The kitchen hums with warmth and quiet activity. The wooden countertop is lightly dusted with flour, and bowls of ingredients sit neatly arranged as you knead the dough, hands moving with ease as your muscle memory takes over. Across the counter, Ara and Iseul work on peeling apples, the rhythmic sound of knives gliding over the fruit filling the space.

“You’ve got a good hand for this, Miss Y/N,” Iseul says, her tone soft but teasing. “You’re working like someone who knows their way around dough.”

Ara glances over, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I hope so,” you reply, her smile light as her hands move steadily. “My café wouldn’t have lasted long if I didn’t know how to bake.”

Iseul dusts the surface with a bit more flour. “Ah, a café. That makes sense. You’re good.”

“Lots of practice,” you chuckle.

“What was it like? Your café?” Ara asks, curiosity evident in her tone.

You pause briefly as you roll out the dough, a smile playing on your lips. “Busy, but I loved it. The mornings were my favourite — setting up before the rush, the smell of fresh bread and coffee, the regulars who’d come in for the same thing every day… It felt like I was a character in Gilmore Girls or something.”

“Sounds like hard work, but the good kind,” Iseul says thoughtfully, slicing another apple. “You must miss it.”

“I do, sometimes.”

Ara exchanges a glance with Iseul but doesn’t press further. Straightening, you dust your hands on your apron. “Since it’s autumn, I thought we could use some seasonal flavours. Maybe apple and pumpkin pastries?”

“Good choice,” Iseul says with a soft smile. “They’ll bring a little warmth as the air cools.”

They settle into a steady rhythm — Ara mashing the pumpkin filling, Iseul peeling and slicing apples, and you shaping the pastry dough. As some time passees , the kitchen fills with the quiet clatter of utensils and light conversation.

Ara wipes her hands on a towel, smiling as she watches. “I’ll leave you two to finish up. There’s some work I need to check on.”

“Thanks for helping, Ara,” you say, glancing up.

“It was a pleasure,” Ara replies with a small nod. “I’ll come back to try one later.”

After Ara leaves, Iseul heads to the drawer to fetch some cinnamon.

“I think everyone will be very happy with your choice,” she says as she returns. “Jungkook was in here a while ago, asking about the pastries I’ve been buying for breakfast.”

“I hope so,” you reply, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I should probably ask them what they want. It’d be nice to try new things.”

“It’s good to see you enjoying this,” Iseul says after a moment, her tone warm but reflective. “You seem at ease here in the kitchen.”

“It’s familiar,” you say with a smile. “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until I started baking again.”

Iseul nods slowly, continuing her work. “There’s something grounding about it, isn’t there? The rhythm, the smells… It makes everything feel a bit more settled.”

“Exactly. Back at the cafe, I used to say baking felt like a kind of therapy. No matter what was happening, I could lose myself in it for a little while.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve found your way back to it, even if just for a moment,” Iseul says with a thoughtful sigh. “Things feel tense around here lately, more than usual.”

You glance at her, curious but silent, prompting Iseul to continue.

“Even the boys… they're usually always laughing, full of energy. But lately, they’ve been different. A bit more serious, more on edge,” Iseul says quietly.

Your brows furrow slightly. You haven't been here that long but even you can tell how sometimes everyone seems tense, falling silent the second someone's phone rings and exchanging concerned glances at any new updates.

Iseul notices the change in your own mood now and she smiles. "But that’s why moments like these matter. They remind us there’s still a little sweetness in life, even when things get rough. “Besides,” Iseul says with a playful glint in her eye, “who’s going to keep these boys fed if we don’t?”

You laugh softly. "That's true. Maybe we should get them to help us sometimes."

"Now that's actually not a bad idea," she agrees,  before glancing at the pastries in the oven, their edges beginning to turn golden as the scent of warm apples and spices fills the air.

The warm, buttery aroma of freshly baked pastries fills the lounge as Jungkook leans back on the couch, a blissful expression spreading across his face. “These are insane,” he mumbles through a mouthful of pastry, holding up another piece to inspect it. “I could eat these forever.”

Hoseok grins, reaching for a second one. “Right? It’s like heaven in your mouth.”

Namjoon, who is chewing thoughtfully, nods in agreement. “You’ve got a gift, Y/N. These are unreal.”

You smile, pretty chuffed as you lean against the arm of the couch. “Glad you like them. I can make them again, it didn’t take too long and Iseul helped me.”

Hoseok laughs. “You make it sound so casual. These are next-level.”

Jungkook nods enthusiastically, crumbs at the corner of his mouth. “Seriously, I could eat these all day.”

Namjoon leans forward, tapping his chin. “You know what might be an interesting flavour? Mango and white chocolate. You should try that sometime.”

You tilt your head, considering it. “Hmm, mango and white chocolate? I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’m already sold,” Jin says, reaching for another pastry.

Just then, the door opens, and Yoongi strolls in, hands in his pockets. His sharp eyes take in the scene of the boys lounging with plates of pastries. “Hey,” he says, his tone casual. “What’s going on in here?”

“Yoongi, you’ve gotta try these,” Hoseok says, holding up a pastry like a prize. 

Yoongi wanders over, plucking one from the plate and taking a small bite. His expression remains neutral as he chews, nodding slightly. “Not bad,” he says, his voice cool.

The room erupts in laughter.

“Not bad?” Namjoon repeats, chuckling as he shakes his head. “You just can’t give a compliment, can you?”

Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of his lips. “Don’t want anyone getting a big head.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “Don’t worry, I’m immune to your backhanded praise.”

The boys laugh, still devouring the pastries. You turn to Yoongi, your tone softening. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Yoongi’s brow rises slightly, but he nods. “Alright.”

He gestures toward the veranda, and the two of you make your way outside. The cool air greets you as you step onto the wide stone terrace, the estate gardens stretching out before you. You ease into one of the cushioned outdoor sofas, Yoongi settling across from you.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his tone low and steady.

“Yeah, all good.” You look at him, hesitating for a moment. “I want to see Jaeho.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow slightly in confusion. “Jaeho?”

You nod. “He was my dad’s friend and trainer. He trained me, too, when I was younger. After my parents died and we moved to Namwon, he’d still cpme by every week to keep training me. I haven’t seen him since I came back to Seoul.”

Yoongi leans back, studying you. “Sure, but why now?”

You glance out at the gardens, watching the distant figure of a gardener pushing a mower across the vast lawn. “Honestly, I kind of miss him.” Your voice softens as you continue, “Over the years, he started to feel like family. And being here, it just reminds me a lot of my dad, of how things were when I was a kid.”

Yoongi nods slowly, following your gaze. “Makes sense.”

You look back at him, relieved by his understanding. “I don’t know if that sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t,” he says simply, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We can go, whenever you’re ready.”

“Thanks. I also want to go back home—I have some things I need.”

Yoongi’s brow furrows. “We cleared everything out for you.”

“I know, but there are some things I kept locked away — personal stuff, my ID, some firearms. I didn’t want to go back until it was safe. It should be okay now, right?”

Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line, and he seems hesitant. “I’m not sure, Y/N.”

“Please,” you say softly, your eyes searching his.

He sighs, giving in. “Fine. But at least wait until your leg is fully healed. If something happens, I’m not carrying you on my back.”

You smirk, leaning forward slightly. “Good. I don’t trust you not to drop me.”

Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head. “We’ll take someone with us anyway, just to be safe.”

“Good idea.”

“How are you finding everything?” he asks, his tone more sincere now.

You pause, thinking carefully. “It’s... fine. It’s not like it’s completely new, but at the same time, it is.”

He nods in understanding. “It’s nice having you here, though. You’ve definitely joined the family easily.”

You smile, the warmth in his voice making you feel lighter. “It does feel like a family.” Your gaze drifts to the garden again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this.”

The distant hum of the gardener’s mower is the only sound as you lean back, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. For the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to bask in the unfamiliar sense of belonging.

The gravel crunches softly beneath your shoes as you walk through the garden, testing the weight on your injured leg. There’s still a pull in the muscle, but it’s better than it was. You exhale slowly, determined to get back to full strength.

You’re itching to feel normal again. To move without thinking. To fight without hesitation.

The sun hangs low in the sky, brushing the estate in soft amber light. It’s peaceful, but not quiet — birds call from the trees, and off in the distance, the steady hum of a lawn mower breaks the silence. You’re not tired, not after the long nap you took earlier.

“Side effect of the meds,” Jin had told you with a wave of his hand. “You’ll be drifting in and out.”

You turn a corner, walking slower now, careful of the strain on your leg. Ahead, you spot Ara walking side by side with the gardener, chatting quietly as he guides the mower along a strip of lawn. She notices you and pauses, offering a kind smile as she approaches.

“Y/N,” she says gently. “Out for a walk?”

 “Figured I’d test out the leg,”  you say with a small smile.

She nods, eyes flicking down briefly. “How is it feeling?”

“Better,” you answer honestly. “Still healing, but a lot better.” Your eyes drift past her to the familiar wooden arch a few feet away, wrapped in ivy and faded by time.

“It’s not locked anymore?” you ask, gesturing toward it.

She follows your gaze and shakes her head. “No. It's been open for a couple of years now. Jimin didn’t want it locked.”

You glance back at her. “Can I go in?”

“Of course,” she says gently. “It’s always open now.”

You smile at her. “Thanks, Ara.”

She gives you a warm nod before turning to rejoin the gardener, her voice fading as she walks away.

You take a step toward the arch, fingers brushing over the vine-covered handle. The ivy resists slightly, but the gate swings open with a soft creak, and you step inside.

The stone path beneath your feet winds between half-wild rose bushes and lilies, their petals faded but holding on. The grass has grown a little long. A weathered bench rests beneath a fruit tree, its bark worn from time but everything in here is still alive. Though it’s imperfect, it still feels peersonal, like a memory.

You move slowly, your hand trailing along the leaves and low-hanging branches. You remember the few times you came here with Jimin and his mother. It looks almost exactly the same. And yet somehow, it feels heavier.

You stop in front of the fountain. Just as you remember, though time seems to have passed here too. The statue in the centre is draped in stone cloth, one hand resting over her chest, her face tilted downward, sorrow etched into every line, looking wearier.

She always reminded you of Jimin’s mother. Quiet, elegant, and always carrying the burden of something you couldn’t name.

You never knew what happened to her, not really. But you could tell — she’d suffered. And Jimin had, too.

He must’ve been so lonely.

You think back to your own childhood. Even when you were in school, you weren’t allowed to go out much. Friends were limited. Schedules were strict. The walls around you weren’t physical, but they may as well have been.

It made you distant. Guarded.

After Jimin, you didn’t let anyone else get too close. Not until Yoongi.

Meeting him in your late teens felt like stepping out of a shadow, a release. Not comfort exactly, but a sense that you weren’t as alone as you’d thought.

You imagine Jimin must’ve felt something similar. Being home-schooled was worse, under constant scrutiny. Taemin was all he had, but that must’ve been its own kind of pressure -- living up to a friend who existed only to please his father.

You sigh and look away, a dull ache settling behind your ribs. The sky is deeper now, streaked with purples and soft blue, the last of the light sinking behind the trees.

You turn back toward the path, still feeling the weight of something you can’t name, and oddly, you find yourself quietly hoping Jimin might be somewhere nearby.

You make your way toward the house, past the hedges and across the back lawn. The estate feels still, hushed. You pass through the door and into the hallway, where only the occasional housekeeping staff move quietly from room to room.

You figure Jimin’s probably in his office, you’d rather not disturb him.

Still not tired, you make your way downstairs, down the long corridor and into the basement.

Time to run through what Jungkook and Taehyung taught you.

The ache spreading from your shoulder is familiar, even comforting, compared to the sharper pain in your leg. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin as you raise another knife, exhale slowly, and let it fly.

The blade slices through the air and lands with a soft, satisfying thud — right in the centre. A slow smile pulls at your lips. It’s not perfect, but it's clean. Focused. Precise.

That clean landing sends a wave of satisfaction rolling through you, so much so that you want to do it again, and again, and again. You love this. Always have. Sparring, shooting, training —  there’s something in it that balances you.

With each throw or pull of the trigger, the chaos in your head quiets. Every blow empties you of everything that weighs you down — anger, grief, guilt. All of it dissolves into the echo of metal and gunpowder.

It’s the closest thing you have to peace. Your own kind of equilibrium.

You move through another set — throw, land, breathe. It isn’t perfect, but it’s progress. Taehyung says it’s your leg slowing you down, that once you’re back to full mobility your stance will sharpen again. You believe him. Still, your frustration has kept you in this room more than usual.

You've also spent time getting comfortable with unfamiliar firearms, pushing your recovery with everything you've got. It's not about speed right now. It's about control.

When you finally glance at the clock, you blink. It's almost midnight.

Sighing, you cross the empty range and begin collecting your knives one by one, pulling them from the targets and feeling the growing stiffness in your arm.

The range usually empties out after 11 pm, but before that, there's always someone around, whether it's Hoseok, Jungkook, Namjoon, or any of the many loyal enforcers Jimin has. You don't mind their presence, nor do you mind your own quiet conpany.

You finish gathering the blades, wipe your face and neck with a towel, and sling it over your shoulder. The walk back upstairs sends a dull ache pulsing through your leg. You’ll need to take your meds soon, though you’re relieved at how fast the healing has come. Seokjin’s care, the endless home-cooked meals, the forced rest — it’s all helped.

You pass through the corridor toward the kitchen, doors creaking slightly as you ease open the one leading to the pantry. It's dark. All the lights are off — except one.

A soft white glow spills out from the fridge.

The doors click shut behind you, and the fridge door closes at the same time.

Someone steps out from behind it.

A woman — strikingly beautiful, with dark hair tucked loosely behind her ears, and round eyes that seem to carry some kind of weight. She's holding a jar of jam. For a moment, she looks startled to see you, but her expression quickly relaxes into something quieter as she studies you.

She doesn't seem like a stranger here, which puts you at ease. You sense no threat, just curiosity. Still, the silence stretches, so you speak first.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she replies, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. There’s a sadness there, buried but present. She shuts the fridge, holding the jar in one hand. “You must be Y/N, right?”

She steps toward the counter where an open jar of peanut butter already waits.

“Yes,” you say, brows gently pulling together.

She places the jam next to it and steps a little closer, her voice soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Yeona.”

Oh.

Yeona.

Seojun’s girlfriend.

Seojun — the man who died trying to protect you.

A knot of guilt tightens in your chest, sharp and immediate. It twists through your stomach like something rotten waking up. You remember the blood, the gunshot, his glassy eyes as he took his last breath.

“You too,” you manage to say, forcing a small smile. It feels awkward on your face, almost like a mask that doesn’t fit. You’ve never been good at situations like this — comforting someone, facing someone you might have failed.

Maybe it’s because you’ve been on the other side of comfort too many times. Or maybe it's just that the more pain you’ve seen, the less sure you are of how to soothe anyone else's.

She turns back to the counter. “I’m making a sandwich, want one?”

You smile again, and this time, it feels a little more real. “I’m alright, thanks.”

“Sure.”

Still, you hover there awkwardly, unsure if you should stay or give her space. She seems to sense it, glancing over as she slices the sandwich in half.

“Are you okay?”

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts. “Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat. “Sorry, I just…” You trail off again, unsure where you were going with that sentence.

Yeona watches you quietly, then says what you’re thinking.

“You weren’t sure if you should stay.”

Her voice is gentle, without accusation. You meet her eyes and nod, just slightly.

Her expression softens. “I know.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t have to. You were there when Seojun was killed. She knows it. You know it.

“It’s okay,” she adds, voice almost a whisper. “You can stay. I wouldn’t mind the company. Or you can go, I honestly don’t mind either way.”

You feel comfortingly disarmed by her candour.

Earlier in the garden, you thought about how you never really learned to be close with people. How being a friend didn’t always come naturally to you. But right now, it feels simple… you should stay. So you do.

Your eyes flick to the sandwich. “I’m actually kinda hungry right now.”

She glances up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not surprised. You look like you were working up a sweat.”

You shrug, easing yourself into the seat at the island. “As much as I can with this thing slowing me down.”

Her eyes flick to your bandaged leg showing beneath the baggy shorts. She winces sympathetically. “Sit. I’ll make you one.”

“Thanks."

You nod your thanks and watch her work quietly for a moment. Despite everything, it’s easy. Surprisingly easy. No tension. No expectations.

“How long have you been staying here?” you ask eventually.

She spreads the jam slowly, then glances at you. “Since Seojun’s mom passed. Jimin didn’t want us living alone. Said it wasn’t safe.”

“That makes sense,” you murmur.

She gives a small, wry smile. “I don’t know how much it actually helped.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. Just a little sad.

“I’ve been thinking about moving back in with my mom soon,” she adds, slicing the sandwich in half. “Not far from here, but... still.”

You nod, unsure what to say. Instead, you offer a small smile.

Yeona slides the plate toward you and leans against the counter across from you. “So… how’d you get into baking?”

That surprises you a little, but you're grateful for the question. It’s safe.

“I started when I was at uni,” you say, relaxing into your seat. “It was something I did to de-stress while I was studying. Eventually, it became this comforting thing, you know? After I graduated, I opened up a little place."

“Until you ended up here?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She tilts her head, curious. “Do you live with your grandma?”

That catches you off guard for a second. If she knows it’s just you and your grandma, she definitely knows who you are.

“No,” you say. “She lives in Namwon. It’s quieter there. Safer.”

Yeona nods, and there’s a faint pause before she asks, “Your dad… he was Han Sehun, right?”

You nod again, slower this time. “He was.”

She doesn’t ask anything else about it. Just presses her lips together and offers a small nod of understanding.

“I’d love to try your baking sometime,” she says, her voice light again.

You smile. “I actually made some this morning. I think it’s all gone, though.”

She chuckles, grabbing a glass of water. “Probably." She takes a bite of her sandwich, then asks, “Do you train often?”

 “Yeah. I’ve always liked it — sparring, shooting, throwing knives. There’s something about it that calms me. Keeps my head quiet.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Calms you?”

“Yeah,” you say, resting your arms on the counter. “When I’m training, I don’t think about anything else. It’s like… everything slows down. The more I move, the more I breathe, the less noise there is in my head. It’s kind of the only time I feel balanced.”

Yeona smiles. “That sounds nice. I can’t relate — I've never been into all that — but I get it. We all have something that helps.”

You nod thoughtfully. “Exactly.”

She glances at the clock on the oven. “It’s late.”

You sigh, pushing back your stool. “I should go shower. Try to get some sleep.”

“Me too. Thanks for the company.”

“Thanks for the sandwich.”

She smiles, and this time it feels real.

You stand in the centre of the garden, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the neatly pruned hedges and vibrant flowerbeds. The scent of blooming jasmine lingers in the warm air, carried by a lazy breeze. The soft trickle of water from the fountain drifts through the quiet, and your eyes settle on it.

You always remember her here – Jimin’s mother. And somehow the statue has always reminded you of her.

“Hi.”

You startle, turning slightly.

Jimin stands beside you, hands in his pockets, his eyes distant as he looks ahead. 

“Hi,” you reply, softly.

He doesn’t look at you, not yet. His expression is… reminiscent, maybe. Shadowed with memory.

“It’s exactly as I remember it,” you murmur, glancing around. The ivy-covered walls. The faint crunch of gravel. The quiet hush of a place rarely touched.

He nods. “It is. I’m glad you remember it. No one really comes in here anymore. Just Ara and me, sometimes.”

“Oh.” You pause, suddenly self-conscious. “Ara said the door’s always unlocked now, so I thought—”

“It’s okay,” he cuts in gently, finally turning toward you. “Really.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” he says. “On your first day, I told you to make yourself at home. I meant it.”

Hesitantly, you smile.

He returns it, barely – but enough. Then his eyes flick to your leg.

“You’ve been walking a while. Come on. Sit down.”

You nod gratefully, letting him guide you toward the weathered stone bench tucked beneath the flowering trellis. Your leg hums with a low ache you’ve been ignoring all day. You glance at the space next to you, then up at him.

“Will you sit with me?” you ask, softer than intended – almost tentative. It makes you cringe slightly.

His brow lifts slightly, amused. “You sure?”

Again, you feel self-conscious around him. It’s not something you’re used to. And it’s strange, how natural it feels to be unsure with Jimin.

“I mean, unless you’re busy,” you add quickly, trying to play it off.

“I’m not,” he says, sitting beside you. “I have time.”

For a while, the two of you just sit in the quiet. The sun dips low, turning everything a deep gold. The soft murmur of the fountain plays in the background, steady and calm.

You glance over at him. The breeze ruffles the collar of his shirt, and for the first time since the medical room, you remember the bandage.

“How’s your arm?” you ask softly.

Jimin’s eyes flick down to it briefly before returning to your face. “It’s healing.”

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “That’s not really an answer.”

He breathes out a quiet laugh, the sound low and rough. “Fine, then – it still stings like hell sometimes, but Jin says I’ll live.”

You smile faintly. “That’s something.”

There’s a pause.

“Thank you for noticing,” he adds, voice quieter this time.

You nod, but your eyes linger on him a moment longer – on the way he hides pain, even the small kinds.

Then, carefully, you speak. “The other day, in the medical room… you were about to say something. I reminded you of something?”

“Oh, yeah.” Jimin gives a faint smile. “It reminded me of when we were younger.”

“I always imagined I’d changed since then.”

“You have,” he says. “Just maybe not as much as you think.”

With a hum, you face the garden again. “Everything feels different now.”

“It is different.”

“Do you ever miss it?” you ask. “Being young?”

He’s quiet for a moment.

You keep going. “It all felt easier then. Carefree.”

“I don’t miss it,” he says at last.

You turn toward him, surprised. “Never?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever felt carefree then.”

That ache again – familiar. You felt it even when you were kids. That quiet sense that Jimin carried more than he let on.

“Not even once?” you ask softly.

His voice is quieter now. “Except… maybe when I was with you.”

A small laugh escapes you. “I didn’t exactly leave you alone. That must’ve been annoying.”

He laughs – and it’s full, warm, slightly caught off guard. It rumbles low in his chest, the kind of laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

“True,” he says. “But I’m glad you didn’t. You were always a welcome change.”

You look back out at the flowers, noting how the shadows stretch long now. Evening is swallowing the garden slowly.

“Is that why you unlocked it?” you ask. “A change from when you were younger?”

He nods. “When my mom was here, she was happiest in this garden. But the moment she left it… she shut everything else out. Like she couldn’t bring herself to hold onto good things for too long.”

You glance at him. “And you didn’t want to be like that.”

“No,” he says quietly. “I didn’t.”

You’re both quiet again. And then:

“You remember a lot,” he says.

You glance at him. “How could I not? You were the only person I could really be myself with.”

His eyes soften. 

“And your mom?” you ask gently. “Did she know how much you loved her?”

Jimin nods, but it’s slow – like the answer costs him something. “I think so. But… I don’t think she ever really loved herself.”

You exhale slowly, your eyes drifting toward the ground. There's a weight in his voice, but it isn’t heavy -- it’s open, like something he doesn’t often let out.

And for a moment, it reminds you of how he used to be. Quiet, guarded. But now there’s a difference -- an ease to the way he sits beside you, a steadiness in his tone. You hadn’t expected it, and you realise, quietly, how much you’ve missed it.

You glance at him. “You’ve changed too.”

He looks over, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You offer a small smile. “You’re… quieter in a different way now. Not distant. Just... more certain.”

Jimin blinks at that, then huffs a soft laugh. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”

“Well,” you shrug lightly, “maybe they weren’t paying attention.”

He’s watching you again. Thoughtfully this time. You look away, suddenly conscious of the quiet between you.

Jimin shifts slightly, resting an arm on the back of the bench -- not quite touching you, but close enough to feel the warmth between you both.

“I’m not really used to this,” he admits.

“To what?”

“To… talking like this.”

You tilt your head. “Is that your way of saying I talk too much?”

That earns a real smile from him, small but easy. “Not at all. It’s like you said, everything is different now. But this” — he looks at you — “being back here with you, it feels familiar. I think for the first time, familiar feels nice.”

Your smile grows. This time under his gaze, you don’t feel self conscious. “Same.”

You look away again, but your smile lingers. The quiet returns -- but now, it feels companionable. Like something held gently between you, not needing to be filled.

The breeze begins to cool as the sky deepens into dusk, the soft hum of the fountain still bubbling behind you.

You sit together a little longer, words trailing off into silence again, but it doesn’t feel strange, it feels settled. The way the garden smells like memory. The way he hasn’t moved far from your side since he arrived.

You stifle a yawn before you can catch it.

Jimin glances at you. “Tired?”

“A little,” you murmur, stretching your leg slightly as you prepare to stand. “I think the meds are still making me drowsy.”

He doesn’t say anything —  just rises when you do, falling into step beside you as you begin to walk back across the lawn.  Your leg twinges with each step, but nothing unmanageable.

The walk is slow, quiet. Despite your leg healing well, Jimin stays close to your side, a hand hovering behind your back, just in case. 

Halfway toward the main house, you glance over at him. “Any updates on the plan?”

Jimin keeps his gaze ahead. “Some. We’re finalising a few pieces tonight.” A pause. “I was hoping to talk to you about it tomorrow.”

You nod. “Okay.”

That’s all you say. You don’t press, and he doesn’t elaborate. You trust him to tell you when it’s time.

By the time you reach the veranda, the lights inside are low and warm, casting a soft glow through the windows. The house is quiet. Most of the others have likely gone to bed or retreated to their corners of the estate.

He walks with you until you reach your door.

You glance at him again, hand on the knob. “Thanks for the company.”

Jimin gives a slight nod, hands in his pockets again. “Anytime.”

You smile faintly, and open the door.

He waits until you’ve stepped inside before turning to leave.

And for a brief moment, you watch him walk away through the crack in the door. Then you close it gently behind you.

The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs faintly in the air as you sit on the padded medical table, your leg stretched out ahead of you. Seokjin stands, brows furrowed in focus as he examines the healing wound wrapped neatly beneath gauze, while Yoongi leans against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching quietly.

“Good news,” Seokjin says, patting the bandage gently. “Your leg’s healing really well. No signs of infection and inflammation has gone down. You should be back to full strength in about two weeks — maybe sooner if you stop being stubborn.”

You smirk. “Two weeks is too long. I’m useless without my legs.”

“Useless?” Seokjin scoffs, rising to his feet. “Please. You’ve been hobbling around threatening grown men and throwing knives better than Jungkook on a bad day. And he’ll cry if I say that out loud.”

You chuckle. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Yoongi glances at Seokjn.

He shrugs dramatically. “Well, we’re currently stuck in a Cold War with the Lee's, and this clinic is the Switzerland of the estate.”

You raise a brow. “A Cold War?”

Seokjin sighs. “It’s mostly passive-aggressive kitchen notes and carefully timed door slams. Ara's keeping score.”

“Sounds serious,” you shake your head, laughing lightly. “But really,” you add, glancing between the two of them, “what’s going on with the Lee family? Jimin mentioned we

Yoongi pushes off the wall, folding his arms tighter. “I was about to tell you right after this check up. I think Jimin wants to speak to you about that. Tonight — after dinner.”

Seokjin checks his watch, then raises his eyebrows. “Speaking of which… it’s dinner now.”

Your stomach growls right on cue. “Great. I’m starving. Let’s go.”

You, Seokjin, and Yoongi walk together down the quiet hallway, your limp barely noticeable now. Just before you reach the dining room doors, Yoongi’s phone buzzes. He answers, voice low.

After a beat, he lowers the phone. “Jimin wants us to meet him in the east wing. Says it won’t take long.”

You change direction easily, and soon you’re walking toward the quieter, more secluded part of the estate. The air there feels heavier — more private.

When you step through the door into Jimin's office, she's the first person you notice.

Byun Jiyoung stands near one of the arched windows, the soft golden light of the evening casting a glow across her features. She turns at the sound of the door and smiles, walking toward you with quiet grace.

She’s just as you remember — sharp, elegant, composed. There’s something about the way she moves, like every gesture is intentional. She crosses the room and, without hesitation, pulls you into a hug.

You’re caught off guard. You freeze, not quite sure how to respond — until you glance past her and see Jimin standing nearby. His posture is relaxed, and for a moment, he watches the interaction closely.

There’s a very small smile on his face -- a quiet smile. Almost like reassurance.

And somehow, you relax into the hug.

When Jiyoung pulls back, she gives you a warm, assessing look. “I’ve been wanting to meet you properly. How have you been? This must have all been such a horrible reintroduction to the past."

“I’ve been okay,” you say honestly. It's nothing unfamiliar but it still feels different, if that makes sense?”

She nods with gentle understanding.

"How have you been?" you ask, genuinely curious.

“I’ve been living in the States,” she says, moving to sit gracefully on the sofa, gesturing for you to join. “Finished law school there, passed the bar, and I’ve been working at a firm in Manhattan. Corporate litigation.”

Your eyes widen. “That’s impressive. So, you’re a top lawyer now?”

She chuckles modestly. “Something like that. But I’m not staying in it long. Jimin reached out, and well… I’ve got a few scores to help settle.”

“That’s amazing. I mean… if anyone can help bring the Lees down legally, I guess it’s you.”

Jiyoung smiles, tilting her head. “That’s the plan. Jimin and I have been in touch for a while. Quietly, of course.”

Yoongi slips into a chair in the corner beside Hoseok, listening silently while you and Jiyoung chat. Jimin stands beside a nearby cabinet, arms loosely crossed, letting you speak but visibly present.

Jiyoung sips from a water glass. “I heard you opened a bakery. That’s such a contrast from… all this.” She gestures around the room, amused.

You laugh. “Yeah. It was my safe space. I started baking while studying — something about it helped keep me sane. After uni, I opened the shop and just… never looked back. Until recently.”

Jiyoung nods. “I get it. We all had to find our corners of peace, even if they didn’t last.”

There’s a moment of quiet. Then, she glances toward Jimin. “And look at you two. Still standing. Still here.”

You meet Jimin’s eyes again. There’s something in the air — soft, reflective. You both smile.

“You were cheeky kids,” Jiyoung says warmly. “Always whispering during dinners, disappearing before bedtime. I’m glad you two found your way back.”

You nod. “Me too.”

Jiyoung’s expression turns more serious as she faces you again. “Your father… Han Sehun… he once saved my life. When I was just a teenager and my life would have been changd forever, if not for your dad. I’ve never forgotten it.”

Her voice is quiet, her eyes steady. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure what happened to him doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

A lump forms in your throat before you can stop it. You nod, smiling, but you don’t say anything. Not because you don’t want to — but because speaking right now might crack something open you’re not ready to face.

Jiyoung must sense it. She pulls you into another hug — this time slower, firmer.

You let yourself melt into it, eyes fluttering shut. There’s warmth in it you haven’t felt in a long time.

As you pull back, you notice Jimin watching again. His eyes are softer now, brow faintly creased in something like concern. Or care.

You give him a small smile, letting him know you’re okay.

He returns it with a quiet nod.

Then his voice is low, steady. “If you’re okay to do this now, Y/N, we wanted to tell you what we were thinking.”

You glance between them, grounding yourself.

“I’m okay,” you say. “Let’s talk.”

 Jimin sits across from you and Jiyoung, with Hoseok and Yoongi sitting on the sofa adjacent to yours. Once they’re both sat, Jimin starts.

“A few months ago, the Serious Crimes Unit intercepted a weapons shipment I’d arranged… for the Lees.”

You glance up. “Yeah. Yoongi mentioned it. He said that’s what got Seojun’s mom killed.”

Jimin’s jaw shifts. He nods. “Seojun started disappearing after that. I knew he was up to something, but I let him work. He was one of the best men I had.”

He pauses, and for a moment, the air in the room tightens.

“I never knew what it was until the day he died. When he gave it to you.”

You blink. “Gave it to me?”

Then it hits you.

The flash drive.

Yoongi moves quietly and places it on the desk between you. You stare at it. Something so small, so ordinary-looking — and yet it feels like it’s pulsing with weight.

Yoongi glances at Jimin, who nods.

“The Lees are meticulous,” Yoongi says. “Every deal, every payment, every name—they keep records. Not just backups. Archives. Redundancy on top of redundancy.”

You look down at the drive. “Seojun was going after them.”

Yoongi nods once. “He infiltrated one of their secondary hubs. A front company they use for laundering. He found access to a node of their internal data network — small, isolated, but clean. Copied what he could.”

You raise your eyes. “So… can we use it?”

Jimin exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “Not exactly. The files Seojun got… they’re tied to us.”

He hesitates, then meets your gaze.

“Tied to the Parks. And to your family.”

A slow, hollow tension leaks through your chest. You sit back slightly in your chair, your shoulders finally sagging under the truth you didn’t know you were bracing for.

Of course they’d do this. Of course they’d use Jimin's name. And yours? It's a deliberate move against the only two families who would have any reason to go against them.

There’s a beat of silence.

You remember the day Seojun died —  his panic, his urgency, the way he made you promise to get it to Jimin.

You speak again, voice quieter. “So how did they know? That Seojun had taken it?”

Yoongi answers. “The Lees run everything through embedded encryption markers. Watermarks, pings – any time one of their protected files is accessed outside their net, it sends a signal. They knew almost immediately. It’s how they tracked the breach and retaliated.”

You look at the drive. “There’s no way to clean it? To extract something?”

“That’s why I brought Jinyoung in,” Jimin says, turning toward her. “She’s top of her field in international corporate law. She understands how they’d use legal framing to protect themselves — and how we could counter it.”

Jinyoung gives you a nod, all calm certainty. “I combed through the data. If we tried to hand this to authorities as is, it would backfire. Every file in there is cross-referenced. Every ledger, every transaction, there’s an intentional trail that loops back to Park accounts and dormant Han assets.”

Your brows pull together. “So... it looks like we’re working together?”

“Exactly,” Jinyoung says. “On paper, it frames your family and Jimin’s as partners. Silent, maybe, but complicit. If this came out now, they’d bury us, not the Lees.”

You sit in stunned silence for a moment. “So it’s all linked? There’s nothing clean we can extract?”

Jimin shakes his head. “They’ve been smart. Seojun got a clean data sample — but the ones he accessed were deliberately masked to include us. We think they expected someone to make a move eventually.”

You frown. “Then someone has tried this before. Why else plant evidence to implicate us?”

A flicker passes through Jimin’s face — something restrained, regretful. He doesn’t speak at first. Then, simply, “Yes. We believe so.”

Jinyoung leans forward slightly. “That’s why if we’re going to bring them down, it has to happen from inside. A collapse, not exposure. Something real. Not just one leaked drive.”

“That’s where the Kimura’s come in. Jinyoung put me in contact with them – Japan’s top syndicate.”

You raise a brow. You've only heard of the Kimura's from the many night trails you've run for Yoongi. There's usually a link and the Kimura's are at the top every time. “And they’re just… helping us?”

 “They don’t like the Lees,” Yoongi says, voice low. “Never have. The Lees have tried to push into their ports for years. Quietly. Consistently.”

You look between them. “And they’ve agreed to help?”

Jimin nods. “Not out of loyalty. But out of strategy. The Kimuras hate interference. And the Lees’ newest operation? It crosses every line.”

Yoongi continues. “The Benitoite. It’s a luxury hotel, built off laundered money, sitting right on reclaimed land in Seoul. Above ground, it’s clean. Below?”

“A speakeasy,” Jinyoung finishes. “And beneath that, a hub for trafficking, arms, and encrypted servers. It’s the core of their expansion model.”

"It's been three years since they opened the Benitoite, and this year they want to expand, so they're hosting a gala of sorts,” Jimin says. “Everyone will be there — politicians, overseas mafia reps, investors. We’ll get them to lock in a smuggling route with the Kimuras that night. It’s their biggest play yet.”

Your eyes narrow, and Hoseok says what you’re thinking. 

“That’s the night.” 

Jinyoung nods. “Exactly. The Kimuras agreed to play along. They’ll go as if the deal is legitimate. They’ll provoke the Lees into laying everything out — documents, people, money.”

“Then all we need is someone to be the bait,” Jimin says, his voice low, measured. “If it looks like someone’s trying to expose the deal — stealing the files — the Kimuras can use that to demand everything for themselves. It gives them the upper hand to justify pulling the plug, and the Lees won’t be able to refuse.”

“I’ll do it,” you say immediately.

Jimin’s gaze sharpens. “No.”

You blink. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not safe.”

“I can handle it.”

“That’s not the point.” His tone hardens — not angry, just controlled. “They’ll be watching everyone, but they’ll be watching you the most. You’re not anonymous anymore. You’re a threat.”

“I know what I’m walking into.”

Jimin's eyes are fixed on you now. “Y/N… you came into this house injured -- because of me. I can’t --  won’t -- put you at that kind of risk again.”

“I’m not asking your permission,” you say quietly. “I’m offering to do it. I knew what I was getting into the moment Seojun found me again. This is something I can do and you know that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches. “You think I’m questioning your ability?”

“You’re clearly not trusting it.”

“I do trust you,” he says, sharper now — but there’s something raw under the surface. “You think I’d let just anyone near this if I didn’t? But this isn’t a test. This is their core network. If they even suspect you… there won’t be a second chance.”

You hold his stare. “Then I won’t give them one.”

A pause. The tension between you hums like a held breath.

“I want to do this,” you add, quieter now. “Let me.”

There’s a long silence. Jimin’s eyes search yours again — scanning not for strength, but for finality. Conviction.

Finally, he exhales.

“Alright,” he says softly. “Then we do it your way.”

For a moment, nothing moves.

Yoongi exchanges a glance with Jinyoung. Then his eyes flick between the two of you — but neither you nor Jimin notice. You’re still looking at each other.

And in that stillness, you feel something shift. You’ve only seen the side of Jimin you remember from when you were younger — quiet and restrained. But this was different. There was something far more commanding beneath it now. 

Something unapologetically in control. 

A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face -- reluctance, yes, but beneath it, trust. “I’ll make sure you’re not alone in there.”

Yoongi gives a small nod of approval, murmuring, “We’ll be everywhere they don’t expect.”

Jimin’s eyes settle back on you. “But the second something feels off… we pull you out.”

You nod. “Deal.”

Hoseok leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Well, it’s a good plan,” he says, his voice low but assured. “Dangerous as hell, but it’s smart.”

He glances toward the flash drive. “Let’s just hope it works.”

“So what’s left?”

Jimin leans forward. “The one thing they can’t fake. A live deal. Audio, video, biometric data — things we can prove in real-time. The Kimuras will wear wiretaps. Their legal consultant is working with Jinyoung to prepare evidence protocols. Our team will record from inside the speakeasy once it starts.”

“And you,” Yoongi says, “will get inside close enough to confirm the drop — the briefcase, the sign-off, the handover. That’s when we move.”

You nod, swallowing the tension rising in your chest. “And what happens after we get the proof?”

Jimin’s jaw tightens. “We take them down. Publicly, and permanently. There’s no second chance after this. Either we win... or we fall with them.”

The weight in the room shifts. The air sharpens. You feel it now -- not just strategy, but the start of something final.

Ara appears at the door. “Jinyoung’s room is ready.”

She rises, smooth and graceful, giving you a soft look. “Get some rest, Y/N. We’ve got a hell of a week ahead.”

She exits with Ara and Hoseok. The door clicks softly shut behind them.

You remain seated.

For a moment, silence settles over the room.

It’s only now that you really look around Jimin’s office -- spacious, clean, intentional. A large antique clock ticks quietly on a sideboard. A collection of small, sharp blades rest in a shadowbox on the far wall. A photo on the desk frame catches your eye — Jimin, younger, smiling beside Seojun, Yoongi and Namjoon.

You inhale slowly, a flicker of warmth curling beneath your ribs.

Yoongi lingers by the door, gaze flicking between you and Jimin. Then, without a word, he gives a quiet nod — to no one in particular — and steps out, closing the door gently behind him.

 You’re alone.

Jimin remains seated across from you. His posture is relaxed, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t quite left — something taut just beneath the surface, like he’s still replaying the last few minutes in his head.

“I haven’t had anyone argue with me like that in a while,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the grain of the table before slowly lifting to meet yours.

You tilt your head. “Is that a complaint?”

His lips twitch-- almost a smile. “No. It’s… grounding.”

He leans back slightly, gaze still steady. “I didn’t expect you to offer like that. Not so quickly.”

You shrug, voice soft but certain. “I didn’t need to think about it. It felt right.”

He watches you for a moment, then nods slowly. “I know what it means to carry something alone. I’m glad you’re here with us, and if we’re doing this… I don’t want you to feel alone.”

The quiet honesty in his tone catches you off guard – not the words themselves, but how easily he says them.

You hold his gaze. “I don’t,” you say. “Not anymore.”

Silence settles between you, but it’s not awkward. It’s full. Weighted. The kind that could bend either toward intimacy or distance –  one word in the wrong direction, and it could vanish. But it doesn’t.

After a moment, you add quietly, “When I asked Yoongi about my dad’s death, I knew I wanted to do something about it. But whatever it was, I thought I would have to do it alone. Now I’m not.”

Jimin smiles, his gaze soft. “First time in a long time.”

You nod, chuckling. “Yeah.”

“Like I said, I’m glad you’re here.”

You glance at him and realise something you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge until now:

This version of Jimin is different.

Not just sharper, older – he carries more weight. A quiet dominance in the way he moves, speaks, decides. It's steadier than you remember. And somewhere in you, something stirs – a small desire to understand him the way you once thought you already did. 

Just as he starts to lean into another conversation, a knock breaks the moment and the door opens a crack.

Iseul peeks her head in gently. “Sorry, dinner’s ready.”

You straighten up in your seat, the spell of the silence broken. Jimin doesn't move immediately; he just watches you as you rise.

You glance over your shoulder with a faint smile. “Come on. We don’t want Jin lecturing us about timing.”

That draws a low chuckle from him. He stands a beat later, slower, like part of him hasn’t quite let go of whatever had just begun to unfold.

As you leave, he remains behind for a few seconds longer, his eyes falling to your empty seat. The space feels warmer now. More personal.

And for the first time in a long time, he finds himself wanting to keep a conversation going – not for clarity… for something else.

thank you for reading <33333 taglist is open x

smut warnings: YOONGI SMUT POV!!!, ch*king, head/hair tugging, reader has a pain kink and yoongi knows it, penetr*tive s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all already know!!

“How do you even call this work? You don’t do shit!”

—

—

When you’re in the eye of a tempest, you don’t see the danger surrounding all sides. You feel the calm. The temporary peace—when really your mind is constantly on the run. 

But from the outside looking in, no one can reach you through the darkness. If they get too close, they risk getting hurt. Swept in the chaos and shut out from where you stand in false hope. 

They’ll scream for you to leave. Beg for you to run. But only you can make that choice once you have the chance to hear them. And why would you? If you don’t see any issue with what’s in front of your eyes? 

They will try, and try, and try. Their voices will run repetitive until distant. Pleas will fall on deafer and deafer ears. Try as they might to step into the rush of fury, they’ll only get pushed away because you can’t deal with the cacophony of disappointment. 

Pretty soon, nobody wants to brave that cyclone. Nobody will come save you from the wrath because all it does is make them burn. 

You’re happy, right? Why can’t they be happy you’re happy where you are? Safe. Comfortable, like you’ve never been before? They don’t see it like you do. They don’t understand what you have. 

Slowly but surely. One by one—even the best one. No one except your storm will be there beside you.

And when it abandons you to drown in the ocean it created?

Only then will you realize all your lifelines are long, long gone.

—

—

The sky is dark again.

From the dips of his sofa, Yoongi awakes to pitch black, watching the ceiling flash sinister grins with lightning white teeth.

Ah. Back to the beginning. 

Not that he’s surprised, of course. Everything always goes back to the way it was. Back to the way it’s supposed to be. Because it’s all he deserves. 

Right? 

When thunder crashes into the night, Yoongi flinches in knots, memories jagged at the edges piercing his head violent. 

You know not to—

—shitty day to—

Seriously?

—knew this would—

Prove it.

—only gonna end up alone. 

—

—

Thunder booms once more.

But Yoongi wakes in a memory.

“Why don’t you just stay?”

He looks to his side, seeing a face that has been with him for more days than anyone else’s lately. 

No one has ever asked him to stay. At least, not during the morning after when there’s not much left to talk about. With everyone else, it’s been a quick one in the nearest bathroom or him bouncing before the sun comes up. 

It’s his fault for sleeping this long. He should’ve at least gotten woken up by—

Thunder cracks outside, catching Yoongi’s attention before he finds himself still hesitating. “You sure?” 

“At least until the storm stops. Then you have to go.” 

A bit of morning attitude does feel nice. And at least he remembers her name. He should, though, since this is the fourth time he’s been over. 

“Uhm.” The only complication is that… Yoongi has a thing. A pretty important thing, since his friends are finally all in town again and planned to spend the day together. He’s surprised his phone isn’t blowing up right now, which is what he expected to be woken up by.

He shifts. Oh. It’s dead. 

Yoongi hears a snort behind him before an arm snakes around his bare torso. “It died a long time ago, you know.”

Interesting. “You didn’t charge it for me?”

Another smug laugh crawls along his spine. “I could’ve.” When the hand on his stomach slithers lower, Yoongi’s body responds on instinct, his eyes closing and his heart bumping just a bit louder. 

And he doesn’t yet know it. 

“But I wanted you all to myself.”

Yoongi turns. “Is that so?”

But this stormy day from years past is significant. 

Lashes bat at him with shimmering lust as he’s lured away from his still-uncharged phone. Away from his plans. Away from his awaiting, concerned as hell friends. “Find out for yourself.”

And Yoongi’s gone before the next groan of thunder ends its roar. “Fuckin’ plan on it.”

It’s not a cleanse. Not a relief.

But an omen. 

—

—

Time passes as he’s thrown back to the present.

But Yoongi doesn’t know how long it’s been. Hours? Days? …Weeks? 

It’s dark again. 

But his phone is alive. Barely there across the room, a light blue screen is all he can make out. Someone could be texting. Or calling. Or whatever else he’s gonna ignore. 

How did it get all the way over there?

Whatever. Not like he cares. He’s not gonna need it for awhile anyway. 

The last thing Yoongi remembers is clutching your words in his hands, but apparently Namjoon and Hoseok found him eerily sick. Practically kicked him out of the studio to force him to get better, not knowing how painfully ironic that would become.

The endless rot coaxed a slow descent into his warring mind, corroding from the inside. Seeping defeat along his veins. 

Pelts pelts pelts against the windows hit him like punches, weakening his resolve to even stay awake. It’s all too much. His brain is too battered and bruised to fight right now. 

So he plummets from the sofa back into the past. 

—

—

“That one looks like you.”

From a ways behind, Yoongi watches his younger self, seeing vibrant hair shaking in a laugh before sweeping his pensive gaze along the hazy, deep orange skyline. 

He remembers this hilltop, benches and trees overlooking the city life below. How can he forget when he passes it every time he goes to practice with the guys? Well, every time he went. He doesn’t think he’s gone anywhere in a minute. 

At least he’s observing this memory from a distance this time. Yoongi assumes this is his mind’s way of coping. Because reliving the memories from his own point of view was too much to bear. 

The air carried a certain hue of pink that day. And his hands can still recall the stickiness of the popsicle he held as stickier lips get caught in another kiss. 

Right. This is where it happened. Where Yoongi fell in love for the first time. 

At least, that’s what it felt like to him. He felt wanted for more than his body, understood on a level that no one else had before. Be it his yearning for companionship or for simply being needed, Yoongi felt something beat in his chest that day, spurning him to embrace new emotions never before experienced. 

But something feels off as he relives it on the sidelines. She says those words so differently than how he remembered before. 

“I love you.” 

Yoongi turns away before he can watch himself react. Because he doesn’t need to witness the light in those eyes, a light that would soon be squashed and smothered to the point of nothingness. 

Because in the end, it wasn’t love he received. Love doesn’t come with terms and conditions that don’t go both ways. Love doesn’t make someone second guess everything they’ve ever said and done. 

Love doesn’t make someone want to end it all. 

But what did he know back then? All he saw was someone making him feel good. Great, most of the time. What he didn’t think about, though, was why they were on the hilltop in the first place. 

Right now, that Yoongi doesn’t know about this girl skipping out on work to hang out with him. He doesn’t remember shirking responsibilities to meet her in her bed, caught in his feelings enough afterwards to blow his friends off yet again. 

How many times did he do that at this point? Were they already annoyed with him? Or was this when they started asking if they’d even get him back?

Sighing deep, Yoongi stuffs both hands in his hoodie as he watches another kiss unfold, grimacing at the way she tries her best to swallow him whole. Months down the line, she accomplishes that. He’ll feel trapped with no way out in no time. 

He needs to get out of this nightmare. The sunlight is fading and so is his control. 

Then he watches himself get up, begging to not get in that car. To not leave. To just run. 

Fuck, he wants to haul himself away with everything in his bones. The fact that he can’t stop any of this from happening is what hurts the most, feeling like he can save himself yet knowing it’s impossible. All he can do is watch. 

As she yanks on his younger arm to haul him back down to the bench, Yoongi flinches where he stands, triggered by all the times he tried to leave his own fucking place just to be guilt-tripped into staying. Every time. So many times so many times so many fucking times. 

Get out of here. Either version, get the fuck out of this timeline and into any other. He’s damn near ready to beg and sacrifice anything with a squeeze of his eyes. 

And when he opens them, Yoongi meets a different orange hue on his speckled ceiling, blinking before turning his head into a pillowcase that smells like… You. 

Thank fuck. 

Wait, how’d he get here? Wasn’t he just on the couch? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. 

Relieved, he burrows a cheek into your lingering presence, inhaling short to preserve the one thing that makes his apartment feel like a home. It’s such a comfort that he feels remorse in his chest, right before something leaks slow from his eye.

Even in your absence, you save him once again. There’s nothing Yoongi won’t give you when he gathers himself again, because you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to something good. 

Guess going back to sleep is not an option. Maybe he’ll finally try to work on some tracks again. 

—

—

A boom of thunder jolts him conscious, and Yoongi winces at the crick in his shoulder before grabbing it in a rub. What the hell? When did he fall asleep? 

Checking his dimmed screen, he squints when the brightness blooms and curses at the many, many, many errant notes displayed on his workspace. Because of fucking course he fell asleep on his keyboard. 

The instrument track is deleted without another thought. 

But after a brief stare, Yoongi undoes the action and goes to the very beginning of the timeline, just to see if he had an idea to start with before descending into a dreamless symphony. 

Nope. Delete.

Failure wisps down his chest before he rubs both eyes. This has got to be the most disjointed he’s ever felt. Yoongi doesn’t even know when he last ate something, much less spoken to somebody or taken a fucking shower. 

Disgusting. He needs to do that last one. It’s the only productive thing he does before falling face first into his bedsheets, wondering when he last washed them before succumbing to sleep again. 

—

—

“Wow, about time you finally brought her!” 

“Ah, yah, he’s back out from hiding!” 

Yoongi can visibly see his hand squeezed with apprehension, and he remembers nails digging into his skin hard enough to crunch his smile. 

Throughout the house, multiple people greet them both as they pass, and even Yoongi shifts as if he isn’t just a ghost of a bystander. 

This party. This night. This very house witnessed the moment when everything started going to absolute shit. 

For once, she agreed to come with him to a party. It wasn’t at Jimin’s, since she never wanted to be there—red flag stupidly ignored—but at another acquaintance’s across town. 

Yoongi was simply relieved, happy to be able to see everyone he cared about in one place. But it soon became harder and harder to hold conversations without being pulled somewhere else, being told to go elsewhere, feeling bad about not making it a good time for her. 

As his younger self follows her to a room upstairs, Yoongi prods his cheek. Because unlike sneaking around with your shy smile, this was to hash out a petty argument about nothing. Nothing. 

But he cared about her so much that he took the harsh statements behind closed doors. He listened as she expressed that she felt ignored the whole night. He hated himself for making her feel that way because that wasn’t his intent at all. 

Poised against the wall just outside the door, Yoongi hangs his head, hearing the same painful words from the other side and sending his past self all the love he didn’t have before. 

And he watches as the same door bursts open, his ex rushing for the stairs and his bright hair bolting after her.

Soon, he’ll chase her down the stairs, calmly try to reason with her but failing miserably. People will stare. People will talk. 

But they’d already be in a car and silently driving away. 

—

—

Another day. Another thunderstorm.

Somehow, Yoongi always ends up in his living room when this happens. Like his bedroom feels too sinister when it rains—unless you’re in there filling it with your sunshine. 

He hopes you still know how beautiful you are. How wonderful, how mesmerizing he finds you, no matter where in space and time he resides. Are you finding ways to be happy? Are you out there conquering whatever you want simply because you can? 

Can he send himself to your dreams instead? 

No. Even in dreams, he doesn’t deserve to see you right now. 

And there’s his same problem again. The shadow standing over him. Whether this is due to his past mistakes, or the darkness in his mind, Yoongi fully believes he isn’t yet worthy of your light. 

Besides. As he feels the guitar standing in its same place, he hears it speaking. Reminding him of all the things he’s done wrong. 

When lightning strikes, Yoongi counts the seconds. And four counts later, he flinches at the boom before blanking again. 

—

—

“Who’s that?”

“No one.” 

“You know not to tell me that. Who is it?” 

Ah. He knows why this memory is still taking up space in his mind. Yoongi takes a spot along the wall of her living room, remembering how clean it was and knowing that’s one of the reasons he liked her in the first place. 

Settled on the spotless couch, his younger self with undyed hair turns his head. “The studio guy I was talking to before. Wants to bring me in so I can see what’s up.” 

She gets up with a pout, “Awhh, does it have to be today?” 

He remembers being excited as hell for this. But no one would be able to tell based on his response, “Uhh, I think so. Is that okay?”

“Umm.. I mean, I guess.” 

Truthfully, there were many reasons Yoongi liked this girl. But there were also warning signs, and he must have ignored them in favor of bliss and companionship. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Walking up to his knees, she starts to mount his lap. And this is when Yoongi softly thumps his head back on the other side of the room. 

“I just wanted to hang out today.” 

“Well.. I practically live here now.” When he watches his younger hands skirt along her legs, no feeling rushes into his veins. It’s all evaporated. There’s nothing where everything used to be. “We can when I get back?”

“You don’t live here officially,” she tuts, slinging arms around his neck and bringing him into her chest. And again, his current self is repulsed. “Are you sure you need to go? What are you even gonna do?” 

She fucking knows what she’s doing. Red flags are everywhere for eyes unblinded by infatuation. 

“It’s not that I need to, but I really fucking want to. It sounds really sick and I think I can work there with them.”

“With who?” 

“The.. Studio guys?” 

This is more painful on the other side. 

Because that boy doesn’t know what’s coming. He doesn’t know the pain that will splay out from his inability to see what’s happening to him. Those arms will tighten and tighten around his neck in due time, suffocating like mad. 

But for now, she agrees to let him go, dismissive of the main reason and having ulterior motives. “Fine, but you’re bringing me back food.” 

“I got us,” he readily agrees. And Yoongi can just feel the rush in his chest. Incredible, considering he recalled zero emotion from her earlier touch. “Just let me know what you want.” 

This is when it hits again. This feeling in his gut is not because of the food they ate when he returned. But from preparing for what’s coming next. 

And he dreads the next time he can’t stay awake anymore. 

—

—

Yoongi eyes the molded tangerines in his bowl.

And his heart walks away before he does. 

—

—

Hail comes down in sheets as Yoongi watches himself haul ass to the apartment corridor. Right behind him, growls and angry yells erupt, “I told you it would be a shitty day to do this.”

“It’s my only day off,” he reiterates, steadying a box with the door as he jingles in the key. “Been busy as fuck lately.”

“At that studio again?” 

Waiting as they bustled inside an empty unit, Yoongi’s jaw locks right up. Right then and there he should’ve walked away from that dangerous precipice, new place be damned. So slippery with condescension. So littered with malice and passive aggression. 

But they both took that step from beyond the bounds of friends with benefits, and with those benefits also came the ones of his doubt. Because Yoongi dealt with the jabs. He could handle those, though he shuns his own naivety of liking instead of loathing them. How did he ever let himself be subtly shot down so many times?

It continued to happen all throughout the day. Even when they both waited out the hailstorm and came out to their cars dented to hell, all he’d really hear were complaints about his hobby—his hobby?—taking up so much time. 

It’s when they’re almost done that she drops a heavy hit, with Yoongi watching them from the hall. “Just think about it, okay? You’re spending all this time and money on it and aren’t really doing anything.”

Maddeningly, it’s hard to really tell someone a hobby is actually your entire life. Especially when you haven’t got anything to show for it other than a couple self-produced tracks and one producer credit on a local, aspiring singer’s album. Man, that guy was an asshole. He needed to learn how to move sessions along even with artists bickering the whole way or else—

“Are you even listening?”

“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbles, adjusting the moving box in his arms that’s holding a deconstructed bar cart. “Work shit again.”

“Seriously? Can you not for like two seconds? I just wanna get everything done with and shower. I feel gross.”

“You aren’t supposed to shower during a—”

“Don’t care! I do not care. Let lightning strike me the fuck down while I scrub my asshole.”

Yoongi snorts as he struggles to open his door once again, noting in the far, far back of his mind that the person with a free hand could’ve held it open but didn’t. That should’ve told him enough. But of course, he gave her everything, including way too many chances to redeem herself. 

As they stumble inside, Yoongi follows, remembering how, despite moving someone in, he felt so… Alone. 

His music equipment gets shoved over for more desk space; his shoe collection stuffed in cramped spaces to make room for smaller kicks; his kitchen groaning with boxes and bins with no organization that was slowly but painfully driving him up and through the nearest wall.

Watching this dreary day play out from a distance, Yoongi observes his younger self with abject misery, sweeping his gaze across a cluttered living room and noting the obvious slump in his shoulders. Shoulders that bore the weight of his brash decision of a relationship. 

What were his friends doing that day? Were they watching a basketball game together? He remembers it was the end of the season, so a lot of them were gathering for watch parties and cook-outs. Get togethers he had turned down for weeks in order to spend time with her. 

If only he had asked himself one question. One question should’ve been enough to tell him everything he needed to know.

If he ever had the chance to tell his younger self not to get hung up on one mistake in his life, he would pick this one. Because this one fuck-up set him back years, and became the first splotch of grey in his shrinking, shrinking universe. One question he could’ve asked himself. One answer he could’ve gotten to immediately. 

Why didn’t anyone help him move her in.

—

—

There’s nothing in the fridge Yoongi can eat. And there’s a severe lack of food in his pantry, even though he remembers it being stocked but not taking any of it out. So for the first time in awhile, he forces himself to go outside for sustenance. 

Yoongi shuts his door before locking it, also noting that very empty bowls lie next to his shoes. 

“Oh! There you are.” 

Who the fuck? Who’s even out at this hour? Sluggish, Yoongi turns, noticing the elder lady next door watering the plants along her welcome mat. What was her name again? He thinks it starts with a vowel. But when he tries to answer with a hello, his voice cracks and dies on his tongue. 

Holy shit, when’s the last time he’s even spoken? 

“You okay, sugar? I haven’t seen or heard you in a long time.” 

Wait. Even the neighbors are getting nosy now? How long has he been away from the world? Attempting speech again, Yoongi swallows before rasping out, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Where’s that nice girl that’s been coming over?” 

Oh. He thinks that’s a pulse in his chest before he answers, “At her place.” Where you need to stay. Far, far away from him.

“Oh… Well, I hope she comes back over soon.” She sets her watering pail on the windowsill. “You two have the best time when she’s here. Hah! Those laughs I hear when I don’t have my dramas playing.. You two give an old lady hope.” 

…What? Yoongi can’t even form a coherent thought. 

Did… Did you really make his laughs so hard his walls couldn’t contain them? The concept seems so obvious yet so foreign, because he can’t even recall the last time he used muscles in his face to smile. Let alone expel joy. 

Suddenly, he sees rain on a cloudless night. Where is he? He doesn’t even fucking know anymore. 

“I’ll be waiting,” the lady continues, breaking through his haze again. “You look like you’re about to tell me something. But I know you aren’t done with her yet.” 

Closing his mouth, Yoongi blinks before nodding his tired head. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good! And tell her Miss Dion says hello, okay?” 

Yoongi hasn’t spoken to you in awhile now. But he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that. “Yes, ma’am.” 

—

—

This memory doesn’t reveal much other than onyx static. But it morphs and twists until it sprouts edges, and it sends him into shakes. Fuck. This is the night he always dreads. The night that transcends time, showing itself like a specter no matter the time of day. The night he said those three words that have him fucking tethered to his living room corner. 

The night of his twenty-first. 

It happened all those years ago, with only the two of them because she wanted it to be special and waved off his desire to have his friends there. For a milestone that should have been celebrated with whoever he fucking wanted. 

And he remembers being completely fine with the isolation. Because despite all the studio shade, all the music dismissal… She got him a brand new guitar. A real one. Not just some rented instrument he had to keep returning, but a true, beautiful black guitar. 

She got it for him because music was his hobby. His hobby. 

Not his life, not his dream career. But a hobby. The gift was laced with malicious intent and he didn’t see it until months later. When everything was becoming crystal clear and frightening. 

Yoongi wedges himself in the corner so strongly he can actually feel the scrap of his walls, watching with short breaths as his younger, ignorant self takes it from its case with admiration. Breathe. This isn’t real anymore. Fucking breathe. 

He will always hate this memory. He wants it to burn, to break, to shatter into pieces just so he can’t witness it any longer. But it’s always there. Taunting him when he’s close to healing, whipping around his arms when he’s close to feeling okay again. You’ve done every fucking thing you could, but even you aren’t strong enough to fight this one for him. 

Only he can conquer this. And he’s only succeeding in failing. 

Yoongi’s head drops when he hears himself say those three little words again, eyes pinching tight at the reaction he gets back. 

“You got there,” she says through manufactured tears. “I knew this would do it.” 

Get him the fuck where? Hell? The abyss? In the middle of the fucking ocean? 

Hair slides in front of his eyes as he has to hear her cry again, feeling his heart sag knowing he’s tugging her in for a hug. “And I’m there forever,” he mouths along with his past self. 

Her grin is still piercing. Sharp. Striking. “Forever.” 

Get out. Get out, get out, get out. 

Forcing himself out of the nightmare, Yoongi shoots from his bed, unsurprised his head is pulsing hard. 

Fuck this. He’s got to get out of here. Your house. Your bed. Your arms. God, the yearning for any of those claws at his chest and bangs against his ribcage. But the studio is his safest place that doesn’t have you in it. So he hastily grabs his keys, heading to the door to slip on his shoes. 

Aiming an offensive finger at the guitar in the corner. The same one that will be waiting for him when he returns. 

—

—

“You’re seeing someone else.” 

“What? Why would I be?” 

“You were seeing someone when you saw me.” 

Yoongi’s stomach lurches at this particular memory. Because hearing that accusation from her lips crushed his heart and slid it across their apartment floor. “First of all, that’s not what happened.” 

“Looked exactly like how it happened. And you won’t even admit it.” 

If she was willing to be down with that, then she was no better. But why would she ever put herself in the wrong? Her aversion to ownership was something else. 

Yoongi watches from the kitchen this time as she taps her utensils on the table. At least she’s not digging lines in it this time. His words across the wooden surface sound completely unlike her ire, “I said I wasn’t good for her. And I left before we got serious.” 

“Well why aren’t you serious about us now?” 

That was a goddamn stretch and they both knew it. It took everything to not slam on the gas, crashing into the window next to his shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

“You don’t make time for me anymore.” 

Because no matter how upset he got, Yoongi could never find it in him to shout. That was her thing. He vowed to never make it his. Explaining soft, he moves food around his plate. “It’s the only time that studio space is free. And I picked that place because it’s the closest one, like you asked.” 

“You’re so cheap.” Both versions of himself feel the same deep pang. “But whatever. Why aren’t you answering my calls lately?” 

When he watches himself sigh, Yoongi flexes both hands at his sides. “Phones are out when we’re in there.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Are you gonna believe anything that I say?” 

“I’ll believe it when you actually make time.” Every memory seems to be harder to watch than the last. 

“Okay,” his younger self relents, knowing this is how all the arguments end. “I’ll try. But I’m making progress so as soon as I’m done with this mix—” 

She laughs while slamming the utensils down, the dining table screaming in pain. “Of course!” 

“Of course what?” 

“Another excuse, Yoongi,” she grits out, leaning back to fold angry arms. “You don’t even bring that guitar with you, either.” 

“Cus it’s staying here.” 

The way she could slip between the monster and the victim makes him squirm. Her eyes grow wide, brows creasing with a practiced pleading that makes him grimace. “Why? You don’t like it?” 

“I don’t wanna break your gift.” 

“Oh.” 

He holds his hand out, and Yoongi slides his jaw knowing what he does here. Taking her by the hands, the younger him offers a moment of peace, “You really think I’m not in this for real?” 

“It’s more like.. I feel like I’m competing with your job and your.. thing. And losing.” 

His thing. Yoongi loves his thing. He is genuinely enjoying creating and analyzing and experiencing music that he can’t wait to go back. It’s all he can think about when he sleeps, when he wakes. But now he feels bad because he may need to do it less to spend time with her. “I’ll prove it.” 

“Prove what?” 

“That you aren’t.” 

“Okay,” she sighs, gripping his hands. “You better.”

Voices that aren’t his or hers leak into his slumber. And the memory starts to fade into dust on his tongue.

“Let him sleep.” 

“He’s gonna wake up as soon as we start anyway.” 

“Why’d he sleep in here and not the back room?” 

Yoongi slowly opens his eyes, blinking away sleep as blurred shapes come into focus. Mm. He made it to the studio. And he’s definitely on the couch, based on the awkward slant of his back. Lolling his head sideways, he watches all three of his coworkers bustle around the console, flipping on different switches and wincing at the loud hum of the CPU. When Hoseok glances back to see his eyes in squints, he tuts to the others, 

“Ah, see? He’s already awake.” 

“Mmph,” Yoongi grunts out as they all turn, struggling to a sitting position and kneading his eyes. “Don’t wait, I’ll get up now.” 

“When’d you get here?” Jungkook suddenly asks, his bright hair flopping as he pulls off his jacket. “You finally feel better?” 

“Awhile ago,” he sleepily responds, a yawn swallowing his last syllable. “And yeah.” Joints popping at his upward rise, he grimaces while Namjoon cuts through the youngest one’s laughs, 

“I dunno about that, old man. Is it like that every morning?” 

Your favorite nickname for him echoes lovingly through his mind. Like a rush of water to soothe the burn of his terrors. “Pretty much.” 

Hobi can’t help but chuckle with a finger point, the company to his misery. “I’m getting like that, too. It’s only a matter of time for you, Joonie.” 

The tallest in the room sighs before everyone locks into work mode, “Looking forward to it.” 

— 

—

Ah. Back here this time? Looks like his younger self needed him to drop into this one, if only to give him support from another celestial plane. 

“How can you call this work? You don’t do shit!” 

“We’re working on a project—”

“We? Are you even on it?” 

The roll of his chair bumps into the bed frame behind him. “I’m… Making some of the decisions, but—”

“So you aren’t even in charge? What are you gonna get for this?” Not a lot. But his silence answers before he can give a true amount. “Exactly. So ridiculous, you need to get a real job that gives you real money to pay for all this shit.” 

Yoongi was doing just fine when it was just him. But taking care of someone that has a bit more refined taste, too? It’s draining him to the point of alarm. “We can cut our spending, too, you know.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“We don’t have to get food all the time. We can just cook here.” 

“But… Ugh, doing all that work just to eat and then clean?” 

Well. Yes. That’s the order of operations. From his leaned position in his bedroom doorway, Yoongi shakes his head. Even cooking was an issue? He did it all the time when he was alone. It’s not hard. What the hell did he get himself into? How did he not see any of this from the jump? 

“My uncle might be hiring. I can ask him to get you an interview or something, but you cannot fuck it up.” 

“Where at?” 

“Does it matter? It’s a job.” She sighs while sliding hair down her shoulder. Oh, how he’s been tricked by that move too many damn times. “It’s downtown.” 

Fuck. That’s way too far from the studio he’s working at. There’s no way he’d be able to work both… And she knows it. Goddamn. “You really want me to quit?” 

She gives him a look, and he can’t tell if she’s stricken or annoyed at the question. “I mean, not… Really. It’s just…” A sigh. “I’d rather you get a real job now and make music when you’re more stable.” 

Even now, Yoongi gets that. But at the same time, nothing else truly called to him. Music is his real job, the very thought of doing anything else makes him anxious. He doesn’t want to commit to anything that he’ll dread going to every fucking day of his life. But if that’s what she wants, he’ll at least try because he cares about her. Enough to lose a part of himself along the way? Guess so. 

Guess so. 

“Yoongi?” 

His head jolts from the memory as he’s positioned in the middle of a studio. The very current studio that’s only a few doors down from the job he ended up getting years ago. Several pairs of eyes are staring as he takes in his surroundings. Shit, when did he wander off? How did that even happen this time? Why is he looking at a very familiar band he’s listened to for years? 

“You okay, man?” One of them asks, a guy with such a relaxed look that just seeing him makes Yoongi’s shoulders loosen. “It’s just us, no need to be scared or anything.” 

“I dunno, Sammy, you look kinda rough around the edges in person.” 

“Do not?” 

Beside him, Hoseok claps Yoongi on the back, his grip both comforting and telling him to get it the fuck together. “He’s fine! We’ve just been busy, and this guy’s been working hard to get everything ready for you guys.” 

“Give him a sec,” Namjoon agrees, shaking all the band’s hands while Yoongi continues to buffer. “But yeah, we’ll give you a quick look inside and see if it works for you?” 

“Works for us,” Sammy agrees with a smile. “Lead the way.” 

All four members walk through the recording room door after Joon, thanking Jungkook for keeping it open before he heads inside, too. Leaving Yoongi with a very concerned Hobi, who turns to him with furrowed brows. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah,” he finally forces out, throat scratched. Fuck. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“If something’s up, tell us.” Hoseok watches the silent movements and conversations happening through the studio glass. “Your gut’s the one I trust the most.” 

Oh. Wait. That’s not nearly what Yoongi’s got on his mind. Even though he’s snuffed out flaky musicians and artists before today, that isn’t the current issue. That’s not what’s sticking to his mind like a parasite and feeding him random haunts from his past. “Nah, it’s not that. I’m just shocked they’re here.” 

“Right! When Jungkook said it’d be a surprise, he wasn’t kidding. I might damn near faint.” 

“Don’t do that just yet,” Yoongi warns. “We can’t have two of us out of it.” 

They both puff out laughs at his previous blanking. And they fall silent with folded arms when Woosung—Sammy—picks a guitar off the wall for hopeful inspection, nodding and smiling at a doe-eyed Jungkook. 

The kid knows how to develop connections, that’s for sure. He needs to start doing that, too. 

“But seriously…” Yoongi looks at Hoseok, met with a stare that he only gives when wanting nothing but the truth. “Anything bothering you? You looked… I don’t even know.” 

“I’ll be fine, Hob,” he breathes out in a sigh. “Just got some things on my mind.” 

The look keeps going, and going, and going. But there’s no more scrutiny when Hobi finally turns forward with an unconvincing, “Okay.” 

—

—

Embers crackle while sparks float to a darkened sky. Yoongi can still smell the metal of the train tracks, still feel the dirt under his shoes as he tips a bottle for another sip. 

A bunch of them were gathered that night. And he wasn’t gonna miss this no matter what, already expecting the onslaught of terror waiting and pacing the cage he calls his apartment. 

Since he got that job downtown, he’s been trying his best to do the work and head across town to the studio to finish things there. But that effort wasn’t taken pleasantly. Apparently, she wasn’t asking him to make music a hobby; she was telling him to give it up—for now, of course. Always for now. And he ended up leaving it far, far behind. 

After he gave that up, everything else followed. Every time he made plans to hang out, he got yanked back into the apartment, whether by a desperate arm or a scathing, manipulative scowl. His whole life was being stripped away. Nothing was his anymore. 

But this night? He finally got away. And Yoongi watches as his younger self faces the heavens with a wide smile. 

Your brother’s there, along with some friends he hadn’t seen in ages. Even a younger Jungkook tags along, watching as they push each other in abandoned shopping carts and fling random stones in open spaces. All of them in questionable fits, his hair as vibrant as a polarizing ice cream flavor, everything defines this pocket of time and no other. 

Watching them like this? Yoongi almost buckles from the pang of nostalgia seizing his chest, wrapping its roots around his heart in a bittersweet embrace. It reminds him of a balcony. It reminds him of you. 

This is the night he chose to not go home. Because his home is here with his friends.

Fuck everything. Fuck life. Fuck love. It was all he could say and express as all of them stuck middle fingers to the world, as if doing so would banish all the troubles in their lives. Every single conversation he had that night was cynical in a freeing way. Because nothing mattered. They were all infinite. Infinite and infinite. 

With each bottle chucked into a blazing fire, his eyes droop lower to the ground. Without much effort, his head lolls, mirroring a few others around him until they’re a heap of buzzed freedom and youth. And honestly, he doesn’t remember much beyond this. He doesn’t even remember who drove him back to your place. 

They were infinite—

A vacuum sucks Yoongi out of his dream so fast he flinches, muscles seizing and locking at hard angles. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck is happening? Focus on something, anything. Is this his room? Okay, he’s in his bed. 

Raking sweaty fingers through his hair, Yoongi closes his eyes, centering himself as he slowly raises to a sitting position. His room. His desk. His television. Even his sheets look fine other than his crumpled side of the bed. What the fuck was that. 

He’s never experienced something like that. Sure, he’s been yanked from a dream while in free fall, or when he’s almost slammed into something. But he wasn’t even doing anything that time except lulling to sleep? So what the fuck was that about? 

Shit. The whole fucking point was to get this shit under control. To fight the memories and the dreams and shove them out of his mind to make room for his own. For yours. Yours and his, his and yours. So why hasn’t he even been trying? 

Panic starts to rush up his throat, clogging it and jamming and amalgamating into something so thick he can’t even breathe. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, get the fuck up. 

He hasn’t had to do this in so long he’s almost embarrassed to reach for what he’s beelining for in his kitchen, perched on top of the fridge behind an unopened case of water bottles. Water bottles. Yoongi clings onto a familiar memory with you yet again. You, you, you. 

The bag crinkles as he rips it open, some wrapped pieces pinging onto linoleum. As he hastily opens one of the candies, he pops the sour coated lifeline on his tongue, slowly closing his eyes and sagging against his refrigerator. 

Shaking, shaking, sour apple, stop fucking shaking. Breathe. In out in out in out in out. Eat another one. Breathe. Silence. Clear head. Sour cherry. Nothingness. 

Breathe. 

Sliding down chilled aluminum, Yoongi feels his ass hit the cold ground, his arms immediately coming up to rest on tired knees. After a minute goes by, he lets more pass. Then another. And another. And another. 

It’s not fun knowing the panic’s back. 

As much as Yoongi wants nothing but your concern crossing kitchen tile, he’s thanking the universe that you haven’t ever seen him like this. Your brother has, but you don’t need to. Ever. But if his demons have all the power again, he might be too far gone.  

—

—

He should feed the cat.

Never mind.

The food from two days ago is still there. Which means she left him a long, long time ago.

—

—

What day is it. Is that the sunset or a new day. 

Doesn’t matter, does it? Even music doesn’t call to him now. 

And that single, damning fact slathers his whole brain in shadow. 

—

— 

A knock sounds at the door. Which Yoongi completely ignores until it erupts into straight banging. 

“Fuck, hold on,” he rasps in a cracked whisper, falling off his couch before his arms crumple, every muscle in his body creaking with lack of use. Pain jolts through his limbs as he lies there for a beat, jump-starting his mind into sudden, bleary awareness. 

What day is it? How did all these bottles get on the floor? How fucking long has it been this time?

More knocks break through the fog of Yoongi’s brain before a voice pierces the door, “I swear to god if you don’t let me in—!”

A sigh escapes in the dark. Jimin. 

Shit, Yoongi doesn’t wanna be seen. Not now. Not when he can’t even recall the past however many hours. But knowing this particular guest, the door will be kicked down if he doesn’t answer soon. 

Hissing, he slowly gets up, stumbling to the door a few steps away before resting shaking fingers on the doorknob. Breathe. Just fucking breathe. 

“Alright, you motherfucker, I’m breaking this fucking door—”

Yoongi cracks it open a tad, a sliver of his unkempt hair and stubbled chin the only things he’s willing to show. His eyes squint as bright light spills into his apartment, but all he can see are the telltale shoes of his best friend. 

“...Yoongi?” 

When he finally looks up, his heart clenches and erupts all the way up to his ducts. The first emotion he’s felt in the sludge of time he’s been chained to his dipping, sagging sofa. 

Because Jimin is staring right at his face. Eyes so rubbed they’re rimmed red. “I thought… I didn’t… No one knows where you are,” he starts, shaking the words out of puffed lips. “And when your phone kept going to voicemail, I—I couldn’t think of anything except coming here so when you weren’t answering the door, I thought—” 

As soon as Jimin breaks, Yoongi slowly closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the door’s edge. Nothing can get him like this other than the tears of a select few. If you had been the one crying at his doorstep, he probably would have given everything up.

But his mouth is so dry he can’t form words, arms so numb he can’t move them to swing the door. There’s dust where his tongue sits, shadows at the edges of his fingers. Anything he tries to say is swallowed, adding to the lump in his scratchy throat. Instead of a tempest of rage, this is the other way to lose control. The subtler, scarier, sinister way to let go. 

Yoongi says nothing. Because he can’t think of anything to say at all.

“Are you listening to me?”

Unmoving, Yoongi breathes, long hair falling onto his paling cheek. He doesn’t even know what month it is. And that scares him so bad he doesn’t hear the next sentence. So Jimin says it again,

“Let me in.”

“Gimme a sec,” he croaks. 

“Now.”

A sigh. Yoongi knows he lost the second he heard Jimin’s voice through wood. So he slowly wills his body to move, stepping—swaying—to the side to let his friend into a dark, blacked out space.

“Holy fuck,” Jimin curses, stepping through a sea of glass bottles before wrenching open the curtains. Light bursts around his silhouette and, for a split second, Yoongi thinks he sees an angel in his living room. 

“Yes. Okay.” With hands on stern hips, Jimin nods to himself before inspecting the litter around his feet. “Yeah, I’m staying here now.”

—

—

“You don’t have to do this,” Yoongi drones while his best friend scuttles around his apartment like a roomba. Clinks of trashed bottles and shifts of trash bags rattle next to the front door, and he sighs before looking out the window. “I’m up now.”

“You don’t get a say in it,” Jimin blithely responds, hauling another groaning trash bag from the kitchen. “And stay there, I’m almost done.” 

“Where the fuck would I go.”

“Anywhere but here?”

Yeah. Right. Where else would he even go right now? Your room is the only place he wants to take residence in—the room in which he said goodbye without knowing when the next hello would be. 

When’s the last time he’s even texted you? Shit, he really has left you behind completely and he feels like a fucking idiot. 

Determination thumps to the door, with a little more force than necessary, though understood. Jimin rarely gets this mad, so when he does, molten emotion rolls off of him in reddened waves, “Couldn’t even fucking call? Text? Do you ever think about what that does to all of us?” 

Yoongi buries a hand in his hair. “Listen, I—”

“Shut the hell up. You don’t get to have excuses this time. Last time this happened you scared me to death and I am not letting it happen again.” 

“You see me. I’m alive. So you can go home.”

Jimin whirls at the door before slamming it behind him, eyes wide in shock as he stomps to the kitchen. “If you think you can get me to go home, you’re an idiot. What else hasn’t been cleaned in a week?”

…A week? Fuck. Maybe it is better if Jimin stays. 

His friend wrings his hands in water before drying them, moving to sit in the chair you usually occupy. Used to occupy. Yoongi’s head sags. 

Jaw ticked, Jimin sits and rests elbows on his knees, brows up in a way that leaves no room for arguments, “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

With a sigh, Yoongi closes his eyes, shifting his own jaw in the hopes he can find enough courage to do this. Because even though Jimin knows most about what happened before, he’s been the one pushing him to move forward, not backward. Which means Yoongi is in for a verbal beatdown. 

But before he can say anything, Jimin urges again, “Start talking.”

Fuck. “Go home.”

“No. Try again.”

It’s back. The anxiety. Making him vacate his seat and slink against his bedroom door. “I’m not doing this right now.”

Jimin rockets out of his chair right after, getting all into his space. “Tough fucking shit. Tell me. Now.”

He can’t. The words won’t come out. “It’s nothing.”

A bubble of caustic laughter flings out of Jimin’s throat before he outright shoves Yoongi against his door. Slight pain erupts from his back, branching out and alerting his body with adrenaline. But he’s so numb he doesn’t even say anything. Nothing. Just… pain. 

“Is that it? Not even gonna say anything?”

Silence. Yoongi can only serve silence. A lighter push at his chest doesn’t do anything either, neither do the grips at his shoulders before he’s shoved against wood. Is this all he has left? Pain? He can’t feel anything else. Why? What’s happening? Why is he so… drained? 

“Yoongi…” The words wobble. So soft now. So pleading. “…What’s wrong?”

Like a burst of shock, that jumpstarts something deep.

A thousand things. Three thousand things. All of them having to do with him and his inability to deem himself worthy of the one thing he wants most. His shameful weight of the past barring him from everything good, and bright, and healing. 

You would ask him the same question. Yoongi knows it in his heart. But here you are, giving him the space he asked for and trusting him with your feelings because that’s just… You. And he has done absolutely nothing to show for it.

A whole week passed and he didn’t know it? He still doesn’t even know what day it is. How long has he kept you in the dark? How long will he keep failing you because this isn’t fair to you at all. You deserve better. 

…Is this when he lets you go?

Dark, painful throbs in his chest let him know he’s barely alive. But if he’s been radio silent with no explanation, who fucking knows what you’re thinking now. About him. About yourself. Fuck, the panic is rushing in again and his breaths are short, short, short—

A hand warms his shoulder, prompting him to look up and notice that blurred, wavering red eyes are staring back at him. 

And the only thing Yoongi feels after that is a hot trail of regret down his cheek. 

“Fucking hell, man—” The pull yanks at Yoongi’s heart as strong arms wrap tight around his shoulders, and he buries searing eyes into his friend’s familiar cologne, drowning it in heaves of sobs that burn his lungs and spread fire into his throat—burning, burning, burning. His heart is on fucking fire. 

But Jimin is there, hugging tight and trying his best to smother the flames, choking on his own sobs and apologizing for anything. Everything. Nonsense, but it’s Jimin all the same. 

“I can’t fucking win,” Yoongi chokes out, finally setting all the fears free. “She’s always here. I can’t… Fuck.”

Jimin grips tighter. “You can,” he says with a rasp. “I promise you can.” 

“How do you know.” He can’t even recognize his own voice. “You don’t know what it was like.” 

Jimin flinches before holding on even tighter. “Because you won’t do it alone this time.”

Yoongi feels a vice clamp his chest.

“I’m… Shit, I’m really sorry for not trying harder before. We all are. We were young, and stupid, and should’ve paid a lot more attention instead of…” His friend sighs to the ground. “Instead of letting her slowly kill you.” 

It’s a gut punch. Reliving all those memories is confirmation enough. 

Jimin chokes out his last vow, and it tugs at Yoongi’s very being. “So. Yeah. I’m not leaving until you know you have someone. Even if it’s just me.” 

Now Yoongi feels like an asshole. All that time, he’s been so lost that he didn’t even think of his friends. The self-deprecation devolved into self-isolation, squeezing him inside a smaller and smaller box until he couldn’t breathe. He owes Jimin more than his life. 

Hands slowly raise, hope and promise lifting them to his friend's shoulders. There’s a million words he can say to this man, but the only thing that comes out is a mere, “Thanks.”

“You’re thanking me now, but. Even if you get annoyed, I’m not leaving.”

A knock comes at the door, and Jimin finally leans away before smiling. “We’re gonna fight this, yeah? You got us. So get used to it.” 

Yoongi nods. But then gives his friend a scowl. “Who the fuck did you invite to my place.”

Is it your brother? Is it you? Fucking hell, Yoongi would give anything for you to be on the other side. 

But Jimin smirks at his reaction. “It’s not her, but I like the look on your face.” 

A glare is shot while his friend walks to open the door. 

While Yoongi’s heart deflates, he still gives a shake of his head when he sees the newcomer. “If you’re both staying, I’m booking a hotel.”

Taehyung stands affronted while Jimin laughs behind his broad shoulders. “Excuse you? I’ve just been sent here to bring food.” 

Are those bags of groceries? Fuck, he already can’t thank them both enough for what they’re doing. His stomach hollows at the thought of food, which is a good sign because that means he’s ready to eat again. 

“Ah ah, tell him what else.” 

Yoongi tilts his head as he goes to help. “What else is there to do here.” 

Jimin already stormed through like an unstoppable force to clean everything and take out the trash. Ironically, the clouds outside seemed to clear when his apartment did. 

Thumps of vegetables and fruit litter his counters before the newest guest smiles soft, “I’m here to update you on what the love of your life has been up to.” 

Yoongi blinks at paper bags before slowly turning to meet his gaze. Long, speechless, and so fucking relieved. 

“But only if you cooperate.”

—

—

You got the job. And he fucking missed the opportunity to congratulate you. 

Neither Jimin nor Tae judge him for needing a moment to himself. 

—

—

This memory is one he hasn’t visited yet. But Yoongi recognizes it immediately, and he steps aside as his younger self bolts from your brother’s room. It was the morning after they all defied the world. And frankly, he doesn’t remember how they got here but knows for a fact he didn’t drive. Following himself into your familiar foyer, he winces at his own freak out, his tousled hair sticking in all directions. 

But both versions of him freeze when he sees you, standing with a spatula in the kitchen he’ll eventually end up kissing you in years later.

This happened right before you left for university, heading to a really good one according to your brother. He didn’t doubt that at all, either. Both of you look so much younger, living completely different lives. 

You barely get out a nervous smile and hello before he quickly comes up to hold your shoulder, noting how softly nice you smell before reassuring, “Hey, he’s fine. But check on him in like an hour.” 

He whizzes away as soon as you ask, “You okay?” 

But he doesn’t have time to explain. You’ll understand. You’re a pretty, smart girl—Wait. Pretty smart girl. Right. 

Yoongi doesn’t know why he looks back, but he remembers seeing you standing in your doorway, watching him open his car door with nothing but concern.

Standing on your porch, his current self remembers that tug in his chest. It was small, but it was there. Regardless, he chalked it up to the anxiety telling him to get home now. So he gives you one more look before shoving into his car and driving off, not knowing he was going backwards that whole time. 

Like a dream, the scene change is abrupt, dumping him in the middle of the fight that happened minutes later. Shards of glass litter the kitchen floor as the bar cart once full of alcohol lies shattered and bleeding potent fumes. 

“You lying mother fucker!” 

“I was helping—” 

“Didn’t even tell me? Didn’t even think to say something?” 

“I was focused on keeping him alive?” Keeping him alive and home safe. Something that your brother had done for him multiple times. He’s with him until the end. End of story. “Are you gonna ask me if I’m okay? Do you even care?” 

Yoongi should’ve recalled that you did. But not right now. He doesn’t think about anything until later. But watching from this side, you were the only one that asked. 

“You’re here, right? That tells me enough.” 

Yoongi stands there. So broken, so distraught. “What if I wasn’t?” 

“Don’t even ask stupid things.” 

“I’m serious. I’d look everywhere for you.” 

She can’t answer. And Yoongi knows exactly why. He loved someone that never loved him back. This is the karma he gets for all the hearts he broke. The people he played with. It’s all rearing its head and kicking him straight in the teeth. 

This was the final straw. He was done feeling like shit in his own home. With one look at the glass pieces at his feet, he loads finality into his tone. “If you can’t answer me, we’re done.” 

“No, babe, please—” 

“Don’t.” 

“…What?” 

“You do this every time.” His younger self’s finally gonna do it. He’s gonna stand up for himself, and Yoongi hates what he’s gonna hear next. “Cut the bullshit.” 

“I’m not, I just—” 

“If you’re gonna answer, answer.” 

“Don’t rush me. You putting this back on me now?” 

“Cool.” He opens the door, signaling for her to leave and never come back. “You’ve already moved or broke a bunch of your shit, so. This should be easy.”  

This is the moment. The singularity that forever sucks him back into the dark.

“Useless piece of shit.” And here it all comes undone. “What a joke. After I bought you all this shit and you don’t even use it.” 

He has. She’s just never paid attention.

“Fucking loser. I gave you the world and you gave nothing. Nothing.”

He gave up everything. 

“It’s sad, really. How you’re only gonna end up alone.” 

That will be true. This is when he decided that, right? To be done with this shit. Done with love. 

“How did I even let you keep me this long?” 

Yoongi stops, his fingers shaking. Him? Keeping her? It’s so twisted that his vision still jangles. He’ll never forget that feeling, being blamed for the exact same thing she had been doing to him the whole time. 

“Forget it. You’re just gonna fuck up until you have no one left. And I can’t wait to see you end up all by yourself.” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond to her wrath, walking to the corner of the room and grabbing the guitar he was gifted. But he’s halted by a pointed finger. 

“Keep that. Cus you’re gonna remember this. You’re gonna realize I’m right and there won’t be a thing you can do to fix it.”

“Are you done actually? Or is this another stunt?” 

“A stunt? The only one that does that is you.”

It’s his turn to unload. And he makes it a point to say everything he needs to. “I don’t do anything. I don’t go anywhere. See anyone. Or whatever the hell you’re accusing me of. I stay here, or go to the studio. That’s it.”

“Some studio you got there. Haven’t even heard one single thing you’ve done this entire time.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Huh?”

Ah. Yoongi remembers this. Right then, he was finally, finally done. “You never asked about anything I’ve worked on once.”

“Well, you never cared to share.” Acid bubbles from her throat, hair tossed back in an unforgiving laugh. “A fuck-up and now a screw-up? Why did I ever think I deserved you in the first place?” 

Yoongi stares for what seems like the final time. And he couldn’t be happier. “Hope you find someone that you do.” 

And the door shuts right as he’s flung from deep sleep, thrown over any perception of reality and taking in the voice at his face. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay—” 

“Give him space—”

Yoongi shudders, breathing ice cold fire and chilled by the air ghosting over his sweaty back. Front. Legs. Fuck, he’s drenched. 

“Yoongi?”

Gulping air, he flicks his eyes between Jimin holding him steady with shaky hands, and Taehyung on the other side of the bed, watching him with eyes locked and one knee making a hard divot in the comforter. 

Shit. This isn’t like the other night he fell asleep in his kitchen. This is a whole other level of frightening.

“Please say something,” Jimin squeaks out, lightly rubbing him on the shoulder and providing much needed warmth. “Anything. Please.”

“Let him breathe, babe,” Tae softly orders, to which Jimin snaps his head at but calms. 

Tae’s right. Breathe. Breathe deeper. It was just a dream, just a memory, just the past. Fuck. Yoongi thought having people over would help. But that was a terrifying reminder that he was wrong yet again. 

Head dumped in his wet hands, he notices his hair’s new length before raking it back. Looking straight at his desk, he takes it all in, quietly reminding himself that it’s filled with equipment. 

That’s it. Nothing else. Just his equipment, his notepads, his writing utensils. No traces of broken keyboards, cracked monitor screens, snapped wires. Nothing except your light touches which he will take any day over what occupied it before. In his whirlwind of thoughts, he wonders if anything else of yours on that desk would look nice—Ah. He’s truly losing his mind. 

“I’m good,” he croaks, startling everyone in the room including himself. “What the hell happened.”

Taehyung answers first, “We heard a lot of noise, so..”

“We checked in and saw you,” Jimin finishes, his eyes holding back multitudes. 

“Saw me what.” 

“Thrashing.” Taehyung holds his gaze unflinching. Because one of them has to be level headed, and Jimin is clutching Yoongi like he’ll sink into the bed. Maybe he would have. 

“It looked painful,” Jimin rasps out, voice sagging with melancholy. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looks Yoongi in the eyes before whispering, “Does this happen a lot?”

“Not in a minute.” And for once, he’s honest about this. “It’s only the second time recently.” 

He thanks every star above that you’ve avoided seeing both. This is exactly why he shunned himself, isn’t it? Until this is dealt with, he doesn’t think he can be with you on a clear conscience. 

Taehyung’s fully sitting on the sheets now, hair looking like he was yanked from a deep sleep, too. “Have you told anyone about it?”

“No.” 

“You should.”

“Maybe.”

“Tae’s right,” Jimin whispers, his expression filled with grey. It’s a look Yoongi decides he doesn’t ever wanna see on that face. “I think you need that, too.”

Something very close to discomfort creeps along Yoongi’s bones, making him shift in his seat. His very moist seat. God, if he doesn’t shower now he’s causing a riot. “Lemme wash first,” he offers, barred from swinging out his legs until Jimin gets up. When he gets to his bathroom, he flips on the switch inside before deciding, “Then I will.”

Tae stays still as Jimin walks up to his side of the bed. The closer side to the bathroom. “You sure you’ll tell us?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi looks down before heading in to shower, saying one more thing as he shuts the door, “But you won’t see me the same after I do.” 

—

—

He tells them everything. All the memories plaguing him for years. The things they don’t know and some of the things they do. While they listen, Jimin’s eyes blink the least, not wanting to miss a single second. 

Taehyung’s hands grip the couch cushions harder with each passing moment. But neither of them judge. Neither of them offer pity. If anything, they’re ready to pick up swords they don’t have to attack someone that doesn’t exist to him anymore. 

Lies. If she didn’t exist to him, none of this would be happening. 

So therein lies Yoongi’s problem. He needs to get rid of anything that still ties him to her, the biggest one being the guitar watching all of them right now. 

“Why didn’t you tell us. Tell me,” Jimin asks through fresh tears. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I thought about that for a long time.” Yoongi hangs his head between his knees before lifting. “Turns out, I was just.. Ashamed. I dunno.” 

“Does anyone know all of this?” 

Well. “Just one.” He doesn’t have to elaborate for them to know who it is. 

“I didn’t wanna bother anyone with it,” he finally admits. “Didn’t feel like you guys needed to hear how fucked up I am.” 

“Yoongi.” He raises his gaze to meet Jimin’s. “That’s exactly what we want to hear. Because we’re friends.” 

“You’d say the same to us,” Taehyung adds. “And to her. Who, if I’m being completely honest, would lose her shit if she knew.” 

Yoongi doesn’t doubt that. “I know.” 

“No, you don’t. I’m not saying because of the reasons. I’m saying because she would offer to do exactly what we’re doing now.”

Burns sear around his eyes. Because deep down, he fucking knows that. He does. And yet, he still can’t accept how selfless you are when it comes to him. How good, and reckless, and understanding. And a revelation pierces right through his bruised heart. 

He’s lived in his dark for so long that he’s afraid of your light.

Fuck, his admittance scratches every inch of his mouth on the way out. His heart takes collateral damage, seeping out of his eyes, “I think I have to let her go.” 

In an instant, both pairs of eyes gloss over to match his. 

“I’m doing all this for her,” he rasps out. “Everything, for her. But I can’t fucking do it and she deserves someone that isn’t so fucked—” 

“Yoongi—”

“My ex was right. Back then. Now. She was right.” His voice lulls to a dull thrum. “I’ll just end up alone.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” His head snaps to Jimin’s at the same time as Tae’s. “Are you alone right now? Hmm?” 

No. But he doesn’t say a damn thing. 

“I’ll answer for you since you’re being an idiot. No, you’re not.” That’s not the point, but— “And even if we weren’t here? You’re never alone unless you decide that, not some fucked up ex. And the Yoongi I know? Is too smart to do something so stupid.” 

Ouch. But fair. “That’s not what I mean and you know it—”

“So what? You wanna talk about relationships? Let’s talk about the one you’re in—because yes, you’re in one—and how you’re fucking it up because of some bullshit.” 

“Jimin—”

“No, I’m tired of this shit! Why can’t you see what’s in front of you? Why can’t you see all the good shit you do? Why can’t you just be happy—”

“I’m trying all of that for her—”

“You need to do it for yourself!”  

Jimin stands rigid as his words pulse around the room, eyes swimming and unblinking as Taehyung dons a similar look. 

“This isn’t about her. This isn’t about anyone else.” He shudders out a breath. “Right now? You need to get your shit together to pull yourself out.” 

Shit. 

Yoongi completely lost the point along the way. Didn’t he think like that when all this started? When did it all become so muddled? Did part of him always know this, deeper down? And that’s the part of him that he had left behind first? When he tries to speak, he can’t. No words, no thoughts, no sounds escape the desert of his mouth. 

“And you can do it. I’ve seen you do it before,” Jimin whispers. “But now, you have two people—three people—to fight for this time.” 

Ah. But one of those people still doesn’t know the truth. Doesn’t know why Yoongi’s done this to himself in the first place. A sour laugh leaves his lips before he stares at nothing. “He’s trusted me with everything. And I’ve told him nothing.” Lifting his head, he shudders out, “Say I do all this. Once I tell him the truth… I’m losing him. I know it.” 

“You don’t know that.” Jimin sounds very unconvinced. 

“Hah.. Right.” Yoongi sighs. “We all know he’s gonna kill me.” 

“Well.” Taehyung is the one that finally interjects, and Yoongi shifts his gaze before the man correctly and accurately assumes, “You’d die for her anyway. What’s the difference if he knows.” 

Oh. Well, that’s…

There’s a ping of silence before Jimin blurts a puff of amusement. 

Then Yoongi breaks into a smile as Taehyung’s sudden laugh joins the fray, all of them grinning and laughing because it’s all so fucking simple. Really, really fucking simple. And for the first time in weeks, Yoongi feels like things are gonna be okay. 

Coming down from the broken ice, Jimin reiterates the whole point, “You’re not gonna lose her. But you will if sulking is all you’re gonna do.” 

A nod. “I know.” 

“So what are you gonna do?” 

Yoongi looks at them both, then sweeps his gaze around the living room before landing on his coffee table. Warmth fills the divots in his cheeks as he allows himself to grin, not caring if he gets peculiar looks at his first order of business. His highest priority. 

“Gonna move some books.” 

—

—

The loudest roar of thunder signals the end of a storm. And in following that same pattern, the rest of Yoongi’s week goes by dreamless. Calm. Merciful. 

And he cannot thank Jimin enough. 

He helps him when he cooks, drags him out for walks in the afternoon, and even Taehyung drops by to show him a bunch of movies that he is appalled he’s never seen before. 

Yoongi even goes back to the studio on the regular, earning looks of relief and mild annoyance, which he fully expected. But with minimal questions, he throws himself back into work, urging himself to eventually tell them what happened. 

When Taehyung stays over, too, all three of them simply… Talk. About anything and everything, deeper and deeper conversations the more he gets to know them. Yoongi doesn’t talk as much as they do, but he does divulge a lot more about his past than he ever has. Both of the guys present never judge him for any of it, which makes him feel seen. Feel not so alone. 

Because he’s learning that these experiences are universal. The true danger lies in not knowing how to handle them. How to be accepting of those parts of his life when he’s all he’s got.

Now that he’s got his priority straight, he knows he can get there. He can find that door to himself again, no matter how long it takes. Yes, for you. Yes, for his best friend.

But, first and foremost, for himself. 

—

—

To his complete shock, the cat comes back. And in the quiet, radiant night, Yoongi’s eyes gloss over when his heart tells him her name. 

She’s gonna be yours. For getting the gig. The idea itself breathes life into his soul, and he can’t fucking wait to get everything ready for the day he gets to surprise you.

Finally, Yoongi has something to look forward to. Just wait for him. He hopes you can hold out just a tiny, tiny bit longer. 

Filled with joy and excitement, he sends Tae to the store for some food, supplies, and a new set of bowls, barely noticing Jimin watching his detailed orders with a newfound sense of relief. 

—

—

One day, Jimin comes back from work and asks if Yoongi is ready to see people. When he asks why, he talks about his brilliant idea of bringing the parties to him. When Yoongi continues to ask why yet again, it’s to fill his apartment with even more life. Maybe even a certain person will come, too. 

Nah. You probably won’t. 

But if you do? Yoongi won’t be able to contain himself. And just knowing that he’s okay with feeling that way is a step in the right direction. 

—

— 

Three months.

Based on the date on the studio monitor, it’s been three months since he left. Way too long, and the remorse in his stomach is acidic. 

Three months. How many seconds is that? You would know. You’re brilliant and know everything except the dark secrets he can’t tell you yet. 

And it’s the deepset shame lining his bones that won’t allow him to go see you, as much as he fucking wants to. Letting it all out for his friends did lift an astronomical amount from his shoulders, but now he’s embarrassed as hell for taking this long to do something so simple that he’s still unsure. Unsure of when he can show himself to you again and is terrified at how you’ll perceive him. 

But just because he doesn’t know about seeing you. Doesn’t mean he can’t at least talk to you.

And he’ll make that call last the entire night. Jimin and Tae have given him space for a little while now, both of them back in their respective places, so he has the apartment to himself and your voice. If you give him another chance. 

It’s that one solid loophole that has him rushing out of the studio and eager to finally ring you up. The uneasiness is getting beaten out by excitement, pouring over from the news they all received about the album release party. 

Things are finally, finally, finally looking up. He’s feeling better. Not enough to face you, but enough to not feel worse than complete shit. But all of that freshly blossomed energy sweeps into a torrent of worry as soon as he’s greeted with silence on the line. 

“Hello?” 

He can’t blame you for hesitating. Fuck, you’re probably over him and are just answering out of pity. You aren’t saying anything. Shit, he fucked all the way up. 

But your silence isn’t because of anger. Or annoyance. Because you make the smallest, most desperate noise he’s ever heard in his life. 

And the intention to burn the rest of the world shatters every shackle he’s placed on himself, fierce sparks igniting his body to go wherever the fuck you are and deal with anything awaiting his wrath, “Where are you.” 

He’s coming to you no matter what. 

—

—

Is that you? Are all those bags chips? 

Holy fuck, that’s the funniest shit he’s seen in months. 

He’s so fucking in love. 

—

—

He wants this drive to last for hours, if only to maintain this expansion in his chest that lets his lungs breathe. 

Being in the car with you? Your pretty voice singing along to all his favorite songs? This will always be one of his favorite things, long after he’s too old to operate even the slowest vehicle in existence. 

Remembering the mountain of bags in the backseat, he selfishly tuts, “You still have to gimme chips.” And he also selfishly glances over your chest when you reach behind to get a random flavor. Goddamn. You’re still perfect. 

“You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

…Did he just say what he thinks he said? Well. No taking it back now. Especially when it felt like the most natural thing to call you. An oath. A reminder. To himself, more than anyone else. 

It takes you awhile to respond as you open the bag. And Yoongi assumes your comment is to brush off the same sudden shock he still feels, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh before pulling down your dress. Wait, are you cold? “I know you are.” 

He doesn’t know how to take that compliment, reaching into the bag and watching you shiver, wondering why you’re just dealing with the chill. “Why?” 

Yoongi is so thrown off by your reason that he laughs after you say it, “I just… You read.” 

His cheeks strain as he lowers the fans, the music now commanding most of the air space. The way you’re turned away is so cute, and you immediately stop fidgeting with your tiny dress. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table. And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

Did he ever tell you that? He doesn’t remember saying it, so did you just accurately read him again? Who’s the avid reader now? But speaking of those books… You don’t know what he did with them, or why, and that curves his mouth up a tad. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

Perfect. You lead him right where he wanted you to. Proudly telling you why, he says it all through a smirk, “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.” 

“Oh, bullshit!”

You’re tickling him while he’s driving? That’s unfair as fuck! “You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Mm. That sounds like a damn good idea. The visual in his mind is nowhere close to appropriate, and Yoongi’s enjoying your squirm in his passenger seat. Elated you’re back in it in the first place. But you’re almost out of reach again. And he’s dreading the next rolling stop. 

At least he gets to hear your huffs again. Those are his absolute favorites. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.” 

You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same person he left behind, and his heart pangs from the need to do it once again. 

But your quick resistance halts his brain. Screeches it to a stop. Fuck, you’re begging him not to do it and he doesn’t want to do it but it’s the right thing. He’s trying to do the right thing but god, does he want to just veer off the goddamn street. He can’t. He can’t he can’t you can’t— “Babe… We can’t.” 

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?” 

…What? Yoongi stills, mind resetting and going blank. 

Still miss you? He’s never fucking stopped. 

Suddenly, Yoongi abandons any sense of restraint. All control he previously held onto falls away and crumbles to dust. You have his full attention. And you rip his soul to shreds with every word you say,

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t…” The shake of your exhale rattles his eyes. “I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.” 

God, he feels the same. You could both sit in silence and he’d be filled with joy just looking at you. 

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” 

Shit. 

“I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

Yoongi doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Every brick. Every wall. Every fortress he’s built around his mind crumbles into stardust, shards pinging around his ribs and cutting into his beating, beating, beating heart. 

A day was enough for him to miss you. And these three months have felt like three years. 

There’s no denying it. He fucking needs you. 

Of course. That’s the only reason he sped down here to pick you up and pinned you against his car as if you’d flee. You’re his oxygen, his inhale, his breath of life and hope for new beginnings and goddamn if he lets you go now you’ll never know it—

“Stop.” 

Just tonight. He’ll allow himself one night. Does he deserve it? Probably not, but you sure as fuck do for laying your dying heart in his withered hands. 

And Yoongi decides with a lock of his jaw. Following where his own broken heart points and peeling out into the street.

—

—

Once he gets his hands on you, Yoongi can’t fucking stop. From the car to the walls of his apartment, his fingers can’t decide where to stay, raking down your sides and tugging you close before finally shoving you against his bedroom door. 

God, your touch. Your lips. Your little sounds of pleasure. Why the fuck did he deprive himself of the one person that makes him whole? Yoongi’s so lost in you that he barely remembers his pain, and he loves the way you laugh in the face of it. So fucking hot. 

Closer. He needs to be closer and it’s driving him mad how he’s limited to pressing against your front. Hitching your leg up, he shoves himself forward, the rush of blood tightening his groin and emptying reason from his head. 

This is already too much. You’ve already taken things too far. But goddamn, he’s not stopping even if the entire complex broke down his door. “Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—” 

You moan and he’s a goner again, the next twitch in his pants straining against your soft pelvis. When a plea leaves that pretty mouth, Yoongi’s ready to give you the world. All you have to do is say it and it’s yours and yours alone. “Please what.” 

The tug of his hair makes him groan, but it’s your words that drag his soul across coals, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

What did you fucking say? 

Nah. Yoongi needs to hear that again because he cannot forgive himself if he’s hallucinating all of this, too. Yanking you forward, he strains his ears just to be bombarded by your demands, 

“Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

You’re gonna be the fucking death of him. “The fuck.”

Any hesitance Yoongi had before flings out the door. The whole time he’s trying to do the right thing, here you are spewing everything good and wrong and he’s enraptured. You’re clearly not holding back, so why wouldn’t he match that chaos like his life depended on mania? You give and give and give, and Yoongi makes it his mission to reciprocate. 

Soon, he’s everywhere, swallowing you devouring you inhaling you like his last meal of his last life. Busting into his bedroom, the hot rush of adrenaline magnifies his darkest thoughts. But you don’t even give him the chance to say them out loud because what the fuck he’s in his chair now? “Babe—”

What the fuck? What’s gotten into you and what can he do to suspend this moment in time? You’re sin incarnate at his feet, dropping to your knees and attacking him, undressing him with a force that downright startles him through. 

It borderline scares him because he’s never seen you like this. Shit, he can’t shake an icky feeling off now and he can’t fully immerse himself in the moment if he’s correct. “Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward. And Yoongi lets those sparkling eyes lure him down. 

Fuck, fuck, focus. The way you hold his cock is heavensent and the feeling will never get old and he can’t help but groan at the feel of your fingers. But the feeling is still there. The question is still occupying his mind. 

So Yoongi utilizes every single ounce of control to stop you, saying your name for the first time in weeks. When you shoot him a look of rejection, his heart breaks in two, because your mind is like his when it defaults to the worst possible scenario. 

All he wants to do is kiss you. So he does just that, keeping it tender to calm your potential buzz. Voice soft, he asks through the dark blue of night, “You drank tonight, yeah?” 

“Yeah…?” 

Ah. He was right. Fuck, if you aren’t lucid enough, this has to stop right now. No matter how fucking bad he wants to tear you apart. 

But you reach out to palm his cheek, as if you knew exactly what he was getting at without asking. “I’m not drunk, baby. I just missed you.” 

Please be telling the truth. He won’t live with himself if you aren’t telling him what’s really going on. 

“I’m not,” you reassure through a smile that he’s missed so fucking much. Once again, Yoongi kisses you, because he can’t bear not feeling those puckered lips on his for another second. How strange it is, being able to breathe best when his mouth is smothered by yours. 

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

Holy fuck, you can’t do that. You can’t just say shit like that and get away with it. It’s infuriating in the best way and Yoongi will worship this new, unbridled attitude of yours. What an honor to say he knew you had it in you all along. Yoongi never doubted your skyrocketing appeal for a second. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.” You don’t even give him the mercy of a warning. All Yoongi feels next is those angelic, sinful lips around his tip, eyes fluttering shut as his head kicks back in a moan. 

Euphoria. You’re his beginning and end, the middle and the rest. Nothing else in the world can bring him to his knees like this, and he can’t imagine being anywhere except at your feet. He’s in trouble. You’re not going home for a long while. 

Every swirl you make zings light along his limbs, and he opens soul-sucked eyes to you tugging your dress down fuck. 

He tastes himself when you kiss him, the wet of your efforts slathering around his mouth but he doesn’t fucking care. Reaching out, Yoongi smacks at your perfect tits, laughing to himself knowing how lucky he is. “Get the fuck back down there.”

And the smirk you send his way makes him fall in love ten times over. 

Yoongi doesn’t even know where he is. And this time, he counts that as a win. Because your licks and sucks are sending him into space, straight past the stars and into the next galaxy over. When the fuck did you get this good? It’s spurning the competitive side of him that vows to not lose to you even though he perpetually will. “Holy fuck.” 

His back muscles strain between arching and collapsing, the squeak of his chair the choir to your sinful symphony of sounds. Unbelievably hot. He may as well pass away from how good you’re milking him down.

Then he feels the back of your throat and then some. And something ignites in his core that causes his hands to find your head. 

Fuck, your eyes. They’re molten. “So fucking filthy...” 

Your laugh around his cock sends him into another frenzy. “Don’t do that.” 

But you disobey like the good girl you are, unsheathing your mouth just to swallow his balls oh goddamn. “Fuck!”

It’s over. It’s over for him. All you have to do is tell him what you want and he’s shoving the world aside to make it happen. Your insecurities? He’s banishing. Your wants and needs? He’s providing. There’s no one else but you and his chest is heaving with shallow shallow shallow breaths. 

When you let him push you closer, Yoongi groans, tapping that pretty cheek with his length and savoring the way you suck him back in like an addiction. 

He’s addicted to you, too. And after tonight, he doesn’t think he can ever get enough. The withdrawals will hit like no other, and he’ll shake and tweak until the next time he can steal you away. “So perfect… So fucking perfect… There will never be anyone else.” 

Can you even hear him? You’re so goddamn loud. 

“Fucking hell, baby,” Yoongi praises, thrusting into the heat of your mouth and shivering at the sensation you’re willing to give every time. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You’re already a beautiful sight around his cock. But when you come up for air, erotic effort dripping from your mouth and sloping down in strings to your bare chest? That’s when you’re mesmerizing. And Yoongi doesn’t dare to look away from your face. 

What the fuck, you’re going in again? Fuck that. You’re gonna make him bust before he gets the chance to ruin you. 

Gathering sweaty hands under your arms, Yoongi yanks you upward, tossing you onto his bed and growling with pride. After he’s through with you? You’ll never doubt where he stands anymore. And quite honestly, he’s damn near scared you’re gonna realize you’re much better than him, in every aspect of your promising life. 

Because you’re radiance personified, laughing up at him as if he never left you in the dark. How he played with your light, Yoongi won’t ever forgive himself. But you already have. And his heart lurches forward to worship you. 

“Take this off,” he commands into your chest. Because he needs it all. Everything, everything, everything. “No more hiding.” 

He helps you with shaking hands as you strip the dress for him, breath ragged with excitement and relief to have you here again. When you question your shoes, Yoongi immediately interrupts, because this is a fantasy he’s had from the fucking jump. “What about my—”

“Don’t.” He grips your pliant thigh. “I’m fucking you with them on.” 

“Oh, fuck.” 

That’s right. You’re getting all of him—the good, the bad, and all the forbidden thoughts he’s kept locked away. All of it’s now unleashed, unlocked by your ability to finally tell him what you want. 

When Yoongi smacks the side of your ass with a possession he’ll think about hours from now, the sound you make launches him to the edge. And when he wrenches your legs apart, his eyes blow obsidian at the sight between them. 

Yeah. He’s wrecking your shit tonight. And you’ll feel so good he might cry. 

“Please fuck me, baby,” you whisper soft, a far cry from your uninhibited demands from earlier. 

But the feeling inside Yoongi’s chest renders him even softer. Because yes, he’s going to. But there’s so much he didn’t get to do, so many things he’s been wanting to give but tore apart every chance. 

You deserve more. A whole lifetime more than what you’re asking for. And Yoongi can only summarize how he feels with a single sentence, “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.” 

You don’t truly understand. But that’s okay. All you need to do is sit back and let him cherish you, starting with the smooth skin of your ankle that he brings in for a soft kiss. 

There’s no way to deny anything anymore. Here you are ready to be used, and Yoongi’s taking precious seconds to plant kisses on your leg? Of fucking course he’s too far gone. He’s been too far gone for months. If there’s one way to show you how he feels without words, he’s gonna take it. Because those three syllables are too profound to be said in a mere tryst under moonlight. 

So he pries your legs apart with passion taking the reins, growling out safer thoughts that praise you, “So fucking perfect.” 

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and he cups your cunt to shut that shit down. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.” 

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, now shy and looking more like yourself. It strikes his heart so hard a confession flows right out of his mouth, 

“Almost made me come.” 

“Be for real.” 

“Damn serious.” Goddamn, that grin. Yoongi has found a new obsession. 

“Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” Perfect. Spill everything from those shining lips, break him down like you did two times tonight already. “Tell me.” 

Yoongi thinks you aren’t gonna do it again. You usually spark like a flare, simmering down after your initial fire then defaulting back to that adorable shyness again. So when you surprise him? All bets are off. Nothing is off limits. 

“Fuck me like you missed me.” 

And that’s when Yoongi fucking snaps. 

He launches for your throat first, feasting on your succulent skin and forcing you up his bed. When his dick brushes against your soft center, his name expels from your mouth at the same time he groans like mad. “Careful,” he finally sends you a warning about your last demand. Because he needs you to know what’s about to happen in this room. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you hastily respond, gripping his hair just how he likes it. “Wanna stay.”

Stay. He wants nothing but you to do that, too. It’s why he’s wrapping himself around you, latching onto every inch of your skin and grasping at anything he can get his fingers on. 

Of course, reason weasels through his brain again, seeping from his mouth without his permission. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

“Just tonight.” Fuck, you sound deflated already. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” Yoongi tweaks your chest before rolling hard against you, relishing in the feel of your cunt and defying all sense of morals. “Fuck all of that.” 

Kick you out? You’ll learn to never say that again. “Don’t move.”

Yoongi drops to his knees, nudging your legs aside and promising dark and dangerous thoughts against your thigh. Fuck, you smell like heaven. He’s painfully hard and it will take everything in his soul to not come on his bedroom floor. 

What are you flinching for? What did he fucking say? “I said. Don’t move.” 

“But—Yoongi!” 

Patient, he shifts your slick thong sideways, breath heady as his tongue flattens completely against your cunt. And the taste, holy fuck. This is his favorite place and he’ll keep eating until you’re a shuddering, shivering mess on his sheets. The most exquisite mess he’s ever had the pleasure to make. 

A dark chuckle rumbles as you instinctively clamp your legs together. And he will always be willing to punish for that because your little whines in response are his guilty pleasures. “Uh uh.”

You taste so fucking good. All essence pooling from your folds coats his mouth in layer after slick layer, his tongue basking in the warmth of your core and lapping over, and over, and over. Greed is too light a word to describe his thirst, and he sucks at the spot he knows you love until you tremble. 

Gripping his cock with slicked fingers, Yoongi pumps himself slow, moaning as he keeps licking, sucking, penetrating your cunt with his tongue and deciding that’s not enough for him. He wants you losing your goddamn mind because you made him lose his. He wants you thrashing on his sheets and locking those beautiful muscles for hours. 

Your sounds tighten his groin impossibly hard, mingling with the squelches of his feast and the slide of his fingers along his length. Nothing beats this. Nothing will ever compete because you both sound so fucking obscene.  

The neighborhood gets to hear you again, and that thought carves a prideful grin into Yoongi’s features. You’re back, and they’re gonna know it. For as long as he can make you scream. 

When he inserts a finger to join his tongue, the sound you make almost makes him come  oh fuck. Say his name like that again and he will. Days from now, he may even bust off that singular memory alone. 

When you grab at his hair, he knows that’s when you’re close. And it spurns him into his next twisted fantasy that has his stomach fluttering. 

“Yoongi—I’m—” Nope. You’re not getting there yet. And your response curls his mouth into something ominous. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

Unbothered, Yoongi swats your sopping cunt, completely ignoring your cries for release, “What’d you say?” 

“Plea—Baby!” 

“Huh?” 

Such a terrible listener. What a shame he wouldn’t have it any other way. Because every fucking time you speak, he gets to shush you with a wet tap. And every time you decide to be a smart ass, he rewards you with no hope of reaching the edge you so fiercely crave.  

And this goes on for minutes. 

Yoongi has time. In fact, he has all the time in the world when it comes to breaking you down. You’re gonna spiral for him, you’re gonna unwind under his tongue. Because this is what you wanted and he’s nothing but incredibly thorough. 

Your thighs are quivering by the time he’s ready to reward you release, and he kisses them lovingly as you prattle off complete and utter nonsense above his sweaty head. Standing, he roves his gaze over his sheets, satisfied to hell how he’s made you a mess among them. 

And Yoongi is far, far from done with you. Sliding his dick along your folds, he hums, “This is what you wanted, huh. You gonna be a good little slut?” 

That obedience you give sets butterflies free in his chest. Because Yoongi knows you hold all the power here, him nothing but a vessel to carry out your every whim. “Then fucking beg.” 

When his cock pats your pretty pussy, your reaction has him fraying at the seams. So fucking beautiful when you twist like that. He can’t believe you gave him all these chances to see you at your most vulnerable because this is when you can’t hide a single thing from him. Your mouth betrays you in the best ways, your soul speaks to him when your brain can’t find the courage to. 

And Yoongi preens when you shower him with nothing but praise and a sailor’s barrage. His lips find yours after way too long, and when you tug at his shirt his heart pulls taut with it. 

“Please,” you finally beg. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.” He does, he does, he does. 

Quickly getting up to grab a condom, Yoongi smirks at the way you keep spouting nothing and everything, as if a dam inside burst with no hope of being stopped. Fully stripping himself, he slips the protection on before finding solace between your twitching legs, kissing you once again because fuck he cannot get enough of you tonight. Ever. No matter what lifetime he meets you in.

When you whisper his name, he takes it in his mouth, and the innate need to have you completely makes a mess of his hands. 

This is what will destroy him every time. This connection with you is what he will remember long after everything else fades away. There will never be another soul that embraces his so fully, and that truth is a belief so deep rooted it’s unshakeable. No matter what branches he cuts off, no matter what decisions he has to make. He will always, always come back to you. 

Because you’re it for him. And he can’t thank his past self enough for walking onto that balcony.

You like it best when he starts slow, especially since it’s been awhile since the last time. When Yoongi knows for a fact you haven’t seen anyone else, either, his heart grows a size, making his breath shudder while he slides further and further inside. 

He’ll wait. As always. But you don’t take long to feel comfortable, your hands lifting up to softly pull at his chains. Yoongi’s shoulders relax as you slide up to hold them for support, and he almost can’t look into those eyes he’s so afraid of.  

Bliss. This is exactly what he’s been fighting for. This is exactly why he’s going to make a much better effort—now, tomorrow, and forever. 

“I’m ready, baby,” you whisper. 

And Yoongi lets himself loose completely. 

Fuck, you feel better than he remembers, wrapping around him just right and pulsing against every ridge. If he could stay inside you every second, he would. There’s only one thing he can think of that would feel better than this, and just imagining that has him vibrating. The warmth enveloping him buckles both arms at your sides, and he crumbles to an elbow to smush his body against yours. 

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and his eyes blaze and twist at the primal dragon laying claim to you in his chest. Because you’re his, and he’s yours. This is all he ever needed to know. 

“Fuck!”

Fuck, that was too fucking hot. If he doesn’t control himself now he’s spilling inside of you in seconds. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, hissing when he grips your chin once again. “Thank—” 

He’s thrusting inside you too hard you can’t think. But Yoongi doesn’t relent. Because he knows you can fucking take it. He knows how strong and relentless you can be, reckless just for him and pulling those same commitments from his core. 

And you prove him right yet again. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.” As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is his unraveling. Watching your eyes roll and your mouth part in release drags him down the shoreline with you, and he can’t fucking save himself because your tugs are too goddamn dominant. Fuck, you’re unbelievable. He will never, ever get enough of you. 

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, smiling lopsided when you remember exactly what he’s referring to. That first night you hustled the shit outta him and left him with a mind so jumbled he didn’t know what to do. God, that was ages ago. He’s not even sure he’s the same person anymore.

But you are. Just a lot more confident. At your core, you’re still the same wonderful woman, and the light in your eyes has not faded even one shade. “Love when you do that,” you admit, and he laughs when you shake your head. “Don’t know why.” 

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.” 

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe. 

“I’m ready.” When Yoongi regards you with curiosity, he gets blindsided yet again by your forthcomingness. “Fuck the shit out of me.” 

Oh. Tonight is his last, it seems. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Sitting back on his knees, he gathers your pretty ankles in a bunch. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.” It’s his turn to not give you a warning. Because you’re slick enough to handle what’s coming and he’s determined to make you do the same. 

Driving hard and fast, Yoongi unleashes his energy, slamming into your pussy again and again and relishing in the way you mewl and moan and whine. Keep doing that. He wants to hear you. It’s fuel for him to keep going and give you exactly what you want and need. If you felt insecure around him before tonight, he vows to erase all of that worry until it’s wiped from existence. You’re his world. You’re his everything. 

“Feel so good—”

More. More, more, more, he needs fucking more. When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.” Raising you up by the arms, Yoongi leads you to the edge of his bed before swiping a firm arm to clear his desk. Knowing what he’s about to do, his cock twitches like mad. 

Fuck, you already look divine facedown on the surface, your legs teetering on those heels and making him grit out a groan. 

He cannot come. Not before living out one of his deepest fantasies. Fucking you on his desk? His workspace where he works on his other love? Yoongi’s already shaking before he even grips your quivering hips, shoving your thong away and letting it rest useless on one side of your perfect ass. Fuck. 

“Yoongi—”

He finds home again in an instant, pushing your bowing spine down when you habitually flinch, “Uh uh. Stay like that.” 

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with his spank. “Fuck!”

“There you go.” The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and teetering just like you had on your high heels. Just the mere sight of you like this makes him spiral. And Yoongi can’t help but whoosh out a raspy laugh. “Goddamn.” 

He grabs your hands, shoving you even flatter against his desk so he can pin your arms against your slick back. Possessive? Yes. Unsatiable? Even more so. 

Your moans fling out as he doesn’t let up, and Yoongi moans at the way you squeeze and milk his cock—relentless, uncompromising, just how he fucking wants it. 

More. He still wants more? Fuck. “Come here.” He gathers your wrists in one palm before reaching around your chest, hauling you up and pinning you against his body by the throat. It’s so sweaty under his touch, glistening and tempting to be sucked until he mars you with lust. 

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His next stroke is intentionally harsh, and those moans will take residence in his mind for years. “Don’t even think about saying that again.” 

Your weight falls on his arms when he shoves into you again, feet scrambling for solid ground and wobbling your legs into jello. 

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.” 

“Yes!”

“Good.” That’s all you get before he jumps into a frenzy, pistoning as fast and as hard as he can possibly manage. When he brings you back down to his desk, Yoongi takes advantage of the position, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting into your heavenly velvet. 

This is exactly what he needed. What you needed. Of course you both yearned for the same blue flame, ripping each other apart and rebuilding each other again. 

You’re close. Yoongi can feel you. So he menacingly decides to prolong your release yet again—

You shove him so fast he can’t react, thumping onto his bed and cackling like mad when you leap onto his frame. Fuck, your eyes are so blown and vicious they set him on fire, and he’s gripping your sloping hips and shoving you against his length before he can fully taunt, “Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.” 

Right. He’s already groaning when you take your throne, regal and royal and showing him exactly why he already has. But when you swing your pelvis and take him even deeper, Yoongi reminds himself that he can always fuck you like he doesn’t. And that’s both of your favorite ways to sin. “Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes squeezing shut in lust. He’s so tight that he might hurt you, so his hands grapple his sheets instead and tense his muscles indefinitely. 

You feel good. Way too fucking good. If you’ve been practicing with those secrets you have in your bedside drawer he can damn well fucking tell. Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips with force. “Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep. 

“It missed you, too.” You’re extending yourself up his body now, upping his heartbeat until it races to catch up with his feelings. But everything unholy fills him to the brim when you arch your tits to his face. It seems you figured some things out while he was gone. 

A dark chuckle leaves as he suckles on one of your nipples, lolling around and drawing whines right out of your lips. It’s adorable to feel you frozen around his waist, too distracted by his tongue that you can’t multitask both ends. 

It’s okay. He can do that for you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Yoongi thrusts himself up into your heat, marvelling at the way your mouth flops open to say his name. “Uh huh.”  

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you from the other side, and his eyes engulf in black when yours roll impossibly far back. 

Fuck. He’s not gonna last much longer. But you’re gonna reach bliss a thousand times before he worries about himself. “You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.” 

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him so hard he hisses out a curse. Shit, shit, his release is right behind yours. The way you tug at his cock proves too much, and he stutters out words of encouragement when spilling out his own release inside latex. But you’re inundating around him even after he comes, and Yoongi selfishly commands you with a rasp, “Again.” 

To his shock, you obey immediately, crying out and arching so far back Yoongi feels himself close again, too. Has he come more than once in awhile? He doesn’t remember the last time that happened, if at all. But he knows it can happen with you. There’s no doubt he can get there with you, because he loves you so fucking much. 

Fuck. Fuck, did he just say that last confession out loud? No. No, he didn’t. There’s no fucking way. 

Sitting up, he waits as you sling arms around him, leaning back and smirking at the way the new angle makes you moan. Confident you can do it a fourth time, he repeats, “Again.” 

Your head shakes before your arms lock around his neck, and one tilt of his hips pushes you over the edge. And god. Damn. This reaction you have to your own body sends Yoongi to a higher plane. He stares in awe as your eyes roll again, drinking in the sight of you and questioning what the hell he’d done to deserve a front row seat.

You’ve both come so far. But Yoongi is more proud of you for finding your sensuality in perfect stride and pace. This is wholly you, losing yourself and baring your soul to him in full. Despite what you’re doing, you radiate such an angelic aura, and Yoongi has pricks at the corners of his eyes. 

He has his guardian angel back. And he would burn the universe without a second thought if it kept you safe and warm. “So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out. “Only you.” 

How you decided to stay with him, Yoongi will never be able to fathom. But you came back effortlessly. You welcomed him back like the promise of a nostalgic summer.  

Lowering you to his sheets, he positions you to where you’re most comfortable. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection. It doesn’t take him long to trash, and he makes his way back to the bed to take full advantage of your body heat. 

There’s complete silence now. But for the first time in months, Yoongi’s more than fine with that. Because it’s nothing but comforting, with your occasional nudge against his chest and soft breaths warming his chains. 

Soothing your back with circles, something walks into his brain, and he can’t hold it in any longer as his mouth spreads wide into a grin, “I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.” 

That squeal is so fucking worth the surprise. 

“I knew it!” Yoongi pretends to be annoyed when you figure him all the way out. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

Someday, one day soon, he’s gonna take you shopping for her. You’re going to run through his entire wallet, but Yoongi doesn’t care because he’s gonna be at his happiest picking toys and things out for you. 

He can even buy you storage for some of your clothes, too. 

Maybe that can be your next surprise. 

“I’m her favorite.” 

Your scoff is immediate, and Yoongi watches as you attempt to tower over him. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

Gatekeeped? Is that even a word? A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.” Because she’s definitely going to warm up to you more. He’s gonna take pride in the small amount of time he’s the favorite before being recognized as the lowly food and water boy. 

Something softens in your stare. And he’s wondering what’s floating around in that attractive mind of yours. “You took care of her.”

He did. Because she came back when he was himself again. And if that wasn’t a sign for good things to come, Yoongi will make it one anyway. “She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Your eyes still before you offer a smile that stops his heart. When you lean down to give him a kiss, the same organ beats in double time when you plant love on his forehead right after. 

Oh. That was… 

“Come here,” Yoongi whispers, wrapping you against his side as you lie back down. Calling it what it is, he’s simply too shy to look into your eyes right now. “How are you gonna get home?” He’s fine taking you. But there’s a lot of risk there if your brother is awake or driving up at the same time. And—

Shit. You still have those shoes on. They can’t be comfortable while lying down, especially after you took him like a champion.

“I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.” 

“K.” 

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. Of course you’d still ask that after commandeering the rest of his night. “Kinda late for that, huh.” 

“True. Sorry.”  

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.” 

“Okay… Did I scare you?” When Yoongi can’t confess out loud, he lets his eyes speak for him. Which makes your voice heavy with apology, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“S’ok.” 

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Fuck. “Really hurt.” 

He knows exactly what you mean. It’s been hurting like this ever since he left. Which means he  has to make up all that time. Grappling onto this chance you gave like a lifeline, he’s gonna right all his wrongs and fully commit. No matter how many shadows are in this damn apartment, because he now knows you’ll help chase them away.  

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently shifts his weight, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, hoping you understand what he means. “How about now.” 

Fingers meek, you clutch his head with a broken response, “Maybe try that one more time.”

He’ll do it as many times as you ask. 

Yoongi can feel the shudder in your chest. And he knows what that usually means. So he decides to run from your expression one more time, trying something else to hopefully comfort you. Sliding to the edge of his bed, he gently lifts one of your ankles onto a leg, back fully facing you as he undoes the meticulous leather straps. “I always do, babe.” 

When you’re silent, he slips one heel off before clarifying. “Miss you.”

“I just… Wasn’t sure.” 

He hates the waver in your voice. Hates how he’s the sole cause of it and fighting hard to not hurtle down another hole. “That’s my fault.” 

Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.” 

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, finding comfort in massaging your exhausted soles. If he allows himself to dream, it would be to end each and every night just like this. Driving you to release before soothing your tired bones as you talk about whatever’s on your mind, working toward his dream while you drift off and get lost in yours. 

Can he have that? Will the universe let him have a future despite his past? “Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, turning to look at the floor. “I’m sorry.” 

“You gave me tonight.” When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give, “A little longer is nothing.” 

Of course. How could you be any less than perfect? A moment passes before he shifts, and this is when he finally spots the ocean of littered pens and papers on his floor. 

Is his smile that obvious? It doesn’t take you long to call his ass out. “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Going through all the other scenarios he’s thought of—one that occurs a little far from here—he grins. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.” 

“Oh? Like what?”

He looks over his shoulder, and you scoff in frustration at his answer, “What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

—

—

Yoongi does his damned best to keep that smile on your face. After a shower that proves steamier than usual, he offers to make you dinner when your stomach roar makes him double over in laughter. And while he whips up a meal from the last batch of groceries Taehyung brought, Yoongi peeks around the bar to watch you discreetly open his front door. 

Wearing a shirt he used to wipe his own tears weeks ago. He’s been an utter, complete fool. 

“Is she there?” He calls out, to which you turn with a prominent pout on your lips. 

“No.” When you huff and puff to the kitchen, his eyes crease tight. “Whatever, I have plenty of time to become her new fave.” 

Over dinner, your laughs mix with his own as you tell him all your work stories. And Yoongi quickly realizes that this could’ve been the whole night and he’d be just as happy. Just as fulfilled. What does that tell him? Nothing he doesn’t already know. 

It’s when you both settle into bed that things simmer. And as Yoongi lies on your hearth of a chest, you tell him everything that happened with Jungkook. How you met, when your brother went from protectiveness to approval, up until the night he broke your heart. 

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. But he does encourage you to keep talking about your new job. Because it seems like the perfect fit for you, which is the complete opposite from where you were before. 

“Oh, wait,” you suddenly stop during a story about office decorating, “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?” 

“Yeah.” 

Now that it’s his turn to speak, Yoongi feels shy. You’ve been experiencing so much while he was away, and it’s relieving to know you didn’t lose most of your spark. “We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” he murmurs. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

You tense. “Me?”

A laugh flows out, warming his cheek. “Yes, you. All of y’all.” 

It takes a second for you to ask what he suspects you would, “That won’t be weird?” 

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.” 

“Ah, I see.”

Nope. There’s that insecurity again. And he’s already there to push it away, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and landing home on your lips. “It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.” 

Oh. Yeah. He loves you more than words could ever convey. 

But he doesn’t feel like he can tell you just yet. That’s the last hurdle he has to clear, and he finds himself eating shit every time he attempts. But it’s okay. There’s still time. Because you chose him again, you gave him another chance, you’re here. 

Finding his spot on your chest again, Yoongi immediately feels at peace. All the nights he dreaded, and all the nights he doesn’t remember—every single one can’t touch him now. Because in you, he finds a safe haven, the rolling hills of your limbs and the valley of your breasts shining and warm under your smiles. 

He’ll find a way to do this. He’ll find a way to set things straight with your brother and his past. Soon. Maybe. Hopefully. 

Yoongi starts to lull as you glide gentle fingers through his hair, something else that lends him the solace he’d been seeking for months. God, all he needed was you. And you’re the only thing he left… behind…

You’re humming. 

Ever the curious musician, Yoongi perks his ears to figure out what you’re singing. Is it something he can recognize? Is it a song he doesn’t know? No. You aren’t humming anything in particular. Which makes this performance unique and only for him, and your soft lilt tugs on every single string of his heart. 

Forget everything he had said before. This is how he wants to end every night, floating amongst your stars while your voice dips his mind in a stream of gentle song. 

God. You’re composing and don’t even know it. The way you stop before trying something different, the small grunt you make before going again to make a phrase better. It’s not unlike his own creative process, and that connection yanks tears straight from his soul. 

What did he ever do. What did he ever do to be with you.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

Yoongi just shakes his head, holding you closer and hoping you don’t notice the droplets through his tee. “Not at all.” 

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, moving on to a drumline on his head that makes him huff in pure delight. 

But Yoongi commits that moving line you liked to memory, remembering every note and already weaving it into the fabric of his own making. A breakthrough sparks new life into his eyes, and Yoongi squeezes them tight while his lungs silently burn and burn. 

It’s what he had been fucking missing.  

You were the key this whole time. 

And he waits until you fall asleep to let out grateful, heavy sobs into your chest. 

—

—

The day after you left is one of the most stressful ones of his life. From the whirlwind of a morning to the moment of bravery in the studio to handling your brother, Yoongi needs a whole week of no brain activity. 

But that call with you long after night fell just changed his whole perspective on the time he’d been gone. 

You sounded so broken, so fragile, so defeated. It didn’t matter to have that one night of reunion. He fucked up the next day by falling asleep and leaving you worried yet again. 

You asked if he was done with you. And from the way you asked it, you already believed it to be true. 

And Yoongi never, ever wants you to question where he stands again. Not when there’s three words he wants to say to you every fucking day. 

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room. Right towards the corner that stares back. “You’re nothing to me anymore,” he vows, walking to the guitar that almost shies away. “I’m done.” 

Keep saying it. Keep believing it. Keep focusing on the present and grasping that instead. And one day, these words will be truer than true. 

Reaching for the case, Yoongi stops midway, his hand unable to go any farther. 

All he has to do is throw it out. That’s it. Just take it, walk to the nearest dumpster, and discard. Years of toxins will fester somewhere else, and he’ll finally be rid of the dark. 

In the end, he still can’t do it. But that won’t stop him from showing you he’s better now. Showing himself he’s better now. 

Because he is, he is, he is. 

“For us.” 

-

-

tbc in fugue, pt. iii

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so... thoughts before part 3? | join the server! | fugue pt. iii

Clacks erupt as Yoongi shoves his keyboard, its thump overshadowed by the rough rolls of his desk chair. 

Pacing along one side of his bed, he goes over what he just heard, fingers splaying across his face before becoming weights at his sides.

This isn’t a good sign. He’s gone at this project for months with absolutely nothing to show for it, any progress on it plummeting after his self-imposed exile days ago. 

To be fair? This is his fault. With the overload of the studio, his own project hasn’t been getting the attention it needs. Amongst other personal work he doesn’t want to confront. 

Which is why it sounds like shit. 

Yoongi hums a run of notes before muttering what he wrote, stopping at the same spot and trying to amend the lyrics with another turn of phrase. 

“Fuck, not that, either.” 

He walks out of his room, absentmindedly rapping with his hands and tsking when he hits a snag. 

Without fail, Yoongi ventures into his kitchen, walking past the fridge and into his laundry space to grab a bottle from a top shelf. 

Logically, he really should just invest in another bar cart. It’s kinda shitty having all these bottles where his washer and dryer sit. But why the fuck would he do that after what happened last time? 

“Are you even—”

No. It’s too early to fight.

Grabbing a dark green bottle and a glass, Yoongi heads back to his room, trying his damned best to figure something out and shoving the memory back in its box. 

A clunk and clink thump down when he does, him pouring a good amount before replaying what’s on his screen.

Mm. It’s definitely incomplete. 

What the fuck is it? What’s he missing?

Be serious. Yoongi knows exactly what’s missing and he’s known this whole time. It’s sitting in his living room laughing. Taunting. Maniacal. 

Fuck, focus on something else. He can do this without that goddamned guitar. Write.

So he does.

Yoongi writes, and writes, and sets it all free. 

Something about life. More about liquor. Mentioning the only things keeping him company after he secluded himself like an idiot. Flying, flying, flying. Falling, falling, falling.

What the hell are these bars? These lyrics are strange. 

Write write write accomplish something, goddamn. 

Morning slinks by as he loses himself, thrown into a kaleidoscope of life and words and spirals in the dark. 

Rain. Rain rain rain no tears only rain. Ripping a page. Thunder in silence thunder in darkness lightning striking the lines. Flashes of blue and a blank digital workspace. Another page torn away. Tracks that make no sense. Fog. Shadow. Another page crumbles in his hands.

No matter what, it’s not enough. She was right. He’s a failure and it’s too early to fight. Another page discarded. She was right all along. 

He’ll never be enough. 

—

“You’re more than enough.” 

—

Yoongi peels open heavy lids hours later, mini plastic piano keys and his sleeve the only silhouettes in the light of his awaiting screen. 

More than enough…

You told him that. 

Yoongi breathes into his arm, feeling what little life in him he has for tonight. The sliver of existence jump started by your words. By you.

You, with hands that he could hold for balance and dear life.

You, with all the stars of his galaxy in those eyes.

You, with fingers on his jacket unknowingly saving him from falling into himself—again, and again, and again.

What he would give to have you knock on his door one more time. 

But not yet. Not until there’s only one shadow existing in his place. And judging by the jitter in his bones, he’s gonna be dealing with a lot of them. 

Slowly readjusting his glasses, Yoongi observes his screen, remembering what happened at your house to force this distance. That damn confrontation. His damn fault. 

The night was going well until the incident. The way you went where he couldn’t follow, only to be stopped by one of your friends before he could attempt. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” 

What was her name again? 

Right. 

Dom. 

Her cousin had the heart that he broke with his brutal honesty. Yoongi suspects he won’t be on her good side for quite some time, despite knowing he will never, ever purposefully do anything remotely the same with you. 

It’s true. As much as he fucks up when it comes to you, he’ll be the first one to be there when you need him. Which is exactly what he’s trying to do now. 

“She went in there with Kook.” 

Dom pauses with a fury in her eyes, now aimed at someone or something else. “Shit, okay. Well. They can handle themselves.” 

Is that true? Are you gonna be okay? That’s all he wants. 

But judging by the look you gave him, this isn’t a conversation you’ll walk out of without wounds. 

When Yoongi gives Dom a look, she folds,

“Maybe. Fuck, he better not try shit.” 

“Like what?” What the fuck does she mean by that? 

“That boy had it bad. Probably still does. And they already saw each other the other day.” 

“I know.” 

That earns him a look. “She told him she was seeing someone. That true?” 

A nod. “Depending on what happens here, I’ll say something, too.” 

“You’re lying.” 

Huh? That’s not a lie in the slightest. Yoongi really will air it all out if he has to, because he’s feeling fiercely committed. 

Granted, dating was something he gave up before, so it’s not far fetched not to trust him. But seeing you? Being with you? That’s the most natural conclusion in his currently scrunched eyes. “Why would I lie about that?” 

“I dunno? To try shut me up or whatever.” 

It can’t be helped. This is what happens when his reputation precedes. 

But Yoongi won’t let it control him. Not when he finally has something he cares about more than anything. “I’m not trying shit,” he calmly assures, “Unless he does.” 

“Oh,” Dom breathes, eyes unblinking and darting across his face like hell. “You’re serious.” 

Whether it’s because he can’t stand around too long, or because he cannot describe how accurate that statement is, Yoongi can only hold his tongue, looking away with a curt nod. 

Nah. He can’t say what he really wants to right now. At least, not to her.

But what he says is enough. “I am.” 

Dom waits a bit. Most likely juggling the conflicting emotions in her head about you and her cousin’s past. But she finally breaks, “Gimme your number.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. I have a plan.”

Yoongi stops before realizing he doesn’t have time for hesitation. Obliging, he types his number out for Dom to copy while blurting out a regretful, “Sorry.”

“Huh?”

“About your cousin.”

“Oh.” Her face has mastered the combination of shock and confusion. “Well, thanks, but she’s fine now.”

“Good. She deserves it.” 

“Yeah, no shit.”

Yoongi huffs before slipping back, “So what’s the plan.”

She texts him her name before sighing, looking at your door. “You and I both know she’s not gonna come out right after that’s over, whatever it is. So I’ll go in there after she has some space. Just text me when you’re good to go in.” 

Hold up. Dom’s really sticking her neck out? For him? Yoongi feels like this isn’t deserved, but he can’t let a sudden development distract him. “K.” 

“I mean it. If you fuck up this time, I swear to—”

“I won’t.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I—”

As soon as Yoongi hears the first raise of your voice, he abandons everything entirely, his body moving on autopilot before Dom can grab at his arm. 

And he’s right at your door, just about to reach the doorknob before another hand grips his wrist.

“Wait.”

Shit, he knows exactly who that is. And it’s not Dom.

Looking up, Yoongi faces his best friend with confusion, not caring how this looks and wondering why they’re supposed to wait in the first place. When he questions with a raise of his brow, he gets a whisper in return,

“I wanna hear this.”

Fine.

Both of them stand there, eyes trained on the ground and deciphering what they can. Getting more and more furious by the second.

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

Alright, Yoongi’s had enough. 

And a shared glare with his friend ends their wait, your brother twisting the locked knob before shouting, “What the hell’s going on in there!”

Some people down the hall look over, but Dom’s already directing them to move along. She seems pretty alright. 

“We’re fine! It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!”

Yoongi wants to believe you. He does.

“We’re okay.” 

Your brother looks right at him when he hesitantly backs down, “…Okay.”

And neither one of them vacate the doorway. 

No matter what, he’s gonna stay. Even if your brother bails—which he won’t—Yoongi will be here. Because he’s set on that statement being nothing less than fact.

Even though he’s slowly starting to realize he may need to lay low after tonight. 

Despite being on the same page, Yoongi has a feeling his emotions are being silently questioned. Those looks aimed his way feel loaded as fuck. 

He wants to hurl. 

No, no, it’s time to think things through. After tonight? He’s gotta lay low and keep distance. Don’t make any moves or risk you being anywhere near his place—

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck you just opened the door and Yoongi’s heart roars to escape his chest.

Nope. Still stuck to the same page as your brother, he’s going in. Because he’s gotta know what the hell is going on in here. 

He waits while you all hash it out, observing from a ways away until what the shit why are you getting shoved off— “The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Your outburst in his arms catches everyone’s attention. But he’s not letting your boiling energy go until you fight because your heartbeat is racing through your back. Holy shit. 

You have to breathe or else your heart’s gonna give out. And Yoongi wants to tell you that, tell you anything to let you know you know he’s in your corner. But he can’t do anything except fucking stand there until you shake him off. 

Let it go. Let things play out. But what the fuck have you and Jungkook been talking about?

What did he do to you? 

A dangerous mix of anger and suspicion twists his brain tight, tugging on itself and pulsing pressure along his forehead. Because controlling himself right now? Requires one thousand percent of his power. 

Because whatever happened between you two left scars that reopened tonight, and Yoongi can’t do anything but watch you bleed. 

What went down? Could he and your brother somehow have prevented it? Although, he wasn’t aware of your relationship with the kid, so he can’t fault himself for not being somewhere he didn’t know about. But how? How did he miss this part of your household life? 

Was he really that cut off from everything back then? 

Yoongi regrets that damning fact more than ever before.

Your change in tone catches his attention. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

Right. A simmering fire, your brother asks what he’s thinking, “…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook’s reply throws kindle on flames, and you have to snuff your brother out before he does anything stupid,

 “Of course it is.”

“The fuck it isn’t—” 

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...” 

A pang worms its way into Yoongi’s side. When he swivels his head around the room, he can deduce exactly why he feels all sorts of messed up: Jungkook looks like he wants to defend you from your brother. Which should be a good trait. 

But Yoongi can’t fucking think straight because the heat of his best friend’s aura has set him ablaze, too.

And you look like you don’t wanna be here at all, fuck. 

It’s not just the heightened tension, either. There’s another matter that’s pressing his heart hard against his ribcage, and he’s doing everything he can to save it. To no avail, of course. 

Because there’s no way to tell your brother about everything now. Not after this disaster of a confrontation.

When you speak, his thoughts quiet to mirror the room, “Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” 

Mm. He doesn’t like that. 

Of course he understands. And Yoongi knows your brother will listen and they’ll leave in just a second. But he’s busting in if he hears shouts again and there will be no question about where he stands with you. 

“Please.” 

It’s that one plea that makes him relent. Because of course he will give you anything. But in dropping his thoughts, Yoongi finally looks up and over your shoulder. 

Only to see Jungkook glaring right at him.

Shit. Shit. That’s not a look he needs to receive from the kid unless he fucked up in the studio. Anywhere else, especially in regards to you? Laying low is definitely the move after tonight.

Yoongi will be wading too far in deep shit if he doesn’t. 

“Trust me,” you softly beg, to which he internally sighs. 

Yoongi trusts you with his life. On top of that, he has no doubt you’ll stand your ground after holding your own against all three of them. If you wanna do it alone, he’ll respect that and your brother most likely will, too. 

But the other guy in the room with hair dyed seventy shades lighter is on thin fucking ice. 

Jeon better fucking behave.

Decision made, Yoongi follows your silent sibling out of the room, briefly looking at the walls covered with memories and hoping the night ends as one of the good ones.

—

— 

Thunder rolls in the distance, lulling Yoongi back to the present company of his monitor. The same one he’s been using for awhile now, along with the same keyboard controller that he really needs to upgrade. 

Of course, he can still pull magic off with the tech in front of him. But it would be a little easier to weave complexity with more piano keys at his disposal. 

Not that it matters when his brain is fried. There’s no way he’s getting anything else done tonight. 

Successfully giving up, Yoongi trudges to his bathroom to relieve himself, bumping a shoulder on his doorway with a hissing curse. 

Of course the pain would come on the tailend of that memory. He was too hopeful then and he’s perfectly hopeless now. 

Seconds later, a sniff mingles with running water as he washes his hands, staring down the mirror while thinking about a fonder time. 

That day remains his safe haven. Yoongi will never forget the look in your eyes after you both drenched each other, water and shining smiles coating every spot of your skin. What he would give to live that moment again, one where he felt his heart grow ten sizes despite its dark confines. 

With another blink, you’re gone, taking all the color with your departure and leaving emptiness behind. The only sounds Yoongi can hear are the hum of his aircon and the gentle rush of water. 

Shit, the faucet is still on? Who’s running up his water bill now? 

Hair shifts forward as he reprimands himself, shaking a tired head filled to the brim with decisions he needs to file through. Can't take too long in the shower now. Who knows how fucking long he left the sink on. 

Fuck, he misses you. Please come back and tease him for being a hypocrite.

It’s only been a couple weeks since he left and, for the most part, it’s been manageable. The calls with you have been a lifeline, Yoongi needing them just as much as you have expressed. And when you shyly but bravely showed him some sundresses you got the other day, he had to grip his sheets in an iron fist to keep from rushing out the door. 

But after you get off the line, after darkness falls on his eyes? That is when he fights. Again, and again, every night since he made you blindly trust him with every beautiful fucking bone in your body. 

And every night, he fails you when he loses. 

Every. Single. Night. 

Sometimes, Yoongi wakes in a shuddering mess, scrambling to sit up and checking the entirety of his room to make sure she’s not there. 

Other times, he doesn’t even bother sleeping. And those nights are the longest, the ones that leave him with chasms under his eyes. 

Washing those same carved valleys now, Yoongi rubs his face under shower spray, raking hands through his growing hair before dousing it. 

You stood in this very space more than you ever should have. And he guarantees that, when you were here the first time, you were trying to get something off your arm that wasn’t gonna wash out. 

God, he fucked it all up from the very beginning. There’s no running from that, just like how there’s no running from the words he’d been punctured with before. 

“Useless piece of—”

Shut the fuck up. 

He will deal with her later. Same time, just like every other night. 

Every night until he doesn’t fail you anymore.

—

—

Showering lasts a lot longer than Yoongi intended, much to his own chagrin. 

Granted, a longer wash or two isn’t gonna fuck up his bill too much. But it’s the concept of all that waste that his parents instilled in him. Don’t take more than you need. Maybe he should’ve heeded that concept when dealing with his mountain of greed. 

That’s what it is, right? Keeping things tight with your brother; going around his back to keep seeing you; keeping truths away from the one that looked at you with dying stars in his eyes. 

Yoongi’s surprised he hasn’t collapsed from the weight of his implications yet.  

But he does just that after feeding the cat outside, falling onto his bed suddenly hesitant to call you. 

God, does he want to. Your voice, your gentle words, your contagious laughter—all of it’s right behind the press of a button, and yet… 

Tonight’s grim has decided to visit him a little early, it seems. 

But this distance was to conquer it all, right? So why can’t he get the fuck up and do it? He needs to if he wants a future with you. If he comes back into your life with this sludge on his shoulders, this monster on his legs? He’s only gonna stumble, when he should be walking alongside you. You deserve the parts of him he’s proud of, and right now, not much of those exist anymore. 

Not ever since she…

Fuck. He won’t get to talk to you, after all.

And he can’t fucking stand that. 

—

— 

Another week passes, laughing at Yoongi’s continuous inability to find a musical breakthrough.

Why can’t he get his shit together? He knows he can do this. There’s no question he’ll hit his stride and come up with something great. 

But that moment is nowhere in sight and it’s been stomping on his airway, not letting him breathe and questioning his skillset second by second. 

A few hums of his phone distract his chugging, sputtering train of thought, and he reaches for it in hopes to see your nickname. 

But disappointment seems to be the chosen track today, because these names aren’t yours. 

Dumbass [17:05]: We hooping today??

Dumbass [17:05]: At the gym and no one’s here 

Fuck, he forgot they were gonna be doing that during some weeknights. Sometime in the last couple days, Jimin brought up the idea to practice at a rec center further out, something about avoiding being watched by any neighboring competition. 

The dedication to intramurals this year is admittedly touching. Despite what people think about Yoongi, he does admire shit like this, especially if it truly surprises him. That’s why he gravitated to you in record time, right? You don’t care who sees that you care, and that’s more attractive than anything. 

Getting him to admit his admiration is another story, though. He’ll say it, but his friends have to work for those words. 

While you get to hear them as often as he thinks them.

Waiting to hear from the others, Yoongi blinks when more messages slide through.

Rohan G. [17:07]: omw sry

Chim [17:07]: Getting something first then heading over! 

A knock pounds on Yoongi’s door as he types that he can’t make it tonight, and he perks at the sound, adjusting glasses that shifted in his haste.  

No fucking way. 

How did Jimin even guess he’d be home? 

Dumbass [17:08]: Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong

Chim [17:08]: 😂😂😂

Rohan G. [17:08]: Liked ‘Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong’

Mumbling, Yoongi makes his way over, opening the door with an accusatory deadpan. “You wasted gas coming here.”

“No I didn’t.”

“I’m busy.” 

“No excuses!” Jimin lets himself in, scanning the living room and noticing a lone soju bottle on the coffee table. “Wait, who are you drinking with without me?” 

Shit. Yoongi forgot that was even there. Did he really forget to put it away? Did he end up finishing the whole thing? 

…Why can’t he remember any of that? “No one.” 

“Oh. I was about to say.” Chuckling to no one, Jimin goes to throw the glass in the kitchen recycling bin, and Yoongi notes with slight terror that it sounded very, very empty. “Been there. Now get ready, hurry up!”

Yoongi groans, not wanting to do this. At all. 

But it’s not basketball he’s referring to. In fact, playing pick-up will be a perfect distraction from his harrowing thoughts. 

However, there’s something else he’ll have to confront when he’s there in that gym. Something he’ll have to deal with during every practice. 

Your brother. 

Seeking the private space of his closet, Yoongi sighs to himself as he grabs a tank, recalling the last real conversation he had with his best friend. One from that same night he keeps going back to. 

The very reason he had to say goodbye. 

It’s still so vivid he can smell your brother’s cologne. After the confrontation in your room, leaving you to fight for yourself proves too hard for him. But it proves even harder for the guy practically torching your door with his glare. 

Anticipating a historic fallout, Yoongi lays a firm arm over your sibling’s front, challenging those burning eyes before forcing him away, away, away from your bedroom door. 

He tries to rush back, but Yoongi’s there again, shoving towards the open hallway with all his might and warning his best friend with no words at all. 

It works. For now. 

Shrugging, the man visibly inhales as they head into the noisy house, passing through and going straight to where Yoongi assumes correctly. 

Seconds later, they’re in a bedroom he has been in more times than yours, him settling into a stiff desk chair while your brother sits hunched over on sagging sheets. 

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“No you won’t,” Yoongi quips, staring up at framed vinyls and jerseys. Voice neutral, he explains with logic, “If you’re charged with his murder, she’ll be charged with yours.”

“Yeah, but.. Did you see her back there? She looked so..”

Yoongi’s heart pangs. Because yes. Yes, he fucking did. Not only did he see you, but he felt you—the anger, the sadness, the confusion. Honestly, he has the same threatening thoughts as his best friend, but there’s no way they’re being let loose.  

So he can only hum in acknowledgement. “I know.” 

After a long beat, your brother forces the frustration from his lungs, “I need a fucking drink.”

“Then get up.” 

“And a hit.”

Yoongi’s eyes follow the gesture your brother aims toward his desk, and he grabs the lone pack before tossing it over. 

Minutes go by as they meander through the house, ignoring the curious looks and shouts to play cards. After procuring a bottle and glasses from the kitchen, they head out not to the full backyard, but into the open air of the front porch. 

“Give us some space for a sec, guys,” your brother calmly asks, not shocking Yoongi but startling the small gathering in the area. Everyone quickly apologizes for no reason before filing inside. 

Leaving the two of them alone against the world. As it has been. As it should be.

Fuck. 

Yoongi watches his friend approach the wooden railing overlooking the garden, arms resting on mahogany that he just got refinished two weeks ago. As he licks dry lips, he listens to the man he’s known forever, hating how he feels like a fraud. 

“I knew they had a thing, but.. I dunno what to think now.” The fidget of his leg mirrors how Yoongi feels. “He’s the only one I trusted with her.”

Damn. So what the hell happened between then and now for Kook to lose it all? Is the same fate awaiting him when his own truth comes into the spotlight?

Silent and aching, Yoongi walks up to join his friend, offering whisky and his two cents, “Maybe something happened.”

A sigh precedes a pouring of liquor. Your brother really is going through it if he’s serving himself a double, and it’s not easy to watch. “Why didn’t they tell me?”

Well. Many reasons, Yoongi imagines. Definitely not coming from a long period of terrifying experience, of course. 

As he pours his own glass, he asks with a hint of anxiety, “Would you've listened if they had?” 

They both know the answer, so he doesn’t understand the hesitation before the man finally concedes, “…I dunno. Probably would’ve just kicked his ass.”

Both of them let out knowing huffs of amusement, no doubt picturing the same scenario. “Uh huh.” 

Your brother is the first to default back to wallowing. “Nah, but… He hurt her, dude. Did you see how she looked?” 

“You asked that already,” Yoongi points out before taking a fig and tobacco-infused sip. “But no, I was mostly watching him.”

He earns a shoulder covered look before a grateful, haunting, “Thanks.” 

That’s Yoongi’s role to play, after all. Watching out for anything and anyone that would do you harm while your brother is away. It’s how things have been for a minute, even Jimin and now Taehyung taking up that position alongside him. 

It sets a lingering ache in his stomach to know his place is so close, yet so damn far. The fact that he’d perpetually be just out of reach should be enough to drive him mad. But your brother is his number one. His life saver. His everything. 

A sinister voice tugs on Yoongi’s ear, reminding him how easy it’s been to betray the guy despite all that supposed loyalty in his veins. What a joke. What a traitor.

He swipes the wisp away with a scratch. “Do you trust her?” 

“It’s not that. It’s… It’s always been everyone else I have an issue with.” 

Agreed. “Mm.” 

“I mean, I trust you,” his friend continues, straightening to pop a cig from its box. As he grabs it with wet lips, words get muddled but still ring clear, “Not in that way with her, I’d fucking kill you, but. I know you got my back, too.” 

Yoongi’s stomach convulses down the porch steps. 

And at the flick of a lighter, his last shred of hope goes up in flames. “Uh huh.” 

“I just… I know I overreact. I’m not above thinking I don’t. But I just gotta be sure she has someone good to her.” Restless smoke billows out as a contemplative arm falls. “I know I haven’t been around lately.” 

Ah. Yoongi’s stomach is about to have a companion, his heart dangling from the cliffs of his ribs.

Someone once told him that life begins and ends with choices. Decisions make branches from your tree, consequences and outcomes spiraling from each major base. The ones made with good intentions sprout leaves; the ones made with ill will wither away. Those are the ones that weigh you down with no effort—the ones you have to cut before they stunt your growth.

As his fingers graze over a proverbial machete, Yoongi wonders if the choices he made with you in mind count for the better. They have to, right? If he’d make them again, that counts for something, yeah? 

Talking into his glass, Yoongi responds to the one that told him all this in the first place, back when he pulled out the diseased roots poisoned by a smile. “Then do that.” 

“Do what?” 

Even if these decisions were made with good intentions, they’re still twisted. And there’s no way to straighten them when a soul feels way too similar. “Stick around for a sec.” 

Be there with you when he walks away from the most beautiful branch he’s ever grown. 

As much as he’s fighting himself to not do it this way, it’s inevitable. This is a horrible line to walk between the both of you, and he’s quickly seeing less and less options. 

Because if he tells your brother about the two of you now? It’s over. But if he keeps this up with you and strains the bond with your family? The guilt will eat him alive. 

You both mean the world to him. Which leaves Yoongi with an impossible scenario unless he gets his shit figured out. 

And he has. So much shit.

“Stick around?” 

“Yeah. Like a few months or so.” If he needs more time than that, he’ll legitimately go insane. 

“What’s with the sudden advice? You miss me that bad?” 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. At least, not without choking on his own self-affliction. “So she knows she’s got someone after all this.” 

After what he’s about to do. 

“Also, no. I don’t,” he lies. 

Your brother gives a playful shove before looking into his glencairn. “I guess I could move some trips around. They don’t really need me for the time being anyway.” 

“Does she know, by the way?” 

“Know what.” 

A shrug. “Anything. Why you even have this job in the first place.” 

“No,” your brother admits before taking another hit. “She doesn’t need to worry about that shit.” 

“She could appreciate it. Knowing.”

A look is sent his way. “You’re acting like you know her.” 

Fuck. Think. He cannot fuck this up before it even starts. “Is this really about me?” 

Yoongi is taking a huge gamble here. But it works. Most likely because both of them are way too tired to think about uncomfortable things anymore. 

“No. And I’ll think about staying.” 

Beat irregular, Yoongi’s heart prepares for the free fall.

“You’re a good guy, Yoong.” 

And it slips from the ledge before he’s ready. “You, too.” 

“Me? Don’t I know it,” your brother jokes with a laugh, straightening and smushing his cig in an ashtray. “I’m gonna make my rounds again.”

“Probably gonna head out soon,” Yoongi says, the organ in his chest slowly losing its pulse. “Just gotta say some byes first.” 

“Really? You never say bye.” 

Tonight, Yoongi will. He has to see you one last time before going back to his personal hell. “Sometimes. You just never see me.” 

The door opens with a slight creak. Because this part of the front porch hasn’t been redone yet. “Ah, whatever.” 

As a wave of aroma wafts through the foyer, Yoongi blurts another idea before he can stopper his worrying mind, “Leave her some food, too. She’s gonna need it.” 

The last thing he sees before a voice cuts in from above is your brother’s backward look.

“You ready?” 

Thrown out of the memory, Yoongi flicks his gaze to the one filling up his bedroom door. 

Bedroom door. His bedroom. They’re gonna go practice. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Okay…” Jimin gives him a look that calls him out like no other. It’s quite impressive how he’s always been able to do that.

But the nosy man doesn’t pry this time. “Then let’s go.” 

—

—

Playing goes well. While it’s clear none of the guys are at their best, they’re gonna get there. Even if it’s building stamina, which Yoongi desperately needs. But if they keep practicing like this? It could actually make them a threat the rest of intramurals. 

But your brother has been subdued all night. To the point where Jimin shoots Yoongi some choice looks to go over and ask what the fuck is up. 

Fine. He’ll deal with it. When he travels down the sideline to start the conversation, turns out the quiet mood is because of work,

“I’m trying to get out of it.”

“Out of what? A trip?”

“Yeah.”

“Just don’t go,” Yoongi poorly advises, wiping forehead sweat with his tank. A quick push forces laughter out his lips.

“You know I can’t do that.” Sporting a frown, the busy man sighs loud. “Especially when I’m in line for a promotion.”

“Wait, what?” Hold up, that’s a new development Yoongi didn’t see coming. Though he should have, since this guy is a nerd and one hell of a charmer. “Since when?”

“Trying not to say anything to jinx it.” Hide it all he wants, his smile contradicts his humility. Yoongi can’t help but give him a raised brow. When Jimin jogs up, he listens in with curiosity. “But yeah, they’re in talks to move me up.” 

The dusty blond yells in shock, hand over his mouth as some dribbling around them stops. The guys on the other end of the court still keep shooting around, though, squeaks of sneakers pinging off stark gym walls. 

“Trying not to say anything, huh,” Yoongi drawls, smirk collecting some loose sweat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck off,” your brother counters with a grin. A real one this time. “I did wanna tell you guys, just in person. But nothing’s guaranteed yet so if I don’t get it, no clowning.”

“Nah, you’re gonna get it,” Jimin assures, patting him on the back and recoiling at the moisture. “Ah. Are you aware you feel like a wet rag?”

While Yoongi’s shoulders shake, your brother’s dip as he grows sheepish, “I know. Nerves got me playing a little too hard.” 

Humility. Shyness. These emotions are hard to come by when it comes to him. When did he get this soft? Is he actually hanging out with you like Yoongi intended?

If so, that’s good. You both need it. The distance is working. 

So why does that gut him even deeper? 

“Alright, let’s put those nerves to use then,” Jimin offers, tone leaving no room to argue. Calling out to the whole court, he shouts, “One more game then we’re done!” 

The whole team acknowledges him in tandem. 

—

— 

Holy fuck, it’s over.

Hearts pumping and breath ragged, everyone dumps themselves on the court floors when your brother finally, mercifully makes the winning shot. 

Of course the last game took them fucking forever. No one could make a basket from being so worn down, and Yoongi’s muscles started protesting so hard they were gonna force him horizontal without his say. 

Someone’s phone vibrates from the bleachers, and no one even moves to check if it’s theirs. Only huffs, exhales, and gulps fill the large space, body heat and sweat weighing the air down.  

“Ah, shit, that’s me,” your brother rasps, twisting his watch while lying flat on his back. Tapping the glass face with his nose, he answers with enviable energy, “Hello!”

“Hey. You still out?”

Yoongi’s heart shatters on impact.

His gaze flicks to Jimin’s before he tilts toward fluorescent ceiling lights, splayed hands keeping him upright and eyes closing in longing. 

“Yeah, we’re still out. What’s up?”

“Just wondering. Dinner’s in the fridge, saved some stew for you.” 

“Thank god. There meat in there?”

As you prattle off a stinging response, Yoongi slowly smirks despite his ribcage tearing itself into scraps. What he would give to come home to you making dinner, joining you to help and watching your cute ass bustle around his kitchen—your kitchen.

One day. One day, one day, one day. 

“—be back soon. Thanks for the food!” 

“Mmhmm. See you later.”

As much as your voice soothes, Yoongi can’t help but think you sound… What is that he hears? There’s something in there that’s making his chest clench impossibly hard, digging into his head and making him regret everything all over again. 

No. It’s not what you sound like, it’s what you don’t. 

Yourself.  

Which is not what Yoongi intended. And his control over the dark part of his mind slips a precarious amount. 

His walls slam so far down that memories flood in, whisking him back to the moment he both wants to think about and banish from his heart all the same. 

The one he replays in his mind over, and over, and over again. 

After his talk with your brother, he did end up saying goodbye to some friends around the house. Did he do it because he wanted to? Sure. But mostly he did it to procrastinate saying goodbye to you. 

However, when he gets a text from your friend, his heart stutters and braces for a total meltdown. 

Dominique S. [21:30]: Going in there now.

Yoongi [21:31]: 👍

Yoongi [21:35]: Clear

Why is he nervous? Why is he shaking?

Dom opens the door with haste. “One minute,” she warns, and Yoongi already knows she’s the type to count every second. “Then you’re on your own.”

Sixty seconds.

He can do that.

Any amount of time with you is enough.

“K.”

Yoongi enters to see your face so torn his heart lurches, propelling him the rest of the way until he’s close enough to pull you in. 

Yes. Let it out. Let it all out while he’s here.

“Fuck.”

Yoongi does everything he can to relieve you of anything that doesn’t serve you. Squeezing his embrace to keep it imprinted around your soul long after he parts. Your voice is music along his bones, steadying him upright when he wants to crumble at your feet. 

Even if this is all he gets, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

But he has to know if you’re gonna be okay, and reality sets in like quicksand. 

Fuck, this is really the last time he’s gonna see you. Fuck fuck fuck he needs more time. “What happened?” 

You aren’t talking.

That answers enough. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he amends, kissing your forehead and stepping back at arm’s length. “You gonna be okay?”

Shit. You look like you’ve been shattered and are attempting to find your pieces. And Yoongi despises that look because he’s been there before. 

Before. Sure. It’s more truthful to say he’s still searching for most of his. 

“Yes. No. I just, umm. I need a minute.”

“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”

“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.” 

For a moment, Yoongi abandons his priorities and his whole upper body calms. Because you have that power over him. And he’s fine with being at your mercy whenever you demand it. 

His voice comes out so soft, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.” 

“But it’s true.” 

Smart ass. What he says next is a knife twist into his side, because he wants it so fucking badly he’ll do anything,

“Makes me wanna take you home.” 

But not now. There’s something he has to take care of first before he takes care of you. Something slithering around his living room and waiting for him to leave you behind. 

You’re doing everything he wants, from closing the distance to circling arms around his waist. Fuck, if he could choose one thing to linger, it would be the feel of those hands pressed against his shirt. And his reverence on your temple to keep your mind safe.

“I want you to do that,” you admit into his tee, “All the time.” 

“Take you home?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Even your arm feels timid under his touch? Shit. 

If only he’d done things properly. Yoongi would have spent this whole night by your side and taken you home at the first drop of a fucking tear. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.” 

If he were someone else. If he had come clean before. 

If he wasn’t such a damn coward. 

Why did it all come crashing down over the course of a day? How could this disruption derail the quickest path to happiness in a second? 

Path number two is long, and arduous, and dangerous. But Yoongi’s gonna brave it all for you. A clean slate is what you deserve, not this room marred with grime and his shortcomings, his own demons tearing at the walls. 

A warning knock slams his brain into overdrive, and he must look like a mess right now because you’re staring and staring hard fuck! “Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

The understanding in your eyes is misguided. And it cracks his heart in two before he interrupts your hopeful strategy.

“There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”

He’s never felt so hollowed out in his life. 

“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”

There’s already a ring of fire around his eyes. 

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

This is all he can say? This is all he’s gonna give you? Judging by the blockage in his throat and the ache along his heart, Yoongi realizes he can’t explain himself. It’s too shameful. It’s better if he doesn’t. 

But watching hurt and confusion prick your eyes is setting his lungs ablaze. Fuck, you deserve someone better but also fuck that because he’s gonna fight for this shit. This is the only path he can see. The one he must travel himself. 

And he’s already burning your features on his eyelids, if only to see your outline in every blink.

Say something. Please. “Babe?”

Tell him not to go. 

Tell him to go out there and fucking confess because he’ll do it. 

Something painful replaces the beats of his heart, changing the tempo and forcing them staccato. The skip, skip, thump of his chest almost buckles him forward, but Yoongi forces himself to stand tall. Resolute. Decisive. 

But tell him anything you want and he’ll do it. 

Fuck, he can’t deny anything anymore. The thoughts that have plagued his mind for months are now the ones he invites in without hesitation. Because he’s done pretending they’re lies. 

He’s yours. It’s always been this way, long before you even knew it. If only you could read his mind because it has hell of a lot more to say than he does, because right now? If you break down then he’s right there with you. 

Fuck, this is a mistake. His gut is screaming and protesting and there’s nothing he can do to placate. What the fuck is he doing? Why can’t he feel his own heart anymore? “Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you choke out, searing his eyes a whole deeper shade. “I’ll do it.”

Goddamn it. Yoongi already wants to abandon his idea because you look so lost and he’ll scrap it all if you tell him not to go please tell him not to go be selfish be selfish yell at him and be selfish— 

“Anything for you.”

Fuck.

The pang in his chest tells him all he needs to know. How this is a big fucking mistake but he can’t think of any other way out. He’s doing this for the both of you. You and him. For you, for him—

“For us,” he corrects, diving in to give you the deepest kiss filled with his greatest fears.

This is for the long run. Yoongi’s decidedly, one-hundred percent in it for the long run.

As long as he keeps fighting his demons. Each and every single night. 

And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel. 

Leaving you is already making him weary. Knowing he’s going into that apartment alone for days. He won’t get to see you at all. There will be nothing but work and the occasional drink with Jimin, which even then he may start to turn down.

This distance is necessary. But also fucking stupid. 

Maybe you’ll forget about him.

Maybe you’ll realize life is probably better without him in it.

But above everything, he really fucking hopes that you’ll come find him again. 

Your fingers on his arm are what Yoongi feels first. But his body reacts in a second as soon as you tug him back into a kiss. 

And his eyes catch fire as they squeeze, ribcage clenching and gasping for air when you do that desperate tug on his clothes. Shit shit shit if you do that again he’ll never fucking leave your side.  

Everything else disappears except you. Your breaths, your lips, your unending consideration for his space. He asked and he got it, which makes this one act of resistance tear him right through, and he pours every ounce of himself into making you understand how much he wants this. 

“Yoongi, I—”

Don’t say it. Not when he’s about to break everything apart. 

Fuck, you were really gonna say it. Yoongi knows it in his fucking bones and his heart is gasping. Fuck.

Of fucking course this is how he finds out. Right before he leaves? Right before he ventures into himself to confront everything he doesn’t wanna see? 

This alone will be his guiding light. The knowledge that you feel the same way he does and the reason for everything he’s gonna fight through. “I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.” You have to believe him.

Because he’s gonna find it hard to believe himself. “Okay?”

Your face contorts in a way that has his eyes scorching. Without knowing anything about why he’s gonna leave or how long it’s gonna be, you’re looking at him with vehement trust and searing willpower. So goddamn strong, just as he needs to be.

He loves you so fucking much. 

“Fuck.” 

He smashes his lips so hard against yours that you react, your saltwater sloshing against his cheeks just in time to hide his falling tears.

He needs this. You need him to do this. Everything he’s about to do, it’s all for you. You, you, you. 

Because he knows you’d go with him anywhere, but when it comes to his inner fears, that’s not somewhere you can follow. That’s a place he has to walk into on his own, knowing he’ll be swallowed in darkness until he finds his own dimmed light. 

Yoongi pulls away right as Dom opens the door, but he doesn’t even flinch at the sight of her. Because he wants you to see that. He wants to show you where he stands for real. 

“I got us,” he vows, planting one more kiss on a forehead he reveres so much. 

“Hurry up, for god’s sake!” 

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly increasing the distance and already feeling his heart pleading to feel yours again. 

You’re so beautiful.

He doesn’t want to go. 

But with one final look, Yoongi leaves, and it’s a miracle he stepped out of your room in one piece because he feels like he left his better half inside.  

Didn’t he say you were his good luck charm? Who the fuck leaves their guardian angel behind? He can’t think about how you looked. Those tears will be flooding into his dreams. 

Fuck, he needs air. 

Brain scrambled, Yoongi heads straight down the lesser tracked hallway before escaping to the guest room. When his wrist is grabbed, he flinches so hard it strikes like lightning. “Just give me a sec.”

Dom’s voice can command anyone with ease. “Look at me.”

So he does. Annoyed he can’t have time to get his shit together but obeying nonetheless. What’s the fucking point anymore. He’s already lost it all. 

“Oh,” she quietly observes. “You look like shit. What happened in there?”

What a succinct summary. Yoongi wipes a bit of his face with the back of his thumb, looking away on pure instinct.

“I’m about to swing so you better start explai—”

“Whatever I’m about to do, I’m doing it for her,” Yoongi admits out loud. So easily. So naturally that Dom blinks and can’t do much else. Sighing, he closes his eyes. “But I can’t just… I dunno how to say it yet.” 

“What?”

Everything is too hard to lay out right now. Doesn’t matter what the fuck it is, it’s fighting to stay in his arid throat. “I… Got shit to deal with first. Shit I know she’d want me to fix.” 

“You sure about that? Cus it looks like you just cut everything off.”

Dominique is being too fucking accurate right now. His hatchet is bleeding. That branch was his life force. “For now,” he solemnly sighs. “But I have to try.”

“If this doesn’t work, you’re dead to me.” 

“I’ll be dead to me, too.”

At this, Dom reels back so far it’s comical. “What are you saying? Hello?”

“Just… Keep her busy. For me.”

“Umm, no, go back. What the fuck are you planning to do?”

Oh. Yoongi gets what Dom’s thinking, but that’s not what he’s talking about. 

He’s at least gotten past that part. 

“Nothing like what you’re thinking.” Yoongi scratches an ear. “I just need to get my mind right. I don’t wanna bring any baggage into this, but. If you haven’t guessed, I have a fucking lot.” 

“Fucking men,” she scoffs, smushing her lips in aggravation. But after a drawn-out silence, she softens and offers sincerity. “Actually? I can respect it. You’re doing something right, at least.”

“Damn well hope so.”

It takes awhile for Dom to respond. But after multiple thoughts sail across her eyes, she sighs, sliding braids across a shoulder. “I’ll do my best to help. But.. We both know something’s gotta give at some point.”

“I know.”

“K.” She walks off with a warning stare. “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond until she’s out of earshot. Because the only one he needs to convince is himself.

“Same.”

That single word is the last to echo through his mind as Yoongi opens his eyes, feeling hardwood floors under his fingers as he tilts his head sideways.

Hold up. How long did he wander? The rest of the team clatters along the bleachers, picking up their bags or changing into dry clothes. 

Jimin spots him looking first. “You gonna join us or stay behind?”

Yoongi puffs out a breath before his eyes find the ground. “Don’t tempt me.”

He means it as a joke. But deep down, he’d rather be anywhere other than home right now. Which is quite the setback since that’s where he’s supposed to get shit done, the place that’s supposed to feel safe. 

This sucks ass.

“Get up, man,” your brother offers with an outstretched hand. “It’s late.” 

The whole time he waits before clasping it in an upward tug, Jimin doesn’t sway his stare. 

And the whole car ride back to his place, Yoongi tries his best to ignore all the long looks aimed his way. 

—

— 

Why do his keys run from him when he truly needs them to cooperate? 

Keys jangling in his hand, Yoongi finally locks his door, fast-walking down the outside hall and making a beeline to his car. 

He doesn’t know how he woke up with no alarm, but he’s grateful he shot up when he did. The studio has a packed schedule today, and he’s the session producer while the others are working on mixes. 

The crisp morning air caresses his skin before he opens a car door, and Yoongi takes a second to observe the sky. 

Overcast. Not as bad as it could be, though he hasn’t seen the Sun in days. 

Truthfully, he hasn’t felt it either after abandoning its warmth in a room far away. 

His engine starts before he makes his way out of the complex, and the soft music from his phone reminds him of you. Reminds him of the empty seat next to him that has seen better days and even better nights. 

After he severed his heart, Yoongi remembers saying goodbye to a few others. But not by choice. The last people he said those words to were the same people he was going to be seeing again bright and early the next day. 

Once again, he’s back to that same night. 

“Hey.”

Yoongi turns, seeing Jungkook gesture out to the front door. When his hairs stand on end, he curses to himself, fighting to show any emotion as he follows the boy outside. 

Whatever happens, he’s not losing to this kid.

But when the door creaks open, Yoongi notices the company with a few blinks. What are Joon and Hobi doing out here? Weren’t they just in the backyard? 

“What’s up,” he asks, and they stop their conversation to shrug. He watches silent as Namjoon points to the youngest one out there,

“He pulled us out. Ask him.”

Huh?

Two thoughts race through the halls of his mind. On one hand, this has to be a studio talk given the present company, so it has nothing to do with you. And second, this could either be bad news or good news, and he really, really needs the latter.

“Good news and bad news,” Jungkook starts. Of fucking course. “We already have another project.”

“Sounds like only good news to me.”

Yoongi nods with Hobi at Namjoon’s quick reply. Because being trapped in his apartment was gonna drive him to the brink. But having something to accomplish and an excuse to go outside? It’s a goddamned godsend. 

“Yeah, well—just listen real quick, okay?” Shifting his weight, Jungkook takes out a slim device to take a sweet-smelling hit. Something he tends to do when he’s getting a little anxious—and Yoongi damn well knows the root of that anxiety from tonight. “This one’s another multi-track recording deal. And we, uhh. We start first thing tomorrow.” 

Hoseok gawks. “Wait. What do you mean tomorrow?” 

Yoongi can’t even hide the matching question on his face. Because yeah he needs the distraction but what the fuck? When the hell was Jungkook gonna tell them? “You didn’t think to tell us sooner?” 

“It all just went through tonight,” Jungkook hastily defends, unlocking his phone to prove himself. The blue light outlines his features, and Yoongi notices with a stinging pang that the boy’s eyes are stained with sorrow. “Lemme just, umm.. Lemme find the email.” 

Seems like all three of you aren’t sleeping well tonight.

But he’s gotta keep focus. Even if the deal just went through, next day start is one hell of a turnaround. There’s gotta be more Jungkook isn’t saying, and Yoongi hopes to everything divine that the kid knows what he’s doing. 

Poor management will break them without so much as a sweat if they aren’t careful with their calendar. 

“Here,” the youngest finally blurts, forwarding all the guys the email and pocketing his phone. “This is the first one.”

“First one?” Namjoon asks, prompting all heads to pop up. “There’s more?”

Shit. One multi-track recording deal is already gonna occupy a lot of studio time. What the hell did Jungkook get them all into? 

“We also have another gig, same type. In about two weeks from now.” 

Two weeks isn’t a lot but it’s doable. And that means Yoongi will have at least fourteen days of temporary daytime relief. 

“But we’re gonna wanna wrap up the first one before then. The other one is high profile. We’ll give these guys all our attention.” 

And that is what sets off a little alarm bell in Yoongi’s head. Shouldn’t they provide everyone that works with them all their focus? Why would they cherry pick if they set the deal? 

Vision blurring into a road instead of your porch, he grips the wheel while checking his back mirror. Wondering how he’s gonna get everything done today. 

Did Jungkook get the workspace ready? Are all the plug-in’s he usually likes already set aside? Is everything connected to the pre-amp’s? 

Yoongi hopes so. He’s lax when it comes to most, but not within the soundproof walls of a studio. 

But he’s gotta be careful. If he ends up butting heads with a certain headstrong kid in there, there’s no telling what comes flying out of that box. 

Clouds float above when he finally drives up to his normal parking space, and Yoongi sits with himself for a second. Thinking. Composing. 

Grateful for anything that’s keeping him from losing his goddamn mind. 

— 

— 

One day, you texted him a song because you miss him. 

And for the next three, he let it loop until he understood every part.

— 

— 

The practices. The more sporadic calls. The studio sessions. 

Everything has proven a much needed distraction from his shadows. But he still has the strongest urge to alleviate the tears he knows he’s causing to just see you for one fucking day and fuck. 

He can’t catch a fucking break. 

You’re trying your hardest to deal with his bullshit distance. Yoongi knows it; he can feel it. Frankly, all he wants to do is come back to you, but he can’t until he moves forward. This is the only way.

However. As soon as he feels like he can step right, another hole hollows the ground.

And this one looks a little too colossal to cross. 

“How long do they wanna book now?” Hoseok thankfully asks for everyone else in the room, referring to the second gig opportunity revealed at your place. 

“Just one more week than planned,” Jungkook confirms, looking at his phone and scratching his head. “But they’re paying good.” 

Namjoon is the next one to speak up, “You still haven’t told us who’s coming.” 

Cheeky as ever, the youngest bursts into a grin. And his response ices the room, “That’s cus it’s still a surprise!” 

What. This isn’t how things are supposed to work. 

Yoongi prods his cheek while Joon groans. “Now’s not the time for surprises. We just got our last mess cleaned up.” 

It’s one of the reasons they’ve been held up in the studio for longer than Yoongi wanted. He absolutely loves being here, smelling the leather and instruments and getting to drown out his thoughts with music. 

But when things that could’ve been avoided go wrong? That’s what pisses him off. 

And not just him. Hobi and Joon have been less than passive about their discontent when all of them weren’t given the full rundown of what samples were cleared and which weren’t. So when Jungkook finally gave them the list that he “thought they knew,” the tension between them all reached a new peak. 

Mistakes like that can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. They’re lucky it hadn’t gotten to that point of no return yet, but.. water under the fucking bridge just plummeted down another cliff. 

It’s a little while later—after Kook still refused to say who was coming to their fucking studio—that Yoongi heads to the hallway to take out his phone. 

Because as soon as he gets updates? He’s letting you know. 

No surprises for you. Not again. 

Yoongi [17:02]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [17:03]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [17:03]: Letting you know

Head hitting the wall behind him, Yoongi closes his eyes for what seems like a century. What is time right now anyway? These past few weeks have either been sludge or a rushing current, and both are dragging him under.

He knows he keeps letting you down like this. And you’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on, because why wouldn’t you? 

If you decide to cut things off, he can’t be mad. This was his decision, so he’ll face those consequences no matter how severe they slice through. 

You’re gonna think he’s doing something else. 

Please don’t. He just needs more time. 

Shit, his phone just vibrated twice. Tension mounts his shoulders from pure habit, knowing that he’s gonna be met with either disappointment or wrath. 

Here goes.

Hustler [17:07]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴 

Hustler [17:07]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time 

Oh.

…Fuck, you’re really…

Yoongi can physically feel his cheeks lift as he starts to smile. And that smile turns into a quick grin before his relief puffs out of his mouth in a laugh. 

Did you really banish his worry just like that? 

Pushing off the wall, Yoongi huffs once more to the empty hallway before taking two paces to his side, looking at his phone again to make sure what he just read was real. 

It is. 

Fuck, he doesn’t even know what to say. 

Yoongi [17:09]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

He laughs again. And he doesn’t even know why. It’s not like you said the funniest thing in the world. What’s happening to his chest? 

This is so unlike all the other shit he dealt with before that the joy suddenly meets a monster in his ribs.  

Shit. 

Little pricks of fire light his eyes, searing the corners and spreading to the rest of his face. His little sounds stop, and his back thuds against the hallway wall again. 

Phone at his side, Yoongi glances up at the ceiling. And it’s certainly not to stop anything from falling. Yeah. Sure. 

You’re really something else. 

And his decision to keep you at a safe distance is starting to piss him off.

Maybe it will take less time than he thought. Maybe the shadows won’t linger much longer. Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe not maybe— 

Yoongi [17:11]: Fuck I miss you

He sends it before realizing what he even sent. 

Which catches him off guard, staring at his phone until your typing indicator pops up. Waiting like a man starved until your message slides through. 

Hustler [17:12]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

One drop. 

One single drop pings onto his screen before Yoongi snaps his head back up, feeling the monster launch itself forward for a kill. 

And he stumbles down the hall, past a few doors, rounding a corner and bursting through a back door into the alleyway before gripping fingers around his phone. 

Fuck, it hurts. 

It all fucking hurts. 

Hunched on his knees, Yoongi breathes rough as fear rushes in from all sides, inundating his head with thoughts of disappointment and trauma. And he can’t even focus focus focus on the now because the past is doing its best to haunt him. Tell him he doesn’t deserve this. Berate him for being happy about anything anything anything he can’t have anything he doesn’t deserve it. 

Yoongi fights to do one thing first. He has to get this out before he’s too far gone because you more than deserve one pathetic act of effort. 

Yoongi [17:15]: Thanks doll

And that’s the last thing Yoongi remembers before his brain goes dark. 

-

-

tbc in fugue, pt. ii

-

so... thoughts before part 2? | join the server! | fugue pt. 2

“Breaking News: The body of an African-American Beta hybrid was found dismembered and abandoned under a bridge in East Point. East Point is known for its houseless and opiate-dependent population. Many new strains of synthetic drugs are being released onto the streets, made accessible to vulnerable, unmated Omegas. Markings found on the body indicate the involvement of a gang widely known as the Dirty7s. The Dirty7s are an anonymous group with links to…”

The TV drones on in the background but you don’t hear it. Well, you can’t hear it. You hadn’t been paying much attention to anything for the last few days. How many? You’ve got no idea. It’s been enough for your hair to start smelling bad anyway.

You walk out of the bathroom, dropping the towel as you go, grabbing the big t-shirt with Thandi’s face on it and pulling it on. You had gotten a couple from the funeral from Thandi’s mom. She had made them, gotten them pressed at a local tailor’s place to raise some money for the funeral. You knew how expensive it was to die. Flashes of your mothers face fly in front of your eyes before you can stop it and they make you wince. You tried to pay but Thandi’s mom had refused your money. “My Thandi told me all about you,” she had said, holding your hand so tightly it almost hurt, but you didn’t complain. In fact, the sting-burn sensation grounded you, and you felt yourself get lost in her deep, knowledgable eyes. She might have just lost her daughter, but it seems as if she had already experienced a lifetime’s worth of pain. It made you ache. “You… You were her friend. She loved you so much.”

And then you felt it again, the guilt-driven nausea.

It was the first time you met her mom, but you knew all about her daughter, Sana. The young girl, only eight years old, stood solitarily, as the preacher droned on and on about ‘eternal bliss’ and ‘blessed memories’ and ‘living on in memory’. The expression on her face, you knew it so well. It was as if nothing was making sense to her mind. She was so sad, so lost, so lonely. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her throughout the funeral. She looked around at all of the people at her mother’s funeral, curious yet careful, quiet and withdrawn, before turning her eyes to the coffin at the front of the church and biting down on her bottom lip. She didn’t make a sound, not a peep - the whole time.

They opted for a closed casket because well… What other option was there? The truth of Thandi’s death wasn’t lost on the participants of her funeral but it was bad manners to bring it up. The thought alone was enough to bring bile to your throat so fast, it made your head spin. You rush to the bathroom and spit up in the toilet. Just a little bit this time, thankfully. You swill your mouth out and walk to grab something from the refrigerator. It took you days to realize that someone had come into your apartment while you had been at the funeral and had fixed certain things.

The fridge had been filled. The pile of dishes washed. The laundry had been taken and washed and returned all clean and folded. The bed had been spread. The rug had been moved around and vacuumed. The bathroom had been straightened out.

Once you had come to your senses, you burst into grateful tears.

You knew who it was.

He had left a t-shirt of his, saturated in his scent and so big it drowned your body in material, in your closet for you to sleep in.

You take a glance at the t-shirt again, wrapped around a big pillow on your bed, and you sigh, getting into bed once more, hair still damp at the roots of your head. 

Your phone lay on the table beside your bed, silent but charging, and you take a second to look at it before you grab it and make a call.

It doesn’t ring but for two times before you hear his voice on the other end of the line.

“Hello, YN,” Jungkook says, quietly.

You don’t answer. You can’t find your mouth, you can’t feel it well. Your tongue feels fuzzy and heavy, like a weight is sitting on it.

“YN…?”

Jungkook pauses slightly before the sound of him shifting his weight comes through the receiver.

He asks, softly, “Do you need me?”

You are still quiet, but you let out a light sigh through your nose. It’s the loudest you’ve been in days.

No. I don’t need anyone, you want to say. But again, more silence. Your tongue is too heavy. Your stomach is rolling and your head feels all loopy. You can't imagine where all these good hormones are coming from, flooding your system with flickers of light and ease and warmth and syrupy goodness.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he murmurs, gently. “I’ll stay on the phone as long as you need.”

Another sigh.

He takes a moment to think before he says, a certain chipperness in his tone, “Shall I tell you about my day, Pretty?”

A final sigh, and you turn over to your side, phone pressed to your cheek. If you were more present in your body, it probably would hurt.

Jungkook sounds as if he reclines in his seat as he begins telling you all about his day.

“It’s been mostly boring. I woke up at 5:30. I went to the gym for a couple of hours. I boxed and ran and did some weights. I think I could press three of you, you know, Pretty? You're so little compared to me. Sorry. I got distracted. Then, I showered and ate breakfast with Tae. You haven’t met him yet, right? I think you’d like him. A lot. Anyway. After, I met Jimin for some work-related stuff. Very boring. Do you want me to tell you about it, Pretty?”

He doesn’t let you get a sigh out before he continues.

“I didn’t think so. Then, after hours of back and forth, I went to go pick up my suit. We have a fancy dinner to go to this weekend. It’s Jin-hyung’s birthday.”

His voice gets all syrupy and warm, and it twists and rolls in your stomach all hot and uncomfortable. Why does his happiness make you feel so bothered?

“-and after we finish at DeMaggio’s, Joonie-hyung says we’re going on a helicopter ride around the city. Would you like to do that one day? Should I invite you? I can do that, you know. I don’t think Hyung would mind.”

The thought alone makes you snort.

He pauses and then, when he talks again, his voice seems relieved.

“You laughed, Pretty.”

You blink, somewhat surprised. He wasn’t lying. You did laugh, breathy and weak as it was.

“Pretty, you know I miss you so much, right?”

You close your eyes tightly at his words, lip getting sucked between your teeth.

He takes a moment to ask, quietly, almost needy, “Do you miss me?”

Your throat gets all tight and thick, and you feel horrible all over again. He hears you choke on something, because his voice gets all flighty, worried and concerned over the phone, as he peppers you with soft words.

“You don’t have to say it.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Please, don’t cry.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

And then, he pauses and says the one thing you both craved and dreaded to hear.

“She wouldn’t want you to be this angry with yourself,” he says. Then, with more confidence, he claims, “You’re allowed to be happy.”

You cut off the phone before the sobs take over once more.

////

Jungkook taps the edge of his phone on the table a few times before he curses to himself. The wolf glances up from his spot in the corner of Yoongi’s office and asks, “You think I pushed her too much?”

 Yoongi looks over the top of his book and remarks, “It isn’t the end of the world, Kookie. Relax. You did a good job with the cleaner. She probably is sleeping next to the t-shirt you gave her and she called you, of all people she could’ve called.”

Jungkook bites his bottom lip and admits, “I’m getting frustrated.”

Yoongi pushes, lightly, “With?”

He puts the book to the side, knowing full well that he wasn’t getting any more ‘him-time’ while the wolf was occupying his personal office in their home. He loved each of his brothers dearly, however… Fuck, he needed his own place sometimes.

“Being patient,” the wolf explains, glibly. “It’s all so fucking boring.”

“Then occupy yourself with things that matter,” Yoongi suggests, moving to his feet. “I think Tae might be done with the guy downstairs, if you want a turn to pummel something moving?”

“The fucker’s still alive? Tae’s losing his touch,” Jungkook remarks, amusedly. He wasn’t lying. Usually, Tae would have had him chopped into tiny pieces and thrown into a river or incinerated. Jungkook wonders why he’s taking his time.

Yoongi snorts, pushing his glasses into his hair. He only needs them when his eyes start to get dry, like now. He usually didn’t use his other form, preferring to be in his natural hybrid state when in the comfort of their own home, but he’s been testing his personal limits recently, worried that he might freak YN out with his skin, his eyes, his tongue… She was prey, at the end of the day. He probably should have the lights off but he doesn’t want to ruin the mood. “Not even. Jin won’t let him die. He keeps zapping him with the AFIB machine. I heard he shitted himself.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have been fucking around, pretending to be something he’s not,” Jungkook replies, an annoyed look passing over his face. The younger of the two moves to his feet and he asks, “Say, hyung.” His tone of voice catches Yoongi’s attention, so he sits up a little more in his comfy office chair, eye brow quirking so as to prompt the wolf to continue speaking. “Do you think YN will actually come to understand us?”

Yoongi pauses to mull over his answer for a few seconds before he answers, honestly, "I don’t think she has a choice.”

Jungkook acknowledges his answer with a melancholy look on his face.

Then, he glances down at his Rolex and makes a small noise of glee. “I’ve got a spare hour. I think Tae might be a little fatigued.”

Yoongi snorts before reaching back for the book. His eyes are getting awfully dry. Suddenly, the lights flick off and Jungkook glances back from his spot at the door, a narrow line of yellowed light slightly warming the room.

“Hyung, you know I always know, right?”

Yoongi scoffs. “Get the fuck out of here, pup.”

Jungkook closes the door and Yoongi finally switches back to his natural form, eyes narrowing into slits and he reaches for his book once more, settling comfortably into his chair.

It just started getting good, too.

- end - 

Like a foot planted in life and another in death. You aren’t dead, of course — you’re so painfully conscious of your surroundings and so clearly alive, but if it was your heart detailing its state, it might as well declare itself fallen. 

There is no other way to really perceive this, you think, and as long as you relive the moments leading to what you fear, you will probably not quite feel at ease. It must be the spring sun above. Or the leaves finding their bright colours, the flowers spreading their scent.

Back then, you thought of all this as a new beginning, just what this season is known for — new sensations, a new heartbeat, brand new warmth to your cheeks.

When Jungkook rushed to meet you at the park eventually that you sent him the location of, he looked brighter than he’d ever been before and lovelier than he’d ever be again. Not that he wasn’t happy during the time you blessed him with worldly joys, but…

When you fall in love… the seconds just before you admit it, to yourself and to the other… when the heart, violently pumping, almost cracks your ribcage and threatens to burst…

Then, each of these elements makes the sentiments truly significant and unique. Love gets the blood flowing through the veins, but it’s the falling that truly births exhilaration. There is no memory like the growing adoration before anything even starts.

“And you were worried you were going to be late,” you told him as he came to a halt in front of you, bending down, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “Take it easy, though—”

“No,” he panted, “I was imagining it like this.”

“Imagining what? Like what?”

“Just… you. What I want to say.”

“What–”

You paused when he licked his lips, squinting when his gaze moved up to yours. You were standing right under the sun, you reckon, blinding him in more ways than you usually did. But you weren’t so immune either.

Not to the rosy cheeks. To the messy, dark hair. To the college jacket wrapped around his hips, or to how he uprighted himself, brushing back the bangs that fell back anyway. To his words.

And certainly not to how close he came to you when he took a step further towards the sun, waking up all the butterflies, cocoons stirring in your stomach. You felt disgustingly giddy when he lifted his hand, putting it on your shoulder, acting as if he was still helping his lungs, calming down.

As if you weren’t aware that he just wanted to be nearer, to touch you, to look at you as he liked to.

It was weird for a moment; not because you found the proximity unwelcoming, but because you weren’t used to this. The two of you were chaotic, jokesters, not ones to indulge in cliché, corny scenes.

You were friends, after all. No matter how he looked at you, and no matter how many times you’d kiss his cheek to wordlessly utter the day’s goodbye.

He had been your friend long before he was anything else. And this might probably haunt you forever. The days you spent dawdling. And the weeks you cried over your laptops, cramming until sunset.

How he was still a little sweaty from running, exam forgotten, fingers leaving your shoulder and not pretending anymore when he moved them to your face. Stared at your lips for a second. Sighed as if he was yearning, dying, done with waiting.

You knew what was to come. You know it now, too, because you remember. You used to love that you did — and now you hate that you still do.

You think of Dr. Choi’s words. They are snatching your heart out of your chest as you stand there, in slow motion, probably cutting you up as you lay there in front of her. It feels like it, at least.

“Can you do it?”

Friends. Lovers. Nothing.

You can’t be any of it anymore. Or can you? Can’t you, can you? It’s as if ripping the petals of a flower, asking it to predict, only something you are barely able to deal with.

Fuck…

Will this ever stop playing in your head? But you don’t want to forget. You should. You don’t want to. Because—

You once decided there would be nobody else ever again. But you’re starting to think that if you don’t let go, there really won’t be.

But you don’t know how to do it. How to give into it.

You remember again. Words from above.

“Can you do it? Just that one moment?… It’s all that’s left.”

He’s all that was ever left.

this is just one of the harmless parts (and just the first draft of this scene), and the rest is just… :')) gosh, i am so excited to share this and all that i have in store for you! it'll be a journey. hope you will like it once it drops!! i have been very unsure about (my) writing lately, but i do feel motivated to write this and a few other stories, so fingers crossed it'll be a good read 🤞

which is also why it'd be absolutely amazing if you hyped this up a lil if you're just as excited :p your words mean a lot and make things happen even faster and give me a little boost to stick around hehehehe, so yeah… come and talk to me <3

also, here's the taglist!

It was unfortunate that the hospital staff only allowed so many visitors at once and they’d all been taking turns. A pack of seven that had been used to sharing close quarters for so long and now they weren’t. I’d spent the last day and a half wandering the hospital halls, unsure really about what to do with myself. As much as I wanted to go home, Minhyuk decidedly took that option off the table. Jongsu was still in the wind. Not a single soul having seen or heard of his whereabouts which pretty much threw my hopes of him being caught relatively quickly out of the window. My second option was trying to convince Minhyuk to let me join the manhunt, but that suggestion was also dashed shortly after being spoken into existence.

It was no secret that Namjoon and his pack would need to go into hiding and they’d need help to do that. It just so happens that I know how to disappear (courtesy of my life as a PI) and, coincidentally enough, I’m the only person the seven of them seem to remotely trust outside of themselves. Well, most of them anyway. Yoongi may be up for debate if the contempt looks he keeps throwing me are anything to go by. I sighed heavily, dropping my head back against the wall behind me. I’d managed to find a somewhat quiet corner, though the hospital still buzzed with life. I couldn’t completely drown out the muffled conversations and hurried footsteps any more than I could escape the potent scent of antiseptic that permeated the air.

The double doors to this wing of the hospital swung open with a mechanical whir, drawing my attention before a familiar figure waltzed through them, looking as unbothered as ever. He took several steps down the hall before he caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye and changed trajectory, heading right for me.

“Going crazy yet?” Minhyuk grinned.

“You know sitting idly by is the worst form of torture for me.” I grumbled, dropping my gaze to the manila envelope in his hand. “What’s that?”

He glanced down at it before offering it up. “Your new assignment.”

I cocked a brow, pushing myself off the wall and taking it from him. Settling back into my seat, I popped the rubber band off the seal, sliding the thick stack of papers from it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Of all the places, you picked this one?”

Minhyuk shrugged, taking the seat next to me. “Finding a place capable of housing eight of you at one time left us with limited options. This location is remote and can sustain all of you until we find Jongsu.”

“Remote?” I scoff. “Min, this place is in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“The way I see it, it makes it easier to hide you all.”

I let the papers slip back into the envelope with a plop, dropping it into my lap in the next second. I couldn’t argue the logic, but that didn’t mean I liked the decision. The property we’d be going to wasn’t labeled a farm, but that’s essentially what it was. Miles and miles of land separating it from anything close to being called a town. We’d truly be isolated so far from civilization. Good for hiding, but sucks for someone like me who doesn’t exactly thrive being so far removed from the life I’d established for myself.

“We’ll make drops every couple of weeks. Mostly just the necessities. Someone maintained the gardens well enough that you shouldn’t have to worry about food. I’ll send someone in to clean up the place for your arrival and the plan is to have you all there as soon as Taehyung is discharged.”

“And then? How long are we expected to stay there?”

The look Minhyuk gave me was sympathetic. “You know I don’t have an answer to that.”

“Do you have any leads?”

“We’re looking.”

That means no. I picked up the envelope, tossing it onto a table beside me stacked with magazines.

“Y/N, if the situation was different, I would let you back on the case, but right now, I can’t guarantee your safety any more than I can guarantee the safety of the seven of them. The best I can do is keep you all out of trouble and try to wrap this up as quickly as I can.”

“I know, Min.” I sighed in exasperation. “I’m not mad, I just… this whole operation got so fucking messy.”

The silence between us was heavy. Both of us agreeing with my words, but neither of us knew what to say or do about it. After a long pause, Minhyuk reached out and laid his hand on my shoulder, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

“It has, but I know you well enough to believe that you’ll get through it. You always do.”

“Y/N…”

My head snapped up at the call of my name, eyes meeting the carefully calculating gaze of Jungkook as it flicked between Minhyuk and I. The black tip of his tail swept behind him lazily, both ears protruding out of his light hair facing me.

“Hey.” I greeted him as Minhyuk let go of me to stand. “How’s Taehyung?”

Jungkook watched my friend, only dragging his gaze back to me when I gathered the envelope I’d discarded a minute ago and stood as well.

“Good. He’s asking for you.”

“Me?” I asked, surprised.

Minhyuk cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

“I’ll, uh, go speak with his doctor so we can make sure his discharges are in order.”

At my nod, Jungkook stepped aside, allowing Minhyuk to pass though the tension between the two of them didn’t dissipate. It was subtle, my only hints being the sudden awkwardness from Minhyuk and the stiffness in Jungkook’s stance. I paused in front of the hybrid, giving him a bemused glance as Minhyuk booked it down the hall.

“What is it?”

Jungkook finally looked away from the retreating figure to me, his brows pinching together.

“Is he always like that?”

“Like what?”

“So… handsy?”

“Handsy?” I repeated, thoroughly confused now.

Jungkook tapped his own shoulder. “He was touching you.”

“Oh, that. He wasn’t being-“ I cut myself off. “He was comforting me.”

Now Jungkook appeared even more confused, his expressive dark gaze peering into me as if he was trying to figure me out.

“If you needed comfort, why didn’t you come to us?”

“I’m sorry?”

Jungkook took one step towards me, his hands gripping my shoulders.

“It may not be official yet, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re part of our pack now Y/N. If something bothers you, you can come to any of us. Namjoon is a great listener and problem solver. Or Hobi, he always makes us feel better. Or you can come to me, I’m a great cuddler.”

I couldn’t help the smile snaking its way onto my face as he continued to rattle off the perks of each member.

“Jungkook, are you trying to pitch your pack to me?”

“Sort of.” He admits, giving me a sheepish grin. “But I’m also being serious. I’d like it if you came to us with your worries. You’re important to us.”

I tried to quell the sudden delightful ache my heart found itself clutched in. It wouldn’t do me any good growing attached to them. For now, I was tasked with making sure we were all safe, at least until Jongsu was caught. After that, I’d most likely go back to my job while the seven of them integrated themselves back into a world they’d been missing out on for years. And while Jungkook might consider me as one of them, the truth was, I wasn’t. I never would be. Hybrid and human dynamics were different, even I understood that with my limited knowledge of them.

Our arrangement was only temporary. And they only felt this way because I helped them out of an awful situation. As much as I hated to think about it in that way, it’s the truth. I forced a half-hearted smile on my lips as I took Jungkook’s hands off my shoulders. The truth might be obvious to me, but it wasn’t to him. Now wasn’t the time to get into though. Right now, we had bigger issues. Taehyung’s recovery being first and foremost followed by getting them somewhere safe and far away from Jongsu.

One thing at a time, Y/N. You can do this.

“Let’s not keep Taehyung waiting.”

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The last time you saw Park Sunghoon, he was 16 and clutching at you far too hard as you were preparing to leave for university. 

Even then he towered over you and you felt like absolute shit watching tears fill his eyes as you tried to assure him you were only a couple of hours away and the two of you would still talk all the time. 

A pipe dream, in hindsight. 

But, you were freshly 18 then and incredibly naïve about the reality of maintaining relationships in adulthood. 

It wasn't either of your faults, really. He had to put his energy into graduating (and from the times the two of you would talk and worried messages Jake would send you from time to time, you knew that wasn't easy for him) and, you had to deal with living by yourself for the first time, starting university and trying to make friends in a totally new city. 

The distance just started one day until it was too wide for either of you to bridge. Regular calls and texts turned into occasional calls and texts that eventually dwindled into happy birthday messages and happy new year messages. It just got too awkward and you didn't know how to tell him you missed him. An experience you never thought you'd have with the boy you've been glued to since 10th grade. 

And now that same boy (man, your brain whispers in a way that sounds jarring to associate with Park Sunghoon) is looking at you from across Jay's poorly lit apartment with a red cup in his hand. 

The years have been exceedingly kind to him. Sunghoon has always been handsome. It's a truth as universal as the sky is blue and grass is green. But now? He's somehow found a way to transcend that. You'd, frankly, be a little mad if you didn't feel so utterly discombobulated. 

Said discombobulation only worsens when he excuses himself from the woman who was practically wrapping herself around him and makes his way over to you. The look she shoots you is designed to kill and, honestly, you can't blame her. If that walked away from you, you'd be seething on a good day. 

However, now all you can do is grip your drink tightly and try to remember how to breathe as Sunghoon walks over to you like it hasn't been years. The confidence radiating from him sends your nerves into overdrive. God. You need to pull yourself together. It's just Sunghoon. 

“Hey,” he says with a small uptick of his lips and he has a look in his eyes that you don't have the nerve to read into. 

Okay. Yeah no, your overreaction was valid actually. Very much so. 

“Hi,” you squeak out, cringing internally at yourself. What are you? 13 talking to a boy for the first time? “I didn't expect to see you here.” 

“I wasn't planning to be here but, other plans fell through and Jay's been pestering me to swing by forever now so, I thought why not,” he says with a shrug, “I didn't expect to see you here either. It's been a while,” he says so softly that you almost miss it over whatever mediocre EDM mix Jay has going. 

Affection and guilt bubble up inside of you simultaneously and you resist the urge to melt into the wall that's holding you up at this point, “Yeah, I'm sorry life just got…busy,” you trail off lamely, resisting the urge to chug the poison Heeseung shoved in your hand probably an hour ago now. 

Your breath stills when he takes a couple of steps closer to you, becoming very comfortable in your personal space like it's nothing. His lips are by your ear before your tipsy brain can register anything besides delicious cologne and warmth and Sunghoon, “Hey, it's okay,” he mutters and you would have thought he bit your ear with the shiver that forces from your body, “Life happens. I'm just happy to see you again after all this time,” the tentative hand he places on your hip burns and you suddenly feel violently unequipped to handle this version of Sunghoon. 

“It's pretty noisy out here. Jay's letting me crash in one of his guestrooms. We can catch up there if you want to.” 

You may not fully grasp this Sunghoon but, you're not an idiot. At least, you'd like to think you aren't. You know what that is. An invitation. An invitation that will involve next to zero “catching up.” 

Sunghoon has no clue the internal turmoil you're experiencing as he happily keeps you pressed against the wall of Jay's living room. He doesn't get any handsier with you. Doesn't step any further into your space. Doesn't use that stupidly hot voice of his to lull you into his bed. He simply waits but, a part of you can't help but, feel like he already knows he has you in the palm of his hand. 

“Okay.” 

The smile that blooms across his handsome face sends a flurry of butterflies roaring in your stomach. You'd think you told him you'd pluck one of the stars out of the sky for him based on his reaction.

Sunghoon grabs your hand wordlessly and tugs you to one of Jay's million guestrooms. A small flicker settles itself in the pit of your stomach when through the haze you register how much bigger his hand is than yours. Oh. 

Far too happy to stare at his back (how dare he make a simple white shirt look so fucking good?), you're a little startled when he pulls you into a room and shuts the door behind him seamlessly. You barely set your drink down on the vanity before you feel hands cupping your face and a warm mouth pressed against your own. 

The shock makes it easier for Sunghoon to press himself against you, the hold on your face firm but, not too strong that you can't free yourself if you don't want to. Kissing him back is surprisingly easy. Your previous moral dilemma thrown out the window as hands move on their own. You'll have time to freak out over this in the morning. 

He's walking you towards the bed until your knees hit the back of it and you're separated from his pretty mouth. Fuck. You hope your brain can commit the image of Sunghoon down at you, eyes heavy with intent, to memory. He looks like he has so much he wants to say but, his mouth is back on yours within an instant and he's making himself comfortable over you. 

“You have no idea how much I thought about this,” he mutters against your mouth. Not allowing you a second to process that revelation before he has you flat on your back, his hand pawing at your exposed waist. Maybe Sunoo pestering you to wear this ridiculously skimpy top was for the better, actually. 

“Wait–Sunghoon–” you try to get enough oxygen to your brain but, he simply uses the opportunity to become intimately familiar with your neck. Pressing open mouthed kisses to it that leave you lightheaded and your clit pulsing with every brush of his tongue and teeth on the sensitive skin. 

“Why? You obviously want me just as badly as I want you,” he says into a patch of freshly nipped skin, his hand further proving his point as he moves to tug your shirt off of you. 

Well, he's not wrong. 

Your shirt is the first article of clothing to join the floor and Sunghoon regards you for a long moment. So long that you almost let insecurity creep in but, his next, bruising kiss is enough to shoo those feelings away. That and the way his stupidly big hands palm your tits. 

“You know,” he starts, kissing his way along your jaw while his expert fingers unhook your bra and toss it aside, “It took a lot for me not to press you up against Jay's ugly ass livingroom wall and take you right then and there,” you'd laugh at his jab at Jay if you weren't seconds away from melting into the mattress. The gravelly quality to his voice certainly isn't helping either. 

“Why didn't y–ah!” Your prodding is interrupted by a startled gasp as he's taken to toying with your hardened nipples. You can feel him smirk against your skin, far too happy with himself as his thumbs brush against you until you're whimpering and your nails are digging into his broad shoulders. 

It's scarily easy to lose yourself in Sunghoon. His tongue and teeth keep you occupied while his fingers continue to toy with your nipples until you're panting and your panties start to stick to you in a way that is quickly becoming uncomfortable. Blind desire guides you as you grind against him, heat scorching your insides at the quiet groan he presses into your collarbone. 

“I didn't take you to be the impatient type,” he says with that frustratingly hot uptick of his lips. You bite down the whine that threatens to leave your mouth when he pulls away from you, leaving you half-naked and missing him viscerally. 

Sunghoon doesn't go far. The legion of butterflies in your stomach start up anew when he moves to tug off your shorts in record time, leaving you almost naked save for the plain, black panties you threw on. You're just grateful they're not the obnoxiously bright pink ones you almost grabbed earlier. You're not sure you could deal with him seeing you in those. 

Warmth rushes through your entire body and you throb watching him make himself at home on his stomach, nestling himself between your thighs. Goosebumps rising where his hands grip your thighs. Sunghoon watches you the entire time. Eyes dark with so much want that you're lightheaded just looking into them. The first press of his lips to your panties is experimental but, it's still more than enough to leave you gasping and arching into him. 

His next kisses are firmer, much more assured. When he finds your clit, it takes everything in you not to claw at Jay's poor sheets. Your eyes flutter shut and stuttered moans fill the room while he keeps mouthing at you until your panties are ruined by his spit and your wetness. 

“Sunghoon,” you whine when he licks at you harshly, gripping your thighs harder, “Sunghoon, please.” 

A guttural sound leaves him and before you can register anything, he moves your panties to the side and laps at you directly. His pleased hum only fuels the inferno you can feel building underneath your skin. Your eyes shutting as one of your hands winds its way into his dark locks. 

Sunghoon, you discover, learns scarily quickly. Observing and testing what makes you tug on his hair harder and press yourself against his mouth more desperately. Learning what makes you gasp and choke on your moans. You know you're truly a goner when he focuses in on your clit and sucks on it until tears pool in the corners of your eyes and your thighs start to quiver around his head. 

It's a particularly hard lick of your clit that sends you teetering off the edge. Your grip in his hair growing harsher while shudders wreck your body. You're too far gone to register the babbles that leave your mouth but, they're apparently enough to motivate Sunghoon to keep eating you out even as the edges of your consciousness blur for a second. 

“Sung–Hoonie, too much,” you eventually manage to pant out, weakly attempting to pull him away from your still spasming pussy. 

He lets you go with one final kiss and it's oddly romantic given the circumstance. 

Despite still reeling from your oragsm, your stomach swoops dangerously when you drink in your wetness smeared across the bottom part of his face, his lips swollen and flushed while his tongue chases the taste of you. 

Oh.

Desire continues to claw at you as you watch him take off his shirt. Suddenly you're met with what feels like endless expenses of his skin and you feel your fingers twitch with desperate need to touch and trace and claw–

“You're staring,” you'd typically find his level of smugness deeply unattractive but, you did just cum on his face and you were staring at him like you wanted to climb him like a tree so, you can't say it isn't earned. 

Plus, maybe it's hotter than you care to admit. 

“Can you blame me?” You retort, eyeing him as he hovers over you for a moment before pecking you lightly. Easily the most playful kiss he's given you between licks into your mouth and nips of your lips. The hand crawling up your thigh is decidedly less playful however, stilling your breath in your throat while Sunghoon shifts his focus to kissing your neck, “Guess I can't,” he says but, you barely hear him over the way your blood rushes in your ears as his fingers map your inner thigh. 

You're still a touch sensitive so the first brush of his fingers along your sticky folds sends sparks of electricity flying down your spine, a choked out keen of his name leaving your bruised lips. “I can't believe I get to finally touch you like this,” he mutters into your sweaty skin, long fingers giving you one last drag before they focus on drawing circles into your swollen clit, “You have no idea how long I've fantasised about this,” he practically moans and you think it's a little unfair that he's spilling all of this out to you while he's toying with your pussy and you're a little too fucked out given, you know, everything to really focus on what he's saying and the weight of it all. 

“Maybe this is a little pathetic to admit,” he says with a humourless chuckle pressed into your collarbone. Your breaths coming out in stutters as he toys with your entrance, “But, when I left for uni I'd look up pictures of you all the time. I missed you so much it hurt,” he continues, pushing a long, long finger into you, “And you know what I'd do with those pictures?” He asks like you have any capacity to answer while he curls his finger inside of you and sparks dance behind your lidded eyes. 

“I'd jerk off to them.” 

You're not sure if the gasp that's ripped from you is because of his confession or because he managed to find a spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Sunghoon seems to at least have the wherewithal to know you're in no position to offer much beyond pitchy sounds of pleasure and babbles of incoherent sentences. 

“Having you here, like this,” he whispers, easing a second finger into you and turning the stars into an entire galaxy, “Is way better than anything my imagination could come up with.”

And that's all the warning you get before he tries his best to devour you whole. His fingers never stopping their brutal assault along every sensitive part of you they can reach. Sunghoon chases every reaction like it's water and he's been in the desert for eons. Kissing you harder when you whimper into his mouth, dragging his thumb along your clit in the circles he knows you like when your pussy grips his fingers like a vice. 

You can maybe think of three other times in your life a man has had you this tightly wound but, they barely hold a candle to the way Sunghoon has you wrapped around his pinky. 

“I'm so hard for you, it's fucking insane,” he pants against your bruised lips, curling his fingers extra hard just so he can hear you keen freely, “You're so fucking hot. Can you feel what you fucking do to me?”

And just like that he's pressing himself against your hip and the outline he presents even through his jeans scorches you. You're not exactly in the ideal situation to feel him properly but, he's long and burning from what you can feel and the desperation peppering his voice throws you into your next climax faster than you're ready for. 

Beyond the haziness your brain is submerged in, you can distantly hear Sunghoon's voice. You can't quite make out what he's saying but, it can't be all that important since he's still, albeit far more gently now, fingering you while spasm around his fingers and drench Jay's poor blanket. Dotting kisses along your shoulder while he shallowly grinds against your hip. 

It's through this haze you blearily watch him shift around you, the cold feeling biting when he leaves your side. You hear him chuckle softly when a displeased whine leaves your tender lips and the sound warms you to the very tips of your fingers. 

Anticipation and desire turn your blood molten when you finally register him taking off his belt, his jeans low on his hips and his boxers peeking out. It's a simple action. One you've seen countless times before barely memorable hookups but, something about the way his nimble fingers, still coated in you, make quick work of his boxers and jeans has your pussy throbbing. The dull ache sharpening when he makes quick work of your more than likely ruined panties too. 

If he notices the way you fidget, he doesn't comment on it. Opting to drop his clothing onto the floor and leave your jaw dropped in complete and total awe. You didn't think he could look anymore beautiful but, the moonlight hitting his bare body reminds you of a Greek statue. 

Sunghoon would have had museums filled with art of him if he was born just a few centuries earlier, you think. 

You never figured him for a gymrat but, the seemingly endless span of muscles that pull you in like a siren song teach you another lesson about assumptions. Your blood burns hotter when your eyes land on his cock, curved and long in a way that sends a shudder down your spine. You think if he doesn't fuck you soon you might cry actually. 

“You're so cute,” he says with an amused edge in his voice that makes your skin warm considerably. Any potential embarrassment melts away when he leans down to kiss you, his lips moving slowly against yours. His tongue darting out to savour your taste on it like he hasn't explored you thoroughly since you two slunk your way up here. The tenderness causes your heart to leap to your throat and your own fingers to feel along the skin you've been given access too. The urge to kiss all of his moles is all-encompassing for a moment. 

The first nudge of his cock sends your head spinning and a surprised gasp to leave your mouth that Sunghoon happily devours. “You're so responsive,” he groans, his hand gripping your hip like a lifeline, “It's driving me fucking crazy.” 

Any response your muddled mind could conjure up is immediately erased as he grinds himself against you. Every brush of his cock on your clit sending you into a frenzy. Every tease of his head at your entrance prompting your nails to bite into his shoulder and a shaky whimper to leave your mouth. 

“Sunghoo–Sunghoon, please please–I can't–I need,” you stammer out, meeting his eyes with your lidded ones. 

The emotions that swirl in them leave you breathless. You wouldn't call yourself exactly great at reading people and you're still desperately trying to catch up with this new Sunghoon that has you firmly pressed into Jay's mattress but, the emotions you're too much of a coward to name leave you a little more thrown off kilter. 

“I need you to say it. Tell me you want it.” Tell me you want me. 

And he keeps rutting against you, his eyes catching every shift in your expression as he pushes you closer to insanity. Not giving you a second to think, let alone string together a reply that feels adequate to the confessions he's branded into your skin and lips tonight.

“Please, I–fuck I want–I want it, Hoonie. I need yo–” Whatever else you were about to ramble gets cut off by a strangled gasp as Sunghoon finally pushes into you. Your thighs shake with every inch he sinks into you and the edges of your vision blur dangerously. The string of curses he grits by your ear just worsen the way your pussy clenches around him and the knot you can feel already beginning to grow taut in the pit of your stomach. 

“Fuck,” he groans and, the sound shoots straight to your clit, “You're so tight,” he says the last word like a prayer and oh, you think you may cum in record time. 

“Hoon–Hoonie,” you whimper pathetically, palming his strong back and desperately mouthing at every bit of his skin you're about to reach. 

“Using that nickname just isn't fair,” he grits out, snapping his hips into and sending you into another stratosphere briefly. His cock drags along your walls deliciously. The curve of him making sparks fly behind your eyelids and pull jumbled messes of his name and pleas from you. 

It doesn't take long for Sunghoon to find a pace he's satisfied with. His hips snap into yours with a precision you're overwhelmed by. His keen eye for observation leaving you little better than a crumpled heap underneath him. Every drag of his cock leaves you whimpering and biting his shoulder. You know you're done for when he uses his thumb to draw patterns into your throbbing clit the way he knows you like. 

“Sunghoon–I can't–Not anymore–Too much,” you choke out, unable to escape the array of ways he's assaulting your senses and leading you to insanity.

“Yes, you can,” he coos into your ear, his tone a far cry from the harsh thrust he gives you, “I know you can,” he soothes and the allure in his voice is what tips you over into oblivion. 

You feel like you're set alight from the inside out, burned to the very fibre of your being. Sunghoon acts as both a balm and accelerant for the flames that are flickering underneath your skin. Gripping your hips so hard that you wouldn't be surprised to see bruises in the shape of his fingers there tomorrow morning. To remind you of tonight and how you lost yourself in him.

“–so fucking good and you–shit look so fucking pretty cumming all over me like that,” are the first words he moans into the skin of your neck that you hear when you come back from whatever universe he fucked you into. His relentless thrusting leaves you overwhelmed, you weakly groan into the void of Jay's guestroom while the obscene sounds of skin slapping skin and Sunghoon's hushed noises accompany your own.

Blinking your dazed eyes open, the sight of a fucked out, sweaty, blushing Sunghoon greets you and causes your walls you clamp down around him hard without any input from you. Desire and affection claw up your throat when his glassy eyes meet yours and you use what little strength you have left to pull him into a kiss. Well, calling the licking and biting the two of you do kissing is generous but, from the way he twitches inside of you, you're sure he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. 

He swiftly hikes your thigh higher, angling himself deeper inside of you and making your vision swim with every erratic snap of his hips. He's rambling too quickly for your murky brain to catch anything but, you do hear rushed moans of your name in the mix along with variations of “so good” and “gonna cum,” the last one making you whimper into his mouth and cling even harder to him. 

The stuttering of his hips gives him away before anything else. His pace growing sloppy until he's moaning brokenly into your mouth while rope after rope of warmth fills you. You've never let someone cum inside you before but, as Sunghoon's cock keeps pulsing while he fills you with his cum and his body shudders above yours, you very quickly understand the appeal. 

The coals of arousal simmer low in your core. Not quite heated enough to cum despite the pleasant feeling of being filled and the little noises Sunghoon let's out that tickle your ears (and pussy, if you're being honest) but, still there as you let Sunghoon ride out his high. 

Considering how hard he's cum based on how sticky your thighs are, you're surprised he has the energy to pull out of you and roll onto his side. He tugs you to him before you can react and you're pressed into his very bare and very sweaty chest. You'd never taken Sunghoon for a cuddler but, the way he presses himself against you lets you know that he doesn't have any plans to release you any time soon. 

“Sunghoon, I need to clean up and pee,” you say, slightly muffled, into his chest. Your voice a touch hoarse and your throat a little sore. As nice as it felt to have him cum inside of you, you can already feel it start to trickle out and your upper thighs and the sheets are already enough of a mess as it is. 

“Give me 5 more minutes then you can get up,” he mutters into your hair, tightening his grip on you. 

“Sunghoon,” you whine, “It's already starting to leak out and I feel gross.” 

He pauses for a second before responding but, not without sighing in a way that's far more dramatic than you're used to from him first, “Okay.” 

It takes you a second to stabilise yourself once you're on solid ground but, thankfully, you make your way to the bathroom without much issue. You can feel Sunghoon watching you with every step and your face warms in record time when you feel his gaze focus downwards to the apex of your thighs. 

You just let the man cum inside of you. It's a little late to be embarrassed now. 

Well, considering the way your clit thrums to life and your walls flutter with the memory of feeling him, maybe it's less embarrassment and something else. 

You know the two of you are overdue for a very long, probably very difficult conversation. Maybe you'll have it in the morning after a few more rounds. 

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

Ko-Fi

YOU’D LIVED MOST OF YOUR LIFE AS AN OLDER SISTER TO SIX BOYS. Well. Not exactly, but figuratively. Only one of those boys is your actual brother. The rest are totally against your own will. 

See, you didn’t sign up for it. It’s just that your mom has five friends living in the same neighborhood, and those five friends of hers had five sons after she had you as a daughter— meaning, you were born into the role as a direct consequence of your parents deciding to marry the moment they reached the age of majority. Not the smartest decision, but they were high school sweethearts in love. Also, your dad was gonna inherit Gwangju’s fruit and vegetable monopoly, anyway. They were set out for life.

Anyhow, the details aren’t really necessary. This is just to explain why you, as a graduating senior, are so at home being surrounded by a handful of freshmen right now. 

“Seonbae, I read your article in the Policy Studies Journal! I totally agree with your analysis.”

“You’re literally one week old in this program. Quit acting like you understood anything.”

“By the way, seonbae, is Prof Yeon’s classes really hard? I have him for my intro class, and—”

“Congratulations on your LOGODI internship, noona! Are you gonna be paying for the next round of drinks?”

It’s almost like your face muscles have stiffened from smiling too much, and your beer glass has been left untouched for the last ten to fifteen minutes. The kids continue to eagerly swarm you with questions and songs of praises. It currently being your department’s opening party and you being the face of your department— you kind of expected this much. Still, it’s a little overstimulating. But you continue responding to as many questions as you can because, again, it’s not something you’re not used to.

“Thank you for reading my article, Dohoon. Prof Yeon actually helped me a lot with it, and he isn’t as bad as you think, Jiyeon! Just keep up with the readings, and you’ll be fine.”

They’re cute. They’re excited. Keeping up with a bunch of energetic kids is something you’d been doing since the age of three. But as you continue to age, it does get a bit more exhausting as the years pass.

“Hey, now— leave your seonbae alone, kids. You’re all suffocating her with your questions.”

Your saving grace comes in the form of Kim Sunwoo sauntering out of nowhere to drop an arm on your shoulder from behind your chair. 

A release of breath slips past your lips, right before it finally manages to touch the cold rim of your glass. You’re about to welcome his appearance with a smile, but he rips your gratefulness away just as quickly as he offered it. “She just got dumped. She’s suffering from a breakup right now.” Two pats on the same shoulder. Two very patronizing pats. “Let her drink her sorrows away in peace.”

The beer doesn’t even make it to the middle of your throat when you choke it back out. A chorus of gasps break out. You wipe your mouth with your sleeve as you snap your head back. “Kim Sunwoo, what the hell?”

He grins. He flashes you a peace sign. Then starts walking away.

“Hey, you, get back here—”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry to hear that, seonbae. I hope you’re doing okay.”

“At least you’d be busy with your internship to think about too much…?”

“Cheer up, seonbae! You’re probably too good for that Choi Soobin guy, anway!”

How the hell did these kids even know who your ex is?! Where the hell did Kim Sunwoo run off to?!

“I saw him once and…He’s actually really handsome.”

“O—oh, then— then forget about him, seonbae! You’ll find someone better!”

Somehow, you manage to excuse yourself from the brood of ducklings to hunt down that damned rat. You spot the hood of his jacket— sitting on the same table as Yeji, and giving you the perfect opportunity to yank in down and elicit a guttural yelp from him. “Gah!”

“Move over, asshole.”

“Hey, you’re here!”  Yeji greets you, pushing off an extremely offended Sunwoo from his chair and taps on the seat the moment his ass leaves the surface. “Sit! I haven’t heard a whiff from you over break and the first thing I find out is that you broke up with Choi fucking Soobin. What the hell happened?”

“Correction. He broke up with her,” Sunwoo sniggers, straggling onto another vacant seat on the table. “Imagine the whiplash when I got the notifs ‘I got the internship,’ and ‘Choi Soobin dumped me,’ with not even a two-hour interval between each text. Crazy shit.”

You groan. Yeji very timely pushes her drink towards you and you take a swig. 

It really wasn’t that dramatic of a breakup. The day you received the acceptance email, you had a dinner scheduled with your then boyfriend. If Sunwoo was whiplashed, how does he think you felt when you told Soobin about the news over pasta, him congratulating you and that he knew you’d get it— only for it to be followed by a pregnant silence as he nervously gulps down a glass of water, just to drop the foreboding opening of, “You’re amazing and I’m really proud of you, but…”

Ugh. Recalling it causes a vein in your head to tick. You slam the glass down on the table. “Is it messed up to say that I was more mad than heartbroken over it?”

“Girl, what are you talking about?” Yeju huffs.  “I’d be pissed too if that hot of a guy broke up with me— not to mention a hot guy you’d been dating for three years! You didn’t even put up a fight! How could you just go with it?!”

“What, did you want me to beg him not to dump me? I have my pride too!” you screech back. Sunwoo is just watching you both like he’s watching a liveshow. “But that’s not the reason why I’m so pissed. This breakup just obliterated my 40 Year Plan, and I’ve been losing sleep trying to figure out how to get back on track and fix it.”

You fear you’ve just lost the room at the mention of your 40 Year Plan.

“Your…what?”

40 Year Plan. At age nineteen, you enter university. By twenty-three, you graduate and get a good job in the same year. Which is why you were so hell bent on getting the internship at the Local Government Officials Development Institute, under the Ministry of the Interior and Safety. Not only does it give you an easy opening to networking and eventually landing a job there, the internship is paid despite being a public institution— which is one of the major reasons why applications are always a battlefield every year.

You were warned by a senior while you were still in the midst of preparing your application. That there’s no such thing as free lunch, and the pay is definitely not worth the amount of work they put you through. 

Nevertheless, it’s still your gateway ticket to landing a stable job fresh out of graduation, ensuring that you stay on track and stay on schedule. That plan’s been fucked entirely by your recent breakup, though. 

You were supposed to get married by age twenty-five. Live a happy married life for the next five years domestically. Then your vacations in your thirties are gonna be spent travelling the world. Now, how the hell are you supposed to meet a new guy and fall in love with him just enough for you to want a ring on your finger— without wasting so much of your damn time on useless blind dates and dating apps— all within two damn years when it took you your entire life to meet Choi Soobin?

“My schedule has already been delayed after taking a gap year last year to save money,” you continue complaining. The alcohol is slowly starting to sink into your system. Your friends are looking at you like you’re insane.

“It’s…more fucked up that you scheduled literally your entire life,” Yeji remarks.

“And why does your plan only come up to 40 years old?” 

Sunwoo knows the answer, but he asked anyway. “Duh. I plan on dying by then.” You immediately shut down their looks of worry because they say anything else. “Either from a car crash or through natural causes. I don’t want to die as an old lady. I need to be pretty on my deathbed.”

They’re not looking at you any better. “You’re completely abnormal,” she tells you.

“And what the hell makes you think you’d naturally die at that age?” he spouts.

“I don’t know, the sinking standard of living? The crashing global economy? The increasingly precarious geopolitical landscape? Fucking climate change?” you grunt, finishing the glass in your hand. “We’d be lucky if the world doesn’t end in twenty-years. Maybe I’d have to adjust my timeline.”

Your two friends continue to prattle about how viscerally insane you are, and you listen but let the words come in one ear and out the other while you tap a finger on the table, waiting for a server to come by so you can order another drink. In the background, mish-mashed with the voices of Sunwoo and Yeji, you heard the restaurant door ringing open. Seems like more freshmen are pouring in. 

“Hi, is this where the public administration majors are partying?”

“Hell yeah, dude! Are you a freshman?”

“Yeah, but I’m from the performing arts department.”

“Who cares, you guys come on in!”

“Sweet!”

There’s nothing sweet about getting your plans derailed. As far as you remember, you’ve always been hellbent on speeding through life— growing up as quickly as you can so you live and die on your own terms. You moved out from your home in Gwangju to attend high school in Seoul. You gradually stopped asking for support from your parents when you got into BNDU with a full-ride. And you’re pretty sure the root cause for this insanity (as your dear friends like to put it) is your very formative childhood.

“Whoa. So this is what a college party is like.”

“Hey, don’t get distracted!”

Going back to your dearest mother and her group of high school friends— for three years, you’d also been their honorary daughter. And then another one of your aunties got married shortly after your mom did. It was at age three that you’d already started living for somebody else.

“Darling, come and meet Sungho!”

See, your mother and her friends never really…gave up on their youth. Even in their thirties and forties, even after starting their own families and lives, they always made sure to have Friday brunches at a new restaurant every week, weekend shopping trips and two-day-one night trips by the sea and uphill mountains. Naturally, these girl trips often became family hangouts. Your mom would bring you along, and your mom’s friends would bring along their kids as well.

The thing is, your moms and dads would often do their own thing, loosely supervising the rotational playdates held at someone’s else’s house each time— so you, more often than not, end up being the eldest person in the room that the rest of the kids look up to. 

First, it was just you. Then came Sungho. Followed by Sanghyeok and Jaehyun. And then Dongmin and Donghyun in the same year. You were essentially the person of authority for these five until you were in first grade. 

And then five became six when your mom gave birth to your younger brother—

“Kim Woonhak!”

Wait. The beer glass stops between your teeth. Hold on. That’s your brother’s name. Why are you hearing his name being yelled out in this restaurant? Why does that voice yelling his name out loud sound so disconcertingly familiar?

“Woonhak! We found your sister!”

Your drink dribbles back into the glass. Holy shit. That voice is Jaehyun. That’s fucking Myung Jaehyun. Your head shoots up, eyes wide, whipping around the room at the same rate as your heart is spiking, What the hell? Where the hell are they? Better question— what the hell are they doing here? 

“Hey, are you good?” Yeji asks in concern. You wish you could answer with a yes, but the moment your eyes land on one end of the restaurant, you immediately clock the six heads sticking out like six sore thumbs. Oh god. Oh god, no. 

You aren’t even given the chance to get your bearings straight when the other five finally notice where Jaehyun is pointing at. 

Woonhak mouth falls open. “Noona!” Then he starts barreling through the crowd. The other five trail after him, and it’s not a very discreet sight. Your face falls into your hands. Is this a hidden camera prank or something? What the hell even is this?

“Hey, are we about to get accosted?”

“They’re coming over here, do you know them, why are they—”

“Noona.” You pull your face out of your hands, looking up to see your younger brother’s disgruntled face. He’s slammed his hands down on the table— your table, your two friends sitting on the same table. His brows are all scrunched up. His tone is nothing more than a whine when he says, “Why weren’t you answering any of my calls?!”

Ah, crap. You shuffle into your bag and indeed, you find four missed calls from him on your phone. You sigh, rising up from your seat because it doesn’t feel good that you have to look up at him, but even after standing, this kid still has a good amount of height above you. “I didn’t notice it vibrating, I’m sorry, but Woonhak, but what—” You eyes flicker to the head popping out from behind Woonhak’s right shoulder— a silly smile and an equally silly wave from Jaehyun. You let out a sound and drop your head down, a finger massaging your right temple. “What…what are you guys doing here? Why are you here?” 

“Noona! This party is so sick!”

Jaehyun is quickly followed by Sanghyeok, who quickly jumps out from behind your brother, waving and jumping and very happy to see you. Next to him is Sungho, who’s looking very apologetic as he yanks on Donghyun’s jacket collar, who’s already starting to wander away, attention fished by your peers doing tabletop karaoke somewhere.

And then there’s Dongmin.

“Noona.”

The moment he steps forward, you’re prompted to look up. 

There’s a smile on his face— quiet and playful, the same hint of mischief mirrored in his downturned eyes. A pair of glasses are perched on his nose, but the most prominent thing you notice is something else. 

It’s the fact that he’s now looking down at you. You don’t remember having to look this high up just to meet Han Dongmin’s eyes. 

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Who...who gave you permission to get this tall?”

It’s enough that your brother already towers over you. Now this guy thinks it’s funny that you have to look up to him. But you can’t linger on this injury for too long because a sudden wave of whispers break from around you. You flinch, eyes peering to the side to see your peers and juniors gazes fixed on you in the center of the room. Your face burns. 

“I told you I could sniff her down,” Jaehyun proudly declares.

“Yeah, that’s on brand.”

“Is that a pool table over there? Donghyun, let’s play a round, lets—”

“Noona, I’m so sorry,” Sungho solemnly mutters. “I told them we’d wait somewhere else until you answered Woonhak’s calls, but they insisted on looking for you.”

Oh, this is dizzying. You catch from the flicker of your eye Yeji mouthing that maybe you should take this outside, and you couldn’t agree more. You mutter a few muddled somethings and usher the boys out from the suffocating humidity and warm lights of the restaurant, dragging them into the dewy and cold streets of nighttime Seoul. 

It gets significantly quieter. You find a spot under a planted dogwood oak on the walkway, the six boys sitting down and huddled up on the tree bench while you look at them, arms crossed and toes tapping. “None of you have answered my question yet,” you start with an exhale. “What are you doing here?”

Seeing them all together is like a sucker punch to the gut of guilt. When was the last time you’d seen this complete idiot ensemble? Four years ago? The one summer you spent at home in Gwangju before moving out for the second time for university? But even then you’d only see at least two of their faces once a week— except your own brother of course whom you had to wake up every morning each day else he’d sleep in until noon.

God, you’re pretty sure they were still a bunch of twerps back then, though. It irks you that even while sitting down, half of them are still kind of at eye-level with you.

“Why else would we be at the university district?” Jaehyun proudly sticks his nose out. “We’re also BNDU students. We’re here to party!”

“I’m sorry what?” you sputter. “BNDU students, what— what do you mean? Are all of you studying here? This year”

“Yeah!” Sanghyeok affirms. “

“Woonhak, you haven’t even graduated high school yet, what the hell are you talking—”

“Hey, c’mon now! Let them join us! There are plenty of drinks to go around!”

Maybe you should’ve picked somewhere farther away from the restaurant because one of your classmates— clearly inebriated— decides to butt into your business and invite your group of sparkly-eyed boys to something they obviously can’t refuse, like they’re being lured in by a pied piper.

It’s an inevitable mess. Jaehyun has already made at least seven friends from your major. Yeji is trying to hit on Sungho, who’s been trying to run away, red in the face. Sunwoo keeps on passing drinks to Sanghyeok and Donghyun and you make them tell you their addresses before they pass out beyond comprehension. And you’re keeping an eye on Woonhak like an eagle on the hunt for prey. 

“Ow!” he yelps when you smack his hand the moment his sneaky hand tries to reach out for a beer glass.

“Don’t you even dare.”

He grumbles. “C’mon! I’ll be an adult soon anyway!”

You leer at him. Woonhak continues to grumble while being locked down on the seat next to you because you can’t trust your damn peers to know that this kid is a minor. Dongmin has also decided to join you on this table— and the fact that he’s sitting right across from you, cross-armed and relaxed, makes it impossible to ignore the mischief playing on his grin, clearly directed at you.

“What?” you ask him pointedly.

“I was just thinking,” he hums, cocking his head to the side as if he’s trying to investigate something on your face. “You’re gotten a lot grumpier since I’ve last seen you. Is that an effect of aging?”

Your blood pressure simply cannot get higher. “Dongmin, you lot are already on thin ice.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, raising two hands up in surrender. “But don’t worry, noona. You’ll still be pretty even when you turn sixty.”

This fucking kid, you swear. You catch your head in your hands with a defeated groan, not bothering to give him a response. You just had to be stuck with the most stressful one, even while growing up because sure, Jaehyun had the energy of eight toddlers in one body. Sure, Donghyun would suddenly hold you at gunpoint with questions about the universe and the solar system of which your middle school aged brain did not have the answers to. Sure, you’d get a heart attack trying to keep watch on Sanghyeok in case he pulled another flying stunt on the stairs and landed himself in the hospital again. But out of all the boys Han Dongmin was the one you’d always dreaded to babysit the most because—

“Noona,” he tries calling out to you as you continue to question your life choices while counting the crumbs on the table. “Noona? Hello? Can’t believe you’re gatekeeping your face from me after I called you pretty.”

—he’s always been way too blunt and brazen. To the point that even he manages to get under your thick skin.

“I still haven’t gotten a good enough answer as to why you six decided to hunt me down,” you nag him, diverting the conversation. “Do you plan on telling me now or wha—”

“Seonbae!”

Your interrogation gets interrupted by the arrival of a few of your female juniors, taking the liberty to sit around your table as well. Second years. Sophomores. They come to greet and congratulate you on your internship. You thank them with a smile and wait for the actual kicker— coming in the form of a whisper from the junior who grabbed a chair from the other booth to nudge herself next to you.

“Can…can you introduce me to the guy in front of you?”

You press your lips together to mask your amusement. You’ve got no reason to say no and stop a show from unfolding— and maybe you’d be able to get something to tease Han Dongmin with this time and finally instill some revenge— but once you finish your quick introductions and step back from the conversation, you’re pretty surprised to see the sudden 180 of his usual playful demeanor, and the sudden drop in his expression that you almost don’t recognize the man before you.

“Dongmin-ah,” your poor junior tries to test out his name.

“Just call me Taesan,” he suddenly corrects in a less than friendly tone. 

You try to look at Woonhak for an answer to this change in behavior, but he’s busied himself with a game on his phone because you’d been policing all his fun tonight (his accusation, not yours), and when you shift your attention back to the two, the atmosphere had become absolutely, incorrigibly frigid within the few seconds that you were looking away.

“Is it a nickname? What does it mean?”

“Nothing much.”

“Ah, well, then, what’s your major?”

“I’m undecided.”

“O—oh, uh, where— where did you get your jacket? It looks so cool!”

“My grandpa gave it to me before he passed away.”

You physically wince at that one. You’re pretty sure most of those are lies because last you heard his grandpa is very much alive and kicking, but damn. He’s an impenetrable shield. You peer at your left and notice your junior visibly getting red and embarrassed. You’d like to step in and save her from any more of this, but she’s just as determined as Dongmin— on opposite ends of the battlefield.

“What’s your IG user, Taesan-ah? Let’s follow each other!”

“I don’t do social media.” 

“Th–then— then, how about your num—”

“Seonbae,” Dongmin cuts her off. “I’m sorry, but I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I’m not interested in you.”

Holy shit, what is this kid doing?

The tension is palpable. You’re pretty sure the surrounding tables have caught a whiff of the back and forths as well because the diameter around you is weirdly quiet for a party. What’s worse is that he’s now looking at you as if you’re part of the conversation, staring at you with a glimmer in his eyes that’s all too familiar when he’s plotting to stir up some trouble— a tell that he never outgrew since was like six.

He smiles. It’s a targeted smile. He looks straight at you when he says, “Right, noona?”

“What?” you croak in alarm. “Why are you dragging me into this?”

“Don’t play dumb now.” You receive a nudge by the foot from underneath the table. You don’t need to duck and look under to figure out the culprit. “How can I be interested in anyone else when I already confessed to you. And four years later, you still haven’t replied.

To say that you’re bewildered right now is an understatement. “Dongmin, what are you— what…what?” All your intellect and you can’t even begin to formulate a response. He just saying this like he’s reciting the national anthem. He’s insane. 

And the way he’s looking at you right now tells you exactly that he finds your flabbergasted expression absolutely hilarious.

Dongmin lets out a huff and rests his arms on the table to lean forward, closing in the gap between you into barely half an arms length, all while doused in all the smugness of the world. “I don’t know about the other guys, but I came to see you with one goal in mind,” he says. And then, with the tilt of his head, continues, “Don’t you think it’s about time you give me a response, noona?”

A chorus of ooooh’s breaks out from all your surroundings. Your face is as hot as the sun, but what you’re currently feeling is incomparable to the sheer and visible mortification emanating from your junior. Woonhak starts to make gagging and barfing noises from the right of you. You’re far too taken aback to tell him off to do anything about it— to do anything about this, in general.

“Woonhak-ah, you might end up calling me brother-in-law one day, you know.”

“I’d rather die.”

To add onto the absurdity of it all, the remaining four start to make even more of a mess.

“Noona! Look over here! I can do a trick shot!”

“Hey, who vomited in the bathroom sink?!”

Which leads you to the very sound conclusion—

“I think…I think it’s time we all head home.”

Unfortunately for you, the night isn’t over yet. You still have to make sure your five non-blood-related idiots make it back home in one piece. 

Sungho is fortunately still mostly sober, so he assured you that he can walk Jaehyun back to their shared apartment that’s just within the same neighborhood. Sanghyeok and Donghyun live in the opposite direction from you, so book an Uber for them and watch as Sanghyeok tosses his passed out roommate into the backseat before waving you goodbye. “You owe us a meal for ghosting us, noona!”

“Go take a shower first, vomit breath!” you yell back, then turn to the remaining sheep in your herd the moment the car drives off. “And you?”

For your sake and his, you forget all the nonsense Han Dongmin was spewing earlier. He just wanted to get your junior off his tail that badly.

“I’ll walk you two home first,” he replies. “I didn’t drink so I can get home just fine. But you— tsk. Probably can’t say the same for you, noona.”

“You—” 

With a sharp inhale, you try to reach for his neck, but you realize you can’t give him a noogie anymore since he’s now a whole head taller than you. Dongmin notices what you were trying to do, and just as well notices that you’re annoyed because you no longer can. So, he dips his head down closer to your level. He provokes with that slight squint of his eyes that feign innocence, accompanied by the upturned corners of his lips.

You stare at him. You sigh. And then you push him back by the forehead using two fingers. 

“Quit acting smooth, you’re literally a toddler.”

Somehow, he makes no attempt to egg you further and settles with laughing alongside your strides across the street, fixing the bangs you messed up while his other arm latches around Woonhak’s shoulders. Your brother verbally protests and whines but makes no actual effort to shove him off as you make your way back to your apartment building. 

“Did you tell mom you’re staying over?” you ask Woonhal, climbing up the staircase to your floor. Your question, for some reason, causes him to stumble on the very last step, your eyes narrow at him.

This is suspicious. That much is apparent because he’s desperately trying to avoid your scrutinizing glare right now. Dongmin gives him a little nudge to answer before your patience runs out. Woonhak gulps. “Haha, well, she knows.”

Not good enough. “Kim Woonhak, what are you hiding?”

“W-w-well—”

He doesn’t need to finish replying because you get your answer in the form of a very familiar suitcase parked right in front of your apartment door. It has around a dozen keyrings and PopMart figures chained everywhere possible. Your head snaps at Woonhak. He immediately tries to shield himself with his arms.

“I didn’t get kicked out!” he loudly explains. “Mom and dad let me transfer to a high school in Seoul!’

They what?

Woonhak takes your lack of immediate response as an opportunity to continue squeaking out an explanation. “They—they said I could live with you while I study here and, uh—”

You can feel it— the blood rushing to your head, you can absolutely feel it. You try to close your eyes and take in deep breaths to keep it down but it’s no use. Despite all this, Woonhak continues digging his grave with caution.

“And I…I start school on Monday, so…haha…”

Yup. No use. Woonhak flinches when you move a step closer. Dongmin tries to calm you down with a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t get too angry—” But you smack his hand away and snap your eyes up at him. His smile twitches nervously. “Whoa, haha. Woonagi, your sister has gotten pretty scary.”

That sort of knocks you out of your temper. At least just a little bit. “I’m not angry,” you grit between your teeth. “Dongmin, go home. It’s getting late. And you.” You turn over to the guilt ridden Woonhak once more, completely avoiding eye contact with you with his hands behind his back. You sigh in an attempt to relax. “Get inside and unpack your things. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

my youth is free. © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

Meetings, reports, decisions—everything has warning signs attached and you’re quite close to heeding them and finding the nearest exit. Literally, figuratively, and expeditiously. 

Fuck. 

That means you might have to job hunt soon. For two jobs to compensate for how much you’re making now.

Why, oh why, did you choose the condo you did? And why did you pick a condo in the first place? Apartments would have been just fine for your needs and you could’ve been saving more for a fallout like this.  

Well. You know the answer to that first question. 

And it’s an answer you don’t regret.

Thinking back to that day, you still remember the way the lobby looked. How plants lined glass walls, how people occupied various mid-century chairs like they were paid background extras in a film. 

More specifically, you remember seeing a vaguely familiar boy barrel through the revolving doors, dark locks whizzing about and paper clutched tight in his tatted hand. 

Ignoring you entirely, he cut the line just as you were about to inquire about a tour—everyone including the concierge pinning him with disgust. 

“Back of the line, Mr. Jeon.” 

“She can wait, just—”

Your memory spun with that even more familiar last name, but you still couldn’t quite place where you knew this asshole from. 

“—and I have it here. Also, why are you calling me th—” 

“The rent is already way past due. We’re listing your unit.”

“Anj.” 

“Mr. Jeon.” 

“You know I have the money.” He sounded so rushed. So desperate. “I just forgot cus my roommate left—” 

“You forgot for three weeks—” 

“I was helping them move that whole time!” 

Sighing, you checked your phone and determined you were gonna give it two more minutes until you trekked to another building. 

But you had heard a mountain of good things about the place, and that particular day was the only free one you had to check it out.

So you waited. Because anything would beat staying in a cramped apartment with someone that clipped their toenails on a weeping living room table.

“Look. I have two months’ rent right here, plus extra.” Hair still frazzled, so-called Mr. Jeon hastily slapped his paper down before sliding it forward. “And I can even live by myself if I need to.” 

“Doesn’t matter if you have the money or not,” Anj explained, voice as snipped as her fresh bangs. “The unit’s already listed in the system.” 

“Since when?” 

A merciless click echoed from her keyboard, and you knew exactly what was coming before she hammered home, 

“Now.” 

“Anjali…” 

You tried so hard to hide your face.

If anything, you scored a jackpot in people watching that day. Observing the interaction, you wondered what the hell this man did to the concierge to get this pathetic but hilariously hostile treatment. 

“Sorry, Mr. Jeon. You can apply for it again,” she offered with a flit of her hand, “If none of these nice, patient people in line take it.” 

Just like that, it was the final, abrupt end of the battle. The defeated dropped his head back in loss before reclaiming his paper with a sad flourish. 

And to this day, you don’t know what compelled you to speak up when you did. But you will always remember the reactions to your curiosity, 

“What does it look like?” 

Both him and Anjali whipped their heads so fast you froze. While the concierge appeared shocked, there was something in that boy’s eyes that strangely matched how you felt. 

Did you look familiar to him, too? 

A ping from your computer kicks you back to the present, and your rapid blinks make you realize you’ve been spacing out at your desk for minutes now. 

But you notice that the alert’s for the end of your shift, and you quickly wrap everything up before heading home. 

Straight back to the very condo you secured to save Mr. Jeon Jungkook’s ass. 

Sleep. 

That’s all you need right now. 

Beautiful, wonderful, ever-evasive sleep. 

But the only thing you get when you unlock the door is a flurry of activity, wave of music, and skittering of paws.

“There you are!” Your roommate yells as your legs are knocked by his furry companion. “Hurry and get ready!” 

When you shout back a droning rejection, Jungkook splashes the hallway with the most disrespectful tank and jeans you’ve ever seen him wear. 

Fuck, he’s flipping on a leather jacket over his shoulders, too? Your purse immediately slips from yours. 

Nope. He needs to stay where he is. There’s no reason for him to keep walking closer but he’s doing it anyway goddamn it you don’t have the brain capacity for this! 

“Didn’t you read my texts?” 

“No,” you readily admit, moving to reach your room before Jungkook can block your path. 

Too late. 

Damn, his cologne is fantastic.

It almost distracts you from the way he casually leans on your door. And the way his voice drops a whole octave when he reveals, 

“I’m taking you to dinner, remember?”

The butterfly on your heart is shooed away. “Where?”

“Not telling.”

“Seriousl—”

“But we gotta leave soon.” 

Your bed is so close. And yet so, so far. 

But damn, whatever Jungkook’s wearing proves way too enticing. You almost fold on its grip alone. Is this a new scent? Is he trying something different? 

Nope, focus. You want—need—sleep. 

With a sliver of hope, you reach for an out, “Does it have to be tonight? I just wanna be in bed.” 

“I’m not opposed to that.”

“Jeon.”

Wait. Is that the first time Jungkook’s said something like that to you? Sure, you’ve both been suggestive with each other before, but that? That felt… 

“I’m kidding!” He laughs, though his eyes are revealing truer angles. To your relief, though, the saucy reaction is short lived, giving way to a regular yet pitied tone,

“The next open slot is in two months.” 

What the hell? Where the fuck are you going? “You mean I got five minutes to prep for some fancy place I can’t know the name of?” 

“Uhh, no.” When Jungkook backtracks down the hall, his steps are as fast as his corrections, “You have two. And you don’t have to dress nice!” 

“But you—!”

The speed demon is back in his room before you can hound him. 

Muttering to no one, you agree with his last statement, “Good, cus I will not.” 

Well. You know two things. 

One: there’s no way this man is lasting ten days at this rate, much less seven.

And two: there’s absolutely no way you’re dressing up for whatever this is. Too much chaos went down at work for you to care about a fake dinner date with Jungkook. 

You’re going for the food the food the food. Nutrients, sustenance, anything that satisfies the tiger that you are not paying a pet deposit for. 

This better be worth the exhaustion. 

Pushing your door open, you immediately take big strides towards your awaiting closet, already knowing exactly what you’re gonna wear.  

Reservations two months out? As if.

How nice can this place really be?

Fucking opulent, apparently. 

This is where Jungkook meant when he said there was a place he wanted to try? The most expensive, lavish, influencer-riddled establishment in the city? 

When you recognize the damn near estate you’re pulling up to, you regret not caring about appearances and start sweating in your joggers. 

This whole bet is a prank! 

Because your roommate most definitely saw you for a whole minute before you both rushed out of the condo. How could you not remember? He eyed you as soon as you re-entered the hall to join him, and the back of your neck still has leftover chills from his steady staring. 

That whole time he saw what you were wearing and he didn’t say shit? “Kook, what the fuck?” 

“What?” 

“This is the place you wanted to try?” 

As Jungkook rolls up to the valet line, you get an annoying display of long fingers on his steering wheel. 

So you look out the dark window instead. 

“Nah, I just wanted to take you here. There’s a dessert place I wanna try after,” he explains with a smirk, little pieces of your sanity littering his passenger seat. “Don’t worry, I’m paying.” 

Though you’re thankful he’s footing the bill—because you did not budget for shelling out a whole check tonight—you still sputter while taking in all the beautiful, pressed outfits walking inside. “It’s—I would’ve—Fuck, why didn’t you tell me I’m underdressed?” 

They may not even let you in with what you’re wearing.

“Relax, roomie,” Jungkook pips, which stresses you the hell out. “I’m not dressed up either but they know me. We’re good.” 

Lies. He is a liar and the heat behind your eyes will set his pants ablaze. “They know you.” 

“Uh huh.”

When it’s your car’s turn, crisp uniforms rush around as you brace for utter shame. Not even the new car smell that still lingers in Jungkook’s car can keep you calm. 

Thank everything holy that you fixed yourself above neck. That one split second decision saves you a sliver of embarrassment. 

But you’re still in fucking sweatpants and sneakers. And a humongous hoodie. 

God. 

There’s no way this isn’t a set up.

No matter what, you’re holding yourself in high regard tonight. And that starts with greeting the valet with a bright smile as he opens your door, “Thank you so much.” 

“You’re very welcome, Ms. Jeon.” 

Miss what. 

Your manufactured grin has some defects as you nod, gripping your bag as you exit the vehicle. When you turn, you see your current annoyance chatting it up with the other valet, wind pushing your sweater into your increasingly sweaty back.  

Huh. They do look chummy.

Was Jungkook actually being serious?

“Have a good night, Mr. Jeon!” 

“Thanks, Dio! Take good care of her, yeah?” 

“As always.” 

Between witnessing the valet talking to your roommate as if they were friends, and having said roommate’s last name thrust upon your person, you can only stare. 

This is so weird. 

But you click back into focus as Jungkook moves to join you, channeling all the energy you usually harness for professional outings and executive dinners. 

Because even though you don a calm expression, you waste no time clutching his offered arm extra tight. Contempt buries itself in your low comment, “You’ve got some nerve, Kook.” 

“Thanks!” 

“Not a compliment.” 

“Ouch.” 

As you stroll through the grand entrance, you flare with conflicting feelings when he softly pulls you close. Subtle hints of luxury wisp into your nose, which compete with the warm feeling of his body feeling so solid against yours. 

Heavens above.  

Unbothered, he whispers back, “You’ll thank me after we eat.” 

“I look like shit.” 

“You’re perfect tonight, Ms. Jeon.” 

Nope. No, no, no, you will not acknowledge the fluttering in your stomach. Absolutely not. 

“Don’t call me that,” you seethe, smiling at the waiter before you’re led to your table. 

And despite the stares you’re drawing, there’s something else that’s distracting you even more. Something that has your brain swiftly forgetting everything you’ve been fussing about. 

Jungkook has lowered your arms so that he could lead. 

By holding your hand. 

His fingers feel so large around yours, his palm a strange but soothing mix of smooth and comfortable heat. Immediately, you feel a little more relaxed, which is strange considering you should be the exact opposite right now.

And as he guides you to sit in a chair that’s been pulled out for you, all you can do is follow in silence. 

Because your fingers had fit so… 

“Looks like they let anyone in here these days.”

Both your ears perk up before your fingers curl hard and fast. 

Did you really just hear that? Did they really have to say something when you’re in a shit mood? Because they’re the next table over and therefore within launching distance so now you have to do something about it— 

“Well, yeah,” Jungkook pounces before you do, snagging your look of confusion and signaling for you to follow along. When he rests leather forearms on tablecloth, he pins the couple with a cheeky smile. “That’d be pretty shitty if they didn’t let you two in, right?” 

Okay. Staring at long, tatted fingers flexing before tightening into a fist, you have to admit: anyone defending your pride is hot as fuck. 

And Jungkook being the one to do it? 

All thoughts you’re thinking have no place at the table.

The man laughs as he gets up. “Sure,” he scoffs. “Enjoy the meal, kids. Filet’s the house favorite.” 

“You sure?”

All eyes snap to your roommate. 

Scratching the bottom of his jaw, Jungkook looks into the air, scrunching his brows ever so slightly in mock-thought. “Pretty sure it’s the tomahawk, but. Maybe it changed since last week—Eddie!”

Your eyes follow his stare behind you to see a staff member waving before heading over. 

When he gets closer, you realize your roommate called over not a waiter… But a manager? On a first name basis?

Well, shit.

Your tongue pokes your cheek in high amusement. This couple next to you is lucky they just paid their bill or else they’d have to endure a whole meal of Jungkook sass. The man’s partner already looks like they’re gonna raise hell when they get in the car.

“Hello, Mr. Jeon! Always good to see you.” 

Inwardly—and maybe also outwardly—you’re holding in your grin as they vacate before your super petty date can even get the clarification out,

“Same! House favorite is the filet now?”

“Ah, no. It’s still the tomahawk, but the ribeye’s also very popular.”

Jungkook calls out to the retreating couple instead of the guy in front of him, cupped hand bracing his cheekiness, “Thanks, Eddie! Good to know!”

When he shifts back in his seat, he watches Eddie check behind him before raising a brow. “Did they give you any trouble?”

“Nah.” Jungkook smiles at you before settling into his chair. “We got it.” 

You can only blink, conflicting feelings warring in your stomach and making it spin. If you wanted to smile, it’s certainly coming out strained because that guy’s rude comment did catch you off guard.

To be fair, you are dressed up the most casual out of all the people here. But maybe your confidence is also weakened from the whole day, causing anything else to get a punch in. On top of the fact that you would never come here on your own unless you struck gold. 

But that does beg another question. 

Why does Jungkook look so at home this easily? His outfit is casual, too—leather jacket floating in a sea of suits and ties, for goodness sake. How does he do it? Has he actually been here that often?

Maybe it’s the way he carries an aura you have to fight to conjure on your best days. 

“Will the lady be having the usual tonight, Mr. Jeon?” 

Ah. Scratch that.

It’s because you’re the hundredth woman he’s taken here. And somehow all of you have been provided the same meal. 

Just like that, the haze around your brain vaporizes, leaving you glaring at wide eyes. 

So much for protecting your pride!

“Ah, umm,” Jungkook stutters, ears alight with embarrassment. “Not this time—I mean, no.” 

Mm. At least you’re relishing the way he’s tripping over himself.

“Apologies,” Eddie rescinds, looking just as alarmed. Good. “Here’s our menu for tonight, and we have a few specials that you can view on the first page.”

“Thank you,” you answer for your roommate, and you feel avenged when he visibly knows he fucked up. Feeling cheeky, you fire off, “What is the usual for us Ms. Jeon’s, if I may ask?” 

Both men freeze and seek each other before you get your stiff answer, “Ah, umm. Yes, our wedge salad, plain with house-made dressing on the side.” 

“Great.” 

As soon as you open your menu with finality, you can sense the tension radiating from your audience, inwardly proud of speaking out. 

Because this whole bet, or prank, or whatever it is? It is not gonna go the way Jungkook thinks it will. 

Even though a wedge salad with some accoutrements does sound pretty good. But who are you to back down now. 

When Eddie moves away—or scurries, rather—you shoot lasers of disappointment over your dimly lit menu. 

Which Jungkook very intentionally ignores.

But he’s not getting away that easily. If he’s gonna rope you into this mess, you’re gonna fight back. 

“Charming start,” you mutter.

“Sorry.”

Looking up in earnest, you notice something odd about your fake date.

He looks… Genuinely upset. Borderline disturbed.

Well. It’s his fault in the end. 

But is that really the expression of someone pranking their roommate? If it is, he could even pursue acting if his social media accounts don’t pop off. 

Focus. Actually read the words on the menu instead of staring. What are you hungry for? Everything here looks and sounds amazing so it’s gonna be hard to choose…

Your eyes slide over your hardy pamphlet one more time. 

And as Jungkook keeps watching the candle flick between you, something else stirs in your chest. 

Acting or not, he’s quiet as fuck. Which is making you more uncomfortable than anything else because he just lit up confronting that couple for you. 

A resigned sigh escapes your lips. “It’s okay.” 

He lifts his gaze.

“But at this rate, you’re definitely losing this whole thing.”

His laugh doesn’t have his whole heart inside. “I just… I’m sorry. That wasn’t… Wasn’t cool.”

“We’re good,” you assure, your softer side clutching the reins for a moment. “I can play wifey if you’re paying, yeah?”

At this, Jungkook seems to lighten up a tad, though you catch a hint of what you’ll later realize is shyness. “Yeah,” he confirms with a slow drawl. “Get whatever you want, Ms. Jeon.”

“How considerate.” 

“Anything for my date.” 

Your brows pinch for a moment, and you quickly remind yourself of what just happened with the manager. “Rip. I’m definitely getting more than a salad.” 

“I know,” Jungkook replies, palming his menu with a smirk on his lips. “Between the two of us we’re gonna blow my whole stack.” 

“We’re getting apps?”

“And sides.” 

“Wine?” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

“Hell yeah, bro.” Your mouth betrays you when it stretches sideways. But you can’t help it because this is where you’re comfortable. You’re not in an expensive restaurant on a date, you’re just having dinner with your roommate. 

Your very attractive, super sauve, completely senseless roommate.

Pulling at your hoodie, you let your amusement loose as your shoulders finally relax, “Good thing I wore this then, huh?” 

When Jungkook knowingly smiles with lips pressed, you feel like the only one in the room. 

And maybe like you got the whole prank thing all wrong. 

Damn. 

Everything you’ve eaten so far has you transcended into a higher plane. 

Truthfully, you can’t even recall a better meal than this, and the way Jungkook looks while he digs into his ribeye is how you feel inside. Satiated, content, and upset at how good the food tastes. 

But it’s not just the meal that warms your belly. The small bits of talking and joking you’ve been having with him have helped you forget the multiple vibrations you feel in your purse. And the wine has certainly helped relax some tightly-wound muscles. 

“Om mah guh,” you groan, this swallow as good as the last. “Can I live here instead?” 

Your roommate laughs with a mouthful of food. “Mmhmm.” 

“Good.” You reach for a sip of your drink, noticing that you’re both making good headway on all the plates. Taking a much needed break, you slump back in your increasingly comfortable chair before gazing at chandeliers. “Cus I think I just ate my month’s rent.” 

“You aren’t even paying!”

“Oh, yeah.” You beam at shining bulbs. “Sucks for you.”

Jungkook’s laugh could be recognized miles away, you muse.

But good god.

Haughty establishment be damned. Even if one of these light fixtures crash onto a table, you’re still gonna be rubbing your grateful stomach and sporting a drool line.

Another quick puff of amusement shoots across the table, but you don’t get a response because a lighter voice floats above you instead, 

“Hey, baby.” 

Huh? 

Brows furrowed, you leer down your nose before straightening, wondering who the heck is oh shit this woman is gorgeous. And tall. 

Which makes Jungkook’s offhanded greeting so comical. “Sup!” 

The girl seems unfazed, manicured nails caressing his shoulder. “You were supposed to call me tonight.” 

Ouch. Did he double-book your date on a booty call with a goddess? 

A mere wallflower, you silently pull out your phone as Jungkook reluctantly looks upward—and you know in your heart it’s because the bite on his fork was meticulously made. “Oh. Did I say that?” 

“You said so last week.” 

Yikes. 

“I say a lot of things.” 

Double yikes. 

Your lips smush into a line of pity when you see a pair of eyes roll. Emotions seem to blend together in your ribcage now, but you really should care less. This isn’t a real date. 

Regardless of how you feel, this lady could grace the cover of a magazine if she hasn’t already. Why hasn’t Jungkook abandoned your table to follow her out the door? 

“Whatever, I guess. Have fun with your…” Sudden judgment makes you blink. “Friend.” 

Triple yikes. 

Good riddance! Forget anything you were thinking in her defense. She doesn’t deserve him with that sour attitude, and you’re completely saying this as his roommate. And friend. Duh.

You’re about to unleash some choice words before Jungkook simply smiles. “She’s my date,” he proclaims while looking right at… you? “And I will.”

Well.

That gesture was a little shocking.

But it could be staged. Is this girl just acting? Just another part of this bet? 

Nah. There’s no way he would go through this elaborate of a prank just to mess with you. Right?

Right?

Jungkook finally takes that huge bite of his concoction as the woman hums and struts off, and you can’t help but blink at him. Once. Twice. Two more for good measure. 

When he notices your bewilderment, a word is blocked by chewed protein, “What?” 

“She was hot.” 

“And?” 

Something akin to pure disbelief shoots out of your nose. “You’re gonna pass that one up?”

As expected, you have to wait a second as he finally swallows. But you’re willing to do that because if he talks with a full mouth one more time you’re gonna—

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m with you.” 

Gonna… You’re gonna…

What were you complaining about again? 

Jungkook has to be kidding. He has to. For goodness sake, you’re a bloated mess in sweats and there are tons of tens walking around. 

You’ve picked up on the stares. More than one person has given your roommate glimpses and double-takes. You’ve just ignored them because you were famished, tired, and knowing you won’t be doing this little stunt forever. 

But after seeing how adamant Jungkook has been, you at least admire his commitment. The efforts shown tonight have been quite endearing. 

Maybe you can start treating this like an actual date, too.

Leaning forward, you rest casual elbows on the table, shielding your chin with clasped palms. “If you’re serious… what do you usually talk about on these things.” 

You ask this to show that you’ll try. An olive branch extending above herbs and coagulating butter meant to assure him. 

So why does Jungkook look thrown off to hell? “On dates? Uhh…” 

Great. You concede to paying more attention just to fall for his styled hair. And of course it looks even better when he rakes through his locks! Does he really have to do that? Damn it, damn it, damn it. 

“They usually do most of the talking.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s true!” 

If that’s true, you kinda feel bad. Aren’t dates supposed to be how you get to know one another? Both people should be talking and finding similarities to build connections. Or at least to keep things interesting. 

“Well,” you scoff, “What do you wanna talk about?” 

“Oh. Hmm.” 

Silence remains your only response for a heavy set of seconds. And you relax your hands with each passing tick, your heart kinda sinking alongside their descent. 

Jungkook almost looks… unsure. Lost. 

This wasn’t your goal in the slightest. And now you feel a little bad for asking, even if it was just a genuine question. 

A slight furrow in your brows stems from the tiny pang in your chest. Something inside of you wants to reach over and grab that nervous hand tapping his silverware, but you can’t move. It doesn’t feel like the time. 

You don’t wanna do this to yourself again, either. 

But after some clinks and chatter around your table, your date pulls out a topic,

“There’s a new d—”

Loud buzzing makes both of you jump, eyes slinging to the phone lighting up on your side of the table. 

Shit, you forgot to put it back in your bag.

Swiping it quick, you stare at the screen before wincing, because you finally got somewhere with substance. 

But these calls won’t stop. They’re not gonna stop until you answer them. 

“Hold that thought, okay?” You ask with sorry eyes. “I need to take this.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Jungkook responds quick. But his face gives a lot more away than he intends. “I’ll, uhh. Be here.”

You nod in return, not quite telling him what you want to say. 

But wading through stares with your phone against your ear shifts your mood entirely. 

And maybe one day, you’ll admit to your roommate that you wanted nothing more than to keep talking to him instead. 

That was a mistake. 

You really shouldn’t have taken that call. 

Using a warm towel to fix what you can of your face, you stare at determined eyes before steeling resolve. Get back out there and back to Jungkook. This whole thing took you way too long. 

God, that was a huge mistake. 

Shuffling back into your chair, you notice that a lot of the plates have been bussed and your napkin replaced with a new one. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. “How long was I gone?” 

“Who was that?”

His sudden question makes you pause on the way down, but you sit anyway. He doesn’t need to know. “Oh, it’s…” Waving your hand, you shoo any doubts he has in those starry eyes. “Whatever. I’m back now. What were we taking about?”

“Who called you.”

“No one, Kook.”

“Are you sure cus you—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, looking away before he can pin you down with one confused stare. “I just.. It’s no one, okay?”

Jungkook hesitates, but he answers, “If you say so.”

Your stare is long. 

Because he looks ready to fight. 

Or ready to just leave and find someone else to continue the date with, you don’t know for sure. Do you have a bias on which one it’d rather be? Yeah. But you’re so thrown off by that stupid ass call. 

Sighing, you fiddle with the posh tablecloth before clearing your throat. “So.. What were you gonna tell me?”

More hesitation from across the table. But you expect it, so it hurts less. “There’s a new dance I wanna learn.”

Oh? 

Immediately, your shoulders relax a tad. You didn’t think he’d talk about one of his hobbies. Truthfully, you assumed Jungkook would mention something about his car or gloat about only working when he wants to. 

This is a welcoming twist. And one you can somewhat follow since you know about his steadily growing account and dance skill. “Which one? Show me.” 

“Yeah?” Sparkling, your roommate takes out his phone, swiping away notifications—a lot of notifications—before thumbing through. “Hold on, lemme find one.” 

You look around, seeing that some people here are elders and anticipating their disgust when Jungkook inevitably plays the video out loud. 

“Here.” 

Doing exactly what you thought, he shows a dance to a popular song that you’ve heard before. Is this why you’re hearing it everywhere? Whatever it is, it looks more complicated than the ones he’s posted before. 

But knowing he picks stuff up quick, you figure he’ll have it down by tomorrow. So the only logical step is to tease him and test his memory, “Bet you can’t learn it by the time we finish.” 

“Our date?” 

“Our food.” 

Jungkook gawks. “But we’re almost done!” 

“So? You can do it.” 

“What do I get?” 

“I’ll pay for dessert.” 

“Done. Have fun paying, I’m getting everything.” 

When he watches the video, you press a hand over his phone just as he tries to block the swipe. And you fight hard to not react to his fingers covering yours. “No cheating.” 

“What!” 

Sliding your hand away, your voice gets more stern to hide your heartbeats. “Gotta make it hard somehow.”

His cheeky eyebrow tick snatches your breath before he goads, “I’m listening...” 

He’s listening? What did you… Oh. He’s a problem. Blowing off his innuendo, you roll your eyes. “Whatever, you get what I mean.”

More notifs slide onto his phone, and you hum while Jungkook swipes them away in groups. “Fine. But you’re gonna record me and watch me win.” 

“Done.” 

During the rest of the meal—which prolongs from both of you still ordering—you can tell he’s committed, his body subtly doing the moves as he mouths the lyrics. “You’re trying the dance, huh.” 

“Shh.” 

The night goes on, and the restaurant fills closer and closer to the brim. It’s after the ninety minute mark that you notice just how many people know your roommate. At least, people in a place like this. 

Girls keep coming to visit. But not all of them are hostile or rude—most of them are actually really sweet. Some people invite him to places, others remind him to be somewhere. One very handsome guy even asks if he’s going to some pre-release party tomorrow. 

“That’s tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, dude. Open the group chat once in awhile.”

After Jungkook laughs and jokes along with the guy a little more, he watches him say bye to you before leaving with his own date. 

You’re left amazed, eyeing him signing the bill you know is massive. “Damn.. how many people do you know in this town?” 

“Uhhh…” He scratches his neck. “Don’t be surprised if this keeps happening.”

“Super.” 

And he dons that same uneasy look in his eyes.

You come to the conclusion that you don’t enjoy it. 

When another group of people approach the table, Jungkook subtly changes up the way he converses. Instead of just talking to them, he fully introduces you and even mentions what you do for a living. 

And this little change causes a beat inside your chest. 

As you’re about to answer one of their questions, your phone buzzes again. And it’s yet another thing that you have to pick up. 

Fucking hell, why is all of this happening tonight? 

So caught up in inner turmoil, you don’t realize how everyone’s looking at you as you hastily stand. And when you quickly apologize and excuse yourself, you hate how you catch Jungkook’s eyes right before leaving. 

This time? He looks downright upset. 

Shit, you can’t handle all of this right now. You know you’re definitely gonna be talked about as soon as you’re out of earshot but it’s too late to recover. 

So you rush away yet again.

That call doesn’t take long, but it’s still just as terrible to go through. Now you’re really just ready to cut the night short. 

“Who keeps calling you? You okay?”

“No one you know,” you sigh, a bit shocked that Jungkook even asked that second question. “But don’t worry about it. Let’s go home.”

“Home? Not dessert?”

You eye him again.

Damn it. He looks like a puppy that is determined to be adopted, and you know you can’t shake that image from your mind the rest of the night. 

Because yes. You do want to go home. You want to go home, shower, and dive into bed because no, you are not okay.

But after double checking your maps, you make a decision. For your self-proclaimed date and for yourself. 

“There’s a parking garage nearby,” you surrender as you stand. “Go park at the top.” 

The night sky looks a lot different from this height. Which doesn’t say too much because of all the city lights, but at least you have less obstruction to that vast dark ocean. 

As prominent stars shine above, you lose any previous thoughts, palms curled and resting against the warm top of Jungkook’s car. 

If only you could swim across those mingling blues. Weightless. No stressors or toxins entering your life, only flowing out and dissipating amongst planets and moons. A stellar massage; an out of this world escape. 

“Why are we up here?”

Your sigh is slow on the release. “To see if you earned dessert or not.”

When you look his way, Jungkook’s eyes twinkle brighter than stars, which is all you needed to validate your impromptu decision to come. 

Another olive branch. 

But your roommate slowly rounding his car makes your thoughts slip off the damn track. The rooftop lights contour his features just right, and when he leans right next to your arm, your ability to steer back in your lane vanishes. 

“Didn’t think you were this invested,” he hums.

To which you slowly cut back, “I kinda just wanna see you lose.”

Jungkook’s teeth bite a corner of amused lips in response, and it’s the most tempting he’s looked the entire night. Fuck you need to look away he cannot do that ever again.

“Record me then.”

Why the fuck did his voice get so low!

Turning back, you slide your hands off the car—certainly not because they’re shaking. “Gimme your phone.” 

The proximity has been getting to you. But Jungkook’s sudden hesitation breaks whatever spell he just casted. 

Makes sense. He was very quick to swipe away any notifications that you may have seen. Privacy or whatever he’s afraid of, you’re gonna stay wary of what could be in that thing. 

But to your utter shock, Jungkook has his whole screen in view while he swipes into quick settings to turn on Do Not Disturb. And he hands it over while his words come out small, 

“All yours.”

Static flits in the air as you slowly take it, watching him observe your expression and realizing he’s giving up a lot with this one gesture. 

And you don’t know what possesses you to do this, but you pocket his phone in your hoodie pouch before taking your own device out to silence, as well.

Although worried, you sacrifice this tiny moment of time to give him the same courtesy. It’s only gonna take him two tries maximum, right? You won’t miss anything in those sixty seconds. This is just an equivalent exchange. 

“And yours,” you murmur, handing him your phone to keep, too.  

It shouldn’t mean much. Honestly, it shouldn’t mean anything. 

But the way Jungkook looks at you? I feels like no one else exists anymore. Your universe has shrunken to two, and the way one of you is inching forward it feels like you’re about to be k—

“You shouldn’t have done that,” is all the warning you get before Jungkook speeds off.

Speeds off? What the actual fuck!

“Are you fucking serious!” you call out as you chase him across empty parking spaces, watching his hair bounce with his swooping laughs as he’s… raising your phone above his head? “Jungkook, I swear to god—”

His laughter continues as he keeps running, and you quickly run out of breath but you push forward because what the fuck is he doing with your phone? Is he checking every notification you didn’t swipe away or checking your call history or—

A whoosh of breath flies out as you run right into his laughs, and you’re grabbing at his jacket and yelling until you notice that he’s…

Recording? 

Jungkook was just filming himself running away?

“Ah, you’re faster than I thought,” he grins to your camera. “Thought you’d be a turtle.” 

“Kook!”

“Come here, turtle,” he says before wrapping a quick arm around you. Asking right to the camera, he continues, “Where’d you learn to be so fast?”

You outright frown at the lens. “I am not a turtle.”

Jungkook bursts into laughter again. “Ah, what are you then,” he asks again, watching himself on your screen while you perpetually pout. “A sloth? A snail?”

“Annoyed.”

“That’s not an animal!”

“Give me my phone!” You spring into action, leaping for your device as he stretches away while laughing even harder. Your body fully smushes into his in your pursuit, and while your arms are sailing through the air your heart is leaping into the clouds. 

It’s always been obvious your roommate is rock solid but holy fuck. 

Don’t give up now. You’re grabbing his leather sleeves and he’s chortling all throughout your struggle. But you think you can get it if you just— 

“Wait, wait!” Jungkook stumbles from your full weight jumping forward, and he attempts to stay upright but suddenly you’re rushing towards the ground in a full fall oh shit! “Fuck—!”

You fully expect pain shooting through your hands, or your hips, or your elbow, brain rushing through ideas on how to fall properly—

But all you feel is the plush yet solid force of Jungkook’s front, held together in a leather layer as you both shoot out groans on impact. And all you can get out is a tiny, 

“Ow.” 

“You okay?” 

A lot of things are competing for your realization. Like the way Jungkook is between your body and concrete, and the way he’s the one looking at you in concern. 

Not to mention the hand fully pressing you against his front. 

Oh no no no, you’re getting flushed just thinking about how he feels. Or how he saved you from any injury. You can already imagine how it’s gonna sound in the video playback when you squeak, but you’re so embarrassed that you just want it over with. “Why’d you do that?”

“Me? You’re the one that jumped me!” 

“You could’ve just given me my phone.” 

“That’s too easy.” 

Shit, you need to get up. His eyes are shimmering and he looks way too happy for a guy that just broke your entire fall. When you try to push off, you’re quickly held a little bit tighter. 

And your brain skids to a halt as you look at his cocked brow. 

“Say sorry first.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” he quips. “Say sorry and I let you go.” 

Ah. If only it was always that easy. 

Pursing your lips, you glare. “I’m sorry for giving you my—Kook!”

He laughs at your miserable attempt to escape his tickling, correcting you in sing-song as you squirm. “You gotta mean it, babe.” 

Immediately, you stop. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Why not?” 

You don’t really have an answer. But giving guys a general look of annoyance is usually enough to convince them. So you pull out your last hope. 

“Okay, okay,” he concedes, reluctantly peeling his fingers off your side and letting you stand. “I won’t say it for now.” 

Once you get off of him, you feel a little strange. The same feeling from your handholding earlier comes back in full force, but you do your best to shove it away. 

You don’t need that right now. This is just an experiment, so not even lying on top of your roommate can get to you. 

While dusting yourself, you miss the chance to give Jungkook a hand. So you’re silent as he shows you your phone—the video stopped and your screen black. “That okay?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, though you don’t know what for. “We can record now.”

You huff as he unlocks your device with your face, and you debate pouncing again before he reassures, 

“Just pulling up the song. Damn, your screens are organized!”

You don’t acknowledge his compliment but watch him pull up the right app. And you let him play the song on loop in his pocket before relaxing. 

“Okay, you can start. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

“K.”

Through his screen, you watch Jungkook slowly jog into frame until he’s a good distance away. Already knows exactly how far to be, you muse, wondering just how often he really does these videos. 

And he preps because he knows the challenge part is coming, so you steady your hand and watch in amazement as he really does know all the moves. 

But you’re feeling a little cheeky. And a little in the mood for revenge. 

So you wait until he’s fully done with the dance to tell him you weren’t recording, which makes him groan, 

“Really!”

“Looks like you gotta do it all again,” you shrug with mock-pity. 

So he plays the song from your phone again while you wait, and once again, Jungkook is a skilled… dancer… 

A message banner from a name you vaguely recognize slides onto his screen, which throws you off because you literally saw him put it on DND. 

Wait. If Jungkook still gets her messages in this mode, then…

You realize what that could mean, and it kinda throws you off because you feel like you intruded on something you didn’t mean to. 

Damn. 

“How’d that one look!”

Shit! You were so thrown you didn’t even watch him! “Uhh.. Do it again,” you tell him, trying hard to hide the hitch in your voice. “You can do better.”

“Well, damn!” This guy’s smile really isn’t fair, even from far away. “At least you’re honest.”

Yeah. Right. 

When Jungkook does it again, no notifications show up and you watch him diligently this time. 

It’s perfect. Exactly how you thought it’d be. 

“That one was the best one,” he chirps, jogging over to take his phone and have you both watch it again. Looking at you with a lopsided curve, he boasts, “I win.”

“Fine, fine,” you admit with a fake grin. “Maybe I’m the one that wanted dessert this whole time.” 

He laughs. “Do it with me.” 

Do what? The dance? Absolutely not. “Me? Hell no.” 

“Why not!” 

“I would look like a fool! No.” 

A hand juts out to pull you just as you try to scurry away. “Nah, come on! I’ll show you, come here.” 

Ugh. You hate how he’s truly just vibing, taking you along for the ride. 

But in a last show of grace, you allow yourself to give in. Focusing on anything else besides those phone calls—and that notification—could be good anyway. 

So you stand next to your awaiting date, nodding for him to get on with it and teach. 

Grinning, Jungkook shows you simple moves and you somewhat get them. Something with your feet here, another move with your arms there. It’s a bit shaky at first and you have to keep watching him dance, but you have to admit you’re doing better than expected. 

But there’s a move with your hips that you can’t quite get, and you feel stiff as hell. Honestly, you’re not even mad at your dance partner for laughing because you know you look silly. “Give me a break,” you shout with a laugh, to which he chuckles harder. “You know this one is hard.” 

So, in very Jungkook fashion, your roommate comes over to steady his hands on your hips. “Here,” he says in a whisper, “I got you.”  

And you scoff out a laugh. “Oh. I see.” 

In full teacher mode, he asks in shock, “Wait, you got it already?” 

“No, like”—you shake your head—“I see why you did this.” 

Jungkook pauses before chuckling, smug whispers flowing into your ear, “Is it working?” 

Huh. Just like his boldness from before, you’re liking this side of him. The one that’s just going for it, whatever the challenge may be. 

Turning slightly, you catch his features in your peripheral. “What if it wasn’t?” 

Slowly, Jungkook’s grip gets a little tighter as he leans in, one of his hands sliding up just enough for his thumb to slip under your hoodie. When he asks again, his tone lowers an octave, one you haven’t ever heard this close, “This better?” 

The text, the text, the text. 

You breathe hard, swallowing before stepping far out of his embrace and sputtering, “I think I got it! No practice needed.” 

He switches demeanor immediately. “Oh? So we can record now?” 

“What.”

Jungkook half runs to the nearest concrete railing to prop his phone, grappling your wrist before you can scurry out of frame. “Just try it! Play the song on your phone.” 

God. You were only gonna learn the dance, not be recorded! This is way too much embarrassment for the night. 

As the video records, you’re so adamantly against it that you stand in full grump mode, your dance partner only stopping when he sees you not doing it.

You kinda enjoy his pout. “Hey!”

“I can’t!” 

Again with those eyes. No wonder this man gets whatever the fuck he wants whenever someone comes over. “Just once.” 

Your arms cross you like a shield. “If it’s horrible, you’re deleting it.” 

“Fine.”

You give him another look, but he’s not budging. At all. 

So you slump in defeat and prep for the worst. 

The video records again, and you move through the steps, knowing your memory helps you even though your muscles can’t quite do everything accurately. Honestly, you’re a bit proud you can get through the dance wait why are you dancing solo!

Freezing, you turn to Jungkook watching you with a dropped jaw. “What now?” 

Excited eyes crease as he points to your feet. “You did the moves!” 

“Wasn’t I supposed to?” 

“Yeah, but”—his amusement peppers the night with color—“I didn’t expect that.” 

“You told me to!” 

He laughs again before running excitedly to his phone, and you are so confused. But you feel a little accomplished that you surprised him, and he then tells you to record him one more time. “I can’t lose to you.” 

And when you watch him finish the dance, you lock eyes with him over his phone. 

That was the best he’s ever danced for a video and you both know it. 

When he proudly holds his device on the way back to the car, you quietly smile as he decrees, “I’m posting this tomorrow.” 

“Why not now?” 

“Wanna edit first.” 

You give the sky one more look. “Oh. I thought time mattered or something.” 

“Huh? I don’t care about the time. I just post whenever.” 

“Sounds right.” 

At least the time you’ve been spending on the parking garage is nice. Looks like the change in location has been a nice distraction from—

Great. Another fucking call. 

Both of you glance down at your phone, and you quickly bring it up to your ear to hide the caller ID, wincing at his forlorn look before you motion your exit. 

“Do you really have to—”

When the caller starts to talk, you make one stride before your elbow is softly grabbed. 

And when you give Jungkook a desperate shake of your head, he pinches his brows before letting you go. 

God, your roommate looks so lost in his car. 

The breeze stings as you walk back, and your heart tugs a little when Jungkook starts driving over as soon as he sees you’re done. 

Just get through this last part of the night. One more stop and then you can both end this pitiful charade of a date. 

You’re about to reach for your door when Jungkook pops out of his side. “I got it.” 

Oh. That’s nice of him. “You don’t have to—”

“Am I keeping you from something?” 

Stilling, you watch as he stops at your side, car exhaust hitting your nose as his car runs. “No, no, it’s…” 

Jungkook watches you peter off, his face falling hard enough to make you regretful. When he looks at the ground, your chest caves. “We can just go home.” 

“What? No. You won the bet, I don’t need pity.” You know it’s sour but you’re stressed and losing this one good thing will make it a thousand times worse. “Sorry.” 

“We don’t have to go.” 

“Dude, it’s fine.” 

“I don’t want it anymore.” 

Well. Shit. 

Way to be the first person in the universe to ruin a good time with Jeon Jungkook. A good night, no less. What’s the prize? Feeling like absolute garbage. 

This guy took you to the nicest place in town, defended you against stuck-up assholes, and even broke your fall on concrete. What the fuck have you been doing the whole night? Those olive branches don’t mean shit if you’re gonna take them away, too. 

Sighing, you muster the courage to put on a brave front. Offering one last, genuine invitation, you compromise, “Then let’s do the dance one more time.” 

“It’s okay.” 

Fuck, that hurts like hell, but don’t give up. Stop being a total asshole. 

Gathering even more courage, you reach out to lift his beautiful chin. “Look at me.” When he does in silence, you finally apologize, “I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve told you these calls might happen but I didn’t even.. I didn’t even think about it.” 

“They’re making you miserable,” he accurately summarizes. “And you won’t tell me who's doing this to you.” 

Soul breaking, you stare at the ground. “I’ll tell you if I really need to, Kook, but.. Not right now.” 

“Why?” 

Many, many reasons. But you’ll spare him the time and misery when you swipe at nothing on his jacket. “Because I can handle them on my own for now.” 

There’s a beat of silence followed by another. But it’s not as awkward as they had been throughout the night. This one feels much lighter, like your apology lifted the brick of stress pushing down on you until now. 

Is that because Jungkook’s now offering to help you carry it? “I’m here, you know,” he starts, his turn to hold your chin. “Even if we aren’t dating, I got you. Okay?” 

Smiling the tiniest you can manage, you wait until his hand is back at his side. “Are you gonna tell me that’s what roommates are for?” 

When Jungkook starts to grin, you let yours spread a little wider. “Something like that.” 

Okay. You can do this. 

He’s just your roommate and this is just a date. You’ve been letting life beat your ass the whole time you could’ve been leaning into this whole thing, and that sucks. 

But even though you can’t change the past, you can change what happens now. 

So you let yourself laugh when he does, and you give him one more chance to embarrass you. “Are we doing this dance again or going back home so I can finally sleep in peace?”

“In peace?” His dropped jaw makes you giggle. “Nah, we’re definitely recording again.” 

This time, you both stand a little closer so you can fully be in frame. And it takes a few tries—one solely because Jungkook purposely moves to cover you, making you shove his laughing ass out of the way—but eventually you do get a decent take. 

After watching it over in the car a few minutes later, you’re so impressed that you even want him to send you the video. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m sending all of them.” 

“What, why?” 

His eyes shine way too bright as he starts descending through the parking levels. “So that they live in our message thread forever.” 

“You sneaky bi—wait, this is my song!” Your hand is already jutting out to turn up the volume before Jungkook can react, already forgetting what you were yelling about to break into an upbeat rendition of an old classic. 

“Wait, I wanted to—”

“Too bad! This is my shit.” 

When you start to sing, Jungkook can only watch before grinning at his windshield, joining in until you’re both belting everything out, “We’re in heaven…” 

Letting your window down, you scream lyrics out into the empty garage, barely hearing Jungkook cackling at your side. 

For a moment, you feel free. Music up, breeze through the windows, and the prettiest singing voice by your side hitting every note in the book. 

If only you could both do this forever. 

After a much livelier car ride than the first, you’re both walking to your door, sharing a look and knowing exactly what the tiny laughs are about. 

Who goes back to the same home after a first date? 

As he opens the door for you, a thanks slips from your lips before your shoes slide off your feet. And while the door closes with a click, your mind goes over the whole night like a sped-up tape. 

Prank or not, bet or not, it ended up being fun. You hope the same for your roommate, though you’re truly expecting him to confess and say he’s done pretending. So he can get on with his life and seeing other people like that girl. 

Your ribcage jostles. 

“Thanks for dinner,” you murmur as he finishes taking off his boots. “That was the best I’ve ever had.”

When Jungkook straightens, he gives you a lopsided smile. “Good,” he responds before flicking his bangs out the way. “But no taking calls next time.” 

Wait. After all your bullshit today, there’s still a next time? “Uh, I don’t know when I’d be able to—” 

“Trust me. This one you’ll like.” 

Rip the bandaid off. Just do it before things go where they shouldn’t. He’s already starting to say what’s in store for tomorrow but you can’t even entertain it because of what you saw. “I don’t think this will work.” 

Caught mid-sentence, Jungkook snaps his mouth shut before tilting his head. “Huh? You didn’t have a good time?” 

Damn it. Why is he still only asking about your experience? Didn’t he have to sit through all your absences? This is already getting too hard to break off and that’s not a good sign. “No, I did. I meant the whole, umm. Ten days thing.” 

“Because you’re already convinced?” 

“Because we live together, dummy,” you remind him, walking into the hall before he blocks your path. Pulling excuses out of your ass, you continue, “At least I get to have time away from other people I date. Not keep seeing them in their underwear.” 

“You like it.” 

You tsk. 

“It’ll be fine!” 

Arms folded, you pin him with a glare. “You bring girls over like four times a week.” 

“Why would I right now? I’m with you.” 

Something about that makes your heart pulse a little faster. But you can’t. You can’t do this when you know something you shouldn’t. Or maybe something you should, since it’s pretty damn important? “And no one else?”

“No one else,” Jungkook immediately answers. Which is weird considering what you accidentally saw earlier. If he’s flat out lying, you really can’t do anything else with him anytime soon. 

“Are you sure, because…” You sigh before looking down at his pocketed phone. 

Say it. Say exactly what’s on your mind because this isn’t some drama where communication is somehow last on the list of priorities. Real people talk it out, so talk it out. “Look. I kinda, umm. Saw someone text you when I was recording.”

You watch his expression change a tiny, tiny bit. But it’s enough to warrant your decision, “If you’re already seeing someone, I don’t wanna—”

“Who?”

You blink. “Uhhh.. Kyla? Kira?”

Your roommate suddenly starts to grin lopsided. “Kala? She’s my friend from like, second grade. We still game together.”  

“Oh.” Well. That was a lot easier to talk about than you expected. “I just thought… Yeah.”

The way he softens while looking at you makes you feel both dizzy and a little shy. You would pay a significant amount to know what he’s thinking right now, despite the troubles hitting you all through the night. 

“So cute.”

Ah. Never mind. “It’s not cute,” you huff. “Just being reasonable.”

“Yeah. Cute.” 

But he breaks contact to take out his phone and messes with it for a bit. When he clicks it to lock, he holds it up in a slight wiggle. “There.” 

Your head tilts before he explains,

“Yours come through now, too.” 

Breath caught, your whole body seems to buzz. The air around your hoodie starts shifting and heating, and your question leaves in a shocked whisper, “You’re taking this seriously.. aren’t you.”

Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours. “Yeah.”

Why the hell is he trying so hard? For you of all people? 

Last time you checked, the two of you are friends but it’s never been more than that. What’s gotten into him in the last month or so? Did something happen that you missed completely? 

Because if this isn’t some big joke... is this energy around you what you think it is? This chemistry molding into something scary and exciting all at once? It’s terrifying you because, if this is something he wants for real, you may take things further than they’ve ever gone.  

But the spark dissipates when Jungkook looks away. Eyes a little lowered, he asks, 

“It’s just ten days, right?”

Ah. Of course. He’s just competitive, that’s all. 

Smiling tight while you lift your nose, you hum. “Seven.” 

“Too easy.” Jungkook then stops to look at the ground. “It’d be easier if you didn’t keep walking off, though.” 

He got you there. You really don’t have any excuses other than your much lower level of effort. “I… Yeah. Life is really… I’m sorry.” 

You don’t want to tell him just yet. Especially since the night had quite the lovely ending. “But honestly, I really thought you were just doing all this to mess with me.”

“Well, I’m not.” Shucking his jacket off shoulders that haunt you, your roommate steps aside to let you finally pass. 

And reminds you about the motherfucking tank underneath fuck—

“Besides.” 

You blink at the hand on your arm. 

“I can mess with you any day.”

Oh? Bold once again. Attractive once again. But you aren’t gonna let him have just anything he wants. At least, not without seeing how far he’s willing to go. “Not if I don’t let you.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” You lift your chin. “You don’t scare me.”

Stepping in front of you, he gets so close there’s no space between your front and his protruding pecs. “Even like this?”

You try not to show your swallow. “Uh huh.”

When he leans in, you do your best not to react when he rasps out, “And this?”

Another gulp.  “D… Duh.” 

But you’re pretty sure he hears that one because he gravitates to your neck. So close that you can feel his breath on your throat, cologne wrapping you up in wild thoughts and even wilder decisions. “But not this, right?”

Say no, say yes, say no no no. “...No.”

Then. Just when you thought he couldn’t get any cheekier. His lips brush right against your neck as he asks his last question,

“Here then.”

Your flinch and dip out of his way is so quick that you don’t even realize you moved, and his laughs paint the hallway with mirth at your expense.

A hand slaps over the very spot he touched. “Kook!”

“What?”

That felt way too good but came out of nowhere. Feelings are creeping into places they really shouldn’t, and you’re so caught off-guard that your lips flap but don’t do much else. “You… you can’t just…I—”

“Relax,” he giggles. “I wasn’t gonna do anything else.”

Snapping back to reality, you bring yourself to express what’s really on your mind. “Just saying,” you huff, walking off. “You should still ask..”

“Wait, wait!” 

You turn, not anticipating the next thing out of his mouth.  

“You’re right,” he breathes out as he skids. “I’m sorry.” 

Relieved he didn’t take what you asked for as joke, you allow yourself to relax again. 

But of course, with Jeon Jungkook, there’s always more. “Can I do one more thing?” 

“What.” 

“Lemme do what I always do after dates.” 

Deadpanning, you drone, “We’re not having se—” 

“It’s not that.” Pinning him with disbelief, you watch him smile. “Not this time, anyway.” 

Another roll of your eyes. 

“Just trust me.” 

“Fine.” 

He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom door, and you try your hardest not to bunch your shoulders. 

But something interesting happens that makes you more curious than anything else.

Jungkook stops when you get to your entrance, and he turns to just stare at your face. So calm, and so quiet. 

You don’t quite know what you look like right now, but the way he smirks before going in for a kiss gives you.. an.. idea.. 

He kisses your cheek? 

When he pulls away, his eyes sparkle as you question so bluntly he laughs, “That’s it?” 

“Told you,” he reiterates through a sly grin. “Why?” 

“I mean..”

He chuckles before leaning in slow. “I mean if you insist—” 

Immediately stopping his playful ways, you panic, “Wait, I mean—I just—” 

“Dinner and a kiss is all it takes to win, huh?”

“No, that’s not..” God, he is not funny right now! “One more wouldn’t hurt. I wasn’t ready.” 

By the way Jungkook freezes, you’d think he had turned to stone. But on second glance, he’s just watching for any hesitation or lie in your words, so when he finds none he leans back in.

The second kiss is just as light and innocent as the first. 

But this time, he doesn’t move as you swivel your face to watch, mouths so close and noses softly bumping. 

And the universe shrinks once again. Your belly twists with trembling butterflies and Jungkook’s cologne has clung to him so nicely and your calls have you wound tight and you really just need a distraction so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just—

“Go to sleep, roomie,” he whispers with a deadly smirk, moving away before you can even respond. “You gotta get up early.”

Oh. Why did your heart just scream? “Right… I do.”

“Good night.”

“Good night…”

Before you can snap out of it, Jungkook is already walking away. 

After everything you did tonight, he still stayed. Still had fun. And even did more than he needed to for you despite being left alone at every turn. 

…And quite honestly? “Kook?”

He turns. 

Fuck this fake dating game, fuck the bullshit you’ve been dealt tonight. “Was that really how you wanted to kiss me?”

Jungkook pauses in the hall, jacket dangling from his fist. “Fuck no.”

You swallow as your breath turns shallow. Thinking too hard about all the shit you’re gonna go through soon, you let loose just this once. 

“Then show me.”

Leather abandoned on wooden floorboards, your friend, your roommate, your enormous new problem returns with a purpose, gripping your head in his hands and—

Fuck, he’s a great kisser. Your lips connect and it’s lights out, flashing through your veins and speeding down your limbs. Rushed and impatient, his hands slide all over your arms, running up back to your neck to hold it tight. 

“You taste so fucking nice.” 

Your reply is devoured, his grip strong but not crushing, tongue sliding along your plush like it’s nothing. 

Yes, yes, yes. This is exactly what you needed all along. Nothing occupies your mind other than thoughts so dirty Jungkook would never let you live them down. 

Suddenly, you’re delightfully shoved against your door, groan spewing into his lips as you grapple for his bare arms. If he’s chuckling, you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can think about is how fucking good this feels. 

And how fucking wrong it is. 

Maybe that’s what adds to the thrill. The knowledge that roommates should never jump into this, no matter how electric things can get. 

But fuck it. 

Maddeningly, though, Jungkook keeps his hands just within boundaries, which surprises you and yet irks the monster in you all the same. When he shifts his lips, the kiss deepens, and your eyes shut even tighter as something taut and muscular shoves between your legs. 

Fuck, this feels good. Too good. Borderline forbidden and stepping across way too many lines but you can’t fucking stop. 

“Careful, babe,” you hear him coo. “Keep going and we’re fucking all week.” 

What? What did he just say what are you doing to make him… 

Holy fuck, were you humping his leg? 

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, breaking away and holding him at arm’s length. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even—” Air immediately washes over your heated cheeks and into your desperate lungs, and you have to fight to catch your beating breaths. “Something just happened, I—”

And looking down does you no favors because there is a very, very obvious bulge in your roommate’s pants oh god what did you do? 

Your wrists are held by calm hands as Jungkook peels you off his shoulders. When he leans forward, your body’s caged in by his sheer size alone. 

“Thanks for the dessert, roomie,” he simply whispers to your lips, swiping a finger across your nose before backing up to go to his room. “See you tomorrow.”

And just like that, you’re left alone in the hallway, mind swirling and swirling.

Well. When you invited him to make a move, you expected to be charmed because it’s him. 

But out of all the goddamn outcomes, you didn’t expect anything like that.

A hand slides up to grab the spot above your beating, pulsing, racing heart.

These seven days are gonna age you an eternity.

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tbc. :)

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🦋 ahhh how do we feel !! | wanna be tagged? 🦋

Sorry to break it to you, princess, but these walls aren’t exactly soundproof. He pointed out, making you cover your face with your hands. We didn’t even have a door before you decided to put that old rag up. 

Living inside the cave system was nice, to a degree. You were close to your family, your friends. You had plenty of water at the pool, shade from the sun and protection from the cold weather during the colder months. Not to mention, it was a perfect hiding spots from outsiders. 

But sometimes you still wondered if this is all there was for you, the human part of you making you crave more in life. 

Your lover knew you had more on your mind when he laid back down and pulled you to lay on his chest, wrapping an arm around you as you threw a leg over his. 

Do you ever think about moving away from the pack? You asked quietly, hoping he wouldn’t read too much into it. 

As in leaving eomma and the others? 

Not exactly, just… Living somewhere else, just the two of us. You shrugged, drawing lines on his chest with your fingertip. We could build a hut that is a little more comfortable than sleeping on the floor. 

If it’s what you want, we can. He took your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each tip of your fingers before playfully biting your pinky. I never thought about it. But I guess I haven’t thought about walking on my own two feet either. 

I’m glad the Moon blessed you with that. You couldn’t imagine how empty your life would’ve been if your pack, if your mate, weren’t able to turn into beings that walked and looked like you, despite still being a lot better in many different things. I know not everyone in the pack is too happy about it,  I know some of them blame me.

Some are just scared. But the Moon gave us a different life, a better life because of you. He assured you, and his words always brought you peace. If anything I’m happy about it. 

Yeah? 

Mhm. Because then I get to do this. Fingers hooked under your chin to lift your face up do that he could press his lips against yours in a sweet kiss that started to turn heated really fast. And this…

The man had you on your back again, ready for round two. You easily parted your legs for him, blunt nails finding their favorite spot on his hips. Your mate groaned against your chest as he started to rut against you, pressing his growing erection on the messy inside of your thigh–

Yo, lovebirds. Jinyoung’s voice was not one you were expecting to hear right now. Get out of your nest for a second, we have an emergency. 

Your lover was pulling away from you at the alarm on the pack member’s tone, shifting back into his animal form in a painful flash. You always closed your eyes whenever he did it, you knew he was still learning to do without it hurting too much. 

If it was up to him, you’d stay in your shared nest in the cave system, but soon enough even your mediocre ears could hear the commotion happening outside. 

While your mate was a lot faster than you, you still stumbled to put on clothes that covered your chest and legs, finding groups of families gathered in the main room of the cave. It didn’t take you long at all to find out what was going on, pushing your way through the crowd to get to Sihuk-nim and his wife. 

The woman was on her knees, crying desperately as she held four pups into her arms. Four, not five. 

Where’s Kai? You asked your friend as you joined him and your mate as the woman sobbed a little harder. 

We looked for him everywhere. Jinyoung explained. He’s not in the cave. We think he ventured outside. 

Oh no…

It was the first night of the full moon, which meant the forest would be the brightest thanks to its light. It also meant that hunters from the palace would be roaming these woods in search of easy prey. 

The whole pack knew not to venture out of the cave for the next couple of nights; even the more experienced wolf could be in danger of being hit with the human’s bows and arrows. It was definitely not the time for a pup to be out there on his own. 

He likes the fireflies. You spoke quietly, heart clenching for the little boy. 

We’re putting together a group to go look for him. Your mate bumped his head against your hip to catch your attention. 

Okay, where do we start? You questioned, hearing a huff in response. 

You’re not going. 

Yes I am. 

Princess, it’s dangerous. You can’t see as well as we do in the dark– 

You scratched your mate’s head in hopes of calming him as you said: My love, I can see just as well as the hunters do. Maybe that will give us an advantage. 

As concerned as he was for your safety, your mate knew it wasn’t the right time to have this discussion. The longer you took, the further away Kai could get, the longer it take you to find him and the closer the hunters could get to the defenseless wolf cub. 

Okay, just… If anything happens you come back to the cave. The wolf agreed to compromise. You come back here and ask someone to find me. 

I promise. 

We’ll find your cub, sunbae-nim. Jinyoung promised the couple before signaling for the search group to leave. 

You’d only hold them back if you asked them to wait for you, watching seven wolves dash out through the entrance of the cave and into the night. You couldn’t be as fast as them, you might not rely on your nose or many of your senses, but you were smart. And you knew these woods better than any hunter, you grew up between these trees. 

And you knew Kai. 

Since you weren’t as skilled in the activities the pack needed to do –like hunting, fishing or being on the lookout–, you were often asked to look after the cubs. It was a task you enjoyed doing, and you could say you taught one or two of them to walk on two feet all on their own. 

Kai, alongside his older brother Yeonjun, was a cub you’ve been looking after since birth. One of your favorite things to do together was hunting fireflies, you taught him where to find them during one of your night strolls.

That’s how you had a hunch about where you might find him. 

Every cub was told not to leave the cave without a parent or an older member, especially not during the full moon. But kids were stubborn and hardly listened to their elders. You knew that well, you’ve defied Eomma more times than you could count, resulting in your young mate having to drag you back home to get an earful. 

The clearing where the fireflies came alive during the nighttime was a long walk from the cave, at least when it came to your weaker legs, but you made it there in record time. You had to be careful with your surroundings and, a couple times on the way here, you thought you'd heard a deer running away from something. 

The shrubs were too low to properly hide anything and it didn’t take you long at all to hear the tiny chirps and to see the white wolf pup jumping and rolling on the grass as he tried to catch the fireflies with his mouth. 

Huening Kai! You spoke to the little wolf, who let out a tiny howl as he heard you. Get back here right now! You know you’re not supposed to be out on your own! 

Noona! Come play with me! 

The little cub turned his back on you as he ran after a particularly fat firefly, his white fur making him an easy target under the moonlight. You didn’t think twice about going after him, arms outstretched to reach for–

You heard the sound of something cutting the air before you felt it hitting the crook of your right shoulder. You were blinded by the pain, stumbling to the floor and spooking the wolf cub enough to make him run into the woods and hide by the trees. The pain on your shoulder was piercing as something sharp cut through your flesh to lodge itself into your muscle. 

You laid on your back, groaning from the pain as your stomach twisted with the urge to throw up. 

“Oh no… Where did you come from?!” you heard words you could barely understand, a face you’ve only ever seen from afar coming into your blurry line of vision. “I didn't see you, you just walked right in front of my aim, I– HELP! Somebody!” 

It was ironic to you, how this was the way in which you met your brother for the first time after your birth. By being shot by one of his arrows. You recognized him instantly, you had the same eyes and same nose, same color of your hair. But while you had a scar across your eye and cheek, his face was perfectly smooth. 

“No.” your throat was dry and your words felt weird on your tongue. The man was trying to be gentle when he helped you sit you up against a fallen tree trunk, which helped your nauseated stomach greatly. “No palace, no.” 

“No palace–” 

That’s when your brother really looked at you. That’s when he saw you. And whatever he found, scared him enough for him to pull back from you and fall on his ass as if he’d seen a ghost. 

“You... So it's true? You're my sister aren't you?” he was absolutely shocked, but you were a little more concerned about the stick pointing out of your shoulder as your blood started to trickle down your arm a little faster. “I always thought my mother was delirious, but– you've been living in the forest for this long? It's okay, I'll take you back.” 

“No... Palace bad.” you shook your head and instantly regretted it, as it moved the arrow a little deeper. Then you pointed to your scar: “Dangerous.”

“I can protect you, I can keep you safe…”

“No, no.” you were starting to lose your train of thought, mind blanking as you were pulled under an abyss. “Mate. Get mate.”

“Mate? Who is mate?” your brother looked confused and you wondered if mate wasn’t the term humans used to describe their loved ones. “Do you want me to get someone for you?”

You nodded, because you couldn’t find the word you were looking for. Your brain was working slower, numbed by the sting radiating from your shoulder. 

“Who? Who is your mate?” he asked, but it sounded too far away. Again, you got the tingly feeling on your fingertips that you couldn’t explain. The whole world was swirling around you as you heard: “We need a name. Tell us a name so we can save you. Please, just give us a name. Please, little wolf.”

“So you’re a werewolf?” 

You weren’t allowed to ask questions until the bowl of veggie soup Seokjin had made for you was empty, so as soon as the last spoonful was pushed into your mouth, you were sending your best friend a squint and placing the bowl on the bedside table.

You were propped up against the headboard of your bed, body recovering a lot faster than any of you expected it to. The bites on your right shoulder were healing nicely and the constant burning pain was gone. All that was left in its wake was a tingly feeling and a dull throb that you could most definitely live with. 

Kimee nodded. “Yes. And you’re a Moonchi–”

“I know what I am,” you waved her off, as if that was no longer news to you. “But you’re a werewolf?!” 

“I– okay, you’re taking this a lot better than I expected, I thought you might have questions–” the girl was obviously confused at how calmly you were receiving the news she just laid on you. 

“I'm sure the questions will come, but somehow it makes sense.” you told her as you took slow sips of your tea. And you remembered your dreams. The dreams of a life you lived once upon a time, but you weren’t ready to talk about just yet. “I also feel like I need to apologize.”

“Why would you need to apologize, babes?”

“For not being a better friend.” you told her what had been weighing on you ever since you ran off to Dalju. “I didn’t tell you what was going on–”

“It’s not like you could, you were protecting their secret.” Kimee stopped you, and then agreed that: “Okay, I happened to have the same secret, but it was on me for not telling you first.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” you took the pillow resting next to you and threw it at her, wincing in pain from moving your arm too fast. 

Hey, settle down, you two! Hoseok spoke from somewhere in the house. Don’t make me come up there and break up a fight. 

We’re not fighting, Seokie. You replied, hearing happy groans and chirps all over the den. It’s been happening a lot since you found out that you could now speak into their minds too, ever since you woke up from your deep sleep. 

“Would you have believed me?!” Kimee growled, which was a sound you’ve never heard from her. 

“If I saw you turn into a majestic beast, I might!” you settled before one of the members marched into your room and cut your reunion short. 

“Or you might have ran for the hills, I didn’t know how you would react!” 

“I get that, alright.” you have to give her the benefit of the doubt. Just because you didn’t freak out when you saw Jungkook as a wolf, doesn’t mean you would have reacted the same way if it was her. “But! I wasn’t done. I’m also sorry for what the Southside did to you. I’m sorry about getting you in the middle of my own issues and that put you in danger. If something happened to you–”

“Nothing happened to me.” she assured you, as if you couldn’t see the tiny marks around her neck. “And those fuckers did a lot worse to you, so if anything, I should apologize to you.”

“How about we just… Say we’re even?” 

“I’m okay with that.”

Kimee wasn’t all that touchy by nature, so she complained when you pulled her into a hug. But you knew more about her by now, so the soft drag of your nose against her neck made her stop fighting you and hug you back. 

“I can’t believe you’re really here.” you gave her one last squeeze to make sure that you really weren’t dreaming anymore. “You met my pack.”

“I did, and I like some better than others, but–”

“I’m not ready for the chaos you and Jimin are going to cause.” you giggled, heart suddenly full.

“He is my favorite, yes.”

“Don’t go getting any ideas.” you growled, making her laugh and pinch your sides.

“Yes, yes, I know. Bangtan is off limits.” the girl rolled her eyes as you felt your cheeks burn. “Even if you totally picked your mate, you still won’t let me come near the others, I get it.” 

“I mean, you can– If they want– It’s not like I can forbid them–” you stuttered, but the thought of any of them being interested in Kimee like that, or anyone for that matter, made you feel sick to your stomach. 

“Hey, hey, no one is worried about any of that right now.” Kimee tried to soothe you, sensing the sour of your mood. “You’re still recovering, you still have a long road ahead, because I don’t think you’re done changing.”

You could agree with that. Ever since you woke up you could feel your body changing faster than it ever had before. The fact that you could now speak into your pack’s mind was proof enough that your awakening was still happening. But–

“At least now we know why I’m changing.”

“And your mate will be there with you every step of the way.” she grinned, mentioning him on purpose just to make you giggle and your heart race. “And so will the others.”

“When can I see them?” you asked her with a nibble to your bottom lip. “When can I see him?”

“I’ll get him for you. The others agree you should see him first.” she started to get up from your bed, twisting her nose as she added: “But I’d shower first, if I were you.” 

“Good thinking–”

You had to be careful when walking out of bed and into your bathroom, your body was recovering magically fast, but you didn’t need to slip and hit your head. But your friend was right, and you were in desperate need of a shower; you needed to get rid of the dry blood sticking to your skin, of the sweat and whatever green stuff you could still find on your shoulder. 

You washed your hair, brushed your teeth, scrubbed your body as much as you could, and put on a loose shirt that wouldn’t press against your mate mark. It was crazy to you that the teeth mark on your neck and shoulder wasn’t something that could kill you any longer; if anything, the new mark was what brought you back to life. It’s what sealed your fate and gave you everything you ever wanted. 

A purpose, a home, a pack. 

You were in front of your dresser, studying the mark on your skin, when the door of your bedroom finally opened. You knew it was him, you could feel it in your bones. Every cell of your body could recognize your mate and craved him closer. 

“I tried making it as neat as possible.” Yoongi spoke quietly, walking to stand behind you. The kiss he left on the back of your head was loving and full of so much meaning you almost wanted to cry. “I think I covered it pretty well, you won't be able to tell there was another set of teeth once it completely heals.”

“Thank you… It's perfect.” you felt suddenly shy, finding his cat eyes in the reflection of the mirror.  “Do I give you one of these too?”

“Yes, but we have time.” he chuckled lowly and raspy, holding your hips to swiftly shift your body to face him. “There’s no rush, sweetheart”

“I just really want to give you one.” your hands rested on his chest as you closed your eyes to breathe in his grapefruit and guaiac wood scent. “Is that silly?”

“It's expected, actually.” Yoongi’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a hug that the two of you needed. “Your Moonchild won't really rest until you claim your mate too.”

“So I guess it's you, huh?” you giggled, hiding your face on his chest. 

“Disappointed?”

“Not at all.” you shook your head, standing on the tip of your toes to press your lips against the spot on his neck that would hold your bite sometime in the near future. “I’m quite happy about it. Somehow it makes sense.”

“Don’t let the others hear you say that.” the grumbling in his chest was filled with pride and you could hear his wolf purr. 

“Actually…” you closed your eyes as guilt showed its annoying little face. 

“Oh no.” 

You hated that you were already about to bring this up, cursing yourself for not letting Yoongi have his moment for a little while longer. But you knew that every second you spent alone with your mate was a second that the other six men felt rejected. And the others might not be your real mate, but it didn’t mean you wanted to hurt them. 

It didn’t mean you didn’t want them. 

You didn’t push away from your lover, but you raised your head to look him in the eyes. 

“I love you. So much.” you started, holding his face with both of your hands. “Right now, I love you even more than I did before and I know it’s the mate mark and I will always feel like this. And I'm okay with that.”

“But.” his eyes were gentle and his tone was soft spoken, even if you could see the tiniest hint of worry in him.

“But... I'm in love with the others too. All seven of you…” you sighed as admitting it was the easiest thing, but just the thought of hurting your mate felt like being sliced by an arrow. “I love you, Yoongi, truly. And I'm sorry if that upsets you, or if that's not the kind of mate you were hoping for… The Moonchild part of me chose your wolf. Chose you. But me... the human, or whatever it's left, I can't choose. I never could and I don't think I ever will.”

“I was already expecting this, little wolf.” he assured you softly, pressing his lips at the top of your head, soothing your nerves. “You're not just my Moonchild, you're ours. You belong to the pack.” 

“I don’t deserve you.” now you really wanted to cry.