in love maze.

as you see... it is very informal lmao and i just rely on my mind as i am writing but whenever i hit a slump or somehow need reminding where i want a chapter/scene to go, i then rely on this.

some cases, like how i mostly wrote my jk drabble series a lover's kiss, i remember just writing and writing without a plot first lol but when i started having a clear idea on how i want it to go—in order for me to not forget it, i'd just write one long paragraph for each chapter on what i want to happen in for the plot to move forward like this:

lmao not me finding my doc version history for this one hsjdhsjdhsj but yeah that is basically it hehe.

That might be why you were starting to think that you couldn’t wholeheartedly trust him because of how it was obvious that he knew he was a handsome lad. You could see it in the way he talked to you, looked at you, spoke at you, and moved around you; it all gave you the impression that he was aware how to morph his actions to make himself appear how he thinks you want him to appear.

It almost made you back out from what you were here for.

Almost.

If only you didn’t believe that you genuinely had something to do with the late Lord Beaufort’s death and could perhaps save Jimin, the present duke, from the same fate. 

“Do not jest,” he said after expressing disbelief on your confession, though his expression was now more amused than puzzlement. “How could you be involved in killing my uncle? He was found dead in his bedchamber.”

“Well, I did not say I was there to stab him in the heart or some sort—I’m merely saying I may have contributed to it.”

“Like an accomplice?”

“Perhaps?”

His eyes widened at that, alarmed. “Did you order to kill the duke?”

“Oh, no!” You immediately exclaimed, raising your hands up again to your face, horrified at the thought—yet you kind of did that, didn’t you? “No, I did not. I would never. I am not that vile of a person.”

“But you just said—”

“I am horrible with words, my lord,” you said as you began to pace back and forth in front of him again. “I meant that… oh, bollocks, you might think of me insane when I tell you…”

Jimin blinked at you, and even without speaking, you already knew what he was going to say because you were thinking the same thing, especially since you just cursed in his presence too. “I truthfully do not think my perception of you can go worse, Lady ____,” he said, that amused smile going back to place on his infuriating handsome face.

“Fine. I’ll tell you the truth, but you must promise that you will not laugh.”

“I cannot promise that.”

“Indulge me with this, Jimin.”

The use of his name made him fully grin. “Well, alright. How can I resist complying now?”

You rolled your eyes and then proceeded to tell him everything.

You might have overshared in some of the parts, but the gist was there, and he seemed to understand where the root of your concern was. However, just as you expected, he wasn’t taking any of it seriously—there were a lot of moments in which you had to pause because you were getting annoyed at how he was covering his mouth with his fist, obviously trying not to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the entire situation you have placed yourself in (and perhaps what you determinedly believed to be the cause of it).

“Well,” he finally said after you finished babbling for what felt like a straight 30 minutes, “to be honest, I am not sure whether to think that you are still jesting me or that you truly believe that a wish from the stars like that would be the cause of my uncle’s demise.”

“But it all adds up, does it not?” you defended. “I made that foolish wish, and then the very next morning, I heard from Mama and Papa that the duke passed away in his sleep. Does that not sound like divine intervention from you?”

“Perhaps, but it could just be a funny coincidence. There’s no reason to be worried by it,” he assured. “It’s not like I could call upon the Bow Street Runners and report that you were the one who killed him.” A snicker came out of those lips of his, lips that you were noticing looked pink and quite plump, causing a strange kind of warmth to wash over you.

You were back to fidgeting, playing with the material of your skirts. “You do not believe me then?”

He did not reply, and you assumed he was thinking of a polite way to answer based on the way he was looking at you with an unreadable expression. Then he spoke again, this time leaning against the desk with a tilt of his head and his arms crossing in front of him. “Is that why you are here? To seemingly confess to a false crime that you also obviously did not do—and obtain the confidence that I believe you?”

“That is not all.”

“What else?”

“I am also here to make certain that you do not fall under the same fate as the previous Lord Beaufort.”

“And, pray tell, how would you make certain of that?”

This time, you forced yourself to push your chin up high as you stared at him, uttering yet again a set of words that had Jimin reeling, “Ask you to marry me, of course,” you said.

He snorted. And then that snort transformed into a full blown laugh, the kind that came from the belly and really had him bending over, tears in his eyes and all. You weren’t even offended by such a reaction, fully aware that you were still a strong contender to be admitted to a madhouse because of everything you divulged to him tonight.

“Are you done?” you asked in a deadpan as he continued laughing.

He held up one hand, and after doing a dramatic exhale, stood up straight. “Yes, I am.”

“Good. Then what do you think?”

“About what?”

“My proposal.”

“Very creative,” he said with a grin. “Truly, Lady ____. I have not met a woman who has such a vast imagination as yourself to think of an outrageous—yet fascinating—story like that just to ensnare a duke. For that alone, you have my respect.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Wait, no. You have it wrong, my lord.”

“Do I?” There was smugness in his eyes that you did not appreciate. “I am only saying… it all aligns too, does it not?” He copied your own words from earlier. “The old duke is dead, and you did not want to marry him for obvious reasons—and then I came along. A handsome and young fellow, who also now has his title, so you are finally inclined to go forth with the betrothal arrangement and be the duchess.”

“That is not—”

He cut you off. “You need not to deny it. I do not hold it against you or see it as a flaw to your character. But I apologize, I  should have made it clear from the start that I do not ever intend to find a wife, so you did not have to go here and waste your time by coming up with that invigorating tale.”

You scoffed, shocked at the audacity of this man. 

This was why you did not have an inkling towards handsome and high-titled men. They were often cocky and too self-assured that statements like these sputtered out of their mouths. And it wasn’t like you could blame him, for you knew you had some part of it as you were foolish to believe that he would see truth and sincerity in your confession to what you continued to believe was your involvement in the late duke’s predicament.

With a deep breath, you spoke once more. “That is not my intention, Your Grace.”

“You do not want to marry me then?” he asked with that mocking look still that has your blood boiling.

“No,” you said, gritting your teeth. “If it is a matter of choice or desire, I absolutely do not want to marry you.”

“Oh, then you only wish to do so because you truly think that it will save my life.” There was that smug smirk again.

You clenched your jaw. “Yes.”

Jimin stared at you, pursing his lips, before shaking his head with a chuckle. “Very well. I will be kind enough to play along with your charade, but as for your proposal, the answer is still no.”

At that point, you felt as if you had no dignity left to plead for him to hear you out. You have already been honest enough, suffered its consequences even, and was in the unexpected state of wanting this current duke strangled by your very hands because of his attitude.

Flicking your eyes back to him, your anger was slightly subdued at how he at least looked genuinely sorry for not apparently informing you earlier about his decision to never marry. Perhaps Jimin was not as vain and conceited as you thought him to be… yet again, with a face and lineage like his, you could say that he was permitted to.

“Did you travel here with your own carriage?” he asked you, and you shook your head. “Then I will ask Martin to fetch you a hackney-coach. Unless the one you employed to go here is waiting for you downstairs?”

“No, that would be alright, my lord.” 

Uncertainty flashed in his expression. “Alright as in you agree that I should ask Martin to—”

“I’m quite capable of going home through my own means. I did go here unchaperoned, after all. Therefore there is no need to assist me in fetching a mere carriage.” You straightened your posture and headed to the door leading out of the drawing room, but not before doing a quick and reluctant curtsy, uncaring that you seemed disrespectful.

You heard him follow you, a skip to his step. “Are you cross with me, Lady ____?” His tone suggested he was finding it extremely amusing, which only added to your annoyance.

“Certainly not, Your Grace.”

“I ask that you do not take my refusal personally.”

“Oh, I do not.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes.” You huffed.

You’re glad that it doesn’t take long before you are at the back door of the townhouse, and as Martin was already there seemingly waiting for your arrival, Jimin quickly gave him a clear nod of instruction for which the butler understood quickly, telling you to wait for a moment as he hails a carriage.

You sighed. Men and their hero complex.

“Truly, it doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Jimin continued talking as you were both left alone, and you rolled your eyes, facing forward and not looking at him. “I just don’t see the appeal in marriage. More so because I consider myself young.”

That made you snap your head towards him. “Ah, of course. Because unlike women, men can definitely still wed even when their teeth are falling off and their joints no longer serve them.”

Instead of getting offended on behalf of his gender, he laughed. “Speaking from experience, I see. But there is a silver lining with marrying an old man, you know.”

“Such as?”

“Said old man dies within a year or two and then you’re free.”

You blinked. You did not expect him to say that so brashly, mostly because you were used to men often being on their best behavior whenever you were around due to how society deemed it improper for ladies to be informed of some matters that men are often already well-acquinated with.

“That is…” you trailed awkwardly; however a smile was starting to form on your face, “quite a conclusion. Though you should know by now that ladies are still seen as helpless once without a husband, especially without an heir.”

“So that is why you want a young husband like myself?”

“Has anyone told you that you are extremely infuriating, Your Grace?”

He grinned, as if your glare was causing him immense joy. “I was not the one who went here in the middle of the night to propose, might I remind you.”

“To save your life!” you reiterated, groaning.

“Yes, perfectly reasonable.”

You gave him another dirty look, one that widens his grin even further, and literally sighed in relief when Martin abruptly returned and informed you that a hackney-coach was waiting for you outside.

“Get home safely, Lady ____,” Jimin said.

“Good night to you, my lord.”

You did not bother turning around as soon as you were in the carriage, instead putting your palms to your face as you began to scold yourself for contributing further to a man’s obviously long-existing and aggravating inflated ego.

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p.s. this is unedited so... hehehe will look through this again asap to fix any possible errors!

His reaction wasn’t precisely rooted from surprise, per se, nor was it from being overwhelmed at being given such a responsibility. From the young age of 19, he was already recognized as the Marquess of Southshire and was introduced to the duties that came along with bearing the title. Then as soon as he turned 21, he started to manage the family estates and took his place in the House of Lords—so unpreparedness wasn’t really the factor here, but in truth, was relief.

With his uncle now out of the picture, Jimin would finally be able to rectify some estate matters he has been trying to bring forward to the late duke but was never listened to because of male pride. He could finally go and see what they could make use of the lands that the estate covered, find out what thrived and what could give more work opportunities to the families who needed it, as that was what the people mentioned to him whenever it was he who was making a visit on behalf of his uncle.

Not to mention that Gangchan on his own was also not a pleasant company to keep around, as far as Jimin was concerned. He might have the whole ton fooled into thinking he was this kind, soft-spoken, and amiable gentleman—but Jimin knew better. Indeed there was a reason why despite being eight and forty, he had yet to have a wife and heir of his own. Yet, frustratingly, everyone seemed to forget that whenever his name is brought up in formal settings, gossip columns, and the like.

A duke is still a duke, as they say. And it was never good to be on the receiving end of Park Gangchan’s contempt, thus the ton’s wariness in speaking bad of him.

“My lord,” Jimin’s butler, Martin, entered the library just as Jimin was in the middle of rearranging a shelf in his library.

It has been almost two weeks since he has moved into the Beaufort townhouse to settle in and be acquainted with the place. So far, Mrs. Lee, the housekeeper, has revamped the duke’s bedchamber to his liking and has coordinated with the other house staff to slowly bring more life to the home. It was one of Jimin’s first requests when he formally stepped in, as he playfully commented that it was too apparent that a grouchy old man used to reside here and that they had to get rid of that kind of atmosphere before it plagued them further.

“Yes?” Jimin replied, still focused on where to put the agriculture textbooks best, already done with the poetry books which he placed within reach.

“There is a caller awaiting you in the drawing room, Sir.”

Jimin halted. “A caller?” He finally turned around and gave Martin a look. “It’s nearly three in the morning. Why didn’t you tell them that I am certainly not available at this hour?”

“Ah, yes, yes, of course, Your Grace, I was adamant in doing that but this caller… er, she seemed to be quite in distress and had insisted on speaking to you. I didn’t have the heart to send her home.”

“She?”

“Yes. Lady ____. You may know her as the daughter of the Earl of Carlisle.”

“Lady ____…” Jimin stared at his butler. “I assume she does not have a chaperone with her?”

“Well, no—”

“You should have sent her home, Martin.” He sighed, yet began to walk out of the library to go to the drawing room so as to not keep you waiting. “It has only been almost a fortnight since I’ve resided in this neighborhood, and I hate to be seen as some kind of rake who preys on innocents.”

“My apologies, Your Grace. She told me that she was the late duke’s supposed bride and—”

Jimin couldn’t help cutting him off again. “She’s Uncle’s supposed bride?" he asked, stopping in his tracks.

“She said she was, Sir.”

“Interesting. Did she also tell you why she is here?”

“Well, she would not say, only that it is urgent and that you must meet her.”

“Huh,” he hummed in wonder, feet marching again to where you were waiting. “Do you think that there was truly a love affair between them? Though I don’t recall seeing her at the funeral. Or maybe I did. Hard to remember details when I was pretending to be the weeping nephew.”

“I doubt it, Sir. Lady ____ seems to be a bright young lady.”

“True. No bright young lady would have the mind to marry that old sod.” Jimin snorted. “I only wonder why she’d think it would be wise to go here at this hour of the night. She doesn’t seem to be bright on that part.”

“She seems really rattled.”

That piqued Jimin’s interest further, and he was glad he did not have to wait long to meet you as he and Martin shortly arrived in the room that you were occupying, sat on the settee with your hands folded primply on your lap. He also noticed that you were wearing a cloak that covered your head and down your shoulders, telling him that you at least seemed aware that being seen here would undoubtedly lead to ruination.

Upon his entrance, you shot up from your seat and did a polite curtsy (after staring at him, that is. Jimin had to fight off a pleased smirk). “My lord. I hope you forgive me for the untimely intrusion.”

“It is certainly a  surprise to see a lady as yourself here.” He slowly approached you and offered an elegant bow. “I must apologize for the fact that we were not formally introduced beforehand. I am Park Jimin, the new Duke of BeaufortI. You are Lady ____ Carlisle, as what Martin told me?”

“That would be correct, Your Grace.”

“Please call me Jimin. You do not look much younger than I, and I find the constant formality rather irksome at times.” He smiled.

You took a long pause and then hesitantly returned the gesture. “Very well, Jimin.”

“You may take a seat again too, if you’d like.”

“Oh, thank you.” You glanced behind you and returned to where you were sitting before he came in, Jimin taking the chair across yours. “Er, apologies again for being here. I would have called on you in the morning or sent a letter, but… the topic of discussion I’d like to talk to you about is rather sensitive. I’d prefer not to have my mother or any chaperone nearby when we speak of it.”

“Is it about my uncle?”

You seemed surprised. “How did you know?”

He laughed. “It’s not hard to connect the dots. Martin told me that you were his bride.”

“Oh, do not call me that, I beg of you.” A flash of disgust erupted on your face and he couldn’t help but grin, mostly amused that someone shared a similar hatred to Gangchan. “I did not even consent to it. Were you aware of that?” you followed.

“No, but I figured so. No beautiful lady would desire to be tied to that man when she can have anyone else. He’s far beneath you, love.”

You looked taken back at the endearment, your fingers clutching the reticule on your lap. But instead of an abashed answer that Jimin was expecting since that was  how ladies would often do whenever he smooth-talked them, you tilted your head and narrowed your eyes at him after recovering from your flustered state. “You did not like Lord Beaufort?”

He found himself laughing again, standing up now to get the decanter of whiskey he had displayed on the mantelpiece, pouring himself a glass. “I detest him, honestly.”

“How come? Was he horrible?” There was now a note of worry in your tone. “I do not mean to pry… it is only that I was supposed to marry him, and now I am thinking that I may have escaped a worse fate than I initially thought.”

“You did.”

You didn’t say anything, and Jimin ultimately felt like he had said too much. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that so bluntly considering that he still has no idea of your true purpose here. “Apologies,” he added, even neglecting the whiskey he just served himself. “Where are my manners? It is not polite to speak ill of the dead, regardless of how they were when they were still with us.”

“No, do not apologize. I asked, so of course you would answer. In fact, I thank you for your honesty. You just made it significantly easier to confess why I am here tonight.” You pursed your lips. 

“And why are you here, Lady  ____?” He smiled, finally taking a swig of his beverage.

You began to fidget again, your anxiety visibly showing now that it was causing him to be concerned once more.

And then, as Jimin gazed at you and watched you waver in whatever it was that you wanted to say, he came into the realization of what you might be here for, hence, thinking he was saving you the embarrassment of saying it yourself, he put the glass he was holding back on the mantlepiece and slowly made a beeline towards you with that charming kind smile of his. “On second thought, I think I have an idea on why you are here after all.”

Your eyes widened comically. “You do?”

“Perhaps.”

“But how?” You were definitely dubious.

He shrugged. “A guess. Though I admit your body language may account for it.”

At that, you suddenly stood up and started to pace the room, nibbling on your thumb worriedly. “No, no, my lord, I do not think we are on the same page.”

“Do you not want to inquire whether you are still required to marry the current Lord Beaufort?” he asked, rather proud of thinking that he deduced that on his own. “Because if that is what you are distressed about, then I can assure you that the betrothal contract has been terminated upon my uncle’s death.”

“That is…” You huffed out a breath and placed your palms against your cheeks, “that is not it, Your Grace.”

“It’s not?” He raised an eyebrow. “Then go ahead. Tell me so I may ease your worries. You seem very troubled by it.”

You stared at him, hands still on your face, before you let them go and shook your hands from side to side rapidly, beginning to jog in place like you were some boxer preparing for a match. It prompted Jimin to think that he has never met a lady who was as hyperactive as you were in the presence of an eligible bachelor, which he could say was refreshing, and slightly adorable.

“Alright. I’m afraid there really is no easy way to say this, so it might be best if I say it in one go,” you said, placing those restless hands on your hips.

Jimin nodded and watched as you closed your eyes, not anticipating that the moment you opened your mouth, you were going to say the most insane statement he has heard for the past two weeks—or his whole life, for that matter.

You took a deep breath and blurted it out: “I may have been the reason why Lord Beaufort is dead.”

His forehead wrinkled in utmost confusion.

“I beg your pardon?”

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Lord Beaufort, with his wrinkled face, his joints that you could assume were dealing with rheumatism or arthritis, as well as his questionable set of teeth, was not the man you envisioned to wed once you came out in society. Despite how it’s not exactly an uncommon occurrence for debutantes to be paired with men who were perhaps thrice their age for the sake of procreating heirs easily in the peerage, you were naive to hope that your case would differ, considering your family’s status and wealth.

But you realized it was exactly your family’s status and wealth that would bring you to downfall, as it seems like all that mattered to your parents was that you were going to be wed to a reputable man, regardless of whether said man looked like your great-grandfather rather than your supposed to be spouse.

“Yes,” your mother said, her expression blank and already unyielding.

“And Papa truly agrees to this match?” you pushed further, still in disbelief of what you were hearing.

“Dearest, your father has already spoken to Lord Beaufort, and he can attest that you will be taken good care of.” She sighed. “I know the duke is not… the most handsome man there is as of late, but he can provide for you and his character is well spoken for.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Given that he is willing to wed a lady as young as his daughter.”

“He doesn’t have a daughter.”

“That isn’t the point!”

Your mother never appreciated your ability to freely be sarcastic and so outspoken with her. Some mamas would say that it was because she was too lenient, too uncaring to let a well-bred girl as yourself feel too comfortable in speaking your mind, that you turned out to be this way. But regardless of how your mama has been strict in raising you, she was also insistent to never let your own spark of life be dimmed, knowing that individuality was always an esteemed trait no matter what.

“We have given you ample time to find a match of your own, ____,” she said, bringing you out of your trance as you stared helplessly at the fire in the hearth. “And now you are five and twenty. You need to have a husband.”

“Do I?”

She took a seat beside you on the settee, moving from her previous position on the single armchair across you. Here, she grasped your hand warmly, and your composure cracks a little bit. “I have no doubt in my mind that if the world was kinder to women, you wouldn't need a man by your side. But alas, society carries on to be harsh, and it vexes me whenever I think about the possibility that once your Papa and I are no longer here—”

“Do not speak of that as if it’s soon.” You cut her off with a frown.

She let out another sigh and continued speaking. “I only wish that you do not end up alone. You are my only child. Of course, you may live with your uncles, or aunts, or other relatives if worse comes to worse, but a husband would be far more reliable if it came to it.”

“And I suppose you think Lord Beaufort would suffice.”

“Well, he has offered for your hand. And he had promised that once you fulfill your duty to give him an heir, then you may be free to do whatever you want. You may even travel the continents. Isn’t that what you have always wanted?”

You scowled, not masking your expression into something else even though you knew you looked like a child about to throw a tantrum. You refused to be swayed by early promises and gave your mother ammunition to fill your head with fantasies you weren’t even sure could be fulfilled.

“Also, you should know that he is not that old. You exaggerate on that part. ”

You snapped your eyes back to her in outrage. “He is the same age as Papa.”

“No, he is not.”

“Alright. Then how old is he?”

“He is eight and forty.”

You blinked. “That doesn’t make it any better, Mama.”

She closed her eyes and gave your hand one last squeeze before telling you to go to your room and get ready for supper, knowing that regardless of what she will say to convince you to see the better light of things, you will only argue and make points she could never admit were true.

Later on that night, as you stared out of your window and fixed your gaze up at the starry sky, you could only wish for some miracle to happen that would prevent you from marrying that old duke. You wanted to believe that you weren’t as hopeless as your parents perceived you to be, that although you have had seven unsuccessful seasons and was essentially considered a spinster by most of the peerage—surely, there would be a man who would marry you not because he and your father already had a signed agreement about it.

In fact, you didn’t even require a love match. You thought you’d be naive to still hope for such an opportunity.

You just wanted to have the freedom to choose your life partner. To personally know a man, ensure that he was kind and intelligent and perhaps even funny, before you took his name and be under his care. If there was something you agreed with your mother, it was that the world was indeed cruel to women, hence you did not want to be put into a situation that would gravitate it even more.

“Perhaps I should just run away and fake my death,” you muttered to yourself, fondling with the hem of your chemise. “Or pose as a man and purchase myself a commission. That would be better than sharing a bed with that fossil.”

You shuddered almost immediately after the thought, cursing yourself for letting you imagine that horrid image of being bedded by that elder.

Going back to staring up at the sky, you admired the twinkling stars and spoke again, whispering a wish that you knew would never come true for there was no comet to hear and grant it, yet muttered anyway just in case: “Just… if any godly being out there is listening… please don’t let me marry Lord Beaufort,” you said, feeling foolish but undeterred. “If I get out of this predicament, then I swear… I’ll, uh, I’ll…” you trailed off indecisively, “I suppose I shall endeavor to give up iced champagne and french pastries for a whole year. I’ll eat plain porridge until my body rejects it and then I shall be content with only surviving by drinking water.”

As soon as you finished saying that, you laughed to yourself, aware that you sounded ridiculously insane.

However, the next morning, as you joined your mother and father at the dining hall to break your fast, they were looking at you with such concern that you could not help but raise an eyebrow and ask them what was the matter.

“It is Lord Beaufort,” your father said.

You took a hefty bite of french toast. “What about him?”

“I’m afraid we have received terrible news this morning from his solicitor.” Your mother shared a look with him.

You waited, confused why they were dragging this out too long. It wasn’t like you had requested that they give you daily updates about your incoming nuptials, so they certainly did not need to act suspenseful for whatever it was that they heard from the person probably handling the documents regarding the betrothal.

“Sweetheart, we were told this morning that the duke passed away,” your father told you.

You ceased your chewing, the fork you were holding landing in a loud clank on the plate. “What?” you sputtered.

“Very tragic, yes.” Your mother frowned, reaching over to path your hand. “He was found by his valet in his bedchamber, so it seems. We can only be grateful that he at least died peacefully in his sleep.”

“I… I—” You were so lost for words, and your mother noticed it immediately, mistaking it for sadness rather than pure shock.

“Oh, Dearest, are you alright?” she asked. “It’s all very sudden, I know. From what I’ve heard, the duke was even seen at the gentlemen’s club yesterday appearing completely healthy.”

Still, you were speechless, blubbering like a fish out of water as you remembered the wish you made under the stars last night.

It was merely a foolish request. You didn’t really specify for him to be dead. You just wanted to be free—to have a groom that was chosen by you and who you could rely on. That could have been achieved in numerous ways, such as your father withdrawing from their agreement or the duke having better sense later on and terminating the engagement.

Trying not to hyperventilate, you abruptly stood up, your chair scraping noisily against the floor as you excused yourself from your parents, not bothering to hear their replies for you were too focused on rushing to your room and intending to rationalize everything that had happened in the past 12 hours.

Surely… you weren’t the cause of Lord Beaufort’s death, were you?

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note. will i manage to continue and finish this or will i inevitably lose inspiration by the middle of it 😫 either way, here’s me trying to finding my spark with writing again by playing around with a genre i have been obsessed with for over a year now i think !

[ no taglist + expect very very very sporadic updates if you’ll tune in bc this is also a very self-indulgent drabble series lmao ]

he was only the best friend, after all. just the best friend. and he should have always been prepared for the day another man sweeps you off your feet and gains the best of your affection, setting namjoon aside who, on the other hand, you only saw as your brother.

nonetheless, surprisingly, there were still instances when he managed to place himself first on the list again.

such instances included having a fight with your boyfriend—as you did a few hours ago, when you rang him up, crying and asking if you could sleep at his place for the night since you just didn’t know where to go—and namjoon naturally agreed.

after twenty minutes, he welcomed you into his apartment, hugging you and asking what went wrong.

“the bastard cheated on me,” you said, sniffling. “for months now. he’s been having an affair with his co-worker.”

namjoon sighed then, embracing you and comforting you with his reassuring words, making sure that you still knew what you were truly worth despite the horrible experience. 

once you were tired and drained from sobbing, from cursing your former lover’s name and cursing the heavens too for your poor luck in love, you asked if you could start preparing for bed, in which he offered his own bedroom for you to use that you immediately declined to, claiming that you didn’t want to burden him further by stealing the thing that can let him sleep peacefully tonight.

but namjoon never found himself sleeping peacefully like you assumed—not when he knew you were on his couch and was heartbroken as hell. 

in a last attempt to offer his comfy mattress to you if ever he catches you still awake from the living room, he went out and tiptoed his way to the said area, disappointment washing his face when he found you already fast asleep unlike he was. you were probably really exhausted emotionally and physically to doze off that fast anyways; he should have known better than to think otherwise.

with faint footsteps, he approached you and sighed, the blanket previously covering your body laying on the carpeted floor beside you now, probably because of your stirring. namjoon crouched down and draped it around you again upon the discovery, tucking you in and caressing the top of your head with a frown before he bravely kissed your forehead, his lips lingering for three seconds until he turned away and went back to his room.

it was only when the sound of the door tightly closing did you finally allow yourself to open your eyes and stare at his door, thinking for the first time ever what it would have been like if you just fell in love with a good man like your best friend.

note. once in a blue moon proof of life check! lmao typical of me to forget that i had a bunch of blurbs meant to republish but life was not life-ing good and i got too lazy even to make simple headers >.<

“hoseok,” he hears his name and when he turns sideways, he’s surprised to see you standing there, an equally shocked expression on your face, “i… i didn’t know you’d be here.”

“the same goes to you.”

“i was just passing by,” you reason as you turn and face the statue, putting your hands inside the pockets of your coat.

“me too.”

“what a coincidence, huh?” you softly say with a chuckle.

he nods, even though he knows it isn’t. “yeah. what a bg coincidence.”

the two of you stay there for god knows how long, saying nothing, just staring at the statue, your minds drifting somewhere else, specifically to that said night, and hoseok lets out an exhale, glancing at you who hasn’t moved an inch.

“what are you thinking of?” he asks and you glance at him too.

“to be honest, a lot of things.” you shrug. “how we ended up like this… why did the two of us meet here right now… what’s the point of all this…” you let out a sad chuckle. “how about you?”

hoseok shrugs. “pretty much the same.”

“oh, yeah?”

“well, there’s this one thing that’s missing,” he says, pursing his lips, “just a thought that if i… if i asked you to marry me again, would you?”

you don’t say anything at that, mostly because you’re unable to think of how to respond to that surprising hypothetical question. and hoseok isn’t expecting anything, he just wanted to say it out loud, for you to hear what he wanted to tell you before he regrets being a coward and suppressing his true feelings once more.

after all, this place right here, this was a place where something great happened to the two of you. he didn’t want to taint it with another bad memory.

“depends,” you reply.

“depends…” he repeats, an amused smile creeping on his lips. “that’s good to know.”

“i change my mind,” he says, a bit sheepish. “the water looks cold, babe. i don’t think i want to.”

you roll your eyes, swimming closer to him. “then why did you even book us a suite with a private pool?”

“because i know you’d love it.” he smiles. “and also because i was expecting we’d swim in the daytime.”

“what’s the fun in that?”

“uh, perhaps, feeling fresh and cool and—”

“babe,” you cut him off, leaning now on the edge of the pool, “just join me.”

“yes, ma’am.”

you laugh as you see him hesitantly standing up and taking his shirt off, soon going to the steps of the pool where it leads him deeper and where you’re already waiting for him as well.

yoongi childishly holds out his hand to you, which you take with a laugh, helping him to fully sink himself in the water.

“fuck, it’s cold,” he says with a grimace and a shiver, something that makes you grin, immediately putting your arms on his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist once he goes closer.

“you’re so dramatic.”

“it is, though. look, i have goosebumps.” he raises his arm and you glance at it, snorting.

“okay, point proven, big baby.”

yoongi looks at you and breaks off into a big smile, chuckling and encircling his arms on your waist, giving your lips a quick kiss.

“enjoying this trip so far?”

“yup.” you nod.

“good.”

the both of you kiss again, this time much longer now, with yoongi angling his face to the side so he can do it better, one hand resting on your cheek, his thumb lightly rubbing against it.

you can feel your heartbeat escalating at just the feel of him this near, your skin touching and bringing a little warmth in the cold water. it makes yoongi think that he should have just done this much earlier rather than prolonging it from happening because of his laziness at the thought of taking a shower after this.

“thanks for bringing me here,” you murmur against his mouth, your own curving up in a smile. “i never thought we’d actually go overseas for our anniversary.”

“it’s not like we haven’t done it before.” his hold on you tightens as you place little kisses on his jaw down to his neck, eventually settling on leaning your head on his shoulder. “besides, i think i need to make up for the fact i forgot last year’s anniversary.”

you laugh at the memory. “it’s okay. you already told me that you forgot it because our wedding date and the day we started dating confused you. plus, you took me to that restaurant i love.”

“still though… the first year is supposed to be memorable.”

“no, it isn’t. the first year’s supposed to be the hardest.” you pull back to smile at him. “so, you get a pass.”

“thank god,” he jokes and chuckles, you doing the same.

“but seriously, yoon,” you play with the hair on the back of his head, gazing at his eyes, “thank you. you always go ahead of yourself just to do things for me—to make me happy, you know?”

“why are you thanking me? it’s what i’m supposed to do.”

“no. you could have been a shitty boyfriend, and then a shitty husband but... you’re just the best. you’ve given me everything i could possibly want and been the man i needed. i’m so lucky to have you.”

yoongi gazes at you in absolute awe, that amazing feeling again spreading in his chest and making him feel all giddy and happy.

he wasn’t lying when he said that thanking him wasn’t needed, but the acknowledgement and the appreciation you’re showing surely makes him pleased, heart getting bigger because of it.

“you’re drunk, aren’t you?” he nevertheless asks though, teasing and taking the opportunity of you being lovey-dovey, that you hit his bare chest without hesitation.

“i’m serious,” you whine.

“i know, baby, which makes me glad. but it’s only what you deserve, okay? the reason why i’m doing this, i mean. you’ve been there for me too—when i was in the worst place, when the company almost went bankrupt… you were the one who picked me up to my feet, loved me unconditionally. so… let’s be real. i’m the real lucky one here.”

you smirk, fondly staring at every feature he has on his face, smiling wide. “are we just going to start saying our vows again?”

he snorts. “says the woman who started being sappy.”

“do you want me to apologize for letting my husband know i love him?”

“no,” he shakes his head, not helping himself as he leans closer to you so that he can place his lips over yours again, “i love it when you say that you love me.”

“and i really do, you know. i’ll never get tired saying how much i love you so much,” you agree almost immediately, melting into the kiss again.

he hums contently, caressing your sides. “i love you too, baby. you’re the reason why i thank the heavens for being alive every single day.”

under the stars and the moon that night, until the moment the two of you decide to take that intimate moment right there inside, it feels like a second honeymoon with yoongi.