#and i was like 'dude imagine me sitting here hearing not a peep from u for a while until u blurt out because women are dumb??' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

guudak · 4 years

Text

andante, andante

pairing: jungkook / oc genre + tags: college au, f2l, alcohol, pining word count: 7,522 The aftermath of your best friend singing that ABBA song, clumsily flirting with you and then drunkenly professing his love to you multiple times in the same night.

“Is he ok? Namjoon, what’s he doing?”

“He’s severely hungover,” he explains to you, propping an arm on the windowsill. His hand gestures. “This is his remedy.”

You look out the window again, overseeing the frat’s backyard, and down below at the deck - is the person you sought. The gales shake the trees, you can hear it howl, and not to mention the downpour of rain that had you soaked to the skin through your jeans between your sprint from the bus stop to here. You look back at Namjoon, disbelieved. “What, sitting in a hot tub outside in the middle of a hale storm?”

“Erm, well, not the storm bit. That was just unfortunate. Sitting meditatively in a hot tub though, yeah. He does that a lot, moreso when he has something on his mind.” He peeps a discreet eye at you while you claim a seat on the ledge. Your arms cross, huddling your oversized cardigan over yourself as you glance back at the mop of matted black hair on the deck. Jungkook is sitting very still, laying back, eyes closed and his neck craning upwards towards the gloomy sky. A breath of air expels from your nose when you imagine how cold the rain must be.

“I really wanted to talk to him in person … I don’t know, do you think I should have waited a few days?” You turn to Namjoon who shakes his head.

“It’s good you came here. I think it would have left him to assume the worst and overthink otherwise, and you know what he’s like - better to confront him sooner than later. He’s been in a kind of sad, mopey daze since this morning.”

Your lips purse together as you mull this over. “I don’t necessarily want to confront him about it now, not if he doesn’t want to yet. I just want to see him and … make sure he’s ok. Because you know, that … overthinking thing he does.”

The upward lift of Namjoon’s lips is soft, the same kind of softness that’s perceptible in his eyes. The look reminds you of Jungkook’s own gentle demeanour. “I think seeing you here will disorient him a litte, but I think deep down he’ll be relieved. ”

He invites you to sit in the warmth of the lounge downstairs while you wait. The house of Beta Tau Sigma is cosy, and your favourite visits are always during the winter period when they’d decorate the interior, reminding you very much of the setting of a classic Christmas movie. Alas, however, it isn’t winter, and there are still strewn cups around and a broken lamp on the table in front of you; consequence of the party they hosted the previous night.

You’re surprised Jungkook remembers. He’d been so far-gone yesterday, yet you woke up this morning to four successive texts from him -

i’m sorry

im so so sorry.

can we talk

please

You’d thought over a tactful reply; taking into mind Jungkook: despite the calm, rational front he has - is emotional, an individual with a soul as sensitive as they come. You had to be careful with what you said, but soon after aborted all efforts when you’d found yourself backspacing each time. You prefer face-to-face conversation, and for something like this - you couldn’t possibly venture any other approach that would be befitting. For anyone else, perhaps. But Jungkook isn’t just someone else. He’s your best friend.

You check the text in reply that you’d left for him from two hours ago, which is still left unread.

hi jungkook i’d love to talk

are u ok

Sleeping it over had dulled the shock from the night before, as hearing it from him had been a double whammy for both your head and heart. You hadn’t known what to think, hadn’t known what to say.

In his tastefully tipsy state he’d been very happy. The chirpy go-lucky sort of happy that made you coo. Tipsy Jungkook is sweet and endearing, more affectionate and made it his mission to pull you with him to the karaoke machine. You’d been friends with him long enough to know that he could sing. He’s a soft singer; has a voice that could be lullaby to late sleepy evenings, it’s one you’d heard snippets of because he did it without conscious thought; he hummed in the car, while waiting in line - one of his many mannerisms that makes clear when he’s in his head.

“ABBA? Good choice,” you’d commented, after he jabbed the numbers on the remote. He budged over so you could sit beside him on the armchair. So cramped and close that you moved to drape your leg over one of his, and he welcomed it. “Not their most popular song, but definitely one of their most soulful. That’s a good one, it’s one of my favourites,” and then he stilled.

At the cease of his movements, you’d found your spine straightening just slightly, as if on guard, but for what you hadn’t been sure. You were about to ask him if he was ok, only to be taking the brunt of his bright puppy eyes that smile at you.

“Me too,” he’d said, with that characteristic gentleness shining in his orbs.

A few hours later, he’d morphed from sweet boy-next-door with the angel voice to himbo football jock slash and quote “pussy-whisperer,” courtesy and words verbatim of Park Jimin, who vibed with Jock Jungkook like a long lost brother.

The amount of girls that suddenly flocked to him and sat on his lap had you reeling in hysterics to the extent that you had to bury your face in Hoseok’s shoulder. Even when Jungkook’s on the football team, you’d never thought of him once as a jock. Didn’t they say all jocks are athletes, but not all athletes are jocks? He’d never lived up to the greasy college stereotype. Turned out maybe some alcohol was missing in the mix. Was this what you were missing? Who knew he had it in him?

“How many have you had, man?” Hoseok had asked, and Jungkook grinned, mouth lop-sided, before then thwacking him solidly on the back.

“I’m good, thanks for asking, man.”

“That wasn’t what I - ok,” Hoseok winced, clutching at his shoulder blade, and exchanging a bemused look at you.

You were alert to the sliding gaze of Jungkook on you. He slid into the chair close beside you, and you propped your elbow onto the counter. Head resting in your palm, you’d anticipated it.

“Hey, cutie.”

And there it was.

Your mouth twitched during your attempt to stifle your laugh, but you were eager to play along. You straightened, not shy to look him direct in the eyes, even when his own wandered to your midriff. “Hey.”

A moment’s pause, before he let out a wistful sigh.

“Holy shit, I love your boobs.”

Hoseok spat into his cup, a succession of coughs after.

“No, I’m just saying, from a non-biased, impersonal point of view …” He made a vague, rounded motion in the air with his hands, “- they’re really nice. I’m saying this objectively.”

“Objectively,” Hoseok wheezed. You aimed a calculated kick at his ankle.

“Thanks! They’re not much but they’re cute, I grew them all by myself.”

Jungkook hummed in acknowledgement, a critical eye on you and his head bobbing solemnly. “You did a good job.”

“Oh my God,” Hoseok was crying; head ducked, full-blown tears of laughter, ears pink and slapping the countertop. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“Yours are pretty neat, too,” you told him.

He looked down at the outline of his chest. “You think so? I’ve been working out but they could do with a bit more volume.”

Hoseok was doubling over, desperate to leave but at the same time rooted to the spot, thumping his chest to stop himself from choking. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m gonna die if I stay any longer. See you, guys.”

He left, leaving you alone with Jungkook and a few others in the kitchen. “You alright?” you asked, and he nodded again, smiling tiredly and head lolling a little to the side.

“Did you like the song I sang for you earlier?”

“You sang it for me? How sweet of you,” you cooed, cuddling up to his side. “You know, if you wanted to touch my boobs, if you asked I think I’d be ok with that.”

He seemed hesitant. “You’re bullshitting.”

“Ok, maybe I am a little,” you chuckled, feeling the rumble resonating from his chest.

“Seriously,” he murmured, and for a millisecond, you swore you detected the tone of the Jungkook - not this Jungkook who was a confident force, but the one you were most familiar with, “I think I’d -”

Jimin’s voice boomed above the stereo, “Jungkook! It’s your turn! Get your ass back here!”

A heavy sigh was drawn out from him as he slid his chair back. Though, he waited for you to lift your head from his chest before doing so.

“See you.” He winked at you before following Jimin’s ongoing calls. Though, more of a wink and a half. He never could wink properly with just one eye, both had to be involved.

Then came the finale.

The most recent drunken Jungkook phase - one you’d never witnessed beforehand. If there was anything you could have concluded, it was that beyond his sober level-headed exterior, he must have a lot of pent up anger. Jungkook in drunken phase three transitioned between a three colour spectrum of moods and you’d barely caught up.

Exhibit one -

“The ocean is so important!” he cried, literally cried as he began bumbling about blue whales and the sheer plastic in the ocean, morosed how the first piece of plastic ever produced still hadn’t decomposed.

It was no help that Namjoon enthusiastically joined in - the fucking nerds, until Jungkook started bawling and knocked back the salt shaker on the countertop mistaking it for a shot of tequila.

You’d panicked and dragged him to the nearest bathroom to wash it out of his eyes. The seconds that followed afterwards, was you rubbing his back while he sobbed and puked the hearty contents of his stomach into the toilet.

Exhibit two -

“If any dude is giving you a hard time, chances are - you’re hotter than them. And on top of that, they made you cry, making you a better person than them!” he proclaimed. Once you’d helped him clean up, he’d bumped into Ola - a girl you recalled was in his media class, and was crying outside of the door of the bathroom you and Jungkook had been in.

She’d sniffled her way through a story about a boy she’d been talking to for six months, and Jungkook was as revved up as his ocean speech while he pep-talked her about how heartless the guy was; that he gave good guys a bad rep; and that she simply deserved better. Of course, you’d agreed with him. It sounded all too familiar to something you’d said in the past, though who could blame him for adopting your mannerism of speech when he’d spent so much time with you?

Exhibit three -

“Hey, Chad! Why the fuck do you hate poor people?!”

You were mortified. “Jungkook! Literally, where did you get that conclusion from?!”

“He plays lacrosse and owns a golf cart!”

You groaned, yanking at his arm away from Chad - captain of the boys’ lacrosse team, and who’d also fortunately passed out on the couch, otherwise Jungkook for sure would have had his face beat in. Though, you’d like to think that Jungkook would win, for sure, but you promised sober Jungkook that you’d take care of drunk Jungkook.

So that was that.

By now you’d contracted a stress-induced migraine, by which your own best friend was accountable for. And you thought - by God, did he have to deal with this every time you went to a party together while you’d run rampant? This had been an eye-opener, and you should definitely be considerate next time because drunk people were babies, and not in the cute way either.

And finally: exhibit four.

“Hey.”

You endured all the pet names, had endured being called the Apple of his Eye, Angel Face, and his Compass Star, because flirty Jungkook had been throwing pet names around all night. You’d seen and heard it yourself. But nothing would have prepared you for what he’d say next.

You glanced at him, just a second to look away from your phone screen. “Yeah?”

His eyes drooped, form slouched, and head atop his folded arms on the countertop. It was just after midnight, and the kitchen was a quiet lull, besides you and Jungkook who were sitting together; and then there was Jimin and Taehyung, and Seokjin by the sink in their own private conversation … and whatever it was that Taehyung was doing. Admittedly you hadn’t been paying much heed nor did you endeavour to find out.

Body curling into himself; Jungkook looked so much smaller than when he stood to his full stature.

“I’ve got it bad,” he mumbled, wistfully, “real bad. So bad - I’m doomed bad. End of the fucking world baaad.”

Your hands rubbed at his nape, tender fingers toying with the longer hairs there. He’d been growing it out, and he looked good. You tucked a tuft of hair behind his ear. “What makes you think that?”

Again - the glossy puppy eyes that gazed up, contemplating you like you’d fallen from heaven.

His smile was meek, as shy as the drawling voice that spoke, “I … I really think you’re my soulmate. I don’t like saying it too much but I … like, love love you, but we’re only best friends. Someday you’ll date for real - instead of flings, I’d have to accept it. I don’t think I’ll be ok, but I will be, jus’ will take time to get over you. Have done it a few times before. I’ll be ok.”

Your hand stilled, fingers still tangled in his locks.

Rendered motionless, like air had been punched out of you from the stomach, unable to bring yourself to salvage the words. Breathless, all you could bring yourself to do was to weakly call his name.

He hadn’t heard you, and he yawned, leaning into your touch. His body trembled with his giggles. “One time, you were sooo drunk. You were so drunk, don’t think you remembered - blacked out. You flirted with me that whole evening. After that … after that I became obsessed with you forever.”

It was with a sinking stomach when you’d realised that you couldn’t recall that night at all.

Gulping, you peered down at the mop of tangled hair on the countertop, wishing for nothing else but to properly see his face, but it was half-hidden where he’d snuggled into his arms.

“Jungkook?” you whispered, gently moving away the hair that flopped over his eyes. “Jungkook?’

No reply. Just steady, heavy breathing.

No reply, because he’d fallen asleep.

It’s a splitting headache that rouses Jungkook from heavy sleep. One of those slumbers where he wakes up groggy, as if he hasn’t rested at all despite it being hours since. He tries to get up, but to no avail. His limbs are leaden heavy, and he collapses back onto his bed within seconds of mustering the strength to hoist himself up.

There are a series of knocks on the door but what’s the point of knocking when Jimin barges in anyway. He snickers seeing Jungkook: a sad, spectacular heap on the bed with a bitching hangover to boot.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook drawls, barely recognising the cadence of his own voice. He throws an arm over his face, brow tightening as he shuts his eyes to recall anything that happened hours prior, but even that’s too much of a Herculean effort that his brain isn’t willing to commit to at nine in the morning. Hangovers are not worth the night before for this - this is a different kind of hell.

Jimin places a glass and a jug of water on his bedside table. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

“Thanks,” he replies. He at least has enough strength to reach for the glass. When he sits up a hand goes instantly to knock against his temple, as if it would stop whatever invisible vice it is that’s squeezing and hammering at his brain from all directions. He notices Jimin’s narrowing scrutiny on him.

“You remember anything from yesterday?”

“Honestly, not really. Just some bits here and there.”

“Blacked out, huh.” If Jimin hesitated it’s only for a split second, he stuffs a hand into his hoodie pocket for his phone. “There’s something I wanna show you. Not sure if you’re gonna like it much.”

“Can’t be that bad,” he says, but Jimin proffers a look, and Jungkook frowns. “... Right?”

Jimin licks his teeth in a way that makes Jungkook’s stomach drop just slightly.

“Famous last words, bud,” is all he replies.

The slide of the back doors from the kitchen is what jerks your head up, followed by the sound of feet pattering on tiles. Suddenly, there’s a rise of anxiousness. Until you drum into your head that, no , this is nothing for you to be anxious about. There are the natural nerves budding that stem from confrontation, and you think this may be it.

Towel around his shoulders and dampened hair swept back, Jungkook doesn’t notice you at first when he appears by the doorway. He walks, gazes ahead like his legs are functioning on autopilot - but when he does notice you, he could have skidded. The way he halts and how his body almost springs backwards into the kitchen as soon as he sees your form huddled on one end of the couch, and how Basil - the frat’s cat, is curled by your lap, peacefully asleep and indulging in the soft stroke of your knuckles on his head.

His expression mirrors a man who wants so desperately to sink into the floorboards. Or to dash back into the hale storm and fully immerse himself head to toe into the hot tub’s waters and never surface again.

The first few seconds of silence is heavy. As if you’re both still trying to process the presence of the other. It’s an uncomfortable silence you’re not accustomed to when with Jungkook. He’s always leaned more to the quiet side of the spectrum; introverted, introspective. But silences had always been comfortable, even when you two clashed.

You endeavour for eye contact but he’s suddenly so transfixed on a shadow upon the wood flooring.

“Hey,” you begin, quietly, like the walls are listening in on you. It’s enough gentle encouragement for him to peer up. He hides his hangover well but the mirth, the glint; the starry eyedness that reflected in his orbs from the night before is absent, and no amount of hot tub therapy could conceal the physical and mental exhaustion.

“Hey.” He sounds almost breathless, smothers the tremor in his voice with a cough. “You’re … you’re soaked.”

“So are you.” Your tone is apologetic, “Sorry I came on short notice, I messaged you but I don’t think you saw it.”

He winces. “Right - sorry. My phone died. Haven’t checked it since.”

You muster a small smile. “I thought as much.”

Another breath. Another nervous lilt in his voice. “I’m sorry. Not just the phone thing but everything I said to you last night.”

You sigh. “Don’t be. It’s just … I’m surprised you remember what you said.”

He takes a breath, bicep flexing when he rubs anxiously at his nape. “I don’t,” he admits. “Jimin told me. It’s in this video he took last night of Taehyung eating cake off the floor, you could hear my voice in the background.”

“Ah. That explains it.” Your lips pursed. “Did you mean what you said?”

His eyes round and flash to yours. He chews his lip, throws a glance at his feet. “... Yeah,” he whispers.

“Not just the alcohol talking?”

“No.”

You’re quiet, continuing to stroke Basil who’s still fast asleep beside you.

“Sor—“

“Stop apologising,” you snap. You didn’t mean to, but his shoulders tense, and it makes you wallow in guilt that only he out of everyone has been able to make you feel. You haven’t thought this through and now you’re here you’re saying all the wrong things and asking all the wrong questions. But you remember it’s him, and recollect yourself. “Jungkook - it’s just … it’s just a lot to unpack.”

You peer up, his nod is slow, but he gets it.

He’s tired, you see it clear as day. See it in the trudge of his walk, the dim in his eyes, and neither of you talk on the way up. Not until you reach his room.

Despite your protests, he insists you help yourself to his draws for a spare change of dry clothes. It’s with that thought when you realise you still have yet to return several shirts to him with the promise of them all being washed and folded; washed and folded they are, but you never have been great at remembering to give them back. Putting it into perspective - maybe it is a little weird. Weird for two people who fall under the label of best friends. But then again you borrowed clothes from your own roommates all the time to the point you sometimes forgot whose is whose. It isn’t weird. Right?

While Jungkook goes for a brisk shower, you peel off your soaked clothes, hang them over a spot on his clothes rack. His room is mostly devoid of personal touch, though there are a few photos of his high school football days and some of him and his friends pinned to a board. Otherwise, he’s never had much interest for interior decoration, but he likes his room clean and uncluttered.

There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later. “Are you …?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m done.”

The door cracks open, and Jungkook appears, adorned in another change of clothes. His hair is still damp, fluffed at the patches that have managed to dry and his cheeks are pink from the heat of the shower, but he’s less rugged than earlier. Still tired, though. So tired that you don’t question it when he makes a beeline for his unmade bed and collapses face-first into his pillow. You perch on the edge, pulling his duvet over him.

He wriggles closer to the wall, like he’s making more room for you to sit. You appreciate the gesture and shuffle closer. Outside, the wind still howls.

“You should dry your hair properly,” you murmur, fingers at the damp ends of his nape.

“Yeah … prob’ly should,” he sighs, muffled where his mouth is buried in his pillow.

You came here to talk about yesterday night, but maybe it’s a conversation for another time. You out of everyone should know how strenuous it is to have a heart-to-heart while being victim to a hangover that gives you the same capacity as someone half-dead.

You’re staring blankly at the wall, so occupied with the whistle of the winds, so lost in the strands between your fingertips - that when you peer down you’re met with half-open shining eyes, and a lazy blinking gaze directed upwards at your face.

“Yes?”

“Nothing,” he murmurs, like clockwork, and buries half his face again into the plush of his pillow. It’s enough time for you to catch the shy tilt of his lips before they hid again. It’s almost ironic, how you’re the one next to him while he nurses a hangover when it’s always been the other way round. Here, he’s so vulnerable. Your mind wanders to the possibility - what if it was the other way around? An alternate universe where it was you who serenaded Jungkook with karaoke and confessed.

In whatever reality, you imagine him to confront you in the way you did now. Perhaps approached it a little differently, would perhaps be a little gentler, but he would never give you the cold shoulder.

For now, you both pretend there’s been no drunken confession. Best friends, like how it’s always been, and you’ll discuss it all when the time comes.

At some point you’re lowering yourself next to him; your head on the same pillow, and your bodies beneath the same blanket. He’s warm.

And it’s peaceful, as comfortable as it always has been.

“Oh my God, where the hell’s your shirt? I haven’t seen you swim once so far,” you scoff, and Hoseok pulls a sour face.

“You’re talking big for being the one in the string bikini.”

You look at him in disbelief. “Yeah, but I actually used the pool?”

“Scooch over, babe.”

Your eyes roll skyward as he plops beside you on the loveseat. It’s another weekend, another frat, another party, another excuse for Hoseok to walk around without a shirt because there’s a pool. Correction: a further excuse for hoards of frat boys to walk around without a shirt, but at this point you’re desensitised to it.

The music booms, a dull vibration you feel through the ground.

Kappa Omega is infamous for their extravagant parties (at least, as extravagant as college parties can go). Compared to others it’s vastly over-the-top, with most of the guys getting in through connections just like how their college applications got past admissions, but it is what it is. They’re not all bad people, they hold parties for fundraisers but sometimes it can’t be helped not to feel sour when you see what they blow their money on. The Kappa Omega mansion is so big that you’d spent a good portion of the beginning of the night lost.

“Lucky bastards,” Hoseok mutters. He’s said that several times this evening. He’s only here for the booze and the cheese tray. He pops open another beer, chucks the bottle opener onto the low table in front of him, besides the cheese tray he stole from the kitchen. “Which frat party was it again when you blacked out and dived into the pool fully clothed? I can’t remember anymore.”

“We don’t talk about that, thanks,” you utter, wrapping your long cardigan tighter around your torso. “Have you by chance seen Jungkook around? I thought he’d be here by now.”

He looks up, mid-way from tipping back his beer. “Yeah, I saw him some time ago.”

“What, where?”

“Sat with some food by himself somewhere.” His arm gestures vaguely. “He looked a little sad. You know, in signature Jungkook fashion, you know how he gets sometimes.”

Your form slumps. “Right,” you murmur. It’s been over two weeks since the last time you saw him. Not that it’s unprecedented. He has football among other commitments that strung him away for days and sometimes weeks at a time, and you had your own as well.

Be that as it may, somehow it feels like the both of you are drawing the whole thing out. Not purposely, but definitely unnecessarily. Neither of you brought it up in your messages to each other either, and it hit you recently that, well - you miss him. You’ve seen him around campus, but never for too long. Nothing more than fleeting sightings of him and his disheveled hair in a half-pony while he rushes to class after football practice; a hand usually holding onto a snack while the other held onto the strap of his half-open duffel bag, but you only had time to exchange a wave and a look that held promise of your next meeting. The fact remains that you miss your best friend, and it would kill you for your friendship to be awkward because of what happened. You had every intention to talk to him tonight in person, and no dallying or delays this time.

Hoseok’s eyes squint your way. “What’s going on between you guys, anyway. You guys a thing or what?”

You sigh, “That’s the thing, I have no idea yet.”

“Yet.” His lips purse, contemplating you. “He really likes you, you know. So, like, go easy on him.”

Your eyes narrow. “How long have you known, then?”

“As if it was hard,” he scoffs, sitting back. “Guy wears his heart on his sleeve. You have to be thick as a brick not to notice.”

“Wow. Thanks,” you deadpan.

He stabs his fork into the blue cheese. “You know why him and Yerim broke up?”

“Oh no,” you morose, frowning, “don’t tell me it was because of me. I talked to her after they broke it off and she said it wasn’t.”

“Not entirely. But I think she was bending the truth a little so that you wouldn’t berate Jungkook about it. She’s a cool girl, really nice and a good sport. Knew you two were close and accepted that like a champ. But -” and he pauses for emphasis. A pause which is seconds too long, and then finally he puts his fork down, clutches one of your hands in both of his, and waits for you until you’re hanging on to his every breath while he chews and swallows the remaining in his mouth. He resumes, brightly, “it’s not my story to tell. So you better go and find him.”

You shove him. Harder this time - enough that he topples over, and he cackles obnoxiously.

“Prick,” you laugh, but rise to your feet. Your gaze spans the backyard, the pool. You spot a hot tub, but it’s filled with other students who are laughing and raucous.

“Ok, I’m going,” you announce, glancing at Hoseok who’s still very much captivated by the cheese tray before him. It does look really good. “See you in a bit.”

“Yeah, yeah, bye.”

The problem with knowing so many people, and having the same friends as those people - is that in situations where you try to pull yourself away from yet another drinking game you’re taken by the elbow by someone else. Having all of your mutual friends congregated in one domain that is the Kappa Omega House has made your search for the ever-elusive Jeon Jungkook a grand Pain in the Ass. He’s like gold dust. You’ve texted him but you’ve yet to receive a reply.

“Hey, have you seen Jungkook?”

“I saw him at the front porch a few minutes ago?”

“... Seriously? I’ve literally just been there.”

You even scrambled over a balcony and leaped over a hedge when you tried to get away from Chad’s third invitation to join the game of chicken fight in the pool (a parkour stunt that you like to think would put Peter Parker to shame). You give yourself a quiet moment to catch your breath.

It’s then you realise you’re in a part of the backyard you swear you haven’t been in before. You can presuppose why. It’s dimly lit, less people, and the boom of the stereo is still loud, but is more of a distant noise in comparison to the other parts of the house you’ve been in. Like what the hell, how big is this place?

“Sooo, you’ve found him yet or what?”

You hear the voice before you see the face.

Unbelievable. So you cross paths with shirtless Hoseok for the third time and yet haven’t so much as had a hair’s glimpse of Jungkook.

“Nope,” you reply, quite miserably, hands stuffing into your cardigan’s large pockets. You feel for your phone. He still hasn’t seen your message. At this point you’re one teetering step away from letting go of the remaining wisps of your dignity and yell his name through a megaphone with a hope he'll come to you instead … you’ve probably done that while drunk before but you’re nowhere near tipsy now, and that’s besides the point.

Behind you, Hoseok hums, quite serene. When you look back you see he’s lowered his back onto the grass, his eyelids shut.

Eyes scanning this part of the backyard, it’s a different ambience to the atmosphere by the pool. More relaxed. There are students either sat or lying on the grass in small groups, their conversations a low murmur with the occasional twinkling sound of someone’s laughter rising above it. There’s a slabbed stone pathway that leads further up the grass, which then disappears behind a tall row of hedges, and with that you find yourself on your feet again.

“As much as it pains me to leave, there’s only so much of you I can take in one evening before I go crazy,” you tell Hoseok, who’s unbothered reply is no more than a lazy thumbs up from his spot on the grass.

It gets darker the further away you are from the house, but you’re led by the quiet warm-white glow of the lawn lights that highlight the path. It calms your mind to a lull that puts you at peace, something you desperately sought after your hopeless goose-chase just minutes prior.

The waters of a hot tub glow blue up ahead. You skid to a stop when you come closer and see someone’s in there; shoulders immersed and their head just above the water’s surface. What’s the phrase? When you stop looking for something, it finds you? That’s probably not how it goes, but it doesn’t matter. After futile searching, hedge jumping and greasy frat boy dodging, you finally found him. Of course he’d be in a place like this.

His eyes are dazed, mesmerised by the ripples in the water that his smallest movements create. He hasn’t yet noticed you coming.

You pad closer. “... Jungkook?” and like a switch, his spine straightens, goes rigid as a ramrod at your voice. He’s blinking, head shaking side to side as if to snap himself out of the trance that clouds his head.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you exasperate.

He blinks. “You … you have?”

You scoff, amused at the way his brows knit. “Yeah,” you sigh, stopping so your forearms can lean on the sides of the tub. “May I join you?”

After a beat of hesitation - “Of course you can.”

You shrug your long oversized cardigan off of your shoulders, and double check that your phone is still in the pocket before you chuck it in a heap on the bench. You secure your footing on the step, eyes intercepting his own. His Adam's apple bobs when the rest of your body comes into view, and you shiver at the breeze but warmth engulfs you the second you’re in contact with the bubbling water.

“Feels good?” he asks, and you sigh contentedly, leaning back.

“Yeah.” If you really wanted to, you could fall asleep right here, right now. “What is it with you and hot tubs? Always knew you had a thing for them but never asked specifically why. Or does it just feel good?”

“Mainly that. The guys on my team use the excuse that it breaks up the lactic acid in your muscles after training, but it just feels good when you’re sore.”

“Huh.” When you crack an eye open, he’s already looking at you.

His lips purse. “Did you want to talk?” and when you nod he sighs, wearily. “I wanted to, honestly. But I … I guess I never felt ready to hear what you’re going to say.”

You frown. “What do you think I’m going to say?”

“I don’t know. That you don’t feel that way about me, which I’m fine with. I was never meant to let it slip, but I ended up saying all the things I didn’t want you to hear yet. And while I was drunk, of all things.”

You consider this, broach your tone carefully. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

His eyes avert to the water. “... Eventually. It would have been after graduation. No step three beyond telling you, no secret ploy to get you to fall in love with me, I only would have wanted you to know how I felt. I’d leave you alone and we’d finally move on with our lives. And what better timing than after graduation? But that’s not how it turned out, did it?” He laughs, but it’s with rueful discomfort.

“How long?”

He exhales. “A while.”

“I see.” You think hard for a second. “Even when you were with Yerim?”

He gnaws on his bottom lip, but you can tell he’s honest when he replies with, “Yeah. But I never pretended she was you.”

“Of course you didn’t, you’re not that type of person.”

At last, he does smile at that, and seeing the tilt of his mouth settles a warmth in your heart.

Part of you wants to ask what happened between him and Yerim, but you think perhaps it’s for the best you don’t know, at least now. It’s not your business nor his obligation to tell you.

Before you could dwell too much on your oncoming words, you continue barging forward or you’ll chicken out from what you’re going to say next.

“Jungkook,” you begin. “What if I said yes?”

A pause.

“What do you mean?”

“If you asked me out, and I said yes.”

He’s so bewildered he looks as if he’s just been slapped. Suddenly, something more serious shadows his features. “You know I’d never want you to date me just because. I’m fine with rejection, seriously, I’ll get over it. But I don’t want you to settle for less than what you want. You deserve someone you want, and if I’m not that person, that’s fine. You deserve -”

“Last time I checked, you don’t get a say on what it is that I do and don’t deserve. Who I deserve is for me to decide, so stop cutting yourself so short because you’re more decent than most of the guys I know.”

He shifts, looks away. “So what are you saying?”

“Should we try it?”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

“Then it doesn’t work out,” you say, simply.

“But then it’ll be awkward.”

“You telling me that you became obsessed with me after I flirted with you for one evening while I was drunk already made it awkward. Not like we have anything else to lose.”

A breath of air expels from his nose in a chuckle. “Oh, ouch.”

“Jungkook,” you sigh. “It’s so easy to be around you. If it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t work out, but how are we supposed to know how it’s going to turn out if we don’t even give it a chance? It’s going to be awkward either way but we’ll figure it out. Like with all the other crap we’ve gone through. I’ve been with enough guys to know that guys like you come far and few between, I trust you enough to want to do this. You’re one of those few guys I know I can trust, alongside Hoseok. Even though he can be a real bitch sometimes.”

Jungkook doesn’t rebuke you, but he laughs. It’s a sound you’ve never been more relieved to hear.

“So what do you think? I don’t want to force you into it. If you don’t want this, I’m fine with it. If you do, I’m fine with that too. Everything on my end is fine, so what about yours?”

If him confessing happened a year, or maybe two years earlier, you don’t think you would have confronted it in the way that you’d done now. You understand why Jungkook wanted to bide his time. You’re stubborn, fiery, and don’t think things through in the way that Jungkook does. If this happened two years ago, you can imagine you’d have yelled at him on impulse, asking him why, why he let it happen.

But there’s a very particular fondness you’ve honed for your best friend that has unfurled in the years of your friendship, to the point you couldn’t possibly imagine yourself putting blame on him for his feelings. It seems being friends with him has really mellowed you. While Hoseok is the friend you’re most similar to, your other pea-in-the-pod, Jungkook is the friend who balances you out. Someone so different to you, yet someone who still knows what makes you tick.

He’s a friend who doesn’t judge, but yet is always first to call you out whenever you’re out of line. A friend who waits until you’re inside of your dorm building before driving away. The type of guy who pays for dinner and doesn’t expect you to pay him back. A friend who makes sure you’re back home safely when you’re drunk, puts a glass of water next to you and watches over you to make sure you don’t choke on your vomit in your sleep.

Finally, after careful consideration, he nods. He nods, finally.

“So we’re doing this then.” You crack a smile, and he finds it difficult to suppress his own.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

With an unchanging temper, as still and as serene as waters below the turbulent surface - Jungkook is your anchor, he always has been. The anchor that tethers your feet to the earth when the elements threaten to topple you over.

In the blue glow, you shuffle closer forward on your knees.

“Can I kiss you?” you murmur, and he chokes on his saliva, spluttering. You smile sheepishly. “Sorry it’s weird, you don’t have to let me if that’s going too fast. I just … I want to see what it feels like.”

He hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

He mulls it over, but it doesn’t take much thinking. He stares at you, hard. But then you disrupt the stillness with a disarming smile, and unable to resist, he beckons you over. “Come here.”

It’s odd to straddle his lap at first. In the same way it is when you’re getting on a bike for the first time or any kind of first. He doesn’t make any first move, it’s you who he waits to initiate.

The path of your fingers trail slowly upwards, until they’re splayed against his chest. They remain there, and you detect the quick pattering of his heart, the rise of his chest. His breaths are deep but they’re controlled, and he feels sturdy beneath you.

Jungkook is stupid handsome, with the body to match. But that’s not what swells your heart. It’s not what pushes you to move further forward in his lap and finally press your mouth to the seam of his lips before you could think twice.

It’s how tenderly he gazes up at you. With the same sincerity and adoration he’d shown the night he’d confessed drunk. His eyes, an opening to his soul which is a whole other wonder.

When was the last time someone looked at you like that?

The kiss is soft. No sparks, no butterflies on your end - not yet, but somehow it still feels right. Like missing pieces that have finally fallen into place. Warmth and love spills from him. It saturates your body to the very tips of your ears, all the way down to your toes, like a slow, spreading glow. It feels good.

When shy pecks don’t become enough anymore, you get needy, touching and grasping for more of him. His palms press against your lower back, massaging the skin there, and eventually your mouth parts pliant for him.

“Oh,” he croaks, his head leaning forward so his cheek brushes yours. You can’t see his eyes, and you attempt to move but he curtains the planes of his face with his hair.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, having to strain to catch his whisper.

“I’m embarrassed.”

You chuckle, warmth spreading from the spot on your ear that his lips hover over. “How come?”

“Like, there are probably bricks softer than my dick right now. And … I really, really don’t wanna jizz my pants in a Kappa Omega hot tub. I would have hit my lowest point in life if I do.”

“Oh my God.” You’re almost crying, shoulders shaking with how hard you’re laughing.

“Please, I’m so serious right now. I’d never be able to redeem myself.”

“Would jizzing in an obscenely expensive hot tub be so bad?”

“Yes,” he emphasises. “Really bad, actually. Have you heard of that guy who ejaculated in a swimming pool and accidentally got twenty girls pregnant?”

“That sounds like fake news. There’s no way. Sperm aren’t homing torpedoes, Jungkook. They’d be unviable as soon as they’d be in the water. But if you want me to move back, I’ll move back.”

His face is taut, like he’s trying so hard. “Yes, please.” His eyes go stern, but there’s a nervous jitter you feel with the skin beneath your fingertips. “And just because I think it’s worth mentioning, I don’t think we should have sex straight away.”

“Oh. Right. I see,” you deadpan.

It’s his turn to cackle at the dead-set, disappointed look on your face. “What’s with that?”

Your eyes roll. “You know I’m kidding.” You brush the hair out from his eyes. “Jungkook, will you wait for me?”

His expression softens, and he hoists you until you’re pressed impossibly closer.

“Of course I will. However long it needs to be.”

a/n: when jk says you flirted with me the whole night and i became obsessed w you forever, yea that was from b99

originally posted on ao3! thx for reading!!! <33

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader

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tcm--holland · 6 years

Text

sellout // peter parker

summary: you’re a journalist with a passion for superheroes. what sets you apart from the other nosy writers in nyc is that one of them has been under your nose the entire time, and you didn’t even notice. but when given an opportunity to rise to the top in the world of turbulent journalism, will you let it go or become a sellout?

word count: about 5.3k

a/n: been a while, but here i am if anyone still wants me. thank you for (almost) 1k, i seriously thought i’d never get this far when i started this acc last year. as always, babes, enjoy <333

masterlist

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The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, as people know him, is our latest rising superhero. But as we all know, fame comes hand in hand with controversy. A lot of people question his motivation, competence, abilities...even his morals. “Is he even a superhero?” Many ask after his recent oil spill incident. In short, yes.

You finish typing your sentence, shut your laptop, and hurriedly slide it into your backpack. You peek through the blinds in your dirty window, looking out into the already bustling city. The streets are flooded and lines for coffee shops are starting to go out the door. Amongst the crowd, you spot a familiar brunet boy that was supposed to be here ten minutes ago.

Grabbing two apples and a water bottle, you dash out the door and down the stairwell, trying not to drop anything. As soon as you’re outside, a scent native only to New York hits your nose: freshly baked bagels, dark roasted coffee, and a hint of stale urine. It kind of makes you wish that you had the time to sit down and have some real breakfast, but who are you kidding? You’re a student, a busy one at that. There’s no such thing as free time.

You weave through the bunches of businesspeople, students, and other people with places to be to get to the boy. “Peter!” You call to get his attention, barely audible over the noise of the street. He turns away from you first, looking in the opposite direction and then slowly making a 360 degree turn until he spots you. You shake your head in disbelief and toss him an apple. He catches it without hesitation. His reflexes never fail to amaze you, but this doesn’t distract you from being annoyed at him. “About time you showed up.”

“Aw, sorry, Y/N.” It’s only now that you’ve noticed him trying to hide something in the water bottle pouch of his backpack. He stands awkwardly, half turned away like he’s cheating out on a stage, but then he reaches back to grab whatever he’s been hiding. He pulls out a cup of coffee, and when you peep inside you see a thick layer of foam on top. Just the way you like it. “I thought I’d grab you some coffee. Uh, I wasn’t sure if it was two or three sugars, so I put in two and I brought an extra packet...” The joyous yet hesitant smile on his face as he hands it to you is contagious, and suddenly you’ve cracked a grin too. You can never find it in you to stay angry with Peter.

He fishes into his pocket, pulling out a set of tangled earphones with the sugar packet inside the tangle. You shake your head. “Two’s great.”

“You’re the best, you know that? Thank you.” You take a sip and wince as you nearly burn your tongue off. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him looking at you. He glances away as soon as you notice. “But now we’re definitely going to be late. Let’s go.” You walk side by side, him munching on the crisp apple and you carefully sipping the java. Within a minute, he’s finished with his apple. He opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t need to. You already know. You hand him your apple without a word. As per usual, he vehemently refuses to take it until you’ve said that you don’t want it a million times.

“Why didn’t you get yourself some coffee? You look like you need it more than I do,” you comment. His skin is pale as a vampire’s, like he hasn’t seen proper sunlight in days. And he’s still wearing yesterday’s Star Wars t-shirt, which he was also wearing the day before yesterday.

“Nah. Coffee just makes me jumpy. And I’m hyper enough without it, don’tcha think?” He cracks a smile.

“I guess you are.” You smile back, remembering something that you wanted to tell him. “Hey, remember how I applied for that job at The Daily Globe, and I said I totally wasn’t gonna get it?” The look on your face gives it away.

“You got it?” Peter throws an arm around you, squeezing your shoulder. “I’m so proud of you! What are you gonna write about?”

You grin up at him before taking another sip of the coffee. His constant enthusiasm for your writing will never stop motivating you. “They want me to cover Spider-Man. Crazy cool, right?”

He blinks, and for a brief moment his eyes are wide with panic. “Y-You’re writing about...Spider-Man? That’s, uh...That’s really cool! You’re gonna do great.”

“You think so? I started writing my first article this morning. I was thinking about finding out who that mystery man is. I could start an investigative series of -”

Peter cuts you off before you can say more, taking his arm off of your shoulder. “No, don’t do that!” You stop and look at him, brow furrowed in confusion, as he fumbles for words. “U-Uh, I mean, maybe you shouldn’t reveal his identity to the world. You know, maybe he wants his private life to stay, er, private.”

“Yeah?” You say, unimpressed. “I don’t remember you caring this much about Daredevil’s private life when we were digging into him.”

“Okay but - that was before I knew him.” He paused, realizing he’d just let a secret slip. “I mean, obviously I don’t know know him. You get what I’m saying.”

You look at him and sigh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It might be a bad idea to build up that kind of suspense and not be able to release an actual reveal if Spider-Man turns out to be someone like Daredevil. You know, I’m still pissed that I couldn’t tell everyone who Daredevil is after all that research.”

He cracks a smile. “What, you mean being sued by a lawyer isn’t on the bucket list?”

You smile, forgetting all about wanting to find out who Spider-Man is as you let your imagination run free. “During the day, he’d sue me. But at night, he’d find and murder me. And then, he’d stare - I mean, he can’t see, but you get the point - he’d stare at my dead body and be like, ‘Bullseye’ before leaping away to beat up some criminals.” You do your best impression of Murdock’s cool, dark demeanor. Peter starts cracking up, shaking his head.

“No no no - it’s like, ‘Bullseye’.” He does his own impression, which sounds so smooth and serious that you have to do a double take to make sure you’re looking at Peter Parker and not Matt Murdock himself. He grins at your reaction, stopping to take a bow with a flourish of his hand.

You shake your head at his over-exaggeration. You lean in close to whisper into his ear, trying not to giggle. “Hey, Pete, you can tell me if you’re secretly friends with the guy.” A blush starts creeping up his neck. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re whispering in his ear or if it’s something else.

“Uh, totally. Nothing weird about a teenager and a thirty year old lawyer dude hanging out, right?”

You scrunch up your face and shove him playfully. “Ew, well, when you put it like that…” The tall brick school building comes into view, right beside the delicately maintained football field. You slide your phone out of your pocket to glance at the time. “We’re, like, ten minutes late,” you say, starting to walk a little faster.

As two of you cross onto the campus, he gives you a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” he apologizes again.

“Hey, it’s nothing. The coffee was worth it,” you wink, and his lips curve upwards. You finish up what’s left in your cup and try to make it into the nearest trash can. Unsurprisingly, it lands several feet away. Still, you exclaim, “Kobe!”

“Join the basketball team already!” He teases as you make the walk of shame to throw your cup away properly.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, but the body betrays the mind and a grin slips through.

It’s finally time to part ways, which is your least favorite part of each and every morning. You lean in to give him a hug. Even though it’s clearly been a while since he’s washed up, he’s still got a unique musk that you haven’t gotten around to figuring out yet. He’s so warm and easy to hold onto. Do you have to let go?

You linger a few more moments in his strong, defined arms as he rubs little circles on your back. You’re sure he’s doing it absentmindedly, yet it’s your favorite part of hugging him. With his Stark internship, your writing, and school, moments like this have recently been defining your friendship with him.

He sighs, resting his head on your shoulder. “I’m so tired, Y/N.” Every time he breathes, it tickles your neck a little.

“What’s keeping you up?” You ask quietly, brushing the hair off of his forehead. He sighs again, and this time you really feel it tickle your neck. You want to squirm and laugh a little, but you keep it in so he can tell you what’s on his mind.

“Hm? Oh, it’s just, uh...school.” Upon hearing this, you immediately pick up on the fact that he’s stressed about something he doesn’t want to tell you. If either of you had the time, you’d unpack it all and make him feel better. “Speaking of school, we should probably...do that.” He lifts his head off of your shoulder. His hair’s all over the place now, but he doesn’t seem to care. Peter gives you a soft smile.

You pull away from the hug. You’ve seen him smile a million times, but something about this one makes you feel different. You’ve never noticed how his dark, coffee colored eyes crinkle so genuinely when he smiles, or how brightly they shine when they look at you. He’s staring at you back, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. Why do you suddenly feel like kissing him? Peter, the boy who has read everything you’ve ever written and still begs for more. The boy you bumped into when you’d just moved to the city and you didn’t know anyone else. The one who walked to school with you every single day so you wouldn’t have to face a new school alone, and never fell out of the habit. The same one you cried about when he confided in you about his crush on Liz Toomes.

You swallow. Why is your mind playing cruel tricks on you when you know the truth? You force yourself to snap out of it, stepping away from Peter. “I-I’ll see you later, Peter,” you say quickly, all traces of a smile gone as you turn around to leave.

“Uh, cool. See you, Y/N!” you hear him reply. You walk faster, heading into class and taking a seat. Your classmates stare at you judgmentally, silently wondering why you’re so late. You keep your head down.

“Thanks for the hello,” your friend and designated partner in class, Mia, mutters as you reach into your backpack to grab your notebook. She’s been around almost as long as Peter.

“Sorry,” you mumble back, not offering an explanation. You keep your eyes glued to your notebook so she can’t see the expression on your face. She has a weird way of figuring out everything on your mind, whether you want her to know or not.

“Something happen?”

You glance up at her. She’s forgotten about writing in her notebook and has started twirling one of her cornrow braids around her finger. She watches you the whole time. Finally, she says, “‘Cause, like, I’m not saying that you’re late because you were busy being all over each other in the hallways, but if you were…”

Your eyes widen, and you glance over both shoulders to make sure no one’s listening. “Wh - no! It’s not like that, I already told you. I’m late because I got coffee, okay?”

Mia raises a carefully plucked eyebrow. “Y/N, can you answer me honestly for once when I ask if you like that boy or not?”

You sigh. “Sure, I like him, but -”

“Then what are you waiting for, girl? Go get him!”

“No!” This draws the attention of the teacher, who glances over. You pretend to work until he looks away, and then you turn back towards her. “No, Mia. He likes Liz.”

“He likes -” She starts, but she quickly cuts herself off and stops playing with her hair. “Oh.” You half hope that she’ll say something reassuring, even if it’s not true. But Mia’s no liar - she’ll give it to you straight. You look away, feeling worse. You focus on the clock at the front of the classroom instead, counting down the minutes until class ends.

Eventually, class ends, but your inner anguish doesn’t. Hours turn into days and nights, which turn into weeks. You do your best to keep up with Peter, but the universe works against you. You call him at the only time you can - right after school - but he never picks up. And every time he calls you back, it’s when you’re in the middle of writing something important. Eventually, walking to school together becomes less of a peaceful sanctuary and more of a necessary chore. Most of the time is spent walking side by side on your phones.

You don’t how you got to a point where you hardly say hello to each other anymore, but it happened so quickly that it hasn’t set in for either of you yet. Part of you thinks that maybe that’s just how it’s supposed to be, that you’re meant to be a forgotten relic from Peter Parker’s past. What a tragic, cruel fate. Thinking about Peter makes your stomach churn with discomfort, so you focus all of your energy on writing.

Ladies and gentlemen, The Daily Bugle has officially become the Fox News of writing about Spider-Man. In their latest article, they chose to slander me by calling me a “nasty teen who doesn’t know the difference between journalism and writing for a tabloid”. That’s how you know you’ve won a battle, folks.

Reports say that Spider-Man’s slipping a little. He let a few purse snatchers get away this week. Some worry, or rejoice, depending on who you are, that this is the end of the line for him. Don’t give up hope so quickly, I say to that. It’s all in the making of someone great. But I can’t help but wonder...what’s on Spider-Man’s mind? More importantly, can he find it in himself to deal with it and move on?

You start doing well. Suddenly, everyone’s talking to you about your latest articles. Teachers, friends, and your family alike begin to regard you as a local hero, in your own unique way. Despite this positive attention, something doesn’t feel right.

One day, something you’d been fearing for a while finally comes true. Peter stops showing up outside of your apartment. You stand outside that grey morning, staring into the sea of faces and hoping that one of them might be his. You wait ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes, looking a bit like a lost puppy to people that happen to glance at you.

It’s only after almost forty-five minutes of internal panic and worry that you think to text him. Maybe he’s sick and he forgot to tell you. It’s probably nothing and you’re overreacting for no reason.

(8:32 AM) You: school started 20 min ago...where are you?

You stare at your phone, spacing out for a few minutes until you hear a ping.

(8:36 AM) Peter: oh crap!!! y/n i’m so sorry, i totally forgot to tell you

(8:36 AM) You: ???

(8:37 AM) Peter: i’m in d.c. rn for a decathlon tournament! kinda last min but yeah! sorry for not letting you know, you gonna be late?

(8:37 AM) You: thought you stopped doing decathlon

(8:38 AM) Peter: i got back into it :)

(8:41 AM) You: oh

He sends you something after that, but you don’t bother reading it. The entire walk to school, you feel like you’re in a daze. You don’t understand why you can’t just let it go and move on with your life. Your writing is taking off. Some D-list magazine once titled you ‘Teen Journalist of the Year’, after all. You’ve dreamed of going big your whole life, but now that it’s starting to happen, you’re more unhappy than you’ve ever been.

As you walk, you hear your phone begin to play your marimba ringtone. Who’s calling you at this time? You ignore the pile up of texts from Peter to answer the call. The caller ID says...your boss? You put the phone to your ear. “Mr. Bushkin, I -” You start.

“Y/N, listen. You’re exactly what this paper has needed for a long time - a young, fresh face who hands it to the audience unfiltered.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Bushkin -”

“K.J. Clayton herself praises you!” K.J. Clayton, owner of The Daily Globe? You want to express your excitement, but as usual, there’s no time to react with the overbearing Barney Bushkin. “And hey, you’re gettin’ fan mail, kid! Pick it up from the office when you can, okay? But I called to ask you about something. You’re doing great, but you know what turns kids like you into celebrities? The big break.”

“And I think your big break could be in finding out who that Spider-Man is. So think about it if you wanna, and get back to me on…” Bushkin’s words fade away for a moment.

“Maybe he wants his private life to stay private.” That’s what Peter said as he convinced you to let Spider-Man live in peace. But that doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it’s time you do something for yourself. Bushkin’s right - finding out who the masked spider is would launch your career. You’re sure you can do it - without Peter’s help.

“Mr. Bushkin.” For once, you interrupt your boss. He doesn’t seem to mind, though.

“Hm?”

“I’ll do it, sir. I’ll find out who Spider-Man is.”

---

By the time you get to school, there are hardly more than ten minutes left in first period. Mia tries to talk to you when you sit down, but you can’t bring yourself to tune into the world right now. You’re too excited about your own future.

You go through your classes, juggling between feeling annoyed about your Peter ordeal and feeling excited about your new assignment. If anything, the jumble of emotions make you even more determined.

At lunch, you open your phone up to see that it’s blowing up with messages from friends, schoolmates...even strangers. It doesn’t take much more than a quick Google search to find out that something’s going on in D.C. Immediately, you start watching the first live broadcast that comes up. It’s Spider-Man on top of… “The Washington monument?” You whisper.

You sit there in shock, watching him save a bunch of kids from inside the monument, no thanks to the police. You squint to try and get a better look at the kids. They’re not kids, they’re teenagers! And their jackets look awfully familiar…

“The decathlon team.” You have to pinch yourself to make sure that you’re not living a reality. Your heart’s beating so fast and you can barely breathe, like you just ran a few miles at top speed. You glance at Mia, who’s been watching you across your table of friends with a confused stare as you talk to yourself. “I - I have to go,” you announce, standing up suddenly and tossing everything into your backpack before beginning to walk quickly. Mia is right by your side as you approach the office.

“Y/N, what are you -”

“Spider-Man just saved our decathlon team from a falling elevator at the Washington Monument in D.C.” You do your best to explain as quickly as possible. “I need to write about this.” You don’t stop to think about why you want to write all of a sudden. You don’t wonder if you’re in a rush because you simply want to get the latest news down or if you want to drown your complicated emotions away with words.

She blocks your path. “I need you to slow down and breathe before you give yourself a panic attack. What you need to do is stay here, at school. You can write the article when you go home.”

“No, don’t you get it, girl? I need to do this. The sooner I do that, the sooner I can start piecing together who Spider-Man is.”

“Have you gone crazy?” Mia yells, and suddenly you shut up and stare at her, throat tight. You’ve never seen her like this. “You’re so focused on getting your stupid ass story that you haven’t even stopped to think about if everyone on the decathlon team - the people you go to school with - got hurt or anything. Since when did you start giving up your integrity for journalism?”

“Since I learned how to do it right,” you shoot back angrily. You’ve left your best friend at a loss for words, but there’s no turning back now. You consider marching into the office and telling them you need to go, but they’d probably force you to go back to class. You hear the bell signalling the end of lunch. It’s now or never. You can’t bring yourself to look back at Mia as you make your escape off of campus to go home.

In just a matter of months, Spider-Man has gone from a local name to being known across the country. As many of you may already know by now, Spider-Man was out in D.C. this weekend doing God’s work at the Washington Monument. Of course, the police don’t appreciate his stunts, but the police also had no chance at saving those teenagers before Spider-Man did. The kids themselves are New York natives - in fact, they attend the Midtown School of Science and Technology as my fellow schoolmates. Spidey’s back on track!

Over the next few weeks, writing consumes most of your time. There’s not much else to do when you don’t have any friends. So you sit at home detailing every step that Spider-Man takes, trying to figure out who he could possibly be. It could be anyone - millions of people live in the city, after all. While you try to find out his identity, you have to keep up with current events too. So you push yourself harder to stay up to date on what Spider-Man does.

You skip parties that you occasionally get invited to. You even skip homecoming this year. Who would you go with, anyway?

A rare sight: Spider-Man back in his Underoos to fight the Vulture. You usually see superheroes dress up for the big boss battle...but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he keeps us guessing. He locked up the Vulture - hopefully for good. But our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man chose not to take his life. He’s no Daredevil, though I hear speculation that they may know each other. All things considered, we know Spidey’s in league with billionaire Tony Stark. Does this mean we’ll see Spider-Man among the Avengers soon?

This is so much harder alone. That’s the only thought running through your head as you rub your temples. You’re not even close to finding out Spider-Man’s real identity, never mind writing an article on it. Suddenly, you hear your ringtone go off. At this point, no one else really calls you, so you know who’s at the other end of the line.

“Hi, Mr. Bushkin,” you greet quietly.

“Y/N! How’s that Spider-Man reveal goin’?” Oh, you’ve been dreading this call.

You can’t bring yourself to lie, though. “It’s not goin’.”

“Hey, don’t become discouraged. I can always hand off the job to -”

“No, sir,” you cut in, nervous. “I can, uh, I can do it, I swear. I just need a little more time.”

“There’s that fire! Now go find out who he is. I believe in you.” The phone clicks as he hangs up. Something about his words feel empty to you. Does Mr. Bushkin really believe in you? His I believe you doesn’t sound like Peter’s I believe in you.

Peter. Mia. You miss them both more than you care to admit. A shaky sigh escapes your lips when you think about the longing that’s been pulling at your heart strings for the last few weeks. You’re so burned out. You’ve given up every shred of your sanity for this.

You close your laptop and pull out your phone, opening up your conversation with Peter to read the messages you haven’t bothered to check since he went to D.C.

(8:42 AM) Peter: hey are you doing okay?

(8:45 AM) Peter: i’m just asking cuz your texts are like short and stuff

(8:45 AM) Peter: i mean that’s not a bad thing like i’m not saying you have to write like paragraphs or anything

(8:46 AM) Peter: idek what i’m saying anymore help lol

(10:24 AM) Peter: y/n? are you mad at me?

(11:11 AM) Peter: ok i’ll leave you alone if you don’t feel like talking rn

He didn’t say anything for a few days. And then:

(7:14 PM) Peter: may wanted to invite you to dinner tonight if you can make it? she knows how much you like her stir fry :)

(9:48 PM) Peter: we’ll just save you some in case you wanna pick it up in the morning then

A few more days.

(3:39 PM) Peter: ned, mj and i are binging star wars! you should come and meet mj btw, you’d love her

A few more.

(4:23 PM) Peter: coffee? ik you’re super busy and i’m about to get super busy too but imy! let’s catch up <3

Before you can stop yourself, you’re choked up. You can’t help it. As hot tears spill out of your eyes and onto your cheeks, you wonder how you became such a jerk. When did writing stop making you happy and start making you turn on everyone good in your life? A sob escapes your lips. Angry with yourself, you pick up the photographs and newspaper clippings strewn across your bed and throw them at the wall as hard as you can. You hate it all.

You hate yourself for carrying so much anxiety with you, for being so unappreciative of everyone in your life, for being so egotistical and cocky as soon as you found a throne to climb onto. You hate yourself for ignoring Peter without a decent reason and for not trusting Mia enough to know what’s best for you sometimes. You hate yourself for being so flawed, but you can’t figure out how to fix it.

You stand up, brushing your tears away. Spider-Man can wait. Your friends need you. Or, at the very least, you need your friends.

You slide on a pair of sneakers and glance in the mirror. You look the same way Peter did weeks ago - sunlight deficient and exhausted. You make your way down the street two blocks, regretting forgetting a jacket. The bitter cold wind leaves goosebumps on your arms and chills you to the bone. Finally, you make it upstairs, knocking on the all-too-familiar door to the apartment.

May Parker opens the door, clearly surprised when she sees you. “Y/N?” Your heart breaks all over again as soon as she says your name, and suddenly you feel like crying again. “Hey, sweetheart,” she says gently, pulling you into a hug. You pull yourself together, blinking away your tears as you hug her back. When you finally let go, she urges you to come in and have a seat at their dinner table.

“You want anything? A drink or something to eat, maybe?” She offers kindly. When you shake your head no, May takes a seat in front of you. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ve been terrible to Peter,” you blurt out. “I just - I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but ever since I got my job, I’ve been - I have…” You take a moment to figure out what you want to say, May’s patient gaze never straying from you. “I just wanted to catch up.” You try to smile, but it’s more of a grimace.

She nods in understanding, and she thinks for a few seconds. “You know what? Let’s talk about it. Peter’s in the shower right now, so you can wait in his room if you want. And then you can come out together and we can all talk. That sound okay to you?” You nod, trying to take a few deep breaths and sort yourself out. Finally, you stand up to head into Peter’s room. “And Y/N,” she says. You glance up at her. “Peter’s been dealing with some stuff too. He was, um...sneaking out.” You raise your eyebrows at this. Peter, sneaking out? She sees your reaction and nods. “I know. But he lost his Stark internship a while ago, and that’s how he dealt with it. I know how important these things are to you guys. They get so important that you do dumb things sometimes.”

You hold May’s gaze, wondering if you’ll ever be as wise as her. You smile slowly and nod. “Thanks, May. Can I, um, have another hug?”

May laughs and walks back over to you. “Of course, Y/N.” She wraps her arms around you for a second hug, doing the same back rubbing that Peter does when he hugs. When you finally let go, you feel a lot better. You give her one last smile before heading into Peter’s room.

You start thinking about Spider-Man again. All the research you’ve done on him wasn’t for nothing. You’ve narrowed it down a little. Based on how amateur he is, both in action and in conversations, you can easily rule out Spider-Man being an adult. Or at least, if he is an adult, he’s fairly new at being one.

You blink, remembering why you’re here. You take a seat on his bed and look around. He’s got photographs of you and Ned strung up on his wall. It looks like he’s in the process of stringing up pictures of someone else, too. His decathlon jacket is sprawled on the back of his chair. Next to that is his backpack, with all of his school things still inside. Ugh, your pet peeve is backpacks that are open when they don’t need to be. Very specific, you know, but it’s so annoying to you.

You stand up, going to zip up the bag when you see something in the corner of your eye under Peter’s bed. Itt’s red and blue, and at this point, you’ve seen it so many times that you recognize it instantly as Spider-Man’s Underoos. What the hell? Your heart races in anticipation. Maybe it’s just a replica, or a cosplay outfit. You drop to your knees to reach towards the suit. As soon as you touch it, you realize that this is too perfect to be cosplay. You pull it out and hold it in the light, a million things racing through your head as you stare in disbelief.

“Y-You’re writing about...Spider-Man?”

“I mean, maybe you shouldn’t reveal his identity to the world. Maybe he wants his private life to stay private.”

“Okay but - that was before I knew him.”

The door clicks open. On Peter’s end, he sees you sitting on his bed with his Spider-Man suit clutched in hand. On your end, you’re glancing back and forth between the half-naked Peter and the suit. You don’t know if you’re supposed to be shocked or panicked.

Almost at the same time, you and Peter say, “What the fu -”

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