J.Alexa

All four of you had been in the hotel room for only 15 minutes but already the floors and counters were littered with beer cans and food containers. Jin would’ve had an aneurysm if he’d seen how quickly things had turned into chaos.

You were sitting on the edge of one of the beds, sulking as you watched your brother get ready. He was choosing which snapback better matched his outfit while Tae leaned over the sink in the bathroom, smearing a charcoal pencil under his waterlines. Jimin, on the other hand, was on the bed opposite you, laying on his back with his phone in the air, playing some game. He’d been the first to get ready.

“Can’t I go? Please?” you whined.

“No,” Jeongguk huffed, saying your name in a harsh tone.

“Why not?”

“Because Jin would skin me alive if he found out I took you to an underground poker game.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Tae intervened, stepping out of the bathroom, flashing you a wink. “You’re gonna cave just like you always do, so save yourself the trouble. You know Jin hyung would never do anything to his two precious babies.”

“You’re too nice to her,” Jeongguk grumbled, fixing his small gauges.

“She’s so cute, I can’t help it!” Tae exclaimed, your brother rolling his eyes.

“She’s just my lame, annoying sister.” Your jaw dropped, entirely hurt, and Jimin sat up to look between you and your brother with a frown on his face. If only you could hug him without Jeongguk throwing a fit. His hugs always made you feel better.

“You’re so mean!” Tae came to your defense. “She loves you and that’s why she wants to go everywhere with you. Maybe you should be nicer.”

Jeongguk shook his head defiantly, narrowly missing the pillow you chucked at him. But then he looked at you with a grimace, and you shot up on your feet with a smile at the familiar look of reluctance.

“Don’t wander off or be a pain in my ass,” your brother pointed a stern finger at you to which you stuck your tongue out before giddily bouncing over to the bathroom where Tae was finishing up with his hair.

“Thanks, Tae,” you murmured softly as you stepped up next to him.

“Of course, little angel. I always got your back.” You smiled at his soft elbow nudge in your side. “He’s really the lame and annoying one. Not you.”

“I heard that!” Jeongguk called out in an offended tone.

“Good!” Tae shot back, grinning widely as you giggled. “Go get ready. We have to leave soon to catch the bus.”

****

The bar was musty, smelling of cigarettes, gross men, and booze, and the dim lights had a green smokey film floating underneath, creating a spooky atmosphere.

“Guys, do you really think we should be here?” Jimin asked nervously, wringing his hands. You stared, wanting to hold one of them.

Tae turned around from where he was standing beside your brother and hopped over with a smile, hooking an arm around Jimin’s neck.

“Aw, it’s okay, Baby J. We have my big pitbull to protect us, remember?” Tae jutted a thumb over his shoulder at Jeongguk. Jimin shoved him away.

“How about this?” Tae booped his nose, and you found it cute the way Jimin wrinkled it in response. “When I win, I’ll use the money to replace your shit car.”

You stifled a laugh as Jimin kicked at his shin and Tae skipped away with a laugh, stopping beside your brother who was rolling his eyes at your antics. But he smiled shyly when Tae slung an arm around his waist.

Jimin looked grateful when you hooked your elbows together, both of you sparing a look at your brother to make sure he didn’t notice. Jimin quickly pinched your cheek that flushed under his touch, heart racing when he soothed it with his thumb.

You’d get around to telling them eventually.

Jeongguk got in a small argument with a server who thought his ID was a fake, and her eyes widened in shock when your brother turned around to reveal the family emblem permanently drawn on the back of his neck, hidden by the lid of his hat. Your stomach churned at the sight. In a few years, you’d have to get the same tattoo.

The very reason why you hated crows.

The server ran off to retrieve the owner, who walked briskly towards your group, eyes hardened.

“Do you know what the boss would do to me if he found out I let you kids in here?” The bar owner exclaimed in a hushed tone, looking around as if Jin was lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Jeongguk shrugged, adjusting the snapback. “Besides, I just turned 19, so I’m legally allowed to be here.”

“What about your friends?” Your brother glanced back at the three of you. Jimin looked like he was about to throw up and Tae consolingly rubbed his back.

“He’ll be 19 in December, and they have IDs saying they’re old enough.” Jeongguk pointed at Tae, and then at you and Jimin.

The man nodded at you and you did your best to maintain a calm demeanor. “Even her?”

“She’s my kid sister, she goes everywhere with me. I’m basically her permanent babysitter.” You flipped him off.

“You’re making me walk a tight line, kid,” the owner sighed. 

“But alright, come on.”

“You’re the man,” Jeongguk grinned, looking back and beckoning you three to follow him.

“Hopefully not a dead one anytime soon.” Your brother laughed as he walked past him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Nah, you’ll be good.”

As Jeongguk led the way through the bar towards some stairs in the back, ignoring the side-glances you all received from the grown men playing cards, you noticed Tae looking around, scanning every table, every face.

“Are you looking for someone?” You asked Tae when your brother got caught up ordering a drink.

“Yeah, an old friend of mine from back home.”

“Is that why you wanted to come here?”

He hummed with a wistful frown. "It was a long shot but I still wanted to see if I could run into him. He brought me a couple of years ago and taught me how to play.”

A sad look appeared on his face, so you didn’t think he wanted to talk anymore about it.

At the poker table downstairs, Jeongguk sat down among the men like he owned the place, Tae right beside him. You pulled up a chair to sit behind them as cards were dealt and chips stacked. Jimin disappeared into the bathroom and didn’t come out for a while.

When the first river was dealt, Tae leaned back to whisper into your ear,

“Remember, it’s all in the eyes, little angel. You can always tell someone’s true feelings in their eyes.”

You nodded, intently watching Tae and your brother play, paying attention to the other men as well, trying to catch their tells.

Jimin returned with a tight smile on his face, and you both squeezed onto the chair, taking his hand into your lap since Jungkook was too engrossed in the play.

Your brother won a few rounds, smug as ever, but Tae won more and just gave him subtle nudges of his shoulder and whispers in his ear. You reminded yourself to tease him about the blush on his face later.

When the game ended, Tae emerged victorious, and all four of you celebrated with some shots at the bar, Jeongguk making you vow that you’d never tell Jin.

Back home, Tae kept his promise to Jimin and bought him a nicer car. Still old and used, but less prone to breaking down.

For your birthday, he gifted you a keyboard, and it became one of your most prized possessions. With it, you composed a piece for Jimin who recorded and saved it on his phone, often playing it in his car whenever you two got some alone time, holding hands over the gearshift while you avoided looking at each other.

Some of your favorite memories. Ones that shaped you, seared a forever nostalgic hole in your heart. Ones that feel like they existed in another lifetime. Ones you’d give anything to relive.

The hotel room is smaller than you thought.

The queen-sized bed is located in the middle of the room, facing the terrace that has a clear view of the ocean. Around the corner of the foyer and hallway closet, is the bathroom; on the other side of that is a small nook with a mini fridge underneath an L-shaped counter, two armchairs on either side. It’s cozy. But cold. 

Quiet. You’re getting tired of being alone.

Your bags are wet, so you unpack everything to check that nothing’s ruined, rushing to get out your sketchbook. Flipping through the pages, you’re relieved that there’s no water damage. That would be very fucking unfortunate and you don’t need a panic attack right now.

After being caught in the rain, stuck in a basement with greasy men and cigarette smoke, and fucked in a cleaning closet, a hot shower is just what you need. But you don’t scrub your skin too hard. Because his touch still lingers.

You can still feel the tingle left by his fingers digging into your hips, hand wrapped around your wrist, mouth molded against yours. You don’t want to lose that feeling. Even though you lost him.

You want to scream at the top of your lungs. Why the fuck did you let that man go? You know, in your heart of hearts, that you’ll never meet someone like him again. You won his money - he didn’t owe you a goddamn thing and yet he came after you when he thought you were in danger. That had to mean something, right?

The thought of what would’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up makes your hands feel clammy, despite the steamy shower stall. Who knows what intentions those men had, aside from forcing you to give them the money back. You can fight, but your odds were against you with a group of vengeful thugs. And you don’t have your knife - it would’ve gotten confiscated at the airport and it means too much to you to risk that.

But you do have another weapon, pretty much guaranteeing that you could’ve walked out of there alive. With one flash of the back of your neck, those guys would’ve backed off and run for the hills.

You don’t mull over if Yoongi would join them; instead, spend the rest of your shower fuming, hot water incomparable to the burning in your veins. Because of him, mostly. For being such a jerk even though you didn’t do anything wrong, even though you tried being nice to him. For acting like you’d been the bane of his existence but still fucking you. And for sending you into a confusing whirlwind but not leaving you any time to catch up. And still making you want him.

Maybe you’ll just go to bed and forget him. Do some sketches, get a headstart on upcoming assignments, and go home tomorrow pretending that there isn’t some strange crack in your soul left by a man you just met.

You’re just about to start your skin care routine when three knocks rap on the door. You freeze. It’s almost the middle of the night, who the fuck- Oh, shit. Wait. It can’t be those guys. Wrapped up in a robe, you tiptoe out of the bathroom, mind racing as you formulate a plan if it is them. Pressing against the door, thinking about the possibility of shimmying your way off the balcony since you’re only on the second floor, you peer into the peep hole, heart flatlining when there isn’t a group of thugs outside, but a familiar mop of blonde hair.

What the hell is he doing here? Whatever the reason is, you’re way too relieved that it’s him. Teetering on elated, everything you’d come to peace with in the shower is wiped away at the sight of him standing outside your door, hands in his pockets, staring down at his shoes.

You swing open the door just as he turns for the stairs, like he’s giving up. His eyes are wide when he faces you, narrowing as they fall on your robe-covered body.

“You just keep turning up, don’t you? Were you a stray cat in a past life?” You tease, snickering at his glare as you lean on the door. He sighs, stuffs his hands further in his jacket, glares harder at the threshold.

“I lied to you about the buses.” You smile softly at his confession.

“I know. They run till midnight.”

“And I don’t have a friend’s place to crash.”

“I figured that.”

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t tell you what he’s here for, if he wants something. You already told him you’d give him money, you have more than enough, but you’ll be disappointed if that’s the only reason why he’s at your door.

“So, what? You showed up just to tell me that you lied?”

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head before snapping up to meet your gaze. The fire in his eyes is blazing.

“For this.”

And suddenly he’s crowding your space, large, warm hands holding the side of your face. Again. And you barely have time to blink much less breathe before his lips crash onto yours. You thank your lucky stars.

He backs you into the wall behind the open door, and your heart runs in your chest when he starts kissing you just as hungrily as before. But this time, he makes the effort to angle your face with his in a way that he can kiss you passionately, with purpose, with heat, with his tongue meeting yours, exploring between your lips, into your mouth, like he’s trying to steal your breath away and you let him, kiss him back with equal fervor. He kisses you deeply enough that you can feel the effects all the way down to your toes, almost to the point of having an out of body experience, nothing you’ve ever felt before. He kisses you like he has no intention of stopping.

And you don’t want him to, but when you lift your arms to loop around his waist, bring him closer, his jacket is cool and wet, and his body vibrates beneath the layers. You break the kiss to catch your breath and tell him he feels cold, but apologies tumble through his swollen, pink lips.

“Shit, I don’t know what I was thinking, I should-” He takes a step back and you think he’s going to run again, so you grab the side of his damp jacket to keep him in place. Keep him near you.

“You’re shivering.” He stiffens, but the back of his shoulders visibly tremble. You move past him to close the door, gesturing for him to take off his shoes.

“Do you want to shower?” He regards you for a moment, shoulders tense, and then nods, once. Directing him to the bathroom, you offer a small, warm smile but just as he reaches for the handle and opens the door a crack, you stretch your arm to land a hand on the frame, effectively blocking him.

“Admit that you think I’m pretty first.”

His eyebrows furrow, he blinks, and then swivels on his heels to head for the front door. Your loud laugh echoes after him.

“Have fun sleeping in the rain!” He exhales a frustrated breath and another snicker fills the space in response as he turns back around.

“Come on, it’s not like you’ll be lying. For once.”

“Wow, pretentious, much?” he quips.

“Stubborn, much?”

His lip curls. “Annoying brat.”

“Grumpy jerk.” It’s enchanting, how quickly you match each other’s energy, hostile but with no real bite.

He scowls and tilts his head up to the ceiling, like he’s wondering what he’s gotten himself into. And your delighted grin glows at him.

“So, what’ll it be?” His glare flickers to you with a piercing glint.

“You’re pretty,” he grumbles, and even though you heard him, you lean forward, cupping your ear, wanting to hear it loud and clear.

“Hm? What was that?”

He speaks through clenched teeth. “You’re really fucking pretty. So there.”

“Dude, why do you look like you’re about to pop a vein?” You cackle and he runs a hand down his face.

“If it makes things any better, you’re not too bad looking yourself. I’d even go so far as to say you’re handsome. Like really fucking handsome,” You mock him and grin when he glowers at you. You nod to the bathroom.

“Get in there.” Twirling around, you just miss the way his cheeks tinge a subtle shade of pink.

As the door closes, your cheeks buzz with a dopey smile you can’t drop, color painting a part of your soul that’s been dormant for a long time, awoken when he showed up on your doorstep because he wanted to kiss you again. 

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” you call out. “Would you mind handing me my clothes? They’re on the sink.”

“Haven’t I done you enough favors?” From his one small moment of vulnerability, you forgot that he’s a fucking asshole.

With a huff, you knock on the door rapidly, holding your breath as the handle clicks and the door swiftly swings open to reveal Yoongi’s dark, narrowed eyes. Are you disappointed that he’s only dressed down to a black-tee, still in his jeans? You’ll never admit it. One more glance would show you that they’re unbuttoned, belt removed. The same jeans that were smacking on your ass back in the-

“Were you hoping I’d walk in on you naked?”

He cocks his head with a slight smirk. “I was hoping you’d walk in here naked.”

Oh, he’s smooth. Pulse dancing, you school your expression to conceal how flustered you are.

“Maybe I would’ve if you were nice. Can I have my clothes?” You hold out your hand and he glances down at it, a sigh leaving him as he brings his arm into view, passing over your sleep clothes. 

You snatch them with a cheeky smile and walk away to change. The door doesn’t shut until you’re around the corner.

Fully dressed and pretty much ready for bed, jet lag starting to get the best of you, you’re sitting at the white counter next to the window, re-checking all the designs in your sketchbooks when the door opens and Yoongi’s bare feet pad on the floor. You tense with the urge to turn around and see whether or not he’s appearing as what you’re imagining in your mind. Towel wrapped low on his hips, chest bare, body lithe and sleek and beautiful. When he passes behind you, the air around you thickens with his musk, the clinging scent of hotel soap and shampoo. Your legs cross under the table.

He stands adjacent to your seat, and you sneak a glance up at him peering down at your sketchbook, shaking a small towel over his wet hair. But he’s wearing a damn robe, sash tugged tightly around his waist, his clavicles and center of his chest just barely peeking out, two chains accentuating it. One is medium-length and studded with tiny diamonds, the other a long collection of stainless steel beads that hold two dog tags from his military service. 

He's still lithe and sleek and beautiful, covered up or not. You retract your gaze and pretend to draw, cheek warming against your fist. He’s so attractive, it’s not fair.

“Are you an architect or something?” he asks as he drops in the seat across from you, towel falling around his neck. His tone sounds accusatory, like he can’t fathom you being in that kind of profession, but you don’t take it personally. You figure it’s just another one of his asshole-isms.

“No, I’m just minoring,” you reply without looking at him. “These are some sketches I’m playing with for my thesis project in the spring.”

“How proactive. They’re, um,” he clears his throat. “They’re decent.”

He’s still leaning over, so with a bashful smile, you slowly push the book to his side of the table, permission for him to examine more closely.

“Thanks. My friends and I are talking about opening up an architecture firm after we graduate, and they’re looking at me to take care of the business portion of it.”

“Hm.” He sounds indifferent, but he glimpses at you while you talk, so you think he’s at least listening. As soon as you stop, though, his eyes return to your sketchbook. And he’s not just flipping through them. He takes his time with each page, each design, even the messier ones with all the frustrated scribbles and eraser marks. Sometimes he leans in and squints to get a closer look at the smaller details and… No one has looked at your pages like that. Not even your friends. Or brothers. The only exception is your professors, but that’s for a grade. Something glimmers in your chest. Something warms.

You change the subject so you don’t dwell on it.

“What did you major in?” Your question sparks a slight frown on his face as he flips a page.

“I didn’t go to college. Not for me.”

You nod in understanding. “Then, what do you do? Or you just gamble for a living?”

“You and all these questions.”

“Fine. Be boring,” You huff, crossing your arms.

“I work on cars,” he reluctantly mutters. Perking up at that, you sit a little straighter.

“You’re a mechanic?”

He hums in acknowledgment and you launch into a mainly one-sided conversation about your favorite makes and models, wishing you could tell him about your brother’s extensive car and bike collection. You smile when he at least indulges you in his current vehicle choice - an Elantra. Ooh. Sporty.

You’re a tad too giddy when you ask, “Do you race?”

“I can. But I don’t.”

“Maybe one day I’ll beat you at that too.” He just sighs and shakes his head, and you wear your shit-eating grin as the conversation comes to a stand-still. Now that you’re not sure what else to say and he doesn’t seem too keen on entertaining more questions, you wait for that awkward tension to settle between you but it never comes.

It’s just… quiet. Except for the sound of your breathing as you ponder explanations for why your heart is pounding that doesn’t have to do with the man sitting across from you, still engrossed in your sketches.

It’d be nice if he gave you an indication that he was interested in doing anything besides this and kissing you, but you suppose the fact that he accepted your invitation to shower instead of just fucking you in the foyer and hitting the road again is indicative of he can now at least stand being in your presence.

“So, fixing cars makes you enough to gamble a few million won away at an illegal poker ring? All in one night?”

He glances at you with a glare, flipping another page. “Okay, smart ass. What do you think I do?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” you pretend to think. “Sell stuff.” He doesn’t look at you, a slight down tick at the corner of his mouth.

“Stuff.”

“Substances?” Narcotics is the word you want to say, but don’t. Scrutinizing another drawing, impassiveness covers his face.

“And would you have a problem with that?”

“Do I seem like I would have a problem with that?” His attention flits to you for a small moment and then stays down.

His silence is enough to say that he doesn’t want to talk any more about it and you won’t press him even though you’re a nosy little shit because you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. But you do want to let him know that you’re not one to judge.

If he is a dealer, you know just how easy it is to get into but so much harder to get out of.

“Well, whatever it is, shit’s tough out here, and sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do, y’know?”

He doesn’t say anything after that and so you let it go. But there’s still something else on your mind.

“Can I ask another question?”

“No,” he deadpans, and you ignore him.

“What was your plan after you dropped me off?”

He brings your book to the edge of the table and sits back in the chair.

“I was gonna go to a sauna, but I forgot I gave the rest of my cash to the cab driver.”

Your brow quirks inquisitively. “Cab? Weren’t you just on a motorcycle?”

Whole body stilling, he focuses on nothing for a moment before quietly grumbling, “I paid him so he’d tell me where he took you.”

You gawk at him as everything sinks in. A ring of promise glows around the surface of your heart when you realize he went out of his way to find you.

To look out for you. To protect you. And expected nothing in return. Despite the fact that you kissed him, showed him you wanted more, he didn’t try to invite himself up. Just took off into the night without looking back. Like he didn’t just save your life. Like you don’t owe him for fucking stabbing someone for you.

“You really came looking for me,” you marvel. “Why?”

His jaw clenches, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. But he doesn’t say a thing, just shakes his head with an annoyed frown. Ugh, he’s being so fucking difficult, with this wall around him that you desperately want to infiltrate. How hard is it to be a little vulnerable when he came back to you on his own volition?

“You and your attitude,” you scoff. “What’s your problem?”

He doesn’t respond to that either, so you reach over to pull your sketchbook out of his grasp, slamming it closed on the table. You repeat your question with a harsh glare and he returns it with equal intensity.

“You,” he admits darkly, eyes hardened. “You are my problem.”

“Then what are you doing here?” His lips pull into a line and he stares at his flat hand on the table. You sit back again, dejected fingers rubbing over your sketchbook, watching him refuse to look at you.

You stand up before your brain gives the command, feet gliding around the table, heart pounding with each step, and end up next to his chair. He stares up at you with a pinch between his brows as you nudge your knee against his, and even though he looks confused, he turns away from the table to give you more room to stand in between his legs. Jet lag be damned, you dip a knuckle under his chin, holding his head up. His pupils on you are so dark, more than they’ve been all night as he doesn’t blink.

You can’t tell if he’s nervous, or scared, or upset, or a combination, similar to the complexity running in your veins.

“You’re the annoying one.” You stick a knee next to his hip, a hand on his shoulder, a pretense to lowering yourself into his lap. He cocks a brow. “You can’t even tell me you want me.”

“You think I came back for what? A hot shower?” He says it so sarcastically in a slight snarl. It doesn’t phase you.

“Yeah, and a place to stay,” you murmur, resisting the temptation to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear.

“I would’ve figured something else out. Not my first time with nowhere to go.”

You frown at the thought of him being stuck in places where he wasn’t comfortable. Or safe. Even if he only came back so he wouldn’t end up spending a night in the rain, you would let him stay. You might put him up on the floor but at least he’d be inside.

When he doesn’t say a word, your other hand falls on his shoulders to finally settle yourself in his lap. his chest heaving in a deep breath. As you sit over his pelvis, his hands flex, but remain dangling off the arms of the chair. Your eyes fall to the chains glinting on his pale chest and you hook a finger around the diamonds, lifting the small circular pendant, noticing a tiny inscription. You glance at him, silently asking for permission to study it. He just stares so you take that as a yes and lift it to get a closer look.

                                  For my sonja,                                                MYG

A soft smile on your lips, you drop the pendant and trail down to the tags that sit on his sternum and examine the carved information. You don’t know why it interests you that you have the same blood type.

“Are you dangerous, Min Yoongi?” The question pours out of your mouth, testing out his full name on your tongue. He squints at you with mirth.

“It’s a little late to ask that.”

Shrugging, your thumb runs over the metal tags, waiting for his answer.

“I’m not a stalker or a serial killer. Good enough?” It should be. But you have to be sure.

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it by now, right?”

A few beats of silence pass, and vines of trepidation for his truth start to creep up your spine. But then warm, calloused yet soft hands coast up the sides of your thighs to rest on your hips. The vines spark with flames, traveling over every cell of your skin, ignited by his simple touch. Trepidation becomes suspense.

“I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it.”

The implication should scare you. That he hurts people. Maybe even does it for a living. But you know, peering deeply into his dark, brown eyes, that he isn’t a threat to you.

He stabbed someone right in front of you, and instead of being afraid like you should’ve been, you ran away with him. In the middle of the street, soaked to the bone with piercing rain, you grabbed him by his shirt and kissed him like your life depended on it.

And you’re about to do it again.

Lifting your hand to cup his cheek, your heart dips when he flinches away, ever so slightly. You drop it back on his shoulder, smooth it slowly, daringly, down to his left pec, fingers under his robe. Your breath hitches when you feel how strong his chest is, throat tightening when your palm radiates with the fast rate of his heartbeat.

Too fast to be normal. Too fast to hide that he’s affected by you.

“Do you want me?” you whisper, voice scared of rejection. His jaw ticks, his hands moving to your waist, pressing you forward and down on the thick solid length hardening beneath you. You gasp.

He grits his next words through clenched teeth, like it’s hard 

for him to say them, all while staring deep into your very soul.

“I wanted you the second you sat down at that goddamn poker table.”

Just like that moment in the rain, before you got on his bike and held onto him while he drove you into safety, you don’t think before crashing your lips onto his. He opens his mouth to welcome your tongue, and you lick over it with meaning.

The two of you set in motion a greedy and lascivious rhythm of sloppy tongues and experimental grinding hips, his fingers curling into the plush of your ass, encouraging the roll of your center over his erection. Effectively ruining your shorts with arousal, he sucks on your bottom lip, then moans when your hand sneaks into his lap and boldly squeezes his twitching length.

“If I suck your dick, are you gonna leave me on the floor again?” you challenge over his mouth.

He pulls away with a frown and a cross in his brows as he looks at you expecting some kind of an apology. But he doesn’t even open his swollen mouth, just pushes at your waist until you stand up from his lap, and before you can question what he’s doing, he kisses you again, gripping your waist as he walks you back to the bed. Hands slipping up to your ribcage, he lowers you down, heart hammering to the surface of your chest as he holds himself above you, one hand on your side, the other pressing into the comforter next to your head. 

Warmth pools in your belly as his chains fall in between your breasts, then slide to rest on the base of your throat. You smile in between his lips, lifting a hand to tangle in the links.

“You better not break my jewelry,” he utters, tongue nudging your bottom lip to encourage your mouth open, and without opening your eyes or breaking from his enticing mouth, you grab his hand and encourage it towards your breast, shirt covering your pert nipple.

He softly squeezes a handful of your tit and you arch into him with a moan, his lips between yours curving up in a smug smile. Kissing you once, twice, he drags his mouth down your jaw, to your neck that you strain so he can bruise and bite at your skin. You curse when he moves to mouth over your clothed tit, gently pulling your nipple between his teeth to test out your reaction. You bite your lip with a moan and reach up to curl your fingers in his hair, squirming when he flattens his tongue over the tiny sting.

“So sensitive,” he smizes, cocksure. He laps at your tit once more before nosing down, fingers bunching up your shirt to reveal your stomach, moan escaping you when his lips graze your bare skin, every touch leaving a trail of blazing fire.

“Is this supposed to be an apology?” You rasp breathlessly.

He shrugs and you roll your eyes as he stands, eyes locking with yours while he drags down your sweats, your lungs constricting with each inch of skin he unveils. You know he already fucked you, knows what your pussy feels like, but he hasn’t seen you yet and your cheeks heat at the thought of baring your everything to him.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he muses when your legs close in their bent form after he fully removes your sweats, tossing them back onto one of the chairs.

You shake your head in denial, but your eyes that refuse to open, refuse to see him staring at you, say otherwise.

“Where’s that dirty girl who wanted to get fucked in a closet by a stranger?”

“Don’t you mean slut?”

“Fine,” he smirks. “Bring back the dirty slut who practically begged me to fuck her in that closet.”

“Sure, as long as you don’t act like a prick anymore.”

Smirk falling, he rolls his eyes, tilting his head to the side as his hand smoothes over your lower stomach, fingers dipping into the hem of your-

“Cute panties.”

“They’re shorts.”

“You call these shorts?” He snaps the fabric strained around your thighs. “Leaves little to the imagination.”

“Well, that’s good for you, right? Aren’t you too old to have an imagination?” He quirks a brow, lifts his head to level you with an entertained gaze.

“Says who?”

“Society,” you shrug, and he exhales an unamused huff.

“Wow, good argument. You should sign up for a debate team.”

“I was actually on one in school.”

“So why aren’t you any good?”

“Shut up!” You admonish, and he snickers. If you really think about it, it’s crazy how easy it is to fall into conversation with him like this. And incredibly insane how it does really funny things to your heart.

A stuttered gasp pours from your lips when he cups your heat, rubbing his flattened fingers back and forth. You hiss when he pokes over your covered hole, panties/shorts soaked with your arousal.

“Damn, you get so wet for me,” he muses, tongue poking past his teeth as he pulls your panties to the side. Fuck, just that movement alone is enough to put a flutter in your stomach.

“A little grinding on my lap is all it takes, huh? Or do you just really like being called a slut?”

“Screw you.” His dark chuckle shamefully turning you on, he pulls back his fingers to circle feather-light around your clit. You pull your lips in and shut your eyes to lock away a moan.

“We’re getting to that.” His hands slide under your ass, eyes trained on you as he pulls off your garment, and you take a deep breath when he pushes your legs apart.

“Scoot up.” With his hands holding your thighs, you wiggle your way back until your head nears the edge of the mattress, lust coursing through your blood as he lays down in between your legs, licking his lips at the sight of your bare cunt. You relax into the soft comforter as he starts off with dragging his lips on the inside of your thigh, humming as he goes along, and arousal builds at the vibrations on your skin. Glancing down at the appealing sight of his head between your legs, you’re tempted again to run your fingers through his soft locks.

“You could really use a root touch-up,” you think out loud. He huffs, breath hitting a spot on your thigh where he was sucking a small mark.

“Ah, hell. Can you be quiet?”

“Just saying.” He clicks his tongue. 

As you break out into a laugh, your expression drops when his dark eyes fixate on you and he spits, loudly, right on your clit before dragging his tongue in a thorough, languid lick through your folds. Back arching with a moan, your hand flies into his hair, pulling a low growl from his throat. He pauses at your clit, nose nudging it before he sucks in a breath, tightens his hold around your thighs, and buries his face in your pussy.

He consumes you, flicking his tongue in some places and slurping in others, going back to the ones that you respond to more - it’s like you just served your pussy to him on a gold fucking platter and he’s savoring you like it’s his last meal.

Fingers tangled in his soft, damp locks, you use your other hand to stifle your whines that he’s drawing out with his expert tongue.

“Don’t hold back for me, dollface,” he insists over your clit. “You can’t get us caught this time.”

Resolve crumbling, you barely register the fact that he called you ‘dollface’ as your hand smacks onto the comforter and unrestrained, needy moans fill the room. He grunts in response and your trembling thighs squeeze around his head as he latches onto your clit, suckling and licking to add fire to the flame in your gut.

“Fuck, Yoongi!” you whimper, muscles tensing as the impending snap looms closer.

“Mm, keep saying my name just like that,” he purrs, lazily kissing your clit.

“You mean you want me to?” You antagonize, not entirely brain dead yet. “After all that grief you gave me about-”

He suddenly draws back, forcing you to groan at the peaking orgasm he just snatched away, hips involuntarily chasing after his mouth.

“Say my fucking name,” he demands.

“Do something that will-”

His mouth wraps around your clit and he starts sucking in rapid motions, not stopping even as you writhe and squirm with pathetic cries, strong arms immobilizing your thighs.

“Yoongi- Yoongi, please!” you shriek, coming with another wanton wail of his name, gripping his roots, and a low, rough growl licks into your pulsing cunt.

Vision blurring with tears as he continues his assault on your clit, you sob at the threat of overstimulation, pushing at his head until he detaches. He kisses your dripping slit one more time just to have you jolt and curse, and then finally lets you catch your breath.

“You got a condom?” he asks after your blood pressure has simmered down to a somewhat normal level and you can comprehend your own thoughts again.

“Um, no?” you rasp, glancing down to his slick mouth and chin. “I thought you had those on deck.”

“I used my last one.”

“When?” You manage to joke. He glares at you through his bangs, shaking his head, and you don’t do well to hold back a laugh. 

“Oh. Bummer.”

He sighs, and then dots kisses through your folds before latching onto your clit again. Pumping his long fingers into your cunt this time, he gets a little lazy, but it doesn’t make it any less sensational. You lose count of how many times you come but you’re sweating and dripping and just a mess by the time you pass out.

You wake up on your stomach feeling heavy, but so, so good. Lifting your head, you look around, wondering what year it is. You’re still in the same spot you fell asleep in, but there’s a robe laid over you, covering your lower half. Over your shoulder, Yoongi is back at the table, scrolling through his plugged-in phone, and you silently thank the universe that you weren’t just dreaming him up. Because that would be devastating.

Rolling over, you slowly sit up and shift towards the edge of the bed, legs feeling like jelly before you even put any weight on them. You stand up with the robe and nearly lose your balance.

“You alright?” his gravelly voice carries across the room.

“I think I almost died,” you admit as you walk around the bed, rubbing your eyes. He smirks at his phone, looking a little too proud of himself. “How long was I out?”

“Like an hour?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. That jet lag really got to me.”

“Jet lag, huh?” He frowns and you roll your eyes.

“You can take the credit for knocking me out.”

You walk away from his cocky grin to head for the bathroom.

After doing your business and admiring the subtle marks he left on the inside of your thighs, you realize how exhausted you are. From the plane, from all the events of the day, from your however-many orgasms, and you should be spent, ready to sleep like a rock through the night.

And yet, there’s a hunger gnawing in your chest. A greed in your gut. He gratified you beyond your imagination, and you still haven’t gotten your fill. But he ran out of fucking condoms.

You wrap the robe around your waist as you head back to the table, avoiding his gaze as you squat over your duffle.

Rummaging through it, you know a condom isn’t going to be anywhere in there no matter how badly you want there to be. Damn it. Are you that desperate? For this man, with that devilish tongue and monster in his pants? Hell fuckin’ yeah.

“You looking for something?”

“Oh, uh, I forgot to pack a toothbrush,” you stutter, tucking back a piece of your hair as you rise. “Do you think we can go to the GS25? It’s only a couple miles away.”

“It’s kinda late.”

“It’s open all night.”

“Fine,” he sighs, standing and taking his used towels to the 

bathroom, shoulder just barely brushing yours as he passes you.

When both of you are changed, he lingers in the doorway of the bathroom where you’re standing in front of the sink, fixing yourself up in the mirror, and you don’t anticipate him to step in and appear mere inches behind you. You watch him fix his mussed hair, not sparing your reflection a single glance. Without the mirror, you’re not sure if you would’ve even noticed his stealth presence unless he touched you. You can’t even hear him breathing. And it makes you shiver. Just as nervousness sprouts at his proximity, you twist around to make an escape, immediately regretting it when you come face-to-face with his devastatingly handsome face and dark eyes that dart down to your lips. On pure impulse, you reach up to tussle his hair and scurry away as he turns around with a sharp, “Yah!”

Next to the front door, his glare sears into you as you lean 

down to put on your shoes, laughing when he nudges you so that you lose your balance. You guess you deserve that.

He parked his bike near some bushes in front of a stone wall farthest away from the main lot of the hotel, close to the ocean. You can’t help but skip towards it, excited to go on a ride again. When you reach it and glance back to see that he’s still catching up, you impulsively swing your leg over and settle into the leather seat.

“What are you doing?” he asks as he approaches you with a glare. You shoot him a sheepish grin over your shoulder.

“Can I drive?”

“That’s something you ask before you get on the bike.”

“Oh. Well, can I?” With a shake of his head, he sighs and you half-expect him to scold you off, but instead he grabs the helmet resting on the rear seat and holds it out to you.

“Put this on first.” Pressing your warming cheek into your shoulder to hide your shy smile, you reach back and accept it, slipping it on. He looks reluctant as he slides onto the seat behind you and you twist forward, a throb rushing down your spine when his hands slide onto your hips and he adjusts himself to sit pressed lightly against you. He leans forward and you’re encased by him as he sticks the key into the ignition, shows you the switch that will bring the bike to life by tapping it twice, hand returning to your hip once you turn it and the engine rumbles alive loudly, vibrating beneath you.

Revving the handlebars, exhilaration flows into your veins as you look down at all the specs on the dashboard.

“You know how to ride, right?” He mumbles into your ear, sounding skeptical. You smirk.

“Remember what happened the last time you misjudged me?” Before he gets a chance to respond, you grasp his hand and pull it around to your stomach.

“Hold on tight,” you say in the lowest pitched voice you can muster in a poor attempt at imitating him from earlier in the night. He sighs and moves his other arm around your waist, and just as your heart starts to beat out of your chest, you kick back the stand, find your balance on the pedals, and rev the engine before taking off down the road, secretly wishing this road stretched on forever.

His fingers curl into your covered skin, presses his chest into your back and it encourages you to lean forward and speed up. You go a little too fast, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give you any indication that you should slow down. And when you arch your back, the hard bulge poking your ass tells you that he doesn’t mind the speed at all.

You pull up to the convenience store in under five minutes, the parking lot empty and Yoongi tells you to park it off to the side. 

“I think you liked that more than I did,” you say after hopping off the bike. He stays in the seat as you remove the helmet and hold it out, grinning up at him.

“You like it when a girl rides your bike, Min Yoongi?” You lilt teasingly, the biggest shit-eating grin on your face clashing with his fierce glare.

“Go get your shit, you brat,” he grumbles, teeth gritted.

“You’re not coming?” You glance down at the glaring problem in the front of his jeans. “Oh, I guess you need a minute.”

His lip curls and he digs his foot into the pebbled asphalt, making you leap away with a giggle when he kicks a small pile at you.

Walking backwards, you blow him a kiss, laughing your way into the store when he returns it with a middle finger. A smile remains on your face as you start looking around for the toothbrush you lied about not having. At one point you realize that your cheeks hurt from still smiling. Is that the effect he has on you? It’s been a minute since a man, (or anyone, really) has made you smile like this.

Perusing the aisles for some midnight snacks, the doorbell chimes and when the cashier offers a monotone welcome, you perch up on your tiptoes to spot a black beanie making its way to the opposite corner of the store.

As you lean into a fridge for some drinks, he steps up into your periphery, and you take a quick glance, smiling at the bandana that’s wrapped around his face again.

“You want anything?” He shakes his head and you sigh, closing the door and turning around with a hand on your hip.

“Can you not be difficult for once and just pick something? Because I don’t share.”

He steps up to you. “I know you’re not calling me difficult.”

“I am.” You challenge, unintimidated despite being nearly nose to nose. “Get something.”

Keeping his glare on you, he reaches into the fridge and pulls an item out to drop it into the basket. You roll your eyes at the fact that he didn’t even look at it and grab a few more of what he picked, letting the door slam shut.

You pinch the bandana and give it a few gentle tugs, getting right in his face. “Is this what you stuffed in my mouth earlier?”

“Yes. And I’m tempted to do it again.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

“Maybe I just want to shut you up.”

“There’s more than one way to do that.” His dark eyes flash.

“Keep it moving.”

He lingers behind you as you finish shopping, but disappears once you head to the checkout. When he comes up behind you and casually tosses something on the counter next to your snacks waiting to be scanned, your whole face floods with heat as you stare at the box of condoms. A 12-pack. Large. You gulp, and the flush seeps down to your toes. This is what you came for, but a flood of embarrassment streams into you at the thought that he planned the same thing, or he caught onto you. To offset some of the flood, you swipe the box and hold it up to him.

“Don’t you need these in a smaller size?”

His eyes flicker up but he doesn’t look at you. Just turns and walks away, leaving you to fight down a laugh. Glancing back at the cashier, you’re grateful that her face hasn’t changed, even as she rings up the condoms. She could probably care less if you robbed the whole store.

Rushing out to the empty parking lot, you’re met with the loud revving of the Ducati and the sight of Yoongi wearing his helmet, looking over his shoulder at you through the open visor.

“Min Yoongi, don’t you dare leave me here!” you yell, stopping in your tracks when he flips down the visor, throws up a peace sign and zooms onto the street.

Your jaw drops. That. JERK! He can’t be serious. You run out to the end of the lot, looking up and down the empty stretch of road but he’s nowhere in sight, just the descendo of the engine hanging in the air.

The engine grows louder and he zips by you, sitting straight, one hand on the throttle, the other in the air, pointing a finger at you. Is he… laughing? It’s your turn to flip him off and you almost scream his name again when he suddenly pulls a sharp u-turn and heads back your way. You don’t expect it, but you’re incredibly impressed as he starts drifting in wide circles around you, his leg coming down to balance himself as the bike sharply turns, showcasing just how experienced he is and fuck if that isn’t attractive. And he knows exactly what he’s doing. Turning you on. But you pretend to be unbothered, crossing your arms as if this dangerous man on this dangerous bike isn’t looping around you like a vulture honing in on its prey.

“Are you done?” you tilt your head once he skids to a stop a few feet away in front of you, ignoring the ringing in your ears caused by his incessant drifting.

He switches off the engine and leans up, flipping the visor to reveal the top part of his face, arms dropping and crossing.

“Are you?” His dark muffled voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“What?”

“Done making a fool out of me.” Blowing a raspberry, you walk up to him, set the bag behind him with a wide grin.

“I don’t think you need me to do that.” He stares at you over his shoulder for a second before twisting around to grab the handlebars and just as he turns the ignition, your hand halts him by his elbow.

“You’re not gonna leave again.”

“Then get on.”

You watch, mesmerized, as he takes off the helmet and runs fingers through his hair, casually holding it over his shoulder for you to take.

This feels better, sitting behind him, arms around his waist, head between his shoulder blades so you can watch the trees lining the road and spot lights of the street lamps go by in a blur.

Alive. You feel so fucking alive. The danger of riding on this bike, trusting this man with your life once again. Stretching out your arm, you let the wind fly freely through your fingers, helmet blocking your periphery from catching the turn of his head for a few seconds before focusing back on the road.

He parks the bike in the same spot as before and you get off and return the helmet.

“Usually when guys go out of their way to show off like you did, they’re trying to compensate for something. Just letting you know.”

He looks at you with night in his eyes as he steps up in front of you, peering directly into your soul, and the pit of your stomach rolls with heat.

“You know damn well that I don’t have anything to compensate for,” he says slyly, eyes flickering to yours in a way that excites you. Oh, this cocky bastard. If only he wasn’t so fucking right.

“Or maybe you need to be reminded.”

“Isn’t that why you got these?” you ask, shaking the bag in his face.

“I also need to restock my wallet.”

You scoff, pointing at yourself. “And I’m the slut?”

He grins and your cheeks heat when he just stares for a moment, then takes off in the direction of the hotel without another word.

As you reach the stairs of the building to your room, he stops and you turn to him looking down to the stretch of neatly tailored lawn sitting across from the buildings, a few tables and chairs with closed umbrellas spread out in front of the stone wall, the dark ocean a pretty view from afar.

“It’s about to rain, so I’m gonna go smoke. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I come?”

“No.” He turns away and your heart cries to go after him, like some clingy, ankle-biting dog.

Stopping after a few steps, he looks back at you pouting and tilts his head.

“Don’t you do what you want anyway?” The dark night can’t hide your bright smile as you bound up to him.

He settles on the table closest to the short-stacked stone wall, wiping off the seat with the end of his sleeve before sitting down and taking out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. You want nothing more than to sit in his lap again, and, thankfully, there’s an old spot of something white and dirty on the opposite chair that the rain didn’t wash away.

So without warning, you approach him and ignore his repeated look of confusion as you invite yourself into his lap with an arm around his neck.

“Um, there’s a chair over there.”

“It has bird shit on it,” you reply simply, adjusting yourself to sit sideways, legs hung over his knees. His arms hover in the air.

“So?”

“Would you sit there?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

Disregarding the click of his tongue, you lean over to try and snatch away his cigarette, but he holds it up out of your reach.

“This is my last cigarette and you already owe me one.” You sigh indignantly and lean back against the armrest, gawking as he pats the box against his palm to discharge the final cigarette, crushing the cardboard as he lifts the stick to hang loosely between his lips. He fires it up with an attractive flick of the lighter and cup of his hand around the end, sucking in a drag and letting the stick sit between his teeth as he pockets the empty box and lighter. Smoke filters out of the corner of his mouth as he removes the cigarette with two fingers, blowing the stench to the side, away from you. A string tugs from your heart at the considerate gesture. You redirect your attention to the design on the front of his jacket, grabbing the side to inspect it more closely.

“Is this a tiger?”

“Mhmm.” Is his response, tone disinterested as he flicks ash. Some falls on your thigh and he lightly brushes it away. His touch burns.

“Your favorite animal?” He shakes his head, still doesn’t look at you, blows more smoke away.

“It’s just a design.”

As you watch him smoke, the cigarette slowly withering, he lifts his hips to reach into the back pocket of his jeans, crotch rubbing the back of your knees, making your thighs squeeze together. He multitasks checking his phone and taking a drag, a frown appearing at something he does or doesn’t see on his screen. A thought occurs to you that creates a sinkhole in your chest.

“Are you expecting a call from your girlfriend or something?”

“Why, would that piss you off?” He remarks in a mocking tone, and you start to get up but his arm around your waist and a throaty chuckle traps you in place.

“I wouldn’t have fucked you if I had one. I would’ve still wanted to, but I do have a bit of self control over here.”

“You? A man? Self-control?”

“We’re not all disgusting pigs,” he mutters.

“Well, you’re a rare breed.” Lifting his head mid-drag, his eyebrows raise, a subtle smirk on the corner of his lips.

“So I bet you feel real lucky you met me.”

“Is your- oh wow, look at that,” you pretend to muse, putting your hands up to the side of his head as if measuring it. “Your head’s getting bigger. Not a good look for you.”

With a roll of his eyes, he waves your hands away, unlocks his phone to scroll through his messages that hold no new notifications. Staring at his screen, the desire to have your number and thread on there increases, a lump forming in your throat, unsure if you should cross into that territory.

“No girlfriend,” he assures you, locking his phone to let it fall face down in his lap. “I’m checking to see if my deposit came through. I’m shit broke until then.”

Your eyes rove over his side profile, going back to that scene in the poker room, how blankly yet confidently he slid all of his chips into the center of the bet, thinking he had the winning hand.

“I could tell you’re a pro at poker, why did you put so much at risk?”

He sighs and looks away, staring across the compound as he takes another drag.

“Because you really sucked at first, and I thought you were just some dumb, overzealous kid who didn’t know what she was doing playing with the big boys like that. But you’re good, Angel. Too good, and I fell for it.”

“You’re a dummy,” your tone is soft, touched by his genuine admission and acknowledgement of your skills. You press a finger into his temple and push a little. He leans away with a small smile.

“I know.”

The ocean is dark and covered in white-caps, brewing in preparation for the storm. Listening to the waves crashing down below, you think back to your musings in the shower.

“Maybe I owe you for stabbing a dude for me.” Wind blows in your direction as he peers at you unsurely.

“I’m no hero.”

You shrug. “I just want to pay you back for going through all of that trouble.”

“Wouldn’t it make me a prick to take your money for something like that?”

“Not if I’m offering it.”

As you wait for him to argue, your phone buzzes in your hoodie and you quickly pull it out, anxiety forming when ‘biggest bro’ flashes on the call screen.

“Oh, hang on, sorry, my brother’s calling.” You clamber out of his lap and stand, answering when you’re a few feet away.

“Hey,” you say quietly, somewhat relieved to finally hear from Jin. Even though if he knew where you were, he wouldn’t be. “What are you doing calling me on my regular cell?”

“Well, birdie, I haven’t heard from you otherwise and oh, I don’t know. Wanted to make sure you’re still alive. Is that okay? How were your summer classes?”

You smile, start pacing in front of the stone wall. “I barely survived, but I made it out. And I’ve made a lot of progress on my project ideas.”

“That’s good to hear. Send me some pictures of your designs one of these days. Any other good news you want to tell your big brother?”

“Like what?”

“Hmm. Like are you seeing any booooooys you might want to bring home some day?”

You cringe, a bit spooked by your brother’s 6th sense for knowing everything that goes on in your life. You spare a quick glance to the boy sitting behind you on his phone, turning your back to him just as he looks up at you, and walk a little further away.

“Like you’d approve of them,” you grumble. You’re sure as shit he wouldn’t approve of that man, especially if he found out about your little tryst in a fucking cleaning closet, at an illegal gambling ring no less. What Jin doesn’t know won’t kill him.

“Well, not if they’re jerks!”

“I could bring home a literal prince, and you and bro would interrogate him like he was threatening national security.”

He laughs. “Oh, come on. You know I want you to find someone nice who makes you happy.”

“How can I do that if I move around every eight months?” you ask defensively, that bitterness for your situation enforced onto you by him and your father bubbling to the surface. “I don’t think I’m gonna meet anyone who’d want to be with me like that.”

Silence hangs over the line.

“You never know.” You roll your eyes. It seems he underestimates the kind of men that are around everywhere you go. They barely want to stay the night, much less follow you to the ends of the earth. You feel a prick of wonder if the man whose eyes you can feel on your back would.

“Well, either way, I’m too busy to date. Maybe I’ll have to wait to move back home to settle down,” you rush out, eager to put an end to this topic. “Speaking of which, do you think I can come back to see bro for his birthday?”

You can sense through another bout of Jin’s prolonged silence a big ‘No.’

“It’s not a good idea, birdie. Not right now, he’s not doing well.” Jin takes a deep breath. “He almost relapsed.”

Your heart drops and you have to squat to combat the nausea filling your gut.

“That just makes me want to come home even more.”

“He doesn’t want you seeing him like this.”

Your palm lands against your forehead. “So what, am I just never going to get to see either of you again? Like I’m just gonna go the rest of my life living abroad? Do you know how much I hate the idea of that?”

Dead air meets the line again and you stand, suddenly overwhelmed by the notion that he might never let you.

“We’ll talk more about that when you finish with school, I want you to focus on your studies. Don’t worry about your brother, he’ll be alright.”

You do worry. You worry so much about him, sometimes you can’t sleep at night. You almost tell Jin that you’re in Jeju, that you could take a flight home tomorrow and just see them real quick but you have a feeling he would be less than enthusiastic and might turn it into a whole lecture about how irresponsible it is for you to fly back home unannounced. Among other things.

“Whatever.” You peek back to where Yoongi’s staring at his dark screen.

“Hey, don’t be like that, okay? This is just something we-” But you’re over this. There’s no point in arguing with him. He never lets you win.

“Sorry, I’m gonna go now.”

“I don’t want you to be upset.”

“I’m not,” you lie in a grumble. “I’m kind of with someone, so I should probably get back.”

“Oh?” his tone changes to curiosity. Oops. “Who is this ‘someone’?”

“A friend. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Hmm, alright,” he sounds unconvinced. “Well, be safe, you hear? And don’t let me go this long without hearing from you unless you want me to go gray with worry.”

“Don’t you already dye your hair?”

“Yah, you little punk! I’ll get you for that one.”

“Sure you will. I’m hanging up now. Love you. Tell bro I love him too and that it wouldn’t hurt to call me once in a while.”

“I will. Love you too, birdie. Call me in a couple days.”

“Yes, sir.” He chuckles, says bye, and waits for you to hang up.

Dropping the phone from your ear, you stare at it while contemplating whether or not you should call Jeongguk. Well, he'll hear from you one way or another. As you walk back over to the table, you type furiously in your brother's message thread, too caught up to hear Yoongi call your name at first.

"Huh?" You whip your attention out of your phone to him staring up at you with a neutral but soft expression.

"You good?"

"Uh- Yeah, sorry, I just need to-" You don't finish your sentence as your attention drifts back to the text that demands Jeongguk to tell you he's alive. Once you're satisfied that your message might get through the stubborn bull that is your brother, you send it and pocket your phone, finally giving your full attention to Yoongi, although anxiety lingers in your fingertips.

"Here," he says, leaning forward and lifting the nearly finished cigarette with the orange end pointed towards you. "Looks like you need it more than I do."

You blink at him, and reach down to accept the cigarette between your fingers.

"Thanks," you say as he sits back with his arms crossed over his chest, legs spreading wide. Taking that as an invitation, you move to sit back down on his lap like it has your name on it. He huffs in annoyance but uncrosses his arms to rest them over your thighs, fingers raising to gesture for the cigarette. You inhale a drag before passing it over.

“Does your brother usually call this late?” he queries, voice soft and a touch hesitant, and you stare as he places the cigarette between his lips.

“Now who’s being nosy?”

“You eavesdropped on me earlier!” You smile, but it falls as you think about Jeongguk and what might've led him down this path again.

"My brother, he uh-" you scratch the wrinkle between your brows with your thumbnail. "He almost relapsed."

You glance at him, regret filling you when he doesn't look up from the ground, and obtain the cigarette again.

"Sorry," you mutter, taking a drag as you contemplate getting up from his lap again. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Are you gonna go see him?" he asks quietly. You tense, delaying your answer because you didn't expect him to ask that.

"I would, but he doesn't want to see me."

“He called to tell you that?”

You shake your head. “No, that was my oldest brother.”

“Damn, two brothers. That’s gotta be tough.”

“Yeah," you scoff, exhaling smoke. "They’re both older and annoying as fuck.”

“So you get it from them.” You can’t argue with that.

“Why don't you just go see him anyway?” he asks softly after a stretch of quietude, waves crashing in the distant background. Your cheek turns to look at him, mildly bewildered, his eyes flitting between you and the ground.

"Because they think I'm still abroad. Are you trying to get to know me or something?” you deflect, because you really don't want to get into it.

“No, just making conversation.” He shrugs, a pout on his lips that mirrors the one that appeared when he told you his name.

“You didn’t want to do that earlier.”

“Fucks’ sake,” he says under his breath, plucking the cigarette from your fingers. “It’s easier for you to just call me a fucking jerk.”

“You’re a fucking jerk.” He chuckles while taking a drag, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.

“And I’m trying not to be one right now, okay?”

“Well, don’t wear yourself out.”

“You’re gonna do that for me when we go back in, right?” He cheekily winks, demeanor doing a 180, and you mimic being annoyed but really you’re imagining all the ways you could do just that.

“Y’know, you have a really good libido for such an old man.”

His smirk flips to a scowl and when you laugh at his disdain, he pushes at your waist, a little harder than you think he meant to because you end up slipping off of his lap and onto the ground with a surprised squeal.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaims, reaching down for you as you groan in mild pain from your ass falling on the hard, wet lawn. You glare up at him when he visibly can’t hold back his amusement while he tries to grab your elbows to help you up but you only slap his hands away.

“I didn’t mean to push you.” He’s still laughing when you manage to get up and walk away but he grabs your wrist and you look back to see him throwing down his cigarette, a grin on his face as he doesn’t let you out of his grip.

“Hey, c’mere.”

“No,” you mumble stubbornly.

“Is your ass okay?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would.”

“Get lost.”

“No.”

He tugs you close and smirks now that you’re speechless, hands daring to go lower, waiting for you to have a problem, but you don’t, just allow him to glide his large palms to your ass.

“Feels okay to me.” He gives a squeeze and even though heat creeps down into your gut at the lust pooling in his eyes, you put your hands on his chest and push. He steps back with a grin and lunges after you with a hand on your elbow, laughing lowly when you playfully fight him off but he doesn’t let go.

Then a bolt of lightning strikes the atmosphere, freezing you in place, and he steps up next to you, unphased as you wait for the impending clap of thunder. Rain cascades from above and you both look up to the sky, droplets falling on your faces as you stare at the night darkened by the fast moving storm clouds. Your eyes lock and you share a look that reflects something you can’t describe - A boom shakes the world around you, nerves jumping and driving you to take off back towards the hotel, not realizing until you look over your shoulder that Yoongi’s hand is in yours as he runs behind you, a wild smile on his face.

Just as you reach the stairs, you glance down with wide eyes at both of your empty hands.

“I left the bag!” you exclaim, flinching as lightning flashes again. He looks over the distance you just crossed and jogs back over without hesitation or urgency despite the heavy winds.

Hugging yourself as you shiver under the onslaught of stinging rain, you silently beg him to hurry up as he strides back over to overshadow you, staring down with a furrow between his brows and a blink at your lips. Even though you want to interpret the way he’s looking at you through his wet bangs sticking on his face, you’d much rather get the fuck out of the storm but as soon as your foot turns to dart up the stairs, his hand curls around the back of your neck and pulls you forward until you’re up on your toes. 

Pulse stuttering and eyebrows rising in shock and awe as his mouth collides with yours, you’re rendered still and breathless as he steps up to press your drenched bodies together, kissing you fervently, tipping your head up for a better angle. Storm water pours between you, and you both taste it after his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, droplets rolling down his face and into your mouth and you drink it up along with the taste of him. You don’t know what’s gotten into this man, but whatever it is, you’re living for it.

“We’re gonna catch a cold if we keep making out in the rain,” you murmur, lips still brushing his.

“You can’t get sick just from some rain,” he retorts. You roll your eyes and tip up to kiss him chastely before twisting around to run up the stairs, not looking back as you shakily unlock the door. When his presence emerges behind you, a nervous smile breaks out on your face as you finally turn the key. The sky roars again, forcing out a laugh of adrenaline as you barrel into the door to hastily get inside.

The first thing that drew you to Min Yoongi was his voice. Husky and mystifying, like a storm settling down on the distant horizon after a night of raging, dragging you into the dark depths of lust and filth and enthrallment. Then his hands, warm between your legs and even warmer wrapped up in your fingers.

Now, it’s his hooded brown eyes as he stares at you, pressing you into the wall of the foyer, shoes off, hat and bag and bandanna dropped. Your blood roils when he leans in close, his face dewy, flushed, and beautiful. Ethereal.

That small pinch in his brows returns, and just as you’re about to crack at him with a defensive ‘the fuck are you looking at’ to rival the pressure in your chest, he raises a hand to press on the wall above your head. Leftover rain drips down the tips of his stringy bangs as his slow blinking stare moves to and doesn’t falter from your mouth.

He cups your chin, running a thumb down the corner of your lip, underneath it, an unreadable expression on his face and then he kisses you again; soft, gentle. Slow.

You’re pressed between his chest and the wall as he licks embers into your mouth, your hands sliding up to his clothed, solid muscles. Once on his shoulders and under the jacket, he drops his arms so you can shove it down to the floor, hands falling to your waist and gripping tight, pushing your hips into his.

In a somewhat coordinated fashion, he moves you over to the bed, and you end up in between his legs again as he sits on the edge, letting him tear off your jacket and shirt and unclip your bra, strewing them over the bed. You comb through his wet hair as he trails his lips down your sternum, across your breasts. His mouth attaches on your bare tit, lips pursing and tongue lapping against the bud, making your head tip back in bliss.

Your nails scratch his scalp and he purrs over your skin, mouth alternating between your nipples as you end up touching over his shoulders, the wet cling of his t-shirt.

“Can I take this off?” you request softly, pulling at the fabric on his shoulder.

“Turn the light off first.” Your eyebrows knit and you want to ask what he’s hiding from you, but you’re sure if you made the request, he’d comply without question. You kiss him before moving away, his hands lingering on your waist until you’re out of reach.

Prior to casting the room into darkness, you remember to retrieve a condom - the very reason you ventured out in the middle of the night. You toss it in his direction that he catches with ease and move back to the table, stuffing the bag of food in the minifridge and finally switching off the lamp. 

When you return to him, you waste no time yanking off his shirt, and he raises his arms with a chuckle at your eagerness.

The only light comes from a distant lamp outside, and the occasional illuminations from the storm, allowing you to at least see the silhouette of his torso. In awe, you drag your hands down, smoothing over his chest, tracing the subtle lines of muscle as you kiss him. But your eyebrows furrow when you pass over a small area of raised skin on his right shoulder, just under his collarbone. You run your thumb across it, stomach dropping when you feel that it’s particularly… round.

This shouldn’t come as a surprise. But it shocks you, only because you hate the thought of where he got it from. And how many more just like it he has.

When you part, your meddlesome tongue loosens to drop a blunt question, but his tough hand pulls your wrist away from that spot.

“Don’t say anything,” he pleads under his breath, and your heart twinges at the pain radiating from that soft whisper and you have no desire to inflict more of it. Fingers tenderly tangled in his hair, you tilt his head up and kiss him with your silent promise that this is territory you won’t ask questions about. He sighs against you, shoulders deflating.

“My turn,” you mumble, trailing kisses down his jaw, his neck, to his chest and sternum, sinking to your knees. He spreads his legs as you work open his belt and jeans, pulling them down with his boxers, tantalizingly slow. He kicks them away once they reach his ankles and you plant your hands on his thighs, slowly caressing up to his hips, humming at his soft skin. 

“The universe took its time with you, huh?” you muse, straying from his exposed dick so you can feel over his slightly toned stomach, and clarify in a murmur,

“I mean all of you when I say that.”

Nothing answers you, but you don’t mind as you gently wrap your fingers around his hard length, long and thick and barely able to fit in one hand. He takes a shuddering breath and leans back as you let spit fall onto his tip, spreading it with your thumb to mix with the precum that dribbles out at your ministrations.

As you take him into your mouth, the low growl that tapers on the end of his sigh as you wrap your lips around him and suck only makes you wish you could see more than the silhouette of his expression to know what you’re starting to do to him.

Hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, you prepare to take more of him in. His hips jerk as you bring him further back into the wet heat of your mouth, both of you moaning when he hits the back of your throat and he apologizes for his involuntary thrust.

Dismissively shaking your head, you take him even more and pause, doing your best to accommodate him, tears squeezing from the corners of your eyes shut in concentration. He bucks his hips again, moaning when you take him a little further and gag, goosebumps covering your skin as he brushes back a loose strand of hair on your forehead.

“Fuck, dollface,” he groans, fingers pressing into your scalp, and you keep going to draw out more of his sounds and praise, pairing it with twists of your hand on his shaft.

Jaw aching, you divert a little attention to his balls, and your clit throbs at his loud moan as you suck one into your mouth, continuing to jerk his shaft.

It doesn’t take long for him to mutter out, “Shit, I’m close.”

"Already?” Because of course you have to tease as you bring your mouth back to his shaft.

“I’ve been hard for hours.”

“Poor you.”

He scoffs and pushes at your head to send you back down on his dick, so you increase your pace of twisting and bobbing, salivating at his breathy moans warning his release.

Suddenly, he sharply inhales and stands up, knocking you on your haunches, large palm on the top of your head angling it back. Lightly smacking your hand away, he pushes into your mouth to thrust in and out with your tongue laid flat on a thick vein.

With one buck of his hips and then another, he pulls out, growling as he rapidly jerks himself, knuckles tapping your lip and chin.

“Fuuuuck,” he drawls as his release ropes onto your tongue, and your eyes close at the heat sliding down your throat, swallowing all of him down.

“Good girl.” And then you’re roughly tugged up by your elbows to stand chest to chest with him, lips smashing onto yours with an immediate tongue in your mouth.

You let him kiss you in this fiery way of his 

“Lay down. I’m gonna ride you.”

“Oh, are you calling the shots?” He muses, plopping back down.

“I’ve been calling the shots this entire time. Problem?”

“Yeah,” he puffs. “Still you.”

Shaking your head, you lift yourself by your knees onto the mattress as he maneuvers to rest against the headboard, fingers trickling the outsides of your thighs as you straddle him.

You squint as he sticks his two middle fingers in his mouth, rolls them over his tongue, and pulls them out with a lewd pop. You fall forward to grab onto his shoulders as he slides through your folds and curls into your cunt, scissoring you open.

“Can you come just from my fingers, dollface?”

“No, I need you.”

A rumble of thunder fills a pause before he asks, “Need me? How.”

“Fucking me,” you rasp. “Please.”

“I didn’t think you could be so polite.”

“Like you’ve had great manners,” you grit.

He chuckles and removes his fingers, sucking them into his mouth again. Your thighs shake, pussy throbbing, desperate to be filled again.

After he finishes tasting you, he locates the condom and tears it open while you take the time to rise on your knees, hands on the back of his head, kissing and licking along his neck, under his jaw, over the small hoops in his ear. He hums and leans into the marks you make on the column of his throat, arm flinging to the side to dispose of the wrapper before one hand goes to your hip, the other to the back of your neck, tugging you down to lock his mouth with yours.

Slowly sinking into his lap, you grind over his protected length that bobs in response. Lips locked, you reach between your legs to grab his dick, moving the head to gather up your slick, and when that’s not enough, you retract your hand to spit in it and jerk his shaft to lube up the rest of him. He hums deeply in approval, tilting towards you and leaning back on his hand as you slowly guide him in.

He breaks the kiss and your skin prickles with the sensation of his eyes roving up and down your naked form, palm coasting down your side to your back and ass. Breathing shakily, your nerves freeze from the pressure of it all.

“Relax.” His sultry tone lodges a pathetic moan in your throat.

“I am, you’re just fucking big,” you snap and he chuckles, massaging and kissing over your breast.

“You took me just fine before.”

“I was desperate.” You hiss as his teeth tease your nipple.

“Mmm. And now you want to take your time? Don’t stroke my ego too much.”

“You’re right, it’ll get as big as your head and no one wants that.” He smacks the side of your tit in retaliation and you yelp at the sting, but a dirty tingle in your gut wants him to do it again.

“Annoying fucking brat.”

“You weren’t saying that when you were fucking my face just now.”

“Because your big mouth was full and you couldn’t talk back. It was actually kind of nice.”

Keeping your head down, you take a deep breath to try and calm your racing pulse, but you can still feel him checking out your naked form, hand smoothing over your waist. You want to do this, but you can’t relax.

“Can you maybe just… not look at me?” you request quietly, pressing your fingers into his shoulders to pass over some of your stress.

“Why? Am I making you nervous?” Heart thudding at his teasing tone, you clap a palm over his mouth and push him away to get him out of your face. He falls back against the headboard with a harmless laugh, both hands resting on your thighs.

“What are you- oh,” he says as you unmount him, only to turn around to sit over his lap, knees on the inside of his legs, breathing freely now that you’re not facing him. You adjust your stance with your feet wiggling under his thighs, and he shifts down a little closer, head of his cock landing on the center of your ass and with a small moan, you lift up so he can prod your entrance but not push any further, seemingly waiting for you to take the lead. Finally out of your head, you feel a little less pressure and slowly sink back onto him.

“Fuck, there you go,” he hums as you completely sheathe him and find your bearings, basking in the fullness. Then the soft murmur that follows flings your pulse into a frenzy.

“I meant what I said earlier. You’re beautiful.”

And just like that, his simple assurance, which you (for once) believe whole-heartedly, gives you confidence. You start out slow and gentle, this position not one you’re wholly experienced with, but one that takes some of the performance pressure off. Fighting for breath, you arch your back, and receive a small hiss in response, and then, a growl. 

“Lean forward a bit,” he encourages, palm pressing on your lower back and your nerves tremor at the tender velvet in his tone. Accepting his guidance, you let out a wanton moan as your adjusted posture allows him to fill every inch of you at a delicious angle.

It takes a second to find your rhythm, what movements and angles give you the most pleasure, silently grateful for his hands on your ass supporting you.

“Yeah, use me,” he grunts, a harsh swat and grope of your ass sending a pleased yelp to the ceiling. “My good fuckin’ slut.”

You stutter out a whimper, the possessive term something you could get dangerously hooked on, despite doubting that he means it literally. He’s just caught up in the moment. Right?

Grinding back on him, slick sounds of his hard cock sliding in and out of every inch of your core mix with his gratified purrs.

“Damn, this pussy is driving me crazy.”

“Good.” He huffs and swats your ass.

“Brat. Where’s my bandana?”

“You want me to go get it?”

“Nah. Stay right here.”

Lightning flashes, and his words sends a shiver down your spine just as thunder cracks. You watch the windows in front of you rattle with nature’s vibrations and for a moment as you roll and grind on him in a somewhat sloppy rhythm, you focus on the tempest whirling around outside, blackening the ocean, dark waves smashing up on the stone wall near where you were just sitting on Yoongi’s lap as he smoked.

But then he starts uttering praises and pleased hums, hand never straying from your ass, and your mind goes blank as you focus on your motions to evoke more of his enticing sounds.

Thighs starting to ache at the exertion, you find purchase with your fists on the mattress between his legs and arch forward, jaw dropping in a gasp when his cock hits a spot so deep inside you that you see infinite, sparkling galaxies behind your closed eyes. Riding through the strain, you whimper in ecstasy as he moans behind you, kneading your ass in continuous support of your riding.

Ultimately, your muscles give out in exhaustion, so you groan and tip forward, fingers finding his ankles as you stop to catch your breath and he grabs onto your waist to hold you in place.

“You alright?”

“I’m tired.”

“Had enough?” You shake your head.

“Good. I’m not done with you.” His promise is gruff as he pushes you off and handles you to the head of the mattress, stuffing pillows under your head before standing on his knees outside of your legs, forcing your ass into the air with a firm grip on your hips. Adjusting one of the pillows to comfortably prop yourself up, you use it to muffle a moan when he lazily slaps your clit with his cockhead, circling it a few times before gliding to your fluttering hole.

Hand pressing down on your spine, he rolls into you, easily finding that patch of nerves and hitting it with steady thrusts. You bury a prolonged moan into the pillow, eyes squeezing shut in a telepathic prayer, thanking the universe for throwing this dangerous man in your life when you least expected but needed him most.

You’re not alone now.

And then he fills you to the brim, making you whimper as he starts fucking you at a languid pace, completely contrary to the ardent rhythm he set in the closet, but you take it with pleased moans. But at some point you find yourself moving on your own accord, whining your hips to meet his thrusts, desperate to bring out that demon in him.

“You keep trying to take over, dollface,” he muses, letting go of your hips completely when you don’t stop rocking back on him. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but I thought you were tired.”

“Maybe I want you to go harder.”

He hums, smoothing both palms over your ass to your lower back.

“If you want something, you could try that polite thing again.”

You suck in a deep breath. “Fuck me harder. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, Yoongi!”

He chuckles and then slams into you, sending your conscience to travel in another plane of existence, fucking you until you’re so far gone, you don’t even realize you’ve been chanting his name like a song you never want to stop singing.

“Not gonna lie, I hate you for winning my money, Angel,” he grumbles, bringing you back down to earth. “Fuckin’ hustler.”

“Is that why you really came back?” you taunt out in between moans. “So I could make it up to you?”

He suddenly stops and roughly yanks you up by your shoulder, handful of your tit, pinning your back to his chest.

“You made it up to me in that closet,” he tells you thunderously. Another bolt of lightning brightens the room for a split second, a boom from the sky responding loudly a few seconds later. But you barely notice over the blood storming in your ears.

“I came back because I can’t get you out of my head. Happy?” He says it like you shouldn’t be, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“Are you admitting that you like me?”

“I’m not fucking admitting anything,” he snarls, distracting you from the scorn in his tone with his fierce re-entrance after he lets you fall, snapping into you and picking up his unwavering pace.

Dare you say impassioned?

The echoes of squelching matches the smacks of skin as he pounds into you relentlessly, cock plunging deep and rigorous, and your mind dissolves when his balls roughly slap your clit.

He angles against your spot and keeps his momentum there, the fire in your belly growing hotter, tightening your muscles, heightening your whines, jellifying your mind.

“You gonna come again for me, hm?” he coos in a cocksure timbre.

Smug bastard, you say to yourself, not realizing you’ve spoken out loud until he delivers another smack to your ass with a low chuckle.

Grabbing your hip, he lowers himself on top of you, chest pressed into your back, sinking you further into the mattress. Mewling as you’re heated and weighed down by his flushed skin, he curves his arm around your head so your face is nestled in the crook of his elbow, driving into you at a fast, consistent pace.

“Yoongi!” you wail, breath collapsing as he fucks you to your peak. “Don’t stop! Please, I’m-“

The words catch in your throat as your climax approaches, and he reaches under to stroke your clit, the muscles on his bicep flexes just as he growls right in your ear, “Come.” 

The simple word muttered in his low, lusty tone is the final push to the edge of a tsunami-esque wave of pleasure, mouth hanging open soundlessly. For once you’re speechless, like the force of your orgasm depleted all the brain waves responsible for forming cohesive sentences or even thoughts. His mouth sucks hard on the back of your shoulder, rolling his hips at a sharp pace so he can drag his dick through every inch of your core. He hits you deep over and over and over as you pulse, violent and overpowering, and you feel the need to scream. The only way to muffle yourself is by biting something and the closest thing is his bicep. So you scrape your teeth on his bulging muscle, and he groans, grabbing your ass as his elbow tightens a pinch more around your head.

“Harder,” he demands in a growl, and you obey, clamping down. The divots you’re leaving in his skin are enough to nearly draw blood, but it doesn’t seem to phase him as he ruts into you.

In fact, you think it’s spurring him on.

He slides up, tags on the back of your neck, clenching the sheets beside your head and burying his face in your neck as he uses the support of his thighs to ruck into you with thorough, earnest thrusts. Is he trying to split you in half?

In the midst of your spiral, your heart palpitates upon just barely hearing him whisper with lips and chains weighing on your skin,

“Fuck have you done to me?”

You shudder. You could ask him the same question.

And then he pulls out of you, lifting up so an onslaught of 

slightly chilled air encompasses you. You don’t have time or the mind capacity to object before his hands on your waist roll you onto your back and, bleary eyed, you gawk up at his pallid features blurred by the darkness - his broad chest heaving, biceps flexing, damp blonde bangs and long chains dangling in the air.

His fingers brush up your sides, trailing across your stomach, kneading into your breasts and your skin prickles with sweat and electricity. He ducks his head to kiss down your neck, your sternum, then to lick over your nipples.

Oh, god. Can he feel how fast your heart is pounding? It’s not just from the aftermath of your orgasm.

He continues his descent and on his knees hunches over, fingers digging into your ass to tip up your hips. Your back arches with a pitiful moan when he ravenously slurps at your cunt, drinking in your cum and humming gravelly as he swallows. At this rate, he’ll make you shatter into pieces and you don’t think you can handle it.

So you weakly wrench his hand from your hip, and he sets you down, pulse faltering when he slips back inside you before falling forward to hover above you, one hand on the headboard.

He shifts to fuck into you so deep, and when you reach up to tangle your fingers in the links, he drops his arm from the headboard, caging you in.

Getting high off the sounds of him breathing heavily and moaning darkly, head ducked to watch his hips clap against yours, you slide your hands up and down his torso, brows pinching when you coast over more areas of raised and jagged skin; some long and linear, others small and circular like the one by his clavicle. So many violent scars on his ribs, his chest, his back.

Just like you expected.

And at that, unexpected tears prick the corners of your eyes. Soon the sides of your face flood, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down so you can hide the streaks in his neck, biting your lip in a poor attempt to stop your cries.

A few intense thrusts in, you moan, but a small whimper followed by a sniffle slips out, and his hips roll to a stop, pulling halfway out and lifting to plank above you. You shut your eyes to avoid his stare, more tears squeezing out.

“Hey, you crying?” he asks this gently, no judgement in his hushed tone. Concern? Maybe. Care? …

“I’m fine.” The croak in your voice betrays you.

“We can stop.”

“No, it’s-” you scramble for anything but the real reason you’re shedding tears for him. “I’m glad you came back. And not just for this.”

He doesn’t say anything and you don’t expect him to. Although you want nothing more than to know what he’s thinking about you, about what you just said, about the fact that you’re laid up beneath him fucking crying, you’re content with the fact that he’s just still here.

“I get scared thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

Okay, that’s real. You doubt that the symbol on your neck would’ve deterred those men from getting what they wanted when you’re so far from home.

“Hmm, a girl like you can fight, no?”

“You maybe,” you quip with a sniff. He chuckles, breath and tips of his bangs tickling your forehead. “But not all those guys at once.”

“Well, then I guess you’re lucky I found you just in time,” he says, voice soft and small.

“And you’re lucky I’m letting you stay here for free.”

“So, we’re even.”

“Not yet.”

Fisting his hair, you tug him into a searing kiss, free hand sneaking to his ass, eliciting him to moan over your tongue and move again.

Legs bent next to his waist, your nails rake up and down his back, scratching harder when he grunts and increases his rhythm, face dipping to pant against your throat.

“Where can I come?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you wheeze, and he growls, sucking a sloppy bruise under your ear.

Your teeth end up on his shoulder, and you bite like you did before, hardly anticipating the sharp hiss that he sucks in as he surges forward, balls deep, spilling heavily into the condom.

“Mm, Angel,” he moans, staying in a spot inside you that sucks him in tighter as he comes, hard and drawn-out, dick pulsing wildly in place, purring for an entire low and long exhale.

“Shit, I meant to-” He starts pulling out and you curl a hand over the side of his neck.

“It’s fine.” You make a mental note to get a pill first thing after you wake up.

“You just-”

“What?” But he shakes his head.

Softening inside you, he starts to pull out, but a spike of panic has your knees pressing against his sides, arms wrapping around his neck to hold him in place.

You don’t want him to leave at all.

“No, stay,” you whisper, scared that as soon as this moment is gone, everything will be over. “Just for a minute.”

Silence permeates the air, and more panic joins the energy wearing off in your veins as you fear you just messed everything up. He kisses the side of your neck.

“Gotta clean up. Be right back.”

You want to protest, but you’re sure you’ll sound pathetic, not in your right mind. Biting your tongue, he pushes himself up and slips out and both of you moan at the loss.

Your bottom lip juts in a deep pout when he climbs off the bed and shuffles away to the bathroom, the snap of the condom coming off accompanying him.

When the door closes, you roll onto your stomach to plunge your head under the pillows, floating back down to earth and into reality -  that you just slept with a stranger and it was the best goddamn sex of your life. You want to scream into the bedding to release all of these emotions mounting inside of you, ones that you could define if you weren’t so afraid of them.

After a minute or a century, the edge of the mattress dips and the pillow lifts from your head, but you just bury your face further into the sheets.

“Oh, good, you didn’t die this time either,” he teases, the humor in his tone at your expense making you never want to roll over.

“Fucked you quiet, huh? Finally.” You shove your middle finger back in his face because that’s the only part of you that can move at the moment. He pushes it away with a laugh and a gentle tug on your elbow forces you onto your side and you begrudgingly take in the cool air stenched with sex. Room still swathed in darkness, you’re unable to see how he’s looking at you but at least notice that he’s once again covered by the robe.

“You should get up.”

“Bossing me around?”

“Fine, get a UTI for all I care.” You scoff as he stands, then raise yourself up with your arms crossed over your chest. You’ve barely moved but your ass is already so fucking sore. You’re gonna pay for that when you have to hop back on a long flight later.

“I’ll just bill you, then,” you mumble as you start to walk past him, gait uneven, whipping around with a squeak when he lands a lazy but heavy palm on your bare ass.

“Yeah, okay. Get your pretty ass in the bathroom.”

You flip him off before swiveling around and scurrying away. The light flickers on and heat inundates your cheeks when you just bet he did that to stare at your behind while you walk away.

After cleaning yourself up, you spot the sweater he hung up on the doorknob, now completely dry, not thinking twice about grabbing it to slip on. Finders keepers. It’s so soft and it smells just like him and you want to sleep in it forever and…

Damn girl, you need to reel it back - you just met the fucking guy. It’s barely been half a day.

When you emerge, he’s back at the table with his phone plugged in again, staring at it with a frown.

“Still no deposit?”

He shakes his head, glancing up with his brows furrowed and one cocks as you pass by him for the mini fridge.

“Uh, what are you wearing?” You shrug nonchalantly.

“A sweater I found.”

“I’m getting it back.”

“We’ll see.” He scowls at your cheeky smile, reluctantly accepting the water bottle you pass him. Spotting the remote by the outlet, you reach over him to grab it, switching on the TV hung up in the corner of the room across from the bed and then giving him the control.

He regards you hesitantly before taking it. As you sit down across from him, rooting through the snacks you bought and passing them out between you, he flips through the channels.

In the background, the news plays, and as you start eating, the reporter starts giving updates about the weather.

“Storm’s letting up in the afternoon,” Yoongi announces softly, picking up a snack, the pitter-patter of calm rain hitting the windows behind him.

Mid-chew, you glance over your shoulder to the forecast displayed on the screen, predicting a decrease in precipitation over the next few hours.

“Hm. So I’ll be able to fly out then.” The words turn sour in your mouth as you focus back on your food, and his next question turns your thoughts grey.

“Going home?”

“No,” you sigh, picking at the wrapper. “My brother would be pissed if I popped up out of nowhere. And I’ve already skipped two classes anyway, so.“

He tisks, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I slept with someone who plays hooky.” His growing smirk gets smacked with your balled up wrapper.

“Didn’t you literally stab a guy?”

“Touche.” You match his playful smile and go back to eating and listening to the news in comfortable silence.

Exhaustion seeping into your bones, you think about how slowly it’s killing you how much you’re coming to like him. Even more so that you’re struggling to find the confidence to tell him. Because you two are about to part ways - who knows if this is meant to be more than a one night stand.

“Here,” you say, taking out the box of condoms and tossing it at him. “Restock your wallet.”

He peers at you curiously but doesn’t touch it at first, just what you were hoping for. You can’t stop the disappointed frown when he ultimately reaches into the box and takes out a few square foils.

“I hope your next fuck treats you to something better than a moldy closet.”

Oh. So then he’s not expecting this to last. Not what you were hoping for.

“Well, I hope your next fuck sends you into crippling debt,” you sneer and he gazes at you with a diminished light in his eyes that you hold with a lasered glare.

You get up, chair loudly scraping the floor, and snatch the wrappers from your side and his to furiously throw them away. You know this reaction is strange and out of character, feeling so rejected when you’re accustomed to one night stands. But something about this man - you can’t help it. And it’s really not fair.

That pisses you off even more.

You storm in and out of the bathroom to aggressively brush your teeth, and then head for the bed, heart jumping when he’s standing right there in the small hallway. A hand around your elbow stops you from passing him in your path of fury and you twist to face him with a hard-set expression, not expecting his unsure frown.

“You’re flying out.”

“And?” you snap.

“And I don’t stay,” he states firmly, letting go of your arm. “Much less stay in touch.”

You exhale a short, calmer breath, resolve softening. “You’re staying now.”

You wait for him to say that it’s because it’s still raining. But he doesn’t - eyes just darting between yours, frantically, like he’s looking for something. Your chest tightens because you don’t know what he’s expecting to find.

“Well, if you don’t want to exchange phone numbers, we could write letters or something,” you half-joke, knot in your gut unraveling.

“Yeah?” He lifts a brow. “And how would that work? I move around a lot.”

“Hm. So do I.”

His jaw clenches as he bows his head, pressing three fingers into his eyes, and then offers you his palm, expression flat and begrudging.

“Give me your phone.”

It’s hard to not let the excitement show in your smile, but your cheeks beam with a radiating heat as you scramble around to snatch your phone out of your discarded hoodie, practically shoving it into his hands after you unlock it.

Your nerves vibrate and a smile dances on your lips as you watch him type in his number, eyes downcast when he passes over your device displaying his newfound digits.

“Does this mean you like me?”

“No,” he gruffs, frowning, and your eyes roll at his stubbornness.

“Whatever. I don’t like you either,” you lie.

“Then why do you want my number?”

“So I can bother you from a different time zone.” He lunges for your phone.

“Delete it right now.”

“No! Too late!” You hold your device high in the air but don’t back down from his advance.

“Angel, I swear-“

“What are you gonna do about it?” His eyes narrow at your challenge, lips pulling into a line when he glances down at yours.

As you turn to walk away, he grabs your shirt by your waist, yanking you towards him and into a kiss, one that has butterflies whirling through your bloodstream, limbs melting like butter. Until you feel his fingers slither over your wrist and attempt to pull your phone out of your grasp, lips lingering on yours, do you lean away when you realize he kissed you as a ploy.

“Nice try.” He glares at you and, smirking, you kiss him again. He scowls when you pull away with a grin and turn back around to crawl into bed. While you get comfortable under the covers, news reporters covering some more about the storm, you watch him collect his shirt from the floor and frown at it still being wet. You almost take off his sweater and give it back but you’re so damn comfortable and warm in it that you can’t help but be selfish.

“I have a shirt you can wear,” you offer a little shyly. “You mind handing me my duffle?”

When he nods after a slight pause, he picks it up and sets it on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to dig through and pull out one of your favorite graphic tees. He takes it with a quirk of his brow, staring at the design on the front and you don’t care if he’s judging.

“I’d rather just wear my sweater.”

“I’m wearing it.” Duh. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at the graphics.

“Well, you’re definitely getting this back.” You snort and tell him to hurry up so you can go to bed. You pay him no mind as he trudges away muttering something under his breath. You grab one last thing from the bag, making him turn around with a tap on his elbow.

“Here’s an extra toothbrush. Toothpaste is on the sink.”

He doesn’t look at you as he takes it, murmuring a quiet “Thanks,” and then disappears into the bathroom.

When he returns, you peer over the headboard to see he’s wearing your shirt, long enough to fall past his waist, partially covering his boxers, and you almost squeal in delight.

“That looks cute on you,” you say as he shuffles towards the table, voice cracking with the threat of laughter, barreling out when he grits “Shut up” and flips you off.

“What? It does!”

He shakes his head in denial and reaches for his phone, probably checking for his deposit yet again, and with a silly idea, you grab yours to type out a message.

5:03 You: Night cutie

After it sends, you stare at him as his phone buzzes and he stares at it, biting your tongue when he quickly sets it back face down. 

“I could block you,” he grumbles as he stands beside the bed, hands on his hips.

“Just like you could’ve pushed me out of the closet? Or like I could make you sleep on the floor?”

His head tilts. “Actually, that might be better for my back.”

“Go right ahead, old man.” He grimaces and picks up a pillow to land it in your face. Holding it against your chest, you fall back against the headboard with a giggle.

“C’mon,” you say, patting the bedding beside you. “I don’t bite.”

His eyes narrow, holding out his right arm to present the deep set marks from your teeth in the skin just above his elbow. Your eyes widen in delight. “This begs to differ.”

Rising on your knees, you crawl to him, peering up with a sly smile when he doesn’t resist as you reach for his arm.

“It might bruise.” He shrugs and you tilt your head, analyzing it and experimentally pressing the pad of your thumb against the divots, and he shifts. You blink up to his hooded eyes, the subtle tongue flick on his bottom lip.

“You like that?” you tease, smirking at his failure to deny it. “Hm, I got a little masochist on my hands.”

Continuing to press over the marks, you bat mischievous lashes as his pupils dilate.

“Don’t start, I’m beat,” he says, moving his arm back.

“Aww, is it past your bedtime?”

“That’s getting old.”

“Yeah, like you.” He sighs in exasperation.

“You walked right into that one,” you snicker.

“Just scoot over,” he mutters, shooing you away as he takes the covers you offer and lifts a knee onto the mattress.

“I thought the floor was better for your back.”

“I’m not sleeping on that nasty ass floor.” You blow a raspberry, heart skipping a beat as you side-eye him situating himself next to you, leaving a significant amount of space between you that you pretend you’re not disappointed by.

“So are you stuck here for the time being?” you find yourself inquiring through a yawn as you turn your attention to the TV. He hums, adjusting the pillow under his head.

“Until I get paid enough for a plane ticket.” You stare at his side profile for a moment, debating whether or not you should offer to pay for his ticket, but decide against it, figuring he would say no again.

“You’re welcome to stay here until then,” you pose gently, not taking it to heart when he just gives you a side glance and a single nod.

For a moment, you pensively chew the inside of your cheek.

“And maybe you can drop me off at the airport?” His eyebrows lift, a mild uptick on the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe.” A blip in your heart conjures up a smile.

“‘Ppreciate it.”

“Mm,” he hums indifferently, turning his head to roll his shoulders and crack his neck.

After turning off the TV and pulling the covers up, your body is drawn to his warmth so you shimmy your way towards him. But just as your head hits his shoulder, he leans away, and you do the same, like you’ve suddenly become magnets of the same polarity. Glancing up to his side eye and clenched jaw, you realize your small action showcasing your desire to be close crossed a boundary of something he’s not comfortable with. You respect it, but you can’t deny that it hurts a little.

“I don’t do that,” he says, no malice in his tone, like he’s just stating a fact.

“Okay,” you murmur, shifting to your side of the bed with guilt crawling through you. “I’m sorry. Night.”

A tiny tug in your chest, you turn on your side, back facing him, and settle into the sheets, closing your eyes and focusing on the rain softly hitting the windows to help lure yourself to sleep.

Just as you’re about to drift off, your eyes fly open as his weight dips behind you, a tentative hand on the dip of your waist, elbow nudging the back of your head. His legs brush behind yours and you don’t react, as if any sudden movement will scare him away. But your heart runs like the wind.

“This is your imagination. Got it?”

Huffing, your smile turns into a grin as you cheekily wiggle back so your body slots ever so lightly against his, ass barely touching his pelvis.

“Since it’s my imagination, I can do this?” you probe, poking your toes between his legs to slide your calves together. He hisses and kicks his feet back.

“Not when your feet are freezing!”

You giggle and he pushes at your hip but doesn’t move away. Finally, he settles and your eyes close, wishing your heart to not go into overdrive.

“I meant to thank you,” you whisper, disrupting the tranquility. 

“For everything.” A soft exhale flutters over your scalp. “And I ho-” And then his palm flies up to cover your mouth. 

“Please go to sleep.”

Bringing his arm down to curl over your middle, you expect him to move it as you nuzzle into the pillow and close your eyes once again, his face plastered in your mind as you finally succumb to sleep.

His arm pulls you just a bit closer.

When Yoongi wakes up with your head next to his shoulder, it’s light out and you’re fast asleep. You’re stunning, even in slumber.

Reaching under the pillow, he panics for a second when his gun isn’t there. Oh, right. He left it in the bushes by the bike. He did well to hide it on him in places you wouldn’t find it, thanks to his quick hands and quicker thinking. He had it tucked in the back of his waistband when he found you in that restaurant, and if he hadn’t gotten a hold of those chopsticks, last night would’ve ended a lot differently. You don’t deserve to see something like that. Something he’s seen and committed countless times - but he doesn’t want to think about that right now. It’ll ruin this whole thing.

He does his best not to disturb you as he maneuvers out of bed, checking his phone first, noting that it’s almost noon. He shakes his head - it’s been a while since he’s slept in like this but you two were up very late last night after all. And you wore him the hell out. He's exhausted, mostly physically, but the sleep he managed wasn't interrupted by terrors inside his mind or out. For once.

He frowns when there’s still no notification of his deposit, just a text from Lin telling him to call, and sighs, gently places his phone back down. He’ll deal with that later.

In the bathroom, he waits until he’s started the shower to turn the lights on, ignoring his reflection as he takes off your shirt and then his delicate, most treasured silver chain, placing it on the corner of the sink to avoid any drains, dog tags swinging on his chest as he steps into the stall.

The warm water gloriously cascading down his chest, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This is something else he’s not accustomed to - showering in the same place where he hooked up with someone. Especially for a second time. He wasn’t lying when he said he’s not the type to stay the night. But it’s different with you. With you, he feels… safe. Like he doesn’t have to run. It’s an odd relief.

Grabbing soap and a cloth, he starts lathering his body, and when he passes over the teeth marks you left on his bicep, his head tilts back with a moan at the slight sting. He props a hand on the wall to stare at the nasty bruise blooming on his arm, a smile curling his lips at the memory of your teeth sinking into his skin while you came hard around his cock. He wishes you’d bitten harder. A lot harder. He wouldn’t mind having a scar from that. He’s not sure what that says about him.

He likes the way it hurt, likes it even more that you caught on, paid attention to and cared about what he liked, dragged your teeth along his clavicle, biting sharply into it to drive him to the hardest-hitting orgasm he’s had in a long time. His dick stirs to life thinking about you mouthing and nipping all over his body, making marks on his hip bones, and he craves the opportunity to bury deep in your cunt again and stay there.

There’s a strange tightness in his chest when he thinks about how you’ve made him feel since the moment he fucked you in that closet. Maybe even before that. Maybe when you shoved in his face how much better you are than him at poker. Maybe when you walked into that dingy room with an air of confidence he didn’t expect.

Pretty. Alluring. Badass. Fearless.

Irresistible.

His heart hasn’t raced for someone like this in… well, he can’t remember. He hangs his head, water dripping down the back of his neck, pouring off of his chin and ends of his hair and he watches it all swirl down the drain.

He needs to get it the fuck together.

As he starts rinsing off, his ringtone suddenly blares, loud and shrill, and he scrambles out of the shower, haphazardly throwing a towel around his waist, darting out to grab his phone from the table.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when he sees you squirming under the sheets, pillow punched over your head to drown out the noise. He squints at the caller ID and his temple throbs, so he quickly answers, whispers “Hang on” into the speaker, and picks up his boxers and robe that you wore on the way to the door, peeking over his shoulder to where you’re settling back into sleep.

“Hello? Suga, you there?” the voice on the other line asks. His friend, Lin, one of the few people he actually trusts, rarely ever calls with good news.

“One sec,” Yoongi mutters as he balances his phone between his cheek and shoulder, dropping the towel and yanking on his boxers. He swings on the robe before propping open the door with his sneaker, peering through the crack to make sure you haven’t gotten up and followed him.

“I don’t have all day, man.”

“What’s up?” he asks, jogging down the stairs in his bare feet. The stone pavement is wet and cold. It smells like more rain.

“You need to get your ass back here because Axe is livid about the deal. He’s blaming you and if you don’t come and fix it, he’s gonna make you pay with your life.”

A cloud fills Yoongi’s lungs. He can’t die. Not yet.

“Is my deposit coming through?” 

Lin laughs. “If he’s not cutting our checks, he’s definitely not cutting yours.” Yoongi really, really wants to knee his friend in the nuts for laughing at a time like this.

“I don’t have any fucking money for a plane ticket,” he whisper yells, glancing around to make sure no one is around.

“That’s your problem. You gotta find a way back ‘cause he’s got thugs in Jeju that’ll take care of you for him.”

A stressed hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling and tugging like that’ll make him think of a solution.

“You’re also supposed to be in charge of handling that shipment coming through. Don’t miss it or you’ll really be dead.”

“I won’t,” he promises through gritted teeth. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I hope so.”

The call drops and Yoongi almost throws his phone to crack on the concrete, but he has one more shot at not being totally screwed. He dials another number, eyes closing in relief when it picks up on the fourth ring.

“It’s a little early to be calling,” the familiar male voice chirps. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, I’m sorry, but do you think- would you mind wiring me an advance? Please?” Fuck, he’s never been one to beg. It’s pathetic. “I’m kind of in a spot right now and my deal in Jeju fell through so I’m not getting any money any time soon. I hate to ask but-”

“Why don’t you have any money?” Shame. Guilt consumes him.

“I lost it gambling.”

“I see.” There’s a pause and Yoongi holds his breath, thinking he just flushed his whole life down the drain. Oxygen whooshes out of his lungs when the man he will eventually owe his life to continues.

“Well, you can’t play away all of your money like this, understand? I won’t tolerate having my funds being used to get yourself out of situations that you shouldn’t be in in the first place, especially when you haven’t earned it yet. I’ll let it slide this time but if it happens again, then you’re out. I won’t be able to help.”

He nods solemnly. “I understand.”

“Good. I can’t wire any until tomorrow, but you’ll receive a decent amount to get you through until your next job, okay?”

Fucking shit. He can’t wait that long. He wants to ask if there’s any way he can get enough now for a plane ticket home, but he can’t risk getting out of the good graces of Don Kim’s son.

“Yeah, thank you. And again, I’m sorry.”

“I know. Actually, this might be a way to make up for some of it. My brother isn’t doing so well, and I have to go out of town for a while soon; do you think you can check in on him while I’m gone? I’ve been trying to get him back into boxing and I know he enjoys doing that with you.”

“Sure. I have some stuff to take care of first though. I’ll head up in the next couple of weeks?”

After he does some damage control and manages a risky deal without ending up dead or in prison, he’ll play babysitter if it means he can keep his secret other job. And his livelihood. Sol may be a troubled kid, but he’s generally easy to get along with. Sometimes when he’s sober and in his better moods, he makes Yoongi think of that kid back home. The kid he’s doing this whole can’t-die-yet thing for.

“Okay, great. In the meantime, have you gotten anything on Axe that I can use?”

Yoongi looks around again, squats next to a wall and cups his mouth to muffle himself. “He’s planning to intercept a shipment trucking out of Incheon and I think it’s coming from one of your suppliers. You might have a mole.” Oh, the irony.

“Hm, interesting. I just caught a cop working undercover in the harbor, so he’ll have some intel if he knows what’s good for him. Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

“And hang in there a little longer, D. We’ll get you out.”

God, he hopes so. Yoongi knows these things take time, it’s less dangerous that way, but he’s been trying to get out of this game for years. Well, out of one and into another, but at least this time he’ll have a little more security.

He has to figure out how to scrape his way back home. He slinks back inside while trying to come up with lies and excuses to weasel his way out of this, but it’s hard to come up with ones convincing enough because in the short time that he’s known you, he’s learned you’re smart enough to see right through his bullshit.

He looks over to your bag sitting on the floor, remembering the wallet you stuffed all of your cash in.

Fuck.

He could ask you to spot him enough to get on a plane, but after all the times he adamantly denied it when you offered to give him some back, never anticipating that he wouldn’t get paid, he knows you’ll ask questions that he won’t be able to answer.

But he could also just… take some cash and dip out before you wake up. But he really doesn’t want to do that. Doesn’t want to become the person he tried to hide from you. Even though you figured out that he’s a dealer with a habit for getting himself into dangerous situations, you didn’t completely write him off, giving him a chance to show you he’s not entirely a bad person.

But he is. And he’s far, far worse.

He considers it - coming clean to you about everything. Well, at least the part about him being in a tough situation and if he doesn’t make his way back soon, he might as well be six feet under. He thinks you’ll understand, having gathered that you know about his side of the world, experienced some of it - whether through friends or boyfriends or whomever. Does he think you’re better than that, better than him? Yes. You’ve got shit going for you, more than he’ll ever have. You don’t need someone like him dragging you down. You deserve a life where you’ll make something of yourself. One that you won’t get with him. But he thinks he can spend just a little more time with you, at least until you have to go to the airport. He’ll take you there, maybe kiss you one last time, and pretend that his heart won’t sink when you turn your back on him. He’s used to being the one to leave. So it hurts like hell to be on the other side.

He’s conflicted as he returns to where you’re still sleeping. A little of the cloudy afternoon sky has made the room a light gray and despite the regret churning in his gut, he catches himself smiling when he hears you snoring softly.

Just as he turns to change, you shift onto your stomach, head still under the pillow, and a small etching on the back of your neck right below your hairline catches his attention. He has yet to put in his contacts, so he carefully sits on the edge of the bed to have a better look, curiosity piqued.

The ink has the shape of something with wings, so he leans a little closer, pressing a fist on the mattress to hold himself up. He expects the wings to be that of an angel, a nod to your name, but when he finally sees what it is, albeit a bit blurry, his heart freezes and plummets to the floor, smashing into pieces. It’s a bird, but not one he expected to see on your skin.

A crow.

And it's drawn as if it were flying high in the sky, talons digging into an upside-down human skull.

How did he miss that?! That’s what he gets for always fucking in the dark.

To anyone else, its meaning is ambiguous, edgy, but to him, to others like him, it's the symbol of a direct relation to the family of enormous power, made by generations of blood, money and greed. He would know - he has a tattoo on his back (a tiger, clawing at his left shoulder blade) belonging to the gang he got caught up in as a teenager that branded him to force his loyalty. A gang that will be shredded and not missed by the organization that owns the symbol tatted on your neck.

Holy shit. He might throw up. He just fucked the daughter of the country’s mafia kingpin, the sister of the man he was just on the phone with, the one you were probably talking to earlier. If Atlas doesn’t want his mole playing around with his money, he damn sure wouldn’t want him playing around with his sister. If that man found out all that he did with you, Yoongi would die a slow and gruesome death, he’s sure of it.

There’s no way he’d make it out alive. And Yoongi has promises he needs to keep. He can’t do that if he’s sleeping with the fishes.

His stomach clenches, though, thinking about what your reaction will be when you wake up and he’s gone, leaving you with nothing but his sweater. Because he knows how you looked at him throughout the night, like you felt something for him, like you might want something more than sex. And you not knowing all of his sins, or that there’s nothing he can really offer you, made him feel like he was good enough for you to let him in like you did, to touch you, kiss you, fuck you, just… be with you. In a normal way. Where you weren’t expecting drugs and/or money at the end of it.

With your wit and your charm and your smart goddamn mouth, you managed to knock down a wall that dismantled his normal cold exterior, penetrating a part of him that he’s had to lock away.

(It’s scary how easily you did that. And Min Yoongi doesn’t get scared. Not for himself).

You turned his world upside down in less than a day. For most of his life, he’s been living on the dark side of the moon, but with you, he got to see the sun for a little while. You offered him your spare toothbrush when he didn't ask for one. Sharing a meal, staying the night, giving you his number, fucking cuddling with you. How you got him to do something normal is beyond him. He doesn’t do that because he’s never deserved it.

So who is he kidding?

Because at the end of the day, for someone like him, good things never last. He’s sinful and marred. He’s been to prison, for fucks’ sake. The bike that he came to your rescue with, drove you around on - he stole it. Saw the man who parked it, pretended to bump into him, and managed to slip the keys out of his pocket. Granted, you being the reason behind losing all of his money kind of fucked his opportunity for getting around town in an honest, law-abiding way, but he can’t blame you. He severely underestimated you and paid for it. Literally.

He’s a liar and a gambler and a thief, and that’s the tamest part of his sins. He’s had blood on his hands that’s not his. Far too much to ever really wash away. He can’t take the risk of your brother finding out that a crook and a murderer like him messed around with the most precious jewel in that family.

They don’t know his name, and now he’ll make sure they never do.

How can he explain that to you? He knows that makes him a coward.

So he comes to the decision that there's nothing for him to do but leave you in the dust and never look back, tacking this night onto the murky cloud of his many mistakes. Even though it makes his chest hurt. Because he thinks - thought - that he could feel something deep for you, something he was starting to. Maybe even... No. That’s so damn foolish. Someone like him doesn’t deserve to love, much less be loved back. All the more reason to coat his heart in tar, make it impenetrable to him and anyone else.

In the days and weeks and months to come, he'll force it to forget you. He has to. And that will only make him colder and more bitter.

Forlorn. He fucking deserves that.

He leaves the robe in a pile next to the bed, quickly and quietly pulling on his jeans, shirt and jacket, and grabs his phone and contacts case from the table, staring vacantly at your backpack until he comes to the conclusion that he has no other choice. He doesn’t have time to pickpocket or hold up a gas station. 

Glancing towards the bed to make sure you haven’t stirred, he reaches into your bag, finds your wallet, swallows down the disgust for himself, and pulls out enough cash that will get him a plane ticket, food that he can stretch over a week, and gas that’ll get him to where he needs to be. Eventually to Incheon. He shoves the wallet back in its place, folds the cash into his jacket, and hauls ass to the door so you don't wake in time to see him disappear without a trace. But in the rush, he forgets the one thing most precious to him that he took off before he showered.

It isn't until he's zipping away on the motorcycle that he’ll ditch on the side of the road, blaming the cold and whipping wind for the tears piercing the corners of his eyes, that he realizes and curses himself. The one thing he was supposed to never lose, to always take care of, he forgot. For the rest of the way home, his mother’s words ring in his ears - he’s a fuck up who’s lost all chances of redeeming himself. No one will want him. So going forth, that's what he carries with him every day when you come up in his thoughts, no matter how hard he tries to keep you out. 

He hopes he’ll never see you again.

It's better this way. He did you a favor.

When you wake up, it’s not your empty stomach that makes you feel nauseous.

It’s the frigid, deserted sheets next to you. The quiet, hollow room. The robe on the floor, embedded with the scent of his musk, sex, and cigarettes. The condoms left on the table.

Okay. Don’t jump to conclusions. Maybe he stepped out, went to get food or more cigarettes.

But with what money?

So you find your phone, ignoring the disarray of the room as you click on his message thread that holds your text he left on delivered, and start a call.

One ring. Then another. Then a click and you open your mouth to ask him where the fuck he is, but instead you’re met with a robotic voice.

“We’re sorry. The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.”

You shoot confusion at your screen, a cold front moving into your chest from your fingers. You call again.

One ring. Fast pulse, bated breath. Then three ascending beeps.

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected. Please hang up.”

A piece of your soul collapses. Loud ringing blares in your ears as you stare at nothing, as everything sinks in.

What was the point of him giving you his number if he was just gonna block you? What was the fucking point of leading you to believe that he wanted more than just a one night stand if he was going to leave before you woke up?

It takes all of your willpower to not chuck your phone clear across the room, to have the screen crack so you can’t see the numbers he typed in only hours ago, mocking you now that he blocked you.

Now you’re nauseous with embarrassment. Anger. A heart disintegrated. Made worse by the sweater you’re still wearing, engulfing you with the comforting scent that you’ve been wanting to drown in. You rip it off and throw it on top of the robe, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Once you dare a look in the mirror, it’s his marks all over your skin. The lingering smell of him in the bathroom from the shower he took. The silver chain on the sink that dangled on your throat and back when he fucked you like you’ve never been fucked before. The touch of his hands all over you, his mouth on yours that you won’t get rid of for weeks, no matter how hard you scrub. The sound of his voice in your ear, some of his words making things stir in your chest that felt like a prelude to what could’ve been love.

How could you be so stupid?

You’d been so vulnerable and open with him. You feel like you spilled your guts and all he did was pick them up with bare hands, chuck them in the trash, and set it on fire, looking back with no regrets.

After shoving the sweater and chain deep into your duffel, you leave in a flustered hurry, eager to escape the room encapsulating a passage of time that will torment your subconscious. Near the airport, you rush into a pharmacy for a morning after pill, because you’ll be damned if you get knocked up, especially by someone who doesn’t have the fucking decency to say a single word before dipping out after a night like that.

When you get out your wallet to pay, the wad of cash stashed there is significantly lighter. In a bathroom stall, you hastily count out just how much.

Motherfucker took 500,000 won. The betrayal just increased tenfold. He fucking played you.

You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to go back in time and make sure this night never happened.

Most of all, you want to call your brother. Because he would hunt Min Yoongi down.

But doing that would mean also telling Jin that you’ve been in Jeju this whole time and that you were gambling, which would not go over well. So you leave and go back to your life separate from the place now tainted with memories that ruined the good ones.

Fuck him. Fuck him big time for being just like everyone else. And for fucking stealing from you. You know what your father (if he ever really cared) and brothers would say - that's what you get for letting your guard down. Naive and weak-minded people only get themselves hurt. So just like you’ve done countless times, you pick up the pieces of your heart that were stomped and crushed and left for dead, and stifle them in the dark regions of your mind, keeping all of your pain to yourself. Pain is weakness, especially the kind you can’t see on your skin, and weakness is forbidden in the blood you share with your family. 

You’ll become hardened and vindictive but maybe now the lesson will stick. Because for the years to come, his eyes, his lips, his touch, his voice, will haunt you in your dreams and your nightmares. You hope to all hell you never see him again.

If you do, he'd better watch his fucking back.

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You had rented a quiet house near the coast, nothing overly luxurious by your standards, but private enough that no one could bother you. The terrace opened directly onto the sand, and every morning smelled like salt and espresso. For the first time in years, you weren’t working. The restaurant project in Italy was officially “on hold.” You had sent the email yourself, your words clipped and professional, but your chest had tightened as you hit send. Rosa would have hated the delay. Rosa would have told you to keep going, to never stop—

But Rosa wasn’t here anymore, so you had stopped.

You spent your mornings drinking coffee on the terrace, your afternoons reading or napping under the sun, your nights watching the stars until you fell asleep. It should have felt like freedom. Instead, it felt like standing still for the first time after running too fast for too long. Every quiet moment leaving you too much room to think.

You thought about Rosa, about all the promises you hadn’t kept. You thought about Jungkook, about how his face had looked when you told him it was over…

And no matter how beautiful the sea looked, no matter how many perfect sunsets stretched across the horizon, there was still a heaviness sitting just under your ribs.

Sometimes you caught yourself reaching for your phone, half-expecting a message from him. Sometimes you wondered if he hated you for what you had done. But you never sent or did anything. It was better that way, or at least you liked to think it was. Because, if the truth was put on the table, it was a fact you both needed some time apart. And if that time was meant to be forever… you didn’t have the energy to fight it anymore.

You lay back in your chair, closing your eyes against the sun. That was what you wanted. Peace. No obligations. No chaos. No fears. No responsibilities.

… So why did it feel so hollow?

You went back home the next day. Your little vacation coming to an end.

The apartment felt different when you stepped back inside.

It wasn’t as if anything had changed. The same polished floors, the same framed photographs on the walls, the same faint scent of your favorite candles lingering in the air… but it felt still, like the rooms had been holding their breath while you were gone. Like everything has stopped in this place and waited for you to come back. To come back to the same empty, quiet space.

You dropped your suitcase by the door, kicking off your sandals with a soft sigh.

The house by the sea had been beautiful, too beautiful, in a way that made you feel like an intruder in your own life. Too much beauty for such a hollow presence felt uncomfortable, it didn’t felt right. You had forced yourself to relax, to drink coffee slowly, to read books you hadn’t touched in years, to stare at the waves like they were supposed to give you answers.

But peace hadn’t come.

And now, standing in your apartment again, you felt almost relieved to be back in a space that matched your mood. Quiet, clean, and heavy with unspoken things. You wandered into the living room, sitting on the edge of the couch and letting your hands rest in your lap.

There had been moments, during your little vacation, when you had caught yourself… almost happy. Not joyful, not the kind of happiness that sparkled, but a quiet contentment in the way the sun felt on your skin or how good a cup of espresso tasted at sunrise by the sand, or the salty water hitting your body. But then the thoughts would creep in…

Always the same ones. Rosa. Jungkook. Sunni. The restaurant in Italy. Your promise.

You had built your life on movement, on pushing forward no matter what. There had always been another goal, another challenge, something to keep you too busy to think about how much you didn’t belong anywhere nor anyone. But now… Now there was nothing but silence.

And silence, stillness… it made you feel guilty. Like you had to do something, like you needed to do something. After living so long working, doing things, being on the move… staying still and not doing anything felt like you were doing something wrong. Even though you knew it wasn’t wrong to stop for a second.

But what was one more bitter feeling to throw in your heart by now?. You felt like you had accumulated all of them.

Your eyes drifted to the small stack of papers on the coffee table. bills and papers for the Italian restaurant, soon to be lawsuits, contracts, everything you had left unfinished. You stared at them for a long moment, your chest tightening. You had wanted Rosa to see it. You had wanted her to be proud, to walk into that restaurant and taste the food and maybe, for once, remember you had done something good for her.

And now Rosa would never see it.

You rubbed your forehead, leaning back against the couch cushions. You thought about Jungkook, too, more often than you wanted to admit. You thought about the way he’d looked at you during those last moments together, how quiet he’d been, how his tears had felt against your fingertips when you wiped them away for hours.

You missed him. God, you missed him. But missing him didn’t change the truth. You weren’t really part of him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

You turned your head slightly, looking at the small plant sitting by the window, a gift from Lila, your assistant, a little basil pot she had insisted would be “perfect for a home decoration.” It had grown taller since the last time you had really looked at it, leaning toward the sunlight stubbornly, like it had no intention of giving up.

You smiled faintly, the smallest crack of warmth breaking through your chest.

“Of course you’d be thriving without me,” you murmured softly to the plant.

The sound of your own voice in the empty apartment felt strange. You sat there for a long time, just staring at the window, your hands resting loosely in your lap.

Maybe you didn’t have to figure everything out today. Maybe you just had to… exist for a little while.

So for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to do exactly that. Just exist.

———

The tattoo shop smelled faintly of roses and cleaning supplemented. Jimin had finished his cleaning duties and was putting some candles in different parts of the store so the smell could persevere. It was a little nervous habit of him but he was handling himself really well for all that was worth. And for the younger, it was better than smelling the ink and disinfectant anyway.

Jungkook sat on the old leather couch in the backroom, hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His hands dangled between them, fingers loose but twitching, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch something or hold onto it until his knuckles turned white.

When Jimin finished doing his activities, he leaned against the counter across from him, now a coffee in hand, watching him with that sharp, assessing look he always had when Jungkok was spiraling.

“You look dead,” Jimin finally said. “again.”

Jungkook let out a dry laugh, running a hand over his face. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

“Because it keeps being true.” Jimin sat on the armrest of the couch, his tone softening slightly. “She’s still not talking to you?”

Jungkook shook his head. “No. I mean, we’re not… not talking. She just doesn’t want me around right now.”

Jimin tilted his head. “She broke up with you, Kook. She made that pretty clear.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the floor. “She broke up with me because she thinks it’s what’s best for everyone. For Sunni. For her. She thinks she’s saving me from something too.”

Jimin sighed, sipping his coffee. “And maybe she is.”Jungkook’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. Jimin held his gaze, not backing down. “Don’t look at me like that. You want an honest opinion, right?. So here it is: Y/n’s complicated as hell. She’s grieving, she’s scared, and she’s not sure she can give you what you need. Maybe she’s right.”

“No.”

“I’m not saying you’re both in the wrong. But maybe you do need some time. Maybe in the future, when you’re both better you can find your way back.” He tried to see the better face of the coin. “It’s been more than a month, you know?”

Jungkook stared at him for a long moment, his throat tight. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it.”

“I love her!” Jungkook rubbed his hands over his face, dragging them down slowly. “I don’t need perfect right now, Jimin. I don’t need her to be ready for some picture-perfect family life. I just… I want her. I don’t care if she’s figuring things out, I don’t care if she’s scared… I just want her in my life. That’s enough for me.” Jimin was quiet, studying him carefully. “But it’s not enough for her,” Jungkook admitted after a beat, his voice cracking. “And that’s the part I can’t fix. She doesn’t believe she belongs and it’s my fault. And no matter how many times I tell her she does or try to fix it, she’s already decided she doesn’t.”

Jimin sat back, his tone soft now. “You really love her, huh.”

Jungkook laughed bitterly. “Like hell I could stop.”

“Then what’s the plan?”

Jungkook shrugged helplessly, leaning back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Nothing. I wait. She broke up with me so I need to respect that. That’s all I can do.”

Jimin nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “You’re probably right. But… take care of yourself, man. Don’t let waiting for her tear you apart. She has to figure this out on her own. You can’t do it for her.” He patted his friend’s shoulder before standing up. “You can’t just kill yourself like this.”

Jungkook gave him a small, tired smile. “I know. But I’m not walking away.”

Jimin sighed, shaking his head with a faint smirk. “Stubborn as hell.”

Jungkook let out a quiet laugh. “Guess she’s not the only one.”

Jimin looked at him before grabbing the folder full of paper he had on the table. “Well, enough about your love drama.” He threw the folder into his friend’s lap. “You came here to work, not sulk.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jungkook sighed, grabbing the folder and giving a quick look to the papers inside. “What is this?”

“An idea I had for months,” he shrugged. Like it wasn’t a big deal even though he spent hours trying to control his anxiety.

Jungkook nodded, reading the information in the papers that Jimin had put together to give the draft of the idea he had in mind.

“A new studio?,” he raised an eyebrows, intrigued.

“Yeah, well—” Jimin nodded, taking a small breath to talk. “—We always wanted to make this a brand, right?. I figure since Sunni is older and we have the budget to do it… It can be the time.”

A second studio.

It had been something they’d in mind for a long time but never really had time to put their energy into. Jungkook looked at Jimin for a second. There was not really a reason to not do it. It actually felt like something that could happen and something new he could put his mind into.

He nodded slightly. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

———

The restaurant smelled like chicken broth, clean but with an intense aroma, like bones and spices cooking for hours. It felt comforting, almost medicinal. The low hum of chatter filling the cozy space. You sat at a corner table by the window, your sunglasses perched on your head, your hair loose around your shoulders in soft waves that Se-hoo immediately noticed.

For the first time ever, you had been the first one to arrived at the restaurant— and that was the first alert your friends caught.

It had been almost a month since you last saw them. After you had broken up with Jungkook you stayed some days in the city making your lawyer handle the delay of the italian restaurant for you before you decided to put someone in charge for a couple weeks and go on vacation.

You didn’t really tell your friends where you had been. It was supposed to be the month of the inauguration in Italy so you knew they probably thought you were there. They tried to communicate with you, asking when was the opening to travel with time but your answers were really short and days later you just turned off your phone and decided not to answer anything else.

You needed time— And time didn’t help at all, but you had it anyway.

When you arrived to the city, Bohyung was the first to contact you. Already planning a dinner in a new Vietnamese restaurant so you could all catch up.

And that’s exactly why you were in that restaurant. Waiting for your friends for minutes since you arrived earlier because you didn’t really have anything to do… well, anything you wanted to do.

When they arrived you almost knocked your glass to the floor. Bohyung gave you a hug like he hadn’t see you in years and Se-hoo kissed your cheek like a grandma, even leaving some lipstick in it. Disgusting. The add ection was too much. But you didn’t really care.

“You look good,” Se-hoo said as she slid into the booth opposite you. “Like, actually good. Rested. Happy, even.”

Bohyung followed, placing his jacket over the chair before sitting. He gave you a teasing grin. “I was gonna say the same thing. Did Italy call to thank you for personally saving their economy with your little new restaurant inauguration? Thanks for the no-invite by the way.”

You smirked, picking at the edge of your napkin. “I didn’t go to Italy.”

Bohyung raised an eyebrow. “Wait. What? What do you mean?.”

“I took some time off. Just here. By the sea.” You shrugged. “Jeju Island, it was great. Really.”

Se-hoo blinked. “You? Taking time off? Are we sure this isn’t an imposter?”

“Very funny,” you said dryly, but there was a faint, almost restless energy to your voice. Your smile was bright, your movements quick, almost too quick— like you were running on nerves instead of actual peace.

The waiter came, you ordered, and once he left, Bohyung rested his chin on his hand, studying you.

“You seem… different,” he said finally. “Not bad different. Just… lighter. So… Jungkook’s been around?”

At the mention of his name, Se-hoo’s brows lifted slightly in quiet curiosity. You looked at them both for a beat before taking a sip of your water. “Actually, no. Jungkook and I broke up like two months ago.”

The words landed like a dropped glass. Se-hoo’s jaw parted slightly. “You what?”

Bohyung straightened, his easy smile fading. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Bohyung’s mouth opened, then closed again. “Wait. Wait, wait. You come in here looking like you’ve just discovered inner peace, and you drop that on us?”

Se-hoo, who was always the calmer of the two, leaned forward slightly. “What happened?”

You shrugged, playing with your fork. “It was for the best. Really.”

Neither of them looked convinced.

Bohyung’s voice softened. “You can’t just—”

“It was the right thing to do,” you interrupted, your tone firmer now. “Jungkook has a daughter. A family. And I’m… me. I grew up in a house where family meant disappointment and absence. I don’t want to become that for him. Or for her. And I discovered a side of him I didn’t like at all. So it’s better to end things while we still cared about each other, rather than wait until he starts resenting me for not being enough and I hate him for being a bitch.”

Se-hoo exchanged a glance with Bohyung before speaking carefully. “You’re saying this like you’re protecting him. Like you’re protecting that kid.”

“I’m protecting myself,” you argued to that statement in defence, not like it really mattered anymore. But you always had that defensive edge on your skin. Always ready to bark.

Bohyung shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “That’s bullshit.”

Your eyes snapped to him, narrowing. “Excuse me?”

Bohyung held your gaze. “You’re acting like you’re some ticking time bomb that’s going to ruin his life. Like you’re doomed to repeat your parents’ mistakes. But that’s not fair. Not to him, and not to you.”

Se-hoo nodded. “Jungkook’s not stupid. He chose you knowing exactly who you are. And yeah, maybe you’re not perfect. But neither is he. And he didn’t ask for perfect. From what you told us, he literally said he doesn’t care about that. So why are you still punishing him for it?”

You looked away, staring out the window. “Because it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Bohyung asked sharply. “Because if he loves you, if Sunni clearly adores you, and if you clearly love him, then the only thing standing in the way is… you.”

Your jaw tightened, your fingers gripping the napkin in your lap.

Se-hoo’s voice softened again, cutting through the tension. “You’ve spent your whole life building walls so no one could hurt you, Y/n. Hell, you began a relationship with Jungwoo because he didn’t want a family either. You fell in love and broke it off when he asked you to marry him because you knew a relationship with that kind of distance wasn’t something you really wanted… And now Jungkook? He gave you something you were always avoiding— belonging. A place. He gave you what you were always looking for even if you don’t want to admit it. A family you could choose to be part of. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Your throat burned and you wanted to argued, but you didn’t speak because you knew your voice would crack. And because you knew your friend wasn’t actually wrong.

Bohyung leaned in slightly, his voice quieter now. “He was wrong that day. In that fight. He shouldn’t have said what he said about you not belonging to his family. But if he admitted he was wrong, if he showed you after that how much he wanted you to be part of it, why are you still fighting him on it?”

Silence fell over the table for a moment.

You stared at your water glass, your voice quiet when you finally spoke. “Because what if I can’t do it? What if I wake up one day and realize this is not what I wanted and I still end up like my parents hurting that little girl? What if I hurt them? Or worse… What if I wake up and realize I want more and I’ll never could be more for them? Because I’m not really part of their family?”

Se-hoo’s gaze softened, but her words stayed firm. “Then you figure it out together. That’s what love is, that’s what a real relationship is. You don’t get to make that choice for him. He should get to decide if you’re worth the risk. And you should decide if he is.”

You pressed your lips together, feeling heat rise to your cheeks— not anger, not exactly. Just… frustration, tangled with the kind of discomfort only the truth could bring. It felt like someone had punched you in the face, telling you to snap out of it.

Bohyung, sensing you retreating into yourself, sighed and changed tack. “And speaking of running away from things… This Italy thing. What’s going on with that?”

“I paused it,” you said, your tone still defensive.

Se-hoo shook her head slowly. “Rosa would hate that.”

Your eyes flicked to hers sharply. “Excuse you?”

“She would,” Se-hoo said gently but firmly. “You promised her. You wanted her to see it because you knew it mattered to her, and to you. Do you really think she’d want you to stop just because she’s not here to see it anymore?”

Bohyung nodded. “You’ve spent your whole life proving you can build something incredible. Don’t use her death as an excuse to stop now. She’d be furious.”

You exhaled slowly, leaning back against the booth, staring out the window again. Their words stung because they weren’t wrong. You felt… cornered, but not by them, by yourself.

You looked outside, your eyes burning with tears of being read out so easily. Of how much you were holding yourself in.

And then you broke.

It felt like an actual break down of things that you were holding so much for so long. Like someone had knocked you out and had left with that tension you had carried on your shoulders for so long. That burden that the vacation, the beach and the alcohol didn’t help— But the words of your friends did.

Your elbows stayed on the table and you rubbed your face to stop crying. But you couldn’t.

It felt like it just needed to get out of your system. Finally.

“I hate you both,” you muttered finally, your voice half-teasing, half-crying.

Bohyung smirked, leaning back. “You love us.”

“Unfortunately,” you said dryly, still cleaning your tears.

Se-hoo smiled faintly, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “We’re just saying this because we care. Stop running from the things that scare you.”

You didn’t answer right away, your gaze dropping to your plate as the waiter returned with your food. You weren’t sure you were ready to admit they were right. But their words lingered, stubbornly, like the sound of Rosa’s voice in the back of your mind. Always there. Always right.

———

It was almost afternoon when Jungkook stood outside Yunna’s apartment, taking a slow tired breath before knocking. It was routine but lately it felt like he was dying slowly every time he did it. His stomach twisted in a way it hadn’t before he ever came to see his daughter. Because now, every visit meant lying.

And if there was one thing he hated more than his stupid mouth, it was lying to his daughter.

The door opened, and Sunni’s face lit up instantly “Dad!” She practically jumped into his arms, her small arms locking tightly around his neck.

Like she hadn’t seen him days even thought he took her to school yesterday.

Jungkook crouched down, holding her close, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Hey, kiddo. Missed you.”

“I missed you too!” she said, pulling back just enough to beam at him.

Yunna leaned against the doorframe, giving him a polite nod. Things between them had been smoother since their talk. Boundaries firmly set, no lingering tension.

Jungkook straightened, keeping Sunni’s hand in his. “Everything good?”

“As always,” Yunna nodded slightly. “You?”

“Yeah,” he lied. “Any news about school?.”

“Well, she has a game this weekend.” Yunna smiled slightly. “Her coach will send you the details.”

Jungkook snorted. Sunni new fixation was now soccer. After watching an animated movie where an extra was a soccer player she thought it was a fun game. The next day she was already trying to join her school team and after two weeks now she had her third game already.

“Great,” Jungkook looked down at his daughter. “You ready to go?”

“Yup!”

The ride home was filled with Sunni’s chatter, her voice animated as she told him about school projects, a funny story about her friend Sana, how great she was at being at soccer and how she was thinking of inviting the whole team to the house.

Jungkook kept his tone light, throwing in soft laughs and little comments, but his chest tightened with every word, because he knew what question was coming while she talked more. While she kept talking and talking about the things she liked and how it all went back to food. And you were always there when she thought about food nor something that she thought was cool enough and could involve you.

And the question came, right as they turned onto their street.

“Is Y/n coming over soon? I haven’t seen her in forever.”

Jungkook’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his throat closing up for a moment before he managed to speak. “She’s… um, she’s been really busy, kid. And she’s still really sad about Rosa.”

Sunni’s smile faded like it had been for the last weeks, her voice softening. “Oh… yeah. I guess that makes sense. It’s probably hard for her”

Jungkook glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “She misses you, though. A lot.”

Sunni gave him a small nod, her little hands folding in her lap. “I miss her too. Maybe… when she’s not so sad, we can go visit her. I’ll wait for her.”

Jungkook’s chest ached so sharply he had to swallow hard to keep his voice steady. “I think she’d like that.”

Sunni smiled again, hopeful, and began talking about his friend again, but Jungkook barely heard her. The rest of the drive passed in a blur, his mind caught between wanting to keep her hope alive and feeling like he was feeding her a lie. He didn’t know when, or if, you would come back into their lives.

Well, after that last conversation he was pretty damn sure you wouldn’t— but hope was the last thing he could lose… and the last thing he was holding on to.

God, he hoped you would.

When they arrived to his house Sunni was quick to grab her books to lay on the floor, to draw and paint. Jungkook had scolded her about how she couldn’t play soccer inside the house after she broke a pot. So, because the day was cold outside and they didn’t really feel like going out, what a better option to just let her paint?.

Sunni always went back to that either way, even if her new hobby was now soccer, she never got bored of just drawing and painting.

And Jungkook loved watching her being creative.

He put some show in the tv, letting it play while he decided to cook something to snack. Some simple sandwiches and an orange drink to have while they spent time together.

The late afternoon sun streamed through the living room window, casting a warm glow across the apartment. Jungkook sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the couch while Sunni sprawled on her stomach on the carpet, coloring furiously in one of her books while drinking her orange juice.

“Okay, Dad,” Sunni said without looking up, her pencil moving quickly. “What’s your favorite? I painted a stegosaurus, T-Rex, and a triceratop.”

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the page she was coloring. “Uh… the one with the… spiky tail thing? The stego-whatever?”

Sunni stopped mid-color, lifting her head to stare at him, horrified.

“Stegosaurus,” she corrected with all the seriousness of a professor lecturing a clueless student. “Dad, come on. You don’t even know which dinosaur is the coolest? I taught you the names before!”

Jungkook raised his hands in mock surrender, chuckling. “Hey, I tattoo flowers for a living, not dinosaurs. You gotta cut me some slack.”

Sunni rolled her eyes dramatically and went back to coloring, muttering, “Y/n would know…”

Jungkook froze.

His smile faltered slightly, and he glanced at her, but Sunni didn’t notice, still focused on her book.

“What did you say, kid?” he asked softly.

Sunni looked up, her expression thoughtful now. “Y/n. She knew all the dinosaurs. Remember? When I showed her my dino book, she told me all the names. Even the hard ones.” Her eyes brightened a little. “And she made me do the T-Rex roar. She said mine was accurate and that I should do that for living”

He wanted to laugh, knowing that was a comment you definitely did to make fun of her. He really wanted to laugh or get mad— Instead, Jungkook’s chest tightened. He didn’t say anything, just nodded, hoping she’d let it go.

But Sunni didn’t.

“Dad,” she said after a moment, her voice smaller now, “is Y/n… is she really just sad about Rosa? Or… did something happen? Like… is she not coming back because of you?”

Jungkook blinked, taken aback. “What makes you ask that?”

Sunni shrugged, her pencil pausing over the paper. “I dunno. You’re weird when you talk about her. And if she was just sad, she would still call, right?. She always used to call you or answer your calls, even if she was busy. I haven’t see you talk to her for weeks. So… did you fight?”

Jungkook stared at her, his throat tightening. He could lie again. He wanted to. To protect her, to keep her from being disappointed. But Sunni’s big brown eyes were fixed on him, waiting, trusting him.

He sighed, leaning back against the couch, his voice quiet. “Yeah, kiddo. We… we had a talk and— Well, we decided to take some time apart.”

Sunni’s mouth parted slightly. “Oh.”

Jungkook watched her carefully, guilt tugging at him. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. But it’s… it’s not your fault, okay? And it’s not because she doesn’t like you. She loves you.”

Sunni sat up, hugging her knees. “I know she does.”

Jungkook’s chest ached, and he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know it sucks. But I do love her, and I miss her too.”

Sunni tilted her head, studying him the way kids do when they’re trying to figure out a puzzle. “Then why are you taking time apart? Does she not miss you?”

Jungkook let out a broken laugh. “It’s not that easy, kid.”

“Why not?”

“Because… she thinks it’s better this way. She going through some stuff and thinks things are better if we take time apart.”

Sunni frowned, genuinely confused. “But I like her. She calls me a goblin child.”

Jungkook blinked, biting back a laugh dangerously close to a sob. “She does, huh?”

“Yeah. And sometimes she calls me ‘little shit,’ but only when I’m being annoying, so it’s funny, not mean.”

She tried to explain herself quick. Like she had over shared and now was trying to defend you before Jungkook could get mad. He found it endearing. You had really gotten under Sunni’s skin too. You really belonged to them.

Jungkook chuckled, his voice rough. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

Sunni crossed her arms, frowning harder. “So… if she likes us, and you like her, and I like her, why can’t you just tell her that? People say things they don’t mean when they’re scared. She’s probably scared about the stuff she’s going through.” Sunni talked, thinking out loud. “But you’re always telling me to try again when I mess up. So… tell her to try again.”

Jungkook swallowed hard, her words hitting him deeper than she could possibly understand.

“Sunni…” His voice cracked slightly, and Sunni looked at him curiously.

Jungkook reached out, pulling her into his arms, hugging her tightly. She smelled like crayons and strawberry shampoo, and for a moment he just held her, his eyes closing.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice muffled against her hair. “You’re right.”

Sunni pulled back, her face lighting up. “So you’re gonna fix it?”

Jungkook smiled, even though his chest still felt heavy. “I’m gonna try.”

Sunni grinned, nodding firmly, then gasped dramatically as if struck by sudden genius. “Roses! You have to take her roses. Girls love roses. Or chocolate. Or maybe a color book— no, wait, that’s for me. Roses.”

Jungkook laughed, brushing her hair back. “Roses, huh?”

“Yep. Trust me, Dad. Roses fix everything. Like in the movies.”

Jungkook looked at her, this clever, funny little kid who somehow understood more about love than most adults.

And in that moment, it hit him that you weren’t just his anymore. You were Sunni’s too.

He kissed the top of Sunni’s head, his decision already made. “Then roses it is.”

Sunni squealed, clapping her hands. “Yay! You’re gonna make up!”

Jungkook stood, still holding her hands. “I hope so, kid. But first, I need to find her. Which means… you’re staying with uncle Jimin tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay!” Sunni nodded enthusiastically, already planning. “I’m gonna tell him everything. He’ll say I’m a genius!”

“Yeah, no, don’t do that.”

———

Coming back to work hadn’t been as easy as you thought it would be.

To be honest, it became a big problem for you the first week. Having to catch up with the new problems, the work that nobody had done, the people that had left and the task that were outdated… it was too much. It reminded you why you never stopped, because if you did you were going to be left behind with a shit ton of work you didn’t enjoy doing.

The first week felt like the final days of exams to get that law degree. You wanted to fucking die.

But there was one thing now that you learned and that you couldn’t have taken before. You had time. You had time to take things slowly, with calm and order. You didn’t need to work with stress or worry, you had the capacity and the privilege to work hard but taking your time to do so.

You visited every restaurant. You caught up with your employees. Their families, their lives, how the restaurant has been going. You talked with the managers about things they needed. With some usual clients who gave you condolences and shit-talk about new employees they didn’t like. You tried to complete every task you left unfinished. You answer almost every email. You took time to clean your own office. And you work.

You work for hours and hours. But this time not to drown yourself on work so you wouldn’t think about your real life, or because you needed your mind to stay busy. But because you wanted to catch up. You needed everything to be done to the day so you could take the next step: Finish that damn opening.

The thing was, even thought you’d left your assistant in charge— because she was actually the only fucking person who knew how you kept thing in the place and knew almost everything about anything related to your work— there was still some things you needed to fix in the place. After all, you were the CEO, the owner of that place.

Luckily, there weren’t many things that needed fixing. Just some couple of stuff that needed to be done and corrected. So after two long weeks that felt too long… You were ready to work again in the Sicily project.

That day you had a date with your lawyer. He was one of the best of the country, you had met him several years ago and he had been working with you since the beginning so you knew exactly what he was capable to do. And that was why you paid him good, very good, so he could fix your fucked ups and obey to all your complaints.

So when you invite him to dinner, he was already sensing the reason behind it.

You had delay an opening of a restaurant for almost three months without a specific business reason, and in another damn continent. Yes, your nanny had died but it wasn’t really a reason behind to cover the decision. You had lost money, staff that had signed a contract, permits that where already outdated, and even suppliers with whom you had made a deal with… so yeah, you needed a lot of work to fix that.

And the best way you knew how was talking with your lawyer so he could advised you— after scolding you for being stubborn, of course — about the legal process and issues you had while also helping you with new contacts and old business relationships that you could go back to so the restaurant could be able to open as soon as possible.

After all, he was good. And wine and money was a good way of making things happen after working years together.

You had taken him to a low restaurant you loved. You had always went there with Jungkook when you wanted a rich good italian food that wasn’t yours. It was comfortable, the people already knew you and it was a really cozy and fancy place.

What you didn’t expect was the terrible weather of that day. It had been really unexpected. When you had finished work to go meet with your lawyer, you had thought about cancelling the meeting but you didn’t feel like delaying anything else anymore. So you order a taxi to not drive like that in the rain and— after checking with him that was okay— you still met him there.

The rain was relentless, a heavy curtain of water hammering the city as if the sky itself was breaking apart. The streets glistened under the streetlights, puddles rippling with every gust of wind. But you had a great conversation, good and bad news, a lot of good food and a really good time. The rain could hold the depressing mood for a second.

While you were paying your food, Jungkook was about to have the worst flue ever.

His shirt was already plastered to his skin just like his leather jacket, his boots soaked through, but he barely noticed. Dead and wet flowers in his hand. He had been walking for what felt like hours. The unexpected weather had caught him while walking. After leaving your building, when he find out you had changed the door code. He had punched the numbers in three times before realizing. He thought about going to your work, maybe asked for you… but before he could walk there, the sky fell.

The rain broke like if God himself was crying.

And Jungkook felt like crying too.

He had called you and texted you a couple of times but no answer. Before his talk with Sunni he usually went to your favorite spots trying to find you, sitting there for hours to see if you might “casually” bump into each other. But nothing really. And now that he had the courage to call and text you, you didn’t answer. There was nothing in the other end. It was sad. Almost pathetic.

It felt like a punch in the lungs.

And the worst thing was—

There you were.

Talking with another man in your favorite Italian spot while he was trying to look for a cover outside the rain.

He stopped himself, wet like a dog. The host was talking to him but he couldn’t hear anything, probably scolding him for getting the place wet and dirty. You were now walking to where he was, with that man glued to your side. You were dressed impeccably, of course. Some black pants and a white shirt with big heels. Your hair falling into your shoulders with softness. Your makeup intact.

You froze.

He watched you.

The man started talking with the host to have your coats back while you and him were now five feet apart. Watching each other in silence. He couldn’t see what you were thinking. But you at least looked better than the last time he saw you. Not crying. But still pretty. Beautiful. Breathtaking— But what was new?.

He could see you better now standing closer. You looked a little tired. Softer. Not the controlled, sharp-edged you he first met, but something more fragile, like the grief you carried was weighing you down. But you were ripping it off you slowly.

It felt like you both weren’t supposed to be there, together. Like the world had been trying everything in his power to hold you two apart as much as it could… but you ended up in the same place, and outside the universe was freaking out.

“Here,” the man helped you put your coat on. “My taxi is outside.”

Jungkook felt like someone was slowly stabbing him in the chest repeatedly… but he still watched the scene. He forced himself to watch.

“Thanks,” hearing your voice again was like a snap in his brain. A slap in his heart. A slap into a reality he didn’t want to face. “I’ll see you Friday then?”

“Yes, I’ll text you.” The man kissed your cheek, like he didn’t even notice Jungkook there. “Get home safe.”

“You too.”

The man left. The ring in the door buzzed after it was closed.

There was a silence.

Even the host went to the back of the salon when he felt the tension that was building between you and him. Jungkook had a big speech. A big, huge, amazing speech. But now, watching you in front of him after that man left, it felt like his mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

“Rain caught you, huh.” You said, almost jokingly. It was meant to be a comment to ease the tension. It felt too forced.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. He could feel his hair sticking to his forehead.

You pressed your lips together. Another silence. “How’ve you been?”

He didn’t say anything— like you knew the answer already. You looked away for a second. Another silence grew.

“You should call an uber and go home. You’ll get sick if you stay wearing that.” You tried to say, polite. As if you were a… nice stranger, giving him an advice.

“I know,” he nodded slightly. His voice still leaving his mouth like a whisper. Too soft, too cool.

“My taxi should be here any minute.” You looked outside again. “It was good to see you, Jungkook.”

Jungkook.

You said his name.

He fisted the wet flowers in his hand. The ones you didn’t notice. The ones that were supposed to fix everything like in the movies. Yeah, right.

His heart started to beat faster, it felt like it was almost about to jump out of his chest. Maybe for good.

“Who was that guy?”

“My lawyer,” you answered without thinking. Already walking to the door. “Business meetings again, it’s getting crazy.”

It was like you were old friends who bumped into each other. And now you were trying to leave the boring-catch-up conversation.

“Take care, Jungkook.”

He watched you opened the door. Your black coat clinging to you as you hurried across the awning, pulling your purse tight against your side. A car parked in front of you. You were leaving.

Not.

Not again. No way.

No fucking way.

Before he could think, before he could talk himself out of it, Jungkook opened the door of the restaurant, almost too hard. The flowers felt to the wet pavement. He was crossing the street, his boots splashing through the flooded asphalt, almost slipping into the ground when he run. His hand slapped the door of the car before you could open it completely. His breath catching up like he had been punched.

You looked over your shoulder. Sharply, startled. Your browns knit in confusion.

And that sight of you. Getting drenched from head to toe, you getting mad confused, hair starting to get plastered to your forehead—

God, he loved you.

“What are you doing?” you called. The rain was coming down so hard you had to raise your voice. You were getting drenched.

“Are you coming or what?!” The taxi driver screamed, annoyed.

“She’s not, you can go.” Jungkook gave the car a slap to get him going.

“What the hell are you doing?” You looked at him. Angry as hell when the car took off.

Good. At least you were angry. You were feeling something towards him. Anger. He could work with that.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, steeping closer to you when you stepped back.

Your lips parted, irritation flashing in your eyes when you realized what he wanted to talk about. “Are you serious right now? It’s raining so hard—”

“Well, you said you liked big gestures, right?”

“Not getting drenched on rain!” You screamed, mad. “Now I have to order another damn taxi because of you.” You tried to walked past him to go back to the restaurant but he didn’t let you. “Move, Jungkook.”

“First listen what I have to say…”

“No, leave. I want to go home.”

“I’m not leaving.” His voice was low, firm, even as the storm swallowed half his words. “Not this time.”

You exhaled sharply, turning toward the other side to look for another store open. Most of them were close because of the weather.

Great. Amazing.

“You should. Look, we already talked about this.”

“It’s different, hear me out…” he followed behind you.

The sky literally falling but the only thing he cared was for you to hear him out. You wanted to screamed at him angrily, you couldn’t even tap on your phone because of the water that was falling on it.

“I can’t order a fucking uber now!,” you said angrily. “I’m literally going to the get sick because of you. We already talked about this shit and you—”

“No.”

That single word made you stop.

You turned back to him slowly, the rain soaking your hair, dripping down your cheekbones like tears you hadn’t cried. “Jungkook, I swear—”

“You can be angry,” he cut in, his voice rising now, raw against the roar of the storm. “You can hate me for corning you up like this. And I’m sorry about that, but I’m not walking away again. Not until you hear me.”

You stood still, bag in your hand, your chest rising and falling quickly.

Jungkook took a step closer, then another, until he was standing just a foot away from you, the rain running down his face like it didn’t matter.

“You were right about a lot of things,” he began, his voice shaking. “I let Yunna get too close. I let her make you feel like you didn’t belong, like she and I were a family and you weren’t part of that. But listen to me carefully, Y/n, because I need you to believe this: Yunna is not my family. She never was. She’s Sunni’s mom, and that’s all she is to me. She’s not my partner, not my friend. not my family. You are.”

You opened your mouth, but he didn’t let you speak.

“You’re my family,” he said, his voice breaking. “You. Not because of Sunni. Not because it’s convenient. Because I choose you. Every single damn day. I love you so much it hurts, Y/n. It’s in my bones. It’s in my blood. It’s everywhere. And I swear to God, I can’t breathe right when you’re not around.”

Your eyes closed for a second, you shook your head weakly, stepping away. “You don’t—”

“I’m not finished,” he said hoarsely, stepping closer again. His hand lifted as if to touch you, then dropped, like he was holding himself back. “You keep telling me you’re going to mess this up. That you’re not built for this, that you’re going to end up like your parents. But you’re wrong. You are nothing like them. You’ve already given me and Sunni more love than you realize. Rosa knew that about you. She knew you loved as much as you tried not to. And I learned that too.” His voice caught, heavy with emotion. “I promised her I’d take care of you. Because you’re my family. Because I love you and because I can’t imagine a future where you’re not in it.”

You pressed your lips together, your hands trembling at your sides.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched as he fought for the words, desperation in every breath. “I see every part of you, every part you try to hide, Y/n. You need someone who will keep you in line, someone who won’t let you keep running from everything good in your life. Rosa would’ve wanted that for you. I want that for you. And I want you. All of you.”

The rain was relentless, drenching you both, but neither moved.

Then, slowly, Jungkook dropped to his knees right there on the wet pavement.

Your eyes widened, looking around in embarrassment even thought no one was there. “Jungkook, get up, you’re—”

“No.” His voice cracked, his hair dripping water down his face. “I’m not getting up until you listen.”

“Jungkook, this is ridiculous. You’re acting pathetic—”

“Then tell me you don’t love me.” His voice was firm, unwavering despite the tremor in it. “Tell me right now that you don’t love me, and I’ll leave. I swear to God, Y/n, if you look me in the eye and say it, I’ll walk away and never bother you again. Ever again.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Jungkook’s eyes searched yours desperately, now able to grab your hand between his. “But if you can’t… if you can’t say it, then let me stay. Let me love you the way you deserve. Let me belong to you, and let yourself belong to me. I don’t want a life filled with temporary fragments of you. I want all of you. I don’t want some perfect version, not a ghost in my past… but you, just you. Because loving you is the only thing that ever made sense. It had always been the easiest thing.” His voice softened, breaking on the last words. “I can’t see past you. Every version of my future includes you, Y/n… Please, Y/n. I’m begging you. Stay, let’s fix this. Let’s talk and fix it. Just stay— Please, stay.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain pounding the pavement around you, the wind rushing past the street lamps.

Your breath hitched, your eyes filling until tears spilled freely, mixing with the rain on your cheeks. You covered your face for a moment, letting out a shaky sob, then finally looked at him again.

The world was finally moving.

You could hear the rain, the cars, the noise of people talking. The air, the water. You could hear your breathing.

Your voice trembled, quiet, but clear. “You are such an annoying idiot—”Jungkook’s heart stuttered, hope flashing across his face for the way you said it. “—You’re such a stupid, stubborn and pathetic idiot,” you whispered, tears streaming as you shook your head. “You make me so mad, Jungkook. I swear— You make me so mad.”

Jungkook let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob, and before you could say anything else, he was on his feet, pulling you into him.

Your mouths met in a desperate, wet kiss, rain pouring down your faces as if the world itself had been waiting for this moment. You clung to his shirt, kissing him back with the same yearning that had been tearing you apart for weeks. Jungkook held you like you were the only thing keeping him alive, his lips moving against yours with a reverence that felt almost like prayer.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, both gasping for air. “You never stopped being mine.” Jungkook whispered against your lips, you only shook your head “You’re stuck with me forever.”

You let out a tearful laugh, nodding, your fingers clutching his face. “Good. I need someone to keep me in line.”

And then you kissed him again, the storm raging around you, but it didn’t matter. For the first time in weeks, the world felt whole again.

———-

The storm had passed, leaving the city washed clean, the streets glistening with reflections of streetlights and puddles. Your apartment felt hushed, the kind of quiet that only came after too much noise — the rain had stopped hours ago, but the smell of it still lingered in the air, damp and fresh.

You sat curled on your couch, your hair still slightly damp from your earlier chaos, your knees pulled up to your chest. You wore one of Jungkook’s shirts that covered till your knees. The soft fabric, worn-out gray one you’d stolen months ago and it draped over you like a blanket. It was yours, he was yours.

Jungkook sat next to you, close but not crowding, his arm resting along the back of the couch. He looked… softer tonight, his usual confidence gentled by something quieter, steadier. His hair was still a little messy from the rain, and every time you glanced at him, your chest tightened with a strange, overwhelming warmth. He was now in some comfy clothes that he had left long time ago, some grey sweatpants and a black shirt.

You hadn’t spoken much since coming back, just small things. Clothes? Tea? blanket? you okay? — but now the silence felt heavier. Necessary.

You were the first to break it.

Your voice was quiet, almost tentative. “I don’t want us to fight like that again, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turned his head toward you, his expression softening immediately. “Me neither.”

You hugged your knees tighter, staring at the faint rings of water on your coffee table. “We should talk about things. About us. Before we… before we do this again, if we want to.”

Jungkook nodded slowly. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

For a moment, you didn’t know where to start. Then, with a deep breath, you said the hardest thing first.

“Yunna,” you said plainly.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look defensive. He just nodded. “Yeah. I should’ve set boundaries sooner. I let her walk into our life like it was still hers to share, and that wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.”

You glanced at him, searching his face. “So, now?”

Jungkook’s voice was calm but firm. “Now? She’s Sunni’s mom, and that’s all. Like she always was. I’ve already talked to her. There’s been a distance, a needed respect. She’s not my family, Y/n. Sunni is… And I want you to be too.”

Your heart tugged painfully at that, but you still needed to push. “Jungkook, I’m not trying to be… possessive. She’s always going to be in your life, and I accepted that. But I can’t… I can’t live feeling like I’m the intruder in my own relationship.”

Jungkook’s hand moved, gently brushing yours, and when you didn’t pull away, he laced your fingers together. “You’re not an intruder. You belong here, Y/n. With me. And if I ever make you feel otherwise again, you tell me, and I’ll fix it. No hesitation.”

You swallowed hard, nodding once, but the next weight still lingered in your chest.

“Jungwoo,” you said, almost whispering.

Jungkook let out a small breath, leaning back slightly. “I was jealous. I’ll admit it. But that’s on me, not you. He never tried or did something out of line. You’ve been honest about what you two were and weren’t, and I trust you. I… I’m sorry for the way I handled it before.”

You searched his face, waiting for a trace of bitterness, but there wasn’t any. Just sincerity.

“He’s part of my life, Jungkook. A friend. I can’t keep him behind because he was Rosa’s—” You stopped yourself for a second. “Jungwoo is just a person I know. We might talk time to time but there’s nothing there anymore.” You were serious. “You don’t have to like him, but I need you to be okay with that.”

Jungkook squeezed your hand. “Then I’ll be okay with it. I don’t want to be the guy who makes you feel like you have to cut off people you care about just to be with me.”

Your chest felt tight again, but this time in a good way.

Then there was her.

“Sunni.”

“She’s been handling things better than me.” He smiled.

“She’s smarter than both of us,” you said softly, almost smiling despite yourself,

Jungkook chuckled. “Yeah. She’s been giving me love advice for days now. She thinks roses fix everything.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head, but then you sobered. “Jungkook, about Sunni… I love her, but I’m not perfect. I know I shouldn’t have promised her things I couldn’t keep. I will work on that— But I might not always get things right with her. I’m… I’m scared that you’ll resent me for that.”

Jungkook shifted closer, his thumb brushing over your cheek now. “You already love her. That’s the only thing that matters. She doesn’t need perfect, Y/n. I don’t need perfect either. She wants someone who calls her a goblin child and lets her rant about shit for hours and keeps up with her. And you do that better than anyone.”

You let out a shaky laugh, blinking quickly as your eyes stung. “I just don’t want to be like them,” you whispered, your voice breaking for the first time. “My parents. Absent. Cold. I don’t want to give her a version of me that’s… half-there. I know I have to work on that too. But you can’t just slap that on my face every time I made a mistake.”

Jungkook’s voice was steady when he spoke, like he’d been waiting for this moment to say it.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I know I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t handle thing right but you have to know that you’re not them. You never will be. You show up, Y/n. Even when you’re scared, even when you think you’re not enough— you show up. For Sunni. For me. I saw that, I always will. And I swear to you, if you ever feel like you’re falling behind, I’ll be right there, keeping you steady, not holding scores.”

You looked at him then, really looked, and your chest filled with something warm and breaking all at once.

Jungkook tilted his head, his expression softening into something almost shy, which was ridiculous for a man like him, but it made your heart ache all the more.

“I love you, Y/n,” he said quietly, his thumb still brushing yours. “And I’m not just saying that because we survived a storm or because I begged you in the rain.” You giggled and his eyes sparkled at the sound. “I love you because you’re you. And one day soon…” He hesitated for a second, but then he smiled, a little crooked, a little nervous. “I’m going to marry you.”

You blinked, letting a snort out at that sudden comment. “Jungkook—”

“Not today,” he added quickly, his smile turning softer, “but soon. We talked about it before. I know what I want, and it’s you. Always you.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart twisting in your chest. Then, slowly, you let go of your knees and shifted closer, his other hand brushed your thigh as you leaned your forehead against his.

And you breathe out. Because it felt like going back to normal again. It felt like that feeling of going back to a place you had missed, a place you belonged. After being away so long coming back to him felt right.

It felt… like going back home.

“You’re embarrassing,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Jungkook chuckled, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah. But you love me anyway.”

You exhaled a soft, shaky laugh, your hand sliding to his jaw. “Luckily, yes.”

And then you kissed him, slow and lingering, like you had all the time in the world to figure out the rest.

Because now you did. And that was probably the best thing the universe finally had given you. A correct choice to belong somewhere, to someone.

Jungkook kissed you back. Slow, passionate. Lingering and with a love you never had in no one. His lips moved slowly over yours, making you feel his love, his longing. He had chose you, you were his family, you were his.

His fingers trace your face with delicacy, a intimacy it was slowly coming back, that felt good to be back on. Jungkook pulled apart for a second, his lips brushing yours. And you felt that look, like you’re something fragile. Something he finally got back, something he had been waiting for so, so long.

His thumb brushed against your cheek as his eyes darted between your own. And he couldn’t help but ask, even if he already knew the answer. He was dying to hear you say it. it’s like his heart wasn’t able to beat correctly until the words leave your mouth.

“Do you love me?”, his voice came softer than he meant to. But maybe it was just his real feelings trying to catch up.

Your eyes locked on him. “Never stopped.”

Jungkook breathed out. And it was like he had arrived home after an exhausting and bad trip. Finally, he could rest.

He crashed his lips to yours. This time a little more needy, kissing you like he’s been holding back since the last time you did this. His hands moved to your head, pulling you flush against him, and the moan he let out when your tongue slide into his mouth went straight through you.

You kissed him back just as eagerly, your hands sliding up his wrist holding your face now, sliding them over his body, feeling the heat of his skin under your palms. Jungkook shivered when your fingertips brushed his skin under his shirt, and his lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss instantly.

Before you could straddle him, Jungkook pulled apart. His lips parted, slightly swollen, his eyes dark and blown wide. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you for a second before he grabbed you in his arms, walking to your room. You let out a little scream at the rough action, quickly putting your legs around his waist to not fall, even if you knew he wouldn’t let you.

“What are you doing?,” you giggled.

Jungkook kissed your mouth, his hand holding your waist and ass. “Taking you to the bedroom. I’m gonna make love to you.”

“Love? Are we fifteen?” You snorted, just a comment to annoy him a little.

“No, but I’m crazy in love with you.” He says, without hesitation. Not taking it to heart. “And I’m gonna fuck you like that because I mean it.”

After that he threw you to bed, your back hitting the mattress, and Jungkook crawled on top of you, kissing you hard.

One of his hand glided up your back, tracing the curves of your body and moving your shirt up until he could see himself the lace of your panties, with his fingers working around them. His thumb stroked just under the edge of it, his breath catching against your mouth.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, kissing him more desperately. Jungkook felt it, and he let a groan, his other hand cupping your jaw, angling your face up to him. His kiss turned deeper, firmer, like he wanted to memorize every little part of you and devour every little sound you make.

Jungkook didn’t stop there. His lips moved to your jaw, then down your neck, letting his lips worship your skin. Biting and sucking slightly to leave a mark that would make you complain the next day. But he would love it anyway.

Your hands knotted in his hair. He pulled away, only enough to pulled up more of your shirt. Jungkook took a moment to watch your tummy and panties. taking in the sight of your skin greedily. He could never get tired of you. Of you and him together.

Jungkook trailed his mouth further down, nipping and sucking at your flesh until he was at your hips. His hands gripping your thighs, spreading them slightly as he pressed kisses along your abdomen, his lips soft at first, then firmer, his tongue dipping into your navel before trailing lower. 

His breath ghosted over your panties and it made you shiver. He leaned in, his lips brushing the fabric right over your clit, kissing the damp material as if it’s your skin itself. The pressure made your clit pulse, and you sighed. Jungkook smiled against you, then parted his lips, sucking the lace into his mouth, his tongue pressing through to lap at your folds indirectly. He bit the fabric, tugging it with his teeth before releasing, the wet spot growing under his assault. His hands sliding up your thighs, his thumbs hooking under the edges now.

Your fingers sinked in his hair, pulling him slightly. He sucked again into the fabric, harder. The friction making you cry out, your hips bucking forward as pleasure coils tight in your stomach. Jungkook groaned in response, the sound vibrating through the fabric to your core, his hands yanking the panties down your legs in one swift motion before throwing them to the other side of the room, now fully exposed to him.

When he stopped, you looked down at him. Jungkook on his knees against the floor, his hands holding your legs open. He’s on his knees for the second time that night, and it makes you hotter than ever. You can see him perfectly, lips swollen, eyes dark, hair messy by your hands. He’s so yours. It makes your heart tremble with pride and love.

“I love you,” it’s the only thing he lets you know before diving in.

Jungkook’s tongue flattened against your cunt, licking a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, tasting your arousal with a hungry hum. 

And then he was on your clit, sucking lightly and rolling his tongue over the bud. something about this soothes him. You allowing him to have you like this again, gifting him a part of you that’s only his. That and your heart, he wants them both forever. He wants you more than ever. And now, having you lying on bed, lips swollen, breath hitching, legs open— only for him— Yeah, he’s not going to let you go ever again.

You moaned, a little quiet and breathy. And that got Jungkook grinding against the mattress, unable to stop himself. His tongue dived into your cunt, desperately pushing into your walls, wanting to hear you cry, to feel you squirm, to find relief in knowing you’re only his.

The sounds pouring out while he devoured you, his tongue flicking fast, then slow and deep, his teeth grazing your clit just enough to make you jolt. pleasure building relentlessly, your cunt clenching around nothing. He came back down to your hole, lapping up the arousal that spills out of it hungrily, moaning at the taste, you felt so close to the edge that your vision blurred for a moment. 

But a second later he stopped, pulling his tongue away, his lips leaving your throbbing clit with a teasing kiss. Your gaze finding him with confusion and frustration.

Jungkook stayed on his knees for a second, breathing heavily, his eyes locked on yours with a wicked glint as your body shook slightly, denied and aching. He gave a kiss to your thighs, kissing and biting them slowly before moving to your mouth, crashing his lips into yours.

The kiss was filthy, urgent, his tongue sweeping in, sharing the taste of your arousal. A moan scaling your mouth into his, tasting yourself on his lips, making your cunt clench emptily.

“You want me?,” Jungkook asked, breathlessly, now rubbing his fingers insistently across your clit.

“Yes,” you answered immediately.

“Say it,” he kissed your jaw, his finger working on you.

“I want you.”

“Say it again.”

“Jungkook,” you whined. His middle finger working overtime in your bud.

“Say it,” his voice is more demanding now.

“I want you. Shit, I want you so—”

You’re cut off with a gasp, mouth falling open as you arch your back.

“I want you too,” he says back, pulling away his fingers to watch you being denied of reaching your high for the second time.

You whined and he absorbs the sound like is the sweetest sound ever. Your legs trembled and your hips stuttered, but he held you down to make sure you take it all in and absorb every second of the pleasure he was about to give you.

Jungkook smiled softly at you when your eyes start brimming with tears and you started trying to push him away to take what you wanted, but he didn’t let you, still on top of you. He didn’t move for a minute too long, too obsessed with the sight that no one else got to see.

You’re his.

“I swear if you do this again…”

Jungkook giggled, grabbing your cheeks between his fingers before giving you soft pecks all over your lips, chin and nose.

“I love you.”

“Then fuck me.”

He smiled, brushing your lips with his. “Whatever you want, baby. Always.” He grabbed your lower lip between his teeth before leaving your cheeks alone. “Want me to fuck you? Make love to you? I’ll always give you what you want, okay? Always, baby.”

His words vibrated through you, and you nodded, helpless, loved. Your hands clutching his shoulders, your nails scraping down his back. The kiss deepened, your tongues tangling as he devoured you, one hand sliding into your hair to tug lightly, angling your head for better access.

Your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him between your thighs. Jungkook groaned at the contact, his cock straining against his boxers, rubbing against your slick folds through the fabric.

“I love you, Jungkook.” You said it so softly it made his heart ache.

This time, with happiness.

“I love you too,” he whispered in your mouth, his eyes half-lidded.

Jungkook felt happy. Shoving his boxers down, freeing his cock. It springs out, thick and veined, the tip already leaking precum. And he’s impatient, he gripped your hip to line himself up. The head nudging your entrance, slicking through your wetness before he thrusted in, inch by inch, filling you completely. Your walls fluttering around him, adjusting to the size.

He took a second, buried deep inside you, his skin against you, forehead pressed to yours. He wanted to stay like that forever.

His mind is running faster than he can possibly keep up with, he’s trying to ground himself but he feels all too floaty to come back down. Jungkook held your hips, firm and strong, groaning when you get impossibly tighter around him for a second. He watched you. You don’t look too put-together anymore. And he loves it. The messiness, the being loved, the belonging… it suits you well, it brings out something more genuine in you.

A minute later his grinding his hips against you a little, earning a delicious moan from you that has his mouth dropping open in awe. That, he missed that so much. He missed making you sound like that for him. He could eat you whole right now. He wants to spend an eternity deep inside you.

“Give me more,” you begged in his mouth.

And he was sure, he would break his back to give you everything that you ever wanted.

You were wrapping around him tight, making his head spin, nothing but primal instinct drive his actions after that. Jungkook groaned into your mouth as he fucked you, keeping your hips still with his harsh grip. He gasped, eyes flitting down your face, your lips are parted, breathing heavily as he continues ramming into you.

And he started thrusting a little harder, faster, encouraged by your words to go for more.

Jungkook’s hips snapped against yours with building force. The bed thuds against the floor. Your breathing more irregular, one hand in his hair, the other clawing at his back. He felt his pulse racing and a second later he’s angling his hips to grind against your clit with every thrust, searching for that sound you let out before.

Your cunt squeezed him, drawing a guttural groan from his throat. And you cry out, the friction overwhelming, pleasure spiking as he rubbed your clit with his thumb again, matching the rhythm of his cock. 

And then he kissed you messily, all teeth and tongue, swallowing your moans as he pounded harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing. Your legs trembling around him, but you don’t let go yet. His free hand gripped your tight, lifting your leg for better leverage, and the new angle made him hit that spot relentlessly. 

“So good, Kook,” you said, your lips brushing the corner of his jaw before returning to his mouth, kissing him harder.

He nodded, capturing your mouth in a kiss, your tongues together as the coil snaps. Jungkook didn’t want it to end, but he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. He needed to make sure you were there too, needed to feel you cum on his cock.

His thumb found your clit and you jolted, overwhelmed Your orgasm crashed over you, waves of heat pulsing through your core, vision getting blurry, you cried out in his mouth. Your nails dipping into his back and pulling his hair just hard enough to made him hiss.

Jungkook followed seconds later, burying himself deep with a choked groan, spilling hot inside you. His body shuddering against yours. But he didn’t let you go, he’s kissed your mouth and cheeks, the overwhelming feeling of the high coming down slowly.

You both were breathing heavily, your foreheads touching, his cock twitching as he rides out the last pulses.

After a minute, Jungkook dropped to the side of the bed, taking you with him. His back touched the mattress and your body slammed on top of him. He can feel his cum dripping down on you. He can feel your heart beating so hard against his chest.

You’re his. Forever.

His hand grabbed yours between his fingers, slowly moving it to his mouth to give some soft kisses to your knuckles before resting them in his chest. He flattened the palm of your hand so you could feel his heartbeat. Only beating that hard for you.

“I’m happy,” Jungkook admitted.

Your fingers traced his naked chest. He feels you all over him. “I’m happy too.”

———

You and Jungkook had spent the next two weeks making up for lost time like it was something that could be measured in outings and shared meals. Dinners that ran too late. Walks with no destination. Rewatching old movies just to talk over them. Creative dates that sucked. Cooking late snacks. Sleeping in tangled, waking up tangled, having a lot of sex, more sex, laughing at how strange it felt to wake up next to each other again like it hadn’t once been the most natural thing in the world. Road trip for one day. Going to boring bars. Having sex again. Sleeping, go out eating and dates, more sex.

And now—

Now it was mid-afternoon, and there was nothing left on the agenda.

The problem with getting back together and trying to do everything at once after months apart was that eventually… you ran out of things to do.

Your apartment was bathed in soft daylight, the kind that made everything look gentler than it really was. The windows were cracked open, letting in a lazy breeze that stirred the curtains just enough to make the room feel lived-in. A half-empty mug of coffee sat forgotten on the side table. Jungkook’s jacket was slung over the back of a chair like it had always belonged there.

You were sitting at the small dining table, tablet propped up in front of you, stylus moving every so often in a way that suggested productivity if someone didn’t look too closely.

Jungkook was sprawled across the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, the picture of a man deeply committed to doing absolutely nothing.

The silence stretched. Comfortable, but thin.

“You’re fake-working,” Jungkook said without moving.

You didn’t look up. “You’re fake-relaxing.”

He cracked one eye open, turning his head just enough to look at you. “I’m incredibly relaxed.”

“You sighed like five times in the last minute.”

“That’s part of relaxing.”

You finally glanced at him, unimpressed. “You sighed because you’re bored.”

Jungkook dropped his arm, grinning. “Okay, yeah. I’m bored.”

You set the stylus down, leaning back in your chair. “We’ve officially reached the ‘now what?’ stage.”

He nodded solemnly. “Happens faster when you speedrun a relationship.”

You laughed despite yourself, rubbing a hand over your face. “We’ve been together for, what, almost three weeks again?”

“Feels like longer.”

“It feels like we never stopped,” you corrected quietly.

Jungkook’s smile softened at that. He sat up, elbows resting on his knees, watching you in that way he did now— like he wasn’t afraid of the stillness anymore. Like he trusted it.

"I like it," he admitted. "Can I say we’re a married old couple now?."

"You can say we’re a married boring old couple."

He snorted. "I would love it anyway."

You tried not to smile but failed. "Anything you want to do?” He gave you a look. "That doesn’t involve having sex."

Silence.

"Damn, we’re boring." You sighed.

“Well,” he said, casual but thoughtful, “we could pick up Sunni.”

Your gaze flicked to him. “Right now?”

“She’s with Yunna. We could grab her, go do something. Ice cream. The park. Literally anything that isn’t us pretending to have hobbies.”

You considered it for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. That actually sounds nice. Let´s use your daughter for entertaiment."

Jungkook brightened immediately, already reaching for his keys. Clearly ignoring that last comment you made. “See? Parenting saves the day, and a relationship”

“Don’t get used to it,” you said, standing. “If one day she calls me step-mom I’ll put a bullet through my my eyes and end my life in front of her.”

He laughed as you grabbed your jacket, the sound warm and easy, like it belonged in your apartment now.

The first day you met with Sunni again had been chaos.

It was a week ago. After you and Jungkook took a week for yourselves. Sunni had appeared unexpected, as always. You went to visit Jungkook to spent the day with him and Sunni was there already making everything more irritating and overstimulating— something you had missed.

She had been the most annoying kid that day. Talking about how she missed you to later insulting you because you never got her a gift for her first win in a soccer game— Not that you knew now she was into that— She talked so much about her life like you were an old friend trying to catch up. She didn’t even gave you time to actually spent it with Jungkook becauase she, literally, made you cook with her for the time lost.

Sunni was overwhelming in all the aspects. She was a kid with a lot of emotions and a big heart… And you loved her.

You knew it wouldn’t always be perfect. That you would made a lot of mistakes with her. But now you weren’t running away. Your work, your career and your personal life… all that was something you were trying to keep together in the same level of respect and matter. Because as much as you loved working, you also loved the feeling of loving someone, of knowing you could take care of something. And now you were trying to balance things better. And you were in not hurry of working nor running away from them.

You apologized to her from promising things you couldn’t keep. She ignored you and talked about a new movie she wanted to watch— She was still a kid, didn’t understand how big of a deal was that for you that she didn’t take it to heart. But it made you happy. That you both could start over again, things will be better. Because she didn’t hate you, and you finally accepted the fact that you were going to play a big part on her life, because you were dating Jungkook, and because you loved her.

Turns out, you weren’t just in a relationship with Jungkook but it seemed with his daughter too. Which, honestly... it didn’t bother you. Not anymore.

The drive over was relaxed, music low, windows down. Sunni’s neighborhood came into view too quickly, the familiar mix of anticipation and something sharper settling in your chest.

Yunna.

Jungkook had called her to ask for permission to pick up his daughter that day since it was Yunna’s day. She accepted, not making it a big deal since that day she didn’t really have any plans with Sunni that were important.

When Jungkook pulled up, Sunni was already at the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair pulled back in a slightly messy ponytail. She lit up the second she spotted you, waving enthusiastically.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

Jungkook parked and got out first, Sunni launching herself into him the moment he reached the steps. You followed more slowly, your attention snagging on the figure just behind her.

Yunna stood in the doorway, arms crossed loosely, expression neutral but alert. Her eyes met yours, held for a beat longer than necessary.

You felt it then— the familiar pressure. Not anger. Not jealousy.

Unfinished business.

“Hey, kiddo,” you said warmly as Sunni skipped past Jungkook toward you to give you a hug. Then she walked excitedly to the car. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah!” she chirped, already opening the door.

As she climbed in, you turned to Jungkook, lowering your voice. “Hey. can you give me sec? I want to talk to Yunna. Just for a minute.”

Jungkook blinked. “Now?”

“Yes.”

He shifted, clearly torn between worry and confusion. “Do you want me there?”

You shook your head, an expression he had seen on you when you were about five seconds to close a deal or scream at yout staff. It made you look effortlessly untouchable. “No. I can handle it myself.”

He studied your face, reading the resolve there instantly. “Are you sure?” he asked, half-amused, half-wary. “You’re terrifying when you get like this, you know that?”

You leaned down, pressing a soft and slow kiss to his mouth. You didn’t care if she was watching. “Good. Maybe she’ll listen faster.”

He sighed dramatically. “I’ll stay close. For safety.”

You chuckled. “I’ll be fast.”

You walked back toward the door, stopping a few steps away from Yunna. “Hi,” you said politely. “Do you have a minute? I promise I won’t take long.”

Yunna hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

She stepped just inside, You followed, leaving the door mostly closed behind you. The two of you standing near the entryway. Close enough to talk, far enough that Jungkook and Sunni couldn’t see or hear.

The air between you was tight.

You didn’t waste time.

“I guess you know what I want to talk about," you started.

Yunna nodded. "I have an idea."

"I’m not here to argue,” you said calmly. “And I’m not here to overstep. I just want us to be clear with each other.” Yunna crossed her arms, listening. “I respect that you’re Sunni’s mother,” you continued. “That’s not a role I’m trying to touch or replace. Ever.”

Her posture shifted slightly.

“But I am Jungkook’s partner,” you said, voice steady, grounded. “And I need us to coexist without tension. For his sake. For Sunni’s. And, honestly, for mine too.”

"I get that," she finally said. "Me and Jungkook talked—”

"I know, he told me." You interrumpted, not really wanting to hear what she got to say except if it was just yes and nodding her head in agreement. "I wanted to talk to you anyway. To let things be clear, in case they weren’t before."

"I know—"

"I don’t think you do. So let’s get this straight again. I am Jungkook’s partner. That means I deserve respect. I won’t tolerate being treated like an outsider in my own relationship, and I won’t allow anyone, including you, to undermine what Jungkook and I are building."

Yunna’s lips pressed together, and for a long moment, she said nothing. Like she was trying to process what was happening.

Then, slowly, she leaned back in the wall, studying you with something almost like amusement. “You’re not what I expected,” Yunna admitted finally.

You arched a brow. “I´ll take it as a compliment."

Yunna stayed silent for a long moment, then exhaled. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. People usually run after something like this” she admitted. “But… I get it. Seeing him move on— it caught me off guard…”

“I don’t really care,” you said, not really mean but firm. “Even if you felt nostalgic you didn’t and you don´t have any right to intrude in my relationship. And those feelings can’t bleed into how we treat each other. We’re grown women, let’s act like it "

Yunna nodded slowly. “You’re right. I crossed lines. I’m sorry.”

The sincerity surprised you.

“I don’t need a fake good-relationship,” you said gently. “Just respect.”

She met your eyes. “You have it.”

A beat passed. Then Yunna extended her hand.

You shook it. Firm. Clear. It felt like closing a deal with a supplier brand.

But a deal was a deal. And you knew that Yunna was a business partner too. So it was clear.

When you stepped back outside, Jungkook was buckling Sunni into her seat, casting you a curious look.

“All good?” he asked.

You slid into the passenger seat, calm settling into your bones. “All good.”

Jungkook smiled, relief softening his features as he started the car.

And for the first time, it felt like everything was finally aligned.

———

Italy was a city you loved with all your soul.

The food was amazing, most people were friendly, the language was fun, the city was beautiful, the architecture was stunning… but you mostly loved it because it reminded you of Rosa. It was so unreal how a place could remind you of a person.

But that was the beauty of culture.

You had been in Italy a ton of times. For travels, vacations, for work. With and without Rosa. With friends and alone. But it always felt like a home. Because everywhere you went, she was there. In the beach, talking shit about the tourist. In the food, teaching you how to cook. In the clothes, making you wear things you hated. In the people, when they talked her language.

No matter what… Italy, for you, was hers.

It took you some time to take the restaurant of Sicily back to work. After a lot of paperwork and finding a new staff for it— since the people you hired looked for another job after you delayed the opening, with all the rights to do so— you finally found the right time to actually work on it.

After almost five months, you were able to finally open the restaurant.

The Sicilian sun spilled over the coastline like liquid gold, turning the whitewashed walls of the little town into something that looked almost sacred. The air smelled of lemon trees and salt, of summer evenings spent too long at the table, and of something else… something you had been chasing for years.

A place you belonged.

Not Seoul, not even your restaurants. This. This feeling.

You stood outside the entrance of your newest restaurant. Casa di Rosa. The sign written in elegant hand-painted letters. The soft sea breeze carried the scent of fresh basil and baked bread from inside, mingling with the sound of distant waves. It was everything you had pictured and more, and yet it ached, because Rosa wasn’t there to see it.

But for the first time, that ache didn’t feel empty. It felt like a reminder of love. How she was still there. Present. All around.

You smoothed your dress. A soft ivory linen thing that moved easily with the breeze. You exhaled slowly, letting the sight of it all wash over you. You had done this.

You had kept your promise.

A laugh broke the quiet, high and bright, pulling you back to reality.

“Dad, look! They have cannoli! And the kitchen is open, can I go see the kitchen? Can I, can I?”

Sunni barreled toward you, her little sandals slapping against the tiled path. Her hair was a tangle of sun-streaked curls, her cheeks already flushed from the excitement of being in Italy for the first time ever.

You bent slightly as Sunni threw herself at you, wrapping thin arms around your waist. “Hey, goblin,” you said softly, your smile tugging despite yourself. “Having fun annoying the staff already?”

Sunni grinned up at you, now missing one front tooth. “Not yet. But I will if I con go to kitchen.”

Jungkook’s deeper laugh followed a second later as he approached, hands in the pockets of his white shirt, the sleeves rolled lazily to his elbows. He looked annoyingly good here. Relaxed in a way you’d never seen him before, his usual edge softened by sun and saltwater.

“Don’t let her in the kitchen too soon,” Jungkook said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips as Sunni darted past you toward the terrace when she heard him. “She’ll try to convince your staff to make her food and desserts.”

“I already heard her trying to be cute with my sous-chef,” you murmured, watching Sunni with an affectionate shake of your head.

Jungkook smiled, sliding a hand lightly to the small of your back as you stepped inside together.

The restaurant was warm and bright, sunlight streaming through the wide windows. Tables dressed in simple white linens were already set, little vases of wildflowers placed carefully on each one. Staff moved with quiet precision, some sneaking glances at you as you passed. Quickly saying some greetings and small talk since you didn’t want to talk much about the opening.

Because today wasn’t about you.

It was about Rosa.

You paused by one of the corner tables where a small framed photograph rested beside a vase of yellow roses. Rosa, younger and still severe-looking even in candid moments, stared back from the picture. For a second, your throat tightened, but you exhaled slowly, your fingers brushing the edge of the frame.

Sorry for not taking better care of you.

Jungkook stood beside you silently, close enough for you to feel his warmth but far enough to let you have your moment.

“She would’ve hated this part,” you said quietly, almost smiling.

Jungkook’s brows lifted. “The restaurant?”

“The picture,” you corrected. “She’d have scolded me for being sentimental. Said this isn’t about her.”

Jungkook tilted his head, studying you. “She’s wrong. It is about her. But also about you. You kept your promise, Y/n. She’d be proud.”

Your lips parted slightly at that, and for a second, you didn’t answer.

But then, quietly, you said, “I hope so.”

Jungkook’s hand grabbed yours. a soft, reassuring touch.

Sunni’s voice broke the quiet again, loud and delighted as she ran back to you both, tugging on Jungkook’s arm.

“Dad, can we sit outside? I want to see the sea while I eat. And Y/n—” she turned to you, grinning wide, “—when I grow up, I’m going to open a restaurant too. Right next to yours. And I’m gonna call it ‘Robot & Pasta.’ Vincenzo told me he will work with me and aunty Se-hoo said she will sponsor me. I don’t know what that means but she said it’s a big deal.”

Your laugh slipped out before you could stop it, warm and real. “That’s… possibly the worst name I’ve ever heard.”

Sunni gasped dramatically. “It’s a perfect name!”

“You can take Se-hoo for all I care. But I’m not letting you steal my personal,” you shook your head. “Vincenzo is my greatest chef.”

Jungkook crouched down next to her, pretending to whisper but clearly loud enough for you to hear. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll workshop it. Maybe ‘Jurassic Lasagna.’”

Sunni squealed, clapping her hands, and you rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your mouth.

“I’m over dinosaurs, robots are cooler now.”

As Sunni darted off again, Jungkook rose, catching your gaze. There was something softer in his eyes now, something private.

“She’s happy,” he said simply.

You looked toward Sunni, who was now chattering to Se-hoo and Bohyung, probably about what you had said to her. The scene made you feel proud, like your family was being introduced to them. Even when they had met a couple mouth ago now. But it felt real, raw, yours.

“Yeah. She is.”

Jungkook hesitated, then lowered his voice, just for you. “You make her happy, Y/n.”

“Eh, debatable. I would say my money makes her happy.” You joked.

Jungkook snorted, grabbing your waist in his arms to put you closer.

“Well, you make me happy.”

You look at him, your heart twisting. He didn’t say it like it was something casual. He said it like it was everything.

You didn’t look away. “You make me happy too.”

He kissed you. A soft kiss. Not too scandalous but very intimate. There was still people around.

You smiled slightly when Sunni reappeared, tugging Jungkook’s hand again to take him with her, chattering about seating closer to the beach and dessert, and Jungkook gave you a small smile before following her to the terrace. His hand not leaving your waist until the last moment he could.

You stayed back for a moment, watching them. The man who had stood in the rain for you, and the little girl who had unknowingly claimed a piece of your heart.

For the first time in your life, you didn’t feel like you were standing outside looking in.

This… this was yours.

An hour later the opening happened. It wasn’t as big as your other restaurants had been. This time you had chosen to do it small.

Some people from the neighborhood came. The family of most staff appeared. Your friends and partners were there too. It was private, intimate. Not a big event. But you were with the people you loved, so it felt priceless.

Dinner was loud, messy, and perfect. Sunni insisted on tasting everything, you scolded her for stealing bites from Jungkook’s plate, and Jungkook looked happier than you’d ever seen him, he couldn’t stop smiling or laughing at some ridiculous joke Sunni told about robots running a restaurant even though it wasn’t funny. He was just happy.

At one point, as the sun melted into the sea, Sunni turned serious, her little hands folded dramatically on the table.

“Dad,” she said with a gravity that made Jungkook hide a smile, “are we coming back here? I love this place.”

Jungkook glanced at you then, and something shifted in his eyes. Warmth, love, and something almost teasingly certain.

“We are coming back,” he said softly. Eyes still locked on yours. “We still have a wedding to plan.”

You felt your breath catch, your cheeks warming despite yourself. Sunni, blissfully unaware of the weight of that look, grinned wide and shoved another forkful of cake into her mouth. You looked your engagement ring. Jungkook didn’t look away from you, his smile small but full of meaning.

And there, you felt like you were at peace. Not because of the place. Because of the people. You smiled back, your heart finally quiet. Home with your family. At last.

———

The Sicilian sun dipped low, casting long amber shadows over the quiet streets, where laughter and music mingled with the salty breeze. You stood on the terrace of Casa di Rosa, the night settling softly around you like a whispered promise.

You closed your eyes and breathed in the sea air, warm, steady, and full of something you had almost forgotten: peace. For years, you had chased a dream woven from fragments of pain and hope, from promises made in half-light and tears shed in silence. Rosa’s voice lingered in your heart, fierce and tender, a constant companion in every choice you had made.

“Work hard. Make it good. Make me proud.”

You opened your eyes and smiled, a slow, quiet smile that reached deep inside you. You had worked hard, you did everything . And you had held onto that softness she taught you, even when the world tried to harden you.

There, beneath the endless sky and surrounded by the family you chose and the family that chose you back, you were finally whole. The past was a tapestry of broken threads and people who taught you how to live, but the future… the future was yours to weave.

And in every stitch, every breath, every moment shared with Jungkook and his daughter, Rosa’s love was there, steady as the tides.

A love that would never fade.

You whispered into the night, “This one’s for you, Nonna.”

And as the stars blinked awake overhead, you knew. She was still there, you could feel her all around. And you were still with her. With your family, your home.

and with this ‘Temporary Fragments” is over.

a little letter for you:

i finished this fic back in july. the day i released the first chapter. i edited the shit out of it for the last time this week. the end of an era fr

im literally so thankful for all your comments and feedback. this is literally the longest fanfic i’ve written in here (and in english) so im glad u guys enjoyed it. thank you to ALL for reading, all ur messages made my day. u guys are the funniest and sweetest ever (even when ur mad) i’m glad i have this community with you all.

soooo— little surprise so you don’t cry— a month ago i wrote 2 one shots about this story. about two important events. (even tho it can be read individually, it was mostly written for you guys - and also it follows the plot - so i hope you will like them<33) When i put out the masterlist (maybe for new years) you will see the summary about those two chapters and what they’re about 🤭

thank you so so much my children. see u soon to feed u good as always xoxo happy new year!!!

taglist:

~*~

It’s quiet in Yoongi’s studio. He’s slipped his headphones off, frustrated, and now lets them clatter onto the desk as he slumps back in his chair. He stares at the track on his monitor like it’s a puzzle he can’t figure out.

It hits him all at once: he’s tired. Tired of looping this shitty song over and over, playing with the mix, adding new layers just to delete them again, unable to make it into anything worth anyone’s time. He’s tired of working until his contacts sting in his eyes and exhaustion feels like it’s sunk right down to the marrow of his bones.

If he’s honest, he’s fucking tired of living like this.

Yoongi exhales hard and the sound feels deafening in the quiet of the room. The soundproofing is decent in here, but he knows even if he flung the door open and screamed down the hallway, there’d be nothing else to hear except the echo of his own voice.

And no one to hear it. He’s the only one left in the building, has been for hours.

An issued key to the front door glimmers on its ring, next to his half-drunk coffee. Hasn’t even been long enough for the polish on it to dull.

His whole life is so much quieter, lately. In a way, that’s what he wanted.

Or at least what he asked for.

Yoongi reaches a hand back to rub at his shoulder, trying to work out the dull ache that’s blooming there, mouth twisting into a half-grimace. All of his joints feel stiff from sitting still for so long– he told himself he’d only put one more hour in tonight, and that was two hours ago. He really should leave, but he knows full well that when he packs up his things, shuts the studio door behind him and heads for the exit, he’ll walk by a desk that’s sat empty for weeks now. He’ll get into a car that’s too quiet, glance over at a passenger seat with no one in it, then drive home to a dark apartment.

All this empty space. It didn’t used to bother him.

The downturn of his mouth flattens out again as his gaze refocuses on the screen in front of him. He doesn’t want to think anymore, about that, or anything else. Introspection never leads him anywhere productive. He wants to work, to get this fucking track done so he can go home.

He straightens his spine, stifles a yawn, reaches for his headphones and steels himself for another listen through. Maybe all the issues have magically worked themselves out, he thinks dryly, and then the sudden buzz of his phone against his desk makes him start a little.

The noise drags out long enough for him to realize someone is calling him– who the fuck is calling him?

With a huff of frustration, he grabs for it, and then his headphones are dropping out of his hand, missing the desk entirely and plummeting straight down to the carpet under his feet. In the moment, he’s not even sure he notices.

Not when the name on his phone screen has just knocked all the breath out of his lungs. Because, well, it’s you.

He never did change your contact name.

But why are you– fuck, isn’t it late in California? Or early?

Yoongi’s head spins as he tries to remember the math, and then it occurs to him that his phone’s been ringing in his hand the whole time and he’s probably running out of chances to–

At what feels like the last possible second, he taps the button to answer the call. Taps again to put it on speaker. Doesn’t say anything. What the fuck is he supposed to say? Hi? How’s it going? Do you hate me?

There’s a long pause on the other end, enough to make him wonder if you’re already regretting the decision to call. Or maybe this was an accidental dial from the inside of your purse, or the back pocket of your jeans, while you’re out enjoying your warm, sunny, new life.

If he’s honest, he’s having a hard time trying to conjure up a reason why you’d want to talk to him at all.

And then you’re heaving a sigh and murmuring, “‘Course you don’t have a fucking voicemail message.” 

Or at least that’s what he thinks he hears. The words all sort of run together.

But that’s your voice, unmistakably so. Yoongi feels the sound of it kick through him.

“Asshole,” you punctuate, and he winces. He supposes he deserves that.

There’s a shifting sound on the other end of the phone, like you’re moving around a bit, wherever you are. Maybe in bed, maybe on the bathroom floor. They seem equally likely given your current state. 

“Alright, fuck it,” you say like you’ve finally decided on something, voice a little muffled, like maybe you’ve got your hands over your face. Maybe you’re exhausted, too.

“I guess,” you continue, “I‘m just gonna say what I wanna say, and then you can… fucking deal with it whenever you listen to this. And if you don’t like it you can just delete it. Or block me, or whatever. I guess it doesn’t matter.”

This is by far the drunkest he’s ever heard you. Which is saying something.

It takes a second for the reality of it to click into place, and then it dawns on him. You, apparently, have not realized that he actually answered his phone, probably aided by the fact that he hasn’t fucking said anything.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to quickly figure out how to proceed here. Fuck, he’s not good at shit like this.

And then you start talking.

“My friends are all mad at me tonight,” you say, and Yoongi keeps his eyes closed. “I showed up so late to this party, when I promised them I would be here. I fell asleep at my desk, working late, after everyone else had left for the day. I work like, all the time now. I guess it’s a distraction. Tiff says I’m pushing everyone away to keep myself from getting hurt again. Which is like. Yeah, probably.”

Your breath hitches slightly, sticks on a self-pitying laugh. “When I finally got here, I was like hours late, so I tried to catch up to everyone. But nobody told me Vernon makes his Jello shots with fucking Everclear and now I’m just… way, way too fucked up. And it’s like I’m– I’m not even having fun. I don’t even remember how. How I used to.”

Yoongi tries to make his exhale as steady and as quiet as he can, tries to ignore the way he can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

“Fucking stupid.” He sees your voice in his mind’s eye, shaped like audio input on his monitor. A faint line wavering, unsteady, dropping in volume, shooting up again when you breathe in, a broken gasp. “This whole thing is so stupid. I’m so fucking angry, all the time. I don’t know what to do.”

The line stalls out– a long pause.

“You broke my heart.” The words come out all jagged-edged. “And now I’m just like you.”

And, well. That hits him like a truck.

“I threw my whole fucking life out and decided to come here, to get away from it all. And now I’m here and– it’s still everywhere. All over. I’m fucking miserable, and I wanna hate you for it, but I don’t. Not even close.”

Yoongi’s hand presses tight to his mouth, dry lips smudging over the lines of his palm, physically holding in this awful noise that threatens to tear out of the back of his throat.

“Half the time I wish I’d never fucking met you, and half the time I wish I’d never left. And I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. About any of it. I don’t know how to stop being in love with you.”

The words hang there in the quiet of Yoongi’s studio, unfurling in his mind like ink in water. He can hear soft, tinny sounds through the phone speaker.

“So I guess you win,” you mutter, and it’s apparent in your voice now. You’re crying.

He scrubs his hands down his face, then shoves them through his hair. What the fuck is he doing, listening in on you like this? And why isn’t he saying anything?

In the empty space, you seem to come down from it a little bit; there’s a heavy shudder-sigh, then a sniff. A wet laugh. “Fuck. That was dramatic.” There’s noise on the line, like you’re dragging the phone closer. “God, how the fuck do you delete a voicemail?”

There’s a beep, then another, because you’ve started to aimlessly press buttons to try and delete a message that isn’t one, and if Yoongi’s going to say anything at all, it has to happen. Right fucking now.

So he swallows down the lump in his throat. And then he taps the button to end the call. Because he has no idea what to fucking say. How to make any of this better.

Yoongi pushes his chair back from his desk, lungs heaving air. He needs to take a fucking walk.

There are gaps in what comes next, like he is blinking in and out of reality. One minute he’s shouldering open the door to the lobby. Cars are rushing past in dizzying streams of light and sound. His face is wet, and he can’t quite catch his breath. He just keeps walking.

And then, all at once, there is the darkness of open water in front of him and a metal railing cool beneath his palms. Yoongi blinks out over the river, and it feels like he’s being unzipped, right down the middle. Like nothing has changed. Like everything has changed.

There’s footsteps, he hears them vaguely over the static in his brain. Steady rhythm, most likely a jogger, but then they start to slow before coming to a stop just past his shoulder.

So maybe it’s someone with worse intentions, he thinks, and it’s so unlikely, but there’s a fucked up kind of hope there. That it could be someone to flick open the line of a switchblade, find purchase right between his ribs, do for himself what he hasn’t figured out how to, hasn’t been brave enough to manage. Not even when he’s like this, on the precipice of it, close enough to taste it on his tongue: the allure of dreamless sleep.

He’s just so fucking tired.

When Yoongi turns back, he has to blink three times before he can process it. The figure standing a few feet behind him, in all-black athletic clothes, still breathing hard.

“Min Suga?”

“Jungkook?”

Yoongi is standing very still, but he wonders all the same if Jungkook can see it churning up inside of him. This dark, ugly violence.

“Is everything–?”

“I was just getting off work,” Yoongi answers simply, voice low. Jungkook’s head tilts a little.

“Walking home?”

Yoongi’s mouth pulls flat. “No.”

“Are you–?”

As if Yoongi is operating on a delay, the words he’s said finally catch up to him, shifting into place. Jungkook must track the way his eyes widen, because he loses his grip on whatever he was about to ask. Silence and warm night air hang in the space between them.

“The door,” Yoongi breathes. “Jungkook, I left the fucking door–”

He doesn’t finish the sentence before he starts running.

The city is a blur, just color and noise around him, useless, overwhelming. The only thing that matters is the thud of his sneakers on the concrete, underscoring the beat of his heart. Not again, not again, not again.

It isn’t until he’s jabbed the button for the elevator, and is standing there trying to take in air, that he realizes he’s not alone. Jungkook’s chest is heaving beside him. There’s a glisten of sweat at his temples.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook manages, and the words make Yoongi feel… insane. As if anything could possibly be o-fucking-kay right now. “Whatever happens. We’ll figure it out.”

The elevator chimes, and they step in together.

It’s quiet when they approach the glass doors. The lights are still on. No signs of obvious entry.

“I’ll go,” Jungkook says, and he’s pushing the unlocked door open before Yoongi can stop him. And Yoongi doesn’t stop him. He’s frozen where he stands, heart still hammering in his chest, hands shaking.

He is shaking all over, actually.

The minutes tick by, dreadfully slow, and then Jungkook is reappearing around the corner, Yoongi’s bag slung over his shoulder and the key in his hand. There’s no sound except the door easing closed behind him, and the click of the key in the lock.

Then Jungkook finally speaks. “Everything’s fine. Nobody took anything.”

Yoongi is still unraveling.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook stresses, and his brow is furrowed, like he’s really worried about something. “You made a mistake, you’re human. It’s okay.”

Yoongi doesn’t even think about it. All at once, his face is just– pressed to the smooth material of Jungkook’s shirt, leaving wet spots behind. There’s a split second where Jungkook stiffens, and then his arms are locking over the width of Yoongi’s back, and he’s pulling Yoongi that much tighter into his chest.

“You’re okay,” Jungkook says again, voice softer, and Yoongi fucking breaks down.

It’s a long time before Yoongi can get words in his mouth again. When he finally does, his voice is wrung-out.

“I– uh. Thanks. For that.”

Jungkook releases him, and Yoongi immediately puts space between them again, gaze skimming across the floor. He sniffs once, mouth drawn up tight.

“Did you eat, hyung?”

Yoongi glances up, not expecting the question, or how casually Jungkook asks it. Like nothing just happened. Like they’re old friends catching up.

Jungkook is already pressing the button for the elevator.

“Come on,” he says, turning back to meet Yoongi’s gaze again. “I want lamb skewers.”

Jungkook leads them out of the building and down a few blocks and Yoongi just follows, hands swiping at his cheeks, not really feeling like any part of this is real.

It’s nice, though. Just having somebody to follow.

It’s silent between them, and Yoongi can’t help but wonder if that’s for his benefit– quiet doesn’t seem to be Jungkook’s default state, not at work anyway. He’s always chattering on about some mobile game or the latest trend on TikTok– but he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, is the thing. Seems perfectly content to sit across from Yoongi and watch the skewers of meat turn over the coals and not talk.

Yoongi tips his head back, eyes closed as he chews, and feels himself coming down from it. Stepping back from the edge.

“You can head out if you want, Jungkook-ah,” he murmurs around his next bite. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“And what will you do?”

Yoongi hums a note, staring down at the table between them. “Go home. Probably get drunk.” Honesty comes easy to him in this moment. He doesn’t see a point in trying to act like he’s in a better headspace. Not after what Jungkook’s already seen tonight.

“Do you like Irish bombs?”

He blinks, surprised at the question, then looks up. “I– yeah. Do you?”

Jungkook’s eyes crease at the corners as a laugh floats out of him. “Why is everyone so shocked that I drink too?”

Yoongi’s mouth ticks up. “Hey, you’re allowed to, you know. Contain multitudes.”

“There’s a good place,” Jungkook nods toward the front door. “Around the corner.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much company tonight.”

Jungkook shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. “It’s fine, hyung. Come on.”

Yoongi doesn’t really know what he’s doing. But the beers go down easily enough, and so he orders a whiskey neat, even manages the ghost of a laugh when Jungkook sheepishly orders his with soda, then still does this throat-clearing hiss of a noise at the first taste.

He’s swirling his drink aggressively, in what Yoongi assumes is some misguided effort to better disguise the taste of liquor, when he says seemingly out of nowhere, “Can I ask you a question, hyung?”

Yoongi nods, takes another sip of his own drink.

Jungkook is now sliding his glass back and forth across the table, palm to palm. “Why Suga?”

It takes a second for the question to make sense, and then Yoongi sucks in air through his teeth when the realization clicks, shaking his head a little. “Come on, how long have we worked together? And you’ve never heard this story?”

There’s no way he hasn’t, but Jungkook shakes his head innocently, gaze still locked tight on his glass. “Nope.”

Yoongi’s fingers drum a steady beat against the dark wood of the bar. It’s easy, telling this story; makes him feel more like himself. “I loved basketball as a kid. To play, to watch. Still do. Though I haven’t played in years now. But when I did, I was the shooting guard. So when I needed a producer name– took the first syllable of each. Su-ga.” He huffs a self-deprecating breath that flutters his shoulders. “It’s really not that interesting.”

Jungkook hums, thoughtful. “Why not just use your real name?”

Yoongi makes a face. “Suga is more like… a facet of me. There’s a separation there. I wanted there to be.” Jungkook is slow-blinking, like he doesn’t quite follow, and the whiskey is starting to loosen Yoongi’s tongue, so he keeps going with it. “It’s all just different versions of me, right? Suga, Agust D, Min Yoongi.”

Jungkook’s gaze snaps up. “Wait, Agust D?”

Ah, fuck. “I didn’t–” Yoongi fumbles, trying to find the right words. “Let’s not go there. Just forget I said anything.”

It appears to be an impossible task for Jungkook, who is already shifting excitedly in his seat, retrieving his phone as if he immediately needs to scour the internet. “Hyung, do you have, like– secret music?!”

“No, no. Not yet.” Yoongi wishes he could think more clearly, but it’s all cotton-fuzz numb in his brain, more from easing out of an adrenaline rush than the liquor. His face is hot with embarrassment. “I don’t know. Probably never will.”

“But you want to?” Jungkook prompts, and he shrugs.

“I– it would be nice.”

This seems to stir something up in Jungkook, his spine straightening out, like the conversation is suddenly one of utmost importance. “You shouldn’t wait. To go after your dreams.”

At that, Yoongi outright laughs into his glass, shakes his head as he swallows a mouthful down. “Dreams are overrated, Jungkook-ah. I used to dream about being a professional basketball player.”

Jungkook’s eyes are shining. “And then you dreamed to make music.”

“And look at me now,” Yoongi quips, voice thick with sarcasm. “Living the dream, and still miserable.”

The ice cubes in Jungkook’s glass clink together as he rolls it between his palms. His voice is softer when he speaks again. “So maybe it’s time to try a new one.”

Yoongi sighs. “I don’t have time. I work too much as it is.”

Jungkook deflates a little, but he’s got this look on his face like he’s trying to work out the answer to a difficult question: brow furrowed, lips pursed, eyes sweeping over the bar.

“Are you doing it all on your own?” he finally asks, and Yoongi just gives another shrug.

“I guess that was the plan. You’re only the– second person I’ve said the idea out loud to, so.”

There’s a pang behind Yoongi’s ribs as the words hang in the air, and Jungkook nods, and Yoongi knows. Knows that Jungkook gets it. Knows that Jungkook’s not touching it.

“I have this friend,” Jungkook says instead. “You two should meet. His name is Chan and he is an amazing producer, seriously– I mean, nobody is in the same league as you, of course. But. Maybe it would be easier, right? If you weren’t trying to do it all by yourself?”

Yoongi takes another slow sip of his drink before he answers. “I’ll think about it.”

He’s surprised that Jungkook doesn’t push it, that all he does is nod his head along to the music playing low over the speakers, letting them lapse back into a silence that is somehow, just– comfortable.

When they’ve both finished off their drinks, Yoongi gets to his feet. “Come on, my car’s at the office. I’ll drive you home.”

They’re walking the few blocks back, the city humming steadily around them, when out of nowhere, Jungkook’s voice cuts through the sound. “Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead.”

He sucks in this big breath of air, and Yoongi has no idea what to expect. But then he starts to talk. “You know, when I was a kid. In school, and stuff. I was bullied. Like, really badly, actually. It got to the point where I was having panic attacks every morning, just at the thought of going to school. Having to deal with it all. It felt so impossible sometimes.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer, because it seems like Jungkook needs to get this all out, like his brake line’s been cut. So he lets him go and just listens, the two of them walking side by side.

“And for a while,” Jungkook continues, “It just made me, like. Pull away. From everybody, from everything. I stopped talking in class, stopped hanging out with my friends. Didn’t go to Taekwondo. I just thought it would be easier if I lived… the smallest life possible. Like if I didn’t do anything to draw attention to myself, then everyone could, I don’t know.” Yoongi looks over in time to see his shoulders shrug. “Forget about me, I guess.”

“And how did that go?” Yoongi asks, even though he’s starting to feel like he already knows the answer.

The laugh that Jungkook breathes out doesn’t reach his eyes. “I was so, so lonely, hyung.”

There’s a lump in Yoongi’s throat, and he doesn’t try to speak around it.

Jungkook’s voice comes back again, stuttering, like he’s unsure. “I-I just want you to know that you don’t have to be like that. Lonely. If you don’t want to be.”

And, yeah, Yoongi thinks to himself. That is, actually, exactly what he fucking is.

“Hyung?” Jungkook murmurs, and there’s this urgency in the way he says it that makes Yoongi glance at him again. His eyes are a little red. “If we– if I hadn’t, uh. Seen you. Would you have...”

He trails off, and it takes Yoongi a second to finish the sentence in his head, to remember where he was when Jungkook found him, white-knuckle gripping on the edge of it all. “No,” he answers firmly, maybe a little too quick. “No, I promise.”

Jungkook swallows, nods once. “But you were– thinking about it?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

I always am, Yoongi thinks to himself, but he doesn’t say that part out loud. Jungkook doesn’t need to carry that around with him.

There’s a long, heavy pause between them, punctuated by a soft sniff from Jungkook. Then he finally manages another question.

“Do you want to know what I do, sometimes? When it’s all just, like… too much?”

It takes Yoongi a few more paces before he realizes that Jungkook has stopped walking. When he stops to turn over his shoulder with a questioning hum, he sees Jungkook behind him, tipping his head back and letting out this big, primal shout.

“You’re drunk,” Yoongi says with a laugh.

“Try it! Just like a….” He does it again, fists balled up at his sides, and it’s almost triumphant this time, a victory cry.

Yoongi feels it all buzzing through him, his nerves open-wound raw. But he’s smiling.

And then he’s closing his eyes and shouting up to the sky: a messy, ugly sound, echoing in the warm night air. But it’s honest.

He opens his eyes, and Jungkook is beaming, proud, painted in the glow of a streetlight. “Feels good, huh?”

Yoongi nods, because it does.

~*~

It’s a few weeks later that Jungkook asks if Yoongi wants to take a walk after work, and he agrees. He’s started doing that more and more lately. Saying yes. Mostly to little things: office lunches and happy hours, team meetings. Boxing classes, which he actually liked a lot more than he expected.

And really, it’s not so bad, getting outside the four walls of his lab. It’s a good distraction, at least.

Yoongi finds it a little suspicious that Jungkook is walking so purposefully as he leads them down a few blocks. Even more so when their destination just so happens to be a park with a basketball court.

And when the dark-haired guy leaning up against a car in the parking lot starts walking toward them, a ball tucked under his arm, Yoongi scoffs.

“Oh, I see. This is an ambush.”

Jungkook hums a questioning note, like he has no idea what Yoongi’s talking about. “Hyung, this is my friend Chan. He’s a producer too, did I ever mention him to you?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but still catches the ball when it’s tossed his way. “You’re full of shit, JK.”

Chan’s only greeting is a nod of his head, and Yoongi returns it. They both seem to be waiting on him, and he hisses out a dry laugh.

“I’m not playing. Not for real. I’m too old.”

Chan lifts his hands, palms out, like he’s not trying to fight. “Whatever you want. It’s cool.”

Yoongi keeps the ball, though– lets it drop onto the asphalt a few times, getting used to the feel of it under his palms. Shakes his wrists out, rolls his shoulders back, all his stiff places cracking. It’s been a long time. He lazily tosses it up a few times, knees flexing, just trying to get his form right.

“Chan said he’d be down to help you work on your mixtape,” Jungkook finally admits. When Yoongi glances over, he’s rocking back and forth on his heels, hands shoved into the pockets of his work slacks, mouth drawn up tight.

“I don’t have a mixtape,” Yoongi mutters, words almost lost under the steady sound of the dribbling ball.

“But you could,” Chan offers, circling him, not unlike a shark. “Hyung, if you want to make music, you should make music.”

“I do make music.”

Chan laughs a little, makes a face as if to concede that Yoongi’s not wrong. “Yeah, but like. Music that’s for you, you know? It’s different. You’re not trying to keep another artist’s brand in mind, you’re just… speaking from the heart. Saying what you wanna say.”

Yoongi shrugs the suggestion off. “I don’t have time.”

At this, Chan seems to brighten a little. “So let us help. If you’ve got rough ideas of what you want, just send them over. I can polish them up, then we can fine-tune or rework parts as needed. I can help mix and master. I’ve taught Jungkook a little bit, too. He helps me with my guides a lot.”

“He really is good, hyung,” Jungkook says softly, lips still pursed like he’s nervous. “I sent you some of his stuff.”

He did. Yoongi’s listened to it, and he knows Jungkook’s right. He keeps his gaze fixed tight on the ball in his hands, watching it bounce as he dribbles aimlessly. His thoughts feel like they’re going a mile a minute. 

“I’m not– I don’t want to waste your time.” Yoongi sighs as he lets himself get into it. “If we do all of that work, and I hate it, and I just want to scrap the whole thing. Or, or–” His chest starts to feel like it’s caving in, a little; he tries to breathe through it. “If we put it out there and nobody likes it. Or nobody cares. I can’t see why anyone would have interest in what I have to say, anyway.”

The ball thuds a heartbeat against the asphalt as Yoongi keeps going.

“‘Cause you know, who am I? Some producer? Some rich, out-of-touch, depressed asshole?” He shakes his head. “It’s just… probably not worth the hassle. I think some things are like that, you know. Better left as imagined ideals. Sometimes it’s better to just not try, ‘cause it’d be too painful to fuck it up. Reality is–”

“Hyung.”

Chan says the word forcefully enough that Yoongi glances up. Chan’s gaze is steely when their eyes meet, and Yoongi feels– a little ashamed, suddenly. Like maybe he’s overcomplicating this.

“Take the shot,” Chan directs, jutting his chin toward the net, and then Yoongi realizes that, yeah. He’s just been standing here dribbling all this time. Hasn’t even put it up once.

So he nods, drops the ball down one more time, then settles it between his palms. Brings it up, softens his knees. Gets out of his head, focuses on the thing in front of him, and for a few seconds, the rest of the world falls away. He sucks in a breath, and then he takes the shot.

It’s a pretty one, entirely silent, save for the swish of the net.

Chan’s voice comes back almost immediately, and Yoongi’s head jerks to take him in again. “Now in that moment– did you think about any of that shit?”

Yoongi’s mouth pulls flat, but it’s enough of an answer.

Chan’s already jogging up the court, retrieving the ball where it rolled to a stop against the perimeter fence. He keeps it tucked under his arm as he makes his way back, and there’s the ghost of a smile on his face as he steps in close to Yoongi.

“Sometimes, you just need to take the fucking shot.”

He passes the ball back, hard. Yoongi barely gets his hands on it before it knocks into his chest.

~*~

That Friday, in his studio, Yoongi tries not to think about it.

Jungkook is stretched out longways on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone; he’d hung around as the rest of the office emptied out, and then Chan showed up with a bottle of whiskey– motivation, he’d quipped– and a devious grin. He’s made himself at home in Yoongi’s desk chair, getting the bones of a track ready, expanding off an idea Yoongi had sent over earlier in the week, the night he’d actually agreed to this.

Why the fuck did he agree to this?

They’ve had a few drinks– well, Yoongi and Jungkook have– but it hasn’t quite managed to get him calm. He drains the last of what’s in his cup now, trying to go back over the lyrics in his head, even though he knows he knows them.

He’s had this song written for years, actually.

“Alright,” Chan’s voice breaks Yoongi’s concentration, punctuated by the sound of him drumming his palms against the desk. “Should be ready for you.”

Yoongi’s mind is still racing as he gets situated, pulling on the headphones he’s had slung around his neck. He feels the muscle in his jaw tighten as he glances over at Chan and nods once, and then the track starts up in his ears.

He steadies himself. Gets out of his head, focuses on the thing in front of him, and for a few seconds, the rest of the world falls away. He sucks in a breath, and then he steps up to the mic.

~*~

“Thank you,” Yoongi keeps his eyes fixed on the table, diligently pouring soju into his glass. “For agreeing to meet with me. I know it’s been a long time.”

Just like that, the days have somehow slipped away into months. A few months now that he’s– they’ve been steadily working on this– well, project. This mixtape. His mixtape.

And the thing is, Yoongi’s starting to think that he actually likes what’s coming out of all those late nights in his studio. It’s not perfect, and certainly not finished. But when he listens to the rough drafts they’ve compiled, shuts his eyes, lets the music open up those places inside of him he usually keeps locked down and closed up tight, it just feels different this time. It feels like he’s onto something.

He lets that be enough, for now. Tries not to worry too much about what comes next.

There’s a scoff from across the table. “Yeah, well. I think my agent was doing cartwheels after getting a call from the producer Suga to set up a business meeting.”

Yoongi glances up to see a knowing glint in Jimin’s eyes, his expression all too familiar.

“Of course,” Jimin continues casually, “it was obvious to me that you purposefully planned your schedule so that our visits to New York would overlap, because you wanted to chase down the one that got away. The person that you’ve been in love with all this time, never able to move on from, even after a decade apart.”

Jimin holds Yoongi’s gaze for the longest three seconds of his life, and then he can’t keep his laughter in any longer. He nearly falls off the bench seat. Yoongi’s mouth twitches at the corner, but he’s never been one for big outbursts, the way Jimin is. In some ways, he’s a little envious of that.

“Jesus, Park. How did you get worse since we were teenagers?”

“Hey,” Jimin holds up a finger as if to make a counter-argument, still giggling a little. “At least I keep my clothes on now. Mostly.”

Yoongi realizes he’s smiling despite himself. He hadn’t expected it to be this comfortable, that they could just pick up where they left off. But Jimin is like that, he remembers now. Easy to talk to. He sips down the liquid in his glass, then sets it on the table again.

“I thought it was time we got back in touch, is all. And I appreciated the ticket to your show.”

Jimin cards a hand through his hair, mouth pulled into a smirk. “Figured you should see how much better I’ve gotten in ten years.”

“Ah,” Yoongi waves his words away. “I always knew you’d be good. You were good back then, too, and your work ethic was…” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, considering. “Insane, really. I remember you were always the last one to go home, always practicing so much harder than everyone else.”

There’s a distant look in Jimin’s eyes as he stares down at his own empty glass, running a fingertip around the rim, before he reaches for the bottle to top them both up. “Do you remember what you used to tell me?”

Yoongi makes a soft, low noise, gaze suddenly locked on the table again. Because yeah, he does remember. And he thinks he knows where this is going.

“‘You don’t have to work this hard.’”

A breath of a laugh punches out of Yoongi when he glances up to find Jimin looking at him, like he can see right through him. “Are you quoting me or telling me?”

Jimin’s eyebrow lifts, barely discernible. He doesn’t blink. “Just thought maybe you needed to hear it, hyung.”

The way Jimin emphasizes the last word and stares pointedly at Yoongi makes him hot all over, enough that he shifts a little in his seat, clearing his throat. He reaches for a skewered fishcake, if only for the distraction, then finally hums another wordless answer.

“I’d actually say my life improved drastically when I decided to stop making everything so hard all the time. Because it really doesn’t have to be.” Jimin flicks his bangs out of his eyes, like he’s satisfied with his own wisdom.

Yoongi’s fist smacks against the table, and as he fires back, he can hear the tone to his voice that only Jimin seems to be able to pull out of him– the other trainees used to say they fought like a married couple. “You are really just attacking me right now, huh, Jimin-ah? Like no time has passed?”

“Aish, it’s not an attack! Both of you! You and her, you’re so alike!” Jimin huffs, frustrated, his voice knife-edge sharp. The words hit Yoongi right in the center of his chest. “Taking everything so personally! And running circles around each other, for no reason. When it could all be easy if you let it.”

Fuck. Yoongi throws back the liquid in his glass, fills it up again, takes that one too. Breathes in deep as the rush of warmth pours into him. “I– she– that’s not actually what I wanted to talk about. Just so you know.”

His voice comes out low, a little uneven, and Jimin goes just as quiet. His gaze has softened when Yoongi finds it again, but Jimin doesn’t say anything. He folds his hands over each other on the table, almost like he’s waiting for Yoongi to continue.

A bolt of nerves travels up Yoongi’s spine. It’s a question he has to ask.

“But how is she?”

The corner of Jimin’s mouth just barely ticks up. “She’s good, hyung. Really good. I promise. She’s been… working on herself.”

Relief floods through Yoongi, and he leans back in his seat, exhaling a long stream of air. He reaches to pour himself another drink, and Jimin’s still quiet, like he’s letting Yoongi work out whatever he needs to work out.

“Did you know she called me?”

A flicker of surprise flashes over Jimin’s face as he takes the bottle back from Yoongi. “I didn’t.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if she’d remember.” Yoongi’s chest is already tightening at the memory of that call, that night. “She was really drunk and, I don’t know. I picked up, but I think she thought it was a voicemail.” It’s all coming up now, undeniable, overwhelming, and he stares at Jimin across the table from him and just– says it.

“She, uh. Said she loved me.”

Jimin sucks a fishcake into his mouth, like it’s the least surprising thing in the world. “That makes two of you,” he says plainly, mouth full.

The words knock Yoongi off balance, and he blinks. “She– told you. About, uh. Me. That.”

“Of course she did.” Jimin chews, eyes narrowing, like he’s observing Yoongi carefully. “It really fucked her up, hyung. Everything that happened.”

“I know,” Yoongi answers. “It messed me up, too. In ways I’m still figuring out.”

Jimin nods, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. “I guessed as much.” There’s a pause, and then he sighs. “Look, do you want my advice?”

All at once, Yoongi isn’t sure he’s ready for it. It’s too real and too much and he doesn’t think he’s had enough soju for any of this. He stutters for a second, then finally lands on, “I-I don’t know. Let’s just eat. Then, after. Maybe.”

Jimin makes a face as if to say, suit yourself.

Yoongi’s gaze sweeps over the table. “I’m working on an album, you know. Getting close to done now.”

“For who?”

“Uh, for me.” He swallows hard. “My first mixtape, I guess.”

Jimin’s eyes go wide, a smile playing at his lips, like he can’t quite believe it. “Wow, look at you. Finally doing it. Is it rap? Pop?”

“Some of both,” Yoongi shrugs, still uncomfortable with the attention. “Mostly rap, yeah.” He busies himself with eating as Jimin sips at his soju, and then a memory bubbles up. “Do you still rap?”

Jimin nearly spits his drink out. “Shut the fuck up,” he manages to cough, and Yoongi’s laughing too.

“I’m serious! It’s a real question!”

“Hyung,” Jimin groans. “I haven’t rapped in a decade. Please don’t remind me that I ever did.”

“Ahh, I always thought you were good!” It’s not not teasing. “You were!”

Yoongi’s still smiling at the picture of Jimin he can see so clearly in his mind: a decade younger, cheeks still full of baby fat, always with this put-on sneer, like he’d be quick to swing if you looked at him funny.

“I was such a try-hard back then,” Jimin mutters, and well, Yoongi can’t disagree with that. “Thought I had to be so tough.”

“You were cute,” Yoongi coos, and Jimin’s head hits the table with an audible thud. “Seems like you’ve grown into yourself, though. Like I’m not about to find you crying outside the bathroom anymore.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“How could I forget?”

It was the first time he’d ever really seen Jimin break down, exhausted from the stress of it all, the demanding hours, and mostly the pressure he put on himself. Yoongi had found him like that: thick-framed dark glasses, swoop of an overgrown bowl cut casting a shadow over his tear-streaked face, balled-up fists smudging at the corners of his eyes.

Yoongi is having a hard time reconciling that Jimin of his past with the one sitting in front of him. “You’ve changed so much,” he says against the rim of his glass, and Jimin just shrugs as he straightens himself back out again.

“Everyone changes, hyung.”

Jimin says it so easily. It makes Yoongi wonder how he’s changed, too.

It takes him by surprise when Jimin continues the thread of that memory. “I was going to quit that night. I really was. I was so, so tired. So worn out.” He pauses, staring at a point over Yoongi’s shoulder, then laughs softly, like something’s just come back to him. “And then you sat down next to me, didn’t even look at me, and asked: ‘Do you like fried chicken?’”

“Oh,” Yoongi murmurs. “That’s right.”

The rest of it plays out in his mind as Jimin recounts that night, so many years ago now. He’d led Jimin down the street to a hole in the wall place; it was all either of them could afford at the time. They’d had to split the free soda, watering their halves down to make it enough for both of them.

“You didn’t say a word to me the whole time. We just ate and then walked back home, and the next day you acted like nothing had even happened.”

Yoongi nods. That much hasn’t changed; he’s never been good with his words. Not when it matters.

“But it always stuck with me. That you did that for me when you didn’t have to.”

There’s a long pause, because Yoongi doesn’t know what to do with that comment. It almost feels incongruent, trying to line it up next to the idea he has of himself in his mind. Like the two can’t coexist. “You seem a lot happier now,” he finally admits, and Jimin’s eyes draw up in a slight smile.

“I think I am,” he says with a nod, reaching to drain the last of the bottle of soju into his glass. Yoongi busies himself with cracking the lid of another. “And actually, I think it’s because I stopped mistaking emotion for weakness. You know? Life is… hard enough, without trying to fight everything I feel.”

And, well. That resonates, more than he’d like it to.

Yoongi grimaces as he pours his own drink. “There’s a lot I could learn from you, huh?”

“I’m wise as shit,” Jimin says, like it’s obvious. Their eyes meet over the rims of their glasses, and as soon as he swallows, Jimin keeps going. “So you tell me, why did we stop talking?”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, because he doesn’t have a good answer, except that that’s just the way he gets. How he operates. With everyone. “‘Cause we both gave up on our dreams?” he tries instead, but Jimin just shakes his head.

“Ah, we were kids. We didn’t even know what we wanted, not really. And dreams change. It’s not a failure.”

It’s not like Jimin’s said anything that intense– Yoongi doesn’t know why, all of a sudden, it’s like his chest is caving in. He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back. Can’t quite look up to meet Jimin’s eyes, so he delivers the offer to his glass of soju instead. “Well, if you ever want to try it again. Rapping. I have this track that I think you’d be good on.”

“On your mixtape?” When he looks up, Jimin’s eyebrows are nearly at his hairline. “Hyung, that’s… like, a big fucking deal.”

“You don’t have to. Just putting it on the table.”

“This hyung,” Jimin mutters under his breath, and then he’s swallowing down his soju, like he needs it for strength. “I can’t believe I’m fucking saying this, but. Send it to me. I’ll see what I can do.”

Yoongi feels himself smile, really smile, big and broad. “Like you could ever say no to me.”

It’s somehow nearly two hours later by the time they stumble out of the restaurant, faces flushed from drinking, Jimin laughing hard enough that he can barely keep his feet under him as he breathlessly recalls the way Yoongi used to shove safety pins in the front of his beanies because he thought it made him look cooler. Yoongi’s got his arm slung around Jimin’s shoulders, half-holding him up, Manhattan blink-blinking around them, and he realizes: he’s missed this. Just having somebody who knows him like this. 

“Thanks again, for meeting up,” Yoongi mumbles, trying to unwrap himself from around Jimin, but before he can even manage it Jimin’s got both arms slung over his neck and is pulling him in for a real, proper hug, one palm smacking ruthlessly over the bend of Yoongi’s spine. 

“Don’t make it ten years before I see you again, you fucker.” Jimin’s words run together, like his tongue is heavy in his mouth, and Yoongi’s laughing when he finally extricates himself.

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t. Get some sleep.”

With a final smirk, Jimin starts off down the street, and in the split second before Yoongi turns to go his own way, he watches him pivot on his heel, like he’s thought of one more thing. He’s walking backwards now, hands in his pockets as he stares Yoongi down.

“Hyung!”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows, hums a little, and the corner of Jimin’s mouth tugs up.

“Stop making things hard! That’s my advice.”

Yoongi already knows exactly what Jimin means, but he clarifies himself anyway, the little shit. 

“Call her! It’s still early in California!”

“Goodnight, Jimin-ah!” Yoongi shouts in return, like he’s done discussing it, and the last thing he sees before he turns away is Jimin’s head thrown back, laughing up to the starless sky.

Before he even makes a conscious decision to do it, Yoongi finds himself walking the blocks between the restaurant and his hotel, long stretches of avenues, and he lets the white noise of the city streets buzz like static in his ears. New York is full of people, and he’s paying more attention to them now than he usually would. Standing outside of bars, hurrying down the street in the opposite direction, whizzing past on bicycles. Smoking, making phone calls, waving down cabs.

It’s like something unlocks in his brain, a key finally turning in a stubborn door. Good person, bad person. It’s all kind of… bullshit. All these people around him, they’ve all been hurt, and they’ve all hurt someone despite their best attempts. He knows it’s a banal fucking observation, and maybe it’s the soju talking, but somehow the thought has never quite hit him like this before. That people are just people. Trying and fucking up and trying again.

Everyone changes, hyung.

And yeah, maybe he’s changed too, in little ways. Maybe he still is.

Back at his hotel, Yoongi presses his keycard to the door, toes his shoes off in the entryway, and collapses down on the bed, phone in hand. He swipes to pull up his contacts, sees that familiar name, and feels everything swirl up inside of him all over again.

There’s so much he wants to say. And he’s so tired of not saying it.

He presses the Call button and breathes it all out as the line starts to ring.

~*~

It’s been a truly fucking terrible workday. Maybe not the all-time worst– you didn’t accidentally wipe an entire recording session’s worth of files, or not-accidentally fuck your nemesis in his studio– but it’s certainly up there.

The morning had started with an artist’s entire management team giving you grief for supposedly fucking up the studio scheduling, until you’d physically turned your computer screen around to show them that they had, in fact, booked time on the wrong day. It wasn’t even an hour later that you’d gotten a call about last-minute T&E costs that finance had forgotten to reconcile, which meant you had to work straight through your lunch hour to re-run all the quarterly reporting so the numbers wouldn’t be wrong. And just as you’d started packing up to leave for the day, an urgent call had come in from someone on the executive board, letting you know they wanted to “go in another direction” for tomorrow’s all-hands, and surely it wouldn’t take you too long to redo the ninety-minute presentation, right?

When you finally cross the threshold of your apartment, it feels like a miracle. You heave a sigh of relief, letting the door slam behind you a little harder than necessary, just to take the edge off.

“There she is!” Your roommate’s voice echoes down the hallway as you hang your keys on the hook and reach down to pull your heels off. “I thought you were done with your workaholic phase.”

“Yeah, well, the executives have no idea what they fucking want,” you mutter, and the words have hardly left your mouth when you feel your purse vibrate as your phone starts to ring. You’re positive it’s another one of them now, probably calling to ask about something that you’ve already clearly explained in an email sitting unread in their inbox.

Nearly toppling over as you shift your weight to pry your other shoe off, you drop your bag down onto the couch with an exasperated groan, then reach in to fish your phone out, anticipating the worst.

You take in the name staring back at you, and your heart instantly drops into the pit of your stomach.

The world tilts as your pulse starts to race, and all at once you lose your grip, like your brain is short-circuiting. Your phone slides out of your hand, clattering onto the floor beneath your feet, the impact enough to send it skidding right under the couch.

“Motherfucker,” you breathe.

You crouch down, hands and knees to the hardwood, and wriggle yourself halfway under the couch to retrieve it. The damn thing keeps buzz-buzz-buzzing, noise amplified by the floor beneath it until it feels deafening.

Distantly, you’re aware of the shuffle of Tiffany’s slippers.

“What’s up, buttercup?” she asks, voice drawing closer, and then she must turn the corner into the living room because her follow-up is much more direct: “What the hell are you doing?”

Just as you manage to close your grip around your phone, the ringing stops. Dread floods through you as you slowly drag it out, then turn over to sit right there on the floor, your back against the couch. You glance up at Tiffany, and even with a Hello Kitty sheet mask obscuring most of her expression, you can still see her eyebrows quirk up as something clicks into place.

“Oh no,” she breathes. “I know that face. You were making that face when I found you in the bathroom at the Jello shot party.”

“We agreed not to talk about the Jello shot party–”

“The point is!” she interjects, raising her voice to drown yours out. “That is your Yoongi face! Which means I need you to tell me right now: did he just fucking call you?!”

For a second, you can only nod dumbly up at her, and the words come out thin and reedy when you finally manage to say them. “Yeah. He did.” Tiffany drops down onto the floor next to you as you pull your knees into your chest. “What do I do?”

Her tone immediately softens. “What do you wanna do, baby? No wrong answers.”

You stare blankly at the dark screen of your phone, still clutched tight in your hand. It feels like staring into the depths of a black hole. “I have… no idea. I genuinely don’t know.”

“Okay,” she tries again. “Let’s start simpler. How are you feeling, right now, in this moment?”

With a steadying inhale, you let your eyes drop shut and try to find the answer. After all this time, and after a long, exhausting day, seeing Yoongi’s name flash up on your screen– it takes you back to months ago, when you were bordering blackout in the bathroom of this very house. The way everything rushed up inside you, a feeling so big you thought it might swallow you whole if you didn’t get it out.

“I think I’m… angry, Tiff. Like really, really fucking pissed off, actually.”

Her acrylics scritch gently at the back of your head, the sensation enough to bring you back to reality again. A muscle in your jaw tightens as you blink your eyes open.

“I think that makes perfect sense,” Tiffany says, nodding decisively. “I’d be hella angry too.”

A noise flutters out of you, halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Is it unhealed of me to want to call him back so I can just, like, fucking scream at him?”

Her head tilts, considering. “Um… it’s not super healed. But!” She raises a perfectly manicured nail for emphasis. “This does present an opportunity, if you want one, to share those feelings with him in a slightly more emotionally intelligent way. If you think it might help?”

Panic snakes up your spine; it’s an overwhelming idea. “Ugh, I don’t know. Like, I’m not– I don’t feel like I have to have closure from him, or even an apology.” Another self-pitying laugh. “I gave up on that dream after the fucking Jello shot party.”

“He never called you back, right?”

The memory is like a punch to the chest. You shake your head slowly. “Nothing.”

“Typical Pisces behavior.”

You sigh. “But at the same time, if we assume this wasn’t a butt dial, and that he for whatever fucking reason has suddenly decided to be open to conversation. Maybe it could be, I guess… cathartic? To hear what he has to say? And to communicate, like a calm, mature, rational adult who has had seven therapy sessions, that I’m still fucking pissed off and kind of want to kill him.”

Tiffany’s head tips back as she barks a laugh, aggressive enough that she has to reach up with both hands to keep her sheet mask in place. “You know what? I actually love that for you.”

Your pulse has already started to kick up at the thought. “Really? You don’t think it’s a bad idea?”

She shrugs. “I meant it when I said no wrong answers! The way I see it, if he pulls some asshole shit, you can officially block him and be done with it, knowing that you tried your best and that he’s gonna be his own worst enemy for probably at least another decade of his life. And then we can go get milkshakes or something.”

“Oh my god, In-N-Out actually sounds so good right now,” you murmur. “I worked through lunch.”

Tiffany gestures down the hall in the direction of your bedroom, as if to remind you of the task at hand. “Survive the phone call first! Go forth, girlie. Give him a piece of your mind!”

With a groan, you drag yourself to your feet, giving her a cursory glance over your shoulder. “Thanks, Tiff.”

“Love you, mean it!”

It’s only once you’ve closed the door behind you and dropped down onto the bed that it really sinks in. The gravity of this decision, the potential for everything to go horribly wrong all over again. All the memories spiraling up of moments you’d rather forget.

But it wasn’t all bad, either. That’s the hardest part.

You’ve never figured out exactly what to do with it. How to extinguish that glimmer, a pair of eyes in the dark that know you too well, that almost-something feeling. Or if you even want to.

As you wake the screen of your phone, you take in one long slow inhale. Min Yoongi’s name stares back at you. Thumb hovering over the Return Call button, you summon all the courage you can muster. Then you tap the screen and press the phone to your ear.

The line rings once, twice, a third time, but it feels like it’s happening too fast. Like there’s nowhere near enough time for you to collect yourself, remember to keep breathing, figure out what you want to say or what the fuck you’re even doing–

“Hello?”

Yoongi’s voice is– unmistakable. Smoke and gravel. It couldn’t be anyone else.

It takes you a second just to manage a response.

“Hi, Yoongi.” You try to keep your voice firm, even, try to hide how breathless you feel at the sound of him.

“Hey, uh. I hope it’s okay that I called you.”

You genuinely don’t know the answer to that, but you already feel yourself bristling, an instinctive defensiveness rising up faster than you can reign it in. “Can’t say I was expecting it,” you mutter, and you can hear the harsh edge in your voice.

“Right, yeah,” Yoongi answers, pausing to clear his throat before he continues. “I know it’s sudden. And also months overdue, I guess.”

There’s a heavy pause, and it hits you all at once– how much you don’t want to talk about it. That night, that drunk phone call, the embarrassing voicemail you left and couldn’t figure out how to delete. Your memories of that night are hazy at best, in part because you’ve tried not to think about it since, but you remember enough of your alcohol-soaked confession that a rush of shame heats up your face at the reminder of it.

Thankfully, Yoongi speaks again. “I saw Jimin tonight.”

It’s enough to snap you out of your own thoughts. Your eyes widen. “Really?”

He hums an affirming sound. “I’m in New York this week, and our schedules ended up overlapping here. So I got in touch to see if we could meet.” You double-blink, equally shocked by the notion of Yoongi reaching out to anyone. “He got me a ticket to his show, too. Madison Square Garden. He’s really doing it.”

The thought of your best friend performing to a sold-out arena, living his dream– it makes something draw up tight in your chest. “I miss him,” you breathe, before you can even consider if you should say it.

“I think I did too,” Yoongi answers. “More than I even realized.” He hisses out a half-laugh before continuing. “I feel like he has life so… figured out. At least, compared to me.”

The corner of your mouth just barely tugs up, because you know that feeling well.

“And we talked about a lot tonight, and it got me thinking. That there’s some things I’d like to say to you, if you’re open to hearing them.”

A weight drops into the pit of your stomach, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to get your hopes up. The tension in your throat makes your voice come out thin. “I called you back, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

Another flash of anger flares up inside of you, knowing he can’t say the same. You spit out the words, acid-laced. “Just say what you want to say, Yoongi.”

“Right, okay.” The line goes quiet for a second, and it’s punctuated with a faint exhale, like he’s breathing out nervous energy. “Sorry. This is harder than I thought it would be,” he murmurs, but he keeps going before you can get another snide remark in. “I guess the main thing I keep thinking is that you were right. About… everything you said to me, really. Before you left.”

It takes a second for the reality of it to hit. That you’re actually hearing these words, even if they are months too late.

“I think at some point in my life, I got it in my head that I was a bad person: selfish, depressed, an asshole. Whatever you want to call it. And I think I used it as an excuse to, well. Act like an asshole. Hurt people, push them away– all the stuff I did to you. Because that’s what a bad person would do. And that’s what I told myself I was.”

Phone clutched tight to your ear, you turn over onto your side. When you blink your eyes open, your gaze finds the window and the sky beyond it, colored blush from the last fading rays of sunset, bleeding out to hues of dusk, violet-gray and deep blue.

That anger is still there, a hot coal glow in your stomach. But it’s muted now, like words muttered softly in another room, shapes you can’t quite make out. All at once, it doesn’t feel so important. Not with the things Yoongi is saying.

It’s enough to sweep the floor out from under you; suddenly, you’re in water too deep to touch the bottom of. Enough to drown in, if you’re not careful.

Yoongi’s voice pulls you up out of it. “But then, this person comes along who sees me at my absolute worst. And for some godforsaken reason, one that I will probably never understand, she keeps coming back anyway. Like she sees something worthwhile, where all I see is self-loathing. She doesn’t get scared when I tell her how I feel, how I really feel, even when it’s not fucking pretty. Or when I get reckless and stupid. If anything, it’s like she just… gets it. In this way where I don’t have to explain. Maybe she’s like that, too, in her own way.”

It’s suddenly hard to breathe. Because it felt the same for you, too. All of it. This terrifyingly perfect fit.

He huffs a dark, self-conscious laugh before he continues. “It made me fucking spiral, if I’m honest. Because it meant one of two things. Either that I was liable to seriously fuck up a good person with my own shit. Or, that I had been wrong about myself, all this time. Which, you know. That’s my whole sense of self just… gone. And I had no idea how to handle that.”

I didn’t either, you can’t help but think, and then the firm line of your mouth starts to tremble.

“So I panicked. And I did what I always do.”

There’s a lump in your throat, one you can’t swallow down or speak around. You thread an arm around your stomach, as if to physically hold yourself together.

Yoongi’s voice softens into something else, low and thick, a little hoarse. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m– really fucking sorry.”

And just like that, your resolve crumbles, like a sandcastle to a tidal wave.

“I know I’m saying it way too late. And this isn’t– I’m not expecting or asking anything of you. Forgiveness, or anything. Honestly, I’m not even sure that I deserve it. But when I saw Jimin tonight, and talked with him, and saw how much he’s changed, I don’t know. It made me realize that I’ve just been– stuck. For a long time. On a lot of bullshit that wasn’t even true.”

With a slow exhale, you try to listen, your eyes flitting around the room as he speaks. The sky has settled to blue-black now; the night breeze fluttering in through the open window is warm; you can faintly smell your fabric softener on the bedspread, sweet and floral.

You breathe it in as Yoongi keeps talking.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you. That I couldn’t get my shit together enough to even talk about it. That I made it all so complicated when it could’ve been easy. I don’t know if me saying this is worth anything to you now, but. I just wanted to say it anyway.”

When Yoongi falls silent, it occurs to you that he’s probably waiting on you to respond; it’s a struggle to find any words at all.

“I, um–” You have to reach a thumb up to swipe at a tear that threatens to streak down your face. “Sorry. Just… a lot to process. But I appreciate you being honest.”

He lets another pause linger before his voice comes back. “Jimin said you’re doing well, so. I hope that’s true. ‘Cause I don’t want you to hate yourself the way I did. You deserve to be happy. And I hope you’ve found that in LA.”

The sentiment retrieves a buried memory: Yoongi’s hand brushing yours at a going away party. The way he looked at you, how it felt for a moment like you were the only two people in the crowded, noisy break room. And the last thing he said before you ran right out of his life: I just want you to be happy.

You sniff. “Can I tell you something?”

Yoongi hums his answer, and you slowly sit up, lifting a hand to scrub at your face.

“The day after I– um. Called you. I think Tiffany could tell I wasn’t doing well, so she convinced us all to go for a drive up the coast. Said we’d walk along the beach, just make a day of it.”

The memory is so clear in your mind: the day had been oddly overcast for Los Angeles, and just a little too cold for swimming, but Tiffany had managed to talk your group into it nonetheless.

Matthew had rolled down the windows in his Jeep once you hit the PCH, and you remember the rush of cool air on your face, the way it soothed the dull hungover ache in your head and the emotions swirling in your chest. The wind whipping through Tiffany’s long black hair, the smell of salt rolling in off the ocean.

Vernon had gone quiet next to you in the backseat, dark sunglasses pulled down over his eyes, for long enough that everyone just assumed he was asleep, until an hour in he’d suddenly broken a stretch of silence to ask if Matthew could put on Charli XCX. Tiffany had been so startled that she’d screamed, and Matthew had nearly driven the car right off the road, he was laughing so hard.

“At some point,” you continue, “we pulled off at an overlook, where there were these steep cliffs, with the shore and the ocean way down below them. And everyone got out to see the view, and. I don’t know. I remember standing right there at the edge, and looking down, and thinking to myself. I could just… take another step. Go right over.”

All the way down, where the waves were cresting over the jagged edge of the coast. Where it could all finally be done.

The words are hard to shape, harder to say. “I didn’t even feel scared. I didn’t feel anything. A part of me wanted to do it, just because. It would be better than the… gray. The nothing. I was so exhausted of the nothing.”

You can’t keep the emotion out of your voice, not anymore, not with a truth this raw. It’s pulling apart now, splintering around the admission.

“That scared me so much, Yoongi. I’ve had highs and lows, but I had never really felt anything like that before. And when we got back in the car I just… broke down. I told them everything. I was so afraid to say it, thinking I was gonna fuck up these friendships.”

But that hadn’t happened.

Instead, Tiffany had crawled into the backseat, hugged you so tight you could scarcely breathe, then pulled away with her eyes wet and shining and murmured, “You don’t have to do this alone, okay?” Vernon had been the first one to gently bring up the subject of therapy, had texted you the links to a couple different websites to search for a provider. After a tedious month of waiting lists and insurance woes, Matthew had driven you to your first session, cranked up ‘All I Do is Win’ on his stereo when you’d walked out of the building ninety minutes later, face puffy from crying. First step taken.

They’d all shown up, in different ways.

“I had never thought of it like that before. Until I felt it. Wanting to push people away so they don’t see all the dark shit. Like you’re a liability.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi’s words sound a little stilted on the other end of the line. “That’s– yeah.”

“But they didn’t leave. They helped me. Got me into therapy.” The breath of a teary laugh slips out. “Turns out, I’m really fucked up over my dad dying. And even stuff from before that.”

“Trauma,” Yoongi murmurs softly, and something sticks in your throat. “Yeah. That’s exactly what it is, actually.” You smudge the back of your hand over your mouth, heaving a sigh against your skin. “I don’t know. It’s only been two months, so. I don’t have all the answers or anything. Jimin is maybe overselling it, but. I’m trying.”

“Better than me. I don’t have a therapist. Unless you count Jungkook.”

It’s so unexpected, you’re laughing before you can stop yourself, and the feeling washes through you like relief. Like a balm for all the ache in your chest, for all the fracture-lines threatening to crack right open.

“If Baby Goth pulled all of that insight out of your emotionally constipated ass, you should be paying him,” you deadpan, and Yoongi really laughs, too.

“It’s– not exactly like that. But he’s somehow talked me into working on music, and when I’m writing, that’s when I really… Take everything apart and look at it. See it for what it is. But he puts up with a lot.” He huffs another low note, amused. “Probably should pay him.”

You can’t bite back your curiosity. “When you say music, like–”

“A mixtape. My mixtape, yeah.”

You turn onto your stomach, propping up on your elbows, eyes wide. “Wow, Yoongi, that’s–”

“Ah, let’s just–” he interjects, and the tone of his voice is so familiar that it’s like you can see the expression on his face. One hand to the back of his neck, brow pinched with discomfort. Like he immediately regrets bringing it up. “It might not happen; it’s not a definite, so. I’m trying not to put too much stock in it. If I actually see it all the way through, then you can congratulate me. Right now it’s just me screwing around, wasting time.”

“Okay,” you answer. “Well. I hope I get to hear it. Someday.”

“We’ll see,” Yoongi says softly.

You decide to let it be enough.

~*~

It’s a couple weeks later that your phone starts to buzz on the kitchen counter while you’re halfway through cubing a block of tofu.

The last time you’d spoken to him, Yoongi had extended an offer, and you had agreed to it: that he’d call you when he could, and that you were welcome to do the same. Neither of you had used the word, but it felt suspiciously like a proposal of friendship.

Which is… you’re not sure how to feel about it.

You haven’t managed to convince yourself to call him yet; in fact, the words of the previous conversation are still whirling around in your brain, not having quite settled in as reality.

But when his name lights up on your phone, you maneuver a free pinky finger to accept the call and put it on speakerphone.

“Hi, Yoongi.” It’s still weird to say that, too.

“Hey– bad time?”

“No, no, you’re good,” you murmur, trying to speak up to be heard as you slide the tofu off your cutting board into the pot on the stovetop, careful not to splash. “I just, uh. Got home from therapy, actually. So I’m a little drained.”

“Sounds like maybe it’s a bad time, then.”

“I’m serious,” you reiterate, wiping your hands on the kitchen towel so you can properly pick your phone up, turn off the speakerphone, and cradle it to your ear. “I would tell you if it was. Or, you know. I wouldn’t have picked up. Coulda sent your ass to voicemail.”

He hums, like he’s considering the argument. “Therapy was… tough?”

Your hip nudges against the kitchen counter. “Um, not the worst it’s ever been. I don’t know. Just talking about family stuff can be a lot. Heavy. Made me miss home.”

“Yeah. I get that.”

“Do you visit Daegu much?” It’s funny, all the things you still don’t know. Never had a chance to ask.

Yoongi sucks in a breath. “No. I should. It’s been years; my parents are getting older. I always say I’m too busy with work. But maybe I could take some time off.”

“It’s hard sometimes,” you murmur. “Home is weird.” Yoongi doesn’t say anything, so you turn back to face your simmering dinner. “I miss it, and also I don’t, so. I’m making soup about my complicated trauma feelings. This is what my wild nights in Los Angeles look like.”

The soft tones of Yoongi’s laugh filter through the phone, and it’s like you can see his shoulders shaking with it. “I didn’t know you cooked.”

“That’s because I don’t,” you confirm. “Not historically. But, you know. Maybe I am becoming someone who does.”

“Cooking’s nice,” Yoongi muses. “Relaxing.” 

And, oh. For just a second, you’re standing in a borrowed t-shirt, in a kitchen that isn’t yours, imagining a future that never came to be. Your breath sticks at the memory. That morning, the night before it, Yoongi’s hands on your body, his mouth finding yours under the spray of the shower, and the way it all felt so–

“Right.” Yoongi’s voice stops you before you can spiral any further. “I actually, uh. Wanted to get your opinion on something. If you’ve got a second.”

It’s a little hard to talk, but you clear your throat and try. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

He pauses, and there’s a shifting sound, chased by the faint click of a mouse in the background. You don’t know why it didn’t occur to you that he was probably calling you from his studio, given it’s midday in Seoul.

“I have…” Yoongi finally speaks, his voice deep on the other end of the line. “Been assigned a deadline, by which I need to stop dicking around and actually finalize my tracklist. For the– you know.”

“Mixtape,” you offer, and you don’t miss his disgruntled grumble of a response, even though it’s muffled, like he’s breathed it into the back of his hand.

“I’m stuck on this song. Whether to keep it or not. Can I send it to you?”

The question catches you off-guard. “Uh, yeah. Yes, okay. Will be glad to share my opinions as a professional music industry fraud.”

Yoongi scoffs a little, underscored by the muted clacking of his keyboard. “I’m emailing it to you.”

“And will you kill me if I play it right now?” you ask, pulling the phone away to flip the speaker back on.

“Nah,” he answers, and you can hear him groan softly, like he’s rolling out sore muscles in his desk chair. “I’ve already heard it a hundred times, what’s one more?”

“Fair enough,” you respond as the file appears in your inbox, and you pull it up and click play. 

It’s clearly a demo, the production far from polished, but it’s still impressive. Yoongi’s flow is rapid-fire, his voice proud and dynamic– and, it occurs to you as the chorus hits, familiar. Everything about the artist on this track sounds exactly like the Min Yoongi you encountered on your first day of work. Unapologetic, pissed off, and maybe a little bit of an asshole.

“Wow,” you murmur as the final chorus repeats and fades out. “It’s good, really good. So different from your producer stuff.”

“Honestly, I think I hate it.”

“Well, you’re an idiot,” you retort automatically, smirking to yourself as you turn the heat down on the stove, then reach to take your phone off speaker again. You tuck it back up to your ear. “Why do you hate it?”

“That’s the thing,” Yoongi sighs, voice heavy with frustration. “I can’t figure out why. I just feel this disconnect.”

“I mean, the line about winning a Grammy is a little painful,” you admit, and he hums a note of agreement.

“That too. Obviously I wrote this a while ago. Before.” Emotion-soaked memories lick at the edges of your mind, and you will them away, trying to focus. “And now, I don’t know, it’s just…” he trails off, unable to finish the thought.

“It’s not you anymore,” you offer, and Yoongi exhales. 

It takes you a second to realize it’s the breath of a laugh. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “It’s just. You’re good at that.”

“At what?”

There’s an extra beat of silence, like he’s hesitating. “I don’t know. Knowing me, I guess.”

It’s an overwhelming thing to hear, but Yoongi just keeps going.

“It’s not, no. When I listen to it I’m like, who is this kid? And why is he so angry?” 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth at the wry smile in his voice. “I mean,” you start. “Okay, I’ve actually talked this to death in therapy. You felt that anger at one point. It’s not wrong, just because you don’t feel it anymore. Like, I was really angry at a lot of things, for a really long time. Including you.”

“Yeah?” You can hear the surprise in Yoongi’s question, the way his voice eases up.

“Yeah. Still am, sometimes.”

Another pause. “You can, you know. Be angry with me.”

Your hip thuds hard against the counter, like your knees are considering giving out all together. You can’t help but wonder when Min Yoongi is going to stop surprising you, if he ever will. 

“Okay,” you breathe. “Noted. And you can be angry on this song. Like, it’s not a bad thing.”

Yoongi makes a low noise, like he’s still not convinced. “I just sound like such a… try-hard.” It makes you wonder if he’s in one of those moods tonight, where every answer is the wrong one.

But he called you, didn’t he?

“Well,” you try, “is that really so bad, either? Music is by nature kind of a time capsule, right? Look at TXT. They’re not the absolute babies that they were when they did Cat & Dog–”

“That fucking song–”

“But,” you continue, unbothered. “It doesn’t mean it’s not still the greatest song that’s ever been written.”

“Christ,” Yoongi grumbles. “Why am I getting my advice from you?”

“We already covered that you’re an idiot,” you remind him, cradling the phone to your cheek as you turn to pop the lid of your rice cooker open. “All I’m saying is, I know firsthand that there are a lot of different versions of Min Yoongi. And this is only one of them, so. Maybe you just need some songs that showcase the others, too. Find a balance.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, like he’s considering this.

“‘Cause yeah,” you say, not quite able to hold in a giggle. “If your entire album was like this song, I’d be like, wow. This guy’s a real asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, like his jaw’s set firm. “Noted.”

~*~

“If I’m calling too often, you don’t have to pick up every time.”

You have to bite back your smile, doing your best to keep an office-appropriate expression as you click the button on your headset to turn up the volume of Yoongi’s voice.

“Workaholic producer doesn’t know what to do with himself with a whole week of freedom, huh?” you murmur, teasing, before turning back to your long list of scheduling requests.

Yoongi grunts an indignant sound. “I’m doing things.”

“Like sleeping?”

“Not as much as I’d like. My dog hogs the fucking bed.”

The mental image is enough to send a flutter of laughter through you: Yoongi relegated to the edge of the mattress, while a brown toy poodle– one whom you’ve received approximately 700 pictures of in the last seven days– sprawls comfortably in the middle.

“How is Daegu?”

It’s quiet on the other end of the line, save the chirp of early morning birds. A new picture replaces the old one: Yoongi pacing the back deck of his parents’ home, soaking up one of the last warm-weather days before autumn sets in. Barefoot, mug of coffee in hand, face still puffy from sleep.

With a hard swallow, you force yourself to refocus on work.

“It’s good,” Yoongi finally answers. “My last day here, so. I’ll cook them something before I go. Gotta finish up that woodworking thing for my dad.” He makes a soft, low groan, like he’s stretching himself out, or still waking up. It sends a shiver through you that you wish you could ignore.

“Are you glad you went?” you ask instead.

He hums, as if he’s mulling it over. “I think so. Brought up some stuff, but. It’s been good, too. Weird to think about it all. What’s changed. What hasn’t.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Just being with my family, my brother. Driving around streets that I know like the back of my hand. And there’s memories everywhere. That bus stop, where I didn’t have enough money but the driver let me on anyway because he felt bad for me. This restaurant, where I had a panic attack in the bathroom after I broke up with my first girlfriend. The kimbap from the GS25 across the street from my high school. I think that’s why I avoided coming back for so long.”

You can’t help yourself. “The kimbap?”

Yoongi hisses a half-laugh between his teeth. “Nah, I just. Knew it would all be a lot. ‘Cause I still feel like a kid whenever I’m home. That apparently doesn’t go away, even in my thirties.”

All at once, you find yourself holding your breath; Yoongi hasn’t talked much about his childhood, not even during this week spent in Daegu. You haven’t wanted to push the subject, but it feels like he’s on the edge of something, so you leave an empty space for him to get it out, in case he wants to.

He sighs softly, and then he keeps going. “I think a lot about that kid. How he didn’t get enough love.” A pause. “And how it fucked him up. But it’s like, I’m old enough now to know my parents were just people, too. They tried in their own way. So I just… don’t know what to do with it, I guess.”

“Yeah,” you murmur. In the weeks of sporadic phone calls that have drawn out between you, you’ve learned that Yoongi doesn’t always need all the answers. That sometimes he prefers not having them, and letting the reality of that settle into him. Learning to live with it.

“I’m serious, you can really tell me to fuck off if you need to work. I can monologue to the wind.”

You smirk, fingers hovering over your keyboard. “It’s fine. I’m just doing booking shit. I’d have put on a podcast anyway.” For a split second, you press your lips together, as if to keep the thought to yourself, and then you decide to just say it. “Or your mixtape.”

“Ah, there it is.”

It’s been a week since Yoongi drove out to visit his family– and seven long days since his album officially dropped on streaming platforms, the release done with minimal fanfare per his insistence. Seven excruciating days you’ve gone without saying a single word to him about it, despite the fact that he’s called you damn near daily.

“You lasted longer than I thought you would,” he admits, voice nearly teasing.

“I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to talk about it.”

“And now, what, you’re tired of waiting?”

You roll your eyes despite the way your mouth is tugging up at the corners. “Just curious. We can keep not talking about it.”

There’s a pause on his end, underscored by the clack of your keys as you resume typing. “I have nothing to say because I haven’t looked at anything,” he finally admits.

That makes you lose your focus. “Wait, seriously?”

“I call it delaying the inevitable,” he answers dryly.

You open your mouth, then close it again, not sure what to say. How much to reveal. “And I take it you… want to wait? Until you’re back in Seoul?”

Yoongi sucks in a long sigh, like he’s debating, and then he finally lets loose a groan of defeat. “Fuck it. I’ve got stuff to distract me today. Go ahead, deliver the blow.”

“Are you sure?” You’re suddenly aware of the way your heartbeat is hammering behind your ribs.

“God, not an encouraging answer,” he mutters, before clearing his throat and putting on a more determined tone. “Yeah, yeah. Come on. Get it over with, rip off the bandaid.”

“Okay,” you breathe, more to yourself than to him. Fumbling for the mouse, you navigate to the browser window you’ve had sitting minimized on your desktop for the last seven days, doing your best to ignore the tremor in your hands. “Do you just want me to, like, read them to you?”

“Just the most important parts. I don’t need the fluff.”

“Alright. Let’s see.” As quick as you can, you scan your eyes down the page, trying to pull quotes, trying to will your pulse to slow as you read off the screen. “‘Producer Suga releases his first mixtape under the stage name Agust D, proving that there truly can be 'no-skip' albums.’”

He exhales a laugh, and you keep going.

“‘Through compelling lyricism and cohesive storytelling, he presents a narrative of the hardship and spite that comes along with the art of existing.’” You flip to another tab, then another.

“‘Agust D's first masterpiece proves that the producer can do more than make songs. In his stunning mixtape, he sets a new standard for other artists and sets the stage for a new era of self-exploration as he navigates discovering his final form.’

“‘The album is a collection of introspective abstractions, exploring different personas to represent rage, desire, desperation and empathy. He remains lyrically candid from song-to-song, painting a raw picture of his inner self that packs a punch, emotionally and artistically.’

“‘The Grammys may have snubbed him under his producer pseudonym Suga, but make no mistake: there is no ignoring Agust D.’”

A heavy silence stretches out on the other end of the line, long enough that you’re halfway tempted to check your phone to confirm the call hasn’t dropped. Just as you find yourself reaching for it, your hand still shaking slightly in a way you can’t quite believe is solely from over-caffeination, there’s the sound of Yoongi breathing deep. Like he’s coming up for air.

“Thanks for that. And I appreciate you… editing out the less positive parts.”

It takes you a second to find your words. “I-I’m not, is the thing. It’s– they’re all like this.” Your admission of the truth is met with more silence, so you squeeze your eyes shut and continue. “Because it’s good, Yoongi. I believe I’d use the term critically acclaimed. You know. As a music industry professional.”

Another pause.

“Well, shit,” Yoongi finally murmurs, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

~*~

“God, you’re so lucky Los Angeles doesn’t have weather. It was cold as shit in Chicago,” Jimin mutters, tugging down the brim of his baseball cap to better shield his eyes from the morning sun.

“Hey!” Tiffany interjects, clearly offended on behalf of her city. Her baby pink sneakers kick up little clouds of dust as they crunch along the gravel path beneath your feet. “We have weather! Sometimes it rains.”

The weeks have, somehow, spilled over into months, and Jimin’s not wrong– late fall in Los Angeles is a far cry from the colder temperatures you’d be experiencing back in Seoul. It all makes time feel a little unreal, like it’s speeding up and slowing down, the days both long and short. You’ve slipped into a comfortable, steady routine now, doing your best to keep things more or less balanced: work, therapy, nights out with friends, FaceTime dates with Jimin.

And, well. Yoongi’s still calling. And you’re still answering.

“Look at her.” Your best friend’s unwavering sass brings you back to reality, and he scoffs, voice thready from the uphill climb, words punctuated by the scrape of his sneakers as the trail continues to steepen. “Off in her own world. Drag me out here on my one day off, make me go on a fucking hike because you’re ‘a person with healthy habits’ now, and what? You can’t even be bothered to make conversation?”

You shoot him the best death glare you can manage. “Mochi, I will throw you down this canyon.”

The laugh you huff out is more like a snort; you can hear Tiffany giggling, too, on your other side. There’s a glow on the apples of her cheeks when you glance over, the only indication she’s expending any effort at all, and then her mouth pulls up smug, and you already know what’s coming.

“Oh, I know what this is, she’s got that look. It’s her new Yoongi face,” she says helpfully, eyes narrowing along with her grin as she flicks her gaze back to Jimin. “The old one was like–” she frowns, brow pinched, mouth taking on a downturned slope, like she’s liable to burst into tears at any second.

“Very familiar,” Jimin confirms.

“But the new one is like–” Tiffany’s face immediately brightens, her eyes wide and lashes fluttering; she might as well have a cartoon heart floating over her head. She waves a hand in front of her as she drops the expression. “She’ll be back with us in five minutes, give or take.”

“That’s right,” Jimin continues before you can get a word in. “I forgot you two are having your regularly scheduled phone sex. I’m still trying to get Wonho to do that; he just gets so flustered saying things out loud.”

“Hate that,” Tiffany chimes in.

“Right? Like, just tell me you want to split me in half. It’s not that hard.”

This time you actually do shove Jimin, though he’s put on enough muscle from touring that the impact barely seems to register. “We are not having phone sex, Mochi.”

“They’re having deep, therapeutic conversations,” Tiffany supplies, and she shoots you a look when you whip your head back toward her. “What? Our walls are thin.” She shrugs. “It’s not my fault I can hear you two talking about your trauma all the time.”

Like she’s already bored with the discussion, she unzips the lilac fanny pack slung over her hips, retrieving her cell phone and beginning to tap gently at the screen with her nails.

“Yeah, trauma on that pus–”

“Jimin!”

“Okay, okay!” Jimin squirms just out of your reach, narrowly avoiding your attempt to tackle him to the ground. “I’m caught up now. It’s enemies to lovers to long distance boring-ass friends who aren’t even having phone sex.” He grimaces. “God, this narrative is all over the place.”

You roll your eyes so hard they threaten to fall out of your head entirely. “You need to stop trying to shove me and Yoongi into one of your 12-episode dramas. Life isn’t that simple, Park Jimin. Or that cliché.”

All at once, you must find a patch of cell service, because Tiffany’s phone starts buzzing in her hand, humming with so many notifications that for a moment you think it might just combust. When you glance back, she’s clearly processing something on the screen, because her eyes widen, and then she claps a hand over her mouth with a soft squeak.

“Oh, holy fuck,” she breathes into her palm.

“What?” Jimin asks. His brow creases with concern. As if on some kind of instinct, you feel the bottom of your stomach drop out. 

Tiffany grips her phone with two hands again so she can type faster, thumbs clack-clacking for a moment before she manages to answer. “Um, well. Grammy nominations just dropped. And girl.” She’s looking at you now, eyes still wide. “Guess who’s on here.”

“Wait,” Jimin interrupts before you’ve even had a second to think. “For the mixtape? I’m sorry, am I a Grammy-nominated featured vocalist right now?” He tucks a hand under his chin, posing cutely, as if he’s already prepared to give the acceptance speech for his award.

Tiffany’s already holding her phone up so you can see it for yourself, and there it is, at the bottom of a list of names: Agust D.

Your heartbeat flutters like butterfly wings as your eyes snap up to the category.

“Best New Artist?!”

“Uh-huh,” Tiffany says, and you tear your gaze away from the screen just in time to see her shoot a grimace at Jimin. “Sorry for your loss, babes.”

“Those fuckers,” he hisses, immediately indignant. “Can’t believe they would snub me like this. Whatever, everyone knows the Grammys are a scam anyway.”

The static in your brain is whirring too loud for you to keep up with any of it.

“But Tiff,” you say softly, fully aware you’re processing all of this in slow motion. “It’s– that means– if he’s–”

“Better get ready, girl,” she murmurs, tilting to the side until her hip bumps against yours. “‘Cause here comes your man.”

The rush of memories is so overwhelming, it’s all you can do to keep up with the conversation as Tiffany and Jimin unpack the rest of the nominees, then somehow spend most of the long drive home on a tangent about tragic red carpet fashion. You barely hear any of it; all you can think about is– Yoongi, in a hotel bed, hair mussed from sleep. Yoongi, in a suit and tie, one hand squeezing yours as they call out a name that isn’t his. Yoongi’s head dropping down on your shoulder in a cab ride home, tongue thick in his mouth as he mumbles out–

“God, you really do have a Yoongi face.” Jimin’s shoulder thuds into the doorframe of your room, and you glance up to find him scrubbing a towel through his still-damp hair.

His eyebrows lift as you blink back at him from the edge of your bed.

“Um, excuse me, I believe this is the part of the exchange where you scowl at me? Threaten my life? Call me that stupid nickname?”

That one finally pulls you out of your thoughts enough to laugh. “If you don’t want me to call you Mochi, you should try being less mochi-shaped.”

“I can’t help that I’m adorable and delicious,” Jimin deadpans. He launches his towel into the laundry hamper tucked in the corner of the room, and then his gaze finds yours again, still a little questioning. “Seriously though, you good?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just. A lot to think about, you know.”

He hums, like he understands. “Well, Tiff said she’s picking up food, so I think I’m gonna ride along. Figured we’d leave you to your thoughts.” His mouth is already tugging up at the corner. “And your phone sex.”

“Mochi!”

You’re immediately on your feet, but Jimin disappears from view just as quickly; you can hear his retreating footsteps thud down the hall. By the time you make it to the doorway, he’s slipping into his slides, face still pulled into a shit-eating grin as Tiffany flips the lock on the front door, then swings it wide.

“Be right back!” she sing-songs, and Jimin is right behind her, shooting you one last glance over his shoulder.

“Tell Yoongi hyung I’m proud of him! You know, before you tell him how much you want his big, fat–”

The door slams shut before he can finish the thought.

With a groan of a laugh, your pulse already starting to quicken, you cross back to your bed, then grab your phone and drop down onto the mattress. Yoongi answers on the second ring, and his greeting is a noise that doesn’t quite manage to be a discernible word.

“Fuck,” you say quickly, trying to do the timezone math in your head. “Did I just wake you up? I figured you’d still be awake, but if you–”

“Wasn’t sleeping,” Yoongi clarifies, voice rough like gravel. “Chan and Jungkook took me out. I just got back. Almost called you, but.” He heaves a sigh. “Took me three tries to get my door open.”

It’s with that admission that what you’re hearing finally locks into place, the messy slant to his words, and you can’t hide the laughter that flutters out of you. “Oh my god. You’re drunk.”

“We were celebrating,” he whines, but the fact that he doesn’t deny it tells you everything you need to know. A version of Yoongi, albeit one you only ever managed a small glimpse of, slots into place in your mind: face flushed, smile all gums and teeth, laughing and dancing and scream-singing into a noraebang microphone.

The memory kicks through you, a pang that echoes right behind your ribs.

“I hope you had fun,” you finally manage, your voice soft at the edges. “I was just calling to say congrats.”

“‘S fucking crazy,” he slurs, sounding as dazed as you feel. “I almost pulled the plug on this album. So many times.”

“I remember.”

Yoongi inhales deep, like he’s preparing some big, elaborate thought, but then you hear all that air rush back out of him again, chased with a weary groan. “Fuck. I’m so– fucked.”

“Fucked for the Grammys or fucked for the amount of alcohol you drank tonight?”

The phone rustles a little, like he’s shifting, but there’s the sound of breathy laughter underneath it. “Just. Yeah. Fucked all the way around.”

“Best New Artist,” you try the words out, which just makes Yoongi groan again. “That’s huge.”

“‘M trying not to think about it. Too many milkis shots.”

For a moment, you wonder if maybe that’s it, and it makes sense. He’s so overwhelmed with a new future to start preparing for, a whole new level of fame and attention, all of it about to crash over him like an unforgiving tidal wave. Why would that have anything to do with you?

But then he’s continuing, his voice so low that it’s barely audible. “Guess I’ll be coming back to Los Angeles soon.” And you swear your heart jumps into your throat.

“Guess so,” you answer, with more breath than sound. All at once, you’re aware of so many things between the two of you: the big things, like space and distance and time, but also– this thread. This something, a tether you don’t have a name for, built up again from next to nothing.

In this moment, it suddenly all feels very, very fragile. Liable to break apart on impact.

“Wish I was there now,” Yoongi murmurs, and your breath catches. “With you.”

“You’re drunk,” you repeat.

“I know.” He sighs again, heavier this time, and you can feel it too. The weight of everything between you. Past and present. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.”

Your mouth twists. “And you can understand why that might be hard for me to believe, right?”

“I can,” he answers softly. His voice has emotion threatening your waterline.

You’re not sure what else to say.

Yoongi huffs out a frustrated noise. “Shit. I don’t want to be that guy anymore. But I don’t wanna only ever say shit like this when I’m drunk either. ‘Sjust easier sometimes. When I’m not thinking so much.”

The irony isn’t lost on you. You’ve been there, on the bathroom floor.

“We’re both guilty of that,” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

A rush of words is coming up before you can stop it. You squeeze your eyes shut with enough force to push a tear past the border of your lashes. And then you just say it. “For the record. I did mean it. What I said that night.”

I don’t know how to stop being in love with you.

Yoongi pauses, and the silence of it stretches out long enough to make you wonder if he even knows what you’re talking about. Maybe he’s forgotten that voicemail entirely.

But then you hear him take in a breath. “I did too. When I said…” He trails off, like it’s a thought he can’t quite finish. “Yeah. Think you already knew that, though.”

You try to swallow around the lump stuck in your throat. “It’s nice to hear it anyway.”

“I’m sorry. That I fucked it all up.”

A few more tears streak down your face, and you swipe the back of your hand over your cheek. “It wasn’t just you, Yoongi.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans, like he’s exhausted with himself. “It’s not– I don’t–” There’s a muted thud on his end of the line, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s his fist making contact with something soft, given the way he can’t even get a sentence out, the way his voice has gone jagged-edged with frustration. “‘M just. Gonna say this. And you don’t have to do anything with it, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe. You’re distantly aware of the sound of keys in the front door.

“It’s still true. For me. Didn’t stop. Hasn’t stopped.”

The words sweep your feet out from under you. All you can do is breathe.

“Okay.” You say it once, then again. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Yoongi echoes.

And then it’s quiet.

You finally speak first, punctuated with a sniff and a soft huff at your own dramatics. “I hate to ruin this moment, but my friends just came back with food.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi murmurs, pausing to clear his throat. “It’s– yeah. You should go. I should sleep.”

“I have to console Jimin,” you say, unable to keep your mouth from tugging up at the mention. “He’s really torn up about his feature being snubbed.”

“Well.” Yoongi gives a grunt of effort, like he’s forcing himself to sit upright. “Tell him the Grammys fucking suck anyway.”

That actually manages to pull a laugh out of you. “I will.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air after the call ends, when it’s just you again, alone in your bedroom. You collapse back against the sheets, head spinning, still coming down from it all.

Yoongi loved you. Yoongi loves you?

The thought alone feels like touching a live wire, one that lights up every cell in your body. It’s awful, wonderful, terrifying, magical, life-ruining. It’s a nightmare. It’s the easiest thing in the world.

To his credit, Jimin’s patience lasts longer than you would’ve expected. He and Tiffany crowd in on either side of you, cross-legged on the floor of your living room, styrofoam takeout boxes of tacos fighting for space on the coffee table. The three of you make it through most of the blender of Tiffany’s homemade frozen margaritas before you feel his shoulder knock into yours. You know what question is coming before he even asks it.

“Alright, quit holding out on us. How did it go?”

Your pulse starts to quicken, and you keep your gaze fixed on the table. “Well. I guess. There is a distinct possibility. That Yoongi and I… could be more than just friends.”

“And how does that make you feel?” Tiffany pipes up.

You press your fingers to your temples, but you can’t keep the smile from breaking out over your face, one that only brightens when Tiffany starts squealing.

“I don’t know!” you quickly continue, even as you feel her close both hands around one of yours, fingers squeezing tight with excitement. “I really don’t know. I am, we are, still… figuring it all out. But there’s. Yeah. There’s something, I think. And it’s not a bad thing.”

Jimin, surprisingly, is quiet. You watch him closely as he sets his half-eaten taco down, then reaches for a napkin to diligently wipe the juices from his hands. All the while saying nothing, his face an expressionless mask.

Just as you feel your stomach start to clench with nerves, he turns to fully face you, and then you’re suddenly laid flat on the carpet, Tiffany letting out a squawk of surprise and barely managing to get out of the line of fire in time. Jimin’s on top of you now, pinning you against the floor, his arms wrapped around your waist in a hug so firm you can scarcely breathe. He peppers your face with kisses as you try to squirm out of his grasp.

“I am so fucking proud of you,” he murmurs, face squished in the crook of your neck. More tears immediately threaten the line of your lashes.

“Thank you, Mochi,” you whisper. You’re barely able to get the words out; his full weight crushed against your ribcage certainly doesn’t help. “For telling me what I needed to hear. I’m sorry that it took me so long to get my shit together.”

A fat, wet, dramatic kiss is pressed to your cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for. I knew you’d figure it out. I was always on your side.”

“Thank you for being my best friend.”

“Always, babygirl.”

Before he even finishes the words, Jimin cuts himself off with an oof, and simultaneously, you feel a second weight drop down on top of you, pushing you that much flatter into the carpet. Tiffany’s head peeks over his shoulder.

“Hi.” She grins down at both of you. “I was feeling left out. Should I make more margs?”

“Please,” Jimin wheezes, and you can’t stop laughing.

~*~

With a mostly-smoked joint pinched between your fingertips, you suddenly find yourself halfway through a question, your words underscored by the old school hip-hop thudding softly through the speakers of Matthew's parked Jeep. The last rays of the setting sun cling to the horizon in front of you, coloring the world dusk pink.

“How do you know when you’re in love?”

You’re not sure you actually meant to ask it out loud, but Matthew nods, thoughtful, as he reaches to pluck the joint from your grasp. The crease in his brow deepens as he takes a hit, like he’s really considering his answer, and then he shrugs.

The words flutter out on his exhale. “Love is… easy. And I don’t mean like rainbows and butterflies, hell no. It’s more like, when you’re with that person, there’s that feeling. Where everything locks into place. It’s like, oh yeah. There you are. Like you just found something that you’ve been waiting on a long time, kinda thing.”

You take the joint back when he offers it, exchange it for another question. “Do you think it can ever be easy with two people who have really hurt each other?”

“Oh, for sure,” he answers with a nod, fingers drumming aimlessly against the steering wheel. “Take me and Tiff. We’ve been through it, most definitely. There was a long time when I didn’t want to say how I felt, ‘cause I didn’t want to show weakness, you know? And that girl is crazy, too. She’s made me jump through every hoop there is.”

You laugh, choking a little on smoke, because you know he’s not wrong. Tiffany has admitted as much herself.

“But,” Matthew continues, gaze distant through the windshield. “We’re trying. Taking baby steps with it. And every time we screw up, we get a little better at it, you know? And at the end of the day, there’s nobody else for me. Nobody else I want to be with, nobody who gets me, really knows me the way she does. For real. Like best friend type shit.”

The corner of your mouth turns up. “That’s really sweet.”

He shifts in his seat, crossing his arms behind his head with a smirk. “I got a soft heart hiding behind these rock-hard tiddies, I know.”

You cackle as you pass the last remains of the joint back across the center console. Matthew puffs on it a couple more times, then finally lets it drop out the open car window.

“I’m serious though,” he says, glancing over at you in the passenger seat. “If two people are both willing to put in the work, try to meet each other halfway, and be accountable about their own shit, then. Yeah. Some people think if you’re always struggling, and fighting, it means you really love each other. I don’t buy that. But I do think sometimes you have to go through hard to find easy.”

You let out a long, slow exhale. The thought of it feeling easy almost seems too good to be true. And yet that’s exactly how it’s been in this strange little bubble, just you and Yoongi. Spending hours on the phone, yet somehow never running out of things to say.

“It’s scary,” you finally manage, and Matthew nods, sympathetic.

“Fucking terrifying, for sure.”

A long, stoned silence stretches out between you, until Matthew finally breaks it.

“So, you in love with that asshole producer still? Or, again?”

The smile flits across your face before you can stop it, and your pulse thuds in your throat. It feels so real, to say it so casually like this. “I think I am, yeah. Still and again. Both.”

Matthew’s smiling too, when you look back at him. “That’s cute. Well, I’m rooting for y’all.”

“God, you’re such a sap, Matthew.”

You both startle at the sound of Tiffany’s voice. Matthew’s gaze flits to the rearview mirror while you turn over your shoulder to see her stretched lazily across the backseat, eyelids still heavy.

“Damn, girl,” Matthew huffs. “I thought you were comatose back there.”

“I was meditating,” Tiffany says, like it’s obvious. “Can we get Taco Bell? I would do some very fucked up things for a crunchwrap right now.”

Matthew outright salutes, which has Tiffany snorting with laughter as she manages to pull herself back up to sitting. “I gotchu, baby.” The car roars to life as he turns the key in the ignition, then cranks the stereo a good ten notches higher. “Seatbelts on, y’all!” He has to yell to be heard over the music, and you fumble for the metal buckle of yours. “Daddy’s about to pull an illegal U-turn!”

~*~

You wake up flushed all over, bedsheets kicked down to the edge of the mattress, an ache of desire thudding like a pulse between your hips. Remnants of sleep-soaked images stick to the edges of your thoughts, and you try to will them back into frame: the slide of rough hands down your body, the press of deft fingers working you to pieces. The scent of sandalwood and musk.

Your phone is in your hand like a reflex. It’s only once the line picks up and you hear an answer that it hits you, what you’re doing.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi’s voice is painted with concern. “Isn’t it late?”

The middle of the night, probably. “Yeah,” you reply, knowing full-well that your voice is thick with it, this want. “I just– I’m sorry.” You shake your head. “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have called.”

“What is it?” He tries again, undeterred. You wonder if you’re imagining that his voice has softened slightly, dropped a little deeper in his chest. It radiates through you, liquid-hot.

“I just, uh.” The words feel heavy in your mouth. “I had this dream.”

There’s a silence on the other end of the phone, just long enough that you nearly falter, and then you hear Yoongi’s voice again.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You.” The answer comes before you can stop it, flutters out on an exhale so soft you’re not even sure it registers. “I want you, Yoongi.”

“Yeah?” The word is so familiar, you can see the smirk on his face with your eyes closed. Your body reacts automatically. “You want me to tell you what to do?”

“Please,” you breathe with your heart in your throat.

“What are you wearing?”

It’s insane, really, the way your nipples stiffen from a single question.

“Just, uh.” You swallow hard, suddenly self-conscious at what feels like an unsexy answer. “A t-shirt, shorts. I was sleeping–”

“Take the shorts off,” he instructs, voice dark, and it’s so easy, following his lead, slipping the thin cotton fabric over your hips. Easier still when he tells you to touch yourself, to tease your drenched folds apart, to moan for him as you press yourself open with a finger. And you do.

“How wet are you?”

“Soaked,” you tell him, working a second finger in, gasping at the stretch, curling them until you find the place that makes your breath catch.

Alone in your room, with thousands of miles between you, it still doesn’t matter. It’s like you can feel the heat of Yoongi’s breath on your skin. 

“Am I the only one you get this wet for?”

“Yes, Yoongi.” There couldn’t be anyone else.

“Tell me how it feels.”

Instinct takes over: you press the heel of your hand flat to your center and circle your hips, choking on another gasp at the friction-spark against your pulsing clit. “Fuck,” you hiss, head tipping back against the pillow. “It’s so good.”

“Just like that,” he breathes. “Keep going.”

“God,” you moan as your hips fall into a steady rhythm. The needy press of your fingers only serves to make you that much wetter, until you can feel it painting your thighs, soaking the sheets. “It feels so fucking good,” you say again.

“I bet you look so good right now, fucking yourself like this.” Yoongi sounds like he’s coming undone, too. There’s a pause, and then his voice comes back. “Do you wish it was me?”

“Yes,” you gasp, without hesitation. “I miss you.”

“Yeah, you miss the way I touch you? The way I fuck you?” You feel it all in the dark. The weight of Yoongi’s body above you, the brush of his mouth over yours, the slow drag of his cock fucking you all the way open. This unmistakable ache, right behind your ribs.

“Yes, Yoongi,” you murmur. It’s overwhelming, a flood of a thousand emotions at once as you work yourself to the edge, thinking only of him. “All of it. All of you.”

When he speaks again, it’s softer. “Wish I was there with you. To take care of you. Make you come until you can’t take it anymore.” A pause, and he breathes a laugh. “Make you squirt. God, that was hot.”

“Yoongi,” you whine. You’re drowning in it now.

“I know, baby. You’d take me so well, wouldn’t you? Squeeze so fucking tight around me?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Please, I’m close.”

“Love the way you look when you’re all fucked out.” The word flutters through your body like a wave. Love. “Fucking beautiful.”

“Yoongi.” It’s all you can say, all you can think.

“I’m right here. Come for me.”

And you do. With a shaky gasp, you pulse hard around your own fingers, wishing they were his instead.

“Fuck, you are– unbelievable,” Yoongi says softly. You can barely hear him over the waves of pleasure rolling through you, dragging you under.

It’s a long time before either of you speaks again. 

“Thank you,” is all you can finally manage once your pulse starts to slow, and then it occurs to you how one-sided this has been. You’re not sure what the rules are. You’ve never done anything like this before. “Um, did you want me to–?”

“No,” Yoongi answers before you can finish asking. “It’s okay. That was probably more than I deserve anyway.”

“Yoongi–”

He cuts you off, insistent. “Really, I’m fine. And you should get some sleep.”

Even in the haze of post-orgasm glow, the feeling swells up again: you miss Yoongi. Desperately, terribly. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to feel him beside you, the weight of his body on the mattress. Sweat beading at his temples, pulse thudding in his throat, his dark eyes searching yours.

It crashes over you, undeniable. You love him. Of course you do.

But the words feel– too big to say. Too small to close the ocean of distance between you. Too much, and not enough.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper instead. Despite how badly you want to keep talking, exhaustion is already on you like a heavy weight, easing your eyelids shut. You can feel yourself starting to drift.

“I know,” Yoongi answers. “I will be soon.”

You don’t remember ending the call, just the dreams that come after: hot breath on your skin, a body pressed firmly into yours, and three little words, whispered over and over, like a prayer in the dark.

~*~

You try not to overthink things. But just like that, the near-daily occurrence of hearing from Yoongi starts tapering off. Three days between calls, then five. Then a week, sometimes two.

When you do hear from him, it’s usually just long enough for him to tell you how busy things are before he has to go again. You know there’s a lot going on, with his music, his work, his blossoming career as an artist. And you get it; your job keeps you plenty occupied as well.

But any free moment you manage, you can’t stop yourself from playing it all back, looking for answers. Wondering what you might have done to make him start pulling away.

Part of you wonders if he regrets that night, the phone sex. If you swung the pendulum too far back, in a direction he had no interest in revisiting. If it somehow made him think differently of you. But you can’t make sense of that– he was there. He told you as much himself, and you heard the truth in his voice. How much he wanted it, wanted you.

At least, you thought he did. But as the weeks stretch on, you’re not so sure.

The closer the Grammys loom, the tighter the anxiety spiral knits in your chest, until finally, you can’t take it anymore. The next time you hear from Yoongi, hardly a fortnight out from when he’s meant to touch down in Los Angeles, the dam breaks.

“Is something going on?”

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, but he doesn’t answer right away.

“Will you please just tell me, Yoongi?” You hate the way your voice sounds as you say it. “What– what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” he answers immediately. “At all. It’s me.”

Your stomach twists. “What does that mean?”

“It’s not–” he cuts himself off. “Things have been really hectic lately, and I’ve been trying, but.”

You steady yourself for the blow.

“I just don’t think there’s a way that I’m going to be able to see you. While I’m in town.”

“Oh.” It’s the only response you have.

He keeps going. “My schedule is… honestly, just fucking insane. Rolling Stone, Genius, Pitchfork. My calendar looks like I’m speed-dating the entire LA music industry. I’ll get maybe three hours of sleep a night if I’m lucky. So then I thought maybe I could extend the trip, stay for an extra day or two, but. I’m booked up for a solid month after this. I have to be on the first flight Monday morning just to make it back in time. As it turns out, I’ve somehow stumbled my way into working two full-time jobs.”

“It’s okay, Yoongi,” you finally manage, but you're not sure how convincing you sound. “I get it. I remember how busy it was last year, so. I can only imagine what it’s like for you now.”

But you can’t ignore the creeping sense of dread, a skull-numbing buzz that’s all at once too familiar. He really can’t make any time for you? You’re not worth even half an hour?

“I know it’s not fair to you,” he continues. “And I’ve been more distant because I was dreading having to tell you, and part of me was convinced that I could figure it out, that maybe there was a way I could make it work.”

He could make it work, your mind whispers. If he really wanted to.

“Right,” you answer wetly, a beat too late. “I get it.”

“I’m really sorry.” His voice has gone raw, like it’s hard for him to say these words. “I’ve looked at this from every angle. But I’m not… I’m not good at this. I don’t want the first time that we see each other to be when I’m– a wreck. Overwhelmed, anxious, jetlagged and running on nothing. You deserve better than that.”

A tear streaks down your face, quickly chased by a second. “Yeah.”

“None of this has anything to do with me not caring about you, or not wanting to see you. I need you to believe me when I say that.”

“Yeah,” you repeat dumbly, but you can feel it all building, until it threatens to choke you. The disappointment, the shame, the anger, a poison that stings in your veins. And with it, the urge to pick up your fears and your trauma, to wield them like weapons. To say things that can’t ever be unsaid. To hurt Yoongi the way he’s hurt you, over and over again.

Yoongi speaks before you have the chance to. “I know. I know I keep doing this, putting work above everything. It’s not fair to you. And I’m sorry for doing it then, and sorry for doing it now. But I just want to get this right. Being with you again, after everything– I want to do it right.”

“It makes sense,” you say softly, and then your facade crumbles. “It just hurts.”

“I know,” he says, like he really does. “It hurts me, too.”

A sob hitches in your throat. The thought of Yoongi being so close, so soon, and not being able to touch him, to even see him, after all this time. Loving him like this, from a distance. It’s devastating.

“I wish there was another way,” you breathe. “I just– I’m scared I’m never going to see you again.”

“I promise,” Yoongi says, and you’re not sure you’ve ever heard him more serious. “You will. Just let me get through this, and then I’ll come to you, and we can take our time. I’ll be all yours. No distractions.”

You swipe away a few more tears. As much as you want to blame him, hate him, a part of you understands that just as much of this is your fault. You were the one who ran away.

The words tumble out before you can shove them back down. “I wish you had stopped me. When I left. I kept hoping, I don’t know. That maybe you would show up at the last second and take it all back, or ask me to stay. And I just–” You try to swallow past the lump in your throat. “I know it was my choice. But I just really wish you had.”

Yoongi goes silent for a moment. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks again. “I do, too,” he says. “Trust me.”

And, somehow, despite everything. You do.

As terrifying as it is, like free-falling with no safety net, you squeeze your eyes shut, and let your weapons drop. For the first time in your life, you make the choice to take Min Yoongi at his word. To trust him.

“Okay.”

~*~

“You know I'm fine, right?”

You turn to face Tiffany accusingly as you ask the question, and her eyes immediately snap away from your face. She does her best to act engrossed in the broadcast, as if you haven’t felt her gaze staring daggers into you the entire day.

Concerned, loving daggers, sure. But it’s driving you crazy all the same.

“I know!” she chirps, entirely unconvincing. “It’s just, like. We can always put something else on, if you want.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” you say for what easily has to be the fifth time.

“Tiff, seriously, drop it.” Matthew interjects through a mouthful of chips. The large serving bowl you’d set on the table for everyone to share has somehow ended up permanently in his lap. He reaches in for another handful. “Gotta admit though. Dude can for sure rock a suit.”

The four of you have been camped out in the living room for the better part of the afternoon, and you’ve just made it through the Grammys red carpet pre-show– well, at least three of you have. Vernon has been horizontal on the floor for at least an hour now, and you’re not positive if he’s sleeping, dead, or a secret third thing.

You’re appreciative to have the kind of friends that won’t let you go through a hard time alone, but it occurs to you now that maybe you actually would have preferred to be alone for this.

There’s no escaping the ache that blooms in your chest anytime Yoongi is onscreen. You find yourself holding your breath, just taking him in. The same dark eyes, same overwhelming gaze, his hair grown even longer in the year you’ve spent apart.

His fans have already made themselves known, and the reaction to him on the red carpet makes your heart flip. Even the interviewers are in on the “Yoongi Marry Me” jokes, and Yoongi does his best to force polite smiles that you can see straight through. It’s so strange to think how quickly everything has shifted; that only a year ago, no one knew who he was, or cared that he was at the Grammys.

And a year ago, you were there with him, too.

You swallow hard, trying to will those memories out of your mind, when Vernon sits up with a gasp.

“What day is it?”

“Sunday,” you answer slowly. “Why?”

Vernon’s brow is now creased with a panicked look, one you’ve frankly never seen before. “And tomorrow is Monday?”

“That’s how days work, yes.”

“Oh, then I’m fucked,” Vernon groans. His gaze flits from you to Tiffany to Matthew and back again. “I’m super fucked.”

“Vernon, baby, deep breaths,” Tiffany instructs. “What’s going on?”

“That big training on Monday,” he explains, expression twisting into a grimace. “I completely forgot, they wanted me to put the deck together, it was supposed to be like three hours of content.”

“Just do it now, dumbass,” Matthew says, and Vernon pauses, as if taking a moment to consider this.

The grimace quickly returns to his face. “I might, uh. Have left my laptop. At the office.”

“You’re telling me I gotta drive your ass all the way–”

“I can do it,” you interject quickly, before Matthew can spew any more chip crumbs out along with his complaints. A wave of relief rushes over you, because this is exactly what you need right now: the promise of an empty office and enough busy work to keep you occupied. “Seriously, I can build a deck in my sleep. I’ll just do it, and I’ll bring your laptop back in case you want to change anything.”

“Are you sure?” Vernon asks, awestruck.

But you’re already on your feet; a millisecond later, Tiffany is on hers, too. “I’m coming with you.”

“Tiff–” you shake your head, doing your best to shoot her a convincing smile, one that you’re sure doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just, please. Let me handle this, okay?”

Her mouth pulls flat; you know her well enough to know it means reluctant acquiescence, and you don’t hesitate. You cross the room to the front door and slip into your shoes, then grab your keys off the hook.

“Vernon–” you turn back over your shoulder. “All your files are on the shared drive, right?”

His brows raise, like it’s his first time hearing the term. “The… what now?”

As if to express his disappointment, Matthew lobs a couch pillow across the room, missing Vernon by at least a foot. You do your best to bite back a smile– it’s not like you can exactly judge anyone for a lack of computer knowledge.

“Just text me your password and where your laptop is, okay?” you try instead.

Vernon nods, shooting you a double thumbs-up. “Thank you for saving my ass!”

When you step outside, the promise of rain sits cool and heavy in the air, and you let yourself breathe it in. You’d been wound so tightly, trying to hold it together in front of your friends. You can feel those threads starting to snap now, like you’re coming apart at the seams.

The lights of the city begin to blink on, one-by-one, as you make your way across town. What was once an overcast afternoon sky has begun to bruise darker into grey-black storm clouds, thick and ominous over the hills.

You’ve barely managed to lock the office door behind you when the sky opens up, giving way to sudden downpour.

Finding Vernon’s laptop is easy enough, as is actually getting the slides together, despite his questionable notes. And, well. You can’t help it. You prop your phone up on the desk, tuned into a livestream of the Grammys broadcast.

It’s a long show, and you manage to finish the deck before Yoongi’s category is called. It’s still pouring down rain, so you stay at your desk, eyes glued to your phone.

You remember the feeling of Yoongi’s hand slipping into yours, the tick of nerves in the line of his jaw. Selfish as it may be, you can’t help but wonder if you’re on his mind at all. If he wishes he was with you instead. If it hurts him just as much, being this close.

And then a pretty blonde country singer is stepping up to present the next award, and your heart leaps into your throat as the words leave her mouth: Best New Artist.

Flashes of performance footage are stitched together into a video montage introducing each artist. You see Yoongi sneering into the microphone, dark hair falling into his eyes as he stares down the camera like it’s the barrel of a gun.

It’s suddenly hard for you to get a breath in.

The presenter fumbles a little with the envelope, but eventually manages to get it open. She leans into the microphone for one long moment of suspense, and then she says it.

“Agust D.”

The room erupts, and your heart cracks, right down the center. He really did it.

There are tears in your eyes now, and as you try to blink them away, you realize the camera is swinging a little haphazardly. It almost looks like they’re trying to find Yoongi, which doesn’t make any sense, given that they know exactly where he’s sitting.

When the broadcast finally manages to zero in on the dark-haired man bounding towards the stage, you clap a hand over your mouth in disbelief.

It’s Jungkook.

He makes it up to the microphone, as wide-eyed as you’ve ever seen him, one hand raised in a shy wave. “Oh, wow. Um, hi everyone. Hi Grammys.”

There’s another pang in your chest. God, you miss this kid.

“My name is Jungkook. Agust D has asked me to accept this award on his behalf.” You can see the look of sheer terror on Jungkook’s face now; he stares into the camera like a deer in headlights. “He, uh, gave me a note to read. Hang on, let me get it.”

As Jungkook starts to pat down his pockets in search of the note, you catch a glint of silver at the edge of his mouth. Is that a… piercing? You lean in closer, squinting at your phone screen to try and make it out.

There’s a bang at the front door, so loud that it makes you jump. You glance up, startled, and then the bottom drops out of your stomach.

Min Yoongi is standing outside of your office, soaked to the skin, like something out of a dream.

None of it feels real. Not when you get up from your desk, not when you unlock and open the door. Not even when he steps inside in his all-black suit, clearly out of breath, raking back his wet hair.

“You’re here,” he says dumbly, and you just stand there, sure that you’re about to wake up. Any second now.

“Yoongi,” you finally manage to breathe. “What are you–”

“I love you.”

The words nearly knock you off balance. “Yoongi,” you try again. “You just–”

He shakes his head. “I have to say this first, and then you can tell me to fuck off forever. I love you. I’m sorry that I didn’t say it sooner, or that I took it back when I shouldn’t have. It’s like you said– I was scared.” His dark eyes threaten to burn right through you. “I just couldn’t sit at that stupid show anymore knowing I was so close to you. I had to come tell you myself.”

You press a hand to his face, feather-light, your fingertips swiping at an errant bead of rainwater trailing along his cheek. His arms close around your waist, pulling you closer as if on instinct. Heat blooms under your skin at every point where your bodies touch.

“You just won a Grammy,” you say softly.

The look on Yoongi’s face shifts from concern to confusion, and then his jaw goes slack beneath your palm. “I– what?”

All you can do is nod. You feel a tear streak down your face. “I was watching the broadcast. You won, Yoongi.”

“I–I didn’t think I had any real shot.” His eyes widen. “Oh my god, and I told Jungkook to give my speech.”

You manage a wet laugh, even as more tears start to fall. “He did it, I saw him. He was shaking like a leaf.”

“Oh, the fangirls are going to love him,” Yoongi mutters with a disbelieving grin, and then he shakes his head again, as if to refocus himself. “We’ll circle back to that. This is more important. Than the music, than the Grammy, all of it.”

It feels like your chest could cave in at any second. “But Yoongi, this is your dream.”

His arms tighten around you, and a shiver trails up your spine. “There’s this funny thing that happens when your dreams come true. It makes you realize what really matters. Because as it turns out, being there tonight meant fuck all without you beside me.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “As much as I love Jungkook.”

Yoongi’s eyes search yours as he keeps talking. “I’m sorry I didn’t go after you when you left. I wish I’d known that you wanted me to. But I figured maybe if I did it tonight, it might count for something. Like, better late than never.”

You’ve given up on trying to hold the tears back, and you feel Yoongi trace a thumb gently beneath your lash line as more spill down your cheeks, unrelenting now.

“I hate to see you cry,” he says hoarsely.

You look up at him through your wet lashes, wondering how on earth he hasn’t put it together by now. “I’m crying because I love you, you idiot.”

Recognition spreads slowly over Yoongi’s face, and then you’re both laughing, his hands moving to cup your jaw. He looks at you like you’re something precious, something he doesn’t want to lose twice. For a second, it’s impossible to breathe.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks softly.

“Please,” you answer, and he does.

His mouth on yours blots out every other thought in your mind. It’s a long time before you finally pull away.

“Hang on,” you start, once you’ve regained the ability to string words together, every cell in your body still buzzing with electricity. “How did you even know I would be here?”

Yoongi shrugs, strands of damp hair falling into his eyes. He pushes them back again, and you swear there’s a tinge of mild embarrassment in his expression. It’s an emotion you didn’t know he was capable of. “I… didn’t? I just kind of ran out of there, and I knew your office was close, and it was raining, and– I don’t know. I guess I was hoping for one more of those cosmic coincidences.”

“We do have a lot of them,” you admit with a nod of your head. “But honestly, you could have just called.”

“I know, I know.” He winces, and you swear you can see his face reddening. “I was acting on impulse, okay?”

“Shocking,” you deadpan, and he really laughs. Your heart threatens to beat right out of your chest at the sound. Another tear slips down your face at the realization: you’ve missed it all. Every piece of him.

Yoongi’s still smiling, your face still cradled in his hands. “Alright, your turn. Why are you here?”

“It’s a long story,” you say with a shake of your head. “And we have better things to do.”

“You make an excellent point,” he replies, lips brushing close to your ear. You feel him hesitate, just for a second. “I really am sorry I can’t stay longer. But I’ll be back as soon as I can, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course,” you murmur. As if you haven’t missed him since the moment you set foot on California soil. As if you could ever want anyone else, anything but this.

Another kiss, this one pressed to your hairline. “I know it’s probably way too soon for me to talk about this,” Yoongi’s voice is soft against your skin.

“It’s okay, Yoongi,” you answer. “Whatever it is, you can say it.”

“I just– do you think you’ll ever come home? To Seoul?”

And, well. You can’t help yourself. There’s a small smile on your face as you tip your head back to gaze up at Yoongi, feigning as much innocence as you can muster. “You know, I’m not sure.” You blink, and there’s a flash of something all-too familiar in his dark eyes. It’s a look that makes your gut clench with anticipation. “I guess you’ll have to make me.”

His mouth finds yours again, and something tells you that you won’t need much convincing.

~*~

A/N: thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading. 🤍

A cry ripped through her throat as his big hand came down to her asscheek in a rough slap, the skin of her ass recoiling from the impact.

“I’m gonna need you to be quiet, baby.” His low voice rang in her ears like a blaring alarm from right behind her but she simply did not have the energy to look back at him, the wooden surface against her cheek was a constant reminder that she was playing a dangerous game.

Her pearly whites sank into her bottom lip, keeping it trapped and using it as a sound barrier for her pathetic moans and gasps.

He hardly wasted any time as he pushed his shaft right into her wet pussy, the ridges and veins of his dick grinding against her slick walls as he fully bottomed out. He let out a low groan at how tightly she wrapped around him, his hands traveled up her thighs to hold her hips firmly as he slowly started thrusting into her, aware of the time they didn’t have.

Her own hand reached up, fingers draping over her swollen lips to keep herself as quiet as possible as his pounding got rougher, the head of his dick just barely grazing her cervix with each thrust.

“Yoongi!” she cried into her hand, her other arm stretched out behind her to press it flat into his abdomen in an attempt to get him to slow down.

He simply paid no attention to her pleas of slowing down, if anything, his hips slammed into her ass even harder. “I told you to be quiet.”

Her manicured nails dug into the skin of her cheeks in hopes that it silenced her pathetic sobs. She put more pressure on her other hand – that’s pressing against his lower stomach – but that time, he slapped her hand away and the pace of his hips never faltered, his rock hard dick still intruding in her pussy. “Now you want to act like you didn’t tease me all throughout today’s meeting?”

“I didn’t even say anything!” She tried to defend herself, voice muffled by her hand as she recalled the events of 20 minutes ago. He still heard it loud and clear, though.

She wasn’t even supposed to be in that meeting but she slithered her way in and he paid the price of letting her stay. He should’ve known better.

“You didn’t have to say a single word, that look in your eyes and rubbing up against my legs with your foot in the middle of an important meeting is enough to piss me off and you know that.” He mercilessly continued to pound her hip bones into the edge of his desk, one of his hands reaching for her throat from the back and lifting her head off the surface.

He elegantly grabbed a fistful of her long hair and tugged her toward him, which made her arch her back and throw her head back in the process. He loved seeing her like that.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” she repeated, but her pleas were too loud for Yoongi’s liking. He quickly brought his other hand up, draping it over her own hand on top of her mouth to keep her quiet.

He leaned forwards a bit, soft lips grazing the shell of her ear. His heavy breaths directly hitting her ear made a jolt of electricity travel up her spine and turned her legs into jelly.

“And now you’ve made me bend you over my $20.000 desk like a slut. Tsk,” he grumbled in her ear, his dick rubbing up and down her walls so good that it had tears rolling down the sides of her face.

She shifted her eyes to their corners, wanting a glimpse of what he looked like right now.

The oxygen in her lungs got squeezed out the moment she realized he was already staring back into her eyes, his dark gaze so intense that it made her knees buckle like two sticks of spaghetti snapping under the slightest bit of pressure.

He reached around her hip and started rubbing at her clit in that pattern he knows she likes. He knows her well. Really well.

Because it didn’t take long for her stomach to start twisting from the inside out, walls clenching around his shaft to let him know she was mere moments away from her climax.

“Cum on my dick, babe,” he whispered in her ear, fingers and hips still synchronized in the way they pleased her.

“Fuck,” she whimpered as the knot finally snapped, her orgasm hitting her like a train.

Her legs shook, struggling to hold her weight but Yoongi wasn’t going to let her get away that easily. He tightly held onto her hips, continuing to roughly pound his hips into her ass to chase his own high.

She was still sprawled out on the desk, legs shaking and face pressed into the wooden surface. It only took Yoongi a few more thrusts until he was emptying out his balls inside of the condom, groaning silently when his orgasm showers his body in pure and utter bliss.

After a few more lazy thrusts, he pulled out and took a minute to catch his breath before he snapped the condom off and discarded it. He returned to her fucked out frame on top of his desk and cleaned her up with the wet tissues he keeps in his office – because that wasn’t the first or last time this happened.

She sighed in content as he helped her up, brushing some of her bangs out of her face. She simply winked at him as she pulled down her skirt, smoothing out the creases.

“Dinner?” she asked as chirpy as ever, absentmindedly trying to put his stuff back on his expensive desk.

Yoongi, however, stayed quiet for a few moments. Thinking. Stroked his chin. Considered it. “I want to but I can’t.”

She pouted, brushing her hair off her shoulder to appear casual about it. “Hm, too bad. Plans already?”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “Namjoon told me I might want to check out these rookie battle rappers in some shabby, rundown hotel. They’re having another show tonight and I want to go.”

She raised her eyebrows and rubbed his shoulder, gently squeezing and massaging it. “Then, I think you should go. Who knows, maybe your new pop star is amongst them,” she said as she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Tell you what,” she paused, “When you finally sign a contract with someone new, dinner will be on me.”

His onyx eyes shifted to her brown eyes, bright and big as they twinkled at him like they used to.

He chuckled, “Okay, deal.”

She planted one last peck on his lips before spinning on her heels and heading out. “See you soon, Yoongi.”

He watched as she strutted out of his studio with a sway to her hips, his head tilted to the side and his eyes lingering on her ass.

“See you, Sarang.”

•••

His eyes trailed your glistening skin as you stood face to face with your opponent, yellow spotlights hitting your face and rhymes leaving your mouth continuously.

You seemed like you were made to be there, made to have the public eye glued to you, made to be seen and heard. You were on fire, bar after bar, the entire room yelling and roaring every time a punch line left your lips.

Instantly, Yoongi knew he had to have you. You were made to be great and he made great things. He wanted you – and he was going to get you.

He returned weekly, hoping and praying to see you in action. You were vicious, claws and fangs out for blood. He could tell how passionate you were just by a single glimpse. The fire in your eyes, the venom in your voice, the determination in your body language.

You were the one.

He had to have you.

As you hopped off the stage, Yoongi’s security went and talked the security into letting him see you for a moment. As soon as they heard the name ‘Agust D’, there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation, not even for a moment.

And that’s how Yoongi walked into the backroom you were in, talked you into coming to his record label and a week later you were sitting in his studio, answering his questions.

He hates having to think this way but as a businessman, he can’t help it.

Aside from your incredible talent and skills, Yoongi couldn’t look besides the fact that you were also just a very attractive woman. Young, attractive woman + insane talent = money and success.

Yoongi couldn’t wait to sign you. He wanted to help you make your dream come true but he could also taste the money you were going to bring on the tip of his tongue. And he surely was excited.

However, the single conversation he had with you in his studio made him reconsider.

The things you said, the way you said them, the way they stuck with him.

Sure, a lot of people have said that they want to be like him. But your specific usage of the words ‘bend to my will’ intrigued him.

What were you thinking? You had just been swooped off the floor of a dirty backroom and you wanted to be on his level just so anything and everything would bend to your will?

He was fascinated yet conflicted by the fire in your eyes and the determination in your voice.

But then again, that was exactly what he liked about you.

His professionalism made him doubt you because of your lack of fear of consequences but his soul was intrigued by it. However, he also had a feeling that you were special, someone that could not be contained or silenced by any contract or industry standard.

He was going to love testing that theory.

He didn’t expect to have you signed that day, let alone 10 minutes into your first official rendezvous.

He quickly realized he just signed a deal with a fire starter, a daredevil. He couldn’t help but be wary yet intrigued by all the trouble you were going to bring. He was looking forward to taking on the challenge of trying to control someone this reckless.

He couldn’t help but be allured by you.

•••

He walked in and spotted Sarang right away, strutting over to her. “Sorry I’m late, traffic is crazy.” He quickly sat down across from her, watching her swirl the water in her glass after sipping from it.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t been here for very long myself.” She placed her glass back down near her utensils. “So, are you late because it took your new star a lot of convincing to sign to you?”

Yoongi glanced down at her empty plate, his eyes lingering for a moment as your face popped up in his mind. “No, actually,” he started, “she needed absolutely no convincing. She… signed the contract 5 minutes into our conversation without even reading through it.”

She blinked at him, fingers tracing her silver utensils and her leg slowly crossing over her other underneath the table. She clearly wanted to express her opinion about that but for some reason decided not to. “Well, how do you feel about her? Do you think she’s your next big thing?”

His eyes trailed up to hers after a while, thinking about the situation and his afternoon. “Yeah,” he said, no hesitation present. “Yeah, I do. I haven’t seen anyone with potential like her in years. She might become one of my favorites.”

She slowly nodded her head as he talked, taking the information in. “How is she as a person? You know the public eye pays a lot of attention to these artists’ behaviors and actions, especially if they’re women.”

She brought her glass back up to her matte lips, taking another sip whilst keeping eye contact with him over the rim of her glass.

His eyes stayed glued to hers as if he could see your face and personality in her eyes. He brought his shoulders up in nonchalance and dropped them right after. “She seems pretty hard to deal with.”

“Hm,” she hummed as she leaned forwards on her elbows. “What makes you say that?”

“She’s just,” he mumbled, trailing off as he tried to put it into words. “I don’t like her that much. She’s daring. Unpredictable. Reckless.” He reached for his own glass, taking a big sip of water – which he needed after that afternoon with you. He didn’t like how you caught him off guard multiple times and even almost had him speechless with an excruciatingly dry throat.

Her eyebrows shot up, creating small wrinkles on her forehead that were hidden by her bangs. “Hm.”

He shook his head as the events from earlier that day dawned on him slowly. “I mean, who just signs a contract without reading it or asking for clarifications?”

Yoongi went on a ramble, talking about what he disliked about you and what he’s worried about.

Sarang simply listened. Didn’t interrupt him. Let him talk. Silently nodded her head.

“Hm,” she hummed again after his ramble came to an end, a small smirk on her lips. “She’s going to grow on you.”

He nearly snorted and coughed up all the water he drank. Did she not listen to a single word he just said? He disliked everything about you aside from what was going to bring him money. “What?”

Her eyes trailed his face, committing his body language to memory. “Nothing, just an observation. I think you’re going to grow really fond of her.”

At that, his brows pinched together in an annoyed frown. “What makes you say that?”

She scanned the room before glancing back at him and nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders. “I know you well.”

Yoongi had no rebuttal for that and they moved onto the next topic.

•••

Months had passed and you were definitely getting worked to the bone. It wasn’t easy but you also didn’t want anything that came easily. Especially this dream that Yoongi had served to you on a silver platter. Of course you were going to have to wash and polish that damn platter every single day but the dish that was served on it made your mouth water.

Contrary to your own belief that he absolutely hated your personality (he did) and just kept you around because you were skilled, you’d be surprised that wasn’t actually the truth.

That was half true.

The CEO in him absolutely fucking hated you as a person. You were an impulsive, annoying, unpredictable, reckless brat. He hated not knowing what to expect, he hated not being in control.

But his soul… he couldn’t help but find you alluring.

In a direct contradiction to the CEO in him, him as a person loved not knowing what to expect from you. You always knew how to catch him off guard with your antics, with your words, even with your music.

You quickly became one of his favorites but he made sure not to show that.

In the months that you worked for him, he knew he wasn’t the easiest on you. Maybe he was the hardest on you of all, always critiquing you. He loved your music but he needed you to know the industry wasn’t going to be any easier on you than he was.

Over the months, he grew fond of you but that it’s not like he went any easier on you. That was it.

Well, was it, though?

Because when he stepped forwards and said he would film the music video with you, he’d shocked himself. What the fuck was he thinking? He could have an actor in the building within 10 minutes with a snap of his damn fingers!

He didn’t like it. He was losing control of himself, something he worked so hard to have over you, the most impulsive brat on earth.

And what he hated even more was how much he enjoyed being in that damn music video with you. Shooting with you, having that title of boss and employee stripped away and for once, it didn’t feel like a bad thing to want to be close to you.

All that guilt washed away that day.

After that, he promised himself to take it easy. To distance himself from you because you were slowly starting to slither your way into the cracks of his soul that he allowed to exist when he offered to be in your video.

That didn’t last long when the company got together to watch the video. Couldn’t help himself. Asked if there was anything you wanted to talk about.

He wanted you to be the first one to give in so bad so he could stop feeling guilty. So he could stop feeling bad about thinking of his employee this way.

Then he confronted you. Then he caught you watching the scenes, several times.

He knew you were right there with him, he knew you wanted it as much as he did.

But he refused to take that first step. He didn’t want you to feel obligated or like he was using his authority to make you consent.

But when you kept watching those scenes, he had enough. Done.

He kept pressing you because he had been waiting since the start for a moment to watch you break. If he could accomplish that by doing something this villainous, then so be it.

He wanted to see you become a squirming kitten – under his gaze, at his command, in his presence – compared to the raging tiger you usually were.

He loved the real power he had over you for the first time. He finally had control over the daredevil he signed all those months ago. Even if it wasn’t in the way he initially intended.

And if he could get you to break by stealing your USB, then so be it.

•••

present

Rolling over, he’s faced with your bare back and the moon shining down on you, casting shadows on your body in all the right places. He scoots closer to you, finger tracing your spine and he watches as you slightly shiver underneath his touch.

It’s been a few months since you’ve started sleeping with Yoongi regularly, sneaking around and being secretive. You’ve debuted with your album, you’re in the public eye, you’re doing interviews.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks quietly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

You glance at him over your shoulder and jut out your bottom lip, slightly shrugging. “I feel bad that I don’t feel bad.”

He blinks at you a few times and then realizes what you’re talking about. “Fuck that guy, seriously, Y/N.”

You sigh, not liking the conflicting feeling in your chest as you roll onto your back. “I’m not a slut, you know. I just–”

“Hey,” he snaps, tapping your shoulder. “I don’t think you are. When I say these things to you or call you names, it’s purely for our enjoyment. You shouldn’t listen to what that bastard says either.”

It’s true, Yoongi would never think that of you and he would never want you to view yourself like that. You are in a shit relationship and Yoongi’s giving you a safespace, that’s all it is. So what if you like being called a slut by him? So what if he thinks it’s hot as fuck when you desperately need his dick inside of you?

“I know, I know, it’s just,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead as you stare at the ceiling. “I don’t know. I just feel a bit conflicted.”

“That’s because you’re human.” He falls back onto the mattress and stares at the ceiling too, both your bodies covered by his thin white sheets.

You turn your head to look at him. “What do you think about all this?”

He continues to stare at the ceiling, though, avoiding your gaze. “I think you should just forget about all of that and be in this moment with me.”

It’s silent for a few moments before he turns his head and glances down at you, to see you still staring at him.

You share an intense staredown and if he wasn’t a little bitch, he’d admit just your eyes staring into his has his heart beating in his throat.

“Be in this moment with you? You just fucked me in your kingsize bed, give me a break,” you laugh as you sit up, allowing the sheets to drop down and expose your bare skin.

He chuckles in response and traces your spine with his finger, drawing circles on your back and ribs. “If you’re down for round two, I am too.”

“You’re crazy,” you mumble and shake your head but clearly seem to be considering it.

He notices it right away and sits up, leaning into you and pressing soft kisses to the side of your face and down your neck, prepping your collarbones in kisses and licks.

“Yoongi–”

The sound of your phone ringing snaps you right out of the moment. You glance over at your phone on his nightstand.

[9:53PM]

Daniel

Incoming call

“Fuck,” you whisper as you reach for your phone. You haven’t seen him or heard from him since breakfast.

“Hey,” you say as you accept the call. Yoongi simply continues to kiss down your neck, clearly not giving a fuck that you’re on the phone with your boyfriend.

“Hey, where are you?”

“Oh, I, uh–”

Your phone gets snatched out of your hand and you’re too late to retrieve it when Yoongi puts the phone to his ear. “Hey, Daniel, my man. We’re having a late night dinner with the entire company. I promise, we’ll have her home by a reasonable time.”

Yoongi pushes you back by your shoulders when you try to snatch the phone back until you’re fully lying down, his free hand coming up to fondle your breast.

“Huh? Are you– wait, Agust D? Oh! Sorry, man. No, take your time, really. I was just wondering where she was. My bad, don’t have too much fun without me.”

He licks around your hardened nipples and simply hums in response, his free hand now traveling down your body to cup your sex, making you quietly gasp.

“Don’t worry, mate, we’re thinking about you,” Yoongi says as he glances up at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he winks, mouth still lathering your breast in kisses and saliva.

“Alright, thanks, man. See you.”

Yoongi doesn’t even say bye back as he hangs up and throws your phone aside, tugging the sheets further down your body to expose more of you to him.

“Yoongi,” you whisper-whine but show no efforts or intentions of stopping him.

He simply continues to tease your nipples with his mouth, your lip almost bursting from the pressure you’re putting on it with your teeth.

“So what if you’re a slut?” he asks as he glances up at you. “You’re a slut only for me, aren’t you?”

He’s saying it with a certain caution in his tone, like he’s testing the waters to make sure you’re okay with it.

“Yeah,” you reply breathily, watching him press soft kisses to your chest and down the valley of your breasts. His shoulders visibly drop in relief and then he rolls off of you, hands tracing and gripping your thighs until you’re automatically spreading your legs for him.

He softly exhales through his nose, something you can only describe to be a chuckle as your eyes intently watch him tease your folds with the tips of his fingers.

“Yoongi,” you whine.

“I already fucked you today. Why are you still this needy?” He hums after asking you a question he clearly knows the answer to, eyeing your sex before glancing up at you.

Unlike what he expected you to do, you simply say, “Because I like being with you.”

He blinks at you in confusion for a few moments before sitting up and gently closing your legs. “You know we don’t have to have sex to just enjoy each other’s company, right?”

Guilt bubbles up the back of his throat. Is that really the vibe he’s been giving you?

“Oh, I know.” You get comfortable against his pillows. “But you also make me really horny. I don’t know what it is but I just constantly want you inside of me.”

Well.

That’s enough for blood to instantly rush to Yoongi’s dick, hardening by the second as he watches your innocent face with that mischievous glint in your eyes.

His eyes drop down to your lips, so kissable and so pouty that it drives him insane. All he wants to do all day is kiss you, listen to you speak, maybe even fuck your face.

He tries to hide his boner but ultimately fails when your eyes drop to his groin and take notice. “Does that make you hard?”

He merely grunts in annoyance, spreading your legs again and pulling your body down to him.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, using his thumb to gently tease your clit. “I also really like being with you.”

That makes the corners of your mouth curl up, eyes hooded and screaming for attention. “Hm, I bet you do.”

He has to keep his eye from twitching. Just as he thought you were going to be obedient and easy to deal with for once, you prove him wrong.

And he can’t help but fucking love it.

“You keep up that attitude and I’m not giving you anythi–”

“You say that but your dick is practically begging for attention, look at it.” You nod toward his erection. “You can’t really hold it over my head if you’re also dying to put it in.”

You are so fucking insufferable.

All Yoongi does is slowly nod his head, clearly not enjoying the way you’re basically mocking him but he lets you run your mouth.

“I wonder if you talk this way to him,” he muses as he pushes your thighs back toward your torso, earning a gasp from you.

“What?”

“Is it because you know I won’t let you get off easy?” he starts, rubbing shapes onto your inner thighs.

“I just–”

“I was thinking out loud, be quiet.” He gets onto his knees in front of you, between your legs. Your eyes drop down to his erection, hard and screaming for attention.

“Make me,” you fire back.

Slap.

His hand comes down on your poor sex, making your legs jolt. “Ow! That hurt, Yoongi!”

“Watch your mouth.”

He shakes his head, his hand dropping down to spread your wetness all over your sex. You’re still wet from the last time he fucked you so you literally don’t need any prep but you know he’s not doing it to prep you, he’s doing it to tease you.

“But I want you to put me in my place,” you sigh quietly, legs gently jerking whenever his fingers inch closer to your pussy.

He simply laughs. “I know you do.” He runs his fingers up your slit, collecting your arousal and shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I’ve known that for a long time, you know.”

You huff quietly, crossing your arms over your chest like a child that wanted a blue cup to drink out of instead of a green one.

“You don’t know me,” you scoff, trying to act like his touch doesn’t have the effect on you that it does but his eyes take notice of the clench in your thighs and the goosebumps on your skin.

“That so?” he muses, eyes roaming your body. “You think I don’t know you? What you want?”

“Hm.”

“You think I don’t know you’re constantly provoking me because you just want me to give into you? Like you’re the person that finally got me to break out of character?” he says as he moves to the side of your body, lips closing in on your neck and fingers teasing your sex as he coats your collarbones in kisses.

You merely grunt in response.

“That you’re one of the only ones that got to see Yoongi instead of Agust D?”

You roll your head back, making him kiss up your throat and press kisses to your jaw. “It makes you feel special, doesn’t it?”

You tense under him and he notices instantly but he doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. At least not for a few moments.

“So what if it does? Don’t you feel special that I’m in your bed right now instead of my boyfriend’s? Aren’t you glad to know?”

This makes Yoongi pull away from your neck to glance at you. There’s a glint of something in your eyes that Yoongi can’t quite put his finger on but that’s not what made him pull away.

It’s because Yoongi thought of something.

“What?” you ask, having taken notice of Yoongi’s switch in demeanor.

He quickly shakes his head and says, “Nothing, it’s nothing. Just relax for me.”

You simply stare at him in confusion before relaxing again and keeping your legs spread while he pushes his middle and ring finger into you. You quietly whimper as he starts massaging your walls, legs jolting whenever he curls his fingers to assault your g-spot.

“You’re so needy,” he mumbles, leaning in to press his lips against yours whilst he pumps his fingers into you at a slow, insanity-inducing pace.

“Do you like it when I’m needy for you?” you innocently mewl, knowing damn well it’s you that would like the thought of that.

“Hm,” he pauses, “I do, actually.”

There’s more where that came from as he keeps whispering more of these things to you, ending his night by fucking you into his mattress for a second time that day.

•••

“Give me my phone!” you whine as Seokjin holds it further out of your reach.

“No, you’re going to tell me everything,” he declares, sliding your phone into his pocket as he waves a waiter over to come take your order.

You groan and childishly slouch in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “Tell you what?”

He simply shrugs his shoulders. “You and your boss. And don’t tell me nothing’s going on because I know what you look and act like when you’ve been getting fucked right.”

You press your lips together, trying to ignore the tingle in your stomach.

Right, Seokjin used to fuck you good and he’s still really attractive but so what? You broke it off years ago, there’s no reason for his words to have that much of an impact on you.

You stomp on his foot underneath the table. “Don’t talk like that.”

He screeches in pain and then laughs, waving his hand at you in dismissal. “So? Are you gonna tell me or what?”

You snap, “What is there to tell? We’ve been fucking for a few months now. Happy?”

His lips curl up into a smirk. “I knew it.”

You roll your eyes and shut your mouth once the waiter arrives, introducing himself and silently taking your order.

“How’d you break up with Daniel?” Seokjin asks once the waiter leaves, taking a sip of his glass of water.

Your throat dries up in an instant, urging you to take a sip from your own water. “Uh,” you mumble, eyes glued to the utensils in front of you.

Your eyes shift up to his and you watch in real time as the realization sets. “You haven’t, have you?” he asks quietly, a slight tilt to his head and his brows slightly pinched together.

You sigh. “It just… kind of happened and I just kept delaying it. I’m gross, I know.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about the fact that you’re in the public eye now. You need to be careful.”

Oh.

He’s right.

This early on in your career and having a cheating scandal would obliterate any dream you have left. You would never be able to bounce back, especially when the other man is someone with a reputation and fanbase like Agust D.

“Yeah… You’re right. I know. I’ll have that talk with him one of these days.”

You enjoy your meal with Seokjin and by the time you’ve made it to dessert, you’ve realized he still has your phone.

Once you have it back in your possession, you excuse yourself and decide to call Yoongi once you walk onto the parking lot.

“Hey,” you say once he picks up.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

“Yeah… yeah. It’s just that, uh,” you sigh, trying to think of a way to say this. “My friend has brought something to my attention.”

“Hm. Which is?”

“I have a reputation to uphold now, now that I’m in the public eye, Yoongi.”

“Slow down,” he starts, sounding slightly panicked. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning I need to break up with him, if word got out about a cheating scandal, my career would be over–”

“Stop, stop, stop.” He’s silent for a few moments. “Meet me at my place in an hour, okay?”

You sigh and rub your hairline, looking up at the night sky in distress. “Okay.”

“Okay. See you soon.”

With that, you end the conversation and stand there for a moment longer before heading back inside and finishing your meal with Seokjin. He never once judges you or brings it up again.

Well, he’s the one that kind of liked the idea of you and Yoongi but still. That doesn’t mean he should approve.

•••

You make your way to Yoongi’s home, typing the password into the keypad and strutting down the stone path leading to his front door.

Before you even knock, the door swings open, revealing Yoongi in a bathrobe with damp hair and a toothbrush in his mouth.

Déjà vu.

He steps aside right away, wordlessly inviting you in. You do so and simply follow him all the way to his room, a path you’ve quickly memorized.

He walks into his bathroom and rinses his mouth as you drop your purse onto his bed and follow him into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe and looking at him through the mirror.

You start, “So?”

He dries his mouth and turns to look at you. “So.”

You blink at him in confusion. “What do you think? Should I just bite the bullet and break it off tonight?”

To your surprise, he slowly turns around and looks at you whilst leaning against his sink. “No.”

Huh?

What is he on about?

Your brows pinch together. “What do you mean ‘no’? You literally pushed me to break up with him.”

He slowly nods his head as he rubs his chin, his robe slowly coming undone and showing you part of his chest. Fuck.

Concentrate.

“I did but,” he pauses and runs a hand through his damp hair before turning around to face the mirror again and applying some moisturizer to his face. “I think you shouldn’t.”

“Yoongi, my career–”

“Your career will be fine. That’d only be real bad if it did get out, which it won’t.” He blends the cream into his skin.

You think about his words for a moment. “I don’t understand why we’d have to risk it, though.”

“Because,” he says as he turns around. “Having him in the picture will keep those noisy people out of our business.”

Huh?

Your brows pinch together once his words reach your ears. “Meaning what?”

He exhales and takes a moment before walking up to you. “Meaning, if you’re still dating, people will focus on your relationship. The public eye loves celebrity romance, don’t ask why because I wish I knew.”

He places his hands on your hips, pulling you closer. “Their eyes being focused on you and him would mean no one would have the time to nitpick whatever we got going on. It’s a lot easier for them to link you to your boss when you’re a beautiful, young woman that also happens to be single.”

Oh.

You hadn’t thought of it like that.

Huh.

Okay then.

So, long story short; just keep schemin’.

You figure that’s what he thought of when he suddenly paused last night, the time you were in the middle of getting freaky.

You nod slowly, your eyes trailing his jawline and down the column of his throat.

What a son of a bitch.

He doesn’t have the time to react when you suddenly grab him by the collar of his white bathrobe and push him towards his bed, watching as he falls against his soft mattress.

He leans back on his elbows and looks up at you with a frown on his brows but he doesn’t say anything else.

You quickly rid yourself of your jacket, tossing it somewhere across the floor and then make work of ditching your shirt and pants.

His frown turns into an amused expression, leaning further back as he watches you strip in front of him.

You quip, “Memories?”

“Of my strip club days? Kinda.” He continues to smirk, tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth.

Bastard.

You kick his foot and he simply laughs, still watching you undress for him.

“Get rid of that,” you mumble as you point at his robe, stepping out of your pants in the meantime and kicking them across the floor.

He simply chuckles as he undoes his robe and shows you his naked figure, dick instantly slapping his stomach.

Damn.

“Fuck,” you whisper as you watch him grab his dick, pumping himself as he watches you intently. You quickly ditch your bra and panties before walking up to him, reaching for his dick.

But he shakes his head and slaps your hand away. “Come sit on my face.”

Holy shit.

“Uh,” you murmur, scratching the back of your neck. “I’m not sure you–”

“Y/N, babe, shut the fuck up and come sit that ass on my face.”

Jerk.

You like it when he’s mean, though.

You huff, childishly crossing your arms over your chest as you watch him get comfortable on his bed, his head near the headboard. He says, “I’m not gonna wait all fucking day. Get on.”

The only thing you can do is scowl but you find yourself crawling onto his bed without another protest, slowly climbing onto his face. You throw your leg over his face, positioning your pussy right on top of his mouth.

His dark eyes catch the nervous lip chewing but he simply slaps your ass. “Sit.”

You grunt in response and slowly lower your body onto his face, a soft whimper leaving your lips when his tongue wastes no time licking a stripe up your wet pussy.

His hand comes down to your ass in another rough slap. “Ride my face.”

A pathetic moan rips through your throat as you begin to grind into his face, allowing yourself to feel every single inch of his tongue devouring you. His hands tightly grab your asscheeks, helping you grind at a pace you both like until you’re a moaning mess on top of him.

You let out a soft groan when the tip of his finger gently teases the rim of your asshole but he never pushes it inside. You assume he’s waiting for verbal permission, something you’ve not given him yet.

“Fuck, your mouth feels good.” You throw your head back as you cup your breasts, pinching at your nipples as more slick oozes out of you and onto his mouth.

“Oh, fuck. I’m gonna cum soon,” you moan as you continue to grind your clit into his nose, the stimulation sending you right out of Earth’s atmosphere. Your grip on the headboard in front of you is tight, almost making your knuckles hurt as you use it to support some of your weight from the momentum of your grinding.

“Cum on my face,” he orders, massaging your asscheeks as he continues to fuck his tongue in and out of you.

“Fuck, fuck,” you cry out as your stomach twists and your thighs clench, a loud sob leaving your lips as your orgasm hits you like a truck.

You can barely move which makes Yoongi jump in and move his lips up to wrap around your clit, sucking on it to stimulate you through your orgasm.

Fuck. He’s way too fucking good at using his tongue. Whether that’s during sex or in a conversation.

He continues to lick all over your sex, licking up all you have to offer until you whimper from the overstimulation.

You try to catch your breath, leaning your head against the headboard. By doing that, you instantly make eye contact with Yoongi and fuck – does he look good.

His long black locks are sprawled out around his head, eyes hooded and his face from the nose down is just drenched in your pussy slick.

“You look really good.” The words leave you in a giggle and he just slaps your ass again which makes you hop off. You fall onto the mattress beside him, staring up at the ceiling and trying to come down from that crazy high.

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, not caring much before he tugs you toward him. “Let me fuck you.”

“Who’s the needy one now?” you hum in satisfaction, eyes closed as he traces your waist with the tip of his finger.

“Me. I need to fuck you real bad right now.” He sits up but you’re quicker than him.

You push him back toward his mattress and slowly climb onto him. “I’m riding you,” you state as you position yourself on top of him, lining his dick up at your pulsating pussy. You refuse to let him be in control all the time.

The smirk on his lips makes you roll your eyes but you grin in victory when you slide down onto his shaft without a warning and watch his face twist in pleasure.

You yelp as you sink all the way down, teeth harshly biting down on your bottom lip as you blink your tears away. The stretch in your walls burns so good, making you dizzy, making you needy, making you crazy.

“Giving up already?” he teases, another sting spreading through your asscheek where he just smacked you.

“Fuck you,” you moan as you place your hands directly on his chest and start bouncing up and down, eyes tightly shut as you try not to scream.

“Yeah, fuck yourself on my dick, princess. Just like a brat should.” He grips your hips tightly, guiding you up and down his shaft, his hips meeting yours halfway as he fucks you back.

“Yoongi,” you cry, losing all that energy and brattiness as you fall forwards onto his chest, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

Despite not having said a word aside from just his name, he hears your plead loud and clear and begins to fuck upwards into you, pinning your arms into your lower back.

“When you called me and started about your career and reputation, I thought you were going to tell me we should stop this,” he says in between thrusts and heavy breaths, continuing to pound you. “So, I have to make sure you never even think about ending this.”

He tightly grips your wrists as he fucks you, listening to your cries and moans as he chases his own orgasm.

“That why you sounded so panicked?” you tease but he doesn’t let you emerge the victor as he harshly fucks into to the point you can’t even form a coherent thought.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck,” you sob, teeth biting down on the skin that connects his neck to his shoulder, biting and sucking all you can.

“You gonna mark me, huh?” he grunts, his hips never faltering in speed.

“Yes,” you pause as you try to steady your breath. “When’s the last time you fucked Sarang?”

This makes his thrusts come to a halt. He pauses for so long that it makes you lift your head and search his eyes but he’s simply staring at you.

“Wh–”

You can barely finish your sentence when he suddenly flips you over, pushing you back onto the mattress and wedges his hips in between yours before sliding right into your cunt again, grabbing both of your legs by the back of your knees as he starts fucking into you again.

“Jealous?” he asks, his eyes glued to the way your breasts bounce from the impact of his thrusts. “How would you feel if I asked about your last time with Dan–”

“6 months ago. Now you,” you say with no hesitation aside from the loud moans and cries escaping your throat.

He blinks at you but then chuckles and shakes his head before lifting your legs up onto his shoulders so he can lower himself and hover his face right above yours. “I last fucked her the night of the music video shoot.”

…

What?

He catches the frown in your brows but doesn’t comment on it, simply keeps fucking you to chase his own high.

“Why that nigh–”

He deadpans, “Because you made me horny as fuck.”

Holy shit. Did he fuck her simply because you had turned him on?

You cry out once he starts snapping his hips aggressively into you, face lowering even further to press his lips against yours.

You whimper against his lips, eyes shut tightly as the tip of his dick barely grazes your cervix.

“Rub yourself for me,” he whispers against your lips and it only means he’s close to his orgasm.

You comply without another thought, reaching down your stomach to rub your poor sensitive clit as he continues to drill into you.

“I’m gonna cum, where do you want it?” he whispers as he pulls away from your lips. You open your eyes and glance up at him, brows furrowed and soft moans continuously falling from your lips. He’s been cumming inside of you ever since you two started sleeping together but he still makes it a thing to ask every time.

“I want it deep inside of me, sir. Give it to me,” you moan, watching how his face twists from you calling him ‘sir’.

“Fuck. You’re gonna make me fill you up again, huh?” he grunts and his hips start stuttering in their movement, telling you that he’s close.

“I only ever want you to fill me up, boss.”

Those words are all he needs to shoot his load straight into you, painting your slick walls in his cum and long cuss words fall from his lips. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he grunts in between sloppy thrusts, lips coming down to kiss you again as he rides out his orgasm.

You hum against his lips, your fingers still furiously rubbing circles onto your clit. If he keeps kissing you like this for a moment longer, you’re going to cum. Hard.

“Keep going,” you whimper against his lips as you rub your clit faster once the familiar knot in your stomach starts coming undone.

“Anything,” he whispers, picking the pace back up as he fucks you to your orgasm.

“Oh, shit, fuck,” you cry out even more cuss words when your orgasm finally hits you, dropping onto you like a pile of fucking bricks.

You sob his name as he snaps his hips into yours, fucking you through your orgasm, still not removing his lips from yours because he knows how much you like being kissed during your orgasm. And he likes it too.

After a few more lazy thrusts, he finally comes to a full halt inside of you. “Shit,” he whispers as he parts his lips from yours and drops your legs from his shoulders.

You both try to catch your breath in silence, not much else being said.

“Heh,” is all you can get out when you think about it. He leans down to kiss your neck, cheek, lips, all over your face until he notices the mischievous glimmer in your eyes and a shit eating grin on your lips.

“What?” he asks, confusion coating his tone.

But that’s it. After he told you his little plan on using Daniel to keep the public eye out of your business with Yoongi, you’ve finally realized something after all this time.

“Nothing, just,” you say as you nonchalantly shrug your shoulders and move your hands up to cup his cheeks. “You were always saying I was scheming but…” You look up at him with the most bratty look in your eyes you can muster. “But you’ve kinda been the schemer all along.”

At this, he stares at you with a blank expression for a while but you know him well enough to notice he’s looking for a way to answer this, and he does.

His eyes narrow at you like they would all the time back in your earlier days at the company and a smirk starts tugging at the corners of his lips. And the next few words out of his pretty mouth knocks the oxygen right out of your lungs.

“I can’t believe you’re just now realizing that, baby.”

— May be continued in a sequel.

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The early summer heat was already hitting halfway through May, and as I sat in the station that was barely AC-ed, I suffered like a dog through the sudden and surprising rises of temperatures in between of bouts of rains.

Truthfully, looking out of the window, I wasn’t sure whether I’d rather be sitting here in a half empty dead office with barely anyone present (6 o’clock on a Friday afternoon usually not pulling much traffic around these parts) or sitting in full leather on my bike by some seedy club peeping at what Jungkook was doing this particular evening like a creep.

I wasn’t able to put much time into any extracurricular activities, the current task I’ve been made responsible of forced me to spend most of my time behind a desk, scrolling through endless police reports, paparazzi photos and news articles, taking names of cases and trying to find out what kind of people they were and who they were associated with. And after the hours and hours I’ve spent on this I was truly starting to get sick of it, almost missing the few days I spent watching a warehouse in the middle of the winter only to get trolled by Yoongi. Obviously, I wasn’t made for an office job.

With a sigh I finally gave up after trying to focus on the currently opened case on my table and dragged myself to a bistro on the corner. I’ve been drinking so much coffee these past few weeks I was on the verge of throwing up anytime I just saw a brown paper cup, but I soldiered through for the fresh batch of caffeine that would allow me to die a little slower and more painfully. And as I waited in the line, I dreaded returning to the station and continuing in what’s been my sole purpose in life for days upon days.

Still not being able to move anywhere with Jungkook kind of haunted me, it stayed at the back of my mind practically every day, just calling me to go out there and do something. But I couldn’t exactly spend the whole night chasing shadows when I had to show up to work at 7 am. Sometimes I would wonder what Yoongi thought about my sudden absence, whether he was trying to uncover some mastermind psychological warfare plan while I was really just too busy to do anything other than sit in that damn building and sleep, but admittedly it did always put a little smile on my face imagining him being silly over why I’m not following his every step like before.

Occasionally I would tag along with the team for additional interviews and questionings, stand behind Minjoon and listen and absorb their strategies. Unfortunately, all the people we talked to, all the witnesses who were mostly workers from around the warehouse, they knew very well to keep their mouth shut about anything illegal. In the end we couldn’t get more out of them than them hearing shots and calling the police. Nobody saw anything and heard nothing beyond that, as it seemed.

But we knew we were going to hit the wall here, no one in their right mind would snitch like this, especially if this truly was the Min gang. For all the neutral demeanour and suave charismatic energy, people were still terrified of Yoongi. No matter the image he had right now, no matter how much he tried to situate himself as a businessman unconcerned with the underworld, everybody still remembered how he came up, how much violence it took for him to take his place, how much blood was spilt and continued to be spilt any time someone went against him. You didn’t act up against a man like that.

And given the fact the Kims were somehow involved as well, it was double the risk. A single word could cost you your life, no matter which side the hit came from.

That only left us with carefully dissecting the lives of the victims, trying to find out how they got there and who they messed with to end up massacred on a floor of a run-down warehouse in Incheon, which was a feat in and of itself, but Minjoon and Seungcheol worked on that diligently. I sometimes met him just as he was about to leave to presumably go question someone about them, but I haven’t heard much from them yet. So lately we were all mostly stuck behind our computers.

I shook my head at nothing in particular and with one last sigh I picked myself up and went back to the station coffee in hand, resigning myself to another few hours of ruining my eyesight and back at that stupid little cramped desk. These past two weeks really made me realise just how on each other we were in that little space, and how Park sat comfortably in his office doing god knows what.

When I arrived back, I was shocked to see Minjoon suddenly back sitting by his own desk submerged deep into whatever it was he was looking at. He barely even registered my entrance, and I deliberated on going up to him or going back to my own desk to not disrupt him, but in the end decided to procrastinate just a while longer.

Minjoon looked up as soon as he heard footsteps approaching and we exchanged friendly but tired smiles while he pulled out a chair next to him for me to sit at.

“Doing overtime too, I see,” he greeted me with, eyes once again glued to the monitor. I looked over his shoulder to see him reading up on a report of a crime from two years ago. The name was very familiar to me after all these days. It was one of the guys from the warehouse.

“You going over what Park Doyun was involved in again?” I jumped straight into reading the report alongside with him. It was an armed robbery from two years ago, but due to a mess up in the prosecution they were acquitted on some obscure technicality. It was honestly a huge embarrassment, because there was some good evidence, but it all went down the drain. It was the first thing that really smacked us in the face once we put the guys through the police database, because everyone was talking about it around the precinct and Minjoon immediately made the connection.

“Yeah, supposedly there was a third accomplice, but I can’t find any mention of anyone else being involved,” Minjoon muttered somewhat dejectedly, the exhaustion showing through his expression and posture. I patted him on the shoulder, trying to bring his spirits up while I was just as sick of this as he was. He only shot me a grateful smile over his shoulder and went back into the report.

The Police Academy truly doesn’t prepare you for the hours and hours of just pure research and paperwork, what a lie.

“Is that what one of the people in the neighbourhood told you?” I queried some more, desperate to distract myself from my own tasks long enough to gain some strength to go back to it. Minjoon hummed absentmindedly, but in the end gave up as well and turned to me.

“Yeah, it was the most I could get from this one old lady sitting by a convenience store on his corner,” the detective said around a yawn, decompressing into the chair and letting the day just wash over him. It was obvious that whatever he was doing today was catching up to him, and it didn’t surprise me much given that he was gone for most of the afternoon.

“What do you got so far?” I leaned back on my chair as well and turned so that we were face to face, and we just lounged there for a moment smiling at each other cheekily, “About the whole thing.”

That got Minjoon sighing again, wiping his hand over his face. “Most is the usual stuff,” the man started, launching into another long monologue brought up by my questions, “out of the six victims, two grew up in the same neighbourhood down in Gojan-dong. You know, the same old – not the greatest families, poor backgrounds, started messing around the block and got into a lot of trouble. That’s where the reports start flying in. The other four are from around there as well, but not as close by.”

I sat on the information for a moment, as this was the first time I outright asked about the details. “So they’re all from Incheon anyway?” I ended up saying, and Minjoon only nodded.

“Two of them lived pretty close to each other, went to the same school, and they have that one record together,” he continued talking, “but you know how it gets. The people living around there only talk about how pitiful it is they fell off the good path, and if there is something more organised going on beneath, they either don’t know about it, don’t want to know about it or will never talk to a cop about it.”

“But we can be pretty sure they were already tight back then,” I hummed. Minjoon moved a little on his chair to get more comfortable. I saw his eyes jump to the time showcasing on his computer before he turned back to me and the conversation, and I was suddenly hit with the realisation that he most likely wanted to go home and I was keeping him here.

“Yeah, according to the teachers they were troublemakers and there was some violence happening on other students,” Minjoon expanded on that, “and one also mentioned a kid from a school on another block that they used to hang out with a lot that was also known for trouble, but she couldn’t remember his name. She wasn’t very surprised that they died in a gang affiliated murder though, according to her they were most probably dealing already back then between the peers.”

“That’s tough, that’s real tough. Surviving on the streets like that just gets you involved in all kinds of trouble” the empathetic words spilled from my mouth before I could really think twice about it and I panicked a little. I wasn’t sure how much the people around the unit knew about my childhood, but it definitely wasn’t something I wanted to discuss with any of them, even Minjoon. Some things were just better left in the past, especially since it’d probably make my colleagues dislike me more.

“Yeah, but the worst thing is that I just can’t get the name of that third kid,” Minjoon carried on completely submerged into his own world, “I showed her pictures of the other guys, but she didn’t recognise them. Then I was trying to choke some info from an old lady sitting by one of their addresses, but she only mentioned that there were three boys involved in that robbery but couldn’t remember the third one because he was from a nearby neighbourhood, just that these three were always together and didn’t do anything good.”

“And it’s not any of the other four guys?” I asked once more, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Minjoon shook his head and leaned back onto his chair, just watching me with tired but smiling eyes.

“But I think it’s a safe bet that these three must have stood at the beginning of everything, I just can’t get the name of the last kid,” Minjoon finished with a sigh, fingers subconsciously playing with the hem of his shirt, “I don’t know how they got into the big game or where the other dude is though.”

“Do you think there’s a possibility he escaped? That he’s alive somewhere but skipped cities or something to get away from the trouble?” I pondered out loud, as we both exchanged conspiratory glances, but Minjoon just shrugged.

“I mean, anything is possible in this game really,” the detective closed the conversation with a definitive nod of his head. I thought that was my cue to go back to my desk and let him leave, but he surprised me with turning the conversation around on me.

“What about the files? How are you doing?” he asked suddenly just as I was preparing to stand up and go. For a split second I looked at him surprised, and then relaxed into the chair again with a smile.

“Honestly, it’s such an annoying work,” I complained a little whinily, allowing myself to be a little more open with Minjoon, “I have to go through every little article, report and a picture on the internet concerning the victim. Some of them are normal working class people who worked around the docks or clubs, but some are wealthy bastards.” Minjoon chuckled at me, fingers drumming a calming beat into the table.

“Some have no ties to Yoongi at all apart from like eating at his restaurant once or staying at his hotel, but some I think are worth investigating into,” I went on, giving Minjoon the opportunity to just listen to me babble for once and not the other way around, “like some businessmen that have done deals with some of Yoongi’s shadow companies or were frequent visitors of his clubs, there was this one dude that was really closely related to some charity events Yoongi put on. I think it’s worth looking into those.”

Minjoon smiled at me brightly, his whole persona suddenly lighting up at hearing me talk about the case. He straightened up and leaned towards me, hand grabbing my shoulder in a gesture that has become very familiar to me coming from him to a point when I had to fight an embarrassed blush and a smile at the warmth and pride it filled me with.

“Good job, Y/N, good job,” he said earnestly, eyes looking straight into mine until the direct contact got a little too intense and I dodged it, “I knew I could count on you with this.” This time I really did blush, an intense feeling of vindication filling me at finally having someone recognise the work I was putting into this case. I mumbled my thanks to him, too overwhelmed to even look up, but I felt his hand squeeze my shoulder in answer before he retracted it back.

“I put them into different groups,” I jumped back into the explanation to escape the atmosphere change, “the ones that are inconclusive when it comes to gang involvement, the ones that are mostly low-tier workers around the gang affiliated hotspots and the big wigs that died under strange circumstances and most likely were closely related to Yoongi’s business in one way or the other.”

I didn’t even realise I had naturally switched into calling him Yoongi even in front of Minjoon, but thankfully he either didn’t notice or didn’t think it strange. Once I clocked it though, I promised myself to make sure to never make the same mistake in front of Hwang or Park, who I didn’t want to risk questioning me about it. Was I paranoid? Maybe, but I had a good reason for it with my track record.

“Have you looked through all of them?” came Minjoon’s question after a few moments of silence and I startled minutely before shaking my head in response.

“Not yet, I’ve got like a case and a half left,” I answered him truthfully, the distaste over having to go back to my desk and keep researching this file still rotting on my table resurfacing and souring my mood. I had managed to forget I’d still need to return to it once Minjoon left and it had me slumping into my chair.

The man must have noticed my change in mood, since he gave me a small encouraging smile and then leaned towards me somewhat conspiratorially before lightly enquiring “you wanna get out of here and grab something for dinner?”. I visibly relaxed at the offered out and nodded enthusiastically basically before he even finished speaking, making him laugh heartily.

In one swift movement he was standing on his feet offering me his hand. I took it gingerly and let him haul me up, the feelings of guilt that have been eating me away for not dedicating more of my time to the task soothed by Minjoon’s approval of ditching work.

It didn’t take us long to turn off computers and collect our belongings before we both headed out into the still incredibly hot air of the parking lot in front of the station. He must have been just as excited to leave as me, with how gingerly he led us out and towards his car, only stopping when I lightly grabbed his arm. The officer turned his whole body to me, surprise and confusion written over his face at my sheepish expression. I gestured towards the other side of the parking lot where a solitary dark car stood parked.

“I’m here by car as well, we could go to the restaurant down the street so we can both leave by car?” I suggested and Minjoon as quickly brightened up and agreed.

Thus we found ourselves sitting over our respective bowls of kimchi jjigae just a few minutes later. This was a known spot for us, as they fed most of the police force from our station with the homely family run restaurant located only three minutes by foot away from our office. When we walk in, the kind middle-aged lady running it already greets us by our names and knows our tastes by heart. It was such a nice feeling to have a place like that, I had to admit that.

We both must have been pretty hungry, because for the first half none of us even spoke, too focused on our bowls and stuffing our faces like a pair of vultures. Once the dust settled and we were handing the empty dishes back to the smiling woman, we found ourselves once again just looking at each other not knowing how to start up a conversation. After few moments of awkward silence, Minjoon decided to break the ice.

“You mentioned you sorted the cases into three groups, right?” he started off the subject of our work again, waiting for me to nod and then continuing, “Once you get through them all, you should pull out the other cases we have connected to Yoongi and look through them again with the new ones in mind. There might have been things lost or not noticed.”

The feeling of disappointment that hit me was almost palpable in the air, and I felt my expression freezing into an awkward smile trying to not let it show outwardly. I didn’t want to anger Minjoon or make him feel bad about this, and I did realise I was a total newbie to the unit and a newbie to this particular investigation, but I would lie if I said it didn’t hurt that I seemed to be eternally stuck behind the computer while the others actually did all the investigating.

Minjoon still must have felt my lack of enthusiasm, even though I tried to show my agreement as happily as I could muster, and he hit me with another sheepish apologetic smile.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the man begun, hands on instinct raising as if trying to console me, “but this could be your own thing, you know? It would be your call and your own investigation. We could also ask the violent crime team to help you out with questionings.” Now, that did sound marginally better, and I found myself swaying. I mean, I really didn’t have much choice, I would still agree even if I was truly just a glorified secretary to them, otherwise I’d be booted of the team quicker than I could say ‘fuck you’. But like this, it at least didn’t feel like a complete lost.

“So, once I went through the cases, I’d have free range and I could try to investigate and close some of them?” I made sure before I truly consented to anything, and when Minjoon nodded and agreed, I relaxed a little bit.

“Okay then,” finally I accepted, “I’ll look through the old cases too.” That seemed to make him very happy, and he made sure to smile at me brightly and shower me in gratitude and praises, but I couldn’t really help the sinking feeling at imagining myself going through more cold cases. At least there was a clear end to that in sight with these.

After that the conversation shifted slightly to lighter topics and Minjoon ended up telling me some funny stories about our colleagues’ mishaps at work. I laughed at them heartily while feeling this strange rift between us deepen even more, realising more than ever that I was truly a stranger in this unit full of people who actually somewhat liked each other.

I promised myself that this time next year, I will be sitting here with the whole unit and be a part of those fun stories as well.

Later in the evening, as we walked leisurely back to our cars after finishing up at the food joint, Minjoon suddenly seemed a little more hesitant and withdrawn. At first I saw it as a reluctance to part after a nicely spent evening, but soon I came to realise that there was something he wasn’t sure how to tell me. I could see it written all over his guilty unsure face, mouth opening for a moment without words coming out and then shutting again. I waited patiently for him to gather his courage, until the man finally broke the suddenly awkward silence.

“So, we were making some plans with the team,” Minjoon opened hesitantly and immediately I felt a shot to my heart knowing I wasn’t a part of whatever discussion they were having as a team, but I kept my mouth shut. I only hummed in response, encouraging him to go on.

“Well, next Friday we’re going to speak to Ms. Kim,” he finally got out, and I froze a little, “I just felt that a heads up was needed for that particular encounter." And I wasn’t going to lie, there was a little bit of panic that seized me at the mention of her name.

Miss Kim, alias Kim Jiyu, alias the sister of the man currently in charge of Kim Enterprises and any other business the Kim family was running legal or not, was notoriously known in both the underworld and the law enforcement sphere as a very unpleasant and harsh woman that people only ever can have the displeasure of meeting. There was a lot of stories floating around about her, and most were extremely unflattering to her character. All kinds of adjectives were attached to her, from spoiled or mean all the way to downright cruel and heartless.

The meeting with her could mean only one thing – they were trying to get the meeting with the Mr. Kim himself, but as most people, couldn’t get through his sister first, as she acted as a wall between him and the rest of the world. Unless you came with a warrant, the chances of speaking to him alone or at all were very slim, most visitors got handled by Ms. Kim before they even made it through the receptionist.

I shuddered a little bit at the thought of meeting her and doing a questioning against her and the crimes her family was involved in. Allegedly. After this thing was over, I had to go to good old Jungkook and troll him a little over parking tickets to decompress from this whole ordeal.

I turned to Minjoon, taking in his worried face, and I put on my bravest expression, nodding with a gentle smile. We didn’t really speak after that again, both of us just processing the information that was traded throughout the whole evening.

When I got home, I was so exhausted I just wanted to crash into the bed and sleep for twelve hours but sleep just wouldn’t find me until the early hours of the morning, and I found myself lying there with closed eyes, brain overheating with everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours.

I nervously shimmied around, earning another judging stare from one of the maids and a warning shake of head from Minjoon, as we waited in the entrance hall to be accepted by the lady of the house.

When Minjoon mentioned going to interview Ms. Kim, I truly didn’t even begin to imagine we would go into her house. That morning pulling up in front of a huge modern mansion and getting greeted by a chauffeur and a gardener before I even made it halfway through the gate was truly a shock. I don’t know why I was expecting maybe an office or something, given the fact it was one of the richest residential parts of Seoul, but still.

As usual, my nervousness made it that I was there first, way before Sunmi or Minjoon got there, who were the two people assigned to this task, Hwang and Seungcheol trying their luck loitering around the office building where Mr. Kim must have been. It was a tactic that was already well known to me in our unit, fighting on two fronts and then exchanging found out info. In my mind I was transported months back, to the first time I was brought along, the “first time” I officially met Yoongi in the VIP lounge in Pied Piper and how I nervously sat in front of him while he laughed at me like my presence was the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him.

The feelings of unease and queasiness that thinking of Yoongi often brought along manifested themselves and I started sweating even harder, slowly gaining Minjoon’s worry as he looked me up and down. I shook my head to him very slightly, hoping it was seen as a comforting gesture and it wouldn’t make him hover over me in an attempt to shelter me or comfort me.

The silence in the hall stretched for several additional minutes and the three of us stood there awkwardly, scrutinised by every member of staff currently on standby. I felt the scolding gazes doubly, as I didn’t make much effort on the visual front, rocking up to one of the most expensive houses in the most expensive neighbourhood in my worn washed out jeans, a simple black tee and a breezy short-sleeved shirt with an aggressive flower print, hair styled in a way that was the most practical and needed the least amount of time to achieve and a face red and sweating both from the hot temperatures and the nerves, the look finished with a pair of old sneakers basically crying for help.

I couldn’t look more out of place in the pristine light green hall with sleek furniture and floors made from massive marble tiles and I felt properly as an outsider, both from the perspective of a kid growing up in an impoverished block and as a colleague that wasn’t properly informed about the details of the visit. Even Minjoon wore a nicer pair of jeans and a shirt, which he never did, and Sunmi looked as elegant as ever in her dress pants, light blouse and beautiful wavy hair let hanging loose around her shoulders. I swallowed my bitterness and regret at not checking up on the area first and not getting the chance to also dress accordingly. And avoiding looking like a beggar accidentally let in from the streets.

My train of thought was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps, the distinctive clacking of high heel shoes on the marble floors carrying to us all the way from deep inside the house, and I found myself almost letting out a breath of relief, as I would finally be able to escape this oppressive atmosphere and disappear somewhere into a corner of a room and just quietly make notes.

With each clack getting closer to us the tension in the air grew lightly, the forms of my colleagues also straightening out, hands last minute fidgeting around their clothes to gather courage and look as composed as we could. From what I understood, from the people present here only Sunmi had the pleasure of meeting our host before, and it was only twice. Not nearly enough for the initial instinctual apprehension to wear off. Therefore we were all probably experiencing similar levels of unease. Most probably. Hard to say, I was pretty strung up.

Finally, the form of a woman rounded the corner and materialised at the other end of a very long corridor, slowly inching towards us with the elegance and prowess of a hungry lion, her form slightly shimmering. At first I thought my eyes were watering or I was straight up hallucinating, but as she came closer I realised it was because she wore a silvery dress that reflected every light and surface around her.

She was taller than me, quite a bit (not a big feat honestly, I barely grew out of looking like an 8th grader) with a small, graceful face, each inch perfect and carefully maintained. Both her make-up and dress looked very sophisticated, showing clearly that she was a member of the higher class, with her beautiful dark hair pulled into a tight intricate bun at the back of her head. She was absolutely stunning and, to be honest, for a moment I got a little starstruck. It felt like meeting a movie star or a celebrity, she had that aura around her, and for a few seconds I completely forgot why we were there and almost started asking for an autograph and a detailed explanation of her beauty routine.

That all shattered the moment she finally reached us though, as her impassive face suddenly broke into a cruel smirk, venom taking over her dark eyes and she scoffed, looking us over like we were pests about to be exterminated. Before even giving us a chance to introduce ourselves, or really say anything, her focus shifted to Sunmi, gaze burning her down intensely.

“I thought we were over this, detective,” she said in a strong voice, sounding just as annoyed as mean, “There’s no need for you to come over and ask your silly little questions. I told you everything you need to know.” I saw the moment Sunmi steeled herself, eyes hardening, readying to play her part of an unshakable detective. And damn, did she do a great job.

“Please Ms. Kim,” she retorted, her body relaxing a little as she adopted a posture to counter the other woman’s stiff elegant figure, “You know I’ll never have enough of asking you silly questions. Just let us bother you for fifteen minutes and then we don’t have to see each other again for a few months.” There was a little impish grin tugging on her lips and I could notice our hostess was starting to get a little bothered by that, her annoyance slowly running through the roof. I watched on with bated breath, both me and Minjoon just hanging back quietly, taken aback by the sudden change in the air.

Ms. Kim’s face turned into a bitter grimace, the disgust obvious in the downturn of her mouth as she stepped aside and gestured down the long hallway she herself came from.

“Fine, you got fifteen minutes, after that I’m not entertaining any other visits unless you have an arrest warrant,” she bit out almost in a bark, before she turned around without waiting and stomped her way back inside the house. We all scrambled to follow her, suddenly thrust into action after just weirdly hanging about for such a long time. Sunmi took the lead, confidently striding after her, but as she passed me I could hear her releasing a huge puff of air as she steadied herself to carry on.

I gazed after her, taking in her stoney face and confident posture, my respect towards the female detective immediately skyrocketing. If Minjoon told me I was looking at her with hearts in my eyes, I would totally believe him. I liked to pretend I looked similar while dealing with Yoongi, but Sunmi clearly perfected the pest bratty power play that just drove these types up the wall, and I hoped I would be able to learn from her before we all had to go our separate ways again. I’m sure the Min gang would infinitely appreciate it. Especially the maknae.

Miss Kim led us only halfway through the corridor before she disappeared into a room on the right, and like ducklings we all followed inside. Minjoon came through last, but immediately went for the chairs, so I took it upon myself to close the door. When I turned, I was the last one to take the room in. It was quite a standard home office space, with a dark desk dominating the space, some shelves with books and decorations, and of course, the two chairs waiting for visitors to be scrutinised from the high table.

Not wanting to pull much attention to myself, I quickly hurried into the left corner where a lone small armchair stood, sitting myself there. I was already pretty much invisible to them as they sized each other up.

Just as before, Miss Kim didn’t seem overly interested in getting our names, getting straight to business without any preamble.

“I cannot imagine what else you’d like to hear from me, Miss Lee,” her piercing voice sounded through the room, taking on a slight whining voice. I jerked slightly in my chair, head immediately flying up to look at the woman before I realised that me and Sunmi shared a surname and she was talking to her, not me. The relief that flooded me at not having to face her yet was quite mortifying, so I just focused on fiddling with my notepad and pen, waiting for something worthy of being written down.

“A multiple homicide took place on your front lawn, of course we’d be interested in getting your perspective as much as we can,” Sunmi replied to her matter-of-factly, holding her own in the intense power battle that was currently taking place between their gazes.

“On my front lawn? That’s news to me,” Miss Kim leaned back into her chair, throwing her arms into the air, “That’s not our warehouse. The Kim Enterprises don’t own it.”

“Cut the shit, that’s your turf. You want to tell me that someone was murdered on your turf, and you don’t have even the slightest idea? Not even if Mins were involved?” Sunmi snapped back immediately and even I was surprised for a split second before I schooled my expression and watched the two of them attentively.

Miss Kim seemed hardly surprised, she didn’t even blink at Sunmi’s approach, just sat there and stared at her blankly with not even a single hair out of place. Then she smirked lightly, fingers drumming a quick rhythm into the desk.

“I have no idea what Mr. Min is doing, but I can assure you he’s doing it far away from me,” she said diplomatically, “We’re not exactly the bestest of friends.” There was a tense venomous smile on her face and I fought back the scoff. That was some understatement. But she was really good at acting as if her whole clan didn’t almost lose their lives to Yoongi’s six after actively trying to sabotage him several times.

But guess they must have gotten a little mercy from him since most of the conflicts happened while the old Kim, her father, was still in power. Since he has died and his son took over, the relationship between the two powerhouses was still considerably strained, but also much calmer.

There was a moment of silence, Minjoon quietly looing to Sunmi whether she wanted to keep going and when she didn’t stop him, he cleared his throat and turned his full attention to the woman behind the desk.

“It might not be your warehouse, but we know the area is pretty much under your rule,” he said seemingly amicably, a stark difference to Sunmi’s irate approach, “We don’t care about any other stuff that’s happening there. We don’t care about drugs or smuggling right now, this is a murder case.”

To that the woman smirked and rolled her eyes. “So what? If I give you information, you’ll overlook anything else that might be going on? You want me to be a snitch?” she drawled out, clearly mocking us all, then threw her hands out into the air, “Not my warehouse, not my problem. Why would I know what’s going on in a house that doesn’t belong to me?” The answer was pretty clear, to be honest. Even as someone from a rival gang, if she knew something she wouldn’t cooperate with the police. The retaliation would be merciless if Yoongi found out. And he always did.

“Anything you say will be recorded as an anonymous tip, it will only push us in the right direction,” Minjoon told her, in what was supposed to be a comforting manner, but his voice was too hard and matter-of-fact to be friendly. The elegantly dressed woman’s eyes jumped from the two with a slyness that left a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. In that moment she looked more like a viper about to strike than an heiress to a huge successful family. An ugly smirk curled around her lips and her face took on a certain savageness, suddenly she looked nothing like the graceful lady that greeted us in the foyer.

“Well, detective,” she started in another drawl, now her voice pitching more towards an almost playful hostility, like she was trying to make herself seem less lethal than she truly was, “all I can say is that they were drug dealers. Which is something you already know. So you probably have to ask… why did they lose their lives because of it? Hmmmm, I wonder… wonder who and where does drug deals that has the reputation of killing anyone that just looks at him bad…” She ended that whole spiel with a sharp grin, and promptly stood up and in a grand gesture flicked her wrist towards the door.

“I didn’t really expect that I would have to do the police’s job for them, should have fucking gone to the academy,” she hissed out in a snarl, “Now get the fuck out of my house and don’t bother me again about bullshit that doesn’t concern me.”

The two detectives didn’t seem to be bothered by her words or sudden turn in mood at all, instead they both stood up almost coordinated and without a single word or a glance back turned to leave the room. I scrambled to follow them, the whole thing replaying in my mind as I absent mindedly smacked about the door to catch the handle. The split second I turned to see where it was, I caught Miss Kim’s eye for the first time that evening. Hers were sharp, face a hard grimace of uncaringness and cruelty. She smirked at me in a mocking way, like she would at an insect right before she crushed in under her heel, her pride and ego clearly displayed like trophies in her arrogant stance and upturned head. I shuddered lightly and decided to leave the door be, breaking into a light jog to catch up to my colleagues much to judging looks of the servants. I didn’t care much, I just wanted to be out of there.

Once back on the street, a weighted silence stretched between us as we marinated on what we were told. Really, these interviews always felt so short and so little information would come from them, and then you’d look at the clock and find out it’s been thirty or forty minutes spend just turning in circles. This was one of them.

“Of course we know the drug deal is an important aspect of the case,” Minjoon suddenly bit out, peeved as the last comment clearly got him, “A group of drug dealers doesn’t just get murdered by accident. But Yoongi is self-sufficient, he has ties across the sea to Japan, he doesn’t do deals with small in-Seoul gangs.” We both looked at him, trying to ignore his petulant outburst, trying to be empathising because all of our emotions ran a little wild at the moment. I looked to Sunmi, studying her calm face that was in contrast to her hand tapping her thigh in a quick rhythm, her mind working fast to slot everything together and re-evaluate what we found out till now.

“Well, then the reason must be there,” I voiced out unsurely, getting nervous when their gazes turned to me, “If what she’s insinuating is that they were doing a deal with Yoongi and got killed, then we gotta find out why. If he normally doesn’t do that, then why now?” Sunmi nodded at my words, eyes squinted both against the sun and in thought, mulling over it.

“Yeah, that’s really the only way I see here too,” she stated finally, voice carrying strong, “We were working with theories that they maybe provoked him or split from him and stole some of his cargo, maybe tried to push his turf somewhere, the usual reasons for this brutal of a punishment, but maybe we should explore the option that they were actually partners. Maybe they scammed him with goods, that could get you murdered in this business.”

I pursed my lips tightly, keeping a neutral face to reign in my surprise, as most of those things she said were total news to me. I had known they were looking into their past and that they were drug dealers, that they missed one guy and maybe he got away. Nothing of what she said actually made it to me, and I had to stand there and pretend like I knew what she was talking about. I mean, I wasn’t dumb, these were the usual reasons for murder between gangs, but it would have been nice if someone actually told me we were looking into these options.

I swallowed my bitterness down and kept my eyes trained on Sunmi, nodding along. I didn’t want my negative experience with my team and unit to tamper down the respect that was quickly growing in me towards her, the detective has in the short period of time I’ve known her become something of a model for me, and I knew that it wasn’t her responsibility to keep me updated since she was from a different unit. No, this transgression was on the side of my own colleagues, so I stubbornly kept my eyes from straying towards the officer in question, who was nervously shuffling next to her.

I let out a tired sigh, the disappointment was so constant with them that I barely even found it in me to be properly annoyed, just felt resignation bleed into me slowly. I knew that I would most likely just keep getting fucked over like this, but still, I stubbornly and selfishly wasn’t prepared to give up just yet, and it hurt. But really, what other option did I have.

“We should get back to the station,” I piped in, cutting short the conversation that started up between them while I was spacing out, and I felt Minjoon’s guilty gaze on me, “Get the info to the others and re-evaluate.” Sunmi once again nodded, patting my shoulder and giving me a friendly smile.

“You’re here by car, right? We could definitely squeeze you in if you need a ride,” she offered easily, and I found myself genuinely smiling back. I thanked her and pointed towards my own vehicle, and she patted my shoulder some more, a little more awkwardly, and made her way to her own. Minjoon lingered behind a little, but whatever he wanted to tell me, we didn’t have time for it anyway, so I shot him a polite smile and went my way too.

The day went by surprisingly fast, considering I didn’t speak much for the rest of it, the earlier realisation weighing heavy on me. The briefing was pretty short, with mostly Sunmi making sure the other two detectives were caught up. They split their duties quickly too. Minjoon and Seungcheol were supposed to keep looking into the mysterious third accomplice while Sunmi and Hwang would start looking more sharply into their mob ties, hoping to somehow trace them to Yoongi if they scrutinised them hard enough. I sat there and watched them awkwardly, until Minjoon turned to me and somewhat sheepishly asked whether I wanted to share my findings. So I did.

I recapped to them everything I said to Minjoon a few days earlier before he stepped in and informed the others I agreed to go through the older cases as well and would try to build a new bigger case. I gulped down my own simmering anger, that was admittedly dwindling down with every hit I took from them, and smiled, nodded, agreed. Minjoon kept glancing towards me as if he wanted to say something more, but I ignored it for the moment. Now was not the time. He asked the other team if they would volunteer to have someone tag along with me. Seungcheol agreed. I shook his hand and thanked him. In my head I clung to the promise Minjoon made me, that this would be my own big case, and kept myself in check.

By the evening, I was finally wrapping up with the original task, a huge boulder falling off of my shoulders and then promptly building back up when I curiously checked how many files I would have to pull up come Monday. It was a lot. I did catch myself just sitting at my tiny desk kneading my face in my hands, smushing my features all together and then pulling them again, as my eyes focused and unfocused on the computer screen.

And that’s how Minjoon found me too. He walked up to me quietly, and at first I didn’t even notice him through the existential crisis I was going through, but soon his hip moved into my field of vision and I jerked back, embarrassed at my antics. Minjoon still looked just as apologetic as that morning, and I couldn’t even be annoyed with him after the day I had.

“Dinner?” he asked quietly, unsure of whether I would want to go with him or not. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but instead I just nodded tiredly, pushing the files under the desk and turning off the computer. I was done, done for the day and done with working on this, so I just wordlessly stood up and glanced around. Just like last week we were the last ones around, even Park already long gone from his office where he basically camped out.

Minjoon waited for me patiently, as I gathered my belongings and then just walked out without looking back. We ended up at the same restaurant, ordering the same thing, the lady behind the counter giving us winks and mischievous smiles while I tried my hardest to push the flustered part of myself as deep as possible. That was the last thing I needed, really.

Minjoon launched into his apology as soon as we sat down, stating how tired and overworked he was and pleaded for me to forgive him just this once for forgetting to forward the information to me. How it just slipped his mind and how Hwang just plainly refused to have to keep running to me with every new little thing and always left it to him and he was just so busy. I sat there staring blankly, not even really in the mood to pretend it was fine like I usually would for the man, and he stewed under my intense gaze, stuttering to find a way to make it up to me.

I wanted to be spiteful, wanted to tell him just how tired I was as well, how if they even invited me to these meetings in the first place, we wouldn’t have this problem, but failed to find the reason why I should bother.

“Then how about this? I have an offer to make,” Minjoon said suddenly after a few minutes of awkward small talk, a mischievous smile slowly stretching on his face. I perked up at the sudden change in mood and curiously nodded at him to continue. “I always have the time to tell you everything when we eat here and I can relax at the same time, so it’s pretty obvious you should keep coming to these dinners with me. Just for the work’s sake of course,” the man suggested slyly, eyes colouring with mirth and something else, something a little darker and sweeter. That insufferable flirt.

That time I did blush full force as soon as the meaning of those words hit me, ducking my head shyly as the negative emotions dissolved confusedly into something a little more excited and jittery deep inside my chest, the anger forgotten under the sudden attention. I found myself nodding and Minjoon rewarded me with such a blinding smile it made everything worth it, all the work and the bitterness long pushed from my mind.

That evening, there was plenty more conversation, none of it about murders or crime which was a refreshing change for both of us, and we both seized the opportunity to actually mention anything that didn’t have any tie to Yoongi, who seemed to have become a constant in my life. For a first time in a really long time I laughed freely with another person, nothing holding me back from the amusement and nothing weighing heavy on my mind.

When I made my way home that evening, the hopeful joy making itself known in my heart seemingly erased all the negativity of the day, of the week, of the month. The only thought that fought its way through was the flash of Yoongi in my mind as I passed the street that would eventually lead me to Pied Piper.

I turned my head straight and drove on.

The days quickly bled into weeks, into a month, until I was sweating my ass off in the office towards the end of May, the sudden heatwave hitting right after a week of storms and rains. The heat always seemed to get even more exaggerated inside the building, something about it just had to be cursed. And with how old and rundown the station really was, hoping for a working AC soon turned into a fruitless endeavour.

I spent the month the same way I spent the month before that, buried neck deep in old cold cases that never saw enough evidence or attention, cross-referencing every little thing down to wearing the same-coloured socks. Similarities started quickly adding up, and by the time I opened the 20th case I could confidently say whether it was truly a Min murder or not. I even had bets going on which one were Jungkook’s and which ones were Hoseok’s. There were even few that I suspected belonged to the Kims, but it wasn’t a theory I felt was strong enough to actually present to others. I had become something of an expert on violence.

Truly, throughout the cases, there were few names that kept repeating – names of companies that could be traced back to Yoongi’s umbrella corporation, names of middlemen that were known to hang about him, names from other cases. They all tied together a nice picture of shady business and in the middle of it all sat Yoongi, like the devil himself.

I was able to painstakingly trace some of the new cases to the older ones, fully incorporating them into the agenda after confirming truly that they were most likely victims of bad deals and finicky power dynamics. Then came the gut punch – the man that was linked to most of those cases, Moon Jiwoo, the middleman whose sole occupation seemed to be to link up wealthy influential men with Yoongi, has gone and turned into a cold case himself. This time a missing person.

Damn you, Jung Hoseok, ruining all my fun.

But obviously this was something worth looking into, given the fact that he was “taken care of” as well. So I started rearranging the files into different groups and sub-groups once again, making a pile that was directly connected to Moon Jiwoo, then a pile of cases that was linked to the victims in the first pile and then seemingly unconnected cases that were still most probably carried out by the Min gang. Thus I ended up with thirteen cases – seven that were connected to the middleman, the middleman case itself and five that had a link to the main seven. Ten more cases sat on the side, for now looking rather random, but maybe I would come to find out that they fell into the intricate web of murders I was currently looking at.

These lucky thirteen mostly had quite peculiar history of travelling between units until they ended up here. Some started off as missing persons cases until a body was found, death undetermined or suspicious enough to have the violent crimes look it over, some were first classified as an accident until someone from ours found it and pulled it over to organised crime. There were two cases that made it straight to us as soon as they were reported – the missing Moon Jiwoo, a known associate, and a dock worker that was employed by an affiliated company. Unfortunately, it was much easier to make a poor man working in the docks disappear than a filthy rich magnate, so those few cases that made it to us were mostly thin and under-investigated.

Stepping into this task, I have to admit that at first I was quite surprised that someone as infamously known for being a dangerous silent killer that almost never leaves any evidence as Hoseok had left this many cases for us to look into, but once I started properly going through them I realised that there was a stone wall at every turn and most of these cases went completely cold only a few weeks after happening. And considering it was a pure stroke of luck that even brought them to us, the chance that they would have been eventually completely forgotten was extremely high. I had to give it to him, he was extremely efficient, enough to make me progressively more annoyed every time I hit a dead end, cursing him in my mind four times a day. And I shuddered to think about the number of cases that never made it to us or that didn’t even get reported.

But now at least I had a firm idea of what would have to be investigated more thoroughly and which avenues I would look into. You bet that I was gathering those thirteen files to bring them home and put them on the map wall, silently sighing at the image of the macabre décor in my own bedroom. It was truly unfortunate it was the best room for it in my tiny tiny apartment, but sadly I was getting used to it by now. So much for calming relaxing mornings.

A cup of coffee landed on my desk and I jumped in fright, realising I had been just emptily staring at my computer screen as I went over everything I would have to do at home during the weekend and my plan starting Monday. I looked up with cheeks coloured by embarrassment, catching Cheol’s amused expression before he tipped an imaginary hat in my direction.

“Howdy, partner,” he drawled out and took a sip of his own coffee, leaning back onto a neighbouring desk and making himself as comfortable as he possibly could with the sharp edge digging into him. I chuckled at him and tipped my head in return.

“Howdy,” slipped out of my mouth easily, “thanks for the coffee.” He only smiled as a response and then nodded towards the computer and the mess of files everywhere.

“How’s it looking?” the detective asked. I sent him a faux annoyed looked, but there was a smile tugging on my lips. In the past few weeks Cheol made it his mission to check up on me regularly. He’d usually come with a cup of either coffee or tea and start asking about my progress. Since he had volunteered to be my partner in this, I understood his reasoning, but the first few times I found myself quite annoyed by his incessant questioning. Until I realised he was doing it on purpose and was just pulling my leg. After that I was able to relax and see the interaction for what it really was – an attempt to build some comradery, not an effort to press and humiliate me.

I found out he was actually pretty easy-going, he had a sense of stability and strength around him and yet still managed to be an absolute goofball, which helped me feel less nervous and I even started catching onto some of his jokes. I liked hanging out with him and I already trusted him as a teammate despite the fact that we hadn’t even gone out to the field together.

“Same as yesterday,” I told him finally, pretending to be annoyed with him, “Monday big briefing, then we can kick off.” My voice turned serious in the second half, conveying that it truly was an information he needed to keep in mind.

“Okay, I’ll be there,” he responded to just as seriously, only a small smile on his face as I nodded at him and then gestured to the mountains of files. “In the meantime I’ll have fun organising this for you, so you better not be ungrateful,” I joked right back at him, “I am not above abusing my power.” That got an amused chuckle out of him.

“Sure thing, rookie,” his voice turned slightly jokingly exaggerated, but I heard the genuineness in it, which pulled an honest grin out of me, “we’ll see about that on Monday.” With that he pushed himself off the table and started walking off somewhere, only waving around the cup in lieu of a goodbye.

On his way out, presumably back to his own unit, he passed Minjoon’s table, and I caught the man’s eye as I watched Cheol dramatically take his leave. Immediately I felt a blush spreading and I ducked my head back between the files quickly. There was a slight grin on his face witnessing my reaction, and I chastised myself to behave while at work. We weren’t highschoolers anymore and I could get in serious trouble sending puppy eyes to my colleague. If somebody caught wind of that, they’d disrespect me even more, it would become absolute hell here and I couldn’t afford to make the atmosphere even more hostile when I was barely making it now.

True to his word, Minjoon took me to the little restaurant by the office once or twice a week to eat and gave me the whole rundown of the other team’s plans and findings to keep me updated on everything going on. He would relay everything to me with care, making sure I wasn’t left out and that he wouldn’t have to awkwardly fill me in under Hwang’s hateful eyes. But we would always end up talking about everything and anything, and soon I started anticipating our dinners not because of the information, but because as soon as that was told, we would start chatting and laughing.

One moment I’d be asking about the next step against Yoongi and the next we were trading stories about the most embarrassing things we’ve done in high school or our favourite childhood spots to play in. Minjoon talked a lot about his family, about his older brothers and parents, and while I tried to avoid that topic as much as possible, I ended up also sharing some childhood stories without many details.

Honestly, those evenings became my favourite moments. The weeks and the work were both so hectic lately and I found myself swamped with cases, searching for the tiniest details, and more often than not I was going home totally exhausted with red raw eyes and a migraine that just wouldn’t leave no matter what I did. I almost perfected sleeping in a way that didn’t aggravate my headache to a point I almost threw up (I did throw up once, after I came home and almost passed out not realising I didn’t really eat anything the whole day).

The moments I spent with Minjoon were a beautiful escape, a few hours a week I forgot completely about my responsibilities and didn’t care about murders and gang activity, and only sat back and traded jokes and bashful flirts. We both have long since stopped pretending we weren’t interested in each other, and it made those encounters even more exhilarating as we danced around the attraction with careful teasing smiles and soft flirting. I was still very much nervous about the unit catching on and realising what’s going on, but Minjoon’s warm presence in my life slowly erased those fears and made me more open to the possibility. The last few meetings toed the line of propriety with more ways than one, flirtation straying further than before and Minjoon’s insistence he drives me home leaving us in a few tense charged moments by my door.

It was exciting and terrifying, but I liked the officer. He’d been the only one that went out of his way to actually accept me and treat me as a human, he helped me and pushed me through to give me opportunities to prove myself to others and he continuously cared about my well-being. I liked spending my evenings with him, he was charming and kind and we both seemed very compatible.

The only problem that stood between us and made us both hesitant to cross a line further than friendly dinners was the fact that we were not only coworkers, but team members. That left us awkwardly trying to navigate the sudden tension that arose between us without giving away how close we were getting. Honestly, every day I was nervous that Sunmi or Seungcheol would look at us and see, like it was written all over my face that I was starting to like Minjoon from a wholly unprofessional standpoint.

It was like there was a huge ticking clock hanging over my head just waiting for a disaster to happen, but it didn’t stop me from looking forward to the Friday evening every week. And Minjoon seemed to be in the same boat. But as long as we didn’t cross over to uncharted territory, we were fine.

Thus, we both just sat there in the office and exchanged timid grins, making sure no one saw us making eye contact, like we were two criminals fleeing from the law.

I tried to focus back onto my monitor, but I was absolutely fried. It was still noon, but the whole weight of the last two months just hit me and I was fighting to stay awake, knowing I was done with one of the most annoying boring tasks I’ve ever had to deal with and that from Monday I’ll be even more busy.

There was both panic and excitement coursing through me at what was waiting for me, all the possibilities from actually doing some real investigating and solving cold cases to finally having the chance to put my energy into something productive and not only sneak around Seoul at the ass crack of dawn hoping to catch a sight of a serial killer working for the most annoying man in the existence.

Finally I’d have a chance. And that was just as scary. It felt like I had twice as much to lose, given the fact I was barely tolerated now. I had everything to gain, but everything to lose. If I failed this, if I messed up or got us into trouble, it’d be the end of me on this precinct. Not successfully closing at least one of these cases wasn’t an option, I had to yield results.

For the nth time that day I tried blinking away the tiredness from my eyes and the early onset of another migraine, but as soon as it started being hard to focus through the pain, I decided it was time to give up on trying to achieve anything today.

Already having great experience with gathering my things to leave as fast as possible, I was ready to leave within five minutes of deciding to go home, the relief coursing through my veins like ice cream on a hot day. And it was a very hot today.

Still, I stopped by Minjoon’s desk, surprising him for a moment before he gave a confused smile, the question marks reflected in his eyes without him even having to ask anything. I grinned at him wildly, no doubt looking slightly insane from this angle of him looking up at me.

“You said that you haven’t questioned Yoongi yet, right?” I enquired out of nowhere, confusing him even more as he fully turned to me, and I could see him trying to figure me out. Then he slowly nodded.

“Yeah,” he drawled out, “we decided to go into offensive and start pushing him, so we’ll start questionings in the following weeks.” I nodded quickly, shooting him a rushed smile before I made my way out into the hot noon air and blasting sun, leaving supremely more confused Minjoon behind, not even giving him a chance to really say goodbye.

There’s been a thought playing around in my mind for a few days now. Was it finally time to go see Yoongi again? Now seemed to be the best time to make my grand return, remind them of my existence and cut the suspense. The team was already planning to go talk to him anyway, come June they’ll be hot on his tail, back to their strategy of annoying him. It would be kind of a sweet little treat to find out how much he knows, whether it already made it back to him and he was onto us or whether he was still blissfully unaware of what we were investigating. I was slightly embarrassed by the amount of excitement that flowed through me at the prospect of teasing the man again, of hearing his remarks, now that I fully had a leg up (though the last time I thought that it went spectacularly wrong).

I wanted to try to throw him off his high horse. To unnerve him, in the same way he always did to me. To return the favour of always finding a way to get under my skin and make me mad. I wanted that. I wanted him to know that I would be getting him behind those bars, just as I promised two months ago in The Rose.

Waiting until the evening seemed almost impossible, not even my own exhaustion that tried to lure me into hours long nap could distract me from the slowly ticking clock, and I was restless the whole day. Sitting around, staring off into space, always wanting to pick something up, some chore or an easy task, but unable to focus on anything except for whether it would be better to catch him still in the office or make a grand entrance to the Pied Piper, where he should be today.

And pulling up to said club twenty minutes after 7pm, I did pray that he was there, as I immediately recognised those same bouncers and desperately wished there wouldn’t be a repeat of that whole situation. Though, if I did manage to cockblock Yoongi twice, that would definitely put a smile on my face, that’s how petty we were getting here.

But that hardly mattered, not when I walked up to them and before I could even get a single word out of me, a mean glint present in my eyes to let them know I remembered them and I wasn’t amused by whatever bullshit they would try to pull, they were already opening the doors to me and gesturing for me to enter with smug smirks. My whole actor bit got thrown off and I stared at them shocked for a moment, before I hurried to scramble inside much to the distaste and grumbling of people waiting in the line right behind me. There was some disgruntled shouting, a warning growl and then the door fell shut and I was left in the dark hallway leading deeper into the heart of the club. That was entirely too easy.

From here, I could only sense the loud drums pulsing through the walls, their faint echo thrumming through my very bones, as I mechanically forced a foot in front of the other, pushing myself back into my carefree smug attitude. Stop being stupid, I thought to myself, something like this can’t throw you off. But it did mean that Yoongi was already no doubt alerted to my presence, sitting like a king in that red balcony waiting for me to get there.

Well, I couldn’t let him wait for long, could I? We had a game to play.

Somewhat nervously I shuffled with my clothes, choosing to show up in a little bit more club appropriate attire so I could sell my arrogance and triumph, and flaunt it properly in their face. I had to appear strong, this was a crucial moment between us and I couldn’t fumble here. Though, deep down I felt like this evening, just like all of my other encounters with the man, would inevitably end in disaster. Still, I made sure my skirt and crop top were in place, short heels properly strapped and hair and earrings where I wanted them to be, hoping my makeup still looked as okay as it did when I left my apartment.

This afternoon, as I desperately tried to come up with some sort of a plan, I had realised everyone around Yoongi always walked around in pristine high-end clothes, while I ended up running after them dressed in rags, basically. The encounter with Miss Kim only strengthened this idea within me. I had to step up my game. I had to learn how to play by their rules just enough to get away with it. So, I made sure to dress up a little. Only a tiny bit.

With a deep stabilising inhale and exhale, I set out down the hallway and down the stairs into the main room. I ignored the bar that opened up to my right and went straight for the VIP section entrance. I was anticipating to run into a little more trouble here, as I made my way towards the two unsmiling bouncers all jittery and trying to look more confident than I’ve ever been in my entire life; but upon seeing me, they just stepped to the side, unhooked the red rope and waited for me to walk through.

I did, though my nerves grew with every step I took up those stairs, knees and hands slightly shaking, and I clutched my little handbag until I risked damaging it. The upper floor, the VIP section, was just as intimate and infinitely more pleasant than the downstairs as the last time I was here, and my eyes quickly scanned through the seated guests, trying to make out whether there was someone I recognised, but it was too dark. I caught the barman’s eye and he winked at me cheekily, gesturing at an alcohol bottle he was just fiddling with, attempting to lure me in to buy a drink. My returning smile was apologetic, but it did stop me, and I found myself just awkwardly standing there looking towards the wall where I knew the balcony entrance was.

Trying out the same strategy as before, I loudly inhaled and exhaled, forced my body back into working order, and started moving slowly towards them. With every step I shoved a little more false confidence and condescending attitude to prepare myself, steadily growing surer in those heels and schooling my expression.

Just like downstairs, the bouncer moved out of my way and allowed me to enter the private zone, but as I caught a glimpse of his face, I did a hasty double take. A wry grin made it onto my face, watching the man up and down.

“Good evening, Mr. Choi,” I greeted the bodyguard with a sense of mocking in my tone, a sentiment he gladly returned in his patronising little bow he did towards me, eyes fighting to not roll to the back of his head. I chuckled and moved on, finally climbing those last few stairs.

Coming face to face with the men after such a long time was truly terrifying, especially as I stood there in my ditzy little outfit in front of several of the most dangerous criminals in the city and noted the shock and interest in their eyes as they fully took me in. Several different instincts warred through me – to hide away, to run, to flounder under their attention, to throw my attitude into their face, but all I could really manage was stand there in a manner I hoped that screamed carefully constructed indifference.

Yoongi was spread out on the central sofa, just like last time, comfortably seated in a way that almost made him seem half melted into the soft furnishing, but his eyes were sharp just like his smirk, thoroughly studying me. I could already see the cogs in his head turning, realising this was a beginning of a new game, even more exciting than the last one. I fought the shudder that tried to overtake me under his heavy gaze and instead turned my attention to the sofa next to him.

There was no Jungkook today, his dark sulking mass would be hard to miss, but Taehyung was here, elegantly sitting near the corner of his settee with one arm curling around the top of it and the other gently laid on his crossed legs. Everything about him screamed how comfortable and confident he felt, all the way to the playful smirk and studious eyes. I would have to be more careful around him, he was kind of a whole lot to deal with and I had no idea whether I could take that tonight.

But I couldn’t stop the surprise from displaying clearly on my face as I clocked in the last figure in the room, sitting close next to Taehyung, full body turned to me with a wide smile that had a dangerous edge to it and strangely deep dark eyes that had my fingers trembling in a tinge of fear. It was Hoseok, dressed in a nice suit and comfortably sitting there with a glass of alcohol loosely held in his hand, swirling over his expensive shoes. He was grinning at me like we were old friends, but somehow that made me even more wary of him, an unease setting into my insides that had me reconsidering whether tonight was a good idea.

But I was already here, so. No way but forward.

Gathering my wits back I plastered a smile on my face and regarded the three men with a cheery “Gentlemen” while I made my way towards the little chair sitting straight across from Yoongi. It was my place anyway, we all knew it, he clearly had all the unwelcome guests sitting on it to make them uncomfortable and unsure of themselves, so I had to own it as effortlessly as possible.

“Well, what a pleasant surprise, officer,” Yoongi started with his smooth voice that he only used when he was being intentionally an ass, “Come here to club and destress on a tough Friday night?” His eyes flicked down to my attire and then back to me, the amusement shining through alongside another strange glint to his eyes. He was interested in what my strategy was here, inviting me to set my starting pieces.

I ignored him and turned straight to Hoseok, finding his dark unsettling eyes already on me, but I forced myself to smirk lightly. “Shocked to see you here,” I said with my full voice, a cheeky undertone to my words, “Aren’t there enemies to be murdered? Bones to be buried?” His eyes narrowed slightly, smile turning a bit sharper. I’d never really spoken to him before, and our first exchanged words were a taunt from me? It was as brilliant as it was stupid, but it did throw the man off for a few seconds, his face immediately becoming a little more closed off, the happy smile still dutifully in place.

“Everybody deserves a day off here or there,” he retorted back, drawing an amused smirk to Taehyung’s face. Yoongi was watching us closely, studying the interaction before taking the control back.

“Could I interest you in a drink?” he asked, testing the waters, sharp eyes observing me. I nodded. He smirked. “Perfect,” he hummed, “Finally truly came here on a day off?” I only chuckled in response, watching him wave to someone behind me, presumably to Soobin. I squirmed a little on the tiny seat that simply must have been designed to torture the people sitting on it, always playing a balancing game on the little square with nothing to really lean on. The dark-haired man’s eyes still followed my every movement and he suddenly gestured to the space next to him.

“Of course, if it would be more comfortable for you, you’re welcome to join us on the settee,” Yoongi drawled out with a smirk, Taehyung hungrily watching our interaction with some sort of dark amusement glinting in his eyes. It made me shudder, nerves threatening to swallow me whole under their intense scrutiny, especially since Hoseok was also present. I would have never guessed I’d meet him here, casually drinking with Yoongi. Somehow I gained the idea that he just always crawled around in the dark like some kind of a mythical creature.

I pushed all of the uncomfortableness to the edges of my consciousness and quickly straightened, moving to the sofa in a few confident strides. This suddenly put me much closer to the man than I’ve ever been before, my stomach revolting and filling with lead. I quickly clasped my hands together nonchalantly to hide the slight tremor that started up again in them.

If Yoongi was surprised by my decision, he didn’t let it show and only continued to regard me with rampant curiousness and interest. I felt like a puzzle game that he desperately tried to solve just for fun, and it was increasingly more difficult to not start tensely shifting around; my eyes flitting around the room and lungs seizing until it was hard to consistently breathe.

I figured since I sat like this with Jimin in The Rose when I went there I’d be fine now, but I should have known that Yoongi himself was a completely different ballpark. He shifted around in his seated until he was half turned to me, leisurely lounging on the red velvet with one arm rested on the top and the other playing with a glass of what I assumed was whiskey. He was a picture of aloofness and power, all painted in black and red, and his aura was slowly crushing me like I had found myself at the bottom of the ocean. All I could do was try not to flounder too much and stand firmly.

I had come here to play their little game, to shock them and throw them off, to show them that I can keep up, that I’m not just a stupid little girl that’s in over her head. I needed to be bold, to play with them the same way they play with me. So, I took a few steadying breaths and ignored the way my whole body was screaming at me to leave, instead grinning self-assuredly at the man.

The silence stretched on, the other two men present sat back and watched Yoongi with amusement and something akin to respect in their eyes as he stared me down. For few long moments no one said anything, and Yoongi’s eyes just bored straight deep into my soul, picking me apart and making me squirm uncomfortably in my seat. Unlike the first time he did this to me, I fought to keep myself defiantly staring back but I couldn’t hold the eye contact, every few seconds flitting to something else before I looked at him again, shame creeping into my features. His smile grew larger and more entertained until I couldn’t take it anymore.

Just as I started considering just turning away from him in humiliation the moment was broken by a waiter coming in to serve me a cocktail and I exhaled deeply in relief just as Yoongi chuckled and nodded at the boy. I took the drink eagerly, absolutely ecstatic that I had something to put my attention to instead of those fuckers smiling smugly right next to me. The drink was something very fruity and it tasted sweet, my features immediately perking up in delight as the taste hit my tongue.

Next to me Yoongi chuckled again, and I pointedly ignored him until he spoke. “Your eyes are so genuine,” he muttered, something warmer than just plain amusement creeping into his voice, “Everything’s so clearly written all over your face.” I froze at the tone, my mind transported back into The Rose to the respect he so clearly showed towards me, and I almost fled the club in absolute panic at the reminder of why I distanced myself in the first place.

I wasn’t the only one thrown off though, Hoseok sitting right at the corner of my vision visibly tensed at Yoongi’s words and looked at him in a way that could only be described as a warning glare. Not that the man himself paid him any mind, though I was sure he certainly knew of what Hoseok was doing right to his side.

But even when all of my alarms were going off in my mind and I was so undeniably shown just how much I was losing control of the whole situation (if I even had any from the beginning) and how I got myself into real trouble fraternising with Yoongi and going along with his stupid little whims, trying to outwit him and always managing to play right into his hands, I still stubbornly refused to stop. I still stubbornly refused to back down and admit to myself this was slowly crossing lines I couldn’t afford to cross, I still tried to force myself to believe that it would mean my defeat, my surrender. And I couldn’t surrender, that’s what he wanted. It was pedal to the metal all the way, baby.

I pulled myself back together and shot him a carefully crafted smirk in return. “Don’t try to butter me up with your words, you’re not taking me home tonight,” it took everything in me not to flush at the insinuation, and I cocked my head to the side with a cheekiness I’ve seen from him many times before to sell it properly, giving him back what he always gave me (especially in The Rose with Jimin, those bastards). But the answering grin that immediately spread over Yoongi’s face had me nervous again. He looked like he won the lottery, like I just perfectly played into his cards. The man just leisurely brought his drink to his lips, before a look crossed his eyes.

“Of course I’m not, that police officer is,” he retorted nonchalantly, one eye cheekily looking to me to gauge my reaction over the rim of his whiskey glass. I froze, some spectacular mix of emotions passing through my face, and I had no idea what kind of expression was set there, but it greatly entertained my whole audience, all three of them grinning like wolfs that just stumbled upon a little girl in the middle of the woods. My heart gave a few painful jerks, and I buried my face in the glass again, hoping to regain some composure.

“Been following me too, huh?” I shot back weakly, head still spinning from this particular information coming out his lips. God damn him, god damn them all. The man laughed at that like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course, my favourite police officer just suddenly disappeared,” he said in a mock worried voice, “I had to make sure that you were alright. What if you needed help, officer?” Now my whole body trembled as I went over my whereabouts in the past two months. How much did he know? What did he see me do? Does he know what we’re investigating? Is he aware of what we’re trying to spin him into? Did I doom this operation right from the start without even realising it?

Yoongi was blissfully unaware of my inner turmoil and happily continued yapping. “Though I must say you have a rather boring life, somehow I expected a detective’s life to be more interesting,” he mocked some more, but really I didn’t care about what he thought about my life. I needed to know how much he knew about my work.

“Must have been at least a little interesting,” I tried to spin him to talk more, forcing my hands to calmly pick at my skirt to play up my aloofness, “had you interested in why the sudden absence, did I not?” He chuckled lightly, eyes dissecting me carefully with a cheeky look.

“I’m always up to indulging you and your little games, officer,” Yoongi half whispered back to me, leaning lightly forward, “Keeps my life more interesting. At least I have something to do over my lunch break.” I regarded him, spread there on the sofa leisurely like he owned the whole city, smirking himself half to death, and I decided to take a gamble.

“Oh, I have the most interesting game prepared for you,” I whispered too, subconsciously leaning in as well to make sure he heard me, “Trust me, you’re going to love it.” From this distance and under this lighting his eyes looked absolutely consumed in darkness and even as they crinkled in amusement, there was something predatory in them, especially as his lips curled up delightedly. I couldn’t help myself but think he looked almost like a tiger spirit that just managed to catch another poor soul unawares.

But when I searched the black irises for any signs of mockery or knowing, I only found pure interest and eagerness to see how this unfolds. With careful hope I allowed myself to believe that he somehow managed to miss me going to the crime scene or to Miss Kim’s house, for a short moment thanking the unit for not taking me with them as often as it clearly prevented from spoiling Yoongi his surprise.

He probably wasn’t expecting me to push an actual investigation against him at all, and probably also wasn’t warned by the Kims that we were asking around about those warehouse murders. That’s when a true smirk unfurled on my face, all the despicable joy I felt about paying him back surfacing freely onto my face.

There was a new kind of calculation reflected in his gaze, eyes never suspicious but always storing away every little detail about our interaction.

The atmosphere between us grew tense, I almost felt the air crackling, almost tasted the electricity on my tongue. I finally leaned back away from him, mirroring his relaxed posture and took a long sip of my drink.

My eyes flitted to the two other men that have just been silently sitting to the side watching the whole interaction, and suddenly I flushed realising they witnessed my shameless taunting of their boss. Hoping the light would hide any unusual colour on my face, I rather focused on deciphering their expressions.

Taehyung was watching me like a new toy that he couldn’t wait to figure out, like a game that he’s been dying to play and find out how the story ends. It made me shift uncomfortably under such raw curiosity, though I’ve been slowly getting used to the fact that he was just someone that would inevitably always throw me off. The man was basically 85 % deception and 15 % flirting, I’d rather keep myself amused by other means than striking up any kind of conversation with him.

Hoseok on the other hand had during our discussion leaned back into the sofa and he watched me with his face closed off and clean off any smile, only apprehension shining through in his gaze. He watched me with distrust and like I was a problem he wouldn’t hesitate to solve. That sent a wave of shivers and goosebumps down my back, finally giving me the opportunity to see the man behind the mask. This was the man people feared, this was the man the petty criminals respected, or they’d find themselves solved. This was the man that walked amongst the docks, and everybody listened. I fully believed that had Yoongi given the order, he’d be happy to get rid of me right here in the club.

Sitting here, drinking leisurely while these three men grinned at me like hungry wolves, I fully realised just how far deep into shit I shovelled myself with this personal justice route I had taken. Yoongi kept me around only because it amused him to watch me struggle and both Jungkook and Hoseok were firmly against indulging me.

As much as I enjoyed annoying Jungkook cause he was one of the members that always let his anger show, and that was very therapeutic for me, I was aware the reason why I was such a sore in his existence was because he hated how close Yoongi let me. Given the chance he’d prolly kill me even without Yoongi’s orders.

Other than that, Jimin and Namjoon were dangerous to be around and speak with, and Seokjin I haven’t even met, but Jimin insinuated he was also getting a little trigger happy when it came to my meddling. Now gloves were off and I was truly treading thin ice. One misstep and I would turn into a warning, just like any cop that got too close. Up until now it was all fun and games, what’s a little tailing and tracking between friends, but once I put this investigation to life, I’d truly be in danger of retribution.

I once again glanced at the satisfied grin on Yoongi’s face, at his hands gently clasped around a whiskey glass, at his relaxed shoulders and designer suit and shoes, pretty hair curling around a pretty face, and I saw the violence hiding underneath. He was good at masking his, and that made him so dangerous. It was so easy to forget what kind of man you were talking to. And from now on I would risk standing in the direct line of Hoseok’s ire as well.

I threw back the rest of the cocktail I had in my glass, my stomach protesting as I hadn’t eaten much the whole day, and I stood up to leave. I felt their stares on me, all three of them burning through me with those fiery eyes, each of them showing a different kind of craze. The gaze of a puppeteer, the gaze of a honeytrap and the gaze of a killer.

I shuddered and moved away from them, closer to the edge overlooking the rest of the club. Everyone was enjoying just a normal Friday night, having absolutely no idea what was going on just a few metres above them. I envied them a little bit, I envied how carefree they seemed.

“Feel free to enjoy yourself tonight,” Yoongi spoke suddenly into the silent tension, “The drinks are on me.” With his arm he gestured over the railing of the balcony, down to the pit of bodies moving together to the rhythm as one. Suddenly the spell was broken and I once again started to percieve the loud club music blaring throughout the whole space as it reverberated through my bones.

Without me noticing, Yoongi had stood up as well and moved to me, his presence and the warmth radiating off of his body abruptly crowding me in against the railing. I froze in a moment, just sensing him right behind, close enough to make me feel he was there but not enough to touch, as he leaned in close to whisper in my ear.

“You do deserve to let loose and relax once in a while,” he spoke to me in a hypnotising drawl, his voice turning into almost a purr, “So don’t be shy… indulge.” A full body shiver wracked through me, making me jerk in place with the force of it, and for a brief moment I wondered whether this is what it felt like to be sung by sirens into a sure death. Yoongi chuckled again, a low rumbly sound that made me twitch, and then he stepped away from me.

The cool air rushing in broke the spell and I collected my bearings again, throwing a disgruntled stare at him over my shoulder while my knees fought to work again, hands clenching the railing like it was the only thing currently keeping me alive. I just managed to catch a glimpse of the man’s sardonic grin before he turned completely and left.

The two other men stood up as well, both of their faces once again amused by my plight as I was very obviously flustered by Yoongi’s behaviour, before they stepped out right after their boss, leaving me completely alone in the luxurious balcony bathed in red velvet and sin.

Defeatedly I sat down onto the nearest sofa with an ‘oompf’, all bones turned into soup as I decompressed now that the oppressive atmosphere left with them, and blankly stared at a wall for a moment before I was able to process things normally again. My phone started wildly buzzing in my little handbag and I decided that ignoring whatever just happened and taking the distraction it offered me was a better choice than to dwell on it.

Fishing the phone out, I checked the neglected notifications, not much really coming in except for a text from Cheol confirming he read my email about the files and that he’d be ready Monday to go over it once more and some social media pings. And then, a very noticeable slew of messages from Minjoon. The first one was from 19:22, which was around the time I arrived here, asking whether I’d still be up for a dinner. It was currently over 8pm, but there was a few more asking minor questions with the newest one only from a few minutes ago.

I quickly opened the chat and answered an affirmative, my brain just begging for me to distract myself from tonight’s happenings. Minjoon was happy to hear from me and I finally took him up on the offer to drive me, as I couldn’t exactly sit behind a wheel right now.

On my way out I pointedly ignored the bartender’s small smirk, or the bouncer’s curiously raised eyebrows, I ignored Yoongi sitting at the downstairs bar chatting amicably with the guy manning it and sending me very unsubtle mirthful glances, I ignored Taehyung’s flirty wave as I passed him in the hall and most of all I ignored Hoseok leaning against a sleek black car outside of the club with a cigarette between his fingers, icy eyes following my figure for as long as he could.

The second I disappeared behind a corner I half expected him to run after me and grab me, the feeling of being watched slithering along my back in a way that made me shudder in disgust and fear. I hurried towards a bigger road, the Friday evening rush swallowing me and hiding me amidst drunken college kids, foreigners and working folk trying to forget their responsibilities for at least one night. I could relate to that, but no matter how much these meetings took away from me, they always gave me some sick satisfaction in return. And I couldn’t wait for the day I truly bested him.

I waited around for a few minutes, just enough to have the evening chill start setting into me, before a familiar car came into view, slowing down until I could hop in quickly. Minjoon smiled at me warmly, his eyes getting caught on my outfit and he fought for a few moments to keep his eyes on the road. I blushed deeply under his gaze and felt the relief of not having to police my reactions like I did with Yoongi, finally getting the chance to freely feel without fearing his mocking eyes.

“Where were you?” he asked incredulously, voice a little shaky as his glances kept getting caught on my short skirt and exposed legs. There was an electric current going through me at his obvious interest, a fire slowly waking to life right under my skin, and I found myself subconsciously trying to fold my legs in a way that make them look even prettier.

“Just out with some friends,” the lie slipped out of my lips so easily I didn’t even stop to think about feeling guilty about it, too preoccupied with feeling the tension between us slowly cracking, clutching the handbag like a lifeline and revelling in my rising heartbeat. I felt so free, so opposite of how nervous and jittery Yoongi made me. And I wanted.

“I see, I thought you were going home to rest, so I didn’t want to bother you at first,” Minjoon said, lips turning into another warm smile, which I returned tenfold, my whole face lighting up.

“I’m glad you did, I was getting hungry,” I told him teasingly, “It’s always nice with a personal chauffeur, you know?” He went along with my teasing happily, hands attractively flexing on the steering wheel as he shot me a look with one eyebrow raised, lips playing with as subtle smirk. The whole atmosphere shifted; the tension close to overflowing. Suddenly it became very clear to us that we’ve been dancing around the line for too long.

“So where to, your highness?” Minjoon asked, even though he was obviously already driving with some goal in his mind. I only grinned at him and responded: “Wherever you want, sir.”

The place turned out to be a cute little restaurant, the kind that is open at all times of the day and a girl in full club attire in the evening wasn’t a strange sight there. I had to laugh at Minjoon’s choice, as he clearly improvised upon seeing how I was dressed. But the man was watching me with something I could call fondness in eyes and that was all that mattered to me as he placed his hand on the small of my back and led me inside.

Once seated, I found that there wasn’t really even a need for talking about the team, and frankly I wasn’t even in the mood to be discussing Yoongi when I had just met with him and was doing my best to distract myself from that. Minjoon was still watching me with some sort of fascination, his gaze flickering between intrigued and sensual, and I was sure he also wasn’t particularly interested in work related topics.

We exchanged some more flirty grins while we ordered, but politely waited to be alone before starting up any kind of conversation.

“So… outing with friends?” Minjoon started, gaze once again slipping to my attire before jumping back to my face slightly flushed. I only nodded, too spent to come up with something and spend my evening lying. “I wasn’t really feeling it,” I added after slight deliberation. Minjoon grinned.

“Was feeling up to meeting me though,” the man retorted, flirty expression taking over his face, “Gonna make me feel special. Be careful or it might go to my head.” I chuckled at him, leaning over the table to graze our fingers lightly together. Minjoon’s eyes immediately jumped down and zeroed in on the place of contact before he looked back to me, eyes hooded.

Suddenly feeling parched, I licked my lips, rolling my tongue along them slowly and curled them into a sly smirk. “Everybody deserves to feel a little special,” it came out almost on a whisper, the tense atmosphere setting between us and freezing us into our spots with dark eyes and hungry stares.

I still felt jittery from my encounter earlier in the night and it mixed together with the anticipation of what was to come from this, throwing me into a whirlwind of emotions that made my body tremble slightly. My stomach was all knotted up, but it didn’t feel unpleasant, instead there was excitement brewing and slowly spreading through my bloodstream.

Even after the food arrived, the air kept getting tenser, even as we attempted to have regular conversation, it crackled between us like an onsetting storm. Every word, every sentence inlaid with telling mischievous smiles and expressive eyes. Sometimes during the dinner it started dawning on me that this was inevitable, we both were already too far. With all the flirting we’ve been doing this was really only a matter of time, and it just so happened that tonight the tension was going to explode into something that we probably shouldn’t be doing.

I looked over at Minjoon again, properly eyeing him and his expression, and when his gaze met mine and darkened as he sat there with his cheeks dusted with pink, hunched over like he was ready to launch himself over the table, sitting there like he would rather be anywhere else and preferably somewhere where there were no barriers between us, that’s when I realised he also wasn’t as opposed to this as he should have been.

The small talk flew all stilted between us and we mostly just stewed in our own cocktails of emotions and sensations, trying to chew through our food as fast as possible so we could leave; and even though it was already a little chilly outside, there was a heat coming from within that was enough for a thin line of sweat to bead along my hairline. I couldn’t imagine what picture I painted at that moment, if with one look it was obvious how the arousal was steadily rising in my veins with every another second spent just shyly exchanging heated stares.

Every so often my eyes slipped a little lower, eyeing the young man’s collarbones just peeking out from his dark green tee, sliding up and down his arms as he leaned on the table and ate, and I could see from the delighted sparkles glinting in Minjoon’s eyes that he was aware, and very much returned the favour.

God, this was definitely going to end in disaster. There was no way we could avoid this any longer.

And I was right.

Once done with the food, we sat around for a moment just looking at each other silently, before Minjoon finally gestured towards the door. “You wanna go? I’ll drive you home,” he offered immediately, the kind words that I was already used to by now tinged by something a little more tonight. I nodded and after some flirty arguing over who’s going to pay, I finally surrendered and went outside to wait for Minjoon to settle the bill.

The cold air rushed over me and cooled my burning skin a little and I took a few big breaths to ground myself. The night Seoul was loud and lively, I found myself surrounded by joyful groups and couples dressed in their best sitting in restaurants and eating or walking around the sidewalk laughing, clearly aiming for one of the establishments in the area. It was quite refreshing to see, and I lost myself in the rush and buzz, watching others enjoy themselves.

And that’s how Minjoon found me when he came out, sitting on a little wall by the sidewalk dreamily staring off into the distance. He came over, hand going straight to my face, gently catching a strand of my hair and slowly pushing it behind my ear. He lingered there for a moment, fingertips brushing the reddening tip as all the blood rushed to my face in a mighty blush. On instinct I ducked my head being too flustered and broke the contact, but the man just smoothly moved to my shoulder, pushing me up to stand.

He was very natural in his movements, pulling me to his side and wrapping his arm around my shoulders very lightly, and I just went with it, too shy to express it but too happy to go against it. I fought against the instinct to giggle like a schoolgirl and set out to his car, which was quite a short walk, and unfortunately to my apartment it was a quite short drive as well, even in the restless silence that stretched between us.

Our arrival at my doorstep seemed to have come sooner than I was anticipating, sooner than I was ready to end this little outing. I turned to the brown-haired man and studied his face for a moment. We steadily exchanged eye contact, the tension between us back with vengeance, my throat drying up under his dark gaze. I was fluttering on the edge of propriety, in my head still repeating all the reasons why this was such a bad idea, but it didn’t seem to matter when Minjoon watched me with the same longing and desperation. I felt my skin heating up, my insides stirring with something I haven’t properly felt in such a long time it hit me with a ferocity I wasn’t prepared for.

“Aren’t you going to go home?” he whispered so lightly I almost didn’t hear him. He sounded slightly breathless, tone curious and probing.

“Can you walk me to the door?” I shot back immediately, almost unthinking. He licked his lips, his kind face getting twisted with something akin to intense desire before he quickly nodded, and we both scrambled to get out of his car.

The walk was brief, of course it was. I lived on a second floor and my door was accessible from an outside walkway, so all we had to do was clear two stories of stairs and we suddenly found ourselves by my tiny apartment.

I turned to Minjoon, something expectant in the air between us, and each second ticking by felt like a countdown to the inevitable. I wasn’t ready to end this night here. I knew I wasn’t. And judging by Minjoon’s bottomless eyes, I could confidently gamble on his interest and hit jackpot every time.

As the tense silence stretched out a little, neither of really sure how to tackle this situation as we were caught in the ‘will we won’t we’ and ‘should we shouldn’t we’, until I decided to break the curse. Stepping a little closer and looking up at him through my lashes, my hand latching onto the sleeve of his jean jacket that he put on in the car and tugging lightly, I steeled myself and jumped over the line head first.

“Do you want a cup of coffee before you go?” the whispered question escaped my lips and hung for a few moments between us. I watched as if in slow motion as Minjoon took it in and nodded once, then twice, and then his hand caught mine.

I turned hastily towards the door, jabbing the key in and pushing inside without a single thought in my mind. It turned out, there wasn’t even a need for an awkward pretending of drinking anything, because the second the door closed behind us, we were on each other.

It was like dam broke between us and we suddenly couldn’t stop, couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Minjoon kissed me quickly and desperately and I fought to keep up, hands going around his neck immediately while his snaked around my waist. Taking off shoes long forgotten, we stumbled inside and towards the sofa.

In that moment, I didn’t have the mental capacity to think about the huge maps in my bedroom. I didn’t realise how lucky I was we didn’t make it any further, too lost in the way Minjoon’s tongue was finally sliding against mine and how his calloused hands caressing my sides felt a lot like heaven.

And when he inevitably got his hands on my skirt and I inevitably thought of Yoongi’s eyes taking me in when I arrived at the balcony, and when Minjoon pulled me closer and I thought of Yoongi’s presence caging me in with his warmth against the railing, of his lips turning into a smug smirk as Minjoon kissed me, then I just pressed my eyes closed harder and tangled my hands into his short brown hair, banishing all thoughts of curly black locks far away into the deepest corner of my mind.

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Taglist (open): @wobblewobble822 @viankiss @jjkwifestyle @mortal-body-timelesssoul @fullmetalavatar54

DAY 32: mister cute guy with the white jacket

that one time popstar yn surprised everyone by inviting her live band’s bass guitarist with her on stage for a performance.

DAY 53: have you ever tried this one?

that time popstar!yn and bassist!yoongi had a very intense staring contest throughout the whole concert.

DAY 60: from your point of view

that time bassist!yoongi thinks popstar!yn is not that versatile when performing her songs. (alternative: that time bassist!yoongi made popstar!yn cry— unintentionally!)

DAY 64: an awful good girl

 that time in december of their tour where popstar!yn sang while sitting on santa’s lap. (but who’s santa anyway?)

cont.: santa, tell me that time in december when popstar!yn and bassist!yoongi agreed to do something.

DAY 67: what do the lonely do at christmas

that time when popstar!yn found herself on bassist!yoongi's bed on a cold December morning.

posting more soon

SERIES TAGLIST (OPEN)

“Now where the hell did you hear that?”

Yoongi looks at you incredulously and for a moment, you think you’ve actually hit homerun with your stupid myth of the day because not only does he roll his eyes at you, he also scoffs and stops in his tracks.

“Just somewhere,” you mumble under your breath and hope that Yoongi doesn’t ask you for the exact source and citation because he already looks irked with what he just heard. “But they say it’s true though! If you don’t immediately drink water when you start having hiccups, you would have a breakout the next day or hours later, even.”

There is bliss in ignorance.

There is bliss and beauty in ignorance and it comes in the form of knitted brows and an agape mouth on Dr. Min, his eyes trained on you as if you asked him the stupidest question he's ever heard (you probably did) in his career and perhaps his lifetime.

Every week, from Monday to Saturday, Yoongi comes to his own clinic between the window of 8 to 8:15 in the morning wearing a bucket hat and his choice of clothing to wear under his white coat. Only his right hand would be occupied by the Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandoulière 45 bag, which he later tosses as soon as he enters the clinic and see his employees scramble to catch and save it, just to give himself a little chuckle every morning. He really couldn't care less if none of them manage to catch it, but it's kind of nice having a pointless yet joyful routine.

Additionally, every week, from Monday to Saturday, you come to Serendipity Aesthetics at 7:00 AM to drop off your things so you could walk to the expensive coffee shop to buy equally overrated coffee because after all, your place of work is in the heart of the luxury district. Between the window of 8 to 8:15, Dr. Min walks in and throws his designer bag into the air, to which every employee tries to catch so there wouldn't be a single scratch (but everyone knows that he literally wouldn't care if nobody could save it), and every single time, you're the one who catches his bag.

Also, every week, from Monday to Saturday, you make sure that you're Dr. Min's first interaction of the day.

It always starts with a pathetic skincare myth that you ask him to verify while he either confirms or denies it for you while walking to his office, giving him his coffee that you buy with your own money. It originally started with you searching compilations online and eventually, they got so boring and repetitive that you started making up your own.

The more ridiculous it is, the more reaction you get from Yoongi.

You quickly learned that by now and every morning, you get to see the way he furrows his eyebrows and you're convinced that if you say your myth in a defensive and completely-swayed tone, Dr. Min would actually look at you to deadpan.

This time, however, you probably struck gold.

"I would actually fire you if you even thought for a second that it would be true."

Granted, maybe the gold you thought you've struck is just plated and would turn green overnight.

"Very funny, Dr. Min. No explanation today?" you try to coax one from him because the door to his office is looking especially near and he doesn't allow you to enter anyway.

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory that I studied to be a doctor for more than a decade, have my own clinic, and threatened to fire you for your useless myth of the day, don't you think?" he hums lowly, wiping his finger to press his code onto his door.

"You do have a point," you sheepishly mumble at being outed more harshly for your tactics, "can I ask you something else though?"

Yoongi's eyes are glued on his phone as he just waves you off to both shoo and acknowledge you at the same time, leaning his weight to the door so he could both watch the highlight reel of a show he watched just last week and carry his bag.

"Later. I'm busy."

"No problem!" you stammer because you're not sure if you're ready to ask him anyway, wordlessly pushing the door open for him because he's deeply immersed on his phone. "Can I ask you over lunch? I-..."

... know a place.

Yoongi's door already closes on your face as the result of him kicking it backwards as he enters, making you take a step back to gather yourself.

You are not ready at all to ask him.

It's no secret that you have a crush on Dr. Min. Not at all. Practically everyone knows how head-over-heels you are for him; even the man himself actually.

It was embarrassing at first when it sinked into you that everyone collectively knows how you trail after him like a stray kitten whose gotten their first feed of the day, but later on, it’s something you actively and unnecessarily took pride in.

That way, you could ward off any other people in the clinic who have an eye on him! Dr. Park says that it’s the equivalent of a dog peeing on a fire hydrant within a street that nobody likes to walk in, but you just dismiss his comment as per usual. You’re sure that it’s impossible that no one likes him a little more than usual as an employee would, but perhaps they’re just not as showy as you are.

You can't pinpoint exactly why you have a crush on him because truth be told, you liked him in entirety. It was gradual, sure, but you liked him as a whole even from the start. Something about him’s so pulling that you find yourself complaining silently sometimes.

Liking him is easy. The variables aren't.

It just so happens that Dr. Min doesn't like you in that way, or in any way at all, but that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. Everybody starts from zero at one point.

"Not to burst your bubble, buttercup, but you do know that Yoongi used to have a wife, right?"

Jimin, the cosmetic surgeon of Serendipity Aesthetics and Yoongi's business partner, asks you. He has no ill intent — he actually finds it adorable to see you pining after his best friend who's done nothing but turn you down.

It’s harsh, entertaining, but not laughable. Even the secondhand embarrassment and heartbreak makes Jimin look away whenever you ask Yoongi about his weekend. It’s a game of cat and mouse, but the only difference is that the mouse is unfazed and untouchable, and the cat's scared yet determined.

Coincidentally, Jimin's your childhood friend. Both his and your parents would assign him to watch over you even if he's just some years ahead of you. It even strengthened the bond of you treating him as an older brother and him fulfilling the role well, just as annoyingly.