Jinpuddin

Your bedroom looks exactly the way you had left it six months ago — save for the layer of dust that had accumulated since your departure. The knick-knacks you hadn't bothered with in the midst of the July heat, lay scattered across your old dresser, desk and bookshelf. A couple of stacked books, a plant that your mother was surely watering, and the Walkman your father had gotten you a few years back. 

There was something so sickeningly nostalgic about standing in the center of the room you had grown up in. How one glance toward the green bedsheets with dotted flowers could make you feel like a kid all over again. 

The duffel bag slung over your shoulder sits heavier than it had upon your arrival at Mr. and Mrs. Jeon's house. Perhaps it was the cookies Ye-seo had stuffed in there before your departure, or maybe it was simply the weight of Jungkook's silence as he drove you to the train station this morning. 

You let it drop to the floor with a thud, leaving it behind as you approach the bed. Your knees buckle and then they hit the mattress, your body toppling forward as your face buries in the pillow that still holds memories of childhood. Your eyes flutter and you find comfort in the darkness behind closed lids. 

There's an uneven, soft lump, pressing against your ribs. Reaching a half-hearted hand under yourself, you frown when coming into contact with familiar, fuzzy leg. You pull the teddy out from beneath you, huffing out a short breath when its sun-bleached head lolls forward. 

Your dad had named him Tater, said that his yellow hue and lumpy stomach made him resemble that of a potato. You'd cried on the stuffed toy's behalf at first, at least until your mom managed to console both you and your teddy — whose feelings were naturally hurt. 

His floppy arms are easily manipulated under your fingers and you bend one of them into a small wave. "Hey there," you hum, and Tater claps enthusiastically. Leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, you take a moment to inhale the different scents that inhabit him. Like that of the funky-looking tapestry, paint being left out to dry, the bitter traces of your father's cigarettes and something sweet. 

Despite the delicious food you'd been eating at Mr. and Mrs. Jeon's house, there was still a gaping hole inside your stomach. Jungkook had been avoiding you ever since yesterday morning — when the movie ended and your interlocked pinkies became nothing but a sacred memory. 

You don't know what had changed, but something had. He wouldn't look at you during mealtime, engaging in conversation only when his father forced him to. Mrs. Jeon had worn a solemn expression almost all day but you couldn't quite figure out what had been the cause. 

Cassian was the only one who'd seemed just as clueless as you. Though he was at least able to enjoy himself. You think that perhaps it had to do with you — had your presence been unwanted after all? Had you said something out of line without even knowing it? 

There's a quiet knock to your bedroom door and it pulls you back from the edge of the cliff that had become your mind as of late. "Come in," you call, rolling onto your back as you stare up at the ceiling. 

You already know that it was your mom who had come. Dad never knocked, and he always found a way to step on all the creaks when crossing the wooden floorboards. Your mom is silent, almost eerily so, as she approaches you where you lay sprawled out on top of the covers. 

"I thought I'd give you some time to settle in," she says when taking a seat on the edge of your bed. The mattress dips under her weight and the sight of her like this, instantly transports you back to a time long ago. "Your dad is in the kitchen making lunch, as per my demand." 

The corner of your lip twitches as you nod, "Scrambled eggs?" 

Your mom sighs, "The only thing he knows how to make without setting something on fire." 

You both giggle at that. Your father's inability to cook was something that had led to many pizza nights — especially when your mother worked late and he was assigned with the task of dinner. 

"She won't find out if we're sneaky about it," he would say as you hurried down to the local pizzeria just a few blocks from your house. Of course, she did always catch on, though she said nothing when finding both you and your dad passed out on the couch with the unfinished box still on the coffee table. 

In the distance you could hear the tell-tale clinking and sizzling of a pan, signaling that your father was indeed trying his best to navigate the kitchen in his wife's absence. 

"I see you found Tater," your mom nods toward the plushie you still cradle in both hands, a fond look in her eyes, "I'm starting to think I should write him into my will." 

You scoff, "No. But I'm writing him into mine." 

The two of you share another laugh at that before a comfortable silence settles between you. Things like that were easy with your mom. She asked just the right amount of questions, left out the ones she knew you wouldn't want to answer. You study her through the corner of your eye, trying to force the sudden lump in your throat back down. 

You had deprived yourself of her comforting presence for six months now. The phone calls only did so much to pick up her soothing voice over the static — and now that you were here, on the same bed where she had lulled you to sleep so many times before — three days no longer felt like enough. 

"That's a beautiful necklace," she muses, clearly having noticed the way your eyes glossed over with unshed tears but knowing better than to address them. Instead, she tilts her chin in the direction of the golden heart that rests over your collarbone. 

Following her gaze, you crane your neck to see it better. "Oh," the exhale feels like it's been punched from your lungs and you reach a finger up to trace the pendant. "Yeah, it is," you hesitate before adding, "It was a gift." 

Your mother's expression flickers with surprise as she leans forward, inspecting the piece of jewelry closely. "Must have been from someone special then," she says, but there's no teasing lilt to her voice — just raw honesty. It makes your chest contract even harder. 

Yes. Jungkook was special. Your eyes find their way back to the golden heart, it shines softly under the sunlight that seeps through your window. Yet, the longer you regard the piece, the deeper the crease between your brows become. Were you special to him? 

You glance toward the sneakers by your door, the ones he'd gotten you, the ones you had worn with pride throughout all of Christmas day as you played with Cassian in the snow. Then back to the necklace, the one you had tucked under the collar of your shirt when Mrs. Jeon had come to close to asking, the one you only let yourself behold when no one else was around. 

The moment in the kitchen had felt romantic, as it always did when you and Jungkook were alone. But that was the thing wasn't it? The sneakers were fine — but the necklace too much to ever be given to you in front of his family. His gesture becomes tainted by the realization that it could not exist outside the bounds of your privacy. 

"Yes," you whisper when letting the necklace fall back against your skin, "Someone special." 

Special. But not special enough to be shown off in front of the people he loves most. 

There was this pre-established routine at the round table in your parents' tiny kitchen. The kind that couldn't be found in the Jeon estate where you had shared so many of your meals. No, this came from years of coexistence. Where you had learned that your mom liked her coffee steaming hot with only a dollop's worth of milk. Or that your dad had this peculiar habit of layering the salt on the back of his hand before sprinkling it over his food. 

It was a privilege, to know someone so intimately, to no longer need words when you communicate. Your parents do it all the time, a kiss on the cheek as your mother hands your father his mug, or him tucking a stray hair from her face when she brings her fork to her mouth. 

The two of them had met by chance, really. Three years worth of college, all in pretty much the same classes with neither of them paying the other any mind. Had it not been for that drunken night — spent at the same graduation party in 66' — you might have never came to be. 

A leap of faith is what your mother calls it. She would often remind you to thank your father for your life, for she had been ready to give the pregnancy up as soon as she found out. It was dad who convinced her to give him a shot and go out with him. 

So in a way, you suppose you watched your parents fall in love, all the way from the beginning. You were gap-tooth and a proud first grader when your father proposed. You were 4'11 in a sheer, pink dress on their wedding. You were a lousy teenager when you celebrated their fifth anniversary with a trip to Egypt. 

Nearly twenty-one years later and you were still watching them get hopelessly lost in each other's eyes. 

Your dad nudges the massive plate of scrambled eggs in your direction, "Figured you'd be hungry after the long journey, kiddo," he says between mouthfuls when you raise him a brow. 

"It's a two-hour train ride, honey," your mom sighs when snatching a slice of toasted bread for herself, to which the former grumbles under his breath as he shovels another forkful past his lips. 

You sip on your orange juice, fingers tapping against the rim of your glass as you gaze out across the rather crammed kitchen. The fridge was covered in magnets, most of them bought from various stores in the area, though some souvenirs from the trips you would splurge on every so seldom. 

Lunch consists of small talk for the most part. Details and funny stories about your parents' recent trip, and a bunch of apologies for not being able to bring you along — to which you simply shook your head. "I had a lot of school work anyway," you say when setting your glass down once more.

"Still, we really wanted to bring you along but the—"

Your dad is cut off by a sharp elbow to his ribs, delivered by your mom who hisses a 'quiet' under her breath. Confused, you sit up a little straighter. The two of them were not people to keep secrets, your twenty years by their side had taught you that much. 

But before you get the chance to question your father's odd behavior, your mother cuts in. "So, how has school been?" she leans forward in her seat, ignoring her husband who was rubbing his wounded side with a grimace. "Last we spoke you mentioned a big exam, how was it?"

Blinking a few times, you recall the late evening where you had anxiously informed your mother of the important examination. What you hadn't told her about, was the very hands-on lesson with Jungkook on your couch that had followed. The heat of the memory alone makes his aloof demeanor yesterday feel all the colder.

"It went good," you hum, the few remains of eggs and toast on your plate now forgotten about. 

Your dad finally recovers from his wife's brutal hit as he, too, joins in on the conversation. "Do you have anyone to practice with? Any classmates?" he asks as he reaches for his coffee mug, "Daehyun? He seemed like a nice guy." 

Nodding, you give him a small smile, "Yes, Dae is nice. We study together." 

"You should bring him around sometime," he then says as he peers down into his cup, "It'd be nice to put a face to the guy who—" 

"Dad," you silence him with a sharp flick of your tongue, already sensing which road he was headed down. "Me and Daehyun are friends." Your father had a habit of believing each and every man you interacted with to be a potential suitor — so it was better to shut the idea down as quickly as possible. 

"Besides," you then add with a tiny grin, "He likes boys." 

The brows on his forehead raise a little higher at that and your father hums to himself. "Yes," he murmurs against the rim of his cup as he brings it up for another sip, "I've heard that's a thing."

On his right, your mother sends him a glare that could cut steel and he clears his throat into his coffee, "Not that there's anything wrong with it of course!" 

Your mom rolls her eyes, wafting a hand in his direction like she was batting away a fly. Then she turns back to you, leaning across the table as much as it allowed. "You could still bring him over as a friend. I would love to meet him." 

Giving her a nonverbal agreement, you sink back in your chair slightly. The idea of introducing Daehyun to your parents wasn't something you'd toyed with before — but you figured that there would be no harm in doing so. 

"How about work, how's it looking for you over there in the big city?" Your dad asks when setting his mug down. 

While your parents had been supportive of the move and your willingness to chase your dreams, the financial aspect still worried them. You didn't want to burden them even further by asking for help, determined to make it on your own, even if it meant working yourself to the bone. 

"Well," you shrug, "I told you guys I quit at the restaurant, right?" They both hum and you draw in a long breath. "I make a lot more being a nanny for the children, besides, I've been entrusted with a lot more responsibilities." It wasn't a lie — it wasn't the truth either. Your relationship to Jungkook was complicated at best, and that was without taking yesterday into account. 

Your father seems content to hear that, "I see. And the kids, they're nice?" 

Nodding enthusiastically, you say, "They're lovely, I would love for you to meet them someday." The thought of possibly introducing the children to your parents had never actually crossed your mind. But the more you try to picture the four of them together, the faster your heart beats. 

At least until Jungkook finds his way into the frame. You can see him so clearly. In his dress pants and button ups. With his hair styled to perfection and a face of stoicism. You imagine him next to your mom and dad. What would they think of him? What would he think of them? 

"Their father raises them on his own, yes?" Your mom suddenly asks, ripping you from your momentary train of thought. Her expression doesn't falter when you tell her yes, but her brows do furrow, if only slightly. "He's alright? Treats you well I hope?" 

You hum, "More than well." 

Her and your dad share a lingering glance that makes you sigh. "He's a nice man," you tell them with certainty — refusing to let the mark of Christmas Day show as you send them a faint smile. 

The tension in your mom's shoulders ease up as she sits back in her chair. "I'm sure he is," she hesitates, "It's just— I want you to be safe. The world is full of dangerous people and I simply want my daughter to be alright." 

"Well Jungkook is not like that." You're unable to hide the defensiveness as it creeps into your voice — you're sure they both pick up on it. "There's nothing to worry about," you add after heaving another breath. 

It's quiet for a while where neither of your parents make an attempt to say something. You deemed lunch to be over and rather than waiting for them to get a move on, you instead start collecting the unfinished plates of food — feeling your mother's eyes on you as you do. 

It's your dad who takes it upon himself to break the silence. "Alright then," he leans back in his seat, slapping both hands onto the round table, the way he always would when he had something to announce. 

You pause, just enough to raise him a brow, but he doesn't seem to take note of it as he instead says: "Why don't we head to the garage?" Next to him, your mom mouths something under her breath but her husband simply shakes his head as he gives her shoulder a pat. 

"The garage?" you finally bring yourself to ask, hovering just short of grabbing his plate to stack it onto the others, "What for?" 

To that he simply grins, "For your Christmas present of course."

"Is all of this really necessary?" 

With your mother's hands resting over your eyes it was impossible to make out anything at all as they guide you down the hall. "I'm not a kid anymore," you remind them, but your parents are too busy biting back fits of giggles that had you wondering if perhaps you should be asking them that question instead. 

"Careful now," your dad says when pushing a door open, "Lift your feet." 

Doing as you're told, you step over the threshold without much difficulty. The garage is a lot colder than the rest of the house, the familiar smell that had always been a secret like of yours, infiltrating your senses immediately. "Can I open them yet?" The extreme measures they were going to actually excited you, though you wouldn't give either of them the satisfaction of knowing that. 

"Just a second!" comes your father's voice from somewhere in the distance. You can hear him knocking a few supplies over, the action followed by a few muttered curses as your mother's fingers flex across your face. 

He returns to your side a moment later, breath fanning across your shoulder. "Okay," he exhales, "Show her, honey." 

The bright light is the first thing that hits you as your mom's hands fall away from your eyes. You squint, blinking rapidly as you adjust to your new surroundings. At first nothing sticks out. The old cans of paint, their unopened lids a tribute to your dad's abandoned idea of sprucing up the house. The packages of soil that your mom used to fill the flower beds in the front yard with. 

But then your gaze lands on the car — not the old truck that had taken you everywhere as a child — no, an actual car. With a steel-grey surface, new tires and clear, polished windows. "What is—" you trail off, your attention lingering by the red bow that was tied to the windshield-wipers. 

"Your father and I thought you could use something to get back and forth from school a little easier," your mom explains with a shy smile, "We know it's a hassle for your to commute everyday." 

Too stunned to even form proper sentences, you stare at the vehicle in awe. This was yours? The model is certainly an upgrade from the old, green pick-up that had been in your family for as long as you could remember, and it had undoubtedly stretched their budget to its limits. "When did you…?" 

"Had to pick it up three hours away," your father shrugs, "But it was worth the drive." 

You pause, the pieces slowly clicking into place. "The trip… But I thought you were going on a Christmas vacation?" A twinge of guilt sparks through your chest at the thought of them sacrificing the holidays for this and your throat thickens when you meet your mom's eyes. 

"We still went on the trip," she says, "With an additional detour of course." After a pause she adds, "Merry Christmas—" 

The words have barely left her lips as you come crashing into her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Thank you," you whisper against her shoulder, unable to express your gratitude any better than this. 

Your father's hand is warm and gentle on your back as he joins in on the hug. "I take it as a success then?" he says, and you can practically hear his grin. All you can do is fight back the tears steadily building as you swallow down a pathetic sob, nodding weakly as you turn to let his arms envelop you. 

When you pull back enough to wipe the corner of your eye, you glance toward the car once more. "How did you afford this?" you ask, already frowning as you tried to count the costs for yourself, estimating staggering amounts and multiple zeroes that made you feel faint. 

"We've been saving up," your mom says. 

"Ever since you first left," you dad adds with a proud tilt of his head. 

"And I've been picking up a few extra shifts at the store," she hums. 

Your gaze jumps between them both, bottom lip already trembling again despite your attempts to calm yourself down just moments ago. "You really didn't have to," you murmur, "I mean— I'm fine taking the bus. You should be spending your money on yourself, not me!" 

But your father is already shoving the keys into your palm, closing your fist around them before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Only the best for our girl," he gestures toward the car, "Come on, won't you give it a spin?" 

You hesitate for a second, peering over at the vehicle that was now proudly yours. Then you smile, "Yeah, I want to try it." Giving your parents one quick peck on their cheeks, you let them pull you back into their arms a second time. "I love you," the confession is muffled against the press of bodies, though you know they heard it. 

Leaving home a second time was almost harder than the first. You thought that by now you would have it easier saying goodbye to your parents but the brief three-day stay had made you realize just how much you truly missed them. The hugs and whispered endearments go on for far longer than they should — making your departure all the more painful. 

After a long thirty minutes where the three of you all shed a couple of tears — something your dad would never admit to — you pull out of the driveway. 

The journey back would take you less than two hours but it was still enough time for you to sit alone with your thoughts for the first time since Christmas Day. And as your parent's house disappears in the rear view mirror, your mother and father's waving figures growing smaller and smaller until you could no longer see them, your mind finds its way back to what awaits you when returning to your apartment. 

You and Jungkook hadn't been in touch since he'd dropped you off at the station that morning. The air had been crisp, the last snow settling over the ground, a few flakes falling into his hair as he got out of the car to walk you to the platform. A silly and stupid part of you had hoped he would kiss you, seize the rare moment of privacy after spending two days in his parents house and make good on his words from that night in the kitchen. 

But Jungkook had simply nodded a quiet farewell when your train arrived. And he'd taken his leave before you even rolled out of the station. 

Your fingers drum anxiously against the wheel as you drive down the lonesome road. It cuts through the forest, with tall pines crowding you both left and right. You still had a good couple of hours on your side before nightfall, making you relax as you ease up on the gas. No broadcast channel reached the car's radio out here and you were left to fill the silence on your own. 

Jungkook inhabits most, if not all, of your thoughts. You replay Christmas Day over and over in your head. The soft caress of his pinky against yours as you sat on the couch, a stark difference to the cold shoulder he gave you during the rest of your stay. 

Brushing pasting you on the stairs when you were headed up and he down. Both Mr. and Mrs. Jeon avoiding any kind of conversation with him during breakfast and dinner. Excusing himself to his room every couple of hours for 'work purposes' despite the holiday. 

In the midst of it all you had tried to appear composed, like every subtle, non-verbal rejection didn't cut deeper than any blade. And by the time he dropped you off at the station, suppose you had felt some kind of relief at the three days of distance ahead of you. 

You groan, stealing a glance at the necklace you wear in one of the side mirrors. Returning meant facing where you left off last and you weren't sure how that was to be done. However, with only a few days to spare until the new year there was a good chance he wouldn't ring you in to watch the children at all, thus postponing your inevitable conversation a while longer. 

The idea comforts you enough to make the rest of your drive home.

Jungkook did not in fact, not wait, and his call came the very next day, giving you less than twenty-four hours to settle in back at your apartment after being away for almost an entire week. You were going through the pile of mail that had been shoved through the hatch in your door when the sound of your landline came tumbling down the hall. 

You hadn't meant for the letters to slip through your fingers but they had anyway, and on quiet feet you'd approached your desk — picking up the phone with a final exhale. 

The bruising static assaults your ears for a long moment. You should probably have said something by now, but words weren't coming. Once you've counted five long breaths does he finally speak: 

"Are you in the middle of something? 

His voice is too calm and for a second you almost forget how things had ended on Christmas Day — had it not been for the detached edge to it. You glance toward the abandoned mail by the front door, "No." 

Jungkook sighs, he did not usually take this long to get his point across. His silence unnerved you slightly. "I need to swing by the office," he says before adding, "Just for an hour or two." The unspoken requests sits between you for a moment. You knew that he would be okay with you making up an excuse about not having time, perhaps he even expects you to.

"I can stop by," but then again, things very came easy for you, "Give me twenty minuets." 

There's an exhale on the other end of the line, though you can't tell if he was relieved or simply acknowledging your agreement. "Alright," is all he says before the call cuts and your landline goes back to static. 

That was one of the shortest conversations the two of you had ever held. 

You had gotten well accustomed to the comforts of your new car by this point, making the ten minute drive to Jungkook's place feel like a breeze compared to the alternative of the bus. You distract yourself with music, humming along to whatever the local broadcast station was playing as your eyes gaze across the road. 

But even the pop songs soon became background noise and by the time you reached the large house and killed the engine, you had decided that you would try to talk to him about what had been on your mind for the past couple of days. 

"Can we talk—" 

"I think it's a good idea if you and me have a conversation—" 

Each line makes you shake your head. Sitting behind the wheel, you stare at the three-story estate through the windshield. Its white concrete walls felt less like a peace offering and more like an impending doom. Ridiculous really. The windows hold no movement, not even a flicker of a curtain, like it too, was waiting for something. 

To hell with it, you think as you swing the car door open and step out. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable, you would have to face him eventually. And so you make your way to the front door, up the three stone steps before ringing the bell, just like you had so many times before. 

Even with its bright, beige walls and glowing chandelier — the Jeon house fails to capture the warmth that had come so easy back at your parents'. It had been more than a week since you last set foot here, that was the longest you'd ever been parted from the high ceilings and soft carpets since first taking on the position — and in that time you had managed to forget just how hollow this place could feel. 

Jungkook didn't say much when he opened the door for you. He was already dressed for work. Gone were the soft sweaters he'd worn during the holidays, the smile you would catch him trying to hide or the way his eyes lingered on yours when no one else was looking. 

The man in front of you today is a shell of himself. Stripped down until only the firm line of his jaw and his furrowed brows remain. He takes your coat from you without a word, hanging it up alongside the children's with methodical care. You're wearing the shoes he got you but he doesn't glance at them once. 

"Will you be heading out soon?" you ask when slipping the sneakers off your feet. 

He nods, "Just need to get some paperwork from my study." He doesn't wait for you to say anything else, turning on his heel before you can even heave your next breath as he heads toward the stairs. 

It was then you noticed that neither Cassian nor Rayne had made an appearance. The silence which had always been a custom in this house now felt oppressive. You missed the youngest's laughter, even his sister's remarks and the sound of her flipping pages in whatever book she read. And in front of you, Jungkook has almost disappeared from view entirely. 

"Wait—!" you scramble after him, clutching at the banister as you dart up the stairs. He's already by the door to his home-office when you finally catch up to him, one of his hands curled around the knob that he'd been prepared to turn. 

He tilts his head over his shoulder, giving you a long glance that held none of the warmth he'd been reserving for you these past couple of weeks. 

"Do you have a minute?" your fingers are toying with one another, unable to keep still as you await his response. "I'd like to talk." 

Jungkook shakes his head. "I have to get to work," he jerks his chin toward the library, "The children are in there." The finality that laces his voice fills you with disappointment and you watch as he pushes the door to his study open to step inside. 

For a long moment you simply wait. Through the crack you can see him move about, collecting papers and stapling them together before he slides them into accompanying folders. Your gaze darts to where the kids wait for you — torn between duty and something far more complicated. 

In the end, the latter wins out and you storm after him as you shove the door open with more force than necessary. It hits the wall with a thud, not hard enough to rattle the paintings on them, and not hard enough to grab Jungkook's attention as he continues to sort through his files. 

"It won't take long," you're determined to see this through, to get to the bottom of whatever this was. But he doesn't acknowledge you, save for the sigh he lets out, a little louder than the last. You can feel your throat tighten at his blatant dismissal, and the words come gushing out before you can stop them: 

"Did I do something wrong?" 

He pauses at that, the folder currently in his hands bending slightly under the pressure he put onto it. Though you could only see half his face, the frown he wears and the tension to his jawline is unmistakable. "What?" he asks flatly. 

You want to scoff but all you manage is a huff, a strained noise that betrays just how easy it was for him to make you feel things out of your control. "I'm asking you if I did something wrong," you step forward, pushing your shoulders back and lifting your chin. 

Jungkook remains indifferent, his head shaking slowly as he reaches for the briefcase sitting on his desk, the one you had yet to notice. "No," he says, his tone never rising above its default octave, "You haven't." He sounds so sure of himself and it makes you desperately want to believe him. 

Only, you can't. Not when he wasn't even looking at you, much less talking to you. "Well it feels like I have," you shoot back, "So then what is it?" 

A muscle in his jaw ticks as he stuffs the organized folders into the case, sealing it shut with a rough jerk. "Nothing," he grits through clenched teeth, "You've done nothing wrong." 

You let out an exasperated breath, "Well there must be something." Gesturing vaguely to the space that still exists between the two of you, "You don't talk to me, you don't get close to me, hell, you won't even look at me."

The briefcase hits the desk loudly as Jungkook slams it down onto the mahogany wood. He exhales something that sounds almost like a hiss, as though he was holding off on saying things he shouldn't. 

"I need to get to the office," he echoes, "We can talk later." 

He grabs his things, ready to leave — only for you to stop him as you get in his way. "No," you say, halting him in his tracks. His chest nudges yours, a touch that would've send fireworks through your stomach on any other occasion, now it just makes you sick. "I want us to talk now." 

Jungkook's brows pull together, lips pressing into a firm line. The grip he has on his briefcase is white-knuckled, yet he says nothing for a long while. Then he exhales sharply through his nose, "You're being unreasonable." 

The way he says it, like a statement of disapproval, like you were just some kid who's silence he had a right to order. It infuriates you in a way Jungkook had never been able to before. 

"Me?" The accusation tastes bitter on your tongue, "I'm being unreasonable?" Had you been able to take another step forward you would have done so, but your bodies were practically pressed together by this point. "You haven't said three words to me since Christmas Day, and even then you avoided me all afternoon!" your hands are thrown in the air, gesturing wildly to nothing in particular. 

A headache is steadily building behind your eyes, whether it came from anger, exhaustion, desperation, you didn't know, all you know are the feelings in your chest that beg to be let out. "Then at the train station you didn't even—" the frantic flailing of your arms come to an abrupt stop and you swallow the last bits of your confession down. 

Jungkook pauses just as you do, his gaze heavy with an accusation that matches your own. "Didn't even what?" he asks and your heart draws back at the tone he used. 

For a while you debate on not saying anything at all. To mutter a 'forget it' and walk off to the children, pretending that everything was fine. You trap the inside of your cheek between your teeth, gnawing on it before letting go again. 

"You didn't even kiss me." 

There's a small crack in his structured exterior, a quick flash of surprise passing by his eyes, only for him to conceal it again. Jungkook blinks once, then shakes his head. "I thought it'd be better if I didn't," he says. 

"What…?" He doesn't respond, you knew he wouldn't. The roaring fire inside of you is put out as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over it. Better if he didn't? You let your gaze drop to the floor, to where your feet were but an inch from nudging his — yet Jungkook had never felt further away. 

Your next breath catches on your quivering bottom lip — you hadn't even noticed that you were close to crying — and you press them together as you struggle to swallow. "I just—" fingers tapping against your thigh, "I thought that there was more to us." You frown, almost tripping over your sentence. 

It feels devastating to say, to willingly confirm the theory you had been building on with dread. And perhaps it really was true. Perhaps you had let yourself get strung along, let yourself get lost somewhere between the lingering touches and the chaste kisses. 

Jungkook's face twists into a painful grimace as he forces himself to look away, leaving you to watch with a sinking heart as he chews on his next words. His brows twitch once before settling across his forehead. "I have never lied to you," he says. While his tone remains leveled, his jaw clench and unclench as he battles the vulnerability that followed the admission. 

"I don't understand…" If each second spent in his embrace had been real, each kiss and each gentle touch to your skin, then why hide? For weeks you'd been able to place your concerns with his children, delude yourself into thinking that the line between you existed solely because of Cassian and Rayne. But this sudden distance, it was different, and the tremor to his hand, still wrapped around the handle of his briefcase betrays him. 

Your frown returns tenfold as you regard him with scrutiny. "What are you so afraid of?" 

The simple question becomes his undoing as it unwinds the last fragile threads that keep him together. Jungkook's head whips in your direction, his eyes blazing hot when they zero in on you. "A lot of things!" He snaps, finally breaking free of his monotone confinement as he shouts the words in your face. 

Jungkook had never raised his voice at you. Never. And you found that you absolutely hated it. He must see it too, for he immediately takes a step back, the briefcase slipping from his grasp and landing on the floor with a thud. His chest rises and falls, quick and uneven as he tries to rein himself back in. 

A full minute passes without you daring to even open your mouth. He doesn't either, until finally, his chin drops in defeat. "I can't—" teeth trapping his bottom lip, he bites down hard enough to draw blood. When he speaks again, it's no longer a yell, it's something uncharacteristically small, his next confession slipping out soundlessly, "I can't give you what you want." 

You stare at him in silence, measuring the space between you as you glance toward the briefcase on the ground. "What?" You don't register the question until its left your lips, but Jungkook does. 

"It means I can't." He inhales, dragging a hand down his face before forcing it through the hair he'd styled before your arrival. His other one, covered in ink, points vaguely to you, never actually touching. "Whatever this is, it's not right to you." 

A tiny flame flickers inside of you, and you're quick to disagree. "You don't know that." Who was he to tell you what was right and what wasn't, who was he to decide for the both of you? 

Jungkook huffs, "Maybe not." His voice is filled with self-deprecation as he continues, "But I know that we can't keep playing house while I pretend that I'm not being extremely selfish." 

Is that what he thinks this is? That you were here doing charity work with both him and his children — that Cassian and Rayne were nothing but dolls which you moved around as you pleased? 

"Don't act like this wasn't my choice just as much as it was yours," you say, closing the distance between you again when taking another step forward. 

The intensity had yet to dull from his eyes, but he still made no move to back away when you force proximity onto him. He gives you a long once-over, gaze dragging over every inch of you, the way that would always make your skin prickle. Without missing a beat he bends down to pick up the discarded briefcase. 

"Then let me be selfish one last time and take that choice away from you." 

It's the last thing he says before brushing past you and before you can even register what's happening, the door to his study slams shut behind him — leaving you alone with the remnants of the fire you both started. And suddenly you thought yourself stupid for defending him so adamantly in front of your parents. 

You feel like an intruder when walking into the library where the children sit gathered around their usual table. Cassian looks up at your arrival, his face cracking into a beaming grin as he waves enthusiastically. "Nanny!" he calls out as he beckons you over. 

The smile you give him in return doesn't feel genuine and you berate yourself for it. Still, you try your hardest to act like your heart wasn't in complete shambles after your conversation with their father just moments ago. 

"Hi sweetie. What are you up to?" You sink down on the chair next to his, your arm coming to rest against the back of it as you lean closer to better see the drawing he was working on. The rainbow crayons you had gotten him for Christmas seemed to be well-used, and you study the depiction of a large fish with sharp teeth on the paper. 

"I'm painting," he says, pointing to the art work. 

"I see that. Is it a fish?" you ask when running your fingers through his hair, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. 

He shakes his head, "A shark." 

"Ah, of course." In your defense, the creature on the paper resembled very little of a shark, but you didn't tell him that, content to watch him draw a little while longer. 

Rayne sits opposite him, one of the books she had gotten from her grandfather opened in front of her as she reads. She gave a subtle nod as a means of saying hello, your eyes meeting for a brief second before she went back to the contents of her pages. 

You hadn't seen the kids since Christmas Day and while you had missed them both dearly — Jungkook had occupied most of your thoughts during your stay with your parents. Sitting with them now lessens the ache left by their father's words significantly. 

"Daddy said you went to see your parents," Cassian muses as he colors in the wonky-looking fin of his shark. 

Humming softly, you let your hand fall to the back of his chair again. "I did," the corner of your lip twitches, "They gave me a Christmas present." 

At that he stops drawing, glancing up at you with newfound curiosity. "What did you get?" he asks. 

You think back to the moment in the garage at home. Your dad's grand surprise and your mom's hard work. It wasn't often you found yourself thinking about them like this, suppose it had something to do with the rollercoaster of emotions that today had been. Meeting Cassian's gaze, you give him the first real smile you'd worn all day, "A car." 

"A car?!" The crayons are completely forgotten about as the young boy twists in his seat, eyes wide as saucers. "A real car?" he questions, and when you nod he practically leaps out of his seat. 

Rayne, too, had stopped reading and was now watching you with a look of mild surprise. Though she kept quiet as the library echoed with her brother's excitement. "Can I see it? I want to see it!" He's already on his feet, halfway across the room as he heads for the door. 

You get up after him, "Sure we can. I can even take you both for a drive somewhere if you'd like?" 

"But it's snowing," Rayne speaks up for the first time since you entered, her brows furrowed in concern. 

"I'm a decent driver," you tell her with a confident shrug, "You know that." 

She hesitates for a second, fingers picking at the corner of her page — but even she wasn't immune to Cassian's giddy laughter. The book is shut and she hops off her chair to join you both. "We'll see about that," she says with a huff, though does a poor job at hiding her small grin. 

The three of you head downstairs with Cassian in the lead as he dashes for the font door, eagerly pulling on his shoes, albeit clumsily. You kneel down to help him, easily falling back into the habit of tying his laces. 

"Can I sit in the front?" he asks as he watches you work. 

"You're too small for that," you tell him, having already anticipated the whine that followed. 

There was still a sense of peace that came whenever you were around the children. It was never intentional on their part, least of all Rayne who was still muttering to herself as she pulled on her coat, but without knowing, they brought joy to a day you would otherwise deem ruined. 

Once you're all geared up and ready to go, Cassian suddenly freezes. "Wait—" he says, bottom lip jutting out into a small frown, "I need to get Frank." That was what he'd ended up naming the stegosaurus plushie you had gotten him for Christmas, who now apparently counted as an important member of the family. 

He scurries down the hall, already headed up the stairs when Rayne sighs. "I'll go with him, he's not allowed to have his shoes on inside." You hadn't even noticed that she'd rid herself of her own footwear, standing in only her socks as she give you a quick nod — then she's gone after her little brother. 

You listen to the joint sounds of their footsteps on the second floor, Cassian's excited giggles as he rummages around for his beloved dinosaur. The car keys rest in your palm and you peer down at them with a fond smile. You don't know how you would be able to repay your parents' gesture, but you'd figure something out. 

A minute passes and you're just about to call out and ask how the kids were doing when the sudden knock to the front door pulls your attention away from the keys. Strange. Jungkook couldn't possibly have returned so soon, even if he did, he had no reason to knock. 

Two months you had spent in this house, and not once had there been a visitor besides yourself. Not even a second later, the knocking returns. Three sharp and impatient raps against the wood. Why not use the doorbell — unless they were anxious to alert the wrong person? 

Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you find the staircase empty, Cassian and Rayne were still nowhere to be seen. You approach the door cautiously, fist closing around your car keys, the metal was blunt enough to cause damage, should the person on the other side prove themselves a threat. 

The knocking returns after a beat's silence and you inhale a deep breath before twisting the lock and pushing the door open. 

You don't know who you had expected to see. A big, scary stranger with a mask on, a delivery man maybe, hell, even a clown who'd gotten the wrong address for a birthday party. 

What you find is none of that — but a woman. 

She looks to be in her early thirties, perhaps late twenties, though the dark circles under her eyes and deep frown she was wearing might've added on a couple of years. Her dark hair is a mess, tangled where it falls down her shoulders. She's not dressed for the weather, clad in only a thin fleece which had her wrapping her arms around her torso. 

To put it simply; she looked rough. 

Your grip loosens on the keys you had been clutching, your other hand holding onto the doorframe as you study her. What business could she possibly have here?

"Hi," you try to sound friendly as you greet her, "Can I help you?"

Her eyes find yours in an instant and for a second you could've sworn you saw Rayne in them. But that illusion is quickly broken as they dart around the front porch she stands on, skittish in the way they jump back and forth. "Yes," she says, her voice a low rasp, as though she hadn't used it in a while. 

When her gaze finally finds its way back to yours, her expression has fixed itself into something more composed. She parts her chapped lips, tongue darting out to swipe across the bottom one. 

"I'm here to see my children." 

── [ ✉️ ] Woah. Okay there, before you jump on me and say "Ugh. Ki I hate when they bring back the ex wife in fics like these." Let me stop you right there. Pause. Big deep breath in and out for me. Okay, good? I have a plan, not a concept of a plan but an actual solidified plan. So just trust me for this and sit tight for the upcoming chapters, I know what I'm doing. I won't fumble you ladies <3

Your bedroom looks exactly the way you had left it six months ago — save for the layer of dust that had accumulated since your departure. The knick-knacks you hadn't bothered with in the midst of the July heat, lay scattered across your old dresser, desk and bookshelf. A couple of stacked books, a plant that your mother was surely watering, and the Walkman your father had gotten you a few years back. 

There was something so sickeningly nostalgic about standing in the center of the room you had grown up in. How one glance toward the green bedsheets with dotted flowers could make you feel like a kid all over again. 

The duffel bag slung over your shoulder sits heavier than it had upon your arrival at Mr. and Mrs. Jeon's house. Perhaps it was the cookies Ye-seo had stuffed in there before your departure, or maybe it was simply the weight of Jungkook's silence as he drove you to the train station this morning. 

You let it drop to the floor with a thud, leaving it behind as you approach the bed. Your knees buckle and then they hit the mattress, your body toppling forward as your face buries in the pillow that still holds memories of childhood. Your eyes flutter and you find comfort in the darkness behind closed lids. 

There's an uneven, soft lump, pressing against your ribs. Reaching a half-hearted hand under yourself, you frown when coming into contact with familiar, fuzzy leg. You pull the teddy out from beneath you, huffing out a short breath when its sun-bleached head lolls forward. 

Your dad had named him Tater, said that his yellow hue and lumpy stomach made him resemble that of a potato. You'd cried on the stuffed toy's behalf at first, at least until your mom managed to console both you and your teddy — whose feelings were naturally hurt. 

His floppy arms are easily manipulated under your fingers and you bend one of them into a small wave. "Hey there," you hum, and Tater claps enthusiastically. Leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, you take a moment to inhale the different scents that inhabit him. Like that of the funky-looking tapestry, paint being left out to dry, the bitter traces of your father's cigarettes and something sweet. 

Despite the delicious food you'd been eating at Mr. and Mrs. Jeon's house, there was still a gaping hole inside your stomach. Jungkook had been avoiding you ever since yesterday morning — when the movie ended and your interlocked pinkies became nothing but a sacred memory. 

You don't know what had changed, but something had. He wouldn't look at you during mealtime, engaging in conversation only when his father forced him to. Mrs. Jeon had worn a solemn expression almost all day but you couldn't quite figure out what had been the cause. 

Cassian was the only one who'd seemed just as clueless as you. Though he was at least able to enjoy himself. You think that perhaps it had to do with you — had your presence been unwanted after all? Had you said something out of line without even knowing it? 

There's a quiet knock to your bedroom door and it pulls you back from the edge of the cliff that had become your mind as of late. "Come in," you call, rolling onto your back as you stare up at the ceiling. 

You already know that it was your mom who had come. Dad never knocked, and he always found a way to step on all the creaks when crossing the wooden floorboards. Your mom is silent, almost eerily so, as she approaches you where you lay sprawled out on top of the covers. 

"I thought I'd give you some time to settle in," she says when taking a seat on the edge of your bed. The mattress dips under her weight and the sight of her like this, instantly transports you back to a time long ago. "Your dad is in the kitchen making lunch, as per my demand." 

The corner of your lip twitches as you nod, "Scrambled eggs?" 

Your mom sighs, "The only thing he knows how to make without setting something on fire." 

You both giggle at that. Your father's inability to cook was something that had led to many pizza nights — especially when your mother worked late and he was assigned with the task of dinner. 

"She won't find out if we're sneaky about it," he would say as you hurried down to the local pizzeria just a few blocks from your house. Of course, she did always catch on, though she said nothing when finding both you and your dad passed out on the couch with the unfinished box still on the coffee table. 

In the distance you could hear the tell-tale clinking and sizzling of a pan, signaling that your father was indeed trying his best to navigate the kitchen in his wife's absence. 

"I see you found Tater," your mom nods toward the plushie you still cradle in both hands, a fond look in her eyes, "I'm starting to think I should write him into my will." 

You scoff, "No. But I'm writing him into mine." 

The two of you share another laugh at that before a comfortable silence settles between you. Things like that were easy with your mom. She asked just the right amount of questions, left out the ones she knew you wouldn't want to answer. You study her through the corner of your eye, trying to force the sudden lump in your throat back down. 

You had deprived yourself of her comforting presence for six months now. The phone calls only did so much to pick up her soothing voice over the static — and now that you were here, on the same bed where she had lulled you to sleep so many times before — three days no longer felt like enough. 

"That's a beautiful necklace," she muses, clearly having noticed the way your eyes glossed over with unshed tears but knowing better than to address them. Instead, she tilts her chin in the direction of the golden heart that rests over your collarbone. 

Following her gaze, you crane your neck to see it better. "Oh," the exhale feels like it's been punched from your lungs and you reach a finger up to trace the pendant. "Yeah, it is," you hesitate before adding, "It was a gift." 

Your mother's expression flickers with surprise as she leans forward, inspecting the piece of jewelry closely. "Must have been from someone special then," she says, but there's no teasing lilt to her voice — just raw honesty. It makes your chest contract even harder. 

Yes. Jungkook was special. Your eyes find their way back to the golden heart, it shines softly under the sunlight that seeps through your window. Yet, the longer you regard the piece, the deeper the crease between your brows become. Were you special to him? 

You glance toward the sneakers by your door, the ones he'd gotten you, the ones you had worn with pride throughout all of Christmas day as you played with Cassian in the snow. Then back to the necklace, the one you had tucked under the collar of your shirt when Mrs. Jeon had come to close to asking, the one you only let yourself behold when no one else was around. 

The moment in the kitchen had felt romantic, as it always did when you and Jungkook were alone. But that was the thing wasn't it? The sneakers were fine — but the necklace too much to ever be given to you in front of his family. His gesture becomes tainted by the realization that it could not exist outside the bounds of your privacy. 

"Yes," you whisper when letting the necklace fall back against your skin, "Someone special." 

Special. But not special enough to be shown off in front of the people he loves most. 

There was this pre-established routine at the round table in your parents' tiny kitchen. The kind that couldn't be found in the Jeon estate where you had shared so many of your meals. No, this came from years of coexistence. Where you had learned that your mom liked her coffee steaming hot with only a dollop's worth of milk. Or that your dad had this peculiar habit of layering the salt on the back of his hand before sprinkling it over his food. 

It was a privilege, to know someone so intimately, to no longer need words when you communicate. Your parents do it all the time, a kiss on the cheek as your mother hands your father his mug, or him tucking a stray hair from her face when she brings her fork to her mouth. 

The two of them had met by chance, really. Three years worth of college, all in pretty much the same classes with neither of them paying the other any mind. Had it not been for that drunken night — spent at the same graduation party in 66' — you might have never came to be. 

A leap of faith is what your mother calls it. She would often remind you to thank your father for your life, for she had been ready to give the pregnancy up as soon as she found out. It was dad who convinced her to give him a shot and go out with him. 

So in a way, you suppose you watched your parents fall in love, all the way from the beginning. You were gap-tooth and a proud first grader when your father proposed. You were 4'11 in a sheer, pink dress on their wedding. You were a lousy teenager when you celebrated their fifth anniversary with a trip to Egypt. 

Nearly twenty-one years later and you were still watching them get hopelessly lost in each other's eyes. 

Your dad nudges the massive plate of scrambled eggs in your direction, "Figured you'd be hungry after the long journey, kiddo," he says between mouthfuls when you raise him a brow. 

"It's a two-hour train ride, honey," your mom sighs when snatching a slice of toasted bread for herself, to which the former grumbles under his breath as he shovels another forkful past his lips. 

You sip on your orange juice, fingers tapping against the rim of your glass as you gaze out across the rather crammed kitchen. The fridge was covered in magnets, most of them bought from various stores in the area, though some souvenirs from the trips you would splurge on every so seldom. 

Lunch consists of small talk for the most part. Details and funny stories about your parents' recent trip, and a bunch of apologies for not being able to bring you along — to which you simply shook your head. "I had a lot of school work anyway," you say when setting your glass down once more.

"Still, we really wanted to bring you along but the—"

Your dad is cut off by a sharp elbow to his ribs, delivered by your mom who hisses a 'quiet' under her breath. Confused, you sit up a little straighter. The two of them were not people to keep secrets, your twenty years by their side had taught you that much. 

But before you get the chance to question your father's odd behavior, your mother cuts in. "So, how has school been?" she leans forward in her seat, ignoring her husband who was rubbing his wounded side with a grimace. "Last we spoke you mentioned a big exam, how was it?"

Blinking a few times, you recall the late evening where you had anxiously informed your mother of the important examination. What you hadn't told her about, was the very hands-on lesson with Jungkook on your couch that had followed. The heat of the memory alone makes his aloof demeanor yesterday feel all the colder.

"It went good," you hum, the few remains of eggs and toast on your plate now forgotten about. 

Your dad finally recovers from his wife's brutal hit as he, too, joins in on the conversation. "Do you have anyone to practice with? Any classmates?" he asks as he reaches for his coffee mug, "Daehyun? He seemed like a nice guy." 

Nodding, you give him a small smile, "Yes, Dae is nice. We study together." 

"You should bring him around sometime," he then says as he peers down into his cup, "It'd be nice to put a face to the guy who—" 

"Dad," you silence him with a sharp flick of your tongue, already sensing which road he was headed down. "Me and Daehyun are friends." Your father had a habit of believing each and every man you interacted with to be a potential suitor — so it was better to shut the idea down as quickly as possible. 

"Besides," you then add with a tiny grin, "He likes boys." 

The brows on his forehead raise a little higher at that and your father hums to himself. "Yes," he murmurs against the rim of his cup as he brings it up for another sip, "I've heard that's a thing."

On his right, your mother sends him a glare that could cut steel and he clears his throat into his coffee, "Not that there's anything wrong with it of course!" 

Your mom rolls her eyes, wafting a hand in his direction like she was batting away a fly. Then she turns back to you, leaning across the table as much as it allowed. "You could still bring him over as a friend. I would love to meet him." 

Giving her a nonverbal agreement, you sink back in your chair slightly. The idea of introducing Daehyun to your parents wasn't something you'd toyed with before — but you figured that there would be no harm in doing so. 

"How about work, how's it looking for you over there in the big city?" Your dad asks when setting his mug down. 

While your parents had been supportive of the move and your willingness to chase your dreams, the financial aspect still worried them. You didn't want to burden them even further by asking for help, determined to make it on your own, even if it meant working yourself to the bone. 

"Well," you shrug, "I told you guys I quit at the restaurant, right?" They both hum and you draw in a long breath. "I make a lot more being a nanny for the children, besides, I've been entrusted with a lot more responsibilities." It wasn't a lie — it wasn't the truth either. Your relationship to Jungkook was complicated at best, and that was without taking yesterday into account. 

Your father seems content to hear that, "I see. And the kids, they're nice?" 

Nodding enthusiastically, you say, "They're lovely, I would love for you to meet them someday." The thought of possibly introducing the children to your parents had never actually crossed your mind. But the more you try to picture the four of them together, the faster your heart beats. 

At least until Jungkook finds his way into the frame. You can see him so clearly. In his dress pants and button ups. With his hair styled to perfection and a face of stoicism. You imagine him next to your mom and dad. What would they think of him? What would he think of them? 

"Their father raises them on his own, yes?" Your mom suddenly asks, ripping you from your momentary train of thought. Her expression doesn't falter when you tell her yes, but her brows do furrow, if only slightly. "He's alright? Treats you well I hope?" 

You hum, "More than well." 

Her and your dad share a lingering glance that makes you sigh. "He's a nice man," you tell them with certainty — refusing to let the mark of Christmas Day show as you send them a faint smile. 

The tension in your mom's shoulders ease up as she sits back in her chair. "I'm sure he is," she hesitates, "It's just— I want you to be safe. The world is full of dangerous people and I simply want my daughter to be alright." 

"Well Jungkook is not like that." You're unable to hide the defensiveness as it creeps into your voice — you're sure they both pick up on it. "There's nothing to worry about," you add after heaving another breath. 

It's quiet for a while where neither of your parents make an attempt to say something. You deemed lunch to be over and rather than waiting for them to get a move on, you instead start collecting the unfinished plates of food — feeling your mother's eyes on you as you do. 

It's your dad who takes it upon himself to break the silence. "Alright then," he leans back in his seat, slapping both hands onto the round table, the way he always would when he had something to announce. 

You pause, just enough to raise him a brow, but he doesn't seem to take note of it as he instead says: "Why don't we head to the garage?" Next to him, your mom mouths something under her breath but her husband simply shakes his head as he gives her shoulder a pat. 

"The garage?" you finally bring yourself to ask, hovering just short of grabbing his plate to stack it onto the others, "What for?" 

To that he simply grins, "For your Christmas present of course."

"Is all of this really necessary?" 

With your mother's hands resting over your eyes it was impossible to make out anything at all as they guide you down the hall. "I'm not a kid anymore," you remind them, but your parents are too busy biting back fits of giggles that had you wondering if perhaps you should be asking them that question instead. 

"Careful now," your dad says when pushing a door open, "Lift your feet." 

Doing as you're told, you step over the threshold without much difficulty. The garage is a lot colder than the rest of the house, the familiar smell that had always been a secret like of yours, infiltrating your senses immediately. "Can I open them yet?" The extreme measures they were going to actually excited you, though you wouldn't give either of them the satisfaction of knowing that. 

"Just a second!" comes your father's voice from somewhere in the distance. You can hear him knocking a few supplies over, the action followed by a few muttered curses as your mother's fingers flex across your face. 

He returns to your side a moment later, breath fanning across your shoulder. "Okay," he exhales, "Show her, honey." 

The bright light is the first thing that hits you as your mom's hands fall away from your eyes. You squint, blinking rapidly as you adjust to your new surroundings. At first nothing sticks out. The old cans of paint, their unopened lids a tribute to your dad's abandoned idea of sprucing up the house. The packages of soil that your mom used to fill the flower beds in the front yard with. 

But then your gaze lands on the car — not the old truck that had taken you everywhere as a child — no, an actual car. With a steel-grey surface, new tires and clear, polished windows. "What is—" you trail off, your attention lingering by the red bow that was tied to the windshield-wipers. 

"Your father and I thought you could use something to get back and forth from school a little easier," your mom explains with a shy smile, "We know it's a hassle for your to commute everyday." 

Too stunned to even form proper sentences, you stare at the vehicle in awe. This was yours? The model is certainly an upgrade from the old, green pick-up that had been in your family for as long as you could remember, and it had undoubtedly stretched their budget to its limits. "When did you…?" 

"Had to pick it up three hours away," your father shrugs, "But it was worth the drive." 

You pause, the pieces slowly clicking into place. "The trip… But I thought you were going on a Christmas vacation?" A twinge of guilt sparks through your chest at the thought of them sacrificing the holidays for this and your throat thickens when you meet your mom's eyes. 

"We still went on the trip," she says, "With an additional detour of course." After a pause she adds, "Merry Christmas—" 

The words have barely left her lips as you come crashing into her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Thank you," you whisper against her shoulder, unable to express your gratitude any better than this. 

Your father's hand is warm and gentle on your back as he joins in on the hug. "I take it as a success then?" he says, and you can practically hear his grin. All you can do is fight back the tears steadily building as you swallow down a pathetic sob, nodding weakly as you turn to let his arms envelop you. 

When you pull back enough to wipe the corner of your eye, you glance toward the car once more. "How did you afford this?" you ask, already frowning as you tried to count the costs for yourself, estimating staggering amounts and multiple zeroes that made you feel faint. 

"We've been saving up," your mom says. 

"Ever since you first left," you dad adds with a proud tilt of his head. 

"And I've been picking up a few extra shifts at the store," she hums. 

Your gaze jumps between them both, bottom lip already trembling again despite your attempts to calm yourself down just moments ago. "You really didn't have to," you murmur, "I mean— I'm fine taking the bus. You should be spending your money on yourself, not me!" 

But your father is already shoving the keys into your palm, closing your fist around them before pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Only the best for our girl," he gestures toward the car, "Come on, won't you give it a spin?" 

You hesitate for a second, peering over at the vehicle that was now proudly yours. Then you smile, "Yeah, I want to try it." Giving your parents one quick peck on their cheeks, you let them pull you back into their arms a second time. "I love you," the confession is muffled against the press of bodies, though you know they heard it. 

Leaving home a second time was almost harder than the first. You thought that by now you would have it easier saying goodbye to your parents but the brief three-day stay had made you realize just how much you truly missed them. The hugs and whispered endearments go on for far longer than they should — making your departure all the more painful. 

After a long thirty minutes where the three of you all shed a couple of tears — something your dad would never admit to — you pull out of the driveway. 

The journey back would take you less than two hours but it was still enough time for you to sit alone with your thoughts for the first time since Christmas Day. And as your parent's house disappears in the rear view mirror, your mother and father's waving figures growing smaller and smaller until you could no longer see them, your mind finds its way back to what awaits you when returning to your apartment. 

You and Jungkook hadn't been in touch since he'd dropped you off at the station that morning. The air had been crisp, the last snow settling over the ground, a few flakes falling into his hair as he got out of the car to walk you to the platform. A silly and stupid part of you had hoped he would kiss you, seize the rare moment of privacy after spending two days in his parents house and make good on his words from that night in the kitchen. 

But Jungkook had simply nodded a quiet farewell when your train arrived. And he'd taken his leave before you even rolled out of the station. 

Your fingers drum anxiously against the wheel as you drive down the lonesome road. It cuts through the forest, with tall pines crowding you both left and right. You still had a good couple of hours on your side before nightfall, making you relax as you ease up on the gas. No broadcast channel reached the car's radio out here and you were left to fill the silence on your own. 

Jungkook inhabits most, if not all, of your thoughts. You replay Christmas Day over and over in your head. The soft caress of his pinky against yours as you sat on the couch, a stark difference to the cold shoulder he gave you during the rest of your stay. 

Brushing pasting you on the stairs when you were headed up and he down. Both Mr. and Mrs. Jeon avoiding any kind of conversation with him during breakfast and dinner. Excusing himself to his room every couple of hours for 'work purposes' despite the holiday. 

In the midst of it all you had tried to appear composed, like every subtle, non-verbal rejection didn't cut deeper than any blade. And by the time he dropped you off at the station, suppose you had felt some kind of relief at the three days of distance ahead of you. 

You groan, stealing a glance at the necklace you wear in one of the side mirrors. Returning meant facing where you left off last and you weren't sure how that was to be done. However, with only a few days to spare until the new year there was a good chance he wouldn't ring you in to watch the children at all, thus postponing your inevitable conversation a while longer. 

The idea comforts you enough to make the rest of your drive home.

Jungkook did not in fact, not wait, and his call came the very next day, giving you less than twenty-four hours to settle in back at your apartment after being away for almost an entire week. You were going through the pile of mail that had been shoved through the hatch in your door when the sound of your landline came tumbling down the hall. 

You hadn't meant for the letters to slip through your fingers but they had anyway, and on quiet feet you'd approached your desk — picking up the phone with a final exhale. 

The bruising static assaults your ears for a long moment. You should probably have said something by now, but words weren't coming. Once you've counted five long breaths does he finally speak: 

"Are you in the middle of something? 

His voice is too calm and for a second you almost forget how things had ended on Christmas Day — had it not been for the detached edge to it. You glance toward the abandoned mail by the front door, "No." 

Jungkook sighs, he did not usually take this long to get his point across. His silence unnerved you slightly. "I need to swing by the office," he says before adding, "Just for an hour or two." The unspoken requests sits between you for a moment. You knew that he would be okay with you making up an excuse about not having time, perhaps he even expects you to.

"I can stop by," but then again, things very came easy for you, "Give me twenty minuets." 

There's an exhale on the other end of the line, though you can't tell if he was relieved or simply acknowledging your agreement. "Alright," is all he says before the call cuts and your landline goes back to static. 

That was one of the shortest conversations the two of you had ever held. 

You had gotten well accustomed to the comforts of your new car by this point, making the ten minute drive to Jungkook's place feel like a breeze compared to the alternative of the bus. You distract yourself with music, humming along to whatever the local broadcast station was playing as your eyes gaze across the road. 

But even the pop songs soon became background noise and by the time you reached the large house and killed the engine, you had decided that you would try to talk to him about what had been on your mind for the past couple of days. 

"Can we talk—" 

"I think it's a good idea if you and me have a conversation—" 

Each line makes you shake your head. Sitting behind the wheel, you stare at the three-story estate through the windshield. Its white concrete walls felt less like a peace offering and more like an impending doom. Ridiculous really. The windows hold no movement, not even a flicker of a curtain, like it too, was waiting for something. 

To hell with it, you think as you swing the car door open and step out. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable, you would have to face him eventually. And so you make your way to the front door, up the three stone steps before ringing the bell, just like you had so many times before. 

Even with its bright, beige walls and glowing chandelier — the Jeon house fails to capture the warmth that had come so easy back at your parents'. It had been more than a week since you last set foot here, that was the longest you'd ever been parted from the high ceilings and soft carpets since first taking on the position — and in that time you had managed to forget just how hollow this place could feel. 

Jungkook didn't say much when he opened the door for you. He was already dressed for work. Gone were the soft sweaters he'd worn during the holidays, the smile you would catch him trying to hide or the way his eyes lingered on yours when no one else was looking. 

The man in front of you today is a shell of himself. Stripped down until only the firm line of his jaw and his furrowed brows remain. He takes your coat from you without a word, hanging it up alongside the children's with methodical care. You're wearing the shoes he got you but he doesn't glance at them once. 

"Will you be heading out soon?" you ask when slipping the sneakers off your feet. 

He nods, "Just need to get some paperwork from my study." He doesn't wait for you to say anything else, turning on his heel before you can even heave your next breath as he heads toward the stairs. 

It was then you noticed that neither Cassian nor Rayne had made an appearance. The silence which had always been a custom in this house now felt oppressive. You missed the youngest's laughter, even his sister's remarks and the sound of her flipping pages in whatever book she read. And in front of you, Jungkook has almost disappeared from view entirely. 

"Wait—!" you scramble after him, clutching at the banister as you dart up the stairs. He's already by the door to his home-office when you finally catch up to him, one of his hands curled around the knob that he'd been prepared to turn. 

He tilts his head over his shoulder, giving you a long glance that held none of the warmth he'd been reserving for you these past couple of weeks. 

"Do you have a minute?" your fingers are toying with one another, unable to keep still as you await his response. "I'd like to talk." 

Jungkook shakes his head. "I have to get to work," he jerks his chin toward the library, "The children are in there." The finality that laces his voice fills you with disappointment and you watch as he pushes the door to his study open to step inside. 

For a long moment you simply wait. Through the crack you can see him move about, collecting papers and stapling them together before he slides them into accompanying folders. Your gaze darts to where the kids wait for you — torn between duty and something far more complicated. 

In the end, the latter wins out and you storm after him as you shove the door open with more force than necessary. It hits the wall with a thud, not hard enough to rattle the paintings on them, and not hard enough to grab Jungkook's attention as he continues to sort through his files. 

"It won't take long," you're determined to see this through, to get to the bottom of whatever this was. But he doesn't acknowledge you, save for the sigh he lets out, a little louder than the last. You can feel your throat tighten at his blatant dismissal, and the words come gushing out before you can stop them: 

"Did I do something wrong?" 

He pauses at that, the folder currently in his hands bending slightly under the pressure he put onto it. Though you could only see half his face, the frown he wears and the tension to his jawline is unmistakable. "What?" he asks flatly. 

You want to scoff but all you manage is a huff, a strained noise that betrays just how easy it was for him to make you feel things out of your control. "I'm asking you if I did something wrong," you step forward, pushing your shoulders back and lifting your chin. 

Jungkook remains indifferent, his head shaking slowly as he reaches for the briefcase sitting on his desk, the one you had yet to notice. "No," he says, his tone never rising above its default octave, "You haven't." He sounds so sure of himself and it makes you desperately want to believe him. 

Only, you can't. Not when he wasn't even looking at you, much less talking to you. "Well it feels like I have," you shoot back, "So then what is it?" 

A muscle in his jaw ticks as he stuffs the organized folders into the case, sealing it shut with a rough jerk. "Nothing," he grits through clenched teeth, "You've done nothing wrong." 

You let out an exasperated breath, "Well there must be something." Gesturing vaguely to the space that still exists between the two of you, "You don't talk to me, you don't get close to me, hell, you won't even look at me."

The briefcase hits the desk loudly as Jungkook slams it down onto the mahogany wood. He exhales something that sounds almost like a hiss, as though he was holding off on saying things he shouldn't. 

"I need to get to the office," he echoes, "We can talk later." 

He grabs his things, ready to leave — only for you to stop him as you get in his way. "No," you say, halting him in his tracks. His chest nudges yours, a touch that would've send fireworks through your stomach on any other occasion, now it just makes you sick. "I want us to talk now." 

Jungkook's brows pull together, lips pressing into a firm line. The grip he has on his briefcase is white-knuckled, yet he says nothing for a long while. Then he exhales sharply through his nose, "You're being unreasonable." 

The way he says it, like a statement of disapproval, like you were just some kid who's silence he had a right to order. It infuriates you in a way Jungkook had never been able to before. 

"Me?" The accusation tastes bitter on your tongue, "I'm being unreasonable?" Had you been able to take another step forward you would have done so, but your bodies were practically pressed together by this point. "You haven't said three words to me since Christmas Day, and even then you avoided me all afternoon!" your hands are thrown in the air, gesturing wildly to nothing in particular. 

A headache is steadily building behind your eyes, whether it came from anger, exhaustion, desperation, you didn't know, all you know are the feelings in your chest that beg to be let out. "Then at the train station you didn't even—" the frantic flailing of your arms come to an abrupt stop and you swallow the last bits of your confession down. 

Jungkook pauses just as you do, his gaze heavy with an accusation that matches your own. "Didn't even what?" he asks and your heart draws back at the tone he used. 

For a while you debate on not saying anything at all. To mutter a 'forget it' and walk off to the children, pretending that everything was fine. You trap the inside of your cheek between your teeth, gnawing on it before letting go again. 

"You didn't even kiss me." 

There's a small crack in his structured exterior, a quick flash of surprise passing by his eyes, only for him to conceal it again. Jungkook blinks once, then shakes his head. "I thought it'd be better if I didn't," he says. 

"What…?" He doesn't respond, you knew he wouldn't. The roaring fire inside of you is put out as though someone had dumped a bucket of water over it. Better if he didn't? You let your gaze drop to the floor, to where your feet were but an inch from nudging his — yet Jungkook had never felt further away. 

Your next breath catches on your quivering bottom lip — you hadn't even noticed that you were close to crying — and you press them together as you struggle to swallow. "I just—" fingers tapping against your thigh, "I thought that there was more to us." You frown, almost tripping over your sentence. 

It feels devastating to say, to willingly confirm the theory you had been building on with dread. And perhaps it really was true. Perhaps you had let yourself get strung along, let yourself get lost somewhere between the lingering touches and the chaste kisses. 

Jungkook's face twists into a painful grimace as he forces himself to look away, leaving you to watch with a sinking heart as he chews on his next words. His brows twitch once before settling across his forehead. "I have never lied to you," he says. While his tone remains leveled, his jaw clench and unclench as he battles the vulnerability that followed the admission. 

"I don't understand…" If each second spent in his embrace had been real, each kiss and each gentle touch to your skin, then why hide? For weeks you'd been able to place your concerns with his children, delude yourself into thinking that the line between you existed solely because of Cassian and Rayne. But this sudden distance, it was different, and the tremor to his hand, still wrapped around the handle of his briefcase betrays him. 

Your frown returns tenfold as you regard him with scrutiny. "What are you so afraid of?" 

The simple question becomes his undoing as it unwinds the last fragile threads that keep him together. Jungkook's head whips in your direction, his eyes blazing hot when they zero in on you. "A lot of things!" He snaps, finally breaking free of his monotone confinement as he shouts the words in your face. 

Jungkook had never raised his voice at you. Never. And you found that you absolutely hated it. He must see it too, for he immediately takes a step back, the briefcase slipping from his grasp and landing on the floor with a thud. His chest rises and falls, quick and uneven as he tries to rein himself back in. 

A full minute passes without you daring to even open your mouth. He doesn't either, until finally, his chin drops in defeat. "I can't—" teeth trapping his bottom lip, he bites down hard enough to draw blood. When he speaks again, it's no longer a yell, it's something uncharacteristically small, his next confession slipping out soundlessly, "I can't give you what you want." 

You stare at him in silence, measuring the space between you as you glance toward the briefcase on the ground. "What?" You don't register the question until its left your lips, but Jungkook does. 

"It means I can't." He inhales, dragging a hand down his face before forcing it through the hair he'd styled before your arrival. His other one, covered in ink, points vaguely to you, never actually touching. "Whatever this is, it's not right to you." 

A tiny flame flickers inside of you, and you're quick to disagree. "You don't know that." Who was he to tell you what was right and what wasn't, who was he to decide for the both of you? 

Jungkook huffs, "Maybe not." His voice is filled with self-deprecation as he continues, "But I know that we can't keep playing house while I pretend that I'm not being extremely selfish." 

Is that what he thinks this is? That you were here doing charity work with both him and his children — that Cassian and Rayne were nothing but dolls which you moved around as you pleased? 

"Don't act like this wasn't my choice just as much as it was yours," you say, closing the distance between you again when taking another step forward. 

The intensity had yet to dull from his eyes, but he still made no move to back away when you force proximity onto him. He gives you a long once-over, gaze dragging over every inch of you, the way that would always make your skin prickle. Without missing a beat he bends down to pick up the discarded briefcase. 

"Then let me be selfish one last time and take that choice away from you." 

It's the last thing he says before brushing past you and before you can even register what's happening, the door to his study slams shut behind him — leaving you alone with the remnants of the fire you both started. And suddenly you thought yourself stupid for defending him so adamantly in front of your parents. 

You feel like an intruder when walking into the library where the children sit gathered around their usual table. Cassian looks up at your arrival, his face cracking into a beaming grin as he waves enthusiastically. "Nanny!" he calls out as he beckons you over. 

The smile you give him in return doesn't feel genuine and you berate yourself for it. Still, you try your hardest to act like your heart wasn't in complete shambles after your conversation with their father just moments ago. 

"Hi sweetie. What are you up to?" You sink down on the chair next to his, your arm coming to rest against the back of it as you lean closer to better see the drawing he was working on. The rainbow crayons you had gotten him for Christmas seemed to be well-used, and you study the depiction of a large fish with sharp teeth on the paper. 

"I'm painting," he says, pointing to the art work. 

"I see that. Is it a fish?" you ask when running your fingers through his hair, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. 

He shakes his head, "A shark." 

"Ah, of course." In your defense, the creature on the paper resembled very little of a shark, but you didn't tell him that, content to watch him draw a little while longer. 

Rayne sits opposite him, one of the books she had gotten from her grandfather opened in front of her as she reads. She gave a subtle nod as a means of saying hello, your eyes meeting for a brief second before she went back to the contents of her pages. 

You hadn't seen the kids since Christmas Day and while you had missed them both dearly — Jungkook had occupied most of your thoughts during your stay with your parents. Sitting with them now lessens the ache left by their father's words significantly. 

"Daddy said you went to see your parents," Cassian muses as he colors in the wonky-looking fin of his shark. 

Humming softly, you let your hand fall to the back of his chair again. "I did," the corner of your lip twitches, "They gave me a Christmas present." 

At that he stops drawing, glancing up at you with newfound curiosity. "What did you get?" he asks. 

You think back to the moment in the garage at home. Your dad's grand surprise and your mom's hard work. It wasn't often you found yourself thinking about them like this, suppose it had something to do with the rollercoaster of emotions that today had been. Meeting Cassian's gaze, you give him the first real smile you'd worn all day, "A car." 

"A car?!" The crayons are completely forgotten about as the young boy twists in his seat, eyes wide as saucers. "A real car?" he questions, and when you nod he practically leaps out of his seat. 

Rayne, too, had stopped reading and was now watching you with a look of mild surprise. Though she kept quiet as the library echoed with her brother's excitement. "Can I see it? I want to see it!" He's already on his feet, halfway across the room as he heads for the door. 

You get up after him, "Sure we can. I can even take you both for a drive somewhere if you'd like?" 

"But it's snowing," Rayne speaks up for the first time since you entered, her brows furrowed in concern. 

"I'm a decent driver," you tell her with a confident shrug, "You know that." 

She hesitates for a second, fingers picking at the corner of her page — but even she wasn't immune to Cassian's giddy laughter. The book is shut and she hops off her chair to join you both. "We'll see about that," she says with a huff, though does a poor job at hiding her small grin. 

The three of you head downstairs with Cassian in the lead as he dashes for the font door, eagerly pulling on his shoes, albeit clumsily. You kneel down to help him, easily falling back into the habit of tying his laces. 

"Can I sit in the front?" he asks as he watches you work. 

"You're too small for that," you tell him, having already anticipated the whine that followed. 

There was still a sense of peace that came whenever you were around the children. It was never intentional on their part, least of all Rayne who was still muttering to herself as she pulled on her coat, but without knowing, they brought joy to a day you would otherwise deem ruined. 

Once you're all geared up and ready to go, Cassian suddenly freezes. "Wait—" he says, bottom lip jutting out into a small frown, "I need to get Frank." That was what he'd ended up naming the stegosaurus plushie you had gotten him for Christmas, who now apparently counted as an important member of the family. 

He scurries down the hall, already headed up the stairs when Rayne sighs. "I'll go with him, he's not allowed to have his shoes on inside." You hadn't even noticed that she'd rid herself of her own footwear, standing in only her socks as she give you a quick nod — then she's gone after her little brother. 

You listen to the joint sounds of their footsteps on the second floor, Cassian's excited giggles as he rummages around for his beloved dinosaur. The car keys rest in your palm and you peer down at them with a fond smile. You don't know how you would be able to repay your parents' gesture, but you'd figure something out. 

A minute passes and you're just about to call out and ask how the kids were doing when the sudden knock to the front door pulls your attention away from the keys. Strange. Jungkook couldn't possibly have returned so soon, even if he did, he had no reason to knock. 

Two months you had spent in this house, and not once had there been a visitor besides yourself. Not even a second later, the knocking returns. Three sharp and impatient raps against the wood. Why not use the doorbell — unless they were anxious to alert the wrong person? 

Throwing a glance over your shoulder, you find the staircase empty, Cassian and Rayne were still nowhere to be seen. You approach the door cautiously, fist closing around your car keys, the metal was blunt enough to cause damage, should the person on the other side prove themselves a threat. 

The knocking returns after a beat's silence and you inhale a deep breath before twisting the lock and pushing the door open. 

You don't know who you had expected to see. A big, scary stranger with a mask on, a delivery man maybe, hell, even a clown who'd gotten the wrong address for a birthday party. 

What you find is none of that — but a woman. 

She looks to be in her early thirties, perhaps late twenties, though the dark circles under her eyes and deep frown she was wearing might've added on a couple of years. Her dark hair is a mess, tangled where it falls down her shoulders. She's not dressed for the weather, clad in only a thin fleece which had her wrapping her arms around her torso. 

To put it simply; she looked rough. 

Your grip loosens on the keys you had been clutching, your other hand holding onto the doorframe as you study her. What business could she possibly have here?

"Hi," you try to sound friendly as you greet her, "Can I help you?"

Her eyes find yours in an instant and for a second you could've sworn you saw Rayne in them. But that illusion is quickly broken as they dart around the front porch she stands on, skittish in the way they jump back and forth. "Yes," she says, her voice a low rasp, as though she hadn't used it in a while. 

When her gaze finally finds its way back to yours, her expression has fixed itself into something more composed. She parts her chapped lips, tongue darting out to swipe across the bottom one. 

"I'm here to see my children." 

── [ ✉️ ] Woah. Okay there, before you jump on me and say "Ugh. Ki I hate when they bring back the ex wife in fics like these." Let me stop you right there. Pause. Big deep breath in and out for me. Okay, good? I have a plan, not a concept of a plan but an actual solidified plan. So just trust me for this and sit tight for the upcoming chapters, I know what I'm doing. I won't fumble you ladies <3

There were a handful of profanities waiting on the tip of Jungkook's tongue right now — funny, considering he rarely cursed. Then again, he rarely found himself cock-blocked by his five-year-old son. It wasn't his fault, of course, but Jungkook still mourns the press of your lips against his, a reality that now seemed thousands of miles away.

"Santa— Is it you?" 

Cassian was half-awake at best. On rare occasions he would sleep walk, leaving Jungkook to patiently follow him up and down the stairs a couple of times as he tries to guide him back to bed without waking the boy entirely. He hopes that isn't the case tonight — God have mercy on him and this creaking house if he had to be walked like a dog on a leash behind a sleep-dazed Cassian. 

Luckily, that does not seem to be the case for a moment later his son pries his heavy eyes open fully, adjusting to the kitchen lights slowly. Jungkook exhales a relieved breath as he turns back to you — well, where you had been standing a second ago. You'd already torn yourself from his grasp, and when he peers down, Jungkook finds his empty hands staring back at him as they clutch weakly at the air. 

"Hi sweetie," your voice is coated in sugar and it makes his head whip in your direction. He finds you crouched in front of his son, the same hands that should've been resting on the back of his neck by now, instead cradling Cassian's small face. The corner of his lip tugs into a frown but he says nothing when approaching the two of you. 

Cassian stifles a yawn as he glances around the kitchen. "I thought I heard something," he says, clearly disappointed that what he came down to find was not Santa. Their eyes meet and for a second Jungkook fears that his son might start asking question he has no answers to — thankfully you're faster. 

"It was probably just the wind, old houses make noise sometimes," you tell him with a smile. 

He accepts that with a sleepy nod, his gaze wandering back and forth between you and Jungkook once more as his brows furrow across his forehead. "What are you and daddy doing in the kitchen? It's night." He points an accusing finger to the window where the moon can be seen beyond the glass. 

Taking another step forward, Jungkook closes the distance between you and his son. "We were just getting some water," he says, hoping that the simple explanation would be enough to put a lid on the child's curiosity. 

"Hm…" Cassian hums, blinking slowly like it made perfect sense. 

Not wanting to give his son room for further prying, Jungkook hauls him into his arms. "Alright, back to bed," he announces without leaving air for argument. Cassian's tiny body goes pliant in his embrace within seconds, his head becoming a warm and comforting weight where it lolls forward to rest on his shoulder. 

You, too, rise to back to your full height, fingers reaching up to brush a strand of hair from the boy's face. The gesture was mindless and you probably thought nothing of it — but Jungkook's heart did. It squeezes hard in his chest and he has to pry his eyes away until your touch no longer lingers right under his nose. 

"Goodnight sweetie," you say when taking a small step back, to which Cassian mumbles a tired response. It still makes your lips stretch into a grin and Jungkook hates himself for wishing that the affection had been directed at him and not his son. 

He shoves the dangerous thoughts aside as he adjusts his grip on the small child. Then he gives you a quiet nod, not trusting himself to speak. His attention strays by the necklace around your neck before he turns to leave — the gold glinting softly under the kitchen lights where it rests against your skin, the taste of you a permanent mark on his tongue. 

His parents' house is quiet when he makes his way up the stairs. He does not glance back to see if you've followed, but when the steps don't creak behind him, he figures that you hadn't. 

"Daddy?" 

Cassian's voice is a drowsy murmur against his chest, barely audible despite the reigning silence. "Yes?" Jungkook hums when he walks through the door his son had left ajar, heading toward the lower bunk where the younger slept. 

It takes him a moment to respond and Jungkook uses the delay to tuck him in, arranging the duvet carefully over his smaller frame. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he waits his son out. 

Rubbing his fist over his eyes, Cassian makes a sound that told Jungkook he was thinking intently about something. Finally his lips part, "Do you always hug nanny like that?" 

The room drops ten degrees and suddenly he wishes that his son had been sleep walking after all. He shifts just enough for the mattress to groan and Jungkook almost does the same. At the very least, the kid had thought his father's busted attempt at a kiss to be nothing but a hug — which was more than he could've prayed for. 

"Well you see…" he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, silently thanking the darkness of the bedroom for hiding the flush on his cheeks. "Grown-ups hug," shrugging, he tries to appear indifferent, "Just like how I hug your nana and papa." 

"But papa and nana is your mommy and daddy," the boy quickly counters, "Nanny is just nanny." 

"Right," Jungkook drags his palm down the line of his face, "Nanny is just nanny." He thinks of something else to say, something that will either bore the child or have him fall asleep in an instant. Unfortunately he's at his wits end and Cassian's eyes aren't growing any heavier as they await his response. 

"Sometimes people need hugs, even if they're not family." The words are pulled out of him in a most unsure way but he deems the answer good enough. 

His son frowns, "Is nanny sad?" Concern has crept its way onto his tired expression. Try as he might — and try he did — Jungkook could not for the life of him figure out what you had done to make the usually introverted and quiet boy so enamored with you. 

"No," he shakes his head, "Nanny is fine." The last thing he needed was any talk of what his child had witnessed to be taking place at the breakfast table in the morning. 

Silence settles over the bedroom both of his children share. In the distance the faint ticking of whatever nonsense-trinket-clock his mother had found at a flea market, can be heard. Jungkook remains seated on the edge of his son's mattress, making sure not to move a fin and disrupt the possibility of the latter falling into a deep slumber. 

Minutes pass — how many? he has no idea. But the fact that his back was beginning to hurt from the hunched over position he sat in was telling enough. He listens for the faint hum of breaths, trying to gauge if the kid was any closer to sleep. 

"Daddy…?"

Never mind, Jungkook sighs. He shifts enough to face him better, or as best as one could given the looming shadows of the night. "Yes?" he quires, hoping that whatever came next would be brief. 

Cassian hesitates, had it been any lighter he might've caught the sight of him chewing up his bottom lip. Instead he is faced with quiet darkness — until his son finally speaks again. "Are you sad?" 

The question has him glancing down at his lap, where his hands rest idly on top of his knees. He turns one of them, bending his thumb slightly. "No," his tone is certain, almost too sure of itself, he softens it before adding, "I'm fine." 

When there's no response Jungkook turns fully toward the small boy. He leans forward, reaching the same hand up to brush the soft, slightly curly ends of his hair back. "I'm happy," it's not a lie, but he doesn't know if it's the full truth either. 

Cassian tilts his head into his father's palm, "You are?" 

Jungkook hums, then he bends down to press a gentle kiss to his son's forehead. "Of course, I have you and your sister," he murmurs against the soft skin of the boy's temple before pulling back a fraction. 

"Okay," Cassian seems content with that as he snuggles a little deeper into the duvet. "Promise—" he's' interrupted by a yawn, "You tell me if you're sad." After a moment he says, "I'll make you feel better. We can hug." 

Often times Jungkook found himself wondering what he might have done in a past life to deserve his own children. If he stopped to think about it for too long he knows that he will only deem himself unworthy of their unconditional love. So he doesn't. Instead he presses another chaste kiss to Cassian's forehead. 

"I will," he promises, so quietly that it would have only been audible if you listened close. The moonlight bleeds onto the young boy's face, his dark lashes fluttering as his father's answer registers — then they grow heavy. Jungkook stays a moment longer, watching as Cassian's body sinks further into the matters. 

His lips part, "I really thought Santa was in the kitchen," he sighs. Despite being upset over the missed opportunity to meet the white-bearded man, exhaustion was quickly winning out and a few seconds later, soft snores fill the space between them, signaling that he had passed out at last. 

With a final brush to his son's forehead, then his cheek, Jungkook rises from the bed — nearly hitting his head on the top bunk where his daughter slept. Making sure to watch his step, he manages to exit the room without waking anyone, sliding the door shut behind him with a muted click. 

The study he had offered to sleep in was far from comfortable. Jungkook thought that perhaps he had become somewhat picky when it came to having his bedding done. Still, he settles onto the tiny spare bed, grimacing at how the stiff mattress dug into his back before turning to his side. He's greeted with the sight of books. Books stacked on top of more books that crowd the old shelves. 

Brows furrowing together, he studies the nonsensical order in which the titles were structured. His father had always been somewhat of a character. He'd probably lose track of his right arm if it hadn't been attached to his torso. So the chaos on his bookshelves should come as no surprise. It still makes Jungkook's fingers itch where they tap restlessly against the covers. 

Forcing his eyes shut with a sharp inhale through his nose, he tries to think about anything else. The darkness behind his eyelids feel like a clean slate, no mess, no nothing. His sanctuary lasts for about ten seconds before images of you flood his vision. He tries to shake them at first, not that it ever worked. 

Jungkook figures that there was no harm in imagining your face rather than the chaotic bookshelves in front of him, if only for a little while. So he lets it be his last thought before succumbing to sleep that night. 

It had been three-hundred and sixty five days since the last time he spent Christmas at his parents house. It had been different back then, a year ago the holiday seemed bleak. The carols were too loud, the animated movies only a messy flicker of color in front of his tired eyes. He'd tried to smile for his children as they opened their gifts — it ended with his mother stepping in to do what he couldn't, as if to add onto the list of his failures. 

His guilt consumed him during the weeks that followed. For a long time it was all Jungkook felt. 

Christmas is different today as well, but he finds that he doesn't mind it. Rayne and Cassian are perched on the floor, the younger riffling through the mountain of presents excitedly as Jungkook and his parents watch from the couch. You sit beside them, there's still adequate space on the soft cushion next to him, but you had insisted on staying by the kids' side. 

The sun had just broken the horizon and a few pale streaks of yellow managed to pierce through the windows, basking the three of you in their warm hues. Jungkook didn't have to force a smile on his lips today — that was nice. 

"Hm…" Cassian scratches his chin thoughtfully, "This one." He reaches out to grab one of the neatly wrapped packages, turning it over in his hands as the struggles to read the card attached to it, probably thrown off by the cursive hand writing. 

You lean forward, peering over his shoulder with a hum. "To Rayne from Nana and Papa," you nod when pointing to the card, letting him follow the tip of your finger as you read. When you're done you sit back to let him extend the gift to his sister who took it with careful hands. 

The sound of paper ripping fills the living room and his mother shifts eagerly in her seat as she watches her grandchild open the first gift of the day. Rayne's fingers are gentle where they undo the red wrapping. Her eyes soften around the edges when they land on the contents inside. 

"Thank you," she says when holding up the set of purple pajamas. The shirt has flowers sewn onto it, scattered across the sleeves and the chest piece — Jungkook recognizes the patterns as his mother's touch in an instant, similar to the stitches she would do whenever she mended his broken clothes when he was little. 

"Now, I didn't make the entire thing because there wasn't enough time. But I thought the flowers could be a nice personal touch for—" his mother is cut off mid sentence as Rayne wraps her arms around her. Having already gotten up from her spot on the floor, she now clung to her grandmother tightly. 

"Thank you, nana," she says, the words muffled against the woman's shoulder. 

"Hey now," his father suddenly clears his throat, drawing attention toward himself, "I paid for it." 

The corner of Rayne's lip twitches and she goes to hug him as well, letting her grandfather place a kiss to her forehead. 

Jungkook watches the exchange quietly, his gaze drifting over to you without meaning for it to. But you're not looking at him, no, you sit entirely captivated by the sight of Rayne and her grandparents. The smile on your face reminds him of a time since long lost and the strange flutter in his chest doesn't help ease the situation. 

Rayne reclaims her spot beside her brother on the floor and the present unwrapping continues. Jungkook is mostly oblivious to what is being said as he regards the scene with half-lidded eyes. Gifts are passed back and forth, Cassian receives a similar pajama set from his grandparents, the dinosaur Jungkook had seen you pick out at the store. 

The majority of things from the humongous pile were all Jungkook's doing. Rayne especially was hard to decide on appropriate presents for, so he'd tried to compensate by getting them a large spread instead. 

"Thank you, daddy!" His son crashes into his arms, the box of shiny toy cars that he still cradles gets squished between them, but he doesn't mind. Placing a kiss on the crown of his head, he then leans back as Cassian returns to shuffle through the steadily shrinking mountain. 

Rayne gets a book from her grandfather — the palette of makeup that Jungkook has little knowledge on from you. He recalls the hot and stuffy air of the mall as you dragged him up and down the aisles, discussing different brands that seemed indifferent to him. Though his daughter pauses when the gift registers. 

Her brows furrow before softening again, finger tracing the edge of the plastic cover as she reads the name under her breath. Then she turns to you, who'd been watching her whilst chewing on your nail — a nervous habit of yours Jungkook had realized. 

"I wasn't sure about the colors— So if you want another palette we can go and have it changed but I thought that you might like your own since—" 

"Thank you." Rayne interrupts you halfway through your ramble, dark eyes meeting yours as she smiles, an awkward but sincere smile that Jungkook rarely saw. "The colors are perfect," she then adds, her attention lingering by the purple shade, "I love it." 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, nodding as your posture relaxes again. The moment is short-lived, mostly because her brother was far too eager to continue. He'd already grabbed another, rectangular shaped present and was now reading the card to the best of his abilities. 

Rayne leans in to help out, her face going through a handful of expressions before she turns to you. "It's for you," she announces as she turns back to where you had just gotten comfortable again, "From father." 

Jungkook blinks, immediately pulled from his thoughts as his attention snaps toward the gift his son was now handing you with a beaming grin. He recognizes the wrapping in an instant, the one he had spent a ridiculous amount of time choosing only to settle on a dark green with red dots. 

You accept it with a tiny frown, surprised almost, at least so he thinks. He doesn't know why he feels nervous all of a sudden and he hopes no one notices the way he shifts in his seat, hands locking together across his lap as he bites his cheek. It shouldn't be any different from last night, except today he has an audience. 

Your fingers linger on the card he'd written, was it not enough? Should he have said something else — maybe he should say something right now? 

The paper rips before he can and Jungkook exhales through his nose as he watches you open the present he'd gotten for you. It takes less than a minute but it's enough time for him to rethink the entire thing and he can feel sweat beading on his forehead. 

You, however, have not looked up from the box in your lap and when the wrapping comes off your brows shoot high on your forehead. A soft breath escapes you, then a small chuckle and his heart does a weird little skip against his ribcage. 

"How did you know?" You ask when opening the cardboard lid. 

The corner of his lip twitches and he shrugs, "A hunch." It was admittedly more than a hunch, not that he would ever confess to that — the grin you wear is well enough to have his head spin. 

"Well go on, show us!" His mother squeals on her end of the couch, leaning forward for enough for Jaejoon to place a hand on her shoulder to prevent an unnecessary fall. 

Doing as she says, you hold up the box to display the shoes inside. Sneakers, not anything extravagant — unless you peeked at the price tag, though Jungkook had been smart enough to remove that. 

Your worn out excuse of footwear had bothered him since your first day, even when he'd refrained from making any comments on their state. With the current weather that itch had become almost impossible not to scratch, and your displeased grimace whenever snow managed to wet your socks was enough to have him make up his mind. He'd taken the liberty of checking for your size when arriving back home last week, taking a mental note of the color and going with something similar for these. 

"Thank you," you say, and he can tell you mean it. For a second it looks as though you might just get up and hug him like the children had done. He tries not to appear disappointed when all you give is a smile. "Seriously, these are great," your gaze stays with him a moment longer, making him nod slowly. 

"You needed a new pair," he says, his voice a lot hoarser than he'd like for it to be. His parents seem to approve of the message as well, though not more than his son who was taking a very close look for himself. 

Cassian points excitedly to the window, "We can play outside and you can wear them later!" 

You agree to his suggestion enthusiastically and Jungkook allows himself to relax back against the couch with a sigh. His eyes wander toward the snow outside, the idea of spending time getting cold and wet does make his nose scrunch, but he keeps quiet as he watches the slowly rising sun. In fact he was so focused on it that he nearly missed the way you leaned forward to whisper into the young boy's ear, pointing subtly toward one of the presents under the tree. 

Without further questioning, Cassian turns to grab it and with your help he reads the card easily. "To Jungkook, from nanny," and as if it weren't obvious enough, he holds it out toward his father, "It's for you daddy!" 

Jungkook blinks dumbfoundedly as he stares down at the present held out before him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a present for Christmas, no less one wrapped in shiny red with a green bow on top.

It's light in his palms and he glances over to find you with your arms hugging your legs, bottom lip bit in anticipation. Clearing his throat, he turns back to carefully undo the neat bow. He tries not to picture your own hands instead of his as he peels the wrapper apart, tries not to think about how you might have looked when you sat down to prepare this gift for him. 

The living room is awfully quiet, save for the rustle of paper as he finally strips the box bare. He barely glances at the brand name, it didn't matter where it was purchased, as long as it was from you. Pausing for a second, his gaze flickers up to meet yours one last time before removing the lid. 

Inside is a tie. Not like the ones he'd usually wear, the sleek black and navy ones that blended in with the rest of his wardrobe. No, this one is a deep red, it reminds him of a rich wine. He runs the pads of his fingers across the smooth fabric, the texture feels no different from the ones he already owns, this one might even be softer. 

"I figured you could use a little more color," you say and Jungkook looks over to see you smiling. 

The corner of his mouth curves upward as he takes in the sight of the tie once more. He imagines when he could wear it — proudly to the office — or perhaps only for you. Any other day he might've tried to pry those thoughts from his mind, tell himself that there was no point in dwelling on things he knows he shouldn't want. But right now, he lets himself think of what it would be like to take you to dinner, to spend time with you outside of his house, out in the real world. 

"I definitely could," he muses as he traps the fabric between two fingers, "Thank you." 

Sometimes Jungkook finds himself wanting to kiss you for no apparent reason all. This is one of those times. He wishes his family was elsewhere, despite the sacred holiday and the presents that have yet to be opened, he wishes to be with you and only you. 

The fantasy is quickly interrupted by his father who leans closer to take a look for himself. "This one will suit you nicely, son," he says, turning to you with a pleasant grin, "You have good taste, dear." 

The flustered giggle you emit makes his heart thunder in his chest, not quite the same way it had on your couch almost a week ago, it's fiercer now. "I'm glad," you hum when placing your chin on one knee. Jungkook feels your attention on him, it makes him warm, a nice kind of warm that he clings onto even as the conversation shifts and Cassian goes back to giving out more gifts. 

The next fifteen minutes or so are spent with the children opening the rest of their presents — his parents opening their own which he had gotten them. An electrical whisk for his mother, something she had insisted on not needing though he didn't see why not since she spent more time baking than anything. A chess board for his father, under the guise of them playing together in the future, which the man seemed very eager about. Jungkook often found that it was easier to express himself through materialistic resources — words never came out right for him anyway. 

Soon there was only one lonesome package left under the tree. The shape makes him frown, it wasn't soft, nor was it square or rectangular. Rayne picks it up, having taken over the role of reading the cards out loud rather than having her younger sibling struggle. 

She turns the lumpy present in her hands, its wrapping was different from all the others, a pale blue with reindeer on. Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she gets her expression under control again and clears her throat. "To Cassian, from… Santa." 

Her brother's head whips in her direction at that and for a little while he sits completely frozen on the floor. Then he's scrambling over to his sister, practically tearing the gift from her hands as he checks the card for himself. "Santa?!" He sounds disbelieving as he scans the room, like he was expecting the man himself to walk in at any given moment. 

"Well go on, open it," Rayne urges, clearly invested too, even if she tried not to show it. Cassian wastes no time in getting to work, tearing the paper with less care than he had previously. 

Jungkook frowns as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He runs through his own list in his head, but he couldn't for the life of him remember using that wrapper — and he certainly wouldn't have wrapped it like that. When glancing toward his mother and father, he finds them looking just as confused yet intrigued as himself. 

It's not until he looks over at you and sees the grin you're fighting off that it clicks. 

Cassian's ear piercing shriek pulls him back toward his son who'd already finished breaking through the paper that now lay scattered around him. "I told you! I told you!" he says as he holds up the box of rainbow colored crayons to his sister, "I knew Santa would read my list!" 

"What are those?" Jaejoon inquires as he squints behind his glasses. 

"Rainbow crayons!" The boy says, stumbling to his feet as he plops down in his grandfather's lap. "Look! Only Santa can make these, that's why I put them on my list." 

Ye-seo leans forward as she, too, studies the crayons closely, her face lighting up into a grin that matches her grandson's. "Why, you must have been a really good boy this year for Santa to give you something so special," she says as she pinches one of his cheeks lovingly. 

Jungkook regards them for a moment longer as he tries to piece together where you had managed to get that. Then he remembers the run-in with that Namjoon at the store. He'd just come back after acquiring the gifts he intended to give you, already tired and sick of the crowded mall to find another man chatting with you like one would an old friend. 

The encounter had left a bitter taste in his mouth which he tried to rationalize over and over on his way home to little avail. He thinks he might vaguely remember you holding a colorful box of something, though he'd been too caught up on the stranger in front of him to pay it any mind. 

When he turns to where you sit on the floor you meet his gaze, your head tilted to the side and a knowing look on your face. He mouths a quiet 'thank you' under his breath to which you nod. 

The air inside the living room feels warmer after that and Jungkook's chest feels warmer than it had in a long time. 

Tradition on Christmas Day includes an endless marathon of animated movies that Jungkook couldn't care less for. The dialogue and soundtracks were imprinted into his head by now and sometimes he found himself begrudgingly muttering them in real time as whatever film on-screen played. 

The kids' channel offered a variety throughout the entire morning and afternoon. It was one of the rare times in which he'd let the children spend time in front of the TV and if they had it their way, it would be a good couple of hours. 

Lady and the Tramp had already started by the time Jaejoon got the remote control in his hand and Cassian had bounced up on the couch, claiming what little space remained on the cushion alongside his sister. The sofa wasn't spacious per se, it allowed for a family of four — five if two of them were small enough to be counted as a half. That left you, still sitting on the floor as everyone else huddled up on the soft cushions. 

"Dear, come up here and join us," his mother says as she beckons you over, clearly not having thought over how that was supposed to work. 

You glance up, brows scrunching together as your gaze trails over the already crammed couch. "Oh— I'm fine here," you say, flashing Ye-Seo a small smile. 

"You can sit here," Jungkook barely registers the fact that he's on his feet, towering over everyone in the room as he gestures awkwardly to the spot he'd just been occupying. 

It doesn't fully sink in until he realizes that everyone had gone painfully quiet — even the movie playing on the TV had faded into background noise. He clears his throat, refusing to back down as he steps aside to offer up his seat for you. 

You blink, eyes darting between him and the available spot on the sofa. "No—" shaking your head, "It's alright I can see well from here." 

"I insist."

He knows that he's pressing the matter more than what could be considered appropriate in front of his parents and children, but he can't come to terms with you sitting on the floor while he lounged on the comfortable piece of furniture. 

Jaejoon finally shifts slightly, "Alright," he says as he hauls Cassian up into his arms, easily maneuvering the boy to sit on his wife's lap. "You too kid, come here," he pats his thigh for Rayne who raises a brow but shuffles over without protest. 

Jungkook watches the entire scene with his lips pressed into a firm line as his father easily solves the problem for him in a much simpler and more dignified manner. He glances to the extra space on the sofa, his mouth running dry as you murmur out a shy 'thanks' and slide onto the cushion, fitting in easily next to his family. 

He waits a second before joining you, careful not to brush up too close, which was nearly impossible. His thigh ends up pressed against yours, the warmth of your body radiating through the layers of clothes, straight into his own. 

"I love the girl dog," Cassian says as he points to the TV, content to be in his grandmother's gentle embrace. 

Rayne scoffs, "Her name is Lady, not the girl dog." 

"Lady doesn't sound like a real name," her brother retorts with a scrunch of his nose.

His sister looks ready to argue but Jaejoon diffuses the tension with a pat to her arm. "Such an insignificant detail to get hung up on, let us just enjoy the movie, hm?" he says in a cheerful voice. It does make the two of them settle down again and the topic shifts to the cruel Siamese cats instead. 

Jungkook is hardly paying them any mind. He's far too preoccupied noticing each part of you that connects to him. Your joint hips, the way his knee occasionally bumps against yours when he tries to get comfortable — always to no avail. His hands are clasped together on his lap, thumbs twiddling restlessly with one another. 

The movie is lost on him and he doesn't try to tune in. You are though, eyes moving in tune with the different scenes that play out, humming along softly to whatever song was playing. It makes him frown. Jungkook wants you to look at him, doesn't have any idea why, he just does. 

One of his palms move across his thigh, the edge of his hand resting just a breath from yours. Everyone is preoccupied, there's no harm in letting his pinky brush against the expanse of your leg, he thinks. 

The touch is light, a barely-there caress of his finger but you still tense up beside him, your gaze meeting his without turning your head. For a very short moment he believes that you might swat him away, perhaps read his innocent attempt at contact wrong and think him perverted. 

But you simply turn back to the film, forcing Jungkook to swallow down the disappointment building in his throat. He shifts his attention to the animation on screen, it fails to immerse him, not when you sit just beside him — and he doesn't move his hand. 

It's somewhere between the Tramp and the Lady's first meeting that he feels the subtle brush of skin against his own. His shoulders stiffen and upon glancing down, he sees your pinky resting against his own. You're still not looking at him, but the corner of your lip twitches and he knows it has nothing to do with the movie. 

Lady and the Tramp wrapped up a while ago and a new movie which he did not know the name of had began playing, though Cassian and Rayne were now more invested in their presents than anything. His parents had made their way to the kitchen in order to prepare the large breakfast you were to have. Jungkook joined them, he figured he would be of more use out there anyway. 

His mother was already fussing over being behind schedule, even as his father tries to reason with her by saying that it was not yet ten in the morning. 

"Oh for goodness sake, don't just stand there — go on, set the table!" Ye-seo ushers her husband through the doorway, his hands filled with plates and glasses. 

Jungkook for his part, remains silent as he slices two oranges to go along as sides. The knife wasn't as sharpened as he'd like but he made no comment on it to his mother who was now frantically stirring porridge on the stove. "Will you pass me the ginger, sweetie?" she asks without glancing up. 

Knowing better than to make her wait, Jungkook abandons the fruits he'd been cutting with a nod. The pantry was a complete mess compared to the comforts of his own home and it takes him a good minute to find it as he scours the shelves. "Top left," she calls out when he took too long. 

Finally spotting the small jar, he grabs it and heads over. His mother hums out a 'thank you' as she adds a generous amount into the pot. In the distance, the echoes of Cassian's giggles can be heard, the sound is soon followed by the familiar tune of your own laughter. Without thinking, Jungkook turns his head toward the source, trying to catch a glimpse of you in the living room. 

The knife lies loose in his grip now, passively resting there as he listens to your muffled conversation in the distance. His heart does this weird leap in his chest and he tries to brush it off as quickly as it had came. 

"She's quite lovely." 

His mother's hummed comment makes Jungkook pause and he nearly gives himself whiplash when turning to back to the cutting board where the forgotten oranges lay. "Hm?" he tries to feign nonchalance as he angles the blade once more. 

"Your nanny," she continues as she stirs the porridge, "She takes good care of Cassian and Rayne." 

Jaejoon had chosen that exact moment to return, instantly tuning in to the topic as he walks up beside his wife. "She does," he agrees when placing a hand on Ye-Seo's waist, "Got her life figured out too. That's some impressive work ethic at her age, not to mention that she studies full time." 

Jungkook nods, his gaze trained to the orange he slices thinly. He takes comfort in the repeated motion as he guides the knife slowly, the thud of it hitting the wooden board ringing loud in his ears. Suddenly, his mother speaks up: 

"Is she not a bit too young for you?" 

The sudden inquiry makes him freeze, fingers curling tighter around the knife's handle. "What?" His response comes out short and colder than he'd like but he cannot help the frown that etches its way onto his face, nor the way his jaw clenches when she continues without missing a beat. 

"I mean—" she shrugs, "She's a lovely girl there's no doubt about that. But she's only twenty." 

His next swallow goes down his throat thickly, he's sure they notice. "I think what your mother is trying to say," his father interjects as he shifts uncomfortably next to Ye-Seo, "Is that there are complications when it comes to certain… age differences." 

The words bring out a bitter taste in Jungkook's mouth and he has to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying something he would end up regretting. He scoffs, grabbing another orange even when he'd already cut plenty as he forces the blade through it with more force than necessary. It was insulting of them to think that the matter hadn't kept him up for weeks now. That he hadn't even taken your age into consideration when it had in fact been on his mind for far too long. 

"I assure you there is nothing to worry about," he grinds out, "Our relationship is nothing of the sort." The lie comes easily but he makes a point of not looking up from the cutting board — he knows that his mother will see right through him if he does — part of him fears that she already has. 

In the living room the TV is still going, a dramatized sound effect from whatever movie you and the children were watching fills the dense air between him and his parents. Jungkook wills his gaze to remain on the task in front of him, even when it longs to find you. 

Ye-Seo huffs under her breath, "You take your own mother for a fool?" She means to come across as scolding but her tone is far too soft for it to ever be. Giving the porridge another stir, she turns to face him fully — his father had gone quiet next to her. 

Jungkook can feel her eyes on him though he makes no move to meet them as he mindlessly cuts away at the orange in uneven slices.

"You may have your own kids now, but you are still my son." She inhales a quiet breath, "I haven't seen you look at anyone like that since— since…" 

There's no need for her to finish her sentence. He knows who she speaks of and it makes his lips twist into a grimace. Yet, the longer he lets the thought sit with him, the more dangerous it becomes. Jungkook hadn't allowed himself closeness for a long time, for his sake and for the children. You were never meant to be any different. 

And Jungkook knows that he's being selfish. He knows that each time he kisses you he lures you deeper into a false reality that he for some reason allows himself to cling to. What he doesn't like is that his mother knows this too. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." It's a pathetic excuse that shames him to the core but he utters it anyway — hoping to bury the entire conversation. 

Ye-Seo stops stirring the porridge entirely, her expression growing almost solemn as she says, "I just want for you to be happy." But could she not see that was trying? That he had been trying for so long now — wasn't that enough? 

"I'm worried about you," she then adds, "After everything that happened with Yelena, I—" 

The knife makes a deafening sound against the tiled counter top when Jungkook slams it down, startling his mother into aborting whatever she was about to say next. He turns to his parents with his chest tied up into knots, teeth grinding against each other with an intensity that borders on painful. 

"Son…" His father finally speaks in a low, cautious voice, like one would a frightened animal. He's got a hand on his wife's hip, the other on her shoulder as he hugs her close. The pity on his face makes everything worse — so does the weak attempt at comfort that he tries to provide. 

"Don't," Jungkook spits, moving to wipe his hands on a nearby towel, "I don't need to hear it." He bunches the fabric up between clenched fists in an attempt to channel his emotions onto the unsuspecting rag. 

His mother untangles herself from her husband's embrace, taking a couple of steps in his direction. "Sweetie," her fingers caress his tense forearm, "Your father and I only mean well. What happened between you it's…" She trails off, hesitation flickering across her features before she says, "It's still affecting you." 

Jungkook knows she's right, knows they both want what's best for him. That's what stings the most. He was tired of being pitied. The month that followed at work had been torture enough. The lingering glances from his employees. The apologetic smiles and the condolences. His parents had undoubtedly been the worst — not that he ever told them. It was enough that he was hurting, he hadn't needed his mother and father's feelings on his conscience. 

"I'm fine," he turns his head in the direction of the living room as the sound of approaching footsteps reaches his ears. "Don't bring her up again," he tells them both as Cassian comes barreling through the doorway with you and Rayne in tow. 

Both his parents fall silent at that and Jungkook turns his back on them as his son comes up to show what he had drawn with his new rainbow crayons. "Daddy! Daddy! Look what I made!" Discarding the towel on the counter, he crouches down to come eye-level with the boy and as Cassian eagerly points to different parts of the painting, Jungkook glances up to peer at you subtly. 

You're smiling from ear to ear, oblivious to the conversation that had taken place in your absence. The necklace he'd given you last night sits prettily around your neck, its golden hues shimmering softly under the kitchen lights — a constant reminder of his affections, the ones he cannot bring himself say out loud — he hates himself for his own incapability. 

The uncomfortable twist of guilt in his chest returns as he regards the serene expression you wear. His parents had been right, he thinks. 

Jungkook was taking more than he could offer in return — a selfish man he was. 

── [ ✉️ ] Okay... Peeking out from behind my hands very nervously right now. Hopefully the quality wasn't horrible, it was even harder to write this from Jungkook's POV which I did not expect so I honestly don't know how to feel. Hopefully it is okay?

You had not imagined finding yourself back at the large mall a mere week after picking out Rayne's birthday present. No less could you have ever thought that your return here would be in search of Christmas gifts for the two children. Had it been busy last week, then it was undoubtedly worse today. With only five days to spare before the day itself, people were resorting to violently elbowing each other toward the shelves to snag the last items for themselves.

Without the firm grip Jungkook keeps on your hand as he weaves through the crowd you're pretty sure you would've been trampled to the ground by now. He'd come to pick you up around noon after dropping Rayne and Cassian off at their grandparents' as he suggested that you do the shopping together — and you had not been one to decline. 

When you thought about it, you don't think you had ever been outside with Jungkook — unless you chose to count the multiple car rides, which you didn't. Though the crowded mall wasn't exactly a romantic scene. Sweat and pungent women's perfume make the hot air uncomfortably sticky, you've bumped shoulders with at least a handful strangers already, apologizing with a quick bow of your head before Jungkook pulls you forward. 

"Didn't think it was going to be this packed," he mutters when steering clear of a group of teenage girls, at least half of them letting their eyes linger on his bypassing frame. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he stood out in his dress pants and the tight fitted, navy fleece — which seemed to be the only garment he possessed that wasn't a button up. 

You snort, fingers lacing a little tighter between his. "Christmas is next Thursday, we're not the only ones on a last minute run." 

He doesn't say anything in response to that but judging by his tense posture — this was not his ideal setting. His eyes dart around the crammed room you stand in, its high walls make each conversation echo loudly and in the distance the piercing scream of a discontent child rings out. A fountain sits in the middle of the bottom floor, water rippling from the top, the sound would have probably been soothing, had you been able to hear it. 

Jungkook spots the escalators ahead and starts tugging you in their direction, cutting through the mass of people like a man on a mission. When you reach them he steps aside, allowing you on first before taking his spot behind you. 

Turning around to face him, you lean against the railing as the moving stairs take you to the second floor. "May I remind you that this was your idea?" The teasing lilt to your voice has him frowning and Jungkook makes a clicking noise with his tongue as he averts his gaze, studying his surroundings like he expects them to suddenly charge at him with knifes. 

"I'm starting to regret it," he sighs whilst running an inked hand through his dark hair. A loose strand falls across his forehead and you reach out to push it back. The action feels natural, domestic almost. He doesn't stop you, gaze trailing the path your finger takes closely. 

Standing one step higher makes you tower over him and Jungkook tilts his head back to peer at you through his lashes. The sigh he lets out fans across the lower half of your face warmly and you resist a small smile. "We'll be in and out, thirty minutes tops." You tell him the lie in full confidence, knowing very well that the long lines would probably amount to that time alone. 

But he doesn't question it, simply nodding as you step off the escalator and take in the array of stores on the new floor. To the left you spot a pop of color that screams 'Toy's' and you immediately move toward it — only to be stopped by Jungkook's tug to your hand. 

Confused, you send him a glance over your shoulder. "Let's split up," he says, "I have somewhere to go." When the puzzled look you wear doesn't ease up he lets his thumb brush across your knuckles, "I won't be long." 

Dumbfounded, you finally bring yourself to nod. "Yeah— Uh, sure." 

Jungkook hums, jerking his chin in the direction of the toy store you had been headed toward. "I'll meet you there when I'm done." Then he lets go of your hand and takes a step back, clearly waiting for you to move first. 

You hesitate for a second before mutely agreeing and spinning on your heel. Part of you wants to check if he was still standing where you had left him but you decide against it, focusing on making it to your desired destination without getting overrun by the hoard of people. 

The air inside the toy store itself is even hotter than that of the mall outside, and as expected, the space is filled to the brim with parents, all in search of presents for their children. Somewhere in the distance a Christmas carol plays through a crappy speaker, barely heard over the ambience around you. Slowly you begin making your way down the many aisles, scanning the options available as you chew on your bottom lip. 

An older man shoves past you suddenly, causing you to stumble on your feet. By the time you've regained your balance he's disappeared around a corner, not to be seen again. "Bastard," you grumble as you pull yourself together. 

You go over the mental list you had made of Cassian's wishes. When passing by a shelf of stuffed animals your eyes instinctively scan for a dinosaur one, he hadn't specified which he would like, so you figured that the green stegosaurus would work. Turning it over in your hands, you inspect it closely before nodding to yourself. 

As you wander through the store, your mind loops back to Jungkook with a frown. Where had he gone — and why couldn't you tag along? The answer was written before you in bold and yet you dared not entertain the idea that he might be getting something for you. 

Teeth sinking further into the skin of your lip, you ponder on what to get him. You could hardly afford anything on the pricier side, what would he even want? Jungkook revealed so little about himself, making your decision nearly impossible. 

Up ahead, there's a section dedicated to shiny toy cars and you slow down when walking past it. Cassian had mentioned wanting something like that as well. Your fingers hesitate over a blue one, just about to reach for it when a patch of color catches your attention. Turning toward another shelf further down the aisle, you find what you hadn't thought existed until now. 

Rainbow crayons. 

The toy car is abandoned entirely as you head for it, gaze locked on the small jar as you swerve through the crowd. In fact you're so focused on getting to the damned crayons that your surroundings completely fade into background noise. It's not until you have it clutched between both hands that you finally exhale a breath. 

Tilting the box in your palms, you study it with a pleased smile, Cassian would be overjoyed. And the price tag wasn't half as outrageous as you had feared — though it pushed your budget enough to exclude the shiny, plastic car from the equation. 

"Lovely lady, is that you?" 

A familiar voice pulls your attention from the colorful crayons and you glance up in time to see Namjoon gently stepping around another woman as he approaches. He's dressed in denim on denim, which, was an interesting fashion choice that you chose not to comment on. The pale blue fabric contrasts the bleached ends of his hair well though and he offers you a warm smile when coming to a halt before you. 

"It would appear so," you hum as you find yourself reciprocating the greeting. Had it not been for his memorable face, you think you might've had trouble recalling who he was. Your thoughts had admittedly been quite preoccupied with the Jeon family — the brief encounter with Namjoon was quickly shoveled to the back of your mind. 

You're surprised he even approached you to begin with, though grateful nonetheless. "Think I picked the worst day to come out here," he says when throwing a pointed glance around the crowded store. 

"I reckon it'll only worsen the closer to Christmas we get," you shrug, knowing very well that both prices and customers would skyrocket by the 24th. 

Namjoon nods, then his gaze drops to the rainbow colored crayons you still clutch, not to mention the stegosaurus shoved under your arm. His brows arch a little higher on his forehead and his eyes quickly snap up to yours, the questions stirring behind them. "You got kids?" he suddenly asks and you could've sworn your heart plummeted to your stomach. 

"O-Oh, no, no—" shaking your head, you busy yourself by fiddling with the plastic jar between your fingers, hoping he won't catch on to your flustered expression. "No. No, I don't," you exhale a quiet breath, "I um, I babysit two, well, I'm their nanny I suppose." A strained cough later, you add, "They're not mine." 

Your words come out a jumbled mess but they seem to make perfect sense to Namjoon, whose shoulders relax a fraction. "Ah, I see," he says with a lopsided grin, "It's really kind of you. I don't think I've heard of a nanny who buys presents for the kids."

You want to object by saying that they weren't just kids to you. Rayne and Cassian were special, really special. Regardless of you spending the holidays with them or not — it would feel wrong not to get them something. It's during said thought process that you realize Namjoon was scouring for gifts inside a toy store as well. 

Lifting your gaze, you meet his quietly, "And you?" You tilt your chin in the direction of the doll he was holding, having just noticed its long, brown hair and purple dress. 

Namjoon shakes his head, "No. This one's for my niece." He holds up the doll with a tilt of his lips. "Though I can't say that my family isn't hot on my heels about the matter," heaving a sigh, he continues in a somewhat sarcastic tone, "Thirty-three years old and I'm beyond my prime it seems." 

His blunt admission makes you pause, eyes widening a fraction as you blink. Thirty-three? That would make him three years older than Jungkook and— Actually, you didn't want to think about the rest. 

Your awkward chuckle is what fills the short silence as you think of something else to say. It wasn't that you disliked talking to him, quite the contrary. But Namjoon had this natural charm around him that made you want to impress him — for whatever reason. 

"You don't seem like a last minute type of guy," you finally muse, nail flicking idly against the plastic lid of the jar in your hands. 

Namjoon hums, "I'm not," he says when running his fingers through his short hair. "I was out with my mother the other week— Oh yeah, we bumped into you back then too, how silly is that?" His lips stretch into a wide grin that has dimples dent into the soft skin of his cheeks and you swallow. "Anyway, me and my brother, Jin, ended up buying duplicates for his daughter," he sighs, "It was a whole mess. Long story short, the coin toss ended with me having to go out and find something else for her. " 

He adjusts his grip on the doll, regarding it with a thoughtful look. "She likes to play with her stuffed toys, I'm hoping this will do the trick as well." 

"I'm sure it will," you say, "How old is she?" 

Namjoon's lips part, the answer waiting on his tongue when he suddenly goes silent. Frowning, you're just about to ask the matter when a cologne you recognize all too well invades the space between you. 

Jungkook's presence is felt before it's seen, the quiet loom of his shadow as it creeps up beside you, blocking off half the aisle with little care. He's holding not one but two bags, both from brands you recognize to be high end. Though that's not what catches your attention — not really. No, it was the brooding expression glued to his face, dark eyes lingering on Namjoon's friendly ones. 

"Oh— That was quick," you hum, suddenly feeling awkward as you stand between the two men. 

Next to you, Jungkook simply nods. Gaze briefly straying from where they had been fixed to Namjoon as he sends you a glance. "It was," he agrees lowly. 

Shifting on your feet, you clutch the jar of crayons a little tighter. "Uh, right. Jungkook this is Namjoon," gesturing vaguely to the man in front of you, "Namjoon, this is Jungkook." 

Unfazed by the fact that the hot store seemed to have turned a good couple of degrees colder, Namjoon extends a warm hand. "Hey," he says in a light voice, "Nice to meet you." 

Jungkook regards his outstretched palm with a scrutinizing look that he quickly masks again. After moment's deliberate hesitation he reaches out to take the offered hand as the former gives it a firm shake. He does not greet him back, but his features have schooled themselves into a weak attempt at something more relaxed. 

"The boyfriend I presume?" Namjoon asks, his smile doesn't waver but his gaze is calculating when the darts between you and Jungkook. 

Boyfriend. The label slices through you like a knife, twisting your stomach in all directions and you nearly chuckle at the absurdness of the question. But Jungkook hasn't moved an inch beside you, apart from withdrawing his hand the second he got the chance. His jaw is clenched hard enough for the muscle in his cheek to strain and you rush to clear your throat. 

"No he's uh— I'm the nanny to his children," you hurriedly explain, hoping he wouldn't catch on to how tightly the stegosaurs was squeezed against your side. 

Your answer has confusion striking his features as Namjoon lets his attention shift between the two of you. Perhaps he found it strange that you would be out Christmas shopping with your supposed boss — you wouldn't blame him. 

But if he had any opinions, he kept them to himself as he flashed you another smile. "Ah, my apologies" he says, though doesn't actually sound regretful as he his eyes settle on you. Or perhaps you were imagining things…

Namjoon is quick to effortlessly move the conversation forward, smoothing over the small bump like it was nothing. "My mother won't stop raving about you," he says, his now-free hand finding its way to his jean pocket as he takes on a more casual stance. 

The giggle that slips past your lips is lighthearted, all ready feeling more at ease. "She's still going on about dinner?" You wonder, grateful for the subject change. 

He hums, "That's putting it lightly." Namjoon shakes his head, "I told her you must be busy during the holidays and to not fret so much." 

You're about to suggest setting up a date around New Years when the sudden weight on your waist steals your voice. Jungkook's hand is firm where it rests on your hip, and if you had somehow managed to forget about his presence — this was certainly a stark reminder. 

"She is," He says, tone flat and devoid of any emotion. Your elbow nearly jabs him in the side when he tugs you closer, the plushie squished between you until it was unrecognizable. Jungkook doesn't seem to notice — he's too busy sizing Namjoon up with his eyes alone as they peer at him with quiet intensity. 

You send the other a small smile, fingers curling hard around the box of crayons as you pray this entire conversation be over as quickly as possible. "Yeah uh, Christmas is quite busy for me," you say, offering him an apologetic look. 

"Of course," Namjoon shrugs, like it was no matter, "I'm sure we'll find time." The corner of his lip twitches into a lazy grin, just enough to show off his white teeth. "Well then," He gives a dramatic bow and you resist another giggle, "I hope to run into you soon again, lovely lady." 

With that he takes his leave, quickly disappearing through the crowd of people as he heads for the register. You're left standing by the art supplies with Jungkook attached to your hip — literally. He has yet to say anything and when you turn your head, you find him staring after Namjoon's retreating figure silently. 

His hand is firm on your hip and it seems he's got no intentions of letting go in any near future. "Are you done here?" He asks when finally tearing his gaze back to yours, his voice has softened back into the one you've become so accustomed to and you exhale a relieved breath. 

"Yeah," you say, allowing him to lead you through the store, never once letting go of you. 

For the next hour you wait in more lines than you do any actual shopping. After securing the two presents you were to give Cassian, you had spotted a makeup store not far off, quickly pulling Jungkook in it's direction. He had made no verbal complaints, only looking very puzzled as you went through the different sections of the store. 

"Do you think she would like the blue- or pink-themed one?" You had asked him when holding up two eyeshadow palettes in front of him. He had studied them both closely, the frown on his face deepening tenfold as he grumbled the options to himself. 

Finally he had croaked out a quiet 'Pink?' to which you had playfully shoved his arm and called him stereotypical. From that point on he'd let you lead the way through the rest of the store, linked together by the lock of your hands, Jungkook followed you like a shadow. 

Since your brief encounter with Namjoon, he had been even quieter than usual, you had tried to brush it off as something that had to do with the hot and over-crowded mall but even the car ride home was void of conversation. 

He made no comments about the gifts you had bought, no further inquiries about Namjoon, which you were quite grateful for. And when the engine cuts as you roll up to the tall building you call home, Jungkook wordlessly gets out as he rounds the car to hold your door open before you can even attempt to do so yourself. 

He retrieves the presents from the trunk, slamming it shut with a little more force then necessary as he turns and heads for your apartment complex, leaving you to scramble after him. 

Despite you insisting that you would be fine, Jungkook still carries your bags up the stairs and to the third floor. He assures you that it's no mind and a small part of you can't help but wonder if he was merely trying to prolong his departure — in either case, you were not complaining. 

Soon you find yourself on your doorstep, the sound of a rusty key jamming inside its lock as you twist it open. Jungkook hasn't said a word since holding the entrance door open for you and when you turn to face him, he regards you quietly. It feels wrong to just tell him goodbye and send him on his way even when that was probably what was expected of you. 

Your fingers hesitate over the door handle, tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth as you swallow thickly. "Do you…" Tapping quietly on the cool metal, you blurt out the rest of your sentence, "Would you like to come inside?" 

For a second you think he might reject the offer, say that he was late to picking the kids up from their grandparents' and leave. But actually Jungkook nods, his expression betraying nothing of what he thought. So without pondering the idea further, you push the door open with your shoulder. 

This was not the first time Jungkook had been to your apartment yet it feels like a whole new experience when you make your way down the hall that leads to the living room. You weren't a messy person by any standards but your flat certainly doesn't compare to that of his large and spotless house. "Just uh, make yourself at home," you say, gesturing vaguely toward the couch. 

Doing as he's told, Jungkook takes a seat on the cushion, looking very much out of place on the mundane piece of furniture as he takes in his surroundings. You realize that his previous visits here had been very short lived and it wasn't until now that he'd actually gotten to stop and properly look around. 

The mess of old mugs on the coffee table make you cringe and you scurry over to collect them clumsily. "Can I get you anything to drink?" you ask when straightening back up. 

Jungkook's gaze flickers up to meet yours, "Water will be fine," he says. 

Nodding, you turn on your heel as you dart for the kitchen, eager to escape his line of sight for a moment. You don't know why you were so nervous about having him here. Placing the dirty mugs in the sink, you mull over the feelings stirring inside your chest. You had been alone with Jungkook multiple times before, hell, your entire day had been spent in his presence at the mall. 

What made this any different? 

The still air maybe, or the fact that you no longer had the distraction of crowded stores or the children hovering around you. Or maybe it was because whenever you and him found yourselves completely alone — you always seemed to cross dangerous boundaries. 

You think of last night. The drinks you had shared in the shadows of his study, tucked away from the rest of the world. You think of the way his lips had felt on your neck, his hands on your thighs when he placed you on his desk and the caress to your back as he held you close. You think of the reluctant shower you'd taken when arriving back home, grieving the scent of him on your body as it washed away under the hot steam.

"Enough," you mutter when pulling a cabinet open. The memories of yesterday are pushed to the back of your mind as you turn on the faucet and fill two glasses. 

Jungkook is still lounging on the couch when you return to the living room. One hand is stroking the armrest beside him idly but his eyes lift upon your arrival. Your feet move soundlessly across the floor as you approach, handing him one of the glasses which he takes with a murmured thank you. 

For a little while the two of you simply exist together in the small space of your apartment, with you having yet to take a seat as you sip on your water. Jungkook does the same, his gaze fixed on you over the rim of his glass. It's not until he leans over to set the drink down that his attention shifts to the textbook thrown across the coffee table. 

He studies it for a moment, inked fingers brushing across its cover as he picks it up. "Oh, yeah…" rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly, you nod toward the book, "I have this big exam tomorrow, was doing some last minute studying this morning." 

Jungkook hums as he reclines back against the cushion, flicking the pages open with his thumb as he skims them aimlessly. When he turns back to you, it's with a cocked brow, "Are you prepared?" 

The question has the water slipping down your throat as you blink dumbfoundedly in his direction. "I mean, I think so…?" You knew that you hadn't given your studies enough attention during the course of the last two weeks, the man before you was partly to blame for that. "It's a lot of material but I've revised it all at least once," you then say whilst adjusting your grip on the glass. 

He doesn't respond right away, still skimming the page he'd landed on before finally closing the book and tucking it between himself and the armrest to his left. "Alright," he muses, "Then show me." 

Had it not been for the deathly hold you kept on your glass of water, it would've kissed the floor the same way your jaw currently was. "What—?" you splutter, thinking you might've misheard him somehow. But Jungkook simply folds his arms across his chests as he flings both legs up on the foot of the L-shaped couch. It was then you realized that he was being completely serious. 

"I wouldn't even know where to start—" shaking you head, you try to brush the idea off again, "And there's so much, I'll bore you." Not only was the prospect of potentially boring him on your mind, but so was the thought of wasting the little alone time with him on something as mundane as studying. 

Unfortunately, Jungkook isn't letting up. His stare could've probably coerced just about anyone into compliance and you were no different. 

The sound of your glass hitting the coffee table echoes off the four walls that surround you. "Can I at least go grab my notes?" 

That was how you found yourself next to Jungkook on your couch, in your living room, in your apartment — alone. You sit curled up beside him, eyes fixed to the notes in your hands, supported by your thighs as you read them over again and again — your brain never actually picking up the words so messily scribbled down. 

As you quickly revised, Jungkook took his time flipping through your textbook. After prying a chapter number out of you he was now reading the material closely, eyes squinting slightly in the absence of his glasses. 

You gnaw on your bottom lip when sneaking a glance at him, gaze fleeing back to your notes when he suddenly looks your way. Another two minutes pass in tense silence where you repeat the scribbled key words like a mantra. 

Then the notebook is suddenly snatched from your grasp as Jungkook's tattooed hand closes around its edge. He's put the class material aside and is now scanning the pages you've written for himself. When you attempt to retrieve the essential guide, he simply pulls it out of reach. "Time's up," he says. 

You almost fling yourself over him to get your notes back, only to realize how stupid that would look — and how close you were already sat. His cologne, always lingering in the back of your mind, infiltrates your nostrils with your next inhale. His arm is warm where it rests against your own, his head tilted just enough for you to meet one of his dark eyes as he studies you. 

"Well?" He prompts when folding his arms back over his chest and sinking back against the cushion. His expression is expectant, even more so than your stern no-nonsense professors and you feel yourself beginning to sweat under the sudden attention. "Start simple," he then says and you nod. 

Clearing your throat, you mentally go over the notes once more. The exam was your biggest one yet, focusing on both the human lungs and heart. "I— Um, the heart…" you begin, hands fiddling awkwardly with one another, "It's the body's most vital organ as it provides oxygen to our cells and maintains our blood pressure." 

Jungkook hums, never once taking his eyes off of you. "Where's it located?" 

You roll your eyes at that, "Oh come on. You know here." 

But he only shrugs, "What if I don't?" You were no fool to what he was trying to do here. Acting completely clueless to pull as much information from you as possible. It would be a lie to say that it didn't amuse you, if only a little — because Jungkook was far from stupid, though getting to experience him like this, even if it was only pretend, fueled something in you. 

"It's located in your chest, just behind your sternum, in front of your spine — though it's positioned slightly to your left." Reaching out, you point to where his heart would be beating just under the tight fleece he wears. 

Jungkook's gaze tracks the path of your hand, humming softly to show that he was following along. "How?" He then asks, tilting his head a fraction to the side, "How does it give me oxygen." 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, "Well, to explain that you first need to know how the heart is built." There's brief hesitation where you search his face for clues, but he's just watching you, wordlessly urging you to keep going. 

The next breath you take comes easier, some of the tension draining from your shoulders as you hone in on one of the things you were most passionate about — the human body. "The heart is made up of four chambers and they all serve different purposes," you explain, "The atria are the two chambers at the top of your heart, and the ventricles sit at the bottom." 

Your finger points to where you think each one would be, approximately at least. Jungkook lets you without complaint, his chest rising and falling slowly with each breath he takes. "You're quite a hands-on teacher," he then muses, causing you to forget your next sentence as you huff exasperatedly. 

"I'm just trying to show what I mean…" You mutter, quickly withdrawing your hand from his torso when you realize how long you'd let your touch linger. 

Jungkook eyes you for a moment without speaking until he abruptly leans forward. You barely have time to ask the matter as he reaches behind him, grabbing the back of his shirt as he tugs it over his head in one swift motion. 

"What are you—?" 

The spluttered question falls flat as he tosses his shirt over the armrest on the other side of him. He raises a brow at your perplexed and slightly flabbergast expression, the corner of his lip twitching before he forces it back into something more neutral. "Giving you access," he says when leaning back against the couch to get comfortable again. 

Your brain short circuits as your attention falls on his naked chest — the one you'd only had the privilege of seeing on one previous occasion. And now he was suddenly offering himself up as revision material? 

Finally pulling yourself together, you shift in your seat as you turn to get a better view. "Right," you clear your throat, "Like I was saying…" 

"The atria and the ventricles?" he finishes for you. 

"Yes, that." Fumbling to gather your bearings, you will your mind to focus on where his heart would be and not the distracting sight of bare skin. "The uh, the chambers can be divided into left and right." You're hesitant to reach out again, more so for your own sake than his, but in the end you do — finger pointing to his chest where you had felt the steady drumming of his heart. 

"The right atrium receives oxygen poor blood through the vena cava. There are two of them, one superior and one inferior and they both work slightly different…" You trail off, eyes flickering up to meet his, only to find Jungkook already watching you intently through dark lashes. 

"How so?" He asks. 

"Well, the superior one delivers blood from your upper body, such as your head, throat, chest and even your arms." Gesturing vaguely in the direction of his painted arm, you then continue in the same breath, "The vena cava inferior transports blood from your lower body, that blood travels through your veins but to defy gravity and actually make it back to your heart they rely on different mechanisms to help them." 

Your hand slides down to his forearm, gently pushing it back against the upper one as you try not to linger on the way his bicep contracts at the motion. "When your muscles are in movement they squeeze your veins, forcing the blood upward and with the help of one-way valves that open and close, the oxygen poor blood is ensured to not run back down again." 

Jungkook lets you manhandle his arm back and forth a couple of times, more than what was actually necessary for the explanation but he makes no move to stop you either. "And if I'm not moving?" He wonders, brows furrowing slightly on his forehead, "Then what happens?" 

"You also have your respiratory pump," you hum, recalling the revised material a lot easier now. "When you breathe your diaphragm moves," abandoning his arm, your palm comes to rest on the center on his torso, just below his chest at the base of his ribcage, "It creates a suction effect in your chest cavity which draws blood upward." 

Under your hand, Jungkook's chest expands as he takes a deep breath, like he was testing the theory out for himself. "Makes sense," he muses on his exhale. 

You nod, debating on pulling back entirely but instead deciding to just let your touch return to his heart instead. "Right so, the right atrium then delivers the oxygen poor blood to the right ventricle which in turn sends that blood to your lungs in order to enrich it with oxygen again. That part is a little confusing to explain as the functions of the veins and arteries trade places." 

The corner of Jungkook's lip twitches, "I'm sure I can keep up." 

Heat crawls up your neck at the confidence in his voice and it makes you waver for a split second before you clear your throat. "The uh, transportation of oxygen poor blood to the lungs is not done with veins rather the pulmonary artery. When you inhale your lungs become full of oxygen which is given to your blood through diffusion. This is possible thanks to the capillaries which are walls thin enough to let the exchange happen. It is the same way oxygen is exchanged everywhere throughout your body." 

You pause to make sure that he was following along, shyly lifting your gaze from where it had been glued to his chest. Jungkook is regarding you quietly, he's made no attempt to interrupt you and the look in his eyes made your stomach flutter in a way it certainly shouldn't when you were revising anatomy. 

"The er— exchange itself then fills our lungs with carbon dioxide which is what we then go on to exhale. Moving on, the oxygen rich blood is transported back to your left atrium through the pulmonary vein. That chamber in turn pumps the blood to your left ventricle which sends it out to the rest of your body." 

By the time you're done explaining the basics of the heart itself you're left with your own hammering in your chest — and that was without going into any detail on the different conditions such as heart attacks. 

Jungkook hums in understanding, nodding once like you had made perfect sense. The silence between you stretches long and awkward for nearly ten seconds after that and you fumble for something to fill it with, ultimately landing on rambling more information stored at the top of your head. 

"Further more, an adult heart, when relaxed should beat anywhere between sixty to a hundred beats per minute, anything above that can indicate high blood pressure." A quick glance at his toned arms and the whisper of muscle on his stomach has you continuing, "Though fit individuals may sometimes have a lower resting heart rate, somewhere around forty to fifty beats per minute." 

Jungkook cocks a brow at that, his gaze landing on the hand you still kept over his chest. You barely have time to register what he was doing before the warmth of his palm presses down across your fingers, bringing you closer to his beating heart. 

"What's your diagnosis, doc?" He asks when tilting his head to the side. 

Completely thrown off balance, it takes you a moment to understand what he meant and you quickly distract yourself by trying to count the slow and steady beats his heart gives. Your apartment is silent, save for your joint breaths and the soft creak of the couch when you shift on the cushion. The rhythmic thumping under your hand never falters, its calm and steady beating almost pisses you off — how was it so easy for him to remain unaffected as he sat shirtless in your living room? 

When you think a minute might've passed you gingerly pry yourself free of his grip. "Well, it's impossible to say since I can't time it properly right now — but I'd say it's normal." 

Jungkook seems satisfied with your answer. He doesn't say anything for a while, leaving you to rethink the entire interaction as you gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Then he suddenly turns, twisting himself just enough to face you better and a second later his fingers dip beneath the neckline of your shirt, hot palm finding your heart as he presses it against your skin. 

You want to ask what he was doing, like it wasn't obvious enough. But you can't seem to get a single word out, forced to sit there as Jungkook feels the embarrassingly rapid beating of the traitorous organ in your chest. You toy with the idea of holding your breath forcing your heart into submission but ultimately decide against it as Jungkook's dark eyes meet yours. 

"Yours is beating fast," he notes, hand still present against your chest. 

The huff that escapes you falls somewhere between a laugh and a strained plea. "Yeah uh— There's explanations for that as well," you tell him, immediately regretting it when his expression lights up with interest. 

"Such as?" 

"Well there's many… Norepinephrine, sudden adrenaline surges and involuntarily fight-or-flight responses. They all cause your heart to beat faster." You ramble on as you avoid his gaze, finding the armrest behind him most intriguing. 

Jungkook hums, "Why now?" 

You have half a mind to tell him off. He was not stupid but neither were you, and you knew when someone was pushing your buttons. Still, the only response you can manage is a weak scoff and a pathetic excuse, "You took your shirt off…" 

The fleece lays discarded to his left, but Jungkook pays it no mind. His fingers move absently across your skin, tracing small, messy patterns there. Eyes darting back and forth between his hand under your shirt and your face, like he was considering something. "And if you took yours off? My heart would beat faster, yes?" 

You're certain he can feel the beat your heart skips in your ribcage, the hitch in your breath as his proposal registers. You tell yourself that you were past the terms of modesty since long — Jungkook had seen you in less, and still, this conversation makes you want to hide just as much as it makes you want to kiss him. 

"Well—" you begin with a slight stutter, "Not necessarily, you'd need to be attracted to the person you're seeing." 

At that he leans closer, his attention dropping to the faint outline of his knuckles through your shirt as he presses his index and middle finger over your heart. Then he lifts gaze, "I am," he calmly states. His free hand finds the line of your jaw, fingers closing around it on a soft embrace when he leans in to press his lips against yours. 

You sit there like a stature for a good three seconds, trying to piece together what he'd just initiated before leaning in as you invite his tongue inside your mouth with a breathless gasp. The kiss is soft, it feels like him, scarily familiar in a way you should've never let it become. 

His fingers slip out of your shirt, curling into your hip as Jungkook tugs you onto his lap like he was moving air. Both hands settle on your waist and your own palms brace themselves on his shoulders without having to be told as you kiss him harder, all thoughts of studying flying out the window in favor of the man on your couch. 

He toys with the hem of your sweater, tugging on the fabric just enough to pull your attention away from the lock of your lips. Despite the heat that smooths itself over your cheeks you still manage to maintain eye contact as you lean back enough to pull the garment over your head, tossing it to the floor just like you usually would when getting undressed after a long day. 

Jungkook's gaze roams your chest unapologetically, lashes fluttering softly as he runs the pad of his thumb up your side. His hands slide to your back, tracing your naked spine as he pulls you closer and you let him steal your breath with another kiss. 

Your hips move on their own, grinding down against him through the layers of clothes you wear — to which he responds by digging his fingers into your skin, pulling you down on him harder. The air inside your living room grows hot, outside your window the sun begins its slow descent down the horizon, basking you in all shades orange. 

Last night had yet to leave your mind and judging by the way Jungkook hardens under you within the minute, it hadn't left his either. The sound of his groan vibrates on your lips, low and filled with desire he does nothing to hide.

Only when his fingers wrap around your wrists as he guides it across his collarbone do you pull back an inch. He says nothing when he moves your palm to rest flat over his chest, right above the now frantic beating of his heart. You feel it clearly, the quick thump-thump-thump as it slams against his ribcage from within. 

When you meet his eyes you find them entirely swallowed by the black pools of his pupils, dazed with all the things he never said out loud. "Do you feel that?" he whispers, breath warm against your face. His fingers lock around yours as he presses your hand impossibly close, letting you experience the undeniable evidence of his pure want. 

You nod, just a slow tilt of your chin which Jungkook mimics with one of his own. "Good," he says, but he doesn't let you go when he leans in to pick up the kiss he'd broken with renewed hunger. 

Your other hand loosens its hold on his shoulders, sliding to the nape of his neck as he tips his head back to let your tongue slip inside his mouth. The ends of his hair slip between your fingers, fitting perfectly in your grasp when you curl the digits around them. Having previously lost their rhythm, your hips return to their slow grind against him. 

Jungkook leans back from the kiss, lips pressing against the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the side of your neck as he showers you in affection. "Who was that?" he asks against you, the hand not currently keeping your own caged to his chest, grips your hip. When all he receives is a slightly confused hum from you, he adds in a lower voice, "Your friend," making sure to accentuate the latter.

Your body grows tense on top of his, brows pinching together across your forehead as you attempt to pull back enough to look at him — but Jungkook is not letting you go. His arm slides around your waist, keeping you perched on his lap as his lips stay latched on to your neck. 

"Namjoon?" You finally splutter, fingers twiddling a strand of his dark hair between them. 

Jungkook sighs out a small 'mm' between kisses, "That's his name?" He phrases it like a question even though you both know it isn't. 

"Yes," you murmur, glancing down to where your hands lay locked over his heart. "Why are you asking?" 

His fingers flex on top of yours, "Curious," he says after another open-mouthed kiss to the column of your throat. Teeth closing around your skin, he pulls the tender flesh past his lips and bites down. "He seems like a decent guy," letting go, he soothes the sting with his tongue, "How do you know him?" 

Your brain short circuits as you try to make sense of what he was saying all the while he continues to lick and nip at your throat. "Uh, I've met his mom twice — by chance. Him once before," you say as you try to recall your past encounters with Namjoon, even when that was the last thing on your mind right now. 

The answer has Jungkook humming noncommittally, the arm looped around you flexing slightly as he tugs you closer. His hips lift up to meet yours that had gone still, wordlessly urging you to move again. 

You comply as you grind down on him, slower this time. "What matter is it anyway?" you huff, tilting your head to the side when his kisses trail back up your jaw, then your cheek. 

Jungkook exhales through his nose, he nudges your palm flat against his chest, reminding you of the way his heart was currently beating like a dumbbell. "None," he says as his lips cover yours. 

Your next kiss is laced with the emotions that had been left brewing since last night. Each roll of your hips sends a shudder through you, soft gasps spilling right into his waiting mouth. His hands return to your waist, guiding you back and forth over the bulge in his dress pants. 

The subject of Namjoon is dropped just as quickly as it had surfaced and for that you're glad. All you can focus on his how Jungkook feels under you, against you, so close yet nowhere near enough. He hadn't asked about the boyfriend thing, hadn't brought up your dismissal of such a label being used on the two of you. Then again, you weren't an item to begin with. 

Your fingers return to his dark hair, running through the strands like property signed in your name. His jaw goes slack when you tug on a few locks, a strained noise ripping from his throat as his hips jerk up to meet yours in a messy attempt at creating more friction. The sofa creaks under your joint weight, the slick sounds of lips and saliva smearing together mixed with your heavy breaths filling your living room. 

The two of you would've probably kept going for a lot longer, had it not been for the sudden, ear-piercing ring that cuts through the hot air. Jungkook's grip on your hips loosen, his mouth slowing down against yours as he exhales. 

"Ignore it," you moan against him, not wanting the moment to end because someone — God knows who — though probably Daehyun, decided to be a cock-blocker. But the shrill of your landline won't stop and you're forced to make the hard decision of tearing yourself off Jungkook's lap as you storm over to the device on your desk. 

Fingers curling around the phone, you rip it from its designated spot as you press to accept the call. "Daehyun, I swear to God if this is—" 

"Oh, there's a familiar voice." 

Namjoon's chuckle makes you pause mid scolding, brows shooting high on your forehead. "Uh, sorry. I thought you were someone else," you quickly apologize, pulling your swollen bottom lip between your teeth as embarrassment floods you from head to toe. 

"It's no mind," he says, "I've been calling around, going through everyone with your name in the phone book. Though since I never caught your last name I was going on the first. Turns out there's quite a few of you in the area." Namjoon's tone is lighthearted, a stark contrast to the conversation you had just been having about him. 

"Well, you found me at last," you muse, finger tapping softly against the back of the phone. Somewhere in the distance a floorboard creaks and a second later Jungkook's arms slide around you from behind. He's put his shirt back on, the soft fleece biting into your back when his chest molds against you. 

"I'm glad I did," Namjoon says and you were certain that Jungkook could hear his voice on the other end of the line. His head was lowered enough for it to, the tip of his nose skimming along the side of your neck as he inhales deeply, a sound you hope won't pick up on the receiver. 

But Namjoon doesn't seem to be catching on as he continues, "I was calling about that dinner. I made the mistake of mentioning our run-in to my mother earlier and her nagging has only gotten worse." He clears his throat, "So uh, you don't happen to be free sometime after Christmas?" 

It was the first time you had ever heard Namjoon appear even remotely hesitant. He was all charming smiles and confident conversation. The question was almost endearing, though Jungkook's arms, locked around your stomach makes your thoughts stray from the man on the phone as your heart races. 

"After Christmas?" you echo, biting down on your tongue when a pair of wet lips meet the spot just below your ear. "I'll have to check my calendar but uh…" Another kiss to the juncture where your neck and shoulder meets has you suppressing a shiver. "Could I maybe get back to you on that?"

"Of course," Namjoon says, "Should be a lot easier now that my number is in your register." His laughter is something you're unable to reciprocate as Jungkook continues his assault to your bare skin, placing hot, messy kisses all over you with no intent of slowing down. 

When the short call comes to a close you exhale a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. For a few long seconds you stand there, staring at the wall as Jungkook drags his lips across the slope of your shoulder. 

Placing the phone back onto the machine, you twist in his arms as you turn to face him, causing him to finally pull his mouth back. He did not have to ask who had been on the other end and you did not have to tell him. The previous desire in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by something softer as he studies you in the warm afternoon sun. 

"Sorry about that," you murmur, fingers picking at a loose thread on his shirt before flattening the fabric out again. 

Jungkook only shakes his head, hands clasped over the small of your back. "Don't apologize to me," he says, brows furrowing across his forehead for a second, then relaxing again. Your close proximity did not fluster you as much as it had only minutes ago — though it still made fire burn hot in your veins. Should you kiss him again? Would he want you to? Maybe you— 

"I should be heading out." Oh. You can't hide the flash of disappointment when it strikes your features, he must notice it too for he lifts one hand to cradle your cheek. "Told my parents I'd be picking the children up at five." 

"Right, no of course." Shaking your head, you take a small step back in an attempt to put some much needed distance between the two of you, and allowing him to take his leave — only for him to stop you. 

Jungkook's hand is firm on the low of your back when he reels you in, foreheads meeting as his lips hover a breath from your own — just shy of a kiss which he dares claim a second later. There's no tongue this time, no heat, just the gentle press of his mouth to yours. When he pulls back he does so carefully. 

His thumb brushes the high of your cheek, "You'll do good on your exam," he says, the corner of his lip lifting at the flustered purse of your own. 

"I'm not so sure about that" you huff, feigning indifference as you try to play it down again. 

Jungkook hums, "I am." He leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, then he lets his hands drop back to his sides as he steps back. Your gaze trails after his retreating figure when he heads down the hall, slipping on his coat and shoes methodically, the flutter in your stomach having yet to die down. 

With one hand wrapped around the door handle he turns to glance at you over his shoulder, dark eyes meet yours just like they had so many times this afternoon before he steps out. 

Your apartment is awfully silent after his leave, goosebumps rising on your naked arms in his absence. With a begrudging sigh you turn to snatch you discarded shirt off the floor, pulling it over your head as you stumble toward the bathroom with the means of washing up. 

The bright, white lights blind you when you flick them on and it takes you a moment to adjust. Twisting the faucet, you lean down to soak your face in cold water, scrubbing away the remnants of the heated kisses you and Jungkook had shared. 

Part of you wonders what would've happened if you hadn't been interrupted. Would it be like last night? Maybe. You dared not think about it for too long. 

You pat your face dry with the nearest hand towel, blinking at your tousled reflection in the small mirror. Admittedly, you had looked better. But as you lean closer to inspect the swollen state of your lips, your attention catches on something entirely different. Craning your neck to the side, your eyes widen as they drink in the hint of bruising to your skin. 

Your fingers reach for the faint mark, knowing it would darken overnight. The bathroom light flickers above you but you ignore it as you trace the outline where Jungkook's mouth had once been — remembering what his teeth had felt like when they sunk into your skin. 

── [ ✉️ ] Okay yeah, he was hot in this one I think. Doing way too much with the heart stuff, I did not plan for him to do that it was his own decision I need everyone to be onboard with this okay? Anyway anyway, hope this was okay, it was very all over the place yet nowhere at all? Not sure how to feel but I hope when we get to the next two chapters things will actually make sense.

Opening your textbook that Saturday morning felt like stepping into a world long forgotten. You had been so caught up in Rayne's birthday preparations, then there had been the dance — and Jungkook. It shamed you to admit that your studies had taken a backseat in favor of the Jeon family. With your final exam coming up before Christmas you were now paying the price of your ignorance

It didn't help that Daehyun had chosen the exact moment you sat down to get some work done to give you a call. An hour and a half later and you were still on the phone with him as he went on about his latest attempt at romance, which, given his track record, did not bode well. 

"But I don't think he's ready for anything serious—" your friend sighs on the other end of the line, "I mean, he's only been taking me to hotels as of now. I haven't even gotten to see his place and he's been to mine multiple times." 

Clutching a highlighter in your free hand, you underline a third paragraph on the page in front of you, not actually bothering to read the words written. "Mhm," you hum, frowning slightly when his statement actually registers, "Wait, he hasn't introduced you to anyone yet?" Tilting the phone slightly, you nudge it to your ear with the help of your shoulder. 

Daehyun makes an offended noise, "No," he mutters begrudgingly. "And here I thought someone his age would at least have the balls to make a move on me outside of the bedroom." 

You pause, highlighter pressing against the paper as the yellow color continues to bleed onto it. "How old is he again?" 

There's a dramatic beat of silence before Daehyun scoffs, "Twenty-seven!" You can vividly imagine him throwing a hand in the air as he gestures wildly to a play-pretend audience. "Can you believe it?" He sounds as though he's ready to go on another rant only to be stopped by the disapproving click of your tongue.

"Dae…" You exhale, brows furrowing deep on your forehead. 

"What?" He retorts defensively, "I don't want to hear anything from you, Ms I've got a thing for my boss who's thirty." 

You cringe at that, fingers curling a little tighter around the highlighter as you stare at the wall in front of you. "It's not like that— And you're making it sound weird!" Pursing your lips, you roll the thick pen between your index and middle finger, "Besides, I do not have 'a thing' for him." The truth was that you had more than a thing for Jungkook, but admitting that to Daehyun of all people felt like a death sentence. 

It was easy to forget that Jungkook actually paid you to see his children. That each day spent at the Jeon house was a transaction and should have stayed that way. Your free hand traces the corner of the open page. Falling in love with both Cassian and Rayne had never been part of the plan — least of all had the intimate moments you shared with their father been. Now you feared you were in far too deep to ever be rescued, the worst part was that even if such an opportunity did presented itself — you knew you wouldn't take it. 

There's rustling on the other side of the line as Daehyun shifts to get comfortable, likely laying in bed with his phone cord wrapped around himself. "Hey, I ain't say there was anything wrong with it. I'm just stating the facts of your situation and judging by what you've told me, he sounds a great deal better than whatever dude I let stick it up my ass." 

"Okay— Okay, I didn't need any explicit details about your sex life, Dae." Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to force the picture of your friend from your mind. Unfortunately in doing so, you manage to open a door you had not intended to. Images of Jungkook instead flood your vision, images of his lips, parted and red, hovering just inches from your own. 

The afternoon you had spent together all those weeks ago, the quiet intimacy of his chest pressed against yours, his hands on your body, his mouth on— 

"Say," Daehyun drawls, "Is he more man than my recent fuck?" 

His question startles you from your thoughts and you blink. "What?" you huff, confusion lacing your words, "What's that supposed to mean?" 

Your friend heaves a breath, like the answer was written in front of you. "I mean, has he made a move on you?"

Made a move? Jungkook? You swallow the lump that sits in your throat, hoping the crappy landline won't pick up on it. Memories of all the stolen moments between you return. The way he'd kissed you for the first time in his study that night over a month ago — pulling away like he'd committed a crime. You think of all the touches he'd let linger after your shared afternoon together, the caresses to your waist, the kisses to your neck, lips… 

You knew that keeping whatever it was the two of you had going on a secret from the children was important. But Daehyun was not someone you had to keep things from, so why did it feel so difficult to tell him? Perhaps it was because telling him would mean confirming that it had actually happened, that it was real and not just a figment of your imagination or a fantasy you had conjured during late nights alone in bed. 

"Well he…" Your index finger finds the cord that ties your phone to its machine and you toy with it idly. "He's been pretty clear I guess," you murmur, almost shyly as heat crawls to your face. 

Daehyun could've easily made a back flip on his end of the phone, but if you had to guess, he'd simply shot up straight from whatever position he'd been lounging in. "No way!" he practically shouts, the excitement radiating off of him, "How far have you gone?" 

The chair creaks under your weight as you shift on it awkwardly. While it wasn't uncommon for Daehyun to share all about his sexual endeavors, you had never been on the giving end of the exchange between you. 

Your silence seems to do the job though because a moment later you hear him snicker on the other side the line. "You dirty little minx," he practically squeals, "Tell me everything!" 

You're thankful for the distance between you at the moment. The last thing you needed was him cooing at your flustered expression or the way you chewed on your bottom lip. "I don't know what there's to say…" Shrugging, you put the highlighter down, finger tapping softly against it as you ponder an answer that would satisfy him without leading to more prying. 

"What is there not to say?" Daehyun is radiating on his end, the sound of his mattress groaning loudly as he shifts on top of it. "What was he like? Was he good?" The teasing lilt to his voice is unmistakable and it has you tightening your grip on the phone, hard enough for it to crack. 

"Yeah," the admission leaves you in a breathless whisper, "Like…really good." And he had been. You don't think you had ever felt touch like his before, it was like he knew exactly when and where to linger, how to move, how to breathe with you. Shaking your head, you try to brush past the unwelcome visions of his head between your legs. 

Daehyun, however, is far from finished with this conversation as it just took a most interesting turn. "What did I tell you? Guys his age know what they're doing. So tell me—" 

Your friend is just about to pry further when the device in your hand suddenly beeps loudly, effectively pulling your attention toward the familiar sequence of numbers that had appeared on the screen, signaling you of a different caller. "Dae, I might have to call you back," you say when going over the numbers a second time. 

There's a short pause before Daehyun's speaks, "Wait what—?" The confusion only lasts a second though, "Oh. Is it him? It has to be, why else would you hang up on your beautiful best fr—" 

"Okay, bye!" 

The relief that floods you by ending the ongoing call with Daehyun quickly evaporates as you realize that you would be answering the man who's abilities in bed you had just been discussing. A small grimace tugs at your features and you blink twice when bringing the phone back to your ear, pressing a button on the machine to allow the lines to connect. 

For a while all you hear is the static, bruising noise coming from the other end and you clear your throat awkwardly to greet him, "Hello?" 

You and Jungkook had spoke very little when he returned home last night. Having put Cassian to bed by eight, just as instructed, you met the pair by the front door as Jungkook stepped inside. He'd been carrying a sleeping Rayne in his arms, the look on his face serene as he regarded his daughter. 

When you had asked how the night went he'd simply smiled — a smile so rare for someone like him. Then he'd told you that he would be taking her to bed. He thanked you for your help but his eyes never strayed from the girl in his arms. Once he began climbing the stairs you'd decided that it was best you take your leave and give him the rest of the night alone with his sleeping children. 

So to accept a call from him, on a Saturday no less, was rather unexpected. "Good afternoon," Jungkook's voice startles you slightly and you turn in your seat to peer at the clock over by the couch. It was already nearing 1pm, how long had you and Daehyun been on the phone? 

"Yes… Afternoon," You hum, gaze flickering to the discarded highlighter, laying across your open textbook. Without its cap on the ink was running dry and you glance around in search for the missing piece. 

On the other end of the line there's a pause before Jungkook continues, "I'm aware that it's your day off," he says, "But I have to leave for the office, rather unexpectedly. If you're busy I understand, I'm sure I can make arrangements with their grandparents or—" 

"I'm free." 

The response pours out of you in a second, cutting him off mid-sentence as your fingers curl around the phone a little tighter. You were actually busy, but as you close up your textbook you knew that your mind was made up. 

You can hear his exhale through the static of the phone — he sounds relieved. "That's good," he then says, "I would come pick you up myself, I just cannot leave the children at home." 

"Oh, I'm just fine taking the bus, no worries." you assure him, finally finding the cap of your highlighter as you seal it in place with a click. 

Jungkook is quiet for some time, until he finally asks, "Will you at least let me pay the bus fare?" 

His suggestion makes you freeze from where you had been leaning over to stuff the yellow pen back in the jar that held the rest. Brows scrunching together, "You already pay me enough," you tell him when rising to your feet, "I'll be there in half an hour." 

He doesn't argue with you on the matter, sighing on his end, giving in with a soft 'Alright' before allowing you to disconnect the call. 

You don't hesitate as you gather your things, trying to keep the excitement in your chest at bay as the lock twists, sealing your front door and leaving you to scurry down the stairs. 

The buses were not as lenient during the weekends, rather than every fifteen minutes they ran every thirty, making your trip to the Jeon house slightly longer than usual. You've brought your study material — this time without fear of Jungkook stumbling across it. You figured you should at least try to revise for the upcoming exam. 

Snow stubbornly clings to your sneakers as you walk down the pavement. It smears even further when you attempt to brush it off with the opposite foot, white clumps quickly melting through the fabric and soaking into your socks. "Stupid shoes," you mutter when pushing the gate to the Jeon estate open, still trudging forward with your head bowed. 

In fact, you were so caught up in the disappointment of your cold and wet feet that you don't bother glancing up when heading toward the steps of the front porch. Perhaps had you been a little more attentive you would have noticed the obstacle of another person before you crashed into them. 

Forehead slamming against something hard, you tumble back with a small 'oof', already reaching up to soothe the throb in your temple. "Are you okay?" The sound of Jungkook's voice makes your head spin even more so than the impact of his shoulder where it had smacked across your face. His fingers brush against your wrist as he guides your chilly hand away to assess the damage himself. 

Upon further inspection, and a slight clearing of your rattled mind, you realize that he'd been outside even before your arrival. Had it not been for the white layer that dusts his dark hair and the coat he wears — then the faint redness to his nose was a dead giveaway. 

"I'm fine," shrugging nonchalantly, you raise him a brow, "What are you doing out here?" 

Jungkook blinks once, lips parting as he lets his touch fall from your arms and takes a small step back. "I was just leaving," jerking his chin in the direction of his car, you follow his line of sight. Upon turning back to the thick and fluffy snow that layers his shoulders, not to mention the rosy tint to his cheeks, his lie becomes blatant. 

"I never got to thank you for yesterday," he then says, frowning when you shake your head dismissively, obviously offended that you would brush his gratitude off. "I'm serious," he presses, "What you did for Rayne, it meant a lot to her — to me. Thank you." 

His leaps seal together in a thin line after that as he regards you expectantly. You know that you should probably say something, fill the silence that had followed his words. But your mind was slow to even comprehend the weight of what he'd just told you. Inhaling a lungful of cold air, you give him a small but genuine smile. 

"It meant a lot to me as well," you say, "I'm glad." 

The distant rustle of tree branches swaying in the afternoon breeze is all that can be heard. A few birds — the ones who hadn't fled for warmer climates — chirp above, their song carrying through the wind. Jungkook's gaze lingers on a raven, sitting on a lower twig that extends from the trunk. 

"I should get going," he murmurs when turning back to you. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, he clears his throat swiftly, "The children are in the living room," he says, "Door's unlocked." 

You nod, fingers clasped together and you move forward as you attempt to step past him — only for Jungkook to do the same. Your face pulls into a sheepish expression and you quickly try to correct yourself by going in the other direction. Unfortunately he seems to have the same idea and you end up chest to chest a second time. 

"Sorry," you chuckle as you come to a stop. Jungkook does the same, hands returning to your elbows as his fingers curl around your arms through the thick material of your coat. He gently steers you to the right, allowing you to step around each other without more fuss. 

Thanking him under your breath, you quickly head up the stairs as he walks to his car. When climbing the three steps you have to force yourself not to turn back around and steal one final glance at him. You do a decent job, making it all the way to the front door with one hand wrapped around it — only to immediately whip your head over your shoulder as Jungkook suddenly calls out. 

He's standing by the driver's door, a clenched fist resting atop its roof. "I was just—" His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, chapped by the cold air. "Well, Cassian has been asking but I think both children would like it if—" His jaw clenches as he struggles through the sentence. 

You stand frozen by the door, fingers nearly slipping from the metal handle. New snow falls and though you're shielded by the slanted roof that extends over the front porch — Jungkook isn't. Flakes catch on his dark brows where they pinch together. He sighs, averting his gaze before quickly forcing it back. 

He looks like he's working up courage — the awkward roll of his shoulders and the stiffness in his posture. It reminds you of that one time in third grade when, Mike, your desk mate, had shyly asked you to the school dance with him. He had been all nervous glances and stuttered words but it had been the highlight of your year. 

Jungkook looks much like him right now, and had you not been so anxious to hear the rest of what he had to say, you would've probably found it rather endearing. 

Finally he gathers his bearings, palm flattening against the roof of his car. "I was just wondering if you would like to spend Christmas with us, the children, me." The question hangs between you for only a second, barely enough for you to fully process it until he starts talking again: 

"I mean, Cassian would really appreciate it. We usually spend it at their grandparents' but if you have plans I understand. Just thought I should ask so that I could give him an answer to—" 

"I would love to." 

The smile stretches to your ears and you don't even attempt to hide it. Your parents were set to be out of your hometown for the holidays, only returning back before new years which was when you planned to see them. This would mark your first Christmas away from home — not having to spend it alone but rather with the children, and Jungkook, made your heart flutter in your chest. 

By his car, Jungkook exhales a breath. His frame morphs from tense to relaxed and when he catches the sight of your beaming grin, the corner of his own lip twitches. He nods, a subtle tilt of his chin. Then he opens the car door and gets inside, letting it fall shut after him. 

You turn back to the door, gripping the knob with newfound excitement as you prepare to step inside. 

The children are in the living room, just as Jungkook had promised. Rayne sits on one of the sofas, comfortably reclined back with a book in her lap. She lifts her gaze upon your arrival, though doesn't say anything — but her brother does. 

"Nanny!" 

Cassian, who'd been in the middle of smearing crayons across the papers scattered on the coffee table, perks up when he finds you in the doorway. The drawings are all but forgotten about as he jumps to his feet, hurrying over on short legs as he tugs you into a hug that would've probably knocked you off your feet, had he been a little taller. 

"Hi, sweetie." It's instinctive, the way your arms loop around his tiny body to reciprocate the embrace. His face nuzzles against your stomach, a content smile plastered on his lips. "What have you been up to today?" 

The young boy immediately perks up at the inquiry, big, brown eyes meeting yours as he reaches for your sleeve. "I'll show you," he says as he tugs you over to the coffee table where the two of you sink to the floor beside one another. 

He moves with purpose as he shoves the crayons aside, organizing the multiple drawings before you to line them up. "This one," he points to one of the images. The lines are a wobbly and uneven, the colors scribbled messily together but you still thought you could make out two stick figures that resembled a little boy and a woman. "That's you and me when we played hide and seek in the garden." 

Upon further inspection you can find what appears to be trees in the background. Their leaves consist of oranges and yellows, meant to resemble the last of autumn that still clung to nature that afternoon. "I remember," you hum, tracing the corner of the paper slowly, "You were counting too fast."

"Was not," Cassian interjects with a small pout. 

From there he goes on to present the array of drawings, all representing different parts of the family, some including you, others not. He finally lands on one that makes you pause. It's a painting with all four of you, the only one of its kind. But that's not what catches your attention, no, it's the large pine tree in the middle. It's decorated with colorful lights, and beneath it lay square boxes. 

Cassian goes quiet, milk teeth locking around his bottom lip. "That's us on Christmas," he gestures vaguely to the drawing, "Daddy was going to ask you to come." He hesitates, stealing a quick peek at you through the corner of his eye. 

"He did," you muse, plucking the painting with careful fingers as you take a closer look. The picture shows you and the young boy holding hands, his sister and father are doing the same. "I told him I would love to come." 

The look of pure joy that lit up Cassian's face was like that of the sun's rays in summer. He flashes you all of his teeth — save for the small gap on his bottom row. "You will come?" he repeats, like he had to double check to make sure you were being truthful. When you nod in confirmation he wiggles on the spot, "Hooray!" 

"Our nana makes the best cookies and papa always lets me help put the lights on the tree!" It sounds as though he's already planning for the entire day, he rambles on about presents, food and different games you're going to be playing. You can all but match his grin as you listen to him excitedly talk. 

Allowing yourself a glance in Rayne's direction has your eyes meeting for a split second before she promptly turns back to the book in her lap, pretending like she'd been reading all along. Guilt knots in your stomach, perhaps she did not want you to come. Christmas was for family after all and though you had been invited you couldn't help but feel like maybe you were intruding on something you shouldn't. 

"I actually bumped into him right outside," You muse, attempting to brush the unease aside with simple conversation. That only makes the young girl tense, her grip on the novel tightening. 

"That's weird," She says, not taking her gaze off the page, "Father left long before you came, he said he was late for a meeting." 

You fall quiet at that — in fact the entire living room does. It's not broken until you let out an awkward chuckle that does little to play up the mood. So instead you turn to her younger brother, picking up the smile that had faded ever so slightly. "What did you ask Santa for?" you wonder, trying to steer the conversation away from Jungkook's odd behavior. 

Cassian hums thoughtfully, "A dinosaur and a car figurine, oh and new crayons, the ones with rainbow colors!" 

"Rainbow?" you cock a brow at that, "There's a rainbow colored crayon?" You don't think you had ever heard of anything like that but he eagerly nods as he jumps into explanation. 

"Yes," Cassian points to his existing crayons, scattered across the coffee table, "It's a special. Only Santa makes it, that's why I put it on my list so I can have one." 

Across the table Rayne scoffs, she's put the book down and is now watching her brother with a narrowed gaze. "Santa isn't real, he can't make you a rainbow crayon," she states at as a matter-of-factly, one hand tucking her ponytail down her shoulder. 

"Well that's not true," you say when you notice the solemn look on the young boy's face, "Santa is just as real as you and me." 

"How do you know that?" Cassian asks as he peers up at you through dark lashes. 

You shrug, "Because I've met him of course." 

His eyes go wide as saucers at that, lips parting in a quiet gasp to which he quickly swallows with a squeal. "Really? You've really met Santa?" On the couch opposite you, Rayne scoffs under her breath but you ignore her. 

"Sure have," you say, "He was creeping 'round downstairs, very loudly might I add, he even woke me up from my sleep. So I quietly crept down the stairs, and do you know what I saw?" 

Cassian leans closer, shaking his head mutely and you bite back a giggle. "I saw a big man, with a white beard and red clothes — eating my cookies! Can you believe it?" You wave a hand aimlessly, "I was furious of course, I told him that those were mine and that I had been saving them for the morning." 

"What did he say? What did he say?" He asks, fingers clawing at his own knees as he tries to contain his excitement. 

Humming out a soft breath, you continue, "Well he said that he needed the cookies. You see Santa gets real hungry going to each house on Christmas Eve. He promised me that I would get a special gift in return, as a thank you for the treats." Leaning back against the edge of the couch, you stretch your legs out in front of you. "The next morning when I woke up there was a big present under the tree, can you guess who it was from?" 

"Santa!" Cassian looks overjoyed at the story, his earlier gripe with his sister quickly fading at the thought of meeting the white-bearded man himself some day. "Do you think I will see him?" 

"Without a doubt," you promise him as you ruffle his dark hair. Looking back the man in your kitchen had likely been your dad, geared up in his costume and snacking away on your cookies. But your sleep-addled, six year old brain had been unable to piece that together and the moment was allowed to live on as such until you turned thirteen and your old pops had the audacity to ruin it. But seeing the excitement in Cassian's eyes was more than enough to mend the broken memory.

He goes back to drawing shortly after, this time depicting images of Santa himself, his sleigh and his reindeer — to the best of his abilities of course. You sit back comfortably on the floor, content to watch him work, even though you should probably pull out the textbooks you had brought with you and get some studying done. 

The idea has been tossed back and forth in your mind for a good five minutes without you coming to a decision when Rayne suddenly clears her throat. "Nanny?" she asks, her voice loud in the reigning silence. You immediately perk up at being addressed, a quiet 'hm?' passing your lips. She hesitates, fingers curling around a page in her book as she fiddles with it. A couple of seconds pass where she doesn't speak, then she wills herself to meet your gaze. 

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Out of every question you'd been expecting, this one had been at the very bottom of your list. It stuns you entirely and for a while you simply stare at her. "Boyfriend—?" you splutter, disguising your cough with an awkward huff. 

Rayne nods, she sits perfectly still on the cushion, her eyes tracking you up and down like she was trying to figure something out. Cassian had stopped drawing and was now watching you as well, a faint frown on his face. "You're…" she pauses, "You're pretty. You know how to do the pretty things with my hair and stuff." Rayne gestures vaguely between you as she references back to last night. 

The compliment warms your chest, and cheeks, making you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. "Ah, thank you, sweetie." Pursing your lips, you then shake your head. "I don't have a boyfriend." The admission feels a little stiff but you try not to let it show as you carry on with a soft chuckle. 

Rayne seems satisfied with that answer, her attention lingers a moment longer before it returns to her book — only to be torn from the pages as Cassian suddenly exclaims, "You don't have a boyfriend?" He appears genuinely conflicted by this information, it didn't make sense at all to him.

"But nanny, you're cute. Why don't you have one?" His bottom lip is stuck out into a pout, cupids bow arched in a frown as he studies you closely. When you simply shrug the gears seem to turn even faster in his tiny head. "I know—" He then says and you feel your heart drop to your stomach at what that might mean. 

Cassian twists his body toward you, chest puffing up to appear bigger as he puts on a bright smile. "I can be your boyfriend!" 

You hope he doesn't catch the relieved exhale you let out, shaking your head as a giggle erupts between you. Before you can answer him though, Rayne butts in, "You can't do that, silly. Nanny is a grown-up." 

This only brings back her younger brother's previous confusion and he begins chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "Okay…" he murmurs, fingers picking at a lock of hair, "Then I will be your boyfriend when I'm a grown-up." He gives himself a reaffirming nod, like the decision had just been finalized and you couldn't find it in you to argue against it. 

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," you hum as you give his cheek a gentle pat. You thought you could hear Rayne grumble something under her breath but she refrains from saying anything else as she goes back to her book. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the living room. You finally pulled out your textbook, flicking it open on the page where you had left off at home. Cassian was greatly interested in all the pictures, pointing at different parts of the human lungs as he asked questions.

As it turns out, he was a great study-buddy. You could dump all sorts of information on him, explaining and then re-explaining things in simpler terms as you went through the notes you had taken. He listened with fascinated eyes and though you were sure he probably understood about half of what you told him, it was a good way for you to revise the material.

By dinner time you all cooked together, even Rayne helped taste-test the sauce you had made — only for her brother to spill some on his shirt when he tried snatching the spoon from her.

Jungkook did not arrive back home until you had tucked them both into bed. You were halfway through Cassian's third bedtime story and he had just drifted off when the sound of the front door unlocking could be heard. You listened to the sound of footsteps as he climbed the stairs, for a second they almost made you believe that he was headed for Cassian's room. They had stopped just outside his closed door, a dark silhouette filling the light beneath the crack. Then they had faded again, another door creaking before closing softly — his study presumably.

You had stayed by Cassian's bed a little longer than needed, taking your time when putting the books back on their shelf, tucking him in once, then once more for good measure. 

Finally you head out into the hall, your eyes immediately drifting to the door which you knew you would find Jungkook behind — feet leading you there on their own. The picture of him out in the snow earlier today still lingers fresh in your mind. As does the nervous stutter to his speech and you half expect to find him in a similar state now. 

The door to Jungkook's study is agonizingly loud upon being pushed open. You allow yourself a sparse couple of inches, just enough to poke your head inside and inform him of your departure. Shadows swallow almost the entirety of the room and had it not been for the lamp on his desk, casting a soft halo across the papers he sifts through — it would have been pitch black. 

Jungkook sits in his chair, glasses low on the bridge of his nose, which he scrunches when lifting a finger to push them further up. He has yet to notice you, too lost in the corporate world that seems to consume him entirely. 

He does not look at all like he had this afternoon. Perhaps it was the wear of the long day that had weighed down his otherwise youthful appearance. He still looked handsome of course — but there was something else that clung to the air around him right now. 

You clear your throat, tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth when his eyes meet yours from across the small room. "The children are asleep…" He knows that already, the house had been basked in silence since his return home after all. 

He nods but his attention doesn't return to the files in front of him like you had expected for it to. Instead he regards you quietly, the way that always makes you wonder what he was thinking about. He would not tell you, of course, he rarely did. Another tense five seconds pass where neither of you speak. Your fingers have began tapping idly against the doorknob as a means to distract yourself. 

"Cassian spilled sauce on his shirt during dinner. He didn't want me telling you but I thought I should in case the stain doesn't come off," a breath later you add, "Though I soaked it in cold water so it should be fine." You were rambling nonsense but said nonsense was better than the strange and awkward silence that had found its way between you. 

Jungkook simply repeats his previous motion, tilting his chin in acknowledgement as he traces the edge of the paper in front of him. You notice that the liquor is sealed within its cabinet, waiting behind closed doors to be drank — he hadn't reached for it tonight. 

"Do you want a glass?" 

The sudden question makes you pause, gaze flitting back to the man before you. Jungkook is watching you with an expectant look, having let go of the pages to place his hands on the armrests of his chair. He must have noticed your wandering eyes but the offer still takes you by surprise. 

"I…" Your throat feels dry and for a moment the thought of something to take the edge off didn't seem like such a bad idea. Though one glance at the clock above the cabinet makes you rethink. "I shouldn't. I mean—" shaking your head, "Last bus leaves in a little bit. I better be on my way." 

His brows draw together at that and for a split second Jungkook looks almost disappointed. He quickly masks it again, schooling his features into their default wear. But when he opens his mouth to speak, the words that spill from his lips are not what you had expected: "You're leaving already?" 

The cough lodges itself halfway up your throat, fingers curling a little harder around the doorknob as you sway on unsteady feet despite being stone cold sober. Was he asking you to stay? Your next breath comes out in a short puff and you have to shove the confusing thoughts aside to focus on giving him a proper response. 

"Well— No, I mean," swallowing thickly, "I have some time to spare…" 

Jungkook's chair squeaks against the floorboards when he rises to his feet and you watch with wide and unblinking eyes as he makes his way over to the liquor cabinet. Taking it as your cue to actually step inside, you do so, letting the door fall shut behind you soundlessly. 

"Any requests?" He asks when he unhooks both glass doors, swinging them open to showcase the bottles inside. 

Your feet carry you over to stand beside him — close enough to feel the heat of his body that radiates from him like a furnace. Scanning the options presented before you whilst chewing on your lip, you go over the labels once, twice. Jungkook's taste matched him perfectly, all expensive brands, half of which you did not dare attempt to pronounce. Their amber shades stare back at you daringly. 

He must notice your hesitation, for a moment later he reaches for the one bottle you recognized — the whiskey. His arm brushes yours when he retrieves it, and it somehow sends a jolt of electricity through you despite the touch being mundane in comparison to how intimate you had been. 

Jungkook doesn't linger on the brief caress as he grabs two glasses in his free hand, turning to place them onto his desk with a soft clink. And after busying yourself with shutting the cabinet doors, you join him by the table — looking on as he pushes the sleeves of his button up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos you'd spent so long tracing. The memory makes your chest hot even though the alcohol had yet to touch your lips. 

His shirt is generously unbuttoned, revealing the faint outline of his chest when he leans forward to pour the whiskey. "You don't drink often I take it?" He asks without lifting his gaze from the glasses which he filled to about a quarter. 

"No," you hum, "Not really…" Aside from the drinks you and Daehyun went out to grab after rough exams, your experience with any kind of liquor was very sparse. Your attention lingers on the amber liquid that swirls within the glasses, glimmering softly under the glow of his desk lamp. 

Jungkook hands you one of them and you take it with a quiet 'Thanks' as you try not to think about the way your fingers ended up nudging. He nods as he takes a sip of his drink and you find yourself doing the same — cringing slightly as the burn scratches down your throat. You hadn't drank since last time you found yourself in here, back then your emotions had been high enough to cancel out the strong and invasive flavor of the whiskey. 

Stillness clings to the air between you, with only the faint ticking of the clock on the wall to fill the silence. You distract yourself with another small sip, only to immediately regret it as your nose scrunches. Jungkook catches the flicker of distaste, cocking a brow as he brings his own glass to his lips. 

"What do you kids drink then?" He wonders before swallowing more liquor. 

You shrug, free hand caressing the mahogany wood of his table as you perch yourself on its edge. "I don't know, cheap booze— beer mostly." The splinters creak under your weight but you ignore it as you shift to get comfortable — or as comfortable as you could get with him standing so close. 

Jungkook hums, "Do you like it?" His eyes never stray from where they had come to settle on yours, shielded by his dark lashes, it looked almost as though he was trying to guess your answer before you could give it. 

Shaking your head, you let the pad of your thumb stroke the bottom of your glass. "God, no. I only drink when I'm out." Tilting your gaze from the drink you hold and up to his hooded eyes, you ask, "Do you?" 

He mimics you with a shake of his own head, "No," he says, following it with another long sip. The glasses, still perched over the bridge of his nose, reflect in the dim lights and you become almost entranced by the subtle flicker. "Do you go out often?" He then wonders, and you tried to figure out why he was asking so many questions all of a sudden. 

"Rarely" you admit, trying to keep your tone indifferent as you sip on the whiskey, "Why?" 

Jungkook gives a noncommittal roll of his shoulders. "Kids your age love to party, no?" He delivers it casually but the statement still makes you frown as you clutch your glass a little tighter. 

"Are you calling me a kid?" You can't help the edge of defensiveness that sneaks its way into your voice as you eye him warily. "Or are you implying that there is something wrong with me not partying?" 

For a long moment he says nothing, simply regarding you over the rim of his own glass. He doesn't bring it up for another taste, doesn't lower it either. The corner of his lip twitches, "Neither," he says. 

You huff at the almost taunting response, turning your head in an act of pettiness. It works because a second later the floor creaks as Jungkook takes a step closer. The hand that isn't currently nursing his drink finds a crease in your jeans, fingers pinching the fabric as he smooths it out again — like the sight bothered him. 

"Good." You're still not looking at him, eyes fixed to the clock on the wall as it counts down the seconds until you're forced to part from him. "I'm not a kid. And I enjoy myself just fine whenever I so please," you add before silencing yourself with another sip of the whiskey. 

Jungkook hums, having let go of your jeans entirely, his magnifying touch disappears before it returns, this time to the hot skin of your face — heated by the alcohol and his proximity. His thumb strokes the line of your jaw as he gently guides you to look at him again. "I know," he says. 

Whatever offense still lingered from his previous comment ebbs away when your eyes meet his and your shoulders slump as your hold on the glass loosens. 

"How much longer until your bus leaves?" He asks, fingers warm against your feverish skin. 

You swallow, wondering if the liquor was finally taking effect or if he'd been looking at you like that all along. "Twenty minutes," you murmur, "But I need five to get to the stop." 

He doesn't respond right away, only watching you intently, like he was considering something. "That's fifteen minutes then," his thumb finds your bottom lip, the caress he gives it is light — teasing almost. "Will you enjoy yourself with me for those fifteen?" 

The innuendo hidden beneath the almost whispered words is clear and it makes your heart pound hard against your ribcage. Without answering you bring the glass to your lips, praying that the ill-tasting whiskey might give you the same courage you had inhabited on that sunny afternoon. 

Jungkook regards you intently, his fingers lingering on your jaw, tilting your head back to have the liquor slide down your throat easier. Through the corner of your eye you can make out the path his other hand takes as it discards the glass which he'd barely touched. Then he steps impossibly close, gaze dropping to your half-finished drink before gently taking it from your grasp. 

"You didn't answer my question," He murmurs upon setting the glass down alongside his own. There's a barely noticeable crease etched between his dark brows, as though your lack of response troubled him. It makes you smile, an easy smile that feels silly compared to the storm in your chest. 

Only when you realize where you are and what time it is does your face fall. Your mind wanders to Cassian and Rayne in their rooms. "But the children—" 

"Are asleep," Jungkook finishes for you, his palm coming to rest against your cheek. This was different from last time. No raised voices, no big living room to let you catch your breath — only the hard surface of his desk under you, and the warmth of his body but an inch from your own. 

He's so close that the slightly uneven exhales he releases fan across your face. His eyes are dazed with something beyond the desire you had noted in them on that day. Was he seeing something beyond just the intimacy of two people? You almost dared to hope… 

Jungkook swallows and you trace the bob of his Adam's apple. "I'll beg if I have to," He rasps, thumb pressing lightly against your cheekbone. 

That single line undoes the last of your hesitation and without giving yourself time to think it over, you close the remaining distance to press your lips against his. Your eyes fall shut as you let yourself linger in darkness, focusing only on the way his mouth parts against yours without being told. 

His hand is careful where it cradles your face, the other claiming your waist as he tugs you dangerously close to the edge of the desk. Jungkook always kissed you sweetly — there was never any sloppy meshes of tongues or uncomfortable clashes of teeth. But tonight time is against you, the clock ticks faster somewhere in the distance, reminding you of your eventual departure. 

"We need to hurry," you breathe against him, shuddering when he pulls back to rest his forehead to yours, the glasses he had yet to take off bumping against your nose. 

Through lidded eyes you can make out the subtle clench of his jaw, the nod he pairs with a rough exhale. He straightens up, the hand on your face falling to your waist as he mirrors the other. Then he casts a glance toward the clock on the wall, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. 

For a moment you think he might just step away, press a chaste kiss to your temple with the promise of finding time another day. But when Jungkook turns back to you, his usually brown eyes are almost black with desire, brows pinched with determination you rarely saw in him. 

His palms burn through the jeans you wear when they hook under your thighs, hoisting you from your spot on the very edge of the table and up against his chest. Your legs wrap awkwardly around his hips, arms looping behind his neck as your lips find his jaw, lavishing it in soft kisses. 

The chair he'd been lounging on just minutes prior is kicked aside as Jungkook steps into its spot. He shifts your weight onto one arm, the other blindly swiping away the papers he'd been working on. They scatter in all directions, mixing together in an unorganized mess, though Jungkook doesn't seem to care for it as he cranes his neck to find your lips. 

He sets you down on the now-cleared surface of his desk, you land with a soft thud right in the center, legs falling open to accommodate him between them. His tongue tastes like the whiskey you shared when it slides past your lips, and you welcome him eagerly with a sighed moan. Jungkook's hands — having returned to your hips — give a firm squeeze that startles you just as much as it spurs you on. 

His lips hover above your own, saliva smearing together in the aftermath of your kiss. He lifts one hand, knuckles brushing your chin ever so carefully as he closes your open mouth with a simple nudge. "Need you to stay quiet," he whispers, nose brushing along your cheek, "Unfortunately." 

You nod, even when it takes everything in you not to force your lips back together. Running the risk of waking the children was not something you'd had to be mindful of last time. And as much as the idea of startling them from sleep terrified you, it also made your stomach coil tight with heat. Judging by the way Jungkook was kissing down your neck, his tongue tracing the column of your throat, he must feel the same. 

Your fingers find his hair, curling around the black strands and tugging on them in the way that would always have him groaning against you. This time is no different, even when he tries to force the sound back, teeth finding the tender skin where your neck meets your shoulder as he bites down in hopes of salvation. 

His hands are clumsy when they find the zipper of your jeans, hooking around it before tugging it open — leaving you to squirm on top of the mahogany as you help him slide the denim down your legs. The air of his study is chilly from a window being left open too long but Jungkook's touch warms your naked skin in a heart beat as his palms move up and down your thighs. 

It's not until he feels you reach for the buckle of his belt that he finally tears himself from your neck. Ragged breaths leave his reddened lips and he stares at you with thinly veiled impatience that matches the frantic movement of your fingers, currently undoing the clunky piece of metal. It falls apart in your grasp as it unlocks the last barrier between you. 

Jungkook's hands are everywhere all at once, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt to feel up your sides, hovering just shy at the edge of your bra. All the while you focus on getting his pants out of the way. 

You make the mistake of glancing toward the clock once more, eyes widening at the rapid speed the minute handle seems to be moving at. "Eleven minutes," you murmur as your fingers hook around the waistband of his dress pants.

The words have barely left your lips as Jungkook slams his own back on them, stealing your next exhale with a kiss that felt unlike any of the others you had previously shared. The mask he wore with pride slipped just enough to let his teeth trap your bottom lip, eliciting a soft squeal from you which he tries to silence with his mouth. 

He swats your at hands, dismissing them from their feeble attempts at getting him undressed. The buckle of his belt hits the edge of the desk, dangerously close to one of your knees, as he shoves his pants down enough to free himself of their captivity. One hand on your hip, the other wraps around his cock, a shaky sigh following the rough stroke he gives himself. 

Without warning he curls a finger around the lining of your panties, tearing them down to rest at the crook of your knees and leaving you bare — the sudden intrusion of cold air makes you gasp against his lips. 

"Sorry," Jungkook whispers, fingers brushing over your exposed cunt as he tries to soothe the chill with warm touch. His thumb is not as precise as it had been that afternoon when it finds your clit. He's quick, almost rough rather than slow and calculated as he rubs you in small circles, making you instinctively arch against the heel of his hand. 

His index finger teases your fluttering hole — like he debated on pushing it in — but time was against you, he knew that, and the idea is dropped again as Jungkook pulls his hand away entirely. 

You trap the whine that builds in your throat by sealing your lips together. The disappointment of his absence disappears the second you feel his cock, hot and heavy as it bumps against your barely stimulated clit — it sends sparks through you, hips immediately rocking against him as you urge him closer. 

The hands you kept in his hair had since long gone slack around the dark locks. Only when he gently grabs hold of your elbows, guiding your palms to rest flat against the table did you realize that you had been holding onto him all along. Jungkook moves methodically as he has you brace yourself on top the desk, fingers tracing your forearms reverently as his eyes follow the goosebumps that ripple across your skin. 

Once he's satisfied he lifts his gaze to meet yours, waiting for you to give him the permission he desperately seeks. You give it to him with a nod — a quiet dip of your chin as your fingernails dig into the mahogany wood beneath you. 

He surges forward, lips crashing onto yours just as his cock breaches you. The lack of foreplay makes the stretch burn and you cry out into his mouth. Jungkook doesn't wait, there is no time for that tonight and his hips meet yours in one harsh thrust that has your arms nearly giving out from where they hold you upright. 

You're saved by the feeling of his hands — firm on your hips one second — behind your back the next. He slips them under your shirt, fingers tracing the end of your spine as he continues to fuck into you relentlessly. The pace is nothing like the one he'd set that afternoon in his bedroom, it's not slow and tender but fast and ruthless. 

It stuns you, if only for a moment. This side of him was something you don't think even your wildest of imagination could have ever conjured, but God if it didn't make you clench around him, hard. 

His tongue is warm and wet against your own, stringed together by a mix of saliva and desire, he kisses you in a way you didn't think he was capable of. But Jungkook seems determined to prove you wrong as his teeth nip at your bottom lip. 

The distant ticking of the clock fades into background noise as the creak of his table and the sound of skin meeting skin fills his study. Each thrust makes your thighs jump, heat jolting through your stomach as you moan openly against him. 

His glasses occasionally bump against your forehead, it's never enough to hurt but still bothersome. You reach up to push them back over his head, aiming to get them out of the way when Jungkook's fingers suddenly brush against yours. One hand has left your back as he grabs at the glasses clumsily, tearing them off completely as he discards them onto the desk with a clatter. 

Then he's back to kissing you, lips molding together like an unbreakable seal as his tongue finds yours. Cock twitching inside of you, his need pulses through you just as yours does him, and the arm you once held raised, loops around the back of his neck instead as you pull him closer. 

His body is looming over yours, forcing you to tilt back as your chests brush. Your nails dig into his nape, clawing their way to the ends of his hair and the groan Jungkook emits vibrates through you. His hips meet yours in a particularly hard jerk, causing the forgotten bottle of whiskey to topple over and hit the desk with a loud clang. 

"Shit—" Jungkook hisses as he tears himself from the kiss, one hand reaching for the bottle but it was already rolling for the edge. A second later it tips and falls, embracing the floor with a sound so deafening it makes you both wince. 

Abandoning his mission, Jungkook's palm plants itself against the mahogany as his forehead meets yours. The giggle you're unable to bite back fans across his parted lips, the ridicule of your situation quickly catching up. He doesn't seem quite as amused and he quiets you with another bruising kiss. 

The pace he picks up matches his previous, perhaps even more so. Each roll of his hips feel punishing, whether that was directed to your or himself — you did not know. The glasses of whiskey, still placed on the table, rattle and clink together in tandem with the way he moves. The tip of his cock catches on your clit when he pulls back enough to slip out entirely, leaving you aching and clenching around nothing before shoving himself back inside with one unforgiving thrust. 

Your body jolts when the hand, previously braced against the desk moves between your legs, thumb finding your clit easily. There was an underlying sense of urgency in the way he touches you, coaxing your orgasm to come faster as time slips between your fingers and you have to distract yourself with multiple kisses to his jaw and throat so to not let out the sounds that beg to be released. 

The familiar heat pools low in your stomach, and he makes a strained noise when his insistent flick against your clit makes you clench around his cock. "Jungkook I'm—" The breathless admission barely makes it past your lips when he suddenly freezes inside of you. His relentless pace goes from a hundred to zero in a split second and you tilt your head back, confused. 

Then you hear the faint creak coming from somewhere down the hall. It could have easily been the house settling, a gust of wind that tugged at the old wood, but it could also be the tell tale sign of a door being pushed open. 

"Do you think—?" 

Your question is cut short by Jungkook's hand where it clamps over your mouth. The table you sit perched on is now still, the glasses now longer bumping into each other and Jungkook's cock, nestled deep inside you, is unmoving. 

His eyes are fixed on the door behind you, chest heaving with each breath he takes, you notice the sheen layer of sweat that clings to his forehead and what little of his chest you can see. The two of you listen intently for another long minute, the silence stretches thick and heavy — filled with dread. 

When two minutes have passed Jungkook's thumb resumes its touch to your sensitive clit. It's slower this time, taunting circles that has you squirming on top of his desk, making it creak softly. He's yet to take his hand off your mouth, adamant about keeping you quiet even when he continues to draw your orgasm closer. 

"It's fine," he finally grunts, "Probably just the house." Part of you says not to believe him, to demand you abort this entire ordeal to not risk waking the children. But when he moves again, pushing himself even deeper as his head tips toward his chest, you can't find it in you to make him stop. 

The clock on the wall is an insistent reminder and it only spurs Jungkook on as he snaps forward, forcing the whiskey glasses together as the desk rattles. The momentary panic fades back into arousal as he applies more pressure to your swollen clit. Your thighs hug his hips, pulling him closer when you feel your climax approach. 

You give up on warning him as you let go of the table entirely, your arm joining the other around his neck, clinging to him like light in darkness. Jungkook releases your mouth and meets your lips in another kiss, teeth clashing together in a way he hadn't allowed last time. The hand he keeps on your back is the only thing holding you up as it counters each harsh thrust of his. 

A moment later you feel yourself clench around him, cunt fluttering repeatedly as you cum on his cock with a muffled cry into his mouth. Jungkook's touch to your clit doesn't let up and he drinks each sound of yours with greed, tongue lapping at your bottom lip as you pant against him. 

"Shh," he murmurs as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his pace slowing as he feels your legs go limp. When you squirm at his touch he draws his hand back from your clit, letting it join the other as he caresses the line of your spine beneath your shirt. The kiss has softened too, morphed into something that reminds you of how he would always kiss you. 

For a while you let yourself get lost in it, the remnants of your climax clouding your mind to anything that wasn't the feeling of his lips pressed to yours. 

When you part for air you find him already looking at you. His face is flushed the same shade of red it had been on that afternoon, sweat glistening on his temple as it ran down his sides. Without thinking you reach up to brush a few dark strands from his forehead, pushing them out of the way only for the stubborn locks to fall back to his brow bone. 

You shift atop the table, wincing at the way your cunt wraps around his still-hard cock despite being spent. Jungkook catches the flicker of discomfort and he gently pulls out as his hands find your hips, fingers rubbing soothing patterns into your flesh. Your gaze drops to his slacks, the open belt no longer holding them up and then to the sight of him — flushed pink and slick with your joint arousal. 

"Switch with me," you croak, causing him to frown. He looks like he's about to ask what you had meant but you're already scooting off the table, feet finding the ground, albeit unsteadily. The warmth of his hands on your waist as he assures you won't fall makes your heart beat faster — a reaction you try to ignore as you gingerly pull your panties back up. 

When you see that he still hasn't moved, simply watching you with the same eyes he had been since you stepped inside his study, you point to the table. "Switch," you half-command, not really expecting much to come out of it, but to your surprise Jungkook nods as he trades places with you, leaning back against the desk, still holding onto your hips. 

It takes everything in you to swat his hands away but your desire wins out. He looks almost offended, puzzled even, but realization dawns across his features when you sink to your knees before him — coming face to face with his aching cock. 

"You don't have to," he begins, but you shut him up by wrapping one hand around the base, reveling at finally getting to feel him like this. You think you would be content to just watch him, studying the slight curve, the veins that climb along him and the pink flush to his tip for forever, but one glance toward the clock has you jumping into action. 

Silently, you bet with yourself on whether you'd be able to accomplish desired results within three minutes, though his sharp intake of breath when your thumb rubs across the slit makes you hopeful.

Adjusting your grip, you let your palm glide across his cock, tracing the thicker vein that protrudes just beneath the head. The way he twitches in your grasp makes heat coil in your gut despite your recent orgasm. A bead of precum beads at the tip, glistening under the soft glow of the lamp behind him and you immediately lean forward to taste him. 

Giving blowjobs wasn't exactly an area you were skilled in. There had been an instance or two in the past where whatever dude you had accompanied home after a night out had begged for you to do so. The act was never something you did out of your own pleasure, more so obligation, but wrapping your lips around Jungkook felt nothing like those drunken nights. 

He tastes salty but not bad, and perhaps you were just high on the feeling, but you find yourself craving more as you take him deeper in your mouth. 

Turning your gaze up to meet his, you find him peering down at you through his lashes. His lips are parted, brows scrunched together but for once it wasn't that signature frown of his. Through the corner of your eye you catch the inked hand that curls around the table's edge, his knuckles pale from the deadly grip he keeps on the wood. 

You hum, pulling off of him with a final lick as you sit back on your knees. "You can touch me, you know." 

The simple permission seems to undo something in him as Jungkook tips his head back with a groan he's unable to muffle. "Jesus—" he gasps, "Don't say that." But his fingers are already at the top of your head, short nails digging into your scalp as he forces you back down on his cock, much to your delight. 

His hold is firm, but never rough, he doesn't attempt to control the pace you set, but he keeps you down — not letting you part from him for even a second. Your lips stretch wide around him, breath hitching when he hits the back of your throat. Hand stroking what you can't fit in your mouth, the other keeps you steady by gripping his thigh. 

Tears brim on your waterline when his hips suddenly jerk forward and your nails dig into his leg — causing him to twitch on your tongue at the sharp sting. His breath has grown heavy and you watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and exhales through parted lips. 

You can tell that he's close when the hand on top of your head eases up, allowing you room to pull off. His cock thrusts weakly into your mouth — like he was holding back from doing more. Your response is to take him deeper, blinking away the tears that blurred your vision. Nails still digging into his thigh, you let your teeth carefully drag across him when you go down. 

The subtle action makes him jolt, "Fuck," he spits the curse out, his free hand slamming against the table behind him. "I'm gonna—" cutting himself off with another curse, he lets go of your head entirely, "Shit— You have to pull off."

Had it not been for the slight tremble to his fingers when you force his hand back atop your head, you would have almost been a little offended by the idea. Yet you say nothing, tongue flattening against his tip before sliding him back into your mouth, repeating the soft scrape of teeth against him. 

Jungkook's hips push forward, so much so that you nearly lose your balance. His cock twitches up into the roof of your mouth before he's cumming onto your tongue with a sharp hiss. The weight of his palm on top of your head holds you in place and you let him spill down your throat without complaint, humming gratefully as the taste of him coats your senses. 

Once he's limp in your grasp, you sit back, gaze tracing the string of saliva that connects you to him. Jungkook is panting above you, head tilted back to where you can't make out his face, though the flush that creeps up his neck is enough evidence. 

Licking your lips, you carefully climb to your feet, ignoring the ache in your entire lower half as you heave a breath. Your hands move on autopilot when you tuck him back into his pants, not bothering with the belt as Jungkook's knuckles gently grace your chin. 

You manage to catch a brief glimpse of the dazed look in his eyes before he seals you both in a kiss. This one is slower than all the ones you had shared tonight, he doesn't cringe when sliding his tongue across yours, tasting himself on you with a hum. 

The air inside the study is no longer cold, the silence of the house no longer imposing. In fact you think you could have stayed like this for a long while. But the clock on the wall ultimately calls to your attention and when you turn your head you find that time was up. "My jeans—" you scramble off of him, already in search of the missing garment, tossed somewhere on the floor. 

Jungkook's fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements as he pulls you back to his chest. His breath is hot against your parted lips as he tilts his head down, nose brushing the corner of your mouth. "Stay, just five more minutes," he murmurs when his other hand finds your waist. 

"But the bus, I'll miss it," you argue, though admittedly, you did not want to go. 

He shakes his head, thumb stroking across your palm. "I'll pay for a cab," he says as he leans to press a kiss to your forehead, "I don't want you on a bus tonight, not after this." 

You want to reject the offer, tell him that it wasn't necessary. But his persistence and the gentle touch to your skin makes you cave. With a silent nod you agree to five more minutes in his arms before you head out into the cold December night. 

── [ ✉️ ] Hey there... So what did we think? In terms of like, the porn, I feel like this was slightly different from how I did it last time. I hope it's still nice to read of course. Anyone figured out what he likes yet? (Blatant hint, the teeth during the blowjob) but anyway! Hm, it's always a struggle trying to find out what to say here, but to put it like this: the next three chapters are going to be fun.

Opening your textbook that Saturday morning felt like stepping into a world long forgotten. You had been so caught up in Rayne's birthday preparations, then there had been the dance — and Jungkook. It shamed you to admit that your studies had taken a backseat in favor of the Jeon family. With your final exam coming up before Christmas you were now paying the price of your ignorance

It didn't help that Daehyun had chosen the exact moment you sat down to get some work done to give you a call. An hour and a half later and you were still on the phone with him as he went on about his latest attempt at romance, which, given his track record, did not bode well. 

"But I don't think he's ready for anything serious—" your friend sighs on the other end of the line, "I mean, he's only been taking me to hotels as of now. I haven't even gotten to see his place and he's been to mine multiple times." 

Clutching a highlighter in your free hand, you underline a third paragraph on the page in front of you, not actually bothering to read the words written. "Mhm," you hum, frowning slightly when his statement actually registers, "Wait, he hasn't introduced you to anyone yet?" Tilting the phone slightly, you nudge it to your ear with the help of your shoulder. 

Daehyun makes an offended noise, "No," he mutters begrudgingly. "And here I thought someone his age would at least have the balls to make a move on me outside of the bedroom." 

You pause, highlighter pressing against the paper as the yellow color continues to bleed onto it. "How old is he again?" 

There's a dramatic beat of silence before Daehyun scoffs, "Twenty-seven!" You can vividly imagine him throwing a hand in the air as he gestures wildly to a play-pretend audience. "Can you believe it?" He sounds as though he's ready to go on another rant only to be stopped by the disapproving click of your tongue.

"Dae…" You exhale, brows furrowing deep on your forehead. 

"What?" He retorts defensively, "I don't want to hear anything from you, Ms I've got a thing for my boss who's thirty." 

You cringe at that, fingers curling a little tighter around the highlighter as you stare at the wall in front of you. "It's not like that— And you're making it sound weird!" Pursing your lips, you roll the thick pen between your index and middle finger, "Besides, I do not have 'a thing' for him." The truth was that you had more than a thing for Jungkook, but admitting that to Daehyun of all people felt like a death sentence. 

It was easy to forget that Jungkook actually paid you to see his children. That each day spent at the Jeon house was a transaction and should have stayed that way. Your free hand traces the corner of the open page. Falling in love with both Cassian and Rayne had never been part of the plan — least of all had the intimate moments you shared with their father been. Now you feared you were in far too deep to ever be rescued, the worst part was that even if such an opportunity did presented itself — you knew you wouldn't take it. 

There's rustling on the other side of the line as Daehyun shifts to get comfortable, likely laying in bed with his phone cord wrapped around himself. "Hey, I ain't say there was anything wrong with it. I'm just stating the facts of your situation and judging by what you've told me, he sounds a great deal better than whatever dude I let stick it up my ass." 

"Okay— Okay, I didn't need any explicit details about your sex life, Dae." Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to force the picture of your friend from your mind. Unfortunately in doing so, you manage to open a door you had not intended to. Images of Jungkook instead flood your vision, images of his lips, parted and red, hovering just inches from your own. 

The afternoon you had spent together all those weeks ago, the quiet intimacy of his chest pressed against yours, his hands on your body, his mouth on— 

"Say," Daehyun drawls, "Is he more man than my recent fuck?" 

His question startles you from your thoughts and you blink. "What?" you huff, confusion lacing your words, "What's that supposed to mean?" 

Your friend heaves a breath, like the answer was written in front of you. "I mean, has he made a move on you?"

Made a move? Jungkook? You swallow the lump that sits in your throat, hoping the crappy landline won't pick up on it. Memories of all the stolen moments between you return. The way he'd kissed you for the first time in his study that night over a month ago — pulling away like he'd committed a crime. You think of all the touches he'd let linger after your shared afternoon together, the caresses to your waist, the kisses to your neck, lips… 

You knew that keeping whatever it was the two of you had going on a secret from the children was important. But Daehyun was not someone you had to keep things from, so why did it feel so difficult to tell him? Perhaps it was because telling him would mean confirming that it had actually happened, that it was real and not just a figment of your imagination or a fantasy you had conjured during late nights alone in bed. 

"Well he…" Your index finger finds the cord that ties your phone to its machine and you toy with it idly. "He's been pretty clear I guess," you murmur, almost shyly as heat crawls to your face. 

Daehyun could've easily made a back flip on his end of the phone, but if you had to guess, he'd simply shot up straight from whatever position he'd been lounging in. "No way!" he practically shouts, the excitement radiating off of him, "How far have you gone?" 

The chair creaks under your weight as you shift on it awkwardly. While it wasn't uncommon for Daehyun to share all about his sexual endeavors, you had never been on the giving end of the exchange between you. 

Your silence seems to do the job though because a moment later you hear him snicker on the other side the line. "You dirty little minx," he practically squeals, "Tell me everything!" 

You're thankful for the distance between you at the moment. The last thing you needed was him cooing at your flustered expression or the way you chewed on your bottom lip. "I don't know what there's to say…" Shrugging, you put the highlighter down, finger tapping softly against it as you ponder an answer that would satisfy him without leading to more prying. 

"What is there not to say?" Daehyun is radiating on his end, the sound of his mattress groaning loudly as he shifts on top of it. "What was he like? Was he good?" The teasing lilt to his voice is unmistakable and it has you tightening your grip on the phone, hard enough for it to crack. 

"Yeah," the admission leaves you in a breathless whisper, "Like…really good." And he had been. You don't think you had ever felt touch like his before, it was like he knew exactly when and where to linger, how to move, how to breathe with you. Shaking your head, you try to brush past the unwelcome visions of his head between your legs. 

Daehyun, however, is far from finished with this conversation as it just took a most interesting turn. "What did I tell you? Guys his age know what they're doing. So tell me—" 

Your friend is just about to pry further when the device in your hand suddenly beeps loudly, effectively pulling your attention toward the familiar sequence of numbers that had appeared on the screen, signaling you of a different caller. "Dae, I might have to call you back," you say when going over the numbers a second time. 

There's a short pause before Daehyun's speaks, "Wait what—?" The confusion only lasts a second though, "Oh. Is it him? It has to be, why else would you hang up on your beautiful best fr—" 

"Okay, bye!" 

The relief that floods you by ending the ongoing call with Daehyun quickly evaporates as you realize that you would be answering the man who's abilities in bed you had just been discussing. A small grimace tugs at your features and you blink twice when bringing the phone back to your ear, pressing a button on the machine to allow the lines to connect. 

For a while all you hear is the static, bruising noise coming from the other end and you clear your throat awkwardly to greet him, "Hello?" 

You and Jungkook had spoke very little when he returned home last night. Having put Cassian to bed by eight, just as instructed, you met the pair by the front door as Jungkook stepped inside. He'd been carrying a sleeping Rayne in his arms, the look on his face serene as he regarded his daughter. 

When you had asked how the night went he'd simply smiled — a smile so rare for someone like him. Then he'd told you that he would be taking her to bed. He thanked you for your help but his eyes never strayed from the girl in his arms. Once he began climbing the stairs you'd decided that it was best you take your leave and give him the rest of the night alone with his sleeping children. 

So to accept a call from him, on a Saturday no less, was rather unexpected. "Good afternoon," Jungkook's voice startles you slightly and you turn in your seat to peer at the clock over by the couch. It was already nearing 1pm, how long had you and Daehyun been on the phone? 

"Yes… Afternoon," You hum, gaze flickering to the discarded highlighter, laying across your open textbook. Without its cap on the ink was running dry and you glance around in search for the missing piece. 

On the other end of the line there's a pause before Jungkook continues, "I'm aware that it's your day off," he says, "But I have to leave for the office, rather unexpectedly. If you're busy I understand, I'm sure I can make arrangements with their grandparents or—" 

"I'm free." 

The response pours out of you in a second, cutting him off mid-sentence as your fingers curl around the phone a little tighter. You were actually busy, but as you close up your textbook you knew that your mind was made up. 

You can hear his exhale through the static of the phone — he sounds relieved. "That's good," he then says, "I would come pick you up myself, I just cannot leave the children at home." 

"Oh, I'm just fine taking the bus, no worries." you assure him, finally finding the cap of your highlighter as you seal it in place with a click. 

Jungkook is quiet for some time, until he finally asks, "Will you at least let me pay the bus fare?" 

His suggestion makes you freeze from where you had been leaning over to stuff the yellow pen back in the jar that held the rest. Brows scrunching together, "You already pay me enough," you tell him when rising to your feet, "I'll be there in half an hour." 

He doesn't argue with you on the matter, sighing on his end, giving in with a soft 'Alright' before allowing you to disconnect the call. 

You don't hesitate as you gather your things, trying to keep the excitement in your chest at bay as the lock twists, sealing your front door and leaving you to scurry down the stairs. 

The buses were not as lenient during the weekends, rather than every fifteen minutes they ran every thirty, making your trip to the Jeon house slightly longer than usual. You've brought your study material — this time without fear of Jungkook stumbling across it. You figured you should at least try to revise for the upcoming exam. 

Snow stubbornly clings to your sneakers as you walk down the pavement. It smears even further when you attempt to brush it off with the opposite foot, white clumps quickly melting through the fabric and soaking into your socks. "Stupid shoes," you mutter when pushing the gate to the Jeon estate open, still trudging forward with your head bowed. 

In fact, you were so caught up in the disappointment of your cold and wet feet that you don't bother glancing up when heading toward the steps of the front porch. Perhaps had you been a little more attentive you would have noticed the obstacle of another person before you crashed into them. 

Forehead slamming against something hard, you tumble back with a small 'oof', already reaching up to soothe the throb in your temple. "Are you okay?" The sound of Jungkook's voice makes your head spin even more so than the impact of his shoulder where it had smacked across your face. His fingers brush against your wrist as he guides your chilly hand away to assess the damage himself. 

Upon further inspection, and a slight clearing of your rattled mind, you realize that he'd been outside even before your arrival. Had it not been for the white layer that dusts his dark hair and the coat he wears — then the faint redness to his nose was a dead giveaway. 

"I'm fine," shrugging nonchalantly, you raise him a brow, "What are you doing out here?" 

Jungkook blinks once, lips parting as he lets his touch fall from your arms and takes a small step back. "I was just leaving," jerking his chin in the direction of his car, you follow his line of sight. Upon turning back to the thick and fluffy snow that layers his shoulders, not to mention the rosy tint to his cheeks, his lie becomes blatant. 

"I never got to thank you for yesterday," he then says, frowning when you shake your head dismissively, obviously offended that you would brush his gratitude off. "I'm serious," he presses, "What you did for Rayne, it meant a lot to her — to me. Thank you." 

His leaps seal together in a thin line after that as he regards you expectantly. You know that you should probably say something, fill the silence that had followed his words. But your mind was slow to even comprehend the weight of what he'd just told you. Inhaling a lungful of cold air, you give him a small but genuine smile. 

"It meant a lot to me as well," you say, "I'm glad." 

The distant rustle of tree branches swaying in the afternoon breeze is all that can be heard. A few birds — the ones who hadn't fled for warmer climates — chirp above, their song carrying through the wind. Jungkook's gaze lingers on a raven, sitting on a lower twig that extends from the trunk. 

"I should get going," he murmurs when turning back to you. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, he clears his throat swiftly, "The children are in the living room," he says, "Door's unlocked." 

You nod, fingers clasped together and you move forward as you attempt to step past him — only for Jungkook to do the same. Your face pulls into a sheepish expression and you quickly try to correct yourself by going in the other direction. Unfortunately he seems to have the same idea and you end up chest to chest a second time. 

"Sorry," you chuckle as you come to a stop. Jungkook does the same, hands returning to your elbows as his fingers curl around your arms through the thick material of your coat. He gently steers you to the right, allowing you to step around each other without more fuss. 

Thanking him under your breath, you quickly head up the stairs as he walks to his car. When climbing the three steps you have to force yourself not to turn back around and steal one final glance at him. You do a decent job, making it all the way to the front door with one hand wrapped around it — only to immediately whip your head over your shoulder as Jungkook suddenly calls out. 

He's standing by the driver's door, a clenched fist resting atop its roof. "I was just—" His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, chapped by the cold air. "Well, Cassian has been asking but I think both children would like it if—" His jaw clenches as he struggles through the sentence. 

You stand frozen by the door, fingers nearly slipping from the metal handle. New snow falls and though you're shielded by the slanted roof that extends over the front porch — Jungkook isn't. Flakes catch on his dark brows where they pinch together. He sighs, averting his gaze before quickly forcing it back. 

He looks like he's working up courage — the awkward roll of his shoulders and the stiffness in his posture. It reminds you of that one time in third grade when, Mike, your desk mate, had shyly asked you to the school dance with him. He had been all nervous glances and stuttered words but it had been the highlight of your year. 

Jungkook looks much like him right now, and had you not been so anxious to hear the rest of what he had to say, you would've probably found it rather endearing. 

Finally he gathers his bearings, palm flattening against the roof of his car. "I was just wondering if you would like to spend Christmas with us, the children, me." The question hangs between you for only a second, barely enough for you to fully process it until he starts talking again: 

"I mean, Cassian would really appreciate it. We usually spend it at their grandparents' but if you have plans I understand. Just thought I should ask so that I could give him an answer to—" 

"I would love to." 

The smile stretches to your ears and you don't even attempt to hide it. Your parents were set to be out of your hometown for the holidays, only returning back before new years which was when you planned to see them. This would mark your first Christmas away from home — not having to spend it alone but rather with the children, and Jungkook, made your heart flutter in your chest. 

By his car, Jungkook exhales a breath. His frame morphs from tense to relaxed and when he catches the sight of your beaming grin, the corner of his own lip twitches. He nods, a subtle tilt of his chin. Then he opens the car door and gets inside, letting it fall shut after him. 

You turn back to the door, gripping the knob with newfound excitement as you prepare to step inside. 

The children are in the living room, just as Jungkook had promised. Rayne sits on one of the sofas, comfortably reclined back with a book in her lap. She lifts her gaze upon your arrival, though doesn't say anything — but her brother does. 

"Nanny!" 

Cassian, who'd been in the middle of smearing crayons across the papers scattered on the coffee table, perks up when he finds you in the doorway. The drawings are all but forgotten about as he jumps to his feet, hurrying over on short legs as he tugs you into a hug that would've probably knocked you off your feet, had he been a little taller. 

"Hi, sweetie." It's instinctive, the way your arms loop around his tiny body to reciprocate the embrace. His face nuzzles against your stomach, a content smile plastered on his lips. "What have you been up to today?" 

The young boy immediately perks up at the inquiry, big, brown eyes meeting yours as he reaches for your sleeve. "I'll show you," he says as he tugs you over to the coffee table where the two of you sink to the floor beside one another. 

He moves with purpose as he shoves the crayons aside, organizing the multiple drawings before you to line them up. "This one," he points to one of the images. The lines are a wobbly and uneven, the colors scribbled messily together but you still thought you could make out two stick figures that resembled a little boy and a woman. "That's you and me when we played hide and seek in the garden." 

Upon further inspection you can find what appears to be trees in the background. Their leaves consist of oranges and yellows, meant to resemble the last of autumn that still clung to nature that afternoon. "I remember," you hum, tracing the corner of the paper slowly, "You were counting too fast."

"Was not," Cassian interjects with a small pout. 

From there he goes on to present the array of drawings, all representing different parts of the family, some including you, others not. He finally lands on one that makes you pause. It's a painting with all four of you, the only one of its kind. But that's not what catches your attention, no, it's the large pine tree in the middle. It's decorated with colorful lights, and beneath it lay square boxes. 

Cassian goes quiet, milk teeth locking around his bottom lip. "That's us on Christmas," he gestures vaguely to the drawing, "Daddy was going to ask you to come." He hesitates, stealing a quick peek at you through the corner of his eye. 

"He did," you muse, plucking the painting with careful fingers as you take a closer look. The picture shows you and the young boy holding hands, his sister and father are doing the same. "I told him I would love to come." 

The look of pure joy that lit up Cassian's face was like that of the sun's rays in summer. He flashes you all of his teeth — save for the small gap on his bottom row. "You will come?" he repeats, like he had to double check to make sure you were being truthful. When you nod in confirmation he wiggles on the spot, "Hooray!" 

"Our nana makes the best cookies and papa always lets me help put the lights on the tree!" It sounds as though he's already planning for the entire day, he rambles on about presents, food and different games you're going to be playing. You can all but match his grin as you listen to him excitedly talk. 

Allowing yourself a glance in Rayne's direction has your eyes meeting for a split second before she promptly turns back to the book in her lap, pretending like she'd been reading all along. Guilt knots in your stomach, perhaps she did not want you to come. Christmas was for family after all and though you had been invited you couldn't help but feel like maybe you were intruding on something you shouldn't. 

"I actually bumped into him right outside," You muse, attempting to brush the unease aside with simple conversation. That only makes the young girl tense, her grip on the novel tightening. 

"That's weird," She says, not taking her gaze off the page, "Father left long before you came, he said he was late for a meeting." 

You fall quiet at that — in fact the entire living room does. It's not broken until you let out an awkward chuckle that does little to play up the mood. So instead you turn to her younger brother, picking up the smile that had faded ever so slightly. "What did you ask Santa for?" you wonder, trying to steer the conversation away from Jungkook's odd behavior. 

Cassian hums thoughtfully, "A dinosaur and a car figurine, oh and new crayons, the ones with rainbow colors!" 

"Rainbow?" you cock a brow at that, "There's a rainbow colored crayon?" You don't think you had ever heard of anything like that but he eagerly nods as he jumps into explanation. 

"Yes," Cassian points to his existing crayons, scattered across the coffee table, "It's a special. Only Santa makes it, that's why I put it on my list so I can have one." 

Across the table Rayne scoffs, she's put the book down and is now watching her brother with a narrowed gaze. "Santa isn't real, he can't make you a rainbow crayon," she states at as a matter-of-factly, one hand tucking her ponytail down her shoulder. 

"Well that's not true," you say when you notice the solemn look on the young boy's face, "Santa is just as real as you and me." 

"How do you know that?" Cassian asks as he peers up at you through dark lashes. 

You shrug, "Because I've met him of course." 

His eyes go wide as saucers at that, lips parting in a quiet gasp to which he quickly swallows with a squeal. "Really? You've really met Santa?" On the couch opposite you, Rayne scoffs under her breath but you ignore her. 

"Sure have," you say, "He was creeping 'round downstairs, very loudly might I add, he even woke me up from my sleep. So I quietly crept down the stairs, and do you know what I saw?" 

Cassian leans closer, shaking his head mutely and you bite back a giggle. "I saw a big man, with a white beard and red clothes — eating my cookies! Can you believe it?" You wave a hand aimlessly, "I was furious of course, I told him that those were mine and that I had been saving them for the morning." 

"What did he say? What did he say?" He asks, fingers clawing at his own knees as he tries to contain his excitement. 

Humming out a soft breath, you continue, "Well he said that he needed the cookies. You see Santa gets real hungry going to each house on Christmas Eve. He promised me that I would get a special gift in return, as a thank you for the treats." Leaning back against the edge of the couch, you stretch your legs out in front of you. "The next morning when I woke up there was a big present under the tree, can you guess who it was from?" 

"Santa!" Cassian looks overjoyed at the story, his earlier gripe with his sister quickly fading at the thought of meeting the white-bearded man himself some day. "Do you think I will see him?" 

"Without a doubt," you promise him as you ruffle his dark hair. Looking back the man in your kitchen had likely been your dad, geared up in his costume and snacking away on your cookies. But your sleep-addled, six year old brain had been unable to piece that together and the moment was allowed to live on as such until you turned thirteen and your old pops had the audacity to ruin it. But seeing the excitement in Cassian's eyes was more than enough to mend the broken memory.

He goes back to drawing shortly after, this time depicting images of Santa himself, his sleigh and his reindeer — to the best of his abilities of course. You sit back comfortably on the floor, content to watch him work, even though you should probably pull out the textbooks you had brought with you and get some studying done. 

The idea has been tossed back and forth in your mind for a good five minutes without you coming to a decision when Rayne suddenly clears her throat. "Nanny?" she asks, her voice loud in the reigning silence. You immediately perk up at being addressed, a quiet 'hm?' passing your lips. She hesitates, fingers curling around a page in her book as she fiddles with it. A couple of seconds pass where she doesn't speak, then she wills herself to meet your gaze. 

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Out of every question you'd been expecting, this one had been at the very bottom of your list. It stuns you entirely and for a while you simply stare at her. "Boyfriend—?" you splutter, disguising your cough with an awkward huff. 

Rayne nods, she sits perfectly still on the cushion, her eyes tracking you up and down like she was trying to figure something out. Cassian had stopped drawing and was now watching you as well, a faint frown on his face. "You're…" she pauses, "You're pretty. You know how to do the pretty things with my hair and stuff." Rayne gestures vaguely between you as she references back to last night. 

The compliment warms your chest, and cheeks, making you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. "Ah, thank you, sweetie." Pursing your lips, you then shake your head. "I don't have a boyfriend." The admission feels a little stiff but you try not to let it show as you carry on with a soft chuckle. 

Rayne seems satisfied with that answer, her attention lingers a moment longer before it returns to her book — only to be torn from the pages as Cassian suddenly exclaims, "You don't have a boyfriend?" He appears genuinely conflicted by this information, it didn't make sense at all to him.

"But nanny, you're cute. Why don't you have one?" His bottom lip is stuck out into a pout, cupids bow arched in a frown as he studies you closely. When you simply shrug the gears seem to turn even faster in his tiny head. "I know—" He then says and you feel your heart drop to your stomach at what that might mean. 

Cassian twists his body toward you, chest puffing up to appear bigger as he puts on a bright smile. "I can be your boyfriend!" 

You hope he doesn't catch the relieved exhale you let out, shaking your head as a giggle erupts between you. Before you can answer him though, Rayne butts in, "You can't do that, silly. Nanny is a grown-up." 

This only brings back her younger brother's previous confusion and he begins chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "Okay…" he murmurs, fingers picking at a lock of hair, "Then I will be your boyfriend when I'm a grown-up." He gives himself a reaffirming nod, like the decision had just been finalized and you couldn't find it in you to argue against it. 

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," you hum as you give his cheek a gentle pat. You thought you could hear Rayne grumble something under her breath but she refrains from saying anything else as she goes back to her book. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the living room. You finally pulled out your textbook, flicking it open on the page where you had left off at home. Cassian was greatly interested in all the pictures, pointing at different parts of the human lungs as he asked questions.

As it turns out, he was a great study-buddy. You could dump all sorts of information on him, explaining and then re-explaining things in simpler terms as you went through the notes you had taken. He listened with fascinated eyes and though you were sure he probably understood about half of what you told him, it was a good way for you to revise the material.

By dinner time you all cooked together, even Rayne helped taste-test the sauce you had made — only for her brother to spill some on his shirt when he tried snatching the spoon from her.

Jungkook did not arrive back home until you had tucked them both into bed. You were halfway through Cassian's third bedtime story and he had just drifted off when the sound of the front door unlocking could be heard. You listened to the sound of footsteps as he climbed the stairs, for a second they almost made you believe that he was headed for Cassian's room. They had stopped just outside his closed door, a dark silhouette filling the light beneath the crack. Then they had faded again, another door creaking before closing softly — his study presumably.

You had stayed by Cassian's bed a little longer than needed, taking your time when putting the books back on their shelf, tucking him in once, then once more for good measure. 

Finally you head out into the hall, your eyes immediately drifting to the door which you knew you would find Jungkook behind — feet leading you there on their own. The picture of him out in the snow earlier today still lingers fresh in your mind. As does the nervous stutter to his speech and you half expect to find him in a similar state now. 

The door to Jungkook's study is agonizingly loud upon being pushed open. You allow yourself a sparse couple of inches, just enough to poke your head inside and inform him of your departure. Shadows swallow almost the entirety of the room and had it not been for the lamp on his desk, casting a soft halo across the papers he sifts through — it would have been pitch black. 

Jungkook sits in his chair, glasses low on the bridge of his nose, which he scrunches when lifting a finger to push them further up. He has yet to notice you, too lost in the corporate world that seems to consume him entirely. 

He does not look at all like he had this afternoon. Perhaps it was the wear of the long day that had weighed down his otherwise youthful appearance. He still looked handsome of course — but there was something else that clung to the air around him right now. 

You clear your throat, tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth when his eyes meet yours from across the small room. "The children are asleep…" He knows that already, the house had been basked in silence since his return home after all. 

He nods but his attention doesn't return to the files in front of him like you had expected for it to. Instead he regards you quietly, the way that always makes you wonder what he was thinking about. He would not tell you, of course, he rarely did. Another tense five seconds pass where neither of you speak. Your fingers have began tapping idly against the doorknob as a means to distract yourself. 

"Cassian spilled sauce on his shirt during dinner. He didn't want me telling you but I thought I should in case the stain doesn't come off," a breath later you add, "Though I soaked it in cold water so it should be fine." You were rambling nonsense but said nonsense was better than the strange and awkward silence that had found its way between you. 

Jungkook simply repeats his previous motion, tilting his chin in acknowledgement as he traces the edge of the paper in front of him. You notice that the liquor is sealed within its cabinet, waiting behind closed doors to be drank — he hadn't reached for it tonight. 

"Do you want a glass?" 

The sudden question makes you pause, gaze flitting back to the man before you. Jungkook is watching you with an expectant look, having let go of the pages to place his hands on the armrests of his chair. He must have noticed your wandering eyes but the offer still takes you by surprise. 

"I…" Your throat feels dry and for a moment the thought of something to take the edge off didn't seem like such a bad idea. Though one glance at the clock above the cabinet makes you rethink. "I shouldn't. I mean—" shaking your head, "Last bus leaves in a little bit. I better be on my way." 

His brows draw together at that and for a split second Jungkook looks almost disappointed. He quickly masks it again, schooling his features into their default wear. But when he opens his mouth to speak, the words that spill from his lips are not what you had expected: "You're leaving already?" 

The cough lodges itself halfway up your throat, fingers curling a little harder around the doorknob as you sway on unsteady feet despite being stone cold sober. Was he asking you to stay? Your next breath comes out in a short puff and you have to shove the confusing thoughts aside to focus on giving him a proper response. 

"Well— No, I mean," swallowing thickly, "I have some time to spare…" 

Jungkook's chair squeaks against the floorboards when he rises to his feet and you watch with wide and unblinking eyes as he makes his way over to the liquor cabinet. Taking it as your cue to actually step inside, you do so, letting the door fall shut behind you soundlessly. 

"Any requests?" He asks when he unhooks both glass doors, swinging them open to showcase the bottles inside. 

Your feet carry you over to stand beside him — close enough to feel the heat of his body that radiates from him like a furnace. Scanning the options presented before you whilst chewing on your lip, you go over the labels once, twice. Jungkook's taste matched him perfectly, all expensive brands, half of which you did not dare attempt to pronounce. Their amber shades stare back at you daringly. 

He must notice your hesitation, for a moment later he reaches for the one bottle you recognized — the whiskey. His arm brushes yours when he retrieves it, and it somehow sends a jolt of electricity through you despite the touch being mundane in comparison to how intimate you had been. 

Jungkook doesn't linger on the brief caress as he grabs two glasses in his free hand, turning to place them onto his desk with a soft clink. And after busying yourself with shutting the cabinet doors, you join him by the table — looking on as he pushes the sleeves of his button up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos you'd spent so long tracing. The memory makes your chest hot even though the alcohol had yet to touch your lips. 

His shirt is generously unbuttoned, revealing the faint outline of his chest when he leans forward to pour the whiskey. "You don't drink often I take it?" He asks without lifting his gaze from the glasses which he filled to about a quarter. 

"No," you hum, "Not really…" Aside from the drinks you and Daehyun went out to grab after rough exams, your experience with any kind of liquor was very sparse. Your attention lingers on the amber liquid that swirls within the glasses, glimmering softly under the glow of his desk lamp. 

Jungkook hands you one of them and you take it with a quiet 'Thanks' as you try not to think about the way your fingers ended up nudging. He nods as he takes a sip of his drink and you find yourself doing the same — cringing slightly as the burn scratches down your throat. You hadn't drank since last time you found yourself in here, back then your emotions had been high enough to cancel out the strong and invasive flavor of the whiskey. 

Stillness clings to the air between you, with only the faint ticking of the clock on the wall to fill the silence. You distract yourself with another small sip, only to immediately regret it as your nose scrunches. Jungkook catches the flicker of distaste, cocking a brow as he brings his own glass to his lips. 

"What do you kids drink then?" He wonders before swallowing more liquor. 

You shrug, free hand caressing the mahogany wood of his table as you perch yourself on its edge. "I don't know, cheap booze— beer mostly." The splinters creak under your weight but you ignore it as you shift to get comfortable — or as comfortable as you could get with him standing so close. 

Jungkook hums, "Do you like it?" His eyes never stray from where they had come to settle on yours, shielded by his dark lashes, it looked almost as though he was trying to guess your answer before you could give it. 

Shaking your head, you let the pad of your thumb stroke the bottom of your glass. "God, no. I only drink when I'm out." Tilting your gaze from the drink you hold and up to his hooded eyes, you ask, "Do you?" 

He mimics you with a shake of his own head, "No," he says, following it with another long sip. The glasses, still perched over the bridge of his nose, reflect in the dim lights and you become almost entranced by the subtle flicker. "Do you go out often?" He then wonders, and you tried to figure out why he was asking so many questions all of a sudden. 

"Rarely" you admit, trying to keep your tone indifferent as you sip on the whiskey, "Why?" 

Jungkook gives a noncommittal roll of his shoulders. "Kids your age love to party, no?" He delivers it casually but the statement still makes you frown as you clutch your glass a little tighter. 

"Are you calling me a kid?" You can't help the edge of defensiveness that sneaks its way into your voice as you eye him warily. "Or are you implying that there is something wrong with me not partying?" 

For a long moment he says nothing, simply regarding you over the rim of his own glass. He doesn't bring it up for another taste, doesn't lower it either. The corner of his lip twitches, "Neither," he says. 

You huff at the almost taunting response, turning your head in an act of pettiness. It works because a second later the floor creaks as Jungkook takes a step closer. The hand that isn't currently nursing his drink finds a crease in your jeans, fingers pinching the fabric as he smooths it out again — like the sight bothered him. 

"Good." You're still not looking at him, eyes fixed to the clock on the wall as it counts down the seconds until you're forced to part from him. "I'm not a kid. And I enjoy myself just fine whenever I so please," you add before silencing yourself with another sip of the whiskey. 

Jungkook hums, having let go of your jeans entirely, his magnifying touch disappears before it returns, this time to the hot skin of your face — heated by the alcohol and his proximity. His thumb strokes the line of your jaw as he gently guides you to look at him again. "I know," he says. 

Whatever offense still lingered from his previous comment ebbs away when your eyes meet his and your shoulders slump as your hold on the glass loosens. 

"How much longer until your bus leaves?" He asks, fingers warm against your feverish skin. 

You swallow, wondering if the liquor was finally taking effect or if he'd been looking at you like that all along. "Twenty minutes," you murmur, "But I need five to get to the stop." 

He doesn't respond right away, only watching you intently, like he was considering something. "That's fifteen minutes then," his thumb finds your bottom lip, the caress he gives it is light — teasing almost. "Will you enjoy yourself with me for those fifteen?" 

The innuendo hidden beneath the almost whispered words is clear and it makes your heart pound hard against your ribcage. Without answering you bring the glass to your lips, praying that the ill-tasting whiskey might give you the same courage you had inhabited on that sunny afternoon. 

Jungkook regards you intently, his fingers lingering on your jaw, tilting your head back to have the liquor slide down your throat easier. Through the corner of your eye you can make out the path his other hand takes as it discards the glass which he'd barely touched. Then he steps impossibly close, gaze dropping to your half-finished drink before gently taking it from your grasp. 

"You didn't answer my question," He murmurs upon setting the glass down alongside his own. There's a barely noticeable crease etched between his dark brows, as though your lack of response troubled him. It makes you smile, an easy smile that feels silly compared to the storm in your chest. 

Only when you realize where you are and what time it is does your face fall. Your mind wanders to Cassian and Rayne in their rooms. "But the children—" 

"Are asleep," Jungkook finishes for you, his palm coming to rest against your cheek. This was different from last time. No raised voices, no big living room to let you catch your breath — only the hard surface of his desk under you, and the warmth of his body but an inch from your own. 

He's so close that the slightly uneven exhales he releases fan across your face. His eyes are dazed with something beyond the desire you had noted in them on that day. Was he seeing something beyond just the intimacy of two people? You almost dared to hope… 

Jungkook swallows and you trace the bob of his Adam's apple. "I'll beg if I have to," He rasps, thumb pressing lightly against your cheekbone. 

That single line undoes the last of your hesitation and without giving yourself time to think it over, you close the remaining distance to press your lips against his. Your eyes fall shut as you let yourself linger in darkness, focusing only on the way his mouth parts against yours without being told. 

His hand is careful where it cradles your face, the other claiming your waist as he tugs you dangerously close to the edge of the desk. Jungkook always kissed you sweetly — there was never any sloppy meshes of tongues or uncomfortable clashes of teeth. But tonight time is against you, the clock ticks faster somewhere in the distance, reminding you of your eventual departure. 

"We need to hurry," you breathe against him, shuddering when he pulls back to rest his forehead to yours, the glasses he had yet to take off bumping against your nose. 

Through lidded eyes you can make out the subtle clench of his jaw, the nod he pairs with a rough exhale. He straightens up, the hand on your face falling to your waist as he mirrors the other. Then he casts a glance toward the clock on the wall, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. 

For a moment you think he might just step away, press a chaste kiss to your temple with the promise of finding time another day. But when Jungkook turns back to you, his usually brown eyes are almost black with desire, brows pinched with determination you rarely saw in him. 

His palms burn through the jeans you wear when they hook under your thighs, hoisting you from your spot on the very edge of the table and up against his chest. Your legs wrap awkwardly around his hips, arms looping behind his neck as your lips find his jaw, lavishing it in soft kisses. 

The chair he'd been lounging on just minutes prior is kicked aside as Jungkook steps into its spot. He shifts your weight onto one arm, the other blindly swiping away the papers he'd been working on. They scatter in all directions, mixing together in an unorganized mess, though Jungkook doesn't seem to care for it as he cranes his neck to find your lips. 

He sets you down on the now-cleared surface of his desk, you land with a soft thud right in the center, legs falling open to accommodate him between them. His tongue tastes like the whiskey you shared when it slides past your lips, and you welcome him eagerly with a sighed moan. Jungkook's hands — having returned to your hips — give a firm squeeze that startles you just as much as it spurs you on. 

His lips hover above your own, saliva smearing together in the aftermath of your kiss. He lifts one hand, knuckles brushing your chin ever so carefully as he closes your open mouth with a simple nudge. "Need you to stay quiet," he whispers, nose brushing along your cheek, "Unfortunately." 

You nod, even when it takes everything in you not to force your lips back together. Running the risk of waking the children was not something you'd had to be mindful of last time. And as much as the idea of startling them from sleep terrified you, it also made your stomach coil tight with heat. Judging by the way Jungkook was kissing down your neck, his tongue tracing the column of your throat, he must feel the same. 

Your fingers find his hair, curling around the black strands and tugging on them in the way that would always have him groaning against you. This time is no different, even when he tries to force the sound back, teeth finding the tender skin where your neck meets your shoulder as he bites down in hopes of salvation. 

His hands are clumsy when they find the zipper of your jeans, hooking around it before tugging it open — leaving you to squirm on top of the mahogany as you help him slide the denim down your legs. The air of his study is chilly from a window being left open too long but Jungkook's touch warms your naked skin in a heart beat as his palms move up and down your thighs. 

It's not until he feels you reach for the buckle of his belt that he finally tears himself from your neck. Ragged breaths leave his reddened lips and he stares at you with thinly veiled impatience that matches the frantic movement of your fingers, currently undoing the clunky piece of metal. It falls apart in your grasp as it unlocks the last barrier between you. 

Jungkook's hands are everywhere all at once, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt to feel up your sides, hovering just shy at the edge of your bra. All the while you focus on getting his pants out of the way. 

You make the mistake of glancing toward the clock once more, eyes widening at the rapid speed the minute handle seems to be moving at. "Eleven minutes," you murmur as your fingers hook around the waistband of his dress pants.

The words have barely left your lips as Jungkook slams his own back on them, stealing your next exhale with a kiss that felt unlike any of the others you had previously shared. The mask he wore with pride slipped just enough to let his teeth trap your bottom lip, eliciting a soft squeal from you which he tries to silence with his mouth. 

He swats your at hands, dismissing them from their feeble attempts at getting him undressed. The buckle of his belt hits the edge of the desk, dangerously close to one of your knees, as he shoves his pants down enough to free himself of their captivity. One hand on your hip, the other wraps around his cock, a shaky sigh following the rough stroke he gives himself. 

Without warning he curls a finger around the lining of your panties, tearing them down to rest at the crook of your knees and leaving you bare — the sudden intrusion of cold air makes you gasp against his lips. 

"Sorry," Jungkook whispers, fingers brushing over your exposed cunt as he tries to soothe the chill with warm touch. His thumb is not as precise as it had been that afternoon when it finds your clit. He's quick, almost rough rather than slow and calculated as he rubs you in small circles, making you instinctively arch against the heel of his hand. 

His index finger teases your fluttering hole — like he debated on pushing it in — but time was against you, he knew that, and the idea is dropped again as Jungkook pulls his hand away entirely. 

You trap the whine that builds in your throat by sealing your lips together. The disappointment of his absence disappears the second you feel his cock, hot and heavy as it bumps against your barely stimulated clit — it sends sparks through you, hips immediately rocking against him as you urge him closer. 

The hands you kept in his hair had since long gone slack around the dark locks. Only when he gently grabs hold of your elbows, guiding your palms to rest flat against the table did you realize that you had been holding onto him all along. Jungkook moves methodically as he has you brace yourself on top the desk, fingers tracing your forearms reverently as his eyes follow the goosebumps that ripple across your skin. 

Once he's satisfied he lifts his gaze to meet yours, waiting for you to give him the permission he desperately seeks. You give it to him with a nod — a quiet dip of your chin as your fingernails dig into the mahogany wood beneath you. 

He surges forward, lips crashing onto yours just as his cock breaches you. The lack of foreplay makes the stretch burn and you cry out into his mouth. Jungkook doesn't wait, there is no time for that tonight and his hips meet yours in one harsh thrust that has your arms nearly giving out from where they hold you upright. 

You're saved by the feeling of his hands — firm on your hips one second — behind your back the next. He slips them under your shirt, fingers tracing the end of your spine as he continues to fuck into you relentlessly. The pace is nothing like the one he'd set that afternoon in his bedroom, it's not slow and tender but fast and ruthless. 

It stuns you, if only for a moment. This side of him was something you don't think even your wildest of imagination could have ever conjured, but God if it didn't make you clench around him, hard. 

His tongue is warm and wet against your own, stringed together by a mix of saliva and desire, he kisses you in a way you didn't think he was capable of. But Jungkook seems determined to prove you wrong as his teeth nip at your bottom lip. 

The distant ticking of the clock fades into background noise as the creak of his table and the sound of skin meeting skin fills his study. Each thrust makes your thighs jump, heat jolting through your stomach as you moan openly against him. 

His glasses occasionally bump against your forehead, it's never enough to hurt but still bothersome. You reach up to push them back over his head, aiming to get them out of the way when Jungkook's fingers suddenly brush against yours. One hand has left your back as he grabs at the glasses clumsily, tearing them off completely as he discards them onto the desk with a clatter. 

Then he's back to kissing you, lips molding together like an unbreakable seal as his tongue finds yours. Cock twitching inside of you, his need pulses through you just as yours does him, and the arm you once held raised, loops around the back of his neck instead as you pull him closer. 

His body is looming over yours, forcing you to tilt back as your chests brush. Your nails dig into his nape, clawing their way to the ends of his hair and the groan Jungkook emits vibrates through you. His hips meet yours in a particularly hard jerk, causing the forgotten bottle of whiskey to topple over and hit the desk with a loud clang. 

"Shit—" Jungkook hisses as he tears himself from the kiss, one hand reaching for the bottle but it was already rolling for the edge. A second later it tips and falls, embracing the floor with a sound so deafening it makes you both wince. 

Abandoning his mission, Jungkook's palm plants itself against the mahogany as his forehead meets yours. The giggle you're unable to bite back fans across his parted lips, the ridicule of your situation quickly catching up. He doesn't seem quite as amused and he quiets you with another bruising kiss. 

The pace he picks up matches his previous, perhaps even more so. Each roll of his hips feel punishing, whether that was directed to your or himself — you did not know. The glasses of whiskey, still placed on the table, rattle and clink together in tandem with the way he moves. The tip of his cock catches on your clit when he pulls back enough to slip out entirely, leaving you aching and clenching around nothing before shoving himself back inside with one unforgiving thrust. 

Your body jolts when the hand, previously braced against the desk moves between your legs, thumb finding your clit easily. There was an underlying sense of urgency in the way he touches you, coaxing your orgasm to come faster as time slips between your fingers and you have to distract yourself with multiple kisses to his jaw and throat so to not let out the sounds that beg to be released. 

The familiar heat pools low in your stomach, and he makes a strained noise when his insistent flick against your clit makes you clench around his cock. "Jungkook I'm—" The breathless admission barely makes it past your lips when he suddenly freezes inside of you. His relentless pace goes from a hundred to zero in a split second and you tilt your head back, confused. 

Then you hear the faint creak coming from somewhere down the hall. It could have easily been the house settling, a gust of wind that tugged at the old wood, but it could also be the tell tale sign of a door being pushed open. 

"Do you think—?" 

Your question is cut short by Jungkook's hand where it clamps over your mouth. The table you sit perched on is now still, the glasses now longer bumping into each other and Jungkook's cock, nestled deep inside you, is unmoving. 

His eyes are fixed on the door behind you, chest heaving with each breath he takes, you notice the sheen layer of sweat that clings to his forehead and what little of his chest you can see. The two of you listen intently for another long minute, the silence stretches thick and heavy — filled with dread. 

When two minutes have passed Jungkook's thumb resumes its touch to your sensitive clit. It's slower this time, taunting circles that has you squirming on top of his desk, making it creak softly. He's yet to take his hand off your mouth, adamant about keeping you quiet even when he continues to draw your orgasm closer. 

"It's fine," he finally grunts, "Probably just the house." Part of you says not to believe him, to demand you abort this entire ordeal to not risk waking the children. But when he moves again, pushing himself even deeper as his head tips toward his chest, you can't find it in you to make him stop. 

The clock on the wall is an insistent reminder and it only spurs Jungkook on as he snaps forward, forcing the whiskey glasses together as the desk rattles. The momentary panic fades back into arousal as he applies more pressure to your swollen clit. Your thighs hug his hips, pulling him closer when you feel your climax approach. 

You give up on warning him as you let go of the table entirely, your arm joining the other around his neck, clinging to him like light in darkness. Jungkook releases your mouth and meets your lips in another kiss, teeth clashing together in a way he hadn't allowed last time. The hand he keeps on your back is the only thing holding you up as it counters each harsh thrust of his. 

A moment later you feel yourself clench around him, cunt fluttering repeatedly as you cum on his cock with a muffled cry into his mouth. Jungkook's touch to your clit doesn't let up and he drinks each sound of yours with greed, tongue lapping at your bottom lip as you pant against him. 

"Shh," he murmurs as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his pace slowing as he feels your legs go limp. When you squirm at his touch he draws his hand back from your clit, letting it join the other as he caresses the line of your spine beneath your shirt. The kiss has softened too, morphed into something that reminds you of how he would always kiss you. 

For a while you let yourself get lost in it, the remnants of your climax clouding your mind to anything that wasn't the feeling of his lips pressed to yours. 

When you part for air you find him already looking at you. His face is flushed the same shade of red it had been on that afternoon, sweat glistening on his temple as it ran down his sides. Without thinking you reach up to brush a few dark strands from his forehead, pushing them out of the way only for the stubborn locks to fall back to his brow bone. 

You shift atop the table, wincing at the way your cunt wraps around his still-hard cock despite being spent. Jungkook catches the flicker of discomfort and he gently pulls out as his hands find your hips, fingers rubbing soothing patterns into your flesh. Your gaze drops to his slacks, the open belt no longer holding them up and then to the sight of him — flushed pink and slick with your joint arousal. 

"Switch with me," you croak, causing him to frown. He looks like he's about to ask what you had meant but you're already scooting off the table, feet finding the ground, albeit unsteadily. The warmth of his hands on your waist as he assures you won't fall makes your heart beat faster — a reaction you try to ignore as you gingerly pull your panties back up. 

When you see that he still hasn't moved, simply watching you with the same eyes he had been since you stepped inside his study, you point to the table. "Switch," you half-command, not really expecting much to come out of it, but to your surprise Jungkook nods as he trades places with you, leaning back against the desk, still holding onto your hips. 

It takes everything in you to swat his hands away but your desire wins out. He looks almost offended, puzzled even, but realization dawns across his features when you sink to your knees before him — coming face to face with his aching cock. 

"You don't have to," he begins, but you shut him up by wrapping one hand around the base, reveling at finally getting to feel him like this. You think you would be content to just watch him, studying the slight curve, the veins that climb along him and the pink flush to his tip for forever, but one glance toward the clock has you jumping into action. 

Silently, you bet with yourself on whether you'd be able to accomplish desired results within three minutes, though his sharp intake of breath when your thumb rubs across the slit makes you hopeful.

Adjusting your grip, you let your palm glide across his cock, tracing the thicker vein that protrudes just beneath the head. The way he twitches in your grasp makes heat coil in your gut despite your recent orgasm. A bead of precum beads at the tip, glistening under the soft glow of the lamp behind him and you immediately lean forward to taste him. 

Giving blowjobs wasn't exactly an area you were skilled in. There had been an instance or two in the past where whatever dude you had accompanied home after a night out had begged for you to do so. The act was never something you did out of your own pleasure, more so obligation, but wrapping your lips around Jungkook felt nothing like those drunken nights. 

He tastes salty but not bad, and perhaps you were just high on the feeling, but you find yourself craving more as you take him deeper in your mouth. 

Turning your gaze up to meet his, you find him peering down at you through his lashes. His lips are parted, brows scrunched together but for once it wasn't that signature frown of his. Through the corner of your eye you catch the inked hand that curls around the table's edge, his knuckles pale from the deadly grip he keeps on the wood. 

You hum, pulling off of him with a final lick as you sit back on your knees. "You can touch me, you know." 

The simple permission seems to undo something in him as Jungkook tips his head back with a groan he's unable to muffle. "Jesus—" he gasps, "Don't say that." But his fingers are already at the top of your head, short nails digging into your scalp as he forces you back down on his cock, much to your delight. 

His hold is firm, but never rough, he doesn't attempt to control the pace you set, but he keeps you down — not letting you part from him for even a second. Your lips stretch wide around him, breath hitching when he hits the back of your throat. Hand stroking what you can't fit in your mouth, the other keeps you steady by gripping his thigh. 

Tears brim on your waterline when his hips suddenly jerk forward and your nails dig into his leg — causing him to twitch on your tongue at the sharp sting. His breath has grown heavy and you watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and exhales through parted lips. 

You can tell that he's close when the hand on top of your head eases up, allowing you room to pull off. His cock thrusts weakly into your mouth — like he was holding back from doing more. Your response is to take him deeper, blinking away the tears that blurred your vision. Nails still digging into his thigh, you let your teeth carefully drag across him when you go down. 

The subtle action makes him jolt, "Fuck," he spits the curse out, his free hand slamming against the table behind him. "I'm gonna—" cutting himself off with another curse, he lets go of your head entirely, "Shit— You have to pull off."

Had it not been for the slight tremble to his fingers when you force his hand back atop your head, you would have almost been a little offended by the idea. Yet you say nothing, tongue flattening against his tip before sliding him back into your mouth, repeating the soft scrape of teeth against him. 

Jungkook's hips push forward, so much so that you nearly lose your balance. His cock twitches up into the roof of your mouth before he's cumming onto your tongue with a sharp hiss. The weight of his palm on top of your head holds you in place and you let him spill down your throat without complaint, humming gratefully as the taste of him coats your senses. 

Once he's limp in your grasp, you sit back, gaze tracing the string of saliva that connects you to him. Jungkook is panting above you, head tilted back to where you can't make out his face, though the flush that creeps up his neck is enough evidence. 

Licking your lips, you carefully climb to your feet, ignoring the ache in your entire lower half as you heave a breath. Your hands move on autopilot when you tuck him back into his pants, not bothering with the belt as Jungkook's knuckles gently grace your chin. 

You manage to catch a brief glimpse of the dazed look in his eyes before he seals you both in a kiss. This one is slower than all the ones you had shared tonight, he doesn't cringe when sliding his tongue across yours, tasting himself on you with a hum. 

The air inside the study is no longer cold, the silence of the house no longer imposing. In fact you think you could have stayed like this for a long while. But the clock on the wall ultimately calls to your attention and when you turn your head you find that time was up. "My jeans—" you scramble off of him, already in search of the missing garment, tossed somewhere on the floor. 

Jungkook's fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements as he pulls you back to his chest. His breath is hot against your parted lips as he tilts his head down, nose brushing the corner of your mouth. "Stay, just five more minutes," he murmurs when his other hand finds your waist. 

"But the bus, I'll miss it," you argue, though admittedly, you did not want to go. 

He shakes his head, thumb stroking across your palm. "I'll pay for a cab," he says as he leans to press a kiss to your forehead, "I don't want you on a bus tonight, not after this." 

You want to reject the offer, tell him that it wasn't necessary. But his persistence and the gentle touch to your skin makes you cave. With a silent nod you agree to five more minutes in his arms before you head out into the cold December night. 

── [ ✉️ ] Hey there... So what did we think? In terms of like, the porn, I feel like this was slightly different from how I did it last time. I hope it's still nice to read of course. Anyone figured out what he likes yet? (Blatant hint, the teeth during the blowjob) but anyway! Hm, it's always a struggle trying to find out what to say here, but to put it like this: the next three chapters are going to be fun.

Rays of orange and pink caress the naked tree branches just outside — the setting sun spilling through the curtains that had been left pulled back to let the last light in. A glowing halo wraps around her head as Rayne shifts on the edge of the bed, her back turned to the window and the beautiful sky. 

It was no later than four-thirty pm but as winter break would commence the following Monday there was little for the children to do in terms of school work. Thus you had managed to pull the elder aside for some much needed alone time — for today was the big day — the one you had spent the last few preparing for. 

After her birthday party last weekend, Rayne had reluctantly agreed to attend the dance with her father. Though you had only caught a glimpse of their conversation upstairs last Saturday, you knew that it was all Jungkook's doing. The pair had actually spent some time practicing together, with you and Cassian watching subtly from the kitchen as they did. 

Friday afternoon was now coming to a close and the seven pm mark crept closer for each passing minute. Rayne's shadow engulfs you where you sit perched on the floor, making it easier to peer up at her through the blinding rays. She wears a solemn expression, her eyes set on the purple dress hanging on the handle of her closet. 

"Is this really necessary?" 

Her voice is a begrudging drawl of lazy tongue that fills the silence along with the faint shuffle as you stifle through your duffel bag. Choosing to respond with only a brief, "Mhm", you go on to pull out all of the necessities you had brought along: hot rollers, an assortment of brushes and a palette of bold eyeshadows. 

And perhaps you were being a little selfish. But growing up an only child you had always begged your parents for a younger sister. Someone to share clothes and bracelets with, to gossip about boys and to laugh late into the night with — to care for her in all the ways you thought a big sister should. 

Suppose a small part of you was taking advantage of the brief opportunity that had presented itself within Rayne. 

You go about placing all the items in order on the floor, nudging a brush to line up straight with the others before glancing up at the skeptical girl. "This is merely standard procedure, you know." Gesturing toward the lineup of beauty products, you send her a lopsided smile. 

There's a moment of quietness where Rayne simply frowns. Her fingers pick idly at the seams of her jeans as her eyes flicker between the eyeshadow and the hot rollers. "I don't know…" she murmurs, her tone uncharacteristically soft, "I don't—", shrugging dismissively, she avoids your gaze, "I don't do all that stuff." She nods pointedly toward the shimmer you had just fished out of your bag, her nose scrunching. 

You pause, the round plastic box clutched tightly in your hand as you pull the flesh of your cheek between your teeth. Chewing on the raw and tender skin, you let your attention fall to the items you had just hauled out onto the floor. There was nothing extravagant about them, no high-end brands — in fact most of it had been purchased at the drug store and the hot rollers were second hand. 

Brows pinching together, you study the array of brushes. They all got the job done and the longer the silence stretched between you the more obvious it became that the question of quality wasn't the issue here. 

"You mean to tell me you don't dress up or anything?" Tilting your head to the side, you regard her closely. 

Rayne clears her throat as she shifts her weight on the bed, shoving her hands under her thighs. "No," she mutters under her breath, sending you a small glance through the corner of her eye before scoffing, "What? Am I supposed to?" The inquiry comes out defensive as her gaze narrows into something guarded. 

Gnawing softly at your cheek, hesitating at the tone she'd used. It wasn't a requirement per se. Rayne was only eight after all but you still vividly remember sneaking into your mom's vanity at that age — rummaging through her makeup, smearing bold lipstick onto your lips and slapping all kinds of powder onto your face. 

"Well…" you start, forehead creasing slightly as you stare out at nothing in particular, "No." Shaking your head softly, you then tilt it back to peer up at her, squinting slightly against the afternoon sun, "I thought it would be a fun thing for us to do together, you know, girl to girl." 

Her eyes widen at that, only for a moment before sharpening with suspicion again as her fingers curl around the fabric of her jeans. 

"I know that your dad does your hair from time to time," you add after a short pause, "Though your brother tells me that he doesn't do a very good job for the most part." 

Rayne actually makes a small sound that could have almost been mistaken for a laugh — the corner of her lip twitching into something just shy of an actual smile. "No," she agrees quietly. "He makes the braids uneven," a small roll of her eye follows, "And it always falls apart by lunch." 

The giggle that bubbles from your chest is carefree, as warm as the setting sun outside and you wished she would find it in herself to share it with you. "See?" you muse, tapping the hot rollers in front of you with a grin, "Boys have no idea what they're doing." Cocking her a brow, you add, "Us girls need to stick together you see." 

She nods thoughtfully, hands still curled tight around her pants but her gaze has drifted to the eyeshadow palette next to your knee. Beneath the reluctance there was something akin to longing, barely there but still visible if you looked hard enough. 

The longer you thought about it the more you came to realize that you and Rayne were not so different after all. Growing up in the absence of her mother with only a father and brother who knew as much about being a woman as a fish did walking on land. 

Perhaps you weren't the only one wishing for a sister. 

"What do you say we give this a go?" Gesturing toward the array of items scattered across the floor, you glance up at her with a hopeful smile. 

A long moment of silence passes until Rayne finally nods, a slow tilt of her head that hints at no enthusiasm but fills you with excitement nonetheless. 

Rayne's usually quiet bedroom had never been so lively before. The tidy space had become a mess by this point, brushes and empty plastic packaging leaving a trail to where the two of you sat on the floor. A record player — one you had found within the depths of her closet moments ago — was playing a CD of ABBA, the melody singing through the air. 

"Feel the beat from the tambourine," you hum softly, fingers carding through a dark strand of her hair as you reach for another roller. 

Having taken out the ponytail that she always wore, you realized just how long Rayne's hair actually was. The dark black was a stark contrast to her warm, honey tinted skin and it reached all the way to her elbows when allowed to flow freely. She had insisted that this wasn't needed and that she should be just fine leaving her hair untouched but you forced her down in front of the mirror. 

Placing a bobby pin between your lips, you continue to hum along quietly to the song. "You can dance, you can jive," Twisting the lock of hair up around the warm plastic roller, you pluck the pin to fasten it in place. The rollers were thankfully not hot to the touch but you were still carefully to not hurt her. 

Rayne, for her part, sat perfectly still. Her legs were crossed and she rests one hand on each knee as she gazes at her reflection in the mirror. Whenever you looked up your eyes met — you would send her a smile which she did not reciprocate, but she did not look uncomfortable either so you counted the win anyway. 

"How much longer?" She asks when you fasten another roller. Her shoulders flexed as she adjusted herself — her straightened back serving as a ridicule to your hunched over one. 

Pausing, you lean back to asses your work thus far. "Not long," you note, counting the rollers you had left under your breath, "Five more." 

She heaved a sigh at that, but nodded slowly as she allowed you to continue. This was likely the most tedious part of it all but you trusted that the results would be worth it in the end. 

As you stuck the bobby pin into the final roll you took a second to scan the product of your hard work. "Alright, you'll need to keep them in for a while," you tell her when stuffing the remaining pins back into their small box. 

"They're uncomfortable," Rayne complains, her voice bordering on a whine that was most unlikely of her. Though she doesn't actually look displeased when you catch her face in the mirror. She reaches a small hand up to touch carefully at the roller holding her fringe, lips pursed in contemplation. "Are you sure this will work?" she asks. 

You nod, perhaps a little too quickly, "Positive."

The record player jammed slightly between song shifts but a moment later a new tune filled the bedroom, one you did not recognize but still tried to hum along to. "Okay, let's move to the next step while we wait," you declare when reaching for the makeup palette beside you. 

Rayne cocks a brow as she follows the movement with her eyes, their earlier reluctance now replaced with curiosity. "What's it for?" She points to the variety of colors, all divided into square sections. 

"It's for your eyelids," you explain when scooting over to sit in front of her, crossing your legs as you get comfortable. Opening the clear lid, you show her the different options, ranging from bright blues to deep greens, bold yellows, oranges and much more. "Take your pick!" 

She hesitates when the decision is so suddenly pushed into her lap, swallowing audibly when leaning forward for a closer look. Teeth closing around her bottom lip, Rayne studies the different colors closely, some had clearly been used more than others, you were a woman of habit after all. 

After a minute's of intense thinking she lifts one finger and points it toward the soft lilac one. "That one," she says with a dismissive shrug, feigning nonchalance as she turns her attention to the floor. 

The corner of your mouth threatens you with a smile and you quickly hide it by turning to grab a fluffy brush from your bag. "That one is perfect," you say when dipping the bristles into the color, swirling them around to gather the powder onto them. 

Rayne follows the action closely through hooded eyes, pretending not to pay as close attention as she was, though the fact that she had stopped picking at her jeans were a tell tale sign. "Not too much," she murmurs, a last attempt at remarking the entire situation. 

"Not too much," you echo, dusting the brush by tapping it against the edge of the palette. Once that was done you straightened up as you held the brush between pinched fingers, "Okay, close your eyes." 

After throwing you another skeptical look she does as she's told, her lashes fluttering slightly when she lets her eyes fall shut. In the distance, the music playing fades out as the track jumps to play another song — leaving the two of you in silence as you brush the brush to one of her eyes. 

Your touch is careful so to not accidentally poke the corner of her eye with the bristles when you drag them over her closed lid. The warmth of her steady exhales fans across your chin when you lean forward to see better as you dab the lilac powder onto her.

The CD comes to life again but the new melody becomes background noise for all that exists in this moment is you and Rayne. She sits perfectly still and had it not been for the twitch of her brow when you move from one eye to the other one could have easily mistaken her for a statue. The muted purple goes on easily, covering the faint outlines of veins that lay across her lids. 

"Keep them closed," you hum when pulling back to dip the brush back into the palette to retrieve more color. Swiveling the fine strands in the lilac once, you bring a steady hand back to apply the second layer — going over it twice made it stick better — something you had picked up during your late teens. 

Rayne doesn't flinch when the soft bristles return to her lids and though the corner of her lip twitches, she says nothing as she allows you to continue. 

Your heart clenches in your chest the setting sun no longer keeping you warm but rather the girl in front of you. "It's turning out beautiful" the acknowledgement is no louder than the song playing from her desk but given your proximity she definitely heard it. 

"It better be," Rayne huffs, even then there was amusement in her voice, the kind that makes you smile without meaning to. And perhaps it was a little selfish for you to linger even the brush no longer held any color and the layer had been spread evenly by your skilled hands — but you wished to linger in the moment. 

You wondered if she'd ever had this done to her before. The simple gesture of applying soft purple to her eyelids and having someone run their fingers through her long hair. Judging by her initial reluctance you decide that she hasn't. It makes you sad, a lot sadder than you thought it would. 

"Okay," finally sitting back, you tap the brush against the edge of the palette before closing it completely, "You can open them now." 

Rayne does just that, lashes fluttering against her cheeks when she blinks, letting her eyes adjust to the sudden invasion of light. Scooting to the side, you allow her room to behold herself in the full body mirror in front of her which she does after some hesitation. 

Her palms are braced on her knees when she tilts forward, just enough to catch sight of the purple that now coats her lids. She studies the result intently, tracking her own reflection the same way you remember doing by your mother's vanity all those years ago. Then she slowly lifts one hand, the tip of her index finger lightly touching the corner of her eye. 

For a second you're worried that she's going to react negatively. Perhaps she would reject the entire idea again, demand you wash it off and refuse to attend the dance all together. But Rayne simply nods once, a careful tilt of her head that betrays nothing but her quiet approval. 

"I like it," she says as she her hand drop back to rest against her leg. When you don't immediately respond enthusiastically she turns to you with a frown. "What?" she murmurs, "Why are you looking at me like that?" 

You shrug, "Like what?" Despite your attempt at indifference you could not fight off the grin that curved into your cheeks. It was impossible not to be enamored with her in this moment for she looked so unlike the Rayne you thought you knew. 

The crease between her brow deepens and her gaze narrows on you, "Like… I don't know—" she scoffs, "All weird." 

Your lips stretched wider at that as you hum, "I just think you look pretty." 

She turns her head away when the words register but you still caught the flush that crept its way to her face as she clears her throat. "You're ridiculous," she says, nudging one of the rollers in her hair absently to distract herself from the conversation taking place. 

Part of you wants to argue that you were being perfectly serious, the other however, is simply content watching her with the same cheesy grin as she tried to play the compliment off. 

The rest of the late afternoon is spent in similar fashion. The disc you had stuffed into the CD player came to an end and the tracks looped back to the beginning as it started over. Neither of you commented on it, and Rayne actually started humming along to a few of the familiar songs — though you pretended not to notice as you smiled to yourself. 

You were now in the midst of painting her nails in shimmering purple, one tiny hand resting in your own bigger one as you swipe the brush over her nail bed. The sharp smell of acetone prickled at your nose as it clung to the air between you, but it did nothing to deter your precision as you worked. 

Outside the sun had completely set and your only source of light was the lamp, usually placed on her desk, that now stood beside you both on the floor. Its warm yellow hues makes the purple appear almost brownish though you knew you had read the bottle correctly. 

Rayne sits quietly, her posture never once faltering as she keeps herself ramrod straight. You had given up the pretense of that since long, favoring comfort as you hunched over her hand. She didn't speak, you didn't either — it wasn't awkward nor tense as it so often would be whenever the two of you were alone, and you even dared hope that things might actually take a turn for the better from this point forward.

You had just finished applying an even layer of purple to her ring finger when a sudden voice cut through Dancing Queen's second run on the CD player. "Are you almost finished? We need to leave soon—" The door is cracked open enough for Jungkook's frame to squeeze through, his gaze falling on the scene in front of him as his brows raise on his forehead. 

Though he barely gets to finish his sentence before you're on your feet. "Out!" you shrill, already rushing over, nail polish forgotten about as your hands shove at his chest. 

The force you use is enough to make him stumble backward a step and Jungkook frowns as he redirects his attention to you rather than his daughter — who had turned her head to glance at you both over her shoulder. 

"You're not allowed in here right now," you say as you usher him back over the threshold he'd dare to cross. His confusion visibly mounts with each passing moment but you ignore it as you shield Rayne from his line of sight dramatically. 

Jungkook exhales a sharp breath, "I— What?" His dark eyes find yours, immediately trapping you in place and you feel your heart stutter in your chest when you take in his attire. His hair was neatly combed and styled, as it usually was, but the black tuxedo he wears catches you off guard. Sure you were quite accustomed to Jungkook dressing adequately, the button ups and the dress pants… But this was different. 

Your palms are still braced on his chest, the slightly erratic thumping of what could only be his own heart, beating against your right one. He's yet to utter a single word since you so blatantly pushed him out of his daughter's room and you realize that he was waiting patiently for an explanation. 

"You can't be here," pulling back a fraction, you peer at him with determination, "This is a girl thing — besides, it'll ruin the effect if you see her before I'm done." 

Jungkook cocks a sharp brow, hands twitching by his sides like he was fighting the urge to reach out. "A girl thing?" he repeats in a low drawl, gaze flickering over your shoulder to which you quickly follow up by stepping to the side and blocking him again. 

"Yes," you tilt your chin, fingers flattening out the crease your previous roughing up had caused to his tux, "Boys won't understand." 

The disbelief on his face grows at that but you allow him no room to speak as you usher him out into the hallway. "Go!" Your command seems to break through the haze and Jungkook blinks once as his attention snaps back to you. His lips part, perhaps to inquire further on the matter though he ultimately seems to decide against it. 

He nods, throwing a glance toward the watch around his wrist before exhaling through his nose. "Thirty minutes," he grunts, then he turns on his heel as he heads down the hall, presumably to wait downstairs now that he'd been banished from his daughter's bedroom. 

Once he's out of sight you turn back to Rayne with a sigh, letting the door fall shut behind you. "What did I tell you?" Walking over and plopping back on the floor in front of her, you pick up the nail polish as you silently ask for her hand. "Boys don't know the first thing about stuff like this," you muse when dipping the brush into the polish. 

Rayne, who'd been watching the interaction silently, said nothing. But you thought you could see the edges of her mouth twitching slightly. 

An hour and a half had passed since the two of you first sat down to get started — but you could now finally say that you were finished. Rayne stands in front of the full body mirror, the purple dress falling around her small frame rather elegantly. The sparkly midsection glimmers under the warm glow of the lamp — which had been moved back to its home on her desk. 

Her hair, free from the hot rollers at last, now flows in gorgeous waves down her back as you run your fingers through the dark locks carefully. "What do you think?" you ask when parting her hair and moving it over both of her shoulders, letting it spill down her chest where it curled in place neatly. 

Rayne remains quiet for a moment. The purple shadow you had placed on her lids did its job in highlighting her dark brown eyes and she blinks slowly as she regards her reflection in the glass. Her cheeks are dusted in warm pink — an addition you had added which made it hard to tell if she was actually blushing or not. 

Her fingers find a wavy strand which she curls around the digit slowly. "Pretty," she murmurs in a voice so quiet it barely sounded like her at all. Though the CD player had been cut off when she went to change and you heard the soft admission clearly in the silence of her bedroom. 

If you had been able to pry your gaze away from her, you're sure you would've caught the beaming smile on your lips in the mirror. Pretty wasn't enough to even begin to cover it. Rayne was always beautiful — there had never been any doubt about that — but tonight she looks out of this world. You can't help but feel a small swell of pride in your chest at the accomplishment. 

"You are." Hands coming to rest on her shoulders, you both continue to regard the finish product of your lengthy session together a moment longer. Both her brother and father were probably waiting rather impatiently at this point, Cassian had been particularly downcast when he'd learned that he wasn't allowed to enter his sister's room. But you were in no rush. 

"Oh," you suddenly perk up, "I almost forgot." Letting go of her, you quickly head over to crouch by your discarded bag on the floor. It takes some rummaging, you weren't exactly organized, but your fingers eventually closed around a familiar tube. 

Holding it up for her to see, you grin triumphantly. "The finishing touch," you hum when walking back to Rayne who was watching you with a frown. The cheap brand name had since long been smudged, intelligible by this point but the lipstick itself still did its job. 

You twist it open, spinning the bottom a few times to get the product out before showing her the soft pink. "Alright." Leaning down slightly, you reach out with your unoccupied hand to gently cup her jaw. "This will only take a second," you assure her, even though the young girl made no attempts at protesting. 

Her lips part slightly as you carefully apply the cosmetic on top of them, spreading the color in an even layer — smudging away any excess with the help of your thumb. "Go like this," you say, smacking your own lips together when returning the cap onto the tube and sealing it once more. 

Rayne follows your lead, blending the pink slightly in the process. Her gaze flickers between herself in the mirror before returning to you. She doesn't comment on the shade but she also doesn't wipe it off again, which was a success you think. 

"Lipstick fades pretty quickly," you say, "So I think it's best that you bring this one with you." Nodding toward the small purse you had allowed her to borrow for tonight, you then place the tube in her hand, closing her fist around with softly. 

She tenses at that, brows pinching together as she sends you a conflicted look. "Really?" Rayne asks, the tender disbelief in her voice makes your chest clench and you quickly nod. 

"Sure!" you smile, giving her shoulder a tiny squeeze, "If you like it you can keep it, I have plenty more at home." That was a lie. You only had this and a bold red which you reserved for special occasions that rarely came. But the flicker of hope within her dark eyes as they turned to the lipstick in her hand was more than enough for you to willingly make the sacrifice. 

Rayne hums, thumb tracing the bottom of the tube reverently. "Thank you," she says, and your breath nearly caught in your throat. It was the first time you'd heard her utter those words in a way that actually sounded sincere. The expression of gratitude takes you by surprise, though she doesn't seem to notice as she continues to study her freshly painted lips in the mirror. 

"Of course," you exhale when managing to get a half-hearted grip on yourself again. One glance at the clock on her desk though, makes you realize that time was quickly running out and you spring into action once more. "I'll go downstairs and get your dad and brother, don't come down until I tell you to, okay?" 

She gives you a questioning look but obeys with a soft nod, slowly heading over to grab the purse waiting for her on the bed. 

You find both Jungkook and Cassian waiting in the living room. The younger was restlessly skipping around while his father leaned against the fireplace with his hands buried in his pockets. They both glanced up at your arrival, heads snapping in your direction like they had been counting down the seconds themselves. 

"Nanny!" Cassian exclaims as he scurries over, fingers wrapping around the sleeve of your shirt tightly, "Is she done? Is she done?" When you nod he makes a squealing noise, waving his father over as he tries to contain his excitement. 

Jungkook pushes himself off the mantle, joining you a moment later. If he was nervous about the evening then he did not show it — his face resembling a detached mask of indifference, even as you guide them back into the hallway. "Let's wait for her by the stairs," you say, fighting to keep the smirk from your lips. 

It takes a while to get Cassian to settle down, the boy looked ready to leap upstairs and you held onto both of his shoulders firmly so to not ruin the surprise. When he finally calms enough to at least stay rooted to the spot you turn your attention to the upper floor. 

"Okay, you can come down!" Your voice bounces off the pale walls and is shortly followed by faint shuffling above before silence returns. Jungkook stands beside you, his posture just as rigid as that of his daughter, his nonchalance betrayed only by the way he moved to absently fiddle the black silk around his neck. 

Another moment passes — the seconds stretching for what felt like an eternity — until Rayne finally appears at the top of the stairs. 

The air inside the Jeon estate shifted in an instant, the anticipation that had been building finally reaching its climax as both her brother and father turn their heads in her direction.

But you're not looking at her. No, your gaze is fixed on Jungkook — who's fingers had gone slack around the tie he'd been adjusting, the action seemingly forgotten as he takes in the sight of his daughter on top of the staircase. 

Mesmerized. That was the best way to describe the look in his eyes as they tracked Rayne's careful descent down the steps. The ever present crease between his brows let up, giving way to something much softer — younger. His Adam's apple bobs with his next swallow, lips parted in a silent exhale that looks like its been punched from his lungs. 

Rayne avoids making eye contact with all of you, keeping her head bowed as her fingers clutch the banister — the purple shimmer on her nails sparkling under the light of the chandelier. 

"Wow," Cassian sounds awestruck, "She looks like a real princess, daddy!" He tugs on the sleeve of his father's tux but Jungkook pays the small boy no mind — he has yet to look away from his daughter. 

Finally he gives a barely noticeable tilt of his chin. "Yes," he whispers hoarsely, "She does." He regards her almost longingly, as though he was seeing something for the first time. And when Rayne reaches the bottom step, he's there, one large hand outstretched, his palm open for her taking. 

She hesitates, glancing at Jungkook's hand like it was a foreign object before she finally lets go of the banister as her much tinier one is placed in his hold. His fingers close around her own and he guides her off the last step, much like a gentleman. 

Her younger brother can no longer hold himself back as he frees himself from your grasp. His arms wrap around Rayne with surprising force, catching both his sister and father of guard, though he is none the wiser as he lets his cheek press against hers. 

"My sister is a princess!" He says proudly, the words muffled against her hair. 

Rayne finally unfreezes from the sudden embrace and she lifts the hand currently clutching your purse to give her brother an awkward pat on the back. 

Jungkook has yet to let go of her, or tear his gaze from her for that matter. You didn't think he would anytime soon and your heart warmed at the thought. "Okay, okay," gently prying Cassian away from his sister, you haul him back against you, "They're going to be late of you don't let her go soon." 

He pouts slightly but gives a solemn tilt of his head. "I wish we could go too," he then whines, craning his neck to peer up at you with hopeful eyes. 

You simply shake your head, stroking his hair back, "We'll just have our own dance at home, how about that?" The proposal does seem to put his mind at ease and Cassian gives up on harassing his sister for the moment. 

"Alright," Jungkook has cleared his throat, still looking slightly dazed as he jerks his chin in the direction of the front door. "Shoes and coat on," he instructs as he lets go of Rayne's hand. She complies without question, the frills of her dress swaying slightly as she heads over to the shoe rack. 

Lingering by the stairs, you wrap your arms around Cassian as you watch them both pull on their shoes, freezing when you suddenly remember yourself. "Wait!" The blurted exclamation slices through the air, making three heads turn your way as the entire family sends you a confused look. But before any of them can ask you've released Cassian, already halfway up the steps to the second floor. 

You move on autopilot, barreling through the door to Rayne's bedroom as you fall to your knees beside the duffel bag you had brought. God, you really had to start organizing your things, it took way longer than it should for you to find the cool surface of your camera. An older model that you had gotten for your eighteenth birthday after much pleading with your father — a treasured possession of yours. 

With the heavy weight of it placed on your hands, you rush back downstairs, finding everyone exactly where you'd left them, all with puzzled expressions. Jungkook is the first to notice the camera you're clutching, brows furrowing as he opens his mouth to speak — only to be dismissed by the wave of your hand. 

"Stand a little closer," you say when stepping forward, closing one eye as you bring the camera to the other. 

The pair hesitates, the young girl sending her father a quick glance before turning her gaze toward the floor. It's not until Jungkook places a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her to his side that a smile finds its way to your lips, "Perfect." 

"Big smiles," you chirp, peering at them through the camera as you angle it to capture them clearly. They both frown at the same time, their expressions perfectly mirroring the other and you resist the giggle that bubbles in your chest. "Come on!" Your encouragement seems to have some effect as they both force two awkward smiles onto their lips. 

You snap the photo quickly, not wanting to let the precious moment slip between your fingers. The camera flashes brightly and when it's over you tilt it to peer at the results. They look nothing short of perfect — textbook gorgeous yet there was something truly ethereal about them. 

Next to you, Cassian as already jumping on his feet as he tries to catch a glimpse himself. "Let me see, let me see," he says impatiently. 

Meanwhile Jungkook and Rayne have separated, the former clearing his throat as he reaches for their respective coats. They slip them on silently, avoiding each other's gazes as the sound of clothes rustling fills the hallway. 

Once they're both fully dressed Cassian runs up to hug them both goodbye. "Have fun," you tell them when placing the camera down on the dresser. They nod in unison, in sync with seemingly every action. "Make sure he sleeps by eight," Jungkook says as he sends his son a pointed glance. 

"I've got it," you hum, arms wrapping around the tiny boy a second time when he returns to stand with you. 

His father appears satisfied with that as he unlocks the front door, letting Rayne step out first before joining her. It shuts behind them with a soft click, leaving the behind a silent house and excitement that slowly fades into something more serene. 

"Nanny," Cassian says, twisting in your embrace as he peers at you through dark lashes, "Can we take a photo too?" 

Jungkook came to the swift conclusion that he disliked the children's school just as much during the evening as he did in the day time — in fact as he and Rayne steps out of the car, he thinks this might be worse. 

The ride here, though short, had been spent in silence for the most part. Jungkook had mulled over the dimming headlights that he would need to get fixed sooner rather than later. He'd been pushing the matter back on his agenda as he dreaded the awful and inevitable meeting with Mr. Williams, a man in his late fifties who had a thing for both Jungkook and his car it seemed. 

If he had his way, Jungkook would probably ignore the problem for another couple of weeks as he drowned himself in work and holiday preparations. But with the cold and dark winter season the malfunctioning lights were becoming an apparent issue that he could no longer bring himself to dismiss. 

Tomorrow, he tells himself as he shoves the keys into the pocket of his tux — the garment far too restricting for his liking, though he did not let it show. There were other matters on his mind right now, like the sound of conversation that floats around him, impossible to block out. 

This dance was something he would avoid if he could help it. Only you had been insistent, Jungkook almost groans at the recollection of that night. He should've shot it down again, argued that Rayne would not want to go and spare himself the awkward two hours of interacting with parents whom he knew nothing about. But he found it impossible to deny you, for whatever infuriating reason. 

Up ahead the entrance had been lit up. The doors were held open on hatches, a red carpet that felt more like a dare than an invitation rolled out on the ground. He scanned the area briefly, noting the array of fathers, all leading their daughters' by the hand as they headed inside. His throat goes dry at the thought of having to plower through mundane small talk with them. 

A chilly breeze draws past, reminding him of the harsh December month and the coats they had left behind in the car. His attention is instinctively drawn to Rayne. She stands beside him, arms folded tightly across her chest as she, too, eyes the entrance with reluctance. 

Her hair is picked up by the wind, a few strands gluing to her face, though she makes no attempt at pushing them away. Jungkook studies her silently, he could not remember the last time he saw her dressed in anything other than the plain sweaters and pants she had him purchase for her — if ever. 

He did not care much for how his children chose to dress themselves, long as it was appropriate. Yet there was no denying that his daughter looked absolutely breathtaking tonight. He doesn't know what it is you've done, doesn't linger on the matter either. All he knows is that she was the prettiest girl he had ever laid his eyes on. 

Rayne startles slightly when Jungkook loops his arm around hers, gaze flickering up to meet his in a way that makes his heart ache terribly in his chest. She glances toward the entrance and back at him, "We can still turn back…", she murmurs. 

He finds himself frowning at that. Her hesitation dims the flicker of warmth just as quickly as it had come. It would be easy to nod, to take her home and leave it at that — but his tongue disagrees before his mind can catch up. "No," he says, tightening his grip on her arm, "I want to dance with my beautiful daughter." 

She blinks up at him slowly, lips parting before pressing shut again. Though she doesn't respond, she still clings to him in a way she usually wouldn't as she lets him lead her inside. Jungkook decides then that this night would be worth the painful social interaction that waits beyond those doors and that he would endure it as long as it meant making her happy. 

It's hot inside the school, suffocatingly so. Bodies crowd the hallway, purple lights leading them all the way until to a much more open area. Judging by the tables and chairs pushed against its four walls this had to be the cafeteria. Balloons in all shades lilac are stuck to the ceiling and the pillars that held it up. Lanterns in the same color occupy the tables, next to a few of them large bowls filled with what he presumes to be punch sits. 

In the center of the room is a makeshift dance floor, already filled with fathers and their daughters. It was barely past seven yet music was already playing and a good dozen pairs had already taken to dancing. Above, a large chandelier hangs, its soft yellow glow contrasting the purple theme of the entire ordeal. 

Next to him Rayne shifts awkwardly, her eyes swiping across the room quietly as she chews on her bottom lip. Jungkook tries to think of something to say that would soothe her nerves, perhaps his own as well, but before he gets the chance to, the bruising noise of microphone sparking echoes through the room — a slightly hoarse yet cheerful voice follows a second later. 

"Hello everyone! We welcome you to Oakridge Preparatory's thirty-fifth annual Daddy Daughter dance!" 

Jungkook glances over to the improvised stage across the room. A wooden structure that makes him question how they had even gotten it inside in the first place — perhaps it had been built on the spot. His gaze drifts to the old woman standing on top of it, immediately recognizing her as the principal — Mrs. Fig. 

He'd met her briefly when enrolling Cassian, the encounter had been stale and unpleasant — she talked too much for his liking but right now he wishes she would go on a while longer so to prolong the inevitable. 

Mrs. Fig adjusts the round glasses that sit on the bridge of her nose before continuing: "We've prepared music seeing as the band couldn't make it this year…" she trails off before clearing her throat, "There's punch as well, please help yourselves and remember to have fun!" 

With that she disconnects the mic sending another jarring jolt of electricity through the room, cutting the speech far too short for Jungkook's liking. The music is turned up a moment later, a song he recognizes, Every Breath You Take he thinks it might be called. 

Pairs of fathers and their daughters start filling out the dance floor, easily falling into step so naturally in the way Jungkook knows he will never be able to replicate. His hesitation lasts only a second, then he's moving forward, legs carrying him with determination he didn't even realize he had. 

Rayne stumbles beside him before catching up, brows furrowed deeply as she glances up at him. "What are you doing?" she asks as she lets him lead her through the crowd of people. 

Jungkook shrugs, "Dancing." He comes to a halt when he finds a spot he deems suitable, forcing his shoulders to relax as he guides her hands to his forearms. She allows it, albeit reluctantly, skeptical eyes swiveling around the room once more before finding their way back to him. "Just like we practiced," he says as he begins to move. 

They had spent long nights in the living room, awkwardly stumbling over each other's feet and Jungkook mentally cursing himself for actually preparing for this evening. Their latest attempt yesterday had been pathetic, he hadn't said that of course, but he'd thought it. Right now? Everything seemed to click into place. 

He didn't consider himself a good dancer — never had. Ten years ago he wouldn't even have entertained the idea of doing something like this. And yet, as he watches his daughter under the warm lights, yellows and purples mixing onto her face, the small furrow of concentration etched to her features, he cannot imagine himself to be anywhere else. 

The tip of her shoe accidentally nudges his and Rayne glances up at him sheepishly. Jungkook simply shrugs, pulling her along as he twirls her in his arms. The purple dress you had gotten her sways around her legs, Cassian had been right in saying that she looks like a princess, he thinks. 

The room around them fades until all he can see is her. His daughter. Dark brown hair falls unevenly down her shoulders, the soft pink that dusts her round cheeks and the way she bites her lip as she focuses on getting her steps right. 

Rayne had always reminded him of her mother — the woman he'd spent years loving. And though Jungkook doesn't blame himself for what happened, he hates himself for the mistakes he's made with his daughter, he probably will for the rest of his life. 

She had her mother's face but she was undoubtedly him in every other sense. Sometimes he found himself frightened by the stark similarities they shared. He did not know how to handle them, how to handle her. But he vows there and then to try his best, for Rayne. 

The evening passes relatively calmly. Dancing was not as bad as he'd initially thought and after a few songs they found themselves by one of the tables serving fruit punch. Rayne stayed close to his side, and though she did not know it, her presence comforted him just as much as his probably did her. 

There were a few others before them, two fathers chatting happily with one another, though Jungkook would rather sink through the ground than have to engage in their conversation. He's content to stand quietly beside his daughter, keeping their arms looped together despite the risk of them getting separated was slim. 

Just as the others clear out and Jungkook reaches for the ladle in the punch, a voice he recognizes with dread pierces the comfortable silence he and Rayne shared. 

"Mr Jeon!" 

He doesn't have to turn to know who it is, he does anyway, just to be polite. Ms Song approaches their table with a smile too wide, too friendly, it doesn't feel genuine. You would never smile like that. Jungkook shakes the thought as quickly as it had come, fingers curling a little tighter around the cold metal handle. 

"It's so nice to see you here," She says when tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The dress she wears feels far from appropriate for a setting like this, low cut and figure framing in a way none of the other teachers' were. 

Jungkook gives a small tilt of his head and has half a mind to ask what she was doing here. Last he recalled she did not have Rayne in any subject. But Ms Song is already turning to his daughter, leaning down to come eye level with her, in turn making her chest spill out of her tight dress and Jungkook averts his gaze with a quiet scoff. 

"You must be Cassian's big sister," she says as she extends a hand, "I'm his homeroom teacher." 

Rayne eyes her outstretched hand warily but ends up taking it. Ms Song shakes it gently before letting go and straightening back up, seemingly unfazed by their lack of response. She turns back to Jungkook, and he feels awfully distracted by the vibrant color on her lips. 

"I honestly didn't expect to see you tonight, but it's such a nice surprise." Her tone is light, a pitch too high, betraying her obvious interest in conversing with him. 

Jungkook tries to think of an excuse to have them both leave before she gets the chance to bombard him with prying questions about his life, though the cup he holds in one hand and the ladle filled with punch keeps him rooted to the spot. 

Ms Song is not oblivious to this, unfortunately, and she nods in the bowl's direction. "I heard the punch is supposed to be good," she says as she flashes him an expectant smile. 

Pressing his lips into a firm line and biting down on his tongue, Jungkook fills the cup before handing it to Rayne who takes it with a small 'thanks'. Then he reaches for another, repeating the process, all the while Ms Song's invasive eyes continue to linger. He extends it toward her without a word, ignoring the way she leaves her fingers on top of his a moment longer than necessary when she takes it. 

"Thank you," she hums as she brings the cup to her lips, letting them wrap around its rim and taking a sip. Her lashes flutter when she bats them at him and Jungkook wonders if it's given her a headache yet — one could hope. 

She lowers the cup and it looks as though she's about to say something else when the sound of another man's voice suddenly interrupts her. "Ms Song!" He's weaving through the crowd, the hair on his head a mess. Jungkook doesn't recognize him but judging by his lack of a child, he thinks he must be another teacher. 

"The music is doing that thing again, it keeps breaking up and Mr. Brown doesn't know how to fix it…" He trails off when he notices both Jungkook and Rayne, giving a polite nod before turning his attention back to the woman between them. 

Ms Song heaves a sigh, the subtle roll of her eyes not going him unnoticed as she sends Jungkook an apologetic glance. "I'll be right there," she calls out, painted nails digging into the cup. "I hope to see you around tonight," her voice has an uncomfortable lilt to it and Jungkook responds only with a small hum. 

The second she takes her leave he feels his shoulders slump, exhaustion washing over him as a result of the brief yet painful encounter. He silently decides to thank whatever mighty power above had caused the interruption and steered her away from him. 

"She likes you."

Rayne's blunt remark pulls him from his thought and he turns to her with a frown. "She does?" He questions back, caught off guard by how observant she was being. 

His daughter simply nods, still sipping on her fruit punch as her gaze travels across the room. "Girls do that when they like someone," she explains after another gulp, "They make excuses to talk about stuff with you, even when they don't actually have anything important to say." 

He feels his forehead crease even further as he considers her response. Making excuses to talk to him? His mind immediately wanders to you and he tries to think of any instance in which you had done the same. 

He remembers the awkward conversations you had steered him onto whenever you were alone, usually in the kitchen after the children had gone to bed. Jungkook never found them to be insignificant, he quite liked hearing you talk. 

"You don't like her do you?" Rayne asks, she's watching him over the rim of her cup, distracting herself with small sips. It was unusual of her to ask questions like that — especially regarding a topic such as this. 

Jungkook shakes his head, "No," he muses. He did not like Ms Song, perhaps ten years ago he would've, she seemed like the type he went for back then. But he is not the same man he was a decade ago, and for that he was thankful. 

"Is it because you like nanny?" 

His heart might as well have sank to the bottom of the ocean when her words registered. For the first time since the two of them left home, the silence that lingered felt anything but comfortable. He briefly consider just outright ignoring her, to pretend like he hadn't heard the uttered words in the first place — but he knows he cannot. 

He turns to her, avoiding looking her in the eye as he takes the half finished cup of fruit punch from her hands. Rayne doesn't protest, wiping her lips with the back of her hand as she watches him. 

Bringing the cup to his face, he peers down at the liquid that swirls inside — taunting him into delivering the answer waiting on his tongue. Jungkook inhales through his nose, the sweet scent of fruit filling his senses, it's almost too sweet. 

"Yes." 

It's all he says before bringing the cup to his lips as he takes a long sip. He prays that his daughter won't catch the tremble to his fingers, the white knuckled grip he holds on the innocent plastic cup — hard enough for it to crack. 

But Rayne says nothing, letting her gaze return to the crowded room as she watches her peers dance with their fathers. Despite the music — now playing smoothly again thanks to Ms Song — it's quiet where the two of them stand. 

Jungkook busies himself with the fruit punch for as long as he can, which isn't long at all seeing as he was downing the sickeningly sweet drink in big gulps. Once the cup is empty he's left staring at it like it held all the answers to the mysteries of the universe. 

Beside him, Rayne shifts her weight from one foot to the other and when he dares to drag his attention over to her, he finds his daughter opening the purse that rests by her side, held together by a thin strap. She reaches a hand inside, pulling it back a moment later, this time cradling a small, black tube. 

He studies her as Rayne twists the cap off, spinning its bottom a few times. It's only when the soft pink appears that Jungkook realizes it was a lipstick she held. Her lips part and she applies it carefully onto them — once she's done she smacks them together before repeating her earlier ministrations and sealing the tube again. 

"Where did you get that?" He asks, his voice coming out hoarser than he had intended for it to. Jungkook bought everything she asked for — which wasn't a lot. He would've known of a lipstick in her possession. 

Rayne hums, placing the cosmetic back into the purse before sealing it tight. "Nanny gave it to me," she pauses before adding, "She said I could keep it." 

Jungkook nods slowly, his eyes lingering on the purse a second longer as he recalls the way you had shoved him out of his daughter's bedroom earlier that afternoon — the frantic look on your face as you kept him from stealing as much as a glance at his own child. 

He turns back to the fruit punch, filling the cup once more despite the drink tasting horrendous. Though he had spent a good half an hour trying to figure out why he wasn't allowed in her bedroom during the process of her getting ready, he'd later come to the conclusion that he would forever remain clueless. 

Must be some of that girl stuff you were talking about, he thinks to himself as he takes a small sip. 

By nine pm the dance came to a close as tired children clung to their dads who carried them out of the building. Despite the event being a brief two hours — Jungkook already knows he would rather take a twelve hour day at the office. He does not think he's ever felt as drained as he did when he got into the drivers seat to pull out of the parking lot. 

After their conversation by the fruit punch, Rayne had not mentioned you again, nor had she brought up the confession he had made without thinking his answer through even once. In fact she had asked to dance again — taking him by surprise but Jungkook had not denied her as he offered his hand. 

Their second try out on the floor had gone even smoother. No more stiff shoulders or stepping on toes. Rayne had even smiled as he twirled her around, a shy, barely-there curl of her lips but Jungkook had caught it under the dim lights and he treasured it close to his heart. 

The late Friday night left the streets nearly vacant and as he drove the car to a stop by a red light, he glanced at Rayne in the rear view mirror. 

Her lipstick was smudged from an additional two cups of fruit punch, the waves in her hair diffused as a result of her hands running through the strands. She hadn't spoken a word since he'd turned on the engine and Jungkook understood why when he caught sight of her shut eyes. Head propped up against the window at an awkward angle, Rayne slept soundly in the backseat. 

She would rarely — if ever — doze off during car rides. He thinks the night must've left her twice as exhausted as him. 

The light ahead turns green pulling Jungkook's attention to the road. His fingers drum softly against the wheel and the hand he keeps on the clutch reaches up to shut the radio off. 

Rayne had yet to wake by the time he pulled up in their driveway and he sits silently with her for a minute or two before forcing himself out into the cold. The December air is harsh and unforgiving as he quickly rounds the car to carefully pull her door open. Thankfully secured by her seat belt, Rayne's head simply lolls to her shoulder when she's robbed of her makeshift pillow. 

Jungkook moves efficiently, leaning over her to unbuckle the leather that held her in place before draping both his and her coat over her bare shoulders. Then he lifts her from the seat slowly, trying his best not to jostle his sleeping daughter as he knocked the car door shut with his foot. 

He can't remember the last time he'd carried Rayne in his arms. It had to have been years for she was not nearly as affectionate as her younger brother. The weight of her in his arms and the warmth of her body still makes his heart beat a little faster — the same way it had when he'd first gotten to hold her that day at the hospital eight years ago. He leans down to bury his nose in her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her — his daughter. 

When he rounds the front of the car he pauses, the headlights give a weak flicker before going dark again and Jungkook sighs. Tomorrow, he tells himself before heading for the front door. 

── [ ✉️ ] So like, surprise Jungkook POV ahah... I feel like a lot of people were expecting OC and Cassian to tag along for the dance but I felt like that moment specifically needed to remain between Jungkook and Rayne alone, especially given what she asked later, cough... Anyway, please let me know what you thought, I would love love to hear it <3

"Nanny!" Cassian calls out from behind you, "Help me put this one up!" He scurries around one of the couches, nearly tripping over the garland he carries in his tiny hands. It was made out of colorful triangles, reds, blues, yellows and purples — each one printed with bold, white letters that spell out 'Happy Birthday'. You had gotten it at the store yesterday, among other props that were now scattered around the living room

Letting go of the balloon you had just finished tying, you turn to him with an arched brow. "Where do you want it?" You ask to which he points toward the fireplace. Following his line of sight, you note that the garland would indeed do good there. "Alright," You hum, already heading over to grab the roll of tape sitting on the coffee table, "Hand it over." 

You and Cassian had spent the past hour decorating the entire living room to the best of your abilities. Between using up all your lung capacity to blow balloons — most of which Cassian had let fly across the room again with giddy laughter — you had been placing all kinds of party-themed accessories around the beige furniture. 

It was important that the house looked as festive as possible, Cassian had said. And you were doing your best to live up to his expectations as you went about placing colorful streamers across the coffee table. 

The party hat perched on top of his head perfectly matched the rainbow cone on your own, held together by an elastic string that looped under your chin. They were part of the young boy's elaborate plan to a successful birthday party and he had two more prepared for the others when they arrived home. 

Jungkook had taken Rayne to see the children's grandparents around noon, giving you and her younger brother the early afternoon to make means of any necessary preparations. You had spent a good half an hour in front of the mirror in his bedroom, trying on different bow ties for him. 

Cassian insisted on wearing such, even though you told him that he'd look just fine with the light blue button up you had chosen. But he'd been adamant in his choice of wardrobe and there was no changing his mind. "I'm going to be handsome, just like Daddy," He'd said with a beaming smile. 

So there you stood, swapping navy blue for bright yellow, trying on a deep red and even black before finally coming to a unanimous decision on white. It contrasted his big brown eyes well, matching the set of teeth which he showed off with a shy grin. 

"Do you think they will like it?" Cassian quietly wonders as he fiddles with the tie around his neck. He was sat on the kitchen counter, watching with a small pout as you prepared the cake that had been cooling in the fridge since last night. 

"I reckon they will," You hum when reaching over to grab the purple candles on stand by. Sticking one of them into the cake, you add with a twitch of your lip, "I think you look dashing." 

The tips of his ears turn a bright shade of pink and Cassian averts his gaze as his cheeks puff out. Though he doesn't give a verbal response, the flush creeping up his neck before blooming across his face tells you that the compliment meant a great deal to him. 

Beyond that, a comfortable silence settles over the two of you. It wouldn't be long until Jungkook arrived back home with Rayne, ready for the celebration you and her brother had been setting up for the past two hours. In the meantime you occupy yourself with counting the candles you placed on the cake. 

Eight of them, all surrounding the letters you carefully iced. You and Jungkook had made it together last night — well, you had made it while he supervised. 

The Jeon house had been quiet, with both children asleep in their respective bedrooms, you had been whisking batter until late evening hours. After claiming that he knew little about baking, Jungkook took his spot by the kitchen island as he leaned against its counter — his gaze lingered on your frame a lot longer than it should. 

"Do you bake often?" He asked, keeping his voice low as he studied you a little too closely for comfort. 

You shrugged, teeth pulling on your bottom lip when you cracked an egg into the bowl, whisking it together with the sugar. "From time to time," You said when reaching for the soy milk that was substituting any dairy for Cassian, "It's more of a hobby I suppose." 

Jungkook hummed his agreement at that and through the corner of your eye you caught his gaze, dark yet undeniably soft around its edges. His arms were folded across his chest, head tilted a degree to the side like whatever held his attention did so wholeheartedly. 

It was impossible not to feel the weight of his eyes where they settled over you. "What?" You chuckled when the moment had grown so prolonged that you could no longer refrain from speaking on it. "Is there something on my face?" You asked, turning your head away as you reached a hand up to feel around for any abnormalities — though the course of action was more so used to shield the bashful expression you wore. 

"No," Jungkook said, and wether he picked up on your flustered state or not as he stepped closer was hard to tell. Even so, he made no comment on it. His arms unfolded from their resting place across his torso, they hung limp by his sides when he came to a halt beside you. His gaze dropped to the batter you mixed and the corner of his lip pulled into something unreadable. 

Then his attention had shifted to your face, to the awkward reality of his proximity that you tried in vain to hide. "Nothing at all." He mused, looking almost thoughtful where he stood. You watched as his fingers twitched against the outskirt of his thigh, curling into a loose fist before he brought his hand to your cheek. 

You had wondered if he felt the heat seeping through your skin — proof of how little control you seemed to harbor over your own blood pressure whenever he was around. 

"I just enjoy looking at you I suppose." He confessed quietly, brows furrowed as he regarded you. 

The words sounded so simple coming from his lips — but you knew it had taken him much to say. There was tension in his jaw, like he prepared himself for you to reject the advances he made. It wasn't like you ever had before yet he seemed to fear that you suddenly would. 

Though you'd been unable to conjure a proper response to his confession you had not dared slip away from the touch to your cheek, so you lingered in it as you exposed a shy smile to him. 

The moment seemed to last an eternity and yet when it came to a close as Jungkook stepped back — it had not seemed like nearly enough. His gaze returned to the forgotten cake mixture as his hands found their way to the pockets of his dress pants, wordlessly urging you to continue. 

From there you had been baking in silence, having followed the recipe as best as you could with Jungkook reading over your shoulder the entire time, warm breath fanning across your shoulder. 

As the sugary smell filled the kitchen and the cake rose in the oven — you'd realized that this was something you could easily become attached to — and that perhaps you already were. 

The sound of a key rattling its lock pulls you from the memory of last night and you glance up just in time to see Cassian jumping off the counter. "They're home!" He squeals, already headed for the hallway where the front door being pushed open could be heard. Quickly stuffing the cake back into the fridge, you head over to join the others. 

Having scurried off ahead of you, Cassian was already by his father and sister who had just stepped over the threshold. The chilly December air hits you first, the cold which they had brought inside with them now lingers and you inhale the frosty scent of winter. Snow still clings stubbornly their coats, though quickly melting into the fabric and leaving it damp. 

"Daddy! Daddy!" Cassian paws at his father's pants as he tries to grab his attention, "Me and nanny put up all the decorations, come look!" He eagerly attempts to tug his father along, uncaring for the fact that the man had yet to as much as get his shoes off. 

Jungkook remains unbothered by his son's enthusiasm as he sets the bag he'd been carrying down to instead haul the small child into his arms. "You're dressed up," He hums when fiddling with the bow tie around Cassian's neck, to which the latter nods quickly. 

"Nanny helped me pick it," He points proudly toward the accessory, "So I can be handsome just like you." 

The corner of Jungkook's lip twitches at that — not quite a smile, but close — his eyes find yours over Cassian's shoulder. "Handsome, hm?" He huffs, the comment his son had made lingering between you a moment longer. 

Clearing your throat, albeit loud in the quiet hallway, you pry your attention over to Rayne who stood beside him. She was dressed in a white blouse, its buttons done up to her chin. The plain jeans that had been paired with the top were held up by a small, black leather belt — its silver buckle glinting under the soft chandelier above. 

Her gaze is fixed to the floor, the frown on her face not matching that of a birthday girl. She does not turn to glance at neither her brother nor father. The bag Jungkook had been holding, which you presumed to contain gifts from her grandparents was left untouched even as she shed herself of both her coat and shoes. 

"Happy birthday!" You tell her excitedly, giving her a big smile in the hopes of it being reciprocated. It never is and Rayne only nods mutely in response. 

Having set her little sibling down again, Jungkook was now unbuttoning his own coat methodically. "Rayne, you don't ignore someone when they're speaking to you," He grunts, one hand landing firmly on her shoulder as he gives her a nudge in your direction. 

His daughter finally peels her eyes from the floor, turning them up toward you as she sends you a calculating look. "Thank you," She finally says, her voice low and unenthusiastic. 

Jungkook doesn't seem all too pleased with the response but wisely chooses not to push her further as he instead lets himself focus on the festive hats you and Cassian were wearing. He cocks a brow in its direction, silently demanding an explanation for the rainbow shaped cones on your heads. 

"Oh," Reaching up to instinctively adjust the hat, you chuckle lightly, "Cassian thought they would be a fun addition." 

Next to his father, the boy in questions nods, "Yes! There is one for you and Rayne, daddy." He's already back to tugging on his father's clothes, this time succeeding in his mission to steer Jungkook to the living room as he stumbles gingerly after his son. 

Rayne lingers by the shoe rack a moment longer, picking quietly at the sleeves of her shirt without making eye contact. The sound of Cassian's and Jungkook's retreating footsteps can be heard down the hall but she makes no move to follow them, and neither do you. 

"Did you have a good time with your grandparents?" You ask when peering into the bag her father had left by the door. It contained what looked like knitted sweaters — deep blues and greens — something she could easily wear during the colder season. 

Beside you, Rayne shrugs dismissively, not paying the presents much mind. "It was fine," She says as she lets her gaze wander across the hallway. When it finally lands on you there's no hostility in it, left is a quiet emptiness that you don't know how to fill. "We should probably go inside," She plainly states as she tucks her ponytail over one shoulder and heads down the same way her father and brother had disappeared. 

Cassian had self-proclaimed himself as both organizer and director of the entire birthday party — it was important that the event be named a party. That being said, you did not know if he actually wanted to celebrate his sister on her day, or if he was simply thrilled by the idea of spending his Saturday doing something other than studying in the library. 

Upon entering the living room he'd ordered that you take a seat next to his father while he hopped up beside Rayne on the couch opposite you. "You have to wear your hats!" He'd said as he nudged his sister with his elbow, pointing to the two rainbow shaped cones on the coffee table. 

Jungkook huffed, though didn't move to grab the hat his son had ordered for him to. But when the frown on Cassian's face doubled in its intensity, his features twisted into something akin to conflicted hesitation. 

With a resigned exhale that sounded an awful lot like defeat at a battle field, Jungkook leans forward to grab one of the hats that you and the young boy had prepared for them. He turns the plastic in his large hands, its rainbow colored pattern contrasting the ink on his fingers and the navy blue button up he wears. 

He said nothing when placing the cone on top of his head though the crease between his brows spoke for itself. Securing the thin band under his chin, Jungkook's lip tugs into a displeased grimace that he tries his best to hide — but you don't miss it. 

It was impossible not to laugh really — and a quiet giggle bubbled in your chest as you turned in your seat to get a better look at him. He appears strangely out of place with the childlike party hat on, and the bright colors do little to match the dark expression he sends you in return. Besides, the fact that the hat was sitting crooked on top of his head didn't exactly aid his case.

Jungkook raises a brow at you and it felt almost like a challenge, daring you to voice your opinion on his appearance. Perhaps you would have been inclined to, had it only been the two of you — but his son's eager smile on the other side of the coffee table makes you bite your tongue. 

"Wait," You say, reaching out to adjust the hat he wears with gentle hands. You try not to let yourself linger on the way his eyes followed the movement as you straightened the cone on top of his dark hair, fingers sliding under his chin to adjust the elastic rubber band that kept it in place, "There. All better." 

His gaze meets yours then — and you find him a lot closer than you had anticipated. Close enough to where if you leaned forward an inch or two, your noses would be sure to touch. You suddenly become acutely aware of the warmth his thigh provides where it presses against your own. 

But Jungkook makes no move to sit back, even when the spacious couch allows it. And he doesn't point out the fact that you had yet to let go of the elastic band that looped under his chin, your fingers idly brushing the sharp edge of his jaw as your attention lingered on his dark eyes. 

Cassian's giddy voice slices through the air and brutally startles you both from your trance. "Now we're all ready for the party!" He exclaims, thankfully oblivious to the way you had jumped from your seat as you scrambled to put more than an adequate amount of distance between yourself and his father. 

When glancing over to the sofa opposite you, you find that Rayne had already slipped on her hat as well, an expression of indifference masking her features as she regards her dad silently. 

Jungkook himself was clearing his throat lowly, gaze pointed to the table in front of him as he loosened the tie around his neck with rather jerky movements. And perhaps you were simply deluding yourself into seeing things that did not exist — but you could have sworn that the flush creeping up the back of his neck was real. 

"Presents!" Cassian turns to the small pile sitting on the coffee table, organized by none other than himself, "Which one do you want to open first?" He at least has the decency to ask his sister, though his hands were already reaching for a small, green package. 

Rayne merely shrugs, her eyes drifting over the selection before her with little interest. "I'll do that one," She says when pointing to the soft and awkward lump of brown that stands out among the clean-cut and rectangular presents with expensive looking wrapper. Her brother raises her a brow but doesn't question her choice as he hands it over.

You were admittedly not the best gift-wrapper, smoothing out edges and folding paper corners was not something you did for the fun of it. Most of the time you would have the store prepare it for you — but you felt that a personal touch was needed for this one, even if said touch was rather… unfortunate looking. 

Thankfully Rayne doesn't seem too bothered by the tape stuck in random places to keep the wrapper together. She tore it carefully but the sound of paper ripping was still deafening in the living room. 

Next to her, Cassian looked ready to crawl onto her lap to get a better look. His eyes were wide and his lips parted in anticipation as his brows rose and fell on his forehead with each breath he took. For a second it seems like he might urge her to hurry up, but one look from his father silences him with a pout. 

Jungkook, too, was watching his daughter unwrap the present you had gotten for her with interest that he didn't attempt to hide. His fingers were tapping his knee slowly, a rhythmical movement that appears involuntary as his gaze lingers on the wrapper that Rayne was piling onto the coffee table, careful not to let anything fall. 

She comes to a halt when the brown paper had been torn enough for her to uncover what was actually inside. You hold your breath as you gauge her reaction, teeth anxiously gnawing at your bottom lip when watching the surprise that strikes her features before they morph back into something unreadable. 

"What is it?" Cassian asks as he leans impossibly close, fingers curling around the edge of the cushion he sits on. 

Rayne remains silent, palm sliding across the purple fabric in front of her carefully. "A dress…" She finally murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. It was hard to tell if she actually liked it or not and her lack of enthusiasm made you waver as you shift uncomfortably in your seat. 

"I wasn't sure of your size.. So if it's an ill fit we can always go and get it exchanged," You say when rubbing one of your arms awkwardly. The quiet nod she gives you is far from comforting and you were almost certain she hated the gift. 

Next to you, Jungkook finally speaks up — his eyes have yet to leave his daughter, their attention hovering by the dress in her lap. "Hold it up," He says with a hum, leaning back against the couch as he studies the garment expectantly. 

Rayne does as she's told without objections, if not for the quiet sigh that slips past her lips. She stands from the sofa, fingers hooking around the shoulder straps of the purple dress as she holds it up for her father to see. 

The glitter that adorns the chest piece sparkles under the warm glow of the living room light, and the frills that flow seamlessly all the way to her feet sway gently as Rayne adjusts her grip on the garment. No one uttered as much as a word for ten long, painful seconds — even Cassian had gone quiet beside his big sister as the shimmer of the dress reflected in his big eyes. 

Jungkook exhales as he tilts his head to the side, letting his gaze drag up and down the lilac piece before it flickered to his daughter — almost like he was trying to picture her in it. 

"That looks like a princess dress," Cassian says, unable to keep his hands to himself as he reaches out to touch the frills carefully. "Will you wear it to the dance?" He then asks when peering up at her. 

Rayne's entire body goes rigid at the mention of the Daddy-Daughter dance, her lips pressing into a thin line as she avoids looking anyone in the eye. Suddenly the gift you had given her feels like more like a demand than the kind gesture you had been intending for it to be. 

Her brother doesn't seem to understand that the innocent question had struck a nerve, and he frowns as he awaits his answer. 

"It's pretty," Jungkook says as he leans forward, elbows bracing themselves on his knees. Rayne looks up at the sound of her father's voice, her wary gaze meeting his. "Don't you agree?" He then prompts as he nods toward the dress she still holds. 

It takes her a moment but in the end she gives a tiny tilt of her head. She seems intent to have the interaction end there but when Jungkook's eyes continue to linger expectantly she clears her throat softly. "Thank you, nanny," She says in a voice that sounds too small coming from her. 

The rest of the present opening went by rather smoothy with the other gifts all being from Jungkook. Pencils accompanied by a brand new notebook, a handful of novels, most of which you hadn't read up until your high school years. She smiled politely at each item, thanking her father before handing them over to Cassian who seemed all the more eager to explore the array of gifts. 

You wondered when Jungkook had found the time to purchase all of this — only two nights ago he claimed to have no idea what he was to get her. A small huff almost makes it past your lips, each gift seemed to align perfectly with what she would like and for a split second you wondered if the dress you picked had been too daring of a move. 

When the coffee table was covered in torn wrappers and each present piled neatly on the couch beside her, Cassian declared that it was time to move on with the celebration — more specifically the cake. 

"I'll show Rayne where she's going to sit," He says as he jumps from his seat, already extending a hand to his sister as he tugs her along toward the dining room. 

That left you and Jungkook seated on opposite ends of the same couch, staring blankly at the wrapping paper scattered across the table. You had barely spoken a word to the other since last night, and that was becoming painfully obvious right now. In an attempt to fill the awkward silence you reach forward to start cleaning up the mess that gift opening had left behind. 

"I'll do it," Jungkook grunts when grabbing some of the discarded paper, crushing it in his palm as he clears the table. He's not looking at you, too preoccupied with the task at hand to spare you a glance, which you're somewhat thankful for. 

The sofa announces your departure with a soft creak when you rise to your feet, hands clasped in front of you with little purpose. "I'm uh… I'll get you a trash bag," Pointing a thumb over your shoulder you then turn quickly on your heel as you head for the kitchen — already missing Cassian's loud and distracting giggles. 

"We need something to light the candles with," You said to no one in particular really as you rummaged through one of the many kitchen drawers. The cake had been pulled out from the fridge, now sat on the marble island behind you — awaiting only its lit candles before it was ready to be brought to the dining room. 

The hand on your hip startles you from your search and you just about manage to save yourself from slamming your head against the cabinet above. "You're looking in the wrong one," Jungkook murmurs, his voice coming in against your ear as nothing but a quiet whisper. 

He must have joined you in the kitchen once he finished cleaning up the aftermath of Rayne's gift unwrapping — but his arrival had slipped past you unnoticed — until now. 

Without waiting for you to respond, Jungkook leans over to open the drawer next to the one you had been picking through, the hand not on your hip curling around the silver handle, though not before brushing your elbow in a caress that could have easily been written off as accidental. 

"Here," He says when grabbing the box of matchsticks. There was nothing that betrayed any discomfort in him at your close proximity as Jungkook hands you the small box. He doesn't comment on the fact that your fingers brush his a moment longer, or that you had yet to close the previous drawer. 

Somewhere in the distance, Cassian's loud voice can be heard as he chats excitedly with his sister in the dining room. Despite the fact that Jungkook's frame covers your own where he stands — you still feel strangely exposed in the spacious kitchen, painfully aware of the consequences that would follow if one of the kids decided to appear at this very moment. 

"Thanks," You mumble, fist closing around the box as you push the drawer shut with a little more force than necessary. It's not until you turn around that Jungkook finally takes a step back, throwing a glance over his shoulder and toward the adjacent dining area, as though he shared your thoughts. 

When there was no sign of either children, he relaxes as he exhales through his nose. 

You, on the other hand, are already back to the cake — fingers moving with less coordination than normal as you strike a match. The flame takes to life on your third try, by that point your palms were already clammy and your heart beating erratically in your chest. 

Jungkook leans against the kitchen island, closer than he should, you think, as he folds his arms across his chest. The stick burns out by the time you reach the fifth candle and you fumble for another one when Cassian suddenly appears in the doorway. 

"Is it almost ready?" He asks in a hushed whisper, eagerly padding closer to peek over the kitchen island's edge, which he barely reaches over. 

Nodding, you hum an 'almost' as you strike the second match. Perhaps you had underestimated the tremble to your fingers, or maybe it was the awkward angle in which you tried to light the stick — but the flame ends up catching on your finger rather than the candle. 

The hiss slips past your unguarded lips and you nearly end up dropping the match all together as the sudden sting registers painfully. 

Jungkook's hand clasping around your wrist burns almost hotter than the fire and your first instinct is to pull away from his grasp. You hadn't seen him move from his spot by the marble counter top but now he was right beside you, chest brushing against your arm when he reaches out to take the match from your scalded fingers as he puts the flame out. 

Blinking in surprise, you crane your neck to meet his gaze. His brows are pinched together with barely concealed worry, dark eyes flitting between your hand and face. "Are you alright?" He rasps, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse as his thumb rubs the skin of your wrist gently. 

It takes a moment for his question to click and when it finally does you give a small jerk of your chin. "I'm fine, it's just a small burn," You murmur, gingerly trying to free yourself of his grip. 

Cassian had quickly made his way around the island and was now standing by your side. "Nanny!" He gasps a little too dramatically, "Are you hurt?" His wide eyes are fixed to the hand his father still cradles, bottom lip jutted out into a pout. 

Jungkook finally seems to realize that his son was present and he lets you go as he clears his throat, stepping back enough for your bodies to no longer touch. He picks up the discarded box of matches, muttering something about doing it himself as he avoids Cassian's gaze. 

"I'm fine, it was just—" You start only to be cut short by the young boy's frantic shake of his head as he grabs your sleeve and starts pulling you toward the sink. 

"Don't worry," He says when standing on his tip toes to reach the faucet, "I will help you. Daddy always says to put it in cold water." 

"Lukewarm water, Cassian." Jungkook mutters gruffly as he lights the remaining candles on the cake, "Not cold." 

The boy frowns at that but ultimately nods as he tries to adjust the temperature for you. His hand is tiny in comparison to your own when he grabs your wrist clumsily, guiding your injured finger under the running stream. "There, nanny," He says, "Do you feel better now?" 

You nod, giving him a small smile which he returns with one of his own. "I do, thank you, sweetie. I'm lucky to have you around, aren't I?" 

Cassian's chest puffs out proudly and he opens his mouth to say something else, only for his father to interject, "Why don't you go keep your sister company? We'll be done here in a minute." His voice had reverted back to the same authoritative one he would use whenever something was non-negotiable. 

His son seems to realize this as well and he lets your hand go reluctantly. "Okay…" He murmurs, sending you one last look of concern before heading back to the dining room, leaving you alone with Jungkook in the kitchen once more. 

You let the water run over your finger for another minute. The burn had already faded but it was a cheap excuse to not face Jungkook who had surely finished lighting the candles by now. 

"He's cute," You hum when reaching to turn the faucet off before drying your hands on the towel that hangs by the oven. Jungkook says nothing and when you turn you find him hovering over the cake silently. His shoulders carry that familiar tension that seemed to be apart of him and his palms are braced against the cool marble surface. 

Walking over to stand beside him, you let your gaze fall on the cake as well — admiring your creation for a moment with a satisfied nod. The eight candles around her name were now lit, the flames flickering slightly as they ate away at the purple wax. 

"I reckon we should hurry before they melt into the cake," You say, pausing as you await a response that never comes. 

Finally Jungkook heaves a breath, reaching for the baked goods as he gestures for you to walk ahead of him into the dining room. 

Rayne had very polite declined both your and Cassian's offer to sing for her, leaving the latter quite disappointed as he sank back in his chair. Though his spirits were quickly lifted once the cake was placed on the table — the same table you and him had spent so long decorating to fit the theme of the party. 

"Make a wish," You had said as she blew out the candles. Seconds later Cassian had started prying her for details on said wish to which you told him that revealing it would make it lose its effect. 

He'd frowned then, "But how will the people who makes the wishes come true know if she told me?" 

When you had explained that those people knew everything he stiffened, wide eyes searching yours with worry. Rayne muttered something about wishes not being real, only for Jungkook to quickly shoot her down so to not ruin the experience for her younger brother. You had then helped her cut the first slice and the four of you shared the meal in comfortable silence. 

The birthday party — though rather small — was still a success in your book. 

After eating you and Cassian had stayed in the kitchen to clean up. Having the young boy by your side as you did the dishes was starting to become a habit. His presence was distracting, much so that you hadn't noticed both Rayne and Jungkook's departure until you finished drying off the last plate. 

Leaving Cassian on the couch in the living room, you promised to return after a trip upstairs to fetch the deck of cards Rayne kept in her bedroom. 

The steps groan and creak loudly under your weight when you climb them. One hand resting on the banister and nothing but the upcoming game on your mind, you made your way down the hall leisurely before stopping dead in your tracks at the sound of quiet conversation — coming from the room you had been headed toward. 

Hesitating for only a second, you then carefully approach the source of your newfound curiosity. 

You hadn't meant to eavesdrop, not really anyway, but the door to Rayne's bedroom had been left ajar and the murmured voices coming from inside pulls you closer like a dog on a leash. Stopping just out of sight, you manage to peer through the slivered crack the door allows, both your ears and eyes straining to catch what was going on inside. 

Rayne sits on the edge of her bed, shoulders slumped inward and her hands resting limply in her lap. Her brows are pulled together with something heavy, lips pursed as she lingers in silence. 

Jungkook is perched on one knee on the floor before her. His back is turned to you, the expression he wears is impossible to make out, but it was undoubtedly his voice that you had heard. It's soft, a lot softer than you think you'd ever heard it before — he spoke slowly, almost like one would in the presence of a frightened animal. 

"Is there a reason why?" He asks, hands resting on top of his knee as he awaits his daughter's answer. 

It takes Rayne a moment to respond. At first she merely shrugs, turning her head in the direction of the window as she stares at the setting sun outside. The crease on her forehead deepens and she exhales a short breath. "I just don't want to," She murmurs, her tone indifferent, had it not been for the way she cracked on the last syllable. 

Her gaze shifts toward the door, like she was just noticing it not being fully closed. For a moment you think she might've caught sight of you and your heart jumps to your throat as you fall back silently. But then she simply turns her attention to her intertwined fingers where they rest on top of her legs. 

"It's next Friday," She then adds lowly, "Aren't you busy?" 

She was using the same excuse she had been using on you in the library two days ago, offering both of them a quick exit without ever actually addressing it. But Jungkook doesn't take her bait as he instead shakes his head slowly. "No," He says without missing a beat, and you watch as his hands uncurl from his knee to find hers. 

Her hands are tiny in his palms but Rayne doesn't pull back from the contact. When she lifts her dark eyes to meet his they're guarded and the frown on her face has yet to ease up — almost like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

"I can't dance," She blurts, the admission coming out almost defensively as she sends her father a calculating glance — in that moment she looked just like Jungkook. Even her jaw clenched in the same way his did, the way that always had you wondering whether he was in actual pain or not. 

Jungkook exhales, thumbs rubbing over the back of her hands slowly. "Neither can I," He admits in the same soft tone he'd been using all this time. You see him tilt his head back just enough to peer up at her where she sits — to which Rayne turns her nose the other way with a conflicted expression. 

"We have to practice," He muses, as his thumbs moves to her wrists, fingers encircling them gently. 

"Practice…" Rayne mutters, like the idea only ridiculed the situation further. Her gaze shifts to the purple dress laying beside her on the mattress. The lilac shimmers were highlighted in the setting sun, their sparkles reflecting the half of her face still visible to you. 

Jungkook loosens the hold on her wrist when Rayne lifts her hand toward the dress. Her fingers are careful, hovering just shy of the lace frills before caressing them reverently. 

"It's pretty isn't it?" Jungkook says as he follows the movement. 

You long to see his face, your feet inching you closer to the threshold before stopping yourself as you realize what kind of moment you would be intruding on if you made your presence known — so you keep quiet, trying to picture the serene expression he might bear. 

Rayne nods slowly, her fingers curling around the long skirt. "It is," She quietly agrees and the two single words are enough to make your heart swell in your chest. The frown that had sewn her brows together was finally easing, and she straightened up a fraction as she continued to regard the garment next to her. 

Jungkook waits patiently, never rushing her to speak as he instead turns his attention back to her hand that he still cradles between his own, allowing the back of his fingers to run along her open palm. 

A minute passes, maybe even longer — it was hard to tell when the moment sucked you in so completely. Not until Rayne turns her attention back to her father is the silence broken again. "Do you think I'll look as pretty as her?" She asks, almost solemnly. 

Whoever it was she was speaking of did not need to be addressed by name — for Jungkook's shoulders tensed as soon as the words were uttered. It was brief, almost nonexistent and had you not been watching his back so intently you would have probably missed the tense beat that lasted only a second. 

He relaxes again with a sigh, his thumb pressing against the inside of her wrist gently. "Mm," Jungkook hums, "Prettier." 

Rayne immediately shakes her head, the crease on her forehead returning as her lips tug into something displeased. "That can't be," She huffs, averting her gaze to the window, "I thought you said she was the prettiest girl in the world." She almost sounds ready to argue if it came down to it. 

Jungkook sits quietly on the floor for a while, his head lowers slightly like he was considering something. When he picks it back up again he does so slowly, large hands squeezing around hers gently. 

The ponytail no longer held all of her hair, with a strand coming undone as it framed her face. Jungkook reaches up, inked fingers catching the dark lock as he lets it run between them. "I must have been out of my mind back then," He says as he tucks the loose strand behind her ear, "Because I'm looking at her right now." 

Rayne's eyes flicker back toward Jungkook and she actually manages a small smile, just enough to reveal tiny dents in her cheeks that you had never seen before and you feel your heart stutter at the sight. 

Jungkook lets his hand drop back to cover hers as he gives it a squeeze and whatever he says next becomes muffled as you close the door once more — deciding to return them their privacy. 

The second it shuts behind you however, a squeaky voice startles you. "Nanny," Cassian is standing by your side with a hopeful grin, for a second you worried that he might've caught you intruding on his father and sister, though thankfully there seems to be other things on his mind. 

"Do you think I can have another slice of cake?" 

── [ ✉️ ] Yes, happy birthday Rayne, I love you so much my daughter who I created and treasure like my own. Please come talk to me about the chapter, unless you hated it, then please don't tell me that because I will get quite sad... Okay, love you ladies endlessly <3

"What about this one?" 

The pad of your finger brushes along the soft swirl of a rose. The red ink has since long sunk into his skin, its once bright hue now a muted memory. You regard the individual petals, hoping for them to magically unravel and tell you a secret or two about the man beneath you. 

Sprawled comfortably on top of his chest, you had spent the past ten minutes tracing each illustration adorning Jungkook's arm. There were more than you could count, some blending with one another — others appearing to have been colored over a past one, possibly covering for a mistake he never intended to make. 

Jungkook hums out a quiet breath where he lays against the pillows. After providing you with water and cleaning you off with a damp towel, he'd returned to bed, unbothered by how quickly you had crawled on top of him to study the tattoos that wrapped around his forearm and bicep. 

Your persistent questions never seemed to bore him, which only made you want to ask more. Right now he's following your line of sight, gaze lingering on the faded rose you were caressing. "That one?" He huffs, "Got it in 76' at some rundown studio after a night out." 

His hand, resting firmly on your naked hip, squeezes you gently. "Thought it was edgy I suppose," He trails off before continuing in a low rasp, "Or perhaps I entertained the idea that mother would scold me less if she found out it was a rose rather than a skull." 

You crack a smile at that, tilting your head enough to squint at him through the warm hues of orange. "She didn't like you getting tattoos?" 

Jungkook's brows furrow, jaw tightening before he relaxes it again. "She still doesn't," He affirms with a quiet grunt. The muscle under your fingers tenses when he flexes his arm, pulling your attention from his face and back to the designs painting his skin. "Though she came to accept them," He shrugs, feigning indifference, but you saw the way his eyes lingered on the red petals. 

For a moment you choose to listen to the steady breaths he draws, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath you — it reminds you of a sleeping cat. The smell of sex still clings to the warm afternoon air, but neither you nor Jungkook had brought up what happened yet. You find that you don't want to, not right now at least. 

Your palm flattens out against his arm, sliding across his bicep slowly before reaching his shoulder. "Would you ever get another one?" The question is a whisper on your lips and you keep your gaze on the tips of your fingers where they caress the ink bleeding onto his chest. 

Jungkook inhales a deep, slow breath, his torso expanding beneath you until he lets it go again. The remnants of his exhale flutters across the lower half of your face. "I don't know," He says, the corner of his mouth tugging into a frown, "Maybe…" 

He flexes the inked hand resting on the mattress. "I would like the children's names I think." After a short pause he adds, "Though I don't exactly have much space left." 

You hum, letting your featherlight touch move over his naked chest, all the way along his collarbone before dipping down to rest above the thumping of his heart. "What about here?" You write out both of their names with the help of your index finger, spelling them across his chest clumsily, "I think your mom would approve of that one." 

When nothing but stillness follows the proposal you glance up to find Jungkook watching you through half-lidded eyes. He wears a serene expression, something so unfamiliar to see on his otherwise tense face. It's a nice change, you think. 

The hand he keeps on your hip brushes along your waist in a wordless agreement and he hums. His touch moves to your back, trailing up your spine before sliding back down again. He repeats the motion a handful of times, the slowly setting sun outside painting your naked bodies. 

Another minute passes where you're content to just watch one another. Your fingers busy themselves by drawing lazy patterns across his chest. Slowly they creep up the line of his throat, past his Adam's apple until they find the sharp edge of his jaw. The skin there is rougher and you let the pad of your thumb drag across the faint stubble. 

"Do you think you'd grow it out?" 

Jungkook's eyes, which had fallen shut during your ministrations, cracked open enough to peer at you. He cocks a brow, gaze following the path your fingers take. A soft breath escapes him, "No." 

"No?" You press, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "Why not? I think it looks sexy." 

At that he averts his gaze, clearing his throat softly before shaking his head slowly. "No," He echoes, hand returning to your hip, "It makes me look old." 

"I would argue that you are old," You hum, unable to keep from teasing him, if only a little. 

He doesn't verbally respond to that, instead giving your waist a firm squeeze as he settles back against the pillows. He lets you continue to run your fingers across his jaw, not stopping you when you reach the soft flesh of his bottom lip. 

You had always found Jungkook to be quite handsome. But when studying him up close like this you realized that he was downright gorgeous, it was almost unfair. Without the crease between his brows or the tension to his face — he looked angelic. 

Your index finger slides along his lip, pausing when the faint scar just below it catches your eye. "What's that?" You murmur, stroking across the tiny, almost invisible discoloration on his skin, so small you could have easily missed it, had you not been paying attention.

Jungkook exhales, tongue prodding at the tissue from inside his mouth, almost absently. "I used to have a piercing there, a long time ago." He explains it like it was the most casual thing in the world, clearly oblivious to the gawking look you send him. 

"Seriously?" You lean forward, already inspecting the faint scar closely. 

"Mhm," He tilts his head back to give you a clearer view, "A ring." 

"And it didn't hurt?" The questions were pouring out of you in an endless stream as you peek at the tiny hole. It was the faintest hue of pink that marred him, appearing to have been healed since long.

"No," He murmurs silently, lifting one hand to push his dark hair from his forehead. You follow the movement, frowning softly when he cocks a brow. "Used to have one here as well," Jungkook explains and it is when he points to the arch of his eyebrow that you see a similar scar seared into the skin there. 

You're reaching out to touch before you can stop yourself, thumb pressing against the mark like it could somehow show you a locked memory. "Woah," Exhaling softly, you try to picture him with glinting silver adorning his face, briefly wondering what it would feel like to kiss his lips and feel the metal there. 

"What kind of guy did you use to be, huh?" You drawl when leaning back to prop your chin on folded arms. As much as you were just trying to poke harmless fun at him, you could not deny the curiosity swirling deep within your chest. Sometimes Jungkook spoke as though he had lived a whole other life before this — in a way, you suppose he had. 

But he only scoffs, dark eyes flickering over to a spot on the wall. The tension seeps back into his shoulders, jaw clenching in tune with the crease pulling across his forehead. "Not someone I'm proud of," He simply says, and judging by the tone he used, it was obvious you wouldn't get more than that. 

Still, you prod, head tilting to the side as a lazy smile tugs at your lips. "Why, it can't be that bad?" It was hard to picture Jungkook as anything but the man you had gotten to know during the past month and a half. You imagine him in a tattoo shop, loud music blaring from the speakers as he lets someone paint his arm. What would he wear? Was his hair longer? 

Jungkook doesn't give you any intel, nor does he respond to your previous inquiry. His hand caresses your hip one final time, the other coming up to rest against your cheek. "I'll make us something to eat," He murmurs, lips brushing your forehead softly as he presses a chaste kiss to the spot. 

The mattress shifts under his weight, rising slightly when he gets up, leaving you stranded on the bed as you awkwardly push yourself to sit straighter. "I trust you'll find your way to the bathroom if you want to shower." He says when pulling on his boxers and dress pants. 

Once he's clothed from the waist down he pauses, dark gaze finding yours. His expression is impossible to read, like it so often was. Just as you think he's about to leave without another word Jungkook surprises you by instead taking a step in your direction. 

He crosses the distance separating you in two quick strides, leaning down enough for his nose to brush yours. Breath hitching in your throat, you let your eyes flutter when he leans in close enough for your lips to touch. 

The kiss is slow, the absence of both tongue and teeth making it feel almost tender. Your fingers curl around the sheets you sit on and you lean in to the warmth of him. 

When he pulls back it's with reluctance, the pad of his thumb lingering on your chin a moment longer. "I'll leave you to it," He says, hand sliding down your arm before he detaches himself from you completely. The bedroom door is left ajar after his departure and you listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps. 

The shower should have helped. 

Hot water cascading down your naked body, steam curling around you in a protective embrace — just you and the thoughts you couldn't keep at bay. They were loud in Jungkook's absence. 

Being wrapped in his arms for nearly an hour had made you forget about what the two of you had actually done. The line you had crossed which you would never be able to come back from. 

When you close your eyes and step under the stream you can still see the look on his face. The need written onto his every feature, the natural flush creeping down his neck and the way his hair clung to his sweaty forehead. Through the sound of water splashing against the tiled floor you could hear the echoes of his voice, the low groans which had reverberated against your skin — so close. 

With a shudder you reach out and twist the shower to an icy cold, attempting to block out the sudden heat blooming deep inside your gut at the vivid image. It doesn't work and you're left a shivering mess before finally giving up and adjusting the temperature to something endurable. 

You knew that whatever conversation might await you downstairs would be far from pleasant. So you stay under the water for as long as possible, trying to prolong the inevitable. 

Would he tell you that it was all a mistake just like he had the kiss? Your fingers curl around the shower handle, nails digging into the heel of your hand at the thought of another rejection from him — you don't think you could handle it. 

Because this time it wasn't only a kiss. It was something much more intimate, you had shared a piece of yourself so vulnerable that you did not know what would become of you if he decided to crush it in his palm. 

Letting go of the shower handle to reach for the bottle of soap, the tips of your fingers hesitate just short of it. Everything in here smelled like him. Even the towel which you had grabbed fresh from the linen cabinet had his scent on it. That intoxicating aroma that did nothing but remind you of how it had felt to have his lips on your body, his hands holding you down against the mattress— 

Your scrub yourself roughly, attempting to wash the memory away before it ate you alive. Only, all it seemed to do was tangle you further into its web. The soap is laced with everything that reminds you of him — Jungkook is everywhere without ever intending to be. It's frustrating just as much as it is dangerous. 

By the looks of it, you would be standing under the water until it turned cold — stuck in an endless loop of trying to bury a memory you did not want to let go of in the first place. At this rate, Jungkook might as well climb the stairs in search of you — and you found that you did not want that. Thus, you cut the stream and step out barefoot onto the bright tiles. 

Your clothes don't feel the same on your body when descending down the stairs. From pulling the fabric over your legs and slipping your shirt back in place. The fabric clings too tight, rubbing against your skin uncomfortably with each step you take. Fingers trailing along the banister, you let them tap restlessly onto the wood. 

The smell of freshly made food wafts through the air once you reach the bottom of the staircase. It leads you through the hallway and into the kitchen, feet carrying you without thought. 

By the time you reach the archway your heart is pounding in your ears, your breath coming in short, jagged pants. Wiping your clammy hands against your thighs, you force yourself to cross the threshold — you were going to have to face this moment sooner or later, better to get it over with right away. 

Jungkook's naked back is what greets you first. He stands by the stove, seemingly unaware of your presence for the time being. It was reassuring and you take the moment to study him when approaching the kitchen island. Leaning your elbows on the cool marble, you use the cold to ground yourself as you watch him move about. 

His hands are occupied with pushing around the meat sizzling in the pan, the muscle in his forearm stretching when he uses a pair of tongs to turn the beef. It was a domestic sight. For a brief while you could almost imagine this to be your new reality. Coming down to see him like this, hair unkempt and half-dressed, cooking for you. 

However that small bubble was quickly burst when Jungkook's voice suddenly breaks the silence. "Was your shower… Alright?" He asks, the question tumbling off his tongue rather awkwardly, almost as though he were making the words up on the spot. 

It catches you off guard, if only for a second. Jungkook was not one to insinuate conversation like this. His inquiry felt almost like an afterthought, as though whatever he was currently thinking of had somehow managed to make its way past his lips without him meaning for it to. 

When he turns his head to send you a glance over his shoulder, your gazes cross paths — though not for long. Jungkook's eyes dip to the shirt you wear. Your attempts at drying off had been meek, your hands distracted by thoughts of the man before you setting the entire ordeal up for failure from the start. The cotton around you is darkened in places, especially around your neckline where the fabric sticks to you like glue. 

"Yeah," Hands fiddling mindlessly with one another, you realize that perhaps you ought to straighten up again. "The shower was alright," You hum as you plaster a faint smile onto your face. 

Jungkook doesn't respond more than a slow tilt of his head. His gaze have yet to stray from the glistening skin of your neck and collarbone, eyes trailing along the modest cut of your shirt. You recognize that look as something you had seen not long ago, when he'd let himself get so close. It makes your stomach flutter in ways you shouldn't allow it to, and the beating of your heart only grows louder for each passing moment. 

At last, he finally tears himself from your shirt. His eyes shift back to yours, there's something almost bashful swirling within their dark depths — but it is gone just as quickly when Jungkook clears his throat and turns back to the meat cooking on the stove. 

You stand by the kitchen island a moment longer, fingers tracing the cool marble with an audible sigh. Then you pad over to where he stands, coming to a halt so close that your elbow might just brush his. And though you never turn to fully look at him, you could still sense the way he tensed beside you before forcing himself to relax. 

"Need help with anything?" You ask when peering down at the various side dishes he had prepared to go along with the meat. It all smelled really good and you had to stop your itching fingers from reaching out and trying some of it. 

Jungkook cocks a brow when stealing a glance at you from the corner of his eye. "I'm almost done," He replies gruffly, turning the nearly cooked beef in the pan to accentuate the statement. 

You huff, resting your hands against the counter top. "So you deem me useless?" 

He lets out a low chuckle at that, raw and real — the rare sound so addicting to your ears. His free hand finds your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt absently. The touch is mundane, simple, and somehow it manages to set your skin aflame. 

"Won't you let me do this for you?" He questions back, like the thought of you offering to help was somehow a blow to his attempt at cooking you a meal. Yet his tone is playful, perhaps he didn't mind at all. 

Deciding to humor him, you nod with an exaggerated groan. "Fine," Gaze flitting over to the kitchen island, you hum, "I'll go set the table then." 

You're reluctant to move from your spot, content with having his hand on your hip. Jungkook seems to share that idea for his grip tightens before he loosens it again. He withdraws his fingers a moment later, letting them skim down your thigh before his arm falls back to his side again. 

The sound of silverware clinking against porcelain is all that can be heard inside the kitchen. You had sat down by the marble island to eat, the meal shared quietly between you. Your stools are pushed close together, closer than necessary but neither of you pull back when a knee is accidentally bumped against the other. 

Jungkook puts additional food onto your plate whenever he sees it running low. Wordlessly placing more rice in front of you, another piece of beef or nudging one of the side dishes in your direction. He doesn't ask before doing so and you don't stop him. 

In the beginning you had found his silence unbearable, like this endless void that you had been tasked to fill with mindless conversation. Sometimes you still felt that way — it was impossible not to. But right now, you didn't mind it. Even when he was quiet he spoke to you. 

An arm brushing yours, a quick glance your way or the glass of water he slid closer to you. You realized that it was his own way of communicating. And so you never called him out on the small, simple actions. 

Instead you use the moment to study him closely. Jungkook was very expressive without meaning to. His brows would furrow as he chewed, sometimes he looked almost frustrated despite clearly enjoying the food, it was quite endearing. He'd lick his top lip between bites, not always, but often enough for you to notice the habit. 

His fingers were always busy, whether it was handling his utensils, reaching for his glass or wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. He sat straight in his chair too, making you subconsciously try to mimic his posture — only to fall back into the hunched position you had been in for the past ten minutes. 

Occasionally you would let your gaze dip to his naked chest, roaming the muscle which flexed each time he shifted as much as an inch. Memories of your hands sliding across the same patches of skin come rushing back and you have to shove them down before they got too vivid. 

"So…" You clear your throat into your fist after swallowing down the fifth piece of beef he'd piled onto your plate. Ever since the two of you sat down to eat, you had pondered on how to bring up the topic smoothly. Throwing the word 'sex' out in the middle of your meal made you sweat anxiously, almost more than the actual ordeal of doing it had. 

In the end you opt for a safer, albeit more vague route. "We should probably… Talk." It wasn't the first time those same words had been uttered today and considering that your last conversation is what landed you here, this one scared you. 

Jungkook does not appear as nervous when he takes another bite, slowly placing his fork down on the edge of his plate. He reaches for his glass, taking a long slow sip and you watch intently as his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. 

"We should," He agrees, setting his glass back down before turning in his seat. The new position allows you a clear view of the same tattoos you had spent so much time tracing only an hour ago. 

You blink slowly, registering the fact that he was actually taking the bait you'd hesitantly thrown out, something you hadn't expected him to do in the first place — and thus you hadn't planned the conversation further than that. 

The version of yourself from earlier this afternoon would have probably spoken her mind by now. She seemed to know what she wanted. Hell, she even voiced her desires out loud. 

This version of you is shy. 

The heat between you had simmered down into something quieter, a slowly burning candle instead of a roaring fire. Clarity of what happened upstairs sits heavy on your shoulders and it makes you hesitate. 

Should you tell him that it was a mistake, even when you did not believe it to be? Would it make you feel at ease to hide behind the idea that this had not been real rather than admitting that it had been everything… Perhaps. Still, you remember the tear Jungkook's words had ripped in your chest when he dismissed your first kiss as nothing but that, a mistake. 

You couldn't bring yourself to do it. 

Beside you, Jungkook sits quietly. His expression is indifferent when he regards you, dark eyes dragging up and down your frame multiple times without finding rest. You wondered if he really was as unbothered by all of this as he tried to appear? 

Both his hands are clasped together over his parted legs — and it is then you notice his fingers. Without the distraction of either the silverware or his glass, they were now tapping rhythmically against one another. You had never seen him do that before, then again, Jungkook rarely took his hands out of his pockets to begin with. 

After another tense moment he's the one to finally sigh. "My children," He begins in a low voice, "Their means of well being exceeds anything else." 

The crease that forms between his brows becomes prominent under the soft kitchen lights. His naked shoulders were drawn up, the flesh of his cheek caught between his teeth as he chewed on it. "I will not let what happened between you and me affect them." 

You nod, gaze dropping to your own hands, currently resting on the marble counter top. "I understand." It would be selfish to think that you could possibly barge in and demand something from him when he already had his arms and heart full. 

When you steal a glance at him through your lashes, you find Jungkook watching you with a conflicted look on his face. "Introducing something like this to them—" He shakes his head, running his restless fingers through his hair. "They're not ready for that." There's a short pause where you're almost inclined to believe that he wants to say more. 

He never does. 

Shifting in your seat, you rub at your wrist — idly fiddling with the beads of the bracelet resting there, the gift from Cassian. You had slipped it back on after your shower, thinking that in some twisted sense, it might protect you. Or maybe it just made you feel closer to the young boy even in his absence. 

Jungkook's eyes follows the movement, his brows furrowing even deeper as he studies the handmade bracelet adorning your wrist. He never comments on it but his heavy gaze remains. 

Another, 'I understand' sits waiting on your tongue — but did you really? Those were his children, their lives and well being were his responsibility. For all the time you had spent with the two of them, you were still not their parent and you never would be. The weight on his back was not yours to carry, so why did you want to try anyway?

"I love Rayne and Cassian." 

Your quiet admission slips out into the warm air and you watch as Jungkook's next exhale catches on his tongue — dark eyes snapping to yours instantly. There's something calculating in the look he sends you, like he was picking you apart with the means of uncovering deceit. He won't find any, you know that he won't for you don't think you'd ever been so certain about anything in your life before. 

And it was easy to say. It was easy to say because the children were easy to love. Cassian's warm and giddy laughter, tiny arms wrapping around your middle when he went in for a tight hug. Rayne's quick witted responses that always seemed to have you smiling. 

Jungkook nods slowly, his gaze drifting across the room before landing on you. He doesn't say anything, but the edges around his sharp eyes have softened into something gentle. 

The silence however, was starting to get to you. The need for reassurance wells up inside your chest like a beast provoked. "It's okay, you know…" Picking at your nails restlessly, you avoid looking at his face, "I mean we didn't—" 

"We had sex." 

His voice is chilling, barely above a murmur. It was the first time any of you had brought it up, the first time you had actually put a label to what happened. It feels scary because now you don't know what comes next. 

Jungkook inhales a deep breath, and though you were no longer meeting his gaze, you knew that his hadn't strayed. "It— It cannot change things, not around the children." There's finality in the way he says it, the same tone he uses whenever he drew a line — he would not discuss this further. 

The sigh that leaves your lips brings your shoulder with it, your chest deflating like a sad balloon. Even so, there's a strange sense of understanding. You knew just as well as he did that it would be selfish to push the boundaries he'd set. To not think of the children who you loved so dearly.

"I want the best for them as well." For some reason that hurts to say, even when you know that you mean it. Burying this moment of shared intimacy as far back in your mind as possible was the reasonable thing to do, and you would, as long as it meant protecting the fragile peace you had found with his kids. 

Silence holds you still for a long while after that. There's still food left but neither of you reach for it. You don't think you could stomach another bite. Jungkook isn't looking at you anymore — that was the worst part, you think. The muscles in his jaw are clenched tight, preventing him from saying things he shouldn't. 

You stand then, grabbing both plates before rounding the kitchen island. The porcelain is smooth, it could have easily slipped from your loose grasp, had you not been paying attention when placing them down in the sink. 

The tips of your fingers were just shy of brushing the handle to turn the faucet on when a dark shadow appears behind you. 

Jungkook's hands are warm and solid as they settle on your hips. The touch is familiar, comfortable even — for a second you almost lean into it, just barely catching yourself in time to feel his naked chest brush against your backside. 

His next exhale puffs down the side of your neck, his voice closer than it had been since he'd left the bed. "I don't regret what happened," He murmurs, palms splaying over your waist as he toys with the hem of your shirt absently. "I hope you don't either," His lips brush the line of your jaw in a silent caress. 

Abandoning the idea of washing the dishes entirely, you allow him to guide you to face him, your lower back pressing against the hard edge of the sink. His eyes are half lidded, laced with the means of his admission. 

"I don't regret it," You whisper, sucking in a sharp breath when his nose bumps against yours. 

He doesn't respond with actual words, but the soft press of his mouth to yours was enough to convey what was on his mind.

This kiss would be the first you shared since the ones passed between you in bed and Jungkook was just as gentle as he had been all day — only this time there was an undercurrent of something else. His tongue finds yours, hesitant in the beginning, as though he was trying to prove himself through the simple action alone. 

His hands tighten around your hips, holding you in place as he crowds you to the sink. It was contradicting every word that had been uttered since you sat down to eat, where both of you know that you should pull back yet neither of you can bring yourself to do just that. 

You would allow yourself to have this, just this one kiss. 

Jungkook parts from you a moment later, reluctantly placing a last peck to your lips before resting his forehead against yours. You couldn't make out his expression from this close, left to feel only his warm breath on your face. 

"Let me get dressed," He says when lifting a hand to cradle your cheek, thumb dragging across the skin there tenderly, "I'd like to drive you home, if you'll allow me." 

The leather seats of Jungkook's car were a warm contrast to the cold November air when you climbed into the passenger seat half an hour later. By now the sun had fully disappeared behind the horizon, leaving the yellow flicker of the street lights to lead the way. 

Jungkook hadn't said much since heading back upstairs to get dressed and comb his hair back. His clothes were now neatly in place, though he had skipped the coat entirely for the sake of the comfortable temperature inside the vehicle. He looks much different from the man you had seen today and there's familiarity in the composed way he holds himself now. 

You study the length of his forearm when he pulls out of the driveway, gaze trailing along the tattoos reaching all the way past his knuckles and onto his fingers where they slide across the wheel. 

A few minutes pass in silence. The streets are nearly vacant despite it being no later than six thirty and you drive past house after house. Jungkook doesn't need to ask your address anymore, knowing where to take a left without you having to point it out. 

It's not until you come to a stop by a red light that he finally speaks. "Principles of Internal Medicine?" His voice is gruff from disuse, inked hand wrapped around the clutch as he sends you a questioning look through the corner of his eye. 

It takes you a moment to realize that he was referring to the book he had found — the one that had played such a big part in the events leading you here. You clear your throat, nodding awkwardly as you force yourself to study the blaring red above, wishing it would turn green. "Yeah…" You murmur, "It's study material." 

Part of you wonders if bringing the topic up would somehow undo the progress you had made earlier this afternoon. Perhaps he would realize just how grave a mistake this had all been when reminded of the lie you had told him. But Jungkook simply hums, the sound low and almost comforting. 

"Med school?" He asks when putting the car in motion as the light shifts. 

Nodding, you turn to gaze out through the window, watching the houses disappear one by one as they became replaced with tall apartment complexes. "I'm in my first year," You say, shrugging like it was no matter, when in reality, it couldn't be further from it. 

Jungkook makes a right turn, shifting the car's gear when falling smoothly into the new lane. "That's good," He muses, sending you a glance through the corner of his eye, "Do you like it?" 

You pause at that, pursing your lips as you thought of how to answer him. In the end you realized that you were tired of lying. "I do. It's my biggest dream." You shyly admit, picking at the seams of your pants gingerly. 

In the driver's seat Jungkook is quiet for a while, his attention is fixed on the changing scenery in front of him. When you stop by another red light he sighs, "It's nice, having a dream you can chase, it gives you purpose." 

Nails dragging along the fabric clinging to your legs, you frown — not quite sure what to make of that. Jungkook doesn't seem intent on explaining himself further, his focus was on the road, fingers drumming softly against the wheel. 

"Did you go to university?" You then ask, turning your head to look at him properly. 

The lines on his face hardened slightly at your question, the corner of his mouth tugging downward just enough for it to be noticeable under the street lights that reflected through the windows. "No," He simply says, stepping on the gas lightly when the sign ahead flickers to green. 

That surprises you. Jungkook took his own children's education very seriously, you had always imagined him to be at the top of his classes. But he hadn't gone to university at all…? Despite curiosity clawing at you impatiently, you don't continue to prod, choosing to leave the subject alone as the familiar neighborhood you called home floats into vision. 

The car comes to a stop just outside the entrance leading you inside. You weren't entirely sure that one was even allowed to park here, but before you can voice your concern, the door to the driver's side shuts and Jungkook is gone. 

He rounds the car in a few strides, opening your own door for you, which felt almost a little cheesy — though you don't comment on it when accepting his extended hand and climbing out. 

You stand there for a moment, watching a few by-passers who paid you little mind. Jungkook has yet to let go of your hand, you don't acknowledge it. His palm his the warmth that the cold evening lacks and you want to hold on to it, just a little longer. 

"I would follow you to the door but…" He jerks his chin in the direction of his car, "I'm not so sure I'm allowed to park here." 

The giggle bubbling from your chest is enough to have a nearby lady walking her dog pause, but neither of you spare her a glance. Jungkook's gaze lingers on yours as he watches the grin you're unable to keep from your face. His lip twitches into something that could've almost been mistaken for a small smile, had you not known better. 

"I'm sure I'll make it from here," You assure him, eyes dropping to the way his thumb stroked your knuckles. 

Jungkook nods slowly, still holding onto you when he should've let go already. The crease between his brows had eased up and under the gentle glow of the street lights he looks younger — reminiscent of a time you had never experienced with him. 

He sighs, nodding to himself as he lets his hand drop. "Goodnight then," He says, and for a second you could've sworn he wanted to close the distance again. 

Your laughter has ebbed out into a small smile. You didn't want the night to end, it feels like it had barely started before getting robbed from your grasp again. Yet you take a small step back, sending him a timid wave, "Goodnight." 

Turning to walk inside, you try to ignore the weight of his gaze on your back when you fumble with your keys, unlocking the heavy door that would take you into the large building. 

With your fingers wrapped around the handle, you dare steal a final glance over your shoulder. 

Jungkook is leaned against the side of his car, arms folded across his chest where he regards you from across the pavement. It was impossible to make out his expression from this far away — but you would like to imagine that he was smiling too. 

── [ ✉️ ] If you caught a spelling mistake actually let me know, like, but in private so to not ruin my sexy mysterious and prolific image of course... Yes, please share your thoughts with me, I love to read them <3

"What about this one?" 

The pad of your finger brushes along the soft swirl of a rose. The red ink has since long sunk into his skin, its once bright hue now a muted memory. You regard the individual petals, hoping for them to magically unravel and tell you a secret or two about the man beneath you. 

Sprawled comfortably on top of his chest, you had spent the past ten minutes tracing each illustration adorning Jungkook's arm. There were more than you could count, some blending with one another — others appearing to have been colored over a past one, possibly covering for a mistake he never intended to make. 

Jungkook hums out a quiet breath where he lays against the pillows. After providing you with water and cleaning you off with a damp towel, he'd returned to bed, unbothered by how quickly you had crawled on top of him to study the tattoos that wrapped around his forearm and bicep. 

Your persistent questions never seemed to bore him, which only made you want to ask more. Right now he's following your line of sight, gaze lingering on the faded rose you were caressing. "That one?" He huffs, "Got it in 76' at some rundown studio after a night out." 

His hand, resting firmly on your naked hip, squeezes you gently. "Thought it was edgy I suppose," He trails off before continuing in a low rasp, "Or perhaps I entertained the idea that mother would scold me less if she found out it was a rose rather than a skull." 

You crack a smile at that, tilting your head enough to squint at him through the warm hues of orange. "She didn't like you getting tattoos?" 

Jungkook's brows furrow, jaw tightening before he relaxes it again. "She still doesn't," He affirms with a quiet grunt. The muscle under your fingers tenses when he flexes his arm, pulling your attention from his face and back to the designs painting his skin. "Though she came to accept them," He shrugs, feigning indifference, but you saw the way his eyes lingered on the red petals. 

For a moment you choose to listen to the steady breaths he draws, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath you — it reminds you of a sleeping cat. The smell of sex still clings to the warm afternoon air, but neither you nor Jungkook had brought up what happened yet. You find that you don't want to, not right now at least. 

Your palm flattens out against his arm, sliding across his bicep slowly before reaching his shoulder. "Would you ever get another one?" The question is a whisper on your lips and you keep your gaze on the tips of your fingers where they caress the ink bleeding onto his chest. 

Jungkook inhales a deep, slow breath, his torso expanding beneath you until he lets it go again. The remnants of his exhale flutters across the lower half of your face. "I don't know," He says, the corner of his mouth tugging into a frown, "Maybe…" 

He flexes the inked hand resting on the mattress. "I would like the children's names I think." After a short pause he adds, "Though I don't exactly have much space left." 

You hum, letting your featherlight touch move over his naked chest, all the way along his collarbone before dipping down to rest above the thumping of his heart. "What about here?" You write out both of their names with the help of your index finger, spelling them across his chest clumsily, "I think your mom would approve of that one." 

When nothing but stillness follows the proposal you glance up to find Jungkook watching you through half-lidded eyes. He wears a serene expression, something so unfamiliar to see on his otherwise tense face. It's a nice change, you think. 

The hand he keeps on your hip brushes along your waist in a wordless agreement and he hums. His touch moves to your back, trailing up your spine before sliding back down again. He repeats the motion a handful of times, the slowly setting sun outside painting your naked bodies. 

Another minute passes where you're content to just watch one another. Your fingers busy themselves by drawing lazy patterns across his chest. Slowly they creep up the line of his throat, past his Adam's apple until they find the sharp edge of his jaw. The skin there is rougher and you let the pad of your thumb drag across the faint stubble. 

"Do you think you'd grow it out?" 

Jungkook's eyes, which had fallen shut during your ministrations, cracked open enough to peer at you. He cocks a brow, gaze following the path your fingers take. A soft breath escapes him, "No." 

"No?" You press, tapping his chin thoughtfully, "Why not? I think it looks sexy." 

At that he averts his gaze, clearing his throat softly before shaking his head slowly. "No," He echoes, hand returning to your hip, "It makes me look old." 

"I would argue that you are old," You hum, unable to keep from teasing him, if only a little. 

He doesn't verbally respond to that, instead giving your waist a firm squeeze as he settles back against the pillows. He lets you continue to run your fingers across his jaw, not stopping you when you reach the soft flesh of his bottom lip. 

You had always found Jungkook to be quite handsome. But when studying him up close like this you realized that he was downright gorgeous, it was almost unfair. Without the crease between his brows or the tension to his face — he looked angelic. 

Your index finger slides along his lip, pausing when the faint scar just below it catches your eye. "What's that?" You murmur, stroking across the tiny, almost invisible discoloration on his skin, so small you could have easily missed it, had you not been paying attention.

Jungkook exhales, tongue prodding at the tissue from inside his mouth, almost absently. "I used to have a piercing there, a long time ago." He explains it like it was the most casual thing in the world, clearly oblivious to the gawking look you send him. 

"Seriously?" You lean forward, already inspecting the faint scar closely. 

"Mhm," He tilts his head back to give you a clearer view, "A ring." 

"And it didn't hurt?" The questions were pouring out of you in an endless stream as you peek at the tiny hole. It was the faintest hue of pink that marred him, appearing to have been healed since long.

"No," He murmurs silently, lifting one hand to push his dark hair from his forehead. You follow the movement, frowning softly when he cocks a brow. "Used to have one here as well," Jungkook explains and it is when he points to the arch of his eyebrow that you see a similar scar seared into the skin there. 

You're reaching out to touch before you can stop yourself, thumb pressing against the mark like it could somehow show you a locked memory. "Woah," Exhaling softly, you try to picture him with glinting silver adorning his face, briefly wondering what it would feel like to kiss his lips and feel the metal there. 

"What kind of guy did you use to be, huh?" You drawl when leaning back to prop your chin on folded arms. As much as you were just trying to poke harmless fun at him, you could not deny the curiosity swirling deep within your chest. Sometimes Jungkook spoke as though he had lived a whole other life before this — in a way, you suppose he had. 

But he only scoffs, dark eyes flickering over to a spot on the wall. The tension seeps back into his shoulders, jaw clenching in tune with the crease pulling across his forehead. "Not someone I'm proud of," He simply says, and judging by the tone he used, it was obvious you wouldn't get more than that. 

Still, you prod, head tilting to the side as a lazy smile tugs at your lips. "Why, it can't be that bad?" It was hard to picture Jungkook as anything but the man you had gotten to know during the past month and a half. You imagine him in a tattoo shop, loud music blaring from the speakers as he lets someone paint his arm. What would he wear? Was his hair longer? 

Jungkook doesn't give you any intel, nor does he respond to your previous inquiry. His hand caresses your hip one final time, the other coming up to rest against your cheek. "I'll make us something to eat," He murmurs, lips brushing your forehead softly as he presses a chaste kiss to the spot. 

The mattress shifts under his weight, rising slightly when he gets up, leaving you stranded on the bed as you awkwardly push yourself to sit straighter. "I trust you'll find your way to the bathroom if you want to shower." He says when pulling on his boxers and dress pants. 

Once he's clothed from the waist down he pauses, dark gaze finding yours. His expression is impossible to read, like it so often was. Just as you think he's about to leave without another word Jungkook surprises you by instead taking a step in your direction. 

He crosses the distance separating you in two quick strides, leaning down enough for his nose to brush yours. Breath hitching in your throat, you let your eyes flutter when he leans in close enough for your lips to touch. 

The kiss is slow, the absence of both tongue and teeth making it feel almost tender. Your fingers curl around the sheets you sit on and you lean in to the warmth of him. 

When he pulls back it's with reluctance, the pad of his thumb lingering on your chin a moment longer. "I'll leave you to it," He says, hand sliding down your arm before he detaches himself from you completely. The bedroom door is left ajar after his departure and you listen to the sound of his retreating footsteps. 

The shower should have helped. 

Hot water cascading down your naked body, steam curling around you in a protective embrace — just you and the thoughts you couldn't keep at bay. They were loud in Jungkook's absence. 

Being wrapped in his arms for nearly an hour had made you forget about what the two of you had actually done. The line you had crossed which you would never be able to come back from. 

When you close your eyes and step under the stream you can still see the look on his face. The need written onto his every feature, the natural flush creeping down his neck and the way his hair clung to his sweaty forehead. Through the sound of water splashing against the tiled floor you could hear the echoes of his voice, the low groans which had reverberated against your skin — so close. 

With a shudder you reach out and twist the shower to an icy cold, attempting to block out the sudden heat blooming deep inside your gut at the vivid image. It doesn't work and you're left a shivering mess before finally giving up and adjusting the temperature to something endurable. 

You knew that whatever conversation might await you downstairs would be far from pleasant. So you stay under the water for as long as possible, trying to prolong the inevitable. 

Would he tell you that it was all a mistake just like he had the kiss? Your fingers curl around the shower handle, nails digging into the heel of your hand at the thought of another rejection from him — you don't think you could handle it. 

Because this time it wasn't only a kiss. It was something much more intimate, you had shared a piece of yourself so vulnerable that you did not know what would become of you if he decided to crush it in his palm. 

Letting go of the shower handle to reach for the bottle of soap, the tips of your fingers hesitate just short of it. Everything in here smelled like him. Even the towel which you had grabbed fresh from the linen cabinet had his scent on it. That intoxicating aroma that did nothing but remind you of how it had felt to have his lips on your body, his hands holding you down against the mattress— 

Your scrub yourself roughly, attempting to wash the memory away before it ate you alive. Only, all it seemed to do was tangle you further into its web. The soap is laced with everything that reminds you of him — Jungkook is everywhere without ever intending to be. It's frustrating just as much as it is dangerous. 

By the looks of it, you would be standing under the water until it turned cold — stuck in an endless loop of trying to bury a memory you did not want to let go of in the first place. At this rate, Jungkook might as well climb the stairs in search of you — and you found that you did not want that. Thus, you cut the stream and step out barefoot onto the bright tiles. 

Your clothes don't feel the same on your body when descending down the stairs. From pulling the fabric over your legs and slipping your shirt back in place. The fabric clings too tight, rubbing against your skin uncomfortably with each step you take. Fingers trailing along the banister, you let them tap restlessly onto the wood. 

The smell of freshly made food wafts through the air once you reach the bottom of the staircase. It leads you through the hallway and into the kitchen, feet carrying you without thought. 

By the time you reach the archway your heart is pounding in your ears, your breath coming in short, jagged pants. Wiping your clammy hands against your thighs, you force yourself to cross the threshold — you were going to have to face this moment sooner or later, better to get it over with right away. 

Jungkook's naked back is what greets you first. He stands by the stove, seemingly unaware of your presence for the time being. It was reassuring and you take the moment to study him when approaching the kitchen island. Leaning your elbows on the cool marble, you use the cold to ground yourself as you watch him move about. 

His hands are occupied with pushing around the meat sizzling in the pan, the muscle in his forearm stretching when he uses a pair of tongs to turn the beef. It was a domestic sight. For a brief while you could almost imagine this to be your new reality. Coming down to see him like this, hair unkempt and half-dressed, cooking for you. 

However that small bubble was quickly burst when Jungkook's voice suddenly breaks the silence. "Was your shower… Alright?" He asks, the question tumbling off his tongue rather awkwardly, almost as though he were making the words up on the spot. 

It catches you off guard, if only for a second. Jungkook was not one to insinuate conversation like this. His inquiry felt almost like an afterthought, as though whatever he was currently thinking of had somehow managed to make its way past his lips without him meaning for it to. 

When he turns his head to send you a glance over his shoulder, your gazes cross paths — though not for long. Jungkook's eyes dip to the shirt you wear. Your attempts at drying off had been meek, your hands distracted by thoughts of the man before you setting the entire ordeal up for failure from the start. The cotton around you is darkened in places, especially around your neckline where the fabric sticks to you like glue. 

"Yeah," Hands fiddling mindlessly with one another, you realize that perhaps you ought to straighten up again. "The shower was alright," You hum as you plaster a faint smile onto your face. 

Jungkook doesn't respond more than a slow tilt of his head. His gaze have yet to stray from the glistening skin of your neck and collarbone, eyes trailing along the modest cut of your shirt. You recognize that look as something you had seen not long ago, when he'd let himself get so close. It makes your stomach flutter in ways you shouldn't allow it to, and the beating of your heart only grows louder for each passing moment. 

At last, he finally tears himself from your shirt. His eyes shift back to yours, there's something almost bashful swirling within their dark depths — but it is gone just as quickly when Jungkook clears his throat and turns back to the meat cooking on the stove. 

You stand by the kitchen island a moment longer, fingers tracing the cool marble with an audible sigh. Then you pad over to where he stands, coming to a halt so close that your elbow might just brush his. And though you never turn to fully look at him, you could still sense the way he tensed beside you before forcing himself to relax. 

"Need help with anything?" You ask when peering down at the various side dishes he had prepared to go along with the meat. It all smelled really good and you had to stop your itching fingers from reaching out and trying some of it. 

Jungkook cocks a brow when stealing a glance at you from the corner of his eye. "I'm almost done," He replies gruffly, turning the nearly cooked beef in the pan to accentuate the statement. 

You huff, resting your hands against the counter top. "So you deem me useless?" 

He lets out a low chuckle at that, raw and real — the rare sound so addicting to your ears. His free hand finds your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt absently. The touch is mundane, simple, and somehow it manages to set your skin aflame. 

"Won't you let me do this for you?" He questions back, like the thought of you offering to help was somehow a blow to his attempt at cooking you a meal. Yet his tone is playful, perhaps he didn't mind at all. 

Deciding to humor him, you nod with an exaggerated groan. "Fine," Gaze flitting over to the kitchen island, you hum, "I'll go set the table then." 

You're reluctant to move from your spot, content with having his hand on your hip. Jungkook seems to share that idea for his grip tightens before he loosens it again. He withdraws his fingers a moment later, letting them skim down your thigh before his arm falls back to his side again. 

The sound of silverware clinking against porcelain is all that can be heard inside the kitchen. You had sat down by the marble island to eat, the meal shared quietly between you. Your stools are pushed close together, closer than necessary but neither of you pull back when a knee is accidentally bumped against the other. 

Jungkook puts additional food onto your plate whenever he sees it running low. Wordlessly placing more rice in front of you, another piece of beef or nudging one of the side dishes in your direction. He doesn't ask before doing so and you don't stop him. 

In the beginning you had found his silence unbearable, like this endless void that you had been tasked to fill with mindless conversation. Sometimes you still felt that way — it was impossible not to. But right now, you didn't mind it. Even when he was quiet he spoke to you. 

An arm brushing yours, a quick glance your way or the glass of water he slid closer to you. You realized that it was his own way of communicating. And so you never called him out on the small, simple actions. 

Instead you use the moment to study him closely. Jungkook was very expressive without meaning to. His brows would furrow as he chewed, sometimes he looked almost frustrated despite clearly enjoying the food, it was quite endearing. He'd lick his top lip between bites, not always, but often enough for you to notice the habit. 

His fingers were always busy, whether it was handling his utensils, reaching for his glass or wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. He sat straight in his chair too, making you subconsciously try to mimic his posture — only to fall back into the hunched position you had been in for the past ten minutes. 

Occasionally you would let your gaze dip to his naked chest, roaming the muscle which flexed each time he shifted as much as an inch. Memories of your hands sliding across the same patches of skin come rushing back and you have to shove them down before they got too vivid. 

"So…" You clear your throat into your fist after swallowing down the fifth piece of beef he'd piled onto your plate. Ever since the two of you sat down to eat, you had pondered on how to bring up the topic smoothly. Throwing the word 'sex' out in the middle of your meal made you sweat anxiously, almost more than the actual ordeal of doing it had. 

In the end you opt for a safer, albeit more vague route. "We should probably… Talk." It wasn't the first time those same words had been uttered today and considering that your last conversation is what landed you here, this one scared you. 

Jungkook does not appear as nervous when he takes another bite, slowly placing his fork down on the edge of his plate. He reaches for his glass, taking a long slow sip and you watch intently as his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. 

"We should," He agrees, setting his glass back down before turning in his seat. The new position allows you a clear view of the same tattoos you had spent so much time tracing only an hour ago. 

You blink slowly, registering the fact that he was actually taking the bait you'd hesitantly thrown out, something you hadn't expected him to do in the first place — and thus you hadn't planned the conversation further than that. 

The version of yourself from earlier this afternoon would have probably spoken her mind by now. She seemed to know what she wanted. Hell, she even voiced her desires out loud. 

This version of you is shy. 

The heat between you had simmered down into something quieter, a slowly burning candle instead of a roaring fire. Clarity of what happened upstairs sits heavy on your shoulders and it makes you hesitate. 

Should you tell him that it was a mistake, even when you did not believe it to be? Would it make you feel at ease to hide behind the idea that this had not been real rather than admitting that it had been everything… Perhaps. Still, you remember the tear Jungkook's words had ripped in your chest when he dismissed your first kiss as nothing but that, a mistake. 

You couldn't bring yourself to do it. 

Beside you, Jungkook sits quietly. His expression is indifferent when he regards you, dark eyes dragging up and down your frame multiple times without finding rest. You wondered if he really was as unbothered by all of this as he tried to appear? 

Both his hands are clasped together over his parted legs — and it is then you notice his fingers. Without the distraction of either the silverware or his glass, they were now tapping rhythmically against one another. You had never seen him do that before, then again, Jungkook rarely took his hands out of his pockets to begin with. 

After another tense moment he's the one to finally sigh. "My children," He begins in a low voice, "Their means of well being exceeds anything else." 

The crease that forms between his brows becomes prominent under the soft kitchen lights. His naked shoulders were drawn up, the flesh of his cheek caught between his teeth as he chewed on it. "I will not let what happened between you and me affect them." 

You nod, gaze dropping to your own hands, currently resting on the marble counter top. "I understand." It would be selfish to think that you could possibly barge in and demand something from him when he already had his arms and heart full. 

When you steal a glance at him through your lashes, you find Jungkook watching you with a conflicted look on his face. "Introducing something like this to them—" He shakes his head, running his restless fingers through his hair. "They're not ready for that." There's a short pause where you're almost inclined to believe that he wants to say more. 

He never does. 

Shifting in your seat, you rub at your wrist — idly fiddling with the beads of the bracelet resting there, the gift from Cassian. You had slipped it back on after your shower, thinking that in some twisted sense, it might protect you. Or maybe it just made you feel closer to the young boy even in his absence. 

Jungkook's eyes follows the movement, his brows furrowing even deeper as he studies the handmade bracelet adorning your wrist. He never comments on it but his heavy gaze remains. 

Another, 'I understand' sits waiting on your tongue — but did you really? Those were his children, their lives and well being were his responsibility. For all the time you had spent with the two of them, you were still not their parent and you never would be. The weight on his back was not yours to carry, so why did you want to try anyway?

"I love Rayne and Cassian." 

Your quiet admission slips out into the warm air and you watch as Jungkook's next exhale catches on his tongue — dark eyes snapping to yours instantly. There's something calculating in the look he sends you, like he was picking you apart with the means of uncovering deceit. He won't find any, you know that he won't for you don't think you'd ever been so certain about anything in your life before. 

And it was easy to say. It was easy to say because the children were easy to love. Cassian's warm and giddy laughter, tiny arms wrapping around your middle when he went in for a tight hug. Rayne's quick witted responses that always seemed to have you smiling. 

Jungkook nods slowly, his gaze drifting across the room before landing on you. He doesn't say anything, but the edges around his sharp eyes have softened into something gentle. 

The silence however, was starting to get to you. The need for reassurance wells up inside your chest like a beast provoked. "It's okay, you know…" Picking at your nails restlessly, you avoid looking at his face, "I mean we didn't—" 

"We had sex." 

His voice is chilling, barely above a murmur. It was the first time any of you had brought it up, the first time you had actually put a label to what happened. It feels scary because now you don't know what comes next. 

Jungkook inhales a deep breath, and though you were no longer meeting his gaze, you knew that his hadn't strayed. "It— It cannot change things, not around the children." There's finality in the way he says it, the same tone he uses whenever he drew a line — he would not discuss this further. 

The sigh that leaves your lips brings your shoulder with it, your chest deflating like a sad balloon. Even so, there's a strange sense of understanding. You knew just as well as he did that it would be selfish to push the boundaries he'd set. To not think of the children who you loved so dearly.

"I want the best for them as well." For some reason that hurts to say, even when you know that you mean it. Burying this moment of shared intimacy as far back in your mind as possible was the reasonable thing to do, and you would, as long as it meant protecting the fragile peace you had found with his kids. 

Silence holds you still for a long while after that. There's still food left but neither of you reach for it. You don't think you could stomach another bite. Jungkook isn't looking at you anymore — that was the worst part, you think. The muscles in his jaw are clenched tight, preventing him from saying things he shouldn't. 

You stand then, grabbing both plates before rounding the kitchen island. The porcelain is smooth, it could have easily slipped from your loose grasp, had you not been paying attention when placing them down in the sink. 

The tips of your fingers were just shy of brushing the handle to turn the faucet on when a dark shadow appears behind you. 

Jungkook's hands are warm and solid as they settle on your hips. The touch is familiar, comfortable even — for a second you almost lean into it, just barely catching yourself in time to feel his naked chest brush against your backside. 

His next exhale puffs down the side of your neck, his voice closer than it had been since he'd left the bed. "I don't regret what happened," He murmurs, palms splaying over your waist as he toys with the hem of your shirt absently. "I hope you don't either," His lips brush the line of your jaw in a silent caress. 

Abandoning the idea of washing the dishes entirely, you allow him to guide you to face him, your lower back pressing against the hard edge of the sink. His eyes are half lidded, laced with the means of his admission. 

"I don't regret it," You whisper, sucking in a sharp breath when his nose bumps against yours. 

He doesn't respond with actual words, but the soft press of his mouth to yours was enough to convey what was on his mind.

This kiss would be the first you shared since the ones passed between you in bed and Jungkook was just as gentle as he had been all day — only this time there was an undercurrent of something else. His tongue finds yours, hesitant in the beginning, as though he was trying to prove himself through the simple action alone. 

His hands tighten around your hips, holding you in place as he crowds you to the sink. It was contradicting every word that had been uttered since you sat down to eat, where both of you know that you should pull back yet neither of you can bring yourself to do just that. 

You would allow yourself to have this, just this one kiss. 

Jungkook parts from you a moment later, reluctantly placing a last peck to your lips before resting his forehead against yours. You couldn't make out his expression from this close, left to feel only his warm breath on your face. 

"Let me get dressed," He says when lifting a hand to cradle your cheek, thumb dragging across the skin there tenderly, "I'd like to drive you home, if you'll allow me." 

The leather seats of Jungkook's car were a warm contrast to the cold November air when you climbed into the passenger seat half an hour later. By now the sun had fully disappeared behind the horizon, leaving the yellow flicker of the street lights to lead the way. 

Jungkook hadn't said much since heading back upstairs to get dressed and comb his hair back. His clothes were now neatly in place, though he had skipped the coat entirely for the sake of the comfortable temperature inside the vehicle. He looks much different from the man you had seen today and there's familiarity in the composed way he holds himself now. 

You study the length of his forearm when he pulls out of the driveway, gaze trailing along the tattoos reaching all the way past his knuckles and onto his fingers where they slide across the wheel. 

A few minutes pass in silence. The streets are nearly vacant despite it being no later than six thirty and you drive past house after house. Jungkook doesn't need to ask your address anymore, knowing where to take a left without you having to point it out. 

It's not until you come to a stop by a red light that he finally speaks. "Principles of Internal Medicine?" His voice is gruff from disuse, inked hand wrapped around the clutch as he sends you a questioning look through the corner of his eye. 

It takes you a moment to realize that he was referring to the book he had found — the one that had played such a big part in the events leading you here. You clear your throat, nodding awkwardly as you force yourself to study the blaring red above, wishing it would turn green. "Yeah…" You murmur, "It's study material." 

Part of you wonders if bringing the topic up would somehow undo the progress you had made earlier this afternoon. Perhaps he would realize just how grave a mistake this had all been when reminded of the lie you had told him. But Jungkook simply hums, the sound low and almost comforting. 

"Med school?" He asks when putting the car in motion as the light shifts. 

Nodding, you turn to gaze out through the window, watching the houses disappear one by one as they became replaced with tall apartment complexes. "I'm in my first year," You say, shrugging like it was no matter, when in reality, it couldn't be further from it. 

Jungkook makes a right turn, shifting the car's gear when falling smoothly into the new lane. "That's good," He muses, sending you a glance through the corner of his eye, "Do you like it?" 

You pause at that, pursing your lips as you thought of how to answer him. In the end you realized that you were tired of lying. "I do. It's my biggest dream." You shyly admit, picking at the seams of your pants gingerly. 

In the driver's seat Jungkook is quiet for a while, his attention is fixed on the changing scenery in front of him. When you stop by another red light he sighs, "It's nice, having a dream you can chase, it gives you purpose." 

Nails dragging along the fabric clinging to your legs, you frown — not quite sure what to make of that. Jungkook doesn't seem intent on explaining himself further, his focus was on the road, fingers drumming softly against the wheel. 

"Did you go to university?" You then ask, turning your head to look at him properly. 

The lines on his face hardened slightly at your question, the corner of his mouth tugging downward just enough for it to be noticeable under the street lights that reflected through the windows. "No," He simply says, stepping on the gas lightly when the sign ahead flickers to green. 

That surprises you. Jungkook took his own children's education very seriously, you had always imagined him to be at the top of his classes. But he hadn't gone to university at all…? Despite curiosity clawing at you impatiently, you don't continue to prod, choosing to leave the subject alone as the familiar neighborhood you called home floats into vision. 

The car comes to a stop just outside the entrance leading you inside. You weren't entirely sure that one was even allowed to park here, but before you can voice your concern, the door to the driver's side shuts and Jungkook is gone. 

He rounds the car in a few strides, opening your own door for you, which felt almost a little cheesy — though you don't comment on it when accepting his extended hand and climbing out. 

You stand there for a moment, watching a few by-passers who paid you little mind. Jungkook has yet to let go of your hand, you don't acknowledge it. His palm his the warmth that the cold evening lacks and you want to hold on to it, just a little longer. 

"I would follow you to the door but…" He jerks his chin in the direction of his car, "I'm not so sure I'm allowed to park here." 

The giggle bubbling from your chest is enough to have a nearby lady walking her dog pause, but neither of you spare her a glance. Jungkook's gaze lingers on yours as he watches the grin you're unable to keep from your face. His lip twitches into something that could've almost been mistaken for a small smile, had you not known better. 

"I'm sure I'll make it from here," You assure him, eyes dropping to the way his thumb stroked your knuckles. 

Jungkook nods slowly, still holding onto you when he should've let go already. The crease between his brows had eased up and under the gentle glow of the street lights he looks younger — reminiscent of a time you had never experienced with him. 

He sighs, nodding to himself as he lets his hand drop. "Goodnight then," He says, and for a second you could've sworn he wanted to close the distance again. 

Your laughter has ebbed out into a small smile. You didn't want the night to end, it feels like it had barely started before getting robbed from your grasp again. Yet you take a small step back, sending him a timid wave, "Goodnight." 

Turning to walk inside, you try to ignore the weight of his gaze on your back when you fumble with your keys, unlocking the heavy door that would take you into the large building. 

With your fingers wrapped around the handle, you dare steal a final glance over your shoulder. 

Jungkook is leaned against the side of his car, arms folded across his chest where he regards you from across the pavement. It was impossible to make out his expression from this far away — but you would like to imagine that he was smiling too. 

── [ ✉️ ] If you caught a spelling mistake actually let me know, like, but in private so to not ruin my sexy mysterious and prolific image of course... Yes, please share your thoughts with me, I love to read them <3

It was ten to three when you climb the few steps leading up the front porch that next day. Good on time for once, you thought with a small hum. Adjusting the coat that sits snug around your torso, you attempt to flatten out the creases that dent into the fabric. 

Fingers brushing along your cheek, you feel around your face for any abnormalities, a zit that you might've missed when checking the mirror this morning — half worried that you'd accidentally grown a uni brow. 

You don't know why you feel nervous about today. Coming over to see to the children was never a difficult task, even with their very difficult father around. Rayne's words from last night had repeated themselves over and over in your head all day, you think that might be the reason. 

"Father is acting strange around you." 

Your curled fist hesitates just shy of the wood, so close to a knock that never comes. Glancing toward the windows, you hope to find Cassian peeking through a curtain, the way he'd taken a liking to doing as of late — but there is no movement from inside. 

The sound of your knuckles rapping against the door echo across the front yard. Somewhere in the distance trees rustle as birds take off from their naked branches. The sky is a pale gray and you gaze up at it when you wait to be let inside. Time moves agonizingly slow and after a full minute you almost consider knocking again only to be interrupted as the front door finally unlocks. 

Jungkook stands on the other side but he doesn't look quite like himself. His hair, usually laying neat atop his head, fell unevenly down the sides of his face. There are dark circles under his eyes, like whatever sleep he'd managed last night hadn't been enough. 

Despite that he's still dressed accordingly. Though the button up sits looser on his chest today, the cufflinks are already undone, as are the first two buttons around the collar. In other words, Jungkook did not look like he would be heading to the office any time soon, which meant you'd have to spend the afternoon with him in the house as you tended to the children. 

"Hi," You smile, raising one hand in an awkward wave that he doesn't reciprocate. Letting your arm drop back to your side, you duck your head when stepping past him and over the threshold. 

It hadn't been particularly cold on your way here but the Jeon house still greets you with warmth. Shedding yourself of your coat, you're surprised when Jungkook suddenly reaches out to take it off your hands. He doesn't look at you as he does, swiftly turning his back on you to hang it beside his own. 

It is then you notice that both Rayne and Cassian's coats are missing — and that the house was awfully devoid of the younger's giddy laughter. 

"Where are the children?" You ask when glancing up and down the hall with a small frown, trying to catch sight of them around a corner or on the stairs. They're nowhere to be found. 

Jungkook exhales a deep sigh as he brushes past you. "They're at their grandparents house," He grunts when heading through the archway leading into the living room. He doesn't wait for you to follow, doesn't even glance over his shoulder to make sure you are. 

"Grandparents?" You stumble after him, still looking both left and right, half expecting them to be jumping out at any moment, but they never do. "Oh I wasn't aware… Did you leave a message? I must've missed—"

"I didn't." 

Jungkook cuts you off. He's come to a halt in the middle of the room, his body turned enough to hide the expression on his face. Then he gestures toward the sofa closest to you, wordlessly demanding you sit. 

Your gaze flickers between him and the couch, but Jungkook remains silent as he waits for you to move. Forcing your feet to drag along the carpet, you make your way over to sink down on the soft cushion, fingers curling around it to anchor yourself when you stare up at him.

Somewhere in the distance the old clock sounds. You count each tick and when fifteen of them have passed Jungkook finally pulls himself over to the large windows looking out over the back yard. 

He slides his hands into the pockets of his dress pants, the nonchalant stance contradicting the tense air that surrounds you. His eyes are set on the trees outside as he studies them intently. For a moment you could almost believe that he'd forgotten about your presence entirely. 

Another thirty ticks on the clock go by until you finally manage to clear your throat. "Why?" The single word drags across your tongue like sandpaper and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. 

Jungkook's response is not instant. He inhales deeply, then holds it before letting go slowly, his attention still held by the trees beyond the glass. "So that we can talk.", He says as a matter-of-factly. 

Your stomach twists. Talk. To talk is what you had been wanting to do for the past week but he had warded off your every attempt. And now he wants to talk? Your lips pull into a grimace which you're thankful he doesn't see. You were not so sure that you and Jungkook had the same idea of what talking might involve — and the fact that he doesn't elaborate beyond the statement sends your thoughts spiraling. 

By this point the blood circulation in your fingers were starting to get dire as your grip on the sofa grows hard enough to possibly tear. "Listen," Your voice is shaky and strained when you open your mouth to speak, "If you're going to fire me then just go ahead with it because I—"

"I'm not—" Jungkook lifts a hand to drag down his face, eyes squeezing shut and you hear him mutter a quiet 'Jesus' under his breath before he turns to you fully. "I'm not going to fire you, alright?" 

He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, you imagine him biting down on the flesh hard. Letting his hand drop into his pocket again, he leans back against the window behind him. "I just thought…" He trails off, gaze sweeping across the room and you tried to recall a moment in which you'd seen him act so… uncertain before, only to find none. 

"I thought we should talk." 

You nod slowly, fingers uncurling from the couch to come and rest atop your lap. "Yeah… Sure, we can talk." He makes it sound so simple when you know the truth to be the furthest thing from it. Yet all you can do is anxiously wait for him to get whatever it was he had to say off his chest. 

Jungkook finally clears his throat, chin dipping toward the floor before he picks it up again, like he struggled with whatever he was about to say next. "I've been acting rather undignified as of late." He huffs, forearms flexing as his hands shift within the confines of his pockets. 

That was… Not what you had expected when he said he wanted to talk. For many days now you had been forced to live with the uncomfortable reality of Jungkook's distance. The dismissive and fleeting conversations all leaving the impression that he wanted as little to do with you as possible after uncovering your lie. 

You let your gaze drop to intertwined fingers resting on your lap. His unexpected approach to the conversation had caught you off guard and you do the first thing that comes to mind — to reassure him. "It's okay—" You've barely gotten the words out when he speaks again. 

"No. No it's not." Jungkook shakes his head, nose wrinkling in distaste that seems directed at himself rather than you. "I should have spoken to you properly right away." 

He pushes himself off the window, the sound of his footsteps filling the silent air as he walks over to the couch opposite you. The cushion gives way under his weight when he sits down. Hands slipping out of his pockets, he clasps them together over his bent knees when he leans forward. 

"It wasn't right," Gesturing vaguely in your direction, "Blowing you off like I did. It's not something I'm proud of." Despite the weight of his admission Jungkook's eyes are locked on yours — searching for something he doesn't seem to find. 

"I understand why you did it." And you did. In fact you're almost certain you would have reacted the same if it had been you. Even though you were unable to wrap your head around just why it had been so important to him, the principle of being honest was still something you had cast aside for your own gain. 

You exhale a quiet breath, "I should have been truthful from the beginning." 

Jungkook nods slowly, "You should have." The words settle over you heavily and a second later he manages a deep sigh, "Trust is…" He trails off, gaze now fixed to the floor, "It's sacred to me." 

All the guilt you had been in constant battle with comes rushing back and you're barely able to croak out a weak, "I'm sorry," 

This time Jungkook actually glances up at you, "I know you are." He continues after a short pause, "I see you with the children, I see them with you." You watch as he swallows, adam's apple straining against the column of his throat. "My own prejudice was getting in the way of their needs and I don't like it." 

His brows pinch together momentarily but he forces his gaze to stay with yours. He shifts slightly in his seat and you find yourself doing the same. The distance between you, though no more than a coffee table, seems far right now. 

Finally, Jungkook inhales slowly through his nose. "Cassian thinks highly of you." His lips part like he wants to say more, "And I— I suppose I do too." 

Your brows raise just slightly at that — eyes widening a fraction when you blink in surprise. "I'm…" You fumble for words, palms slick with sweat where they clasp together across your lap. This really wasn't what you had expected of him and you half expect to have him snap his fingers in your face to wake you. 

But Jungkook's own hands remain tightly locked with one another. He inhales sharply, obviously sensing your confusion. "What I'm trying to relay here is an apology." His gaze drops to the floor only for him to pick it up again. "And to ask of you to look past my recent behavior in favor of the children." 

His words are somewhat strained but no less sincere. The admission settles between you for a long moment and Jungkook's eyes drift to his interlocked hands as he stares them down. You can make out the line of tension where it clings to his jaw, the firm press of his lips and you knew this wait was torturing him. 

Straightening up, you manage to find your voice, soft with relief. "Of course," You say, watching the way his fingers move restlessly. "I have so much love for both Cassian and Rayne, that will never change."

Jungkook visibly relaxes at that, his shoulders slumping as he nods slowly. And while it was true that you held the children in high regard, there was another reason you were willing to put this entire mess behind you — perhaps one you should keep to yourself, only you can't. 

"I'll look past it in favor of you as well," Your soft hum is no louder than a whisper but he hears you, oh he hears you. 

His once relaxed posture vanishes in an instant and his body snaps into something tense and rigid. The attention he'd been giving his hands shift back to you in a split second as he regards you through narrowed brows — features stringing together a guarded expression that makes the fragile air crackle. 

Backed against a wall by your own words, you squirm uncomfortably in your seat. "I mean I…" You murmur awkwardly as you bring a hand up to rub at the goosebumps that prickle your neck. "I see how much you care for them both and I… Well I care about you." 

Jungkook's gaze narrows further and he shakes his head. "You shouldn't." His tone has twisted itself into something colder — more distant and you can't help but frown. 

Spending as much time in his home as you had meant seeing much more than you know he wants you to. The tears, the anger and the hurt — all the things he must feel but never speak on for the sake of protecting his kids. 

And though you were not a parent you could only imagine how difficult it must be to raise two children on your own, especially ones as young as Rayne and Cassian. 

It had been easy for your heart to open itself for them both and for as long as you'd tried to deny it — Jungkook had found his own place there. You think it was the way he remained gentle despite everything that had first made you pause. The caring nature he tried so hard to cover with indifference had tugged at something deep inside of you.

The affections you held for Jungkook were never part of the plan, but you could no longer push them aside like this. 

"Why not?" You know that you're pushing more than you should now, but when had you not? Even when you notice the muscle in his jaw twitching do you continue, "You have been nothing but generous, in more ways than I deserve, I mean I lied and you still—" 

You're cut short when Jungkook rises from the couch abruptly. He shoves an inked hand through his dark hair, gritting a single word out that has you silenced, "Don't." 

He turns his back on you, walking over to the cold fireplace to stare at the old clock sitting on the mantle. For a long moment neither of you speak and time itself seems to slow down there in the living room. 

You study his form, gaze dragging over the stiffness that seems to etch itself deep into his bones, even so, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than he was admitting. 

The conversation that had started out so good, almost too good, was now back to where you and Jungkook had always been — distant. You would be lying if you said it didn't bother you. 

"So that's it then?" 

Your voice is almost unrecognizable when it pierces the air. Low, drained from its previous insistence in face of his dismissal. "I'll just be seeing to the children?" Not us? The second part never makes it out, it doesn't have to, Jungkook knows just as well as you do. 

Shoving one hand into his pocket, he lets the other run across the mantle with reverent touch. Then he tilts his head just enough to send you a sharp glance over his shoulder, "You will be doing the job that I pay you to." He pauses, "Is that not what we both want and benefit from?" 

For some reason that frustrates you. Could he really act like nothing had happened? Had the shared moment of intimacy in his study truly been such a fleeting thing for him that he could just cast it aside like yesterday's paper? 

His gaze pins you to your spot on the sofa but it cannot contain the words waiting on your tongue. "Yes but—-" Brows drawing together, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth before releasing it, "You know that's not all." You can only meet his eyes for so long before looking away again, "That night…" 

You never finish the sentence but the implication remains. It was the first time either of you had brought it up since the day after, when he had clearly labeled the kiss as nothing but a mistake. The memory sits between you, an uninvited guest that neither of you could bring yourself to greet. 

Jungkook turns his head away again, "That night was a mistake." He echoes his past self, fingers trembling slightly where they brush the mantle. "I overstepped when I shouldn't have and for that I will apologize." 

The matter was slipping from your grasp once more but you feared if you let it go now, you would never get it back. Instead you push yourself to your feet, ignoring the awkward bend to your knees as they threaten to give out. "I don't want an apology," Holding your chin high, you force yourself to look at him, even when he didn't return the favor. 

Though he visibly stiffens, he makes no attempt to respond — but his grip on the mantle has tightened enough for his knuckles to turn pale. 

"I don't feel sorry for what happened." Your voice wavers but you don't let it stop you from taking a small step forward. 

Jungkook's muscles pull taut at your approach and he shakes his head, his reply coming out a quiet mutter, "Well you should." 

You want to scoff at that, frustration intertwining with the confusion. "That is for me to decide." The sound of your footsteps seem to echo when you attempt to close the distance between you. 

"Stop." Jungkook's head snaps your way, his eyes widened with something beyond the mask of stoicism he always wears — something almost panicked. 

Your head tells you to listen, to do as he says and stop whatever this fragile peace was before you ruin it. But your heart makes you take another step in his direction as you press the matter further, "Why?" 

This time he physically recoils and you can clearly see the way his chest rises with his next inhale as Jungkook presses himself back against the fireplace. "Jesus!" He barks out, his tone taking on a pitch higher than normal. His hands are clawing at the mantle behind him. "Just stay there— Please. God, don't come any closer," He warns. 

That is what finally gets through to you. Like an ice bucket being dumped over you, the chilling cold slicing through you hard enough to make you freeze in your tracks. It feels like confirmation to all the things you prayed to not be true and you wonder if he can see the guilt on your face when you take a step back. 

You had never heard him speak with such dread before — like you were the sole purpose of all his pain. He's heaving shaky breaths, face drained of its color and it makes your stomach coil uncomfortably. 

"Do you regret it so terribly?" You whisper hoarsely between swallows, "That you cannot even stand my presence?" You feared his answer more than you had anything before. 

"Yes!" Jungkook says, he sounds almost relieved as the word leaves his lips. Then he's pushing himself off the fireplace, his body angling itself in your direction. "In fact my regret consumes me." He gestures to himself with the jerk of his hand. 

He delivers the statement with so much conviction that you almost want to fold in on yourself as you peer down at your feet. Though Jungkook doesn't seem to notice. No, he's too caught up in whatever storm currently raging inside of him. 

He pushes his fingers through his hair, the strands were now falling freely down the sides of his face, shielding his forehead from view. Then he exhales slowly, his voice dropping lower, his next admission barely audible despite the tense silence. "But not more than the thought of you does." 

You lift your gaze, blinking slowly as you let his words register. "What?" The whisper is followed by the furrow of your brows, "I don't understand…" 

Your continued confusion only spurs him on further as Jungkook inhales sharply, sucking up all the air in the room with him. "Can't you see?" He spits, appearing almost conflicted where he stands, "The torment you put me through simply by existing near me?" 

It's like being caught in a trap. The way your limbs lock up and your blood rushes through your veins — heart pounding hard enough to drown out the sound of Jungkook's groan when he drags a hand down his face. 

The floorboards creak under his weight when he suddenly takes a step forward only to stop himself mid-stride. His hands clench into fists by his sides as he bites down on his cheek. "I try so hard to do what is right for my children but you make it extremely difficult for me to keep my composure." 

The living room had gone so silent you could probably hear a pin drop without having to strain your ears. Through the haze his words were putting you through, you manage a weak splutter, "Me?" 

"Yes, you!" 

He sounds disbelieving, like he was trying to explain why the grass was green and the sky blue — only you could not seem to wrap your head around what he was saying. He kept contradicting himself, one second he wants you as far away from him as possible, the next he's blaming you for something he'd made you believe was no matter to him. 

"But I thought you said it was a mistake?" 

Jungkook actually chuckles at that. It's strained and breathy, pulled from somewhere deep inside his chest as he throws his head back. He looked almost frantic and when his eyes met yours again their pupils were large enough to swallow them whole. 

"The mistake was me thinking I could let myself indulge once without being plagued by my own selfish desire for days to come." 

His chest is rising and falling rapidly by the time he finishes. Strands of dark hair stick to his forehead which was now covered in a thin layer of sweat that glistens on his skin — and you can all but stare at him with parted lips. 

His jaw is clenched tight as though he was holding himself back from saying more than he should — in the end he still fails. "Yes, I regret it," He drawls, mocking himself, "I regret ever letting myself experience what it could feel like when I knew that once would never be enough." 

The last air is punched out of your lungs in one exhale. "I…" You fumble for a response despite having barely given yourself time to let his admission sink in. 

Jungkook seems to have realized how far he'd let himself spiral. He's staring down at the floor, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. His shoulders slump and he shakes his head slowly. "So please," He sounds defeated, "Don't prolong my misery and leave before I decide my self restraint useless." 

For a long moment the two of you stand in silence. Outside the world continues to move the way it always had, but inside the Jeon house — time came to a stop. 

The rational part of you vouches for you to take the exit he offers you, to hurry out the door and have this conversation become just another mistake neither of you ever speak on again. The other part of you — the one you could never deny, can only think of one thing and it is then realization crashes down on you. 

He was just as miserable as you were — if not more. 

Perhaps it is that feeling that brings you together and forces you to cross the invisible border as you take a small hesitant step in his direction. 

"I don't regret what happened." 

He doesn't tell you to stop this time, doesn't move away even when you come to a halt before him, so close that your chest nearly brushes his. It gives you the courage you need to will the next words into existence. 

"My one regret is that it only happened once." 

Jungkook inhales sharply, chin lifting just enough for his dark eyes to peer right into yours. "God," His breath is hot and uneven when it fans across your face, "Please— Don't do this to me." He sounds like he's in pain and if that wasn't the most beautiful thing you had ever heard… 

You bite your lip like it could stop you from asking the one thing on your mind. Jungkook's attention is immediately drawn to the small action and his eyes darken with something unforgiving. 

"Would you do it again?" 

He squeezes his eyes shut at that, hands trembling by his sides. "I shouldn't." He grinds out but doesn't sound at all convinced by his own words. 

If you could take another step forward you would, you think you'd merge yourself with him if possible. Instead you let out the breath you had been holding. "But would you?" 

Jungkook lets his eyes flutter open and when he does, the desire filling them to the brim becomes impossible to miss. He lets his gaze drop to your lips, his own parting when he feels your warm exhale on them. 

The wait feels eternal and for all of it the only thing you can think of is the answer you so desperately want to hear. 

Then the distance between you vanishes and Jungkook's face becomes the only thing you can see. His nose nudges yours, the soft, barely there touch making you shiver. He swallows thickly and you know that he's made up his mind. 

"Yes," The breathless whisper is the last thing you hear before his lips press against yours. 

It feels nothing like it had that night in the study, when the world around you seemed small and the taste of whisky mixed on your tongues. No, this time you were stripped of the liquor's boundaries and all you knew was him. 

For all the torment his words had carried, Jungkook still kisses you gently. His tongue is not demanding when it seeks entrance into your mouth, perhaps because he knows you will let him without doubt. 

The touch of his knuckles where they graze your jaw grounds you in the moment and you lean in to the soft skin of his hands when he cups your face, bringing you closer than you both know he should. 

It lasts forever yet not nearly long enough and then he's pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. His eyes are half lidded, his gaze meeting yours through dark lashes. This is where you had to stop, you know that, he knows that, and yet— 

"One more," Jungkook rasps, the need seeping through into his voice. 

Pushing the dangerous flutter in your chest aside, you swallow, responding in a breathless whisper. "You shouldn't." The reminder feels harsh, you force yourself to utter it anyway. 

Jungkook is silent for a moment, thumb stroking your jaw reverently. His eyes drop to your mouth, tongue flicking out to swipe across his bottom lip, "I know. God I know." 

Then he's kissing you, this time deeper, insistent on convey something he could not express with words alone — you respond the only way you can, by parting your lips and inviting him closer. 

His hands, previously cradling your face are now moving down your body. His touch is respectful, never more than a simple caress to your arms, sides, waist and hips, but Jungkook makes sure not to miss a single inch. And the need he's worked so hard to contain slips through for each brush of his fingers. 

The room around you shrinks, leaving only the two of you standing in its middle. Each breath you take is him, his scent, his taste — and somehow it's not enough. 

"Shouldn't be doing this," Jungkook's incoherent murmur doesn't stop him from kissing you, "You're way too young. Children's nanny. Shouldn't." Yet he keeps you close, hands holding onto your hips with no intent of letting go, lips moving almost fervently against your own. 

Your huffed exhale becomes his inhale when you mutter, "I think I prefer you quiet." 

He chuckles at that, an actual laugh that vibrates in his chest. Still, his full attention shifts to the kiss you share rather than the thoughts still lingering around you like dark clouds. 

Your joint feet stumble across the floor, his hands on your hips guiding you backward carefully until you're pressed against the nearest wall. The hard and cold surface provides a chilling contrast to the heat of Jungkook's body as it envelops yours and your arms loop around his neck to bring his warmth closer. 

His lips move on top of yours, saliva smearing between you without neither of you caring. Occasionally his teeth graze the tender flesh, never quite biting down but enough to make you shiver involutionary. 

The sudden warmth of his hands draws your attention to where they slip beneath the hem of your shirt — the rough pads of his fingers rubbing gentle circles onto your naked skin. In spite of the hungry kiss you share, his touch never moves higher, palms smoothing over the curve of your waist softly. 

You, on the other hand, are not as patient. Nails dragging across the nape of his neck, making him groan into your mouth. Hands sliding to the collar of his shirt, fingers hooking around the already loose fabric — serving as evidence to his previous frustrations. 

Your fingers move with little to no coordination when you reach for the buttons of his shirt, fiddling with them in a half-hearted attempt getting them open. He lets you undo one, then two, before his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you from gaining access to what you seek. 

"Not here," He grunts, lips moving from yours to instead brush your forehead, "Not like this." Thumb pressing against your racing pulse, he drags it across the inside of your wrist, pulling back enough to study the delicate skin there. 

When his gaze returns to yours and reads the confused frown on your face, he nearly smiles. "If I'm going to do this then I want to do it properly." 

You want to ask what he means by that but you're cut short when he suddenly grips the back of your thighs. Feet lifting from the ground a second later, you find yourself pressed against his chest as Jungkook slides one arm under your knees, the other going behind your back to keep you steady. Behind you, the living room disappears and the hallway greets you instead. 

"What are you—?" Your question is swallowed by a noise of surprise as Jungkook starts climbing the stairs. Scoffing out a short breath, you cling to his shoulders even when you know he won't let you fall. "You could've at least let me walk on my own," You mutter under your breath. 

Jungkook huffs and you feel him shake his head as you make your way upstairs. "It's not like this is the first time," He drawls and you could just about see the ghost of a smirk on his lips. 

Though he was right you still felt like this was different. The hallway upstairs does not look the same way it had when he'd last carried you down this path. He moves with determined strides, eyes fixed on the door to his bedroom, left slightly ajar. Pushing it open with the nudge of his shoulder, he brings you inside. 

The mattress dips under your weight as Jungkook carefully sets you down on the edge of the bed. This would not be the first time you found yourself sat here but it was definitely under different circumstances. Back then he'd stood on the other side of the room, with his gaze averted and his jaw clenched — now Jungkook's face was inches from yours, his breath hot against your parted lips. 

He doesn't move to join you though he remains close, like putting even an inch of distance between the two of you would physically hurt him. His hands brace themselves on either side of your legs, caging you in on the bed. 

His eyes are darkened with everything he fights so hard to keep in — only you don't want him to and that need claws at you. 

Open mouth brushing yours, his voice comes out low when he asks, "Are you sure you want this?" 

You can't tell if he's referring to you or himself but it doesn't matter. The nod you give him is but a subtle tilt of your head that brings your faces even closer. 

"Yes." 

Jungkook's nose nudges yours before dragging across your cheek in a silent caress. The touch feels loaded with all the things he cannot bring himself to say out loud. "Yes?" He echoes, lips moving against your skin, "I need you to be certain. I don't know if—" He swallows, "Don't know if I'll be able to stop." 

The admission makes heat coil deep inside your gut, stoking a fire you never hoped to be put out. Because you don't want him to stop, not for anything. Your next words are a mere whisper, "I want this. I want you." 

You can feel the shudder that runs through him at your words, the sharp exhale and the way his eyes squeeze shut. And Jungkook is on his knees before you in an instant. Forehead pressed against your stomach, the hands once bracketing you in moving to grip your hips firmly as he inhales deeply. 

He stays like that for a moment, grounding himself. From where you sit, you can only see the black mess that his hair had become and you move without thinking, running your fingers through the dark strands that are surprisingly soft. His breath hitches against you, shoulders tensing before relaxing again. 

Then he's moving, pulling back enough to reach for the button of your jeans. His hands work with determination as he undoes it before pulling the zipper down in one swift motion. 

You lift your hips without having to be told, allowing him to slide the fabric down your legs. Once you're bare he tosses them aside, letting them fall to the floor in a crumpled mess he would probably never allow under normal circumstances. 

His lips are on your skin in an instant like he could not imagine himself anywhere else. Jungkook kisses your knee first, hands caressing your calves gently, thumbs rubbing absent circles. 

Each open-mouthed press leaves goosebumps in their wake as he moves down your calf slowly. His fingers hook around the lining of your socks, tugging them off one by one. He pays extra attention to the ankle you had previously injured, cradling it gently in his open palm and you have to fight to keep still. 

He kisses every part of skin he can access, lips trailing back up over your knee before finding the flesh of your inner thigh. His breath is blazing hot against your body, tongue just shy of claiming a taste of you. 

Your hand is back in his hair, unable to keep away as you wordlessly try to tug him closer to where you want him the most. 

Jungkook lets himself be pulled along until he realizes where you're headed. He doesn't lift his face from where it presses against your thigh, but his fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements gently. 

He exhales onto you. "Let me at least pretend to be a gentleman about this." He murmurs, lips brushing your leg softly. The sound of his voice reverberates through the room, going straight to your foggy mind. 

The hold you have on his hair loosens as Jungkook's lips continue their slow and tedious path along your inner thigh. His hands move up and down your legs, desperate in their attempt to feel every part of you that he can. 

In the end, his own demand for more wins out and his nose skims across the waistband of your panties. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, stomach fluttering with anticipation as you stare down at him with wide eyes. 

Jungkook inhales deeply against you, fingers sinking into your thighs. Then he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your cunt through the fabric of your underwear. A low groan rips from his throat and it vibrates right onto your pussy despite the thin cotton separating you. 

You were used to guys going straight for the kill. The sound of clothes being torn in a frenzy followed by desperate and immature, messy touches. But Jungkook doesn't appear to be in any rush. His tongue presses flat against you, hot and wet, uncaring for the barrier between you as he makes out with you like a man starved. 

His hands move from your thighs, slow and precise in their path to your hips. The squeak you emit bounces off the bedroom walls when he tugs you closer. It's mere background noise to the man currently between your legs, it was very clear that there was but one thing on his mind. 

The tip of his nose pokes at your clit, your thighs immediately tensing around him as the sensation makes your cunt flutter around nothing. The majority of your previous experience came from guys who could care less for the act of eating pussy and the few who reluctantly offered never delivered. But you're pretty sure it would be near impossible to tear Jungkook from where he's pressed to you right now.

You wonder if he could even breathe, doesn't look like he's even thinking about that right now — your brief concern washes away when his teeth move your panties to the side. He doesn't pause to stare like you'd expected and dives right back instead. 

It feels even better like this, with nothing keeping his eager mouth from your crying cunt. His tongue moves with purpose, circling your clit once, twice, until your legs are clenched tight around both sides of his face — then he goes deeper. 

The moan escaping you doesn't feel practiced for once, it's raw and unintentional, it's you. Fingers curling back into his hair, you pull him closer wanting — no, needing — to feel him. Your hips, unable to remain still despite Jungkook's grip on them, grind weakly onto his face, chasing the orgasm that had been building since he first put his mouth to you. 

Heat coils in your stomach and each time your clit rubs over the ridge of his nose you find yourself closer to the inevitable edge that your body screams for you to push over. But before you can do that Jungkook suddenly stops. The fervent strokes of his tongue slow to something languid. 

He presses a final kiss to your denied cunt, inhaling a lungful of air and letting it go again. "Forgive me for being selfish," His voice is hoarse, "But I can't let you do that yet." 

A protest sits waiting, though never makes it out when he pulls back. 

He has to crane his neck to peer up at you and when he does you're met with the frenzied look in his eyes. Soft pants leave his parted lips, the evidence of what he had done to you clinging to the lower half of his face in a mess of spit and arousal. Jungkook doesn't wipe himself clean — only letting his tongue catch a final taste from his bottom lip. 

You swallow, gaze meeting his, unable to look away. He looks… Starving. And you had a feeling you were about to become his next meal — for better or worse. 

He makes his way up your body, eyes never straying from yours. He's close enough for his glistening chin to brush against your shirt. The pace he moves at is torturously slow and you're almost certain he can hear the erratic beating of your heart when he passes the curve of your chest. 

The second he reaches your face he doesn't hesitate to lock your lips in a kiss letting you taste yourself on his tongue when he slides it inside your mouth. The way his mouth moves over yours perfectly matches the way it had been trying to devour you whole not even a minute ago — you can feel the desire that radiates off him in harsh waves. 

You barely notice it when he climbs to his feet again, keeping your lips pressed together as he shifts his body. Only when the warmth of his hands leave your hips does he pull back enough to let cool air flow between you. He's towering over you now, knuckles brushing the line of your jaw like he was treating a piece of fine china. 

Lifting your gaze enough to meet his, you see him already watching you with something dangerously close to devotion. He doesn't say anything, doesn't have to. The hot air and the uneven rise and fall of your chests speak for themselves. 

Your attention drifts lower, his shirt, always ironed to perfection was rumpled in places and his dress pants do little to conceal his own desire. It makes your stomach flutter knowing that he was just as affected as you were by this. 

Without thinking you reach out, fingers brushing against the cold metal of his belt buckle. Stealing a glance in his direction you find his jaw clenched, like he wanted to say something but held back. He makes no move to stop you though and with that you undo his belt with a soft clink. 

Sucking your bottom lip into your mouth, you let your palm glide across the outline of him through his pants, his body heat escaping through the restricting fabric. Jungkook lets out a shaky exhale above you, peering up at him through your lashes reveals the column of his throat beautifully exposed as he tips his head back. 

Spurred on by his reaction you shift your attention back to where your fingers are toying with the button holding his dress pants together. You've just about managed to get it open when Jungkook's hands suddenly return to your body — this time your shoulders. 

His touch is gentle — as it always was — when he guides you to lie back. The mattress hugs your back a second later, head falling against the pillow as Jungkook lifts your legs over the edge and onto the bed. 

The new position pulls your focus away from where it had been fixed though the brief disappointment is quickly replaced with newfound excitement as Jungkook crawls on top of you. 

You catch but a small glimpse of his face before he leans down to kiss you again. By this point you'd lost track of how many times his lips had met yours, all you knew was that there hadn't been enough. Jungkook seems to share that thought for his tongue drags across your bottom lip just the way it had that night in the study — wordlessly asking for more than he already had. 

A small tug to the hem of your shirt pulls you from the feeling of his mouth against your own and your eyes flutter open to see him hovering just a breath away. "Can I take this off?" He asks, and even though his gaze was filled to the brim with all the things you were sure he wanted to do, there was still a softened edge that waited patiently for your response. 

Nodding as best as you can given the way it made your head spin more than it already was, you loop an arm around his neck to lift yourself up. Jungkook isn't late to catch on as he effortlessly pulls the sweater you're wearing over your head, letting you fall back onto the mattress when he slides it down your arms. 

When the garment has been tossed to the floor and you lay beneath him in nothing but the plain underwear you had chosen that morning, he finally pauses. The want and the need is still present in every fiber of his body, as it is yours — only it seems to have been channeled into something different now. 

His fingers are burning hot to the touch when they find your collarbone. The caress is featherlight, not nearly enough, but you can't bring yourself to ask for more. Not when Jungkook regards you like he was seeing something for the first time, the pad of his thumb stroking down the valley of your breasts reverently. 

Then he leans down, not to kiss your lips, but the soft skin of your chest. He takes his time tasting you, eyes half-lidded as he exhales through his nose. A shiver runs down your spine as his palm snakes under your body, brushing along your back before hooking a finger around the clasp of your bra. 

"This too?" 

His voice is gruff, dark gaze barely managing to find yours through his own haze. The question amuses you, given he had went down on you just moments prior, only Jungkook is perfectly serious in his inquiry. "Yes please," Comes your breathless response. 

With your permission as guidance, he snaps the restraint hiding you from view. Your bra comes off easily, joining the rest of your clothes in their pile on the floor. 

This time his own urges seem to overpower the need to stop and admire as Jungkook goes straight for your now exposed chest. Lips wrapping around one of your nipples, he sucks it into his mouth greedily and you gasp in surprise. If he notices then he doesn't comment on it, far too busy laving his tongue over the peak as he makes it harden. 

Staring up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes, you let the quiet moans spill free when Jungkook drags his teeth over your nipple, the sensation making your neglected cunt throb with unfulfilled demand. 

Bringing his hand up to your other breast, Jungkook lets his palm envelop the tender flesh. His thumb mimics the motion of his tongue, leaving you squirming under him, not knowing if you want to beg for more or less. 

It's when he suddenly pinches the hardened bud between his fingers that your body decides for you. The shuddering breath forces its way past your lips as heat flares inside your stomach. Arching off the mattress and pushing yourself into his waiting mouth only has Jungkook groaning in satisfaction around your nipple, tongue flattening out against you. 

His free hand finds your waist, easing you back onto the bed carefully as he moves his mouth over to give your other breast the same attention, saliva coated lips leaving a glistening trail in their wake. 

Occasionally his eyes will flicker up to meet yours through his pinched brows, in them you find nothing but a hunger so raw it makes your abdomen clench tight. "You taste…" His words are muffled against your chest and he pulls back enough to rest his forehead against your collarbone, hot breath fanning across your by now very sensitive nipples. 

"…Unlike anything I've ever had." He finishes with a lingering press of his lips to the curve of your breast. 

The mattress creaks when he sits back on his knees currently caging you to the spot. You don't think you had ever seen Jungkook move with such urgency. His fingers are quick on the buttons of his shirt, working them open one by one, though his gaze never strays from yours. 

Each button coming undone reveals another patch of skin and you push yourself up on your elbows to let yourself stare unabashed. When fumbling with one of the last ones, Jungkook's patience wears thin and he opts for ripping the entire thing instead. 

The remaining buttons go flying in all directions, making a clattering sound when they hit the floor. Jungkook pays them no mind, shoulders flexing when he pulls his arms behind his back to rid himself of the shirt entirely. 

You don't know what you had expected — you hadn't exactly allowed yourself to fantasize what he might look like beneath the ironed and perfectly made clothes he wears. Suppose you had caught a glimpse of his biceps through the button up whenever he reached for something on the top shelf — so you shouldn't be all that surprised to find his chest filled out, and yet your throat runs dry. 

Any other day you probably would've been a little more modest with your blatant staring but it was impossible to tear your eyes from him. The lean muscle making up his entire torso has you itching to reach out and touch. And though you were no stranger to his broad shoulders and chest, you still let your gaze drag across the way it narrows down slightly by his waist — eyes lingering on the faint trail of dark curls leading below the waistband of his pants. 

If Jungkook notices your staring then he doesn't comment on it. His hand is back on your hip, smoothing over your skin slowly. Attention flickering over to his inked fingers, it's only then you realize that this was the first time you were seeing his tattoos fully. 

The ones leading up to his elbow are familiar, easy to notice whenever he'd rolled his sleeves up. But the fact that the hand drawn designs continue along his biceps and all the way to his collarbone were news to you. The explosion of ink and color on his skin are a stark contrast to the way he presents himself today and it only adds to the heat building in your stomach. 

Your fingers brush against his arm, tracing a swirl of blue as your eyes follow. Jungkook turns his head enough to follow the motion, a ragged exhale slipping past his lips when the edge of your nail rasps the colored skin there. 

"You can explore them all you want later," He murmurs, free hand already reaching for the belt you had previously unbuckled. Pulling it free from its loops, he discards it alongside your joint clothes on the floor. 

Letting your arm drop back to support your weight, you stay propped on your elbows as you watch him with barely contained need. Jungkook moves with little to no coordination when he pushes at the pants you had already unbuttoned for him — only to suddenly pause. 

Brows furrowing into a confused frown, you regard the conflicted look on his face. "What's wrong?" You whisper, dread creeping into your voice without you meaning for it to. Was he having second thoughts, did he realize that this was actually a terrible idea and didn't want it anymore? 

The absent caress to your waist brings you back to Jungkook, who was watching you silently. His jaw is clenched, lips pressed into a thin line and a prominent crease lining his forehead. "Don't got any condoms," He mutters as he drags his free hand through his hair. 

Oh. You swallow, shifting on the mattress as your gaze flits between him and the pile of clothes on the floor. You probably had a pack at home but it wasn't like you carried them around — especially not at the Jeon house. 

Jungkook leans over to pull the bedside drawer open and you listen to the sound of his fervent rummaging as he searches for protection. The frown tugs its way to his lips and a moment later he's shoving the drawer shut with more force than he'd used on you all day. 

"I'm—" Tongue brushing against the inside of your cheek, you peer up at him hopefully, "I take birth control." 

His eyes find their way back to yours, the tension on his face easing up just a fraction. He nods slowly, fingers still tracing your naked hip. He's quiet for a moment, weighing his options probably. 

Finally he sighs, "You're okay without one? I don't want you saying it just because I—" 

"Yes." You cut him off breathlessly, fingers curling around the sheets as you tilt your chin expectantly. Condom or not, you knew that this is exactly what you want and Jungkook must see it too for he caves with another kiss to your lips a second later. 

When he pulls back it's to hook one finger around the hem of your panties, tugging on them gently, "These off." The tone he uses is filled with the kind of authority that makes you instantly obey, hands already rushing to peel your soaked underwear from your feverish skin. 

The bed feels cold when he climbs off it, leaving you to slide your panties past your legs before tossing them aside. You watch with bated breath as Jungkook sheds himself off his clothes from the waist down, kicking the garments aside carelessly before joining you again. 

His naked body is scorching hot against your own and he steals your attention with his lips on yours. The kiss is messier than the others, his impatience finally seeping through as his self restraint wears down with each passing second. You lean into him, hands sliding along his arms, feeling the muscles ripple under your touch. 

Fresh air spills down your throat when Jungkook moves the kiss from your lips and down your jaw — mouth pressing hot against your throat as his tongue darts out to taste the skin there. 

Your nails run along his shoulders and they tense when another shudder runs through him. His hands are everywhere all at once, caressing your chest, ribs, sides, waist and thighs as he draws shaky breaths from the crook of your neck. 

You follow the movement of his arm when he reaches down between your bodies, watching as he wraps inked fingers around his cock — its flushed tip disappearing into his fist as he jerks himself off messily. 

"Last chance," He murmurs against your throat, teeth just shy of grazing you, "Are you sure about this?" 

The answer comes without you having to think about it, so natural and simple at its core. "Yes." You whisper, hands anchoring themselves on his shoulders as Jungkook pulls back enough to see your face clearly. 

His lips are reddened and wet from the multiple kisses he's pressed to every inch of your body — brown irises swallowed by his dilated pupils. It feels almost wrong to see him like this, hair mussed and cheeks flushed — looking nothing like the man who had first offered you the position as his children's nanny. 

"Are you?" Echoing the question back to him, you hold your breath as you await his response. 

Jungkook nods, slow and certain. The corner of his mouth tugs into something almost resembling a smirk, something you had never seen him wear before. "More than anything," He says as he lets his nose brush over your own. 

Moving to prop himself up on one elbow, Jungkook hovers just inches above you. He's still stroking himself, a small crease between his brows when he glances down at you. The head of his cock nudges your clit, on accident probably, but it still tears a wanton moan from your throat as you cling to him a little tighter.

"Please," You don't even know where the plea is coming from, though you don't stop to think about it. All you know is that you need to feel him closer — and now. 

Jungkook lets out what could have almost been mistaken for a strained chuckle at that, hand sliding down to grip himself at the base where he gives himself a rough squeeze. He ignores your meek attempt for more, appearing to be in no rush as he lets his cock slide against your cunt, the slick sound of your joint arousal deafening in the hot bedroom air. 

His tip catches on your clit a second time before breaching inside of you. He moves slowly, savoring each flutter of your pussy as he eases himself deeper. Once he's sure he won't slip out again his hand leaves to carefully hold you down against the mattress. 

The stretch of his cock burns at first but it's not nearly enough to overshadow the pleasure that ignites inside of you. And the hiss he lets out when he feels you clench around him only makes your head spin as your nails dig into his shoulders. 

When he's finally buried to the hilt he pauses. Cock throbbing in rhythm with your cunt, Jungkook rests his forehead against your shoulder. "Jesus, just—" He cuts himself short with a sharp inhale and you feel him twitch inside of you, "Just stay like this for a moment." 

You let out a soft breath, fingers loosening their grip on him. "Why?" Shifting slightly only makes him tense as he hisses softly. "Been a while?" You hum, half-joking and not really expecting an answer. 

Jungkook groans low in his throat, like it was taking everything in him not to move an inch. "Mm, something like that," He grunts, hand flexing around your hip as he presses himself even closer. 

"Fuck." 

The single word makes the air around you crackle and your next exhale catches on your tongue. You don't think you had ever heard him curse before, Jungkook had always been so proper, put together around you and his children. This felt like seeing a side of him you were never meant to — and it makes your cunt flutter around him. 

He doesn't give you time to respond as he silences you with another kiss. Despite your shared proximity, closer than ever before now, he still kisses you gently. You can still taste the remnants of your own arousal on his lips, something meant for only the two of you to share. 

When he finally moves his pace matches the slow caress of his tongue inside your mouth. Each roll of his hips pulls a strained moan from you — eagerly swallowed by Jungkook as he drinks them like wine. 

This was not the first time you had sex but it felt like the first time you were actually intimate. Even when being rock hard inside of you, Jungkook still fucks you slowly and purposefully. It felt nothing like the drunken hookups with the guys your age, the messy, teeth clashing kisses and the harsh snap of their hips at an uncomfortable angle. 

No, Jungkook was doing it perfectly. 

"Mhn— Been thinking about this," He admits when he feels you clench particularly hard around him. His tongue brushes your bottom lip, letting his teeth graze the plump flesh tenderly. 

His words make your breath hitch and you peer up at him through your lashes when he pulls back enough to see you fully. Dark eyes meet yours, in them you find nothing but sincerity. "For how long?" You whisper, fending off a noise of surprise when he delivers a firm thrust to your throbbing pussy. 

Nose brushing against the side of your face, he exhales slowly against your hot skin. "Longer than my pride will allow me to admit." His voice is strained, laced with something beyond just the way your cunt wraps around his cock so beautifully. "Shouldn't be," He murmurs between quiet pecks to your cheek, "But I can't seem to help myself." 

Something blooms deep inside your chest at that. The idea of him wanting this just as badly as you do — not just because of the fact that you were both naked in his bedroom, when you most certainly shouldn't be — but because this had plagued his thoughts the same way it had yours. It made you long for him dangerously. 

"I've been thinking about it too." His own admission makes you shamelessly voice your own desires out loud, the heavy weight lifting from your heart. "A lot," You add in a breathless whisper. 

Jungkook groans, "S-Shit. Don't say that." He doesn't mean it, you can tell by the way his cock twitches inside of you. His chest rises and falls quickly against your own in spite of the languid pace he keeps, hips rolling against your own like waves crashing against shore. 

"You have no idea what you do to me." 

The words spilling from his parted lips are ones you never thought you would hear. They make heat flare deep in your stomach, the orgasm you had been denied earlier catching up quickly. Your grip on his shoulders, previously loose, grows tight again, nails digging into his skin hard enough to hurt — though it only makes Jungkook pick up his pace. 

"Close?" He rasps, the hand on your hip already moving between your bodies. His thumb brushes your clit, the touch feather light at first before pressing down firmly. You try to nod but it ends up a small tilt of your head as his finger continues its ministrations. 

You try to hold off for as long as you can, desperately wanting to prolong the moment just a little longer. But the way Jungkook fucks himself deep into you with firm and precise snap of his hips, combined with the added pressure to your clit — you know you won't last much longer. 

He pulls out then, not all the way, just enough for only the head of his cock to remain inside of you. His thumb eases up on you, providing momentary relief that feels more like torture before shoving himself back into your glistening cunt in one seamless thrust. 

The cry of his name echoes through the bedroom as your pussy pulsates around him. Nails digging into the apex of his shoulders so hard you're sure to draw blood, you let the feeling of your long awaited orgasm wash over you.

Jungkook's pace doesn't falter and he keeps moving even when your cunt grips him tightly. He's murmuring soft words of reassurance against the shell of your ear, none of which you hear, too focused on the overwhelming sensation coursing through you. His thumb is still pressed against your clit, drawing high pitched sounds from your lips that would have you hiding your face against the pillow any other day. 

Only when the feeling of ecstasy dies down and you're left a panting but satisfied mess does he slow down. He leans back enough to study your face, hips now moving carefully against your sensitive pussy that flutters each time he reaches you just right. 

He looks like he wants to ask if you're okay, the question written across his face as his hand slides back to your waist. Before he can get the chance to, you've already reached for him, fingers brushing the defined edge of his jaw when pulling him in for a kiss that feels more like a desperate press of lips than anything else. 

Caught off guard by the sudden action, he grunts in surprise though quickly melts into it, allowing you to slide your tongue inside his waiting mouth. He tastes like everything you shouldn't allow yourself to have but crave anyway and you're determined to make the most of it. 

His hand abandons your hip to instead prop himself up on both arms as he picks his pace back up — cock still throbbing with need inside of you. Jungkook lets you guide the kiss, inhaling sharply when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth, his hips stuttering for the briefest of seconds until you let go again. 

Each thrust teeters on the thin line between pain and pleasure as your overstimulated cunt begs for reprieve yet continues to suck him in with greed. 

The longer it goes on for the sloppier his thrusts get until Jungkook finally breaks away from the kiss to press his face against the sanctuary of your neck. 

"H-ah," He grunts, "I'm— Need to…" His unfinished sentence trails of into a broken sound, somewhere between a groan and a low whine. He pulls himself out of you, hissing through clenched teeth as one of his hands fly down to desperately wrap around his aching cock. 

You watch with wide eyes as he fucks into his own fist, wishing it was your fingers on him instead. Pushing the thought aside, you reach for his hair, weaving through the dark strands softly before tugging on the ends hard enough for his jaw to fall slack. 

Having given up on all pretense since long, Jungkook doesn't bother hiding the noises spilling freely from his parted lips. He's close enough for you to reach up and pull him back for another kiss — you don't. It was better this way, getting to see every muscle in his face work as he coaxed his own orgasm forward. 

His skin is clammy with sweat, reddened too , the flush creeping down his neck. Pushing back the locks of hair to expose his forehead, you can perfectly see the way his brows pinch together. His eyes are half lidded, hazy with desire and his always clenched jaw is lax — you don't think he's ever looked better. 

"S-Shit," He groans, wrist flicking over the tip of his cock one final time before his hips jerk forward and he cums onto your stomach. It feels dirty in the way he would never usually allow. It's sticky, hot, messy and all over the place — everything you knew he would avoid if he could. 

Perhaps that's what makes it all the better as you arch up against him, fingers curling in his hair and twisting with just enough force to make his trembling arm give in, making him fall flat on top of you with quiet gasp. 

The sound of your jagged breaths fill the steamy bedroom air. Outside the sun was just beginning to set over the horizon, its last warm rays spilling through the half-drawn curtains and over your naked bodies — for a moment the world seems small. 

Jungkook's face is back against your neck as he pants softly. From here you can study the muscles that make up his back, it's easy to let your hands run over the glistening skin, fingers lingering by the nape of his neck to feel him shudder on top of you. 

It's when you feel the tender press his lips against your throat that you know he's come down from his own high. Neither of you speak, the silence between is not the tense one it usually would be — you don't feel like you have to overcompensate his lack of words with ones of your own. 

A moment later Jungkook rolls off of you to lay on his back. For a second the peace is broken and you think he might ask you to leave, or worse, backtrack on everything he'd previously said. You watch him with an uncomfortable lump in your throat, gaze flickering to the pile of your clothes, still sitting on the floor. 

Jungkook's sigh is what pulls your attention toward him again. His eyes are closed and his expression relaxed — though he wasn't asleep. No, his breathing was too even for that. The mattress creaks when you shift on top of it, to get closer or further away, you don't know. 

It doesn't matter when Jungkook makes that decision for you. His arm is slung over your waist the second he feels you move beside him, brows furrowing when he tugs you to his side, letting your body mold against his. 

You try to ignore the way your heart beats just a little faster as you let yourself slump against him, cheek pressing against his chest. He's warm, a lot softer than he looks too. You catch yourself trying to replicate the rise and fall of his torso with each inhale and exhale, as you ponder the question on your mind. 

"Should we—" Trapping your lip between your teeth, you hesitate, "I mean, should we talk? About this?" 

There's silence for a long moment, followed by his soft hum as Jungkook's arm secures its grip around you. Resting his chin atop your head, his fingers move to brush along the expanse of your arm slowly. 

"I think we've talked enough for today." His voice carries the rare hint of amusement that was so refreshing to see in him.

You can only nod, palm pressing flat against his chest, right above his heart to feel its steady thumping. For now this was enough — and that was what mattered. 

── [ ✉️ ] So, thoughts? No like seriously I need to know exactly what you ladies think about this. I have worked my ass off trying to get this right and I pray to God that my efforts paid off and that this was an enjoyable read for you, much love, Ki <3

The looming shadows of the night curl around you, some threatening to swallow you whole. It's cold, awfully so and your arms do little to keep the heat inside where they wrap around you. Your heart clenches when you think back to the warmth of Jungkook's sofa, the way it had cushioned your tired limbs and for a moment soothed your worries.

You had waited longer than usual for him that evening. Nine pm came and went, the sky outside grown darker and your eyes heavier. Falling into a quiet sleep on the couch had been easy, it happened without you even intending for it to. And when you had finally woke, it had been to the sight of Jungkook hovering just in front of you.

Since his dismissal of your shared kiss you had been doing a lot of thinking. Your thoughts shifted from a mellow reminiscence of the hated moment between you and twisted themselves into something much more distant — something you looked back to with regret.

Jungkook had made it perfectly clear where the line was to be drawn, even when he contradicted his own actions from two nights ago by doing so.

The right thing to do was probably walking away. It would save you both from further complications, you could let the strange feelings you harbor run out in the sand, left to be forgotten. But you needed this job, needed the money, and above all, you could not bear the thought of losing the children. So you swallowed the pill he fed you, even when it scraped your throat uncomfortably on the way down.

When you arrived at the Jeon house this afternoon, it had been with a clear plan in mind — to avoid Jungkook as much as you possibly could. It had been easy, given the fact that the man himself hadn't been around at all, not until he returned home to wake you from your slumber with a gentle shake to your shoulder.

You can still picture the look in his eyes when he knelt on the floor just short of the couch. They held something different, something you couldn't quite recognize. But Jungkook had not spoken on it and for once — you hadn't asked.

He offered to drive you home, you declined. Now you walk down the cold and lonesome street, the late hour and the ache under your feet make the thought of his warm car seem all the more appealing. But you could not afford to let yourself be pulled back into the mess you were trying to sweep up.

The sound of your shoes hitting the ground echo off the sidewalk, filling the silence of the night. You think you might have made it two blocks away when you suddenly come to a halt. The chilling sensation that something was missing striking you. Hand going to your shoulder, your fingers grasp around for the strap of a bag that should be there — only it isn't.

Panic flares inside your chest, snapping through whatever melancholy haze you had been stuck in and you whirl around. In your haste to get out, to hide from Jungkook's lingering gaze and the things neither of you addressed, you had managed to forget your bag.

That wasn't too alarming — had it not been containing something extremely valuable. You were careful with your study material, always making sure to make a pit stop at home whenever you'd had a morning class before coming over to babysit the children. But having missed the first bus today, there simply hadn't been any time.

Your legs move before you can even get another thought through your rattled mind. Picking up into a jog that soon turns into a sprint, you hurry back the same way you had come — praying that you would get to the bag before he did.

The Jeon house floats back into vision less than two minutes later and you barrel through the front gates without any modesty before scurrying up the porch.

Your curled fist does little to mask your urgency when you pound on the door. the wait feels eternal and you try desperately to get your breathing under control as you shift restlessly on your feet. Tongue darting out to wet your dry lips, you peer at the windows and strain your ears for any sound coming from inside.

Soon enough, the lock is undone on the other side and the door swings open to reveal Jungkook.

He's wearing the same frown he always does, but the tension is gone from his shoulders. He looks… Calm. For a moment you're relieved, a small sigh making its way past your lips before you can stop it — he must not have found the bag yet.

"I—" You stumble over your words, trying to explain your sudden return, "I forgot my bag…" Sending him a sheepish smile, you try to steal a glance behind him in search of the most treasured item.

Jungkook's response is not immediate as he continues to regard you for a few seconds longer. There's no trace of surprise on his face, not even a slight raise of his brows when he nods and steps aside.

You do not dwell on the matter as you push past him and inside the hallway, thrilled to find your bag placed by the shoe rack. Quickly snatching it up, you comfort yourself with the feeling of its weigh in your arms. It's not closed and you scold yourself for being so careless, not to mention forgetting it in the first place.

But that didn't mean anything now. It was back safely in your possession and this would all be forgotten about come morning. You move to zip the back up again, a "Thank you" waiting on the tip of your tongue when you suddenly freeze. Peering into the bag for further inspection, you reach a hand down to feel around, the smile falling from your face again.

Jungkook must have noticed your obvious distress for he clears his throat, cutting your search short. "Looking for something?" His voice is a low drawl that sends a shiver down your spine — it was laced with something almost like… Knowing.

Your head jerks in his direction only to find him standing by the dresser. His expression is neutral, almost relaxed, had it not been for the clench of his jaw. Your gaze follows his, down to where his flips through a book lying across the wood. You did not have to see its cover to know that it was yours.

"I…" You hastily begin, though fall short as your breath catches in your throat.

Jungkook hums, picking the book up to turn it in his large hand. He surveys it front to back for a moment, faux interesting playing on his face. "This is yours I take it?" He doesn't have to ask, not when the truth is laid bare between you, but he does anyway, perhaps out of sadistic pleasure.

You could lie, you could make up all kinds of stories to plead your case — but he wouldn't fall for that. Guilt is written across your features, your shoulders slumping in defeat. Nodding slowly, your eyes find a spot on the floor to entertain themselves with rather than meeting his.

The sound of Jungkook's scoff echoes through the hallway and you could almost hear everything you had worked for slip through your fingers. He doesn't say anything and the silence only makes you want to shrink in on yourself.

A tense moment passes, a minute — perhaps two. Then he exhales through his nose. "I should let you go," The floor creaks when he takes a step forward. You nearly wince at those words — the ones you had dreaded to hear from him of all people.

You want to object, to protest, say something that would soften the blow. But Jungkook doesn't let you as he instead continues, "Is lying something you do often?" His voice is never above conversational, his tone isn't harsh and maybe that was what made it sting all the more.

Quickly shaking your head, you lift your gaze from the floor to finally look at him. He's standing in front of you now, any other day it would've made your heart race and your head spin. Right now you just want to throw up. "I can explain—"

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth dismissively. The grip he holds on the book tightens with something close to frustration. "What is there to explain?" You don't think you had ever truly seen Jungkook angry, but this, this was pretty damn close, and it scares you.

"You deceived me."

It's a statement rather than a question and Jungkook doesn't look like he wants to hear anything else regarding the matter. There's disappointment in his eyes, maybe eve resentment — it was hard to tell through the tears that had begun to build. You try to blink them away, inhaling a shaky breath.

"I didn't mean to." Your voice is meek, it doesn't sound like you. But it was still the truth. You had not meant to lie to him. The need for an extra income had been too grave and you had resorted to the only thing you thought might save you. Never did you imagine you could grow so fond of the position, of the children, of their father…

It had been easy to brush past the fact that you didn't meet all of his requirements in the beginning. It had been easy not to think about what it had actually meant, should you ever be found out. This job was only meant to cover what your previous one at the restaurant couldn't, now it had spiraled into something much bigger.

"I just— I didn't think it would be that big of a deal…"

You realize halfway through how terrible that sounds and if you could turn back time to swallow the words again, you would. But what matter was it if you were a high school graduate or not? It wasn't like one needed a degree to watch over a few children. Not to mention you were in school, actively making a future for yourself that didn't involve surviving off of others.

Jungkook doesn't respond to that but you could tell that you struck a nerve with it when he averts his gaze. What was his deal?

Another tense silence passes until he finally bites out a strained, "I should let you go." But it's starting to sound more like a thought than a statement, and for a second you allow yourself a sliver of hope, hope that he might actually let you stay.

He drags a hand down his face, looking purely defeated where he stands. Then he suddenly shoves the book against your chest, like he would rather you take it before he ended up tearing it to shreds himself.

Your hands tremble when you retrieve the means of your study material from him, holding it limply in your grasp, bag still slung over your shoulder, long forgotten about in favor of the conversation taking place.

"Had it not been for the children— And their ridiculous attachment to you," He looks almost as though he wants to point an accusing finger your way, though never does. Instead he sighs, long and hard.

"You lied," He spits the words out like venom, and it stings like the bite of a snake. "That is not something I can forget, nor forgive." His hands curl into fists by his sides, dismissing whatever thought had been on his mind with a rough exhale, like he thought better of it.

He pauses, regarding you with dark and intense eyes, like he was trying to figure you out. "The children like you. Probably a lot more than you deserve." His voice is crude and unforgiving, betraying exactly what he thought of the situation. The guilt blooms in your stomach much like a flower in spring and you fight the urge to look away.

"I just—" He cuts himself off, one hand half raised, an uncharacteristic move on his part, one you're too nervous to dwell further on.

You did not want to lose your position here. Not only because you were in great need of the money that Jungkook had been far from shy with handing out — but because you, too, had become dangerously attached to his children. Confused is what you are. What matter was this to him? What pained him so much so to outright refuse to hire anyone of your status?

Swallowing, you wait as patiently as you can while Jungkook tries to visibly gather his bearings where he stands just a foot away. "I cannot deny that you have done a far better job than the others I've hired…" He grinds the words out bitterly, obviously bothered by said fact now that he had uncovered the truth about you.

His brows are furrowed, jaw clenched tight, making it look like whatever he was about to say next was taking everything in him. "Do not think I'm doing this out of kindness, grace— Whatever your naive mind might conjure." He pauses to inhale, "My children are everything to me." His voice drops lower, "I will not further tear the ruin your lie has caused. But do not take my indifference as anything but my great dislike for what you have done."

He takes a step back, then another — putting a wall of distance between the two of you to run his fingers through his hair. His gaze is averted, like the sight of you pained him greatly, his eyes fixed to a point on the floor and you take it as your cue to leave.

Stuffing the book back into your bag, you make sure to seal it tight this time around, not wanting to make the same mistake twice before flinging it over your shoulder.

Jungkook has his hands buried deep in his pockets. He's still refusing to look at you, even as you open the front door a second time that evening. The cold night air hits your face sharp as a whip and yet it is nothing compared to the cutting words of his.

With one foot over the threshold, you're just about to step out when Jungkook shifts quietly somewhere behind you — drawing your attention back inside as you glance over your shoulder. You find him hovering above the dresser, palms splayed across its wooden surface, his brows furrowed deep enough to make his forehead crease.

He turns his head just enough to send you a look that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. When he speaks his voice is lower than it had been all night and had it not been for the oppressive silence surrounding you, you might have missed it entirely.

"How old are you really?" He rasps.

Your heart jumps in your chest, the hand you kept around the strap of your bag clenching tighter as you swallow down the lump in your throat. Sweat beads on your forehead and you search for a way to convey an answer to a question so simple — only when it came from him, like this, after all that had happened… You don't know if you could.

"I'm twenty." The words feel thick and heavy on your tongue, "I turn twenty-one in the beginning of next year."

Jungkook lets his head drop back to stare at the dresser, a scoff tearing its way past his lips. "Jesus," He mutters under his breath though makes on further comment. You wonder what he's thinking about. Was he replaying every single interaction between the two of you — did he think about the kiss?

You open your mouth but nothing comes out. A sense of hopelessness washes over you and before you can try to repair some of the damage you've made, Jungkook shakes his head.

"You should go. It's late." He does murmurs, fingers clenching around the edge of the dresser as he stares it down.

For a second you hesitate, swaying awkwardly by the door. But when he doesn't lift his head to as much as meet your gaze, you understand that this was how the night was ending. With a quiet nod that he cannot see, you turn and exit the house, closing the door softly behind you — you do not tell him goodnight this time. 

The weekend passes in a sad blur. Saturday comes and Saturday goes, so does Sunday. Jungkook does not reach out for the entirety of those two days, not that you expect him to — but when Monday comes there is nothing. And so that bleak day passes by in the same fashion as the previous ones. 

By Tuesday your mattress has begun to dent, leaving a suspiciously you-like shape in the middle. The sheets were tangled with your arms and legs, a result of your constant tossing and turning. The curtains drawn to block out what little sunlight might dare to intrude as you huddle in the shadows, hoping to merge with them all together. 

An empty glass of water stands on your bedside table. Your throat is dry, demanding a refill of the fresh and clear liquid but your limbs protest at the thought of being jostled into movement. You're left to stare at the glass, finger tracing its rim as a tired sigh escapes you. 

Many times throughout the last couple of days you had considered actually getting out of bed, to study or clean, do something with yourself. But the idea always seemed so daunting and you resorted to dreamless naps that stretched for hours. It was better than facing the sad reality you found yourself living in. 

When arriving home last Friday, you had spent the entire night by your landline, sitting in front of the machine as you waited for something to happen. Nothing ever came through and since then you had been avoiding it. 

So when it sparks to life just outside your open bedroom door — you shoot upright in bed. Your back wails in agony, limbs aching from disuse but you push the pain aside as you strain your ears to catch the sound of the all too familiar ring tone. 

It echoes through your small apartment and you're on your feet in an instant. Blanket tossed aside, you rush barefoot across the floor, skidding to a halt beside the desk you normally use for your studies. Your eyes are bleary when met with the harsh light outside of your dark bedroom, and you squint down toward the numbers displayed on the screen. 

Your heart drops with disappointment just as much as it lifts with relief when you read the number, not belonging to Jungkook, rather your friend. Fingers curling around the telephone, you bring it to your ear with a groggy, "Yes, hello?" 

Daehyun's voice is a cheerful squeak on the other end of the line, much contradictory of your own. "Mornin' sunshine!" He speaks excitedly and you can already imagine him beaming at nothing in particular where he twirls the phone cord between a finger. "What are we up to today?" He asks, sounding much like he had great things planned if he hears a 'nothing'. 

You should lie, tell him that you're busy with studies or that you're headed over to watch the children. You want to lie. But after last Friday, lying was the last thing you could bring yourself to do. So you sigh, the sound carrying all the exhaustion that weighs you down. "I don't know. I'm just getting out of bed, might revise a bit." 

"Just getting out of bed? That's unlike you." Daehyun scoffs, the disbelief evident in his voice. He knew all too well how adamant you were about your studies, so to hear that you were slacking off, on a weekday at that? He probably couldn't believe his ears. 

You exhale, not feeling like going into particular detail about what had been keeping you chained to your bed for the past few days. "Well I just didn't feel like it I suppose." You thought you did good in masking the dread to your voice, but Daehyun is quick to pick up on it. 

"Hey?" He says, his tone suddenly softened into an edge you hadn't heard since he comforted you after you nearly flunked your first exam." Is something wrong?" 

"No— No, everything is fine." Shrugging him, you roll your shoulders even though he couldn't see it. 

Only Daehyun wasn't one to give up, especially not when you — his self proclaimed best friend — was feeling down. "Come on, let's go out for coffee. I'll meet you outside?" He sounds hopeful and you knew deep down that he was only trying to help as best as he could. 

Glancing down at the same clothes you had been living in for days now, all wrinkled and bunched up in places, then to your toes that flexed awkwardly on the floor — you realized that getting out of your apartment might be the thing you need. 

"Alright fine, give me an hour." 

Daehyun makes an excited noise on the other end of the phone, "It's a date!" 

The sun is out despite the cold and dark month of November, making most of the cafés downtown a hotspot. Majority of them had opened up their outside seating area, despite the unconventional time of year. Yet the rounded tables were crowded, conversation floating in and out around you as everyone discussed their own dilemmas.

Going outside had actually been a good idea. It made everything seem so small and insignificant and when you overhear a woman talking about her husband's affair, you realize that perhaps your own problems were not something to berate yourself over. Perspective was a fascinating thing.

Daehyun sits opposite you, a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose even when being very clearly out of season. He's leaned back in his seat, blonde hair occasionally getting picked up by the breeze. "So?" He hums, taking a sip of his coffee before setting it down on its accompanying plate.

You peer down at your own drink, watching the latte that swirls within the white porcelain. "So?" Shrugging, you let your shoulders slump as your hands rest on your lap. Daehyun had tried his best to cheer you up with dramatic stories of his latest fling, not taking offense to your lack of enthusiasm when you responded.

The guy he told you about actually seemed decent, which would be a first. Your friend had a bad habit of getting acquainted with the wrong kind of men. But you couldn't deny that there was a different kind of light to his eyes whenever he spoke of this guy, Jun, you think he said his name was.

By now the conversation had dulled, and for once Daehyun appeared more interested in prodding at your life rather than retelling his own. "You didn't sound too good over the phone," He murmurs, fingers dragging across the edge of his plate.

You attempt a half hearted smile, "Yeah. It's just been a lot lately I suppose."

He raises a brow at that, "Work?"

Right on the money, you think. Daehyun could easily fool just about anyone. He was so engrossed in his own adventures and still scarily attentive to yours. When you nod, he frowns enough for a small crease to appear on his otherwise smooth forehead. "What happened?" Suspicion creeps its way into his voice, "Did he do something?"

Your shared interest in men also meant that Daehyun was well versed in all kinds of assholes out there, having experienced many of them firsthand. But Jungkook wasn't like that, no, this was a different kind of problem.

Shaking your head, you sigh. "No. It's my own doing." You purse your lips, debating on how much to tell him before finally deciding that keeping everything in would do more harm than good. "I just… I made a mistake." The word tastes bitter on your tongue, mistake, it had been his saying, and now it was yours.

"That doesn't sound like you at all," Daehyun says, a futile attempt at easing your mood.

You swallow, "Well, you know about my uh, financial situation." You cringe at the admission, not exactly one for talking about money like this, or your problems at all for that matter. Daehyun knew, he had been the shoulder for you to lean on when making ends meet seemed impossible.

He had offered to cover your expenses on multiple occasions. Money to him wasn't the same as it was to you. Leeching off of his parents made him eligible to a great deal of founds — though he preferred to call it support from loved ones. When you had declined he suggested you ask your parents, but you could not find it in yourself to burden them with that. This was your dream, and you would chase it yourself.

Daehyun nods, awfully quiet for once as he waits for you to continue.

"When I first saw the job offer I didn't think much of it. The pay seemed unreal and the position was easy enough. Watching a few kids isn't exactly some unobtainable art." You scoff, fingers curling around the handle of your cup, though never bringing it to your lips.

"It's just, he had this peculiar requirement," Sending Daehyun a brief glance before dipping it back down to the coffee, "No high school graduates."

Your friend huffs at that, "What kind of requirement is that?" He says when folding his arms across his chest. "Pretty sure high school students and graduates are the target audience for a job like that."

You hum, "My thoughts exactly… I thought the requirement wasn't too important. I mean, I pass for a few years older don't I?" Gesturing vaguely to yourself as you recall the many instances to back up the statement. "So I thought I'd just leave that detail out, i needed the money, you know."

Heaving a quiet breath that somehow morphs into a groan, you avoid his gaze. "Let's just say that the lie caught up to me. And now I don't know if I'm keeping the job or not."

Daehyun is silent for a long while, studying you with a deep frown, his own coffee completely forgotten about. "What did he say? Did you talk?"

You scoff, if only talking was what could be used to describe your last conversation. "Not much," Pausing, you think back to Jungkook's words, the barely contained frustration and the vulnerable admission about Cassian and Rayne. "He did say that his children are very attached to me. He cares for his children a lot you see, I think he might keep me around for their sake if anything."

On the opposite side of the table, Daehyun nods thoughtfully. "Their kids are every parent's Achilles heel, this man shouldn't be any different." He taps his finger against the point of his elbow, "He say anything else since?"

Shaking your head, you sigh. "Not one call." And for every hour that passed, your fear that there never would be only grew.

You watch the way your soaked bedsheets twirl together, spinning rapidly behind the glass as water and detergent splashes against the window. They had been in dire need of a wash considering the fact you had been inhabiting them for the past three days, and you regard the familiar motion of the laundry machine with tired eyes.

The laundromat is nearly vacant, save for another elder woman who went about her business. A soft, jazz-like tune plays from one of the speakers in the corner, the sound muted over the sounds of the machines going.

Seated on one of the benches, you stretch your legs out with a tired sigh. You could use this time do to something useful, perhaps get some grocery shopping done or study for a bit — and yet you've glued yourself to the spot with no intention of getting up.

While your conversation with Daehyun had made you feel somewhat better, the lingering pit in your stomach wouldn't close. You worried for the future, if you didn't hear from him soon you would need to start hunting for a new job, the thought alone made you want to groan.

Jungkook hadn't reached out all weekend, hadn't asked you to stop by the house yesterday or today for that matter. Had Daehyun been correct about the children being his weak spot, then he should've called by now, right? Or did principle overrule the love for his own kids? Perhaps this was his way of firing you.

Heaving a breath, you continue to study your bedsheets like they would somehow unfold and reveal answers to undo the damage made. But of course, nothing comes.

It's the timid, slightly strained voice, coming from your right that finally manages to pull you from your thoughts. "Excuse me," She says, and you glance up to find the old woman who had arrived a little later than you, standing just shy of the bench you occupy.

She's dressed in a knitted shirt and a skirt that reaches all the way to the floor, gray hair tied together messily. "Would you mind telling me how to start the machine?" She asks, a sheepish smile on her wrinkled lips.

You nod, already rising from your seat, thankful for the temporary distraction. "Of course." Following her over to where she had already placed her laundry inside, she gestures toward the array of buttons used to power the machine.

"Here," You hum, pressing the round, slightly larger one, "This one starts it, and if you need to stop the program, just press this one." You inform as you point to a red button just below. The old woman nods gratefully, placing a wrinkled hand on your arm as she gives it a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you," She says, and you can tell by the sincerity in her voice that she means it. "My son is usually around the help me, but he's out of town on business." She explains when you make your way back to take a seat on the bench.

"Ah, I see." Sending her a small smile, "You must have a very kind son then."

The lady nods once more, a soft laugh spilling past her lips. "Oh yes. He's a gentleman, always here to help his old mother." She pauses, her eyes lingering on the running machines for a moment before she speaks again, "I'm sure your parents are real proud too, having raised such a lovely lady."

The corner of your lip tugs at that, and you shyly avert your gaze when thinking back to your own mother and father, waiting just a city over. They were the ones who'd encouraged you to chase your dreams and take the step of moving out here. You nod, "I hope so."

The remaining time spent waiting for your laundry to finish wasn't half as bad when you had company. You learn that the older woman is called Mabel and that her sixty-third birthday was coming up in a couple of weeks. She tells you stories of her son, boasting about the company he works for and how driven he is.

When the time comes for you to leave, you find that you don't want to. So you stay, waiting for Mabel's machine to finish as well before helping her carry her things until you had to part ways. She thanks you over and over, promising to invite you over for dinner sometime to which you gratefully accept.

It was nice to think about something other than Jungkook, to take your mind off things and learn about another person's life rather than mulling over your own. Perhaps going out a little more, even if just to the laundromat was what you had needed all along.

Your chest feels lighter when you arrive back home that night, the stillness of your apartment no longer feels suffocating as you let the front door close behind you. Kicking your shoes off by the coat hanger, you're just walking through your living room to make your bed with the freshly washed sheets when your landline suddenly rings out.

The sound breaks the silence and you freeze mid step. The bag holding your bed sheets slips from your shoulder, landing on the floor with a thud as you regard the familiar sequence of numbers displaying on the small screen.

You hesitate for a long moment. Why bother calling now? Part of you argues against picking up, to just let it ring and have him leave a voicemail if what he had to say was important.

But curiosity wins you over in the end and you reach for the telephone with shaky fingers, bringing it to your ear as the line connects.

Nothing but an eerie silence follows at first, the distant and familiar bruising noise the landlines always made roaring in your ear as you wait for him to say something. Finally, after what feels like forever, you hear him clear his throat on the other end of the line.

"The children are asking for you." His voice is gruff, he sounds exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. He doesn't mention your last conversation, his one no longer holding the same resentment that had made your stomach twist three days ago. A moment later he adds, "I've made excuses for your absence. It's not working anymore."

You purse your lips, trying to sound neutral when you speak, "I see." You remain cautious, unsure of how much to say, of how much you want to say — and you have no idea what to expect from this phone call. "What did you tell them?"

Jungkook exhales on the other side, "That you've been ill." He makes a noise of frustration and you imagine him running his fingers through his hair. The sound of a floorboard creaks somewhere in the distance, giving away the fact that he was pacing. "They want to see you." He doesn't sound happy about it, you could tell.

"I want to see them too." The admission comes out quietly, you're not sure if it was even appropriate to say given what had happened, but you can't keep yourself from uttering those words — you longed to see Cassian and Rayne again.

Jungkook is quiet for a long while, and at some point you wonder if the line had gone dead, but then he hums. "I figured." He exhales, "Come by tomorrow then. Cassian says he has something to show you."

You nod eagerly, unable to keep the excitement from seeping through when you respond, "I will." Then you pause, fingers tapping against the telephone you cradle to your ear, "Should we… Should we talk?"

He doesn't respond to that, though you thought you could hear him mutter something under his breath. Perhaps he was considering the idea after all, but then he declines the offer again. "It's late—" He cuts himself off mid sentence, and after heaving a sigh he grunts out a gruff, "Goodnight."

The call cuts after that and you're left in silence again.

── [ ✉️ ] Thoughts, ahah? Hm, next one will carry on with the tension. But the porn... It's creeping up on us. Yes, anyway, come talk to me about your thoughts on this, theories, whatever your beautiful minds conjure, I love to hear it all <3

You had this rather unfortunate habit of landing yourself in quite compromised predicaments. It had followed you around for as long as you could remember — sticking to you like a curse you would never able to rid yourself of. 

One of the first instances you could trace back to would be the raincoat incident in elementary school. The brand new, bright yellow coat your mother had bought for you was a most treasured item in your wardrobe. You wore it even on sunny days, earning yourself a few stares from the other kids. 

So when the first signs of the precious garment aging manifested in the seams coming undone — you had simply ignored it. That day was a rainy one and you had worn your yellow raincoat like usual. And though you did notice that the coat seemed to weigh heavier the longer you were out, it never crossed your mind that something was the matter. 

Upon stepping inside for lunch, you had undressed with the others. Kicking your rubber boots off, you then moved to undo the coat sitting snug around your torso — only something wasn't quite right. It had done it's job in keeping your dry as you played, except the water hadn't slid off its surface but ran in between the layers of the garment — creating a new home inside your coat as it inflated the yellow rubber. 

This dam came to a dramatic burst the second you had opened the coat — thus flooding not only you, but the entire hallway with rain water. 

History continued to repeat itself for nearly two decades. That one time your car broke down ten miles from the nearest gas station, or when you had a water leak that ruined your entire flat, and the one below — not the mention the plate of food you had dropped onto a customer when working a late shift at the restaurant. 

But kissing Jungkook in his study last night was, without a doubt, the most bizarre thing you had yet to do. The memory lives vivid in your mind, in fact it had been playing on loop like a broken record — forcing you to experience the feeling of his hands on you, his lips pressed against your own, over and over. 

Sleep became an unobtainable privilege and you could feel the effects of your night spent tossing in bed when you stood under the fluorescent lights of your classroom. The white robe you wear is blinding, the latex around your fingers too tight and you could feel a headache building behind your eyes. 

"What about you?" 

The voice of Daehyun is far too loud to be considered conversational, as usual. He had a naturally high pitch to each syllable, his words coming out fast and jumbled for the most part. You had struggled to understand him for the first two weeks of the semester, sometimes you still did. 

"Huh?" Your response is a huff, your gaze barely meeting his as you keep it fixed on the pair of lungs, sitting on the table in front of you. The scalpel feels heavy in your palm when you adjust your grip on it. 

Beside you, Daehyun scoffs, "Were you even listening?" He doesn't wait for an answer, probably doesn't expect one as he jumps straight into whatever it was he'd been discussing; something about the new bar he'd been spending the last weekend at.

Daehyun was your friend, you think. He had slumped down with an exasperated sigh in the seat next to your own during your first seminar, turning to you with a lopsided grin and immediately falling into easy conversation as though you had known each other since diapers. 

He would wait for you after class, never once rushing you when you gathered your stuff as he rambled on about whatever topic crossed his mind. You would commute together, fighting over available seats on the buss and sharing celebration drinks at his flat after exams. 

"You're not listening are you?" Daehyun cuts himself short to send you a petulant pout when he notices your distant expression.

"No, I'm sorry." You send him a sheepish smile, turning your attention to the scalpel in your hand as you turn it slowly, "What were you saying?"

Nothing but silence follows the inquiry and after a moment you glance up to find Daehyun already watching you with a frown. His lips were pursed, the jewelry around his eyebrow glinting under the bright lights when he arched it. "Something's up," He states as a matter-of-factly. 

You scoff, feigning ignorance. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

Daehyun was many things — easily fooled — was unfortunately not one of them. Folding his arms across his chest, he leans against the table, something that would probably earn him a scolding, had your professor been looking. "It means, there's something you're not telling me." 

He pouts, "We're supposed to share everything with each other. Just like how I told you about the guy from two weeks ago that—"

"Okay! I get it!" You quickly brush him off. Daehyun did a fantastic job at telling you all the details of whatever raunchy hookup he'd indulged in during his weekend, sparing you no details about the kinds of activities they had gotten up to in the bedroom. 

With a huff, he takes a step closer. "Come on, swear I won't spread it." His voice drops low enough for only the two of you to hear — not that your classmates were eavesdropping, they all looked for too busy dissecting their own sets of lungs, which is what you should be doing right now. 

The corner of your lip tugs at his words and you roll your eyes softly when making the first incision. The flesh parts easily, a pungent smell which you had learned not to cringe at, following shortly after. "It's nothing," You murmur, not exactly wanting to go into detail about the heated kiss with Jungkook as you dissected a pair of lungs. 

But you should've known Daehyun would not let the matter go that easily. He hums under his breath, eyes darting around the classroom as if to check for prying ears. "It doesn't look like nothing to me. You've been gnawing on your lip since you first walked in, thing's about to be bleedin' real soon if you don't give it a rest." 

You have half a mind to tell him that he was the one who should be giving this entire conversation a rest, but you hold your tongue, focusing on the line of the scalpel. "My life is about as interesting as the back of your milk carton, there's nothing to talk about." 

Daehyun was well versed in how mundane your days looked. Between classes and work, all you did was study — save for the few times he managed to drag you out for drinks to chat some guys up. It still doesn't stop him from picking you apart in the same manner you were unfolding the lungs in front of you. 

"Oh I'm aware. All you do is study and work—" He interrupts himself mid sentence, brows raising high on his forehead like he'd just come to a great revelation. His lips pull into a smirk you knew meant no good and Daehyun cocks his head to the side, "Work?" He echoes his own words, "You work for that rich guy, yeah?" 

You scoff, putting the scalpel aside to open the fragile flesh and peer inside the set of lungs. "He's not 'that rich guy' and I only babysit his children." You had withheld as much information about your new job from your friend as you could — and for good reason. Daehyun had a habit of reading into things when he shouldn't, especially your very boring life. 

"Babysitting his children, I remember you tellin' me about them." He says thoughtfully, uncurling his arms from his torso as he moves to rest his hands on the table instead. "What about him? How's he?" 

Shrugging, you opt for a vague response. "He's nice." 

That only seems to spur Daehyun on further. His smirk widens, fingers tapping restlessly against the sterile table. "Nice? As in, nice to look at?" You could hear the glee in his voice, the smugness that he did a terrible job at hiding when he leans forward to peer at the lungs you were currently dissecting. 

The only response he manages to gauge from you is the fact you had yet to meet his gaze, which was probably more than enough leverage for him to keep going. "Nice to… Kiss?" 

You actually flinch at that, nearly flinging the scalpel off the table in the process. "Dae!" Your hiss is loud enough to have heads turn your way as your classmates send you a few disgruntled looks before resuming their work. Glancing both left and right, you exhale sharply. 

"Don't say stuff like that," You murmur, suddenly feeling hot. The worst part was that he was right. Jungkook had been nice to kiss — better than nice. The memory of last night had kept you awake, but not for the reasons it should. All you had been able to think about was how good it had felt, how desired he'd made you feel with just a simple press of his lips and a lingering touch to your thigh. 

Shaking your head, you promptly turn back to your shared assignment; one trembling hand reaching for the discarded scalpel. "It's not like that," You huff, because it wasn't, "Besides, he's like ten years older than me."

"So?" Daehyun drawls, clearly having too much fun teasing you in a way he thought was innocent. "Older men are better in all the right ways, take it from someone who knows." He sends you a sly wink and you have to force the image of your friend engaging in such obscene acts from your head. 

"Dae…" You begin, heaving a silent breath. 

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "Tch. I'm just sayin'." Gesturing to nothing in particular with a lazy hand, he drawls: "They've got way more experience than any guy you'll meet at a bar downtown. Plus they know how to have good sex, none of that rough, sleazy stuff you know?" 

"Okay! I get the picture!" You say, growing desperate to escape this entire conversation all together. Daehyun thankfully seems to get the hint and goes quiet, though not before sending you another smirk that communicates just what he thought of the matter. 

You go back to your work, watching the cut the scalpel makes as you try to push the thoughts of Jungkook aside. 

The silence of your apartment feels oppressive when you step through the front door. Without the noise of people surrounding you and Daehyun's nagging voice a distant memory — you're left with nothing but the lingering thoughts of last night, the same thoughts you had been running from all day. 

Thankfully your noon class had wrapped up earlier, giving you just enough time to hurry home and drop your things off before heading over to the Jeon house. The idea of facing Jungkook again terrifies you a lot more than you want to admit, you hadn't quite accepted that you were actually about to do just that. Part of you still lived in the blissful denial that the press of his lips against yours had been nothing but a figment of your imagination. 

That fantasy is ripped from beneath your feet the second you pass your landline. There was a message flashing across its tiny screen, a missed call. Freezing mid-step, you turn to the device with an audible swallow. It could be anyone, you tell yourself. But who had any business trying to reach you if not the man who'd turned your world upside down not even twenty four hours ago? 

One trembling finger reaches out and you press the button with dread. 

The machine comes to life with a small beep, reading out the details of the message. It repeats the same numbers you had spent way too long memorizing. "Left a message at eleven thirty five, Fourteenth November." It's followed by a crackling sound, deafening to your ears. 

Then Jungkook's voice echoes through your living room, the low drawl of his tongue sending a shiver down your spine despite coming from a recording. 

"I have a meeting at two thirty." No greeting, straight to the point. You glance toward the time, it reads two fifteen. "The children will be in the library when you arrive." After a moment's of silence he then adds: "I'll leave a spare key in the flower pot next to the door, let yourself in." 

Your heart sinks in your chest as the voice note comes to an end, the machine barking out a devastating "no new messages." The silence returns and you're left standing by your landline like an idiot. 

He didn't want to see you. 

Did he regret last night? He must. You regret it too, don't you? He was doing the right thing by creating unspoken distance. It was better to just sweep the memory under the rug and pretend it had never happened. 

Jungkook could have easily fired you for it, even when he was the one who kissed you first, even when he was the one who crossed the line before you did. You can still envision the look of desire in his eyes when he leaned in, you can still embody the feeling of his tongue inside your mouth, deep inside where it shouldn't be. 

You should be grateful that he was kind enough to let you keep the position, even when it meant jeopardizing something fragile. 

The key was hidden in the pot by the front door, just like he'd promised it would be. You had to dig through a thin layer of dirt to find it, when you did, your fingernails were rimmed with dark soil that left a grimy feeling on your — despite the cold November air — sweaty palms. 

Upon stepping over the threshold, you're greeted with the same hallway you had fled from not even a full day ago. You can still recall the sound of your footsteps on the stairs when you scurried down them. The way you had so hastily thrown on your shoes and coat, not bothering to button it up despite the chilly night as you made a beeline across the front porch and through the gate. 

Today, the house looks just the way it had yesterday. The bright walls are the same, the carpet soft under your feet and the chandelier casting a warm glow over your head. The only thing that had changed was you — and the jumbled mess you called feelings. 

You make your way upstairs quietly, heading straight for the library where the children wait. They had no idea what had happened after the lights had gone out, so why did it feel like they did? Had they heard something, seen something? Perhaps you were growing paranoid. It was only natural given the rather awkward situation you found yourself in. 

Cassian and Rayne are seated by the only desk in the small library, their feet not quite reaching the ground as their legs swing back and forth. Their designated homework time wasn't for another hour — perhaps Jungkook had sent them here before leaving? 

"Nanny!" Cassian is the first to look up from his textbook, a bright smile already playing on his lips. It was such a stark contrast from last night. The image of his tear streaked face is still engraved into your mind, his sobs and hiccups cutting like knives through your chest whenever you thought back to them. 

But none of that seems to linger today. Cassian was his usual, giddy self — the boy you had grown so accustomed to seeing almost every day. He hops off his chair, rushing over to envelop you in a tight hug, even when his head barely nudges your waist. 

You reach down, wrapping an arm around him to reciprocate the warm greeting. "You're in a good mood," You hum, fingers threading through the mess of his hair, "How was school?" 

Cassian hums into the fabric of your shirt, "Good! Me and Mateo played hide and seek, but we made a new rule…" He continues to ramble on about his day, pausing to add in details, hardly catching his breath as you walk over to the desk once more. You listen intently, nodding and humming, asking questions whenever you could. 

Rayne makes a comment about his 'childish' antics but doesn't sound very upset. She, too, seemed relieved that her brother was feeling better than he had last night, even if she never voiced it.

That afternoon was the first where neither of the children focused on their studies, rather the conversation with you. It ranged from mundane topics to recent books Rayne had read before shifting over to what you were having for dinner. And as you sat between them, smiling and laughing along to whatever attempt at a joke Cassian made, you suddenly realized just how close you had come to losing all of this. 

Guilt roots itself deep in your bones, spreading through your veins like a disease. The kids were both oblivious to what had transpired between you and their father behind closed doors last night — yet you still want to crawl out of your skin whenever Cassian looks up at you with his big and innocent eyes or when you caught Rayne trying to hide a smile. 

Jungkook had put an end to what was about to spiral into an even bigger mistake last night when he'd pulled away. Cutting off a kiss wasn't the only thing he was capable of doing — but cutting you out of the children's lives completely. 

It was strange. You had only been working as their nanny for a brief month and a half, yet you find yourself utterly in love with the two little humans currently sat on either side of you. If Jungkook hadn't stopped you last night… There was no saying what it could have meant for the quiet sanctuary you had found with his children — and you were not ready for that. 

No matter how good his touch had felt or how hot the fire of his lips against yours had burned, it would mean nothing if the price was losing the kids. 

You allow yourself to forget, if only for a couple of hours. Cooking dinner with the children and listening to them wording their way through their mandarin textbooks brought back a semblance of normalcy that you hadn't felt since stepping inside Jungkook's office last night. You clung to the sliver of hope that things may actually return to how they had been before, if only you let yourself pray hard enough.

The house has gone quiet by the time you close the door to Rayne's bedroom shortly after eight thirty. When you do, all the thoughts you had been keeping at bay come rushing back. The laughter has died down, replaced by the children's soft snores as they rest under the covers of their warm beds and you were alone once more. 

You walk down the hall, feet dragging you slower than usual. Upon passing Jungkook's study, you pause. The shut door taunts you with its presence and though you knew the wood could not speak — for a moment it felt like it did. There was an unexplainable pull that roped you closer, a siren's call intended to drown you under the surface. 

Your fingers hover above the cool handle where you hesitate. Jungkook was not home, he wouldn't be for at least a half an hour. You should turn away, head down the stairs and wait for him in the living room just like you always did. But the strange tug within your chest is stronger than any rational thought you might've had. 

The door falls open with a soft creak, the darkness of Jungkook's study inviting you inside. 

Stepping over the threshold makes your heart pound in your chest and you let yourself be guided by the sliver of light spilling in from the hallway when you approach the same desk you had been perched on yesterday. 

You flick on the lamp sitting atop the table; it casts the room in a warm glow that feels far more hostile than it once had. Letting your gaze trail across the area, you drink in every little detail you might have missed on previous occasions. 

The chair holds no sign of Jungkook having ever sat in it. It's pushed against the desk, the same one that had held your weight. The mahogany surface is clean, you wonder if he'd wiped it down after you left. There are no papers in sight, no pencils on the verge of toppling over the edge. Everything was in perfect order — too perfect. 

Your hand slides across the table as you round it, halting only when you reach the chair. The black leather glares back at you and for a second you see Jungkook. He's sitting on it, legs spread apart and one hand resting on his thigh. The other holds a glass of whiskey, fingers curled loosely around it. 

He takes a sip, lips pressing against the rim and you remember how they had felt against your own. When he brings the glass back down to the armrest, he cocks his head to the side, dark eyes boring through yours with the same desire they had last night — like he wanted this just as badly as you did. 

Then he raises his other hand, beckoning you over with one finger — and you comply. His body is hot when you step between his spread legs, your hands trembling before you manage to place them atop his shoulders. Jungkook tilts his head back to have your gazes to meet. 

His lips are parted enough for a silent breath to escape through them. You wonder if he's going to ask of you to kiss him again. You would do it, you know you would. But Jungkook doesn't ask, he only watches you with dark, hungry eyes that will never get sated — neither of you will. 

Your fingers dig into the apex of his shoulders, hard. He doesn't flinch, if anything he seems to relish in the touch. A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest, it rises and falls for each breath he takes. You want to ask him what could possibly be so amusing. Why did he laugh? Why did he— 

Jungkook is gone. 

The chair before you is empty, just like it had been all along. You blink once, then twice. Your fingers are clenched into the backrest of the leather chair and you yank your hands away with a quiet gasp. 

Your head whips in every direction, but the study is vacant — you're accompanied only by looming shadows and the memories of last night. Those memories had been far too vivid. Swallowing, you press a hand over your racing heart, forcing yourself to calm down before you ended up doing something you shouldn't. 

To your left, the liquor cabinet stands. You don't know why your attention shifts over to it, why the sight of those bottles seemed to draw you in. Moving as quietly as you can, you tip toe over. 

The glass is cold beneath the tips of your fingers. You make no move to open it, the last time you as much as touched alcohol, you had made what could have been the biggest mistake of your life. No, you only watch — eyes trailing over the array of bottles, all neatly lined up on the shelves. 

There's one that catches your attention, one that you recognize with dread so grave it makes your stomach churn. It's almost empty, only a few sad droplets cling to the bottom of the bottle. Why not throw it away? It was as good as finished anyway. Jungkook did not seem like the person to keep things around when they served no purpose. 

But he had kept the whiskey bottle. And as much as it scares you — it also lights a small flicker of hope deep within the darkness of your chest. What had happened last night affected him too. 

Your soft exhale fogs the glass but you're barely paying it any attention. Time seems to slow down as you stand in front of the cabinet, the silence of the house settling over you like a thick blanket — you remain wrapped in its embrace for a long while. 

It's the sound of keys twisting a lock that finally pulls you from your thoughts. Your heart slams against your ribs, only this time it is for an entirely different reason. 

You're moving in a second, frantically wiping at the stained glass with your sleeve as you listen to the front door open, followed by the tell tale sound of clothes rustling. Then you scurry out of his study, breath caught in your throat when you attempt to shut the door as quietly as possible. 

What was he doing back already? Jungkook would usually keep you waiting until nine before returning from work — had you really been caught up in his office for that long? Jesus. You shake your head, realizing that you were still upstairs and not waiting for him in the living room like you always did. 

It was too late for that now, the least you could do was pretend that you hadn't been snooping around inside his study before he'd arrived. 

The steps groan under your weight when you make your way down the staircase, one shaky hand braced on the railing to steady yourself. Part of you wants to retreat back up, to hide somewhere in the shadows and then slip out quietly when he wasn't watching — the other urges you to just get down there and see it through. 

When you reach the bottom step, you hesitate, foot hovering mid air as your gaze falls on Jungkook. 

He's knelt down on one knee, working his shoelaces open with practiced ease. You can't see his face from here, and you thank the heavens above for that. He's already rid himself of his coat, now hanging next to your own and the children's. You trace the line of his shoulders, watching how they move when he pulls his shoes off. 

For a moment far too prolonged, you linger on the last step, knuckles white from the tight grip you keep on the banister. Jungkook eventually finishes undoing his shoes, standing to his full height with an exhale that you catch from all the way down the hall. 

He lifts his head just enough to catch sight of you, brows furrowing across his forehead as he does. Neither of you speak and the distance between you feels more palpable than ever. His hands flex by his sides before he shoves them into the pockets of his pants, the silver buckle on his belt glinting under the chandelier. 

"Hi." 

Your greeting is a breathless whisper and it sounds pathetic leaving your lips. Jungkook gives a short nod in return, his gaze drifting down your tense frame before finding its way back to your face. You wonder if he can see the worry that has etched its way onto your every feature. 

Beyond the small tilt of his head, he makes no further attempt at conversation. His silence makes sweat bead on your forehead, sliding down the side of your temple in dramatic fascination. He doesn't look upset and if he was, you couldn't tell. Neither of you move and the tension form last night bubbles to the surface all over again. 

Should you bring it up? Suppose you did owe him an apology for kissing him so shamelessly when he'd already pulled away once… But then again, Jungkook hadn't stopped you. You study him for a moment longer, from the rigidness to his shoulders, the crease between his brows and the tight line of his lips — pressed firmly together. 

He had wanted it just as badly as you did, he must have. But the longer you stand in complete silence, the longer his gaze lingers on your own without an ounce of the desire you had seen the night before — you begin to reconsider it all. 

You clear your throat, fingers still anchoring themselves against the banister when you speak. "You're back early." Because that didn't sound at all suspicious, and Jungkook surely wouldn't be able to piece together that you'd been keeping track of his schedule.

He shifts his stance where he stands by the front door, hands stubbornly hidden within the confines of his pockets. "Thought I'd relieve you of your work a little earlier tonight", He grunts, taking a couple of steps forward. 

"Oh— No, I really don't mind," You frown, already shaking your head in protest. "The children are lovely. I love looking after them." You send him a small smile that falters when you realize that Jungkook wasn't stopping — and that he was approaching you. "And uh— We've been having a lot of fun today, Rayne was telling me about this new book she read, it's a science fiction one about—" 

You suck in a quiet breath when he comes to a halt in front of you where you linger on the bottom step of the staircase. His dark eyes flicker toward the hand that clutches the railing, undoubtedly noting the ironclad grip you keep on the wood. "Aren't you tired?" He asks when his gaze returns to meet yours. 

His cologne prickles your nose, the familiar scent doing little in keeping the memories of last night at bay. Was he wearing more than usual today? You find yourself inhaling once more, lips parting as you stare at him for a ridiculously long time. The collar of his shirt, ironed to perfection, hugs his neck, and you fixate on the prominent vein that climbs along his throat. 

"Tired?" You echo, blinking twice when you remembered that he was still waiting for a response. Slowly shaking your head, you offer an awkward smile. "No, I'm fine." You were exhausted. What little rest you had gotten during the night in addition to your two hour noon-class and then an entire afternoon spent with the kids left you running on fumes.

But Jungkook's presence, so dangerously close to your own… You knew that sleep would elude you tonight as well. 

"I can make you something to eat." The proposal slips from your tongue without permission and you want to swallow it down the second it leaves you. 

Jungkook doesn't respond right away, and for a moment you think he might reject the offer entirely. Then he exhales through his nose, close enough for the hot puff of air to slap across your face mockingly. "If you must," Is all he says before brushing past you and heading for the second floor. 

The curt response stings but the brief hurt is quickly replaced with a semblance of panic as you realize he's climbing the stairs. "Where are you going?" You whirl around, eyes wide as you watch after his retreating from. 

He pauses, turning just enough to send you a glance over his shoulder. "I have some work to finish up." He doesn't elaborate further, he doesn't have to. You already knew that he was headed for his study. Anxiously you worry that he would notice your presence in there. Perhaps you had nudged a pencil too hard, left his chair slightly out of place… But you bite your tongue, watching him go with your pulse racing through your veins. 

The meat sizzles in the pan as you push it around with the help of a spatula. Each movement you make is lazy, your mind someplace far away even when you should be paying attention to the food cooking on the stove. Since your stiff encounter in the hallway, Jungkook had been cooped up in his study with no signs of returning downstairs anytime soon. 

Every now and again you think you hear him move around up there. Whether it be the creak of a floorboard or a soft thud, though what he was doing remains a mystery. 

You take your time plating the rice and freshly cooked meat, garnishing it to the best of your abilities. Once you're finished you stand there, plate in your hands and a frown on your face. You were in the midst of a heated debate with yourself on whether to go upstairs or not when the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention. 

There was no need for you to turn around, you already knew who it was. But you do so anyway and what greets you is the sight of Jungkook, hovering in the doorway. 

He'd unbuttoned his shirt, rolled up the sleeves to get comfortable — only it made you most uncomfortable. Arms folded across his chest, he regards you without a word. You wish he would say something, fill the agonizing silence with anything other than what was undoubtedly on both of your minds. 

Jungkook merely sighs, nodding in the direction of the plate you're holding before walking up to the kitchen island to take a seat on one of the accompanying stools. Then he waits — you swallow, realizing that it was your move next. It feels almost like playing a game of chess. One wrong move and you could never go back, only the stakes were higher than they'd ever been. 

The plate makes a clinking sound when you set it down on the marble counter top. Sliding a fork and knife his way, you retake your place on the other side of the island. Jungkook doesn't glance up when grabbing the cutlery you had provided. He begins to eat with slow, at ease movements. 

He doesn't comment on the food, no more than the slight raise of his brows at least. He doesn't ask you to leave either, seemingly unbothered by the idea of you watching him eat. Jungkook had mastered the art of appearing unaffected by whatever situation you seemed to land yourselves in. 

You can't help but wonder what went on inside his head. Did his heart race the same way yours had almost all day? Did he, too, think about the kiss — did it make his stomach coil tight the way it did yours? 

Finally you become unable to stand the prolonged silence that seemed to have grown a repeating pattern between the two of you. Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you clear your throat with some reluctance. The action is enough for Jungkook to finally look up from his plate. He's got the fork halfway to his parted lips, a barely there frown tugging on his brows. 

"Should we…" You trail off, rubbing at the back of your neck awkwardly, "I mean, don't you think we should talk about last night?" 

The words might as well have been pried out of you with pliers. Your tongue feels like cement, blood rushing hot through your body. 

Jungkook remains impassive for a long moment, the food forgotten about as his eyes fixate on yours. Then he shakes his head, a quiet huff passing his lips. 

"What is there to talk about?" 

What was there not to talk about? You fold your arms across your chest, taking a smell step forward as you near the edge of the kitchen island. "There's a lot to talk about. I mean we—" 

"We made a mistake." 

Jungkook's voice is low and sharp — the tone he used sends a shiver down your spine and you freeze as the words register. The air around you, once hot and filled with tension no one dared speak on, now feels cold and detached. 

The worst part? He wasn't wrong, far from it. You had both crossed a line you could never come back from last night. Jungkook had moved one piece in a direction he shouldn't have and you had followed in his footsteps — now you were at checkmate, tied together with no escape. 

A mistake. 

You had known all along the truth to that word. Yet it hurts all the more coming from him with such finality. There was only one thing left for you to do in order to save the last piece of your dignity: accept and move on. 

With a shaky exhale, you nod once as you straighten up. "Right," You say, swallowing back the things you couldn't trust yourself to utter out loud. Jungkook, for his part, has gone back to eating his dinner — his indifference only fueling the dread deep inside your gut. 

"I should head home." Without glancing back at him, you turn and make for the door, feet moving you across the floor too quickly to mask your unease. Behind you, Jungkook doesn't look up, nor does he respond when you deliver a clipped, "Goodnight." 

From exiting the kitchen to slipping on both your shoes and coat to then stumbling out of the house — no more than half a minute could have passed. Only when the front door closes behind you do you allow your shoulders to slump, whatever semblance of control you had clung to all day shattering into a million pieces. 

The crying had been going on for at least half an hour. If crying was even the right word to use. Cassian's wails sounded more like helpless screams as they tore their way from his throat. He gasps for air between the loud sobs, his pleas getting lost somewhere in the endless sea of his tears. 

Through the closed bedroom door you listened to the hushed murmur of Jungkook's voice. He'd been in there for a good while now — trying and failing to calm his son down as the little boy continues to hysterically cry. 

You don't know where it had come from, what could have possibly triggered such a violent reaction from the normally sweet and agreeable Cassian. Jungkook, who had come home a couple of hours earlier, had been putting the children to bed as you cleaned up after dinner when the first shrilling scream pierced the air. 

Dishes abandoned, you rushed up the stairs to find Rayne lingering just short of her brother's closed bedroom door. She wore a solemn look, tiny brows furrowed together and her arms folded across her chest where she stood in only her pajamas. She did not seem surprised by Cassian's sudden outburst when she turned to you. 

"He'll calm down eventually," Her voice was even — betraying none of her true feelings. Then she had thrown a final glance over her shoulder, "Goodnight," She hummed before disappearing into her own room, the door falling shut with a simple click behind her. 

Pacing the long hall back and forth — you listen to Cassian's continued cries as he yells what appeared to be incoherent nonsense,for the most part — though you thought you caught a certain word between the broken sobs. 

"You know I can't do that," Jungkook murmurs shortly after. He sounds exhausted, clearly worn out from trying to soothe a distressed Cassian. You wondered how much longer he would be able to keep this up. At this rate the young boy might as well be crying for the entire night. 

He'd been quiet all afternoon — responding to your questions about his day with mumbled shrugs and brief nods. You had noted the behavior as uncharacteristic, thought that perhaps he'd had a rough time at school or that he'd simply just been tired. Even dinner had been a struggle for him, and Cassian usually ate without complaint. 

While his sudden and unusual shift in mood did worry you — it never inclined you to believe that the night would end in you listening to his heartbroken sobs. 

The floorboards groan in protest when you cross the hall, feet moving hesitantly over the floor as you approach the sealed bedroom door. You consider knocking, fist raised before you halt — through the wood you can hear the continued weeping, Cassian sounds to be choking on his own tears. 

That was enough. Without giving yourself space to think, you twist the doorknob and step over the threshold. 

The sight that greets you is nothing short of gut wrenching. Cast in looming shadows is the usually warm bedroom. Evidence of Cassian's tantrum lay scattered across the floor in the form of socks — carelessly ripped from tiny feet — his precious teddy bear thrown aside like it meant nothing. 

Jungkook stands by the window, the moonlight casting a pale halo around him. In his arms, the source of your aching heart. 

Cassian squirms in his father's embrace, legs kicking and arms flailing as he tries to free himself of the hold kept on him. "Let me go!" He screams, fresh, hot tears spilling down his puffy cheeks and you were sure he was experiencing a pounding headache by now. 

Jungkook for his part, remains indifferent — if anything, his grip tightens on the small boy as he keeps him from fleeing. "Shh," He tries to soothe, his jaw is clenched tight and had it not been for the loud sobs spilling from his son's lips — you would have probably heard his teeth grind. 

"Let me go—" Cassian continues to weep, his movements faltering due to the exertion, "I want mommy!" 

You freeze in the doorway, one hand still wrapped around the knob. Your throat feels dry and you swallow back whatever meek attempt at consolation had waited on your tongue. Silently, you look on as Jungkook continues to try and calm his son down — it was impossible to tell wether he was hurt by Cassian's words or not. 

"I cannot bring her here and you know that," Jungkook's tone grows sharp, not quite frustrated but teetering on the edge of hurt. His hand is splayed across the tiny boy's back, palm stroking his skin up and down through the fabric of his pajamas. The touch seems to do little in aiding his son through the emotions currently overwhelming him.

You creep forward, moving slow enough to not startle either of them. Not until you're within reach do you announce your presence with a clearing of your throat. 

Jungkook turns just enough to send you a glance over his shoulder. His expression is torn between stoicism and something you don't think you'd ever seen on him before, something worn and beat.

Cassian has yet to notice you, or perhaps he was simply disregarding your presence all together. "Mommy— I want mommy!" He continues to weep, "I want her to come back!" 

The crease between Jungkook's brows deepen at that, a strained exhale making its way through his nose when he averts his gaze. The pats he deliver to his son's back are robotic, like he was acting on autopilot. 

"Give him to me," You don't know what unnamed force compels you to utter those words — nor can you understand why your hands are already reaching for the squirming boy when you should be turning to leave. 

Jungkook hesitates, you can see the thoughts as they collide with one another inside his head. His eyes jump between you and Cassian, going back and forth a handful of times before he comes to a decision. 

With an exhausted sigh he relents, turning fully as he transfers his crying son into your arms. 

Cassian is heavier than you'd anticipated. His body is a warm, solid weight when he comes to rest against your chest. He struggles, head shaking and legs thrashing, "No! No I don't want—" He cuts himself off with another choked sob, tears streaming freely down his face. 

But you refuse to let go, arms wrapping around him in a hug so tight you feared you might restrict his airways. A minute passes, then another. No one moves and eventually Cassian's cries morph into quick gasps as he exhaustion catches up with him. 

Jungkook takes a step back, his hands limp by his sides. His eyes are dark, much darker than the night lingering just outside the window when he peers down at you. It looks as though he wants to say something — but when his son lets his head fall against your shoulder, he turns away — like the sight pained him. 

He heaves a breath, fingers curling into fists before he gives a short nod. With a final brush through Cassian's hair, he takes his leave — shutting the door behind him with a barely audible thud.

You're left standing in the middle of the dark room with a small boy held in your arms. You remain silent, letting the sound of his sobs fill the thick air as Cassian continues to gasp and cry his heart out against your shoulder. 

Salty tears soak their way into the cotton of your shirt but you don't mind. Your hand moves on its own accord, mimicking that of Jungkook's a few moments prior as you stroke his back. You can feel his tiny body heave for every breath he takes, each one just as strained as the last. 

You let your gaze drag across the room, from the books neatly stacked into their bookshelf — to the homework piled onto his desk. Everything is in perfect order, everything but the sobbing child wrapped in your embrace. 

Minutes pass, minutes filled with nothing but his pain. You don't say anything, too afraid to break whatever trance he was in and somehow make it worsen all over again. So you wait him out, hand rubbing gentle circles onto his back as you hum quietly to yourself. 

After a while his cries turn into sniffles. Cassian has yet to lift his face from where it remains buried against your shoulder. You feel his nose scrunch when he draws in a shaky breath. His tiny fingers had found their way to your sleeves, curling around the fabric tightly with no intent of letting go. 

Sinking down onto the soft mattress of his bed, you manage to keep a firm hold on his trembling frame. Cassian allows you to maneuver him without protest, splaying his legs out across your lap, stilling clinging to you fiercely.

"You know… I think we're missing something," You murmur, fingers stroking through his dark curls absently. He finally lifts his head at that, a small frown plastered onto his face — accompanied with a pout. His cheeks are wet with the remnants of his tears, snot sliding down to kiss his cupids bow. 

Nodding in the direction of his discarded teddy bear, you loosen your hold enough for him to free himself, if he should so wish. 

Cassian follows your line of sight, his brows furrowing deeper. For a moment it looks as though he might just turn his head and forget about the abandoned plushie — but then he carefully shuffles from your lap, moving across the floor on unsteady, bare feet. 

He clutches the teddy with a white-knuckled grip, turning it over in his hands like he was assessing it before making his way back over to the bed. He crawls up beside you, his smaller frame fitting against yours like the missing piece of a puzzle, body sagging when you wrap an arm around his shoulder.

"Are you ready to talk about what made you sad?" 

Your words are barely above a whisper, yet they echo like church bells over the two of you. Cassian stiffens noticeably under the weight of your arm, thumbs digging into the stuffing of the teddy's stomach. "I already talked about it," He whines, clearly upset that you would ask further questions. 

Pursing your lips, you ponder his short response. Suppose he had a point. "Alright," You hum, hand sliding down to rest against the pointy tip of his elbow, "Then let's talk about something that makes you happy." 

There's a long pause after that where Cassian sits silently beside you. He's got his bottom lip trapped between two rows of teeth. Casting a sidelong glance in your direction, he peers at you through dark, wet lashes, "Something that makes me happy?" 

"Mhm," You nod, giving his arm a squeeze, "You miss your mom, don't you? I miss my mom too." 

"You do?" 

"Yeah. All the time." 

Cassian turns to look at you fully this time, his eyes wide and filled with something akin to curiosity. You can only offer, what you attempt to be, a warm smile in return. 

Moving from home to pursue your studies — and a possible career — meant having to part ways with the woman who raised you. Often times would you find yourself missing the home cooked meals only she knew how to make, the scent of her perfume when she pulled you in for a hug or her consistent nagging on keeping your room clean. 

Love was in the little things — and you realized far too late that you had taken them for granted. 

"When I miss my mom—" Wrapping your arms around him a second time that night, you pull Cassian back onto your lap, "I like to think about the things that make me happy." 

Cassian does not say anything for a while, fingers picking at the seams of his plushie, appearing to be deep in thought. The tears have dried fully on his cheeks, leaving pale tracks in their wake. He brings a hand up to wipe the snot from his nose with the back of his sleeve — seemingly uncaring of the mess, if only this once. 

His shoulders slump when his hand finally drops again. "I don't know what makes me happy," He confesses, his voice hoarse from the endless screaming and crying. 

Those words strike harder than you let yourself show, if not for the way you instinctively go to hug him a fraction tighter. "There must be something," A soft murmur, "Something that makes you happy." You pause, "Would you like me to go first?" 

He nods, head moving just enough for you to feel the brush of his cheek against your chest. 

Straightening up, you peer out into the shadows, the hand on his back resuming its gentle strokes up and down. "My mom's voice makes me happy. When I was little she would sing to me before bed." 

The memory is savored in your mind and if you closed your eyes you could still remember the quiet hum of the lullabies she sang. Thunder scared you terribly as a child, the loud roars that rattled frail glass windows and the flash of lightning that followed. On those nights she would make sure to pull you into her arms, letting the simple melody overpower the mean storm raging outside as she rocked you back and forth. 

Cassian huffs, his lips pushing themselves into a pout as he fiddles with the teddy. He scrunches his stuffed nose with visible discomfort, living evidence of his previous distress. "Mom is bad at singing," He doesn't sound actually upset when he shrugs, "She tried sometimes but it sounded really bad…" 

You smile, patting his back slowly. "There must be something else she's really good at," You prompt, watching as the corner of Cassian's lip twitches. 

"Yeah," He exhales, sinking further into your embrace, "Mommy made the best cookies. She put a lot of sprinkles on," He giggles, "But we had to promise not to tell daddy. It was our secret she said." His gaze lingers on the teddy bear, a content sigh slipping past his lips as he recalls the fond memory. 

Arching a brow, you peer down at him. "Cookies with sprinkles, huh? That does sound really delicious." 

"Yeah! They are the best!" 

He's practically beaming by this point, rearranging the plushie in his own lap before getting comfortable himself. For a short moment he's silent — when he speaks again his voice is lower, though still holding onto something content. "Mommy used to brush my hair every morning. Now daddy does it, and that's good too. Sometimes he uses his special hair stuff on it, it smells really nice." 

There's a brief pause before he adds, "But Rayne says daddy can't make her braids as pretty as mommy could…" Though you couldn't make out his expression clearly through the dim moonlight, you would guess that he was frowning — his grip on the teddy had gone completely limp. 

You can't stop the image from surfacing in your mind. That of Jungkook struggling his way through making a simple braid, pink hair tie wrapped around his inked wrist and a brush in hand. You clearly envision the concentrated look across his features, the much characteristic clench of his jaw as he tries to be as gentle as he can with his daughter. 

"I think your dad is trying his best," You say, fingers moving to brush through Cassian's dark locks. 

"I suppose," He mumbles, though looks far from convinced with his father's hair-braiding abilities, "He's still not good at it." 

All you can muster is a faint chuckle as you hug him a little tighter. It was hard not to love Cassian, he was like the sun on rainy days — and you hoped that his rays would forever continue to shine. Letting your chin rest atop his head, your hand moves to caress his arm instead. 

Whatever had happened between Jungkook and their mother, you did not know. And for as much as you longed to find all the answers — tonight you would be content with seeing Cassian smile at least once before he fell asleep. 

You turn your face just enough to let his soft hair brush against your cheek, feeling his body grow heavy in your lap. "Tell me another happy memory you have with your mom," You murmur, blinking slowly as you settle in to listen to more of his stories. 

Cassian ends up falling asleep in your embrace twenty minutes later. His words began to slur as he recalled the things he'd done with his mother — sleepy yawns interrupting his sentences even as he did his best to fight them off. Eventually his head slumped against your shoulder, his grip on the teddy bear going lax as sleep pulled him under. 

You sat there in silence for a while, happy to listen to the soft sound of his even breaths — no longer strained by the sobs that had been wracking through his body. Now he's completely still, his once tear streaked face relaxed and his lips parted slightly. 

Carefully you shift, moving slowly to not jostle him as you place Cassian down against his pillow. He goes easily, making a content sound when you pull the thick blanket over his tiny frame. 

Your hand brushes his cheek, feeling warm skin under your palm. His head lolls into your touch, eyes moving beneath closed lids as his lashes flutter. He never wakes, clearly exhausted after nearly an hour of crying his heart out. 

And though he slept peacefully now — you knew that the reason for his tears had not vanished. But for tonight, he was sleeping soundly, suppose that was more than you could ask for. Leaning down, you let your lips brush against his forehead in a wordless goodnight. 

The bed creaks under your weight when you rise to your feet. Once you're sure he won't startle himself from sleep, you slip out of the room — shutting the door behind you gently. 

Outside the hallway runs long and silent, except it's not the stillness of night that surrounds you, but something far heavier. You glance toward the room you knew belonged to Jungkook, the one he inhabited rather than the locked door down the hall. 

Pursing your lips, you had just considered approaching when the light, streaming through the crack beneath the door to his study, caught your attention. Of course, you hum, legs already moving in its direction. 

You raise your fist, hovering it a breath from the wood as you will yourself to just knock. You were probably the last person whose face he wished to see right now but you cannot bring yourself to leave — not until you've made sure he's alright, or, decent at least. 

The back of your hand taps against the door, once, twice. Then you wait. For a long moment nothing but silence follows, thick and suffocating in its intensity. Seconds pass before a low grunt can be heard on the other side of the barrier separating you, "Come in."

Twisting the handle, you let the door slide open with an audible creak — foot hesitating over the threshold before finally daring to enter. 

You had been inside Jungkook's study only a handful of times. Usually you would poke your head in to announce that dinner was ready whenever he worked from home — on a rare occasion you'd stop by to inquire about one of the children's needs. Though it had never been like this, never when the rest of the house slept and the storm of Cassian's tears had just blown over. 

The room is basked in shadows, save for the yellow glow radiating from the lamp on his desk — the desk which Jungkook is currently sat behind. 

Despite having arrived home hours ago he's still dressed in work attire. The, for once light blue rather than black, button up sits tight over his chest — cufflinks undone to free his wrists, the fabric bunched around his elbows. The tie hugging his neck had been loosened, his collar uncharacteristically wrinkled. 

He does not lift his gaze to meet yours, not even as the door closes behind you. There's a glass in his hand, a murky, amber-like liquid swirling within its depths. Your attention darts toward the opened bottle of whiskey sitting on the table — his choice of reprieve. 

You were no stranger to the bottles within the glass cabinet, they had caught your eye the first time you had dared step foot inside his study and it had made you wonder just how often he turned to them for comfort. 

Stopping just shy of his desk, you watch as he brings the glass to his lips and takes a small sip — his expression indifferent even as the liquor undoubtedly burns his throat. 

"He asleep?" 

Jungkook's voice had always held a rough edge, each syllable slightly strained when he spoke. Tonight that is all the more evident. He sounds worn — exhausted beyond the means of insufficient rest. 

You nod, letting your gaze linger on the glass he nurses between his inked fingers. "Properly knocked out," Humming, you let your hand trace the edge of the table, "Don't think he'll wake during the night." 

On the other side of the desk, Jungkook heaves a quiet breath that somehow rings loud in your ears. "That's good," Is all he says before reaching for the bottle and refilling his glass despite not having finished what it already held. 

There's a moment where you think he might actually bring up what weighed so heavily between the two of you — that he might address the cause of his son's distress. But of course, he did not, instead opting for another sip of his drink. 

The sound of your footsteps echo within his study as you round the table separating you. Jungkook makes no comment when you pause to re-arrange the papers on his desk, creating enough space for you to perch yourself atop the mahogany wood. 

Only when you've settled into your new spot does he cock a brow in your direction, dark eyes finding yours over the rim of the glass pressed to his lips. You shrug, feigning indifference as your legs begin a slow, back and forth sway — careful to keep your feet from touching either one of his spread thighs. 

"Does he cry for her like that often?" You did not have to specify who you were talking about, her name — though still unknown to you — lingered around you like a dark, heavy cloud. 

Jungkook's jaw clenches, the glass hitting the table with a sharp thud when he sets it down. Then he leans back in his chair, eyes set on something behind you as his hands caress the armrests. "He's five," Jungkook states, his tone never rising above its low drawl, "It'd be concerning if he didn't." 

You purse your lips, glancing down toward your legs where they swing. Part of you wants to argue that the way he cried was concerning enough — not to mention the fact that Jungkook had clearly struggled to calm the young boy. 

"How long has it been?" You ask, trying to hide the curiosity that attempts to claw its way from your throat. 

His response is short, "Little over a year." 

A year. A year was a long time for a five-year-old, longer than any adult could comprehend. A year was also long enough for him to settle into a new routine and — with the help of his father — find stability again. This was the first time you'd seen either of the children cry like this and it worried you. 

Jungkook is already reaching for the glass again and this time he doesn't lower it after taking a swig. "It was a lot worse in the beginning. Kid wouldn't sleep until he passed out from exhaustion," He grunts between sips. The alcohol seemed to have loosened his tongue — but the natural tension to his shoulders had yet to give way. 

"He's confused," He then adds, regarding the whiskey in his glass like an intriguing artifact, "That's not his fault." 

You lean forward, hands sliding from your lap to curl around the edges of the desk you sit on. In the act of doing so, you manage to nudge a discarded pencil out of place. It rolls across the mahogany surface, approaching the edge where it would tip and fall with rapid speed. You don't have time to reach out — but Jungkook does. 

His fingers close around the pencil, catching it just as it threatens to tumble onto the floor. Fist closing around it, Jungkook holds it for a second before placing it back in its spot, that being the gap between your thigh and hand. He straightens the pen and you half expect him to remark on your clumsiness. He doesn't — and he doesn't move his hand back to the armrest either. 

The warmth of his skin feels like an imposter where his fingers rest just inches from your own and you're forced to drag your gaze back to the expression of indifference he wears — like this did not make his heart race the way it did yours. 

"Does he know what happened?" You murmur, shifting your attention back to the conversation you'd been having just a moment ago. Jungkook doesn't respond — it was enough to let you know that the answer was no. "You should tell him, it might help him cope." 

Whatever may have happened between him and the children's mother it was enough to impact them to to this day. No matter his feelings on the matter you felt the kids had a right to know the truth about their own mother — even if it meant exposing something ugly. 

Jungkook's grip on the glass tightens, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "They are not ready for that," He says, bringing the glass to his lips as he takes another sip. There was an edge of finality to his words as though he was drawing a line for the discussion to end right here. 

But of course, you did not listen. 

"So you plan on waiting until they're ready," You lean forward, unable to stop the frown that paints your face. "They might never be, how will you know when—" 

"You," Jungkook's voice is sharper than it had been all night — reminding you of the one he would use whenever he scolded the kids. He interrupts you without shame, dark eyes shifting back to yours as he holds your gaze with piercing intensity. 

"I won't deny that you've been good with the children, nor will I deny the fact that they've both grown fond of you, incredibly so." His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, the corner of his lip twitching into something that resembled a scowl, "But you have no business sticking your nose where it does not belong." 

He averts his focus back to the whiskey, savoring another long sip like it could help drown out the noise of your conversation. 

You swallow, throat suddenly feeling dry and for a split second you considered grabbing the abandoned bottle sitting beside you on the desk. Head tilting toward the floor, you regard the rhythmic sway of your legs, exhaling a quiet sigh through your nose. The last thing you want is for him to see just how badly his words affect you. 

The silence that settles over the study imposes on you from every angle, gnawing at your bones as the night outside darkens by the minute. You thought you could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his attention making shivers crawl up your spine — but you did not dare steal a glance to confirm it. 

Though you only had the children's well-being in mind — it was hard not to prod at the matter of their mother. Even then, you knew that there was a line of professionalism to not be crossed, and you had pushed further than you should tonight, a lot further — so why can't find it in you to stop? 

"And you?" The question slips from your tongue a mere whisper. Jungkook hears it, how could he not when only silence accompanies you? 

"What about me?" He murmurs over the rim of his glass and when you finally lift your gaze, you find him already watching you intently. There was a defined crease between his dark brows, a few strand of his once styled hair falling across his forehead — accentuating the late hour and the exhaustion that this evening had left within him. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip and you shift on the spot before turning just enough to face him properly. 

"Does it make you feel anything?" You pause, legs stilling mid-swing where they dangle from the edge of his desk. Fingers curling a little tighter around the mahogany wood, you gauge his expression before adding, "Her, I mean."

Jungkook exhales through his nose, his gaze fixed on the bend of your knee — inches from where his hand rests against the table's surface. Dark eyes flicker up to meet yours, his response is guarded and short — pinky nearly brushing the expanse of your thigh, "No."

His answer makes you frown. Regardless of his own personal feelings toward the woman, she was still the mother of his children. Even a man like Jungkook himself would be unable to deny said fact. 

"You must feel something," You don't even realize that you're leaning forward, still holding onto the desk like it could save you from falling into territory you most definitely shouldn't be exploring. 

Jungkook remains where he is, arching one single brow as he studies you closely — too close. "Why do you bother?" He grunts, his eyes boring through your own like he was searching for answers to your overflowing curiosity. He won't find them, you know he won't — for you haven't either. 

Suppose the closest answer you would ever be able to give were the weird feelings you seemed to harbor for the man of indifference, sitting before you. They were complicated in the sense that you could not tell where they began and ended — Jungkook intrigues you just as much as he confuses you. 

And perhaps it is the lines of exhaustion written into his features, the loneliness that clings to him like a second skin, that makes you feel. Was it sympathy? Pity? You did not think it was. Whatever you felt for Jungkook ran far deeper and you weren't quite sure you were ready to venture into those depths yet. 

"I care." 

Your heart beats a little faster when the admission leaves you — like shackles coming undone from your wrists. You inhale, hands releasing their hold on the desk as you draw them back to your lap, fingers intertwining with one another. 

The chair creaks beneath his weight when Jungkook sits up a little straighter. He's not looking at you as he, too, pulls his hand back from the table. He runs it through his hair, a flicker of something conflicted shadowing his expression before vanishing just as quickly. 

"You shouldn't," He scoffs bitterly, raising the glass for another sip. 

His curt response doesn't sit well with your racing heart. You did not think you had ever felt frustrated with Jungkook, not like this at least. He may be the father of the children you were assigned to care for — and though you would not argue with him on how to raise his own kids as you kept within the bounds of professionalism — that line still worked both ways. He was not allowed to tell you what you should feel. 

The glass has just about brushed his bottom lip when you stop him. Fingers covering the drink he'd been distracting himself with ever since you walked into the room. Jungkook finally lifts his eyes, confusion swirling within their bottomless depths. 

"You don't get to decide that." 

You barely recognize your own voice, it seems he doesn't either because he lets you rob him of the glass he'd been cradling so dearly. Your hand trembles but you ignore it as you down what was left of his drink. The alcohol burns when it slides down your throat, stoking the fire already flaming inside your chest, warming you from within. 

Setting the glass down with an audible clink, you reach up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand — not taking your eyes off of him as you do. 

Jungkook regards you quietly. If he was upset he makes good work of not letting it show. Instead he allows his gaze to drag across your body in a way he never had before, like he was seeing something new, perhaps fixating on a detail he'd previously missed. You're not oblivious to the lingering glance he gives your legs. 

"No?" His voice is gruff, almost strained. It's only when he pulls his attention from your thighs and over to your eyes that your close proximity dawns over the horizon. You hadn't realized just how much you'd leaned forward to snatch the drink from him — or that you hadn't straightened back up again. 

You can't help the way your tongue sneaks out to swipe across your bottom lip, your body responding before you can. The subtle action is enough to redirect Jungkook's dark gaze and you follow his eyes as they drift toward your mouth. 

"No," You whisper, swallowing when you felt your heart beat its way up your throat. 

He doesn't say anything after that — and though Jungkook had always been a quiet man, you were almost inclined to believe that he was at a loss for words. His own lips, previously pressed into a thin line, were now parted as well. He lets a quiet exhale escape through them, his breath meeting yours in something unspoken. 

A million thoughts race through your head, half of them screaming for you to flee before you end up doing something you would live to regret. The other half? They plead for something far more sinful — but it is not you who give in. 

Jungkook has leaned closer, so close that the next breath you take might just be his. Those dark and intense eyes, half hidden behind his lashes, are all you see. They flutter when he exhales and you find your own doing the same. 

You watch the temptation that strikes through his gaze, perfectly able to pinpoint to exact moment he comes to a decision — and a second later Jungkook presses his lips against yours. 

He's warm. Gentle in a way that contradicts the sharp and jagged edges you had grown so accustomed to. His nose brushes the side of your own, foreheads close enough to touch. For a while it's just that — a quiet stillness where you remain locked together. Then he moves. 

It's but a soft press of his mouth against your own before you feel his tongue trace your bottom lip with reverence. He's careful, like one wrong move would shatter the fragility of the moment. 

You meet him halfway, lips parting in compliance. Only, Jungkook doesn't take it any further. Before you know it he's pulled back. 

The air between you is still hot with the remnants of what had just transpired. You hold your breath — heart thundering in your chest as you regard him with a dumbfounded expression. 

"I'm sorry," He's quick to apologize, trying to bury what he'd done like he was covering for a crime. His jaw is clenched tight, his gaze turned to a point over your shoulder, where he could escape the reality sitting in front of him. 

Disappointment. That's the first feeling you're able to name. The next one? Longing. 

You chase after him, hand sliding around the nape of his neck as you pull your faces back together. Breaths meeting a second time, your noses close enough to nudge against one another. "I'm not," You murmur, not giving either of you time to register the meaning behind those words as you seal his silence with another kiss. 

This one is not careful, it's not the same soft press of lips locked together. It's rough, too rough for the tender emotions you want to convey. But when your lips part once more — Jungkook doesn't pull back. 

His tongue is hot when it slides inside your waiting mouth. One of his hands has found its way to your face, thumb brushing the line of your jaw. The other claims your thigh, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you toward the edge of the desk. 

You can taste the whiskey on him, that sweet almost tangy flavor that makes your head spin — or perhaps it was the way his teeth graze your top lip, like he wanted to bite down on it. 

The hand you kept on his neck crept its way to his hair, fingers threading through the dark strands you had been itching to feel for so long now. Jungkook sighs into your mouth when you give them an experimental tug, the soft sound threatening your body into arching toward him. 

His head tips back enough to deepen the kiss, hand abandoning its place on your jaw in order to wrap around your hip as he gives it a squeeze. Every part of your body he touches sets your skin ablaze even through the layer of clothes separating you. 

The chair creaks when he rises to his feet — never once breaking apart from the heated kiss. Your legs fall open without having to be told, easily accommodating him between them as Jungkook's chest brushes yours. 

This was perhaps breaking every part of the professionalism you had worked so hard to keep since setting foot inside the Jeon house. It should scare you — perhaps it did. Perhaps the fear is what made your arms loop around his neck and pull him even closer, exhaling a soft breath that borders on a moan. 

If anything, Jungkook was crossing the line he'd drawn himself — the one he'd been hellbent on never erasing. That made him just as bad as you, did it not? 

But the way he kisses you now, letting his tongue brush against yours like nothing else mattered, you could almost believe it to be true. His hand on your thigh shifts, brushing along its expanse in a way that makes you wonder if this had been on his mind for just as long as it had yours. 

The moment seems to last forever in the shadows of his study — with his children asleep down the hall. It feels forbidden but not wrong, no, it feels right. 

Jungkook breaks the kiss with a sharp inhale, his forehead coming to rest against yours. For a while, nothing but the sound of your soft breaths fill the hot air around you. Slowly peeling your eyes open, you find his dark ones staring back at you. He's so close that you can count each lash, they fall gently across the high of his cheek when he blinks. 

Then he's gone — large hands disappearing from your body as he takes a quick step back, robbing you of his warmth. "Jesus," Jungkook groans, dragging a palm down his face roughly. His hair, once laying neat across his head, was now a mess from your fingers running through the strands and pulling on them. 

You sit breathless on the edge of the table, trying to calm your racing heart as the reality of what you had just done dawned on you. 

"I shouldn't have—" He begins but cuts himself short with another ragged inhale. Shoving a mean hand through the same hair you had just been toying with, Jungkook takes another step back, nearly hitting the window behind him. 

Shifting on the desk, you chew on your bottom lip, "Maybe—" 

"No," He interrupts, shaking his head as his fingers come to rub at his jaw. Frustration rolls off of him in waves, impossible to ignore even if you tried. His office suddenly feels small, the shadows darker and the gravity of your situation present. 

"You should go," He doesn't look at you when he utters the words and you could see the way his hand balled into a tight fist. You knew that there was no use in objecting. Staying here for even a second longer would only do more harm than good. 

Scooting off the table, you come to stand on legs that feel like jelly. Adrenaline still pumps through your veins, your heart hot and heavy in your chest when you turn to leave. Jungkook doesn't attempt to speak, would he end up saying something he didn't mean? Or worse — something he did. 

When reaching the door, you pause. Fingers curled around the handle, you throw a glance over your shoulder, a mistake probably. Jungkook still isn't looking at you, he hasn't moved from his spot by the window and it doesn't seem like he has any plans to. 

You swallow, forcing yourself to say something — anything that could change how this night would end. "This doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want for it to." 

If you don't want to. 

Why does a part of you wish he did? 

You linger in the doorway a moment too long, waiting, hoping for him to respond. Jungkook doesn't, and he doesn't bid you goodnight either. 

The October air — clinging to the remnants of warmth and the last rays of the sun — eventually froze into a chilly cold as November rolled around. The trees lost their final leaves and the world went from orange, to a dull brown in a matter of weeks. Morning light broke the sky later and darkness intruded by five in the afternoon. 

Halloween passed in regular fashion, with children crowding the streets as they went trick or treating. You had asked Jungkook if you could take Rayne and Cassian but due to the elder feeling unwell, any plans of dressing the kids up in scary costumes diminished into nothing again. 

Perhaps that was for the best. Your mid term exams were coming up. Whenever you weren't at the Jeon estate, your time was spent crouched over your desk as you revised the human anatomy until your head pounded and your eyes bled. Though your efforts paid off and you ended up passing without much trouble. 

Your ankle healed just like you knew it would. It took nearly three weeks until you were able to walk normally on both feet without pain — but the reward was unlike anything else. Now you were looking forward to playing with the children normally, no longer a slave to whatever chair or couch in sight. 

You had also taken it upon yourself to quit the few evenings spent working at the restaurant just below your apartment. Due to your unforeseen injury you had ended up missing a great deal of the sparse shifts you had — and Jungkook paid you enough to no longer be reliant on a second source of income. 

It was only around four-thirty but the sun had already began it's slow descent down the horizon. Upstairs the children were occupied with their studies and you had left only to get them something to snack on as they worked. 

The kitchen is silent — just as the rest of the house was during homework time. Jungkook had left for work just as you arrived an hour prior. Your knuckle had been a breath away from knocking when the door had swung open as a fully-suited Jungkook stumbled out. 

Your joint bodies nearly collided over the threshold and you just about managed to save yourself from an even more embarrassing ordeal as you pulled back. Jungkook had muttered an apology, bowing his head and mentioning something about the children being in their rooms. Then he'd brushed past you and headed over to his car without another word. 

There was no saying when he would be back — during the past week or so he'd been working far longer than usual. You thought about asking if there was anything going on with his business, though figured it might not be your place. So you kept silent, pouring your attention on the children instead — that was why you were here after all. 

The sound of your footsteps seem to echo throughout the house when you enter the kitchen. You had grown accustomed to the way things were organized by now. You knew which drawer held the cutlery — well versed in where he kept big and small plates, the bowls belonging on an entirely separate shelf. 

Though there is something else that catches your eye upon rounding the marble kitchen island. Stuck to the surface of the fridge was an anomaly so tiny that you could have almost missed it, had it not been for the stark and contrasting color against the grey steel. 

Your fingers brush against its sharp edge — picking it from the fridge, you cradle the small sticky note in your palm. The green paper appears brighter under the kitchen light and your thumb strokes over the cursive letters written down. Without meaning to, the corner of your lip tugs into a quiet smile as you read the message he'd left, the handwriting so familiar and so undoubtedly his: 

"Children's dinner is on the top shelf. There's some for you as well." 

It had been about two weeks since you and Jungkook introduced this new tradition of leaving small notes for each other around the house. They easily stuck to any surface and written down were little reminders of things that needed to be done. His were always short and simple, cutting straight to the point in that clean cursive that you had been having trouble deciphering at first. 

You, on the other hand, tried to be a little more whimsy with yours — often leaving tiny doodles in the corner and finishing off with an exclamation mark. Jungkook never commented on your attempts at something artistic — though he did not complain about it either. 

Folding the note up, you tuck it safely into the back pocket of your jeans, not because you intended to keep it or anything… It was simply in case you forgot. Better to keep it on hand so you could check again, right? 

The children were grateful when you brought them the freshly cut apples and pears, quickly setting their homework aside for a moment to indulge in the simple snack. 

"What are you working on?" 

Pulling out a chair, you take a seat next to Rayne. She had what appeared to be a novel, placed out in front of her. Even as she chewed on a slice of apple, her brows furrowed in tune with the way her eyes tracked the words on the page. "Mm," She hums, not bothering with more of a response. 

Half a minute later she turns the page, licking the tip of her finger in a way you had not seen any child do before. Her attention briefly turns to the apple as she finishes it down. "Homework," She states simply — already reaching for another slice as she competes with her brother for the bigger one. 

"Hey— I wanted that!" Cassian whines as he attempts to snatch the fruit from his sister's grasp, much to no avail. 

Nudging the plate in his direction, you give him a small smile. "There's plenty more for you to have," You say when handing him a slice of pear instead. 

The children did not often bicker with one another, at least not in the same fashion siblings usually did — you would be lying if you said it wasn't nice to seem them argue like this, even if it was over something as petty as a slice of fruit. 

Cassian seems content enough to eat what he was offered and quiets down again. You turn back to Rayne, folding your arms across the table as you lean forward to peek at the open pages. "Homework you said", Nodding toward the book, "That doesn't look like homework to me." 

One thing you had learned about Rayne during these past weeks was that she needed quite the bit of push-back in order to draw an actual response from her. 

It wasn't that she did not enjoy answering your pestering questions — for her eyes would light up with a spark they otherwise wouldn't when she got to talk about the books she had been reading. No, you had found that she simply needed more than a little nudge to actually open up about the things she liked. 

"It is homework," Rayne bites back, though doesn't actually sound upset. "Mrs Mae told us to write down something we like about our favorite book." She picks the book up, tucking the bookmark between the two current pages before closing it to show off its cover, "I'm re-reading it so that I can write a good summary." 

Your brows raise high on your forehead, "I see." It wasn't the idea of the assignment that surprised you — rather the book she had chosen. You point to the cover, one you recognized all too well from your high school years. "Frankenstein?" 

Rayne nods, the corner of her lip pulling into a tiny grin. "Yeah," She says, one small finger tracing the engravings on the spine. "It's my favorite," And you could tell that it was by the way she cradled it so carefully, gaze clinging to the title like she never wanted to look away. 

"What is it you like about it?" You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. 

"Haven't you read it? It's a classic," She huffs, arching a brow your way. 

You nod, "I have. But I'd like to hear your thoughts on it — think of it as practice for your summary." 

Rayne hesitates, bottom lip jutting out in an unconscious pout as she considers the idea. "Well…" She begins, drawing her words out slowly as she thought long and hard about her answer. "I like the creature. I don't think he's evil, not the way people see him." 

Her finger traces the edge of the book, "He's just misunderstood. It's not his fault that he is the way he is — Victor made him that way." Her brows furrow as her expression morphs into something more conflicted, "It must be scary to wake up and not know anything. I would be scared I think." 

"Do you think the creature is scared?" You wonder, tilting your head to the side as you regard her. Cassian had stopped paying attention to his own homework, he was now munching quietly on the remaining slices of fruit as he listens to his sister. 

Rayne nods, she didn't have to think about her response for long. "I know he is," There's sorrow in her voice when she speaks, like the thought of a fictional being still made her ache deep inside. "He's not a monster but he thinks he is. Victor made him, he should teach him kind things — but he leaves him because he thinks he's made a monster." 

She shakes her head, fingers curling a little tighter around the book's spine. "They're wrong, they're all wrong. The creature is a human — just like Victor. He's made from human flesh, he was just born differently…" 

You remain silent for a long moment, astonished by the empathy she holds for something so commonly portrayed as horrific by other people. "Do you think things could have turned out differently if Victor was kind to the creature?" 

"Yes," Rayne says, "The creature only knows that he is bad because it is how he was treated ever since he was born. But if Victor told him that he was kind, then I think he would be." She hums quietly, nodding to herself as she fiddles with the bookmark. 

"Would you say it's important to be kind then? Even if you're scared?" 

She doesn't answer right away but you could see that she was considering your words carefully. The crease between her brows grows before it lessens and finally she nods with a quiet hum. "Yes. I think kindness can fix anything." Her eyes are glossed over with what looked to be unshed tears. You don't ask her about them — you don't pry even when you want to. 

Instead you give her shoulder a gentle pat, picking the book from her hands to open it on the page she had bookmarked. "I think your summary will turn out great," You hum, placing the book back down in front of her with a small tap. 

Rayne nods mutely, inhaling sharply before turning her attention back to the pages she'd been so immersed in a few minutes prior. 

You wrapped up their study session half an hour earlier that day — neither of the children objected, which was a first. They followed you downstairs, waiting patiently on the stools next to the kitchen island when you heated up the food Jungkook had prepared — by now you knew perfectly well how to work their expensive microwave. 

Just like his note had promised, there was an additional box left on the top shelf for you as well. "Will you be eating with us, nanny?" Cassian had asked when he saw you grab three plates rather than two. 

"Mhm," You hum, pulling the drawer open to grab forks and knives for you all, "Your dad made some food for me as well." 

Through the corner of your eye, you thought you could see Rayne mumble something under her breath, though what she said had been too quiet for you to catch. You brush it off, focusing on plating dinner for the children before tackling your own serving. 

You ate in silence for the most part. It wasn't uncomfortable, in fact it had become somewhat of a routine during meal times. Dining in each other's presence seemed more than enough for the children and the idea warmed your chest. 

"Anything fun happening at school this week?" You ask between bites, barely glancing up from your plate as you move your food around. Jungkook's cooking was not bad, quite the contrary. He paid just as much attention to detail when it came to his meals as he did everything else in his life.

On the opposite side of the kitchen island Cassian shrugs. "Not really," He says, shoving a piece of broccoli past his lips as he chews slowly. Rayne shakes her head beside him, a non-verbal response that she seemed particularly fond of. 

You hum, dropping the subject all together again when neither appeared interested in the conversation. The kids didn't share much about their days. Cassian would occasionally mention a game he'd played during their break with his friends or repeat a silly joke he'd heard. 

Rayne never contributed. It was obvious that she had little to say, if anything at all. You want to ask about her friends — though you already knew the answer. She did not have many, possibly none. Try as you might, but you couldn't warp your head around why. She was a really sweet girl once you got to know her. 

The thought of her sitting alone during the lunch hour and walking herself to class everyday made something uncomfortable twist deep inside your gut. Perhaps you should tell Jungkook — perhaps he already knew. The situation continued to weigh heavy on your mind for the rest of your shared meal. 

When dinner came to an end you helped the children wash up before bed. This too, had become part of a routine that seemed more than normal by this point. You would go about fluffing up their pillows, laying out pajamas on their beds and drawing the curtains as the kids brushed their teeth in the bathroom. 

Once they were done you came to inspect their hard work. Rayne did well but more than often would you have to send Cassian back for a second round of brushing, 'And don't forget your tongue!' you would call out after him. 

After a few bumps on the road, both children were finally tucked into bed. Cassian gratefully accepted a kiss on the forehead while Rayne settled for a small hug and a soft smile. Closing the door to her room gently, you pause in order to throw a glance down the hall. 

The locked door at the far end still intrigued you, often you would catch your gaze wandering in its direction — wondering what had Jungkook keeping it under such strict supervision. In the end you knew that you would be none the wiser, unless he chose to share its secrets with you. 

When making your way back downstairs, you go on to tidy up the mess that dinner had left behind. Cleaning gave you time to think — for better or worse. And as you turn on the faucet, getting ready to wash the plates and boxes you had ate from — your mind starts to wander. 

It would be a blatant lie to say that Jungkook did not inhabit most of your thoughts as of late. He would appear when you least expected him to. Worst of all was the fact that you were unable to pinpoint exactly what about him you were so stuck up on. Which part of him had your brain become so strangely fascinated with — and why? 

He paid you to take care of his children. That was all. That was the only way you should think of him, the only way you should let yourself see him. So why is your mind conjuring these strange images out of things that do not and most certainly should not exist? 

Often do you find yourself comparing him to the guys you would meet at the bars downtown. That had been your first mistake. The last thing you should do was think of Jungkook in the same light you had thought of those flirty, wasted young-adults — least of all the ones you had been romantic with. 

Jungkook did not belong in that category of your life and he never would. 

And yet, you continue to picture him in their place. Those useless conversations over the loud music, the drunken confessions about how hot you look, the invasive touches and sleazy pickup lines. You erase them — all too easily replacing the 20-something guys' crooked smirks with Jungkook's dark eyes and quiet demeanor.

You imagine lingering glances, brief touches that somehow feel like more than they truly are. And sometimes — when your thoughts spiraled far beyond your control — did you dare think about what it could be like to meet him elsewhere. Would things look different, would he let his gaze linger on you with something other than cold indifference? Would he— 

Shaking your head abruptly, you pry the the thoughts aside as you finish scrubbing the last plate. It's set to dry with the rest and you instead turn to the fridge as you pull it open and rummage through it for ingredients. 

You had at least one good hour and a half before Jungkook was to return home — in the meantime, you cooked a simple meal which you then transferred to one of the boxes you had just finished cleaning out. It wasn't much, not by any means, though you hoped it would still be enjoyable after a long day of work. 

Once the lid is in place comes your favorite part. Fishing out the stack of pink sticky notes from your jean pocket — you search the area for a pencil. Finding a discarded one on the hallway dresser just outside the kitchen, you swivel back toward the counter before putting the ink onto the paper. 

Your handwriting is nowhere near as neat as Jungkook's, still, you cannot keep the smile from your face when you scribble down a short but sweet message: 

"Food was delicious! Thought I'd return the favour, I hope it's to your liking :)" 

You waste a couple of minutes on drawing stars, a tiny sun in the upper corner and some clouds to accompany it. Suppose it was a little excessive but you felt it gave the little note a personal touch. When you're done you stick it onto the lid before stuffing the now prepped box back into the neatly organised fridge. 

Silence was no stranger within the Jeon house — it lives in each room, clinging to the walls and settling over the furniture like it had always belonged. But you were no stranger to the Jeon house either. The dense and quiet air did not bother you, at least not for the most part. Usually you could tell yourself that the children were asleep upstairs — that would be enough to soothe your worrisome mind. 

Tonight things feel different. And as the evening hours passed by slowly, you couldn't shake the lonely feeling creeping its way up your spine. Each creak and groan of the house as it settled made you jump — and the wind hurling outside reminded you of a shrilling scream. 

To calm your sudden nerves, you opt for reading. The couch is familiar when you settle down on it, and yet it feels too big when you stretch your limbs out across the cushion. The book you cradle in your hands was the first thing you had found, its title insignificant when you hastily opened it and began to read. 

The words on the paper do their best in pulling you away from the silent house, distracting you as they paint vivid images of dwindling rivers and tall pine trees. It works for a brief moment — but each time the wind knocks a little too loud against the windows, your focus is disrupted again. 

A particularly loud snap in the old wood jolts you from the page entirely. With your heart in your throat you glance both left and right, finding nothing but a vacant, boring living room. 

Your gaze returns to the vintage clock above the fireplace. Only a handful of minutes had passed since last you had checked — even when it felt far longer. And by eight thirty you could no longer bear the deafening silence that seemed to crowd you. 

The book is tossed onto the coffee table carelessly. Instead your attention zeroes in on the remote control, laying so innocently atop the table's sleek surface. You turn the device over in your hands, fingers brushing over the variety of buttons in front of you. 

Truth to be told, the big, chunky box that was the TV had intrigued you for weeks now. It was the kind of luxury that you could not afford in your own home — of course, the Jeon estate housed one — and who were you not to take advantage of that? 

What little knowledge you had on Television came from the few times you would stop in front of the ones displayed in shopping windows or at the café just outside your school. They would broadcast the news for the most part — though sometimes music would be shown as well, singing and dancing — you liked that. 

This however, this was different. Your gaze scans the assortment of buttons, trying your hardest to decipher each one of them in order to find the one that would power on the TV. In the end you settle for a red one — it sticks out among the rest, that had to mean something, right? 

Pointing the remote toward the chunky, black box, you press the button. 

It takes a moment. In fact it takes quite a while for something to happen — in the meantime you had already managed to press an additional three buttons to try and coax a reaction from the device. Alas, the TV turns on in the end. A grainy image floods the screen — no, a moving image. 

Entranced by the sight in front of you, the remote control falls from your grasp as you lean forward. The movie playing on screen wasn't one you had recalled seeing before, as you frequently treated yourself to the cinema whenever time would allow it. You quickly guess that it was a rom-com, given the cheesy dialogue and over exaggerated sound effects. 

Curling up on the sofa — you bring your arms around your legs before resting your chin atop your knees. The movie was a welcome distraction as it easily filled the silence that had been haunting you since putting the children to bed. You find yourself getting lost in the premise, quickly catching on despite having missed the first half of it. 

Another half an hour passes — this time in a blur. When the clock strikes nine, you can hear the front door unlocking, followed by the thud of heavy steps against the hallway floor. Jungkook was home — which meant this was your cue to leave. You should be getting up and shutting the TV off, and yet for some reason, you don't move. 

The movie was reaching its final act and you wanted to stick around for the end, at least, that's what you told yourself. 

Your gaze has yet to stray from the grainy images on screen — still curled up in the same position you had been for the past thirty minutes. You don't move, even as you listen to the sound of heavy footsteps against the carpet down the hall, signaling Jungkook's approach. 

He pauses in the doorway, you thought you could see his dark, imposing figure through the corner of your eye. His presence is all the more palpable when he'd been on your mind for the greater part of the day — and not for reasons he should be. 

You swallow, arms hugging your legs a little tighter. Could he tell what you so desperately tried to hide? You hoped not. "How was work?" Clearing your throat, you try to feign nonchalance when you greet him, still not giving him the courtesy of meeting his gaze. 

To your left, Jungkook shifts where he stands, the soft, almost inaudible sound slices through your ears. "It was alright," His voice is a low rasp — he sounds tired, but then again, he often did when he arrived back home after a long day. You knew that commenting on it would do more harm than good, so you keep quiet, your attention still tuned in on the TV. 

A minute passes, perhaps two — you couldn't tell. But when the cushion suddenly dips, your body locks up. It takes you about half a second to realize that Jungkook had just taken the seat beside you on the couch. The additional weight and the closeness of his body makes the once large sofa seem incredibly small — and hot. 

"What are you watching?" He grunts, though doesn't sound particularly interested in hearing your answer. 

You peer at him as best as you can without making it obvious, eyes trailing over his figure where he leans back against the couch. His legs are spread out and his arms have come to rest across the back of the couch. 

"Just some silly romance movie," You huff, trying to downplay the corny film as you chew on the inside of your cheek. 

Though your attention is fixed on his attire rather than what was happening on the TV. The black dress pants he wears are a familiar sight, as is the button up and the tie — loosened around his neck. The cufflinks are undone, his sleeves bunched up to his elbows, doing a most taunting job at displaying the tattoos that crawl their way along his skin. 

"Do you like them?" He suddenly asks, his tone indifferent. 

Did you— What? Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly like a fish out of water. Gaze darting between his face and the sleeve full of tattoos — was he seriously asking you about that? Should you answer him honestly, or would that give off the wrong impression? 

Your attention lingers for a moment too long on the symbols splayed across his knuckles, then over to the flower that crept its way up the side of his hand… 

Jungkook turns his head just enough for his dark eyes to meet yours. His brows furrow across his forehead when he catches the look on your face. The corner of his lip twitching with something unspoken before he nods toward the TV. "Do you like them?" He repeats, his voice never rising above its default low tune. 

You follow his gaze toward the chunky box, watching as the man on screen confesses his love in front of the female lead. Oh. "The movies—?" You splutter, feeling slightly ridiculous at having misinterpreted his innocent question like that. 

He nods, tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip. "Romance," He then clarifies, "Do you like it?" His attention is no longer on the movie but on you, regarding you with quiet intensity. 

"I…" Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your fingers curl around the fabric of your pants when you give a half-hearted shrug, "Well I suppose I do— I mean, doesn't everyone?" You thought romance to be quite enjoyable. It was cheesy enough for people to make fun of it, even when they all secretly longed for the very same thing themselves. 

Jungkook doesn't give a verbal response as he turns back to the TV screen — caught up in watching the couple, who were now kissing each other passionately as a soft violin played in the background. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, the slight crease between his dark brows giving nothing away — it bothers you more than you'd ever want to admit. 

"Do you like them?" You bring yourself to ask the question back, turning just enough to face him rather than the movie, arms still snug around your legs when you hook your chin over your knees a second time. 

It takes him a moment to answer, but after a prolonged silence he nods slowly. "I do," He muses, and you're taken aback by the quiet admission. You hadn't pegged him for a cheesy rom-com enthusiast — then again — there was so much you had yet to uncover about him. 

Cocking your head to the side, a smug grin tugs its way across your lips. "Do you have a favorite?" There was some intent behind the question sure, but most of all you were curious — a man like him? Being into romance?

Jungkook remains motionless where he sits, arms still stretched out behind him. His frown deepens and he appears almost conflicted, "I didn't know having a favorite was a requirement. Is it not enough to simply enjoy the movies?" He mutters gruffly, seemingly uninterested in probing the matter further. 

"No…" Your voice ebbs out into a sigh as you regard him with a puzzled frown, "But come on, there must be at least one you like a little extra?" 

His fingers tap against the backrest of the couch, dark eyes fixed on something you had yet to find. After a moment's of long and tedious silence he finally rolls his shoulders enough to mimic a shrug, "Dirty Dancing is good I suppose." He grumbles the words out like they physically pained him — and if you had to guess, they did. 

"Really?" Brows shooting high on your forehead, you gape at him, "You're not just saying that are you?" 

He scoffs at that, his jaw clenching when he turns his head the other way. "Why?" He says it like an accusation, "Somethin' wrong with that?" 

You can't help the giggle that bubbles in your chest when met with his immediate defensiveness. One hand coming up to cover your mouth, your arms uncurl around your legs as you attempt to sit up a little straighter. "Seriously?" Leaning to the side, you attempt to catch a glimpse of the expression he wears — but Jungkook keeps his head stubbornly turned away. 

Pursing your lips, you slump back against the sofa, your hand falling to your lap when the laughter fades away. "It's not wrong at all," You murmur — and it truly wasn't. It was just… So strange, you could hardly picture the same brooding man currently sat next to you, indulging himself in something like Dirty Dancing. 

You still remember how scandalized you'd felt when leaving the cinema upon its premier. The erotic dances, the lingering glances, hot touches and— 

"I like it too," Sending him a small but genuine smile, you try to smooth over the little bump you'd accidentally created, "We could watch it sometime." You regret the proposal the second it leaves your lips, your better judgment already scolding you. 

But Jungkook appears indifferent where he sits. His gaze had returned to the TV, his gaze flickering over the black screen where the credits had begun to roll. Only then did you realize how much time had passed and that you should probably get going sooner rather than later. 

"Well I—" Rising to your feet, your hands occupy themselves with brushing off imaginary dust from your jeans, "—Should get going. It's late." 

Jungkook glances up at you through his dark lashes, though says nothing as he gives a soft grunt in return. You clear your throat, nodding before turning and heading out of the living room on light feet. 

The hallway stretches on longer than usual tonight — or maybe you were simply in a rush to get out of the front door before your previous conversation had the chance to catch up to you. Of course, you never truly had such luck. 

You've got your shoes halfway, fingers clumsily fiddling with the stubborn laces when you hear the sound of a floorboard creaking somewhere in the distance. Jungkook's steps are slower than your own, determined in his approach. 

He comes to a halt a few feet away, close enough to where you could clearly pick up on each breath he took — far enough for the intoxicating scent of his cologne to not reach you. With his arms folded across his chest, he leans against the wall, his shoulders pulled into a rigid line that still somehow betrays the exhaustion simmering beneath the surface. 

The silence stretches thick and uncomfortable until you finally pull yourself to your feet after tightening the shoelaces. You reach for your coat, moving slow as to not make another clumsy mistake. 

"I uh…" Your throat feels dry and you could not understand why your heart was trying to claw its way out of your ribcage whenever he was around."I left you something to eat in the fridge," You say, jutting your chin in the direction of the kitchen.

Jungkook gives but a small tilt of his head in acknowledgement, his eyes tracking the movement of your arms when you loop them through your coat. You fiddle with the buttons, fingers moving hastily over each one of them. His gaze weighs heavy on you and the moment seems to drag on with painful deliberation. 

"Alright," You huff when finally fastening the last button, turning to face him with a tight-lipped smile, "I'll see you tomorrow then…?" What an utterly ridiculous question, of course you were to see him tomorrow. 

But he only hums, and before you can even blink, he's taking a step forward — and then another. Your eyes widen to a comical size, limbs locking up when he suddenly comes close enough for your chests to touch. 

Confused and perhaps a little breathless, you glance up at him with a puzzled frown. Jungkook, on the other hand, simply ignores the look on your face as he leans forward. He reaches past you, his arm brushing against your shoulder in the process — and all you can think of is how warm his skin feels even through the layers of clothes separating you. 

It's the sound of a lock being freed from its cage that finally makes you understand what he was trying to do. Gingerly you step aside as you allow him to open the front door for you — perhaps he was similarly eager for you to take your leave. 

The scent of his perfume is stronger now, its pungent smell radiating off of him in harsh waves before crashing against you like sea to shore. You can't help but inhale, if only just to swallow down another breath of air into your lungs. His arm is outstretched where he keeps the door open for you, his jaw clenched with something he refused to name. 

You clear your throat, ducking your head when brushing past him. The November air is chilly — even more so when it was the heat of Jungkook's body so close to your own that you were leaving behind. 

"Goodnight then," You smile, raising a hesitant hand to give him a tiny wave. 

Her hands wrap around the mug, soaking in the warmth. Thin ribbons of steam curl around her fingers, ghosting over her skin as if trying to coax her back into herself. She brings the mug to her lips again.

Still bitter.

She adds another spoon of sugar, stirs, tastes—but the sweetness sits on top of the bitterness like a bandage on a wound that refuses to close.

It tastes wrong.

Artificial.

Plastic.

She shifts in her seat, the couch rubbing faintly beneath her, and glances toward the phone resting perfectly parallel to the table’s edge. She picks it up, opens TikTok, and feels the familiar sting tighten in her chest.

It’s almost cruel, she thinks, the way the algorithm refuses to change. Video after video, babies laughing, toddlers babbling, chubby hands reaching for parents who beam like the world never broke them.

A living, breathing slideshow of everything she’ll never have. Everything she lost.

And she watches.

Every day.

She lets the punishment wash over her, lets the ache carve its little place in her ribs, lets the fantasy take shape.

A family she was supposed to build.

A life she was supposed to meet.

A child she was supposed to hold.

But she scrolls anyway, because it’s the only place where the dream still exists.

She hears him before she sees him — the faint rustle of clothes, drawers sliding open, the quiet splash of water. And underneath it all, the soft hum of Jungkook’s voice.

It used to calm her.

It used to mean safety.

A rhythm she could rely on.

Now it thuds against her skull like a reminder she didn’t ask for. His presence — once grounding — sits too close to the places inside her she’s trying desperately not to touch.

He stops humming.

She hears the pad of his feet against the wooden floor, the familiar shuffle she could recognize even in her sleep.

“Morning,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips.

“Morning, baby,” she answers, forcing her smile to hold its shape. Her throat tightens around the word.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear — gentle, careful, the way he always is with her — and settles beside her. His thigh brushes hers. The couch dips under his weight. The air changes.

She nods toward the extra mug on the coffee table. “Made some for you.”

“Oooh, we’re having some caffeine today,” he teases, eyebrows lifting.

She lets out a small laugh, even though it scrapes down her chest. It’s okay. He’s joking. He knows why she avoids coffee now. He’s not being careless.

He’s just being Jungkook.

His warmth bleeds into her side.

Into her clothes.

Into her skin.

And when his arm drapes around her shoulders, she stiffens before she can help it — just for a split second — then forces herself to melt into him. Her head finds his shoulder like muscle memory, like obligation.

“You got any plans today?” she asks, drawing slow, meaningless patterns on his thigh.

Anything to keep her hands busy.

Anything to keep her grounded.

“Not really…” he says, blowing on his coffee before taking a sip. “Why?”

“I was thinking about inviting Yoongi and Y/N over,” she murmurs, watching him instead of her mug.

Just to see.

Just to check.

Just to confirm she isn’t crazy.

Jungkook hums, a low sound in his chest.

Not tense.

Not startled.

But not neutral either.

“Maybe they’re working today,” he says, eyes drifting to the window.

Her stomach drops at the casualness in his voice.

Too casual.

“It’s Sunday, Jungkook,” she reminds him, her tone soft, yet still sharpened at the edges. “I know Yoongi’s off. And she’s probably off too.”

She watches his jaw work once — barely noticeable, unless you’re looking for it.

And she is.

She always is.

Sometimes Nina wonders if Jungkook feels something toward Y/N, even though she knows he doesn’t.

It’s a sick thought, one she hates herself for the moment it even brushes against her mind. But it eats at her insides anyway, rotting quietly in the corners she refuses to look at too closely.

Because... She is her friend too. She loves her. They used to be inseparable — sleepovers, inside jokes, shared lip gloss, shared heartbreaks.

And when Nina and Jungkook moved away, she always thought she’d get that back once they returned. That things would fall into place again. That her friend would still be hers in that soft, familiar way.

But Jungkook… Jungkook took her.

Not on purpose.

Not maliciously.

But he did.

Selfishly, effortlessly — he pulled Y/N into his orbit and never let her drift back.

And yeah, she was Jungkook’s friend first.

But she was Nina’s as well.

Nina deserves her too.

Sometimes it feels like he’s guarding her from Nina. Like he’s keeping a part of himself — and a part of Y/N — carefully tucked away, curated, distant. A private world Nina isn’t invited into. A world she can only watch from the outside, pretending she doesn’t notice the door shut in her face.

It makes her nauseous if she thinks too long about it.

And Nina has done plenty of thinking.

Back in high school, in uni, when Jungkook was devastated the first time he stopped speaking to his best friend. Nina had been sad too, but he had been… destroyed. Quietly destroyed. The kind of heartbreak you can’t scream about.

And now, being back home, he gets her again.

But Nina... Nina doesn’t.

Not in the same way. Not alone. Not fully.

He always gets her alone.

The thought sours like acid in her stomach and she forces it down, forces herself to breathe through it, to swallow the jealousy she has no right feeling.

“Mmm,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the side of her head as if he can’t feel her body stiffen before melting again. “I’ll call her and see if she’s free today.”

“I’ll call—” Nina blurts, too quickly. She clears her throat. “I mean, I can call her too.”

Her friend.

Her friend too.

She needs to remind herself of that.

She sees Jungkook’s fingers twitch on her shoulder — a tiny reaction, almost nothing, but big enough for her to catch.

“Sure,” he says, smiling softly. “Whatever you want.”

“I was thinking about also inviting Leah, Vicky and Nick,” she says, her voice drifting off like she’s trying to sound casual about it.

“Oh, yes. That sounds good.” Jungkook stretches his legs out, reaching for his mug again. “I figured Jungwoo would join us too since he’s already downstairs.”

“Do you think Vicky would come? Does she still hate us?” Nina asks, sipping her coffee even though the taste turns her stomach.

“I don’t know…” he sighs, brows furrowing. “She has mixed feelings, I think. But her anger is more directed at me.”

“I hope she’s gonna come,” Nina murmurs.

And she truly, painfully means it.

Because she wants to fix things, desperately. With Vicky, with Y/n… with everyone she somehow lost along the way.

She needs people in her life again.

People who aren’t Jungkook or her brother or her coworkers politely asking how her weekend was. She needs real friends. She needs to be chosen for once.

Wanted.

Kept.

She fucking craves it.

“Nick knows, right?” she asks, voice quieter. They both know what she’s referring to.

“Yeah,” Jungkook gulps. “Jungwoo told him… but Nick didn’t say anything to the rest of them.” He hesitates, eyes flickering away. “She knows too.”

Nina turns her head toward him slowly.

It doesn’t surprise her, not really. But it still lands like a punch to the ribs. Because Nina wanted to tell Y/N. She wanted to say it.

It’s her loss.

The baby grew inside her.

The baby died inside her.

And sure, it’s Jungkook’s grief too — but he’ll never know what it’s like to feel a life flicker out inside your own body.

To carry that emptiness around afterward.

She wanted to share that truth with her friend.

Woman to woman.

But Jungkook took that from her too.

Like always, he takes and takes and takes what she wants and repackages it into something he can control. Makes decisions for both of them. Speaks before she can. Moves before she even knows she needs to.

She’s fucking sick of it.

Her throat tightens with the familiar urge — to yell, to explode, to make him feel even an ounce of how she shakes every night before falling asleep. To make him hurt the way she does.

But she doesn’t.

Not this time.

She swallows the anger like burning alcohol, letting it settle deep inside where the rest of it lives.

“Okay,” she finally says, the word brittle but steady.

She leans back into his hug, even though the warmth feels like a weight she didn’t consent to carrying.

Nina’s gonna be okay.

She has to be.

They stay like that, curled up on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder, both taking small sips from their mugs. The TV hums in front of them—a news segment about the weather—but neither is really paying attention.

“Wanna watch an episode of Grey’s?” Jungkook asks, eyes flicking to her with that careful, observant look she hates. The kind that makes her feel like she’s under a microscope, every word, sigh, and gesture being analyzed.

She swallows the lump in her throat and offers a genuine smile. “Sure. We need to catch up before the newest season drops anyway.”

He smirks, teasing. “Oh, they’re making season fifty-four too.”

“Ugh, shut up,” she nudges his ribs with her elbow, laughing. “It’s an amazing show no matter how many seasons it has.”

“It stopped being great after Lexie and Mark died. Totally unwatchable after Derek,” he says, crossing his arms, a faux pout on his lips.

“You’re only saying that because you’re giving Derek Shepherd core,” she shoots back.

“No way!” he protests, mock scandal in his voice.

“Oh, you so do,” she smirks.

“Well then, you’re clearly Meredith,” he counters with a grin.

“Nooo,” she teases, wagging a finger. “Not the ‘pick me, choose me’ final boss. I’d rather be Addie.”