Bunny

You were both seven.

He'd walked into your classroom halfway through the year with a missing front tooth and grass stains on his knees, spotted the apple juice sitting beside your lunchbox “that is mine,” he announced as he snatched the drink off of your table.

You sent him a glare “it definitely isn't,” even with your cute little pigtails, if looks could kill he would have been dead.

Beau stuck his tongue out at you “you sure?” He cocked his head as you stood up.

"Positive."

He'd grinned as he now looked up at you "guess you'll have to fight me for it." You'd shoved him off the bench.

Twenty minutes later you'd both been sitting outside the principal's office sharing the juice box anyway.

From that day on, it was impossible to have one of you without the other.

Through elementary school you two were the reason why teachers needed seating charts. 

By middle school you had become the reason why students could no longer edit their schedules. 

From ninth grade the two of you were no longer allowed to be in the same classes even.

By sophomore year at Briar, people assumed you came as a package.

Beau and you, the duo where one was never seen without the other.

Football games.

Late-night sessions at Malones.

Study sessions that somehow ended in watching terrible horror movies.

And then Beau having to hold you as you slept because you swore you were going to have nightmares until you were ninety.

Every birthday.

Every Thanksgiving break.

Every ten-minute voice note, recounting the good and bad moments of the days. As if you weren’t going to see him that night.

Neither of you questioned it.

Not out loud, anyway.

Beau had questioned it a thousand times in his head.

Usually at two in the morning.

Usually after you'd hugged him goodbye.

Usually after you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder during the nights you were at home. 

And even those nights you found a way to fit onto your twin king single as he protected you from the potential of bad dreams.

He'd liked you since he was fifteen.

Loved you since seventeen.

Never said a word.

Because friendship was better than nothing.

Because the value you gave him by being in his life, was far more than he could replicate with anyone else.

Your dorm looked like proper chaos, which for you was rather quite normal "so?" Beau leaned against your dorm door while you searched for your keys.

You had sworn that they were in the same place as always on your table "why've you got that stupid smile?" He asked as your head leaned out from your closet.

"I don't have a stupid smile."

You scoffed as you shook your head "you've got the smile." Beau pointed at you as he opted to sit on your bed. 

You had refused to let him go back to his to get his keys, so now he was forced to wait "what smile?" You forced your face flat as you tried to get a read on your expression. 

Beau raked his fingers through his hair "the one that says you've done something that's going to annoy me." You laughed as you stood up finally with your keys in your hand.

They were in your hoodie, well one that you had stolen from the very boy in your room "Garrett asked me out." Your announcement made him freeze.

Silence followed 

You motioned to your door as you felt like the two of you should get a move on "and I said yes," you rubbed your palms on thighs of your jeans.

Beau didn't answer.

You looked over your shoulder "Beau?" You snapped your fingers in front of his face as you wondered if you had broken him.

If you could have gotten a better read on the room you would have made a joke "don’t go." His announcement made you glad that you had kept your joke to yourself.

You blinked as you clicked your tongue why?" You knew the boys had been friends since Dean introduced them, so it was suffice to say that you were a little shocked at the outburst. 

Beau stood up "I don't think you should go." He reiterated his words as he nodded.

Your hands landed on your hips "and why is that?" In that moment you swore you were right back on that bench when you were a kid and he stole that juice box. 

He shrugged as he didn’t have a good answer "I just don’t." There wasn’t more that he wanted to say either.

You frowned as you were almost hurt "that’s not an answer." Your chest felt sore as you avoided his gaze.

Beau rubbed his hands together "I don’t think he’d be good for you." His confession lingered in the air.

You laughed awkwardly a little taken aback by his reaction "I thought you'd be happy for me." You felt almost embarrassed that you cared.

The boy shook his head "I'm trying to stop you making a mistake.” He reached for your hand as you pulled away. 

"A mistake?"

The blow hurt like he had personally hit you when he nodded "so because you don’t think he’s good for me, I'm just supposed to say no?" Your eyebrows lifted as you crossed your arms.

Beau argued back "he hooks up with girls all the time." Now that actually felt rich coming from your best friend.

"And?"

He licked his lips a little disgruntled at the idea of sleeping with you "and I don't want you being another one." Something about the way he said it rubbed you the wrong way.

Beau never cared who you dated or how they came into your life, at least he never decided to comment on it "you don't get to decide that." You sighed as you shook your head.

The boy pinched the bridge of his nose "I'm trying to look out for you." His words were meant to be sweet.

But instead it made you fold your arms "you're trying to control me." You corrected him as you sucked at your teeth.

"I am not."

An exasperated sigh escaped from your lips "you literally just told me not to go." You pressed your fingers against your temples.

The boy argued back "because I know guys like him!” He raised his voice making you do the same

You scoffed "and I don't?" You sent the boy a harsh glare as you scowled.

Beau shook his head "you’ve never dated one." He made Garrett sound like he was a walking disease.

You rolled your eyes "I can make my own decisions." You reminded him that you were a big girl, and you knew how to take care of yourself.

"I know."

Part of you wanted to reach out and throttle him "clearly you don't." You actually laughed now growing annoyed.

Beau sighed as he rolled his eyes, a little surprised that you were arguing with him on this "I'm just saying-” he raised his hands in surrender.

You cut him off as you stopped him in his speech "no, Beau. You don't get to act like my dad because some guy finally asked me out."

"I'm your best friend."

You swore you felt sick "exactly." Venom laced your tone "so start acting like one." The words hit harder than either of you expected.

He stared at you like he didn’t know what to say. A trait that seemed to plague him for the second time tonight "I think you should go." You opened your door motioning to him to leave.

He almost asked if you were being genuine but you saved him to the chase "I'm serious." The look that you gave Beau struck his heart in more ways than one as he nodded "fine."

He left and as the door closed behind him you couldn’t help it as the tears began to flow "fuck." Your eyes were blurry as your knees buckled beneath you causing you to slide down your door to the floor.

The first day wasn't difficult.

You both assumed someone would cave.

He nearly texted you that night.

Didn't.

But he did sit there and let his thumb hover over your contact information. 

You almost walked to his frat house.

Didn't.

But you did turn off right before you got into his street.

The third day hurt.

You got an internship opportunity for the winter semester and wanted to celebrate.

The fifth day hurt worse.

It was the first football game that you missed since you met Beau.

By the end of the first week, everyone noticed.

Dean frowned every time Beau sat alone in the cafeteria "you two good?" He asked as he motioned to Beau’s lock screen. 

It was an image of the two of you after his freshman debut. You were in a Briar U cap as you had your arms wrapped around him. 

The grins on your faces matched the ones your moms captured each year on Christmas morning "we're fine." Beau sighed as he shook his head.

The blonde couldn’t help it when he smirked "you haven't looked up from your phone in twenty minutes." He pointed out as he raised his eyebrows.

Beau was quick to turn his phone screen side down "I'm fine." But Dean wasn't convinced.

Garrett noticed too.

Halfway through your second date he tilted his head "you okay?" He asked as he reached for your hand. 

You forced a smile onto your lips as you furrowed your eyebrows "what?" You thought you were hiding it well.

Garrett took you to his favourite pizza place which was like a fifteen-minute drive from campus "you've checked the entrance like five times." You felt bad that he catch on. 

He had been a great date both times, he picked you up from your place and walked you back to the front of your building both times "I have not." You shook your head. 

It made the boy sigh "you have." He decided that he wasn’t going to argue with you on this one.

You looked toward the door again.

Beau wasn't there.

Your chest ached anyway.

The football guys stopped asking when you were coming over after practice.

The girls stopped asking where Beau was.

Everyone danced around it.

Because nobody had ever seen you apart this long.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days.

Fourteen days without your morning texts.

Without random memes.

Without coffee deliveries.

Without hearing someone yell your name across campus.

It felt wrong.

Like you'd forgotten something important every time you left your dorm.

Beau finally cracked on day fifteen.

Dean found him sitting outside the fraternity house "you look awful." He handed the brunette a coffee as if it was his peace offering. 

Because in his efforts to avoid you, Beau seemed to avoid just about everyone "I feel awful." He took the coffee with a grateful smile.

Dean sat beside him "so go talk to her," he placed his hand on the boys back. 

It was the first time that Beau actually admitted aloud that something was wrong "I screwed it up." Beau looked up at the sky sensing how the weather was turning. 

It almost symbolic, perfectly representing how he had been feeling over the last two weeks "and I can't fix it." His voice broke as Beau really did wonder if he was going to have to learn how to survive without you in his life.

Dean shook his head "you won't know until you try." The look that Dean gave Beau was enough for him to believe that he had at least a chance in this.

You were leaving the library just after sunset when someone called your name.

"Wait up!" You froze slowly turning around.

Beau looked exhausted.

Dark circles under his eyes.

Hair a mess, and a stubble clear on his jaw as he hadn’t shaved. 

Hands shoved in his hoodie pocket like he didn't know what else to do with them.

Neither of you spoke.

Finally you sighed "what?" You pinched the bridge of your nose as you slotted your phone into your jeans pocket.

His voice cracked as thunder rumbled from above "I-" he laughed bitterly as he cleared his throat.

"I had this whole speech."

You crossed your arms "congratulations." You shrugged as you waited for him to continue.

"I forgot it."

You remembered in eighth grade how he had forgotten his science presentation so of course, as you worked through it with him, you mouthed his entire presentation to him "okay." Another silence followed.

People walked around the two of you.

Neither moved.

Finally Beau stepped closer "I was wrong." You looked away a little relieved that he had said it. 

He let out a huff "I shouldn't have told you what to do." His hands raised, owning the fact that he was wrong.

Nothing.

"I shouldn't have acted like I knew what was best."

Still nothing.

"And I definitely shouldn't have judged Garrett."

He swallowed as he rolled his eyes, deciding to just go with it "because that wasn't actually why I was upset."

You looked back at him "what do you mean?" He was glad he got more than a few words out of you again.

His laugh was humourless "I've been in love with you for years." Everything stopped as your eyebrows raised in surprise. 

Beau pursed his lips together "I've loved you since high school." You stared waiting for him to continue.

He got nervous as he fiddled with his hands "I thought I'd gotten good at hiding it." Beau let his eyes land on yours as his voice grew softer "I never wanted to ruin what we had."

His eyes were already glossy, "so I stayed quiet." He pushed his hair out of his face as he knew he needed a haircut.

You couldn't find your voice "and then you told me Garrett asked you out." He rubbed both hands over his face.

"And all I could think was."

His voice broke completely, "that I'd waited too long." What Beau didn’t know was that you were ready to wait for him for an eternity truthfully.

Your heart twisted "you idiot." You softly shoved his shoulder.

"I know."

Beau let his fingers wrap around the rope bracelet you gave him before you both graduated high school "I figured if I told you not to go..." He laughed weakly. "Maybe somehow it'd change something."

Beau shrugged as he wondered if he had just screwed all of this up even more "like you’d wake up and magically see the way that you consume my every thought." His words made your heart throb.

You sighed as you were scared to find out what was going to happen next "it didn't." You looked down.

He took one careful step closer "please just shout at me, call me an ass or an idiot." Beau wasn’t above begging but boy was he ready to get on his hands and knees.

His words made you crack a smile "but just come home and be my best friend again because I can't lose you from my life." His eyes were shining now.

But still he didn’t stop there "the last two weeks have been a kind of torture that I don't think I can go through any longer because in every room I look for you." The next time you’d see Dean he was intending on corroborating that story as Beau looked like a lost puppy looking for you.

He cleared his throat as he choked up "at every table I kept an empty seat because I know that you will be in it." And it was the truth, if there was a table that you weren’t welcome at then Beau didn’t want anything to do with it.

A tear slipped down his cheek "I need you in my life, even if I know I don't deserve it." Silence followed.

The kind that stretched forever.

You looked at him.

Really looked at him.

At the tired eyes.

At the shaking hands.

At the boy who'd stolen your juice box.

Who'd carried your backpack after you sprained your ankle senior year.

Who'd driven home to pick up your favourite bagels after you called him in tears telling him how you failed an exam once.

Who knew exactly how you took your coffee.

Who always walked on the outside of the sidewalk.

Who never forgot your birthday.

Who loved you enough to let you date someone else if it meant keeping you "you are an idiot." A watery laugh escaped him as he agreed.

You pressed your finger into his chest "you absolute ass." You furrowed your eyebrows making him laugh once more.

"I know."

Your head shook "you hurt me." Your words were genuine 

"I’m sorry."

You looked up at the sky as it seemed that the heavens opened and rain began to pour "I missed you." Your words cleansed the two of you as they rolled off of your tongue like the rain on the sidewalk.

His eyes squeezed shut "I missed you too." He was close to getting one of those cardboard cutouts of you. 

Hell, he already would have had one if it wasn’t weird.

Your own tears started falling "I mean I missed you." You used your palms to wipe your tears away. 

"I know."

You shook your head "no, you don't." He had consumed almost all of your thoughts since the moment you kicked him out of your room.

You stepped closer until only inches separated you "I kept reaching for my phone." His breathing caught.

"I kept saving you a seat in lectures."

Since the two of you were now allowed to have classes again, any time you had a chance you used it. 

His eyes opened "I nearly texted you every single night." He looked like he might cry all over again.

"I thought-"

You laughed through your own tears as you recomposed yourself "I thought my best friend didn't want me anymore." His face crumpled as he hated that he made you feel that way.

"I always want you."

"I know that now." You stared at each other, almost waiting for what was going to come next.

The boy rocked his feet back and forth as a way to somewhat self-soothe "so," he whispered forcing the question that almost started all of this to come out “you're still going out with Garrett?"

You smiled sadly "I've been on two dates." You raised your fingers in a 2 symbol.

"Oh."

You were quick to carry on “they were nice." You nodded as they hadn’t been bad at all.

His face fell but he quickly forced himself to look happy for you "but every time something funny happened." You reached for his hand "I wanted to tell you first." His fingers curled instinctively around yours.

Part of you felt sick announcing this to the world "I kept comparing him to you." His breath caught.

A newfound friendship has actually formed between you and Garrett since you started seeing him on those dates "but that wasn't fair to him." Hope flickered across his face as you shut your eyes "so after he took me home the second night I called things off with him."

Beau would have been lying if he said that internally he was jumping for joy "I think," you whispered as you shook your head.

You licked your lips as you blinked, "that I've been in love with you for a really long time too." Beau blinked like he had forgotten how to understand the English language for a moment.

"What?"

You almost laughed as you sighed "I just never let myself think about it." His silence made you carry on rambling, "I thought we'd ruin everything."

Beau reached for your hands which made you go quiet "we kind of did." He nodded in agreement, "we definitely did."

He laughed through his tears as you corrected him. 

"So."

Beau used the pad of his thumb to wipe a tear from your eye as it rolled down your cheek "so." He began as he forced a smile onto his lips.

He looked adorably terrified as he took a deep breath "can I kiss you?" The question came out so quietly you almost weren’t sure if you heard it.

You rolled your eyes "you've loved me for years and you're asking permission now?" You placed your hands on your hips, a little amused by this. 

"I'm trying to be respectful." You mimicked his annoyed tone "you are such an idiot." A giggle escaped from your lips.

He smiled at your words "I know." Beau nodded as he shook his head. 

You cupped his face "but you're my idiot." Then you kissed him.

It wasn't dramatic.

It wasn't perfect.

It was soft.

Familiar.

Like finally coming home after being away too long.

When you pulled away, Beau rested his forehead against yours "can I take you on a date?" The innocence in his words made you laugh. 

You pretended to think about it for a moment "I don’t know if you can top Garrett." You teased making Beau’s face drop.

Beau ran his fingers along the bottom of your jaw "c’mon I’ll pay," his words made you snort "oh please like I’m gonna."

He laughed, and this time it was sweet "so is that a yes?" Beau wriggled his eyebrows "a thousand times over." You nodded as the boy finally led you away from the library.

And for the first time in two weeks, neither of you had to wonder where the other was.

The house was unusually quiet. No music blasted from Logan’s room. No television. No laughter from the living room. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the sound of rain tapping against the kitchen windows. Logan looked up from the sandwich he was halfway through making when the front door opened. Garrett walked in. One glance was all it took. Something was wrong.

This was different. His shoulders were tense. His eyes looked empty. Logan watched him disappear into the kitchen before following a few seconds later. Garrett stood in front of the sink, staring blankly out the rain-speckled window. He hadn’t moved.

Logan leaned against the counter.

Silence.

Normally he’d fill it. Normally Garrett would. Tonight, neither of them seemed capable.

The clock above the stove ticked loudly.

Finally…

“I gotta tell you something.”

Logan straightened.

Garrett’s voice was flat. Not emotionless. Worse. Like he’d run out of emotions altogether.

“Okay…” Logan said carefully.

Another long silence.

Garrett rubbed both hands over his face and sighed. Seemed like he was preparing to tell something. Logan didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush him. Just waited.

“My dad…” Garrett swallowed. “…used to beat me.”

The words settled heavily between them. Logan felt something tighten painfully in his chest.

He knew Garrett and his father didn’t get along. He knew Phil Graham was an asshole.

But this…

This wasn’t where he’d expected the sentence to go.

Garrett laughed quietly.

“You know what’s funny?”

Logan shook his head.

“I still can’t say it without feeling like I’m lying.”

He stared down at the kitchen tile.

“I keep expecting someone to tell me I’m exaggerating.”

“They won’t.”

Garrett looked over.

Logan’s expression hadn’t changed.

No pity.

No disbelief.

Just complete attention.

Garrett took a shaky breath.

“He wasn’t always angry.” Another pause “That would’ve been easier.”

Logan frowned slightly.

“He’d be normal.” Garrett’s eyes unfocused as memories surfaced. “We’d eat dinner. He’d ask about school. We’d joke. And then I’d have a bad game.”

Silence.

“Or I’d miss a shot.”

“Or I’d mouth off.”

“Or sometimes…”

He laughed bitterly.

“…sometimes nothing happened.”

Logan’s jaw tightened.

Garrett continued quietly.

“You stop trying to figure out why after a while.”

His fingers gripped the edge of the counter.

“You just spend all day wondering if today’s gonna be one of the bad days.”

Logan’s chest hurt.

He could picture little Garrett.

Twelve.

Thirteen.

Coming home after hockey.

Wondering whether opening the front door would end with dinner or bruises.

“I got good at reading him.” Garrett’s voice was almost distant now. “The way he’d close the car door. The way he’d walk into the house. Whether he’d say my name.”

“If he was quiet…” He closed his eyes. “I knew.”

Logan felt sick.

“I started staying at the rink longer.” Garrett shrugged. “Coach thought I was dedicated. Another humorless laugh. “I was just killing time.”

His voice cracked slightly. “Sometimes I’d pray he’d be asleep when I got home.”

The kitchen felt impossibly small.

Logan couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t sound meaningless.

So he stayed quiet.

Garrett seemed grateful for that.

“I got bigger eventually.”

He looked down at his own hands.

“Started hockey training year-round. Started lifting. Dad hit me one night and I …” A pause. “I shoved him back.”

Garrett’s expression was unreadable.

“He looked at me like he didn’t know who I was.”

Another silence.

“That was the last time.”

Logan finally spoke. “You were a kid.”

Garrett gave a tiny nod. “I know.”

“No.” Logan stepped closer. “You were a kid.” The words were firmer now. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Garrett’s jaw tightened.

“I still think maybe if I’d just…”

“No.”

Logan cut him off immediately. “No ‘if.’”

Garrett blinked.

“You were a child.”

Another pause.

“Kids don’t deserve to get hit because they had a bad game.”

The words hung between them. Garrett looked away quickly. His eyes burned.

“I’ve never told anybody except Hannah”

Logan’s heart twisted.

“None of the guys?”

Garett shook his head.

Logan moved without really thinking. He wrapped one arm around Garrett’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug. Garrett froze for just a second. Then all the tension he’d been carrying seemed to give way. He leaned forward, forehead pressing against Logan’s shoulder. He didn’t cry. But Logan could feel him shaking.

“It’s over,” Logan said quietly.

Garrett let out a slow breath. “I know.”

“You got out.”

“…Yeah”

“You survived.”

Garrett nodded once. “I guess.”

“No.” Logan pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “I mean it.” His voice was steady “I’m proud of you.”

Garrett actually frowned.“…For what?”

“For surviving something nobody should’ve had to survive.”

Garrett stared at him. Like the thought had genuinely never occurred to him.

The silence stretched again.

Then Logan’s expression slowly shifted.

Something crossed his face.

Confusion.

His brow furrowed.

“…Wait.”

Garrett looked up.

Logan’s stomach suddenly felt heavy.

“Y/N…”

Garrett didn’t move.

Logan’s heartbeat sped up.

“She’s…”

His voice came out quieter now.

“She’s younger than us.”

Garrett looked at the floor.

“Garrett…?”

Nothing.

“Tell me she was too young.”

Silence.

Logan’s pulse pounded in his ears.

“Garrett…. Please…”

Still nothing.

“Did she also…” Logan couldn’t even finish off the sentence. “Did Phil…”

Garrett’s eyes filled with something Logan had never seen before.

Guilt.

The kind that consumed a person from the inside out.

Then Garrett gave the smallest nod.

Once. Barely noticeable.

It was enough.

Logan felt like the floor had disappeared beneath him.

“Oh…”

Logan closed his eyes.

“…Jesus Christ.”

The word left him as little more than air.

His mind raced through every memory he had of Y/N.

Her laugh.

The way she always smiled before anyone else did.

The way she’d apologize for interrupting conversations she hadn’t interrupted.

The way she’d tense whenever someone raised their voice.

Things he’d never questioned.

Things that suddenly fit together in a way that made him feel sick.

—

Logan sat in his car for almost twenty minutes. The engine had gone cold. Rain tapped steadily against the windshield, but he barely noticed.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Garrett standing in that kitchen.

“My dad used to beat me.”

Then… that tiny nod.

The one that had answered everything Logan couldn’t bear to ask.

Y/N.

His girlfriend.

Garrett’s little sister.

How many times had he looked at her and missed it?

How many times had she smiled at him while carrying something no one should ever have to carry?

His phone buzzed.

Y/N: You still coming over? I made pasta :)

Logan stared at the message until the screen dimmed.

Then he started the car.

—

Y/N answered the door wearing one of his sweatshirts.

His sweatshirt.

Her hair was tied into a messy bun, and she smiled the second she saw him.

“There you are.”

She stepped aside.

“I was about to eat without you.”

Logan couldn’t smile back. The expression slipped from y/n’s face almost instantly.

“…Logan?”

He walked inside.

She closed the door.

“Is everything okay?”

He looked at her.

Really looked.

There was a tiny scar near her wrist he’d never asked about.

God.

How had he never…

“Logan?”

She took a small step toward him.

“You look pale.”

He let out a slow breath.

“I talked to Garrett.”

She froze.

“He…”Logan tries to stop his thoughts from rushing. “He told me about your dad.”

Everything inside her stopped.

For a long moment, she simply stared at him.

“…He what?”

“He told me.”

Silence.

“No.”

The word escaped before she could stop it.

“He wouldn’t.”

“He did.”

“No.”

She shook her head faster.

Logan’s stomach twisted.

“You know.” She covered her mouth with one hand. Tears immediately filled her eyes.

“No, no, no…”

She turned away.

Logan stepped forward.

“Y/N…”

Her breathing became uneven.

“How can you look at me right now?” It was more like a cry of pain than a question targeted at Logan. But Logan still answered with the words he found to fit best.

“I won’t look at you differently.”

“You will! You are!”

“No”

“You do!”

She spun around so quickly it startled both of them.

Her voice cracked.

“You know now!”

The apartment fell silent.

Logan stared.

Y/N immediately regretted yelling.

She stepped backward.

“I’m sorry.”

Another step.

“I’m sorry.”

Logan frowned.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I yelled.”

“So?”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“So?”

“I just…”

She wrapped both arms around herself.

“I shouldn’t have.”

Logan’s chest ached.

“You don’t have to apologize for raising your voice.”

“I do.”

“No.”

“I do.”

“No.” His own voice rose without him meaning to. “You don’t.”

She flinched.

Hard.

Like she’d been struck.

The second Logan saw it, all the anger drained from his face.

“…Oh, God.” His voice became barely a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Y/N couldn’t look at him anymore. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

“I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You yelled.”

“I…” Logan stopped.

Because she wasn’t hearing him. She was hearing someone else. Someone years older. Someone much crueler.

He took one slow step backward. Then another. Giving her space.

“I’m angry,” he said quietly. “But not at you, never at you sweetie.”

Silence.

“I’m angry because someone hurt you.”

“I’m angry because I love you.”

Her breathing hitched.

“And someone made you think this…” He gestured helplessly between them. “…was your fault.”

Tears slid silently down her face. Logan wanted nothing more than to hold her. Instead, he stayed exactly where he was.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

She whispered so quietly he almost missed it. “I’m “I’m trying not to be.”

His heart broke.

—

Several minutes passed before either of them spoke again.

It was Y/N.

“He stopped.”

Logan looked up.

“My dad.”

She wiped her face.

“He stopped.”

“When?”

She hesitated.

“A while ago.”

“How long is ‘a while’?”

“I don’t know.”

“Months?”

“…Yeah.”

“A year?”

She looked away.

Logan noticed.

Immediately.

“…Y/N.”

She stayed quiet.

His pulse quickened.

“When?”

Another silence.

“After Garrett left he continued…”

The words were barely audible.

Logan closed his eyes.

Fuck.

She continued before he could say anything.

“It wasn’t every day.”

His eyes snapped open. She said it so automatically. Like she thought it made things better. “It wasn’t every week either.”

Another automatic explanation.

“It depended.”

Logan stared at her.

She kept going.

“If I stayed out of the house…If skating competitions went well… If I….”

“Stop.” His voice cracked.

She blinked.

“You don’t have to justify it.”

“I wasn’t…”

“You were.”

Silence.

“You just listed reasons.”

She looked confused.

Logan spoke softly. “There aren’t any justifications for what he did.”

“I always thought maybe if I was just…” She searched for the word. “…better.”

“No.”

“…Quieter.”

“No.”

“…More careful.”

“No.”

His voice was firm now.

“There was never a version of you that deserved that.”

The sentence seemed to hit something deep inside her. Because suddenly she looked exhausted.

“I don’t know how to believe that.”

Logan’s eyes watered.

“I know.”

—

Another long silence.

Then Logan asked the question that had been burning inside him since he’d left Garrett.

“I need you to tell me something.”

She nodded weakly.

“Did he really stop?”

She frowned.

“What?”

“Your dad.”

He swallowed.

“I need to know.”

She looked confused.

“I just told you he stopped.”

“I know.”

His breathing became uneven.

“But you’re smaller than Garrett.”

She stared.

“You couldn’t fight back.” He hated how shaky his own voice sounded. “So I need to know…” He rubbed both hands over his face “…I need to know you’re safe.”

Y/N’s expression changed instantly. She heard something completely different.

“So now I need protecting?”

“What?”

“You think I’m helpless.”

“No.”

“You think I’m broken.”

“No.”

“You pity me.”

Logan stared at her.

“Y/N.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself.”

“I think someone failed to take care of you.”

She went quiet.

He stepped closer.

Slowly.

“So now…” His voice softened. “…I just want to know you’re okay.”

She looked at him for a long moment.

Then whispered, “No one’s ever asked me that.”

Logan’s throat tightened.

“What?”

“No one asks if I’m okay.”

Another tear escaped.

“They ask if I’m over it.”

“If I’m fine.”

“If I’ve moved on.”

She laughed bitterly.

“They never ask if I’m okay.”

Logan closed the distance between them.

This time she didn’t step away.

He reached up carefully.

Not touching her.

Just giving her the choice.

She looked at his hand.

Then took it herself.

The moment their fingers intertwined, she started crying again.

Logan immediately pulled her into his arms. Slowly. Giving her every opportunity to pull away. Instead she buried her face agains this chest.

“I was so scared,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I thought if you found out…” A shaky breath escaped her lips, “…you’d leave.”

Logan rested his cheek against the top of her head.

“I am scared of your past.”

His arms tightened around her just a little.

“I am scared of how alone you carried it.”

She cried harder. Not because his words fixed anything. They didn’t. Years of fear don’t disappear in one night. But for the first time since she was a little girl… Someone knew. The whole truth. And instead of turning away, Logan held her even closer.

After a long while, he kissed the top of her head.

“So here’s what’s going to happen.”

She sniffled against his chest.

“What?”

“You don’t carry this by yourself anymore.”

A tiny, watery laugh escaped her.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I absolutely do.” She tilted her head up just enough to look at him.

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

“I’m dating a Graham.” He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You people are unbelievably stubborn.”

Despite everything, she let out a quiet laugh.

“There she is,” Logan murmured, relieved to hear it.

She looked at him uncertainly. “You still want me?”

He blinked.

Then, with all the sincerity he could muster, answered, “Y/N, I wanted you before I knew. I want you now that I know. The only thing that’s changed is this: now I know there were nights you needed someone, and I wasn’t there.”

His voice cracked.

“I can’t change those nights.”

He rested his forehead against hers.

“But if you’ll let me…”

His thumb gently brushed away another tear.

“…I can be here for the next ones.”

For the first time that evening, Y/N didn’t apologize.

She simply nodded.

And let herself be held.

Which, in hindsight, explained why the poor male had looked increasingly frustrated over the last several months.

The realisation came during a feast.

Ironically, it was not the King who caused it, it was another female.

You were seated among several hunters near one of the lower tables while stories and laughter filled the enormous hall, your attention divided between the meal before you and the conversation happening around you. Eventually, the discussion shifted toward mates.

You immediately lost interest. Until one female began describing how her mate had courted her.

“He brought me trophies,” she explained proudly.

Several others nodded.

“Mine too.”

“My mate dedicated a hunt to me.”

“Mine gifted me a weapon.”

“Mine kept appearing wherever I happened to be.”

The table erupted into amused agreement.

You froze, and looked down at your plate, then back at them.

“Trophies?” you asked.

“Of course.”

“Hunting trophies?”

“Yes.”

You swallowed.

“A dedicated hunt?”

The female nodded.

“A great honour.”

Something began forming in your stomach.

“What kind of weapon?”

“A blade.”

You stared.

The female continued eating. Completely unaware that she had just shattered your understanding of the last year.

A blade.

A dedicated hunt.

Trophies.

Your mind immediately began replaying every interaction you had experienced with the King over the previous months.

The skull from the northern valleys.

The river beast claws.

The dedicated hunt.

The hides.

The horns.

The gifts.

All of them. One after another. A horrible realisation slowly began climbing its way into your consciousness.

“No.”

The female looked up.

“What?”

You shook your head.

“No.”

“Are you unwell?”

“No.”

Your voice sounded slightly strained. The female frowned.

“You look unwell.”

Because suddenly you remembered every single time you had smiled brightly and said:

“Thank you.”

Before walking away.

You spent the rest of the feast staring into the distance. The female beside you eventually became concerned. You barely noticed because your thoughts kept circling the same horrifying possibility.

The King had been courting you.

For months.

And you had not realised.

Not once. Not even slightly.

The next morning, the King found you standing outside the armoury.

The moment he approached, you immediately became aware of every gift he had ever given you. Which made maintaining eye contact surprisingly difficult.

“You are behaving strangely.”

You nearly jumped.

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“I am perfectly normal.”

The King stared. You stared back, then his eyes narrowed slightly.

“You know.”

“What?”

“You know.”

Your heart nearly stopped. The King studied your face. Then, for the first time since you had known him, something suspiciously close to satisfaction appeared in his expression.

“You finally understand.”

Mortification swept through you.

“Oh stars.”

The King’s chest rumbled.

“You understand.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You did not.”

“I genuinely didn’t know.”

“I know.”

“Oh, this is embarrassing.”

The rumble became stronger. The enormous warlord was enjoying this. To your surprise, he did not press further.

Instead, after watching you suffer through several moments of obvious embarrassment, he finally spoke.

“Hunt with me.”

You blinked away the confusion and the embarrassment.

“What?”

“Hunt with me.”

The words were simple, yet somehow they felt different now. Everything felt different now.

“You are asking me on a hunt.”

“Yes.”

“This is a date.”

The King looked genuinely confused.

“It is a hunt.”

“It is also a date.”

“It is a hunt.”

The King’s mandibles shifted slightly, a small victory.

The hunt took place three days later and for perhaps the first time since entering the clan, you felt nervous.

Not because of the prey.

Not because of the danger.

Because you wanted to impress him. Which was ridiculous.

The King already respected you. He had clearly respected you enough to spend months attempting to court you and yet the desire remained. You wanted him to see exactly why you had earned your place within the clan.

The prey was enormous.

Fast.

Aggressive.

Everything a worthy hunt should be. The moment combat began, instinct took over.

The nervousness disappeared. Years of training replaced it.

The creature charged, you moved.

The beast roared. You countered. Steel flashed. Blood followed.

The battle descended into chaos, and within that chaos, you thrived.

By the time the fight ended, you stood atop the creature’s body, breathing heavily while dark blood covered your armour and sword.

The beast lay dead beneath your feet. The King stared.

You looked down, then back up.

“What?”

He didn't answer, but he did look impressed.

The King approached slowly. His gaze never leaving yours.

“You continue to surprise me.”

“I do?”

“Yes. You are brave.”

He stepped closer.

“You are intelligent.”

Closer.

“You are strong.”

Closer.

The other hunters immediately found reasons to look elsewhere.

“You are respected.”

Your pulse thundered The King stopped directly before you, towering over you. Yet somehow making the world feel smaller.

“You are everything I hoped for.”

For once in your life, you had absolutely no response. The King lowered himself slightly.

Not kneeling, but enough. Enough to meet your eyes fully.

“I have attempted courtship.”

You covered your face.

“I know.”

“I was unsuccessful.”

“You were very unsuccessful.”

The King’s mandibles twitched.

You suspected that was the closest he would ever come to rolling his eyes, then his expression softened.

A rare thing.

“Will you be my mate?”

The question hung between you.

Your chest tightened because while the words were simple, their meaning held a great deal. Suddenly all those trophies meant something.

Every hunt.

Every gift.

Every effort.

Every attempt.

Months of devotion hidden behind the customs of a species different from your own.

You smiled, then reached for his hand.

“Yes.”

Happiness immediately swept through his entire posture.

Adorable.

And before you could stop yourself, you laughed.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to realise.”

The King pulled you closer.

“You are worth the wait.”

And judging by the way his chest continued rumbling long after that, he meant every word.

Part I

~Masterlist~

The others called him Jotun. 

A giant of the mountains, a creature of war that brought death to those who strayed too far into his territory. 

You called him nothing at all, at least not at first because when he had found you, injured and alone after a raid that had scattered your people, he had not spoken, had not even approached immediately. 

He had simply watched you and when you did not scream, did not run, did not bow… he had stepped closer. 

That was how it began. 

Now, seasons later, he stands just beyond the village once more, watching. 

He does that often. 

Standing at the edge where forest meets open field, his presence alone was enough to keep most people from wandering too far without reason. 

The others avoid him. 

They always do. They lower their heads. They whisper. They move away. 

But you… 

You walk straight past him. 

Because you are used to him and he is used to you. 

At least, that is how it has always been. 

Until recently, you have been busy. 

The village has needed you. 

Injuries from hunting, sickness from the cold, small accidents that turn serious when left unattended, all of it falling into your hands because you are one of the few who knows how to treat more than just surface wounds. 

And so your days have filled, and so did your nights. 

Time that once you spent with quiet walks near the forest’s edge, to and conversations that no one else would dare attempt, even with moments where a massive, silent hunter would sit beside you. 

All that time has been given elsewhere. 

You do not notice it at first, you only notice when he speaks. 

“You neglect your duties.” 

The voice is low, rough, and unfamiliar to most but not to you, it makes your chest tighten just slightly when he uses it. 

You glance up from where you are kneeling beside an injured hunter, your hands stained with dried blood as you work carefully to wrap a wound along his arm. 

“My duties?” you repeat, blinking slightly in confusion. 

He stands behind you. 

Closer than usual. 

“You attend to them,” he says, his eyes flicking briefly toward the man you are helping, then back to you. “You have not attended to me.” 

For a moment, you simply stare at him, then, a small breath of amusement escapes you. 

“I didn’t realise you needed tending to.” 

“I do not.” 

“Then what am I neglecting?” 

He does not answer immediately, instead, he remains where he is, is silence. 

“You have been absent.” 

You shake your head lightly, returning your attention to your work. 

“I’ve been busy.” 

“I see that.” 

Something in his tone makes you glance up again. 

There is something in his eyes, you see it, but you choose to ignore it. 

That is your second mistake. 

Over the next few days, he becomes impossible to ignore. 

Before he would watch from a distance, now he is always there. Standing just outside whatever space you occupy. 

Silently. 

Unmoving. 

Watching. 

If you move, he moves. If you leave one place, he appears in another not long after. 

At first, the villagers grow uneasy. 

Then they begin to avoid you as well, unwilling to be too close when the so-called Jotun has decided that your presence is where he will remain. 

It becomes inconvenient. 

You are tending to a child’s fever when he steps inside the hut without warning, his large frame forcing him to duck. 

The child’s mother immediately backs away. 

You sigh. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You are needed elsewhere.” 

“I am needed here,” you reply, not even looking at him as you adjust the cloth on the child’s forehead. 

“You have been here long enough.” 

“I have not.” 

Without warning, he reaches down and takes the bowl of water from your hands. 

“What are you doing?” 

“This is inefficient.” 

“Give that back.” 

“No.” 

You stare at him. He stares back. 

The child whimpers softly. 

You press your lips together, irritation rising deep in your chest. 

“You cannot just interrupt me every time you decide I’ve spent enough time with someone else.” 

“They are not important.” 

“They are to me.” 

That stops him, but only for a second. 

But you notice it immediately. 

The slight shift in his posture. 

The way his mandibles tighten just slightly. 

“They are weak,” he says. 

“They are human,” you counter. 

“So are you.” 

“Yes,” you say firmly. “And I still choose to help them.” 

A moment of silence, then he slowly sets the bowl back down, but he does not leave. 

He watches you give your time, your attention, your care to others, and every time, something in him seems to grow more agitated, though he refuses to admit it. 

Until you finally have enough and snap a couple of days later. 

“What do you want from me?” 

The words come sharper than you intended, frustration finally busting through as you turn to face him fully, your arms crossing over your chest. 

“You follow me everywhere, you interrupt my work, you scare half the village just by standing there, and you refuse to explain why.” 

He does not answer immediately, instead, he looks at you. 

As if he is trying to find something in your expression that will give him the answer he refuses to say aloud. 

Then he looks away. 

He makes his usual clicking noises, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than you have ever heard it. 

“You have not touched me.” 

You blink. 

“What?” 

“You have not, in many days.” 

For a moment, the frustration drains out of you entirely, replaced by something else. Something close to laughter. 

“That’s what this is about?” 

He does not respond. Which is answer enough. 

You step closer until you stand directly in front of him, close enough to see the faint changes in his breathing, the tension in his shoulders. 

“You could have just said that,” you murmur. 

“I did.” 

“Finally.” 

He huffs slightly, a low sound of clear dissatisfaction. 

You smile, then you lift your hand and touch him. 

Your fingers brushing against his arm, tracing the cold skin, then moving higher, resting briefly against the side of his face, just under his mandibles. 

The reaction is immediate. 

Subtle to anyone else but not to you. 

His entire body relaxes, the tension that had been coiled tight through him for days loosens all at once, his shoulders lowering just slightly, his head tilting ever so faintly into your touch as if he cannot quite help it. 

You watch it happen, and you smile. 

“You’re calmer now,” you tease gently. 

“I was always calm.” 

“You were brooding.” 

“I was not.” 

“Yes, you were.” 

He does not argue further, but instead, he remains where he is, close to you, not moving away. 

When you finally pull back, he does not follow, but he does not step away either. 

“Will you ignore me again?” he asks after a moment, his voice quieter. 

“I wasn’t ignoring you.” 

“You were.” 

“I was busy.” 

“That is the same.” 

“It isn’t.” 

“Then do not be busy for so long.” 

“I’ll try.” 

That seems to satisfy him for now. 

He turns around, stepping back toward the doorway, but not before pausing just long enough to glance at you once more. 

As if he is making sure you are still there. 

Still his. 

You offer hims a smile and when he leaves, the space does not feel as heavy. 

Because you know, he will be back, and next time… you won’t make him wait so long. 

~Masterlist~

When you graduated top of your class with a marketing degree and a job already lined up, you weren’t big-headed to assume you would be given a lot in the beginning. No, you knew that you were the new kid on the block and needed to prove yourself first, needed to work your way up from the bottom. But what you definitely didn’t anticipate was working up from the figurative trenches, almost exclusively doing busywork—constantly making coffee runs, catering business lunches, printing out endless spreadsheets.

Eighty-thousand dollars in debt, and you are a glorified intern.

While you’re positively itching to hit the ground running and get your hands dirty, your job isn’t too bad. The people there are all nice and welcoming, the complimentary coffee in the break room is decent enough for your dwindling bank account, and every quarter the company sponsors an employee barbecue where everyone can fraternize and enjoy free food.

“Apparently it fosters unity and teamwork,” your coworker Joy informs you as you both stand in the food line. “Seokjin—that’s our CEO—is really big on unity and teamwork.”

Joy is also a member of your marketing team. Though friendly, she has zero filter and thus always has a lot to say about everything—which has helped you when it comes to learning the ropes about the company, but has also had you clutching your imaginary pearls in certain situations where you found her topic of choice inappropriate. 

Despite only being a year older than you, her title of Marketing Associate instead of your measly Assistant means that she technically outranks you, though she doesn’t usually enforce that fact (unless there was something that needed to be copied or filed, of course). Still, she immediately took you under her wing when you first started and is the closest person to a friend you have at work (even though her daily coffee order is always so ridiculous, you are convinced that she has to be fucking with you—or at least engaging in some form of mild hazing).

“I think it’s nice,” you reply truthfully. “I’ll never say no to free food, and they let us out early and everything.”

“I mean, pretty sure you can get the hotdogs twelve in a pack at the dollar store,” Joy quips, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. “But sometimes the boys from Sales take their shirts off and play soccer, so there’s that.”

Your eyes dart to said Sales Boys against your will, gaze drawn to Jung Hoseok as he chats animatedly with his teammates by the tables. You’ve only spoken to him once or twice, but his fiery red hair and even brighter smile caught your attention immediately, your heart rate accelerating at the sight of him in hallways mere days into starting your new position. Who better to have a mild work crush on than a sweet-talking salesman who winks at you sometimes in passing?

An appreciative noise has you turning back around, embarrassed at being caught ogling how shapely Hoseok’s butt looks in his dress pants today, but it’s just Wendy from Accounting, Joy’s best friend and thus a harmless, familiar face. Wendy has cut in front of a few editors to join you and Joy, and the way that she smiles at you lets you know she’s up to no good. “He’s cute, huh?” she asks, leaning towards you conspiratorially. “I would definitely give him the good ol’ suck behind the dumpsters over there, if you catch my drift.”

“Err…yeah, I do,” you reply awkwardly. She had been explicitly clear—keyword explicit—so there definitely isn’t any room for misunderstandings. Is this truly appropriate work function conversation? From the way the editors behind you are politely clearing their throats, you think not.

“Behind the dumpster?” Joy asks curiously. “That sounds unnecessarily smelly. He’s standing right next to some sturdy tables that I, for one, would take great advantage of—”

“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” you announce loudly, your neck heating up. “Can you grab me a hot dog, Joy?”

“Sure,” she says dismissively, already distracted by her sudden debate with Wendy about the most convenient place to suck off salesman Jung.

The whole conversation is making you uncomfortable. You are not a prude—far from it—but there is a time and place for everything, and your coworkers’ blasé attitude towards inappropriate topics at company functions on company time rattles you a bit. So instead of engaging in the risqué discussion further, you make your way to the cluster of brightly-colored coolers that presumably hold beverages, sidling up to the only other person lingering the area.

“Anything good?” you ask cordially, making your coworker, who had apparently been deep in thought while considering his beverage options, startle a bit.

He’s tall, his large frame covered in the appropriate business casual attire of nice jeans and a powder-blue button-up. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re met with large, dark eyes blinking in surprise from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Said eyes dart around for a moment before determining that you were, in fact, speaking to him.

The man clears his throat. “Just the usual,” he says, voice soft. Timid.

“The usual?” you repeat. There are little hoops dangling from his earlobes, and you brush off your surprise at seeing them, returning your gaze to the coolers. Water, a clear soda, a cola. “The basics, you mean. Well, can’t really complain, right? Seeing as it’s all free. I think it’s really nice of them.”

Your companion seems surprised at your words. “It is,” he agrees softly, eyes meeting yours for a second before dropping back down to the cooler. “Um, are you...are you new?”

“Damn, I guess my cover’s blown.” You shoot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I just started a couple of weeks ago. What gave it away?”

“It’s just—no one else here really cares about these barbecues anymore,” he admits, looking at you, but not quite. More like, in your direction. “Everyone has forgotten to appreciate the little things.”

“Nothing is a given,” you shrug. “So you need to appreciate things when you can. And besides, those lots of little things can really add up without you realizing it.”

He finally seems to look at you properly, and the weight of his large, gentle brown eyes throws you off for a second. “They can,” he agrees, lips slowly drifting up. 

“What do we have over here?” a loud voice interrupts, a hand falling to your shoulder. You look up, and are met with the brightness of salesman Jung.

“Ah,” Hoseok says with a wink, reaching into the cooler. “I love Sprite.”

“Me too,” you reply automatically, and then immediately want to smack yourself. Because you don’t—carbonated beverages make you break out. But your mouth had formed the lie without your permission.

Embarrassed, you reach into the cooler, grabbing three water bottles. “See you later,” you squeak, avoiding eye contact as you make your escape.

Joy and Wendy are already watching you when you return to where they have procured a table, and when you hand them their waters, Joy raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering how long you were going to talk to that IT guy.”

“Yeah, and why did you leave when Hoseok showed up?” Wendy pouted. “_____, the universe is only going to give you so many opportunities. If you don’t want the ball, then pass it to me! Goddamn.”

“IT guy?” you prompt, hoping to slide past that last remark.

“Yeah. His name is Jungkook, I think? Mostly works with the printers, started a couple months ago.” Joy shrugs, obviously indifferent to the topic. She reaches for the ketchup bottle in the center of the table and squirts some on her hot dog. “This is the first time I’ve seen him at a barbecue, though. Honestly, I’m surprised he even came out, because the IT dudes generally keep to themselves. They rarely leave their little tower,” she adds with a dismissive wave.

Wendy scoffs in disinterest. “Who cares about Jeremy! Hurry up and eat, I’m sure Sales is gonna start their soccer game soon.”

“Soccer game?” you ask distractedly. A glance back to the coolers shows Jungkook is gone, and you don’t see him in the immediate vicinity.

“The sales department likes to play soccer during these things,” Joy reminds you. Her expression brightens. “Hey, maybe Hoseok will take his shirt off again! Let us pray.”

To your coworkers’ disappointment, Hoseok did not take his shirt off. But they certainly had a good time watching his athletic display across the grass anyway.

Monday morning—the start of the workweek, but also, rather depressingly, the end of the weekend. Everyone tends to be more tired and grumpy on Mondays (yourself included), and this is why your team considers it essential that you always stop by their preferred coffeeshop and bring in their drinks for a morning pick-me-up. You’re the lowest on the ladder, so you weren’t exactly sure how to refuse when you were asked one day if you would mind picking up some drinks for everyone, and then, after that, people kept sending you their orders like it was expected of you. The café is technically on your way to work and everyone always pays you back, but it’s still pretty irritating to have to forgo those extra precious minutes of sleep just so you can beat the long lines and get to work on time.

Today, you’re lucky enough to get ahead of the morning rush, but that means that you end up trudging into the building much earlier than you anticipated. You hope the coffee’s insulated cups do their job properly, because you really don’t have the energy to listen to Joy huff and puff about having to reheat hers.

Your trek to your cubicle slows when you realize that someone is already there, sitting in your chair and typing away on your keyboard. Their back is to you, swathed in an olive button-up, and it’s not until you get close enough to curiously crane your head to see their face that you recognize him. The guy from the barbecue last week—the one by the coolers.

He startles a bit when he sees you approach in his peripheral vision, eyes darting up at you in surprise.

“Hi.” You raise the tray you’re holding in an awkward greeting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to creep up on you.”

“That’s okay, _____,” he replies softly, wide eyes blinking a little from behind his round glasses. “I can get kind of spacey when I’m focused on something. I was just doing some updates on your machine and didn’t see you.”

“You…” Your head tilts curiously. “You know my name?” 

A small smile touches his lips as he points to your computer. “I’m updating your machine,” he reminds you.

Not to mention the fact that he’s literally sitting in your cubicle, your name tag clearly posted on the frosted glass that separates your space from Joy’s. An embarrassed chuckle leaves you when you realize your dumbass mistake. “Oh. Duh. Wow, that was a stupid question. Let me just get out of your way.”

“No, no, I’m clearly the one in the way!” His head shakes apologetically. “I couldn’t do this update remotely and I thought you didn’t clock in for another half hour—sorry about that.”

“I don’t,” you confirm. “But I tend to get here a little early so I can sort out everyone’s coffee order.”

A brow raises in surprise. “Do they really have you making coffee runs?” he asks incredulously.

You hmm in confirmation, moving to set the coffee on everyone’s desks. “Rite of passage, I guess,” you call over the divider as you work. Joy’s order today isn’t as over the top as you know she can be, but you were still rather embarrassed to order it (vanilla latte with oatmilk—one and a half pumps cinnamon, one pump hazelnut, an extra espresso shot and extra foam with honey drizzle). The barista had looked at you tiredly but hadn’t voiced her obvious judgement when she rung you up. 

“I guess,” you hear him say, but he doesn’t sound too convinced. 

Coffee distributed and hands finally free, you return to lean against your cubicle, hovering as he continues to quickly type and click. You look at him pointedly, a small smile creeping across your face. “Speaking of grunt work, I hear you’re the printer guy.”

His lips quirk. “I’m also the expert at updating Microsoft Word, just so you know.”

You laugh, and his eyes crinkle in amused response. “Oh, well excuse me, sir.”

“I’ll let it slide this once. Since you’re new.”

“And so are you. That’s why you’re the printer guy.”

He just lets out a puff of air that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. This close, you can now see the tiny holes that are trailing up his earlobe—he clearly has multiple ear piercings, not just the ones you saw at the barbecue. There is no jewelry in them now, though. 

“Jungkook, right?”

It’s his turn to look surprised, and you find yourself satisfied by the flush creeping up the back of his neck when he ducks his head in confirmation. 

“Us newbies gotta stick together,” you stage whisper behind a conspiratorial hand before leaning decidedly away. “Anyway, let me stop bothering you and go make some coffee.”

His eyebrows scrunch in clear confusion. “Didn’t you just bring some?”

“…Yeah, I am only just now recognizing just how bizarre this must seem,” you say sheepishly. “But none of those were for me—fancy specialty drinks aren’t really in my budget, so I tend to just brew a cup here.” 

“Did you say drinks?” a voice croaks, and when you turn your head, there’s Joy, walking towards the two of you. If her body’s sluggish movements weren’t enough to clue you in to the fact that she’s exhausted and possibly hungover, the designer sunglasses she’s wearing to tactfully hide half her face certainly do.

“On your desk,” you chirp as she walks past you without another glance. “Good morning!”

There is no response from the other side of the cubicle wall, and Jungkook frowns a bit, but you just give him a small shrug that translates to what can you do? before pushing off the wall to continue your trek to the kitchen. “You want one?” you offer. “I make a mean cafeteria coffee. Trial and error has taught me the exact temperature of tap water to use to make it taste less like sludge.”

His mouth smoothes back out at your joke, and though you wait for him to call you out on your ridiculous declaration, his gaze is already back on your computer. “No thank you,” comes his soft reply.

With a nod to yourself, you move to complete your task and leave Jungkook to work on his. When you return minutes later, newly-filled mug in hand, he’s already gone.

Today starts out pretty typically. After bringing everyone’s coffee, you settle into monitoring the company’s social media accounts. (When Joy first delegated this task to you, you were a bit confused, as social media is so vital to brands nowadays that handling it is technically a whole other full-time job. But it turns out you don’t have to do much above the intern level anyway—just answer customer questions and escalate issues if need be.)

Your manager has been out traveling for a week, but today she finally comes back to the office, and it makes for a nice change of pace when she hands you all of her scattered, hurriedly-scribbled notes and asks you to please transcribe them into something more cohesive and legible. Well, not nice, exactly (because at the end of the day, this is still busywork), but if you have to reply to one more Facebook comment with instructions that are clearly already on the product packaging, there is a pretty likely possibility you will scream. 

This is at least slightly less mind-numbing. Instead of copy-pasting things from a prewritten script, you get to try to make sense of what your boss had been trying to say when she wrote turkey club in the corner of a page filled with random numbers and dates. Was this important? Was it simply her plans for lunch that day? You and your fancy college degree have the pleasure of trying to figure that out while Joy and Alan, the web manager, get to actually do important things that are in their job descriptions.

Still, like every day, you try to dampen your frustration, try to keep a positive attitude. Because ultimately, this is an opportunity to grow your boss’s confidence in you, and that’s exactly what you want. Though you’re a little disheartened by all the busywork, you remind yourself it will all be worth it in the end. Your hope is that if you put in the time, you’ll eventually be trusted with more of the nitty gritty stuff. 

(You know…the stuff you actually got your degree for.)

But no matter how positive you are, things of course don’t go as smoothly as they should. After you’ve done a pretty fantastic job (if you say so yourself) of organizing and typing everything up, you send your manager the digital version. And, because you know the email may accidentally get buried in her inbox, you decide to print a physical copy for good measure.

You give the printer pretty simple, straightforward directions. One copy, double-sided (to do your part to save Mother Earth), the whole document typed in plain old black and white. But when you walk over, there’s nothing waiting for you in the printing tray. No humming to clue you in to the fact that the printer was working on your job. Nope. Instead, the admittedly ancient machine is quiet and still, and it stays that way for long enough for you to walk back to your computer to press the print button again, just in case you forgot to do so the first time. Still no dice. You frown, opening the paper tray to make sure it was full, then opening every other compartment that can possibly be opened to make sure there isn’t a paper jam somewhere.

Nothing.

Irritated, you stalk back to your desk, your first inclination to check with Joy and see if she has been having any of the same issues, but you find her chair empty. Probably got pulled into a meeting that they don’t find it necessary to loop you in on, even though it will ultimately be you who does all the grunt work for any action items the meeting produces.

Positive, you remind yourself, falling back into your chair and drumming your fingertips against your desk in thought. Maybe it’s not the printer at all. Maybe it’s your computer. You search your desk drawer for the introductory employee contact sheet HR had given you when you first started, and there he is—Jeon, Jungkook.

For a second, you consider sending him an email, but the green dot that displays he’s online has you shooting him a message instead. Much less formal, but likely quicker for the both of you.

You Hey Jungkook! Sorry to bother you, but I can’t print for some reason You The printer over here is ignoring me, and I don’t think I’m set up to print by the art directors

Despite what you originally assumed, he doesn’t answer immediately, obviously focused on something else. Still, you only have to wait a few minutes before you hear the soft ding you were waiting for. 

Jungkook Jeon Hi, _____. You mean the large printer by the marketing department, correct?   You Yes! I tried a couple times, but I don’t think the job even went through You Thought it best to just ask the printer guy 🙂

There’s a pause, one long enough that you worry that he’s forgotten about your lighthearted exchange from this morning. Shit. That was stupid of you. You’ve probably offended him. Fuck.

But if Jungkook is upset with you, he’s professional enough that it doesn’t come across at all in his next message. If anything, he just seems a little preoccupied. 

Jungkook Jeon Hmmm, let me check it out for you. Mabel can be a little uncooperative. You Mabel? 

Silence again, this time for a good five minutes. You answer some emails so you’re not just sitting there twiddling your thumbs. 

Jungkook Jeon Sorry, was running some diagnostics in the background to see if I could find the problem  Jungkook Jeon IT kinda calls that printer Mabel because we’re pretty sure she’s worked for the company for longer than all of us combined. Seems fitting

You can’t help but snort at that. Cute, and likely not inaccurate. Mabel, it is.   

Jungkook Jeon One of these days Mabel’ll finally retire, but it won’t be today—looks like she’s running fine. Do you mind checking for me and seeing if you can access the marketing server? 

A few clicks, and when double clicking on the server icon doesn’t bring up the same list of folders it usually does, it confirms the conclusion the both of you have already come to—your computer is the problem, not Mabel.

You No dice 😕 Jungkook Jeon Got it. I think something went weird with your network connection after I updated your machine this morning. I can fix that for you! You Awesome! I appreciate it! Jungkook Jeon Of course! Can’t have my sparkling reputation as the Printer Guy tarnished so easily 😉 You LOL

You allow him remote access to your computer when a pop-up prompts you to, and he gets you up and running before your manager’s meeting is even over.

Lunch has always been an interesting—albeit potentially exhausting—part of your day. You learned early on that attempting to take the break you were legally entitled to at your desk did not stop anyone from continuing to ask you for things. Unfortunately, there weren’t many solutions to this problem—you didn’t get paid enough to be able to consistently eat your lunches out, and you lived too far away from the office to go home for lunch instead. So, you started taking your lunch break a little earlier than most of your other coworkers did, ensuring that the cafeteria was pretty empty and allowing you the space to decompress and eat your bagged lunch in peace. 

And as things usually went with this company, it didn’t take long for that peace to be interrupted. Once she noticed you disappearing from your desk, curiosity had Joy tagging along one day, and after that, it only took a couple weeks before both she and Wendy joined you. 

(Later, you would have the great idea to simply enjoy your bagged lunch in the park a few blocks away, but the weather wasn’t always great and at that point, the other two started to expect you to eat with them.)

So that’s exactly how you’re spending your lunch now—scarfing down the soup you made a few days ago that you’ll eat until it’s completely gone, while Joy and Wendy giggle and gossip to each other. As much as they apparently want to eat lunch with you, they tend to be pretty nonplussed by how you never contribute much to their inane conversations. 

And you’re fine with that. In the time it’s taken them to get comfortable invading your zen time, you’ve learned how to properly tune their tittering out. You’re good at nodding at the right times, at throwing in perfectly placed hums that indicate you’re listening, even when you’re not.

Today, it’s a sudden, uncharacteristic pause in their chatter that prickles against your diverted attention.   “That’s weird,” you hear Wendy mutter, and that officially throws you out of you mentally making your grocery list. The intrigued way she’s looking behind you makes you reflexively turn, and that’s when your eyes set on Jungkook.

He hadn’t been there when you first sat down for lunch, but he is now, sitting alone a couple tables away. He’s the only other person in the cafeteria, but from the AirPods in his ears and the way his eyes are focused on his phone screen, you doubt he’s even noticed this fact.  

Joy’s lips downturn slightly into a puzzled frown. “Hmm. IT guys never come down voluntarily from their tower.” 

Your head tilts as you mull over that. That isn’t exactly true. You have only seen Jungkook in passing a few times over the last couple weeks, but those few times prove IT aren’t exactly the antisocial specters the two women in front of you keep painting them as. You have even exchanged the short pleasantries with him that are socially expected when crossing paths at the coffeepot.  

“Wonder what he’s doing here?” Wendy says, not nearly quietly enough in your opinion. Embarrassment  flashes hot through you, inwardly chastising yourself for continuing to associate with such casually judgmental people. You’re already mentally preparing to apologize for your lunch mates when a covert glance out of the corner of your eye shows that Jungkook’s still paying your group no attention, taking distracted bites from his sandwich as his head bobs slightly to whatever is playing through his headphones.

“Whatever,” Joy says with a dismissive shrug, and then just that easily, the two are back gossiping about Cindy in HR.

From then on, you notice that Jungkook continues to eat lunch in the cafeteria at the same time as you. Sometimes, he beats you there, already at his designated table and munching on whatever he brought that day. If your eyes meet, he’ll send you a small smile in greeting before immediately dropping his focus back to his phone. If you’re there first and throw him a wave of acknowledgment, he always returns it, as is polite and expected of two coworkers who don’t know each other beyond their forced proximity.

And you think nothing of it, too busy being your department’s errand girl, the person who gets assigned all the tasks no one else wants to do. The amount of interaction you and Jungkook have is only marginally higher than what you have with Namjoon in Finance, who periodically reaches out to you for any missing receipts for charges on the Marketing department’s credit card.

This slowly starts changing as you begin to have more and more technical problems. You being assigned to put together multiple PowerPoints and research whatever market trends tickles your boss’s fancy means you constantly have an ungodly amount of tabs and applications open. This means you’re not really surprised when your computer—an older model that is definitely on its last leg—starts freezing and giving you pop up errors. A force restart seems to fix the problem, but a new one emerges—now, no matter how many times you hit the print button and walk over to your designated printer, nothing awaits for you to pick up. Even scrolling through the printer’s print history shows no record of your jobs being in the queue. It’s bizarre—you even make sure to confirm you’re connected to the servers, and that doesn’t seem to be the issue this time.

Frowning, you make your way back to your desk and scroll down your chat messages until a familiar face appears.

You  Hey Jungkook! I can’t seem to print—think something weird is going on with my computer today

A soft sigh of frustration escapes your lips, fingers drumming irritably against your desk. It isn’t even noon, but the day is already looking to be a long one.

Resigned, you settle in to wait for him to answer you in the chat, but the little bubbles that indicate he’s typing never pop up. Instead, you’re surprised when movement in your peripheral produces Jungkook himself, slowing in approach of your desk, though his focus is still on his phone screen. He must have gotten your message in the midst of doing something else. 

“Oh! Hi,” you greet him eagerly. “Just the person I was looking to see.”

He looks up at you from beneath the curtain of his bangs, a small smile touching his lips as he stuffs his phone back into the pocket of his slacks. “Just the person I was looking for,” he returns. “What seems to be the problem?” 

“Mabel is being a bitch again,” you say with an irritated sigh. “Every time I try to print, nothing is happening.” 

Jungkook snorts, amused, and it’s only then that your brain registers exactly what you just said. Swearing at work is unprofessional so you make it a point not do it, but that one slipped out so casually. “Oh—sorry.”

But if Jungkook is offended, it certainly doesn’t show in the responding chuckle he lets out. “That’s definitely on brand. I can fix that—let me take a look.”

You move to relinquish your seat, but he’s already leaning over you before you can do more than shift your weight. So you just let go of your mouse so he can control it instead, scooting to the side a bit and trying your best not to think too hard about how he’s close enough for your clothes to brush. Christ does he smell good.

Jungkook clicks around a bit, no doubt checking to make sure your computer is up to date and connected to everything it’s supposed to. “Is this what you’ve been trying to print?” he finally asks, brows furrowed in concentration.

You blink at the question, realizing with dawning horror that you were accidentally distracted by his proximity. You clear your throat, shaking your head a little at yourself in an attempt to clear it of all thoughts that aren’t solidly on the task at hand. “Yeah.” 

He clicks the print button, just as you have done for the past ten minutes, then straightens with a shrug. “Let’s give our old girl a visit and see what her deal is.”

You stand, following him around the corner to the copy room, where Mabel has proudly taken residence for who knows how many years. The fact that you can already see she’s humming with activity as the two of you approach has your eyebrows knitting in confusion.

Jungkook seems equally confused, reaching in the tray for the stack of paper that was just spit out and turning it over to confirm both of your suspicions. The report you’ve been trying to print for the last twenty minutes sits in his hand, likely still warm from how quickly and easily Mabel completed Jungkook’s request. He holds it up for you to see, his big doe eyes peering at you quizzically through his glasses. “This printer was the one that wouldn’t work for you?” he asks.

“Yeah, I definitely sent it to this one. Repeatedly,” you insist. Embarrassment prickles across your skin. “I swear it wasn’t working two seconds ago!”

Jungkook smiles when he hands you the papers, and it somehow softens his naturally cherubic face even more. “You just wanted to say hi to me, huh?” 

“Clearly Mabel likes you more than me,” you sniff at his teasing. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

“You didn’t,” he says simply. He hovers for a few more moments as you check to make sure all the pages are there. “Let me know if you have any more issues, okay?”

“Will do,” you agree, mind already back on your work as you both turn to part ways. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“Anytime.”

“Didn’t you have a date last night?” Joy asks. 

It’s lunchtime again, early enough that the three of you are still the only ones in the cafeteria. While both Joy and Wendy are munching on some overpriced salads they had delivered from a restaurant a couple blocks away, you’re eating a boring ham and cheese sandwich that you haphazardly slapped together in your rush to get out the door this morning. Vaguely, you do remember Wendy mentioning something about an upcoming hot date, but she was always rambling about a hot date, and frankly, you don’t care enough to keep up with any details. Everything you know about her love life—and her, in all honesty—has been dumped onto you without you having any say in the matter. 

“I did,” Wendy squeals, excited as always to have the opportunity to talk about herself. “His name was Miles. We’ve been talking on Tinder for the past week—he was really sweet and seemed to want to get to know me. Last night he took me to a nice restaurant, really wined and dined me.”

“Wow,” Joy says, eyebrows raised. “That sounds promising. When are you gonna see him again?”

“I’m not,” Wendy scoffed. “He was nice and all, but he’s only 5’7. It’ll never work out.”

“True.”

You’ve been trying your hardest to zone them out, but the longer Wendy prattles on, each sentence more baffling than the last, you can’t help but interject, “Doesn’t the app let you filter out height preferences?”

Wendy pauses, a raise of an eyebrow betraying her surprise at you finally participating in her lunchtime shenanigans. “Not on the free version.”

“So why did you even entertain him if you knew you would never consider him seriously?” 

“..because I wanted to go to dinner?” Wendy replies flatly, the look on her face doing nothing to hide how stupid she thinks your question is. “Besides, he got what he wanted out of the deal. After dinner I took him home and let him fuck.” 

The flippantly casual way she throws out the vulgar word feels like a record scratch, especially since the three of you are, in fact, still very much on company premises. Wendy doesn’t seem to notice just how much she’s scandalized you, continuing to prattle on at full volume about how the sex was pretty good for a Tinder date, even though he refused to eat her out. 

At this point, you’ve long slowed in your chewing, now entirely too incredulous by the absurdity of the situation you’ve found yourself in to eat. 

“You didn’t suck him, did you?” Joy asks.

Wendy scoffs. “Of course not! I’m not giving head to some random anyway, especially if he’s not gonna give me mine first.”

“Can we not talk about this?” you mumble.

They both turn to stare at you, judgement plain on their faces. Wendy snorts. “Wow, _____. I never took you to be a prude.”

“I did,” Joy slides in under her breath.

You let out an agitated huff. This is ridiculous. “I’m not a prude.”

The two of them share a look. After a pause, Wendy finally asks in a way that indicates that it doesn’t really matter what you say because her mind is already made up, “Then what’s the problem?”  

Aside from this conversation being a massive HR violation?

Wendy continues smugly, as if she’s figured you out, “Talking about oral hit a nerve…interesting.”

Yes, Wendy! you think sarcastically, fighting the intense urge to roll your eyes. The whole rest of the convo was good and dandy—oral was definitely the line, though! 

Joy just looks at you, her eyes narrowing the longer she does. Her scrutiny makes your skin prickle in irritation. “You have gotten head before, right?”

“Okay!” you say sharply, stuffing the uneaten half of your sandwich back into the bag. “One, that’s neither of your business, and two, this conversation is completely inappropriate. Let’s change the subject, please.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, both of them visibly surprised by your response. Joy actually looks a tiny bit proud that you stood up for yourself, but Wendy just sniffs and mutters, “That obviously means no.” Ultimately, they both back off, choosing instead to chatter about the newest design of Joy’s nails.

You exhale a tiny sigh of relief. Wendy was hitting the nail too close to the head and you truly didn’t feel like explaining your life story to a nosy coworker who was nothing more than your acquaintance, at best. Now that they’ve finally let you out of the hot seat, you’re fully planning to spend the rest of your lunch hour zoning out in relative peace. 

But before you can properly dissociate, you hear someone cough behind you. 

Your blood runs cold. You already know who it is—no one else tends to eat lunch this early.

“How long has he been sitting there?” you whisper, already dreading the answer.

Joy waves an unbothered hand. “I don’t know, like five minutes?”

Five minutes. Long enough to have heard… 

You’re immediately mortified, and it must show on your face, because Wendy just snorts and says way too loudly for your comfort, “Oh, relax, this is probably the most action he’s gotten in months. I’m doing him a favor.”

What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. “Are you serious right now?”

“Calm down,” Joy says, rolling her eyes. “Look, he’s not even listening to us.”

And a slow, discrete turn of your head confirms what she says—Jungkook, in an ugly salmon button-up today, has his earbuds in, eyes downcast to his phone screen, lips soundlessly forming the words to whatever song he’s listening to. You feel a tiny bit of relief, but embarrassment still roils deep in your belly, suddenly making your half-eaten sandwich completely unappetizing.

You stand, grabbing the brown paper bag that contains the remnants of your lunch and hoping against hope that you’ll be able to bolt without him noticing.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Wendy sighs, annoyance bleeding into her tone. “I told you I didn’t realize you were a prude. We can talk about something else.”

You bristle, but tamp down the urge to defend yourself and point out again that you aren’t a prude, you just don’t want to be the office harlot either. “It’s not that,” you lie. The judgmental look in Joy’s eye only softens when you say, “I just remembered I forgot to print the printouts for the meeting this afternoon. I’ll see you guys later?”

“Sure,” Joy says dismissively, and Wendy says nothing at all. They’ve already moved on, no longer interested in your swift escape, attention eagerly back on the details of Wendy’s weekend. That’s works perfectly fine for you—you’ve had enough of being the center of attention for the day.

Blessedly, Jungkook doesn’t even look up when slink past him and out the door.

It’s hot.

Third quarter is well underway, which means that it’s time again for the quarterly company barbecue. That also means it’s hot as balls. 

You suffer quietly, trying not to add to the stank atmosphere Joy and Wendy are already creating due to the heat. It’s an ambitious goal, especially since you’re already sweltering beneath your blouse—which was reasonable to wear within the chilled walls of the office, but feels rather ridiculous now, under the relentless beat of the sun. Despite being grateful for the free food and break from your maddeningly boring work, you can’t help but mentally yearn for the indoors, where there’s proper shade and air conditioning and decidedly less bitching. 

“I don’t know why they don’t just cater something for us to eat inside,” Joy mopes, dabbing at her brow with what you already know from experience to be a cheap, scratchy napkin. “How is anyone supposed to enjoy themselves if we’re melting?”

“It’s probably a ploy,” Wendy quips. “The more uncomfortable we are, the more likely we are to get back to work.”

“The date’s been on the calendar for months,” you point out wearily. “They had no way of knowing there’d be a heat wave today. Besides, the company’s already paid for the food. I doubt they intended to purposely waste that money.”

Joy scoffs in retort. “The company also knows throwing an outdoor event in July is the same as throwing one in Satan’s asshole.”

Wendy sniggers, but you don’t answer, biting back your response that outdoor barbecues are common during summer, and at least they don’t have you out here in the snow. Because honestly? This is only your second quarter with the company, and who knows what the fourth quarter barbecue looks like. 

All you can do is free some of the buttons on your blouse, undoing as many as you can while still being office-appropriate. As it is, you now have a little cleavage peeking out, but with how hot it is, you figure no one will say anything.

“Look,” Wendy says with an unsubtle tip of her head. “Looks like the soccer game is still on, at least.”

Fluttering the hem of your blouse in an attempt to get some circulation, you reflexively respond to her prompting, eyes following her line of sight. A few tables down, the Sales team has finished their meal and appears to be actively gauging coworker interest in joining their game. From the decently-sized group that’s starting to form by the open field, you think they’re pretty successful, despite the heat. 

Joy groans, lifting her long hair with a hand in an effort to cool off the back of her neck. “I don’t know how they’re doing all that when it feels too hot to breathe.”

Inwardly, you agree with her, but Wendy just gives a lazy shrug and says, “Hey, if we’re gonna roast to death, at least we’ll be properly entertained.”

“True,” Joy muses. “And they’re gonna be sweatier than usual.”

Wendy’s eyes glaze over a bit at the thought. You grimace, amazed that these two always seem to have their heads in the gutter. That’s my cue. “I’ll be right back,” you say, brushing off the back of your slacks as you stand, but they pay you no mind when you walk away.

You’ve already finished your meal, but it can’t hurt to take another look at the coolers. It’s so hot that you’ve already downed your first beverage, so a new one is in order. When you arrive to the area, two people from Customer Service pass, nodding at you in acknowledgment as they make their way back to their table. You’ve only just started to reach for a cooler lid when you hear someone address you again. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice says timidly behind you. “How’s it going?”

You reflexively turn your head, simultaneously surprised and not at all to find Jungkook standing there. He’s got on a long-sleeved button-up despite the heat—grey, checkered with a red and navy plaid—and you can’t help but wonder how he’s not sweltering. Though, the noticeable sheen on his face and the way his damp bangs are starting clump together tells you he just might be. 

“I’ve had better days,” you answer honestly, swiping the back of your hand across your forehead. Before you can catch yourself, that same hand is vaguely gesturing at him, head to toe. “How are you not melting?”

His lips twitch, amused. “I definitely am,” he admits. “I actually hoped no one was over here so I could stuff some of the ice from these coolers down my shirt without being judged.”

You snort. “Hey, who’s judging? Certainly not me. Knock yourself out; just make sure you leave me some.” 

He taps his chin, jokingly in thought, but to be honest, he does mildly look as if he’s actually considering it. “Well, we wouldn’t want the beverages to get cold…”

“Eh, there’s probably not that many in here anyway. They could probably consolidate coolers.” To prove your point, you bend over, cracking open one of the red ones next to you and peering inside. The expected assortment of generic sodas greets you, looking admittedly very refreshing floating in their ice bath. “See, this one isn’t even full.”

You angle your torso a bit so you can meet his eye properly over your shoulder, but as soon as you look up at him, his gaze hurriedly skirts away, color crawling up the back of his neck. You stand with a frown, confused by this, but ultimately brush off his weird behavior when you notice Namjoon from Accounting sidling up to the two of you. 

"Hey guys,"  he greets you, a friendly smile dimpling his cheeks. "We're getting some people together for a soccer game. I know it's really hot, but would either of you want to join?"

You’ve often seen Namjoon chatting with Hoseok in passing, and twice have even seen them leave the building for lunch together, so it doesn’t surprise you that the accountant is helping recruit for the Sales team's traditional barbecue pastime. What does surprise you, however, is that when he casually claps a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, the younger man first responds by blinking owlishly at him behind his glasses, and then, a few seconds later, giving him a nod of assent. 

Obviously you don't know Jungkook very well—not at all, really, outside of your ongoing feud with Mabel. But you didn't take him to be the type to be into playing outdoor sports, particularly in this weather, and you certainly didn't expect him to agree so easily. A smile from Namjoon and suddenly all thoughts of stealing cooler ice are gone. 

Namjoon turns back to you, but you're already shaking your head. "Nope, no thank you! Y'all have fun. I'll just supervise from over there in the shade."

"Fair enough," he chuckles, and then he's leading Jungkook across the open field to meet up with the others.

Mildly more interested in the game now, you take this as your cue to grab the beverage you came for—a can of a Lipton knockoff and a bottle of water for good measure—and return to your table.

Joy and Wendy are still yapping when you approach, though in your absence, Joy has apparently decided to move to Wendy’s side of the table. It only takes you following their line of sight to quickly recognize why—that side of the table has an unobstructed view of the upcoming soccer game. Well, unobstructed, so long as you change your seat too. Awkward about intentionally getting in the way, you pause for only a moment before ultimately reaching for the end seat perpendicular to them instead. 

When you lean over a little to pull your chair out from under the table, Joy finally deigns to acknowledge you, ticking an eyebrow. “I can see down your shirt,” she tells you offhandedly. 

Your head snaps down, and you realize she’s right—undoing those few extra buttons has made the billowy fabric more susceptible to gravity, particularly when you leaned over. You yourself could see your whole chest and the basic bra that supported it, and at this angle, you doubt your blouse covered much of that from Joy’s gaze. A hand immediately snaps up to press the material back in place, but before you can even get properly embarrassed, her attention is ripped from you, eyes wide at something behind you.

“Holy—”

Wendy's jaw drops. Your head reflexively turns in the direction they're gawking at.

And before you can stop it, your jaw drops too.

Your tablemates have been known to be dramatic, and are certainly the type to stretch a fact or two. But it’s only now that you fully understand their fixation on these Sales soccer games, because yes, sometimes they do indeed take their shirts off. Like now.

Other than one girl from Compliance, all of the game’s recruits appear to be men, and as such, the group has chosen to distinguish teams by shirts vs. skins. And while the sudden appearance of skin naturally draws most people’s attention, your attention only gravitates towards one person. Cause what the fuck.

You almost don't recognize him, your brain rapidly shuffling through the information it's collected about him over the past few months and struggling to reconcile with what your eyes are actually seeing. Because the Jungkook you know wears glasses and long sleeves and has an unassuming hairstyle that looks suspiciously like a bowl may have been involved at some point. 

But the person you're looking at now? Glasses have been discarded, apparently no longer needing optical assistance, and he’s ditched the button-up, sweat making the white sleeveless tank he has on underneath spottily transparent and divulging the dusk of his nipples. Now that you can properly see the taper of his slim waist, his shoulders are proportionally more broad than you realized. And, since he clearly has no regard for your rapidly rising blood pressure, Jungkook decides now is the perfect time to reach over said shoulders, grab fistfuls of damp fabric, and pull. The sight of him slipping the shirt over his head—the ink of his hair sinfully mussed, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement—has you reflexively swallowing, mouth dry.

He's absolutely ripped. 

There's no other way to say it. A superior specimen, built and honed in a way that's only possible through years of hard work and discipline. He's still lean enough that you can rationalize how you’ve never picked up on that amount of muscle hiding beneath his unassuming dress shirts, but you're still gobsmacked. 

Your mind spins, struggling to come to terms with the near impossible fact Jungkook actually pulled a Clark Kent on you. Well, pulled a Clark Kent if Clark Kent was also covered in gorgeous ink, pigment swirling up his right arm from wrist to shoulder. From this distance you can’t see the exact designs that make up his intricate sleeve, but you can tell it was composed with a purposeful eye. 

Jungkook is absolutely ripped and tattooed. Jungkook. Printer guy Jungkook.

Flustered and trying not to be, you quickly look away, clanking your jaw shut and trying to focus on the plastic tabletop instead. Dear god, this is embarrassing. You really just gawked at your coworker! He was minding his own business and your jaw just reflexively unhinged like a degenerate. God, you hoped he didn't see that.

But any mortification you have is apparently not shared by the other two at your table.

“Is that Justin?!” Wendy demands rather shrilly, eyes wide, and the volume of her question would embarrass you even more if your brain could process any other reaction right now other than straight static. “Justin from IT?!”

You swallow thickly, your responding correction weak and delayed. “Jungkook.” 

“Finally,” Joy groans, pushing her plate away dramatically. “Some good fucking food!”           

You can’t help it then—your eyes drift back up, lured to the soccer players once more and zeroing in on him immediately. Seemingly unable to stray from his form, the heat already producing a sheen over his golden skin even though the game hasn’t started yet.

Surrounded by a few surprised male coworkers, Jungkook’s slightly hunched into himself, shy at the sudden attention. Even with the distance, you can see how Hoseok claps Jungkook on the back, just as animated over his newly revealed physique as the members of your table. But while everyone else is excited by this revelation…

Across the field, Jungkook innocuously turns his head in your direction. Like magnets, his eyes hone in on yours, your gaze locked for a few seconds until another loud What the fuck?! from Wendy frees you from the spell and you hurriedly look away again, a completely different kind of heat washing over you.

Jesus, you need to get ahold of yourself. There’s no way he was actually looking at you—it’s too sunny, and he’s not even wearing his glasses! He probably can’t even see that far.

But when you brave another peek in that direction and realize you can literally count his abs from here—

What the fuck, indeed.

Mutely, you watch the game unfold, not as self-conscious when it becomes clear that the whole office is doing the same. Though Joy and Wendy have been very salacious in their excitement for it, the soccer game is evidently a company barbecue highlight for others as well. And you’re sure Jungkook joining the fray has only added to the interest, as he’s a completely new addition to the equation.

And to your continued astonishment, Jungkook is good. He’s fast and lithe and brazen. He proves to you, again and again, that he can kick the ball with such ferocious accuracy that the other team’s goalie eventually stops trying to get in his way and simply resorts to trying to protect their vulnerable body parts instead. His intensity only entices reciprocal energy from everyone else, and what has traditionally been a lighthearted game between coworkers has now transformed into a group of competitive men who feel they now have something to prove. 

Joy and Wendy are delighted by this development, squealing and cheering and tittering amongst themselves. You sit quietly, still trying to mentally process this new development, but when you start to feel embarrassed by just how much you’re staring, you decide to call it a day. No one really notices when you stand and gather your trash, and luckily the distraction of the game means you’re able to slip out without any fanfare.

This quarter’s barbecue being on a Friday means you’re blessed with a weekend to decompress and regroup. Unfortunately for you, the office doesn’t just…move on from the event like it has in the past. Instead, this particular barbecue was apparently such a success that you continue to hear chatter about it for the next week, mostly in passing. But while everyone else makes small talk about how much fun they had, Joy and Wendy choose to hone in on the only thing they truly consider worthy of discussion—Jungkook. 

Today, just as they have every day for the past few months, they join your table when you take your early lunch. However, to their increasing irritation, the object of their current fixation isn’t here. In fact, Jungkook hasn’t showed up to the cafeteria during your lunch time since before the barbecue, and you inwardly have to admit it’s a little strange without him. You sat at different tables and the two of you never really said much to each other beyond the expected niceties, but you’ve gotten used to his presence all the same. 

You actually have barely seen him at all, with Mabel on her best behavior this week and Jungkook seemingly busy with something that has kept him mostly out of common areas. Still, with your embarrassingly strong reaction to him at the barbecue, it’s probably for the best. You’re a little wary of what your first proper interaction is going to be like, and you’ve been mentally preparing yourself to be as normal as possible. 

Your female lunchmates don’t seem to have that same mindset.

“Does he just not eat anymore?” Joy huffs. “I literally haven’t seen him all week!”

Wendy picks at her salad, lips twisted in a displeased grimace. “I actually saw him yesterday.”

Joy’s head snaps to her. “What?! You didn’t tell me that. What happened?”

“Since casually running into him doesn’t seem to be working, I figured I’d try getting him to come to me. So I unplugged my keyboard and messaged him, but he didn’t show up for like 40 minutes,” Wendy sighs irritably. “And when he did, he looked at me like I was a moron.”

Your lips twitch in amusement before you can stop them. Joy immediately says exactly what you’re thinking. “Well, you are a moron. You sat there for 40 minutes with your keyboard unplugged!”

Wendy soldiers on like she didn't hear her, undeterred from her gossiping. “So he came over in his ugly button-up and judged me! Plugged the keyboard back in and walked away without even saying anything.”

Despite not properly running into him all week, you actually did see Jungkook’s shirt in passing yesterday as he was turning down a hallway at the far end of the office. Wendy’s right—it had been an ugly puce. You found it endearing.

“He didn’t even roll up his sleeves,” Wendy mourned. “The least Jamal could have done was give me that.”

You pause in the chewing of the tuna sandwich you brought from home, exasperated. “Jamal,” you repeat flatly. “Really?”

Wendy waves her hand at you dismissively. “You know who I mean!”

“I mean, he’ll probably be more willing to talk to you if you treat him like an actual person.” Your quip is reflexive and indignant, and it kind of throws all three of you off guard. Joy raises an eyebrow at you and your sudden vexation, but you still add, though more subdued, “You know. Making an effort to remember his name is a good start.”

“Damn, who pissed in your Cheerios?” Wendy sniffs, though she doesn’t seem very offended by your callout. Over the months you’ve superficially gotten to know her, you’ve come to notice that she doesn’t really take much seriously—a simultaneously admirable and frustrating trait. “If you wanted dibs, you could have just said that.”

You feel heat flush up your neck, denial attempting to sputter from your lips, but true to form, Wendy has already moved on, tittering about how it’s about time the office had some proper excitement that wasn’t just meetings and spreadsheets.

“And speaking of meetings,” Joy pipes up, passing you a nonchalant look, “don’t forget to order those sandwiches for the client meeting tomorrow.”

“Sandwiches?” Your mind blanks. You knew your boss was hosting some clients in the office—had even been working on a lot of grunt work to prepare for it—but no one had mentioned anything to you about any sandwiches. “I thought she was wining and dining them?”

Joy let out a mildly irritated huff. “No, they have to catch an early flight home, so the plan has changed to a working lunch. Weren’t you listening in Monday’s meeting?”

No, you hadn’t been listening, because you weren’t invited to the Monday’s meeting. So it looks like a plan had been made and tasks assigned to you…without anyone bothering to communicate that. Typical.

You close your eyes for a second, jaw working as you attempt to tamp down your ever-brewing frustration. If they intend on you ordering from the usual place, it may be too late to cater for delivery, which means you’ll probably be stuck figuring out how to transport multiple giant platters from a restaurant five blocks away. 

“Do you mind forwarding me the request you sent? I must have missed it,” you respond neutrally, knowing full well the original email had never been sent to you. You stand to leave, the rest of your lunch break instantly soured by the revelation that you apparently have time-sensitive action items that are encroaching dangerous territory. “Just want to make sure I get the order correct.”

Joy nods, attention already back on Wendy and only half-listening. In the meantime, you’ll have to research alternatives, just in case.

While you’re lucky enough to find an acceptable last-minute catering option that will also, blessedly, deliver, that doesn’t mean you’re free to take a breather. 

It’s now the end of the day, and one by one, you see everyone around you log out and head for the elevator. Even Joy, who leaves right on time, despite knowing just how many tasks your small team still needs to complete for the big meeting tomorrow. What’s left is mostly grunt work, and while you are undoubtedly a grunt, it’s been clear for a while now that Joy no longer sees herself to be included in that category. So even though having more hands on deck would speed things along considerably, she still gathers her purse and gives you a cheeky finger wave on her way out.

At some point, the cleaning lady makes her rounds, scooting past you with a murmured apology to empty your trash can, but eventually even she disappears. Hell, even the sun abandons you, the soft glow fading from all the windows and stranding you with the cold fluorescent lighting that only remains on in your part of the office, because the lights have motion detectors. 

And so it’s just you, kneeling on the carpet and surrounded by a gazillion binders. Ensuring relevant reports and Powerpoint presentations are accurate and sending digital copies to your boss for her to have on-hand. Attempting to print physical copies and assemble them into binder portfolios your clients will be able to follow along with during the meeting. 

Attempting, because Mabel is, of course, choosing now to live up to her bitchy reputation. She won’t print on the right-sized paper. She won’t collate. She won’t be cooperative at all, and you’re too exhausted for this shit. Physically and mentally exhausted, trying your hardest to rein in the frustration that’s slowly expanding in your chest, crawling up your throat and triggering a familiar burning behind your eyes. It’s not fair. 

An exasperated noise escapes you without thinking, a loud, guttural thing. None of this is fair.

“_____?”

Your head snaps over your shoulder in surprise, not at all expecting anyone else to still be in the building. It’s Jungkook, because of course it is. Brows knitted in confusion, a black leather jacket thrown over his marigold button-up for some reason. He’s standing near the doors that exit into the lobby, evidently about to begin his trek home before you unwittingly paused his endeavor.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks, but before you can even deign to answer, he’s already taken a few steps towards you and followed up with a clearly concerned, “Are you okay?”

You take a breath, struggling to calm the storm within you. None of this is his fault, nor his problem, and you should just force a smile on your face so he can be on his way and leave you to your self-pity. But you’re tired, so tired, and simply don’t have the capacity to pretend anymore. You swallow around the lump in your throat, and when you do speak, the thickness of your voice betrays the tears that you’re fighting to keep at bay. “No.”

This only seems to alarm him more. He’s standing next to you now, as close as he can get with the array of binders and papers you have scattered on the floor around you like a fortress not meant to keep anyone out, but rather, to keep you inside.

“What’s the matter?” he asks gently.

“Oh, nothing,” you snort derisively, blinking rapidly at the ceiling in an effort to try to stop the inevitable. “Nothing. It’s just well past 7pm and I’m still here in this godforsaken building attempting to print out and hole punch and assemble twenty copies of this presentation. I can’t even get the printer to do what I’m asking it to! And there’s no fucking reason I should still be here because this all could have been done last week if my boss didn’t keep making nonsensical changes based solely on vibes. And tell me why there are six people on my team but no one thought to help me or take any sort of ownership of this at all—as per usual—or even buy me a fucking coffee for once! I haven’t eaten a proper meal all day but everybody just assumes they can go home because things will magically get done like they always do because they will! I will always make sure that they will! Every day it becomes increasingly clear that nobody in this fucking company gives a flying FUCK about me or my free time or my sanity—”

If he’s put off by your potty mouth, Jungkook certainly doesn’t show it. He just manages to catch your gaze from behind his glasses and simply replies, “I do.” 

Your never-ending rant rapidly dissipates on your tongue, brain struggling to comprehend what he just said. “…What?”

“I care,” he repeats softly. “How can I help?”

The sincerity in his tone renders you mute, too stunned to do anything more than watch as Jungkook drops the backpack he’s had slung over a shoulder onto the floor, tossing his newly removed jacket on top of it without much thought. He’s unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, the reemergence of an ink-covered forearm making your brain stutter even more. Now that there’s much less distance between you, you can more accurately make out the shape of a delicate tiger lily, the languid form of a snake.

Jungkook clears his throat, the noise snapping you out of your stupor and making you realize you were just staring at him in silence, for who knows how long. Dammit. “What do you need?” he tries again. 

“Um, first we can start with Mabel,” you croak, mouth now embarrassingly dry. “No matter what I do, she refuses to collate.”

Jungkook shoots you a smile that softens his whole face. “Lucky for you, I’m the printer expert, remember? Don’t worry. We’ll get this fixed and be out of here in no time.”

He holds out a hand and you reflexively grab it, allowing him to guide you to your feet. Together, you make your way to the copy room, where Mabel has stubbornly been giving you hell all night. Jungkook gets right to work pushing buttons while you stand to the side, awkwardly shifting your weight a little from foot to foot.

“So why are you still here?” you ask, curiosity finally forcing you to voice the question that’s been looping in your mind since he first appeared. “It’s late.”

“It is,” he agrees, focus still on the printer. He kneels down, opening the paper tray. “There’s this huge system update that’s set to roll out next week. My whole team has been hunkering down and pulling late nights.”

Oh. That explains why you haven’t seen him around much since the barbecue. “That’s tough.”

“We’re finally almost done,” he shrugs. “And I’m clearly not the only one working overtime.”

You don’t say anything when he looks up at you pointedly, so he turns back to the printer, pulling a stack of paper out of one of the trays.

“I think this may be part of the problem. Someone put the wrong-sized paper in here. Or, at least, Mabel thinks it’s wrong. She’s confused.”

“Well, she can join the club,” you mutter, and he puffs out a laugh, shutting the drawer and pressing some more buttons.

“Come on, let’s try again.”

Something touches your elbow, and though it shocks through you like he electrocuted you, you have the good sense suppress any embarrassing reaction to what you quickly realize is just his hand. Instead, you let him guide you back to your desk, trying not to focus too intently on the heat of his skin on yours. 

Jungkook waits for you to login to your computer, clicking around and changing some settings once you step back and allow him free rein. Then, you can hear a distant hum coming from the copier room, and you know immediately that he’s succeeded. Dutifully, he goes to check anyway, returning to you with a stack of perfectly collated paper.

“Thank god,” you groan. “Now let me just print fifty more of those so I can start organizing these binders.”

With the crisis averted and his job done, you fully expect him to gather his pile of stuff and hustle to the elevator before you can trap him into doing anything else. Instead, Jungkook goes to pick up the additional copies from the printer for you, and he actually gets down on the floor next to you to start putting everything together. He watches you assemble one binder for reference, but then he’s easily doing the same and doubling your completion speed. 

And slowly, gradually, your nervous system calms. The two of you work like a well-oiled machine in what would be comfortable silence, if your brain wasn’t so loud. Now that you’re not actively panicking, a completely different feeling starts to seep into you—embarrassment.  You can’t believe that Jungkook actually caught you on the cusp of a breakdown, during which you looked so pitiful, he felt morally obligated to stop what he was doing and help you.

“I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” you say after a while with a grimace. He’s way too nice and you’re way too pathetic. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night—I promise you don’t have to stay with me. Now that everything’s printed and organized, most of the work’s done. I should be out of here in no time.”

“Well, I promise you didn’t ruin anything. And with two of us, you can be out of here in less time than that.” He looks up with a soft smile from where he’s hole punching a stack of paper, the muffled ka-chunk of the device punctuating his point. “I don’t mind, _____. Really.”

“But I do,” you murmur, looking away. Unable to meet his eyes. “I really appreciate your help, but I feel bad taking up so much of your time.”

“Well, don’t. I didn’t really have plans tonight anyway, and I’ve been working so much that it’s probably better that I get in some socializing time.”

“Not that I’m very good company,” you snort derisively.

There’s a pause, one long enough that you wonder if he heard you. But then he’s moving a little closer to you, tipping slightly sideways to tap his shoulder against yours. Reflexively, you turn back to him, finding his eyes kind.  

“We all have our off days, and that’s okay. But they’ll dull your shine if you let them. Don’t.” He bumps your shoulder again. “Besides, you and I have to stick together, remember? Or did you not really mean it when you told me that?”

You did tell him that, didn’t you? Months and months ago. You're surprised that he even remembers that.

There's an amused quirk to his lip, one that you can't help but feel yourself soften to, even as his focus turns back to the task at hand. And all at once, you feel yourself flooded with gratitude. You've been thankful for his help this whole time, of course, but now you almost sag with it, the relief at knowing someone is finally in your corner, the sudden sense of security and support visceral and a little overwhelming.

Before you fully realize what you're doing, it's you who leans closer, aiming to give a him a grateful kiss on the cheek. But your lips don't quite land on their intended target, because just before you succeed, Jungkook unconsciously senses your increasing proximity and reflexively turns his head back to you.

It's his lips yours coincidentally brush against, the accidental kiss timid due to his surprise and your chaste intentions. But the kiss is also soft, his lips plush and rather easily yielding to yours. 

Quickly realizing your mistake, you pull back, eyes as big as saucers. You stare at him in stunned silence and he stares back, eyes all pupil.

A horrified apology is immediately crowding the back of your throat, but right before you set it free, Jungkook's Adam's apple bobs, an errant tongue absently swiping across his lips. 

Huh. This isn’t exactly the reaction of someone repulsed by an unwanted kiss. He still hasn't said anything, but he hasn't moved away from you either. He's just watching you. Waiting. 

...Waiting?

With caution but with clear intent, you lean back in, and to your surprise, he meets you halfway, noses bumping a little before he tilts his head and your lips slot perfectly together. 

This kiss is immediately different from the last. Jungkook mindlessly drops he binder he's holding, body angling more solidly towards you so he can properly meet the rapidly rising intensity. Well, meet may be the wrong word, because he's the one whose hand quickly reaches up to cradle your chin, gentle pressure a silent request for you to tilt your head a bit more. And when you comply with the change in angle, it's him who deepens the kiss, the slow lave of his tongue coaxing your lips to part, open and wet.

You pant hot into his mouth and he breathes you in, offering no resistance when you push even closer, hands wandering across his shoulders, fingers ghosting up the back of his neck before drifting to idly toy with the hair at his nape. He hums contentedly, not unlike a purring cat, and does it again when your tongue joins his in a slow glide. 

You lose yourself in the sensation of it all, unable to notice anything beyond the heat that is rapidly building between you like fireworks ready to explode. Your head spins, swimming with endorphins and high off the smell of him. The taste.

A playful nibble of your lip unexpectedly has a rather desperate keen escaping your throat. You pause, making to pull back in your embarrassment, but the sound only seems to activate Jungkook, who follows you in your attempted retreat, mouth chasing yours in its reluctance to part. It's only when your back finally touches the floor that you realize he's slowly guided you there. You've been in a haze, too swept into the plot of the movie you've somehow found yourself in to do anything but be pulled along.  

As naturally as breathing, your find your knees have parted, and Jungkook easily slips into the space you've created for him, almost trancelike. As if he doesn't even realize he's doing it, too focused on exploring the fever of your mouth. He's leaning most of his weight on the hands he has posted on either side of your head; even still, every single millimeter of you that does touch him is sparking like live wires, euphoric goosebumps rippling across your skin. You let out a shaky breath that fogs his glasses, but even that doesn't stop him, just makes him pull back from you just enough to be able to whip them off and toss them somewhere, wholly unconcerned.

Emboldened by this, you sling a leg over his hip, and he eagerly accepts your invitation, settling on you properly. You're covered in him now, pelvises properly flush, and now that he's caged you in, Jungkook takes the opportunity to glide his lips away from yours and trail across your jawline instead. You shiver, every atom of you buzzing at his touch, and his mouth continues its trek, sucking hot down the column of your throat with just enough pressure that you know color will bloom there later. 

Your hips reflexively jump at his ministrations, your skirt riding further up your thighs, and the hard press of him against your panties has you swallowing down a moan. He freezes for a fraction of a second, but then his hips respond to the lure of yours with a more intentional roll. A contented sound rumbles in the back of his throat, tongue dipping to meander across your collarbone.

This is crazy. This is crazy. But you can't quite find it in yourself to care much as the two of you rut against each other on the office floor, your hand gliding up his back to root in the hair at his nape. 

Your hips undulate restlessly, eager to meet the crest of his wave, and Jungkook matches your intensity, catching your earlobe between his teeth. Your shared grind is measured but deliberate, and even through his pants you can feel the hard shape of him pressing right against your aching core. A particularly pointed roll has Jungkook shuddering hot into the shell of your ear, and that is what finally tamps down the last of your restraint and triggers something much more primal.

Dizzy with want, your hands scrabble between you and aim for the button of his slacks, eager to be properly introduced to what’s underneath. But to your slow horror, Jungkook freezes at the touch, motionless for a few breathless seconds before he actually starts lifting off of you and pulling back. It’s only when he’s completely sat up and is staring at you that the full weight of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train.

Holy shit. Holy shit. 

You really were just dry humping. A coworker. And you were doing it on the premises of the place that pays your fucking bills! Making out, dry humping, and you were actively aiming to do much more if he hadn't stopped you. 

What the fuck has gotten into you? 

You scrabble upright, dizzy with the mortification rapidly seeping deep into your bones. Stupidly, you blink at him, paralyzed with embarrassment but unable to look away. A deer in headlights.

Jungkook stares right back, eyes dark and all pupil. Dazedly, you wonder if you look as fucked out as he does—there’s a smattering of red across his cheeks, and his hair has been thoroughly mussed by your own hands. A tongue dips out to swipe over kiss-swollen lips, stealing your attention away from the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

And suddenly, you’re able to kickstart into gear.

“I am so sorry,” you burst out, panic nearly choking you. “That was highly inappropriate and I seriously don’t know what came over me—”

It takes you a few moments to register that he’s moved back in, and that it’s the returned press of his lips that interrupts your babbling apology before it can properly catch its stride. You’re almost too afraid to respond in kind, as if you’ll somehow scare him away again, but the insistence in his kiss practically knocks the breath from your lungs. Patiently, he coaxes your rigid lips back pliant. And only when it’s clear you won’t try to run away does he lean back a second time, but only enough to see your eyes properly.

“No,” he murmurs, breath fanning hot over you. “That was very much appropriate.” 

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, too shell-shocked by this turn of events and actively battling your triggered fight or flight response. “Um. Then…then why did you…”

Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed, as if he’s gathering himself. “I want to,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself, but then he’s looking right at you again, gaze heavy with resolve. “It’s just…do you mind if I try something first?”

That throws you for a loop. Your jaw opens then shuts again while you contemplate his question, as well as your answer. “I mean, I guess? It depends on what it is.”

That you don't instantly reject him visibly unwinds a tension in his body that you only now realize was there. A rather feral look crosses his face, immediately inciting goosebumps to ripple across your skin in anticipation. But then the intensity of his expression dims, edged with something more contemplative. Jungkook gives you a pensive nod then stands, looking around curiously. “Hey, where does that viper sit?”

You blink, bewildered. “…The who?”

“The one who’s always with you at lunch.” He locks eyes with you, tongue poking through his cheek. “You know. The one who’s on your team but still had no second thoughts about leaving you here tonight by yourself.”

Joy. He’s talking about Joy. 

The question makes you pause in suspicion, but you still hook a thumb towards the cubicle next to yours, on the other side of your shared wall. “There. Why?”

“No reason,” he says with a sly grin, holding out a hand to you. You take it without question and he easily helps you to your feet. But then before you can process it, he’s slid both hands around your waist and easily lifted you off the ground, already in route to the exact cubicle you called out. You yelp in surprise, your arms reflexively circling his neck—your legs, his middle—in your body’s scramble for balance. But Jungkook’s hold on you is secure, grip moving down to the back of your thighs instead, and now that your chests are once again flush, you can actually feel his chuckle. His amusement provokes yours, and you can’t help but giggle as he carries you over to Joy’s cube as easily as if you weigh nothing.

Clearly, his exercise routine is working out for him.

After using a hand to sweep some objects out of the way, Jungkook carefully sets you down on Joy’s desk, right next to her monitor. Your mirth only grows at the feeling of whatever printouts she left for later review crinkling under your weight, at the sight of displaced pens rolling off the edge and disappearing to the ether that is the floor.

Jungkook has set you down, but he doesn’t pull away, just leans down and recaptures your eager lips. He’s tall enough that he’s kind of hunching over to kiss you, neck really craned, but he doesn’t seem to care much about that, kissing you with the same ferocity as moments before, when the two of you were entangled on the carpet. And you can’t help but match his fervor, hands reaching to guide his slim hips even closer, into the widening gap you naturally create for him between your legs. 

Time constricts and expands, an endless and meaningless concept. Because all that matters now is the tongue he slips past your lips to slide against yours, slowly, like he’s savoring the taste of you. All that matters is how fucking great he smells—like clean laundry and smoke and warm skin speckled with sweat—something you’ve always caught whiffs of, but now completely surrounds you, invading all your senses and sending your lust into overdrive. 

“Is this what you wanted to try?” you pant hotly when your lips finally separate for a moment in your quest for air. “Defiling Joy’s desk?”

He’s leaning his forehead against yours while he also attempts to catch his breath, and he’s so close that it would be hard for you to miss his amused flash of teeth. “Sort of. I’d like to defile it more thoroughly, though. Starting with this.” 

Jungkook leans in for one last kiss, one that starts at your mouth, moves to your neck, and to your surprise, continues down the line of your body. Over your collarbone, careful hands popping open a few buttons of your blouse so he can nestle more surely into the curve of your breasts, warm lips skating across eager skin. For a few moments, he actually nuzzles his face into your middle, a gesture you find rather sweet before he incites a shiver through your body by licking against your clothed navel. And before you can fully realize what’s happening, he’s slipped to his knees.

You look down at him in surprise, body still slotted between your legs, but this time more eye-level with the secret, needy part of you that has been thrumming excitedly with every beat of your heart. “What are you…”

“You’re always doing everything for everyone else,” comes his murmured reply. “Will you allow me to do something for you?”

Your brain is still so hazy from the spell of his mouth that it takes you a moment to recognize what’s happening. What he’s asking for. But when his large palms are hot against the naked skin of your thighs, gentle pressure urging them to part even more, it all hits you like a truck. Your eyes dart around, paranoid. “Jungkook,” you hiss. “…Here?”

“They’re too cheap to put cameras anywhere other than the lobby.” He turns his head, lips pressing reassurance into the side of your knee. “And no one’s here.” His reminder as gentle as the kisses he continues to adorn you with. “Just you.” Kiss. “And me.”

He’s right, you know. No one else is here to witness the series of bad decisions you’ve just made—to witness the ones you’re still seriously considering. 

Still, you hesitate.

Jungkook’s staring intently at you, doe-eyed and cherry-lipped and deceptively innocent despite what he’s requesting of you. “Please?” he asks again, oh-so-sweetly. Reverently prostrating before your altar, praying for the blessing of an ambivalent goddess. You. “I just…I really want to. Ever since that day, I can’t stop thinking about it and I—please?”

Your brows furrow as you try to make sense of what he’s saying, still scrambling to keep up with this current turn of events. What day? Your mind whirrs, jumping around before finally settling on an embarrassing memory you’ve willed yourself to forget. 

Lunch, where Wendy somehow got you to admit you’ve never gotten head, and Jungkook, purportedly oblivious, too busy on his phone to ever pay your table any attention. 

…Except from what he’s saying right now, he had heard every word. Heard, and filed it away for safekeeping, only revealing to you now, when he can possibly do something about it.

Absently, your tongue dips out to swipe across your lips, and Jungkook’s attention visibly strays towards the action, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs and sending electricity straight to your core. God, do you want to say yes. Even though you’ve never done this before, your inexperience is not at all the reason for your reluctance. It’s the optics. You’re at work.

Your head tilts as you try to accurately take stock of the situation. You’re at work. But technically, you should have clocked out hours ago. Technically, this job has been stealing a lot of time that should have been yours to choose what to do with. Case in point—you’re the only person on your team still within a five-mile radius of this godforsaken building. Because everyone else deserted you without a second thought, designating you to be the one who struggles to print presentations for a meeting that has been on the calendar for literal months.

But. 

While it’s easy to assume they forced this fate upon you, Fate is not one easily compelled to do another’s bidding. And, trapped in the gaze of the sweet man still patiently awaiting permission to ruin you, you can’t help but wonder if this has been Her plan all along. 

For months you’ve been doing everything for everyone else, so unhappy and stressed that each day in this place only wound you tighter and tighter. So…what if you finally just let yourself snap? Did what you wanted for once? Stopped following the rules that nobody else ever seemed to and just let go? 

You exhale. Fuck it.

“Okay.”

Jungkook grins, boyishly innocuous at first, but rapidly morphing into something much more devilish as you watch. He turns to kiss your knee again, and you startle a little at the action, newly on edge. “Don’t be nervous,” he says, still holding your gaze. Making sure you can see his resolve. “I got you.” 

“Okay,” you say again, but that’s easier said than done, especially when he takes the opportunity to gently push your knees even further apart. Naturally, your skirt rides further up, and you can’t help the apprehension that washes over you at your increasing lack of modesty. Still, you hold true to your word, aggressively tamping down the urge to scramble off the desk and pretend this all never happened. But though you brace yourself for what comes next…

Jungkook doesn’t move.

Long moments pass before you can’t help but say something. “Are you just gonna look?” Because that’s all he seems to be doing, laser-focused on the juncture of your thighs.

He visibly stirs at the sound of your voice, but still doesn’t do much more than tsk at you. “Don’t rush me,” comes his light reprimand, eyes still locked on what you’re sure at this point is a growing dark spot on your panties. “I don’t half-ass things and I definitely won’t rush this. No one’s here, so just relax and enjoy the ride.”

Your jittery nerves have you reflexively mouthy, but your retort swiftly dies on your tongue when his hand finally moves further up your skirt—further inward—and two fingers pointedly press right against that dark spot and glide over your clothed lips. You gasp, fighting against the urge to snap your legs shut when he slowly circles your clit and sends sparks dancing down your legs. 

“Better?” he murmurs.

“Much,” you squeak.

“Good,” he says, eyebrows knitted in thought as he circles and circles. Your thighs twitch, and he leans forward like he can’t help himself, nose pressing solidly against you with a long, audible inhale.

A fascinated oh falls from your lips, heartbeat accelerating excitedly in your ears, but Jungkook only responds by nestling further against your pussy, tracing the length of your lips with a slow, wet swipe of his tongue through the fabric. He breathes hot against your clit and you inadvertently buck at the stimulation, only inciting the wicked curl of his lips. He looks up at you darkly through the curtain of his bangs, and something unexpected and primal simmers beneath your skin.

“Can I have these?” he asks huskily, lightly snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin. 

You clear your throat, suddenly wishing you had the foresight to put on something more interesting today than your unassuming cotton undies. “Have as in you won’t give them back?”

He lets out an amused puff of air, tilts his head. “I haven’t decided yet.”

You nod your assent. You’re now impossibly invested in where he plans to take this, and it’s not like you don’t have more pairs at home. “Knock yourself out.”

Immediately, his hands are up your skirt. They’re big, but they’re also gentle, caressing your thighs and even taking a slight detour to the meat of your ass before continuing their mission to the band of your underwear. When he starts to pull, you help him, shifting your weight so he can slip the fabric over your hips and down your legs.

Jungkook’s Adam’s apple dips when his eyes are finally able to feast on you without a barrier. “So fucking hot,” he mutters, almost to himself, and then without further warning, his mouth seals around your sex.

You whimper in surprise, not at all used to the sensation of someone kissing you there. And kiss you he does, carefully at first, judging your reaction. But when you do nothing but grip the edge of the desk, biting your lip in an attempt to stifle the rather desperate sounds crawling up your throat, he swiftly devolves into kissing you with the same passion as he had the lips on your face. His tongue laps at you with sure, even strokes, dragging across the seam of you and then through it, making sure to slide along your clit on every upstroke. 

Your breath quickens, jaw falling slack. You weren’t sure what you imagined oral sex to be like before this, but you never expected how easily your body submits to his ministrations. Almost without you realizing it, your thighs part even more, hips automatically canting down to meet his eager mouth. A hand reaches for him, fingers winding through his hair and rooting there, and Jungkook hums in approval, his own hands wrapping securely around your thighs, your ass. His fingers sinking into the yielding softness of you, gently holding you steady against his face while you start to gyrate and moan.

God, does he look good down there. He’s always looked good, even before you knew what he was hiding behind those shy smiles and nerdy glasses, but something about the sight of him, jaw working as he sucks on you, lashes fluttering in pleasure in his quest to please you—

Without warning, he detaches with an audible pop, and a disgruntled sound reflexively leaves you. Breathless, you start to ask him why he stopped, but the words die on your tongue when you realize he’s staring at you again. That he pulled back for a moment just so he can get a good look at the mess he’s making of you. So he can properly see how your pussy aches and drools for him.

“Good?” he asks, voice deep and thick.

“So fucking good,” you sigh. What you know he wants to hear, but also 1000% the truth. You’re starting to understand what Wendy has been blathering about, but is it always like this? Or is it Jungkook in particular who is making you so unbelievably aroused? Is your rapidly snowballing crush on him that strong, or does pussy eating simply rank high on his skillset?

As if he can hear your thoughts, Jungkook moves to slip a finger into you, and you can’t help but moan when he breaches you, the digit sliding in so easily that he quickly adds another, thumb pressing surely into your clit as he starts a slow drag in and out. 

“Shit,” you shudder, eyes rolling back into your head. Hips sliding further off the desk, reflexively seeking the delicious stimulation. One of your hands scrabbles across the desk, unconsciously trying to root you, and you’re much too preoccupied with how good he’s making you feel to notice when you accidentally knock over a mug full of pens. A stapler clanks to the ground. “Fuck.” 

“Look, baby,” he breathes, moaning along with you when the pet name immediately makes your pussy flutter. “Look.”

At his encouragement, you do. You watch the flex of his tattooed arm as his fingers continue to disappear within you, a lewd squelch coinciding with his movements. You watch as he adds another finger, the additional stretch immediately noticeable but even more delicious. You watch him watch you, eyes all pupil, lips swollen and slick with your desire.

“More,” you whine, frenzied and greedy. And Jungkook immediately heeds your call, leaning back in. He sucks on your clit with three fingers sunk in you, expertly crooked towards your pelvic bone, and you jolt, accidentally knocking something else off the desk. Neither of you pays the resulting clattering any attention, too wrapped up in the way you writhe at his ministrations. He hums in approval, the vibrations only intensifying your ecstasy. He flattens his tongue as your hips desperately circle, letting you control the stimulation. And when it’s clear you still need more, he changes tactics and rapidly laps at you instead, as if you’re a melting ice cream cone, while he beckons, beckons. 

Your blood is volcanic, hot pressure bubbling beneath the prison of your skin, building and building within your core. The higher he takes you, the more the grip you have on his hair unintentionally tightens, but that only seems to urge him on, locking eyes with you as the thrust of his fingers turns harder and more calculated. Giving you no other choice but to finally erupt.    

You cum with a loud groan, gasping through it while your cunt rhythmically clamps down on his digits, hard. Jungkook talks you through it, murmuring encouraging words your buzzing brain has trouble deciphering because his hand still doesn’t stop, pounding right into your g-spot and making your eyes cross and toes curl with the force of it. And when you finally can’t take anymore, jerking with oversensitivity, you grab him by the wrist in a wordless plea for mercy.

And Jungkook grants it. You can tell that he wants to play with you more—wants to guide you over and over to the precipice just see the look on your face when he shoves you off—but ever the gentleman, he reins in his enthusiasm and obediently slips his fingers out of you. He takes a few seconds to admire his handiwork, eyes shining in reverence as he marvels in the dripping, throbbing, panting aftermath that is you.

“Wow,” you say, still dizzy with endorphins. Never in a million years did you think it would feel like that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, voice thick. “Wow.” He lifts his hand, remnants of you visibly slicking his fingers and webbing between the digits, and without a second thought, sticks them in his mouth and sucks. The resulting slurping of his errant tongue is nothing short of obscene, but your cunt flutters again anyway, interest clear despite being thoroughly satisfied only moments before. And when line of your essence starts to drip down your thigh, Jungkook makes sure to lean in and catch it with his tongue.

You shiver with the feeling of him on you again, mouth hot and wet, thighs still trembling. He’s taking his time, tongue dragging a slow path back up to the source, determined to feast upon the rewards of his efforts. But you can’t take it anymore. God, he’s so hot. He’s so fucking hot and you want him so fucking bad.

You need him. Biblically. 

Near delirious, you reach for him, hands scrabbling across his shoulders, fingers trailing the back of his neck and guiding him to stand. Arms circling his waist and pulling him closer to you—close, close—Jungkook easily slotting into spread of your thighs.

He follows your unspoken commands easily and without question, looking down at you with a rather pleased smile that crinkles his eyes in the corners. Determined to steal the breath from his lungs, just as he just did to you, you lean in to lick that smile pliant and open. There’s a curious taste on his tongue that it doesn’t take long to deduce is you, and that’s only even more of an aphrodisiac, revving you up further. 

Your hands continue to roam, sliding down a little to grope his backside, startling a laugh out of him. But when your fingers tease the waistband of his slacks, his delight visibly shutters away into something else entirely.

“You don’t have to do that,” he breathes, even as he reflexively bucks into the hand you’re using to palm him over his pants. “This was about you.”

“Then let it be about me,” you counter, a mischievous smile curling your lips. Even through his pants you can tell he's hard. That he wants this just as badly as you do.  Still, when he gasps out a wait, you obediently stop your ministrations and move to take your hand back. 

He doesn't let you get far, lacing his fingers through yours and visibly considering his next words for a few moments before settling on, “What do you need?” 

It’s a simple enough question, but you can't help but be immediately reminded of him saying these exact words to you, a little over an hour ago. Now, however, they sit heavy on his tongue, heady and syrupy in hushed invitations. 

The revelation hits you all at once, heart pounding excitedly in your ears.

You need only ask. You’ve only ever needed to ask.

And since all caution was thrown to the wind the moment you agreed to let him suck your soul out through your pussy...

“You said you’ve been thinking about me? Well, I’ve been thinking about you too. For a while, even though I’ve been trying not to.” 

You’ve had his attention this whole time, but the way Jungkook's regarding you now, now that you’ve said that? He's hanging onto every word, so hyper-focused that it would unnerve you if this wasn’t exactly what you were looking for. 

“So…” Adrenaline has your fingers restless against his, but you still dive headfirst. “What I need is for you to fuck me and finish what you started.”

A beat. One where he holds your gaze, the space between you so electrified that you’re surprised you don’t see sparks. But then he’s on you again, mouth meeting yours in a frenzied clash of lips and teeth, and this time he doesn’t stop you when your hands scrabble for his fly.

Jungkook wastes no time, smoothing his hands up your legs and pushing your skirt out of the way. He lets out a shuddered breath when you stroke him through his underwear, when you reach down the waistband and grip him properly.

He’s warm and thick in your hand, and the thought of him finally in your guts damn near has you vibrating. Just like you thought before, he’s already nice and hard, but you still pump him a few times just to revel in the proof of what you’ve done to him. Velvet over stone.

And despite having all the time in the world when the foreplay is for you, Jungkook doesn’t seem to have any patience for himself. You’re only able to enjoy the weight of him in your grip for a few passes before he’s surging into action. Strategically, he grabs you by the knees and lifts, maneuvering your legs into the crooks of his elbows. The move opens you up to him further and forces you more horizontal, leaning back on your forearms, nearly pressed against the cubicle wall.  

The way he ate you out moments before ensured you’d be primed for him, your pussy soft and slick and just begging to be filled. When he finally lines himself up and begins the slow press in, your jaw immediately falls open, tongue going lax at the intense pleasure. “Oh my god,” you manage to whine, eyes threatening to roll shut.

The unhurried way he’s sinking into you is likely in effort not to unintentionally hurt you. Because after everything else, why not add another thing to the ever growing list of surprises you’re learning about your unassuming coworker—not only has he been tatted and muscular this whole time, but his dick is also fucking huge. Without even realizing it, you’ve stopped breathing, the pressure of him nudging your walls apart too much stimulation for your body to continue even subconscious functioning. 

As if he can tell your brain is actively short-circuiting, Jungkook’s hands circle your thighs, thumbs kneading the flesh in mild distraction for when he finally bottoms out. It’s only now that you can properly notice the effect you’re having on him—hair starting to stick to his forehead from perspiration, teeth grit as he struggles to stay still for you.  But you don’t want him to be still.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, wiggling in your impatience and making him suck in a breath. “Please. Give it to me.”

The resulting roll of his hips has him swearing and you seeing stars. “Fuck. You can have whatever you want,” he says, already making good on his promise with a slow grid. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

It’s good, so good, especially because Jungkook uses his grip on your thighs as leverage to ramp up his thrusts, easily maneuvering you over his cock in a way that has your toes curling. By the time he’s really fucking you—jaw set, brows furrowed in concentration—you’re crosseyed and mewling incoherently. You should be embarrassed by the sounds he’s pounding out of you, but you’re so focused on the overwhelming pleasure that you can’t find it in yourself to care very much. 

Chasing the high you already feel him leading you towards, you lift one of your legs to change the angle, and he catches on immediately, helping guide your ankle to hook over his shoulder with a distracted kiss against the bone. And it’s deeper this way, the angle ensuring he brushes against your spongy nerves with every stroke, only making you spiral faster. 

He notices, of course. Notices how quickly he’s taking you to your end and revels in it, sliding a hand inward and thumbing your clit, fast and hard.

You jolt at the extra stimulation, gasping and overwhelmed. “Oh my goddd…”  

“Come on,” he croons, his dulcet tone at odds with the wickedness of his hand. His dick. “Don’t you want to cum for me?”

“I…” you choke out, struggling to form any sort of coherent thought as you feel everything get tighter. “I…”

You see his lips moving as he presumably says something else. But you can’t understand anything other than your own moaning when your pussy finally locks down. This orgasm is somehow more intense than the last one, your thighs rippling with the force of it, your hands desperately scrabbling over the desk in an effort to find something to ground you. 

And Jungkook fucks you through it, still talking, and it’s only when the whooshing in your ears starts to subside that you can finally decipher what he’s saying in between his own moaning. “There you go. Being so good for me. So good.”

Your only reply is your gasping breath as your orgasm slowly fades, replaced with oversensitivity. But you don’t want him to stop. You don’t want this to stop, reveling in the feel of him on you, in you. And Jungkook doesn’t, instead sliding your leg off his shoulder so he can grab you by the waist with both hands and properly yank you forward, moving you over his cock to his liking. 

The desk creaks with your effort, a rhythmic cacophony with the harsh smacking of his balls against your ass. You mewl, needing him closer still, and curl your legs around his hips, locking your ankles. He’s now trapped against you, but he groans like that’s exactly what he wanted, both hands gliding up the length of your body to grasp the back of your neck instead, giving him even better leverage to plunge into you, deep, deep. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, licks into your panting mouth. 

At this point, his thrusts are turning manic, but you’re meeting every one of them, deliriously following him in his descent into madness. But when he catches your lower lip with his teeth, your breath hollows, and then, quicker than you can register it’s happening, you cum again, spasming around him with a long, high-pitched whine.

Jungkook lets you ride it out, but this time, his thrusts slow while you thrash. And it’s not until your soul finally floats back into your body that you realize he’s already pulled out of you and is bucking into his own fist instead.  

You almost took him over the edge with you, you realize. Though he clearly has incredible stamina, you have finally brought him to his limit, and everything inside you glows at the knowledge that he’s here, roughly pumping himself, moans falling freely from his lips because of you. 

Entranced, you reach for him, delighting in the whimper he lets out when your fingers wrap around his base. His own hand immediately falls to grip the edge of the desk instead, and you glide your fist up, finding his cock sticky with your juices. Jungkook just rests his head in the crook of your neck and lets you jack him off, whining through it when you match his previously punishing pace. And it doesn’t take long before he finally, finally splashes hot over your hand. Against your thigh. 

Your hand slows, twisting your wrist and milking him for every drop. Intent on extending his pleasure, just like he made sure to do for you. And you only stop when he flinches away from your touch, twitchy and shivering as he leans against you. 

Reluctantly, you let go. The two of you share the same balmy breath, struggling to calm your racing hearts. And when Jungkook finally backs away from you, unhurried in the way he gathers himself back into his slacks, there is a wildly satisfied grin on his face.

You’re satisfied too, though you try to have some sense of propriety and use a tissue from the box next to Joy’s monitor to wipe off the sticky remains of his pleasure. Throwing away the evidence, you hop off the desk, locating your long-discarded panties and slipping them back on, smoothing down your skirt.

“So,” you tease lightly. Your head swims a little with the knowledge of what you just did, but you’re surprised to realize you feel zero guilt about it. “Is your plan to stick it to everyone who’s wronged me? If so, we should do it on Mabel next. That’ll show her.”

Jungkook laughs, a giddy, giggly thing. He’s now doing his best to pick up and replace everything that fell from Joy’s desk during your romp. “Nah, I could never disrespect her like that. That ol’ girl’s been such a great wingman these past few months.”

That’s a rather curious statement to make. You frown a little, shoot him an inquisitive sound.

“You always call me when Mabel’s not working,” he shrugs. “So when I wanted to see you, she was nice enough help.” 

You can’t help it—a smile creeps across your face, equally bashful and flattered. He wanted to see you! For months, by his open admission. “And the printer knew exactly when you wanted to see me?" you joke. “Sounds like dark magic to me.”

Jungkook’s valiantly trying to straighten and smooth out some of the papers the two of you disturbed. “Deleted some print jobs,” he replies offhandedly, clearly distracted by the task at hand. 

Record scratch. 

There’s an extended silence as your brain shuffles through different iterations of his sentence, trying to decipher exactly he meant by that. Because there's no way he just admitted to what you think he just did. “Did…did you just say you've been deleting my print jobs?” you ask incredulously. Because there’s no way.

There’s no way, yet at your words, Jungkook immediately stiffens. His lips part, but he doesn't defend himself. Doesn't say anything at all—just drops the pen he’s holding and stares at you with wide eyes.

Holy shit. Holy shit. He really has been doing it! He obviously hadn't meant to tell you that, but the relaxation of afterglow has clearly removed the filter between his brain and his mouth. 

The weight of his revelation hits you, seemingly happenstance events connecting in your mind and starting to fall into place. All the hassle and irritation that stupid printer has been giving you, and it turns out Mabel has been working just fine?! 

“Please don't be mad,” he pleads, finally finding his voice.  

“Are you seriously saying that all this time—”   

“No! No, I only did it a few times,” he sheepishly rushes to correct you. “And I promise, I haven’t done it in weeks.”

“Seriously?” 

“I just...wanted an excuse to talk to you!”

“Jungkook, you literally talk to me all the time!”

“About work! Not—” he averts his eyes, lets out an irritated breath. “It’s just. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out.”

You blink, gaping slightly as your whirring mind tries to process what he’s just told you. “Ask me…out?” 

“I didn’t mean to do…all this.” He waves a hand over the mess the two of you are still cleaning up, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, at least not before buying you dinner first.”

Moments pass as you stare at him in stunned, disbelieving silence. Then, like a volcano erupting, laughter bursts from you, loud and sudden. Because what the fuck? You can’t believe all of this is actually happening to you. In real life. “You jackass,” you cackle. “Do you have any idea how much grief that printer has been giving me? I’m over here stressed and you’ve been gaslighting me and doing it on purpose?”

“Just a few times,” he repeats, visibly confused by the juxtaposition of the mirth in your voice and the actual words you’re saying. 

“And that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a jackass,” you laugh. “But…” You clear your throat, suddenly somehow shy, despite everything that has occurred and been said. “…I suppose you can still take me out to dinner.”  

“Yeah?” His lips stretch into a slow, hopeful smile.

“Yeah. Now, if you want. I think we’re pretty much done here.” You smile back, quickly taking stock of the binders still scattered across the floor. Most of them are completed, but whatever else you need to do can be done tomorrow morning. “Besides, I seem to have worked up an appetite.” 

Jungkook looks nothing short of smug, but you suppose you can’t fault him that. “Well then,” he practically purrs, “Let’s hurry up and feed you.” 

Moving in comfortable silence, the two of you finish putting everything you’ve disturbed back in their original spots, gathering the last of the binders and stacking them neatly on your desk. You reach for your purse while Jungkook goes to collect his hastily discarded belongings.

“So,” you start. “Where are you taking me? It’s kind of late.” This late on a weeknight, kitchens would be shutting down soon.

He pauses in sliding his leather jacket back on, frowning a little as he realizes you’re right. “Shit,” he mutters. “I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

“You can,” you say with an unbothered wave of your hand. “That can be next time. Let’s just find something quick now.”

“So you’re saying I get a second date?” he grins.

Oh. That is what you just implied, isn’t it? You would be embarrassed by how forward you were being if Jungkook wasn’t visibly delighted by it. Wow, he really does like you. And since the feeling is mutual, you just look away coyly and say, “If you play your cards right.”

Jungkook hoists his backpack over a shoulder, and it’s only then that you see what else he happened to be carrying in his hands when he dropped everything for you. A helmet.

You gesture towards the object with a curious incline of your head. “What’s that for?”

“My bike,” comes his easy answer, but that’s not the kind of helmet that one wears for bicycle rides. No, this one is made for something much faster. 

Now that you think about it, you’ve seen the motorcycle in the parking lot before—you’ve just never really given it a second thought. And now you can’t stop thinking about it, because the unassuming vehicle you’ve often passed on your way into the building has been Jungkook’s the whole time. Your mind is blown. How many more times is he going to surprise you tonight?  

“…Do you always drive a motorcycle?” you ask incredulously.

“Depends on the day,” he shrugs with grin. “Sometimes I take the bus, but I like to ride my bike when the weather’s nice.” His eyes are bright with pride, visibly happy to have impressed you. 

Your mouth opens and closes, thoughts racing so fast your tongue struggles to hold onto any of them. Before you realize you’re doing it, you blurt, “Alright. Are you even real?”

Jungkook blinks owlishly at you, clearly not expecting that question. “What?” 

“I thought I’ve known you for months. But was any of that real?” you repeat. “Hell, do you even need glasses?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say. “It’s all me. I can just be a little shy, is all.” Wow, he actually said shy with a straight face, as if he didn’t just finish ravaging you over multiple surfaces. “And I like to be professional, so this place doesn’t get to have all facets of me. I know you can relate.”

You can. Your constant struggle to not complain? To be professional and work hard and hope you’ll be rewarded for your efforts? Obviously that’s a reason why the two of you ended up in this situation in the first place.

He ducks his head a little, tapping the glasses he picked up off the floor in petition for their validity. “And these really are prescription. I mean, I can mostly see without them, but since I stare at computer screens all day, it’s less strain on my eyes.”

“Oh,” you say quietly, feeling silly to have even asked. But who knew the quiet IT guy who kept mostly to himself was also this? Buff and tatted with a wicked tongue that you’re now intimately acquainted with. 

Shyly, he holds his helmet out to you. He hesitates before speaking again, almost like he’s afraid of spooking you. “Wanna go for a ride?” And from the way color lightly blooms across his cheeks, you get the sense that he’s offering you more than just protective gear.

You take it without second thought.

The next day you and Jungkook get off the elevator together, a respectable distance between you, but arms still brushing too often to be casual. When you come to the hallway that will force you in separate directions, you pause.

“Have a good day,” you say. Jungkook grins, the delighted brightness of it baring too much teeth and crinkling his eyes in the corners.

“You too,” he winks. “Let me know if Mabel gives you any more issues.”

You snort at his brazenness, biting down a smile as you head to your cubicle. Your whole body buzzes, glowing from inside out.

You’re technically right on time, but you’ve definitely arrived later than usual, and that’s obvious when you head over to your department and find Joy already there waiting for you. She frowns as you approach, no doubt clocking your empty hands and wondering how she’s going to make it through the morning without her expected syrupy caffeine fix. 

To her credit, she doesn’t call you out on it, but you don’t really care if she does. You’re done playing errand boy. From now on, everyone else will have to stop before work and get their own shit, if they want it so bad.

Because it’s all so clear to you now. You’re here, and you’re going to do your best, but you’re not going to let this place wear you down to jaded slivers. You’re going to work hard and learn all that you can, but you refuse to be anyone’s lapdog. 

They will respect you. And your value will be recognized and rewarded—or you’ll simply find somewhere else where it will. 

Joy must sense your new resolve, because she simply hovers by your desk and chirps, “Good morning.”

“Morning.” 

“Did you have a good night?”

Your lips quirk. “You could say that. What about you?”

“Eh, it was okay,” she sighs. “Met a guy for dinner, but I don’t think that’s going anywhere.” 

So while you were stuck here last night, having a grade-A meltdown, she was on a date. That tracks.

Joy chatters on while you put your things away, not seeming to notice or care that you’re not particularly interested in what she’s saying. And while this would normally irritate the living shit out of you, today, it doesn’t. 

Today, your eyes can’t help but glaze over as your mind drifts back to how your night went. Today, you just hum agreeably until she gets bored with you and decides to go back to her own cubicle.

And when you hear her ask over the wall if you’ve seen her stapler, you just smile and smile.   

He can smell your juices, see the darkening of your panties when his pretty eyes flicker to your cunt. Pushing your thighs further, you drop the phone.

"Ah-ah," he bites your other thigh. Your hands come to tug on his fluffy ears, making his tail twitch side to side. Cock leaking. "Tell him you're busy."

"Fuck, okay," your shaky hand picks up the phone, your eyes getting lidded when his nose brushes your pretty pussy over those panties, you suck in a breath at it, fingers faltering. "mngh..."

"Tell him," he says in a soft little hum, inhaling you again, palming his cock to adjust it, feeling it swelling with how badly he wants to devour you. "If you wanna cum, you will."

"Fuck you're a brat," you mumble as he tugs you closer, shoving your knee up over his shoulder, nose inhaling your cunt again. "Are you gonna just sniff me !?"

"Till you answer," he sighs. "I could do this and cum."

"Freaky wolf, ah!" He bites your inner thigh, your juices just slippin' down further, in rivulets against his face, his glasses fogged up with his breaths. "F-fine."

Sorry Caleb - I'm busy tonight.

You show him the screen, and he smirks, a curve of his lips.

"Good girl."

Fuck.

Valko tugs your panties aside, looking at the mess your cunt is and moaning at the sight, tongue hot as it laps you from your ass to your clit, then back down, not just tasting - he's fucking lavishing you, spit soaked tongue dragging through your folds. "V-Valko I..."

"Good, good, good... good girl you're s-so... good," he's gripping you bruisingly now, slurping your messy, needy hole, the juices just pouring - his adam's apple bobs as he gulps you down, his glasses just slightly askew from the way he's drinking you. "Taste s'good... fuck..."

He could almost cum from the taste alone, greedily dragging his tongue from your slutty, quivering hole to that twitchy clit, all while you're gripping his hair with one hand, the other rubbing his ears. It feels so good as he lets you coat his taste buds, watching your eyes roll back in your skull.

You shatter so fast, but he's not even trying to make you cum - he just needs your taste, he needs your scent, biting your clit before he can stop himself, the action having you squirt right down him, all over his sweater and his collar. He laughs softly as you whine out, arching your hips, thighs quivering.

"Please... in me, mngh..." You see his slick face and blush, the dark mess you made on his sweater apparent as he takes it off, standing, his cock leaking through his sweats.

You go to touch him but you don't get a moment, he's got you turned and bent over the living room table, that sweater of yours gripped in his huge hands, claws ruining the material without him meaning to. He spits right on your cunt just to make it even messier, it's so wet she doesn't even need it, laughing as you arch, thighs shaking.

The phone goes off.

Valko hums a bit, looking at the message.

"Aww... he misses his 'pips'. Cute," Valko laughs, lost now - he's not the goofy little jerk you're used to, not when he's lining his reddened tip with your hole - no, he's feral. "Should we show him how you're doin'? Hmm, sweetheart?"

"N-no, psycho," you're wetter at the idea, and he notices, rubbing his tip up and down your slit, torturing you as you arch, begging for more. "In me, in me... in - ah!"

Valko slides his veiny, thick cock deep, his tail wrapping around his body and tickling you as he groans, head falling forward, that heavy weight pressing you down. He's as big there as he is everywhere, his grin against your skin felt before he bites your neck, shoving in fully.

"S'deep... you're..."

You're a babbling mess when he pins you there, twitching inside you, cock dragging your sweet spot and kissing it over and over again. You're a drooling mess the more he moves, the more his cock rocks in and out, thickening and swelling impossibly.

"Should call him, huh baby? Let him hear your cunt he wants s'fuckin' bad," Valko can't stand it then, thinking of anyone with the girl that should be all his, every instinct on fire. "All mine, yeah baby? Breed your messy cunt till you're all mine, can't even talk, can you?"

"Mhm," you're shattering when he fucks you faster, meaner, a hand on the table bracing himself as he bites your neck till blood drips, lapping it up so his lips are crimson, moaning against your skin. "Valko... please..."

"I'll give it all to you," he's sinking his teeth again - marking you his, ones he hopes last and last, as his cock is soaked, and your tacky walls are milking him. "Fill you so full, won't be able to see anyone, will you?"

You shatter with one more drag of his fat tip, and that's when it pushes him over the edge, his knot swelling as his cum fills you to the brim, coating your walls in white. He's biting your shoulder, your neck, your arm, everywhere he can, as that fat knot stretches you, hurting so bad you're in tears - but fuck it feels good.

"So much... s'much, V-valko..." you whimper as he moves that knot, kissing all the places he's marked you, moaning softly. His tail twitches as it tickles your skin, his ears curving down.

"Perfect, f-fuck you're so... oh baby I don't think it'll go down I..." He's never had this happen, not being able to calm it down, locked and knotted so thick in your tiny cunt. He keeps kissing you, moving back a bit, hearing your little sharp breath. "Want me to keep this cum plugged inside you? Hmm, breed you, baby?"

"Yes, yes," you're drooling, looking at him with dilated eyes, all covered in his marks. "K-keep it all.. in ... your knot it's so..."

"Mhm, I know baby," he's soothing you even as he rocks it in just an inch - back and forth, until he's pressing all his cum right against your puffy lil cervix.

You're cummin' again and again, but what you don't realize is...

Valko left Caleb all of that on a voice message </3

****

The smartwatch on your wrist vibrated, and you glanced down.

Dean: Wanna come to Malones w da boys?

"We're going to put an IV in to help replace some of what your body's been depleted of," the doctor explained.

You looked up at her, too drained to answer, and simply nodded.

"I'll get one of the nurses and we’ll start, okay, hun?"

She disappeared behind the curtain surrounding your little corner of the emergency department.

Your watch buzzed again.

Dean: Helllooooo???

You let out a tired sigh. With what little energy you had left, you reached for your phone on the bedside table and typed a reply.

You: Soz can't rn

His response came almost instantly.

Dean: Why nut?

Despite everything, you smiled. Before you could think of a believable excuse, your phone lit up with his contact.

FaceTime.

Of course.

"Shit," you muttered.

You didn't want Dean worrying. You already felt ridiculous for ending up here over something that would probably pass after a few bags of fluids and some sleep.

You answered, holding the phone far too close to your face so none of the monitors or hospital bed could be seen.

"Ew. Why are you so close to the screen?" Dean laughed, his grin practically lighting up the display.

"Hello to you too."

Your face filled the entire camera, which wasn't exactly flattering considering the dark circles under your eyes and the handful of stress pimples you'd acquired from weeks of surviving on caffeine and poor decisions.

Dean chuckled before his expression slowly changed. "Why's there so much beeping?" His brows furrowed.

As if the universe had decided you hadn't suffered enough, the doctor returned with a nurse. Without thinking, you lowered your phone so you wouldn't look like an idiot video calling someone while being treated.

Unfortunately, it also gave Dean a perfect view of the room.

He called your name sharply. "What the fuck? Is that the hospital?"

You barely had time to react before the doctor started checking your chart.

The last thing you heard before the call disconnected was Dean saying, "I'll be there in twenty."

Your stomach twisted.

He was supposed to be out with the boys. This wasn't worth dragging him away for.

Dean had been your best friend since first year. Between sharing nearly every law class and spending more time arguing hypothetical court cases than actually studying them, the friendship had formed naturally. You'd always suspected law wasn't really what he wanted though. Sometimes it felt like he was only here because it was expected of him, but that was a conversation for another day.

The nurse checked your observations before inserting a cannula into your arm and hooking up another bag of fluids. Instead of feeling better, you only felt heavier, your eyelids refusing to stay open.

You just wanted to go back to your dorm, sleep for twelve hours, then pretend the mountain of assignments waiting for you didn't exist.

The curtain suddenly slid open. You looked up, ready to tell the nurse you weren't hungry anymore.

Instead, Dean stood there in his black jeans, white T-shirt and brown leather jacket.

His hair was windswept, his chest rising and falling as though he'd sprinted through the hospital.

You blinked. "It's only been like... ten minutes."

His breathing hadn't even settled.

"Did you speed?" you asked, suddenly finding enough energy to sit up.

Whether that burst of energy came from worrying he'd wrapped his car around a pole or simply because he was standing there was something you chose not to examine.

Definitely the first one.

Dean barely reacted. He dragged a chair beside your bed and sat down, concern written all over his face. "You're worried about whether I sped," he said quietly, "when you should be worried about yourself."

Silence settled between you.

Finally, Dean broke it. "Why didn't you tell me you were here?"

You looked away, chewing the inside of your cheek. "It wasn't a big deal. I didn't want anyone worrying, and you were already going out..."

"Fuck going out with the boys!" The words came so suddenly you stared at him. "I don't care where I am or what I'm doing," he continued, frustration slipping into every word. "I care whether you're okay. So don't give me that crap about not wanting to worry me."

His jaw tightened before he exhaled.

"You're my best friend."

Your chest tightened. You wished you were more.

"I'd rather you call me over nothing than sit here alone pretending everything's fine."

You swallowed hard. "I…I'm sorry." Your voice barely came out above a whisper. "I've just got so much work. I need to stay on top of everything, Dean. You know I do."

Your vision blurred before you realised tears were already slipping down your cheeks.

Dean reached over without hesitation, brushing one away with his thumb before pulling you gently into his arms.

His familiar scent, sandalwood and cedar, wrapped around you.

Home.

You buried your face against his shoulder as every bit of exhaustion you'd been holding together finally cracked.

He held you tighter.

"Don't ever tell yourself I'm better off not knowing." His voice was quiet against your hair. "I'll always show up."

Those four words settled somewhere deep inside you.

You hadn't realised how badly you needed someone to say them.

A polite cough interrupted the moment.

You both looked up as the doctor stood there trying very hard not to smile. Dean cleared his throat and leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck.

"We'll just run through your final observations and you'll be free to head home."

You quietly thanked her while the nurse finished checking everything one last time before removing the equipment.

"You look much better," the doctor smiled. "Just promise me you'll actually rest."

"I'll try."

Dean snorted beside you. "She will."

The doctor laughed. "I figured."

By the time you left the hospital, the sun had disappeared and the night air bit at your skin. You instinctively folded your arms across yourself. Without a word, Dean shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

You looked up at him. "Thanks."

He simply nodded, opening the passenger door like he always did.

Some habits never changed. You sometimes wondered if he did this for every girl.

You hoped he didn't.

Dean climbed into the driver's seat, started the car, then immediately switched on the heater and heated seats.

"Warm enough?"

You pulled his jacket tighter around yourself.

"It smells like you."

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Dean glanced over, amused. "I shower occasionally, thanks."

You rolled your eyes. "I meant in a good way."

"I'll take the win."

The drive home passed quietly. Your eyelids grew heavier with every passing streetlight until your stomach growled loud enough to make you wince.

Dean smirked. "Hungry?"

"Apparently."

"We're almost home. I'll heat something up."

True to his word, he parked outside Hockey House and walked you inside.

Holding the front door open, he gave an unnecessarily dramatic bow. "M'lady."

You couldn't help laughing.

"There she is," he grinned. "I was starting to think the hospital stole your personality."

"Don't push it."

"Sit on the couch. I'll make you food."

You didn't argue.

The cushions practically swallowed you whole as you collapsed face first into them, letting out the deepest sigh you'd breathed in weeks. Somewhere in the kitchen you heard the microwave beep.

Your eyes drifted shut.

Dean walked back into the lounge carrying a steaming plate. "Alright, eat..."

He stopped. You were already asleep.

He smiled to himself before setting the plate down on the coffee table and pulling the throw blanket over you. Carefully, he crouched beside the couch, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face.

The front door suddenly opened.

"Honey, I'm ho..." Logan froze as Dean shot upright, raising a finger to his lips.

Dean spoke through gritted teeth, barely louder than a whisper. "This is the most sleep she's gotten in weeks. If you wake her up, I'm cockblocking you."

Logan slowly zipped his lips shut before raising both hands in surrender.

Dean looked back at you. For the first time all day, your face looked peaceful.

He realised then that seeing you like this, finally resting instead of constantly pushing yourself, made something inside his chest ache. He wasn't about to admit that the ache had very little to do with friendship.

Some feelings were easier left unsaid.