diana,

The last week of July that year, the same week he's about to get his ass evicted, he wrote. With only the company of his last can of beer and guitar, he wrote. The lyrics on that pizza box were barely readable, but it didn't matter because he knew them well enough in his heart as though the lyrics were only asking to be written out.

The night before his landlord came, he'd gone out of that stinky place and went around the big city. This was his last shot and if it wouldn't work out, then damn, could he get any lower than rock bottom? So, there was Rossi who had fished him out of that deep slump. Gave him a deal to write songs and got him to agree to sell the songs. It was a shit deal, nobody wants to be the ghostwriter. But he was in desperate need so he made it work out.

Then the third year came. Month of August, he was making demos and not one was ever thrown out the window. Everybody liked everything he wrote, even the big names were asking for him to write them a song or two. He was starting to get used to being unknown, maybe it's meant to be. To not be heard, but to be present; to know that his contribution was out there and is reaching people even though it wasn't heard from his own voice. It was fine by him because at least he gets to listen to his lyrics on the radio.

He may not have been successful the way he imagined it, but he could afford a place and is able to eat three times a day.

But there was something that got lost after that year. He had spent many nights drinking and trying to forget what he wants. He would just go from one bar to another, head down on the counter asking for one more glass from the bartender. The high was there and he becomes content for a while, but he sees the face of that son of a bitch boss he has and he just wants to get back to drinking. He never lets him release the raw demos, afraid that someone will find out that some singers are a fake and they lose their jobs.

He'd just feel drained so much sometimes that alcohol fills him the thirst he needs. That picture of the hopeful boy, he looks for a way to break it. Because it isn't him anymore. It's a little hard to find a door out when everything is too dark.

Tonight on the 30th of September, he sips the remaining champagne from his glass and tries to endure the squeakiness in his date's voice. Her name was Roxanne. And she loves the beach. It's all Jungkook has gathered from the past hour. "We had a vacay at Laguna, it was so so so pretty there!" "Have you been downtown Los Angeles? It's a must-see!" "My dad bought a beach house in Malibu and it's literally perfection!"

He couldn't get a single word in. At this point, he just wants to get a good night fucking and get it over with. She was his type, physically. Everything else didn't quite hit the mark. She has a great pair of breasts and luscious lips that make him hard just thinking about having it around him.

"Hey, it's getting late, don't you think?" he cuts her off from another beach talk.

She nods, looking at her watch. "Oh, uhuh. Are we going somewhere else?" The brunette winks, and he somehow didn't find it attractive at all.

"I'm kind of tired. Had a long day. I was at the gym earlier." He lied. His day started at three in the afternoon and he slept right after his cereal.

"That so?" She pulls out her purse and quickly takes a look at herself on her phone. "I'll go to the restroom first and we can go wherever you want." She smirks, he finds that annoying again. She just couldn't take a hint.

"Take your time." Once she leaves her seat, he exhales so hard the people on the other tables turned.

He was picking the leftovers from his plate with his fork. Then the nuance outside turned his head upwards. He watched the people run with their hands and bags over their heads. The ground starts to get wet. It was raining. Perfect. Just perfect. He was planning on bar hopping after he sends Roxanne home but the weather doesn't seem to be in favor of that.

In the blurry sight of heavy showers in the streets outside the windows of the cozy restaurant, he swears he sees a shadow. It always happens whenever it rains, whenever he feels a cold breeze of air. He was like Gatsby, reaching out to something amidst the darkness. That shadow happens to be the past he tries to bury; his life three years ago was something he wasn't proud of. He hated that place. He hated Lonepine. He hated the walks from his job to his crappy apartment.

'It's stupid,' he tells himself. He's not gonna get himself into that shithole again, he's never returning. Not after that one rainy night he can't seem to forget.

The shadow was that sobbing girl under the angry clouds. She's on the ground hugging her knees. But in plays on repeat, her sobs washed away by the loud thunderstorms. He knows it will keep playing and playing all over again because this time he makes the choice to keep walking, to ignore that silhouette of the crying girl in heels.

Roxanne comes back, her lipstick retouched and her eyes more lively. She takes a look outside and she grunts in disappointment.

"It's raining?"

'No shit,' Jungkook replies in his head.

"Yeah, we should really get going."

She agrees and Jungkook spends the drive listening to more of her stories. All about her co-workers being annoying, her exes being dicks, and her parents being controlling. Even when he turned the volume up on the radio, she would still manage to talk over it.

Once he had sent her home, he thinks about you again to fill the silence. It wasn't a choice, but a habit. He would draw messy circles over your face like a picture just to get the details of your features forgotten. But it never really occurs — the forgetting. Even when the thought of you doesn't match the song on the radio, you still flicker in the back of his mind like a parasite.

The thing he loved about summer was not that he could be a brand new person, but because there was less rain that reminded him of the ghost of you.

Why was he so caught up with you?

Why you?

Couldn't there be anyone else to repair the broken pieces that he is?

There will be someone out there, he'd pray. You weren't special, not really. You're not unique. You only knew how to make perfect smiles on caricatures that makes them feel so warm even when they're just... caricatures. You put too much sugar on both of your coffees and he hated that. He would wake up earlier than you just so he could skip the shit omelets you make. You knew how to drive a conversation away from you so well he doesn't realize it at times.

You're just you.

You weren't a popular actress in West Hollywood. You're not a very good singer, but you were good at talking to your plants. You serve his sandwiches with a death stare that he always finds sexy.

Sure, you weren't special. But you were to him, because you were like the one-paged-girl in a book that really teaches the reader a thing or two. And those kinds of characters were details to a thick book.

He might not say it out loud or wishes it before he sleeps at night, but if you listen closely to his heart you'll hear the desperate need to just see you one last time.

What happened to you? What are you doing now? Why didn't you ask him to come back?

Rossi had invited him as a plus-one for the Minerva Cacelli Exhibit. He's hungover, he spent last night drinking six cans of Budweiser. He was only awakened by the loud thumping of his neighbor, which was fortunate because Rossi wouldn't be happy with him being late.

He had never shown any interest in physical forms of art, he loved listening to art however. That's why he had no idea why Rossi would decide to bring him today, he could've brought the new intern Joey.

There was a lot of introduction, mundane and boring which made his headache worse. The exhibit starts just before his knee fails him. He couldn't decipher a thing or two, all he understood was that there are sculptures. In the middle of the space stand tall Minerva's works, mainly angels in an eccentric pose with bits of gold pigment. He acted interested.

They're not as good as...

There was an angel centerpiece not looked at by many and it captivated him. An angel with sunken wings as he reaches out like trying to catch something. With both hands in each pocket, Jungkook strolls around the centerpiece.

Once he had reached the hand of the angel again, there was you.

No, really. There you were standing five feet away from him, admiring the sculpture. The hand of the angel as though about to touch your face.

He took a moment to make sure the details are in-tact, because his dreams of you were always a blur and in loose strokes. But you really are here, in all its glory, carrying a serendipitous wonder in your eyes. The minute had spun around his appraisal of you and your little black dress hoping you wouldn't notice him because if you did his world might just break.

And you broke it into shards, an awe in your eyes and an unexpected smile. He smiles back without forethought, stuttering before he could even speak.

"Jungkook," you call him like it was yesterday. "What are the odds?"

"What are you doing here?" His breath hitches, and he hopes you wouldn't notice.

"Am I not allowed to be here?"

"No, what are you doing here? What happened to you? What happened?"

Your cheeks remained smiling tight as you inhaled. "A lot." Shaking your head, furrowing your brows. "I imagined running into you in New York, but I would have never imagined it like this."

What's with that smile? And why was it so sure and true? Did the three years never happen to you? Was it a blip? Why weren't you as surprised as he was?

"When... when did you move here?" He's lost in trying to understand the situation. In your calmness, he finds heartache. That rainy night still so fresh he could feel the breeze and the void you'd left him when you told him it would never work. It seemed to him that you don't remember it at all. It was so hard to smile back seeing you smile, but he felt like he had to.

"I didn't move here. I live in Edison currently. I just had to," you point around the museum, "see this whole thing."

"Don't tell me you're Minerva?"

"No! No, not at all. Minerva was a college friend and I got an invitation." You take a sharp breath. "Again, this is a weird coincidence." You laugh.

"I'm still shocked."

"So am I."

"You don't seem that surprised," he scoffed before he could think of a better thing to say.

You tuck a strand of your hair. "I just don't know what to say. Are you still mad at me?" Wandering over the missing jewelry on his brows and lips, seems like a lot has changed.

He dug for an answer. Was he? He's not exactly sure whether what he's feeling was anger or confusion or pain. One thing's for sure, he was feeling. And it was good to feel again.

"I'm not mad at you. I think this whole thing is just too overwhelming to process."

You nod. "How have you been?"

Like shit, but with more money.

"Great. I do what I love, sorta. What about you? Are you still-"

"Stripping? Yeah."

"Seriously?"

"I'm kidding." A giggle comes out of you as you place a pat on his arm. "It ended that night."

Oh.

"You and me, it was never meant to work out, right? I mean look at us, so much better than what we were."

"Yeah," he exhaled a shaky breath. "I'm glad it happened." He gulped.

"I work at a pottery store near Roosevelt Park. And at night, I go home."

He couldn't suppress his wide smile. "That's amazing. You're also sorta doing what you love."

"Yes, the owner is really nice. She's an old lady from Japan. We make these little plates and souvenirs."

He nods as you explain. "I write songs. Well, most of them are ghostwritten, but it makes money."

"You think I've heard any of them?" Your eyes narrowed in a teasing manner.

"Most probably," he winked. "You'd know, y/n. You'd know if it were written by me."

A comfortable silence works its way into the conversation. He could tell you were just as unprepared as he was. Who could have prepared for this moment? If he knew this day would come, he would've prepared a rehearsed argument why you chose to be left behind.

"Wanna talk over some coffee?"

He signals to the exit with his head. "Let's do it."

He's laid back with brows in knots still confused as to what the hell is going on. You're stirring your coffee as you keep nodding to his endless stories about how he did that and bought that.

Coffee shops weren't his thing in the afternoon, mostly because the silence was boring. Coffee shops in the morning he finds chaotic and too noisy. He had ordered only one slice of strawberry pie covered in thick chocolate frosting because you said you had a big breakfast today. He orders a caramel macchiato and you get yourself a cappuccino.

He begins asking questions after his first sip. He doesn't miss a second without knowing what happened, he's asking as though your life was a big movie.

"I regretted that night," you suppress a giggle. "But I also think it was a page turner. I called my sister and asked if I could live with her for a while. The money I had left I spent on my way to the south. Looking for a job took me ages by the way. And moved to New Jersey because... I think it's because I just like to move."

"Then I got another job, the one I talked about at the exhibit earlier. That's pretty much it. Not a lot of spice and drama." You take a sip.

"I think you're sparing me the details." The story pulls him away from you for a bit. Three years could do so much to a person. He's starting to realize the bittersweet truth of this meeting — the change. He would be an idiot to expect the same you he knew from that place, and he's an idiot.

It's not true what that one quote says. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. It's not true at all. Absence makes the heart hallucinate all the good parts to heal itself from the ones it broke.

When he looks at you, there wasn't a hint of an unresolved past. You seemed to have buried it all properly and when you smile at him, not an ounce of pain that he still has. Now that seems unfair.

"Well, in the middle of those events, I also became a spy who had to get inside the CIA and steal a microchip. But that isn't important." You wiggle a brow, taking another sip.

"Why are you lying?"

He knew the question would increase the intensity of the conversation and he knew that it would take you out. He couldn't help it, the coffee had poisoned his tongue and he wasn't able to resist its venom. You pull your hair back, trying to compose yourself.

Here it comes, he says to himself.

"Because I don't think it even matters anymore."

To him, it does. Every single thing mattered to him. The small parts of you he remembered so deeply sometimes it felt fucking ridiculous because you were nowhere near him. Writing too many songs about someone who didn't even bother as much as he did. He wants to blame you for stealing a large part of him but the presence of your mistakes were as absent as you were.

"Why not?" He forced a lighter tone.

"Because it's in the past. You told me that."

He did. And it's an embarrassment because he couldn't apply it to himself.

"Yeah," he nodded and pursed his lips, "just surprised you'd even remember what I told you."

"I remember a lot of things." You push your shoulders forward with a hint of excitement. "A lot of your plans about playing with a band and the stories about your brother."

Not exactly what he wanted to hear but it's better to know that you care even less, it's better to know now. There weren't many details, were there y/n? For a handful of seconds of silence, he was feeling content. Some of his questions are continuously being answered by the silence that glooms over the space between the both of you. That night, you were just a shit of a person, and it's all coming to him now that nothing was real ever.

The 'It's not you, it's me' line? Why did he even believe that in the first place?

Then you spoke again after stuffing your mouth with frosting. "Your singing voice, it's breathy. I'd go to sleep and your chest just makes everything feel comfortable. And no one tucks their hair like you do, I missed your long hair. It used to tickle my neck."

He doesn't know what to think or say. He doesn't try to. Because whenever he thinks of one thing, you say something else.

"The cake is really good," you add, wiping the residue from the corner of your lips.

"It is."

He forgets staring at you, he observes the street outside as if he doesn't see it everyday. You should have just kept your mouth shut. He shouldn't have asked you anything about him because all it does is ruin him. All those years wasted trying to chase an unfinished song that is you.

"I'm sorry. That was really weird. I just thought we'd laugh over it."

He pulls the cake, taking a piece with the fork. A smug look falling over his features. "It is weird." He complies with a grin that deepens the side of his cheek.

"Yeah, I shouldn't even talk about it."

With his mouth full, he asks, "Why not?"

If it all seemed casual to you, why shouldn't you look back to all the funny things you both did?

"Oh, it's weird because we weren't a thing. Knowing too much about someone but also having nothing between you two is..."

"Hmm." He agreed. "That brings the question." He twirls the fork onto the surface of the plate with his index, gazing at you over the interest of his brows. "You seeing anyone?"

"Yes."

He hums in response. "What's he like?"

"He's alright, I guess. What do you want to know?"

"I don't know. What do you want to tell me?"

You think for a moment, what's appropriate and what's not.

"We've been dating for a year. And so far, it's a smooth ride."

"Where'd you meet?"

"Uh... we've known each other a long time before we started dating so I don't really remember."

"It's raining," he says.

It wasn't a gloomy afternoon, the sun stays ablaze as the road darkens from the scattered showers.

"Feels familiar." He chuckles.

"Good thing I brought this." You open your bag, pulling out a red umbrella.

"Y/n, finally prepared for something."

You roll your eyes. "Where's yours, Mr. Ready for everything?"

"I don't find them necessary anymore. I have a car now."

"Before I forget, are you dating anyone as well?"

He holds his breath. He doesn't really know what he'll answer but he lets his mouth loose. Whatever comes out, comes out.

"Yes." He fails to hide the instant regret plastered on his face. "For months now."

"How is she?"

"She's pretty," he observes the gouging eyes you have like he was the only person you've ever seen. "I like to watch her sleep in the morning when the whole world is quiet and she's just... herself without worrying about anything."

"Sounds interesting."

"Yeah. Yeah." He paused. "She's interesting with all the little things that make her."

"When did you two meet?"

"Last May... maybe June."

You thin your lips and nod. "I wish you both the very best."

"And you two."

You watch the rain and he watches you. Admiring like how one does to a picture before burning it. All these years, he thought that when he sees you, he'll do his best to finally make it work. But now in front of him, he sees the truth. That it's not meant to be. He loved you longer than he knew you and that fantasy must be set on fire, to ashes, to smoke that dissipates in air never to be seen again.

If this is the end, it has to be better than the last one.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

He hesitates. "You look like you're enjoying the rain."

You didn't seem convinced and he hated that forced smile you returned.

"Who's the lucky guy?"

Your eyes glowed, so much spark in one question that it made his stomach rot. He regrets asking that because when you answered, there was nothing but enthusiasm and joy with every word. Did you ever glow like that when you talked about him with someone else? Did you ever talk about him?

"Remember that night when I was crying and you thought I was crying because of a guy?"

"Mhm."

"I was crying because I saw my ex in there and he was getting married. It was a bachelor's party before they go to France for the wedding."

"That's what you were crying about?"

"Well, partly. And then my best friend was there too. His name is Taehyung."

He doesn't care.

"He's a pilot and we used to take classes together. He's rarely home."

"You live together?"

"You can kinda say that. He's rarely home so I don't really know if it's living together."

The sun came back peeking through the heavy clouds and the ground felt hot again.

"Do you wanna leave?"

"Where are we going?"

"There's an arcade that I would go to when I'm off work. It's pretty cool."

The ending has to be right this time. No unnecessary drama, no unsaid words. But he seems to fail the latter part because there's just so many and they keep piling up on top of each other, fighting to break their way our of his lips.

You lost the race again and ko0k97 wins the leaderboard. Even with thorough focus, you couldn't beat his ass. He doesn't even try to beat you, he's either making fun at the way you stir the wheel or just plainly observing the way you play.

"You should give up. It's never gonna happen."

"I'm gonna make that leaderboard someday."

He laughs when you hit the wheel, completely frustrated. Before you can swipe the card again, he stops you.

"Come on, there are other games. Maybe hockey is for you."

"Oh, no. You did not just maybe my hockey skills. I am the god of hockey."

This was a mistake. He shouldn't have done this. Because now he had opened the opportunity to see you in a different light. Somewhere far away from the dark he always remembered you in. You're becoming the bigger picture he never knew. It's not the same as serving him breakfast at Lonepine or seeing you under those fluorescent lights.

He wants to say, "We should've tried this sooner." But that would be weird. He wants to say, "I wish we're like this forever." But that's just desperate. In time, the right words will come, and he hopes it soon.

"Winner gets to what?" he asks.

"Loser pays for dinner."

He rolls his eyes and then smiles cheekily.

"That's your way of asking me out for dinner?"

"Don't be so cocky. I know a five-star restaurant you wouldn't want to pay at."

Get it together, Kook. She has a boyfriend.

As much as he would love to continue the banter, he takes the game into a life-or-death situation. He's eager to win this, but you keep on owning the goal. He might have been distracted with your snarky remark.

"Someone's losing serious money tonight," you comment, a hand behind your back as you lean closer to the table.

In all honesty, he doesn't give a fuck about the money he's gonna lose. It doesn't matter. What matters is dinner. Tonight. With you.

"Don't be too comfortable," he says as the monitor signals that the game is over and Player 1 wins.

"Take that! Hah!" You put on imaginary shades and gave yourself a pat on the back.

"Okay, one more game."

"Nope!"

"Yes."

Before he swipes the card again, you approach him and pull him toward the claw machines in one line together with bright lights beside each window. He doesn't focus much on that but your hand on his wrist that takes away everything from him.

"I've been eyeing this freaky guinea pig thing ever since we arrived."

You let go of his wrist, all the focus now on trying to get the stuffed animal. Once, twice, you fail. He's fascinated with the way you play. With one hand resting on the machine and the other on his waist, his eyes go from the animal that's barely reached by the claw to the frustrated wrinkles in your face.

You release an exasperated sigh, hand clawing your face like a maniac. "It's so freaking cute."

Then you fail again after the fifth try.

"This is rigged."

"You have to wait until the claw is steady. You keep landing it when it's still shaking. Here, let me try."

He swipes his card and starts to play. He's actually focused, for a moment he takes his mind off of you and it felt relieving. It didn't feel too bad to have something else to be focused on.

He successfully picks up the toy, a chagrin smirk painted across his proud face.

"It isn't rigged. You're just not good enough."

You squeal as you reach the bottom of the machine for the plushie.

"Where are we eating?" he asks, pulling his mind away from the innocence that wraps the guinea pig.

"You like Thai food? Thai Villa is on 19th street."

"Sure," he replies. And during the car ride on the way to 19th street, he thought of the defining moment of how it came to be, the falling in love:

"Why not?"

"Because," your shoulders rise, "I have a shift."

"That's bullshit. You get off early."

"I take extra shifts." You wink, making his bed. "Put your shorts back on." You roll your eyes at the sight of him standing there naked with pride.

He doesn't comply. "When's your day-off? Come on, I really want you to see me perform."

"I would love to. I really would. But I don't have day-offs."

"Liar."

Scoffing, you face him. His hands are on his waist, lip between his teeth, waiting for your response.

"I can't talk to you with your dick out like that."

He chuckles, just slightly before he forgets the subject. "Y/n, your job is not going anywhere. Take a day-off and eat with me."

"That day-off is not gonna pay my rent. You can perform right here."

He fakes a laugh. "You're unbelievable."

"You're having so much fun showing it off like that, huh?"

"Why are you trying to do so many things all at once? It's just one day. You're living to work, it's fucking bullshit."

"No, I don't," you grin, "I have sex with you when I get home."

"You're like once... twice..."

"Three times a lady?" You raise a brow and he makes a run towards his red electric guitar.

He positions himself on the couch and you throw a scornful look at him.

And he breaks into a gleeful chorus, "You're once, twice, three times a lady,"

In a happy beat, you break into jumping and hopping around trying to dance to the song. And to him, the moment feels incomparable like the universe wouldn't do such a thing twice. Him singing out of pure joy, and you dancing like the rest of the world isn't there. There's just so much magic in a shutter of a second, that he feels overwhelmed to decode this kind of emotion.

"I love you, yeah, you're once, twice, three times a lady,"

"I love you," you both sang in unison.

"That was good," slumping next to him, "that's what you sound like when you sing."

With your head over the curve of his couch, eyes peering at his, there's not a lot to do but to kiss you as bliss takes over the surface of his thoughts. He thought, 'So, that's what it feels like.' A mixture of vulnerability and protection, with a taste of perfection — like breaking into a kaleidoscope of colors and vibrance.

But he doesn't decide, he discovers it, that you have made home inside his broken heart. And his momma always said, "Love starts with the heart breaking."

Once the engine had stopped purring, and the rain had evaporated into thin air with little traces of its existence, he opened the door for you. For a moment, it felt like youth and security, like it's what he's supposed to do and he's supposed to always watch you walking out of the car door.

"Didn't expect you to open car doors for women."

"I'm offended," he shakes his head before closing the door, "I've been nothing but a gentleman to you."

"Yelling at me for breaking my antenna doesn't scream chivalry."

"Christ, let it go, y/n."

You laugh at his dismissal. Over the course of dinner, many stories were exchanged. For the most part, it was silent. He blames himself for not telling you what he wants to tell you, but he doesn't really know what to say either. It's always just the thought of wanting you like this forever, but it was so wrong.

In the selfish part of him, he wished it was him. That tonight, while you both sip champagne and laugh over some pad thai, he realizes that this is what it could've been and what should've been, and you won't have to be someone else's.

"Your job, you enjoy it? Writing for other people takes a big part of you."

"For some time, I did feel bad but does it pay a lot? It does."

"I don't understand ghostwriting. Really. What a concept. You'd want your art to be a piece of who you are and what you want to say, it shouldn't be something you let other people partake in while they get all the credits."

"Come on, really? You? Talking about what a job gives and takes from the person that you are?"

You drop the utensils on the plate, scoffing at his remark. He giggles his way to a drink, the strawberry shake leaving some foam on the top of his lip.

"Stripping was shit, but I earn the money. No one else gets the credit for my amazing moves."

He chokes on his drink, pure joy rolling from his throat to an actual chuckle from a joke you had just made.

"Amazing moves?"

"Oh," you roll your eyes before taking a bite from the fork, "you just didn't have the opportunity to see me."

He continues to laugh through exhales and sighs as he tries and proceeds to eat without

"What about sculpting? How's that working out for you?"

You cover your mouth, struggling to gulp down the big bite you just had. "So the Japanese lady, Melody, she took different classes back in Tokyo, I think."

He nods.

"And I saw her cute little stall and went to see 'cause I was job-searching. She just looked at me and asked me if I could paint and I said sure. But I sucked at painting, I rely a lot on glaze."

"No, you don't. I really like the colors you use."

"Nah, I think they're dull and soapy."

"You're really good, I swear."

"Whatever you say, Kook. You're still paying for the meal."

He groans in disagreement.

"You know, the songs you write, you should really sing them."

Not this again, he says. As if he hadn't thought of that enough. As if hearing his songs on the radio and not being credited for it doesn't hurt him whenever it happens.

"Right now. Can you write one right now?"

The idea that sparked into your mind takes him away from eating. He goes back to drinking the half-empty glass of water.

"Like what? A song?"

"A riddle," you huff, "of course, a song!"

It wouldn't be hard when all the inspiration he needs is sitting right across him. He asks the waiter for a pen and the next thing you know, he's writing on a tissue paper, in a slanted manner. He'd look at you from time to time as though you were a muse to a painting, modeled into words and rhymes. There's an intricate emotion when an artist looks at you for inspiration, piece by piece you're stitched together by their masterful hands, and that feeling is a different kind of flattering.

He reads his work, breathing in, breathing out, a little nervous with a little doubt.

Your hands clasp together and your cheeks rest upon them.

"What am I now? What am I now?"

"Kook, really? You gotta sing it. It's a song."

"You want a melody right now?" he asks in disbelief.

"Yes."

Though that should've shaken him, he still knew what to do. There was this certain melody that played that night he couldn't forget: the melancholy for a person and the symphony of pain washed away by the loud thunderstorms. And your sobbing as he walked away that he tried his best to forget.

In his failure to forget, he sings that very melody with the song he wrote now. If there's anybody that should listen to it first, it should be you.

What am I now? What am I now?

What if I'm someone I don't want around?

He breaks into a frustrated smile because you were staring.

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling

What if I'm down? What if I'm out?

What if I'm someone you won't talk about?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again

He looks at you, ruining the tissue paper as he places the cold drink over it.

I'm falling.

Your eyes twinkle twice before applauding him quietly, trying not to make a scene.

"That is... I almost forgot how good you sound singing."

"Pft," he blushes, lips quivering in hiding the biggest smile of the night.

"I think if you want to say something, you have to say it while people are listening to you. While you can say something, you have to act on it."

"You stole that quote from A Star is Born."

"Well, it's fitting. I don't care. Oh, I have a secret to tell you."

You lean in to his ear, closing the gap between you two that is the white table, "I think you're a songwriter."

Giggling, you went back to your seat.

"I am a songwriter."

"No, you're ghostwriting. It's not the same."

You wave your hands to his face. "I swear to god if I hear those same lyrics in another singer's voice, I would go back to New York and look for you, and I'm gonna kick you in the balls."

He almost forgot you weren't gonna be here forever. Tonight, you'll leave and that ends the story of you two. Like he promised himself this noon. He'll let it end here and everything he feels about you will sleep tonight and never wake up.

"It's already dark. Could you believe it? How time flies these days."

"Yeah," he agrees. "But New York is more alive when the night falls."

Your expression was unreadable.

"Wait, were you trying to tell me you should be going home?" he adds.

"No. Do you want me to?"

"I was... I was planning to show you Times Square. But if you need to go home, I can drive you."

You shake your head and the next thing he knows are the lights that flows over your head in the middle of Times Square.

When he bought that ticket thinking you would come, this was how he pictured the moment of both of your arrival in New York.

Exciting. Spontaneous. And boundless.

It's done and it's nearing the end of the book he failed to finish before you came. You're here in Times Square, although a little different in the circumstance he daydreamed of, it still happened. And ain't that the sign of conclusion? A dream coming true?

"I should've come with you but I was too scared." The thick soles of your shoes make your footsteps echo.

You stop by a food truck, awaiting his cowardly eyes to look up.

"What do you want me to say to that?" His nostril flares a bit but he sighs away from it.

"If I let myself go with you, I don't think I can handle the pain you'll cause me. I was too broken to love you."

His stomach swirls. You loved him too. But he can no longer use that sort of expired reciprocation. It somehow hurts more.

"With the shit my ex and Taehyung did to me and how miserable I turned out, I don't know what I would do to myself if you hurt me. I don't think I'm capable of that."

"But why now? Why him? What difference does it make?"

"Because I didn't think he could hurt me as much as you would have."

"You can't keep doing that."

"What?"

"Lying to yourself. What? You're just not gonna let yourself be happy because you're afraid that once that happiness stops, you're gonna go back to that slump life you had? Or worse?"

Your lips quiver. "I don't know." Your shoulders rise. "I don't know. I don't know if you're right or wrong."

"You can't keep running away from what you deserve, y/n."

"And what do I deserve?" You huff with a hint of a sarcastic laugh. "You?"

"Happiness. The kind where you don't lie to yourself... or anyone."

You purse your lips together, unable to form a coherent response.

"Let's go," he adds. "I think we should go home."

A McDonald's ad comes on the big screen and the yellow light flickers above you two as the two of you walk to the car that will later separate the both of you.

In hellos come goodbyes. Jungkook, as he arrives at the lamp post where you asked him to stop, realizes that today didn't need the perfect ending. Whatever it was — the sound of your belt unbuckling or the sound of the car door opening — it just felt enough. Some goodbyes aren't perfect, some are enough.

"Hey," he says rolling down the window.

You turn back, confused. "Huh?"

He takes a moment to say something. "I just wanted to take another look at you."

A wide grin shows up on your face. Your index is automatically winding up against the shape of your nose. And you turn around again, leaving him behind.

The night doesn't end in the said separation but in the beginning of a morning that seemed different than the rest.

As he pours milk over his cereal, Jungkook thinks of what you said and he makes a call he never thought he would again.

"Can we meet?"

And that voice, so remarkably deep, answers.

"Of course," replies Namjoon.

9 months later.

The summer heat burns his skin as he exits the van. It's crowded during the morning in New York and the city deafens his ears as much as exhaust him. Today was tiresome and it has barely begun. He rolls his eyes at the sight of Angela laughing by the food truck.

"Hey," he exclaims, "where's my drink?"

"Calm down, bonehead. Why are you so worked up?" The girl with the thick eyeliner gives him the soda.

"Because she's ten minutes late. Again."

"What exactly does she do for the band? Oh, right. Nothing."

"She brings the clothes? She dresses the team?"

"And guess what? All of you still look like idiots."

"You're the worst assistant ever, you know that?"

"I'm very aware." She gives a mischievous grin before taking a sip from her diet coke.

He watches the rest of the group from outside prepare their instruments. There was Francis tuning his guitar, Namjoon mixing the speakers, and Roi playing subtle beats with the drums. Out front, some staff members of the bar are decorating the posters, their posters. 'Mikrokosmos' it says in ransom font.

"Hey," he nudges Angela, making her almost spill her drink. "Where's Veronica?"

"Veronica? Oh... the pianist." She laughs at herself. "She ate out. She said she wants chinese for breakfast."

He finally opens the can and takes a sip. "I thought she's ditching."

"Why are you so worked up today?"

"I'm not worked up."

"Sure, there will be cameras this time around, but your band will still suck balls either way."

He dismisses her comment before she gets on his nerves. Instead, he focuses on the posters. They were there standing in it with a cliché stern pose for a band picture. Everything was perfect and organized, it's going quite as he planned months before. Credit should be given where it's due, and he knows exactly when all this began again.

The place gets packed as it gets darker, with the cameras, people from outside are intrigued. So it went on, until it was full and loud and busy. Until he couldn't remember a face anymore or decipher a single conversation.

Before the show starts, he takes a glance behind him, Namjoon gives him the cue. And it starts, the warm strumming of the guitar by Francis. For once in the room, it was quiet.

Like the world was finally hearing him and it was going to listen.

Please, don't see

Just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasies

Please, see me

Reaching out for someone I can't see

Roi begins to hit the hi-hats gently.

Take my hand

Let's see where we wake up tomorrow

Best laid plans

Sometimes are just a one night stand

I'll be damned

Cupid's demanding back his arrow

So let's get drunk on our tears

The strings start, something that Namjoon had composed in his laptop.

Jungkook turns to Angela who nods and gives an approving smile. Something she'd never done.

And, God, tell us the reason

Youth is wasted on the young

It's hunting season and the lambs are on the run

Searching for meaning

But are we all lost stars?

When he closes his eyes from the blinding glare of the lighting that was focused right in front of him, he loosens as he tightens the grip on the microphone.

He thinks of when he met Namjoon for the first time during college. It was the sight of him making music then that gave this direct path to where he is now.

Trying to light up the dark?

Who are we?

Just a speck of dust within the galaxy

Woe is me

He thinks of when he went with him. And Namjoon taught him that there are so many things you can be and on top of that is being happy.

He smiles into the microphone.

If we're not careful turns into reality

Don't you dare let our best memories bring you sorrow

Yesterday I saw a lion kiss a deer

He opens his lids slowly and under the wind chimes was you, lost in the music and found in the crowd. Your arms carefully folded against your chest until you gave him a wave.

You were mouthing a sentence through a beam, and although he couldn't understand, he felt relieved.

Turn the page

Maybe we'll find a brand new ending

He's gone for a three day trip to Monterey Bay and today was his second day in the cruise he had been bragging about on his Instagram story. You might've pressed on it hundreds of times and the story still has more slides to go. Whatever though, today has been the most relaxing day since you moved in with him.

Before the repetitive six-song playlist of Bing Crosby, Taehyung spends the time of your being home yelling at some show on ESPN. And before that phase, he often invited Jimin and Jin to the apartment and the traces of their having fun reeks 'till morning. It was gross the way they acted like boys. They would fight over his PS5 and then get drunk right after, during those mornings, you had to endure the smell of unfinished Cheetos and salad dressings left open.

You told him to never invite his friends over on Fridays, because that was your long bath day where you get all fancy and bring some wine into the bathtub and play quiet music. It wasn't easy convincing him, he had always been kind of a self-absorbed asshole whose personality got stuck in high school.

"Hey, I'm kind of tired of hearing you and your friends play loudly whenever I'm trying to sleep on Fridays... so could you maybe lessen their visits here?"

He blows a raspberry. "What do you mean? We whisper for the sake of you. We weren't being loud."

"Oh, right. Why am I aware of noobangel79 having the hottest voice for a Fortnite player then? Care to explain, Tae?"

He licks his lips trying to come up with an excuse. "Well, if you would stop being a killjoy, maybe you could play with us and finally hear her voice. She sounds so hot."

This time, you blow the raspberry but keep your cool. "I don't really care, Tae. Just please don't invite them on Fridays because Friday is my scheduled long bath and sleep day."

He gives a lengthy sigh. "Okay, you win."

"I wasn't really competi-"

"You win. I won't invite them anymore." He shuts his door with a loud thud.

After a successful week of not inviting his friends over, he had invited a girl. And God, did you regret ever telling him to never invite his friends again on Fridays. When Taehyung brings girls home, he is carefree and he is reckless. The worst part, he is fully aware of your presence, but to your luck, you were always too tired to notice or bother.

There was Demie, Ally, Daisy, and Rory. He has his ways with the names of his lady encounters. Every week, you'd play a game with yourself if you could guess the name of the girl he's bringing home for that week. So far, you haven't gotten any name right.

The only good thing about him bringing home women is that it never occurred on Fridays. Mostly, it happens during Wednesdays and on Wednesdays you do overtime quite a lot. The only reason you know these girls' names is you meet them in the mornings as you prepare your Thursday breakfast. 

Taehyung would come out half-naked while his one night stand in a cliché oversized white shirt get up. How many shirts have he lost? You're not entirely sure.

There was this Wednesday you were sent home early and you were too excited to tiptoe into the apartment. You had just changed your sheets during that Wednesday morning, you had to really try it tonight. You open the door and squelching noises enter your ears.

It was that kind of night.

To your stupidity, you had to make sure of what those noises were. It could either be the grossest thing you'll ever know of Taehyung or a murderer is literally inside the house and is stabbing Taehyung as you arrived. You tiptoe, completely forgetting about your new sheets, and now intrigued by this unknown sound.

"Oh, please," a high-pitch voice murmurs. 

Then there was a deep chuckle coming from his room and you knew it was his, but you were already peaking before you figured it out.

Taehyung with both his palms against a girl's asscheeks as he pushes her to the mirror, gently fucking her from behind. Her face has desperation painted all over with mascara smudged around her eyes. She was a writhing mess while he was focused on the expression of her face. You're not sure why you kept standing and watching, but he kept the show interesting when he pulls his phone from his nightstand and, you guessed it, films the whole thing through the mirror in front of them.

"Smile for me, baby," he whispered.

One of the most unforgettable Wednesdays in your life and Wednesdays are supposed to be boring. You never told him about your finding out because you knew exactly what he would respond with: "You enjoyed it?" Arguments with Taehyung never end well on your part.

The playlist transitions from Money Trees to Streets and you are brought back to reality, taking another sip of your pink moscato. It feels weird without his heavy presence in the house, it almost feels lonely. Everything he did has always been so loud that now it's quiet, you couldn't make yourself exactly comfortable.

You continue playing with the faucet with your toes, Ally from The Notebook style. Your phone rings, interrupting the beat from the speaker. It was Taehyung, his cheeky face popping up on the screen, ruining your mood.

When you accept the call, his deep voice sends vibrations all over the walls. You probably shouldn't have answered with the speaker connected to your phone.

"Hey." His voice lingers with a hint of huskiness in it, what he usually sounds like when he finishes drinking in the morning. You've always admitted how dangerous Taehyung sounded, but there's a big difference when he just woke up from a long nap. It's calming, but intriguing.

"What do you need?" Rolling your eyes hoping he would see how much he had just inconvenienced you.

"Why are you giving me that tone, missy?" He chuckles and with that you feel yourself shake. It felt like the walls that surround you just laughed.

"Seriously, Taehyung, you're interrupting my bath time."

You hear him sigh on the other line, more like a hiss. And then there was the sound of fabric shuffling like he had just laid down on a bed.

"Right, you're doing your long baths." 

You reply with a hum.

"Can you show me?"

You were taken aback. Was he flirting or was he dead serious? You didn't take much time in responding, he might think that he won by making you uncomfortable. Taehyung's flirting like a frat boy wouldn't work on you. You're better than that.

"No. What do you need?" 

He snickered. "I forgot an important piece of paperwork in my room and I need you to take a picture of it."

"What do I have in it?" It was your turn to chuckle.

"Hmm," the bass in his voice travels to your body, "I do the dishes for a month."

"You're lying. You're gonna leave them piling up for a month is what you mean."

"You know me so well." There was silence, but his constant breathing lets you know the line hasn't ended. "How 'bout I give you a plus one ticket next month?"

"Ticket for what?" 

"Knicks. Finals are in the second week of next month."

"Holy shit," you exclaim realizing, "no way, though."

"What?" he stammers.

"No way you have a ticket."

"But I do. Now be a good girl and take a picture."

You froze, not because the water's starting to become room temperature, but because you didn't understand. His judgment is clearly clouded, there is no way he means what he said. 

"Get over yourself," you chuckle, shaking your hands of sweat.

"What? Do you not want the Knicks?"

"Sending a picture of myself? Piss off."

Before ending the call, he laughs out loud and explains himself.

"You're an idiot. Take a picture of the papers I left, not you."

"Oh,"

"But I'm open to receiving both."

"Shut up, I'll get it now." You hop off the tub and dry yourself with a towel nearby. Proceeding to Taehyung's room without covering yourself, not like anyone's going to notice anyway.

"Which one here?" You say to your phone.

You hear him think. "Bottom left, it's in a blue folder." Then he coughs. "Are you fucking naked?"

Frowning, "No."

He chokes on his own spit. "Then I guess I have to alarm you, a naked stranger just entered my room."

"Tae! What the fuck? How are you seeing me right now?" You yell, running out of his room.

"I might have installed a hidden camera in case you steal my earphones again."

Your first instinct was to protest, but you did break his first airpods and put it back in his drawer. You can't blame him.

"Well, stop watching."

"What can I say? You made me hard."

In your many encounters with men, you don't find that sentence at all arousing. This was Taehyung where it's coming from, however, you have your thighs close tight naked in the middle of the living room in front of his room.

"Do you want your files or not?"

"I do, chill. Just put something on."

"You're hassling me." You roll your eyes hoping he'd see it.

"You're rolling your eyes right now, aren't you?"

"Yes," as you wrap a towel around your body, still water trickles down on the floor creating a small puddle.

Taehyung shuffles again, you could hear it faintly from the speaker. And then he sighs.

"What are you doing?"

Taehyung exhales through his nose, close to his phone.

"This fucking vodka my boss gave me, it's killing my head."

It was your turn to chuckle.

You proceed again to his room, trying your best to keep the towel together with your body. 

"It's in the drawer bottom left."

"Yes, I didn't forget."

"Alright, alright, just making sure."

The blue folder peeks out as if it knew it was forgotten. 

"So, which one here? There's too much paper."

"Look for one with the title 'March Report'."

Once you had found it, you immediately took a picture and sent it to him. 

"Thanks, noodles."

"Noodles?"

"For being nude in my room."

You fake a laugh and gave him a finger on the camera on top of his computer.

"I'm ending the call," you tell him.

He obliges and there was this deafening silence in the room that you kind of hoped he would retaliate when you said you would be ending the call.

You return to your bath, this time feeling a little empty and in need of a conversation. Bryson Tiller resumes playing on the speaker and you sip your wine, waiting for something to occur.

To your subtle surprise, your phone dings again. Then again. And then one more time.

TAEVIL doesn't seem fair. Taevil sent a photo. r we even?

You quickly, too quickly, place the glass on top of the corner of the tub. Rubbing your hand on a nearby towel before sliding it open.

It was him, topless on his bed, his phone covering his face as he took the picture on a ceiling mirror. It's exactly the way you remember it, every single detail. The subtle abs straining from his stomach, he hasn't always been jacked like his friend Jungkook but he was toned and gracefully perfect. Both his hands hold his phone with his belt undone and his pants brought down just a little, the shy reveal of the base of his cock weakening you.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you think of a reply. There's no exact response for that. Like they say, the reply is in the eye of the receiver. You bite your nails, bite your lip, grit your teeth, desperately trying to come up with just as scandalous of a response.

YOU smol boy

You mentally slap yourself when he types and holds back twice. But he responded soon enough.

TAEVIL i havent talked to u ab whenu caughtme fkng rory

You could hear the slur in his speech with the way he types as though he was painfully drunk, not sure in what though. In vodka or heat?

YOU wdym?

TAEVIL dont play prtend now ik u saw mefuck rory

YOU idk what ur talking ab babe

TAEVIL my dicks not smal 

YOU :)

TAEVIL ur angering me love

YOU the only big thing you have is your ego

TAEVIL u saw me fckedtheshit out of rory u kmow hwyat u saw babe

YOU and what did i see?

From here you could hear Taehyung's guttural laugh.

TAEVIL icymi Taevil sent a video. mythird leg

He sent the exclusive homemade film and to your surprise, it was more intimate than how you remember it. They were fucking like Nate and Maddy, yes, but there was a lot of whispering, things that feel a little too personal to describe.

It didn't take long until his dick slips out of her, full glory, and he wasn't lying about the third leg, because he could walk with that dick alone. Shades of rosy pink travel toward the head of his cock, he's throbbing and shaking as he pumps himself only to cum on his mirror, making Rory giggle to herself as though it was a victory for her to make Taehyung cum as much.

It does feel like a victory to make a guy as good-looking as him to cum so hard only for you.

And you had just made him hard.

YOU hmm

TAEVIL is that an agreeing hum

YOU whatever good night tae <3

TAEVIL good night <3 Taevil sent a photo.

You regret opening that picture because now you might just do it, fuck him over the phone. His hand gripping tight the girth of his massive cock, with veins that make you wonder how they'd feel as he pounds himself in and out of you. You clutch your knees tighter to your chest, fingers typing the worst things you'll ever say in text.

YOU Id sit on u<3

TAEVIL wheres ur jk

YOU I would sit on you, no joke

TAEVIL what else would u do

YOU I'd ride you until I'm dripping of cum and get your whole thigh wet I'll fuck myself onto you tae

TAEVIL Asnwer

You couldn't laugh at the typo, he was already calling, his face flashing on your bright phone and you had made the mistake a while ago to use a screenshot of him shirtless from his story one time as his caller ID.

"Hey," his voice once again vibrates through the walls as the volume blasts from your speaker.

"Hi?" you reply in your most incompetent tone.

"Now you're shy?" He sighs, almost in a desperate way but he earns back his confidence when he grunts.

"What are you doing?" you lie again on your back after pulling the drain plug. The pink lake surrounding your body now disintegrating with your pride and shame.

"You wanna know, hm? Want to see me fucking myself?" 

Your voice will break if you try now, and even in the silence that follows after his statement comes your internal cry. Holy fucking shit.

Kim Taehyung might just ruin you.

The phone rings again, this time it's a FaceTime request and you were quick to accept. You place your phone right on the level of your chest, shyly peeking at him with a soft smirk on your face to hide your embarrassment.

He, on the other hand (no pun intended), holds his phone in an undistinguishable angle, sitting up the head of his bed while breathing raggedly.

"You're still in the fucking tub?" He frowned, disappointed.

"I'm draining it," you say cheekily, and he surprisingly finds that endearing. "Where did you expect me to be?"

He laughs in disbelief. "On my fucking bed, I was hoping?"

"Why would I get on your nasty bed?" you teased.

"It's not nasty."

"It'd be a Jackson Pollock painting in there once I shine a black light."

"Not true. I'm a big fan of creampie."

"You're so disgusting." Laughing, you get off the now empty tub and put on a robe. "Where do I go now, Tae?"

He's got a troublesome look on his face, a bellow sunken deep in his throat trying so hard to maintain his composure. The sheer innocence of your response urging his hard cock to cum undone.

"In my room," he replied, smiling at the way you obeyed when your phone shook as you walked. "You're so adorable."

Giggling, you slump down on his bed and finally face him. "What now?" 

"Put your phone somewhere I can see you."

"You can see me."

"I want to see all of you."

You take a second and place your phone on the rack at the end of his bed. "Like this?" You put both your hands on the knot of your robe and he hums in agreement.

"You ever done this for anyone before?" 

And you smile, seeing the effect you have on him. You hum back, shaking your head.

"I haven't." You pull the knot. "Are you screenrecording?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Fuck no." You embrace your body. "Also delete this from your hidden cam."

"Alright, alright. Just..." He sat up on his bed, head resting on the headboard with interest building in his eyes. "Get naked for me already."

"You're so eager."

He had a shy grin, even through his broken mess of hair, he looked beautiful. Scrunching his nose at being teased, he pulls down the camera and shows you his hand pumping his dick, slow and steady as he takes his time.

"That's how eager I am." He goes back to his face, licking his bottom lip waiting for you to strip naked for him. "Please don't give me a hard time." He fakes a pout, and then smiles in content when you start untangling your robe.

You come to think of it, he's drunk and might consider this a mistake later in the morning. He had never shown interest in you until now and you had never shown interest in him either. What would happen when he comes back home? Wouldn't that be just a total awkward disaster if you both chose to pretend it never happened?

Yet, you just tell yourself 'fuck it' as your robe falls to the ground. 

He lowers his phone, biting his lip, examining you like he was in front of you. The heat of his gaze warming you up, and the flick of his tongue when he wets his lip has you drooling. You've never felt this naked before, so bare and grounded. Never been stared at like you were the most beautiful person to ever exist. 

"You're so fucking gorgeous, fuck," he whispers in ragged breaths. His chest weaving while he struggles to keep the camera on him.

"I feel uncomfortable being the only one... Naked." You tuck your hair, hoping he gets the idea.

Taehyung doesn't waste a second and he's walking toward the end of his bed. The dim lighting of his room intensifies the shadows of his body. He places his phone on the nearest stand, sitting at the end of the bed with his cock standing with pride as he kicks his pants to the floor.

You take a deep breath. "Do you workout?"

He frowns at the question. "Is it not obvious?" He sits back, body resting on his hand trying to show off his toned abs. 

Huffing, you sit at the end of his bed and cross your legs. 

"If I was there, I would have you crying my name." He strokes himself one more time. "Fuck, could you open wide for me?"

You lay back like he does, spreading your legs to the camera and his mouth agapes at the sight. 

"Just like that." Groaning, his body flexes, pouring all his energy into fucking himself. "When I get home, I will fuck your brains out. Just you fucking wait, y/n."

"I don-"

"Stop talking and touch yourself," he demanded.

"Oh," you stutter. Fingers already circling your clit, thinking of him going down on you with his tongue lapping on your juices.

"You've always wanted this cock, don't you? Want me to fuck your mouth until you're crying like the cunty whore you are."

Moaning at his words, you set your knees upward, giving him a better view of your soaked entrance, glistening under the pale lampshade near his nightstand.

"Look at how wet you are, hm." He moves closer to the camera, his huffing chest taking your sight, the shakiness in his breathing covering your ears, the thought of him clouding your judgment. 

"Put a finger in, babe. I want to see how easily I could slide into you."

On his demand, you got a digit in with no problem, moaning the moment you reached your palm. "Fuck, Tae. I need you here right now."

"I'm gonna cum undone seeing you like this, y/n."

Groping your breast, you make sure he sees the show you're putting on by smiling at him. Charming him with a sweet façade. 

"You wanna see daddy cum for you? Just thinking about bending you over on our kitchen counter, fucking you until I break you? Cumming at the thought of your skimpy shorts that you wear at home." His hand speeds up, occasionally he would run his thumb over the tip of his cock. 

 "I swear to god, I'm not gonna last long," he moans out, stopping his hand which gets you confused.

"Could you bend over for me? Shake your little ass on the screen."

Now if you weren't as horny as you are now, you would be cracking up at what he said. Taehyung's desperate tone led you to do what he wanted though, you had your back facing your phone as you bent over on his bed, showing off your damp thighs.

"Hu-uh," his moan dismantled as he tried to reach for his high, "can you say my name?"

Pumping yourself as fast as you can, your fingers sliding in and out of you catching up to his rhythm. "Oh, my God, Tae... Tae, I'm going to..."

He grunts in response. "Yes, fuck, keep going. Close. Y/n..." his voice trails off along with you rocking your hips back and forth trying to ride out the euphoria.

He whimpers as spurts of cum spill on his stomach, releasing a dark laugh once he recovers from the high. "If you were here, I'd have you lick this of me."

You return to sitting on the bed, putting the robe back on to cover yourself. "If you were here, it wouldn't have to end now."

Giggling once again, you end the call before he could retort. Resuming the music, the house felt lonelier than ever. Taehyung's scent from his sheets only started to make the room colder by the second.

Your phone rings at another text.

TAEVIL you better be ready be when i get home

YOU :p not in another 24 hours