HOOLIGAN

The first thing the eyes noticed the moment designer stilettos had stepped inside. Not the flowers pressed into low crystal vases, not the wine list bound in leather, not the quiet sweep of the servers moving between tables with their perfect posture and customer service smiles, but the mirrors. Tall ones. Slim ones. Antique-edged ones catching pieces of the room from every angle until everything looked doubled, softened, and expensive. Already seated beneath one of those mirrors, ankles crossed underneath the table, a hand resting beside an untouched glass of wine, the other curled ever so loosely around the strap of that little statement piece of a black bag, elegant gold against luxurious black, as though it were simply an accessory and not the only thing in the room currently keeping polished composure from making into national news.

Always polite.

So terribly polite.

An almost heroic amount of polite, truly.

Perhaps adding another stellar merit as the speedrun through sainthood continues.

That practiced, easy smile curling instinctively at her lips when he introduced himself, even though he had said her name with that faint, pleased confidence of a man who had rehearsed it once in the car and decided that was enough intimacy for one evening. Nodded through the first fifteen minutes about his family's business, the next ten about his luxury apartment in Hannam, the following twelve about how hard it was to meet women who understood privacy, which had been funny in the way bruises were funny when someone asked how they happened.

Then came the compliments, pretty at first, expected, safe. About the dress how it perfectly fits. About the distinctive accent curling through a calm, slightly whispery voice. About the packed schedules. About the discipline that comes through all of it. The sort of things men said when they wanted to sound admiring, but were really just walking around the perimeter of what they wanted to ask. And then, as always, the perimeter became a door. Maybe it was the voice. Maybe it was the face. Maybe it was the fact that kindness, on those angelic features, looked too natural for people to understand that it still had to be chosen. Chosen every day. Chosen even when one's patience was thinning into a fine wire. Chosen even when the little locked doors inside the chest had started shutting one after another with soft, final sounds.

A sound of chair scraping closer, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for the senses to feel it.

Then a hand comes across the table, fingers brushing the inside of the wrist before settling there as though the permission had been waiting for such audacity, already granted. Just a wrist. A hand. A thumb pressed too comfortably against skin it had no right to know. Eyes looking down. At the hand. At the cuff of that crisp dark shirt. At the vein near around the knuckle. At the little shine of oil left near the edge of plate. At the ridiculous half-moon mixture of lipstick and gloss smeared on the water goblet. At one's own fingers, still curled around black leather, still elegant. Inventory. That was what the mind did first. It made a list because anger, if named too quickly, could become messy. And messy things should only be given to derserving men. Not him. Definitely not him.

❝ Don't touch me. ❞

Still quiet, still terribly pleasant. A warning wearing perfume. Those fingers remained around delicate wrist, did not move at all.

❝ I said⸻ ❞

The bag coming off the chair, slowly. The chain sliding through slightly trembling fingers, landing directly against the center of that trouser-clad lap with a hard, luxurious thud. Not a full swing. Not a spectacle. A correction. A punctuation mark fully-dressed in Yves Saint Laurent couture. The said chair jolting back. The porcelain shivered. And somewhere nearby, a fork stopped halfway toward someone's mouth.

There she was. And across from her... His eyes flicked briefly to the man's hand, lingering a fraction longer than necessary as the pieces assembled themselves with uncomfortable ease. Rosie's posture, elegant as ever, yet noticeably rigid beneath all that practiced composure. The warning she'd given... twice. His jaw tightened just enough.

Years ago, there wouldn't have been much thinking involved. He'd have been moving before common sense had a chance to catch up, asking questions later... if he remembered to ask them at all. It had gotten him into enough trouble back then, and while he'd mellowed with age, some instincts never disappeared. They just learned patience.

Rosie wasn't looking around the room for someone to rescue her. If anything, she'd already made herself perfectly clear. She could handle herself, just like she always had. Still, that didn't mean that he would watch from afar and not say anything. It wasn't in his nature to stay quiet.

Jungkook let out a quiet breath through his nose before slipping his phone back into the pocket of his hoodie. A voice in his head telling him the steps to take... no huge confrontation, no grabbing anyone by the shoulder, do not raise your voice. Should be easy, right? The remaining distance disappeared beneath unhurried steps. He came to an easy stop beside the table, hands tucked comfortably into the pocket of his hoodie, posture relaxed enough that someone watching from across the restaurant might've mistaken it for an accidental reunion. His gaze settled first on Rosie, briefly searching her face before finding the man's again. The smile that tugged at one corner of his mouth was easy.

Cold, distant, unbothered. The bitch that everyone likes to claim that she is. That's what she shows in this moment because anything else wouldn't be enough — anything else would crumble.

Karina's heart clenches, the feeling suffocating, as he speaks but she sets her lips into a hard line and nods her head. "Sure. You do what you want to do, like you always do." There it is, that sharp jab at the reason why they are standing here like strangers.

Why hadn't she thought of sending the hoodie back to him? Why did she need to see him one last time as if that would change anything? Maybe because she had to know, she had to make sure that this was it. She never had a chance to fight for them, she never had the chance to even ask why... though, she knew. Of course, she did.

They had burned out.

Folding her arms over her chest, Karina takes a moment to make sure her voice doesn't give away her hurt. "So," there's a slight crack as she speaks so she needs to clear her throat. "So, this is it?"

"...Yeah." He lets the silence stretch for another second before finally looking at her. "I don't really know what else you thought was going to happen tonight... You told me to come and grab my stuff, so I came to get my stuff." He lets the words rest there before adding. "I'll send yours over in a couple of days."

He shifts the hoodie to one hand, letting it hang against his thigh as he speaks, holding it like it was just another piece of fabric now. "You don't have to worry about me bothering you again. Make it easier for you"

there was no real accusation behind it, only the familiar grin that followed. he waited until jungkook sat down before nudging a menu across the table. "i was about five minutes away from ordering for you." a blatant lie. he leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his drink while glancing around the restaurant. it wasn't busy, which was exactly why he'd picked it.

"what've you been up to?" they'd spent enough time together over the past few months that the question should've been unnecessary. somehow, it never was. there was always something he'd missed between flights, rehearsals, and whatever else life decided to throw at them.

"What've I been up to..." he echoed, leaning back in his chair as if he actually had to think about it. "The usual. Gym. Hanging out. More gym. Taking Bammie on trips to the park, things like that" He drummed his fingers idly against the edge of the menu, always needing his body to move.

The love they had is now gone, faded into nothing but memories of what they once were. Everything they had is now being torn down, brick by brick, until not even the foundations remain in place. From lovers to strangers in such a short period of time causes her heart to clench tightly until the ache has her rubbing her chest, a physical response to the emotions she's feeling.

He broke her heart again... He broke... her.

A melancholic laugh escapes when Karina realises that they were never going to last. It's not for the lack of trying, it's not like this wasn't as real as love could get, but they were fated to end up burnt out and unable to rekindle. How do you keep the flame alight when one gets bored too easily for a settled routine?

The laugh doesn't stop; what started as a short sound soon becomes almost hysteric as she begins to cry. With shaking shoulders, the woman pulls her knees to her chest and buries her face to try and stifle the sounds escaping her. The emotions that she's pushed down, refused to feel since the break up, finally bubbles to the surface and causes her to feel like she's losing it.

Or maybe, she had long before this moment and she's now catching up.

The woman doesn't know how long she's been sitting in the dark, the quiet, listening to her own ragged breaths and the rain pattering against the windows — but at some point, a hesitant knock pulls her back to reality. With shining eyes, Karina looks towards the door, knowing who is on the other side and that ache comes back in full force.

Sniffing, nose a little blocked from the break down, she wipes her face to remove the evidence of her tears because she refuses to let Jungkook see her like this. Whether it's out of pride or because she wants to spare his feelings, nobody will know, but she takes the time to fix her appearance and head over to open the door.

"Come in." No hello, no smile, no sweetness that she once reserved for him. Her greeting is as cold as the air outside as she steps aside and walks over to the reason she messaged him. She walks coolly over to the folded item, past the discarded jewellery, and picks it up. "This is yours."

In her arms is the hoodie she always stole, the one she'd wear to show she was his even when they weren't together. It was a symbol of them, their love, connection, through it all so Karina finally giving it back can only mean one thing...

Even a proper 'hey' was stuck in his throat, refusing to come out. But by the looks of it, she didn't look to pleased to see him either. Even her voice sounded different. Colder than before.

He steps inside without another word, closing the door ninety-five percent. Leaving it ajar enough so he could leave a little smoother. Something he hadn't done before. Before, he'd close and lock the door behind him, often resulting in other activities for the night.

The apartment looks mostly the same. The faint scent of her apartment that somehow hasn't changed, but none of it feels like home anymore. Like he doesn't belong anymore. Still, his eyes follow her as she crosses the room, only stopping at the hoodie he knew all too well. How a piece of clothing had so many memories. How many afternoons she'd be in it, wearing it more than he did. And now, it's folded so neatly it almost doesn't look worn at all. Slowly, he reaches out and takes it from her.

"...Thanks." His fingers tighten around the fabric for a moment before his gaze drops to the bracelet on the counter. Her birthday present that he spent hours picking out now having no meaning to it. He scoops it up in his hand.

The afternoon was pleasantly quiet as Miyeon stood near the entrance of the shopping center, one hand wrapped around an iced coffee while the other scrolled through the increasingly long list saved in her notes app. She had arrived a little earlier than planned, hardly surprising. Enough time to look over the list for what had to be the tenth time and still find things to add. Truthfully, she could have done this alone. But this wasn't just shopping.

This was for Dongmin.

And somewhere between missing him, being annoyed with him, missing him some more, and then becoming annoyed all over again, Miyeon had realized she no longer trusted herself to make rational decisions and had come to the conclusion that she needed a second opinion. More specifically, help from the person who had known Dongmin long before she ever did. Which was exactly how Jungkook had found himself recruited for today's mission.

The moment she spotted him approaching, a smile immediately appeared. "There you are." She waved him over, designer handbag resting neatly against her arm, before holding up her phone without so much as a proper greeting. "I need you to know that you're here as quality control." A dramatic pause.

"Because apparently I've lost all ability to think rationally when it comes to your best friend."

The notes app displayed an alarmingly long list. Snacks. Vitamins. Skincare. Protein bars. Hand cream. Socks. Letters. More snacks. Miyeon looked back at him expectantly. "Tell me honestly." A beat. "Is twenty-seven items too many for a military care package?" She narrowed her eyes immediately. "And choose your next words very carefully, Jeon Jungkook."

✒️ plot starter with special guest @letjeonkook

The second his feet stopped in front of her, his gaze dropped to the phone then back.

"Damn, ok. Straight to business. You got somewhere to be after this?" He teases, then his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at the number of items she wants to send to his best friend. "Jesus Fucking Christ.... You sending him a damn convenience store? You don't think he can afford anything anymore or what?"

Would they even allow that many items on the base? He was trying to remember the rules now.

"Twenty-seven items?" He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "Interesting number." He glances over at her phone though his mind is running through a list of possibilities of what they could get him. "He's twenty-nine, you know. If you're going to overwhelm the guy, at least commit to the theme. Twenty-nine items.... instead of the random twenty-seven."

Why are they here, again? What was it this time? What reason? Even if she asked, even if she tried to understand, Karina knows that she won't actually be able to. It just... is. The answer both frustratingly simple and painfully bland.

It. Just. Is.

Her hand reaches for the piece of jewellery that he had gotten her for her birthday, the memory barging to the forefront of her mind and taunting her with something good. Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and she lets out a deprecating scoff as her head tilts back, staring at the ceiling for a moment with fists clenched by her side. "I hate you." The words don't hold any weight to them, they are as fake as the smile she's been wearing.

How could she hate him when he's the one she loved more than anything?

Before Karina can stop herself, the jewellery is unclipped and placed on top of the counter. She'll deal with it later, he can have it back, give it to someone else for all she cares, she just cannot look at it right now. Can't wear it without remembering. Can't keep it... She just... can't.

Staring at the text, the reply he had given, Karina doesn't bother to respond because what would she say?

'You know the code.'

'I'll be waiting.'

'Okay.'

Nothing important, so don't say anything at all.

Tossing her phone onto the couch carelessly, she makes her way over to the lone chair by the windows, the one that allows her to look outside and admire the view — except the view is rain. Dark, dreary, disgusting and cold rain.

Now there wasn't. The change was now his biggest challenge because he was used to that pattern in their relationship. Fight, breakup, sex, rekindle, repeat. Jungkook reaches for his phone before he can stop himself, opening their chat. Their last messages stare back at him.

i'm free. i can stop by after practice.

Like strangers arranging a pickup.

He exhales, fingers already typing...

You can keep the clothes.

Then deletes it. Types again.

Throw them away...

Deletes that too. The screen goes blank. Eventually, he shoves himself to his feet and grabs his bag. The drive over feels shorter than it should. Rain taps against the windshield the entire way. By the time he parks outside her building, his grip on the steering wheel has gone numb. For a moment, he just sits there. The engine still running. Raindrops hit the windshield.

The hoodie sits folded on her desk, the item washed and cleaned of any reminder that might come from it. It's waiting to be returned, waiting to be shoved into the back of a closet and never to be looked at again.

Or maybe regifted. Who knows.

Sighing, Karina squares her shoulders and shakes her head to give herself a feign air of confidence. Phone in hand, she brings up the contact that now sits buried under all the others and types out a message with a shaky breath.

katarinabluu: are you busy? you left some clothes at my place.

It's clear, or she thinks it is, that she doesn't want to have anything reminding her of him this time. She doesn't want to keep falling back into the habits that once pulled her in, she doesn't want to end up in this position. Again. Again... Again.

A lump in her throat forms that she forces down, that unease settling in her stomach making her want to run away, but she doesn't. Not right now.

After. She can disappear after. They deserve this much, the closure, the finality of goodbye. They deserve this and then she deserves a break. To break.

you left some clothes at my place.

Honestly, he can't remember exactly what he'd left behind anymore. A jacket? Pants? His extra helmet for his bike?

jungkook: i'm free.

Then another message follows.

jungkook: i can stop by after practice.