#and it's heavily implied that he was a rich upperclassmen

[thelambthatkilledthewolf]

Do you guys ever think about the fact that Elias Bouchard could legitimately have been/be addicted to cocaine?

Because I do

A lot

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

twelve hours, m | jjk | then...

pairing(s): jungkook x reader; implied taehyung x reader

summary: You have twelve hours to make Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you. He's about to get married. You're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. Long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. Nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.

this is part i | click here for part ii | total wc: 23k

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; this story contains parental child abuse and graphic violence, including the reader becoming physically scarred and having panic attacks; alcohol consumption; rich, this bachelor party is on a fuckin' YACHT, the best man is LOADED; JK and reader interacted in high school and haven't seen each other until now; angst and fluff and feels; cheating; high school smut + (in part ii) intense adult smut (fem reader, striptease, semi-public sex at school, nipple play (he's a bit obsessed with them), dry humping, m-masturbation, handjob, cumming on tits (and diamonds), cum-eating, mirror kink, spitting, tit fucking, m-receiving oral, scratching / biting / marking, penetrative sex, doggy); shifts back and forth between Jungkook’s POV and your POV; the ask

non-idol!AU; film director!Jungkook x wealthy, burlesque dancer!reader — ft best man, art trader!Kim Taehyung; dancer's bodyguard!Kim Namjoon and bodyguard!Kim Seokjin

> eyebrow pierced, tattooed, and long black-haired JK (with undercut) in a black suit because that's what we need in this life > reader's burlesque performance is heavily inspired by Dita Von Teese and her martini glass stage; music used is 'sweet dreams are made of this' and 'are you the rabbit?' both by Marilyn Manson.

--

"You have twelve hours."

"What happens after that?"

"He's going to get married."

-

time left: 11:59

"Dude, she said anything goes."

Jeon Jungkook frowned, glaring at his best man. "You don't do dumb shit if you're going to marry them."

Kim Taehyung tilted his head, long black-brown stands curling around his defined cheekbones, dark brown eyes twinkling with slyness, looking handsome, amused, and devilishly single.

Because he was.

"Oh? You're finally admitting you're in love with your future wife?"

"... Of course."

Taehyung cocked an eyebrow. "How convincing."

-

time left: --:--

Jeon Jungkook.

Hm.

Did he remember you? Probably not. It was a long time ago, high school and all that. He was more adorable then and you were more rebellious then. Too rebellious, putting yourself in detention far too many times, leaving you with the class representative after hours, who turned out to be Jeon Jungkook, not because he was a good student but because everyone liked him. Athletic, creative, attractive, the epitome of the face of the class.

The teachers left you with tons of remedial work that you didn't bother to do during detention, choosing instead to annoy the class representative. Sitting close to him, staring at him, toying with his school supplies, pointing out when he was using the wrong equation for the math problem he was trying to solve.

"Why are you like this?" he snapped one day, smacking his pencil down and glaring at you. "Why do you pick fights and beat up upperclassmen and skip class and sneak around? What's the point?"

You spun your pen on your fingertips.

"I just want to spend time with you."

And you had kissed him.

Whether those words were real or not at the time didn’t matter, because, in time, they would become all too real.

-

time left: 11:45

"You're on stage in five minutes. We're very sorry for the delay."

You smiled, lips painted red, teasing and sculptural, covered in red and black Swarovski crystals and lush velvet, chained by fabric and thick clasps holding each piece together. "That's alright. I understand."

The employee bowed and left. The bachelor party was already in full swing. Loud chattering, clinking of glasses, rowdy laughter. You could hear it through the thin walls backstage, through the curtains, into your soul. A big party on a yacht.

Rich, decadent, ripe with sin.

Arranged by Kim Taehyung, a successful art trader and the best man of Jeon Jungkook, well-known director of indie films and the bachelor who was about to get married to a wealthy, very well-known social media influencer turned socialite. She had her face all over social media, so she needed another face equally as beautiful for the likes and the sponsors.

Young money, they called it.

You stood up, looking at yourself in the mirror.

Being on stage was different than real life.

It required red lips, immaculate black eyeliner, sharp and distinct, manicured brows, and perfectly pinned hair, dyed a cool-toned black to bring out a kind of surreal quality to your skin, as if you were more of a doll than a human being. The show costume tonight was black and red, packed with crystals so you would be glittering from every angle. Handcrafted bustier, separate corset, strappy panties, slinky floor-length skirt with a high slit, sheer stockings, tall heels, even a long cape that trailed on the floor, completed with heavy choker around your throat, covered in black diamonds.

You turned from the mirror and exited your green room, walking slowly and carefully. Two security guards followed you, keeping all staff away from your path. They were holding your ostrich feather fans.

Black and red.

Taehyung couldn't afford you and your act unless he blew his entire budget on your performance alone. However, you made an exception for him, because he had something you wanted.

The lights were dimming.

You stood next to the stage, seeing the two-meter-tall, gem-encrusted martini glass waiting for you.

There was a spotlight on it, scattering light all over the dark room, barely illuminating the faces in the audience. You could see him because he was in the front row, looking confused, large brown eyes, long black hair, eyebrow piercing, and hand tattoos.

It was his party.

Jungkook had no idea the main event Taehyung had arranged was a professional burlesque dancer.

Sudden silence.

Being on stage was just like real life.

You always had to play a character.

The music began.

"Sweet dreams are made of this..."

You glided on stage, and the lights followed.

-

time left: --:--

You sat with the teacher, waiting.

The whole thirty minutes elapsed.

"We will have to reschedule this parent-teacher conference."

It was on the tip of your tongue. They won't come. They don't care. Last night my mother shoved my hand into boiling water until I screamed my apology for not folding the laundry fast enough.

You pulled the sleeve of your large hoodie over your bandaged left hand.

"I did the remedial work..." you mumbled.

"It doesn't matter even if you got full marks on it. Your behavior hasn't changed. You'll be on cleaning classroom duty for the rest of the month unless your parents attend a meeting to talk about your behavior."

That was the only reason you weren't expelled or suspended. Despite all your bullshit, your grades were good. Excellent, even. Strangely good despite only attending half of your classes. The teachers still gave you punishments to make an example of you, but you wouldn’t be getting away with this if your name wasn’t at the top five percent of the class.

You were mopping the floor when someone called your name. You looked up, and there he was.

The class representative.

"Hello, Jungkook."

He must have stayed late for taekwondo. He was still in uniform.

"This isn't your day for cleaning duty," he said, sounding confused.

You smirked at him, teasing and sculptural.

"Every day is my day for cleaning duty now."

His dark brows knitted together, frowning. He walked to the entrance but did not step in, seeing the wet floor. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think they enjoyed my graffiti on the gym building," you mused, recalling the strong scent of the paint spray cans. Students and teachers had to look up the English phrase you had outlined on there to understand it. It spread around the school like wildfire before you were forced to paint over it.

I got an F and a C and I got a K too and the only thing that's missing is a bitch like U.

You even left the period for proper grammar.

"Your shirt is untucked."

You flipped up the bottom of your white dress shirt and flashed him your red bra. Jungkook jerked his head away quickly, trying to avoid looking. His eyes lingered anyway, because, of course, he was a teenager and you were well-educated in the stages of puberty. Not really because of school.

Mostly because of the internet.

"Oops," you purred, leaning against the mop handle. His eyes flickered to your face and your tongue curled around the edge of your upper lip before disappearing into your mouth.

Jungkook's ears and cheeks turned red. He backed up, away from the door.

You cocked your chin.

"Run along now, golden boy."

You let the coldness show now, tone dropping.

"Wouldn't want someone to see you talking to me, right?" you snarled.

Guilt clouded his features.

He ran.

You went back to mopping.

-

time left: 11:37

Your clients usually wanted very specific things from you. Glamor, first and foremost. Fantasy. They wanted to descend into hell, or at least feel that way. It's not cheating if you're not touching, they loved to say. They were usually old, wealthy, and surprisingly respectful of the craft.

Not so much you, but the craft.

Well, that's what the bodyguards were for.

There was something about a woman who lived in shadow that was appealing and enticed all the worst behaviors. Alcohol was usually involved, a depressant to the mind and stimulant to sin.

Taehyung had given you free reign.

"Go off. Do whatever you want."

It began with Sweet Dreams, but not just any sweet dreams. Sweet dreams with a grating, smoked growl, darker with guitars and low bass, a remix with longer instrumental parts. They saw the black ostrich feathers and glowing dark crystals first, followed by your haunting movements and feline predatory grace.

“Travel the world and the seven seas, everybody's looking for something...”

You could see him through the vanes of the feathers, jaw dropped, trying to take it in. Unlikely he recognized the singer. Marilyn Manson wasn't exactly who people thought of when burlesque was involved.

Ah, but the pain and agony in that voice was exactly what you wanted to convey.

"Some of them want to use you. Some of them want to be used by you..."

You lowered the fan, smirk on your lips. Tipped your head back, letting the diamonds on the choker catch the light, swaying to the movement of the music. There was smoke creeping down the sides of the curtains, adding to the strangeness of it all, as if one was stepping into another world. You turned your wrists inward, feathers gliding over your body, pulling back slowly, tongue tracing your lips.

The tip lingered at the edge of your upper lip and slid back in as you lowered your lashes.

“I want to use you and abuse you…”

You transferred one of the fans to your left hand, careful to place them so it looked like one massive fan. You swept it over your head, grazing your hair, covering part of your back.

“I want to know what's inside you…”

You knew the easiest and most elegant way to flick off the cape, pulling the fan back as it cascaded down, stroking your torso and catching onto your ass.

A deliberate flick of your hips and it fell off, revealing your form.

You looked back over your shoulder and found those brown eyes, frozen in his seat.

You could hear some boisterous whistles and cheers but you focused on personifying the music.

“Movin’ on…”

Every action was practiced, sharp, attentive. You were very aware of every arm movement, every line of your legs, every facial expression, every finger and every wrist flick. You commanded the stage with every step, almost lazy in facial expression, but your eyes were sharp, clear of all your surroundings.

You cocked an eyebrow, hiding behind your fans again.

The art of tease was not something you took lightly.

Your hand slid down, visible against the dark fabrics and sparkling crystals, long fingers spreading out.

Two slid between your legs, pushing the fabric in, outlining your pussy.

The delicate but forceful thrust of your hips, implying that perhaps, maybe, if one was lucky, they could have it.

All lies.

Your hand danced back up, unhooking your skirt and tossing it aside. A smooth, practiced motion, glistening as it tumbled through the air. Your stagehand caught it, hidden in the dark, the same one that had collected your cape from the floor earlier. No one noticed.

All eyes were on you.

You closed the fan slowly, lowering it, tracing the inside of your thigh.

Gazing at Jeon Jungkook under your lashes.

“Sweet dreams…”

Your slim tongue slid out from between your painted lips.

Slow, curling around the edge of your upper lip before disappearing into your mouth.

Taehyung had met you by chance. He had been invited to a fancy dinner party and you were the guest performance. That was your opium stage, with the green bed and white smoke, long robes and snake motifs. Writhing on the bedsheets, slithering, serpentine. The deliberate plucking of each finger from the long black opera gloves before pulling it off with one smooth motion, mining a moan as you tossed it aside. One, then the other. Then the stockings, holding it by the toe and leaning over the edge of the bed, raising your bent leg and pulling it over your shoulder, ass in the air. One and then the other. Your head tipped back, unlacing the corset, paying attention to your body line.

Nothing but pure seduction.

The host decided to hold a drawing for a private show, just for fun, and, lo and behold Kim Taehyung's luck, clutching the called-out number and pushed into a dark room with you.

He had looked from the two bodyguards to you, uneasy.

You had climbed into his lap.

"W-Wait, I thought I couldn't t-touch..."

"You can't."

Young money was starting to take over and thank God for that, because private dancing for old, entitled men was rather annoying and required the presence of the guards. A young man winning was just as lucky for you as it was for him. You never, ever allowed any of the men to touch you.

You touching someone, well, that was your choice.

When you tilted your head, you shifted your torso too, making the green and clear crystals on your silk robes catch the light, fluid and serpentine, hair cascading down your shoulder.

"Unless you want me to get off you."

Taehyung had stared into your eyes, tipsy and in awe of your movement.

"No."

He had placed his hands behind his back, baritone voice deep and heavy in anticipation.

"You can do whatever you want."

Now.

The song was changing.

You turned ninety degrees, balancing on the fans, bent over, staring into Jungkook's eyes.

Did you know?

You straightened slowly, turning your back to the crowd.

Reached back and undid the corset with one hand, slowly loosening the strings.

"I'm a kickstand in your mouth and I'm the tongue slamming on the brakes..."

Looked back and shook your ass, bending over again, tangling your fingers in the black cord as if you were trapped, strategic and deliberate, making eye contact with him, the one from long ago, class representative and all that. Still had that same handsomeness when he was dressed up, wearing an all-black suit, tailored and fitted. You could see his hand was tattooed, and he had a brow piercing, but still the same air of uncertainty when his eyes were on you. Whether that was simply the performance or because he recognized you remained to be seen.

You stood up and the corset slid down your legs, so heavy that it was a smooth motion.

You stepped out of it, flashing the iconic red soles.

The fans fell to the floor.

The ladder was set up.

You strode around the large martini glass, slow, long steps, all legs and ass, poised hands, and over-the-shoulder glances, promises unfulfilled.

"Don't want anyone else's hand on my gears..."

You placed a hand on the stem of the stage prop, lifting your leg and plucking off one Louboutin. You cast it aside. Then the other, keeping yourself balanced in tiptoe to maintain the illusion.

A lull in the music.

You toyed with the top of your stocking, loosening it.

“And I'll choke on all the diamonds…”

Leaned down, gripping the toe of the stocking. Balancing on one leg and leaning against the two-meter-tall martini glass, lifting your leg and bending your knee, tugging it off with one smooth motion, pulling up until it popped off your pointed toe.

Now the other.

"So ask yourself before you get in, know insurance won't cover this..."

Parted lips, lowered lashes, raw, sensual lust as the sheer fabric slid off your calf and foot.

"Are you the rabbit or the headlight?"

Guitars and bass, the music lulling at this part, accenting your actions.

Up the ladder.

The giant glass had water in it, complete with a sponge that looked like an ice cube.

You reached the top.

You traced the lip of the glass with your fingertips, bending over, cleavage and black diamonds, smirking.

Slid one leg in.

Cold.

Slid the other leg in.

Down, soaking yourself in the glittering water, tongue flickering, staring down at Jeon Jungkook.

"And is there room in your life... for one more breakdown?"

Now the real show was beginning, with a longer remixed version of Are you the Rabbit? as the backing music.

-

time left: --:--

You kissed him and he took more.

Not right away.

Slowly, with every detention.

First, it was just kisses.

You danced your fingertips on his arm and he shifted his body so it was over his chest. There wasn't much talking. Unbuttoning, yes. He was ashamed, so he didn't talk. You didn't need talking. No one was around except the janitors and they were cleaning the other wing of the school.

You knew. You served a lot of detentions.

Jeon Jungkook reached over and teased a button loose from your dress shirt, shivering.

He looked into your eyes.

You took his hand and lowered it to the next button.

He knew he shouldn't.

You scraped your chair across the floor and pressed your thigh against his, fingers gliding under his button placket, soft moan falling from your lips.

He didn't know what hit him.

He didn't know you caused trouble on purpose to stay late at school to avoid the war zone that awaited you at home. He didn't know that you were so starved for something that wasn't senseless reprimands that you were manipulating him. You didn't know either.

You only knew this was a different feeling than anger or pain, so you threw yourself in it.

Jungkook unbuttoned your school shirt and touched your skin as you touched his, breath catching in his throat as he came into contact with the softness.

The sun was setting.

Your head was tilting, placing your lips on his, sweet and intense, his fingers clumsy but gentle, curious at what was being offered, gasping as you crawled into his lap, hardness to heat.

There was no talking.

You lowered the straps of your bra, trapping your arms slightly, tugging it down. Not thinking about the consequence, not thinking that this was wrong, not thinking you shouldn't be doing this with the class representative who very clearly did not suffer from the same discourse you did.

Jungkook gasped, staring at your nipples with wide eyes.

Unlikely that he had ever seen any in real life and doubtful that he had ever thought it would be in this context of being stuck in detention with the class delinquent. It didn’t matter. He touched them first, hands on your breasts, and then looked up, startled, unsure.

Neither of you spoke.

You grabbed his fingers and made him pinch them as you kissed him, stifling your moan with his.

To be honest, you didn't even know if you liked that sort of thing.

It just seemed shocking, so you did it.

It sent sparks all over your skin and made you bounce in his lap, grinding down on his erection. The kisses were messy with too much tongue that did nothing, clearly done to avoid talking, his hands kneading and squeezing your breasts, a little too hard, but he didn't know. You had to grip his hand and loosen his hold, getting him to adjust pressure until it was a more comfortable.

Until it was pleasurable.

He broke the kiss suddenly and lowered his head, attaching his wet lips to your nipple.

Pain.

You whimpered and his touch softened to small licks, looking up at you for confirmation.

You nodded.

-

time left: 11:29

You picked up the ice cube sponge and drenched your front with cascading water again, gasping at the cold against your hot skin. It seeped into the crystal-covered bra, causing your nipples to harden.

"You can't escape, can't escape..."

You tipped your head, arching your back, gracefully leaning, unfolding your legs from under you and keeping them together as you raised them to the lip of the martini glass, delicately crossing at the ankles, toes pointed.

You spun on your ass, leaning back.

"All your demons, all you demons..."

Slow, flourishing.

Eyes on Jungkook the entire time.

"Watch out, watch out for your lovers..."

You stopped gradually, running your widespread fingers up your hips, your stomach, your breasts, touching everything, tracing the black diamonds on your neck. It was vanity, it was enviable, it was performance.

And every performance was a statement of lust.

It was the instrumental now. A friend had mixed this part for you, violins and piano bleeding into the original guitar and bass, slow and steady drums, a peculiar but mesmerizing blend of classical and rock.

You rose from the water, a few wet strands of hair sticking to your cheeks, but it only added to the elegant depravity.

Your nails, pointed, black, and covered in small gems, traced your cleavage, your flexible pink tongue dancing in the air, skin covered in glitter from the shimmering water, nearly blinding in the spotlight from your crystalline undergarments and glistening wet body. Most of the time, you would wear nipple covers. The fun ones with the cute tassels or the crystal-covered ones.

But this time.

You looked straight at Jungkook and formed his name with your lips.

This time, you had a message to send.

You unclasped your bra and revealed your bare nipples.

You saw Jungkook gasp, eyes widening.

Your stagehand came and you dropped the article of clothing over the edge, practiced and clean.

You picked up the ice cube and got on your knees, exquisite body line and open red lips, squeezing the sponge and drenching your front with rivers of water that followed your curves and dripped off your hard nipples.

Your body sparkled all over.

-

time left: --:--

He whispered your name against your skin, your nipples tingling and drenched in his saliva.

A clatter was heard down the hall.

You both scrambled to put your clothes on. He didn't wait for you to finish. He simply bolted from the room when he was dressed, leaving you there by yourself to somehow explain why you were in detention alone.

"He went to the bathroom," you drawled when the janitor asked. You were leaning on the two back legs of the chair and he scolded you to sit properly.

Jungkook didn't come back.

You went home after you had stayed for the time you were meant to be there.

Then the mop incident occurred.

You two never spoke outside of detention. Made it a point not to. You avoided him for that whole month. Skipped class, sure, but you always skipped class. The teachers didn’t bother to punish you for that anymore. You didn’t fight anyone though. Didn’t spray any more obscene phrases onto brick walls. Didn’t do anything to compound your month-long cleaning punishment.

After that was complete, well.

The next time you were alone with Jungkook, your lower lip was clotted with blood and you had strangled some girl who said some dumb shit. Something about you being a sloppy slut for your untucked shirt and short skirt. It didn’t really matter. The words didn’t really bother you. You just wanted to fight.

Needed to fight.

You had clamped your hand around her throat and dug your nails into her skin and refused to let go until security came and literally pried your fingers from her neck.

She had turned purple and was bleeding from multiple cuts.

You sat in the back, not looking at Jungkook when he came into the classroom. They always picked days when he wasn’t doing club activities like soccer or taekwondo.

Ah, no, that was a lie.

You always picked days to cause the most trouble when Jungkook didn’t have club activities.

Neither of you said anything. He sat in the front of the room and opened his textbook to work on something. Homework, probably. That’s what he always did. He wasn’t good at it, but it didn’t really matter. He still tried to be at least mildly diligent about it for the sake of education.

You had a stack of remedial work and you didn’t touch it.

You always did homework at home to occupy yourself. That seemed to be the one thing that stopped your parents from… doing the things they did. When the night was bad, you would get slapped or pinched, but that wasn’t the same as the thrown dishes, lashes with the rod, or being ordered to do things in unreasonable timeframes to receive some creative, twisted punishment.

You skipped class to sleep.

You parents didn’t like it when you slept. They found it to be a sign of weakness and laziness.

You did so much remedial work that you were actually knowledgeable at the subjects from doing all the deep diving and expansion on difficult topics. You were also good at taking tests. You felt no pressure during exams. Exams were much easier than crawling on your knees and pulling up your shirt to get belted.

Good grades were the only reason you weren’t suspended or expelled yet.

You stared at your desk.

“I’m… sorry.”

Your eyes shifted upward. Your head didn’t move. Jungkook had turned his body to you, chewing on his lower lip, brown eyes shifting under his dark hair.

“About…”

“Slobbering all over my tits and running away?” you replied coldly.

His ears turned red; expression clouded with shame. It was ugly. It made his handsome features ugly and you didn’t like that. You raised your head, cocking an eyebrow. You leaned back in your chair, lifting it and balancing on the two back legs.

“I don’t give a shit,” you scoffed. You saw him stiffen at your vulgar language. “Why should I give a fuck? You’re just like the rest of them, golden boy. You think I’m a dirty slut and a good-for-nothing waste of space. You’re probably happy that I’m so easy and fuckin’ ecstatic that you got to touch a girl.”

You weren’t being fair. You were being mean, destructive, hurtful.

That how it was then.

You saw Jungkook swallow and shake his head.

“I don’t think that.”

You snorted. “Sure. That’s why you’re sitting that far away from me.”

His eyes flickered to you, narrowing a little. You spread your legs and put your hands behind your head, leaning back, creaking and scarping the chair against the floor. Your lip hurt. The security guard had slipped while trying to untangle you and elbowed your snarling mouth, causing you to bite your own lip and slice it open. He hadn’t apologized and you hadn’t asked for one.

You held his gaze.

Jungkook looked away.

You slammed the chair down onto the floor.

He jumped, startled at the loud sound.

You snatched the pile of papers in front of you and shoved them into your backpack, zipping it forcefully and standing up, school skirt swishing as you kicked the chair aside and strode powerfully to the classroom door, no longer looking at him. Veins on fire, dying on the inside for no reason at all, sick of this, sick of everyone, but especially sick of Jeon Jungkook, so sick you might throw up if you stayed.

“Hey–”

You snapped your head back, scowling over your shoulder.

“Fuck off, Jungkook. You could care less if I lived or died,” you spat, wrenching the door open.

Then you walked out.

Or would have, if Jungkook hadn’t jumped over the desks and grabbed your arm, yanking you back and slamming the classroom door closed, shoving you against it. You snarled like a wounded animal, lifting your arm to push him back, but he put his whole weight on your body, sandwiching you between the door and himself, making you gasp, trapped between dead timber and muscular hardness.

Now his face was in your face, breathing hard, dark brown orbs shaking, the mole underneath his lower lip trembling at the suddenness of his own action.

“I care,” he panted, staring into your eyes.

You narrowed them, seething.

“I care a lot.”

And he tilted his head and kissed you.

Pain shot up your lip, and you flinched with an injured hiss, causing Jungkook to back up, realizing his mistake, clutching your shoulders.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have, that was stupid, I–”

You grabbed his hips and rammed them into yours, grinding into his crotch, sucking in a breath through your teeth, his hot gasp drifting over your open mouth, shuddering at the closeness, becoming instantly hard in his pants. The tip of your tongue danced between your teeth, touching the edge of your upper lip before sliding back in, smirking as you pressed against him.

Your backpack fell to the floor.

“I want to touch you all over,” you whispered into his quivering lips. “Want to feel your skin on mine.”

He was terrified.

“Someone… someone is going to see…”

“I can take you somewhere. You trust me?”

Jungkook bit his lip, but he stepped closer to you, shuddering, his hands sliding down your shoulders, drunk on something he didn’t understand, never having encountered such intense, sensual, raw lust. Youth and impulsivity mixed together.

Both him... and you.

His eyes darted back to yours, searching for lies.

“Yeah…”

-

time left: 11:11

Your hands cradled your breasts, tweaking your nipples, legs spread, head touching the lip of the two-meter-tall martini glass.

The music ended.

The lights turned off.

The curtains closed.

Fuck, the water was cold.

-

time left: --:--

“The Literature Club always meets in that coffee shop down the block. More vibey, they like to say. They never use their club room.”

Hands fumbling, nearly ripping off your buttons, despite to touch, trying to stay silent. You had more grace though. You found it came naturally to you, sliding your hand up his chest, undoing the buttons one by one, making Jungkook pause and gasp, savoring your touch. You kissed the exposed skin, his soft whimper, don’t hurt yourself, please, and you humming soothingly, pushing his shirt out of the way. He had a warm scent to his skin, light and clean.

Too young to own expensive cologne.

He tried to reach for your shirt again, but you stopped his hand, murmuring quietly, looking at him through your lashes.

“Let me do it.”

One by one, his eyes glued to your movements, entranced. Not the best, definitely a little awkward, but the sentiment was there, and Jungkook didn’t know any better, sitting on the edge of the table in the middle of the abandoned club room.

You lowered your shoulders and your dress shirt and blazer fell onto the floor.

“It’s dirty,” he gasped, breath hitching as you pressed your body to him.

“Not as dirty as the things I want to do to you,” you purred, tracing his jaw gently, stroking his skin. Something you saw in porn but it was having its desired effect, Jungkook swallowing hard, rolling his erection into your skirt.

“Sorry I can’t kiss you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your eyes and his, lost in sweet dreams.

“I want to kiss you.”

You leaned forward, forehead to forehead.

“I want to kiss you all the time,” you said to his lips.

It was different, touching him. You made note of his sounds, his voice, the way he said your name, his shaking hands, the delicateness he used to remove your bra and place it on the table. He way his lips feathered over your skin, gentle at first, learned from last time, the way he fixated on your nipples, fascinated by them and the sounds you made when he touched them, watching your face as he licked them, hotly whispering to your shivering skin.

“They’re so big… And they taste good…”

You hadn’t asked, but he was telling you anyway. Or maybe rationalizing with himself.

“And they’re soft…”

His index fingers on your nipples, pushing them around, squeezing your breasts with the rest of his hand, gasping with you, mesmerized by the way you squirmed between his legs.

You unzipped his pants and he unzipped your skirt and everything was falling to the floor.

Touching everything, raising one of your legs so he could run his fingers from your thigh to shin, warm exhale against your neck, exploring.

“Your skin is so soft and smooth,” he breathed, his other arm around your waist, holding you to his chest.

“I guess…” you mumbled, suddenly uncertain in light of his praise.

The sun was setting, casting your bodies in orange glow.

“You’re really pretty.”

You glanced at him with your busted lip and raised an eyebrow. He noticed your inquiring expression and nodded, unclear whether he was assuring you or himself. He leaned in, lashes lowering, kissing the side of your lips gently.

“You are,” he sighed against your cheek.

You took his hand and shoved it into your panties.

-

time left 10:20

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Dried off now, hair and makeup redone, still wearing the black diamond choker. The show costume was now cleaned off and set aside, locked back into your luggage and escorted back to your room by one of your bodyguards.

Now you wore a slinky black dress with a low V-neck and boned bodice. The hem skimmed the floor. It had a high side slit, revealing your legs and your sleek black pumps with red soles that really were too impractical for walking, but that was the nature of glamor.

You stepped out and your other bodyguard met you, escorting you to your table.

Back to the party, but this time as a guest.

-

time left: --:--

You weren’t stupid enough to even think about losing your virginity in some abandoned club room with the class representative. You were horny, not an idiot.

Jungkook would have, but that was because he was horny and seduced.

You weren’t, however, above climbing onto the table and rubbing your clit as Jungkook kneeled over you and jacked off while watching.

“Oh, f-fuck…”

He was embarrassed, but again, too horny and seduced to care at the current moment.

You placed your left hand on his tense thigh and licked the edge of your upper lip, heart racing, skin singing, pleasure shooting up from your core, knowing what to do because you discovered self-pleasure at a very young age. It seemed wrong.

So, you explored it.

You could tell, however, that Jungkook was not as practiced. He was wincing and his knuckles were white. Nervousness? Or inexperience?

“Wait...”

You tapped his hand.

“Let me try.”

Not that you’ve ever jacked off a dick, but your right hand was wet from your own juices, so you closed your hand around his length, surprised at the warmth. Your fingertips were slick, starting off barely grazing him, ghosting over the head.

“A-a-ah…”

Your name fell from his lips in a strangely erotic, silvery moan.

It made your blood hot and your core throb.

“Shh,” you murmured quietly, rubbing his thigh. It was strong and muscular under your palm. “Cover your mouth.”

Jeon Jungkook looked very sexy with his bangs all over his forehead and his lean torso trembling, slowly placing his right hand over his lips with a soft whimper. Not that you had seen many naked bodies in real life, but you had seen enough porn and he looked much more attractive than those guys.

You stroked him slowly, slicking your pussy juices over his length.

He groaned behind his hand, thrusting his hips into yours.

“Faster?” you whispered.

He nodded quickly and you obeyed.

“Harder?”

Nod, nod, nod. Your grip tightened.

Surreal, jacking off the class representative above your mostly naked body, still wearing your fucking shoes because it didn’t make much sense to take them off.

“Do you want to cum on my tits?” you asked, the sudden idea popping in your head.

Jungkook’s eyes widened at your suggestion. His cock twitched in your hand. You gradually sped up, building the intensity as you waited for his answer. He peeled off a few fingers and shuddered, barely able to croak out his words.

“I… c-couldn’t… do that to you…” he moaned, pitch hiking with pleasure.

“Cover your mouth,” you hissed.

He clamped his palm onto his mouth and panted, nostrils flaring, eyes glazing over, legs shaking.

“Sure you can, Jungkook,” you continued sweetly, as if you hadn’t just scolded him. “You want to, don’t you?”

His eyes seemed panicked. He didn’t know whether he wanted to or not. Had he never thought about it? Or did he think the act was too dirty to do, an act that was purely reserved for porn stars?

“Look at me.”

He did. Jungkook looked down at you, whole torso trembling, pupils blown out.

You gazed back at him, lowering your voice, smooth, silky, gentle.

“You want to cum on my tits, Jungkook?”

The orange sunset lit up his face and his eyes, reflecting the lust and trust in them.

He nodded.

You slid down a little, tiptoes touching the floor, one hand on his thigh, rubbing the tenseness out as you fixed your other arm, pumping him faster, harder, following the sounds of his voice and the shivering of his skin. Later in life, you would look back on that moment and realize you didn’t have good rhythm, and your arm had been burning, causing your grip to weaken.

It didn’t really matter though, because suggesting that Jungkook could orgasm on your tits took him literal seconds to explode all over you.

“Oh, fuck–”

He choked, pitching forward, smashing the head of his cock into your right nipple and making you wince, spilling hot streams of sticky white cum all over your breast, your hand pushing it to the side, gasping at the scent, feeling his stiff length twitch and jerk in your cleavage, dribbling out more all over your skin. He lost strength in his legs, sliding down and groaning loudly, rubbing the tip in his own slick cum, smearing it everywhere.

“Shhh, damnnit!”

You clapped your left hand over his moaning mouth, half-crushed by his weight, his balls touching your cum-covered skin and sending Jungkook into another fit of wanton whines, your fingers tightly gripping his cheeks to try and get him to shut the fuck up.

You lifted your right hand, seeing his release glistening off it.

You licked your palm.

A little bitter, somewhat salty, very strong and masculine.

You liked it.

-

time left: 10:00

“You ready to meet her?”

“What…? N-No.”

Kim Taehyung chuckled, grabbing Jeon Jungkook’s arm, dragging him along.

“Come on.”

The thing was…

Jungkook was pretty sure he knew this woman.

He wasn’t sure how or why, but he just did. He knew her somehow. It wasn’t the same body. This one was fuller, more womanly, long legs and sophistication. It couldn’t be, he thought. He was being dragged to the table with the lone woman and the two men in dark suits and sunglasses standing behind her, her chin resting on her palm, tongue flickering out between red lips.

This face.

Not a teenager anymore.

Elegant and stylish with a hint of mischief.

It can’t be.

Her tongue touched the edge of your upper lip and slid back in, slowly.

Taehyung forced him into the chair in front of her.

“Good evening. You’re the star of the party, aren’t you?” she purred.

Smooth, silky, gentle.

“The golden boy, one might say.”

Her name left his lips before he could stop it, shock and awe.

It wasn’t the name she used on stage. It was her real name emitted from his lips, the same name he uttered that day in the abandoned literature club room, struggling with the tiny pack of leftover tissues he kept in his schoolbag to wipe off her chest, stuttering, apologizing, saying he didn’t know how to reciprocate, and her hand gripping his shoulder, telling him to shut up and worry about it later because they had to get the fuck out of here since it was dark already.

And now.

She smiled at him.

“Hello, Jungkook.”

-

time left: --:--

They snuck around and it was euphoria.

Even now, Jungkook didn't know why he did it. It seemed dangerous and ill-advised. She was the class delinquent, after all. She knew all the empty classrooms no one ever used, the side closets, the forgotten halls. She even knew the usual paths the janitors and security guards used and the time they spent in those areas of the school. They would hide behind corners and dash past, holding their breath, light steps, leaping from shadow to shadow, bodies close, breath mixing.

They didn't even talk during school hours.

He saw her sometimes, in the hallways.

Untucked shirt and skirt too short, not looking at anyone, wandering about.

He never noticed before, but everyone avoided being in her path.

On the days after school when he didn't have club activities, he would find himself standing in front of the abandoned literature club door and opening it. She would be laying down in the table, legs dangling over the edge, staring out the window. She would sit up and they'd run around.

And she would touch him.

And he would touch her.

"Stop that, I'm not a stress ball."

"Ah, slow down."

"Jungkook..."

It was the weirdest feeling, touching someone like that.

Thinking about now, he realized how patient she was with him. Occasionally, he'd be too overzealous and discomfort flashed in her eyes, but she didn't snap at him outright, didn't put him down when she could have. She knew all the words to do so. But she didn't. She just sighed and put up with it. She didn't fight anymore, because she was spending all her time with him.

There were no more detentions, because after hours was now reserved for touching.

Jungkook would catch her smiling sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking. The first time was when he was putting his shirt back on and her face was reflected in the window.

She was gazing at his back, smiling.

He had never seen her smile like that, ever.

It always disappeared when she caught him looking at her face.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Every time, only through reflection – mirrors, windows, a polished beaker in the science lab. His body pressed against the window, gasping at the coldness of the glass, worried that someone would see even though they were on the third floor of the back building and no one was going to come here, but he never said it because her reflection was smiling at him, her hands sliding up his body, and it made him speechless, seeing that smile. A smile those lips only made when she was with him.

It was his smile.

Her mouth on his neck, kisses and licks, setting his skin on fire, the kind of sensuality that only came with undeniable attraction.

It wasn't until after her that he realized how easy it had been to tell her things, small things, simple things. Things he didn't even realize he said until he felt her shiver a little in his arms, eyes shifting away from him, pink tinge to her cheeks.

"I like the way you sound."

"Your hands are beautiful."

"I like looking into your eyes."

Little by little, though.

She skipped class more and more.

He found bruises on her sometimes.

"I fell down the stairs. It's nothing."

He found welts.

"Stupid fight with some dumbass."

He found a criss-cross pattern of cuts on her leg.

"I tried to jump over a fence and fucked up."

Jungkook would look into her eyes and realize they were lies.

She would scoff. "I'm just a dumbass."

"No."

And he would kiss her and kiss her until she shoved him away and told him he was being weird.

One time, before he was about to leave, she asked him a question.

"What do you want to do, Jungkook?"

"Huh?"

She snickered. "As a job. You know, when you become an adult."

He frowned. "I don't know. I want to create things. I think it would be cool to tell stories. But I don't know if I have enough imagination for that... or know the words to say what I want..."

"Films, then."

"Huh?"

A small smirk. "Movies, dork. Make movies."

He blinked slowly. "O... oh."

When Jungkook looked into her eyes, he realized he didn't want to look away. "What about you?"

She smiled.

The only time she smiled in front of him.

And it was a lie.

He could tell, because it didn't reach her eyes, his favorite feature of her face.

"I might not make it there."

She turned and walked away from him.

He never saw her again.

She never came back to school. Nobody seemed to notice and, when they did, students and teachers alike seemed relieved. Jungkook had no one to talk to about his sudden emptiness, because she had been his accidental secret, his little taste of heaven turned hell because she never came back. The eventual rumors said that she had done something very bad and was sent away.

It was only then that Jungkook realized how happy he had been and how he never told her.

There was no reason to dwell on it. In retrospect, it didn't even last that long. He hadn't even fully lost his virginity to her. But time after time, relationship after relationship, smile after smile, he realized he missed the moments, the sneaking around, the touches, the look into the window and her genuine smile as she looked at his back.

He never found a smile like that one.

He accepted that he never would.

Settled for a fun girl who made him laugh and laughed at his awkward jokes and accepted that was enough, that he shouldn't chase ghosts, should try to find what ultimately was dangerous, ill-advised, and...

It wasn't love, right?

I want to kiss you all the time.

Jungkook didn't know why, but every time he remembered those words, he wanted to cry.

-

time left: 09:55

This smile, too, was fake.

“Hello, Jungkook.”

This isn’t real, right?

“Did you enjoy the show?” she, his ghost, asked, tilting her head, foxy smile on those lips, more of a smirk, teasing and sculptural. Those eyes were guarded, eyes that he thought he knew well, but there were walls between him and her now, walls he found himself banging his fists against, sudden panic and anxiousness at the moment, abruptly slamming his hands on table and scraping his chair back, throwing his body aside.

She looked at him.

For a single second, they were in high school again and they were in that abandoned literature club room, her on the table, waiting for him.

Jungkook ran.

He ran away from the table and left her there.

-

time left: 09:52

You watched him go.

-

time left: 08:27

You threw your glass into the hotel wall and screamed.

Screamed at the top of your lungs, screamed so loud it felt like your eardrums burst, screamed in agony and loss, the crystal shattering as it hit the wall, cracking and spilling the whiskey within all over the paint and onto the floor.

Then, silence.

You panted, staring at the mess, feeling the floor rock under you. You had a private room on the yacht, considering you were the entertainment. If they were paying for you, you made them pay for room and board too, and that was no exception with Kim Taehyung, the one who hired you. After all, there was no reason not to have some fun, right?

The door opened and your two bodyguards entered, saying your name gently.

“Is something wrong?”

His voice was deep, compassionate. He could tell from your stance that it wasn’t an outward influence, but an inward one. You were breathing hard, staring at the broken glass and the alcohol, mind racing, throat dry, despair threatening.

“I’m fine,” you replied shakily.

You were still dressed in your long gown, black, slinky, sexy, still wearing your black diamond choker, still wearing your Louboutins, the epitome of style and class.

Still.

You dropped to your knees and began to crawl to the glass, a child again.

“I’ll clean it up…”

Your voice was cracking.

In two steps, long legs crossed the room and a strong hand grabbed your shoulder, stopping you.

“Let Seokjin do it.”

The world was very small now, just you and the fallen glass, small and tiny and condensed, screaming, pain, memories flashing in your mind, your hands bleeding as you picked up the broken glass, surrounded by it on all sides, flinching as multiple glasses were thrown at the wall, showering you with shards and alcohol, the stink of blood and drink surrounding you. You barely registered the other bodyguard bending over with a towel, sweeping up the shards, because you were trapped in that night, that night after asking Jeon Jungkook what he wanted to do for a living, coming back to a house full of hate and rage, harshly questioning where you’ve been, slapping you across the face, threatening that they were going to withdraw you from the school because clearly you didn’t need it, a flood of blood in your mouth as your teeth sliced the inside of your cheek.

I might not make it there.

The hand was holding your shoulder, holding you back, but your mind was throwing you to the wolves.

You almost screamed again.

You did scream that night, clutching handfuls of glass, driving them into those accusing faces, driving them over and over into those faces that used you as their punching bag for years and years, slashing them up, tearing up skin and flesh, dying on the inside, because the only thing that kept you alive was Jeon Jungkook and those touches.

Did you mean them?

Even now, you didn’t know.

Did you just chase them because they felt real?

Even now, you didn’t know.

I want to kiss you all the time.

They sent you to correctional school, which was really just a nice way to say jail for children.

Your name, spoken softly, two hands on your shoulders now, pulling you away from the scene of Kim Seokjin cleaning up your mess, forcing you to look away and at him instead, sunglasses removed now, deep brown eyes bringing you back to the present.

“N… Namjoon…?”

He smiled at you. “Yeah, it’s me.”

You almost looked away again, but he held your cheeks, not letting you.

“What’s my full name?” His tone was stern, but grounded.

“K… Kim Namjoon.”

“And yours?”

Your voice didn’t hesitate this time.

He smiled. When Namjoon smiled, his dimples showed and his normally stone-face expression changed, becoming bright and serene. He lowered his hands, holding one out to you.

“Come on now. You don’t belong on the floor like this.”

You took his hand, swallowing hard. One leg, then the other. With each passing second, you fell back into your grace, breathing out, slow, controlled. Namjoon held your hand tightly, not letting go. They both had training in psychology, for threats.

Not all threats were outward threats.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t been like that in a while,” you exhaled evenly, shaking your head. “I didn’t think…”

“Seeing someone from your past can do that.”

Seokjin walked up to you, black-haired and sunglasses removed as well, brown eyes softening as he neared, wiping off his hands. He was only slightly shorter than Namjoon, but possibly more handsome, with even fuller lips and a symmetrical face. Namjoon had slightly lighter hair, cut shorter, and he was the stoic one, whereas Seokjin was the one who spoke when pleasantries were required.

“Ah…”

You frowned.

“It was just a high school fling. Nothing serious.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. Seokjin snorted.

“Right. Do you think we don’t have eyeballs? We do. Two of them, in fact,” Seokjin remarked coolly, rolling his. “Two on two people, making four, and all four eyeballs saw the way you and him looked at each other, not to mention your sudden interest in bachelor parties and working at a lower base rate for literally no reason whatsoever.”

You cleared your throat, eyes narrowing. “Taehyung’s a friend.”

“Taehyung’s an airhead you bonked because old men don’t have virility,” Namjoon pointed out.

“You should just hook up with Taehyung again instead of bachelor boy. He seemed like a damn virgin.”

Namjoon elbowed Seokjin in the ribs and the older man winced, giving him a ‘what-the-fuck-was-that-for’ look. Namjoon rolled his eyes, as if to say, ‘isn’t-it-fucking-obvious-bro’ and Seokjin’s expression remained confused.

“Huh?”

“I wasn’t… going to hook up with him.”

Now they both gave you the ‘stop-bullshitting’ face.

You sighed, about to run your fingers through your hair, but stopped when your realized it was still styled. You lowered your hand, not wanting to disturb it. “He’s getting married. I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“That’s a lie.”

Your eyes flickered up to Namjoon. He shrugged.

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize you don’t want him to get married. Maybe only because you want to wreck it. Maybe to make his life miserable. Maybe because you love him.”

“I don’t love him,” was your instant reply.

Seokjin seemed to have a lightbulb moment and plunked his fist in his palm. “Oooooooh.”

You narrowed your eyes. Namjoon sighed. “Okay, you don’t.”

A knock on the door.

-

time left: 07:59

Jeon Jungkook was throwing up in the bathroom.

His hands were flat on the wall and the toilet was swaying. Of course, it was. He was on a boat. He heaved again and hurled into the bowl, mind swimming.

“Dude, the fuck was your problem? Why did you run like that? I know she wasn’t mean to you. That’s not like her. You know, if you asked, you could have fucked her. She’s a burlesque dancer! It would have been amazing. One last hurrah before you commit single suicide. But, no, you fucking booked it like a cockroach when the lights turn on. Hah,” Kim Taehyung, his best man, had scolded him, shaking his head. “Eh, fine, whatever. Let’s just get wasted them. I can’t believe you would do that. She came here as a favor to me, dude. I wanted you to have a really good time tonight. She’s one of the coolest people I’ve ever met or fucked.”

“You fucked her?” Jungkook had sputtered.

Taehyung had raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, once. Was fuckin’ sick. She’s a banger.”

He had drunk so much. Why, he didn’t know. He flushed the toilet, coughing. His blazer was gone. He had no idea where it was. His sleeves were rolled up and his shirt half-unbuttoned. It was so damn hot. Where was his tie? No idea. His brain was a jumbled mess.

His chest hurt too.

Jungkook stumbled out of the stall, pushing his long black hair back and away from his face. It was a one-person bathroom, but the toilet was in a separate area. Probably for sanitary reasons. He clutched the sink, running the water, staring at his reflection.

His own face looked back at him, silver brow piercing gleaming in the harsh overhead light, his skin pale and lips shiny from vomiting.

Were there walls in his eyes too?

He cupped some water and rinsed out his mouth, spitting it out. Ugh, the taste was disgusting. He kept doing it, splashing his face, trying to clear his head. He didn’t really remember what he did or what happened. It was all a blur. It was very late now, but the party was still going. After the burlesque show, there were musical acts, and, at the moment, a DJ was tearing it up.

He should be out there.

Jungkook knew this and yet the thought of going back out there was making him sick again.

He looked back to the mirror, his face dripping water. He wasn’t a teenager anymore either. He was older now, cheek fat gone, turned into an angled jaw. Dark circles under his eyes from long nights. His life after high school was university and filmmaking, spending all his spare time creating his films from the ground up, from casting to storyboarding to finding film locations to the actual shooting and editing and production. As he got better at it, more people became involved and he had help, attending film festivals and showcasing his work despite his young age. Met lots of cool people.

Met his future wife, a reasonable union, but not a replacement for his broken heart.

His brows furrowed.

What kind of thought was that?

True, they both came to an agreement that it made sense to get married. They liked each other enough, everyone said they looked nice together, and there wasn’t any reason not to, right? And starting a family would be good for her career too. She could transition to that kind of lifestyle content after a couple years of marriage. They would figure that out when the time came, buy a nice place to live, have maybe one or two children, housewife and working husband.

And she wasn’t going to come back to him anyway.

Except she did.

Jungkook breathed out.

“What are you doing?” he said to his reflection, but his reflection only repeated the question back to him.

The class delinquent and the class representative.

“That was a long time ago,” he said to himself. “Those kinds of things don’t matter anymore.”

In his mind, her smile appeared in the mirror, because she only smiled at him when she thought he didn’t see. His smile. The smile she reserved for him. The smile when she looked at his back, the smile when her hands traced his torso, her breath on his skin, murmuring his name, wonderment and desire, putting up with his clumsiness and overzealous touch, things he continued to do after her with other people, and yet it never felt…

“It never felt the same,” he whispered.

His fingertips were touching the mirror, the place where his mind had conjured her smile.

“I thought it was only because you were my first.”

He thought of the woman on stage hours before, that beautiful face shrouded by ostrich feathers and painted with makeup, immaculate body lines and sensual movement, and it was like no time had passed at all, because she had always been like that, naturally sensual and erotic, teasing and sculptural. Untucked shirt and short skirt or crystal undergarments, it didn’t matter.

“You were always like that, weren’t you?”

She wasn’t there.

His fingertips lowered from the mirror. His black hair was damp from pushing it away from his face with wet hands. Lots of people told him he was good-looking. Handsome. Attractive. But he couldn’t move like that, like how she did on stage. He was better behind the camera. That was where he had always been. The director, the class representative.

And now, she, the class delinquent, was the main stage, all cameras and eyes on her.

He shook his head.

“You’re better off now. Look at you. Wearing beautiful clothes and followed by bodyguards. I bet you have a really nice guy waiting for you at home, wherever that is for you.”

He couldn’t see her face, couldn’t conjure it in his mind’s eye anymore. He wouldn’t be able to see it anyway, mostly because his vision was suddenly blurry.

“I hope you’re happy, because a long time ago, you made me really happy.”

He wiped his eyes, smiling at his reflection. It didn’t reach his eyes, because his eyes were full of tears.

His smile was a lie.

“I should have told you that I love you, but I didn’t know. I know now.”

A knock on the door.

-

time left 07:22

“I’m so sorry he’s a dork, I don’t know what got into him, I swear you’re not ugly, you’re super sexy, like, impossibly sexy, god, he’s such a fucking idiot, I should have convinced him to whip his dick out or somethin’, I thought he’d get the hint, you know, I bet he’s good in bed, have you seen him, he’s real fit, works out a ton, a muscle pig, haha, yeah…”

“Taehyung, how did you get so drunk?”

You sighed as you hurried after Kim Seokjin and Kim Namjoon who were both carrying Kim Taehyung, one arm on each of their broad shoulders, the brown-haired man babbling the entire time. He showed up at your door, maybe by chance, maybe by knocking on every single room until he got to yours, who knew, but he had clearly been looking for you, bursting in when he saw you, pushing past Seokjin, nearly making you trip on your Louboutins, spouting nonsense about Jeon Jungkook, apologizing profusely for his friend, not listening to you saying that it was perfectly fine.

The three of your concluded it would be best to bring Taehyung back to his friend, but Taehyung would not leave without you, saying he didn’t want to be left with the ‘big-scary-dudes-with-massive-shoulders’. Namjoon and Seokjin had stared at each other, pointing to themselves sin disbelief, sharing a ‘we’re-scary?’ expression. You had given up.

“Sure, fine, I’ll come, I was meaning to go back to the bar anyway. I don’t have to interact with him. Soekjin can do it.”

“Ah, of course. I got this!”

You were on your way back to the grand hall, when Taehyung had a declaration.

“I gotta hurl.”

Then it was a mad scramble to find a restroom, hurriedly banging on the doors. There was many single gender-neutral restrooms everywhere on the yacht, but all seemed occupied. Taehyung was rapidly turning an unpleasant shade of green, until one opened.

“Oh, hey, Jungkook. I’m gonna vomit.”

“Sorry, if you could–”

The tall man in black was shoved aside, and all three – Seokjin, Namjoon, and Taehyung – crammed themselves into the restroom, wrenching open the door to the toilet and then there was a loud retching sound.

You winced, recoiling a little. “Oh, dear.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Guess he was trying to enjoy his night a little too much,” you chuckled, amused as you watched Seokjin rub Taehyung’s back soothingly while jerking his head back, looking incredibly perturbed. Seokjin didn’t like gross things. He was a bit of a prince like that.

“I guess.”

It suddenly occurred to you that the voice beside you was Jeon Jungkook.

He was standing right next to you.

You turned your head.

Time seemed to stop.

He almost seemed to the same, but different. He had long, black hair that was currently swept back, the sides buzzed short and ears adorned with earrings. An eyebrow piercing. Chiseled jaw and high cheekbones like a marble statue, with dark brows and shapely lips. Muscular chest, broad shoulders, slim waist, long legs. A right sleeve of ink-black tattoos, going all the way down to his hand. You could tell because his dress shirt sleeves were rolled up.

Who was the delinquent now?

Your eyes found his.

Those eyes were still the same, staring at you, entranced with your gaze.

Still the class representative everyone picked because of his good looks.

Even you voted for him, although you didn’t really care who won. You only picked him because he seemed the least qualified and you thought it would be funny if he won, because he wasn’t even trying to get the position.

Taehyung groaned and declared he was never drinking again.

“I don’t know you, but I don’t believe you,” Seokjin scoffed.

“I’m inclined to believe this isn’t your normal behavior, so don’t be too hard on yourself,” Namjoon chuckled.

Taehyung heaved again.

You noticed Jungkook’s complexion had that paleness to him too. His lips and hair were glistening with water. A droplet collected on his chin and fell to the floor.

“Two peas in a pod, huh?” you said with a smirk. “Seems like you two have the same drinking habits.”

His ears turned red, but he didn’t look away, electing instead to raise his hands and cover his ears, pretending to tuck spare strands back. “A-ah… well… I’m much better now…”

You nodded, bouncing an eyebrow. “Back to the party you go. Only to attend another one with your beloved. Maybe you both will end up in the same bathroom. Wouldn’t that be fun?” you added with a dry chuckle.

It died out quickly, for something seemed to cloud Jungkook’s eyes at your words.

“Your performance was breathtaking,” he said, changing the subject.

You bowed. “Thank you.” You lifted your head. “It was, after all, for you. I am pleased to hear you enjoyed it.”

His hands lowered. He still didn’t look away from you, ears tinted pink.

“Your movements are unreal.”

He always had beautiful eyes, even back then.

“But they always were. Now and back then.”

You were different people now though. He had someone else. You were too busy being booked to have someone else. You didn’t want someone else. After graduating correctional school, which basically meant being released from jail, you had run away before your parents could pick you up, hitchhiking until you met an older woman. She was a traveling woman, an independent one. A dancer. She stuck with you with her words and her brashness, not letting you run off on your own any longer.

Don’t be stupid. I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to teach you. You can have any kind of life you want. You can live any way you want. But it’s no good to think that everyone is out to get you, you silly bean. You have to find some dorks to trust and have your back when things get shit. You have to have a job to sustain yourself so you can be financially secure. What do you have to lose? Why not try this?

She was a strange woman, but a wise one. One that was retiring soon and wanted a protégé to teach, for fun, for picking up her clients, it didn’t matter. She gave you a chance when you didn’t have one.

What if you live like this?

You thought, fuck it. Why not?

Wasn’t like you were going to see Jeon Jungkook again anyway.

Except he was right here.

You chuckled. “It takes a lot of practice. I’ve spent many hours tripping on my own feet, believe me.”

The side of his lips quirked upward. “I’m sure you look graceful even when you trip. You were pretty even when you were beating up upperclassmen and sulking in detention with a busted lip.”

You scoffed, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked back to him.

There was sharpness in your chest as you realized there was pinkness to the whites of his eyes and sadness in his voice. It was like you were back in the classroom for a moment and he was meters away from you, saying I’m sorry, but this time you were adults and he was right next to you and you didn’t know the reason why he was sorry, because there was nothing to be sorry for.

You frowned, raising an eyebrow. “About what?”

“We’re going to bring him back to his room.”

You jerked your head to Namjoon, who was carrying a now extremely unsteady Taehyung. Seokjin was nowhere to be seen. Namjoon spoke curtly, stone-faced and serious.

“Hyung went to ask for his exact room number. In the meantime, Taehyung pointed us in the general direction while he was rinsing out his mouth. It would be hazardous to leave him alone. I will assist him and rendezvous with hyung midway.”

You blinked at him. Namjoon tended to speak this way around strangers when he was putting his professional mode on. He looked from you to Jungkook, eyes narrowing, looking down at him. With his short hair and stern gaze, he was intimidating, even while holding a woozy Taehyung with a lolling head.

“I expect you to escort her back to her room safely.”

And he turned and marched off, dragging Taehyung along with him.

“Hey, you like bees? I like bees. They help flowers…”

“That they do. They’re vital for all ecosystems by aiding pollination.”

“Bees are fuckin’ lit, dude…”

You watched them go, wincing. Maybe this was better. The bodyguards were for your safety, but it wasn’t like you didn’t know how to disarm someone with your Louboutins. Also, you didn’t really want to wander around the yacht listening to Taehyung ramble about bees.

Now, you were alone with Jungkook.

You looked at him over your shoulder, the side of your lips curving upwards.

“I’ll be fine on my own. It’s only a short walk. Good night.”

You began to walk away from him, and, in turn, the classroom from back then, away from his I’m sorry, away from those eyes, away from his care, because Jeon Jungkook did not care about you. There was no reason to care about you. Those events happened a long time ago. You were different people now, grown up, living separate lives.

Changed.

No longer class representative and class delinquent.

He was about to have a wife and you were swimming with too much money you had no idea what to do with, busy planning ideas for your next performance and organizing venues for a possible tour. This was just a favor to Kim Taehyung, nothing more. It was fine to leave it like this.

It was foolish to think anything would be same.

It was time to move on.

-

part ii

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masterpost