#You guys are TOO NICE TAT 💕💕💕 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

junghelioseok · 4 years ago

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it takes two.

↳ struggling with the idea of your ex-boyfriend moving on, you enlist the help of your quiet roommate in a scheme that quickly spirals out of control.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fake dating!au | roommate!au ◇ 29.8k [1/1]

⇢ full (and by full, i mean less vague) summary: you don’t need retrospect to tell you that dating a coworker was a bad idea. two months after your breakup, he seems to have moved on to someone new—and quite happily, if his social media is to be believed. meanwhile, the only new thing in your life is your roommate, jungkook, who seems nice enough. just nice enough to coax into coming to your company’s annual holiday party, and more than handsome enough to show off a little bit. or, as it turns out, a lot.

notes: my contribution to the once upon a holiday... collab with the lovely @underthejoon, @fantasybangtan, @kpopfanfictrash, @lamourche, @hobidreams, and @suga-kookiemonster! shoutout to @bendthekneetobangtan as well, who is the best cheerleader of all time 💕

warnings: this fic is just 3 (dozen) tropes in a trenchcoat, aNd ThEy WeRe RoOmAtEs, slow burn, one (1) awkward boner, tatted!kook, long-haired!kook, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, jk’s big dick, squirting. not as edited as i would like but oh well 🤷🏻‍♀️

You feel sick.

Your heart stutters in your chest, missing two whole beats before taking off into a strident gallop that hammers dangerously against the slats of your ribcage. Warmth rushes to your cheeks, unbidden, and spreads through your veins like wildfire. Sour bile rises up in your throat, and no matter how you try to swallow it down, it refuses to dissipate—just like the photograph lighting up your phone screen.

The photograph of your ex-boyfriend, his face creased into that familiar dimpled smile and his arm wrapped snugly around his new girlfriend.

Maybe you’re being dramatic, but you imagine that this is what it feels like to witness a car accident or watch a building go up in flames. The sight is horrific, your heart twisting painfully in on itself, and yet you can’t tear yourself away. It’s only when your phone begins to buzz in your hand, the sound loud as a gunshot in the silence, that you break out of your trance. Your best friend’s grinning face eclipses that of your ex-boyfriend and his companion, and you take a moment to gather yourself before swiping to answer.

“Hi, Minnie,” you sigh into the receiver. “What’s up?”

Your best friend, as always, forgoes all preamble. “Did you see it?”

Resignedly, you plop down in one of the chairs in the dining room, propping your chin in your palm. “I saw,” you confirm, your voice small.

Jimin grunts. “Good, because I have thoughts,” he declares bluntly. “She’s not even as pretty as you. And her fashion sense? Atrocious. A crime against humanity. Probably a violation of the Geneva Convention, too. And if not, it should be.”

He’s trying to make you feel better, and you know it. Throughout your years of friendship, Jimin has always been the one to pull you out of the dark places you occasionally find yourself lost in, dragging you out of your spiraling misery and keeping you sane. But today, you’re unwilling to let him drag you out.

Today, you want to wallow.

“She looks nice,” you mumble, putting him on speaker and thumbing back over to the photograph. “Cute, too. I guess it was just a matter of time before he moved on, huh?”

On the other end of the line, Jimin clicks his tongue. “It’s been, what, two months? I say good riddance. Throw the whole man away.”

You snort. “Pretty hard to do when you work with the guy. And please—don’t lecture me again. I know dating a coworker was a bad idea, okay?”

Jimin sighs, and even without seeing him, you know he’s running a frazzled hand through his hair. “Fine, fine. I won’t. But what are you gonna do about the party?”

There it is—the question you’ve been dreading. Every year, your company throws a lavish holiday party, renting out space in one of the fanciest hotels in the city and filling it full of drinks, food, and general merriment. You, like the rest of your colleagues, look forward to it all year, and this Christmas marks your fourth company party. But now that Namjoon won’t be by your side for the festivities, your heart sinks down to somewhere around your toes. “I don’t know yet,” you admit. “Do you think he’ll bring her?”

“Probably,” Jimin answers honestly. “Will you be okay if he does?”

You exhale heavily and wake your phone screen, staring wistfully down at Namjoon’s smiling face. “I don’t know,” you repeat. “Maybe I should just skip.”

Jimin snorts. “What, and wallow in your own misery all night? Absolutely not. You still have a few weeks, right? That’s enough time to secure a hot date to the stupid thing. Show him that you’re not the only one who’s moved on.”

It’s your turn to snort. “You know I’m not ready to start dating again,” you tell him bluntly. “Or have you forgotten about my plan to move to the forest and live with a dozen cats? Why don’t you just come to the party with me instead?”

He hums thoughtfully. “Namjoon knows me, though. You need to go with someone he doesn’t know—someone that will make him wonder. Someone like—”

The front door opens with a bang, cutting Jimin off mid-sentence and revealing your roommate standing in the entryway with flushed cheeks and a sheepish grin. “Hi,” he says, checking the wall behind the door to make sure it hasn’t been dented. “Sorry about that. It’s really windy outside.”

“Is that Jungkook?” Jimin’s voice filters through the speaker. “Hey, Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks at you and mouths, Jimin? When you nod, he chuckles and pulls off his black beanie, raking a tattooed hand through his tousled hair. He’s clearly just returned from a run, his cheeks flushed from exertion and cold, and you flash him a small smile as he grabs a clean glass from the cabinet and fills it to the brim with water from the sink. “Hey, Jimin,” he says after he takes a long gulp. “What are you two up to?”

“Dastardly schemes, among other things,” Jimin says breezily, the smile evident in his voice. “We were just talking about you, actually.”

You frown, confused. Jungkook’s brows disappear behind the shaggy fringe falling across his forehead, and you meet his curious gaze and shrug before looking back at the device in your hand. “We were?”

Even through the phone, you can sense the smugness radiating off of your best friend. “Of course we were. Namjoon might know me, but he sure as hell doesn’t know Jungkook. It’s perfect.”

There’s a beat of silence as the meaning behind his words sinks in, and then your jaw drops. “Jimin, no! Are you insane?”

“Only a little bit,” Jimin replies. “But I’m also right. It’s a good idea, and you know it.”

“It’s a terrible idea, and you know it,” you retort, slapping a hand to your forehead.

From his spot in the kitchen, Jungkook raises his hand, looking thoroughly perturbed and still holding half a glass of water. “Um, hello? Does someone want to fill me in here?”

“Sure, dude,” Jimin replies. “{Name} wants you to be her fake date to a party. You in?”

You nearly fall out of your chair. “That’s not—! You can’t just—oh my god, Jimin.” Spluttering helplessly, you cast your roommate a beseeching look. “Jungkook. You went to college with Jimin, so I don’t have to apologize for his insane behavior, right? Please. Please don’t listen to him.”

“Au contraire, you should listen to me,” Jimin cuts in, sounding affronted. “I don’t see you coming up with a better idea.”

You throw your hands up in the air. “I was just going to skip!”

“Lame,” Jimin snorts. “Not to mention cowardly. Don’t you want to get back at Namjoon?”

“It’s not high on my list of priorities, no!”

“Huh. Well then. Jungkook, how would you like a free dinner two Saturdays from now?”

Jungkook, who has been following your conversation with an expression caught somewhere between bemusement and amusement, visibly perks up at the mention of food. “Dinner?”

“Okay, no.” Dropping your phone down onto the kitchen counter, you wave your hands in protest. “Everyone needs to hang on and take a big fucking step backwards. This is an insane idea. Actually, it’s barely even an idea. It’s terrible, and I’m not doing it.”

When Jimin speaks again, you’re positive that he’s rolling his eyes. “Why not? Give me one good reason. The two of you live together, anyway, so you’re either going to get drunk at the house with Jungkook, or you’re going to go to a super fun party and get drunk with Jungkook. Why wouldn’t you choose the free party?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because my ex-boyfriend is going to be at the free party?” You huff. “Besides, I’m sure Jungkook doesn’t want to come. He probably has way better things to do.”

“Um.” Jungkook raises his hand again. “I’m still here, you know.”

Emboldened, Jimin starts addressing him directly. “Free dinner and free booze, Jungkook,” he says. “And {Name}’ll do all the dishes for a month.”

“I am absolutely not going to do that,” you cut in, but your best friend pays you no mind.

“So? Whaddaya think?”

Jungkook shrugs, his gaze flitting over to you tentatively. “I don’t really have anything else going on that day,” he admits slowly. “So, sure. Why not?”

It’s a wonder your jaw hasn’t detached entirely by the end of his casual acquiescence. “Jungkook—” you begin, but the words to finish your sentence prove evasive. Your roommate is painfully handsome—you’d have to be blind not to see that. The sweatshirt he’s wearing runs about three sizes too big, but his black joggers leave very little to the imagination and it’s near impossible not to notice the definition of his thighs beneath the fleecy material. Jungkook takes tall, dark, and handsome to a whole new level—and his inky tattoos and obvious athleticism are the bright ribbon that ties the whole package together.

And it would be so easy to instill jealousy in your ex by bringing Jungkook to the holiday party. It would be the easiest thing in the world.

“Are you sure?” you finally croak.

Jungkook offers you a crooked little smile—one that shows off his adorably prominent front teeth and dimples one of his cheeks. “I’m not really one to turn down free food and booze.”

On the other end of the line, Jimin claps his hands in delight. “It’s settled, then,” he crows. “Should we seal the deal with a kiss, or—?”

You jab at the screen of your phone, missing the end call button several times before finally finding your mark. “Goodbye, Jimin.”

The line goes dead, and in the absence of your best friend’s laughter, the silence that falls over you and Jungkook is deafening. “I can’t believe you want to come to this party,” you say at last, breaking the lull when it finally becomes too much. “It’s not too late to back out, you know. Jimin will never know.”

Jungkook shrugs—his shoulders shifting beneath his baggy black sweatshirt. “Like I said, I don’t have anything else going on. Besides, Jimin’s actually right for once. You should go. Just because your ex will be there doesn’t mean you have to miss out on a fancy work perk.” Then he grins. “Plus, I’m pretty sure I can nail this fake date thing. I’ll hold your hand and laugh at all your jokes.”

His grin is infectious, you realize, as your lips begin tugging upward at the corners. “Well consider me sold,” you tell him. “You’re hired, Jeon.” Reaching out, you extend a hand for him to shake.

Jungkook laughs and takes it, his warm fingers curling around yours. “Then it’s a date.”

///

“So, I think we should lay down some ground rules.”

It’s barely ten in the morning, and Jungkook has clearly just woken up if his drooping lids and petulant frown are any indication. He’s seated at the tall counter that divides the kitchen from the living room, midway through a bowl of cereal, and you watch him blink blearily in your direction as you enter the kitchen and open the fridge. “Mmm,” he hums.

A little over a month into cohabitating with Jeon Jungkook, and you’ve slowly grown more adept at deciphering the half-coherent mumbles he makes before he’s fully cognizant in the mornings. Taking this one as a sign that he is, in fact, listening to what you have to say, you continue. “First off, you’re sworn to secrecy, got it? Jimin’s enough of a blabbermouth as it is, and while I don’t think he’ll tell anyone, I just—” You sigh. “I want to make sure it looks like we’re actually… dating. Namjoon’s on Instagram a lot, so we might want to take a few photos together and post some stuff about each other. And maybe we should… actually go on a date?”

Jungkook looks up from his bowl so quickly you fear he might have snapped his neck, and you immediately backtrack. “It’s totally cool if you don’t want to!” you amend, sticking your head into the fridge and rooting around for some orange juice so you don’t have to look him in the eye. “We can just… I don’t know. Snap a photo every now and then on the way to the grocery store or something. No big deal.”

“Mmmph,” Jungkook says. He swallows his mouthful of cereal, his upper lip painted white, and you silently grab a paper towel from the roll and hand it to him. “Thanks,” he grunts, wiping at his mouth.

“Sure.”

There’s a pause—one that lasts several beats until Jungkook breaks it. “We do have to go to the grocery store soon,” he says, jabbing a thumb at the admittedly sad state of your refrigerator. “There’s a park on the way there—you know the one I’m talking about? The one with the fountain?” At your nod, his lips quirk up. “Maybe we can have our fake date there. Take photos, and all that.”

You blink. “Really? You’re willing to do it?”

He shrugs and drops his spoon back into his bowl with a clatter. “Sure. You wanna go today? I still have to shower and get dressed—” he gestures down at his baggy flannel pants and oversized t-shirt, “—but I can be quick.”

“I’ll eat fast,” you agree, grabbing the loaf of bread off the counter and shoving two slices into the toaster. “Leave in an hour?”

Jungkook nods and stands up, rinsing out his bowl and dropping it into the dishwasher. You plop down into his abandoned seat with your breakfast, watching as he masks a yawn with his hand before shuffling back down the hallway to his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. Taking a bite out of your toast, you pull your phone out of your pocket with your free hand and thumb through your latest notifications. Your heart sinks when you see an update from one kimdaily, but you click it open nonetheless, steeling your nerves for what you might see.

The photograph, when it loads, is of Namjoon standing in front of a row of pine trees, his ashy silver hair tucked beneath a black beanie. You barely make it through the caption—something about Christmas tree shopping with his best friend and the love of his life, and how lucky he is that they’re one and the same—before slapping your phone back down onto the counter and willing your racing heart to calm. The bubble of emotion welling up in your chest threatens to burst forth from your throat, and you quickly drain the glass of juice at your elbow before standing up to pour yourself another.

That’s how Jungkook finds you fifteen minutes later—standing at the sink with your glass in hand. His hair is still dripping from the shower, a red towel draped around his neck to catch any stray water droplets, and when he approaches you can smell the vague scent of bergamot wafting your way. He’s dressed in ripped jeans and a blue and gray sweater, and it’s all you can do to return the smile he flashes you as he fishes his black Timberlands out of the hall closet.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

You take a deep breath and set down your glass, nodding. Grabbing your purse from its spot near the door, you shove two reusable canvas grocery bags inside before slipping into your jacket. Jungkook shrugs on his own coat, patting his pockets to check for his wallet and keys, and, upon verifying both, gestures for you to exit first so he can lock the door behind the two of you.

There’s a noticeable chill in the air as you step out onto the front steps of your townhouse—a hint of impending winter in every breath you take. The streets aren’t too crowded yet, and you’re grateful for that as you and Jungkook set off in the direction of the grocery store. Inhaling deeply, you let your feet carry you on autopilot as your mind wanders.

“{Name}?” Jungkook’s voice breaks you out of your reverie. “We’re here.”

Startled, you glance up—first at him, and then at your surroundings. “This isn’t the store.”

He chuckles. “We’re stopping at the park, remember?” And instead of teasing or making you feel like an idiot, he simply veers off the main sidewalk and onto the meandering cobblestone path that winds through the entirety of the park, cutting through the fading grass and weaving in and out of a grove of trees desperately clinging on to the last of their browning leaves.

For a few minutes, the two of you stroll in silence. Jungkook—though you’ve only known him for a month and a half—is a comfortable presence to be around, and is an exceedingly considerate roommate on top of that. You’d had your qualms back when Jimin introduced him to you as the friend of a friend from university, but your last roommate had just moved out and you were sadly lacking the resources to cover rent by yourself. Jungkook moved in mere weeks after your breakup with Namjoon, and never so much as blinked when you brought a pint of ice cream to bed three nights in a row. And while you aren’t sure that you’d consider him a friend just yet, the potential is certainly there.

Putting aside the current boyfriend ruse, of course.

“Hey,” you murmur as the two of you reach a particularly picturesque curve in the path. “Stand still for a second.”

Jungkook obligingly pauses mid-step, blinking against the morning sunlight before looking up at the phone you’ve angled in his direction. “Picture for the ‘gram?” he asks, and you nod.

It takes a few moments for the camera to focus, but when it does, you snap the photo and zoom in to take a closer look. Jungkook joins you, peering curiously over your shoulder, and you tilt the screen so he can see better. “What do you think? Not bad, right?”

“Not bad,” he replies, and you take that as approval to make your post. Opening up Instagram, you worry your bottom lip for a moment before tapping a few keys.

“How’s that?” you ask once you’ve posted the photo, showing him your screen. Simultaneously, Jungkook’s own phone buzzes in his pocket with a notification.

“Nice hashtag,” he remarks, chuckling. “Can we talk about how terrible the last season of that show was, though?”

“Oh my god, yes,” you reply, throwing your hands up into the air. “Shall I start? What was up with Jon and Dany, anyway?”

Ten minutes later, you arrive at the grocery store, still fuming about the Lannister siblings’ nonsensical demise as you enter through the sliding automatic doors. Jungkook grabs a cart, and you follow after him as he pushes it past the display of bananas right at the entrance. “Need any fruit?” he asks.

You nod, picking out a few apples from a nearby pile and placing them gingerly in a bag. “We’re running low on onions and garlic; can you grab those? I’ll meet up with you in the dairy aisle once I’m done here.”

Obediently, Jungkook trots off, leaving you with the cart. You take your time perusing the remainder of the fruit section, carefully picking out what you want, and you’re just about to move on to the vegetables when your phone buzzes.

[11:21am] Jungkook: almost forgot, can you grab a few oranges and some spinach for me?

You text back in the affirmative and tuck your phone back into your pocket. By the time you finally make it to the dairy aisle, Jungkook is already there, holding a full gallon of milk and toting a half-filled basket that has significantly more in it than just onions and garlic.

“What else did you get?” you ask curiously.

He shrugs. “Bread, cheese. Some cold brew.”

You wouldn’t have pinned your dark-haired, dark-clothed, and tattooed roommate as a french vanilla kind of guy, but the little blue label on the bottle is impossible to dispute. The sight has your lips curling up at the edges, and Jungkook raises an eyebrow when he spots your expression.

“What?”

Still smiling, you shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

///

Several days pass before your next excursion—as you’ve taken to calling them—with Jungkook. The weather forecast predicted overcast skies and scattered showers this morning, but neither of those matter where you’re currently standing, waiting in line to get your shoes. Behind you, a raucous cheer goes up as a mess of bowling pins crashes to the ground.

When you return to your designated lane, Jungkook has already slipped out of his black Timberlands and is waiting for you in socked feet, wiggling his toes in the pinstriped wool. They’re a stark contrast to the rest of his black ensemble, a matching black baseball cap perched atop his wavy hair, and you raise an eyebrow at the sight. “Are those candy cane socks?” you ask in amazement, and Jungkook grins and nods in affirmation.

A burst of laughter escapes you, high and bright in the neon air. The bowling alley rings with the sounds of clattering pins, the entire room smelling of pizza grease and whatever wax they use on the lanes, but all of that fades into the background as you and Jungkook lace up your shoes and pick out your bowling balls. “So, how good are you at bowling, anyway?” you ask, settling on a deep blue ball that’s marbled through with white and silver like a tiny galaxy.

Jungkook hefts his own ball—hot bubblegum pink flecked with varying shades of the same color—and flashes you a mischievous grin. “Why don’t we start playing and find out?”

Suspiciously, you narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t like the sound of that.” Nonetheless, you take your spot at the top of the lane, turning around to watch as Jungkook inputs your names into the computer that monitors your score. “Ready?”

Jungkook gives you a double thumbs-up. “Ready.”

It’s been many years since you’ve last gone bowling. Your fingers feel awkward in the holes, and the weight of the ball is unwieldy against your open palm. Steeling yourself, you take a few steps forward before releasing the ball, watching as it rolls laboriously down the lane. It veers off course halfway down, and you shake your head as it takes out a single pin at the very corner of the formation.

“Well,” you remark, turning back to face your companion, “at least I didn’t embarrass myself completely with a gutter ball.”

Jungkook laughs. “Hey, look on the bright side. Maybe you’ll get a spare.”

“Maybe that’s wishful thinking,” you retort, reclaiming your ball from the machine and rolling it down the lane once more. This time, it stays on course, knocking over four more pins, and you sigh as you plop down onto the chair next to Jungkook. “In my defense, I was probably fourteen the last time I went bowling.” you tell him. “Your turn.”

Jungkook is already halfway out of his seat. He grabs his pink ball and comes to a stop in the center of the lane, and you watch as he rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath, standing deathly still for one long, lingering moment. Then he’s stepping off, his strides as quick as they are smooth, throwing his leg and arm out to one side just before he rears back and releases his bowling ball.

And all the pins at the end of the lane come crashing down, because of course they do.

“Guess that’s a strike,” Jungkook says, glancing back at you. He’s fighting a smile, his lips twitching at the corners, and you fix him with a mock glare as he takes a seat beside you once more.

“So this is why you suggested bowling. You’re some kind of pro.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” he protests, the irrepressible smile finally breaking across his face. “I’ll teach you, if you want. It’s not that hard once you get the hang of it.”

“Easy for you to say,” you grumble, just loud enough so that he can hear you over the raucous bowling alley noise. Still, you follow after him as he stands up to retrieve your ball, and accept it when he hands it over. He grabs his own ball as well, and motions for you to watch closely as he slowly mimes out the motions of his step and release method.

“Make sense?” he asks once he’s finished, straightening back up to his full height.

You frown. “I’m not sure, honestly. I still don’t really understand how your leg ends up where it does.”

“You mean this?” Jungkook crouches down and sweeps his leg backward again, throwing his arm out for balance as well. When you nod, he hums in understanding and sets his ball down. “Here, maybe it’ll help if I walk you through it. May I?”

His palm is mere inches from your shoulder, and you realize, with a start, that he’s asking for permission to touch you. The thoughtfulness of the gesture has your heart pounding, skipping several beats before racing to catch up.

“Sure,” you say once your heartbeat has settled back into an even cadence. “I guess you can try to make me a better bowler. Don’t think you’ll have much luck, though.”

That earns you a chuckle, his breath hot against the nape of your neck as he steps behind you and gently taps your arm. “Can’t fault a guy for trying,” he says. “Here, step off on this side, okay? You can hold the ball with both hands right now, but you’ll want to start pulling it back around the second step or so.”

You take one step forward and raise your opposite foot to take a second. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, his voice soft. He’s close enough to prickle your skin with gooseflesh by this point, moving with you to guide each of your motions, and your breath hitches when he reaches around you to grasp your hand in his larger one. “Now pull your arm back, like this. You want all the momentum you can get.”

“Right,” you whisper, letting him take the lead. His chest is nearly flush with your back, his lips at your ear, and your cheeks warm as he gently urges your arm back, his fingers winding around your wrist until the pad of his thumb presses against your pulsepoint. His free hand finds the elbow of your other arm, nudging it outward to help you maintain your balance as you swing forward to release the ball. Vaguely, you wonder if he can feel the sudden uptick in your heart rate.

“Here’s where the leg comes in,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Sweep it back and to the side like—yeah, exactly like that! Nice.”

Without warning, Jungkook steps back, and you very nearly lose your balance when the warmth of his body disappears. Luckily, you’ve already let go of the bowling ball by then, and its trajectory remains unimpacted by your stumble. Eight pins tumble to the ground, and you let out a delighted cheer as your ball disappears into the depths and begins its unseen journey back to you. “Did you see that?” you ask, whirling around to look at Jungkook. “Eight!”

Jungkook is already on his way over to give you a congratulatory high-five, his eyes sparkling in the neon glow of the bowling alley and his face lit up with a grin. “That was awesome,” he says. “Now, why don’t we see if you can get those other two pins?”

///

If picking up spares is an art form, then Jeon Jungkook is Pablo Picasso. No matter how many pins he knocks down in the first frame, he always manages to get the rest in the second, and you watch on in amazement as his score crawls ever higher, aided by two strikes in a row. “One forty-six,” you sigh, shaking your head at him as he plops down into his chair and throws back a giant sip of soda. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Eighty isn’t a bad score,” Jungkook replies, trying and failing to hide a satisfied grin as he recaps his bottle. “Really.”

“Easy for you to say when you scored sixty-six more points than me,” you retort, sticking out your tongue at him. “Honestly. Who just bowls a one forty-six like it’s nothing?”

Jungkook shrugs and bends down to unlace his shoes. “Three hundred is a perfect score.”

“You say that like you’ve done it before.”

“God, no.” He snorts. “That’s league-level stuff, and even then, it’s hard as fuck. The highest I’ve ever bowled is a one eighty-five.”

Laughing, you reach down to loosen your own laces. “I’d be over the moon if I ever got a score that high. Hell, I’d be happy breaking a hundred.”

“Hey, you were getting pretty good by the end,” he points out, toeing off his bowling shoes and slipping his feet back into his trusty Timberlands. “We can come back sometime. Practice a little more.”

“You’re talking about coming back, but I don’t think I can even leave.” Exasperated, you lean back in your seat and stare down at the laces on your shoes, which have somehow gotten tangled up into an enormous knot. The harder you tug, the more it seems to tighten, and you groan when trying to pry the shoe off only results in an ache in your heel. “Ow, goddammit. How does this even happen?”

“It would probably help if you stopped pulling so hard, for starters,” Jungkook says dryly. Dropping down to his knees, he nudges your hands away and replaces them with his own. “Here, quit doing that and let me help. I’m pretty good with knots.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do I want to know why?”

Jungkook glances up at you with a crooked little smile and a twinkle in his eye. “I was a Boy Scout. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Mmhmm. Sure you were,” you tease.

Thirty seconds later, Jungkook lets out a triumphant little exclamation. The knot in your laces is gone, and you gratefully slip out of the uncomfortable bowling shoes and back into your own boots. Together, the two of you return your footwear to the counter before heading for the exit, the fresh air a welcome change from the smell of frying oil and spilled soda. The sky outside is steadily darkening into evening, a light drizzle dampening the sidewalk at your feet, and you wordlessly pull out your umbrella. Beside you, Jungkook does the same.

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops fills the hush that’s fallen between you as you walk past the myriad maze of downtown shops, a soothing overhead melody as you head back toward your shared home.

///

A week passes, and after a stressful workday and several forced interactions with your ex-boyfriend, you and Jungkook find yourselves at a rooftop restaurant just a few blocks away from your home. You’re seated beneath a crisscross of string lights that have yet to be turned on, the glass bulbs reflecting the light of the setting sun, and much like your fellow diners, you are looking forward to enjoying the final warm day of the season. Sounds of laughter and chatter fill the open air, intermingling with the soft clink of silverware against plates and backed by the muted hum of traffic from below.

Today marks your third and final excursion with Jungkook, and you fully intend to treat him to a nice dinner as a thank you for the last couple of weeks. He’s been nothing but amenable since agreeing to go along with your scheme, and you’re beyond grateful for his support. You have no doubt that your ex has seen all the photographs you’ve been posting, and wonder what—if anything—Namjoon is thinking.

Then again, you suppose you’ll find out all about that tomorrow. In the meantime, you’ll enjoy a nice meal with your roommate, and maybe a cocktail or two. But first—

“Ready?” you ask, pulling out your phone and thumbing over to the camera.

Jungkook nods. He’s wearing what you recognize as his nice jeans—a faded pair with only one small rip per knee—and coupled them with a collared shirt in deep navy. The first few buttons are undone, a striped tie sitting loosely at the hollow of his throat, and every time he shifts in his seat you’re afforded a glimpse of the black ink that trails along the right side of his clavicle.

“Can you move to the left a little bit?” you ask. “I can barely see your face right now—it’s all shadowy.”

Jungkook complies, leaning slightly and turning his head toward the light. The setting sun illuminates him in hazy gold, lending him an almost ethereal glow, and you snap several photos before you realize you’ve taken way more than you need.

“Good,” you tell him, swallowing thickly. “That’s good. Here, take a look.”

Jungkook peers curiously at your phone, swiping through the photos you’ve taken, and you take the opportunity to sip at your water and gather your wits about you once more.

“So? What do you think?”

“I like this one,” Jungkook says, tapping your screen. You lean over to see the photograph he’s selected, and nod your agreement as he zooms in on it. Opening up Instagram, you create a new post, mulling briefly over the caption before deciding on something simple and hitting post.

You’re forced to put your phone away when your server stops by to take your drink order. Jungkook requests a pint of whatever beer they have on tap, and you decide on the house red—a mild pinot noir. By the time the server departs, your post already has several likes, as well as a comment from Jimin that simply reads: date night? 👉🏻👌🏻👀

You respond with a string of eye roll emojis. Jungkook has pulled out his own phone by this point, and you raise a curious eyebrow when he snorts out a laugh.

“Jimin?” you ask.

“Jimin,” he confirms with a nod. “I’m half-tempted to respond, but I’m not sure that I’ll come out unscathed.”

“You probably won’t, which means you really shouldn’t. That guy has emoji use down to a science, and it’s usually best to just ignore him—that’s what I do.” Laughing, you pick up your menu and scan the seasonal offerings. “Besides, we have way more important things to talk about, like appetizers. Do you want to share something?”

“Sure,” Jungkook says agreeably, flipping open his own menu and scanning the first page. “What were you thinking?”

“Everything they serve here is delicious, and I’m not even exaggerating,” you tell him as you grab the bottle of water the server left in the middle of the table and reach over to fill his glass. “Dinner’s on me tonight, so pick whatever you want. I’ll even waive my usual two-drink limit.”

Jungkook laughs. “Wow, really? I’m honored.”

“As you should be,” you tell him with a grin.

By the time your drinks arrive, the two of you have decided on your food as well. You take a sip of wine as the server departs again, leaning back in your chair, and let your gaze rove across the surrounding tables for a moment before speaking again.

“So. About tomorrow.”

Jungkook sets his beer down, the glass thumping gently against the wood. “The big day,” he agrees. “What do you need from me?”

His question gives you pause. You’ve known that he was going to act as your party date for weeks now, but you haven’t actually put much consideration into what that would actually entail. Thinking back to past years, you can safely assume that there will be live music, though you can’t remember the name of the band that was listed on your email invitation now. “Can you dance?” you blurt.

Jungkook doesn’t seem fazed by the sudden question. “A little bit,” he answers with a shrug. “Nothing fancy, but I can usually pull off a decent waltz if the occasion calls for it.”

“Even if the occasion calls for you to waltz to a questionable band cover of Despacito?” you ask, raising your eyebrows. Amusement etches its way across Jungkook’s face, his face creasing into a grin, and you suddenly notice that he has a freckle just beneath his bottom lip, just off from the center.

“You’re kidding.”

“I most certainly am not,” you reply, tearing your gaze away from his mouth. “The lead singer didn’t speak a word of Spanish, and the pronunciation was atrocious. I wish you’d heard it.”

“Me too.” Jungkook chuckles. “Any chance they’ll be back this year? Do you think they take requests?”

“Doesn’t hurt to ask,” you reply with a giggle, picking up your wine glass and taking another sip.

The last few rays of golden sunlight disappear beyond the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and red that slowly settle into dusky purples and cloudy blues. Overhead, the string lights turn on, illuminating the table in soft, warm light. Your appetizers arrive, and the server comes around to refill your drinks and bring you a fresh bottle of water.

“Well?” you ask as Jungkook takes his first bite.

“Mmmph,” he replies, his cheeks bulging. You grin, waiting for him to swallow, and he hides his laughter behind his palm as he washes everything down with a swig of water. “You weren’t kidding,” he says, already eyeing the plate for his next mouthful. “That might be the most delicious thing I’ve ever had.”

Pleased, you pick out a morsel of your own and pop it into your mouth. “Told you.”

“I never doubted you for a second,” he replies, picking up his fork in earnest and digging in again.

Comfortable silence settles over the two of you as the meal progresses. You’re halfway through your entrees, having just started a conversation about the merits of toe socks, when your phone buzzes against the wooden table and rattles your silverware against the ceramic of your plate. Picking it up reveals that kimdaily has once again made a post, and your heart does a backflip as you swipe open the notification.

They’re at an arcade. You recognize the venue immediately, having been there once before when you were still the subject of his photographs and social media posts. He’s grinning that dimpled grin that used to warm you from the inside out, his face occupying the entire left side of the photo. In the background, his girlfriend poses with a basketball, the scoreboard above the hoop lit with what must be a new high score.

Jungkook must sense the shift in your mood, because he stops mid-bite to glance up at you with round eyes. “What’s up?”

You let your phone screen go dark, dropping it back onto the table. “It’s nothing,” you tell him, and know you’ve been caught in a lie when his brow immediately furrows.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he asks, setting his fork down and wiping at his mouth with a napkin. “Come on, {Name}. What did he post now?”

Wordlessly, you unlock your phone and push it across the table. He scans the photograph quietly, his lips tugging down at the corners, and when he looks up again his expression is solemn.

“I kick ass at that game, you know.”

Taken aback, you blink. “What?”

He nods at the photo. “That basketball game. I’m fucking awesome. The secret is climbing over the divider and getting up close so you make every shot.”

A startled laugh leaves your lips, half amusement and half disbelief. “Are you admitting that you cheat?”

Jungkook shakes his head and taps his temple. “Of course not. I’m saying that I like to think outside the bun.”

Still laughing, you take your phone back and tuck it back into your pocket. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Maybe.” He picks up his abandoned fork to polish off the last of his meal, noisily scraping the plate clean of any lingering sauces. “But at least you’re not sad anymore.”

And he’s right. The realization hits you like a freight train, knocking the air out of your lungs for the span of several heartbeats and then a couple more. You’re sure that you’re gaping a little bit, lips parted to let out words that you haven’t yet formulated, but you’re thankfully spared from responding when the server returns to your table.

“Here’s your dessert,” she says, carefully setting an immaculately decorated plate down in the middle of the table.

Jungkook blinks dumbly as she sets down two clean forks, one on either side. “When did you order pie?”

You blink back, equally confused. “I didn’t. I think this might be a mistake.”

Your server smiles, shaking her head. “Nope, not a mistake. This is from the couple over there in the corner. They asked me to bring you a slice of our apple pie on them, and to wish you a very happy holiday season.”

Curiously, you glance at the indicated couple, as does Jungkook. They’re a man and woman well into their seventies, seated near the edge of the rooftop between a silvery heat lamp and a leafy green plant. Under the glow of the string lights, their gray hair shines like silver, and you can’t help but smile when you see that they’re holding hands across the table. Both of them smile when they catch your eye, and the woman waves cheerily. The man mimes bringing a fork to his mouth—a universal indicator for you to try the dessert they’ve so kindly bought—and you turn back to Jungkook and the sweet cinnamon aroma wafting off of the pie on the table.

“I guess we should eat,” you tell Jungkook, who’s already picked up his fork.

“Guess so,” he agrees, sizing up the slice. “Should we cut it in half? My knife is still clean, I think.”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. We’re supposed to be a couple, and that might look weird. Maybe we should both just try and stick to one side?”

He nods. “Fine by me.” Carefully, he slices through a crusty edge and brings it to his mouth, his eyes going wide before fluttering shut in appreciation. “Oh, wow. That’s incredible.”

Delicately, you bring a forkful to your mouth, savoring the sweetness that coats your tongue. “I told you that everything on the menu is good, didn’t I?”

“You sure did.” Jungkook takes another bite, making sure to stick to his designated half of the pie. “And now, you’ve set a really high bar for tomorrow. I seriously don’t know if this can be topped.”

“The caterers are good, but they aren’t this good,” you tell him. “You’d honestly have a much better meal if you just ditched and came back here instead.”

Jungkook chortles. “Are you trying to talk me out of going to the party the night before it starts? I’m starting to think that you really don’t want me there.”

“It’s not that,” you assure him, picking up your glass of water and taking a sip. “I’m just not looking forward to seeing him. It’s bad enough walking past his cubicle at work, and now I have to socialize? And then there’s his girlfriend, which…” You trail off. “Ugh. I’m pretty sure that meeting your ex’s new partner is one of the circles of hell.”

“It definitely should be, if it isn’t,” Jungkook agrees. Then he jabs a thumb into his chest. “But hey, I’ve got your back, remember? Boyfriend for hire, at your service. I accept payment in all manner of snacks.”

“This dinner should more than cover your fee, then,” you remark with a smile. “So what do you think we should tell everyone tomorrow? What’s our big romantic backstory?”

“Hmm.” Jungkook rubs his chin thoughtfully, staring off into the distance. “We met… at a bowling alley. I’m a league champion, you see, and when I saw you throw three gutter balls in a row, I knew you were a woman after my own heart.”

“Very romantic,” you tell him, laughing. “But you forgot the part where you gallantly fetched an ice pack when I dropped the ball on my toe.”

He slaps a hand to his heart. “How could I? Nursing you back to full health—that was when I fell in love.”

“And then you bowled a perfect three hundred, thanks to me cheering you on,” you add, grinning. “Won a big gold trophy shaped like a bowling pin, and everything.”

He grins back. “Of course. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Nighttime has well and truly fallen now. Far above the glow of the string lights, the moon takes her lofty throne—a silvery crescent bathing the city in pale luminescence. The first stars begin poking through the dark sky—diamond pinpricks against deep velvet—and your breath catches when you meet Jungkook’s gaze and see them all reflected there, as if the very constellations live in his eyes.

“We—” You glance away and clear your throat awkwardly. “We should probably come up with something a little more realistic.”

Jungkook hums in agreement, lingering amusement still creasing his face. “You’re right, they’ll never believe that I bowled a three hundred. Maybe I only bowled a two-ninety.”

Laughing, you reach across the table and thwack him on the forearm. “That’s not what I meant!”

“No?” He flashes you an impish grin. “My bad.”

In the end, you and Jungkook settle on telling people that you met in college—a lie that’s both easy to remember and doesn’t invite too many other questions. “Let’s say that we were in the same writing class,” you tell him, signing the check with a flourish and putting your credit card back into your wallet. “That would make sense, right? Everyone had to take a writing class in my school.”

“Same here,” Jungkook agrees. “There were some pretty fun topics, though. Some focused on pop culture, some focused on theology—I actually took one about writing satire. It was neat.”

You pull a face. “Lucky. I spent a semester analyzing political punditry. It was depressing.”

Jungkook mirrors your expression. “Nothing quite like watching a bunch of men in a room talking over each other,” he remarks, and you nod as he rises to his feet and grabs his black leather jacket off the back of his chair.

“Exactly.”

Standing up, you slip into your own coat, not even bothering to fasten the buttons. The temperature has dropped since the sun set, but it’s still far from being cold. Jungkook doesn’t zip up his jacket either, and the combination of the black leather layered over his loosely knotted tie and collared shirt does something funny to your insides.

“We should go thank that couple for the dessert,” you mumble, suddenly feeling shy, when someone lays a gentle hand on your forearm.

“Sorry to startle you, dear.” The gray-haired woman is standing there with a kind smile, her eyes twinkling behind gold-rimmed glasses. She casts a glance back at her husband, who’s seated at the table and in the process of paying their bill. “I do hope you enjoyed the pie tonight. It’s always been our favorite thing here.”

You lay your hand atop hers, returning her smile with one of your own. “It was delicious, thank you so much. You really shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble.”

The woman laughs. “Oh, nonsense, dear—we wanted to do it. You two make a lovely couple. In fact, you remind me a little bit of us, back when we were young.”

Cheeks warming, you glance over at Jungkook, whose ears have turned pink. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “You’re too kind.”

She just smiles again, taking his tattooed hand in both of hers and giving it a squeeze. Then she turns back to you and pulls you close, lowering her voice so that only you are privy to her next words.

“There’s nothing quite like a man who can make you laugh,” she whispers. “Hang on tight to this one, dear. He’s one of the good ones.”

You don’t get a chance to answer, or ask her for clarification. She turns on her heel and returns to her husband before you can even stammer out a single syllable, leaving you alone with a curious Jungkook and a small horde of butterflies fluttering in your belly.

“What was that all about?” he asks.

You take him in—his wavy hair parted across his forehead, his silver hoop earrings peeking out from amongst the dark strands. You take in the black leather of his jacket and the messy knot of the tie at his throat.

“It was nothing,” you tell him, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving him a soft push toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go back home.”

///

In the two months that you’ve now lived with Jeon Jungkook, you’ve come to several realizations. The first is that he’s near impossible to wake up when he really puts his mind to it—something you’re grateful for when you’re making a racket in your rush to get to work on time in the mornings. The second is that he’s a very mediocre cook, and subsists mostly on ramen, cereal, and the occasional pizza delivery.

And the third—which is completely unfair, considering his aforementioned diet—is that he is insanely, almost painfully attractive.

Jungkook cuts a striking figure, even amidst the dozens of formally dressed people lingering in and around the entrance to the hotel. He’s wearing all black as he so often does, but he’s exchanged his favorite baggy sweats for a fitted turtleneck and a tailored suit that you’d watched him dig out of the very back of his closet just a few hours prior. A silver belt buckle breaks his monochrome silhouette, matching the silver hoops and the single dangling chain in his ears. His dark hair, normally loose and shaggy or gathered up at his crown, has been swept back and slicked with gel to expose his undercut. Already, your entrance has garnered a few stares from your nosier colleagues, and you tighten your grip on Jungkook’s arm as you pass through the garland-wrapped doorway that leads into the ballroom.

Crystal chandeliers glimmer overhead like diamonds, suffusing the room in warm, effervescent light. Round tables draped in white linen are scattered throughout, the cutlery and glassware sparkling. A low stage rises up at the opposite end of the room, atop which the band is playing an upbeat holiday medley. Just beside the entrance sits a long rectangular table draped in the same linen as the rest, and Jungkook peers curiously at the little silver bags lining it in neat rows.

“Are these goody bags?” he asks, reaching out to peek inside the nearest one.

“Don’t,” you advise him before he can pick it up. “Unless you want a shitty water bottle and a keychain that unintentionally looks like a penis.”

Jungkook laughs and retracts his hand. “I’ve been on the lookout for a penis keychain, as a matter of fact.”

“Guess I know what to get you for Christmas, then.”

He chuckles. “Can’t wait. But in the meantime—” Jungkook glances left and right, before grabbing one of the silver bags and emptying its contents into its neighbor. Then he grabs a fistful of assorted candy from the crystal bowl at the very end of the table, filling up the bag to the brim and leaving you giggling in dumbfounded amazement.

Gradually, the two of you pick your way over to the open bar. People stop to greet you and chat, casting curious looks at the man beside you, but Jungkook plays the role of new boyfriend perfectly and his friendly smile never once wavers. News of your breakup with Namjoon has no doubt made it down, up, and through the grapevine, but everyone seems to be wise enough not to press the matter. Well wishes are exchanged, and you and Jungkook move on, getting your drinks and seeking about for an empty table.

“Looking for somewhere to sit?”

The voice comes from behind you, as deep as it is familiar, and you freeze midway through sipping your wine. Jungkook seems to sense your sudden apprehension as well, his arm tensing up in yours, and you instinctively pull him closer as you turn to face the speaker.

“Namjoon,” you murmur, thanking all your lucky stars that your voice comes out steady. “Hi.”

Your ex-boyfriend stands there, just as tall and handsome as you remember with his ashy hair swept back and off his forehead. He’s wearing a steely blue waistcoat and a matching jacket, paired with black slacks and a deep navy tie that you’re certain he didn’t knot himself. And though the sight of him is devastating, when he grins his trademark dimpled grin, your poorly mended heart does a backflip and flops straight into your churning stomach.

Jungkook, thankfully, is much more articulate than you are in your current state. Stepping forward, he extends a hand for Namjoon to shake, a genial smile creasing his face. “I’m Jungkook,” he says, his gaze flitting over to you for a brief second before he levels it up at Namjoon once again. “{Name}’s told me a lot about you.”

Namjoon’s grin fades into a polite smile as he accepts the proffered handshake, sizing the other man up. “All good things, I hope,” he says at last. “It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Jungkook replies evenly, before pulling back and looking at you. “But we really should be finding somewhere to sit. It looks like the party’s gonna get started soon, babe.”

Your throat goes dry at the term of endearment. “Right,” you manage, swallowing down what little saliva is in your mouth. “We should.”

“Hey, why don’t you come sit with us?” Namjoon gestures at the table behind him where a young woman is seated with her back to you, chatting animatedly with a waiter. “We’ve got plenty of room.” And before you can even open your mouth to protest, he’s ushering both of you toward a pair of empty chairs, clapping Jungkook on the back when he gracefully steps between you to take the seat next to your ex-boyfriend.

“Yo, {Name}!” Another familiar voice sounds from behind you—this one much more welcome. You turn to see your favorite work friend, Taehyung, approaching you with his longtime girlfriend—the two of them dressed in color coordinated outfits and wearing matching necklaces that look and twinkle like strings of multicolored holiday lights.

“Tae!” you exclaim, rising to your feet to give him a hug. “And Allie—hi! It’s been way too long!”

“No kidding!” Allie glares playfully at her boyfriend. “Tae’s trying to keep you all to himself, but I’m not going to let that happen. When are you free? We should grab coffee sometime.”

“Absolutely,” you promise. “As soon as all the holiday craziness is over, I’ll be sure to text you. Have you tried the new place on 17th and Main yet?”

“No, but I’ve been dying to!” Allie exclaims. “That settles it—we’re going. No boys allowed.”

“Deal,” you laugh.

With Taehyung and Allie, your table is now full. Namjoon introduces everyone to his girlfriend, Mia—a curly-haired brunette who is just as bubbly and warm as the photos make her seem, and is completely impossible not to like. You, likewise, introduce Jungkook to the table, doing your best to avoid Namjoon’s gaze as you lay a hand on Jungkook’s arm.

“Gosh, you guys are cute,” Mia gushes. “How did you meet?”

Your rehearsed answer comes easily. “We met our freshman year of college.”

“We were in the same writing class our sophomore year,” Jungkook says at the same time, wincing when he realizes what just happened. “I mean—“

“We met freshman year, but we didn’t really get to know each other until later,” you clarify quickly, kicking his foot underneath the table. “A few months ago, we reconnected, and, well…” You glance over at him, mustering up the most genuine smile you can. “Here we are.”

Mia smiles and takes Namjoon’s hand, her fingers twining with his. “That sounds a lot like our story,” she says, nudging him playfully. “We’ve known each other for ages too—since we were kids, actually. But we hadn’t seen each other in years.”

“Then we ran into each other at the grocery store,” Namjoon recalls with a smile, his cheeks dimpling. “Imagine that—something so innocuous. But I guess fate works in mysterious ways.”

Any additional conversation is interrupted by the metallic clinking of a fork against glass, the sound amplified by the microphone set up onstage. The chief executive officer of your company stands there with a gaudy Santa hat perched atop his head, and the room quiets down to listen to him give his welcome speech and wish everyone a happy holiday season. After a toast to a happy, fruitful new year, he beckons you all to raise a glass, and as you do, the waitstaff begin filing out with appetizers.

“Soup and salad?” Jungkook asks, watching one of the waiters walk by with a tray before leaning in close to whisper in your ear. “Damn, they really do pull out all the stops.”

You grin. “I thought you’d be more excited about the open bar.”

“Oh, I am,” he replies, raising his glass and throwing back the remaining whiskey inside. “I’m about to go up there again, actually—you want anything?”

Nodding, you tell him your drink order. Jungkook rises to his feet and asks the rest of the table if he can grab any other drinks, and departs a few seconds later with a promise to Allie that he’ll bring her another glass of chardonnay. A waiter arrives with your food, and you gratefully seize upon the opportunity to avoid further conversation by picking up your fork and shoving some romaine and an herbed crouton into your mouth.

Jungkook returns about five minutes later with drinks in hand, handing Allie her wine before setting your glass in front of you and plopping back down into his seat. “How’s the food?”

Taehyung chuckles. “Don’t bother asking Joon,” he says with a nod at your ex-boyfriend, who’s fiddling with his phone’s camera and angling it strategically above his plate. “He’s still trying to take the perfect photo of his food instead of eating it.”

“Photographs are forever,” Namjoon counters without looking up, his chin jutting out in the way it always does when he’s focused. Then he looks up, a glimmer of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Speaking of which—everyone, smile!”

You follow the movement of his arm and the subsequent raising of his camera. “That’s really not necessa—” you begin, but you’re cut off by the robotic click of the shutter. “Okay, you’ve already taken it. Great.” Namjoon opens up the photo so he can zoom in and take a closer look, and you turn to Jungkook and offer him a helpless shrug.

You’ve only just swallowed your first spoonful of soup when Namjoon raises his phone again. “Sorry,” he says, sheepish. “Tae blinked, and it looks like you’re talking, {Name}. Mind if we try again?”

“Does it matter if we say no?” you grumble under your breath, just loud enough so that Jungkook overhears and nearly inhales his wine. The six of you settle in for the photo, and you’re immediately drawn to the way Namjoon wraps his free arm around Mia, careful not to weigh on the brown curls cascading down her back.

Jungkook seems to notice your stare, too. Slowly, his arm settles around your shoulders, his palm warm even through the velvety material of your dress. Instinctively, you lean a little closer, a smile curling your lips as you gaze up at the camera lens.

“Nice,” Namjoon declares, checking the photo he’s taken. He shows it to Mia before holding it up so everyone can see, and you have to admit that he’s right—it is nice. The warm golden glow of the brightly lit Christmas tree provides a perfect backdrop, and your smile—no matter how forced it felt—translates on camera as genuine. Beside you, Jungkook is grinning a grin that makes his upper lip disappear, his eyes crinkled into cheery crescents and his arm curled around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The sight is enough to warm your cheeks, and both your heart and lungs suddenly feel far too big for your chest.

The rest of the meal passes in a flurry of conversation and laughter. You’re in the middle of showing off the pockets on your dress when someone taps their fork against a glass once more, clearing their throat for attention.

“That’s our CFO,” you whisper to Jungkook as you twist in your seat. “There’s about a fifty-fifty chance that she’s already drunk off her ass.”

Jungkook follows the trajectory of your gaze to the woman onstage, her hair dyed the color of straw. “If that’s the case, I really need to step up my game. I’m way behind.”

You hide your smile behind your wine glass. “Really? I thought it was your responsibility to make sure I get home safe tonight.”

He winks. “Who says I can’t do both?”

The chief financial officer of your company starts talking, and you and Jungkook settle in to listen. A few more higher-ups follow, giving speeches of their own, before the CEO steps up and declares that the real party can now begin. Overhead, the chandeliers dim. An array of spotlights illuminate the band onstage, and they strike a merry opening chord before bursting into a brassy rendition of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”.

Beside you, Allie lets out an excited whoop and grabs Taehyung by the hand. Together, they whirl off onto the dance floor, their light-up necklaces twin kaleidoscopes of color, leaving you and Jungkook alone at the table with Namjoon and Mia. There’s a brief beat of awkward silence, filled only by the crooning of the lead singer and a jazzy keyboard riff.

And then Jungkook rises to his feet and offers you his palm in an open invitation. “Wanna dance?”

You take his proffered hand and let him pull you out of your chair. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

Hand in hand, the two of you meander through the throng of swaying bodies and find an open spot. Jungkook’s palm finds the curve of your waist, pulling you close, and you settle your hand onto the broad expanse of his shoulder. He’s warm and solid beneath your fingertips, his strong build unmistakable, and when he twines his fingers with yours, you smile.

“This is going much better than I thought it would,” you tell him. “You make a good fake boyfriend.”

Jungkook guides you into a spin, the skirt of your long, burgundy dress billowing outward. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“Good, because it was supposed to be.”

He flashes you a grin. The music changes—slowing to something softer and more intimate—and you let him pull you closer as his palm finds its way to the small of your back. Jungkook gazes down at you like you’re the only thing in the world, and for the briefest of moments, it’s all too easy to forget that this is all just a front—a show to sell to an unwitting audience of one.

“Do… do you think he’s watching?” you ask, tearing your gaze away from the freckle beneath his lip at last and twisting around to look for your ex-boyfriend and his companion. “I don’t see them at the table anymore.”

Jungkook frowns. “I’ll keep an eye out for him,” he promises. “Mia, too.”

You sigh at the mention of her name, equal parts annoyance and resignation. “God, Mia. She’s so fucking nice. I wish I could bring myself to hate her, but I can’t. I mean, you heard their story too, right? Childhood friends? Bumping into each other at the store? It’s straight out of a Hallmark movie. Not to mention all that talk about fate.”

Jungkook shrugs—his shoulder rising and falling beneath your palm. “I dunno—I kinda like the idea of fate. Knowing that you’re on the right path, and that you’re with the right person? It sounds really reassuring.”

You reach out and bat at his dangly silver earring playfully. “The right person? Wow, I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

Jungkook grabs your hand and fixes you with a mock glare. “Hey, I get a little sentimental during the holidays. Sue me.”

Giggling, you pull out of his grasp and lay your hand back on his shoulder. The night continues, and a few more songs pass—the rhythms quickening and the volume swelling until conversation becomes impossible. Jungkook coaxes you into several more twirls, laughingly steadying you when you almost stumble into a neighboring couple, and you scowl at him mischievously before urging him into a spin of his own.

Eventually, your feet begin to ache in your heels. “Bar?” you ask, leaning in close so that Jungkook can hear you over the music. “My feet need a break.”

“Let’s go,” Jungkook agrees, releasing his grip on your waist. His other hand remains twined with yours, and you readily follow his lead as he weaves a path through the crowd and to the open bar in the corner.

You spend the rest of the evening at the table, chatting and drinking with your dark-haired roommate. The two of you delve into his bag of purloined candy, chocolate and artificial fruit flavors mingling with the alcohol on your tongue, and wine eventually turns into shots of hard liquor. By the time the party begins to wind down, Taehyung has to actively talk you into putting your shoes back on, having already gone through the hard work of retrieving them from under the table where you’d kicked them an hour earlier.

“Quit whining, you big baby,” Taehyung grunts, hauling you to your feet as an amused Allie watches on. “Jeez, I forgot how messy you get when you drink. Jungkook, are you sure you two are okay to get home?”

Jungkook has switched over to drinking water in the last hour, and nods as he knocks back the rest of his glass. “I’m good, don’t worry. I’ll get us back in one piece.”

“Thank god one of you is responsible,” Taehyung grumbles under his breath. You thwack him weakly on the shoulder in retaliation, stumbling slightly in the process, and Taehyung is all too happy to step aside when Jungkook winds a firm arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“Come on, babe,” he says, the words sounding almost affectionate to your inebriated mind. “Let’s get you home.”

Bidding Taehyung and Allie goodbye, Jungkook guides you back through the dance floor and to the entrance of the ballroom, chortling when you blindly grab a silver goody bag off the table. At the coat check, he provides both of your numbers to the attendant, never once relinquishing his grip on you as he waits for her to return. Sluggishly, you let your head fall against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment’s reprieve from the bright lobby lights.

And then your muddled brain registers what you’d seen just before everything went dark. Jungkook jolts in surprise when you straighten up abruptly, your eyes blinking open, and he quickly follows your gaze over to the far end of the lobby where Namjoon and Mia are slowly making their way toward you.

There’s no doubt that they’re on their way to retrieve their own jackets. Mia already has both plastic cards in her hand, chattering away to her much taller companion, and you watch as he stoops down to hear her better over the hubbub of the other party guests. His cheeks dimple as he smiles at whatever it is she’s said, and your heart lurches unsteadily in your chest.

They’re at the counter of the coat check now, where you can just barely overhear Mia teasing Namjoon about his tendency to misplace things. She hands over their numbered cards before reaching up and poking gently at one of his dimples, and Namjoon bellows out a laugh and catches her by the wrist to tug her close. His fingers trail down and twine with her smaller ones, and when your gaze drops to their interlaced hands, you don’t even notice Jungkook slipping away.

Almost as if he senses your stare, Namjoon suddenly looks up and locks eyes with you. His expression is steady—calm, even—but your heart stutters to a halt at the look all the same. It’s as if someone has drenched you in ice water, and the chill sobers you up in an instant. Jungkook returns to your side, but you don’t pay him any mind, not even when he holds up your coat and tries to help you into it. Namjoon looks away and starts fiddling with his phone, but you don’t miss the way his gaze flits over to you every few seconds, as if checking on something. He’s always been dangerously perceptive, and you, unable to look at him anymore, turn instead to Jungkook and bury your face in his shoulder.

“Jungkook,” you mumble into the fabric of his turtleneck. “He’s watching us. Can you pretend I said something funny?”

Strong hands settle gently on your back, urging you to stand up straight so he can slip your arms into the sleeves of your overcoat. “I’ll do you one better,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, his warm breath fanning across your skin and igniting gooseflesh in its wake.

And then he’s winding his arms around your waist and pulling you in, until your back is flush against his chest and you can feel every breath he takes rising and falling in time to the rhythm of his heart.

If Namjoon glances your way again, you don’t notice. You’re too caught up in Jungkook—the warmth radiating from his skin, the steady beat of his heart, the soft floral scent of the fabric softener that lingers on his clothes. He holds you in his arms until his number is finally called, and when he releases you from his embrace to go fetch his jacket, you’re taken aback by how quickly the cold settles back into your bones.

There’s already a car waiting when you and Jungkook finally exit the hotel, its engine a low hum as it idles at the curb. Jungkook gallantly ushers you into the backseat first before clambering in afterward, and you do your best to ignore the way his thigh brushes repeatedly against yours every time the car turns a corner. For his part, Jungkook seems completely oblivious to the contact—apparently perfectly content to stare out the window at the passing city nightlife. “We made it through,” he remarks, his gaze never once wavering from the outside where snowflakes are beginning to drift down from the velvety black sky.

“Yeah. We did,” you murmur back.

So why, then, does your heart feel like it’s about to hammer its way out of your chest?

///

“Oh, fuck.”

Even after a night of sleep, your feet still ache. There’s a smudge of mascara on your pillowcase from where you didn’t wash off your makeup properly, and you’re fairly certain there’s a stray bobby pin or two lost somewhere in your hair, prodding harshly at your scalp every time you move. On top of all that, you’re hungover. Your head pounds as you blink against the sunlight filtering in through the crack in the blinds, your mouth as dry as the Sahara and your tongue feeling like sandpaper.

And yet, all of that fades away when you wake your phone screen once more, just to see that nothing has changed. Two new notifications still sit there, taunting you. Both are from your mother, and both, you’ve read and reread six times just to make sure you aren’t dreaming.

[10:45am] Mom: Young lady, just when were you going to mention the new boyfriend?

And:

[10:46am] Mom: Invite him to Christmas, we want to meet him!

For a few long minutes, you can only lay in bed, staring up at the white stucco ceiling and wondering what you can possibly do to remedy the situation. There’s the obvious solution, of course—but you would no doubt face a barrage of questions from your parents about the suddenness of your breakup. As well-meaning as your mother is, she’s never been one for tact, and your father is only the slightest bit more restrained. They’d only just stopped asking about Namjoon a few weeks ago, after all, and that was after you decided to lie and say the breakup was four months ago instead of a mere two.

And then there’s the alternative—bringing Jungkook home to meet your parents over the holidays. Already, you can imagine the prying questions your great aunt will barrage you with, not to mention all the ways your family will compare him—either silently or aloud—to Namjoon. After all, your ex had accompanied you to last year’s festivities, and you aren’t sure whether the sudden nausea bubbling up in your stomach is due to the memories or the hangover relentlessly pounding its erratic drumbeat against your skull.

Wincing, you reluctantly extricate yourself from your tangle of blankets, throwing your legs over the edge of the bed and rising to your feet. The throbbing ache at your temples dulls somewhat when you fix the crack in your blinds, and you pad wearily over to your en suite bathroom, forgoing the light switch and relying on the dimmed daylight that filters in from your bedroom.

It takes a generous swish of mouthwash and several layers of chapstick for you to feel somewhat human again. Pulling on some leggings and an old oversized sweatshirt, you open up your bedroom door and head across the living area to Jungkook’s bedroom, listening outside his door for a few seconds before giving it a tentative knock. You wonder if he’s awake yet.

Your question is answered a moment later, when Jungkook’s voice calls out from within, perfectly clear and lucid. “Come in!”

The first thing you notice when you enter his bedroom is how tidy everything is. Since you started living together, you’ve caught the occasional glimpse inside, but Jungkook tends to keep his door shut for the most part and you haven’t had much reason to enter before now. His bed is perhaps the one thing that stands out, his sheets messily strewn across the mattress, but you take a second to admire the immaculately folded laundry on the ottoman in the corner and the row of neatly hung clothes peeking out from his closet. Then you wander across the room to the desk where your roommate is currently hunched, peering intently at his computer monitor from behind round wire-rimmed glasses that you’ve only seen him don once before.

“Morning,” he says as you come to a stop beside him. “Sorry if I woke you up—my headset broke.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about his video game, which, upon closer inspection, he has turned to the lowest possible volume setting on his computer. “No, that wasn’t it,” you reassure, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. “My phone woke me up. That’s why I’m here, actually.”

Jungkook reaches into the pocket of his gray sweatpants, his eyes going wide as he fumbles for his phone. “Oh, shit. I didn’t buttdial you, did I?”

“Nothing like that,” you tell him, chuckling before the seriousness of the situation settles back in. Clearing your throat, you wake your phone screen and read the two messages there for the seventh time before looking up at him again. “It’s, uh. It’s my mom. She saw the photos I’ve been posting of you lately, and… she sorta invited you over. For Christmas.”

Jungkook freezes, his hand still in his pocket. His lips part but no words come out, and you quickly rush to fill the awkward silence with anything and everything that pops into your head.

“You don’t have to come, obviously! It’s honestly a huge ordeal, and even I don’t want to spend an entire weekend with my entire extended family. You know how families can be, right? They’ve all got their own brand of crazy. We can have a messy, public breakup and put this whole thing behind us.” You pause to take a breath, and slap a hand to your forehead in realization. “Wait, what am I even saying? You’re probably visiting your own family over the holidays. Wow. Okay. Just ignore me and forget I said anything. I’ll tell my mom you can’t come.”

Jungkook clears his throat. “Actually, that’s not true. My parents are celebrating their thirty-year anniversary in Bora Bora. They won’t be back until New Year’s, so that’s when I’m going to visit.”

You blink. “Wait, really? Were you planning on spending Christmas alone?”

Jungkook shrugs. “It’s just another day, isn’t it? No big deal.”

“Still.” You shake your head, and wince when the movement only serves to worsen your headache. “You shouldn’t have to spend the holidays alone. If you don’t have anything else going on, well… just know that you have an open invitation to my place. My parents are fantastic cooks, and I don’t want you eating ramen for Christmas dinner.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair and huffs out a chuckle. “You make it sound so depressing.”

“That’s because it is depressing.”

“Fair point.”

You smile at his easy admission, and wave your phone. “So? What do you think? Weekend with my crazy family?”

“Weekend with your crazy family,” Jungkook confirms, and you grin.

“Guess our messy breakup will have to wait, then.”

“Guess so,” he agrees quietly.

Turning on your heel, you exit Jungkook’s bedroom, texting your mom back and confirming your additional guest. Your phone buzzes again just as you hit send, and you curiously navigate over to the new notification to open it.

[11:01am] Jiminnie 🐭: r u alive?

Barely, you write back, rubbing your temples.

[11:02am] Jiminnie 🐭: lmao. k then. brunch in 20? the usual place?

[11:02am] You: yes please.

///

Two days before the drive to your parents’ house, you finally finish buying all of your Christmas presents. Sprawled out in the middle of the living room floor, you stare beseechingly at the array of gifts, surrounded by a graveyard of unusable wrapping paper shreds. Wrapping presents has never been a strong suit of yours, and you’re teetering on the verge of giving up entirely when your phone begins buzzing insistently from within your pocket.

“Jimin,” you sigh when you see his grinning contact photo filling your screen, swiping to answer the call. “What’s up?”

“Did you get my text?” Jimin asks, not even bothering with a hello.

Confused, you put him on speaker and thumb over to your messages. “Uh, no? I don’t even think my phone went off.”

Jimin curses, and you hear him fumble for a moment before his voice comes through the receiver again. “What about now?”

Your phone vibrates, and you quickly open up the text. “What is this? Are you in a dressing room?” you ask, taking in the attached photographs. The first is of your best friend in a sharp black suit, the black shirt underneath billowy and barely opaque. In the second, he’s wearing dangerously tight jeans and an embellished black leather jacket, layered over a white t-shirt with a familiar brand name boldly emblazoned across the front. “Is that Gucci?”

“Yes and yes,” Jimin answers. “I have that stupid fucking high school reunion over the holidays, remember? Which outfit screams, I’m sexier and more successful than you now? I need a second opinion.”

“A second opinion on which outfit makes your dick look best, you mean,” you grumble. Nonetheless, you open up the first photo again, zooming in on the more intricate details of the outfit and avoiding the bulge near his crotch at all costs. You’re about to switch over to the second when the front door flies open, letting in a blast of icy air and a disheveled looking Jungkook, struggling under the weight of an armful of shopping bags that looks to be about twice his size.

Apparently, you’ve been quiet too long for Jimin’s liking, because his voice filters through the speaker in a petulant whine. “Hello? I sent you my dick. Please respond.”

You’re already halfway to your feet, dropping your phone on the couch in your rush to shut the door. “Stop trying to sext me right now, I don’t need this!” you throw over your shoulder as you relieve your windswept roommate of two shopping bags and set them safely on the ground. Jungkook lowers the rest to the carpeted floor with a heavy sigh, pulling off his beanie and shaking out his hair, and you lock the front door before turning to face him again. “Are you okay?” you ask.

Jungkook nods and offers you a crooked, sheepish grin. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s freezing outside, so I really wanted to get everything inside in one trip.” Then he glances back at where your phone has fallen between the couch cushions, his brows furrowing in concern. “I, uh, didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

You laugh, walking back over to the couch to fish your phone out. “You’re not interrupting anything, trust me. Jimin’s just trying to decide what to wear to his high school reunion.”

“Really?” Jungkook lugs four bags into the kitchen, leaving them on the counter before picking up the other three and joining you in the living room. “You’re actually going to yours?”

“That’s what I said!” you exclaim. “Why are you even bothering with the whole reunion thing? Do you really want to see these people?”

“I have my reasons,” Jimin sniffs defensively. “Now, are you gonna tell me which outfit you like better or not?”

Several minutes later and after some very careful inspection of the two photos, both you and Jungkook give Jimin your final verdict. “The suit makes you look like you’re trying too hard,” you tell him, holding the phone between you and Jungkook so he can pipe in if he wants to. “The dick-hugging jeans, on the other hand, are pretty much perfect for what you’re going for.”

“I like the jeans too,” Jungkook says. “Not that I was really paying attention to how your dick looked in them, but if {Name} says so, then I believe her.”

You laugh. “Get the jeans, Minnie. And hurry up, while you’re at it. Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

“I have plenty of time,” Jimin says dismissively. Nonetheless, he bids you both goodbye and hangs up, leaving you alone with Jungkook, six tubes of messily shredded wrapping paper, and the haphazard stack of shopping bags he’s left in the middle of the floor next to yours.

“So… what exactly happened here?” Jungkook asks dryly, picking up a spool of bright red ribbon and ripping off the tape dispenser that’s somehow adhered itself to one side. “It looks like a war zone, and clearly, you lost.”

“Things may have gotten away from me a little bit,” you admit. Disbelief etches across your roommate’s face, and you sigh and quickly amend your statement. “Okay, fine. A lot a bit.”

“{Name}, it looks like something died in here.”

“It does not! Stop exaggerating, you big meanie.”

Jungkook snorts out a loud laugh. Plopping down on the floor, he clears out a space beside him and gestures for you to sit down. “I can’t believe you just called me a meanie,” he says, still chuckling. “Are we in elementary school?”

You sit down in the spot he indicated, crossing your legs and picking up a rather mangled looking bow. “No, but maybe I need to go back. Art class clearly didn’t stick.”

“Funny, art class was always my favorite. That, and music. Speaking of which—” Jungkook whips out his phone and taps at the screen, until the first strains of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” filter through the speakers on either side of the television. “To set the mood,” he explains, tucking his phone away again.

“Very festive,” you remark, bobbing your head along to the addictive melody.

Together, the two of you start wrapping your presents, passing the tape dispenser back and forth. Jungkook is the first one to start humming under his breath, drumming his fingers quietly against his knee, and it isn’t long before you’re both belting along to the music. Grabbing an empty wrapping paper tube, you cut it in half and throw him one end, holding yours up to your mouth like a makeshift microphone. Deftly, he catches it, spinning it between his fingers before closing his eyes for his dramatic, crooning rendition of “Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire”.

Jungkook has a pleasant singing voice. You’ve heard him singing in the shower more than a dozen times by this point, but it still sometimes catches you unawares. A soothing, mellow tenor, his voice is one that melds perfectly with every track and every genre, and you gradually trail off in your own singing to listen to him, uninterrupted. Every so often, he adds a little embellishment or harmony, and you’re so caught up in his performance of “Silent Night” that you forget about the task at hand.

That is, until the task at hand makes itself known again—in the form of a piece of wrapping paper slicing the pad of your index finger open. “Ow!” you exclaim, jerking away from the offending material, and Jungkook stops mid-verse with worry creasing his expression.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, scooting closer when he sees the way you’re clutching your finger. “Did you cut yourself?”

You nod, and wince when a drop of bright red blood wells up in the thin wound. “Yeah, but it’s just a papercut, no biggie. I’m just gonna go grab a band-aid real quick, and—”

Jungkook hops to his feet before you can even finish your sentence and heads for the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with the first-aid kit that you keep stowed beneath the sink. “Give me your hand,” he says, and when you hesitate, he kneels down beside you and lifts your hand himself, his palm engulfing you as he examines the tip of your finger.

“Huh,” he says after a few seconds. “This probably doesn’t need to be disinfected, but better safe than sorry.” Uncapping a tube of antibiotic ointment, he carefully dabs some on with a cotton pad. He winds a band-aid around your finger once he’s finished, and you try and fail to quell the sudden uptick in your heart rate at his delicate care.

“I-I could’ve taken care of it,” you mumble, looking anywhere but at him.

Jungkook shrugs and stands back up to return the first-aid kit to its proper place. “It’s no big deal,” he says. “I was gonna go grab some water, anyway. You want anything while I’m up?”

Silently, you shake your head, and he hums out a soft okay before returning to the kitchen. The cabinet under the sink opens, the faulty bottom hinge that you haven’t gotten around to fixing squeaking in protest, before the faucet turns on. And when he rejoins you in the living room, you see that he has two glasses of water, watching as he sets one down on the coffee table beside you.

“Just in case you get thirsty,” he says simply.

Touched by his thoughtfulness, you raise the glass to your lips and take a sip. “Thanks.”

For the next few minutes, the two of you wrap presents in relative silence, the rustling of paper and ribbon backed by Jungkook’s holiday playlist. It isn’t until Jungkook clears his throat that you look up from where you’re trying in vain to cover a stuffed elephant plushie in wrapping paper, tilting your head in silent inquiry.

Jungkook clears his throat again, hiding both hands behind his back. “You can’t see this last one,” he says. “It’s yours.”

“Oh!” Immediately, you cover your eyes. “Do you want me to turn around?”

He laughs. “Only if you’re going to try and peek.”

“Hey now, your present’s been in my room for days. How do I know you haven’t snuck a look at it?”

“Maybe I did,” he teases. “Maybe I was wondering about how you managed to wrap it without my help.”

You huff, your hands still slapped over your eyes. “Okay, first of all? Rude. And second of all, now I know you didn’t peek. I put your present in a gift bag.”

Jungkook bursts into laughter—high and bright. A few more seconds of rustling later, he tells you that you can open your eyes again, and you immediately spot the little package sitting atop his pile of gifts, wrapped neatly in shiny gold paper.

“We should put these under the tree,” you remark softly, gesturing at the fake plastic monstrosity that you’d gotten on sale two years ago. Between the five strings of lights and all the ornaments, you’ve managed to get it looking decent enough, and with the addition of both your and Jungkook’s gifts beneath the evergreen branches, it makes for a lovely sight.

Whether it’s a lovelier sight than your roommate, though—his honeyed skin glowing in the illumination of the string lights and his dark hair haloed in gold—you cannot quite say.

///

“You know, it’s not too late to turn around.”

Jungkook chuckles and makes the turn into your parents’ neighborhood, guided by your reluctant directions and the monotone voice of his phone’s GPS. “Really? You want me to turn around right now and drive an hour back to our place?”

“Fifty minutes,” you grumble under your breath. Nonetheless, you sink back into your seat and watch as the house you grew up in comes into view, the rooftop and the tree out front laden with accumulated snow and strung with multicolored lights. Jungkook pulls smoothly into the driveway, and you turn to face him as he puts his car into park and turns off the engine. “Remember—they think we’ve been together for two months.”

He nods. “Yep.”

“And you remember our story, right?”

Jungkook huffs out a laugh. “Are you going to keep delaying the inevitable? Come on, let’s hurry and get inside. It's freezing out here.”

You suck in a deep breath. “Fine,” you relent, climbing out of his beat-up sedan and pulling open the backseat door to fetch the two bags of presents that you’ve brought. Jungkook, for his part, has three bottles of wine tucked safely into a colorful paper bag, as well as a potted poinsettia that he’d picked up from the grocery store yesterday.

“You bought pinot grigio for my mom, right? And white zinfandel for Great Aunt Martha?”

“Yes, and yes. I also have a cabernet sauvignon for any red wine drinkers.” Jungkook nods at the bag swinging from his hand. “Quit worrying, seriously. You’re gonna go prematurely gray.”

“The last few weeks have already cut five years off my lifespan,” you grouse under your breath. Nonetheless, you lead him up the walkway to the front door, and Jungkook chuckles when you ram the doorbell with your elbow, your hands too full to lift a finger.

Not two seconds later, the door flies open, revealing both of your parents standing there. “You’re early!” your mother exclaims, ushering you and Jungkook inside. “Come in, come in—it’s cold out there! Don’t forget to wipe off your feet. And this must be Jungkook!”

You swallow and nod. “Yeah, this is Jungkook. Jungkook—this is my mom and dad.”

Politely, Jungkook inclines his head, the strands of hair that have come loose from his ponytail falling across his forehead. “It’s very nice to finally meet you,” he says. “Thank you for having me.”

“Nonsense,” your dad says, clapping him on the back. “We’re excited to have you. Come on in—you can leave your shoes and coat over here.” Turning to you, he takes the presents off your hands. “I’ll go ahead and put these under the tree for you, honey.”

You smile at him. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You brought gifts?” Your mom steps closer, glancing into your bags before looking over at Jungkook again. Silently, she sizes him up before peering into the bag he’s holding, a slow smile curving her lips as she takes in its contents. “This is very sweet of you, dear. You shouldn’t have.”

Jungkook smiles shyly and tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “It’s no problem,” he says. “Just something small to thank you for your hospitality.”

Your mom laughs and relieves him of the bag, ushering both of you into the kitchen. “We’re happy to have you, believe me.” Removing the poinsettia plant, she sets it on the windowsill above the sink and adds the wine to the impressive display already lining the countertop. You follow her to the sink to wash your hands, and Jungkook trails after you like a shadow.

“So, how’s dinner coming along? you ask as you lather the lemon-scented soap between your palms. “Can we help with anything?”

Your mother nods, pulling two aprons off of a nearby chair and handing one over to each of you. Yours is a decades-old one that you’ve had since you were a child, tie-dyed rainbow with the help of your parents and embroidered with your name in orange thread. The other is pastel pink with white daisies, and you stifle a giggle as Jungkook pulls it over his all-black ensemble and ties the ribbons behind his back. He’s dressed a little less casually than you’re used to—a billowy collared shirt tucked into slim black jeans—but the Timberlands and the swirling ink coiling around his right wrist remain the same as ever and contrast starkly with the bright floral pattern of the apron. Jungkook catches your eye and arches a brow, as if daring you to comment, and you stick your tongue out at him playfully before turning to a nearby drawer and selecting a knife from within.

“I’ll start dicing these potatoes,” you say, gesturing at the pile on the counter.

“I can do the onions,” Jungkook volunteers immediately, following your lead and grabbing a knife of his own. “Is there a bowl I can put them in?”

“They should be right there,” you tell him, pointing at the cabinet he’s standing in front of, and you’re proven correct when he opens it and lets out a satisfied aha! The kitchen quickly fills with the rhythmic sound of chopping, pausing every now and then when your parents request help with something else.

Cooking with Jungkook isn’t new. The two of you cook together more often than not, having quickly realized that it saves both time and money, especially when you make enough dinner to have leftovers for lunch the next day. It’s been about five weeks since you started sharing meals and grocery lists, but you’ve developed a certain level of comfort and ease in that time, a certain ebb and flow in the way you move about the kitchen.

But here in your parents’ home, everything feels different. The kitchen is more spacious, and all of the utensils are in different places. And that’s not even factoring in the fact that you can feel your parents staring when they think you aren’t paying attention, their gazes lingering too long and too often.

It’s a welcome relief, then, when the doorbell rings. Your father heads off to answer it, but the front door swings open before he can even lay a hand on the knob, letting in a gust of chilly air and a small horde of cousins ranging from ages four to thirteen. “Oh god, they’re all here,” you lament under your breath. Tossing a quick prayer up to whatever deities may exist, you take Jungkook by the hand and lead him into the foyer to meet the rest of your family.

“So this is the new boyfriend,” your Great Aunt Martha declares upon your arrival, looking Jungkook up and down. “He’s handsome, I’ll give him that. Not sure about all those tattoos, though.” Then she squints, her eyes narrowing behind the tortoiseshell pattern of her horn-rimmed glasses. “How long did you say you two have been together?”

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat. “Just about two months, now.”

Great Aunt Martha harrumphs. “And how did you meet? Was it that Timber website?”

“Tinder,” you correct. “And, no. We met through Jimin, actually. They went to school together.”

That seems to satisfy her for the time being. Gradually, your family members disperse around the house—some coming to the kitchen to help while others head off to the living room where the television is playing reruns of A Christmas Story. Your grandparents—who live a block away from your parents—brew some tea and take a seat on the couch to rest. All of your cousins disappear somewhere, intent on wreaking the sort of havoc that only children can. If there’s one benefit to a massive family gathering, it’s that the focus is no longer squarely on you and Jungkook. Relief floods through your system as you finally let go of Jungkook’s hand, the two of you now standing alone in the foyer.

“That went well, I think.”

He nods. “No way I’m going to remember all those names, though.”

“Luckily, I don’t think anyone’s expecting you to,” you tell him with a grin. “But I’ll whisper in your ear or send you a text if I have to.”

By the time you return to the kitchen, dinner is nearly ready. Your mother is carefully slicing the roast while your father arranges side dishes in their respective platters. Great Aunt Martha paces around barking orders like a drill sergeant, which are ignored for the most part and halt entirely when your dad brings her a large glass of chilled white zinfandel.

“She always puts a single ice cube in her wine,” you whisper to Jungkook, who snorts out a loud laugh and has to disguise it as a cough. “I don’t know why.”

“It must be an aunt thing,” he whispers back. “Mine does the same thing with merlot.”

With the help of a few aunts and uncles, as well as some of the older cousins, the table in the dining room is set. A smaller table in the adjoining living room is designated for the kids, laid out with a plastic tablecloth and a stack of shatter-proof plates and cutlery. Your Aunt Donna calls for the cousins to come and get their food, and immediately from somewhere upstairs come the pitter-patter of running footsteps. The kids jostle each other as they pick out their plates, and a minor squabble breaks out between the two youngest, Molly and Sadie, when they both want the pink one.

Eventually, everyone picks out their food and takes it back to their table, leaving room for the adults to sit down. Your seat ends up being between Jungkook and your Gram Gram, who smiles and pats your cheek fondly as you pull out her chair for her.

“So, Jungkook!” your father says as he takes the seat opposite you. “Tell us about yourself. What do you do for a living?”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his wine when all eyes turn to him, but he recovers quickly and wipes at his mouth with a festive red and green napkin. “I work in IT,” he says. “I’ve always been good with computers, so it was the natural choice.”

“Did I hear you say that you went to school with the Park boy?” your dad asks. “Bill went there too, didn’t you, Bill?”

Your Uncle Bill nods. “That’s right—class of ‘89. How’d you like it?”

As the two begin talking about their alma mater, you tune out of the conversation. Jungkook seems to be winning everyone over with ease, and the anxiety that’s been gnawing at your ribcage since you arrived slowly begins to wane. Maybe this weekend won’t be so bad, after all, you reason as you pour yourself another glass of wine.

“Enough of all that nonsense!” Great Aunt Martha interrupts Jungkook’s conversation with your uncle mid-sentence and snaps her fingers as if summoning a dog. “When are you two kids getting hitched?”

The entire room goes silent. Even the dull hum of the television and the chatter from the kids’ table seems to fade. Mortified, you open your mouth to chastise your great aunt, but no words come out and you’re left gaping like a fish out of water, your cheeks aflame.

Much to your surprise, Jungkook just laughs. Gently, he reaches over to take your hand, his touch warm and reassuring as his fingers settle into the spaces between your own, and you glance up at him tentatively as he answers. “I think it’s a little too early for that,” he says, his smile soft and lingering. “But I’d like to get married one day.”

Great Aunt Martha settles back into her chair and takes a swig of her wine, the half-melted ice cube inside bobbing. “The sooner the better, I say.”

“That’s hardly up to you, Martha,” your mother cuts in, much to your relief. “They’ve only been dating a few months. You’re going to scare the poor boy off.”

With that, the conversation veers off in a different direction, and thankfully away from the topic of your and Jungkook’s supposedly pending nuptials. The evening wears on, dessert is brought out, and your father goes around the table topping off everyone’s glass as you help your mother load up the dishwasher.

By the time your relatives decide to call it a night, it’s nearly ten o’clock. The cousins are playing board games in the living room, a few of the younger ones stealing not-so-surreptitious glances at the sizable pile of presents beneath the Christmas tree in the corner. It’s tradition for the children to sleep over at your house, as the host of this year’s Christmas festivities, and already they’ve laid out their sleeping bags and pillows in preparation for a long night of staying up late to catch Santa in action. Upstairs, your parents have prepared the guest room for Aunt Donna and Uncle Bill to spend the night as well, since they flew in from the other side of the country. The rest of your relatives, however, live within a five-minute radius and can get home easily enough. Already, your Gram Gram is pulling on her thick wool coat in preparation for the short trek down the block, her husband rushing to her aid when the sleeves get tangled.

“Your bedroom is all set up, honey,” your mother tells you as she puts the last of the leftovers in the refrigerator. “You two can head on up whenever you’d like.”

You glance over at the front door where Jungkook has just come in from unloading your suitcases out of the trunk of his car, your heart rate picking up a notch when you see that he’s rolled his sleeves up to reveal the ink coiling around his right forearm. “Right,” you murmur. “My bedroom. Thanks, Mom.”

She smiles. “Sleep tight, hon.”

“You should really get some rest, too.”

“I will.”

You peck her on the cheek. “You’d better.” Turning, you join Jungkook in the foyer to bid your Gram Gram and Gramps goodbye, hugging each of them in turn and promising that you’ll see them both tomorrow. The rest of your relatives are likewise putting on their coats and shoes, and you say all your farewells before taking your suitcase from Jungkook and lugging it up the stairs.

You’ve only just made it past the first step, Jungkook trailing on your heels, when your father lets out a loud bellow of laughter and calls your name.

Bemused, you turn to face him again. “What is it?”

Your father grins, pointing. “Look up,” he says, and your stomach sinks like a stone as you follow the trajectory of his finger up to the little green sprig dangling from the ceiling just above the stairwell.

“Oh.” You glance at Jungkook, who’s staring up at the mistletoe with an expression that can only be described as a deer caught in headlights of an oncoming truck. He’s standing one step below you, making his head just about level with yours, and you worry your bottom lip anxiously between your teeth as his gaze slides down to meet yours.

“On the cheek?” he suggests softly, and you nod. Gingerly, you lean forward, your lips brushing just above the angle of his jawline.

A chorus of boos rises up from the bottom of the staircase, and you belatedly realize that your cousins have joined the throng of people in the foyer at some point. “Kiss him for real!” Molly trills, stamping her little socked foot against the carpet, her pink pajamas bright as a beacon.

“On the mouth!” Great Aunt Martha agrees, her words slurring together ever so slightly from the full bottle of white zinfandel she’s consumed.

Helplessly, you shrug at Jungkook, who smiles crookedly at you in return. “Guess we don’t have much of a choice, huh?”

“The hyperfixation on watching us kiss is weird, don’t you think?” you ask, trying to make light of the situation even as he leans in.

“Very weird,” he breathes. And then his lips are on yours—warm and soft and just the tiniest bit chapped. He’s applying the gentlest amount of pressure, fainter than a whisper of wind, but it still manages to leave you breathless in a way that has you clutching at his shoulders for support.

All too soon, the kiss comes to an end. Jungkook’s cheeks are flushed when he pulls away, and you’re just about ready to sink through the floorboards when one of your older cousins wolf whistles at the display. “Okay, that’s enough humiliation for one night,” your father decides, taking pity on your embarrassed state and ushering everyone away. “Goodnight, you two.”

“Night,” you croak before making a break for it. Jungkook trails you like a silent shadow as you throw open the door of your childhood bedroom, your face still burning at the memory of his mouth against your own. Letting your suitcase fall to the floor, you flop down onto the edge of the bed, finally working up the nerve to look at your companion.

“This doesn’t have to be weird, right?” you ask, and you wonder if Jungkook can hear the desperation seeping into your voice. “We just have to get through tomorrow, and the morning after that. Then we’ll be on our way home, where everything can go back to normal.”

Jungkook sits down beside you, leaving ample room between you to comfortably seat a third person. “Sure,” he says. “We’re roommates, right? This—” he gestures at the full-sized bed you’re both sitting on, “—doesn’t have to be weird.”

“Right,” you agree. “We’re just… sharing. A room.”

“A bed,” Jungkook says at the same time.

You clear your throat, fiddling nervously with the edge of your sweater. “Right.”

Fortunately, your bedroom has an en suite bathroom, keeping you safe from the prying eyes of your family as you and Jungkook take turns getting ready for bed. You change into your pajamas—an old t-shirt and a pair of soft fabric shorts—and exit the bathroom to see Jungkook sitting awkwardly on the floor at the foot of the bed, his hair now loose and falling across his forehead in loose waves.

“I didn’t know which side of the bed you wanted,” he says, rising to his feet and pocketing his phone. He’s wearing checkered flannel pants and a plain white tee, and you glance down self-consciously at your own bare legs. “Do you have a preference?”

Quickly, you shake your head. “It doesn’t matter,” you tell him. “Pick whatever side you want.”

Jungkook shrugs. “The left, I guess.”

You nod and head for the right side. “Okay.”

Silently, the two of you take a few minutes to organize your suitcases, laying out clothes for tomorrow and plugging in your phones to charge. Finally, when the inevitable can be delayed no longer, you turn toward the bed, carefully lifting up a corner of the blanket and crawling underneath.

“I guess we should get some sleep,” you murmur.

Jungkook joins you under the covers, ensuring that every part of his body remains firmly on his half of the bed. “Probably.”

You swallow, and turn to switch off the bedside lamp. “Goodnight, then.”

The room goes dark, and you feel the mattress shift as Jungkook turns away from you. “Goodnight,” he whispers back.

Minutes pass, and Jungkook’s breathing slowly evens out. Around you, the rest of the house settles into silence, with nary even a peep coming from the little cousins camping downstairs. You remain awake though—painfully aware of the heat radiating from the slumbering body beside you and the erratic tempo of your heart thudding in your ears. Vaguely, you wonder if you’ll have to resort to counting sheep.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally drift off into a fitful slumber. And when you dream, you dream of Jungkook and his lips, warm and sweet against your own.

///

“PRESENTS!”

Your eyes fly open at the piercing shriek, just barely catching a glimpse of bright red pajamas before the perpetrator dashes out of the bedroom and slams the door behind them. Groaning, you flump back against your pillow and cast an apologetic look at Jungkook, who’s slowly beginning to stir awake beside you. “Who was that?” he mumbles blearily, stifling a yawn behind his palm.

“I’m not sure,” you admit. “Mason? Maybe Dakota? It was one of the smaller ones.”

Jungkook hums, both of his eyes falling shut once more. Peace falls over your bedroom once again, lasting for all of three seconds before Jungkook shoots upright and nearly falls off the bed. “I-I—” he stammers, looking utterly horrified. “This isn’t—I mean, I’m not—” He groans. “Fuck. This just happens sometimes, I swear.”

The reason for his awkward stammering and averted gaze is beginning to dawn, your eyes trailing southward. There’s an unmistakable bulge tenting the blanket where Jungkook’s crotch is, and you squeak before slapping both your hands over your eyes as if that will somehow dispel the image that’s now imprinted on your lids. “Oh my god! Can you go, I don’t know, take care of that?”

Jungkook practically flies off the bed, grabbing his pillow and pressing it over his crotch. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m just gonna… I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he stammers, his face crimson as he stumbles over his opened suitcase and strews neatly folded clothing every which way. “Fuck. Shit. Just, uh—can we forget this ever happened?”

“Consider it forgotten,” you tell him, still determinedly looking anywhere but at him. “Can you go now, please?”

You hear him shuffle off, and the bathroom door clicks shut a moment later. Exhaling heavily, you let your head sink back into your pillow, trying to ignore the sound of the shower turning on in the adjoining room and trying even harder to suppress the barrage of unwelcome thoughts infiltrating your brain. The carnal images that flash through your mind are vivid in their obscenity, and it takes every last ounce of willpower to push aside the little voice in your head that croons for you to join him in the shower and drop to your knees to help him out.

You can’t quite look Jungkook in the eye when he exits the bathroom, now fully dressed in faded jeans and an oversized cable-knit sweater the color of fresh cream. Instead, you wordlessly grab the bundle of clothes you’d laid out last night and brush past him to use the bathroom, hoping that a shower of your own will wash away any and all images you’ve managed to conjure of Jungkook’s cock.

Your parents are sitting at the kitchen table with your grandparents by the time you and Jungkook head downstairs for breakfast. In the living room, a few cousins are still stirring awake, batting grumpily at their younger counterparts who keep shaking their shoulders and trying to crawl into their sleeping bags.

“Good morning,” Jungkook greets politely, keeping his voice down, and your mother beams and immediately jumps to her feet to open the refrigerator.

“We have milk and all kinds of juice in here, so help yourself, dear,” she tells him. “Coffee’s in the pot—it’s still hot if you want it. The pancakes and bacon are being kept warm in the oven, plates are over there, and feel free to make some eggs if you want them.”

Jungkook shakes his head, his damp hair flying every which way. “This is more than enough. Thank you so much.”

Your father chooses that moment to speak up. “How did you two kids sleep?”

“Like a log,” Jungkook answers, and you nod your agreement even though it’s a lie.

“Yeah. We slept really well.”

“Good, good.” Your dad stands up and meanders over to the coffeemaker to refill his mug, and you follow after him to grab two plates. Jungkook joins you at the counter as you load them up with pancakes, drenching his in syrup and grabbing a few slices of bacon.

From the other room, you hear the patter of approaching footsteps before Sadie comes zooming in. The five-year-old goes sliding across the tiled floor, trailed by Molly and Dakota a few seconds later, and your father fixes all of them with a stern look as they bounce excitedly on their heels.

“Is it time to open presents?” Sadie asks eagerly, lacing her hands in front of her chest.

Molly gazes up at your parents with wide, pleading eyes. “Pretty, pretty please?”

Your dad scoops the little girl up, easily lifting the four-year-old in her pink unicorn pajamas. “You haven’t even eaten breakfast yet, young lady.”

Molly giggles when he bops her on the nose. “But Uncle, it’s Christmas!”

He chuckles. “You’re right. How about this, then—you can each have one piece of candy from your stocking. But then you have to eat some breakfast, okay?”

All three children cheer. Sadie and Dakota run off again, and Molly follows soon after once your dad sets her back down. “Honey, do me a favor,” he says, and this time, he’s addressing you. “Go and keep an eye on those kids, will you? Try and make sure they don’t eat all their candy in one sitting.”

“On it,” you tell him with a laugh. “Wanna help, Jungkook?”

Your dark-haired companion, who has just taken an enormous bite out of his pancakes, nods and struggles to swallow the food down. Kindly, you pour him a mug of coffee and hand it over, earning yourself a grateful grin from him as he takes a sip. Together, the two of you head into the living room, picking your way through the sea of sleeping bags to an empty spot on the couch and watching as your cousins grab their stockings off the fireplace and fish out the candy from within.

The sun crawls higher in the sky as morning wears on. Breakfast is a messy, chaotic affair, but everyone—the kids included—eventually gets some food into their bellies. All of your relatives have returned to the house, and your father finally gathers everyone around the Christmas tree to take a group photo. You and Jungkook find yourselves seated on the carpeted floor with the rest of the kids as he sets the automatic timer on his camera, having long since given up your spot on the couch to your older family members.

Once the photo is taken, Sadie raises her hand. “Can we open the presents now?”

Her mother, and your Aunt Donna, pretends to consider it. “Oh, I suppose.”

A delighted cheer goes up from the children, and you watch on, amused, as wrapping paper begins to fly in every direction. The cousins with more of a sweet tooth empty the rest of the contents of their stockings, and quickly begin trading for their favorite types of candy. Delighted shouts and laughter pierce the air, and a few minutes into the festivities, little Molly breaks free of the hubbub and approaches the spot where you and Jungkook are seated.

“This is for you,” she says, offering you one of the miniature chocolate bars clutched in her fist. Then she turns to Jungkook shyly, a little smile curling her lips. “And this one’s for you, because {Name} likes you. And that means I like you, too.”

Jungkook looks rather taken aback as he accepts the candy she hands over, his eyes growing wide before he offers her a broad smile and a quiet murmur of thanks. Molly stares at him for a few moments longer, her head tilted, and you’re just about to ask if she needs anything else when she suddenly reaches into her pocket and pulls out a piece of toffee. “You’re pretty,” she remarks to Jungkook as she unwraps it and shoves it into her mouth. “Just like a prince.”

Great Aunt Martha, who’s seated nearby, overhears her statement and chooses that moment to butt in. “Boys are handsome, dear. Not pretty.”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders and unwraps his chocolate bar. “I don’t mind being called pretty. Thank you, Molly. You’re very pretty too.”

She giggles. “Do you think {Name}’s pretty?”

You stiffen at the mention of your name, but Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s the prettiest girl in the world,” he says, and the ease with which he says it has your chest feeling dangerously tight. Molly, apparently now done with the conversation, returns to her presents, and you pull out your phone and scroll through your notifications in an attempt to avoid looking at your companion. There’s a few Merry Christmases from your friends, and a selfie from Jimin that depicts him sitting in front of his family’s lit-up tree and drinking straight out of a bottle of champagne. You’re about to open up Instagram to see if kimdaily has posted anything recently, when Jungkook calls your name.

“You should open your presents,” he says when you look up, sliding over a small pile of wrapped packages and gift bags. “Here. I found a few with your name on them.”

Your gaze flits from tag to tag, finally alighting on the little golden one that says To {Name}, From Jungkook. “You should open yours, too,” you tell him, locating the bright purple bag you’d put his gift in and extricating it from beneath the tree. “Here.”

He murmurs a thank you, his face creasing into a smile, and you watch him rifle through the bag for a moment before peeling back the golden paper that he’s wrapped your present in. The box inside is made of nondescript white cardboard, and your jaw drops open when you remove the lid.

“How—how did you know I wanted this?”

Jungkook fiddles with his hair, tucking a few loose strands behind his ear. “I saw you eyeing it a few weeks ago, when we were walking home from the bowling alley. And then again, after we went to dinner. Do you like it?”

You run a fingertip along the ridges of the knit scarf, admiring the pattern and the softness of the yarn. “I love it, Jungkook. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, his smile broadening as he turns his attention back to your gift. The last bits of tissue paper fall away, and his eyes widen like saucers when he reads the label of the box. “Hang on. Did you buy me a new headset?”

You nod. “Yeah. You mentioned that yours broke, right?”

“Yeah, but…” He trails off. “Wow. Thank you, really. These aren’t cheap. I was going to pick up a pair during the summer sale.”

“I found a coupon, don’t worry,” you tell him with a laugh. “I’m just glad I bought the right kind.”

He grins. “And you really like the scarf? Honest? It was kind of hard to tell what you were looking at when we walked by the store.”

“Just the fact that you noticed me staring is already impressive,” you tell him, giggling. “And yes, I love it. It’s perfect.”

Jungkook reaches out and takes it out of the box, the knit material unraveling to its full length. “Not yet,” he says, beckoning you to lean in. And when you do, he settles it around your neck with a quiet tenderness that has your heart skipping several beats before taking a nosedive into your churning stomach.

Maybe he’s doing it for show, you reason. Your entire family is here, and if anyone had any doubts about the truth of your relationship, they’ve surely been allayed now. Jungkook is close enough for you to count each individual eyelash fluttering against his cheeks as he blinks, and you make it all the way to seven before your gaze drops to the little freckle on the tip of his nose, and then even further to the one that sits beneath his bottom lip.

“There. Now it’s perfect,” Jungkook says, pulling one fringed end through the knot he’s created and brushing a few stray yarn fibers off your cheek. The emotion that suffuses your chest at the touch is so overwhelming that you momentarily lose the ability to speak, but luckily, you don’t have to.

“Don’t think we’ve forgotten about you, Jungkook!”

Your mother’s voice jerks you out of your daze, and you tear away from your companion’s touch as if burned. Jungkook glances up, wide-eyed, and you watch the confusion etch across his face when he spots the brightly colored bag dangling from your mom’s hand.

“P-pardon?”

“We got you a little something,” she explains, holding the bag out for him to take. “It isn’t much, I’m afraid. But with any luck, you’ll be able to get some use out of them.”

Jungkook accepts the gift and lowers it into his lap, taking out the items one by one—two pairs of patterned wool socks, a novelty mug that reads This is my bah hum mug!, and a pair of red knit mittens that you recognize as Gram Gram’s handiwork. “These are lovely,” he remarks, fingering the bright yarn. “Thank you so much, Mrs. {Last Name}.”

Your mom waves off his gratitude. “No need to thank me, dear. We’re just happy that you’re here to celebrate with us.”

Molly rises from her spot in the pile of candy wrappers that’s overtaken most of the carpeted floor, a brown headband dangling from her chocolate-stained fingers. “This is for you, too,” she says, marching over to Jungkook and placing the headband crookedly on his head. Jungkook beams and adjusts it so that the end isn’t jabbing into the shell of his ear, and you can’t help but giggle at the sight of the sequined reindeer antlers sticking out from each side, the bells at the tip jingling each time he moves his head.

“Smile,” you tell him, opening up your camera app, and he immediately does as requested, his lips curving up at the edges.

“So?” he asks once you’ve lowered your phone again. “Am I pretty like a prince?”

You glance down at the photograph you’ve just taken, the butterflies in your belly beginning to stir. “Yeah,” you murmur after a second’s hesitation. “Definitely.”

///

It takes another hour for everyone to finish unwrapping their gifts. The younger children are dutifully trading the last pieces of candy they have for their favorites, and Jungkook has migrated over to the other side of the room to thank your Gram Gram for the mittens. She’s holding his tattooed hand between both of her smaller ones and animatedly saying something that you can’t quite make out over the general commotion, but you have a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with you.

You’re picking up discarded ribbons, gathering them into one of the many empty boxes scattered around the room, when Jungkook returns to your side. “Have you heard?” he asks. “Apparently, we’re going sledding.”

You laugh. “Yeah, it’s an annual tradition. There’s a park with a giant hill about two blocks away, where I used to go every day in the winter as a kid.”

Jungkook raises a dubious brow. “Every day?”

“Every day,” you confirm. “Ask my mom for the photo albums. She’ll show you.”

He chortles. “I’m not sure we have time to sit and look at photo albums. It looks like Molly and Sadie are starting to get impatient.” Pointedly, he inclines his head at the two girls, who have started an impromptu wrapping paper ball fight. You heave a sigh and step in to intervene, and after ten minutes and quite a bit of wrangling, the living room is passably clean and devoid of candy wrappers and ribbon bows.

The sun is shining bright overhead when you open the front door, glinting off of the fresh snow that’s fallen sometime during the night. Walking over to the garage, you enter the door code and step back as it eases open with a rumbling mechanical whirr. “We keep the sleds in the back,” you inform Jungkook, who’s joined you as you begin to make your way around the car parked inside, the reindeer headband still perched proudly atop his head. “Can you grab the three big ones?”

Jungkook complies, easily reaching up to unhook the plastic sleds from where they’re hanging above a shelf of gardening supplies. You grab the other sleds from where they’re leaning against the wall—a few bright orange discs each about the size of a trash can lid—and turn back to where your cousins are waiting near the door. “Remember, you all have to share, okay?” you tell them in the sternest voice you can muster. Dutifully, they nod, and you and Jungkook begin the long task of herding them two blocks in the direction of the park.

There are already a few children there when you arrive, shrieking with laughter as they fly down the hill on multicolored sleds. The older cousins immediately dart off to join them, and you stifle a giggle when one of them bellyflops into the snow and goes spinning sideways before gravity takes hold and drags him down the incline.

“‘Kookie?” Molly is standing at Jungkook’s side, her head of brown curls reaching no higher than his waist as she tugs on the sleeve of his puffy black coat. “Can you ride with me?”

Jungkook kneels down and takes her hand in his mittened ones, and you belatedly realize he’s already putting your Gram Gram’s gift to good use. “Is this your first time sledding, Molly?” he asks.

Tentatively, she nods, and Jungkook smiles and gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Come on,” he says, taking the long pink sled she’s pulling behind her. “You sit down first, okay? I’ll be right behind you.”

“I don’t wanna go too fast,” Molly declares, and Jungkook nods in understanding.

“We’ll start here then, okay? The hill isn’t as steep on this side.” Carefully, he sits down behind Molly, his legs on either side of her small frame. He urges her to hang on to the sled’s rope handle, checking to make sure she has a good grip on it before pushing off with his hands. The momentum is just enough to tip the sled over the crest, and physics does the rest. They cruise down the hill smoothly, coming to a gradual stop at the bottom, and you can see from the delighted grin on Molly’s face that she loved every minute.

“That was so fun!” she shrieks, waving at you. “You gotta come down too, {Name}!”

You heft your own sled, swallowing down the dangerous warmth that’s threatening to burst forth from your chest and release the horde of butterflies that have taken up residence there. “I’m coming!” you call, your childhood muscle memory returning full force as you take a short running start before flopping down onto your sled. The added momentum launches you down the hill, the icy wind stinging your cheeks, and by the time you come to a stop at the bottom you’re grinning so wide your entire face hurts.

“Let’s go again!” Sadie and Dakota have joined Molly, and all three of them are now looking expectantly at you and Jungkook. “Can you push us so we go even faster?”

“Sure,” Jungkook says agreeably. “Just give me one sec, okay?”

The kids nod and dart off, racing each other back up the hill with the sled in tow. Jungkook tugs off one of his new mittens with his teeth, reaching into his coat pocket for a hair tie, and you try not to stare as he gathers his wavy hair at his crown and fastens it into a loose little bun that leaves only a few strands to frame his face. “Ready to head back up?” he asks, offering you a hand.

You hesitate before taking it, your fingers curling around his warm palm as he pulls you to your feet. Jungkook puts his mitten back on, and you murmur a thanks when he gallantly volunteers to pull the sled back up the hill in your stead.

The hours fly by—filled with laughter and snow flying every which way when your eleven-year-old cousin, Damien, starts an impromptu snowball fight. Your mother calls you halfway through to check in, and you reassure her that everyone’s doing just fine as you duck behind a nearby tree for cover. A new notification sits on your screen when you end the call, kimdaily’s name emblazoned there like a taunt, but you swipe it away after a moment’s hesitation and rejoin the snowball fight, rushing to Jungkook’s aid as Damien and a few others launch a particularly pointed attack.

“Oh my god!” you cry as Damien hefts up a chunk of snow the size of a basketball. “Jungkook, watch—!”

Your warning comes too late. The snow smashes into Jungkook’s side with a thwump, and he staggers back a few steps before losing his balance and falling to the ground. Damien sprints off, cackling like the maniacal little terror he is, and you dart over to Jungkook with every intention of helping him back to his feet.

The icy patch on the ground throws a wrench in that plan. Your boot skids across the slick surface, and you flail helplessly before gravity brings you down atop Jungkook’s chest and nearly knocks your forehead against his. Your faces are mere centimeters apart, all the air having escaped your lungs at the impact, and your eyes widen in horror when you realize that he’s probably faring no better with almost the entirety of your weight resting atop him. “Oh my god,” you gasp, trying and failing to stand up again. Your feet slip almost immediately, sending you tumbling back down onto Jungkook, your breaths intermingling as you fight to recover the lost oxygen. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Jungkook’s chest rumbles, and to your surprise, he’s laughing. “You should see the look on your face,” he wheezes. “You’re acting like I died, or something.”

You manage to roll off of him at last, sitting up straight and fixing him with a glare. “I could’ve really hurt you!”

“But you didn’t,” he replies simply, still flat on his back in the snow. “Not really, at least. My sternum hurts a little, but I’ll recover.”

“We should still take a closer look when we get back to the house,” you remark, laying a hand on his shoulder as he sits up. “It’s getting close to dinnertime, anyway. I’m going to start rounding up the kids.”

“I’ll help,” Jungkook says, accepting the hand you offer him as he clambers back to his feet. “Lead the way.”

///

Dinner is a haphazard affair. Half of your family members take up residence in front of the television, watching holiday reruns of The Great British Baking Show, while a smaller group starts a game of poker at the kitchen table, where by the sound of it, Great Aunt Martha is making a killing. A few of your cousins decide they want to bake cookies after the meal, and you and Jungkook end up supervising the entire affair, from the mixing of the dough—which is when you catch Dakota trying to make off with all the chocolate chips before they can be added—to the time it takes the double batch of cookies to bake. You stir up two mugs of hot cocoa as Jungkook carefully transfers the last of the cookies to the cooling rack, handing one over to him as he finishes up and turns off the oven.

“You know, these turned out surprisingly good,” you remark, picking out a warm cookie and taking a bite. “I thought for sure they’d mixed up the sugar and salt earlier.”

“Not to mention all the vanilla extract they poured in,” Jungkook adds, shuddering. “You’re right, though. These are good.”

Loading up a plate with cookies, you and Jungkook take it to the living room alongside your cocoa. The couches are already occupied, so you grab a few discarded throw pillows and a tartan throw from the armchair where your father is sitting. Tossing the pillows on the ground in front of the fireplace, you take a seat and lay the blanket over your lap. Jungkook joins you, and when you offer him a corner of your blanket, he gratefully accepts.

“How’s your sternum feeling?” you ask.

He hums, leaning back against the pillows and taking a sip of his hot cocoa. “It’s fine. Nothing a cookie or two can’t fix.”

He’s eaten well over two cookies by this point—not to mention several balls of raw cookie dough—but you decide not to bring up those particulars. Instead, your gaze drops down to his mouth, where a dollop of whipped cream has made a home along his upper lip.

“Cream!” you blurt.

Jungkook blinks, twice in quick succession. “Huh?”

Cheeks warming, you quickly clarify by gesturing at his mouth. Realization dawns across his face, and you watch as he raises a tattooed hand and swipes his knuckles across his mouth. “Better?”

You nod and bury your face into your mug, hoping that maybe if you drink enough cocoa, you’ll be able to drown the butterflies fluttering in your belly.

The fire crackles cheerily in the fireplace behind you, warming your back. It’s nothing compared to the heat emanating off of Jungkook though—his proximity igniting molten warmth in your veins every time he reaches out to grab a cookie from the plate in your lap or takes a sip from his mug, his lips pursing around the rim. On the other side of the room, an episode of The Great British Baking Show comes to a close, the credits rolling across the screen.

Evidently, Sadie and Molly have no intention of letting that time go to waste. The two little girls trundle over—Sadie wearing the reindeer antlers that Molly gave Jungkook earlier in the day—and plop down at the edge of the tartan throw that you and Jungkook are sharing.

“Are you in love?”

You choke on your cocoa. Next to you, Jungkook stiffens into a statue. “Are we what?”

“In love,” Sadie repeats, oblivious to your sputtering panic. “Like in the movies.”

“We—” You’re at a loss. “We, uh…”

Jungkook recovers his voice and mobility before you can stammer out another garbled syllable. “Yeah. We are,” he says, and you nearly choke again. Sadie and Molly, however, look pleased.

“When did you know?” Molly presses.

“How do you know?” Sadie asks.

Jungkook glances over, locking eyes with you for a split second before his gaze skitters away. “I realized it pretty recently, I guess. The more time I spent with her, the more I liked her.”

The girls turn to you. “What about you, {Name}?” Molly asks. “How do you know you love Kookie?”

You inhale deeply and release it back out again, trying to quell the panic beating at your heart. “I… I guess I just like spending time with him. He makes me laugh.” Out of the corner of your eye, you chance a look at Jungkook, who’s rubbing the back of his neck and staring down at his toes. “And he always tries to cheer me up when I’m sad. It’s… nice.”

Molly sighs and steals a cookie from your plate. “I wanna be in love,” she says in between bites.

Jungkook reaches out to ruffle her brown hair. “It’ll happen one day, kiddo. Just wait and see.”

That seems to satisfy both girls. Cheerfully, they return to their spot in front of the television, leaving you alone with Jungkook and the palpable tension that’s settled in the air like fog.

You break the silence first. “I think I’m done with this,” you say, picking up your nearly empty mug and rising to your feet. “I’m gonna go rinse it out, and then I’m probably going to head upstairs for the night.”

Jungkook fidgets with the edge of the tartan blanket, picking at a loose thread. “I think I’m going to stay until the end of this episode,” he says, inclining his head at the new bakers on the television. “Can’t leave without seeing who wins, and all that.”

You manage the stiffest of nods before turning and fleeing the scene with your mug in hand and your heart in your throat. The butterflies in your belly are in a frenzy, their wings beating against the slats of your ribcage as if trying to break free, and it’s all you can do to throw your cup in the dishwasher before dashing past the ongoing poker game at the kitchen table and taking the stairs two at a time. The relative safety of your childhood bedroom is a welcome relief—a sigh escaping your lips as you close the door and collapse against it. For a few long seconds, you just breathe—feeling the oxygen swell in your lungs before releasing it out again into the open air.

Love. The word echoes in your mind and rattles around your brain, the mantra fraying at the delicate threads of your mended heart. Unbidden, your ex-boyfriend’s face materializes out of the morass of your consciousness, sparking a sharp pang in your chest that catches you by surprise with its ferocity.

It takes a few minutes for you to regain your composure, but when you do, you immediately head into the bathroom to splash some water on your face. Turning on the shower, you make good use of the time it takes for the water to heat up by grabbing your pajamas from your suitcase and brushing your teeth. By the time you’re finished, the water is hot, and you step underneath the spray to scrub your body and mind clean.

When you exit the bathroom, Jungkook is sitting at the edge of his side of the bed, scrolling idly through his phone. At the sound of the door opening, he looks up, his brown eyes locking with yours for a moment before he awkwardly clears his throat and tucks his phone away.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he says, staring down at his palms. “I, uh, didn’t really think your cousins were ready for the truth about our relationship, so I figured a white lie wouldn’t hurt. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t upset me,” you tell him, slowly making your way to your side of the bed and rooting around for your charging cable. “You just… took me by surprise. That’s all.”

He huffs out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah. No kidding.”

Finally locating your charger, you plug in your phone. The device buzzes gently, the screen lighting up, and it’s impossible to miss the new notification bearing kimdaily’s name that lies in wait there. “Not again,” you sigh, sitting down and swiping it open.

Jungkook pauses on his way to the bathroom. “Everything okay?”

“It’s just my ex.” You wiggle your phone. “What do you think he’s posted now?”

He frowns. “Now? Did he post something earlier?”

You scroll through Namjoon’s profile for confirmation and nod. “Snowman. Few snow angels. And now he’s watching Love, Actually, apparently.”

“Riveting.”

You snort. “Right?”

Jungkook looks like he wants to say something else—you can see it written all over his face. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, his fingers stilling on the bathroom doorknob, and you raise a questioning brow when he hesitates a moment too long.

“What is it?”

He lets out the breath that he’s apparently been holding, releasing it all at once. “Is it okay if I ask what happened between you two?” he asks softly.

You freeze, and Jungkook immediately backtracks, waving a hand in dismissal as he scurries backward into the bathroom. “Never mind. Forget I asked. I’m being nosy.”

“You really are,” you agree, finding your voice at last. “But, it’s okay. I don’t mind. Honestly, I kinda think you deserve to know after all we’ve been through the past few weeks.”

Step by step, Jungkook ventures back into the bedroom and takes a cautious seat on the mattress beside you, taking care to give you plenty of space. He doesn’t say anything further, just sits silently and stares at his hands as he waits for you to begin. And after a few seconds, you finally do—sucking in a deep breath and exhaling in a flurry of words.

“We started dating in September. We were together for just over a year,” you begin. “And maybe it’s stupid, but that felt really significant for me. It’s why I told you to lie—to say that we’ve been dating since October. My family thinks that Namjoon and I broke up in August, just before our one-year anniversary. But really, we didn’t end things until October. I remember, because it was right after Jimin’s birthday party.”

“You were at a party?” Jungkook gapes. “That’s horrible.”

You shrug. “I know. But it was better than lying to ourselves for any longer.”

Jungkook hesitates, fiddling with one of the holes in his jeans. “Did… did he cheat?” he asks, and you sigh and shake your head.

“No, it was nothing like that. We just… grew apart, I guess. I don’t know how or when, but I woke up one day and it was like we were different people. And we realized we just didn’t make sense together. Not anymore.”

Jungkook shifts—the mattress rising and dipping with his weight. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a long beat of silence. “Growing apart from someone you used to be so close to—that’s probably one of the saddest things about growing up."

Your chest is beginning to feel a little too tight, your eyes stinging at the corners. “Yeah. No kidding.”

Jungkook seems to sense your mounting dismay, because he tentatively scoots a little closer. “It’s not all bad, though,” he murmurs, laying a hand on your shoulder. “I like to think it means you’re moving forward, and that you’re on the right path. Sometimes you take a detour, and sometimes you take a wrong turn. But I think that we all end up back on track, one way or another.”

You peer up at him through your lashes. “Are you saying that Namjoon was a wrong turn?”

“Probably,” Jungkook admits quietly. “But we all take the wrong turn sometimes. All that matters is that you’re back on the right path now.”

The tension in your shoulders eases somewhat, the tightness in your chest subsiding. “You really think I’m on the right path?”

He smiles. “Yeah. I do.”

Silence falls again, and Jungkook pats you on the shoulder one last time before slowly rising to his feet. He’s halfway to the bathroom when you call his name, and when he turns around curiously, you can’t quite bring yourself to look him in the eye. “Thank you,” you mumble, addressing your knees instead. “I really needed to hear that, I think. I haven’t really talked to anyone about what happened with Namjoon, and… I’m glad I finally did. So thank you.”

Jungkook hums, and when he answers, his voice is as soft as a breath of wind. “Anytime.”

That night, you sleep much easier, finding comfort in Jungkook’s presence beside you instead of disquiet.

///

You open your eyes to sunshine the next morning—a narrow beam shining through the gap in the curtains and illuminating the golden dust motes that float lazily around the otherwise dark bedroom. Contentedly, you let your eyes fall shut again, snuggling back into the cozy cocoon of your covers and relishing the almost stifling warmth pressed against your back. Off in the distance, you can hear the other occupants of the house beginning to stir, mattresses creaking and showers turning on. Already, you can make out the faint scent of coffee wafting upstairs from the kitchen.

Blindly, you reach out and fumble for your phone on the nightstand, your fingers scrabbling across the cardboard edges of a tissue box and the Hello Kitty alarm clock that you never had the heart to get rid of before finally landing on the sleek glass screen. You tug the device toward you to check the time, grunting when the charging cable runs out of slack, and clumsily try to roll closer to the nightstand when the arm around your waist tightens and thwarts your escape.

The realization hits you then—slamming into you like a cargo train. You’re in bed with Jungkook. Jungkook, whose arm is currently wound around your waist—and now that you’re paying attention, whose face is buried in the back of your neck and whose breath you can feel against the delicate skin of your nape. “Oh, shit,” you breathe. “Shit, shit, shit.”

There’s no way you can possibly escape his embrace without waking him, but you try nonetheless, twisting and turning out of his grasp. Jungkook lets out a hoarse groan as you finally squirm free, rolling onto his back, and you eye him warily as he suppresses a yawn behind his palm.

“G’morning,” he rasps, his voice a full octave lower than normal. “What time is it?”

You grab your phone off the nightstand, clutching onto it like it’s a lifeline. “Just after eight.”

“Mm.” Jungkook grunts out something unintelligible, rubbing at his eyes drowsily before pushing himself up into a sitting position. “We just have that breakfast today, right? The sendoff thing?”

You nod. Every year, your family wraps up the holiday weekend with a big breakfast bash—one last hearty meal before everyone has to drive or fly back to their own homes and lives. It’s a disorganized affair at best, but the food is always delicious and you always leave with leftovers that reheat well. “Yeah. Supposedly, it starts at ten, but it really just depends on when everyone decides to show up.”

Jungkook chuckles. “They’ll come when they’re hungry.”

“Exactly.”

The sun rises higher into the sky as you and Jungkook take turns in the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting dressed. You’re pulling on your favorite pair of fuzzy socks when Jungkook comes out with his hair still damp from the shower, the occasional droplet dripping down and sinking into the fabric of his charcoal crewneck sweatshirt. The sleeves are rolled up to expose the network of branching veins that run along his forearms, and the sizable rip in the left knee of his jeans reveals thigh muscles that you didn’t even know existed, but you determinedly force your gaze back down to your toes as he putters around and puts his silver earrings back into his ears.

As soon as you step into the hallway, you can smell and hear bacon sizzling. Together, you and Jungkook head down to the kitchen where your parents are standing at the stove, each with a pan in front of them and hard at work.

“Morning, kids,” your mother greets, waving her spatula. “We’re running low on coffee—would you mind brewing some more?”

“Sure.” You make your way over to the coffeepot, filling up the machine with fresh water and ground beans. Your father enlists Jungkook’s help with something at the stove, and you can’t help but smile when Jungkook obligingly dons the pastel pink daisy apron from yesterday in preparation.

The morning wears on. Aunt Donna and Uncle Bill join you in the kitchen, helping where they can. One by one, the cousins awaken from their slumber in the living room and begin slinking into the kitchen for something to snack on, and your mother is quick to send them off with little bowls of diced strawberries topped with a dollop of whipped cream.

Right as the clock strikes ten, the doorbell starts ringing—signalling the arrival of the rest of your family. They troop in, raucous as ever even after two days together, and the conversation lasts through the cooking and well into the meal. In fact, you’re positive that they could’ve kept conversing until the new year, but Uncle Bill checks his watch and cuts into a discussion about Christmas tree shortages by loudly dropping his silverware onto his empty plate and clearing his throat.

“Well, I hate to say it, but we’ve got a flight to catch in a couple hours. We should really be heading out.”

And with that catalyst, the rest of your family gradually follows suit. The relatives who live far away start saying their goodbyes, and Great Aunt Martha cites her bad back as all the more reason she should drive back to her house across town now and get some rest. Jungkook gets his fair share of goodbyes and warm wishes as well, and you briefly overhear Great Aunt Martha telling him that he better be back next year with a ring to put on your finger. Several cousins run up to hug him, and Molly and Sadie, in particular, wrap themselves around his legs and refuse to let go. Your heart swells in your chest when he finally extricates himself and crouches down to embrace each of them in turn.

Before long, the time finally arrives for you and Jungkook to make the drive back to the city. You hug your parents and promise to text them once you’re home safe, and your mother hands over a paper bag filled with more containers of leftovers than you can count. “Be sure to add some milk to the mashed potatoes before you reheat them,” she advises. “And don’t you dare put the pie in the microwave!”

“I know, Mom,” you tell her, laughing. “I hate soggy crust as much as you do.”

Smiling, she turns to Jungkook and presses a plastic container into his hands. “These are the leftover cookies, dear. We aren’t going to eat them, but I know you were enjoying them last night.”

Jungkook opens his mouth, no doubt to protest her generosity, but she cuts him off by wrapping him in a tight hug. “Drive safe,” she tells him, and he nods.

“I will.”

“Take care of my little girl,” your father cuts in. “You don’t hurt her now, you hear me?”

Aghast, you turn to him. “Dad!” you begin, but Jungkook just laughs and nods again.

“Yes, sir.”

There’s no traffic on your way back to the city, for which you are grateful. You aren’t sure you could stand any more time trapped in a car with your dark-haired roommate, painfully aware of every flex of his arms and every tick in his jaw as he drives. By the time he finally parks the car, you are practically ready to jump out of your skin—your knees jittery and your heart pounding dangerously hard against your ribs.

“Thank you for doing this,” you tell Jungkook as you open the car door and climb out. “Now we can finally go back to normal.”

“Right,” he says. “Normal.” And as you turn and head for the front door, you completely miss the fleeting look that flits across his face.

///

“So, when exactly did you go blind?”

Jimin has you cornered in the bathroom, caging you in with his body, and despite your best friend’s lithe appearance he is in firm possession of a solid frame of dense muscle and all the stubbornness of a mule. “What are you talking about?” you ask, trying to push past him, but he holds his ground and flicks you on the forehead for good measure.

“You heard me,” he says. “Or have you gone deaf, too? Maybe you’re just a bigger idiot than I thought you were. Or are you being stupid on purpose?”

Irritably, you cross your arms over your chest and shift your weight, tapping your socked foot against the tiled floor. “Okay, did I miss a memo? When did we agree to start being needlessly cruel to each other?”

“Since you decided to start being stupid,” Jimin replies bluntly. “Seriously, {Name}. Can’t you see that he really likes you?”

Once again, you try and fail to shove past Jimin. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Jimin huffs out an exasperated sigh. “Jungkook!” he hisses, casting a wary glance at the cracked bathroom door before lowering his voice to a whisper. “Jungkook likes you, you idiot. I’ve never seen him like this, and I’ve known him for going on eight years now. Things are weird between you two—don’t you feel it?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, but no words escape. When you regain your voice at last, all you can manage is a weak stammer of protest, one that sounds unconvincing even to your own ears. “Don’t be ridiculous. Jungkook, he… he doesn’t like me. That’s insane.”

Jimin scoffs. “You’re insane, and I’m right. He’s been staring at you all afternoon—did you notice that? I don’t think he even knows what movie we just watched.”

“He was probably just spacing out or something,” you retort. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

That earns you another sigh. “It’s been two days since you came back from your parents’ house, right? Have you two even talked since then?”

“We talk,” you say defensively. “We put together a grocery list yesterday.”

“That doesn’t count, and you know it,” Jimin snaps. “Look, I know something happened over Christmas—it’s written all over your face. And you clearly like him too, so why don’t you go in there and do something about it?”

Your face heats up at the accusation, but you refuse to concede that easily. “Did your sister make brownies again or something? Are you high?”

Jimin, unfortunately, knows you far too well to fall for your deflections, his honey brown eyes narrowing in triumph. “I knew it!” he whispers excitedly, grabbing your shoulders and giving you a shake. “You like him, and he likes you. So, I’m going to make myself scarce now, and you are going to ask that boy out because it’s the twenty-first fucking century and women can make the first move if they want to.”

With that, Jimin turns on his heel and flings open the bathroom door, leaving you no time to protest and no chance to drag him back so you can tell him how wrong he is about everything. So you can tell him that you don’t like Jungkook, and he most certainly doesn’t like you.

You’re roommates. You’d probably even classify him as a friend, now. But to call him anything else? The mere thought sets your face aflame, so you turn on the sink and splash your face with copious amounts of cold water before exiting the bathroom.

“Jimin—” you begin as you enter the living room, only to stop dead in your tracks when you’re greeted by the sight of Jungkook and Jungkook alone.

“He just left,” your roommate says, rising from the couch, and you grit out a curse. “Is something wrong? Did something happen with you guys?”

“No, it’s just—” You sigh. “It’s just Jimin being Jimin. Like usual.”

“It almost sounded like you were fighting,” Jungkook notes, before he blanches and tries to walk back his statement. “Not that I was eavesdropping, or anything! I just, it’s just that I—”

You shake your head, cutting off his rambling. “It’s fine, Jungkook—we weren’t fighting. Jimin’s just being a pain in the ass about something.”

“He’s a pain in the ass about most things,” Jungkook points out with a chuckle, his eyes crinkling into crescents and his upper lip disappearing into his grin. The sun is just beginning to set, painting the walls of your living room with slanting rays of gold and casting his face in an ethereal glow. And though you hate to admit when you’re wrong, you can no longer deny the feelings bubbling up in your chest, warm and ebullient.

“Jungk—” you start, your voice scarcely above a whisper.

“Weshouldgetdinner!” Jungkook blurts suddenly, and you stop, blinking in confusion.

“Huh?”

His cheeks flush, but he presses on nonetheless. “We should get dinner,” he repeats, the syllables dragging from his throat. “Like, as a date. A real one. I… I’ve been meaning to ask for a while now.”

Your mouth opens but no words come out, and Jungkook seems to take the silence as a bad sign. The glimmer of hope in his eyes fades, his shoulders slouching beneath his oversized black sweatshirt. “Sorry,” he mumbles, sinking back down onto the couch. “Forget I said anyth—”

“Yes!”

It’s his turn to blink. “Huh?”

“Yes,” you repeat, taking a few tentative steps forward. “Yes, let’s get dinner, because I… I like you, Jungkook. I think I’ve liked you for a while now.”

A slow grin spreads across his face, as bright as the sun painting golden streaks through the sliver of sky visible from the window. “Sorry, I think I just went temporarily deaf,” he teases, swirling his pinky in his ear. “Could you repeat that?”

You huff, reaching out to smack his arm weakly. “God, you’re so embarrassing.”

“But you like it,” he replies, intercepting your hand and lacing your fingers together. “You like me. Now, where do you want to go for our first real date?”

///

“So,” Jungkook says, leaning back in his chair. “Here we are.”

The two of you are at the same restaurant you took him to just before your company’s holiday party, but this time you’re indoors instead of on the rooftop. The wooden decor is cozy and the lighting is dim, and every table is decorated with a spherical glass bowl that holds three floating candles, their flickering flames reflecting off the water and illuminating your companion’s face in warm, hazy gold.

“Here we are,” you agree with a grin. “Again.”

You both laugh, and the conversation starts from there—flowing so easily that you wonder how you ever lived a life without him in it. You swap silly childhood stories and share the details of your favorite vacations, and it feels like no time has passed at all when Jungkook pulls out his wallet to pay the check.

“My turn,” he says, plopping his credit card down, and his voice leaves no room for argument.

Snow begins falling as you and Jungkook head back in the direction of your shared home—fat white flakes flurrying down to land in your lashes and dust across your shoulders. Jungkook’s hair—loose and falling around his face in wispy waves—looks as if it’s been scattered with icy stars to match the constellations glimmering in his dark irises, and ever so slowly, you reach out to take his hand.

“Kiss me?” you request.

Jungkook’s gaze darkens. “Thought you’d never ask,” he breathes, and your palms fly up to his broad shoulders when he leans in at last and crushes his mouth to yours.

Somehow, the two of you manage to make it home, the snow on your clothes beginning to melt as soon as you step past the threshold. Jungkook kicks the door shut with a booted foot, and you sigh into his mouth as he rids you of your coat and cages you against the wall of the entryway. Soft lips trail from the line of your jaw down to the column of your neck, and you shiver when he finds a particularly sensitive spot near your clavicle and lets his teeth graze across it.

His hands are at your hips now, palming along the ridged corduroy of your skirt as his fingertips dig into the soft curve of your rear. Cupping his cheek, you bring him back into a kiss, relishing the unhurried way his mouth moves against yours even as hardness grows against your lower belly. Deliberately, you slide your palm down his chest, past the toned ridges of his abdomen and all the way down to the growing bulge in his jeans.

Jungkook stops you before you can brush against him, his fingers ironclad around your wrist. “Wait,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Maybe… we shouldn’t do this. Maybe we should take things slow.”

You fall limp in his grasp, and he slowly releases your hand so you can lower it back down to your side. “Slow,” you repeat, trying to hide your disappointment. “Right.”

Gentle fingers find your chin, tilting your face up so he can press a sweet kiss on your mouth. “I just don’t want to fuck this up,” he murmurs, his breath fanning your cheeks with every word. “I like you way too much for that.” Then he glances down to the tent in his jeans, awkwardly pulling his coat closed to obscure it.

The kiss doesn’t stop the disappointment from blooming in your belly, but you nod nonetheless. “Okay,” you whisper, letting your lips graze his once more. “We’re taking things slow, right? So, I guess this is the part where I say goodnight.”

Jungkook’s lips pull up into a tiny grin, his fingers reluctantly loosening their grip on your waist. “Okay,” he breathes. “Goodnight, {Name}.”

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” you reply, committing every last detail of his face to memory before turning and heading for your bedroom. Jungkook’s bedroom door closes behind him, and you stare at it for a moment before shutting your own. Taking a seat on the edge of your bed, you unbutton your skirt and kick it off your legs until it falls flat onto the carpet. Your tights meet the same fate, replaced quickly with flannel pajama pants, but your sweater you decide to keep on for a while longer as you meander into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face.

You’re still thinking of Jungkook when you climb into bed ten minutes later, now braless and dressed in an oversized t-shirt. You wonder if he’s in his pajamas, and whether he’s in bed or if he’s decided to start one of those late night gaming sessions that he seems to favor. You wonder what would happen if you walked across the living room and knocked on his bedroom door right now—if he would sweep you up and continue what you’d started or if he’d push you away. Your feet carry you over to your bedroom door before you even fully realize what you’re doing, your fingers already wrapped around the doorknob.

It takes a second for you to steel your nerves enough to open the door, but when you do, you see that you aren’t alone. Jungkook stands on the other side, his hand raised and poised to knock. Shock flits across his face, his mouth falling into a little ‘o’ of surprise, and you’re certain you’re mirroring his expression.

“H-hi,” you manage.

“Hi,” he replies. “Do you want to hear something stupid?”

Whatever you were expecting him to say, it certainly wasn’t that. “Um. Sure, I guess.”

Jungkook raises his hand, extending his pointer finger before jabbing it into the center of his chest. “It’s me. I’m stupid. I was brushing my teeth a few minutes ago, when I suddenly realized that I missed you. And that’s stupid, because I like you, and you like me, and you literally live on the other side of the living room.” Slowly, he glances up to meet your gaze, an expression of tentative hope painted across his features. “So, fuck taking things slow. Right?”

You’re already pressing to your tiptoes, fisting your hands in the collar of his white t-shirt to tug him down to your level. “Yeah,” you whisper, the butterflies in your belly taking off into celebratory flight. “Fuck taking things slow.”

///

Kissing Jungkook is quickly becoming one of your favorite things to do. His chest is bare beneath your fingertips, a canvas of honeyed skin and strong muscle for you to explore, and you take full advantage as he works your lips apart and licks ardently into your mouth. Wandering hands crawl beneath the hem of your oversized t-shirt, pushing up the material to expose the swell of your breasts. Your nipples pebble at the exposure, and Jungkook groans as he rids you of your shirt entirely before leaning in to envelop one in his warm, wet mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he rasps, the vibrations of his voice sending a delicious shiver down the length of your spine. “Been thinking about how nice your tits always look—and fuck, this is better than I could’ve ever imagined.”

Breathlessly, you wind your arms around his neck, your fingers delving into his thick hair and tugging until he takes the hint and slants his mouth across yours once again. His hands settle below the swell of your ass, pulling you close, until you’re settled firmly in his lap with your legs on either side of his denim-clad thighs, his name escaping you in a sigh as he deepens the kiss.

Jungkook smiles against your lips. “Pretty girl,” he croons, pulling away just enough to murmur the words as his thumbs dip into the waistband of your panties. A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest when he discovers the growing wetness between your legs, two fingers skimming through the slick before he presses experimentally against your clit. Your hips jump at the pressure, and he smirks in satisfaction.

Ever so slowly, he gathers you up in his arms, shifting until he can lay you back against your mattress. The sheets rumple beneath you as he crawls up your body to plant a sweet kiss on your waiting mouth, before returning his attention to the soft spot on your clavicle that he’s already discovered, lavishing it with attention until you’re gasping.

Jungkook reads your body like it’s his favorite poem, exploring every line and stanza until he’s committed the words to memory and making note of every stutter and hitch in your breath. There’s an art in the way he repeats the motions that make you keen, and something sensual in the way his lips curl every time he pulls out a whimper. You’re trembling by the time he reaches the apex of your thighs, his fingers closing around the elastic of your panties and pulling them down and off your legs. Tossing them aside, he lays his hands on your knees, his gaze locking with yours as he spreads you open and settles into the space he’s created. Instinct has you trying to close your legs and embarrassment has you shying away from his stare, but he presses a fond kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh and soothes you with a soft murmur of your name.

“Don’t hide from me,” he breathes. “You’re gorgeous.”

Then he’s leaning in, and your breath hitches in your throat when he boldly licks a broad stripe up your exposed pussy. Your fingers fly down to his hair, tangling in the silky strands as he finds your clit and gives it an experimental suck. Pleasure flares in your belly, your hips jolting off the mattress, and Jungkook chuckles as he settles himself more comfortably and winds his arms around your legs to keep you spread open for him, the inky tattoos swirling around his right arm only emphasizing the muscle.

“I thought about this, too, y’know” he murmurs, circling your clit with his tongue before dipping down to your slit and lapping up the juices there. “Thought about how good you probably taste, and how pretty you’d look cumming on my tongue.” He inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering shut, and your cheeks warm when you see the slick coating his lips and chin. “And fuck, I was right. You taste fucking divine.”

It should be strange, hearing such filth spewing from your normally mild-mannered roommate’s lips. It should be odd, seeing him nestled between your spread thighs with his long hair in disarray, his eyes hooded and darkened into obsidian. But the strangest thing is that it doesn’t feel strange or odd—it feels good. Right. As if this is where you were meant to be, all along.

Warm palms smooth up your thighs, splaying against your belly. Jungkook leans down to press a soft kiss to your clit, his lips teasing at the sensitive little bundle of nerves, and when your hips jump in his grasp, he lets out a hoarse chuckle that rumbles straight to your core. Slowly, he moves down to your slit, alternating long licks along the length of your pussy with firm suction on your clit. Your body thrums beneath his ministrations, your legs beginning to tremble, and Jungkook doubly renews his efforts when your thighs clench a little tighter around his head. His wet, hot mouth returns to your clit in full force, and you keen out his name when a finger slips into your cunt and curls up in search of the spot that’s sure to unravel you completely.

“Jungkook!”

Said man releases your clit for a split second to coo your name, his hot breath washing against your slick folds. “Come on, baby,” he rasps. “Wanna make you cum. Wanna taste you, so bad.”

And with that, he eases a second finger in with the first. His lips wrap around your clit again, mouthing at it in time with the steady cadence of his fingers, and your breath grows ragged when he finally finds the soft spot he’s been looking for. He focuses his full attention on it, digging deep until you’re quaking, and you gasp again.

“Jungkook, I’m—! Fuck—”

One last swirl of his tongue around your clit proves to be your undoing. You shake apart in his ironclad embrace, your walls clenching around his fingers, and he continues lapping at you even as your vision goes white with pleasure. By the time you come back down from your high, a second wave is already brewing in your belly, coiling tighter and tighter as Jungkook tirelessly sucks your clit back into his mouth.

Your second orgasm is stronger than the first—breaking like a wave and spreading to every vein in your body like wildfire. Jungkook helps you through it, whispering sweet words of praise into the skin of your inner thigh and petting slow, sure circles around your sensitive nub until you fall limp in his arms.

“Good?” he chuckles.

“Good,” you breathe back. “So good, Jungkook. Fuck.”

In any other situation, you’d be tempted to slap the self-satisfied grin off his face, but you decide he’s deserved it in this case. The growing strain in the crotch of his jeans tells you that he deserves something else too, and you sit up slowly, still feeling rather boneless. Jungkook watches raptly as you reach for the button of his jeans and pop it open, swallowing harshly when you brush against his clothed erection. Gently, his hands settle over yours, helping you push his jeans off his hips so he can kick them off entirely, and your mouth goes dry when the entirety of his deliciously thick cock is revealed, bobbing insistently against his lower stomach.

Ever so slowly, Jungkook presses you down into the mattress, your back against the pillows piled along the headboard of your bed. His gaze meets yours as he settles between your legs once more, and you find that you can’t look away as he takes his cock in his tattooed hand and slides the head through the slick gathered in your slit, spreading it up and down the length of your pussy. “Okay?” he whispers, soft as a feather.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Jungkook, please.”

He obliges. Slowly, he rocks forward, the thick head of his cock parting your walls, and your mouth falls open at the sheer size of him. The glide is made easier by the considerable slick from your previous orgasms, but there’s still the slightest pinch of discomfort as he pauses and leans down to press a fond kiss to the soft spot at your collarbone. “Breathe, baby,” he encourages lowly, and you do as he says, sucking in a lungful of air and willing your body to relax.

Little by little, the discomfort ebbs away, replaced by a throbbing ache for more. Your hips rock, another inch of his cock slipping into you, and Jungkook takes it as a sign to continue pressing forward until he’s seated inside your body. The surge of fullness knocks all the air out of your lungs and leaves you floating and breathless, your fingers scrabbling along his back for something to hold onto as you try to find solid ground again. Jungkook waits patiently, nosing along your neck and trailing kisses up your throat, and you sigh when his mouth slants across yours at last. Your lips part to receive him, and he licks into your mouth until you’re arching off the mattress, your curves meshing with his lines.

Nimble fingers drop down to your clit then, tracing slow circles around the sensitive nub. Your hips jolt, the motion unintentionally sending him deeper, and the pleasure that flares in your tummy tears a sharp moan from your throat. Deliberately, you rock against him, encouraging him to move, and Jungkook obliges with a hoarse grunt, his chest heaving as he pulls back until only the head of his cock remains nestled within your walls. His thumb finds your clit again, and you keen out his name when he surges forward at the same time he flicks across the sensitive bundle and sets all your nerves aflame.

Jungkook sets a slow, deliberate pace—one that has you clutching at the broad expanse of his back and gasping when he repeatedly hits the spot that has you seeing stars. The coil in your belly tightens with every thrust, the slick glide of his cock igniting your body and sending electricity dancing along your skin. A particularly hard rock of his hips sends you sliding backward on the mattress, and Jungkook grits out a groan when the motion jiggles the swell of your breasts. Leaning down, he catches a pebbled nipple in his mouth, and your back arches as he lavishes the nub with attention, desperately seeking out more contact.

When Jungkook’s thumb digs into your clit again, it proves to be too much. The sudden burst of pressure is accompanied by a harsh thrust that you practically feel in the back of your throat, and the combination sends you hurtling over the edge of your third orgasm of the night, wave after wave of white hot pleasure searing through your veins. Jungkook’s rhythm stutters as you clench wildly around him, and your name escapes him a hoarse groan as he follows you off the precipice, creamy warmth flooding your walls.

It takes a few long moments for the pleasure to recede, your breath slowing gradually and your eyes blinking open. Jungkook’s grin is wide, a chuckle escaping him as he wipes at the wetness slicking his bare chest, and your muddled brain wonders at the motion before the realization dawns, the horror following soon after.

“Oh my god.” You scramble back, your cheeks aflame, his softened cock slipping out from inside you as you bury your face in your hands. “I can’t believe I just—I mean, that’s never happened—”

Jungkook pulls your hands away and twines his fingers with yours, nosing at your neck until you finally work up the nerve to look at him. “Are you joking?” he asks. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

You bury your face into the crook of his tattooed shoulder instead, shielding yourself in the inky petals and leaves. “It’s embarrassing, though.”

“No, it’s hot as fuck,” Jungkook corrects, his arms winding around your waist and pulling you close. “So why don’t we see if I can make you do it again?”

///

The sun has only just risen when you stir awake the next morning, roused by something that you can’t quite place. There’s a stifling warmth pressed against your back and a strong arm banded around your waist, and you can’t help but smile as you turn around in the embrace, coming face to face with your dark-haired roommate.

Jungkook is beautiful in this light—his hair like spilled ink against the cream of your pillows, the exposed skin of his neck and shoulders warm and golden. You can just barely make out the beginnings of his tattoos swirling along his right shoulder—a field of flowers curling up around the line of his collarbones. Gently, you reach out to run a fingertip along a delicately inked lily, tracing each petal.

When you pull back, Jungkook’s eyes are open, a slow smile curving across his face. “Hi,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse with sleep.

You smile back. “Hi.”

Beneath the covers, his arm tightens around your waist, his fingers tapping out a silent melody along the slats of your ribcage. “Sleep well?”

“Best night of sleep I’ve had in ages,” you admit, laughing. “You?”

“Honestly? Same.”

Yawning, Jungkook stretches his arms overhead and cranes around to grab his phone off the nightstand. Blearily, he wakes the screen and scans his notifications, his eyes narrowing as he zeroes in on one in particular. “Looks like our friend kimdaily’s back at it,” he says. “Have you seen?”

“No, I haven’t.” You shift a little closer to him and lay your head on his shoulder, relishing the way his arm immediately comes up to secure you in an embrace. “I turned off those notifications days ago.”

Jungkook’s answering grin is bright enough to rival the sun. Turning, he drops his phone back onto the nightstand before tugging you close and brushing a stray hair from your cheek. “So what now?” he asks. “Should we start thinking about breakfast?”

You lean in and press a long, lingering kiss to his mouth, your fingers already beginning to trail down past the ridges of his abdomen.

“Nah. Breakfast can wait.”

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