d⁷elusional

Taehyung told himself he was just surprised. He’d heard, obviously. Everyone had. You and your boyfriend were done. A clean break, no details, just enough information to make it real. Still, seeing you there, dancing like nothing had cracked open in your life… it did something ugly to his thoughts. Something eager.

He was watching you for too long. He knew he did, knew it was wrong in about six different ways— same friend group, bad timing, worse intentions. You’ve never given him the time of day. Not really. Polite smiles, quick hellos, conversations that died before they even warmed up— it was never meant to work. He’d flirted before, light, joking, half-serious… and you’d always slid right past it, like you didn’t even notice or care.

Which was almost worse than rejection.

But Taehyung kept finding you anyway. In every room, every corner. His eyes tracked you without permission. You laughed with someone else and he wondered who got to hear that laugh up close now. You swayed to the music and he thought about how your ex must’ve had it easy, must’ve taken things for granted. He hated that thought, hated how personal it felt.

He hated how you wouldn’t look at his way. Hated how he knew that night it would be the same as always, you wouldn’t care about him and his poor attempts of flirting.

That’s why Taehyung hated how all night you didn’t look at him, not even once.

Same old story.

By the time the night blurred at the edges— too loud, too warm, too many bodies pressed together— he was convincing himself of two things: that whatever he was thinking was a terrible idea, and that he was already in too deep to stop thinking about it.

Ten minutes too many he found you again.

When he found you again, you were dancing with a man he didn’t recognize. Tall, broad shoulders, hands moving just a little too close to your ass. The music was loud enough to rattled the windows, bass heavy, filthy, and you moved like you knew exactly what you were doing. Not trying to impress, not trying at all.

That was what made it unbearable for him.

You rolled your shoulders, laugh when the guy leaned in to say something stupid in your ear. Your body followed the beat effortlessly, like it belonged there, like it had been waiting all night to be seen. Taehyung felt something hot and sharp crawl up his spine, watching the man’s hands, watching where they didn’t touch. He wondered if you’d let him do better, wondered if you’d notice the difference.

He knew he could be better, so much better.

Stronger grip, slower movements, he wouldn’t rush it like that idiot was clearly trying to. He wouldn’t crowd you, wouldn’t beg for attention with cheap lines and beer-breath confidence. He’d make you look at him. Make you lose control and make you choose. He would make you want it, crave it, he would build it for you, make you beg for it.

The thought turned dark fast. He imagined your back against the wall instead of the dancefloor. Imagined the way your smile would change if it was meant just for him, smaller, sharper, dangerous. He hated how badly he wanted it. Hated that he had wanted it for a long time, even when you barely spared him a glance.

Especially then.

Taehyung teared his eyes away before getting worse, retreating to the kitchen with the rest of the group, forcing himself into conversation he didn’t want to hear. Forced to get you out of his mind and socialize. He hated it. But he had to.

And some minutes later he thought he was doing better. Someone gave him a drink, a girl he vaguely recognized. She was cute, loud, she was leaning too close. She laughed at something he didn’t say. She touched his arm. He wasn’t feeling it, and he hated it.

His attention kept snapping back to the living room, to the way you move, the way that man kept trying to keep up with you and failing. Taehyung told himself it shouldn’t matter, he told himself you were freshly broken up, off-limits, bad timing wrapped in a bad idea, bad decision. If you hadn’t chose him before you were definitely not going to choose him now. He had been trying to convinced himself for years about it, after you had been introduced to the group, after you choose to date one of his closest friends, after you choose another man that wasn’t him.

And lately he had been trying, he had been doing better. Trying not to flirt with you, trying to stay away from you, barely seeing you, specially when you were with your boyfriend. The last four months he had decided to just get over it. There was a thousand more girls around he could sleep with, he didn’t need to obsess over someone who didn’t want him and who was dating one of his friends.

But, of course, you had broken up.

And he found you in this party.

And he was losing his mind.

You appeared in the kitchen, like you felt him thinking about you. You slipped into the room with a grin that looked like trouble, eyes bright, a little flushed, hair messy from dancing. You scanned the room once, then lifted your voice just enough to cut through the noise.

“Who wants to take shots with me?”

There was a pause, a collective hesitation.

Taehyung had his answer before he could even think about it. “I do.”

It came out solid, certain.

But it didn’t surprise him. Because he had never doubt for a second of doing anything related to you.

You looked at him then. And something flickered in your expression. Surprise, maybe… or interest. Or maybe you were just drunk enough to make reckless decisions.

“Okay,” you said, like you’ve already decided. “Let’s go.”

The girl at his side opened her mouth, clearly expecting an invitation. She didn’t get one.

Taehyung didn’t even look back as he followed you through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that he could smell your perfume and could feel the heat of your body. Warm, sweet, dangerous.

The improvised counter— which some friends had paid for the cheap bartender to have any drink they wanted— next to the stairs was sticky and loud and packed, but somehow it felt like the two of you carved out your own space.

You leaned over the counter. “Four shots of tequila.”

“Two,” Taehyung corrected, low and calm.

You glanced at him. “Scared?”

He smirked. “Don’t get crazy. We have all night.”

That earned him a laugh, short and sharp. You liked that kind of exchange, he could tell.

The bartender slid the glasses over. You grabbed yours immediately, clinking it against his.

“To having all night,” you said.

Taehyung held your gaze. “To take our time.”

You took the shot without breaking eye contact. It burned but you didn’t flinch.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then glanced at him sideways. “So, how’ve you been?.”

“Good,” he answered. Not really interested in making small talk. “I heard about your breakup.”

“Um,” You hummed, already looking past it. “Everyone did.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say?” you replied lightly. “It ended. Now I’m here dancing.”

There was something deliberate in the way you dismissed it, like you refused to give it weight. Taehyung respected that, and he wanted to push anyway. But he didn’t, not yet. He asked for more tequila.

“Now you’re taking shots.”

You tiltled your head, studying him now. “Who was that girl you were with?”

He blinked. “What girl?”

“The one desperately touching your arm like it might save her life.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No idea.”

“Liar. And rude for not inviting her to take shots with us.” You shook your head. “She looked mad.”

“Honestly,” he said, voice dropping, “I wasn’t paying attention.” For the first time, your eyes lingered on him a second longer than necessary. Taehyung tried not to look so impressed. “And the guy you were dancing with?” he asked casually. “Your date? He seemed… eager.”

You smiled, slow and unimpressed. “He was fine.” You didn’t confirm if he was your date which he knew it was on purpose to leave him guessing.

“Fine,” Taehyung repeated. Then, provokingly said: “Not good?”

You leaned closer, elbows on the counter, invading his space on purpose now. “Why? You’re going to tell Jungkook?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Should I?”

Your lips twitched. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“If I end up fucking him tonight.”

The air between you tightened. The music faded into background noise. Taehyung didn’t like the way you would do anything to get Jungkook’s attention, your ex boyfriend. He leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.

“Why don’t you find someone who can do a better job?”

“You don’t know—”

“He looked pathetic.”

Your eyes narrowed. Your lips moved to his ear, you were playing something he hadn’t see in you before. Not with him. “And who could a better job?.”

Taehyung was aware you knew what he would answer. You were daring him, provoking him. And he was never one to back down.

“I know I could.”

Your smile sharpened, in a mean, interested way. “Big words,” you said. “From someone I’ve barely noticed.”

“That is your mistake,” he replied.

You laughed again, but this time it was quieter. A little out of it.

You grabbed the second shots and slid it toward him. “Careful,” you murmured. “I’m drinking too much and you’re starting to look like your best friend who dumped me.”

He picked up the glass, ignoring your mean words. “You asked for shots.”

You clinked glasses again. When you purred down, neither of you looked away.

The shots kept coming.

You ordered them like it was muscle memory, like the night wasn’t already tilting slightly off its axis. Taehyung didn’t stop you. If anything, he encouraged it, slid the glasses closer, nudged your elbow with his, leaned in so his voice landed warm against your ear.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured after two more shots, smiling like it was a compliment.

“You say that like it’s new information,” you replied, already lifting the glass.

The tequila burned less this time. Or maybe you were just numb to it. You laughed when it hit, head tipping back slightly, throat exposed for half a second too long.

Taehyung’s eyes track the movement without shame. And he thought how his hand would look around it, how he would squeeze it enough to make you let out a sweet noise for him. His eyes narrowed, he licked his lips, watching your lower lip get wet with alcohol. He wanted to licked you clean, taste your mouth. He could just leaned in and kiss you, devour you. It could be so simple if he just…

“You always look like this when you drink?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Like someone I want to ruin.”

You snorted, not really feeling it. “You’re embarrassing.”

“I’m honest,” he corrected.

His hand brushed your lower back, not lingering, not innocent either. Just enough to make a point. He wanted you, badly. You didn’t move away, and that alone felt like permission.

Then you tilted your head, eyes sharp despite the alcohol. “You remember I just broke up with one of your best friends, right?”

There it was.

The line in the sand.

Taehyung didn’t even pretend to think about it. He smiled, slow and unapologetic.

“When has that ever stopped me?”

The words settled between you two, heavy and wrong and charged.

He knew exactly what he was in that moment. A bad friend, a worse idea. The kind of man people warn you about after the fact. He should feel guilt clawing at his chest, loyalty screaming louder than want. Instead, all he felt was hunger. It was stupid how badly he wanted you. Embarrassing, really. Like a craving that had been denied for so long it had turned feral. He wanted you quietly, patiently, from a distance, he had watched you choose someone else, watched his friend fumbled you like he didn’t know what he had.

If he were smarter, he’d have known.

Taehyung knew, he knew the moment Jungkook left you out of his claws for a second any man would try to have his hands on you— including him. And the worst thing was, Taehyung knew something so sad. He knew his best friend was probably in bed now, thinking about you, about how to get you back, about how bad he got it for screwing things with you. Taehyung didn’t need to heart it, didn’t need to know. If he did maybe a tiny drop of guilt could have formed in his stomach. But he preferred to play blind. If his friend never told him he missed you, how he screwed up… then Taehyung couldn’t feel guilty about wanting to have you.

And he knew he could do better. He knew Jungkook could brag about you, about how good he was at everything. In sports, in music, in dancing… in touching you. In making you feel good. Taehyung hated that thought, he didn’t like it at all. Because if he knew one thing about you, is that he could make you feel better than anyone. He knew he’d worship you in all the ways his friend never thought of.

The thought made something dark and possessive curled in his stomach.

And you just laughed, not nervous, not impressed. Just amused.

“You’re evil, Taehyung.” You said, shaking your head. “Truly.”

And the way you said his name. God, the world was just being so unfair to him.

“Maybe,” he replied softly, “but you haven’t left yet.”

You didn’t argue.

More shots came. The party grew louder, messier, bodies packed tight, sweat and bass and spilled alcohol everywhere. Taehyung felt untouchable, dangerous, like the world had narrowed down to the curve of your mouth and the way you kept leaning into him without realizing it.

Eventually, you sighed and push off the bar. “I need the bathroom.”

“I’ll wait.”

He watched you walk away. Every step. The sway of your hips, the confidence in your body, the way heads turned as you passed. His thoughts spiralled fast and ugly. He imagined you alone in the mirror, fixing your lipstick, steadying yourself. He imagined himself going behind you and pushing that little skirt you were wearing to your waist, his fingers touching you in your sweetest places, the places you liked. He imagined the way your lips would part and the noises you would make…

His train of dirty thoughts stopped.

The man who you were dancing early passed by his side, walking to the bathroom you entered. Taehyung watched him hesitate for half a second before opening the door and close it behind him.

Something snapped in him, something deep and violent.

And he was moving before logic caught up.

The bathroom door swung open and the scene was almost painfully normal. You were at the sink, leaning forward slightly, fixing your hair. The man stood too close, saying something in your ear you clearly didn’t care about. But he had his hands on your waist, and Taehyung didn’t like that at all.

Who the fuck did he think he was to touch you like that?

Taehyung grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back out into the hall without ceremony. “Get out.”

“What the—”

“Bye.”

The door slammed shut in his face, Taehyung locked the door before turning to you.

You whirled around. “What the hell are you doing?”

Your voice echoed off the tiles, sharp and incredulous. You didn’t look scared or furious, but slightly annoyed at him for the scene. Your eyes narrowed, you were drunk. And so was he.

Taehyung breathed hard, chest rising and falling. “You really wanna fuck that?”

Your eyes flashed. “And if I did? That’s not your problem.”

The words hit him like a slap. He stepped closer. “You can do better.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I already have,” he shrugged. “Or do you want me to bring him back inside so he can give you a lame fuck?.”

You scoffed, pushing past him slightly, chin lifted in challenge. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you asked. “Can you stop pretending you’re something of mine?.”

“Can you stop pretending you don’t want this to happen?.” he snapped, gesturing between you two. “We both know you’re now just full of shit.”

You laughed in his face, sharp. “You don’t know anything about me if you think I wanna fuck you.”

“Please, you didn’t leave my side all night. You had been waiting for me to make a move.”

Taehyung knew he was playing a dangerous game. But he liked his odd. He liked to play with you. And he knew one thing: It had been the first time you had entertained him after all his attempts of trying to get you.

So he had to be right. He wanted to be right.

Your jaw tightened. “If I wanted to fuck you, I would have done it a long time ago.” You got closer to him. Your nose almost inches from touching his face. You looked up to him. You were so close he could feel your breath. “Why do you think I went for Jungkook and not you?.”

Your words landed, heavy and deliberate, and for a second the only sound in the bathroom was the muffled music bleeding through the walls, the buzz of voices outside, the drip of a leaky faucet.

Taehyung didn’t move, didn’t back away. He looked down at you like he was trying to memorize your face.

“Because you like playing safe,” he said finally, voice low and deep, almost calm. Too calm. “Easy choice. Someone you didn’t have to think about too much.”

You scoffed, but you didn’t pull back. “And you think you’re what? Complicated?”

“I think,” he started, leaning in just enough that your lips almost brush when he spoke, “you didn’t want to want me. Because we both know, once I’m done with you, you won’t stop thinking about it.”

That did it.

Something shifted in your expression, annoyance giving way to something sharper, more dangerous. You tilted your head, smirk slow and cruel.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you murmured. “You’re not special. You just have a deep voice and recently got jacked.”

Taehyung huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. His hand came up, bracing against the sink beside you, boxing you in without touching you. The proximity was intentional, claimed.

“Funny,” he said. “For someone who doesn’t want me, you’re not trying very hard to leave.”

You glanced down, then back up at him through your lashes. “Maybe I just like watching you make a pathetic man of yourself.”

He hummed. “Or maybe, maybe you like when I look at you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve been waiting all night to get you alone.”

Taehyung can see the way your eyes quickly moved to his mouth against your will. And he knew you hated that he noticed it.

“You’re obsessed,” you muttered, trying to get some control.

“Yeah,” he said easily. “With you.”

The word hung there, unashamed and unapologetic.

You swallowed, jaw tightening again. “You’re a terrible friend.”

“I know,” Taehyung replied, eyes never leaving yours. “And I still want you.”

You tried to step back but your lower back hit the sink. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt without permission, like your body betrayed you before your mouth could keep up. And you tried to blame it on the way you destabilized yourself when you tried to step back. You realized too late Taehyung was already enjoying the motion.

His gaze dropped to your hand and then back to your eyes.

“There,” he murmured. “That.”

You tried to pull your hand back. He didn’t let you, not grabbing, just stepping closer so there was nowhere for it to go. Your legs were squeezing together. His jeans rasping your bare legs. His torso brushing your chest, heat radiating, tension coiled tight between you.

“Say it again,” he said softly.

“Say what?”

“That you don’t want me.”

You opened your mouth.

And this time nothing came out.

Taehyung exhaled, slow and controlled, like he was reached the edge of his restraint. His hand lifted, grabbing your chin in his fingers without delicacy and tilting your face up.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

You did.

And when he kissed you, it was brutal.

It wasn’t soft or careful. Taehyung’s mouth crashed into yours like he was done pretending he had any restraint, like every thought he had swallowed all night finally snapped. It was messy, hungry, teeth knocking just slightly before it settled into something deeper and slow. His mouth tasting every place of yours, trying to memorize every single part of your mouth.

His hands were everywhere over your body at first, brushing them over your face and waist before one gripped your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to make you gasp into his mouth, the sound swallowed instantly. The other slid down your waist, firm, claiming and possessive, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’ll disappear if he let go. He crowded you back against the sink, body heat pinning you there, not gentle about it.

You made a sound, low, surprised, mad. Like you had woken up from the enchanted of the kiss. You bit his lower lip, trying to push him away. Taehyung groaned against your lips like it was exactly what he wanted.

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely pulling back, forehead resting against yours. His breath was hot, uneven. “You feel this and still wanna lie to me?”

Before you could answer, he kissed you again.

Deeper and slower this time. Like he had decided to savor it. His mouth moved with intent, like he knew exactly how to pull a reaction out of you, how to make your hands fist in his shirt, how to make your knees go weak even while you were trying to stay mad.

Your fingers slid up his neck, nails scraping just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. His grip tightened in response, hand slipping up your back, flattening you to him. There was no space left, no room to think.

The bathroom felt too small, it buzzed from the music outside. The mirror caught the movement, your bodies pressed together, his head tilted down, yours tipped back slightly, lips swollen, breath ruined.

Taehyung pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, blown out, jaw tight like he was holding himself back from doing something much worse. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow, possessive.

“Okay. Now tell me to stop if you really want me to.”

You wanted to say something sharp, something mean.

Instead, you grabbed him again and kissed him back, harder and needy. And Taehyung let out a sound that was pure satisfaction as he kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to finally have you, like he had been starving and you were the only thing that could ever fix it.

The fact that now you wanted him too made his heart beat like it was about to jump out of his chest.

Taehyung wanted to take it slow. Show you how good he could be for you, even though you had been so mean to him. But he couldn’t wait. He didn’t want to wait for you to change your mind. And as much as he wanted to have your mouth over his till the end of times, it took everything in him to pushed back enough to look at you in the eyes. His hands roaming all over your body before they settled in your waist.

God, he wanted to ruin you so bad.

You looked so good for him. Your hair messy, your lips swollen and red, your cheeks blushed, your eyes dark and lustful. For him, only for him. You were practically begging him to act up, looking like that. You were sinful.

“What are you doing?,” you asked breathily when he didn’t move.

Taehyung looked at you. “I want you to say it.”

“Say what?.”

“Say you want me.”

You titled your head, confused. You had finally accepted him and he was trying to make you say it out loud?. You didn’t know if you should’ve been mad or horny.

“Are you serious?.

“Say it,” he said. His voice deeper, firmer. “Say it and I’ll take care of you.”

You went silent, just for a second before looking at him prettily. “I want you.”

“Say it correctly.”

“I want you, Taehyung.”

You weren’t ashamed, you didn’t look shy or regretful. It was like it caused you satisfaction to say those words. Maybe because you knew the effect that you had on him.

And the way you said his name, the way your voice went so sweet, almost pouty... needy. Taehyung was only a man after all. And you had a way to make his head spin in the wrong ways. You gave him a smile that seemed like you were just begging him to ruin you. Taehyung didn’t think of him as a strong willed man. He could see you looking at him like that and it was game over for him.

With a hand on your chin, he leaned in to give you a sweet kiss. He thought of all the ways that he would ruin you that night. The way you finally wanted him like that too. He wanted to burn his taste inside your mouth. He wanted you to be full of him in every way you could be. Just him, nobody else, not your ex boyfriend, not that man you were dancing with him. His, only his. And he knew that once he was done with you… you would come back for him, for more.

God, he was going insane.

His lips moved to your jaw, kissing down to your neck with desire, sucking hard and not caring whether or not it bruised. He imagined for a second how Jungkook would react to it. If tomorrow he showed up to your house, asking you to take him back only to find you covered in Taehyung’s marks. The thought made him rolled his eyes back, pleasure building in his stomach, making him rock hard. He wanted you more than words could let you know. He turned to marking you to show you just how bad he craved you, how much you were now his.

His right hand hovered over your body, slowly making his way between your thighs. You were so sweet for him, slowly opening your legs to give him better access. To invite him to touch you. He kissed your mouth as a reward, you were so obedient. Taehyung liked it, like the way you would do whatever you wanted to have your pleasure, to get off. He liked the way you choose him tonight, only him, to trust him with it.

He wasn’t going to disappoint you.

Taehyung ran his index finger through your folds over the cloth. He moaned into your neck, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your soaked panties. God, you were going to kill him. Have you been wet all night? or did he make you feel like this just now?. He couldn’t wait to put his mouth there between your legs. It was so soaked through that he could feel the outline of your pussy perfectly. He pushed his index finger just barely into your hole, feeling your panties scrunch up into it.

He pulled away to catch his breath, eyes full of lust as he watched your face contort with pleasure from his touch.

“You like that?,” Taehyung whispered in your mouth. His voice deeper, it made you clenched into nothing. “I’m going to touch you, okay?. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

His eyes were dark and blown out. He pulled your panties down just barely, letting them sit below your hip bones while he kissed your chin. He was agonizingly slow as he pulled further and further, not daring to reveal your cunt until you were desperate enough to say it out loud.

“Tae—”

“Yeah,” he nodded at you. “I like how you say my name like that, so pretty.” He kissed your mouth, hard, sweetly. “You’re so pretty. So, so pretty for me.”

His fingers found your clit. You melted into the feeling, sighing in relief. Your hips twitched closer to his hand, making sure he won’t leave so soon.

“Yes, please.”

He stopped, making you whined.

Taehyung swallowed the noise, his cock twitching in his pants. Then he kissed you hard, tongue sliding in your mouth to prove how much he wanted you, messy, dirty. It felt perverted how much he wanted to have your mouth in his all the time. But he had a mission.

“Fuck, fuck.” He gave you a last peck before slowly kneeling. “Say please again.” You groaned and his fingers circled your clit again, this time with more intention. You bit your lip as he watched you trying to contain your pretty sounds. “Say it. Ask nicely, baby. And don’t bite your lips, I wanna hear you.”

You let a breathy moan, opening your legs wider while looking at him. “Please, Tae.”

“Please what, baby?.”

“Please touch me.”

“So sweet,” he kissed and bit your inner thighs. “So, so sweet for me. God, you’re so hot, baby. Gonna make you feel good. Wanna hear you, okay?. Make me hear you.”

Taehyung was so desperate, he felt feral. He almost was sure he could cry of joy. He had waited for so long, so patiently. You’ve finally broken, you finally wanted him back. You were finally spreading your pretty legs for him to touch you, to make you feel better. His cock was straining against his pants, he could feel his pre cum leaking profusely from his tip, but he ignored it completely to focus on you.

His hands quickly moved your skirt higher, leaving him a good sight of your cunt. He tried not to lose control, sliding your panties to the ground and taking them off before saving them in his pocket. He could moan from the sight. Your glistening cunt, so sweet and waiting for him.

Taehyung rubbed your slit and gathered your arousal on his fingers. You gasped as he glided his fingers across your clit, playing with the swollen bud for a minute, wanting to get you soaking before he stretched you out, before he could taste you. He circled his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirmed. He felt good, having you like that.

Even if he was on his knees he felt like he had the power. He was going to make sure you would come crying back to him every night asking for his touch, desperate, needy for him and no one else.

He dipped a finger into your hole, stopping once he was knuckle-deep. He fucked his long finger into you slowly, and you sighed at the relief. He watched his finger sink into you, humming in pleasure when he saw how it collected your wetness. Taehyung didn’t ask before he was inserting another one, already feeling your walls clenching at him for dear life. His fingers were so long, so mean, stuffing you so deep and full. He couldn’t wait to have his cock burry inside you. The stretch would feel like heaven, and he knew you were craving to be stuffed by him.

Taehyung increased his pace a little more, curling his fingers up. It took him a minute to find what he was looking for, but he knew he got it when you whined and your leg kicked out helplessly. It didn’t take you too long to put it around his shoulder, Taehyung hold it steady, gripping your fat thigh. You held yourself for dear life to the sink behind you. He kept pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.

You arched your back and yelp at the sensation of him pressing against the spongy part inside of you roughly. He grinned and kept thrusting against that spot, watching your reactions with amused eyes. His head moved down between your thighs, biting and sucking at all the flesh his mouth could find.

And then he wrapped his lips around your clit once he grew tired of marking you.

“Tae— Ngh… shit.”

Taehyung could come from just your taste and your sweet sounds. He was sure of it.

His eyes almost rolled back at how much you were clamping down on him, his wet fingers making dirty noises of how hard he was fucking them inside you, wet sounds filling the buzz in the room. But that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to taste you correctly.

With a final hard suck on your clit, he took his fingers out of your entrance before eating you out properly. Taehyung thought you were such a dream when you were mewling and panting like that, eager for him. He licked you like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. At first very slow, dragging his tongue flat and firm to savour you and memorize you with his tongue. And then focusing in on your clit with a rhythmic flick that had your whole body jerking. He knew how to make you jump in pleasure now, and he loved knowing it.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft dark strands as you moaned shamelessly. He liked you like that, shameless, breakable.

His tongue moved down to your fluttering entrance, and his stomach clenched when he realized how empty you must feel for him. Taehyung couldn’t wait to fuck you, have you stuffed of him. But first, he stuffed his tongue inside you, making sure his nose stayed pressed against your clit. He moaned at your juices dripping on his taste buds and the way you tried to tighten around his tongue. He licked and rubbed at you as much as he could, determined to get his fill of your arousal.

Taehyung could swear he could cum untouched if he hadn’t waited so long for you to finally gave in. He swore he could die between your legs, his mouth on your cunt, sucking and lapping, moaning into your heat like he had found water after being thirsty. He was making the most unholiest, nasty dirty noises like it was a fucking heaven for him. And it was, it was a dream.

Taehyung was going insane.

Everything faded into a lofty state of bliss while he hungrily ate you out without taking a break, consumed with the urge to swallow you whole. He relished in the way you grabbed onto his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he barely pulled back for air all while he devoured you. The way you were squirming and rubbing yourself in his tongue and nose was a sight to behold, one that caused him to chase the friction that he earned when his aching, neglected cock rubbed in his pants, almost humping the air like a dog in heat.

You moaned, pulling him back by the hair. His mouth, nose and chin covered in your juices, he looked crazy drunk of you. He was crazy drunk of you.

“Tae—”

“Want you to cum on my mouth,” he tried to go back in but you pulled his hair harder.

“Taehyung fuck me already, please.”

Taehyung was sure you were a witch.

His cock jumped in his pants. In less than two seconds he was already standing up, badly cleaning his face with his shirt before stamping his lips into yours and kissing you hard. You moaned at your own taste. His kiss was messy, he wanted to show you how much he wanted you. How dirty and perverted he was for you.

You jolted when you felt his teeth on your jaw and neck, biting down and sucking hard. It made your hips push forward, and he moaned against you. His hard on poking at your thigh angrily, he start rubbing himself on you. Taehyung started to suck at your neck. the pressure was light, but enough to leave some marks. You played with his fluffy hair, letting out a noise between a sigh and a moan.

Taehyung pushed you harder to the sink, unbuckling his jeans and shoving them down with his underwear to the ground. His cock jumped out. His tip was red and angry, leaking pre cum. Taehyung was big, and veiny. He saw the way your eyes narrowed down, as if you wanted to kneel and put it in your mouth.

Before he could stop you, you were already wrapping your hand around him. Your thumb brushed his tip, collecting the pre cum before passing it around his length. He groaned, closing his eyes and his head dropping to your shoulder while you started pumping his cock so sweet and softly. Like you were taking your time to make him suffer.

“You’re so big.” You said so sweetly, like you weren’t doing the nastiest shit ever. As if you didn’t make him have the dirtiest thoughts about you. “Your cock is so pretty, Tae.”

Your fingers could barely wrapped around his cock, your hand was hot and felt so good around him. Your long nails looked so pretty around him, so feminine, so in place. Shit, Taehyung knew wasn’t going to last much. You felt too good, You were so good for him, touching him like that. So sweet making him lost in pleasure. Your soft hands making him feel so—

Taehyung snapped open his eyes.

No, you weren’t the one that was supposed to have control. He promised he was going to make you feel good.

He took your hand out, softly, to not make you angry. He wrapped it around his cock and moved to give him space between your legs.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he whispered in your ear. “I want you to take it, okay?. Gonna take what I give you.” The head of his cock brushed your clit and it made your thighs jolt. “I’m gonna fuck you the way I want. Got it?” You quickly nodded. He grabbed your jaw with hardness, his gripped in your thigh around his waist was leaving a bruise. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you breathed out.

“Yes, what?” he gathered your arousal on his cock as he waited for your answer, sliding his tip through your folds, your juices coating all his length. And then his tip hit your clit angrily, so good it made you rolled your eyes for a second.

Your head was spinning, and you knew you shouldn’t let it happen, but fuck, you need it too. So badly. “Yes, yes. I’ll take it. Everything.” You whined. “Just fuck me already,” you caved, arching your back invitingly.

“Say please,” he teased.

“Taehyung—”

“Say it.”

“Mmm. Please, please, please…”

Taehyung gripped your thigh and slammed into you, hips snapping forward with a force that punched the air from your lungs. Your back arched, toes curling as the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. You felt so good, Taehyung hissed and dropped his forehead to your shoulder, pushing forward and brutally the last bit that wasn’t able to fit. It was rough, almost a little painful. He tried to held your legs open so he could try to press his hips flush against yours. You both groaned at the feeling, needing a minute to adjust.

Taehyung felt like heaven. He tried to think about the music outside, the buzz, the dirty bathroom and all the germs, the terrible dancers, the disgusting shots… he wanted to think other that wasn’t your cunt choking his cock so needing. No, he couldn’t. You were burning. You were wrapped around him so warm, so delicious. He could feel his thighs tensing, his grip in your skin tightened. You were so good, so perfect, your walls were swallowing him whole.

“Shit, so good. You— you feel so good.” Taehyung stuttered. He pulled out just a couple inches and rammed himself back in. You cried in his ear, feeling so deliciously full, it was almost overwhelming. “Yes, yes. Shit, you sound so sweet, baby. Tell me, tell me how much you like it.”

“S-so good. You feel so good.”

Oh. He was going to make a mess out of you.

Taehyung slammed his hips into yours harder, meaner. His tip touching the spongy spot it made you almost whimpered. His hand pressed hard in your lower tummy, making you squeeze him harder. Making you feel him completely inside you.

“Gonna fuck you so fucking good, you’re gonna keep coming back for more.” You could barely breathe, barely think. His cock was hitting every sensitive spot inside you, your clit throbbing from how hard he was diving into you. “Gonna make you beg for it, just how you made me do it for years.”

He reached down, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing fast circles that made your whole body spasmed under him.

“Wait, w-wait, s’too much…” You stuttered, jaw dropping open with a gasp as he pounded into you without a care.

He gripped your hair, pulling your head back, your lips meeting in a hot, messy kiss. You were practically drooling with the way his cock was abusing your cunt. He was meaner, he was trying to prove something.

Your head fell back as he continued fucking you angrily. His mouth bit your already bruised throat, marking your skin as his.

“I told you, you’ll take what I give you.” He growled, his voice rough, wrecked. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be stretched, filled— fucked properly?” You shook your head, teeth biting down into your bottom lip roughly to suppress your moans. He chuckled dryly, moving his hips a little faster as he fucked you. “You were gonna choose a lame guy to what? Seek attention from your loser ex? You’re so pathetic, baby.” Taehyung felt on cloud nine, he couldn’t stop taking, couldn’t stop fucking you. “But it’s okay now. I’ll take care of it. Gonna make you dumb, huh? Gonna make you so dumb you won’t be thinking about him anymore.”

“Mhm, don’t stop,” you whined, pulling his hair.

“Did he touch you better than this?” He slammed his hips harder into you. “I’ll make you forget about him. This greedy cunt is mine now. Got it? He’ll probably be back begging for you to take him back,” his grip on you were bruising now. His thrusts came fast, filthy, brutal, skin slapping, breath ragged. “But you’ll be dripping and covered in me. Only me, baby— Only me. Won’t let you— won’t let you go one day without my cum, okay?. That fucking loser won’t have you, huh? He doesn’t deserve you… tell me you won’t take him back.”

You shook your head, “I won’t.”

“Say my name. Promise me you won’t take him back.”

“I won’t— I won’t take him back,” you whined, too drunk of him. “I promise, I promise, Tae.”

Taehyung was sure you didn’t know what you were saying, what he was making you say. Too drunk on him, too of a whore for his cock hitting the right places.

He rubbed your puffy clit faster. “That’s right. Y-you are gonna be crawling back to me, pretty. And I’ll fuck you like this. I’m the only— I’m the only one that can make you feel this good. Mm, shit— s’good. I should’ve been pumping this pretty cunt with cum every single day…”

Taehyung was already pounding you dizzy. And he felt his lower stomach tightened.

He knew he shouldn’t be so reckless. He should sprayed his cum on your thighs or in his hand. He knew that, but your cunt was sucking him in so tightly and so delicious that the only thing he could think of was his cum rushing deep inside of you. Consequences be damned, he thought. He’ll cum inside of you if he fucking wanted to.

You were his now, you looked so gorgeous only for him. He continued thrusting into you hard, never pulling out more than halfway, letting you take him deep inside your cunt. “oh my god, don’t stop,” you urged, nails digging into his neck and shoulders.

You were close. Taehyung felt your walls squeezing him harder. He moaned in your neck, you were sucking him so hard it was too much. He rubbed your clit desperately, helping you find your release. It didn’t take you too long to do so. Your high hit you like a truck, your nails scrapped his shoulder, your mouth parting to moan loudly. You closed your eyes, walls closing so hard and your juices coating his cock. Your vision went blurry, your breathing uneven.

Taehyung’s cock twitched inside you. His eyes rolled back, his hands gripping your skin as he heard your whimper. That hit his final straw, his forehead hit your shoulder as he felt succumbing to the sweet release. He didn’t even as he came undone, ropes and ropes of hot cum filling up your sloppy cunt and spurting down onto your thighs.

He was unrelenting, keeping you within the throes of orgasmic bliss with his cock plunging inside of you over and over again. You tried to push him away, whining overstimulated, but he didn’t let you. He needed it so bad, and so much more he kept slowly rutting into you, his cock softening inside you as he allowed himself to keep going. The overstimulation was getting to him, teeth sinking back into his lip as he tried to contain his whiny moans until his legs twitched, his eyes fill with tears and his cock ached asking him to stop, even if he didn’t want to.

It took you both a couple of minutes to catch your breath and come back to reality. The buzz of the music and noise outside hitting you back to reality. Taehyung felt you trying to push him away again, maybe to clean yourselves and go back outside. Finishing whatever had happened there.

But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want it to the end just yet.

Taehyung pulled apart, giving you a soft kiss before sliding out of you. You let a breathy moan, feeling your cunt expelling his cum and pulsating hard, very sensitive. He didn’t give you time to react before he was kneeling again, opening your legs apart to watch your pussy clenching at the tingling sensation of his cum dripping down.

His mouth was salivating at the sight. And he thought it was perfect. That is perfect. He wanted to see you covered in him. Your cunt puffy and swollen, overstimulated and asking for mercy. He wanted to give you all he had to offer to you. He wanted you to take it all, even if you couldn’t not more.

“What are you doing?” You asked him, voice raspy and dragging it. He looked at you, dark gaze and starry eyes. “Don’t do— Mmhg, Tae, fuck!.”

His mouth was on you in an instant, tongue lapping up the mess he had uncovered like he didn’t care about anything else. His eyes rolled back at the taste, eating his own cum from your cunt. The first swipe was slow, tasting every bit of the slick coating your folds. He thought it was the perfect taste, the perfect meal. Both of you dripping from your hole.

The next one was rougher, hungrier, tongue pressing deeper as he groaned into your heat. He wanted nothing more than that.

“Wait, wait. too much, s’too much, please…” You cried out.

You tried to pushed him away, you were too sensitive, he could tell. Your lips were swollen and your clit was so puffy and red. You were so cute, so sensitive, so weak. But Taehyung liked it, you couldn’t do anything than just take it. He gripped at you stronger, making you wrapped your leg around his shoulder and holding you in place as he licked you clean, every part of you dirty heat getting clean with his mean tongue.

Your back arched and he was sure that was the best view. Watching you break apart, legs open, back arched, trembling and moaning for him, in his tongue. Accepting your fate. Not being able to push him away, too week to fight. You just had to take it and enjoy it.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to have you like that again. Stuffed by him, lying in his bed, in his sofa. Against his walls, in his kitchen counter. Taehyung was sure that wouldn’t be the last time. There was no way he could spent more than a week not tasting you, not feeling your heat in his face. Not being deep inside you. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. He wouldn’t have it that way.

Taehyung got sloppy with it, getting more into it. He didn’t care about how messy he got, lips and chin completely covered of your juices but he loved it. He practically drowned himself between your thighs, gripping them so tightly as if he was afraid you’ll slip away. But you weren’t, you really couldn’t. He was holding you open for him.

He pressed your thighs harder and pulled slightly apart. Your head quickly moved to look at him, exasperated, you looked troubled. Maybe trying to stop him, maybe looking for your next release. You were so pretty. Taehyung looked up at you and his cock twitched in his pants, dying to get hard again for you. You were a mess, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face red and your lips pouty. You were so cute, so overstimulated, so sensitive. Taehyung could come from that sight. He was so drunk of you, chin full of your juices and swollen lips. He thought you were the prettiest like that, ruined by him.

He dived back, his head back into your cunt, his eyes still glued to yours as he sucked on your clit, hard and mad. And it didn’t take you too much to come undone. He didn’t look away, not even when you sobbed and rubbed into his mouth desperate. He didn’t look away when he drank all your juices, and he didn’t look away when he cleaned you up like a starved man.

“S-stop! Please, please, Taehyung, stop—”

You tried to pull him away from you by his hair, your grip so weak he could just push your hands away and dive back into you. But he didn’t, he wasn’t that mean. Not when you look so pretty fucked up, begging for mercy.

God, you were so fucked. So ruined by him. He loved it. He loved it so much. You were a piece of art he had made.

You were still catching your breath, thighs trembling, almost sobbing and tears falling down your cheeks when Taehyung kissed you again, deep and dirty, like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue. It was sloppy, messy. He thrusted his tongue into your mouth so he could make you taste everything. Him, you.

He wanted to engraved himself into you forever.

Taehyung pulled apart, and held you softly between his arms, letting you come back to reality. It took a couple of minutes, voices barging outside to hurry up because someone wanted to use the bathroom. He barely cared about it. His hands grabbing your face to watch you, cleaning your dry tears with his thumb and making you look at his eyes with your now dumb gaze.

“You’re okay, baby?” He brushed your cheek sweetly. “I’m gonna clean you up now, okay? Just talk to me.”

“Uhm,” you nodded weakly. “Just need a second.”

Taehyung chuckled, watching you try to act tough. “It’s okay, take all the time you need.”

When you were able to stood by yourself, Taehyung cleaned himself quickly before grabbing some paper to start cleaning your thighs with delicacy, softly.

There was a silence. Taehyung was stretching the time cleaning you. Like he didn’t want to break the bubble you were both in. Because he didn’t. He didn’t want you to leave him. He didn’t want you to let go yet. It felt too soon. I felt wrong. He just wanted to take you back home, put you in his bed so you could rest and then fuck you again and again the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that too…

You hummed, trying to get his attention. “Tae,” you called. He watched you from below, gaze softer. Your eyes weren’t so bright now. Now a little more grounder and sober than before. “We can’t tell Jungkook about this.”

Taehyung stopped breathing for a second. It felt like the little bubble you were both in had exploded. His blood burned hot all over his body. Why were you even thinking about him now? It pissed him off. A minute ago you were shaking and crying for him and now you were thinking about Jungkook?.

He wanted to fuck you stupid again. Make you beg and cry for making him mad. Make you ask for forgiveness. Make you suffer a little for him…

His phone buzzed in his pants pocket.

Taehyung took it, almost too aggressively, to find a lot of missing calls and messages.

Jungkook: arrived at the party

Jungkook: where are you?

Jungkook: do you know if she’s here?

idk what’s wrong with me and these nasty ass one shots but everytime i smoke is like i can’t write more angst but only porn 😓😓

this was nasty ashellll i’m so sorry. i feel like i have to confess my sins to god or something

permanent taglist:

He looked momentarily caught off guard, eyes flicking over you in that split second of silence that stretched a little too long—your unfinished makeup, the casual clothes, the way you’d clearly been mid-routine. Then that familiar, slow smile tugged at his lips, amused and unreadable all at once.

“Oh—hey,” you said, suddenly very aware of everything you hadn’t finished.

“Hey,” he said. “Jimin home?”

“Yeah,” you replied, stepping aside. “He’s upstairs. He’ll be down in a second.”

You turned to close the door, catching the brief flick of his eyes before he looked away again. It wasn’t obvious, barely a beat too long, but you felt it. The chill from outside lingered in the entryway and the thin fabric of your tank top was doing you no favors. You glanced down just long enough to realize your nipples were clearly outlined, unmistakable once you noticed. Heat crept up your neck before you could stop it. You crossed your arms loosely, more habit than embarrassment, and led him inside. 

“Sorry,” you added with a small laugh. “I’m kind of mid–getting ready.”

Taehyung glanced around the entryway like he was taking inventory of a place he already knew by heart. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said easily. “I’m the one who keeps barging into your guys’ place. Might as well start paying rent.”

You snorted. “You’d owe us millions at this point.” 

“Well Jimin hasn’t kicked me out yet, so I’m calling it a win,” he admitted without shame, kicking his shoes off.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs a moment later, cutting off the awkward silence before it could form. 

“Hyung!” Jimin called. “You’re early.”

Taehyung grinned. “Finished up work earlier than I expected, so I thought I’d swing by.” He stretched his arms above his head, letting out a satisfied breath.

“Well, you know what time it is then,” Jimin said, dropping onto the couch with a devious smirk, controller in hand. Taehyung followed, settling in beside him, his eyes flicking toward Jimin with a grin of his own.

You started back up the stairs, shaking your head at the boys and their ridiculous antics.

You’d known Taehyung for as long as you could remember. You all grew up together—same neighborhood, same schools, the kind of closeness that came from constant overlap. He was always around when you were younger, stretched out on the living room floor with your brother, stealing snacks, teasing both of you endlessly.

You’d had a crush on him once.

A small one.

He was older, cooler in that effortless way, and completely unreachable back then. Somewhere along the line, it faded, replaced by familiarity. But you had to admit that the butterflies did resurface at times. He was attractive, and no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you couldn’t deny it.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you paused for half a second before the doorbell rang again, and you hurried to answer it. Rei was standing there, grinning, bag slung over her shoulder.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed, practically running inside. She threw her arms around you in a quick, enthusiastic hug. You laughed, taking her bag as the two of you scurried further inside. 

You both passed the living room where the guys were gaming, yelling, shoving each other playfully, and leaning way too close to the screens like the stakes were life or death. There'd be controllers slammed, voices cracked with laughter and fake anger, and every so often someone would leap up to argue a point, sending cushions flying.

Upstairs, your room felt like a retreat. Rei flopped onto your bed and propped herself up on her elbows, looking at you with a mischievous grin.

“So,” she said, her voice dropping playfully, “your brother and his best friend? Honestly… I think they’re so attractive.”

You nearly choked on your snack. “Ew. My brother?”

“Yes!” Rei exclaimed. “And his friend too! I mean… wow. You’re lucky you get to see them all the time.”

You hesitated, cheeks warming. “…I mean… he’s pretty attractive,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But he’s definitely my brother’s best friend and it’s probably best that it stayed that way.” 

“See! You do find him attractive!” Rei’s grin widened. “You should totally shoot your shot.”

“No way. Absolutely not.” You slapped her arm, laughing. 

She laughed too, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m just saying… if I were you, I’d take advantage of the situation.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” You shook your head, reaching for snacks as you turned on the movie you two planned to watch. 

The rest of the night passed easily. Rei kicked off her shoes and immediately made herself comfortable, grabbing the popcorn and commenting on the movie like she was hosting her own commentary track. You half-watched, half-laughed, pausing now and then when she got too loud or insisted on rewinding a scene she missed while talking.

Somewhere along the way, the snacks disappeared, the movie turned into background noise, and the conversation drifted. Topics ranged from random updates, to inside jokes, to things that absolutely didn’t matter. You sprawled on opposite ends of the bed, scrolling on your phones at the same time while still talking, the way only close friends could.

Eventually, Rei groaned upon receiving a message from her mother. “Ugh, I should get going. If I stay any longer, my mom’s going to kill me.” 

“Already?” you asked, surprised at how late it felt.

“Yep. I’ll survive… barely,” she said, standing. You walked her to the door and gave her a quick hug before she'd finally left.

Once she was gone, the house felt quieter than before, the darkness of the night seeping in through the windows. You headed back upstairs before slipping into your usual evening routine without much thought. Pajamas laid out on the bed. Phone tossed aside. You just wanted something warm to wash the day off before curling up and doing absolutely nothing.

You padded down the hall toward the bathroom, already half on autopilot, when you noticed the soft glow seeping from beneath the door.

Occupied.

You sighed quietly. Of course.

Jimin had a habit of treating showers like spa retreats—long, unnecessary, and borderline criminal. You leaned down just enough to confirm the light was on, then straightened with a shake of your head.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath.

Rather than deal with it immediately, you wandered back to your room and flopped onto your bed, grabbing your phone. A few minutes turned into more than a few. Scrolling aimlessly. Letting time pass. Waiting for the sound of the water to shut off.

It didn’t.

By the time you checked the clock again, irritation had crept in. He’d been in there forever.

You groaned, pushing yourself up from the bed and heading back down the hallway, but this time with determination. As you reached the bathroom door, you knocked, firm but familiar.

“Jimin,” you called through the wood, already bracing yourself. “Hurry up. You’ve been in there for—”

The door swung open mid-sentence.

And there stood your brother’s best friend, Taehyung, yet again. 

You froze.

Your brain stalled, scrambling to catch up to what your eyes were suddenly processing. He was shirtless, his bare chest still damp, water droplets tracing lazy paths down his skin, dark hair wet and pushed back messily from his forehead. A towel hung low around his waist, secured just enough to be decent… barely.

And very much not Jimin.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it.

“Oh—” you blurted, instinctively stepping back, heat rushing straight to your face. “I— I thought you left.”

Taehyung blinked, clearly just as surprised to see you standing there, then glanced down at himself like he was only now realizing the situation.

“No, it’s—” he started, then stopped himself, clearing his throat. “I’m done. It’s all yours.”

You nodded too fast, heart hammering as you slipped past him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you a little harder than necessary.

Only once you were alone did you let out the breath you’d been holding.

Great.

Just great.

And now you had to shower with the image of Taehyung. Unexpected, shirtless, and very much not gone, but perhaps burned into your mind. You let the water run hot, hoping it would wash the thoughts away along with the day, steam fogging up the mirror as you tried to reset your head.

By the time you stepped out of the shower and changed into something soft and oversized, you'd finally gotten around to plopping into bed for some of your usual doom-scrolling. This often went on for longer than you'd like to admit, but hours in bed also meant hours without food.

That was when it hit you.

Not loud hunger, just a slow, creeping craving. The kind that settled in your stomach and refused to be ignored. You sighed softly, already knowing you wouldn’t fall asleep like this. 

You slipped out of your room quietly, phone in hand, flashlight on low as you tiptoed downstairs. The house was dark, quiet enough that every step felt louder than it actually was.

You kept the lights off, opening cabinets carefully until you found what you wanted, cereal, and saw it shoved all the way on the top shelf like it always was.

Of course.

You rose onto your tiptoes, stretching your arm, fingers grazing the edge of the box but not quite catching it. You tried again, leaning forward, balance tipping just slightly as you reached higher.

Then—

A presence.

A shadow moved close behind you.

Before you could react, an arm reached past you and effortlessly grabbed the box from the shelf.

You screamed.

Or yelped. Or something in between, but your feet slipped as you jumped back in pure panic.

Strong hands caught you instantly, steadying you before you could fall.

“Hey—hey—!”

Your heart was hammering as you looked up to see Taehyung again. Was he just following you at this point? 

Shirtless, again. Hair dry, slightly messy like he’d just rolled out of bed. Bare skin, warm and solid where his hands still held your arms.

Your eyes flicked, unwanted but automatically, to his forearms, veins faintly visible beneath your fingers where you were gripping him without realizing it.

“Oh my god,” you blurted. “I thought you were— I thought no one was—”

“Sorry,” he said quickly, easing back once you were steady. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing down here?” you asked, still trying to get your pulse under control.

'Water." He lifted the glass in his hand slightly. " I could ask you the same, though.”

“Snack,” you said, shaking the box once. “Obviously.”

“Fair,” he said. “Didn’t expect to end up being a horror movie villain in the kitchen.”

You huffed. “You succeeded.”

He laughed quietly, leaning back against the counter. 

“Well,” he said, nodding toward the cereal, “at least the mission was successful.”

You hugged the box to your chest. “Next time, announce yourself.”

“I’ll try,” he said, amused.

He shifted the glass in his hand, pushing off the counter. “Uh… sorry. For earlier too. With the bathroom.”

Your face warmed immediately.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “If anything, I’m sorry. I thought you were my brother—I wouldn’t have rushed you like that otherwise.”

That earned a small laugh from him. “Guess I should take that as a compliment.”

“Don’t,” you said, but you were smiling.

He lifted his glass in a lazy little salute. “I’ll let you enjoy your very dramatic late-night snack.”

“Try not to haunt the kitchen again,” you shot back.

“No promises,” he said lightly, turning toward the stairs. “Night.”

“Night.”

You waited until his footsteps faded before letting out the breath you’d been holding, clutching the cereal like it was evidence of a crime.

After your midnight snack escapade, you'd finally made it back to your room. You dropped back onto your bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as you cracked open the cereal box and ate straight from it, handful after handful. You were halfway through chewing when your phone buzzed against the sheets beside you with a message from Rei, the sudden vibration pulling your attention away.

“Camping tomorrow!”

“Since when??” your eyes widened as you typed back.

“Since you told me you were free this weekend.” You rolled your eyes at the thought but and immediately dialed Rei's number.

“Hey! You saw my message?” she asked, laughing.

“Yeah… so, camping tomorrow?” you questioned, still doubtful about the whole thing.

“Yep! Everyone’s coming. It'll be so much fun!” Rei's energy made it hard for you to not want to go. So you ultimately gave in, despite the last minute nature of the plans.

After exchanging the specific details of the trip over the phone, two call between the two of you had finally come to an end. You noticed you’d been added to a group chat minutes after your conversation with Rei, titled, Camping Trip Squad. 

You opened it, scanning through the names as they loaded in. Friends you’d known for years, your brother, and a few familiar faces from his side too. Somewhere along the way, your circles had blended together, so seeing everyone in one place didn’t feel strange.

Yoongi, Seol, Hoseok, Namjoon, Yoona, Seokjin, Yuri, Rei, Jimin...

and...

Your thumb slowed when you spotted Taehyung’s name.

You paused for half a second, then kept scrolling. He was friends with Jimin, of course he’d be there. Simple as that.

You smiled to yourself, nervous and excited, and finally locked your phone and set it down. Not long after, you drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow was going to be… something.

By mid-morning, you’d packed everything you thought you’d need: clothes, toiletries, a hoodie, snacks. You pulled your bag over your shoulder, hurrying outside to meet the others. Outside, two cars were already parked in the driveway, everyone bustling around loading luggage, folding sleeping bags, and juggling coolers. The air was full of chatter and the faint scent of coffee drifting from a thermos someone had brought.

You made your way over to the car you’d be in. Jimin was already in the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors and humming along to a song playing on the radio. Taehyung lounged in the front passenger seat, sunglasses pushed up on his head, casually scrolling on his phone.

Sliding into the back, you found yourself wedged between Rei and Seol, one of Jimin's close friends.

Jimin glanced at the three of you through the rearview mirror. “Everyone good back there?”

You shifted in your seat, adjusting your bag on your lap. “A little cramped,” you admitted, but tried to reassure him. “But not too bad.”

Taehyung turned around, raising an eyebrow to you. “If you want, you can switch seats with me,” he offered casually.

Before you could answer, Seol piped up, eyes bright. “I’ll take it!” she said, shooting a playful look toward Jimin, who grinned. You let her have it—Seol and Jimin sort of had a thing going on and it wasn’t really worth arguing. 

So there you were, in the middle seat between Rei and now, Taehyung. The space was tight, but fine. You tried to settle in, adjusting your bag on your lap to create more space.

The car pulled onto the road, and soon the chatter from the front quieted into music playing softly from the car radio.

Exhaustion hit you halfway through the drive. You shifted slightly to get more comfortable, and before you realized it, your head had drifted sideways onto Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Ah—sorry,” you whispered, snapping upright, cheeks heating.

He gave a small, warm smile and gently patted his shoulder. “I don’t mind,” he said softly, his voice low, carrying just the faintest teasing note, enough to make you flustered but not embarrassed.

You tried to sit normally, but after a minute, your head slowly drifted back against him again. Each time it happened, you flinched upright, heart racing. Each time, he just offered the same soft smile and light pat, like a silent, comforting nudge that you could relax.

Finally, you let yourself take him up on his unspoken offer. You leaned lightly against him, and he rested his head against the window, eyes half-closed. The two of you drifted into a quiet rhythm, dozing side by side.

The hum of the road and the occasional conversation from the front seat faded around you. By the time the trees thickened and the smell of pine filled the air, the ride had settled into a calm ride with a gentle warmth lingering between the two of you.

After a few hours of driving, the car finally rolled up to the campsite, and the first thing that hit you was the scent of pine and damp earth, mixed with the faint smoke of distant campfires. Sunlight streamed through the trees, dappling the ground with golden patches. The air was crisp, with a slight chill hinting at the evening to come.

Everyone spilled out of the cars, stretching limbs, hauling bags, and joking loudly. The space was bigger than you’d expected. It was an open clearing surrounded by tall pines, with a small creek gurgling nearby.

You grabbed your bag and followed the group toward the designated camping area. You spotted Taehyung and Jimin unloading supplies together, moving with that easy coordination that only longtime friends seemed to have.

“Looks like a lot of tents are going up,” Rei murmured beside you, scanning the clearing.

“Yeah,” you said, taking a deep breath. “It’s actually quite perfect.” 

While everyone started setting up, you found yourself helping lay out sleeping bags and stakes. Taehyung was nearby, hammering tent poles into the ground, and every so often your hands brushed against his as you handed him something. You tried to pretend it didn’t make your chest flutter.

Finally, the tent assignments were sorted. You and Rei were sharing one, Seol and a couple others had theirs, and the rest of the group fanned out among the remaining spaces. 

As you rolled out your sleeping bag inside your tent, the soft rustle of canvas around you and the faint laughter from the others outside made everything feel cozy. 

A few moments later, you emerged to help secure the last stakes, and Taehyung caught your eye as he finished hammering one. “Need a hand?” he asked casually, offering a small smile.

“Thanks,” you replied, brushing your hair back. “I’ve got it.”

He leaned against the tent, relaxed, watching you for a beat longer than necessary. You felt that subtle heat again, the same one from the car ride, but kept yourself busy, pretending to focus entirely on the task at hand. And not your very hot brother’s best friend who was examining your every move. 

By the time the tents were all up and the group had gathered to admire their handiwork, the sun had started to dip. The air had grown slightly cooler, and you pulled your hoodie tighter. 

Not long after, Yoona suggested a game. Then another voice chimed in, louder, more excited. A race through the spring in teams of two, one person piggy-backing the other. Groans and cheers mixed together as the idea took shape, competitiveness sparking almost instantly.

People paired off quickly, like it had all been silently decided beforehand. Rei was already laughing with Hoseok. Jimin and Jungkook arguing about rules that didn’t exist yet. You lingered near the edge, pretending to fix your sleeve until you realized there was only one person left doing the same.

Taehyung glanced over at you, eyes flicking down briefly before meeting yours again with a soft smile.

“Looks like it’s us.”

You changed into your swimsuit along everyone else, deciding on a floral two piece you'd brought. When you came back out, Taehyung was already there in tropical swim trunks, shirt nowhere to be seen.

“Hop on,” he said easily, ducking lower for you to easily mount yourself on.

You hesitated for half a second before stepping closer. His hands found your thighs as you climbed onto his back, fingers firm, grounding. The contact sent a quiet jolt through you, heat against bare skin, his grip confident like he’d done this before. Your arms looped around his shoulders, closer than you meant to be.

“You good?” he asked, voice lower now, almost amused.

“Yeah,” you replied, trying to sound steady. “Just, don’t drop me.”

He laughed, adjusting his hold slightly, pulling you in. “Lean back too much and we’re both going down,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, but leaned closer anyway, your cheek near his shoulder.

“Try not to show off,” you muttered.

“No promises.”

Namjoon shouted for everyone to get into position. The chatter grew louder, tension building as feet splashed into the shallow spring. Taehyung shifted beneath you, muscles tightening, ready.

And then—

“Go!”

The race exploded into motion.

The race was chaos from the start. You had to sprint through the shallow spring, dodging rocks and roots, all while trying to keep your balance on Taehyung’s back. He grinned, clearly enjoying the challenge as he led you by shouting out specific directions.

You were amazed by his agility and speed, and couldn’t help but take in the view of his broad shoulders your hands were wrapped around.

At some point, a sharp sting flared along your leg, probably from a hidden rock or something, but you ignored it. Nothing could slow you down, not now. 

You could hear Rei and Hoseok laughing as they splashed through the water, Seol and Jimin not far behind, and even Yoongi and Yuri making grunting, exaggerated faces as they struggled to keep pace.

Finally, the finish line, a flat patch of grass by the water’s edge, came into view. Taehyung surged forward with a final push, and you crossed it, panting, laughing, and soaked from head to toe. He slowed to a stop, gently lowering you to the bank.

You stepped off, feeling the sting in your leg more clearly now. Taehyung’s eyes flicked down instantly.

“Hey, wait. Sit down,” he said, crouching in front of you, concern breaking through his easygoing tone. He held your leg gently, inspecting the scrape. “Uh… this is deeper than I thought.”

You winced, realizing it really was more than just a scratch. “It’s fine, trust me,” you murmured, but he wasn’t having it.

“Yeah, fine isn’t what this looks like,” he said, voice soft but firm. “Stay still, okay?”

You let him help you sit on a nearby rock, careful not to lean too much on your injured leg. Before you could say anything else, hurried footsteps splashed through the water.

“What happened?” Jimin asked, already crouching beside you, eyes flicking between your leg and Taehyung. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “Just scraped it on a rock.” 

Jimin squinted at the wound, then slowly looked at Taehyung. “You had one job.” 

Taehyung lifted his hands in surrender, a guilty smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, I didn’t push her into the river.” 

“Debatable,” Jimin muttered, though the edge of a grin gave him away. “If she ends up limping all weekend, I’m blaming you.”

Rei hovered nearby, frowning. “It looks like it stings.”

“Only a teeny bit,” you admitted, then waved them off. “But really, I’m okay.”

Taehyung focused again, cleaning the scrape with careful fingers, his touch gentler than you expected. “Still,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on your leg. “I’m sorry.”

You met his gaze and shrugged lightly, a small smile forming despite yourself. “Occupational hazard of agreeing to a race like that.”

He stayed crouched in front of you, focused on your leg as he worked, shoulders rolling subtly each time he shifted. Shirtless, still damp from the spring, 

Your gaze dropped without permission, tracing the lines of his stomach, the way his abs tensed when he leaned closer. You stared a second too long. Long enough to feel the heat crawl back up your neck, long enough to forget where you were, who else was around.

He adjusted his grip, thumb steadying your leg, and you became acutely aware of how close he was, how his hands felt grounding and dangerous all at once.

You forced your eyes away, suddenly very interested in literally anything else.

Too late.

He glanced up, catching the way you froze, the way your attention snapped back to your face just a beat too slow. One corner of his mouth tugged upward, amusement flickering through his eyes.

“At least someone’s distracted,” he said lightly, tone playful, almost teasing.

Your heart stuttered.

“Focus,” you shot back, trying for casual and landing somewhere shaky instead.

He chuckled softly and returned his attention to your leg, but the air had shifted. The atmosphere between you started feeling far heavier, every small movement louder than it should’ve been. And even with his eyes down, you had the distinct, unnerving feeling that he was very aware of exactly what he’d just done to you.

And worse — that he liked it.

By the time the bandage was secured, your leg throbbed but the pain was manageable. You stood carefully, testing it. “All good,” you said, more to reassure yourself than anyone else.

“Good,” he said, standing as well, brushing off his hands. “And no more random rock attacks from me, promise.”

You smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Alright, alright,” Jimin called out, stepping between the two of you. “First aid is done. You can stop flirting with my sister now.” Taehyung rolled his eyes at the comment, arms crossed.

You couldn’t help but grin at the exchange, shaking your head. The scrape went forgotten for the moment and the playful energy between everyone made the campsite feel lighter again.

The fire had burned down to a steady glow by the time everyone finally settled into a loose circle, marshmallows skewered on sticks, jackets shrugged on against the night chill. The forest felt quieter now, no whistles, no shouts, just crackling wood and low laughter.

Blankets were spread unevenly in the dirt, some people sitting cross-legged, others stretched out on logs or leaning back on their hands. Someone passed around a small cooler, beer bottles clinking quietly as drinks were handed out, nothing fancy, just enough to warm everyone from the inside. The smell of smoke clung to clothes and hair, mixing with the smell of toasted sugar from half-melted marshmallows.

You noticed Taehyung sat across the fire, one knee pulled up, drink resting loosely in his hand. Seokjin and Yoona were close enough to share a blanket, murmuring to each other. Hoseok sprawled comfortably near the firelight, already grinning like he knew trouble was coming. Jimin dropped down beside you with a dramatic sigh, nudging your knee with his own as he reached for his drink.

It was then that Namjoon, who had somehow become the unofficial leader of your friend group over the years, shifted where he sat and stood up, lifting his bottle to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, everyone! It’s time for some truth or dare.” He tipped the bottle slightly as a chorus of reactions followed. “No truth? You drink. You back out of a dare?” He shrugged. “Also drink. And yes, people are allowed to be evil, but not that evil.”

Hoseok perked up instantly. “So chaos. But, like, safe chaos.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon said, lowering himself back down to place a bottle near the center of everyone. “Alright. Who’s starting?”

With the flick of Namjoon’s hand, the bottle spun, glass catching firelight as it circled, before landing on Yoona. 

“Okay, truth or dare,” He announced, fidgeting with the empty bottle in the dirt. 

She groaned, already smiling. “Dare. I’m not emotionally strong enough for truth right now.”

Light laughter rippled around the circle.

Namjoon leaned back on his hands, eyes glinting. “Okay,” he said thoughtfully, like he was choosing a dessert. “I dare you to kiss someone who you think is the hottest person here.” 

A beat of silence.

Yoona blinked. “That’s evil.”

“Thank you,” Namjoon replied, proud.

Her gaze flicked around the circle once, quick, almost shy, before landing on Seokjin. His brows lifted in surprise just as she scooted closer, closing the distance with a confidence that made a few people whistle.

Her lips met his in a quick, teasing brush at first, soft and deliberate, making Seokjin blink in mild shock. Everyone was leaning forward, eyes wide, whispering and nudging each other, clearly thrilled to witness the bold moment.

You glanced over at Taehyung who was watching it all quietly from across the fire, the glow reflecting in his eyes. He looked relaxed, but his attention drifted, lingering on you longer than necessary before glancing away again.

The game continued innocently enough. Hoseok dared Seol to feed Jimin a marshmallow using only her mouth. Yoongi dared Yuri to sing a cheesy love song in a dramatic voice, prompting giggles and mock groans. Hoseok ended up kissing Rei on a dare, while Namjoon and Yuri shared a quick, teasing peck. Laughter rippled around the circle as the dares grew bolder and more playful, the firelight glinting off flushed cheeks.

When it was your turn, Seol’s eyes sparkled as she leaned forward. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” you said cautiously.

“Hmm…” Seol said, grinning. “Have you ever had a crush on anyone here?”

You froze internally, heart hammering. Everyone was watching, a few teasing smirks catching your eye. You hesitated, just a fraction too long.

“Looks like someone’s drinking!” Hoseok piped up, pointing at you. You sighed, taking the shot quickly, cheeks burning, muttering under your breath. You could feel Taehyung’s eyes on you but quickly glanced past him, though you immediately knocked yourself over how suspicious it looked. 

A few more turns passed, each dare playful and flirty. Until the bottle spun again, slower this time, shaking around before finally stopping.

Pointing straight at Taehyung.

The reaction was immediate, low whistles, laughter, someone muttering, “Oh, this should be good.”

Taehyung glanced down at the bottle, then up at Yuri, who was already amused upon the selection of her victim. “Truth or dare.” 

Taehyung didn’t even pretend to think. “Dare.”

Yuri leaned forward, elbows on her knees, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Okay,” she said. “Ten-second makeout session. Your choice, with one of the girls here.”

The fire cracked loudly, embers flaring as the words settled over the circle.

Taehyung’s facial expression has a subtle sense of surprise, but he stood anyway.

His gaze swept the group once, unhurried, almost thoughtful. And then it landed on you, and stayed there.

Your stomach dropped.

He didn’t say your name. He just walked toward you, calm, deliberate, like the decision had been obvious all along.

Jimin sputtered. “I can’t watch this.”

Before he could do anything dramatic, Yoongi reached over and covered Jimin’s eyes with one hand. “For your own health,” he said dryly.

“HEY—” Jimin protested blindly.

Taehyung stopped right in front of you. Up close, the light caught in his eyes, warm and steady. He hesitated just a second, long enough to be sure, before lifting one hand to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly along your jaw. The gesture pushed your hair back, feeling just the warmth of his hand along your face and nothing else. 

The touch alone made your breaths feel heavy.

His other hand settled at your waist, firm but careful, anchoring you as he leaned in.

When his lips met yours, it wasn’t rushed.

It was slow and confident, his mouth warm against yours, the kiss deepening almost immediately. You could feel the heat of him everywhere, the hand at your waist pulling you closer, the way his thumb pressed gently at your cheek as if he didn’t want to let go.

Someone started counting.

“One… two… three…”

You barely heard it.

The kiss grew more intense, unhurried and sure. When you shifted closer without thinking, he adjusted easily, fingers tightening just slightly at your waist.

“…eight… nine… ten—”

“Time!” Hoseok called.

Taehyung didn’t pull away.

Not right away.

The count stretched. Laughter rose, someone shouting, “HEY—THAT’S PAST TEN.”

Only then did Taehyung finally break the kiss, forehead resting briefly against yours as he breathed out a quiet laugh. His hands lingered, one last squeeze at your waist, one last brush of his thumb along your cheek, before he stepped back, licking his lips. 

Your lips were tingling. Your heart was racing.

The circle erupted.

“FIFTEEN SECONDS,” one of the boys yelled, yet you couldn’t tell who. 

“Easily twenty,” Yoona added.

Yoongi uncovered Jimin’s eyes.

Jimin blinked, looked between you and Taehyung, then groaned. “I leave you alone for five minutes.”

Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, suddenly flustered now that the moment was over, ears faintly pink. “Hey, it was just a dare,” he said again, but this time it sounded less convincing.

The looks around the fire said everything.

And when Taehyung finally met your eyes again, his smile was softer, still teasing, still warm, but unmistakably real.

Many drinks later, the game slowly dissolved into something looser and less structured. The bottle was forgotten somewhere in the dirt, abandoned in favor of laughter that came too easily and conversations that drifted wherever they wanted.

Someone had pulled out skewers of meat and vegetables, passing them around the fire. Pieces of marinated beef sizzled over the flames, the smell rich and smoky, making everyone groan with hunger all over again. Grease crackled as it dripped into the fire, sparks jumping and drawing half-drunken cheers.

People sat closer now without realizing it—shoulders touching, knees brushing, blankets shared without question. Seokjin insisted on “supervising” the cooking, dramatically flipping skewers like he was running a restaurant, while Yoona leaned against him, laughing every time he overdid it. Hoseok was animated as ever, retelling some story with exaggerated gestures, nearly knocking over his drink in the process. Yoongi sat back with Yuri, quietly amused, offering commentary only when it counted.

You, slightly tipsy yourself, noticed Rei wobbling as she tried to stand, clearly far too drunk to manage it on her own. “Here,” you murmured, sliding an arm around her back and using your own weight to steady her. “Let’s get you back to the tent.”

“Alright, alright,” Taehyung said from the side, smirking. “You’re not carrying her all the way to the tent on your own, are you?”

“Don’t worry, I–I’ve got her,” you slurred, arms flailing and hair falling into your face as you tried to assert control. “You u–underestimate… my abilities.” 

“Sure,” he said, tilting his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “The one who’d probably tumble flat on the ground if I so much as poked you.”

Without thinking, you pressed a finger to his lips as if to shush him. Just one, soft, almost instinctive. The moment you felt the warmth of his lips against your finger, your chest tightened a little. Your hand froze, the small, steady pressure of him there making you instinctively relax against him. His eyes followed your finger, calm and amused, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

“Fine,” you exhaled slowly, letting your arms drop a fraction, shoulders loosening, letting him guide both you and Rei without protest. You didn’t resist when he subtly steadied you, his presence pressing close in the quiet night.

With a faint chuckle, he stepped closer, supporting both you and Rei as you made your way back to your tents. The night was quiet except for your careful steps and Rei’s occasional mumbles. Once inside your tent, you tucked Rei in, making sure she was settled before pulling the sheets around yourself.

“Thanks… for the, uh, v–very unneeded help,” you said, voice soft but teasing, curling up under the warmth of the sheets.

Part of you wanted to bring up the kiss from earlier, but you turned just in time to see Rei stirring, half-awake and mumbling incoherently. You decided against it, letting the thought slide.

Taehyung gave a small grin, ruffling your hair gently. “Goodnight,” he said, before stepping out of the tent, leaving you to your warmth and thoughts.

You snuggled deeper under the sheets, the warmth of the tent wrapping around you as your thoughts drifted. Taehyung’s presence lingered, from the way he’d teased you earlier to the way he’d silently supported both you and Rei back to the tent. Every brush of his hands against yours, every casual touch, felt amplified now in the quiet of your room.

It was reckless, maybe a little dangerous to let yourself dwell on it, but the memory of his easy grin and the warmth of his presence made it impossible not to.

Your heart thumped a little faster, and you buried your face in your pillow, exhaling softly. He had this way of getting under your skin without even trying, and tonight, with all the closeness and teasing, the feeling was stronger than ever. You couldn’t deny it, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to savor it before falling toward sleep.

The next day, the morning sun filtered softly through the tall trees, painting the campsite in golden streaks that woke you up. The fire from last night had burned down to embers and the faint smell of smoke was still lingering in the crisp air.

You yawned, stretching, and rubbed your eyes as Rei bounced up beside you, bright-eyed and slightly mischievous. “We have to talk,” she whispered, tugging at your arm.

“About what?” you asked groggily, trying to keep your voice calm.

“That kiss, duh,” she said bluntly, rolling her eyes. “Last night. Come on—you can’t just brush it off.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “It was just a dare. He’s confident; that’s just how he is.”

Rei smirked, leaning closer conspiratorially. “Yeah, a kiss with your brother’s hot best friend. What did I tell you? This is your chance.”

You shook your head, laughing softly, though your cheeks heated. “Rei, you’re terrible.”

“Terrible? I’m giving you solid advice,” she teased, nudging you. “Don’t blow it!”

You rolled your eyes, still chuckling, but couldn’t help stealing a glance toward where Taehyung and Jimin were doing a quick check of their gear. He caught your eye for a second, giving a small, almost imperceptible smirk before focusing on Jimin again. You felt your heart skip just a beat.

Rei, clearly satisfied she’d made her point, let you go and bounced off to grab a coffee from the cooler. You shook your head, sipping your own, still feeling a little flustered, and tried to focus on breakfast preparations.

The group gathered near the remnants of last night’s fire, blankets and logs rearranged into makeshift seating. Breakfast smelled like toast and sizzling bacon, with mugs of coffee and hot chocolate steaming in the cool morning air.

You sat beside Rei, still catching glimpses of Taehyung across the way. Somehow, even while casually eating, his presence made you feel something. He caught your glance and offered a subtle nod, which made your stomach twist into knots.

Jimin leaned in, nudging your shoulder. “Feeling better this morning?” he asked, voice teasing but kind.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing it off. Rei snickered beside you.

“You’re so not fine,” she whispered quietly to you. “And yes, he’s making you blush already.”

You shot her a look but couldn’t hide your grin. The moment was interrupted as you heard Namjoon’s voice in the distance. 

After calling everyone together, he stood tall holding a laminated list of items. “Alright, teams!” he announced. “Scavenger hunt time. Each team collects these items from all around the camp and nearby forest. Bonus points for speed and creativity. The first team back with everything wins.”

Everyone groaned and laughed at the thought of racing around in the woods.

Rei grabbed your hand playfully. “Come on, let’s crush them,” she said, already leading the way toward the first checkpoint.

The rest of the hunt was filled with the rustling of leaves and playful competition. You and Rei darted across shallow streams, clambered over rocks, and bent to gather pinecones, twigs, and other items on the checklist.

After a long morning of searching, running, and scrambling over rocks and roots, you and Rei finally reached the final checkpoint, breathless and laughing. You looked around, realizing you were the first to arrive.

“We made it!” Rei cheered, throwing her arms up in triumph. You mirrored her excitement, grinning widely as the thrill of winning washed over you. A victorious high-five connected, and the forest seemed to echo with your laughter, the mix of exhaustion and exhilaration buzzing through your veins.

By the time the rest of the teams trickled back, the sun had fully set, leaving the clearing bathed in the dusky glow of twilight. The others were already snacking, some chatting and laughing as they settled in for the evening. A few of the boys had started a fire, but the pile of logs was sparse, and the flames barely reached high enough to warm everyone.

Jimin called out, his voice carrying over the chatter. “We need more sticks!”

Without hesitation, you raised your hand. “I can go get some.” 

“Hey, don’t go out there alone, it’s getting pretty dark already.” Jimin warned, glancing toward the darkening trees.

Yoongi, sitting nearby, nudged Taehyung lightly with his elbow. “Go with her, man.” Taehyung obliged with a nod before strolling over to your side. 

You hesitated, suddenly aware of the situation, but the unspoken tension made it feel impossible to back out. “Uh… yeah, sure,” you muttered, trying to sound casual, and followed him toward the tree line, your steps crunching on the fallen leaves.

The forest seemed quieter now, the sounds of the camp fading behind you. Your heart raced slightly, part from the exertion and part from the awareness of walking beside him in the dim light.

“About last night…” he started. “Sorry if I went too far with the dare.”

You turned, brushing your hair back, smiling lightly. “No problem. You were… very committed, I’ll give you that.”

Taehyung’s eyes softened, and he stepped a fraction closer. “You didn’t seem like you hated it.”

“I didn’t,” you admitted, quietly, but shyly. You could tell he was seeking your gaze, but you didn’t have it in you to meet his. 

“Good… wasn’t sure if you’d go along with it,” he teased.

“You’re lucky I’m… compliant,” you quipped, letting the words slip out with a playful edge.

“Compliant, huh? That sounds suspicious,” he said, stepping closer, closing the gap just enough to make your skin tingle.

You both paused, setting the sticks carefully against a nearby tree, taking a moment to catch your breath after bending and lifting. The quiet of the forest suddenly felt louder and you could almost hear the sound of your heartbeat in your chest. He shifted slightly, brushing lightly against your side as he guided you toward a sturdier tree. “I’m curious,” he murmured, low and teasing, “just how compliant you really are.”

You tilted your head, lips quirking, letting the pause stretch. “Depends…” you drawled, letting the words hang in the air, “…on how convincing you can be.” The playful tone in your voice couldn’t mask the heat that pooled between your legs.

His smirk deepened, eyes darkening slightly as he stepped closer, closing the distance entirely. “Oh? Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe it is,” you whispered, leaning back lightly against the tree, daring him to come closer.

His hand drifted along your waist, firm but teasing, and your pulse spiked at the contact. He leaned in slowly, and this time, hesitation melted away. When his lips met yours, it was soft at first, deliberate, teasing, the kind of kiss that made the world narrow down to just the two of you. His other hand shifted slightly, fingers brushing along your back as if he was memorizing your every curve.

Your hands went instinctively to his shoulders, holding on as the kiss deepened. His lips parted slightly, and when your lips parted in response, his tongue teased at yours, slipping in a little, testing. Your knees weakened, chest tightening as the heat between you flared, your thoughts melting into the sensation.

Time seemed to stretch. Your heartbeat continued drumming in your ears, the cool night air forgotten. You hadn’t even noticed how long you’d been pressed together until a voice called out suddenly from the clearing:

“Oh! I think that’s Taehyung! They’re back!”

You both jolted apart, eyes wide, fumbling for composure.

A few of the others, who’d wandered over from the fire, appeared. “It’s freezing out without the firewood,” Yuri said cheerfully. “Thought you guys might’ve gotten lost or something.” 

You quickly shoved your hair back, trying to appear casual. Taehyung nodded at you, his smirk playful but restrained. He stepped back slightly, brushing ash from his hands. Then, smoothly, he turned to help Jimin with the fire, giving you a brief, teasing glance as if to say this isn’t over.

You exhaled, joining Rei and some of the other girls, laughing and chatting just enough to mask the way your heart was still racing. Taehyung settled beside Jimin near the fire, the two of them working together like nothing had happened at all. Still, the spark from earlier stayed present, warm and insistent in your chest.

As the night settled in, the group drifted into their own little pockets. Some people were focused on making s’mores, arguing over who’d burned theirs and who hadn’t. Others were deep in conversation while a few disappeared toward their tents entirely. The fire crackled steadily, casting a soft light over everything.

You stayed where you were, legs tucked in, simply soaking it all in. The warmth of the fire, the murmur of voices, the quiet hum of the forest around you. For a moment, it was easy to forget everything else.

A gentle tap on your shoulder pulled you out of your thoughts.

You turned, and there he was.

“Hey,” Taehyung said quietly, thumb hooking into his pocket like he wasn’t entirely sure how casual he wanted to be. “Can I steal you for a second?”

Your pulse skipped. “Steal me?” you echoed, eyebrow lifting.

“Borrow, then,” he corrected with a faint smile. “Promise I’ll bring you back.”

You hesitated only a second before nodding, standing and following him as he led you away from the firelight. His tent wasn’t far, tucked just enough out of view to feel private without being suspicious. He ducked inside first, holding the flap open for you.

Inside, it was dim and close, the air warmer somehow. You both sat, knees nearly touching, the quiet suddenly louder than the laughter outside.

“So,” you said softly, trying to sound unaffected. “This is where you tell me why I was stolen?”

He leaned back on one arm, studying you like he was taking his time. “I just… wanted to talk. Without an audience.”

“Dangerous,” you murmured, somewhat playful, though you knew there was some truth to your words. “You and me alone.”

His lips curved. “You didn’t seem too scared earlier.”

You shrugged lightly, eyes flicking to his mouth before you could stop yourself. “Maybe I like danger.”

That earned a low chuckle. He leaned forward just slightly, close enough now that you could really feel the warmth of him, his voice dropping awfully low. “You have no idea how hard you make it to behave.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Then don’t.”

The word lingered between you, soft but deliberate. His smile shifted, something slower and more intent as his gaze flicked to your lips and back.

“Careful,” he murmured. “When you say things like that…”

The space between you shrank, not all at once, but inch by inch. His hand brushed yours, not quite holding it, just enough to make your skin buzz.

“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly, eyes searching yours.

You didn’t.

Instead, you leaned in the rest of the way.

His lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, unhurried, like he was savoring the moment. It deepened naturally, warmth building as you shifted closer, hands finding familiar places without thinking. 

“You taste so good,” he whispered against your lips, his voice husky with desire. 

Before you could respond, he was tugging your top upward, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head. The cool tent air hit your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as his eyes roamed over you, taking in the lacy bra that barely contained your breasts.

"Fuck," he breathed, his thumbs brushing along the underside of your breasts. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

He lowered his head, pressing soft kisses along your stomach, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. Each touch sent sparks through your body, making you arch against him. When his lips reached the edge of your bra, he paused, looking up at you with dark, hungry eyes.

But he didn't remove it. Instead, a wicked, knowing smirk played on his lips as he deliberately traced the lacy edge with his tongue, a slow, agonizing circle that had you squirming. He was intentionally teasing you, kissing all around the fabric, along the sensitive skin of your cleavage and the curve of your breast, pointedly avoiding where you needed him most. He knew exactly how badly you wanted him to just suck your tits, and he was savoring your desperation.

"Taehyung," you whimpered, your hands tangling in his hair, trying to guide him to your aching nipple. "Please..."

"Please what?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your skin. He nipped gently at the swell of your breast, his breath hot through the lace. "Tell me what you want."

"You know what I want," you breathed, your hips rocking against him in frustration.

"I want to hear you say it," he insisted, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss right beside your straining nipple, so close yet so far away. "I want to hear how badly you need it."

The deliberate torture was unbearable. Every fiber of your being was screaming for his mouth on you. "I want you to suck my tits," you finally gasped, the words torn from your throat. "God, Taehyung, please, just suck them." Your hands moved to your back to unclasp your bra but he swatted your hands away, his fingers expertly undoing the clasp himself. 

"Good girl," he praised as he tossed the bra aside before taking your nipple into his mouth.

As his mouth continued its course on your breasts, his hand slid down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. You were already wet, your body ready for him, and he groaned when his fingers brushed against your slick folds.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "All this from a few kisses?"

You could only moan in response, arching your back and pushing your hips up to meet his hand. He rubbed slow circles around your clit, teasing you until you were squirming beneath him. He grinned widely at the sight, biting his lips. 

Taehyung’s fingers slid into your wetness with intentional slowness, his touch both teasing and possessive. His thumb pressed against your clit, circling it in slow, maddening motions that made you pant at the mere feeling. His other hand cupped your breast, his fingers pinching your nipple just hard enough to send a strike of pleasure straight to your core. 

At once, his fingers slipped out of you and right back up to his mouth where his tongue licked off the coat of your wetness from them. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice rough. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

Your breath hitched.

Imagined.

That single word sent a shiver through you. Because Taehyung—your brother’s best friend, the guy who’d been in and out of your house since you were a kid, the one you’d stolen glances at when you thought no one was looking—had imagined this. Had thought about you.

And now here he was, shirtless, his cock straining against his pants, his fingers still glistening with you.

You’d had a crush on him for years. Ever since you were old enough to know what attraction was. The way he’d laugh with Jimin, the way his hands moved when he talked, the way he’d ruffle your hair like you were still a kid even when you weren’t. You’d buried it, ignored it, told yourself it was stupid.

But now?

Now he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

And you wanted him to.

Taehyung didn’t give you time to overthink it. In one smooth motion, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and shoved them down, along with his pants.  His kicked them aside as his cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already glistening.

Your mouth went dry.

He was big. Bigger than you’d expected. Bigger than you’d ever seen up close.

And he was looking at you like he knew exactly what he was about to do to you.

“Take those off,” he ordered, nodding at your shorts.

You obeyed without hesitation, shimmying out of them and your panties in one go. The cool air hit your wetness, making you gasp, but Taehyung didn’t give you time to feel exposed. He grabbed your hips and pulled you onto his lap, your bare thighs straddling his.

“Ride my thigh,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Show me how bad you want it.”

You hesitated for only a second before pressing your hips down, your slick heat dragging against the hard muscle of his thigh. The friction was incredible, sending feelings of immense pleasure straight to your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Taehyung groaned, his hands tightening on your hips. “That’s it,” he growled. “Grind on me. Show me how wet you are.”

You obeyed, rocking your hips in slow, desperate circles, your clit dragging against his skin with every movement. The sensation was overwhelming—the way his thigh flexed beneath you and the way his cock twitched against your stomach.

“Taehyung,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as you felt yourself getting close, but not close enough. You wanted more. “I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he purred, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re doing so good. Look at you, riding my leg like a good girl.”

His words sent a fresh wave of satisfaction through you. You weren’t used to the name. You’d never been looked at like this, like you were something to be consumed, but you basked in the feeling.  

You increased your pace, your hips rolling faster, your breath coming in sharp gasps. Taehyung’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his mouth finding your neck. He kissed you there, slow and open-mouthed, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver.

“God, you’re so fucking cute,” he groaned against your throat. “Soaking my thigh. Is this what you’ve been thinking about? Me touching you like this?”

“Y-yes,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

“Say it,” he demanded, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”

You swallowed hard, your face burning. “I—I’ve thought about this,” you confessed. “About you. About you touching me. About—about this.”

Though you felt embarrassed to admit it, you definitely have. Only ever in fleeting thoughts, ones you tried your hardest to brush off, but you couldn’t deny that you did. 

His mouth crashed onto yours as if to respond, his kiss hungry and desperate. You moaned into it, your hips still rolling against his thigh, your body trembling with need.

But it still wasn’t enough.

You broke the kiss, your breath coming in sharp gasps. “Taehyung,” you begged, your voice trembling. “I—I need your cock in me already. Please.”

His eyes darkened, his grip on your hips tightening. “You sure?” he murmured, his voice rough. 

You nodded frantically. “I’m sure. Please, Taehyung. Fuck me.

Taehyung didn’t need to be told twice.

In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, his body covering yours. His cock pressed against your entrance, the tip sliding through your wetness, teasing you.

“Please,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his back.

He groaned, his forehead resting against yours. “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he growled.

Then, with one hard thrust, he buried himself inside you.

You cried out, your back arching off the tent floor as he filled you completely. He was big, stretching you in ways you’d never felt before, and for a second, you couldn’t breathe.

Taehyung stilled, his breath coming in sharp gasps. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice strained.

You nodded, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Y-yes,” you gasped. “Just—just move.”

He groaned, his hips pulling back before slamming into you again. The sensation was overwhelming, the way his cock hit just the right spot inside you.

You moaned, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. “Taehyung,” you gasped. “Harder. Please, harder.”

He obeyed, his hips snapping against yours with a force that left you breathless. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you onto his cock with every thrust, his body slamming into yours with a roughness that sent you spiraling.

You were close. So close. Your body was trembling, your breath coming out sharply.

“Taehyung,” you whimpered. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Come on my cock.”

The mere command sent you over the edge.

You moaned out, your body shuddering as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him, pulling him deeper.

Taehyung groaned, his own release following close behind. He thrusted into you one final time, his cock pulsing as he came, filling you with his warmth.

You both collapsed onto the tent floor, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths being let out as ragged gasps. Taehyung pulled you into his arms, his lips pressing against your forehead in a soft, tender kiss.

“That was incredible,” he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction.

You smiled, snuggling closer to him. “It was,” you agreed, your voice soft.

You lay there for a while, enjoying the afterglow, the sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal. Taehyung's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, his touch gentle and soothing.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by voices outside.

"Where's Y/N and Taehyung?" someone called out, the sound getting closer.

Your eyes met his in panic. Without a word, you both scrambled for your clothes, dressing as quickly as possible. You smoothed your hair down with trembling fingers.

You slipped out, trying to appear casual as you rejoined the group.

"There you are!" Jimin exclaimed. "We were wondering where you two disappeared to."

You chuckled, keeping your voice light. "Just needed some fresh air."

Taehyung appeared moments later, looking frustratingly composed despite what had just happened between you.

"And what about you?" Seokjin asked him with a raised eyebrow.

"Same," Taehyung said with a shrug, but his eyes found yours across the room, a secret smile playing on his lips.

As the group resumed their conversation, Rei sidled up beside you.

"So... fresh air, huh?" she whispered, nudging your side gently.

You couldn't help the blush that crept up your cheeks. "Something like that."

She studied your face for a moment before her eyes widened in realization. "Oh my god," she whispered, a delighted smile spreading across her face. "Finally!"

Later, as the group dispersed into smaller conversations, Taehyung managed to pass by you. His fingers gently brushed against yours, a touch so brief anyone else would have missed it.

"We should get lost together more often." he joked. His eyes met yours, warm and tender with just a hint of mischief. "Next time, I want to take my time with you. No interruptions, okay?"

You felt your lips curve into a smile that mirrored his own, a silent agreement passing between you.

a/n: yay you made it! lmk what you think of this one and check out my other stuff <3

Or maybe it's bigger than that—your whole damn life, a scrapbook of sweet nothings you swore you'd keep. Staying in Barcelona. Holding tight to Mom's hand in memory. Rooting for a team that felt more like family when yours got ripped in half.

Death didn't just knock that day; it kicked the door down, left the air thick with something sour, like rotting lilies.

Mom used to fill the house with them.

White ones from the market on Sundays, yellow ones she'd steal from the neighbor's garden when she thought no one was looking.

Now you can't walk past a flower shop without your throat closing up, without that familiar knot threatening to crawl up and spill everything you've been swallowing down.

University isn't the escape you hoped for. Not the endless readings on joint mechanics, not the sterile newness of a city that still feels like a borrowed coat, and definitely not the present, which drags like a bad hangover.

You're two weeks into this Madrid experiment, and every day is a reminder of what's gone.

But then, somehow, there are people. Small, unexpected pockets of something lighter that make it easier.

You just never expected easiness to have a name like Sofia Zhu.

You're slouched in a lecture hall at UEM, campus filled with the kind of international crowd that makes you feel both invisible and exposed. End of September, semester just kicking off, and the air's got that crisp edge that doesn't match the heat still clinging to the streets outside.

Sofia's next to you, scribbling in her notebook with a focus that's almost annoying. Almost. Meanwhile you—well, you're scrolling through your phone, thumb flicking over a screen that's stubbornly empty of anything worth reading.

No messages from Dani.

Not that you expected any.

You told yourself the distance—geographical, emotional, whatever—would be the perfect excuse to untangle the mess of feelings you've carried for him since you were sixteen. Unreciprocated, unspoken, and now, unnecessary.

Doesn't stop the sting, though. Expected hurt still hurts.

Your fingers drift to Jungkook's chat instead. A few unread messages, probably memes or some random check-in. He's the only thing that feels like home lately, a tether to Barcelona that hasn't snapped yet.

You don't open it. Not here. Not with Sofia's voice cutting through your haze.

"I have never seen anyone our age swallow down those in twos like you do," she mumbles, not looking up from her notes when her pen scratches against the paper, somehow grounding.

You know she's talking about the pikotas in your hand, the sour-sweet candies you've been popping absentmindedly.

Two at a time, always. A habit from forever ago, when Mom would slip them into your pocket before school.

You don't miss a beat, tossing another pair into your mouth. "Just say you have horrible taste."

She snorts, finally glancing over. Her dark hair falls in a neat curtain over one shoulder, and her eyes crinkle just enough to show she's not actually judging.

"I'm half Chinese. Taste is like, our whole point."

You roll your eyes, but there's a smirk tugging at your lips.

Sofia's got a way of sneaking past your usual walls, not with force but with this quiet, persistent ease.

You met her two weeks ago, first day of classes, when the semester started and you were still figuring out how to navigate the sleek, expensive campus. Because it's just the kind of place that screams privilege—private, international, one of the most expensive universities in Spain, all courses in English to cater to the global mix of students who can afford it.

You were sitting alone in the back of a lecture hall, trying to blend into the polished wood and glass, when she plopped down next to you. No hesitation, just a quick "Mind if I sit?" and a grin that didn't wait for your answer.

She clocked your last name on your notebook, matched it to the buzz about your dad being Real Madrid's new physio, and didn't make a big deal of it. Just nodded like it was trivia, not gossip.

You appreciated that more than you let on.

Since then, she's been a constant. Study sessions in the campus library, coffee runs at the overpriced café downstairs, late-night texts about assignments. She's Madrid-born, Chinese-Spanish, a sports psychology major with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue when she wants. She knows about your dad's job, knows you're fresh off the boat from Barcelona, and hasn't pushed for details.

That's why you don't mind her sitting here, filling the silence with her quiet banter while you chew through candy and memories.

Madrid's like that. Too much of everything—light, noise, space—and none of it fits right.

Not like Barcelona did, with its narrower streets and warmer shadows.

Still, at UEM, you're just another face in a sea of ambitious twenty-somethings, most of whom couldn't care less about football. Real Madrid, Barcelona—it's not their world. They're chasing MBAs, tech startups, international law degrees.

That, however, does not mean they don't know who Kim Taehyung is.

"Hey, speaking of taste—or lack thereof—have you seen the news this weekend? That whole scandal with Real Madrid's golden boy? Taehyung?"

Fuck Sofia for ruining your peace. You take all the good things you said about her back.

Of course she'd bring it up. Not because she's obsessed with football—most people here aren't—but because Taehyung's mess is everywhere. A superstar, a celebrity, the kind of hot that has women tripping over themselves and brands clawing for a piece of him.

His whole 'can't keep it in his pants' routine isn't even a flaw to most; it's charm, a marketable quirk that somehow makes him more desirable.

You've seen the headlines (who hasn't?), the grainy party pics, the lipstick smear on his neck that's got half of Madrid's press losing their minds.

Nike's 'concerned,' apparently.

You doubt he cares.

You shrug, keeping your face blank. "Yeah, I saw. Not exactly news when it's him."

Sofia raises a brow, catching the edge in your tone.

She doesn't know about your first run-in with him, the way he loomed at the training ground like he owned the air itself, expecting you to melt under his gaze; and you… Didn't.

Just stared back, flat and unimpressed, until he looked almost confused.

Which was honestly refreshing. He needs to get humbled.

But Sofia doesn't need that story, not yet. You're not sure why it even sticks in your head. It's not like he matters.

"Fair," she says, tapping her pen against her chin. "Still, it's wild. Guy's got the world at his feet, and he's out there acting like a frat boy on spring break. My psych prof would have a field day with his impulse control—or lack of it."

You huff a small laugh, more out of habit than amusement. "Probably. But it's not like anyone's surprised. That's just… him."

Her eyes narrow a fraction, like she's filing that comment away for later. You don't like how she does that, reads the unsaid stuff in your pauses. Makes you feel seen in ways you're not ready for.

You pop another pikota, let the sour bite ground you.

The lecture hall's still noisy, a guy two rows down arguing with his friend in rapid-fire German, a girl across the aisle snapping a selfie with her overpriced latte.

Normal. Disconnected from the football bubble you've been dragged into.

You wish you could stay in this pocket of mundane forever, where no one cares about football or your dad's job or the way some prick keeps jostling his dick around like it's a birthday party and his junk is a gift.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, screen lighting up with Jungkook's name.

A distraction. A lifeline.

A… video of a ferret stealing an entire sock drawer, dragging socks one by one to build a nest?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜

You snort—actually snort—loud enough that Sofia looks up from her notebook with raised eyebrows.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚞𝚋𝚎'𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚊𝚕

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝙷𝙰𝙷𝙰𝙷𝙰𝙷𝙰

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚝𝚠?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚏𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝙻𝙼𝙰𝙾𝙾𝙾

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚋𝚌 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚒'𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚒'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚒 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 🤔

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜

You pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He's talking about you, obviously. Those stupid chocolate croissants from the Barcelona training facility café that you'd get genuinely upset about when they sold out.

It feels like a lifetime ago—back when your biggest worry was missing breakfast pastries, not navigating the social minefield of Madrid's elite football culture.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠'𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

You swallow thickly, staring at your screen for a couple seconds.

Because Jungkook's always been good at checking in without making it feel like an interrogation. He knows you well enough to understand that direct questions about your emotional state will get deflected, but asking about Madrid in general? That's safe territory.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚊𝚍'𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗?

You chew the inside of your cheek, watching Sofia highlight something in yellow marker.

How do you explain that Madrid feels like wearing clothes that don't fit? That every day feels like you're playing a role you never auditioned for? That you miss the easy warmth of Barcelona so much it physically hurts sometimes?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚘𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚒

Sofia waves at your phone like Jungkook can see her, which makes you roll your eyes.

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝙷𝙸 𝚂𝙾𝙵𝙸𝙰

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚒 𝙰𝙼 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒'𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒'𝚜 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚒

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚢

Your heart does that stupid flutter thing it always does when Dani gets mentioned.

Even now, even with Carla, even with the distance and the time and the rational knowledge that your teenage crush was exactly that—teenage and over.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚍𝚊𝚍'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎 𝚒s

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚘𝚘

No, he didn't.

It's easier to pretend he didn't.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚑𝚘𝚠'𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜, 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚎'𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎?

You know exactly what you're asking.

He knows too, judging by the way the writing dots disappear two times before his next reply.

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚗𝚊𝚑

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗…?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎? 👀

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖?

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚢

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 🙄

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒'𝚖 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞

The homesickness comes and crashes like a tidal wave.

It never quite goes away, the ache for the people who knew you before Madrid, before everything got complicated.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚘

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚍'𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚢

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚒𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚞𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚒'𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚐𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚍𝚘

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚓𝚔

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚠𝚜

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚒'𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢

Family.

Something warm settles in your chest.

Not the grief, not the homesickness, but something warmer.

A reminder that distance doesn't erase the connections that matter.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝

𝐉𝐊💙❤️: ❤️

You set your phone down, a sigh escaping your lips.

Madrid's still foreign, and two weeks in, and you're still mourning. Not just Mom, though that's a wound that never scabs over. It's Barcelona too. The team, the culture, the way Camp Nou felt like a second home. The way Dani smiled without agenda, the way Jungkook teased like a brother.

You're in Madrid by accident, by necessity, and every white jersey you see feels like a betrayal.

But then there's Sofia, a small, stubborn reminder that not everything here has to hurt.

You chew another candy, slower this time. Let the sourness linger.

Promises might wither when left alone, but maybe, just maybe, some things grow in their place.

You're not ready to name it. Not ready to trust it.

But for now, sitting here with Sofia's quiet scribbling as your backdrop, it's enough to keep you from sinking.

Traffic in Madrid is apparently a personal vendetta against punctuality.

Your dad's running twenty minutes late because some jackass decided the M-40 was the perfect place for a fender bender, which means you're here. Setting up his station. Organizing equipment you could identify with your eyes closed because you've been watching him work since you could walk.

The physio room's too clean, too sterile, too Real Madrid.

The Barcelona facility had character—scuff marks on the walls, that one massage table with the slightly wobbly leg that everyone avoided, the persistent smell of Bengay that had seeped into the paint over fifteen years.

This place looks like it was designed by people who've never actually treated an injury.

You're sorting through resistance bands when Namjoon appears in the doorway, looking like he's lost a fight with his textbooks. Again.

"Your dad said you might be here," he says, adjusting his glasses. "Traffic's insane out there."

Right. Namjoon.

You met him exactly nine days ago when he wandered into the wrong lecture hall and ended up sitting through your Sports Medicine seminar. Turned out he was supposed to be in another class but was too polite to leave once he realized his mistake. Also turned out he's doing his practicum here, shadowing the medical staff twice a week.

Small world. Smaller when your dad's the new guy everyone wants to impress.

"He's stuck near Cuatro Caminos," you say, testing the tension on an elastic band. "Should be here soon."

"Need help with anything?"

You gesture at the perfectly organized equipment. "It's just busy work. Dad's paranoid about first impressions."

Namjoon nods like he understands the pressure of being the new guy. Which he probably does, considering he transferred here from Seoul and still looks slightly shell-shocked by Spanish bureaucracy.

"I'll be in the film room if you need anything," he says. "Marco's apparently having issues with his hip flexor and wants to review some footage."

Of course Marco has issues. Guy probably pulled something showing off for whatever Instagram model he's currently terrorizing.

Namjoon disappears, leaving you alone with the antiseptic smell and the growing certainty that helping your dad was a mistake.

You should be back at UEM, pretending to study while Sofia explains the philosophical implications of biochemical reactions.

Instead, you're here. Instead, you're in enemy territory. Organizing equipment for people who think Barcelona is a quaint regional hobby.

The door opens again.

"Thought I saw the physio's…" The voice trails off.

You know that voice. Heard it exactly one week ago, asking if you knew his name like that was supposed to matter.

You don't look up. Keep sorting through the massage oils like they require your complete attention.

"…Daughter," Taehyung finishes, giving the Coke Zero in his hand one last sip. "Interesting."

"Riveting," you say to the bottles of arnica gel. "There's a Nobel Prize in it somewhere."

He laughs. Actually laughs, like you've said something amusing instead of dismissive. Then, leaves the can on the furniture near the door.

You look up.

Grave mistake.

He's shirtless again because of course he is. Apparently shirts are optional in his world, a suggestion rather than a requirement. Fresh scratch marks across his back, angry red lines that tell a very obvious story about his weekend activities.

Classy.

"Something wrong with your scapula?" you ask, because that's why people come here—medical issues.

Not to parade around half-naked making small talk with staff daughters.

"How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess."

He moves closer, traces of whatever shampoo he uses lingering in the air. It reminds you of lemons… And something else that's probably pheromones or whatever evolutionary bullshit makes objectively terrible men attractive to people with functioning ovaries.

"Your dad around?"

"Running late." You cap the massage oil, set it back in its designated spot. "You can wait."

"Or you could take a look."

You blink. "I'm not a physiotherapist."

"You know what you're doing." He's already settling onto the massage table, lying face down like the decision's been made. "Study the same stuff as your dad, should be the same no?"

"It's really not."

"How?"

Because studying and actually doing the work with your own hands is essentially different.

Because med students are not doctors.

And physio students aren't either.

But explaining that to Kim Taehyung would mean talking to a toddler. And you have better things to do than waste breath on a manchild.

"Because."

"Compelling argument."

You could leave. Should leave. Let him wait for your dad like a normal person.

But maybe it's the way he's so entitled, and acts like so. Maybe it's the need to put him in his place—especially when you don't even know where yours is.

So, you wash your hands.

"Where's the pain?"

"Right side. Under the shoulder blade. Been bothering me since Saturday."

Saturday. When he was making headlines for all the wrong reasons. When those scratch marks were being carved into his back by whatever random woman decided he was worth the trouble.

You approach the table, professional, detached. Just like you've seen Dad do a hundred million times before.

You place your hands on his back, feeling for tension, knots, the specific kind of tightness that comes from overcompensation.

His skin is warm. Firm.

The scratch marks are raised under your fingers, evidence of Saturday night's adventures literally written across his shoulders.

"Here?" You press against the scapula, finding the knot immediately.

"Mmm." The sound is low, almost a purr. "Yeah, right there."

You ignore the way he says it. Focus on the muscle. The problem. The solution.

"Probably compensation," you say, working your thumbs in small circles. "You favor your right side when you tackle. Puts extra stress on the stabilizing muscles."

"Hmmm." Another noise, drawn out and definitely unnecessary. "That feels… really good."

Your hands pause. "Are you making those sounds on purpose?"

"What sounds?"

But he's grinning into the table. You can hear it in his voice.

"The porn sounds."

"I don't know what you mean."

You resume working, digging deeper into the knot. He needs to learn that his little games don't work on everyone.

"Ah," he breathes when you hit a particularly tight spot. "Oh, fuck, that's—"

"Can you not?"

"Not what?"

"Sound like you're getting jerked off."

He turns his head, looking at you over his shoulder with that smirk that probably gets him everything he wants.

"Is that what it sounds like?"

"It sounds like you're doing it on purpose."

"Maybe I am."

"Well, don't."

He simply glances at you, smirk plastered all over his face.

You work in silence for a few minutes, focusing on the actual muscle tension instead of the idiot attached to it. The knot's stubborn, layers of compensation built up over weeks of training and whatever he does in his spare time that leaves scratch marks.

"Your weekend activities aren't helping," you say, pressing harder than strictly necessary.

"Mmhm." Another deliberate sound. "My weekend activities are very… thorough."

"I mean the scratches. They're affecting your posture."

"Ah." Like you've just told him something profound instead of basic anatomy. "The scratches."

"Unless you're wrestling with cats, you might want to tell your… companions… to be more careful."

He laughs, and you feel it vibrate through his back under your hands.

"I'll pass along the feedback."

The muscle finally starts to give, tension releasing under sustained pressure. You move your hands to the surrounding area, checking for related knots, secondary compensation patterns.

"Oh," he breathes when you hit another tight spot. "Yeah, that's… mmm."

"Jesus Christ."

"What?"

"Do you have to narrate everything?"

"I'm appreciative." His voice is muffled by the table but you can still hear the amusement. "Sue me for having good manners."

"This isn't appreciation. This you auditioning for a porno."

"Can't it be both?"

You press your elbow into the knot. Hard.

He chokes on whatever smart-ass comment he was about to make.

"Better," you say flatly.

"Fuck, okay, point taken."

The thing about Taehyung is that he's predictable. He pushes until he finds resistance, then pushes harder to see what happens.

Classic spoiled rich boy behavior—no understanding of boundaries because no one's ever enforced any.

You've met his type before. Barcelona had them too, though they usually had the decency to pretend they weren't entitled assholes.

"Turn around."

He does, and now you're face to face with his chest. Which is. Well. It's a chest. Perfectly sculpted, golden skin, the kind of definition that suggests both excellent genetics and obsessive gym habits.

You've seen better.

(That's a lie, but you're committed to it.)

"The problem's in your back," you say, positioning your hands on his shoulders from the front. "You're compensating with your anterior muscles."

"My what now?"

"Front muscles. Keep up."

He grins at that, like you've just confirmed some theory he's been testing.

"So you're saying I've been working too hard?"

"I'm saying you've been working wrong."

Your hands find the tight spots along his clavicle, pressing into the muscle tissue with more force than strictly necessary.

Indeed, he makes another sound—something between a gasp and a moan—and you seriously consider just walking out.

"That's definitely gonna leave marks," he says, looking down at where your thumbs are digging into his skin.

"Good. Maybe you'll remember proper form."

"Oh, I'll remember this."

The way he says it makes your skin crawl.

Not because it's gross—which it is—but because it sounds like he genuinely means it.

Which is worse, somehow.

You finish the treatment in relative silence, mostly because you've perfected the art of selective hearing. He tries a few more times to get a reaction, but you're done giving attention to his stupidities.

"Ice it for twenty minutes when you get home," you say, stepping back and washing your hands again. "Anti-inflammatories if the pain persists."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

You're already moving toward the sink, washing your hands again because touching him feels like it requires immediate sanitization.

"Your dad teach you anything else?"

"How to bill insurance companies."

He laughs. Again. Like you're actually funny instead of just sarcastic.

"Useful skill."

You dry your hands, not letting him out of your periphery because it feels dangerous, somehow. He's sitting behind you on the table. Shirtless. Fixed.

Still there.

Can he leave?

"Was there something else?"

"Just curious."

"About what?"

"You."

You muster all the oxygen in the room one breath. Inhale deeply. Exhale slowly.

"There's nothing to be curious about."

"I doubt that."

You turn around. He's still sitting on the table, legs dangling like a kid at the doctor's office. Except kids don't usually look like they've been sculpted by people with advanced degrees in human anatomy.

"I'm the physio's daughter. That's it. That's the whole story."

"The physio's daughter who transfers from Barcelona and acts like Real Madrid personally wronged her family."

"I don't act like anything."

"You act like we killed your dog."

"You didn't kill my dog."

"But you hate us anyway."

The worst thing is—he doesn't ask it like a question, just states it like it's a fact. Like he knows more than you're letting on.

"I don't hate anyone."

"Liar."

He doesn't know you enough to accuse you like that, especially when it's imbued in such friendly tone, like he's commenting on your coffee order instead of calling out your entire emotional state.

"I don't know you well enough to hate you."

"But you know enough to disapprove."

"I disapprove of a lot of things."

"Such as?"

"People who think the world revolves around them."

He grins. "Guilty."

"People who can't take a hint."

"Also guilty."

"People who make everything about sex."

"Depends on your definition of everything."

You stare at him. He stares back, completely unashamed. Like this is normal conversation instead of him basically admitting to being exactly the kind of person you despise.

"You're unbelievable."

"Thanks."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I know."

He slides off, and it's always like this—moving like he's never doubted his welcome anywhere. Casually arrogant, lazily confident.

He's standing now, fingers tapping against the table in that absurd manner of people trying to look sexy.

Whether it works, you're not gonna comment.

But your dad's equipment suddenly feels very small, the space between you measured in inches instead of feet.

"I should go," he says, but doesn't move.

"Yes. You should."

He reaches for his shirt, hanging on a nearby chair. But instead of putting it on, he steps closer. Close enough that you can see the exact color of his eyes, the way his hair falls across his forehead, the small scar near his left eyebrow that probably has a story you don't want to know.

His hand moves, casual and way too quick, slipping into the pocket of your hoodie before you can react.

"Think I'll be borrowing one of these."

He pulls out a pikota, examining it like it's a rare artifact instead of candy you buy at any corner store.

"Those are mine."

"I know." He pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Sour. Interesting choice."

"Give it back."

"Can't. Already eaten."

"The rest of them."

"Finders keepers."

He's still standing too close, looking down at you with that smirk that suggests he knows exactly how inappropriate this is and doesn't care.

"Besides," he says, finally stepping back, "now I know what to call you."

"My name is—"

"Gominola."

Your brows knit in disbelief. There's just no way—no way—that Real Madrid's number two, Kim Taehyung, the arrogant prick standing in front of you, had the audacity to cut you off mid-name… only to nickname you Gominola.

"That's not my name."

"It is now."

He pulls on his shirt, covering the scratch marks and the evidence of whatever he does when he's not being a professional athlete.

"See you around, Gominola."

He's gone before you can respond—so you settle for cursing him inwardly, instead of outwardly.

But not quite gone.

Because the Coke Zero can is still sitting there on the counter like a monument to his casual disrespect for other people's spaces. Empty. Sweating condensation onto the pristine surface of your dad's equipment station.

Of course.

"Your trash," you call out, voice flat.

He pauses in the doorway, glances back at the can like he's seeing it for the first time.

"That's what you're here for, no?"

The audacity. The absolute fucking audacity.

"I'm not your maid."

"Hmmm… No?" He shrugs, casual as breathing. "Organizing equipment, cleaning up after people. Very maid-adjacent activities."

You stare at him. He stares back.

Neither of you moves.

Your eyebrow twitches—just once, a microscopic flicker of irritation that you can't quite suppress. It's involuntary. Reflexive. The kind of tell that gives away more than you'd like.

But he catches it. Of course he does.

"I like that," he says, leaning against the doorframe like he's settling in for a show. "That little frown you get. Right there." He gestures vaguely at your face. "Makes you look real cute when you're pissed off."

Cute.

He called you cute.

Like you're some pet that's learned a new trick. Like your irritation exists for his entertainment.

"Fascinating. I'll add that to the list of things I don't care about."

"Long list?"

"You'd be surprised."

He grins so bright, for a second you wonder if you just complimented his mother instead of basically telling him to fuck off.

"You know what? Keep the can." He straightens up, preparing to leave for real this time. "Consider it a memento."

"Of what?"

"Today. This conversation. The first time you touched me."

Your skin crawls inwards. Because the way he says it? It's not only sexual—though it definitely is—but it also sounds like he's already planning the sequel.

"It was a medical procedure."

"If you say so, Gomi."

And then he's actually gone, leaving you alone with his trash, his stupid nickname, and the lingering scent of lemons that somehow makes the entire room feel smaller.

You grab the can. Toss it in the bin with more force than strictly necessary.

The metal clangs against the sides, echoing in the silence.

Your eyebrow's still twitching.

Cute. Right.

You make a mental note to practice better facial control.

The last thing you need is Kim Taehyung thinking he has any effect on you whatsoever.

The thing about expensive universities is that they love attaching corporate logos to everything.

Like slapping a Nike swoosh on your degree somehow makes the crushing student debt more palatable. Or maybe it's the other way around—Nike gets to pretend they care about education while really just hunting for the next generation of athletes to exploit.

Either way, you're sitting in a lecture hall that's way too big listening to Professor García explain why this is such an 'incredible opportunity.'

"Nike has graciously agreed to sponsor a networking event for our Sports Science students," he says, gesturing at a PowerPoint slide that's probably older than some of the freshman. "This is exactly the kind of industry connection that makes UEM graduates so sought after."

You chew a pikota. Slowly. Let the sour-sweet dissolve on your tongue while Sofia scribbles notes like this is information worth remembering.

Corporate networking events.

Your favorite.

Right up there with root canals and Real Madrid training sessions.

"The event will be held next Friday at seven PM," he continues, clicking to the next slide. "Cocktail attire. Representatives from Nike's European division will be there, along with several prominent figures from Madrid's sports community."

Sofia elbows you. "This could be huge for internships."

"Thrilling," you say, not looking up from your notebook where you're not taking notes. Just doodling. Tiny ferrets stealing socks from faceless businessmen in suits.

"I'm serious. Nike sponsors half the football world. Imagine the connections."

The problem with Sofia is that she still believes in the system. Still thinks that networking and handshakes and business cards will somehow lead to meaningful careers instead of just more meetings with people who think they're important.

You've seen the system. Lived adjacent to it your entire life.

It's mostly bullshit wrapped in expensive suits.

"Plus," Sofia adds, leaning closer, "it's not like you have anything else going on Friday night."

What you hate about Sofia is that she is, often, not wrong.

And this time, she isn't either.

Your social calendar consists of studying, texting Jungkook, and watching your ferrets commit small crimes against your furniture.

Hardly the stuff of legends.

"Representatives from Madrid's sports community," you repeat, finally looking up. "That's vague."

"Probably Real Madrid players," says the guy sitting in front of you. Miguel something. Rich kid with a trust fund and opinions about everything. "My dad knows someone at Nike. Says they've got some big partnership thing happening."

Of course they do.

Because apparently there's no corner of your life that Real Madrid can't invade.

Not university. Not home. Not even corporate networking events that should theoretically have nothing to do with football.

"You okay?" Sofia asks, probably noticing the way your jaw's gone tight.

"Fine."

But you're not fine. You're calculating the odds that you can skip this thing without Professor García noticing. Or caring.

Except that would mean explaining to Sofia why you're suddenly allergic to networking events. Which would mean explaining about the move from Barcelona. Which would mean explaining things you don't have words for yet.

So instead you nod. Smile. Pretend like the thought of spending an evening making small talk with Real Madrid players doesn't make you want to crawl under your desk and stay there.

"Great," García says, apparently wrapping up his sales pitch. "I'll email you the details. Remember, this is optional but highly recommended. Nike doesn't offer these opportunities often."

The lecture moves on to muscle fiber types and you try to focus. Really. But your brain keeps drifting back to Friday night.

To cocktail attire and corporate representatives and the growing certainty that your life in Madrid is about to get exponentially more complicated.

Sofia's still taking notes. Dutiful, organized, probably already planning her outfit.

You draw another ferret. This one's stealing a Nike swoosh.

Seems appropriate.

Home feels different now that your dad’s working for Real Madrid.

Not worse, exactly; just… Heavier. Like the walls are holding their breath, waiting for something to go wrong.

You can hear him in the kitchen, moving around with the kind of agitation that means he’s either cooking something complicated or thinking through a problem. 

You have lived with him enough to know it’s usually both.

"¿Qué tal la universidad?" (How was university?) your dad calls out when he hears you drop your bag by the door.

"Educativa," (Educational) you say, which is technically true.

You did learn that Nike has tentacles that reach into every corner of Spanish academic life.

"Bien. Ven aquí un momento." (Good. Come here for a minute.)

The kitchen smells like garlic and something that might be steaks if your dad’s feeling ambitious. He’s standing at the stove, stirring something in a pan that’s definitely too big for two people.

Force of habit. 

He’s been cooking for crowds since your mom died, like muscle memory doesn’t understand that the crowd is gone.

"Tenemos que hablar sobre el viernes," (We need to talk about Friday) he says without looking up.

Friday. The Nike thing. Of course he knows about it. Probably got an email from someone at the university, or maybe Nike reached out directly. Corporate synergy and all that.

"Ya sé lo del evento de networking," (I already know about the networking event) you say, leaning against the counter. "El profesor García hizo el gran anuncio hoy." (Professor Garcia made the big announcement today.)

"No es eso—" (That's not—) He stops stirring what you now recognize as the veggies side dish. Looks at you. "¿Qué evento de networking?" (What networking event?)

Oh.

Oh, this is worse.

"Nike está patrocinando algo en la UEM. Viernes por la noche. Estudiantes de ciencias del deporte." (Nike's sponsoring something at UEM. Friday night. Sports science students.) You watch his expression change from confusion to something that looks suspiciously like resignation. "¿Por qué?" (Why?)

He sets down the wooden spoon. Runs a hand through his hair in that way that means he’s about to deliver news you won’t like.

"El Real Madrid tiene una cena programada con representantes de Nike. Viernes por la noche a las nueve, pero tenemos que estar allí a las siete y media." (Real Madrid has a dinner scheduled with Nike representatives. Friday night at nine, but we have to be there by seven-thirty.) He pauses. "Las familias del personal están invitadas." (Staff families are invited.)

The pieces click together immediately.

You want to throw something.

"Es el mismo evento." (It's the same event.)

"Eso parece." (Appears so.)

"Así que las 'figuras prominentes de la comunidad deportiva madrileña' son—" (So the 'prominent figures from Madrid's sports community' are—)

"El equipo. Sí." (The team. Yes.)

You stare at him. He stares back, apologetic but not apologetic enough to fix this.

"No puedo ir," (I can't go) you say finally.

"Sí, puedes." (Yes, you can.)

"No iré." (I won't go.)

"Sí, irás." (Yes, you will.)

It’s not a conversation. It’s a statement of fact, delivered in the tone he uses when discussing treatment plans with stubborn patients. 

Final and absolutely non-negotiable.

"Papá—" (Dad—)

"Esto es importante." (This is important.) He turns back to the stove, but his shoulders are tense. "Mi puesto aquí sigue siendo nuevo. Aún me están evaluando. Estos eventos importan." (My position here is still new. Still being evaluated. These events matter.)

Right. 

Because everything comes back to that—his job, his reputation, the delicate political balance of being the former Barcelona physiotherapist who now works for Real Madrid.

You’re not just his daughter at these things. You’re evidence. Proof that the transition is working, that the family has successfully integrated into Madrid’s football culture.

No pressure.

"¿Cuántos jugadores?" (How many players?) you ask, because you need to know the scope of the disaster you're walking into.

"La mayoría del primer equipo. Entrenadores. Algunos miembros de la junta." (Most of the first team. Coaches. Some board members.) He glances at you. "Es un gran evento para Nike. Anuncio de nueva asociación." (It's a big deal for Nike. New partnership announcement.)

"¿Y tengo que estar allí porque...?" (And I have to be there because...?)

"Porque eres parte de esta familia. Y esta familia se apoya mutuamente." (Because you're part of this family. And this family supports each other.)

The guilt trip is subtle but effective. Because he’s right. You are part of this family. 

The only family either of you has left.

And if supporting him means suffering through dinner with Real Madrid players while maintaining the fiction that you’re happy to be there, then that’s what you’ll do.

Even if it kills you.

Even if one of those players is as arrogant as Kim Taehyung.

"Vale," (Fine) you say. "Pero no voy a fingir ser fan del Madrid." (But I'm not pretending to be a Madrid fan.)

"No te estoy pidiendo que lo hagas." (I'm not asking you to.)

"Y no voy a hacer conversación sobre lo genial que es el equipo." (And I'm not making small talk about how great the team is.)

"Entendido." (Understood.)

"Y si alguien pregunta sobre el Barcelona—" (And if anyone asks about Barcelona—)

"Les dices la verdad. Que lo echas de menos pero te estás adaptando." (You tell them the truth. That you miss it but you're adjusting.) He turns off the heat, faces you completely. "Esto no tiene que ser una tortura. Solo... sé tú misma. Sé educada." (This doesn't have to be torture. Just... be yourself. Be polite.)

Be yourself. Right.

Because your ‘self’ is exactly who you want to be around a table full of people who represent everything you’ve been raised to view with suspicion.

Everyone keeps saying that like it’s simple advice instead of the most complicated thing in the world.

Your ‘self’ is a Barcelona girl in Madrid territory. A physio’s daughter who knows too much about football politics and not enough about corporate networking. Someone who misses her mom and protects her dad and has strong opinions about ferret care.

None of which feels particularly useful for surviving dinner with Real Madrid.

But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe being yourself is exactly what will get you through this.

Even if ‘yourself’ includes the part that finds Kim Taehyung insufferable.

Especially that part.

"¿Qué me pongo?" (What should I wear?) you ask, because if you're doing this, you might as well do it right.

"Algo bonito, elegante." (Something nice, elegant.) He pauses. "Tu madre tenía un vestido negro. Aún está en el armario de arriba." (Your mother had a black dress. Still in the closet upstairs.)

The mention of Mom never stops the dull ache from forming and stirring in your chest. 

Like lillies in full bloom. 

"Ya me las arreglaré," (I'll figure something out) you say, because the thought of wearing her clothes to a Real Madrid event feels like blasphemy.

He nods. Goes back to stirring.

You grab a pikota from the jar on the counter, unwrap it, let the sourness ground you while you process the fact that your Friday night just became infinitely more complicated.

"¿Al menos me dirás quién va a estar allí?" (Will you at least tell me who's going to be there?) you ask. "Para poder prepararme para el sabor específico de pesadilla que va a ser esto." (So I can prepare for the specific flavor of nightmare this is going to be?)

He rattles off names. Players you recognize from sports coverage and social media. Coaches you’ve seen on the sidelines. Board members you don’t know and don’t care about.

“Taehyung?” you ask when he doesn’t mention him specifically.

"Probablemente. ¿Por qué?" (Probably. Why?)

Because he called you Gominola and stole your candy and made sounds during a medical procedure like he was auditioning for porn. 

Because he thinks you’re cute when you’re angry and left his trash for you to clean up.

Because something about him makes you want to claw his eyes off and you’re not sure you’ll hold yourself back if you have to be in his space for three hours. 

"Solo preguntaba," (Just wondering) you say.

Your dad gives you a glance that’s accompanied by a small frown, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead…

"Estará bien," (It'll be fine) he says, turning back to the meal. "Unas pocas horas. Buena comida. Luego se acabó." (A few hours. Good food. Then it's over.)

Right. A few hours.

In a room full of Real Madrid players.

Including Taehyung.

Who will probably find new and creative ways to be insufferable while you try to maintain your dignity and support your father’s career.

What could go wrong?

You eat another pikota. This one tastes like impending doom.

"Voy a estudiar," (I'm going to study) you announce, pushing off from the counter.

"La cena está en una hora." (Dinner's in an hour.)

"Bajaré." (I'll be down.)

You head upstairs, leaving him with his meat and his optimism.

Up there, the room feels smaller than usual, like the walls are closing in with the weight of Friday night’s obligations.

Just as if your room represents exactly how you’re feeling.

Hari and Nube are there, watching you from their cage, probably sensing your mood through whatever weird telepathic connection you’ve developed with them.

“Esto es una mierda,” (This is shit) you tell them.

Nube chitches in what sounds like agreement. Hari just steals another sock.

Smart ferret. Some problems are best solved through theft and chaos.

You flop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling while your brain runs through worst-case scenarios.

Taehyung will be there. Obviously. Because the universe has a sense of humor and no mercy.

He’ll probably make more inappropriate comments about your appearance or your attitude or your apparent cuteness when angry. He’ll probably find new ways to invade your personal space while maintaining plausible deniability. He’ll definitely do that thing where he acts like everything is a game and everything is fair and square. 

Everything is his prize if he so much wishes for it to be.

And you’ll have to sit there. Smile. Be polite.

Support your father’s career while maintaining your sanity.

Should be simple.

Should be.

Your phone buzzes. Not Jungkook this time—something different. A WhatsApp notification for a group you don’t recognize.

𝐍𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐃𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 - 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐝

47 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑝．

You stare at the screen. Scroll through the participant list. Every name you recognize from training sessions, plus dozens you don’t. Players, coaches, staff, board members. The entire Real Madrid ecosystem crammed into one group chat.

And somewhere in that list—Kim Taehyung.

Of course.

"¡Papá!" (Dad!) you call downstairs.

"¿Sí?" (Yeah?)

"¿Por qué estoy en un grupo de WhatsApp con toda la organización del Real Madrid?" (Why am I in a WhatsApp group with the entire Real Madrid organization?)

Pause. The sound of a wooden spoon being set down.

"Cena de Nike el viernes," (Nike dinner Friday) he says, like this explains everything. "Todos los asistentes necesitan estar al tanto. Vienes, así que estás en el chat." (Everyone attending needs to be in the loop. You're coming, so you're in the chat.)

Right. Because your life wasn’t complicated enough.

You scroll through the chat history. Pure chaos. Forty-seven people trying to coordinate one dinner, and it’s exactly as much of a disaster as you’d expect.

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝟽:𝟹𝟶

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙽𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙲𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚛…?

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚎

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚋𝚛𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙵𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢.

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊?

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚗𝚘

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚜  

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙸𝚜𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊, 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚘?

The typing dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚘 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚘?

Your stomach drops. There it is. The question that’s not really a question.

𝐃𝐚𝐝: 👍

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚘?

You stare at that message. Blink in silence like that’ll somehow transcribe your response into existence.

God, why are they all annoying? 

The typing dots appear under your name. Everyone can see them. Forty-six people watching you not respond.

You delete whatever you were going to type.

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚏𝚏 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚜𝚘 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎?

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚈𝙴𝚂 𝙻𝙴𝙾

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊’𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 💀💀💀

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙴𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷

The chat goes quiet for exactly thirty seconds. Then:

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚏𝚏 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎?

𝐃𝐚𝐝: 𝟷𝟿:𝟷𝟻.

Your dad appears in the doorway, probably wondering why you’ve gone quiet.

"¿Todo bien?" (Everything okay?)

"Solo leyendo el chat grupal." (Just reading the group chat.) You hold up your phone. "Es como ver un documental sobre machos alfa en su hábitat natural." (It's like watching a nature documentary about alpha males in their natural habitat.)

"¿Tan malo?" (That bad?)

"Marco acaba de decirle a Leo que su novia va a dejarlo durante los aperitivos." (Marco just told Leo his girlfriend's going to dump him during appetizers.)

He winces. "Marco es... directo." (Marco's... direct.)

"Marco es un sociópata." (Marco's a sociopath.)

"Es joven." (He's young.)

Young. Everyone keeps using that word like it explains away basic human decency.

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙾𝚔 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚁𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐

The responses flood in. Names, plus-ones, family members. A parade of people who belong in this world, who wear cocktail attire to corporate dinners without feeling like they’re playing dress-up.

You watch the numbers climb. Forty-seven becomes sixty-two becomes seventy-eight.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚃𝚊𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎?

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚏𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚘

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚖𝚊𝚗’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝? 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙺𝙴𝙴𝙿 𝙸𝚃 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙵𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕

The lie is so obvious it’s almost insulting. You’ve seen the headlines, the Instagram stories, the lipstick marks that make sports blogs. 

Taehyung’s focus is definitely not on football.

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 - 𝙻𝚎𝚘 + 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝙵 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙻𝚎𝚘

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚘 𝙸’𝚖 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: ✅ - 𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒 + 𝙴𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚊

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝙳𝚒𝚎𝚐𝚘 + 𝙲𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚊

The list grows. Couples, families, people who fit together like puzzle pieces in this Madrid ecosystem.

𝐃𝐚𝐝: 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 - 𝙹𝚎𝚜𝚞́𝚜 + 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛.

There it is. Your attendance, reduced to a line item in someone else’s confirmation.

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 ❤️

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟽𝟾 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋 

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚜’ 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚋𝚘𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚘 👎

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚝

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚘’𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚒’𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠  

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚒 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐞𝐥: 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚍

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞: 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚛. 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙱𝙾𝚃𝙷 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙿

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝚅𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝 𝟷𝟾:𝟺𝟻

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐢́𝐚𝐬: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙻𝚈

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚜

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚊𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚊𝚎𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙰𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 not

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘𝚘?

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚏𝚏

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚝𝚜

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙾

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞: 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐕: 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙽𝚘 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝐃𝐚𝐝: 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛.

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚛?

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙻𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚛

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚃𝚠𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚖

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐’𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙸 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚂𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚞𝚗

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐞𝐥: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚎’𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠

𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞́: 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜

𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚́𝐬: 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚏𝚒𝚝 

𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚́𝐬: 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸’𝚖 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐚́𝐬: 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞: 𝚍𝚘 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚢?

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎

𝐏𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐨: 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚘𝚘?

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚗𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐢́𝐚𝐬: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝙸 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎

𝐋𝐮𝐢𝐬: 𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚂𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕

𝐋𝐞𝐨: 𝚍𝚘 𝙸 𝚝𝚒𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨: 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝙸’𝚖 𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚊𝚢 

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐???

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞: 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝙾𝚔 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚊𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚙

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨 (𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡): 𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜:

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝟷𝟾:𝟺𝟻 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙲𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎 

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝚁𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚋 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚝

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨: 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚢

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐨 (𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧): 𝙸’𝚖 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢

𝐆𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥: 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢: 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚗

𝐃𝐚𝐝: 𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢.

"Cena en diez minutos," (Dinner in ten) your dad says.

"Sí. Ya voy." (Yeah. Coming.)

You’re about to pocket your phone when one more message appears.

𝐓𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐠: 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝

Three words. Could mean anything. Could mean nothing.

But they feel like both a warning and an oath.

You’re not sure which would be worse.

The pikotas in your pocket suddenly feel insufficient armor for whatever Friday night’s going to bring.

Seventy-eight people. One dinner. Two many Real Madrid pricks whose entire personality orbits around their egos.

What could go wrong?

Your dad calls up the stairs. Dinner’s ready.

You pocket your phone, take one last look at the ferrets.

“Deseadme suerte,” (Wish me luck) you tell them.

Nube chitches. Hari steals another sock.

Some things never change—even when everything else does.

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