nochu's love interest

Yoongi must be the universe’s reward to you for every good deed you’ve ever done.

When Yoongi lets himself to be roped into joining in your newest fixation, it must be your good karma because you sat front-row for each one of your younger siblings’ school events.

When he reminds you to drink your water and not skip your meals, even going so far as to deliver both to you as often as he could, it must be the universe’s payment to you for watering plants and going on that one (1) mandatory tree planting activity.

When he gives you all the credentials to log into his premium streaming platforms even without you asking, it must be fate’s way of thanking you for not making a fuss whenever a barista messes up your order or when a stranger cuts in line.

Yoongi is the good in your life and he has been ever since you were teens, reminding you of what you’ve worked hard for in life because when he wasn’t so busy going through the same hardships you did, he would be at the sidelines waiting for you to finish.

Or he could be someplace else without even sending a lousy text regarding his wellbeing nor his notice that he can’t be at your awarding ceremony tonight because he’s busy doing his job, serving as a reminder that Yoongi must also be the universe’s punishment to you for your missteps and lapses.

When he comes and goes into your apartment freely as treats himself to your newly-bought groceries, it must be retribution because you lost your temper on your college roommate once for eating the leftovers you’ve been craving since the night before.

When he salvages all the spare batteries you have lying around to power up his huge clock back at his apartment, therefore leaving you to eventually spend a rainy night without flashlights because of a power outage, it must be payback for lowering the temperature in your breakroom even with the sign that specifically tells you not to.

Whenever Yoongi mentions his shapeshifting “career” (he argues that it is) to you, a gift he had been born with and one he really maximizes to the fullest potential and profit, you’re reminded how much of it is a curse to you.

Yoongi must be the universe’s greatest reward and punishment for you at the same time because while he’s your soulmate and you spend almost every day with him — you have to see him fall in love with everyone else but you, over and over again.

“You should be splitting rent with me at this point. You’re always here,” you groan as soon as you spot him on your couch, barely escaping the grogginess you’re still in from having a long night. 

His presence isn’t surprising anymore given the time you’ve been with him and how this exact situation has already played out tons of times before (him breaking into your place because he doesn’t want to be alone, you blissfully clueless until you hear raccoon-like searching in your kitchen) — it’s more irking than it is surprising, especially when you wake up at the wrong side of the bed.

“Do you not want me around?” Yoongi laughs heartily, unwilling to wipe his grin off when you don’t react. “That’s what I thought.”

He’s already beaten you to the TV and while he hasn’t had breakfast yet because he thought that the least he could do is wait for you to wake up so you could make it and the two of you can eat together, he’s getting there anyway.

“What type of horrible soulmate kicks out their other half that hasn’t had breakfast yet at 8 in the morning?” he hums, a faux pout on his face that rubs you the wrong way. You’re still pissed at him for not showing up at your awarding ceremony last night for being the top developer in your tech company, his lengthy apologetic text before you went to sleep still not doing its full effects.

“You don’t wanna tread there,” you huff, crossing your arms. “I have a lot on my chest, Yoongi. A lot of hateful, vile, factual comebacks.”

“Exactly!” he exclaims, the smile on his face telling you that he’s taking this lightly; way more lightly than you’d like him to. “We’ve had this conversation a million times before, baby. Sometimes, people just aren’t meant to be,” Yoongi shrugs, his words embedded in you now from repetition alone. “Some soulmates are only platonic.”

“That’s what you want because you’re non-committal,” you hiss, the incoming headache you have for having this conversation too early in the morning making you sit yourself on the couch. Yoongi grins because he knows you won’t kick him out at this point, slinging an arm across your shoulders while you’re still glaring at him. “Your hustle or whatever you call it is falling in love with everyone but me.”

“Uhm, correction — it’s a career,” he tuts. “I have a gift, Y/N. What, I can shapeshift into other people and I’m not supposed to capitalize off of that?”

He had only started offering his services a little more than a year ago, a byproduct of his boredom and his producing internship at the music label falling through. It just came to him in a fever dream and a drunken suggestion from you, and one website domain purchase and a socialite with a lot of connections for a first client later, Yoongi quickly made bank.

SeeAndSaw’s a trial dating service led by Yoongi, one that would answer clients’ curiosities to whether or not they were compatible with a person, and that’s where his shapeshifting came in handy. His services continue to be used for a multitude of reasons, the most common one being to see if the client would match with their soulmates (or just a random person, he’s not particular like that) ahead of their meeting. He’s also become a handy instrument here and there, breaking up with people in his clients’ behalf because they were too guilty to do so, to becoming a stand-in for clients that needed to present someone to their families for occasions.

Yoongi acts far too casual to you and not only is its time’s fault, it’s also yours for keeping him around in any way you can have him, even if it’s just as a friend. 

“I keep professing my love for you every two weeks and I’m doing it now while you’re eating my leftovers. People would kill just to have a soulmate as dedicated as me,” you frown, slowly softening the more that you’re rendered awake. Yoongi’s right, you did have this conversation a million times before and it’s the realization of it all that perhaps, at rare times, makes it hurt less.

“We’ve had this talk before,” he sing-songs, digging into the carbonara you took home that he retrieved not even one minute later since you joined him on the couch.

“For someone who makes bank fake dating people, you sure do leech off of me a lot,” you grumble, effectively quietened when he shoves a forkful of pasta into your mouth.

“That reminds me,” Yoongi grins, building up to a dramatic gasp. “I love-…” 

He trails and trails and if only you didn’t know any better, you would know that Yoongi wouldn’t profess his love for you in your living room while you were still in your pajamas eating cold carbonara. Much less, Yoongi wouldn’t tell you at all that he loves you.

“I love doing that,” he agrees, disappointed for a second when you didn’t even react to him doing a cliffhanger about what or who he loves. “My treat for you this week is to get you a new mattress. You’ll be less grumpy in the mornings.”

“The mattress can stay for a little longer. Can you just get me a new alarm system please?” you say without missing a beat, having already thought long and hard about what make-up gift you wanted him to give you from missing out on your awarding ceremony. 

“Why? Are you okay? Did anybody attempt to break in?” Yoongi asks concerned, brows knotted in worry. He grunts under his breath, shaking his head. “I already told you to move into my apartment complex so many times. It’s much safer there.”

That’s also a conversation you’ve had a million times before, all circling back to your attachment to the first place that you bought with your own money. It’s not bad per se, it just looks like it when you show it side-by-side with Yoongi’s place.

“Oh. They already broke in,” you narrow your eyes, oblivious to the panic brewing in Yoongi.

“What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me?! Are you-…” he rants, stopping himself when he sees the irony. “Okay, I get it. You’re not funny.”

You and Yoongi eat cold carbonara in total silence, save for his grumbles of how you should never joke about your safety and yours for how he should start chipping in for your bills if he’s gonna keep showing up like this.

Yoongi swears he doesn’t find you funny. He swears it on his life when a few days later, a guy is sent to your house to update your security system. There’s a couple hundred packages of additional manual locks, along with Yoongi’s letter of how he still doesn’t find you funny, amongst other things.

Please guard your home. Don’t let anybody else in except me.

- Yoongi

( ♡ )

Yoongi despises change.

He’s with the elderly when it comes to online menus in an actual, physical restaurant, annoyed by them to the point that sometimes he just walks out. He can’t help it that he wants a nice, slightly greasy, and good menu because it just goes to show how great the food would be. 

He hates whoever invented and continues to advertise white cooking equipment that’s beyond impractical, knowing to himself that he would disown any friends or family he’ll catch using them. You spent a good two seconds more looking at a white ceramic pot that one time when you were online shopping, and Yoongi’s never been more determined to hurl your phone to the floor.

Yoongi also hates overly-modified cars and overly-decorated phone cases, because as much as it isn’t his business, he firmly believes that sometimes there are things meant to be left alone.

His voicemail is still the same one he had back in college and his standard ringtone for everyone remains untouched — everyone but you.

Yoongi knows that he’s in charge of his time given his very successful career and he worked around his whole schedule just to grant himself the luxury of sleeping in today. He wants to have himself buried in his cold sheets for longer but it’s your call that overrides his phone on Do Not Disturb, shaking him awake quicker.

“Yoongi?” you ask, too wrapped up in your internal to-do list to notice that he answered at the second ring. “Help me please.”

“Spider family in your cupboards again?” he yawns, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. God, he hopes it’s not that again. He isn’t the biggest fan of spiders either but at your insistence (and threatening last time that you’ll ignore him for a week), he forced himself to swallow down the unease.

“No, I woke up late,” you hum, once again oblivious that you’re intruding on Yoongi’s plans. He doesn’t mind though; not at all. “I just got a text about my package and I accidentally used your address again. The front desk received it.” 

Yoongi’s address has already become your secondary one at this point, from food deliveries from staying over to parcels you made him receive because you wouldn’t be home at the time. You’ve gotten used to utilizing his address, his home, so much that you forget which is which sometimes.

“Can you sign off on it as me?”

You know potential and convenience when you have it within reach, and the both of you know that your best friend slash soulmate gets a sense of pride whenever you need to utilize his shapeshifting abilities.

“Okay fine. I’ll even talk you up as a future tenant here because you’re taking my advice and moving to my building, right?” he caves in even if it took nothing for you to convince him, putting on a shirt before finding his slippers.

“What, what? Yoongi, oh! You’re breaking up,” you make a half-assed attempt in avoiding the offer once again. You could afford it with the salary you have now but aside your attachment to the place you have now, being closer to Yoongi in this context would precisely be the demise of you. “Thanks, Yoongs. Bring the package with you when you come over.”

Yoongi’s filial when it comes to you, that much you’ve noticed. He may not be in love with you but his loyalty to you is as clear as day, much of a soulmate’s but not exactly a lover’s.

It’s supposed to be like clockwork when he picks up his parcels (yours in this case) from the front desk but there’s just something he belatedly realizes now, his mouth in a grimace when he has to pry off your package from the receptionist who was unabashedly asking where you were.

He didn’t know that every time this would happen, or in any case wherein you came by yourself to his apartment and therefore passing by the front desk, the sleaze would flirt with you.

“Joohyuk from the front desk always comes off strong, huh?” Yoongi snickers the moment he enters your place, handing you your stuff instead of tossing it like he usually would.

“Tell me about it. He doesn’t give me a break,” you snort, unfazed that he doesn’t greet you with a hi anymore because your current visiting set-up has been executed many times.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to do with the unhinged anger in his brain that unfolds because from your response alone, you’re used to it. You’re used to feeling uneasy and he hadn’t caught on earlier than he should’ve, the guilt weighing down on his chest.

“Hey,” he calls out, his tone leaving you no room for objections. “I’ll receive your packages from now on.”

( ♡ )

You don’t know how you keep holding onto Yoongi despite him grasping you from afar.

It’s a melancholy enough as it is to swallow at the end of the day that Yoongi’s yours but not in the way you want him to be, along with the great possibility that it would always be that way. You don’t heed the reminder when you’re with him and that’s almost everyday of your life, the ache that you’re the only one pining after him remaining as a dull thrum. 

He seeks you in seasons but you look for him in all weathers, the great search of when you’d finally amount more to him still coming up unanswered.

You can handle seeing Yoongi often with the cue that you’re only friends despite the initials on both your ring fingers saying otherwise. You can manage with introducing him only as your close friend to colleagues and acquaintances because you don’t want to end up with a long-winded explanation how he wants you but really doesn’t.

Yoongi can deal with your moony stares at him every once in a while and your professions of love, whether sober or drunken. On the same vein, you can deal with the rejection he serves you every single time.

The both of you are adults who can handle each other, one more high-strung than the other, and it’s only in moments like these that you reach your limit. You’re awfully too aware of how easy it is for Yoongi to work, to be in love with people he only knows vaguely.

“I don’t like to see you when you’re at work.”

You’re momentarily caught with panic when you see a stranger in your living room, only being caught up to date when he’s sprawled across your couch in the same way that Yoongi does, the very same shit-eating grin he has on for giving you a fright.

You don’t know the guy at all and you don’t plan to. You try your best to separate yourself from Yoongi’s shapeshifting business, most especially his clients and the extensions of them that he has to portray. You don’t even want to hear the stories behind his appointments even if he begs for you to hear him out because he just wants someone to talk to. 

The moment you fully accept that Yoongi would belong to everyone but you is the day that you rue him.

And in a longingly heartbreaking fashion, you don’t hate Yoongi — yet.

He momentarily changes back to himself, sneaking a look at his watch to see how many minutes he has more of annoying you before going on a date just two blocks away from your place.

“Why?” he whines, and in retaliation, changes back to the stranger. “I’m Hong Dusik. I’m from the countryside, moved back to the city to do stocks, and my dimples are literally embedded in there. I’m my client’s soulmate and it’s their first date next week but she’s shy and she’s nervous, so she’s having a dry-run with me first.”

Tuning Yoongi out has become a skill you continue to hone and while it isn’t foolproof just yet, it’s helped tremendously when you want nothing more than to kick him (or any form he takes) out.

“Nice.”

“You’re icing me out, sweetie?” his voice lulls, the sweetness behind it cloying until you remember that you don’t know the guy it belongs to.

“My god, your dimples are deep,” you murmur, clutching your bag to your chest. “Switch back, Yoongi.”

“Why? Dusik’s a nice guy.”

You kiss your teeth with the annoyance of a hundred days built up, gritting out your answer that makes him falter momentarily. “I’ve heard already, but I don’t plan seeing Dusik or any other stranger in my home.”

“Aw, you’re so loyal to your soulmate, whoever he may be,” he coughs, shifting back to himself. At any other day, Yoongi’s playful nature would be met with one of your sarcastic remarks but he doesn’t get any this time, the ghost of a frown accompanying his lips.

He’s admittedly nervous when you don’t play along with him, but his urge to sneak one last word in overtakes his trepidation.

“My advice to get over me? Bone it out. Get it out of your system. Soon enough, my initials would fade.”

Come to think of it, Yoongi’s advice isn’t all that bad.

“If Dusik and his girl don’t work out, just send him to me,” you nod, retreating to your room.

“Good! I’ll-…” he grins, satisfied with ticking you off until your words sink into him, the double-take that he makes giving him an ache on his neck. “What?” Yoongi murmurs, “I didn’t mean it that seriously.”

( ♡ )

In a parallel universe or in a different life, Yoongi actually lives with you. In that reality, you’re still soulmates and the difference is that he loves you back. He doesn’t have the ability to shapeshift and you don’t have to profess your love repeatedly either.

In a parallel universe or a different life, Yoongi’s cooking you dinner. Dinner would be just takeout from a drive-thru that he transfers to plates because the two of you barely ate the bourgeoisie food at your awarding ceremony. You’re still the top developer in your tech company, but the difference is that he’s there and you get to introduce him as your soulmate and not just a friend who coincidentally bears the same initials on your finger.

In a parallel universe or a different life, Yoongi is your soulmate before he is your friend. He doesn’t condense your love for him as a mere obligation. He doesn’t bat an eye at your confessions because in that reality, he’s the one who loves you more than you love him.

You don’t have that life though — what you have at the moment is Yoongi, your soulmate, not being able to see what was wrong signing you up for a dating app. You wouldn’t have known if not for the couple hundred notifications you receive in your personal phone that you left at home.

You wouldn’t be this angry if Yoongi could just accept that he went out of line.

“How many times do I have to say it over and over again?” you yell, hands flailing around helplessly. The smug look on Yoongi’s face remains, strengthened only by his stubbornness. “I love you and it’s just always been you!”

This is not the life you pictured with your soulmate. In your head, you don’t even see a particular space the two of you would live in. The home you see in your dreams is ever-changing, the layout of it never staying the same. The only thing that stays in the life you picture is Yoongi. Your Yoongi.

“Why can’t you put me in your choices atleast? We’re soulmates and you’ve been my only choice but I’m– fuck!” you exclaim, sucking in a sharp breath when you feel a momentary stab at your chest. “You don’t even consider me to be a potential girlfriend even if my initials are on your finger!”

In another world, Yoongi doesn’t look at you with a clenched jaw when you speak your mind. The two of you have grown sick at this conversation but the difference in your world now is that you’re beyond angry at him, the frustration unmistakeable when you look at him.

“Why can’t it be me, Yoongi?” you seethe, fists clenched tightly that your knuckles turn white. “For fuck’s sake, when can it be me? When can it be my turn? When do you pick me?”

Yoongi didn’t mean for you to be heated with him. It was a practical joke, only following through with the half-hearted advice he gave you when he showed up at your apartment as Dusik. 

He just wanted to prove a point that you don’t want to give up on him as much as he doesn’t want you to stop trying for him. It’s selfish, he’s selfish. And if only Yoongi could focus on how conceited he is rather than the anguish he feels about you being angry and upset at him, he would wipe off the arrogance from his face.

“I hate your job so, so fucking much. It looks pathetic to me even if I know you must enjoy it a lot,” you burst, saying your truth that you’ve tried to minimize in order to make way for his self-esteem. “Your business is to be these random people’s dream guy but you’re mine. You’re my dreamboat, my ideal guy, my person! I’m your soulmate but I feel like shit. Just utter, hopeless shit that you visit almost everyday because you don’t want to be alone!”

He can’t put it into words but in the simplest way he could put it, being alone feels like a punishment more than it is a solace. Yoongi lives alone and he can handle it, but him tolerating it doesn’t mean that he loves it. 

It’s always been you and him, one way or another. In the trench of your love, waiting for Yoongi to come around is worth it. In the shore of your doubts however, the novelty of having Yoongi is starting to wear off.

You make up your mind then and there, the ascent from your trench to your shore increasingly coming fast by the day.

“Leave. You’re not staying the night here.”

Yoongi breaks by then, a dry sob leaving his throat while he tries to plead with the resoluteness in your tone.

“What kind of-“

“What kind of soulmate throws out their other half in the middle of the night?” you interrupt, knowing that Yoongi only mentions your status when he’s desperate. “The kind that doesn’t want to be soulmates anymore.”

You sound the most casual you’ve ever been and Yoongi’s annoyed at you for it, his eyes narrowed into slits. He’ll oblige for the night, on his way to the door when he looks at you.

“With all due respect, Y/N, screw you. You don’t mean that,” he mutters, chest heaving up and down. He’s convincing you as much as he’s convincing himself. “You’re just angry, you’re sad, and you don’t mean that.”

Your back’s turned to him when he leaves, or atleast attempts to do so because he doesn’t want to make his exit when you refuse to even look at him.

“I mean it right now, let’s focus on that,” you chuckle, already turning off the lights in the apartment without sparing a single glance at him. “Go away, Yoongi.”

( ♡ )

Unsurprisingly, you find Yoongi at your house the next day when you come home from work.

He probably has your key fob microchipped on him nowadays, your huge fight from last night not being enough to deter him from coming over. He’s a stubborn and mostly annoying stain you have in your life at the exact second, the two of you unwilling to apologize to each other.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you mutter, rolling your eyes when you set your bag down on the counter. You’re on a time crunch, the window you have of preparing yourself to look divine already closing down steadily.

“The fuck are you doing home?” Yoongi retorts just for the sake of it and simply because he wants to keep the conversation (if it was even called that) going, trying to ignore the fact that he totally bombed his comeback and makes up for it by staring at your leftover dumplings on his plate.

You’re busy fending for yourself, your eyes too preoccupied in rolling to the back of your head that you fail to notice Yoongi’s puffy with all the crying he did last night. You ignore him and go straight to your bedroom, not having enough time to multitask showering and fighting with him.

You’ve already went through your entire routine and dressed yourself up, the frustration in you only skyrocketing up when Yoongi’s still there in your kitchen.

“Either get out or move out of my way,” you say as you retrieve yourself a snack from your cupboards to munch on while you multitask, intentionally bumping your shoulder with him in the process. “I’m going out on a date.”

Yoongi heavily sighs, his fork clattering on the plate loudly. He tries to keep his emotions at bay because this is all his fault, the fight in his body tensing his shoulders.

“You’re lashing out.”

“I’m not lashing out,” you argue, looking at the clock to see if you could still fit in fighting with Yoongi between spraying your perfume and meeting your date by the front door. “Lashing out would be me bringing my date home and fucking him loudly in my room.”

He stabs the dumplings a little too harshly and a little too unnecessarily, fitting two in his mouth while clenching his fists because he knows a nasty remark is just bubbling to be said.

Yoongi’s being childish and your patience has already run thin to deal with him especially when you’re mad, the huff that leaves you sounding extremely personal.

“What are you even doing here? Go back to your house.”

“My appointment’s just at the next block. Your place is closer.”

“You could’ve just driven there directly instead of camping out here.”

Yoongi sarcastically smiles, his eyes in crescents as he makes a show of tilting his head. “Can I notspend time anymore with my best friend? My soulmate, even?”

“Stop saying the s-word,” you grit. “Don’t say that when I bring Jimin home.”

The resounding tension that envelopes the two of you finally snaps, manifesting into a scoff from Yoongi so offended and loud that it resonated in your apartment like a clap of thunder. 

“Jimin from high school? You’re exes for a reason, remember?” he exclaims, eyes blinking in disbelief because he figures he must’ve heard you wrong. “He broke up with you when he went abroad for college because he can’t do long-distance. What makes you think he’ll give you the time of day this time?”

None of his words register in your head, blissfully letting them fly over. Jimin only invited you to catch up and you obliged; it’s not like you didn’t have years of love amongst yourselves to shroud yourself in anonymisity. Plus, it’s not like he asked you to try again with him — it’s dinner. Just dinner.

“He’s already outside. Also, it’s clearly a short distance this time.”

“Don’t be smart with me,” Yoongi scoffs, standing up abruptly with his arms across his chest. “I’m gonna barricade the door if you come home with him.”

“Good. I can come home with him to his place.”

“I’ll barricade his door,” he retorts without even thinking, his brows knotted in exasperation.

“Go fuck yourself,” you narrow your eyes at him, letting your glare at him linger until you get to the front door. “While I fuck Jimin.”

“You’re so-“

Yoongi points an accusing finger at you, unable to finish his sentence now that you’ve left. You’re stubborn.

If he’s being honest, the thought of you merely giving Jimin the time of day makes him uneasy. It puts a void on his stomach and an even larger cavity in his chest.

And if Yoongi’s being more honest, he doesn’t even have an appointment nearby. He just wanted to be with you whichever way he can.

( ♡ )

Yoongi used to hate crossfit.

He hated even the concept of it because the trainers for it at the gym have a superiority complex when talking about it as if it was revolutionary; as if launching yourself a feet into the air while doing push-ups from point to point was groundbreaking.

Even his friend, Jungkook, knowsjust how much he hates it. He didn’t particularly have a preference when it comes to working out, but Yoongi’s random and unprovoked hate for random things is starting to rub off on him. They both hate crossfit… right?

Jungkook doesn’t know how to react when he sees Yoongi doing pull-ups with one hand diagonally while a kettlebell’s on the other. He doesn’t know what to feel seeing him agitatedly do push-ups while wearing a weighted vest and with his feet up on a medicine ball. 

Jungkook, for a fact, does not know what his cue should be when he sees Yoongi running 24kph on a treadmill with his eyes fixated on the phone in his hand, although he’s about 99% sure that this is not exactly crossfit.

He’s known him for years now and there’s barely anything between them that they don’t know about each other. Jungkook, however, doesn’t know the threshold of Yoongi’s emotional constipation, slightly concerned when he sees his friend’s mind drift elsewhere.

“Yoongi, are we okay there buddy?”

“Huh?” he squints, looking up from his dessert which he’s just been staring at the past two minutes.

Jungkook clears his throat, vaguely mentioning to the poor utensil in his hand. “You’re bending the fork.”

“It was already bent when you handed it to me,” he weakly counters, setting the metal down without much concern.

“I uhm, I really don’t think so.”

Yoongi only supplies with him a scowl and normally, being the filial and nosey friend that he is, it was cue for him to inquire what was going on. Jungkook likes including himself and it’s one of the numerous things he has in common with Yoongi, but it was clear as day just how differently it manifests for each of them.

Yoongi’s only been staring at the mocha crepe cake because he knows he would be incessantly interrupted by Jungkook once he started eating it, but come to to think of it, the younger hasn’t asked him even once.

He narrows his eyes at him, crossing his arms with a sly look to his face.

“What are you waiting for? I know you’re dying to ask me.”

Jungkook scoffs, rolling his eyes so passionately that Yoongi saw you in him for a second. “No, you’re dying to be asked. It’s always like this! You want to get something out of your chest but you always need me to ask first and then you pretend like you don’t like it.”

His face is far too straight and he got to the point really quickly with his delivery, his posture standing straight at the unimpressed look Yoongi gives him.

“Sorry. Your emotional constipation’s rubbing off of on me,” he hums sickeningly, batting his eyes. “Yes, Yoongi? What seems to be on your mind?”

Not even a second goes by before Yoongi breaks, his shoulders falling in recollection. “It’s Y/N. You already know my deal with her.”

“Of course I do. Aren’t we basically the same?” Jungkook tilts his head in thought. “Longtime best friends with our soulmates but the only difference is that the two of you knew at the beginning?” he continues, mixing his drink with his straw just to cushion the impending blow this conversation might inflict on him. “And uhm, that you spend every waking moment refusing her but magically, your friendship isn’t ruined over it?”

“You go on and on like an audiobook.”

He’s not the least bit offended because he does have the voice for it, but it wasn’t so audiobook-ish of him when his hands flail and his voice pitches in remembrance. “Oh also, you’re a shapeshifter! Poor Y/N has to watch you date all these people except her.”

“Which side are you on?” Yoongi looks down on his feet, the sigh that leaves him slowly weighing as much as the conflict in his mind. “There’s one more difference, by the way. I think she’s making me jealous.”

Now, Jungkook doesn’t flatter Yoongi all too much because his ego outnumbers his and that’s coming from him! But this is the one time that Jungkook has to hand it to him, his friend’s delivery and impeccable timing giving him the best chuckle he’s had this week.

“She’s intentionally making you jealous? God, Yoongi. Are we skimming over the fact that maybe she’s just grown sick of you?”

“You don’t get it!” he whines. “She’s entertaining her ex from high school. This stupidly blonde, stupidly genius, stupidly always available guy named Jimin! What a stupid name too. Seriously, he’s so-…”

The café’s well-lit and the acoustics are good too but there’s just this one cloud that forms above Jungkook when Yoongi mentions Jimin’s name, his brows suddenly furrowing in annoyance.

“Jimin?” he clarifies. “Jimin who?”

“This isn’t a knock-knock joke.”

The urge to smack Yoongi would always be larger than Jungkook’s intent to be the bigger person, his curiosity bursting at the seams. “What’s his family name, you idiot?”

“Why does it matter? You don’t know him anyway. It’s Park Jimin,” Yoongi rolls his eyes as he soothes the side of his head, equally as annoyed now. 

The gasp coming from Jungkook alone shushes the entire café, his eyes as expressive as ever and his voice even louder, forcing Yoongi to sink further to his seat until the onlookers take their eyes away from the table.

“You’re joking me!” he booms, running his hands though his hair in a frenzy. “Guy from Busan, stayed until high school, then went to Harvard for college?”

“How do you know him?” Yoongi questions but at this point the how doesn’t matter as much as the why, his friend’s expression enough to keep him at the edge of his seat.

“Because he tried poaching my soulmate too!” Jungkook exclaims, pausing between words because he’s still speechless. “It’s this long story. We’re distant family friends, then I almost lost my bond, then-…”

Yoongi shushes him, putting up a hand for the both of them to stay on track. “Can we get back to me? Can we put a pause on the Jungkook and soulmate show?”

They’re a duo of insufferable people, one more self-absorbed and insufferable than the other. Jungkook sees much of his past self in Yoongi despite the latter being older, the irony of the situation rendering him breathless.

“What do I do about Jimin? Surely, he has a soulmate and it’s definitely not my Y/N,” Yoongi desperately asks for advice even if he thinks it’s beneath him, rubbing his face with his hands.

Jungkook thanks the universe and his soulmate for shaping him to be a better person because he could now hear what he used to sound like back then and by god was he emotionally constipated.

“My Y/N?” he mimics. “Let’s get you back to bed, uncle.”

He makes the internal reminder to get Yoongi away from crossfit because the punch that lands on his thigh is definitely powerful, making him wince loudly that once agains puts the both of them at the center of attention.

“Ow! What?! You can’t just refuse to be a thing with Y/N but then gatekeep her the moment she entertains another guy. That’s not how it works, believe me! I’ve literally been there before.”

Yoongi can hear Jungkook, but he doesn’t exactly understand.

He’s not oblivious to continue refusing the parallels between him and Jungkook but surely, the way it worked out for his friend means that it would for him too, right? 

He’s in denial but he’s not there at the stage yet where he actually acknowledges that he is, stuck in the realm of hope that you’re not sick of him yet.

“Okay what if– what if we try to find out who this Jimin’s soulmate is? Look for them, pluck just one strand of hair, and I shapeshift into them? Then I’ll tell him to back off from other people and only focus on his soulmate!”

Jungkook winces, scratching his head. “That’s wrong. And unethical. You have so many things to unpack, Yoongi.”

“It’s not my fault I can shapeshift!” he exasperatedly sighs, briefly mirroring Jungkook by shifting to him just to prove a point.

“It’s your fault that you’re this constipated to be willing to go to great lengths just to steer Y/N away from Jimin!”

“What do I do then?” Yoongi groans, plunking his head onto the table. He doesn’t even have to raise his head for Jungkook to know that he’s nearing a dead end, his hope about to run out sooner or later. “What did you do?”

“I woke up. Figured I was too self-absorbed back then to realize that it’s always been her for me.”

Jungkook shakes his friend, prompting him to start eating the crepe cake he treated him to but refuse to eat because he’s still wallowing in worry over where he stands with you.

“Wake up, Yoongi,” he sighs, looking down on the markings on his own ring finger that he thanks the heavens for every single day. “The universe works in mysterious ways.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi prides himself for having 20/20 vision.

He’s always boasted about his vision not deceiving him even once, the constant praise whenever he gets his yearly check-ups fully seeping into his head.

He’s neither suffering from a hangover nor vertigo. Yoongi’s mind is in a sound and safe place which is why he doesn’t get how it could be playing jokes on him now, the most crucial of times he’s been going through with you.

Your soulmate mark has completely disappeared.

It simply cannot be true to how his initials disappeared overnight and you just woke up one day to see that they’re gone. Yoongi’s hand is gripping yours tightly as if you’d suddenly disappear too, the glare he has at your ring finger vacant and unnerving at the same time.

“It’s blank. Oh my god, it’s completely blank,” your eyes can’t seem to believe it too, a silent gasp leaving you in shock.

You’ve already said your piece but it’s not what Yoongi’s looking for. You’re not as distraught nor panicked as he is and he knows right there that you’re only fucking with him, making him sigh in exhaustion.

“It’s obvious why you didn’t study liberal arts,” he mutters, rubbing your finger furiously. It makes absolutely no sense when not a single hint of his initials peek through, the worry over his lack of a mark on you growing by the second.

“Huh?” Yoongi says under his breath, his pursuit of trying to get your stint to budge leading him closer to you to the point that your foreheads almost bump when he looks to you. “Okay, what’s the secret? You used pot concealer instead of liquid? You color-corrected? Tons of setting spray?” he tries, licking his lips that turned dry in exasperation. He’s running out of ways you could’ve executed this, mind turning up empty. “You uh, you got it tattooed over with your exact shade match?”

The dread that fills Yoongi is liquid hurt. It builds up from droplets and takes form wherever it flows, turning murky in contained and neglected spaces. He can’t move on from the hurt that’s in his chest when he glances at your empty ring finger and then to his that still has yours; that still links you to him, yet unreciprocated.

“Why is it not budging?” 

“You’re rubbing all the way to my bone,” you chuckle, unable to read the anxiousness behind his tone. He looks disturbed even, lips parted with no explanation coming to mind.

“You’ve got me, Y/N,” he painfully chuckles, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. He bites too hard that he draws blood, eyes flickering ever so often. “Where did you hide the cameras this time?”

“Yoongi, I’m telling you! It’s really blank!” you chuckle but not as easily as the last time, sensing the atmosphere in the room that only favored you but not him. “Quick, walk into the wall. Let’s see if I feel it!”

He doesn’t know how you still have it in you to joke. He doesn’t know how you’re not panicking and as much as he’s figured that this is only one of the rare times where the universe favors you, he didn’t know it would result to this.

“First, I’m not walking into a wall. Second, you stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying! I’m really serious!” your hands raise in defense, taking a step away from him. The starting notes of your laugh start to build but it never comes out fully because Yoongi interrupts you with a bitter laugh, throwing his head back in frustration.

You’re laughing. You’re unfazed and you’re laughing at Yoongi being at the end of his rope, his worry over losing his soulmate turning unrequited.

“Well then congrats on not having me as a soulmate anymore. I’m so happy for you!”

“What’s with the attitude?” you raise an eyebrow at him, scoffing in retaliation. It had only been lighthearted (for you, atleast) awhile ago and perhaps, maybe even humorous. You didn’t expect that he would receive the news like this at all. “No, congratulations to you, Yoongi, because you’ve been whining for years how you don’t want me and now you finally got it!”

The truth you say has been Yoongi’s for the longest time and the old him would’ve been thrilled because you finally got it. You finally got where he’s coming from and he didn’t need to deal with you pining after him but now that the realization comes here, one that you say to his face — it doesn’t feel good at all.

“Yeah, and I know and regret that now because I didn’t actually think the universe would listen!” his voice raises, pointing at his chest. “Fuck me for not thinking that the universe would stop to listen to my half-hearted wishes, am I right?”

“You’re right. Fuck you, actually!” you agree in spite, practically spitting your next words. “You’re so conceited. Why are you turning on me the moment you get what you thought you wanted?”

Yoongi doesn’t get it too.

He doesn’t get how he lets the flaw of his own insistence slip through his fingers so carelessly. He doesn’t even know what he wanted in the first place and it terrorizes him to know that he might just never know why, the answer for it only seen as a distant memory of you.

He doesn’t get how long he’s retained his insistence of preserving his safety zone by trying to deter you from loving him, when in reality, you’re the epitome of security itself. He didn’t think it through at all.

Yoongi didn’t think when he spent the past few years of his life rejecting your confessions and proposals in every opportunity that he could. Didn’t even leave you hanging from a thread of hope at all that he’d like you back; just a clean, straight refusal.

He didn’t stop to consider that the universe works in mysterious ways, because if he did earlier, he would’ve prayed to make you stay despite not being the type to get on his knees at all.

“Because I didn’t actually think we would stop being soulmates! I didn’t think that there’d be a reality where we aren’t together!” his voice cracks, his hands trembling at his sides. “It’s always been us, Y/N. I’ll always want you around.”

“Do you just want me around or do you want me?” you ask, the silence that follows after it being an accumulation of the ones you’ve had to spent alone when he rejected you. “I can’t be the background noise in your life, Yoongi. Not anymore. Y-yes, I know there are soulmates that are meant to be platonic but I don’t want that,” you stress, the tears springing to your eyes. “I can’t have that.”

It’s an ultimatum you didn’t know you would ever make at all.

“It’s either you have me as your soulmate or you don’t have me at all,” you say in strength, your thumb hovering about the ghost of his initials on your finger. “I can’t stand being your friend anymore.”

“You’d throw that away?” Yoongi croaks, taken aback. “You’d throw that– us away after all this time?”

“I would.”

“Your initials are still on my finger,” he reminds, sniffling as he pushes his hair back. This can’t be. You seriously can’t be posing this ultimatum to him, one that would determine both his present and future.

“Yours aren’t on mine,” you shot back. The lump on your throat is far too large to even swallow, each breath you take making it harder for you. “For the love of god, Yoongi, can you not deflect?” 

Yoongi’s the most panicked that he’s ever been in his life and in your surprising and rarely selfish nature, you don’t even pause.

“This is a big decision, Y/N! Can’t you please just give me some time to think?”

“No. You’ve had enough time to think when you’ve been stringing me around for years.”

The hurt that bubbles up in Yoongi comes like a riptide, unsuspecting yet just as devastating. There’s no pause between his words, much too smooth and articulate for someone who’s as panicked as he is now. They’ve stayed at the tip of his tongue before and lingered in the back of his mind even longer.

“I can’t think because I’m not sure about you, Y/N! I’m not sure if I’ve always kept you around because I want us to be more like soulmates than we are as friends,” he sobs. “I don’t know if I can love you how you love me.”

The liquid hurt in Yoongi’s bones solidifies but yours evaporates. It should hurt for you — you know that it should pain you the most now. You wait and you wait for the hiss before the sting but it doesn’t come. 

The weight lifts off from you instantly and you don’t even know why or how it happens. Whatever it was though, you let it carry your burdens for you. You only painfully nod, leaving Yoongi in your own house.

Yoongi can’t love you the way you love him — it’s the answer you’re looking for now, and it’s the same answer you swallowed down when you first professed your love for him years ago. 

.

.

.

Jimin didn’t expect you to report back to him this quickly and this late at night to say the very least, his sleepiness being pushed back when you stand at his door.

You slur the words but you’re not even drunk with alcohol. You’ve walked the long way to Jimin in order to take off your mind from your fight with Yoongi but there was just something n your system, one that made you even forget who you were fleeing.

There’s no Yoongi that comes into your mind during your walk, in fact, you were starting to think that the name didn’t even make sense to you because you couldn’t put a face to it. All you knew was where you’re going and who you were going to — only Jimin.

The more you walked and the more you came closer to Jimin, it was only him that filled your mind. In fact, you didn’t even know where you came from at this point, the details a blur in your head except for Jimin who’s standing in front of you.

“It worked. He bought it.”

It’s the last words that Jimin heard from you before you quite literally froze up, eyes closing solemnly despite standing upright until you open them again, the glaze behind it shining brighter the more you looked at him.

“Jimin, my love,” you drawl, squealing in delight as you launch yourself to him in a hug. “What a handsome soulmate I have.”

Jimin flushes at the realization, frozen in his position as he only puts his hand at the small of your back, patting you in comfort.

He needs some pen and paper, his notes, and the brainpower to calculate his next decision.

( ♡ )

Yoongi makes no move to drive himself home.

He doesn’t even have the willpower to leave from where you left him, his knees giving in to situate himself on the couch where he could sink further in his self-loathing. He has half the mind to recognize that you need the space, especially tonight, even if it means leaving the comfort of your own home because he (your demise) was there.

He doesn’t know anything, other than the fact that he’s repulsive and he wants nothing more than to go seek you but he doesn’t know where he should start; if you would even want to see him in the event that he finds you.

He considers calling your phone and at this point, he’d be contented even with the line ringing or you declining. Yoongi stays rooted in your house as a placeholder that he doesn’t even know you would be acclimated to having, stuck in the very space with no purpose at all.

He’s waiting for either you or a miracle and both revolve around him being able to see you for just one more time, then another, then again and again after so. He’s waiting for you and only you, and he didn’t even think you would come through the door in first place — much more with someone else.

The door beeps open and Yoongi launches himself from where he sat, his stance protective the moment his eyes land on you and Jimin.

The guy is just as shocked to see Yoongi of all people, lips parted open in surprise. Jimin’s just about to ask Yoongi what the hell he’s doing here in the first place but he’s cut off when you grumble against his neck, forgetting momentarily that you were clinging to him by the hip the whole time.

“What are you doing with Y/N?” Yoongi questions, taking large steps towards the both of you. There’s practically smoke coming off from the top of his head, his fists clenched at his sides,

“Taking her to her room, obviously,” Jimin scoffs, attempting to dodge past Yoongi with you in tow but to no avail, the latter’s arm outstretched.

“She’s drunk.”

“She’s not,” Jimin insists, punctuating his desperation.

He moves past Yoongi this time but he doesn’t get far at all, his arm being wrung tightly. His hand awaits on your back out of instinct, the whiplash putting the both of them on edge.

“Hey, buddy, Y/N’s drunk.”

Jimin groans, prying Yoongi’s hand off him just as easily as he clamped it. “She’s not drunk! Not in that way, atleast,” he mutters, putting you closer to his chest that sets off Yoongi further. “Just back off.”

“What do you mean not in that way?” Yoongi bursts, his vision darkening. He sets out a hand once again to get you away from Jimin, his hold on you much gentler. “Asshole. I said don’t-…”

“She’s drunk, but not actually drunk!” Jimin caves, pinching his nosebridge but not before swatting away Yoongi’s hand. The latter belatedly realizes that Jimin’s not even holding onto you to keep you steady, it was purely you clinging to him. Jimin can’t put it into proper, technical terms because he’s always known that Yoongi isn’t his equal ever since high school, dumbing it down the best as he could that it physically makes him shudder.

“She’s drunk… in love.”

“What?” Yoongi squints, his face contorted into confusion and disbelief at the same time. “Are you high?”

“I’m not high. I mean it!” he groans, throwing his head back. He looks at you while you slip in and out of consciousness, his thumb underneath your chin to get you to look up. “Y/N’s literally drunk in love.”

You being attached to Jimin doesn’t make sense. What Jimin’s saying now isn’t making sense. You immediately coming to your ex, Jimin, after your fight with him doesn’t make any sense. None of everything that’s happening is making sense and Yoongi’s head is bound to erupt any time, the migraine forming in his temples giving Jimin a smaller window to explain.

“My friends and I made this drug for our company’s upcoming breakthrough and Y/N volunteered to try it out.”

“You drugged her?!” Yoongi yells, eyes wide and furious.

“I think you have selective hearing,” Jimin grits, offended at the insinuation. “It’s this drug that’s supposed to temporarily desensitize you to your soulmate, okay? It worked because clearly your initials are gone from her.”

None of them should be making sense but it does. It scares Yoongi that this whole thing could be condensed down to an explanation because it only makes it much more real; much more vulnerable.

“So I’m still her soulmate?” he asks with a lump on his throat, his rage simmering down back into sadness.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Jimin snorts, running a hand through his hair. “It’d last for a week but we have yet to know all of the possible side effects,” he kisses his teeth, going through his internal checklist. “So far, we found out that although it desensitizes a person towards their soulmate,” he trails, perhaps a little bit amused if he was saying the truth. “They cling to the first person they see.”

How awful, Yoongi thinks.

“Y/N’s drunk in me,” Jimin announces with a grin. “She thinks I’m her soulmate.”

You’re waking up little by little and Jimin figures that your unconsciousness is only temporary and a one-time thing, considering that you’re back to trying to entangle all of your limbs with him in an eager embrace.

“Snap out of it, Y/N,” Yoongi says outloud to you, completely disregarding that Jimin’s still in the room.

He even makes a move to try and pull you away from him but to no avail, his interruption only making you raise an eyebrow at him. You look at Yoongi from afar despite being near and it’s haunting, the tilt in your head giving your sentiments away.

“Who are you?” you question genuinely, brows furrowed slightly. You turn back to the person you know most in this room at the moment, who’s none other than Jimin. “Who’s he, Jimin?”

“You don’t know this guy?” he questions, his mind computing rapidly.

“Not at all,” you confirm, not sparing a single glance back at Yoongi.

There’s a tense silence because all that Yoongi could hear now is the fuzz in his brain and the pulsing of his heart, his chest deflating in anguish.

“You promise me? You don’t know this guy at all?” Jimin confirms to you once more, assessing you deeply.

“I promise. I’d never lie to you,” you say with a frown, both of the guys knowing that from your tone alone, all you’re saying is the truth.

Jimin takes it down quickly, his tone more somber and less hostile than before.

“That’s another side effect then. Not only can it desensitize, but it also makes you forget about your soulmate completely.”

The two of them are talking as if you’re not in the room with them but it doesn’t make a difference otherwise because you’re only focused on Jimin, your eyes all endeared just by the silhouette of him alone.

Yoongi can’t will his mind to focus on just one thing, his frustration coming off as a strangled yelp.

“You’re shitting me! Make an antidote or something!”

“We still have to wait out the whole week.”

“It’s like you’re just asking me to slap you!” he grits, hand outstretched already yet retreating when Jimin mocks him in return, pointing at you whose head is turned from Yoongi. Of course, you think Yoongi’s your soulmate — of course you’d shower him with affection.

“Can you guys be any louder? I wanna sleep. Please take me to bed,” your attention’s only turned to Jimin, the guy nodding earnestly.

He’s about to coax you into your room when a voice cuts into the air, an eager tap being placed on your shoulder.

“I’m Yoongi.”

You look back at the guy who introduced himself, a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes but looks like he’s just begging to be given a sliver of attention.

You don’t mind him though.

“Hi, Yoongi,” you curtly respond, turning your back on him. “Take me to bed, Jimin.”

( ♡ )

Your vocabulary’s not affected by Jimin’s experiment at all, except for the fact that the word you utter most is his name and barely Yoongi’s.

He neither came home nor went to sleep, his mind not being granted even a single second of rest because all he can think about how this is only a mere, flawed glimpse of what you would be like if he wasn’t your soulmate anymore and it’s terrifying. It puts goosebumps onto his skin and instills the fear of fate on him, obvious by the way he’s only been functioning long enough for the past hours for the sake of reliving the same alternate reality again and again.

You come out of your room and there’s still that same dazed look on your face, eyes less crazed but more yearning. Yoongi awaits any reaction from you that would lead him to think everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours is only a figment of his imagination.

It’s early in the morning but the sorrow from the evening already hits you through a frown, your eyes darting everywhere.

“Where’s Jimin?” you ask, shaking your head. “Why am I still here?”

“You live here,” Yoongi answers, keeping his hands to himself. He begrudgingly makes the internal note to relay your momentary forgetting to Jimin later even if talking to him is the last thing he’ll ever want to do.

You gasp then, eagerly nodding your head because that one piece of information definitely traces back to you. “Oh, right,” you nod, your lip curling once again. “Why are you here?”

Yoongi’s not sure how he should answer that.

He’s unsure if he should answer that he’s here and stayed the night because he was worried sick about you after your fight, almost driven to passing out in overwhelm especially when Jimin brought you home.

He doesn’t know if he should say that in your home because it’s only rational since you’re soulmates, and that he dislikes being alone, and that being with you calms him down an infinite amount; if he could just skim over the fact that you barely have any recollection of him and will continue to do so for the next week.

Yoongi can’t determine to whether or not he should tell you that he wants to spend every second with you because should be the precursor for you to believe that you don’t want him anymore, he’s left with a memory of you, no matter how painful.

“Because I live here too,” he says a half-truth, trailing off in remembrance of you nagging him to go back to his house.

“We live together?” you question once again, your face contorted in confusion. “Why?”

You don’t even mean malice with it and Yoongi knows that exactly, the bit of realization even more painful because he knew that you would question him with snark and tears otherwise. In your foggy, Jimin-centric brain, it doesn’t make sense why you and Yoongi practically live together.

Because we’re soulmates, he wants to answer.

It’s the same question he asks himself because he doesn’t know how you let him either — when in reality, he already knows why and it’s because you love him. The even bigger question is if he was even deserving of you.

“Because we wanted to,” Yoongi leaves it at that, clearing his throat as he pushes a plate towards you that he put together on short notice. “Here’s breakfast. This is your favorite.”

You don’t even move to thank him curtly, head tilting in curiosity. You have all the questions yet he doesn’t know if he has all the answers, his heart hurting whichever way he addresses you.

“But why do we want to live with each other?” 

“Because we care for each other.” (Read: because we’re soulmates and because we’ve been friends and soulmates our whole lives and I don’t ever see us parting.)

You nod at Yoongi’s brief answer, stuck in staring off to space for a couple of seconds before you swallow down everything.

“Oh,” you hum somewhat satisfied. “You know where Jimin is?” you open a new line of questioning this time, tone picking up more. “Do we live with him or is it just the two of us?”

Jimin’s testing out his method of withdrawing himself this time, living out the remainder of the week by not making any contact with you and assigning Yoongi to report back to him. He’s not even meant to say everything to you in technical terms, knowing that he has to make up lies the whole week regarding Jimin’s whereabouts.

It’s only and should be a simple, trivial question regarding your living situation but Yoongi can’t help the hiccup that builds in his chest, heart heavy with nothing he can do about.

“Just the two of us,” Yoongi mutters, tracing your initials on his finger discreetly. It was one of the things you did when you felt like confessing to him silently, eyes not even meeting each other’s for you to tell him that you love him. He’s desperate to have you do it to him again — pathetically and helplessly pleading for you to come back to him again. “Always just the two of us.”

.

.

.

Yoongi finds it admirable that you grow warmer to him by the night, nevermind that you’re not doing it for familiarity but rather to get closer to Jimin through him.

Not once does he leave your side whenever you stroll back out to thr living room, plopping onto the couch to eat dinner made by him to which you aren’t weirded about. You no longer inquired him why he’s here, just accepting his presence because the back of your mind tells you that you’re used to him in the first place.

“I miss Jimin,” he hears you sigh for the umpteenth time, an automatic rigid smile painted on his face. He doesn’t want to hear about him at all actually, however he’d do anything just to get you to keep talking in the event that it’s the last he’ll hear from you.

“You don’t say,” he hums, tuning out his name as he tries to pretend that it’s his instead.

You can’t distinguish the far relaxed nature to Yoongi’s intonations because after all, you barely remember any of him and his quirks for you to compare his attitude to. For all you know, he’s just a calm and calculating person that you know in your life, one whose eyes just can’t stop straying to his hands.

Yoongi doesn’t want to feel like he’s mourning but the feeling in his chest is akin to it anyway, something resembling repentance rising out of it from nowhere when you let your curiosity get the best of you.

You’re unfathomably upset because Jimin’s nowhere to be found. One second you’re sighing and at the other you become molten aluminum at thrashing just to see him.

It’s painful to see you like this and he tries his best to gather you to his arms to calm you down, shushing you to the best of his abilities that annoy you even further.

“I don’t want you! I want Jimin!”

“I’m the only one you have,” he says just as urgently, releasing you from his hold but you melt to him anyway, in a fit of tears with your hands covering your face.

It hurts to see you yearn for another person who isn’t him (read: your soulmate) and it hurts more to even grasp that this could’ve been your vignette the whole time that he’s been working, perhaps even the whole time that you’ve been pining after him.

“But I don’t wanna have you,” you enunciate with a sob that wracks your body yet destroy Yoongi’s core, his intake of breath being shallower the more that you refuse him.

“Can you find him for me please? Did I do anything wrong? Maybe he’ll respond to your texts.”

“You’ve never done anything wrong,” he comes to his sense just to scold you, eyes narrowing of why you could’ve conjured up such a thing.

“But I must’ve done something,” you whine. “Jimin doesn’t love me.”

“It’s impossible not to love you,” Yoongi interjects faster than the impulsive thought had formed in your brain, his eyes stern and promising. “Your soulmate must be the luckiest bastard in the world.”

You hear him once again but you can’t understand him, the words meaning nothing to you because you aren’t even sure of the level of relation you had with him before your memory became hazy.

“But my soulmate doesn’t even love me back!” 

You have him there, ironic that you’re going through the same situation twice. You’ve went through it with Yoongi for years genuinely, while you’ve been going through it with Jimin for five days because of an experiment.

“He loves you,” he says it in confidence and assurance, his hands unknowingly making their way to grip your shoulders for you to look at him when he’s speaking the truth. “He’s a conceited asshole and he’s really flawed, but he’s trying his best to love you more than you deserve,” his voice cracks briefly, clearing his throat. “Must be hard to swallow down the fact that the universe is too generous to him because he has you for a soulmate. He must feel like he’s the scum of the earth because he has the greatest, most lovable person in the world loving him, and he used to take it for granted.”

It’s warm. Too warm, too personal, and too familiar — and in your head, Jimin is the only person in your head who fills all three boxes.

“Jimin feels like that?”

“Hmm,” Yoongi agrees, lying easily. “He also hopes that it’s not too late.”

In a moment’s notice, he furthers the distance between the two of you as if the oddly-spurred passionate conversation the two of you had never happened.

Your memory’s not acting up when you remember that you came out to join Yoongi to talk about Jimin, but now, you wouldn’t believe yourself that it’s actually the reason you came out.

This time it’s you who reaches out for Yoongi, clearing your throat.

“Who’s that?” you point to his ring finger, eyes peeking at the initials. It’s just like yours, the irony of it making you giggle. “That’s not me, isn’t it?” 

“And if it was?” Yoongi asks, eyes still gentle but his voice much too mellow to the point that you’d think he isn’t breathing.

“I wouldn’t believe you,” you answer, carelessly shrugging.

Yoongi purses his lips and he knows he should stop prodding now because the last time he did, it ended with him driving you right into Jimin’s arms to experiment him out of your life. He can’t hold his tongue now, even when he knows he’s bound to suffer from himself anyway.

“Why not?”

“Because if that’s me, then I should be in love with you right now and not Jimin,” you trail, your tone reeking obviousness. It’s clear enough for you, atleast, but Yoongi takes nothing but murkiness from it.

“Hmm,” he hums, pointing to your hand. “Why do you love Jimin if his initials aren’t on your finger then?”

“You got me there,” you snort, the words unwilling to roll off easily from your mouth. In fact, nothing forms in your mind anyway, just a mere vision that you can discern yet not verbalize. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I just love him.”

It’s a confession that sets you apart from the soulmate that Yoongi knows, all before you had been desperate enough to desensitize yourself to his very existence.

“You can’t explain love?” he asks gently, eyes lowering down in thought.

“Can anybody?” you counter resignedly, the concept of just settling for the fact that there’s things that are unexplainable being enough for you.

Yoongi feels the most alive that he’s felt since the past day, the smile on his face being so nostalgic and sentimental to you for some reason that it momentarily makes you dizzy.

“My soulmate can. She’d profess her love for me every chance she gets. Would do it in all the ways she could find.”

You can explain love. You’re talkative and you always have the right words to say. You have the stubbornness in you that when put to its fullest power, puts his ego to shame. You have the convincing power of a company in you, one that has nothing to its name and only its very being to prove with.

You can put love into words and it’s daunting how you can condense everything you’ve ever felt for Yoongi into the many confessions you give him. In your loud drunken spiels all the way to your silent telepathic stints — you’re the embodiment of love. You can explain love and it makes sense because you would know your own.

“She sounds like a handful,” you murmur, brows furrowed to how Yoongi describes someone who’s clearly not on the same wavelength as he is with lovesick dedication in his face.

“She’s my handful though.”

“Does she come by here often then?” your brows raise, your headache throbbing the more that Yoongi speaks to you.

“You already know her,” Yoongi smiles tightly, looking right through you. He looks at you like he’s a dog that looks for its owner, ready to be at your beck and call. “I just don’t know if you can’t recognize her.”

“Show me a picture! Maybe it’ll jog my memory,” you offer enthusiastically, already knowing that you’re missing bits here and there but maybe seeing Yoongi’s soulmate would push you to remember faster.

“Maybe another time.”

Yoongi’s turned solemn, breathing shallowly as if he doesn’t want you to have a clue that you’re even seeing him right now.

“It’s just a picture! You looked like you were gonna cry when you were talking about her,” you pout, giving in eventually. “Aw, come on! You’re not sharing her?” 

“No,” he answers almost immediately, masking his certainty with an uneasy chuckle. “I hope not.” 

( ♡ )

You feel fuzzy.

Fuzzy in the sense that you remember clearly the two days you’ve lived but operated with your mind from afar; every interaction and every word crystal clear.

Fuzzy in the sense that it’s overwhelming, the good kind this time, but still overwhelming to the point that you have to take a breather outside of your apartment that feels suffocating to be in.

You’re five days ahead of schedule, the effect of the pill that was supposed to desensitize you to Yoongi and have other as drastic side effects being cut early.

It’s only relief that fills you when you walk out and hear Yoongi’s light snores in your guest bedroom instead of the living room, alleviating your momentary guilt at leaving this time — but only to give yourself the space to think, of course.

It’s only solace that envelopes you when you screw your eyes shut and look to your ring finger while you hold your breath, the consolation of seeing Yoongi’s initials still on there satiating you.

You’re not in your room and not even in the apartment at all. You’re not at the hallway and not even anywhere in your entire apartment complex. You’re not at the convenience store nearby where you typically go on walks just to take your mind off things and buy yourself snacks. He’s already checked and checked — Yoongi can’t find you anywhere.

He fears the worst. The absolute, most heartbreaking worst. He can’t even fathom where he got the strength to dial your number on his phone because he thought he would be faced with nothing, the proof that you’ve cut all ties with him by disconnecting completely.

Yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him when you answer easily on the second ring, your voice lighthearted.

“You’re wrong,” you hum. “Your apartment’s easy to break into just like mine.”

“Where are you?” Yoongi asks first amongst the other hundred questions he’s been dying to do so, the relief that fills him unable to be topped. You’ve just said your location but he still asks, hesitant that this may just be some cruel joke.

You stay quiet at your side of the line, looking around his place with a fondness you can’t even begin to start tackling.

“I’m at home.”

There’s nothing that comes to your mind besides the fact that it actually looks like your home. It resembles your home when you only had a mattress on the floor and no bedframe when you moved in, when you started sticking up pictures with tape that you didn’t know would ruin the walls, and when you finally found your sense of the style and had the finances and time to do it — it resembles your home all at the same time.

There’s several pictures of you and Yoongi together that line up the walls and the shelves, notes written behind them in your handwriting that you didn’t think he would keep.

Your parcels that he received with your name on it are all gathered near the doorway, the flyers of your favorite restaurants hung up by the fridge. Yoongi’s house looks more like your home and it almost brings you to tears.

He never noticed it, in fact. Hasn’t noticed the way that his definition of his home has shifted to your taste and how his definition of love turned into you. It had been gradually building through the years that Yoongi hasn’t stopped to figure that your home has become his, all to the point that he’s been living in it the whole time.

“I’m waiting,” you mutter as soon as you open the door to Yoongi who had ran all the way here in a frenzy, chest heaving up and down. “I’m waiting for you to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do that and more,” Yoongi nods in earnest and immediately leaps in to kiss you, finally feeling that you’ve given him the opportunity to breathe. 

He kisses you so endearingly that you’re surprised you haven’t done it before with him because the way he does so feels like second nature. He breathes you in until he feels like he can exhale, catching his breath as he settles his head to the crook of your neck.

“I was waiting for that too,” you snort, speaking at the same time as him.

“What I said that night-…”

“I remember,” you interrupt. “You’re not the scum of the earth, Yoongi, and I’m not the greatest person in the world either.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” he rolls his eyes even if he knows a fool would see that you aren’t anything short of great. “I’m sorry for making you wait,” he apologizes, eyes flickering to yours. “But you don’t have to wait around for me anymore, okay?”

It’s a great mound of consolation that he’d be willing to trek over and over again if it means making up for everything he’s done.

“I can’t love you the way that you love me because nobody can compare to you,” he whispers, crossing his heart in promise. “But believe me, please, I’ll make up for all of the lost time and I’ll love you the best that I could.”

It’s a progress, a working one at that, wherein you’d meet Yoongi in the middle of.

“I can’t confess my love for you every two weeks-…”

“Oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, playfully attempting to break off his hug to which he doesn’t let you.

“Because that’s too spread out. I’ll do it everyday,” Yoongi finishes, the grin on his face pleasantly annoying.

“You’re the worst,” you weakly offer, letting yourself into the moment of vulnerability by abandoning your defenses.

“You’re sounding like me,” he laughs, pressing just one more kiss to your forehead.

You’re the universe’s reward to Yoongi for everything he’s ever done, the resounding desire in his whole being to just be the best he could ever be for you reverberating throughout his home and yours.

So you nod, sending him a tight smile. “Right, right. That little celery,” you correct yourself, “she can get a bit crazy when she doesn’t get something she likes, or when the attention is shifted away from her.”

“She’s never had her attention shifted away in the times I lived in that manor,” Yoongi says and you give him a blank look.

Small little Yoongi, probably just the same as you who never received attention and love and was just seen as nothing more than an heir who was meant to fulfill his role. On the other hand, you never saw your father loving another, or even having the ability to love at all. There’s a bit of comfort knowing your father was incapable of feeling, so he had no one to show it to and you had no one to grow envious of, even though it did take you a while to get smart about understanding him. Yoongi on the other hand had to grow up seeing his father show his affection to someone else. 

He got out quicker than you though, and fled the scene before things could go downhill.

You came to a realization too late. It was your body that had to force you to “wake up.”

“So imagine what it was like when that moment finally came to her.” Up the stairs and to the right. It’s a bit funny you’re getting used to navigating through this manor like it’s your own. Once upon a time, it was yours. “The spotlight switching from her to me gave her quite the scare.”

Yoongi opens the door to Namjoon’s office and you walk in casually.

“I met her before I met you,” you say and he gives a moment of pause before following you right in when you take your designated seat, the same seat you’ve always taken whenever you walk into this room.

Namjoon’s already sitting across from you, taking a sip of coffee from his cup with Seokjin stood to his side as his second in command. Yoongi takes his position on his leader’s other side while Mingyu stays to your right.

“Do you know Alexander Larsen?” You start without hesitation, leaning back into your seat and trying to make yourself comfortable.

In truth, you will never get comfortable.

“Alexander Larsen?” Seokjin raises a brow at your question. “You don’t mean from the Norwegian mafia, do you? You’re not talking about the Kingsmen, are you?”

“So you do know of him.” You cross a leg over the other, feeling satisfied.

“You want to go after an old man?”

“It’s not the grandpa I want to go after, it’s his son.”

“Karl Larsen?” He shares a brief glance with Namjoon, expression marked with hesitation. “That’s a bit…”

You ignore his trailing comment to continue your point toward Namjoon. “I’d like to get close to gramps and I know you have connections to do so.”

“He’s a don, Y/N. A Godfather. A Norwegian Godfather,” he stresses. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.” Right from your proposal, he’s already denying his offer to help but you’re not about to back down. 

“You told me I could use you as my pawn,” you remind him of the contract the two of you made a few weeks ago. “You aren’t supposed to ask me questions and force me back on my plans just because a certain man I want to go after happens to have a Godfather as his father. If I get close to Alexander, my plot against his son would be much easier.”

“It isn’t easy getting close to Alexander,” you hear a different voice coming in through the door but you don’t have to look to know that it’s Hoseok. “Going after a Godfather is the equivalent of signing off your death certificate.”

“Not to mention Alexander is linked to the Italian mafia and you know how dangerous they are.” You roll your eyes when Jimin follows along.

It feels like being scolded all over again.

“Why’re you leaving the scope of Korea?” Taehyung asks.

“Are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?”

“I said no questions,” you point directly at Jungkook who in turn ignores it by looking away, and return to the boss who sits at the center of them all. “If you’re scared, you can just say that.”

Namjoon frowns at your words, shaking his head subtly. “I can get anyone for you, Y/N, but I don’t want you messing around with foreign mafiosos.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re trying to walk into a battlefield.”

“The whole world has been a battlefield, Namjoon, and just because this particular boss is tougher than other soldiers out there doesn’t mean it’s enough to have me back down. I’m not backing down. I want Karl Larsen dead.”

“It’s dangerous territory.” Still, he denies you the help.

You let out a frustrated grunt. “That’s what you said the last time I proposed leaving Korea.”

“Yeah, and remind me what happened last time?”

Hwang Leehyun.

A living nightmare.

You cross your arms across your chest when he hits you with that, their eyes piercing without any hints of backing down and you suddenly have this urge to punch someone in the face. It feels like being in the eyes of your father all over again, being told you cannot do this or that, that you must do that and this. Like a child who does not, who can not, make her own decisions without the permission from her parents.

“Why do you even care whether I make it out okay or not?” So you snap with a click of your tongue, anger fueling. “This is my mission and my plot against the person I want dead.” You turn to Hoseok. “I’ve already told you I don’t care what happens to me down this path I’m walking on. If life decides it’s done with me, then so be it.”

If I die, I die, you told him once and Hoseok, frustrated in his own sense, turns to your right hand man instead of facing you.

“Aren’t you going to stop her?”

When all eyes fall on him, Mingyu has to take a moment to spare you a glance. You, who shoots a glare at Hoseok for even thinking of looking to him rather than addressing you. And knowing just how you feel, your commander answers in a calm tone.

“Whatever the boss wants, I provide and clear the path to let her get through. It is not my duty to stop her, therefore I hold no protest.”

Hm. Good answer.

“Just what are you feeding your Reapers?” When Hoseok turns back to you, you send him a cheeky grin.

“Loyalty. They’ll always take my side no matter what wrongs I’ve committed.” You look at the rest of them. “You should know about that.” And a bit of awkwardness they clearly don’t enjoy too well walks in, but you decide to ignore the effect those words had on them. “Mingyu knows his place and he knows what his title entails. It’s not his job to stop me. He’s here to clear the path for me and back me up, all the while doing what he can to get me back on my feet if things start going downhill and provide protection.” You give a little pause before adding. “You should learn from him.”

“The last time we let you do what you wanted, you ended up hurt.”

You frown at Seokjin when he says that, eyes avoiding his because you know just what he’s trying to imply. That moment of weakness you had turning to him. Why did you make that mistake?

You were just desperate to find a safe haven after what Leehyun did.

“The only thing with Karl is that he’ll get out my angry side, that’s all,” you say, resting back into the seat you’re in. “The situation won’t be the same. He wasn’t a creep, just some asshole psychopath who should have minded his own business.”

You and your stubborn streak. Namjoon knows you don’t have it in you to let your plans fall to a pause just because someone declines the help you’re seeking for. So he lets out a sigh, fingers pressing into his temples. “Like Hoseok said, getting a Godfather involved in your plans is the equivalent of choosing death.”

It doesn’t matter what sort of thing Karl has done to you to earn your anger. He’s still a son of a powerful man.

“I know,” still you say with acknowledgment, unwilling to back down. “But there will always be risks when it comes to going after people, and in this case, I’m walking a fine line between life and death, but as long as I can prove my worth and show Alexander that I’m a better pawn than his son, I have a higher chance returning here safe and sound. And besides,” you intertwine your fingers into one another and have your hands sit on your lap, “when it comes down to it, you’re all great at getting out of a sticky situation. If worse comes to worst, I’m sure I can rely on my pawn’s protection. You’re not trying to go back on your words again, now are you, Kim Namjoon?”

A promise is a promise.

A vow is a vow.

The Reapers have learned to master it and have proven again and again that their pledge to you is something that is unshakable. 

Namjoon asked you to collapse into him. They vowed to never let you fall.

And yet here you are now, a shattered mess of glass.

It looks like your choice of words gets to him because Namjoon’s shifting in his seat, uncomfortable, but he has no reason to say no to you now, not after you’ve brought the contract he wrote back into his face. And the past that left you scarred.

“.....I know someone who might be able to get you in contact with Alexander,” he finally says, “but it will be up to you to figure out how to get him on your side.”

The corner of your lips curls upward. “That’s all I need.”

And before the conversation can move on, Mingyu bends down to your side, whispering something into your ear. “They need you at The Academy.”

You give him a nod and uncross your legs to begin standing again. “Let’s pick up this conversation another time, yeah? You should prepare for my absence for at least a month or more. It won’t be easy getting close to a Godfather, after all.”

And with that, you walk off with Mingyu tailing along, leaving the seven of them still unsure about all of this.

.

.

.

“Sunoo refuses to sleep, my lady. I used to wake up to him trashing in his sleep and having to force him to wake up and ask him what was wrong but he never tells me anything. Now, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I just see Sunoo on his bed, wide awake. The teachers and I have tried to help but…nothing’s helping him.” 

Jungho stands with his head lowered as he fiddles around with his fingers, those little shoulders of his trembling slightly, and when you look at the headmaster for confirmation, she simply nods.

“So you asked the headmaster to call for me, yes?” The little boy nods at your question. “And why is that, Jungho? Why do you believe I can be of help?”

“I-I don’t know, my lady,” he answers truthfully, “but…Sunoo is my best friend and…and I want to help him get better so I thought…I thought that you would have a higher chance at helping than I.”

“You believe that I, someone who doesn’t know him quite as nearly as you do, who has spent years growing up with him, can be of better assistance?”

Jungho nods again. “Because..”

“Because?”

“When he did sleep…Sunoo used to call for your name.”

A droplet falls onto the floor where his feet stands, then another is quick to follow along, but Jungho keeps his head buried against his chest so that all you can see is the back of his hair. So you give Mingyu a look and he nods in return, turning to the child with a hand on his shoulder to lead him away while you head for the dorm the two of them have been assigned to.

Sunoo sits with a blank stare when you enter the room and shut the door behind you. Under the little boy’s eyes are dark bags that shouldn’t be there. He looks worse than the last time you saw him, a little daintier, not quite as skinny as he used to be when he worked under Ying but he might as well be getting back to that stage.

To that little child who was all skin and bones, his clothes too baggy for him when he’d look up at you determined and unwilling to give up hope.

He’s grown since then, putting on some meat, cheeks less hollowed, and a little more life in his physique, but that little spark of hope he had in him is dim. He hasn’t even realized you’ve walked in and Sunoo is someone who’s been taught to stay on high alert due to the fear instilled in him.

You’ve been trying to heal these children but just what are you doing if he’s still like this?

“Sunoo.”

When you call his name, he looks up with a slow reaction, though his eyes widen at the sight of you as expected. “My lady?” His voice is small and when he goes to shuffle from his bed to reach the floor, his legs give in underneath him when he tries to get to you.

You grab ahold of him before he can hurt his knees, picking him up effortlessly and setting him back onto the bed. He sits there with wide eyes searching for something, little fingers gripping onto the sleeve of your shirt a little too tight it turns white.

There is fear in his eyes, you realize. 

The fear you never got to see when he hid them in that room the two of you were in because he wanted to be brave, because he wanted to uphold the promise he gave unto you.

A child shouldn’t have gone through that.

“When was the last time you’d eaten?” You ask him, knowing that asking him if he’s eaten at all is dumb because it’s clear he hasn’t eaten in a while. You take the hands that balled onto you, placing them onto one another in his lap but knowing not to let it go. It probably gives him comfort knowing he can physically touch you.

“I…” His voice shakes so he’s quick to shut himself up with his teeth biting onto his lower lip. It quivers so he lowers his head and you give him the privacy by standing from the floor to sit beside him on the bed instead.

He keeps himself as silent as he can, and you watch the way he struggles, the way those little shoulders tremble in the way Jungho had and the way you remember the rest of them did when you rescued them that night. 

Hiding. Hiding.

All for you.

You feel some sort of hatred boiling within you because you know that all this hiding is for you and you hate yourself for doing this to them.

“Do you know something, Sunoo?” You let one hand remain holding his while the other reaches behind to rub along his back. “There is nothing in this world that will make me hate you for crying.”

He remains quiet but there’s a little jostle in his body when you say that. As if he’s surprised, as if he can’t believe you’d just said that.

“Do you believe crying is a sign of weakness?” You ask him and he gives you a small, honest nod. “Why do you believe that, Sunoo?”

“Because you hate it.”

Of course the reason comes back down to you. You’ve instilled something in them your father instilled in you. That crying is weak, that loving is dumb, that emotions must never be revealed to another because no one will care for you if you fail at these three tasks.

You’re becoming your father.

You want to punch the wall, kick something, anything, shoot a bullet into someone’s head, bring out a knife, and stab it into something. Anything.

But you know not to, not before a child, so rather than wanting to take out your anger onto something, you let yourself seek peace in the child.

You cup Sunoo’s face and force him to turn your way so that he cannot hide, so that you can allow yourself to see the tears that splash onto those eyes of his, and when they fall out from the corners of his eyes and you see the way he watches with surprise and redness in his pupils and on his cheeks and nose and lips, you press your forehead against his, forcing him to stop running away.

“There is nothing in this world that will make me hate you for crying,” you repeat your words to him once again because it’s hard. It’s hard trying to find any other words to comfort him because you’re bad at it, because you don’t know how to do it without giving a part of yourself to him. “You are seven, Sunoo. You are supposed to cry when something hurts you.”

“...” You see the way his lips quiver rapidly before he allows more tears to form along his waterline and inevitably fall.

“Do not bite your lips, you will hurt yourself.” He tries to remain silent but you refuse to let him, swiping a finger to let him loosen up, and with your permission, Sunoo cries as a child should.

He voices his frustrations, lets out the screams he’s been holding in, and cries as loud as he can while you hold him in your arms, covering his head into your chest so that he can still feel your presence and know that you aren’t going anywhere. That you’re accepting him. That he doesn’t need to hide from you.

Have you ever cried like this?

So loud and broken?

You did once. So many times. So many years ago.

When you were scared and frightened. When you had Mister Butler there to hold onto you when you needed to let the tears out.

“Do not bite your lips, you will bleed.”

He was the one who taught you that it was okay to let it all out when you cried, that it was okay to be loud, that you didn’t have to fear anyone hearing you.

It feels like a distant dream more than anything, however, because ever since the first few days of being sent to the White Room after Mister Butler died, you had let the fear return to haunt you once again. The fear of being loud. Succumbing to the silence.

Fearing the noise.

“You were gone, my lady.” Sunoo’s voice allows you to return to reality. “You were..you were dead, my lady.”

“...Was I?”

“I dreamt it,” his voice croaks. “She killed you.” So those were the nightmares that feared him into refusing to sleep when he needed it. He dreamt of your death, of him being unable to get you out of that situation.

You admit if it weren’t for Yoongi, Nari would have most definitely snapped and actually ended you right then and there. Yoongi saved your life and lost an eye as a result.

“I’m right here, Sunoo. I’m still alive.” You make sure he knows when you squeeze over his body a little tighter.

Sunoo leans in closer, nuzzling into your embrace.

“I-I know but…but the sun will set again and you’ll leave and…and what if that gentleman hadn’t been there with us? You would have…you could have…”

A sun setting.

The darkness.

The dreaded darkness.

You know just how Sunoo feels because you still fear the darkness. You still hate it when the sun sets because it means absolute darkness until the sun decides to rise again hours later. Hours that feel like days and weeks and months and years. Hours that seem to tick like the seconds are running a year too late. Hours that have you staring straight at the ticking clock, begging it to go faster and faster but it never seems to go as you ask.

That’s why all the clocks in the manor have been either destroyed or thrown away.

Living with your father still alive, you were unable to do things your way but ever since his death, you’ve reorganized lots and lots of things to accommodate your wants and needs.

The clocks are all gone.

“Do you want to come to Norway with me?”

Sunoo looks up suddenly at the suggestion, his brows furrowed with disbelief and for a second you want to take it back because you know it’s a bad idea. You’re there to kill someone after all, to exact your revenge, and having Sunoo in that environment won’t be good.

But this child needs you and he needs the light.

“Northern Norway is a country where the sun does not set during summertime, so you do not have to fear for the darkness.” Once upon a time, you spoke of a wish to visit the Land of the Midnight Sun. Norway. It’s funny the way things are piecing together, funny how no matter how much you want to run away from your past, it always seems to catch up to you. “Jungho will come as well, so you do not have to be alone and so he does not have to sleep here by himself.”

“And the others?” He always thinks of the others. Sunoo is a big brother to all the kids and he keeps strong for them so you know he must be worrying about them feeling left out but this is a foreign country you’re visiting to exact revenge. The less kids, the better.

“They will have to stay. Norway will be dangerous, Sunoo,” you tell him half the truth, not wanting to be too transparent but knowing that letting him believe this will be nothing but a vacation and letting him stay naive will not be good for him.

Kids have to know. The more aware they are, the better prepared they will be.

“But maybe in the future, I can allow for field trips in The Academy.”

“Really?” He sounds a bit brighter at the thought.

“Only if I can get stronger,” you tell him. “Though that may or may not happen and if it does, it will be in the far future.”

“Why do you say that, my lady?”

You wipe the tears from his face when he appears to be calming down. “Because there are still a lot of people who underestimate me or see me as a threat and wish to do something about it.”

“Like that lady?”

“Like that lady.” You take the tissue box from his nightstand to hand it to him and watch as he goes on to blow his nose. “So until people learn not to mess around with me, until my name alone brings fear to them, you’ll have to wait to be allowed to do whatever you want.”

“..Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want.” You press a hand to his head, smoothing his hair down. “You won’t have to confine yourself in this school anymore. All of you will be allowed to go anywhere you want, whenever you want. No one will be able to mess with you and you won’t have to fear for your safety. Though that comes with learning how to properly defend yourselves. You will do that for me, won’t you?”

Sunoo is quick to nod happily. “I’ll learn to protect myself and I’ll learn to protect my brothers and sisters. And you too, my lady.”

“That’s right. So until then, be a little more patient, alright?”

.

.

.

“You…please tell me you’re joking. You’re bringing children to Norway?” It’s comical the way Seokjin runs his hand down his face as he tries to fathom what you’ve just told him. He looks more stressed than he’s ever been before. “Namjoon’s not going to agree to that.”

“Why does Namjoon’s opinion matter?”

“You never mentioned bringing children to the mission was going to be part of the plan!”

“They aren’t. I’ll just need an extremely safe house where it’ll be hard for anyone to locate to ensure their safety.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh and you want to laugh a little because despite the fact that Seokjin appears to always look calm and collected, he tends to lose his cool easily. He doesn’t get upset but he stresses a good amount. “Why’re you bringing them along in the place?” He asks and you look away.

“I’m not obligated to tell you.”

He grows more agitated. “Don’t tell me you’re going to exploit them into helping you with getting close to Alexander?”

“You think I’m that shallow?” You give him a deadpan expression. “They’re not in any part of the plan. Just think of it as them leaving for a field trip.”

He rests a hand on his temples, takes a moment to breathe as he takes a small lap around a small invisible circle before speaking again. Level headed. “Field trip. Right. As if you aren’t going out there signing your life away to Alexander Larsen!”

Not so level-headed.

He’s losing his cool and you grin at how he tries so hard to keep calm but eventually gives in. “If you’re that worried, why don’t you tag along? Come before the rest of you come when it’s time to take action.”

“I can’t,” Seokjin grunts as he runs a hand through his hair. “Hoseok and Jungkook are already assigned to go with you and I have to stay by Namjoon’s side. He’s a wreck without me.”

“Of course he is.”

He glares your way before continuing. “He’s not going to allow you to take the kids.”

“Come on, Kim Seokjin. You’re the Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon’s right hand man, the only one who can get through to him when his stubborn ass refuses to let anyone talk him down from his decisions.” You give him a small poke on his arm, teasing a bit, and Seokjin takes note of the way you feel a little comfortable touching him even in the slightest bit. “I’m sure you can cool him down once he receives news that I’m bringing Sunoo and Jungho along.”

“Cool him down?” Not even convince him to agree but to cool him down. Meaning you aren’t backing from your decision, and Seokjin close his eyes as he takes in another deep breath, praying to God to allow him to keep his patience because he knows he’s stuck dealing with two stubborn people where one does whatever she wants and the other is easy to rile up when the right buttons are pushed.

And you know just the right buttons to push.

“Good luck buddy, I’ll see you when I see you.” With that, you salute him a goodbye and walk off with a grin plastered on your face.

.

.

.

“Y/N?”

The man Namjoon sets you up to meet in Norway is tall in the figure, with blonde hair combed neatly back, and a black suit to match with piercing green eyes that you’re sure to have probably earned many women in his life to swoon.

He’s quite a looker; handsome and tall and carries an aura of authority.

“Asher Larsen.” You say his name in perfect English and extend a hand out to shake it just briefly.

He takes a seat across from you, brows a bit furrowed, jaws set tight. “I can get you in to meet my grandfather but whatever it is you wish to do is none of my business. That will be the farthest I will do for you.”

“Of course. That’s all I need.”

Asher Larsen, grandson of Alexander Larsen, Karl’s nephew, and an intelligent man amongst the Kingsmen. You aren’t sure what Namjoon’s told him about you or the mission in general but he seems like the type who’ll only care about something that he’s actually interested in. And clearly, whatever you’re doing here, he has no intention of getting involved. He’s probably witnessed a few similar scenes before so he can probably guess what it is you’re after, which makes your job a lot easier.

In London, Taehyung was assigned to stay with you during the majority of your plot. Norway, as Seokjin said, Hoseok and Jungkook are here by your side, but unlike London, you won’t have someone here on your side to give you much aid in the way you had Hyunjin.

Asher is only here to be a bridge. Nothing more, nothing less.

He takes you to a private party that night where you walk in by his side as his guest, and for some odd reason, things already begin to spiral as a commotion is heard not long after your arrival.

“Do you often have your security breached like this?” You turn to Asher who gives you a quizzical expression.

“You mean this wasn’t you?”

“To try and grab your grandfather’s attention?” You laugh a little. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think? If it was me behind this, it’d only want him to make an enemy out of me, and that’s not what I’m after.”

No one’s by your side tonight, it’s a private party after all, and though you’re sure your Reapers, along with Hoseok and Jungkook, aren’t too far away for you to leave and make an escape before something goes wrong, somehow you don’t feel the need to run away even when the chandelier from the ceiling falls and shatters glass all over the floor.

“How interesting,” is what you utter when the bright lights of the party fall dim and all that’s left is the light of the dawn sky from above the small, circular glass ceiling.

“Do you care one bit about your safety?” Asher questions you when he sees every other guest making an escape while you remain standing where you’ve been the whole time. He doesn’t look like he’s in a state of panic, and you guess he’s probably used to these things. Who wouldn’t be when you’re born into this business?

“Of course I do, but—”

“You should leave before something goes wrong.” He takes your wrist and pushes you towards the emergency exit, but you just can’t seem to run.

“Asher.” You look around, eyes sharp and quick. “Where’s your grandfather?”

Asher looks exasperated with you. “When things like this happen, my grandfather’s the first to escape. Now—”

“Something’s odd.”

“What’s odd?”

“The party started an hour before we arrived, right? So why was it that the second we walked in, they decided to stop it then? Why when you arrived?” You look towards the entrance door that’s now closed and blocked off, the chandelier that fell at the center of the grand room, just a few feet away from where the two of you were standing.

Luckily no one seems to be on the verge of death and there are people helping some guests leave from a side door, but besides that, there doesn’t seem to be any present physical threat in this room. One might believe they’re not here because Alexander isn’t here but still, you feel an odd sense of something.

You turn back to Asher just as he’s trying to calculate what you just said. “Tell me, Asher, are you someone your grandfather favors?”

“My grandfather doesn’t have favorites.”

“But you are intelligent and a great asset to the Kingsmen.” Just as you said that, you catch sight of a man who had been pretending to help an injured man point a gun towards Asher, who has his back turned to him, and in seconds, you’re rushing to Asher, take hold of the gun he held on the back of his belt, and pierce a bullet straight into the man’s forehead.

Asher turns around, stunned, and you take another man out on the second story of this room.

“You don’t have an extra gun or something, do you? Because we were told not to bring guns to this party.” You flash him an awkward grin but the man only shakes his head.

Well. At least you’re prepared.

Throwing him back his gun, to which he easily catches to eliminate more men, you take your two hairpins that had been holding your hair up this whole time, and use it as your weapon, stabbing along the masked men who have been bold enough to operate on this mission tonight.

Asher and you are an unstoppable force, it’s almost a bit thrilling having the chance to get back into action and overpowering the enemies as if they were simple ants pestering and getting in your way. You forgot how fun this can be after being held up in bed for almost two months, unable to move properly.

Something catches your attention when a lady dressed in a black and white suit stumbles onto her feet with something in her hand, a puppy, and just behind her a long pillar lies, on the verge of tipping over.

No longer watching Asher’s back, you rush over to the scene to pick the running puppy into your arm and grab the woman with your other hand, successfully rescuing them just as the huge cement falls and crashes onto the floor, alerting everyone’s attention.

You simply stare at the dog in your arm. “Behave, will you? Don’t run into danger, that pretty lady was only trying to help.”

It barks and you feel guns pointed straight at you. 

The room falls silent, nothing is heard, and you can’t put a finger on why it is that you’re now the target and they’re ignoring Asher.

Is it the puppy? Is the puppy’s life far more valuable than Asher’s?

“Y/N!” You hear Asher’s call and keeping a firm grip on the puppy, rush to dodge the bullets that fly your way with Asher’s help in shooting down a few of them.

Your body twists and turns, flipping and jumping, doing all it can so that the bullets can only breeze past your skin and not pierce through it, all the while you use your hairpin to stab nearby opponents down with a dog in your hand.

The last of them die against the piercing of your hairpin against their neck, and while you feel eyes on you from the people who were hidden away to hide from the fight, you retrieve the two silver accessories from the enemy’s bodies, wiping their blood on the cloth of your dress, before fixing them back easily into your hair.

The dog licks your face unexpectedly, jerking you from it, and you fall completely silent and stunned at what it had just done.

“Boy, what are you doing to me? You can’t just lick someone like that, even if that is in your nature,” you say, face contoured with disgust as you bring him into your hands and extend your arms out so that he’s unable to continue licking you.

He barks with complaint, and there’s a small snicker that you hear from across the room.

When you turn to look, you’re greeted unexpectedly by the very man you came to meet tonight, standing beside Asher with a few guards next to him.

The little dog twists out of your hand and jumps back onto the floor, rushing over to Alexander who easily picks him up.

Ah. So it was his dog. Now it makes sense why the enemies were after me. The dog’s special to him.

“Are you not used to that?” The old man asks when you pat your hand down onto your dress. His English has a bit of an accent, not too distinct, but he’s not as fluent as Asher is.

“Suddenly getting licked in the face? No sir, I have not.”

“He likes you.” The men beside him move to take the enemies away at Alexander’s head signal, and you watch the way the old man pets the little puppy on the head. “Kiwi doesn’t like just anyone.” Kiwi. “They say dogs are better at judging people than humans.”

What are you supposed to say to that? “...Do they now?”

“Come.”

He turns, with the dog in hand, and you blink.

“Huh?”

But he ignores you to give an order to the lady you reduced under the pillar. “Have a room ready for the lady and send people to tend to her.”

“Pardon me sir, but I can take care of myself. I have a place nearby—”

“My place is closer,” he says, and with that, he’s walking off without letting you have another word in, leaving you to simply stand there with a dumbfounded expression.

“There isn’t anyone else,” Yoongi says, quick but truthful, and so they listen in to what he has to say. Yoongi hesitates for a moment, remembering what you asked him in the alleyway a few days ago, how you asked whether Namjoon would care now, and because he knows the answer, he takes a deep breath to let the truth tell itself. “I am,” he pauses, “was, the heir of the Viper gang.”

They react with dumbfounded expressions, and Yoongi knows it’s a shock because how would anyone have figured that out? He’s always been quiet, stood back to let others handle things, dislikes watching people getting tortured, and does everything the opposite of what an heir does.

Every child that’s born under a mafia ruler is taught to stand formidable, act a certain way, and talk a certain way. No one has ever been an exception, so of course it comes out as a shock when Yoongi reveals to them that not only is he related to the Vipers but was the son of Min Junmyeon.

And he had a sister.

“Junmyeon never said anything because I was like a child thrown out of the throne that was meant to be his. Although I wasn’t kicked out.” He looks up, a small, bitter smile curling up just slightly. “I didn’t lie when I said I ran away from the life I was born into. I did run. I ran because I was invisible and because no one cared. They didn’t care to search for me and force me back so I didn’t return. For some time I was content with that life. I wasn’t happy but I wasn’t sad. I was okay with it. When Nari was born, Junmyeon took a whole 180-degree turn and flipped his switch. His whole life was dedicated to her but I never came to resent the way she stole the attention of everyone in the gang. I didn’t care, but I did want to seek approval. What sort of child wouldn’t? I was a good brother, protected her when needed, but eventually I grew tired of being invisible to everyone and just ran. When no one came searching for me, I returned once to see how things were, to see if they had cared but just had a hard time looking for me. But in the end, no one sought out for the lost heir, they probably didn’t even notice, so I took off to the streets and decided it was better there than to live a doll life, invisible to everyone.”

When he speaks of his past, the sort of person he was before he met them, Yoongi doesn’t speak with emotions. He isn’t that man who was filled with emotions days ago when they brought you here, when he didn’t want anyone close enough to touch you, when he took his promise to you to heart. 

Perhaps it was his guilt toward you, perhaps it was his way of apologizing, and no one would blame him for that.

Yet this Yoongi is different. This Yoongi is the usual Yoongi everyone sees, the Yoongi who looks so lifeless, who looks as if he has no heart or anything he desires in this life.

“We were enemies then,” he tells Namjoon, and this time there’s a bit of life, a small little crease in between his brows. “Your gang and the Vipers didn’t get along and, I knew who you were when you saved me that day from those thugs, yet I still followed you because you were the first person who saw me. You saw me and you saved me, while back in the Viper’s manor, I was kidnapped along with Nari and took a scar down my back for her but no one cared. They never cared, and when I received my first kindness…I decided to follow you. But I was too guilty to tell you the truth about who I was and where I came from. That’s why I never said anything.”

“But the Vipers stopped mattering to me a few years after we met,” Namjoon points out. “Why did you never tell me then?”

“I…” He catches himself, pausing, and takes a brief glance at the others. “Everyone else…went through something much worse than I,” he says. Softly. They watch him with confusion though let him keep speaking. “I grew up alright. I grew up privileged. The only thing about me was Junmyeon’s neglect and being invisible to everyone in that manor. Compare that to what everyone else went through? I didn’t want to bring my problems in, I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone with my useless worries. You all had people after you, wanting to actively hunt you down and hurt you.”

“Just because you didn’t have people actively trying to kidnap you doesn’t mean you were safe from the abuse,” Hoseok cuts in as he strolls down to take Yoongi’s hands. He was there when Namjoon saved him, he was right there to have seen the scars Yoongi retained and the pain in the little boy’s expression that night. Yoongi may act like he never cared back then but he did. And both Namjoon and Hoseok have seen it to remember the story otherwise.

“In the end, you were still kidnapped. They showed up years too late but you still ended up hurt.” Seokjin places a hand on his face, brows creased when he runs a smooth thumb over the bandage wrapped around his eye.

“This wasn’t because they went out of their way to hurt me,” Yoongi admits, the good eye meeting the floor with a little tilt in his head. “I actually got hurt because Nari was about to kill Y/N and stepped forth trying to stop her and in the process, she got my eye.”

So they really did have intentions to kill you.

“You watched her too, didn’t you?” Taehyung asks. “It wasn’t just Sunoo. You saw it too.”

He wonders how he would have felt being in his hyung’s position, watching the woman he once loved going through such torture right before his eyes, all the while knowing he could do nothing. In the end, Yoongi was able to save you. In the end, Yoongi carried you out and ran you to safety with the little kid who had been the reason the both of you couldn’t get out that soon.

You both sacrificed something.

Namjoon holds Yoongi’s face in his hands and presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes as he tries to envision the pain. Yoongi will only be able to use one eye from now on, and although it will take a moment, he’ll adjust and he’ll get used to it. But for now, they’re here for him, through and through.

“From now on, no more secrets,” he whispers into the silence that walks in. “I don’t want to know how it feels to lose someone else. I can’t.”

.

.

.

Quiet.

Silence saved by the beeping on the monitor that indicates you still live, that your heart is still racing. Yuna, still seated on the floor but now on the floor of the room you’ve been relocated to, sits still to hear the sound, not moving an inch because if she cannot see, she can hear. It’s the only thing that’s keeping her sane.

Mingyu sits on a chair by your bedside. Dasom stands against a wall beside the door, arms crossed, eyes closed. Yeonjun sits on the couch along a wall, watching Sunoo who had refused to leave until he sees you wake, and in his stubbornness to sleep when needed, he’s finally managed to fall asleep with the sleeping dose Yeonjun used on him.

A few more Reapers stand outside the door, watching, waiting.

A finger twitches, subtly, but it doesn’t leave the hawk eyes of your right hand man. 

“Boss?” He calls, standing.

A heartbeat.

Then before he realizes, an arm extends out of nowhere, leaving him in a chokehold with a grip that has lost much of her strength after the event she’s gone through.

“Boss, it’s Mingyu,” Dasom quickly says when she runs to your side and Yuna has followed along.

Your eyes which had been deadly and alerted with suspicion, loses their glare once you realize who the person that had been by your side was. 

You loosen your grip around Mingyu’s neck, brows furrowing slightly as you take a look at your hand, realizing there are white bandages wrapped all the way up to your neck You stare at your fingers, noticing the pain in your wake, before something hits you and you feel a strong headache pounding hard.

You look over at Mingyu when you get up with the help from Dasom, feeling some sense of deja vu, though you can’t explain why.

“Have I…choked you..before?” You ask. As ridiculous as it sounds — because you’d never lay a hand on your Reapers — something about it just feels a bit…familiar, for some reason. Maybe you’re still dreaming, maybe the madness is spreading and you’re just making things up now but why, for some reason, do you feel as if you’ve held Mingyu by the neck before?

Mingyu doesn’t hesitate nor does he look away when he answers; “No.”

You have your reply and yet it still feels odd when you bring your hand to your head, slowly and gently rubbing your temples as you close your eyes. But then something suddenly hits you and you open your eyes again.

“Where am I?” This isn’t the manor or any place that belongs to you. You’d recognize it if it was.

“It’s a small hospital that belongs to Bangtan,” Mingyu explains. “It was the closest place they could get you to for help.” Your eyes widen in alertness but he’s quick to continue before your heart rate can increase. “As far as I know, Mr. Min was the only one to have touched you. He fended off anyone that tried to get close.”

Yoongi went to the extent for you?

You look down at yourself again, dressed in something you’ve never worn before and it almost feels as if you’re playing some patient in a mental ward. Father never cared to send you to hospitals when you were hurt, you were always taken care of by the medic team or during times when he’d punish you by not enlisting their help, it was your Reapers that had to find what they could to help you.

You’ve never been bedridden in a hospital bed before.

What a sight to behold.

You hate it.

When you throw the blanket off you and try to pull the uncomfortable IVs from your wrist, Mingyu takes your hand to stop you. “Look at your legs, boss, you can’t walk. And you’re still in pain everywhere.”

Wrapped legs. Wrapped arms, torso, and chest.

You look like a mummy.

“I’m not in pain,” you deny. “I can walk—”

“No, you can’t.” He stands tall, refusing to let you do what you wish and you know Mingyu only does this when you’re putting your health at risk otherwise he’d never go against you.

Still, you shake your head when he tries to put you back and they hear the way your heart rate increases. You look over at the sound of the monitor, falling with even more loathe because that thing is like a window to the things you want to hide. You try to push Mingyu off, a lump in your throat because it feels like you’re a prisoner and you don’t want to be here.

You don’t want to be here.

“I don’t like this,” you breathe out but Mingyu holds your shoulders and leans in close.

“That isn’t for you to say and this isn’t the place to panic,” he reminds you in a low tone and you know. You know this isn’t the place, you aren’t safe here, you aren’t safe to express and panic and get upset and do whatever it is you want to do but that’s exactly why you don’t want to be here.

You aren’t safe.

“I want to go home.” A shudder comes through you, a tremor in your hands.

The monitor continues updating.

Beep. Beep. Beepbeep—

“Stop it. Please, stop it. Don’t let them come in.” You know it’s alerting whoever can hear it outside this room. You know the door is about to open because you’re a patient and patients mean listening to what the doctors say and what the nurses say and what everyone else says. “Don’t let them come. Don’t let them come.”

“Yeonjun.” He takes Sunoo in his arms upon Mingyu’s command, leaving out the door. “Yeong.” Mingyu speaks into an earpiece and Lisa, Haneul, and Yiseul rush in.

Mingyu, Dasom, and Yuna back off to let them do their job while outside the door, Yeong and Jae have stepped up to stand guard.

“What’s going on?” Namjoon asks when the two Reapers hold their hands up, refusing to let anyone else in. From where he stands, along with the curtain covering the one window of the door, he can’t see what’s going on.

“We cannot let you in,” Yeong says strictly. “Please. For our boss’s privacy.”

“Is she hurting again?” Sunoo, who had woken up amidst the chaos, asks with worry shaking him once again.

“It’s not what you’re imagining,” Yeonjun tells him straightforwardly in a blunt tone, before looking up at the group that has gathered as if telling Namjoon he should know exactly what he means.

Upon that subtle confirmation, Namjoon backs down, nodding at his people to leave you be, before he walks off with Yoongi and Jungkook following behind.

On the other side of the wall, you must be awake and not taking things well. You’re panicking perhaps, losing your composure, and only the Reapers are allowed to see anything of that relating to you. No one else.

Back in the manor when you had confronted him and pretended to be the bad guy in his life, he saw a brief moment of you losing your composure. They all did. 

The moment you realized you had touched Namjoon, the moment everything started coming down so you walked over to a corner away from them all. You held yourself well despite everything threatening to tear you apart and Mingyu came in time to get you out of there, but in this hospital where you’ve undergone surgery and cannot move around so carelessly, there is only so little your mind can do to trick you out of panic.

And perhaps because it’s failing to protect you from the eyes of strangers, from the eyes of people you don’t trust, maybe that’s why the Reapers have all come into defense mode and have refused anyone to go near you.

“I want to go home.” Meanwhile, you repeat those words inside the room, feeling your throat clogging up and something scratching it so hard you wish to just tear it out. “I want to go home. Take me home.”

The monitor is still going off while you try to shake the hands that try to hold you down, kicking off the blanket, struggling to stay still.

“I want to go home..” Soon your voice dies down, quieting, quieting, until it turns completely silent and you’re simply doing nothing but trembling uncontrollably. You let your knees kick up to your chest, head lowered into them, hands coming around to cover your ears and they know. They know what’s happening.

You’ve never been loud. Not ever.

And although the silence, coldness, and the dark scares you more than anything else in this life, it is the only thing you succumb to when you feel as if everything has gone out of control.

Your silence tears your Reapers apart because it is your silence that tells them you aren’t okay.

That you’re in your most frightened state.

Lisa lets Mingyu come close when you succumb to the silence and they all stand back to watch him work his magic.

He dips the bed when he takes a seat, and when he reaches out to give your arm a tentative touch and you don’t flinch away, he allows himself closer. He puts both his legs onto the bed and pulls you in like you’re nothing but a small little child who needs calming down. Mingyu brings you into his lap and takes your hand from your ear, letting your head rest against his chest so you can hear the beat of his heart, and wraps his arms around you in a soft, soft embrace.

It takes time but eventually, the shaking stops. Eventually, the tension falls away and you allow yourself to welcome the embrace and let your limbs fall loose.

Too tired to hold up.

Too tired to keep strength.

Beep…beep…beep…

Your heartbeat slows as it follows after the one you’re listening to as if it is the only sound in this world that can save you from the depth of the sea.

The sound of the whale singing you a lullaby and bringing you to fall asleep once again.

.

.

.

“Deal with them. I don’t know what Yoongi wants but it’s not my call to have them dead.”

Days after sending that letter off to Namjoon once things started to calm down on your end, you hear news of the remaining members of the Vipers completely wiped out. You’d been back at your manor for a good time now, ever since waking up for the second time and finding relief in knowing you weren’t at some unknown place. Luckily. 

Your Reapers always know just what to do when a situation calls for it and you’re glad you have them by your side.

With you bedded and unable to walk and do much on your own, you let them follow you through words alone. The Academy is to set up training lessons on both combat and weapon skills. Initially, when building the school you thought against the idea, but since Sunoo’s been used against you as leverage, you figure giving them some life skills should come in handy in the future. They won’t become your little assassins per se but if they want to survive in this world, they have to learn how to fight it. It’s for their own survival, you can’t have a situation with Sunoo repeating again. They should at least know how to defend themselves if anything.

You’ve also told your Reapers the names of the people that have hurt you before, the ones they don’t know of, the ones from before Yuna arrived. It’s a secret you’ve always kept in the back of your memories, not wanting them to return, but if another situation comes out in a similar fashion, you’d rather be prepared.

They have to know, even if it’s just names.

At least then they won’t be led into the dark if you’re taken away again and will have a better chance at suspecting who.

When you’re good enough to stand on your feet and when Mingyu stops becoming so overbearing, the first place you visit is The Academy where Sunoo stays in his dorm alone, isolated from the rest.

“What’re you doing not playing with your friends?” His head perks up when he hears your familiar voice, that look of dread and loneliness brightened up if even for a moment. You see the way his eyes light up, widening, his feet meeting the floor when he jumps down from his bed, quick on his knees with a head lowered down to the floor before anyone can tell him anything.

You freeze in the moment, silent, before signaling to Yeong to have the door closed so that only you and Mingyu remain.

Your second in command walks off to the side, leaning against the wall to give you space when you approach the little boy whose shoulder trembles when lowered before you.

“Sunoo,” you call, and he flinches a little. “It is during times like this you should surround yourself with your peers, otherwise—”

“I’m sorry,” he cuts you off and you simply stand there again, not approaching any further.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Yuna, age thirteen, tears rolled down her working eyes when you ran to room 157. “I just…I just want to make it all better.” Apologizing because she was incompetent.

“I’m sorry.” Mingyu, age twenty-six, uttered the only words he could find when you told him one could not break a broken person. “I want to save you.” But he can’t.

“I’m sorry.” Yeonjun, age ten, handing you a cup of rose water, his jaws clenched after your father’s Reapers left the room. “It’s tea,” he says. “It isn’t poisoned,” he says. And you drink it.

“I’m sorry.” Dasom, age twenty-four, blood on her face, blood on her hands, knelt before you with a head lowered, shoulders trembling. “I won’t make the same mistake as he did.” Killed the first Reaper that almost spilled your secrets.

“I’m sorry.” Nakyum, age seventeen, accepts his fate with a smile, eyes only looking your way with the rest of your Reapers surrounding him. The first to lose control, the first unable to restrain himself. “I hope in my next life, I can run to your side without having to hold myself back. May we meet again…in that life.” Dead.

Someone apologizes when they can do nothing. Someone apologizes when they’ve done something. In the end, fate will always pull the people around you into the hell you’ve been born into. No matter how much you push them away to escape it, to live the life they so deserve, they remain still and stubborn, vowing to always stay by your side no matter what.

Yuna lost her eyes. Nakyum lost his life.

No one else.

No one else.

You sit on the floor in front of Sunoo, crossing your legs together and close your eyes. You take in a deep breath, in and out, head tilted to the sky as if sending a prayer to Nakyum, asking him to continue his duties in watching over you all. You’re still selfish to this day, wanting to hold onto the dead.

“You did well,” you say into the silence. “You did well.”

Sunoo shakes his head, still unable to look you in the eyes. Perhaps feeling unworthy to do so. “You almost died.”

“But I didn’t,” you affirm and you see the way his hands ball into fists, turning knuckle white. “One day, perhaps, you can be like that gentleman that stepped in to take the blade for me. One day you will be strong to protect the ones you care about. But until that day comes, you have to accept the fact that you’re weak. Do not dwell on what could have been, dwell on how you could have done better. You acted well and played your part. Nari wanted you to scream and lose control, she wanted you to beg her to not hurt me, she wanted to watch you fall apart. If you had fallen victim to her play, she would have done worse on me, Sunoo, I know she would have. There are people who exist to make things harder on others. There are people who exist to laugh in the face of tears.”

“Even still—”

“Even still,” you cut him off, repeating those two words with more emphasis, “you are a child. And you cannot expect to do anything more than to stand and watch. Sometimes being a good bystander is all there is to do. Sometimes being a good bystander is all you can do. You protected me, Sunoo, so do not apologize for doing what I had asked you to do. But if you find yourself still dwelling on the fact that you should have done better,” you lift his head from where it sits, resting a cold hand on his face when he tries so hard to keep the tears back for your sake, “get stronger.”

Sunoo bites onto his lower lip, eyes kept wide and unblinking because he knows that if he wishes to not cry, a single blink will allow the rain to fall. “Yes, my lady.”

You pat him on the head and stand from your seat before simply walking off. 

When the door closes behind you, only then does he finally allow himself to cry.

“I’m sorry,” his voice breaks when Mingyu approaches him on the floor, hands rushing to wipe his tears yet they keep on coming. “I’m sorry I…I don’t know how to stop. The lady hates tears and yet—”

“You did well.”

Sunoo shakes his head. “I still showed her my tears. I..I-I’m not supposed to—”

“Boss was born in an environment that forced her to block all her emotions out. Her own father was a manipulating man who is incompetent of feeling. You are seven.” He places a hand on Sunoo’s shoulder and gives him a gentle squeeze. “Boss built you a place under her rule so that children like you do not have to live the life she led. She will forgive you if you cry.”

And so he does.

He cries. 

This time without hands pushing the tears away, this time with snot and hiccups and sounds. And as Mingyu watches the little kid who was forced to hold a weight upon those shoulders, he wishes he could see the same with you.

Crying.

And not succumbing to the silence.

.

.

.

“Should you be walking on your feet so casually like that?”

One question still remains. One question that has you questioning everything else.

Why the hell does Namjoon seem so cool about everything?

I mean you didn’t provoke him any further and made jabs at him but why are the two of you okay enough to send letters to each other regarding the Viper situation? Isn’t he supposed to be mad at you for Jungwon? And the fact that you got Yoongi hurt to the point of him only being able to see through one eye now? Namjoon’s protective when it comes to his loved ones getting hurt so why aren’t you being yelled at? And why was he cool enough to send you to their private hospital and even had doctors on standby? You didn’t use them but that’s beside the point.

Is it because you were on the verge of death? But Namjoon never cared about that when it came to his enemies.

You look over at Yoongi not so discreetly, a tilt in your head, confusion plastered on your face, and in his own confusion as to why you turned to him in the first place, he simply gives you no response.

So you turn back to Namjoon, shrugging at his question. “It’s been over a month, I wouldn’t let just anyone take me down like that.”

He hums, agreeing, and you take another look at Yoongi who doesn’t avoid eye contact. The last time you saw him he was all bloody, blood dripping past the wet cloth you placed over his eye. The last time was when you were in that alleyway, telling him to not let anyone touch you.

He kept his promise, according to Mingyu, and perhaps that was his showing of apology for what he’d done to you all those years ago. You wouldn’t deem Yoongi as someone to have ignored the little trust you had put in him.

“I have a question, Kim Namjoon.” You turn to the man in charge. “Did what happened the last time we met each other fly past your head? Because it awfully feels as if it’s not affecting you one bit. Unless this is all just a ploy to lure me in and kill me afterwards.”

He raises a brow. “You think I like playing things out in the long run?”

Right. When it comes to Namjoon, whatever he wants, whoever he wants dead, they usually die within a week of his declaration. He doesn’t do the waiting game.

“Then why am I still alive?” You ask so casually it’s as if you were speaking of the weather. “Are you a fool?”

“I’m not a fool, Y/N, and that’s precisely why I will not kill you, whether you try to force my hands or not.” He gives you a pointed stare and you look away, arms crossing over your chest. Namjoon continues under your silence. “Did you know that in a moment of weakness, you let your mask fall? Did you really think I’d continue believing you so easily? After that act you played and went into madness?”

You ball your hand into a fist, ready to cut back. “I—”

“You didn’t kill Jungwon, but you know exactly who did it.” Those eyes of his, when you look at them, dares for you to refute the claim he just made and it brings a shiver down your spine. He’s never been one to play around, rarely cracks jokes, is always aloof, and has that resting glare on his face. Perhaps you shouldn’t have chanted those words so much you brought yourself into madness.

It was your fault your mask fell.

“And until you’re willing to tell me, I won’t accept your deal in wanting to cut Bangtan off your allied forces.”

You frown at his proposition, confused. “Wha—”

“You need me, Y/N,” he cuts you off, getting straight to the point and you sit there, simply staring with a dumbfounded expression. “I have more power and influence than the Reapers do. I have ways to get dirt over anyone and I have connections. That’s why you approached me in the first place; because you needed to use my power. I will continue to give you that. I’ll allow you to use me. And when you’re done using me, you can throw me out after giving me the truth to who killed Jungwon.”

Seokjin, who had stood beside Yoongi this whole time, slides a paper over to you and when you look at it, you realize it’s a contract. A new one.

You only have to glance at it for a brief moment to understand the words that are written there. “You’re giving me quite the advantage, Namjoon.”

Total control to be able to use him whenever, as long as you’re able to provide him information on his brother’s death once you are done with him. In translation: he was allowing you to treat him as a pawn.

“You know all I want is the truth about my brother, and you’re the only one who can provide me with that.”

The last person to have seen Kim Jungwon. The only person besides Namjoon to have been close to him.

You raise a brow his way, suspicious. “All for some information, you’re willing to become my pawn.”

“You believed I had treated you as such all those years ago, would it not be fair?”

He doesn’t say it straight out but you know just what he’s trying to imply. You were once a pawn in the chess game he played with your father, used as a leverage, and free to ask anything of you. And being the sort of person that you were all those years ago, you could never say no to what Namjoon asked of you. Three years passed, he grew tired of you, and discarded you to be eaten up by the enemy.

This is, in unspoken words, his apology.

You take the pen from the table to scribble out your signature before standing up to walk out without another word.

Though you pause right before you can open the door, turn a step around to address Yoongi, giving him a small bow. “Thank you.” And walk out.

Yoongi’s way of apology meant a lot more. You don’t want some discreet way of apology, you don’t want to play fire with fire even though that had been your intention from the very beginning. But even then, it was never your intention to take revenge back on Namjoon just to use him as a pawn.

It’s not what you want.

You want him begging on his knees the way you had done. You want him begging you for forgiveness and actually mean it.

You can accept Yoongi’s apology. You won’t forgive him yet but you can accept it. He stepped up when you were on the verge of death, stood in front of a blade, and had his own eye blinded. He then picked both you and Sunoo up in his arms and took revenge back on the Vipers, successfully killing them off in one go. And with the little trust you gave him in your moment of weakness, he kept his word and warded off anyone that tried to get close to you.

The Reapers were contacted, rushed to your side, and took care of you.

In the beginning, Yoongi was just a victim who had to fall prey into making a decision he hadn’t wanted to make.

Kim Namjoon’s taking a step but he’s still lightyears away from forgiveness.

02: intermission

03: part two

04: intermission 02

05: part three; finale

phase one drabbles:

the first meeting

the wedding band habit

miso meets yoongi

the hickeys

the jealousy

tiny bowls for tiny babies

the one with the doubt

maybe physical affection isn’t so bad

the everyday risk

the groveling

phase two drabbles:

the babymaking

jungkook’s birthday

couvade syndrome

the argument

jk fights with miso (real)

the comeback of slideshows

the false alarm

the nesting period

hwayoung_debut

yoongi’s visit

You’re a little more anxious as you let it out to be.

Being just a week away from approaching your second trimester, you’ve been filled with so much nervousness regarding every single thing that you do, not just pregnancy-wise. You’ve been reevaluating everything that’s on your shoulders, the most pressing of them being the fact that the first trimester’s the most sensitive.

Except from the occasional morning sickness, the lethargy, and the ever-pressing matter of you overthinking things — your pregnancy’s going along well.

So well that sometimes it doesn’t cross your mind that your taste (and basically your whole worldview) is bound to change.

The minute you step into the bathroom to shower, Jungkook’s just gotten out of it to get his day started (read: prep your meals for work) and although your attention would normally be fixated first on the fact that he only has a towel wrapped around his waist, something else catches your attention and it irks you.

You catch a whiff of his perfume, (un)pleasantly reminded by the fact that he sprays himself with it twice; first on his bare skin, then second on his clothes when he’s all dressed. It’s only Jungkook’s first layer of perfume and yet it already riles you up for all the wrong reasons.

“Is that you?”

“Is what me?” he furrows his eyebrows, catching your drift when he sees your nose upturning. Jungkook trails off, a smirk already forming on his face this early in the morning. “Yes…? I’ve been using the same perfume for like, years, baby.”

“I don’t like it,” you quip immediately. “It’s making me nauseous.”

“What? But I love this perfume,” Jungkook frowns, taken aback because he swears you were all over with him just yesterday over his scent.

You did love the perfume. You’ve loved it for years and for some reason, the smell of cotton and musk turned sour for you overnight, making you grimace.

“You make me wanna puke.”

“Fine, I’ll change it,” Jungkook dramatically sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. His voice lilts into a tease, bottom lip jutting out before pecking your cheek. “After everything I do for you?”

Maybe it’s because of the fog on your head, and maybe it’s also because you woke up on the wrong side of the bed because you literally can’t sleep properly.

It’s that lilt in his voice, the same lilt you know would be playful for you at every other occasion, that also turned sour in your head by the minute.

“What about everything I do for you?” you mumble, brows slightly furrowed. It’s a surprise that he even hears your question.

Jungkook can’t catch on that you’re not joking with him like how he’s teasing you at the moment. He mistakes your genuine self-doubt to be your stellar acting just as always.

He shrugs, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Eh. You’re doing fine.”

The joking tone never reaches your ears because they already started ringing the moment you smelled your husband’s perfume. It never reaches you because you can’t help but to feel wired this way, literally, and you just can’t help it —

You can’t help but to feel upset.

You weren’t doing good. Not even great at the slightest. You’re doing just fine and fine isn’t good enough for you — not when you’re at the crux of your career and you have to juggle it with being pregnant; becoming a first-time mom in just a matter of months.

You go through the motions of preparing yourself for work, mechanically staying put when Jungkook kisses you goodbye.

Even after filming, you stay back on set to nab yourself an early copy of the script for your next episode and ask for notes from the director of what he needed from you; of everything that you’re lacking now that you want to give

You’ve hung back even longer than Jimin and soon enough, you realize that it’s only some of the crew that you’re alone with — them, and Yoongi.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks with a tap on your shoulder that snaps you out of your reference, surprising himself when you jolt in the slightest. He’s concerned at the way you did so good today but no one’s barely gotten a word out of you outside of filming, the look of worry etched on your face even now. “You look out of it.”

The question is warranted, although sudden in your perspective. You’re so out of it that you didn’t even know that everybody noticed.

You’re snapped out from your reverie because in either courage or foolery, you delve deeper. Yoongi’s a treasured friend to you and he would never lie; you have to hear it from him of all people.

“Am I doing great?” you ask, your lips pursed as you’re already anticipating the worst.

Yoongi doesn’t even flinch despite being slightly confused, a comforting smile immediately gracing his face.

“Of course you are,” he answers. “You’re already a great mom.”

The tears build up in your eyes so quick that you’re momentarily blinded by them, crying into the heels of your hands as an aftermath. Yoongi’s frozen on what he should do from seeing you so vulnerable.

“I didn’t even say where am I doing great at. I-I didn’t have to,” you sob. For all he knows, you could be asking about your performance at work and yet it wasn’t the first thing his mind went to. “You already knew.”

“Hey, hey. Everybody knows you’re great. The baby isn’t even here yet and you’re already doing so well,” he shushes you, tentatively rubbing comforting circles on your back. You seem to calm down by the minute, and the moment you stop hiccuping, he offers. “Need a ride?”

Yoongi opens the door for you, drives you with no question, and even leads you up to the steps of your front door. He doesn’t hang back to greet Jungkook because he has a hint that there’s some trouble in paradise, hesitant to cross lines this late into the evening so he heads back to his car.

When you come back home to Jungkook though, he’s a nervous mess.

“Where have you been?” he shoots straight up from the couch, eyes and hands frantically checking you over.

“Work. Where else?” you mumble, slyly dodging a hand that comes up to your cheek.

Jungkook knew there was something off from you since you left but he can’t place it even now; even when you came home late with your eyes still refusing to meet his.

“It’s already past midnight. It’s the next day. Why didn’t you tell me you’d be out this late? You told me today was a quick shoot,” he starts, grinding his jaw when he hears you huff under your breath. 

You don’t seem to take him seriously, not even the panic that’s clear on his face and from the couple hundred texts he sent you that you didn’t even read.

“I’m a big girl, Jungkook,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “I’m — we’re here in one piece. Yoongi drove me home anyway.”

“Where was Jimin?” he inquires instantly. “He’s your manager. Why didn’t he wait for you? He knows you’re pregnant, he wouldn’t let you strain yourself like this.”

On normal days, you’d have the patience to explain why Jimin sometimes doesn’t see you through the end of your endeavors. Technically, your work was already done hours before, it was just you who didn’t want to come home at the time.

But today’s the furthest thing from a normal day.

“I’m doing just fine, Jungkook. Stop worrying about me.”

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you! The two of you! Why didn’t you-…” he strains, gesturing to your stomach.

“Well then stop!” you burst, finally letting loose. “After everything you do for me, stop worrying.”

Your husband instantly freezes, the recollection of almost this same exact scene earlier into the morning playing out in his head.

His chest tightens, eyes wide and unblinking.

“Is this about what I said?”

“I don’t know, Jungkook. I don’t fucking know, okay? I’m anxious and I’m on edge with everything and-…” you inhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. The lump that builds in your throat gets in the way, making you screw your eyes shut. “Just… shut up sometimes. I don’t need to hear what I’m thinking about myself from you. I don’t want to know I’m doing a shit job.”

“You’re not doing a shit job. You’re great at everything,” Jungkook interjects, his face falling at how dense he could be. “I-I… I was only joking around awhile ago, I swear. I didn’t mean it.”

He made you feel this way and he wants nothing else but to beat himself up over it, your husband’s mind running a hundred miles per hour just thinking of how utterly stupid he has to be to even joke about it.

“I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve reeled it in sooner. I’m not gonna do jokes like that again, I promise,” Jungkook embraces you desperately, his close proximity to you making you take notice that he’s wearing a different perfume.

If you think about it longer, the perfume Jungkook’s wearing right now smells like yours.

“Perfect mom. Perfect actress. Perfect wife, everything,” he mumbles against your temple, pressing small warm kisses to your face. “You give me beyond everything that I could do for you. You’re growing a human inside you and I’m just standing here.”

“You don’t just stand around,” you mutter, slowly reciprocating his hug. “You make efforts for me too.”

“Not as great as what you do for me,” he corrects. “For us.”

Jungkook figures it’ll be a sleepless night for him because he’ll be tossing and turning just regretting what he did, but at the very least, he knows he’ll be sleepless with you.

“Do you forgive me? You don’t have to right now. I’ll still mope and you can sleep on it,” he asks. “I can sleep on the floor tonight.”

“Not even the couch?” you joke, your snort making him smile briefly.

“Sleeping on the couch wouldn’t be a punishment.”

“You want to repent so bad?” you joke with mischief painted on your face and yet it doesn’t register on him.

Jungkook’s your personal security system with the way he insists to tag along to every bullet point you have in your work schedule.

You’re in your first trimester and although it hasn’t been as seamless as you’d like, you manage everyday. You’re not showing either, atleast not yet. The idea of when you should take your leave lingers at the back of your head but you feel that it shouldn’t be now, not when you’re still perfectly able without the bump and the fatigue on your way.

The news of your pregnancy is still under wraps with only your team and a select few people knowing as exceptions, unwilling to publicize anything this early in time.

Jungkook was already protective before yet there’s no term to just describe exactly how he’s grown even more now, a lingering proof of it being his very own chair with his name printed that the production crew had gotten made. If it were up to him, he would’ve also put his name on the call sheet with just how present he is.

“Are you gonna finish that?” he looks at Jimin pointedly, his voice hushed even if there were only a few people in the dressing room. Jungkook tilts his head to the food in front of Jimin, the latter having neglected his meal for a total of five (5) seconds because he was responding to an email.

Jimin remembers setting down his chopsticks two and a half blinks ago, but he doesn’t quite remember how badly he likes the meal with the way Jungkook looks at him inquisitively.

“Uhm, I don’t think so? You can-…” he clears his throat when Jungkook snatches the lunchbox away with a huff, eyes big and frozen. “… have it if you want.”

Without you present in the room, there’s no buffer. Jimin and Jungkook can normally tolerate each other and they even bond, actually. It’s just that there’s something in the air that your manager can’t exactly place with your husband’s attitude.

Jimin accomplishes his email and it barely even took him a minute, but he wishes it took him longer so that he had the time to forget that he doesn’t exactly have a meal to come back to now. Just as he’s about to pick up his chopsticks in reflex, Jungkook scoffs across him, his lunchbox already empty.

“Is there a reason you didn’t finish it?” 

Jimin blinks, perplexed at the whiplash. “You uhm, you asked if I was gonna finish it, Jungkook.”

He knows for a fact that he’s sleep-deprived but Jimin knows exactly what he’s seeing; the sight of Jungkook being pissy with him for no reason at all just makes him want to go look for you to hide behind you.

“I know, and you said I could have it. Why didn’t you finish your lunchbox?”

“Because you asked for it?” he answers unsurely, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

It must be the wrong answer because Jungkook’s eyes narrow even more, crossing his arms. His hair’s longer now but it barely covers up the scowl on his face. “No I didn’t. I asked if you were gonna finish it, not if I could have it,” he enunciates. “You don’t like my cooking, is that it?”

“What? No, no! I-I like your cooking!” Jimin amends, waving out his hands.

“Didn’t seem like it,” Jungkook scoffs, shrugging carelessly, “Yeah, whatever. I woke up extra early just to prepare lunchboxes for my wife’s manager and her friend, but it’s okay,” he snickers. “I don’t care, Jimin. Atleast Yoongi’s fucking that shit up. Look.”

Surely enough, Yoongi’s indeed fucking up the lunchbox that Jungkook prepared, his heavy breaths being heard from across the room because he barely gives himself the time to inhale with how good the food was.

“I care! I love the lunchbox! Thank you so much, Jungkook. Really, I do-…”

Jungkook clenches his jaw, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. Jimin can’t even catch up even if your husband’s face is set on the ground.

“Wow. And I thought you can’t be any more demeaning. God, you expect me to cook for you? Even Y/N doesn’t do this to me. You, you think that I’m just some communal husband that should cook a-and-…”

“Hi, baby.”

Both Jungkook and Jimin perk up at the sight of you, the former being placated now that he has his eyes on you, and the latter utterly relieved because he clearly needs help.

“Oh, hello,” Jungkook beams, grinning up at you. He melts immediately when you hug him from behind and it’s as if he wasn’t annoyed to hell and back with your manager just seconds ago.

Jimin’s speechless. Completely and utterly speechless at Jungkook’s change-up, his words reduced to a whisper directed at you.

“Was it — w-was it something I said?”

You discreetly put your hands over Jungkook’s ears and he doesn’t even notice, your face sympathetic because it’s clear as day that Jimin’s been put into a whiplash. “This couvade syndrome’s only gonna last until the first trimester,” you whisper. “They say it comes back on the third though. Don’t show your face to Jungkook for the meantime.”

You coax Jungkook out of his seat to tell him that your shoot’s done for the day, his head eagerly nodding in understanding.

“Jimin told me he doesn’t like my lunchboxes,” he pipes up, his eyes sly and menacing when he looks back at him briefly. “He also told me that I should go fuck myself.”

“I-..!”

You shut Jimin up with a pointed look, the both of you already knowing that nothing of the sort happened and that Jungkook’s going through it — perhaps significantly even worse than you.

It’s your fault that you waited this long to pick out a present for Jungkook.

Work has been so hectic with your back-to-back promotions (the most recent one having you camp out for a game show) that Jungkook’s birthday had just kind of flitted at the edge of your mind, his presence always assuring you that you could turn off your brain whenever you’re with him.

When you’re with your husband, you don’t have to worry if you left the stove on or if you kept the water running. You don’t have to look both ways when you’re crossing the street and neither do you have to double-check if you put your car on park. As soon as you strip yourself from your work clothes, Jungkook takes over as the only functioning brain for you both — so much so, you forget that it’s already your husband’s birthday tomorrow.

“Ugh, your iPad must be so old already, huh?” you snicker, narrowing your eyes at the device that Jungkook’s mindlessly doodling on. He furrows his brows at that, chuckling at your expression that seems hellbent on gaslighting him into thinking that it really is old.

“You just got me this last month.”

“I did?” you sputter, eyes widening slightly until you remember that you did just gift it to him randomly. You recover from your surprise quickly, clearing your throat. “Ah, you must be on your iPad then because your desktop’s gotten slow now.”

Jungkook fully stops what he’s doing this time, a budding smirk growing on his face. He doesn’t know exactly what you’re playing at but he thinks it has something to do with him being an appreciative househusband (is that what you were getting at?), slipping his mind likewise that it’s literally his birthday tomorrow.

“Baby, you upgraded my setup for our anniversary, remember?”

“I knew that,” you purse your lips, the defensive scoff leaving you convincing him for now. God knows how shitty of an actress you could be when the cameras aren’t pointed on you and you’re facing Jungkook of all people, but with his brain doing the heavy lifting for the both of you at the moment, it hasn’t sunk in him yet that you’re looking for a specific answer — a specific gift.

You already have two cakes and atleast you’ve got that part covered for your husband’s birthday, your indecisiveness letting it peek through that you’re attempting to overcompensate for your forgetfulness. The first one was just the same exact ice cream cake that Jungkook asked for earlier and the second one’s a little more expensive and a little less over-the-counter; a little more of you trying to make up for the possibility that you can’t brainstorm of a gift within the day.

It’s only half an hour until midnight and yet even if you already called absent for work the next day, you still can’t be placated without holding something, anything to present Jungkook for his birthday.

“I don’t think I can hold out until 12,” Jungkook yawns, already tucking his face against your neck. He pretends to snore obnoxiously but he doesn’t even know if he was only kidding around at this point, the need to succumb to the covers overtaking him than meeting another year of his life on the dot.

“What are you so sleepy for?” you hum, combing your hand through his hair. He visibly shudders at your touch and you feel comforted enough just by giving Jungkook extra attention, momentarily releasing your stress from racking your brain alone.

“Crochet,” he mumbles, pressing one chaste kiss to your collarbone before rubbing his head against you. You’re practically cradling him in your arms at this point and he doesn’t mind one bit, even if you inch him closer and closer to his side of the bed to tuck him in. “Was crocheting hats for Miso all morning when you were gone.”

“She hates hats,” you snort, stroking his hair gently.

“She can suck it up. I’m literally allergic to her but she’s been with us for years,” he huffs, readjusting his position on the bed whilst cuddling up to you. “Besides, I made it for the three of us so we can wear it when we take pictures with the cake.”

You’ve never been more awed.

Your brain has been scrambled for the past week yet this is the surest it’s ever been when you think to yourself that Jungkook is unbelievably real and in your grasp, painstakingly endearing and lovable.

“You’re so-…” you clear your throat, the sudden wave of emotion catching you off-guard. You look down on Jungkook but he’s already passed out, the light snoring almost making you laugh if not for your sudden burst of motivation to go to the bathroom.

It’s a sudden urge in your brain that just appears, only willing to be quelled if you just opened the drawer and took out the box of pregnancy tests that remained untouched since your purchase last week.

It’s a sudden stillness in your heart that comes out when you don’t even hold your breath to look at the results, the word pregnant as clear as the two solid lines that stare back at you.

It’s a sudden purpose that builds in your entire being when you practically jump out of the shower and look for an empty jewelry case in your vanity, fingers shaky as you encase the positive test with resoluteness.

It’s midnight when you shake Jungkook awake so hard that he genuinely thinks there’s an earthquake, arms sleepily jolting to cover his head and nape. He blinks away the sleepiness until he settles on your face, a smile immediately gracing his visage.

“Another one?” he chuckles, taking the case from you. “You already gave me a bracelet two weeks ago.”

You have no words when you shake your head, the words that are just dying to be squealed out remaining on your throat. Your husband looks at you in mischief, eyebrows playfully furrowed until he opens up the case.

Jungkook doesn’t know how to react point-blank but he knows the incredible warmth that spreads around him, eyes immediately watering when he looks up at you.

For the past month, Jungkook can’t be around you without tensing up.

He’s positive that he loves you so much to the point that he’s going crazy, yearning for you even if you were only an arm’s reach away. Both your knees could already be pressed together with how he crams your space even in a huge couch, but it still wouldn’t be enough.

Jungkook doesn’t know when enough is enough when it comes to you. He’s entirely sure that there’s an adjective yet to be coined with how he’s beyond smitten with you, the itch in his palms to just be close to you growing tenfold the past month alone.

There’s no alarm in his brain when he’s making your lunches to remind him that he’s made you too much side dishes. He doesn’t hear any beeping in his subconscious when he becomes your shadow the second you come home, instantly becoming your yes man to everything, simply because he feels like he just can’t get enough of you.

Even from your side of the equation, there’s no exact explanation you can pin behind your husband’s newfound and intensified attachment to you. Whatever it was though, you’re fully in on it.

Jungkook feels like the walls would cave in if he doesn’t latch to you the moment his eyes land on your figure, hugging you from behind with a yearning that would have his arms wrap around your tummy. He thinks the world would end if he doesn’t bury his face in the crook of your neck, nosing a particular spot before he lets out a ghost of a whine and the most longing of kisses on it.

Jungkook’s longing for you, more of you, so much so that he can’t even go to sleep with the desire that keeps him tossing and turning until he builds enough of the crazed desperation to bring it up to you.

Your husband shakes you awake in the middle of the night, full-on knowing that you have an early shoot in the morning but he was just that desperate to ask you that he can swallow the tiny guilt of interrupting your sleep.

You don’t have to turn the big light on because even with the dim pink glow of your lamp, you could see this desperately committed look on Jungkook’s face that has his eyes dilated. He’s trying his hardest to look and sound casual, propped up by a pillow that does little to cushion the fact that he’s literally trembling just at the prospect of popping the question.

“Hypothetically asking,” he coughs, swallowing the lump on his throat that’s been there unsatiated for the past month. “We’ve had this conversation even before we got married, by the way.”

The gears in your head turn immediately but they don’t dare to cross into the worst possible scenarios because Jungkook immediately adds to his thought process, the words spilling out with a kind of fervor that’s unmistakeable. 

“Do you want a baby with me?” 

The fuzz in his brain turns quiet the moment he finally relieved what was weighing on his chest for the longest time, the nervousness detaching from his voice but never fully.

He’s unguarded but it’s okay because it’s with you anyways, the stunned look on your face highlighting the fact that your pupils are blown but you don’t look the least bit unpleasant.

Your husband is unguarded even with his hair tousled from tossing and turning and his glasses perched haphazardly on his nosebridge, but you don’t mind. You’re unguarded and yet it doesn’t matter because the moment Jungkook had finally let on what was unfolding in his mind, you’ve never felt more secure.

“It’s up to you, of course. But I really, really want to add to our family,” he murmurs, briefly interrupted by the cat who’s taking her sweet time to stretch (only to go back to loafing into her sleep) between the two of you. “I know you think you birthed Miso, but I mean really our baby this time.”

In the most unguarded and rawest of contexts for your husband to propose trying for a baby, Jungkook has never been more of your forever soulmate than now.

“I wanna put a baby in you,” Jungkook makes clear, the grin on his face steadily turning into a smirk when he sees you build up into a knowing smile. “You want that too? Wanna let me make you a mommy?”

The nod that you give almost gives you a headache but it does pry out a laugh from him, pulling you closer to him before you could put your agreement into words.

“Of course I do,” you hum, the warmth and sense of belonging you feel all over your body coming into full bloom. “I’d want nothing more.”

Jungkook’s on top of the world even if he’s only sharing a bed with you right now, pecking little kisses to your cheek so somberly that you forget there was even a flash of this primal, urgent desire on his eyes just awhile ago. “Let’s talk about it more in the morning.”

The thing is that you do talk in the morning, in between you just barely dressing yourself from the shower and Jungkook barely just saving your meal from being burnt. Nothing happened last night except for the needy yet sleepy makeout session that knocked out the both of you already, the prior conversation enough to make you sleep with a smile on your face.

You’re ready, your situation’s ideal, and the most important factor of them all is that you’re secure. You’re at the edge of your seat just thinking about your future, which who knows could be exactly nine months from now, and yet —

Your husband flipped a switch once again.

It’s only barely noticeable but you know that something’s off and you know he notices that you’re catching on. He’s doing it on purpose, something to slowly weasel his way into your nerves with a buildup that you can’t even grasp.

Jungkook, against his raw and impassioned promises of getting you pregnant a few weeks ago, has barely been giving you the time of day.

In the fairest and most unbiased way you see the situation, you admit that you haven’t been as present as much as you’d like because of work. Jungkook’s used to you being swamped with work and he’s already grasped long ago that barely anything could keep you from being a workaholic. You’re used to Jungkook being accustomed to your departure at godforsaken hours of the morning and your arrival at equally as wretched hours of the evening.

Perhaps it’s the overwhelming nature of your career that drives you to dwell in your thoughts. You weren’t hallucinating when Jungkook shook you awake at midnight to ask if you wanted a baby, and you certainly weren’t daydreaming when he became too ecstatic to your response to the point that instead of snoring, he fell asleep humming.

Neither of you needed to breathe in through your nose for four seconds, hold it for seven, and exhale through your mouth for eight in order to rest. While you fell asleep to Jungkook’s warmth from embracing you like his life depended on it, your husband fell asleep from making lists in his head of the shared experiences you’ll go through once you’re pregnant.

You’ve never been more sure of having a child with Jungkook than now, and you haven’t been more certain either of the fact that your conversation did happen.

How come it’s only you that keeps repeating the conversation in your head over and over again, waiting for something to finally happen?

“Hi, baby,” Jungkook greets you from the couch when you come home instead of doing his usual routine of getting to his feet and barraging you with kisses the moment you walk through the door. You let it pass thinking that the show he was watching was just too good, rationalizing that if the tables were turned, you would’ve done the same thing.

“Wearing my shirts again?” your husband questions you nowadays when he didn’t even use to point it out. Before, he would only hide his face acting as if it hadn’t affected him in the first place, silently moving more of his clothes to your side of the closet.

You try to remind yourself that they’re just silly little things you shouldn’t get worked up on. You shouldn’t be offended when you see a container haphazardly strewn out the kitchen counter, with the traces of the chocolate ends of ice cream cones on it that Jungkook ate without leaving some for you, the wrappers shining bright as day in the trashcan. 

Of course you shouldn’t get pissed when you come home to Jungkook and Miso chasing each other around the house, their playing ceasing as soon as you want to join in. Even your cat looks disinterested at you while your husband remains perturbingly “indifferent”, the thoughts behind his eyes unreadable.

Most importantly, you should keep it in when you’ve had a long day at work and all you want is for your husband to be in your peripheral, calling for him from the bedroom while he was out watching his show to come and give you a kiss… right?

Wrong.

You can’t keep your internalized frustration from bubbling over because it literally gets you to your feet, making you march out of the bedroom with so much desperation that it makes Miso yowl and drive away from your path.

“What the hell is up with you?” you seethe the moment your eyes land on the back of Jungkook’s head, your irritation towards him having grown enough to the point that even the shape of his skull annoys you.

Your husband turns to look at you wide-eyed, but if only you weren’t simmering in frustration, you would know that his show’s been paused long ago before you even marched out. Jungkook was waiting for you and you’re right where and how he wants you.

“Aw. Is someone getting worked up?” he cloyingly drawls out, the furrow in your brows out of anger being no match for the cockiness that drips out of him endlessly. He knows what you’re getting at and it’s starting to hit you little by little, the positive trepidation that’s steadily turning into loving desperation being apparent. “Good. I wanted you to.”

Jungkook stands tall, hovering above you with provocation lingering in his tone. He tuts, frowning incessantly when he takes it a step further by putting his face closer to you to the point that your noses touch.

“My silly girl,” he sighs. “Do you think I wouldn’t deliver on my promises?” Jungkook scoffs in faux disappointment yet the both of you know that his arrogance only keeps the two of you closer. “You really assumed that I think so lightly of you?”

He’s had his fun the past few weeks. You could only bet that your husband took a liking to how you’d frown and be pissed with him from the sidelines.

You’ve been frustrated for weeks on end — you suppose Jungkook could take it even for just a few minutes.

“Yeah, pretty much. You think you’re all that, Jungkook, but trust me-…” you retort, being interrupted almost instantly.

“Someone’s really huffy, huh?” he tilts his head, nosing along your cheek until he reaches the shell of your ear. “No, baby, trust me.”

In one swift move, you unlatch yourself from his hold, and although it physically pains you to be even a centimeter away from him when you’re this needy for him, it ticks Jungkook even more.

“You took your sweet time provoking me. What would you know about trust?”

“I trust myself to fix that attitude of yours,” Jungkook grits, having you back in his arms before you could even register it. His hands cup your cheeks with the most determined, desperate gaze in his eyes. He enunciates his words as if you couldn’t understand them, a sickeningly sweet smirk accompanying his face afterwards. “I trust myself to have you filled up by tonight.”

He’s arrogant in a way that you haven’t ever seen before. Sure, he does puff his chest every now and then when he comes to your sets and he has to make it known to your co-star that he’s your husband in real life, but nothing to this degree. 

The arrogance that drips right out of Jungkook is intimidating, addictive even. He’s so sure of himself and his passioned promise to you to fuck you senseless that you try not to quiver on the spot.

“Is that it?” your voice remains stable even if there’s a shakiness underneath it, an attempt of a huff following your words.

“Is that it?” Jungkook echoes, bordering into a scoff the longer he looks at the unimpressed look on your face. You’re only playing, of course, but your husband doesn’t seem to catch on. He thought he was teeming with self-control when he managed to tamp down his desires to breed you for the past few weeks, but now — now when it’s you who attempts to play the game with him, he’s the least bit impressed. “I think you’re forgetting what your husband’s capable of.”

Jungkook can talk himself up but so can you, the faint idea that crosses your head coming into fruition. You’re only playing, except at such a crucial point of him yearning for you in more ways than one, you’re unknowingly treading into a dangerous territory.

“He knows how to diligently wait for me by the door. You know, like a-…”

“A househusband?” he interjects, taking the sweet smile on your face as your way of making up for underestimating him. He’s mistaken though because as soon as you open your mouth, he only feels himself falling in deeper.

“I was gonna say pet, but househusband works too.”

The way that Jungkook looks down on you with a cloying smile puts shudders in your spine, the warmth in your stomach fluttering downwards intensely when he looks at you from head to toe.

“Charming,” he hums nonchalantly, running his large hands up and down your arms before settling on the small of your back. He holds you so tightly that you’re pressed to him directly, the pressure so large that you’re gonna be squeezed if you don’t jump. The squeak that leaves you immediately turns into a contented sigh when Jungkook catches you snugly, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear all the way to your lips.

Your eyes cross just by how close he is to you and Jungkook’s arrogant when he sees the sheer need in your face to kiss him, indulging you deeply with his tongue down your throat. He kisses you like he’s parched; akin to an overeager husband who wants to give you everything that you want, except he’s exactly the model for it at the moment.

There’s always been desperation to how Jungkook loves you through his touches but this time you can trace it and yet whatever you do, the passion he’s rooting from is endless. He chases your lips until he’s certain your short of breath, his lips red and puffy pulling into a mocking frown.

“I don’t give you a hundred percent of my attention for just one second and now you’re being all mean,” he drawls, your brain turning into mush for a second to even remember that you were just likening him to a pet before he made you quiet.

“You’re mean,” you huff pathetically, threatening to come out of his hold with your eyes but you both know that it’s the last thing you want to do, especially now that he opened the door to your room and set you down on the bed.

Jungkook’s certain that you don’t know exactly what you do to him, your genuine obliviousness at times kickstarting this urge in him to show you precisely.

“This is mean to you?” he laughs, his voice dropping down a notch that it makes you sink further down to the bed. “I haven’t even showed you what rude looks like.”

The thing with your husband is that he’s infuriating. He’s infuriating now that he takes off his shirt and he lets you know how exactly he puts in the work when you aren’t home, his body broad and toned. He’s infuriating when his inked arms flex even if he doesn’t do it intentionally. He’s even more infuriating when he’s laughing at you, the cockiness in his persona so loud that you ache just at the thought of it.

“Should I be rude and rip out your clothes?” he hums, getting you out of your shirt and your pants swiftly. He’s calm yet he’s quick, and if you aren’t consumed with the thought of your husband devouring you alive right now, you’d notice the way his fingers tremble at anticipation when he unlatches your bra. “Or should I be mean and make you wait?”

Jungkook pulls down your panty with his initials on it, his tongue swiping the bottom of his teeth in gloating. One night, he had the idea of stitching JJK on atleast half of your panties, the waistbands of them being adorned with pink thread. It goes straight to his head (and his cock) at the thought of you wearing his initials, hidden with only the intention of him being able to see.

Despite already being naked fully, Jungkook’s lips goes straight to the column of your neck, kissing down and down until you realize that he lingers at the skin, mouth biting and suckling.

“I-I have work tomorrow,” you weakly remind, the lump in your throat dissolving to a moan when he sucks at a sensitive spot right under your ear.

“No you don’t,” he chuckles, the sound going straight to your core. He’s hovering above you in only his sweatpants yet there’s already a bulging clue that he’s dying to touch you already. At this point, he’s only prolonging the aching desperation between the two of you. “Two weeks ago, I called Jimin to tell him that you’re going on a week-long break.”

“What?” you murmur, back arching when Jungkook gets to your chest, his tongue licking a bold stripe right on your cleavage. He squeezes your boobs together and it’s a lewd sight the way he moans at the picture, lips frantically alternating between your nipples. Your voice is strained already, your attempt at keeping your pride shattered when he nips at you. 

“Mhmm. I have you all to myself,” he confirms, eyes lulling closed when he sucks at your bud. He’s salivating at the thought that your boobs would soon be full, even fuller than they are now and he’ll get to bury his face between them. He lifts his head begrudgingly, the chuckle that leaves him being gargled. He can’t get enough of you — he just can’t. “Not bad for a pet waiting around for you, hm?”

“Baby, please,” you moan when Jungkook’s lips ghost over your midriff all the way to your pussy, his back arched in the air to have his mouth on your core yet his palms squeezing your boobs tightly. He rubs the soft pads of his fingers against your nipples roughly, tugging at the last minute when he pulls away that you tangle your fingers with his long hair.

It’s an infuriatingly warm sight to see your husband looking up at you with such a desperate and demanding gaze on his eyes, framed even more by the way his hair curls around his visage. You ought to tug at them if only he didn’t have the upper hand on you now, hands quite literally prying your legs open so he’s head-on with your pussy.

“You’ve been so patient too. You tell me you hate me for ignoring you but you haven’t even touched yourself,” he snickers, licking his lips when he looks at your pretty core underneath this light. You’re pulsating around nothing and just dying to be touched, setting a lump on his throat when he follows your wetness trickling down your thighs. “It’s like you know that you can’t cum without me.”

“I-I can cum without you,” you argue, breath hitching when Jungkook comes closer to lick at the wetness that’s gathered on your thighs, the graze of his teeth tearing out a moan from you.

“You do?” he pouts, eyes mocking you even at this angle. They’re wide and they’re burning right through you, the derisive tone behind his words just fueling you more and more to have him in you. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I go to sleep right now?”

“Jungkook,” you whine, eyes glossing at frustration. You’re so close to throwing a tantrum, he figures. Your torso slightly lifts just for you to show you’re upset at him, plopping back down the mattress in annoyance. “You’re mean.”

“That’s what I thought,” he hums, the smile on his face accentuated with his lips that are bitten red and wet from the amount of times he’s gnawed on them. “Of course I’ll take care of you, baby. Who’s gonna get you pregnant if I’m leaving you to it alone?”

Jungkook takes off his sweatpants, his thick thighs unconsciously flexing from his position to kiss you. Without further warning, Jungkook laps right at your pussy, his doe eyes looking up at you in close attention. His nose nudges your clit, and being deprived of your husband’s touch for so long, you instantly jolt.

“You missed me so bad,” he lulls, diving in to take your clit to his mouth. He closes his eyes while he feasts on you and it’s almost pornographic the way his eyebrows scrunch in pleasure just by giving you it, sucking your clit tightly with no breaks in between.

It brings you close to tears the way he drinks you in and makes a loud show with it, his moans even louder than yours. His bare cock keeps brushing against the sheets and he’s already sensitive enough as it is, the furrow on his brows getting deeper the more that he moans into your hole.

Jungkook pacifies his mouth with your clit in bliss, drinking you in with his tongue languidly shifting to pleasure you right how you want it. He doesn’t let go even when your thighs keep lifting off the bed with how euphoric it feels, his hands locking them in place above his shoulders.

“I’m gonna— gonna cum already,” you stutter in between moans, the orgasm that courses right through you making you tremble. Jungkook holds you through it, and although he slows down, his tongue remains flicking at your clit that’s already become swollen at the attention.

The sight of your cum pooling on his fingers and his chin never gets old to you because with each passing time, Jungkook makes a way to amp it up to be more scandalous than the last time. He has your cum in his hands, gathering on his wedding band that glints even further at your essence.

Jungkook merely closes his eyes in absolute bliss, sucking only his ring finger and parts the rest of them right after, shoving them into your mouth without prior warning. There’s an instant groan that leaves him when you indulge him obediently, your stifled breaths making him clench his jaw harder.

He’s painfully hard but he doesn’t want to cum just yet, wanting to reserve all of his seed for you. He almost orgasms right then and there when you paw at him needily, bottom lip slightly jutted out in begging. He sees you look at him with such desperation, meeting your eyeline that’s just begging to reciprocate. He lets on just slightly, his thumb pressing against your lip.

“Wanna blow me?” he rasps, the question being met with an eager nod. You already have your tongue out before he finishes the sentence, his strained control leaving him little by little the moment he sets the heavy head of his cock on your tongue. “Suck the tip.”

In your gratitude, you disregard Jungkook’s command completely and take him in whole, sucking all the way until his cock reaches the back of your throat and tears prick your ears.

“F-fuck!” Jungkook gutturally groans, eyes rolling back to his skull when your warmth envelopes his dick all the way through. You’re sucking him so tightly and nicely that his resolve wavers momentarily, the moans that leave him getting louder in nature.

“Baby, I said-…” he shudders when you trace the vein on his cock with a pointed tongue, the sudden change giving him his bearings back. Your husband snaps out of it even if it pains him, pulling you back by your hair. “I said, just the tip.” 

You’re pouting as you’re scolded but what really gets Jungkook is that you still look accomplished — you don’t even feel the least bit sorry for not heeding his warnings.

“You don’t even listen to me.” His hold on your hair detaches abruptly and for a moment, you miss his harshness on your scalp. You’re looking for his hand to atleast hold yet when you find it, he’s lining himself inside you. There’s not even a second left before you break out into a moan, the sudden yet welcome intrusion of his cock in your pussy giving you the greatest sense of overwhelm.

“All I ask is for you to just suck the fucking tip of my cock because I wanna cum inside you,” he grits, punctuating his words with each thrust. You’re so tight that he wants to be suffocated by you in the best way possible. “But you don’t like listening, huh?”

“I, I don’t. You’re right,” you concede, the words you’re hearing already ringing inside your head because you just can’t focus when you feel so eternal. “Jungkook, baby, please.”

“Please what? What do you want?” he airily chuckles, having to pause his cockiness when a loud moan tears right through his throat when you clench. “Come on, an actress like you should know her lines,” he snickers, his breath hitching as he quickens his pace. “Tell me what you want.”

“You-…” your eyes sting, the whines and moans stuck in your throat being continuous to the point that your attempt to swallowing them down makes them even louder. “You told me you’re gonna make me a mommy,” you blubber, shifting underneath his hold. You already have him in you but it’s not enough — it wouldn’t be until he fills you up.

“I did say that, baby. Kept you waiting long enough, I’m sorry,” Jungkook placates you, delicately kissing your cheek despite his harsh thrusts against your core. He’s momentarily soft at the reminder of the promise he made you, continuing to handle you silkily. The brief change of attitude in your husband dissipates the moment he sees the way your face scrunches in pleasure when he sinks his cock in you, deep in your pussy to the point you swear he could feel him in your stomach.

Jungkook goes back to his promise, whispering and moaning to your ear over and over again that he’ll deliver. He’s ramming into you at a ruthless pace, his thumb once again making its way to your clit to rub frantic circles.

“Isn’t is so cute that only I can do this to you?” he grunts, eyebrows furrowed while focusing on giving you the greatest possible orgasm he could ever give you. “Not one of your fucking co-stars can even dream of being with you like this when I’m in the picture. Not even Yoongi.”

You nod frantically in agreement, unable to answer verbally because it’s only your moans and cries that pry out of your throat.

“They’re jealous of me, pretty girl,” Jungkook chuckles, thighs starting to tremble at his impending release. “S-so— so bitter that I’m better than them without even having to lift a single finger.”

The arrogance that pours right out of your husband strikes your very own ego, the sleazy smile in your face reassuring him.

“I’m only yours, right?” Jungkook asks, thrusts threatening to slow down if you don’t answer him. “Just yours.”

It’s positively infuriating and heartwarming to see your husband want you to take possession of him, a stark difference even if he’s the one taking control of you right now.

You hum playfully, eyes half-lidded as you hold out your words for suspense.

“Say it,” he says pointedly, rolling his eyes before nipping at your jaw.

“I’m yours,” you drawl, brain once again going into mush when he resumes his ruthless pace. His cock’s made for you, making you squirm and melt to his hold at the same time.

“I already know that, baby,” Jungkook tuts, fishing out a different answer from you. “That’s not what I wanted you to say.”

The words finally click in your head this time, the pride in your chest growing to know that Jungkook’s so desperate for you to have him in your possession; merely declaring it would even send him to the edge.

“You’re mine.”

“Good,” he whimpers, almost seeing white with how euphoric and overstimulated he is. “One more time for me, huh? Say it again.”

“You’re mine, Jungkook,” you whisper right to his ear, your nails scratching red at his back that makes him arch further. “You’re only mine.”

“You’re so greedy,” he teases you even when you handed him on a silver platter exactly what he needed to hear, his thumb drawing deeper, faster circles on your clit. “Beg.”

Jungkook expects you to say please incessantly because the both of you know that neither can hold out for any longer, the orgasm that’s been building up in the pit of your stomach growing intense. His necklace with your initial on it dangles over your face, taunting you in anticipation.

“Love you,” you squeak, throwing your head back when you could practically feel the head of your climax appearing. Just a couple more thrusts that brush the deepest part of you and you’ll be there, your moans turning into cries.

“You’re so-…” Jungkook’s flustered for a second, his thrusts stuttering in response. Every part of his burns and it’s just this very release that’s gonna enable him to fill you up fully, the spent smile on your face egging him on.

“Say it back, come on.” 

“I love you too,” he mutters, his shyness disappearing when you make the move of lifting your legs to hook them on his shoulders. Jungkook’s the deepest in you that he’s ever been, his vision getting blurry with how good he feels.

“My perfect girl,” he mutters over and over again to your ear when you finally break, following you right after. His cock twitches inside you, plugging up your pussy as he fills you for what seems like minutes. “My cum’s yours, you get that? Keep every single drop in.”

Jungkook takes meticulous care to not let a single drop of his cum drip out of you, angling himself to be lower than you when he nuzzles his face to the crook of your neck.

It feels like forever with the both of you catching your breaths, the dampness in your eyes already long dry yet when you look down on Jungkook to see the same wetness on his eyelashes, you’re tempted to tear up then and there.

“Are you crying?” you chuckle lightly, fingers carding through his hair. His head lifts up slightly with the emotion but he tucks his face back to your neck, making you giggle.

“I’m not,” he mutters. “Shut up.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say to the mother of your future children,” you playfully tease, making him groan in compliance. Your husband finally lifts his head to you, an automatic pout placed on his face.

“I just love you, that’s all,” Jungkook sniffles, none of the usual arrogance he possesses in a post-orgasm haze to be found in his tone. He’s somber, almost, deep into his thoughts as much as he was deep in pleasure moments ago.

“If you leave me,” he starts, eyes almost crossing from how closely he looks to you. Jungkook kisses your lips softly, the sincerity in his words unable to be duplicated by anyone else. “I hope I’m not around for it.”

It’s an unwelcome thought in his head that you want to quell right at its roots, your confession just as genuine.

Why does it feel warm?

And why is he here? He hasn’t visited your dreams in ages. You thought he’d abandoned you.

“Hello there, little miss.” He smiles sweetly in the way your memories keep on him, the real him, not your make-believe nightmares. That boyish, kind smile always makes your insides warm in the way only he’s able to do in the darkness of your life. He takes a seat before you, glowing brightly in the darkness of the abyss that keeps your heart cold and hard.

You feel his warmth the way you recall your forgotten memories and your heart aches at the sight of him, remembering, remembering.

You hate remembering. Hate being reminded of what happened that night.

Car crash, tires screeching loudly against the pavement, an explosion, a gunshot, a scream, a cry.

Mister Butler. Dead.

“I…” You stutter, the sound in your throat trying to give away, a lump restricting it from within, and you feel like you want to throw up. You want to sit up, to reach out to him, touch him, feel him, but your body won’t move.

It only lurches forward as you hold a hand over your mouth, the sickness in the pits of your stomach wishing to relieve the empty contents in there.

You want to speak but no word would come on, no sound, so you’re left with only trembling in plain sight, unable to ask for help, to ask him why he’s here, if he wants to scorn you again, if this time, he’s going to yell at you for hurting his little brother, for lying to his little brother.

You’re afraid.

Afraid.

“Little miss.” But his voice remains gentle when he calls for you and you almost cry at how soft he sounds. But even then, even with Mister Butler right here before you, nothing can help you shed tears anymore. They’ve all gone, wasted on a pitiful father who didn’t deserve any of it.

You feel a hand on your back, his warmth surging forth into your body as if he was a human furnace himself and you look up, slowly, frightened that what you’re seeing is only a figment of your imagination.

“I….I’m scared,” you finally manage to admit to his initial question, wanting to avoid his eyes but knowing because he only lives on in your memories and dreams, this is the only way you can ever see him so you keep your eyes on him, wanting to recall every detail, every little thing you can remember. You lean back into a seated position with some struggle, trying to focus.

“I know you are,” Mister Butler nods with a troubled smile. “You’ve blocked your heart from the world, haven’t you, little one?” He asks, taking a look at the darkness of this space.

“You told me not everyone deserves the heart that I’ve been given. You told me to stop letting them all stomp on me.”

“Not everyone,” he emphasizes, an eyebrow arched your way with a pointed stare. “That doesn’t mean shut yourself away from everyone.”

You bite your lower lip. “Same difference.”

“It isn’t and you know that,” he chides and you shrink into your seat, feeling a bit ashamed because he always sees through you no matter how hard you try. Will he scold you again? Speak the words he knows will hurt you the most? “But you’re scared.” Yet he doesn’t this time. This time Mister Butler is real.

Real.

Not those fake nightmares your mind decided to make up because you were made to believe his death was your fault.

This time Mister Butler is real and he understands. He always does. “And the people that you’ve trusted have all abandoned you. Your own father has made you into the killer that you are today.”

“Do you see me as a monster?” You look at him with a bit of desperation, frightened for his answer.

Mister Butler takes a moment to simply watch you, falling silent, as if letting you take this time to reflect back on what you had just said, and when you keep your resolution, he speaks again. “To me, you are nothing else but my young little miss,” he says. “Why would I ever see you as anything else?”

“Because I can’t control it,” you tell him, a bit frustrated, a bit desperate. You show him your hands. They tremble uncontrollably when you lay your palms to face you from your lap. “I want to hurt everyone that has hurt me and…and what if one day I come to hurt myself?”

“You can control it.”

“I can’t.”

“I know you can. And you will.”

“You don’t understand.”

“My young, little miss.” His voice remains calm, steady, and light, unlike you who seems to only fall out of control, desperate and in a panic, scared and frightened and mad, looking up at him and pleading at him to save you. To ground you. To control you. “How much longer will you keep hurting yourself? How much longer will you refuse to trust the people around you?”

“I can’t.” You say again, more stressed. “They’ll leave one day, just like everyone else has. They’ll leave.” Your voice shakes.

“Are you so afraid despite how many sacrifices they’ve made for you?”

“It’s because of that,” you say, hands running through your hair in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. You can feel it, you’re becoming unstable once again. Your heart is racing. Racing hard. “Because they’ll make the sacrifices, I can’t…I can’t-”

“Show them your heart?”

“Because they’ll leave.” You nod. “Everyone leaves. And if they leave…who will I have?”

“You’re drowning yourself, young miss.”

“What else can I do?” You want to scream and shout and let everything out but father still sits in the back of your mind, taunting you, threatening you. Shouting will do nothing. No one will come. No one will save you no matter how loud you are. So you have to remain quiet. You have to because shouting will make no difference.

You stand from your seat abruptly, hands running through your hair as you pace the room, unsettled by everything. You’re a mess right now, unable to stay calm, while Mister Butler remains seated from where he is, simply watching everything unfold before his eyes.

“I…” There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. If you run, you’ll only end up right back where you were. Running means nothing in the world of the abyss. You hold your hands together, nails clawing at your skin. “Why won’t you shout at me?” You turn back to your precious butler, frustrated that despite how familiar he feels right now, it isn’t helping you in the slightest. Perhaps the nightmare versions of him was better, perhaps hearing him shout at you and blame you for everything is better. “Why won’t…why won’t you blame me? Why’re you yourself right now?”

“Do you want me to shout at you?” He asks and you fall to your knees before him.

“Please,” you beg, palms pressing against one another but when it feels like that isn’t enough, you let them press against the cold floor, bowing forward, forehead meeting the floor. “Please blame me, please scorn me, please, just give me anything, anything. Just don’t be kind.”

But Mister Butler only watches you in silence, his gaze afflicted with pain as he stares at the little girl whom he was entrusted to ending up the way that she is right now.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. “If it wasn’t for me…you…you could have lived. Why did you stay for someone like me, Mister Butler? Why? You could have gone home, could have returned to the little brother that was awaiting your return and had been waiting for your return for the longest time. But I shattered that hope for him. I broke him, Mister Butler, all because I was selfish and vengeful and only thought about my needs and my wants and didn’t care for anything else.”

“Sit up.”

“No.” You shake your head vehemently. “It was my fault. Everything’s my fault. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing’s your fault.”

“Everything’s my fault.”

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for. Young miss look at me.” You look up, just slightly, with creasing brows and quivering lips. “The decisions you make, the life you are living, the path you have chosen, I will never blame you for anything. You think I care whether you remained kind for the rest of your life? You think it matters to me whether you can still give your heart out and smile for people just as you’ve done all those years ago?”

“I’m weak.”

“And I don’t care,” he stresses with a desperate expression trying to make you believe in him. “All those people that say you’re weak because you can’t remain kind after what you’ve gone through, to the ones who tell you to keep your heart warm, that being kind is powerful, that you’re not strong because you want vengeance, well fuck them. No one in this world knows what you’ve gone through and they have no right to tell you what to do with your life. You’re here because you’re here and no matter how weak you may think you are for making the decisions that you’ve made, no matter how weak they may think you are, to me you are the strongest person I have ever seen, young miss. You’re living. And I will never blame you for living.”

“I don’t feel like I’m living.” You sit up, eyes shaking as you can still feel just how surreal everything feels; your trembling body, drying lips, heartbeat drumming hard against your chest, that screech in the back of your ears. “But I…” You look up at him again, as if praying, begging to the Gods from above, “I want to live.”

Mister Butler’s eyes soften upon those words, his shoulders dropping slightly as if a weight has fallen from them and he nods, understanding.

“I know.” 

He gets on his knees and leans in, arms wrapping around you and when you expect to be reminded of those arms that held you, comforted you night after night, days after days, you feel nothing.

You don’t feel his embrace, his familiar warmth, his strong, strong arms that always seem to protect you from all harm. You feel none of that and you look up, brows knitted, eyes burning red.

“Why….why can’t I feel you?”

There’s a hand on your shoulder but all you see is the hand, you don’t feel a thing. He takes a small glance its way before sending you a troubled smile, transient and painful. “Because I only live on,” he takes his other hand and presses a finger at your forehead, “in here.”

“You….” Your face crumbles as if the world has just fallen down and the coldness returns like a blizzard in the middle of winter, sudden and harsh. “You’re leaving too…aren’t you?” You sit up from your position, knees meeting the floor as your hands reach out, trying to touch him but only meeting the air in between where his figure should have been.

He’s a ghost.

Just a spirit.

“Please,” you beg. “Please don’t leave me either. Don’t leave me, Mister Butler. If you leave, I….I can’t live on. I can’t do this without you. Please…please don’t leave me.”

Your fist meets the floor, punching and punching out of frustration and desperation, wanting to touch him and hold him and embrace him again. Just like how it was in your memories, just like how he lived on all those years ago.

“Please….”

“You don’t remember, young miss?” He holds a hand out, holding your face and brushing away where invisible tears should have been. 

“I’m already gone,” he whispers, and you awake from your dream.

Panting out of breath.

Heartbeat racing.

Aching.

Hands trembling.

You throw the blanket off you, stumble on your weakened legs but force it up and race to throw the doors open, allowing light to shine through in the darkness of your room. And then you run some more, eyes focused on one thing and one thing only.

You look around as if in a trance, in a hurry, vision coming in and out, dimmed, legs failing you ever so often when your knees wish to buckle underneath you, stumbling, having to reach out for the wall, a nearby stand for those fancy vases meant to keep the flowers alive. You accidentally knock one off when your legs try to give up but you don’t care.

There is one man you’re looking for. One lone man.

“Boss-?”

“Give him back to me.” And when you find him, you’re quick to lung at him. The bandages around your right hand wraps all around from the night at Bangtan’s manor but you ignore the pain as you clutch onto Mingyu’s shirt, eyes frantic and heart racing. “Give him back to me. Give him back! Give him back right now! I didn't kill him. It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it. So please, please give him back. I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything wrong. I was good, I listened to you and I obeyed your every word but why did you take away the only person that ever loved me? Why, why?! He didn’t do anything wrong.”

The rest of the Reapers that heard your call watch on as you cling onto Mingyu, shouting at him in a crazed manner as if hallucinating and in a dream-like trance.

“Why didn’t you kill me instead? Why did you blame me? Why did you say that I was the one who killed him? I didn’t pull the trigger, I didn’t cause a little boy to lose his precious older brother and I certainly didn’t kill the very person I loved like he was my own brother. Why? Why did you take him away from me? Give him back! Give him back or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!!”

You snatch your hands from his blazer to wrap them around his neck, throwing him down onto the floor with legs on either side of him.

Mingyu simply lays there as your hands tighten, eyes staring down at him with nothing but pure rage and fear combined into one, the kind of sight that’s rarely seen so clearly upon your face because you’re always so good at hiding your emotions from everyone. But in this hallucinating state, in your unconscious awareness, you glare down at him with disdain, with the purest form of hate, hands trembling despite having full control and power over him as you tighten your hands, wanting nothing but his death to arrive.

Mingyu’s sight blurs, his breathing constricting, but he does nothing despite it all and it’s the rest of the Reapers that have to shout at you and rip you off him.

“Boss!”

“Boss, wake up!”

“That’s Mingyu you’re hurting!”

“Die! Just die already! Why aren’t you dead? I shot you straight in the head and watched until you no longer breathed so why? Why are you still here?” Yet you’re still trashing about, having to be forcefully removed and dragged onto the floor by three of the Reapers, two grabbing each of your arms, the last behind you and pulling you back by the torso.

Yet despite being a few feet away and the others have turned to Mingyu, helping him back up while he coughs from the chokehold you had him in, you’re still not seeing straight.

“I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill him so please…please stop blaming me. It wasn’t me. I promise it wasn’t me.” You look up with desperation this time. More hurt, more pain than anger and rage fueling your thoughts. Your hands come to your head after pushing the Reapers away, tugging at the scalp of your hair, pulling on them like some crazed maniac trying to keep everything in their control and not being able to.

“It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it.” You tremble, knees coming up to your chest, rocking your body back and forth. “It was you, you had the gun, you…..” Your brows knit, trying to think but thinking doesn’t help and you’re only left with more questions. “The gunshot…was you. Mister Butler didn’t….he…”

White eyes, dark pupils, staring straight ahead as if possessed by some sort of spirit.

But he wasn’t possessed. He wasn’t cursed. 

He was dead.

Father killed him and father hovered over you, telling you that it was because of you that he killed him. It was because of you. Because Mister Butler was kind to you. Because Mister Butler loved you. He died because he loved you.

You look up again, fearful as you stare up at Mingyu, hair all a mess and there’s something in your eyes that he notices, something different.

You narrow your gaze, slightly, as if thinking, as if lost in thoughts, and when you turn to the other eyes leveled your way, you scurry a few inches back, hands still on your head as if frightened all of a sudden, as if somehow realizing Mingyu isn’t your father and this manor isn’t full of his people.

These are your Reapers. It’s Mingyu.

“......If you love me……you’ll end up just like him. Just like them.” 

Bangtan.

Whether those vows of love were true or not, they all left in the end.

“You’ll all leave…in the end. You’ll leave….eventually.” You try to search through your memories for something. Anything. “So don’t make any promises. Don’t….don’t love me. You cannot. If you do…you’ll leave. So don’t do anything of those sorts. Don’t…don’t cling to me. Your vows of loyalty, your promises, they’re nothing but lies…nothing but, illusions. Fantasies. Everything that we’re doing now..this? This is nothing but a shitshow. We’re in a circus. You’re the clowns and I’m the ringmaster and in the end…..in the end……the clowns will find a new circus and the ringmaster will be left all alone. Either that or the ringmaster will be the one to abandon the clowns first. So don’t cling to me. Don’t love me. If you do, I’ll kill you myself.”

You turn from them, eyes falling drowsy, headache pushing you to just simply turn for the floor and lay your head there, not wanting to move another inch.

Yeonjun, who’s the closest to your side, crouches down and lends you his lap, and in your unconscious state, you don’t fight him off and just simply give into falling back asleep once again like a lost little puppy crawling towards the hand that feeds him, while the room remains silent for the longest time, just watching you from where they first stood, not moving an inch.

No one knows what to say or do.

It’s Dasom who makes the first move. She kneels beside the second in command, her hand tracing the red ring that has formed around his neck with knitted brows. “Are you alright?”

He turns to her, sees the way she bites against her lower lip. It quivers, her eyes watery but holding back, and when he looks up at the rest of the Reapers, they look just as concerned, just as hurt, even Yuna who no longer has eyes has her back turned, a sniff leaving her.

“How odd,” Mingyu utters softly under his breath but the Reapers hear it all. He looks your way and they watch his move, the way he reaches out to you who’s held in Yeonjun’s arms, sleeping, and brushes a thumb under your eye. “Even in that state…she doesn’t know how to shed a tear.”

He hates being unable to come in full control, hates it when he can’t be the one you can rely on but today of all the days he’s spent with you, he hates today most of all.

Because today, you saw him as the very man who has hurt you more than anyone has. You saw him as your father.

.

.

.

“Are you afraid?”

Dasom knows it, Mingyu knows it, everyone knows it.

That of course he’s afraid, that what had happened this morning frightened him more than anything because out of all the things you’ve thrown at him, you’ve never looked at him with pure rage and anger and most of all, fear.

But you did.

You saw him as your father, as the very man who had hurt you from the very moment you were born into this world, as your abuser, and despite it being for only a moment, Mingyu cannot forget that look in your eyes watching him with so much disgust he loathes every part of him now.

Dasom wants to tell him that it isn’t his fault, that nothing he did triggered you into seeing him as your father, that it was probably just a nightmare you received because there will be times when you’ll “awaken” and act on those nightmares, frightened and not in the right conscious awareness.

She wants to tell him, but watching him from where he sits, she can do nothing but watch on, waiting for his silence to end, to answer her question, and return to the formidable man that he always was.

But perhaps there are days even Mingyu has when he has to give in to his worries and fears, though he never cares to share them and probably always keeps those things to himself. He’s the foundation after all, not just for you but for the Reapers as well, and Dasom guesses perhaps she’s become much too reliant on him just as everyone here has.

Everyone has their moments, especially you, but what about Mingyu who always seems to be level-headed, cool, and calm about everything? As if he has everything under control and nothing can shake him. What shakes him?

The answer is you.

You shake him.

“What if she swims too far down and loses sight of where the surface is?” He asks quietly with his back still turned to her, eyes blankly staring out the window, lost in thoughts. 

He already placed some salve on his neck to soothe the pain and wear down the redness from where you choked him, hiding the white bandage under a turtle neck so that when you do come around once more and is actually consciously aware of your surrounding, you won’t have to question why he had hurt himself.

Dasom knows he’d rather not tell you it was you who had hurt him.

Because despite the fact that their boss tends to feign her arrogance, she cares. She cares in the smallest ways and him telling you that you were the one to have hurt any of your Reapers would mean scarring you.

Hence he ordered them to not utter a word about what happened this morning to you.

They promised to keep their mouths shut because besides you, Mingyu’s words are law.

After all, they’d rather not put more burdens onto your shoulders.

You’ve never hurt any of the Reapers in all the years they came and vowed their loyalties unto you. You’ve never laid a finger on any of them. You aren’t like your father in the slightest. You’re powerful but not abusive, you would never raise a hand at them or tell another soul to do so.

In following your father’s steps, you learned what to do and what not to do, following your own morals while learning to grow strong.

The only person you’ve hurt has been Yuna and Yuna alone.

She mentioned it before, once, and never again perhaps because it’s a memory she’d rather not revisit, but in you taking her eyes away, there were nights when Yuna would pretend she was sleeping and hear your soft little sorrys leaving your lips.

You told her you were sorry for being weak, for having to do such a thing just for your father. You told her you hated your father, that you’d rather he died right then at that moment so that no one else had to suffer for your case.

You told her you’d never allow anyone close to your side, that they had to understand what their positions meant before father could ever fall suspicious ever again. You told her she’d be the first and last one.

Yuna, the very first Reaper, sacrificed everything just to be by your side, proving her loyalty and allowing the rest of the Reapers now to be who they are today; giving their vows unto you and remaining by your side for as long as time can give them.

“If boss loses sight of the surface…won’t you be the one to guide her back?” Dasom asks, her voice gentler than normal, her demeanor calm and steady. “Even in the darkest part of the ocean, you always manage to bring boss back.”

“And if she mistakes me for one of the creatures trying to drag her deeper down?”

“Then you continue pulling her up.” She steps in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder in order to make sure he’s looking right at her when she speaks. “Nothing has ever stopped you from protecting boss, you can’t start getting weak now, Mingyu. You know more than anyone showing an ounce of weakness means allowing boss to drown even further. We’re the only beacons in her life, Mingyu, and she relies on us whether she wants to admit it or not. She relies on us and she relies on you. You’re her foundation, her control. When she gets lost in that storm and out in the sea, you’re the only one who can ground her down and keep her steady again. You’re the only one, Mingyu, so don’t lose it now. Don’t lose control.”

Dasom takes a small moment to look down and take his hand. It’s the first time she’s ever seen them look so small, trembling slightly with fear and uncertainty. Mingyu’s always such a bright man who knows just what to do in every situation without hesitating when it comes to the gang and you. He does everything without faltering and now here he is, falling back for a moment, a split moment, and it’s all because of you.

He’s afraid.

Afraid of failing you, of losing you. No one worries about you in the way Mingyu does and because of that, here he is, shoulders weighed by the heavy burden.

“You’re not just her control though,” Dasom speaks again, her voice gentler, quieter, “you’re ours too.” She looks back at him, steady in her gaze. “We cannot afford you losing your cool, not even for a second. But if the time ever passes for you to shake, come to me and rely on me. Let me be your control.” She takes his hand to press against the beat of her heart, causing Mingyu’s brows to furrow slightly with surprise and conflict. Yet Dasom remains resolute.

“Allow me to be your control, Mingyu, so that boss can continue breathing.”

There was a time he once told her in your moment of weakness, when you were passed onto Yeonjun to be taken care of, that as long as he lived, he lived as your foundation. So if there ever comes a moment when he falters and trembles before your eyes, he risks taking your oxygen away and breaking you further.

Mingyu, more than anyone, is afraid of ever showing weakness before you because he’s the only one you can rely on. The presence of him alone, the steady calm air he exceeds all around, can calm you down and allow your heart rate to slow down and breathe again. When the world seems to shake, when it chokes you, constricting you of air, Mingyu’s the only one who can return the oxygen back into your lungs.

“What did you do?” Yuna’s voice echoes in the back of his memories. A younger Yuna, a Yuna he hadn’t known too well yet in that moment. A Yuna who looked up at him with accusation as she stood guarding you against him.

“I…I-I didn’t-” The younger him then was confused, frightened, as the younger girl shouted at him.

“You obviously did something if milady is—” She paused mid-sentence, frozen, sudden, before turning to you who sat on the floor, hands in her hair, trembling like a leaf.

“You cannot, Mingyu, you cannot show her your weakness, no matter what. Otherwise you’ll trigger her and that is the last thing we want.”

There was a mistake he once did, a mistake that had almost cost your stability. He was young and naive then, thought he knew everything, thought that he was good enough to be by your side. It was Yuna who had to teach him everything, who taught him how to handle you, how to behave around you, everything.

Everything until he learned to take it a step further and help you in ways the little Yuna was unable to. Only then, only when he grew stronger and more stable than Yuna could ever be, did you allow him to be your right hand man, the only man allowed to be near you when your world seems to be falling apart.

So trembling in even the slightest amount in front of you is out of the question. Mingyu doesn’t ever want to risk the chances of you thinking there’s no one else you can rely on. He can’t be weak. Not in front of you. Not ever.

And Dasom understands that.

She understands.

So he takes a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath in, feeling the beat of her steady heart calm his nerves to remind him of who he is and what he is capable of.

He is Mingyu, your right hand man, your control, your breath of air, your foundation.

When he opens his eyes again, they no longer falter with hesitation as he gives her a nod, allowing her the task of being his control when he needs it.

.

.

.

Actions can be harder to execute despite the constant reminder.

He told the Reapers to all act normal, that they must never mention what happened the day you woke up more hysterical than any other times you’ve been, but still a part of him fears you still have that part of you still in there somewhere, that somehow, someway, you’ll still mistake him of your father.

In all the years he’s spent secretly loyal only to you, Mingyu has always wanted you to be more expressive and more honest with your feelings. In all the years you’ve lived under your father, you’ve never had the courage to act any other way than living in a void of emotions, unable to feel anything.

Not anger, not sadness, not anything.

Or at least, you were always the best at hiding them and suppressing them.

But ever since his death, it’s almost as if your body and mind know of it and has allowed you to begin acting up, to show your emotions a little more, to be more aggressive, and feel less in control of yourself. You dream more, you wake up more often than usual in the middle of the night in a daze, sleepwalking, sleep talking, and awaken with no memories of what you had done during those moments. 

You’ve come to rely on him even more, reaching out for him, getting more anxiety and panic attacks, falling out of control, and having him to reel you back in.

And even though he knows you’re smart enough to understand that he would never do anything to hurt you, that small little moment of you frightful of him will forever be engraved in his mind, whether you know of it or not.

But Mingyu tries his best to remain calm and collected, not wanting to alert you of anything wrong. He doesn’t want your mind drifting off to something else when you’ve already got a handful of problems weighing you down.

Today you sit on a chair that faces sideways from the window, arm resting against the armrest as you look down at your hand, the one wrapped in white bandages from your last visit at the Bangtan manor.

He hopes you don’t notice it got a bit worse after you ignored the healing in order to go after him the day before, but knowing you, you’re smart enough to notice even the slightest of change.

Still, you don’t speak on it.

“Mingyu.” You say and he almost breathes a sigh of relief at the call of his name. “I…” You speak slowly, still in a space where you aren’t fully conscious but you’re getting there, trying to return to reality, trying to reel back in. “I want to visit the kids,” you look up at him, lids heavy but trying, “The Academy.”

He gives you a firm nod, obedient. “I understand.”

And so Mingyu walks off to ready all the things necessary for your departure while you remain in the seat beside the window, staring out with a blank gaze, head lost in the clouds.

You dress warmly in white and a soft style, scarf hiding the bandages around your neck, hands hidden under your long sleeves being as the gloves causes a bit of pain when placed on top of your injured knuckles.

When you step out of the car to find the building you built about two years ago, some bits of memories flash back into your mind.

The children, Ying’s victims, all now reside here after finally having enough power and influence to be able to rescue them. You’re sure all the things they’ve been through probably still cause them nightmares but you hope that in a way, you building them this safe place rather than abandoning them in orphanages has been able to help if even a little.

Your sudden visit, even while Mingyu had called in advance, causes a ruckus.

The kids are all excited from the very moment you step onto The Academy grounds, eyes watching you with awe and fascination from the windows, and when the doors open for you, the headmaster and two other faculty greet you with formal bows leveled respectfully your way.

You shake off the formality and look at Mingyu's way to do the speaking for you.

“Be at ease,” he commands. “Boss is only here to see how things are going. Resume your schedules as they were.”

“We’ll have someone escort you to navigate you through the floors.”

“No need. We’ll just have a look around.”

“Milady!”

“It’s Lady Y/N!

“Children—”

You put a hand up at the headmaster’s scolding and she’s quick to back down. Then with another respectful bow made your way, the three of them walk off to their previous posts, as per Mingyu’s orders, while you turn to the kids who once looked hesitant upon almost getting scolded.

“Look at that,” you stare at the familiar faces, “not so skinny anymore, are you?” Their faces are quick to light up at your familiar approach. “Have you been eating well?”

“Yes, my lady!”

“Look, I’m growing muscles!”

“The adults here are kind, my lady.”

“But don’t worry, we won’t naively trust just anyone here.”

You raise a brow. “Will you?”

“Everything Lady Y/N says is law so of course we’ll abide by anything you say.”

“And what did I say about trusting me so easily?”

They quickly frown with protest.

“But you saved us.”

“And built an academy just for us.”

“And we’re fed well and trained well.”

“And get to sleep in a comfy bed when night falls.”

“How can we not trust you?”

You take a glance at Mingyu’s way when they come at you with all the good deeds you’ve given them, sighing when he gives you a simple shrug. Well, at the end of the day, whether you’d like them to listen to you, kids will be kids and look towards the ones who treat them with the most kindness.

Though their loyalty is the most reliable.

“You look a bit tired, my lady.” One of them notes with a more apprehensive approach, her lips pressed into a small pout, brows creased slightly. Lily stares at you with concern. “You look like how we looked when we were still with Ying.”

“Are you eating well?”

“If you’re hungry, I saved a snack from breakfast this morning. It’s really good, my lady.” Sunoo offers you a sweet bread cake wrapped in a clear plastic wrapper and you simply stand there for a moment, staring at it without a word.

Cakes, desserts, snacks. Things you never got the chance of touching ever since the death of Mister Butler. He used to steal these little things for you. You remember whenever night came, when the whole manor fell asleep with only a few left awake, he would sneak into your room or you would sneak into his and he’d allow you to eat then, away from prying eyes, away from everyone else.

You craved sweets after his death, missed those little moments when he used to make you the happiest little girl in the world. You missed it all.

But you remember clearly when food became something you no longer craved, when it became the very thing you grew to fear and you would only eat the food you knew you could trust in tiny portions, just enough to let you get by.

And now you can’t even eat anything that hasn’t been made physically by the hands of your Reapers. Only the Reapers. So whether Sunoo has good intentions or not, you cannot accept his gift.

“I’m not hungry,” so you state looking away coldly from his gift and for a second you think it may have offended him, that it may have hurt him, but he recovers rather quickly as if coming to understand your ways of doing things.

To them, no matter how cold and ruthless you may be, you’re still their savior. Their first kindness.

“Ah then maybe you’re just tired,” he says, putting his snack away into his pocket again.

“If you’re tired, you should rest, my lady.”

“Oh but maybe she doesn’t like sleeping because of the nightmares.”

“Do you get nightmares too, my lady?”

“Or maybe things are just too busy with you.”

“You’re not overworking yourself, are you?”

“What happened there?” Junho points and when you look down at your hand, you realize he caught sight of the bandages. They all pause in their questions, blinking curiously when you hold your hand up to your face, the memories of that night wanting to slip in.

“I punched glass,” you say and they all collectively gasp.

“Whoa, you’re so cool!”

“It must’ve hurt though!”

“Did it hurt? Does it hurt now?” Hyerim’s eyes follow your hand when you place it back down beside you, her lips slightly agape as she hesitates in her approach for you, fingers fidgeting just as she looks up for your reaction. When you give her no protest in her cautious approach, she takes your hand in hers, holding it gently in her tiny little ones. “I hope the pain eases soon,” she whispers sincerely as her fingers softly glide against the bandages, soothing over your knuckles.

You stare at her for the longest time, the peace in you rising as your anger and frustrations from the past few days, weeks, and months begin slowly calming from their fire.

“I hope the pain eases soon,” she says, and when the rest of the children look at you with that same hope and light flashing in their eyes, you feel a small little ache in your chest as you realize that perhaps, in some ways, the person you are to them is the same as the person Mister Butler was to you.

It hurts.

Ah, it hurts.

.

.

.

Walking along an empty road just a few blocks away from The Academy in order to clear your head, you hear the sound of a click that can only belong to a gun and stop in your steps, remaining nonchalant as you turn at the gun pointed at your head.

A man.

Two.

One with a child held against the guy behind the first one who has a gun to your head, covering the little one’s mouth so he doesn’t make a sound with a gun also to his head. You see tears streaming down his face, the kind little boy who always led the little ones to remain brave and strong in your absence, who offered you a sweet snack when they thought you were hungry.

Sunoo.

“Do anything and the boy dies,” the man before you warns and you look his way, looking bored with your hands held behind your back, simply staring without falter.

And you guess he must have sensed your lack of fear because his brows crease right before there’s a sense of relief in his eyes when you feel a few more presence just behind you.

“Hello there, buttercup. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

You physically freeze in place.

Buttercup.

There is only one person in this world who has ever constantly called you buttercup and that person is,

“Lady Nari,” the man who holds you at gunpoint greets, and both the two men’s heads fall into a bow, though they don’t forget to keep their eyes on both you and Sunoo.

You hear her heels click when she walks over, feel her close behind you as you take in a deep breath, closing your eyes when you feel her hand on your shoulder.

You’re surrounded and one move will mean Sunoo’s life.

“Now then,” she says, “why don’t you throw away anything that will have your people track you down easily, hm?” She asks, her lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Unless you want the boy to die?”

Nari knows how much power she holds over you right now and that is an expression you’re far too familiar with. A spoiled little girl who grew up with a loving father who only knew to give his daughter everything she wanted. Just how many years has it been since you’ve last seen her?

None of your Reapers, not even Yuna knows that she’s one of the people who’s done you wrong, and perhaps even Nari understands this situation, which makes her all the more powerful. Who would suspect her when you’re so great at keeping your lips sealed?

You rid of your earrings, tug your necklace off, and throw any weapon on you onto the ground, all the while keeping your eyes on the woman before you, knowing there is nothing that can be done. Not unless you want Sunoo to die.

“What a good girl you are, buttercup,” she grins with brightness, “you’ve always been such a good girl, haven’t you? Though inspection is of course still needed. If anything else is found on you, you’ll receive a nice little punishment, just the way bad girls are supposed to get.”

Nari takes a few steps back, signaling to her men.

“Search her.”

Your back straightens like a tall pole as you hold your breath back while you let your eyes flutter close, trying to manipulate your body into believing the hands that fall onto you aren’t anyone threatening, that you’re okay, that you’ll be okay.

If you give Nari even the slightest bit of weakness to hold against you, you’ll end up worst than what will happen to you now so you keep still, not resisting, not doing anything, as you hear struggles from a few inches away.

“Don’t struggle,” you tell him, meeting the little boy’s eyes straight on as you allow your focus to fall on him and him alone. You try to imagine the peace he gives you, the conversations you had with the little ones just a few minutes ago as your breath threatens to give out but you hold yourself steady, watching him intently because it’s the only thing you can do.

You’ve asked Mingyu to return to the manor, he’s not here right now, and the only person here on your side is a little boy who looks up to you and sees you as his hero, his savior. He’s the only one you can rely on now in order to help you catch your breath, in order to allow you a moment to breathe again.

So you focus on Sunoo and Sunoo alone, and as if he can feel your sense of panic and how he holds some power over being that person to ground you down, Sunoo stops struggling against the man, eyes meeting you straight on.

Don’t be afraid, you wish to say and the message conveys to him when he focuses on his own breathing, trying to look as brave as he possibly can with your eyes solely on him and him alone.

Jeongguk laughs, his hands finding your hips. “Yeah,” he improvises, “I’m here basically every day. But I haven’t seen you around here.”

Your heart beats almost erratically at a list of things. The proximity between you, the feeling of his sturdy shoulders under your arm and his warm chest so close to yours. It skips a few beats at the familiar scent of him, and the way you can barely tear your eyes away from his. He peers down at you fondly and playfully, and you’re entirely lost in it.

“You might need glasses cause I’m also here everyday. In fact, I actually live here,” you gesture toward the dance floor that you’ve only visited once before.

Jeongguk shakes his head, “Oh, no, honey, there’s nothing wrong with my eyes, and I think you’re lying because I definitely would’ve noticed you.”

His words warm your veins, yet make a chill run over your skin. You press yourself closer to him.

For a while, you dance. A little bit of grinding, Jeongguk whispering things in your ear, and also a little bit of jumping when the DJ plays a really good song. And tons of laughter and smiling.

Then, Jeongguk decides that he wants more beer, and coincidentally enough, you have to visit the ladies’ room to pee out some.

Naturally, you agree to meet at the smaller bar on the bottom floor afterward, and so, you set out to find the bathroom.

There’s a bit of a line unfortunately, so it takes you around ten minutes to get into a stall, pee out all the beer and the little wine you’ve had, and wash your hands.

Then, the only thing remaining is to find your boyfriend again. It doesn’t prove to be very difficult; he’s at the place you decided to meet, but as you approach, you spot a woman next to him at the bar.

You don’t think very much of it at first–Jeongguk is a very attractive man, and it’s frankly inevitable that he’ll get hit on–but the closer you come, the more your forehead creases in confusion.

The woman is pretty tall and she’s honestly very beautiful. But Jeongguk looks… uncomfortable. Not massively so, but… well, you know him very well by now.

When you reach them, you tap Jeongguk’s shoulder, running your hand down his arm to hold his hand, “Hey, do you wanna find the others?”

He looks down at you, “Uh… uhm, yeah.”

“Who’s this?”

You turn your attention toward the woman, not expecting her to not take the hint. You hear Jeongguk introduce you over the music, “This is my, uh, girlfriend, Y–,” he says.

“Oh, you’ve got a new girlfriend?” she asks, also having to raise her voice over the music, and is that a flash of… distaste in her eyes?

“Well,” she continues when there’s no answer, “since you’re too busy to answer my calls, I guess I have to tell you this way. I’m pregnant. Four months.”

She lowers one of her hands, stroking it gently over her belly that appears pretty flat. Not that that tells you anything, some people take longer to show and others don’t show very much at all.

With your heart at a standstill, the first thing you do is look at Jeongguk. And he looks at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

“No, that can’t be, I didn’t–we didn’t–”

Four months would mean that they had sex in… the middle of August. Which was when you were broken up. It also happened to be when Taehyung said that Tzuyu called.

Tzuyu.

“Are you gonna take responsibility for once, Jeongguk? Not try to lie your way out of it like you always do?”

You see how he struggles to find his words, the insecurity creeping back up again. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. The music is loud.

“Just this once, can you try to think of anyone but yourself?”

The thing is that Tzuyu looks genuine. There’s a crease of worry between her eyebrows, and she appears sincerely frustrated, maybe even distraught. Like she’s been trying to reach the fuckboy who got her pregnant but who doesn’t want to step up.

Your first instinct is always to believe the woman, but at this moment, you only think of one person. Jeongguk. You try to push the thoughts of a baby away. If she is pregnant with his child, then that complicates everything, but you’re not angry or upset because you were broken up. 

You don’t like the thought that he went back to her, but you don’t blame him. 

However, if there is no baby–or there is but it isn’t his–then she’s trying to sabotage her ex’s relationship, maybe in order to get him back.

Your brain is still processing the situation when you feel Jeongguk gently pull his hand from yours, but when you turn your head to look at him, he looks at her. His head is lowered slightly, and his posture isn’t the same as only ten minutes ago when he carried his head high and his back straight. 

It’s a heartbreaking but instant realization that he’s trying to remove himself from you. Or rather, remove you from the mess he thinks he’s made.

“Nothing?” Tzuyu asks calmly, directed solely at Jeongguk.

His eyes flicker from side to side anxiously, but before he can try to say anything, you grab his hand again.

“Have you had an ultrasound?” you speak up, remaining polite and soft-spoken as you meet Tzuyu’s eyes when she turns to you. “At four months, you’ve probably had one done, right? And he would like to see the pictures. If you haven’t, then he wants you to make an appointment as soon as possible so he can go with you.”

It’s barely noticeable, especially in the low light, how she flutters her eyes in surprise, and you feel the weight of Jeongguk’s gaze on the side of your face. 

“And he wants a paternity test as well, preferably before you deliver,” you continue, stroking your thumb over his skin.

“Are you accusing me of being a liar?” Tzuyu questions, her voice even louder than it needs to be.

“No, we just want to do everything right.”

“‘We?’ This is none of your business; it’s between me and him.”

For the first time, your voice turns stern, “No, you lost that right when you treated him like you did.”

“And who are you to decide that? Actually, who are you even? Me and Jeongguk go way back, and do I have to remind you that he came to me, which led to this,” she motions to her stomach, “in the first place.”

From appearing like any sane person just moments ago, you see how her true colors start to shine through. You heard Jeongguk introduce you as his girlfriend, but you’re not sure if she knows how long you’ve been together, and that, although broken up, he was with you in August. If she doesn’t, you don’t want to give her any more ammunition.

“He already told you I’m his girlfriend, and no offense, but are you five years old? It doesn’t  matter who’s known him the longest, but if it’s so important to you, we first met in college.”

For half a second, Tzuyu’s eyes widen, and she looks between you and Jeongguk.

“College?”

“Yeah.”

She drops her shoulders. “You know what? Fuck you. You’ll be a shit father anyway.”

You blink at the sudden change as she pushes her way in between you, forcing your hands apart.

“Let him know when to take you to the hospital,” you call after her, but you don’t get much of a response except a half-assed wave.

Music still blaring, you turn to Jeongguk. He’s looking somewhere else, gaze lost avoidingly into the sea of people.

Gently, you reach for his hand, smiling when he looks down at you, and slowly intertwining your fingers.

His eyes are cautious, and you know. You know. Although tall and strong, it’s all in his eyes, so easy to read. It’s like being looked at by a helpless little deer kid, prepared to be abandoned. Bambi.

He wants to leave. You can tell that he considers it just to make it easier for you, even if it’s illogical. 

“I’ve got you,” you say, perhaps a bit too quietly, but you’re certain he read it on your lips anyway.

His hand is warm in yours. You see him mumble a ‘why?’

“Let’s go outside.”

You lead the way, Jeongguk’s hand firmly held in yours the whole journey through the dancing and drinking people. Well outside, you take a deep breath. The December air is cold, and you didn’t bring your jackets, but there’s no need as you’ll return into the warmth soon enough. 

“You okay?” you ask, attempting to meet his eyes, but he looks straight ahead at the street.

“Why would you do all this?”

“Do what? Defend you? Believe you?”

“Yes?” he turns his head to finally meet your eyes. His are serious and sad. “You know as well as I do that I only ever… my first–and often only–priority is always me, so why would you…”

“Stay?”

He quiets down and looks away again.

“Cause you’re my birdy, my pup, or whatever. I know you, and you said you didn’t go and see her, and even if you did, we were broken up, and you were free to do whatever. I wouldn’t be mad, I believe you. You’re my best friend and so far from selfish there is.”

You’re rambling, trying to get your point across. Jeongguk keeps his head straight, not looking at you beside him.

“Besides, did you see her when we left? She pulled her stomach back in and went to drink at the bar. She’s just trying to sabotage.”

It’s cold outside, the freezing air starting to get to you. You lean into his side.

A moment of silence passes. Your head is at a standstill while your fingers start to go numb.

“Are you okay?”

Surprised, you lean away to look up at his face. His eyes are on the way you’re holding his hand like your life depends on it.

“Yeah. I’m just trying to keep you from leaving me,” you laugh nervously. “Cause, if you leave me here all alone because of this, I think I’ll break.”

His eyes widen subtly, and he turns to face you entirely. “I’m not… I’m not leaving,” he assures, pulling you closer and hugging you to his chest. “It’s cold, let’s get inside.”

But your feet aren’t moving like his, and he has to stop and look back at you where you stand. 

“Come here,” he nods, and when you don’t, he pulls on your hand until you’re in his arms. “Thank you for standing up for me. I’m not leaving. It’s… hard, it really is, but I’m not leaving. Now, let’s go get our stuff and say goodbye and we can go home, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod meagerly against his warm chest. You’re quick to let go when the first signs come, but not with Jeongguk. Not anymore. Even if it’s a pathetic attempt, you have to fight at least a bit.

At home in his apartment, you lie on top of him between the warm sheets, and you talk it out. How you definitely knew Tzuyu was faking but also how you wouldn't have left even if he found out he had a kid on the way. He offered to help you raise Namjoon’s baby, back when all you were were friends, and how could you do anything but the same for him? You love him.

Jeongguk tells you that it’s difficult to break old habits, but that he at least thinks he’s on the right path. Tzuyu never reaches out again.

Eventually, the day of Jeongguk’s first test arrives. At least according to him. It’s your first holiday together, not including Christmas because no one who is a part of a Christmas-celebrating society could ever evade its snowy claws. 

It’s Valentine’s.

Valentine’s has never held much importance to you; you’ve never been with anyone who really wanted to celebrate it, and it honestly doesn’t matter a whole lot to you either.

Still, you buy a bracelet for Jeongguk, the same kind he really liked but accidentally broke when he forgot to remove it at the gym. And you pick up a single red rose on your way from the train station. Unfortunately, you had an early meeting in a different city and thus had to spend the previous night at a hotel.

Like always, you steer your steps toward Jeongguk’s apartment without as much as a glance toward your own. You tap your thumb and index finger together. You haven’t heard from him today, and that makes you a little nervous that today’s date might’ve slipped his mind. 

It would definitely sadden you, but only because you know how shit that would make him feel. Especially now that you’ve gotten him a gift.

You could’ve reminded him, but you also know how bad it would make him feel like to have to be reminded. Or like you don’t trust him to remember.

So your plan is to not make a big deal out of it if it turns out that he has forgotten it.

The apartment is quiet when you unlock the door and step inside, and the moment you bend down to remove your shoes, you’re reminded how incredibly tired you are.

”Gguk?” You call, taking your jacket off too and hanging it on the coat rack. ”Love?”

To be on the safe side, you place the plastic-wrapped rose on the shelf for the moment.

”In the bedroom,” his voice rings.

Having missed him for more than twenty four hours, you immediately set your sight on the closed bedroom door.

You’re not sure what you expected Jeongguk to be doing inside, maybe napping or watching something on his laptop. Perhaps even cleaning out his closet. 

What you didn’t expect was to be greeted by him in the bed, seemingly naked and tied up.

It makes you falter in your step as you take him in. His naked chest and arms, hands tied by rope to the headboard, his messy black hair, and the way the sheets rest just above his hips, dangerously low.

”How long have you been like that?” you ask, eyeing the rope. It doesn’t look like something he can get out of by himself. ”What if there was a fire or something?”

Jeongguk smiles, ”Don’t worry, I only slipped my hands into them as I heard you unlock the door.”

”Oh. Okay. Good. …So… why are you tied up?” you question, continuing to look him up and down. Truth be told, you’ve never seen anything more mouthwatering.

”Well, it’s Valentine’s—happy Valentine’s—and I remember you saying that you wished you could tie me up like two weeks ago? So… you can. Or, I mean, I am.”

You chuckle fondly, wrangling your sweatshirt from your body and leaving you in a t-shirt and jeans. ”Happy Valentine’s.”

Next to go are the jeans, and you catch Jeongguk’s wandering eyes as you slide them down your legs.

”But you do remember that I said I wanted to tie you up just so I could subject you to so much cuddling you’d probably die? Right?”

He watches you put a knee on the bed and then crawl toward him.

”I know. And I’m giving you the opportunity to do that, or just… whatever you want,” he smirks happily.

”So,” you start, your hand coming to rest at his sternum while you lean your weight on your other arm, ”your gift to me is… you?”

But your words aren’t very well-thought out, and you see his smile slowly fall and hesitancy color his eyes.

”Uh, no, I—I wasn’t sure what to get you, so I—there’s a present for you in the kitchen too, but this was just—”

”Gguk, I didn’t mean it like that,” you interrupt, his heartbeat strong under your palm. 

”I’d rather have you and get to spend time with you than literally anything else.”

Jeongguk relaxes, and you smile, running your fingers up to trace his collarbones. ”Do you mind if I nap for like half an hour before deciding what to do with you? I couldn’t sleep at the hotel, so I’m absolutely exhausted.”

”Of course, you can do whatever you want,” he assures, confidence visibly creeping back up.

”Good,” you stand from the bed, pretending you don’t notice him staring at your ass as you flick the lights off.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness and as they do, you climb back into the bed, searching for Jeongguk’s warm body. Your hand touches his stomach, and you trail it down to grasp the duvet and pull it higher over your bodies.

”I missed you,” you whisper, laying your head on Jeongguk’s chest and releasing an exhausted breath. ”It’s so hard to sleep without you these days—oh, you really are naked,” you chuckle when you lower your hand and feel a bit more skin than you expected.

Jeongguk’s only response is to laugh at your discovery as if that wasn’t the whole point.

”I guess it’s only fair that I…” you sit up to pull the t-shirt over your head and chuck it—along with your bra—to the floor.

You pretend like you can’t make out the almost pained expression on your boyfriend’s face when you lie back down again.

”Aren’t you gonna release me?” He asks, bewildered. ”If you’re going to sleep?”

It makes you snicker, ”I don’t know, I think I’m pretty fond of this arrangement.”

You hear Jeongguk sigh in defeat and acceptance, but you still lift your head to look at his face. ”Is it uncomfortable?”

The reassuring smile he wears is sweet when he shakes his head. ”No, it’s fine. Sleep.”

But having your hands suspended at any angle for a longer period of time would make anyone uncomfortable, and so you sit up once more, hands reaching up to release him from the ropes.

”Don’t get too happy; I’m definitely tying you back up later. If you want, of course.”

But the smile on Jeongguk’s face only grows as he shakes the blood back into his fingers, and before you know it, you’re on your back, and he’s turned to the side, leaning over you.

”I thought you were supposed to be sweet, yet here you are, baring your boobs but not letting me touch.”

You chuckle at what’s become a recurring theme, and instinctively, your hands reach for his face.

”Oh, no,” he tuts playfully, leaning all his weight on his elbow and gathering both your wrists in his other hand like he’s become so fond of doing.

”Gguk,” you complain dramatically, ”I wanted to touch.”

”Oh, I know that, but did you ever think about me? I think it’s definitely my turn.”

Being exposed before his eyes isn’t scary, it’s more of a thrill that makes you hold your breath for a second or two. It’s not scary because although Jeongguk is a prime specimen of a man, putting literally everyone else to shame and appearing like he definitely knows it, there’s always that soft, loving hue to his eyes.

Jeongguk meets your gaze, and when he doesn’t find anything but love and happiness—and maybe a bit of a faux pout—he brings your wrists over your head to hold in his other hand.

His free hand mimics your earlier actions, trailing a straight line from the middle of your collar bones, down to your sternum. Then he traces the outer shape of your left breast, where the fat meets your ribcage.

You let him continue with his feather light ministrations, the touch intensifying your tiredness.

”Gguk,” you whine again, ”Let me…”

You see him tear his eyes from your breasts and look at your hands that are making grabbing motions. It makes him laugh.

”You should’ve thought of that before you decided to be weak.”

You pout. ”I know you want to, though. Just imagine… my hands in your hair… on your back…”

You’re too sleepy to start something sexual, you both know that. Despite your eyes being half-closed by now, you’re able to make out the flash of contemplation. It makes you smile happily, and you can’t believe you ever doubted Jeongguk’s need for physical touch. Your physical touch.

In the end, it wins and he lets go of your hands. A heavy sigh, containing only happiness and relief of being with someone you love, slips past your lips the moment he lowers his head enough for you to tangle your hands in his hair.

They work almost on autopilot, the movements of carding through his dark hair so familiar by now, and they only travel down to the top of his shoulders to hug him to you shortly before you lose your consciousness. You’ve never felt so safe, not with your body or mind. And not with your heart either.

Turns out that Jeongguk, except for gifting himself, also prepared to cook dinner, and when you later exchange gifts, he gives you a blue polaroid camera and the sweetest little pendant necklace. He never once forgets Valentine’s.

Speaking of cameras and pictures, not long after, Jeongguk reveals something to you.

You glance at yourself in Jeongguk’s bathroom mirror as you place your toothbrush into the cup and smoothen your hair down.

He turns his head when you step out, smiling at your outfit that consists of one of his large t-shirts and a pair of clean cotton panties. Otherwise, he’s exactly where you left him.

”Your turn,” you reach the bed, crawling on top of it to sit beside him. He’s truly a vision, lying naked and on his back, his softening cock resting on his lower stomach.

Your hand finds his warm chest that’s not heaving anymore. ”Or do you want me to clean you up?”

Jeongguk lifts his large hand to put it over yours. ”No, I’ll do it. Just… in a minute.”

Slowly, his smile falls, and he turns his focus onto the ceiling. ”I… need to tell you something.”

The change in mood, how his voice suddenly sounds both serious and nervous, starts to worry you.

”What is it?” You ask gently.

”You know… in college? When we… slept together?”

You pull your hand from out underneath his to lay it over it instead, your thumb stroking the back of it. ”Yeah?”

”Well, after… when you were asleep, I…”

You watch him gulp.

”I took a picture of you.”

You feel your eyebrows lift slightly as you consider his confession and what it means. You were naked and unconscious, and the way he seems so regretful forces you to wonder what the purpose was. Proof for the bet? That he succeeded in bedding a virgin? But you know he wasn’t with you for the bet anymore by then, so what makes him so nervous?

”I get that you probably think it was creepy, and I’m sorry. I—I was never going to show it to anyone, and I didn’t. It was just… for me. N—not to jerk off over or anything sexual, just as a memory.”

You bite your lip, eyes lingering on your hands. Although his worried words could creep you out, they don’t. You know Jeongguk, even back then, and you trust him. Besides, by how he tends to hate himself over the smallest things he considers mistakes, you don’t want to know how he’d deal with having spread nude and unconscious photos of you.

”Do you still have it?”

At that, he looks at you, seemingly surprised at your soft curiosity.

”Uh, yeah… I do,” he admits, looking away again as if he’d hoped you wouldn’t ask. “I’ll delete it right now if you want.”

”Can I see it?”

Surprised, he nods once, sitting up and reaching for his phone on the nightstand. You see him put his code into the device–a code you already know–and navigate through it.

He’s biting his lip nervously when he hands you the phone, awaiting your reaction.

You’re not exactly sure what you expected the picture to portray. Well, you, of course, judging by his words, but definitely not what you’re faced with.

The photo isn’t crystal clear like the ones Jeongguk’s expensive camera produces. It’s a bit grainy, obviously taken in a low-light setting. And you see yourself. You’re lying on Jeongguk’s chest, and sure, you look to be naked, but the picture is taken from above so all you see is the parts of your upper back that’s not covered by your hair.

The hair also covers some of your face, so it’s not even a hundred percent clear that it’s you. And the best part: Jeongguk. He looks carefree, smiling with his lower face nuzzled into your hair as well, and he looks into the camera with his big, brown eyes. He looks so young, so happy.

“I’ll still delete it if you want,” you hear from beside you.

But you hold the phone to your chest when you look up to meet his eyes. “Can I have it?”

Surprised, Jeongguk only nods, and you turn your attention back on the phone, sending it to your own device.

“You’re not upset?” he asks quietly, “not even a bit?”

“No,” you answer earnestly. “It’s not… you didn’t have bad intentions, and… I find it sweet. Besides, it’s the only picture of us from back then.” 

“Yeah… I just couldn’t delete it. I’ve looked at it so much over the years, probably more than what was good for me, but I just…”

Jeongguk trails off, and you understand him, you really do. You don’t know if you would’ve looked at it if the roles were reversed, but you know you definitely wouldn’t have deleted it either.

“But now we can take all the pictures,” you grin before realizing something that makes your eyes widen.

“What?” Jeongguk questions, but you’re already off the bed, opening the drawer where he keeps some of his camera gear. And your blue polaroid camera.

“Give me your hand,” you ask as you’re starting it up, looking through the viewfinder.

“No, not my hands.”

You lower the camera from your face. He still doesn’t have a thread of clothing on his body, but his hands are what he’s worried about, “Why not?”

“Because they’re not nice?” he states before reaching for the camera. “I can take one of yours if you want?”

Your mouth is left open as you blink at him, and you definitely don’t let him take the camera. “Jeongguk, I’m taking full offense by that. Your hands are so nice. Look.”

His eyes leave yours, and you watch him lower them to take in the sight before him. Your hand holding his, slowly intertwining your fingers. 

“Not only are your hands, like, very masculine and attractive to look at,” you smile cheekily, stroking the back of his hand against your cheek, “but they’re so warm. And they fit so well with mine. Not to brag but I’ve held a lot of hands in my days.”

He raises his eyebrows, making you laugh. “But yours are by far my favorite to hold. And not only do they help when mine aren’t strong enough, but you know exactly how to use them to make me feel better.”

Jeongguk’s smile grows suspiciously wide, and you stop to think about what you said.

“Gguk, I meant when my back hurts.”

“Yeah, but how am I supposed to think about anything else when my hands were touching a lot of other things like ten minutes ago?”

You roll your eyes, “Of course. I guess that just proves my point, doesn’t it? I love you, and your hands, and everything you use them for.”

You position your intertwined hands in the prettiest way you can before putting the camera to your eye once more. This time, he lets you, and a few seconds later, a small square polaroid comes out.

You’ve barely placed the camera and the picture, face down to develop, on the nightstand when Jeongguk pulls you down by your shirt. Landing beside him, you giggle as he pulls you closer.

“You know, I really can’t believe this,” he states, smiling cheekily.

“Believe what?”

“You know, I used to fantasize about you. Even when we were just friendly neighbors, I used to picture you in my clothes.”

The fabric of his white cotton t-shirt stretches as he pulls on it. “I thought about you, wearing them cause you missed me, but I never thought–”

Of course, you know what it is he never thought would happen. You and him being together.

“I like wearing them,” you admit. “Especially like this, when you’ve just worn them, and they’re still warm and smell like you.”

His smile widens, and he looks even more youthful than normally. “You like how I smell?”

“Gguk, I’ve told you already, yes. I love the way you smell. Both when you’re clean and wearing cologne but also when you’re in the middle of working out. It’s gotta be pheromones and biology,” you mumble.

It has to. Because even when he’s sweaty and the cologne’s worn off, Jeongguk smells so… attractive to you.

“Gotta be that monkey brain,” he swears, making you laugh.

“Definitely.”

With your head on your pillow, you close your eyes, but it isn’t long until you feel Jeongguk do something with your hair. For a minute, you let him, until you’re too curious.

“What are you doing?”

“You know what else I fantasized about?”

“Uh… my tits?”

He snorts, and you open your eyes.

“Yes. Always. But something that isn’t your body. Or well, I guess it’s sorta about your body.”

“Hmm, I don’t know?”

“I’ve always wanted to photograph you. Like this, intimate but not necessarily naked and with your hair all over the pillow. In my bed.”

So that’s what he was doing, positioning your hair into what would make a good picture.

“I hope you’ll let me do that someday. No one else has to see them if you don’t want to. Honestly, I’ve got so many ideas for shoots, if you’ll let me.”

You watch his face as he concentrates on a strand of your hair he keeps between his fingers. It brings you endless happiness that despite everything, Jeongguk followed his dreams and became a photographer, and the smile that pulls on your mouth surely reflects that.

“You’re saying I inspire you?”

“Of course. You’re the love of my life.”

You stop breathing. It’s one thing to know that he loves you, that you’re still his first love and possibly his last too, but it’s an entirely different thing to hear it. The love of his life.

He doesn’t look nervous even though you’re pretty much rendered speechless. He just looks happy, warm, brown eyes gazing down at you.

Finally, your words return to you, and you lift your hand to the back of his neck. “And you’re mine. I can’t say I’ll be a good model, but you can try if you want.”

“Doubt that. I think you’ll be perfect.”

Speaking of his profession, you’re reminded of another thing you’re sure you’ve talked about briefly but still want to bring up again, just to make sure.

“Also… I’m sorry for asking you to photograph the wedding.”

It’ll always fill you with guilt, knowing what pain you were inflicting on him, asking him to do that. And just as much, knowing that he would’ve done it without complaints.

“It’s okay,” he assures, and you believe him, that he’s worked through a lot of it. “Have you talked to him recently?”

You don’t need to hear his name to know who Jeongguk means. “Yeah. Around a week ago. I found an old shirt of his, so I asked if he wanted it back. Turned out to be his favorite shirt that he thought he lost years ago, so he said he’ll try to come by and pick it up.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk says, curious instead of saddened or suspicious. “...Do you miss him?”

You lift your hand to trace his jaw with your fingers absentmindedly, “Honestly, I think I do. But it’s… I sometimes miss him, just as a person? Someone who I shared a lot of my life with. A friend. It’s sad what had to happen to us, and I know it was my fault, so I guess… I don’t know. I don’t think about him every day, and I know the good days and moments didn’t outweigh the… bad match.”

“Do you feel guilty?”

“Yeah. But I know it was for his best too.”

Jeongguk plays with the hair behind your ear, looking deeper in thought than a minute ago.

“But you know, it couldn’t be clearer to me? I might miss him sometimes, a gloomy feeling in my chest, but when I think of you, having to part from you… it hurts. I missed you so much after college, and just the thought of not seeing you, I–”

You’re rarely this emotional, but something about the way he looks at you tonight has you choking up.

“Don’t cry,” he soothes, and you take a deep breath to blink the tears away before they escape. “I understand. You’re allowed to miss him, I don’t mind that, and I’m not worried.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, “I hope so dearly that he finds what I have, someone that means to him what you mean to me.”  

Everything’s a blur. Well, not everything but some things are. You and Yuna have been dancing for what feels like hours and hours, until your surroundings were spinning a bit too much and you couldn't anymore.

At the moment, you’ve plopped down on the black leather seat of a booth, Yuna on the other side, and your eyes focus mindlessly on people still on the dance floor. 

You start to feel tired after a while, but you’re not exactly sure how long you’re sitting there. A deep exhale leaves your lips as you rest your head on the table, your hair surely going everywhere.

It’s easy to say that you’re a bit more drunk than you’ve been in a very long time.

A hand starts to rub your shoulder, but you hardly notice until a voice also calls your name. Tiredly, you lift your head, a smile immediately pulling on your lips when you’re faced with your favorite pair of brown eyes.

“Gguk?”

He hums, hands fixing your hair and tucking it behind your ear.

“What… you doing here?” you ask, and to no surprise at all, it comes out… a bit slurred.

“Yuna called me,” he smirks, nodding his head toward your friend who holds her phone to her ear, also looking tired as hell. Maybe a little less than you, though. “Yoongi’s on his way for her.”

“And you came for me?” you can’t help the adoring pout from forming.

Jeongguk laughs, grasping your arm. “Of course. Now, can you walk outside by yourself? I’d carry you but people might think I’m kidnapping you.”

You nod, letting him help you out of the booth, and with his support, you’re able to walk. After hearing Jeongguk greet Yoongi, you turn to wave goodbye to Yuna–you know you’ll be texting in the morning anyway–and allow Jeongguk to lead the way.

He walks slowly, and you hold onto his arm maybe a little too tight. When you catch a whiff of him and are reminded how incredibly good he always smells, you can’t resist leaning your head against his arm too, sneakily sniffing him. 

He’s dressed in a basic black sweater and jeans on the baggier side, and he looks so good. As you follow him through the crowded bar, you close your eyes, imagining… him. 

He’s yours, and he’s perfect, and he’s kind, and he’s lovely.

And he’s hot. Stupidly fucking sexy. 

Before you know it, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of Jeongguk’s car, and he’s leaned over you to fasten your seatbelt. Which you won’t deny is kinda cute of him. But it also leaves you once again enveloped in his masculine scent, and you think your heart might somersault out of your chest.

“There,” he steps back, smiling down at you happily in the most devastating way that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. God damn him for having such a hold on your heart.

Unknowing of your thoughts, he closes the door and rounds the car to get inside on the driver’s side.

You watch his hands as he starts the engine, and you let out the biggest breath you think you’ve ever taken. Jeongguk glances at you briefly with a curious look.

“I’m so happy I found you again,” you slur, feeling almost like you’re about to cry.

Jeongguk just chuckles, filled with fondness. “Technically, wasn’t it me who found you again?”

“What?”

“Yeah? I approached you, so technically, I found you.”

You narrow your eyes, choosing to look out the window, “Don’t make me take it back.”

Jeongguk’s laughter fills the car, and you feel him grasp your hand. It’s sweet, the way he holds it, and he even brings it to his face to kiss the back of it. 

However, somehow, you dropped your mind and it ended up in the gutter. All you can think of at that moment is his mouth. His lips and his tongue and his teeth. You think back to him between your legs, how he places kiss after kiss just like that one on your legs, higher and higher until he–

You squirm in the car seat, and Jeongguk lowers your still intertwined hands to focus on the road.

Five minutes later, and he pulls up at your shared street. Unsurprisingly, he exits the car and heads over to your side, opening your door while you're still struggling with the seatbelt. It looks like he wants to help you, but it snaps open right before he can. 

Like a real gentleman, Jeongguk offers you his hand and pulls you up and out of the car, closing the door behind you and locking the car. 

“Now…” he starts, and you’d recognize that spark of mischief anywhere, even when you’re plastered.

Your eyes widen when the ground disappears from under your feet, but you’re experienced enough by now to automatically hook your arm around his neck as he carries you bridal style toward the heavy door.

It takes you two tries to enter the code and thirty seconds to even remember it in the first place. Meanwhile, Jeongguk is just waiting patiently. Maybe also quietly chuckling.

He then carries you to the elevator, where you at least manage to press the number six on the first try.

Being carried by him makes your drunk heart melt, but it doesn’t help very much with how you were feeling in the car. Or even the bar.

Because underneath the sweatshirt, you can feel practically every solid muscle in his arms and chest. Completely unashamed, you stare at him through the mirror in the elevator, not even reacting when he raises a brow at you back. 

It’s just everything about him. His fucking hair, framing his face so perfectly, even when it’s still pretty short. And his neck… you turn your head. You’re able to see the faintest outline of that huge fucking vein that really pops out when Jeongguk’s doing strenuous exercise, and you want really really badly to kiss his neck.

Unfortunately, the elevator dings right then, and Jeongguk steps out. You lean your head against him as he walks to his door, and then you sigh when he has to let you down to open the door.

Surely, picking up on it, he wastes no time in picking you back up though when you’re both inside and your shoes are off.

“Time for bed,” he smirks, but doesn’t steer his steps toward the bedroom but the bathroom. “But let's get your makeup off first.”

“Nooo, Gguk, I’m too tired,” you whine, closing your eyes and going limp in his arms to prove your point.

For a second, he stops. Then he turns around and enters the bedroom instead. You keep your eyes closed even as he lays you down on the bed and leaves the room.

It’s quiet and peaceful for a moment. At least a bit, truth be told, your ears still ring a tad from the bar’s loud music.

Then you feel something kinda wet against your cheek.

“What’re you doin?” you ask, struggling a bit to open your eyes.

“I know you’ve said you feel bad if you sleep in your makeup,” he answers warmly, “So I’m removing it.”

It’s your makeup wipes he’s using, you realize. You also note that he’s very careful, wiping the black eyeliner and mascara from your eyes before taking a new wipe and going over the rest of your face. 

If you were sober, you’d gush to yourself about how nice it feels, not only to have Jeongguk’s gentle hands on your face, but to be cared for like that. 

“Okay, I’m done. Now, sit up.”

A bit unwillingly, you flutter your eyes open again. Jeongguk is sitting on the bed beside you, holding your toothbrush out to you in one hand and a cup in the other.

“Or do you want me to brush your teeth too?” he jokes, but once again, if you were sober, you would’ve thought about how he doesn’t look like he’d mind all that much.

With a quiet huff–that grants another chuckle from Jeongguk–you sit up and accept the toothbrush. He sets the cup down on the bedside table before he disappears into the bathroom.

Left alone, you decide to just get the brushing over with, stopping once your mouth is full of foam to spit it out in the cup. Turns out that the task also wakes you up a bit, and when you’re done, you think that you might as well go and put the things back in the bathroom.

You don’t know what you expected because Jeongguk has most likely never in his entire life slept voluntarily in a shirt, but when you enter the bathroom, you’re faced with his naked back.

“You done?”

Your head snaps up, and you meet his eyes through the mirror above the sink. He’s just putting back his own toothbrush and turns to take yours as well, rinsing it and the cup before placing them back.

It’s when you see him (un)dressed for bed, in only a pair of black shorts that you remember that you’re still in your black jeans and intricate top. Fittingly, you also spot the t-shirt he must’ve been wearing under the sweatshirt, laying discarded over the washing machine.

Almost too happily, you grab it, smiling cheekily when Jeongguk notices what you’re doing.

“No, not that one. It’s dirty,” he warns, but you hold it up briefly, and there aren’t any stains on the white fabric.

“No, it’s not,” you bring it to your face to breathe in his scent. It smells just like him and not bad or dirty in any way.

“Give it,” he warns, but you can tell even in your drunken state that he’s not all that serious. And you want it.

“No.”

He tries to swipe it from you, but you hold it to your chest with everything you’ve got. “Gguk, I’m not giving up. It’s mine.”

“Fine,” he sighs in defeat, still smiling in amusement.

When he goes to wash his face, and you’re certain he won’t try to steal it from you again, you pull your top over your head and thereafter unhook your bra. They fall to the floor, and you put Jeongguk’s shirt on. 

Usually pretty good at picking up your stuff, you decide to leave your clothes in a pile on Jeongguk’s bathroom floor, adding your jeans to it after pushing them down your legs.

However Jeongguk, still smiling as he turns around after having dried his face on a towel, doesn’t share your intentions and bends down to pick them up. He places them where he originally put his clothes, and then he approaches the door and you. 

You back up as he comes closer, noticing how his smile smoothly turns into a very attractive smirk. He’s so… so.. attractive. So gorgeous, so stunning.

“Time for bed, okay?”

You peer up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Carry me?”

He laughs, but closes the distance to pick you up–by your thighs this time–for the nth time only that night. Like always, you wrap your arm around his neck, enjoying the feeling of his warm muscles through your–his–shirt.

He heads for your side of the bed and tries to lay you down again, but you don’t let go of his neck, instead you wrap your other arm around it too.

“Are you gonna let go so I can get in bed too?”

“No.”

“No?” he chuckles. One of your hands ventures just below the back of his neck to feel his shoulder muscles.

“Gguk?”

“Hmm?”

“I need you to rail me.”

He stills, but doesn’t redirect his gaze from your face. You think you hear him let out an amused breath, but you can’t really focus on that because soon after, you feel his hand on your naked thigh.

The touch is light, just his fingers stroking slowly over the skin on your outer thigh.

“I want to do everything you ask of me, believe me,” he smiles down at you. “But not that. Not while you’re drunk.”

“But you’ve fucked me while I was drunk before,” you pout, arms pulling him closer. “And you’re so hot, I want you all over me. And in me. Please, Gguk? I want you.”

“Yeah, when I was drunk too,” he chuckles. “It’s different like this; I’m not gonna do it.”

If you were sober, you would’ve moved on already, but drunk you is not as clear in the head, and she keeps sulking.

“You know what?”

“What?” you ask, entirely mesmerized by Jeongguk’s pretty face.

“If you’re a good girl and go to sleep now, I’ll ‘rail you’ tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Sure.”

“Okay then.”

He waits for you to let go of him, but you don’t. 

“Honey, you gotta let go of me so I can sleep too.”

“Can I kiss you at least? Not even with tongue, just a kiss?”

Laughing quietly, Jeongguk nods, and you immediately press your lips against his. But you can’t really stop yourself from also moving your mouth and pressing short kisses to the rest of his face. He laughs but lets you kiss him all you want.

“Best boyfriend ever. And so sweet and kind. Love you so much I think I might die.”

“Don’t die, please. Are you done?” he questions when you loosen your hold on him just enough to look at his face.

“No, never!” But before you can kiss his cheek for the seventh time, Jeongguk ducks under your arms. “What? No,” you whine.

“Hold on,” he chuckles as he rounds the bed, “I’m just getting into bed.”

With half-closed eyes, you watch him get under the duvet only to hold it open for you, and you don’t need more of an invitation than that.

Your head is pounding when you wake up the next morning. The sun shining through the blinds is too bright, and you groan quietly.

Right then, Jeongguk enters the bedroom, holding a tall glass of water in one hand and something small in his other. He gives you an empathic look.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like death,” you reply, trying to look at him properly but it’s too bright. You can at least tell he hasn’t gotten dressed yet, still shirtless and in the shorts he slept in.

“Figured. Here, take this and you’ll hopefully feel better.”

You sit up and reach your hand out to take the painkillers from him. Once you’ve popped them into your mouth, he hands you the glass, and you chase them down with the water.

Placing the half-empty glass on the bedside table, you lie back down with a huff.

“Sleep some more?” Jeongguk assumes, and you nod in response.

“Okay,” he heads back toward the door, “let me know if you need anything. And of course, when you’re feeling better, it seems like I have some railing to do.”

His teasing words have you almost choking on your own saliva, and when you sit up halfway to look at him just as he’s leaving the room, he’s smirking, clearly very entertained.

“You’re a menace!” you call, hearing his laughter. 

With warm cheeks, you bury your face in your pillow.

At around two p.m., you flutter your eyes open, finally feeling better. At least good enough to leave the bed. 

So you do. But you don’t bother getting dressed, instead exiting Jeongguk’s bedroom in just his shirt and your panties. 

The TV sounds through the apartment and you soon find him in the living room, still shirtless and tapping away at his laptop. 

You’ve had some time to… uh, consider your actions from the night before, and you know you’re a single suggestive word from Jeongguk away from blushing.

He looks up at you when you approach, but the smile he gives is more sweet than smug.

“Feeling better?” 

You nod, grabbing a blanket from the armrest because it is a little bit chilly in your current outfit. It makes you miss the warmth of his bed.

He places the laptop beside him on the couch, and you take the opportunity to climb onto his lap with the blanket hanging from your shoulders and cuddling up to him.

“You’re so warm,” you groan, leaning your head against his neck and placing your hands against his chest.

Jeongguk rubs your back soothingly and you can hear his chuckle.

“By the way, I’m sorry for yesterday. For being annoying and, uh, coming onto you like that.”

“Oh, absolutely don’t worry about that. If anything it was cute and quite entertaining. Kinda also pretty good for my confidence. I’m sorry for teasing you about it.”

You straighten up on his lap, now able to look him in the eyes. “Gguk, don’t apologize. You know that I think you’re funny? And that I think it’s even funnier when you think you’re funny. Besides, you were a lot more teasing in college and it didn’t exactly stop me from falling head first for you.”

He pulls you closer, gazing up at you lovingly. “And if your confidence wasn’t great before last night, I’m sure it’s perfectly fine now with the way I was stroking your ego,” you huff.

At least Jeongguk took your words to heart, because what he says next makes you gasp.

“It wasn’t the only thing you wanted to stroke last night.”

“Jeongguk, oh my God!”

As soon as you’re able to pick your jaw off the ground, you lower your hands to Jeongguk’s naked sides to tickle him. He laughs, more so because of your reaction than your tickling, but you don’t care.

Eventually, you stop, trailing your hands back up his chest and to his face as you’re both catching your breaths. “I love you, Gguk. Just the way you are, without any filters.”

“I’ll make you regret saying that,” he jokes.

“Doubt it,” you smile happily before taking on a cheekier tone, “Also…”

Eyebrows raised, Jeongguk hums questioningly.

“…I think you have some railing to do.”

He blinks a few times before his lips form a smirk, “Oh? Well, your wish is my command.”

And with one hand on your back, he manages to somehow lay you down on your back on the couch and lean over you, looking like a literal dream with his slightly messy black hair and teasing eyes. You’re so happy, and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“I mean, only if you want to.”

“Honey, you do know that all you’re wearing is panties and my shirt, right? I couldn’t resist you even if I wanted to.”

The seasons change, and soon, winter melts away.

When summer arrives–your first as a couple–it’s only natural that you tag along to Jin and Mina’s vacation house. By now, Jeongguk is much more relaxed around you and his friends, to the point where they aren’t as scared to tease him anymore. For a long while, they walked on eggshells around him. Well, sometimes they still do, at least when it comes to certain topics, but not as much.

“So what would you pick for me, then? There are two that people usually pick for me, can you guess them?”

You concentrate on Tae’s face where he sits on the other side of the wooden outdoor table. He keeps a neutral face, skin sun-kissed and black hair slightly bleached.

“I have no idea. Penguin?”

“Penguin?!”

“Yeah?” you shrug, “Is that so weird?”

“Yes? People usually say tiger or bear.”

“Oh. Well, I can sorta see it, but I wouldn’t say it was very clear. Not like…

“Jeongguk.”

“Jeongguk. Okay, I can agree on that one,” Taehyung says, observing the man sitting beside you.

“Yeah, I don’t usually go around, liking people to animals, you know, but I’ve never seen anyone resemble a deer so much.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, “A deer?! Are you crazy, woman?”

You look at him questioningly before turning to your boyfriend, inspecting his face like you don’t spend most of your waking time gazing lovingly at him. 

“...Kangaroo?”

“Okay, you’re mental. You’re supposed to know him better than anyone, but you can’t even tell that he’s a bunny?”

“A bunny?”

Your face is colored by confusion as Taehyung rises from his seat. “Yes.”

“I don’t know. I mean… it’s the Bambi eyes for me. So either a deer or a kangaroo. Kangaroos are basically just jacked up deer that are able to walk–hop–upright. Boxing and all that too.”

“I get your point,” he hums, grabbing your boyfriend by the hair. Jeongguk, who was reading something on his phone, lets him but narrows his eyes.

“What are you doing?” you ask, watching him attempt to start a fire with Jeongguk’s hair between his hands. 

Taehyung steps back, smiling proudly when one side of Jeongguk’s hair stands upright, like a… cone? Quickly, he nods to himself and repeats the process on the other half.

“Look at this. Ggukkie, do the thing.”

“No.”

“Yes, do the thing.”

“Fine,” Jeongguk sighs, looking at you and scrunching his nose. Even his front teeth peek out, and it’s absolutely the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

“Oh god,” you gasp. “Tae, you’re right.” Naturally, your hands fly to Jeongguk’s face, holding it in your hands with wonder in your eyes. “You are so cute. My bunny.”

Slightly more accepting of your shenanigans than Tae’s, Jeongguk lets you squish his cheeks and kiss his pouty lips.

“Love you too, bye.”

After ending the call to your mother, you lock your phone and place it into your pocket. You hadn’t talked to her in a week, so she had lots to say. About thirty minutes of it, actually.

When you return to Taehyung and Jeongguk, Jin and Jimin have joined as well, talking amongst themselves. As you near the table, you let yourself take in the sight of your boyfriend’s back. He’s wearing a black t-shirt with his black shorts, and you particularly like… well, his back. 

Reaching him, you drape yourself over him from behind.

“Hi,” you greet quietly, not wanting to interrupt whatever they were talking about, and you place your hand and the apple you’d retrieved from the house in front of his face.

Jeongguk holds your hand still as he takes a bite, mumbling something to Jimin soon after.

You’re in the middle of very discretely sniffing Jeongguk’s hair when a call of your name grabs your attention. Turning your head, you find Jin looking at you, and soon enough, the rest of the guys too.

“Was there a certain time when you realized you loved Jeongguk? Like, do you know the exact moment you fell in love?”

“Yeah,” you answer casually, taking a bite of the red apple.

“Really? When?” Jin wonders, and you feel a surprised and curious Jeongguk try to turn his head in order to look at you.

Unable to see your boyfriend’s face, you ask him, “You remember when we used to study in the library?”

“Yes?” 

“That one time when you first complimented my nails?”

“Yeah…”

“You also warmed my hands in yours, and I knew then.”

“What?” he breathes, “But that was… It was…”

“Early on?” you continue for him, “Yeah, but you were so sweet to me. And funny. I felt like I got to know you so quickly, and you really brightened my mornings. I just really enjoyed being around you, so honestly, I was down bad before it even started.”

“He’s crying!” Jin laughs, clapping his hands together.

Jeongguk huffs, doing something with his hands you can only guess is drying his tears. “No, I’m not!”

“Told you, you owe me twenty!”

You gasp, “You guys are mean, betting on who can make him cry,” you scold, hugging Jeongguk to your body and rubbing his arm.

“We didn’t. We were just talking about the fact that he’s not as big of a crybaby anymore. He only really cries for one person.”

“Yeah,” Jimin adds, “It’s kinda cute, actually. He’s all tough now, but anything remotely sentimental from or about you, and he’s weeping.”

“Dude, why didn’t I pick her as my target? She’s so sweet–I want someone to be sweet to me, too,” Taehyung complains, making you roll your eyes. If you know one thing, it’s that he does not have the hots for you in any way.

“Why does everyone think I’ll love just anyone?” you question.

“Because you do?” Taehyung replies, one brow raised. “You literally just said that you loved Jeongguk after, like, two weeks.”

“It was more than two weeks. Besides, I’d already had my eyes on him for quite some time.”

“Oh?” Jin voices, curiously leaning in. 

You also think you hear Jeongguk utter a surprised ‘what?’ as he tries to look back up at you again, this time more successful, and you meet his wide eyes.

“I meant, like, appreciating you from afar. In a totally non-creepy way. Everyone knew who all of you were, and I just thought you were handsome.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” he asks, sounding almost distraught.

“Cause I knew you wouldn’t have spared me a second look,” you smile, “We were in totally different leagues.”

“Definitely not true, you’re actually a lot prettier than him,” Jin assures, making you laugh.

“I just knew nothing would come of it. We were in different social circles, and I knew you were into more… casual things. I wasn’t, so it wouldn’t have worked out. Besides, for a period of time, I had a boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah. Asshole,” Jeongguk grumbles.

He continues to complain, and you smile as you hug him tightly.

“I mean, I get why you didn’t talk to me cause I was an ass too, but I still think you should’ve.”

You just chuckle and kiss his cheek.

You’re really, really fond of Jin and Mina’s vacation house. It’s been three days out of seven, and so far, you’ve had a blast.

On the third day, you all squeeze into two cars with the beach as your destination, and the boys are incredibly excited. Remembering when you first met Jeongguk again and he told you that they only play soccer ‘on the beach, during the summer,’ it’s clear that this is what he meant.

You’re not exactly a soccer talent, yourself, so you settle for lying down on your towel with Mina and Ryujin to soak up the sun. 

Unpacking the towel and the book you’re currently reading, the bottle of sunscreen also tumbles out of your bag. You’ve already applied a layer, but as you peer over to the big bag of stuff that the guys brought, you see them excitedly unpack a ball and, while tackling each other over it, run toward the goal posts sticking out of the sand in what could be considered quite a sad excuse for a soccer field. Not that they seem to mind.

“Gguk,” you call, “sunscreen, please.”

“Yes, in a minute,” he calls back, and you see Jimin hit his shoulder softly, most likely teasing him.

“Now, please.”

Defeated, he says something to the rest, probably to continue dividing themselves into teams, before he jogs up to you.

He’s smiling when he reaches you, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply, taking in the sight of your incredibly hunky boyfriend. He’s wearing black swimming trunks, matching his dark tattoos and even darker hair. It’s been maybe four months since he cut it last, meaning that it’s at his preferred length, almost obscuring his vision. You, yourself, haven’t been able to make up your mind. Every time he switches the style of his hair up, you think you fall in love all over again. 

Not only that, but two months ago, he surprised you with a lip piercing. The silver ring glimmers in the sun where it sits snug around his bottom lip, and it moves when he talks. 

Sometimes, or honestly, more than he probably should, he plays with it. You try to remind him not to bite at it to spare his teeth and the not fully healed piercing, but he forgets. And, he looks insanely hot, concentrating on something and biting his lip.

“You have to take care of yourself, okay? For me at least?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just that I’m so excited.”

You grin, incredibly endeared, and open the bottle. 

“Oh, I can do it, you don’t have to. I’m a grown man, after all.”

You ignore his smirk, squirting some into your hand before offering him the bottle. “I can help do your back?”

He only nods at that, turning his back to you. But as soon as you lay your eyes on his wide back, you realize you might’ve overestimated yourself. How could you just slather some sunscreen on him when he’s so… tan, and when you put your sunscreen-free hand on him, he’s so… warm…

You’re only human, and you do end up breaking and wrapping your arms around his waist instead. Only wearing a bikini, he’s so warm and firm against your skin, and Jeongguk, who’s started applying the white cream to his arms, only chuckles at your dreamy sigh.

“I love you,” you mumble earnestly with your cheek pressed against his back.

“I… know?”

His slight hesitancy makes you snort, and he tries to look at you from over his shoulder. You tighten your arms around his waist.

“What am I supposed to say when I’m not allowed to say it back?”

“I don’t know, and you are allowed to say it back, but you have to agree that it relieves a lot of pressure to not be expected to, right? I know that you love me, and you know that I love you, and it shouldn’t be expected as a response. You say it because you want to, when you want to.”

“No, you’re definitely right. It’s just that you say it so much that I never get the chance to? I wanna have a nice moment and tell you that I love you, but you always beat me to it. In fact, not only do you grab the nice moments, but you hoard all the moments.”

“Well, that sounds like a you problem. You gotta improve your game,” you shrug. “Get good, you know?”

“I’ll remember that,” he threatens vaguely while chuckling. “Also, weren’t you supposed to sunscreen my back? I’ll need to get back before Jin starts to scream.”

“Yes, but what if you just stay here with me? We can lie on my towel and… hug.”

“Scandalous,” Jeongguk laughs, hoisting your arms higher on his abdomen to spread sunscreen in their previous place.

“Hey! Need him back!” someone calls, and you huff, reluctantly letting go and straightening up.

“Sorry, Jin, a minute!” you inform, finally running your sunscreen-filled hand over Jeongguk’s back. You have to make a conscious effort to not start massaging the spots you know are usually sore, because you feel like his friends won’t ever invite you again if you’re only going to hold your boyfriend hostage.

To make it even harder for you, Jeongguk groans and shifts to give you better access. You don’t even think he does it consciously, just by habit. After all, massaging him after the gym really is a cherished routine.

Soon enough, you pat him on the back, a signal that you’re done, and he turns to give you a small kiss as thanks, also mumbling an ‘I love you’ before he leaves. 

You smile to yourself as you watch him jog to the others, unknowing of the thick layer of sunscreen on his right shoulder and how, hopefully, it’s gonna leave him with tan lines in the shape of a heart.

Karma definitely catches up to you soon enough, though. 

You’re lying on your towel, eyes closed and the book having been abandoned on your bag next to you, when the sun clouds over. You crease your forehead. The forecast didn’t say anything about clouds, and there certainly weren’t any in the sky like… thirty seconds ago.

So you open your eyes.

“Hi,” a smirking Jeongguk greets, standing over you and blocking the sun. “We’re taking a break,” he informs, and behind him, you see Taehyung talking on the phone to someone.

“Oh?” you rise to your elbows, looking up at him. He’s grinning and visibly affected by exercise, his chest still moving rapidly.

“Yeah. So, I thought I’d take you up on that offer of yours.”

“My offer? You mean hugging?” you chuckle, sitting up.

He sets his knees on your towel, reaching for your water bottle, “Yes.”

You watch fondly as he gulps down the water, one drop escaping his mouth to trickle down his neck and onto his chest.

“You know, this is really great. Seeing you have so much fun.”

He moves the bottle from his lips, wiping his mouth with his forearm. “Yeah, this is like the best part of the year. And with you here too? Why are you looking at me like that for?”

“I just think you’re very sweet and handsome. Like, incredibly so.”

“Are you saying you have a crush on me?” he jokes, placing the bottle back beside your bag.

“Yes. The biggest, fattest crush that’s ever crushed. But it seems I’m not the only one.”

“Huh?”

“Three o’clock. The row of women conveniently turned right about this way?”

Discreetly, at least enough, he turns his head. “Oh.”

You snicker at his reaction, wondering if he just hadn’t even noticed the audience as him and his hot friends showed off their athleticism. 

“Hmm. Are you… jealous?” he asks, peering down at you with nothing but trouble in his eyes. 

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I know that you're mine. And why would I deny them the pleasure of watching you? If anything, I wanna show my incredibly talented and hot and sweet boyfriend off.”

“Possessive? I like it.”

“That’s what you gathered?” you ask, tilting your head and watching as he gets on all fours and slowly closes the distance. “What are you up to?”

“Just making sure they know,” he says, his face mere inches from yours. “I mean if anyone was wondering.”

He’s smiling happily right up until the moment he touches his lips to yours. It’s still a bit of an odd feeling, the warm metal against your mouth, but you definitely don’t mind. He knows that too, that you’re only ever supportive of how he chooses to express himself. 

“There are kids here,” you mumble smilingly against his mouth, and he pulls away.

“I know,” he pouts, “but we can still hug.”

“Gguk!” you hear Jimin call, and you chuckle at how Jeongguk shuts his eyes in disappointment.

“Go,” you assure quietly, “have fun. You and I have all the time in the world.”

It’s four p.m. when Jin steps on something hard in the sand and hurts his foot enough not to want to continue and instead limps dramatically to the little kiosk and its ice cream line. With the majority of your focus on your phone, you note how Taehyung and Jimin plop down on their towels next to Ryujin.

“Play with me.”

Once again, Jeongguk stands before you, happiness and mischief oozing from him.

“Soccer?” you question with your eyebrows raised in surprise. 

Jeongguk nods enthusiastically.

“Gguk, I’ll die.”

Although you wholeheartedly enjoy seeing him do physical activities from a few feet away, men in general, and not least your boyfriend, tend to be… intense. You know that he would never intentionally hurt you, but war flashbacks still fill your mind of your junior high class playing soccer and the guys being so set on winning that they neither realized nor cared that they knocked (smaller) people over.

“Oh, come on,” he pleads, “It’s just you and me, and you know I’d never let you get hurt.”

With no further arguing from your side, you’re gently pulled up off the towel and onto the small soccer field.

“Try to score,” Jeongguk instructs, and it’s only then, when he places the ball in front of your feet that you realize what he’s planning. Smirking, he walks backward until he reaches the old and worn goalposts, void of anything resembling a net.

“I’ll break my toes off?”

He chuckles at your bad excuse and gets into position, “The ball is soft. Just make sure to score.”

It’s the way evil flickers in his eyes and pulls on his lips that has you suspecting foul play. That look is seldom good.

“You can’t chase me if I don’t,” you warn because hunting you down while you squeal in horror has proved to be one of his favorite things to do. 

Jeongguk shrugs, which only confirms it for you, and you point at him. “You’re gonna chase me, aren’t you?”

“Then make sure to score,” he teases.

“So you admit it?”

He smiles, “No. Now, just do it.”

Sighing, you eye the ball and your boyfriend, who’s gotten into the typical goalie stance with his knees bent, feet apart, and his hands out. In response, your adrenaline spikes. 

It’s not that you’re scared of Jeongguk because he’s truly the sweetest man, especially to you, and you know he’d probably never forgive himself if he ever hurt you, but being chased is just… terrifying. It’s fun, you won’t lie, but it’s terrifying.

The ball lies approximately thirty feet from the goal, and you know that, especially in sand, you’ll never be able to outrun someone as fast and athletic as Jeongguk, even with a thirty feet head start.

Additionally, even though there’s a zero percent chance of you scoring against him, you’re a hundred percent he’ll chase you even if you do.

Still, and much to Jeongguk’s amusement, you start to back up slowly, your eyes on the ball. Step after step, you back up, until you see both his and hear his friends’ confusion. Surely, you don’t need that much space to reach an appropriate speed?

But you know you were doomed to fail from the start, so why even try? Instead of running up to the ball, you turn, and you dash in the opposite direction, running for your life and satisfied with your maximized head start.

In the distance, you hear Jeongguk shout a confused “What the…” but also the sound of his feet hitting the sand as he sprints to catch you.

Luckily, you spot Jin, still at the kiosk but now with half an ice cream cone in his hand, and you pray that you’ll be able to reach him before Jeongguk catches up. Jin probably doesn’t care too much about protecting you, but if there’s anything he won’t decline, it’s a good brawl with Jeongguk.

“Jin! Help!” you squeal as you reach him, barely having time to round his body and put him between you and Jeongguk before your boyfriend reaches you. “I’ll buy you two new ice creams!”

Jin licks his ice cream casually but doesn’t mind you holding onto him as a human shield. “Why would I get involved in your little lovers’ quabbel?”

“He said you were getting too old to play soccer,” you lie from behind his back. 

“What the fuck?” Jin exclaims, and from what you can see of Jeongguk as you peer around Jin, his eyes widen comically.

“I did not.”

“You little fucker, you think you’re gonna be young forever or what?” Jin scolds as he pushes the remainder of his ice cream into his mouth, which is honestly quite impressive.

As the guys start to push at each other–Jeongguk to get to you and Jin to protect you only to spite Jeongguk–you back up, happy with your plan. 

Unfortunately, Jin doesn’t spend a ridiculous amount of hours at the gym like Jeongguk, and it’s only a matter of time before he’s sidestepped. But not after they tumble around on the ground for a moment, sand flying everywhere.

As soon as he sees that he’s been overcome, Jin gives up and calls ‘good luck’ at you. Similarly, the moment his friend is no longer an obstacle, Jeongguk sets his eyes on you.

“Oh, you little… I’m coming for you,” he threatens, and you turn to dash away again, but of course, with only a few rapid steps, he’s caught up, and you’re lifted off the ground.

He laughs at your screams, immediately carrying you toward a specific destination. “How about you and I go for a little swim, huh?”

“No,” you whine, but you’ve stopped struggling, “The water’s cold.”

“You haven’t even felt the water,” he chuckles, “It’s surprisingly warm.”

“You’re a menace,” you groan as he continues into the water.

“And you’re a cheating liar.”

“Touché.”

Since he’s holding you bridal style, the water reaches your butt first, and you have to agree that it’s definitely not as cold as you thought. Additionally, Jeongguk is very slow and gentle as he walks farther out.

He continues until only his head is above the surface, meaning you wouldn’t reach the bottom if you tried. So far out, you shift in his arms, holding onto his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“You’re very clingy,” he teases.

“You don’t get to complain since you were the one who dragged me out here. I just don’t like open water where just about anything could take me.”

“This isn’t open water, though. It’s a few feet into the water on a public beach,” he explains gently. “There’s nothing here that could ‘take you.’ Except me, but it’s a bit risky in public, don’t you think?”

“Jeongguk!’ you gasp before your amused smile turns fond, “You know you’re a little bit of an idiot?”

“But I got you.”

You sigh in defeat, “I know.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything, and the only sound is the waves rippling softly around you.

“Do you want me to take you back?” he asks quietly.

Meeting his eyes, you spot the tiniest bit of a certain emotion flash. It really is rarer and rarer these days, but you’d recognize it anywhere.

“No,” you assure softly, running your hand over his shoulder. He rubs one of his along your back. “As long as you hold me like this.”

“Okay.”

You smile, pulling yourself even closer to his body, to the point where you’re cheek to cheek.

“I’m… really happy,” you say so quietly no one else would hear even if you weren’t alone, far from the closest beach goer. “Life was really boring without you.”

You still call them date nights even though you’re living together and have been a couple for almost four years. They happen with varying frequency, sometimes you settle for movie nights every other day for two weeks straight, and other times, you splurge and go out to dinner multiple times a week. 

Tonight, Jeongguk surprised you with a fancier dinner at home, a thing he’s done now and again. You’re always smiling from ear to ear whenever you get to spend time with him, and it’s certainly no different when he’s cooked and set the table with candles.

“So, he wants you to do an extra shoot then?” you ask, taking another bite from your fork.

“Yeah. Said he’d be in touch soon to book,” Jeongguk answers from the sink where he’s opening another bottle of wine. He’s wearing a dark blue dress shirt, tucked into black slacks, the sleeves rolled up and a few buttons undone. He never stops to take your breath away.

“That’s great, Gguk.”

“Mhm. You want some?” he comes to stand beside you, holding the bottle over your nearly empty glass.

“Sure.”

You watch the red liquid be poured into the glass, and then as Jeongguk places the bottle on the table.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” he says.

You swallow the food in your mouth, about to reach for the glass, “Sure, go ahead.”

“Will you marry me?”

You stop breathing. When you turn your head, Jeongguk is sinking to one knee and opening a small, black box you didn’t know he was holding.

At first, you’re speechless. Marriage is one thing you haven’t talked very much about, especially after becoming what you’d call ‘stable.’ You just always assumed he didn’t want to, that the thought only brought him anxiety, and as long as you got him, it didn’t matter to you.

“Gguk, you know I love you–”

“–But?” he continues nervously, “...Don’t tell me you were gonna break up with me? Cause that would be awkward.”

It’s the sad and heartbreaking chuckle he lets out that snaps you out of it. “No, no, of course not! I love you, and I want nothing more than this and you, but we don’t need the rings and the documents for that, you know? You don’t have to do that for me, okay?”

“But I want to. I really do,” he assures, his confidence returning slowly but surely.

“Are you sure?”

“Incredibly. So… will you?”

Your eyes fall from his to the velvet box in his hand. “Oh, love. Of course.”

With his smile growing, he takes the ring out and with his other hand, grasps yours to slide it onto your ring finger.

Maybe surprisingly, or maybe not, the only tear in the room trickles down your cheek.

“So, we’re getting married?” he asks, sounding happy yet in disbelief.

“Yeah. I mean, you proposed, didn’t you?”

“And you said ‘yes?’”

“Then… yeah?”

Overcome with joy and love, you surprise him by throwing yourself at him, and he laughs as he falls to his butt, his hand shooting out to hold your back protectively. You end up on his lap with your forehead against his when you remember that you didn’t even stop to look at the ring.

“This is lovely,” you gasp, admiring the thin, silver band adorned with a small, pale blue teardrop in the middle.

“You like it?”

“Of course, I–I couldn’t have picked out anything better, myself. It’s like… like a little…”

“Forget-me-not?” he finishes for you.

“Yes. I love it. But, Gguk… it must’ve cost a fortune, please tell me it didn’t?”

He grins, “It didn’t.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Are you lying?”

“No. It didn’t cost much, cause… well, I made it.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I mean, I had to pay for the material, of course, and I paid my uncle to help me, not because he required it, but because I wanted to.”

The blue stone glimmers under your gaze. Sure, you knew Jeongguk was handy, even having been taught some carpentry by his uncle when he was younger, but this?

“Jeongguk, you made this?”

“Yes?”

“For me?”

He strokes your back fondly, “Yeah.”

“Wow,” you gush dreamily, admiring it from every angle. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You appear very happy for someone who said marriage wasn’t important,” he teases, and you look down at him with all the love you hold for him.

“I wouldn’t have minded if we didn’t, but I love it now that it’s happening. And I love you, that you did all this,” you hold your hand up, “and that you want to be with me like I want to be with you.”

It’s a regular day in November when Jeongguk unlocks the door to the apartment and kicks off his shoes before he trudges into the kitchen with the package under his arm.

He remembers how you, this morning, said you’d meet up with Yuna after a meeting at work, so the dark apartment is no surprise. The package is, however, since he can’t recall ordering anything that would be arriving today.

Jeongguk turns the lights on and places the brown package on the kitchen table to look for a knife. With one in his hand, he slices the packaging tape off and opens it. 

Turning it over, it appears to be… a book?

If he hadn’t already double checked that it was addressed to him and not you, he definitely would’ve. There’s a simple sketch of a swallow on the cover, but as he reads the title, it doesn’t appear to be about birds, at least not non-fictional.

‘The little bird and its love poems’

The author isn’t anyone he recognizes, not that he’s very up to date on them anyway. Curious, he opens it to the first page.

‘To my J, who can make even a writer lose their words.’

His head spins as he pulls out a chair and sits down at the kitchen table. 

It’s six p.m. when you reach what was once only Jeongguk’s apartment complex and take the elevator up to the sixth floor. Since selling your home a while ago, you really haven’t looked back. You barely spent time there anyway.

The second you unlock and open the door, you hear rustling, and another two seconds later, he stands there, red-eyed and sniffling. 

“D–did you? You..?”

Lowering your gaze, you see him holding your book to his chest. “Didn’t think it would arrive today,” you smile as you take off your shoes and jacket, putting them away slowly without looking away from him for too long. “But yeah.”

He just stands there, his pierced bottom lip trembling, and you approach him with open arms. But before you can embrace him fully, he wraps one arm around your waist and lifts.

Without a word, Jeongguk carries you into the bedroom and drops you onto the unmade bed to pull the covers over the both of you as he lies down.

You’re still smiling, even wider when he pulls you closer. 

“I love you,” you whisper into the darkness where it’ll get hard to breathe soon.

“Thanks, I got that,” Jeongguk mumbles sarcastically, sounding all choked up, and it makes you chuckle. 

“How much did you read?”

“All of it.”

“Which was your favorite?” you ask, stroking his hair.

“The last one, I think. ‘The adventure.’ Fucking ruined me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Yeah,” he sniffles, his voice quiet. “…Why didn’t you use your real name?”

You open the duvet to let in some fresh air. “I guess I just wanted to write it. For me, to get it out of my system, and for you, as a gift. I don’t need anyone else, like our friends or all of your followers, to know my thoughts and feelings so deeply. Just you, and this way, it’s just between you and me, but it’s also out there.”

Jeongguk sniffles again, “I like that. Thank you. It must’ve taken you so long, though?”

“Yeah, I guess. I started not very long after we got back together the last time. I’ve always wanted to write something, but I didn’t know what, and I just had all these feelings clogging my brain, and I realized that if I didn’t start with this, those uncontained feelings would color everything I tried to write.”

He rests his head on your chest, “You know, I never thought anyone would write poems for me?”

“I know. But I did.”

“I’m warning you, I’ll be working on a revenge plan.”

Turns out that even if sales weren’t extremely important to you, your collection of poems accidentally gathers the attention of a well-known book circle and ends up doing quite well.

It’s a little less than two years later when you meet your own eyes through the mirror. It’s been hard, but you’ve fortunately managed to keep any tears at bay so far, and you admire your make up along with your dress. 

Satisfied, you run your hands along your waist over what you’ve sewed yourself. This time, the dress is everything you could’ve ever dreamt of.

“You’re really happy, aren’t you?” Yeji speaks from the rattan chair in the corner of the room.

“Yeah,” you sigh happily, “I know you’ve been through this too, but I just can’t wait for it to start, you know? The rest of our lives together.”

“I know.”

Sitting on the make-up table, Yuna takes a sip of her champagne, “I think he’s probably freaking out a lot more than you are,” she chuckles.

You smile, endeared, as you’re picturing him getting ready, probably pacing the room nervously. “He’s sweet.”

It took almost a year to plan your early November wedding. It’s smaller than Yuna’s, mostly family on your side and more friends on Jeongguk’s. You both quickly agreed to do your vows in private, and although he didn’t say it, you think it’s partly because Jeongguk wouldn’t make it through hearing yours in front of everyone.

Despite there definitely not being a reason to be nervous, you find yourself picking at your bouquet as you wait behind the doors, ready to walk down the aisle. Your father dabs his eyes with a napkin discreetly before he offers you his arm.

Then, the music starts, and the doors open.

When you first spot him, he’s standing with his back toward you, but only half a second later, he’s turning around. He’s wearing a traditional black suit with a bow tie, his slightly wavy hair of medium length–at least considering what he’s used to–brushed away from his face, and he looks like he just stepped out of a fairy tale. Your fairy tale.

The feeling must be mutual because he stares at you, those wide, Bambi eyes immediately glossing over. In response, you smile comfortingly at him.

Of course, it doesn’t work, and as you near, his tears finally spill over. There’s a collective awe sounding through the room, fond whispers echoing, and when you reach him–and your dad gives you away–you’re not sure if Jeongguk can see anything with how teary his eyes are. 

Behind him, you hear his groomsmen chuckle, but you know it’s out of love and adoration.

“Hi,” you greet quietly, taking Jeongguk’s arm.

“H–hi,” he stutters, his breaths uneven.

Although the officiant is waiting for your attention, you instead wrap your arms carefully around Jeongguk’s neck.

“Hey, shh, It’s okay,” you soothe, “Imagine it’s just you and me.”

“Is that supposed to help?” he hiccups, and you think it’s Jimin who laughs. It’s been a long time, probably more than a year since you’ve seen Jeongguk shed a tear at all, but you guess they were right back then, his friends. The only person he cries over is you.

“Yes. Close your eyes,” you instruct, lowering your hand to rub it across his back slowly, “and take a deep breath.”

Jeongguk ends up needing a few of those deep breaths before his breathing is under control and you can turn your attention back to the officiant, who smiles fondly at the two of you. 

Jeongguk manages to keep himself collected for the rest of the ceremony, and even if one tear escapes during the first dance, you’re quick to dry it. You can’t blame him, though, not when there’s only you and him on the dance floor and your cousin Jihyo starts to sing.

Wise men say

Only fools rush in…

“This was a good decision. Marriage, I mean,” he nods, and you lift your head from his chest to look at him, “Even though this song makes me wanna bawl all over again. I never would’ve guessed marriage was my thing–fuck, I didn’t think anyone would ever actually love me, much less want to marry me–but here we are,” he chuckles, ignoring the sad look you give him. “But there’s a… stability in it that I like. So thank you, for giving me a chance. Or like, five hundred. ”

“Yeah. It’s not as easy for you to run away now,” you joke gently. 

However, despite Jeongguk’s progress, he looks away briefly. “I’m sorry. For all the things I put you through. I really am, and I’ll be fo–”

“–For the rest of your life. I know. But look at me?”

“You’re the prettiest I’ve ever seen, yeah.”

You laugh quietly, “No, that wasn’t what I meant. I meant that in a ‘look at me, I’ve got everything I could’ve ever asked for’ way. And you know my deepest, darkest desire?”

“Yeah?”

“I think this is pretty darn close.”

Take my hand

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help falling in love with you

It’s later during the reception that Jeongguk can’t find you. How hard could it be, finding the most stunning woman ever, also happening to be the one in the white dress, he thinks, but evidently, you’re gone. He looks through the venue, but doesn’t find you dancing with anyone on the dance floor nor talking with someone in a corner.

It’s only when he walks past a window that he spots that white dress. He stops.

The venue you chose lies on top of a hill, overlooking a river. Down where the water meets land, there’s the smallest of piers. And that’s where you stand.

Jeongguk continues to the exit, opening the doors to stand outside. It’s dark, outside candles lining and illuminating the gravel path down to the pier.

Surely, a lot of people would consider it weird to invite your ex-fiancé to your wedding, but he truly didn’t mind sending Namjoon an invite. Neither does he mind that it’s your ex you’ve snuck off to talk to on your wedding day. 

He doesn’t plan on approaching you, just to wait for you. Even from a distance, it’s mind blowing how you take his breath away. 

He almost feels the need to pinch himself because how did everything he ever wanted come true? You’re speaking with the man you were going to marry, but the gorgeous white dress you’re wearing isn’t for Namjoon, it’s for him. He’s the one with the matching wedding band on his finger. Him. You’ve actually married him. 

For a second, he’s scared that he dreamt it all, that it’s someone else’s wedding he’s at, and he nearly pats his sides in search of the camera bag hanging from his shoulder.

“Oh? Hi, have you seen–”

He turns, relieved to be back in reality. The person speaking to him–who also just noticed the two of you down at the pier–is Namjoon’s girlfriend.

Returning his attention to you, he’s just in time to watch you nearly throw yourself into Namjoon’s awaiting arms.

“Does that… worry you?” she asks quietly, but Jeongguk only shakes his head.

“No. Are you? Worried?”

“Strangely enough… no.”

He doesn’t talk to the woman much more after that, and soon enough, you and Namjoon come walking back. You look happy as you tell him something, holding onto his hand so as to not trip in your heels, and he’s smiling down at you too.

But the moment you look up and notice Jeongguk, your expression changes. He can tell that you were happy for Namjoon, excited that he’s found someone he really likes, and that things have worked out for him. You’re smiling happily for him because you still care for him.

But when you meet Jeongguk’s eyes, it’s different. There’s an indescribable excitement brimming in your beautiful eyes, a longing in your smile that he shares and that’s come true. 

Three weeks after the wedding, you step out of Jeongguk’s car–well it’s yours too since you decided that having two was redundant and yours was sold. He’s quick to round it, immediately reaching for your hand and pulling you into his side so quickly you almost bounce off him. Of course, he catches you, reveling in your laughter. 

Under the sign declaring the little shop a tattoo one, he opens the heavy door and gestures for you to enter first. It’s much warmer inside than the late November air outside, and as you look around, you unzip your jacket.

Despite being together for quite some time now, you’ve never actually been to the tattoo shop, which is partly because it’s been years since he got a new one done. However, he’s deemed that a few need to be touched up, and that’s why you’re here.

Jeongguk’s tattoo artist is a very kind and polite man named Han. He pulls up another comfy-looking chair in black for you to sit beside Jeongguk. 

“So what have you been up to since I last saw you?” he asks as he prepares the ink on the little tray placed on a rolling table.

“Well, I got married,” Jeongguk grins and looks at you. “Three weeks ago.”

“Oh, really?” Han looks away from the tools to let his gaze travel between the two of you. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you.”

You bite your lip, for some reason feeling your cheeks heat up just the slightest.

“You’re very talented, Han,” you change the topic, “You’ve done almost all of his tattoos, and most are just so cool and pretty.”

“‘Most?’” he chuckles, making you backtrack.

“No, no, I meant that they’re all very well done. There’s just one I don’t particularly like, but that’s due to meaning and not execution,” you explain.

“Oh, which one is that?” he inspects Jeongguk’s naked arm where he’s seated on the chair in between you and Han, in only a t-shirt on his top half.

“You don’t say anything, only pointing to the anatomically correct rotting heart. 

“Oh. Yeah,” Han chuckles, making you wonder if he perhaps knows of its backstory.

Jeongguk grins at you and lifts his hand to pat you lovingly on your head. You adore him and his style, and you’ll always be supportive of it, he knows that. Except for the heart. That’s when you’re a self-proclaimed party pooper because although you’re still kinda sweet about it, you do dislike the meaning. He knows that too, and he thinks it’s a little bit funny (and cute) that you care so much about his metaphorical heart and how he sees himself.

And truth be told, he wouldn’t get that tattoo today, but he still doesn’t mind it. It tells his story, and it looks cool.

You don’t fight his patting, “I just think he’s a sweet guy, and I wouldn’t allow him to get something like that today.”

“What would you ‘allow’ me to get, then?” 

You shrug, “I mean, there are a lot of things I wouldn’t mind.”

“Do something, then,” he says happily.

“No, I don’t know if I want any more, at least not now.”

“I meant on me. Han, will you let her do something?”

“What, Gguk?!” you question, not only his words but also his sanity, “No, I’d ruin your skin. Besides, I’m sure it’s like a federal crime.”

“She can decide something, and I can tattoo it?” Han suggests, holding onto Jeongguk’s arm and lowering the needle to his skin.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk peers up at you happily, used to the pain of tattoos.

You’re not smiling as joyously, “Are you sure? I don’t think there’s any use in telling you they’re permanent?”

“You’re my wife, and if you want to choose something for me, I want you to.”

Despite it perhaps being too spontaneous of an idea and also very possibly a bad one, you can’t argue too much. There is something you really would like on him. A certain motive that you’d really love.

“Okay. It’s a tiny one, I’ll do it in grayscale like the rest so it doesn’t stick out too much.”

“You can do color if you want,” Jeongguk reaches for your hand with his left one. “Or just whatever you want. Write your name in your favorite color.”

You stare at him for a few seconds, but he doesn’t waver.

“You’ll regret saying that when I make Han tattoo a pink dick on you.”

Both of them laugh, but Han still shows you where to find an empty sketchbook to draw in and without showing Jeongguk, you get to work.

When he’s done with the touch-up, Han follows you to the farthest corner of the shop where you tell him about the tiny, little outline of a heart you’ve drawn and how you want it in thin red, next to the rotten one.

By his own idea, Jeongguk looks at you the entire time it takes Han to tattoo him, which isn’t more than a few minutes, and he doesn’t peek until everything’s done and you’re following him to the shop’s mirror.

He’s twisting his arm around to see it clearly since it’s halfway hidden beside the big, decaying heart. He’s not smiling anymore, but he’s got that wide and glossy Bambi-eye look that’s so sweet.

Reaching him, you lean your head against his other arm. “I know you think, or at least thought that there was something wrong with your heart. But it works just fine. Almost perfectly, even. And it’s so dear to me. You are, every little part of you.

“But if you ever doubt it, then you’ve got my heart too. It’s not perfect either, but it beats for you.”

It’s a quiet Jeongguk that leaves the tattoo shop with your hand warmly held in his, but he’s not sad. He’s happy and still a little emotional, you can tell. 

Under his jacket, the little red heart drawn by you is wrapped in plastic, and a bit shyly, he admits that he thinks it might be his favorite tattoo yet. 

Of course, despite telling him it can symbolize either of your hearts, he says that he likes the thought of it being yours more. You, however, definitely think his is a better fit.

Because Jeon Jeongguk is a lot of things, but more than anything, he’s a lover.

The adventure

When I close my eyes for the last time,

and all is said and things are through,

I hope you know that

my favorite part of this adventure 

was you.

Ask him to leave because he forgot a date?

The parallels cut through your chest. More so because you also left him at the bar. You didn’t even stop to think more about the situation than that, although his abuser was there, so were his friends, and you didn’t doubt they’d be there for him.

Unlike you. 

Lights moving on the street make you wipe your tears and lean closer to the window. You watch a car pull up and a door open. It’s Jeongguk, and because you know him so well, you can tell not only by his clothes but the way he moves. 

He enters the code and disappears behind the door. You wait a few moments, checking your phone in the meantime. One a.m. He must’ve ordered his own Uber not long after you left.

Soon enough, light floods a few windows on the sixth floor in the complex across the road. You sit there with your pen in your unmoving hand, and that’s when you remember your parting words. Or more specifically: his.

‘And just… call me. If you wanna hang again.’

If

You put your face in your hands as another sob wrecks your body. He didn’t expect you to want to see him again, did he? 

For ten minutes, your pen scribbles in the notebook, and although one or two more tears slip through, you manage to calm down, at least a bit.

Then, dressed in your navy pajamas and with two keys in your pocket, you cross the street.

It’s only when you’re outside his door that you realize you should’ve probably reached out before. But you’re already there, and although his windows were dark when you left, you don’t think he’s already asleep.

To be on the safe side, you knock a few times before you twist the key in the lock.

“Gguk?” you call quietly.

Dumping your shoes at the door, you venture through the darkness until you reach his bedroom. The door has been left open by a sliver, but you knock on that one as well.

When you peer around it, he sits on the side of his bed with the duvet thrown to the side like he’s on his way up. And your heart beats with longing at the sight of him. 

Even through the dark, you can see that he has, as usual, foregone a shirt and is only dressed in a pair of black shorts. His hair is slightly messy, not like he’s been sleeping but at least lied down.

“Are you okay?”

His voice, deep and worried, causes something to break inside you, and your eyes tear up again. “No.” Tentatively, you step closer. “I can’t sleep, not without you and not knowing if we’re okay.”

“Stay? If you want?” he breathes, and it’s all it takes for you to approach his bed.

However, you don’t go for what’s your unofficial side, but you find yourself in front of him.

His skin is warm when you ghost your hand over his arm, and his eyes are a mix of warmth and understanding with a trace of worry. 

“I’m sorry for leaving like that,” you whisper.

He grasps your hand from his arm, holding it softly and rubbing his thumb over the back of it. In turn, you climb onto his lap, letting go of his hand in favor of wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his neck.

Jeongguk rubs your back. “It’s okay.”

You feel your emotions start to bubble up inside you once more, and the tears are blocking your throat.

“No, it’s not,” you argue. “I should’ve stayed with you.”

Finally, a tear spills over again, and your voice breaks, “But it broke my heart, Jeongguk. Hearing all of that? You defending it?”

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t want you to worry about something I don’t think that much about anymore.”

“Tae said she called you. When we were… you know? So are you sure? Do you really not think about her?”

He’s quiet for a while, seemingly gathering his words. “I’m sorry, I’ve never–you’re the only one I’m interested in, and I’ve never spoken to her while we were… together or what it is that we’ve been doing.”

That’s not even remotely something you were worried about. You never suspected him of somehow cheating on you, and you don’t care in case he spoke to someone else when you were broken up. You care that he perhaps spoke to her.

“But you talked to her? Why?”

He takes a few seconds, most likely to gather his thoughts.

“I guess… sometimes being on rock bottom is easier because you don’t have to worry about falling. It’s easier to already know that you won’t succeed than to hope you do and be a disappointment when you don’t. 

“It’s true that I don’t usually think about her, I’ve been so busy thinking about you. But after I broke it off with you, I was lonely… and I just wanted… someone. Maybe to treat me how I deserved and sort of reassure me I did the right thing. But I didn’t actually see her; haven’t done so since we stopped dating years ago.”

You sit back to look at his face, brushing his hair back with your hand. 

Treat me how I deserved

Realizing what he means by that, a pulse of pain shoots through your veins. When you first met Jeongguk, you wouldn’t have described him as innocent. He looked like sin incarnate, always welcoming the next woman to commit acts you wouldn’t speak of in church.

And perhaps he isn’t entirely innocent either, but the way he looks up at you, in no way manipulating, could definitely convince you of the opposite. He’s honest–pure, in a way–longing to belong and prove himself but doubting that anyone really wants him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper. “You don’t have to, but… it still affects you, doesn’t it?”

Jeongguk looks around the room, quietly contemplating until he exhales heavily and lowers his gaze to somewhere around your mouth.

“What did they tell you? Tae and Jin?”

“Not much, just something about flowers and an… incident at a bar.”

“Okay… you know that I tried dating, right? Well, Tzuyu was the first woman I dated after you–uh, I guess you and I never really… anyway, I met Tzuyu around a year after college. I was out with the guys and ended up following her back to her place. At that time, I had no interest in dating. Or I did, I was just too scared to actually try anything, so I went back to only doing one-night stands. But she asked me to stay the night, and there was… something about her that I…”

He trails off, looking away as if it makes it easier for him.

“I realized later that she sorta had your mannerisms, like her body language reminded me of you, like when you move–she had the same–I don’t know… And I thought that maybe if I really tried, that I could be good for someone. I think she realized pretty soon that I had no clue what I was doing, but I was just grateful to be given a chance. 

“But I remember… being on edge all the time. I made a lot of mistakes, got the wrong gifts, the ugly kinds of flowers, dressed wrong for the occasion, didn’t jump to pay the bill quickly enough, didn’t know when she wanted me to kiss her goodnight or that she just wanted it to be on her cheek…

“I wanted to be a good person, to deserve being loved for once, so I started trying to think of everything. Every little detail that could go wrong, that I could do wrong, but evidently, I didn’t have any experience, and I couldn’t predict anything. And honestly, I still don’t know much. I tried to do everything right, but it rarely worked out that way.”

You focus on your fingers that you let tangle in the hair at the back of his neck. It feels soft against your skin. 

“She told me that I couldn’t expect anyone to love me when I never made any real effort, and when I asked what to do, she said love is easy for the ones meant for it. If I disappointed her, she usually told me to leave, said that my presence wasn’t the gift I thought it was, to go and ‘see if she called.’ She always did sooner or later, and I was always grateful for being given another chance. That somehow, someone still wanted me despite my incompetence. She didn’t… slap me a lot, just a few times. Mostly, she just expressed her distaste in words.

“I stayed because on the off chance that I didn’t fuck up, it could be nice. I liked going out with her and looking like I belonged with someone. Like I wasn’t so dumb and undesirable that no one wanted me for more than a quick fuck. And even when I failed, it wasn’t so bad, I just told myself that I’d do better next time and that I deserved it. But Tae and the others noticed and convinced me to stop seeing her. She kept calling and texting me for a while, I think she just thought I was hot and a good fuck and that she liked to show me and the control she had of me off.

“I guess that maybe some things remain. I don’t really see why anyone should have to put up with me when I mess up, so I’ll leave. But I mean it when I say that the… slaps… weren’t that big of a deal. Sure, it wasn’t… nice, but realistically, a slap isn’t going to do much damage to someone like me.”

You can barely see his face with your eyes filled to the brim with tears. Another one rolls down your cheek, but Jeongguk stops it with his thumb.

“Don’t cry, please. Not for me.”

Of course, saying that has the opposite effect on you, and three more tears spill over in quick succession.

“Gguk, I’d cry all the tears in the world for you,” you sniffle, stroking his cheek. “And it’s not about how much or little it hurt, it’s that–that a partner is someone you should be able to trust, someone that wants the best for you. I get that you’re big and strong and could take it, but you shouldn’t ever have needed to take it. If your significant other does something you’re not happy with, you talk about it. Not try to injure them physically or psychologically.” 

He doesn’t say anything, most likely thinking over your words.

“Thank you for telling me, and you know… you know how I feel about you? Right?”

He nods.

You remember telling him just a couple of days ago, but you can’t keep your mouth shut anyway. “That your presence is the best thing you can give me? That I adore everything you do because you always put your heart and soul into it? That I adore you?”

“I know. And I know that what me and Tzuyu had wasn’t good or healthy, but It’s just hard to break old habits, I suppose.”

“Just whatever you do, never talk to her again. Promise me you’ll never let anyone treat you like that. Never ever let anyone talk down to you, and never let them think they can touch you like that, regardless if it hurts or not.”

He nods again, a small little reassuring smile on his lips.

“And whatever happens between us, if we ever break up, just know that I’ll be doing welfare checks on you. Every third month or so I’ll stop by, and if you have a partner; make sure you’re loved and being treated well.”

This time, Jeongguk is the one to brush your hair behind your ear, smiling in endearment, “I hope that never happens. I only ever want you.”

He watches as you pat your eyes and cheeks with the sleeves of your pajama shirt in an attempt to get rid of the tears. It works alright, but your voice still sounds very choked up when you say, “Good. Then I can love you and treat you like you deserve.”

It looks like he contemplates something, before he nods once, “Sounds good to me. Let’s sleep now.”

Humming in agreement, you move off Jeongguk’s lap and onto the bed, wasting no time in making yourself comfortable next to him. He opens his arms, welcoming you into them, and of course, you’re not one to decline sleeping in his embrace. He’s so warm, so firm and stable, and he smells like safety and comfort.

But before you can let sleep take you, a question lies on your tongue.

“Gguk?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think that I wouldn’t want to see you again?”

“I don’t know,” he admits right by your ear. “I only realized after you left that I should’ve probably told you all of this before and that I guess I have more baggage than I initially thought. And… baggage can be a dealbreaker for some. So, I wouldn’t blame you, if you decided that it was too much for you to deal with.”

Once again, your heart hurts. God, if there’s one thing you’d wish for, it’s for Jeongguk to see and realize how much he means to you and that you’d never leave him, not for anything.

“I wasn’t upset that you hadn’t told me, just that someone did that to you and that you excused it so easily. But nothing has really changed, you can have all the baggage in the world, and I still wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

You hear his heart beat in his chest. He mumbles a ‘Thank you,’ and tightens his arms around you. But there’s one other thing.

“Did you see her? Tzuyu?”

“No. I left pretty soon after you did, just spoke a bit with the guys first. Didn’t exactly look for her.”

“And how are you feeling?”

“Now? Good. A lot better.”

As Jeongguk’s presence calms you down, you start feeling it too.

“Gguk?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll make everything better. You’re mine now, and whatever happens, I’ve got you.”

“Do you really have to go?”

“Yeah, you have no idea how excited Yuna is for this movie; she’ll skin me alive if I cancel,” You chuckle, watching a half-naked Jeongguk through the mirror. He stands behind you, a bit to the side, somehow both pouting and glaring at the eyeliner in your hand. “Besides, weren’t you going out with the guys tonight, anyway?”

He grumbles something you don’t understand and keeps staring as you finish your eyeliner on both eyes.

“Put it down,” he instructs when he sees you do the final evaluation and nod in satisfaction.

You raise an eyebrow but do like he said (you were going to anyway).

“Is it like… dry?”

“Yeah, why?”

But the only answer to your question is Jeongguk grabbing you and somehow wrestling you to end up thrown over his shoulders.

“Gguk!” you shriek, but all he does is laugh.

“Can’t believe you’re so rude,” he complains as he marches through the door back into his bedroom. “I was nowhere near done.”

As expected he lays you down on the mattress but gives you no chance to escape before you’re held hostage in his arms. 

Seemingly to his surprise, you hug him back, snuggling into his neck and pulling the covers over your bodies. “Ten minutes then I have to finish getting ready.”

“Really?”

“I mean…do you really think I’m leaving you and this warm bed voluntarily?”

“I don’t think you’re leaving at all, actually.”

“I’ll die if I don’t, and not even you can protect me against Yuna.”

“Hmm,” he seemingly… agrees? and you sigh comfortably, closing your eyes.

“I have a question…” Jeongguk reveals quietly.

It makes you open one eye, “Huh?”

“So… my mom called yesterday. It’s her birthday in a week, and I’m driving there, but I–she wanted me to ask… would you want to go with me?”

“Meet your mom?” you raise your eyebrows, both eyes definitely open now.

He nods. “And her husband and my little brother.”

“Yeah. Of course, Gguk.”

You can feel his exhale of relief against the skin of your neck.

“But what do they think we are? What do they know?”

“About that… I have another question…”

“Okay?”

“Would you…Do you think that you’d want to be my girlfriend?”

Grinning, you turn to face him, rising to your elbow. “Of course. I’d love to. If you’re sure about putting a label on it because we don’t have to, you know?”

“No, I want to! I’ve basically waited almost six years to finally get to ask you.”

“That’s so sweet though. Like high school sweethearts.”

“I didn’t meet him until college.”

Yuna and Yeji both dismiss your correction, their focus entirely on Yeji and her storytelling.

“Yeah,” Yuna agrees, “You know I really didn’t like him at first, but the redemption arc? And poor boy, he’s suffered suffered. Lost her once, almost had to watch her get married to someone else, lost her again–although by his own doing–but now, I really hope it works out. God knows I’ll have his ass if he fucks up intentionally again.”

“So, are you gonna play or what?” you ask, gesturing toward Jeongguk’s big TV and the multiple consoles underneath it.

“Oh, yeah!” Yeji exclaims, “Please thank him again for letting us use his stuff.”

“He’s out with the boys anyway. Besides, he’ll do anything if it makes me more interested in his games,” you snort.

“And you basically live here too so it’s practically your stuff too,” Yuna chuckles. “When are you moving in together?”

From the corner of Jeongguk’s couch, you watch Yeji start a game. It’s one you can’t remember the name of, only that it’s one she was extremely excited to find out that Jeongguk had managed to get on release day.

She gets comfortable on the other end of the couch, and Yuna sits in Jeongguk’s big, matching armchair, legs pulled up underneath her. Even Prof, who you’ve borrowed

 for the weekend–is curled up on the fluffy carpet.

“I don’t want to rush anything. I have a key here, and he has one to mine, and although I’d love to live with him full time, I think it’s best to wait a little. We’ve never really been… stable? Stuff has always happened, some outside our control and others… within it, but, yeah, I think it’s better to wait.”

Yeji’s eyes are glued to the screen as the character on it shoots someone. “I’m really happy for you, I know he’s your ‘The one.’”

You bite your lip, warmth spreading over your smiling cheeks. He really is.

“Oh come on,” Yuna groans, pretending to chuck the controller at the TV.

Yeji laughs at her inexperienced friend and even you grin. 

“You need to press one button at a time. Run first, then jump, and then grab. Otherwise, you won’t be able to reach the rope,” she explains.

“Yeah but it’s so hard?”

Before Yuna can restart, you hear the key twist in the door. Yuna, Yeji, and even Prof–all sitting on the floor like children underneath the huge screen–turn their heads toward the hallway.

You take a look at your watch. It’s almost precisely midnight, but regardless, Jeongguk was supposed to stay at Jimin’s tonight after the bar.

“Hello?”

You frown in confusion. That’s not Jeongguk’s voice, it’s… Taehyung’s.

Seconds later, he comes into view. He looks sober through the dimmed light, but Jeongguk, who’s leaning against his friend with his arm thrown over his shoulder, is probably not. His hair isn’t extremely messy, but definitely more so than when you last saw him, and you can’t even tell if his eyes are open.

“Delivery of one giant baby.”

Not as interested in actually playing the game, you were lying on the couch before sitting up, worried.

“Gguk? I thought you weren’t gonna sleep here? Are you okay?” Your eyes find Taehyung’s. “Is he?”

“I’m not a baby!” Seems like Jeongguk isn’t just as plastered as you previously thought. He lets go of his friend and bends down to remove his shoes clumsily before he staggers toward you.

“I mean, you’re definitely someone’s baby,” Taehyung grins, redirecting his attention to you once more.

It takes two seconds, and then Jeongguk beams, suddenly incredibly proud. “I’m someone’s baby,” he boasts, and you think you hear one of your friends snort.

Taehyung speaks again. “I don’t know what happened, he just drank a bit like the rest of us, said he missed you, drank some more, and wanted to see you, so I walked him.”

“Oh, love,” you open your arms when Jeongguk falls on top of you. “Kind of you to walk him, Tae.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Taehyung assures before looking around. “Maybe I should’ve convinced him to stay and go back with us, though. Didn’t know he’d interrupt girls’ night.”

“It’s okay,” Jeongguk suddenly speaks, his cheek resting on your collarbone. “I can be one of the girls too. In fact, I’ve got the best boobs in this building.”

Chuckling, you run one hand through his black hair and the other over his leather jacket.

“Uh, my boobs are, like, at least twice as big as yours,” Yuna comments, glancing back at you over her shoulder.

“I said best, not biggest,” Jeongguk argues. “I had to work for mine, you were just born with them.”

“I wasn’t born with them, dummy.”

“Oh I’m sorry, you were born with the genetics and DNA and shit for them.”

Although… feisty… as you look down at Jeongguk, you can tell he’s exhausted. He struggles to keep his eyes open, and his breaths are already deepening.

“Let’s get you to bed, huh?”

Nodding tiredly, Jeongguk lets you help him up from the couch.

“Thank you, Tae. Why don’t you let us know when you’re back home or with the others?” you suggest, realizing you don’t know what he’s planning. The night is still pretty young, after all.

“It’s no problem, and I’m gonna head back to them, I think, but sure, I’ll send a text,” he smiles.

Even if you’re sure Jeongguk could change by himself, you decide to help him, and he happily lets you.

In the darkness of his bedroom, you slide the black leather jacket off his shoulders and lay it on the bed in the meantime. He’s wearing another button-down, tucked messily into some black jeans and with the first few buttons undone. 

“You’re very… fashionable lately,” you comment teasingly, dragging your index finger down the exposed part of his chest. 

“You like it.” You’re not sure if it’s a question or a statement that comes from  a confident Jeongguk, but you nod regardless.

“Yes, I think you look very handsome.”

He looks down at you with a small lazy smile. Lovingly, you grab his shirt right over his heart and squeeze it before you let go, turning around to find his sleep attire. You open his closet and pull out a drawer, immediately spotting his navy pajamas.

“I’m really, really pathetically in love with you,” he mumbles, eyes only half open when you turn back.

“There’s nothing pathetic about love,” you say, folding the pajamas over your arm. Once again in front of him, you lift your hands to his face, cupping his cheeks sweetly. “But I’m really, really head over heels in love with you too.”

Jeongguk leans his head into your left hand.

“Now, what do you wanna wear? Blue ones okay?”

“No shirt.”

“Okay. Get changed, and I’ll get you some water?”

He hums in response, and you exit the bedroom, walking past the living room where Yuna and Yeji are still playing on your way to the kitchen. Well there, you grab a tall glass from the cupboard and fill it with cold water.

When you return, you spot Jeongguk through the open bathroom door as he brushes his teeth. It’s impossible not to smile to yourself when you see his face in the reflection of the mirror above the sink and realize that his eyes are closed. 

As you wait for him to finish washing up, you place the water on his bedside table and fold the shirt he didn’t want to wear back up again to return it to his closet.

It doesn’t take long before you hear the patter of bare feet behind you and what you think is a yawn, but before you have time to react, an arm snakes around your waist. You’re dragged back until you fall down onto the bed along with the perpetrator who wastes no time in pulling you close.

Although you’re not going to bed just yet, you allow yourself to bask in the moment and in Jeongguk’s satisfied hum that sounds from behind.

“So you’d really consider me your baby?”

Fondness colors your entire expression even if he can’t see it. He’s always been the cutest drunk.

“Of course.”

“Hm. I’ve never been someone’s baby before.”

“Well, you’ve definitely pretty much always been my baby.”

You feel him snuggle closer from behind. “Like you’ve always been my baby?” 

“Yeah. I suppose,” you chuckle.

For a minute, you run your fingers over his arm, until you suspect he’s drifted off, and you do your best to sneak away and shut the door as silently as possible behind you. Yeji and Yuna, you notice, are also keeping their voices down when you return to plop back down on the couch. 

“You really are cute,” Yeji grins, hand stroking Prof’s black fur as it’s Yuna’s turn to play. You feel your cheeks warm up.

“Yeah, it’s sweet, isn’t it? How in love they are?” Yuna sighs almost… dreamily without tearing her eyes away from the screen.

Now and again, Yuna’s opinion of Jeongguk surprises you. Or more like, her words do. You know she doesn’t despise him like she did in college, she made that very clear when she convinced him to tell you how he felt, but you also know she was quite upset after his most recent… mishap.

You lean back, gazing down at your hands shyly despite no one watching you. “I love him, I really do.”

At your quiet confession, Yeji looks back at you with an understanding smile. “We know. And I really hope everything works out, and that it’s smooth sailing from here on. God knows you deserve it.”

Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching, and a tired Jeongguk appears in the doorway, sleepily rubbing his eye. 

“You left,” he mumbles in pout, still looking so sleepy you think your heart might die on you. Not only is it the adorably messy black hair and pouty lips, but also the warm golden skin, the broad, muscular shoulders, the bulging, veiny arms–one covered in tattoos–and the faint lines of his relaxed abs.

“Yeah, I’ll be with you in a while,” you straighten up to say, “so go to sleep.”

But to your surprise, Jeongguk doesn’t turn around to head back to the bedroom.

“No.”

You watch as he approaches you on the couch and just like earlier, drapes himself over you.

“I’m staying here. With you.”

Sighing under the heavy weight, you still can’t stop the smile from showing or your hands from running over his shoulders.

“You just want to eavesdrop on the girl talk,” Yuna accuses, but the look she gives you is a lighthearted, amused one. One that assures you she’s fine with the party crasher.

Of course, Jeongguk didn’t see it. “Uh, no? I know all about what you talk about. Boys and abs, and I couldn’t care less. I’m just here 'cause I missed her all day.”

You bite your lip to not laugh out loud, and you wonder just how much of that he’d say out loud if he was sober.

Yeji and Yuna snicker to themselves, but it doesn’t seem to affect Jeongguk, who snuggles closer and lets out a big breath.

A little tough but still manageable, you reach for the wool blanket folded over the couch, pulling it to you and unfolding it to lay over your bodies.

By then, Jeongguk’s eyes are closed, and it seems like he’s already mostly asleep. For about an hour, Yuna and Yeji continue playing, at first keeping the sound level low but soon enough noticing that Jeongguk truly is out and won’t wake even if they laugh. When they leave, you drag Jeongguk back to bed before you take Prof outside for a last toilet break, and afterward, you get in bed, cozying up, all three of you.

“Have you seen the car keys?” Jeongguk stresses, and when you peer over at him, he’s lifting the fruit bowl as if the keys would’ve somehow made it underneath it. 

“I saw you put them into your pocket five minutes ago.”

Meeting your eyes, he digs his hand into both front pockets of his black slacks, the keys dangling from his finger soon after.

“Thanks. And, uh, the necklace?”

“In the bag,” you point to the hallway where a light blue gift bag stands.

“Oh. So when are–”

“–Gguk, breathe,” you interrupt, closing the distance between you and fixing the collar of his dark blue shirt. “What’s got you in such a rush? We’ve got loads of time.”

He obeys your instruction, and you watch his chest expand and fill with air before he breathes it back out.

“I just–I guess I’m kinda nervous.” He fiddles with his fingers.

“Why?”

“Well, you know… they aren’t exactly the most pleased with my choice of work. Or that I’ve never brought a partner home before now. Or how I look. Not that they usually comment on everything, but you know, I can tell. And you're in the same type of line of work–creative–and I don’t want them to, I don’t know, insult you somehow…”

“Because of my profession?”

“Yeah. Or maybe call you dumb for settling for a photographer? Try to use you to make me feel dumb and guilty so I’ll change my mind and start working as an accountant or something.”

“Settling for a photographer? A really, really talented, hardworking, and appreciated photographer?” you smile. “Don’t worry about me, okay? And I know it’s easy for me to say as my family has always been supportive, but as long as you think you’ve chosen the path that’s right for you, try not to take it to heart.”

“I’ll try, and I know I did what was right for me, it’s just that sometimes, their insisting makes me second-guess myself. ”

“I understand. But it would be such a waste, not having you do what you do. The world would be a much more gray place.”

He huffs, but you can at least tell you won him over.

The drive is smoother, less anxious than what preparing for it was. It takes roughly an hour, almost as long as a trip to your parents’ does, only in basically the opposite direction.

He lets you pick the music, but you choose to zap through the radio channels instead of playing from your phone. It’s only background noise anyway.

Mostly, it’s his family you talk about. You’ve never known much about them, but even in college, you knew Jeongguk practically only studied ‘economic shit’ because they wanted him to. What you’ve learned since has undoubtedly brought dimension to his family, but you can’t say you adore them just yet.

It’s his mother’s birthday. She lives with her husband and their son–Jeongguk’s ten year younger half-brother. His mothers divorced his dad when Jeongguk was nine, and soon remarried. 

From what you know of his relationship with his dad, you’d say it seems slightly less… complicated. They don’t see each other that often anymore, and he probably doesn’t tell his son how proud he is of him either, but he at least doesn’t seem to have anything against his choice of profession.

You hold Jeongguk’s hand as you walk up the driveway to a very middle-class-looking home. No Picket fence but a green lawn and a white-painted house with large windows.

Holding a bouquet and the little gift bag in one hand, Jeongguk lets go of yours to ring the doorbell, and it isn’t long before you hear footsteps on the other side.

When the door is opened, the woman on the other side beams. “Hi, come on in,” she greets happily, engulfing Jeongguk in a side hug as you enter.

It’s cute, seeing him bend down to hug her, and you realize that he looks a lot like her. The eyes and lips are definitely traits he’s gotten from her.

She seems very kind, and she greets you too, just as politely. “We’re so excited to meet you! And you,” she pokes Jeongguk’s shoulder, “it’s been so long since you last came to visit.”

“Sorry, mom,” Jeongguk apologizes sheepishly, “at least I’m here now. Happy birthday.”

He hands her the bouquet and the gift bag, and she gushes over it as she fishes out the small box and opens it.

Meanwhile, a man appears. “Hi, I’m glad you could make it.” He greets and shakes your hand, “I’m Seungwon.”

Jeongguk, instead of hugging the man like he did his mom, just gives a slight bow of his head.

“Nice to meet you, and thank you for inviting me,” you smile warmly.

“Oh, this is lovely,” Jeongguk’s mom exclaims, pushing the flowers and gift bag to her husband while she holds the necklace in the air. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem, and, uh, I had help picking it out,” Jeongguk gestures toward you.

“Oh no, I just helped him narrow it down, but it was his choice in the end.”

His mom continues to gush over the gift as you’re led into the living room, and you note that Jeongguk’s brother hasn’t made his appearance yet. 

“So, what have you been up to lately?” his mom reaches for a vase on the top shelf of a display cabinet. “Not getting more tattoos, I hope.”

Although it’s said with a bit of humor, you can also tell what her underlying opinion really is. Jeongguk shifts from one foot to the other beside you, and discreetly, you step closer, leaning into him and stroking his back over his shirt.

You know that he feels shame for being who he is and also for being treated the way he is.

“No, no tattoos,” he mumbles, smiling a bit awkwardly.

“Good. Now the next step is just to laser them away. Other than that, you look so handsome tonight, really dapper in a shirt like that! Where’d you get it?”

You all look down at his shirt. It’s dark navy, bordering on black, it has a collar, and the buttons that run down the middle are hidden behind a panel of the same fabric.

“Oh, Y/n actually sewed it for me.”

“Really? Wow, you’re so talented. I absolutely love it.” She lowers the flowers down on the coffee table and smilingly backs out of the living room with the vase to fill it with water.

“Thank you…” you trail off, turning to look up at Jeongguk. He merely glances at you quickly and smiles stiffly.

Dinner goes… well. Okay, at least. If nothing else, you’ve found a new understanding of Jeongguk and his relationship with this part of his family. They’re not… mean. Not in the way that leaves you angry and confident in your emotion, but instead, you leave, feeling a tenth smaller and somewhat… second-guessing yourself. 

Something else that happens, something… odd… is when you’re asked about your interests. You of course answer that you like to write and read and watch movies and sew. And you mention Prof and how you like taking him for walks.

“I love dogs,” Jeongguk’s younger brother, Jeonghyun comments. It makes you smile, seeing that familiar kind of spark in his dark eyes. He’s in his late teens, nearly as tall as Jeongguk, but with his hair styled more upwards at the front. 

Then you remember, and your face takes on an expression of sadness. “I heard about… your dog, Gureum, was it? I’m so sorry, losing a pet is never easy.”

But where you expected understanding and somberness, maybe even a tear from a particularly sad family member, there’s only surprise and confusion. Jeongguk shifts beside you.

“Uh, we’ve never… had a dog?” Jeongguk’s mom states, though the confusion turns it into a question.

You furrow your brows and turn to look at the man beside you. “But… you said your family dog died? When you cried at the reunion?”

Smiling toward his plate, Jeongguk brings his napkin to his mouth and dabs his lips. “I lied.”

“Huh? Then what…”

“I cried over you, actually.”

The still very confused audience loses your focus as his words settle and the realization sinks in. With an empathic look, you lift your arm to Jeongguk’s shoulder and let it run over his shirt to the back of his neck where you stroke his skin. 

Your gaze is still locked on the man you love so painfully much when he chuckles and decides to offer his befuddled family a short explanation.

“We went to a college reunion together as friends back when she was still engaged to her ex.”

Silence envelopes the room, and you honestly feel a bit bad for unknowingly bringing the topic up, but it only lasts a few seconds.

“Oh, that’s… kind of a sweet story, actually,” Seungwon says, and you agree; it’s sweet but in a heartbreaking way.

However, Jeonghyun doesn’t share the sentiment, or at least he doesn’t voice it. “Wimp,” he grins.

“Uh, excuse me?” Jeongguk blinks dramatically with raised eyebrows. “Do you want me to tell mom what–”

“--No, no no, I’m sorry, you know I didn’t mean it,” the younger one backpedals, smiling pleadingly. 

Jeongguk narrows his eyes playfully. “That’s what I thought.” 

You look at the two brothers just as puzzled and curious as their parents.

When an hour has passed since you finished eating, Jeonghyun excuses himself, saying that he has homework he needs to finish. Like a domino reaction, chairs move over the carpet as the rest of you decide that you’re also finished and should start to tidy up.

“I’ll take those,” Jeongguk’s mom reaches for the plates you’ve collected from the table, but you continue, grabbing utensils to put on top of the stack. “Oh, I don’t mind helping!”

A second of contemplating flashes in her eyes before she agrees to let you help. For some reason, Jeongguk, who just returned from the bathroom, grasps your wrist as you’re on your way to follow his mom to the kitchen.

You see the worry brewing in his eyes, but you’re not scared of his mom, and maybe, getting to know her better could be beneficial.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Go and make the bed ready or something.”

“Just… leave if she says something. We don’t have to sleep over, I don’t mind driving. Or we could even take a cab or something, but just know that you don’t have to listen to anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I know, Gguk. I’ll be fine, okay?”

Nodding, he lets go of your hand and watches as you leave the room.

One by one, the two of you rinse the dishes and utensils and load them into the dishwasher. You compliment Jeongguk’s mom on the food, and she lights up at your words. Her eyes shine, and then she gazes at you for a second and… chuckles. Not disgusted or demeaning, but… lightheartedly.

“What?” you question, a somewhat confused smile pulling on your own lips.

“It’s just… you’re not exactly what I pictured for him.”

Surprised and a little startled, you blink, “Uh, what… what do you mean by that?”

Your hesitancy apparently makes her realize something. “Oh, no, not in a bad way. Just that, well, look at you,” she nods toward you as she hands you another plate to place in the dishwasher. “You’re very pretty, very put-together and bright and proper. You and him seem very different.”

You glance down at your outfit. A white blouse adorns your top half and high-waisted blue pants your bottom. It doesn’t say very much about your style, just that you chose to play it safe tonight.

“And he’s always dressed in black more or less and with all those scribbles on his arm. But I’m happy for you, I really am. Maybe he’ll come to his senses about things, or at least stop to think before doing them.”

Your brain and your heart are pulling at you in two different directions. The last thing you want is to pick a fight with Jeongguk’s mom, maybe even be the reason their relationship worsens, but…

“You know that it hurts him, right?” your heart wins, and your voice asks as quietly and non-confrontational as possible.

She looks at you.

“I don’t want to influence him in any way; I love him just the way he is, and I think he’s incredibly brave, daring to go his own way–to pursue happiness instead of doing what was expected of him. He’s still a sweetheart, even with the tattoos and all the black. And as for his job? Can I ask you… Have you seen his pictures? Read the comments and reviews people leave? He is so talented, so gifted. He brings people’s visions to life, eternalizes their most important moments for them.

“But he’s still sweet and soft, I know you know that too, and yeah, he did go his own way, but it hurts him to know that he doesn’t live up to your expectations, that he had to choose, even if he won’t tell you that himself.”

You bite your lip as you watch her. She looks away, thinking, but you believe she’s considering your words. And of course, you pray that you didn’t step too far out of line.

“Yeah…” she breathes distantly, “I’m… I’m happy he’s got you. Thank you.”

Not exactly what you expected, but at least you’re not screamed at and thrown out, so you nod gratefully. 

“And thank you for helping,” she gestures toward the clean kitchen before starting the dishwasher. Its humming fills the room and eases whatever tension’s in there.

“My pleasure.”

She excuses herself after that, leaving the kitchen, looking deep in thought, and maybe it’s just your hopeful heart, but you think you saw a hint of remorse in the crease between her eyebrows and swimming in her dark eyes.

Sometimes, people get caught up in old habits, doing things they’ve always just done, and maybe sometimes, things change without them noticing.

For five seconds, you stand alone in the empty kitchen before you turn to exit it too. The TV sounds from your right, and you hear Seungwon’s voice welcome Jeongguk’s mom into the living room. 

Assuming Jeongguk went up to his old bedroom, you set your sight on the staircase in front of you, but before you can take the first step, you’re pulled by your left arm.

Back in the dining room, your wide eyes look up to find Jeongguk smirking down at you. Immediately, you think back to the conversation you had with his mom, and if he was down here, just a room over, then he surely heard things. The question is only what. And of course, what he thinks about it.

“You know, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he starts, still holding onto your elbow as he pulls you closer. “But–”

“–You did?” you finish for him, hand reaching up to find the collar of his shirt. You’re actually really happy with the finished garment, but you can’t say you don’t miss the strip of his chest he usually exposes these days.

“Yeah.”

He looks happy. It’s everywhere, from the somewhat cocky smirk to the crinkling outer corners of his eyes, but you feel like you need to hear his thoughts.

“And? I mean, how much did you hear?”

With the utmost care, Jeongguk lets go of your arm to cup your cheek instead, his thumb stroking lightly over the skin under your eye. “I think… I’m incredibly lucky.”

You don’t really know what to say, too caught up in his genuine dark eyes and the warmth of his palm against your cheek.

“Come on, I wanna show you something.”

Jeongguk’s hand falls from your face to grasp yours and lead you out of the dining room and toward the back door. Looking down, you see that he’s holding a folded-up gray blanket that you hadn’t even noticed.

It doesn’t take you long to realize that he’s taking you outside and that one, he’s already wearing his black sneakers, and two, your shoes are still at the other entrance.

“Gguk, my shoes are at the front door,” you whisper as he grasps the door handle to twist it open.

He turns back, eyes dropping to your sock-clad feet. To your surprise, he shrugs, turns back around, and opens the door like your words didn’t mean anything.

Or so you thought.

He hands you the blanket, “Hold this.”

And before you can voice your concerns about going outside in the slightly wet grass of his parents’ backyard, Jeongguk turns to face you once more, smiling carefree as he bends down and picks you up bridal style.

“What are you doing?” you giggle, trying to keep quiet.

“Already told you; I wanna show you something,” he explains, carrying you through the open door and spinning back around, “close it for me?”

Doing as told, you shut the door, and happy with the result, Jeongguk starts walking.

The yard is mid-sized, containing a freshly mowed lawn within a surrounding, tall, wooden fence. On the right, two thick trees are rooted, stretching their branches as far as they can, and under them, a little pond begins. 

Under the branches and in front of the pond, you spot the back of a dark blue hammock.

It’s to that hammock Jeongguk’s steps are approaching. “You like it?” he teases warmly, obviously having noticed your awe. 

“Yeah. It’s so… serene.”

It really is. Since it’s late October and the year is nearing its end, the air holds a certain chill, especially at this hour. The sky is dark but clear of clouds, and the moon casts its reflection onto the motionless water, joining the warmer bursts of light coming from the house behind you.  

“I’d sit here all day, writing or reading,” you dream out loud.

Jeongguk chuckles as he sits down with you on his lap, grabbing the blanket from your hands to spread over your bodies. 

With you sideways over his lap and your arm around his neck, your hand soon finds the tresses of dark hair at the back of his neck. In turn, Jeongguk holds your waist, one hand dipping under your shirt to stroke the skin there.

You exhale. The air let go from your lungs contains a combination of relief and tranquility. Today wasn’t necessarily a rough day, but it did take energy. In the end, it worked out well, probably as well as it could, and you can’t imagine the relief that Jeongguk’s feeling.

“Thank you,” he speaks quietly, choosing that moment to also kick off from the ground to make the hammock swing.

You look at him, inspecting the side of his face as he gazes forward.

“For what?” you ask, assuming it’s about what you said to his mother.

“For… being who you are. Caring for me.”

Moving your hand, you let the back of your fingers stroke his cheek briefly. “You don’t need to thank me for that.”

But he looks at you, a determined tick between his eyebrows. “I want to. You make such a difference, you have such an influence on people.”

Despite everything that’s happened, you know very well (at least deep down) what Jeongguk really thinks of you. He’s explained it before, and you can see it in his eyes, but it doesn’t keep your heart from warming. 

Although you’d argue that he thinks you’re a bit too good, it’s vastly different from how you’ve lived your life, partially in the shadows and not really seen.

“They like you, I can tell. Even Jeonghyun, and he’s usually not very interested in ‘grown up’ guests these days, but he clearly likes you enough to stay as long as he did.”

“Or maybe he stayed as long as he did because he missed his brother? Wanted to spend time with you regardless of who you brought?”

“Hmm… no. I mean, sure, maybe he did miss me, but I think he mostly really liked you. Maybe even got a crush; I think there was a little too much of a sparkle in his eye.” 

It’s the tone, the slightest little teeny tiny bit of… faux jealousy that makes you laugh. “Too bad. Besides creepy, ethically wrong, and… illegal, I’ve found my person already.”

Jeongguk raises his hand to grab yours that rests in your lap. The blanket hides them from sight, but you feel his hand envelop yours, eventually intertwining your fingers. It makes you smile. 

You love his hands so much; they’re so capable, so strong and warm and masculine, but they’re also so… pretty. You lower your other hand too, slipping it inside the blanket to hold his one hand in both of yours, tracing the prominent veins with your fingers.

A few seconds pass, Jeongguk pushing off the ground again when the hammock starts to slow down. “I’m just relieved it went okay.”

You squeeze his hand once. “You worry too much.”

“I know,” he agrees quietly before suddenly changing the subject. “So… I thought about… what does your family think about us? I mean, I know you told them about…”

“–Being your girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Almost doesn’t seem real… But I remember before, the first time I met them at yours, and your mom heard my name and just looked at me like…”

“Like she knew I’d loved you since college?”

His head whips up to look at you. “Di–did you tell them? About college? What happ–what I… did?”

It’s easy to see the fear and pain in his eyes as he reconsiders what he knew about your family. He’s surely thinking back to when he met them, ashamed of himself.

“No, I didn’t,” you explain softly. “But back then, I did tell my mother about this boy I met, about his kind brown eyes and how he broke my heart when it didn’t work out.”

Jeongguk wants to interrupt you, but you don’t let him.

“Jeongguk, a heartbreak doesn’t need to be intentional, my mom knows that too. I never mentioned you by name or revealed any details.”

“Then how did she know it was me?”

You turn your head, eyes gazing up at the night sky. “I never told anyone where I got the inspiration for my tattoo from, just that it reminded me of someone. But when a man I knew a long time ago shows up, a man with a tattoo of a swallow and sweet brown eyes? It had to be you,” you chuckle.  

When you look back at him, Jeongguk seems to be deep in thought.

“I know that you say that you’ve… loved me for a long time. But…”

You hum when he trails off, encouraging him to continue.

“But did you love love me? Since then? Or did you move on and you… caught feelings again?”

“I did love love you,” you answer truthfully, gently even though you know you’ve definitely told him how you felt in college before. 

“Gguk, I was head over heels for you. And, I guess afterward… I thought I had to move on and start over as usual, but whereas I stored my feelings for you away like I did everyone that hurt me, the ones I held for you never died out. I tried not to think about you, especially when I met Namjoon because it made me feel bad to have my heart skip a beat as I thought about another man, and I knew I wasn’t going to see you again. And since I loved Namjoon a lot too, it became easier over time. But… deep down, I–”

“Felt like something was missing?”

“Yeah.”

“So, we could’ve really been on our sixth year together if I hadn’t fucked up? I wasted five years, and even then, it was basically just a weird coincidence that we actually met again.”

The way he purses his lips tells you how upset the thought makes him. Both that you could’ve spent five more years together, and that, realistically, you very much could’ve just… never met again.

“I think, in all the universes, we were meant to find each other.”

Your words seem to relax him a bit, although he evidently still wants to argue. “But still, we could’ve had five more years?”

“You don’t know that. What if in the universes where we do get together immediately it doesn’t work out? What if you tell me about the bet, I forgive you and we go on that date, but then six months later I die in a car accident?”

Jeongguk’s wide, horrified eyes tell you that maybe you took it a bit too far, but you only sigh still somewhat happily.

“What I mean is that you shouldn’t beat yourself up over it, okay? Sure, a lot of… not so great things have happened during these five years, but there’s no use in adding more regrets to it now because it turned out well in the end, and we’re still young, aren’t we?”

Jeongguk pouts, but you can see that you won him over. “I guess,” he says and rolls his eyes.

“I guess,” you mock, laughing happily when he turns to face you with his eyebrows raised. He’s terrible at hiding his happiness too.

“Now you gotta tell me some childhood stories, and tomorrow I need you to bring me absolutely all the photo albums,” you order as you shift on his lap, sinking down further and leaning your head against his neck. Jeongguk snickers but doesn’t fight your request. 

Jeongguk’s struggles get easier as time goes on. During the first few months, he evidently struggles a lot with who he is and who he should be, but then, something happens.

There’s a change. A shift.

He was supposed to be out late tonight, having prepared you that he most likely would sleep at Tae’s since he had a huge apartment near their bar of choice for the night. But a woman spilled splashes of her drink on his shirt as she walked by, and that soured his mood. When he later texted you a cute little note and your answer came in short–polite but short, he decided to just leave.

He didn’t think anything was necessarily wrong with you, he just didn’t have a good time, and would rather see if he could spend the night with you, bettering both your moods.

It’s only ten thirty p.m. when he unlocks his front door, smiling when he hears the sound of your sewing machine. He can practically see it, you, concentrated to the point of looking angry, with your lip bitten as you start another project.

After locking the door behind him and removing his shoes and jacket, the first thing Jeongguk does is yank the shirt off him, leaving his top half naked as he heads directly toward his bedroom.

Not bothering to waste an entirely clean shirt, he settles for the black t-shirt already hanging over the chair in the corner.

If he stopped to think about it, he’d find it a bit odd that you haven’t called out to him yet, but then again, he’d probably blame it on the volume of the machine.

However, the dumb smile he’s wearing falls when he enters the kitchen where you’ve set up your stuff.

The machine’s noise echoes through the kitchen, and it’s no wonder you hadn’t noticed him, startling when you see him. 

Immediately, you wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand that’s filled with tissues. 

“Hey… what’s wrong?” Jeongguk calls, heart aching by seeing the tears you try to hide. He moves to your side. “Are you crying?”

It’s not very convincing, the smile you force between silent tears. “I’m fine, I promise. I just had a little accident. I… sewed myself in the finger.”

When Jeongguk inspects your hand, he sees that parts of the white tissues you hold–pressed against your finger–are slowly turning red.

“Let me see,” he urges, but you shake your head.

“It’s nothing bad.”

The whirring begins again as you restart the machine, and Jeongguk stops his thoughts to look at the fabric draped through it.

“Is that Mrs. Lee’s dresses? I thought you were done with them?” he questions.

A neighbor of yours, Mrs. Lee, had asked you to alter four dresses for her young daughters to wear to a… what was it? Wedding? Baptizing? Jeongguk can’t remember, but he knows you already returned them, altered to her wishes.

“Yeah, she gave me the wrong measurements, so I have to redo, well, everything. And she brought her niece’s too,” you chuckle, but there’s no humor or joy in it. Just sadness, stress, and …heartbreak?

He lowers himself to his haunches beside you, noticing the traces of blood on the white machine. “Hey, let me look at your hand. If it’s not bad then let me at least bandage it.”

“Gguk, I need to get this done, maybe later.”

“When did you say the… event was?”

“Tomorrow. They need them early, but I can still make it if I just–”

“–Stay up all night?”

You don’t answer him, at least not verbally, but your pursed lips and sad eyes are answer enough. Judging by how long it took you to alter the dresses last time, Jeongguk isn’t sure you’re going to make it. If you do, it’s only if you spend every waking moment working on them.

He hates to see you so stressed and honestly, taken advantage of. He could almost understand if it were a friend or a nice neighbor who just happened to find themselves in the shit, but Mrs. Lee could learn a thing or two about politeness.

“Was she at least nice about it?”

His suspicion grows when you don’t say anything, but he notices you sinking in slightly on yourself.

Jeongguk reaches over and turns the machine off. “Hey, what did she tell you?” he asks, his voice quiet and understanding. 

You keep your teary gaze locked on the needle that’s halfway through the dress, your fingers holding the fabric in place.

“I said that there just wasn’t enough time to do all five dresses tonight,” you mumble quietly, “and she asked me if I wanted to be known as something more than the neighborhood slut.” 

Jeongguk blinks his wide eyes in utter disbelief before his blood slowly but surely starts to boil. “What?” 

“Yeah. I mean, I guess I sorta had it coming; a new guy moved into the neighborhood, and I wasted no time dumping Joon to be all over you.”

“That’s not true. She doesn’t know anything,” Jeongguk attempts to convince you. He wishes you’d look at him. 

Gently, he reaches for your hand on the sewing machine, taking it in his. “Do you want to continue?”

“It’s okay, Gguk, it’s just one night. I’ll try to finish them.”

But he sees how tired and sad you are, and he knows that you aren’t about to fight for yourself.

“I know you’d try, but do you want to?”

Of course, you can’t lie to him, even if you find it too hard to actually say the words.

“Gguk, I appreciate it, but I can’t stop now. They need them for tomorrow. I can’t disappoint her like that.”

“I can.”

You won’t fight for yourself. But he will.

“I’ll tell her I had something of mine I needed you to fix first. She can think I didn’t let you so that it wasn’t your choice, I don’t care.”

He sees the worry in your eyes, “Please, there’s no need for you to get involved. You know how she likes to talk to everyone. The whole neighborhood will think you’re an ass.”

“I don’t mind, she can talk all she wants. If she wanted your help then she should’ve asked nicely and in time. And when she didn’t, she should’ve definitely accepted a ‘no.’”

But your pleading eyes make him falter, and he kneels again.

“Do you really not want me to?”

You don’t give him an answer immediately. 

“Gguk…”

But that’s answer enough for him already.

He waits patiently by your side as you finish up the one seam you were in the middle of doing, and then you hand him the red dress. There’s still that uncomfortable expression on your face, but Jeongguk knows he’s doing the right thing, and he knows you would’ve told him if you really didn’t want him to. 

He puts the dress along with the four others you hadn’t gotten to yet in a plastic bag and wastes no time in putting his shoes back on. He doesn’t bother with a jacket since it won’t take that long.

For someone who’s so intent on being good enough for you, he’s not at all nervous. He’ll be an asshole, he doesn’t give a single fuck.

It takes a few minutes for him to leave his apartment complex, cross the street, and enter yours. You told him the exact floor and door Mrs. Lee lives in since he didn’t actually know, and when he’s outside the door, he knocks on it rapidly.

Sure, it’s almost eleven p.m., and evidently, she has kids, but Jeongguk doesn’t care that much. If anything, he feels bad for them for having her as their mother.

“Excuse me?” the short woman utters as she opens the door. Clearly, by the black robe on her body, she was either asleep or going to be soon, and that makes Jeongguk even angrier. 

Logically, he realizes not everyone can sew, but to sleep soundly while you work your ass off, so stressed that you not only sew yourself in the finger but don’t even have time to take a break and clean it up.

“Here,” he speaks emotionlessly and thrusts the bag in her direction.

“What… Oh, is she done already?”

Jeongguk almost laughs but stops himself. “No. You’re gonna have to find some other dresses or something, I don’t know.”

The older woman takes the bag and opens it to look inside, anger visibly starting to surface. “That little…”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” he warns, glaring furiously. “Do you realize how much time it would’ve taken for her to finish all five dresses? She wouldn’t have been able to leave the sewing machine for even a second, all night. And believe me, she would’ve done it. Not because you deserve it, because you’re the rudest, most entitled fucking woman I’ve ever met, but because she’s a goddamn sweetheart. I stopped her because I’m not gonna let someone like you use her till she breaks while you get a good night’s sleep over here. So, do me a big, fucking favor and don’t talk to her again, got it? She’s not gonna help anymore.”

Mrs. Lee glares back at him but doesn’t say anything, which Jeongguk takes as a victory. He hasn’t run into her a lot, but whenever he has, he’s noticed that she’s appeared a lot “friendlier” to people not looking… like him. 

Honestly, she wouldn’t even look at him properly whenever he’d meet her at the elevator in your complex, and sure, he’s used to older women finding him scary-looking so he didn’t care that much, just nodded in greeting. 

Perhaps the exposed tattoos, piercings, and furious glare did the job. He starts to back away before his mouth opens again, practically on its own accord.

“I’ve loved her for so fucking long, and she… All she ever does is try to make everyone else happy, but she’s finally–” 

He doesn’t know exactly where he’s going with it, he’s just trying to make her realize that you’re not a slut, you didn’t throw away Namjoon for just a random guy. There’s so much more to the story, things he can’t tell her either way. 

So he gives up, assuming he got his point across anyway. “Just don’t talk to her again.”  

He marches away, back to the elevator and his own apartment complex. When back in his own home, he kicks off his shoes, and immediately calls your name.

“Bathroom,” he hears you call back, and as he reaches the door, it’s open, so he enters.

Your voice is quiet, and you’re carefully looking through his bathroom cabinet. “Do you have any bandaids?”

Seeing you hold your injured hand to your chest, paper tissues still pressed toward your pointer finger by your thumb, reminds him of when he first saw you again, and you had a bandaged wrist.

“Here,” he says, turning to the larger cabinet that’s placed over his washing machine. He takes down the first aid kit from the shelf and puts it on the sink. “Can I see?”

You nod, and so he asks you to sit on the lid of the toilet and kneels before you.

Your hand is trembling when you put it in his, palm up, and as gently as he can, he removes the bloodstained paper.

Prepared to see the worst like the needle having gone through your nail or somehow even bone, relief floods Jeongguk’s heart when he sees that the little dot leaking blood happens to be just beside your nail. It’s far out enough to not have hit anything too bad, even if he’s sure it hurts. 

“Okay, it doesn’t look too bad. Let’s rinse it first, okay?”

You nod in approval, standing up and letting him maneuver your hand under the tap. Jeongguk opens it and lets the water run over your finger for a bit, and when he feels like it’s done its job, he tells you to sit down again.

From the first aid kit, he retrieves an antiseptic wipe just to be safe. Maybe overkill, but he’s heard that fingers, particularly anything close to a joint, are sensitive matters, and infections can be detrimental.

You allow him to clean both sides of your finger, not showing if it stings. You just look sad, helpless even.

“So how did it go?” you ask tentatively just as he disposes of the wipe into the sink to deal with later.

“I cursed her out,” he smiles, but he can tell by how your eyebrows raise only in the middle of your forehead that you’re not very happy by that. 

“But I made sure to let her know that you were absolutely set on doing it for her, and that I was the one who wasn’t gonna let that happen. Because I think she’s rude and entitled, expecting you to work endlessly throughout the night for free when she’s resting her little head on her pillow. And I told her not to speak to you again.”

Apparently, but not very surprisingly, being blame-free seems to relax you, and you nod, looking to be thinking about something.

“Gguk, a regular bandaid will be fine,” you assure when you see him reach for the gauze. 

He pouts in protest. He can’t help that he wants to take care of you to the best of his abilities, especially when you’re still teary-eyed and breaking his heart. But he obeys, huffing slightly when he has to put the gauze back and get a plaster instead, something he wouldn’t even have bothered with if it were his own finger.

At least you wear a fond and perhaps even relieved smile when he kneels before you once more to carefully wrap the plaster around your finger even though you definitely could do it by yourself.

“There, all done,” he grins up at you as he lets go of your hand. But then he remembers something. “Wait. One more thing.”

Confusion flashes across your face, but you lift your hand to him again. His smile grows further when he takes it and brings it to his mouth, placing the sweetest of kisses on the back of it.

Happiness fills his chest when the action makes you giggle. You lift your other hand to wipe the remaining tears away with your sleeve.

He keeps your hand in his, stroking his thumb over it. “What do you want to do now?”

“I don’t know,” you exhale in an exhausted whisper, “I’m really tired.”

“Do you wanna start a movie with me, you can sleep if you get too tired?”

His proposition makes you nod eagerly.

It takes Jeongguk approximately four minutes to choose one of your favorite movies, turn it on, and flick the lights in the living room off. Then he gathers a few pillows and blankets in the corner and gestures for you to climb onto his lap.

You do, placing yourself sideways like always and leaning your head against his neck. In turn, Jeongguk holds you close to his chest.

“If she says something to you again, just walk away, okay? And tell me, please?” he begs a few minutes into the film.

“Okay,” you mumble back without taking your eyes off the screen.

“Good… I just can’t believe she would say that to you. Especially after you’ve already altered her dresses once. Like, I’m terrible at math but I’m pretty sure it’s not that hard to take measurements? How do you fuck up all four dresses?”

“She didn’t actually take them,” you reveal, still engrossed in the movie. “She told me she knew her kids well enough to ‘estimate.’”

“What?” Jeongguk coughs, “She guessed?! And then returned them the night before to threaten you to redo them, even going as far as to add another dress as well?!”

“Basically, yeah.”

Jeongguk scoffs. “The nerve of some people.”

You hum tiredly in agreement, and slowly but surely, Jeongguk returns his attention to the movie playing.

Until it happens. 

You’re sleepy, he can tell despite not being able to see your face. Your breaths are heavy and warm where you breathe them against the side of his neck, and he wonders if you even have your eyes open anymore. Your hands, always finding some little part of his skin to stroke lovingly, are too tired, folded up in your lap.

Even your voice sounds tired, but he hears it clear as day.

“Thank you.”

And it’s those two words that begin the shift in him. His spine and something in his heart, or maybe around it, solidifies as it sinks in that he’s found it.

Who he can be to you. His purpose. He does have something to give in return, and his entire body fills with relief and joy and pure determination.

Although it of course would be easier if you learned to stand up for yourself–and he knows he’ll always encourage it–in an ideal world, you would never have to change any part of yourself. 

And he can give that to you–at least he’ll do his goddamn best to–let you be yourself, and fend off anyone who wants to tarnish the love and generosity that is you. That’s his purpose. 

It gets easier after that. Sure, there will always be moments where he wonders if maybe you wouldn’t be better off with someone else, but those thoughts lessen, both in frequency and power.

Honestly, Jeongguk can’t take all the credit for his improved confidence because the largest influence has been, well, you.

Besides gently bringing up the topic of therapy—something he’s not really sure of, at least not at the moment—you’ve taken his mental health into your own loving hands.

Because even if he wants to claim it to be a walk in the park, sometimes the past still gets to him.

He sits on his bed, leaning back against the headboard and with his laptop across his thighs, scrolling the internet. Thanks to Facebook and its weird algorithms, he stumbles upon an article about anniversaries and how to best show your loved one your appreciation.

And so the cogwheels start to turn. Or maybe a piece of dirt gets lodged in there, stopping the entire machinery that is Jeongguk’s head.

His eyes drift from the screen, staring unfocused at the bedroom window.

”Would you wanna go for a walk with me later?”

He turns his head toward the sound of your voice and finds you in the doorway, hand holding onto the doorframe and almost leaning your face against it.

”Yeah,” Jeongguk nods, mustering a small smile.

But if one thing’s true, it’s that you rarely miss when he’s back in that mindset.

Your eyes search his face for a moment, and he can feel all the warmth and love and care seep into the room just because you’ve peeked your head inside.

”Bad thoughts?” You ask quietly, your soft voice carried through the air.

Jeongguk exhales. ”…Yeah.”

He watches you push off the doorframe and take the steps until you’re at the foot of the bed.

”Is it something you wanna talk about?”

You’re so sweet, so understanding and unjudging, where you come to sit on the edge of the bed, watching him with your head tilted slightly. 

A sigh leaves his lips, and his shoulders slump. The sky outside the window is gray when he peers through it.

”We don’t have an anniversary, do we?”

”Sure we do. We had to start seeing each other some day.”

”Yeah, but… None that’s worth celebrating? We can’t… the day we met in college… I can’t celebrate that,” he casts his eyes down, shame filling his body like it always does when he thinks about the bet and that it’s the only reason you ever got to know each other.

”And we can’t pretend like my five-hundred first date attempts are worth celebrating either because then, I—” fucked everything up again.

”How about a month ago? When you asked me to be your girlfriend? I’d say that would be a natural choice?”

Jeongguk nods, doing his best to pretend that your answer satisfied him. It did when it comes to the specific date, but after, he’s just stuck on the concept of an anniversary with you. He’s terrified of forgetting it, of not being able to convey to you just how much you mean to him.

Of course, you notice that too, and decide to crawl over to where he’s sitting. Slowly, you grasp the laptop from his hands and shut it to place somewhere else on the bed, and when he looks at you, questioningly, you tell him to lie down completely.

When his head hits the pillow, you make yourself comfortable where you’re sitting beside him, and then, he feels your finger on the side of his face. It’s right at his temple; your nail moving in tiny circles across his skin. 

He barely manages to contain the shiver that wants to travel through his entire body. ”What…?”

”Okay, so you know in Harry Potter and… I can’t remember which one… The fifth? Sixth? When you get to see Dumbledore use his wand to pull memories from his mind? Into the weird bowl?”

You’re smiling, the tiniest bit of mischief blended together with the happiness. ”That’s what I’m doing now, but with the bad thoughts. Although, I’m not gonna look at them, we’re just gonna take them out, okay?”

It’s a bit silly, seeing you pinch the air between your index finger and thumb and pull something invisible from his temple, but Jeongguk can’t help but smile.

“Then, we’ll cast a spell that prohibits them from being in this room,” you declare, putting your fist up with just your index finger sticking out as a wand. You move it in circles toward the bedroom door. “Wingardium… capricciosa… or something, I don’t know.” 

Jeongguk snorts, and maybe it isn’t even that silly because he finds that it does work, and every subsequent room you ban the bad thoughts from make it easier for him.

You also help him with his confidence, in more ways than one. Maybe more than you know as well.

To be fair, even if Jeongguk isn’t as proud of his body as he was when he was younger, it’s probably the thing he’s the least self conscious about. However, he can’t say that you’re not stroking his ego, intentionally or not.

In initially incredibly bad news, the gym Jeongguk visits has had a water leak. He feels for the owner and mourns the expensive machines that were destroyed, and while the facility gets renovated, which will take weeks, maybe even months, Jeongguk has ordered a bit of equipment himself.

It’s mostly dumbbells and mats of different kinds. And the punching bag, hanging from a stand that he was able to borrow from a friend. There’s also a frame for him to practice his pullups on, one that can be dismantled and stored away when not in use.

And where do you come into the picture? Well, Jeongguk has noticed that as soon as the sound of equipment being gathered and prepared, you seem to always ‘happen’ to find yourself in the same room, a book in your hand. 

Weirdly enough, it’s been the same book for multiple weeks, and you don’t really seem to make any progress with it. Truthfully, he doesn’t mind. If anything, he thinks it’s cute, hot, and it gives him the final push to work harder.

Sometimes, he wears a t-shirt or a tank top with his shorts, other times–like today–he chooses to go shirtless. 

“Oh, are you gonna work out?” you ask innocently, sitting down on the couch with that same book in your hand, already opened. 

It’s not even funny how much effort it takes for him to not abandon the task at hand and instead get cozy on the couch, wiggle his head onto your lap and have you pet him into relaxation. You just look like such an angel, so pretty and so sweet where you sit, dressed in his gray hoodie that’s far too big and with a white, pleated tennis skirt. 

He’ll do that later, he promises himself, but first he has to get his workout in.

“Yeah,” he nods, pulling out the portable punching bag from the wall where it’s usually stored when not in use. “Can I put on some music or will it disturb you?” 

“Of course,” you smile, and Jeongguk nearly snorts but manages to keep his cool. He knows you’re not gonna do much reading anyway.

It takes him maybe a minute to scroll through spotify on his phone, all while you find where you left off last time. But when the rock music sounds from the speakers, he sees in the reflection of the dark, turned-off tv-screen how you peer over the pages.

As a warm up, Jeongguk brings out his jump rope and places himself on one of the yoga mats to dampen the sounds traveling to the downstairs neighbors.

It’s easy to say that you’re hypnotized.

You manage to half read, half observe as Jeongguk warms up with his jump rope, landing softly on the yoga mat he’s rolled out on the living room floor. It’s crazy how firm he is. 

His hair bounces, and his pecs do just a bit too since he’s tensing them, otherwise… he’s strong and firm and… mouth watering. His abs flex, and so do his arms, and his shoulders, and the way his veins start to pop more than usual just makes you crazy.

Instinctively, you lick your lips, thankful that Jeongguk doesn’t keep his attention on you. He jumps to the rhythm, sometimes higher and slower, other times he swings the rope quicker to do a double jump.

You don’t think he’d mind if you told him that you’re only in the room to observe and basically admire him, and definitely not to read, but you don’t want to disturb him.

He works up just a light sweat, and you have a hard time tearing your eyes from his glistening skin when he puts the rope away on the floor and positions himself before the punching bag. He’s already wrapped his hands like he does, and you bite your lip when he slides the black boxing gloves onto his hands and fastens them with his teeth. God.

Then, he starts.

You’ve been a writer almost your entire life. At least since you learned to form words by putting letters in different orders. You find them flowing almost excessively from your brain, able to convey just about any event or information you want and in any feeling.

But there aren’t enough words in any alphabet or in all of them combined, to describe Jeongguk and his bulging muscles. He punches the bag of sand, gives it a real beating, and your heart beats in a different kind of way. It’s the way his entire body works, how his abdomen tenses when he swings his arm, or how the muscles ripple in his back when he does those quick hits. Bam, bam, bam.

The hand holding the book rests uselessly in your lap, your finger firmly holding it open, but you can’t make yourself care all that much.

Jeongguk goes at it for a few minutes, until he suddenly stops to throw a glove off, bend down, and take a swig from his water bottle on the floor.

Then he turns to you, still breathing heavily, and smirks. You’re quick to raise the book again, pretending to read.

“Is it good?”

“Huh?”

“Your book?”

“Uh…”

“The one you always ‘read’ when I work out? But that you never seem to finish even though I know you can read like four hundred pages in a day, easy.”

Shit, you’ve been found out.

“Uh…”

“You know, you’re really not as innocent as you seem.”

So you drop the book beside you on the couch, not caring about losing your place because let’s be honest, whatever words you did read definitely weren’t absorbed by your brain in any way, shape, or form. 

“Okay, but you! cannot blame me!” you point your finger accusingly at a still smirking Jeongguk.

“Have you seen yourself? You should be happy I’m at least not all over you like I want to be. You know this is practically straight up porn?”

Jeongguk laughs, thoroughly amused as he turns back to fix something with the punching bag.

Despite always falling easily, you never thought you’d be this in love with someone. Yes, you can’t get enough of Jeongguk physically, but your love goes so, so much deeper than that. 

Taking one last look at his sweaty, bulging back, you rise to your feet.

“Hey,” you call for his attention, coming to stand next to him. Curious, he looks down at you just as you place your hand lightly on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb over his skin. “Do you wanna go out tonight? To eat, I mean? Do that thing where we don’t plan anything and just see where we end up?”

Jeongguk is still breathing heavily, but not as much as before, and he nods happily, “Sure.”

Excited and just honestly so incredibly happy, you shoot him a smile as you back away, your hand falling from his shoulder. “Leave at seven?”

“Wait, where are you going?” he grabs your wrist, confusion written all over his face.

“I thought I’d leave you to get your workout done in peace. And I might as well get some things done too.”  

“I didn’t say I wanted peace, though, did I?”

Before you can answer his mischief-reeking answer, he pulls you back, and you crash right into his sweaty body. By instinct, your hands land on his upper arms.

Like always, there’s an excited spark in your eyes. “No, but what if you need it?”

Jeongguk’s arm tightens its hold on your waist as he peers down at you with a certain kind of evil that you know very well by now, “What if I don’t? What if I want you to watch?”

“Gguk, you’re sweaty.”

He smirks, looking so confident you barely know what to do with yourself.

“I happen to know for a fact that you don’t mind getting my sweat all over you.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. So, since you want to watch and I’m not done with my workout, why don’t we make this a little bit more interesting?”

You already know by his playful eyes that he’s up to no good, but before you can question it, Jeongguk steps forward while holding you so tightly that you trip backward. Of course, he doesn’t let you fall but lowers you smoothly to the floor.

Clueless, you search his face in an attempt at revealing his intentions, “What are you up to?”

“Already told you, I'm working out,” he gets into position above you, his still wrapped up hands on the yoga mat on either side of your face. “Soft enough?”

“Mhm,” you confirm.

Like always when Jeongguk shows how sweet and thoughtful he is, you can barely keep your hands and your love to yourself. But to your surprise, he catches your hand as it touches his cheek lovingly, and he lowers it.

“Uh, uh. No touching,” he teases, and your mouth falls open.

“What?”

It apparently brings him joy to see you both surprised and pouty because he chuckles.

“You heard me. You can watch, but you can’t touch.” 

“Oh, you’re cruel.”

Unsurprisingly, Jeongguk continues to laugh, amusement glimmering in his eyes. You had your guess as to what exercises he planned when he planted his knees between your legs and his hands beside your head, so it doesn’t come as much of a shock when he adjusts his weight to his feet (which he put your brick of a book under) and starts lowering himself.

“You can’t do this to me,” you complain with a pleading look, “you’re so close, within reach, but I can’t touch? I haven’t even hugged you since this morning, and you say I can’t even feel you up?”

Of course, having another person under you when you’re doing push-ups doesn’t call for the best result, and Jeongguk can’t get as low as he should to really get the most out of the exercise even with the added height of the book, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.

He moves so that his face stops just to the right of yours, and he’s just so close. Warmth is radiating from him, and it’s almost physically painful to not reach out.

At first, he doesn’t say anything, he just keeps his eyes on you with one brow raised. Giving him your absolute best, most devastating puppy eyes, you grin when he relents. “Twenty seconds. Use them well because after that, you can’t touch.”

Of course, it doesn’t take you longer than half a second to throw your arms around his neck and hug him best you can to your body. The force causes him to temporarily lose his balance, and he repositions again so that his weight is supported by his knees instead of his feet while you basically squeeze the life right out of him.

“Love you so much,” you gush quietly, and although he tries to act unaffected, you feel his chest shake with quiet laughter. “So, so much. My dream boy, so sweet. Wait, is feeling you up included?”

He smirks; you can tell even if you can’t see it, “You only have ten seconds left, though.”

“Evil, Gguk, evil.”

However, your boyfriend’s cruelty doesn’t stop you from taking advantage of whatever you can get, and so you trail your hands lower over his back. Just to be a little shit, Jeongguk adjusts his hands on the mat, and you know it’s only to give you an extra feel of his muscles rippling under your fingers.

This is all incredibly funny to him, especially when you can’t help but let out a groan. One of your arms remains around his neck, and you run the other hand over his upper arm, his side, and down his chest and stomach.

“Time’s up,” he declares.

“No,” you whine, clinging onto his neck. If you’re not mistaken, you think you hear him snort quietly.

“Yes. Now let go or I won’t let you watch anymore.”

“I don’t believe that. You said you wanted me to.”

You pout as Jeongguk supports himself on one hand, the other prying one of your arms from his neck and then the other all while somehow managing to still hold the first wrist. And chuckling, of course.

“You know, one might think you only love me for my body,” he smirks down at you, moving so that he’s gripping both of your sleeves in one hand over your head.

“Jeongguk, I take full offense by that. I would love you just as much even if you didn’t work out.”

“But you wouldn’t find me as attractive.”

It’s the way his eyes still shimmer with confidence that prevents you from going all serious in order to assure him that you absolutely would.

“I would. I admit that seeing you like… this… may, uh, influence me in some way, but that’s just biology, it’s short term, and it’s unreliable.”

“Biology, huh?” he teases, and it’s so hard to focus when he’s above you, looking like that. His hair is starting to grow out again and the black strands have a slight wave to them as they’ve collected some of his perspiration. 

You’re almost thankful for his hold on your sleeves because his skin is too tempting, too warm and soft, and just a bit sweaty, covering the solid muscles underneath. 

The worst part, however, is of course his face. Jeongguk is smiling a charismatic, lopsided smirk that has more than your heart throbbing, and his eyes convey happiness and love, no matter if he makes a half-assed attempt at seeming stern. 

There’s no trace of fear of hesitancy anywhere, something you don’t pay much attention to at the moment, but a pattern you’ve definitely started to notice over time.

You gaze up at him somewhat longingly, “Yeah. Monkey brain, you know? It sees muscles and goes ‘strong man, make baby.’”

Jeongguk’s smirk widens into a grin, “Just any ‘strong man?’”

“No, just you. So maybe it’s more like, ‘strong, sweet man, let him impregnate.’”

“Impregnate, huh? Are you trying to turn me on?”

“No,” you inspect his face, looking for hints, “Are you? Turned on?”

Dramatically, he shakes his head, “No. Definitely not.”

After that, Jeongguk resumes his push-ups, concentrating just a little bit harder since he’s basically only using one hand. The other, still gripping your sleeves over your head, pretty much only aids his balance.

He doesn’t look at your face, although you’re certain he can see the dreamy expression on it from the corner of his eye.

“You’re so handsome, did you know that?” you gush lovingly.

“Yes.”

“And so sweet. At least most of the time.”

“I know.”

“Do you also know that you make my heart race?”

“Yes.”

He can’t stop his smile when you exhale out of frustration. 

“Gguk, I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” you complain, wiggling around on the mat.

“You got to touch like two minutes ago.”

“Yes, but it’s not enough?”

“Sucks,” he offers nonchalantly on his way down. 

So, you decide to switch tactics.

You lower your voice, taking on just a hint of seduction. “I know you want it, though.”

And to your satisfaction, you see him glance at your face even if he doesn’t falter, so you continue. 

“You like being touched just as much. And to touch.”

“Do I?” he grunts, and you can tell the exercise is starting to get to him.

“Mhm. Just think about it… My fingers in your hair, my nails on your back… My hand on your co–”

“You can try to dirty talk all you want, I’m not giving in this time,” he interrupts.

Honestly, you don’t doubt that he’d accept his defeat if you chose to continue because just like you, you know Jeongguk craves physical touch, and there’s only so much he can take before he caves.

But again, you change your plan.

This time, you manage to wiggle one hand free from his grip.

“I’m not gonna touch,” you assure when he gives you a warning look. 

Luckily, you’re only wearing a soft bralette type of top underneath your gray hoodie (which is Jeongguk’s, actually) and it makes it easy to first slowly pull the fabric up to your chin and then, well aware of Jeongguk’s gaze, the top.

He stops doing his push-ups, frozen with his arms straight. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing. But just know, since I can’t touch you, I’m not sure you’re allowed to touch me, either.”

His narrowed eyes are incredibly comedic, and it takes everything in you not to laugh out loud.

Innocently, you trace your fingers lightly over your skin, from your stomach up to your exposed breasts. Your left nipple hardens when you circle it a few times, and you definitely hear Jeongguk groan quietly.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But funnily enough, he shuts his eyes tightly before he goes back to his push-ups. 

And your heart hurts with endearment, and it’s so fucking hard to not rip your other hand free from his hold and throw your arms around his neck to kiss him absolutely silly.

Taking it a bit further, you reach your free hand down to your skirt and pull it up around your waist. Carefully, without touching Jeongguk even as he moves, you place your left foot against the mat, your bent knee close to his hip.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you? Trying to make my workout fail?”

“No,” you lie sweetly. “But I do know another way for you to work out.”

“Does that involve fucking you, perhaps?” he asks nonchalantly, but you can taste the building arousal in the words, and you know that you’re not the only one starting to get affected.

“I don’t know, maybe?”

Of course, it does. 

“What was that?”

“My hand.”

“You’re breaking the rules,” he informs, opening his eyes to look down at you.

But you’ve still got your tits out, and you watch as Jeongguk’s eyes lower and he licks his lips.

So, you smile innocently, “Technically, you’re the one who’s touching me. I’m just holding my hand here, and you’re putting your stomach against it.”

“You think you’re gonna get away with this?”

“Yes, because you can just choose not to touch my hand.”

Just as the words leave your mouth, Jeongguk lowers himself again, his flexing stomach bumping into your hand.

“Or you could be a good girl and follow the rules.”

“Oh, but I am a good girl. All I want is to show you how much I love you, but you’re not letting me. Yet, I’m still following your rules and not touching. You’re the one who’s being bad because you know how good it would feel to let me touch you. You know how bad you want it and that you’re gonna give in sooner or later because, although you’re strong, you’re not that strong.”

He doesn’t respond to that. At least not with more than narrowed eyes that tell you he knows just as well as you do that he’s a weak man when it comes to you and your touch.

When he descends next, your hand is lower on his stomach. Every time, your fingers creep lower, inching closer and closer to his black workout shorts.

Until you touch them, and Jeongguk falters in his movement. You trace your fingers slowly along the waistband, reveling in how his push-ups seem to slow too.

“Tired?” you ask Jeongguk, who’s breathing heavily.

“No, I’m just gonna do a bit of planking.”

You watch as he lowers himself to his elbows, but the thing is that he becomes so close that there just isn’t enough space between your bodies. You feel his chest against your exposed skin and his hip against the inside of your raised thigh.

“Didn’t think we we’re supposed to be touching,” you tease into his right ear, honestly loving the feeling of his chest against yours. 

“No, but we’ll just have to manage.”

He’s not putting any weight on you. Except for something you feel against your hand that rests on your lower stomach. 

Briefly, you bite your lip, “You’re hard.”

“Am I?”

“I’d say so,” you confirm as you let your fingers explore over the slippery fabric. 

At first, you trace the outline of his hard cock as best you can, absolutely loving how it makes Jeongguk’s stomach flinch and his breath shake next to your ear when you apply just a bit of pressure.

“And to think I was considered the fuckboy,” Jeongguk mumbles, and you nearly snort.

“You’re saying you consider me a fuckboy?”

“Sorry, a fuckgirl.”

You grin, “Jeongguk, I’m not nearly as experienced as you are. Then nor now.”

He repositions himself back up onto his hands, thus lifting his body off yours with a strained grunt, “Could’ve fooled me. You have this innocence about you, but you’re truly just a little vixen.”

Although already missing the heat of him against you, you allow him to move away from your hand, letting it lie on your stomach. A memory comes flooding back, making you smile as you admire his face above yours.

“I guess I was the one who did it, then?”

Jeongguk is reasonably confused by your words, raising his eyebrow before he switches the hand that holds your sleeve captive.

“Huh?” he questions as he dips down to continue his push-ups, now supporting himself mostly with his other arm.

“Captured your heart.”

On his way up, he stops. You can almost see the way it clicks in his mind, and you think about how the time you spent together in college was so short yet so important that every little word, every little touch or gesture has been ingrained in the both of you.

“Yeah,” he agrees, a small but fond smile pulling on his lips. “Which was for the best anyway. I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

Before you can react, your brain still processing the heart clenching words, Jeongguk leans down and quickly pecks your mouth.

You must be such a sight to see, lying with your tits out, hand captive beside your head, and puppy eyes directed at the man above you.

Wanting to tell him how he’s had your heart in possession for a very long time now and–besides accidentally squeezing it a little too hard once or twice–has done a very good job at keeping it safe, you lift your free hand.

However, you only feel Jeongguk’s soft but a bit sweaty hair between your fingers for a very short moment before he sits back on his knees and removes your hand.

“No touching,” he smirks gleefully.

You gasp, “But you just touched!”

“I definitely did not, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

In stark contrast to his words, Jeongguk leans down once more, this time with his focus set on your right breast. He places a wet, open mouthed kiss on your nipple, taking it into his mouth and sucking on it briefly before giving it a quick but so, so gentle bite.

It’s over before you know it, your little devil of a boyfriend gazing down at you expectantly.

Well, that surely means that the game is on.

“No touching, huh?” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, if you say so,” you agree innocently, although you’d be surprised if Jeongguk actually bought it. “Continuing with the push-ups?”

“Yeah.”

Smiling at him, you watch as he begins again.

It’s quiet for a few seconds, the tension growing as you stare at each other, both knowing that the ball is truly in motion.

Amused, you place your free hand on your chest, and you almost break out in laughter at the vision of Jeongguk’s eyes following your fingers. 

Gently and slowly, you trace your nipple like you did earlier, noticing how he for a moment seemingly forgets what he was doing and pauses.

Clearing your throat, Jeongguk snaps out of it and despite resuming his exercise, his gaze is still zeroed in on your hand.

So you move it. Incredibly, painfully slowly, you glide your hand sensually down your stomach until it disappears from view.

Due to the angle of Jeongguk’s body, he can feel your hand against his crotch every time he dips, but you’re not focused on touching him at the moment.

It takes a bit of skill and timing, but soon enough, you manage to lower your panties enough to kick them off with your legs. 

“You know where my hand is, right?”

What feels even better than the feeling of your middle finger carefully circling your clit is the look on Jeongguk’s face. 

He tries so hard to act indifferent as he grunts a “I have my suspicions,” but you know he’s suffering.

You wait until he’s got his face right next to yours before delivering a whisper.

“I’m really wet.”

“Oh? And how does that concern me?”

“Because it’s your fault.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, so you should do something about it.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to touch either?”

“Didn't seem to stop you before?”

“Excuse me, miss, are you implying that I’m unable to follow rules?”

You almost laugh out loud at how he’s pretending he didn’t just suck on your tit. “Yes.”

He scoffs, “You’re wrong. And I’m busy here, actually.”

“Oh, okay. So you don’t mind if I get myself off here, by myself then?”

For a split second, Jeongguk falters, but he’s quick to regain his composure.

“I mean, that’s very disrespectful of you, but who am I to stop you?”

“How kind of you. I might have to reward you for that.”

“Reward me? I don’t need a reward.”

“No? I was thinking about… maybe letting you have a taste? You don’t want that?”

Jeongguk goes quiet, and you know that he really wants to keep his act up, keep the game going, but can he? Eating you out is probably on his top three list of things in life.

“Just imagine this… me giving you, say, half an hour to do exactly what you please. My thighs around your head…”

You watch as he gulps, and you almost feel sorry for him. Almost. 

“And it’s right there, just for you… I know you like to take your time, and I know you’d really want to make me come on your tongue again and again, even if I’m sensitive. Feel my thighs start to shake? Hear my breathy moans of your name? My fingers pulling on your hair?”

You continue to smile as he struggles to keep a neutral face, and you know very well that he’s imagining your every word.

“Or if you don’t want that, you could fuck me.”

“I already told you” he huffs, “I’m busy over here.”

“Sucks. I guess I’ll have to do everything myself.”

“Yeah, help yourself.”

Jeongguk resumes his push-ups only to go still the next moment. “What do you think you’re doing, miss?” he gazes down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m helping myself? But I’m not touching so don’t worry,” you grin, feeling his cock twitch under your fingers.

Grunting, Jeongguk shuts his eyes tightly, and you’re left marveling at him above you. “‘Not touching?’ I can feel you touching me, honey.”

Like before, you rub him a few times over the fabric of his shorts, but soon enough, your fingers venture below the waistband. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, honey. Are you saying I can’t follow rules?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to say, a–actually,” he stutters endearingly when you grip him in your hand, only to find that his tip is already wet with precum.

Caught up in the feeling and overall atmosphere, neither of you say anything for a couple of seconds. You keep exploring his cock–a part of him that you know like the back of your hand by now–running your hand up and down in a manner that could definitely be considered teasing.

Until it hits you that according to Jeongguk’s game, he shouldn’t be enjoying it as much as he currently is, which is gently and barely noticeably thrusting his hips into your hand. You pause, your hand stilling around him.

“You know, you don’t look very busy,” you tease. “I thought you were supposed to be working out?”

Giving you a glare that consists of equal parts fondness and frustration, Jeongguk narrows his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head in pretend disappointment.

But he does go back to his workout, only giving you a curious look as you keep your hold on him. 

It’s almost laughable the way he starts to complain about you tricking him, ‘pretending to be a sweet girl when really you’re not,’ and ‘all you want is for him to suffer but luckily, he’s a strong-minded person, always in control of his desires.’ 

To be fair, you do laugh at that. Just like you laugh at how he–while you’re in the middle of lowering his shorts to underneath his balls and taking his cock out–mumbles something about how he’d never let ‘some vixen like you deflower him before marriage.’

Still, he does his push-ups smoothly, even when you stroke him, so you’ll have to give him that.

Until you lower yourself just a bit along his body and wait for him to be as close as possible to drag his head along your slit. He coughs then, blinking down at you otherwise motionlessly. “Are you trying to deflower me?”

“No. Absolutely not. I’m just helping myself,” you shrug innocently.

While Jeongguk keeps his suspicious gaze on you the entire time he’s able to, he allows you to set up a nice pace where every time he descends, you drag his hard cock up your slit, coating it in your arousal.

Although, it’s not as if he’s unaffected, because his teeth have got quite a hold on his bottom lip, obviously in order to keep himself quiet. 

Someone not being quiet is you. Well, you wouldn't describe yourself as loud, but with Jeongguk as close as he is, he hears every little sigh and moan of his name as you rub him against your clit.

“Such a shame you don’t want to touch,” you breathe, your chest heaving almost as much as Jeongguk’s.

It feels so good, and you can feel how he’s adjusting his movement, adding just a bit of thrust to his hips.

“It’s such a shame, because I’m really, really wet. So wet that even something big could slip right in.”

Teasing him, you hold the slippery head of his cock right at your entrance for a moment before you continue to rub it up to your clit. 

You repeat the action about seven times, Jeongguk slowing his movement every time you hold him there.

But on the eighth time you spend three seconds just circling the head against your hole. You’ve closed your eyes and leaned your head back, enjoying both the feeling of him and knowing he’s enjoying it too (and suffering a bit).

Although the initial goal of the act, you’re caught by surprise–a loud gasp leaving you–when he abruptly pushes in.

It’s not that he was rough, but you can definitely feel the desperation to be inside, and it’s evident in the groan he lets out. He stops then like he always does in order to make sure you’re not hurting.

“Look what you made me do,” he huffs, booping his nose against yours before continuing to complain. “Sabotaging my workout on top of deflowering me.”

You chuckle, raising your free hand to caress his shoulder, a well-known gesture for him by now that you’re okay and he can keep going.

Pulling out halfway, he thrusts back in, making you both moan.

“I didn’t do anything, you’re just weak.”

“I know, but at least let me pretend.”

Having fully abandoned his game, Jeongguk finally releases your other hand, and you waste no time.

“Does this mean I can touch?”

Seeing the excitement on your face, Jeongguk snorts. “As if you’ve done anything but touch? Besides, I’m literally balls deep in you; I’d say we’re already touching.”

“I take that as a ‘yes,’ though,” you grin and wrap both your arms around his neck.

He laughs, and you can feel his chest shake with it.

“Although this is super hot, maybe we should move? This mat isn’t very thick, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Despite feeling him slip out of you, your heart beats in excitement, and you nod. Oh, to be loved by him.

“Okay, hold on tightly!”

You do as you’re told, tightening your arms around his neck and grinning when he somehow manages to get up with you in his arms. 

Immediately, he steers the two of you toward the bedroom.

“Sorry for sabotaging your workout,” you apologize meekly, still grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “Do you know when the gym will be finished?”

“Look, I thought we went over this already. One, you have my explicit permission to touch me anywhere and anytime, and if, for some reason I’m not feeling it, I’ll let you know. But trust me, you’ll understand. Two, I’d rather do literally anything with you than… well, anything without you.”

You know that. A while ago, you spoke about boundaries. And it ended with you both agreeing that there basically are none. Well, you agreed that you both trust each other to only ever touch when you wholeheartedly believe the other wants it, and to talk about it if you’re unsure or want to try something new. It’s the entire reason you acted so freely.

Dropping you onto the bed, you watch as he removes his shorts entirely, and you follow suit, pulling the hoodie over your head.

“Besides, I think I broke some kind of world record for most push-ups done. God, I’m gonna be so sore tomorrow,” you pout, amused at how he whines and rubs at his left tricep.

“I’ll make it better,” you assure, because you always do when he’s tired and sore, a well-cherished routine by now. “Also, entirely un-horny, but you’re so cool; it’s so impressive that you can even do them on one hand like that.”

“Keep the skirt on,” he pleads when you go to remove it, and you roll your eyes but obey. “And thank you.”

“Okay, well are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna fuck me?”

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna fuck you, do you know how insane I am right now, I’m literally half a second away from losing my last screw and going entirely bonkers.”

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author's note: please tell me what you thought!!