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babystrcandy · 1 year

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the lucky one (pt. 4) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 30.2K chapter summary: Atlas wasn’t a god; he was just a man . . . and Jeon Jungkook could only bear so much. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, forehead touches, the first games, daisy jones and the six vibes at some point, i guess kind of public sex, well elevator nsfw, fingering, squirting, nipple play, titty fucking, explicit sex, unprotected sex, cum play, wooshik (derogatory), shit goes down, reader may have a bad leg but let my girl into the MMAs (in other words, she’d do anything for jk (not that she’d admit to it)), jungkook’s past is revealed and it’s a doozy, abuse of alcohol mentioned, mentions of past suicidal ideation, mention of past suicide attempt but nothing is explained in detail, just mentioned (please be cautious of this part; and take care of yourselves), a silent voice + the female of the species + the picture of dorian gray references/inspo, descriptions of anxiety, depression, mental illness, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter four: build me up, buttercup ( ← previous | interlude | next → )

BECOMING SOMEONE WAS ALWAYS something you had known you were meant to do, but you hadn’t expected it to be this hard. You supposed a part of you just always thought it’d be handed to you. OK, maybe not exactly handed to you on a silver platter, but you hadn’t expected that you’d have to chase it, constantly picking up your pace just to catch up.

It should’ve been easy, right? Being a person was supposed to be easy. Emphasis on the . . . supposed to.

Even as it was happening . . . even as the parts of you that made you a person . . . even as you graduated college . . . this new life didn’t feel like it was yours. You didn’t feel like a person yet. (And a part of you didn’t want to be.)

A part of you wanted to take a step back, restart, and move back in with your parents. A part of you wanted to be a little kid again . . . her mother still brushing her hair and tucking her into bed. Now . . . now you brushed your own hair and barely made it to the bed before you passed out for the night.

You realized for many people becoming a person meant becoming an adult and that was it. You became a person when you became an adult. But it never felt that way for you.

Realizing becoming a person meant your decisions were your own and blaming everyone around you for your misfortunes was immature, had hit you in ways you never imagined.

It happened gradually.

If you broke a glass . . . that was your fault . . . your mess . . . you cleaned that up. But . . . you remembered as if it were recently when your father would let you cling on to his back while he cleaned up the mess you made just so you didn’t get hurt.

Now . . . your father wasn’t there to put Hello Kitty bandaids on your cuts. Now . . . now you cleaned up the mess and if you got cut, you got cut. You sucked it up and ran it under tap water. That was it. No sugar coating. No one was there to protect you. Not anymore.

Because you were an adult now.

But . . . you were still afraid of the dark. You still couldn’t ride a rollercoaster or a bike or even really swim.

So what exactly made you an adult?

Your age?

You still needed a hand in yours as you navigated through your own life. So how was that fair? You supposed it wasn’t. You supposed you had to accept that there was no hand for you to hold and there was no going back.

But that didn’t stop you from remembering, and it seemed all you could do these days was refamiliarize yourself with the past.

Becoming someone when you were a kid meant so much more. It used to be something you looked forward to. It used to be something that came with being an adult, and well . . . you just couldn’t wait to grow up . . . until . . . you finally did.

You wished someone had told you to slow down; don’t be so eager about tomorrow when today hadn’t even begun.

That was just who you were.

It wasn’t something you could help; you were just always curious about what the future held. Once a competition had concluded, you got right back up there to train and practice. There were no off-seasons for you. You didn’t like to stop; it made you feel uneasy.

So . . . you liked to keep busy . . .

Well . . . that all came crashing down the moment of your accident. Your future consisted of hospital beds, check-ups, and physical therapy, which all equaled a whole lot of downtime.

You supposed that was why you took so kindly to literature (not at first . . . of course, because you were still a stubborn person through and through).

And you thought . . . way too much if you thought about it. Whatever.

Thinking wasn’t always kind to you. It made you remember that you had been trained to become someone, not just an adult, but someone . . . great. Sure, you had to work for it every day of your life, but it was a routine you knew well and you liked it enough. You had chosen that life for yourself. You had chosen to become someone great the moment you picked up a racket.

Until you tore it from your own hands, and now . . . now you weren’t exactly sure who you were. And sometimes, if you really thought about it, you wished more than anything you could be a kid again. You’d become someone better if you could just start over. Maybe you wouldn’t become someone great . . . but . . . you’d become someone . . . better.

Worst of all . . . and keep in mind that you were incredibly aware how independent and hellbent on being your own person you were . . . but sometimes . . . sometimes you wished someone would just tell you what to do. You wished more than anything someone would just tell you who to be; who to become.

Things would be easier then. You were sure of it.

But you were long past those ages. You had to tell yourself what to do; who to become; how to act, and sometimes that blew up in your face but you supposed that was what it meant to be an adult. (News Flash: you fucking hated it.)

Whatever.

What you wanted to do was tell the past and the present to go fuck themselves. What you wanted to do was crawl under your bed and hide away from the rest of the world. What you wanted to do was not be a person at all.

But the past had a sick way of reminding you that you were perhaps too much of a person.

You had always been just a little too much. Too loud. Too quiet. Too ambitious. Too selfish. Too cruel. Too stupid. Too you. You’d been told it all your life and you’d never really cared until all that was left of yourself was your seemingly horrible personality. That was what you were most ashamed of—not only being a person but being a . . . bad person.

The past had a way of sneaking up on you, reminding you of who exactly you had become and who you had been meant to be.

And that night was no different.

It was the night before the first round of games. Your entire team, Yunis, had traveled by train to Busan for the event, and to say you (and most likely everyone else) were nervous. You’d, of course, sat next to Jungkook the entire time, listening to him snore literally the whole duration of the trip. Eventually, you ended up having to fall asleep with your fingers plugged in your ears, and when you awoke, you were embarrassingly drooling all over Jungkook’s shoulder. (Now . . . nobody say anything, you were already embarrassed enough as it was.)

Anyway . . .

Train. B-line to the hotel. Get your room key. Take a nap in the queen bed. Wake up. Get more practice in before curfew.

Check . . . check . . . check . . .check . . . check . . . and . . . check.

Only you had underestimated just how much your heart would be pounding the second you approached the arena’s double doors. You knew technically you shouldn’t have been there the night before the games, but it wasn’t illegal so whatever. That didn’t stop the fact that you couldn’t help but notice how much your hands were shaking when you reached out to grasp the door handle.

You just . . .

It had been a handful of months since you’d joined Yunis. You and Jungkook were good now. Friends. He had been training you, and you couldn’t honestly say that while you weren’t some kind of Olympian. . . you weren’t horrible. And tomorrow, you’d get out there, play with him by your side and know that you had put your all into it. The past should have been behind you.

But it kept seeping back in.

Your fall. The injury. Those three years.

What if you got hurt again?

What if you failed?

You were OK, maybe even good, but you weren’t . . . great.

And you sure as hell weren’t sure you could live with yourself if you cost your team a win. That nearly made you peel over and spill your stomach’s contents. And if you had to see Jungkook turn to you with disappointment on his face . . . ? That would surely kill you.

Disappointing him was something you didn’t want to do. Not after everything.

It was decided then what you would do: walk through those doors and practice until you could safely walk back to your hotel room without a sinking feeling weighing you down. That very thought stayed on your mind as you shoved open the doors, racket clenched tightly in your hand. Your eyes immediately found all the equipment set up for tomorrow’s tournament, and your heart thudded in your chest at the sight.

The thing was: you hadn’t seen a court like this in three years. Sure, you’d practiced and practiced and practiced, but you hadn’t seen it like . . . this . . . like how you left it three years ago.

So without even thinking, your body took control. Call it muscle memory or nostalgia, you didn’t know, but you did know one second you were standing by the doors, then the next you had taken all of three steps before your hand touched the net. You walked along the court, hand never leaving the net as you remembered what it felt like to have this be your entire world.

That was the thing about remembering: you never truly forgot. It had always been badminton to you. It had always just fit into your life. You missed it like you missed a childhood pet.

And then you felt it: the excitement.

For a split second, you weren’t thinking of winning or losing or anything in between. No, instead, for a second, you remember how it felt just to hit a birdie, no questions asked. You remembered the late nights and the feel of a new racket in your hand. You remembered the joy you felt when you’d see your parents in the stands. You remembered how it felt to hear the crowd scream your name. You remembered it all. And then . . . you realized you were remembering how it felt to . . . love badminton.

Why had it ever been about anything else?

Badminton had fit into you so long ago because you loved it. You weren’t sure when you had lost sight of that.

But you didn’t try to scramble for explanations. You didn’t want to. Instead, you let yourself remember, and as you did, you gave into a small thought which crossed your mind. You leaned down, nose hanging just above the net and breathed in the scent, and then you began to smile. That was what you wished you remembered about your past—the scent of a badminton net. (You supposed it was the same feeling of walking into a bookstore and that scent hitting you all at once (had you told yourself that you’d come to love the smell of a bookstore, you would’ve laughed in your own face, but . . . now . . . badminton and books didn’t have that much of a difference to you.)

Raising your head once again, your eyes fell to the racket in your hand. Here you were three years later, a racket still in your hand, and for a second you swore you felt excited about it. For a second, you wondered if you’d enjoy tomorrow.

Because maybe badminton fit into you like a hook in an eye, but maybe you had grown to hate it; to fear it. And maybe . . . maybe you could learn to love it again. Perhaps even if you did lose tomorrow . . . perhaps you could still love it. And maybe—

“Why are you sniffing the net?” you heard from behind you, and instantly you knew that voice.

Your head whipped around, eyes immediately finding Jungkook sitting at the top of the bleachers.

Oh. (Your heart pounded a little faster now.)

Had he been there the whole time?

“Stalking me now?” you called back as you slowly made your way toward him, beginning to climb the bleachers with your racket still in your hand. (You didn’t want to admit just how relieved you were to see him there, because maybe that meant he was nervous too. Maybe you weren’t alone. And maybe (just maybe) you wished he’d come find you all night.)

“I’m not much of a stalker,” he huffed, his eyes never leaving you as he leaned back against the bleachers. “Too much work.”

You reached him with a shake of your head. “You’re too stupid anyway,” you teasingly hummed as you sat down beside him, resting your racket to the side so you could lean back and cross your arms over your chest.

“That’s rude, you know?” he remarked, nudging you with his elbow.

“Eh,” was all you hummed while you turned your head to the side, immediately locking eyes with him. “Say something rude about me then.”

Jungkook only smiled. “No.”

“Come on—” you leaned toward him, staring up at him— “tell me what’s wrong with me. Hmm? Free shot.”

Jungkook mirrored your actions, leaning toward you. “Nothing to tell.”

You rolled your eyes. “Liar.”

“Fine, you’re a brat.”

“A brat?”

“A brat.”

“You’re the brat,” you huffed as you shoved his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah?” he mused, taking the chance to rest his arm around the back of the bleachers where you were leaning. His arm wasn’t quite wrapped around your shoulders, but you could still feel the heat of his body radiating off of his onto yours. “What makes me more of a brat than you?”

“For starters—” you blinked up at him— “this. Oh, and when you make coffee in the morning, you do this thing where—”

But you never finished your sentence, no, instead, you were cut off with his lips pressing against yours. It wasn’t rushed or sloppy or anything like that either. It was soft, but before you could even kiss him back, he pulled away, a dopey smile on his face as he resumed his position, leaning back against the bleachers.

“Uh . . . “ you trailed off.

“Hmm?” he lazily hummed.

“You kissed me.”

“Yeah, I wanted to.”

Narrowing your eyes, you gave him a once-over. “For what?”

“Dunno—” he shrugged— “Been a long day. I like kissing you. You like kissing me. Do the math.”

A scoff left your lips and before you could stop it, you muttered, “Brat.” (Let’s completely ignore the fact that you had a smile on your face when you said it, too.)

The silence hit you two then. But it was comfortable, filled with small smiles and this warm bubbly feeling.

And then . . .

“Are you nervous?” he asked you. “About tomorrow?”

And you knew the two of you understood each other more than you originally had thought. Because, yes, you were, and so was he. This . . . this was another chance.

Like the two of you . . . this was a chance to start over.

So instead of bottling up your fears like you would around anyone else, you let your mind speak. “Yes,” you found yourself mumbling with a soft sigh. “A little excited too, but . . . mostly nervous, yeah.”

“Yeah,” he sighed heavily, “me too.”

“How come?”

His eyes snapped to you. “Haven’t played since . . . since last year,” he mumbled before he wet his lips and shrugged.

“Why?” you found yourself asking before you knew it.

“Something with a friend happened.”

. . .

“Tae?” you hesitantly asked, wondering if he'd let you into his past.

Jungkook blinked. Hesitant at first, but then . . . “Yes.”

Oh.

Suddenly, you remembered the phone call you had overheard weeks ago. Taehyung. He was injured. No. No. You couldn’t jump to conclusions.

“What happened?” you asked instead of letting your mind decide for you, because this was Jungkook and he mattered to you, not some conversation you weren’t supposed to hear.

A beat of silence.

You swore he’d leave you like that. You swore he’d change the subject. Until . . .

“We had a falling out. Jimin, too,” he ended up muttering out as he turned away from you. He . . . he couldn’t look at you. “I knew I’d fucked up. I tried to fix it, but . . . I was too much of a coward.” A heavy sigh left him. “Still am.”

“Well . . . “ you trailed off, trying to think of words quickly because here he was telling you the truth and you couldn’t bring yourself to be enough of a person to comfort him. So you ended up blurting out: “What if you—”

But Jungkook stopped you where you were. (Perhaps you had taken too much time to respond.) “It’s past that. No ‘what if’s’ will make things OK between us,” he said, his voice strained. “I ruined his life. It was my fault. I ruined everything for him. Everything.”

“Maybe it’s a misunderstanding,” you rushed out, desperately trying to reach him before he curled back into himself. “Like with us.”

He turned to you then, brows raised. “Us?”

Then you realized something . . . your own past with him. You never . . . you never apologized, because you remembered what you did. You remembered how you’d forced the blame onto him because that was easier than admitting you had ruined yourself just like you ruined everything else. But perhaps in doing so, you had ruined him, too.

And you never apologized for any of it.

So when the words “I guess I never apologized, huh?” came out of your mouth . . . you knew what you had cut out for you.

Jungkook only sat there, staring at you in confusion as if he couldn’t believe someone was apologizing to him.

And you went on. “I blamed you for what happened to me, but it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t know when to quit. I should’ve sat the game out, but I didn’t. I did this to myself, not you,” you mumbled sheepishly. One, two, three seconds of silence passed before you awkwardly touched a hand to his. “I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I’m sorry . . . for blaming you . . . hating you . . . not letting you visit me in the hospital. I’m sorry.”

He blinked in response.

You withdrew your hand.

Was he trying to make you feel awkward on purpose? You quickly cleared your throat just to fill the silence. “You would’ve been the only one to visit me anyway,” you blabbered on, trying not to seem so affected by . . . this. “Shouldn’t have turned you away for that reason alone. I’m pretty sure even the nurses would switch with each other so they didn’t have to deal with me.”

And finally, like some saving grace, Jungkook let out a clap of laughter. “You really are a brat,” he remarked with a shake of his head.

“I was lonely, OK? And miserable!” you whined, squeezing his shoulder. (Your little anxieties floated away the harder he laughed . . . and you knew things were OK.) “Plus! The food tasted like goop.”

He quirked a brow. “Goop?”

“Yep, so you—” you drilled a finger into his chest— “try not going crazy.”

“Brat.”

You shoved his chest in response, but couldn’t hide the grin on your face. “Listen . . . about the other thing . . . Tae’s understanding,” you began again. “You’ve always said that, right?”

He offered you a small, strained smile. “Not about this.”

And you nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Everything,” you mumbled with a shrug. “Tae. Jimin, too.”

Jungkook blew a raspberry. “Shit happens.”

“Well . . . my mom will be happy to know we’re finally on good terms,” you offered up, trying to lighten the mood. It also wasn’t like it was a lie either. You had yet to tell your parents that you and Jungkook were on the same team, and if your mother knew, she’d leave work just to be there to see you guys play. (What could you say? Jungkook was practically family.)

“We’re on good terms?” Jungkook questioned in response.

Oh no.

You knew where he was going with this. (You could tell by the small grin twitching at his lips.)

“We’re teammates, of course, we are,” you simply replied, trying not to give away the fact that you knew what was ahead of you.

“Are you admitting that we’re friends?” he asked immediately.

There it was.

He was going to rub this in your face.

Of course the two of you were some kind of fucked up friends, but you had yet to truly admit that, and Jungkook was going to have fun with that. (Obviously.)

“No,” you coughed out. (Like that was believable.)

He shoved a finger in your face. “You are.”

“No!” you desperately rushed out. “I’m not.”

“Oh, this is rich!” Jungkook laughed loudly, clapping his hands.

“No, Jungkook, no. Not friends. We can’t be! Our past!”

“Our past?”

You nodded vigorously, practically begging him not to put you through this embarrassment. He wanted you to admit it; to admit you were wrong and you had already done enough of that tonight.

But it seemed Jungkook had other plans entirely.

Instead of shoving it in your face that you’d admitted the two of you were friends, he simply sent you a half-grin and nodded. “Fine,” he hummed, his voice soft and smooth. “Then let’s start over . . . this time as strangers who become . . . friends.”

Oh.

You blinked.

“Fine,” you huffed, but it came out more like a dazed sigh.

With that, Jungkook kept that charming grin on his face as he held out his hand toward you. “Jeon Jungkook,” he mused, introducing himself like the two of you didn’t have a history that could fill an entire filing cabinet. “Nice to meet you.”

And you couldn’t help it: you smiled back at him, grasping his hand in yours and introducing yourself. “Nice to meet you,” you mumbled again after a second, the smile still on your face as you shook his hand.

Jungkook nodded in approval, but his hand stayed in yours and just as you gave him a look of skepticism, he tugged you into him. You let him of course. With an amused look on your face, you let him pull you into his chest, going the extra mile to swing your leg over his lap so you were straddling him.

What could you say? You enjoyed his touch all too much.

Then you felt his lips. Similar to the kiss from before, this one was also soft. At first, it was just closed lips and nimble sighs. He pulled back after a few small pecks, seemingly content with just having you close to him.

“Sorry, it’s a ritual,” he murmured against your lips.

“That how you greet all people?” you mused, laughing through your nose.

“Of course,” he hummed as he pressed another quick kiss to your lips.

But you had always been a little insatiable . . . so, the next words to leave your mouth were: “Can you show me more of that ritual?”

All Jungkook could do was grin against the very lips that had asked him that question. He, of course, gave in to your request, pressing his lips against yours once again, softly kissing you with every atom in his body. Until . . . slowly, so slow that it was almost painful, his hands found their way to your hips and squeezed, fingers digging into you and making you crave more, more, more. You just couldn’t help yourself. He was like chocolate-covered strawberries. You couldn’t resist him, not after the long day you’d both had.

And so . . . your hands found their way into his dark locks, weaving through them as you shifted on his lap and deepened the kiss. You nibbled on his bottom lip, tugging slightly and just enough to get him to comply. His lips parted slowly and you nearly sighed in contentment, but no, instead you melded further into him, now tugging his head backward by his hair in order to lick into his mouth. You just couldn’t help it. He tasted sweet.

It was sloppy and carnal . . . just the way you craved it to be. He only spurred you on from there. While you hummed into his mouth, biting and licking, attempting to taste more and more and more of him, he nearly whimpered under your touch. You couldn’t believe it either. Jungkook whimpering under your touch? It was almost too good to be true, and you loved it.

Craving more of this feeling, you tugged at his hair a little harder, causing him to wince . . . but this was no ordinary wince. No, the man full-on moaned. It was quiet and short, but it was still there. By now, yes, you knew one of Jungkook’s major turn-ons was getting his hair pulled, but you never got over it, and every time, you’d tug his hair just to see what kinds of sounds you could pull from him.

Sometimes (most times) he let you get away with it without a word. But sometimes . . . sometimes he bit back (and you sometimes liked to admit just how much you enjoyed that, too).

And tonight? Well, tonight, Jungkook was in the mood for biting back.

Instead of letting you have your way with him, Jungkook weaved his fingers into your hair and pulled hard. With a muffled whimper, he pulled you just far enough away from him to press his lips to your ear. And then . . . then . . . he said words you never thought you’d ever hear fall from his silver tongue.

“Something in me wants to ruin you. Keep tempting me like that and I don’t know if I can hold back,” he muttered with a masked growl under his breath. “But . . . I don’t know if I’d ever forgive myself.”

“I would,” you rushed out, not missing a beat. Did you know what you were saying? No, but god, you just wanted him in any way. “Forgive you . . . if it meant . . . “

He pulled back so his eyes met yours. “If it meant?”

You blinked at him, eyes lidded and clouded. “That I could feel you,” you hummed as you pressed a hand against his firm chest.

His brows twitched with intrigue. “Feel me where?”

You swallowed hard. “Everywhere.”

In real time, you watched his eyes darken completely and you almost couldn’t believe it. It was the kind of thing you read about, not something to experience, and yet . . .

Jungkook was touching you a second later, and you let him. Hell, you’d let him do anything at this point. Ruining you was on the table. Perhaps that was the part of him that he liked to hide away, but you didn’t mind it. You knew you were safe in his touch. That was the only thing you knew anymore about anything.

So when the hand on your hip tightened, you let him. He pulled you in closer with his other hand, keeping it secure against the back of your head while his mouth attacked your neck. He licked a long strip from the base to just under your ear where your sweet soft lay, lapping and swirling his tongue against the sensitive skin.

Then, he found your pulse, halting above it before grazing his teeth over it, working you up more. He continued his devious attack before he began sucking, quietly moaning into your neck as he took note of the slight gasps escaping your lips, and you were so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even realized that perhaps the two of you were going a little too far.

In fact, it didn’t hit you until you accidentally nudged your racket off the bleachers with your leg. And the sound of it clanking against the bleachers brought you out of your own mind.

Your eyes darted to the racket . . . then . . . it set in. “Don’t mark me,” you muttered as you turned back to Jungkook.

He continued kissing your neck, but did as you said, not sucking on the skin. “You marked me first,” he breathed into your neck as his wandering hand finally found your plump ass and he couldn’t help himself. He began palming the flesh, softly humming into your neck, and making you lose your train of thought. His touch just felt so good.

Until you realized what he had said. You marked me first. And yes, he was right. Because you had. You’d accidentally left many hickeys on his neck (and all over his body) since this little thing between the two of you had begun. (What could you say? He looked pretty like that . . . and maybe there was something possessive about you . . . )

Still . . .

“Yeah, but if we both show up with hickeys—” you began, trying to find your brain with his lips still on your skin— “I think people will start to put two and two together.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you huffed, but still continued running your hands through his dark hair, refusing to leave his touch. “People are gonna think I fucked my way to the top.”

“Well, that’s simply not true,” Jungkook mumbled as he (unfortunately) leaned back, his lips leaving your neck so he could meet your eyes. “I have yet to see you fuck on top.”

You deadpanned. Of course that was where he was going with that. “You’re infuriating,” you said in monotone.

“Calm down,” he snorted, shaking his head at your expression. “I’m not marking you.”

And he was just about to continue his sloppy descent when you . . . well you . . . decided to mumble under your breath, “Well . . . “

“Oh, god, yes, honey?” he huffed out, using the one nickname that he knew you hated.

(You truly did hate it.)

You rolled your eyes at him, but nevertheless went on. “Just . . . don’t do it where people can see,” you muttered.

Jungkook only grinned, wide and toothy. “Wanna sleep in my room?” he offered up, and you knew what he meant.

A beat of silence.

(Did you even have to think about it?)

“Yeah, why not?” you hummed a second later, nodding with a small smile on your face.

(Not like you had planned on sleeping in your own room anyway.

(Duh.))

The arena looked different in the morning. Everything was a little different. For one, there was an audience, and for two, you were nervous too, but also excited? Whatever that meant. But you weren't caught trapped in your own mind for too long. As you stared out at the court, assessing the other team as well as the audience members, you felt your phone buzz in your hand. Instantly, it tore you away from the present as you opened your phone only to see a text message from none other than Jeon Jungkook. (A smile lifted onto your face as you opened the message but you refused to acknowledge that . . . part.)

Kook Ur ass looks good in that skirt

And you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, not even bothering to text back a response. Instead, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes searching for him and then . . . then you saw him. He was in uniform, except under the tee, he wore a black long-sleeve compression shirt, which you supposed was to hide the tattoos. In addition, his dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the back of his head that held most of his long locks. And you noticed that he’d taken out all of his piercings, almost making him appear like the boy you used to know three years ago. (It was an odd sense of deja vu, but . . . well . . . he still looked like . . . himself.)

You were moving toward him in an instant. Whether it was the nerves or whatever, you didn’t care about anyone else, you just needed to feel him. Maybe that would ground you. And so, you crossed the court to him, and when you did, your hands found his broad shoulders, squeezing them. And then . . . then you did something so uncharacteristically unlike you . . . and rested your forehead against his, finally allowing yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Jungkook reacted quickly to your touch, squeezing your arms as he laughed through his nose. “You alright?” he murmured, a hint of a teasing tone in his voice.

“Yeah, obviously, just . . . just feel like I’m going to puke,” you joked, because it was true. Now if it was because of nerves or excitement . . . you didn’t know. “Just normal stuff. Why do you ask?”

“You’re touching me in public,” he simply said, a hint of a grin on his face.

You blinked. Oh. Well . . . you supposed he was right . . . so you know . . . you kind of cleared your throat and backed up just an inch away from him. “Just—” you shrugged— “putting our heads together.”

Jungkook remained grinning. “Don’t be nervous,” he hummed as he squeezed your arm once more. “We’ve got this, Iris.”

You nodded. “Right.”

And you tried your best to believe him. (All the while trying to ignore the fact that touching him in public hadn’t even crossed your mind as unusual. It had felt . . . safe . . . right.

Fuck.)

The score was eighteen to eighteen. Your side just needed to win by four more clear points. Four more points.

This . . . this was familiar. It wasn’t like practicing with Jungkook or practicing by yourself. It reminded you of the past; a past where this could have been easy for you; where it was normal; where you wouldn’t have your heart pounding out of your chest.

You’d been here before.

Twenty to twenty. Yurim, your college doubles partner, had been by your side back then. She had been the one who stood by you as you took that fall and lost the game. She lost it, too.

That game was both of yours to lose.

You’d let her down then. (As far as you knew she had left the badminton scene ages ago.) But you had the chance to redeem yourself.

Right now . . . now you could win this game and set things right.

Setting things right meant keeping your eye on the birdie. Obviously, the more skilled player takes the front while the other takes the back, so you stayed in your spot most of the game at the back and made a few scores, but not as many as Jungkook. He just made it look so easy . . .

He deserved this. This win should be his. And you knew you had to keep your eyes on the birdie.

The two of you had gone separate ways on a court very similar to this one. If you made those points, you could mend what had been ruined.

A well-oiled machine you may have been but—

A whistle was blown, your thoughts cut off as you watched the other team set up the serve. And then the birdie was airborne.

Quickly, you readied yourself, fighting your present and past memories as you tried to stay focused. Eyes on the birdie. That was what you needed to do.

The birdie swirled through the air, heading straight for Jungkook, and you had no doubt he’d hit it, but as his net made contact, the birdie fumbled. The hit made the birdie fly higher into the air, and not over the net but rather backward . . . toward you.

And you acted fast.

Racing behind Jungkook, you didn’t think. One moment you were standing by like a sitting duck, then the next you had jumped off your bad leg, putting as much power into your jump as you could. Your eyes still on the birdie, you launched your arm forward toward the birdie. But it seemed Jungkook had thought the same thing, attempting to swing backward enough to hit the birdie over the net . . . however . . . the two of you acted on your own, non-cohesive thoughts and dived for the birdie, smacking your rackets together in the process and fumbling it all.

The point was not yours to claim. But that was the least of your worries. You had been looking at the birdie, already accepting the failure. And you realized too late what was happening as your feet touched the court once again.

Because . . . well . . . your eyes had been on the birdie. They'd watched it the entire time, and you'd forgotten about paying attention to landing on your feet. And you hadn’t taken into account how close Jungkook would be, and how that might play out.

It had only been a second where you’d let yourself forget and get wrapped up in the game once again, and suddenly, it was as if you had been transported back three years. And then . . . then . . . the past repeated itself.

It'd only been a second where you forgot; the one second you'd forgotten while your attention had been on the birdie, you landed on the court, only your leg hadn't been positioned right, causing your ankle to roll, and while you had caught yourself, that didn’t matter. Jungkook was moving, too, and before either of you could react, his body knocked into yours, causing you to lose your footing as you fell backward onto the court.

In response, you tensed, waiting for the pain to seep in, waiting for your life to be ruined once again. But no pain came. Your leg was OK. Nothing had happened. And you could breathe a sigh of relief.

The whistle blew, signifying the other team had scored a point, but your mind was still on your leg. That was what mattered to you right now. That was why you hadn’t moved from your spot on the court. That was why you had decided to ignore the world for a split second and carefully touch a hand to your hip, making sure nothing had truly happened.

Only . . . you hadn’t taken into account the fact that the rest of the world didn’t decide to ignore you.

Jungkook especially hadn’t decided to partake in any ignoring.

That much was evident as he fell beside you on the court. “Fuck, fuck, no—” you heard him instantly rush out— “Baby, fuck, your leg. I didn’t—”

Glancing up, you watched as the shocked expression on his face turned into one of concern, and before you could interject, he called out for the ref, signaling for a timeout. The whistle was blown once again in response, clarifying that Yunis would be taking a two-minute timeout before the game was to resume. And all you could do was stare at him, trying not to burst out laughing . . . because . . . goddamn it . . . you just wanted to hug the guy.

“Koo,” you settled with instead, a small smile on your face.

But it seemed Jungkook hadn’t heard you as he whipped back to face you, his eyes wide and almost innocent. “Can you stand?” he started with as he gently touched a hand to your hip. No one had ever been so gentle with you . . . like that. “Is it—Is it OK? Pain? Any pain?”

You only blinked at him.

His brows pinched together in concern. “You gotta talk to me? Is it shock? Fuck, are you in shock?”

And then you truly did snort.

He blinked. “ . . . What?”

With a smile slowly forming on your face, you rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m fine, Koo. It was just a small tumble. Nothing’s broken and nothing hurts,” you hummed. “Well . . . except my pride. I really thought I had that in the bag.”

Slowly, his face softened into relief. “Just a little hiccup. We still got this,” he said, a small smile on his face once again. “If you’ll forgive me for tripping you in the last round.”

You laughed, “I think I tripped myself on you.”

“Eh, agree to disagree,” he mused as he stood to his feet and reached out his hand toward you. “Ready to win this?”

“Yes,” you sighed in contentment as you took his hand and let him help you to your feet . . . because you really did believe you might have a chance. You just . . . you needed to trust him. He would’ve hit the birdie if you had just let him. So now . . . you needed to trust him.

Trust him, you thought as the whistle blew once again, signifying that the game was resuming. Trust him, you hummed to yourself as you got into position while you watched Jungkook secure his stance. Trust him, you believed as he glanced over his shoulder to send you a wink just as the whistle was blown once again, and the game began. And trust him you did.

Everything moved slowly then. The world was barely turning on its axis. The other team served the ball, hitting it over the net. Jungkook hit it back. Then . . . the other team attempted to hit a smash, but Jungkook was fast. One moment the birdie was flying toward the court, then the next Jungkook was diving for it. He put all his force into his legs, diving for the ground, and just in the nick of time, he smacked the birdie clear over the net, countering the other team’s shot. And as if that weren’t impressive enough, he’d made a clear . . . one that no one had been expecting.

The other team was too caught up in the potential win to be near the backcourt. Jungkook had hit the birdie, and cleared. The birdie was too fast, hitting the backcourt without a single counter.

He’d won you guys a point.

The score was nineteen to nineteen. Two more points and you’d win. You couldn’t believe it. The two of you may have actually had a chance. You just had to trust him. Yes, that seemed to be the trick. Just . . . trust him, and truly, you did.

You knew you did as you jumped for him, helping him to his feet with a grin on your face. “You did it,” you softly said with a hand on his shoulder.

“Remind me to ice my ass when we get back,” he groaned, but somehow, someway, he still looked handsome. (And you desperately wanted to kiss him, but . . . you know . . . control yourself.)

“You good?” you asked, searching his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” he brushed off your question with a sigh. “We got this, Rosie.” He offered up a high five, and you took him up on it, high fiving him (he enclosed his fingers around your hand a little longer than he probably should have, but whatever . . . you guys could win this).

It was your turn to serve. And with equal parts nerves and excitement in your veins, you gripped your racket tightly in your hand, gave Jungkook a small nod, and made your way to your place on the court, birdie grasped tightly in your other hand.

Everything happened too quickly from then on. You briefly heard the referee blow the whistle, signifying the resumption of the game. Then you rubbed the birdie on the side of your handle once for good luck, twice for blind hope, a third time for a chance to start over . . . before you sent it flying through the air, over the net in an almost perfect serve.

You almost blinked in shock, realizing perhaps you really had gotten a lot better. This game could be yours. It really could be. Fuck, it could be. (You tried not to grin at your thoughts.)

With careful eyes, you forced yourself back into the game and watched as the other team hit the birdie. It was heading toward Jungkook and instead of worrying; instead of racing toward it, you let him hit it, watching as he delivered another perfect clear except, this time, the other team had hit it back. Only, Jungkook was quick. He countered this too.

A few more hits were bounced back and forth, and for a second you thought Jungkook would definitely deliver a lethal smash toward the other team, resulting in a win, but no . . . this time, as the other team hit the birdie . . . it came racing toward . . . you.

You swallowed hard. That was your cue. You readied yourself, eyes on that damned birdie. It was right there, but it was high, and you realized you had been here before. This . . . this was your true test, and you wouldn’t fail it again.

So with it coming straight toward you and an odd sense of deja vu hitting you all at once, you beckoned it closer and jumped off your bad leg, putting as much power into your jump as you could. Your eyes still on the birdie, you launched your arm forward, your racket slamming into the birdie and sending it at an impeccable speed toward the other team.

Fuck, you’d hit it. Fucking hell, you really had!

Time moved slowly then. You could’ve been frozen in the air and you wouldn’t know. You just didn’t even want to take your eyes off the birdie. But memories of three years ago consumed you. This was where you’d met your end.

The match couldn’t be yours; it didn’t make sense. And defeat was right there; it still tasted just as bitter as it did three years ago. It was there on the tip of your tongue. But this wasn’t three years ago, and you were not the same person you used to be. This . . . you had rubbed the birdie against your racket three times for good luck, blind hope, and a fresh start. This was not the past, it was your fresh start.

You didn’t have to fail. And you didn’t have to win. You just had to remember.

And so as time seemed to slow down even further, you realized your eyes had been on the birdie. They'd watched it the entire time, but this time, even with the pounding in your head and the ache in your leg, you hadn’t forgotten about paying attention to landing on your feet.

The birdie would land or it wouldn’t. You’d given your all to it. You remembered that at the last second.

It'd only been a second when you finally remembered. And unlike three years ago, you landed on the court, sneakers touching the ground as you bent your knees to cushion your impact. But you didn’t dare move.

You stayed crouched on the ground, head lowered as you waited to hear what your fate had in store for you. Would it be horrified screams? Cheers? And when they cheered, would they be cheering for you?

And then you heard it: loud cheers erupting from behind you as the crowd stomped their feet on the bleachers, nearly shaking the entire arena in the process. Was it? Could it be? Had you—

No, stop. It couldn’t be. Sure, you thought maybe the two of you could win, but . . . you fully expected just to walk away from the game with a loss but a newfound love for the sport you once called your other half.

So with confusion consuming you, you finally glanced up, eyes immediately landing on Jungkook, who was already staring at you, a wide, toothy grin stretched across his face as he clapped for . . . you.

You’d been here before. That was the same look he’d given you when you’d beat him just a few months ago. That was when you first felt yourself truly care for him . . . and now . . . now it seemed you’d made him proud. Had you?

Your brows shot up in shock, your body relaxing only slightly.

Then . . . you saw it. There, on the other side of the court, laid the birdie.

That meant . . . (holy fuck!) That meant you had landed the smash. You’d made the point. You’d . . . You’d . . .

You’d . . . won.

The score was nineteen to twenty-one.

You had fucking won.

Yunis landed fourth in the tournaments. You’d won. You were moving on to the next games. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fucking fuck! Yunis would appear at another tournament. There was a possibility that your team could win it all.

Your thoughts ran wild.

You’d won. After all these years, all the pain, the hurt, the tears, the anger . . . and you’d finally . . . won.

You couldn’t help it. The second this dawned on you, you rose to your feet and fell into Jungkook. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you held him tight, nearly letting yourself cry into his shoulder. You just . . . you couldn’t believe it. And it was all because of him.

Thank you, your hug seemed to say as you squeezed him tighter (so tight you were sure he could feel it in his soul).

Then . . . Jungkook ever so slowly wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against him, and you realized the only reason this win felt like one was because of him. You hadn’t only won for yourself, but for him.

Perhaps this would get him to love badminton again. Because, truly, badminton fit into you like a hook in an eye, and you were sure Jungkook felt the same. You could only hope he did.

Let the record show that making acquaintances with the bartender in the hotel bar your team was staying at for the first round of tournaments was not how you imagined celebrating your first win after three years. It just wasn’t, and honestly, you hadn’t even expected to leave your hotel room. You expected to maybe . . . just maybe see what the minibar in your room had in stock and perhaps you’d drink a few small bottles of . . . whatever.

That had been the plan—to get mildly tipsy then head for the bathroom for a hot shower . . . but . . . somehow, someway you’d ended up taking the shower first, taking one look at the minibar, then deciding the actual bar on the main floor just might have better options. And then, well, you ended up sitting alone at the end of the bar, dressed in sweats while everyone else appeared to be dressed business casual.

You stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was embarrassing, really, but after the second drink, you stopped looking around the room and focused in on the bottom of your glass. Why was this how you decided to celebrate? You had no idea, because, truthfully, it felt a lot more like nursing an old wound than celebrating a win.

It didn’t help that your entire team was elsewhere and your own doubles partner was MIA since the court. So, really, that just left you alone in sweats at a bar with a drink in your hand that you didn’t even like.

Fifteen minutes later you decided you’d had enough. But just as you were about to stand on your feet, pay the bartender, and turn to your hotel room, something caught your eye.

Now . . . Jealousy was not something you had an issue with. You didn’t get jealous. There was no need to. You’d never had anyone to be truly jealous over. Right? Yes, obviously, duh. Obviously . . .

But catching a glimpse of Jungkook just on the other side of the room, talking with another girl did annoy you. No, not because you were jealous, but because here you were all alone celebrating your win and he was nowhere in sight. And now . . . now you discovered he had been in the same place as you this entire time and didn’t say anything.

Were you being dramatic? Probably.

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Still . . . you continued staring, eyes narrowed and you were certain it looked as though you were trying desperately to blow his head up with just a glare. But . . . ugh! Come on, he was so—

Jungkook turned his head, his eyes locking with yours.

Your eyes widened into saucers as you quickly (too quickly) whipped back around, facing the bar once again with your drink now clutched tightly in your hand.

But you knew he’d seen you. And he knew he’d seen you.

Surely, he wouldn’t come over here, right? He was busy. Yes. He wouldn’t come over. He was—

“You have a staring problem,” a deep voice whispered from behind you.

Of course. Of course . . . Jungkook would come over.

Clearing your throat, you slowly turned to face him. “Just wondering how you bagged her,” you hummed with a small shrug as you took a sip of your drink. Yep, still the same taste. (You tried not to react to the bitter-tasting liquid.)

Jungkook ignored your jab and instead sat down on the barstool beside you, resting his elbow on the bar. “So . . . “ he trailed off, searching your eyes as he toyed with the lip ring adoring his bottom lip, “wanna come back to my room?”

You shot him an unamused look. “Is this how you treat all one-night stands?”

“Mmm, come on,” he began as he slipped the drink from your hand, taking a sip in the process, “you know I’d never ask them to stay.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Oh, I feel so special,” you sarcastically mused. Your eyes drifted to the girl he was talking to, finding her still standing in the same spot now talking to another woman and a man. But still . . . your jealousy remained. Wait, no, not jealousy. No. “Go back to your girl. She’s waiting on you.”

Those were the words that fell from your lips the moment the fact that you could actually be . . . jealous . . . popped into your head.

Jungkook blinked, his expression faltering ever so slightly.

Then: “Alright . . .” he nodded— “have a good night, Buttercup.”

“Yep,” you breathed out, turning back to face the bar as you watched him get up and walk away out of the corner of your eye.

It was silent again. You were alone again. Until: “Can I get another one of these,” you heard yourself ask before you knew what you were doing. Why you were ordering this god-awful drink again, you had no idea, but . . . oh well . . .

Only, before the bartender could pour another one out, a hand cut in front of you, pushing the empty glass away. “That won’t be necessary,” the person said, and you instantly knew who interjected.

Turning around, your eyes fell on Jungkook for another time that night. “Kook? What?” you questioned as you watched him wave off the bartender, and sit back down in the barstool beside you.

Finally, his eyes flicked to yours, and he . . . smiled. “Told her I already had plans.”

You breathed out a laugh through your nose. “You’d choose me over somethin’ like that?” you hummed, trying to make light of the awkward situation. (At least . . . well . . . awkward to . . . you.)

“I’d choose you over everyone,” Jungkook responded without missing a beat.

And your face slowly fell into one of shock.

“So, let me ask you again . . . “ Jungkook began again while you were still in a state of shock, “wanna go back to my room?”

I’d choose you over everyone, rang through your ears again as he stared, awaiting your answer. But he couldn’t mean that, right? . . . Right?

And . . . and why did it make you feel like . . . that? Like . . . like . . . well you didn’t exactly know what it made you feel, but you did know it had done something to you. You just . . . you couldn’t put it into words, but . . . you didn’t hate it.

You didn’t hate how his words had made you feel; how he had made you feel. So, really was it a surprise that you reached forward to grasp his warm hand in your cold one? Was it really a surprise that the next few words to fall from your lips were: ‘Lead the way’?

Subtly, you, and Jungkook did not go together well. The entire walk back to the lobby, down the hall, and straight for the elevator were filled with quick steps, wandering eyes, and hands brushing (very obviously if you had to admit). Anticipation and eagerness were in the air as the two of you finally made it to the elevator.

Side by side, Jungkook pressed the upward arrow, and you watched as it lit up, the sound of the elevator gearing into action. His pinky finger brushed against yours then. It was a simple touch; one you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so caught up in the memories of the last time you’d had his body on yours (just before you’d taken the train to Busan . . . so like . . . two days ago).

It was a consistent thing. You had nothing to say for yourself. It was fun. And that simple touch had your mind reeling and your body itching to touch his.

Then, as if like clockwork, the elevator dinged, the doors slowly opening to reveal an empty area. You didn’t even have a chance to put a name to the feeling that bloomed within your chest before Jungkook took your hand in his, pulled you into the elevator, and slapped the button to his floor before he vigorously pressed the door close button.

Leaning against the elevator wall with your hands clasped behind your back, you felt yourself laugh under your breath. “You know you only have to press it once,” you hummed, brows raised as you took in his appearance with a careful look.

“What’s the point in that?” he sheepishly questioned, pressing it one more time before he approached you, leaning his hands on the rail on either side of you. His nose bumped yours, his lips just barely brushing against yours. “Hmm?”

“Unnecessary time wasted,” you murmured back, leaning just a bit closer . . . enough to press your lips against his once.

“But then how would I get my point across?” he whispered back, pressing another kiss to your lips.

Subconsciously, your hand raised to caress his jaw. “What point?”

Jungkook grinned against your lips.

“What?” you questioned. “What point? Hmm?”

“That if this elevator does not close fast enough—” he moved to kiss your neck— “I might be tempted to fuck you here.”

Oh. You swallowed thickly. “And that’s a problem?”

Jungkook raised his head, his eyes meeting yours as that damned half-grin spread on his face again. He went to open his mouth, but finally, the elevator doors began to close, forcing the two of you to turn your attention to them, watching carefully as they closed shut and the elevator shaft began to move.

Blinking quickly, you turned back to Jungkook. He turned back to you, eyes flicking between yours and your lips.

Then . . . he smiled. “Not a problem now,” he murmured, and you knew there was no going back. His hands, lips, teeth, tongue were on you instantly, trying to get as close as possible that you hadn’t even noticed he’d hiked up your leg onto his hip in an attempt to get his body flush with yours. And you welcomed it all, because fuck . . . the only thing you were thinking was him, him, him.

In the heat of things, his hand snuck under your sweatshirt, the warmth of his skin providing comfort to your chilled skin. You sucked in a breath, the hand that had been on his jaw, now snaking into his dark hair, twisting and twirling the longer strands. Without thinking, you tugged a little too hard on his hair, instantly drawing a deep moan from the back of his throat.

You stilled under his touch. Fuck. Now . . . men who were vocal were your biggest weakness. You had known this before, but he’d never sounded like . . . that. And you barely had time to process it.

One second you were frozen under his touch, then the next all you could feel was him. He took you by surprise, the hand holding your thigh up reached for your ass, tugging you into him so your lower half was completely flush with his. The fact that he was already somewhat hard, too, was impossible to ignore, and only fed into the dizzying effect he had on you. And as if him slightly grinding the bulge in his pants against your core wasn’t blissful torture enough, his other hand had snaked all the way up to cup your breast, his thumb quickly finding your perked nipple and rolling it. You jerked against him, the pleasure going straight to your core.

“No fucking bra. You’re killing me,” he murmured against your lips, his thumb still rolling slowly then quickly then slow again . . . just how you liked it. “I’ll never get over how sensitive you are.”

And you . . . well . . . you couldn’t help yourself. It was your weakness after all. One more roll, and you were reeling, core throbbing, and blood rushing to your head. You gave in, letting your body buck against his as you practically mewled into his mouth.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer,” he all but whined as he retracted his hand from under your shirt, and before you could question his motives, that same hand was already crawling under the hem of your sweatpants. Quickly, his fingers found your heat as he gave a groan of approval before he began to swirl the wetness around your puffy lips.

“Kook,” you gasped into his mouth as his middle and ring fingers plunged into your core. “Can’t you just fuck me here?”

He curled his fingers in response, and you slightly arched against him. “Shh,” was all he could fathom while he plunged his fingers in and out . . . in and out . . . in and out.

One particular plunge had your pussy squelching. You didn’t know why it was so loud this time, but every time he’d fuck his fingers into you, squelching sounds followed. But before you could become embarrassed, Jungkook lowered his head to your shoulder, groaning into your neck as he paused his hand movements.

Was he going to say something? Was he—

“Listen,” he whispered into your neck, shocking you completely moments before the grip on your thigh became lethal as he began to quickly fuck you with his fingers, loud, wet squelching sounds accompanying each pump.

And suddenly you weren’t thinking any longer. His skilled fingers were working you so well, you barely even heard how wet you were for him, you just felt this overwhelming sense of pleasure and let yourself become consumed by it. Mesmerized by your pleasure, Jungkook continued fucking you on his fingers, dragging the pads of his fingertips against the rough part of your walls as the palm of his hand applied pressure to your clit.

One particular motion had your lower stomach muscles contracting, and that was when you felt it. Gasping slightly, you managed to raise your head, shooting your hand out to latch onto the rail behind you. “Kook,” you gasped again as your brows pinched together and you tried to focus your vision. “I think—” a small whine sounding from the back of your throat cut you off— “Fuck, I think I’m going to—”

Another whine of your own cut you off once again, and instantly, you recognized this feeling. The familiar coil building and building in your lower stomach. Only this time, it felt different—the pressure was deeper, more intense . . . like you couldn’t control it.

Your lower abdomen muscles contracted again and you knew it was coming. “Kookie,” you all but cried out as your hand grasped the forearm of the hand clutching your thigh. “I’m going to—” you tried to swallow, but your mouth felt so dry and you were so out of breath— “I’m going to fucking . . . ffffuh . . . fucking . . . squirt.”

At the sound of your words, Jungkook raised his head, lidded eyes, mouth slightly agape, and brows pinched upward, staring back at you. Quickly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. “Be good for me, yeah? Let me have it, baby,” he murmured against your lips, still not stopping his motions. “Look at me when you do. Wanna see it.” Another kiss to your lips. “Wanna see you cum.”

All you could do was nod as you tried to keep your eyes open while Jungkook backed up from you just enough to be able to see your face clearly enough. And then you felt it: the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears until it finally snapped, your release sprinkling out of you and soaking your sweatpants as this deep pleasure consumed your being in waves. You tried to fight against it, trying to keep your eyes peeled open and trained on Jungkook, but your vision was blurry and your pussy was throbbing so hard you were sure it had gotten to your head.

In the end, all you could manage was to slump against Jungkook’s buff chest while he pumped the last of your release out of your pulsating core. And once you had nothing left to give, his fingers slid out of you before he wrapped both of his arms around your spent body, chuckling slightly as you fell limp in his grasp.

“You are so loud,” he murmured after a moment’s silence as he buried his face into your hair and finally laughed, his whole chest vibrating.

“Am—” you smacked your lips together, still delirious— “not.”

Jungkook snorted. “Whatever you say, Petunia.”

“Ugh, Koo . . . “ but your words died on your tongue.

Had you been loud? Oh god . . . did you . . . you didn’t scream, did you?

Slowly, you gained back a little mobility (enough to raise your head to look him in the eyes), and asked, “Did I scream?”

Jungkook stared down at you, a wide, toothy grin spread across his face. “Only a little,” he mused, chuckling slightly at his words. “Whined a little, too. Kinda like a . . . like a little bitch.”

Your eyes blew up. “No,” you gasped in horror. “Was it really—”

The elevator dinged, drawing both of your attention to the closed doors. Wait—Fuck, you’d forgotten you were even on an elevator. The elevator must have arrived on your floor, and you two had been too caught up in each other to have even noticed . . . until now. And now . . . now you had a giant wet spot on the crotch of your sweatpants. Just your luck.

But as soon as the doors opened, Jungkook acted quickly. He bent down and wrapped his arms around your thighs, hoisting you over his shoulder. You, in utter shock (and still mildly coming down from your high), laid limp in his grasp, and let him have his way. It wasn’t until after the people boarding the elevator got on and Jungkook got off, did you realize what exactly was his plan.

“Lightweight, you know?” he chuckled lightly to the other people, and your jaw dropped.

He was painting you as a passed-out drunk. Oh, he was going to get it. (Although . . . it was a pretty good cover. (Not that you’d admit it.))

Once the two of you were finally out of earshot, you pounded on his broad back. “That was embarrassing,” you groaned, kicking your feet in the air.

“Drunk people piss their pants all the time,” he simply hummed as he continued down the hall in search of his room. “Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart.”

You pounded on his back again. “I did not piss my pants,” was all you spat out.

“Oh, trust me, I know,” he mused as he brought his other hand up to deliver a hard smack to your ass. And you could only huff against him in response.

Only when he’d found his room did he put you down, slowly and safely on your feet, and you were ready, already glaring at him the second you were on solid ground again. You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed to seal the deal further.

But that only seemed to amuse Jungkook more. “What?” he hummed, raising his brows as he leaned in closer to you.

“You suck,” was all you muttered.

His eyes flicked from yours to your lips as a small grin slid onto his face. “Believe that’s your job,” he murmured as he leaned even closer to plant a kiss on your cheek. “And you’re very, very, very good at your job.”

Narrowing your eyes, you demanded, “Open the door.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he cheerily replied as he slid the room key into the slot, removing it quickly, and waiting for the green light before he swung open the door. His eyes flicked to yours then, and he nodded in the direction of the hotel room. “After you.”

But just as the two of you entered the room, flicking on the light as the door slammed shut behind you, Jungkook pulled you back into him. You stumbled slightly, but nevertheless, turned around in his arms to face him with a confused look.

He only sent a small smile in return. “I like when you’re jealous, by the way,” he remarked as he curled a piece of your hair behind your ear.

Your brows knitted together. “Jealous? I’m never jealous,” you scoffed . . . but . . . you had a sneaky suspicion you knew what he was talking about.

The corners of his lips twitched a little further. “You know . . . she was from the other team,” he went on, ignoring your words.

“Hmm?” you questioned, playing dumb when you one-hundred percent knew what he was going on about now.

Earlier. The bar. That girl he was talking to.

“That girl,” Jungkook continued. “She was just congratulating our win. So you—” he tapped your nose— “sweetheart, were jealous over nothing.”

Well . . . you supposed that explained it, but . . . but you couldn’t have him knowing that you were jealous. He already knew way too much about what went on inside your head. He could not know you were jealous of all the disgusting things to be. So, you decided to . . . you know . . . lie.

“I was not jealous,” was the brilliant response you came up with.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, trying not to break out into a wide grin yet again. “Mhm.”

You shrugged in response as if to say, Told you so.

But those words never left your lips. In fact, you rather regretted even thinking them the moment Jungkook opened up his mouth again.

“There’s no one else on my mind,” were the words he decided to reply with.

And your face slowly fell into one of shock. “What?”

That didn’t seem to faze Jungkook. His smile still remained. “It’s just you, stupid,” he whispered, his voice like a tear on a cheek—soft and . . . sweet.

Oh. You blinked. It’s just you.

And you felt yourself smile at the words. You couldn’t even help it either. It just . . . he was sweet. He really was.

It’s just you, rang through your ears once more, and you couldn’t help it. You leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t like the others either. It was soft and sweet . . . just like his words.

Then, you pulled back, kicked off your shoes, and walked further into the room. “Nice place you got here,” you mused as you looked around the hotel room before you bent down to sift through his suitcase, pulling out a pair of his boxers. You slipped off your soaked sweatpants and underwear before you slid on the boxers and headed for his bed, plopping down on the mattress with your legs crossed and ankles under your knees.

(That was the thing: this was normal. The two of you shared clothes. (Well, you mostly stole his clothes, and then he’d end up finding you in them . . . and well . . . he wouldn’t be able to think straight for the rest of the day.)

“Thanks,” he laughed, his hands reaching for the hem of his shirt before he pulled it over his head and discarded it on the ground, “no cockroaches found yet.”

“Oh, wow, fancy,” you remarked with a look. “You rich?”

Jungkook cocked his head to the side, a dazed grin on his face. “You didn’t know? I’m a world-famous badminton star,” he said as he approached you, leaning his hands on either side of your body on the bed.

“World famous?” you tsked, clicking your tongue. “Oh, god, oh no. I’m so sorry. I had no idea I was in the presence of royalty.” You dramatically clasped your hands together and bowed to the best of your ability, surely whacking him in the face with your hair.

“OK, you little shit. C’mere,” he all but whined as he wrapped an arm around your back and pulled you down to the bed so you were laying flat on your back, looking up at him.

Except, the look on his face was all too much for you to hold back—you laughed. You couldn’t help it. He just looked so ruffled. It made the laughter caught in your chest bubble up in your throat, and eventually you were laughing so hard you had to squeeze your eyes shut and clutch your stomach.

As the seconds ticked by, your laughter died down and your eyes slowly opened to find Jungkook still staring at you, a dopey smile on his face.

Still holding back your quiet laughs, you quirked a brow in questioning.

Jungkook only shook his head, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “I love when you laugh,” he hummed, his voice like fucking honey or something unfairly ethereal. “Strokes my ego.”

“Like you need any more stroking,” you remarked, shooting him a look.

His brows shot up. “You offering?”

And you couldn’t help it, you laughed again, but this time tried to cover it up with a roll of your eyes. “Nice try,” you scolded as you raked your hands through his hair. “Hey—” your thoughts unexpectedly switched as your hands found his hair— “can I braid your hair for the next games.”

But Jungkook was somewhere else. His eyes were on your sweatshirt as he sighed through his nose, securing his hand on your hip to move you further up the bed so he could crawl over you. And you let him, trying to ignore how the almost possessive action made your heart thump (amongst other . . . things). He now laid with one arm holding him up, his legs on either side of your body as his free hand toyed with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“I wish you were in one of my shirts,” he mumbled almost as if he were talking more to himself than to you, but you paid it no mind. (He often lost his train of thought, staring off into space . . . and you always snapped him out of it with a bubbly smile on your face. He was . . . cute.)

“Kookie,” you hummed.

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and brown. “Hmm?”

“Can I braid your hair for the next games?”

He smiled then. “Course,” he replied before he leaned down to press his lips against yours.

“You sure do like kissing me,” you mumbled against his lips.

He nibbled on your bottom lip. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

The only response you could muster up was to press your lips against his once again, a bit firmer now. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, sucking on it gently before you let it go and instead licked a strip along the crease of his lips. He reacted quickly to your touch, hands tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer and melded your tongue with his. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your sweatshirt.

A small gasp escaped you when you felt the warmth of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, sending jolts of arousal to your core.

You instantly knew what he was thinking too. Ready so soon for another round . . . but like . . . come on. Who could blame you?

Certainly not him, not now, not with you like this. “Mmm,” he hummed against your lips, his hand inching toward the hem of your sweatshirt again. “Can I take this off?”

“Mhm.”

Ever so slowly as if to savor it, Jungkook pulled your sweatshirt off you as if the two of you were watching paint dry. And finally with it off and over your head, he threw it to the ground, instantly, coming back from more, molding his bare chest against yours. “Sometimes I think you want me to cream my pants,” he remarked, shaking his head at your tits while he brought a hand up to gently roll your perked nipple with his thumb.

You laughed through your arousal, tilting your head back slightly. “You’re so stupid,” you heard yourself say in a hushed voice. It was so obvious just how much he affected you. You could hear it in your voice, and you were sure he could too.

But that only seemed to spur him on further as he sunk down lower until his face was level with your tits. He began to mouth at them, leaving sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kisses across your flesh. “Mmm, put something on the TV?” he mumbled into your skin moments before his tongue wrapped around your nipple and he began to suck.

“While you’re motorboating me? No thanks,” you huffed, trying to keep your cool, but Jungkook was sucking and nibbling all over your tits, making your head feel fuzzy and core a little too needy to be comfortable.

“I’ve never motorboated,” Jungkook countered as he traveled to your other breast, squeezing the flesh before he flicked his tongue repeatedly across your nipple. “Not classy.” His tongue swirled and you nearly mewled.

You swallowed hard in response instead. “Since when do you care about class?”

Then there was a hand on your face. And no, not like caressing your cheek or anything like that. Jungkook had full on just placed his abnormally large hand over your entire face . . .

“Shh, let me have a moment with my girls,” he mumbled his explanation before he went back to mouthing at your tits.

“Oh, my god,” you groaned in disgust as you flicked his hand off your face, but that didn’t cancel out the fact that his skilled tongue was sending jolt after jolt of arousal to your core with every lick.

“I’ve missed you, Samantha,” he sighed as he lightly bit one of your breasts. “Mmm, you, too, Rachel.” He moved to your other tit, swirling his tongue around your areola and sucking.

You deadpanned. “You named them.”

“You’re interrupting my threesome.”

“And you’re giving me nightmares,” you huffed as you pulled away from him, turning over on your side. You were being dramatic. Obviously. And you were doing it on purpose, because, well, you wanted his attention. (And you liked being a brat . . . sometimes. (OK, fine, you thought it was funny. Get over it.))

Jungkook knew this, too, as he let out a clap of laughter, immediately reaching for you as he wrapped an arm around your middle and tugged you into him. “No, no, baby, I’m sorry, I just wanted to piss you off,” he mumbled into your neck as he pressed kiss after kiss to your skin.

“Mhm.”

“Do you forgive me?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hold back your joking grin. “If I have to,” you dramatically sighed.

“I’m a weak man, what can I say?” he remarked into your neck as his hand slowly cupped one of your breasts. And then . . . well . . . he squeezed . . . twice. “Honk. Honk.”

And you snorted. “Seriously, Jungkook?” you choked out through a laugh. He was just so . . . god you didn’t have a word . . . he was just so . . . Jungkook. “I never expected you to be this much of a boob guy.”

“Well—” he blew a raspberry— “when they look at me like that.”

“Jesus.”

“They’re like dumplings.”

That was when you looked over at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Really, your unamused look seemed to say.

“What?” He blinked, eyes wide and brown. “I love dumplings.”

“You know what I love?” you asked, turning around in his arms so your body was facing him.

He leaned forward to flick his nose against yours. “Mmm?”

You scrunched your nose. “Seeing you suffer.”

“This is what you call suffering?” Jungkook remarked, glancing between your tits and your face. And then . . . then . . . he reached out and smacked your breasts.

And you . . . well . . . all you could do was stare at him in shock. Had he really? Oh, that little—

Jungkook burst out into a fit of laughter, rolling onto his back and clutching his stomach. All the while, you stayed put, mouth still agape in shock as you blinked one, two, three times. Until he pulled you into him again, and that warmth you were so used to revisited you.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he laughed into your hair, his words muffled.

And then you said something that you hadn’t even realized was on your mind until you blurted out: “Do you want to fuck them?”

Jungkook choked on his laughter.

A beat of silence.

“What?” he trailed off, and you could practically hear him blink.

But you had meant what you said, and so . . . “Do you want to fuck my tits?” you repeated again, this time craning your head to look him dead in the eyes when the words left your lips.

Jungkook rolled over, caging you in as his hand reached your face, gently brushing your hair behind your ear. “You pulling my leg?”

You shook your head, biting your lip to hold back the devilish smile that was crawling onto your face. “I know you want to . . . and I . . . wanna see you do it,” you mused, searching his face.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.”

Narrowing his eyes at you, he asked, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Why not?” you pouted, knowing damn well he was right. You took that as your chance to lean in closer to him, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Want me to say I need your cum? Hmm? Is that what you want, baby? You want to know that I’m thirsty for it?”

He swallowed hard. “Fuck. You’re teasing me.”

“Maybe a little,” you hummed with a shrug. “But I do kinda miss your cock.”

Jungkook flashed his teeth, shaking his head. “Brat,” he muttered under his breath as he reached for you again, pressing his lips against yours.

It was hard not to let yourself be consumed by him. You enjoyed it—how his lips felt like a tear on a cheek; how his kiss always felt like remembering something you were missing. You didn’t know what it meant. You rarely knew what anything meant, but you did know you enjoyed it; you relished in it; you craved it. Truly. You craved him. All of you.

In an instant, you were on your back again, and his lips were on your neck. He was whispering sweet nothings into your skin as he made his descent to your tits, paying extra attention to the old hickey on the underside of your breast which he left there just a night ago. It was sloppy, perhaps a little carnal, but you didn’t mind.

Jungkook leaned back up to kiss your jaw. “Want me to cum on your tits, hmm?” he asked, his voice darker now, making you nearly squeeze your thighs together. You knew what that voice meant, and god did you miss it. “Want to fucking smell like me? Show everyone who’s fucking you, huh? Want them to know it’s me? That you’re my girl?”

And you couldn’t help it; you gave in. “Please, Kookie, need it so bad,” you all but whined, knowing damn well he got off on this little bratty act of yours. “Need you to cum on my tits. Need it. So bad.”

He groaned into your neck. “You’re killing me.”

“Oh, but, Kookie, you can’t die yet,” you whined, pouting slightly. “Not until you fuck me. Pretty please?” Batting your eyelashes, you knew he was getting a kick out of this, and that . . . that was exactly why you did it.

“Yeah?” he asked as he pressed into you. His cock was digging into your hip now, making your head spin, until you could no longer ignore it.

“Mhm,” you hummed, still pouting, now with your bottom lip pushed out. “I won’t be able to breathe without it, you know?”

Jungkook grinned, shaking his head. “You’re such a little shit,” he remarked with amusement in his voice.

“Well . . . is it working?” you asked as you leaned forward and kissed the scar on his cheek.

“You don’t need to do anything for it to work.”

You quirked a brow. “Oh?”

“Don’t act surprised, sweetheart,” he mused as he nipped at your bottom lip. “Makes you look stupid.”

That little—You cut yourself off with your own actions, because really . . . sure, you’d act like a brat, but if he thought he had the upper hand, he was dead wrong.

With that thought on your mind, you trailed your hand down his chest, soaking up his warmth as you dipped into his boxers. While maintaining eye contact, a sly grin slid onto your face as you wrapped your hand around his painfully hard cock. You felt him still under your touch, but he was cockier tonight. He recovered quickly, grinning down at you as he shoved his pants down his legs and threw them somewhere in the room, his boxers shortly following. Then . . . as if he couldn’t get any more up his own ass, he looked down at you almost expectantly, glancing between your face and his cock.

It seemed the win may have worked its magic on him as well, and even if he didn’t realize it, you could tell, and that . . . that was attractive to you.

You sucked on your teeth, trying not to give yourself away, but you were sure the moment he felt your core, he’d get that much cockier. Still, you wanted to win this . . . whatever this was, and so when your thumb brushed over the head of his cock, you watched as he tried to stifle his reaction, but you caught onto him swallowing quickly the second you squeezed. Your cunt throbbed with the desire to be filled in response.

You wanted him in the most visceral way. But god did you love watching him wither, and the thought of continuing this little game overpowered everything else.

That very thought was your main drive. You shoved him back, perhaps a little rougher than usual, but the never faltering grin on his face showed you all that he was thinking. Playing off that, you hooked your thumbs into the band of his boxers you wore and tugged them down your legs, throwing them to the floor. And then . . . then you gave him one last look, pretending to adjust your position on the bed in an attempt to showcase your glistening core to him before you teasingly tore that away from him, closing your legs. (But you made sure to note how his eyes had lingered on your legs as if he were trying to pry them open with a look.)

“I want you to cum on my tits,” you stated boldly as you leaned back down while pressing your tits together with your hands so they were on display for his gaze. “Pretty please, Kookie?” You pouted once again, playing into that bratty act he loved so much.

“Jesus Christ,” he blurted out as he blinked one, two, three times. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe this was really happening, and that made you all the more confident in your desires.

Shimming down so your tits were level with his cock, you peered up at him moments before you took his cock in your hand and guided him. Gently, you brushed the tip of his cock over your nipples, the glide being slick and easy due to the beads of precum already leaking from the small slit. He was hard, and you could tell it was taking everything in him not to just forget all about everything else and just fuck you senseless right there. And you almost let him, but . . . this was too much fun.

“Mmm, I don’t think we have any lube, do we?” you exaggeratedly huffed.

His thumb tapped your bottom lip, but no words left his lips; his eyes were solely trained on your tits which were already stained with his precum. But no, you were not going to spit on your tits. You had a better plan.

“Too messy, Koo,” you all but scolded, and then . . . you made sure his eyes were on your hand as you slowly made your descent to your wet heat. Your fingers made contact with your wetness, and you sighed in contentment as you dipped into your heat, pumping your fingers in and out, and relishing in the loud, lewd sounds which came from the act.

Once you were sure your hand was completely covered in your arousal, you rubbed the wetness all over your tits, making sure to cover his cock as well. In response, his cock twitched in your grip, and you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

“What the fuck?” he remarked in utter awe.

You smiled sweetly. “Fuck them, Kookie,” you mewled as you stared up at him. And who was he to disobey?

Slowly, Jungkook took his cock from your grasp, sliding the tip around the wetness on your chest, until he slid into place between your tits. You pressed them together tightly, creating a cushioned slit for him to fuck . . . and almost as if the warmth from your breasts enclosing around his length had shocked him out of his daze, he sighed, leaning both his hands on the bed as he began to move his hips.

“You like this, huh?” he asked, his voice raspy as his thrusts began to gain in momentum. “Like being used like this?”

“Yes, only by you,” you gasped out as he began to fuck into the slit your breasts had made solely for his cock. You let some of your spit dribble down, allowing for more lubrication.

Jungkook groaned at the sight, picking up the pace until he was nearly panting. “You’re so fucking hot,” he all but growled. “You get so fucking dumb for my cock. So fucking sexy.”

You pushed your tits together tighter, beginning to whine. “Please, I need you to cum on my tits,” you cried out. “Wanna feel you. Wanna taste it.” You didn’t know where these words were coming from, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter when you could just tell he was seconds from busting. So you did your best, squeezing your tits together as tight as you could and silently begging him to give into all of your desire.

“Fuck,” Jungkook cursed as he threw his head back and allowed himself to release a deep moan. “Just like that, baby. Squeeze your pretty tits for me.”

Normally he lasted longer, but sometimes, when he was so desperate just to feel you he blew all too easily. It was times like those that you looked forward to the most. You liked seeing him all desperate and needy like that. (What did that say about you, you didn’t know. (You also didn’t care.))

When he came in under a minute, that was when you felt the most proud, because you’d done that. You’d taken this seemingly almighty man and made him submit to you. That was what you craved, and that was what had you nearly rubbing your clit raw when he wasn’t there to fuck you into the mattress. And so, you couldn’t help it. You began to rub your thighs together, searching for relief as Jungkook’s thrusts became sloppy and his moans increased. He was practically whining now, begging you to let him cum.

You dribbled spit onto his cock and rubbed your tits together, creating enough friction to have him gasping above you. That was when you thought he was most beautiful (well . . . there were other times, but . . . ). When he was weak enough for you to moan and whine and practically cry out for your pussy . . . that was when you thought he looked like the kinds of fallen angels you’d read about in cheesy romance novels.

“Give it to me, Kookie,” you begged, knowing that tone of voice and the use of that nickname would have him right where you wanted. And then you heard it: the tell in his voice that told you he wasn’t just close; he was less than seconds away.

In utter awe, you watched as he desperately tried to pull himself together, nearly out of breath as he pulled away, his hand instantly wrapping around his length and jerking himself off. You squeezed your tits together, continuing to watch with lidded eyes as he clenched his jaw and breathed through his pleasure. And then your mouth fell open, sticking your tongue out as if beckoning him to ruin you, and he lost it.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he all but moaned as his eyes stayed on your chest while he vigorously tugged at his length, focusing on the sensitive tip.

“Please, Kookie. Need it, baby,” you rasped out, and you knew that was it.

Jungkook released a strained groan, his muscles tensing as ropes of his cum shot out, painting your chest. He continued to milk his cock, whining softly as the last bits of his release hit your tongue, your chin, even dripping down your nipples. And once his orgasm had passed, he leaned over you, holding himself up on the bed before he collapsed beside you, still breathing heavily.

“I think that was a dream come true,” he rushed out, completely out of breath.

You laughed, shaking your head as your fingers crawled toward your cum-stained chest. And then you did something which shocked even you. You dipped your fingers into his cum, spreading it around before you brought your finger to your lips and licked the contents completely off. Only then, with your lips wrapped around your fingers did you turn to meet Jungkook’s gaze.

Jungkook only blinked at you in shock, watching as you swallowed his cum. He swallowed hard at the act, continuing to watch as you slowly withdrew your fingers from your mouth . . . and well . . . you supposed that was his last straw.

Without warning, Jungkook reached for you. One hand found your plump ass while the other tangled in your hair as he pulled you in for a kiss. But this was no ordinary kiss. No, Jungkook didn’t bother giving you an innocent peck. Instead, he immediately licked the seam of your lips, and you parted your mouth for him. Only instead of slotting your tongues together like you expected, he wrapped his lips around your tongue, sucking the muscle like he was trying to taste himself on your tongue. And if that wasn’t enough, once he’d gotten a taste of you and him, a soft, deep noise sounded from the back of his throat.

He didn’t care about the fact that your chest was painted in his cum. In fact, you were sure that only spurred him on more as he squeezed you tighter against him while he licked and sucked into your mouth.

It was carnal, messy, sloppy. It was almost sin. And when he finally pulled back, both of you now equally covered in his release, all he did was send you one of those half-grins.

“Wanna shower?” he offered. “Kitty cat’s hungry I think.” His eyes flicked down to your neglected core, and you nearly laughed in his face.

Instead, you nodded, completely dazed. Even from the look on your face, it was clear you didn’t know much. That was obvious. But . . . there was one thing you knew for sure: Jungkook would always surprise you.

Hours later, you were awoken by the sunlight peeking into the room through the blinds. Rubbing your eyes, you shuffled backward, finding that Jungkook was still there. You smiled to yourself, nuzzling further into him as you found his arm wrapped around your middle, and quickly clasped your hand around his, bringing it to your chest to cradle.

Jungkook stirred then, laughing under his breath. “Hi, baby,” he murmured, his morning voice nearly making you squeeze your eyes shut. (It really was unfair how attractive this man was. Jesus.)

But . . . then your dreams snuck back in. That was part of the reason you’d woken up. Your dreams had haunted you. Because you knew he was hiding something and your mind had made the worst of it.

Yesterday, you supposed, after the tournament, he disappeared, and he hadn’t told you where he’d gone. That . . . that had your mind wandering even in your sleep.

So you really couldn’t stop yourself when you mumbled out, “Can I ask you something?”

“Mmm.”

“Where’d you go last night?” you let yourself ask, swallowing hard. “After the court, where’d you go?”

A beat of silence.

He hadn’t been expecting that, but . . . He’d let you in, right? After all this time . . . he trusted you, too, right?

But another beat of silence passed and you began to wonder. Then you began to worry. And then . . . then you began to feel stupid.

But just as you were about to pull away and apologize for going too far, Jungkook pulled you closer. “My room,” he began as he nuzzled his face further into the crook of your neck. “I couldn’t breathe. Everything was . . . blurry . . . dizzy.”

You blinked. “Panic attack.”

And he nodded against your skin. “I had to be alone.”

The thing was: you weren’t unfamiliar with panic attacks. You hadn’t had many in your life, but during those three years . . . everything had gotten worse. You knew how it felt when . . . that happened, and you knew what it did to people.

“That’s OK,” you found yourself saying before you even knew it.

Jungkook raised his head. “You think that’s OK?”

You nodded, because it was. It truly was.

“If that’s what makes you feel safe . . . then yes, I think that’s OK,” you mumbled, restating your thoughts. “But . . . if you don’t want to be alone . . . if you don’t want to do it alone . . . I have nothing to do. Come find me.” You glanced behind you, eyes finding his in the dark.

And then . . . then he smiled. “I’d like that,” he hummed, his voice like honey. “But—”

“I know,” you cut him off with a gentle hand to his cheek. “You don’t have to tell me why. Just . . . if you need someone . . . I can be someone.” You dropped your hand, letting it fall to his arm. “By the way . . . I’m sorry for being a bitch yesterday—”

“Eh, used to it,” Jungkook muttered with a shrug.

Pursing your lips, you shot him a look you knew he wouldn’t see. “I was just jealous,” you finally admitted, because, really, who were you kidding?

And Jungkook didn’t rub it in your face this time. Instead, he simply smiled and hummed, “I know. I like it when you get like that for me.”

Your brows twitched. Fuck, did he ever have an effect on you.

Almost as if he knew this, too, that was when he kissed you. You hadn’t been expecting it, so the startled hum which left your lips was totally called for. However, the laugh he allowed himself to make was not. (Not like you minded with his lips on yours.)

And then neither of you were thinking and nothing else mattered. You didn’t exactly know how you got there either, but you supposed it had something to do with the fact that he was just so warm and his kiss was just so addicting and well . . . his dick was hard and digging into your thigh.

How could you ignore that? And how could he?

It was almost comedic how quickly the two of you responded to each other. He pushed and you pulled. Like a fish hook in an eye, you knew your body would be craving his in an instant (perhaps it never stopped).

“This OK?” he asked against your lips, slightly out of breath.

All you could do was nod. “Need you,” you murmured against his lips, an almost silent plea. It was vulnerable. Perhaps more vulnerable than you meant for it to sound, but it was true. You needed him, and right now, you needed to feel him in the most visceral way you could.

The world blurred. Time morphed together, moving slowly as he sighed into your mouth and you reached for his hand, pulling him between your legs. He graciously accepted your offer, slipping his hand under the pair of boxers you’d stolen from him after your shower, and pumping his fingers into your core while he swallowed your soft moans. Lewd, wet sounds filled the room as the world continued to blur and blur into pleasure, and bliss, and him.

And only after he’d made you cum on his fingers did he move your thigh to rest on his, allowing enough room for him to easily slip into your still pulsing core. It was true; he fit into you like a hook in an eye. The two of you had always melded together, and you did now. But it wasn’t what you were used to. Sure, the two of you would fuck slow, fast, rough, or soft, but this . . . this was a different kind of softness. It was the kind you had only experienced with him once—the first time you’d had sex all those months ago.

It was vulnerable. And you weren’t used to it. But you reveled in it all the same, losing yourself in every deep thrust. Like an odd sense of deja vu, you knew you’d felt this before. He fucked you slow, never soft, but always deep. He was everywhere, consuming you moan by moan, and you never wanted it to end.

As you struggled not to moan loud enough to wake the people in the room next over, you glanced down, and that was when you saw it. You could have sworn that as his cock hit the deepest parts of you, a small bulge showed. Gently, you sighed out a moan as you pressed a hand on your lower abdomen, pressing down and that was when you felt it: his cock hitting deep inside you again and again and again.

Until you couldn’t take it any longer, you grabbed Jungkook’s hand and placed it against your lower stomach. “Feel,” you rasped out, keeping your hand over his while he thrust again and again.

When he felt it; when he felt his cock creating that bulge inside of you, he lost it. He buried his face into your neck, whispering how much he wanted to have you in every way, telling you how beautiful you were, and how much he wished he could fuck you forever.

And then:

Need you, you heard your own voice whisper as he gently bit into your neck, groaning softly while he shot his thick ropes of cum into your begging pussy. Need you, you acknowledged as his skilled thumb brought you to another orgasm that night all the while he stayed sheathed inside of your warm heat. Need you, you felt as he pulled out, immediately reaching for you once again as he brought you into his body, strong arms wrapped tightly around you.

Your own voice haunted you while Jungkook fell into sleep once again. But you just couldn't get it off your mind. Why had your words entered your mind then?

Why, why why? But you already knew why. You knew because you had been battling it for a while now.

This entire time, you had wondered why you couldn’t give up on him. At first, you thought it was because you cared about him and needed to help him. You thought he needed you, but . . . while that was true; while he did fit into you like a hook in an eye . . . you knew you needed him more than he ever needed you.

That . . . that was why you couldn’t leave him alone. And fuck . . . did that ever scare the shit out of you.

When the two of you awoke for the second time that day, you knew what was ahead of you. A long day of traveling back to the training center, which meant leaving Busan.

That went well, but then the night came and as you made it into the living area of the girls’ dorm, all of your team members awaited you. They wanted to go out and celebrate Yunis’s win at the bar, which . . . you went along with, against your wishes.

Luckily . . . Jungkook was going, but . . . He had been sitting at the bar alone for half the night, and you felt less like a person and more like another cog in the wheel as you were forced to sit with your teammates instead of your partner.

But the thing that was bothering you that night was . . . Being who you were, what you had accomplished by the end of your senior year of college, and everything in between, you’d like to say you still remembered how it felt to win. But the truth was: you’d forgotten it entirely.

As the years had passed and you’d watched old teammates of yours make it farther than you ever probably would be able to again, the electric surge victory sent through your veins had slowly diminished into an afterthought. And you never thought you’d get the chance to taste that euphoric feeling again, at least not for a few more years if you were being generous. You’d never expected to end up here—winning by Jeon Jungkook’s side, and you certainly didn’t expect to owe it all to him. But there you were: standing in the middle of the very same bar you’d visited with the rest of the team at the beginning of your contract. A beer was clasped in your hand with a small smile on your face as the rest of the team conversed amongst each other, going on and on about the winning shot you had made which landed your team amongst the winning teams progressing into the next stage of the tournaments.

Yet . . . something felt off.

You didn’t feel like you’d won anything. You had. When you’d watched the birdie slam on the floor, the whistle blaring in your ears as you looked around to be met with a wide, toothy grin from your doubles partner . . . you had felt that victory. When you had thought of nothing else other than to hug Jungkook to commemorate your win . . . that was when you felt like you had actually won something.

But this . . . this didn’t feel good. It felt like nothing. And you knew exactly why.

Now . . . you didn’t want to celebrate with them. You wanted to clink your beers together in cheers with . . . him.

As your teammates loudly spoke over each other, your eyes flicked to the open bar just across the room. There sat Jeon Jungkook alone at the bar, hunched over his drink as he inspected the small tattoos on his hands. And long were the days that you would just let this happen.

“Kook!” you called out, not missing a beat.

Jungkook lifted his head in confusion, his eyes meeting yours. Why were you calling him? That was raging through his head, and you knew it, too. And perhaps it was the liquid courage, but for once, you didn’t care what your teammates thought of the two of you. Jungkook was not going to spend the night moping at a bar, instead of celebrating both your wins by your side. So . . . you waved him over (Naturally).

And Jungkook, albeit a little hesitantly, followed your command in an instant. Slowly, he approached the rest of the team, which had quieted down now since your sudden request. Whatever. You didn’t care. You wanted him beside you. That was all.

“While I do love taking all the credit, I really can’t this time,” you began as you reached for Jungkook, tugging him in by the bicep. “I’m not the one we should be celebrating.”

Once again, his eyes met yours, brows twitching at your words. And you didn’t break eye contact. You weren’t sure if you could.

“Jungkook’s the reason we won yesterday,” you continued, that small smile still on your face. “He’s the reason I didn’t entirely suck. We should be celebrating him.”

Not once did you look away from him and not once did he look away from you. It was like the others didn’t matter. This was your win, not theirs.

The silence which met your ears confirmed this notion. You were OK with that. You were sure Jungkook was too.

Why, one might ask?

Because Jungkook had that stupid, (almost charming) small smile on his face. And you couldn’t help but offer up one of your own. This was both your win.

Funny how times had changed . . . Funny . . . indeed.

“Well . . . “ someone began a second later, tearing you from your own mind, “I’ll drink to that.”

Only when you finally met the others’ eyes did you realize it was Hoseok who had offered up this proclamation of peace, practically waving around a white flag while he raised his beer toward Jungkook. And for a moment you thought maybe things would actually change. Maybe Jungkook would start to sit with the rest of the team instead of opting to stay in his dorm or sitting alone at the bar drowning his sorrows. Maybe things would be better now. Maybe this was his justice as much as it was yours.

Then . . . you noticed something. . . . When you glanced back at Jungkook, his eyes didn’t meet yours. No, they weren’t on you at all. Instead, he was looking Hoseok’s way with his brows raised in shock and a small, genuine smile twitching at the corners of his lips. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe it . . . like he’d have to pinch himself soon to make sure he wasn’t dreaming this all up. But that wasn’t what you had noticed.

Jungkook was looking at Hoseok. Not his chin or his forehead or the table . . . no, he was looking him in the eyes . . . like . . . like he could see him. But . . . ?

Everyone just has this big X over their face. I can’t see them . . . even if I wanted to, Jungkook’s voice filtered in through your ears as you recalled the memory. He’d told you he couldn’t see people. It made him anxious. Instead, big X’s covered everyone’s faces.

And yet . . . he was looking at Hoseok. He could see Hoseok.

Only then did you realize what had happened. Hoseok’s words, metaphorically raising a white flag in surrender, had snuck through the barrier Jungkook had built up so high. Even if this didn’t last, even if . . . even if it didn’t, it did now.

Jungkook could see Hoseok just like he could see you.

Perhaps, eventually, he’d allow himself to see everyone again, even those he wasn’t too fond of. Perhaps he’d let himself look people in the eyes . . . to see the world again instead of staring at his shoes while he walked with his head down. Perhaps this was how he’d define his own justice. Perhaps, you thought as your gaze lightened and your smile grew.

Until . . . a loud clap of laughter erupted from beside you, and you felt your heart falter. Your head turned only to see the image of Wooshik leaning back in his chair with a shot of soju on hand. His gaze was lazy, barely able to keep his eyes open as he grinned up at the two of you, and yet . . . it felt oddly threatening.

Maybe he was just drunk . . . but: “This is bullshit,” he all but hissed as he swigged back the shot before he dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “Fucking bullshit.”

“Wooshik,” Hoseok warned, “not today.”

Wooshik lazily swung his head in his direction. “Not today?” he questioned. “Why do we have to sit here and applaud him? When do we get to voice the fact that this shit—” he slammed a fist onto the table— “isn’t fair? Hmm?”

“We won, didn’t we?” Hoseok bargained. “Jungkook put us on the map again.”

“So that means we what? Roll out the red carpet?” Wooshik slurred. “You know what he did. We’re the ones working our asses off every day all day and we still get slammed by Coach, and Jungkook here gets to drink himself to the brink of death, not show up for weeks, then somehow he’s still paid the most out of all of us. That sound fair? That sound like something we should be celebrating?”

Hoseok crossed his arms over his chest and began to open his mouth to retort, but you beat him to it. “He gets paid more because he’s good,” you muttered, voice low and dry. “Win a match, then bitch about it.”

“Did he tell you what happened?” Wooshik instantly spat. “Hmm? Did he tell you why he’s here? Why the all star isn’t halfway to the Olympics right now?”

You blinked at him, because that was all you could do. Because, yes, Jungkook had told you something. He’d told you something bad had happened, something that ultimately had to do with Taehyung, but he hadn’t told you what. It was a falling out. That was what you knew, but the way Wooshik was looking at you, his brows pinched together and an odd, almost pained look in his eyes told you it was something so much worse than a falling out.

“Whatever it is—” you began, wetting your lips— “I’m sure it can wait. You give him shit the rest of the season. It won’t kill you to can sit down and fuck off for an hour.”

Should you have said that? No . . . but . . . whatever. Screw protecting your image. It didn’t matter right now.

“This is—” Wooshik cut himself off with a scoff.

And you went on. “It’s what?” you all but mocked, tilting your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes in scrutiny.

But before either of you could go on, a hand wrapped around your forearm, pulling you back from the man. You turned, briefly, only enough to see Jungkook right behind you with a warning look on his face. “Let it be,” he muttered, his eyes solely on you. “It’s not worth it.”

Let it be. You swallowed, hesitantly. It’s not worth it.

No . . . no . . . you couldn’t believe that. Whether you liked it or not, Jungkook had quickly become something of a comfort to you, and fuck . . . fuck (!) you cared about him. Seeing this happen . . . seeing everyone treat him like shit infuriated you. You couldn’t let this happen, not when . . . not when you could do something.

It’s not worth it, he’d said, but yes . . . yes it was. It was worth it to you. He was. Jungkook was worth it to you, and you’d be damned if Wooshik walked away from this the winner.

“Kook’s a better person than I am, Wooshik,” you mumbled, still locking eyes with Jungkook before you turned to meet Wooshik’s harsh gaze. “He gets us on the map, and you’re complaining? I just think you’re a little pathetic.” You sent him a fake pout, fully aware of just how immature you were acting, but you didn’t care.

Enough of kissing their asses. Enough of trying to be someone you weren’t. He didn’t get to win this. Not now. Not like this.

Wooshik only scoffed. “You’re just gonna let her make a fool of herself for you?” he asked, but his eyes weren’t on you . . . they were on Jungkook.

But Jungkook remained silent.

And then: “It should’ve been you on that bridge,” Wooshik practically whispered, almost as if he couldn’t believe those words had fallen from his lips.

Jungkook’s face fell, his world falling as yours crumbled into confusion. You wanted to question him, but Wooshik interrupted your thoughts.

“Do you not get it? You don’t deserve this, he does, but you took that from him,” he declared, his voice gaining in octaves as he went on. “You should’ve gone through with it months ago . . . Everyone . . . would’ve been better off without you.”

“Kook, what’s he talking about?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, because you knew the answer. You were sure you had for a while now.

“He paralyzed his friend,” Wooshik confirmed your thoughts for you.

Then . . . the world truly did fall then, at least for you. You felt it all at once.

While the world fell, all the pieces came together. Wooshik had been the one to threaten Jungkook that day on the track. Wooshik knew Jimin . . . he knew Taehyung. He had been the one you’d heard on the phone with Jimin . . . the one who had stressed over Taehyung’s condition. Only then, you had no idea what Taehyung’s condition entailed or how he’d gotten it. And now . . . now you knew the boy who’d practically been like Jungkook’s brother (meaning another menace in your life that you had begrudgingly dealt with) . . . that boy had endured an injury which led to the suffering of his career.

And it was all because of Jungkook? But . . . but . . . no. That couldn’t be. Jungkook would never do that to anyone, let alone Taehyung.

Softness ran through Jungkook’s veins. He’d always been too kind, which you’d realized a little too late. Even when you were kids, he’d never dared to squash the clover mites which infested your porch’s exterior. He found it cruel, while you had never given a second thought to it. To you, they were just tiny meaningless bugs that left a pigmented red smear when squashed. But to him . . . to him they were . . . small friends.

Bug boy, you’d used to call him, and he’d always try to hide how his ears would flush red at the name. That little boy who cared for even the smallest of creatures couldn’t have done . . . this?

Because, well, there were not a lot of things you knew about life. You used to think you knew the world like the back of your palm. But that was just false confidence. You knew nothing. You barely knew yourself, but . . . but you knew . . . him.

If there was one thing you knew, it was Jungkook, and he would never even think to do this to a friend, especially Taehyung. There had to be something missing. This was not the truth. It couldn’t be.

“He’s learning how to walk again, meanwhile JK here’s winning tournaments. That seem fair?” you heard Wooshik hiss again, his words more slurred now as he went on, but all you could think was how invigorating it would feel to sock him right in the jaw. But that wasn’t the only thing you’d faced that night. No, what truly had the world crashing down around you was the words Wooshik had spoken before.

You should’ve gone through with it months ago. And that look on his face. It was like he knew just how bitter those words felt in his mouth the second he’d spoken them. Everyone . . . would’ve been better off without you.

You knew what that meant, but you didn’t want to believe it. You knew what that meant. Twist the knife, you wanted to say. That would hurt less, because you realized that if Jungkook had decided to go through with . . . it . . . there would have been no way to prevent it. He had no one. He had been alone.

So . . . you twisted the metaphorical knife wedged in your chest cavity a little more. You probably wouldn’t have even known. Twist the knife. Twist the knife. Twist the knife. You probably would’ve found out through your mother. Twist the knife . . . And there would’ve been nothing you could do about it. Jungkook would have just been . . . gone.

The little boy who refused to squash the clover mites; the little boy who cared for even the smallest of creatures; the little boy who had loved . . . everything . . . would have just been gone. And here was Wooshik taunting him for it in front of everyone.

That . . . that made the wildfire spread within you, and you didn’t give a shit about anything anymore. Something snapped in you. Something bad. Dark. “By which you mean he should kill himself?”

Everything was loud and silent at the same time. It was almost deafening the way everyone’s faces fell. It was almost as if they hadn’t expected those words to come from your lips . . . like saying the truth was something . . . unheard of.

You supposed the truth was a little darker . . . a little harsher than most would expect. But it was something you were familiar with. You don’t become embolized and lose your dream in one day and not think about things like . . . that. No, sometimes you even wonder what it would be like. If things would be better, but you never go through with it. And if someone were to taunt you for it? In front of people? Well . . . you weren’t just going to sit there.

Because, yeah, maybe Jungkook had never liked to squash the harmless, little clover mites, but you were forgetting one very small, very important detail. You had never shied away from squashing the little things. In fact, you often went out of your way to squash as many as you could find.

That was the difference between the two of you; the difference between you ruining your own career and Jungkook moving on; the difference between a child who chooses peace and one who seeks out rage. And a child born of wrath you had always been. It was time you stopped running from that. You used to squash every little clover mite you came into contact with, and Wooshik was no exception.

“Well?” you finally continued once, in rage, you found your voice again.

Wooshik shifted awkwardly in his spot. “I didn’t say that,” he muttered before he cleared his throat.

But you had never been a fan of cowards. “Really?” You tilted your head to the side, narrowing your eyes at his figure. “You sure?”

“Listen—”

“Ah,” you clicked your tongue, pointer finger raised to your lips as if to quiet him down. And when you spoke again, your voice was as quiet as a whistle in the wind. “My turn.”

It was immature, you were sure, but you didn’t care. You were burning. Your skin felt ablaze with heat and you were sure your nails were breaking through the surface of your palm from clenching your hands into too tight of fists. But you didn’t care.

Your mother had always told you, Be kind. You’ll catch more flies with honey, than vinegar. But what if you didn’t want to catch them? What if you’d rather see them swatted? . . . You’d take your chances with the vinegar.

That sentiment was solidified as you asked, your voice calm, almost eerily too calm, “What’s your name? Last name, I mean.”

Wooshik narrowed his eyes in skepticism. “Hwang.”

“Noted.”

“What?” Wooshik scoffed, raising a brow. “Thinking of reporting me?”

And you nearly rolled your eyes. But a hand securing around your arm brought you back to the present. And you realized who it was . . .

“Come on,” Jungkook mumbled close to your ear. His voice was soft just like his touch, but he should’ve known better. You weren’t meant for soft things. A well-oiled machine. That was what you were. You were made of metal and bolts; you were cold . . . rough . . . worn.

Tearing your arm out of his grasp, the cold welcomed you back with open arms. “No, Kook,” you heard yourself say before you realized you were saying it, and then you realized it was too late. Your mouth wasn’t your own anymore. Your words belonged to the machine you had let yourself become, and you welcomed this just as the cold had welcomed you. “Hwang Wooshik, you’re a piece of shit. No, no . . . all of you are. You sit here and ridicule him—” you gestured toward Jungkook— “and for what? Have any of you actually asked him what happened? Do you even know the full story or have you made his life shit just to feel better about yourselves? I get it. We’re a shitty team. No one wants to be here, so why not? Right? Did you ever think why this team is shit? Hmm?”

Nothing. And then . . . Wooshik only scoffed. Typical.

But you were beyond dealing with this. “And you—” your eyes focused back on Wooshik— “you have no value, not even a soul,” you bit out through gritted teeth, fists still clenched as tightly as you could, and you had no intention of letting up. If he wanted the truth . . . then fine . . . you’d serve it to him on a silver platter. “All I see . . . is a bag of skin . . . a pile of bones. It’s pathetic how meaningless your life is. You bitch and moan, bitch and moan, bitch and moan, and yet, you have nothing to show for it except for a rotten mouth and a limp dick. You wanna show off? Wanna feel like a man? Go on . . . do it . . . but remember this moment. Remember just how meaningless you actually are . . . on this team . . . in the world . . . to yourself. Remember all the cells in your body splitting for nothing . . . just to make a worthless piece of fucking shit.” Your brows raised, beckoning him. “Hmm? Don’t you get it now? You’re nothing.”

The world stilled. It was quiet, too quiet.

You didn’t dare look at anyone else, not even Jungkook. You couldn’t. And then you heard it: a heartbeat pounding in your ears. But it wasn’t yours. You could have sworn it was Wooshik’s or maybe it had been one of your other teammates. It didn’t matter. Your words had shocked them . . . maybe scared them.

Wooshik sucked in a breath first. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he questioned, and it was like you were seven years old again, being excluded from after-school plans with your friends. But you didn’t have much time to dwell on the past before Wooshik glanced between you and Jungkook, a look of realization crossing his face as he let out a breathy laugh. “Oh . . . I see . . . “

And you knew he’d discovered the truth between you and Jungkook. But honestly? You didn’t care.

Good, you couldn’t help but think. That didn’t matter right now. Nothing did except this . . .

Not that Wooshik had caught onto that. No, instead, the man had found his motive and gone with it. “Word of advice . . . he’s not the good guy,” he murmured to you, only making the wildfire within you burn brighter.

A muscle in your jaw twitched. “And you are?”

“I don’t run from the shit I do, and then cry wolf on top of a bridge,” Wooshik went on, but you were past listening. You could barely hear him. “I would’ve gone through with it. Maybe then that would set things right—”

But he never finished his sentence. No . . . you didn’t let him.

For a second time that night, something snapped within you, and you couldn’t contain it. Like a glass too full of water, your rage spilled over, and before you realized what you were doing, you pulled back your hand to gain momentum and then launched it forward, connecting your knuckles with Wooshik’s nose.

Wooshik stumbled backward, catching himself on his chair so as to not collide with the floor, while he clutched his nose in his hand. And you stood above him, hands still clenched into fists as you watched the man grovel and groan. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, an odd sense of fear mixed with bewilderment in his gaze. You realized for a second time that night, you’d shocked him. Perhaps you’d even scared him.

Be kind. You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, your mother used to tell you. But you had never been fond of flies, and you had never quite liked Hwang Wooshik, either, so fuck that.

Still, Wooshik felt the need to ask, “What the fuck are you doing?”

And you only shrugged. “Whatever I want. Just like you,” you spat moments before you made an attempt to grab at his collar, but something pulled you back.

Once again, a hand wrapped around your arm, but instead of giving you the option to pull away, the person pulled you into their chest, securing an arm around your waist to ground you. . . . You instantly knew it was Jungkook (from the odd sense of peace you felt at his touch . . . but don’t tell him that).

“Take a walk,” he muttered in your ear for only you to hear, the command instilling dread within you.

“Kook,” you whispered, but couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. All you could look at was Wooshik and his now bleeding nose.

“Go,” was all Jungkook said. And only then did you gain enough courage to look at the rest of your teammates. They stared back at you with equal parts shock and fear . . . and you knew you’d fucked up. Again.

That was all it took before you pulled away from Jungkook’s embrace, listened to his words for once, and walked out of the bar into the cold before you swatted one too many flies before the sun rose. And while you didn’t regret it . . . you knew you’d done it now. You knew you’d gone too far.

All you could do now was squeeze your eyes shut, hoping this was some sick nightmare as you waited in the cold to probably (ultimately) be scolded by your doubles partner. That was what was ahead of you, and while you did feel guilty (you supposed), you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

A well-oiled machine. That was what you were. That was what you had been trained to become. You weren’t supposed to care about other people, and you wouldn’t let yourself. But you couldn’t let him talk to Jungkook like that. No, not to him. Not in front of you.

Jungkook used to refuse to squash the clover mites on your porch, while you sought them out. That was the difference between the two of you, and you’d be damned if some no-name on this shitty, D-list team told you otherwise.

He was soft, not you. Give all the unlucky shit to you. You could handle it.

If Wooshik wanted to hate someone, to blame someone . . . then he could blame you.

You supposed that was what you had done tonight: ruined yourself to save Jungkook like you should’ve done all those years ago instead of ruining the both of you. (Although . . . not like you’d tell him that. You couldn’t. This was too much. Too raw.) And worst of all . . . you knew you’d do it again.

You realized that as you waited in the cold for who knew how long. It could’ve been two minutes or twenty. You hadn’t noticed. You hadn’t cared . . . after all, well-oiled machines didn’t get cold.

Only once you finally opened your eyes to see the cold around you, did you hear the bell above the bar door jingle, signaling that Jungkook was now behind you, no doubt angry with you for your little outburst. And all you could think was fuck, fuck, fuck. You’d crossed the line again, as you always did, but you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize. Not for this.

And so, you found yourself muttering, “If you expect me to apologize, I won't. He doesn’t get to do that. Not to you. Not in front of me.”

But as soon as you had begun to turn around to finally face him, Jungkook didn’t greet you with furrowed brows and a scowl on his face. No, instead, you could only blink once before he was falling into you, his hands caressing the sides of your face moments before his lips met yours. There was no heat behind it either, no rushing, no nothing, just . . . just bliss. His lips met yours, his touch putting out the fire raging within you, and it was like you could finally breathe again. He kissed you as if that was all he could do; as if it were all he wanted to do.

Only then, when you realized he wasn’t going to rip himself from your body as if you’d scorched him, did you finally embrace him. Your hands found their way to his shirt, bunching the fabric as you pulled him closer and felt yourself succumb little by little to him. You didn’t even care if anyone saw you. It didn’t matter. Nothing did when he was near.

It could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days before the two of you pulled away, and you leaned your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath. The point was: you didn’t even care just how out of breath you had become. You would’ve sooner passed out than let him go, and perhaps that meant more than what you were willing to admit, but you did know it meant something, you just weren’t exactly sure what. But you barely had time to dwell on those thoughts before Jungkook pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and tugging you into his chest. And you let him.

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbled into your hair, laughing slightly under his breath.

You’re an idiot, you repeated in your head, and a smile slowly twitched on your face, because you knew what he really meant. Thank you, his hug seemed to say, and you knew it to be true. And all you could do was melt against him, wrapping your arms around his waist as your eyes fluttered closed and a content sigh left your lips. You squeezed him tighter, realizing perhaps maybe you’d needed this hug more than him. In a way, you supposed you had always needed this—to be hugged so deeply it comforted your soul.

You’re welcome, your hug seemed to say, but you knew what it actually meant . . . thank you.

Once again, you smiled, perhaps a little wider now. That is what you had wanted to tell him. Thank you. Thank you for being there. Just . . . thank you.

You would like to make one thing clear: you did not have a fondness for many things. For instance, you hated when random people on the internet adapted an instrumental version of a song that, to be honest, did not need adapting. You hated the rain. Now . . . you knew most people didn’t particularly like the rain . . . but you hated it. It always had a way of making your skin itch, leaving you uncomfortable and irritated. It was unnecessary . . . really (OK, fine, maybe not unnecessary, but, ugh, whatever!).

Now . . . obviously you absolutely despised losing. That much was evident . . . sure.

But most of all, you hated the vulnerability which came with falling short of victory. You hated how your shoulders fell, the self-hatred seeping in and consuming you as soon as you realized you had either gone too far or not far enough.

You supposed that was how it had always been. You supposed you had always been a competitive child. You supposed the fact that it hurt more to lose a match than breaking up with your first boyfriend . . . was normal for a child who had been born into competition after competition.

Of course you never actually expected to fail. That wasn’t in your blood. Failing wasn’t on the table, so when you did, it hit you ten times harder. And you always ended up doing the same thing over and over again: locking yourself in your room until the sting became easier to manage.

That was what had happened in your childhood, and that was what had happened three years ago. You’d locked yourself in that hospital room, ignoring the world, pushing people away. You’d learned to live with yourself, and you learned to hate yourself. (Perhaps it was easy to find that hatred within yourself because it had always been there.)

You supposed that was why you had taken to reading so kindly. (Sure, you had put up a fight, claiming you did not and would not like books, but, well, your heart kind of beat for it now. A part of you craved it. And that part of you followed you everywhere.)

The writings you’d memorized all those years ago stayed in your head and every once in a while, you’d remember something you’d read. And every time, it’d bring you a sense of something. Comfort, maybe? Acceptance? Understanding? You weren’t entirely sure, but it did bring you something you couldn’t push away. And that night, the night Wooshik had pushed a little too far, revealing who he was, you were also reminded who you were: an angry child who had forced herself to grow up too soon.

You knew that was what you were. You knew you were angry and crude and all things not pleasant or kind. You couldn’t give anything up. You couldn’t let anything just be. . . .You knew your heart was cold and you were more machine parts than bone.

A burnt child loves the fire, Lord Henry claimed in The Picture of Dorian Gray. (Your love for the Classics had begun there within that book (peculiar considering your previous distaste for literature . . . but well . . . you had no excuse).) You supposed the reason why you’d taken so fiercely to this small, almost minuscule quote had to do with the fact that you couldn’t understand it. And you hated being in the dark about anything.

The original saying was supposed to be: A burnt child dreads the fire. And yet . . .

That was what you couldn’t understand. You couldn’t understand why there was a need for the reverse. The saying was wrong. A burnt child should dread the fire, they shouldn’t run to it.

So . . . why? Why did the child Lord Henry speak of . . . crave the fire?

Only then did you come to the conclusion.

As soon as your fist had collided with Wooshik’s face and you saw the look everyone had given you, the answer washed over you: there was a difference between these two children. While one who has been hurt; who has been burnt by the fire will avoid it at all costs for the rest of their lives, the other will seek it out . . . perhaps even crave it.

That was why you had punched Wooshik. A burnt child loves the fire.

The day of the incident . . . that was the day the fire had scorned you and instead of taking refuge with those who cared . . . you pushed them away. Because it was easier to be angry. It was easier to feel sorry for yourself rather than to accept help.

Because accepting help meant you had failed. It meant you were weak. It meant you were not the person you had prided yourself on for years and years and years . . . It meant laying to rest the person you used to be and truth be told you missed her more than you missed feeling . . . warm . . . real. But how much did you miss her now? That was a question you had yet to answer.

Yeah, you missed the cheers as you won match after match. You missed the glorious high which came after a win. You missed team bonding and everything badminton used to be. But you didn’t miss the stress, the pressure . . . the anger. And that was the thing . . . you’d won once again after so many years and yet . . . you didn’t feel stressed to practice until your feet bled. There was still stress . . . of course, but it wasn’t consuming.

You realized you’d never actually celebrated a win before. You were always looking looking looking into the future, too caught up in it all to just . . . breathe. But now . . . now . . . now all you wanted to do was sure . . . celebrate, but rather . . . celebrate with your doubles partner.

So really . . . did you miss the girl you used to be? Perhaps a little in the sense that when you grow older, nostalgia only gets worse. But you didn’t want to be her.

You wished someone could tell you what that all meant . . . Were you still considered a burnt child? Did you still love the fire? Did you dread it? Or . . . were you somewhere in between?

You only wished someone could help you make sense of it all. You wished someone would put a guiding hand on your shoulder and tell you who you were, because . . . really you had no clue.

Perhaps you’d been clueless all your life. Perhaps you would always be.

A warm hand wrapping around your wrist brought you out of your own mind. And you realized where you were.

It was the present, not the past as much as you’d spent thinking about it. Most likely a half hour after you’d punched Wooshik in the nose, changing the entire trajectory of your team. The atmosphere of Jungkook’s room surrounded you as you sat on the edge of the bed, right leg crossed over the left while he tended to your cut knuckles from said punch to Wooshik’s face.

His hand was warm as it always was, and you were sure he must have winced at how cold yours had been to the touch, but you weren’t even certain if he was paying attention to that at all. No, it seemed as you took your first glance at Jungkook’s face since he’d kissed you earlier that night . . . that he was entirely focused on the task at hand. And truly, it was almost impossible to not notice just how meticulous Jungkook was to even the smallest of cuts on your knuckles, dabbing each and every one with a washcloth. He remained focused, his brows sat low as his eyes remained focused on your hand while his lips were pursed into an almost cute (?) pout.

But you couldn’t help but catch sight of the muscle which ticked in his jaw. Something was on his mind. No, no, he was angry. Yes, that was it. His jaw always twitched when he’d get frustrated about something. And well . . . you had never been one to keep your mouth shut.

“I thought you weren’t mad at me,” you stated almost too abruptly, nearly startling the silence itself.

Jungkook paused, but didn’t look up to meet your gaze. “I’m not,” was all he muttered before he resumed his task.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re quiet,” you said as you poked him in the chest with your non-injured hand. “You’re never quiet. I actually have a hard time shutting you up.”

“Well.”

“Well, what?” you went on, knowing damn well if you pressed enough he’d cave. “If you’re mad just say it.”

He only replied with a hiss of your name. A warning (one you wouldn’t listen to).

“Kook—” you nudged his chest once again— “speak.”

For a brief second, he shot you a look. “You’re just—!” But his words quickly died on his tongue the moment he made eye contact with you. He seemed to search for something within your gaze before his brows twitched, his eyes falling to your injured hand as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t realize you got . . . hurt.”

Your gaze softened then. “It’s just a scrape,” you tried to reassure but you had never been good at comfort.

Jungkook only shook his head. “But it shouldn’t be anything,” he muttered as he began to dry off your knuckles. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.”

“I know. Fuck, OK . . . I know,” he continued muttering without making eye contact as he quickly but carefully bandaged your hand. But even once he was done, he did not let go of your hand. If anything . . . he pulled it closer. “I just . . . I didn’t realize that—I just . . . I don’t want you to get hurt for me. You’re not invincible, OK?”

“And you are?”

His eyes closed. “Come on . . . ”

“Why can you take it but I can’t?”

Jungkook breathed out through his nose, and then he was looking at you. But now there was a different tinge in his eyes. Now it was like he was hiding something . . . like he didn’t want you to really see what was going on inside his mind, and you had a sick feeling it had something to do with what Wooshik had said at the bar. And then he spoke, “Because I don’t want you to. It’s my bullshit. I don’t want you to get caught up in it.”

You realized exactly what he was doing. You had been right. He was trying to keep a distance from you, trying to keep you out, trying to protect you from . . . something. But as you had been so cruelly reminded, you were a burnt child . . . and you craved the fire.

That was it. As a child, you had sought out the clover mites just to see them paint the rocks red as you squished them. That had been fun for you. You’d always craved the fire, you supposed . . . just in different doses. And a child who learned this way of living never backed down . . . never cowered, you faced it . . . welcomed it. And you sure as hell weren’t backing down from this. You refused to leave him alone . . . because Jungkook had never even dared to squash the clover mites . . . he’d wanted to save them . . . protect them, and someone like that did not deserve to carry whatever this was on his shoulders.

Burned children could recognize each other . . . but he still had time to decide if he’d run from the fire or chase it, and you would try everything in yourself to not let him join you. Not now; not when you knew his heart. Not when you knew Jeon Jungkook, if given the chance, would still never, not even once, squash a clover mite for the fun of it.

That was exactly why you found yourself claiming: “I already am.”

He squeezed your hand tighter as his face fell further. “I don’t need you to fight for me,” he all but whispered.

But you had never been a good listener. You’d always acted first, thought later. Some would call it a flaw. You sure would, but you didn’t care.

So you listened to the first thought that popped into your head, standing to your feet as you curled your joined hands into your chest. “I know . . . but it’s what I do,” you found yourself saying. “I can’t help it. I’ve tried to change, Kook. I’ve tried to be gentle. I’ve tried to speak quietly. I’ve tried not to be . . . all the things that I am, but it never works. It just feels like I’m pretending.” And as you confessed, you couldn’t help but scoff a laugh at your words. “I’m not a gentle person. I’m loud and blunt and maybe even a little cruel . . . and now you’ve made me care about you.”

You’ve made me care about you, your words rang throughout your ears, and you realized that was the truth. You did care about him. Perhaps more than you cared about most things. And it was clear your words had affected Jungkook, too. His features softened, his brows lifting slightly as his eyes rounded and his mouth parted only just barely.

You’ve made me care about you, you were sure was ringing through his ears. And you knew this, too, because he didn’t bother to tease you or shoot you that half-grin of his. No, he just stared, trying to digest your words.

It seemed no one had ever shown him this. No one had ever tried to get through to him, and you knew that well. You knew how it felt to push everyone away, secretly hoping someone would want to break through the barriers you’d put up.

Burned children could recognize each other, and you knew exactly how Jungkook felt. Years and years of dealing with everything on your own is debilitating. You couldn’t imagine being forced into this isolation. You knew what it felt like to lose everything . . . and you could see on his face that he knew that feeling well, too.

It made you feel worthless. Stupid. Useless. It was almost gut-wrenching how much it made you feel like nothing. And, god, you were tired of being nothing. You were sure Jungkook was tired, too.

So as you went on, a slight smile on your face, your eyes had begun to water. You’d never been much of a crier, but you couldn’t help it. “Don’t you get it?” you mumbled, your voice quieter now. “I care about you more than I should. You made me. You made me fucking care about you, so you don’t get to sit here, give me whiplash, and expect me not to defend you.” You couldn’t help but let a small tear slip, because, truly, you really did care about him. “I don’t care about a lot of people, and maybe that’s sociopathic, narcissistic, whatever! I don’t care . . . but I refuse to let you put up with this, deal with this, endure this . . . alone.”

Jungkook blinked quickly, but remained silent as he chewed on his inner cheek.

“I’m in this,” you went on, squeezing his hand tighter. “Whether you like it or not . . . I . . . am . . . not . . . leaving. Got it?”

But something was preventing Jungkook from nodding at your words. He only just stood, refusing to make eye contact with you. And then, he tilted his head, his eyes on the ceiling as he mumbled, his words strained, “I don’t want to hurt you, too.” He tugged his hand from yours then and you fought the urge to grasp his hand right back.

“You won’t,” you muttered instead, eyes still trained on your now empty hand.

“You don’t get it,” Jungkook whispered in response as he stared at his own hands, almost in disbelief or astonishment. “Everything I touch . . . it’s like . . . it’s like things come to die at my hands.”

You were at a loss for words in response, because you knew that feeling. You were sure you had thought those exact same words. You were sure a part of you still believed that about yourself.

And while you mentally rotated through the things you were supposed to say, Jungkook went on, “I can’t let you all the way in. I would never forgive myself if—“

But he never had the chance to finish the sentence. No, it seemed his body wouldn’t let him. His words tangled around his tongue, and finally, you glanced his way, finding his eyes were now glossy and he was forcing himself to keep his gaze trained on the wall behind you, careful not to blink and let the tears spill.

Jungkook believed things came to die at his hands. He believed he deserved . . . this. And yet . . . how could he be so wrong? You knew him. It didn’t matter what Wooshik or your other teammates said. You knew him. You’d grown up with him. You’d watched him throw tantrum after tantrum after every clover mite you’d squashed just to tease him.

He would never do the things that had been said. And he certainly didn’t deserve to feel like . . . this. That was your driving force. Without thinking, you grabbed his hand, and brought it to your face. Slowly, you cupped your cheek with the palm of his hand, your hand covering his before you whispered, “Did the world end?”

His eyes were on you now, warming you just with one look. “No,” he softly mumbled as his thumb grazed your cheek.

He’s sweet, you couldn’t help but think as your brows twitched at his gentle action. Then, slowly, you took that same hand and brought it to your chest, laying it just above where your heart would beat deep inside.

“Oh, look, my heart’s still beating,” you said lightly, a little more pep in your voice in an attempt to get that smile on his face again. “The world will not end and nothing will happen to me at your hands . . . OK?”

His fingers flexed on your chest. “I can’t.”

“Jungkook,” was all you could whisper, an almost silent plea as you squeezed his fingers.

He brought his other hand up to your cheek and took a step forward. “Baby . . . ” he all but begged as he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours.

Tilting your head up enough to brush your nose against his, you welcomed his embrace. “Please,” you found yourself mumbling. “I’m not going to run. You won’t lose me.”

And truly, you did mean every word.

You didn’t care for the fire or the fight or anything like that. You just . . . fuck . . . you wanted him to be alright. That was what you wanted. You didn’t know why or how it happened, but it did.

That was what you wanted, and you had never been one to back down from anything. So you meant it. You weren’t going anywhere. And as the silence consumed you two, you stayed by his side, proving your words to be true. Jungkook seemed to catch onto this, too, as his words changed . . .

“But I will disappoint you,” he mumbled instead of his previous sentiments.

But who would think that would scare you off? You were all kinds of disappointing. It didn’t matter. “So? People are disappointing. It’s what makes us human,” you found yourself speaking your thoughts. “Can we just . . . carry your bullshit . . . together?”

Jungkook remained unmoving for a mere moment before he withdrew from you. For a second you thought he’d leave you hanging once again. For a second, you thought he’d locked himself away like he had months ago. But instead, he moved away from you, the cold replacing where his warmth had been as he sat down on the edge of his bed . . . and you knew what that meant.

He was letting you in. Fully. Completely. Finally.

You met him at the bed, folding your leg under yourself as you sat down facing him. A part of you wanted to reach for his hand, but you couldn’t. Something was stopping you from reaching out to grasp him, so you sat in silence, carefully taking in his features from the small scar on his cheek to the tiny mole under his bottom lip.

It must have been minutes of you just taking in his features while the silence danced around the two of you. Perhaps it went on for even longer. But you didn’t mind it. You wouldn’t run from this . . . from him.

And finally, that was when you didn’t necessarily reach for his hand, but you did rest your hand on his knee, providing as much reassurance as you knew how. You could only hope he knew what your touch meant. You could only hope he could feel . . . you.

His eyes found yours the next second, and you knew he could. He could feel you just as you could feel him. He could see you. He could see you. He could see you. That had to mean something. It seemed it did as Jungkook carefully placed his hand over yours and squeezed. Then . . . then he offered a small, strained smile before he sucked in a sharp breath, slowly exhaling . . . and then . . . then he spoke.

“It was last year . . . around January,” he began, his voice careful, calculated, quiet.

And you scooted closer, listening intently.

“We’d made it onto the national team,” he continued, keeping his eyes on your locked hands. “Taehyung, Jimin, and I . . . but it was tough. The days were long. And I wanted to . . . I don’t fucking know live a little. And there was a bar just outside the center and I . . . wanted to go. I dragged Taehyung with me. He didn’t want to leave. We weren’t supposed to leave. But I was cocky and an idiot and I wanted to get drunk before the games the next morning like we used to. So he caved . . . He snuck out for me . . . because of me. We went, we drank, until we decided it was time to go back before Coach found out. But . . . we were still drunk . . . “

As his words died on his tongue, Jungkook averted his gaze from your hands, instead focusing on the wall in front of him. But his eyes kept moving, shaking back and forth as his brain raced with thoughts of the past.

A burnt child dreads the fire, you thought. Was this his fire?

Your thoughts remained unanswered as Jungkook continued. “There’s a bridge that leads to the nationals’ center,” he mumbled, almost hesitant about his words. “It’s small, but passes over a lake.” He cupped his other hand around his chin as he rested his elbow on his thigh. His eyes fluttered closed a second later. “It was January . . . the coldest night of the year . . . and we had to pass over it to get back to the dorms. We had to—fuck.”

The hand on his chin immediately covered his face, his thumb and pointer finger rubbing his eyes. You didn’t want to guess what had happened. You didn’t want to think of the worst, but . . . You remembered the night you caught Jungkook on the bridge, staring out at the water. You remembered the look on his face; the look you knew all too well. And you remembered wondering what had happened to him.

Now . . . now it seemed something had happened on a bridge similar to the one you’d found him on. It seemed on his drunk walk home, the bridge he’d have to pass over to get back to the dorms reminded him of the past. And you both knew how sickly haunting the past could be.

You couldn’t help it. Instantly, your other hand reached to cover your joined hands.

“It was so fucking cold that night. I know it was, but I can’t remember it. I was too fucking drunk to be cold. I was too drunk to notice the water under the bridge was frozen solid . . . but not . . . not all the way through,” he went on, his voice weaker now. “It wasn’t—It wasn’t frozen all the way through.”

It wasn’t frozen all the way through. Your brows furrowed. Wait—

“When Taehyung drinks . . . he does stupid shit. Everyone knows that. I knew that,” Jungkook was muttering now, practically cursing himself. “I knew that.” He beat on his chest once as he shook his head in disbelief.

When Taehyung drinks, he does stupid shit. Did that mean . . . ?

“He wanted to—” he cut his words off with a curse. “He wanted to walk across the wooden railing to see . . . I don’t know . . . I don’t fucking know what he was trying to do but he was drunk and I was too. I was too drunk to realize what was going on. Fuck, I even encouraged him to do it. I put money on it. I fucking bet him if he could walk across the railing, I’d give him ten dollars. Can you fucking believe that?”

Jungkook turned to meet your gaze briefly then, and only then did you realize something. His eyes were glossy . . . and he was sniffling. He was crying. And suddenly, you knew where this was going.

Your brows pinched together in concern as you silently begged him to see that you weren’t leaving. No, no . . . you were scooting closer. You weren’t leaving, you were staying.

Jungkook nodded in response as if he knew what you had been trying to tell him, and then . . . then he continued. “And of course he did it,” he all but laughed, but it came out as more of a pathetic scoff. “He even made it to the end, but we were joking around, laughing about it, and he . . . he lost his balance. He must have stepped on something . . . or . . . or . . . I don’t know, but he . . . he slipped.”

He slipped. No. Your eyes shut tightly as you pulled your bottom lip under your teeth. No.

“He slipped and all I heard was his body smack the ice. And then I heard water . . . “ Jungkook trailed off, his words angry, hurt, and strained. “He fell . . . . and the ice broke. . . . It wasn’t supposed to break. But it broke and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t see him. It was just ice and water and black. Everything was so fucking dark and I couldn’t see him . . . so I jumped in after him . . . and I still couldn’t fucking find him. And—And when I did . . . when I finally pulled him out, I thought he was dead. But I brought him back. I brought him back and he was supposed to be fine. He was supposed to be fucking fine.”

Only then did you open your eyes . . . and when you did, you saw the Jungkook that had been trapped under barrier after barrier for a year now. He sat before you, shaking his head at his memories as a few tears slipped down his flushed cheeks. And you let them fall, not because you wanted to, but because you needed him to know that it was OK for you to see him . . . let go. So you remained silent, listening to his shaky breaths until he was ready to speak again. And when he did, you stared only at him with your hands interlocked with one of his.

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, still shaking his head in denial (?), anger (?) . . . maybe grief as a whole (?). “His back was fucked up, but we both just thought it was sore from the fall. He couldn’t really walk, so I had to help him back to the center . . . I knew it wasn’t good . . . but . . . “ he trailed off, his brows twitching. “He didn’t want to go to the hospital. I kept telling him we had to just in case. Just in case there was something wrong. But he was scared. Scared he’d get kicked off the team if they knew we snuck out to drink. So we went back, I helped him get dry, changed his clothes . . . then we went to sleep.”

He blinked. A few more tears fell.

Sucking in a breath, he mumbled as he shakily exhaled, “A few hours later he’s waking me up telling me he can’t feel his legs. Something didn’t feel right. I tried pricking his legs, pinching, anything . . . but he couldn’t feel it.”

You squeezed his hand tighter. You couldn’t imagine . . .

Jungkook wiped his cheeks, his eyes, even his nose, finally taking a deep breath to calm himself down. “Everything happened so fast after that. I told Coach. Tae was rushed to the hospital,” he said, his voice more stable now. “Surgery after surgery after surgery later. He slipped into a coma . . . and when he woke up, they . . . said physical therapy and rest would be all he’d need before he could get back to playing . . . but only one leg gained back some motility. The other . . . just never improved. Something to do with a nerve . . . his spinal cord. Whatever . . . his leg was shot. They said he missed the window, and getting back to even sixty percent would be impossible.”

Fuck. You couldn’t imagine how Tae or Jungkook felt. Having your entire life just taken away from you like that was worse than dying you were sure of it . . . and having to watch someone you cared about go through that . . . You couldn’t imagine.

“Just like that his career was over as well as any chance of having a normal life again,” Jungkook scoffed at his own words. “All because I forced him to go get drunk with me. It was my fault. I should’ve known. Maybe if I had called the hospital . . . told Coach . . . maybe then . . maybe he could’ve been OK. Fuck.”

His words circled around in your head for a moment longer. It was my fault. I forced him. It was my fault. It was my fault. It was my fault.

But . . . Wait—

Your brows scrunched together in confusion. This . . . this is what Jungkook thought would make him a disappointment. This is what had him blaming himself, hating himself . . . ?

Jungkook believed he had done this to Taehyung. But . . . but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was an awful thing that happened to both of them . . . and Jungkook blamed himself for it.

No . . . no . . . it couldn’t be. This was what he thought you’d hate him for.

A burnt child loved the fire, indeed. They let themselves become consumed by it, condemned to it, tortured by it, and for what?

Why did Jungkook have to suffer for something that was not his fault?

Fuck. You didn’t know what to do. You weren’t good at this. You barely even knew how to be a person, how could you help him when he thought his friend’s demise was all his fault?

Shit . . . and you had blamed him for what had happened to you. You had added to this. You had . . . No, no, no, no. You didn’t know what to do.

You couldn’t believe what all this guilt, this blame, this hatred had done to him. You couldn’t imagine . . . and you couldn’t contain your emotions. Your eyes were watering now. No, you couldn’t let them. Not now. Not when you were supposed to be comforting him.

Jungkook didn’t seem to notice the turmoil raging on inside your head as he was only looking at the floor. “He couldn’t forgive me after that,” he went on, his voice quieter now once again. “Everyone turned away from me then. I had to leave the team. I knew I did. There was no going back after everyone found out that I was the reason he was out there that night. I lost everything, and it was all my fault.”

It was all my fault, ringed through your ears. Your heart ached for him, but you couldn’t cry now. Not now.

You had no trouble holding back your emotions your entire fucking life so why was it so hard now? Why were you having trouble holding back these tears? You didn’t know, but you didn’t care. You had to keep a calm composure. You had to try. And try you did.

“I would’ve left the badminton scene entirely, but . . . my parents,” Jungkook managed to finish up with a heavy sigh. “Their restaurant wasn’t doing well. It still isn’t. They need this money. I only joined Yunis to help them. All my money goes to them. I only keep what I need, the rest is theirs.”

And suddenly it all made sense with those final words from him. Jungkook blamed himself for what had happened to Taehyung.

He didn’t feel worthy enough to continue his career knowing Taehyung’s was over, but he had to . . . because he was a good son. He had always been a good son. That you had known. But you hadn’t known their business was in trouble. You hadn’t known, and you had been such an asshole to him.

He had to be here. That was why he was here. He had to be. For his parents. Not for fame or even himself, but for them. He was a good son. He was a good person. And everyone . . . even you . . . had failed him.

Then . . . you remembered something else that Wooshik had said, and you almost let a small sob escape your sealed lips. You never imagined you could feel this way. You’d always been cold. You’d always just been a burnt child, relishing in the fire; a well-oiled machine with human parts. You weren’t meant to feel like . . . this. So why did your chest hurt so fucking much? Why couldn’t you breathe when you remembered what Wooshik had said to him?

You should’ve gone through with it months ago. Everyone would’ve been better off without you.

Then . . . you began to wonder. Had Jungkook really? Had he tried to end everything . . . And you could have sworn you felt the metal encasing your heart had begun to shrink, squeezing the muscle in a painful ache. How could Wooshik have said that knowing . . .

“Wooshik,” you heard yourself say before you knew what you were doing, “he said . . . “

“I know,” was all Jungkook could sigh. “He was friends with Tae and Jimin. This was his team. That’s why he’s so pissed I’m here, because I knew we’d be on the same team. But Coach . . . he knew who I was too and to him it didn’t matter who did what when to who. The only thing that mattered was that I was good. I was going to come out of the nationals team with gold medals and he knew that. So he offered me a lot of money . . . and I joined for my parents, otherwise, I’d be back in Busan.”

But you didn’t give a shit what Wooshik’s deal was. No, you wanted to know why he would say such a thing. Why he—

You stopped yourself from thinking, immediately speaking the words before you even thought then, “Why did Wooshik say you should’ve gone through with . . . with um . . . “

“Killing myself?”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach as your eyes shut. Wetting your lips, you gained the courage to say, “Yes.”

But the silence met your reply.

It wasn’t something anybody talked about. People just kind of danced around the subject, trying not to say the actual words, and you supposed even you were guilty of this. But no one prepares you for this kind of shit. No one sits you down and tells you how to deal with this. You didn’t know how to deal with anything.

When you were in recovery, you had the same thoughts. You wondered if it would make things better, but you knew it wouldn’t. You knew it wouldn’t make anything better. You’d just be gone, leaving pain behind, and that was not what you wanted.

You hoped Jungkook had realized this, too. But the silence still remained. Until . . .

“I . . . “ he began, stumbling over his words. Then: “A few weeks before you came . . . I couldn’t take it. I did something horrible and came out of it completely fine. I wanted to make things right. I wanted to pay for what I did to him. And . . . and I wanted everything to just . . . stop. It hurt so fucking much. Every day I couldn’t breathe, I didn’t want to eat. Most days the only thing in my system was alcohol. I stopped looking at everyone, stopped being able to see them shortly after that and everything just became so . . . loud . . . and . . . and lonely, too. I guess—I guess I wanted it to be quiet . . . silent? I wanted time to stop just for a minute so I could breathe and then it would be fine. I could make myself be fine if I could just stop everything . . . just for a second.”

A beat of silence once again. And then he spoke, “I found the tallest bridge I could find here and I tried to jump . . . but . . . my mom called to say goodnight . . . and I realized I couldn’t go through with it, not when they still needed the money. I figured give it one more day . . . if I get fired then I’ll know.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “And Wooshik?”

“We’re dormmates. I slipped up when I was drunk, told him I was going to off myself,” he said through a sigh, his shoulders sinking. “Fucking stupid.”

There was the silence again. He was finished. That was what had happened to him and that was why he was here. The boy who cared even for the smallest of creatures had endured and endured and endured. How was that fair?

Jungkook used to cry for the clover mites when you’d squash them, and yet, here he was, carrying the world on his shoulders. Was he even allowed to breathe? Could he? Or was that peace stolen from him, too?

He thought he was a bad person. He thought he deserved this. He thought---How could he think that?

He was still the same Bug Boy you knew as a kid. He didn’t deserve this. He was a good son; a good friend. He was a good fucking person.

And the world had made him believe otherwise.

Everyone . . . everyone had failed him.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him this without feeling the lump in your throat rise and rise and rise. You would cry if you spoke, and this wasn’t fucking about you.

This was about him. You couldn’t be selfish.

You just needed a moment to calm yourself.

But a moment you weren’t given as Jungkook whispered, “You’re silent. You get it now, don’t you?”

He thought . . .

No. No. No. No.

And suddenly, you couldn’t stop yourself. You glanced his way with glossy eyes and a quivering bottom lip. “No, no, I don’t,” you muttered, your voice hoarse. “If anything I don’t get it at all.”

Jungkook only blinked.

You swallowed hard. “Koo, it was not your fault.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

Fuck. That look. He looked so . . . lost.

And you couldn’t contain yourself any longer. The floodgates open, tears trickling down your cheeks. “How could you have known what would happen?” you questioned, trying to choke back a sob. “What happened to Taehyung is awful and heartbreaking, but . . . it was no one’s fault, let alone yours. You didn’t know he’d slip. You didn’t know he’d hit the ice. You didn’t know he’d fall. You didn’t know he’d get hurt . . . and you certainly wouldn’t ever hurt him. It was not your fault. I’m so fucking sorry you’ve been carrying this for so long . . . that—that you were made to believe you did . . . this.”

“But . . . I’m the reason he lost his—”

“No, no, you’re not,” you quickly cut him off. “Nobody could have predicted this would’ve happened. Had it been the other way around, would you blame him?”

Jungkook remained silent but slowly shook his head.

Brows raising in relief, you nodded. “No, because no one is at fault,” you told him quietly. “It was a horrible thing that happened to someone you cared about. Hurt people hurt people . . . and when people are hurt . . . they want to blame others. Doesn’t make it right. Doesn’t make it fair . . . but it does happen.” Looking down, you remembered what you had done to him, too. “I know . . . I know because I did it to you. It was never your fault what happened to me . . . and it wasn’t your fault what happened to Tae.”

His eyes softened at your words. Nobody had ever told him that before, you were sure of it, and that made another tear slip down your cheek. He’d been so alone.

That was why he looked so lost; why he ran; why he locked himself away because he thought he was supposed to be alone.

You wished you could take back all the feuds you had; all the times you’d pushed him away. You wished you could go back to the day in the hospital when he texted you. You wished instead of blocking him and refusing to see him, you had just accepted the food and allowed him to sit down at the edge of your bed. Maybe then things could have been different.

But you couldn’t go back to the past, no matter how much you wanted to.

He was here now, and he was looking at you with those eyes you had grown to care about. Big and brown and searching. He was always searching for anything. And you wanted to give him all the answers. But you knew nothing.

You were a sorry excuse for an adult. You were barely a person. How could you know anything? The truth was: you couldn’t, but you did know one thing . . . you knew him.

His bottom lip quivered as he continued to search your eyes. “I want to believe you, but it hurts so much,” he whispered as if it were a sin.

“I know,” you weakly mumbled.

And suddenly you weren’t thinking anymore. No, instead, you took one last glance at his glossy eyes, and fell into him. You swung a leg over him, adjusting yourself on his lap as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and brought him into an embrace. One of your hands slowly snaked into his long, dark locks, massaging his scalp as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Jungkook remained shocked, his hands hovering in the air, but you didn’t care. He needed this. You knew him and you knew he needed this just like you had needed it years ago. Instead of pulling back, you continued stroking his hair and rubbing his back all the while you tried to hide the tears slipping down your cheeks and soaking his shirt.

Then . . . something happened.

In the midst of your embrace, Jungkook slowly wrapped his arms around your body, one hand spreading out along your neck while the other caressed your back. He brought you closer to him with one motion, until he was holding you back so tightly you were sure your soul had touched his even for the briefest of seconds.

He quickly buried his face into your neck, while his grip on you never faltered. “It hurts so fucking much . . . and it feels like this all the time,” he choked out through a strained sob. “It hurts. It just fucking hurts, and the alcohol isn’t helping anymore. I don’t know what to do.” His sobs came quicker now as he shook in your embrace, and you couldn’t help but cry for him as well. “I don’t know what to do. Fuck, I’m not OK. I’m not OK.”

“I know,” you whispered against his skin, trying to keep your voice steady. “I know, baby.” You pressed a kiss against his skin. It was innocent. It was sweetness. It was what he needed. “You don’t have to do this on your own anymore. I promise, Koo.”

And all Jungkook could do was nod.

“I’m as stubborn as a mule,” you reiterated, sniffling slightly. “I’m not leaving. OK? I know this—look—” you gently pulled back enough to place your hands on either side of his face. It was just enough to get him to look at you; just enough to let him know you meant every word— “I know how this feels. Hopelessness, worthlessness, anger, hatred. I know it all . . . and I know more than anyone that this is something no one should have to go through alone. I pushed everyone away. OK? When I was at my worst, I made people leave me until I had no one, and I can tell you right now that decision . . . it broke me.” You shook your head, another tear falling. “I don’t want to be broken, and I know you don’t want to be either.”

But his eyes were elsewhere. They were trained on the tear as it trickled down your cheek. “You’re crying,” he all but sobbed as he brought a finger to your cheek, catching the fallen tear. “I don’t—”

“Will you let me?” you found yourself asking, because maybe your tears weren’t selfish. Maybe . . . maybe they weren’t tears of anything other than . . . just tears. “Let me cry . . . for you. Let me carry this with you. I’m not scared of a lot of things, and I’m certainly not scared of this or you.”

His eyes stayed round and wide, still searching. And then . . . then he began to nod, and you couldn’t help but offer him a small smile.

“Good,” you hummed as you attempted to dry your eyes, but Jungkook beat you to it, wiping your cheeks clean of tears with the end of his sweatshirt sleeve. “Now . . . how about I lock the door so that fucker can sleep on the couch, and you and me sleep this shit off, hmm?”

“Can we watch a movie?” he questioned quietly.

You fought a grin. “Can I pick it?”

“Mmm, no.”

“Then, no.”

“Buttercup, don’t break my heart,” he whined, his voice slightly nasally from his now stuffy nose. His eyes were still red-rimmed and you were sure yours were too, but neither of you cared.

Hell, you couldn’t help but give a small laugh. “What are you on about?”

“You’ve never heard that song?”

You quirked a brow.

“Why do you build me up?” he began to sing, purposely doing it off-key (because yes, he had an annoyingly good voice). “Build me up.” His voice changed octaves, and you laughed in response, shaking your head at his antics. That only spurred him on. “Buttercup, baby, just to let me down?” He pointed at you. “Your turn.”

“Kook, I don’t know the words,” you giggled.

“Context clues,” he hummed. “Come on. Why do you build me up, Buttercup, baby, just to—”

“Let me down?” you whispered in a sing-song voice.

“There it is,” he cheered, nodding his head with a wide grin on his face, but the red-rimmed eyes still remained, reminding the both of you of . . . everything.

But that was OK.

You both would be alright.

“I’m supposed to be cheering you up, not the other way around,” you mumbled as you toyed with the longer strands of his dark hair at the nape of his neck.

“I hate seeing you cry,” was all Jungkook said, a small smile still on his face.

A beat of silence.

Then:

“You know . . . “ Jungkook began again.

Your eyes locked on his; this time you were the one searching.

“I really like being your friend,” he mumbled before he tucked his bottom lip under his teeth.

A smile found its way onto your face. It was warm. It was pure. It was what you both needed. “I really like being your friend, too,” you agreed softly.

And perhaps, truly, in some weird, obscure way, the two of you had met again as strangers who became friends. Perhaps this time you would stay friends.

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oddinary4bts · 1 year

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The Forgotten Spaces | ch 3 (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there will be mature content in later chapters)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆warnings: still fighting (sorta?), a little bit of fluff, alcohol consumption, weed smoking, angst, throwing up, cursing

☆word count: 10.2k

☆series masterpost here

☆a/n: new chapter babyyy! As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her help on this fic <3 best beta reader out there

☆Read What Was Hidden here, the fic that inspired this whole story, written by @daechwitatamic, one of my fav human beings on this app <3 It follows the story of Jo and Taehyung before The Forgotten Spaces

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, May 5th

Jungkook feels anxious. He hasn’t felt anxious like that since the last time he performed on a stage. Even coming here yesterday didn’t feel as bad – maybe because you were the only one waiting for him, and he can’t bring himself to be anxious when it comes to you.

But right now, he knows the full crew is waiting for him, and it feels as if he’s getting crushed by the weight of the universe, like Atlas when he was given the heavens to hold. He wishes he could just turn around and leave, but he made a deal.

He’s not the type to betray his words. So he forces one step in front of the other, even as his leg is killing him, as if it too knows what he’s going to do.

He reckons it’s been hurting since he danced yesterday. But it felt relieving to be dancing for the first time since the accident. Even if it was with you, it felt like coming home.

Maybe because it was with you, in all truth. He knows you’ve never liked each other, but to him it’s always been that kind of relationship where you tease someone because you can. Yes, he once thought you were an entitled rich brat, but he’s known better for years now.

He still feels bad for fighting with you yesterday. But when his leg hurt, he was just taken back to the night of the car crash, and he felt far too vulnerable for his own good.

You’re the last person he wants to be vulnerable in front of.

You haven’t replied to his texts last night. He wasn’t really expecting you to, and he only texted you in the first place because Hobi asked him to do it. Something about making amends, but he didn’t really pay attention to it.

Jungkook sighs as the studio appears in front of him. He’s dreamed of this place for over a year now, and even if he came yesterday, it still feels unreal to see it. To think not all of the world has changed. Maybe he did, maybe he’s changed to the point of no return, but it’s reassuring to see that not everything has.

Like his relationship with you, for instance.

It’s warm today. The sun is about to set, painting the sky in thousands of golden hues, and he has half a thought to stop and admire, maybe snap a picture or two. To breathe for a time, and remember that whatever happens, the sun always rises and sets the next day.

But he has people waiting for him. Friends he avoided for over a year because he’s ashamed of what he’s become.

The thought sobers him up a little, until watching the sunset seems more like it’ll lead to him thinking about stuff he shouldn’t think about. So he heads straight towards the entrance, and thinks of something he could say to rile you up.

Riling you up always makes him feel better after all.

To his surprise, and perhaps even disappointment, you’re not here when he reaches the studio. The five others are, and Hobi informs him that you’re stuck at a family dinner when he notices him scanning the room for you.

Jungkook mumbles that he doesn’t care, before turning towards Heather and Jiho. Heather has a sad pitiful look on her face, and Jiho is holding in a smile. As for Jiho, he knows you probably told him about your fight last night, and Jiho’s always been like a smaller version of you. His eyes go back to Heather, and he’s pretty sure Bridget already told her what happened, and he can only hope she won’t say anything.

He doesn’t really want the crew to know about his leg. Of course, Hobi knows, but Hobi also promised not to tell anyone last year when Jungkook was forced to quit.

So, it’s without you that Jungkook starts to teach everyone the choreography you chose yesterday. He doesn’t dance as much as he did with you, and he does his best not to look at Heather whenever his steps falter. He doesn’t want to see her pity.

It’s mostly the fear of that pity that made him quit without telling anyone. That, and the fact that he doesn’t want to see you satisfied. Because he’s always thought that you would be happy to know he was hurt and couldn’t dance anymore. Something in the way you always frown or glare at him gives it away.

It’s almost ten when you finally join, cheeks flushed red from the fact you had to run from home, as you complain as soon as you arrive. Even if he thought about how to rile you up earlier, Jungkook’s brain is completely empty when you arrive.

So all he can do is nod in acknowledgment before looking away. He sees your frown in the mirror, and it almost makes him smile.

“We’ve been practicing the first part of the choreography while we were waiting for you,” he says, gauging the waters.

“I said I was going to be there at ten,” you let out, looking at Hobi.

Hobi raises his hands in defense.

It makes Jungkook chuckle. “Don’t worry, you’ll just have to stay here longer tonight.”

Your frown turns into a scowl, and your cheeks are not only red because of running now. You’re angry, and probably a little embarrassed. Exactly where he likes you to be.

“I don’t see why, I practiced with you last night,” you point out.

Everyone’s watching the conversation unfold like it’s a tennis match, turning their head from you to him whenever one of you say something. It makes an amused smirk grow on Jungkook’s lips.

“Alright then, show us what you’ve got.” It’s a challenge, and he sends it your way by finally fully facing you. Maybe he shouldn’t have, because he’s struck once again with how much you changed since last year.

Your hair frames your face differently now, and your features look sharper, as if you’ve lost the baby face he’s always known. Your eyes hold the same daggers though, and he thinks about last night.

He doesn’t remember seeing you as furious as you were last night. He’s pretty sure you were extremely close to killing him on the spot, and the thought of it calms him down a little. His relationship with you is fragile as it is, no need to rile you up in front of everyone.

He’s taken aback by his own thought – has he become more mature without even realizing it?

“Bet,” you let out, before glancing once at Jiho.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the way you roll your eyes and Jiho laughs, hiding it behind her hand. It makes him feel stupid, but it’s too late to make you back down from the challenge. If there is one thing he knows about you, it’s that you’re just as competitive as he is.

Maybe even a little more.

“Just turn the music up,” you say nonchalantly as you meet Jungkook’s gaze again.

Your eyes are shining with mischief and it makes a genuine smile grow on his lips. He’s not surprised at all when you reproduce the choreography perfectly. No, he just watches you move – he’s always liked the way your body moves. As if the space surrounding it belongs to it. As if you can’t be contained by your physical body. It’s beautiful, and he believes you are the best dancer he’s ever seen, except maybe for Hobi.

And himself, back before the accident.

But watching you leaves no place for the accident. All he can think of is that you’ve grown more beautiful while he was gone, as if his absence has given you space to grow. And maybe it has, considering that he was always gently bullying you.

He has half a thought that he should stop doing it. Bullying you, that is. But when you stop dancing and you regard him with a superior look on your face, he just wants to remind you that without him you wouldn’t have been able to dance this choreography at all. He doesn’t quite feel like insulting you though, so instead he says, “Glad you were paying attention last night”.

You look smug, and even though you’re way smaller than him you stand proud and tall. It’s cute, and he lets out a small laugh.

That small laugh is enough to shatter the confidence you are carrying yourself with. “What’s funny?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

You eye him suspiciously, before sighing loudly. “What’s the rest of the choreography anyway?”

That’s a question he has an easy answer to, though he thinks it’s better if you wait. Not you you, but all of the team. He wants the first part to be perfect before you dive into what comes next.

“Ah, let’s see you all dance together first,” he says.

The rest of the dance practice flies by, with Jungkook barely needing to guide you all through the choreography anymore. No, with Hobi and you leading the team, it takes little to no time until Jungkook can just sit in a corner and watch, while his mind keeps on planning what should be next. He has a couple of ideas that he’ll have to run through Hobi before telling the rest of you.

While you all dance together, Jungkook absentmindedly massages his leg. The throbbing pain is not so bad right now, but he knows it’ll be as soon as he gets up. Which might be the reason why he waits when Hobi calls dance practice off. Because he doesn’t want to get up in front of the crew, and have them look at him with the same pity Heather’s been throwing his way all night.

Unfortunately for him, Hobi, Jiho and you linger around. Surprisingly, you eventually drift towards him, leaving Hobi and Jiho to the conversation they’re having – something about their favourite restaurant, which coincidentally is the same. They both look excited, and he realizes he hasn’t seen Hobi smiling so much in a long time.

“Are you sulking in your corner?” you ask as you stop next to him.

You hover over him, and he tilts his head back to look up at your face. He wants to tell you to fuck off, only because he really doesn’t think he can get up right now without cursing like a sailor, and he knows you’ve noticed.

“You’ve got a problem against my corner?”

You cock an eyebrow, and a smile forms on your lips. “No, I was coming to tell you you should leave.”

It’s said gently. Not like you said it last night. Confusion falls on his features and he says, “Why?”

The look you throw over your shoulder to where Jiho and Hobi are standing explains everything. Jungkook’s gaze widens, and he lets out a small laugh.

“No way.”

You don’t know. You don’t know that his leg hurts, so he has no business being angry at you when you kick it. He just freezes, turning to solid ice, as he feels as if magma is dumped on his knee.

“Shut up,” you say, and the only reason you don’t realize you’ve just hurt him is because you’re still watching Jiho and Hobi. “Let’s leave them alone.”

Jungkook gulps, and he takes a deep breath to calm the pain in his leg. It doesn’t do much, and he knows he can’t stand up right now. He needs to find something to say, and quickly.

“Or we stay here and let them go together,” he suggests.

You put your fists on your hips as you look down at him. “Did you shit yourself? Is that why you don’t want to get up?”

He leans his head against the wall, tilting it to the side. “Why do you think I don’t want to get up?”

“Because you haven’t done it yet?”

He reckons he can’t wait any longer. Luckily enough, the small interlude his suggestion has given him has helped with the pain a little, so it doesn’t feel like too much of a challenge to get up.

He plants the right foot firmly on the ground, knowing damn well that if he’s to put weight on his left leg right now he’s just going to humiliate himself in front of you. And then he clenches his jaw so hard he tastes blood before pushing himself up, aiding himself with the wall next to him.

There’s a question burning on your lips. He knows it from the way your eyebrows are almost touching over your eyes. He knows by now that you’re not going to ask it – you’re suspicious about something, but he remembers you for being patient, when it comes to discovering secrets.

He’s always hated how you were able to know everything back then because you were just so patient. He’s pretty sure most of the crew confides in you out of the rest of the group, even though to him Hobi is the right choice. Who would want to confide in a gossiper when Hobi is right there anyway?

Jungkook stands with all of his weight on his right leg. You’re looking up at him now, and he likes that he towers over you: you’re not looking down when he’s standing next to you. You can’t see that he’s not risking putting any weight on his leg at the moment.

Sometimes, he knows he should walk with a cane. He knows it would help him, but to out himself as having a disability? He’s too ashamed to do it.

“Happy?” he asks instead, even as his heart is hammering against his ribcage.

You wet your lips, and his eyes flit to them. You’re smirking when he looks back at your gaze. “You’re adorable.” It’s said condescendingly though, and he wonders if you’re still angry about last night.

You don’t particularly look like you are, but he decides to apologize once more. He’s growing a little tired of all the fighting anyway.

“Hey,” he lets out. He glances over your head to where Hobi and Jiho are still talking, completely oblivious to the world around them. “I’m really sorry about last night.”

He sees you closing yourself off from him. You fold your arms on your chest, shoulders slouching forward a little, and a frown moves on your features. “It’s whatever, Jeon, I don’t care.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” he insists. “It was a little disgusting.”

“You’re always a little disgusting.”

Fucking hell do you know how to rile him up too. “You can’t accept some apologies, can you? You always need to have the last word.” You’re smiling. He realizes you’re smiling, which means you were joking. It makes him shut up, and a pout forms on his lips. “You’re annoying.”

“Apologize to me when you really mean it, Jeon,” you say, and that insufferable smirk hasn’t been dislodged from your lips yet. “We’re not friends, no need to pretend that we are.”

He keeps the pout on for no other reason than the fact you’re looking down at his mouth. “You make it very hard to know what you want,” he complains. “I’m just trying to be decent.”

“Just be yourself,” you say, shrugging your shoulders, as if him being nice to you is not being himself.

He lets go of the pout to play with his piercing for a time. “M’kay then.”

You nod, a satisfied look on your face. You glance at Jiho and Hobi once more, and he follows your line of gaze. “Let’s go now.”

He braces himself for the first step, because he knows there’s nothing he can do to make you change your mind. Surprisingly enough, it doesn’t hurt as bad as he thought it would, and he’s able to follow you. You stop in front of him to wish Jiho and Hobi good night, and he waves goodbye to them before following you out of the room.

“So Jiho’s into Hobi?” he asks once you are out of earshot from them.

You glance at him, shrugging your shoulders. “She might be.”

“I’m pretty positive she has a chance with him,” Jungkook says. “But gosh, after all this time they just now realize it?”

“I mean.” Your tongue darts to wet your lips as you reach the door leading to the world outside. “Some people just take a long time before they realize they have feelings for each other.”

It makes him laugh a little, because to him it doesn’t really make sense. He’s the type who’s always believed that when he’ll meet the right person, he’ll just know.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking.

“Right,” he lets out.

You step outside, and Jungkook breathes in the night air. It’s colder than it was when he arrived, and a little more humid. His damn leg starts to throb again, though it hasn’t really stopped since you kicked it. He ignores it, looking up at the sky to see if there are any stars out. To his disappointment, a cover of clouds hides the constellations from his eyes, and he lets his gaze drop to the cement of the road, and to the orange glow of the neon lights.

He’s put away his camera for the summer, just because he needs a break from college. Visual arts being his major, taking pictures has been feeling like a chore to him lately, but he’s struck that the street is giving an eerie vibe right now, one he knows he’d be able to capture well.

“You know,” you let out, words loud enough to dim the sounds of frogs in the distance. “As much as I hate your guts, I’m glad that you’re back.”

You have a way of lacing insult to compliment that makes him reel inside. He doesn’t know how to interpret the feeling, so he just says, “Your ass needed saving, I’m glad I could provide”.

“I did not need saving,” you grumble. “Just some help.”

He cocks an eyebrow, glancing at you with a no-bullshit look on his features. “What part of the choreography did you come up with again?” he asks teasingly.

“The part where you shut the fuck up.”

He bursts out laughing, and he’s surprised when you join in too. It reminds him that he’s known you for a long time, and even if you’ve never really been friends, you do share some sort of a relationship. Enough so that you can laugh at a dumb joke together.

“Wow, my bad,” he says once he stops laughing.

You look at him, and the proud smile on your lips makes him go brain dead for a few seconds. “Nah, for real, the crew really needed you. I’m glad you came through.”

He holds your gaze, features falling serious as your smile melts into a softer one.

“I’m glad I did too.”

He really is. It feels like he’s in heaven, being able to participate in the act of dancing again. Not by doing it himself, but by having people do what he wishes he could do. It really does feel like coming home.

You walk in silence for a time, listening to the cry of the frogs. It grows louder as you near the small river where they reproduce each year. It reminds Jungkook of spring, and it strikes him how much he’s progressed since last year.

Indeed, at this time of the year last year he was still in his cast.

“Do you think you’ll want to dance again one day?” you ask.

It’s said in a small voice, and he knows you’ve gathered by now that dancing is a sensitive subject to him. He likes how you’re being gentle with it, and maybe that’s the only reason why he doesn’t get offended with the question.

“I never really wanted to stop,” he admits. “Stuff just happened and I couldn’t anymore.”

He’s speaking in the past tense, as if he can dance now. He knows damn well that’s impossible.

“You know, if you ever need to talk to someone about the stuff that happened, we’re all ears for you,” you tentatively say.

It kills the magic of the moment to him. The fact you used “we” instead of “I”. It reminds him that you truly aren’t really friends, and that you won’t ever be friends either.

“I know,” he just replies, and silence reigns around you once more.

Except for the frogs, that is.

You reach the bridge over the river, and the frogs are so loud here it doesn’t really allow for conversation anyway. But even once you’ve crossed the bridge, nearing the intersection where you’ll have to part ways, you both don’t talk.

Jungkook doesn’t think you need to. Silence with you is strangely more comfortable than a conversation. Maybe because then you’re not at each other’s throat all the time.

You near the intersection, and it’s then that you talk again. “How are you getting home?”

He motions towards the bus stop. “I’ll just take the bus.”

You nod, and he watches you as you put your hair behind your ear absentmindedly. “How long of a ride is it for you?”

He shrugs. “I’ve never really paid attention. Maybe forty-five minutes?”

“Oh,” you let out. “I can order a Lyft for you, if you want.”

Your kindness sounds suspiciously like pity, so he declines it right away. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll just listen to some music and think about the choreography. I think I can tweak some parts of the first half to make Scottie use more of his shoulders.”

You hum. “Alright then. Guess I’ll see you around?”

You’ve reached the intersection by now, so Jungkook nods. “See you.”

You hold his gaze for a few more seconds before you nod too, turning around as you start walking towards the rich neighbourhood where you live. If he was closer to you, Jungkook would offer to walk you home. It feels like it’s too much though, so he settles on watching you walk away as he sits at the bus stop.

He’s halfway home when he receives a text.

[12:34 am] You🙄: i’m sure the rest of the choreography will be great

He smiles for the rest of the way home.

Friday, May 18th

You have been watching your phone for the last hour. It’s been suspiciously silent all morning, even though your dad was supposed to call you on Facetime an hour and a half ago. You’re used to him being late – he’s one of the most renowned lawyers of a big city on the other side of the country. It keeps him very busy, but when he says he’s going to call you he usually does.

So, needless to say, you’re a little annoyed as you watch the minutes go by. You’re on your fourth episode of Attack on Titan when you receive a text, and surprisingly it’s not from your father. You pause the episode, waiting until the text disappears at the top of the screen as if it means it never existed.

You still have yet to save Jungkook’s number. You don’t really want to: you still expect him to disappear once again, and since your fight last week you’ve been a little iffy about him.

Or maybe you’re iffy because you’ve noticed he was in pain last Saturday, trying to pretend he was fine. You have a couple of hypotheses as to why he’s left now, but you’re trying not to think about it too much.

You don’t like thinking about Jungkook.

You sigh, before going to your text messages. You’ve long deactivated the ‘read’ function, so you don’t care: you immediately open his text.

[11:36 am] unsaved number: hey, any chance i could run what i’ve got through u before showing it to the crew tmrw?

You’re appalled, somehow, that he wants to run it through you when he can show Hobi instead. You’re about to tell him so when your phone starts vibrating from your dad’s incoming call. You pick up the call, and your father’s face appears.

He’s sporting his best apologetic smile, and you can see the sun painting his wall behind him. It’s earlier where your father is, and the sun is still far from its zenith, which means it hits the glass doors of your father’s balcony almost perpendicularly now.

“Sorry,” he immediately apologized. “Had a call with a client and couldn’t call you before.”

You’ve missed his voice. You haven’t talked to him in two months, and even though it’s been years of him having moved to the other side of the country, some part of you is still not used to the distance.

“No worries,” you say. “The semester is over now, I’ve just been chilling in my room since I woke up.”

“Don’t you have an internship this summer?”

You let out a small laugh at the stern look on his features. As if he has any authority over you whatsoever. “Yes, it starts at the end of May.”

He nods. “Thought so.” He looks away from the camera, and you think you hear some birds singing. He probably left the balcony doors wide open, enjoying the warmth of the Californian early morning. Last time you went he had gotten a few bird feeders, saying he loves to hear them sing in the morning. The peaceful expression on his features tells you he still does. “What are your plans until then?”

You shrug, and a little like he just did, you look away, towards your own window. It’s sunny outside for you too, though it stopped raining only half an hour ago. You hope it won’t rain again today – it’s been raining way too much lately anyway.

“Just taking it easy,” you answer. “Practicing for the auditions for nationals in July.”

He smiles. “Right. How’s that been going?”

You know there’s a high chance he doesn’t really care. He’s never shown up for any of your dance competitions growing up, and it used to make you feel horrible. Until you were old enough to realize your mother treated him poorly, and being away from her for a few days was always a reprieve to him.

It hasn’t changed now that they are divorced, even if your mother stopped coming to your competitions too.

“It’s been great,” you say. “We’re adjusting to being only six and it’s a challenge, but I think we’ll make it.”

“Haven’t you always just been six?”

He doesn’t remember. You don’t know why he would remember: you only mentioned Jungkook leaving to him once last year when the deed happened, and then did your best to forget all about Jeon Jungkook.

You chuckle. “No, we’ve always been seven. Until Jungkook left last year?”

“Jungkook?” he asks.

“Tall guy, with the sleeve of tattoos and a couple of piercings?” you provide, though you doubt it’ll ring a bell to your father. “He joined the crew at the same time as I did.”

Which almost coincides with the month your parents divorced, actually.

“I feel bad for not remembering, but that’s probably because he didn’t matter, uh?” he says it like a joke, and you roll your eyes playfully.

“He doesn’t,” you agree. Only, he does a little, especially now that he’s become the choreographer.

Especially now that he thinks he has to run the dances through you before showing them to the other members.

“Why did he leave anyway?” your father asks, and he once again glances away from the screen.

You wonder if his new wife is around. From the lack of a three-year-old’s screaming, you assume she went out to the park with their son. Is he looking outside because he’s expecting them to come back soon?

“I don’t know,” you reply. You shrug, even if your father is not looking at you right now. “He’s come back to be the choreographer now, though.”

That attracts your father’s attention again. “Wow, a choreographer. Your crew is getting big, isn’t it?”

He’s only partly listening. Because you’re not quite sure he understood what you just said, but it doesn’t matter.

He’s not really your father anyway.

“Well, we’ll see if we can win nationals.”

“Where are they held this year?” he asks, and he sounds genuine. As if he might be considering coming.

“Some place near here”, you inform him. “In Chicago two hours away.”

Chicago is the city where he used to take you when you were a kid to see the Christmas decoration. It was something you did just you two, and to this day it is still one of your favourite memories of him.

He’s not your father. Biologically, that is. But he’ll always be your dad, no matter how many miles separates you from him.

“Ah, why did I think it was in California?”

“Because you’ve been wanting them to be in California for the last three years?” you tease.

It makes him laugh, which brings a bright smile to your lips. “They’ve been on the East coast for years now, shouldn’t they come to my side of the country?”

You purse your lips, looking up as if pondering. “Maybe you should be the one coming.”

The suggestion dims the light in your father’s eyes. You know he associates this side of the country with your mother, and with a lot of bad memories. You don’t blame him – she did hide from him and you that you aren’t his biological daughter until you found out yourself through some genetic testing when you were sixteen.

“I’ll think about it,” and it’s synonym to no. You know him well enough. He’s quick to change the subject too. “Do you think you’ll be visiting this summer?”

You haven’t really planned to. Something about seeing him with his wife and son always makes you feel awful. And it makes you feel even worse that you’re jealous of his happiness, that you’re jealous your family life cannot be like that. He deserves it after everything your mother put him through.

You’re happy for him though. You can’t deny it. Even though you believed it was risky for him to have kids considering he’s a carrier of a Tay-Sachs disease gene. From what he’s told you, his son didn’t get the gene, which is a relief, but had you been him you wouldn’t have taken the risk.

“I don’t know,” you finally reply. “It depends how busy it gets with the internship and dance practice.”

He’s disappointed, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows how hard it is for you to come, so he mostly asks out of reflex. He’ll never put pressure on you to do it.

“We’re back!” a cheery woman’s voice says.

You reckon it’s risky for her to scream in the house like that when your father might have been on a call with a client, but love makes people stupid.

He greets her and their son, before resuming his attention on you. “I’ll have to go.”

You wish he wouldn’t have to, but you don’t really have anything else to tell him anyway. So you offer him your best excuse of a warm smile, and a moment later you’ve hung up.

It brings you back to the text conversation with Jungkook, and the unanswered message he sent you. You sigh, and maybe if you weren’t feeling sadly nostalgic about your father, you would have told him to run it through Hobi instead.

For some reason, Jungkook feels like a good distraction though, so you reply,

[11:58 am] You: if u can pull up at the studio some time this evening, yeah sure

He replies almost right away, as if he was waiting for you to text him.

[11:59 am] unsaved number: i’ll try to be there around 9😌

You’re annoyed that he chose such a late hour, especially considering you are supposed to meet up with Jiho for girl’s night – aka clubbing and finding some strangers to kiss the night away. Though you reckon she probably doesn’t really want to kiss anyone now that she and Hobi have started to talk.

[12:04 pm] You: depends how quick u are, i’m going out with jiho [12:05 pm] unsaved number: i promise i’ll be quick, i’ve got something tonight too

You have no idea why he suggested tonight then, but you don’t press him for an explanation. Mostly because you don’t really care, but also because you’re excited for girl’s night, especially considering you missed last week because Jiho had a family dinner.

You can just hope that Jungkook is right on time.

*****

You will kill him. You will murder Jeon Jungkook. You reckon you should have murdered him last week when you first wanted to – you would have been rid of him already.

No, you had to ask him to leave instead, and now he’s almost an hour late, and you have to meet Jiho at her house in twenty minutes. Her brother is coming with you, and he’s bringing his boyfriend, and you really want to meet the mysterious Felix.

Jeon Jungkook can go to hell.

You texted him when he was only ten minutes late. You know it takes him a long time to get here, so you just gave him the benefit of the doubt at first. But now it’s getting far too late for it to just be the bus, and your blood is positively boiling, enough so that you text Jiho.

[9:49 pm] You: what if we change plan tonight to murder jk😤 [9:50 pm] Jiho❣️: omg i was gonna text u [9:50 pm] Jiho ❣️ hobi sent me this

She forwards a video to you. You furrow your eyebrows before clicking on the video, and loud music blasts out of your phone. You quickly turn the volume down, even if you’re alone in your small studio, and you focus on the screen. It looks like a living room, though the light bulbs have been changed to red. The video starts by showing off Hobi’s face as he’s smiling, and then he starts laughing and turns the camera around.

Jeon Jungkook is shotgunning a beer in the middle of the living room, not caring that half of it spills on the floor. You don’t watch the rest of the video, immediately going back to texting Jiho.

[9:51 pm] You: is he at a FKG PARTY????? [9:52 pm] Jiho❣️: seems like it🙄 [9:52 pm] Jiho❣️: Hobi invited us and sent the vid [9:52 pm] Jiho❣️: i don’t think he knows jk was supposed to go to the studio [9:52 pm] You: HOLD ON?!😳 [9:53 pm] You: hobi invited us??? or invited u😏

Jiho sends a bunch of shy emojis, before adding:

[9:53 pm] Jiho❣️: he knows we’re going out tonight, so us [9:54 pm] Jiho❣️: he might have said he wants to see me tho☺️🫣

You shriek. Loud and clear, and you almost forget how angry you are at Jeon Jungkook. No, if you go to that party, it’s to make sure Jiho and Hobi get together. Jungkook can go fuck himself.

[9:55 pm] You: BITCH HE SAID WHAT [9:55 pm] You: I SHIP THIS SO HARD😍 [9:56 pm] You: is he cool with sungie and his bf coming too?🤔

Jiho takes a moment before replying, long enough that you decide to leave the studio. It’s clear that Jungkook is not going to come anyway, and you’d rather shriek with Jiho than at your phone. Whatever you did last week probably worked if Hobi wants to see her now.

You’ve never been so happy for your best friend in your whole life.

You walk quickly, happy that you chose platform boots for tonight. Jiho’s platform boots, to be precise. You’ve paired them with knee-high socks, a black skirt and a pink corset that hugs your body perfectly. For now, it’s hidden under an oversized gray sweater, and you walk with your head hung low.

It occurs to you as you near the bridge that you should have taken a Lyft to go home, because it’s late and you’re a woman. Luckily though, you don’t see anyone until you get to your neighbourhood, and then you just see a couple walking hand in hand. They offer you a smile that you reciprocate awkwardly, and a few minutes later you finally arrive at Jiho’s house.

Jiho, Jisung and an unknown blond-haired guy are sitting on the porch, and Jiho jumps to her feet as soon as she sees you.

“Bitch?” you say as a way of greeting, right as she jumps in your arm. “He wants to see you?”

She’s nodding happily, but she remains silent.

“She hasn’t shut up about it in the last twenty minutes,” Jisung puts in. “I think I’ll kill her before we even reach that lame ass frat party.”

“The only thing lame here is your attitude,” Jiho throws at her brother as she pulls away from the hug. “That, and Jeon Jungkook,” she adds, looking at you now.

You roll your eyes, but you’re not going to let the mention of him ruin your night. Not when Hobi and Jiho are on the line.

You reckon you don’t even care that Jungkook is at the party. You don’t care that he stood you up, but you’re still going to give him shit for it, aren’t you?

“Let’s not think about this asshole,” you say. And then you move closer to where Jisung and Felix are standing, and you wave to the latter. “Hi, I’m Y/n.”

He smiles and he replies with the deepest voice you’ve heard in your entire life. “Nice to meet you. These two had lots of stuff to say about you.”

You eye Jisung and Jiho suspiciously. “Good things, I hope?”

They look sheepish, and Jisung says, “I might have mentioned the vodka incident”.

“Sung-ie!” you yelp. “It was one time, like eight years ago! Did you tell him about that time we found you naked in a snowbank? You could have died.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Felix lets out, and Jisung charges towards you, probably with the goal of killing you.

It makes you scream as you run away, but he grabs you before you’ve reached the end of the driveway. He picks you up, arms wrapped around your middle, and you kick the air in front of you as you laugh loudly, something between snorting and shrieking. It’s a disgustingly childish sound, and it’s probably way too loud for the peaceful neighbourhood.

Jisung puts you down, even though he probably considered throwing you first, and you spin around with the intention to shove him, but he’s already moved away.

“Do you know the amount of embarrassing stories I can tell about you?” you say, just to be a little brat.

He’s flushed red, and he says through gritted teeth, “Please, not in front of…” he trails off, motioning towards Felix with his head.

“I’m sure Felix wants to know all the embarrassing stories, do you?” you ask towards the guy, and Jisung is running towards you again.

You dodge this time, and he almost falls before you both burst out laughing as Felix just watches with a soft smile on his lips.

“Are they always like this?” he asks Jiho.

She nods. “You put two idiots together and it’s bound to happen.”

“I’m sorry what!” you burst out in time with Jisung, and the group all laughs.

It’s in this childish atmosphere that you all filter into the Lyft Jiho ordered once you arrived, and you talk and laugh together. Turns out that Felix is Australian, and you all tease him for his accent. It’s probably something that Jiho and Jisung have been doing a lot, because he looks at you for salvation until you repeat “naur” in your best Australian accent imitation.

You feel sixteen again, and it’s healing, somehow. For what, you don’t know. Maybe because talking to your father this morning felt nostalgic, and Jiho and Jisung are reminding you that you do have your own family.

The Lyft drops you in front of a house. It’s not on campus, so it’s probably not a frat house. It feels like one though, considering the booming music you can hear even though the windows are closed. You think of the video Hobi sent, and of Jungkook shotgunning a beer.

If there is a frat thing to do, shotgunning a beer seems like it’s at the top of the list. Especially when it’s not done well because, truth be told, you don’t think frat bros are good when it comes to drinking alcohol. They just tend to overdo it all the time, until they’ve made a fool out of themselves. It seems Jeon Jungkook is not an exception.

“So, are we going in?” Felix asks, and a chorus of “saur” answers him.

He’s the kind of person that has an easy laugh though, because he just bursts out laughing in time with you all. You all move towards the house still, and you figure you don’t need to knock to open the door.

As soon as the door opens, the music volume goes up, and you wince as you glance at Jiho. “Never took Hobi for a frat bro.”

She rolls her eyes, laughing a shy laugh. “You know he’s not a frat bro.”

“This is a frat party,” you say, loudly because you’ve moved inside and you don’t think she’ll be able to hear you.

“This is a house party,” she replies. “It’s not the same thing.”

You roll your eyes at her, and then the living room comes into view. It’s not as full as you thought it would be, but there’s still a small crowd gathered around the room. You recognize some of the people because you’ve seen them last week. Bridget and Jo are there, along with Hobi and Jungkook’s friends. There are a few people you’ve never seen before – and you see a couple disappearing downstairs, closing the door behind them.

It makes you laugh, right as Jo and Bridget notice you. Jo waves you over, and you link your arm with Jiho to pull her towards the girl. For now, Hobi and Jungkook are out of sight, so you figure greeting Jo and her friends is the most important thing to do.

You’ll kill Jeon Jungkook later, after you’ve made sure Jiho is all set with Hobi.

“Hey girls!” Jo greets you when you stop next to her. She giggles drunkenly, and you reckon she’s probably a couple of shots in already.

Taehyung is nearby, so you’re not worried about her.

“What’s up?” you ask as you loosely hug her and Bridget.

You’re pulling away from Bridget’s hug when Heather appears. Her cheeks are flushed red with alcohol, and she wraps an arm around your neck and Jiho’s neck to pull you into a tight group hug, shrieking something incoherent.

She’s clearly indulged in alcohol a lot already.

Bridget pulls her off you two, and you all laugh as Heather mumbles an apology.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” she says with her slurred speech.

Bridget winces, before looking at Jo. “You need to stop making everyone drink so much.”

“The semester is over, let us have fun.”

Bridget laughs, shaking her head. “You’ve been dating Tae for what, two weeks? And you’re already changing into a party girl. Kiko is never going to talk to you again.”

Jo pouts. “Kiko loves me, I’m all good.”

You have no idea who Kiko is, so you glance at Jiho. She’s moved to let her brother and Felix into the circle, and she starts introducing them both to everyone. It seems it’s an opportunity for shots, because Jo links her arm with yours to bring you into the kitchen, claiming she’ll need help with the shots. You follow because you like her, and partying with her again sounds like a good time indeed.

You’re halfway done pouring shots for everyone when the door leading to the backyard opens, and Jimin, Hobi and Jungkook come in. They’ve got bloodshot eyes, and it’s easy to figure out what they were doing out there.

You stop pouring as Jimin sees you first, and his mouth falls open in surprise, before moving into a warm grin. He says your name, and he moves towards you.

“How are you?” he asks you, and he lets out a small laugh as if that was the most clever thing he’s said in his life.

Yeah, he definitely is high.

You haven’t talked to him a lot, since you saw him at the bar two weeks ago. He dmed you on Instagram, like he had said he’d do, but the conversation had just naturally died. It had been a friendly conversation though, and you’re happy to see him tonight.

“Clearly not as baked as you, but I’m good,” you reply, and you resume pouring the shots as Hobi and Jungkook just watch you.

They start laughing, which you reckon makes you laugh a little too. It’s awkward, and Jo just surveys the scene with a small knowing smile on her lips.

You’re forced to pour three more shots for the boys – even Jungkook, and you only do it because Jo glares at you when you frown as she motions at him. Jungkook is still just standing in the spot he stopped when he saw you, and he’s got a dumb smile on his lips.

You don’t know if you like the smile. But it’s sort of cute, and better than the infuriating smirk he’s mastered when he’s around you.

When all the shots are ready, you carry them all on a tray back to the living room. Jo helps you in handing them out to everyone, and a moment later everyone downs their shot. You wince at the taste of tequila, and you feel a pair of eyes on you that make your blood curdle inside.

It’s Jungkook, and even though you didn’t mind him in the kitchen, you’re suddenly reminded that he stood you up tonight. You’re going to need a lot more alcohol if you’re to confront him, so you pull Jisung and Felix behind you to the kitchen so you can mix yourself a drink. You settle on gin and tonic while Jisung makes two rum and coke for him and his boyfriend, and then you’re on your way back to the living room when Jungkook appears in front of you. You stop, which makes Jisung bump into you, which makes you spill your drink a little on Jungkook.

He looks down at the wet spot on his shirt, and then up at your face. Even in the red light of the living room, you can still see his blown-wide pupils, and they search your features for a few seconds before going to your drink.

“If you wanted me to take off my shirt you could have just asked,” he says.

“What the fuck?” Jisung lets out. “Isn’t that the dude that ghosted the dance crew?”

You turn toward Jisung, eyes widened in warning. He takes the cue, and he grabs Felix by the arm to guide him around Jungkook and towards the living room.

“That was an accident,” you say once Jisung and Felix are gone. “The last thing I want to see is you with your shirt off.”

He laughs. It sounds more like a giggle – it’s not a sound that a tall guy with piercings and a sleeve of tattoos should make. You’ve heard it plenty of times before though, and tonight it rings differently.

Instead of getting on your nerves, you find it a little cute. Which disgusts you so bad you scowl.

“Damn, all this working out for nothing,” he jokes. He looks down at your glass once more, before finding your gaze. “What are you having?”

You’re sick of the conversation. You’re sick of your little brain thinking Jungkook was cute a second ago, so you say, “Why did you stand me up?”

He has the decency to look apologetic. “My plans started earlier. I texted you, no?”

“You didn’t?”

He seems really confused, with a pout moving on his lips as he grabs his phone in a pocket of his black cargo pants. He looks down at the device, blinking a few times as if to bring his screen into focus. And then he bursts out laughing and he shows you his phone.

“I’m so fucking dumb,” he says in between two sets of laughter. “I forgot to press send.”

Somehow, that is such a Jungkook thing to do that you can’t really bring yourself to be angry at him. No, you really have the proof under your eyes, so all you are is a little annoyed, but you’re not furious like you were back at the studio.

“Gosh,” you let out. “I waited for you for an hour.”

His face falls as he pouts again, big eyes turning apologetic. “I’m so sorry. I can show you the choreography here, though.” He says that looking around, scanning the living room as if he’s making sure there’s enough room. He then seems to reconsider, shaking his head a little. “Well, maybe not in front of everyone.”

“It can wait,” you tell him, and you sip your gin and tonic as you notice Jiho and Hobi talking behind him.

“No.”

Jungkook’s little objection brings your attention back to him. “What do you mean, no?”

“We can go upstairs and I can show you in my room.”

You let out a disbelieved laugh. “You live here?”

“Yes,” he says as he nods enthusiastically. “With Jin, Jimin and Taehyung.”

You don’t know the first guy, but you still purse your lips. “Interesting”.

There’s a small silence as you once again sip on your gin and tonic. Jungkook is watching you carefully, as if he’s growing impatient with the silence, and you cock an eyebrow at him.

“So?”

“So what?” you ask.

“Can we go upstairs so I can show you?”

Another disbelieved laugh falls from your lips. “I’m not going upstairs to your room with you.”

He pouts again, like he’s a child and not a grown-ass man. It contrasts deeply with the piercing on his lips, and it makes you feel weird inside. You don’t like it, and you chase the feeling away with a long sip this time.

“Please?” he asks. “I’ve really wanted to show you.”

You roll your eyes. “Just do it here,” you suggest. “Or outside, I don’t care.”

“But you spilled your drink on my t-shirt!” he insists. “You owe that to me, don’t you think?”

You clench your jaw. He is annoying, far too annoying. But he doesn’t seem like there’s any chance you’ll let it go, and if he really wants to show you, then what’s wrong with going up to his room?

You ask yourself that question at least a thousand times by the time it takes to go from the hallway leading to the kitchen and up to his room. You look back once as you walk up, mostly because you’re afraid someone will see you. You’re relieved when you see no one looking, and you quickly follow Jungkook until you’re out of sight.

You let out a sigh of relief, until Jungkook stops in front of you and you bump into him, spilling even more of the gin and tonic on him.

It takes a few seconds for you to realize he stopped because Jo is in front of him, and the moment she sees you her mouth falls open and she lets out a loud laugh.

“Wow,” she lets out.

“It’s not what you think,” you immediately defend yourself, though you reckon it makes it look a lot more suspicious.

“I just need to show her something,” Jungkook mumbles, with that same pout he’s been using for a while now.

Jo hums. “Right.” She looks at you, before walking around Jungkook. She’s starting to walk down the stairs when she says, “Have fun”.

You take it back. You’re not sure you like her anymore.

You reluctantly follow Jungkook to his room, and you only realize then how warm you’ve been. Because his room is blissfully cool, and the purple LED lights you’ve seen when he called you on Facetime the other day make for a good reprieve for your eyes.

You’re surprised to see his bed is neatly made, and there’s not a single piece of clothing on the floor. For some reason, you’ve always thought he’d be a messy person, but no, his room is pristine. He has a gaming set-up in one corner, and the RGB lights move from purple to light blue in a hypnotizing wave.

And then, you almost drop your red solo cup as Jungkook pulls his shirt off while taking a few steps towards a dresser. The muscles of his back work under his skin as he rummages in a drawer to find a new shirt after having put the wet one in a hamper. He holds a t-shirt up triumphantly, and he turns towards you with the biggest smile on his face.

The front of his body looks just as good as the back, but your eyes stop on a gash on his stomach. A scar, with jagged edges that almost look painful to the touch. It starts on his side and goes down until it disappears in his pants, almost following the V-line shaped muscle to the millimeter.

He doesn’t notice your look. Or if he does he doesn’t care, because he just puts the shirt on, until his skin disappears from you.

That scar didn’t use to be there. There’s no chance in hell it would have gone unnoticed.

“So, I might be a little too drunk and high to perform well,” Jungkook says, as if you’re not looking at him with a horrified gaze, “but I think we could…” He furrows his brows. “Is something wrong?”

You don’t know what to say. You just shake your head no, before mumbling, “Sorry, go on”.

He doesn’t seem like he wants to let it go, but then he shrugs. “You know how the rhythm of the song slowly changes? I think we could use that to make a cool bridge.”

He pulls out his phone, before moving to a small speaker on his night table. He turns the speaker on, and a few seconds later the song starts to play. He starts dancing but stops way before he reaches the part he mentioned in the song.

“This is awkward,” he says, and he laughs. He pushes his hair back, eyes still boring through yours. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be showing you this here.”

“Jeon, I’ve seen you dance a thousand times before, you’re all good,” you say, encouraging him to continue.

“I don’t dance like I used to though,” he points out.

He’s right, but now that you’ve seen the scar you’re afraid the worst scenarios you’ve thought up might be true after all.

“If you’d rather wait until tomorrow then that’s okay too,” you suggest, offering him salvation.

He seems to ponder, and a disappointed look takes over his features. And then they just turn dark, filled with ghosts and demons. The same ones he was fighting last week a moment before your argument.

He sighs loudly, before sitting on the side of his bed. You still haven’t moved from your spot next to the door, and your red solo cup will soon be empty. You need to figure out something else to occupy yourself when the air turns awkward, because it sure does turn awkward now.

Jungkook clears his throat, and then he lets out a small bitter chuckle. “You saw the scar, uh?”

You can’t lie, so you just offer him a small, “Yeah”.

“That one is not even the worst one,” he admits. “I’ve got a big one on my leg, and a smaller one from the two surgeries to reconstruct my knee.”

Your heart is beating uncomfortably in your chest. You’re not sure Jungkook wants to be telling you this, and his defeated form makes you ache. You wish you could take the pain away, but all you can do is stand where you are and listen to him as he keeps on talking.

“We were in a car accident last year? I’m the one that got it the worst. It fucked up my leg. And I almost lost a kidney. The kidney is fine now but uh…” He runs a hand through his hair, and only then does he look at you. You wish he didn’t, because the pure look of despair in his eyes makes your throat constrict as a lump forms at the bottom of it. “That’s why I can’t dance anymore. I even had to relearn how to walk.”

He falls silent. The song is still playing, probably because Jungkook put it on repeat, but you reckon you haven’t paid attention to it since he started talking. You hold his gaze, and you can’t for the life of yourself find any hatred for him in you. Because you don’t know what you would do if dancing was taken away from you.

You would be devastated, that’s for sure.

“I…” you start, but you don’t find anything to say. “Wow, Jungkook.”

He looks down at the floor, and he massages his leg mindlessly. You noticed him doing it last week, but now you know why.

“A funny thing, though, is that I have some metal in my leg now? If I do an MRI it’s going to legit rip from my skin.”

There is absolutely nothing funny in that statement, and you just look at him blankly. “Jungkook…”

He scoffs now, and he sounds like a wounded animal. He is a wounded animal. “See, that’s why I didn’t want you all to know.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because you think I’m pathetic,” he snaps. “You look at me with that pitiful look on your face and I fucking hate it. It’s already hard enough to deal with the consequences of it all by myself, but having people pity me? It feels like shit.”

He’s getting worked up, and you don’t have time to say anything before he continues, “Like okay, my dream was taken away from me! But who fucking cares, you’re probably just happy because you’ve always hated me, and now you don’t have to deal with me anymore.” He hits his forehead with the side of his clenched fist, as if he needs to knock some sense into himself. “And Bridget told Heather and Heather’s been treating me like I’m a fucking child. Just because my leg is hurt doesn’t mean I’m a fucking child, you know.”

He glares at you, while you just watch with a widened gaze, your mouth a little open from the surprise of his outburst.

“And the worst part is, it hurts. All. The. Fucking. Time. I can’t even walk without it hurting, it hurts so bad some days I can’t even get out of bed. It’s been hurting more since I danced last week as if to say, ‘bro, don’t even dare doing something that you love’. It’s exhausting.”

There’s a small silence, and he’s breathing heavily. He’s really worked up now, and you’re still just watching without knowing what to do or say. Your red solo cup is entirely forgotten in your hand. You don’t think you’ve blinked since he started talking, and the horror of it all has not even fully hit you yet.

“I just want it to stop,” he continues. There’s an edge to his voice, and you realize he might just burst out crying then and there. “And I’m going to be sick.”

He’s barely finished saying the sentence that he bends over, throwing up right in front of his feet on the floor. That shakes you out of your trance, and you gag at the sounds he makes while he’s sick. You turn your head away from him, and you quickly fish your phone out of your sweater’s pocket. All you can think to do is text Jimin, and Jungkook is wiping tears on his cheeks when you glance back at him.

“Fuck,” he curses. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, but you know you’ve gone white. You’re not good with people being sick, and if you stay in this room just a moment longer you’ll be sick too. “It’s okay, Jungkook, you’re all okay.”

“I’m not though,” he says, and he hides his face in his hands.

You don’t like seeing Jeon Jungkook like this. You much rather prefer when he’s being a pain in the ass, as if his only purpose in this world is to be a prick to you. Now he just looks like a broken man, and nothing you’ve learned in your whole life has ever prepared you to deal you with such a situation, especially not one happening with him, the man you’ve always hated.

You’re lucky enough though. Someone knocks at the door, and you quickly pull it open. It’s Jimin, and he’s got a concerned look on his features. It just gets worse when he sees Jungkook, and his eyes dip to the puddle on the floor.

“Shit,” he curses. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” is all you can think to say.

“Can you go get Taehyung?” Jimin asks gently as he steps into the room.

You nod, because you really need to get away before you get sick too. Some part of you feels horrible to leave Jungkook behind but, for your own good, you need to go.

Call it preservation or something.

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☆☆☆☆☆

Oooooof poor Jungkook🥺☹️ I wish I could give him a good hug bc gosh he deserves it Sooo what did we think this week? Did we like it? Let me know!✨

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