𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚

You waved as Jungkook shut the car door, putting the car into drive again as you left the bar. Glancing over at Jin, you laughed as you saw him already passed out, head lolling to the side, mouth agape.

Shaking your head, you drove silently to Jin’s apartment complex. You pulled into his second parking space, turning to face him. Nudging him gently, you shook him awake.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. Get up. We’re here.”

Jin grumbled, struggling to get his seatbelt off. Letting out an exasperated sigh, you reached over to unclick it for him, then went one step farther and pulled the lever to open his car door for him as well. Turning the car off, you walked over to his side of the car and pulled the door open all the way. You watched as he stumbled his way out of your car, almost tripping over his own feet multiple times on the way to his front door. You followed him, wanting to make sure he got to bed without falling and cracking his head open on the tile floor.

He was so drunk that he could barely get his keys out of his pocket without dropping them. Rolling your eyes, you fished around in his back pocket for the keys and silently unlocked his front door. Letting yourself in, you stood to the side as Jin came in after you, kicking his shoes off to the side.

He was unusually quiet today. Even on his drunkest nights, Jin was typically the life of the party. Obnoxious laughter and loud, nonstop talking were his personality. He would never shut up about how much fun he was, or how handsome his face was. He had even drunkenly given himself the nickname WWH, “Worldwide Handsome.” But tonight, something was different.

Grabbing a bottle of water from his kitchen, and Advil from his bathroom, you followed him into his bedroom, where he was seated on the bed. Watching him struggle to unbutton his shirt was comical at first, but after multiple failed attempts, it became painful to watch.

“Here, let me help you,” you offered. Sitting down next to him, you reached over and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers worked quickly, wanting to get home so you could get back to sleep. Finishing the buttons, you patted his chest and stood again, watching as he sat, still abnormally quiet.

You handed him the Advil and water, hoping he wouldn’t wake up hungover, even though he rightly deserved it at this point. You watched as he swallowed the pills, his throat bobbing as he drank his water. Sighing, he shakily placed the water bottle down on his nightstand before standing to take his pants off. You hurriedly turned around. The two of you were close, but not that close.

Hearing the mattress squeak, followed by the rustling of his comforter, you knew he was covered, so you turned around again. He just stared at you, not saying anything. Jin was tall, with broad shoulders that engulfed you every time he hugged you. But, seeing him huddled up in bed, his comforter pulled up to his chin, he looked so small. His eyes searched yours, a look on them you’d never seen before. Almost like.. sadness. Jin wasn’t one to ever show his emotions, so this threw you.

“Alright, bud. You good? If you are, I'm gonna go,” you said, heading toward the door behind you. You took a few steps before you heard your name called from behind you. You turned back, facing him again.

“It hurts.”

Scrunching your face up in confusion, you closed the distance between the two of you, kneeling on the floor next to his bed, your face level with his.

“Jinnie, what hurts? Are you okay?”

You watched as tears rolled down his cheeks. You cradled his face in your hand, swiping them away with your thumb.

He took a deep breath, calming himself before continuing.

“It hurts loving someone who doesn’t love you.”

You felt your hand drop from his face, your heart along with it. You weren’t positive that he was talking about you, but you had a feeling. Jin had been your best friend for two years, and you’d always hoped that maybe something could happen between you two. But it never had; he’d never given you the slightest hint that it could be possible.

“Who, Jinnie? What are you talking about?” 

He shifted onto his back, eyes never leaving yours.

“You, dumbass. I- I love you,” he slurred.

Your heart skipped a beat. Well, more like several beats. 

“Jin… you’re drunk,” you reasoned.

“You’re right, I am. But it’s the truth.”

Sighing, you stood, trying to get out of there before you did something stupid, like believe him.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Jin. Get some sleep,” you said, rushing out of his room, out the door to your car. You drove home, holding back tears the whole way.

You tossed and turned all night, unsure when you finally fell asleep. You woke up, feeling even more exhausted than you were before.

Checking your phone, you opened your texts, only to drop your phone directly onto your face upon reading the only message you had.

              8:47 AM Jinnie: I meant it. I’m in love with you.

You stared at the ceiling, eyes wide as you digested what you’d just read. Jin had drunkenly told you he was in love with you, which you didn’t believe. But now? He was telling you the same thing, completely sober, and you knew he wasn’t someone who would ever lie about something like this.

“Only on your second gown for the night? Aish,” scoffs the only other on-call physician. “Gotta get those rookie numbers up, Joon.”

Namjoon’s eyelids have started to turn into lead, but the rest of him feels immediately lighter when he hears your voice.

He glances up to find you leaning against the doorframe, peeling off yet another pair of gloves. You drop them into the bright red, biomedical waste bin to your left. It’s where he just finished discarding a trauma gown that could pass as a Jackson Pollock piece, unaware that you’d been watching. 

He’s exhausted. He smiles anyway, though, and points to the hair spilling out of the elastic band you’d tied it up with. 

As he does, he steps forward, closer, and laughs, “Speaking of rookies —” He pauses briefly to tuck a stray strand back behind your ear. “Teach your ponytail to keep up. The emergency department is no place for slackers.”

His hand lingers at the side of your face a little longer than is necessary. He tells himself it’s simply because he’s powering down, but that lie doesn’t convince him. The warmth radiating off your cheek is the closest thing to comfort in this wing of the hospital, and it’s making it even harder to keep his legs underneath him.

This kind of contact — the gentle, non-emergent kind — is rare in this line of work. Trauma surgeons like the pair of you are rarely able to be slow or soft, so this tiny gesture seems to affect you, too. You sway a bit, likely involuntarily, and lean into his touch. The weight of your night so far makes your shoulders slump, even as you lift your hand to cover your yawn. 

As if you’ve read his mind, you nod your head in the general direction of the on-call room. 

“Time to call it?”

Not too tired for one of your bits, it seems.

Namjoon bites back a grin, glances down at his watch, then looks back up at you. “Time of death: 2:52,” he announces solemnly with a shake of his head and a sigh. “I’ve expired.”

One corner of your mouth tugs downward, too tired to fake a full frown. You link your arm around his, let your head droop sideways against his shoulder. You hum, “Rest in peace, Dr. Kim.”

He snorts. “Yeah, for fifteen minutes until the next rush hits.” 

You pause on the way out the door to rap your knuckles against it. He doesn’t have to ask why: it’s wooden, you’re superstitious, and Namjoon, as usual, likely just jinxed you. 

You shoot him a pointed look when you reel your arm back, and though you don’t chide him out loud, he grimaces in silent apology for giving the universe ideas. Then, without any further hesitation, you hold each other up as you shuffle off down the hallway.

He’s thankful for these quiet moments with you, even though they often come in the middle of the night. Ones where neither of you needs to summon the energy for words because you can get your point across regardless. It feels good to be known so well, especially when every other part of his ecosystem changes so rapidly from minute to minute.

Namjoon adapts well — a good man in a storm, according to you — but there’s one change he’s not prepared for: the bunked beds in the on-call room are down a mattress.

He stops short as soon as he sees the unoccupied frame of the top bunk, which he normally crashes in; not because he prefers it, but because he suspects you’re afraid of heights.

“Aish,” he mutters.

Without having to think about it for a second, he slips his arm out from the crook of yours and gestures to the door. “I think that broken gurney is still hanging out near the radiology department.”

Your forehead crinkles in confusion until he continues, “I’ll go and crash there.”

You frown, which doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. 

For him, you willingly sacrifice the last Nescafé pod, the only Yakult left in the cafeteria, and most significantly, your good pens — the ones that don’t smudge, no matter how hastily you write. The ones you bring from home and refuse to share with anyone else because they can’t be trusted to return them. 

You give, and for once, Namjoon has the opportunity to make you take.

He turns to leave, only to be stopped by your hand looping around his wrist. You don’t say anything; you simply shake your head and then nod towards the bottom bunk. He lets you lead him to your destination, lets you let him go so you can shimmy across the mattress. Back now flush against the wall behind you, you look up at him for as long as you can stand to keep your eyes open.

Namjoon doesn’t move, and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t. He wants to. You look so comfortable — so soft — despite how small you’ve made yourself to accommodate him. Inviting, even.

Then, it hits him: If he curls up next to you now, will he be willing to get up again? 

No, he thinks, absolutely not.

Even with your eyes closed, you sense him stalling. You frown again and this time, it’s interrupted by a yawn. Without opening your eyes, you mumble, “Paging Dr. Kim.”

He knows better than to ignore a call like that.

Carefully, he sits on the mattress with his back to you. Then, he lets the weight of his exhaustion pull him down towards the pillow, to you. He sighs as he sinks, already relieved. Already softer.

“Are you going to talk to them, or are you just going to drool?” Jimin smirks, jabbing his elbow impishly into Hoseok’s ribs. The elder hisses in response to the unexpected contact but says nothing; the sound of his expelled air multiplies as it echoes through his cup.

“Seriously, that look on your face is clinical. Blink twice if you need medical attention.”

Embarrassed, Hoseok jerks his neck to glare at Jimin. The sudden movement pulls the plastic cup from the vice grip of his teeth. A loud click erupts when it slips past his incisors, and it startles them both. 

“Fuck,” he mutters. Two fingers fly up to his lips, rubbing half-heartedly at the emerging soreness below them. 

Jimin’s eyebrows raise expectantly while he waits on a substantive reply; he isn’t likely to get one. Still, his blinks come in slow-motion, eyelids heavy under the weight of his intoxication. Slurring just a little, he offers, “Maybe it’s weird for you to just walk over and introduce yourself, but it’s way weirder to gawk at them for twenty minutes without saying a word.”

Jimin’s right, and Hoseok knows he’s right, but something is making his knees wobble, and he can’t bring himself to move. Not towards the keg, not towards you. Though he’s never been shy, he’s never felt this boneless before.

“I don’t even know their name,” He mutters, as if it’s a viable excuse. Even he doesn’t buy it.

Up ahead, you sit crooked on the kitchen counter without paying any attention whatsoever to the loudness around you. One leg dangles from the counter’s height while the other is bent, tucked comfortably underneath the hinge of your knee. Your elbow rests on the sill of the open window behind you, adjoining hand propping your head up. 

And because it’s somehow possible to look even more effortless, your hair flutters ever-so-slightly upon the breeze.

Your free hand grips a coffee mug — a Snoopy mug, no less — though its contents certainly aren’t coffee, and the ceramic rests gently upon your leg. Even from several meters away, Hoseok can see the condensation dripping down from that mug, down the side of your thigh. He watches a bead of water roll down, down, down, out of sight. He swallows hard.

Jimin snickers at the slack-jawed boy beside him. Pointing one hand lazily at you in the distance, he drops your name with an odd reverence. Somehow, it feels appropriate. Still, Hoseok’s own — frantic —  hand reaches out and pulls Jimin’s down to his side.

Subtlety has never been Jimin’s strong suit.

“Transferred here at the start of spring semester, so you just missed them, lover boy.”

Hoseok, whose graduation ceremony concluded mere hours ago, swats Jimin’s hands away as tickling fingers attack his side.

“They’re terrifying,” Jimin continues, unprompted. 

Hoseok wonders how the fuck this is supposed to be reassuring. If Jimin’s coaxing him to talk to you, why would he lead with this? 

Jimin course-corrects. “Not in, like, the kind of way that should make you fear for your safety, of course.”

Hoseok is puzzled and it’s palpable. His brows furrow as he questions, “So, what, then? They won’t hit me, but they might steal my wallet?”

Jimin hums thoughtfully before responding. Hoseok figures he’s trying to access the part of his brain not currently steeped in gas station rum.

“It’s hard to explain,” he sighs, unhelpful. “They’re a bit chaotic, and honestly, it intimidates the shit out of me whenever I find someone more charismatic than me.”

Hoseok shoots his friend a pointed look.

Jimin scoffs, “What? It’s rare.” He lifts his hands in self-defense, albeit lazily, then adds, “Not mean or anything, just a wild card.”

“If you’re scared to talk to them, why should I?” Hoseok asks, incredulous.

Jimin simply shrugs. Unhelpful. With a frustrated groan, Hoseok chucks his cup at the overfilled trash can in the corner. It bounces off the top of the pile and lands lamely on the hardwood. Hoseok frowns.

Tired of his stalling, Jimin stumbles behind Hoseok and pushes at his shoulder blades. Hoseok trips off towards the kitchen, wholly unable to stop his momentum before crashing into the table. Upon impact, several stacks of cups clatter down around his feet. The beer bank —  a jar full of loose change collected to cover the cost of the keg — wobbles ominously.

He can’t react quickly enough to catch it; it tips over and shatters on the floor. Behind him, someone pauses the stereo while everyone else boos. 

“Party foul!” A voice shouts from nowhere. It sounds a lot like Seokjin, to no one’s surprise.

Within seconds, Hoseok is pelted with empty cups, beer pong balls, and other assorted garbage. As the trash ricochets off him, his face burns, blushing beet red. That embarrassment bites at the tips of his ears, which poke out under the beanie shoved down over his hair. 

To be clear, Hoseok doesn’t give a shit or fuck about the people roasting him — loudly and with vigor — behind his back. He does, however, give a massive shit about your bemused gaze, which is now fixed squarely on him.

Your mouth is frozen in the shape of an “o,” but it quickly thaws when you hop down from your perch and grab the dish rag hanging off the oven handle behind you. You trot over to him like a field medic and, as you do, any grasp he has of the Korean language goes flying out that open window behind you. 

“If I had a nickel for everything I’ve broken, I could’ve paid for the keg myself.” 

The force of your giggle damn near knocks him prone. 

When you crouch down to assess the damage, Hoseok joins you automatically. He still hasn’t said a word by the time you begin sweeping shards of glass into the towel; and he’s still unwillingly mute when you prick your finger. The words are still missing when you press your tongue flush against the nick left behind, pink on red. 

For good fucking reason, you’re puzzled by his silence. Hoseok gets the impression that you aren’t used to one-sided conversations, but he’s having a hell of a time forming coherent thoughts.

You just walk around looking like this — all the time? And what, everyone else just has to deal with it?

“Oh shit!” You suddenly exclaim, though your words are close to incomprehensible with your tongue indisposed.

Realizing this, you pull your finger away from your mouth and instead pinch it hard against the hem of your denim shorts. Your face is awash with embarrassment, and that makes your tone soften significantly. Almost whispering, you say, “Someone said there’s an international student here, doesn’t understand a word of Korean. Is that you?”

Hoseok snorts, “If it was, how would I know you’d asked?”

You cringe, sigh forlornly at your own fuck up, and drop into a seated position. Thankfully, you manage to steer clear of the jar’s remnants as you do — though Hoseok would’ve readily volunteered to help remove any glass that may have gotten stuck to the back of your thighs. 

Your breezy laugh floats into the distance between the two of you, smelling like pineapple juice and vodka. Hoseok has never encountered someone who embodied summer so completely. Now, he’s warm all over.

“Don’t ask how I made it three years into a bachelor’s degree while being this much of a babo,” you warn him. “It’s a mystery to me, too.”

You squint one eye and scrunch your nose. The smattering of freckles on your cheeks slips into the creases of your grimace. A smile tugs at Hoseok’s lips, though he tries very hard to conceal it. 

“But now that I know you do speak Korean, I don’t see any reason why I can’t know your name.”

Jesus.

Jimin was right.

You are a pistol — and goddamn, does he love it.

“Hoseok,” he says finally. He holds out a hand for you to shake, but you grab it, pull it, and nearly send him falling face first into your lap. He sputters, all the while, “Aish! What are you —”

You run your index finger over a crease in his palm, near his thumb. It tickles; his own fingers twitch reflexively under your touch. You chew on your bottom lip, deep in thought. Hoseok is enthralled. 

“Had a rough go of it, Hoseok?”

His eyes widen, brows shooting up into his hairline. “I – what?”

“The lines on your palm are telling me you’ve got a luck problem,” You explain casually, not looking up from his hand.

You offer nothing further except a thoughtful hum. Without letting go of his hand, your twinkling eyes blink up at him from under a thick curtain of black eyelashes.

“Better turn that around, yeah?”

All he can do is stare. He’s dumbstruck and you haven’t even introduced yourself yet.

Tragically, you let go of his hand and flick your hair over your bare shoulder. As if you can read his thoughts, you beam and state your name. Then, with your head tilting curiously to one side, you smirk, “But you’re in my kitchen, so I hope that’s not news to you.”

You don’t care for your movie anymore, all you can focus on is his beautiful plump lips, kissing you with so much passion and need that it leaves you breathless. You tug his black hair and a moan slips out of his mouth, and you drink it all, addicted to every sound that leaves him.

You’re insatiable regarding your beautiful Yoongi—you always want more, more, and more, especially when you are in control and he’s the most beautiful sub for you.

“Need you,” He moans out once your hands go under his shirt, caressing his soft tummy and going all the way up to pinch his pink nipple. “Missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, baby.” You shut him up with your mouth, tongues devouring each other in a needy kiss. You immediately take his white shirt off, and your hands travel through his smooth skin, exploring every inch of it, causing your husband to groan in your mouth at your greedy touch.

When you feel more of his moans in your mouth, you immediately cut the kiss to catch his hand inside his sweatpants, palming his hard cock to get the slightest relief from his ache for you. You smirk, and Yoongi visibly gulps when you catch him.

You take his hand off his cock, and pat your thigh. His eyebrows scrunch and you place a peck on his lips, chuckling at his cute facial expression before talking, “Sit on my lap, baby.”

“Oh,” Yoongi says before following your instructions and straddling your lap, a red hue painting his cheeks when he realises his position and the starving look you have on your face as you lustfully take your husband’s looks in.

He’s about to put his hand under his sweatpants again, but you quickly slap his arm and yank his hair and place his head on your neck so you can whisper in his ear, “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh, slut.”

Yoongi gasps as goes back to his original position, his body squirming under your intense gaze while pre-cum stains the soft fabric of his sweatpants, dick twitching at how fucking hot you look bossing him around as if he were your personal slut—fuck, he always loves it when you’re in charge.

“Come on, ride my thigh, baby.” Yoongi nods and immediately starts his movements, grinding his hip on your thigh, and you take in his moans with the biggest smirk on your lips—you fucking love having your husband like this, all whiney and under your command.

“Kiss me. Please” Your husband pleads, and you can’t refuse—your body is hot, so horny for him, and when his beautiful cherry lips devour yours you feel as if fireworks erupt on your body, and your panties get even wetter than they already are. His tongue feels like a drug to your brain, euphoria releasing to your body as you both get drunk on each other.

Your hand sneakily travel to Yoongi’s round butt, and you squeeze it with one of your hands, making him whimper in your mouth—you always had a huge obsession with his butt, but Yoongi was never one to complain about it, because he fucking loved whenever you played with it, even if he wouldn’t admit to it out loud.

You press your thigh on his bulge and rip out a loud, pornographic moan from the depths of his throat, and your eyes almost roll back from the beautiful sound. His whines get louder as he humps your thigh, trying to get the relief he so craves, “Wanna be inside you,” Yoongi whimpers into your ear, “N-need your pussy, wanna fill y-you—”

You slap his butt, shutting him up and a loud whimper slips his beautiful lips while his cheeks get redder than ever—he’s still shy whenever you reach his but or any time he’s subbing for you. When you first started dating, he would always take charge, and you never complained, you both liked it—until he came up with the idea, leaving you both addicted to it.

“You can have my pussy after you cum on your pants, baby boy.” Your husband whines loudly, but complies, starting to grind his needy cock harder on your thighs, leaving him breathless and your body hot as you watch the beautiful scene before you.

You’re mesmerized by him—his plump lips parting as his head falls back in ecstasy, hips humping you fast like a bunny in heat, and you know he’s about to cum when his eyelids twitch and his tongue comes out.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” You coo, squeezing his ass harder than before, and he nods, a small ‘yes, yes, yes!’ leaving his mouth as he gets lost in the pleasure. “Then do it, baby, cum for me.”

“Mommy, ah!” Your words were all Yoongi needed for his big cock to twitch and ropes of cum to stain his sweatpants, a dark spot forming on the fabric. His eyes roll to the back of his head and you bite your lip, slick staining your already-soaked panties at the perfectly hot image of your husband orgasming, and on his sweats nonetheless.

Yoongi’s head falls to your chest, and you caress his head softly as he tries to get over his high, “Oh, my baby, you were so good.” You coo, kissing his head, showing him all the love he needs after having his orgasm as your beautiful sub.

“Can you ride me?” Yoongi asks between ragged breaths, and you chuckle, nodding at his request. Secretly, you need it, too—oh, how you need your husband. It was torture enough having to watch him getting off without any sort of relief from you, but shit, was it worth it, but now, your pussy is fucking aching to be filled with him.

“Mhm, get your back on the couch, baby boy.”

“I love you.” He says as he presses a peck to your lips.

You smile, heart racing at his words, “I love you too.”

You hold him with two arms wrapped around his waist - tightly, because it feels like he holds your life in the palm of his hand. In more ways than one, he does.

You hated that motorcycle that he loved so much, calling it unsafe even though he isn't reckless at all. He may be a daredevil sometimes, and the most adventurous compared to his hyungs, but Jungkook would never neglect his safety. He returns home to you every day, that's always his number one priority.

He'd convinced you to let him take you out on his motorcycle today, to this spot he knows just outside of the city to watch the sunset together. You'd been against the idea at first, but it was a losing battle and you were all too aware of it. Once he'd whipped out a pout and big puppy dog eyes, you knew you'd cave.

Now, as you sit behind him, holding onto him like a koala as the bike moves smoothly along with the wind, you're glad that you'd agreed to let him do this. The city grows smaller, and it feels like all of your worries seem more and more insignificant - manageable, like something you could easily overcome - by the second, until the whole skyline can fit into one single frame.

It feels nice, hiding in plain sight. The ridiculously chunky helmets that sit securely on your heads shield you from any and all outsiders. You can squeeze him as tightly as you want even at the red lights, and he can hold your hand without the fear of being recognized. To anyone else, you're just two lovebirds and a license plate. Two people in love. It's the most normal thing in the world.

When you arrive at your destination and he takes off his helmet, the radiance of his grin almost knocks you off your axis. It's ever-bright, filled with so much happiness that could make you cry for some reason. You'll never understand how a person can be the entire universe, so wonderful and spectacular and magnificent, but he is. He always will be.

There's that one poem that you hold close to your heart. Sometimes, when you retrace the words in your mind, you think it must have been written for you and him. "We deserve a soft epilogue, my love," it reads. "We are good people and we've suffered enough."

You aren't sure if you're a good person, but as he kisses you with so much love that must rival any other love in all of history, you think you do deserve a soft epilogue.

Your mother often says that good things should be repeated three times.

You and him.

You and him.

You and him.

How do you hold the sun?

You hold him with your fingers intertwined with his, a soft smile on your face, and dozens of polaroids scattered across the floor.

"Just one more," Jungkook says, reaching for the purple Instax again.

"Stop!" you laugh, lightly pushing him away when he tries to point the lens in your direction. "You've said that twenty times in the last two hours."

This is a new hobby that he's taken up. Ever since Hoseok gifted him the damn camera, it's all that Jungkook has been doing. To say that he was obsessed would probably be an understatement. He snaps photos of everything and nothing, of his meals whenever you draw a heart on his plate with the mayonnaise, of the crescent moon outside the window at night, of himself as he makes silly faces at the camera.

But most of all, he takes photos of you.

He keeps so many of them in his wallet that the stack of polaroids dedicated to you is thicker than all of his cash, which is to say that there's a lot. He keeps one in the pocket of every coat, because he said every time he reaches inside for warmth and finds a piece of you there, it makes him smile and forget that he's even cold at all. You'd nearly melted when he told you that. It was so earnest and pure that it almost made you feel guilty for ever thinking there'd come a day where the adoration he had for you could fill anything less than the sky.

"Please?" Jungkook pouts, before pulling you closer and kissing your cheek sweetly. "I need just one more for my new coat."

At this point, it's not a matter of having enough polaroids for his coats anymore. It's a matter of having enough coats for his polaroids.

You roll your eyes with playful endearment, but you allow him regardless. It shoots pure serotonin through your veins when he grins. He lets go of your hands to hold the camera, immortalizing the grin that you mimic, a contented sigh leaving him as he takes the shot. He tells you he loves you afterward, like it's such a privilege to be able to have you at all.

No one ever warns you that when the sun holds you back, your heart will feel so full that it might just stop beating altogether.

How do you hold the sun?

You hold him with your face tucked safely in the crook of his neck, his arm around your body, rubbing odd patterns on your bare back.

You're both calming down from the hour-long session of twisting around in the sheets on a lazy Sunday morning, your only witness being the sunlight that creeps in through the slit between your curtains. Jungkook hums a tune that you're unfamiliar with, and the soft vibration of his chest almost lulls you to sleep again.

"What song is that?" you mumble, your eyes fluttering close.

"Your song."

"Hmm?" You don't quite register what his answer, you already have one foot in dreamland already. "My song?"

"Wrote it for you."

And suddenly, just like that, you're wide awake.

He presses an absentminded kiss against your hair, like this is all just common information.

"Huh?" You push yourself up to prop your upper body on one elbow, looking down at him with a slight frown. "You wrote a song for me?"

"Yeah," he chuckles at your reaction. His other hand that isn't touching your back comes up to brush your hair away from your face, tucking it delicately behind your ear. If you weren't too focused on a different issue, you would blush, even though this is something he's done a million times. "I wrote a song for you."

"Be serious."

"I am serious."

"How?" you ask, unbelieving. "When? Why?"

"What do you mean how? It's literally my job," he laughs, pulling you flush against his body again. "Why? Because I love you. When? I started writing it after we first met."

"Jungkook," you breathe, full of teary-eyed affection as you press a kiss to his jawline, his neck, the top of his shoulder, anywhere you can reach while he's embracing you this tightly.

You repeat his name three times, then three more, then three more, until you're a broken record and he has to shush you with a kiss, one that makes your knees buckle even though you're already lying in bed.

If the world wanted to take him away from you again, you really wouldn't be able to survive. So you hold him desperately, thinking that you never want to let him go. Praying that the world will let you keep him this time.

How do you hold the sun?

You hold him with all your might, even though you're blinded by how bright he shines. Even though he's the source of all life, and you're just a flickering light that can be snuffed out at any moment.

You're always the first person that he looks for. He runs to you at full speed, picks you up with his arms around your waist and spins you around despite your flushed cheeks indicating embarrassment as everyone - the staff and his members included - chuckles fondly at the sight. You can still hear the crowd out there chanting their names, still buzzing with postshow excitement. Jungkook is buzzing too, that much is clear.

You know he misses this - the stage, the fans, the bond he shares with all the people that adore him. It's in his eyes, the way they sparkle so brilliantly that could put stars to shame. If you were any good with words, you would write whole novels about the light in his eyes.

He presses you against the wall while everybody else carries on with their business. You suppose they're used to this from the two of you. The staff hurries to clear the set, moving equipment from backstage to the vans outside so they could finally wrap up an exhausting day. The boys shuffle wordlessly to their dressing rooms to wind down, to bask in the high that only the stage could bring them.

Jungkook peppers kisses all over your face, his nose bumping your skin as he moves from your forehead to your cheek, the bridge of your nose, to your jawline, to your chin, to your lips. You giggle quietly as you let him shower you with affection, the palpable love seeping through every kiss.

That is, until he says something that makes you stop breathing completely.

"Marry me."

You stare at him, dumbfounded, as you try to make your brain work again. His chocolate orbs stare back at you, and it feels like looking at the night sky on a cloudless night to find the entire galaxy twinkling, smiling down at you. It's unfathomable how you could be loved by someone like him.

"Marry me. Please, marry me." he says again, his fingers caressing your face like you're the most precious being he's ever seen. Before you can open your mouth to answer him, he continues, "This isn't adrenaline. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

You know you're nothing compared to him who lies in the center of the universe. You will never be able to shine as brightly as he does, not even a fraction.

You know you're nothing compared to him, and yet, he revolves around you regardless. To the rest of the world, you're insignificant. You're merely a soul among billions of others. If you were to disappear one day, you don't think a lot of people would care.

But to him, you're everything. You're the reason he exists, you're his favorite person in the whole wide world, you're the only one who will ever have his heart, you're his soft epilogue. He doesn't dim his light for you, and he should never have to. Instead, he lifts you up. He makes you shine too, even if it's only the two of you who see it. It's only you and him, but it's more than enough. It's the only thing that matters.

So, the question remains: How do you hold the sun?

The answer, in the end, is simple.

You hold him with love.

And then, when you and your friends parted ways, he slipped his hand into yours. Slipped into your bed, into you, then back out the door like some thief in the night. So it goes, you thought. You went through the motions of your nighttime skincare routine, and went soundly to sleep in a post-soju, post-sex haze.

A few weeks passed by before you saw him again, entirely by chance. As it turned out, the gym you frequented — well, maybe not that frequently — sat centrally between your apartment and his. Neighbors, he mused. No neighbor you’d ever had fucked you like he did, pressing your back to a perforated metal door in a locker room, smelling like salted sweat and orange, sugar-free Gatorade.

“You’re an idiot,” you told him, dead serious. “Blue is the best flavor, hands down.”

He laughed so hard his eyes disappeared. “You’re an idiot. Blue is not a flavor.”

When you went your separate ways that night, he left with your phone number. He claimed it was in case of emergencies, shot you a wink, and disappeared again. Just like the last time, you went back to normal, albeit with the grooves of a locker door imprinted into your back.

It took him three days to text you, and it wasn’t an emergency. Not to you, anyway. To him, it might’ve been; he was trapped, bored, at some friend’s bachelor party and needed an out. Needed you, he said, can I come over? So, he did — all over your tits while you were still gasping for air underneath him.

Life continued like that for months: inconsequentially. You came, he left, and the two of you left it like that. It was nice, having someone to pinch hit whenever a date didn’t pan out, or work was especially stressful. Or it was a Tuesday, or it was raining, or just because.

“It’s symbiotic,” you explained, and he nodded.

With a nonchalant wave of his hand, he offered, “Like a clownfish and an anemone.”

It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it did every time. The person fucking your brains out on a semi-regular basis had brains of his own; and he was funny. He was thoughtful, too, which was something else you failed to account for.

The first time he showed up unannounced on your doorstep, he had a takeaway container in his hand. You were unwashed and entirely unprepared for visitors; and Jimin didn’t seem to notice — if he did, he kept it secret — that you were as much of a mess as your apartment. He simply stepped inside, handed you hotteok from the street cart you wouldn’t shut up about, and then he stayed.

You kept to your respective seats — him on the couch, you sitting cross-legged on the floor by his shins — and neither of you sought to change that fact. It was the latest you’d stayed up since college, and it was the hardest you’d ever laughed. The pair of you got through three movies, back to back, before he left to sleep in his own bed. The squeeze he gave your hand on his way out the door felt more intimate than anything else you’d ever done together.

So slowly that you couldn’t track the motion, Jimin slid into your daylight hours as if he belonged there. You took turns dropping coffee off to the other at your respective offices. You grabbed salads after your joint excursions to the gym as a way of apologizing to your bodies for what you'd just done to them. You called him to complain about your parents; he texted you every morning with your daily horoscope.

And throughout the months you spent like this, soaking into your routine, you didn’t realize that fucking was no longer part of it. It hadn’t been, not since you sat and ate hotteok on your living room floor. Fucking was casual, and this meant far more than that.

Whenever you found yourself in his lap now, it was because you loved to take up more than your fair share of the couch, and his thighs made the perfect pillow. He was comfortable. You were comfortable with him. So much so that your position, combined with the way he played idly with your hair, put you most of the way to sleep.

He must’ve thought you were all the way gone because he whispered, “I love you,” like he was sharing a secret.

It was mumbled through barely-opened lips when you replied, “I know,” just before taking his hand from your hair and brushing a kiss across his knuckles.

To say falling in love with Jungkook was an effortless, butterflies-in-your-tummy, love-at-first-sight, you-know-it-when-you-see-it sort of affair is far from the truth. In actuality, you and Jungkook met on a very normal basis and had very normal rapport…well, somewhat normal.

Jungkook was your economics professor in grad school and you were merely one out of eighty of his students during the first semester. Surely you'd be walking out with no more than a barely scrimmaged 'A' and remnants of stupid economics jokes he and his colleagues found slapstick funny.

Jungkook always had an interesting sense of humor.

Bottom line? Your life wasn't a drama and you certainly didn't plan on living like it was–especially when your parents were on your tail, making sure their hard-earned money was well spent.

As if being bonked on the head by something called fate, however, Jungkook sent you away with far more than odd jokes and good grades.

Hey, hindsight is 20/20.

four years ago

“Oh, good morning.” A soft, yet hoarse voice strides past you. You view the man, estimating that he be in his early 30s though could easily pass for 25 by his youthful appearance. His hair is black, a bit shaggy but well-kept nonetheless. Silver piercings dangle from his ears and a pair of rectangular glasses rest on his perfectly symmetrical face. This is your professor?

Undoubtedly, what mesmerizes you the most is the striking arm tattoo partially displayed under the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt. You remember temporarily considering tattoo artistry in high school but studio arts appealed to you more.

Not like you got to do either though, seeing as you’ve been stuck in econ for the fifth year in a row. You’re parents insisted you get your master’s immediately after undergrad…how wonderful for you.

But back to the man at the front of the room. You weren’t expecting someone so hip and attractive–very, very attractive.

Your stomach churns but you brush the feeling away.

He's your professor for god sake.

The man, coincidentally your professor, quirks a small smile your way and sets his bag on the podium at the front. “Didn’t expect anyone to be here for another twenty minutes.”

“I just got out of another class a couple of rooms down so I’m here early.” You straighten in your seat and return a smile of your own. “It’s nice to meet you Dr. Jeon. I’m Y/N.” You start bouncing your leg up and down, clicking the pen in your hand. Please be right, please be right, you chant silently, hoping you remembered the name correctly.

Jungkook notices your slightly restless state but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Just to be sure, you are here for ECON 602 right? Macroeconomic Theory?” He unzips his bag and sets his laptop on the podium. Making brief eye contact, he catches sight of the piece of paper directly below your nose. “That’s a beautiful sketch.”

You glance down, moving the paper to the side as if embarrassed. Not many people see your work beyond close friends, and even then you like to keep it to yourself. “Yes, absolutely,” you reply. “ECON 602, 12:15 pm. And thanks, I draw as a hobby.”

Your professor hums, nodding as he connects the HDMI cable to his laptop and lowers the presentation board.“ Dr. Kim is going to be quite jealous when he hears such artistic talent is in my economics class.” He lets out a slight chuckle. “You don’t mind if I tell him, do you? A little competition we have going on.”

You snort at the comment.

Dr. Kim Taehyung was the art department’s most talked about professor. Everyone knew him for his extremely unique perspective, classy personality, as well as his breathtaking artwork. You’ve passed him in the hallways a number of times, wishing you could study under him and dare you say, in more ways than one.

“I don’t mind.” You shake your head. “Are you and Dr. Kim close?” Maybe you shouldn’t be this curious but it was now fifteen minutes until the start of class and no one else had shown. What else were you going to fill time with? Awkward silence while you watch your professor fumble and tap on his keyboard?

“We were colleagues if you can believe that.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Only two years ahead of me in undergrad. When I first started teaching here I had no idea he was here too. But you know what they say __, it’s a small world.”

“Smaller,” you retort. “I feel like everywhere I go I run into someone I’ve known or seen at some point in my life. You just never really know I guess.” When you first entered university, you were counting your lucky stars that most of your high school peers were attending college nearby your hometown. You on the other hand were a good five to six hours from home. Last you checked, however, half of those peers were now getting married or on their second kid. Crazy how some people’s lives change on a dime.

You watch as your professor shuffles a few sheets of paper in his hands, scanning them briefly. “I can relate to that,” he mutters. “Pretty sure we haven’t met before though. Could be a bigger world than we think. Now where’s everyone else? Didn’t all drop last minute did they?” The man lifts his head, flashing a big gorgeous grin. His eyes are playful and dance with mirth.“Not that I would mind if it were just you and I this whole semester.“

“uh–“ is embarrassingly, all you say. He isn’t implying anything by that right? Oh god __, don’t be stupid. As you've established, this isn’t a romance novel and you’re most definitely not the main character.

“You seem attentive is what I mean,” the man says, breaking you out of your daze. “And beyond punctual. Two qualities that I hold in high esteem.” You’d say he had a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth but it was likely an illusion. Your professor has bigger fish to fry than worry about any possible scenarios you’ve concocted in your silly head.

Still, in a moment of sheer thoughtlessness, you say something you regret being unable to retract. “Thank you, I like you too.” As soon as the words fly out you feel the need to run out and bang your head against the wall. Thinking on your feet wasn’t your specialty.

Little to your knowledge, Jungkook finds your mannerisms cute and stifles the temptation to tease. You’re his student, after all, a little professionally please, he repeats to himself.

“So are you from here?” Jungkook asks, choosing to switch the topic before both of you get swallowed into a messy situation.

You shake your head in denial. “I live here temporarily but I grew up about five hours north of here. My parents are still there.”

“Ah, well that’s a bit away. I imagine you miss them?”

You ponder the question for a second, eyes rolling up in contemplation. “From time to time.” Jungkook gives a knowing look. He’s had his share of familial drama and the need for space.

“I understand,” he says. “I grew up ten hours south myself.”

“Wow, that’s…far.” You’re surprised by the distance and can’t imagine it’s an easy commute. You wonder how long he’s been here and more so, if he’s here alone.

“Yeah.” He rests his palms on the edge of the podium, leaning on them gently. The protruding veins in his forearms catch your attention but you pry yourself from lingering. After what you said earlier, the last thing you want is for Dr. Jeon to think you're coming on to him. “Gets a little quiet sometimes but I’ve learned to live with it.”

As if immune to learning from your mistakes you blurt exactly what’s in your head.“So you’re not–“

“Married? Dating? Seeing someone?” Jungkook finishes your sentence like it’s nothing he hasn’t done tenfold times before. “No. I’m not.”

You give a small “Ah,” nodding in understanding before another classmate walks in, putting an abrupt end to the conversation. Jungkook is quick to greet the young man who’s joined but he’s certain he won’t be forgetting your name anytime soon.

present

You tilt your head back, allowing beads of hot water to run down your bare skin. The sound of steady pattering combined with heavy steam relaxes your muscles.

You can't believe you actually told him.

Blurting out to Jungkook that you wanted a baby in the middle of a fight is not how you intended to open up to your husband. But everything escalated so fast that it just came out.

You think back to last night’s events.

Once the movie's credit scenes appear Jungkook feels your eyes burn through him from your lounged position. "You're making that face again," he says.

"There's no face."

"Look," Jungkook cuts shortly. "Will you just tell me so we can deal with it?!"

"Just deal with it? Like it's some kind of nuisance of an issue that needs treatment?" You jump up from the couch and head to your bedroom in a fury, your husband hot on your trail.

"I don't mean to be pissing you off, sweetheart but I know something's up." He follows you into the bathroom, watching you reach for your toothbrush. "Can you please slow down and talk to me?" He grabs the toothpaste before you can, forcing you to stop in your tracks.

"I–I want…I want to be a mom. I want a baby."

"A baby? What do you mean you want a baby?" You see the panic settling in his eyes. Jungkook takes you into his arms, his thumb wipes off some of your tears. "Honey, I'm sorry I didn't know. When you came home from the park I didn't realize that little boy meant so much to you."

You try blinking back your tears but they keep running down your face. He's being gentle with you and you appreciate that but his choice of words tells you his answer is no. It's quiet, subtle, and cuts like a knife.

You break away from him to splash cold water on your face. The coolness calms your nerves. “He didn’t. Never–never mind what I said, sorry. I’m tired and I’m probably not thinking straight.”

It was a blatant lie but just look at your situation. Married for two years, still on birth control, and had no plans to change that. Suddenly one party diverts from the plan fully aware that the other is perfectly comfortable with the current plan.

Yes, you hoped he'd have a slightly better reaction but you don't blame him for his stunned look.

Plus, did you even have enough time to realize what you were saying? Feeling? It could easily be written off that you were simply impulsive, emotionally vulnerable, and so on with the track record you had regarding kids and parenting.

You sigh, bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

Not much else happened after the fight. Jungkook apologized again with his arms wrapped around your waist. He snuggled his nose in the crook of your neck and kissed your cheek too.

It was the usual, it felt familiar and warm but the pang in your head put a roadblock to that. No marriage is perfect. You know that. But you have a feeling you and Jungkook are headed for a steep valley, both on opposing sides.

"Hi.” You’re taken out of your thoughts when you hear the shower door pop open. Your husband steps in, with messy hair and half-open lids. Evidently, still sleepy.

You spare him a glance and quickly reach for your body wash on the shelf. “Hi,” you reply back, voice monotone.

Jungkook moves closer behind you and curves an arm around you. He grabs the bottle out of your hand and squirts some of the soap into his palm. “How did you sleep?”

A small shiver runs up your spine when his cool hand rubs circles against your upper back and shoulder. It still feels nice, you admit. You see some of the soap drip down and hit the shower floor.

“I slept okay. You?”

“I’m about the same.” Jungkook moves his hand a little lower, making sure to cover your whole backside. “I’m really sorry about how I handled things last night. What I said and how I said it was inexcusable.”

“Please, Jungkook you don’t have to keep apologizing about it. I know…and I’m sorry I spurred it on you so suddenly. It’s not how I wanted you to find out.” if at all, you add to yourself.

“Is it still true?” he asks, stopping his movements. “Do you really want to start a family?”

You feel queasy all over again. His tone is serious and if you turn around you’ll likely see the fire in his eyes. So you remain in your position, facing towards the shower head.

“I don’t know…” you finally say after thirty seconds of eerie silence. “But I think I do, I really do. Seeing our friends and other people our age have kids makes me wonder if we’d ever have that. I can’t explain why right now. I know it’s unexpected after we’ve been living a sort of way for so long.” After another pause you continue. “But I know it’s not a mutual thing and that’s…okay.”

“Sweetheart, even if we were to have kids…where would we find the time? The school year’s starting soon and I’m gonna be running ragged at the university next week. You know my schedule. I teach Monday through Friday, leaving at 7:15 am and returning around 4 p.m. You leave for work a little later in the morning but get back at 5 p.m. All our week consists of will be eating a quick dinner together, then I have to squirrel away to my office for the night to review class notes and grade stacks of assignments.”

Though you’re aware of how crazy busy Jungkook gets during the school year, you’re not foolish enough to believe that is the root of his argument.

“Maybe you’re right that we don’t have much time now but Jungkook, we can figure it out. You only teach 9 months out of the year and I can–I can stay at home or we can hire a nanny. And we don’t have to do it right away but–“

“__.” Jungkook turns you around so you’re looking eye to eye. He hesitates to say his next words, fearing a replay of yesterday. But he can’t bring himself to pretend with you. Not on something this serious. “I understand and I want more than anything to tell you I want the same, but I can't lie to you. Being a father, and having a kid, I think it’s wonderful but I just never saw that for myself. I’m so sorry I–”

Your heart concaves into your chest. You absolutely want him to be honest but it pains you to hear. Where do you go from here?

Slowly, you wrap your arms around his neck. Jungkook jolts a bit, surprised by your sudden gesture but welcomes the embrace.

“It’s okay Jungkook.” You settle your head into his shoulder, simply wanting to be close. One tear spills out, then another. “It’s okay.”

“No, look at me __. You didn’t let me finish.” You lift your head from his shoulder. Jungkook strokes your back soothingly before continuing. “If this is what you want, then I’m not going to stand here and be the asshole husband that just dismisses it. But this is a big step.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Don’t say what I think you are. Jungkook you don’t have to do anything.”

You look like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop or for him to yell psyche and flick your forehead or something.

“I’m not saying I change my mind.” Of course, that would be unrealistic, you talk yourself through, preparing for his next words. “However, I am–I am willing to seriously consider this whole thing, babies, diapers, strollers, all of it. But I need you to be sure that this is what you want. And the only way I think that can happen is if we start this slow. Sounds like I’m making some sappy speech huh?”

Jungkook cracks a faint smile.

But none of that happens.

Instead, Jungkook unwraps one of your arms from around your neck, places a light kiss on your knuckles, and stares deep into your eyes as if making a promise. “I know this isn’t exactly heaven to your ears but I’m just trying to say, let’s not rush to a decision yet, okay? All of this did just get revealed yesterday and I think it’d be unfair to both of us if we scurry past it without thinking.”

Shocked. You’re utterly shocked. You were expecting him to give you a flat-out no or attempt to cover up the issue somehow. While, this isn’t your ideal outcome, if Jungkook is willing to take this seriously, no bullshit necessary, then so are you.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You smile at him, feeling a tad lighter than you did before. Your heart beats again, slow and steady. “I love you.”

“I love you more than anything __. I married you and I intend to keep it that way.” Jungkook sneaks a wink and you press a kiss to his lips.

“Hey,” you pipe up. “It’s Sunday isn’t it?”

Jungkook nods in confusion. “It is..?”

“You have somewhere to be this morning don’t you?” You wait a moment before an oh-shit expression forms on Jungkook’s face.

As you remember your husband was supposed to be at some fancy gold club today. Like Jimin, a certain Kim Taehyung had his weekly “thing” too. Being close friends, Jungkook was supposed to be there, along with Hoseok.

“‘You're so right. 'M sorry honey I gotta go. They’re gonna kill me." Jungkook gives you one last kiss before slipping out of the shower. "I’ll be back for dinner.”

“Jungkook! Where the fuck have you been? We tried calling you!” Taehyung is the first to speak as soon as he catches sight of the younger man. He has his usual blush pink polo shirt on paired with well-pressed beige shorts.

He looks a little too handsome for golf.

Jungkook’s secretly glad his wife stayed home this time, as he’s fully aware of her mini crush on Taehyung in school. When she first found out they were colleagues he could tell she had borderline stars in her eyes.

“Sorry sorry,” Jungkook says. “I was doing stuff and time escaped me. Plus, I didn’t have my phone near me for a bit. But I’m here now, so let’s get going!” Jungkook walks in front of the two men, heading for the first stage of the golf course. “You guys coming?” He turns around and lifts both arms up.

Taehyung and Hoseok exchange looks before following his lead. It’s unlike Jungkook to be this eager for golf. In fact, he hates golf. And his explanation is a bit…questionable.

As much as Hoseok is a friend, he is also just as much of a psychologist who can't stop himself from practicing his craft when given the chance. “You doing alright?” Hoseok waits for Jungkook to answer, one hand clings around the top of his golf club while the other settles around his hip. "Haven't seen you since Jimin's last dinner.”

"Yeah, I'm good," Jungkook barely replies, watching Taehyung practice and few swings before taking the shot. Like a prodigy, it sinks right in. "Hole in one again man? I thought you painted."

Taehyung glances over his shoulder with a smug expression, cocky smirk, and sunglasses behind his head. "Don't be too jealous of hyung, Jungkookie."

"Fuck off Tae," Jungkook quips back. "I'm not 22 anymore. I have a good job, nice house, and a gorgeous wife waiting for me at home. What do you have? A bunch of golf balls in your pants.”

Hmm, a little more defensive than usual, Hoseok notes. And guarded too, something’s up.

"About that wife of yours Kook," Hoseok drawls. "How she doing?" Jungkook turns towards the man, slight distaste on his face.

“Uh, she’s fine. Thanks for asking. Also, I know what you’re doing and I’m not in the mood.”

"Ah Jungkook, you act like I'm being so malicious.” Smiling, Hoseok continues. “Can't I care about my friend of ten years without such accusations?"

Jungkook sighs and kicks the grass. Hoseok has been one of his closest friends for a long time so if there's anyone worth talking to about his current situation and who'd understand, I'd be him. "Well, I’m not saying much right now but.....__ recently told me she wants a baby. I’m still–I'm having trouble processing it. But I’m trying.”

Hoseok throws a hand behind the younger's shoulder. “That’s big news Jungkook and it’s completely fine that you’re still working through it. Don’t feel like you have to speed up the process either. I’ve known you both long enough to know that parenting hasn’t really been in the cards until now so I’m surprised myself.”

“I think she’s still a little unsure, but something happened the other day and it struck a cord inside her. She wants a family and,” Jungkook steps to the side, and Hoseok's hand slips from his shoulder. “I wish I could tell her I want it too. But I can't lie to her like that. I also don’t want her to bury that desire for my sake, so I told her we could consider it. I don’t know man, I feel like I’m trying to do the right thing but I don’t know if I can do this. Will I ever change my mind? I want to, for her.”

Hoseok looks at his friend with soft eyes, compassion in them. “Unfortunately, this is not something you can foresee nor force. At least not this early. But you’re definitely doing the right thing by not brushing her off. As real as your feelings are about not wanting a child right now, so are __'s feelings. It’s best you listen to both sides.”

Jungkook tousles his hair around. “I just–fuck.”

Hoseok doesn’t need further explanation to understand Jungkook’s predicament. He’s frustrated, blames himself, and is struggling to come to terms with reality. The unknown scares him and he doesn’t want to lose control of what little he has. “I’m sorry, Kook…it’s a heavy load. Why don't you come in for a session sometime? I think this might be something worth talking through."

“You mean therapy? I don't know, I’m about to have a pretty tight with school starting.”

"One hour, forty minutes at least," Hoseok insists. "Why not try it once and if you don't like it, you don't have to do it again. I love you both and as a friend, I want to be here for you. Beats standing around and watching Taehyung kick our ass at golf. Just think about it and let me know. As I said, I'm always here for you bro."

Jungkook nods and reaches a hand out to gently squeeze Hoseok's shoulder. "I'll think about it. Thanks."

"Hey!" Taehyung waves from afar. "What you guys doing still up there? I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes! Don’t forget that last place buys lunch.”

“He’s referring to you Kook.” Hoseok chuckles, slaps Jungkook on the back, and walks down the golf course toward Taehyung. “You suck at golf.”

Jungkook grunts, following close behind. If this were a benching competition he’d be taking home the whole damn meal.

With Jungkook still gone doing who knows what with his buddies you decide to blast your very wide array of music. It’s a good thing you and Jungkook live in your own house or else your poor neighbors would be knocking down the door with the landlord by now. Yes, that may or may not have happened once with you were in college.

Along with the music you stick true to your character and spread your art supplies on your drawing table. You had your own mini studio, thanks to your wonderful relator who helped find you the house. You reach for a pencil, spinning it between your fingers. Maybe you should finish the drawing of the park’s pond.

Mm, you don’t really feel like packing all your supplies and driving over right now.

Deciding to save it for another day, you ponder ideas of what to do instead. Should you try out your new watercolors? You bought them last week and while you weren’t exactly in low supply, if your husband can have a hundred scented candles you can have your paints.

bling–

You snatch your phone hearing the notification bell.

Jungkook: the rest of your morning going well? [sent at 11:03 a.m]

You smile faintly and type out a reply. Sweet to check in you suppose.

__: Fine. How are the guys? [sent at 11:04 a.m]

Jungkook: Whooping my ass but it’s alright. [sent at 11:07 a.m]

Good, you smirk. Jungkook is awful at golf. And he can stand to lose at something like the rest of you.

__: When are you coming home? [sent at 11:10 a.m]

Jungkook: Looking to wrap things up around 4 pm. I think we’re having a late lunch. Miss you. [sent at 11:13 a.m]

__: Okay, sounds good because I was thinking maybe we could go for ice cream when you get back. After dinner? miss you too [sent at 11:14 a.m]

You stare at the screen, waiting for a reply.

One minute goes by…

Two minutes…

Three…

Jungkook: Okay, sounds amazing. But why not before dinner? The place we like closes early on Sundays. I love you! [sent at 11:17 a.m]

Oh shoot, that’s right. You and Junkook have gone to the same ice cream shake since you first started dating. The couple who run it are super sweet, only a decade older. How could you forget?

__: I’m a dummy, yes we’ll go before dinner. I love you too [sent at 11:18 a.m]

Jungkook: Noo, you’re not a dummy! But okay, I’ll see you soon! [sent at 11:19 a.m]

Rejuvenated, you turn off your phone, jump off your art stool and crank the current song up–Runaway by Bon Jovi. Let’s see, you think, tearing a piece of watercolor paper from your drawing pad, what to do.

When the idea strikes you prepare water, paintbrushes, your palette, and anything else you may need for the next five hours give or take. You snatch your phone again and scroll through your photo gallery, hoping to get a good reference photo.

Your best friend’s birthday was two weeks away and she’s been subtly hinting for a painting of her, her fiancee’, and her dog Bear. As her closest friend and well-practiced artist, you think it is best to appease her request.

Jungkook comes home at 4 pm on the dot. Not a minute later. He looks happy, you conclude. Genuinely happy. It looks good on him.

“__!” Jungkook runs through the front door and lifts you up in his arms. He spins you around and you place your hands on his shoulders. This is so unexpected but nice.

“Jungkook,” you struggle to catch your breath. “What’s going on?”

“I just love coming home to you.” He places you back down and grabs your wrist. “Come on, I wanna stuff you full with ice cream.”

“That sounds so weird,” you laugh.

“Why?” Jungkook opens the front door, ushering you to go ahead of him.

“Because…it sounds like you want to stuff me. Like in a weird way.”

“Woman, that cleared nothing up for me.” You hop into the car with stupid grins on your face. You don’t even know what you mean let alone having to explain to your husband. What can you say, Jungkook makes you a little braindead.

“I just mean that you wanting to stuff me with ice cream sounds like the witch from Hanzel and Gretel. You wanna fatten me up to eat me. Or taxidermy,….or Build a Bear.”

“What the fuck honey,” Jungkook curses, backing out of your drive. “Did you get into something funky while I was gone?”

“No what–ugh never mind.” You stare out the window, arms crossed and biting back the need to giggle uncontrollably. Why were you so giddy right now?

Jungkook glances over with amusement. He knows you’re inches away from balling over with laughter. “You know what honey?”

“Hmm?”

“I think instead of stuffing you full of ice cream, I’m gonna stuff you full with something just as good.”

“Don’t say it Kook, don’t. I’m going to bust a gut.” You beg fully aware he’s not about to back down.

“My fucking cawk,” he says, making sure to exaggerate the last part.

You throw a hand over your mouth, tears well up in your eyes and this time, they’re not sad ones.

You pull up at the small, but charming ice cream stand at around 4:20 pm. It’s a decent crowd tonight.

You and Jungkook get out of the car with laced hands. You’ve managed to calm down now, thankfully. As you make your way to the line a small voice catches both your attention.

“Appa!” A little girl with blue ribbons in her hair runs past you. She looks between eight to ten years old. You and Jungkook follow her movement as she leaps up into her father’s arms.

You smile at the interaction. Her father kisses her cheek and chuckles as she shows him her ribbons. She looks like she’s telling a very eventful story.

Beside you, Jungkook stiffens. His eyes set on the pair but you’re unsure what he’s thinking. “Kook?” you say, but he doesn’t respond. You shake his hand, the one laced in yours, but still no response. It’s when you step in front of his view that you get him back.

“Hey,” you say. “Are you okay?”

Jungkook blinks at you and shakes his head a bit. “I’m good, sorry. Not sure what happened there. Must be a bit out of it today. Let’s go get some ice cream.”

A/N: I like this series vv much...thank you to anyone reading :) Lmk your thoughts and if you wanna be tagged comment or send me an ask!

Taglist:

@frieschan @oldermenluverrr @tatamicc @kookswifesblog @llallaaa @sunnybyeol @namtaeh @exactlygreatcoffee @whipwhoops @yoongisducky @ktnj91 @junecat18 @thvlover7 @yoongiworshiper

Masterlist

Have you ever been so guilty that you’re undeserving of even being apologetic? So shameful that even ‘I’m sorry’ is undoubtedly an insult to the person you harmed? There’s nothing worse than destroying your life in a blind rage and being left to stare at and clean up the ruin. Even though he dated you for 4 years and you both suffered through one of the messiest breakups you’d ever experienced, he knows you would always love and care for him. You would always worry for him. You would always be there when no one else could be or wanted to be. You would always be his friend. As it stands, you’re singlehandedly, and regularly, wreaking havoc on his loneliness. You keep forcing all his fear into hiding. If anyone who knew the truth about your situation asked, you would probably say you don’t want him that way anymore, not after all he’s done, but he knows one thing for sure about the situation you’re both in: you, above anything or any bit of perilous and turbulent history you both had resting in the cracks of your foundation, never want him to feel lonely. Because you say that’s what pushed him to all his vices, his 1.5-year cycle of mistake after mistake, feeling a loss of control and loneliness. You felt responsible for so long because you left and went to a completely different school, but he knows it wasn’t that at all. He just got caught up with the wrong crowd. At the time, the two of you were having such a hard time in your relationship. It felt like he was always disappointing you and everyone else. He had no one to turn to. So he let his ‘friends’ talk him into finding companionship in thin, white lines and leading a double life. Everything slowly got worse. You said you didn’t know him anymore. He lost so much weight. He dropped out of school without telling anyone. He lost his apartment. Little by little, his life fell into shambles. You left him after finding him completely out of his mind at a party when his mom called and told you all that had been occurring, all that he had been lying very blatantly to you and all of them about. The night you came for him, he let you take him. You were the only one he would let take him away from it: from the drugs, from the drinking, from the partying. When you showed up and saw him finish a line off the table. You cried when you held out your hand to him and told him, “Come on, baby. It’s time to go, okay?” He left with you without hesitation and he apologized so many times, but you wouldn’t hear him out. He got so angry, he just started screaming at you and beating his fists into the dashboard so hard you feared his airbag would accidentally deploy. You left him that night. For good. He was drunk. He was high. You were talking about being done. You were talking about ripping his heart out of his chest. You were talking about four years down the drain. But when the haze of his own budding addiction finally passed, he knew that it was him that had thrown everything away because he couldn’t handle the shift in his life from high school to adulthood. Taehyung recalls being the big man on campus in high school, but everyone started moving on and moving out once it was over. Everyone but him. And it was hard. It was hard watching himself amount to nothing, to not have a future. He went from being the one everyone had high hopes for to the one everyone wished would grow up and make something of himself. He met you shortly after graduating high school while working at a bar. You and a group of your friends had come in for drinks to celebrate your acceptance to your dream school. The moment he saw you, he knew it would be you. He knew that your love would be the thing that fuelled him, but even you grew past him. He was so in love with you, but he was so fucking jealous of you and all that you were. You tried hard to help him be more, but he had accepted his perpetual pity party. Growing up is hard. Losing the girl you love after four years of making a life together because you started lying and stealing and getting caught up with awful people is hard.

But at the end of all the ruin that became of his entire life, he’s grateful that the two of you could still be great friends over time, best friends even. He never stopped being sorry for what he did to you, how he left you while claiming to still be by your side. That entire last year and a half of the relationship, he was mentally gone. He had broken up with you in theory but not in practice. In his mind, there was no future with him. He wasn’t the kind of guy that could give you this overwhelmingly lavish life. If you settled with him, you would be settling for a small-town life with him because everyone else seems to be able to fully fly the coop but him. He was too stagnant for you. But you’re still here and he loves you so much for staying even after leaving. You’ve done so much for him to help him, to believe in him. You even did something utterly outlandish for him: agreed to tell his parents the two of you were back together so his mom would feel better about his recovery and stop hovering. She didn’t trust him on his own anymore, but she trusted you. His parents were willing to give him space as long as they believed you were by his side, in both name and proximity. And although it wasn’t true at all, you still agreed because you said you could see he was doing his best. You could see he was serious. You believed in him and his recovery. You agreed their overbearing ways would hinder him, and you helped him. So, he made every excuse to drag you to his parent’s house once every two weeks at least. At first, he said it’s just him trying to ‘regularly check in so they see he’s doing fine’, but you both know the truth of it. It wasn’t only because his mother was always thrilled to see you and felt much better about him living an hour away if you were involved, but also because when you guys were there, you were his girlfriend. You didn’t shy from his affection. As much as he wanted to kiss you, you would let him. You would kiss back. You would cradle his face in your palms and give him adoring pecks, smiling at him just like you used to. You still kissed him and licked your lips right after as if to get any of his taste that may have been left behind. He would drag you onto his parent’s porch to sit on their front swing just to indulge in the brief moment of unconditional intimacy with you. He kept you close to his chest, close to his heart where he’s still most certain you belong. Any day you were going to see his parents, from the moment the day started until the next morning, you were his girl again. Once in a while, he got to pretend. Once in a while, he could grip your waist and bite your lower lip. Once in a while, he got to take his lemons and make lemonade, something refreshing, something doused in sweetness to mask the excessiveness of sour. Those days always make him wonder if that was what you still wanted with him but all the history was holding you back. It was different now, though. He thought you could see it, too. So now, as he stared at his ceiling trying to bear the heaviness in his chest, the weight of how alone he was feeling, his fingers reflexively tap your name in his call logs. The second the feeling starts to ebb within him, right when the sorrow starts to empty him of all his hope, he always just calls you. You always answer by the second ring. You’re a creature of habit. “Bear,” you greet him enthusiastically.

His heart nosedives into a pit of putty. It had been ten days since the last time either of you spoke to each other. He didn’t bother texting you. He knew it would take you ages to reply. You have this awful habit of reading your messages in the notification bar and responding mentally while not actually disengaging from your active task to type out the response, or you would type out a response and get distracted before actually hitting send. Sometimes you initiate conversations with him and after your second response, it’s radio silence. A week later, you’ll go to check on him and finally hit send on the message you typed out a week ago. So he doesn’t bother with it anymore. You’re his busy little bee. That’s what he always calls you because you buzz around, do work, and gather knick-knacks to add to your collection. You’re never in the same place. If he calls you and you’re at home, by the time you’re 30 minutes into the call, you’ve decided to go to a craft store. “Hey, bee.” He responds softly, but his voice is chockfull of despondency. You notice instantly. You always do. Even if he bothers attempting to hide it, you would know. “Where are you right now?” “At home, why?” You ask casually at first and then you pause for a moment. “Are you okay?” The three little words he hates the most. The ones he no longer wants to hear. The prying little question with hidden meanings and underlying presumptions. A simple inquiry that fills everyone with anxiety, himself included. His mistakes are the kinds that linger in everyone who thought to love him’s mind. He will never escape what he’s done. All of his displays of fragility and humanity will be met with gentle suspicion before embracing. It’s fine. He knows he deserves it. It’s all just so fucking exhausting, exasperating; it’s all so bleak and ill-omened. At times, he feels like even though he’s recovering, he’ll never really recover. He’ll never recover from the sheer mass of the aftermath, from the vividness of awareness of what his choices have done to everyone else.

I’m so tired of being asked but I’m so thankful you’re still willing to.

The truth is he’s not okay. Not at all. Today, he’s obsessively ruminating over all the wrongs he can’t seem to right, all the rights that don’t hold any weight when held up to them all. He’s not okay. Today, all the consequences of his actions are settling into his chest, making a home out of his hope and leaving it in ruins. Today, the weight of your absence is taking a wrecking ball to his resolve. But the last thing he wants to do is make you worry about his emotional state because then you’ll start to wonder about what he’s doing to cope with it. Then you’ll hover and your presence will start to become an unfortunate burden he bears for the sake of keeping you. He’s only recently been able to re-establish trust with you. He doesn’t want it to waiver because of useless worrying. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m just…alone tonight and thoughts are spiraling a little bit? Just a little. I don’t know. I miss you a lot right now. More than usual and it’s already a lot.”

Taehyung is the furthest from shy about the lingering intensity of his love for you. And he could attempt to move on, but he chooses not to. 

[ The question remains if his continued effort to choose you is a product of his guilt or his genuine yearning. ] He knows it as this: he wants to love you for as long as he’s capable of doing so, even if it’s unrequited, even if you never truly see him the way you once did. He’ll choose to love you anyway; it’s the absolute least he could do, even if he gets nothing out of it. But when he thinks about it thoroughly enough, he knows good and well that isn’t the case. There’s plenty he’s receiving from this dynamic; it’s just not exactly what he wants.

Those are called consequences.

You sigh on the other side of the phone. “Missing you, too. Are you going to drag me to a family dinner soon? I also miss your parents.” Taehyung knows you’ll never blatantly reject him but you could never fully accept him either. It does not deter him from his endeavor to reclaim you despite it. “Yes, and with glee.” He responds without a lick of hesitation. “That’s the only time I can kiss you. You know I’ll never pass up the opportunity to kiss my favorite lips.” He hears you stifling your giggle and the feathery sound falls into his ears like an answered prayer. Now, he feels hope again. He indulges in it, but he’s fully aware that it’ll be short-lived. When it comes to you, he would rather drown in a sea of delusion, a river of denial, before fully accepting that he’s unlikely to ever make his way back into the center of your heart or into the depths of your affection. “You’re taking advantage of my kindness for personal gain, tsk.” You click your tongue at him but your tone is teasing.

It’s not that. It’s just that I’ll probably love you forever.

“Never, baby.” He promises. A small beat passes by before he continues. “I love the fuck out of you. With all my heart, y/n. You know that.” You suck in an audibly sharp breath. “You’re too bold, Kim.” “Say it back, bee.” His voice is low, his small plea just a smidgen above a whisper. He knows he shouldn’t ask, knows he doesn’t even have the right, only the audacity, but he also knows that every time he gets you alone, he’s going to try to weasel his way back in any way. “You know how I feel.” It’s a small, resolute blurb of truth. He does know how you feel. You love him; perhaps not in the same way as you once had, but you love him in your own, unorthodox way. Otherwise, why else would you agree to a false continuation of four years you both spent in love, of four years that went up in flames and ended in catastrophic devastation? “I do know. Say it anyway.” His desperation is showing again. “Just give me something. Anything.” “You know what you will and won’t hear from me.”

And you know what I will and won’t give up on.

He smiles, fully prepared to goad you with the sweetest of reminders. He wants you to remember who he was to you, who he’s still equipped to be. “You still love your bear.” He murmurs, feeling all of his infatuation and fondness singing again. “He’s still here waiting on you.” What follows is the stammer of a girl who’s been ambushed, caught in flagrante delicto. “W-well…you need to stop waiting. You’re only going to hurt your own feelings.”

I’m not just waiting. I’m loving, too. Overflowing sometimes. I feel my heart buried in guilt. I just want to say sorry and it be alright that I mean it.

“C’mon, baby. Say it back.” His tenderness is showing again. “Us being together makes my parents happy anyway.” In the background, Taehyung hears a continuous white noise and he snickers then. He’s all too familiar with the sound of you driving. He wonders when you muted the phone just to close your car door. As if that would keep him from knowing. “Where’s my bee going?” He asks with loving intonation. “Out,” you reply, a soft curtness in your voice. “When are you going to see your parents this week?” Taehyung scoffs, a tiny pang in his chest reminding him that he’s only earned being wounded. “Don’t you dare try to change the subject. You weren’t even subtle about it.” There must be lead in your sigh with the heaviness it carries as it falls. “Have you thought about telling them the truth about us? Or even just that we’re not together?” “Why the fuck would I do that?” Taehyung asks incredulously. “Eventually you’ll have to tell them, Taehyung. We can’t keep pretending. It’s…emboldening you.”

I’m not emboldened. I’m not pretending. I’ll love you until the day I die.

“So…let’s stop pretending.” He begs in a desperate whine. “Let’s try again. Baby, I promise I’m not…I’m not doing the same things that ruined us before. I’m ready.” You go silent and Taehyung suddenly understands the meaning of a pregnant pause. After a moment, a soft sniffle and a quiet murmur. “Bear,”

I can feel you aching to dip your toes. I see you dancing along the cusps of caving.

“I love when you call me that, bee.” Right now, all he has is the gentleness he’s been shaping up and polishing for you in his spare time. “I miss you. I miss us so much. Miss you being mine. Miss waking up to you. Miss being able to love you.” “No, Taehyung.” You protest, frustration apparent but he doesn’t care. He’s posing the question; he needs an answer. He’s pouring his heart into you; he needs you to keep it. “We. Can’t. Do this.” Now, his impatience is showing. “Why? Because you know you feel it, too? You’re still my bee. I’m still your bear. I’m getting my shit together. I’m trying. I want to keep trying. With you.”

There it is again, your god-awful silence. Please tell me there’s even a centimeter’s worth in the length of your willingness. That’s all I need to wedge myself back in.

His chest rises and falls, lungs expanding and restricting with haste, suddenly overcome with a sense of alarm. He’s scared right now. He shouldn’t be going for it, but he is. He shouldn’t go thinking he’s worthy of you, but he wants to be. “Taehyung,” you call. The panicked tone of a hopeful man. “Yes, bee?” “You’re insane today, spouting off all kinds of nonsense.” You release a soft sigh. “But…I’m on my way over. Let’s watch a movie or something? It seems like you feel alone.”

I do.

“I hate when you feel alone.” 

I know.

It may sound like it’s a burden on you, but he knows it’s just frustration, love, and compassion. “It’s not nonsense.” He tells you very quietly. “But I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. You know I hate when you talk and drive so let’s hang up here, yeah?” “Yeah,” you breathe, and his heart aches at that warmth in your agreement. “See you soon.” And of course, his relentless declaration follows. “I love you.” “You’re not going to stop, god.” A tortured groan followed by an abysmal sigh. “Ditto.”

It’s something, so it’s everything.

“Not my fault you missed the meeting this morning,” he smirks.

The audacity of this man, thinking he’s the one with the power here. He sits in your office with the door closed, on your office chair, while his thick thighs tense in anticipation for you. What were once crisp, grey slacks now lay in a wrinkled pool around his ankles. 

Matching his smirk, you hover over his quadricep, not close enough to touch him. You know he can’t confirm it, but if the heat radiating off your clothed cunt gives any hints, that big brain should be able to guess that you’re pooling, too. 

He clenches even further underneath you when you cock your head to the side and sigh wistfully. “See, that’s the thing, Namjoon. Rescheduling client meetings without telling me does make it your fault.”

Glancing down to where his cock strains against his briefs, you find pre-cum weeping through the fabric. His unspoken neediness makes your mouth water, but he doesn’t get to know that. Instead, you make matters worse for him by running the excess of his tie languidly between the pads of your thumb and index finger. Experimentally, you tug a little tighter. When the satin squeezes against his wrists, he visibly struggles not to buck his hips to meet you. 

To his credit, he doesn’t say a word. You don’t, either, but you think them nonetheless: 

Good boy.

From there, you let the tail of his tie drop when you run out of length, let it flutter back down until it hangs limp by the hands captured behind his back. 

You breeze, “I can’t let that kind of shit slide.”

Not in the figurative sense, maybe, but physically…?

You press your full weight down onto his thigh, lean forward until you feel the pressure of his rigid muscles against your clit. You’re throbbing, but so is he. Lips at the shell of his ear, you whisper, “Go on, Namjoon. Tell me how you plan to make this right.”

His pupils dilate when he finally feels you against his skin, wet and wanting under the pushed-up length of your pencil skirt. For a second, you think he might cave, might apologize — just this once — for sabotaging the closure of your deal earlier. For snaking a commission you should’ve earned; trying to shove your head down in order to keep his own above water. 

He’s allergic to accountability, but whenever you get him like this, he’s so… malleable. You could make him beg, if you wanted to. You really do want to.

Namjoon refuses to bend the knee, though. He bounces it instead — once, firmly — and you along with it, forcing you to grind your cunt against him. You gasp at the unexpected friction, which only makes him grin like the devil up at you. More than anything, you hate how his defiance makes you gush, but you have to concede that point, too.

Brat.

“Get my cock out for me, and maybe I’ll show you.”

You lift your hand up between your bodies and watch his eyes darken with lust. But you don’t reach down where he craves your touch. No, you simply tilt your wrist to check the face of your watch. His brows furrow slightly, always so annoyed when he can’t predict your next move.

“I would love that, Namjoon,” you admit, breathy. 

And you mean it, too.

You use his shoulders to steady yourself as you get back to your feet, step away from him, and smooth your skirt back down. It’s impossible to say what flares more: his shocked-open eyes or his nostrils.  

Neither, you think, it’s his mouth. 

It drops open in silent protest as you slink off towards the door. With your back turned, he can’t see the grin you bite back as you go.

Once you reach the door, you crack it open and step out with one foot. You pause there, leaning back through the opening to admire your handiwork. Half-naked, painfully hard, glaring — just the way you like him.

“But I would love to nail down that new tech account even more,” you smile sweetly. You bat your eyelashes and gesture over your shoulder with your thumb. “I’ve actually got to run to a dinner meeting with their Board now. Do you want me to bring you back something? A salad, maybe?”

“Oh, my god. You fucking demon,” he laughs darkly. He’s fuming, but you see a flicker of pride in the way he looks at you. “I’ll wreck you for this.”

“Promise?” You wink. “Wait here for me, won’t you?”

Then, you shut off the lights and shut the door behind you.