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PRICE OF FAME | MYG ★ 08

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SERIES SUMMARY: You were about ready to give up, your career nowhere near what you dreamed it’d be when you started at eighteen, bright-eyed and naive. Reality for you these past few years has consisted of pouting at a camera, ignoring whispers of your name at company events, and ensuring that the stupid, tiny designer purses they keep forcing on you can at least carry a flask. But now, you’re helping a friend in need. For the first time in a long time, it feels like you’re doing something worthwhile with your life. Too bad Min Yoongi, the newest thorn in your side, seems insistent on stopping you.

✧ SERIES TAGS: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut, fake/pretend relationship (not main couple), rockstar!yoongi, model!reader, guitarist yoongi, singer jungkook, bassist taehyung, drummer jimin, manager namjoon, yoongi & maknae line are in a rock band, reader & seokjin are best friends, yoongi & hoseok are best friends (sope duo ftw), yoongi has a tongue piercing, reader is a brat

✧ CHAPTER TAGS: fully in MC pov, flashbacks (in nightmare form) in italics, picking up the morning after the last chapter, there’s a surprising amount of fluff here tbh, but also angst of course, POF!yoongi is having his redemption arc, many questions are answered in this chapter if you pay attention, jimin and taehyung cameo, and seokjin, JK causing trouble, i don’t want to give too much away so i’ll leave it at that but if i missed anything lmk, nsfw warnings under the cut, minors do not interact with any of my works (see series masterlist for series warnings)

✧ CHAPTER WORDCOUNT: 16.5k words

✧ AUTHOR’S NOTE: i’m so sorry for the wait!!! i wanted to get POF8 finished and posted before ticketing opens on thursday (who’s ready for arirang btw?!) so here it is! consider this our last gooey, semi-happy chapter (if you can even consider any of POF gooey or semi-happy lol) for a while, because after this… just prepare yourselves lol

thank you to K @ktownshizzle and claret @yoonmetogether for beta reading this chapter and giving it so much love! everyone, have you heard that my beloved claret is back???? go follow her RRRRIGHT NOW because she is genuinely one of the best writers on this site and you don’t want to miss the fics she’s cooking up! go follow the amazing K as well if you aren’t already, because her 2026 lineup is soooooo… oughhhhhhhh… i love having talented friends y’all

anyway, i hope you all enjoy this chapter! <3 i can’t wait to hear what everyone thinks now that some frequently asked questions have finally been answered!

CH. 08: THE NIGHT WE MET

✧ NSFW WARNINGS: kissing deserves to be in the nsfw warnings for this one tbh, dirty talk, nipple play, oral (f. receiving), yoongi’s tongue piercing of course, vaginal fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, pulling out, multiple orgasms, lmk if i missed anything

You’re on stage.

The lights are too bright, white and hot and drilling straight into your skull. They flatten everything, erase depth, erase distance. Your hands are slick with sweat, fingers trembling as you raise the microphone to your lips. It feels heavier than it should, like it’s filled with lead.

You try to breathe. You know this song. You’ve sung it a thousand times—alone in your room, in the studio, mouthed silently with your face pressed into a pillow so no one would hear you mess up. The words are carved into you. They should be.

They’re gone.

Your lips part. Nothing comes out.

The crowd stretches out before you, an endless sea of faceless, expressionless bodies. Silence presses down on you, suffocating you, like hands on your shoulders. Like hands around your throat.

Your grip slips.

A brief, violent shriek of feedback slices through the air. Somewhere, far away, someone coughs.

Say something, you tell yourself. Sing, smile, do anything—but your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. You close your eyes.

When you open them, you’re somewhere else.

The air is colder here, frigid and sharp with the scent of cleaning solution, but your hair is plastered to your neck. Your clothes cling damply to your skin. Every muscle in your body aches with the dull, familiar throb of overuse.

Mirrors line the walls of the room, all the way around. Every angle of you is reflected back. There’s nowhere to look that isn’t you. It feels like you’ve been here for hours—days, years—practicing the same choreography over and over.

There’s a man with you.

You don’t see his face clearly—it keeps blurring, slipping out of focus—but you know exactly who he is. You recognize the weight of his presence. The room seems to rearrange itself around him.

When you crumple to your knees, he crouches in front of your exhausted body.

“You love me, don’t you?” His hand is heavy against your cheek. Every point of contact brands itself into your skin—the warmth of his palm, the drag of his flesh against yours. His thumb rests on your bottom lip, pressing just enough to open you up. On his ring finger, metal, cool and unyielding, digs into your skin.

You nod, leaning into his touch without a second thought.

“Then trust me. I’m protecting you.”

You open your eyes to meet his, only to find that you’re now in the passenger seat of a car. The leather smells like a familiar cologne, one that will cling to your clothes later. You know that much.

It's raining, and your hair is damp from running through it. Droplets hammer against the windshield, deafening in the quiet. Streetlights slide over your skin like stage lights, like interrogation lamps. Each one exposes you for a split second before plunging you back into shadow.

His voice cuts through you.

“Do you want to debut or not?” Like he’s explaining something obvious to a child.

You panic. “Of course I do! I just…” Your voice sounds so small, so unlike you. “Sometimes it feels like…”

“Like what?” He huffs harshly through his nose. “This is how it works. Everyone pays something.”

The rain grows heavier. The sound swells until it becomes a roar—

a pounding—

a door slamming shut.

You’re standing in a narrow hallway now, staring at a garish carpet. It’s harder to breathe than usual—the bottom half of your face is covered with a mask, but it doesn’t filter out the cloying scent in the air.

You know this carpet, you realize. You’re at a love motel. A love motel you’ve frequented for longer than you’re proud of, always with the same person.

He swipes the keycard, and the door clicks open with a beep. Your bag slides off your shoulder. You toe off your shoes with trembling hands, pull your mask off as the door closes behind you.

“You’re special, you know that?” he whispers, kissing your jaw. “I don’t do this for just anyone.”

The words slide over you, wrap tightly, sink in. Special. Chosen. Lucky.

Your eyelids slip shut again, and when you open them, you’re in a recording booth. It’s late. The backing track of your demo fills your ears.

He’s behind the glass, watching like always. Smiling.

"You're gonna be a star," he says through the mic. "Everyone is going to love you, just like I do."

Suddenly, you’re ripped away. You're both in a stairwell, somewhere no one else will hear. Everything is moving so fast now, you can't keep up.

The fluorescent light above flickers, casting long, distorted shadows of your entwined bodies along the cement walls.

“It’s better this way,” he says, insistent. “I have a life. A family. You can’t ask me to ruin that.”

You stare at him, hollowed out.

“But you said—”

“I said I love you.” He reaches for you. “And I do. But we have to be smart. You’re going to be huge. You can’t have scandals.”

Your stomach churns. You want to scream. You want to disappear.

You’re in bed now. Not yours. A thin sheet barely covers your nakedness. He’s filming you.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he says, zooming in on your face.

“I’m yours.”

You're on stage again. Or, you were. A venue you've been waiting to get to your entire life. A darkened corner now, far away from the crowd. Hands on blue velvet.

"You did it, beautiful," he says, sliding a hand up your dress. "Are you going to thank me, hm?"

"Yes," you breathe, already searching for the heat of his mouth. You find it, and then—

White light sears the edges of your vision. A camera flash. Everything freezes: his lips parted just above yours, his hand splayed across your thigh, your body caught in the act of reaching.

Your eyes snap open.

★ ★ ★

Your first thought is that you feel sick.

The inside of your mouth feels gritty, which tells you that you skipped your nighttime routine entirely. If you didn’t bother to brush your teeth, you definitely didn’t touch any of the serums and masks you’re contractually obligated to apply before bed. On top of that, you’ve got a migraine sent directly from hell. You overdid it last night, and you’re going to pay for it, whether your payment comes in the form of a gnarly zit or…

Shit.

Your second thought makes your temples pound: Your manager is going to kill you.

You were already on thin ice as it was, but getting shitfaced at a public work event? That’s last year YN behavior. Behavior that you promised Seoyeon you had grown out of.

God, you hope you didn’t do anything too bad last night. Maybe she won't find out how sloppy you got.

As you lie half-awake, eyes closed to drown out the light filtering in through your curtains, pictures of last night slowly begin to take shape behind your eyelids. They piece themselves together in fragments that get blurrier the further into the night you go.

You remember being swarmed by the company-sanctioned glam team at your apartment, and then being shoved into a car alone by Hyerin. You remember freezing in your dress while you took pictures for your socials outside. Mingling, networking, the usual.

Yoongi was there. You definitely remember that.

You still don’t know where you stand with him, and thinking about it too hard right now will surely only make your migraine worse. The whole thing has been fucking with your head, but you can’t really pin that on him. It’s not his fault that you have no self-control. Plus, you’re kind of… civil now? You’re at least 99% certain he isn’t the reason you pickled your liver.

You play back the memory as best you can: Meeting his eyes across the room. Flirting at the bar. The split second of honesty that was enough to tear down your walls for the night. His filthy promises to bring you back to his place and take you apart, although that clearly didn’t happen—you’re in your own bed, still in the dress you wore last night. You don’t know how you made it here in one piece, but—

Oh, fuck.

Just like that, your third thought comes with a jolt that sends you flying up on your elbows, suddenly wide awake.

There is a very real possibility that Min Yoongi is in your apartment.

You sit all the way up, instantly regretting the movement as your vision swims. The room tilts on its axis, and you have to pause for a moment, clutching your temples while you breathe through the nausea. Once the wave passes, you gingerly swing your legs over the side of the bed, feet searching for the slippers you keep by your nightstand.

You don't bother to change out of last night's dress, despite how gross you feel. You just grab a robe off the back of your closet door, wrapping it tightly around yourself as you shuffle out of your bedroom.

Your feet carry you out into the living room, the physical symptoms of your hangover only causing you to stumble once in the hallway. As you round the corner, your suspicions are proven right.

Yoongi is, like you, still dressed in his clothes from last night, minus his blazer and shoes. He's in the middle of tidying your couch, hunched over slightly, but he stops folding the blanket in his hands at the sound of your slippered footsteps.

"Hey," he says quietly, straightening. "You're awake."

You hover in the doorway, unsure of what to say. “You didn’t have to do that,” you settle on, nodding toward the couch.

Yoongi glances down at the folded blanket, then shrugs. "Nah, I don't mind." He lays it neatly over the back of the couch and turns to face you fully, cocking his head as he gives you a once-over. "Slept okay?"

You shrug, crossing your arms to hold your robe in place. "Considering the circumstances," you mumble. "You could've gone home, you know. My couch sucks."

"I've slept in worse places, trust me."

"Still."

You shift your weight, unsure why you suddenly feel so self-conscious. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you worse than this—certainly less dressed than this—but something about the domesticity of it all makes your skin prickle. Him, folding blankets in your living room. You, wrapped in a bathrobe. It feels like a scene from someone else’s life.

You may (allegedly) be in a better place with him now, largely thanks to the last twenty-four hours, but you're pretty sure sleepovers with no sex are probably against the unspoken rules of this arrangement.

Ah.

“Look," you start, "I know I kind of ruined our plans last night, but, uh. I’m not really feeling it, so…“

“Do you seriously think I was waiting around to fuck?” For a second, he looks genuinely hurt, and you're not quite sure what to do with that.

"Uh. Kinda?”

He exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face. "No, dollface," he says tiredly, copying your stance and crossing his arms over his chest. "I stayed because it seemed like you had a rough night, and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Oh," you say dumbly. "Really?"

"Really," he repeats tersely before softening again. “Are you alright?”

Guilt swirls in your gut, which is ridiculous. Ugh. You don't know how to navigate this—Yoongi being decent to you. Especially not when you're this hungover.

“It's nothing I haven’t dealt with before," you insist, waving a hand. "I’ll be fine, Yoongi.”

Luckily, he folds easily.

“Okay," he says. "You want me to go?”

Part of you feels bad, but you also know you don't have it in you to be pleasant for long. If nice is the name of the game you're playing with Yoongi now, it's better if he goes.

“Not to be rude, but yeah.”

Yoongi chuckles, reaching to grab his blazer off the couch. “When have you ever cared about being rude to me?”

That makes you crack a half-smile. “Good point.”

He shrugs his jacket on and steps closer. You get a whiff of his cologne, still clinging to his clothes from last night. It's faint, not overpowering in a way that'd make your migraine worse, and he just smells so fucking good. Musky and masculine and familiar to you now.

"I really don't give a fuck about the sex," he insists, holding your gaze. "Okay? You've gotta stop thinking the worst of me every time."

You huff, pressing your lips together to keep your smile from growing. "This 'us not being horrible to each other' thing is new. Cut me some slack."

"I know," he says, bringing a hand up to brush your hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. "We'll both keep trying, yeah?"

You hum, eyes fluttering shut at the contact.

God, his touch feels good. It's almost a shame you're shutting down the opportunity for more of it. You open your eyes again.

"Rain check on the sex?"

Yoongi laughs, surprised. "Yeah?"

You can't help but grin now, mirroring his own. You can see his gums and it's unreasonably charming.

"Last night is a little blurry, but I definitely remember what you said, Min Yoongi. You're not walking that one back."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, smirking now. "Rain check, then."

His eyes flick down to your lips. You can tell he's about to kiss you, and your hand comes up to cover your mouth self-consciously.

"I haven't brushed my teeth," you mumble, embarrassed.

"You think I got to? It's not like I have a toothbrush here." His fingers wrap gently around your wrist, pulling it away. "I don't give a fuck, dollface."

"That's really gross," you complain.

"Yeah, yeah," Yoongi murmurs, guiding your hand to the back of his neck as he leans in. He's so close now, you feel breathless. "M'gonna kiss you. Okay?"

You nod. "Okay."

It starts featherlight, the barest brush of his lips against yours. A touch, a taste, a question: Still okay? You don’t pull away. Instead, your fingers slide from his neck into his hair, and in response, he deepens it.

His hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, thumb stroking a line just below your cheekbone. He parts his lips just enough to catch your bottom one, sucking on it gently, then soothing with his tongue. A soft, involuntary sound slips from your throat, and Yoongi swallows it eagerly with a satisfied hum. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, inquisitive, and you part for him easily, reeling from the lushness of it.

You’d laugh if you weren’t so dizzy, because morning breath or not, the kiss is good. Really good. If nothing else, between you and Yoongi, this works.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only by a few inches. His eyes flutter open, half-lidded as they settle on you.

“Still gross?” he murmurs, voice low and scratchy.

You’re flushed to the tips of your ears. “Yes,” you say, breathless. “Very.”

"Mm. But worth it?" he teases.

You roll your eyes, swatting gently at his chest. "Go home."

"Okay," he concedes, letting you go and stepping out of your space. You watch as he gathers the rest of his things and heads to the door. "I'll see you this week?"

"Wednesday, I think." Unless Seoyeon adds something else to your schedule, you'll be tagging along with Jeongguk while the band records again.

"See you Wednesday, then," he says, twisting the knob.

"See you," you say, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

★ ★ ★

Once Yoongi leaves, you decide to drag yourself back to your bedroom to take a much-needed shower. It feels good to scrub the bad parts of last night away, to give yourself the physical reset to go along with your mental one.

You step out, steam curling around you and fogging your mirror as your feet meet the fuzzy bath mat next to your sink.

You take extra care going through the line of your skin and hair care products today, taking your time with each step. By the time you're done and dressed in clean clothes, your bathroom sink is a mess, and you feel reborn. Even your migraine has subsided for the most part.

It's apparently the perfect time for it, too, because as soon as you walk back into your bedroom, you find your phone buzzing where it sits on your bed.

Seoyeon is calling. Shit.

You scramble to grab it, swipe to answer, and press your phone to your ear. "Hello?" you greet cautiously.

"I don't know what you did last night," Seoyeon starts, and your stomach plummets before she continues with, "but apparently it paid off."

"Huh?" you ask, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Jun loved you," she explains, and holy shit, she sounds ecstatic. "You got the fucking gig, YN-ah."

Jun loved you? You got the gig. You got the fucking gig with the coolest, grungiest perfume brand in Korea. Holy fucking SHIT. You haven't felt this excited about modeling in… well, ever.

"You're fucking with me," you breathe, clutching the phone with both hands.

"I'm not!" she insists, practically squealing with glee. After working with Seoyeon for so long, you know it takes a lot to get a reaction like this out of her. "Seriously, I don't know how you pulled it off, but great work. I'm so proud of you."

You nearly tear up at that. You love having Seoyeon as your manager. Despite what everyone at your company has said about you over the years, she's always been in your corner.

Working with BORNTOSTANDOUT is a huge opportunity, one she got you by pulling strings she probably shouldn't have. But it feels like a step in the right direction, and you're unbelievably grateful. Maybe you can move on from Innisfree and into something more niche. More you.

"Thank you," you say, trying not to sound too choked up.

"Don't thank me yet," she says fondly. "I'm about to send you your schedule for the month. You're about to be a very busy girl."

You blink. Uh, okay. You're confused again. "BORNTOSTANDOUT isn't going to take up that much of my time, are they?"

"No," she says. "The powers that be have blocked out a ton of your time, but they won't tell me why. You've got crazy bookings for the next several months, on top of your shit with Jun. I'm trying to figure out what it's for, but…"

"But?" Seoyeon sighs, which makes you nervous all over again. That's never a good sound. "Seoyeon, tell me."

"Dongwook-ssi scheduled a meeting with you, me, and all of Burn The Stage and their team for Friday. That might have something to do with it."

Dongwook. You're going to be sick.

"What the fuck for?" you mutter, sitting on the edge of your bed to combat the nausea.

"I told you," she says softly, "nobody will tell me. I think they want to keep it quiet until the meeting. I was honestly hoping you might know. Did something happen with Jeongguk?"

"No," you say instantly. Jeongguk would've told you if something was up. "Seoyeon… will he be there?"

There's a pause on her end of the line.

Fuck.

"I think so, YN-ah."

"Right."

Your head is spinning. You've managed to avoid being in a room with him for years now. You don't know why that would suddenly change, or why the band is part of it at all. Something bad is going to happen; you can feel it.

"But I'll be there, too. Okay?"

Not okay. So not okay.

"YN-ah. Listen to me."

"I'm listening," you manage.

"You have no reason to panic, okay? Dongwook-ssi is the creative director, and despite your history, this could be a good thing. You know you're protected. There are lines he can't cross—"

"Am I protected, Seoyeon?" you snap, laughing bitterly. You're not snapping at her, not really, but the idea that your company has done a fucking thing to protect you from anyone is laughable. "I haven't made music in years. I've been barred from it, in fact. I'm stuck in a contract doing a job that I hate, and he gets to…"

"I'll protect you," she insists. "I will. In that room, I'll be your advocate."

You gnaw at your bottom lip, unconvinced. "I just don't know what Jeongguk and the band have to do with this."

"I know," Seoyeon says softly. "I know, and I'll try to find out. But in the meantime, you've got shit to do. So as much as I'd like to give you time to process this, there isn't any. And I need you functional."

Right. No rest for the wicked. Or the terminally slutty, apparently. "Okay."

Seoyeon sighs, worried. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"Take care of yourself until then. I'm serious. I will drive to your apartment and force you to, if necessary."

You snort despite yourself. "I'll try."

"You'll do it," she counters, firm. "Text me if you need any help."

"Okay," you sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. You still feel sick, but at least you have the rest of the night to get it out of your system. "I'll be fine."

"That's what I like to hear. See you tomorrow. No drinking."

"See you," you mumble, and then you hang up, ready to be done with the conversation.

You set the phone down beside you and stare at the floor, trying to make sense of everything. Your thoughts are spinning, looping, tripping over each other in the rush to process what this all means.

You shake your head. No point in spiraling yet. You have a few days. Not to prepare (you can’t), but to brace yourself. To remind yourself that Seoyeon will be in the room. That you’re not the same person you were back then.

Still, you wonder what it’ll be like. Being in the same space as Dongwook again.

It may have been years since you've seen him, but he visits you in your dreams all the time. Nightmares. You're not ready to be in a room with him, to have the wound you've worked so hard to heal picked at all over again.

The worst part is how little control you have. That’s what always gets you. You’ve spent so long feeling like a puppet in someone else’s show. Just a pretty face, a name to attach to whatever concept your company is selling next. You thought, just for a second, that you'd reclaimed a sliver of agency with BORNTOSTANDOUT, but already it feels like the rug’s being pulled again. Like every time you try to do something for yourself, the universe goes out of its way to remind you that you're owned.

And the band. Jeongguk, Yoongi. Why in the world are they going to be there? Dongwook is the creative director for the musicians signed under your company, yeah, but Burn The Stage already has a label.

Is Dongwook trying to poach them? Impossible. You're all too familiar with his ego, but still, your company is tinycompared to theirs. There's nothing he could offer them that they don't already have. Surely he knows that.

And even if that is his goal, he wouldn't need you there for it. Unless… what, is he jealous? After all this time? He never tried to contact you when you were with Kihyun. No way. No, it can't be that.

So what the fuck is it? Why is this meeting happening?

You bury your face in your hands, trying to breathe.

You’ll figure it out. You have to.

But god, you wish someone would just tell you what you’re walking into on Friday.

★ ★ ★

You do your best to get through the week without spiraling over the meeting. It isn't easy, but you're managing to pull it off so far.

It helps that Seoyeon sticks by your side all day on Monday. You know she's probably just worried you'll slip back into old habits, but regardless, it works. You keep your focus entirely on brand deals and fittings and photoshoots, despite how boring you find it all. At least your new gig offers a light at the end of the tunnel, right?

By Wednesday, you're back in the studio with Jeongguk as planned.

When he meets you in the lobby, though, it’s clear that something is off. Jeongguk is one of those people who lights up whatever room he’s in, but today that light feels dimmed. His shoulders are tense beneath his jacket, posture tight instead loose with the easy confidence he usually exudes. He doesn’t offer a smile, no playful banter. Not even a “hey, babe” for show.

You follow him to the elevators, finding the courage to ask when the doors slip shut and offer some privacy.

“Hey Guk,” you say. “You okay?”

He’s occupied with something on his phone, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. You nudge his arm with your elbow gently. “Jeongguk?”

He blinks like he’s been pulled out of deep thought, finally glancing up. “Oh—uh. Yeah. I’m good,” he says, slipping his phone into his pocket.

"Are you sure?" you ask, unconvinced.

His eyes slide away from yours, fixing on the glowing numbers above the elevator doors. "I'm fine."

Before you can say anything else, the elevator stops on the studio floor. Jeongguk steps out immediately, his pace brisk enough to leave you to trail half a step behind him.

“Ready?” he asks over his shoulder, and you decide to let it go for now.

In the studio, you make yourself useful, poking around for coffee, cleaning up abandoned water bottles, checking your phone for messages like it might suddenly reveal something new about Friday. But it doesn’t.

Jeongguk barely looks at you as he sets up to record his vocals, sliding into his chair and pulling his headphones on with practiced ease. He’s focused—hyperfocused, even—but it feels more like avoidance. You watch him through the glass for a while, fingers tapping nervously against your thigh, wondering what’s got him so wound up.

Part of you also wants to ask him about the meeting. You're sure he's heard about it, and even though he probably knows just as much as you do, it'd be nice to have someone to confide in. You're really feeling Seokjin's absence this week, but you'll be damned if you reach out to him after what he said.

Still, Seokjin is the only one who really knows what happened, down to the last detail. Without your best friend to turn to, you feel utterly alone.

Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing if Jeongguk knew, too.

But you don’t know how to bring it up. Not when he’s quiet and withdrawn like this. You don't know what's going on, if it has something to do with Yoongi and their continued stony silence, but regardless, it doesn't feel like a good time to burden him with your worries.

Speaking of Yoongi…

Watching him seems to be the only thing that settles the nausea in your stomach today. And you are watching him. Very intently, in fact. This time, though, it’s not because you’re thinking about choking on his dick.

Okay, maybe a little. It's a worthy distraction.

You don’t know what it is about him today, but he just looks so… cute. A word you never thought you’d use to describe Min Yoongi, but here you are.

Maybe it’s the color palette he’s sporting—white tee, medium wash jeans with a matching jacket. You’re morally opposed to denim-on-denim, but, like most things he wears, he makes it look effortlessly stylish. And his hair looks extra soft today, like he blow-dried it before leaving his apartment this morning. Long and begging to be touched. Or pulled.

You can’t touch or pull it, of course. You’re here as Jeongguk’s girlfriend, even if he's giving you the silent treatment for some reason. But maybe, if things were different, you’d run your fingers through the silky strands without a second thought. Maybe Yoongi would lean into it, eyes soft and lips curved in a disarming, fond smile—god, what has gotten into you today?

Not Yoongi, that’s for sure.

Maybe that’s the problem, you think, as you watch him switch places with Jeongguk in the booth, already hooking his guitar up. He's so focused, and you can't help but fantasize about what that focus would feel like on you.

You know. You've been the object of his intense focus before, and you know exactly how good it feels. How mind-melting.

Having your mind melted doesn't sound half bad.

The session drifts into a new section of the song. It’s starting to take shape, but Taehyung falters a few times with the bass line, frustration evident even through the glass as he pulls his headphones off with a huff.

You watch as Yoongi slips into the booth beside him, gentle where Taehyung is tense, pointing out a subtle change in finger placement. He’s so calm, demonstrating the rhythm by tapping it out against the body of the bass. Taehyung nods, tries again. Still off.

To your surprise, Yoongi doesn’t snap or get exasperated. He just reaches out, gently adjusting Taehyung’s grip, guiding his fingers into place. When Taehyung finally nails it, the look of quiet pride on Yoongi’s face makes your chest ache in an entirely inconvenient way.

Eventually, the studio starts to empty as everyone wraps up for the day. Jeongguk leaves first, distracted by a phone call, offering you a wave as he slips out. The others file out soon after, and you hesitate, lingering in the control room while Yoongi carefully unplugs his gear and stashes cables away.

“Hey,” you say quietly, stepping into his line of sight.

He glances up, brows raised. “Hey.”

You fiddle with the sleeves of your jacket. You’re not usually nervous about this kind of thing—not with him, at least—but something about today has you twisted up inside. Still, you forge ahead.

“Are you busy tonight?”

Yoongi straightens, slinging his guitar strap over one shoulder. “Not particularly. Why?”

You meet his eyes. “Can I come over?”

His lips twitch. “Wow,” he says, tone warm with amusement. “Asking first. What a concept.”

You shrug, trying for nonchalant, though your heart is thumping. “Trying something new.”

“Huh. I kinda liked it better when you just showed up and shoved your hand down my pants.”

You snort. “Okay, well—remind me never to be polite again, then.”

“No,” he says, finally smiling. “This is good. It’s nice, you asking. Gives me something to look forward to.”

“Yeah?”

Yoongi steps closer, tilting his head. "Is this you cashing in your rain check?"

“Maybe,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek.

He hums, raking his eyes over you. “Well then, yeah,” he says. "I've still got those plans I mentioned. Gonna make good on ‘em, too.”

Fuck, you hope so.

“Okay. I’ll text you when I’m on the way?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, tongue flicking out for half a second to wet his lips. “See you soon, dollface.”

A shiver skates down your spine. His gaze holds yours for a second longer before he finally looks away to finish packing up.

You follow him out of the studio room, down the short hallway that leads to the elevators until you finally part ways.

Your mind is still whirring with anticipation when you step into the main lobby, but your train of thought screeches to a halt when you hear your name.

“YN-ah!”

You turn just in time to see Jimin and Taehyung loitering by the front desk.

“Hey,” you greet, startled but trying not to show it.

You’re still a little flushed from your conversation with Yoongi, still thinking about his mouth on you, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of how obvious that might be on your face.

“Perfect timing,” Jimin says, looping his arm through yours. “We were just about to grab lunch.”

Taehyung gives you a little wave. “Come with us,” he adds, smiling. “Hyung left already, right?”

You glance back the way Yoongi went—he’s already gone. Shit. You kind of wanted to get out of here fast, but now you’re trapped.

“I—uh. Just a quick lunch,” you say, trying to sound casual. “I have stuff later.”

“Busy girl,” Jimin teases, dragging you along anyway. “It’s just lunch. Come on.”

★ ★ ★

You should’ve known that lunch with these two is never “just lunch.”

At first, it’s fine. Light. Easy. The conversation circles around the album for a while. Jimin complains about how fast things are moving, how they've never had to put anything together this fast. Taehyung talks about how he wants to add a string section to a track, which makes Jimin roll his eyes.

“You’re obsessed with cellos lately,” he says, and Taehyung beams, unbothered.

"That's because cellos are great. Yoongi-hyung is so wrong about it not fitting the vibe."

Jimin scoffs, clearly ready to move on before Taehyung gets going. “How’s our Jeonggukie?” he asks you. “He’s been so weird this week.”

“Has he?” you ask, pretending you didn’t notice.

It probably isn't a good look for you, honestly. As his girlfriend, you should know what's going on with him, right? But you don't, and you wouldn't feel right just making something up.

“He’s just… off,” he says. “And not in his usual ‘I’m hyper-focused on the music’ way.”

“I noticed it too,” Taehyung adds. "Are you two fighting or something?"

You shake your head. “He’s been a little… tense, I guess. But he hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Maybe it’s about the meeting?” Jimin offers. “No one will tell us what it’s about, and that never happens. We always get some kind of heads-up. If not from Sejin, at least from Namjoon or Yoongi.”

“It’s freaking me out,” Taehyung mutters around a bite. “Why would all of us need to be there?" He points at you with his chopsticks. "And you too?”

You shrug, but your appetite has officially vanished.

“Do you think it’s about a collab?” Taehyung suggests. “Like a cross-promotional thing?”

God, that’s the best-case scenario. But also highly unlikely. You doubt it.

“I really don’t know,” you say. "Maybe."

"Well, we'll find out on Friday," Jimin says, shrugging. "Whatever it is, I hope it isn't boring. Sejin-ssi can go on and on."

Taehyung snorts, and you force a smile. "We'll see."

"Sooo…" Jimin says, which you're learning is never a good thing. "How are things with Yoongi-hyung?"

You feel your face start to flush, and you hate yourself for it. Especially in front of these two. You silently will it to go away before they can latch on.

"What do you mean?" you ask, stabbing your fork into your salad with probably more force than necessary.

"Just checking in," he sing-songs, catching his straw between plush lips to take a sip of his drink. Little shit. "I can never keep track of you two. It seemed like things were okay for a second, and then you were hopping on a plane. And then today, you kept staring at him. You can't blame me for being curious."

Christ. He held that one in for as long as he could, huh?

"Honestly, I haven't talked to him much lately," you lie. "It seems better for everyone that way." You stuff your mouth with lettuce just so you don't have to say anything else.

"Mm. Seems so," Jimin agrees, eyeing you. But then he lets it go, mercifully. He leans back in his chair and sighs. “Anyway. Speaking of Yoongi-hyung, can we talk about how he's driving me insane?”

“Oh my god, yes. Thank you," Taehyung says. "I was waiting for someone else to say it. He's been super weird, too."

“He’s behind," Jimin agrees.

“Which is wild, because he’s never behind," Taehyung says.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Jimin continues. “Usually, by the time the company even starts talking timelines, Yoongi-hyung is already sitting on, like, fifteen demos.”

“He had the first two albums basically done before we even got signed,” Taehyung adds. “Like—finished. Lyrics, arrangements, everything. We just had to tweak.”

Jimin chuckles under his breath. “We were broke as fuck, sleeping four hours a night, and he would just emerge from his lair like, ‘oh, by the way, here’s another song.’”

“And another one,” Taehyung says fondly. “And another.”

You hum knowingly. That sounds like Yoongi you heard about from Jeongguk. “So what’s the hold-up now?” you ask.

Jimin exhales, rubbing at the back of his neck. “No one knows. He won’t say. Plus, management’s starting to hover, which only makes it worse. Every time someone asks how the album’s coming along, I swear his eye twitches.”

"And he makes that face!" Taehyung wails. "Like a frog!"

Jimin presses his pouty lips into a flat line, imitating the face, and you can't help but laugh.

"Is it that bad?" you ask.

"He's never been like this before," Jimin answers. "But it's not like he'll talk to anyone about it. God forbid."

You feel a little guilty, but you had no idea the band was under so much pressure for this album. You can't help but wonder if it has anything to do with you, and all the drama you've been causing behind the scenes.

Taehyung slings an arm around Jimin’s shoulders and sighs theatrically. “We’ll survive. We always do.”

Jimin nods. “Yeah. Yoongi-hyung will figure it out.”

You force a small smile, hoping it looks as convincing as it feels brittle. “Yeah,” you echo. “He will.”

The rest of lunch passes with a little more levity, but the undercurrent of tension never really leaves. When the bill comes, Jimin insists on covering it despite your protests, waving you off dismissively.

Taehyung stretches like a cat as you all stand to leave, letting out a satisfied groan. “I needed that. Thanks for coming out.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Me too.”

Outside the restaurant, the sky’s gone overcast, and the wind picks up just enough to make you shiver. Jimin notices and shrugs out of his jacket without hesitation, draping it over your shoulders.

“I’m fine,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t be annoying about it, YN-ah," he says. "You're taking care of our Jeonggukie, so we want to take care of you. Is that so bad?"

Ugh. You wish that didn't make you feel so guilty. You're grateful for Jimin and Taehyung, for the way they've accepted you into their weird little family so easily. You just wish it wasn't all built on a lie. Maybe then you'd feel like you deserve it.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

“Don’t mention it."

"I guess we’ll see you Friday?" Taehyung says.

“Yeah,” you nod. “See you then."

He pulls you into a hug. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You nod into his shoulder. “Okay.”

When he pulls back, Jimin swoops in for a quick hug of his own, hands warm on your back. “Try not to overthink whatever the meeting’s about,” he says quietly. "I'm sure it's probably nothing."

"Yeah," you lie. "Probably."

They head off together, laughing about something before they even reach the end of the block. You pull Jimin's jacket tighter around your body and head in the opposite direction.

★ ★ ★

When you get to Yoongi’s apartment, it's immediately clear to you that his mood has soured since you last saw him.

It’s not anything he says—he doesn't say anything, really, when he opens the door—but it's practically rolling off of him in waves.

You hesitate in the entryway, uncertain. You don’t want to press if something’s wrong, but you also don’t want him to force himself to fuck you just to be polite.

"You okay?" you ask, watching his back as he retreats into his kitchen.

"Yeah," he says, even though he sounds anything but. He opens a cabinet, pausing to look at you over his shoulder. "You want a drink?"

You hesitate. You probably shouldn't, considering how good you've been this week. But…

"Sure."

He nods and pulls down two glasses, then reaches beneath the counter.

"What are we having?" you ask, sliding onto one of the high-back bar stools at the island.

He resurfaces with a bottle in his hand, amber liquid sloshing inside as he opens it up. Whiskey it is.

He pours a healthy amount into both glasses before sliding one to you. You watch as he drains his drink in one go, instantly moving to refill it after.

"Shit," you huff, taking a much smaller sip of your own. "Bad day?"

"Something like that," he grunts.

Great. This is going nowhere.

"Do you want me to go, Yoongi?" you ask impatiently, setting your glass down. "You could've texted me if you changed your mind."

He looks up, making eye contact with you for the first time since he opened his door. He exhales tiredly through his nose, shaking his head.

"No," he says, staring back down at the liquid in his glass. "I'm still up for it, I swear. It's just been a weird few hours."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talking about my bandmate with his girlfriend doesn't seem like the best idea," he says with a scoff, and you fight not to bristle instinctively at his word choice.

So this is about Jeongguk.

"I'm not his girlfriend," you sigh. "You called that from the beginning, remember?"

He looks up with a guilt-laden expression, but you raise a hand, disinterested in whatever apology is surely on the tip of his tongue. You've both done your fair share of bitching at each other, some earned and some not. You're done apologizing for it.

"Besides," you continue, "whether you like it or not, I'm probably one of the only people you can talk to about this. So talk, or I'm going home. I'm not fucking you if you're gonna be an asshole the whole time. If I wanted that, I'd piss you off myself."

He huffs in surprise. "Okay," he concedes. "I'll talk."

You cross your arms, waiting. Yoongi takes another pull from his drink, then sighs.

"It's not weird for Jeongguk to get mad at me for shit," he starts, "or to ice me out. For a little while, at least. Being in a band isn't easy. We've been through some fucked up shit together, and he doesn't always like the decisions I make, or the way I do things. That's normal.

"Trying to settle on a bassist was fucking awful. I thought he'd never speak to me again. Every single day, we met in Jimin's parents' stupid garage, auditioning this string of assholes who wouldn't know a bass line if Seo Taiji himself was right in front of them. And every time I sent someone home, Jeongguk insisted that I was being too harsh, you know? That my standards were too high. That I was being an asshole just to be an asshole."

You shift in your seat, picking your glass up to take a sip of your drink. It's weird, hearing Yoongi go on and on like this, especially about something so personal. But he clearly needs it, and honestly, it's nice to hear about someone else's problems for once. So you keep listening.

"And then Kim fucking Taehyung walks in. He was so weird, you know? Still is. That story we tell during interviews, that he was the first one we auditioned? He made that shit up. I don't know why." He laughs a little. "But he can play a fucking bass, so I don't give a shit. I just wanted the best."

He looks up then, meeting your eyes. "For Jeongguk," he continues. "All of this? The fame and the tours and the award shows, all the bullshit… It was his dream, not mine. I just wanted the best for him. That's still all I want."

Yikes.

"You didn't want to be in a band, too?" you ask.

"I don't know what I wanted to do," he admits, dropping his gaze again. He swirls the contents of his glass as he speaks. "I thought I wanted to do concert piano for a living. Even got through three and a half years of college for it, but I couldn't hack it in the end. I dropped out. Music was my dream, but I think doing it like this would've been last on my list."

That surprises you. Yoongi is such a natural on stage; it's hard to imagine him doing anything else. You envy him for it, honestly. That kind of presence can't be trained into someone—it's built in from the start. The idea that someone could have that and be so indifferent to it…

Your curiosity gets the better of you. "What would you be doing instead?"

He shrugs. "Something less public-facing, probably. Teaching kids? I don't know."

Huh. You try to picture it for a second. Yoongi, working at an elementary school or something, walking kids through piano scales and helping them tune their guitars. Playing nursery rhymes. instead of rock anthems. The whole idea is just so fucking unexpected, coming from him.

Catching the surprised look on your face, Yoongi snorts. "I'm good with kids," he insists.

"I believe you!" you say, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“You don’t,” he says, still amused. “But that’s okay.”

When the laughter peters out, silence takes its place. Yoongi takes another drink, the edge of his irritation dulled now. He looks tired more than anything. Unmoored.

"But Jeongguk wanted to be in a band," you say, redirecting the conversation.

"Yeah." His lips flatten into a line as he gets his train of thought back. "He's never stayed mad at me for this long. He's such a good kid, but he can be so fucking stubborn sometimes, you know? And I don't know how to make things better if he won't talk to me."

You feel for him. You can't help it. You still don't know exactly what they've been fighting about this whole time—although you have a good guess—but you do know that whatever it is, you inadvertently caused the dam to break. You want to help. You never purposefully set out to tear apart their friendship.

"Yoongi, I think that's your problem right there," you offer softly. "Jeongguk isn't a kid. He's a man."

His eyes flick up to yours, and the look on his face breaks your heart a little. So much sadness, worn so openly.

“I can't help it. I just…” His voice is low, and there's an edge of rawness to it. “I’ve always felt responsible for him. I don’t even know when it started. It’s like—if something goes wrong, I assume it’s my fault. That I didn’t shield him well enough. Didn’t make the right call.”

You reach across the counter, resting your hand lightly over his. His fingers twitch beneath yours.

“I get it,” you say. “You love him. You want to protect him. It isn't a bad thing, Yoongi. I wish I'd had someone protecting me like that when I first started." You press your lips together, not wanting to keep heading down that line of thought. "But maybe what he needs right now isn’t your protection. Maybe he needs your trust.”

He’s quiet for a moment, staring down at your fingers, loosely tangled with his.

“You just seem tired,” you add quietly. “And I think it’s because you’re not living your life for you.”

Yoongi hums. For a second, you wonder if you crossed a line, until he says softly, "I'm sure you wouldn't be shocked to know you aren't the first person to tell me all of that."

You smile sadly. "No," you agree. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Maybe I should listen, huh?"

"Maybe so."

Yoongi watches your hands for a moment longer before giving your fingers one last squeeze, pulling away to reach for his glass again. He sets it in the sink, then turns to you fully, leaning his weight against the counter.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “For being in such a shit mood.”

You shrug. “I’m a big girl,” you say. “I can handle a little baggage.”

"Still," he sighs. "That's not what you came here for." He rubs the back of his neck, scoffing to himself. "You came here to fuck. I promised you a good time, and this is… not that."

You tip your glass back, draining the last of the whiskey, and set it down with a small thunk on the counter.

“So make it up to me,” you say.

His brows lift as he watches you round the island toward him. “Yeah?”

You stop in front of him, toe to toe, and slide your hands up the front of his shirt, fingers splaying across the smooth skin beneath. You feel the beat of his heart, quickening under your palm.

“Yeah,” you murmur, eyes on his. "If you're still up for it."

You wouldn't be upset if he's changed his mind, but something tells you he hasn't. Maybe it's the way he's looking at you, like he couldn't deny you anything even if he wanted to. It thrills you, knowing you have that kind of power over someone. You never have before.

“Come here,” he says, voice rough now. He presses a hand into the small of your back and draws you in, closing the space between your bodies. You go easily, letting yourself fit against him so he can kiss you.

You taste the whiskey on his tongue, smoky and sharp, as his tongue slides against yours. He groans softly when you suck on his bottom lip, and the sound goes straight to your core. His hands grip tighter at your hips, then slip around to cup your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. You feel a smirk tug at his lips before he pulls back just enough to speak.

“Dollface," he rasps. "You wanna come to bed?"

You nod, already breathless. His hand finds yours, and he laces your fingers together as he leads you out of his kitchen, through his living room, and down the hallway.

His bedroom is dimly lit, the curtains drawn, the room quiet save for the city noise outside. His bed, just like last time, is perfectly made on one side. Too big for just one person.

Yoongi doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it. Once the door clicks shut, he spins you to face him, kissing you so deeply your attention is effectively stolen.

His hands push beneath your shirt, palms skimming your skin. "Can I?" he murmurs, and you wordlessly raise your arms for him, allowing him to push the fabric up and over your head.

He tosses it aside and steps back just slightly, enough to let his gaze sweep over you. There’s something in his stare that feels heavy, and it pins you in place. It's not just lust, though there’s plenty of that, but something else you can't decipher. You shift under the weight of it, unsure what to do with yourself.

“What?” you ask softly, suddenly self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head. “Just… you’re beautiful.”

The honesty in his tone catches you off guard. You glance away, embarrassed (as if you don't model for a living), but Yoongi steps forward again and reaches for the clasp of your bra. He makes quick work of it, sliding the straps off your shoulders and letting it drop.

He cups your breasts gently, thumbs teasing your nipples until your breath stutters. Encouraged, he ducks his head and licks a stripe over one. He sucks the peak into his mouth, skilled tongue swirling around it, and the feeling of his piercing against the sensitive bud makes your knees weak. You moan, fingers threading into his hair in a weak effort to gain a shred of balance.

Yoongi hums, clearly pleased with himself. He switches sides, lavishing your other breast with more attention. This time, he's less gentle. His teeth graze the tender skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp and tug at the silky strands between your fingers. His tongue follows, licking over where his teeth had been, soothing and stimulating in the same motion. He doesn’t stop until both of your nipples are stiff and wet and aching.

Satisfied, he pulls back, tongue peeking out briefly to trace over his bottom lip. Your eyes track the movement hungrily.

“I ever tell you how much I like your tits?” he asks.

Your arms drop to your sides. “I think I got the message," you respond dryly, but the sound of your voice, shaky with arousal, dampens the effect you're going for.

"Mm." Hooking his index fingers into the belt loops at the front of your jeans, he guides you backwards toward the bed, following you step by step until the backs of your legs bump the edge of the mattress. He pushes lightly at your shoulders, and you lie back without protest, propped up on your elbows to watch as he settles between your legs.

He makes a show of it, slowly unbuttoning your jeans and tugging the zipper down one tooth at a time, eyes locked on yours. "You gonna let me eat this pussy, baby?"

Baby. That's new. Shit, you really shouldn't love it so much when he calls you that.

You lick your lips, shifting to help him slide the denim down. "You promised me you would, didn't you?" you tease, spreading your legs wide as soon as they're free. "Pretty sure I'm owed."

Yoongi chuckles darkly, glancing down at the dark, wet patch that's formed on the crotch of your panties. "Fuck, you're gonna get it," he growls, ducking his head. His teeth graze your hip and you shiver. "It's all I fucking think about."

"Yeah?" you pant, your eyes fluttering shut. His hair tickles your belly as he shifts lower to kiss and lick at your inner thighs, so close but so far. "Quit teasing, then, if you want it so bad."

"Wanna take my time," he murmurs, nosing at your mound but still not fucking doing anything. "That's what I said I'd do, right? At the party?"

You whine, sliding your fingers back into his hair, trying desperately to guide him where you want him. Need him. He doesn't budge. "You also said you'd make me cum over and over, and here I am, nowhere near an orgasm."

Yoongi laughs. "Yeah? You bored, brat?" he asks, catching the waistband of your panties between his teeth and—oh, fuck, is he taking them off like that?

He drags the fabric down slowly, his tongue darting out to taste your skin on the way. "I'd be having more fun," you retort breathlessly, watching as he carelessly discards your panties, "if you'd get on with it."

Yoongi ignores your complaint, spreading your pussy with his thumbs. You flush at the slick, obscene sound it makes.

"Goddamn," he breathes, more to himself than you. "You’re so fucking wet."

Suddenly, he leans in and—without warning—spits directly on your pussy. It lands hot, mixing with everything already there, and you gasp loudly. He watches it drip down, pupils blown. "Look at this. All swollen for me."

You moan as he drags a single finger down your slit, collecting slick and spit, swirling it lazily over your clit. It’s barely any pressure, but you're so sensitive that it still makes your thighs threaten to close. He holds them apart with firm hands.

"Don’t get shy on me now," he teases, lips curving smugly against your inner thigh. "You were real fucking mouthy a second ago."

He ducks his head to flick his tongue lightly against your clit, teasing. You gasp and arch into him, and he lets you. Lets you grind a little against his mouth, lets you chase it just for a moment, before pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your slick skin. Your entire body shudders.

You can't fucking take it anymore.

"Yoongi, please," you whimper.

"Please, what?" he asks, voice rough as he kisses along your folds. "Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me how you want it."

"I want your mouth on me. I want your tongue inside me, or— I just want to cum, so can you please fucking—"

That must be enough for him, because Yoongi doesn't wait for you to finish. He grabs your hips and drags you closer, burying his face between your legs.

"Oh my god," you hiss, flailing a little as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks.

He hums against you and flattens his tongue, slow and firm, like he’s savoring you. His fingers dig into the softness of your inner thighs, keeping you still and spread, and then he starts to really move. Long licks interspersed with tighter, more focused pressure, tongue curling over your clit with determination.

Your back arches off the bed. "Oh, fuck—"

"Say my name again,” he murmurs against you.

"Yoongi!" It’s a sob, really, broken and high-pitched as your thighs tremble and your pussy gushes more and more. He eats it up—literally and figuratively—groaning as you grind helplessly into his face, his nose bumping your clit between every hungry lick.

“Shit, dollface,” he mutters, lips slick with your arousal. “You taste so fucking good.“ He nuzzles in deeper, sucks again, and then he's pressing a single finger into you.

As wet as you are, one finger quickly becomes two. He fucks them into you slowly at first, just stretching you open, and then his mouth is back on your clit, working in tandem with the way his fingers move.

You're so close, way too fast, but you can't help it. It’s like he knows your body better than you do.

Knows what patterns to trace, when to suck, when to ease off. In response you're flailing, making pitiful, needy sounds that you can’t hold back. His fingers find purchase on your G-spot, and you swear your vision goes white for a second.

“Right there,” you sob.

He redoubles his efforts with a growl against your cunt, and it vibrates through you. The pressure builds and builds and builds, until the wave finally crests.

You come hard. It crashes through you, pleasure pulsing out in waves that make your whole body seize up. You cry out, gasping his name as your pussy clenches around his fingers. He works you through it, mouth never leaving you, fingers thrusting slower now, deeper, helping you ride it out until you’re twitching and whimpering from overstimulation.

Only then does he finally ease off.

His lips and chin are glistening when he sits back on his heels, using his clean hand to rub soothingly up and down your thigh. "Okay?"

You stare at him, dazed. "What the fuck."

Yoongi snickers, wiping his hand carelessly on his jeans. "You act like you didn't know I was good."

God, the ego on this fucking guy.

"Just—" You sit up, tugging harshly at the hem of his shirt. "Shut up. I hate you. Come fuck me."

You're so focused on getting his clothes off that you barely register his amused huff. Obligingly, he reaches between his shoulder blades to pull his shirt over his head. Once it's out of the way, his hair is left all ruffled, and he's flushed from his ears all the way down to his chest. It's annoyingly endearing.

"Pants," you mumble, throwing your arm over your eyes. You can't deal with looking at him right now, not like this.

"Yeah, yeah."

The bed shifts as he presumably moves to stand, and you hear the clink of his belt being undone, followed by the scratch of a zipper and the rustling of denim. You shift your arm the slightest bit, peeking out from under it to take in the sight of him.

He’s gorgeous. You knew that, but unfairly so. The broadness of his shoulders, the strength of his arms, all that pale, smooth skin on display. He’s lean, defined in an understated way—not showy but solid. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, flushed and hard and leaking at the tip, and you swear your mouth waters at the sight.

You don't know why you can't stop staring. It's silly. You've fucked each other in every sense of the word. You’ve even seen him naked like this before—just the once, in his shower, but still. Why aren’t you used to it yet?

The tension breaks when he scratches the back of his neck and gives you a crooked grin, one that’s too sheepish to be cocky. "So, uh," he starts wryly, "we should probably use a condom this time, huh?"

Your brows lift, because huh? Where'd that come from? You let your arm drop fully and blink at him. "What?"

"I didn’t have one the first time," he mutters. "If I did, I would’ve… I wasn’t trying to be a total asshole. We were just—fuck, we were pissed off, and then we were fucking, and—it just happened kinda fast, you know?"

Fuck, he's being so cute. Why do you find this so cute?

You sit up and reach for him, cupping his jaw to cut him off. "It’s okay," you assure him softly. "I have an IUD. You’re good."

"Are you sure?"

"I mean… you're clean, right?"

Yoongi huffs. "Yeah, I'm clean."

"Okay, me too." You shrug. "We probably should've talked about this sooner, you're right, but… I'm good if you're good."

His eyes search yours for a second, his fingers twitching like he wants to touch you but doesn’t quite know where to start. And then he leans in, slow this time, just a gentle press of his lips to yours.

It’s almost sweet. A little tentative, the way his mouth moves against yours. You curl your arms around his neck, pulling him down with you, both of you sinking back into the pillows.

He hums and leans in, slotting himself between your legs. His cock brushes your inner thigh, leaving a streak of precome in its wake, but neither of you rushes it. He kisses you again instead, slow and deep and good, and your hands wander over his back, his shoulders, his chest. Every part of him is warm and solid and real.

When the kiss breaks, you sigh into his mouth. "I like it when you’re like this."

"Like what?" he murmurs, nuzzling along your jaw, lips trailing toward your neck.

"Not talking."

He huffs against your skin. "Bitch." But there’s no bite to it. Just fondness.

Yoongi’s laugh fades into a soft groan as you shift beneath him, your thighs opening wider to cradle his hips. "Yoongi," you whine, barely a whisper.

"Yeah, baby," he breathes, "I got you."

One hand braces beside your head, the other guides his cock. You gasp as the head slips past your folds, thick and hot and nudging at where you’re soaked and still soft from before.

“Fuck,” he groans when he starts to push in slowly, the stretch enough to steal your breath even though your body welcomes him easily. You clutch at him, nails pressing into his back as he sinks all the way in.

You can’t stop the moan that leaves your throat. The full-body shiver.

Yoongi bottoms out with a quiet, punched-out exhale, forehead dropping to yours. You can feel how hard he’s trying to stay still, how his arms tremble from restraint. His hips are flush to yours, pelvis pressed against your clit, and you feel impossibly full.

And then he moves—not pulling out, not thrusting in, but grinding. He rolls his hips in maddening little circles, dragging the base of his cock against your walls while his pelvis nudges your clit just right. Your arms tighten around him, hips rocking up instinctively.

His eyes flutter open, dark and heavy-lidded, and he watches your face closely as he does it again. Another perfect grind, his cock pressed so deep inside you it feels like you’re going to split open around him.

“Can feel you squeezing me,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours.

Words fail you, so you just moan in response, head tipping back into the pillows. You've never felt anything like this before.

He kisses you again, panting into your mouth, his tongue sweeping in and tangling sloppily with yours. There’s no space between you like this. Your body is pressed against his all the way down, sweat slicking your skin as his weight presses you into the bed. Every nerve ending is lit up, hypersensitive from your last orgasm, but somehow still desperate for more.

Suddenly, Yoongi’s hands find yours, fingers lacing together as he pins them beside your head.

“C'mon,” he pants.

You nod, breath caught in your throat. All you can do is stare up at him, mouth parted, gasping with every deep grind of his hips.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasp. “I—fuck—I can’t—”

It starts in your core, then erupts outward. Your whole body locks up for half a second before it shatters, legs trembling, back arching, vision going white behind your eyes.

You cry out, a high, broken sob of a sound, Yoongi’s name tangled in your moan as your cunt clamps down around him, spasming uncontrollably. You feel it everywhere: your toes curling, thighs shaking, lungs burning as your hips lift high, trying to take him even deeper.

Yoongi groans loudly into your neck, holding you tighter, fucking you through it with those deep, grinding rolls, riding the wave with you. "Fuck, that’s it, dollface, just like that," he moans. "God, you’re so fucking sweet."

It keeps going, cresting again, and Yoongi doesn’t stop. You’re floating. Thrashing. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

Before you can even come down, the controlled rhythm breaks. Yoongi finally lets himself fuck you in earnest, withdrawing just enough to thrust back in with force that punches a breath from your lungs.

You barely have time to adjust to the change before he untangles his fingers from yours and grabs the backs of your thighs. He pushes them up, stretching your muscles until your knees are bent near your shoulders. The position forces you open impossibly wide, completely at his mercy.

“Shit!” you cry. “Yoongi—”

“I know,” he murmurs, eyes locked on where his cock disappears into your soaked cunt, brow furrowed in concentration. “I know, baby.”

Each thrust now is frantic and overwhelming, deep enough to make you feel it in your stomach. Your breath stutters, mouth falling open around the helpless sounds he pulls from you. You can’t stop clenching around him, your body still twitching from your orgasm, so tight he groans like it’s killing him.

Your fingers scrabble against the sheets before finding his forearm, digging in, holding on. You feel the cord of muscle beneath his skin, tense and trembling as he drives into you. He shifts, and the arm you're not gripping curls beneath your lower back to lift your hips higher, angling you just so, and the next thrust makes you sob.

"You’re sucking me in so tight," he grits out, breath hot against your cheek. "C'mon, I know you can cum again."

Again?

You're not even sure if your body is through with the last one, but surely enough, another wave crashes over you before the last has even fully ebbed. It blurs together, cresting and breaking, and you can’t tell where one orgasm ends and the next begins.

“Fucking god, yes,” he groans, nearly snarling the words. He slams into you once, twice more, then pulls out fast, fisting his cock just in time. The first hot spurt hits your stomach, then another, thick ropes painting your skin as he shudders through it.

Holy shit. What the fuck just happened?

After a while, he climbs off the bed. You watch him move, watch the way his muscles shift beneath his skin, the way his brows knit together as he cleans himself off and pulls a pair of underwear from his dresser.

“You okay?” he asks finally, walking back over to you with a box of tissues. He dabs gently at your stomach, cleaning you diligently.

You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah,” you say, and your voice is hoarse, spent from moaning. “Jesus, Yoongi. I’m more than okay.”

Once you're clean, he tosses the tissue into a wastebasket. “Good.”

You blink at the ceiling. “I think you melted my brain,” you say. Exactly what you wanted.

Yoongi chuckles quietly and lifts himself up to lie beside you, one arm tucking under his head while the other snakes across your stomach, fingers tracing mindless shapes into your skin.

You shift slightly to rest your head on his shoulder, letting your cheek press into his damp skin. “That was crazy."

He hums. “Yeah.”

You feel like you should get up. Take a shower. Go home. But you don’t move. Neither of you does.

Yoongi speaks first. “Sorry again. For earlier.”

You glance up at him. “It's fine."

"Thanks for listening to that shit. You didn't have to."

Ha. You think back to Sunday and Yoongi folding the stupid blankets on your couch. How he stayed to make sure you were okay. You both seem to be doing a lot of things you technically don't have to do for each other.

"I'm surprised we still…" Fucked? That doesn't feel like the right word for what that was.

He turns his head to look at you. “No, I needed this,” he admits. He’s quiet for a moment, before adding, “I needed you.”

Your breath catches a little at that.

This is the closest either of you has come to saying anything that sounds remotely like a feeling.

“Then I’m glad I came.”

Yoongi hums again, the sound low and content.

He shifts onto his side and reaches for you, coaxing you into the circle of his arms. You settle there easily, your exhausted body curling into his warmth, one leg slung over his hip, your cheek pillowed on his chest. He pulls the duvet up over both of you.

For a while, you just lie there, eyes fluttering shut, your body melting into the mattress.

“You falling asleep on me?” he murmurs eventually, voice rough but amused.

“Mmm… maybe.”

Yoongi huffs a quiet laugh. “Go ahead, then.”

You’re already drifting, so you just let yourself rest in the warmth of him.

★ ★ ★

The next morning, you wake to the sound of strings vibrating under practiced fingers. For a moment, you’re disoriented—wrapped in unfamiliar sheets, in a bed much bigger than your own. But the ache between your legs is a helpful reminder of where you spent last night, and who with.

The other side of the bed is empty, the comforter rumpled where Yoongi must have carefully slipped out earlier. You stretch lazily, muscles pleasantly sore, toes brushing cool sheets as you roll onto your back. For a few seconds, you just lie there, staring up at the ceiling and letting yourself savor the quiet domesticity of the moment. The kind that feels borrowed and unfamiliar to you.

The music finds you again, clearer now, and you sit up, rubbing your eyes and blinking against the pale morning light that spills through the window. You shuffle out of bed, tugging one of Yoongi’s shirts over your head, and follow the sound.

The hallway floor is cold beneath your feet, and you can’t help but notice how different Yoongi’s apartment feels in the light of morning. There are frames you’ve never noticed before lining the walls of the hallway. Pictures of the band, friends you’ve never met before.

You stop for a moment in front of a photo of a young Yoongi with his parents. Or, you assume it’s his parents, only because the resemblance is striking. It looks like it was taken on a family vacation. His mom’s wearing sunglasses and a bucket hat, his dad’s carrying a massive ice cream cone, and Yoongi’s in the middle, smiling so wide you can see his gums.

You’re oddly touched by the sight of a younger Yoongi. He looks so bright, so soft, so unlike the man you know now. A happier version of him preserved in time. You wonder if the picture’s still there because it brings him comfort.

You tear your eyes away before you can overthink it too much, padding down the hall toward the sound of the guitar.

When you finally find Yoongi, he’s on the couch in the living room, hunched over as he plays. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. A pair of glasses you’ve never seen before sits perched on his nose, and his brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he picks out the same sequence of notes, over and over again. A notebook is open on the coffee table in front of him, messy handwriting scrawled across the pages.

You linger in the doorway, watching.

He strums the same four chords again, pauses, then hums something under his breath. A melody. Then he stops, frowns, and jots something down in the notebook. His pen scratches across the paper for a moment before he sets it aside and tries again.

It’s startlingly similar to that day on Jeju, when Jeongguk guilted you into making peace. When Yoongi sang those horrible lyrics to your face, the ones he wrote with you in mind. When you were terrified that he somehow knew about…

But he didn’t. And although the scene set in front of you is similar to that day, it’s also so, so different. You’re not terrified this time. You don’t feel like you’re walking into some kind of trap. You don’t dread what will happen next when he realizes you’re there.

Crazy, how quickly things have changed.

You knock gently on the doorframe, not wanting to startle him. Yoongi looks up when he hears it, and the crease between his brows immediately smooths out.

“Hey,” he says, voice still rough with sleep.

“Hey,” you murmur back, padding over to sink onto the couch beside him. “How long’ve you been up?”

He shrugs. “Not long. Just had something stuck in my head.”

You glance down at the notebook. “New song?”

“Maybe,” he says, reaching to close it before you can read anything he’s written. Hm. Some things don’t change, you guess. “Just messing around.”

“How many do you have left to write for the album?”

Yoongi sighs, rolling his neck. “Two.”

“That’s not too bad,” you offer, hugging your knees to your chest.

“In theory.”

“Come on,” you tease, tilting your head at him. “Aren’t you, like, known for cranking out award-winning albums like it’s nothing?”

He huffs through his nose, lips pressing into a line. “That’s what they say,” he mutters. “I’m a little off my game as of late.”

Right. You shouldn’t be surprised by that, given your conversation last night. You’re sure it’s hard to write a song that’s meant to be sung by your best friend who isn’t speaking to you.

Well, you’re a little rusty, but…

“...If you’re stuck, I might be able to help?”

Yoongi stiffens the instant you say it, but thankfully, he doesn’t immediately shut you down. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you say, glancing at his notebook pointedly, then back at him, “sometimes a second pair of eyes can be helpful.” You snort at the look on his face, adding, “if you’re capable of not being a total control freak about it, that is.”

“It’s not that. I mean, not completely,” Yoongi says, shifting uncomfortably. “I just… I don’t know. It’s kinda…”

Holy shit, is he embarrassed? You try not to look too thrilled about it.

“Yoongi,” you say, barely managing to suppress the laughter that’s threatening to break free. “It’s not like my opinion matters at all. Are you worried I’m going to judge your songwriting skills or something? Mr. Renowned Lyricist?”

Yoongi groans, and you note with complete delight that the tips of his ears are getting pink. “Are you gonna let it go if I say no?”

“Probably not.”

“You’re awful,” he complains, grabbing his notebook and waving it in front of your face. “Fine. Knock yourself out.”

You take the notebook carefully, resting it across your thighs as you glance over the lyrics.

The handwriting is slanted and messy, some words underlined, others scratched out entirely. There isn’t a single bit of empty space left on the page. The song is clearly unfinished, but from what you can make out, none of it is bad by any means.

And when you say that you need me tonight I can't keep my feelings in disguise The white part of my eyeballs illuminate And I'll wait for you as if I'm waiting for a storm to stop I've heard them talking 'bout how I'm gonna put you off Tell me, how can I put you off when you're a matter of urgency I've got a million things that I need to do but they're all secondary

God, he’s good. You feel bad that his fight with Jeongguk is clearly producing such fucking sad songs from him, but still. He’s every bit the amazing lyricist you’ve always known him to be.

You lift your head, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at him. “I’m not seeing the problem here. These are great.”

Yoongi keeps his gaze fixed on his guitar and shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think Sejin will like it.”

“Why not?” you ask, baffled by the idea.

“It doesn’t really fit with the rest of the songs, I guess.”

You hum, glancing back down at the notebook to read the guitar tabs he’s scrawled out beneath the words. “I’d have to hear it to make a judgement on that.”

Yoongi laughs suddenly, snatching the notebook from your hands and tossing it back onto the coffee table. “Absolutely not,” he says firmly.

You balk at him. “Why? Yoongi, you act like your songs aren’t listened to by literally millions of people.”

“Yeah, that’s when they’re finished,” he replies, gingerly setting his guitar back onto its stand, “which this one is not.”

Why the fuck is he being so testy about it? Didn’t he spill his guts to you about Jeongguk just last night?

“Fine,” you say, raising your hands in surrender. “Whatever. If you don’t wanna play it for me, you don’t have to. I’m just saying it’s good.”

Yoongi sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, okay?” he says, finally making eye contact with you. “I’m not trying to be a dick about it. I’m just… weird about people hearing my shit when it’s not ready.”

“I get it.” You nudge his shoulder with yours, trying to lighten the mood. “Control freak.”

That, at least, earns you a snort of amusement. “Guilty.”

“We can talk about something else,” you offer. “Unless you want me to go? I don’t wanna distract you.”

“No,” Yoongi says instantly. “You can stay. You don’t have anything today?”

You shake your head. “I have a fitting later, but other than that, no. It’s a light day. I think my manager is giving me a buffer before the meeting tomorrow.”

He turns to you with recognition in his eyes. “Oh, right. Do you have any idea what the hell that’s about?”

“No,” you say, trying to ignore the pang of nausea in your stomach. “I was hoping you did, honestly.”

“I don’t,” he says apologetically.

You shift on the couch, searching your brain for some kind of way to shift the topic to anything else. You aren’t used to just hanging out with Yoongi like this. Luckily, he breaks the silence for you.

“Look, by the way, I really am sorry for reacting like that,” he says. “Your opinion does matter to me. The song you wrote for your debut…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Believe me, I’m not questioning your skills.”

You offer him a small smile. “It’s okay. Really.”

“Just making sure.”

You lean back against the couch, watching the way his fingers absentmindedly tap against his knee. It’s strange, you think, how natural this feels. How different it is from what you were so used to—sniping comments, sharp words, the constant tension that felt like it defined your relationship with him.

You spent so long hating Min Yoongi. Or at least, telling yourself you did. Convincing yourself that the irritation, the anger, the obsession with him was anything but something more complicated. Sitting here now, calm and quiet, it throws you off.

“It’s so weird, us getting along like this,” you say, laughing awkwardly. “Like… I could not have envisioned this happening, based on the night we met. You were such a dick. I don’t think I’ve ever hated somebody so quickly.”

Yoongi’s mouth curves into a grimace. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “That night was… something.”

It’s the response you were expecting, but the look on his face throws you off. It isn’t guilt. It’s more like… he’s holding onto a secret you’re not privy to yet.

With everything going on, that’s the last thing you need.

“What?” you ask, nudging him.

“Nothing, just…” He meets your eyes, tilting his head at you. “The last night of the tour wasn’t the first time we met.”

Huh??

“What are you talking about?”

“We met at your debut show,” Yoongi says, causing your brow to furrow. You remember him mentioning that he was there, but he didn’t say you met.

“I don’t blame you for not remembering,” he continues. “I kinda figured you didn’t. It was years ago, not to mention it was your fucking debut. But… we definitely did.”

God, that night is so fuzzy. Yoongi is right, it was years ago, but more than that… You just had a lot going on.

“We were barely signed to the label. In your eyes, I was probably a nobody. Plus, I looked really different back then. Skinnier. My hair was shorter and, like, mint green. I’m sure you met a lot of people that night, and I probably was just another idol in a sea of idols.”

“And… we talked?” you ask.

“Uh… Yeah. We talked for a bit.”

“What about?”

Yoongi shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s been a long time,” he mumbles. “I don’t know. I congratulated you on your debut, complimented your voice. Probably tried to suggest some kind of collaboration. I mean, I would’ve been an idiot not to.”

You can tell he’s leaving something out, and it sets you on edge. “What else?” you needle.

Yoongi sighs. “I mean, I flirted with you,” he admits. “I thought you were hot. Does that really surprise you?”

It does, actually. You were a wreck back then. Not to mention, it wasn’t your best night.

“Did I flirt back?”

“I thought you were,” he says, shrugging. “I don’t know. We didn’t get to talk for that long. You got pulled away by someone from your company, and…”

He looks embarrassed, so you push further. “What?”

“When I ran into you later, you kinda blew me off. So I just assumed you weren’t interested. In any of it.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck. That must’ve been after…

Noticing the expression on your face, Yoongi nudges you. “What is it, dollface?”

You shake your head. “Nothing, just…” A sad smile twitches at your lips. “I just wish we’d met any other night.”

Yoongi watches you for a moment, like he’s weighing something, then leans back against the couch beside you, eyes on the ceiling.

“I always wondered what would’ve happened if things had gone different that night,” he finally admits. “If you hadn’t walked away. If we’d worked together. Or even just stayed in touch.”

You glance over at him, unsure what to say.

“I think I would've messed it up,” you settle on, voice soft. “I wasn’t really capable of making connections that didn’t feel… transactional.”

Yoongi turns his head to look at you. “Yeah,” he says, but not unkindly. “I get that.”

“I was really lost back then. So if I came off cold or rude, it wasn’t about you. I just didn’t have room in my head for much else.”

Yoongi hums.

“Still,” you add. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. We found our way here anyway, didn’t we?”

That makes you smile. Your chest tightens a little, too, at the implication of it. Fuck, what are you doing?

You shift to lean your head on his shoulder, and he lets you, curling his arm around your waist to tug you closer.

“You can stay a little longer if you want,” he says. “I’ll make breakfast. Or something like it.”

You hum in response. “Only if there’s coffee.”

“There’s always coffee,” Yoongi says, pressing a startlingly intimate kiss to the side of your head. “I’m not a monster.”

★ ★ ★

You leave Yoongi’s apartment late that morning after breakfast, rushing to work in your clothes from last night.

The fitting that follows goes about as well as you expect—standard, annoying, impersonal. An hour of being poked and prodded while Hyerin clucks at the shape of your hips and the drape of the fabric. You zone out through most of it, thinking about the Yoongi, and Jeongguk, and the meeting that’s only hours away.

Afterward, you stop for something warm and greasy on the way home. Comfort food.

Once you’re back in the quiet of your apartment, you shower, make tea, and pull out your weighted blanket like it could do anything to flatten the anxiety clawing at your chest.

The knock at your door comes well past midnight.

At first, you think you imagined it. You're halfway between sleep and consciousness, cocooned under a weighted blanket with a mug of sleepytime tea going cold on your nightstand.

You’ve just barely managed to shut your brain off—something that took effort, considering the meeting tomorrow. But then it comes again, louder this time.

You sit up, frowning. There’s only one person with the balls to show up at your apartment unannounced this late, and you just saw him a few hours ago. There’s no way it’s Yoongi, right?

You pull your robe tightly around your body, pad barefoot through your dark apartment, and peer through the peephole.

Is that…?

“What the fuck, Jeongguk,” you mutter to yourself, reaching to unlock the door.

He looks like hell. When you finally get the door open, you’re greeted by the overwhelming scent of soju and cologne. He’s swaying slightly on his feet, eyes bloodshot and cheeks flushed.

“Guk?” Your voice is cautious. “What are you doing here?”

“She—” Jeongguk starts, then breaks off with a harsh breath. “She fucking left me, YN-ah. Packed a bag and everything. I don’t even know if she’s coming back.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

“Come in,” you say, opening the door wider.

Jeongguk stumbles past you and into your apartment. He drops onto your couch, and you watch as he buries his face in his hands, exhaling hard. You stay quiet for a moment, hovering near the door, unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says, voice muffled. “I just… I don’t want to be alone. Please.”

You finally walk over and sit across from him, resting your arms on your knees. “I’m sorry,” you say softly. “I know you love her.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, I do.”

"Then it'll all work out, right?" you offer, unsure of how else to comfort him. "If you love her, you can work past a stupid fight."

Jeongguk hums bitterly, lifting his head to look at you.

“I keep thinking about that night,” he murmurs. “The afterparty, when we met. Remember?”

You pull your arms away gently. “Guk, what does that have to do with—"

“Do you ever wonder what things would be like if we’d just… gotten together?” he asks, and it’s so unlike him that it knocks the breath from your lungs.

You recoil. “Are you serious right now?”

“Think about it!” he says. Slurs, really. “Maybe you never would’ve dated Kihyun, and I wouldn’t be… Maybe we’d still be together. It could’ve saved us both so much hurt, you know?”

God, what is he saying? And why now, of all times? You can't deal with this, not with the meeting tomorrow, and Yoongi,and—

“Stop.”

“She always gets jealous about you,” Jeongguk continues. “Always thinks there’s something more going on, and I always deny it—because there isn’t, right? There’s not.”

“There’s not,” you say tightly. Of course there's not!

“But what if there had been?” he asks, eyes glittering. “We’ve always had this chemistry, haven’t we? You’re single. I’m—”

“You’re drunk,” you snap. “And grieving. And completely out of line. I mean, what the fuck are you doing, Jeongguk? Do you hear yourself?”

Jeongguk flinches like you’ve slapped him. You take a breath, your voice quieter now, but still firm. “You set this up, remember? It was your idea. Because she couldn’t handle the pressure, and I could. Because you love her. And I agreed, because I care about you. But you never wanted me. Not like that.”

His shoulders sag, shame settling over him like a weight. Good, you think, because the Jeongguk that’s in front of you right now? You don’t recognize this guy.

“A few months ago,” you continue, “as shitty as it may be, I probably would’ve said yes. No matter who it hurt. I was lonely. I wanted something that felt like affection.”

He looks at you then, eyes wide and glistening.

“But I can’t do that anymore. I’m not that person now. And you don’t get to use me as some kind of escape hatch when things go bad with her.”

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything right away. His fingers drag through his hair as he leans forward, elbows on his knees, head hanging low. You can practically feel the shame radiating off of him in waves.

“I know,” he finally murmurs. “Fuck, I know. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No,” you agree, voice low. “You weren’t.”

“I just—” He lifts his head, his expression lost, a little boy caught in the wreckage of a life too big for him. “I think she’s really done this time.”

“You should go home,” you say, gentler now. “Try to talk to her in the morning. Let things cool off.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Maybe.”

You take a much-needed breath. You can't go into that meeting tomorrow with this hanging over your head. You decide, right at that moment, that you need to make a decision. One you've been putting off for way too long now.

“I think we need to end this.”

Jeongguk looks up at you sharply.

“The fake dating,” you clarify. “The arrangement. It's run its course.”

He leans back against your couch, letting his head fall against the cushion behind him. His eyes close, and he exhales slowly through his nose.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing," he mumbles.

You nod once, staring down at your hands in your lap. “It was never meant to last this long.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this, either,” he says, voice quiet. “I thought it would be easy, but ever since we started, everything’s been so fucked up.”

“I didn’t mind,” you add, and you mean it, for the most part. “I wanted to help.”

“I know,” he says, turning his head to look at you. “And I’ll never stop being grateful for that. You took so much heat for me. So much hate.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“But you didn’t deserve it. None of it. And I let it go on too long.”

You shift, folding one leg beneath you on the couch. “We’ll figure it out. The company meeting tomorrow is probably the best place to announce it anyway. Everyone’s gonna be there. They can help craft the story so they can put out the right statements. Control the fallout.”

“Right,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “Damage control.”

“I don’t want to lie anymore, Jeongguk.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “For all of it.”

You exhale. “It’s okay.”

“It’s really not.”

“No,” you agree. “But we can stop here. We can walk away before it gets worse.”

Jeongguk closes his eyes, nods once. “Okay.”

Neither of you says anything after that for a long while. You both sit with the weight of the moment, the finality of it. The quiet end of something that was never meant to become so complicated.

Eventually, Jeongguk shifts to stand. “I’ll let myself out.”

You stand too, walking with him to the door.

At the threshold, he turns to look at you again. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a small smile. “I will.”

“Night, YN.”

“Goodnight, Jeongguk.”

The door clicks softly shut behind him, and when the tears come, you let them.

It’s not just what just happened.

It’s everything. Everything you’ve been carrying for too long. Everything you haven’t said out loud to anyone. The weight of the performance. The fear for tomorrow. The years of pretending. The songs you don’t sing anymore. The girl you used to be.

Your hands are shaking by the time you reach for your phone. You hesitate only once before you find his name and hit call.

The line rings twice before Seokjin answers, his voice groggy and dry with sleep. “Hello?”

You inhale shakily. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I know it’s late.”

“Shit. Are you crying?”

Your lip trembles. “I know we’re fighting, but I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You can always call me,” he says, immediately more alert. “Where are you? Are you safe?”

“I’m home,” you murmur, pressing the heel of your hand into your eye. “I’m safe. Just… I’m so tired, Jinnie.”

“What happened?” he asks softly.

You don’t even know where to begin. But once you start talking, you don’t stop.

You tell him everything.

About Jeongguk. About the fight with his girlfriend. About the drunk visit and the proposition. You tell him how you shut it down, how you both agreed it was time to end the arrangement.

And then you tell him the rest. About the meeting tomorrow. The one you’ve been dreading for days, the one that has you sick with anxiety and spiraling every time you try to imagine what Dongwook might want with you now.

You talk for what feels like hours. You expect Seokjin to say “I told you so,” but he doesn’t.

When you finally stop talking, you feel wrung out. Raw.

“I’m glad you called,” he says quietly. “Even if you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you admit, sniffling. “I still haven’t forgiven you, but I don’t hate you.”

“You should,” he says. “What I said… YN, you know I don’t blame you for what happened, right? It wasn’t your fault. I was just worried about you, and I’m so sorry it came out like that.”

You shrug, even though he can’t see it. “That’s what best friends do, right? Say the one thing they know will cut the deepest.”

“I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I know.”

He huffs. “God, you really have been going through it without me.”

You laugh—wet and humorless. “Welcome back to the fucking show.”

Seokjin returns your laugh, even though it's more than a little sad.

"Look, about Min Yoongi," he starts, tentative. "You're a grown woman. I don't… It isn't my business who you fuck, as long as you're being safe. And with you, that goes beyond condoms."

You get what he means by that, but it's funny that he brings up condoms…

You go quiet.

“No,” he gasps. “You’re joking.”

“Jin—”

“You’re not using condoms?!” he wails. “You have a best friend in the medical field and you’re not using condoms?”

You groan, rubbing your forehead. “This is not what I called you for.”

“I can’t just gloss over the fact that you’re letting a man you’ve only recently stopped screaming at in public rawdog you. I swear to god, I will send you an entire PowerPoint about why condoms are still necessary even in monogamous—”

“Jin.”

He falls silent.

“Can you just… be my friend right now?”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, and you know even without him saying so that Seokjin feels like he’s overstepped again.

“Yeah,” he says apologetically. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “I know you’re just worried.”

“I am,” he admits. “I’m always worried about you. You act like you’re bulletproof, but I know better.”

You rest your forehead against your knee, tucking yourself tighter into the corner of the couch. “I don’t feel bulletproof. Not tonight.”

“I know,” he says again, his voice quieter now. “And I know tomorrow’s gonna suck. I can’t imagine how you’re keeping it together, with everything going on. But you’ve got this, okay? You’ve survived worse.”

“What if I can’t handle it?” you whisper. “What if I fall apart in that room?”

“You won’t,” he says, no hesitation. “But even if you did, you’d still be the strongest person I know.”

You sniff, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “I’m just scared.”

“I know, babe,” he murmurs. “But you’re not alone. Not anymore. You’ve got people now—people who give a shit.”

You huff out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I guess.”

You go quiet, and he doesn’t push. Just waits.

“I used to think if I was just good enough, if I made enough money, kept my mouth shut… maybe one day they’d finally let me make music again. That I could earn it back. But that’s not how it works. I was never going to get it back. I was just… convenient. And then I wasn’t.”

“YN,” Seokjin says, his voice thick, “you didn’t deserve what happened. You know that, right?”

“I do. I just don’t know how to let go of the part of me that still feels like I did.”

“You’re not that girl anymore. You fought like hell to become someone else. And you did it. No one can take that from you.”

You close your eyes. For the first time tonight, your breathing slows. Your chest eases. You feel a little more like yourself.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Always.”

There’s a soft rustle on his end of the line, like he’s getting back into bed.

“Try to sleep, okay?” he says. “You’ll need your energy for tomorrow. If nothing else, imagine me punching Dongwook in the throat. Picture it like a movie. Good sound design. Big dramatic slo-mo.”

You snort despite yourself. “Yeah. That helps.”

“Love you, YN.”

“Love you too, Jinnie.”

You stare at the ceiling long after your call with Seokjin ends.

There’s no clear solution, no easy answer waiting for you. Only more questions. More unknowns. But still, somehow, it feels like something shifted.

Tomorrow, you’ll get dressed in whatever Hyerin hands you. You’ll show up to the meeting with your spine straight and your chin lifted. You’ll be polite. You’ll be poised. And if Dongwook tries to turn your past into currency, you’ll burn the whole goddamn building down before you let him profit from your silence.

You turn off the bedside lamp and close your eyes.

You’re not that girl anymore. Not the one who ran. Not the one who folded. You’ve survived too much to pretend otherwise.

You’ll be ready.

a/n 2: did i mention that everything is about to get really, really bad? oops

i hope you all enjoyed! by my estimate, we only have about 4 or 5 chapters to go, so the hope is that this series will be wrapped up by the end of 2026! aaaaah that feels so crazy to me, but i also think it's time. as much as i love POF, i don't want to let it drag on for too long before you all get the answers and the resolution you're looking for <3 but in the meantime, we still have a lot of points to hit! and good luck to everyone participating in the ticketing war coming up LOL

as always, feedback is always appreciated, so please leave a comment/reblog or send something into my askbox if you enjoyed! <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future fics!

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