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HEART SO FULL (x)

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have you read the new trnt chapter? 👀

the road not taken 08 | myg

part eight: truce

Summary: After all this years, and months, and days where —no matter what you did or what you didn’t do— you still had to see Yoongi against you wishes, you began to worry if you were meant to find him every time.

<part seven

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!oc

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?), slow burn

—warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, fluff.

—words: 10.6k

—a/note: hi friends!! i'm posting this chapter while doubting myself as always but i had sososo much fun writing i hope you liked it!! i wanted to post it earlier but consider this as an earlier celebration for yoongi's discharge !! also, the other day i was reminded of this poem and it kinda inspired me to finish writing the chapter, i hope you enjoy and as always, you're welcomed to discuss this part in the asks!!

series masterlist | teaser | playlist

Present

There was a time a few years ago, back when you slept in a bed for two and winter sneaked under your sheets, when the treacherous thought of what could’ve been knocked on your door before you fell asleep every night. Even when you tried to push it away, even when you threw your pillow over your head, even seconds before those 2 mg of melatonin were about to kick in, the question still tormented your mind. There, in the dark of your room as the lights of the city poorly illuminated the place, you wondered if there was a timeline, a different reality where everything worked out.

You closed your eyes and tried to imagine a universe where everything was alright—one where Yoongi apologized for not calling after that night, and when you saw him that cold December morning, he’d be so happy to see you that the frown on his face would disappear.

Maybe in that universe, he would’ve asked you to stay for lunch, and maybe you would’ve helped him with his mom for the rest of the winter so she wouldn’t be mad at him. You tortured yourself thinking that maybe Yoongi would’ve planned the trip to the beach for the end of spring. You imagined what kind of shorts he would’ve packed, what kind of t-shirts, what kind of pajamas. You wondered if he would’ve let you stop at every old diner on the side of the road, if he would’ve taken your picture at every stop, if he would’ve kissed you just before you changed seats when it was your turn to drive.

Ever since that day, you’d rolled in bed wondering if he ever pictured you the same way you had so many times—if he saw you in the passenger seat of his car, on the sand by the sea, on the blue sheets, in hotel towels.

Looking at the ceiling, with eyes wide open, you always ended up thinking: would it have been so bad to follow you? Would he have gotten tired of your laughter so quickly? Of your fingers running down his back, of your words hanging from your lips just before you were about to make fun of him? Would he have gotten tired of your arguing, your cursing, your dragging feet? Would the memory of the few hundred kisses he gave you that night have worn out that fast?

You knew thinking about it was a waste of time, but as you were getting ready to have dinner with Nari, all those unanswered questions resurfaced—just in case you wanted to think twice and stay home, like you were so tempted to do.

On the edge of her bed was Minnie, sitting next to her cat as she watched you do your eyeliner. She had already apologized for snapping at you a few days ago, which forced you to recognize that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t completely cool with Yoongi being around, and you weren’t completely cool with him being involved in a place that had nothing to do with him, nothing except you. 

But surprisingly, against all odds—against all Yoongis—you wanted to stay. Not only because saying yes to Minnie and then quitting would’ve been completely cruel, but because you wanted to. You stayed because some part of you, the part you kept trying to silence, didn’t want to leave just yet.

You were still bitter that Minnie stayed friendly with Yoongi—but that started to fade when you told her he wanted to “talk things through” (whatever that meant). She was your best friend again the second she joined you in talking shit, trying to dissect everything he said like it was a crime scene that needed solving.

“So…” Minnie tilted her head, eyeing you. “Is he picking you up?”

“He said so.”

She paused for a moment, picturing that image in her head. “You know he has a girl, right?” she said, snorting. “I would freak out if I were Blondie. Imagine finding out your boyfriend is driving his famous ex-girlfriend to have dinner with his mom. God, no. I’d throw up.”

You shook your head, trying not to laugh at how fast her imagination could run. “He’s not my ex-boyfriend, Minnie… and he’s not driving me—we’re walking. He asked if we could have a chat before dinner, so she shouldn’t worry too much.” You said, turning from the mirror to sit beside her and slip on your Mary Janes. “And besides… you shouldn’t be gossiping about your friend, you know?” 

Minnie scoffed. “Whatever, it’s none of my business, but since when has that ever stopped me?” She waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, it’s not gossip if it’s true.” She huffed. “Did you know that he can’t keep a girl? I mean, maybe that’s not the right way to put it, because he can—he totally could. But maybe he just doesn’t want to.” 

“Charming,” you muttered, fussing a little too long with the strap of your shoe. “He’s always been like that.” 

Minnie leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s not just that—it’s like he gets bored. I’ve seen it happen a few times. He meets a girl, keeps her around for a few weeks, and then poof. Gone.”

You paused, curiosity flickering despite yourself. “Wait, what do you mean? Like he ghosts them?”

“No, I don’t think he ghosts them.” She said “It’s like he fades out. Stops texting as much, stops making plans. Let things die off slow.”

You glanced up, forcing your expression to stay neutral, though your fingers lingered a bit too long on the buckle. “Like a soft breakup?”

Minnie smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “It’s not really a breakup, though, is it? Not if he’s not actually in a relationship. That’s what he keeps saying about that blonde girl—‘the girl I’m seeing,’” she mimicked in a teasing tone. “Like he’s afraid of it getting too serious.”

You gave a small, distracted nod, not trusting yourself to say much. It was weird hearing that—how casual he was with other people. But it wasn’t difficult to imagine him like that; he never had proper girlfriends back in high school, which, at the time, felt like a small mercy. But that didn’t spare you from watching him parade around with a new girl every other week.

“How do you even know all that?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Namjoon,” Minnie said, like it was obvious. “He works with Yoongi sometimes. He told me.”

You laughed, eyebrows lifting. “Namjoon? Isn’t he Yoongi’s friend? Why would he spill that to you?”

“Because he likes me,” she said breezily, without missing a beat. “Didn’t I tell you that already? I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason he’s helping out at The Alley. Look—I don’t believe in exploiting my charm to get things from men, but if it’s for an extremely good cause?” She gave a shrug. “I think I’ll survive. Besides, he’s not a weirdo. He’s actually really cute.”

You snorted. “Yeah, tell me about it. Does he still wear those glasses?”

Her eyes lit up. “The glasses are so cute.”

You shook your head, smiling.

“It wasn’t just Namjoon, though,” she added. “I can read people.”

“Yoongi’s not easy to read,” you said, quieter this time. “Maybe you’re reading him wrong.”

“No, I don’t think so.” She shook her head “I told you, with you… it was different. It’s like he can’t talk about you, or even hear your name. It stings him, I know it wasn’t like that with you.”

You let out a dry laugh. For some reason, you already knew it was different with you. Even now, you could still swear it was. You could look into Yoongi’s eyes and see everything through, it meant something, but that didn’t make it any less bad. “Yeah, it was different.” You muttered, rising to your feet and brushing invisible dust from your skirt, just to have something to do. “It was worse.”

Minnie tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You know,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully “maybe you broke him. Maybe that’s why he can’t keep a girl now. You ruined his capacity for normal relationships.”

You laughed, surprised by how easily it came out. “Please. That boy was malfunctioning way before me.”

“Perhaps,” Minnie said, pretending to consider it. “But you broke him for good.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile lingered. “We weren’t even together, Minnie. We barely got started.”

She crossed her arms behind her head “C’mon… You fucked. You fucked like, a lot.”

You snorted, eyes squeezing shut. “God.”

“Maybe that’s how you did it,” she said with a shrug, grinning. “Scrambled his brain. That poor man never stood a chance.”

You covered your face, laughing into your hands. “Can you not? I have to look him in the eye.”

“Oh, please. What if he can’t get it up with anyone else now? What if that’s why he dumps them?” She smirked. “God, I’d kill to ruin a man like that.”

You shook your head. “You’re deranged.” 

Minnie just smiled, clearly proud of it. 

Still chuckling, you grabbed your phone. Just as you were about to slip it into your bag, the screen lit up with a new message.

Yoongi: I’m outside.

“Speaking of the devil.” You sighed, suddenly feeling nervous.  

“Hell is empty.” She whispered, dramatically. “And all the devils are here.”

You seemed to be stuck in a constant fight between the present and the past, even after all the times you’d tried to leave things behind. But the past had a way of finding you—softly, stubbornly—whether you liked it or not.

This time, though, you had a choice. When Yoongi texted you a few days ago, you could’ve ignored it. You could’ve said you’d changed your mind, told him to fuck off, and left it at that. It wasn’t like you owed him anything. You didn’t have to talk to him, didn’t have to look at him, didn’t have to remember.

It was stupid, really, but you guessed this was also a small part of your redemption arc. Facing Yoongi. Giving things a proper ending. Trying to behave like a decent, grown-up human being, even when some parts of you still refused, even when it still stung. 

So here you were, heart picking up pace with every step as you pushed the door open, letting the cold hit your face just as his long figure turned to face you. 

Yoongi stood by the stair railings, cheeks and nose pink from the wind, hair slightly messy and a long grey coat, different from his usual black one. His eyes lit up just barely, but you caught it.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, careful.

“Hi…” You muttered, letting the door click shut behind you. Then, glancing at his coat, “Is it that cold?”

He looked down, shrugged. “A bit, yeah.”

You groaned as you started walking, the sidewalk still damp from a recent rain. “I should’ve worn pants.”

You heard his footsteps fall beside you as you turned the corner, knowing the way to his childhood home from memory. He kept careful distance between you, but you could feel him regardless.

The street was quiet, just the low hum of cars in the distance and the occasional gust of wind threading between the buildings. You tucked your hands into your jacket pockets. He did the same.

For a moment, it was like neither of you knew how to speak.

Then Yoongi cleared his throat, barely louder than the wind. “You really staying for the whole thing?”

You glanced sideways at him. “The play?”

“Yeah. I thought you were just visiting,” He said, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. 

“No, um… I’m staying for a bit. At least until December. For the play, and some other stuff, too.” you added, unsure what else to say. The truth was that you didn’t have any idea what you were going to do in the next months, but that was the plan for now.

“Great,” he murmured. “I’m glad you’re staying. When you left the other day, I thought you were about to quit.”

You didn’t answer right away. The streetlight ahead blinked weakly.

“Oh, I thought about it,” you admitted. “But I wouldn’t do that to Minnie. And… I like yelling at kids.”

He let out a low laugh. “Clearly your calling.”

That made you smile. You didn’t mean to—but he caught it, and didn’t comment. Just kept walking beside you like he hadn’t noticed at all.

“You still do that thing where you tap your fingers when you’re nervous,” he said after a minute, eyes on your hand wrapped around your bag strap.

You glanced at him. “You still bring up things no one asks you to notice.”

He gave a small laugh. “Right. Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

“No, I’m not.”

The sidewalk went quiet again. A bus rattled by on the other side of the street, loud enough to fill the space between words. Neither of you turned to look.

“So?” you said eventually, looking at him. “You told me you were going to figure something out.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I did say that.”

But then he fell quiet again.

You gave him a look. “Well?”

He blinked, caught in thought. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I guess I’m realizing that no matter what I come up with, you’ll still want me six feet under, so it’s… complicated.”

You looked at him. “It’s not that I want you buried, Yoongi.”

He looked at you then—really looked, like he was trying to figure out if you meant it.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “That’s… something.”

“It’s just…” You exhaled, keeping your voice even. “I’m not in the best mood these days.  And honestly, you’re not exactly the person I’d choose to spend the night with. I’m confused. I don’t know what you’re trying to do here.”

“I don’t either,” he said, quiet but honest. “But I’m trying. And I’ve been thinking… I don’t want to fight with you.”

You stayed silent. You weren’t sure if you agreed with that. There was still a part of you that would take any opportunity to push him away.

You didn’t answer. A moment passed before you heard him sigh.

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, you know?” he murmured after a few seconds. There was a weight to his words, an understanding only the two of you could share. The sentence echoed in the quiet street, it echoed inside your chest and rang your ears, making you clench your fists. 

“I know.” You muttered, keeping your eyes on the sidewalk, the rhythm of your steps careful. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He looked ahead, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, his breath visible in the cold air. “Well… I don’t know. Maybe I have to.”

You shook your head slightly, not quite looking at him. “But that’s the point. We don’t know each other anymore. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.” You paused, letting the words hang between you both. “That doesn’t have to do with anything.”

His voice softened, but his words didn’t waver. “That has to do with everything.” He glanced at you, his gaze steady but unsure. “We’re going to see each other. We’re part of each other’s lives.”

You’re not part of my life, you wanted to say. You’d worked hard to make sure of that—to push him out, to forget. And yet here he was again, walking beside you like no time had passed at all.

“I don’t know.” You sighed “I’m gonna be honest, that doesn’t feel like a good reason to me. History doesn’t mean we owe each other anything.” 

“Maybe not,” he said, quiet now. “But we still share it. Whether we like it or not. You’re part of mine. You always have been.” He gave you a quiet look, but you didn’t dare to look at him back. “Just look at my mom. She talks about you like you’re her child. She adores you, we can’t… erase that.” 

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the mention of his mother. 

This was the second time Yoongi had brought her up to get to you — and this time, you couldn’t say he was wrong.

You always had a weak spot for Nari. She always made you feel like you belonged, it was the kind of feeling you held onto when you were young, it was the kind of feeling you were still chasing after all these years. 

“So, what are you proposing?” you asked, exhaling slowly. “Because I love your mom, Yoongi. But maybe I don’t want to be friends with you. We can’t… I can’t ignore the past, I can’t pretend you didn’t hurt me and nothing happened.”

The silence almost killed the both of you.

That was the first time either of you had said it out loud.

Yoongi didn’t flinch, but something in him shifted. You could feel it.

“I know I fucked up,” he said, voice low. “And I know I can’t rewrite things. I’m not trying to wipe that clean.”

He paused, jaw tightening for just a second.

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said after a moment. “Or to act like it didn’t matter. I know it did.”

He glanced at you, voice careful. “But we’re not the same people anymore. Things are different. We’re different.”

He shrugged, like he didn’t want to let the silence swallow him whole.

“It’s not just that, Yoongi,” you said, almost whispering. “A lot of things changed—everything changed after I left. After everything you said. It’s not that easy to get past it.”

“I know that, too…” he said, quieter now. “I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

He sighed, like he was still choosing the words that wouldn’t come.

“I’m not saying you’re an asshole.” You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “I know you’re not. And I know you’re trying to do things right. That’s the part that bothers me.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you for a second, like he wanted to respond but wasn’t sure how.

Then he nodded slowly.

“We can work together without dragging the past into every room. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not asking for friendship… just a middle ground.” He let out a breath. “I don’t know… we can’t just act like we don’t exist in each other’s world anymore.”

“A middle ground?” You repeated. 

“A truce.”

For fuck’s sake. 

You had never been one to hold back, it was quite the opposite. You were explosive, and you never thought twice. A truce wouldn’t mean the same thing to Yoongi as it would to you. To you, a truce would mean biting your tongue, going against your own nature.

But then again, you could try. Maybe a truce wasn’t about forgiving him. Maybe it was about choosing not to let him take up more space in your head than he already did.

So you let the tension in your shoulders ease, just barely, and gave a tight nod.

Not agreement. Just permission—to stop fighting for a minute.

“A truce.” You repeated again, but the word rooted in your mouth. There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. You exhaled, watching your breath fog in the cold air. “And what would be the terms of this truce?”

His gaze drifted forward, like he was choosing his next words carefully. He shifted his weight, his eyes flicking to you. “Okay. Terms of the truce.”

You crossed your arms, not quite looking at him. “You stop using your mom to get to me.”

He nodded, no sign of protest. “Fair. Then you stop looking at me like you’d rather walk into traffic than stand next to me.”

You arched an eyebrow. “I can’t promise that. But I’ll try to keep it subtle.” you said “Anything else?”

You saw the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. “No snapping at each other,” he said. “No snarky comments. No pretending the other person doesn’t exist.”

You hummed, unconvinced. 

“No dragging each other into arguments we don’t have to have,” he added. “We stay civil. We work together when we need to. We don’t make things harder than they already are.”

You glanced at him. “And what do we do when it gets hard anyway?”

He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, the only sound was the scrape of your shoes on the pavement.

You weren’t asking out of curiosity. You were asking because you knew yourself — knew how quickly your temper rose, how sharp your tongue could get when he looked at you the wrong way, or said something in that calm, unreadable tone that made you feel like you were the only one still bleeding from the past.

And Yoongi, in his usual way, was probably wondering if this was the part where you gave up, where you proved him right, that the two of you couldn’t exist in the same space without turning it into a battlefield.

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“We deal with it,” he said simply. “Like two people who can handle being in the same room.”

You stared straight ahead, your jaw tight. There was a sting in your chest you chose not to name.

“That’s a lot of rules,” you said.

“It’s just one,” Yoongi replied. “Don’t make each other miserable.”

You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no either.

And maybe — for now — that was the best either of you could offer.

Standing in the hall of Yoongi’s apartment felt like breaking a pact you’d made with yourself—an oath you swore years ago to never come back. You never thought you’d find yourself here again, walking down this hallway, watching him open the doors of the old elevator. It felt like a small betrayal, even if Yoongi didn’t live here anymore. 

Simon had told you Yoongi moved to an apartment near the center of town three years ago. Probably a tall building with a modern elevator, the kind that played music when you pushed the buttons, with white lights and a security guard at the entrance. Just like yours in the city.

It was hard to picture Yoongi there, in his old man sweaters and fuzzy socks, sitting by the window and looking out at the town. He didn’t seem like he belonged in a place like that. It felt like he only ever belonged here.

He closed the doors behind you and stood there, looking at the buttons before pressing the one for the fourth floor. You watched him as the yellowish lights illuminated his side profile, the curve of his nose, his hooded eyes. You looked without any kind of shame, allowing yourself to observe him: his long hair, the marks on his skin, the mole on his cheek just beside his nose, his eyelashes, the earring in his ear, and the empty holes from past piercings.

You couldn’t help but recall that winter night from four years ago every now and then, but now, standing here, it felt almost impossible not to. In the same place where he once pressed you against the wall and kissed you, it felt like it had happened just yesterday.

You remembered lying beside him, taking your time to memorize every detail like you had all the time in the world. And back then, it felt like you did. You counted the moles on his body, traced the veins along his hands and arms with your fingers, touched his lips, kissed his lips, his neck, his cheeks, his chest.

You didn’t remember ever kissing someone that much. You could almost swear that, even in your three-year relationship with Ian, you hadn’t kissed him as many times as you did in those three days spent in Yoongi’s old bedroom, on his bed, in his kitchen, on his couch, in his shower, against the wall, and against the floor.

You remembered kissing him in the morning light, when the sun came through the window and hit his face, making him scrunch his nose and close his eyes. But there was something entirely different about kissing him in the dark—between sheets and secrets and shaky breaths—something about the feeling of having him all to yourself that you could never forget. It was engraved in your memory, like the shape of his lips had been tattooed onto yours, and from then on, no kiss had ever felt the same.

You used to know him. Not only the way his body moved, or how his hand fit around your hips. Not just the vessel of his body, but the person he used to be. Inside and out, you knew him.

You didn’t notice earlier. You didn’t notice at The Alley or when you saw him at your house the day you arrived. It seemed to have escaped you—only now could you see that he looked tired. It wasn’t just that he looked older, or the long day he must have had at work today. It was something else.

You didn’t have time to wonder about it for too long. When the elevator shook, you looked away.

It took you less than two minutes to reach the door, and when Yoongi opened it and stepped aside to let you in, the warmth of the apartment hit you—then the smell. You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been on the way up. Now, you were surprised to feel weirdly comforted.

You both kicked your shoes off without thinking too much. You paused, sniffing the air. “Wait… is that—?”

“Doenjang jjigae,” he said, already pulling off his coat. “Mom said you liked it.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself. “I haven’t had it in forever.”

Yoongi disappeared down the hallway without another word, leaving you standing in the entryway, coat still on your shoulders, unsure if you should follow.  

You were still taking in the warmth and scent of the apartment when Nari appeared from the kitchen doorway, steady on her walker. The metal frame clinked softly against the floor as she moved towards you, a dish towel draped over one arm.

“Oh, there she is!” she said, eyes lighting up. “You’re already here!”

You smiled, stepping forward to meet her. “Hey, Nari.”

She opened her arms without letting go of the walker. “Come here, don’t be shy.” She gave you a quick hug, careful and slow. 

You leaned in for the hug, careful not to bump into the metal frame. Her embrace was as firm as ever, if a little slower to pull back.

“You didn’t have to cook just for me,” you said, even though the smell from the kitchen was already making your stomach growl. 

She waved you off. “Nonsense, I wanted to. And you’re too skinny. You still don’t eat breakfast, do you?”

You gave a small laugh, not quite answering. Behind her, Yoongi reappeared, carrying two sets of bowls. He glanced at the two of you, then cleared his throat.

“Uh, Mom—did Summer already leave?”

Nari looked over her shoulder. “Yes, she helped me chop vegetables and argued with me about how much salt to use. Then she left about an hour ago.” She turned back to you, smiling as she walked towards the table. “I didn’t tell her you were coming because she would’ve wanted to stay longer. She is such a fan of yours, you know?”

You smiled, not sure who she was talking about “She is?”

“Oh yes,” Nari said easily. “She’s my nurse. She’s been helping me around the house for a few months now. Sweet girl. Blonde, tall, always so well put-together. She said she saw you once—at that theater… what’s it called…?”

You blinked “The Alley?”

“Yes! That’s the one.” Nari nodded. “She mentioned seeing you there, said she didn’t want to bother you, but she was excited all week after that.”

You breath caught for a beat as you put two and two together. 

Yoongi glanced up from where he was setting the bowls, his hands slowing just slightly. His fingers hesitated over the chopsticks, then adjusted them again

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t have to.

It was her. The blonde girl outside The Alley. The one he’d shown up with. The one who kept looking at you like she wanted to say something but never did.

You stood there, trying not to think about how perfect she had looked standing next to Yoongi. Tall. Blonde. Model-like. The kind of girl who probably made people stare twice on the street—not because they recognized her, but because she was the type people noticed.

And she was a nurse. Of course she was.

You almost laughed, but the hole in your stomach didn’t let you. 

It was so unnecessary, such a waste of time to even think about it. Still, it was hard not to wonder, just for a second, if that was his type. Someone steady, soft-spoken and kind. Someone you were not. 

“Oh,” you said, quiet, folding your coat over your arm and smoothing the fabric a little too carefully. “I think I remember her.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened—just barely—and he reached for the next bowl, though his grip looked a little too firm, like he was afraid he might drop it. Was this uncomfortable for him? Was it for you? 

“Oh? Really?” Nari asked, “I’ll tell her you did, she’ll lose her mind.” 

You smiled, what else could you do? 

Chasing the thoughts away, you let it go, like you were supposed to. 

A few moments later, the three of you were sitting at the table and you were grateful to be thinking of something else. The dining table wasn’t large, not like the one back at your family’s house, always too long, always full of guests. Here, everything felt more familiar, closer, like time didn’t pass at all inside this house. There was only ever Nari and Yoongi, and now there was you.

You tried to change the subject. “You should’ve invited Simon, too. He’s probably around, isn’t he?” You asked Nari.

Nari waved a hand, “Simon is here all the time, and he eats all the food. Besides” her eyes twinkled “I wanted it to be just you and Yoongi tonight.”

There was something innocent in her tone, offhanded even, but the words hung in the air a second too long. 

The evening settled into a quiet rhythm after that.

The doenjang jjigae steamed between you, warm and familiar, and the table slowly filled with other dishes — kimchi, anchovies, steamed egg, bowls of white rice. You found yourself relaxing, bit by bit, lulled by the sound of chopsticks against ceramic, the occasional clink of glasses being refilled, and Nari’s steady voice weaving from one topic to the next. 

She talked about her book club, the women at the community center who were always getting into harmless gossip. She talked about her last checkup, her doctor’s advice to cut back on salt and how she, of course, had ignored it.

You enjoyed listening to her, your flushed face resting in your hands, leaning over the table and laughing every time she said something funny. But all she really wanted to talk about was you, even if you’d rather talk about anything else in the world

“So, are you working on another movie?” Nari asked. “We went to see your last one with Yoongi. We loved it.”

You smiled, eyebrows lifting in surprise, finding that very funny for some reason. “You did?” you said, glancing at him. 

“Of course. It was so sad, he almost cried,” she added, nodding towards him.

You snorted. “You cried?”

Yoongi kept his eyes on the bowl. “I didn’t.”

Nari rolled her eyes. “He did.”

“I had allergies,” he muttered.

“During summer?” You asked. 

He looked at you, shaking his head, not willing to answer. You bit back at smirk. 

You tried to imagine Yoongi buying tickets for your movie last summer—walking into the theater, sitting there for two hours, watching you. You tried to imagine him taking advantage of the darkness to let himself cry, then leaving, trying to forget about it and go on with his day. It was a strange image. You had never mixed that part of your life with this one—mainly because this was the part you'd left behind. But you’d never really stopped to consider that your life kept happening everywhere, even if you weren’t there to see it.

“There is no shame in crying during movies.” Nari said, being unaware of the two of you. “You pick very sad ones, dear.”

You laughed softly. “Well, they only ever want me for sad films these days,” you said, lifting your glass. “They tell me I have sad eyes. Whatever that means.”

Nari tilted her head, studying you closely. “You do have a melancholic stare, sweetheart. But it’s a beautiful thing. You say more with your eyes than you do with your voice.”

You caught the faint smile that tugged at Yoongi’s lips as he stared into his bowl.

“Thanks, I guess,” you said, returning the smile, warmth spreading in your chest. “I just hope that doesn’t get me in trouble.” You leaned back slightly, more at ease now. “But no, I don’t have any projects at the moment. I want to spend more time with my mom—sleep more, eat more... Besides, I took a job at the theater, so I’ll be busy with that until December.”

“Right, Yoongi mentioned that,” Nari said, folding her hands together with a small smile. “He said everyone was happy to see you again. How long has it been?”

You glanced away, trying to remember the last time you'd been at The Alley. The dates blurred together.

“Two years ago,” Yoongi said before you could answer.

You turned to him in surprise. He cleared his throat.

“You were there for the Bong Joon-ho week,” he added, not quite meeting your eyes. “Memories of murder.”

You nodded slowly, the memory coming back immediately, but he wasn’t part of it. 

“I don’t remember seeing you there…” You said, feeling the weight of the sudden silence of the room. 

He looked away, “I was there, I just… sat very close to the back.” 

Your lips parted, then curved into a polite smile. “Well, it’s been a while.” You turned back to Nari, keeping your tone light. “But honestly, not much has changed over there.”

Nari leaned in slightly. “So, what are you doing there, exactly?”

“She’s working with the kids,” Yoongi cut in, quick to respond. 

You flicked your eyes towards him, not irritated—just surprised at how ready he was to speak for you.

Nari brightened. “That sounds so sweet. I’m sure they’re thrilled.”

“They are,” Yoongi added. “They’re obsessed with her. She’s kind of a big deal.”

You gave a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Hardly. I just showed up. They’re the ones doing all the real work.”

She looked at you with a bright expression. “You’re being modest.”

 “No, really. I just wanted to help. They’re so enthusiastic. It’s kind of impossible not to get pulled in.”

“What are you doing with them?”

“Mostly helping them rehearse, learn lines, fix costumes. Nothing too dangerous.”

Yoongi laughed under his breath. “She’s being humble. She’s running the show.”

“Well…”

“And doing it well. Even if she nearly bit my head off the first day.” He casually mentioned, catching you off guard. 

It was still strange — how easy this seemed to him. To bring you back here, look at you in the eyes, the teasing, the warmth, the casual way he slipped back into before, like nothing had happened. Like he could just talk to you like that.

It wasn’t that you hated it. It made you nervous.

This was the point of the truce, being civil, not picking at old wounds. But still, it felt like he was settling into something softer, something that didn’t exist anymore. Like he wanted something gentler from you, and wasn’t even aware of it. 

And maybe the worst part was… you kept letting him. Not because you’d forgiven him. Not because you weren’t still angry. But because there was something in the way he looked at you tonight — cautious and familiar — that made it hard to stay guarded all the way through.

You rolled your eyes. “That was entirely your fault.”

Nari let out a laugh, eyes dancing between you both. “You two had a fight? How shocking.”

“It wasn’t a fight…” you murmured, glancing sideways at Yoongi with a look that wasn’t quite sharp but definitely not warm. “It was just… a disagreement.”

“I was just trying to help,” he said, lifting his hands in mock defense. “Provide legal advice for the screenplay.”

“You weren’t hired to be a lawyer,” you shot back, a hint of amusement in your tone. “Not on Saturdays, at least.”

“I’m always a lawyer, Pinky.”

The nickname hung in the air a second longer than it should’ve. But this time, you didn’t flinch.

You looked at him for a second, biting your lip. You wanted to say something, but turned to his mom instead, deciding to ignore it. “See, Nari. That’s the thing with lawyers, they always need to be right.”

“That sounds very much like Yoongi.” She chuckled, clearly enjoying this. “But don’t let the whole lawyer act fool you, dear. He’s been like that since forever. Always has to get the last word, even if it’s nonsense.”

You let out a soft breath of laughter. “Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I already know.”

“C’mon,” Yoongi cut in, nudging the air between you, “you’re exactly the same.”

You tilted your head, giving him a mock-frown. “Except I’m actually always right.”

Nari hummed thoughtfully, her smile not quite innocent. “Well, I don’t know who’s right, but I do know I hate seeing you two fight.” 

You looked down at your fingers on the table, avoiding her eyes. 

“We’ll try not to.” Yoongi said, and it felt like a promise. 

“Anyway,” you said, catching your breath, “the kids are very committed. And the place needs all the help it can get, so I’ll be there for a while.”

Yoongi nodded, quieter this time. “It’s good that you’re there.”

You glanced at him. He wasn’t teasing now. And for a moment, it made the air feel heavier — not in a bad way, but enough to make you blink and look back at your plate.

Nari, thankfully, filled the space with a soft “That theater’s lucky to have you, sweetheart.”

You smiled at her, grateful. “Thanks. I think I needed it too.”

As the night slipped away, you let yourself fall into a kind of quiet familiarity you hadn’t felt in a long time, while you and Yoongi washed the dishes. Nari sat by the window, watching the two of you with the soft scrutiny only a mother can offer, remarking that Yoongi looked taller lately, that your skirt was too thin for a cold night like this, and that Yoongi should straighten his posture. 

“You two make a good team.” She said, observing Yoongi hand you a pair of clean glasses. 

You laughed, but neither of you said anything to contradict her, you wouldn’t dare to. 

You stayed in the kitchen a little longer, watching the rain return, soft against the glass. That’s when Nari suggested Yoongi drive you home—it was late, after all. 

You didn’t argue. You had spent the whole evening with him, you were sure you could endure another five minutes in his presence if that meant you didn’t have to pay an Uber. 

When it was time to leave, you hugged Nari goodbye. She held on a little longer than expected, her hands soft and familiar against your back. 

“You’ll come next week for tea, right?” she asked, giving you a look that wasn’t really a question.

You smiled, nodding. “Of course.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.” She patted your cheek like she used to, and then turned towards the hallway. 

“Come on, Yoongi, help me with the stupid pills.” Yoongi shot you a glance—apologetic, maybe—but didn’t say anything as he followed her down the hall. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Sleep tight, Nari.” You smiled, watching them disappear as you waited in the kitchen.

Their voices drifted in and out. Nari asked where she’d left her robe. Yoongi reminded her not to mix up the bottles. A drawer opened, something clinked shut. You listened to him saying goodbye to her, it was the kind of domestic rhythm you weren’t supposed to be a part of. 

A moment passed before Yoongi came back to the kitchen, with a small smile on his face as he gestured to the door. You repeated the same cycle in reverse: you put on your coats, took the elevator down in silence, walked the hallway and waited for him to unlock the door.

The rain fell over you as soon as you put foot on the streets, so you hurried to get to Yoongi’s car. He opened the door for you and you got in, sinking into the seat as you watched him walk around the car and get it. When he started the engine, the radio came on automatically, playing some Jeff Buckley song, so low you could barely hear it.

He’d changed his car, you noticed. You didn’t know anything about cars, but this one was bigger than the last—more modern. Yoongi’s old car had a busted, almost ancient stereo, and under his seat, there was a folder of CDs he used to let you choose from every time you were in the car with him. You repressed the urge to ask if he still had it. 

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You looked at him briefly, but his eyes were fixed on the road. “I had a good time. You don’t have to thank me…”

He nodded. “I know, but still…” He paused, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. “It’s been a long time.”

You just hummed, refusing to acknowledge such a thing as time.

A silence settled between you, the hum of the engine filling the space. Yoongi’s jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

“Was that true?” you asked suddenly. “That thing your mom said about the movie, that you cried?”

The question didn’t seem to surprise him, but he hesitated to answer for a second. “Maybe… Perhaps I teared up a little.” 

You pressed your lips together, eager to know more. “Can I ask why?”

His fists clenched around the steering wheel, but he did not look at you. “You’re good at making people cry, I guess.” He said, his tone even. “You’re good.”

You sank deeper into the seat, feeling your heart slightly clenching. 

By the time you arrive at Minnie's apartment, there was still something lingering in the air. Something you were both hoping to let go tonight. This wasn’t quite a closure, not even a goodbye. You weren’t sure if it would ever be something such as that.

The car stopped. The rain kept falling over you, and it was time to call it a night.

You looked at him for a moment before opening the door. Your gaze crashed into his, and for the briefest second, you felt electrified.

Another song from the same album kept playing softly. The engine was still running. The windows were all fogged up. You had nothing to prove there, nothing left to lose that night. In that moment, you could admit it: he was right—you were part of his life, and he was part of yours.

There had been something between you then, just as there was now, and somehow, you knew there always would be. You had just never known what to call it, and maybe that was what made it linger.

“Good night, Yoongi,” you said, opening the door and letting the chill of the night sneak into the car.

“Good night, Pinky.” He let out, like a breath he had been holding for too long. 

Then, you disappeared into the night. 

One of the many reasons you’d been at odds with this town since you were young was the lingering suspicion that it was cursed. Not cursed like in horror movies, where kids disappeared or something tragic happened every other day, but the kind of curse that quietly followed you around—the kind that hovered over you at the bus stop. It was in the dark winter evenings, in the sound of autumn leaves dragging across the street as you walked home at night, in the stillness of time as it passed. It was the frightening feeling that nothing ever changed.

In the city, everything was ever-changing. Everything was shiny and new, and every night felt different from the one before. There were moments when everything seemed fine—when you were convinced this was the life you were meant to lead all along, and your heart felt full, your soul complete, and no one could ever take it away from you.

But there were other moments, brief moments, when you walked down the street alone at night and could still hear the autumn leaves dragging across the pavement, following you home.

Over time, you began to realize that maybe your hometown was just a small town like any other. You supposed it was normal to bump into people you’d rather not see at the grocery store, at the theater, even in your own house. But then, as you grew up, another fear surged from the pit of your stomach: the suspicion that maybe you were the one who was bewitched, that you were the one carrying the curse wherever you went.

You thought you were almost used to it—the breakup with Ian, the leaked pictures, seeing Yoongi in your home the night you arrived, and running into him at The Alley days later. The more you tried to avoid it, the more it seemed to find you. But this time, it caught you off guard. 

The coffee shop down the street from The Alley had always been your favorite. It was small, so small you could hear the people talking down in the kitchen and the barista complaining about her ex boyfriend. There was a whole wall filled with books and you could grab any one you wanted to read as you were waiting for your order. You always sat in the farthest corner of the room, next to the books, in a tiny table for two next to a tall lamp shaped like a flower and pretended to work on your laptop or read the same storybook for the tenth time. 

No one bothered you here, no one ever did, not until now.

You heard the bell ring as the door opened and two people stepped inside. You were never particularly interested in who came or went—you always kept your nose buried in your book and gave little thought to anyone who wasn’t you. But for the first time that afternoon, you looked up.

A gust of wind slipped through the doorway, lifting Summer’s hair before it fell perfectly back into place as Yoongi stepped in behind her and closed the door.

Ugh.

Not this again. The curse. 

You dropped your gaze back to your book instantly, pretending to be oblivious as you took another sip of your cup of coffee. You tried to stay focused on the story, staring at the same sentence on the page until it blurred, but the sound of chairs scraping against the floor made you want to take a look again. 

They choose a table by the window. Not close to you, but not far enough either. Not far enough not to notice your quiet presence. 

Summer. The name Yoongi mentioned the other night. It resonated in your head as you tried to come back to the story, but it seemed to infect each one your thoughts. What kind of name was that anyway? Summer, like flowers and the sun, ice cream and the beach. Summer, it sounded like something made up, soft and sweet, effortless. Around here, girls had names like Claire or Melissa. Summer felt like a fantasy, the kind of girl you don’t usually see in this town. Like the kind of girl you became if you got everything right on the first try. the kind of girl you used to pretend not to hate when you were in nursing school, wondering if you’d ever feel like you belonged anywhere. 

Summer. Bright and easy and blonde. It figured. 

God, now you sounded like a bitch. You didn’t know her. You hadn’t even talked to her. You were building entire stories in your head like a deranged person. 

You shook the thought off before it could stick too long — there were better things to waste your time on. Like the fucking book in your hands that you couldn’t, for the life of you, manage to finish.

And when you were about to look away, your eyes landed on him. 

Still standing. White shirt, black cardigan, hand resting on the back of a chair, mid-motion, like he’d been about to sit but got caught. Watching you.

Yoongi’s eyes locked with yours. There it was—surprise, recognition, something like hesitation. Then, a pause too long to be casual, he lifted his hand in a small, clumsy wave.

Not thinking much, you waved back before your mind processed it. Just a nod of acknowledgment. It didn’t have to be awkward. And yet, it was.

You glanced back at your book, wondering if you were supposed to revisit the terms of whatever agreement you had now. Were you expected to wave in public? Even when no one was watching? Why did you have to acknowledge him at all, especially when he was clearly here with someone else?

Whatever. In any case, you supposed this was the whole point of the truce: to share a space, to be civil and polite and blah, blah, blah. It bored you just thinking about it.

You turned back to your book. Or tried to—because the sound of his voice carried through the room, low and steady, filling every corner like smoke. You couldn’t make out the words, but that didn’t stop your brain from trying.

You closed your eyes and sighed. Still, you found yourself straining to decode what he might be saying, or why she kept laughing like that.

Determined, you stared at the same page for the third time, willing yourself to focus. This time, you told yourself, you were going to make it through. You were this close to slipping back into the story.

A few minutes passed. Enough for the noise around you to dull into background static, for the text to finally start sinking in. You managed to stay focused on the story, your fingers pressed lightly to the page as if that could anchor you there.

You didn’t notice the shadow at first. Just a shift in the air beside you, a faint rustle of movement, a shadow. Then the creak of the chair across from you being pulled out.

When you looked up, Yoongi was already sitting down.

Your heart jumped before your expression could catch up. He wasn’t looking at you, not yet, he was settling in like he had a reason to be there, like this wasn’t strange.

Had he walked over without you noticing? Had he said something first?

You hadn’t heard a thing.

“Hi,” he said—soft, hesitant.

You blinked.

“Hi?” you echoed, the book still in your hands.

“Hi,” he repeated.

You narrowed your eyes. “Is there… something wrong?” you asked quietly, sneaking a glance toward the girl he’d just left at the other table. She met your eyes, then quickly looked away.

“No, not at all…” he muttered, shifting in his seat.

“Then… may I ask why you’re sitting at my table?”

He sat at the edge of the chair, like he didn’t plan to stay long. He looked almost nervous—almost, because Yoongi never looked nervous. He was always put together, always with his shit together.

“Uhm… yes,” he began, slow and steady, like this wasn’t completely awkward. “You know Summer, I think. She’s right there. She’s… a friend.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A friend?” The laugh threatened to slip out, but you bit it back.

“She’s a big fan of yours,” he said, smoothing his hands over his knees like he needed something to do with them. His voice was careful, almost rehearsed.

“So I’ve heard,” you replied, lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That must be fun for you.”

Yoongi let out a quiet breath, eyes closing briefly like he was trying not to react. You watched the flicker of tension in his jaw before he forced his features back into something neutral.

“She’s been asking me for a while… if I could get you to sign something for her.”

“For her?” You tilted your head, just slightly.

He nodded once.

Yoongi was a lot of things, sure—but you never thought he was this much of a fucking idiot.

Honestly, you almost wanted to laugh. The fact that he had the audacity to come over to your table, while you were minding your own business, just to ask for an autograph—for a girl—was nearly hilarious.

Oh, but you were going to make sure he knew that.

“Because she’s my fan, you’re saying?” You asked, just because you wanted another confirmation. Of all the girls Yoongi could date, he chose the one who was your number one fan. He nodded again, this time with more hesitation. “Did you already tell her no? Because that’s my answer.”

“Yes, I already told her no, but she insisted.” He sighed. “Many times, actually.”

“That’s cute.” You smiled, voice laced with amusement. “Did you watch my movies with her too, or was that part too awkward?”

He glanced away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was biting back a retort. “Come on…”

“I’m not on celebrity duty right now,” you said, flipping the page of your book without looking at it. 

“I know, I know…” He sighed again, shifting in his seat. His knee bumped the table lightly. “She didn’t want to bother you. She’s shy. So she asked me. Because… she knows I know you.”

Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, but your mouth twitched.

That was one way to describe you had sex, you wanted to say.

The truth was that you didn’t have a problem with an autograph. It was bitter, you knew, you could easily do it, but you simply did not want to. 

“Sounds like you really wanted me to say yes so you wouldn’t have to say no to her.” You pouted. 

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

Well, you were wrong, you thought.

“I told you, I’m practically on vacation.” You leaned back, eyeing him. “I’m not giving you an autograph so you can fuck some chick.”

He shut his eyes for a second, like he was counting to ten. “She’s my mom’s nurse.”

You shrugged. “I’m not giving you an autograph so you can fuck your mom’s nurse.”

He shook his head, biting back a laugh, then ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Can you just—do me a favor?”

“Why would I?” you challenged, chuckling.

He shrugged, voice low. “Honestly? I don’t know, maybe because she likes you.”

“Or because you like her?” you teased, pressing your palms together like you were praying for him. “I mean… doesn’t she mind?” You gave him a squinting look, full of fake concern. “Isn’t she the jealous type?”

“No—well, I don’t know. We’re not... it’s not like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flicking towards Summer, who was pretending not to look over.

He stayed quiet for a moment, staring down at the book in front of you—anything to avoid looking at you.

Then, just as he opened his mouth to plead one last time for the favor, you noticed her. Walking straight towards you, a bright, fixed smile on her face, like she was ready to hug you right then and there.

Before you could blink, Summer pulled a chair and slipped in between the two of you.

She settled into it like she owned the place, her smile steady as she glanced between you and Yoongi.

“Hi, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I felt weird just standing over there,” she said. You stayed there, with your mouth half open, you couldn’t find the words to answer. “I’m Summer, nice to meet you.”

She extended her hand awkwardly, and you hesitated before taking it. Despite what Yoongi said, she didn’t look shy at all. 

“Uh… hi?”

She laughed nervously, the bubbly sound filling your ears.

“I hope we’re not bothering you. Yoongi told me you two have been childhood friends.”

You forced a small, polite smile, carefully folding your hands on the table. “Nice to meet you, Summer.” Your voice was calm, but your eyes narrowed just slightly—this was not exactly how you pictured your afternoon going.

Yoongi shifted uneasily in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck like he’d just walked into a minefield. The sight of Summer sitting so close, so casual, made him visibly tense, his usual composure nowhere to be found.

“So,” you said, keeping your tone light but deliberate, “Yoongi mentioned you wanted my autograph?”

Summer’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a hint of nervous energy beneath it. “Yeah, I’m a big fan, I adored you in Dog Days.” she said, glancing at Yoongi for reassurance.

He cleared his throat, eyes darting between you both. “If it’s not too much trouble….” he added, sounding more like he was begging than asking.

You looked at Yoongi through your lashes, silently cursing him for putting you in this position. But then again, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, too.

And you, more than anything, wanted to be an asshole and say no. You didn’t owe them anything, you’d been enjoying your time alone before they walked in, before both of them sat beside you like they were invited. You could say no.

You meant what you said: you were on vacation. You didn’t want to be a celebrity here, not now, not after everything that happened with Ian and the press. And even if you knew that signing a piece of paper wouldn’t truly disturb your peace, you still didn’t want to.

Of course, it wasn’t about the autograph. It was about her—bright and sweet and everything you weren’t. And it was about him—sitting with her, making her laugh, trying to impress her with your signature, stumbling to your table like he didn’t know how much it bothered you to see him there.

Well. You had to remind yourself you were trying not to be a bitch.

And sure, you’d agreed to a truce, though at this point, it was starting to feel like bullshit. Why did it seem like this truce benefited him more than you? What was in it for you? 

Whatever, it was fine, it wouldn’t kill you to sign an autograph, not completely, at least. 

You reached for your bag, and searched for a loose pen between your books. 

“Well, I’m not exactly working today, but I suppose I can’t say no to my old friend’s... friend.”

Yoongi let out a relieved breath, though the tension didn’t fully leave his shoulders. 

You grabbed a piece of paper and signed it, your eyes catching Summer’s excited smile. You briefly wondered what she was going to do with it. 

No one asked you for autographs these days, only outside the theater after a performance, and even then, it was almost always just programs. But you were kind of grateful for that. You could handle signing a piece of paper, but not taking a picture with Summer. She would post it somewhere, tag you, and then maybe you’d have to see it—see the difference between the two of you captured forever, impossible to forget, impossible to erase from your memory.

You didn’t know why you were feeling so insecure, it was like you were fourteen years old all over again, like you were uncomfortable in your own skin. 

When you handed her the paper, she smiled and said thank you, and you knew that was your cue to go. You didn’t want to be here anymore.

You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “Okay, guys. I’m leaving.”

She looked up at you with wide eyes, visibly disappointed. “Already?” she asked, as if you’d ever planned on staying.

“Yeah, I’ve got work to do at The Alley, you know, the Halloween party and all…” you said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. You had offered to help organize the party. But right now, it made a perfect excuse to get out of this mess.

“Oh, will you be there?” She asked, hopeful. 

You pressed your lips together and nodded. “Yeah, of course.” You were obligated to say you were going, even if you changed your mind at the last minute. You and Minnie had agreed it would help boost ticket sales if people knew you’d be there.

“That’s amazing, we’ll be there for sure. Right, Yoongi?” she said, nudging his arm.

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a small nod. “Yeah. For sure.”

You grabbed your wallet and left a tip, ready to leave. “See you, then.” 

Then, you walked to the door, stepping outside. 

The cold hit you before you even made it down the steps, sharp and bracing — a reminder that it was still autumn, no matter how much someone like Summer could make it feel like June inside.

You tried not to think about it as you crossed the street, going back to The Alley. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this wasn’t how you imagined things happening. 

You didn’t want to be in the same room as Yoongi and his new girl. You didn’t want to make small talk, or pretend to be okay with all of it. You’d grown strangely comfortable with your resentment — it had kept you warm, in a way. You’d never really wanted a truce. There was a thought, a bitter little thing, that crept in during your worst moments: if you couldn’t forget, then maybe you didn’t want to forgive either.

You didn’t want him to smile at you, to be polite and correct and show you kindness. You wanted him to look at you and be reminded of every single thing he said to you. You wanted it to make his stomach squirm. You wanted him to avoid your gaze, to feel the need to leave the room every time you walked in — because there was no universe where you could both share oxygen without suffocating each other trying.

It was strange, but you couldn’t stop the thought. You couldn’t stop the feeling.

You wanted a shiver to run down his spine every time he looked at you, because the only thing he could see in your eyes was the memory of that night.

And maybe, by wishing that, you were admitting that the last bits of your sanity had disappeared the moment he offered one of those kind smiles. Because you’d rather know it hurt him to see you than believe he felt nothing at all.

You didn’t look back. But inside, behind the window, Yoongi did.

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[prodagustd]

music healed him. so he is using it to heal others as well.

{cr. 0613data}

[prodagustd]

I’m so glad we get to see him through this kind of news 😭🫶🏻 I love him sm

YOONGI 🥹

[prodagustd]

oh oh! It's me again! And I have another question. Has Simon never wondered why Pinky suddenly doesn't want to hear about Yoongi? I mean, I know that guys are generally just stupid when it comes to emotions and don't see certain things and I know that Simon didn't see these obvious signs, but for example I think that Pinky had premieres of her movies to which she probably invited her mother Simon and his girlfriend (Florance?). Simon must have noticed that she never invited his bf. I think to myself, he explained it somehow in his own way but he never added 2+2. But their mother definitely did.

That drabble from the cinema when Yoongi watches her movie would be great.

Hi again!!! I think that in chapter 3 it’s said that Simon doesn’t know anything, and I also think it goes beyond being a guy and being stupid (lmao he is tho) but their relationship developed kind of in secret? when Simon is around everything is different (this is also said, I believe) .

The rest it would be explained in the story, i’m excited to write more about Simon, I have a few version of it written from months ago so I hope you could read it soon!!!

[prodagustd]

Yes!!!

I don't think readers hate him, he annoys us more with the amount of times he fucked up. But Yoongi pov would be perfect. He made this whole truce for himself. He wanted well, he wanted to come back into her life because whether he wants it or not he can't live without her. But these rules were made for him not for Pinky. He didn't even notice that her only request was for him not to use his mom, everything after that was his wishes.

I think he cried in the cinema because the scene had to be emotional (I even think it might have been about a breakup?) And he saw himself and her in this scene. Yoongi also emphasized when Pinky said she wanted an autograph to fuck her nurse, that it wasn't like that. Just like Minnie said "he doesn't do relationships". So in his head - it's not like that.

Oh I hope she'll be adored during the Halloween party! It can be Jk it can be anyone but she should arouse emotions in him.

God I love this story so much. Do you know how many times I've read this chapter! 5 times and I know I'll keep reading.

omg I know you all don’t hate him I’m joking but still sjfjjd 🫣

I think Yoongi meant well when he proposed the truce and the rules, he just wants to do things right, but yes, maybe deep inside him he knows (or he doesn’t? he’s clueless) that he did because he can’t stand being away from her, even if it’s just to float in her orbit (like working at the alley).

Also,,, there’s so many things I want to say about summer and yoongi but I HAVE to shut up bc otherwise jdhrjwkkw

And omg about the Halloween party.. I always love some jealous!yoongi I’m 100% guilty 😌 I hope I can have it ready real soon !!! It always amaze me when you say that you keep re reading omg it also makes me panic a bit bc I must have a thousand mistakes 😭 but thank you I adore youuuuuuu

[prodagustd]

I don't think readers hate him, he annoys us more with the amount of times he fucked up. But Yoongi pov would be perfect. He made this whole truce for himself. He wanted well, he wanted to come back into her life because whether he wants it or not he can't live without her. But these rules were made for him not for Pinky. He didn't even notice that her only request was for him not to use his mom, everything after that was his wishes.

I think he cried in the cinema because the scene had to be emotional (I even think it might have been about a breakup?) And he saw himself and her in this scene. Yoongi also emphasized when Pinky said she wanted an autograph to fuck her nurse, that it wasn't like that. Just like Minnie said "he doesn't do relationships". So in his head - it's not like that.

Oh I hope she'll be adored during the Halloween party! It can be Jk it can be anyone but she should arouse emotions in him.

God I love this story so much. Do you know how many times I've read this chapter! 5 times and I know I'll keep reading.

omg I know you all don’t hate him I’m joking but still sjfjjd 🫣

I think Yoongi meant well when he proposed the truce and the rules, he just wants to do things right, but yes, maybe deep inside him he knows (or he doesn’t? he’s clueless) that he did because he can’t stand being away from her, even if it’s just to float in her orbit (like working at the alley).

Also,,, there’s so many things I want to say about summer and yoongi but I HAVE to shut up bc otherwise jdhrjwkkw

And omg about the Halloween party.. I always love some jealous!yoongi I’m 100% guilty 😌 I hope I can have it ready real soon !!! It always amaze me when you say that you keep re reading omg it also makes me panic a bit bc I must have a thousand mistakes 😭 but thank you I adore youuuuuuu

[prodagustd]

yoongi dating his mom’s nurse being a reflection of how he can’t live his own life and using his mom as an excuse not to leave the town because he doesn’t have the guts yoUR WRITING !!! Also the oc describing him as tired of that life, he’s feeling like that and then Pinky shows up again in his life to remind him not just what they could’ve been together BUT HIS LIFE ALSO !! love u bye

this analysis of Yoongi is BRUTAL omg but also … YOUR MIND 🙏🏻 bc it’s exactly that 😭 I know he’s fucking everything up but I meant it he’s BEEN going through it, ever since she left maybe even before!! 🥺 not to be a Yoongi apologist but … 🫣

[prodagustd]

hiiiiiiii can i ask how many chapters are left for trnt? :>

this ask made me realize that I genuinely don’t know???¿?? I’m sorry 😭 I have the whole story planned in my head but I don’t have an exact number!!

[prodagustd]

I almost never comment on people’s stories but I wanted to tell you that I was getting angry in solidarity with the mc in the coffee shop. I literally said out loud, “the audacity. fuck this guy,” when he asked for the autograph. But then I stopped and realized that your writing was superb enough to evoke that emotion. Thank you. Also, I hope she gives him proper hell for that because that was insane. Ughhhhh the audacity.

AAAA!!! I was just telling my sister today that I was afraid I made people hate Yoongi too much 🫣 and yes, the audacity !! but also 🥺🥺🥺 I have such a soft spot for him even if he keeps fucking things up (honestly #meeee), I need to write a Yoongi pov asap so people stop hating him lmaooo 😭

And ofc she will give him hell, in a way I think she’s been giving him hell for a while!! poor boy is going through it😭

And thank you!!! The fact that you don’t comment to much but you took the time to write this 🥹🫶🏻

[prodagustd]

got two exams to study for but I started writing a one shot and idk if it’s going to be about jk or yoongi help

[prodagustd]

the road not taken | myg series masterlist

Summary: To have the job you’ve always wanted and the life you’ve always dreamt of you had to break a few hearts, including your own. Four years later after running away from your home, your family and friends, you realized that maybe you fucked up; you’ve been a bad daughter, a bad sister and a bad friend. Getting your shit together seemed difficult enough, you didn’t expect that it included facing the first man who ever broke your heart: your brother’s best friend.

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!reader

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?)

—warnings/tags: [see warnings in each part] slow burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut, sexual tension, lots of flashbacks, english is not my first language btw.

updated 17 June 2025.

STATE: ON GOING

1. back home

2. get up and fall again

3. four seconds

4. a wish

5. new year’s eve

6. all is fair in love and war

7. old wounds

8. truce

→ drabbles

↳ last summer

↳ last summer pt. 2

→ extras

✧ playlist ✧ teaser + moodboard ✧ ask my characters

Do not respost, rewrite or translate any of my works. Some of these works are explicit, if you are a minor please do not interact or read my stories.

© prodagustd 2023-2024

[prodagustd]

😭😭😭 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

the road not taken 08 | myg

part eight: truce

Summary: After all this years, and months, and days where —no matter what you did or what you didn’t do— you still had to see Yoongi against you wishes, you began to worry if you were meant to find him every time.

<part seven

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!oc

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?), slow burn

—warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, fluff.

—words: 10.6k

—a/note: hi friends!! i'm posting this chapter while doubting myself as always but i had sososo much fun writing i hope you liked it!! i wanted to post it earlier but consider this as an earlier celebration for yoongi's discharge !! also, the other day i was reminded of this poem and it kinda inspired me to finish writing the chapter, i hope you enjoy and as always, you're welcomed to discuss this part in the asks!!

series masterlist | teaser | playlist

Present

There was a time a few years ago, back when you slept in a bed for two and winter sneaked under your sheets, when the treacherous thought of what could’ve been knocked on your door before you fell asleep every night. Even when you tried to push it away, even when you threw your pillow over your head, even seconds before those 2 mg of melatonin were about to kick in, the question still tormented your mind. There, in the dark of your room as the lights of the city poorly illuminated the place, you wondered if there was a timeline, a different reality where everything worked out.

You closed your eyes and tried to imagine a universe where everything was alright—one where Yoongi apologized for not calling after that night, and when you saw him that cold December morning, he’d be so happy to see you that the frown on his face would disappear.

Maybe in that universe, he would’ve asked you to stay for lunch, and maybe you would’ve helped him with his mom for the rest of the winter so she wouldn’t be mad at him. You tortured yourself thinking that maybe Yoongi would’ve planned the trip to the beach for the end of spring. You imagined what kind of shorts he would’ve packed, what kind of t-shirts, what kind of pajamas. You wondered if he would’ve let you stop at every old diner on the side of the road, if he would’ve taken your picture at every stop, if he would’ve kissed you just before you changed seats when it was your turn to drive.

Ever since that day, you’d rolled in bed wondering if he ever pictured you the same way you had so many times—if he saw you in the passenger seat of his car, on the sand by the sea, on the blue sheets, in hotel towels.

Looking at the ceiling, with eyes wide open, you always ended up thinking: would it have been so bad to follow you? Would he have gotten tired of your laughter so quickly? Of your fingers running down his back, of your words hanging from your lips just before you were about to make fun of him? Would he have gotten tired of your arguing, your cursing, your dragging feet? Would the memory of the few hundred kisses he gave you that night have worn out that fast?

You knew thinking about it was a waste of time, but as you were getting ready to have dinner with Nari, all those unanswered questions resurfaced—just in case you wanted to think twice and stay home, like you were so tempted to do.

On the edge of her bed was Minnie, sitting next to her cat as she watched you do your eyeliner. She had already apologized for snapping at you a few days ago, which forced you to recognize that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t completely cool with Yoongi being around, and you weren’t completely cool with him being involved in a place that had nothing to do with him, nothing except you. 

But surprisingly, against all odds—against all Yoongis—you wanted to stay. Not only because saying yes to Minnie and then quitting would’ve been completely cruel, but because you wanted to. You stayed because some part of you, the part you kept trying to silence, didn’t want to leave just yet.

You were still bitter that Minnie stayed friendly with Yoongi—but that started to fade when you told her he wanted to “talk things through” (whatever that meant). She was your best friend again the second she joined you in talking shit, trying to dissect everything he said like it was a crime scene that needed solving.

“So…” Minnie tilted her head, eyeing you. “Is he picking you up?”

“He said so.”

She paused for a moment, picturing that image in her head. “You know he has a girl, right?” she said, snorting. “I would freak out if I were Blondie. Imagine finding out your boyfriend is driving his famous ex-girlfriend to have dinner with his mom. God, no. I’d throw up.”

You shook your head, trying not to laugh at how fast her imagination could run. “He’s not my ex-boyfriend, Minnie… and he’s not driving me—we’re walking. He asked if we could have a chat before dinner, so she shouldn’t worry too much.” You said, turning from the mirror to sit beside her and slip on your Mary Janes. “And besides… you shouldn’t be gossiping about your friend, you know?” 

Minnie scoffed. “Whatever, it’s none of my business, but since when has that ever stopped me?” She waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, it’s not gossip if it’s true.” She huffed. “Did you know that he can’t keep a girl? I mean, maybe that’s not the right way to put it, because he can—he totally could. But maybe he just doesn’t want to.” 

“Charming,” you muttered, fussing a little too long with the strap of your shoe. “He’s always been like that.” 

Minnie leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s not just that—it’s like he gets bored. I’ve seen it happen a few times. He meets a girl, keeps her around for a few weeks, and then poof. Gone.”

You paused, curiosity flickering despite yourself. “Wait, what do you mean? Like he ghosts them?”

“No, I don’t think he ghosts them.” She said “It’s like he fades out. Stops texting as much, stops making plans. Let things die off slow.”

You glanced up, forcing your expression to stay neutral, though your fingers lingered a bit too long on the buckle. “Like a soft breakup?”

Minnie smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “It’s not really a breakup, though, is it? Not if he’s not actually in a relationship. That’s what he keeps saying about that blonde girl—‘the girl I’m seeing,’” she mimicked in a teasing tone. “Like he’s afraid of it getting too serious.”

You gave a small, distracted nod, not trusting yourself to say much. It was weird hearing that—how casual he was with other people. But it wasn’t difficult to imagine him like that; he never had proper girlfriends back in high school, which, at the time, felt like a small mercy. But that didn’t spare you from watching him parade around with a new girl every other week.

“How do you even know all that?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Namjoon,” Minnie said, like it was obvious. “He works with Yoongi sometimes. He told me.”

You laughed, eyebrows lifting. “Namjoon? Isn’t he Yoongi’s friend? Why would he spill that to you?”

“Because he likes me,” she said breezily, without missing a beat. “Didn’t I tell you that already? I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason he’s helping out at The Alley. Look—I don’t believe in exploiting my charm to get things from men, but if it’s for an extremely good cause?” She gave a shrug. “I think I’ll survive. Besides, he’s not a weirdo. He’s actually really cute.”

You snorted. “Yeah, tell me about it. Does he still wear those glasses?”

Her eyes lit up. “The glasses are so cute.”

You shook your head, smiling.

“It wasn’t just Namjoon, though,” she added. “I can read people.”

“Yoongi’s not easy to read,” you said, quieter this time. “Maybe you’re reading him wrong.”

“No, I don’t think so.” She shook her head “I told you, with you… it was different. It’s like he can’t talk about you, or even hear your name. It stings him, I know it wasn’t like that with you.”

You let out a dry laugh. For some reason, you already knew it was different with you. Even now, you could still swear it was. You could look into Yoongi’s eyes and see everything through, it meant something, but that didn’t make it any less bad. “Yeah, it was different.” You muttered, rising to your feet and brushing invisible dust from your skirt, just to have something to do. “It was worse.”

Minnie tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You know,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully “maybe you broke him. Maybe that’s why he can’t keep a girl now. You ruined his capacity for normal relationships.”

You laughed, surprised by how easily it came out. “Please. That boy was malfunctioning way before me.”

“Perhaps,” Minnie said, pretending to consider it. “But you broke him for good.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile lingered. “We weren’t even together, Minnie. We barely got started.”

She crossed her arms behind her head “C’mon… You fucked. You fucked like, a lot.”

You snorted, eyes squeezing shut. “God.”

“Maybe that’s how you did it,” she said with a shrug, grinning. “Scrambled his brain. That poor man never stood a chance.”

You covered your face, laughing into your hands. “Can you not? I have to look him in the eye.”

“Oh, please. What if he can’t get it up with anyone else now? What if that’s why he dumps them?” She smirked. “God, I’d kill to ruin a man like that.”

You shook your head. “You’re deranged.” 

Minnie just smiled, clearly proud of it. 

Still chuckling, you grabbed your phone. Just as you were about to slip it into your bag, the screen lit up with a new message.

Yoongi: I’m outside.

“Speaking of the devil.” You sighed, suddenly feeling nervous.  

“Hell is empty.” She whispered, dramatically. “And all the devils are here.”

You seemed to be stuck in a constant fight between the present and the past, even after all the times you’d tried to leave things behind. But the past had a way of finding you—softly, stubbornly—whether you liked it or not.

This time, though, you had a choice. When Yoongi texted you a few days ago, you could’ve ignored it. You could’ve said you’d changed your mind, told him to fuck off, and left it at that. It wasn’t like you owed him anything. You didn’t have to talk to him, didn’t have to look at him, didn’t have to remember.

It was stupid, really, but you guessed this was also a small part of your redemption arc. Facing Yoongi. Giving things a proper ending. Trying to behave like a decent, grown-up human being, even when some parts of you still refused, even when it still stung. 

So here you were, heart picking up pace with every step as you pushed the door open, letting the cold hit your face just as his long figure turned to face you. 

Yoongi stood by the stair railings, cheeks and nose pink from the wind, hair slightly messy and a long grey coat, different from his usual black one. His eyes lit up just barely, but you caught it.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, careful.

“Hi…” You muttered, letting the door click shut behind you. Then, glancing at his coat, “Is it that cold?”

He looked down, shrugged. “A bit, yeah.”

You groaned as you started walking, the sidewalk still damp from a recent rain. “I should’ve worn pants.”

You heard his footsteps fall beside you as you turned the corner, knowing the way to his childhood home from memory. He kept careful distance between you, but you could feel him regardless.

The street was quiet, just the low hum of cars in the distance and the occasional gust of wind threading between the buildings. You tucked your hands into your jacket pockets. He did the same.

For a moment, it was like neither of you knew how to speak.

Then Yoongi cleared his throat, barely louder than the wind. “You really staying for the whole thing?”

You glanced sideways at him. “The play?”

“Yeah. I thought you were just visiting,” He said, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. 

“No, um… I’m staying for a bit. At least until December. For the play, and some other stuff, too.” you added, unsure what else to say. The truth was that you didn’t have any idea what you were going to do in the next months, but that was the plan for now.

“Great,” he murmured. “I’m glad you’re staying. When you left the other day, I thought you were about to quit.”

You didn’t answer right away. The streetlight ahead blinked weakly.

“Oh, I thought about it,” you admitted. “But I wouldn’t do that to Minnie. And… I like yelling at kids.”

He let out a low laugh. “Clearly your calling.”

That made you smile. You didn’t mean to—but he caught it, and didn’t comment. Just kept walking beside you like he hadn’t noticed at all.

“You still do that thing where you tap your fingers when you’re nervous,” he said after a minute, eyes on your hand wrapped around your bag strap.

You glanced at him. “You still bring up things no one asks you to notice.”

He gave a small laugh. “Right. Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

“No, I’m not.”

The sidewalk went quiet again. A bus rattled by on the other side of the street, loud enough to fill the space between words. Neither of you turned to look.

“So?” you said eventually, looking at him. “You told me you were going to figure something out.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I did say that.”

But then he fell quiet again.

You gave him a look. “Well?”

He blinked, caught in thought. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I guess I’m realizing that no matter what I come up with, you’ll still want me six feet under, so it’s… complicated.”

You looked at him. “It’s not that I want you buried, Yoongi.”

He looked at you then—really looked, like he was trying to figure out if you meant it.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “That’s… something.”

“It’s just…” You exhaled, keeping your voice even. “I’m not in the best mood these days.  And honestly, you’re not exactly the person I’d choose to spend the night with. I’m confused. I don’t know what you’re trying to do here.”

“I don’t either,” he said, quiet but honest. “But I’m trying. And I’ve been thinking… I don’t want to fight with you.”

You stayed silent. You weren’t sure if you agreed with that. There was still a part of you that would take any opportunity to push him away.

You didn’t answer. A moment passed before you heard him sigh.

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, you know?” he murmured after a few seconds. There was a weight to his words, an understanding only the two of you could share. The sentence echoed in the quiet street, it echoed inside your chest and rang your ears, making you clench your fists. 

“I know.” You muttered, keeping your eyes on the sidewalk, the rhythm of your steps careful. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He looked ahead, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, his breath visible in the cold air. “Well… I don’t know. Maybe I have to.”

You shook your head slightly, not quite looking at him. “But that’s the point. We don’t know each other anymore. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.” You paused, letting the words hang between you both. “That doesn’t have to do with anything.”

His voice softened, but his words didn’t waver. “That has to do with everything.” He glanced at you, his gaze steady but unsure. “We’re going to see each other. We’re part of each other’s lives.”

You’re not part of my life, you wanted to say. You’d worked hard to make sure of that—to push him out, to forget. And yet here he was again, walking beside you like no time had passed at all.

“I don’t know.” You sighed “I’m gonna be honest, that doesn’t feel like a good reason to me. History doesn’t mean we owe each other anything.” 

“Maybe not,” he said, quiet now. “But we still share it. Whether we like it or not. You’re part of mine. You always have been.” He gave you a quiet look, but you didn’t dare to look at him back. “Just look at my mom. She talks about you like you’re her child. She adores you, we can’t… erase that.” 

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the mention of his mother. 

This was the second time Yoongi had brought her up to get to you — and this time, you couldn’t say he was wrong.

You always had a weak spot for Nari. She always made you feel like you belonged, it was the kind of feeling you held onto when you were young, it was the kind of feeling you were still chasing after all these years. 

“So, what are you proposing?” you asked, exhaling slowly. “Because I love your mom, Yoongi. But maybe I don’t want to be friends with you. We can’t… I can’t ignore the past, I can’t pretend you didn’t hurt me and nothing happened.”

The silence almost killed the both of you.

That was the first time either of you had said it out loud.

Yoongi didn’t flinch, but something in him shifted. You could feel it.

“I know I fucked up,” he said, voice low. “And I know I can’t rewrite things. I’m not trying to wipe that clean.”

He paused, jaw tightening for just a second.

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said after a moment. “Or to act like it didn’t matter. I know it did.”

He glanced at you, voice careful. “But we’re not the same people anymore. Things are different. We’re different.”

He shrugged, like he didn’t want to let the silence swallow him whole.

“It’s not just that, Yoongi,” you said, almost whispering. “A lot of things changed—everything changed after I left. After everything you said. It’s not that easy to get past it.”

“I know that, too…” he said, quieter now. “I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

He sighed, like he was still choosing the words that wouldn’t come.

“I’m not saying you’re an asshole.” You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “I know you’re not. And I know you’re trying to do things right. That’s the part that bothers me.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you for a second, like he wanted to respond but wasn’t sure how.

Then he nodded slowly.

“We can work together without dragging the past into every room. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not asking for friendship… just a middle ground.” He let out a breath. “I don’t know… we can’t just act like we don’t exist in each other’s world anymore.”

“A middle ground?” You repeated. 

“A truce.”

For fuck’s sake. 

You had never been one to hold back, it was quite the opposite. You were explosive, and you never thought twice. A truce wouldn’t mean the same thing to Yoongi as it would to you. To you, a truce would mean biting your tongue, going against your own nature.

But then again, you could try. Maybe a truce wasn’t about forgiving him. Maybe it was about choosing not to let him take up more space in your head than he already did.

So you let the tension in your shoulders ease, just barely, and gave a tight nod.

Not agreement. Just permission—to stop fighting for a minute.

“A truce.” You repeated again, but the word rooted in your mouth. There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. You exhaled, watching your breath fog in the cold air. “And what would be the terms of this truce?”

His gaze drifted forward, like he was choosing his next words carefully. He shifted his weight, his eyes flicking to you. “Okay. Terms of the truce.”

You crossed your arms, not quite looking at him. “You stop using your mom to get to me.”

He nodded, no sign of protest. “Fair. Then you stop looking at me like you’d rather walk into traffic than stand next to me.”

You arched an eyebrow. “I can’t promise that. But I’ll try to keep it subtle.” you said “Anything else?”

You saw the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. “No snapping at each other,” he said. “No snarky comments. No pretending the other person doesn’t exist.”

You hummed, unconvinced. 

“No dragging each other into arguments we don’t have to have,” he added. “We stay civil. We work together when we need to. We don’t make things harder than they already are.”

You glanced at him. “And what do we do when it gets hard anyway?”

He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, the only sound was the scrape of your shoes on the pavement.

You weren’t asking out of curiosity. You were asking because you knew yourself — knew how quickly your temper rose, how sharp your tongue could get when he looked at you the wrong way, or said something in that calm, unreadable tone that made you feel like you were the only one still bleeding from the past.

And Yoongi, in his usual way, was probably wondering if this was the part where you gave up, where you proved him right, that the two of you couldn’t exist in the same space without turning it into a battlefield.

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“We deal with it,” he said simply. “Like two people who can handle being in the same room.”

You stared straight ahead, your jaw tight. There was a sting in your chest you chose not to name.

“That’s a lot of rules,” you said.

“It’s just one,” Yoongi replied. “Don’t make each other miserable.”

You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no either.

And maybe — for now — that was the best either of you could offer.

Standing in the hall of Yoongi’s apartment felt like breaking a pact you’d made with yourself—an oath you swore years ago to never come back. You never thought you’d find yourself here again, walking down this hallway, watching him open the doors of the old elevator. It felt like a small betrayal, even if Yoongi didn’t live here anymore. 

Simon had told you Yoongi moved to an apartment near the center of town three years ago. Probably a tall building with a modern elevator, the kind that played music when you pushed the buttons, with white lights and a security guard at the entrance. Just like yours in the city.

It was hard to picture Yoongi there, in his old man sweaters and fuzzy socks, sitting by the window and looking out at the town. He didn’t seem like he belonged in a place like that. It felt like he only ever belonged here.

He closed the doors behind you and stood there, looking at the buttons before pressing the one for the fourth floor. You watched him as the yellowish lights illuminated his side profile, the curve of his nose, his hooded eyes. You looked without any kind of shame, allowing yourself to observe him: his long hair, the marks on his skin, the mole on his cheek just beside his nose, his eyelashes, the earring in his ear, and the empty holes from past piercings.

You couldn’t help but recall that winter night from four years ago every now and then, but now, standing here, it felt almost impossible not to. In the same place where he once pressed you against the wall and kissed you, it felt like it had happened just yesterday.

You remembered lying beside him, taking your time to memorize every detail like you had all the time in the world. And back then, it felt like you did. You counted the moles on his body, traced the veins along his hands and arms with your fingers, touched his lips, kissed his lips, his neck, his cheeks, his chest.

You didn’t remember ever kissing someone that much. You could almost swear that, even in your three-year relationship with Ian, you hadn’t kissed him as many times as you did in those three days spent in Yoongi’s old bedroom, on his bed, in his kitchen, on his couch, in his shower, against the wall, and against the floor.

You remembered kissing him in the morning light, when the sun came through the window and hit his face, making him scrunch his nose and close his eyes. But there was something entirely different about kissing him in the dark—between sheets and secrets and shaky breaths—something about the feeling of having him all to yourself that you could never forget. It was engraved in your memory, like the shape of his lips had been tattooed onto yours, and from then on, no kiss had ever felt the same.

You used to know him. Not only the way his body moved, or how his hand fit around your hips. Not just the vessel of his body, but the person he used to be. Inside and out, you knew him.

You didn’t notice earlier. You didn’t notice at The Alley or when you saw him at your house the day you arrived. It seemed to have escaped you—only now could you see that he looked tired. It wasn’t just that he looked older, or the long day he must have had at work today. It was something else.

You didn’t have time to wonder about it for too long. When the elevator shook, you looked away.

It took you less than two minutes to reach the door, and when Yoongi opened it and stepped aside to let you in, the warmth of the apartment hit you—then the smell. You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been on the way up. Now, you were surprised to feel weirdly comforted.

You both kicked your shoes off without thinking too much. You paused, sniffing the air. “Wait… is that—?”

“Doenjang jjigae,” he said, already pulling off his coat. “Mom said you liked it.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself. “I haven’t had it in forever.”

Yoongi disappeared down the hallway without another word, leaving you standing in the entryway, coat still on your shoulders, unsure if you should follow.  

You were still taking in the warmth and scent of the apartment when Nari appeared from the kitchen doorway, steady on her walker. The metal frame clinked softly against the floor as she moved towards you, a dish towel draped over one arm.

“Oh, there she is!” she said, eyes lighting up. “You’re already here!”

You smiled, stepping forward to meet her. “Hey, Nari.”

She opened her arms without letting go of the walker. “Come here, don’t be shy.” She gave you a quick hug, careful and slow. 

You leaned in for the hug, careful not to bump into the metal frame. Her embrace was as firm as ever, if a little slower to pull back.

“You didn’t have to cook just for me,” you said, even though the smell from the kitchen was already making your stomach growl. 

She waved you off. “Nonsense, I wanted to. And you’re too skinny. You still don’t eat breakfast, do you?”

You gave a small laugh, not quite answering. Behind her, Yoongi reappeared, carrying two sets of bowls. He glanced at the two of you, then cleared his throat.

“Uh, Mom—did Summer already leave?”

Nari looked over her shoulder. “Yes, she helped me chop vegetables and argued with me about how much salt to use. Then she left about an hour ago.” She turned back to you, smiling as she walked towards the table. “I didn’t tell her you were coming because she would’ve wanted to stay longer. She is such a fan of yours, you know?”

You smiled, not sure who she was talking about “She is?”

“Oh yes,” Nari said easily. “She’s my nurse. She’s been helping me around the house for a few months now. Sweet girl. Blonde, tall, always so well put-together. She said she saw you once—at that theater… what’s it called…?”

You blinked “The Alley?”

“Yes! That’s the one.” Nari nodded. “She mentioned seeing you there, said she didn’t want to bother you, but she was excited all week after that.”

You breath caught for a beat as you put two and two together. 

Yoongi glanced up from where he was setting the bowls, his hands slowing just slightly. His fingers hesitated over the chopsticks, then adjusted them again

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t have to.

It was her. The blonde girl outside The Alley. The one he’d shown up with. The one who kept looking at you like she wanted to say something but never did.

You stood there, trying not to think about how perfect she had looked standing next to Yoongi. Tall. Blonde. Model-like. The kind of girl who probably made people stare twice on the street—not because they recognized her, but because she was the type people noticed.

And she was a nurse. Of course she was.

You almost laughed, but the hole in your stomach didn’t let you. 

It was so unnecessary, such a waste of time to even think about it. Still, it was hard not to wonder, just for a second, if that was his type. Someone steady, soft-spoken and kind. Someone you were not. 

“Oh,” you said, quiet, folding your coat over your arm and smoothing the fabric a little too carefully. “I think I remember her.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened—just barely—and he reached for the next bowl, though his grip looked a little too firm, like he was afraid he might drop it. Was this uncomfortable for him? Was it for you? 

“Oh? Really?” Nari asked, “I’ll tell her you did, she’ll lose her mind.” 

You smiled, what else could you do? 

Chasing the thoughts away, you let it go, like you were supposed to. 

A few moments later, the three of you were sitting at the table and you were grateful to be thinking of something else. The dining table wasn’t large, not like the one back at your family’s house, always too long, always full of guests. Here, everything felt more familiar, closer, like time didn’t pass at all inside this house. There was only ever Nari and Yoongi, and now there was you.

You tried to change the subject. “You should’ve invited Simon, too. He’s probably around, isn’t he?” You asked Nari.

Nari waved a hand, “Simon is here all the time, and he eats all the food. Besides” her eyes twinkled “I wanted it to be just you and Yoongi tonight.”

There was something innocent in her tone, offhanded even, but the words hung in the air a second too long. 

The evening settled into a quiet rhythm after that.

The doenjang jjigae steamed between you, warm and familiar, and the table slowly filled with other dishes — kimchi, anchovies, steamed egg, bowls of white rice. You found yourself relaxing, bit by bit, lulled by the sound of chopsticks against ceramic, the occasional clink of glasses being refilled, and Nari’s steady voice weaving from one topic to the next. 

She talked about her book club, the women at the community center who were always getting into harmless gossip. She talked about her last checkup, her doctor’s advice to cut back on salt and how she, of course, had ignored it.

You enjoyed listening to her, your flushed face resting in your hands, leaning over the table and laughing every time she said something funny. But all she really wanted to talk about was you, even if you’d rather talk about anything else in the world

“So, are you working on another movie?” Nari asked. “We went to see your last one with Yoongi. We loved it.”

You smiled, eyebrows lifting in surprise, finding that very funny for some reason. “You did?” you said, glancing at him. 

“Of course. It was so sad, he almost cried,” she added, nodding towards him.

You snorted. “You cried?”

Yoongi kept his eyes on the bowl. “I didn’t.”

Nari rolled her eyes. “He did.”

“I had allergies,” he muttered.

“During summer?” You asked. 

He looked at you, shaking his head, not willing to answer. You bit back at smirk. 

You tried to imagine Yoongi buying tickets for your movie last summer—walking into the theater, sitting there for two hours, watching you. You tried to imagine him taking advantage of the darkness to let himself cry, then leaving, trying to forget about it and go on with his day. It was a strange image. You had never mixed that part of your life with this one—mainly because this was the part you'd left behind. But you’d never really stopped to consider that your life kept happening everywhere, even if you weren’t there to see it.

“There is no shame in crying during movies.” Nari said, being unaware of the two of you. “You pick very sad ones, dear.”

You laughed softly. “Well, they only ever want me for sad films these days,” you said, lifting your glass. “They tell me I have sad eyes. Whatever that means.”

Nari tilted her head, studying you closely. “You do have a melancholic stare, sweetheart. But it’s a beautiful thing. You say more with your eyes than you do with your voice.”

You caught the faint smile that tugged at Yoongi’s lips as he stared into his bowl.

“Thanks, I guess,” you said, returning the smile, warmth spreading in your chest. “I just hope that doesn’t get me in trouble.” You leaned back slightly, more at ease now. “But no, I don’t have any projects at the moment. I want to spend more time with my mom—sleep more, eat more... Besides, I took a job at the theater, so I’ll be busy with that until December.”

“Right, Yoongi mentioned that,” Nari said, folding her hands together with a small smile. “He said everyone was happy to see you again. How long has it been?”

You glanced away, trying to remember the last time you'd been at The Alley. The dates blurred together.

“Two years ago,” Yoongi said before you could answer.

You turned to him in surprise. He cleared his throat.

“You were there for the Bong Joon-ho week,” he added, not quite meeting your eyes. “Memories of murder.”

You nodded slowly, the memory coming back immediately, but he wasn’t part of it. 

“I don’t remember seeing you there…” You said, feeling the weight of the sudden silence of the room. 

He looked away, “I was there, I just… sat very close to the back.” 

Your lips parted, then curved into a polite smile. “Well, it’s been a while.” You turned back to Nari, keeping your tone light. “But honestly, not much has changed over there.”

Nari leaned in slightly. “So, what are you doing there, exactly?”

“She’s working with the kids,” Yoongi cut in, quick to respond. 

You flicked your eyes towards him, not irritated—just surprised at how ready he was to speak for you.

Nari brightened. “That sounds so sweet. I’m sure they’re thrilled.”

“They are,” Yoongi added. “They’re obsessed with her. She’s kind of a big deal.”

You gave a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Hardly. I just showed up. They’re the ones doing all the real work.”

She looked at you with a bright expression. “You’re being modest.”

 “No, really. I just wanted to help. They’re so enthusiastic. It’s kind of impossible not to get pulled in.”

“What are you doing with them?”

“Mostly helping them rehearse, learn lines, fix costumes. Nothing too dangerous.”

Yoongi laughed under his breath. “She’s being humble. She’s running the show.”

“Well…”

“And doing it well. Even if she nearly bit my head off the first day.” He casually mentioned, catching you off guard. 

It was still strange — how easy this seemed to him. To bring you back here, look at you in the eyes, the teasing, the warmth, the casual way he slipped back into before, like nothing had happened. Like he could just talk to you like that.

It wasn’t that you hated it. It made you nervous.

This was the point of the truce, being civil, not picking at old wounds. But still, it felt like he was settling into something softer, something that didn’t exist anymore. Like he wanted something gentler from you, and wasn’t even aware of it. 

And maybe the worst part was… you kept letting him. Not because you’d forgiven him. Not because you weren’t still angry. But because there was something in the way he looked at you tonight — cautious and familiar — that made it hard to stay guarded all the way through.

You rolled your eyes. “That was entirely your fault.”

Nari let out a laugh, eyes dancing between you both. “You two had a fight? How shocking.”

“It wasn’t a fight…” you murmured, glancing sideways at Yoongi with a look that wasn’t quite sharp but definitely not warm. “It was just… a disagreement.”

“I was just trying to help,” he said, lifting his hands in mock defense. “Provide legal advice for the screenplay.”

“You weren’t hired to be a lawyer,” you shot back, a hint of amusement in your tone. “Not on Saturdays, at least.”

“I’m always a lawyer, Pinky.”

The nickname hung in the air a second longer than it should’ve. But this time, you didn’t flinch.

You looked at him for a second, biting your lip. You wanted to say something, but turned to his mom instead, deciding to ignore it. “See, Nari. That’s the thing with lawyers, they always need to be right.”

“That sounds very much like Yoongi.” She chuckled, clearly enjoying this. “But don’t let the whole lawyer act fool you, dear. He’s been like that since forever. Always has to get the last word, even if it’s nonsense.”

You let out a soft breath of laughter. “Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I already know.”

“C’mon,” Yoongi cut in, nudging the air between you, “you’re exactly the same.”

You tilted your head, giving him a mock-frown. “Except I’m actually always right.”

Nari hummed thoughtfully, her smile not quite innocent. “Well, I don’t know who’s right, but I do know I hate seeing you two fight.” 

You looked down at your fingers on the table, avoiding her eyes. 

“We’ll try not to.” Yoongi said, and it felt like a promise. 

“Anyway,” you said, catching your breath, “the kids are very committed. And the place needs all the help it can get, so I’ll be there for a while.”

Yoongi nodded, quieter this time. “It’s good that you’re there.”

You glanced at him. He wasn’t teasing now. And for a moment, it made the air feel heavier — not in a bad way, but enough to make you blink and look back at your plate.

Nari, thankfully, filled the space with a soft “That theater’s lucky to have you, sweetheart.”

You smiled at her, grateful. “Thanks. I think I needed it too.”

As the night slipped away, you let yourself fall into a kind of quiet familiarity you hadn’t felt in a long time, while you and Yoongi washed the dishes. Nari sat by the window, watching the two of you with the soft scrutiny only a mother can offer, remarking that Yoongi looked taller lately, that your skirt was too thin for a cold night like this, and that Yoongi should straighten his posture. 

“You two make a good team.” She said, observing Yoongi hand you a pair of clean glasses. 

You laughed, but neither of you said anything to contradict her, you wouldn’t dare to. 

You stayed in the kitchen a little longer, watching the rain return, soft against the glass. That’s when Nari suggested Yoongi drive you home—it was late, after all. 

You didn’t argue. You had spent the whole evening with him, you were sure you could endure another five minutes in his presence if that meant you didn’t have to pay an Uber. 

When it was time to leave, you hugged Nari goodbye. She held on a little longer than expected, her hands soft and familiar against your back. 

“You’ll come next week for tea, right?” she asked, giving you a look that wasn’t really a question.

You smiled, nodding. “Of course.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.” She patted your cheek like she used to, and then turned towards the hallway. 

“Come on, Yoongi, help me with the stupid pills.” Yoongi shot you a glance—apologetic, maybe—but didn’t say anything as he followed her down the hall. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Sleep tight, Nari.” You smiled, watching them disappear as you waited in the kitchen.

Their voices drifted in and out. Nari asked where she’d left her robe. Yoongi reminded her not to mix up the bottles. A drawer opened, something clinked shut. You listened to him saying goodbye to her, it was the kind of domestic rhythm you weren’t supposed to be a part of. 

A moment passed before Yoongi came back to the kitchen, with a small smile on his face as he gestured to the door. You repeated the same cycle in reverse: you put on your coats, took the elevator down in silence, walked the hallway and waited for him to unlock the door.

The rain fell over you as soon as you put foot on the streets, so you hurried to get to Yoongi’s car. He opened the door for you and you got in, sinking into the seat as you watched him walk around the car and get it. When he started the engine, the radio came on automatically, playing some Jeff Buckley song, so low you could barely hear it.

He’d changed his car, you noticed. You didn’t know anything about cars, but this one was bigger than the last—more modern. Yoongi’s old car had a busted, almost ancient stereo, and under his seat, there was a folder of CDs he used to let you choose from every time you were in the car with him. You repressed the urge to ask if he still had it. 

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You looked at him briefly, but his eyes were fixed on the road. “I had a good time. You don’t have to thank me…”

He nodded. “I know, but still…” He paused, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. “It’s been a long time.”

You just hummed, refusing to acknowledge such a thing as time.

A silence settled between you, the hum of the engine filling the space. Yoongi’s jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

“Was that true?” you asked suddenly. “That thing your mom said about the movie, that you cried?”

The question didn’t seem to surprise him, but he hesitated to answer for a second. “Maybe… Perhaps I teared up a little.” 

You pressed your lips together, eager to know more. “Can I ask why?”

His fists clenched around the steering wheel, but he did not look at you. “You’re good at making people cry, I guess.” He said, his tone even. “You’re good.”

You sank deeper into the seat, feeling your heart slightly clenching. 

By the time you arrive at Minnie's apartment, there was still something lingering in the air. Something you were both hoping to let go tonight. This wasn’t quite a closure, not even a goodbye. You weren’t sure if it would ever be something such as that.

The car stopped. The rain kept falling over you, and it was time to call it a night.

You looked at him for a moment before opening the door. Your gaze crashed into his, and for the briefest second, you felt electrified.

Another song from the same album kept playing softly. The engine was still running. The windows were all fogged up. You had nothing to prove there, nothing left to lose that night. In that moment, you could admit it: he was right—you were part of his life, and he was part of yours.

There had been something between you then, just as there was now, and somehow, you knew there always would be. You had just never known what to call it, and maybe that was what made it linger.

“Good night, Yoongi,” you said, opening the door and letting the chill of the night sneak into the car.

“Good night, Pinky.” He let out, like a breath he had been holding for too long. 

Then, you disappeared into the night. 

One of the many reasons you’d been at odds with this town since you were young was the lingering suspicion that it was cursed. Not cursed like in horror movies, where kids disappeared or something tragic happened every other day, but the kind of curse that quietly followed you around—the kind that hovered over you at the bus stop. It was in the dark winter evenings, in the sound of autumn leaves dragging across the street as you walked home at night, in the stillness of time as it passed. It was the frightening feeling that nothing ever changed.

In the city, everything was ever-changing. Everything was shiny and new, and every night felt different from the one before. There were moments when everything seemed fine—when you were convinced this was the life you were meant to lead all along, and your heart felt full, your soul complete, and no one could ever take it away from you.

But there were other moments, brief moments, when you walked down the street alone at night and could still hear the autumn leaves dragging across the pavement, following you home.

Over time, you began to realize that maybe your hometown was just a small town like any other. You supposed it was normal to bump into people you’d rather not see at the grocery store, at the theater, even in your own house. But then, as you grew up, another fear surged from the pit of your stomach: the suspicion that maybe you were the one who was bewitched, that you were the one carrying the curse wherever you went.

You thought you were almost used to it—the breakup with Ian, the leaked pictures, seeing Yoongi in your home the night you arrived, and running into him at The Alley days later. The more you tried to avoid it, the more it seemed to find you. But this time, it caught you off guard. 

The coffee shop down the street from The Alley had always been your favorite. It was small, so small you could hear the people talking down in the kitchen and the barista complaining about her ex boyfriend. There was a whole wall filled with books and you could grab any one you wanted to read as you were waiting for your order. You always sat in the farthest corner of the room, next to the books, in a tiny table for two next to a tall lamp shaped like a flower and pretended to work on your laptop or read the same storybook for the tenth time. 

No one bothered you here, no one ever did, not until now.

You heard the bell ring as the door opened and two people stepped inside. You were never particularly interested in who came or went—you always kept your nose buried in your book and gave little thought to anyone who wasn’t you. But for the first time that afternoon, you looked up.

A gust of wind slipped through the doorway, lifting Summer’s hair before it fell perfectly back into place as Yoongi stepped in behind her and closed the door.

Ugh.

Not this again. The curse. 

You dropped your gaze back to your book instantly, pretending to be oblivious as you took another sip of your cup of coffee. You tried to stay focused on the story, staring at the same sentence on the page until it blurred, but the sound of chairs scraping against the floor made you want to take a look again. 

They choose a table by the window. Not close to you, but not far enough either. Not far enough not to notice your quiet presence. 

Summer. The name Yoongi mentioned the other night. It resonated in your head as you tried to come back to the story, but it seemed to infect each one your thoughts. What kind of name was that anyway? Summer, like flowers and the sun, ice cream and the beach. Summer, it sounded like something made up, soft and sweet, effortless. Around here, girls had names like Claire or Melissa. Summer felt like a fantasy, the kind of girl you don’t usually see in this town. Like the kind of girl you became if you got everything right on the first try. the kind of girl you used to pretend not to hate when you were in nursing school, wondering if you’d ever feel like you belonged anywhere. 

Summer. Bright and easy and blonde. It figured. 

God, now you sounded like a bitch. You didn’t know her. You hadn’t even talked to her. You were building entire stories in your head like a deranged person. 

You shook the thought off before it could stick too long — there were better things to waste your time on. Like the fucking book in your hands that you couldn’t, for the life of you, manage to finish.

And when you were about to look away, your eyes landed on him. 

Still standing. White shirt, black cardigan, hand resting on the back of a chair, mid-motion, like he’d been about to sit but got caught. Watching you.

Yoongi’s eyes locked with yours. There it was—surprise, recognition, something like hesitation. Then, a pause too long to be casual, he lifted his hand in a small, clumsy wave.

Not thinking much, you waved back before your mind processed it. Just a nod of acknowledgment. It didn’t have to be awkward. And yet, it was.

You glanced back at your book, wondering if you were supposed to revisit the terms of whatever agreement you had now. Were you expected to wave in public? Even when no one was watching? Why did you have to acknowledge him at all, especially when he was clearly here with someone else?

Whatever. In any case, you supposed this was the whole point of the truce: to share a space, to be civil and polite and blah, blah, blah. It bored you just thinking about it.

You turned back to your book. Or tried to—because the sound of his voice carried through the room, low and steady, filling every corner like smoke. You couldn’t make out the words, but that didn’t stop your brain from trying.

You closed your eyes and sighed. Still, you found yourself straining to decode what he might be saying, or why she kept laughing like that.

Determined, you stared at the same page for the third time, willing yourself to focus. This time, you told yourself, you were going to make it through. You were this close to slipping back into the story.

A few minutes passed. Enough for the noise around you to dull into background static, for the text to finally start sinking in. You managed to stay focused on the story, your fingers pressed lightly to the page as if that could anchor you there.

You didn’t notice the shadow at first. Just a shift in the air beside you, a faint rustle of movement, a shadow. Then the creak of the chair across from you being pulled out.

When you looked up, Yoongi was already sitting down.

Your heart jumped before your expression could catch up. He wasn’t looking at you, not yet, he was settling in like he had a reason to be there, like this wasn’t strange.

Had he walked over without you noticing? Had he said something first?

You hadn’t heard a thing.

“Hi,” he said—soft, hesitant.

You blinked.

“Hi?” you echoed, the book still in your hands.

“Hi,” he repeated.

You narrowed your eyes. “Is there… something wrong?” you asked quietly, sneaking a glance toward the girl he’d just left at the other table. She met your eyes, then quickly looked away.

“No, not at all…” he muttered, shifting in his seat.

“Then… may I ask why you’re sitting at my table?”

He sat at the edge of the chair, like he didn’t plan to stay long. He looked almost nervous—almost, because Yoongi never looked nervous. He was always put together, always with his shit together.

“Uhm… yes,” he began, slow and steady, like this wasn’t completely awkward. “You know Summer, I think. She’s right there. She’s… a friend.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A friend?” The laugh threatened to slip out, but you bit it back.

“She’s a big fan of yours,” he said, smoothing his hands over his knees like he needed something to do with them. His voice was careful, almost rehearsed.

“So I’ve heard,” you replied, lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That must be fun for you.”

Yoongi let out a quiet breath, eyes closing briefly like he was trying not to react. You watched the flicker of tension in his jaw before he forced his features back into something neutral.

“She’s been asking me for a while… if I could get you to sign something for her.”

“For her?” You tilted your head, just slightly.

He nodded once.

Yoongi was a lot of things, sure—but you never thought he was this much of a fucking idiot.

Honestly, you almost wanted to laugh. The fact that he had the audacity to come over to your table, while you were minding your own business, just to ask for an autograph—for a girl—was nearly hilarious.

Oh, but you were going to make sure he knew that.

“Because she’s my fan, you’re saying?” You asked, just because you wanted another confirmation. Of all the girls Yoongi could date, he chose the one who was your number one fan. He nodded again, this time with more hesitation. “Did you already tell her no? Because that’s my answer.”

“Yes, I already told her no, but she insisted.” He sighed. “Many times, actually.”

“That’s cute.” You smiled, voice laced with amusement. “Did you watch my movies with her too, or was that part too awkward?”

He glanced away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was biting back a retort. “Come on…”

“I’m not on celebrity duty right now,” you said, flipping the page of your book without looking at it. 

“I know, I know…” He sighed again, shifting in his seat. His knee bumped the table lightly. “She didn’t want to bother you. She’s shy. So she asked me. Because… she knows I know you.”

Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, but your mouth twitched.

That was one way to describe you had sex, you wanted to say.

The truth was that you didn’t have a problem with an autograph. It was bitter, you knew, you could easily do it, but you simply did not want to. 

“Sounds like you really wanted me to say yes so you wouldn’t have to say no to her.” You pouted. 

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

Well, you were wrong, you thought.

“I told you, I’m practically on vacation.” You leaned back, eyeing him. “I’m not giving you an autograph so you can fuck some chick.”

He shut his eyes for a second, like he was counting to ten. “She’s my mom’s nurse.”

You shrugged. “I’m not giving you an autograph so you can fuck your mom’s nurse.”

He shook his head, biting back a laugh, then ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Can you just—do me a favor?”

“Why would I?” you challenged, chuckling.

He shrugged, voice low. “Honestly? I don’t know, maybe because she likes you.”

“Or because you like her?” you teased, pressing your palms together like you were praying for him. “I mean… doesn’t she mind?” You gave him a squinting look, full of fake concern. “Isn’t she the jealous type?”

“No—well, I don’t know. We’re not... it’s not like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flicking towards Summer, who was pretending not to look over.

He stayed quiet for a moment, staring down at the book in front of you—anything to avoid looking at you.

Then, just as he opened his mouth to plead one last time for the favor, you noticed her. Walking straight towards you, a bright, fixed smile on her face, like she was ready to hug you right then and there.

Before you could blink, Summer pulled a chair and slipped in between the two of you.

She settled into it like she owned the place, her smile steady as she glanced between you and Yoongi.

“Hi, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I felt weird just standing over there,” she said. You stayed there, with your mouth half open, you couldn’t find the words to answer. “I’m Summer, nice to meet you.”

She extended her hand awkwardly, and you hesitated before taking it. Despite what Yoongi said, she didn’t look shy at all. 

“Uh… hi?”

She laughed nervously, the bubbly sound filling your ears.

“I hope we’re not bothering you. Yoongi told me you two have been childhood friends.”

You forced a small, polite smile, carefully folding your hands on the table. “Nice to meet you, Summer.” Your voice was calm, but your eyes narrowed just slightly—this was not exactly how you pictured your afternoon going.

Yoongi shifted uneasily in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck like he’d just walked into a minefield. The sight of Summer sitting so close, so casual, made him visibly tense, his usual composure nowhere to be found.

“So,” you said, keeping your tone light but deliberate, “Yoongi mentioned you wanted my autograph?”

Summer’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a hint of nervous energy beneath it. “Yeah, I’m a big fan, I adored you in Dog Days.” she said, glancing at Yoongi for reassurance.

He cleared his throat, eyes darting between you both. “If it’s not too much trouble….” he added, sounding more like he was begging than asking.

You looked at Yoongi through your lashes, silently cursing him for putting you in this position. But then again, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, too.

And you, more than anything, wanted to be an asshole and say no. You didn’t owe them anything, you’d been enjoying your time alone before they walked in, before both of them sat beside you like they were invited. You could say no.

You meant what you said: you were on vacation. You didn’t want to be a celebrity here, not now, not after everything that happened with Ian and the press. And even if you knew that signing a piece of paper wouldn’t truly disturb your peace, you still didn’t want to.

Of course, it wasn’t about the autograph. It was about her—bright and sweet and everything you weren’t. And it was about him—sitting with her, making her laugh, trying to impress her with your signature, stumbling to your table like he didn’t know how much it bothered you to see him there.

Well. You had to remind yourself you were trying not to be a bitch.

And sure, you’d agreed to a truce, though at this point, it was starting to feel like bullshit. Why did it seem like this truce benefited him more than you? What was in it for you? 

Whatever, it was fine, it wouldn’t kill you to sign an autograph, not completely, at least. 

You reached for your bag, and searched for a loose pen between your books. 

“Well, I’m not exactly working today, but I suppose I can’t say no to my old friend’s... friend.”

Yoongi let out a relieved breath, though the tension didn’t fully leave his shoulders. 

You grabbed a piece of paper and signed it, your eyes catching Summer’s excited smile. You briefly wondered what she was going to do with it. 

No one asked you for autographs these days, only outside the theater after a performance, and even then, it was almost always just programs. But you were kind of grateful for that. You could handle signing a piece of paper, but not taking a picture with Summer. She would post it somewhere, tag you, and then maybe you’d have to see it—see the difference between the two of you captured forever, impossible to forget, impossible to erase from your memory.

You didn’t know why you were feeling so insecure, it was like you were fourteen years old all over again, like you were uncomfortable in your own skin. 

When you handed her the paper, she smiled and said thank you, and you knew that was your cue to go. You didn’t want to be here anymore.

You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “Okay, guys. I’m leaving.”

She looked up at you with wide eyes, visibly disappointed. “Already?” she asked, as if you’d ever planned on staying.

“Yeah, I’ve got work to do at The Alley, you know, the Halloween party and all…” you said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. You had offered to help organize the party. But right now, it made a perfect excuse to get out of this mess.

“Oh, will you be there?” She asked, hopeful. 

You pressed your lips together and nodded. “Yeah, of course.” You were obligated to say you were going, even if you changed your mind at the last minute. You and Minnie had agreed it would help boost ticket sales if people knew you’d be there.

“That’s amazing, we’ll be there for sure. Right, Yoongi?” she said, nudging his arm.

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a small nod. “Yeah. For sure.”

You grabbed your wallet and left a tip, ready to leave. “See you, then.” 

Then, you walked to the door, stepping outside. 

The cold hit you before you even made it down the steps, sharp and bracing — a reminder that it was still autumn, no matter how much someone like Summer could make it feel like June inside.

You tried not to think about it as you crossed the street, going back to The Alley. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this wasn’t how you imagined things happening. 

You didn’t want to be in the same room as Yoongi and his new girl. You didn’t want to make small talk, or pretend to be okay with all of it. You’d grown strangely comfortable with your resentment — it had kept you warm, in a way. You’d never really wanted a truce. There was a thought, a bitter little thing, that crept in during your worst moments: if you couldn’t forget, then maybe you didn’t want to forgive either.

You didn’t want him to smile at you, to be polite and correct and show you kindness. You wanted him to look at you and be reminded of every single thing he said to you. You wanted it to make his stomach squirm. You wanted him to avoid your gaze, to feel the need to leave the room every time you walked in — because there was no universe where you could both share oxygen without suffocating each other trying.

It was strange, but you couldn’t stop the thought. You couldn’t stop the feeling.

You wanted a shiver to run down his spine every time he looked at you, because the only thing he could see in your eyes was the memory of that night.

And maybe, by wishing that, you were admitting that the last bits of your sanity had disappeared the moment he offered one of those kind smiles. Because you’d rather know it hurt him to see you than believe he felt nothing at all.

You didn’t look back. But inside, behind the window, Yoongi did.

taglist: @kingofbodyrolls , @overtherainbow35 , @namin13 , @p34rluv , @moonchild1 , @yoongisoftface , @namgihours @idkjustlovingbts , @yoongisducky , @bangtansmauyeondan , @tarahardcore @wobblewobble822 @secfir @ot72025 @baechugff @heroinanne @mortal-body-timelesssoul @hiii-priestess @wii-wii @jungkookies1002 @busanbby-jjk @acquiescence804 @yoongibaybee @hsbongwater @ot7stansthings @curiouslioncutie @jalexad @lynnibears @benyhime

[prodagustd]

2 days til my love is coming home I hold on tight, I'm staying strong,

{cr. 0613data}

[prodagustd]

the road not taken 08 | myg

part eight: truce

Summary: After all this years, and months, and days where —no matter what you did or what you didn’t do— you still had to see Yoongi against you wishes, you began to worry if you were meant to find him every time.

<part seven

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!oc

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?), slow burn

—warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, fluff.

—words: 10.6k

—a/note: hi friends!! i'm posting this chapter while doubting myself as always but i had sososo much fun writing i hope you liked it!! i wanted to post it earlier but consider this as an earlier celebration for yoongi's discharge !! also, the other day i was reminded of this poem and it kinda inspired me to finish writing the chapter, i hope you enjoy and as always, you're welcomed to discuss this part in the asks!!

series masterlist | teaser | playlist

Present

There was a time a few years ago, back when you slept in a bed for two and winter sneaked under your sheets, when the treacherous thought of what could’ve been knocked on your door before you fell asleep every night. Even when you tried to push it away, even when you threw your pillow over your head, even seconds before those 2 mg of melatonin were about to kick in, the question still tormented your mind. There, in the dark of your room as the lights of the city poorly illuminated the place, you wondered if there was a timeline, a different reality where everything worked out.

You closed your eyes and tried to imagine a universe where everything was alright—one where Yoongi apologized for not calling after that night, and when you saw him that cold December morning, he’d be so happy to see you that the frown on his face would disappear.

Maybe in that universe, he would’ve asked you to stay for lunch, and maybe you would’ve helped him with his mom for the rest of the winter so she wouldn’t be mad at him. You tortured yourself thinking that maybe Yoongi would’ve planned the trip to the beach for the end of spring. You imagined what kind of shorts he would’ve packed, what kind of t-shirts, what kind of pajamas. You wondered if he would’ve let you stop at every old diner on the side of the road, if he would’ve taken your picture at every stop, if he would’ve kissed you just before you changed seats when it was your turn to drive.

Ever since that day, you’d rolled in bed wondering if he ever pictured you the same way you had so many times—if he saw you in the passenger seat of his car, on the sand by the sea, on the blue sheets, in hotel towels.

Looking at the ceiling, with eyes wide open, you always ended up thinking: would it have been so bad to follow you? Would he have gotten tired of your laughter so quickly? Of your fingers running down his back, of your words hanging from your lips just before you were about to make fun of him? Would he have gotten tired of your arguing, your cursing, your dragging feet? Would the memory of the few hundred kisses he gave you that night have worn out that fast?

You knew thinking about it was a waste of time, but as you were getting ready to have dinner with Nari, all those unanswered questions resurfaced—just in case you wanted to think twice and stay home, like you were so tempted to do.

On the edge of her bed was Minnie, sitting next to her cat as she watched you do your eyeliner. She had already apologized for snapping at you a few days ago, which forced you to recognize that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t completely cool with Yoongi being around, and you weren’t completely cool with him being involved in a place that had nothing to do with him, nothing except you. 

But surprisingly, against all odds—against all Yoongis—you wanted to stay. Not only because saying yes to Minnie and then quitting would’ve been completely cruel, but because you wanted to. You stayed because some part of you, the part you kept trying to silence, didn’t want to leave just yet.

You were still bitter that Minnie stayed friendly with Yoongi—but that started to fade when you told her he wanted to “talk things through” (whatever that meant). She was your best friend again the second she joined you in talking shit, trying to dissect everything he said like it was a crime scene that needed solving.

“So…” Minnie tilted her head, eyeing you. “Is he picking you up?”

“He said so.”

She paused for a moment, picturing that image in her head. “You know he has a girl, right?” she said, snorting. “I would freak out if I were Blondie. Imagine finding out your boyfriend is driving his famous ex-girlfriend to have dinner with his mom. God, no. I’d throw up.”

You shook your head, trying not to laugh at how fast her imagination could run. “He’s not my ex-boyfriend, Minnie… and he’s not driving me—we’re walking. He asked if we could have a chat before dinner, so she shouldn’t worry too much.” You said, turning from the mirror to sit beside her and slip on your Mary Janes. “And besides… you shouldn’t be gossiping about your friend, you know?” 

Minnie scoffed. “Whatever, it’s none of my business, but since when has that ever stopped me?” She waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, it’s not gossip if it’s true.” She huffed. “Did you know that he can’t keep a girl? I mean, maybe that’s not the right way to put it, because he can—he totally could. But maybe he just doesn’t want to.” 

“Charming,” you muttered, fussing a little too long with the strap of your shoe. “He’s always been like that.” 

Minnie leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s not just that—it’s like he gets bored. I’ve seen it happen a few times. He meets a girl, keeps her around for a few weeks, and then poof. Gone.”

You paused, curiosity flickering despite yourself. “Wait, what do you mean? Like he ghosts them?”

“No, I don’t think he ghosts them.” She said “It’s like he fades out. Stops texting as much, stops making plans. Let things die off slow.”

You glanced up, forcing your expression to stay neutral, though your fingers lingered a bit too long on the buckle. “Like a soft breakup?”

Minnie smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “It’s not really a breakup, though, is it? Not if he’s not actually in a relationship. That’s what he keeps saying about that blonde girl—‘the girl I’m seeing,’” she mimicked in a teasing tone. “Like he’s afraid of it getting too serious.”

You gave a small, distracted nod, not trusting yourself to say much. It was weird hearing that—how casual he was with other people. But it wasn’t difficult to imagine him like that; he never had proper girlfriends back in high school, which, at the time, felt like a small mercy. But that didn’t spare you from watching him parade around with a new girl every other week.

“How do you even know all that?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Namjoon,” Minnie said, like it was obvious. “He works with Yoongi sometimes. He told me.”

You laughed, eyebrows lifting. “Namjoon? Isn’t he Yoongi’s friend? Why would he spill that to you?”

“Because he likes me,” she said breezily, without missing a beat. “Didn’t I tell you that already? I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason he’s helping out at The Alley. Look—I don’t believe in exploiting my charm to get things from men, but if it’s for an extremely good cause?” She gave a shrug. “I think I’ll survive. Besides, he’s not a weirdo. He’s actually really cute.”

You snorted. “Yeah, tell me about it. Does he still wear those glasses?”

Her eyes lit up. “The glasses are so cute.”

You shook your head, smiling.

“It wasn’t just Namjoon, though,” she added. “I can read people.”

“Yoongi’s not easy to read,” you said, quieter this time. “Maybe you’re reading him wrong.”

“No, I don’t think so.” She shook her head “I told you, with you… it was different. It’s like he can’t talk about you, or even hear your name. It stings him, I know it wasn’t like that with you.”

You let out a dry laugh. For some reason, you already knew it was different with you. Even now, you could still swear it was. You could look into Yoongi’s eyes and see everything through, it meant something, but that didn’t make it any less bad. “Yeah, it was different.” You muttered, rising to your feet and brushing invisible dust from your skirt, just to have something to do. “It was worse.”

Minnie tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You know,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully “maybe you broke him. Maybe that’s why he can’t keep a girl now. You ruined his capacity for normal relationships.”

You laughed, surprised by how easily it came out. “Please. That boy was malfunctioning way before me.”

“Perhaps,” Minnie said, pretending to consider it. “But you broke him for good.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile lingered. “We weren’t even together, Minnie. We barely got started.”

She crossed her arms behind her head “C’mon… You fucked. You fucked like, a lot.”

You snorted, eyes squeezing shut. “God.”

“Maybe that’s how you did it,” she said with a shrug, grinning. “Scrambled his brain. That poor man never stood a chance.”

You covered your face, laughing into your hands. “Can you not? I have to look him in the eye.”

“Oh, please. What if he can’t get it up with anyone else now? What if that’s why he dumps them?” She smirked. “God, I’d kill to ruin a man like that.”

You shook your head. “You’re deranged.” 

Minnie just smiled, clearly proud of it. 

Still chuckling, you grabbed your phone. Just as you were about to slip it into your bag, the screen lit up with a new message.

Yoongi: I’m outside.

“Speaking of the devil.” You sighed, suddenly feeling nervous.  

“Hell is empty.” She whispered, dramatically. “And all the devils are here.”

You seemed to be stuck in a constant fight between the present and the past, even after all the times you’d tried to leave things behind. But the past had a way of finding you—softly, stubbornly—whether you liked it or not.

This time, though, you had a choice. When Yoongi texted you a few days ago, you could’ve ignored it. You could’ve said you’d changed your mind, told him to fuck off, and left it at that. It wasn’t like you owed him anything. You didn’t have to talk to him, didn’t have to look at him, didn’t have to remember.

It was stupid, really, but you guessed this was also a small part of your redemption arc. Facing Yoongi. Giving things a proper ending. Trying to behave like a decent, grown-up human being, even when some parts of you still refused, even when it still stung. 

So here you were, heart picking up pace with every step as you pushed the door open, letting the cold hit your face just as his long figure turned to face you. 

Yoongi stood by the stair railings, cheeks and nose pink from the wind, hair slightly messy and a long grey coat, different from his usual black one. His eyes lit up just barely, but you caught it.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, careful.

“Hi…” You muttered, letting the door click shut behind you. Then, glancing at his coat, “Is it that cold?”

He looked down, shrugged. “A bit, yeah.”

You groaned as you started walking, the sidewalk still damp from a recent rain. “I should’ve worn pants.”

You heard his footsteps fall beside you as you turned the corner, knowing the way to his childhood home from memory. He kept careful distance between you, but you could feel him regardless.

The street was quiet, just the low hum of cars in the distance and the occasional gust of wind threading between the buildings. You tucked your hands into your jacket pockets. He did the same.

For a moment, it was like neither of you knew how to speak.

Then Yoongi cleared his throat, barely louder than the wind. “You really staying for the whole thing?”

You glanced sideways at him. “The play?”

“Yeah. I thought you were just visiting,” He said, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. 

“No, um… I’m staying for a bit. At least until December. For the play, and some other stuff, too.” you added, unsure what else to say. The truth was that you didn’t have any idea what you were going to do in the next months, but that was the plan for now.

“Great,” he murmured. “I’m glad you’re staying. When you left the other day, I thought you were about to quit.”

You didn’t answer right away. The streetlight ahead blinked weakly.

“Oh, I thought about it,” you admitted. “But I wouldn’t do that to Minnie. And… I like yelling at kids.”

He let out a low laugh. “Clearly your calling.”

That made you smile. You didn’t mean to—but he caught it, and didn’t comment. Just kept walking beside you like he hadn’t noticed at all.

“You still do that thing where you tap your fingers when you’re nervous,” he said after a minute, eyes on your hand wrapped around your bag strap.

You glanced at him. “You still bring up things no one asks you to notice.”

He gave a small laugh. “Right. Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

“No, I’m not.”

The sidewalk went quiet again. A bus rattled by on the other side of the street, loud enough to fill the space between words. Neither of you turned to look.

“So?” you said eventually, looking at him. “You told me you were going to figure something out.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I did say that.”

But then he fell quiet again.

You gave him a look. “Well?”

He blinked, caught in thought. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I guess I’m realizing that no matter what I come up with, you’ll still want me six feet under, so it’s… complicated.”

You looked at him. “It’s not that I want you buried, Yoongi.”

He looked at you then—really looked, like he was trying to figure out if you meant it.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “That’s… something.”

“It’s just…” You exhaled, keeping your voice even. “I’m not in the best mood these days.  And honestly, you’re not exactly the person I’d choose to spend the night with. I’m confused. I don’t know what you’re trying to do here.”

“I don’t either,” he said, quiet but honest. “But I’m trying. And I’ve been thinking… I don’t want to fight with you.”

You stayed silent. You weren’t sure if you agreed with that. There was still a part of you that would take any opportunity to push him away.

You didn’t answer. A moment passed before you heard him sigh.

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, you know?” he murmured after a few seconds. There was a weight to his words, an understanding only the two of you could share. The sentence echoed in the quiet street, it echoed inside your chest and rang your ears, making you clench your fists. 

“I know.” You muttered, keeping your eyes on the sidewalk, the rhythm of your steps careful. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He looked ahead, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, his breath visible in the cold air. “Well… I don’t know. Maybe I have to.”

You shook your head slightly, not quite looking at him. “But that’s the point. We don’t know each other anymore. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.” You paused, letting the words hang between you both. “That doesn’t have to do with anything.”

His voice softened, but his words didn’t waver. “That has to do with everything.” He glanced at you, his gaze steady but unsure. “We’re going to see each other. We’re part of each other’s lives.”

You’re not part of my life, you wanted to say. You’d worked hard to make sure of that—to push him out, to forget. And yet here he was again, walking beside you like no time had passed at all.

“I don’t know.” You sighed “I’m gonna be honest, that doesn’t feel like a good reason to me. History doesn’t mean we owe each other anything.” 

“Maybe not,” he said, quiet now. “But we still share it. Whether we like it or not. You’re part of mine. You always have been.” He gave you a quiet look, but you didn’t dare to look at him back. “Just look at my mom. She talks about you like you’re her child. She adores you, we can’t… erase that.” 

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the mention of his mother. 

This was the second time Yoongi had brought her up to get to you — and this time, you couldn’t say he was wrong.

You always had a weak spot for Nari. She always made you feel like you belonged, it was the kind of feeling you held onto when you were young, it was the kind of feeling you were still chasing after all these years. 

“So, what are you proposing?” you asked, exhaling slowly. “Because I love your mom, Yoongi. But maybe I don’t want to be friends with you. We can’t… I can’t ignore the past, I can’t pretend you didn’t hurt me and nothing happened.”

The silence almost killed the both of you.

That was the first time either of you had said it out loud.

Yoongi didn’t flinch, but something in him shifted. You could feel it.

“I know I fucked up,” he said, voice low. “And I know I can’t rewrite things. I’m not trying to wipe that clean.”

He paused, jaw tightening for just a second.

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said after a moment. “Or to act like it didn’t matter. I know it did.”

He glanced at you, voice careful. “But we’re not the same people anymore. Things are different. We’re different.”

He shrugged, like he didn’t want to let the silence swallow him whole.

“It’s not just that, Yoongi,” you said, almost whispering. “A lot of things changed—everything changed after I left. After everything you said. It’s not that easy to get past it.”

“I know that, too…” he said, quieter now. “I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

He sighed, like he was still choosing the words that wouldn’t come.

“I’m not saying you’re an asshole.” You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “I know you’re not. And I know you’re trying to do things right. That’s the part that bothers me.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you for a second, like he wanted to respond but wasn’t sure how.

Then he nodded slowly.

“We can work together without dragging the past into every room. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not asking for friendship… just a middle ground.” He let out a breath. “I don’t know… we can’t just act like we don’t exist in each other’s world anymore.”

“A middle ground?” You repeated. 

“A truce.”

For fuck’s sake. 

You had never been one to hold back, it was quite the opposite. You were explosive, and you never thought twice. A truce wouldn’t mean the same thing to Yoongi as it would to you. To you, a truce would mean biting your tongue, going against your own nature.

But then again, you could try. Maybe a truce wasn’t about forgiving him. Maybe it was about choosing not to let him take up more space in your head than he already did.

So you let the tension in your shoulders ease, just barely, and gave a tight nod.

Not agreement. Just permission—to stop fighting for a minute.

“A truce.” You repeated again, but the word rooted in your mouth. There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. You exhaled, watching your breath fog in the cold air. “And what would be the terms of this truce?”

His gaze drifted forward, like he was choosing his next words carefully. He shifted his weight, his eyes flicking to you. “Okay. Terms of the truce.”

You crossed your arms, not quite looking at him. “You stop using your mom to get to me.”

He nodded, no sign of protest. “Fair. Then you stop looking at me like you’d rather walk into traffic than stand next to me.”

You arched an eyebrow. “I can’t promise that. But I’ll try to keep it subtle.” you said “Anything else?”

You saw the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. “No snapping at each other,” he said. “No snarky comments. No pretending the other person doesn’t exist.”

You hummed, unconvinced. 

“No dragging each other into arguments we don’t have to have,” he added. “We stay civil. We work together when we need to. We don’t make things harder than they already are.”

You glanced at him. “And what do we do when it gets hard anyway?”

He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, the only sound was the scrape of your shoes on the pavement.

You weren’t asking out of curiosity. You were asking because you knew yourself — knew how quickly your temper rose, how sharp your tongue could get when he looked at you the wrong way, or said something in that calm, unreadable tone that made you feel like you were the only one still bleeding from the past.

And Yoongi, in his usual way, was probably wondering if this was the part where you gave up, where you proved him right, that the two of you couldn’t exist in the same space without turning it into a battlefield.

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“We deal with it,” he said simply. “Like two people who can handle being in the same room.”

You stared straight ahead, your jaw tight. There was a sting in your chest you chose not to name.

“That’s a lot of rules,” you said.

“It’s just one,” Yoongi replied. “Don’t make each other miserable.”

You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no either.

And maybe — for now — that was the best either of you could offer.

Standing in the hall of Yoongi’s apartment felt like breaking a pact you’d made with yourself—an oath you swore years ago to never come back. You never thought you’d find yourself here again, walking down this hallway, watching him open the doors of the old elevator. It felt like a small betrayal, even if Yoongi didn’t live here anymore. 

Simon had told you Yoongi moved to an apartment near the center of town three years ago. Probably a tall building with a modern elevator, the kind that played music when you pushed the buttons, with white lights and a security guard at the entrance. Just like yours in the city.

It was hard to picture Yoongi there, in his old man sweaters and fuzzy socks, sitting by the window and looking out at the town. He didn’t seem like he belonged in a place like that. It felt like he only ever belonged here.

He closed the doors behind you and stood there, looking at the buttons before pressing the one for the fourth floor. You watched him as the yellowish lights illuminated his side profile, the curve of his nose, his hooded eyes. You looked without any kind of shame, allowing yourself to observe him: his long hair, the marks on his skin, the mole on his cheek just beside his nose, his eyelashes, the earring in his ear, and the empty holes from past piercings.

You couldn’t help but recall that winter night from four years ago every now and then, but now, standing here, it felt almost impossible not to. In the same place where he once pressed you against the wall and kissed you, it felt like it had happened just yesterday.

You remembered lying beside him, taking your time to memorize every detail like you had all the time in the world. And back then, it felt like you did. You counted the moles on his body, traced the veins along his hands and arms with your fingers, touched his lips, kissed his lips, his neck, his cheeks, his chest.

You didn’t remember ever kissing someone that much. You could almost swear that, even in your three-year relationship with Ian, you hadn’t kissed him as many times as you did in those three days spent in Yoongi’s old bedroom, on his bed, in his kitchen, on his couch, in his shower, against the wall, and against the floor.

You remembered kissing him in the morning light, when the sun came through the window and hit his face, making him scrunch his nose and close his eyes. But there was something entirely different about kissing him in the dark—between sheets and secrets and shaky breaths—something about the feeling of having him all to yourself that you could never forget. It was engraved in your memory, like the shape of his lips had been tattooed onto yours, and from then on, no kiss had ever felt the same.

You used to know him. Not only the way his body moved, or how his hand fit around your hips. Not just the vessel of his body, but the person he used to be. Inside and out, you knew him.

You didn’t notice earlier. You didn’t notice at The Alley or when you saw him at your house the day you arrived. It seemed to have escaped you—only now could you see that he looked tired. It wasn’t just that he looked older, or the long day he must have had at work today. It was something else.

You didn’t have time to wonder about it for too long. When the elevator shook, you looked away.

It took you less than two minutes to reach the door, and when Yoongi opened it and stepped aside to let you in, the warmth of the apartment hit you—then the smell. You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been on the way up. Now, you were surprised to feel weirdly comforted.

You both kicked your shoes off without thinking too much. You paused, sniffing the air. “Wait… is that—?”

“Doenjang jjigae,” he said, already pulling off his coat. “Mom said you liked it.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself. “I haven’t had it in forever.”

Yoongi disappeared down the hallway without another word, leaving you standing in the entryway, coat still on your shoulders, unsure if you should follow.  

You were still taking in the warmth and scent of the apartment when Nari appeared from the kitchen doorway, steady on her walker. The metal frame clinked softly against the floor as she moved towards you, a dish towel draped over one arm.

“Oh, there she is!” she said, eyes lighting up. “You’re already here!”

You smiled, stepping forward to meet her. “Hey, Nari.”

She opened her arms without letting go of the walker. “Come here, don’t be shy.” She gave you a quick hug, careful and slow. 

You leaned in for the hug, careful not to bump into the metal frame. Her embrace was as firm as ever, if a little slower to pull back.

“You didn’t have to cook just for me,” you said, even though the smell from the kitchen was already making your stomach growl. 

She waved you off. “Nonsense, I wanted to. And you’re too skinny. You still don’t eat breakfast, do you?”

You gave a small laugh, not quite answering. Behind her, Yoongi reappeared, carrying two sets of bowls. He glanced at the two of you, then cleared his throat.

“Uh, Mom—did Summer already leave?”

Nari looked over her shoulder. “Yes, she helped me chop vegetables and argued with me about how much salt to use. Then she left about an hour ago.” She turned back to you, smiling as she walked towards the table. “I didn’t tell her you were coming because she would’ve wanted to stay longer. She is such a fan of yours, you know?”

You smiled, not sure who she was talking about “She is?”

“Oh yes,” Nari said easily. “She’s my nurse. She’s been helping me around the house for a few months now. Sweet girl. Blonde, tall, always so well put-together. She said she saw you once—at that theater… what’s it called…?”

You blinked “The Alley?”

“Yes! That’s the one.” Nari nodded. “She mentioned seeing you there, said she didn’t want to bother you, but she was excited all week after that.”

You breath caught for a beat as you put two and two together. 

Yoongi glanced up from where he was setting the bowls, his hands slowing just slightly. His fingers hesitated over the chopsticks, then adjusted them again

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t have to.

It was her. The blonde girl outside The Alley. The one he’d shown up with. The one who kept looking at you like she wanted to say something but never did.

You stood there, trying not to think about how perfect she had looked standing next to Yoongi. Tall. Blonde. Model-like. The kind of girl who probably made people stare twice on the street—not because they recognized her, but because she was the type people noticed.

And she was a nurse. Of course she was.

You almost laughed, but the hole in your stomach didn’t let you. 

It was so unnecessary, such a waste of time to even think about it. Still, it was hard not to wonder, just for a second, if that was his type. Someone steady, soft-spoken and kind. Someone you were not. 

“Oh,” you said, quiet, folding your coat over your arm and smoothing the fabric a little too carefully. “I think I remember her.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened—just barely—and he reached for the next bowl, though his grip looked a little too firm, like he was afraid he might drop it. Was this uncomfortable for him? Was it for you? 

“Oh? Really?” Nari asked, “I’ll tell her you did, she’ll lose her mind.” 

You smiled, what else could you do? 

Chasing the thoughts away, you let it go, like you were supposed to. 

A few moments later, the three of you were sitting at the table and you were grateful to be thinking of something else. The dining table wasn’t large, not like the one back at your family’s house, always too long, always full of guests. Here, everything felt more familiar, closer, like time didn’t pass at all inside this house. There was only ever Nari and Yoongi, and now there was you.

You tried to change the subject. “You should’ve invited Simon, too. He’s probably around, isn’t he?” You asked Nari.

Nari waved a hand, “Simon is here all the time, and he eats all the food. Besides” her eyes twinkled “I wanted it to be just you and Yoongi tonight.”

There was something innocent in her tone, offhanded even, but the words hung in the air a second too long. 

The evening settled into a quiet rhythm after that.

The doenjang jjigae steamed between you, warm and familiar, and the table slowly filled with other dishes — kimchi, anchovies, steamed egg, bowls of white rice. You found yourself relaxing, bit by bit, lulled by the sound of chopsticks against ceramic, the occasional clink of glasses being refilled, and Nari’s steady voice weaving from one topic to the next. 

She talked about her book club, the women at the community center who were always getting into harmless gossip. She talked about her last checkup, her doctor’s advice to cut back on salt and how she, of course, had ignored it.

You enjoyed listening to her, your flushed face resting in your hands, leaning over the table and laughing every time she said something funny. But all she really wanted to talk about was you, even if you’d rather talk about anything else in the world

“So, are you working on another movie?” Nari asked. “We went to see your last one with Yoongi. We loved it.”

You smiled, eyebrows lifting in surprise, finding that very funny for some reason. “You did?” you said, glancing at him. 

“Of course. It was so sad, he almost cried,” she added, nodding towards him.

You snorted. “You cried?”

Yoongi kept his eyes on the bowl. “I didn’t.”

Nari rolled her eyes. “He did.”

“I had allergies,” he muttered.

“During summer?” You asked. 

He looked at you, shaking his head, not willing to answer. You bit back at smirk. 

You tried to imagine Yoongi buying tickets for your movie last summer—walking into the theater, sitting there for two hours, watching you. You tried to imagine him taking advantage of the darkness to let himself cry, then leaving, trying to forget about it and go on with his day. It was a strange image. You had never mixed that part of your life with this one—mainly because this was the part you'd left behind. But you’d never really stopped to consider that your life kept happening everywhere, even if you weren’t there to see it.

“There is no shame in crying during movies.” Nari said, being unaware of the two of you. “You pick very sad ones, dear.”

You laughed softly. “Well, they only ever want me for sad films these days,” you said, lifting your glass. “They tell me I have sad eyes. Whatever that means.”

Nari tilted her head, studying you closely. “You do have a melancholic stare, sweetheart. But it’s a beautiful thing. You say more with your eyes than you do with your voice.”

You caught the faint smile that tugged at Yoongi’s lips as he stared into his bowl.

“Thanks, I guess,” you said, returning the smile, warmth spreading in your chest. “I just hope that doesn’t get me in trouble.” You leaned back slightly, more at ease now. “But no, I don’t have any projects at the moment. I want to spend more time with my mom—sleep more, eat more... Besides, I took a job at the theater, so I’ll be busy with that until December.”

“Right, Yoongi mentioned that,” Nari said, folding her hands together with a small smile. “He said everyone was happy to see you again. How long has it been?”

You glanced away, trying to remember the last time you'd been at The Alley. The dates blurred together.

“Two years ago,” Yoongi said before you could answer.

You turned to him in surprise. He cleared his throat.

“You were there for the Bong Joon-ho week,” he added, not quite meeting your eyes. “Memories of murder.”

You nodded slowly, the memory coming back immediately, but he wasn’t part of it. 

“I don’t remember seeing you there…” You said, feeling the weight of the sudden silence of the room. 

He looked away, “I was there, I just… sat very close to the back.” 

Your lips parted, then curved into a polite smile. “Well, it’s been a while.” You turned back to Nari, keeping your tone light. “But honestly, not much has changed over there.”

Nari leaned in slightly. “So, what are you doing there, exactly?”

“She’s working with the kids,” Yoongi cut in, quick to respond. 

You flicked your eyes towards him, not irritated—just surprised at how ready he was to speak for you.

Nari brightened. “That sounds so sweet. I’m sure they’re thrilled.”

“They are,” Yoongi added. “They’re obsessed with her. She’s kind of a big deal.”

You gave a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Hardly. I just showed up. They’re the ones doing all the real work.”

She looked at you with a bright expression. “You’re being modest.”

 “No, really. I just wanted to help. They’re so enthusiastic. It’s kind of impossible not to get pulled in.”

“What are you doing with them?”

“Mostly helping them rehearse, learn lines, fix costumes. Nothing too dangerous.”

Yoongi laughed under his breath. “She’s being humble. She’s running the show.”

“Well…”

“And doing it well. Even if she nearly bit my head off the first day.” He casually mentioned, catching you off guard. 

It was still strange — how easy this seemed to him. To bring you back here, look at you in the eyes, the teasing, the warmth, the casual way he slipped back into before, like nothing had happened. Like he could just talk to you like that.

It wasn’t that you hated it. It made you nervous.

This was the point of the truce, being civil, not picking at old wounds. But still, it felt like he was settling into something softer, something that didn’t exist anymore. Like he wanted something gentler from you, and wasn’t even aware of it. 

And maybe the worst part was… you kept letting him. Not because you’d forgiven him. Not because you weren’t still angry. But because there was something in the way he looked at you tonight — cautious and familiar — that made it hard to stay guarded all the way through.

You rolled your eyes. “That was entirely your fault.”

Nari let out a laugh, eyes dancing between you both. “You two had a fight? How shocking.”

“It wasn’t a fight…” you murmured, glancing sideways at Yoongi with a look that wasn’t quite sharp but definitely not warm. “It was just… a disagreement.”

“I was just trying to help,” he said, lifting his hands in mock defense. “Provide legal advice for the screenplay.”

“You weren’t hired to be a lawyer,” you shot back, a hint of amusement in your tone. “Not on Saturdays, at least.”

“I’m always a lawyer, Pinky.”

The nickname hung in the air a second longer than it should’ve. But this time, you didn’t flinch.

You looked at him for a second, biting your lip. You wanted to say something, but turned to his mom instead, deciding to ignore it. “See, Nari. That’s the thing with lawyers, they always need to be right.”

“That sounds very much like Yoongi.” She chuckled, clearly enjoying this. “But don’t let the whole lawyer act fool you, dear. He’s been like that since forever. Always has to get the last word, even if it’s nonsense.”

You let out a soft breath of laughter. “Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I already know.”

“C’mon,” Yoongi cut in, nudging the air between you, “you’re exactly the same.”

You tilted your head, giving him a mock-frown. “Except I’m actually always right.”

Nari hummed thoughtfully, her smile not quite innocent. “Well, I don’t know who’s right, but I do know I hate seeing you two fight.” 

You looked down at your fingers on the table, avoiding her eyes. 

“We’ll try not to.” Yoongi said, and it felt like a promise. 

“Anyway,” you said, catching your breath, “the kids are very committed. And the place needs all the help it can get, so I’ll be there for a while.”

Yoongi nodded, quieter this time. “It’s good that you’re there.”

You glanced at him. He wasn’t teasing now. And for a moment, it made the air feel heavier — not in a bad way, but enough to make you blink and look back at your plate.

Nari, thankfully, filled the space with a soft “That theater’s lucky to have you, sweetheart.”

You smiled at her, grateful. “Thanks. I think I needed it too.”

As the night slipped away, you let yourself fall into a kind of quiet familiarity you hadn’t felt in a long time, while you and Yoongi washed the dishes. Nari sat by the window, watching the two of you with the soft scrutiny only a mother can offer, remarking that Yoongi looked taller lately, that your skirt was too thin for a cold night like this, and that Yoongi should straighten his posture. 

“You two make a good team.” She said, observing Yoongi hand you a pair of clean glasses. 

You laughed, but neither of you said anything to contradict her, you wouldn’t dare to. 

You stayed in the kitchen a little longer, watching the rain return, soft against the glass. That’s when Nari suggested Yoongi drive you home—it was late, after all. 

You didn’t argue. You had spent the whole evening with him, you were sure you could endure another five minutes in his presence if that meant you didn’t have to pay an Uber. 

When it was time to leave, you hugged Nari goodbye. She held on a little longer than expected, her hands soft and familiar against your back. 

“You’ll come next week for tea, right?” she asked, giving you a look that wasn’t really a question.

You smiled, nodding. “Of course.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.” She patted your cheek like she used to, and then turned towards the hallway. 

“Come on, Yoongi, help me with the stupid pills.” Yoongi shot you a glance—apologetic, maybe—but didn’t say anything as he followed her down the hall. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Sleep tight, Nari.” You smiled, watching them disappear as you waited in the kitchen.

Their voices drifted in and out. Nari asked where she’d left her robe. Yoongi reminded her not to mix up the bottles. A drawer opened, something clinked shut. You listened to him saying goodbye to her, it was the kind of domestic rhythm you weren’t supposed to be a part of. 

A moment passed before Yoongi came back to the kitchen, with a small smile on his face as he gestured to the door. You repeated the same cycle in reverse: you put on your coats, took the elevator down in silence, walked the hallway and waited for him to unlock the door.

The rain fell over you as soon as you put foot on the streets, so you hurried to get to Yoongi’s car. He opened the door for you and you got in, sinking into the seat as you watched him walk around the car and get it. When he started the engine, the radio came on automatically, playing some Jeff Buckley song, so low you could barely hear it.

He’d changed his car, you noticed. You didn’t know anything about cars, but this one was bigger than the last—more modern. Yoongi’s old car had a busted, almost ancient stereo, and under his seat, there was a folder of CDs he used to let you choose from every time you were in the car with him. You repressed the urge to ask if he still had it. 

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You looked at him briefly, but his eyes were fixed on the road. “I had a good time. You don’t have to thank me…”

He nodded. “I know, but still…” He paused, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. “It’s been a long time.”

You just hummed, refusing to acknowledge such a thing as time.

A silence settled between you, the hum of the engine filling the space. Yoongi’s jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

“Was that true?” you asked suddenly. “That thing your mom said about the movie, that you cried?”

The question didn’t seem to surprise him, but he hesitated to answer for a second. “Maybe… Perhaps I teared up a little.” 

You pressed your lips together, eager to know more. “Can I ask why?”

His fists clenched around the steering wheel, but he did not look at you. “You’re good at making people cry, I guess.” He said, his tone even. “You’re good.”

You sank deeper into the seat, feeling your heart slightly clenching. 

By the time you arrive at Minnie's apartment, there was still something lingering in the air. Something you were both hoping to let go tonight. This wasn’t quite a closure, not even a goodbye. You weren’t sure if it would ever be something such as that.

The car stopped. The rain kept falling over you, and it was time to call it a night.

You looked at him for a moment before opening the door. Your gaze crashed into his, and for the briefest second, you felt electrified.

Another song from the same album kept playing softly. The engine was still running. The windows were all fogged up. You had nothing to prove there, nothing left to lose that night. In that moment, you could admit it: he was right—you were part of his life, and he was part of yours.

There had been something between you then, just as there was now, and somehow, you knew there always would be. You had just never known what to call it, and maybe that was what made it linger.

“Good night, Yoongi,” you said, opening the door and letting the chill of the night sneak into the car.

“Good night, Pinky.” He let out, like a breath he had been holding for too long. 

Then, you disappeared into the night. 

One of the many reasons you’d been at odds with this town since you were young was the lingering suspicion that it was cursed. Not cursed like in horror movies, where kids disappeared or something tragic happened every other day, but the kind of curse that quietly followed you around—the kind that hovered over you at the bus stop. It was in the dark winter evenings, in the sound of autumn leaves dragging across the street as you walked home at night, in the stillness of time as it passed. It was the frightening feeling that nothing ever changed.

In the city, everything was ever-changing. Everything was shiny and new, and every night felt different from the one before. There were moments when everything seemed fine—when you were convinced this was the life you were meant to lead all along, and your heart felt full, your soul complete, and no one could ever take it away from you.

But there were other moments, brief moments, when you walked down the street alone at night and could still hear the autumn leaves dragging across the pavement, following you home.

Over time, you began to realize that maybe your hometown was just a small town like any other. You supposed it was normal to bump into people you’d rather not see at the grocery store, at the theater, even in your own house. But then, as you grew up, another fear surged from the pit of your stomach: the suspicion that maybe you were the one who was bewitched, that you were the one carrying the curse wherever you went.

You thought you were almost used to it—the breakup with Ian, the leaked pictures, seeing Yoongi in your home the night you arrived, and running into him at The Alley days later. The more you tried to avoid it, the more it seemed to find you. But this time, it caught you off guard. 

The coffee shop down the street from The Alley had always been your favorite. It was small, so small you could hear the people talking down in the kitchen and the barista complaining about her ex boyfriend. There was a whole wall filled with books and you could grab any one you wanted to read as you were waiting for your order. You always sat in the farthest corner of the room, next to the books, in a tiny table for two next to a tall lamp shaped like a flower and pretended to work on your laptop or read the same storybook for the tenth time. 

No one bothered you here, no one ever did, not until now.

You heard the bell ring as the door opened and two people stepped inside. You were never particularly interested in who came or went—you always kept your nose buried in your book and gave little thought to anyone who wasn’t you. But for the first time that afternoon, you looked up.

A gust of wind slipped through the doorway, lifting Summer’s hair before it fell perfectly back into place as Yoongi stepped in behind her and closed the door.

Ugh.

Not this again. The curse. 

You dropped your gaze back to your book instantly, pretending to be oblivious as you took another sip of your cup of coffee. You tried to stay focused on the story, staring at the same sentence on the page until it blurred, but the sound of chairs scraping against the floor made you want to take a look again. 

They choose a table by the window. Not close to you, but not far enough either. Not far enough not to notice your quiet presence. 

Summer. The name Yoongi mentioned the other night. It resonated in your head as you tried to come back to the story, but it seemed to infect each one your thoughts. What kind of name was that anyway? Summer, like flowers and the sun, ice cream and the beach. Summer, it sounded like something made up, soft and sweet, effortless. Around here, girls had names like Claire or Melissa. Summer felt like a fantasy, the kind of girl you don’t usually see in this town. Like the kind of girl you became if you got everything right on the first try. the kind of girl you used to pretend not to hate when you were in nursing school, wondering if you’d ever feel like you belonged anywhere. 

Summer. Bright and easy and blonde. It figured. 

God, now you sounded like a bitch. You didn’t know her. You hadn’t even talked to her. You were building entire stories in your head like a deranged person. 

You shook the thought off before it could stick too long — there were better things to waste your time on. Like the fucking book in your hands that you couldn’t, for the life of you, manage to finish.

And when you were about to look away, your eyes landed on him. 

Still standing. White shirt, black cardigan, hand resting on the back of a chair, mid-motion, like he’d been about to sit but got caught. Watching you.

Yoongi’s eyes locked with yours. There it was—surprise, recognition, something like hesitation. Then, a pause too long to be casual, he lifted his hand in a small, clumsy wave.

Not thinking much, you waved back before your mind processed it. Just a nod of acknowledgment. It didn’t have to be awkward. And yet, it was.

You glanced back at your book, wondering if you were supposed to revisit the terms of whatever agreement you had now. Were you expected to wave in public? Even when no one was watching? Why did you have to acknowledge him at all, especially when he was clearly here with someone else?

Whatever. In any case, you supposed this was the whole point of the truce: to share a space, to be civil and polite and blah, blah, blah. It bored you just thinking about it.

You turned back to your book. Or tried to—because the sound of his voice carried through the room, low and steady, filling every corner like smoke. You couldn’t make out the words, but that didn’t stop your brain from trying.

You closed your eyes and sighed. Still, you found yourself straining to decode what he might be saying, or why she kept laughing like that.

Determined, you stared at the same page for the third time, willing yourself to focus. This time, you told yourself, you were going to make it through. You were this close to slipping back into the story.

A few minutes passed. Enough for the noise around you to dull into background static, for the text to finally start sinking in. You managed to stay focused on the story, your fingers pressed lightly to the page as if that could anchor you there.

You didn’t notice the shadow at first. Just a shift in the air beside you, a faint rustle of movement, a shadow. Then the creak of the chair across from you being pulled out.

When you looked up, Yoongi was already sitting down.

Your heart jumped before your expression could catch up. He wasn’t looking at you, not yet, he was settling in like he had a reason to be there, like this wasn’t strange.

Had he walked over without you noticing? Had he said something first?

You hadn’t heard a thing.

“Hi,” he said—soft, hesitant.

You blinked.

“Hi?” you echoed, the book still in your hands.

“Hi,” he repeated.

You narrowed your eyes. “Is there… something wrong?” you asked quietly, sneaking a glance toward the girl he’d just left at the other table. She met your eyes, then quickly looked away.

“No, not at all…” he muttered, shifting in his seat.

“Then… may I ask why you’re sitting at my table?”

He sat at the edge of the chair, like he didn’t plan to stay long. He looked almost nervous—almost, because Yoongi never looked nervous. He was always put together, always with his shit together.

“Uhm… yes,” he began, slow and steady, like this wasn’t completely awkward. “You know Summer, I think. She’s right there. She’s… a friend.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A friend?” The laugh threatened to slip out, but you bit it back.

“She’s a big fan of yours,” he said, smoothing his hands over his knees like he needed something to do with them. His voice was careful, almost rehearsed.

“So I’ve heard,” you replied, lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That must be fun for you.”

Yoongi let out a quiet breath, eyes closing briefly like he was trying not to react. You watched the flicker of tension in his jaw before he forced his features back into something neutral.

“She’s been asking me for a while… if I could get you to sign something for her.”

“For her?” You tilted your head, just slightly.

He nodded once.

Yoongi was a lot of things, sure—but you never thought he was this much of a fucking idiot.

Honestly, you almost wanted to laugh. The fact that he had the audacity to come over to your table, while you were minding your own business, just to ask for an autograph—for a girl—was nearly hilarious.

Oh, but you were going to make sure he knew that.

“Because she’s my fan, you’re saying?” You asked, just because you wanted another confirmation. Of all the girls Yoongi could date, he chose the one who was your number one fan. He nodded again, this time with more hesitation. “Did you already tell her no? Because that’s my answer.”

“Yes, I already told her no, but she insisted.” He sighed. “Many times, actually.”

“That’s cute.” You smiled, voice laced with amusement. “Did you watch my movies with her too, or was that part too awkward?”

He glanced away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was biting back a retort. “Come on…”

“I’m not on celebrity duty right now,” you said, flipping the page of your book without looking at it. 

“I know, I know…” He sighed again, shifting in his seat. His knee bumped the table lightly. “She didn’t want to bother you. She’s shy. So she asked me. Because… she knows I know you.”

Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, but your mouth twitched.

That was one way to describe you had sex, you wanted to say.

The truth was that you didn’t have a problem with an autograph. It was bitter, you knew, you could easily do it, but you simply did not want to. 

“Sounds like you really wanted me to say yes so you wouldn’t have to say no to her.” You pouted. 

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

Well, you were wrong, you thought.

“I told you, I’m practically on vacation.” You leaned back, eyeing him. “I’m not giving you an autograph so you can fuck some chick.”

He shut his eyes for a second, like he was counting to ten. “She’s my mom’s nurse.”

You shrugged. “I’m not giving you an autograph so you can fuck your mom’s nurse.”

He shook his head, biting back a laugh, then ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Can you just—do me a favor?”

“Why would I?” you challenged, chuckling.

He shrugged, voice low. “Honestly? I don’t know, maybe because she likes you.”

“Or because you like her?” you teased, pressing your palms together like you were praying for him. “I mean… doesn’t she mind?” You gave him a squinting look, full of fake concern. “Isn’t she the jealous type?”

“No—well, I don’t know. We’re not... it’s not like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flicking towards Summer, who was pretending not to look over.

He stayed quiet for a moment, staring down at the book in front of you—anything to avoid looking at you.

Then, just as he opened his mouth to plead one last time for the favor, you noticed her. Walking straight towards you, a bright, fixed smile on her face, like she was ready to hug you right then and there.

Before you could blink, Summer pulled a chair and slipped in between the two of you.

She settled into it like she owned the place, her smile steady as she glanced between you and Yoongi.

“Hi, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I felt weird just standing over there,” she said. You stayed there, with your mouth half open, you couldn’t find the words to answer. “I’m Summer, nice to meet you.”

She extended her hand awkwardly, and you hesitated before taking it. Despite what Yoongi said, she didn’t look shy at all. 

“Uh… hi?”

She laughed nervously, the bubbly sound filling your ears.

“I hope we’re not bothering you. Yoongi told me you two have been childhood friends.”

You forced a small, polite smile, carefully folding your hands on the table. “Nice to meet you, Summer.” Your voice was calm, but your eyes narrowed just slightly—this was not exactly how you pictured your afternoon going.

Yoongi shifted uneasily in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck like he’d just walked into a minefield. The sight of Summer sitting so close, so casual, made him visibly tense, his usual composure nowhere to be found.

“So,” you said, keeping your tone light but deliberate, “Yoongi mentioned you wanted my autograph?”

Summer’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a hint of nervous energy beneath it. “Yeah, I’m a big fan, I adored you in Dog Days.” she said, glancing at Yoongi for reassurance.

He cleared his throat, eyes darting between you both. “If it’s not too much trouble….” he added, sounding more like he was begging than asking.

You looked at Yoongi through your lashes, silently cursing him for putting you in this position. But then again, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, too.

And you, more than anything, wanted to be an asshole and say no. You didn’t owe them anything, you’d been enjoying your time alone before they walked in, before both of them sat beside you like they were invited. You could say no.

You meant what you said: you were on vacation. You didn’t want to be a celebrity here, not now, not after everything that happened with Ian and the press. And even if you knew that signing a piece of paper wouldn’t truly disturb your peace, you still didn’t want to.

Of course, it wasn’t about the autograph. It was about her—bright and sweet and everything you weren’t. And it was about him—sitting with her, making her laugh, trying to impress her with your signature, stumbling to your table like he didn’t know how much it bothered you to see him there.

Well. You had to remind yourself you were trying not to be a bitch.

And sure, you’d agreed to a truce, though at this point, it was starting to feel like bullshit. Why did it seem like this truce benefited him more than you? What was in it for you? 

Whatever, it was fine, it wouldn’t kill you to sign an autograph, not completely, at least. 

You reached for your bag, and searched for a loose pen between your books. 

“Well, I’m not exactly working today, but I suppose I can’t say no to my old friend’s... friend.”

Yoongi let out a relieved breath, though the tension didn’t fully leave his shoulders. 

You grabbed a piece of paper and signed it, your eyes catching Summer’s excited smile. You briefly wondered what she was going to do with it. 

No one asked you for autographs these days, only outside the theater after a performance, and even then, it was almost always just programs. But you were kind of grateful for that. You could handle signing a piece of paper, but not taking a picture with Summer. She would post it somewhere, tag you, and then maybe you’d have to see it—see the difference between the two of you captured forever, impossible to forget, impossible to erase from your memory.

You didn’t know why you were feeling so insecure, it was like you were fourteen years old all over again, like you were uncomfortable in your own skin. 

When you handed her the paper, she smiled and said thank you, and you knew that was your cue to go. You didn’t want to be here anymore.

You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “Okay, guys. I’m leaving.”

She looked up at you with wide eyes, visibly disappointed. “Already?” she asked, as if you’d ever planned on staying.

“Yeah, I’ve got work to do at The Alle, you know, the Halloween party and all…” you said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. You had offered to help organize the party. But right now, it made a perfect excuse to get out of this mess.

“Oh, will you be there?” She asked, hopeful. 

You pressed your lips together and nodded. “Yeah, of course.” You were obligated to say you were going, even if you changed your mind at the last minute. You and Minnie had agreed it would help boost ticket sales if people knew you’d be there.

“That’s amazing, we’ll be there for sure. Right, Yoongi?” she said, nudging his arm.

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a small nod. “Yeah. For sure.”

You grabbed your wallet and left a tip, ready to leave. “See you, then.” 

Then, you walked to the door, stepping outside. 

The cold hit you before you even made it down the steps, sharp and bracing — a reminder that it was still autumn, no matter how much someone like Summer could make it feel like June inside.

You tried not to think about it as you crossed the street, going back to The Alley. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this wasn’t how you imagined things happening. 

You didn’t want to be in the same room as Yoongi and his new girl. You didn’t want to make small talk, or pretend to be okay with all of it. You’d grown strangely comfortable with your resentment — it had kept you warm, in a way. You’d never really wanted a truce. There was a thought, a bitter little thing, that crept in during your worst moments: if you couldn’t forget, then maybe you didn’t want to forgive either.

You didn’t want him to smile at you, to be polite and correct and show you kindness. You wanted him to look at you and be reminded of every single thing he said to you. You wanted it to make his stomach squirm. You wanted him to avoid your gaze, to feel the need to leave the room every time you walked in — because there was no universe where you could both share oxygen without suffocating each other trying.

It was strange, but you couldn’t stop the thought. You couldn’t stop the feeling.

You wanted a shiver to run down his spine every time he looked at you, because the only thing he could see in your eyes was the memory of that night.

And maybe, by wishing that, you were admitting that the last bits of your sanity had disappeared the moment he offered one of those kind smiles. Because you’d rather know it hurt him to see you than believe he felt nothing at all.

You didn’t look back. But inside, behind the window, Yoongi did.

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[prodagustd]

guys I could cry honestly

FINALLYYYY!!! IM CRYING WE MADE IT