off.

“Have a good night, Mrs Chu,” Taehyung then says.

She sits up in her seat on the couch and turns to give him her best smile. “Only if you do too, Taehyung,” she teases. A girlish giggle tumbles out of her as he flashes her an easy smile. You suppress the roll of your eyes as you head out.

Taehyung does not rest his hand on the small of your back as you make your way down the stairs. You sneak glances at him, finding he remains composed, hands still in his pockets, and completely ignoring you. When you step outside into the cold November night, he finally spares you a look over his shoulder. You stop mid-step expecting to find his usual car instead of a limousine. You remember being in one on your first night out together but that was because the event insisted on sending them out for all their high-funding donors. However, you don’t remember Taehyung mentioning that this is a charity event.

Noticing your hesitation, he slips a hand behind your back and gently leads you towards the car. The driver opens the door for you and Taehyung helps you in. He does not lean in to buckle your seat belt for you, instead circling the back of the car to get in from the other side.

The limousine is a void of black leather and silence. You miss Sinatra’s soft voice trickling through the speakers and green glow of Taehyung’s custom made car. Most of all, you miss the way EDEN would greet you, flashing pink when speaking to you only.

You slouch in your seat.

If you had known he’d be this upset, you would have told him you wouldn’t be able to make it before putting all this effort into looking presentable in front of his colleagues. Maybe if you had been honest about not being ready on time, he would have at least been more understanding. You know he hates coming late, having read about how he often arrives an hour before his meetings when you were researching him prior to your first meeting at the art gallery.

But this passive aggressive treatment is too much. You miss him doting on you, groping your thighs and pulling you against his side. You’ve already apologised, even if you instantly attempted to bait him into an argument seconds later. He likes that you’re bratty, having told you so multiple times. So when is he going to swallow his pride already and–

“Ah,” you quietly squeal as the heart-shaped vibrator buzzes to life. The vibrations are slow, humming quietly against your clenching walls.

Taehyung slides closer to you, the widespread of his legs knocking against your trembling knees. You instantly press yourself against him, not about to resist his strong scent and warmth. His forehead brushes against yours before he roughly grips onto your chin, forcing you to meet his angry gaze.

“When will you fucking behave?” he hisses.

Your toes curl. Heat pools at the apex of your thighs. You let out a shaky breath, rounding your eyes.

He tightens his grip, puckering your glossed lips. “I try to be patient with you,” he continues, voice dropping an octave. “I try to teach you and play with you, but you keep getting this crazy idea that you’re in charge.”

“M-May I please explain,” you ask through a whimper.

A dark chuckle rumbles from his chest and tumbles over your hot face. He moans softly before grazing your soft cheek with his teeth, teasing a bite. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you, besides ‘yes, daddy.’ Am I clear?”

“Yes, daddy.”

A satisfied growl resonates from the depths of his chest and into yours, further dampening your little white thong. He uses his free hand to lift and rest your thigh over his lap. The new position, legs spread for him, allows the vibrations to buzz freely within you. While you try to bite your lip, constricted from his harsh hold on your chin, a loud moan still slips out.

“What was the first rule I sent you?”

You fight back a smile at the memory of that conversation. After running out of his office, overwhelmed by the sudden realisation of your feelings, he texted to check in on you. You went back and forth for a bit before he revisited the topic of discipline, or rather– what to expect from each other.

[angelcake] : interesting. so i get a say in this too?

[V] : Of course.

[V] : This goes both ways.

“No talking back,” you finally answer, pulling yourself out of your memories.

Taehyung smirks against your skin. Warm and soft, his lips then gently press against your flaming cheek. “That’s right, princess,” he mutters.

Princess.

A strained whine tears through your throat at the new term of endearment. He hasn’t called you much besides Angel. Sometimes he might pepper in a darling or sweetheart, but he has only uttered that word once before, last week when you stormed into his office in a huff. You didn’t know how badly you needed to hear it again, in that deep baritone voice of his, until now. Your hips roll up in response, desperate for more of his attention. Still, the vibrations remain at the current slow pace and pattern.

Taehyung rubs your bare thigh as it rests over his strong leg. His hand inches closer and closer to your needy core, softly brushing against your sensitive skin. You can’t help shivering, or your little moans. No matter how much you bite your lip, ruining your lip gloss, or hold your breath, those desperate sounds still escape. It’s as if your body is determined to let him know how much you need him.

He’s taking his time, grazing the pads of his fingers over your soft inner thighs. You fight against the instinct to press your legs together at the tantalising sensation. You want to beg him to just touch you, to just cup your crotch and kneed your clit with the heel of his palm as the vibrator continues to buzz within you. But he specifically narrowed your responses to two words and hasn’t asked you any other questions that would elicit an alternative answer. If you try to reason with him again, it will only anger him even more. And, while you love to see him riled up, you don’t think you can survive another sexual encounter with Kim Taehyung and be denied yet another orgasm.

So you keep your painful desires to yourself, letting out shaky, whiny breaths instead. It’s better this way, you try to tell yourself. I won’t seem too eager.

Your body betrays you, hips lifting up to finally meet his fingers. You expect a comment about how the fabric of your thong is clinging to your folds as he pushes his fingers against them. You expect him to administer feather-light touches, continuing to torment you with his slow pace.

Instead, you receive a harsh slap over your folds. The sound echoes in the car, rivaling the volume of your surprised moan. You move to throw your head back, but his grip on your chin is still tight, forcing you to maintain eye contact.

He smacks your wetness over and over again. Each one is just as hard, just as harsh. You can feel the heat radiate from his hand with every hit, legs trembling from the consistent bursts of simulation. The intensity of the vibrator within heightens a notch more and you cannot help the roll of your eyes.

“Look at me,” Taehyung whispers.

As you try to make eye contact with him again, you catch the gaze of the driver. Face red and eyes wide, he watches you through his rearview mirror. He holds your gaze, surprised at first but his shame soon falters. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s pleased.

“D-Daddy,” you mutter, voice strained and shrill.

Taehyung follows your concerned gaze. His features harden. “Don’t look at her,” he orders. His voice is full of assertion and dominance. The driver instantly obeys, still Taehyung adds, “Eyes forward. Drive.”

His expression softens when he turns back to you, the grip on your chin loosening. Voice low and husky, he asks, “Are you alright?”

The sincerity in his tender gaze makes you tremble. “Yes, daddy,” you whisper, suppressing a smile at the way he bites his lip.

Taehyung nods, finally letting go of your chin. Instead, his hand slides behind you and around your waist, pulling you closer against him. He dips his face to the crook of your neck and his lips caress your soft skin. With a sharp inhale of your scent, his other hand finds its rightful place between your legs. He cups your throbbing core, smirking at the way you arch your back into his side.

“You’re always so responsive to me,” he whispers in your ear, nibbling on the lobe.

The rich baritone of his voice makes you squirm all the more. Your folds sting from the harsh smacks, clit aching for more stimulation. You want to tell him to soothe the ache, to rub you until your eyes cross and you’ve forgotten your name. But you know he’s only showing you a semblance of mercy now because you took his punishment without sassing him.

However, you find that you don’t need to say much. You wonder if perhaps your body is rather responsive in a way only Taehyung can decipher as he seems to know exactly what you need. Shifting enough to press his forehead against yours, he takes one look in your eyes and smirks. Before you can even think about questioning what that soft, amused look even means, his hand starts to move. The stimulation is agonisingly slow and soft but it’s something.

You do your best to stay still, to simply receive his generosity, but your hips have a mind of their own. It starts with a simple shift, then a squirm and before you know it, you’re grinding against his hand. One hand gripping on the edge of the seat, the other on the lap of his coat, you greedily gyrate against his long fingers.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. He sounds so raspy and just as breathless as you. “Have I told you that tonight?”

You shake your head, cheek flaming. “No, daddy,” you shakily reply.

He kisses your cheeks, smirking at the heated skin, then trails his lips along your jawline. He lingers, as if committing the soft curves of your features to memory. When his lips finally reach your ear and his fingers are completely drenched in your wetness, he says, “You look absolutely delicious.”

His voice resonates deep in your bones, rattling the discs of your spine and prinkling your skin with goosebumps. Your eyes roll back, hips eagerly grinding into his fingers as a disgustingly pathetic moan tears through your throat. You sound so weak and frail and like you’ve lost all sense of yourself.

And yet, as Taehyung holds you tight and nuzzles his nose into the side of your face, muttering sweet praises, you have never felt more safe and secure in your life. You’ve merely had dreams of feeling this protected, but always believed that you were never the type of girl that deserved that kind of attention.

But here Taehyung is, rendering you into a complete mess, and you feel as though you’ve finally found comfort and security.

“M-May I please cum?”

The words tumble from your lips in a hasty breath. You feel Taehyung smirk against your flushed skin.

“Are you sure you want to?” You can hear the teasing edge in his voice and it makes resisting your orgasm harder. “You’ll have to sit in your sticky panties all night, Angel,” he warns, yet his ministrations are relentless, “I know how much you hate that.”

Yes, the sensation is uncomfortable and unsettling once the fog of lust has lifted and you’ve registered the reality of what you have just done. When you’re seconds away from one of the best orgasms of your life, however, you don’t care what you soil or who witnesses it. You just need to release it, and now.

“Please, Daddy,” you whimper, body tense. Your voice is a shell of what it once was, all meek and desperate. “Please, please, let me cum. I promise to behave the rest of the night.”

Taehyung groans quietly, the gentle vibrations rumbling from his chest to yours. “You know I’m going to hold you to that, right?” He teases.

Toes curling, bones stiffening, you hastily nod. A strained sob tumbles from your glossed lips, face furrowed in tormented pleasure.

He chuckles at your broken whines. The vibrator nuzzled within, buzzing at a moderate level of intensity this whole time, suddenly jolts a notch faster. Even his fingers press firmer and harsher between your sensitive folds.

You hold back. Squeezing your eyes shut, holding your breath, you do whatever you can to hold your orgasm back. His second rule is to always ask to cum. He told you that you’ve broken it several times and promised that he will not be lenient if you do it again. You would have hesitated to disobey him even if he wasn’t already annoyed with how late and sassy you’ve been tonight.

Perhaps he notices your stiffness, or has finally decided to stop toying with you, but Taehyung mutters his approval with a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your ear.

A waterfall of relief and satisfaction washes over you. Lips curled in a faint smile, you throw your head back and release a sharp whine as you gush around the vibrator. Your body roars with pleasure, hips rolling quicker and quicker against his touch, desperate to ride over this ethereal feeling to the last burst of arousal.

You must have been chanting his name because suddenly Taehyung’s voice trickles into your light-headed mind, low and deep, with reassurances.

“I’m right here, Angel,” he sweetly mutters. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You moan even louder, neediness evident in your ragged voice. Your throat feels sore from the strain of both suppressing and releasing broken whines, but you can’t care less. All you can think about is Taehyung.

Offering another round of delicate kisses, he teasingly asks, “You’ve been such a good little thing for me, haven’t you?”

You know he is not expecting an answer, but you nod anyway.

He pulls back, bringing his hand up to lick his arousal-slick fingers, holding your lust-blown gaze through half-lidded eyes. His deep-chested groan vibrates against your chest. Whimpering, you clench tight around the still buzzing toy.

A thought suddenly pops into your head and, for a second, you think you should ask before you act on it. The urge takes over you, though. Leaning a mere inch forward, you latch your lips around his pinky, sucking on the remnants of your orgasm with him.

He smiles– his sweet, velvety laughter echoes in the absence of your loud, recklessly needy moans around the limousine. You cannot help the flush of your cheek at the sound, suppressing a guilty smile yourself. You are not keen on tasting yourself but, with his hand being the only thing separating your lips, this might be the closest you get to kissing him. And, besides, you like how his strong fingers feel on your tongue. You like how he always pushes against it, as if silently ordering it to yield to his touch.

You slouch back into the seat, body trembling, as you suck on his fingers like a pacifier. Your gaze meets Taehyung’s at the realisation and the darkening gleam in his eyes makes you wonder if perhaps he was thinking the same thing.

You’re not sure how this always happens– how easily his presence can render you helpless and fragile. Is it simply his dominating demeanour, or a sixth sense that seems to be attuned to your body’s desires? Does he know you really well or are you just an open-book? You want to ask, want to know what it is about him that makes you feel utterly vulnerable, yet completely safe.

Removing his fingers from your mouths, Taehyung decreases the intensity of the heart-shaped vibrator back down to its lowest setting. You release your grip on the edge of the leather seat and his coat, full chest heaving in your glittering dress. He pulls you closer, his lips millimetres away from the corner of yours.

“Do you see what happens when you behave? You took your punishment like a good girl and I rewarded you, didn’t I?” He asks. His tone is condescending but still calm and firm.

Biting back another moan, since you have humiliated yourself enough in front of the driver, you nod. “Yes, daddy,” you whisper, still trying to catch your breath.

“All you have to do is trust me.”

“I do.”

The words escape before you can even register them, carrying too much conviction and urgency. You swallow thickly, wishing desperately to take them back.

Taehyung’s brows furrow, ever so slightly.

You narrow your eyes. Did… did he just flinch?

Before you can really analyse the gesture, the car stops. You glance at the driver to find he’s keeping his eyes forward, but his expression is filled with a mix of regret and terror. The sudden sound of clicking cameras redirects your attention to the car door on your side of the limousine.

In a few simple movements, Taehyung readjusts both your positions so that you are sitting properly beside him. He fixes your dress and the framing pieces of hair around your face. He then presses a soft kiss to your cheek before meeting your gaze with deliberate care and tenderness. “It’s going to be a bit loud, just like when we went to that gallery. Do you remember that?” When you nod, he continues, “I want you to stand close to me and just keep your head down, okay, Angel?”

His once assertive voice is replaced with a soft yet protective edge. He holds your gaze even after you nod again, and doesn’t tell the driver he’s ready until you verbally confirm that you understand.

When he moves to step out of the car, you call him back. “The vibrator,” you whisper, still feeling its faint buzz against your tight walls.

Taehyung smirks, his gaze flickering down to your lap before meeting yours again. A mischievous glint dances in his eyes as he replies, “I know.”

Your breath hitches as he exits the car. Does he actually expect you to navigate through the zoo of reporters with an active vibrator sitting deep inside you? The ongoing stimulation, while weak, paired with the stickiness of your thong is overstimulating enough. To expect you to ignore it all while avoiding cameras is cruel and a part of you thinks it might be part of your punishment.

Nonetheless, you accept his outstretched hand when your door opens and gracefully step out of the car. The next thirty seconds are a series of flashing lights, invasive questions and lots of shouting demands. The late November night air is cold, but the nosy reporters, shoving cameras and microphones in your face are colder. They care very little for personal space as they push between the security personnel for a mere glimpse of a better shot.

You pull your fur coat closer to your body. Taehyung keeps a protective hand on your lower back, guiding you to the front door as you keep your head down.

“What’s your name?!”

“How did you meet?!”

“Who are you wearing?!”

You ignore their questions, nuzzling closer to Taehyung. You can feel the heat of the theatre now, about to cross over the threshold when a particular question draws your attention back.

“How long have you been working for the Geraldson Group?!”

Brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, you whip your head back. How the fuck did they know you work there? Have they been following you? You want to scan the crowd for a familiar face, however the scene before you is chaotic and much too loud. The sudden attention causes a roaring wave of excitement. Immediately, flashing lights blur your vision. You’re mostly shielded by the thick fur of your coat, but the fast blinking still disorients you.

Taehyung tightens his grip on your waist and pulls you inside with him.

The doors close. The thunderous voices of the reporters muffles and soft, classical music fills the grand space before you.

You blink until your eyes adjust, one side of your coat falling from your shoulders as you lean into Taehyung’s strong frame for support. He helps you out of it without another word. Before you know it, you’re being led through a theatre of Renaissance design.

Plush red carpets span the entire lobby, their vibrant hue complementing the warm, amber glow of the majestic marble walls. Each wall is adorned with rectangular pillars that stretch skyward, meeting the concaved ceiling in graceful, curving arches. Symmetrical patterns climb the face of every pillar, leading your eyes to a high, vaulted ceiling brimming with ornate details. However, the classical, Renaissance design truly shines through in the intricate porcelain trimmings, their delicate craftsmanship adding an air of timeless elegance to the space. And in the centre of it all is a lavish chandelier with a beautifully carved medallion. Like a blooming flower, it skirts around the glowing crystal with triangular carvings.

You let out a breathless gasp at the sight. Your attention trails down to the numerous attendees of tonight’s event, all dressed in formal suits and dresses. They are conversing or making their way to their seats, climbing up the grandiose staircase before you.

Taehyung returns his hand to the small of your back. You look up at him, expecting his previous cold demeanour to surface. However, to your surprise, he meets your gaze with exceptional warmth. He even offers a small smile as he leads you to the staircase.

Relief washes over you at the sight. You thought he might be upset at the fact that you technically disobeyed his orders when you turned back to the cameras at the last second. However, his borderline cheer-y mood seems to be genuine.

Wanting to keep that joyful spirit alive, you mutter, “I didn’t mean to look back. It’s just–”

“I know,” Taehyung reassures. His hand rubs soft circles on your back with every step up the stairs. “I heard the question.”

You raise your brows, lips slightly parted. “How do they know?”

Taehyung’s once playful eyes soften into something more sincere and… remorseful? “Someone’s been feeding them information.”

“Who?”

“Take a guess, princess.”

Any indication of guessing flew out the window the moment he called you that pet name. You swallow thickly, clenching around the humming toy. Why must he make this so easy? Pretending to be his, even believing it, is so fucking easy when he touches you so tenderly, adjusts his steps to match your slow ones because he knows you’re wearing heels, and calls you intimate terms of endearment all too causally. Suddenly, you want to tell him, you want to forget all the consequences and just let the words take over you– I think I’m in love with you.

But the moment you part your lips, fear shackles your voice. You can barely breathe as you look up at him. His side profile is stunning. Strong jawline, sweet lips, soft nose and captivating eyes with long lashes, he is flawless.

“I don’t know,” you finally reply, voice quiet and shaky.

Taehyung sighs. “I suspect it’s your boss, but I haven’t been able to prove it just yet,” he confesses. “I’ve been mostly trying to keep your name out of the press and buy out any possible pictures of you.”

The rage you instantly feel for Marina falters as Taehyung continues to outline in detail how he has tracked down every digital and physical copy of your photo and erased it from existence. He reassures you that no one will know who you are or where you live.

“And,” he adds as you finally reach the landing, “No one was supposed to find out where you work but I think she got that out herself.”

“Why can’t she just leave me alone?” You mutter under your breath.

Is sex with Taehyung really that good or is she just insane? At some point, she must see how psychotic all this is– if she indeed is the one leaking personal information about you.

Taehyung still hears your exasperated words, tightening his grip on your waist. “Look, I know we talked about it before and I really do want you to feel free to choose to do whatever you like,” he starts, leading you down an extravagantly designed hall, “but, Angel, please reconsider quitting. None of this is worth it.”

“Do you seriously think I don’t know that, Tae,” you reply with just as much annoyance laced in your voice. “Of course, it’s not worth it, but it also won’t be worth anything if I leave now and I’m certain she knows that. And I’m not about to run away from someone that pathetic and desperate.”

Taehyung raises a brow at your words.

You bite your lip, instantly filled with regret and yet you don’t take any of it back. You know you’re right. You know she’s acting crazy. And, you’ll be damned if a psycho like her is going to control your life.

“You know,” Taehyung whispers, “You’re kinda hot when you’re pissed.”

You fight off a smile. “That’s really funny,” you tease, as he stops you in front of a red curtain. “I could say the same thing about you.”

One of the ushers pulls back the curtain and Taehyung nods at you to enter before him. You step through to find the entire auditorium below. The lobby pales in comparison to this grand space. The ceiling is also domed but instead of being adored with a beautiful medallion, it reflects a renaissance-style painting of Heaven. Pale blue skies, rich white clouds, gods and goddesses dressed in cotton sheets and wraps, looking solemn and holy.

You gape at the sky, letting out a small gasp. “This place is so beautiful,” you whisper to Taehyung as he guides you to your seats– the front row of the balcony.

“It’s my favourite theatre,” he replies, sitting down beside you. He rests his hand on your bare thigh and continues, “I knew you’d like it.”

You pause.

You thought that this was some sort of business event. Taehyung specifically told you that he would like you to attend five events with him. There was the art gallery, a night you will never forget. Then you went to the stables, where he dry humped you senseless and no doubt destroyed any evidence the polo players may have had of it. And there was that one on the boat but really you can’t remember what charity that was for. All you remember of that night was Taehyung’s mouth all over your nipples and being delicately taken care of.

This night at the theatre was supposed to be the fourth. You’re wearing the fourth dress he bought you specifically for these business events, after you expressed your insecurity of not being able to afford anything fitting enough to be his plus-one.

However, the show looks like it’s seconds from starting and no one else is entering the balcony. You take another look around and confirm that it’s just you and Taehyung up here, with that heart-shaped vibrator still buzzing and your chest still pounding.

“What charity is this for again?” You ask, keeping your voice tempered.

Taehyung casts you a sidelong glance before answering, “This is not for charity.”

You wait in hopes that he will continue.

He doesn’t.

Is this a date? A misunderstanding? Were you not supposed to wear this dress? But Taehyung made a comment about it in the car. If he didn’t want you wearing it tonight, he would have told you so before you even left your apartment. You wonder if he didn’t because you were late, or maybe he just didn’t notice yet.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, Angel?”

His deep, velvety voice draws you out of your confused thoughts. You cross your legs, instantly regretting the action as it puts more pressure against the soft vibrations within. You suppress a moan.

Taehyung then leans in close, pressing his lips to your ear to whisper, “Are you horny, princess?”

Heat pools at your core. You can’t stop yourself from squirming in your seat. Shooting him a pout, you hold back a snarky comment and instead ask, “Is this a company event?”

The assertion in his dominance softens. Licking his lips, Taehyung shakes his head. “No, it’s not,” he replies, “A friend I made in the military is performing tonight. He sent me two tickets and I thought I might as well bring a friend.”

You should have stayed curious. His words suffocate your heart and you find yourself grateful for not confessing your feelings for him earlier.

Thought he’d bring a friend, you wonder as your jaw sets. So not only is this not a date, but I’m also a fucking afterthought?

Did he also think to just put you in this dress and call this one of your obligated events? Does he just want to get this over with?

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he orders.

You suppress a glare, schooling your features. “Nothing,” you mumble.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Sharply inhaling, you have to swallow thickly to keep from sarcastically snorting at his hypocrisy. You’re not allowed to lie but it seems like he can do whatever the fuck he wants.

“Why am I here, Taehyung,” you find yourself asking. There’s an edge in your voice that cannot seem to stay hidden. “This isn’t work related, you made a huge deal about being late and this vibrator is only making things worse, so just tell me what I’m doing here.”

Taehyung sits up in his seat. He turns away from the stage, even as the lights dim, to fully face you. The curtains pull back, revealing the stage and a single individual in the centre, who might very well be his friend, but he continues to keep his undivided attention on you.

Voice low and deep, he poses questions of his own. “What has been going on with you lately? One second you’re fine and the next you’re talking to me like I’ve hurt you,” he whispers, earnest brown eyes boring into yours. “I’ve been following your rules. I text you every morning and night, I’m not, nor have I ever paid you for sexual favours and I haven’t seen anyone else in almost a year. I don’t skip meals anymore, I tell you if you might interact with one of my exes, I shared my location with you, even when I knew you were just joking and being a little fucking brat.”

You bite your lip, averting your gaze to your lap in shame. He really has been on his best behaviour. Even on his busiest days, he sends you the messages you asked for and takes the time to give you detailed rundowns of his entire day.

Gently cupping your chin, he nudges you to face him again. “Tell me what’s going on,” he repeats. “Tell me how to fix it.”

I wish you’d love me, you want to say. I wish you’d love me the same way I love you. And you’re starting to realise that perhaps you’re becoming resentful that he doesn’t or that you’re just too much of a coward to really succumb to such vulnerability.

“You’re missing the performance,” you mutter, hoping to skirt the conversation for another time.

“I’ve already repeated myself once. Don’t make me do it again, Angel,” he warns, yet his voice remains heavy with heartfelt emotion and sincerity.

Perhaps you cannot tell the whole truth, but you might be able to get away with telling him a part of it. “I feel like an afterthought right now,” you whisper. “I feel like you asked me to come because I was just there and not because you actually want me here.”

Taehyung wraps an arm around your shoulders. He pulls you close into his side and leans down ever so slightly to press his lips to your ear. “An afterthought,” he questions in a breathy whisper that makes your clit ache. “You’re the only thought. You’re here because this is where you belong, Angel. Don’t forget that.”

You grip onto his thigh, body trembling. His words loop in your head, over and over as he pulls back enough to give you a gentle kiss on your forehead. Biting your lip, you do your best not to moan, knowing it will surely echo in a grand room designed for optimal sound.

“Now, how about we have some fun?”

Before you can reply, the vibrator surges to a pace that’s three times faster. You bury your face into his neck, not caring if the gesture will ruin your makeup or his suit, to muffle your needy moans. Tightening the cross of your legs, clenching around the toy, you do your best to repress your growing desire. If you let out a whine that is even slightly at speaking volume, you’re convinced the entire auditorium will hear it.

“Please,” you manage to murmur.

Taehyung quietly chuckles, his lips brushing against your ear. “You know better than to beg, Angel. Be good, and maybe I’ll reward you after the show.”

And with that, he settles back into his seat, leaving you trembling on the edge of composure, the hum of the vibrator your only company as the performance begins.

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#i hope you like this #taehyung fic #bts taehyung

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rerefundslocals · 9 months ago

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omg, not tannie..heart breaking for tae rn😓

#bts #bts taehyung #yeontan #kim taehyung

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rerefundslocals · 9 months ago

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stop making x reader fics If you suck with descriptions 😭👎

Oh my fucking god, how hard is it to use flushed cheeks instead of blushed cheeks in fanfiction. No, they didn't develop a dusting of light pink. No, I didn't turn red. I'M FUCKING BLACK.

I don't mean to be rude, but I don't know how many times dark readers of color have to make posts like this, dude. Physical descriptions, dynamics with hair...come on.

I've seen it in way too many times now, and I'm going to start calling it out every time I see it in fanfiction. There are no more excuses. It can't be x reader if it only applies to those of lighter complexions.

And for writers of smaus or text fiction, or even those making headers: If you have pictures in them, why do they only ever have white or extremely pale women in those with pictures, unless they are especially made for black people or another specific group?

Use general headers with photos that don't include people for your content. Try to use *image insert* if the reader is sending something made to include a picture of them.

Make it general!! It's for a general audience!!

I get it, nine times out of ten, you're imagining yourself in these scenarios and then writing them. So if you're someone who is lighter, it's easy to have slip ups. BUT, it's not difficult whatsoever to make general content.

Because, let me tell you, it sucks as a POC to look at content and think, "Oh well, this wasn't made with people who look like me in mind, and it's obvious."

We're not asking for anything big. So stop making us beg for it.

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rerefundslocals · 9 months ago

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Hey. I'm not even American, but Americans are so dumb😭😭 like do they use this brain everyday?!?!? It's scary!😭but lemme mind my own, my country has its own issues

#kamala harris #fuck trump #election 2024 #bts

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rerefundslocals · 11 months ago

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I have finally gotten the time to sit and read this(kept it safe in my likes)

I'll start by saying this was really enjoyable to read for so many reasons such as the roller-coaster of emotions in this. Like Jungkook's father. look I do not have daddy issues but this lowkey triggered me cause parents can be harsh sometimes and that really isn't tough love of some sort it's just inhumane honestly so Jungkook's father in this deadass pissed me off and his reasons weren't making anything better, but enough about that man..

Nara hmm not much to say here, oc valid for reacting the way she did cause I can imagine being in the same room as my boyfriends ex ..like the alarms would just go off, especially for the amount of history Nara and Jungkook shared, it was bittersweet because I had imagined the scene where oc reacts to Jungkook and Nara speaking and this exceeded my expectations and was beautifully written as per usual.

and ya know the smut never disappoint!

otherwise this was amazinggg! you always give us enough to savour till the next one, cause the writing in this, the real raw emotions, real life occurrences being highlighted in such an admirable way is just enough for me to reread 100 times more. I love this couple and you! you are definitely one of my most valued writers on here! till then see you next time<3

colour me in: the starry night | jjk (m)

Summary: You anticipated the trip to Jungkook's hometown with a thrilled yet nervous heart – and upon your arrival, your emotions prove justified: because as the days pass, you realise that gentle joy awaits just as much as ancient pain.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluuuuuff, smut ➳ warnings: fluff fluff fluffluffulfufluf, flirting, daddy issues, arguments with his father, his dad is pretty much an ass and almost as bad as oc's mom, but his mom and brother are <3, ria <3, oc being a light in the dark, oc learns many new things, cursing, fighting, a lot of crying/tears, neglect, mental breakdown, panic and anxiety, anger, insecurities, too many mentions of nostalgia lmao, jealousy, mention of therapy, nara, christian yu lmAO, WEDDING TIME!!!, oc is so pretty (that jk loses it), alcohol/drunk stuff, more confrontations, making up, he loves loves loves her, childhood coping mechanisms; explicit sexual content: kissing, making out, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, eating out against the wall, bit of wall sex, drunk sex, manhandling omg, impatient koo, big dick!jk, dom!jk but this timeeee also sub!jk lowkey!!, tears of pleasure, masturbation, fingering, handjob for a bit, squirting, creampie, literally their orgasms are a MESS phew it's kinda hot lmao, moany/whiny/super turned on jk; no 'the ending' warning this time… just the whole chapter 🥺 ➳ word count: 45.9k lmfao pls do still read it tho ➳ a/n: this was supposed to be 30k i can just never shut up lol sorry <3 but this chapter honestly got me good. i cried sm writing it and i love them and i never want this story to end :') i hope you love it, too. thank you for supporting me at all times <3 i can't wait to hear what you think 🤍 ➳ listen to: dance me to the end of love by the civil wars (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s going to be okay — Jungkook’s hand gently clasping your thigh wants to convince you of this, you know.

But you can’t deny that the presence of the family you so long awaited is affecting you — your pulse is quickening to a heavily uncomfortable pace. You know his mom; you don’t fear his brother; but his father… his eyes are inscrutable.

They scare you to no end. There he is; the power continuously shattering your boyfriend’s heart. And Jungkook must be well conscious of your distress; because a mere moment later, he of all people, the one who's supposed to seek comfort, says—

“Angel? Breathe.”

Your eyes swerve to the side and remember to blink; you only now feel that you're jabbing crescent moons into your palm, just when you realise the sharp impact. You uncurl your fingers and nod, letting him cover the faintly scarred skin with his hand.

Sighing, you ask, “Are you okay?”

“I am,” he says, nodding, as if he’s practised and polished this answer over the years, “nervous, but… it’ll be okay.”

“Yes… I know.”

“Let’s go?”

You pull the handles on your respective sides at the same time, setting foot onto the stranger soil for the very first second in your life. You can’t quite discern your gut feeling right now, but you hope it’s not the last.

Waiting next to the car, you watch Jungkook round the vehicle, squinting your eyes; the noon sun is burning right above you. He heaves the suitcases with a faint groan and you join him right away to fetch the rucksack you brought.

Holding it between your knees, you flash his family a smile and a slight wave, awkward and unsure about what to do until his mother steps down the porch and towards you. She’s elated, and you see the same sprinkle in her eyes as in her son’s when she closes in enough for an embrace.

Her arms are comforting around you; somehow, you’re startled by it. Takes you a second to reciprocate the hug, hopefully not long enough for her to question your receptiveness. But then you put your chin on her shoulder, shutting your eyes for the briefest of seconds until you open them to a side hug between Jungkook and his brother.

In the slowly cooling weather, she feels warm, a motherly love that blasts heat to your cheeks until she lets go. “Finally a woman, huh?” she breathes, her voice so sweet and kind. “A great alternative to all the testosterone.”

“I can imagine,” you respond; the thought isn’t too much of a stranger to you. “I spent most of the week amongst men. They’re barbarians.”

She laughs, just in the moment that Junghyun, Jungkook’s brother advances towards you. He offers you his hand and a radiant smile that resembles your boyfriend’s. In fact, he does look quite a bit like his younger sibling. Lopsided smirk, fluffy dark hair, handsome features.

Not a lot older. Kind as he greets you with a, “Miss Novaura herself, yes?”

The name makes you beam, inundates you with pride. You appreciate that he doesn’t revert to Charmante as most people have done throughout your life, but sees you as what you are and what you do now. The manager of Novaura, damn it.

Yes.

Has he been keeping up with stuff?

“And Miss Novaura meets the second Jeon himself!” you respond, but as he grimaces, you bite your tongue immediately. What did you say?

“When,” he starts, overly dramatic, a little like Jungkook, yet somewhat more extroverted, “was I demoted to the second Jeon?”

“Oh, I’m…”

Jungkook clicks his tongue from the side, shoving his brother aside in the most sibling-like manner you can possibly imagine. Then, he threatens, “Don’t do this, or I’ll take her away from you guys again.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask.

“It means,” Junghyun interjects, “that everyone’s been dying to meet you. Mom and I even told Jungkook not to spill too much about you, so we can see ourselves.”

Oh, the pressure. The nervousness from the past couple of weeks skyrockets. Yet, your charming self conjures, “Then I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Jeon Junghyun speaks on, babbling something reassuring that you’re certain could warm your chest if you had the capacity to listen. But you drift off quickly as the side of your eyes follows a movement in the back: Jungkook timidly, almost fearfully nearing his father.

You’re alarmed and you can’t tell why — perhaps because you don’t truly know their situation yet. You haven’t seen them interact. But at this very moment, you’re surprised when Jungkook and his dad share a light side hug, too.

The occurrence is frigid, but somehow, you expected even more frozen behaviour. Rare glances, absolute ignorance. Your mind envisioned a world that harboured true enmity, but you don’t think that’s quite what these two have been maintaining over the years.

In some sense, it’s worse.

Because rather than pure silence, there’s a deep distance that is still disguised as a surface level of closeness in a family. Faking it might just be more difficult after all.

There’s no conversation between them. Nothing much as Jungkook comes back to his mother to give her a warm, genuine hug, a rainbow to a drizzle in comparison. As if to receive what his father didn’t provide.

You follow.

You’re not entirely keen on a too affectionate interaction between his dad and you, but you still smile when he lifts his hand, shaking it kindly. From here, as the corners of his lips raise, wrinkles around his eyes that he passed onto his next generation, he looks like a terribly nice man.

He gestures into the house and you follow, listening as he asks, “Was the journey okay?”

You nod joyfully, mustering up all kindness for somebody you know hurt someone you love for so long. After all, Jungkook has done the same for you, no matter how many times your mother shattered you.

And in the end, it’s still his dad.

“Oh, yes, pretty pleasant,” you answer, clearing your throat when you hear the formal tone in your voice. “We took turns driving. And since I fell asleep, I guess I can still seize the rest of the day… if you want to?”

You turn to Jungkook as the sentence fades out and he nods with raised, stirred eyebrows. “Yeah! It’s what we’re here for.”

His father smiles, a flat hand signalling towards the living room to invite you to rest for now. Matters seem normal so far; for a moment, you allow yourself to believe he isn’t so neglectful after all. Even with all your trust in Jungkook, you try to imagine a scenario in which he perceived his father’s distaste as something wrong.

You’re incorrect.

It doesn’t require more than a couple minutes and a bit more mingling until you recognise amidst the smalltalk that he doesn’t behave the same with his younger son as he does with Junghyun. There’s lightness in the way he converses with the latter.

Jungkook only moves around you and his mother; no particular intention to really connect with his dad. Understandably so. Their gazes barely meet.

Not even when his father’s tone drops as he approaches Jungkook, uttering a seemingly obligatory, “You alright? Is the job good?”

“Mhm,” Jungkook merely responds.

The interaction is awkward and quiet, yet too noisy for the lovely room. You focus on the homely furniture and small-town-vibed interior as you wait for the brief dialogue to conclude. You’re not at a place to intervene yet.

There are pictures of the family, yet fresher if you could judge. The ones showcasing memories are probably somewhere you can’t see yet; you’re buzzing to finally skim through his childhood pictures.

You listen in. Quiet again, conversation already at an end.

Jungkook’s fingertips graze yours, giving a short head tilt, wondering what you’re thinking about. His beam is different when he looks at you now, a much more blissful alternative to the timid words he voiced just a couple seconds ago.

But you can’t really answer when his mother emerges in the room to wave you towards the kitchen, eager to converse, yet suggesting, “If you want, you can freshen up before dinner.”

But you reject the idea kindly, flashing your best smile as you respond, “I’m excited to be here, so we can just talk a little for now. I’ll go wash my face after dinner!”

She nods slowly, politely, a the-guest-is-king-sort of gesture before you add, “How have you been?”

The family joins at the dinner table one by one; nobody interferes or barges into another’s turn. Only listens. You’re used to chaos from events and parties you used to attend, everybody dying to have the last word, to outsmart another.

This family is as patient at a conversation as you’ve witnessed in your boyfriend. They’re lively, interested; maybe there’ll be more of an ecstatic family tumult when you get used to them or when more people join. At the wedding, probably.

You’ve seen something like that with your friends, too. Especially on this vacation. You did fall into disorder quite often.

Yet, it differs from your usual experience. No discomfort. No fear of odd questions.

The Jeons aren’t out to reveal your little secrets, but to understand you as a person; so you appreciate the natural flow of the dialogue when Jungkook’s mother answers, “Just tired. The wedding preparations are tedious, and it’ll probably only get worse.”

“Yeah? You’ve been helping out a lot, yes?”

“Yes, somewhat. The bride… Gayoung, she’s close with us and relies on us a lot. And on top of that,” she shakes her head at this point; rolls her eyes as she turns on the stove, stirring and heating up some meal, “she’s getting cold feet.”

“Oh man,” Jungkook adds, chuckling a little, unsurprised, “wedding is definitely on, though. She always gets nervous. Almost missed her first day at work years ago,” he turns to you, “she’s a vet, and she was terrified of hurting the pets, but… everybody trusts her with their pets’ lives now.”

“Awh,” you voice, “I can imagine how stressful that must be. I’m pretty good at managing stuff, though, so if you need any help—”

“No way, you’re not here to work. You can do something else?” His mother looks over her shoulder, pondering. “Paint?”

“Oh, I do paint sometimes, but I’m not very good at it.”

“She is,” Jungkook argues, hand lifting to rub your back, “but she’s an even better writer.”

His father chimes in, arms folded, “Oh, I think you can get a ton of inspiration here, then. There’s a flower field nearby if you’re interes— what?”

Stopping when Jungkook interrupts with an exhale, he tilts his head at his son, and you follow his gaze, watching thick eyebrows kiss. “I already took care of that, but… way to spoil a surprise.”

Ah. You see the hostility increase with each second. You wish you could diffuse the moment; tell Jungkook to ignore everything that might irk him.

Instead, you only sneak your palm to his knee, imitating his rub to calm his nerves. He must be tense. He always must be.

“I wasn’t spoiling,” his father argues, “was just an idea.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you intervene, patting Jungkook’s thigh. He looks at you just briefly, but it suffices for some of his muscles to relax. “I don’t know much anyway. Spoiler-free zone!”

It’s the best you can do. So you keep trying; diverge the topic to other aspects of your life when Junghyun asks about your job and the efforts connected to it. About the joys and hardships of it. About how your parents are doing — burdensome topic, yet a must to master.

Then they speak about the passage of time in the city, and how it compares to this place; how the family perceived the differences and how their current life differs from their past here.

You learn that they still feel more connected to their hometown; obvious when considering the fact that they spent most of their years here. Initially uncertain about moving, they still decided to be closer to their children and the world’s opportunities.

The city called and it kept them.

You know it kept Jungkook the most; or maybe it was you who shackled him there, too.

“Apart from the obvious differences,” you start, “I can’t comment much on it yet, but… I’ve been really interested in being here. Super nervous.”

His mother coos, scrunching her nose the way he does, assures that there’s no need to be nervous; that this wedding might end up being the kindest you have ever been to. Adds, “Speaking of. Brought a pretty dress?”

“Oh, of course,” you say; your toes curl in excitement. “I’d show you right now, but I promised to keep it more or less a secret from Jungkook.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him. “He’s seen it, but not me wearing it.”

“Ah. Is it that pretty?”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

She steps closer as the dish simmers, playing with a couple strands hanging in Jungkook’s eyes. His lips twitch upwards, and his cheeks colour in a blush when she says, “Well, knowing this guy, you’re out to give my boy half a nervous breakdown, I see.”

“I’m trying to, really.”

Your answer is light-hearted, but a mere moment late. You can’t help but wonder what she means by knowing this guy. Then again, you presume a mother usually witnesses her children’s lives; watches them fall in and out of love.

You don’t like how the realisation makes you feel, but you smile it away either way.

And it doesn’t help when Junghyun seems to catch onto her statement, too, saying, “By the way… I’ve heard that at the wedding, we—”

But the interruption is sharp. Unnatural, abrupt, his mother’s voice strange when she interjects, “Ah. Listen. Let’s serve dinner, and we can talk more when we eat. A hand?”

You don’t know what it’s about, but you attempt your best to not be nosy. You can’t even guess it, so it’s probably easiest to let it go. To only stand up to help a little, Jungkook and you handing things around until you’re seated again.

She still scolds Junghyun silently, eyes wide when she sits next to him; perhaps it’s a surprise for Jungkook or for you.

You won’t spoil it. Focus on the food.

And despite the early tension, you survive dinner, albeit occasionally cut by things Jungkook’s father remarks and by Jungkook’s responses of retaliation. Like—

“Honestly, you not liking these is a perk,” Junghyun comments when Jungkooks puts the green beans aside, snatching them immediately.

His father is quick to deduce, “Didn’t you love them?”

Jungkook’s smirk is immediate, accompanied by a shrug and a click of his tongue, and a somewhat passive aggressive, “Yes. Fifteen years ago, though.”

It’s odd, the mixture of anger and fear. He reveals his agitation in his short answers, but he never extends them to something that might provoke a bigger fight.

His father then says, “I’ve never seen you put them aside.”

To which Jungkook mutters, “Should’ve looked more then, right.”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“Okay.”

Tense. Quiet. Gulping.

But you get it over with, breathe and touch through it all until the plates are cleared, stuffed in the dishwasher, the clock ticking. Jungkook leads you to the porch that his family greeted you at earlier. You intertwine your fingers deeper, hoping for some solace between the irate words exchanged.

His shoulders stand slightly higher than usual, eyes a little unfocused. You squeeze his palm, and he laughs when you bump your shoulder against his. Tapping his foot against the porch, he says, “This is where we were having a barbeque this summer. Remember when I called you?”

As if you could forget. Those calls got you through messy, forsaken summer days. He lets go of your hand to tug you into his side, tight in his embrace, and your voice grows a pitch when you answer, “Yeah. You were drunk.”

“I was.”

“And you still called me. Burned your finger, right?”

He scoffs. “I barely remember that. I just remember seeing you on the video call and… missing you really bad.”

You glance into his face, opting him to do the same. Eyes half on his lips, half on his pupils, staring to and fro, you ask, “You don’t miss me now, though, right?”

“Hm… I don’t hope I’ll ever need to again.” As he presses into your arm, you cuddle in. He nods towards the small front yard, “They were playing Linkin Park here. And way back, when I was like seventeen, I’d smoke here sometimes.”

Your eyes blow wide; you can’t imagine his gentle fingers holding a cigarette between them, but then again, you kind of can. He laughs at your surprise before he continues, “I know. Rebellious phase. It was stupid, because Mom would smell it right away and then ground me.”

“Damn, Kook.”

He nods, lifting a shoulder as if to say my bad, and then kisses your temple. Asks, “You feeling good?”

“Yeah. I really like it here so far.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

“Good,” you echo, just for him to do it, too.

“Good. I think we cou—”

Pause.

Because the feast of interruptions continues still. A sudden, shrill call of his name reverberates across the streets, and you flinch, following the sound on the right before detecting somebody walking up to you.

You haven’t seen her yet, but she’s glowing; hair open behind her, just the top half held at the back with a butterfly claw clip. The breeze swirls her bangs, and just from the exhilaration in her voice, you can tell who it is.

Jungkook lights up equally when he squints his eyes and recognises her, loosening his grip around you as he exclaims, “Hey!”

“Helloooo!”

And then he lets you go. You watch the endearments unfold. He says, “Didn’t expect you here today.”

“Me neither,” she says, and he laughs; you join in, already curious. “I was going to binge some show, but Junghyun texted saying you’d arrived.”

She catches up with a somewhat heavy breath, widening her arms when Jungkook steps down from the porch and engulfs her in a firm, heart-warming hug. Loving, decades old.

They oscillate on the spot, and she rubs his back until they let go. She doesn’t waste a minute until her eyes drift to you; they’re so expressive, dark yet glimmering. They prove your assumption when you see her joy towards you immediately.

The moment begins a little awkwardly as the stranger approaches you with uncertainty about what to say, but then she asks, “Is it okay if I hug you, too?”

You giggle. Goodness.

“Gosh, sure!”

And you’re delighted to the bone. Her touch is warm, inviting. They all are. You’re not used to it; why does it make you sentimental? You don’t know her. You’ve never spoken to her. Why the clump in your throat?

Weird.

“Ria,” she introduces, “I’ve heard so much about you. Really, it’s a common thing to say, but I’ve been really excited like… man, why did you come so late when he was sooo whipped in the summer already and—”

Your face heats up impossibly; this thought of a passed summer that called upon a million unknown emotions and words and encounters and yearning… you might never get over it.

Jungkook gives her a playful whack on her clothed arm, eliciting a prolonged Owhhh. You lift a protective arm over her to jest back, and she gasps, infinitely pleased. It helps her open up more, because it seems that she doesn’t need more than this to suggest, “Can I take her?”

Wrinkles form on his forehead as he raises his eyebrows in confusion, and she, nearly jumping at her spot, explains, “Show her around a bit. We’re having dinner soon and then I won’t be able to move, so…”

Jungkook blinks, unsure, looking between her and you until you urge, “It’s okay. You drove most of the time, too, so try and rest a bit.”

Your reassurance helps; either way, you don’t think you would’ve gotten to much more today anyway, no matter how much you hoped to seize the evening. You’re beat from the last day and the terrible night and the tiring journey and the filling meal.

Taking a walk is all you can imagine to do right now.

Maybe he’s on the same wavelength as you, because the nods come slowly but surely. “Sure. Go. I’ll come later to bring her back.”

Ria places a sweet hand on your back, urging you forward and speaking back, “Gotta make sure I don’t kidnap her, what?”

Her house is nearby. The first of the conversation goes by similarly as it did in Jungkook’s house, but the moment she announces the arrival at her own home, your calm demeanour changes to a rather terrified one.

She’s not going to…

No.

Because she promises, “I’m not taking you inside, no worries. I wouldn’t overwhelm you like this.”

Your chest relaxes. You guess meeting one family officially, as if you’re being evaluated for marriage, might suffice. While sure her family’s as lovely as the other, you don’t want the overstimulation.

So instead of urging you inside, she takes you to the small cottage next to her house. Their property is a little bigger, the area spacier. You soon find out that the little house she’s taking you to isn’t some guest thing, but houses dozens of farm animals.

You didn’t think there was something to the cliché you heard about small towns; yet, the reality is much more endearing. How oddly cheerful the animals seem, even though you know the fantasy is just a fabrication of your mind.

You don’t know what they’re thinking or feeling.

One of the hens clucks as Ria picks it up, looking at you with big eyes as she says, “I thought you guys would come early in the night and then just sleep. I didn’t know you’d arrive so much earlier.”

“Oh yeah!” you say, hands in the back pockets of your jeans, “We left the hotel at noon.”

“That’s crazy.”

She bends, letting the hen go, and the little thing instantly rushes away. You flinch, stepping back. You’ve never done this before; you try to keep your cool, but you’re so inexperienced, mesmerised by your surroundings.

This place is so different, so much quieter, more serene. You understand the nostalgic vibe of romance movies set in towns like this. You’re suddenly thrown into The Notebook and into Footloose. Into everything that evokes warmth.

“What is?” you ask.

“Just. It’s so nice to meet you. We have so many guys here, so it’s cool to be with a girl for once.” She takes a deep breath. “And I love Kookie and I trust his judgement. So when he told me about you, I told him to get you here right away. It took you so long.”

Her tone is frisky, but you feel bad. Not quite because you let her wait, but because of why you waited yourself. Because of the breaks and pauses and the split hearts that you needed time for to sew again.

The weeks of insecurity and then the trials of life.

Something in the pit of your stomach stirs at the memories; you can’t believe you’re standing where he fell for you first, despite the distance. Where he reached for you through the rain and the clouds and the stars, and called to listen to your tears and your pleas to return.

You can’t believe it. In fact, yes, you believe it as little as her.

“I get it…” you say, “we have quite a few guys in our group, too.” You wait, watching her nod as she inspects the last of chickens running into the cottage. Then you ask, “What did he tell you about me?”

“What he told me? Mmmh. I mean, it’s difficult to say. He spoke of you highly, but I think his main focus was on not hurting either of you. Very, very worried about how things might play out.”

Yeah… yeah, it sounds like him.

You don’t answer; shift your eyes to the grassy ground. You hear her voice lift a pitch as she says, “Man, too many guys is simply too much, though, seriously. And then having to deal with Kook all the time must be so exhausting, too.”

Laughter erupts out of you, and you shake your head, “I mean, he’s a brat sometimes. But he’s the best man I know.”

“He is a good guy, yeah? I’m so glad.” She nods again, affirmative and positively confirming. “He’s always been. It sucks sometimes that he lives so far away.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, but she shrugs her shoulders, waves off your concerns. “I take it you’re not interested in living in the city?”

Her eyes narrow when she looks into the distance, met with the lowering sun as if it entails the entirety of her beloved town. It’s probably part of it, though; the one sun she’s known all her life, despite the same star rising and setting everywhere in your vast world.

“Not really,” she says, “I like it here… Even though so many left.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Some people I knew…”

You can imagine. Two faces flash into your mind, at least. Not that you like half of the thought; but it’s automatic, and so is your statement, “I feel like I know at least two.”

She seems surprised. Tilts her head, blinking, hands on her hips. “Really?”

“Yeah, well…” You avert your eyes, fearing an abundance of transparency. “Jungkook and Nara.”

“Oh.” Ria’s blinking fastens. She didn’t expect this; neither did you. But in some sense, it was inevitable, dropping Nara’s name here. “You met Nara, huh?”

“You say it so… weirdly.”

Her hands lift and she immediately works on objecting to your assumptions, “No, I mean. She’s nice! I liked her growing up. I just wouldn’t have mentioned her unprompted. There’s no need…” She studies your face. “He doesn’t either, you know? Talks about you mostly.”

You don’t know what to say. You gathered this much; but a very strange feeling in your chest presses against your heart, and you can’t quite decipher why. You shove it aside as best as you can, and then breathe it out, thankfully admitting, “That’s relieving.”

“There’s no need to worry. I think he and you will have a good time here and bond more than ever.”

You nod. You don’t feel like responding; not because you don’t like her or don’t want to. Your throat is tied, and you can’t really think of or form a productive thought. So you just keep nodding, smiling until a hen pops out again.

Ria, pushing away a stray strand of her dark hair, points to the little, excited animal, wondering, “Hey, have you ever held a chicken?”

“No!” Ah. Good tactic to distract you, considering how many times you mentioned this minor wish in the past weeks. “But I want to! Told Jungkook like a hundred times.”

“Okay,” she waves you closer and you dare to approach, hoping to neither hurt the hen nor yourself. You have absolutely no clue about these things. “Come here then. It’s not hard.”

It’s not. In fact, the process sounds logical, facile; but your hands are shaking, and often enough, animals seem to understand negative emotions when targeted. But Ria proves a good teacher.

Shows you to near the hen calmly, moving slowly to not startle her. She instructs you to soften your voice as much as possible, kindly noting that you’re soft-spoken enough to not worry about it. And then, once close enough, she demonstrates placing a hand around the tiny body, securing the wings to prevent flapping.

You imitate. Or try to, at least. It doesn’t work right away, your nervousness intruding; but at some point, you manage. You use your other hand to support the body, lift the hen gently. Hold it close to your body to give her a sense of security, much as Ria lectured.

Ria is patient, amazing, despite having done this probably a thousand and million times. Adjusting to your lack of knowledge, praising you, acknowledging your effort.

Her giggle is mellifluously sweet as she watches and hears you gasp; she applauds, but stops right away when she detects the third presence amongst you.

She calls, “Ah! You’re finally here.”

Your eyes follow hers, heart lighting up as you hold up the chicken carefully and nearly shout in uninhibited excitement, “Kook, look!”

His hands are in his jeans’ pockets; his walk idle. One of his eyes is squinting shut until he steps into the shadow, a tender smile playing around his lips before you realise that it looks… sad. Doesn’t reach as far. No crinkles around his eyes.

“Aren’t you the cutest, munchkin?” he responds before dropping into a crouch next to you. He seems brighter upon seeing your face, but you still keep wondering… What just happened in the house?

You don’t know. You don’t want to ask yet either.

So you only set the hen down, lowering her until she’s balanced and waddling — waddling? — away. You wrap your arms around him, providing a flicker of warmth. You don’t know what made his face fall like this, but you want to at least attempt to lift his chin again.

God. What a start to the first day. Is it odd to feel scared?

“Wanna go?” he asks, a thumb brushing the corner of your lip.

You hum, “I’m getting tired, yeah…”

“Then we can go and rest? And sleep if you want to.”

It’s early… but laying down and staring at the ceiling doesn’t sound too bad right now. Maybe he needs it, too. So you agree, pressing Ria to your heart once more and promising to return to her.

She’ll be at the wedding, too. You guess you’ll see everyone multiple times anyway; but as rude as it may sound, the thought of warming into this man’s body doesn’t allow you to bother with the world right now.

His steps are slow as you walk to the house. Eyes drooping. He might not notice; he’s been here so many times. But his presence, combined with the things you see, make your heart swell.

Maybe because you want to be there for him; maybe because you still can’t believe you’re here. But you perceive everything as if for the first time.

The cosy garden and the flower beds. A small-town house sitting on a quiet, tree-lined street. It’s more on the simple side, painted in warm hues, a light beige. Charming. You remember everything being charming.

The snug living room, the tender, partly wooden and partly modern kitchen, the clearly old and handmade dishes. A fireplace. Wooden floors.

You haven’t seen the rooms yet, but as he leads you upstairs, you imagine him doing the same this summer as he approached his bed. He walked these same steps, a narrow and short hallway, opening the door to an inviting childhood bedroom with you present in his device.

Yearning.

But the man from the summer isn’t all you see. In fact, the place reminds of time travel; you soon recognise just how signature Jungkook everything is.

Because the moment you enter, you see him in everything. Like, in the soft quilts on his bed; he wouldn’t use them today, but you imagine a shy Jungkook and you imagine big eyes, small hands pulling the sheets over his body to cuddle into a warm night.

The window overlooks the backyard; the sunlight filters through the sheer curtains. It’s still just the middle of the evening. But you find it hard to want to leave this simple comfort. Lived-in, sweet.

Reminiscent of a youth.

Like a soft tune of a ballad. You don’t know what it is that makes you feel this way.

The cosiness? The pictures on shelves? The slightly tilted roof of the room? Or the posters reminding of a world a decade ago. It hasn’t been this long, if you think about it, but to you, all of this still tells a story.

“What’s this?” you ask, opening a random drawer and grazing rolled up paper, large, stowed away.

“Posters, I think? I haven’t seen or opened them in ages. Maybe we can—”

He pulls and rolls them out, glancing for a bare moment before he undos the action with a sudden bright red on his cheeks. You try to catch a glimpse, “What?”

He doesn’t answer, so you take the poster from him, only needing to open it halfway through to see a pretty face, followed by a swimsuit and a snatched body. Ah. Is this…

“Victoria’s Secret?”

“Shut up,” he instructs, and you hold yourself back, watching him, blinking until—

You puff out some air, nearly spitting as you laugh, teasing, “You were that type of guy, yeah?”

“Shut up,” he repeats, prying it out of your hands before he throws it into a corner. “I had this up for like two weeks. Forget it.”

“Never threw it away, though.”

“Never thought of it.”

He scratches the back of his head, a tilted smirk on his face, and you can’t help but want to keep annoying him. But he needs far more than this right now, and you’re not here to get on his nerves. So you walk up to him until determined arms wrap around his waist, kissing his chin.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Well…” He’s quieter than he’s been in the last few days and it disheartens you. Somehow fatigued, eyes halfway closed. “You know.”

You do know. Or perhaps, you don’t, but you can well imagine.

You’re not sure how he took all of this day in, day out for so many years, but you understand the weight of the situation a lot better now. Of course your mind would be rewired if you hurt this much all the time.

Whatever you’re seeing now is a fraction of what he experienced.

“It’s going to be okay,” you remind him again.

“Yeah.” He sniffles. “Hey. I have a little surprise for you tomorrow. It was spoiled a bit, but you’re right.” A peck to your nose. “You don’t know anything yet. But you’ll like it, I think.”

You don’t doubt it; you guess it helps, not being aware of much at all. Waiting for the surprise.

But then again…

When you look at him again, excitement flickering in those tired eyes of his and a hand pushing against the small of your back lightly, you think that you know a couple things at least.

“Okay. Hold on. You’re definitely going too fast!”

“This is too fast? You should’ve seen Junghyun and me racing years ago.”

You lower your head in an attempt to hide it from the wind, seeking his sweater; it’s impossible from this angle. You’re at the front, surviving between his arms as he navigates the bicycle recklessly.

The wind slaps your face, cooler this noon than yesterday. The bike writhes on the road, and you yell out, “Man, I’ll die!”

“Baby!” he exclaims back.

His laugh is louder than the gust as you hold onto his moving thighs and then realise it’s of no help. You shift your hands to the front of the cycle, wondering when it’ll hit an unforeseen rock and tip over.

“Hey,” he tries again when you only scream back, “have you never been on a bike before?”

“Of course I have!” You resist the urge to add a curse. He’ll kill the two of you. The streets are steep, probably a hill, going downwards. “Just never two people at once.”

“I did it a lot! With friends, and mostly with Gureum.”

Gureum… his dog. You have yet to meet him.

“Gureum?” you repeat.

“Yeah! He’d sit in the basket and… and enjoy the wind. Eyes closed.” He pants between cycling. “I told you, no?”

But your thoughts are elsewhere, chin dropping to your clavicles as if not looking could save you. “Fucking hell—”

“Okay. Okay…”

The bike stops abruptly, and you yelp, shutting your eyes tight and preparing yourself to die. But death doesn’t come; a tap to your hip does. His fingers hold you, calming you, words the opposite as he orders, “Alright. Get off my bike. You can walk the rest of the distance.”

Between the sniffling and the reclaiming of control of your trembling legs, you register the surprising command, and mumble, “What?”

“You heard me, sweetheart. I’ll wait at the flower field.”

You dare a look over your shoulder. His expression is serious, an eyebrow cocking. You want to retort something snarky, tell him you’ll stay on if he just slows down, for the love of God; but instead, you look ahead, and decode the view immediately.

The grass is high and the place wide. You’re right where the field begins, the road more narrow here, only really enough for cyclists and walkers. You roll your eyes, getting off as you tell him, “You’re terrible. We’re already here.”

He laughs, dropping the bike to the side carelessly before he reaches for your messed up hair. Fixes at least the front of it, flattening it in the back. You’re glad there’s no mirror around.

Then, he proceeds to grab your hand, a finger pointing to the place and says, “Look around.”

You do. It’s widely open and empty. A decent amount of flowers; you imagine a plethora of them in the summer and the spring. Now that fall is in full effect and it’s a little colder here than on your coastal vacation, you reckon that this isn’t usually all how the field looks.

But it’s beautiful. In the far, far back, you see the forest expand. Slightest traces of autumn foliage. The leaves will fall and entirely bare the trees soon.

“This is so pretty,” you say.

“Right?”

“Was this the surprise?”

“I mean,” he cards his fingers through his hair, but as he grabs the willow wicker from the larger cycle basket, the mane is blown back into his sight just a moment later, “yeah. But the actual surprise is a bit further down the field. Come.”

He guides the way, and you put your all into deciphering what he might be hinting at, only for him to say, “Don’t look so hard. You will see it in a moment anyway.”

The laugh he elicits is sweet, a thumb touching the back of your hand. Your shoulders drop in relaxation, and you shift your attention to the grass and the flowers, trying not to stomp on any of those that are still left for this fall.

A couple feet forward, you tell him, “You know I still need to meet Gureum.”

“I know. He was with Ria since we can’t really take care of him when we’re away.”

“You could take him to the city.”

“I’d do anything to be able to. But Gureum is… a free dog. He wouldn’t enjoy life in a smaller apartment after running around for so long.”

Ah… You feel the opposite still; jumped from a large cage into a homey, sheltered cube happily. But you get it; the freedom here doesn’t compare to a crowded city, does it?

“But,” Jungkook continues, “Ria said she’d bring him over this noon, so he should be there when we get home.”

“Damn. Why am I more excited about this than necessary?”

“Oh, you should be. I am, too… he’s my old boy.”

The oxymoron grants you a smile; to a parent, a baby stays a baby. Most of the time, at least. Jungkook feels something for Gureum, and even a stranger, lost and unknowing, could piece this bit together within a heartbeat.

“He’s old?” you wonder.

“He’s twenty years old. A bit slower now but… the same amount of love in his heart.”

One shall learn how to love and be kind from Jeon Jungkook. Then again, he’d be an excellent example, but a bad teacher. Wouldn’t know what to say. Wouldn’t be able to really pick out what makes him so pure-hearted.

He just is… He just is.

“I can’t fucking wait,” you say, inspirited.

The sight changes along with his expressions as you walk down the field. From happiness to a smile to excitement and then contentment. The flowers mostly disappear, giving way to something you don’t really recognise.

Orderly rows, bright green leaves and… more plants? As you inbreathe the air, however, you swear you recognise the sweet and fresh scent. Even from here, it’s distinct and special.

And when you trudge closer, finally glancing down, you understand.

Jungkook…

He took you strawberry picking.

You see them low on the ground, clustered, ripe and red. Pretty. Enough to warrant a dozen adjectives; yet, you only whisper, “Wow.”

He waits… then waits more. Lets your eyes scan the area and the fruits, permits you to take in what he probably reckons you’ve never seen before in this form. And he’s right — you haven’t.

“You like it?” he questions. “I was unsure, like… maybe you’re underwhelmed?”

Your head turns towards him at light speed. “What? I’m not. I’ve never seen anything like this before,” you confirm, repeating your thoughts, “I am definitely not underwhelmed. This is… this is something my younger self craved.”

“Oh— Really? How so?”

You hum. Think back to late nights in the back of your bed, a room larger than what you needed, yet smaller than your imagination. Smaller than your heart.

“I read stories,” you tell him, “fairy tales. Watching tales of love in the countryside. We don’t have these places in the city, do we?”

Jungkook’s hand, on your back a second ago, travels up to the back of your neck, touching it gently. “I guess you’d have to find a farm.” He stares ahead where you do, still standing there, unmoving. Then, “Angel?”

“Yeah.”

“You said you went on a field trip to a farm, right?”

“I… can only really remember once in school. Kids were shitty.” You spoke about this once; last month, he promised you’d see Ria’s farm, too. Funny that she actually did show you. “And my parents weren’t really interested in that stuff. Which I do kinda get because many city people aren’t.”

“Mhm, I can understand.” He shuffles his feet, presumably a little sad for you, regarding the long row of strawberries stretching to his right. You’re about to crouch and try without a clue what to do when he, instead of commenting on things much more, asks, “Okay, so. Wanna pick strawberries?”

“Yes!” You rub your hands, taking a step forward, but pausing again; you could start anywhere. “Will you show me how?”

“Of course.” He hums, looking for an easy spot with an accumulation of easy-to-pick fruits; then, he lifts his jeans by a couple inches and lowers his body. “Look. You can crouch or kneel.”

You give your clothes a lookover. Just some everyday jeans; they should be able to take some dirt. In actuality, though, you might’ve joined him on the ground anyway. So you do, kneeling with your hands on your thighs, obediently listening.

“You look so cute.” He chuckles, the back of his fingers barely grazing your cheek for a moment. As he sniffles, his chin nods towards the plants, hands reaching for them. “So. You gently pull the leaves aside and just pick the strawberries. Avoid those that aren’t red, though, okay?”

His pinky touches parts of an unripe strawberry still in the ground, and he explains, “You’ll know that one’s ripe when it comes off easily. Like this,” he tugs at it, “isn’t ripe. Won’t come off so well. Mmmh. Let’s try this one.”

You follow his movements until he settles for a particularly pretty and seemingly juice berry; with ease, he plucks it off by grasping the stem and twisting a little, and says, “See? You could eat this one right now. But… basket?” You shove it towards him and he throws the berry inside. “We’ll wash it before that.”

It’s quiet and sweet here as he works on explaining the process to you. An atmosphere you haven’t ever witnessed anywhere before. It’s probably different in the spring, but you’re alone here; even if someone’s around somewhere, you can’t see them from where you sit.

And it helps you focus: on how concentrated he looks, lower lip pouting, crouching easily with his sweater sleeves rolled up. It’s unusual how his tattooed hand works on the plants. Your first imagination of such a task always involves straw hats and dungarees.

“Try it, too,” he then instructs.

He puts a gentle palm on your back as you get up from kneeling, now crouching as he is, and cast about for a couple good pieces. Whenever you think you’ve found one, you seek confirmation in his eyes, repeating, “Is this okay?”

And he always promises, “You’re doing well. Look,” he inspects one of your choices, “picking the best even.”

“You’ll have to eat mine, then.”

“Sure will. I knew you’d be so good at this.”

You’re surprised; you never saw yourself doing this, even though you yearned for a life so different than the one you lived. Until you stepped off his bicycle twenty minutes ago, you had never come up with such an idea. All the more reason to be thankful to him.

But you do wonder why he’d perceive something like this far before you did, so you ask, “Really? Why?”

He uttered the words so casually, pupils fixated on the basket; he might not have noticed how immediately you reacted. Because he hums now, looking at you with immense eyes, matter-of-factly spelling out, “Because you’re gentle. This called for you.”

Because you’re gentle. Because you’re gentle.

The reasoning, so clear to him, repeats in your mind. It’s not as obvious to you; it’s been a while since you thought of your qualities, and in the last months, being gentle often meant the same to you as quietly enduring.

So you’re touched, silenced by the lump in your throat; such an easy sentence, but so filled with knowledge about a person that only truly occurs with the purest of affections.

As you stare at him, you feel the fondness spreading over your countenance as much as the leaves tickling your ankle; you hold the current strawberry delicately as you conclude, “That’s why you brought me here, yeah?”

“That too.”

Oh.

“What else?”

“You can’t do this every day,” he argues, “I want to show you new places and things.”

You graze the vulnerable skin of the strawberries collecting in the basket, watching it fill enough to feed a couple people. Grabbing it, you lift your body with a smile. For a minute, your knee aches from the crouching, and your brain gathers the sensations into one to create another core memory.

Lost for words, you merely tell him, “Thank you, Kook, I…” You heave the basket to your chest, touching his hand as he rises, too. “How do you even come up with all this?”

“How I come up with it? Hmm… I guess you make it easy to do.” He laughs, and you follow, reading your mind as he voices the same thought flashing through your brain. “I know I’ll be so nostalgic about this someday. In ten years, maybe.”

Cheeks hot despite the autumn wind, you register the butterflies immediately. Right under the basket, underneath your skin, like a swarm awaking from metamorphosis. The fact that he thinks ahead like this, paints a distant future with you… wanting you for this long drives you insane.

Jungkook’s voice always lacks uncertainty when it comes to you.

Mellow when he speaks to you, gentle even when he asks, “More?”

“Mmmh… yes. Can do a few more. And it’s fun.” So you do; picking and plucking until you can barely carry the basket anymore, already wondering what to do with the bunch until you pop the idea, “Can we eat some of these?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Gotta wash them, though.”

Which isn’t as easy as it sounds. It takes you a good moment to find a water tap on the wide field; one only crosses your way when you travel back to where the bike stands, proving as dysfunctioning and broken.

And only once you’ve reached nearly the end of the field and already detect the narrow path that you cycled along from afar, your luck strikes. You wash a handful of your harvest and place them neatly at the top of the rest, right above a handkerchief Jungkook whipped out from his pocket.

The grass isn’t high everywhere; you find an ideal spot for a brief, spontaneous picnic, pleasant and comfortable; a fluffy blanket of nature. You watch ladybugs and ants crawl over blades of grass; not too much more, considering the season.

Jungkook works through the content of the basket, soon holding a piece to your mouth, “Take this,” he says, pushing it through your parted lips; waits until you’ve chewn most of it. “And?”

The initial taste is good, but the aftertaste dramatically makes your world quiver. Whatever you’ve known about food and fruits so far must have been a hoax, because you can’t fake the way your eyes widen and your voice raises in pitch, delighted as you say, “This is… so damn good.”

“Right?”

“They don’t taste like this in the city!”

“Yeah,” Jungkook chooses a smaller one from the collection, throwing it into his mouth as a whole, “these are fresh. No bullshit berries.”

“No bullshit berries indeed. So good.”

“You picked good ones!”

“But this is a curse, too!” you exclaim, urging a laugh out of him that he transforms into a kiss to your temple, observing as you munch the strawberries as though encountering them for the first time. And you pout as you say, “ Keep me from eating them all. I want to take the rest home.”

“Sure, don’t worry. We can put them somewhere and take them back on the last day.”

“Hm? Oh. No, I meant today. Home, your house…” You realise your mistake. “Sorry.”

Only, he doesn’t deem it a mistake for a moment. He didn’t think you’d feel this cosy this fast — but it was what he’d hoped and opted for, so it’s a win either way. His family as your home, him as your home.

He thinks, you finally do feel at home. It took you years of endurance, didn’t it?

“Home, yeah?” he mutters. “An apology is the last thing I’d want, angel. You’re home, alright.”

You wish you had an equally meaningful answer; whatever you might babble now, you don’t think you could do justice to the soft tone he settled on. You can’t even outdo his gaze, so round, eyes so big on his otherwise clear-cut face.

What you can do is smile. Draw closer until your shoulders touch. About to taste the strawberry-flavoured, red tinted lips before a sudden motion drowns your plans.

The bunny flits over your feet; you’re sure it jumps onto yours for a moment and then uses them to push itself off into the grass, journeying on. The yelp it elicits out of you merges with the startled sound Jungkook emits.

His elbow lightly hits the side of your breast, and you pull your legs into your chest as self-defence. But it’s gone as fast as it appeared, and barely a second later, you’re watching it hop away, little ears disappearing in the distance.

“Well,” Jungkook breathes, “at least that’s normal. I’ll tell you about my snake encounters later some day.”

A hand on your chest, you exclaim, “Oh my God. You know what?” You calm down your lowkey panting, hand falling back into your lap, “Maybe you were right. We’re home for sure.”

“Oh… yeah?”

“Yeah! Totally looked like you… thought we were back home.”

Jungkook laughs out, head throwing back, and then, amidst his giggle, he throws a “Shut up” at you. The tackle nearly pushes you to the ground before his lips attack your face all over; making out on a countryside field wasn’t on your bucket list, but you sure as hell will add it only to tick it off.

His tongue really does taste like strawberries. His lips are sweet; the hand on your waist careful yet explorative. If the grass wasn’t this cruel, tickling all over your body, you’d probably remain here for the next hour.

Let him strip you bare. Kiss you into the earth. Nobody’s here; you don’t think you’ve ever fantasised of such a moment before, but suddenly, you don’t mind loving him right here.

But maybe he’s fostering the same thoughts as you, pulling back with a little groan when the blades prick his cheeks and closed eyes. Endurance isn’t easy right now; and you have a lot planned for the rest of the day anyway.

So you pull yourself together, and nod when he finally asks, “Wanna go?”

Somehow, it takes you a little longer to get home than it did to reach the field. Perhaps because he’s cycling uphill now, or maybe because the sun is at its zenith, warming the colder day. The comfort makes you want to stay in this moment, have his voice laughing next to your ear.

On a bike swaying when he loses focus, rolling dangerously to tease you on purpose.

And when you get back to his house, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. It’s fluffy and sweet and white like a cloud, living up to its name. A tongue sticks out, tail wiggling, right at the door when Jungkook opens it.

Gureum is small, smiling as far as you’re aware of a dog’s joy. You once heard that upon seeing their owner, the same hormone floods their tiny bodies as a human’s when they fall in love. Gureum must feel much like you do when Jungkook comes home.

You understand.

Understand when Gureum jumps up to Jungkook’s legs, licking his human’s face when your boyfriend picks him up. Jungkook’s voice changes so much that you barely recognise it; you’ve never heard him talk like this. Higher, lovelier, slurred to imitate the language babies speak.

The affection is unfiltered and crystal clear.

Jungkook’s smile brightens until it reaches its maximum, bunny teeth flashing, the laugh erupting so deeply from his chest. Authentic. Eyes nearly closed as he calls Gureum’s name, plays with his face, as if communicating with a child.

Twenty years, and he still thinks of him as his baby. Sometimes, all golden stays.

“Baby,” he says after a while once Gureum has stopped licking his face, introducing, “this is my Gureum.”

You set the basket down next to the door, reaching a careful hand to Gureum’s head; but he’s cooperative. Lets you easily. “Hi Gureum,” you whisper, “nice to finally meet you. You’re so cute!”

“He’s a little sick these days, but,” Jungkook gazes down again, kissing Gureum’s ears. “He gets through it so well, doesn’t he? Yes, he does.”

The laugh is real. The affection is real. Tender and deep-rooted. He smooches him again, and then puts a cheek to his warm fur. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve never fallen deeper.

“I missed you so much, too, buddy,” he says, “so, so much.”

You swear you see Gureum cuddling into Jungkook’s chest. Doesn’t move even when you’ve settled in the living room, resting from the journey. You’d drafted plans for the rest of today, but it doesn’t seem they’ll separate, and you don’t want them to.

You can wait. Things can wait.

You sit by Jungkook’s side as he pets him, his head soon on your shoulder, one hand in the white fur, the other holding yours. It’s how you remain for a bit.

In hindsight, albeit never having plucked strawberries before, today wasn’t some grand adventure across the world. You didn’t strike a deal at work or fight off some paparazzi hiding in an unexpecting corner. And you didn’t climb a mountain.

But you guess that’s what you craved all your life. Somehow, this is better than any crazy escapade.

The serenity that comes with a mundane moment. A love that consumes you and a love that helps you commit the most casual of acts to memory.

Maybe this is enough. An old couch lightly creaking as you move; a cloud blinking as you caress its head. Surprises to help you experience saccharine afternoons.

You remain for a bit, and then remain a little longer.

Ria came through the door not too long after you’d returned, ready for the evening plans. She’d promised to accompany the two of you to the centre of the town, giving you a tour of the most important and ancient of places.

You learned about the town’s only drapery seamstress and the best flower shop. Much as it so occurs in 70s and 80s movies, you met the son of a mechanic. He told you he’d be inheriting the company one day, and that it was okay because he never intended to leave anyway.

Ria’s eyes suspiciously widened as she spoke to him, and she lingered for a moment longer than you did after your farewell. The guy had forgotten that there was work to do by the time she finally bid him goodbye.

Jungkook’s eyes squinted at the sight, but not even he could hide his endeared smile. Pressed into Ria’s shoulder with a teasing hum.

You rewarded yourself for the day’s many steps with some soft serve in front of the city hall, talking and delivering anecdotes until the sun started setting.

As the evening concludes, you’re the last to appear at dinner. His family is already sitting here, politely waiting and sweetly welcoming once you’ve washed up and hopped into the dining room with a vibrant smile.

You’re in a good mood. Evidently so; the scent of strawberries and the taste of his mouth still linger, and you’re still coming down from the high when you chime, “I’m sorry for being late.”

“Don’t worry about it at all,” his mother assures, “we just sat down.”

“I really wanted to help, though.”

It’s true. His mother has been nothing but the ultimate host. You wanted to prove productive and useful, but then Eun had called to check in on you and delayed your plans.

“Hmm, you know what?” his mother utters, pouring you some Jjamppong. “The wedding isn’t until one, so we could get up earlier and make strawberry jam in the morning? If you’d like.”

The wedding has been in the back of your mind constantly, slowly sneaking to the forefront with an intense nervousness. You’re timid because of how it’ll turn out, how people will perceive you, if they’ll talk to you. How Jungkook will look at you.

How much love might spread; how much certain people might tone down their resentment.

Learning yet another skill such as making jam might just be the best distraction. So you nod wildly, only interrupted when Jungkook asks, “Can I join, too?”

But you change the movements of your head to a shake, jesting about quality time and whatnot until he surrenders, “Alright. Way to shut out the boyfriend and son, I see you.”

“Speaking of food,” you say, pausing, slurping a big bite of noodles; they’re spicier than you’re used to from city restaurants. Better, too. You point your chopsticks to your dinner. “May I have the recipe?”

As his father and brother indulge in their food, acting as quiet listeners, his mother answers, “I’m sure Jungkook has it. I’m offended he never cooked it for you, since they had it a lot growing up.”

“Offended indeed. You learned this?”

“Oh, this?” Jungkook’s eyebrows, hitherto sporting a crease between them — a telltale sign of a well-eating Jeon — relax. “Yeah! I was learning when I was like, what, fifteen?” He seeks approval from his mother, who soon nods. “I fully butchered it when I tried it for the first time.”

Junghyun chuckles. “Even I remember.”

“Yeah, you refused to help!” Jungkook complains, whining when Junghyun hits his brother’s elbow with his own. “And I burned my wrist and had the wound for ages. Couldn’t do much in P.E.”

Much as yesterday, it seems his father hasn’t learned; because as you feared, it’s only now when he melts and intervenes. You almost surmise he’s provoking on purpose when he queries, “When you were fifteen when? I can’t remember any wounds.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Are you telling me I’m making it up again?”

“No, I’m just saying I don’t remember.”

“That’s because you were at work and didn’t pick up my many calls. Mom was sick that week… It's why I wanted to cook and learn at all.” He nods towards his brother. “Junghyun remembers because he went to a friend and then rushed home to bring me to the hospital. None of it sounds familiar to you, does it?”

Jungkook lists and narrates the happening with a flat voice, as if recalling items still left to purchase for tomorrow’s meal. He’s stirring his soup and his father is stirring everyone else’s, uncaring as he responds, “I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. You probably didn’t care.”

“Nonsense.”

Another, “As much as the last years,” added to the mix, you opt for his hand under the table again, but he pulls away. You’re left dumbfounded, looking at him in surprise. This has never happened before; he’s never been upset in such a way.

As if to signal, “It’s fine. It’s whatever. Let me deal with this.”

But he can’t deal with it; you see the beginning signs of a rising chest and a decreasing appetite. Nobody just plays with the content of such a rich soup for this long; least of all a foodie like him. He’s busy looking at it, propping his elbow on the table.

You stare for a little longer, and then turn back to your food.

It sounds like it’s over. And it’s quiet; maybe you could interrupt with something else, change the course of the conversation. But his father isn’t done yet.

No. You notice everybody else’s irritation when he opens his mouth to speak again. They sigh, forming a line with their lips when he emits a question that leaves even you in disbelief, “Why are you saying this?”

“Come on,” his mother tries, wanting to ease the tension, but Jungkook is faster.

“What? I mean, I don’t know?” he starts, once again an equal amount of fear and annoyance in his voice. “I barely ever hear from you, Dad.” With each word, he grows more daring, at the end of his capacities when he eventually curses, “We live in the same city, for fuck’s sake—”

“Jungkook—” Junghyun interrupts.

“What? It’s true. Even the last hundred times, Mom visited alone. Could’ve at least come over and said Hi to my girlfriend.”

“I’m here now and saying Hi, though,” you try, weakly smiling.

“And he’s here, too. How grand of him.”

Fuck.

“Stop the attitude,” his father warns, “you could’ve come over plenty of times, too.”

“Are you hearing yourself? News flash, I did. I tried to talk to you, too. If I was still fourteen, I’d still be apologising. Oh, or is that what you want? Is it what you want?”

“What are you talking ab—”

“I’m talking about how I really wanted to tell you about a shit ton of things. Like when Nara and I broke up,” amidst the already tense moment, your heart pains for a second, “or when I graduated. Or when I was having a really fucking hard time this summer and needed somebody and then when I fell in love and needed to tell somebody, and… where are you all the time anyway? Who fucking knows — I don’t!”

It worsens and worsens. Crashes and burns; every word splits the air in the room. You don’t know how to save the moment anymore; maybe you’re not supposed to. You can only lend him courage. Perhaps he’s supposed to finally say all this.

But it’s hard to listen.

Because as the waterfall of grief cascades, you hear Jungkook’s voice quiver. He’s about to break. Right here, in front of everybody, you’re about to witness the woe this man inflicted on him all his life.

And you see it; see parts of this very torture when his father reveals who he’s become over the decade. The one Jungkook described to you; empty of empathy and understanding.

Because again, he renders you in shock when he speaks again. Fucking nasty, nitpicking and focusing on only one aspect, attacking somebody’s pride.

“Get a grip over yourself! You graduated in arts — you didn’t conquer the world. And you hold a grudge when—”

“I hold a grudge? I do? You’re the fucking one who shunned a kid because of a mistake and—”

“I do not want to hear about this. Not again.”

As their voices grow, so does your heartbeat. The anxiety is unbearable; you can barely imagine the one spreading through Jungkook’s chest. His face is red, neck hot, veins about to pop. If you could, you’d slap your hands over your ears.

But you can’t listen away; can’t ignore the panic, either.

“Please, stop,” you say, moving, but Jungkook frees himself of your grip again, stands. You attempt again, “Stop it, baby.”

But he won’t listen, mind somewhere else entirely.

“You won’t blame me for shit you did years ago, you can’t—” his father insists, but…

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Watch your mo—”

“Or wha—”

His father’s face, similarly scarlet as his son’s, grows a shade darker at the shameless counter, and his large hand lifts in slow motion for you. Comes down with a thump, intending to slap the wooden table, but hitting the edge of his small kimchi bowl again.

It flies up inches into the air before suddenly rolling off the table, aligning with you and soon falling onto your lower arm with a painful impact. It topples down onto your knee before it meets the ground and shatters into a handful of pieces.

You gasp and shriek, more out of surprise than pain; but Jungkook’s reaction is immediate. He bolts towards you, protecting you from whatever danger might be left. Pulls you off your seat and away from the shards as dead silence befalls the room.

It’s filled with your shaky breaths and the way his mother and brother shove their chairs back, hands reaching for you. Jungkook keeps you out of their reach. Looks at his father for a couple seconds; then to the kimchi on the ground; then back to him.

You can’t see him properly until you move to glance at him, wanting to keep his anger low, but… you don’t think you can do much anymore.

The fire in his eyes is blue.

And his voice is strained but furious when he finalises through gritted teeth, “You are fucking insane.”

This time, the man doesn’t answer. You hear his wife utter something as if scolding him before she speaks up and offers to clean up the mess. But Jungkook shakes his head, “No need. He can do it.”

Then, turning to his father, he repeats, “You’re fucking insane. You’re a terrible parent and we all know and only you can’t admit it to yourself. I just didn’t think you’d develop into a terrible person, too.”

Still long fingers around your wrist, he moves you towards the stairs, rounding off the fight with one more, “Don’t fucking get near me or her, do you understand? Fuck.”

So many words exchanged, but it was the stupid kimchi covering your pyjamas to make him topple over the edge. You feel guilty, but you don’t. It’s the man downstairs that has so fucking much to reflect on.

God. You wanted this vacation to relax Jungkook, to soothe you, to turn the first painful half of the year into something glorious.

But…

Then again, didn’t you expect this? Weren’t you scared of this?

Didn’t you fear the exact manner in which he now leads you to his room, in which the slamming of the door rings in your ears, his hands in his hair?

He’s let you go and stranded in his room. It’s odd, the way you stand here, clothes dirty and the grief dirtier.

You walk towards him cautiously, watching him shiver, and reach for his wrists in turn this time. It’s a featherlight touch, but you feel the tremble underneath your fingers. And you instantly notice when he starts coming undone. When his lips shake, too.

Even with his head lowered, you recognise the wet waterline, and how it takes a handful more heavy breaths until you hear the first sob. You hug him. You hug him right away. Hold him close and closer.

You make a weak attempt at pulling him to the bed, but he’s already in the process of breaking down, his body getting heavier, falling. The carpet offers solace as his knees suddenly hit the ground. His arms hold onto your hips and his face buries in your chest.

When his breathing turns irregular, so does yours; you feel like the world is splitting and the sky crashing down.

His leg comes in touch with your messed up clothes, and when he looks up into your eyes, he’s already crying. A trail of tears courses down his cheeks as his pupils suddenly shake, looking for something, asking you, “Did he hurt you, baby?”

“Kook…”

“Let me see, you must be hurt, you— you were just wearing these thin ass slippers without socks, right? The fucking bowl shattered and…”

“I’m okay, Kookie. I’m not hurt, I promise.”

“No, but… it fell on you, it must— did it bruise your knee?” he continues hectically, inspecting you, never seeing anything. He cradles your face, still crying and sniffling, shoving his pain aside to make sure, “Please tell me if anything hurts, ‘kay? I will get something, I’ll— dunno, fucking smash his fucking face, I’ll—”

His mind is going haywire. A proper downward spiral, and you don’t know how to stop it. What the fuck— what the fuck…

“Jungkook— Jungkook, please,” you try, lowering his hand, but he won’t stop searching for signs of injury. “Baby, please.”

“Why is he like this? I just… man, I am trying, angel.” His voice falls at the last word; your heart fractures at the same time as it tries to keep his intact. “I am trying so hard in life for him to like me, and you… you’re here, so I thought he’d behave and instead—”

“I know. It’s okay.”

It’s not, but you can’t say it. Can’t say how much the meaning behind your stained clothes hurts. How much it connects to what the weeping man in your arms feels; how he looked forward to this, planning ahead, a surprise for everyday without anticipating such ruin.

And he’s as clueless as you. More broken than you ever anticipated. Resembling the burst dish one floor beneath you, holding you like an anchor, crying into your chest.

He keeps repeating the same things as you repeat yours, soon mumbling his words of trying and trying and constantly trying. Of wanting to be loved. Attempting to understand if it’s too much to ask for. Is it?

Why can’t he love me?

And you whisper back, He loves you. He does.

It’s easy, falling into such misery. There were moments not too far in the past where you were on the receiving end of such pain, and he was your life vest. You don’t know if you’re keeping him above the surface as well as he did, because you keep susurrating the hopeful mantra to him.

But he keeps believing—

“No… no, he never fucking did. Wh—who treats someone like this?”

“Some people forget, you know… how to show affection. Sometimes, they deem their pride more important. It says nothing about you.” You lift his chin, heartbroken upon detecting his reddened eyes. “Everyone else in this stupid world loves you.”

“Your mother doesn’t either…”

“My mother? The woman who hates literally everyone?” You smile, trying to make him imitate it, but he doesn’t. You brush his cheeks and then his hair. “I do. I love you. I knew who you were even when I was unbiased.”

“Didn’t you… hate me, too?”

Once again, you try a faint smile. Not for him to join in, but because you’re reminded of a foolish friendship; it had already long bloomed into more when you’d finally named it one.

“Not for a second,” you say.

Break in discussion. He’s still shedding tears, snivelling. Stays frozen like this, all of him unable to move except for his lips. They mutter, “I don’t ever want you to get hurt. He can do whatever the fuck he wants with me, but…”

“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“I love you,” he maffles weakly, “I love you. I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

You feel as though offering solace to a child. As if he’s shrunk into what he used to be, in the very room he used to sulk. The trauma still belongs to a kid, and when hurt, he’ll turn him into one, too.

You hate it. Hate that his sorrow still belongs to such a young heart. That he never processed it.

Before you came here, you spoke about it. And once you’re back in the city, you’ll have to figure things out further; the time constraints just before you drove away didn’t allow you to take much into consideration.

You can only cry now, can’t you? Detest the dampness in your own eyes. Stay right here until some sign occurs, lifting you up from the ground.

And it does fifteen minutes later.

The knock is gentle, just two of them, and you tell Jungkook to wait, that you’d be back in a minute. As you stand, his back is bent, his head lowered. As if he’s sleepwalking or slowly fainting.

You shut your eyes for a second; then open them again.

Behind the door, his mother awaits. In her soft hands, she’s balancing a tray holding some food. She lifts it towards you, tells you, “The two of you barely ate.”

Upon a closer look, you realise that her eyes are swollen, too. The view nearly forces you to tear up again, your face seethingly hot. You want to hug her. Want to tell her you’re sorry. Instead, you only touch her shoulder, and mutter a grateful thank you.

“It’s okay.”

She sounds so pained. You wonder if she said something to her husband. Reprimanded him, cried for his son, grieved a childhood and life that could’ve been.

But she doesn’t say any of it, and neither do you mention it. You only agree, “It will be. Are we still making jam tomorrow?”

“Yes. Tell Jungkook he can come if he wants to.”

“Yeah… I was thinking that, too.” You stare down to your food, never noticing how she peeks past your shoulder. Sees her son unmoving on the floor; she knows she can’t do more than you are right now. So she only nods when you repeat, “Thank you so much.”

You wish her a good night, bringing the food to where your boyfriend sits. Put it down in front of him.

“Sit upright, baby?” you ask him, crushed by the sight of swollen cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. His lips are parted, his breathing still stagnant; he only stares at his food until you push the tray closer to him and say, an attempt at a smile, “Let’s eat a bit. Mother-in-law brought it for us.”

No smile back, but a sniffle. The crying subsides just a bit as a shaking hand grabs the spoon, slurping the soup before he can even think of the noodles. He eats a little, slowly, surely. You help when he needs it, feed him a bite, encourage him to one more.

Every other minute, he cries again. You wipe the tears away, try to make him eat more.

His father fucked him up. You knew about the issues and demons Jungkook combatted. Of course his mentality suffered; of course there are parts of him that might never heal… But you never quite understood the full effect.

His father fucked him up good; got him so bad. Parts of both of them are so ultimately ruptured, aren’t they?

Whenever he winds down, you eat in silence, right there on the ground on top of the old carpet. When he can’t swallow anymore, still some left in his bowl — Jungkook barely ever doesn’t finish his food — you move up to the bed with him.

You kiss his hair repeatedly, as if it could heal him just a little, to even the tiniest percentage. You don’t know how much of an effective bandage you are to him, but you know you’re doing at least something.

Because he whispers another I love you before the gut-wrenching sounds of his sobs have finally faded out, still echoing in the room. His tiny, shrunk voice says, “I’m looking forward to tomorrow with you.”

And somehow, it pains you even more. The hopeful tone; the wish for a day to not hurt.

“Me too, baby,” you say, “it’s nobody but us, okay?”

“Yeah… yeah.”

And that’s it. It’s all you can do for now; understanding the heavy heart the night cursed you with.

But as you drift away, you keep pleading. Pleading and pleading and pleading for a better tomorrow without getting a promise back.

To your chagrin but least of your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t join your jam-making session the next morning.

When you stirred awake for a little bit, eyes still sleep-drunk and body falling, your phone flashed seven thirty in the morning. Not ready to start the day yet and doubting anybody else had gotten out of bed, you cuddled into his body, and he, while deep in his slumber, must still have noticed.

Pulled you in more, smacking his lips and sighing a little, a warm hand at the back of your head. Secured in his embrace, you fell asleep again.

Only to awake two hours later without him by your side. You’re already washed up and somewhat sobered up from sleep, and you’ve looked on the first and ground floor. You can’t find him.

His mother informed you that she and her husband would be leaving to join the wedding earlier, to help out with the preparations and make sure the plans all sit. You offered your help, but she claimed they’d be okay, and that you can still use the morning after the jam lesson to rest.

Perhaps Jungkook has embarked on a journey then, using this time to do something in the early morning.

Once you’ve walked into the kitchen, greeting his mother with a smile and a good morning, you ask, “Nervous for the wedding?”

“Mmmh, kind of,” she answers, locking the phone she held, putting it aside to sip her tea, “but it should be good since we took care of most of the stuff pretty well. It’ll be wonderful. Except the damn Wedding March — we couldn’t settle on any song but this.”

“I can’t wait. I bet it’ll be beautiful.” You take a seat in front of her, hearing the sounds of the TV and quiet conversations. Among the voices, you recognise two, but his is neither of them. You’re not interested in joining. So you look at her, scratching your temple as you inquire instead, “Where’s Kook gone?”

Her forefinger points downwards, another blow to the tea and another swig. “Basement. I brought him some coffee, but he seemed busy and quiet, so I left him there. But,” her voice grows louder, enthusiastic, “you can go! Maybe he’ll be okay with that?”

Hmm…

“What did he go down for?” you ask.

“I think he was looking for something.” Now, she lowers her tone again, lower arms on the table. “He also just… did that sometimes when he was younger, or after a fight.”

After a fight.

Like the breakdown last night. You understand.

You should probably walk down and check — but then again, this has seemingly been a coping mechanism ever since he was younger. So perhaps, you need to let him be for a little; give him a chance to entangle his thoughts and regain some peace.

You repeat your decision to her and she nods in understanding, throwing a glance to a huge jar on the kitchen counter. You’re ready to deliver an answer before she even asks, “Want to help out then?”

“Sure!”

The process is a patient one. Reminds you of when Jungkook told you how to pick the strawberries yesterday; gently, sweetly, with a tender touch and an even more delicate voice.

Jungkook’s mother takes the fruits out of the jar with care, explains to you to mash them and cook the jam with absolute soothing composure. The minutes pass so serenely that you imagine preparing meals with her on a cold winter evening, pleasing your soul to ensure not only a good night’s sleep but lasting quiet of the soul, too.

You add the sugar and lemon juice to your mix, stirring and boiling the delicatesse before you put it in sterilised jars. She shows you how to sterilise them at all; you didn’t think or know that such a step was necessary at all.

The making of it doesn’t take too long; forty-five minutes tops. As you scanned the internet just before entering the kitchen almost an hour ago, it said it takes barely half an hour. But she demonstrated it all to you slowly, unrushed.

You’re thankful.

“Have you ever made jam before?” she asks as you admire your creation.

You shake your head. “No… I don’t think I’ve tried such a thing at all. It’s fun making things on your own. I mean, I do like to cook sometimes, but I’m nowhere on Jungkook’s level, I don’t think.”

She chuckles, nodding as if to confirm. Then clarifies, “Yes, he’s enjoyed being involved in the kitchen ever since he was a teen. Especially before he left town and realised he’d have to cook on his own.”

You giggle with her, like with a friend or a trusted figure. It’s so consoling, talking to her. Fun, smiles intact, still present when she asks, “How are the two of you doing? I mean, you did move in together quite fast, so I’m just wondering.”

Yes; she doesn’t need to spell it out. You get it — you’ve heard about this.

So-called relationship experts claim that taking decisions in the honeymoon phase isn’t too healthy, warping your sense of reality and perception of the other person. You don’t disagree, but you guess in this case…

“Honestly, it’s been good,” you respond. “We have a couple heated evenings where we argue about stuff, but… it’s been healing. And he offered to move in when I really needed it.”

“Yes, Jungkook told me.” Oh. “You weren’t at a very good place before. Please don’t mind.” You shake your head in reassurance, urging her to go on. It’s his mother; it’s fine to tell her if any of you is struggling. “I’m glad you’re there for each other because he wasn’t at a good place either.”

You nearly don’t dare to ask; in a way, she might know her son better than you know your boyfriend. Maybe; maybe not. You fear a disheartening answer when you ask, “Do you think he is now?”

But she, careful as ever, tells you honestly, “It’ll probably take time to get over things, but— it’ll be okay. Things seem a little better, though, if you want my neutral POV.”

“Ah… okay. That helps.” You play with the white-dotted red band around the jar. Your mind circles around a million questions that only she might be able to answer; yet, cautiously, all you query is, “Do you ever… have you ever spoken to him? Or his dad? About all the things…”

You reckon that if he’s talked about the two of you before, he probably mentioned spilling his secrets to you, too. At least from your perspective, it’s obvious that he entrusts her with his heart.

And once again, she affirms, “I have. Often. Even before the two of you came. It’s why I told you to take your time getting here.”

Ah… Makes sense now. So that’s why you had to roam the hotel until noon a couple days before. You sigh.

She continues, “It just doesn’t end well most of the time, so… And I’m not a good talker. I don’t know what to say anymore after so many years. Both want me on their side, though Jungkook never persists on it.”

She’s so wrong. Both she and him.

Jungkook has told you for months that he’s bad with words; yet, he comes in with every word ever written by any bard, singing poetry to you and bandaging your heart when needed.

You remember…

I’m not good with words, baby. And I don’t know how to ever properly verbalise something like this.

You sigh again. Tell her, “I understand. I also wouldn’t expect you to go against either of them.”

“Sure. But… It's difficult sometimes. Seeing how broken some of our bonds are.”

You’ve used and formed this word so many times before. Broken. For him, for you, for the world. Hearing somebody else share these sentiments and confirm your fears hurts.

And you’re out of words, wishing for a higher power to grant you a curing skill. If you could lift somebody’s burden with a single touch, just the way you’re reaching out for her hand now, you’d be busy circling the globe at all times.

“I’m so sorry,” is all, however, you can offer.

You hate how helpless she is. You urge to say something more, to hug her and promise that the world always regains its colours at some point. But you remain like this, watching the jam in the jars; hearing her say—

“You know. Jungkook has my number. I don’t know how much you and your mother still talk, but… you can talk to me, too, if you ever need to. I mean, I’m a mother.” She laughs at this part, raising a shoulder to her chin in pride, “And you’re part of him, so you can be part of us, too.”

Your eyes, locked onto the jar until now, flit up to her, and you blink to keep them dry, admitting without another thought, “I might actually cry.”

“Oh. Awh,” she voices, lifting her hand from underneath yours to cover it again. “Don’t. I didn’t mean to be all kitsch. I meant it.”

Gathering your prior thoughts into words, you puff out a breath, sporting a reprimanding look as you say, “You’re so wrong. You and your son, you always know what to say.”

Teeth flash again as she grins; she looks so innocent and pure. “Well, where do you think he got it from?”

Shit…

“Thank you…” you mutter, body already twitching, yearning to bolt forwards until you finally dare to ask, “Okay. May I… Can I hug you?”

“My goodness, love. You don’t need to ask! C’mere.”

You instantly tear up when she pulls you in. Last time you met, she left a fleeting touch. You barely knew her then; in some way, you don’t know her much now, either. But this… this is impactful.

The way she presses you into her; her chin on your shoulder. The slight pat and then the following rub up and down your shoulder blade. So warm; so salving.

One or two more pats, with a little more impact this time, she gently moves you back by your arms again, sucking in a breath as she suggests, “Alright. Wedding time, yes? We should start getting ready.”

“Yes. But…” You hesitate, wonder how much you can interfere. But then you diminish your mental concerns, and simply utter, “If you don’t mind. May I suggest something?”

You walk down the steps to the basement.

The light is on; other than what mainstream movies might suggest, they’ve set up the interior of the basement prettily. The few furniture — a table and a couch chair, as well as a couple common chairs — is a light beige, the wallpapers light, flowery.

He’s in the middle of the room, on the ground despite the many options to sit, sifting through pictures and objects lying around him. When he detects you, he flinches a bit, eyes big, moving suspiciously as if to hide something.

But you guess he’s just startled; and once he catches himself, he calls your name, wishing a sweet, “Morning, baby. Sorry for leaving the bed.”

“Oh, hey. It’s your house, you can do whatever you like. Besides, your mom and I had the time of our lives.”

He smiles brightly. You love, love, the wrinkles around his eyes. “Made some groundbreaking jam, yes?”

“You’ll see when you taste it.” You walk closer, recognising photo albums and frames. Yet, you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Uhmmm, just looking through old stuff.”

The pictures are flipped, upside down from where you stand, so you round his body, legs folded on the floor. You come to a kneel, and just when you’re close enough, you see the pure sugar spilled in front of him.

It’s in the form of fat baby cheeks. An open, surprised mouth. Then, in form of a photograph of a toddler crying. The same tremendous eyes and the same curve of his upper lip. A tilted smirk on one of them, just the one you know.

They’re adorable. You dissolve at the sight; at seeing him in a red vest, holding a half chewn corndog, tiny fingers forming a peace sign, and an unsure expression as if he’s seeing the world for the first time.

He does this often. Zone off like this.

Not rarely do you tease that he’s trudging through his first life, but he often refutes your theory with an immediate expression of shock. Chuckles back that it never feels like he’s loving you for the first time.

“Why are you looking at these, Kook?” you ask, hands on his shoulder before you settle your chin on one of them, cheek to cheek.

“Just so. I knew there was a picture of my cousin somewhere, too. Look.” He shoves aside some of the photographs on top, fishing out a very old one. “This is her. Gayoung.”

A lovely girl next to him, clearly older. They’re both holding car toys; he’s busy indulging in it, laughing, not noticing the flashing of the camera. But she’s staring right into it, caught off guard, eyebrows high and mouth open.

“I can’t believe she’s getting married today,” Jungkook says. “She’s like a daughter to my parents, but… I didn’t get to talk that much with her anymore when she grew into an adult. Was more with Ria. And then I moved, too. But… it’s still crazy. I still remember her as a young but older sister.”

“Of course. Time’s pace of passing is pretty strange. Very fast.”

“Yeah…”

He throws it back into the pile, shutting two of the handful of photo albums. Humming, he flips a couple pages of a third album; your eyes follow as he combs through them. You almost don’t notice when he pauses, and when you do, you understand why.

It’s another old picture, Jungkook tiny, mouth wide open to say something as he points towards the camera slash photographer. And he’s in the arms of somebody who’s undeniably his father. The man looks more like Junghyun than Jungkook.

But they seem happy here. His big hands are firm on Jungkook’s body, holding him lovingly and smiling at him with even further tenderness.

Jungkook remains on it for only a split second, but you get it.

You replay his mother’s words in your mind, and suddenly, you remember; a revelation clears up like a sunny day after a fog, and God… you remember.

And still, you act like you don’t. Like you haven’t understood that he’s here to reminisce about a life when things were still okay; when he still felt loved. Reliving moments when shit hurt less. Of course he’s here; it makes sense, so directly after a fight.

He seeks comfort in moments he barely remembers to escape the pain he recently suffered.

You’re out of damn words. This shouldn’t be happening to anybody.

You hug him from behind, arms around his chest. Attempting to ease his possibly disturbed soul, you ask, “Hey. Do you know that you’re the sweetest being alive? These pictures cause cavities. Good that you kept them from me.”

“Oh, yeah?” He turns his head slightly, lips grazing your nose, warm breath falling on it. “Coming from my munchkin herself.”

“I mean it! You’re so cute. And look at these cheeks,” your finger gestures towards a chubby baby, “they’re still so soft, by the way.”

You press your face against his, squishing his scarred cheek, and he states under a laugh, “You’re too much.”

“Too much of a fool for you, yes.”

He clicks his tongue, though playfully. You hear in his voice and see in his beam that he’s delighted, flattered, loving and loved. You ask, “Are you feeling okay now?”

To your relief, he nods. “I’m feeling better, I guess. Looking forward to the wedding. And your dress!”

“Oh, I am, too. I was going to show it to your mom just before, but… I want you to be the first to see it.”

“And then you say I’m not the luckiest man alive.”

“I just said Ashton Kutcher is. Mila Kunis is pretty cool.”

“Shut up.”

You pause, watch him tidy up; after a minute, you tell him, “You should’ve joined when we made the jam. Could’ve been fun, too.”

“Yeah… I mean I thought about it, but. Then I was like, maybe it’d be good for her to get to know you, like, unfiltered. She’s always careful not to be weird around me.”

“Ah. That’s kinda sweet, though.”

“Isn’t it?”

You nod against his cheek; then, drum lightly against his chest, a peck to his ear, getting to your feet a second later as you ask, “So… are you coming up? It’s a little after eleven. We should probably get ready soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in some. You should go first, though. I’ll need a bit less time.”

You’re already taking steps towards the staircase leading up, but you can’t refrain from throwing one last tease, “You sure? Not sure with your skincare routine. Have you even eaten?”

“Yes, I did. Don’t be a brat.”

You lift your lips to a last provoking, tight-lipped smile before you ascend to his room. The dress is still almost flawless between your clothes. You heavily worried about damage in the few days you travelled, but aside from a few spots that need to be ironed out, it’s as gorgeous as ever.

Flattening out the creases with a borrowed iron, you soon rummage in your suitcase for the curling iron and the rest of your make up. You look at the mess scattered on Jungkook’s table, wondering where to start.

Make up, probably.

Okay. you have one, two chances max to try what you want to achieve. The goal is to remain casual, natural and humble; considering your dress, you cannot overdo it. You don’t want to look excessively over the top. Want to keep your essence under the make up.

So you keep it lowkey, pretty much content with the results before you slip into the dress.

And when you look into the mirror, you nearly squeal. You don’t struggle with your appearance. But while you’ve largely been satisfied with how you look, you did occasionally find things to possibly improve.

Normal. Doesn’t everyone deem certain spots flaws, regardless of whether they actually are?

But today… today you’re sparkling. You’re happy; in love with what you accomplished.

If you could, you’d immediately rush down to him again, show you the results. But it seems you don’t need to — because half a minute later, you make out his voice outside. He’s talking to his brother, laughing about something; seems the rest of the family is leaving. The door shuts just before you hear him moving up the stairs with quick steps.

And… when he finally opens the ajar door to his own room, his body locks at the spot, as if somebody screwed his feet into the wooden floor.

The reaction is easily imagined; most often seen on TV. You didn’t know how real it was, but then again, clichés always have an origin in real life, don’t they?

You’re surprised, a little shy by how he looks at you. And how he looks in general — black trousers hugging his snatched waist and well-formed hips. The white dress shirt is still in progress, collars up, suit jacket not yet on.

And he’s olding something in his hand that you can’t recognise.

He looks breathtaking and mesmerising, despite missing half of the preparation still. Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.

Does he feel the same about you? Probably.

Because he curses, “What the fuck.”

Like a statement, not a question. You touch the silky soft material of your dress, widening your eyes as your quiet voice asks, “What?”

“What are you even?”

You burst out into a brief, fleeting laugh at the question, repeating, “What I am?”

“Like, a fairy or something. Shit, it’s as if I’m getting married.”

Another near-squeak falls out of you. But you can’t blame him this time; you chose this attire carefully.

The sheer chiffon fabric, light and airy, sparkling; it called your name the moment you saw it. Floor length, lavender, spilling to the floor like a waterfall; a spicy slit on the side that Jungkook’s eyes remained on for just a tiny heartbeat longer, you know.

And off-the-shoulder sleeves; most of the back bare.

Sheepishly, you ask, “So you like it?”

“Like, I—” he starts, yet stops. He blows a raspberry. “You’re so pretty. You’re the prettiest. Oh my God,” he exclaims, dramatically touching his forehead, “I need to keep other’s eyes off you. Look at you!”

You laugh out loud, a hand on his wrist to keep your balance, no other productive response in your bright pink entangled mind than, “Babe—”

“No, seriously. Okay, I concur. It was right for me to wait to see you in the dress. Getting a heart attack as we speak.”

Your cheeks still glow brightly when you wiggle a finger at him, disappointed that there is no reality show camera pointing at you to hear you say, “If your boyfriend doesn’t react like this, girl, you don’t want him.”

You instinctively move to the buttons of his sleeve, helping out, resisting the urge to give in and fix his collar, too. You want to see the end result so badly, but he’s still missing the tie and the jacket.

So you settle on merely touching the buttons over his chest, nodding as if approving before you say, “You already look so good, too. You know, maybe it’s you who should hide behind me today. What if some middle school girl crushing on you jumps you?”

He chuckles. “They can try.”

“They? Well, shit.”

“I’m kidding.” He lowers his chin, bringing your knuckles to his rosy lips, kissing one or two of them. “Hide me, then.”

“Mhm… Do you need help getting ready? With the tie or something?”

“Oh, it’s okay. You can lean back for a bit, tell me a story or something? I shouldn’t take too long.”

It’s a ritual of sorts. Sometimes, when you wait for the other on a date or dinner night, the faster one acts as the night’s entertainer. Sings songs or tells stories or plays DJ or serves the latest, hottest work tea.

You tell him, “Okay. But before I do,” your hand wanders down to his; it’s stubbornly closed around an object, dangling on his side. You uncurl his fingers. “What’s that you got there?”

“Oh, I…” He comes to life, as if he forgot that he was holding it at all. He lifts it between your faces, straightening his palm, and presents you something incredibly sparkly and nostalgic. “It’s part of the reason I went down at all. With my mom’s permission since she wore it at her prom…”

Damn it. Both of them deceived you.

“You were looking for it?” He nods; your heartbeat accelerates as you urge, “And…”

“And I got it for you.”

Words, you notice, are only your specialty when you’re jotting them down and narrating a story from within your mind. When it comes to answering to the grand gestures he always makes you fall in love with, you’re such a zero.

Odd, considering how he, in contrast, has claimed over and over again that he’s not as eloquent as he’d like to be. But you’ve long figured out that if he was to preach the truths he holds in his heart to an audience, the stage would drown in a flood of tears within minutes.

You reach for the shiny, pearly, flowery accessory. It’s rose-gold, a little vintage, clearly older, and so strikingly beautiful. It looks like…

“A comb… for me,” you say. Not the one to untangle your hair. The decorative type; fancy and gorgeous. He nods again, lets you take it between your fingers. “Why?”

“Just,” a shrug of his shoulder, “I wanted to give you a little something to remind you of this place and the love you got here. Besides, it’d look so pretty on you.”

A reminder that you’re loved. You wonder — who thinks of these things? Does anyone else in this universe heat up their girl’s chest like your boyfriend does?

They can tell you what they want; you’re the luckiest being alive. And in return, you want to love him as much as nobody has ever loved before.

You whisper, “Thank you, Kook… Your mom is okay with this?” Another enthusiastic nod of confirmation. “Thank you so much. I— I wish you could see yourself the same way.” You squeeze it in your hand to feel it properly, then open it again. “This is so pretty.”

“It’ll suit you.”

“Yes?” Softly, you hand it back to him, turning to the mirror, with him right behind you. “Do you want to put it in?”

“Ah… I can try.”

“Right there?” You point to the back of your head; to the braid in your loose half updo. “Near the hair pins I used. The comb might hide them well, too.”

And he does his best. Regards your hairdo focused, eyebrows knitting in concentration, so gentle with it. No getting stuck, no intentional tugging.

“Wait,” he then says, tapping his trouser’s pocket, and then fishes out his phone for a picture. He shows it to you; the accessory sits there perfectly, not crooked or ruining a single wisp of hair. “How’s that?”

“You did it so well. Thank you, Koo.” You face him again, smile bright and endless. “Your turn?”

“Yes.” He rubs his hands, looking around. “Let’s get this over with. Give me feedback, okay? And tell me a story?”

You take a seat at the edge of his bed prettily, coming up with a short tale about personified instruments and what they’d symbolise. The guitar for the heart and the love in it, the drums for thunder and the excited pulse of the soul.

“The flute for the breeze and dreams?” Jungkook adds.

And you urge in a thrilled tone, “And the violin for the rain and longing. They’d learn from each other, right?” You sigh. “I’ll think about the piano, too. Can’t figure it out yet… it could be a lot.”

Jungkook nods, distracted and interrupting the story when he asks for brief comments on his progress. Barely any feedback, though; praises largely.

You watch as he slips into the rest of his clothing and gels his hair back — it’s grown quite a bit since the press conference in September. You get to your feet, amped up when he finally claps and rubs his hands in anticipation a bit later, announcing that he’s ready to leave.

And you’re still euphoric when you jump into your car, letting him drive through the streets he knows much better. His fingers wander to the passenger seat every now and then; minutes after the last scolding, you keep reminding him to keep his hands on the wheel.

I want to kiss you so bad, but your damn make up won’t let me today, huh?

A tease here, a flirt there.

You feel like you could do anything. The sky's the limit. And it soon proves that the statement has never rang truer, even if in a vastly different context now.

Because once you reach the wedding — your metaphorical sky —, Ria is already standing at the parking lot, waving the moment she spots the two of you stepping out of the car. From afar, you already see the wedding’s venue; a lake in the back, a huge tent and a field at the front.

The parking lot right next to it, but still a couple minutes of a trek away.

Ria’s parents indulge Jungkook in a conversation about something you barely register right away, and she gestures towards herself, hugging and greeting you with an odd half-smile.

“You look so pretty,” she says, and you beam benignly, returning the compliment.

She’s rocking a dark blue dress, sleeveless, her hair in a loose bun. Wavy strands frame her face. But somehow, she looks demotivated. Worried to the slightest, though still mostly cheerful. So you ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! I just wanted to tell you something. But don’t freak out, okay?”

Well, shit. Doesn’t start as you imagined, does it? You glimpse over to Jungkook. He’s laughing from the heart, button nose crunched; why is she not telling him, too?

Your chest feels tighter; the usual human response to a menacing statement such as hers. You upright yourself, take a deep breath, ground yourself as you encourage, “Yes? I won’t. What’s up?”

“Well… we’re in this town and like, people know each other. And since we’re all in a very close circle here, I just wanted to say that,” her face changes; she kind of grimaces, as if apologetic for something, “Nara came, too.”

Ah.

Ah…

The sky's the limit, and you reached it, and now you’re kind of crashing.

Well. You never thought about this; but it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? Of course she’d be here. She was part of this town and Jungkook’s life for so many years, so naturally, she’d be familiar with his relatives, too.

Besides, even if she hadn’t been with him… Didn’t Jungkook and Ria already establish with you just yesterday, when you were inhaling your ice cream, that this small town strives on familiarity?

Meetings at the town hall, the shop owners’ affection for most of their year-long customers. The Stars Hollow vibe you already recognised.

Ahhh…

So that’s what Junghyun might have been trying to tell you on the first day, too. You remember his mother interrupting.

How annoying. You did not want to feel annoyed. Maybe it would’ve been better if Ria hadn’t told you; if you’d bumped into Nara randomly and suffered the temporary heart attack. Or perhaps, you wouldn’t have seen her at all…

Come on. Unrealistic.

Fuck, you feel childish. There shouldn’t be any burning in your chest or an uncomfortable warmth in your cheek. You shouldn’t be feeling the urge to run over to Jungkook, to actually hide him behind you.

To rush to his ear, whisper your worries, make him promise that he only loves you and won’t ride into the sunset with her.

Delusional, paranoid concerns that you wouldn’t entertain on any normal, sane day; then again, the news Ria delivered wasn’t going to leave you unbothered anyway. This whole thing around exes really sucks.

“I… I shouldn’t spiral, though, right?” you answer, your voice a little weaker. Ria immediately nods, though still not relaxing the wrinkle between her eyebrows. “I mean, of course she’d be here. This is her place, she was born here and…”

Ria takes your hands in hers, assures, “I promise you it’s nothing too bad, okay? Nara and Jungkook have been here at the same time before and literally nothing happened.”

What? When?

“When?” you echo.

“Uh, like last summer? He only came down for a couple days, though. College exams and stuff.”

Ah… you wouldn’t even know. Back then, you’d only encountered him once, at the blurry frat party that you spent in locked rooms and on tiled roofs. When you sang together and spilled your hearts to each other.

For the very first time.

Whatever he did before or after that… how would you know?

Only, you feel even sicker at the thought that after that party, and after he allegedly met Nara here again without anything literally happening, he still linked with her back in the city. Still shared his nights and sheets with her.

Does this count as nothing happening? What if the time here evoked something? What if it happens again?

Fuck, what if it happens again?

“I’m going to panic,” you tell Ria.

“What? No,” she exclaims, though instantly lowering her voice, rubbing your arm soothingly, “it’s okay, I promise. He didn’t even think of it. Either that or he doesn’t care ‘cause he didn’t mention her once.”

“But now I might keep thinking about it.”

“Seriously. Fuck, I feel bad for saying it—”

“No… no, it’s okay. You should’ve.”

“Okay, look. It’s honestly fine. She’s nice, she won’t do anything shady; not if she knows about y’all.” Another caressing touch to your shoulder. “I just wanted to warn you. Please don’t feel startled. I’m here, okay? I’ll smash his nose if anything happens.”

She looks to the side. The other conversation has seemingly ended, too, and you swallow as Ria’s parents wave her over. She says, “Okay. Gotta go, but I’ll meet you guys inside and reserve seats, okay? There’s just limited assigned seating.”

She pats your coat-clad arm, and then walks away.

Well. Okay.

You guess you’ll have to get over this one way or another. You focus on your clothing. Focus on how you look, how Jungkook looks. The weather, the tent many many feet away. Your boyfriend’s gaze on you as he walks back to you, offering his hand.

He pauses when he sees you, asking, “Is everything okay?”

“Hm?” you hum. “Yes. Just nervous, I think.”

“Me too.” He flashes the sweetest grin known to mankind, genuinely excited, childlike joy. Tilts his head at you. “You seriously look so fucking pretty. Like really, really.”

You smile.

Okay…

It should be alright. Jeon Jungkook is so in love with you; damn it, he even peels your oranges for you when you don’t feel like doing it. You need to trust the process; need to hold onto your excitement.

Okay.

You glance at the event warming up in the far. Halfway through, people have gathered, standing on the grass or the man-made path. There’s still a bit of time; so naturally, they’re still busying themselves with conversations.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’ve met her before. This isn’t different.

You look down to where his and your fingers intertwine; put particular attention to the way he holds you. Firmly, as if protecting and loving and keeping you close at the same time.

His smile lifts your spirits a little, the wind enclosing your mind and easing it. You nod only slightly, telling yourself it’ll all be good — and then, let him tug you towards the wedding.

The wedding is as bustling as you expected. It’s bright, colourful, flowers draped over the place in abundance. Even before you enter it, the huge tent leaves you breathless, gasping.

They put so much effort into this; it’s clear as day. Jungkook’s mother isn’t around, but the moment you lay your eyes on her again, you’ll praise her for what she helped mount. Somehow, the beauty nearly makes you forget that you’re among pure strangers.

But that at least one familiar face is roaming here somewhere.

You take a deep breath.

All these people know each other. They probably grew up together, know the ins and outs of the town, have gathered at weddings and funerals and school events. You don’t know how well you’ll be able to integrate, but you do hope for their support.

It’s not too much to ask, you reckon.

At least not when Jungkook pulls at your hand and the two of you into certain directions, coming to a stand multiple times when he sees a person or two calling him to them. Some are old school friends; some adults he knew when he was a child.

Candy store owners. Somebody who sold him his first scooter. Or a pal he used to share his banana milk with.

The sentiments are clearly there and they bask in them, but none of them ever forgets about you. Jungkook introduces you, tugs you into his side, enskies you with praise. And they respond with kindness and interest; tell you he’s mentioned you before.

You remember. Jungkook told you how his friends spoke about you or saw you on TV, eager to meet you — they react according to the excitement he foretold, and you reciprocate it with ease. Very sweet.

Yet, it seems that even in a small town, or especially in a small town, enmity runs just as deep as affection. Some people remember friendships, others still resent rotten memories.

You soon meet the first one of the latter kind.

He’s standing near the entrance of the spacious tent; you glance inside, unsuspecting, not a single familiar face in sight. You don’t notice him until Jungkook does, coming to a stand, walk interrupted as the guy exclaims, “Jeon Jungkook! My goodness, Jungkook—”

You meet thick eyebrows, long-ish dark hair, full lips. He’s handsome, his smile bright.

And his voice is mellow and sweet, and at certain tones, it reminds you of Jimin’s; then again, some syllables come out much deeper. You don’t know who he is; of the pictures Jungkook has shown you, he wasn’t in any of them.

“Hey,” Jungkook greets, somewhat distant. You don’t think standing here is his first choice, but your boyfriend is as polite as can be. Even waves towards the guy, and tells you, “This is Christian. Barom, but he lives in Australia now, so.”

“Hi,” you reach out a hand, “nice to meet you.”

The accent is heavy and somehow cursive when he responds, “Likewise.”

Jungkook is definitely not delighted about him. Follows the touch of your hands, then your gaze up to Christian’s face. You notice it before Jungkook can probably even think of it: the odd look the stranger throws at you.

Up and down. Smile telling. Uncomfortable.

And when Jungkook suddenly does catch it, he intervenes, “You came all the way from Sydney?”

“Yep. And you came over from the city?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook answers. You barely register it, but you’re certain he’s been pushing you behind him inch by inch; but you remain at your spot. You can deal with this. “We were on vacation before, but I was gonna come anyway.”

“Nice. And wait, sorry, you were…?”

You recall never introducing yourself; but you’re positive he’s figured out your relationship to Jungkook just by the steadfast grip around your palm. But Jungkook still officially voices your name and informs him, “My girlfriend.”

Christian must be seeing or hearing something you aren’t — strange since it was him who asked — but he laughs, teasing, “You’re being defensive.”

“I’m not. I literally just told you she’s my girlfriend.”

“Lucky. You look pretty together.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You have not a single clue what’s going on. Jungkook is never really rude, so there must be something about this Barom or Christian — he’s never mentioned him before.

Then again, you guess growing up in a tight space comes with all sorts of relationships. Christian is probably the sort that never earns a mention until actually met with the person themselves.

It’s funny though — in some way, the rejection seems one-sided. As if Jungkook is still holding something against him and Christian remains uncaring; while it might not be a universal truth, you’ve experienced that those utterly calm are often the ones at fault.

And Jungkook isn’t an angry human being. He’s kind. Patient. Needs a reason to be mad.

Christian doesn’t take the hint when he smiles, a heavily tattooed hand patting Jungkook on his shoulder as he suggests, “See you later then? Let’s take a picture or get a drink afterwards.”

Jungkook only stalls for the tiniest seconds, but you know him — he’s probably already made up his mind. You look between the men, baffled by the nearly visible bolts shooting from one pair of eyes to the other.

“Sure,” Jungkook eventually says, your hand still in his, and works on moving to the coat check and then to the chairs without adding anything else.

You don’t inquire yet what this was about as you walk, catching glimpses of the priest, of the stranger guests and of the people lingering at the front of the tent. You’re busy gauging Jungkook’s eyebrows, observing as they relax more the further he gets away from the guy.

And neither do you need to pop the question when you’ve settled somewhere in the middle-ish, you on his right side, Ria on the other. Next to her, her parents that you briefly met when you brought her home yesterday.

Previously turned on her seat, she now uprights her body, hooking her arm with Jungkook’s as she whispers to him, yet clearly enough for you to hear, “Was that Yu Barom?”

Jungkook nods. “Christian Yu now. Yup.”

“Right.”

They nod, understanding each other wordlessly, but you’re still floating in between a couple theories and the actual sentiments. So you lean in; you’ve become one of the gossipers at a wedding, you guess.

“Okay,” you start; the two of them stare at you with the same big puppy eyes. “You don’t seem to like him.”

“Oh, we don’t,” Jungkook bluntly admits.

“Why?”

Jungkook smacks his lips. Eyes drift to the roof of the tent, the polyester fabric swaying in the gust. Then, they shift to his cousin, presumably seeking approval, because she shrugs her shoulders, gesturing with her hand and says, “Oh, go ahead.”

So he explains, “His little cousin was a constant problem for Ria. Same age… harassed her and all. Constant flirting and phone calls and didn’t take the hint, just an uncomfortable dude in general.” He pauses, shaking his head. “I had to threaten him for him to get lost. And Christian didn’t like that.”

Okay, now you definitely feel like somebody indulging in tittle-tattle. Some more and you’ll be one of the aunties. Your mouth gradually opens as he speaks, and you emphasise, “No way.”

“It’s true— the guy was on a break from college for just a month and decided to argue with a fifteen-year-old.”

“What? Did you get into a fight with him?”

“Nah.” He pauses when a group of random three girls in green dresses walks along the aisle, even though they’re barely facing you, sending a perfumed breeze towards you. Then, “Not a physical one. But it was a bit messy. Didn’t like that night.”

“Me neither,” Ria confirms.

Of course he didn’t like it.

He’s largely non-confrontational. You’ve learned this much in the time you’ve known him, and have given the fact utmost sense ever since he revealed his innermost fears. Jungkook keeps quiet; he dreads repetitions of a direful past.

Yet, initiating and risking a conflict for his baby cousin increases the respect you harbour for him.

People are cruel; but Jeon Jungkook is good-hearted to his core, no matter how flawed.

You touch the back of his hand, caressing it when he says, “Stay with me tonight, okay? And if you can’t, then do come to me when he nears you.”

“Okay.”

His eyes meet yours, concerned but also suspiciously fiery when he states, “Because like, I really didn’t like how he was looking at you.”

Ah…

“Hm?”

“You didn’t notice?” he asks, his voice higher, thick eyebrows closing into each other again. You lift a thumb, clearing the crease and his stress. “I almost plucked his eyes out.”

Of course you noticed. You just didn’t think it irritated Jungkook to this point.

“Oh— Kook—”

“No seriously,” he stresses, turning his hand to get ahold of two of your fingers, “guy was sweet half his life and then tried stuff with so many girls. I wouldn’t be surprised if he approached you again, so please stay away from him, okay?”

“Yes, baby. But I wouldn’t let him do shit anyway. Don’t worry.” You nudge his shoulder. “And don’t be jealous. Have you seen yourself?”

He rolls his eyes at the accusation, but there’s a sliver of a smile on his face and relief in his gaze. You guess hearing you say it does wonders to him; sometimes, you truly praise the connection between you, based on a clear foundation of trust and communication.

Well… at least now.

“I’m not jealous,” he insists, “it was just gross how he looked at you. Fuck this. Not with my girl.”

You can’t help but break into a chuckle, way too loud for your row. You slap a hand over your mouth, careful not to ruin the lipstick, and nearly give into the urge to release his pout. But it’s too sweet — it can linger for a second.

Removing your hand, you near him until your mouth grazes his, assuring, “I love you,” before you peck his lips curtly. He still looks a little grumpy, though. Your man. “It’s okay, baby.”

The grip around your hand intensifies. It doesn’t seem it will vanish for the rest of the night. You sure hope it doesn’t.

And you’re immensely grateful for the luck you’re enjoying. Not only because of this place’s beauty and the palm holding onto yours — but you haven’t seen Nara either. In fact, you become hyper aware of how much you’ve been thinking of her.

Like; what is she wearing? How is she doing? Is she thinking about Jungkook; expecting him here; feeling a sort of way? Is she imagining his smile and how she saw it in this very town so many times, dedicated to her?

And did Christian ever flirt with her, too? Did it irritate Jungkook?

You’ve been thinking it all dead.

Unnecessarily so if Jungkook hasn’t even mentioned her, never sought her out. Instead, he’s busy protecting his girl from past bullies.

In all honesty, you’ll probably cross ways with her still. The guest list isn’t endless; the place vast but not infinite.

But for now, you forget about her, trashing all thoughts and possibilities. Shake your head. Breathe it out. Relieve your chest.

You diverge into conversations about anything and everything, reminiscing about yesterday and the places you saw. Listen into stories Ria and Jungkook tell: about injuries, about pleasant nights and about the fights they had.

Ria was like the sister Jungkook never had; Junghyun was a good older brother, but when seeking another opinion, she was on speed dial. Sometimes, growing up in a certain environment makes all the difference — hearing a girl’s thoughts at all times might have made Jungkook the way he is.

Thoughtful, respectful. You have encountered sexism a million times — not to mention just minutes ago, checked out so shamelessly — but you don’t think Jungkook has such a notion even in any crevice of his heart.

You’re fond and happy when they laugh together; her crinkles match his. Their laugh contagious.

It still echoes and fades, slowly and lovingly when the tent quietens. All heads turn, but you don’t see much from here. Maybe a couple moving bodies at the entrance. Someone coughs, interrupting the silence and lowering their head, and the moment allows you a peek at the sensation.

The bride is waiting, holding a bouquet. Her father is touching her veil to fix it despite having nothing to fix; but she doesn’t notice.

Gayoung is glancing ahead, breathing in. Everyone’s eyes remain on her, but your head turns to follow her eyes. The groom is already standing there in a standard groomesque position, hands folded, upright like a post.

He looks insanely nervous. His shiny boot taps the ground, lips parting and unparting. And he’s blinking; then forming a circle with his mouth, releasing the pent-up tension.

She hasn’t moved yet. The ceremony is yet to begin.

But even before all that, as people indulge in the sight and wait for their eternity to start, Jungkook has already mimicked your turn, fingers still intertwined. When he speaks, you flinch; you didn’t notice his voice this close.

He’s looking at the groom, too, before he settles his gaze on you. Stares with affection in his gems that bursts your heart, splinters your ribs and implodes your chest. You know he’ll say something to fade out the entire crowd before he actually says it.

“Can I tell you something mainstream?”

You hum, “Hm?”

He regards your digits, plays with them. “If you ever choose to marry me…” Your heart stops. “I’ll look just as tense as him.”

“Would you… want to marry me one day?”

“It’s just a thing people do, right?” he questions. “Whether it’s like this or in any other way— I’ll spend my life with you anyhow.”

I’ll spend my life with you.

Not a question. Not a need.

But a confession. A goal. A plan.

You don’t get to answer when the first tunes of a guitar play. It’s a song you recognise; paints a smile onto your face. The melody is soft, slow, so gentle. They didn’t choose an orchestral track or the usual Wedding March after all.

It’s a song.

Jungkook’s eyes blow wide, and he immediately seeks yours. Mutters into your ear, “Do I know this?”

“You probably do.”

“Wait—” He listens in. Pupils roll up as he ponders. Then, “Didn’t someone sing this in the lobby this week?”

Almost. It’s why it delights you so. You already had half an idea back then, and you managed to somehow incorporate it into this wedding without really being part of these people.

“Yoongi played it on the guitar,” you clarify, “I suggested it to your mom this morning. I guess she liked it enough to forward the request so spontaneously.”

“You did? Then she must’ve…”

You can’t decipher what he’s thinking. His stare is fixated on the passing bride, her slow steps, the beam she wears as she nears whom she’s decided to be the rest of her life.

You can’t peep into his brain, but you notice when he tilts his head. See the tiny gap between his lips and the way he catches the groom blink away tears the moment you do, because Jungkook smiles at just the same moment as you do.

Gayoung lowers her head when she comes to a stand in front of his still-fiancé, and then delivers the most magnificent, most mesmerising grin. She’s happy, you know. You don’t think you’ve seen this intensity of joy a lot of times in your life.

You recognised it when Jungkook woke up still in your bed after the blue night. When he opened up to you, vowed to stay, brought you to his home. When you announced to the world that you’d be his to remain, that you’d do what you enjoy.

When you got home that evening, and he kissed you right against the door, deemed you crazy, deemed you his.

You haven’t seen this very happiness much in your life, but you’ve seen it in him. And you’ve felt it in your chest. Growing, blossoming, never wilting.

The couple at the front speaks its vows like a song. The words are melodic, poetic, and you’re almost entirely sure that they’re not rehearsed. It’s all real. The love in them and the memories in them, accompanied by the liquid bliss swimming in his and her waterline.

No, you haven’t experienced this too many times before. You’ve felt it. He’s felt it.

And you don’t need to know much more than this; don’t need to know what he’s thinking to understand what he means when he says—

“This… this is it.”

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

1k block limit as always!! you can read the second half of the chapter in this reblog!! the reblog begins with a new scene <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #rerefundslocals

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rerefundslocals · 1 year ago

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OH EM GEE, this was absolutely gold!! I loved everything about this, oc is an absolute angel and jungkook...could work on being an angel on oc's level🙄 but otherwise he was a great person, and his willingness to hang out with oc for that long was the absolute cutestt🥺 they were the cutest thing ever, loved their convos and those little deep ones they had. Jungkook opening up without realizing..likeee the power oc has is just chefs kiss 💋!

And the holy grail...that smut..excuse me the 69?!?! MHM THAT TIED IT UP!! it was just like the nastiest but also really lowkey fluffy smut, like reallyyyyy lowkey.

To tie this up, I'll just say Meraki couple deserve a round of applause 👏 and youuu of course author, this was a lovely gift for Jkays 27th , mmmmmmm absolutely loved this and will he rereading cause I just can't get enough!! *squeals* thank you for this once again, mwahh, see you on the next splendid update. Byeeee 🕺🏾🙈🎀💕🕺🏾🕺🏾🪐🤞💕

meraki | jjk (m)

MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: bickering, bantering, jk is a bit rude at the beginning, flirting, tension, oc is bold and courageous, mention of someone being stoned, mention of insomnia, jk's lip rings <3, heights, not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers lmao, deep talks and sweet moments, one bed trope, guest appearance, jk takes pictures of pretty things, stars and sky talk <3 explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, implied pain kink? lol, fingering, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, 69, spitting, one or two spanks, bit of choking, soft and hard sex, unprotected sex (oc has an iud), soft dom!jk but also glimpses of sub!jk, ofc biiiig dick!jk, doggy/riding/missionary, praises, more flirting, jk's godly body, masturbation, cum swallowing (he comes in her mouth); the lovely ending <3 ➳ word count: 26.6k <3 ➳ a/n: you guys built this fic!! 🥺 hopefully this is what we expected it to be. it's also yet another love letter to one of the gentlest men i know; happy birthday, jeon jungkook, you're the standard and i will never fall out of love with you 💕 i hope y'all enjoy it!! come and talk to me when you're done mwah <3

MASTERLIST | WIPs

1:04AM, Her

There’s a word for how you do what you do.

A term you hold dearly in the crevices of your bright heart. Ever since you first learned its meaning two decades ago, you’ve made it your primary goal to breathe through life with it as your philosophy.

Passion, it is. A word certainly common in conversation and daily life — you’re not the only person to live by it. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to wallow in it.

Because there’s a fire behind your hard-working chest, lit up, pride residing next to it. It’s where you feel the most vivid light when you do what you love, blooming and blossoming. There are synonyms of it you know, and each of them are pretty as a growing garden.

You gatekeep them for now; haven’t yet found a person to share your knowledge with. Which is okay; in the meantime, you’ll keep looking. You do think everybody needs something like this in their lives.

Something that forces your body upright, sprinkling fairy dust and glimmer into your eyes. Something you can resort to in order to escape the trials of life.

For you, as odd it may seem to people, it’s your job.

You usually work late like today, surrounded by sounds and disquiet. But you enjoy it. You like stepping into the night afterwards, and you like the dark blanket above, the starlight sprinkled across the comforting blackness.

And you like it when it drizzles sometimes. The giggles of couples or groups of friends as they wade through the rain. The absolute quiet and relieving serenity.

You live for this. You enjoy people. You enjoy sensing life around you.

Tonight isn’t different. Even when you find yourself hastening by the end, wrapping up the event with a dozen chores to tackle; even when the host rushes to you, asking for help. Your shoes click-clack across the floor as you move left and right, up and down.

But by God, you never doubt these days’ worth.

1:04AM, Him

Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.

Jungkook learned that early on when he agreed to be a photographer at events. He’s encouraged and urged to ask people to pose; that’s his job. Waiting for them to force a smile before they can resume eating, debone their fish or work on their lobsters, beef, veggies.

They long to return to whatever they were doing, or to their conversations, mostly insignificant ones; Jungkook knows because he, involuntarily, hears too many of them.

It’s only when they’re dancing or drinking that they open up. That’s when they’re okay with listening to him, obedient, almost as if he’s authority, staring into the lens with flushed cheeks and wide grins.

Though it’s irritating when every other person walks up to him afterwards, inquiring when they’d be receiving the photos, or, even ruder, if at all.

Today, there are a few more comfortable people around. Not as harsh, not as grim as he feels. You’re here, too, somewhere; of course you are — you got him here in the first place. Somehow, your paths often cross. You were ready for a picture immediately, drawn in by the host, smiling.

He perceived your presence just for a second, though. Doesn’t need or want any more than that. You’re too loud, too energetic anyway; he’s rather among himself, not in any photo, indulging in the job.

He loves clicking through his camera roll; it’s the people that tire him out. Working his way through the pictures he took once home gives him joy, though. Makes his fatigue feel worth it.

But God, you’re not the only one, right? So many people here are the same amount of enthusiastic, party people to the core.

Which is why he’s happy when the night finally concludes, and he, far after midnight, stuffs his equipment back into his bag and slips into his at least somewhat chic blazer.

1:12AM, Her

You groan as your hand dives into your bag, fishing out the key that you already removed from your keychain an hour ago. Back when the man facing you approached you; he’s the last face you see when you step out of the somewhat stuffy hall.

Or so you think.

You don’t know that the night is far from over when you linger at the entrance, handing him a key that he encloses in his grip with a grateful nod and a goodbye-wave. The final interaction when you excuse yourself, breathing in the night.

It’s a hunch cooler than when you left home today; yet, the breeze feels pleasant caressing your skin. The end of August is still warm, still fairly far from fall; you regard summer nights as the best part of the season.

Sighing, you come to a halt in the middle of the pavement, studying the alley. You ponder until you remember a bus not too far from here; you need to turn left, right? Should be there. You have never been around here before, so you’re not entirely sure.

But you’ll just go with your first instinct for now. Keep walking until you detect any kind of a promising sign. You hold onto your roomy bag as you pass the rare people still around.

Some of them are faces you recognise from the party; some are strangers. One couple you spoke to just earlier even lifts a thumbs up for you, praising you for the exceptional organisation. They make you feel at ease until the road quietens.

And the place stays serene and silent until you hear the clearing of somebody’s throat. It’s not near; yet not far. Your eyes scan the area, not for long when they recognise a figure sitting on the opposite side of the narrow street.

It’s a man, clutching a heavy object with careful hands. A camera, you know it immediately. He’s hunting through the pictures he took, face slightly lit by the screen. Jutting lower lip, slowly blinking eyes.

Simple attire — dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer on top that hides the wide shoulders.

Constantly and undeniably handsome, albeit always grim due to the lack of a smile.

You squint to confirm it’s him you’re seeing; but when he smacks his lips in the dark of the night, nibbling at the shiny lip rings, you know you’re right. This is a habit you’ve never seen on anybody this persistently as on Jeon Jungkook.

And the one and only Jeon Jungkook must be feeling your eyes on him, because only a second later, he lifts his gaze. Instinctively, you wave a little, but Jungkook isn’t on board with your hospitality. He rolls his eyes; you don’t take it to heart, though. You’re used to this.

As he starts stuffing the camera back into his bag, you waddle over, crossing the street. Upon reaching him, you ask, “Got some good pictures tonight?”

“I’d guess so.”

His voice is as nonchalant as always, his shoulders relaxed, uncaring. To your vampire-novel-reading middle school self, he would’ve been the coolest and most mysterious riddle, waiting to be cracked. But you know how he feels about you, and that makes the situation just a little less intriguing.

Yet, you never stopped approaching him, because aside from conversations like these, you know he’s just human, too. He smiles at events whenever he gets the chance, content with the moments he captures; he likes what he does.

Photography has always been his thing; or that’s what you gathered, at least. You see the same sparkle in his eyes that you feel in yours when you work; the same joy when he fumbles with his camera, always checking, presumably changing the settings, testing it out.

You lean in a little, wondering, “Can I see?”

“Uhm…” He hesitates, lifting the strap of the camera bag higher up his shoulder. “Do you have to?”

“If I may. I brought you here, remember?”

Of course. It’s always you; you’re the one to organise this, and you’ve seen his pieces and albums before. He might not hang around you too much, always the first to tell you he has somewhere else to be, but you know he’s good. You trust him in this regard.

“You say that every time,” he argues, a tattooed hand settling on his bag, clearly reluctant.

So you click your tongue, waving your suggestion off. You try to sound as lively as ever, but your voice is more earnest as you say, “Okay, it’s fine. Don’t show me the pictures, but come on. Be a bit nice at least.

“Alright. What else? Do you need something?”

You sigh in defeat. “No. I was just going home.”

“You should go home. It’s pretty late.”

“Aren’t you going, too?”

“I am,” he responds, his voice going up at the end. “I just wanted a bit of peace before leaving.”

“Peace,” you repeat, as if trying out the word. “You can’t get it at home?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he only shifts his stare from you to the empty road ahead, exhaling a dramatically long breath before he gets into motion. You immediately react, by his side until he asks, “Are you following me?”

“Huh? Did you forget that I was literally heading this way?” He’s distracted, looking for the street signs, and you laugh at his own confusion. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I guess so.”

Okay, at least he’s honest, not giving himself airs. You want to see what his inner compass suggests, but then somewhat shun the thought of walking further into unknown terrain.

So you question, “You taking the bus?”

“Nope. Subway.”

“Ah. That should be this way, then,” you nod towards the direction you’re approaching, “I know the bus is, because that’s where I need to go.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

That’s it. He doesn’t respond much; only lets out the millionth sigh, following you with something you might nearly call trust. He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other kind of interaction, so you let him sink into his thoughts.

But a beat of silence later, you still ask politely, “How did you like the party?”

“Uhhh, it was okay.” For the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “The people were weird, don’t you think? But I got some good shots in.”

“Hmm… okay. I didn’t notice anything weird about the people.” You shrug your shoulders. “Talking about shots… did you drink a little?”

He whines your name as the question is a tale as old as time, complaining, “Every single time? Why is this so important to you…” He waits, shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Seems you did, though.”

“A little,” you say, bringing your forefinger and thumb together, indicating a tiny space. “But I’m all sober and well.” Another brief pause. “Are you okay, too?”

He licks his lower lip, dimples appearing that don’t ever need a smile to emerge. Then, he throws back, “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You always look so bored at parties. And you always go home alone.”

You don’t know if the following laugh is sarcastic or not, but you soon discover the very answer when he lifts a finger and counts, “First off, how would you know?” Another finger added to the mix. “Secondly, I’m not bored. I’m just focused. And I don’t know anybody there.”

His hand drops again, working on his bag’s strap again. Pushing it over his shoulder. He adds, “It’s a bit different for me than for you because they’re literally your clients and you know them at least a little.”

“I mean… you know me.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” He regards you from head to toe, not the softest of expressions, and you pout. You don’t ever take him seriously, but he can be hurtful sometimes. “I just don’t think we’d be good conversation partners.”

“Weird,” you challenge, “because you’re conversing with me right now, no problem. It’s also not my fault you always argue with me at every event.”

“I don’t. You approach me.”

“You do.” You lean your face closer to his, not making it very far when his palm pushes your cheek, and you, away from him. “Ugh. Okay. Seriously, though — why do you always leave alone?”

He exhales in defeat. Seems that Jeon Jungkook is too tired to take your idiocy tonight. You understand, but you’re just trying to figure out how to convince him that you’re normal, too. That he just dislikes you because you’re different from him, and nothing else.

“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.

“I mean it,” you still declare, “there are so many sweet and nice girls around. They ask about you sometimes, you know? I’ve also met many men on such pa—”

“That’s great,” he interrupts, a palm stopping you from spilling more info, “but… I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Oh.” The syllable is short, cut, harmless. That is, until it clicks in your brain, and your eyes widen, lips parting as you turn to him in shock, stating, “Oh, wait. Do you… play for the other team?”

Jungkook blinks at you. Then lowers his gaze, turning it a couple shades darker, staring at you from under his eyelids. He looks annoyed when he spits, “No, I’m not gay. And even if I was, it’d be none of your business.”

Shit.

Okay, you were sure about your assumption, but now that it turned out wrong, this sounds pretty shitty. And annoying. And awkward.

“Sorry,” you apologise, and he gives you a taunting head tilt. “Okay… different topic then? Tell me, what do you think of this dress?” You lift the hem a little, smiling; you were convinced the moment you first saw it. “Do you think I look pretty today?”

For a second, he joins; his initial gaze is still cynical, but his voice is appealing, a whisper when he leans in and asks, “Why? Do you want to be the one I go home with?”

Ah… why do the words, the way he speaks them, tickle you just right? You’re flabbergasted, seeing your reaction on the bare skin of your arms, but all he does is back away again and once again, shake his head.

You want to retort something snarky back, but you don’t get to it when he inquires a moment later again, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

Right… you need to go home. You forgot.

“Uh… yeah.” You look around, finally detecting a sign, picturing a bus and a number. “There’s the bus, so the subway should be…” You stop; hum; then see two women waiting at the bus stop. “Should we ask someone?”

“Sure.”

With a nod, you separate from him, walking towards the bus station bench they’re sitting on, hands folded, conversing quietly. They’re surprised when they see a figure advance, but relax when they catch your smile.

You ask the questions floating in your brain, trying to explain where you live, what you need. They attempt an answer, gesture around, and barely a minute later, you’re thanking them and leaving again.

Jungkook stands there in anticipation, waiting for you to deliver good news — yet confused when you return with slumped shoulders instead of an enthusiastic, “We were right! Come!”

Okay, there aren’t too many reasons for Jungkook to dislike you; you want to say this much. But when you see him understand that this is going nowhere, you do get his frustration.

Especially as you kiss your lips, staring at him like a lost bunny, and explain, “So… the subway isn’t here.” Big eyes meet yours. “I’m not sure where it is, and they,” your thumb points to the girls behind you, “couldn’t help because they’re tourists.”

“Ah. Great,” he says, delivering a falsely cheerful smile. Hands thrown into the air. “So we’re stranded and should definitely not be here. What about the bus? Where does it go?”

“Uhm…” You scratch your head. “Not where I need to go. It’s a different one. But!” Immediately, your voice rises, trying to approach this with hope. It’s not the end of the world, after all! “Don’t worry! We’ll get home either way.”

“Just a lot later than necessary.”

“But nothing’s lost yet. Don’t you trust me?”

And — much as you thought — Jungkook only ogles back in silence, blinking once again before he walks away with a curse on his lips.

1:25AM, Her

You catch up to him fast.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise!” you vow, but you reckon it only makes matters worse.

Because he breathes air through his nose, like a bull, arguing, “I’m tired, though. This is wasting so much of my time. You always do.”

You stop in your tracks. He doesn’t. You sulk, “That was mean.”

“And you’re idiotic.”

“Well… shit.”

This time you tilt your head, grinding your teeth; less out of anger, more out of embarrassment. You don’t respond much else, and he doesn’t throw another insult. Instead, he opens the bag again with the velcro’s ripping sound, heaving out his SLR.

You peek over his shoulder, confused about the timing to indulge in a passion, and ask, “What are you doing with that?”

“Looking through them,” he mutters, thumb working on the switching button, “maybe I took a picture when I came here. A sign where to find the subway.”

His reasoning elicits a sudden laugh out of you, probably unfounded to him, but very amusing to you. He throws a bewildered and somewhat warning look, and you immediately silence; still holding yourself back when he turns away again.

You wait, listen to the quiet of the night. He doesn’t seem to find any success, and the more time passes, the funnier you find his mind. Eventually, you step next to him and give up, telling him, “Hey. Don't be so tetchy. I'm not that bad.”

Jungkook side-eyes you, tapping the screen of the heavy Sony A9 Alpha. Inhaling the pleasant late summer air, he defends, “I'm never tetchy! But you got us lost.”

“So? You’re being dramatic. There's still Google Maps.”

That’s it. This look of his.

Jungkook must’ve gotten stuck in a decade you’ve long left, because he stares at you dumbfounded, camera still firmly in his hands. He tongues his cheek, blinks.

And then, you mock, “Guess I’m not the only idiot here, right?”

His next breath is deep, and he soon averts your eyes again. You dig, “What? If anything, then low battery might be your only excuse, you know?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you break into a grin again. Shake your head. Then fish out your phone at last, ready to type in the goal, or at least, to search the nearest subway and bus that fit your demands.

Hmmm, okay. If you need to go where you think you need to go, then the subway will really be in immediate distance to the bus. So you’ll be heading in the same direction anyway.

You open your mouth to ask for his address, prepared to type it in — but as you look at him again, you detect a deeply focused Jungkook, pursing his lips at his camera and regarding it with glitter in his eyes. You see it even from here, the sparkle.

Maybe he’s waiting for you to deliver a conclusion, because you catch him moving through older pictures in the meantime. From here, you only see glimpses. Of forests and roads, and then of waterfalls. Even some of him and his friends.

He doesn’t notice it, but his eyebrows are much more relaxed now, expression not quite as steely anymore; and his lips even twitch for a tiny second, tempted to smile. As if he forgot where he’s currently standing.

You let your arms sink, both hands holding your phone, and just gaze for a while. Then move your eyes to the side. To the sky. Remember places you’ve seen and loved in this town. Still hear his harsh tone echoing in your ears.

In hindsight, you really don’t think you've ever personally hurt or offended him. He might’ve been annoyed by something else. Perhaps he was dealing with something that he never dared to speak about; or perhaps, his perception of optimism is warped, because he clearly doesn’t wade through life with it.

You’d like to see his real self, though. The real self, because your gut feeling whispers to you that this isn’t him. Maybe there’s a kind and kindred soul hidden somewhere; maybe his smile proves far more intriguing to you than these mysterious moods of his. Once it appears, that is.

But…

He’ll probably say no. Your idea isn’t dumb, you’re certain, but he very likely will not go with it. But you want to try. Want to show him that you’re not as bad, that he can trust you; want to know what burdens him; or why he talks to you like this.

You might be the only one to wish for more time with somebody who wants to avoid you like the plague.

Yet…

You don’t want this to end just yet.

So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—

“…You know what? Let’s try something fun tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

He voices it with his attention only half on you, not quite taking you seriously; so you swallow to dampen your throat and speak firmer, suggesting, “You need to trust me on this, though.”

This time, he does look at you. Works on stuffing his camera back into his bag, opening his mouth to retort something, but you stop him with a shushing finger that he doesn’t look too happy about.

“Hold on, okay?” you exclaim. “Listen. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh… not until the afternoon.”

“So you can sleep in.”

“I guess.”

You clap once, loudly and dramatically, watching the man in front of you flinch. You can’t say if he’s irritated, shocked or terrified of you. But he looks hilarious like this, blinking, scowling as his fingers clutch his bag tighter.

“What is it?” he asks as if you’ve lost your mind.

“Look. Let’s not leave yet. Fuck Google Maps,” you suggest, and his eyes grow wider by the second, baffled, as if you’re caging him. “Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again. Isn’t this tempting?”

In your head, it is. Not for yourself, but for him. In your mind, he thinks of you as a constant nuisance that stands in his way, hopping around like an overhyped puppy.

Or not. Maybe he has a dog at home; maybe he regards you as worse than cute puppies.

Whatever.

You look at him expectantly, like your persisting stare could help him land a decision. Instead, however, he grimaces, his voice higher when he asks, “What even are you sa—”

No, you won’t give up yet; even if the recurring interruptions make him tear his hair out. You click your tongue and then argue, “Come on! Give it a try.”

Hesitation. Or rather, a question wondering if you’re crazy. Clear rejection. Are you losing?

“We’d be together, so nothing to fear,” you try further, “and how much time is there till sunrise?” You glance at your watch. “It’s barely half past one. The sun comes up in less than five hours. And like, I know it sounds like a lot, but if you give me some time, I’ll give you reasons to smile.”

He keeps looking at you in this questioning, are-you-fully-mad-manner, but you’re absolutely serious and you need him to know. You bat your eyelashes a little, offering your best laugh, and add, “Like this? If you really want to hate me after that, then okay. If not, then… maybe we could go get coffee someday.”

You’ve spoken enough. He raises a hand, quieting you down, and then finally says it.

“You must be crazy.”

“I am,” you confirm.

“You think I’d do this, huh?”

“…Maaaybe?”

“No.”

Jungkook’s answer is stone cold and direct, and it shuts you up with a near-wince. There’s a faint line between his thick eyebrows, lips pressed together; he looks dangerous and very, very mean.

So you don’t say much for another minute, following when he walks away. You side-eye him, notice him type his destination into his phone. Surrendering, you trudge the path he chooses, soon detecting signs leading to the subway.

He can’t say anything to your presence by his side. Even if his answer remains a steadfast, boring no, you’ll have to go in this direction anyway.

More than halfway through, you venture into a conversation again, “Have you ever tried anything like this before?”

“What? The nonsense you suggested?” he asks, and you nod, catching up with his long legs, slightly slower with your heels. “No. I don’t think I need to.”

“You’re so… don’t you ever try anything new?”

“I mean, is this your definition of something new?” He gestures at your surroundings haphazardly. “Going through town in the middle of the night instead of getting some decent sleep?”

You shrug your shoulders, defending, “It’s not like I do it every day. And nothing one can do every day anyway. That's why I want you to try it.” Your voice is soft, friendly. “But you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t answer; only comes to a halt when a bus stop nears, peeking up to the sign with the number before he asks, “That yours?” You hum in confirmation. “Okay. Will you get home well? It’s late.”

“Yeah, of course,” you pout, kicking off a tiny stone with your shoe, “done it a few times.”

He stalls. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. You notice it in his slow movements, the brief pause, the way he looks to the subway he needs to approach and then back to you. You smile when his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and then he tilts his head, sighs.

“Alright. Then… good night.”

And that’s it.

You tell him to sleep well in return, earning a tiny nod, and then he’s leaving you stranded, walking away. Your eyes stay on him until he’s out of sight, down the escalator to the subway and far, far away from the fun idea you conjured.

You mimic his sigh. Take the two or three steps to the bench under the bus stop; and then you wait.

At this time, public transport operates irregularly, so you’re not surprised when you’re still there minutes later. For a while, you remain alone — that is, until a stranger tumbles to you, swaying before he takes a seat on the other edge of the bench.

You don’t look at him; don’t want his attention on you. But to your discomfort, he garbles just a second later, “This the bus to…”

He gets a hiccup, pointing to the bus sign, and then mumbles the name of the station he needs to reach. You don’t understand, however, so you prod, “What?”

Slower now yet similarly slurred, he repeats his question, but this time, you understand and nod your head yes. He overshares, “It’s just that I’m drunk, so I need to be sure. Sorry for interrupting.”

Suddenly, you feel kind of sorry for him. Your shoulders relax; you observe him letting his arms dangle between his legs, sniffling, incredibly exhausted, it seems. What did the fella experience tonight?

You respond, “It’s okay. It’s really late. Get home well.”

“Thanks. You’re very nice.”

The same finger previously signalling to the sign now points at you; but he doesn’t touch you. In fact, his digits are still a good distance away, already falling when you feel a hand on your elbow out of the blue; you nearly react on intuition, getting into position to break somebody’s nose.

But when your eyes meet the other man’s, you recognise him as the same figure standing tall that abandoned you a couple minutes ago. His hand is still grasping the camera bag strap, and he looks calm, confident when he speaks—

“All good? Sorry, I left for too long, right? Let’s go.”

Your voice changes, a chuckle hidden in it when you blurt, “What?”

“You wanted to take a walk.”

And just like that, the snicker dies again. Is he being serious? It seems so; it’s the whole package, even. The nod towards an entirely different direction and the sudden fingers around your wrist, pulling you away.

“Uhm…” you start, feet moving automatically. You turn to the guy drowning in inebriation, leaving a last, “Good luck!” as you wave, smile. Then, to Jungkook, “I thought you went away. Did you want to do this after all?”

You’re cocking an eyebrow, but much at the back of Jungkook’s head, so he doesn’t see. But it seems he hears the tease in your voice, because half-annoyed, half-argumentative, he explains, “No. Just wanted to be a gentleman. I was going to leave the moment you got on the bus.”

Ah. So he was waiting, hiding somewhere? But you don’t mention it; it’d probably just rile him up more.

Yet, you challenge, “You’re lying. You were concerned and you thought my idea was fun after all.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, waving the white flag, probably just to shut you up, “don’t know if I can do this until sunrise, but I can walk with you for a bit. Get you closer to home. And I swear!”

Now he turns, shooting a stare at you over his shoulders, lightning bolts in the middle of his pupils, “If you’re lying and there’s literally nothing special on our way, I’m actually never talking to you again.”

Nothing easier than that.

“Deal!”

“Cool,” he so nonchalantly remarks, finally letting go of your arm, “which way are you heading then?”

“North-east.”

“Good. Works for me.”

The sun is nowhere near up yet; of course not. It’s 1:37AM. Around four and a half hours.

You’re hopeful. In your head, you imagine an uplifted demeanour in no time; try to guess what his smile might look like. A genuine one. Maybe sweet? Maybe cocky? You’ll find out. You will.

So you straighten your stance, clear your throat, sigh a content breath, and step into the night with the courage the stars lend you.

2:13AM, Her

The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.

Jungkook’s initial sighs cease soon as you advance into the town, walking down a busy main street. You guess the bustling area, the sounds of the traffic and the lights of the flashing cars relieve him somehow. Give him an excuse to not talk to you.

But as the occupied road ends and you reach and pass a crowded square, you’re back in calm and serene alleys. Some people are still wandering around, passing closed shops, much like you.

You attempt conversation every now and then, and Jungkook, having eventually realised that he needs to cooperate with you — he agreed to your idea after all — isn’t as mad anymore.

At some point, he breathes in the late summer breeze, and your head swerves into his direction immediately — maybe the magic of the night has finally reached his core, too. Perhaps he’s appreciating the journey you set out to embark on.

You, for one, cherish the quiet; you know at least this much. The alley must be part of the older corner of the town because the lampposts seem Victorian. They’re fancy, bent at the top, the light a comforting golden.

You do admire the beauty in the dead of night, you do — but the weirdly bruising feeling on your skin becomes uncomfortably apparent the more you walk. Your heels and the Achilles tendons ache, the ball of your feet sensitive to each step.

For a while, you hide the stupid pain successfully, not wanting the night to end; and you do love the heels. Feel just the way those old romcom’s protagonists probably felt, strutting through town with a man whose life they’d change.

But as an involuntary groan slips out of you, Jungkook’s view changes from the old buildings to your struggling self. His eyes settle on your contorted expression before they move further down to your sudden limp.

He asks, “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just been walking for a while, is all.”

“Hmm,” he hums, regarding your heels with a suspicious look. “Do they hurt?”

“Nah. I’m used to them.”

“…Oookay.”

He drags the word, as if in disbelief; and you can’t lie your way through the minutes when the ache worsens, the suddenly paved path too much of a chore. You nearly trip when your heel gets caught between the stones.

Jungkook immediately reacts when you hiss; you’re nowhere near actually falling, but his arms still reflexively jolt, the camera bag swaying and hitting your hand when he catches your shoulders.

“Okay, seriously,” he spits, eyes wide, “that’s enough. You can’t walk in these.”

“I can!”

“Not!” He takes a look around, inspecting the place; it’s quiet here, not too many cars driving by at all. So he points to the edge of the pedestrian zone, instructing, “Sit down there. Let’s see.”

See what?

You blink, but oblige. His pointing finger is dominant, and his eyes urging; you flatten your dress, taking a seat at the edge. The road isn’t high, so it’s a little uncomfortable; but you’re pleasantly surprised when he appears in front of you, crouching.

Very, very baffled when he requests, “Can you take them off?”

“Sure,” you say, unbuckling the straps around your ankles before removing the shoes. You sigh; you must admit, it does feel great. “I’m honestly okay, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, ignores your statement; instead, asks, “May I?”

You don’t understand what he means until his hands come to a float right over your toes; he wants to check for bruises, doesn’t he? You nod curtly; something about this warms your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him before.

Not that you ever had the chance to.

He doesn’t really hate you, does he?

Carefully, his fingers reach for your ankle. The touch is warm and pleasant; doesn’t hurt until he moves his thumbs to your heel. Your feet are overworked; you notice. But rather than the annoying pain, you can’t help but focus on your view.

The big, round nose, hiding the plump, parted lips. His eyes look hooded from here, strands of his hair covering them. Intrusive thoughts plead for your fingers to card through the dark mane; it looks soft, pretty.

And the gentleness he handles your skin with fills you with fondness; you like being cared for.

Even when he shakes his head; pulling you out of your daydream. You take a breath, and then inquire, “You don’t have a problem with touching feet?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just feet. Besides,” he stops for a second, detecting something at the back of your foot, shaking his head, “Mom used to work as a nurse. Tough job. I massaged hers sometimes.”

Ah… a loving son, a family person. You smile.

“And I thought you have a foot kink,” you tease.

“Shut up.”

“Found anything?”

“Yeah actually. Do you know how wounded your skin is here? Were you wearing new shoes?”

You gulp with a thin-lipped smile, wondering if he’ll kill you now if you tell him. You look to some random spot on your right before you admit, “Yes.”

“God, you…” He clicks his tongue. Puts your foot on the ground cautiously, reaching for his bag. He rummages through it until he pulls out a bandage, holding it in front of you. “You’re lucky.”

You chuckle, relieved and flattered. “I guess I am.”

He puffs out a laugh, but stops it right away, calling your name under his breath before he says, “God, you’re crazy. Be careful. And admit it when you’re hurt. Why didn’t you?”

Well… you didn’t want the night to end—

“I…”

You hesitate.

He works on your other foot just the same, a tender thumb running over your ankle, probably used to the soothing touch. It distracts you. And when he stops and you don’t answer, he puts his arm on his angled leg, staring up at you in anticipation.

“Yes?” he prods.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d care.” Nonchalantly yet pouting, you nibble at your lower lip. “And if I’d told you they’re hurting, you might’ve suggested ending the night.”

He cocks an eyebrow as if agreeing to the most self-explanatory statement ever, nodding as he confirms, “Damn right I would’ve. We should end the night right now if you can’t walk. Not in these, at least.”

Your chest is hot, your stomach twisting a little. Jungkook really does bother; if not due to a connection he shares with you, then simply because he cares for people. Never, you have never experienced him like this before.

With a tilt of your head and a batting of your eyelashes, you suggest, “And if I was barefoot?”

Which he reacts to with a roll of his eyes. “The night isn’t that warm. Don’t do this to yourself. The ground’s dirty, too.”

You take a look at the dark grey pavement upon his argument, much as if the night could allow you to detect any of the dirt he speaks of. Once more, you hum, pretending to contemplate what to do; and when you pick up your heels, suggesting to follow your idea either way, the back of his hand gives your knee the lightest of hits.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Watch.”

He does. Watches you place your spacious, black bag on your lap, opening the zip. Observes as your hand dips in, pulling out one pair of sneakers and replacing them with your treacherous heels. He keeps ogling when you put them on, mouth widening bit by bit.

He doesn’t speak until you’re done, socks picked out of the shoes, pulled over your feet, laces tied. You keep smiling, content with the moment, only dropping the grin when you see his puzzled expression.

“What?” you question.

“You had them with you and… Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Your answer comes without hesitation; whatever timidity he elicited a moment ago slowly fades again. You clear your throat, back to who you are, and dauntlessly admit, “It was sweet. How you took care of me, I mean. I didn’t think you ever would.”

“But you could’ve at least worn them sooner and avoided the hurt?!”

“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”

“You’re…”

Jungkook uprights himself, towering above you. You put a flat palm onto the pavement, wanting to heave yourself up, but soon see a hand in front of your face. He’s offering it; and you’re quick to take it.

Warm and soft; gentle.

As he pulls you up, you land closer to his body than calculated; his face isn’t too far from yours… much nearer than it has ever been. He leans back; looks to the side; blinks. Clears his throat. Lets go off your hand way too late.

The breath you held escapes in a sudden blow. You swallow.

And when you’ve processed the strange moment, you feel the change in your stance. You’re standing taller now; your feet feel heavenly in your Nikes. Dusting off the front of your dress and your ass, you wait for him to say something.

But he keeps standing there on the road, in the middle of a parking space, hands on his hips. He’s judging you; you understand. Your mindset isn’t for everybody. You might seem crazy, alright.

Yet, he doesn’t scold you again. The up and down of his irked voice doesn’t appear this time when he speaks again; instead, his chin nods towards your legs, and he questions, “So you just carry around shoes with you?”

“I need to,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I can’t ride the motorcycle in heels. And!” Jungkook’s mouth opens, but you’re quick to explain. “Before you ask. No, I didn’t hide my bike anywhere. It needs some fixing, so my co-worker took it because he knows someone who’ll do it. And because he owes me a favour.”

“Right… how unfortunate.” He pauses; runs his tatted digits through the hair you longed to touch minutes ago. They look so silky, it makes you sick. His eyes settle on you, intrigued before he adds, “So, you have a bike, huh?”

“Yeah… why?”

“No reason. I do, too.”

“Mmmh,” you voice, nodding to the road ahead to suggest moving. He follows, trudging next to you again. “You didn’t use it today?”

“No…” He pats the camera bag. “Didn’t want to harm my equipment.”

You hum approvingly, fingers entangling in front of your body. You inch closer to his arm, nudging his shoulder with yours before you flash a sugary smile and say, “Thank you. For caring even a little, you know? Even if you’re always like that, it’s nice to see you like this for once.”

“I’m usually like this,” is what he, however, merely answers, accompanied by air quotes.

But you know you’ve gotten through to him at least a little. Melted bits of the frozen parts of his heart that feel so vexed by you on other nights. In truth, you think, there’s nothing but a delicate organ pumping behind his ribcage.

He’s not a robot; Jeon Jungkook is undeniably humane. If anything, then more than most people you have ever met.

And it shows when he looks away, barely able to hide his smile. You see it even from here — that the gesture does something to his eyes. Nearly squints them shut, makes them smaller, more joyful.

You inhale, proud of yourself. Watch as he toys with his lip rings before he asks eventually, “What do you mean owing you a favour, by the way?”

He sounds almost offended. You think he’ll ask about that favour, reprimand you for giving away your bike tonight of all nights. Tell you off for dragging him here, doing something big enough to entrust an entire motorcycle to somebody.

But instead, he continues with a question you never foresaw, “Are you in a quarrel with them? Am I not your arch-enemy?”

You burst into laughter immediately, covering your mouth as the other palm touches his arm. There’s a bulging bicep under his blazer, but you’ll focus on that later.

Right now, you’re fairly occupied by the satisfied eyes; he doesn’t really expect an answer. He wanted to make you laugh… Why does that set something loose in your brain?

“Oh… are you jealous? What if I told you it’s somebody else who occupies my mind at night and not you?” you wonder, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Don’t do this to me. I’ll find your co-worker and fight them for your enemyship. Word of honour.”

“It’s enmity. And stop flirting with me,” you tell him, moving towards him again, shoulder hitting shoulder. “Or is it something else with arch-enemies?”

This time, he doesn’t veil his grin. It’s bright, pretty, reminiscent of the light shed on you underneath the lampposts. And his pupils; whenever you see them clearly enough, you recognise the sky in them. Borrowed stars inside.

You shake your head a second later, winding down from your fit of laughter, and tell him, “You’re not my arch-enemy. Arch-enemies don’t exist, and you know you aren’t one. You just…” You stall, your voice quieter now. “You just regard me as one.”

He throws you an indecipherable look. Hints of joking, shreds of seriousness, you think. His gaze drifts back to the path again, regarding a passing group of three friends briefly. His hands slide into the pockets of his jacket, and he sniffles once before he utters—

“No, I don't.”

Ah. Ah.

Why do your eyebrows relax the way they do? And your shoulders; already in ease, yet they seem to fall in relief. You peer at him wordlessly; he doesn’t demand an answer, fully aware you’re looking at him.

And you don’t ask what you’ve been to him ever since he saw you at the first party probably a year ago; what irked him, what delighted him. If he thought about you at all.

Instead, you look at the neon words in the next street, asking, “Are you hungry?”

2:19AM, Him

You’re irritating to the core.

You always have been. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit you amused him a little. No matter how much you’ve been wasting his time, you allowed a smile in this ill-lit night. Nobody else at the party did — so in some sense, you’ve already won, and somehow, he’s even grateful.

Grateful that you’re optimistic about the world at least. Glad that you suggested fetching food. Endeared by the way you thanked him for his care. Surprised that you ride a motorcycle! Relieved that you have good humour.

Even though his own humour and smile dissipate after you enter one of the few open stores still providing late night snacks. The girl behind the counter looks tired, but straightens a little when the two of you flash a polite smile.

She greets with a sweet, “Hi!” but Jungkook sees the lethargy in her drooping eyes immediately. Poor girl.

But you’re as enthusiastic as ever; maybe a little more now, maybe observing the same as him. You put your hands on the counter like a child — the image is somewhat cute. But what comes out of your mouth is not.

“Uhm… Could I have a portion of cheese tteokbokki, please? And then… A half and half corndog for my husband.”

Your… what now?

Excuse me?

Jungkook throws an immediate and scorching look your way, utterly surprised. When you meet his eyes, his thick eyebrows are closer than anybody’s ever seen. He huffs your suggestion away, and then corrects, “I’m not her husband. And I’ll take the chicken wrap.”

You chuckle, leaning into him, shielding your mouth with a hand as you warn, “They’re not usually very good at this store. Trust me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Right. He does. After the disaster of finding the damn bus and the deception caused by your shoes, he won’t trust you very easily anymore. His opinion clearly differs from yours, so he’ll bank on his gut feeling.

Satisfied when you shrug, as if to indicate, “If you say so,” he walks over to the window seats with you in tow, looking out to the peaceful streets. Once seated, he turns towards you, peering until you notice and ask far too purely, “What?”

“Not even your boyfriend, no… Jumped straight to making me your husband, huh?”

The lift of your shoulders brushes his concerns aside; your eyes are incredibly innocent and even somehow playful when you say, “I thought it’d be fun.”

“Was it really?”

“Well, your reaction was funny, at least.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief. You’re courageous, he must admit. Social anxiety must fear you — is that how you live life? Unabashed, spirited, not a sheer care for anything that won’t actually hurt you.

He doesn’t know if you’re insane or if he’s jealous.

But he still reiterates, “You’re crazy. And it was embarrassing.”

“I mean,” you say, moving on your chair, folding your fingers on top of the counter but still looking at him, “it was embarrassing because you made it. It’s honestly whatever.” You blow a raspberry, and then take a swing again, “Why is it awkward anyway? We’ll never be here together again.”

He whispers a hushed, “Thankfully,” and you tap the counter with a click of your tongue. He gets it; you live differently. That’s fine. As long as you don’t pull him into your mischief, it’s fine.

Right?

He’s right, isn’t he? He knows that in his personal opinion he is; yet, he can’t help but feel that sting, suddenly deeming himself as boring. You’re never bored, are you?

Anyway…

“Even if you do something like this again,” he tells you, “at least tell me.”

“I mean, that would kinda prevent your genuine reactions from happening, but… if it makes you happy.” You grin at him, and he scoffs; wants to say something before the girl calls for you. “Food is ready.”

A couple seconds later, the two of you have settled back into place; at the sight of the snack, Jungkook salivates. He didn’t realise how hungry he actually was. The buzz and fuzz of a party makes one forget such an essential thing fast.

Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.

The chicken smells good, at least. Or are these your tteokbokki? He can’t quite discern the scent right now; his mind is fogged by his appetite. Silently, he unwraps his food, swallowing before he digs into the wrap.

So far, so good… seems edible. He keeps chewing; swallows some more. But as the taste starts to sink in and he realises the sogginess of the wrap, the lack of proper sauces and the dryness as well as the blandness of the chicken…

He pauses. Where… are the flavours?

Slowing down, he glances at his meal. Inspects it as if he’s holding an entirely new recipe in his hands. A look of realisation creeps upon his face, unaware of your gaze, and he soon hears an amused snicker from the side.

You don’t say much when your eyes align. Only, “And?”

He knows he’s already lost when his expression changes, cringing; when he can’t answer right away, only gaping at you in confusion. Still thinking about where this recipe went wrong.

He answers, “It’s fine…”

But you catch his obvious lie; he sees it in the way you smile so devilishly. Cocking an eyebrow, enjoying another bite of your snack without ever averting your eyes. Then, you put the tiny wooden fork back into the dish, propping your cheek on your fist.

You wait; he doesn’t know what for. For him to eat again? Maybe; because you soon ask, “Do you want something else?”

“Nah.” His answer is instant this time. “I can do this. I’m an omnivore.”

“Ah, yeah. An omnivore friend right here.” You laugh, curious when he takes another bite. And then, “Jungkook, it’s okay to admit…”

But he won’t listen. Only makes a disapproving sound, stuffing his mouth with another horrendous bite. Shit; he can’t confess that you were right. That you were actually right this time.

Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.

But he should keep eating. Wash it down with his drink, empty the soda. And he’s almost halfway through when he notices a movement from your direction, like you’re playing with your food.

Only, he realises that you are not; rather separating the tteokbokki in two halves before shoving the porcelain dish towards him. He shakes his head, but you persist, “Take it, man.”

It does look good…

But… are you going to use the satisfaction his defeat may give you? Probably. But fuck… Fuck it.

Reluctantly, he lets the wrap fall onto the small plate, gulping down the remainder of what he just bit off, and then, accepts your generosity with a nod. And… whether it’s because of the disappointment the wrap brought or the late hunger…

Jungkook thinks he’s levitating above clouds, floating towards the sun.

It’s good. Very damn good.

And when you ask again this time, “Should we get another?” his nod comes promptly, chest risen in satisfaction as he states, “That’d be great.”

“Alright. Be right back.”

“Nah,” he says, lifting an arm as if to protect you. Mid-action, you halt, sliding back up onto your seat. “Stay here. I’ll get it… All good.”

So he does; enjoys the look of surprise when his other hand even carries dessert, four pieces of matcha mochi ice cream. He says, “This is for you.”

You gasp. He can’t deny that it’s sweet — the elation, the big eyes, the palms coming together in delight. How you look between the food and him, suddenly wiggling your feet.

“You seem to like it,” he notes, and you nod feverishly, telling him that, “Yes! Been craving it since we came in. Thank you!”

“Oh. You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve gotten it. No worries.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to see if my dessert stomach still allowed anything. Didn’t disappoint me today.”

Jungkook gets to his own tteokbokki, halving it in the middle the way you did, pushing it towards you. It’s weird to think about it like this, but — considering how long the two of you have known each other, you might almost look like… friends.

And you don’t feel quite like an enemy either. You’re even… kind of nice. Friendly; harmless.

“I’m glad,” Jungkook responds, only looking towards the entrance when another group of three friends, two girls, a guy, enter. Then back to you, “Sorry. You were right. This,” he points to the poor, sad wrap, “was shit.”

“See? My first instinct almost never lies. And I know this store from other places… the wraps are never good.”

“Sure, but… your first instinct isn’t always right, though, is it? You did get us lost, so it was wrong at least once.”

“Hm… was it, though?”

Jungkook regards you in confusion as you put another piece on your tongue, working on the chewy thing as he asks, “What do you mean? We had no clue where we w—”

“Yeah, I mean. I agree. But… I don’t think it was that wrong. Because—”

You lick your lips clean off the tteokbokki sauce, smacking them. You look child-like, but pretty when you indulge in your element, uncaring about everything, just living. Maybe it’s not that bad that you’re bold.

And maybe, just maybe, he can power through this night easily after all; especially if you keep saying things that soothe his chest, things like—

“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”

2:49AM, Him

The temperatures are falling as the night proceeds, and the second portion of the mochi ice cream adds to the pleasant chill.

Jungkook wonders how you’re doing; your dress is skimpier than his jeans, and your arms bare. But your stance and your speech are still inconspicuous, skin free of goosebumps, your walk elegant, leisurely.

Judging from your occasional hums and your ceaseless optimism, you’re enjoying this journey. It almost makes him feel bad; guilty about how adamantly he refused all this just an hour ago.

It hasn’t been too bad. Sure, you’re bold and intrepid, and yeah, in some ways he is, too — but his courage stems from other motivations. From adrenaline-loaded activities or joyful, temporary pains. Like his tattoos; his motorcycle; the summer he bungee-jumped for the first time.

You’re a different kind of daring; you challenge your limits in crowds and consider life a respectful joke. You don’t ever hurt anyone, he doesn’t think — you just go and see how far you can push yourself.

Perhaps in some sense, the two of you complement each other while simultaneously seeming to be cut from the same wood. Perhaps you’re different, but then again, not so much.

You’re quiet; you weren’t until you left the snack bar. As for now, however, you seem distracted, swallowing heaps of your dessert as you scan the surroundings you’ve led the two into. You’re somewhat unfazed by it, yet peering as though you’ve been here before.

Which, in retrospect, makes sense. You’ve been wanting to show him places you enjoy after all.

When the silence extends, Jungkook, along with the chirping of the nightlife, breaks it with a, “You know what?”

Your head swerves to his side, the wooden fork in your mouth. The pure gaze you give him throws him off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat sweet. But as he regains himself, he says, “I didn’t think we’d get to a housing scheme here. The main street is super close, but the vibe is so different.”

“I know. It’s a little scary at night when you’re alone. Gives very Desperate Housewives, doesn’t it? Secrets veiled behind shut curtains.” You draw closer, imitating a spooky gesture. “But I liked coming here when I was younger.”

Bingo. He thought so.

“Ah… why?”

“My friend lived here,” you explain with a tilt towards a random direction; he doubts the friend lived in just the house you gestured to, “she’s long moved out of course, but we’d play on these streets back then. Most of the neighbours knew me, too!”

Jungkook tsks, hauling his own bite out of the cup, and you add, “No, seriously! We could just knock at anybody’s door here, and they’d let me in.”

“Not if they moved out, too. A lot of time has passed.”

You bob your head. “Time has passed indeed. It does so pretty fast.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You seem to get into overdrive, gearing up; he didn’t think this topic would rev you up like this, but it appears you have a somewhat firm and fond opinion about the passing of time. Jungkook recognises the sentiment before you speak — the light of the lampposts reflects in your eyes like glitter.

Only, he doesn’t foresee what you say next, your tone teasing through the joy you display—

“Yeah! Like. Do you remember when I told you to not get the wrap and you still di—”

“Shut up.”

The roll of his eyes isn’t anything new; but the faint feeling that accompanies it, something akin to amusement, certainly is.

“Okay, but. Seriously,” you start again, sly smirk falling, voice neutralising the mock, “it felt different here. Because like, you know, where I live, it gets crowded. I’m not too far from the city centre, so… this place always felt really peaceful to me. Jieun and I played together a lot.”

Jungkook frowns.

“Jieun?”

“Hm? Oh. The friend I spoke about? She’s pretty cool.”

“Ah… Right, right.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, the end of your small fork tapping the bottom of the nearly finished cup, “you know another way to know that time passes really fast?” You pause for effect, then add, “It’s been ages since we saw each other for the first time.”

“Right. At a party, too, right? When was that anyway?”

“Hmm… Like.” You ponder, blinking, looking up to the sky. “Like two years ago?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen; if you’d asked him, he would’ve estimated a year tops. If he digs in his memory thoroughly enough, he could probably even remember what you wore that day; what you looked like.

It doesn’t feel like two years. You’re right — time truly does pass like the wind.

“Wow,” he exclaims, “it’s been this long since you started pestering me?”

“Shut up,” it’s your turn to blurt, your body swaying towards him until you push him to the side of the vacant road. “I didn’t even come near you most of the time.”

“I know, I know. You were fun to look at, though. Seemed to enjoy yourself every single time.”

Shit, why did he say that? Shouldn’t he hold onto the image he fostered; the one that’s permanently irked by you, throwing snarky remarks throughout the night?

And…

Didn’t this just break the banter, the frenemyship — frenmity? — the two of you have going on? Was it too nice? It’ll probably surprise you. Then again, is he a damn child? Why would he worry about such things? Question his own kindness?

Why would he hold onto his ego and deny you his humane side when you’ve been nothing but lovely to him all night?

The young adult rivalry is over, Jeon Jungkook. Look at her and fucking admit that you’re the arrogant one.

But funnily enough, you don’t seem to notice anyway.

“Hmmm, I do love my job,” you answer, “I have a lot of fun organising stuff. Doing something good for other people, right? See them enjoy it. I mean, of course there are days when things don’t go as planned, but.”

You lift a shoulder, indulging in the final remnants of your chewy mochi and the melted matcha ice cream inside.

“I know. It happens to me, too.”

“Really? How?”

Jungkook waves towards the sky, lists, “Heavy rain, lots of traffic, too spontaneous, issues with the camera… etcetera. Anything can happen.”

“Yeah — I get it. But yeah, I do love doing this. I meet a lot of nice people, too. And I guess that makes me feel very… blessed? It puts things into perspective.”

“How so?”

“Like, it makes you see that most people aren’t bad.”

Huh. Odd. Not that he’d ever deem the entire globe vile, putting a standardised label that he can impossibly prove. But as far as he has seen… too many people aren’t good either.

“Really?” he asks. “That’s a lucky thing to experience.”

You look genuinely surprised, turning towards him when you ask, “You don’t?”

“Uhm — rarely. I do enjoy photography. Always have.” His mind zooms into a glinting memory from the past, and his shoulders and voice rise when he recalls, “Y’know… My dad got me one of those yellow disposable Kodak cameras when I was a kid. I loved it so much.”

You nod; if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say you look… delighted. Actually interested.

“And events and weddings,” he continues, “they’re beautiful to capture. It’s probably the lights and the pretty people. And just… the memories?”

This time, he looks away, straight to the road; if he hadn’t, he’d know that your gaze is definitely fond now. No doubt about it. You listen in closely.

It’s the first time he’s talking to you like this, or to anyone — or for this long, for that matter. Most of your conversations were fleeting, fiery, a petulant back and forth that — he now realises — could’ve been something else, something better, too.

“But then it just sucks when so many of them can’t appreciate it properly,” he explains, raising his hands to emphasise, tone galled. “I mean, I look at my camera and I see a tool to create art. It’s… nothing I take for granted. Just think about it.”

The ball of fire in his chest grows; he feels it warm up, gassed-up. “A thing that can hold onto moments in absolute high definition, so that you can still remember them years later? The 18th century couldn’t have imagined. They needed to commit everything to memory just like that.”

“Wow, Jungkook… You really do love this, too.”

His arms fall to the side. He inhales the fresh flurry of air. Rethinks his passion for his job and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

“…But?”

He knows what’s missing.

“I love the art, but I hate the clients. The event hosts. Not you, but the one even above you.”

Jungkook reckons this was a confession that long sat on his tongue unmentioned. Of course he thought about it; is always reminded when he attends these functions, standing at the back, at the front, left and right, unnoticed and taken for granted.

But now that it’s out and that he’s finally verbalised it to somebody… it definitely liberates something in his head.

You see his issue with these gatherings; he knows you do because he’s figured out this much. You’re filled with enough empathy, sympathy, every grand word ending on the same syllable to acknowledge his disappointment.

But you’re filled with humour and absurdity, too, evident in the answer you provide to diffuse the tension.

“So, that’s why you’re always in a foul mood.”

“Shu—”

“Shut up, yeah, yeah.” You giggle, but then halt for a moment, toying with the rim of your paper cup, “But you know, I think art is worth something even if just one person appreciates it. If it helps in any way… I’m always impressed. And I always appreciate it when I call you and you come despite finding me so annoying.”

One corner of your lips lifts, the smile humble and light; sends a pang of guilt through him. Have you always been so nice?

“Also, I do see the pictures almost every single time,” you add, “and you’re so good at this. At the job itself and the editing afterwards. Honestly.”

“…You think?”

Damn.

Jungkook would probably not bask in this hobby, continue his job if he wasn’t proficient in what he does. He’s known about his prowess ever since he was young.

But praises do offer a sense of magical warmth, don’t they? He doesn’t think any creative mind ever sickens of such unexpected support. And the way you say it… makes him want to never lay down his camera.

“Of course, yes,” you confirm, “not to shoot up your ego, but… you once sent a set of pictures where I found one of me. Don’t know if you even noticed? I was wearing that lilac dress and curls, I still remember — and—”

Stuck on the mention of your clothing, he immediately attaches a detail to the memory, “Sleeveless dress. Long silver earrings, right?”

“Oh… right…”

Right.

He won’t mention that he looked at that picture for just a second longer than at the others that night. Noticed for the first time how pretty you were. Not too deep of a thought, a twelve second stare, but… you wore this vibrant smile on that picture, and in some way, he did hope you’d see it, too.

It seems you did. He feels satisfied, proud even.

“Right,” you repeat, your defences somehow down, “uhm. I printed the picture. Still have it somewhere.”

Jungkook has already often wondered what people do with the pictures; put them in albums? Frame them and pin them over their couch? Right now, he also wonders — do you look at it a lot?

And this again begs the question — when you do, does your decision to book a vendor like him fill you with pride? Like your choice was right?

“That’s so nice,” he says.

“All that to say,” you inhale, “that I think you’re really fucking skilled.”

Woah. You weren’t quite certain if your consolation would bring him any solace, but you’ve done far more than that. You’ve shown him that you see what he does — and isn’t this what every artist craves? To be seen?

The tension buzzes between him and you like electricity; he doesn’t know if it’s just him lighting up or if you’re feeling a kindred link, too. But it’s somewhat intense in this moment of walking under the stars, surrounded by quietude and absolute pose.

So much so that he’s soon submerged by an odd urge to make the intensity wane, “Hey, does this feel to you like… a cliché chick flick kinda dialogue?”

You know…

The moment when two find an empty street in the middle of the night, realising that a conversation with each other isn’t the end of the world after all?

That type of thing?

But he doesn’t say any of it.

“Yeah? Maybe. But it’s also true,” you argue, “I’m an honest person and I don’t think I’d say anything I didn’t mean.”

“Ah, yeah?” Jungkook voices, taking the emptied out ice cream cup and throwing it into the bin on the side of the road, along with his own.

“Mhm, one hundred percent,” he hears you say, followed by a light, quiet smacking noise.

He doesn’t see what you’re doing until he arrives back where you stand; watches you lick the sticky rest off the pad of your thumb, smiling when you stare up at him again. It’s a mundane gesture; he’s done it ever since he was a kid.

But somehow, he can’t stop looking.

Might be the way your lips curve when you do it, or how your eyes smile when your mouth does. The authenticity you portray is rare; perhaps he just confused it with madness until now.

Seconds pass, and with that, your smile does, too. As it fades and drops, replaced by a curious expression and big eyes, you soon mutter, “What?”

There’s no response to that, really. He doesn’t know either.

He doesn’t understand how you turned out to be so right. How it’s such an ultimate truth that a serene night brings out a dreamy alter ego, hitherto undetected. Jungkook has never felt like much of a romantic, but right now, he thinks he’s on a different plane of reality.

This doesn’t feel like Earth; and the town doesn’t feel like the one he struts through during the day.

So maybe it’s not that wayward or groundless for him to lean in. To bend a bit more. Further and further until you laugh nervously; he knows you’re preparing to crack another joke, but you remain silent as he approaches.

Gauges your reaction. Will you run? You aren’t.

Instead, you gulp; let your pupils fall to his piercings, just when his own gaze moves to your lips. His right hand, tattooed, led by its own will, reaches for your cheek until he’s cupping it; and suddenly, his mouth parts — what’s happening? — and then—

And then, a vehicle roars from afar.

Both of you hear the motorcycle before you even see the blinding white light; he grips your arm, probably too harshly, dodging the street with you and jumping onto the pedestrian walk.

One must be crazy to still drive through the city at this hour. Right?

You pant, mixed with insane chuckles of relief, “Shit. We almost died.”

“We didn’t,” he refutes, “we had plenty of time.”

“Oh no,” you stretch the last word, eyes squinting. An accusing forefinger points at him before you deduce, “We almost died because you like me. Of all things!”

“I do not. You just looked kinda cute.”

Jungkook might’ve attempted an indifferent answer, but instead, he steered into an excuse that you do not accept at all. Your smirk is telling and satisfied, and if he wasn’t trying to prove a point, your Cheshire Cat grin would’ve made him laugh, too.

“But you did almost kiss me,” you persist.

Ugh, you’re bold. Laughing like it means nothing; no embarrassment, no shy restraint in you. Which is probably not too bad; somehow even charming. Explains the rosy dust on his cheeks at least. He feels it in the heat, can’t believe he almost kissed you just now.

Why does he feel like a hormonal adolescent? It’s not like he’s never kissed anybody.

You’re still enclosed by pure delight, nudging his arm repeatedly, annoyingly. And when he doesn’t answer, choosing reticence instead, you nearly shriek, as if he confirmed all you just said.

His instinctive hand slaps up to your mouth, covering it, shushing you. You’re still smiling, working on removing his palm, but before your nonsense can proceed, a sudden light flickers in the corner of Jungkook’s eye.

Immediately, he seeks out the source, soon finding a room in the house left to him lighting up. You woke somebody, it seems. A silhouette becomes clearer, its edges more refined with every second, and just before the owner of the place can shove the curtains aside, you grip Jungkook’s hand.

Within a moment, he finds himself tugged away by you, running, nearly stumbling over his own feet. You blurt, “Better get away before they kill us.”

As you leave the tranquil settlement behind, Jungkook still hears a voice from an open window, cursing the younger generation as they do; and then, out of the damn blue, a fucking dog barks.

When you turn over your shoulder, mouth dropping open, Jungkook knows you’re thinking the same as him — this happens outside of cinematic universes, too?

It takes a minute until you’ve reached another road again; one of the kind he’s more familiar with. The city type. The two of you come to a halt near some pole, and you let his hand go, leaning against it.

For a moment, you work on catching your breath, Jungkook’s hands settling on his thighs. And then, when your eyes meet, you burst into a fit of laughter, followed by a playful wiggle of his eyebrows to which you respond, “Don’t act innocent. This is your fault.”

“What? You were lau—”

“Because of you! Oh, I know you want me so bad.”

You’re jesting, of course. Swaying your head, poking his chest, a brat straight out of some TV show. But what you can do, he’s been perfecting for years.

So he answers in kind, “And if I did?”

Only for you to utter something that not even his brain can compute.

“If you did? Then… I think I’d let you.”

“Ah… Yeah? Why?”

“Because— I think you’re just half as bad.”

His snicker is half amused, half flattered. He purses his lips, nodding, and then declares, “You’re just a quarter as bad. But guess I’ve gotten so tired that I’ve started doing weird shit.”

You click your tongue, puffing out a breath, instantly reacting when he only flicks your chin and then walks away. Your startled expression prevails, a distance between him and you established, but just as he puts his hands in his jeans, he hears you finally follow.

“Hey,” you voice from behind, tapping his arm, “are you really tired?”

“I was kidding, but. Honestly? A little.”

“…Hmm. You know, my friend lives in an apartment nearby. Jieun? Didn’t move too far from her old home. We could stop there.”

Jungkook’s left eyebrow leaps up, surprised by the suggestion; the idea doesn’t sound too bad. But…

“Wasn’t the deal to go around for a whole night, though?”

“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”

You’re observant, he’ll give you that.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, “and also, would she just let a stranger in?”

“Oh, she’s very civilised and hospitable. She wouldn’t mind, and she’s known me for ages. She trusts me.” Maybe you detect the hesitation in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his lips, because you immediately carry on, “We can just stay for an hour and then go.”

“Would she be awake, even?”

“She’s a night owl. I know that.”

“Uhm…”

He ponders. In some way, he’s kind of liking the breeze, the quiet side of this town. But… would Jieun find that weird? Then again, can he say no? You’re ogling at him with these hopeful eyes; maybe you need the rest, after all.

“Okay,” he says; he even thinks you jump a bit in joy, nodding.

“Okay! You’ll like her. We can leave with newfound energy afterwards. Okay, cool.”

That’s all you need to lead the way. You look around a little, making sure you’re approaching the right direction, and when you find your confidence again, you march ahead.

Your walk is energetic, not too idle anymore, your beam as dashing and fervid as ever. Jungkook knows his way around editing programs; he’s added wings to pictures before or removed unwelcome passersby on an otherwise great photo.

He even understands how to surround a body or silhouette with a glow; but he’s never seen it around an actual person outside of all these graphics editors before.

Your body is so clearly encircled by it.

Bedazzling.

Screw the 18th century. Even in these modern times of advancement, Jungkook doesn’t think he needs a camera to commit you to memory.

3:25AM, Her

You avert your eyes from the phone and turn towards Jungkook, reaching him where he’s planted firmly in front of the apartment complex. He’s been waiting, back settled against the wall, and as you near, his eyebrows rise in question.

Your friend didn’t respond until now — but just as you foretold, she’s still awake at this ungodly hour.

“Okay. She’s home, but,” you explain, already ringing the bell to her apartment, “she said she’d be leaving soon. Sounds like she’s in a rush. Typos and all.”

Jungkook waits until the buzzing sound of the opening door ceases and you’ve stepped inside, leading him up the stairs, and then wonders again with big eyes, “And she’ll just let us stay? Alone at her apartment?”

You wave his concerns off with a hand’s gesture, “She trusts me, dude. I’ve done this a couple times.”

“What for?”

Hm… you dive back into the old days. Some new, some old. What were they again? They’re mostly blurred, but some of them are carved in your core memory.

“Oh, just…” you reminisce. “If I wanted to meet guys and wouldn’t want to bring them home back when I was still with my parents? Or when I’d need a night to sober up. They would’ve killed me if I’d come home drunk. And Jieun moved out early.”

“How old is… Jieun anyway?”

Old. Not really, but you like to vex her to the point of a pout. She’s patient, but she’s also an incredibly close friend — you allow yourself to be a brat with her and she allows herself to roll her eyes.

“Early 90s kid?” you guess. “A little older than us.”

‘93, as far as you remember.

“Ah. Damn,” he voices; you don’t know why.

“Okay.” You climb the last steps to the second floor, halting in front of a white door with a copper number six on top of it. Knock thrice. “Here goes.”

She might’ve been getting ready close to the door, working on her shoes or questing for her keys. Because she opens mere three seconds later, with a radiant smile on her face able to melt hearts, and a comfortable attire that’s, however, not comfortable enough to wear at home.

A thin sweatshirt and a bun, loose strands framing her pretty face, and shorts that are definitely meant to be worn outside. She won’t be here for long. And you’re focused on this very fact and her hurry so much that you nearly don’t register how shy Jungkook gets.

His voice is somewhat smaller than before when he looks at her; your eyes shift to him, and he’s blinking before he finally breaks and mutters, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey!” she retorts; she looks so sweet saying it. You understand his perplexity. “Date?”

“Nah. Just a friend,” you answer, which, yet again — very confusing — makes him hum in question. If he started regarding himself as your date all of a sudden, you swear…

You smile.

“Just a friend,” you repeat.

“Fabulous. So you’re not walking around alone, at least,” Jieun concludes, letting you in. In the living room, a hand on her kitchen island, she points through an open door, “Okay, so, the guest room bed is made. Use blankets on it, if you want to rest.”

Her finger shifts to signal to the entrance you came through, imitates a pulling motion, “Don’t worry about locking the door whenever you leave. Also got some leftover food in the fridge, but there’s also cup ramyeon and some frozen pizza in the freezer. Sorry… I need to go shop—”

But you interrupt, shaking your head, “Oh, no worries, really. We just ate, so we’ll just stay here for a little, work off the food coma and leave. Won’t damage anything.”

“I know you won’t, baby.”

She moves to fetch her purse from the couch, and Jungkook uses the moment to whisper in your ear, “Where is she going anyway?”

You don’t know; you shrug your shoulders, pursing your lower lip, but echo his question a moment later, louder than him, “Where are you going anyway?”

Previously cramming in her purse, checking it for content, she looks at you again, telling you, “Ah… Jongsuk is having a bad night and wants me to come over.” Regarding Jungkook, she adds, “My boyfriend. He’s an insomniac and got stoned tonight, too, and just—”

Jieun blows a raspberry, raising a hand for a whatever gesture, and Jungkook mumbles, “Oof. Sounds…”

“Yeah… I know. In any case. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.”

“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.

She nods once more, waving her tiny hand and flashes one last smile before she’s out the door and has left you in full silence. You shuffle your feet for just a second before you look at him again; he still looks somewhat in a daze.

So you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Nothing, right… that’s what they all say after seeing Lee Jieun for the first time. You try not to think too hard about the teeny tiny sting in your enormous, delicate heart. Only let him know, “Don’t worry too much. What could happen? She does trust me.”

You take a couple steps towards the bedroom she offered you, and you hear him follow. Look at the neatly made bed, a thought occurring; but you don’t entertain it yet. Only add, “Besides, she owes me.”

He chuckles. “That’s how you live your life, huh?”

“It’s alright. We’ll just be here for an hour. She’s known me all her life, so nothing to doubt here. And also, think about it,” the tip of your forefinger taps against your temple, “even if something did happen or went missing, she’d know where to find me and whom to report.”

He waits, ogles at you. Then presses his lips together, nods as if you made all the sense in the world, and lifts a shoulder — agreeing, “If you say so. Then uhm — let’s lay down for a bit?”

“Sure! I’ll just sleep in her room, so you can have your privacy here.”

“Mhm. Okay.”

You stand at the door frame for a moment, feet unmoving.

He’s already turned away. And you regret not walking away when you watch him unabashedly take off the blazer and provide a glimpse to his snatched waist as inked fingers scratch his back briefly, shirt moving up. But then it’s covering his skin again.

Flawless back; pretty golden. A little further up, and you’re sure you would’ve seen strong shoulder blades, too. He’s worn fancy dress shirts at luxurious events before — you know many would kill for his built, because you’ve seen his bicep flex before.

You forget where you are for a second, but when he opts to turn, eyes on you for just a heartbeat, you stir. Blurt out an awkward apology, and then leave. Wish him a good night, barely waiting for one back before you close the door.

You laugh quietly at yourself.

Her room is just next door; you already mentally prepare for a nap. Meanwhile, Jungkook plumps onto the bed, groaning when the comfort hits, and works on getting used to the ceiling, if only briskly.

He only notices how much his head is spinning when he closes his eyes, ready to doze off. Should he set an alarm? He doesn’t want to still be here by the time Jieun returns. Maybe he should tell you, too.

But his body won’t move.

Yet, in the time he’s failed to make up his mind, he suddenly hears a knock at the door again. Must be you — must be telepathy.

He tells you to enter, and you do with a shy demeanour; only thirty seconds must have passed, right? A minute, tops. He looks at you in wonder, and you explain, “She uh— locked her room. No clue where the keys are. Guess that’s why she specifically pointed out the guest room.”

You nibble your lip, getting no answer back. He looks just as much out of ideas as you, and you still refuse to bring back the thought from before; yet, you ask, “What do we do now?”

“Well…” He looks around, though there is not much to take in. “I can sleep on the couch?”

“…The couch is too small.”

“Okay. Then I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He’s already working on getting up, no hesitation, scratching through his now messy hair, feet moving on the fluffy carpet. “I’ll take one of those pillows, though. Carpet should be good eno— what are you doing?”

You’ve charged towards the bed, climbed past him until you’re sitting behind him, facing his back and his craning neck. You say, “I’m not giving you that pillow.”

“Why?”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“…Why not?”

You throw an unbelieving look, as if it’s obvious. Your flat hand gestures towards the carpet vaguely, and you argue, “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Listen, I should. This or the couch, nothing else left.” It’s crazy to you how he doesn’t even consider the bed instead of giving it up for you. “It’s just an hour. Don’t worry about it.” He stretches a hand towards you, curling his fingers in a grabby motion. “Come on. Gimme that.”

You’re astonished — beyond pleased about the fact that he cares like this. That he’s so… mindful and humble. You give up; he won’t falter and you know.

“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”

He grabs the second one that Jieun provided, head bowing a little as he says, “Thank you.”

The proceeding minutes you spend preparing for bed, slightly discomforted by your dress, pass in half-awkward, half-comfortable silence. He lays down on his unusual spot, and you cuddle into the blanket on your light, soft side.

As the rustling of blankets and sheets subsides, it gives way to the sound of the ticking clock; you focus on it, count the clicks like sheep.

But sleep doesn’t quite fall upon you yet, and you guess Jungkook feels similar when he calls your name and asks, “What does she owe you?”

Your head moves towards his voice, even though he can’t see you. “Huh?”

“Jieun. What does she owe you? And your coworker.”

“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”

You can already see it — doe eyes rolling at another one of your cryptic answers. You know people don’t fathom your thoughts very well, and some feel annoyed by your dreamy outlook of the world. You don’t mind, but you wonder what he’s thinking.

But all he responds with is, “What?”

“Well, just. They’ve known me for ages. I’ve been there for Jieun for so long, and Jongin has always been so incredibly nice to me. Picked me up when I was dead drunk once and brought me home. Got me medicine and everything. And I’ve lent him some comfort over the years, too.”

It hasn’t been too long, so you remember. You’ve been good friends with him ever since you started your job; a steady part of your team. He and you have got each other’s back.

“These two are friends,” you say, “and I think kindness is the most we can give our loved ones.”

Jungkook hesitates. Have you bored him to sleep? Or is he pondering your words, thinking of you as weird? Maybe not—

Because he actually converses, asking, “You think? Doesn’t that mean we’re just kind to them then, so they can be kind to you in return?”

“I mean… yes and no. Owing might be the wrong word. I’m not nice to others to get something back. I’m like this because I want to be and because the world can be shitty and it’s important to be nice, and in return, I want people to be nice to me, too. It’s not an eye to eye kind of thing, it’s just about. Spreading affection in relationships. It’s what they’re here for.”

“…Hm. Is this why you’re never rude to me? Even when I deserve it,” he asks, registering a hum. “You know… you think really… uniquely.”

This is a nice way to phrase it at least. People like you; you’re good with them. But sometimes, they can be mean, too. Not that you mind. It’s natural — people occur in all types and shapes.

“But is it unique, though? Isn’t it a given?” you question.

“Yeah, probably, I just— never thought of it this deeply.”

“Mmmh. So is me thinking uniquely a compliment? I can’t say.”

He laughs, and you join immediately, exclaiming an, “I’m serious!” in the middle of it all. Jungkook’s snicker is authentic, so you enjoy hearing it; but you like his answer even better.

“Maybe. I just… I feel like a lot of people try to be different these days. Or play a role to be perceived a certain way? But I think you’re genuine — you actually mean the things you say without any hidden intention to make people forcefully like you, right?”

An intention? Oddly phrased. You think, though… that what he said was nice.

Still, you confirm, “I don’t try to be anyone for people to like me.”

“I didn’t say otherwise! This is actually just what I meant. Besides, people like you anyway because you’re you.” As if he’s reading your mind. “That’s what I was saying.”

You hum, blinking at the ceiling and the little modern light hanging there, the beam off. The darkness pleasant. You conjure another question and ask, “So you think me being me is a good thing?”

You always considered it was. You like being you. But Jungkook didn’t like whatever makes up your personality — has this changed? Apparently.

“Of course,” he surprisingly answers, “it’s always a good thing. And just because I disagree with some of your characteristics, it doesn’t mean everybody will.” Oh. Well. But wait— “Or maybe, I’m just a moaner.”

Well.

“That you are,” you verify.

“Damn.”

“But, but— you’re kind, too, you know? Not everyone says the things you just said.”

“Maybe.”

“So…” you stall, rethinking his prior words. “Do you still disagree with all those characteristics of mine?”

Another joyous sound tumbles out of him, much in the form of a breather than a laugh; hushed, but you still hear it clearly. Perhaps you’re being a little awkward; but in all honesty, you hope he’s just finding it amusing, somewhat cute.

“I mean — you’re too blunt. But brave, like, I could never. The thing you did at the shop? Never. But this isn’t bad. And you aren’t bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His voice is a whisper. Reminds you of a feeling akin to temptation; your mind automatically imagines the susurrating sound near your ear, exhaling the very syllable he just did. Frankly, you’re absolutely tortured by the knowledge of him being this close.

That you could probably touch his face if you rolled over to the edge of the bed, letting your arm dangle, seeking his skin. That he’s in the same room, talking to you this gently, saying things that a girl doesn’t hear too often these days anymore.

There it is. The intrusive thought from before… prevailing.

And you’re tortured by it. But mostly, by the image of him standing in front of you between the houses just a little time ago, staring at you, pupils flitting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How he neared you. How he almost kissed you.

You might’ve joked about it then, but deep down, and especially now, you’re intrigued by the idea. Of the fantasy of a what if — what if he’d actually kissed you?

Taking a deep breath, you look to the side, staring at the door and call, “Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Is it uncomfortable down there?”

“Uh… a little.”

You shuffle at your spot, turning to the side. “Just thinking. What good does it do if we don’t rest well? What are we here for?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Pause. Quietude. You close your eyes, then open them again.

You’re never shy; so you don’t deem it an advantage for yourself to turn timid now either. You tell him, “Come up. I know you want to. I know I want you to.”

He doesn’t say anything; you bite your tongue. Maybe it was a mistake. But then his voice chimes again, wondering, “Are you sure?”

Your answer is immediate.

“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay… okay.”

As he starts to move, you gulp. You make place on the bed, moving to your previous side, pushing the blanket aside in case he wants to slip under it, too. The motions of his silhouette seem uncertain as he makes his way up to you, as if he’s uncomfortable with it.

“I… Was I wrong…? Do you not want to?” you make sure.

“What?” you hear him say; see his head shake. “Ah, that’s not it. Just want to make sure you’re really okay with it. I’m not the type of guy to…”

“I know. It’s fine. I don’t think you are.”

“Okay.” The mattress bulges where he lays down before it evens out again. He emits a couple groaning sounds, probably glad to give his back something proper. You turn to him just when he says, “Honestly… that’s a little better, yeah.”

“Thought so. Are you tired?”

“Definitely.”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

“Because you’re talking.”

Wrong. There was enough silence for him to nod off before. He was the one who started the conversation at all; you were ready to turn and toss and rest eventually.

When you don’t respond, his head turns on his pillow, too; in the darkness that you got used to, you see his eyes twinkle. Both of you know that you’re looking at each other. And he’s kind of close — closer than you thought.

And… if you’re not wrong, he just inched nearer only a nanomoment ago. He repeats in a whisper, once more accusing, “You’re talking, that’s why.”

“That’s really why, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“The only reason there really is?”

“What else could there be?”

You smile, brazen, letting out the courage you’ve gathered, “Well, I know what else it is for me.”

“Yeah?”

Daring a step further, you graze his shirt featherlightly; you don’t know whether he notices. Not until he moves his hand, fingers ghosting near yours.

Waiting until you reveal with sheer, sudden heart palpitations, “I… I want you to kiss me. You do, too, don’t you?��

He inhales, but doesn’t exhale. What does it mean? You don’t know.

You don’t know what it is until you hear the smile in his words, gentle yet tantalising when he says, “…I do.”

“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”

And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.

His body moves as if on its own accord; he seems possessed, or controlled by a puppeteer. Warm lips lock with yours before you can draw another breath.

They feel soft, full, like tiny pillows, a contrast to the metal of his piercings. And they move gently, so carefully, like he’s still scared of crossing a line despite your permission. But when you lean into him, hoping for more proximity, he blossoms a little. Initiates more.

Oh, he, too, has been waiting for this, hasn't he?

A hand, nearly as warm as his kiss, slithers up to your face, holding you closer to him. The bangs that so often cover his forehead are tickling yours now, his head tilting to give his cute nose more space.

And with that, he deepens the kiss, too. Dares a step further, separating your lips with his, trying things out. He gauges your reaction as the tip of his tongue sneaks its way into the mix, and the moment you do the same, he dives in properly.

Kisses you just a little harder, tasting you, sighing into the movements as if all the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders. As if he’s relieved, calmed down, resting for the first time tonight.

Yet, at the same time, he’s firing himself up — moving over your body slowly, holding onto your mouth to his best abilities, as if you’d disperse if he let go for too long. As if you’d change your mind.

He cages you in to keep you underneath, not touching your face anymore but shoving his fingers into your already tousled hair. If you were still in your right mind, you’d recognise how insane this situation is. Your younger self would’ve never predicted such a moment to ever become part of your life.

But it is… it is so clearly being played into your hard drive; somehow, you already know it’ll remain stuck in your memory: the way he’s kissing you, so thirsty, so insatiable. How he’s sighing, relaxed, yet sporting an audible heartbeat against your chest.

He uses moments of switching sides to breathe but continues right away; the keenness drives you crazy. You touch his shoulders and then wrap your arms around him firmly, making him hasten closer until he’s nearly falling onto you.

What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…

It’s nasty, yet sweet. Followed by quick breaths; it takes merely a minute until you feel his lower body grinding into you, his jeans tight around his crotch all of a sudden. And the second you realise he’s hardening beneath them, your body reacts.

Reacts so effectively.

Your lower tummy tickles, dampness pooling below as he pushes into you again, harder this time. You moan, enticed by your goosebumps and the heavy bulge. Solid enough for you to crave him within a moment’s notice.

And it only worsens threefold when he whispers, “Fuck… Somebody really knows how to kiss, huh?”

“You’re talking. What was this—” He so rudely interrupts with another peck, and you laugh into it. “Yeah, this…”

Your last word dissipates like candle smoke; you don’t even know why you bother to speak. Your voice is barely perceptible when his teeth remove the short sleeve of your dress, kissing your shoulder and then down to your cleavage.

It’s easy to remove your dress; it’s light, summer-y — but he doesn’t bare you just yet. Plays around at the mounds of your tits until he pushes the neck of the dress down a bit, asking, “May I take it off?”

Oh, if you could count the times you’ve imagined his veiny hands removing this damn dress just in the last fifteen minutes…

“Of course,” you permit, “do I look like I’d reject you?”

“Mmmh.” The hum is proud, satisfied, vocalised amidst another kiss to your clavicles. “Just making sure.”

Soft, warm hands trail up your leg, leaving a path of another set of goosebumps. You want him to stay right there on your thigh, knead the flesh, press into it, showcase the lust he feels in the beguiling pain.

But instead, he pushes up your dress, fingers ghosting over your ass — and when he doesn’t find your panties but only bare skin, he stops kissing you. Looks at you. Makes out the string of your thong a second later — in the dark, you discern the way his lips round in captivation.

He’s loving this.

He tugs at the string and lets it snap back into place; you gasp even though it doesn’t hurt, but it drives you mad when he states, “Wow. Very intriguing.”

Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.

“Good. Good, good, good.”

The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.

His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.

And you’re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.

But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”

Oh, he didn’t just…

Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”

“Ah? Where are you going?”

“Wait.”

He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.

“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.

You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.

“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”

“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”

“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”

“Ah?”

“Mhm.”

“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”

Exactly.

Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.

But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.

The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.

When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.

It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”

“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”

“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”

“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”

“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”

You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.

He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity.

You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.

You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.

But it’s hard. So hard because—

God, he’s lapping you up so good.

So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.

He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.

Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.

They don’t make men like him anymore.

Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.

He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.

Tell him, “This should be enough.”

And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”

You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.

Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.

On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”

“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”

“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”

You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.

You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.

He must have.

Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.

Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.

“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”

“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”

No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.

Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.

Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…

You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.

But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.

Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.

And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.

Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.

Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”

He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.

You tell him, “Use my panties then.”

“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”

Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.

Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…

Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.

Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.

As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”

“Yes— yes!”

“Mhm…”

He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.

You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.

But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.

So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.

Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.

Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…

You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”

He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.

Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.

You wonder how he likes what he sees.

Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”

Good to know.

So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.

He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”

And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.

The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.

“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”

But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his.

The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.

Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.

“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.

“What?” you voice. “Not good?”

“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”

You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”

“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”

His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.

You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”

“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”

“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”

“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”

And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.

The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.

And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.

“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”

Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.

His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.

In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”

Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.

You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.

Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.

Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.

The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.

You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”

“Crazy… right?”

“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”

He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”

You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.

Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”

“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”

“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”

You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.

But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.

Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.

5:12AM, Him

Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.

The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.

And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.

Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.

But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.

You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.

You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”

“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”

“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”

Well, shit.

Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”

He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”

“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”

“Woah. You sing?”

“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”

He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”

But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”

“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”

Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.

“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”

Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”

“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”

He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—

A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.

“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”

And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.

His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.

He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.

Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”

“Uh… all good.”

“Yes. All good indeed.”

Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”

Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?

And behind that, the town.

If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.

The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.

But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.

From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.

Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.

And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.

Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.

He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.

“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.

He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.

Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.

Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.

He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hidden spot then.”

“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”

The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.

It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.

He likes it that way.

No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.

Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.

He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”

He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.

If you did, you’d never let him live it down.

You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?

But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.

“Good?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”

The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.

He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.

But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.

“You… did it for me?” he asks.

You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”

“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”

“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”

“Thank you. Really.”

You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.

He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.

There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.

Because of you.

Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.

Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.

But…

He’d love to talk to you again.

However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.

“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”

Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”

“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”

“Sure? She is.”

He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.

“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”

Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.

“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.

“So she is your type.”

Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.

And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.

So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”

“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”

“You do not small-talk.”

“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”

He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”

“The type thing!”

“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”

The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.

Just for a second.

Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.

In some way, it still does.

You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”

“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”

“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Cute.

But he’s not giving in this easily.

He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.

For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.

He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—

They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.

You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.

Crazy.

But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?

Yes.

The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…

When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”

You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”

As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”

“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”

“I guess so.”

He guesses so.

It’s been a while since he fell in love.

Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.

His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.

He means it. And you seem to know.

Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.

Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him to.

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#icymi <3 #jeon jungkook #jungkook scenario #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #rerefundslocals

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