Untitled

ideas:

Jungkook’s whatever birthday

Jungkook gets to select an alpha

Taehyung is in line

They fuck but Jungkook pretends not to like it, tells him to hurry up and cum fast

Tags: Body worship; enemas; foot fetish; royal and servant dynamic, prince Jungkook; omega Jungkook

Summary: On Fridays, Jungkook has a ritual: finish his work early, retire to his chambers, and prepare for his night with Taehyung. What started out as simply a part of his duties to produce an heir becomes something he looks forward to every week. But he tries not to show Taehyung how much he enjoys it.

-

They do this once a week. Usually, it’s on Fridays, after Jungkook’s busy week is concluded, when he has a moment to rest, and has the next day off. It’s best for him to have a day to recuperate from these nights. However, this week, it’s on Monday. Taehyung couldn’t make it on Friday; something had come up, apparently.

Jungkook shifts. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, hands tucked under his thighs. His cock is already fattening up in his pants, because there’s a ritual to this, and his body knows what to expect. That, and this is happening three days late. On Friday, coming back to his chambers and finally getting a moment alone, sending his caretaker away so that he can wash the day off and cleanse himself, get ready for bed, the usual, his body had come to expect it. The relief of the end of the week was always followed by the heady, sublime experience of Taehyung coming to the palace for his weekly duties. But on Friday, no one came. Jungkook went to bed that night gripping his silky sheets and rutting his hard cock against the mattress as he tried to fall asleep. He had lain awake for much longer than usual.

He feels the need to make up for it tonight. He had taken extra care with his preparation ritual, clearing his schedule after dinner, even though Mondays are typically one of his busiest evenings, when he has to review paperwork and letters that have piled up over the weekend. Instead, he retired to his chambers right after eating and sent his caretaker home.

“Are you sure?” he had asked, fingers twisting together as he stood there in the hall, unsure of what to do with his hands as they were suddenly no longer needed to do their single task of taking care of crown prince Jeon Jungkook.

“Yes,” Jungkook said. “I have my visitor coming tonight, and I would like to get ready alone, as always.”

His caretaker had left with a gracious bow.

To prepare, he began with a light shower, rinsing off the grime of the day. He set up a diffuser with some of his favourite essential oils, as well as a few drops of ylang-ylang, although that one isn’t particularly to his tastes. Still, it is a supposed aphrodisiac, and although it may be placebo, he finds himself more aroused when he uses it. It may also be because he includes it as part of his ritual.

Once he rinses himself off, he cleans himself out. This is the primary reason he likes to be alone for this. His caretaker has seen him in many compromising positions, but none like this. The first part is not so bad. He fills his enema bulb with lukewarm water and fills himself on the floor. He likes to do it on his side, with his leg raised up on the edge of the bathtub, a plush towel laid under him so that he isn’t lying on the cold tile. He has to stretch his arm back to pull the fat of his asscheek out of the way and uses lube to help the tip glide in. He closes his eyes as he fills himself, inhaling the soft, floral scent of the essential oils and listening to the hum of the fan above him. The warm water feels nice entering him. The next part is not so nice, but is a necessary evil. He used to grimace as he expelled, perturbed by the feeling of such a warm, watery movement and embarrassed by the gurgles of his stomach. But he’s gotten used to it, and now, as he does most things, he handles it with grace—or as much grace as possible, given the circumstances. He does this a few more times until the water runs clear.

After this, he takes another shower. It takes him over an hour. He washes himself thoroughly with lavender-scented body wash, using a loofah to exfoliate. He also exfoliates his heels and around the edges of his feet with a pumice stone, although they are already quite smooth given his tender lifestyle. He then shampoos and conditions his hair with products that smell like magnolias. He shaves with his safety razor, using a new blade each day, running his fingertips along the diamonds encrusted in the handle as he slicks the blade up his leg, reminding himself of his dignity and grace despite having just engaged in an activity that makes him feel shameful and dirty. His leg hair is sparse and always well-maintained, so there is never much hair to remove, but he takes care with it anyway, foaming up each leg and taking care with the blade to ensure no nicks or scrapes. He must be absolutely perfect. He shaves his groin and the strands of hair around his asshole with the same level of care. After this, he does the same with his armpits, and then finishes off with removing the few strands of hair growing on the tops of his big toes.

When he steps out, his body feels tender and pliant, as though his bones and muscles were dissolved in the heat of the shower. He towels himself off, using separate towels for his face and body, and a special microfiber one for his hair. Then he shaves his face in the lingering steam, the little coarse facial hair he has turned supple from the shower. He uses a different lotion for this face and body. The one for his face has no fragrance and contains ceramides to soothe any redness and make him look bright and young. The one for his body smells like peaches. He used to use an unscented one sometimes, but Taehyung has expressed a preference for this one.

I love fucking you when you smell like a princess.

Each time Jungkook applies this lotion, he recalls those words Taehyung had said to him, during one of their first nights together. He’d said it against his ear, chest pressed to Jungkook’s back, hand on his waist to keep him still and stop him from arching and wiggling as Taehyung pushed into his dripping hole. The memory of it still makes Jungkook shiver.

After all that, he stretches himself open. His asshole has had a chance to relax after the enema. He pops open the lube that he keeps in his bathroom cabinet specifically for this. Of course, he has a separate bottle of lube in his nightstand, which he poured into a pretty little pump bottle. It’s for easy access, because Taehyung likes to get Jungkook sopping wet.

He dims the lights when he does this part, because he only needs them at full brightness to ensure he’s removed all his hair. He sits on a towel—not the same one as before, but a fresh one—and spreads his legs, leaning back a bit so he can watch himself do this in the full-length mirror of his spacious bathroom. He dims the lights and rubs his lubed finger against his rim. He always begins with his middle finger. He bears down and feels his asshole pucker around his finger, and when he relaxes, it slowly pulls his fingertip into his body. Once he’s pressing against the inner ring, he breathes and looks at himself while he waits for his inner ring to relax. He takes in his long legs, perfectly smooth, his pretty feet, the soft soles and well-maintained toenails, his firm abdomen, a fold at his belly button in this bent position, and his soft chubby cock lying between his legs, resting over his pert balls, gently fattening up as he teases his hole. His hair needs some work at this stage. It rests flat on his head, slightly damp and mussed up from the towel, but not frizzy; the microfiber towel ensures that.

His toes curl when he slides the first finger past the inner ring. His body sucks it in, his greedy little hole already knowing what’s coming. Then he pushes a second in, holding them still and clenching, releasing, clenching around them until he can wiggle his fingers around. He rubs his walls, feeling the pillowy softness inside. Taehyung always tells him how soft and warm he is on the inside, how there’s no resistance, how Jungkook is a perfect little cockslut who takes it like he’s made for it.

Finally, he gets to the locked drawer: the final step of his showering routine. He had unlocked it earlier using the key he keeps in the top left drawer of his vanity table. No one goes through his vanity table, because he has so many products and is very particular about keeping them organized, keeping track of which ones are going to expire soon and keeping them separated by category—the lip drawer, the concealer drawer, the eyeliner drawer, which is, of course, separate from the eyeshadow and mascara drawer. There’s a false bottom in the top left drawer, where he keeps his perfumes. Under it, he keeps the key to this drawer in the bathroom, which contains his sex toys.

He removes his fingers from himself and reaches up to pull the drawer open and take out a buttplug. Of course, he has many, but he likes this one the best. He had it custom-made from a friend of a friend who lives outside the palace, among the general populace. Jungkook isn’t allowed out there alone, so he had passed a note to one of his cousins who has less status, and thus more freedom.

“Don’t open it,” Jungkook had said as he furtively slipped Hoseok the note.

“Don’t worry bro, I don’t wanna know what kinda custom gadget you’re having made. We’re close, but we’re not that close.”

The plug has a very wide neck that does a good job of keeping him open for Taehyung. Taehyung is very thick, so thick that the first night they shared together, they hadn’t been able to continue, because Jungkook couldn’t take it. Taehyung was very understanding and told him he could let the king know and find another bull for Jungkook, but Jungkook does not quit. He shook his head and told Taehyung to come back next week. Back then, he had thinner plugs that worked well enough, but they weren’t perfect. This new plug is pink tempered glass with a giant flared base. Jungkook had asked for it to be made this way, with specific measurements and all, and requested it to be pink Taehyung had said once that he liked when Jungkook dressed up pretty in pink for him.

He coats the plug in thick silicone lube and presses the blunt tip against his asshole. His hole immediately suctions onto it and he doesn’t need to push at all to get the plug halfway in. He breathes deeply, relaxing himself from the inside out as he gets closer to the widest part of the plug. A soft moan slips from his throat when the plug gets to the fattest part, stretching his asshole open wide before it pops into his rectum, his asshole clenching up around the fat base. It winks and twitches a few times. He wipes his fingers on the towel and holds his legs up from under the knees, admiring his handiwork. His pink hole is stretched tight around the plug, and even with the soft light refracting through the glass, he can see his open cavern and the way the lube drips all around his hole. His cock is already hard, and his body thrums in anticipation. But he still has more to do.

Once he’s cleaned all the lube and towels up, he steps out of the steamy bathroom and into the cool air of his room, with just a towel—again, fresh—wrapped around his waist. He had already selected his outfit, which he had laid out on the bed: a soft, loose-fitting t-shirt in baby blue, tight briefs that hug his hips, and a pair of tight black shorts that go only to the upper thigh. He used to wear a more proper outfit for these nights, with buttons and buckles and stiffer fabrics that made him look proper and princely, but Taehyung said he prefers when Jungkook is easily accessible. He comes here for a reason. There’s no need for fancy clothes.

Still, Jungkook likes to look good for Taehyung. He checks his appearance in the full-length mirror in his bedroom, toes wiggling in the soft carpet. He lifts his shirt up to check his ass, squeezing the plumpness with satisfaction. Taehyung loves this ass. Jungkook arches his back, appreciating the ripple of his lower back muscles and the way it makes his ass jut out. The position makes him feel a shot of arousal, because he always presents himself like this for Taehyung.

He does the final touches at his vanity table. He fixes his hair, styling it to frame his face nicely and show off his facial structure. He applies some lip balm, just a touch, to make them look pouty and kissable. Taehyung particularly likes Jungkook’s lips and often compliments the shape of them, how smooth and pink they are, how good they look wrapped around Taehyung’s cock.

Then Jungkook waits.

So here he is, sitting on the edge of his bed, fingers tucked under his thighs. Waiting. He glances at the clock. Taehyung should have been here five minutes ago. He wiggles around, feeling antsy. He looks at his toes, wiggles them on the carpet, and takes note that he isn’t wearing socks. He gets up and puts on a pair, the kind that go halfway up to the knee, because Taehyung expressed that he likes the way Jungkook’s feet look in socks, and he especially likes taking them off. Then he sits back in his spot and waits.

Finally, he hears the sounds he’s been waiting for. A murmur of voices down the hall, one coming from one of the guards on rotation, the other one deep and familiar and comforting. His thighs press together in anticipation as he hears the footsteps coming down the hall—just one pair. It used to be that the guards would escort Taehyung to Jungkook’s chambers, but they’ve been doing this long enough that he has been trusted to enter alone.

Then, the final step of the ritual—a knock at the door.

Jungkook’s entire body shudders. It knows what’s coming. Everything about this ritual has steadily gotten him into the headspace he is right now. His cock is fat and twitching in his briefs, and he is acutely aware of the deep, full sensation of his ass from the plug.

“Come in,” Jungkook says.

Taehyung is beautiful tonight, as always. His wavy black hair falls gracefully around his eyes, contrasting against his smooth, tan skin. He is wearing a black button-up shirt, neatly tucked into his pants that cling to his svelte legs. He smiles when he sees Jungkook, but it’s not a warm sort of smile, the kind Taehyung gives him at the end of their nights. No, this is a beginning-of-the-night kind of smile.

“You’re late,” Jungkook says with a pout.

Taehyung bows. “I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness.”

“Ugh. I told you not to call me that.”

“Well, since you’re acting like a spoiled prince, I figured I should address you as such.”

Jungkook huffs. “Come. I’ve been…”

“Anticipating this?” Taehyung removes his shoes at the entrance and does as Jungkook commands. “Getting antsy after you couldn’t see me on Friday?”

“No. It simply threw me off.”

“Ah, yes. I know how you are with your rituals.” Taehyung sits on the bed next to Jungkook and traces a finger down Jungkook’s neck and over his collarbone, exposed from under his loose shirt. Jungkook hums and tilts his head, revelling in the feeling of finally being touched by Taehyung.

“Yes, exactly. I stick to a routine, Taehyung. I cleared my schedule for tomorrow morning, but I will need to get to work in the afternoon. Mondays are not ideal for me.”

“I apologize, my prince. I could skip this week and simply return on Friday, if you’d like.”

“No. You’re here now. We have our duties to fulfill.”

“Hm.” Taehyung smirks as he sits back to appraise Jungkook. “We do. How would you like me to begin? Same as always?”

“Of course.”

Taehyung gets on his knees on the carpet and settles between Jungkook’s legs, pushing his thighs apart with his large hands. Jungkook swallows, looking at the way the soft, warm light catches on Taehyung’s knuckles, shadows in the dips of the joints. He has such long fingers that feel so, so amazing. Jungkook shifts, pressing deeper into his firm bed and feeling the buttplug shift inside him.

Taehyung locks eyes with Jungkook as he peels his socks off, starting with the left one, as always. He kisses the side of Jungkook’s foot, pressing his lips to the smooth arch, then moving up to kiss the bottom of his big toe.

“Mmh. Your feet smell good.”

“I should hope so. I cleaned them thoroughly.”

“You always do, my prince. Always so clean and perfect.”

Taehyung moves onto the right foot, removing the rock and kissing up Jungkook’s arch. He pokes his tongue out to lick from the arch to the big toe, which he then takes into his mouth, sucking gently. Jungkook shudders at the warmth and wetness circling the sensitive skin, feeling Taehyung’s tongue dip into the thin webs of skin between his toes. He has come to associate the feeling of having his toes sucked with sex and pleasure, as Taehyung has fucked him on his back many times with Jungkook’s toes in his mouth. Taehyung presses sloppy kisses down Jungkook’s foot, massaging the sole of the other one with his strong thumb. He strokes a hand down Jungkook’s calf and hums appreciatively, massaging the muscle and freshly shaved skin.

“So beautiful,” Taehyung murmurs, moving to kiss Jungkook’s ankle, then up his calf, bending his leg upward to kiss near the backs of his knees. Jungkook leans back on his elbows, letting Taehyung kiss all the way up his thigh until he’s nuzzling at the bulge in Jungkook’s tight pants, hot breath flowing over his compressed erection, twitching against the fabric.

“For someone who claims to only be doing this as part of his duty, you sure do put a lot of effort into each and every time.”

“Hm?”

“Shh, sh-sh.”

In a room with people of such wealth and class, it is nothing for a man to silence a woman like so, even more so when that woman works for him. Tsk-tsk, their shushes seem to say. It is not said with offense or disgrace. It is not a How dare you, but rather a gentle prod: Do you not wish to be silent?

No one wants to listen to you, darling.

Jungkook watches the man shush the woman, her suit-skirt folding around her narrow hips as she bends to whisper to him, clipboard pushing up under her breasts. His hand moves around the back of the couch and ghosts at her hip, not quite touching her, but threatening to.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says quietly. “I’ll take care of it. Just reschedule my meetings tonight. And you can leave after. I don’t need you anymore. It’s been a long day.”

Jungkook listens. He watches the man, his gold watch flashing in the dim, warm light—a Rolex, Jungkook noticed earlier, from the moment he first laid eyes on this man, because he’s learned to spot signs of wealth. The man is put-together, in a tailored suit, another detail Jungkook can pick up on because he’s learned to spot it. This man is too tall for a generic suit to fit him so well. Besides, the dense fabric, the luxurious cufflinks, the clean seams, no suits made with such quality are available without tailoring. They are all custom-made.

“More champagne, sir?” Jungkook asks, replacing the woman as soon as she leaves. She must be a secretary of some sort, a personal assistant, a professional foot-massager or whatever else men like this typically keep these suited women with clipboards and hushed voices around for. Sometimes Jungkook feels that the women are simply there to make the men look important, as if they’re posturing to the other men in the room. Sometimes Jungkook thinks men like this fuck women just to titillate other men. Peak homoeroticism. Jungkook has slept with more than a few of the men who frequent this place, the ones who keep a few too many women around them, a few too many flashy things on their bodies. The ones who compensate. It always ends the same. He hopes it ends the same way with this man too.

The man turns to glance at Jungkook over his shoulder, one leg crossed over his other, ankle hooked over the knee, making himself look bigger as he expands into his lounge chair.

The man sees Jungkook’s face and smiles.

“What did you say?”

Jungkook smiles back. This man knows what Jungkook said. He just wants to hear it again. From this pretty mouth, this pretty face.

“Would you like some more champagne, sir?”

Jungkook says it carefully. He wants to make this man feel special. He wants him to know that this moment between them, this eye contact, this electricity, is not only real for both of them, but that to Jungkook it is everything.

You can save me, he wants to say with his eyes. Lowly little me.

It’s easier to fool people like this. Feigning ignorance and stupidity and poverty. Men like this, they like poor little boys, pathetic boys, boys who cry and whimper and ask why they get treated the way they do.

The man looks Jungkook up and down, just as Jungkook intended. But his eyes do not linger, not on Jungkook’s second-hand loafers, purposefully scraped up at the tips, or the crusty look of too much cheap gel in his hair. The man shakes his head and raises a hand.

“I’m okay, thank you.” He gives Jungkook a quick smile over his shoulder. Jungkook sees his tired eyes, strangely earnest, strangely heavy. “Long day tomorrow.”

Jungkook nods and backs off with a bow, balancing the tray of champagne flutes with the skill and dexterity of a thousand years.

He later sees the man heading out, his suit jacket folded neatly over his arm, his large hand rubbing the back of his neck as he stretches his neck in slow circles. Jungkook watches like a hawk, flaying the man open with his eyes, until the man looks at him, and suddenly he feels criminal. Caught. As if this man sees everything he has done, laid out before him like a glass box of artifacts. Title: Bad things I have done. Title: People like you I’ve fucked over. Title: The horrible, disgusting things I want you to do to me.

That night Jungkook thinks of the man, his kind smile and his deadly eyes. The way he balanced his single champagne flute in his tan, slender fingers. The way he spoke to Jungkook, offering him a piece of his life: Long day tomorrow. Why would he share such a thing? What did he have to gain from it?

Anything at all?

Jungkook mulls it over but comes up with nothing. Nothing but the cold darkness of his low ceiling and the extravagant loudness of the Seoul streets outside, the hum of electric vehicles he has yet to be able to afford, and the feeling of something chasing him. There are some things you can never get away from. Money, and no money.

Jungkook doesn’t see the man again until a big event comes about. It’s put on by one of the biggest law firms in Seoul, sponsored by the bar association. Because of this Jungkook sees many men he has dirtied his hands with in the past, and he passes by them, chin raised, as though they are nothing. Because they are. He has seen them naked, shrivelled, swollen cock flaccid on their bellies as they look Jungkook in the eye and tell him that he is the first person to ever understand them.

Of course he is. Jungkook is Jungkook. He is magnificent, empathetic, and sharp. So sharp. He cuts people open. He sees their insides.

After those moments of vulnerability, nights spent alone, nights of first-times and brand-new homoeroticism that Jungkook pretends to still be amazed by, he never sees these men again. They don’t come around. Sometimes he muses on how they go about it. They must come up with excuses. They must lie through their yellow smokers’ teeth. I’m busy tonight.

When the victories are magnificent, Jungkook likes to keep them on his bedside table for a few days, maybe even a week. He likes to wake up and see the gold glimmering in the afternoon light that streams into his apartment. He wakes late because he works late. He likes to say that he is young, that the night belongs to him, and to own something means to sacrifice another. The mornings are never his time, pale and grey. It doesn’t match his colour palette. He is a creature of the night. Darkness and orange candlelight, alcohol, red stoplights.

Jungkook likes the way his prizes smile at him. He rises at noon in his crummy apartment and fucks around till 4 pm or so, drinking tea, working out, eating expensive protein off the money of men he lets inside him. Salmon. Wagyu. Sometimes he eats canned tuna to stay humble, but it’s more like a joke he tells himself. Remember when I used to live like this? Not anymore. Now he is clever and his beauty and sexuality is his weapon. He likes to think he knows things people don’t, and that he is better at life than most because of his knowledge.

Knoweldge is money, so you’d think knowledge is everything, but it goes a bit deeper than that.

Clientele is SJ tn, Jimin’s text says, lighting up Jungkook’s phone screen as he walks from the train station down the familiar street that he’s made his own over the past three years. The vibrant lightbox signs and the headache advertisements used to sting, but he is no longer the boy he used to be. This is now his home. This route is where he prepares, plots things out, and becomes the character: Jung Kook. No last name, and not really a first name either. Just a name, whole and complete. An idea. A concept. International Playboy, he used to call himself jokingly, popping his collar in Jimin’s living room after a long night at work together, winding down into the early, buzzing mornings with a few too many shots of soju.

“Evening,” Jungkook says, poking his head into the staff lounge at the back of the building, flashing his signature smile. “Who’s the clientele tonight?”

He already knows, but he wants to know what everyone else knows, what they’re thinking.

“SJ,” Jimin says, standing with two of the girls near the water tub at the back, glowing blue in the artificial light the company pumps into the machine to make their water seem cleaner. As Jimin hands Jungkook the clipboard of tonight’s registered clients, they share a look. Jimin knows that Jungkook already knows, but it’s dog-eat-dog here. Jungkook flashes a smile to the two girls circling Jimin, the piranha-like smiles they give back, vaguely remembering their names and knowing they won’t last, not the way he and Jimin have. Here, it doesn’t matter whether you’re a man or a woman or what your clientele is. What matters is your fluidiuty.

One of the women is too bright. Tries too hard. Jungkook has seen her on the floor, her sweaty smile at men who would never give her a second glance, the desperate shake of her voice. It doesn’t work like that. The other one is too timid. Jungkook has seen her so close to a victory, but she doesn’t bite. No teeth. Just gums. No man wants a gumjob. Men want a bitch with teeth who stays gentle only for him.

It’s only later in the evening, when Jungkook is so deep in his character—International Playboy, Jung Kook, two words, no last name, no first name—that he sees the man again. The man with the ghostly gentle fingers, the man whose strangely kind eyes make Jungkook feel watched.

“I’ll take that glass of champagne this time,” the man says, his lips smiling but his eyes hollow. Jungkook has had an eye on him all night, his mannerisms, his calculated movements, his smiles, his moments of boldness. Among businessmen like this, there are always such interesting hierarchies to take note of. The young man who makes the older men laugh. The older man who the young men crowd toward. Jungkook finds it disgusting. LIke watching cockroaches fuck. But this man is different. He is peaceful and removed from the grime of his circumstances. He does not laugh at crass jokes about women, but he does not cause a scene either, simply bowing his head and stepping away to seek another conversation, another glass of alcohol that he ends up leaving unfinished on a dressed table.

“You haven’t finished your last,” Jungkook says with a small smile, eyeing the last glass of bubbling fluid the man had left on the table ten minutes ago.

“Ah.” The man laughs and rubs the back of his neck. He’s not as nervous as he should be. It’s like he’s faking it. LIke he’s naturally confident, but wants to seem submissive and easy. Jungkook breathes in and out. Feels the conditioned air dry his throat. Maybe he’s overthinking things. Projecting. The man continues, “I, uh, I forgot about that.”

“Mm-hm.” Jungkook gives him a special smile, one of those smiles that say: this is only for you. But he grabs the man another glass of champagne because that’s his job. Toeing the line between professional and unprofessional. Give him 12 hours, maybe 6, and he could have this man naked, panting, swearing, professionalism be damned. Give Jungkook 24 hours and he could have this man fucked for a whole new reason. Maybe. Some people keep valuables easily accessible on their bedside table but some people lock them away, cheap fucks they are.

That’s all Jungkook thinks about: How easily could I steal from this person? How easily can I fuck you over? Sometimes, on the nights he drinks too much or thinks a little too deeply, it gets to him. His mannerisms, his shallowness. Sometimes, when his shift ends early, when he’s tuckered out and drained, he glances at Jimin and sees what they do in a different light. It’s disgusting. Usually he can sleep it off. You’ve gotta do what you gotta do. Lie, cheat, steal. Life is a game and money is the prize. There are no rules, not really.

As Jungkook brings a fresh glass of champagne to this man, his beautiful face, the relieved smile on his full lips, the way he brushes a strand of hair off his forehead as he accepts the glass flute in his fingertips, a delicate shake to his body, Jungkook feels guily for the first time. He thinks about how this will go. First, a statement—you are beautiful. Second, a lie—I’ve never felt this way about another man. Finally, an admission—You feel so good inside.

There’s always more after that, the part Jungkook does in the silence of the room after pretending to fall asleep, where he snatches what he saw in the room when the lights were still on. The things he noted down. He keeps it respectful. He erases from his mind the signs of misery, depression, or genuine existence, whether it be a month's worth of dirty clothes piled in a corner or a letter from a loved one pinned to the fridge. Jungkook never sees the person behind his crimes, and maybe that’s why he’s so good at what he does.