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explicit warnings: cursing, thigh riding, cowgirl, oral (m rec), naughty studio time(??), couch sex, rough sex, giving yoongi the business, bold as fuck reader, choking, spanking, penetrative sex, kissing deserves to be here too lol, alexa play no hands by waka flocka, deep throating, hair/head tugging, nipple play, yoongi in that gd tank, yoongi in those gd glasses, teasing, titty fucking hello!!!!, stripping while he watches…. yeah, missionary, sub!3tanyoongi?????, scratching, multiple orgasms, protected sex, emotional sex, good god they’re so hot i’m blushing

—

—

It’s morning when Jimin gets a call. 

Shifting in sheets that aren’t his, he sleepily blinks once before eyeing the blue light with a squint, wondering who dares wake him up before his natural rise. What time even is it anyway? It’s gotta be an ungodly hour if his circadian rhythm is disturbed. 

Still, he grabs his cell from the nightstand, flinching at the movement behind him and inwardly slinging out curses. 

Because waking him up is one thing. 

But if anyone disturbs Taehyung he’s gonna give them hell—

Min Yoongi: Incoming Call

Shit.

Jimin yanks the covers off, rushing out of bed and snapping Tae awake anyway. For what? Don’t fucking know, but they’re ready. Wherever. Whatever. They already stayed up clutching their phones until they physically couldn’t keep their eyes open. 

Because as much as Yoongi assured him nothing would happen, Jimin still couldn’t let go of his car keys.

Answering slow, he feels his chest winding and winding, eyes locked with Taehyung while they both wait on edge, “…Yoongi?”

“Yeah.”

Thank the fucking stars. 

Yoongi’s okay. He’s on the line. He made it to morning or whatever fucking time it is, and he’s doing exactly what he said he would.

And it’s enough, enough, enough.

Burns zing up the corners of Jimin’s eyes, and he swipes hard as Taehyung moves, likely to hear what’s happening and even more likely to just be by his side. 

Jimin is grateful for either one. But he tries to keep composure as he croaks, “You better have woken me up for a reason.”

The slight hum on the line induces a wobbly smile. “You slept?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin shakily laughs, wiping liquid relief from an eye before Taehyung’s thumb brushes tenderly over the other. His gaze is thankful while continuing, “We did but not much.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Sniffling, Jimin walks to Tae’s door, letting him into the hallway first and finally drinking in the sight of his ass in those sweats. Because he can finally function like a normal, smitten loser again. “We’ll come over so we can—”

“No need.”

“What?” Nope. Back to panic mode. And judging from his boyfriend’s posture, Taehyung has backpedaled into that, too. “What do you mean no need?”

There’s a slight pause on the line, and small noises make their way through the speaker. It sounds like bedsheets, but it also sounds like… 

“She’s still sleeping.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

A tidal wave of relief crashes into Jimin’s ducts as he hangs his head, palming his face caught in a heavy tide of emotion. When he turns, Taehyung fairs no better, his eyes red and fingers wiping at a perfect, perfect cheek. One of them sniffles, but Jimin can’t tell if it’s him or not, because his vision is blurry and his heart is beating, beating, beating again. 

Whether you know it or not, whatever you did last night may have just changed Yoongi’s entire life.

Because Jimin knows this man through and through. Years of picking up his habits and tells didn’t amount to nothing. It’s how he was able to sense exactly when to intervene, and how he knew exactly what that hauntingly hollow tone in Yoongi’s voice meant when he busted in that day. 

The tone he hears now? The man that just spoke on the line? 

That is a Min Yoongi so in love he can’t even hide it over the phone. 

Fuck. 

Gathering himself, Jimin squeaks out, “I… I’m glad you…” What the fuck does he say? Every thought jams in his throat so hard he has to hand the phone off.

Thankfully, Taehyung perfectly continues his thoughts, voice scratching rocks under a waking river, “We’re glad you’re both safe.”

“Mm.”

“So when’s the wedding?”

Jimin huffs through a fresh batch of tears, clearing his face before grinning at Tae very seriously awaiting an answer. Honestly, at this point? It’s not far-fetched. Jimin’s seeing your future clearer than his present, and maybe he will be a fun uncle sooner than he thinks.

If only Yoongi would just get the fucking talk with your brother over with. 

But Jimin understands the hesitation. If he were in that same position, there’s no telling when he would be courageous enough to stand up to the guy. There’s a reason he’s quick to command a room, and his lifelong mission to protect his younger sister made him grow up a lot faster than everyone else. 

Still… Yoongi just deserves to be happy. And you’re the very obvious answer to helping with that. 

As much as he may have wanted some chances of his own, Jimin is grateful you found your way into his best friend’s heart. Not just anyone is invited inside, and even less people can truly be allowed to stay. 

And you’re probably the only one that has permanent residence. 

“You guys should get some sleep.”

Taehyung pouts right on cue, and Jimin can’t fight those sleepy, droopy eyes. “You didn’t answer me.”

Cute as fuck! He must be stopped. Taking the phone, Jimin speaks into the line fully recovered, shooting his cheeky partner a teasing glare, “We will if you get some, too.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Got some things to do at the studio—”

“No!” They reject together, both equally as appalled because what the fuck kinda answer is that? 

“After what happened last night? Are you crazy?”

“What happened to spending time with her? Men!” 

“He’s going on a business trip, I can’t lose to him.”

“So what?” Tae asks before they both share an even further confused look. Yoongi may be a lovesick fool but that doesn’t give him an excuse to be a dumbass! “You’re just gonna leave her alone?”

There’s a sigh on the line before Jimin plants a hand on his hip. “Not just that. You gotta rest, too, bro. If she doesn’t tell you to take it easy or at least get checked—which she will—we’re going over there to annoy you.” 

“You serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious.” Jimin cocks his head and leans closer to the phone. “At least rest easy for the next couple days. Especially if you have all this time to see each other.”

The timing couldn’t be more perfect. Your brother is leaving for his trip and Yoongi caught some unfortunate hits to his ribs. The dude basically has a free pass to spend the whole week with you, and he’s not even taking full advantage of it? Oh, the things Jimin has to say about the thin line of work ethic and relationship effort. 

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it for a long time,” Taehyung cuts in before Jimin can pop off, walking away into the living room. 

It’s fine. Let him figure out that you aren’t a woman he can just leave. Frankly? That would tickle Jimin to no end to see Yoongi folding his plans so fast just to be with you. 

But he spares him the tirade only because you’re fast asleep right next to him. “Thank you for calling, man.”

“Said I would.”

“I know.” 

Because above all else, Jimin is happy to hear that voice. Even if it’s obvious he’s a little banged up from last night, it’s still Yoongi. In one piece. That’s all Jimin wanted, and he can’t thank you enough,

“Don’t overwork yourself, and stay with her as long as you can.”

There’s a small laugh on the other end. “I plan on it, Chim.”

And Jimin catches on to why. “I’m holding you to that then.” 

—

—

Dawn breaks through open blinds, stretching its orange tint across a clean, spotless table. 

You don’t know what got you up so early. But when you peer into the kitchen, you tell yourself you woke up right on time. 

Because seeing Yoongi when you’re wide awake is better than any dream you’ll ever have.

Not because of his appearance, even though the sight of him sends a pang through your chest. No. It’s the way he’s quietly prepping a morning meal, using the arm on his better side that’s not sporting a nasty hit to the ribs, without you even asking. 

Bits of sunlight dance right out of your eyes.

The effort. The consideration. This man shouldn’t be lifting a finger, yet here he is cooking before you even left his bed. Isn’t this the same man that got caught up in a fight hours ago? Isn’t this the same man you almost walked out on with a frozen heart? 

Yes. But he’s also the same man that loves you. And you still can’t grasp that concept in any of the fingers playing with his tee you borrowed.

“Hi,” you whisper, telling him a thousand things. 

To which he regards before smiling soft, voice travelling over linoleum and circling around your heart, “Morning, doll.”

Damn. You hear it. Yoongi’s sore as hell. 

But instead of getting into that right away, you silently take residence by his side. Because this moment feels too delicate, and you admire his willingness to take care of you unprompted. You didn’t even know you’d eat before going back home. 

With a hand warming his back, you wait until Yoongi’s done tossing food on the stove to peck his morning-chilled cheek. “Thank you for cooking,” you murmur, admiring those beautiful brown eyes. “Sleep okay?”

“Cus of you,” your lover softly responds, eyeing your lips before gliding back up to your gaze. “You?”

Ugh. He’s gotta know those glasses are so unfair. They’ve gotten you repeatedly before, and they’re certainly getting you now. 

But you can’t help but deflate at the cuts behind those rims, while knowing there are even more bruises hiding underneath his oversized tee. How is Yoongi cooking right now? How is he even awake? “Same.” 

“Good.” 

These instant, deep shivers at his deeper morning voice will never, ever go away. But anything you wanna do about them isn’t important right now. Right now, you need to make sure Yoongi is either okay, or finds a way to get better. 

Sliding your hands down the slopes of his chest, you delicately rest one on his ribs. “Does it still hurt?” 

Yikes. That wince is enough. But Yoongi doesn’t shy away from your touch, and you appreciate the way he stays honest. “It’s sore. But I should be good.”

“You gonna get it checked?”

There’s a slight upward tilt of his lips. “Not right now.” At least the honesty persists, as much as you don’t want him following the typical manly response to hospital visits. “But I will if you want me to.”

“Please go,” you gently urge, lest you disturb the soft morning dew before it melts with the sunrise. “For me?”

Only sizzles from the stove fill the space until Yoongi nods, and his voice is just as low and tender, “I’ll go after work.”

Oh. “You’re working today?”

Just like breakfast, you didn’t expect this, either. Frankly, you figured neither of you were gonna even think about work, much less go. Sure, he’s due a hospital visit and you owe some friends immediate explanations for your absence. But other than that, shouldn’t Yoongi be resting? 

Does his craft truly mean that much? 

Well, shit. You gotta respect his work ethic, that’s for damn sure. Because you would sequester yourself to your bedroom and have endless dates with your television if you were sporting a good jab or two. This music thing must mean more to Yoongi than you previously thought. And who are you to step on that dream? 

Suddenly, all thoughts and concerns flee from the kiss on your cheek. 

“I’ll stay if you stay,” he says, turning to move the pan and scrunching his face with a grunt. Fuck. 

“I…” Shit, you were gonna go back to the house anyway. And from Yoongi’s smartass smirk, you can tell he already knew that. “Just need to check on him, too. And he doesn’t have a car right now, so. I should at least give him a ride.” 

“Figured.” In a move so domestic your head spins, Yoongi turns your body and gently pats your butt. “Now go sit. Let’s eat and figure this out.” 

—

—

As you devour a flawless meal and clean your dishes, you plan out the day. You’ll head home and check on your brother while Yoongi heads to the studio, and then you’ll rendezvous with your friends to hang out until he’s done with work. They’re already lighting up your phone like no one’s business—especially Yuri. 

Yoongi flicks the sink off before you both head to his bedroom, and you melt at the way he slowly wraps his arms around your front halfway there, all four of your legs slowing to close the rest of the distance. 

What’s he doing? This is joyfully new, but you have a pretty tight deadline. Warming his forearm and your own cheeks, you chuckle out, “We have to hustle, old man.” 

“You hustle me all the time,” he accuses into your shoulder blade, kissing its ridge and making you reconsider walking out the door entirely. “Lemme have this.” 

Your second laugh is more subdued, and you’re right between his bed and desk when you lift both hands to hold him close. “You have everything I got,” you wisp into his skin, planting your lips once, twice before you feel his arms press further in. “So this is nothing.” 

Seconds and silence slide by, the delicate veil of early morning still hovering around the room. When Yoongi doesn’t say anything, you make to turn and face him. 

But you’re stopped before your heart skips. 

“I could stay like this all day,” he admits, voice so low it rumbles through your bones. “And it’d be perfect.” 

“What, you don’t wanna see my face?” You joke with a giggle. “Rude, but that’s fine.” 

Yoongi only buries his nose further, his glasses sliding against your skin peeking from his shirt. “I’m much braver right here, doll.” 

Oh. 

The leap your heart does is more of a dive, plummeting into the seafoam swirling around your feet. All the words you want to respond with jump off right after, leaving you with nothing but the clouds in your eyes. 

You don’t quite know what he means by that. But it feels like those six words hold the weight of a thousand, so you simply let another kiss on his smooth forearm linger. “Do you want me to go with you?” 

A puff of laughter warms you right through and, despite his earlier admission, Yoongi does slowly spin you around. 

And when you follow, you realize you’re much braver when you aren’t facing him, too. 

“It’s not that, babe,” he says through a dashing curve. “But the offer was cute.” 

“I take it back then.” 

“Damn!” 

Both of your laughs whoosh out and collide, sweeping as Yoongi pinches your side and you flinch towards the bed. “You fucker—!”

Before you know it, your back hits a comforter before a weight presses your stomach, emotions clashing as you’re elated and shy and immediately concerned for your boyfriend’s side. “Baby, be careful—”

Lips capture yours, sucking up your warning before a hand slides under your head. Sighing, you arch into his chest, feeling the weight of his chains slip across your breasts. 

Euphoria isn’t an adequate enough word to describe how you feel. Where there used to be flutters in your ribcage now reside strong, powerful wing beats, gusts of want and desire lifting you off the ground and launching you into clear skies. Starlight of every color exists within each kiss you share, and your fingers feebly grab his tee to keep you from falling back down to earth. 

“If we don’t go now,” Yoongi rasps before sliding his mouth against yours, “We’re never going anywhere again.” 

“I know,” you whisper, willingly letting him kiss you once more, “Is that a promise?” 

“Fuck, I wish.” 

You do, too. But you know you’re running out of time for what you need to do. And weren’t you just saying you had to respect his aspirations? Shit, you really do need to snap out of it. “Come on,” you order with a pat to his chest. “We have all week to do this. We got time.” 

Turns out, you’re still amongst the heavens. The way Yoongi’s looking at you? This is the closest you’ll ever get to being held by an angel. 

Did he get more handsome overnight? Or is it the light in his eyes sustained since his confession in the kitchen? You don’t quite know, and you may never pinpoint why, but the tug he has on your heart spans space and time. 

And you’ll run through both forever to keep meeting him again and again. 

Burns prick your eyes, but he mercifully stands before he can catch any evidence of your yearning. 

Just like that, the two of you bounce back to getting ready, with him sliding notebooks and headphones in a backpack while you change into your own clothes. As you sling your bag over a shoulder, he reaches for the closest hoodie, and you wordlessly make your way to the front door. 

You really do hope he gets looked at today. But just like the calm after a storm, you want to encourage him gently rather than shove him out. At least he seems receptive to your gentle suggestions.

But after you ask one more time and he simply nods, you lower your eyes to his kicks. “Sorry if I’m nagging. I’d just worry less if you went right away, that’s all.”

“You aren’t nagging, babe.” Your freshly bloomed lover reaches out to hold your wrist, smoothing a rough thumb over your skin. Fucking hell, you can’t help but frown at the gashes and cuts marring his knuckles. “I’ll go as soon as I can.”

Not just his hands, but his face. His ribs. And maybe other places you haven’t even seen yet. 

You don’t wanna leave his side. 

But you have to head out before your brother leaves. Things need to get patched up before he flies out into more stress, and you owe him an apology for walking out when he was still aching. Based on Yoongi’s physical state? Your brother could be hiding some big wounds and you didn’t even wanna talk to him. 

However. Was last night necessary? Absolutely. You cannot entertain the possible outcomes had you not tried hard enough to get through Yoongi’s door. His eyes were so dulled, his hands felt so cold. What would have happened if you didn’t force yourself inside? 

Why was that guitar smashed to pieces? 

This is also why you refuse to leave. So many questions, so many things you still don’t know. Like what all happened when you were separated? And how in the hell is this man in love with you?

“I don’t wanna go,” you confess, instantly encased in his arms and warmth. “I’d much rather keep kissing you.” 

“True,” he says with a resigned huff, shifting his glasses with an adorable nose scrunch. If only he didn’t have so many little red lines of conflict on his face. “But we both have stuff to take care of, so let’s get all that done first.”

“Ugh, fine.” Your groan is more teasing than serious, and Yoongi’s laugh is nothing but understanding. 

Damn. You still feel it. You really don’t wanna go. Be it the rawness of last night still on your skin, or the confessions still on your tongues, you just wanna stay by his side. “Sorry,” you breathe out, lacing your fingers to pepper love along his strong, reddened ridges. “I’m serious. I don’t wanna leave you right now.”

Walking out of Yoongi’s door just doesn’t feel right. Even if he’s right there and will be following you out. Is this feeling normal? Are you supposed to feel this tightly woven to someone? Because the stitching between your hearts has only gotten stronger in the tempest of last night, as if you bonded together just to hold on for dear life. 

Maybe that’s exactly what happened. And it’s exactly why you can barely take one step out of his place. 

“Then don’t.”

Not one second passes before your chin is held, and lips slide so tenderly across yours that they may as well melt into your touch. Your reaction is quickly swooped into his mouth, and everything falls away as you let him seize your every thought. Lightning from last night zips out of your limbs, your toes, your fingers clasping his loose tee. 

You might just cry where you stand.

How have his kisses gotten even better? How have you never felt this way even though you’ve done this far more times than you were ever supposed to? It should be impossible, and yet, this man finds even more ways to astound you. 

Yoongi slips a hand over your cheek, giving one more beautiful push of his lips as he confesses, “I don’t wanna leave you, either.” 

And your breath stutters onto his features. “You, too?”

Slow, he kisses your cheek, the clear rim of his specs skimming your nose. When he draws back, you look right into his eyes, wondering why he’s watching your mouth instead. 

“Me, too.” Yoongi kisses your other side with a quiet peck. “Fuck, me, too.” 

You fucking hate what you have to do, but you don’t have a choice. 

With one last lingering kiss, you both gather enough courage to set out and do what you must. 

—

—

Your house is already a flurry of activity as you enter to see your brother in the kitchen, packing his leather duffle that’s a constant companion on his trips. 

Of course. The memory of him purchasing the lavish accessory pops into your head every time you watch him scurry around, dimples ever present on his proud cheeks. It’s almost enough to make you smile yet again. 

But you can’t when the same face is currently scratched to hell. Just like Yoongi’s, if not worse. 

Fuck, is he really gonna travel looking like that? 

“Hey,” he rasps out, still fighting off slumber. “You’re back earlier than I thought.” 

“Wanted to check on you before we left.” Fuck, your voice sounds like it’s being forced through a clogged pipe. Loosen the hell up! “And dude. Put some bandaids on, yeah?” 

“Yeah, just give me a sec. Making sure I have everything before my ride gets here.” 

“Huh?” He got a ride? You’re here now so you can take him to the airport. “You sure you don’t need me to drive you?” 

“Yeah, it’s all good. I didn’t know you were coming back.” 

Shit. His body seems just as angular as it did last night. Which, quite frankly, could still be from what went down in the lot. 

Because even though you see both men banged up, you suddenly realize you don’t actually know what all transpired. 

After all, there wasn’t much talk of it after you walked into the tempest of Yoongi’s living room.

Of course, you aren’t gonna bring it up just this second. There are other things to ask about and make sure of first. “Wallet? Phone? Passport?” 

“Yup, yup, uhh.. Yup.” 

Zippers sling in the quiet morning air as you continue, “And you’re coming back on Friday, right?”

“Oh.. Nah.” When you start crossing the kitchen, your brother hauls his leather bag over his better shoulder. Honestly, no one would be able to tell the other one’s bruised with his suit on. That thing damn well covers everything except the cuts on his face and hands. “Saturday.” 

You pause in your journey to the medicine cabinet. “Wait.. Saturday? The release party’s on Friday.”

“Yeah.. I know.”

What the fuck? That’s bullshit they’re keeping him longer than they have to. Struggling to understand how corporate can keep your brother on a leash and get away with it, you urge, “Tell them to at least let you go home a day early. Don’t you wanna support your friends?”

“You mean Yoongi?”

A zing of terror zips through your eyes, freezing every vein in an instant. 

The fuck was that question? Never mind. Stay calm stay calm stay fucking calm. “Uhh, yeah, he’s one of them? But the other guys, too, right? I know you care about them and this is huge.”

Mercifully, your sibling just shakes his head and waves you off. “Don’t you think I already tried? I don’t wanna miss it but I don’t have a choice. Conference schedule is pretty tight and I’m heading the panel on Friday.”

“Is it in the morning? You can fly out after—”

“Why are you fighting so hard?”

“Why aren’t you fighting harder!”

Okay, what in the hell is happening right now? Screw optics and how this must look for you, your brother needs to be there. Him and Yoongi are the tightest of friends, the most ride or die duo you’ve ever seen. You can’t picture a timeline where he misses this monumental moment, and it’s starting to really upset you that he’s barely trying. 

“You think I’m not fighting for it?”

“I certainly don’t think you’re trying enough—”

“Alright, you know what?” Hard steps surge forward as you stand rigid, a duffle hastily dumped onto tile. “You don’t know what I’ve tried. You don’t even know if I even told him yet.”

Fucking shit. You hold his stare before turning away, tossing out the idea of bandages entirely and searing footsteps into the hallway—

“Or do you.”

Before icing over with the unforgiving frost of zero gravity space. 

Slow, you turn, not quite facing him but not backing down, either. “…Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You talkin’? What else has he been doing to you?”

Oh. Fuck that. 

Doing to you? 

Fuck all of this. This is too much to handle right now and you know you’re gonna snap if he keeps pushing because you are not having this conversation right before he leaves. You’ve already thought about this before, right? You cannot fuck with his head right before business trips because he needs to be on and locked in. 

But now he’s fucking with your temper and those are some choice fucking words pulled out of his ass. 

You don’t think you’ve ever legitimately threatened this man to his face and meant it before, and it tears a sharp corner of your heart, “You better be very careful. With whatever you wanna say next.”

The air proves too thick to slice. While your body stands aflame, your brother is iced over, brimming with an energy that damn near takes physical form. “All I’m saying is? I find out some fucking bullshit is going on—”

No no no, not now.

Reacting fast is your only instinct, brain haywire and fizzling fizzling boiling. Harsh, you spin on your heel and shout the first thing you can think of, “Oh, come on—”

“You better hope to god you’re ready for what’s coming—”

“Stop!” Fuck fuck fuck, this is so frustrating because your head is exploding and your body is screaming to just tell him already. Fuck the consequences at this point this is ludicrous. 

Doing to you? Yoongi? How dare he speak about his best friend like that how dare he accuse him without outright saying the words all you have to do is tell your brother how wrong he’s got it. 

But you can’t be the one. Yoongi said he would, and he probably took months to get to that point of strength—and healing, from what you can tell. 

This is between them. Them. You have to honor that, as much as you wanna just confess everything now and deal with it yourself. 

But goddamn your brother is pulsing with anger and it’s leaking into your own charged air. 

What does he think is happening? Does he think Yoongi’s just, what, playing you? He’s wrong. He’s so wrong. Yoongi’s been nothing but the best thing that’s ever happened to you and shit your heart hurts because…

Your brother is valid in thinking that. 

How foolish. Didn’t you guard your heart from Yoongi for the longest? Didn’t everything start because you figured you knew who he was because of his reputation? You got him all wrong, too. So how can you be mad at your brother for doing the same? 

Fuck, think. Just think before someone gets hurt. 

Because if you aren’t careful, someone—or multiple someones—will get hurt in seconds. You have to bear the pain alone right now. To protect them both, you have to keep your trembling mouth shut. 

And? You have to admit that something isn’t fair here. Not to you, not to Yoongi, but to him. Last night was rough as fuck but, while you both got to have raw, beautiful closure, the one standing in front of you had to go to sleep in an empty house. 

So chill the fuck out. 

Breathing to cool down, you tense and loosen, tense and loosen. “I get it. You’re angry, and you have a lot going on. But,” you bite down on your lip to keep going. “We’re talking about something else. We’re talking about you, and I’m still pissed you even let those guys goad you into a fight. What are we, twelve?”

Seething, your sibling takes the switch of pace. But it is not what you want to hear. “Are you seri—? What the hell was I supposed to do? That son of a bitch grabbed you—”

“I know,” you recoil. “Don’t tell me like you were there, because you weren’t.”

Finally—finally—those angry lines in his face vanish. 

But they make way for something much worse than anger. Because your older brother, someone that’s been there for you your whole life.. 

Looks absolutely stricken over the one time he wasn’t. 

Damn it. 

Regretful, you drop your shoulders in exhaustion and quiet compromise. When you continue, your voice is much softer, “But I told you: they were. Your friends, they were there because they knew you wanted that. Jimin got me away, Yoongi took me home and stayed.” 

You really have got to stop saying his name like you love him. It could start becoming too obvious. 

Shuddering, you shift your weight, folding your arms and shrinking into yourself. 

That night, despite Yoongi’s best and most gentle efforts, still clings to where that loser touched you at Dalo. You hate that you haven’t gotten over it, and you loathe the way you still rub over the same spot. Over, and over. “What did you want him to do? Leave me here?”

“No.” 

“Exactly. And he didn’t.” You adjust your stance again, making an impromptu gamble as you decide to let some truth leak out. Because your brother is owed at least this much. “And fine, you wanna know something? We do talk more because of it.”

Your brother’s head snaps up, and you brace. Because if you show any shred of weakness or hesitation, he’ll see right through your weak attempt to hide most of the truth, 

“But don’t ever accuse him of doing anything to me. That was fucked up to say and you know it.”

“Fuck.” In agreement, he rubs his hair back. “It was. I’m sorry.” 

“Trust me,” you swallow, hating that this is how things have to be for now. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s never.. Never done anything to me, anyway.” 

It’s not a lie. Everything he’s done has been with you. For you. Because of you. 

But your heart’s in anguish as it sinks. Because that expression on your older sibling’s face can only be one thing.  

Pure. Utter. Relief.

Fire singes your eyes before you can quell the flame. It’s the hardest technical truth to swallow. 

Sure, he doesn’t have anything to worry about as far as you being safe. And on top of that, he doesn’t have to worry about any fake shit because Yoongi confessed to you last night.

But as far as his best friend sleeping with and now dating his sister behind his back? That is still very much sitting right in the center of the table. 

And now you’re starting to see just how fucked all three of you are as soon as you sit down to eat the truth. 

But Yoongi said he’d be the one to tell, so he will. 

This feeling is so fucking miserable, though. 

In the end, your brother is effectively convinced, raking a hand across his head and sighing. “Jimin told me what all went down at Dalo, I just… Last night was… Fucked up.” 

“Well, yeah.”

“No. See, this is just like what you said to me. You can’t say it like you were there.”

It’s your stomach’s turn to twist. “So? You were scratched and bruised to hell, and Y…” Shut up, shut up. You’re not supposed to know about the state of anyone else. “And you were… quieter.”

“Because of what happened, dude.”

You blink. “What… What happened?”

Your brother looks at you—really looks at you. 

And suddenly, your gut flares in terror, storming in an instant across your abdomen. 

“That bitch pulled something on us.”

Your heart. 

It’s in freefall.

“Wait… What?” You can’t even form more than one syllable at a time, your legs turning gelatinous and knees starting to give out. “No… What are you…?”

What the fuck did he just say? That bitch pulled a what? 

Your sibling slowly walks toward you once again, watching like he’s just waiting for you to say anything. Do anything. 

But you’re a complete statue because all you can think about is the horror of something happening and the relief that nothing happened all at once. 

Was Yoongi too scared to mention that part? Is this why he was holding back and shaking every time he reached out to touch you? Even this morning, he was so… 

You’ve never seen him like that. Is this why? 

Your mind is swirling and crashing, overlapping each passing thought and scream running through your head. “I’m so sorry,” you hitch out, “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Didn’t wanna scare you,” he sighs out. Putting both hands on his hips, your brother stops feet away, visibly still shook as he pierces wooden planks with his stare. “But he pulled it right before Yoongi… and if it weren’t…Fuck.” 

Burns flare and slice through your eyes when he has to pause. What is he trying to say? Pulled what? 

Before Yoongi what? 

Your brother continues, and your throat tightens. “If it weren’t for some random ass sirens, I… Things could’ve been so different.” 

What the fuck is happening. What the hell are you hearing? 

“It was probably dumb as fuck. But I was so fucking angry,” he grits out, watery eyes crushed looking your way. “So fucking mad at how he was talking about you, I.. Walked right up to him and told him to fuck off.”

You can’t even breathe. 

“I still feel it,” he quietly adds, fingers pressed against his side. “Right here.” 

“Fuck,” you finally choke out, eyes on fucking fire. 

“But all I knew was to keep you all safe,” he says, with hardened resolve and a wobbly chin. “And that’s exactly what I did. I did that shit, even if that meant—” 

Tears fling out of your eyes, flowing hot down your cheeks because you wouldn’t want any of them to go out that way. Nothing happened nothing happened nothing happened and yet your body is acting as if something did and it hurts. 

Your brother is there as soon as you crumple forward, letting you bury your head in his chest and sob your heart out. For him, for his friends, and for all the time you had with the man you love so, so dearly. 

If anything happened to your brother before you came clean… If anything happened before you and Yoongi could even… 

Suddenly, you feel equal weights of guilt. For running out on your brother. And for almost walking out on Yoongi. 

You decide an apology is in order for both of them, and all the understanding in the world for Yoongi’s frosted demeanor as soon as you get him alone again.

And you are one hundred percent going to tell your brother everything once he’s back. 

The tears cannot stop, and you’re sure you are crying unimpeded in a pressed and primmed suit. “I’m so sorry,” you keep repenting like a prayer. “This is all my fault.”

“No—”

“You almost—”

“Hey, stop.” He yanks you back, both of your faces soaked with saltwater. “What did I say before? I threw the first swing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But it led to all this, I just.. I just feel so fucking stupid.”

“Don’t. Hey, look at me.” Firm but gentle, he holds you at arm’s length, forcing you to face him. “Maybe we’re both stupid, but you weren’t the idiot. I was.” 

You feel so many conflicting things in your soul. 

What would you have done if Yoongi was in critical condition? What would you have done differently if your brother was instead? Are they the same? Are the two situations really so different anymore? 

No they aren’t they aren’t they aren’t. 

“Please don’t do that again,” you shake out. “Even if it was for me, if I ever lost you, I...” 

“You know I can’t promise anything.” He furrows his brows when you eye him with anger and sadness. “But nothing like that is happening again. Especially with the same dudes.” 

“Okay.” 

A vicious tornado of emotions sends your whole body into agonizing pain. This isn’t what you expected at all, and it’s causing your limbs to lock at the bends. Too many scenarios are jangling about yet you can’t ask for specifics because that will just make it even more real. 

A nightmare is somehow better once you know it ends with you waking up. “I’m… gonna need some time to process everything.”

“I know. And I wasn’t planning on saying anything, but… You deserve to know the things I get into.” 

Ah. 

The irony is not lost on you. 

“At least, if they involve you. We learned our lesson. You were right to tell us off.”

God. You feel numb. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, suddenly immensely tired. “I think I need more sleep.”

A blaring honk sounds outside the house, and you both flinch at the noise. 

And your throat burns at the way your brother instinctively swept you behind his back. 

When you realize what it is, you know what has to come next. 

And he’s the first to react as he turns to face you again, “Alright. I’m heading out, just remember to go get my baby when she’s fixed, yeah?”

“Do you have to go?”

Wait.

The question seems to startle him as much as it does you. 

How did you blurt it right out before even registering the words? Why does your heart clench at the sight of those eyes looking so pained? 

Why does everything feel so shaky within these walls that were always your home?

“I do,” he says, voice tight. “I’m sorry.” 

And why the fuck do you feel sad he’s leaving?

“No, no, it’s.. Of course you have to.” You can’t help the lump in your throat from bobbing, the regret in your limbs as they barely move at your side. “I dunno why I asked, I guess I just..” 

There’s no response to your sniffle. 

“Sorry for yelling,” you squeak out. “I just feel really queasy.”

For a lot more reasons than one.

“We all made it out,” your brother whispers. “That’s what matters.”

“Will you… Will you at least try to be back for the party?”

The man swallows with his brows knit tight, then attempts to crack the tiniest smile. “You know I will. That’s my guy.” 

“Okay.” You nod, sniffling again. After what he just told you? You know he’ll do anything for the ones he loves. “See you there.”

Your brother rubs a comforting palm over your head before turning, heading for the door and grabbing his leather duffle. 

When he stops to glance at you one more time, you give a little wave of your hand before watching the door click shut. 

Chest caving as you collapse to the ground in tears. 

—

—

The need to call Yoongi burns so harshly your fingers damn near set your top aflame.

But he’s at work, and you can’t fuck things up right when you’re approaching the finish line. You almost did with your brother, and that gave you twelve heart attacks in the span of minutes. 

Still. Your chest aches so much that a thirteenth could very well be approaching. You don’t even realize you’re bracing the hallway wall for support until you try to stand, back sore and aching from bending so far for so long. 

What did your brother mean to say about Yoongi? What did that coward pull on them? Do you even want to know what happened? 

Fighting back tears, you reach down for your phone, shakily typing out a message only to erase it. Then again. And again. 

And again. 

Giving up, you forcefully swallow all your worries, cringing at the bitterness of the unknown and the burnt molasses of hidden truths. 

It’s going to be okay. No matter what you think or imagine in your head, they made it out, they made it out, they are all alive. 

That’s the only reason you can move forward, each step getting you from your room. To your bathroom. 

And back again. 

—

—

After showering, you feel lighter and refreshed, though the soreness between your legs has yet to leave. 

But you wouldn’t want it any other way, as it’s another reminder of Yoongi’s apparent brush with survival. His broken living room spurned the creation of your bond, your devotion to him as he confessed before you gave him your utmost trust in his sheets. 

The end is so close. As soon as this week is over, you’ll rip the last bit of peel from your pair of tangerines, baring all truths to your brother and facing the consequences. 

Finally ready, you head to your car, opening your text threads with a plan: start slow. 

Start with something that can be interpreted neutrally if anyone saw it on his phone screen, especially if your headstrong ex is in the room. 

You [12:31pm]: how are you feeling?

Yoongi [12:34pm]: 1 Attachment 

You close your door with brows furrowed. 

Yoongi’s at the hospital? 

That’s not what you expected at all. 

Your chest swells with relief knowing he’s there, but you also wanna make sure he’s feeling okay. Especially his mental state after whatever the fuck your brother just dropped on you before leaving. 

Goddamn, that’s going to gnaw at your brain until you find the right time and right amount of courage to ask about it. Because it’s very possible Yoongi won’t tell you. 

Because it’s probably something he knows you won’t like. 

Fuck. 

You [12:34pm]: Loved an Attachment

You [12:34pm]: thank you for listening🤍 still sore?

Yoongi [12:35pm]: Yeah, but not bad. Just there.

Wait. He’s not at the studio. That means you can—

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you slowly say as you pull out into the street. “I’m driving now so this is easier.”

“Course. You going to Tae’s?”

“Maybe. I’m going to Yuri’s first.” You swallow, realizing that you didn’t tell him about what you let slip before driving over. “I.. Told her. About you.”

There’s a little bit of silence on the line, just some adjustments and muffled speaker sounds. “Sorry, just writing this down. What’s wrong with that?”

You huff through your nose. Gotta be those patient forms that always take forever to fill out. “Oh. Just more and more people knowing, is all.” 

“Everyone’s gonna know eventually.” 

You hold back a small smile. Because he’s right. “Yeah. I’m just tired of this feeling.”

“Like you’re hiding something.”

It’s your turn for silence. He doesn’t know how accurately that was played out today. The only answer you can provide is a curt, “Exactly.”

“Same.”

Wings beat around your heart again. 

He wants this. Yoongi really, really wants this. And years ago, that outcome wouldn’t have even crossed your mind as an option. 

“Thank you for going, baby.”

“The guys made me.”

You hum. “Which ones.”

After a pause, you hear a puff of amusement. “All of them at some point today, actually.” 

All of them? Does that include your brother? Did they talk about the trip already?

Your laugh is bittersweet. “Well. Glad to know you can be forced by everyone else except me.”

“Hey, I was already gonna go because of you!” Yoongi quietly retorts, and you giggle at the pout in his words. “Just wanted to get a headstart on work first.”

You were right. He really does wanna go all out for his musical endeavors. 

It’s extremely admirable, and wildly attractive, but it does come to a point. “As much as I love your passion, old man, I wanna keep you upright.”

He laughs soft into the line, and you think you can listen to that specific sound on an infinite loop. “That’s fair.” 

“How long is it gonna take, you think?”

“Dunno. But I’ll keep myself busy until I’m out.”

Of course he will. You don’t doubt he won’t waste any time. Didn’t he bring journals in his backpack? You wouldn’t be surprised if he wrote ten thousand songs before being called in. “Just call me if you need anything, please?”

“Of course, babe.”

“Thank you,” you say with utmost sincerity. “If only my brother would be less stubborn and get checked, too.”

“He’ll probably do it once he gets there.”

“Did you convince him?”

“Nah. But once he knows I did, he’ll do it.”

“Figures.” You scoff. “Okay, I’m almost there. Let me know how it goes.”

“K. Bye, doll.”

You didn’t ask him what went down. But it’s not the time nor place, and you have plenty of chances this week to figure out when that would be—if at all. 

“Talk soon.” 

—

—

For a normally bustling household, Yuri’s house is quiet. 

So it’s not shocking when you walk into the kitchen and see all your friends glance your way, slowly vacating their chairs with eyes never leaving your face. Even Reia is on high alert. 

Did Yuri tell her? Did Yuri tell anyone else? 

No. She’s a talker and loves spilling, but she promised. And when she promises something, you know you can trust her to keep it. 

It’s what pours emotion in your voice as you meekly greet, “Hey, guys—”

A crushing hug closes your throat. Yuri’s the one that gets to you first, with Reia and Dominique waiting their turns to offer you healing, relieved embraces. 

“What happened?” 

“Scared us half to death.”

Dom puts you at arm’s length to give a once over, noting your face rubbed raw and eyes still a little bloodshot. Thankfully, her pupils hold more concern than disappointment. “You good?”

Your eyes wobble alongside your smile, and you think it’s enough proof. “More than that,” you still decide to whisper, and your heart beats again at her reaction. 

“Thank god. I was ready to kick your ass if you weren’t.”

Heading up to Yuri’s room, you all wait until the door is swung back before mounting her canopy bed, sitting in a tight circle as you divulge everything. 

Well. Almost everything. 

You tell them that Yoongi is the one you’ve been seeing, how you went to check on him last night in a panic, and the terrifying reason why. When you mention the fight after the basketball game, all three of your friends erupt in questions, and you have to assure them everything turned out okay. Honestly, you also do this to assure yourself, too. 

“So… Your brother’s just fine with all of this?” Reia asks, not noticing the tick of Dom’s jaw. 

“Well,” you start with a higher pitch, earning a pair of groans. “He doesn’t exactly know yet—”

“Yup. He’s gonna murder him.”

“Yeah, should we say our condolences now or..”

“How long has this been going on?” Reia fires off another question that digs into your chest. “Was he the one you were seeing the whole time?”

“Yes,” you admit with a sigh. “I should’ve told you guys from the beginning, but. The whole thing just felt so delicate. But! We just started making things official recently, so..” 

Dom turns your way. “Official how?”

Well. Here goes everything. 

With a shaky breath, and lingering feelings from the time it happened, you reveal with watery eyes, “Yoongi… Told me he loves me.”

Both Yuri and Reia react in yelps, Dom’s gaze lowering as the girls reach to grab your hands. 

Wait. What’s going on with her? She’s the one that knows the most, she’s the one that covered for you all those months ago. She has to be the one that is the least surprised at all this. 

Blinking, you note to confront her about it later. Right now, you’re too focused on trying not to cry as your friends tumble out questions and support, 

“He said it? Did you say it first or did he?” 

“How did it happen! Oh, I’m so happy for you, babe—” 

“Thank—thank you, Yuri,” you squeeze out as she hugs you close. “I couldn’t believe it, but he just.. Said it. We weren’t even doing anything, I was just.. Looking up what injuries he could have..” 

And he confessed in the most Yoongi fashion he could have. 

Looking back, it shouldn’t shock you at all. He’s always found ways to sweep you off your proverbial feet, so why would a confession plucked from the heavens be any different? 

She lets you go before wiping her eyes, Reia and even Dom now sporting watery pupils, too. 

“As much as I’m upset at you for not telling us, I’ve never been so happy for you.” When Yuri’s features crease in another sob, you sniffle along with the rest. “It’s been so long since you… And you really.. Fuck.” 

You know what she’s trying to say, and the realization has your throat constricting so tight. 

It’s been forever since you’ve had something like this, someone like this. When you and Jungkook were together, you told him that you loved him before he broke it off. 

Sure, you bought the rings together, but he never uttered those words until years after when it didn’t even matter. And all your relationships after his were complete and utter bullshit, so you don’t think you ever even heard those three words and knew them to be true. 

Yoongi was the first to ever say them so sincerely. 

And that fact makes your ducts burn and burn. 

And when Yuri finally speaks, it breaks the dam holding your real deluge back, 

“I can’t think of anyone else that deserves to be loved more than you.” 

All at once, everything streams out as you hunch forward. The pain of everything you’ve endured, the hopelessness of knowing you’d most likely end up alone, the excruciating prospect of a future that you never deemed bright, or peaceful, or comforting. 

And to think that even this man could’ve been snatched away from you in a snap? Even more tears overlap with the ones you’re shedding, and you can’t even reach out to hug all three beautiful, angelic souls surrounding you with tight arms and sobs because your limbs lock at all bends. 

It’s the exact release you need. All your friends supporting you, all the pent up anxiety of last night and today, the truth setting itself free in some capacity—all in the comfort of a plushie-laden bed you only doubted yourself in last time. 

Everything’s gonna be alright. It has to be. You’re gonna fight for the ones you love, even if a war between them is inevitable. 

It takes a few minutes of heavy silence for you all to separate, swiping and rubbing tears while letting out happy sniffles. 

When you thank them for being understanding, they assure you it’s okay. And when you say you’re going to tell your brother soon, a force from the doorway has all of you leaping from lilac sheets, 

“Tell him what?” 

Jia stands firm with a laundry basket at her hip, and Yuri scoffs at her older sister for barging in. “A knock would’ve been nice!” 

Fuck! 

You can’t tell Jia of all people. If you spill anything about Yoongi, she’s one hundred percent going to tell your brother. They’re the same age, and run in pretty tight circles, so of course you are not going to risk it. 

But you can tell her something else you’re going to tell your older sibling, so you fire out a half-truth, 

“Tell him not to pick any other fights that could get him killed.” 

Jia’s eyes zoom to your wrecked face, and she drops the laundry with haste before asking, “What happened? When? Tell me now.” 

Huh. Maybe your brother has a type, if he’s still into Jia like he said before. 

You feel a little spark in your chest as you let her know they all got in a scuffle after the basketball game, and another pang as she immediately abandons the room and clothes with a fierce declaration, 

“I’m gonna kill them myself!” 

“Don’t worry, I already hounded my brother!” You call out after her, sighing as Yuri shakes her head with a smile. “She gets like that when she’s really worried, huh.” 

“Yeah..” Your friend leans to look around you, noticing the basket left alone on the ground. “And if she’s super fired up, she drops everything and doesn’t stop until it’s handled. Clearly.” 

Maybe both older siblings really are similar. 

The firestorm of an interruption seemed to break the tension in the room, with all of you finally relaxing and catching up. When they ask you questions, you answer what you can. 

And when you divulge information that has your ears burning, their squeals and yells give you whole new reasons to live. 

—

—

After a very comforting lunch Yuri’s mom cooked, you head to the bathroom when your phone suddenly vibrates through your palm.

Huh? That’s weird. You expect the name on your screen to be Taehyung, not Yoongi. 

Not that it’s a bad thing. You’ve been waiting to hear from him, so this is a pleasant surprise. 

Closing the door to the guest bathroom, you gaze at the calming sage decor with a smile. “Hi, how did it—”

“You’re coming over later, right?”

Oh, shit. Is he okay?

“Yes, baby,” you respond with a soothing lilt, ears perked and body on high alert. 

Does he think you aren’t anymore? You both decided on the plans earlier. Surely he knows you’d never just flake on him. “I’m coming back once you’re done with work, remember?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause on the line, which makes your boyfriend’s next question jab you so far in the lungs you can’t breathe,

“…Can it be now?”

Shit. 

Just like Jia earlier, you drop every plan you have to the wayside. You’re sure that Taehyung will understand, and you already got through the biggest conversation you needed to with your friends. 

“Of course,” you whoosh out. “Lemme just say bye and I’ll go.” 

“Take your time.” A small shuffling interrupts. “It’ll take me a bit to get back.” 

“Okay. See you there.” 

The strained urgency in his voice makes your hair stand on end, so you vacate the bathroom to inform the girls that you gotta go—but not without a quick head tilt towards Dom, who follows you outside and into the afternoon sun.  

—

—

You wait until you’re next to your car on the street, turning with a concerned expression and jittery nerves, “What’s up with you? Did I do something wrong?”

Turns out, you read Dominique correctly. Her jaw locks before loosening, and it reminds you of the time she confronted you about Yoongi before. God, how much has changed since then. That feels like ages and ages ago. 

“It’s not about you,” your best friend clears the air and the tightness in your shoulders. “I’m just.. Glad he came around.”

“Yoongi?” When Dom nods, you blink. “Wait, what?”

“At your house that night.. After he left your room, we had—I dunno, a heart-to-heart.” She sighs, flicking braids over her shoulder. You note to compliment the beads she chose this time, because they remind you of summer and simpler times. “I might’ve pressured him a bit, and.. I think he wanted to tell me that he loved you. All the way back then.” 

Something in your heart stutters, and you can only repeat your last question, “What?”

“Yeah. Something about needing to do something first,” she continues, holding your gaze with perfect brows furrowed in sunlight. “But I could tell he was damn serious about whatever it was. And if he was willing to do it for you? I let it go.” 

Your mind whirls. 

Yoongi was already in love with you back then? Is that why he needed to let you go? To deal with whatever he had to do? 

One side of you breaks thinking he had to go through all that alone; the other side is screaming at his past self for not even giving you a choice. What did he go through? What did he have to do?

Now you really have to see him. Immediately. 

“Thank you, Dom,” you rush out while opening your door. “I’m just happy it’s over.”

“The hell it’s not.” Shooting you a glare that heats the oncoming breeze, she reminds, “It’s not over until your brother knows. And based on everything that’s happened? That conversation is not gonna go over well.” 

A dark, simmering boil starts in your stomach, and you’re already feeling queasy again. Tightening your door handle, you gulp hard. “I know.” 

“Trust me, I’m happy for you both. I am.” Both hands find her hips as she levels a gaze that you really, really don’t enjoy. “But I’m gonna be honest, I think this is gonna ruin their friendship for good.” 

Both of your lungs clamp shut. 

“Please don’t say that,” you beg, “I’m gonna fight for all of us. I will.” 

“I don’t doubt that, babe. Hey, uh uh, come here.” Reaching out, she gives you a tight hug just when you feel fragile again. 

“Listen to me. I don’t doubt that,” she says into your shoulder. “I’m just here to be realistic. Just don’t be shocked if that’s how it goes. We’ll be here for you no matter what, too.” 

“Okay,” you say with a scrunched face into her scent. God, she always smells so good, and it’s almost enough to calm you down. Almost almost almost. “Thank you. But I’m not giving up.” 

“That’s my girl.” She squeezes you one more time. “I love you.” 

With eyes searing over, you choke and grip her tighter. “I love you, too.” 

—

—

Yoongi’s door warms your back as you wait for him to show. 

But there’s a good chance it can just be your volcanic anxiety. 

Ever since your arrival, you’ve paced, you’ve gnawed on your lips, you’ve had to shake the nerves out of your hands. 

And over and over, you’ve strained your neck to look for your favorite cat, because you could sincerely use even a glimpse of her right now. 

While she doesn’t end up showing, Yoongi rounds the nearest corner minutes after your last desperate scan. 

Fuck, he’s so handsome. 

Even now, as he simply walks toward you with a backpack slung over his shoulder, you watch with undying yearning to feel those flowing bangs over his forehead. You’d even settle for a single touch of his cheeks, one of them currently sporting a thin bandage.

But the closer Yoongi gets, the quicker your admiration morphs into concern. There’s a deep bend in his brows that you can’t decipher, and his fist is balled pretty tight. 

Seriously, what happened? He looks so troubled that you slowly push off the doorway to ask, 

“Baby, what’s—”

A bag hits the ground before you’re swooped into a kiss so electric your lips spark. 

Him. Him, him, and more him. For the love of everything you don’t understand what’s happening but you kiss Yoongi back with everything you have, arms slinging around his strong shoulders and tugging him closer because he clearly needed this. 

And fuck if you didn’t need it just as much. Screw it if anyone sees you. This is all you want and you’ll stay right here until he pulls away. 

When he finally does, both of you swallow to catch your breaths, and your soul glimmers when his forehead meets yours. 

“Hi, baby,” you whisper to his exhales. “Missed you, too.”

Silent, your lover kisses your forehead before hugging you close, and you’re more sure of your prediction than ever. Something is bothering him. 

He doesn’t look worse, at least. But there’s clearly something off and he’s not hiding it. His lack of words is loud enough. 

“Let’s go inside,” you quietly suggest. “I would’ve gone in already but I don’t have a key.”

He nods, fishing out his keyring to let you both inside. 

When you set your bags down and slip off your shoes, it’s only seconds before you’re softly pulled into a hug again, surprising yet so, so welcoming. 

Even only after a few hours, you’ve missed the fuck out of him. Which makes all of this an outright dream. 

“Sorry,” Yoongi finally murmurs against your shoulder. “I just…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” You stroke a hand along his hair, massaging his scalp and loving how soft it feels. The windswept strands fall back into place as you keep running your fingers through. “Did you at least get your appointment?”

“Yeah, I did.” He buries his face further. “Nothing bad. Just can’t lift anything heavy for a couple days.”

“Good. That’s easy to manage,” you whisper back into his tee, feeling the chill of lingering air conditioning and body warmth all at once. “Is something else bothering you?”

“Not exactly.” Whatever that means. “I’ll tell you about it later. Just wanted this, and you.”

Oh. That’s… 

“I’m here now, love,” you assure with a melting heart, wondering what happened to cause this behavior. 

Is it because of last night? Or something that happened today? You’re anxious all over again, but from the way Yoongi’s acting, your worries are second to his. “Have you eaten yet?”

He shakes his head, only pulling you closer with not a word from his lips. 

And from this point on, you make a silent vow to yourself. Whatever Yoongi needs, you’re going to take care of him. 

No matter what, these next few days are all about him—a minuscule sacrifice in comparison to everything he’s done for you, whether you knew about it or not.

“I’ll make you something then. Come on.” 

When you walk, you slip your hand down his arm to hold his hand, and your lead into his kitchen is short. 

“Any requests?” You cheerfully ask as you spare a smile over your shoulder. “We can do… Something light…”

Only to see him staring back with nothing but a lingering sense of longing.

Okay. 

You need to get to the bottom of this now. 

Stopping right over linoleum, you leave no room for arguments, “Yoongi. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He blinks before his gaze meets the floor. So you’re confused when he simply, quietly.. 

Laughs? 

“It’s not that something’s wrong,” he slowly starts, a shy smile carving his features. “For the first time in my life, nothing’s wrong.” 

Your heart beats extra loud. 

“But it’s too much to explain right now.” His eyes rise to meet yours. “Just know that I’m so in love with you.” 

Oh.

“And I want you to know that every day I live.”

Fuck.

Your body responds before you can say anything, lips connecting to remove any need for speech. The knowledge of them all staring death in the face last night makes this confession sear your insides, and you can’t help but kiss him like you’ll never get to again. 

Yanking him back, you spin on your heel until he flings into the kitchen, clutching your wrists before gripping your jaw with both hands. 

His mouth heats on yours, his glasses the only barrier between your skin. Everything sizzles from your head to your toes, and you both bang into a countertop before—

“Fuck, ouch.”

“Shit, you okay?”

Yoongi rubs his side with one eye pinched shut, a corner of his teeth present. “Yeah. Worth it, though.”

“Be serious,” you reprimand. Looks like he’s gonna have to take it easy, which means no going at it like animals until he’s on the mend. “No more until you feel better, yeah?”

“Says who?”

“Babe.”

His deadly pout almost breaks your resolve. “Fine.” 

But you can wait. You’re sure it won’t take long, and for this man? You’ll wait however long you need to. 

Besides, there’s plenty of things you can do in the meantime that don’t require running into hard objects. 

“Good. Now let’s…” You turn away to get started before you’re held, and pulled back into yet another embrace. 

What the hell is happening today? Your lungs and your melting pile of a brain can only take so much. It’s beautifully overwhelming how Yoongi can’t seem to let you go, because you’re the one that always loses control. 

This whole time, it’s been you that can’t hold yourself back. 

So now? Being on the other side? You don’t think you ever want him to restrain himself again. 

This time, he moves slow. Sensuously slow, and it would occur to you that he’s finding a very cheeky loophole to your plan if you weren’t so hazy-eyed. 

Whatever Yoongi’s doing, you won’t stop him. 

Your back touches a counter before Yoongi cages you in, and your lips mold together as perfectly as his body does with yours. Your unhurried strokes match his, and your minds communicate without a single word. 

There’s yearning still ever present. But there’s comfort in abundance, and a whole new level of need. 

After he pulls away, you can visibly see him drink you in from head to toe. 

“You know.. I’m good holding off on all the other shit.” Pulling you in, his lips curve as he confidently declares, “But I’m never gonna stop kissing you.” 

His hands, his lips, his words. They all have healing powers, you’re so sure of it. If Yoongi hasn’t yet realized his unending pain has blossomed into a safe haven, you need to let him know no matter what, 

“Good.”

There’s still a pining in his eyes, but he lets you free, hand skirting your hip before he walks to his room. “Gonna change then I’ll help.” 

“You don’t have to, baby,” you say as you struggle to catch your breath. “I got it.” 

Three minutes later, he’s chopping an onion anyway. 

But you’re loving how serene everything feels with the two of you prepping and dicing, thumps of knives on wood intertwining in sound before you laugh at his crying over the pesky vegetable. Maybe if he wore contacts instead of specs, he’d be better off. 

Not that his choice of eyewear is what you’re complaining about. But those glasses paired with the cream tees he’s been wearing? There will be hell to pay as soon as you get a chance at revenge. 

Your pot is set to boil for a bit, so you finally rest against the counter and start a timer on his microwave. “Go ahead,” you gesture to your very handsome cooking partner. “You can sit now.”

“Huh? We’re not done yet.”

“Oh.” Blinking, you tilt your head in confusion because you could’ve sworn you heard him yawn a couple times. “You aren’t tired?”

“I am,” he says before squeezing his eyes, rapid blinks to follow. “But I’m fine here.”

You toss and turn the food around, sprinkling a little more seasoning and hearing the bubbles and fizzes. When you stir a little more, a sudden thought occurs, halting your movements and spinning you around, 

“Are you staying there to watch my ass.”

Yoongi’s slow smile gives everything away, but he also makes up for the blatant staring. 

“Can’t deny that’s one of the things.” Pushing off the sink, he stands right next to you, slotting a hand behind your neck and angling you for a kiss. “But I meant it earlier. I just…”

You’re completely silent as you watch him slide his eyes from your face to the sizzling food. Whatever he’s thinking about, you’re gonna give him all the room to talk. 

“Just like being where you are.” 

How you went from almost running out of his door to here, you aren’t quite sure. But you’re grateful for that split second of him deciding to fight for the two of you instead of against, because you really were going to leave. 

And you may have taken much, much longer to even try going back. 

Your voice is barely heard over the aromatic smell and fizzle, “Good thing I like having you around.” When he smiles again, you let out a breath of a giggle, going back to shuffling the pan around and tilting your head to the fridge. “I put some fruit in there if you wanna eat that, too.”

“I’m down.”

“K.”

Your food is ready soon enough, and the two of you eat while talking about easy topics. Like work and your workplace dynamics, what Yoongi’s team has been working on at the studio. 

At one point, your curiosity about the album release party grows from something he says. “Speaking of. The party’s on Friday, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I thought so,” you deflate, setting your bowl down on the table. “Sorry he can’t go.”

“Huh?”

Your body stills. “Wait. Did he not say anything? About his trip being extended?”

So much for nothing in his life being wrong. From the lost look on his face, you may have given him another reason to fold back in on himself. “No.. No, he didn’t.”

Both of you sit in silence. 

This could be nothing. Right? That means your brother is confident he can make it so there’s no point in telling Yoongi he’s gonna miss it. Or maybe he’s not trying hard enough and then not being able to say it to his face? 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I thought he told you.”

“It’s okay.” Clearly it’s not. “Not much to do about it now.”

“Yoongi… What if he knows?” At your own question, you stiffen, curling into a proverbial ball. Fear and the sick backfire of fibbing has your mouth going drier than desert air. “What if he actually knows?”

Setting down his chopsticks, Yoongi looks your way, eyes unreadable behind his specs. “If he did, do you think he’d leave us alone?”

He’s got a point. “Guess not.” 

“Mm.” Flicking his eyes to the window, he adjusts uncomfortably in his chair. “And I dunno if I mentioned this, but.. He thinks I got back with my ex.”

“Fuck, really?” 

“That’s the real reason why he hasn’t been talking to me. Maybe he thinks she’s gonna be there on Friday.”

“Oh.” Your shoulders sag, and sag. Not owning up to your relationship is one thing; Yoongi having to dwell in his previous relationship is another. “Is that… worse?”

“Kinda.” Yoongi’s eyes fall. “Much worse.”

“Shit.” Reaching across wood, you close your hand around his fingers for support. It’s the only thing you can think to do. At least, it’s what you would want if you were in his shoes. “I think you should tell him she won’t be.”

A million seconds later, Yoongi thankfully agrees. “Yeah, I will.”

You feel better. Somewhat. At least a little less nauseous about the possibility of your brother knowing. 

But it still sucks knowing that he’s actively avoiding Yoongi because of an ex he used to have. 

How bad was it back then if this is the case? What exactly happened? Is this why Yoongi went radio silent on you for weeks?

It seems like he doesn’t even wanna talk about her. So you won’t pry just yet, as much as you wanna know every single thing she’s done wrong so you can hound her through every timeline in existence. 

Instead, you talk about a much better subject, 

“We should feed my cat now.”

And you quickly laugh at the saucy glint in Yoongi’s eyes. 

—

—

Everything is set where it needs to be. Sugar’s food and water fill their respective bowls, your shoulder leans into Yoongi’s good side, and his arm rests around your back as he’s propped up by his banged up doorway. 

You remember the first time you saw him lean against the wood like this. Only that time, you were a shell of a girl, waiting with shaky breaths and shaken confidence to hear his response to your inappropriate request. 

Who would’ve thought that you’d be on the same side as him all these months later? In his arms, resting a head on his warm chest? 

When you let out a short chuckle, Yoongi turns to your smile. “Hmm?” 

“Nothing,” you wisp out. “Just thinking about us.” 

His fingers press into your side a fraction more, and you can feel him lift his head again. “Me, too.” 

Umm. 

You can say things like that. He isn’t allowed! 

You’re about to set some one-sided rules before your gift pops out of the bushes a few feet away. 

“My baby!” you quietly call, leaving Yoongi’s side to crouch down. “Come here, love. You hungry?”

She cautiously makes her way over, sniffing your hand when you leave it outstretched. After careful consideration, the little one nudges your palm, letting you glide fingers down her back as she approaches her bowls. 

“You’re so tiny,” you observe with slight pity. “We’ll get you well fed in no time—”

“Hey, Sugar! Oh, is this her? She’s gorgeous, no wonder!”

Huh? Sugar? 

Who else knows the cat’s name already?

Your neck almost strains when you look up to see who’s talking. When you notice an older lady donning a really comfy, fluffy robe, you feel like it looks super familiar before you stand. 

“Hi,” you greet before introducing yourself, extending your hand and shaking the woman’s soft, delicate fingers. “Sorry if we were too loud.”

“Call me Miss Dion. And you weren’t too loud this time, sweetie,” she says with a wink, glancing down at the kitty eating what you laid out. “Was just comin’ out to water my plants so it’s good to see you’re here, too. Looks like he finally got some sense back in that head of his.”

“I’m standing right here, you know.”

“Oh, I know!”

Back? How long has she known about you? Do her and Yoongi actually converse regularly? Their banter is… Really adorable. 

It’s making you fall even more in love with the man biting his cheek in amusement. 

Wait. 

Is Yoongi Sugar? 

That is so fucking cute you could cry. 

“I’m back to take care of this guy,” you explain with a head tilt. “And the little one, of course.” 

It’s when you say this that Miss Dion notices the bandages on Yoongi’s face, concern pushing down her brows. “What happened to you, young man?”

“Nothing to worry about.” 

“You sure? I got some ointment in my kitchen somewhere—”

“It’s all good—”

“We’ll take it,” you cut him off, not looking but feeling his stare on your face. “How much do we owe you?” 

“Oh, don’t you worry about that.” With a snuff at Yoongi and a smile your way, Miss Dion heads inside to fetch a bottle.

In the meantime, you give your lover a quiet stare before bending down to run your hands over soft fur. 

“Papa Sugar is gonna need that so he can’t argue,” you coo to your cat, cheekily ignoring Yoongi’s sputtering puff of air above your head.

“Papa Sugar? Really?”

You glance up to his smile with a mischievous one of your own. “What, you wanna be Sugar Daddy instead?”

The swirl in your belly is instant. Because Yoongi can only look out into the distance, biting his lip and failing to hide his grin.

Sigh. If only he didn’t have those injuries across his face. You’d push him back into the door and slam it shut if it was any other day. 

Patience, patience, patience. 

Those hits aren’t gonna heal with just one round of gauze. 

When you have to replace the cotton patches, at least you’ll have something to help. 

—

—

It’s not until you’re about to tuck in for the night that Yoongi approaches your side of the bed. Judging by the headphones slung around his neck, he’s about to work, so you assume he’s just coming to give you a kiss goodnight. 

But after he does exactly that, he asks you a question that warms your chest, 

“Where’s your keys.” 

“In there,” you motion to the nearest wall, bag propped right under his windowsill. “Inside pocket, I think.” 

Yoongi bends with a prolonged grunt, slowly rummaging until he finds your jangling keyring with its charms. When he grabs it, he silently sits on the edge up against your stomach, body heat permeating your tee while he fiddles with the clasps. 

God, you’re so in trouble. You know exactly what he’s doing. 

Unlike the last time he offered you complete access to his place, this time he didn’t even hesitate. And the way he secures a key amongst the loop, it’s his silent way of cementing permanence. 

That’s not another key for you to borrow.

Because that key is yours.

—

—

continued in angel, pt. 2

pitstop inbox before pt2!! | join the server!

a/n: holy crap we're doing it we are actually back in the main storyline?! how do we feel right now because i am over the damn moon diving into this story again. here's a slight pitstop before you make your way over to part two (THE CONTINUATION IS IN A REBLOG!) so take a breather before heading into the resttttttt ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

a/n 2: we did this for 3tanfugue and the energy was great! just like last time, some of you guys suggested that we have post goals to encourage interaction. no one voted against it yet, so we'll keep it goin!

explicit warnings: cursing, thigh riding, cowgirl, oral (m rec), naughty studio time(??), couch sex, rough sex, giving yoongi the business, bold as fuck reader, choking, spanking, penetrative sex, kissing deserves to be here too lol, alexa play no hands by waka flocka, deep throating, hair/head tugging, nipple play, yoongi in that gd tank, yoongi in those gd glasses, teasing, titty fucking hello!!!!, stripping while he watches…. yeah, missionary, sub!3tanyoongi?????, scratching, multiple orgasms, protected sex, emotional sex, the glasses stay on??, good god they’re so hot i’m blushing

—

—

For the next few days, you’re at Yoongi’s every moment you’re free. Other than work that you have diligently not taken off, the two of you have alone time most of the week. 

And it’s more than perfect. 

You cook meals, talk about anything that doesn’t involve recent incidents, and Yoongi even lets you watch as he creates stunning instrumentals at his bedroom desk. There seems to be three projects that he’s cycling through, and one of them sounds achingly beautiful even though it’s just a series of hums. 

As far as physical work, you do anything that requires heavy lifting—even hauling groceries inside. 

Despite Yoongi’s many groans of protest, you tell him it’s no big deal at all. You want to help as much as you can, if merely to make up for all that time you could’ve helped him for three months. 

It’s right after your solo grocery run that he follows you into his kitchen with his thousandth resigned sigh, 

“Babe, you really don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to, baby,” you whisper, setting everything down. When you start unloading, Yoongi stops your arms, soothing the divots left by many grocery bags. “But I want to. So let me? Please?”

You get why he’s not exactly okay with the situation. If you had to depend on him for everything, it would make you upset, too. 

But you want to show him you’re here for him no matter what. If that bothers him, he’ll just have to keep dealing with it. 

Yoongi rests his forehead against yours. “You’re too good for me.”

“And you’re too handsome for me.” Flicking his chest, you pretend to be so very disappointed as you start taking out cans and produce. “Who said you could walk around here wearing that?”

That stupid tank hugs every bit of him just right. You’re half jealous of the way it fits on him, and half in constant need to rip it off every waking second. 

Even the way you reacted when he first stepped out with it caused an immediate burst of cheek-raised laughter, and you proceeded to glare at his grin every time he got close. 

Which is probably, frustratingly, exactly why he keeps wearing them. 

“It’s just a tank!” Yoongi exclaims, laughing when you scoff into the fridge. “What’s with you and these?”

“Don’t even,” you huff. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

One wink is enough to destroy you. So you keep putting groceries away to avoid more of them. 

Fruits go here, veggies in the fridge, cat food in this cabinet, frozen treats in the freezer… Come to think of it, you could do some naughty teasing with those later—

A veiny hand cuts your thoughts, caging you against counters with an ask, “And what am I doing, doll?”

Rhetorical question once again. 

This whole week, while neither of you have instigated anything related to sex, Yoongi has tested you multiple times. Whether it be devouring the sight of you in his tees, or kissing along your shoulders after you emerged freshly showered, he has been driving you to the edge every time. 

This unashamed, barely restrained side of him is completely new to you, and you’d like to think you’re doing a damn good job of keeping yourself in check. 

Because you’ve been wanting to tear him apart until he’s a blithering, writhing mess. 

At first, you assumed it’s because of how he’s been looking lately. The shroud that’s been haunting his eyes is completely absent, giving a beautiful shine and a whole new level of attraction. 

But as the week has gone by, you’ve realized that it’s something deeper. 

It’s the fact that Yoongi’s gone beyond keeping you safe and protecting you, gone way further than just being there for you when you need him. 

And he’s doing all this while not compromising his dreams. He’s working hard for what he wants, and encouraging you to do the same with a gentle push only he can provide. 

Essentially, Yoongi’s everything you didn’t even know you needed. 

And this simple fact is the sole reason you want to take care of him in every single way, including some that will perpetually make you shy when you remember them. 

But until he fully tells you he’s ready—which he hasn’t yet—you aren’t giving in. This agonizing monster is being kept at bay with the thinnest string. The tiniest gate. The most miniscule knot. 

However. 

Your vow to hold yourself back physically doesn’t mean keeping your thoughts to yourself. So you set them free as your eyelids lower, 

“Making it really, really hard to leave you alone.”

Chains swing against your chest, conspiring with this demon to make you fold when he annoyingly purrs, 

“Good.” 

Fuck. Yoongi’s already attractive when he’s not doing anything. So when he does shit like this? When he’s practically begging for you to give in? It takes all of your inner strength to not buckle at the knees. 

“Not good,” you parry, breath short and heart rate spiking. “We said to wait until you were ready.”

Goddamn. Your fingers itch to grab at his waist, your core storms with incessant need to ride that beautiful chest. 

Mercifully, Yoongi grants you reprieve with a simple hum, sliding his hand off and sauntering away. “Playing hard to break, huh? Not bad.”

Not bad? Your pulse is through the goddamn roof! 

“Of course,” you scoff, “I’m not losing to you.” 

Laughs pop from around the corner, his absence allowing you to catch your breath and straighten your wobbly legs. “We’ll see about that, baby girl.” 

Safe. You didn’t crack and didn’t give much away.

Despite the heated moment ending too soon, your smile stretches incredibly wide. 

Yoongi has no idea what he’ll unleash as soon as he’s healed and ready. 

You’ll both see about that indeed.

—

—

On Tuesday, your brother’s car is ready, so you head to the dealership in Yoongi’s car and drive back separately to the house. 

Once there, Yoongi heads into the house before you video call and show your brother every single detail. 

Every. Single. Detail. 

“Ugh, she practically looks brand new! Do you really need me to open the passenger door again?” 

“Yes! We have to be thorough or I’m getting my money back.” 

“God, you’re so cheap,” you huff, leaning into the vehicle and showing him every leather bound surface. 

Seriously, they did a really good job. They even cleaned where your brother had all his tiny figures and polaroids and that was always a problem spot. Where did those even go, anyway? “Happy?” 

“Maybe. But looks good so far, I’ll look over her again when I’m back.” 

Of course. He’s gonna find literally any excuse to say they need to fix more. With his track record, he’ll probably even get a whole new engine from his smooth talk and persistence. “Which will be in two days, right? Friday? On time?” 

To your absolute delight, he doesn’t hesitate, sounding even more sure when he responds, “Yeah, I think I can.” When you cheer, your camera shakes like hell as his eye roll stays completely still. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

Yoongi must have cleared the air surrounding his ex. With a joyful goodbye, you hang up and head right inside to tell him the news. 

Turns out, you weren’t the only one holding massive amounts of tension because of this setback. There’s a noticeable change in Yoongi’s eyes, and your heart bleeds knowing his friend’s potential absence had been weighing on him.

He’s the bravest for choosing to have the final conversation with him alone. 

There still seems like something is bothering him, though. 

And you still don’t know how to ask. 

—

—

At least with Taehyung, you can let loose and say whatever you want. 

That fact is what allows you to breathe as soon as you pull up to Jimin’s house the next day, scanning the familiar cul-de-sac as you park in his driveway. Forever has passed since you were last here, and you can’t even remember paying a visit during the daytime. 

But Tae told you to meet him here, so you’re here. 

Food has been laid out across the living room coffee table, but none of it is touched. All you’ve been able to do is take residence on the leather couch, watching as Taehyung gnaws on a fingernail. 

“Stop that.”

“Talk to me then.”

So you do. 

There’s no hiding with him like you had to with your friends. Thorough, you give him the entire rundown of that stormy night without omission.

Throughout the entire time you talk, your best friend is laser focused. He doesn’t say a single word, and he doesn’t move one fucking muscle as you recount what happened, from the moment you fought with your brother to the excruciating minutes of screaming at Yoongi’s door. 

But something you say makes you both flinch. 

Because as soon as you mention the broken guitar pieces around his living room, a question zips through the open space, 

“What did you just say?” 

Your head whips around to see Jimin frozen in the hallway. “Yeah, he, umm. It’s completely gone now, so.. I’m gonna see if I can find him a new one.” 

That second part is something you haven’t even told Yoongi yet. It just felt right to admit to the two of them, and you watch as Jimin slowly walks toward you with eyes wide. 

Is he okay? Fuck, were you not supposed to say that after all? “Or I can get him something else—”

Toned arms embrace you tight, and you’re flung into confusion as your eyes stare at the ceiling. 

“Thank you,” you hear against your head, so soft you may as well have thought it. It’s the kind of gratitude that’s borderline uncomfortable to receive, solely because you feel like you don’t deserve something so full of meaning. 

You didn’t do anything except clean up the pieces. 

The way Jimin’s thanking you? It’s like you saved Yoongi’s life. 

And that’s too much to dwell on right now. 

“It’s okay, really,” you respond, timidly reciprocating his hug because you’re still so very puzzled. “Is there something I should know?” 

“It’s not my place to say. But everything’s gonna be fine.” 

“Okay.” That answer is cryptic as hell. “I just feel bad for throwing it all out. Maybe we could’ve gotten it repaired—”

“No.” Jimin looks you dead in the eyes before putting hands on your head. Then, shocking you to the core, he kisses your forehead before resting there. “If he has you? He’ll be fine.” 

“I guess.” Your mood turns melancholic as he slowly steps away. “He’s still pretty bruised from that night. And some of the cuts are deeper than I thought.” 

In more ways than one now, you sadly think to yourself. There’s even more things to think about surrounding that guitar. Does it have anything to do with his—

“Yoongi faired better than some of us. Rohan had to get stitches and some of the other guys needed crutches.”

Damn. You don’t doubt that. There’s no way you can completely block out the memories you have of that night. Your brother telling Taehyung to get you out of there. The way they were severely outnumbered. Yoongi refusing to look back at you, and you painfully knowing exactly why. 

“I heard about what he did,” you mournfully hitch out. “That guy.”

Jimin stills before Tae looks over at him, eyes wide and unblinking. “What did he do?”

Fuck. Does Taehyung not know about that chilling detail? Shit shit shit, you still don’t know everything yourself, so you can’t even really tell. 

Is Jimin about to reveal what your brother and Yoongi left out? 

Your wide eyes meet his before you stumble through an answer, “He, uhh.. Umm, he..”

“I’ll tell you later,” Jimin calmly breathes, to which Taehyung shifts his jaw out of quiet anger. “The bottom line is that we all made it out.”

Oh, fuck. 

Even Jimin won’t say it? 

What the hell went down that night? 

No. Focus focus focus on the good. They all made it out, and there’s nothing to worry about anymore. Probably. Dalo guy can kick rocks and perish in the pits of hell for all you care, and Yoongi was able to find himself again. Only the worst is yet to come before the skies are completely clear. 

“There’s one more thing.”

Both men turn your way, attentive immediately. 

“This time, when my brother comes back…” 

Jimin’s eyes fill right up to the brim like yours. 

“Yoongi’s gonna tell him everything.” 

—

—

But Yoongi still needs to tell you something, too. 

Outside in the setting sunlight, you stare at the key in your fingers before determination tightens your grip. 

You’re gonna ask about what happened tonight. 

And you can’t give up without an answer.

Opening the door, you’re greeted with the faint sound of a song, quickly realizing which one it is and already feeling like an intruder.

“Babe?” 

Hopefully he heard you. Just in case he wants to pause it, and just in case it’s a little too personal. 

Because that’s the one he’s worked on the least since you’ve been listening in on his sessions. For some reason, it feels like something he’d rather keep close to that beautiful chest. 

There’s no response to your yell, so you set your bag down and head to his room. “Last chance,” you joke into the door. “I’m coming in!” 

All you see are faint pink and orange hues sprawling across the room. And one passed out head of hair lying across folded arms.

Déjà vu is one heck of a concept.

Things were so different the first time this happened, and you were much more cautious with your heart when it came to this man. 

To think that you’d now take a bullet for him without a second thought isn’t even wild to consider. Because you have a strange yet unshakeable feeling that he would do the same for you. 

Just the idea is enough to shrink your throat as you take measured steps toward his sleeping form, noticing with a smile that his outfit is quite different from the last time. 

Very, very different. And much, much more revealing. 

Intrigued, you lightly shake his bare shoulder oh what the hell he is cold. “Yoongi?”

Immediately, he snaps up, glasses nudged off-kilter and strands astray in all directions. It’s only when he recognizes who you are and where he is that he rasps out a rugged greeting—the same one as last time,

“Hey, doll.”

God. The sleepy version of those two words might just be your favorite.

Chuckling, you softly spin his chair, swooping down with a kiss that seems to breathe life and energy into his veins. 

After you pull away, you adjust his specs, eyes beaming starlight into his when you announce through a smile, 

“I’m home.” 

Slowly, Yoongi nods with eyes shut. “Missed you.” 

A weight to his words compresses your chest, because it means something is still bothering him. “Missed you, too, baby.” 

When he doesn’t respond, you move to caress his slight stubble. Shit, was he rubbing his face too hard? He’s reopened a couple cuts. 

“Wait here,” you softly command. “We need to patch you up a bit.” 

To your surprise, Yoongi follows you through his room anyway, and he waits as you fetch things from the bathroom cabinet that you stocked. Wordlessly, you give him a shy smile before taking his hand in yours, leading him out to the living room.

Throughout the week, you’ve done pretty much everything you could do for him. But helping with his cuts and wounds? Every time, he’s done this part alone in his bathroom. 

So this is new. For the both of you. 

“Sit.” 

Doesn’t matter. You want to do this for Yoongi, if at least to show him that you’re not shying away from this, too. He doesn’t have to face anything alone anymore, and that includes himself. This is simply your way of telling him that. 

It’s gonna prove a bit hard to control yourself when he’s not wearing much, though. 

But you can do it. You’re a headstrong, determined, confident person who will not succumb to the way their boyfriend looks in a tank and sweats. 

Right. 

You're already nervous in your thinly-strapped top that's even more revealing than his.

Breathing deep, you walk towards him, standing between his legs and watching him look up with intrigue and curiosity. 

“I wanna do this for you, too,” you admit, straddling him when he gives you an encouraging, silent nod. “No funny business, though.” 

Fuck, his eyes already dip straight to your cleavage before roving up again. Once again, this man proves that he can do anything and you’re already threatening collapse. “Who said?” 

“M… Me,” you breath out, words hitching as Yoongi adjusts himself under your spread thighs. 

Ignore the smirk. Ignore it, for heaven’s sake, or you’re breaking your own fucking deal. 

“So hold still for me, sir.” 

A devious chuckle coats your chin as his head hits the couch, mouth at a slant that should never be paired with those glasses. 

Have mercy, you are already having trouble breathing. This is quite possibly the best worst mistake you’ve ever made, and that includes you asking him to fuck you back when you barely even spoke. 

That version of you would have fled at the sight of him now. 

But here you are, up close and more than personal, and you thank your past self for giving you every moment like this. 

As you start busying yourself with the cream, you wonder how you even got here in the first place. Truthfully, you don’t remember much about that day other than it storming right when you were halfway. The rain felt like a punishment at the time, a punishment for going where you shouldn’t and a sign to turn the fuck around. 

But now? You think of it as a blessing. Because if it wasn’t raining and you weren’t shivering like hell, you don’t think Yoongi would’ve even let you inside. 

It’s because of the heavy clouds that fateful day that all this has transpired. And you will always go back to that summer afternoon when Yoongi put sunlight back in your eyes. 

So this week has been your own chance to give some back. 

Determined, you lean forward, lightly spreading ointment on his cuts and concentrating to get every spot covered. Your focus is so zeroed in that you almost don’t feel the soothing circles of his thumb on your thighs. 

It doesn’t take long, but that’s due to your patient being the best boy. Yoongi only watches as you patch him up, breathing soft from his nose and blinking up at your face. 

Pretty soon, you’re finished, turning to set everything down on the… Not coffee table. But the floor. 

You can shop for a new one soon. 

Well. Your first task is done. Now comes the difficult one, and you kinda just wing it because overthinking has gotten you absolutely nowhere. 

“What’s wrong?”

Of course he catches onto your silence. Gulping down all your fears, you take the leap, grateful for the hands holding your hips in support, 

“If I ask you anything.. will you be honest with me?”

“Yes.” Zero hesitation makes your heart jolt. “Just ask, love.”

Swallowing, you sieve through the questions and thoughts you want to make sense of, trying to figure out the best way to go about things without making it uncomfortable. 

Ah, screw it. There is no best way. “Are you hiding something from me?”

Yoongi’s brows tick. “No.”

It’s more than obvious that he wants to say more. But the fact that he doesn’t? Is actually pretty relieving. 

“What happened that night then,” you slowly ask, hating how his fingers tense on your thigh. “In the lot.”

A sigh is your first answer. 

Then silence is your second. 

The moment draws out so long you think Yoongi won’t fess up, but he finally responds to your stomach instead of your searching eyes,

“Which part.”

Fuck. He’s gonna make you say it. You really, really don’t want to, but he won’t answer unless you’re specific. 

Here it goes then. “My brother said the guy from Dalo pulled something on you.” 

Immediately, a tongue prods his cheek.

“And you did something, but that’s all I got,” you finish, folding your lips to keep anything else from spilling out like emotions or feelings or any leftover screams from when you were dragged away. 

“So ask me.”

Fuck. 

You glance up to see Yoongi staring, eyes trained on your face while the rest of his face remains unmoving. 

“I…” Shit, you already feel queasy. But he’s gonna answer, so just cut the bullshit and ask. “What did you do?”

“He had a gun.” 

What.

“And I just reacted.”

…What?

He braces for this next part, and your entire world suspends in his outstretched hands. 

“Just thought it should be me instead of him.” 

Oh. God. 

Tears form before you can say a word, your fingers shaking and balling up cotton. “You… Oh, Yoongi—”

Your head falls into your palms, every fiber of your being struggling to grasp that the end result wasn’t as horrifying as it could’ve been. Because it still almost happened and you almost lost a home. 

People have left before. Many, many times. But they all walked away for their own selfish reasons, and they didn’t come back. Yoongi’s reasons have always been selfless. Always always always, and would’ve been to the very end had he—

Warm hands slide up your arms, but you can’t stop your shakes, you can’t even fucking think straight you can’t even fucking talk. 

“Baby…” 

What’s that you said about taking a bullet for him? Chills skitter down your spine when you realize how accurate you were in thinking he would do it. Because Yoongi just did it for the only family you have. 

Ride or die has never had a better example in physical form. His love for your brother runs deeper than tree roots, and you feel the bitter leaves of guilt nicking your body on all sides.

“Listen. I didn’t know what he was doing,” he tries to clarify, voice swimming low in your ringing ears. “But I just moved.” 

Stop. You’ve got to pull it together because there’s more to ask but goddamn it already hurts. 

How can you make room for all the love that’s still pouring in for this man? How can one heart ever be enough? 

“Thank you,” you hitch out, letting tears ping onto his lap. “But I love you.” 

His fingers grip a tad tighter. 

“So please.” You finally leave the wet walls of your hands, noticing the deep, deep pools of emotion in his eyes. “Don’t ever get into that again.” 

“I know. We all know.”

“Thank you for telling me.” You swipe at your cheeks. “And the guitar?”

Shit. Yoongi reacts even worse to that. Like he half expected it but half hoped you wouldn’t ask. 

“It was a gift,” he starts, looking anywhere but at you. “From my ex.”

…What? And he kept it this whole time? 

Dark, dark poison seeps into your side as your legs lose their grip. “Oh.”

From one wild emotion to the next. This rollercoaster knocks you around a bend, and you suddenly need it to find a way to stop it in its tracks. 

Why did he keep it? Does he still think about her? Is this why he’s never mentioned her, because he didn’t want you knowing the real truth? 

This is too much. Your brain is spinning and looping and it starts to lift you from his legs but Yoongi holds you tight and doesn’t let you leave—

“There’s a reason I never let anyone in.” 

You let your eyes lift to his lidded expression, hating how some of the shadow has returned. 

“And it’s because of her.”

Shit. His hands. 

They’re trembling. 

Immediately, the ride slows to a stop. 

And your chest crumbles alongside your shoulders. You can deal with self-esteem issues or anything to do with his own self, but an ex that he can’t even speak of without anxiety? That’s a completely different story. 

Now you feel terrible for forcing it on him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Should’ve told you from the start.” 

“No.” Understanding flows through your assurance. “That’s not my business. We don’t have to talk about it.”

He gives you a soft look of gratitude as hands find your hips. “We can. It doesn’t bother me now.” 

But his hands… “You sure?” 

“Yeah.” Yoongi’s rueful smile sends a pang through your heart. “She treated me like shit, but. She can’t haunt me anymore.” 

Your throat clenches. Because now you know exactly what the hell Yoongi’s talking about. 

Those things you’ve been told, those lies you’ve been led to believe, those arguments you always seemed to lose even when you knew you were in the right. Even the way you’ve been told you won’t ever amount to much, and the way you’ve blatantly been told you’d never find anyone else. All of it reeks of pain and injustice. And oh, how you’ve been drug through the mud until you couldn’t even recognize your own fucking reflection. 

Fucking hell, if this was what Yoongi has been going through, you do wish he told you. You’d draw swords against anyone for him, and that includes the ghosts of his past thinking they could keep holding him hostage in his own fucking head. 

You’re so livid you can’t even see straight, and your words leave in smoke, “I know what you mean.”

“What?”

Your breath shakes. Because no matter how long it’s been, this is still hard. “When you go through that for so long, it’s what you’re used to, you know? So anything good that comes, it’s either hard to believe, or you feel like you don’t deserve it.”

Yoongi just stares like he’s seeing you for the first time. 

“But you?” Shit. Get the words out because he needs to hear them loud and clear. “You’ve made me realize that I can believe the good things, that I do deserve them. And I should’ve been there for you all this time because I would’ve tried and fought until you got to that point, too.”

Your vision isn’t the clearest. 

But you’re gonna remember this look on Yoongi’s face forever. 

This stricken, bright-rimmed, pained yet relieved expression will burn and sear into memory, staying etched into your heart until its last beat fades out. 

It’s love in ultimate sanctuary. 

Because it’s what you feel every second you see him. 

“I don’t know what she did to you, or what she ever said,” you conclude, cupping his cheek and wiping a stray tear. “But it’s all wrong and it doesn’t matter anymore. At all. Okay?”

Another drop needs sweeping as yours continue to freefall. Your chest is so close to his now, and you can feel the warmth of his palms as he holds you with arms so firm. 

The house in your heart has grown a garden, flowers of all shades taking root and blooming bright. You reach out and skim along their soft petals, watering them with every tear you brush from your lover’s countenance. Once, twice, a little rain shower for two. 

Out of all the people you know, Yoongi might be the strongest. 

“Everything okay, baby?”

When he finally speaks, your heart beats at his praise. Because it’s so far from what you expect, and far from what you usually tell yourself. “So goddamn perfect..”

“You think so?” You smile with your eyes, noticing the cut on his lower cheek and noting to patch that one again. “Maybe I am.” 

Finally, you didn’t hesitate. You didn’t reject it. 

And Yoongi’s slow grin of pride is the best and most beautiful reward you could’ve received.

Fuck, the things you would do to see that every day. Is being in tune with yourself all you need to make him proud? Is that really all he wants for you? 

Who’s really the perfect one here? 

“You have been this whole time,” he whispers, kissing moonlight into your wrist. “Ever since you came over.” 

…What? 

This time, you do hesitate, moving away to confirm that you heard him correctly. 

Are you both on the exact same wavelength? Because how in the world is he referencing the same date and time that you were just thinking about? “...Really?”

“I’m not just saying that, doll.” Yoongi’s brows touch. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing, just what used to be everything. Your mouth bends in a sad upward curve. “I just… No one’s told me that except you.”  

“Look at me.”

You slowly peel your lids upward, mesmerized by how Yoongi’s somehow glowing in the last fading colors of dusk.  

“If you’ve never been told you’re perfect, everyone’s a fucking idiot.” 

Oh, how you love this man. “It’s true,” you shrug. “But like we were saying. Everyone else can eat shit anyway.” 

Yoongi doesn’t laugh when you do, simply moving his hands to your waist. “I meant what I said,” he continues with conviction. “You don’t see it yet, but you will.” 

God, your ears are searing right through. How is he still going? “Stop,” you pout, hand pressed against his solid chest. “No one can be that perfect.”

“I meant for me.”

Your thoughts grind to a halt. “What?”

All Yoongi does is tilt his chin higher. But it’s enough to drive you to the brink, catapulted further by his words and his look void of any teasing,

“No one will ever come close.” 

You’re already building the floor plan for a second home next door.

Does Yoongi know he can’t just say things like that and get away with it? You can only handle so much praise before your mind explodes. Truly, any amount is already hard enough to accept. Shouldn’t he be the one that understands your predicament the most? 

So unfair.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” you groan, cheeks simmering and warm. “You cannot just say that and expect me to be okay.”

A huff of amusement adds more heat to your skin. “Maybe it’s why I do.”

“Of course it is.”

Smiling, his touch slowly travels to your ass, and his squeeze makes you flinch against his lap. 

“Babe?” You freeze. “What are you—”

“Angel,” he suddenly grits out in reverence, leaning forward to kiss the bare skin of your chest. “I can’t take it anymore.”

“Yoongi,” you gasp as his hands slip under your top. “We shouldn’t until you’re—”

“I’m good.” He breathes you in. “Promise. I just..”

Your breath catches in your throat, tugging your hands out to wrap around his hair and clutch soft strands. “Just what?”

Inhaling again, Yoongi kisses deeper between your breasts, sending shivers spiraling across your bones. “I need you so fuckin’ bad.”

“Oh.” You squirm not just in shyness, but something a lot more devious. “I need you, too, baby… But I don’t wanna hurt you.”

With a quick snap, Yoongi shoves you onto his pelvis, and you yelp at the friction against his hardened tent. “I don’t even give a shit if you do.” Tugging you forward again, he breaks at your whine. “But if I wait any longer I’ll lose my fucking mind.” 

“Shit.” Bliss erupts as your legs squeeze his hips. Throwing the last scraps of your dignity, you snatch his face with both hands, core buzzing when his eyes lock with your lips, “Are you sure? I have to know because—”

“Yes, angel—”

“I’m—I’m serious, Yoongi, you don’t get it,” you say with barely held restraint, now knowing everything this man has been willing to do for you and the people you both love. There’s a dark, scary, obsidian part of you that is far from the nickname he’s giving. A little beast growling and crouching, ready to lunge. “I… I want…”

And you let it loose when you whisper exactly what you’ve been wanting to do this entire time, eyes innocent yet tongue fiendish on the shell of his ear,

“I want to ruin you.”

Fuck. 

Never. Ever. Has Yoongi’s reaction sent shivers down your skin so fast. You already consider stopping because you’re outright quaking from the things you want to do to him. The waves are coming fast and your first instinct is to run. 

But there’s an intensity in his eyes swirling so fiercely it tugs you from shore, and you barrel past all your own muddled excuses as soon as he claws into your soul,

“Do it.”

“Finally.” 

Your mouths clash hard as you swallow his tongue from above, stretching his neck over the back of the couch and melting your front onto his. Breathy sounds come from you or him, you aren’t quite certain, but you give his mouth a final shove before attacking his cheek, his jaw, the soft column of his neck. 

Shuddering at his moan when you suck a vein. 

“My baby’s so sensitive,” you taunt, mocking his words from days and days past. “Gonna have fun with you.”

“Who’d you learn all that from,” he slowly rasps back, groaning when you rake nails along his bare shoulders. “Fuck.” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You push onto your knees, grabbing his head and yanking him back by those luscious locks fuck he’s already heavy lidded and wanton. Seeing Yoongi so blissed out when you’ve barely started with him? Holy shit you’re so turned on your cunt squeezes around nothing. “Too bad.” 

“What the fuck is happening.” 

Humming, your descent is quick, pressing lips deep into the skin of his throat and licking, swirling, lapping at the sweat already forming from his body’s flinches and locks. Because Yoongi is gripping the cushions of his couch and fighting for his goddamned life. 

When you feel his arms sling around your back, you sigh into his skin. And when he scratches all fingers down your shoulders, you realize exactly why he likes when you do the same.

That shit felt divine. It’s the ultimate encouragement to keep tugging on his hair, yanking his groan to the side to pepper kisses along his good shoulder. “Told you, baby,” you whisper to his silky tone. “You have no idea what’s coming.” 

Yoongi’s only response is a breathy laugh as you slide your twisting core over his sweats. “You better be fuckin’ careful.” 

“And why is that,” you ask, taunting him with another slow roll up his excruciatingly hard tent. Fuck, you wanted to take your time but you are seconds away from caving he’s already hitting your spot just right. “Why should I listen to you?” 

It takes less than a second to remember how strong he is, both arms slamming you onto his dick as he launches his hips upward. Your mewl morphs into a wicked grin when he threatens so delightfully, 

“Cus when it’s my turn, you’re fucked, doll.” 

Giggles bubble from your stomach as hands slide down his neck. Pressing your forehead against his and feeling your perspiration, too, you goad with a feigned pout, “Promise?” 

When he grins, there aren’t any words, his eyes locked on your heaving chest. Hot palms slide down to your ass, squeezing out a moan as he bites his lip. “Of course, baby girl.” 

You can’t lose to him. 

When you push your body against his neck, you revel in the way his face nestles in your bosom, glasses slightly fogged and face already flushed to hell. “It’s cute,” you purr downward, “How you think you’re even getting a turn.” 

Fucking hell, Yoongi’s eyes are so blown out they swallow you whole. 

And you welcome the abyss with open arms. “Let me.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve always taken care of me.” Gently, you caress the hair on his nape. “Let me take care of you this time.”

You watch as light beams into his gaze, and you slowly descend for a kiss, molding into him and breathing in that musk you love so much. If his eyes are the abyss, yours are the void, the monster in your belly on its haunches and ready to roar again. 

“Gonna ask one more time,” you whisper to his parted mouth. “You sure I won’t hurt you?” 

The dark chuckle you get in response rumbles your ribcage. “You already have,” he says through a devilish slant. “And it feels so fucking good.” 

Oh. You know exactly what he means. 

And this is the moment you break. 

Your deep kiss is a prelude to the ones you plant along his jaw, careful not to touch his wounds as you slide your way down his other side. The fingers you feel skating along your tee are twitching and vibrating with need, and the soft moans you hear launch arrows to your core. 

God, he sounds so pretty. Is this what he thinks about when you’re unraveling under his touch? 

It’s addicting. It’s vitalizing. You want more more more. 

Growing bolder in lust, you kiss down Yoongi’s arm, saliva coating his smooth skin before your finger impishly shifts his tank to the side. As soon as his nipple is freed, your mouth cups it hot, tongue swirling—

“What the fuck?” 

Your cunt pulses wild as Yoongi bucks forward, his head digging into the top of the couch and fingers digging divots in your hips. Arms wrap around your waist in a snap, and you keep sucking just to feel him hang on tighter and tighter and tighter. 

Then you bite. 

And Yoongi flings out a moan so loud you might come.

“Baby, hold on—”

Your fingers rake down his shoulder before squeezing around his other nub, back straining in the tight bend you’re in but it’s worth it all to hear him like this. Like he can’t even function and can’t say anything other than your name. God, it is a high it is a drug. You should’ve been taking the reins a lot more often than the one time you sucked him off so hard he—

Speaking of.

Your lips release his chest with a pop, and you feel drool slathered all over your face when your command dies on your lips, “Lemme…” 

Holy fuck, Yoongi is gone. 

Hair astray, jaw loose, brows pinched to hell and an angry flush of red flooding his chest. Just the mere sight of him this undone makes you whine, and your brain can’t even remember what you want to say. 

Chests heaving, you both simply drink each other in. Because while he looks near collapse, you fear you aren’t faring much better. You already know a strap of your tee has left your shoulder, and your senses are so overblown you know your eyes look volcanic. 

And you know for a fact you’re so fucking wet. 

“Sit at the edge. For me,” you command through heavy breaths. “Now.” 

Your neck is grabbed before you’re tugged into a kiss, and you match his manic energy before dropping to his rug. His pants are quickly stripped right after, cock springing free and already imprinting on the back of your throat. 

Well. Yoongi did say he’s gonna lose his fucking mind. May as well make that a reality. 

“Babe—”

Your mouth gulps him up before he can get the words out, cheeks hollowing and ears perking at his smattering of hisses. You don’t know what the fuck he was gonna say, and quite frankly, you don’t care. All you’re focused on is giving him your worst, swirling tongue around his tip and squeezing his base with a sure hand. 

“Holy fuck.” 

Sucks, licks, twirls are all practiced and measured, and you slide all the slick down his length before pumping him the way he likes. His heady scent enters your nose the more of him you swallow, and you feel the telltale strain in your pipe with each deep pass. 

Fuck, he is unwinding. And Yoongi being so vocal is the reason for the slick coating your thighs, because you damn near lose it when a moan leaves that mouth at a higher pitch than normal what the fuck was that? 

“Fuck, babe,” he grits through tight teeth. “So fucking—”

Curses tumble down your back in waves, slick palms hovering over your head and brushing the side of your face. Yoongi can’t decide where to keep his hands as your slobber coats and coats him, finally settling on your scalp and gripping it with need. 

Popping off and fully rising on your knees, you let him tilt your head back as he leans forward, drinking in his handsome face and loving the fact he hasn’t taken those goddamn glasses off. Strings web from your chin to his throbbing cock, and you have the boldest audacity to ask,

“What, baby?” 

He can only shake his head with a smirk. “I can’t even fucking say.” 

Body heat passes over your wet chin as you rasp out another question, “Does it feel good?” 

“The fuck?” He kisses your shiny forehead as cold jewelry taps your skin. “I can’t even think straight.” 

“Good,” you hum, sliding your palm along his wet cock and basking in his shuddering moans. Not only does he sound beautiful, but his cologne sends you spiraling even further. 

And you’re going somewhere you’ve never gone before. “There’s still this, too..” 

You haven’t done this yet. At least, you don’t think you have. But the idea came to you this week when you’ve had plenty of time to hatch menacing plans, and your body is buzzing to fulfill something you think Yoongi wants. Because who the fuck wouldn’t want this? 

Lowering both thin straps of your top, you let your breasts free, watching Yoongi shamelessly groan at the sight of them. “Just for you, baby,” you vow, squeezing both tits around his cock and feeling him twitch like mad. 

“You’re fuckin’ lying,” Yoongi growls low, words scraped from the roof of his mouth as he flings his head back. “Fuck!” 

Delighted to hell, you laugh at his slipping grip on sanity. Yes yes yes, this is where you love to see him. He deserves nothing but ecstasy after everything he’s given, and you’re here to provide. A goddess worshipping her forever love. An angel delivering sin. 

“Look at me, Yoongi,” you whine, oozing desire as he leans forward covered in lust and sweat. Your hands continue to slide your tits along his velvety veins, your essence coating them in a shine the more spit they gather. “There you go.” 

“Fucking hell, doll.” 

“You like it?” 

Yoongi reaches out to caress a nipple, and your flinch coaxes wickedness from his curve. “So fucking nasty for me.” 

You can’t help but grin, reaching to grip his cock between your tits. “Only you.” 

His lips catch yours before your breath finishes, and your eyes slip shut as you feel his palms around your jaw. His presence envelops you from all sides, and you want to exist nowhere else. The world can fall away and cease to turn on its axis, and you’d still be right here, orbiting this man in darkness in silence in triumph in joy. 

Pure emotion is what lowers your head back onto his cock, taking so much of him your throat constricts in surprise alone. When he knocks the back of your walls, your brain jangles with his guttural moan, and you choke around him so hard your eyes prick with tears. 

“Shit.” 

You stay pressed against his pelvis a second more, gasping when you come up for air and immediately latching onto his sack. Over your head, you hear your name shoot out of Yoongi’s lips, and your eyes slide high enough to see him on his last thread of coherency. 

“Doll, you gotta—you gotta stop—” 

“I don’t wanna—” 

Your entire head is yanked onto his thigh, breaths heavy and gulping in all the oxygen on the planet. Beads of sweat start to slide down your neck, and you look up to see Yoongi’s bangs clinging to his moist skin. 

Again, you find yourself coughing out laughter. Because you’re doing exactly what you set out to do. “Surprised?”  

“Not at all,” he huffs out, looking like a man completely satiated and spent. “This is all I’ve been waiting for.” 

Oh? That’s news to you. Now you really do wish you started embracing this side of you sooner. “Hope it’s what you wanted.” 

“Fucking… overachiever, fuck.” 

Grin lopsided, you fully rest your head on toned muscle. “I almost came,” you admit with not one ounce of shyness. “Sucking you off.” 

If you aren’t mistaken, Yoongi’s soul damn near leaves his body entirely. “You’re not allowed to say shit like that.” 

“What,” you wheeze out, limbs gelatinous and cunt pulsing. “It’s true.” 

“I don’t wanna hear it.” When you puff laughter onto his leg, he grins. “Had to stop you before I came, too.” 

“Help me up, please,” you breathe out, loving how Yoongi assists without pause. Your body is slowly lifted from the floor as he helps you climb back on his lap, and you immediately find purchase in his chest. “That took more energy than I thought.” 

Breathy laughs tickle your ear. “Lie down for me then, babe.”

“No,” you pout. “Wanna keep. Going.” 

Ever the giving lover, Yoongi lets you take a breather as he rubs circles on your back. “Whatever you want.” 

You turn to slowly kiss his slick neck, traveling further the more access he gives. With each tender plant on his skin, you find more and more strength, but it’s less of the manic kind and more of the outright desire to encase him in love. 

His palms slide up your back, caught in your straps before rising higher to grip your shoulder blades. When he digs fingers into your skin, you moan into his throat, licking a spot that has him purring. 

“Let me get a condom, love,” he whispers in your ear. And you oblige with a melting slide off of his thighs. “So cute.” 

It isn’t long until Yoongi returns, but you practically fuse into the couch when you notice that he’s ditched the tank, leaving his chains and the fucking glasses still? 

Oh. Cool. You’re a goner and now your shorts are drenched.

But you have to remove them anyway, so you slowly stand and make a spectacle out of your strip. Your chest beats loud as Yoongi watches from his seat, his eyes cast in heavy desire watching you slip your bottoms to the floor. You can only focus on the way he rolls protection on, because there’s no way you can hold eye contact with a demon for so long. 

When your top hits the ground next, his gravelly hum makes you feel like a god. How ironic, when he commands your every heaven and hell. 

“Come here.” 

Silent, you slowly mount him once more, pouting to his fiendish smile and narrowing your eyes. “How’d you know to leave them on.” 

Yoongi’s teeth shine as he spreads that stupid, cocky grin. And his lack of an answer has you gritting your annoyance out in pure ire, 

“You asshole.” 

Of course he only laughs. 

Bright, white need booms through your center as you grip his shoulders, positioning yourself over his dick with no hands and sliding right on oh holy fuck this part will always leave you breathless from how big he is—

“That’s so hot,” he groans to the ceiling, “Goddamn.” 

Wild, fluttering pulses erupt around his cock, and you have to breathe through the connection as you sink and sink and sink. Your thighs burn so deliciously as you adjust, and you start to wonder how long you’ll last without his help. Because your legs are fucking burning. “So big,” you hitch. “Feels too damn good.” 

“So fucking tight.” 

Both of you groan when you fully sheath, and your slow rocks are enough to send him in a cursing frenzy. Yoongi can’t stop praising you as you move against him, holding you close and breathing down your chest. There are words you’ve heard him say many times, but there’s one that snaps your attention in threes and makes your head twirl. 

What did he just say? 

“Kiss me.” 

You do exactly that, keeping your achingly slow pace and molding your whole body with his. The hard rims of his specs hit your skin as you push deeper, and you grip his slippery neck to keep yourself from falling even harder for him. 

It’s no use. You think you’ll be falling forever. 

Because your love for him is endless. 

Life is significant when you’re joined and moving as one. Sweat drips down your skin in rivulets, but you both don’t care. All you know is how deep he feels inside, how perfect you fit him, how in love you are with every determined stroke.

You tilt his head to kiss him deep, and you shudder at the way he moans and throbs beneath you, 

“You’re so…” 

“Hmm?” 

Yoongi’s eyes struggle to find your face. “I don’t even.. know.” 

“Try.” Damn, he really is fighting to stay in one piece. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this and it’s thrilling, and addicting, and everything you want. “What’s on your mind, my love.” 

“You,” he gasps. “Just you, I can’t…” 

You can’t believe what you’re witnessing. Yoongi is downright entranced. 

Is this what you looked like that first day you came over? Is this how he saw you when you completely lost yourself around him? His fucked out face alone is filling you with a fierce need to fulfill every wish he’s too scared to ask for. 

A hand moves to cut his airway, and the groan you feel under your fingers is almost as sinful as the smirk stretching across his face. 

“That’s my girl,” he manages beyond your hold, chuckling at the way you squeeze around his cock because fuck even underneath you he has so much power. “Give it to me.” 

Fuck. You tighten your hold, shoving his head up and over the couch. “You asked.” 

Planting your feet on either side of him, you give yourself more power and leverage to your bounces, lifting with each thrust and slamming down the full length of him. 

“Shit!” 

Big, sweaty hands grip under your thighs, helping you in your quest to destroy him and reaching back to slap your ass. You buck forward with each pleasurable sting, whining into his mouth when you swallow his lips, both mouths parting in pleasure with each thump of your skin against his.

“Baby, this feels—” Your arms sling around to grip the back of the couch, and you fling a moan to the ceiling as Yoongi latches onto one of your tits, hot tongue swirling around a nipple and emitting sounds that should never be heard in public. “Fuck!” 

“Taste so fucking good.” 

“Yoongi!” 

Goddamn, are you already about to come? The throbbing you feel in your cunt is so demanding you think he’s already at his wit’s end, too. 

“Angel, lemme feel you,” Yoongi breathes up to your chin. “Come for me so I can paint these tits.” 

Your groan tears the deepest part of your soul, and your whole body goes limp as your lover does the work for you, sliding you up and down his cock as his ridges hit just right. His hips thrust up to meet halfway, and you whine into his ear the harder and faster he starts to go. 

“That’s it,” he coaxes, grunting out when you squeeze him hard. “Fuck, good girl.” 

Your whine pierces straight through his couch. 

Shit, even with his help, you feel an unbearable sting in your muscles. All of them in your lower body are screaming to stop, but you want to keep going going going for him. “My legs,” you wheeze out anyway. “I need to relax for a sec.” 

With a kiss to your cheek, Yoongi offers with no hesitation, “Lie down, love.” 

Oh. Is he sure? “You gonna be okay?” 

Wordlessly, he presses you against him as your back sinks into his couch. It’s the most gentle he’s been tonight, and that turns you on so much you know he can feel you pulse around him. 

But he says nothing, eyes roaming your face before he leans to capture your lips, breaths mingling and wisping around your cheeks while he completes a perfect roll of his hips. 

“You’ve given me everything.” Sliding his glasses off, he sets them on the ground before cupping your ear. “Let me do the same.”  

Soul glimmering, you nod in silence. 

As much as you love being on top and watching him unravel beneath you, this is where you will always find home. In his arms, love between your lips as you find connection in more than just below, joining as one. 

Your world spans from the room in his heart that you’ve been blessed to have, to the end of his shadow that you will always forgive. You can’t think of anything to say now, but it’s not because you’re shy. 

It’s because you aren’t the same person you were when you first ended up here, and you think Yoongi has also changed for the better. 

That is exactly why you will fight to make everything work. 

Moonlight streams strong through the blinds, and you adore how it highlights every part of this man above your twinkling eyes. The silver lining pales in comparison to what you have in your hands, and the slight tint will never compare to his ethereal shade of blue. Every inch of him feels perfect in your folds, and his body slots into yours just right, roll after roll so heavenly you feel like crying. 

“I love you,” Yoongi whispers to your soul, and you fling yourself off the edge just to get to him, tide crashing and swirling as you hold him so, so tight. 

He groans hot against your slick cheek, no doubt feeling the desperate tug of your walls, and collapses the beautiful weight of his body on yours. 

Yes. This is what you want. Him him him and his complete loss of control. 

When you rake nails across his back, the outright whine you hear spurns you on, and you can’t help but come again, squeezing him tight and hearing him lose his mind twice. You crash into waves of your own creation, spiraling in your own whirlpool of need and want and love and desire and every fucking thing in between. 

“I’m yours,” you whoosh out, mewling in his ear as he strokes into you harder. “Come for me, love.”

It seems he completely abandons his first plan. Because you think he’s gonna pull out to unload on your chest, but you get held down so hard you scream. 

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, Yoongi’s never come so hard for you, thrashing as he clutches you tight. Desperate, you moan from how powerful he twitches inside, spilling into you but not the way you want. Not the way he wants. But you will get there one day and you don’t fucking care if anything happens after that, as long as you’re with him. 

Honestly? You’d be fine with… Something happening after that—

“Fuck..”

Your future thoughts are interrupted by harsh breaths, and you sling tired arms around the love of your life. 

“I’m yours, too, doll.” He grits his teeth and tightens his hold around your spent form. “That’s it. This is it for me.” 

“And I love you, too,” you heave to his deep set brows, swallowing oxygen and searching his eyes for something else. “How do you feel?”

“There’s… There’s no noise.” 

No noise?

“I…” Yoongi clutches your head with a warm palm, eyes settling into soft crescents and sparkling like celestials. “The only thing I hear is you.” 

This has to be big news for him. It has to be, given the outright relief showing on his face. So instead of questioning further, you only give your support and celebrate this win, “That’s all you need, to be fair.”

His laugh lights your soul aflame. “Thank you.” Eyes roaming along your face, he smiles. “For everything.” 

Following his advice earlier, you ask him another question you need to know the answer to, “Will you tell me if things get bad again?”

Shit. There seems to be a war in his head, and you wait with bated breath. “Gonna be honest.. I don’t know if I’ll remember to.”

Well, that’s a little scary. You tap him to sit up, and he obliges. “Why?”

Instead of sitting, Yoongi stands from the cushions, holding your hand to lift you beside him. It’s intimate to be naked just like this in his living room, but you aren’t shying away. This is your place now, too, you’d like to believe, and this is Yoongi’s way of showing it. 

When he leads, you know you’re heading to the bathroom. But you listen as he tries to explain, rolling off the condom and chucking it in the nearest bin,

“It’s.. I dunno. Like my mind just leaves and goes off the rails and I can’t stop it.” You both head into his room. “Everything I think about just comes in at once and I’m drowning again.” 

“Oh, baby.. I didn’t know it was like that.” When you stop him near his desk, you give a kiss of support to his cheek. “What about talking to someone?” 

For the upteenth time today, Yoongi is stunned. “Like a psychiatrist?"

“Hmm. Maybe, or a therapist? Depends on what you want, but I can’t remember right now. Have no think.”

Looking down, Yoongi reaches for his phone next to his keyboard, and both of you check up on the definitions while you hook an arm around his. Looks like he’d be better off with a therapist for what he’s looking for.  

“It could help,” you murmur, hoping he’s fine with your suggestion. “Maybe.”

Staring and looking through more pages and sites, Yoongi comes to his own conclusion. “I think you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

Phone thudding down on his desk, he rubs your shoulder, thumb brushing and feeling beautifully warm. “Most of the time.”

Your poke to his side sets off a flinch. 

“For now, you just have to find something that calms you down.” You extricate yourself from his side and head to the bathroom, feeling the chill of night air on your bare skin. “Like something that will just.. I dunno, make you forget all the bad shit for a little while.” 

“It’s you, doll.” 

You turn to face him across the room, eyes searching for any doubt as he walks up to your planted feet. 

“This whole time, it’s always been you.” Reaching for your hips, he softly connects your front to his. “My nights are for sleeping again.”

Oh. That’s more than you can bear to know. Touched, you caress his hair, eyes teary and full. “Good. It felt like something was bothering you this whole week, but. Maybe I was just reading into it too much.” 

“You aren’t wrong.” He swallows, gaze looking towards his bed. “I… Wrote some songs. At the hospital.” When you don’t say anything, he stares at your lips. “And I really, really wanna work on them.” 

Wait. That’s it? “Oh. That’s what you’ve been working on here? I won’t keep you if you need to work on them now.” 

“Nah, I’ve just been doing the instrumentals here. If I wanna record vocals, I’d have to go to the studio.” 

This is so confusing. Does he think he can’t go? Or does he think you wouldn’t wanna go with him? “...Okay?” 

He finally regards your eyes, stunned that you’d readily let him go. “Okay?”

“Yes, silly. If it’s something you need to go do, then do it.” You feel bad if you were the reason he couldn’t do what he’s been wanting to do. Maybe you should be more vocal in your support instead of just your actions. “Just show me what you end up doing because I’m nosy.”

“Come with me.”

“Hmm?”

Yoongi pulls you close, leading both your hands around his side and your faces closer. And it’s criminal how dashing he looks in those specs with his hair falling around the rims. “To the studio. Come with me.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as your pulse quickens. “You sure, baby?”

“No one’s gonna be there for a minute,” he assures. “We still got a bit of time before anyone comes in.”

“If you’re okay with it..” Suddenly shy, you stare at the silver on his chest.“I’ve always wanted to come see you at work, so.”

“No shit?” Yoongi’s face lights up so fast you’d think the moon dipped into the room. “Let’s go then.” 

—

—

This is happening. This is actually happening. 

A whole wave of excitement drenches you as you’re brought into the studio you’ve only heard about. 

Shelves of equipment line one wall while a black sofa sits right near the door, hugging the backside of the room. On the far side, you see one huge workstation, littered with different buttons, sliders, computer monitors, and backed by a speaker system that stands in front of a long glass window. 

Oh. Sick. There’s a recording booth attached right to their room, and even that space looks pretty decently sized. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, eyes wide as you take in your surroundings. The air itself feels new and exciting, full of promise and dreams and… one Min Yoongi smiling at you from the doorway. 

Laughing, you blurt, “What?” 

His teeth shine as he looks down, shutting the door and making his way towards you. The way he walks makes you feel many things, but above all, it lets you know how at home he feels here. How comfortable and in his element. “Nothing, doll,” he says through a grin. “Just watching you.” 

Your eyes cannot sparkle bright enough. But you let him pull you into his arms as you keep looking around. “It’s amazing,” you note with wonder. “No wonder you practically live here.”

There’s no malice or anything negative in your tone. So you’re confused when Yoongi’s shoulders drop. “Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes downcast. “I always try to make things quick.”

Your eyes snap to his. “What? No, don’t do that.” Sliding palms up his jaw, you look him head on. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, okay? I don’t care how much time you spend here, not if it’s what you wanna do.” 

You meant it earlier. He has to know you’re gonna support his dreams and aspirations no matter what. In actions, and in words. If he doesn’t know that yet? Well. You aren’t trying hard enough to drive the point home. 

Yoongi twists his face to kiss one of your hands. “Thanks, baby.” 

Oh. Baby again. Not babe. Why does him saying that make you crumble a hundred times over? “Of course. And don’t mind me while we’re here, okay? I’ll be invisible unless you need my help.” 

Looking towards the workstation, Yoongi contemplates before turning back with a small nod. “I do, actually.” 

Wait, you even get some hands-on action? Yoongi’s gonna teach you shit? Tonight is the best night ever. “Perfect, put me to work. What are we doing, producer man?” 

—

—

Yoongi bobs in the recording booth while you do the same and await his first masterpiece. 

And as he spits line after line, you hype him up, grabbing your chair arm and yelling out as he completes another rhyme. 

Fuck, he’s good and quick-witted, which is inherently a turn on for you and launching you into his magnetic stratosphere. You start getting up to bounce in place, and he raps to the rug as you keep encouraging him to continue. He can’t hear you, but he can see you, and you’re certain those flashing smiles are for your antics. 

It’s amazing how Yoongi can just do this. He’s truly a genius, and you’re starting to wonder what other artistic prowess he has. You would be fine just sitting on the back couch and watching him work any day of the week. Why haven’t you been doing this sooner? 

Well. There are two pretty damn obvious reasons.

The beat bumps and bumps after he finally finishes, and you wait the designated seconds before cutting the recording line. Something about letting it run a bit as to not cut off the backend off his recorded part.

Just like that, Yoongi’s done with two out of the three songs he wrote in that waiting room. You shout in vehement support as he grins at your bouncing, standing ovation. As he comes through the recording door, you buzz at his amused as hell question, “What are you even doing in here?”

“Uhh, hyping you up? That was so good!”

His laugh creases those beautiful, spectacled eyes. “It’s just one verse per song!”

“Just one—let me try,” you command, settling back into your rolling chair. “Run it again and watch me.”

“Oh, yeah?” A few hisses of laughter shoot out as he peers up at the overhead screen. “Let’s see it then.”

The beat starts and you try to find a good first line to rhyme with. And this is meant to demonstrate to Yoongi that he is miles above everyone in rapping, but you start to get into it, using the simplest sentences and shouts and making your lover laugh his ass off.

But he’s egging you on and bobbing his head so enthusiastically that you’re somehow finding all the right words to say, elated when he shouts and looks at you with hearts in his eyes.

Your chuckle is softer and softer as you stop. “What?”

“You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks sizzle right underneath. “You just say that because you’re happy.” 

“I am happy,” Yoongi says without hesitation, which makes your heart soar. “But you’re also perfect.” 

You cannot deal with this level of affection right now. Not when you both came for him to work on something important. Plopping into the rolling chair again, your stomach flips as it leans back a bit. “And you need to focus,” you order, rolling close and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You have one more to go, if my counts are correct.”

His eyes have a very intentional glint as he creases them at you, but he lets you steadily roll to the side as he looks at the console. “I have to move some tracks around, so this might take a sec. If you get bored, though, tell me and we can leave.”

“Not until you’re done.” 

Yoongi looks at you again, and he watches your smile. “You sure?”

When you nod, you take hold of your phone and lean into the plush but firm back of the chair. Unlocking your screen, you hum, “I’ll keep myself busy somehow.” 

“Come here.” 

Although low, Yoongi’s voice is more than enough to get your attention. Head raising, you see him angling himself towards you before rising out of his seat. 

Wait. What’s he doing? You know he’s supposed to be working. You both agreed this wouldn’t result in any funny business. But your throat remains closed and silent under those eyes. Fuck, they’re smoldering. Seriously, what is he doing? 

Leaning down, Yoongi places firm hands on your armrests, caging you in and letting his chain swing free, “I said come here.”

Well. If he doesn’t give a shit? Fuck it then.

You giggle before willfully meeting his lips, neck craning to reach him and swooning at the way his cold silver hits your throat. You’re nowhere near a bed nor couch anymore, but that’s exactly where your mind wanders for the quickest of seconds. 

Turns out, you aren’t the only one. Your mind has company. And it, along with your whole body, shivers at the next words pouring like liquid, spiced honey from that devilishly curved mouth, 

“I know we said what we said.”

“Uh huh…”

“But following the rules.. hasn’t exactly been my style.”

Your breath hitches at those mischievous eyes. “Even if they’re yours?”

Yoongi lets out a breath of a laugh, like he knew you would ask that and he’s got his answer loaded in the chamber. “Doll, there’s only one set of rules I wouldn’t break.” 

“And which ones are—”

Snatching your quick lips, he kisses butterflies into your belly before gripping your chin, holding your gaze and melting you with one syllable. 

“Yours.”

Maybe you’re about to pass away in a studio. But at least you’d have an excuse to stay in here forever now, because you could listen to Yoongi perform and record every day of your life. 

“The number of times…” He kisses you again, chaste and full. “I’ve thought about you in here…”

“Me…?” You breathe out before your eyes slip shut in another kiss. “Why?”

“One, I think about you everywhere.” He kisses your neck. “And two? Just cus I shouldn’t.” 

You suddenly get an idea. About a home studio that you certainly can put to use. But this one would have to do—

“Alright, old man,” you stop his next advance with a stiff arm. “Get to work before I make you.” 

“Ugh.” Yoongi rises with a deep chuckle. “You’re lucky I love that.” 

“I know you do.” 

“This is the last one anyway,” he notes, picking up his notebook and tapping it with a pen. “Just wanna make sure you’re fine hearing it.” 

“Of course I am, baby.” You roll up to the workstation as Yoongi loads a file into the interface. Based on the ones you already heard, you know why he’s asking you about this third track. Now you’re even more nervous to be in the room. “I’m not the one paying for the studio time.” 

His cheeks leap to the sky when he grins at the monitors, shifting things around the screen with the deftness of a professional. “Why do you seem so comfy here?” 

Your heart follows through the roof. Because you have the same feeling, but you already know the reason. It’s working right in front of you. “Because this is your home,” you respond through a smile. “And I can finally see why.” 

His hands pause as emotions race across his face. And while you think you can pick some of them out, a few of them border on melancholic. Regardless, you’re sticking to your answer, eyeing him when he faces you one more time. 

Bending, he cups your chin so, so tender. “You’re my home,” he corrects with a whisper, and your heart glows with his soft kiss to your cheek. “Now stop distracting me, brat.” 

Oh, he’s got to be joking! “What did I do!” 

Yoongi simply laughs as he checks everything over. With a tap of his fingers, he seems satisfied, so he heads into the recording room. “Just remember to do the same thing.” 

“Yeah, I got it.” 

Exhaling from your mouth, you watch as he slips on headphones and adjusts the mic. When he gives you a thumbs up, you give him a nod, hitting record and letting music flood the studio. 

And your entire body is surrounded by a desperate sense of longing, wildly different from the first two songs, and you slowly stand because you can’t do anything else. 

You understand everything now. 

Why Yoongi wouldn’t leave your side, why he was so eager to see you. You feel it now, too. This pull, this yearning, this overwhelming feeling in your chest that is tugging you closer and closer to him. There aren’t many words yet, but you understand what he’s trying to convey. 

This man can have the universe and then some. 

When Yoongi notices your tear-stained cheeks, he holds your gaze before slowly slipping his headphones down his hanging head.

It takes everything for you to stop the recording, shaking as you slowly walk to the recording room entrance. As you open the door, it feels more than symbolic, and a pang rings in your chest at the sight of Yoongi’s reddened eyes.  

So you bolt, crushing him into a hug and letting all those moments of separation and confusion and anger fall from your eyes. It’s not just a song, it’s a plea. It’s a cry for help. And you’re gonna answer it every single time. 

“I’m here, Yoongi,” you whisper. “I’ll always be here.” 

He doesn’t look when you cup his chin. 

“Baby, look at me.” He finally does, and your chest tightens so quick you choke. “It’s gonna be alright.” 

“You think so.” 

“Yes.” You smile, giving him a calming kiss that gets your point across. Then another to his cheek. And another to his forehead. Nothing heated. Nothing intense. Only the purest connection. “I’ll always lo—”

Every hair you have stands on end. 

Because a booming intercom buzzes across the room with a crackle and a snap, and all your peace flees as you snap your head to the window. 

Blanching at the person watching on the other side. 

“Yoongi, what the fuck?”

—

—

tbc :)

-

how did we enjoy the last drop!! | join the server!

a/n: AND THE WHOLE PART IS UPPPPP woohoo! thank you all for bringing such joy and love to this series that means the world to me. i cannot have asked for a cooler community, and knowing you guys have been waiting for this all this time? i could cry. even after all this time, you're still here. or you're just finding this series and joining us on this journey. thank you all for being here, and here's to... well... The Big Events. #prayForMe #willBeCryingOnMyKeyboard

++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here!

++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

a/n 2: we did this for 3tanfugue and the energy was great! just like last time, some of you guys suggested that we have post goals to encourage interaction. no one voted against it yet, so we'll keep it goin!

If you look at it from a distance and squint, there really isn’t anything wrong with Park Sunghoon. 

In fact, if anything, he might be a little bit out of your league. With full lips, an easy smile, and long, dark hair that dusts over the angular planes of his cheekbones, he’s a sight for sore eyes. Especially since they are rather sore. Your eyes, that is.

You’ve spent the last week fine tuning your resume for all thirty-six job applications you fired off with crossed fingers and a silent prayer. Your daily screen time is reaching dangerous levels, and you doubt the blue light blocking glasses you picked up from the dollar store are doing much to mitigate the effects of it.

Life post-graduation has been like this, more or less. Six months ago, officially earning your university diploma felt like victory, like the end of a hard earned battle.

But now, you aren’t so sure. Not when the last one hundred eighty days have been nearly identical copies of monotonous despair, one rejected job application after another. 

A cover letter here, a mission statement there, a detailed history of your personal opinion on the role of social media in modern society — that one had been for a marketing gig that you weren’t even interested in, not if the advertised salary were as low as the posting claimed. But at this point, you were starting to get desperate.

And still, it’s all been to no avail. Rejection after rejection. Ghosting after ghosting. Ridiculous, you think. These are hiring departments after all, not some frat boy you hooked up with last Friday after one too many shots of tequila. All your effort surely warrants at the very least a response.

But forty-seven of the eighty-nine jobs you’ve applied to in the last month seem to disagree.

And it’s not like you hate the part time gig you picked up at the flower shop a few blocks away from your apartment, but you didn’t work your ass off for four years, earning your degree in a specialized field, just to spend the rest of your life explaining the differences between roses and dahlias to men that piss off their girlfriends. 

It’s disheartening, to say the least. Demoralizing. A rinse and repeat cycle that becomes more exhausting with each passing day, each unreturned email. 

Most days, you feel a little bit like a shell of yourself. Hollowed from the inside out, just waiting for a scrap of decent news. 

It’s why you only said no three times when Sophia suggested that maybe you break up the monotony with a little good, old-fashioned romance. 

And not just romance. Dating, blind dating, because she swore the mystery of it all would make it more fun.

The first three times she suggested it, you waved her off easily with some half-witted excuse and a roll of your eyes. 

But the fourth time, your friend caught you in a weak spot. 

“Come on,” she’d insisted over an overpriced latte. She didn’t mind shelling out for a soy milk substitute, even. She was one of the lucky ones that managed to line up a job immediately after graduation, one she got from the third-year internship she had. 

So Sophia had her big girl job and her big girl salary. You, on the other hand, were wincing at the bitter taste of drip coffee straight from the machine. 

“I don’t know…” You’d trailed off, unsure. That morning, you’d received a rejection notice from a company you were genuinely excited about. The position matched your qualifications and professional interests to a T. You weren’t one to make premature bets, but when you clicked submit on the official application three weeks prior, part of you had felt like it was fate. A sure thing. 

The email this morning proved you wrong. 

Dear Candidate, it had started. Because of course, even after all the time you spent tailoring your resume to their standards, you weren’t even worth the effort of typing your name. 

Thank you for your interest in joining our team. We regret to inform you that we have decided to move forward with other candidates at this time. If, in the future, other positions become available, please do not hesitate to apply again. 

Rejection wasn’t anything new at this point, but this one stung. It felt personal. 

You were tired of constantly hearing no, of always having every path blocked the second you worked up the courage to venture down it. You were desperate for something to take your mind off of it all. 

You wanted to do something fun. And more than that, you needed a reminder that you weren’t a failure. That at least in some capacity, your time and your presence and your efforts were worth something.

If the only available context for that was a date, even a blind one, so be it. 

“It’ll be fun,” Sophia insisted. “I promise. Besides, the guy I have in mind is really cool. He’s been at my company for a couple of years now, and he’s really friendly, even to the new hires. Comes off a little cold at first maybe, but I think he’s just a little shy. You’d like him.”

You still weren’t sold. You took another long sip of black coffee and winced at the taste of burnt beans. 

“What was his name again?” you asked. 

Sophia grinned, knowing she’d finally won. “Sunghoon,” she told you, smile entirely too smug for your liking. “Park Sunghoon.”

Now, a week later, you can’t help but curse yourself for caving. After all, blind dates are a far cry from romance, and the only thing that your time with Sunghoon is doing, lovely as he may be, is giving you a different source for your headaches. 

Across from you, Sunghoon takes a slow sip of red wine. His eyes stay where they should. You can at least appreciate that Sophia didn’t set you up with a total sleaze. If anything, you think he looks a bit unsure when he meets your gaze.

After another moment of stilted silence, he asks, “What do you like to do for fun?” You watch as Sunghoon swirls his half full glass before setting it back down on the table. Aerating it, probably. He strikes you as the kind of person that isn’t entirely bullshitting when they say they know their wines. 

It’s a perfectly normal question, run-of-the-mill for a first date. And yet, your mind can’t seem to do anything but come up completely blank. 

What do you like to do for fun? Even privately, you're beginning to wonder. It’s as if the job search has taken any joy you used to find in your free time and turned it into existential dread.

You like to go for walks, but it’s been extra rainy these days and you hate how the late autumn air makes your skin feel sticky after just a few minutes. Not to mention the end of season mosquitoes. You swear they’re bigger than any other time of year.

You like to read, but the last time you opened a book for pleasure was half a year ago. You’re pretty sure that same exact novel is still sitting half-finished beneath your bedside table.

Cooking is nice for stress relief, you suppose, but your meals are more for function than show. You doubt Sunghoon wants to hear about the frozen spinach you sautéed last night. 

You have been catching up on the latest season of a ridiculously staged reality TV show lately, but you can hardly own up to that. If an hour’s worth of catty drama and hair pulling every Sunday night is the first hobby you think of, Sunghoon will no doubt think you’re the most vapid person he’s ever met. 

So instead you say, “Oh, you know.” You try a laugh, hoping it will make you seem easy going instead of cagey. “Things.”

Sunghoon just arches a brow. He doesn’t know. That’s why he asked. 

And it’s not like it’s a crime to be awkward on first dates, but you’re starting to feel like you’d be given a life sentence without parole if it was. 

Desperate to get his gaze off of you, you return the question. “What about you?”

Maybe the universe will spare you and Sunghoon will be equally bad at condensing his life into bite-sized pieces easily digestible on first dates. Maybe his good luck starts and ends with his face and he’ll be equally tight-lipped about his own interests.

But then, after a pause to gather his thoughts, he starts talking. Your hope for equal footing starts to circle the drain with more urgency.

“I’ve been really into exercising lately,” he tells you. “I grew up figure skating, so it’s been nice to get back to doing something more physical. It’s been great, too, trying out some new protein-focused recipes and getting out for runs when the weather allows it. I really miss the ice, but it just isn’t feasible with work and everything else these days. It’s been fun to try out some new hobbies that are somewhat similar.”

“Oh,” you flounder for a moment. It’s truly pathetic, you think. Maybe talking about yourself is difficult, but how are you so unable to even respond to his answers? “That’s nice.”

Sunghoon, to both his credit and Sophia’s, really does seem to be a nice guy. He’s trying. Doing his best to keep the conversation going. 

“Do you like to exercise?” he asks.

You wonder distantly if following a YouTube video at home on yoga for stress relief once in a while counts. 

Deciding it doesn’t, at least not to a former figure skater, you shrug. “Not really.”

“Oh,” he nods. After a moment of awkward silence, he asks, “What do you think about the wine?”

It’s a simple question, an easy question, but it’s hard to get momentum once you’ve lost it. To you, this date already feels a bit like a sinking ship and even a question as simple as this feels like a test you’ll inevitably fail. 

“It’s nice,” you say. “Goes well with the food.” And unfortunately does very little to soothe your frayed nerves.

“I agree,” Sunghoon nods. “Apparently it’s made from grapes grown in a specific region of southern France. They get more sunlight than the average vineyard, and the soil is fertilized in some special way that makes the flavor more intense.”

He smiles at you, and it’s objectively gorgeous. The kind of look that you feel like you should be fawning over, that you should go home dreaming about. 

Park Sunghoon is the kind of guy that feels made for fantasies. Thinking about it now, you’re not really sure how he could even be single, or how Sophia managed to convince him to see you tonight. 

But no matter how long you wait for the butterflies to come, they just… don’t. 

It’s not because you don’t like him, but the idea of getting to know him, of letting him get to know you, is suddenly exhausting. 

You’re afraid that whatever parts of yourself you reveal will come up short, will inevitably be found lacking. Your hobbies aren’t interesting enough for a guy like him. You’re not particularly well-traveled or well-read, and you did well in your degree but not enough for it to be part of a dinner conversation. 

You just… you don’t feel interesting. Not in the kind of way that guys like him are attracted to. So when you go home after another half hour of stilted conversation and too-long lulls of silence, you’re not daydreaming about his smile or his dimples or the second date he definitely won’t ask you on. 

Instead, you wait until you’re out of eyesight to let the smile you’ve been keeping plastered to your lips fall from your face. 

Looking out at the sky, the sun that’s beginning to set on the horizon doesn’t feel like an omen or a fresh start. It just feels like a sunset. The end of another day full of nothing special. Unremarkable. Ordinary.

You’re not giddy or excited or particularly moved at all. You’re not angry either, though. Not disappointed. If anything, you feel a strange sense of hollowness, one with a glare that’s especially apparent under the street lights that are just beginning to glow. 

You miss the days when things felt exciting, when you would meet the eye of someone cute across a lecture hall and go home daydreaming about it. Spinning around your room, kicking your feet like a schoolgirl with a crush.

It’s not Sophia’s fault. It’s not even Park Sunghoon’s. But when you finally get back home to your apartment and flick on the lights of your empty bedroom, all you do is sigh. 

…..

You thought that when you walked across your university stage six long months ago and were officially given your diploma, you’d be done drowning your post-midterm stress with cheap beer. 

But you forgot to account for one small detail — Jungwon.

You suppose your friendship with him might look a little strange from the outside, but he’s been a constant in your life since before you even knew how to tie your own shoes. 

Like most childhood friendships, it wasn’t forged of your own volition. Your mother decided the summer before you started kindergarten that her new favorite hobby was going to be gardening. Which was fine and all, except for the fact that she knew literally nothing about gardening and had killed just about every houseplant she ever owned. 

To her credit, she tried. She asked the kind elderly lady working the till at the garden supply store for advice and bought the overpriced gloves and trowel she suggested. She scoured blogs and Wikipedia articles and online forums for all the best and latest in flower cultivation. 

But your mother simply did not have a green thumb, and after months of watching from her window in silent pity, Mrs. Yang decided to do something about it.

She took one look at your mother’s wilted tiger lilies and sighed. Gently, because even in her exasperation she managed to be kind, a trait she passed onto her son.

You weren’t so interested in whatever she told your mom about fertilizer and shearing, though. Nor were you really interested in the garden at all. 

But you did find the boy currently hiding behind Mrs. Yang’s practical work pants far more fascinating than anything you’d seen in months. 

Before school started, finding another kid your age was like striking gold. An only child, you were doted on by your parents but only rarely had the opportunity to play with other kids. This one, even if he was determined to hide out of sight, felt like a gift, a friend you were determined to make yours. 

Back then, he was a shy kid. 

It had taken a fair amount of coaxing from his mother, but he finally found the courage to meet your eye. To come out from his hiding spot and introduce himself.

Jungwon, he said his name was, and you gave him yours in return. 

You asked about his birthday and could hardly contain the smug smile that spread across your lips when you realized he was younger than you. A whole ten months. Practically a baby. Nowhere near ready to start kindergarten, like you were. He’d have to wait a whole nother year. 

Other than the bragging rights it afforded you, you didn’t mind so much. 

That summer, Mrs. Yang helped your mother turn her misshapen, weed-addled, overgrown mess of a flower bed into something truly beautiful. 

And nearly every time she came over, she brought Jungwon in tow. The two of you weren’t trusted to wander far yet, but he made your afternoons far more interesting, even under the watchful gaze of your mothers.

He was excited about the same things you were — searching for bugs in the flower bed, digging in the dirt with the plastic shovel set you’d been given for your last birthday, and building homes for the fairies you convinced him really existed using fallen leaves and twigs. 

Your friendship might have begun as one of convenience, but the long, sunny afternoons you spent together ensured that none of it was forced.

Your mothers were thrilled too. Both of you were overly curious only children, and it was nice to have your attention occupied elsewhere, to share private smiles at how sweet your little friendship was becoming. 

They sighed when you came back from an afternoon of playing with dirt smudged across your clothes and cheeks and cooed when you fell asleep after washing up, sprawled out across your living room floor with pillows you’d pulled off the couch. 

Even though you’d been anticipating it for months, the beginning of kindergarten was something you started to dread. And the further you got in your academic journey, the one-year gap between you started to feel less like victory and more like a curse.

You still remember the failed math quiz you brought home from second grade one afternoon, a big, red F written across the top even though you were usually excellent with times tables. 

It had taken a fair amount of coaxing, but your mother finally got the truth from you. How you were thinking that if you managed to do poorly enough to fail the second grade, you could just do it again next year. With Jungwon. 

Of course she explained to you how terrible of an idea it was, and you didn’t try it again, but for the next few months, every aced exam still felt a little bit like defeat.

Until the seventh-grade, that is, when you decided to fully embrace your role as his elder. 

Jungwon was just starting middle school, after all. He was brand new to the world of lockers and passing periods and so much axe body spray it seemed to permanently hover outside the boy’s locker room like a rain cloud. 

You made him pinky promise you not to buy any, and all he did was scrunch his nose in distaste, insisting that he never would, that he didn’t like strong smells anyway.

Jungwon might have been new to it all, but you, however, had already been this whole middle school thing for a year. You were one year older and wiser and could help him navigate all of the pitfalls with your hard earned expertise.

You thought it was the best idea ever, an example of your commendable generosity and kindness, until one Wednesday afternoon proved you entirely wrong.

You were hovering just behind him as he worked through his locker combination, weight shifted to one hip as you balanced your science textbook against the other. 

Still a couple inches taller than him thanks to the growth spurt that had hit you early, you didn’t have to crane your neck too hard to see over his shoulder. To provide any assistance he might need.

Finally, after getting the combination right, his locker clicked open.

Jungwon sighed. Glancing back at you, he mumbled, “Why are you here? Don’t you have science right now?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, gesturing to the textbook in your hands. “But that’s okay. I don’t mind waiting for you.”

“I have math next,” he pointed out, as if you didn’t already know. As if you didn’t have his schedule memorized before he did. “Which is in the opposite direction. Just go. You don’t want to be late again.”

It’s true. You don’t. Your mom said she’d shave an hour off of your allotted Saturday cartoon-watching time if it happened again. 

But it was okay. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make. You told him as much.

“That’s okay,” You shook your head. “I’ll be fine. Besides, Mr. Lee usually isn’t too strict about tardies, so—“

“Just go,” he interrupted, back still turned to you. This time, his voice was sharper than usual. It cut through the air like an accusation, leaving you more than a little shocked. “You don’t have to follow me around everywhere.”

You frowned at that. But still, you thought that maybe he was just worried about you, about whatever punishment your mother had promised. So, to ease his worries, you insisted, “I don’t mind. I’m a year older, so I should—“

“Ten months,” he corrected, voice like ice. And he still wouldn’t look at you. “You’re ten months older.”

Your frown deepened. “Thats the same thing.”

“No it’s not,” Jungwon shook his head, voice rising. His anger, his annoyance, were apparent now. “Stop treating me like a baby.”

“I don’t—” You tried to protest. 

But he wasn’t having it. “You do.” He insisted. “You treat me like I’m a little kid and it’s driving me insane. The other boys on the taekwondo team think so, too. They’re starting to say things—“

“What kinds of things? Who?” It didn’t matter if he was angry or annoyed at you. As far as you were concerned, if anyone was giving Jungwon a hard time, it was your business too. You didn’t know the boys on the taekwondo team very well, but you were suddenly feeling very violent, a bad idea given that the boys in question were trained in martial arts and you’d spent no time on a training mat in all twelve years of your life.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jungwon shook his head. He still wouldn't turn around and look at you. “Just leave me alone.”

You’d had fights before. Little tiffs that started nearly the same day you’d met. But they were always small, just bouts of bickering that may have left you pouting but never with any truly hurt feelings.

This was different. This… this stung. 

Just like the tears that started to gather against your lash line without your permission, pressing dangerously against the inner corner of your eyes.

Still, you couldn’t help but ask, a little pathetically, “You don’t want me to walk with you?”

“I don’t need you to follow me around everywhere,” he repeated, crueler than he had to be, “fussing over me like you’re my mom or something.”

“Fine,” was all you said. Suddenly, you were grateful that he wouldn’t look at you. If he saw how affected you were, that you were on the verge of crying, it would be more humiliating than you could handle. “Just walk by yourself then.”

Turning, you only paused once you were a few steps away. “And here,” you’d reached into your pockets, pulling out the coupons you’d cut out of the newspaper earlier this week, the surprise you were planning to show him after school. “You can just have these. Give them to your taekwondo friends, since you care what they think so much.” 

Jungwon waited until you were around the corner to turn around, to see what you’d thrown at his feet. Bending, he picked them up, guilt swirling deep in his gut as he tucked the coupons for half price ice cream from the nearby shop, the one that you knew always had his favorite flavor, into his pocket.

You didn’t talk to Jungwon for a week. 

You were late to class that day, partly because of Jungwon and partly because you had to spend the next ten minutes calming down in the bathroom stall while you wiped evidence of your tears away.

True to her word, your mom didn’t let you watch cartoons Saturday morning. And you spent all your extra time thinking about where exactly you went so wrong.

The silent treatment didn’t last long. You and Jungwon were like that — you’d spent so much time together that you’d learned how to get over things quickly. 

Grudges never held for long, and time didn't need to pass too far for both of you to forget what you were mad about in the first place. 

But this time, even after the dust had settled, things between you didn’t go entirely back to normal. For starters, you didn’t wait for him by his locker anymore, didn’t offer to walk him to math or science or P.E. or any of his other classes. 

Even though the two of you shared a school, the only time you really saw him anymore was on the bus ride home. And that was only on the days he didn’t have taekwondo practice. 

But with Jungwon, things had a way of coming back around. It wasn’t long before he was seeking you out intentionally again, before your friendship felt less like walking on eggshells and more like something comfortable.

But you had learned two valuable lessons that day by his locker.

One, Jungwon was sensitive. More so than you ever realized. In ways you didn’t always fully understand.

And two, the gap between your ages may have been small, but he really, truly resented any attention you brought to it. In his own words, he hated it when you made him feel like a kid. 

So you learned. You adjusted. And by the time high school came around, you were practically a pro at ignoring the ten months that separated you. 

There were still times that you wanted to guide him, to help him, but you did your best to hold yourself back. You tried to empathize, too. To see things from his point of view. It made sense, you supposed. Jungwon didn’t want a second mother. He just wanted a friend. 

One that wouldn’t dote on him too much or smother him or embarrass him in front of his teammates. That’s not to say he didn’t use your age to his advantage on occasion, though. 

When you got your driver’s license a whole year before him, he wasn’t shy about asking for rides. And when junior year chemistry proved to be harder than he thought, he accepted your journal full of meticulously taken notes with little more than a sigh of relief. 

You didn’t mind so much. Besides, it wasn’t like you were the only generous one in your relationship. Friendship with Jungwon never felt like a burden, never felt like a debt to settle. 

For all of your age-afforded privileges, he more than made up for them just by being there. Because Jungwon grew up in the way few boys do—he learned to observe, to listen before he spoke. To treat words like something precious and use them only when he really meant them. 

Jungwon was your confidant, your most trusted source of advice. You went to him with things that you felt like you couldn’t tell anyone else, and he received it all with open arms and a thoughtful furrow of his brow. 

Jungwon wasn’t the type to pass judgment. He just listened, contemplated, and then gave the best, most logical answer he could think of. 

He talked you down from your spiral of self-hate after you convinced yourself a failed physics test was the end of your life junior year and helped you analyze the pros and cons of your top university choices when your high school graduation date started approaching with alarming speed. 

Affection came easy between the two of you, because it didn’t feel complicated. It felt natural, just like the day he introduced himself amongst the ruins of your mother’s failed garden. 

So when you told him, senior year, that you agreed with his advice, that you had decided to attend university in your hometown, a mere thirty-minute drive from the high school you were graduating from, all he did was smile. 

He hugged you after you accepted your diploma from your principal and handed you a bouquet of flowers. He complained about having to stick around in high school for another year, and you assured him that senior year was different from the others. It was better. 

Your year apart was difficult, but it also gave you space for things you hadn’t considered before. Things like other friends. You met Sophia at freshman orientation, and the two of you became inseparable. 

You still saw Jungwon, of course. Weekends, holidays, and even the occasional weeknight dinner meant he was still very much a part of your life. And when you couldn’t meet in person, you talked. Texted. Called. 

Which is exactly how you broke the news of your first ever boyfriend. 

There had been crushes in high school, but they were fleeting. Insignificant. This was different. Jay was different, and just as you always had, you spared Jungwon none of the gory details. 

You told him all about the flowers he bought you, all about how romantic it was when he asked you on a proper date. How sweet it was when he picked you up and opened the passenger door of his car for you and how special you felt when he picked up the dinner check without so much as a sideways glance at you.

But Jungwon, steady, reliable Jungwon, seemed to become uncharacteristically terse whenever Jay came up. His texts got shorter, his responses further and fewer between. 

The calls that used to drag on for hours started ending suddenly whenever you brought up your boyfriend. Jungwon always had an excuse ready—he had homework to do or a project to finish or an errand to run for his mom. 

But you’d have to be stupid not to notice the common denominator in it all. Jay. 

For a while, the choice was easy. Jay was here, with you. He wanted your attention and your time. He liked hearing about your day and telling you about his and spending as much time with you as your schedules allowed. 

Jungwon, on the other hand, was becoming more difficult to reach the longer your relationship went on. 

Slowly, but steadily, Jay started to become the person you went to for advice. The contact name you searched for whenever you had something to say. The boy you spent your weekends with, making new memories, laughing about nothing. 

You trusted him. You were new to it, the feelings, the rush of it all, but after a few months, you were pretty sure you loved him. 

Jay was your first relationship, your first real boyfriend, and eventually, the person you trusted enough to lose your virginity to. 

Which made it all the more devastating when he told you, sometime in the middle of spring semester, that he didn’t want to see you anymore. That he enjoyed your time together, but he didn’t feel the same spark you did. The same level of connection. 

You cried until you were numb, and you were numb until one by one, your feelings started to come back in overwhelming waves. And every time they did, the only person you really wanted to see was your best friend. 

The boy you barely even spoke to anymore. 

You weren’t sure if he would even answer, the night you drove all the way to his house in the pouring rain. You stood there on his porch, pathetic, soaked from just the short walk from your car, when he opened the door and found you like that. 

“Jungwon,” you breathed. 

He hadn’t said anything, just pulled you inside. Checked the warmth of his shower until it was the perfect temperature and left a towel and a clean pair of clothes on the bathroom counter for you. Waited outside, on the edge of his bed until you emerged twenty minutes later. 

Clean, dry, but with eyes so red he knew you must have been crying. 

He didn’t ask you what happened. He just scooted back until he was sitting against his pillows, patted the space next to him in invitation. Pulled you tight to his chest as you sobbed, long heartbreaking sounds that tore from somewhere deep in you.

You eventually told him everything—your breakup, your heartbreak, the sudden loneliness it had left in its wake. 

Jungwon just held you through it, wiping your tears and soothing your cries as you laid against his chest. 

And you talked. For hours, about nothing, about everything. All the little things you hadn’t been able to tell him for months, all the parts of your life that you’d wished you could share with him.

As it turns out, you’d missed important updates from his life, too. For starters, he’d chosen a university. The same one you were currently attending. You were so excited that you’d be together again, but part of you hated it, the way you’d missed out on such important news.

That night, things shifted again. It didn’t matter what your relationship status was or what distance separated you—the two of you promised not to ever go so long without talking again. 

The following September, Jungwon officially started university at the same school as you, and it was the most excited you’d been in months. You loved showing him around all of your favorite places, pointing out the secret study spots you’d found in the library, introducing him to all of your friends and the coffee shop you loved just off campus. 

It felt natural, felt right to have him in your life again. Even when things got busy, when you were so bogged down with assignments and projects and internships, you did your best to make time for one another. 

You didn’t date again, and if he did, you never heard about it. When friends asked, you always gave the same excuse. You were too busy. You were focusing on yourself. School was more important to you than a relationship right now. 

But if you were honest with yourself, your relationship with Jay had left you with a unique set of scars. You were scared of falling in love again only to be met with rejection, of course, but you were also terrified of losing Jungwon. Of the way letting someone new into your life could mean pushing him away, despite what you’d promised each other that night in his bed. 

It’s why you haven’t mentioned Sunghoon to him yet. It’s not a secret, exactly, but it’s also not something you’re dying to share. 

Now that you’ve graduated, you can hardly believe you’re standing outside Jungwon’s apartment with a six pack of cheap beer dangling from your fingertips. But something about all of your recent failures has you desperate for a bit of release, and you’re sure he could use some relaxation after midterms, too. 

If anything, you’re hoping it will come as a nice surprise. 

You knock on the door to his apartment,  beer dangling loosely from your other hand. But when the door pulls open, it’s not Jungwon who greets you on the other side. 

“Hi,” Jake grins, leaning against the doorframe. “Long time no see.” Jungwon’s roommate of two years now, he glances down at the beer. “And you brought presents.”

“Not for you, Sim,” you shake your head. “Is Jungwon home?”

“Depends.” Jake grins. “Are you just gonna leave if he’s not?”

You sigh, do your best not to roll your eyes. You’ve been subject to Jake’s antics long enough to know not to take any of it to heart. A golden retriever in every sense of the word, flirting comes as natural to him as breathing. 

You’d be more worried if he suddenly started talking to you like a normal person. 

“Can you tell me when he’ll be back?” You really should have checked to make sure Jungwon was home before driving all the way, but you’d only decided to come last minute. Besides, you remember what midterms were like. You wanted it to be a surprise. 

“What’s the rush?” Jake asks. When you don’t bother to dignify that with a response, he pivots, “What are you up to these days?”

“Just working,” you shrug.

“Yeah?” he asks. “How’s post grad life treating you? Is the grass really greener after graduation?” Like Jungwon, he’s still a semester and a half away from it.

You laugh, but it sounds forced even to your own ears. “Something like that.”

“You’re still working at that flower shop over in your area, right? I was over there the other day, and I almost stopped by to say hi, but I couldn’t remember for sure. Is it—”

“I thought you said you were on your way out,” a voice interrupts from behind him. Jungwon’s. You’d know it anywhere. “Who are you talking to?”

That little shit. He lied to you. Or at least heavily implied it. 

Jake at least has the decency to look sheepish when he glances at you. Opening the door wider, he reveals your best friend. Dressed in a pair of grey sweats and an oversized long sleeve white t-shirt, his hair is still slightly damp. Recently showered, if you had to guess. 

“Surprise,” you grin weakly, holding up the pack of beer. 

“___,” he breathes your name, surprise flickering across his features. His gaze falls to your feet for a moment before dragging back up to your face. “What are you doing here?”

“Is it a bad time?” The beer falls back down to your side. You really should have checked with him first before driving all the way here. “Sorry, I just wanted to surprise you.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Not a bad time at all. Come in.” Side-eyeing Jake, he looks almost surprised to see him, as if he forgot he was even there. Then, he confirms, “You’re leaving, right?”

“Yep,” Jake nods, a trace of amusement flashing through his eyes. “I won’t be back until late.” He glances between the two of you. “Like, really late, probably. Enjoy… whatever this is.” Turning to you, he adds, “And it was good to see you again. Don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

“Sure, Jake,” you agree. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he smiles. “Have fun.” Pausing for a moment, he considers, “Not too much fun, though—”

“Goodbye, Jake,” Jungwon interrupts, something unreadable crossing his features. 

Jake takes the cue well enough. Stepping past the two of you, he leaves the apartment. The door closes behind him with a silent click. 

And then it’s just you and Jungwon. 

“You brought beer,” he reaches to take the drinks from you, passing them from your hand to his. “And yourself. What’s the occasion?”

“Midterms,” you explain. “I thought you could use a night off after all that studying. Besides, it’s been too long. The last time I saw you was when we got coffee, and that was already—”

“Two weeks ago,” he finishes for you. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to drink?” you ask, suddenly afraid you’ve placed your bets all wrong. Maybe midterms weren’t exhausting in the way that makes him want to drown his sorrows in cheap beer. Maybe they were just exhausting in the way that makes him want to crawl into bed. “I can come back a diff—”

Jungwon shakes his head. “It’s exactly what I need.” He smiles at you. It’s tired, but it’s genuine. “I’m glad you’re here.”

And that’s all it takes, all the reassurance you need to slip off your shoes and find a spot next to him on the living room sofa that’s seen better days. 

It’s quiet at first, the two of you taking long sips as you ask the standard questions. 

You ask how he thinks he did on midterms, and he says he’d rather talk about anything else. 

He asks about your job search, and a shadow crosses your features as you also request a change in topic. 

One bottle turns to two, and before long, your limbs are feeling heavier, your lips looser. 

Jungwon looks at you, already flushed from the alcohol. He parts his reddened lips like he wants to say something. Closes them again. 

Then, finally, “I heard something,” he says. 

“Mm?” you hum. There’s a pleasant haze in your mind. One that makes it difficult to give much of a response at all. 

A beat of silence passes. Another. You glance over at him, a question in your eyes, only to find his gaze already trained on your face. 

Eventually, he gets it out. “You’re going on dates again.”

The tension in your shoulders is immediate. You’re not sure if he heard it from Sophia or somewhere else along the grapevine, but you suppose it doesn’t matter much either way. You shrug, feigning nonchalance.  You have nothing to hide, you tell yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. “I went on one.”

Jungwon takes a long sip of beer, the foam settling heavy when he sets it back down on the table. “How was it?” he asks. His voice is infuriatingly neutral. You can’t get a read on him. 

“I don’t know,” you shake your head. “Fine.”

Jungwon’s palm splays against his knee, flexes. “Are you seeing him again?”

You feel a humorless laugh rising in your throat, one you barely manage to contain. “Probably not.”

You can feel his eyes boring into the side of your face when he asks, “Why?”

You sigh. This time, it’s you that takes a long sip of your drink. “I don’t know,” you shrug. Pulling your knees in towards your chest, you suddenly feel smaller than before. “It just wasn’t…” your words die as you try to find a way to explain the feeling you’d left the date with. Coming up blank, you decide instead on, “I don’t think he wants to see me again, anyway.”

You swear you feel a fraction of tension ease from the air. Still, Jungwon’s curiosity doesn’t seem to be sated. “Why not?” More to make you laugh than to actually guess at Sunghoon’s intentions, he asks, “Did you spill something on him?”

Wincing, you remember every one-word answer you gave. “I don’t think I spilled enough.”

Jungwon frowns, the turn of phrase not landing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” you repeat. “Sometimes, I just…” You lean your head back, letting it loll against the back of the couch. “I just feel like boys don’t really like me, you know?”

If you were looking, you’d see the way Jungwon goes completely still. A moment of silence passes before he breaks it, voice lower, less airy than before. “What did you just say?”

Head against the couch, you let out a small sound, breathless, a little pathetic. “Don’t make me repeat it,” you beg.

But Jungwon isn’t quite ready to let it go. You see his silhouette in your periphery, turning to face you fully. Leaning in, his attention is on you and nowhere else. His voice has an edge to it that you aren’t quite sure what to do with when he asks, “What do you mean, ‘boys don’t like you?’”

All you can do is sigh again. “I’m just… I’m not really charming or cute or good at small talk and things like that. I always say something weird or put my foot in my mouth, and it’s like I can see them losing interest in real time.”

Jungwon blows a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. Glances at you. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“Jungwon,” you deadpan, “he asked me what my hobbies are, and I told him, verbatim, things.”

“Oh.” He pauses for a minute. Then points out, “Well, to be fair, that’s a horrible question.”

You frown. “It’s a standard first date question.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees, “which is exactly why it’s horrible. No one wants to go on a first date and be asked all of the standard first date questions.” 

You know that he’s only trying to comfort you, but something about him twisting the narrative so far in your favor just makes you want to sigh. You’re grateful for his defense, but it also feels a bit misplaced.

“How would you even know?” You try not to sound too mean, but the question comes out flat. “I bet you go on dates with those dimples and that…” you trail off, waving your hands noncommittally in his general direction. 

Jungwon’s brows furrow. “You just gestured to all of me.”

“Exactly,” you nod. “You have that whole boy-next-door, easy going charm thing about you.” It’s true, and right now, you can’t help but think that it’s awfully unfair. “I bet you could ask whatever stupid standard first date questions you want and girls would still be falling at your feet.”

At face value, it’s a compliment. But there’s something about your tone, the trace remnants of sarcasm, of bitterness, that make him think otherwise.

“I’m not quite sure how to take that,” Jungwon finally tells you.

You sigh. You didn’t come here to project your insecurities on him. There might be layers of truth to it, but this isn’t his fault. You’re not being fair, and you know it. 

“All I mean is that boys like you don’t have to try very hard. I feel like it all just comes so naturally to you. I wish I was like that, too. That’s all I’m saying.”

And Jungwon could protest, could launch into some speech about how you’ll find your person eventually, about how there’s someone out there for everyone.

But he knows you, is well-acquainted with that contemplative, overly self-critical look on your face. Can read all of your frustration and insecurity in the way you bite at your bottom lip. 

You’re not looking for a lecture or false hope and certainly not empty words.

You came here with a case of beer and the intention to surprise him, to congratulate him for work well done. 

He was the one that brought up the date, anyway. He knows that you’re not looking for advice. You’re looking for a friend.

So Jungwon waits for a moment before he says anything at all. 

Then, he picks up your abandoned beer off the coffee table in front of you and holds it up to you. “C’mon,” he encourages gently, “join me.” He takes a sip of his own for good measure. “It isn’t going to drink itself.”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “I already feel kind of—”

“I think I bombed econ,” he offers. You can’t tell if it’s true or not, but that’s not the point. He needs you out of your head. “Don’t make me drown my sorrows alone.”

You can’t help but think that for all the fuss he used to put up about you being older, he certainly doesn’t mind appealing to it when it’s to his advantage. 

But even lukewarm beer looks tempting when it’s him that’s offering it to you. And you’ve never been good at saying no, at least not to Jungwon. 

He knows it, too. Jungwon isn’t surprised when you accept the bottle from his hands with nothing more than a halfhearted grumble under your breath. 

There’s no trace of shock in his eyes when you bring it straight to your lips despite your earlier protests. 

He just grins before leaning back against his side of the couch, smile still stretching across his lips as he brings his own bottle up to join you.

…..

Thursday afternoons are your favorite time in the flower shop. Run by a kind woman in her late sixties, she takes advantage of the day to attend her weekly Zumba class at the senior center, which means you have the shop all to yourself, save for the occasional customer. 

Usually, you’d savor the stillness. Use it to catch up on inventory or fulfill the handful or edible arrangement requests for tomorrow.

But today, the silence is making you jittery. Mostly because your mind won’t give you a moment of peace no matter how much you beg it too.

Despite the prediction you gave Jungwon three days ago in his apartment, Sunghoon did reach out to you again.

The message still sits at the top of your text threads like a curse.

I enjoyed our time together, he said. Succinct, straightforward, and all things considered, surprising. Are you free this weekend? I’d love to see you again.

And it’s flattering, so much so that you nearly find yourself agreeing without taking so much as a moment to think about it.

Sophia will be thrilled, you’re sure. And you won’t have to burden Jungwon again with tipsy confessions of your own insecurities. 

But alone in the flower shop, another thought starts to creep in, just as your fingers hover above the keyboard. A feeling.

The same one you left from your last date with. That strange, hollow emptiness that had you spiraling for days, convinced there must be something deeply, fundamentally off about you. 

Again, you start to wonder why you can’t just do it. Can’t enjoy a date and a free meal and the pleasant company of a handsome stranger. Why all of your answers always come out stilted, cagey, so terribly awkward. 

Why you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop, convinced that any scraps of attention that come your way must be part of some elaborate prank that the universe is playing on you. 

Why even a barely-there, trace amount of vulnerability feels like nails on a chalkboard. Why you haven’t been able to form a real, meaningful connection with anyone since Jay. A relationship that ended nearly four years ago. It’s enough to make you feel a little pathetic.

Logically, you know that this is how it goes. You can’t form connections or welcome new things into your life without a leap of faith.

But the potential fallout is terrifying. The thought of trying, really trying, and still being found lacking is enough to sober even the most romantic of your fantasies. 

Something about the status quo, no matter how boring or tiresome or monotonous, feels safe. Like a cage you’ve settled into and made comfortable. 

Your fingers hesitate, then fall away completely. Locking the screen of your phone, you tuck it back into your pocket with a sigh.

Busying yourself with the arrangement orders, you do your best to push Sunghoon and his unanswered invitation from your mind. 

For a while at least, you’re successful. The afternoon passes slowly.

A woman in her thirties comes, looking for a bouquet for her sister who just had a baby. 

A man in his fifties wants to send flowers to his daughter’s office to wish her a happy birthday.

A couple comes in, hands intertwined, asking if your shop would be able to accommodate enough flowers for their wedding to be held at the end of the month. 

You greet them, you smile, you answer their questions with patience. 

And all the while, you leave Sunghoon’s question hanging.

As your shift draws to an end, late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows, your phone buzzes in your pocket once more. 

Half expecting to see a string of curses from Sunghoon, angry you ignored him, convinced you’ve wronged him, you're surprised when it’s Jungwon’s name that lights up your screen instead. 

His short string of messages reads,

It was nice to see you again

Missed my favorite girl

Movie night this weekend at mine? Popcorn on me

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you can hardly stifle the smile that threatens to overtake your entire face. 

Unlike Sunghoon’s, Jungwon’s message doesn’t fill you with dread, doesn’t leave you with a sudden flurry of doubts and questions clouding your mind.

And, unlike his, it’s easy to say yes to.

You wait only a fraction of a second before sending your reply.

I’ll be there

…..

The left side cushion of Jungwon’s living room couch is starting to feel familiar at this point. It’s been less than a week since you were last here, and it already feels routine sinking down into it. 

When Jake steps out from his room minutes after you settle in, he doesn’t comment on his roommate’s company. Just arches a brow. 

“You two drinking again?” he asks. 

Apparently, he gave Jungwon shit for forgetting to clean up one of the bottles after last time. Ironic, considering it’s Jake’s dinner dishes that are gathering dust in the sink. 

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. Remote in hand, he flicks through streaming service options until he lands on the one he’s looking for. “Just watching a movie.”

Jake pauses, eyes flickering towards the screen. “Which one?”

“Not sure.” Jungwon shrugs. “___ chose it.”

You turn over your shoulder, telling him the title. It’s some rom com that’s been terrorizing your twitter feed for weeks now. And then you offer, “You can join us if you want.”

You’re not sure if there’s enough space on the couch for the three of you, but you are the one crashing into their space. You’ll make it work if you have to. 

“That’s alright.” Jake shakes his head. “I’m heading out.”

“Alright,” Jungwon waves him off without so much as a second glance. 

“See you later,” you offer, still turned around. 

Jake grins, looking at you before he makes his way to the door. “Enjoy your movie. And nice to see you again so soon, ___. I was worried you’d make me wait again.”

Next to you, Jungwon’s jaw clenches. He mutters something under his breath about making popcorn before standing up from his seat on the couch. 

Jake leaves before he can rile Jungwon up any further, and the smell of popcorn begins to fill the room just as the opening credits begin to roll. An overzealous pop song plays in the background, one you recognize from the playlist your boss makes you put on shuffle, insisting the corny, upbeat lyrics will convince people to buy more flowers. 

Jungwon comes back to the couch, sets the popcorn bowl on the table in front of you. He adjusts, moving closer. His knee brushes against yours. Both of you pretend not to notice. Intimacy and closeness is nothing new between the two of you. Hell, you grew up practically attached at the hip, sleeping in the same bed until you were in middle school. 

But there was always practicality to it, a purpose. You held hands at the amusement park because you didn’t want to lose each other in the crowd. You let him put his head in your lap when you had a picnic in the park because the only other pillow available was the ant-filled grass. 

This feels different. Intentional. Especially since there’s still plenty of space to his left. 

You lean forward, reaching for the popcorn. The fabric of your pants rustles against his. Settling back into your seat, Jungwon takes his turn to reach forward. But instead of grabbing a fistful, he takes the whole bowl, bringing it to his lap. 

“Here,” he nudges you. “It’s closer this way.”

You nod. Right. Closer. 

In front of you, the movie begins to unfold. Saturated color grading, wardrobe choices that already look slightly dated despite the recent release date, and a female lead that first impressions paint as adorably quirky, it has all the makings of a brainless plot. The perfect way to waste a Friday night. 

And Jungwon, who usually insists on holding his tongue until after the credits have rolled, leans a little closer to you just past the twenty-minute mark. Unnecessary, given how close the two of you are already sitting. His arm, bare from the short-sleeve shirt he wears, brushes against yours. 

And his lips nearly touch the shell of your ear when he whispers, “This is ridiculous.”

You frown. “What is?”

“The premise,” he hums. “I mean, why would they pretend to date each other? It doesn’t make sense. There are plenty of other things he could do to get back at his ex.”

You roll your eyes. Leave it to him to analyze the storyline like it was designed for anything other than mindless entertainment. “It’s the oldest cliche in the book,” you explain. “It’s for the plot.”

“It’s obvious,” he shakes his head. “They’re going to fall in love with each other.”

“Of course they are,” you agree. “But not every movie has to have a million twists and turns. Sometimes it’s just nice to know how things will end and enjoy seeing how they get there.”

“You like that?” he asks, voice low. “When things fall into place exactly the way you expect them to?”

“Sometimes,” you breathe. “It’s nice to not always have to guess.”

“Would you ever do that?”

Your eyebrows raise. “Fake date someone?”

Jungwon nods. 

“No,” you scoff. “I can barely handle a real date, remember?”

You’re not sure what it is, but something in your answer must satisfy his curiosity, at least for now. Next to you, Jungwon is quiet once again. In front of you, the characters on screen continue to tiptoe around each other, dancing around the obvious. 

The onscreen tension builds and builds and builds, all the way until it breaks. With a heated confession in the rain and the one aspect of a rom com you forgot to account for before choosing your movie for the evening. 

You’re a grown woman. You have the degree and the age on your driver’s license to prove it. But the flush on your cheeks is undeniable as the two characters on screen begin to kiss. 

And kiss they do. Jesus christ, you think, just how much of the budget was allotted to close up shots of their mouths? 

As the scene begins to heat, so does the temperature of your skin. You’re half afraid Jungwon will feel it, scalding him through the layers of fabric between your legs that still touch. Part of you wants to screw your eyes shut, to reach for the remote and click fast forward just to end the agony, but you’re pretty sure that would be even more humiliating. 

Instead, you keep your eyes glued to the screen. Watch unmoving, trying to appear unaffected, as the male lead tangles his fingers through her hair, tugging slightly as she stifles a moan against his lips. It’s so raw, so intimate, that you’re tempted to pull out your phone and confirm the PG-13 rating you swear it had. 

It’s involuntary, the way you squirm against the couch cushions. The movement is no help. All it does is make you brush further against the one person you’re suddenly desperately trying to ignore. 

The man on screen brushes his fingers under the hemline of her shirt, drags the fitted material upwards. 

Without even really meaning to, you dare a glance at Jungwon. 

And find him already looking at you. Staring at you, lips parted, eyes locked on the flush spreading over your cheekbones.

Quickly, your eyes drop to your lap, but the image stays burned behind your eyelids. You don’t dare to look at him again, not even once the scene has ended, when the plot becomes ridiculous again instead of heated. 

Even once the ending credits start to roll, you keep your eyes trained on the screen, as if the list of assistant directors is something you find fascinating. But Jungwon has other plans. 

He shifts against you, knee nudging yours. You hear his exhale, heavier than before. 

A moment passes. Another. 

Then, he finally tells you, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Immediately your mind starts to swim. Thinking about what? The unbelievability of the premise? The questionable casting choices? Or, worst of all, the kiss?

Out loud, you do your best to school your question into something neutral. “Thinking about what?”

“What you said,” he tells you. It soothes exactly none of your frayed nerves.

What have you said? You suddenly can’t remember. You search for a list of recent statements you’ve made and come up completely blank. 

It feels like a conversation that’s going nowhere when you ask, “What did I say?”

Jungwon doesn’t spare a moment. “That you think boys don’t like you.”

Oh. Oh. Nearly a week ago now, your tipsy, self-berating rambling must have stuck with him. Well, that’s fine, you suppose. That’s something you can explain away now. Sober, even if your mind is still spinning a bit. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you try to explain. “I was drunk and my words weren’t coming out right. I just meant that it was frustrating going on a date and leaving feeling like something was wrong with me, you know?”

Only after he’s quiet for a full thirty seconds do you dare a glance at him. Jungwon’s brow is furrowed, his lips pulled tight in contemplation. He parts his lips like he wants to say something, closes them again as if he’s thought better of it.  

When he finally finds a statement to commit to, he says, “Maybe you’re going on dates with the wrong people.”

“Oh, definitely,” you agree. “But that’s the hard part, isn’t it?” In retrospect, it’s a big part of why you were so hesitant to accept Sophia’s offer in the first place, why she had to ask you, to insist, four times. “I feel like I have to go on so many terrible dates that make me feel like shit just to maybe eventually find someone I want to spend more time with. It’s not like I think there’s actually anything wrong with me, but I do feel like I have a harder time than other people. You know, making friends, going on dates, finding people I actually want to be around of my own volition.”

After already feeling so rejected from your job search, your headspace has been even more fragile. Dating doesn’t feel like stress relief for you. It feels like a reminder of all the things you wish were different about yourself. 

Jungwon’s gentle when he shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping your circle small.”

“No,” you agree, “but sometimes it feels like it isn’t really my choice. Like, even if I wanted to have more friends or go on more dates, it wouldn't pan out the way I want it to. Sometimes it’s just easier to keep to myself, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t times I wish I could be more outgoing.”

After another momentary lapse, another beat of silence, he asks, “What about me?”

A flicker of surprise crosses your features. “What about you?”

“You have an easy time talking to me,” Jungwon points out. “And I feel the same about you. We’ve been hanging out since we were kids, and I’ve never felt uncomfortable with you.”

“Really?” Your brow arches. “Even when I forced you to go down that waterslide in third grade?”

Even his mom had been surprised. He’d been terrified of that thing, apparently kicking and screaming against anyone else that tried to drag him down it. But when you, in all of your fourth-grade glory, insisted that he joined you, he just tucked his hand in yours, let you lead him all the way up the ladder even as his legs shook beneath him.

Jungwon smiles at the memory, a soft thing. But his eyes are still serious, his gaze still weighted. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “but that’s different.”

“How so?”

“Because…” you trail off, searching for an explanation. “Because you’re Jungwon.”

“Yeah.” The heat in his eyes doesn’t settle. “And?”

“And I’ve never had to think about it,” you shrug. “We became friends before I was even fully self-aware. You’ve always just been Jungwon.”

He’s quiet for a moment, considering. And then, “Can I ask you something?”

“I feel like you’re going to anyway.” It’s meant to be lighthearted, to distract from that strange bit of tension that still simmers. 

Jungwon’s eyes don’t lose their edge. “Why did you start going on dates again?”

“What do you mean?” His question surprises you. “I just graduated from university. I’m young and unattached and all that. Isn’t this the time that everyone’s going on dates?”

“I suppose,” he concedes, “But I feel like that’s why you’re so frustrated.”

You frown, and he clarifies, “You’re going on dates because you feel like you should. Not because you want to.” 

He pauses for a moment, gauging your reaction. Deciding your silence is permission enough, he presses on, “You’re not even sure what you want out of them or what an ideal relationship looks like for you right now. You’re just going and hoping something will stick, like throwing darts with a blindfold. Then you get upset with yourself when it doesn’t live up to your fantasy, even though you haven’t decided what your fantasy even is yet. I mean, why did you even meet Sunghoon? Because you really wanted to, or because you wanted to get Sophia off of your back about it?”

You feel exposed all of a sudden. Seen right down to your bones in a way you were prepared for. “I…” There’s a maturity to his question that you weren’t expecting, an edge you can’t quite decipher. You turn the question back to him instead of answering. “Since when did you get so observant?”

“I’ve always noticed you.”

“Jungwon…”

“So I can help you figure this out, too,” he insists. “Really,” he adds when you still look unsure. “Who knows you better than me?”

You can’t quite meet his gaze, and it’s all the confirmation he needs. 

“Exactly,” Jungwon nods. “So I’ll ask you again, why did you agree to go on a date with Sunghoon?”

It would be easy to deflect, to blame Sophia’s insistence. Or to double down on your earlier statement, that this is the time in your life to try new things, to meet new people. That it felt natural to say yes. 

But when you really think about it, the cold, honest truth is just that—

“I think I was just tired of hearing no all the time.”

Jungwon’s brow furrows. “Who’s telling you no?”

You sigh, try to let out an airy laugh that comes out choked, a little pathetic. “Only every hiring manager in the country, apparently. You know, I’ve been sending out job applications like crazy since graduation, but it's been six months now and the only thing I have to show for it is a stack of rejection letters cluttering my inbox.”

A flicker of understanding passes through his gaze. “So you’re compensating, then.”

You glare. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” he shakes his head. With the same tone you’ve heard him use to soothe a skittish kitten, he adds, “That must have been so frustrating. Putting in all that effort and not getting the result you wanted.” He knee brushes yours as he leans in closer, something unbearably earnest in his gaze. “You’ve been working too hard.”

“I haven’t been working hard enough,” you argue. “If I had, then something would have panned out at this point. I just need to—”

“There you go again,” he interrupts, shaking his head gently. “Assuming that it’s all your fault. Maybe the hiring manager was just an idiot, or you caught them on a bad day.”

“Yeah.” Your words drip with self-effacing sarcasm. “I’d believe that if it were one or two. But I don’t think over a hundred of them just happened to wake up on the wrong side of the bed the day they reviewed my application.”

It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Settles into the air a bit uncomfortably. 

Jungwon takes a moment to respond. When he does, he just sighs your name. 

“I know,” you scramble for something a little lighter, “like, the economy is shit and all, and one day I’ll look back at this and laugh or whatever. But it just sucks right now, you know? I’m so sick of it. I really just wanted to hear someone say—”

“Yes,” Jungwon finishes for you. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “Exactly.” 

“Okay,” he nods, resolve tightening as if he’s made his mind up about something. “Then ask me.”

“What?”

Jungwon doubles down. “You can ask me,” he insists again, that same damn earnestness in his eyes, “anything you want me to do.” Meeting your gaze, he adds, “I’ll say yes. I promise.”

Against your will, you feel warmth starting to rise on your cheeks again. There’s something weighted in his promise, something desperate that simmers just behind it. Something that you have absolutely no idea what to do with. 

Suddenly desperate for a reprieve, you do your best to break the tension. “That seems like a terrible idea.” You curse the strange breathlessness in your voice. Why are you like this? It’s just Jungwon. “What if I ask you to jump off a bridge?”

Jungwon just grins. “I’ll take my chances. Besides, I know I’m safe. You’d miss me too much.”

“You know,” you start, “for someone who thinks fake dating is ridiculous, this feels even more absurd.”

Jungwon doesn’t budge. “Just try it,” he encourages. “Ask me something.”

You sigh. “Jungwon…”

“C’mon.” He’s relentless. “Just once.”

“Fine.” You glance towards the bowl still sitting in his lap. “Hand me the popcorn.”

Picking it up, he ignores your outstretched hands in favor of learning forward, all the way until he settles it in your lap. His fingers remain against the edges of the bowl until he’s sure the balance is steady. Only then does he lean back into his own space. 

“Easy.” He grins. Then his brow furrows, considering. “Are you hungry?” he asks. “I could make you some real food, if—”

“No,” you shake your head. Picking up a single piece of popcorn, you add, “Just wanted to do this.” 

Throwing it square at his face, it bounces off of his nose harmlessly before falling to the carpet below. Jungwon’s nose scrunches in a knee-jerk reaction, eyes screwing shut before he opens them again. 

“Maybe I was wrong,” his eyes are heavy-lidded, voice lower than you expect. “You are going to use it for evil.” 

“Of course.” You reach for another kernel. “So maybe you should reconsider—”

Jungwon doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give you a moment to prepare for the way he wraps his fingers around your raised wrist, locking it into place before you can toss another piece of popcorn in his direction. 

His grip is warm against your skin. Tight, something you’re not sure you’d be able to break out of even if you tried. 

Still, you attempt to fling the popcorn at him. With the restricted motion of your wrist, it doesn’t make it far. It flies through the air for only a split second before falling uselessly down to your own lap, just in front of the bowl it came from. 

“Nice try,” Jungwon breathes, your wrist still encased in his grip. 

Your eyes narrow. “I do my best.”

“I’m sure you do,” he allows, “but you’re trapped now.”

There’s something strange in his gaze. Something heavy, weighted that you can’t quite place. Something that feels entirely too real. 

You test it, the strength of his grip on you. True to his word, your wrist hardly makes it an inch, his fingers a vice around them. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you breathe, voice airier than you mean for it to be.

“Maybe,” he agrees. A breath passes between you. Another. His eyes are still locked on yours, searching, like he’s desperate to find something. Another moment passes, and he releases his grip. Your wrist falls slowly back to your lap. “But I meant it.”

“I know you did.” You can’t quite make eye contact, but his sincerity is evident even as you place your gaze elsewhere. “Thank you.”

“Seriously,” he insists. “My schedule is a lot lighter now that midterms are done. If you ever want to do something or go somewhere or you just wanna crash for a night on my couch, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Did you get Jake’s approval for that?” You arch an eyebrow. 

Jungwon’s voice is tighter than before, just slightly. “Jake will be fine." And then, still strained but a bit softer, “If there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know. Don’t make me wait two weeks to see you.”

Here, in the quiet of his living room, movie forgotten on the TV, it’s easy to agree to. 

“Okay,” you whisper, regular speech suddenly feeling too loud, too abrasive. And then again, because you really do mean it, “Thank you, Jungwon.”

“Of course,” he insists, voice equally low. 

For a moment, the two of you sit like that, legs brushing, you avoiding the eye contact he tries to maintain. 

Then, Jungwon sighs, faces the TV again as he reaches for the remote. “Should we watch something else?” he asks. 

You nod. “Something scary this time.” 

Jungwon arches a brow. “You hate horror movies.”

Shrugging, you insist. “I’m in the mood for one now.” 

He still doesn’t look like he quite believes you, but he doesn’t argue any further as he scrolls down, searching for the genre. 

At his side, you’re quiet. It’s true. You do hate horror. But you’d take zombies and ghosts and jumpscares any day over the off chance of having to sit through another kissing scene tonight. 

This time, Jungwon picks the movie. Learning back against the cushions, he reaches for a handful of popcorn. 

The movie hasn’t started yet. There’s nothing on the screen to be scared of, but your heart thumps traitorously against your ribcage anyway.

…..

Two days later, you’re back at your favorite coffee shop. This time, though, it’s not Jungwon who sits across from you.

“So,” Sophia starts, and you already recognize that tone. Uh-oh, you think. “Sunghoon asked about you.”

“Why?” you ask, memories of your rather terrible date coming back unbidden. “To see if I’ve checked myself into an insane asylum yet?”

“No,” she glares. “Just to see how you’re doing.” She takes a sip of her drink, eyeing you over the rim. “Why didn’t you go on another date? He told me he texted you.”

That explains it then, you think. Him reaching out to you probably didn’t come from genuine interest. Maybe spending time with you felt like nothing more than a favor to his coworker. Maybe he was secretly relieved when you’d ignored his message. Maybe he only brought it up to Sophia to be polite. 

Your eyes narrow. “Why are you so involved, anyway? You know, this is exactly why they say you shouldn’t shit where you eat.”

“I’m not dating him,” she points out. “And you two don’t work together.” It’s true. You’d applied for an open position a couple months back, actually. And, of course, had been promptly rejected. “That doesn’t apply.”

“Close enough,” you mutter. 

“Why are you so against it?” she asks. “Did he suck or something?” Considering it, she’s quick to apologize. “Sorry. He always seemed so nice at work. A little shy, like I told you, but when he mentioned he was single, you were the first person I thought of. Did he say something weird to you or try to make you split the bill—”

“No,” you shake your head. “Nothing like that. He was perfectly nice. And polite.”

Her confusion returns. “So what gives? I didn’t expect the two of you to get married, but I thought you’d at least last a little longer than one date. Besides,” she leans in, voice lower but still not nearly quiet enough for what she’s about to ask you, “aren’t you practically shriveled up at this point? Did you take a vow of celibacy without telling me? When’s the last time you even had se—”

Eyes widening in panic, you interrupt her with an entirely too loud, too bright, “Hi, Jungwon!”

Frowning, Sophia turns back to look over her shoulder. Because there he is, the man in question. A surprising coincidence, perhaps, if you weren’t the one that introduced both of your friends to this cafe. 

“Hey,” he grins, glancing between the both of you with his takeout cup in hand. “I thought that was you I saw over here.” Turning to your friend, he nods, “Hi, Sophia.”

“Jungwon,” she returns. Her gaze follows his, all the way from his eyes to yours. Settling back into her seat, she gestures towards the empty chair at your table. “Grab a seat,” she offers. “Join us.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” you glance at him apologetically. “I’m sure Jungwon has other—”

But he slides down into the chair without a hint of protest, your words dying on your lips. 

“Sorry for interrupting,” he says. “What were you two talking about?”

You force a smile that looks anything but easy. “Nothing,” you insist, just as Sophia explains, 

“____’s desperate need to get laid.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flashing daggers at Sophia with your eyes as you pointedly avoid looking to where Jungwon sits on your right. “I did not say that.”

“So what?” she asks, either oblivious to your suffering or relishing in it. “You’re planning to be a nun forever?”

“I’m busy,” you deflect. “I have other priorities right now.”

“Busy people have sex,” she argues. “All that stress isn’t good for you. Like I said, you’ll shrivel up and—”

“Can we talk about literally anything else?” She has to know how embarrassed you are from the increasingly red shade of your face, how horrified you are that Jungwon can hear everything she’s saying. There aren’t many secrets left between the two of you, but the gory details of your nonexistent sex life isn’t something you’re exactly dying for him to be privy to. 

Sophia leans back, some of the urgency of her insistence fading. Still, she’s not quite done. “I’m just confused,” she explains. “I mean, Sunghoon was kind and a gentleman and more than willing, if the way he keeps hounding me about you is anything to go by. I just don’t get it.”

Slowly, you brave a glance at Jungwon, who’s kept quiet this whole time. Maybe, at least, he shares some of your embarrassment, avoiding your gaze just as pointedly as you avoided his. 

But when you turn towards him hesitantly, Jungwon is already looking at you. There’s nothing shy or avoidant as his eyes rake over you. And there’s no sign of embarrassment, no telltale flush, no fidgety shifting. 

Jungwon’s just looking at you. With a cool, steady stare. Like he’s assessing you, clicking puzzle pieces into place. 

When he finally breaks eye contact, it’s to look at Sophia. “Leave her alone,” he defends. His tone is light, teasing. But there’s an edge there. Something that doesn’t leave space for an argument. “She’ll find someone when she’s ready. Park Sunghoon isn’t the end all be all of men.”

“No,” Sophia agrees, “but surely he’s better than your left hand and the vib—”

“Oh my god,” you’re begging this time. “Stop.”

“What about you?” Jungwon asks, and both of you turn to him in surprise. When your eyes land on him, he’s looking at Sophia, not at you. “How’s your love life looking these days?”

“Love life…” She trails off, shrugging. “Nothing to report. But I haven’t joined your girl here,” she nods towards you, “at the convent yet. In that regard,” she grins. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Good for you,” Jungwon nods. “And the job is still going well?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “It’s not confirmed yet, but there’s a rumor that I might be in talks for a promotion next quarter. I’m…”

Her words trail off as you zone out, some of the adrenaline fading, the tension draining from your shoulders. 

Not for the first time, you feel extremely grateful for Jungwon. It’s subtle, but it’s enough. And to you, it’s obvious. The way he maneuvered the conversation away from you. You’re sure that your discomfort wasn’t difficult to pick up on, but the way he handled it makes you appreciate him that much more. 

Morbidly, you wonder what he thinks of your glaring lack of a sex life. Ever since Jay, you’ve kept the details of your relationships, or rather, lack thereof, close to the chest where he’s concerned. And even when you were with Jay, intimacy was never a topic you breached with Jungwon. 

The thought has a flush starting anew on your cheekbones. You do your best to dismiss it. 

Next to you, Jungwon keeps his eyes on Sophia, nodding at the appropriate times, commenting in a way that proves he’s listening. 

But beneath the table, the warmth on his palm finds your knee. Without breaking conversation or giving even the slightest outward hint that his mind is anywhere besides your friend’s story about her boss’ most recent rampage, he squeezes. 

Once, gently. Just to let you know that he’s there. 

You fidget, and he does it again. This time, he can’t quite help the grin that spreads across his lips. 

…..

Despite everything, you can’t shake the feeling of Jungwon’s hand on your knee beneath the table. Days pass, and in quiet moments, if you give your brain enough leeway, it always wanders back there. 

To his easy, subtle defense of you. To the way it seemed so natural for him to soothe you silently with his touch. 

To the way he looked at you, considering, evaluative, while Sophia laid out the gory details of your fruitless sex life on the table. 

And maybe she was right to question you so thoroughly. Maybe it really has been too long, because that’s the only feasible explanation for the thoughts you’re having now. 

It’s only natural, you suppose. Jungwon has been a constant in your life, a steady presence, for nearly as long as your memory extends. He’s been there through it all, your worst moments, your best memories. He’s seen all of it, knows you like the back of his hand, and he’s stuck around for it all. 

For someone with an intense fear of rejection, it means more than you can say. You can’t think of anyone in this world that you trust more than him. 

And intimacy… Intimacy is just an extension of that, you suppose. Being close with someone in that way is the ultimate act of trust. 

Maybe that’s why things felt so stilted, so disjointed with Sunghoon. You had nothing against him, but you also didn’t know him at all. Trust is something that takes time, effort. How could you let your guard down with someone you had just met?

It’s just nerves, you’re sure. You’ve been out of practice since Jay, and with each passing day, that relationship just feels further and further away. A distant memory that you can’t recall well enough to guide you now. 

Maybe if there was someone you really trusted, someone that you could just practice with, then—

No. You shake your head, dropping the thought as quick as it comes. It’s insane. It’s the exact opposite of everything your relationship with Jungwon has been for the last eighteen years of your life. 

Still, when a message from him lights up your phone screen a handful of hours later, it takes you a full minute and a string of deep breaths to convince yourself to open it. 

And when you reread the text, an invitation to drive out to a lesser known lookout where the two of you used to go to watch the sunset in high school, you agree easily. If your heart is beating a little too fast in your chest, well, you suppose no one ever has to know about it. 

Years ago, you were the one that discovered the outlook. After a particularly awful day, due mostly to your terrible junior year biology teacher, you’d put your newly acquired driver’s license to good use. You had no destination in mind. You were still new to driving and liked the way that it felt, liked the way it seemed like you could outrun any problem if you just drove far enough. 

A series of wrong turns led you straight to a forested area not too far from the highway. Jutting high out over a nearby valley, the scene you found sprawled out in front of you was gorgeous.

It was early spring, then. Flowers were just beginning to bloom, glowing in the late afternoon sun. You shifted the car into park, shutting off the engine. And then you sat, for hours, just looking out at all of it. 

As the sun faded on the horizon, so did the most pressing of your worries. Looking around you, biology class had begun to feel a lifetime ago. 

You realized that day that you found somewhere special, somewhere that you wouldn’t be willing to show to just anyone. Even then, there was only one person you thought you’d ever share the view with, that you’d ever let into your private little sanctuary. 

So, one month later, when Jungwon came to your house after school with a crease between his eyebrows that usual methods couldn’t seem to soothe, you offered him the passenger seat of your car and the view you’d been keeping all to yourself. 

That day, it became his too. And a tradition of sorts began to form. Whenever either of you was stressed or upset or just needed to get away from it all, you had a shared place to escape to. Somewhere that felt out of reach from everyone else. Somewhere for just the two of you. 

You haven’t been back there with Jungwon for the better part of a year. Part of you is a bit worried as you see his car pull up from your apartment window—this time, he’ll be the one driving—that something happened. 

After all, the two of you usually saved the outlook for difficult times. 

But as you slide into Jungwon’s passenger seat, the only thing he greets you with is an easy smile. 

“Good day?” he asks, handing you his phone so you can pick the playlist for the drive. 

“Fine,” you nod, settling for an R&B album you know you both like. “What about you?” you ask, still wanting to dissuade your earlier concerns. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, craning his neck as he checks for cross-traffic before pulling onto the main street. “I just wanted to see you. Thought it might be nice to go somewhere quiet. And it’s a beautiful day.” He looks towards the cloudless sky. “I thought the sunset would be nice.”

The drive goes quickly as you pass familiar streets, reminiscing as memories coming back at every turn. 

“Oh my god,” you say as one comes back suddenly. “Remember that time we drove out here because James rejected me at junior prom?”

Jungwon frowns. “James was an idiot.”

It rings true in hindsight. “Yeah, but I was devastated. I cried so hard I got snot on my dress.” It’s easy to laugh at now, even if the sting was unbearable in the moment. “No wonder he said no.”

“He said no because he was a dumbass,” Jungwon argues. “Besides, it can’t be worse than the time we came here because I didn’t make the taekwondo competition team.”

Something about the memory, even now, makes your heart clench a little. “That was just sad,” you tell him softly. “You were so disappointed.”

“I got over it,” he shrugs. “The dartboard you made of my coach’s face helped.”

“Oh my god,” your eyes widen. “I forgot about that.”

Jungwon smiles like it’s a fond memory. “You were so violent.”

You shake your head. “Only for you. I don’t think I’d ever wanted to hit someone more.”

Trading memories like secrets, the two of you eventually reach the right exit. Pulling off the highway, the air around you immediately feels more still. Calmer. 

And when Jungwon pulls right up to the overlook, shifting his car into park and shutting off the ignition, things feel just like you left them. 

The sun is getting close to the horizon now. The valley that stretches out beneath you as far as the eye can see glows in the last rays of daylight. 

Your gaze stretches out too, welcoming that sense of familiarity. “It looks the same,” you whisper. 

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. “It does.”

Returning here now makes times feel sharper, more obvious. 

“We’ve been coming here for what, six years now?” You shake your head. “I can’t believe it’s been that long. I can’t believe I graduated. Like, I’m just done with university now. I still remember when it felt so far away.”

“Yeah.” Jungwon nods, eyes on the horizon. “Me too.” 

For a moment, the space between you is silent, the air filled with nothing but the sound of your quiet breaths. 

You weren’t the one who asked him here, but if there was ever a place to admit the worries in your mind, you suppose it would be now. 

Quietly, you say, “Can I ask you something?”

Jungwon turns to you, attuned to the serious tone of your voice. “Of course.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, you can tell me,” you promise. “I know we don’t really talk about this kind of stuff usually, and—”

“___,” he interrupts, “Ask me.”

You take a breath. You can feel his gaze on you, but you can’t quite look him in the eye when you ask, “Do you think Sophia was right?”

“About what?” His shoulders stiffen. “Sunghoon?”

“No,” you shake your head, and the tension loosens, but only slightly. “About me.”

“What about you?” he breathes.

“That I…” you trail off, searching for the right words. “That it’s been too long since I was with someone.” 

Even now, you can’t bring yourself to say it. To call a spade a spade. Jungwon reads between the lines easily enough. 

He shakes his head. “It’s your choice to make. Yours and no one else’s, for whatever reasons you want. Don’t let Sophia make you feel bad just because her choice is different from yours.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But sometimes I think she’s right. That the longer I wait, the more difficult I’m making things for myself, like I’m just making the hurdle in my mind bigger and bigger. I mean, the last time I was with someone, you know, like that, was with Jay, and that was already—”

Jungwon’s inhale is sharp. “It was?” 

“See?” you frown, mistaking his surprise for confirmation of your fears. “It’s been so long. Too long. Even you think so.”

“I don’t—” he tries, shaking his head. Now Jungwon’s the one scrambling for words. “I don’t think it’s been too long. I was just surprised,” he says. “That’s all.”

“Yeah, surprised because of how long it’s been.” You laugh humorlessly. “Now even you think I’m a nun.”

“I don’t think that,” he shakes his head. “Like I said, it’s your choice.” 

“Is it though?” you ask. “The more time passes, the more I start to think that the cards just aren’t stacked in my favor.”

Jungwon frowns. “What do you mean?”

Your palms splay against your lap. The last rays of sun stretch over the valley, and your words are spilling out before you can stop them. “Maybe Sunghoon only acted interested because of Sophia. Maybe every time anyone has expressed interest, it hasn’t been genuine.” You sigh. “It’s like, logically I know that’s just the insecurity talking, but the more time passes, the harder those thoughts are to shake.”

For a moment, Jungwon is quiet. When he speaks again, his voice is low, serious. Pleading for your understanding. “___,” he says, “you’re beautiful. Truly. Any man would be lucky for even the smallest piece of your time or attention. I know that it’s hard sometimes, and that those voices and doubts can feel so loud, but I really wish you could see yourself the way other people do. The way I do.”

“Jungwon…”

“If you decide to have a relationship with someone, one of any nature, then it should be because you want to, not because you feel like you have to or because you’re trying to prove something.”

“What if I never get over it?” you ask, voice small, hardly a whisper. “What if I never get past this fear?”

“You will,” Jungwon promises. “It might not happen as fast as you want it to or in the way you expect it to, but you will.”

It’s so him, you think. So Jungwon to have more faith in you than even you ever could. He’s been here since the beginning, and he’s not going anywhere. He’s seen you face obstacles and challenges before, and he’s always done everything in his power to help you overcome them. 

Maybe this is no different. Maybe the only thing you ever needed was some help from Jungwon. 

Maybe…

No. Even with your logic twisting things to your favor, you know that this is different. This is different from asking for a favor or some moral support. If you ask Jungwon to do this for you, you’re crossing a line. One that you’re not sure you’d be able to come back from. 

The friendship you have isn’t just something you’re unwilling to risk. It has quite literally become something you don’t know how to live without. You’ve never had to try, never even had to imagine a life without Jungwon at your side. 

The only time that came close was during your first year of university, during your relationship with Jay, and that had been nearly enough to wreck you. The potential fallout from this could be worse, so much worse. You won’t risk it. 

But then, unbidden, your mind supplies a memory. One from his couch, little more than a week ago. 

“You can ask me,” he’d told you, earnest in his delivery, “anything you want me to do.” He said it himself. He promised you. “I’ll say yes.”

So, before you can lose your grip on the last remnants of courage you have, you ask, “Would you ever…”

It’s as far as you get before your bravery fails you, words trailing off into nothingness. 

You wish you could take them back when Jungwon asks, a little breathless. “Would I ever what?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing. It’s stupid. Just forget I said anything.”

But he won’t let you get away so easily. “Ask me.”

And you swear, it’s like he knows. His gaze bores into yours, searching, pleading, desperate, like he can see you all the way down to your bones. Like even the most secret of your thoughts have been laid bare before him. 

“___,” he whispers your name. “Ask me,” he repeats. 

“I just…” Your eyes screw shut. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “What if we…”

“What if we what?”

You open your eyes, but only to look down towards your lap. “I trust you,” you whisper. In the silence of his car, it feels like you’re shouting. “More than anyone. Maybe I’ll be able to get over that hurdle in my mind if I just let you—”

“Let me what?” he asks. “Touch you?”

The breath you draw is ragged, shallow, as he hits the bullseye with little effort. Your fingers find a loose thread on the sleeve of your sweater. You know better, but you pull anyway. “Yeah,” you exhale. “If you…” You can’t look him in the eye, even now. It’s hardly a whisper, but you can’t bring yourself to say it any louder. “If I let you touch me.”

Jungwon’s inhale is sharp, his shudder involuntary. He leans across the center console, closer to you. Closer, closer, closer, until he stops, lips parting, face inches from yours.

He takes a deep breath in, holding it as his eyes search your face even as you keep yours turned down. Your heart hammers in your chest so violently you think it must be trying to escape. You still can’t look at him. 

Jungwon’s breath escapes him in a shallow huff, dusting across your cheekbone. He lingers there for a second, like he can’t stand the thought of distance. 

Then, without a warning, he sits back in his seat, knuckles white against the fabric of his jeans.

“I can’t,” he tells you.

You look up, eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“I can’t,” he repeats. This time, he’s the one avoiding eye contact. You search his features for anything, any kind of explanation, but all you find is the tense set of his jaw, the heat that still simmers in his gaze. The restraint holding him back. 

And suddenly, shame flashes through you. White hot humiliation that stings all the way down to your bones. It was one thing to imagine rejection from faceless men. But feeling it now, from him, from Jungwon, is so much worse than anything your mind ever conjured. 

Trying not to let accusation sit too heavy in your tone, you whisper, “You promised.” It’s so pathetic, but there’s nothing left of your pride at that point. “You told me you’d say yes to anything.”

Jungwon flinches. “And I’m trying,” he tells you, an edge to his voice that sings with desperation. “Believe me, I am. I’m doing my best to make this about you, but…”

“But what?” You scoff. “You changed your mind? The thought of me like that is so repulsive you have to—”

“No.” He won’t let you finish. “But you’re sitting here, looking at me like you’d do anything for it, like you need it, and I can’t just say yes and give it to you because I do too.”

Your anger subsides, replaced with confusion. “What do you—”

“I need it too.” Only then does he meet your eye. Wide in the dying glow of lingering daylight, he’s begging for a bit of your understanding. “I’m trying to be selfless, but if I touch you, that won’t be just for you.”

Your brow creases. You still don’t get it. “I don’t—”

Jungwon releases a shaky exhale. “I’ve been thinking about getting my hands on you since I was old enough to know what it meant. Since I was old enough to want things like that at all.”

It’s all too much, too sudden. “Jungwon, what—”

“I know that you still think of me as the kid you grew up next to, and I’ve been doing my best not to shatter the illusion because you like me like that. But you come home from a date telling me it didn’t work out, telling me that boys don’t like you, and all I can think is good.” His hand curls into a fist, knuckles white. “I could do it so much better anyway.”

“I didn’t…” You shake your head. It doesn’t make sense. “You never—”

But Jungwon isn’t done yet. “You’re sitting here asking me to touch you, but I— fuck, ___. I can’t. Not when you’re only asking because you think it doesn’t mean anything to me. That it won’t change anything for me. You tell me that you trust me, and it’s the sweetest thing about you. I can’t take advantage of that.” His breath is practically heaving now, like he’s just finished running. “I can’t use your trust and break it like this.”

The sun dips past the horizon. The only lingering remnants of daylight cast his face into a gentle glow. Even as shadows begin to trace his features, he’s still Jungwon. Your Jungwon. But no matter how many times you spin his words through your mind, you can’t form them into something you understand. Something you have any idea what to do with. 

“I…” It’s so confusing. It’s entirely too much. All you can think is, “Why did you never say anything?”

Jungwon laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Would it have changed anything? I know you. You run when you get scared. You like me like this, your harmless little friend. You said it yourself, you think you know everything about boys like me. And you needed a friend. So that’s what I’ll be. Your friend. But I can’t say yes, not to this.”

“What if—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off. “I know you think I can handle anything, but don’t tell me things you don’t mean.”

“Jungwon,” you try softly. 

His fingers wrap around his steering wheel, knuckles turning white. “Just let me drive you home,” he pleads.

“But—”

“Please,” he whispers, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so broken. “I know it was too much, that it’s not fair to you, but I can’t… I don’t think I can look at you right now and see all that confusion. So just,” he begs again, “please. Let me take you home.”

You want to press the issue, want to keep going until you have even a small fragment of understanding to call yours, but Jungwon is no stranger to making sacrifices for you. It seems he’s been making even more than you ever realized. 

Tonight, right now, you can do the same for him. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

The drive home passes in silence. Heavy, thick, uncomfortable like a blanket on a sweltering summer night. Neither of you bother to turn on the music this time. The only company to the quiet are the thoughts spinning through your mind, the moon that begins to shine as dusk turns to night. 

Still, as he eases into the driveway just in front of your apartment, you can’t help but whisper, “Good night, Jungwon” as you step out of the passenger seat. 

Whatever has passed between you, whatever terrible precipice the two of you have just fallen from, he doesn’t seem to be able to either. 

“Good night, ____.”

By the time you make it inside, he’s gone. You know it will be, even before you check for his car from your bedroom window.

…..

“Um,” you begin, entirely unsure how to start the conversation. Across from you, Sophia sits on her favorite kitchen stool, scrolling through her Instagram feed while you wait for the pasta water to boil. “Something happened.”

“Mm?” She hums halfheartedly, eyes still trained on her phone screen. 

Your words come out too fast, like you’re in a rush to have them over with as quickly as you can. “I was with Jungwon a few nights ago, and—”

“Oh my god,” she interrupts as she finally looks up, phone forgotten as she sets in on the counter. “You two finally hooked up?”

“What?” Your face pales at just how close she is to the truth. “Why would you even ask that? We’ve never even come close.” Well, of course, except for the incident you’re currently trying to explain. That you’ve been tiptoeing around for the better part of a minute. 

“Are you kidding?” Sophia deadpans. “That boy looks at you like he wants to eat you.”

You splutter. “He does not.”

Sophia rolls her eyes. “He wouldn’t look at me for a week after I set you up with Sunghoon. And I thought he was gonna kill me that day he saw us at the cafe. All I did was mention the possibility of you having sex with someone that wasn’t him, and it’s like he was writing my name on some imaginary death note.”

“You don’t even watch anime,” you point out. 

“I know the reference,” she argues. 

Then, something more pressing draws your attention. “You did it on purpose,” you accuse, realization dawning. “You kept pushing the subject that day to see how he’d react.”

“No,” she denies, shaking her head. “I really do think you should put yourself out there more. Whether it’s Sunghoon or him or someone entirely different. Although,” she considers, “it is always kind of fun to see him get like that. Jungwon’s one of those people you don’t really expect it from, you know? He’s always so calm and collected. But I don’t know if I’ll try it again,” she looks at you, faking a shudder. “He’s scary when it comes to you.”

Any other day, in any other situation, you’d protest. You’d insist that Jungwon is entirely unaffected by you and your romantic choices. That Sophia must have been imagining things that day. 

But Jungwon has already basically confirmed every last one of her claims, whispered them to you himself from the secrecy of his driver’s seat.

It’s the reason you invited her over today. To talk. To get a different perspective. To help you work through what happened. 

Now, though, you just have a question. 

“Why…” You still can’t wrap your mind around it. “Why did no one ever say anything?”

Sophia senses the shift, the way you go from defense to acceptance. From arguing to spiraling. 

“Oh, ___,” she pouts. “My poor, sweet, oblivious ____.”

“I’m not oblivious,” you argue. 

“Not usually,” she agrees. “But it’s like you have this blind spot when it comes to him. He’ll be in the middle of undressing you with his eyes and you’ll start telling some story about the matching diapers your moms bought when you were babies.”

“They were pajamas,” you correct.

“Whatever,” Sophia waves it off. “The point still stands. That boy wants you. Like, biblically.”

It’s consistent. It’s as much as Jungwon himself told you himself. But something about it makes you feel so terribly defeated, so completely unaware of everything you thought you knew about your friendship. About him. About yourself. 

A bit helplessly, you ask, “What am I supposed to do?”

Sophia takes one look at you, at the dejection clouding your features, and sighs. “Can I be honest with you?”

You nod. 

“I think you’re asking the wrong question. It’s not about what you’re supposed to do. It’s not about what Jungwon wants or what I think about your weird, sexually charged friendship.” Then, she asks the million dollar question, “What do you want to do?”

But that’s exactly the problem, you think, because, “I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean, I’ve never thought about it. He’s always just been Jungwon to me.” Pausing for a moment, you suppose you have little pride left to lose. You might as well be honest. “But the other night, when I was with him. I started thinking about… things.”

“Things,” Sophia repeats. She leans in closer, resting her chin against her palm as she asks, “What kinds of things? Feel free to be graphic, by the way.”

“Sophia.”

She pouts sympathetically. “You might not know right away. You’ve spent your entire life thinking of him as some untouchable, sexless entity. Which is kind of crazy, by the way. Like, have you seen the guy?”

You sigh. “Sophia—”

“I’m just saying, it might not happen overnight.” She looks at you, and you feel a sudden surge of gratitude for your friend. She may be wildly different from you in more ways than one, but she means it when she says, “It’s okay. Jungwon will understand, too. If you need some more time to decide if you want to jump his bones or not. He’s probably already been waiting since, like, junior prom. What’s a little longer?”

A little longer, you think. Part of you already spins with doubt, waiting for someone else to supply exact answers. How long is a little longer? When should you make your decision? How long is it supposed to take for you to know if your best friend of eighteen years is meant to stay as just that, or if the relationship between you has been building, slowly, surely, undeniably, into something else this whole time?

But you suppose that’s what Sophia means when she says it’s okay. What Jungwon meant when he told you it was alright to do things at your own pace, on your own time. You don’t need someone else to decide for you. 

The difficulty isn’t a flaw—it’s a sign that this decision is one that matters to you, one that’s worth taking your time with. 

So you do. 

You think about it while you fine tune your resume for yet another job application. You think about it while you snip thorns off of roses at the flower shop, humming along absentmindedly to the playlist in the background. 

You think about it in the shower and while you dinner. When your mom calls you and tells you about the new bulbs she just bought for her garden, the one that time and experience have allowed her to grow into something beautiful and thriving. 

You think about it when you reach into the bottom drawer of your dresser one evening, pulling out the gift Jungwon gave you when you graduated high school nearly five long years ago. 

A photobook, full of all your favorite memories together. Something to remember him by, he’d told you, so you wouldn’t miss him too much when you went off to university one whole year ahead of him. 

In every picture, you’re smiling, grinning so wide you think your face must be in danger of splitting in two. And you’re so lucky, you think, to have someone to share all of these memories with. To have someone who’s been in your life for so long, who’s always been exactly what you needed. 

And then, staring at a picture of the two of you in high school, his arm around your shoulders as the two of you laugh into the camera, you think it’s obvious. 

You don’t have to make a choice between the Jungwon you know and the one you’re afraid to discover. Jungwon has been, and always will be, Jungwon. The way he smiles at you, because of you, isn’t an illusion, and the love he offers you isn’t conditional. 

He’s been your friend for as long as you can remember, and he will be for the rest of your life. Your feelings and hopes and desires may have shifted, but he isn’t going anywhere. 

He’s not scared of the truth, you realize. He never was. But he knew that you would be. 

So he fed it to you slowly until it was too prominent to deny anymore. And even then, he gave you space. Time. Let you come to your own conclusions. 

And somehow, that makes all the difference. 

You think of the game you used to play as kids, the one where you put on your best dress and let him pick wildflowers for you from his back yard. The one where you used the welcome mat from his porch as a makeshift aisle. The one where every time you walked down it, he was the one waiting for you at the end. 

You smile, nearly identical to the picture still splayed open across your lap, and you think that maybe there was never really a choice at all. 

…..

Your knuckles barely rap against the door three times before you hear shuffling on the other side. Footsteps drawing closer until the latch opens, until the door draws back and you see him standing there. Jungwon. 

If he’s surprised to see you, he doesn’t show it. Dressed in gray sweatpants and a plain, fitted black t-shirt, you don’t think he was expecting company. 

“Hi,” you breathe. “Can we talk?”

Jungwon still says nothing, but he opens the door a bit wider, gives you space to walk in. Standing in the entry, you take your shoes off, setting them neatly with the others before drawing back up to full height. Prolonging the inevitable as if it makes any part of what you’re about to do easier. 

You finally drag your eyes back to Jungwon. He’s already looking at you, expression unreadable. His hands are loose at his sides, but his posture is just slightly unnatural. Just a little too stiff. You know him. He’s nervous. 

Finally, you break the silence building between you. “I’ve been thinking,” you tell him. 

“About what?” he asks.

“You,” you admit. “Us.” A string somewhere pulls taught. A thread loosens. 

Jungwon sighs, his exhale shaky. His hand curls to a loose fist before he tucks it into his pocket. “And?”

“I—” Your decision is still solid, not something you’ll back away from. But the words are harder to work out than you expected. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had in my life.”

Jungwon nods. “I know.”

“So,” you try, “it feels weird to suddenly have these thoughts about…”

He won’t let you leave things unsaid, not this time. “About what?”

“You know,” you try to deflect.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “but I’m gonna make you say it.”

You fidget a bit, eyes dropping, but you didn’t come all the way here because you weren’t sure. You know exactly what you want to tell him. 

So you explain, “I just… you asked me, after my date with Sunghoon, what I was looking for.” It feels like a long time ago now, like a distant memory. “And I always felt like I didn’t know, but when I think about it, I always think about…”

“What?” Jungwon breathes.

“You.” Your eyes meet his. This time, neither of you looks away. “I think about you. I don’t have to try and come up with the best answer to my favorite hobbies because you already know. You know me better than anyone and you make me feel good about myself and all the things I usually don’t like. I don’t feel awkward or uncomfortable around you, and I don’t feel like I have to explain myself to you.”

Jungwon’s breath is coming heavier now. He takes half a step towards you, almost subconsciously, as if distance is something he’s finding more difficult to tolerate. But he knows you aren’t done, so he lets you continue. 

“And then,” you add, “I was thinking about the difference between our friendship as it’s always been and the kind of relationship I think I want. And the only thing that’s really different is, you know, the sex.” Your words are spilling now, faster than even you can keep up with. “But even then, when I was trying to think of someone who I trusted enough to be with like that, the only person I thought of was—” 

“Me,” Jungwon finishes, gaze unreadable. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “You. I don’t want to go on blind dates with Sophia’s coworkers or find random guys to hook up with. I just want you. It’s always been you. I want all of it to be you.”

Jungwon’s eyes shutter, brows going slack as he takes a deep inhale. 

But you want to give him the same courtesy he’s been extending towards you this entire time. The decision, you want him to know, will always be his to make. “I know it might seem weird or sudden or out of the blue,” you tell him, “but I just needed you to know.” Thinking of his earlier promise you clarify, “You don’t have to say yes. I don’t even know if I’m really asking you anything—”

“You think about me?” he interrupts. “When you think about what you want in a relationship?”

The bluntness of it all still makes you want to squirm. But you hold steady. “Yeah,” you tell him.

“And when you think about having sex,” He’s so direct. It makes you want to hide your face behind your hands. “That’s me too?”

You can’t quite manage words this time, but your nod is confirmation enough. 

Jungwon exhales, even harsher than before. “Are you just curious?” he asks. “It’s fine if you are, but I can’t— we can’t do this if you’re just trying to scratch an itch. If you’re just doing it to move on, to get over a fear.”

“I…” you’re trying to read between the lines, to make sure that you understand what he’s saying. It seems obvious, but there’s a strange haze in your mind that has you doubting everything, including your own judgement. “If we do…”

Jungwon doesn’t seem to have the same reservations for spelling it out. “If we have sex.”

“Oh,” you breathe. And then, “No.” You shake your head. 

“No?” He echoes. 

“I…” You trail off, trying to find the right words to explain. “I’m not—There’s no fear when it comes to you. I’m not trying to get over anything. And there’s no one else that I even want to be with like that, so…” You trail off, searching for the words. “You told me it was my choice, and I guess I just want you to know that it’s yours, too. You don’t have to agree to anything, because you’re afraid of disappointing me or hurting my feelings or—”

“___,” he whispers your name, the sound nearly broken on his lips. You look up at him, eyes wide. “Come here,” he begs. 

It only takes two tiny steps for you to stand just before him, for your chests to nearly brush. For a moment, Jungwon does nothing. Then, his arms come up, one circling around your shoulders, the other against the small of your back as he pulls you flush to him. 

The side of your face rests against his chest, his heartbeat erratic under your cheek. You hear him sigh and feel the way his breath flutters through your hair. 

He leans back, just slightly, and you follow the movement, chin tilting upwards as your eyes meet his. The hand wrapped around your shoulders slowly unravels itself. He brings his hand up to your temple, brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. 

His other hand stays steady against the small of your back. 

Jungwon’s fingertips linger against the shell of your ear for a moment. You suppress a shudder as he begins to drag them down, tracing the line of your jaw until they come to settle just beneath your chin. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers.

You nod, the movement making his fingers press more firmly into your skin. 

Then, slowly, he begins to lean towards you. His nose brushes against yours, once, twice, a third time. 

“I’ve thought about this,” he admits. “More times than I can count.”

He’s told you as much before, but now, with his hands on you and his lips just inches away, it feels different. It feels real. 

“I imagined you looking at me,” he hums, pressing a kiss to your jaw, “with those big, wide eyes.” Another kiss, this time to the curve of your cheekbone. “Clinging to me,” a kiss to your eyelid as it flutters shut. “Sighing.” The tip of your nose. “And I’d try to hold back, but—”

“You don’t have to,” you shake your head. It comes out quieter than you mean for it too. It’s ridiculous, maybe, but even now, you feel shy. 

“You mean that?” he asks, lips hovering so close you can feel their warmth. 

You nod, nose brushing against his. 

Jungwon sighs, takes a deep breath. And then he presses forward, just enough, until his lips finally brush against yours. 

His grip tightens against you, fingers bunching the fabric of your shirt that rests against the small of your back. 

He’s gentle, so impossibly sweet as his lips find yours. Upper lip slotting between both of yours, he tugs slightly against your bottom lip. Releases it with a soft, wet sound. Smiles against you as you giggle into him. 

When his lips find yours again, it’s with renowned fervency. The pressure is more insistent this time, more demanding as he uses the hand beneath your jaw to angle you his liking. 

Jungwon takes the lead, pausing, soothing his touch against your skin while you adjust to his pace. 

Your hands find his hair, tangling in the strands near his neck. You tug, an involuntary response when you feel his teeth against your bottom lip, and he groans, shuddering against you. 

Without breaking connection, he moves, walking backwards, leading blindly, until he sits down on the same couch you’ve been sharing moments on for weeks now. This time, he tugs you down with him, pulling you flush against his lap. 

You feel it then, the evidence of just how affected he is. As if the drunk flush on his cheeks and swollen, red tint of his lips weren’t enough. 

Jungwon wraps both hands around your waist now, pulling you tighter to him as your fingers cup his jaw, tracing, gripping. 

You feel it then, his tongue against the seam of your lips, and you part them without a second thought. 

Jungwon waits until you’re breathless above him to decide that he’s had enough of this position. Using the leverage of his hands around you, he maneuvers your body until you're flat against the cushions, head propped against the pillow that sits by the armrest. 

Hovering over you now, he uses his hands to brace himself on either side of your head. Eyes trained on your features, on the evidence of his ministrations. His gaze gets darker, heavier, as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. Skin flushed, lips swollen and parted in anticipation, in permission. 

Jungwon’s had his fantasies. Has kept them close to his chest and in the back of his mind for longer than he’d be willing to admit. But the sight of you now. Under him, reaching for him, begging for him, is enough to shatter every wet dream he’s had since he was a teenager. 

Jungwon doesn’t maintain distance for long. Leaning down, he invades all of your senses. All you can see, even with your eyes screwed shut, is him. All you can feel is his lips, warm and insistent against your, the press of his hands on you, hovering just above the sliver of skin where your shirt had ridden up over your waistband. Every sound, every scent, every taste—it’s all him. Something warm and familiar and entirely new all at once. 

His hand plays with the fabric of your hem for a moment, testing the waters. When all you do is kiss him back—harder—he decides to press his luck. Fingertips dancing against the bare skin of your lower stomach, he starts to drag your shirt upwards. 

The air of his apartment is cool, even if his touch is anything but. It makes every inch of exposed skin that much more sensitive, goosebumps rising as his fingertips trace patterns against you. 

His lips press against yours, a new angle, as a sound loosens itself from your chest. He swallows it, tongue pressing against you like he wants to savor it, like he’d do anything to hear it again. 

He has your shirt nearly to your ribcage now, fingers tracing against the bottom seam of your bra, nerves singing with something new as you arch up against him. You need more. 

Friction, pressure, touch, it doesn’t matter. You’ll take whatever he gives you. 

Then, suddenly, you remember. Pulling back slightly, his lips chase yours. 

“Wait,” you pant, the syllable muffled as he presses another kiss against you. 

Once your request registers, he stops, mouth still brushing against yours. Leaning back slightly, he frowns. His chest still heaves when he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, breathless. “But what about Jake?”

“What?” Jungwon asks above you. You don’t seem to be the only one struggling with coherent thought.

“Jake,” you repeat. “What if he comes in?”

He wouldn’t see anything, not really. Even the expanse of your bare torso is covered by Jungwon’s body on yours. But still, something in you hesitates. This, all of it, is for you and him. No one else. 

Jungwon shakes his head. “He’s not home.”

“What if he comes back?”

“He won’t,” Jungwon insists. “He’s visiting his family for the weekend. He won’t be back until Monday.”

Still breathing hard, it’s as if your interruption knocked sense back into him. Palm still splayed against your ribs, he rubs gentle strokes with the pad of his thumb. 

Looking down at you, his eyes crinkle slightly at the way you look so sweet under him, so shy despite what you’d been doing only moments earlier. 

“Hey,” he leans down, nudging his nose against yours, “You doing okay?”

You nod, but you still don’t match his gaze. 

“Yeah?” he confirms, “Then look at me.”

It takes a moment, but you do. Your cheeks only redden further, flush more apparent than he’s ever seen it before when you finally meet his eye. 

Something in his chest swells. You might be a year older, but fuck if it doesn’t make him feel like such a man knowing that he’s the reason you look like this, that he’s the one who did this to you. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, grinning when you look away again. He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. A chaste peck against the seam of your lips. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Jungwon,” you whine. 

“What?” he asks. “It’s true.”

“I thought you wanted to kiss me.”

“I can take a break to compliment you?”

You flush again, hands coming up to cover your face. 

“Ah, ah,” Jungwon tsks, fingers wrapping around your wrists. “I asked you to look at me.” He pulls, gentle but insistent, until your hands fall away. Until he can once again look you in the eye. 

“How long are you just gonna stare at me?” you ask.

“As long as you’ll let me,” he grins. 

“Jungwon,” you whine again. 

“Why?” he asks, practically cooing at you now. “Is my baby shy?”

You shudder at the pet name, and it awakens something devious in him. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “I see. You’re getting impatient. Need me to touch you. Is that it?”

All you do is whine, but it’s a good enough answer for him. 

“C’mon,” he urges, leaning back. “Up.” 

You frown at the sudden distance, a furrow creasing your brow. 

“The first time we have sex is not going to be on my living room couch,” he explains. Taking your hand in his, he guides you instead towards his bedroom. 

And it’s not like you’ve never been here before, but something about the low light, the weight of what you’re about to do, makes it feel like uncharted territory. 

You step into the room, even further than Jungwon, eyes trained on the queen size bed pressed up under the window on the far side of the room. 

Your back to him, you hear Jungwon pull the door shut. It latches into place with a quiet click. And then, behind you, he asks, “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” you admit, turning to face him as you sit on the edge of his bed. “Us. I never thought…” you trail off, palm smoothing against the top of his sheets. “I never thought we’d be here.”

“I did,” Jungwon tells you. 

“Really?” Your eyes widen when you look at him. 

“Maybe thought is the wrong word,” he amends. “But I hoped.” He’s quiet for a moment, emotions playing out across his features. “Now that you’re here, I…” he hesitates, trying to find the words. “I don’t want to do anything wrong,” he admits. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“You won’t.” You shake your head. “I told you. I trust you. That includes this, too.”

Jungwon looks at you, gaze open. “You mean that?”

“Of course,” you nod. 

Some of the tension drains from his broad shoulders, but he stays where he is, silhouette shrouded in the dim light of his bedroom.

This time, it’s you who takes charge. 

“Jungwon,” you whisper, an echo of your earlier embrace in his entry way. “Come here.” 

That’s all the encouragement he needs. His footsteps are even, steady, as he makes his way towards you. All the way until he stands just before you, looking down at where you sit on his sheets. 

His hand comes to your cheek, thumb tracing patterns against your skin as you lean into his touch. 

“Up,” he instructs. “Back against the pillows.” His hand falls from your face, trails down until his fingers interlace with yours. He follows in your wake as you move according to his instructions, all the way until you’re in a ghost of the position from his couch. 

His body hovers over yours, breath warm as it fans against your cheekbone. 

Again, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. This time, he’s less shy about pressing it upwards, all the way until it sits against the band of your bra. 

Plain, black, built more for comfort than arousal. But you know Jungwon. He’ll take you as you are. 

“Jungwon,” you breathe, just as his fingertip slips beneath the band. It takes him a moment to tear his eyes away, to look up and meet your gaze. “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Lips meeting yours, the slow build from before is gone. He knows what he’s searching for now, has already learned what rhythm makes you breathless fastest, palms splaying against his chest like you’d do anything to be closer. 

His hand comes to your hip, then slides to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You shudder as he guides it open, pliant to his touch. Jungwon uses the newly created space to slot his leg in between yours. 

The shift has him brushing against you where tension is beginning to gather, exactly where you’re beginning to ache. 

It feels good, but there’s something frustrating about it. The way sensation builds and falls in the same maddening ebb and flow, like the sea of an uncharacteristically quiet day. 

You already know it’s not enough. Against his lips, you whine. A pathetic little sound that stays half trapped in your throat. But Jungwon understands. 

Sees the way your hips are starting to roll against him, the way your brow creases in concentration as you try to find a better angle. 

Leg still between yours, he lets his fingertips ghost over the planes of your bare stomach, dragging downwards until he’s exactly where you want him. 

You whine against his lips and he shudders. “Is this what you need?” 

You can hardly respond, can hardly think as his fingers dip below your waistband. Far more precise, it doesn’t take long to have you seeing stars. 

He’s still kissing you, and you do your best to return it, but the sensations he levels you with are more than a little maddening. Lips parted against his, your mouth is practically slack as he works against you. 

“Feels—good,” you sigh, eyes screwing shut. 

“I can tell,” he whispers, some kind of awe in his voice. “Look at you.”

You’re so close. Jungwon can tell, too. He’s frantic now, movements tighter, faster as he watches the way your face twists in pleasure. 

Your hand closes around his wrist, stopping him. “Jungwon,” you pant, the sound of his name hardly coherent. “Wait.”

Immediately, his hand stills. He doesn’t pull away though, just leaves it there, against you. 

The sensation sends a fresh, aching throb pulsing from somewhere deep within you. Jungwon feels it too, against his fingertips, and groans. 

Remembering himself, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “I just… I’m ready.”

Jungwon thinks he knows what you mean. He’s imagined those same words from you before. A million times, in a million different contexts. But the sight of you beneath him, eyes wide, lips parted, so terribly sweet, is so much better than he ever dreamed. 

“I want you,” you whisper, tugging at his wrist. “Please.”

Jungwon won’t make you wait. Fingers still hidden beneath your waistband, he slides them towards the top now, pulling, all the way until you’re bare beneath him. 

He presses a kiss against your hip, just shy of where he was moments before.

He helps you slide your shirt over your head and shudders when your bra follows in its wake. He marvels at the feeling of your hands, smaller than his, tugging at his shirt, his jeans, until the two of you are in an equal state of undress. 

Again, because it’s true and because he can’t help himself, he whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

You’re still shy, even more so with the weight of his gaze on you, but you manage, “So are you.” It’s his turn to flush.

Hands pressing against your shoulders, he guides you to lay down again. Hair fanning out against his pillows, he thinks you look a bit like an angel here, tangled in his sheets. 

He’d tell you, if he weren’t so distracted by the sudden feeling of your leg coming to wrap around his waist. 

Skin against skin, it feels even closer than before. Warmer, Softer. 

“Jungwon,” your brows pull downward, eyes fluttering shut as you chase the sensations that have begun to drown you. “Please.”

He moves slowly, not from hesitation. Jungwon doesn’t think he’s ever been so sure of anything in his life. But he knows what this means to you, to him. He wants to take his time, wants to let every part of you adjust to him until you feel like an extension of one another, until your bodies can’t quite tell where one ends and the other begins. 

He swallows your gasp as he presses into you. Brows furrowed, lips parted, he drops his head into the crook of your neck, scattering soothing kisses down the length of your throat. 

“Feels so good,” he encourages as you whimper, adjusting. “Perfect, like you were made for me.” 

The sentiment rings true, now and later, when he feels you relax around him, when he starts to move. 

Slowly, reverently, at a pace that lets him press as deep as possible. 

He brings his hand from your hip to the space just beneath your navel, palm splaying over your lower stomach, just above where he presses inside of you. Pushing down slightly, the added pressure makes you whine, tightening around him. 

Jungwon groans, a long, deep sound that vibrates between your bodies. 

“Jungwon,” you whisper, when the ache starts to sing, when the pressure starts to build. When you close your eyes and see stars behind them. 

“I know,” he pants, like he feels it too. “It’s okay,” he assures. “I have you.”

It’s a reminder of what brought you here in the first place. And the sound of his voice is all you need. 

Keening high in your throat, every muscle, every nerve, every fiber in your body goes taut. Tightens, pulls, before it releases. Jungwon leans down, lips parted against your collarbone as he groans, falling over the same edge only moments after you. 

The shower he runs for you is warm, the touch he washes your hair with soothing as he rinses soap from your scalp. 

The sheets are soft as you crawl between them, Jungwon’s chest firm as he pulls you tight against him. 

“Sleep,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple. 

Body exhausted, mind sated, it doesn’t take long for you to do as he says. In his arms, the rest that finds you is deep and dreamless. 

…..

“Name?” Across from you, the secretary that sits at the front desk looks bored out of her mind. As if she’s seen one too many potential new hires and doesn’t think they’re worth remembering at this point. 

You give her your name, and she types a brief note into her computer. Doesn’t bother memorizing it, but you won’t let that get to you, not today. 

“You can sit over there.” She gestures towards the row of chairs against the far wall of the reception area. With a smile so tight you think her jaw must hurt, she adds, “I’ll call you when they’re ready.”

It’s not much. It’s barely even polite, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when this is the first real company you’ve stepped foot in in months. When this is the first time you’ve gotten a string of congratulations in the subject line of your email inbox instead of rejections.  

Still, it isn’t a sure thing. A test run, the hiring manager had called it. A week of in-person work at the company to see if you’ll be a good fit, if they’re willing to formally offer you a position. 

An extension of the already lengthy interview process you’ve been subjected to for the last six weeks. But it’s far more than you’ve gotten from anywhere else. 

It’s enough to have hope soaring in your chest, even at the prospect of a week of what is essentially unpaid labor.

Sliding down into the chair, you tug at the sleeve of your blazer, smooth the collar over one final time. 

In your mind, you rehearse the answers you gave during your interviews. You’re not sure if you’ll be asked again, but you figure it’s better to be safe than sorry. 

You’re interested in the position, because the company’s mission statement excites you. You think it aligns well with your experience and your hopes for a future career. 

Are you good with deadlines? Better than nearly everyone you know. Do you work well under pressure? Absolutely. Where do you see yourself in five years? Advancing in your career as a young professional in the same field you earned your degree in. The same field a position at this company would put you in. 

As the minutes pass, you remind yourself to breathe, to relax. The butterflies taking flight in your stomach won’t help you now, so you do your best to banish them. 

And, minutes later, just as the secretary calls your name, you feel your phone buzz. 

Glancing down, you grin at the message that comes through. 

You got this, Jungwon says, the small heart next to his contact name shining like a reminder. Knock em dead

And then, beneath it, 

Can’t wait to see you tonight beautiful 

So, you stand up a little straighter. Shoulders square, chin high. You’re okay, even as your nerves threaten to send your heart beating out of your chest. 

No matter what the results of this so-called trial run are, or every single attempt you’ll surely make after it, you’ll be fine. And if you fail, you’ll try again. 

Whether this ends in an official offer letter or a bold-faced rejection, no matter what, you have Jungwon—rooting for you, thinking of you, waiting for you to come back and tell him all about it. 

Jungwon, your best friend, your favorite person, and probably, if the feelings you’re starting to get whenever he’s near are anything to go by, the love of your life. 

You meet the secretary’s gaze, smiling even as all she does is arch a brow. And then you tell her, “I’m ready.”

Tuesday was supposed to be ordinary.

The kind of day that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. You finished your morning lecture, replied to a few student emails, stopped by the grocery store on your way home because you'd promised to cook dinner. Nothing remarkable. Nothing that hinted your life was quietly approaching a fault line.

The apartment was supposed to be empty.

You remembered that detail clearly later. He'd told you that morning, half asleep, mumbling something about a meeting running until six. You had the whole afternoon to yourself, or so you'd thought, planning the pasta you'd make, the wine you'd open, the ordinary comfort of a Tuesday night at home. 

You unlocked the front door as quietly as always, balancing a paper bag of groceries against your hip. Then you heard laughter. A woman's laugh, low and familiar, drifting down the hallway like something out of a memory you couldn't quite place. For one suspended heartbeat, your mind simply refused to process it 

Then it did. Your best friend.

You took another step down the hallway. The bedroom door wasn't completely closed. It didn't need to be. Some truths don't ask to be witnessed completely. You already understood, before your conscious mind caught up, that whatever was happening in that apartment wasn't meant for your ears. 

The quiet intimacy of two people who had forgotten the rest of the world existed. Neither of them heard it. Or maybe they did. You didn't stay long enough to find out. There were no questions. No tears. No dramatic confrontation worthy of a movie scene. Because what explanation could possibly undo what you'd already seen?. You turned around before they could notice you. The front door clicked shut behind you with barely a sound. 

Two years of engagement, gone.

Two years of wedding plans scattered across your dining table. Two years of apartment hunting, shared grocery lists, lazy Sunday mornings, and conversations about children you thought you'd have someday. 

You don’t remember the walk to your car. You remember sitting behind the steering wheel with the keys in your hand and staring blankly at the windshield as the city morphed into streaks of bright light. It was just a blur of street lamps, head lights, and everything moving around you while your world was standing still. For a brief moment, you noticed that your hands weren’t shaking. You thought that was strange too. The way that your body had just suddenly gone still and cold and you were just as motionless as your body, like a state of shock had frozen you just outside of the situation.

You couldn’t say how long it was, but what you knew was that you suddenly found yourself standing in front of your closet. Your eyes were drawn to what was at the very back and hidden from view, your black dress. You hadn’t seen it for years.

"It's a little too much," he'd once said with an easy laugh.

"Too short."

"Too noticeable."

You remembered smiling then, folding the dress away because it hadn't seemed important enough to argue about.

You pulled it from the closet and let it fall over your body, the fabric cool and unfamiliar against your skin, hugging you in ways you'd forgotten you were allowed to be seen. It felt like putting on a stranger. Someone who wasn't trying to be agreeable anymore. Someone who had nothing left to protect and nothing left to lose.  You left the engagement ring where it was.

After leaving your phone in your purse, you grabbed your keys for the second time and stepped into the dark. You had no idea where you were headed but felt a certainty in your chest about leaving the life you had. You felt like you could not spend one more moment inside the life that no longer felt like it belonged to you.  

.

.

.

Tuesday hadn't given him any warning either.

Jungwon's shift had ended late. A delivery that ran longer than expected, hours stretched thin by complications that weren't anyone's fault, just the unpredictable nature of the job. By the time he clocked out, his scrubs still smelled faintly of antiseptic, his feet aching in a way that had become so routine he barely registered it anymore. All he wanted was his own bed, maybe food he didn't have to think about. 

He let himself into her apartment with the key she'd given him two years ago, the metal worn smooth from years in his pocket, attached to a keychain shaped like a tiny stethoscope. A joke gift from early in their relationship, something she'd laughed about giving him, something he'd kept clipped to his keys ever since without really thinking about why. 

The shower was running. Her tablet was face up on the kitchen counter, screen still lit from a notification. He hadn't meant to look. He told himself that for weeks afterward, though it stopped mattering fairly quickly whether he'd meant to or not.

A name he recognized. A string of messages that didn't need much context. Photos that answered questions he hadn't known to ask. He stood there in his work clothes, badge still clipped to his coat pocket, and read enough to understand that ‘residency's exhausting’ had been covering for something else entirely for months, maybe longer.

He didn't move at all, actually, just stood there in the kitchen with his hands loose at his sides, feeling something inside his chest go very still and cold. He didn't throw the tablet. 

She stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, damp hair pushed back, and stopped short in the doorway when she saw Jungwon standing there. Badge still clipped to his coat pocket, tablet lying face up on the counter exactly where she'd left it. Something in his stillness told her immediately that the evening wasn't going to go the way she'd planned.

"Jungwon?" Her voice came out careful, testing. "You're back early."

He didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, and she followed his gaze to the tablet, and whatever color was left in her face drained out of it in an instant.

"How long," he said. Not a question. A statement in the shape of a question.

"I—" She pulled the towel tighter around herself, a reflexive gesture, like modesty mattered now, of all moments. "Jungwon, it's not—"

"Don't." His voice remained quiet and level, the same tone he used when he had to tell a patient's family something they didn't want to hear. "Don't tell me it's not what it looks like. I read enough."

Her mouth opened, then closed. For a long moment, the only sound in the apartment was water still dripping somewhere in the bathroom behind her.

"How long," he said again.

She sat down slowly on the arm of the couch, like her legs had stopped being reliable. "Since spring," she said quietly. "Maybe a little before that."

"Spring." He turned the word over like he was checking it for a fracture. "Daeun, that's eight months."

"I didn't plan for it to happen." Her voice cracked slightly, and he almost hated how convincing it sounded, how rehearsed and unrehearsed all at once. "We were just–we started as friends, and then residency got so heavy, and you were always working, and he was just there, and I don't know, it just…"

"I was working," he repeated flatly. "Right. Because I have a job that saves lives, and that's the excuse."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" His voice finally rose. "Because from where I'm standing, you've had eight months to tell me. Eight months of me asking if you were okay, if something was wrong, and you telling me it was just residency. Eight months of me believing you."

She didn't answer that. There wasn't an answer that would have helped her.

"Six years," he said, quieter now, almost to himself. "Six years, and I find out like this. Off a notification on your tablet."

"I was going to tell you." Her eyes were wet now, genuinely, and some old, tired part of him almost felt sorry for her, which made him angrier at himself than at her. "I've been trying to figure out how, for weeks, I swear—"

"Don't," he said again, softer this time, because he didn't have the energy left to argue about her intentions. "It doesn't matter anymore. You could've told me in June. You could've told me in September. You didn't." He stopped, pressed the heel of his hand briefly against his eyes, then dropped it. "That's the part that matters."

"Jungwon…"

"I have to go." He was already reaching for his coat.

"Can we at least talk about this properly? Please. Don't just walk out,"

He paused at the door, hand on the frame, and looked back at her.  Tear streaked, still somehow looking for a version of this conversation that ended somewhere softer than where it actually was.

"There isn't a version of this where I stay, and we talk it through.”

"So that's it?" Her voice cracked properly now. "Six years, and you're just leaving? No fighting for it?"

He almost laughed, though nothing about it felt funny. "You didn't fight for it either," he said quietly. "Not for eight months."

He didn't wait for her response. The door closed behind him just shut, quiet and final, the same way the whole relationship seemed to be ending: without the drama it probably deserved, just a soft, ordinary sound marking something enormous coming apart.

He drove without any destination in mind, the radio off, the city sliding past in a blur of red lights, he stopped out of habit rather than attention. Six years. He kept circling back to the number like it might rearrange itself into something smaller, something easier to hold.

He ended up parking outside a bar he'd never been to. Not his usual place near the hospital, where someone always seemed to know his face even without the coat. Tonight, he didn't want to be recognized. He didn't want to be Dr. Yang, careful and composed, the boy faced physician everyone had to double take before trusting. He just wanted to sit somewhere dark and stop being anyone in particular for a while.

He loosened his tie in the car before he went in. Small, useless gesture. It didn't make him feel any less, as something had just been quietly taken from him.

.

.

.

The bar was louder than you expected for a Tuesday, but you didn't care. Noise was better than silence. Silence gave you room to think, and thinking was the last thing you wanted tonight.

By the time the bartender slid your fourth glass across the counter, the sharp edges of the evening had softened. The ache in your chest hadn't disappeared; it had simply become distant, like hearing thunder several miles away.  You shifted on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other. The black dress rode a little higher against your thigh, and for the first time in years, you didn't bother tugging it back down.

He would've hated that. The thought came uninvited. You emptied the rest of your drink before it could linger. 

That's when he sat down beside you. Close enough that you noticed before you even looked. He was handsome. That was your first thought. Your second was that he looked far too young to be sitting alone in a place like this. His white dress shirt was neatly pressed except for the loosened tie hanging around his neck, as though he'd started the evening trying to hold himself together and abandoned the effort somewhere along the way. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, exposing tired hands wrapped loosely around a glass he barely touched.

His gaze remained fixed on the amber liquid, unfocused, like he expected answers to settle at the bottom if he waited long enough. There was something strangely familiar about the way sadness sat on him. You almost didn't say anything. Almost.

You looked away. It wasn't your business. You weren't here to notice strangers. You were here to forget yourself. A minute passed, or maybe two. The bartender asked if either of you wanted another round. Neither of you answered. Without thinking, you let out a quiet breath.

"You look like you got dumped."

The words escaped before you could decide whether to keep them. Your voice came out flatter than you'd intended, stripped of humor, carrying more exhaustion than wit.

He turned toward you. Not offended, just surprised. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. His eyes searched your face, lingering there with quiet curiosity, as though he couldn't decide if you were teasing him or speaking from experience. Then his gaze drifted lower to the diamond still resting on your left hand. A ring that caught the warm bar lights just enough to betray you. One corner of his mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"You still have your ring on," he said softly.

You followed his gaze, staring at the diamond as though you'd forgotten it was there. For a long moment, you simply twisted it around your finger.

"I forgot to take it off."

It wasn't entirely true. You hadn't forgotten. You just hadn't found the courage. His eyes met yours again.

"You look like you got dumped too."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

"I did."

He gave a slow nod.

"So did I."

The words settled between you with the quiet understanding that only strangers could sometimes share. Neither of you asked for details or explanations. For tonight, it was enough to know that the person sitting beside you understood exactly what heartbreak looked like.

He glanced at your empty glass. "Another?"

You shook your head. "I think I've had enough of pretending a drink is going to fix anything."

Something about that made him almost smile, the first real one you'd seen from him all night, small and tired but genuine. "Yeah,me too."

The bartender came by again, and this time Jungwon was the one who waved him off, reaching instead for his wallet. You didn't argue when he paid for both of you. Some nights, you didn't have the energy left to insist on independence.

Outside, the air was cooler than you expected, sharp enough to cut through the haze just slightly. Neither of you moved toward a taxi right away. You just stood there for a moment under the bar's dim sign, the city noise a distant hum around you, both of you clearly aware that the night hadn't decided yet what it wanted to become.

"I don't usually do this," you said, not quite looking at him.

"Do what?"

"Any of this. Bars. Strangers. Standing outside at midnight, not knowing what I'm doing."

"Neither do I," he said. Then, after a pause, quieter, "I don't want to go home yet, though."

You understood exactly what he meant, because you felt the same thing sitting heavy in your chest. Home wasn't home anymore. Home was an apartment with echoes you couldn't bear to hear. Home meant seeing the engagement ring still circling your finger. Home meant admitting that tomorrow would arrive whether you wanted it to or not. For the first time that evening, you really looked at him.

He couldn't have been much younger than thirty, though his face carried an unmistakable softness that made him seem younger than he probably was. His tie still hung loose around his neck, his hair slightly disheveled, exhaustion written plainly across features that were almost unfairly handsome. 

He looked as though someone had reached into his life that morning and quietly removed the future he'd expected. That may be why he looked familiar.

"There's a hotel two blocks from here," you said.

He didn't ask if you were sure. He just nodded, like he'd been waiting for someone to say it first.

Neither of you filled the silence with questions about names, jobs, or the people who had broken your hearts. Some things felt strangely unimportant. Inside the elevator, your shoulders brushed for the first time. Neither of you moved away. 

The door had barely clicked shut before the tension that had been simmering between you in the elevator boiled over. There was no slow buildup, no romantic preamble; there was only a desperate, starving need to feel something other than the hollow ache in your chests.

Jungwon turned to you, his face flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the moment. He looked so young, almost innocent, but the look in his eyes was raw and hungry. He reached out, his hand cupping the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that tasted of whiskey and grief. It was a collision, teeth clashing, breaths hitching as you both clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck.

You groaned into his mouth, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there wasn't a sliver of air between your bodies. He backed you up against the door, the thud of your back hitting the wood echoing in the quiet room. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming your mouth with an urgency that made your toes curl.

"Please," you whispered against his lips, though you weren't even sure what you were asking for.

He didn't answer with words. His hands slid down to your hips, lifting you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirt riding up to your hips as he carried you toward the bed. He dropped you onto the white linens, his body following immediately, pinning you down with a weight that felt grounding and necessary.

Jungwon’s hands were frantic, stripping away the barriers of clothing. He pulled your dress over your head and tossed it aside, his eyes scanning your naked body with a mixture of awe and desperation. When he stripped off his own clothes, you saw the lean, toned muscles of a man who didn't look his age, his cock already hard and pulsing, straining against the air.

He didn't waste time. He moved between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find your pussy. You were already soaking, the friction of the night and the emotional turmoil making you ache for him. He slid two fingers inside you, stretching you open, while his thumb worked your clit in a rhythmic, punishing pace. You arched your back, a loud moan escaping you as you neared the edge.

"Look at me," he murmured.

You opened your eyes to see him watching you, his expression a mask of longing. He positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, pausing for a heartbeat before thrusting deep inside you in one heavy, seamless motion.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. The sensation was overwhelming. The stretch, the heat, the sudden fullness that silenced the noise in your head. He began to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, driving into you with a primal intensity. Each hit of his pelvis against your ass sounded like a wet slap in the quiet room.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You feel so good… shit, so tight…"

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another bruising kiss as he picked up the pace. He wasn't being gentle; he was fucking you with a desperation that mirrored your own, as if by driving himself into you, he could push out the memory of the woman who had betrayed him. You met every thrust, tilting your pelvis up to take him deeper, wanting to feel every inch of him.

The friction built, a coil of tension tightening in your lower belly. Jungwon’s movements became shorter, faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He shifted his grip, grabbing your thighs and pinning them back toward your chest to open you up even more. The angle allowed him to hit your cervix with every plunge, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your spine.

"I'm close—" he choked out, his muscles straining.

You felt your own climax rushing toward you, a tidal wave of release. You gripped his biceps, your voice breaking into a series of high-pitched whimpers. As you peaked, your pussy walls clamping tight around him in rhythmic spasms, Jungwon let out a low, guttural growl. He gave one final, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt, and shuddered violently as he came.

You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pumping deep inside you, filling your womb with a warmth that felt almost spiritual in its intensity. He stayed buried inside you for a long time, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your hearts beating in a synchronized, frantic rhythm.

As the adrenaline faded, the silence returned, but it was different now. The loneliness was still there, but it had been blunted. Jungwon slowly withdrew, the wet sound of his cock leaving your body echoing in the room. He didn't pull away completely; he rolled onto his side and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

Neither of you spoke. There were no names exchanged, no promises of a second meeting. You just lay there in the dim light of the hotel room, two broken strangers sharing a bed, clinging to the fleeting comfort of a night that neither of you would ever forget.

.

.

.

A month passed by.

Long enough for the memory of that night to start to blur at the edges. Sometimes you thought you invented some of it.

You remembered the warmth of whiskey better than you remembered his face. His tie, loosened. How he’d just listened, without asking questions. A pair of tired eyes that had looked at you as if they knew something that nobody else knew.

All else had blurred, melting into the sort of memory that belonged to another version of you. You never came back to the bar. If he did, you wouldn't know it. And if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have known that either. That was maybe how it was always supposed to be. Life went on, as indifferent as ever. 

Life had moved on, in its own stubborn manner. You got out of the apartment. You’d gone and blocked your ex-fiancée’s number. You weren't going to speak to your ex-bestfriend, and you hadn't. It was a mercy in itself. Your students didn't know that anything was different. They looked at you like you were just their lecturer. Untroubled. Unbreakable.

You could almost pretend your life hadn’t fallen apart. For three hours at a time. That was enough. Until it wasn’t. It began on a Thursday. Not with nausea or vertigo. Only a date. 

You were standing in your kitchen, waiting on the coffee machine to finish brewing, when the thought came unbidden. Your monthly. Your brow wrinkled. You counted backwards, almost absentmindedly. Then you counted again. The answer was the same. It's late.

This was not normal.

Your body was always predictable, almost stubbornly so. Even in college, when your roommates complained about irregular cycles and surprise cramps, yours came like clockwork, and you didn’t bother tracking it anymore. You put your coffee mug down, untouched. 

"It's the stress," you whispered to the empty apartment. It must have been. 

It made sense, didn't it? The breakup, the move, months of your nervous system running on fumes. Bodies did strange things under pressure. You'd read that somewhere, or maybe you just wanted to have read it somewhere. 

You gave it a few more days. Then a week. The coffee you'd started craving black suddenly turned your stomach. Smells you'd never noticed before. The neighbor's cooking, the detergent in your own laundry, sent you running for air that didn't feel like it was choking you. 

One day a co-worker came into your office with take out. The smell alone would have you running for the nearest bathroom. You said it was the flu. Food poisoning.  Anything.  All of it. Except for that one possibility that’s silently trailing you from room to room.

By the time you found yourself standing in the pharmacy aisle staring at a shelf of boxes you never had reason to buy before, some quiet part of you, dreading, already knew. 

You stood in front of the shelf longer than you needed to. So many different brands. Different promises. Different prices. As though any of them could deliver a different answer. You bought two.

As soon as you were home, you didn't wait long to do. Sat on the side of the bathtub, phone timer ticking away before you began to look at your hands and realise they weren't even yours.

Two lines. Then two more.

You sat there for a long time after that, the tile cold beneath you, your mind doing the math it didn't want to do.  The date, the timeline, the one night that had blurred into something you'd tried hard to forget. There was only one night it could have been.

Your heartbeat stumbled.

"No..."

The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.

You remained there for what felt like hours, staring at the tests resting in your hands as though they belonged to someone else. 

There was only one person. One night. One stranger, with tired eyes and a loosened tie and a sadness that had looked so much like your own it hadn't frightened you. You didn't even remember his name. You didn't know his address. What was his work. If you'd ever see him again.  You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes. A man who existed in your memory as nothing more than tired eyes and a loosened tie, and you look like you got dumped, too.

You didn't know how to find him even if you'd wanted to.

A baby.

The words refused to settle. They hovered somewhere just beyond understanding, too large to fit into the quiet routine you'd been stitching back together over the last month. You were thirty two. Recently single. Still learning how to sleep in an apartment that echoed because there was no one else in it.

You'd spent years building a career you loved, teaching future educators how to nurture children with patience, consistency, and kindness. Ironically, you'd never decided whether motherhood belonged in your own future. You always assumed there would be time to figure it out.

You thought you had more time to decide that. You thought, if it ever happened, it would happen with someone you trusted, someone who'd chosen it with you, not a stranger from a bar whose last name you didn't even know. 

You thought about how easy it would be to end it before anyone had to know it happened at all. No one would ask questions. No one would even know there was something to ask about. You could keep moving forward exactly the way you'd planned, pick your life back up, untangled, unremarkable, the way it was supposed to look after a breakup like this. Clean. Simple.

You sat with that thought for a while, testing its weight, waiting to feel relief.

It didn't come.

Instead, you found yourself thinking about your own mother, who used to tell you that she'd never once regretted having you. Even though your father had left before you turned three. Hardest thing I ever did alone, she'd said once, and still the only decision I never doubted. You'd never fully understood what she meant by that until this exact moment, sitting on a bathroom floor with a truth in your hands you hadn't asked for.

You thought about the years you'd spent in classrooms full of small kids who trusted easily, loved easily, hadn't yet learned that people could hollow you out from the inside without warning. You'd built a career around believing children deserved good beginnings. You wondered, cruelly, whether you were about to fail that belief the moment it became personal.

Then you thought about the alternative. The quiet, empty version of your future you'd have to live with either way. A yes, you might regret, or a no, you were fairly sure you would.

You pressed a hand flat against your stomach, feeling nothing yet, nothing you could point to, and still somehow feeling everything.

A slow breath escaped you.

"I don't need him."

The words were barely louder than a whisper. You said them again.

"I don't."

You weren't trying to convince yourself. You already knew they were true. You didn't need a husband. You didn't need a wedding. You didn't need promises made by someone else to make this decision for you. If this child entered the world, it would be because you chose them. Not because of guilt.

You knew exactly what waited beyond this bathroom door. Questions, whispers and mostly it would be judgment. Forms with blank spaces labeled Father. A future that would be more difficult than the one you'd imagined for yourself. None of that disappeared simply because you'd made a decision. But neither did your resolve.

For the first time since walking into that apartment on Tuesday afternoon, you realized your future no longer felt defined by something that had been taken from you. It was being shaped by something you had chosen. You slowly pushed yourself to your feet and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked exhausted. Your eyes were swollen, your hair a mess, your expression still carrying traces of the woman who'd had her heart broken.

But beneath all of that, there was something new. Resolve. You rested your hand over your stomach once more.

"Okay," you whispered to the tiny life only you knew existed.

A faint smile tugged at your lips despite everything.

"It's you and me now."

The words sounded impossibly small in the quiet apartment. Yet,  somehow, they were enough.

.

.

.

The dream came to him three nights in a row.  Always the same, dissolving the moment he woke, leaving only fragments behind the way real dreams rarely do.

In it, he stood in a garden he didn't recognize, thick with fruit trees heavy enough that their branches bent low toward the ground. A woman he couldn't see clearly handed him a single peach, round and impossibly ripe, still warm like it had just been pulled from sunlight rather than a branch. 

He always woke up right after that. Nothing more happened. It didn't need to.

He didn't think much of it, not really. After all, dreams rarely made sense, and he'd learned a long time ago not to chase meaning where there probably wasn't any. Still, on the fourth morning, he found himself mentioning it to Sunoo over coffee in the hospital break room, mostly out of the strange, itching need to say it out loud to someone.

"I keep having this dream," he said, staring into his cup. "Same one, a few nights now. There's a garden, and someone hands me a peach. That's it. That's the whole dream."

Sunoo lowered his own cup slowly, staring at him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and barely contained excitement. "A peach?"

"Yeah."

"Ripe? Whole? Someone handed it to you directly?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "Yes? Why does that matter?"

Sunoo set his coffee down entirely now, leaning forward like Jungwon had just handed him the best gossip of the year. "Do you seriously not know what that is?"

"It's a dream about fruit?"

Honestly, Sunoo never wanted to face palmed himself, but hearing the dumb answer Jungwon gave him got him a reason to. 

"It's a taemong." When Jungwon only stared blankly back at him, Sunoo let out a groan of disbelief. "A conception dream. My grandmother used to talk about these constantly. Fruit, animals, sometimes fire or water, show up in a dream right before someone in the family finds out they're having a baby. Whole ripe fruit like that, handed directly to you? That's about as classic as it gets."

Jungwon huffed, unimpressed, turning his cup slowly between his hands. "You can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious. It's not just some old wives' thing.  Half the moms I know still swear by it. My cousin dreamed about catching a fish barehanded, and two weeks later, she found out she was pregnant. My aunt dreamed about a dragon curling around her arm and had twins."

"That's confirmation bias," Jungwon said flatly. "People remember the dreams that match and forget the ones that don't."

"Sure, sure, very scientific of you, Dr. Yang." Sunoo waved a hand, entirely unbothered by the skepticism. "But you're not the one who usually has these dreams, that's the funny part. It's not always the mother. Sometimes it's the father, or a grandparent, sometimes even a close friend if the dream's strong enough. But if it's the father dreaming it..." He trailed off, grinning now, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "That usually means it's already happened. The universe is just running a little behind on paperwork."

Jungwon rolled his eyes, though something in his chest had gone strangely tight at the words, an unease he couldn't quite explain rationally. "I don't believe in that stuff."

"You don't have to believe in it for it to be true," Sunoo said, entirely too pleased with himself. "That's kind of the whole point of a folktale, isn’t it?"

Jungwon didn't have a response for that. He just sat there, turning his coffee cup slowly in his hands, telling himself it was nothing. Probably just stress, exhaustion, and an overactive mind conjuring strange images after too many back to back shifts. He didn't have a girlfriend anymore. There was no one in his life the dream could reasonably be about.

He didn't let himself finish that thought all the way through.

"It's nothing," he said again, mostly to convince himself. "Just a weird dream."

Sunoo shrugged, tossing his empty cup toward the trash with practiced ease, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go. "Sure. Just a weird dream."

Jungwon didn't think much more of it after that. Not consciously, anyway. But the image stayed with him regardless, lingering somewhere quiet at the edges of his following days.  A garden, a peach, and a stranger's hands offering him something he hadn't known, yet, that he was already holding.

.

.

.

The clinic wasn't one you'd been to before.

A coworker had recommended it months ago, so excited about the obstetrics department that you'd written the name down without a second thought. It was near campus, near enough to squeeze in an appointment between lectures without sacrificing half your day to traffic.

You wish. That was it. Comfort. Distance from your former life. A doctor who didn’t know your story. Somebody who would see one more first time patient. That's all.

You sat, one leg bouncing under your chair, fingertips tracing the edge of the bracelet wrapped loosely about your wrist. You'd practiced the appointment on the drive over. If they asked about the father, you would tell them as you have been rehearsing it in your mind. 

We're not together.

If they pressed further, then—

I'd rather not discuss it.

Simple.

"Y/L/N?"

A nurse called your name, and you followed her down a hallway that smelled like antiseptic and lavender hand soap, into a small exam room with a poster of a fetal development chart on the wall that you deliberately didn't look at too long.

"Dr. Yang will be with you in just a moment," the nurse said, and left you there with your paper gown and your racing thoughts.

You didn't think anything of the name. Yang wasn't uncommon. You sat on the edge of the exam table, hands folded in your lap, running through the questions you wanted to ask — due dates, next steps, whether the exhaustion you'd been feeling was normal or something to worry about.

Then the door opened.

"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Yang Jung—"

The sentence didn't finish. It just stopped, cut clean in half, the way a record scratches when the needle's yanked away too fast.

You looked up. And your whole body went cold.

He remained frozen in the doorway, one hand still curled around the handle like he'd forgotten how to let go of it. The patient chart in his other hand slipped slightly in his grip, not enough to fall, just enough that you noticed his fingers had momentarily stopped remembering their one job. Recognition moved across his face almost instantly, undisguised, unrehearsed, nothing like the practiced composure a doctor was supposed to walk into a room with.

The overhead lights were full on him now. Clinical, unfriendly, not like the dim gold haze of that bar a month ago. No booze to take the edge off. No shadows to hide the details And you couldn’t miss him. Same face. Same eyes that witnessed you break against a hotel room door. Quiet and searching, in a way that had seemed to him that night the only honest thing left in the world. Except the face was on a man in a white coat. A stethoscope draped around his neck. His name stitched in careful navy thread over his heart.

Yang Jungwon.

Neither of you said anything. The seconds stretched, thin and unbearable, the fluorescent hum of the room suddenly deafening in the silence. As if hoping he was mistaken. He wasn't.

"...You?"

It barely qualified as a word. More breath than voice. Your mouth had gone completely dry. The sentence never got a chance to finish. Neither of you needed it to.

You weren't doing much better. Your hands had grown cold, and sat in your lap, fingers pressed together hard enough to leave imprints. The paper gown crackled a little with each too-quick breath. You’d spent a month talking yourself into believing that night belonged to some other you, reckless and grieving and gone by morning. And here he was, a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, his name stitched over his heart, undeniably real, undeniably the same man.

Neither of you said anything. 

His gaze dropped. Not to the chart. To your left hand. The engagement ring was gone. Then, almost involuntarily, his eyes moved lower. To the file tucked beneath his arm. He looked at your name. Gestational age. Estimated conception date. The room became impossibly quiet. His jaw tightened. Not because he was calculating. Because he already had. He didn't need the dates. He remembered the night. The chart simply confirmed what he already knew.

explicit warnings: manhandling, public sex, rough sex, hair/head pulling, oral (m rec), choking, cowgirl, spitting, reverse cowgirl, unprotected sex, breast play, fucking an ex lol yes that’s a warning, multiple orgasms, the chains stay on, hella backshots, emotional sex, creampie OOP, club sex reader is bad, yoongi loses his gd mind, couch sex, wall sex, chair sex, umm yeah alexa play like animals thanks

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“What’s taking you so long!” 

Groaning, you concentrate on getting your lashes just right. “Told you it’d be just a minute!” 

“I know.” Hoseok pops into your hotel bathroom, deep neckline and even deeper scent of cologne almost making you jab yourself right in the socket. “But it’s been ten.” 

It’ll end up being a lot longer than that if he keeps cocking that perfect brow. Shouldn’t he know the rule of getting ready already? 

Done with your current task, you blink and inspect yourself in the wide mirror spanning the master bath. “Yeah, a minute means twenty. So I have ten to spare, right?” 

Bright teeth shine as he shakes his head. And you know it’s because you’re both slated to be super early anyway. 

Everything’s going according to schedule. All your old friends flew in yesterday, and the plan for today is to head to dinner to watch the night game with everyone. After that, you’ll walk straight to the club a few blocks down that you’ve heard to be the best in town. 

Well. Best in town for absolute eye candy. Taehyung warned that everyone that’s been to Lo Prohibito knows the dress code is simple but effective: luxurious. Unless your face card is so lethal you get in on that alone, or you happen to have celebrity status. 

And your confidence can only take you so far. You look fucking good, but you aren’t risking being turned away just because you were lax getting ready. 

So ten more minutes it is. Hobi will just have to deal with it. 

Goddamn, he could get in without a single issue, though. Honestly, he could be wearing a linen shirt and shorts with sandals and they’d mistake him for a millionaire. “I’ll be ready before you know it,” you say over your bare, perfumed shoulder. “You’ll be able to see your lover soon enough.” 

Hoseok shoots you a grin before huffing out, “Got me, huh.” 

“You’re the easiest person in the world to read.” Leaning over your makeup bag, you rummage through your brushes. “Whatever you’re thinking is always written all over your face." 

Quick laughter coats the bathroom in more light. “I can’t help it, okay! It’s always been that way.” When you focus in the mirror and pat your face, he suddenly drops two pitches in tone. “Sorry about yours.” 

Here you go again. You know exactly what he’s talking about. 

“Hobi,” you sigh. “I don’t care anymore, okay? It’s been a month.” 

“I know, but…” Expelling a heavy, sympathetic breath of his own, he leans against the double door entryway. That dulcet yet gravelly tone of his rolls across marble floors as he says exactly what you don’t want him to, “You seemed pretty happy with them.” 

You were. In fact, you were more than happy. 

But something just didn’t feel right. Sure, the days you spent with your most recent fling were perfect. You felt comfortable with them, you admired how thoughtful they were and how attentive. 

It was the nights that made you more than hesitant. 

Because no matter how many times you slept together, you never felt truly understood. What you wanted, what you needed? They would get so close to getting it right, only to never reach that level of intensity and passion you were looking for. 

So you broke it off one quiet, cherry-red sunset on the beach weeks ago. 

Only to find out that they were seeing someone else the whole time anyway. 

Fuck love. To hell with happiness. Why do all your relationships end up this way? Why do you always attract the people that seem perfect on the surface but hide so many flaws underneath? It’s starting to fucking annoy you and you may damn well swear to the single life forever. 

Though. There was one relationship that didn’t exactly end this way. 

But you’re never thinking about that one again, so no point in shuffling through those beautiful, tragic, regretful memories now. 

“And now I’m happy without them,” you finally respond to Hoseok, who tears his gaze from the white floors to see you staring in the mirror. “Probably happy without anyone else, actually.” 

What a fucking lie. 

“I mean, there’s time to find someone you...” Your friend pockets a hand while adjusting his loose top, shadows naturally accenting his abdomen. “Never mind. See you out there. Love the red.” 

You swish the silken floor-length material of your gaudy, quite revealing dress. “Thank you. This is my favorite part, look.” 

Hoseok watches as you stomp your leg out of the thigh-high slit so comically it catches him off guard, cackling before a lighthearted, “Careful with that!” 

“Says the man who’s practically naked.” 

All you get is a shameless shrug before your friend spins on this heel to leave, no doubt checking the texts on his phone. 

At least he's excited about seeing his gorgeous pull after so long. And you do not blame him one bit. The way he looks at her? She may as well be a goddess because his gaze turns almost reverent every time. 

A blurry memory consumes your mind like a haze, and you see completely different eyes with just as much fervor. They watch as you mount slow, chests slick with sweat and breathing deep from hours of—

Manicured hands grip the sink as your brush skitters onto granite counters. 

Fuck. Never again. 

Never, ever, ever again.

Pull yourself together. You’re a whole different person with a whole different future. That version of you is one you left far behind, as well as the life that came with it. 

You extend ten minutes into fifteen. 

And Hoseok’s outright whistle at your emergence lets you know the extra time was worth it. 

—

—

Dinner is loud and vibrant, with the whole restaurant locked in on the game and erupting in cheers when the home team scores. Or at least, the team that the majority of fans want to win scores. 

You aren’t completely sure, because there are jerseys of every country everywhere you look. It’s the one time you feel a sense of togetherness, with everyone giving each other friendly jabs and your group doing and saying anything to rile each other up. 

Hoseok is downright lethal with his date, the two of them showing off jawlines that can kill as they watch the nearest screen. But they’re on the other end of the long wooden table, so you have to find other people to converse with. 

Unfortunately, you find that the person sitting in front of you is a stranger, seemingly knowing someone else in the group and just happened to tag along. He quickly offered small talk when you all started ordering, which you already found a little awkward because you were trying to focus on what to get. 

Now, he keeps giving you more and more information about his achievements and endeavors, not once asking for your name. Figures.

Both the friends you’re sitting next to are no help, either. 

To your left, Jeongguk’s checking his phone for the fiftieth time this hour, scrolling through videos to avoid having to speak to anyone. 

And to your right, Taehyung cheers and stands when another goal is scored, locking elbows with the stranger behind him and drinking from his glass mug. Apparently he had been making fast friends while you were entertaining the guy that keeps staring at you. How cool. Happy for him. Can you both switch seats? 

Your wish doesn’t get granted for another hour. So that means you’re still talking to and giving polite encouragement to this gentleman. Though the term gentleman is very, very generous. It became more than obvious he just wants to fuck from the way he's been shamelessly ogling your plunging neckline. 

Mercifully, Jeongguk finally saves you, leaning in and pretending to show you a reel or tiktok or whatever the fuck he’s scrolling through. Instead, a text he typed into your message thread is all you see. 

Wanna go outside?

Going along and laughing at his fake share, you give him a grateful smile and nod. Turning to the man watching you with curiosity—and is that really jealousy?—you excuse yourself, 

“We’re gonna check out the second floor! Be right back.” 

Not even waiting to see nor hear his reaction.  

—

—

Outside the restaurant and not on the second floor, you can finally breathe again, watching the city come alive with its vehicle rush and streetlight hum. 

Next to you, your tattooed savior takes a long hit of his vape, and you run a hand across the thin gold chain around your neck. 

Without your permission, another memory slips through your defenses. And this one proves sharper, astonishingly clearer than the first.

Hands grab a string of gold from a nightstand, and you instantly ache because you remember what comes right after. As soon as it’s clipped onto a slim neck, you watch the necklace lower, and lower, right before you angle your mouth up to take it between your—

“Fuck.” 

Jeongguk whips his head right as your eyes snap open. “You okay? What’s wrong?” 

No. There are a thousand things wrong. You didn’t even fucking realize your vision went dark until light flooded out your unwanted nostalgia. 

Fuck, you hadn’t thought of that summer afternoon in years. Your reaction was visceral enough to spurn an oncoming headache. “Nothing,” you whoosh out. “What time is it?” 

“Almost time to head over to Lo Prohibido.” Gripping his phone, the man asks with concern, “You sure you’re good to go?” 

Head pulsing, you nod. “Yeah, I’m fine, just dehydrated. Can you pick a city that won't try to burn me out next time? I'm down for traveling but it's been hell here.” 

Unconvinced and unfazed, Jeongguk cocks his head to the door. “Let’s go back in. I know your favorite person is waiting, but you gotta drink water.” 

“Don’t,” you groan. “He’s cute, but I got the biggest ick like halfway in.” 

Your amused friend giggles as he holds the door open, “You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.” 

Laughing when more cheers erupt from inside, you give his jacketed arm a playful shove as you look down the street. “I’m nice, okay? Don’t—”

Your heart. 

It booms. 

In an instant, the whole world blurs, lights and bodies making solid, serpentine lines and even sound itself rolling to a deep, dull hum.

The only one you can see. The only person you can make out with perfect clarity. 

Is the one you’ve been trying your fucking hardest to not remember. 

Staring right at you with eyes you’ll never, ever forget. 

Yoongi. 

He’s just down the way, standing amongst a group with a striped jersey, dark hair swept so perfectly your chest pangs. Even though everyone around him is animated and laughing, the look on his face makes it undeniable he’s not focused on anything else.

And with a stopped heart, neither are you.

Until your lower back is held, tugging you out of the dream as Jeongguk’s question is laden with worry, 

“Seriously, what’s going on? Do you need to go back to the hotel?” 

You jolt away from his touch, but the action isn’t warranted. For fuck’s sake, he’s a friend you’ve known just as long as you've known the spectre down the street. Why did you feel the need to escape his worrisome hand? He isn't like the guy you just met.  

If that dude had been the one to touch you, though, you would’ve fucking decked him. You are not letting him feel an inch of your skin, and that includes the majority of it you’re baring at the back. 

“No, I’m—I’m fine,” you manage to get out. “Just thought I saw.. Never mind. Water.” 

Yoongi would’ve damn near murdered that creep, too. 

Shit. 

Right before stepping back in, you turn to peer back down the sidewalk, brain concluding that what you saw was your imagination and your heart adamantly disagreeing. 

However, there’s no sign of Yoongi anywhere. That same group of people continues to chitter away outside, but he’s nowhere to be seen. 

So your logic is sound. It was just a dream. There’s no way he’d be here, and he looked way too fucking handsome to be real anyway. Maybe your mind is just playing tricks on you as an act of revenge for making it remember him this much today. 

Because you’re remembering everything. The way he knew exactly how to get under your skin. The times he proved so patient. The way he absolutely knew how to act under your sheets. 

And his. And elsewhere. Anywhere the two of you decided to make love. 

And that singular word is exactly why your flame burned its brightest before choking out. 

You were ready. 

He wasn’t. 

And you regret your decision to leave more than anything else in your entire life. 

Because you could’ve fought harder. You could’ve given him more time. But when you confessed under a blanket of stars and didn’t hear those three words reciprocated, every single celestial plummeted from the sky, plunging you headfirst into a deep, dark ocean of insecurity and bubbling self-loathing. 

The night you left, you left everything. You left your room, your apartment, the city you called home your entire life. Like a coward that couldn’t face rejection. 

Because you didn’t even tell Yoongi goodbye. 

And that’s the last damning reminder you hurl at yourself before rejoining your friends inside. 

—

—

You readily down two glasses of water. 

Inwardly laughing at the fact that the same dude straight up left to “meet up with his brochachos.” 

—

—

Lo Prohibito is decibels louder than the restaurant, and that includes the moments everyone cheered to the max.

A dazzling laser show beams from behind the raised DJ booth, and machines shoot out air to provide much needed circulation and boost the spread of confetti. 

To your delight, everyone here is just as pretty as you imagined. You’re thanking all your lucky clovers that you were accepted inside, strutting in on your heels with chin held high. 

Maybe not as high as it could go. 

But you refuse to let anything else bring you down tonight. You’re supposed to be having another great outing, spending it with your friends and enjoying the nightlife while you’re still able. 

Bright colors span across every surface as a thumping bass shakes your toes, and you wait for the rest of your group to trickle in to find a good dancing spot—and a much needed drink because you are desperate for one. 

At this point, you’ll pay any price to forget whatever the fuck you saw earlier. 

Be it a figment of your imagination, or a devilishly attractive ghost, you just need to wipe that achingly handsome face from your mind. 

There’s no way he’s here. And even if who you saw was real? It wasn’t the man you loved. 

Because there’s no way Yoongi would even look your way again. 

Not like you want him to anyway. Forget him. He gave you everything except the one thing you ultimately wanted, and you couldn’t live in his moonlight without your stars slowly burning out.

Breathe. Focus on the present. Stay in the now. 

“Come on,” he instructs, holding your fingers before grabbing your waist. “Stay with me.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper to your stumbling feet. “I just keep messing up that damn step and it’s annoying.” 

“I know.” He grips your hand, turning so that you land against his chest, comforting tone soothing your burning ear, “But you got a lot more chances to get it. We got time. Stay in the now.” 

“Okay.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

“Come on!” 

Your past whisks away with the club fog, and you follow Hoseok and the rest off the crowded floor. “Where are we going!” 

Hand on the nearest winding staircase, he turns with a smile. “Got us VIP! We’re up here.” 

“No fucking way?” How the hell did Hobi manage to do that? Wasn’t this place booked up the last time you both checked yesterday? “How!” 

Cheekily, the man simply plucks at his undone overshirt and wiggles, smirking as his date doubles over in a laugh. 

“Oh, you’re a freak,” you call out behind him with praise. “Thank you for your service.” 

Thank Jung Hoseok and those abs indeed because the VIP booth is a godsend. Sure, it’s still crowded on the second floor, but at least you don’t have to worry about standing shoulder to shoulder the whole night. You have somewhere to retreat to when you need a breather. 

Which Jeongguk is already taking the most advantage of, settling into the middle of the booth and planting elbows on the long table stretching end to end. Music blares while people shout all throughout the club, but he seems quite zeroed in on his phone. 

Maybe you can both use each other as a scapegoat again if you need to leave. He’s been enjoying himself for the most part, but you can tell he’s extremely ready to go home and the night just started. If you weren’t desperate to let loose and forget years of your life tonight, you would’ve offered to get shitty fast food with him and walk around the city instead. 

Mm. That still sounds like a backup option. 

“Who wants drinks!” Taehyung calls out from the far end of the booth, standing to wave someone down and glancing at everyone giving him their orders all at once. “Let’s just get bottles!” 

Perfect. He knows exactly what to do, so you let him drive and settle into the booth to wait for the liquid ailment to your problems. 

This club has it all, you muse as you take everything in. From endless bottles and extravagant cocktails sailing over the crowd, to sparkler shows and pops of streamers raining down from above, it’s a paradise of a getaway. 

But the outfits? To your surprise, you feel slightly out of place, even arguably overdressed wearing the most expensive thing you own. Yes, there are loads of tens walking around, even some elevens and twelves if you’re honest. But you do see quite a few people in outfits as casual as Jeongguk’s leather.

Either way, almost everyone is dripped in the most lavish jewelry and clothing, from designer to exclusive to wait someone got in wearing a jersey? 

How the hell? Despite the outfits you saw there hasn’t been anyone in here with a jersey, is he famous? It's the same one you saw on the sidewalk when you—

Fuck. That’s not him, is it? You can’t quite see his face, but that back is so… 

No. No no no. You’re staying here for awhile so that better have been another mind trick or you're taking that backup plan with Jeongguk immediately—

“Here,” Taehyung catches your attention while hastily holding out a glass. “This is what you wanted, right?” 

You take it with shaky fingers. “Yes, it’s perfect, thank you.” 

When you turn back, the red and white stripes are gone. 

And you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

“You okay?”

Turning, you notice that Tae’s eyes are extremely focused on yours. You nod as you down your shot in one go. “Yeah, I’m good.”

His honey rasp slows on the way out, “You sure..?”

“Yeah.” When you push more of the stinging, sweet alcohol down, you decide to start telling him what you saw. “I just… I thought I saw…”

Taehyung is one of the only ones that never questioned why you left town. Which you’re grateful for, because you couldn’t handle all your other friends sending you text after text after call. It was fucking overwhelming, but you had one person that just allowed you to make decisions and live with them. 

“Saw who?” He asks, cutting through your vision with long fingers in a wave and calling you back to reality. 

“No one.” You don’t even wanna say his name. It carries the weight of the world. “Forget it! I’ll be good as soon as we start.”

Unconvinced but letting you have space, Tae doesn’t pry. 

“If you say so.”  

—

—

For the next hour, everything is great. You play stupid drinking games with your friends, cheer for the most random shit the house emcee yells, and you start to slowly wash the unwanted memories from your mind. 

At one point, Jeongguk stuns the section by dancing on booth cushions and swinging his jacket, revealing he only had a thin tank underneath. Many people stare slackjawed at his physique and understated choice of outfit, but you can only cackle with your friends because you all know he’s gonna go right back to his phone in seconds. He just really, really likes the song playing. 

And you’re enjoying the DJ set, too. As long as they don’t play specific songs, you can enjoy the rest of the night in absolute peace. 

Especially the one song that haunts your every waking moment. The first time you heard it, in a club somewhere along pink lemonade sand, you trudged knee deep into the crashing tide and didn’t leave until the sun dipped under the horizon. 

Because it hit too close to home. And your deluge of tears gave back infinite saltwater to the sea. 

Relax. Don’t throw any possibilities into the atmosphere, especially when your mind is fucked up tonight. Your friends are heading down to the dance floor, so go with them and forget everyone else. 

Making sure your drink is finished, you feel ice hit your lips before clinking it down, rushing to join your group at the top of the staircase. 

Only to stutter so close to the edge your heart leaps out of your chest.

It keeps falling, and falling. Because there’s no mistaking this time. That man you saw wearing the outfit that’s starting to haunt you? He’s talking animatedly to someone across the second floor, dusty pink elbow perched on the railing with a drink in his still so veiny hand. 

And your mouth turns sour at the way his shoulder is tapped by pretty nails, tongue hot and darkly spiced when Yoongi just laughs into his cup.

God. He’s here. He’s devastating without even trying.

And, as your blasphemous logic reminds you, that beautiful smile will never be yours anymore.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring. Because while on the street, you could’ve argued he was a hallucination birthed from dehydration. Right here, in this moment, you’ve sobered up in a snap and you know for a fact what you’re seeing is real.

Maybe it was better when you assumed he wasn’t. 

At least then, you didn’t have to entertain any worse outcomes than just seeing him. You didn’t have to think about how you’d feel seeing him so close to someone else.

Looks like the universe is giving you the final consequences of your escape. Yoongi has your fate in the warm, rough palm of his hand, and you know he’ll do nothing but let it fall to the rumbling floor below. Just to watch with unblinking eyes.

“Hey, you gonna go down or what?”

Turning, you start to move to the side, embarrassment heating the skin of your back that was just lightly grazed, “Shit, sorry—”

A strong arm pushes you sideways into hard metal as a duo of guys head down the stairs. You figure it’s an accident, but that doesn’t stop your face from contorting in pain and a curse to fling from your mouth. Because damn that fucking hurt. 

“Dude, watch it!” The one behind looks back at you to apologize, “Sorry about my—”

Oh… Really… 

The guy from dinner halts in his apology, and your brow lifts right before he waves you off. 

Waves you off. 

At least your intuition is always spot on. Good riddance, you were completely valid to ditch his brochacho ass earlier. 

Rolling your eyes skyward and even aiming a petulant tongue at his retreating back, you scoff before leaning on chilled metal, letting a moment pass before heading down to Taehyung and the rest of them. 

Where are they anyway? If you don’t spot them from here it’s gonna be hard to find them on the.. ground.. 

Your heart looks up before you do.  

And you catch your ex watching intently from across the way, phone sliding from his ear before he straightens to start walking. 

…Towards you? 

Fuck. 

It’s been bad enough catching glimpses of Yoongi and seeing him entertain someone else. If he gets one foot right in front of you? Everything you’ve worked so hard to build up against him and the haunting memories of your relationship will collapse into dust. You can’t bear him seeing how you haven’t changed your fucking mind. 

To your utmost pain, all roads have always led back to him. No matter how deep you relate to or click with someone, no matter how happy another person makes you, no one has come close to how Yoongi made you feel. 

Because he’s the only one that understood even the darkest parts of you. And he’s the only light in your life you ran away from. 

There’s a reason you watch every sunset. There’s a reason you stand on the beach back home and don’t move your sandswept legs until the last rays give way to the ocean line. 

It’s because of the guilt. The guilt of turning away from the warmth you held in your hands and the warmth you left behind. 

Your eyes stay tethered as your ex makes his way down the long side of the upstairs balcony, partiers smushing together and bottles roving over his head as ladies take them to VIP tables. 

Based on the heat in his eyes? Yoongi’s on the universe’s side. There’s no way he’s seeking anything else other than revenge. 

Shit, shit shit. This isn’t good for you. Literally nothing great nor healthy can come out of this if he ends up in your orbit. One word, two words, and even worse, three words from those unforgettable lips would destroy you and never let you recover. 

But your hands stay tight on the warming railing. And they won’t fucking let go. 

Downstairs. Go down the stairs. Go. 

Yoongi’s almost here. All he has to do is round the corner. He's close enough for you to notice the silver chains adorning his neck.

And the last thing you think with a withering heart is how devastatingly handsome he’s become. 

With a tight breath, you pelt high heels downward one hasty step at a time. Winding, winding, spiraling like the thoughts storming your mind. The further down you go, the farther away he is. 

Your heel catches on your dress before you stumble, but you don’t look back to see if Yoongi’s even still behind you. 

Chill the fuck out and don’t fucking trip. You already had nasty falls before with scars to prove it and a sticky club floor is the worst place to sprawl onto. 

Keep going. Disappear into the crowd. Go find your friends. 

And deal with the unmoving, gaping hole in your chest later. 

—

—

It takes you awhile to find them, but soon enough, you're back to having the time of your life. The lineup of DJs is all stellar, with only a few misses here and there, even getting Jeongguk to stay on the dance floor longer than you expect.

What's even better? There's no sign of Yoongi. Surrounded by sweaty bodies and flashy grins, you don't catch a single glimpse of him in the crowd.

Good. That's good, right? You wanted this. You wanted to avoid him and run, just like you did the last time.

Your group starts to split up in the commotion of lights and confetti and streamers, but you're fine dancing on your own. With each ebb and flow of music, you lose yourself, letting your heart get swept away by stories of love and loss. Every song holds a piece you understand. Every verse carries the same message.

You aren't alone in being alone.

So embrace it. Let the hurt come later. Smiling wide, you await the next song up, arms thrown in the air with everyone in beautiful togetherness around you.

Then it starts.

The one song you knew you'd hear at some point but sure as fuck didn’t want to.

While people around roar at the familiar opening, you feel like disappearing entirely. Where’s the nearest coastline? You need a rising tide. 

As the melancholic notes buzz up your chest, you slowly, quietly, lower both arms to your sides. Around you, the floor moves in sensuous circles and dips, and you envy everyone for not feeling how you feel. This glowing, searing pain setting your chest ablaze until it’s nothing but a pile of cinders, only to be washed away with the waves crashing against your knees.

With each scathing line, your heart cries, remembering exactly why it hit too deep. All those lessons you took that started on a whim. All those sunny afternoons practicing and stumbling about your living room. All those times you were held close and knew there’d be no one else.

Your heart isn't strong enough to stay in the now. It doesn’t want to. It will always remain in the past, on a rooftop gazing into a sea of stars and hoping for a different outcome. 

Night, after night, after night. 

Suddenly, you’re back in the past, too.

Because a hand, so sure and so steady, settles onto your hip from behind, and your eyes burn when another slides along your bare shoulder. Heat from a body you can sense from anywhere in the fucking universe warms the skin at your back, and you shake as lips touch the shell of your ear to whisper three words that shatter what’s left of your soul, 

“One last time.” 

You aren't in the past. You're here. And so is he.

Breath whooshing out in a hitch, your throat is in absolute flames as your eyes slide shut. Then you nod, because you can’t think of doing anything else, and you allow him to lead.

And he feels so perfect against you it hurts. 

You feel how strong he’s gotten, how sturdy and lean. And yet, you also feel the same soft give you used to feel all those years ago. You know how pliant he could become under your mercy, just like all those times he gave you complete control. If you faced him, you could run your hands along that stomach you’ve kissed every inch of a thousand times over. 

But you’re too much of a pathetic coward to turn around. 

When you back into him, his quick hiss into that groan you miss so fucking much flips every warning light in your body. But you can’t help it. You know this dance, this connection, this reunion will be the last you will ever have. 

He never loved you. You never said goodbye. 

Everything that’s left unsaid swirls around you as you move in perfect sync, both your hips moving as one and your hand snaking up and back to grip his neck fuck he feels just like home. 

Yoongi… Still feels like home. 

A single, hot tear leaks from your eye as you sway, burning a path down your cheek as your other hand closes tight around fingers holding your side. When he grips you even tighter, another tear betrays you, and you feel his lips so close to your neck you expect him to kiss there if he wanted to. 

But he doesn’t. 

Of course he doesn’t. 

So you take what you’re given. A dance. Just one. One last unforgettable dance before your life changes all over again. 

Knowing this song by heart, you know it’s approaching the end. The bittersweet last chorus clues you in, and you tense around his neck just a little tighter, hoping Yoongi didn’t catch the need in your fingers for this moment to never end. 

Mother Earth can swallow you whole as soon as the last word is sung. You give her your express permission. 

Because you feel so hopelessly in love all over again, and you can’t bear your affection to be unreciprocated a second time. 

Just like that. Against your deepest, sincerest wishes. 

The song dies. 

And immediately after, as if your world hasn’t just been upheaved and tossed to the wayside, the next number booms. Everyone on the dance floor cheers again when it’s extremely familiar and a faster tempo. Even more people fill the floor because they need to feel this one in their bones. 

And you need nothing else but to leave. 

Get out. Go. Yoongi said so, right? One last time. It’s over. This tension between you needed an outlet and that song was the one out you both could use to set it free. 

And it’s done. So you start your brisk walk away.

Only for your wrist to be held and your heart to fall out of your ribcage. 

Fuck.

When you turn, you forget you’re tear-streaked and full of painful regrets. 

And the look on Yoongi’s face heats your soul all the way through. 

Because his eyes are unwavering, brows cut deep and mouth completely shut. Over his forehead, tendrils of mussed bangs sweep slow, and his chest rises and falls with every hard, wordless breath he takes. 

And you finally get the courage to whisper his name. 

Without a word, he slowly pulls you in, not stopping until your hands softly push into his strong chest and your face is inches from his. All heavy bass and bright beats of music fall away. All lights shift until you can only see him. 

Time. All that time apart vanishes when you finally feel this close again, his steady expression watching you with an emotion you can’t place but feel ripping at your walls to destroy them. 

What is happening? What’s he doing? 

Does he know he has the power to hurt you in ten million different ways?

Fingers rise to wipe the sadness from your face, only inviting more to pour from your eyes. “Yoongi,” you whisper again, breaking the dam you’ve been building block by block this whole time, just like you were afraid of. And you can’t fucking stop. “Yoongi…”

Then, when his eyes slide shut, you think he’ll let you go. Why can you only say his name? Why the fuck are you ruining this singular moment that you’ve only dreamed of having wait wait why is he resting his forehead against yours fuck wait—

“You know how long,” he breathes out, “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that again.” 

Have mercy.

Your soul finally snaps in two. 

You can only say it once more, broken and chipped, before Yoongi grips your jaw and kisses you like it’s his last minute on earth. 

And you push back with a ferocity that’s been dormant for years, a magnificent flame never awakened by anyone else. Nothing else. Just him. Only him. 

Rivers stream from your eyes as his arms circle you, hands gripping the skin of your back as your nails rake down his. Around you, people dance and bump into your bodies, but neither of you seem to fucking care. No one else exists. The only music you hear is every deep breath Yoongi takes and it’s your favorite, favorite, favorite.

You shouldn’t be doing this. There’s no possible way this doesn’t leave you without a broken heart and a shell of whatever intact spirit you have left. 

But goddamn if you don’t stay in the now more than ever. 

“I don’t give a shit,” you tumble into his mouth, waiting until he pulls away enough for you to spill every forbidden thought you’ve harbored in your beating chest. “I don’t care if you never loved me. I don’t care if you moved on. I just—just tonight, Yoongi, I need you—”

Your plea is engulfed by another soulshaking push of his lips, and you think that’s the end of it until he tugs away from you before swerving his head around the floor. 

“Come here,” he orders, gripping your hand and reminding you just how perfect his fingers slot with yours. 

Time. You’re getting more time? Your tears and the burning in your chest don’t quell as you’re led through the crowd. When you get strange or pitied looks, you don’t care. All these perfectly dressed people can fuck off. 

When they stare at the man guiding you, that’s what gets your stomach flaring. They can have him. Just after you get one last time to carry you through the rest of your loveless life. 

Yoongi suddenly turns to look at you trailing behind, and he waits to bring you in front of his side, now leading you both together through the rest of the packed floor. 

Ah. This is the man you remember. 

And that just makes everything hurt even more. 

Soon, you’re led off the dance floor and through a series of turns, Yoongi heading up a long back staircase before rounding into a hallway of doors before he checks each one. 

What are these? Karaoke rooms? Party rooms? You don’t know, but the ache in your body hunches you over, and it takes everything to not crumble before he finally stops and yanks open a door. 

“Yoongi, what are you—?”

A dim, neon-lit room is what you come to, and you hear a faint click while noticing the long window looking out into the club below.  Different lounge chairs and couches fill the space, and you can see just enough out the glass to know you’re even high above the VIP tables. The room feels exclusive but you don’t get to observe anything else as you’re being pushed into the nearest wall to be liplocked again. 

Fuck, he’s gotten even better at this. 

Just like you have. 

As your dress is gripped tight, your thoughts all blur together in a lustful slurry. How many has he taken to bed after you? Do you remember your own count? Has anyone else made him feel like you do? With a searing green flare, you remember that no one has come close to him. How awfully one-sided would that be if he found someone that completed him.

A veiny hand grips the side of your neck before sliding to your head. “Fuck,” Yoongi grits out. “I… I can’t.” 

...What? 

No. No no no. 

Your heart begins its fast descent. Because if Yoongi doesn’t want this, you have to respect that. As much as you will scream into the night, you’re not gonna stop him if he gets up and leaves. 

Because you did. So why shouldn’t he get that same chance to destroy you? 

“I get it,” you hitch out, holding his strong wrist with shaky fingers. It’s only fair. This felt too good to be true anyway. “I know.” 

“It’s not that.” Yoongi slides his free hand on the wall, holding it at your shoulder. “I just… Fuck, if we do this, I can’t promise I’ll hold back.” 

Oh. Fuck that. 

You tug the warm silver around his neck. “Then don’t,” you urge to his grunt. “If this is all we get? I don’t fucking care.” 

“Even if I t—”

“Do it, Yoongi,” you plead with a gritted cry. “You can do anything to me, whatever it is just do it.” 

“Fuck.” 

All doubt flees from his eyes as your back gets smushed into the wall, your lips puffed and parting when he places hot, open mouthed kisses down your column. 

Hands keep their quest in gathering up your dress. And you make quick work of his belt before pulling, tugging, yanking it out of its holster. 

“The fuck,” he shoots out. “Who the fuck taught you that?”

Your eyes flicker to his as you grip the hem of his jeans. “You really wanna know?”

“No.” He switches up on a dime. “Don’t tell me.”

Your lips collide again before he rips his mouth down to attack your chest, nipping at a spot that has you flinching and hand sliding between your legs. When he runs a finger along your underwear, his eyes practically burn out as he growls, “You’re this fucking wet already?”

“I told you,” you gasp out. “I need you.” 

Your hand is yanked to the front of his jeans, and shock and emotion completely cover the expanse of your face feeling how unbelievably hard he is.

Unfazed, Yoongi continues kissing up to your shoulder, leaving hot saliva trails all over your skin and bunching your silk in his hands. “Seeing you in this? Lost my shit.”

“You're lying.”

“All fuckin' night."

“Liar.”

Liar, liar. A bold faced lie. You saw him talking to other people. You saw his anger piercing across the club. But you watch as his look levels, and your cheeks sizzle at the way he shifts his jaw, 

“I’d never lie to you.” 

Shit. Your heart bats eyelashes before you shove it out of frame. 

The organ in your chest is a walking liability, especially when it’s connected to your mouth. So there are many, many things you might reveal tonight in the throes of agony and passion. Things you will regret come morning waking to an empty bed. 

The best way to not say anything that could potentially do more harm than good? Keep your lips occupied. And that’s exactly what you intend to do. 

“We’ll see,” you grit out, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. When Yoongi lets you twist to shove him back against the wall, his eyes flare in dark need when he hisses, 

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” 

To show him how you’ve grown in the years you separated, to show him what he could’ve fucking had. 

To show him that you aren’t taking a single bit of this last, serendipitous night for granted. 

Kneeling slow, you slide your hands along his clothed chest, kissing his chains exactly how you used to and smearing lipstick all the way down his jersey.

“Fuck…”

Balancing on your heels, you wince at the tight bend in your knees, but you aren’t going down completely because your kneecaps aren’t what they used to be. Fuck that. You can do plenty in a low squat anyway, and he’s seen you look a hell of a lot more awkward many times. “Shit,” you still whisper. “You’re lucky I can’t wait to swallow you.”

A curse flings out of his mouth. “Get up, babe.”

Heart ringing at the name, you reject his order with a harsh, “Shut up.” 

You want this, and you know for a fact he does, too. When Yoongi tries to bend, you pull down his underwear, springing his cock free and almost salivating at the sight. 

Just like you remember. Everything about him is just how you remember, and yet his body has only gotten stronger and filled out in all the perfect places. Yoongi’s a man now. A real, grown man. 

If you both just met tonight, you know he would’ve asked for your name before anything else.

Cut the shit. You are not getting into that now, not when you have him with hands trembling against a wall before you take him in your palm. As soon as you touch, Yoongi expels a deep groan, kicking his head back and gripping the wall with a large hand.

What’s going on? You haven’t even done anything yet. Why does your chest constrict at how sensitive he is? This isn’t the time to relax, but you really can’t help but soften at his complete and utter unravelling. 

It’s almost as if nothing’s changed. 

Yoongi lowers his gaze, and you lock glistening eyes before you take him in your mouth, slow on the tip and swirling to get it coated and prepped just right. Your hand expertly glides along his solid, slick length, squeezing at the spot you know makes him fold. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasps out, hand hesitating to palm your head before balling in a fist against plaster. “Shit, babe..”

Again? Does he even realize what he’s saying? Is he trying to hurt you because if that’s his goal it’s fucking working. 

Anger, regret, painful nostalgia drives you forward, sinking his velvety ridges inside your throat and proving to him how much better you’ve gotten. With every plunge, you hollow your cheeks, already feeling the telltale searing at your eyes and spiraling up your throat. His endless stream of sounds and praise tumble down your skin, and you keep sucking mercilessly even when his hips buck and his eyes squeeze tight.

Releasing with a loud pop, you feel a huge strain on your soaked legs as you adjust, tilting your drenched chin to bury your face in his sack to lick and take it in.

“Baby..”

At this new, old nickname, you grip his cock tighter, swallowing him whole again just to hide your real tears behind the ones streaming from taking him in so deep. 

More. You give more, and more, and more. Time will take away everything else so what you can give is all you got.

Hands grip your head in desperation, and you let Yoongi push you onto his length until your airway is closed tight, nose and cheeks flush against the skin of his thighs. His scent is heady and just like you remember, if only slightly different due to the new musky cologne he’s probably sticking with nowadays. Not like you can focus on it too long because your airway is screaming to be freed again. 

Tears leak over your lashes as want slicks your cunt, and you hear syllables that could be words before you finally give his legs a telltale tap.

Oxygen floods your lungs as more tears stream from your eyes, lips sopping wet and saliva leaving your chin in strings. Gulping, you go right back to it, taking him in again and pumping his slick ridges quick.

“Get up,” he commands with a rasp so deep it rumbles your chest. “Get the fuck up.” 

You’re pulled upward so fast your legs cry at the bends, and you’re spun so quick the wall hits your shoulderblade and you cry out into a furious mouth. 

Pleasure and pain intertwine as you match his intensity, raking at his shoulders and clawing into his hair. With each kiss, he reaches deeper into your throat, and you know he can taste himself on your tongue with the way he claims it in waves.

For a moment, there’s no one else in the world. You aren’t in a dimly lit lounge in a club away from home. You’re right here in his bedroom, getting slung and dragged along his wall and knocking every one of his plaques and posters off-kilter. 

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know.”

Without further prompt, Yoongi wrenches at your dress to shove it up to your hip, burning a path along your leg with expert fingers. As you hook itover his smooth forearm, your lips part when his other hand slides between your thighs. 

You know your underwear is soaked all the way through. 

And now, so does he. “Goddamn.”

“I can’t take it anymore,” you gasp out. “Just—”

“Are you still on the—”

“Yes.”

Shifting the sodden material to the side, Yoongi wastes no time, angling himself to rub over your folds and moaning in tandem with you because holy fuck this already feels so—

“This fucking pussy,” Yoongi grits out, sliding in perfectly and so smoothly it’s like neither of you ever left each other's sides. Your high moan cuts into the cherry ceiling when he sounds like he’s just struck gold, “Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Yoongi, please—”

He’s talking absolute nonsense. Gonna be? How is that possible when you won’t see him again? 

All questions vaporize when Yoongi’s hips snap up, launching you up the wall again, and again, and again. Pops of need and lust zoom straight to your head, sparkling out of your eyes when you feel his lips smothering your neck. 

You’re in heaven. You’re in hell. It feels so good it hurts. Caught in a flurry of need and anguish, your nails rake down his shoulders before scratching at his arms, shivering at his outright growl, 

“Don’t do that.”

“Oh, I—”

“Do that shit again and I’ll come.” 

Shit. You don’t understand how he could be so shameless. You’re trying your hardest to keep it together and here he is saying whatever the fuck he wants? If you let your mouth just as loose as he has there’s no telling what you’d be shouting out. 

But you settle for an apology for now, just in case you actually hurt him, “Sorry.. My nails are super long right now.”

“I noticed.” Another thrust launches you into the sky. “They look good but they hurt like hell.”

“Oh.. Sorry again.” A moan escapes when he shoves into you, mind hazy because he’s still placating you. 

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.” Devilish, he breaks into a slow smirk you haven’t seen in ages, and your ribcage folds inward and inward. “I’m just not fucking done with you yet.” 

Oh. He doesn’t want this to end, either. 

Now that changes every fucking cog in your brain. 

You keep yourself upright as long as you can, arms slung around his neck as you both move together, dip and lean together, breathe so hard it scorches your chest together. Every muscle in your planted leg burns, but it’s nothing compared to the stare you have connected to his eyes. With each deep thrust, his brows furrow and his teeth peek from his lips, and every groan you hear goes right into a chest for safe keeping. Right next to all the other memories you want to lock away.

Yoongi’s pace starts to quicken the more your mewls encourage him. What was sensuous is now unbearable and, as your dress threatens to shift, you know your breasts will be on full display soon, and Yoongi bites his lip with a grunt with his next hard thrusts.

Soon enough, you feel a chill on your nipples as they’re freed, moaning to the ceiling when Yoongi immediately heats one whole with his tongue. “Baby!”

Goddamn it. You weren’t supposed to address him like that, too. But maybe it’s better than saying his name because every time you do there’s a charge sparking the air. 

So you decide to switch, moaning the same word over and over as he licks and sucks, dragging his teeth along your exposed chest and littering it with heavy proof of his lips. Just like the lipstick on his jersey, you know he’s claimed his own marks on your skin. 

And neither of you will be able to hide them when you part.

Expelled tension flits about in light streaks as you move with him, slick with exertion and tight with muscles working in double time. You both know this is the last time and you’re acting like it. And you send a prayer to the heavens to let time stop just to keep holding him in your arms. 

Suddenly, your heel slips, and you yelp before strong arms keep you upright. “Shit, sorry.”

“I got you.”

Summer sunsets smother your vision as you let him guide you from the wall, gently placing your leg down and leading you to a sofa. Everything simmers to a lull, and you have a moment to catch your breath and steady your racing, racing heartbeat. 

When Yoongi sits on vibrant cushions, you admire the way his biceps fill those sleeves right as he tugs his jersey clean off. And you have to fight to not teeter over, continuing to stare in awe at him, so perfectly filled in some placed and chiseled in others that you start to wonder how you even left in the first place.

Of course you know why you did. So why bring it up now when you’re right here? Why agonize over the past when you’re standing right between his legs?  

“Baby.” 

You flick your gaze back up to his. 

“Stay with me.”

Tears zing up your eyes as you nod, heart plugging your throat as you mount his toned thighs. When you feebly place hands on his searing shoulders, you hate the way your words shake on the way out, “Stay in the now. I know.”

Yoongi’s eyes shine with a light in them you weren’t sure was there before. But you can’t wait long enough for confirmation because your heart is keeling over with ache. 

He remembers. He remembers. Does that mean he’s thought about you, too? 

Focus on something else. No time to think about the past, nor the future. No time to notice that the way Yoongi looks at you now is so heartbreakingly similar to how he worshipped you before. Back when things were perfectly imperfect. Back when you were sure he loved you before he proved to you that he didn’t. 

“Still so beautiful.”

Liquid fire fills your eyes as your breath hitches, guiding his length to your entrance before sinking onto him with no issue. When you both groan, you let your glittery vision watch the ceiling instead of him when you admit, 

“You look so fucking good in red.”

There’s no response as you breathe, angling yourself to feel him deep and moving in a slow push and pull along his legs. Your thin chain tightens as your neck strains above Yoongi’s head, and you wish you had the guts to look down at the ones around his neck. They’re already deadly resting on his clothes, but rocking against the flush of his skin is how you love them the most.

Still, you can’t bear to look. You know you’ll lose yourself in those eyes if you dare stare long enough. Because what you saw earlier looked too close to longing, which would be impossible because that only exists in yours. 

“And,” you whoosh out in tired breaths, gripping your fingers on him a little tighter, “Looks like you.. finally hit the gym.. like I kept fucking saying.” 

A puff of warm laughter hits your chest before sweaty hands grip your waist. “Always said I would.”

“But you never did,” you huff out, grinding on him harder and melting at his little sounds. One thing you will keep giving this man credit for: he isn’t ashamed to be just as vocal as you are. The more people you ended up meeting? The rarer and rarer you realized that bedroom quality was. 

“I did eventually,” he grits, holding you in place and surging into you so hard you yelp to the stars. “Didn’t I.”

“Fuck you,” you bite, moaning when your argument dies the moment his tongue swirls around a nipple again. What’s left comes out a garbled mess of a groan, and you hate, hate, hate the dark chuckle against your breast. Partly because he’s a constant problem, and partly because you yearn to see his smile again. 

“What else is new about you,” Yoongi suddenly rasps, hands lowering to rest on your hips as you ride him. “Aside from clearly getting better at this.”

Lost in lust and surprised at his question, you finally peer down to see him looking up already. “No thanks to you.”

And your world stills as he doesn’t respond right away, any hint of sunlight fading from his features. “No thanks to me,” he slowly agrees. 

Fuck. You didn’t mean to do that. 

Slowly slipping hands from his body, you rise from his length and mourn the disconnect before standing. When Yoongi only regards you with eyes on fire, you slowly turn and rest on his thighs. 

He’s not gonna like this. But he asked.

You turn your head before slowly sliding one side of your dress completely down, revealing a rough scar on your back a little lower than your shoulder.

And your soul immediately clenches when Yoongi heats your back with his body heat. “The fuck?” His fingers feel so light, so protective as they caress your mark. It’s confusing, and you abhor it as much as you need it. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you whisper. “Pretty hard.” 

Details of how and when it happened don’t matter. But he wanted to know what was new, and the scar on your heart isn’t exactly readily available to show. 

“I did, too.” 

What? At his voice over your shoulder, you strain your neck to see him. “When?”

Why is he kissing your scar? Exes don’t do that. Exes don’t do anything you’re doing right now. 

“Before you left.”

Now you feel worse. When the hell did that happen? Why didn’t you know about it? “Sorry,” you breathe out with sorrow. “I didn’t know.”

Another slow, calm graze of his mouth tightens your throat. Because he’s since moved across your back, lips now touching where your shoulderblade hit the wall. 

“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “I never told you.” 

He never told you many things.

Stepping into dangerous territory is making you regret showing him your worst moment. So you shift your ass to push over his cock, feeling it throb against you when you wisp out the worst reminder, “We don’t have much time.”

“Mm.”

When you feel his hands shift your dress, you lift up and allow you both to effortlessly situate you back where you wanna be. Your back hits his chest as he guides himself up into your folds, and your head kicks back to lie across his shoulder like the red silk flowing over your thigh. 

“Just like you said,” you start to whisper, eyes already welling with oncoming regret, “One last time.” Every syllable just as melancholic as the notes of your favorite song. 

When Yoongi starts, your heart weeps at the pace. Because it reminds you of better times, sensuous and intentional and convincing you to confess all over again. It takes everything not to speak, your moans escaping in weak puffs and your hips swelling in a calm wave. 

This is too much. This is way too fucking much and you finally break when his name leaves you like a prayer. “Harder,” you beg. “Please, please go—”

You’re cut off as soon as his hips jolt up, flinging you to life before going at a menacing pace. Yes yes yes this is the one you need. The one you crave. The one that leaves no room for feelings and decisions. Your dress threatens to slip off your sides with each pound, slowly rolling and accentuating your chest in seconds. “Shit, holy shit!”

“Fuck, you’re so tight—”

“So fucking big—”

As if knowing exactly what you want, your arms are held back, locked into place as you’re under the absolute mercy of his dick slamming up into you over and over, skin slapping obscene and thighs burning from the stretch across his lap. 

Yoongi knows you better than anyone else. A frustrated growl tears from your lips as you arch so far back you connect clouds, and a strong forearm wraps across your stomach to pin you so fucking close you may as well mold right into him. Passion streaks down your limbs as sweat beads along your skin, the heady scent of sex and forbidden fruit swirling into your nose. 

More. More more more he’s giving you everything. As your arms are freed, you can only grip the other forearm slinging over your upper chest, nails digging into creamy skin and leaving angry, cherry red lines.

Words, praise, everything under the sun is being spewed onto your slick shoulders as you mash your teeth and eyes tight. You even hear a word you’ve been wanting to hear for years, but that can’t possibly be true because there’s no way Yoongi would ever—

A hand closes around your throat, and your eyes fly back into your head.

You’re so close. Fucking hell, your thighs are singing and your throat is burning and your abdomen strains from the arch but you need this release. You need this tidal wave to consume you. If only to forget for a split second that Yoongi isn’t—

“—yours.”

What?

Another fierce round of thrusts almost topples the two of you over, and white hot pressure paints the edges of your eyes as you strain for breath. You’re so close. So fucking close it’s right within reach.

But it all vanishes in a snap as Yoongi stops, and you cry with a teary rasp, “No, please, baby—”

“Not yet.” He hauls you up, making you sit straight and facing away yet again. “You know what to do.” 

Fuck. There’s no way he remembers this, too. You flinch at the slap to your breast before shakily getting up, legs wobbly but positioning yourself on his cock perfectly before sliding down. 

Both heels planted on the ground, you brace his strong knees and work his slick length, eyes rolling at his breathy groans and curses leaving his mouth in spurts. 

You know exactly what to do to make him lose his goddamn mind. So you do it all, swirling and swerving your hips while flicking off your silk, showing him the best view of your ass as it bounces. Your legs tire, but you don’t, and you use the music leaking into the room to set your sickening, aggravating pace. 

“Fuck, baby..”

“You asked for it.”

“Don’t regret a goddamn thing.” 

You can tell he’s on the brink of madness, and you can only picture the way his head thumps back on the couch, mouth torn by his teeth and brows furrowed to hell. His muscles are probably contracting in waves, including the ones in his perfect, bulging arms. 

“You shouldn’t,” you hum. “Since this is all you get.” 

Without a word, hands reach out and tug you backward, and you’re up on your feet and tripping before your hands slap the firm cushions of the next chair over. “What the fu—”

To your absolute delight, Yoongi plants a foot on the chair before gripping the pliant dip of your hips, pushing tears from your eyes with each quick, deep thrust he rams forward. Stars dance along your vision as drool leaks endlessly from your mouth. “Baby—! Fuck!”

“This pussy’s so.. Fuck.” You’re shoved so far down that your moist cheek smushes into firm cushion. “Say my name.”

“Babe—”

“As much as I wanna hear that every fucking day”—Yoongi shoves into you again and keeps his cock thrumming inside your cunt—“Right now, I’m gonna hear my name. So say it.”

“Yoongi—”

His deep, gritted command makes you snap, “Louder.”

“Yoongi—!” 

You feel it. You’re at the brink again. With every snap of his skin pounding against yours, you’re inching closer and closer and closer to the edge, waiting for the fall that will end you. “Baby, I’m gonna—”

Firm arms haul you upward and you’re both travelling the room again, legs skittering until you hit back first into the nearest wall fuck that took your breath out.

Yoongi’s breath catches as he slams a hand against the plaster to steady, face burrowed in your neck and hair brushing harsh against your ear as he buries inside of you again. Fire spews from his mouth as you feel his cock squeeze up into your cunt, and his arm tenses tight behind your knee as he commands,

“Come for me, love.”

You don’t know what the fuck you just heard but you know he didn’t just say—

“I said come.”

Instinct. Pure, animalistic instinct surges your orgasm forward in a high crest, breaking onto shore in hot, white waves as you tremble around him. Your cunt squeezes and tugs, your poor leg threatening collapse as Yoongi roughly hums so deep against your chest. Pleasure, starlight, the warmth of an afternoon faraway heats your body just right, and one crash leads into the next so effortlessly that tears zip down your cheeks.

Your name rips from Yoongi’s throat. 

And it’s enough to send you right over the edge again.

How the fuck is this possible how the hell can someone break you with your own name how can Yoongi have this much of a hold on you when it’s been literal years? It doesn’t make any sense and the cries into his neck as he holds you close are akin to sobs. Maybe they are. Maybe they’re your way of mourning everything that could’ve been. Everything that will never be. 

But at least you were able to have him, shaking in your grasp and pulsing in your core. One more night. One last time. 

“Fuck it, come here.” 

Your sobs are yanked from the wall again, and you don’t know up from left as you're thrown onto a sofa, back curling as Yoongi tugs your head upright. Your tears slide down your neck, wetting your necklace as he breathes out, 

“Again.” 

Fuck! Your cunt tightens around him as you gasp out, “I can’t… I can’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Yoongi growls, clutching your chin and flinging hot spit onto your face that catapults you into another level of need you’ve never been to holy fuck. Smothering it against your cheeks, he taps you once and it brings destruction. “I said again.” 

All your limbs lock at the bends as you throw your head in a strained cry, a release that overpowers all the others flushing through your veins and igniting beams out of your sweaty chest. Wave upon wave crashes into your soul and your ears ring so loud you can barely hear or see Yoongi watching from above. You can’t. You’re too caught in chaos. You can’t see the way he looks at you. 

“Come for me, Yoongi,” you suddenly plead, “Let go.”

“Let me pull—”

“Do it now,” you hitch out. “Come inside.”

A prolonged moan leaves his mouth as he launches into a pace that has you screaming, teeth gritted to hell and fingers gripping you so hard you know they’re going to bruise. But who cares when your skin will match your heart? Who gives a fuck about anything else anymore?

Beautiful weight crushes your chest as Yoongi’s body turns erratic, jolting and seizing up. And you know he’s racing to his own cliff to dive and you’re gonna be right there to catch him. Slinging your arms around his drenched back and fisting the wet base of his hair, you’re already ready and waiting with harsh harsh breaths, because you're about to break him.

“That’s it, baby,” you whisper to his ear, ravaging his slick neck with your lips and scraping teeth over his ear just how he likes, hearts beating as one when you stop just to connect your forehead to his. With a singular, throaty gasp, you plead,

“One last time.”

Yoongi’s sudden release sends a pulse through the air, and your core beats and beats with each pump of essence he spews inside. Heaven and earth collide with stars as you hold tight, and your thighs shake as he finishes filling you with the longest orgasm you have ever, ever seen him endure. 

The float down doesn’t come quick, both of you softly suspended in time and air. Steam radiates from your skin and flows from your mouths with each breath, and beads of sweat slip down his jewelry as he stares with a deep vastness in his eyes. 

Why is he so quiet? 

Why are you so quiet? 

Why do you feel like crying again? 

With one more shaken breath, Yoongi swallows, chest heaving right after as he struggles to gather himself. His shoulders are so broad when he moves under your hands, closing his eyes as soon as your brows touch,

“I know it’s over.”

Your heart flares.

“But I need you to know.”

Stars light the night sky.

“I love you. And I always will.”

A sob breaks your silence, hand flying to cup your mouth before you hunch forward into his trembling chest. Days and days of pent up anger and sadness spill out all at once, and you weep into his chest because you can’t bear to let go. 

“I know you’ve moved on,” Yoongi continues with a shake to his words, not pausing at the way you choke and weep. “But I’ve regretted never saying it back then. And I’m not gonna get another chance.”

What the fuck is happening. What does he mean? What does he mean? Your body can’t stop as it locks and locks, sobs wracking your chest because this is fucked up and confusing and everything you’ve been wanting for the longest time. This is all you wanted. And you only get it at the very end. 

“I didn’t even say goodbye,” you shake out. When you lift your trembling head, his lips are already so achingly close to yours and his hand moves to steady your neck. “I left and never came back.”

When his eyes are the only ones that speak, you start to spill everything out, words tumbling into one another and pinging to the floors around your tired feet,

“I tried so hard to forget you. Tried so, so hard to stop loving you. Every day, I’d wake up wanting nothing to do with you, only to see you in my dreams and remember how it felt to—to—” 

Bright red flares across Yoongi’s eyes as he keeps listening, jaw pulsing and brows so tense. 

“At first, I was so angry. At you, at myself, at the world for letting me love you when you never loved me back. But now, I know what I did was wrong. And I regret it every day that I live.” 

When your face contorts in sorrow, Yoongi brings a hand up to wipe your cheek, thumb brushing away your tears. “I did, babe.” Your breath stops and your eyes splay wide. “Just never had the guts to say it first.” 

First. 

Yoongi loved you all the way back then? Before that starry night that’s kept your heart captive for so long? It pulses against your chest, ramming and ramming into your ribcage to get to his. 

Only one question barrels through your mind. “…Why?”

Yoongi looks from one eye to the next. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to.”

Everything clicks into place and you suddenly feel so, so upset. You are going to fight this man to the moon and back. Or, better yet, you’re gonna fight him to the moon and leave him there. “You think I thought that way?”

“No.” He sighs, chains shaking over your chest. “And I replay that night over, and over. Knowing that I’d do anything to go back and tell you how I felt.” 

Yoongi never lived in the past. He was always adamant about staying in the present. So knowing he’d been stuck there right next to you makes your chest collapse before slipping down into the deep sea. 

“When I saw you today? Every day I told myself I’d get over you didn’t matter. Every reason I told myself I couldn’t be with you was bullshit.” 

Your throat constricts again.

“But when you kept running.. I knew you were done with me for good.” Yoongi’s hand falls. “And there was nothing I could do to change your mind.”

“Yoongi…”

All this time, you both had your own reasons for avoiding each other. Everything you fed into your logical side was just a ploy to project your feelings, and it turns out Yoongi did the exact same thing. 

He said he wouldn’t be able to hold back if you did this tonight. And now, you’re blessed to know exactly what he meant. 

So you also let everything go. 

“I was never done with you,” you choke out, seeing a swath of emotion brush across his face. “Because I’m still in love with you, and I will be even if you walk out of here without me.”

Musk and heaven consumes you in a hug, and you cry into a bare shoulder as you hear Yoongi vow something so full of longing and conviction you hold him tighter, 

“I’m not going anywhere else without you.” 

Music continues to pulse outside, lasers continue to dance around the room. But you see nothing but the light in your lover's eyes. 

And it’s a beautiful, beautiful sunrise. 

—

—

When you both finally part, it’s only to let him get dressed and for you to use the nearest restroom. In the quiet wake of your emotional storm, Yoongi walks you to the window spanning the far wall of the lounge, and you both watch the club floors move and sway from above. And it’s only now that you feel shy. It’s only now that you feel nervous seeing everyone below. 

But a thought occurs to you that dashes all others away, 

“How did you know to come up here?” 

Yoongi gives you a look that you raise a brow at. “I…” He sighs. “Let’s just say I know my way around this place.”

Ah. Of course. “Come here often?”

“Not for the reasons you think.”

Your brows are fully bent now. “…Huh?”

“I own the building.” Hands busy, he adjusts his jersey as if he didn’t drop the biggest shock of the century on your toes. “And a couple others in the city.”

What. 

Pause pause pause hold the fucking phone. 

Yoongi lives in this city? He owns what? This is a little too much to take in, but you have time. And you’re gonna hound him for every single detail of his life that you’ve missed. 

You have time. Your prayer had been answered tenfold. And you send endless gratitude to the sky. 

But suddenly, a second realization pierces your mind and you lightly shove him. When Yoongi looks at you in shock, you yell out, “You asked what’s new and I showed you a scar! Now you tell me you own a fucking building?” 

Your lover laughs, and the sun rises even higher over your horizon. Ducking your next swipe, he’s already back to irritating you again as he clarifies, “I said more than one—”

“Oh, fuck you!” 

He rushes forward and gathers you in his arms, not caring if anyone sees your embrace in the window. “You wanna go again?” 

Your face heats as your eyes roll heavenward, exactly where you feel like you are in this moment. “I have a pretty big hotel room,” you divulge. “And no one to share that bedroom with unless someone else catches my eye tonight, so…”

Yoongi’s eyes crease as he kisses your forehead. “Fuck that. Take me home.” 

Your giggles into his chin bubble out in pink, poppable spheres. 

As magnificent and dreamlike all of this has been, you're starting to find logic again. Because more than one question badgers into your mind.

How long have you been gone? Have your friends not even checked on you? Did they try? Did they leave do they even still have the... table…

Wait.

Everything else clicks into place. 

The random city everyone flew to that Jeongguk picked. The infamous club and dress code you heard about from Taehyung. The table that Hoseok bragged about getting…

“...You're the one that got us VIP.” 

That stupid, annoying, ridiculous grin. Of course this is how you'd be reminded of how much you love to hate it.

“Now come dance with me,” he says with teeth still flashing wide. “Let’s see if you ever got that step.” 

Eyes sparkling, you let him lead you down and onto the dance floor, moving through until you’re suddenly next to your friends that shout and holler at your arrival together. 

“All of you are crazy!” You yell out, tears in your smile as they burst into laughter. “Why didn’t you just tell me!”

Yoongi grabs hold of you before chuckling into your ear. “I told them not to.” 

“Why?”

“Didn’t know if you were really done.” He grips you tight, face falling into seriousness. “But I heard you broke up with someone a month ago. This was my only chance and I took it.” 

Holy fucking shit.

“Thank you.” You kiss his cheek with purpose. “I love you.”

Yoongi’s cheeks rise high, dimples prominent and eyes carrying the light of the universe. Lips close, he responds how he wanted to the first time.

And you seal your devotion with a kiss full of starlight. 

“Ugh, here we go.”

“Already at it again, huh.”

"Figures. Didn't you see his jersey?"

“Get another room—!”

Suddenly, the same song that used to haunt you comes on once more, but this time, you welcome it with a swell of freedom in your chest. The waves of your mind calm, washing onto an empty beach and fading into a mesmerizing valley of blue.

Yoongi grins as he holds your hand, and you can't help but stretch your mouth wide as you both immerse into the crowd, moving and spinning and stepping perfectly together on every beat. Laughter and joy fills the space between your hearts as you all cheer, sharing this infinite moment together as fate intended.  

In a beautiful, unforgettable dance. 

-

-

fin :)

-

hi lovelies what did we think !! | main masterlist

a/n: so don't ask how i managed to write all of this in a single day (now two) lol i think this madrid yoongi broke me. anyways, here's the sidequest that became the main quest for a bit! i'm back to writing three tangerines so 3tan13 will be finished here real soon :D thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoyed this irresistible ex turned lover yoongiiiii :DD did i cry? yes. can you prove it? no!!!!

a/n 2: as always, reblogs and comments and asks are always super appreciated! i love sharing things with you guys and a big part of that is getting to hear what you all liked and what you're excited about. happy to chat, and thank you for reading!

++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here!

Now, don't get me wrong, you would've said the same thing to possibly any human on this planet asking, but in your head, you had a clear answer to the very same question. An answer you've considered one too many times than your conscience would care to admit, in fact. Maybe staying awake at night formulating that response wasn't such a good idea.... Yikes. But that answer, that would stay locked up inside the depths of your mind.

And yet, fate finds you on yet another one of these nights. While your husband sleeps soundlessly next to you in bed, blissfully wrapped in sleep, unaware your mind is going at the speed of a freight train. You turn to face him, he's still asleep, exhausted from work, laying on his back, and you smile, more to yourself, more at the growing wetness between your thighs.

You know how hard he gets when he sleeps, a fact, you have exploited one too many times. So, indeed, you carefully pull down the duvet you two were sharing, and a smile spreads across your lips. Ahh. There he is, standing up tall and proud. His bulge straining against his sweatpants.

Cute, you think to yourself. It was endearing, really. Any husband would’ve been happy enough to have a wife like you, who had the sex drive of an absolute animal. You were crazy, but can you blame a girl? A man like Park Jongseong? You’d be almost crazy to not let him fuck you senseless!

You closed the very little gap between you both, and straddled his lap, his breath hitching slightly as your weight settled over him, but nothing drastic enough to wake him up. Slowly, with the precision of a tiger stalking its prey, you moved your panties aside with two fingers.

Now, at this point of time, your brain had set its focus on the goal, the goal in question was Jay’s dick. Your mom taught you to never give up your dreams. So you hooked two fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants, and tugged, hovering over him with enough distance so his sweatpants could slide down comfortably.

He was wearing boxers, so his cock sprung out, thick and flushed at the tip. And you practically drooled at the sight. Gosh, y/n! Be a lady! Well, screw that! You threw your head back and relished a moan as your hand guided his tip to your entrance, lathering up in the slick gathered there. You moved your hips back and forth as his cock twitched weakly in your hand. And with one swift motion, you sank down on him. Eyes fluttering shut with a sharp gasp. His cock stretched you out perfectly, your walls hugging his shaft as the veins pressed insistently against them. You leaned down, slowly rolling your hips as you pressed tiny kisses to his collarbones. Tongue darting out to play with the chain resting on his neck. The metal felt cool against your tongue, but his cock inside you twitched, his skin on yours burned. The contrast made you crazy. 

Jay awoke with a startled gasp, sputtering as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, blinking a few times to get the cloudiness of sleep to go away. His eyes darkened as he realised what you were doing. When his eyes fluttered open fully, that familiar dark haze of lust clouding them the second he registered the tight, wet heat wrapped around his cock. His hands instinctively shot to your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as a low, sleepy groan rumbled from his chest. 

"Mmmh, fuck, baby..." he panted, voice still rough with sleep, but already thickening with that deep timbre you loved. He didn't push you off. Of course he didn't. Instead, he rolled his hips up to meet your slow, grinding movements, thrusting just enough to bury himself deeper inside you with every roll of your hips. The perfect sync made your walls clench around him harder, drawing a sharp hiss from between his teeth.

You moaned softly, leaning down to press your lips to his neck, sucking a mark right below his jaw as your hips kept circling. "Sorry, baby... can't help it," you whispered breathlessly against his skin, tongue tracing the chain again before you bit down gently. "You're just so fucking sexy lying there like that."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into your core. One of his hands slid up under your shirt, his shirt, really, to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple before he gave it a playful pinch that made you gasp and grind down harder. "Mhmm, baby, again? This is the third time this week you've woken me up like this?" His other hand guided your hips, helping you bounce on him now, matching your rhythm with steady, deep thrusts that hit that spot inside you perfectly. "You really love me that bad, hmm? Can't even wait till morning?"

"Yes—ahh—yes, I do," you moaned, burying your face in his neck to leave another hickey, then another, marking him up like he was yours and yours alone. Your walls fluttered around his thick length as he thrust up again, stretching you so deliciously full. "You're too perfect, Jay... waking up to you like this, fuck, I get so wet just looking at you. How am I supposed to sleep when you're right here, all mine?"

Jay groaned louder, his grip tightening as he bucked up into you with more force, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting filling the quiet room. "Shit, you're insatiable tonight," he teased, voice husky and affectionate, a lazy smile tugging at his lips even as he panted. He pinched your other tit, rolling the nipple between his fingers while his hips snapped up to meet your desperate rolls. "My pretty little wife... sneaking onto my cock while I'm sleeping. You gonna ride me till I fill you up again?"

You whimpered at his words, clenching around him as you picked up the pace, slamming down to take every inch while your mouth worked frantically at his collarbones and throat. "Mmm—please, baby... want you so deep. Love feeling you like this." Another hickey bloomed under your lips, and you rocked your hips in tight little circles, grinding your clit against him with every thrust he gave you in return. "Can't get enough of my husband, who fucks me so good."

He laughed breathlessly, the sound turning into a moan as he sat up a little, wrapping one arm around your waist to pull you flush against his chest. His lips found your ear, nipping at it while he continued thrusting up into your soaked heat. "Then take it, baby. Use me all you want. Let everyone know how crazy my wife is for me." His free hand slipped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing in firm circles that matched the pace of his hips. 

“You really are obsessed with me, fuck”

You cried out softly, your rhythm faltering for a second as pleasure spiked through you, but you kept going, rolling and bouncing on him with pure need, leaving wet kisses and fresh hickeys all over his neck and shoulders. "I am obsessed... you're mine, Jay."  

Jay smiled, he should’ve known from the day of your wedding, that you would spend all eternity obsessing over him. When you were supposed to share a kiss. Jay had pressed a loving peck to your lips, his eyes full of affection, but you had grabbed onto the lapels of his suit and pulled him down in a searing kiss, tongue breaking past his lips before he pulled away clearing his throat, his cheeks dusted in an adorable shade of pink while the guests hooted around you. 

He captured your lips in a messy, heated kiss, swallowing your moans as he thrust harder, the memory of your wedding day coming back to him in little sparks, the two of you moving together in that perfect harmony.

And yes. You really had the perfect answer to the age-old question all wives have had to suffer through in every generation. And maybe? You were the only wife who had an answer to it.

What do you love most about your husband? Many people would brace for something like, “He plays the guitar to me” “He cooks for me” “He sings to me” “He’s such a gentleman” And no, it was none of that, yes, he was all of those things. But if you were to really choose one.. 

The real answer was different. It was:

I love when we have sex, he just lets me climb over him, push my panties aside, and sink down on him in one go. He could be doing anything, could be in a meeting, could be watching the TV or…..

He could even be asleep. But he’d let me do it. 

(Masterlist)

“What do you think?” you ask him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

He turns his head left and right to look at his hair, nibbling on his bottom lip, as if gathering his thoughts before he gives you an answer.

“Damn, okay. When you said ‘braids,’ this isn’t what I thought you meant. I love it, noona,” he says, giving you that signature, eye-crinkling smile.

“Yeah?” you ask, exhaling a breath of relief at his approval.

Jimin nods excitedly. “Yeah.”

You release him from your work station then, cleaning up your hair tools now that your job is done.

During each outfit change of the concert, you check on Jimin’s hair, securing and restyling braids as they come loose, ensuring his hair stays as neat as possible.

He sits perfectly still, always the cooperative client, as you redo a single braid that’s now falling into his face.

“Pretty hyped tonight, huh?” you ask with a soft laugh.

He starts to nod, his head tipping forward, causing him to let out a quiet hiss as he accidentally tugs at the braid in your hand, a sharp sting coursing through his scalp.

“Sorry–”

“Shit–”

You both speak at the same time, your hand instinctively releasing the braid.

“You okay?” you ask him then.

Jimin can’t help but chuckle then.

“All good, noona. Can you fix my hair now?”

You just smile, going back to redoing the braid you were working on.

There’s a minute of silence between you two, the chaos of backstage fading as everyone starts to take their places to go back on stage for the last part of the concert.

“I am hyped tonight,” Jimin says then, answering your question that was so rudely interrupted by you pulling his hair, “I’m really feeling myself tonight.”

You smile at him in the mirror as you finish fixing his hair.

“Good. See you after,” you say with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders, stepping back to let him go.

Jimin stands from your chair, glancing around before he leans in, his breath ghosting your ear.

“I’d rather be feeling you, though,” he murmurs, and he turns to go back on stage without so much as another glance your way.

-

The absolute whirlwind that is backstage post-concert is nothing you aren’t used to. Even as a hair stylist, you, and everyone else, are expected to help with the cleanup to make sure the dressing and styling rooms are left impeccably clean. That is BTS’ reputation, after all: the perfect guests at every stadium or venue they perform at, leaving nothing dirty or disorganized when they leave for the night. It’s something the whole staff has always prided themselves on, ensuring the group maintains their perfect image, ever the respectable idols.

As you pack your things and head toward the staff buses with everyone else, Jimin falls into step beside you at the back of the group.

“Come celebrate with me,” he murmurs quietly.

You glance at him, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Celebrate what?” you ask him.

He shrugs.

“Told you. I’m really feeling myself tonight. Come have a drink with me.”

Your voice lowers, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation.

“Jimin.. you sure that’s a good idea?”

He shrugs again, his hands in his jeans pocket.

“No one has to find out, noona. C’mon, it’s just me. I’ll have some champagne delivered to my room and we can hang there. No pressure.”

You can’t help but sigh slightly then.

“Yeah– okay. But if anyone finds out…”

Jimin holds out his pinky finger then, automatically moving to intertwine his finger with yours.

“They won’t. It’s perfectly safe.”

He falls out of step with you then, disappearing down the long hallway to your right, catching up with the other members while you continue walking toward the staff buses.

-

Back at the hotel, you change out of your staff clothes, then rummage through the casual clothes you brought with you for this leg of the tour. You aren’t sure if Jimin’s actually going to follow through with inviting you to hang out, and you really don’t know how casual to dress if he does.

Your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Jimin: room 3903.

That’s it? you think, expecting more in his message than just telling you where to go.

Jimin: i’m in sweats. don’t worry about how to dress, noona.

Typical, you think, always knows.

You pull on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, an oversized hoodie over it, and slip on your sneakers. Grabbing your phone and room key, you slip out of your room and move quickly down the hall.

The members and staff have this entire floor booked, the tour having so many people working to keep it flowing flawlessly that you always take up a whole floor in every city you go to. You really hope no one leaves their room while you’re out here, because you don’t have a clue what your excuse would be at this point.

Your eyes track each room as you pass, wandering down the hall until you reach Jimin’s room. Your knuckles tap softly on the door, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait.

“Get inside before someone sees you,” Jimin says with a chuckle as the door opens, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugs you into his room.

Inside his room, you can’t help but glance around and let out a small laugh as you take in his massive suite compared to your standard room.

“Damn. Really feeling that tax bracket difference,” you say then.

Jimin rolls his eyes, looking sassy as ever.

“Perks of working our asses off for fifteen years. They gotta keep us happy,” he says sarcastically.

He makes his way over to the kitchen area, popping open a bottle of champagne that probably costs more than your monthly salary, and pours two glasses.

“None of the others wanted to drink with you tonight?” you ask curiously as he hands you a glass.

He shrugs. He seems to be doing that a lot tonight.

“I didn’t ask.”

He sips his champagne, hand waving in front of you to encourage you to do the same.

You take a sip too, the sweet, bubbly taste exploding on your tongue.

That’s when you notice something interesting.

“You didn’t take the braids out,” you point out.

His eyes sparkle with his smile as he walks back toward the sitting area.

“They look good. Made me feel good,” he says, plopping down on the couch.

You follow him, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

“The fans seemed to love them, too,” you say with a soft chuckle.

Jimin looks at you then, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Did you?” he asks.

“Hm?”

He sips his champagne again, throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Did you love the braids, noona?” he clarifies.

It’s your turn to shrug then.

“They look good on you. I wouldn’t have done them if I didn’t think they would,” you say.

Jimin shifts on the couch, closing some of the distance between you two. He brings his left leg up on the cushion, sitting more casually.

“You made me feel really confident tonight,” he continues, his Busan satoori coming out a bit with his casual demeanor.

You can’t help but laugh softly.

“That’s what I’m here for. Making sure you feel confident enough to go on stage and be happy with how you look.”

You sip your champagne again before setting the glass down on the coffee table.

Jimin’s gaze follows your movement, his hand moving to set his own glass down.

He swallows, jaw working as he considers his next words.

“You’ve been doing my hair since debut,” he says then, “and you always make sure I’m happy with it before you let me go on stage.”

Your brow furrows in confusion.

“Well, yeah— of course I do. I might be the stylist, but it’s you that has to be okay with how you look.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Not all stylists feel that way. Some think it’s their vision, and the idol just has to live with it.”

Jimin shifts a little closer to you on the couch, leaving only a foot of space between you now.

“You actually care,” he continues, “you want to make me feel good.”

You rest your elbow on the back of the couch, turning to face him a bit more.

“I do,” you say simply.

That mischievous glint in Jimin’s eyes shines a little brighter now.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he rasps, his Busan satoori bleeding into every word now.

“Hm?” you ask, confused.

The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk then.

“You asked me to trust you earlier,” he says, “can you do the same for me now?”

Your body tenses slightly as Jimin closes the remaining distance between you two on the couch, his thigh pressing against yours now.

His arm snakes around your shoulders then, hand coming up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, making your head turn instinctively toward him.

“Jimin—,” you start then, meeting his gaze.

“Trust me, noona,” he breathes, his face inching toward yours.

He nudges at your jaw then, his breath ghosting your neck as his nose trails slowly along your jawline.

“Can I?” he murmurs, the slight vibration of his voice hitting your neck, “can I make you feel good this time?”

You shiver slightly, the heat of his breath making your skin tingle.

“Jimin— is that a good idea?” you whisper.

He chuckles softly against your neck then, his lips brushing against your skin.

“You’re always so collected, noona. So put together, worried about everything,” he murmurs.

You laugh a bit nervously, unsure what to say.

“Can’t you stop worrying about if something’s a good idea, and just think about how good it would feel to let go?” he continues.

His lips press a barely-there kiss to the spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.

“Just trust me,” he repeats.

You pull back, looking at him. You definitely thought he was fucking with you, but the look of pure want in his eyes tells you how wrong you were.

“Okay—,” you say quietly then, “yeah. I trust you.”

You barely get the last word out before Jimin surges forward, claiming your mouth in a desperate, sensual kiss. His hand grips the side of your neck more firmly, holding you in place.

You kiss him back, lips following his lead as he deepens it. It’s all teeth, tongue, and heat, him licking into your mouth like he’s been dying to do it for longer than he’s let on.

Your hand moves to his stomach, fisting into his t-shirt as you keep him close. You feel his free hand wrap around your hip, his fingers gripping right at your waist.

“Taste like the champagne,” he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip, eliciting a soft catch of your breath.

His hand at your waist tugs you forward, putting you on his lap. He gently positions your thighs so you’re straddling him, his hand sliding to the small of your back then, pressing firmly to slide you closer so your chest presses to his.

“Don’t stop now,” he breathes, looking up at you, “I know you want this as badly as I do.”

Your free arm drapes onto the couch cushion behind him, fingers threading into the back of his hair as you claim his lips this time.

Jimin’s hips buck up against you slightly, a soft hiss following the movement as he kisses you.

The kiss gets more intense, your earlier hesitation fading into confidence. Your tongue meets his, sloppy and inhibited. You pull his lower lip between yours, sucking lightly.

“Ah— shit, noona. Please,” he breathes.

That makes you pause. “Please?” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just a bit to look at him.

He tugs at the hem of your hoodie then, his eyes half-lidded as he nods. “Yeah, please. Wanna see.”

You strip your hoodie and t-shirt off in one motion, tossing it on the floor haphazardly.

Jimin’s eyes darken slightly, taking in your black bra, the tops of your breasts spilling over the edge of the cups. His hand immediately slides up your back to the clasp, stilling there.

“Okay if I take this off?” he asks, eyes searching yours.

“How else are you gonna see?” you ask, a small smirk of your own crossing your lips now.

Jimin flicks his fingers quickly, deftly undoing the clasp and moving both hands to the straps at your shoulders, pulling them down to fully reveal your breasts to him.

A low groan leaves Jimin’s lips then, his hands sliding to your front and stopping at your ribs. His thumbs brush the underside of your breasts, eyes meeting yours again.

“Can I?” he asks, ever the king of consent.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and massaging them, his thumbs occasionally brushing or circling over the nipple. He shifts forward, his lips pressing to the hollow of your shoulder above your collarbone.

Jimin trails hot, wet kisses along the path of the bone, his tongue darting out to lick at your skin.

“Thirteen years,” he breathes against your collarbone, “thirteen years of being too fucking professional with you to ever want this.”

He sucks the skin lightly, leaving a tiny red mark that’ll fade by morning.

“But not tonight. Tonight— tonight you gave me the confidence to ask for what I want,” he finishes.

Your breath hitches, hips rolling against him as his lips reach the sensitive skin of your throat.

You tug at his t-shirt then, wanting him to be as bare as you.

“Lemme see you now,” you say quietly.

Jimin chuckles, his eyes glinting with that signature sparkle as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere on the floor.

“God— Jimin, what the fuck?” you ask, a soft scoff leaving your lips.

He gives you that cheeky smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shrugs.

“Been in the gym a lot with Yoongi-hyung and Jungkookie,” he says casually, as if there’s nothing impressive about his newly formed, nearly-washboard abs.

“I see this,” you say, rolling your eyes.

He takes one of your hands, dragging it down his chest and abdomen.

“Touch me too, noona,” he whispers then, “want you to want me, too.”

Your hips roll against him again, his words sending a jolt through you.

Jimin groans more audibly then, his hips bucking up to meet yours.

“Fuck,” he exhales, “don’t stop.”

You lean down and capture his lips again, one hand resting at his lower stomach, your thumb brushing along the sensitive skin there while your other hand holds the back of his neck.

He kisses you back, more sensual than before, his tongue dragging against yours as he lets out a soft moan into your mouth.

He squeezes your thigh gently, slowly working his way higher up your leg as he kisses you more. At the top of your thigh, his thumb brushes the inner part, and he breaks the kiss, keeping his mouth close against yours as he speaks.

“Can I touch you more?” he murmurs.

You nod against his lips, sliding your ass further up his lap, causing his thumb to press against your clothed core.

Jimin takes the hint, his thumb pressing firmly and rubbing circles over your clit through your leggings, making you gasp.

His soft, short laugh comes out against your lips.

“Pretty noise, noona. Can you make more for me?” he teases gently, his thumb circling a bit faster.

He moves quickly then, shifting his position, flipping you onto your back on the couch and kneeling between your thighs.

“Need these off,” he says, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings, waiting, as always, for your consent.

Instead of saying anything, you lift your hips. His hands pull at your leggings, dragging them and your panties down your thighs. He gently pulls one foot and then the other out of the material, tossing the rest of your clothes onto the floor.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, his hands resting on the outsides of your thighs as he leans down to press his lips against the inside of your knee, “gonna make you come for me.”

His lips follow a path up your inner thigh then, his mouth wet and hot against your skin, hands parting your thighs as he settles on his belly between them.

His kisses get sloppier, more urgent, more tongue, the higher up he goes, and your breaths come shallower, quicker, as your body responds to the anticipation.

“Jimin— what are you doing?” you whine softly.

He chuckles against your skin, nibbling it gently.

“Teasing. Or showing you what to expect when I get my tongue on your pussy,” he says, “you decide.”

A jolt of desire courses through you at his words. He notices, because, always so attentive with everyone, of course he does.

“You’re thinking about it, huh? About how good it’ll feel to have my tongue between your legs?” he teases.

You whine softly again.

“Fuck— yeah, I’m thinking about it,” you admit.

He chuckles again, his tongue dragging down your inner thigh until he stops, his face hovering just above your core.

“Stop thinking then.”

His eyes meet yours from between your legs, and his tongue drags a long, slow path from your entrance up to your clit, stopping there and tracing firm, target circles around the sensitive bud.

You can’t stop the moan falling from your lips, your hips squirming as his tongue continues its torturous circles.

“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” Jimin chuckles against your pussy, making you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds.

When he sees your hand covering your mouth, he licks faster, his tongue circling your clit, the pattern only broken when he dips lower, tasting your arousal before returning to that sensitive spot.

You moan into your hand again, pressing harder to make sure the sound doesn’t travel.

He buries his tongue deeper, alternating between fast and slow strokes, experimenting to learn what makes you moan and tremble the most.

You squirm more, his hand coming up to rest over your lower stomach to keep you still. His free hand trails up your thigh, two fingers pressing against your entrance before they slide inside you.

You gasp, the added stimulation only fueling your pleasure.

Jimin huffs a soft laugh against your pussy again, crooking his fingers upwards in search of your sweet spot.

His tongue works tirelessly, never slowing as his fingers work until they press against your g-spot.

You whimper into your palm, thighs shaking as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. You uncover your mouth briefly to whimper quietly.

“Jimin— fuck, there. So close.”

He speeds up his licks, tongue lapping at your clit in tandem with his fingers thrusting directly into your g-spot.

You feel your climax build rapidly, clamping your hand down over your mouth again just as the coil in your lower stomach snaps.

You moan out into your palm, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through you. Jimin doesn’t stop, simply slowing his movements to push you through your orgasm.

He only lets up when you wince quietly from oversensitivity, pulling his mouth off your pussy and slipping his fingers out of you gently. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices before wiping his mouth on his upper arm.

“Good?” he chuckles quietly, meeting your eyes.

Your breathing is still too unsteady to speak, so you just lift your hand to give him a thumbs up and a weak smile. He sits up then, never looking away from you.

His eyes sparkle as he smiles back at you, holding his hand out to help you sit up too.

“You’re cute when you’re fucked out like this,” he comments, making you glare at him. But there’s no heat in your gaze, your eyes dropping to the obvious erection tenting his sweatpants.

Your breathing finally settles enough to talk without pausing between words.

“Off,” you say simply, your hand pulling at the fabric of his pants.

Jimin looks at you one more time for confirmation before sliding his sweatpants and boxers off, settling back on the couch in the same spot you started.

Without hesitation, you climb back into his lap, straddling him. Your wetness brushes his cock as you settle, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.

“You’re sure?” he breathes, “because I really wanna fuck you.. but don’t feel like you owe me for what I just did.”

You roll your hips on his lap, grinding your still-dripping pussy against him in response.

“I’m sure,” you whisper, “wanna ride you.”

He groans, the sound low in his throat as you position yourself with his cock pressed to your tight hole.

“Then— fuck, then please, do it,” he murmurs, voice cracking slightly.