— ; darling

It’s been one hundred days since you started seeing each other. One hundred days since that winter getaway at Yongpyong Ski Resort, when your group of friends collided with his. 

You still remember the sting of cold air biting your skin, the fire crackling in the lodge, the sound of laughter bouncing off the wooden walls. You remember him most of all — hot, handsome, infuriatingly charming, and so effortlessly fun. 

You couldn’t stop looking at him, and the best part was that whenever you forced yourself to look away, he was already stealing glances at you.

What started as lighthearted chatter turned into sneaking out at sunrise together — you with skis, him with a snowboard — chasing each other down untouched slopes while the rest of the group was still tangled in blankets. 

He was reckless in the best way, full of life, but there was a steadiness in him too. He made sure you were strapped in properly, slowed down if you were behind, never let you fall without reaching for you. And when you learned he was ten years older, it didn’t shock you at all. You’d met men his age before, but they’d always clung to immaturity. Jungkook wasn’t like that. He carried responsibility on his shoulders and somehow still managed to laugh through it.

What did surprise you was the word that left his mouth one evening — Danbi. His daughter. The revelation should have scared you off, but instead it lit something inside you, a strange admiration that he was the one caring for her, not the mother. It was rare, and it was telling.

When the vacation ended, you thought that would be it. A fleeting fling lost to snow and memory. But Jungkook didn’t let it fade. If anything, he pulled you closer. 

Constant texting, coffees after work, quick kisses in his car before you ran upstairs, makeout sessions in the dark corners of a cinema. He slipped into your life so quietly, and yet now you couldn’t imagine days without him in them.

And tonight, on your one hundredth day, he gave you everything you hadn’t dared hope for. First the amusement park, just because you’d once told him how much you loved the feeling of being a kid again. Then an art exhibition — your favorite artist, visiting the city for the first time in years. 

And now, this restaurant, your absolute favorite, the one you’d sighed about and given up on because of its impossible waiting list. Two months in advance, he’d booked it. Back when you were still wondering if he even liked you as much as you liked him, he was already planning this.

Now you sit across from him in the warm light, chest so tight and heart so impossibly full you think you might break, and all you want is to be folded into his arms, to rest your head on his chest while he talks in that low, steady voice about everything and nothing. 

Tonight it’s a movie he wants to watch with you, his eyes lighting up as he describes it, and you can only smile because he’s so good — almost too good to be true, the kind of man you never dared to believe could be yours.

By the time dinner is over, neither of you can keep your hands to yourselves. The second the night air hits you, he pulls you close, mouth hot against yours, and the kiss turns messy in seconds. His hand slips down to squeeze your ass, firm enough to make you gasp into his mouth. You whimper, the sound spilling before you can swallow it down, and he chuckles against your lips, whispering for you to be quieter but you hardly care about taxi drive and behaving properly, not when Jungkook’s tongue is already coaxing another sound out of you.

The ride home blurs. His hand is over yours the whole way, thumb stroking your skin, his gaze dipping to your lips as though he can’t believe he hasn’t kissed you in the last thirty seconds. And when the car pulls up to your building, you don’t even think. You tug him out with you, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, dragging him inside as though the distance between the street and your apartment is unbearable.

It’s the first time you’ve ever invited him up, and the weight of it makes him hesitate just long enough to search your eyes. His chest heaves, lips still swollen from your kiss, voice low and rough when he murmurs, “Are you sure, baby? I don’t want to rush you.”

Your answer is a half-shaken laugh against his mouth, your fingers curling tighter in his collar as you drag him closer. “Do I look unsure?” you whisper, before sealing your words with another kiss, harder, hungrier, until his back hits the wall of the hallway.

He groans, half from the force of it and half from restraint. “Fuck–” His hand fists in your coat, tugging you against him, but he breaks the kiss for only a second, forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark and searching. “If I come in… I’m not stopping.”

“Good,” you breathe, tilting your chin to catch his mouth again, stealing his control piece by piece. “That’s what I want.”

The words unravel him. He stumbles after you when you pull, lips crushing yours again, the promise of restraint already slipping through his fingers as the elevator doors close behind you.

The elevator doors close and you don’t part, your bodies pressed flush as the numbers climb. He lets you breathe only in ragged bursts, lips dragging to your jaw, to your throat, his hands already roaming your body as though he’s been waiting a hundred days for this moment. 

By the time you reach your floor, you’re trembling, fumbling with the keys while his palms are spread over your hips, his mouth hot on your neck. The door clicks open at last, and he doesn’t even give you the chance to step inside properly before his hands are on you again, closing the world out behind you.

The door shuts with a soft thud behind you, and immediately you’re pressed against it, Jungkook’s mouth devouring yours like he’s been starved for days. His hands are tugging at the hem of your dress, sliding up your thighs, gripping your ass so hard it makes you whimper into his mouth. You fumble with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more, to strip him down until there’s nothing left between you.

Clothes scatter in clumsy bursts across the room — your coat slipping from your shoulders as his hands shove it away, his shirt half-torn open under your frantic fingers, your dress dragged up and over your head with a groan of frustration when it gets caught. You laugh breathlessly against his lips, the sound swallowed when he pulls you back into another kiss harder.

By the time you reach your bedroom, you’re down to nothing but skin, your back hitting the mattress with a gasp. Jungkook towers above you for a beat, his chest rising and falling, eyes dark with want as they roam over you like he’s memorizing every inch. Then he takes your ankle in his hand, pressing a kiss to the delicate curve before trailing lower, lips brushing over the inside of your calf, your knee, your thigh. He’s worshipping you slowly, and it makes you squirm.

“Jungkook–” your voice cracks as his mouth brushes closer, and he looks up with a smirk, teeth grazing your skin.

“So impatient,” he murmurs, kissing higher, spreading your legs wider as if to prove you’re already begging. “One hundred days and you still can’t wait a second for me?”

You reach for him, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging him up with a shaky laugh. “Because I want you so bad. I can’t–  I need you, Jungkook.”

His groan rumbles against your skin as he finally climbs over you, bracing himself on one arm while his other hand squeezes your hip. He kisses you rough, tongues colliding, and when you wrap your legs around his waist, you feel the solid press of his cock against your core, hard and hot even through his pants. The sensation makes you moan into his mouth, bucking your hips up instinctively.

He breaks away just enough to murmur against your lips,“Feel that? That’s what you do to me. You’ve got me so fucking hard, baby.”

You’re dizzy with need, nails digging into his shoulders. “Then fuck me, please, I need you inside.”

But he only smirks, dragging his mouth lower, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your throat, down the line of your collarbone, until he reaches your breasts. His tongue circles one nipple slowly, before sucking it into his mouth. The sharp pull makes you arch off the bed, gasping.

“God, Kook,” you cry, tangling your hands in his hair. He hums around your nipple, the vibration making your skin tighten, then switches to the other, sucking harder this time, rolling the peak between his teeth until you whimper.

He pulls back with a wicked grin, your skin wet from his mouth, your chest heaving. 

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he says, before dragging his lips down your stomach, leaving wet, biting kisses that make you shiver with anticipation. “And I’m not stopping until I’ve had every part of you.”

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, kissing lower with infuriating patience, his lips dragging across your stomach while his hands pin your hips into the mattress every time you try to squirm closer.

“Stay still for me,” he murmurs against your skin, nipping at the soft curve of your waist. “I said I wasn’t stopping until I had every part of you… and I meant it.”

Your body burns, heat pooling low, your thighs instinctively trying to close together. But he pushes them apart with a low chuckle, spreading you wide, kissing along the inside of one thigh and then the other, deliberately ignoring the ache where you want him most.

“Jungkook, please…” the words spill, your hands fisting in the sheets.

He glances up at you, eyes dark and smug. “Please what, baby? You gotta tell me.” He presses a wet kiss against the edge of your hip, just shy of where you need him. “Want my mouth on you? Want me to lick this pretty pussy until you can’t remember your name?”

The filth of it makes you moan, arching helplessly. “Yes, fuck, yes, please.”

That’s all he needs. He smirks and lowers his head, finally pressing his mouth against your folds, licking a long, slow stripe from bottom to top. The sensation makes your whole body jolt, a broken whimper slipping from your lips.

“So wet for me already,” he groans, tongue circling your clit with devastating precision. “God, you taste so fucking good.”

Your thighs tremble around his head as he sucks on your clit, rolling the swollen bud between his lips until your vision blurs. He switches to slow, lazy licks that drag you right to the edge, then pulls back just enough to murmur against you, “Look at you, already falling apart. Haven’t even given you my fingers yet.”

“Don’t stop…don’t you dare–” you gasp, rocking your hips against his mouth, chasing the friction.

He growls, the sound vibrating through you, and slides his tongue inside, fucking you with slow strokes while his thumb circles your clit in tight, relentless patterns. The sensation makes your head tip back, a cry tearing from your throat as you clutch at his hair.

“That’s it, baby,” he mutters between licks, his mouth never leaving you. “Be as loud as you want. Let me hear how bad you need me.”

Every flick of his tongue, every pull of his lips drags you closer to the edge until you’re a shaking mess under him, the world narrowing down to the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth devouring you. You lose yourself in it, moaning his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever known.

The pressure builds unbearably, every slick pull of his tongue dragging you higher until you’re almost there — almost breaking. But then his mouth slows just enough to make you whine in frustration, thighs trembling against his shoulders.

“Shh,” Jungkook murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh before pressing his mouth back to your clit. “I’ve got you. Just let me open you up first.”

One broad hand pins your hip as the other slides lower, his fingers teasing your entrance, circling lazily until you’re keening for more. And then, finally, he sinks one thick finger inside, the stretch immediate, delicious.

“Fuck!” you gasp, head falling back against the sheets.

He groans low in his chest. “So tight… feels like you’re already squeezing me and it’s just my finger.” His tongue flicks over your clit as he adds another, curling them deep inside you, fucking you slowly at first, then harder, until the obscene squelch of your wetness fills the room.

The burn, the fullness, the relentless attention to your clit…it’s too much. Your hands claw at the sheets, back arching as your orgasm slams into you, shuddering waves breaking you open.

“That’s it, baby,” Jungkook growls against you, his mouth never stopping, his fingers working you through it, coaxing every cry and moan until you’re shaking. “Cum all over my fingers. Make a mess for me.”

Your body goes limp, trembling, breath ragged, yet before you can recover, he pulls his fingers from you with a wet pop and flips you onto your stomach like you weigh nothing.

“Not done yet,” he mutters, spreading your cheeks with rough, eager hands. His tongue drags up the sensitive seam, making you jolt, then he latches onto your ass, eating you out like he’s starving.

“Jungkook–fuck– ” your voice cracks, muffled against the sheets, your body quivering as his mouth works you in places no one has ever touched before.

He groans, filthy and unrestrained, his breath hot against your skin. “Taste so fucking good everywhere. Gonna worship every inch of you, baby. Don’t even think about holding back.”

He eats you until your thighs are trembling, until you’re burying your face in the sheets because you can’t take another lick, another hot groan vibrating through your skin. When he finally pulls back, he’s panting, lips wet, voice rough with hunger.

“Fuck, baby, I can’t wait anymore.”

You barely have time to turn your head before he’s dragging you up onto your knees, chest pressed to the bed, ass arched high for him. He shoves his pants and briefs down in one motion, and the heavy press of his cock slides between your cheeks, smearing precum against your swollen folds. You moan at the feeling, helpless, your body already desperate for him.

He grips your hips hard, lining himself up, voice breaking on a groan. “You ready? Gonna stretch this perfect pussy around me, fuck, been dreaming about this.”

You nod frantically, looking back over your shoulder with pleading eyes. “Please, Jungkook. I need it, need you inside me now.”

That’s all it takes. He sinks in with one deep, steady thrust, the stretch almost unbearable at first, making you gasp and clutch the sheets. He curses, head falling forward, fingers digging into your hips as he bottoms out.

“Holy shit, so fucking tight. Feels like you were made for me,” he groans, grinding in deeper, letting you adjust before pulling out slowly and slamming back in.

The sound of skin meeting skin echoes through the room, and every thrust drags a cry from your lips. He sets a brutal rhythm, hips snapping into you, cock hitting deep enough to make stars burst behind your eyes.

“That’s it, baby. Take me. Take all of me.” His hand slips up your back, tangling in your hair, tugging your head up so he can hear your broken moans better. “So fucking pretty when you fall apart for me.”

You’re incoherent, babbling his name, legs shaking as the bed creaks beneath you. Every thrust has you clenching tighter, every filthy growl in your ear pushes you closer.

“You like that? You like my cock stuffing this tight little pussy?” he snarls, voice shredded, hips slamming harder when you whimper yes. “Yeah, you do. God, you’re dripping all over me, so fucking needy.”

His pace grows ruthless, the wet slap of your bodies meeting drowning out everything else. Your nails claw into the sheets as you cry out, the coil inside you snapping violently, another orgasm ripping through you with a scream.

He feels it, feels your cunt clamp down around him, and he loses it, groaning your name like a prayer as he pounds into you, chasing his own high. 

With one last broken thrust, he buries himself deep, cock throbbing as he spills inside you, heat flooding your body.

For a moment, the only sound is both of you gasping, your bodies still joined, sweat-slick skin pressed together. Then Jungkook collapses forward, wrapping his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to your shoulder with a ragged laugh.

“One hundred days, baby,” he whispers, still catching his breath. “And I swear it’s only the beginning.”

***

The morning light paints soft gold across your sheets, and you lie there tangled in them, cheek pressed to your pillow, watching in quiet delight as Jungkook buttons his shirt. His hair is still damp from the shower, his tattoos shift as he flexes his arms, and everything about him: the way he rolls his sleeves, the way he smirks when he notices you staring — feels criminally unfair.

“Like what you see?” he teases, winking, and you laugh, too charmed to deny it.

“I’m just wondering how I got this lucky,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

He leans down, kissing you slow and deep, and for a moment you almost forget the rest of the world exists. But then he pulls back with a sigh, brushing a stray strand of hair off your face. 

“I’ve gotta head out. Need to swing home before work—Mira texted me. Danbi had a hard time falling asleep last night, knowing I wasn’t there.”

Your lips push into a pout, the selfish part of you wanting to tug him back into bed. But you only nod, fingers tracing lazy circles against his wrist. “I understand.”

His gaze drifts around your room then, lingering on the books stacked in messy towers, the postcards taped to your mirror, the little details that are so distinctly yours. 

“This place… it’s so you,” he says softly, almost to himself, and something about the way he says it makes your chest warm.

You smile, hesitant but bold enough to add, “I wonder how your place looks like.”

That pulls his attention back to you. He blinks, a little surprised, as though he hadn’t expected you to bring it up. 

“You’d like to come over?” His tone is cautious, weighted. “You know Danbi will be there.”

You feel the nerves kick in, your heart skipping, but you nod. “I know. And… I want to.”

He studies you for a long beat, like he’s trying to make absolutely sure. “Are you sure, baby? Because I don’t ever want to push you into something you’re not ready for. Meeting Danbi… that’s a big step.”

You reach for his hand, squeeze it gently. “I truly want to, Jungkook. I’ve thought about it, and I’m ready. And I know you’ve wanted it too… I hear it when you talk about her. How you say I’d love her. How you can’t wait for me to see her.”

His face softens, and you swear you’ve never seen him look at you like that before — equal parts grateful, vulnerable, and deeply in love. He kisses your hand, whispering, “Then we’ll do it. But slow, at your pace. I’ll never let you feel pressured.”

***

You had always thought of yourself as good with kids. Your nieces and nephews adored you, you’d always been the one to get down on the floor with them, invent silly games, coax giggles out of them when they were shy. You believed, foolishly maybe, that all children were the same in that way — that with a little patience and warmth, they’d eventually fold into your arms. But Danbi was different.

And it hurt more than you expected.

It wasn’t just that she wouldn’t speak — though Jungkook had already explained before you met her the first time that she struggled with selective mutism — it was the way her big eyes would widen when she saw you, her little hands clutching her shirt, her whole body folding inward. You told yourself you understood, and you did, but the silence still stung in ways you hadn’t prepared for. It stung Jungkook too, though he did his best to hide it.

This time was no different.

“Hi,” you greeted her gently, crouching down to her level, offering a soft smile. Once again, the only reply was silence.

You glanced up at Jungkook, and he only gave the faintest shrug, his lips twitching into something that was supposed to look casual but couldn’t quite hide the flicker of sadness in his eyes.

You pulled the little plushie from your bag: a soft bunny, pink with floppy ears, and held it out. “This is for you, Danbi. I thought you might like her.”

For a moment she hesitated, little fingers curled tight against her side. But slowly, carefully, she stepped forward to take it from your hand. She didn’t speak, but she smiled, her gaze darting to the floor almost instantly. Still, that tiny curve of her lips melted you.

“She’s cute, right?” you whispered, and she nodded once, hugging the toy to her chest.

She was adorable, you thought. Sweet and soft and full of a fun, curious energy you could sense beneath the walls she kept up. You wanted so badly to break through them, to hear her laugh the way you knew she must with Jungkook. But it was clear she needed time, more than you’d expected.

Mira, her older nanny, who had been with Danbi since she was a toddler, once told you kindly, “Don’t be discouraged. I had to wait six months before she said her first word to me. Six months. She’ll open up when she’s ready.”

And you nodded, holding onto that thought, even as your chest ached with both patience and longing.

After Danbi padded off to her room, clutching the bunny you’d given her, Jungkook let out a long breath and rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes found yours, warm but heavy, and he said quietly, “Don’t take this personally, okay? I promise this has nothing to do with you.”

You crossed the small space between you and wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing your cheek to his chest for a moment before pulling back just enough to check that Danbi’s door was closed. 

Then you tipped up to kiss his cheek, murmuring, “It’s okay. I’ll gladly wait for her to feel comfortable with me.”

And you meant it. Even if it hurt sometimes, even if you caught yourself aching for more than her shy smiles, you could wait. 

What mattered was that he let you inside at all, that he trusted you enough to bring you into his world. It wasn’t easy for him, you could feel that in every small hesitation, every guarded glance. Being here, meeting his daughter, even just brushing his lips with yours under this roof — it meant everything.

Still, it wasn’t always easy to act like it was nothing. When you wanted to kiss him on the mouth, to tangle your fingers in his hair, to touch him like you did when it was just the two of you, the thought of Danbi in the next room made you freeze. So instead you settled for stolen cheek kisses, brushed fingertips, quiet closeness.

One afternoon, while Jungkook was out on errands, Mira caught you in the kitchen. The older woman was brewing tea, her eyes soft as she looked at you. 

“I am so happy for Mr. Jeon,” she said, smiling knowingly.

You only nodded, unsure what to say, until she added, “He probably hasn’t told you this himself… but this is the first time he’s ever been serious with anyone since the divorce.”

Your chest tightened.

You knew now that Jungkook and Astra had been married for ten years before splitting three years ago, but hearing it framed like that still startled you. Serious. With you.

Mira must have seen the surprise on your face, because she continued, almost absentmindedly. 

“Astra… she was his first love. Messy, scandalous as she was, he always forgave her. Always.” Her sigh was tinged with memory. “If she hadn’t left for her modelling career, to chase the world, I don’t think he ever would have divorced her.”

You stood frozen, Mira’s words circling in your mind. Astra had been his first love, his longest love. She had given him a child. A part of you admired that history, that depth of devotion. Another, smaller part felt suddenly hollow.

Because you could never compete with that.

You weren’t his first love, or the mother of his child, or the woman who had shared a decade of memories with him. You were just the woman who’d stumbled into his life at a ski resort one winter, who now sat in his kitchen with trembling hands and a heart full of hope.

Jungkook never made you feel like he didn’t have time for you. He carved space for you every day, no matter how busy he was, no matter how much Danbi needed him. But still, a selfish thought gnawed at you: when it came to choosing, if it ever came to choosing, where exactly would you stand?

So far, you hadn’t been put in that position. So far, you were lucky.

But you knew it couldn’t last forever.

***

It was one of those Sundays that felt timeless, sunlight pouring through the curtains in golden sheets, the world outside muffled into nothing. You were curled up in Jungkook’s arms on the couch, your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. Danbi was down the hall, taking her afternoon nap, the hush of the house wrapping you in the kind of peace you hadn’t realized you were starving for.

Maybe this was what happiness actually looked like: his hand stroking lazy circles over your arm as you talked about the silliest, simplest things.

“So next weekend,” he said, lips brushing your temple, “Europe. Can you believe it? Feels insane to just hop on a plane like that.”

You laughed softly, tilting your head to look up at him. “That’s you, though. Insanely poised, but always ready to grab life by the second.”

He grinned, eyes crinkling, and kissed you like you were the best answer he’d ever given.

Nothing was supposed to go wrong in that warm, perfect moment.

Until the knock at the door.

Jungkook groaned, dropping his head back. You whined when he untangled from you, clutching at his sleeve like a child refusing to let go of a toy. 

He chuckled, ruffling your hair, “I’ll be quick. Probably nothing.”

You half-listened as he padded over to the door, the sound of the lock clicking open. Then came his voice, sharper than usual, laced with disbelief: “What are you doing here?”

And then — a female voice, bright and too casual for the tension it carried. “Surprise!”

You froze.

Curiosity dragged you off the couch before you could think, bare feet soundless against the floor. As you rounded the corner, your eyes caught on Jungkook first with his broad back, the way he was standing in the doorway like a shield, shoulders tight, protective in a way that made your pulse quicken.

And then you saw her.

A woman with blonde hair falling in waves over her shoulders, a body sculpted, a smile too wide for the chill in the air. She looked like she belonged on a billboard or the cover of a magazine, glowing in ways that made your stomach sink.

Her gaze shifted to you, eyes narrowing just slightly, her perfect smile faltering into a furrow.

You felt your throat tighten. Jungkook glanced back at you, the smallest sigh escaping him. “I’m sorry,”he said quietly. “This is… Astra.”

Your heart dropped.

This was her? His ex-wife? His first love? The woman Mira had said he’d forgiven a thousand times, the one he would have never left if she hadn’t walked away first?

You stared at her again, trying to reconcile the flawless image with the storm rolling in your chest. No wonder it had been so hard for you to place yourself in his world, to imagine ever measuring up.

But the charm cracked the second she opened her mouth.

She looked past you as if you didn’t exist, speaking directly to Jungkook. “What is this?” Her voice dripped disdain, like your presence was some kind of joke.

You couldn’t even find words, couldn’t decide whether to defend yourself or shrink back. But Jungkook was already stepping forward, broad chest cutting off her line of sight, voice firm and protective.

“This,” he said, tilting his chin, “is my girlfriend.”

Jungkook’s voice was sharp, edged like a blade. “And you, Astra, are not welcome here. You should’ve warned me you were coming.”

You swore you saw the subtle flicker in her face, the crack in her perfect smile as though she hadn’t expected him to push back. For a moment, she looked almost offended

Then her tone shifted, falsely wounded. “It’s the weekend. Weekends are my days with Danbi.”

Jungkook let out a humorless laugh, the kind that carried years of tired frustration. “That’s funny. You’ve missed about forty weekends at this point.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully as she reached for his arm, voice dropping lower. “Did you miss me that much, keeping count?”

The sight of her hand moving toward him made your whole body flare with heat that felt like the sting of betrayal in advance. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to block her from his orbit.

But before her fingers could graze him, Jungkook caught her wrist, lowering it firmly. “Behave,” he said, his tone quiet but cutting. His gaze flicked toward you, his next words pointed. “Especially in front of my girlfriend.”

It should’ve steadied you, but your throat was already tight. The lump grew heavier as you turned and walked quickly back to the living room, your steps too fast, your pulse too loud. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What could you possibly do? This was his ex-wife, his history, Danbi’s mother. You were nothing in comparison. 

You sank into the sofa, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. Jungkook followed soon after, Astra gliding in behind him like she owned the walls. He sat next to you, lowering his voice as if trying to soften the edges of the storm.

 “She’ll take Danbi now and leave,” he said, reaching for your hand. But you pulled it back instinctively, hesitation locking your fingers in your lap.

And then — Danbi’s voice. 

“Mom!”

It cut through the air from her bedroom, and it was the first time you’d ever heard her voice raised. Your heart clenched, tears pricking at your eyes, though you forced them back down. Of course she was happy. Of course she was shouting for her mother. You weren’t her mother. You never could be. 

“Hey,” Jungkook’s voice tugged you back. He leaned closer, searching your face. “We’ll spend the day together, okay?”

You frowned, lips parting, but managed a small nod. The weight on your chest didn’t lift.

Moments later, Astra emerged from Danbi’s room with the little girl skipping beside her, dressed and glowing with excitement. 

“Daddy, will you join us too?” Danbi’s voice was bright, bubbling with happiness.

Your chest squeezed at the sound. She wasn’t shy anymore, not when both of her parents were here. Seeing her so alive and free, made you smile despite the ache in your throat.

But Jungkook only shook his head gently. “No, my princess. You should spend today with Mommy, catch up, share all your girly secrets.”

“Daddy, pleeeeease,” Danbi whined, tugging at his hand. “I want us all together! I’ll be the happiest if you come.”

The room tilted for you in that moment. You could feel Jungkook tense beside you, his whole body taut, caught between the impossible pull of his daughter’s joy and the silent storm brewing inside you.

God, your heart was already full of love for Danbi, full enough that you would’ve done anything to make her smile. If she asked you for the world, you would’ve bled yourself dry to hand it to her. You couldn’t even imagine what Jungkook felt, hearing her beg for the one thing he could give her so easily and make her happy.

“No, princess,” he said softly, his voice faltering only slightly. “You haven’t seen Mommy for so long. This is your time with her.”

The silence afterward was unbearable. You couldn’t let it stretch and make him feel torn in two. 

So you stood, forcing a smile to your lips, even though it wobbled. “It’s fine. I was going to head out anyway.”

Jungkook shot up instantly. “What are you doing? I’m going with you.”

You shook your head, trying to make it look effortless, casual. “Jungkook, it’s fine. It’s family time.”

It burned. It ripped something inside you to say it. But you turned, walking away before your face betrayed you. He called after you, voice sharp with protest, his footsteps following, but you forced yourself forward, heart breaking with every step.

***

The whole week felt like an act you didn’t know you were capable of.

You forced your thumbs to keep tapping out lighthearted texts to Jungkook, the same emojis, the same jokes, the same casual “how was your day?” as if nothing had happened. You played the part so well you almost believed it yourself.

By the time the weekend crept close enough to touch, you had already written your escape route. A neat, harmless lie about working overtime at the student office, typed and retyped until it looked casual, then sent off with a tiny tremor of guilt. 

He’d replied with a simple Don’t work too hard, baby, and a heart emoji.

Because the truth was you couldn’t even be angry at him. Not really. Jungkook had done everything right: he’d stood between you and Astra without hesitation, had gone after you when you left, had never once asked you to take less of him or to understand more than you already did. And yet, you didn’t want to see him. Not right now.

It was a paradox you couldn’t put into words. You wanted him so badly it burned in your chest, and at the same time you would rather die than sit in that house again, feeling like a ghost in his life, feeling like you were putting him in the cruel position of choosing between you and Danbi. You hated the ugliness of that feeling, hated yourself for even thinking the words choose between me and your daughter.

Ella didn’t make it any easier.

“Girl, are you sure you want to waste your wild twenties on somebody else’s luggage and baby mama drama?” she drawled from the couch, swirling her wine like she was stirring up the mess of your life, her eyes scanning you the way someone studies a painting they can’t quite understand.

You groaned, burying your face in a pillow. “She’s his ex-wife, Elle. Ex-wife! That’s worse!”

“You could get laid with any hot, single guy in this city,” she said, slipping from teasing to pleading. “I’m begging you, forget that old dude.”

You laughed, but it was bitter against the fabric, because she didn’t know Jungkook and she could never understand.

Before you could find the words to defend him, the doorbell rang.

Ella shot you a look but didn’t even bother asking; she rose from the couch with her glass still in hand, her gait loose and slow as she crossed the room. You watched her pause at the door, lean into the peephole, and then you heard her breath catch.

“Fuck.”

You sat up at once, heart hammering hard. “What?”

She turned back to you slowly, eyes wide and sober now, the rim of her glass trembling. “If this is him… forget everything I just said.”

The rush of alcohol drained from your body like someone had opened a window and let in cold air. The dizziness burned off in an instant.

The door swung open and there he was, framed by the soft glow of the hallway light, a bouquet of flowers so large it nearly hid half his face. But not enough to disguise Jungkook, broad-shouldered and devastatingly handsome, the kind of man who could walk into a crowded room and pull the air right out of it without trying. 

Ella didn’t even bother to hide it; her eyes dragged over him in open appraisal, her lips parting slightly as though she’d been struck silent for the first time all night. You were the one frozen, though, staring at him with your heart slamming against your ribs.

And then he smirked.

“Knew you wouldn’t work overtime,” he drawled, holding the bouquet, his dark eyes glittering with amusement.

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, breathless and incredulous, half from relief and half from the absurdity of being caught in your own flimsy lie.

Ella, of course, seized the moment. She grabbed her bag in a rush of movement, mumbling something about needing to call a cab, but not before mouthing at you over Jungkook’s shoulder you fucking hot. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

Jungkook locked it with an easy flick of his wrist, turning back toward you with one brow arched, lips tilted in that maddening half-smile.

“Come on, babe,” he said, stepping closer, his voice low enough to rattle right through you. “Try to explain.”

You exhaled sharply, a sigh that seemed to carry the entire week with it, your shoulders slumping as you looked at him, at the ridiculous, beautiful bouquet still clutched in his hand. How could you possibly fit the tangle of guilt and fear, longing and doubt, into words he didn’t deserve to hear?

Your lips parted, words fumbling out in a rush that already sounded weak even to your own ears. “I… I just had a lot on my plate, Jungkook. Work’s been—”

“Work?” His voice cut in, amused but sharp, and before you could finish your excuse he was already stepping forward, closing the distance you’d tried to wedge between you all week. The bouquet landed somewhere on the counter with a muffled thud, forgotten as his hands found your hips and nudged you backward until your lower back bumped against the cool edge of the kitchen counter.

He caged you in without effort, one palm braced on the surface beside you, the other resting firm against your waist. His eyes searched yours, dark and unflinching, his voice low enough to curl straight into your stomach. 

“Why were you avoiding me, hmm?”

You swallowed hard, pulse skittering as his lips hovered dangerously close, the ghost of his breath fanning across your mouth. Every muscle in your body went taut, the tension stretching so tight it almost hurt. You could have leaned forward and kissed him, could have drowned yourself in the heat of him and let it all dissolve.

But instead, the words tumbled out before you could catch them. “Do you still love her?”

Your voice was smaller than you meant it to be, but the sharp edge of jealousy and fear was there, raw and impossible to swallow back. His ex-wife’s name didn’t need to be spoken, Astra was already here with you, in the flicker of doubt you couldn’t choke down.

Jungkook stilled at your question, the heat that had been building between you shifting into something heavier. He leaned back just slightly, enough to see you properly, his brows pulling together as if he needed to measure the weight of what you’d asked.

“I hate how I behaved that day,” he said at last, his voice quiet, thick with regret. “The way I let things unfold, the way you had to stand there and feel that… I can’t stop replaying it. I should have protected you better. I swear to you, I would never let that happen again.”

You shook your head quickly, reaching for his wrist before the guilt in his eyes could deepen. 

“No, don’t…don’t say it like that. It was alright. I know you did everything you could… but I have to know.” Your breath caught, but you forced the words out anyway, even though they hurt on your tongue. “Where does your heart really lie?”

The seriousness in his expression sharpened. He stepped closer again, closing the sliver of space he’d created, his gaze holding yours so firmly it almost felt like a grip.

“Do you think I’d be here with you if I loved someone else?” he asked, each word deliberate. “Do you really think I’d waste your time?”

You blinked, your mouth opening, but no sound came out. He didn’t look away.

“I love you,” he said, and this time his voice cracked just slightly, enough to twist the air in your lungs. “And you should have never heard anyone talk to you that way.”

Your eyes darted away, then back to him, then down to the floor, your pulse so loud it felt deafening. You didn’t know where to look, where to put the truth bubbling in your chest, because this was the first time he’d said it, the first time the words you’d been holding onto in secret had finally been given to you.

And you hated that it was like this: in the shadow of his past, in the wake of your own fears when you couldn’t even say them back, even though you’d known for a long time that you loved him too.

Jungkook’s hand rose slowly, his knuckles ghosting up your neck until his thumb rested against your lower lip, a barely-there touch that made you shiver. His eyes searched yours one last time, and when you didn’t look away, he finally closed the distance.

His mouth crashed onto yours, tongues sliding, teeth grazing, his hands gripping your ass, palming your breasts, dragging your hips forward until you were perched right at the edge of the counter. You moaned into him, a sound half-plea, half-surrender, and he groaned like it broke something inside him.

“Tell me to stop,” he muttered against your lips, even as his fingers pushed your panties aside. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

You only shook your head, breathless, eyes dark. “Don’t stop. I need you, Jungkook. Now.”

That was all it took. His jeans and briefs were shoved down to mid-thigh, your thighs already spread wide for him. He lined himself up, sliding the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing, nudging at your clit until you were trembling.

“Fuck… look how wet you are for me,” he hissed, his thumb circling you. “You missed this just as much as I did, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “God, yes, I missed you.”

He sank into you with one slow, devastating thrust, the stretch so intense you cried out. He stilled deep inside, groaning into your neck. “Shit, baby, you’re gripping me so tight.”

And then he moved. Deep, heavy thrusts that made the counter shake, the sound of your bodies slick and obscene in the quiet kitchen. His thumb found your clit again, circling it as he pounded into you, and your moans turned into ragged cries.

“Harder,” you begged, head tipping back, voice breaking. “Please, Jungkook, harder—”

He snarled something low in his throat and obeyed, lifting you higher so he could drive into you deeper, every stroke hitting the spot that made you see white. His dirty talk tumbled out between panting breaths, “You’re so perfect like this… taking every inch of me… all mine… fuck, say it again — say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, fingers clutching his hair, your legs wrapped tight around his waist. “I’m yours, Jungkook…oh my God…”

He kissed you then, filthy and desperate, swallowing your moans, the wet slap of his hips against yours echoing around the room. His thumb pressed harder to your clit and you broke, shuddering around him, crying out his name as your orgasm tore through you.

He groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, hips stuttering, and with a final deep thrust he came too, buried to the hilt, panting into your neck. For a moment he stayed there, both of you trembling, skin slick, breaths uneven.

Then he lifted his head, still inside you, his voice rough but steady, the words a low command against your mouth. “Don’t ever leave me like that again. Not like last week. Not without telling me what’s in your head.”

He kissed you once more, softer this time, his forehead pressed to yours, eyes searching. “You hear me? Never again.”

And you nodded, still catching your breath, your hands cupping his jaw, because even though you’d been terrified, even though you hadn’t found the courage to say it back, you knew in that moment you never wanted to leave him either.

***

It felt like a small miracle, the way things had slowly slid back into place. You’d hated Astra (still did, if you were honest with yourself) but her presence in the city had, in a strange, sideways way, done something you hadn’t expected. Danbi had begun to bloom. She was still shy, still kept her little walls up, but there was a spark in her now that hadn’t been there before. And even though it burned a little every time you had to see the woman who’d left Jungkook, you couldn’t deny that the child was happier.

It was a quiet Saturday, the kind that felt full of promise. Today’s plan was simple: drop Danbi at her mother’s, hit the gym with Jungkook like you’d been talking about for weeks, then finish the day with an unapologetically good meal at the little restaurant he’d been wanting to try. When you arrived at his apartment, Jungkook was already waiting downstairs in the car, engine idling, and you slipped inside to get Danbi.

Her door was cracked, music spilling out in uneven little plinks. You peeked inside and found her sitting cross-legged at her tiny toy piano, pressing at the keys with fierce concentration. The sight of her so absorbed, her small back bent in determination, made your heart melt.

You stepped closer, voice soft. “Danbi, daddy’s already waiting for you, let’s go?”

She didn’t even look up, just shook her head, still poking at the keys, her brow furrowed like a miniature maestro. It took you a beat to realize what she was trying to play, the awkward but unmistakable pattern of notes.

Smiling, you crouched next to her and gently joined in, your fingers finding the familiar melody of “Für Elise” even on the tiny plastic keys. The tune rose, hesitant but recognizable, and Danbi’s eyes flicked to yours, wide with awe.

You smiled at her without stopping, letting the music fill the little room.

Then, out of nowhere, her small but clear voice slipped into the space. “You are talented.”

You almost faltered, but forced your fingers to keep moving, swallowing your surprise. “Thanks,” you said softly, like you might scare her off if you spoke too loud.

And then she asked it, her words falling into the room like pebbles into water. “Why did you leave?”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

She didn’t look at you now, her tiny fingers still pressing the keys. “You left for a week. Why? Me?” She pointed at herself, and your chest cracked open.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” you whispered, pulling her into your arms, hugging her close. “No, no. I was just busy. And now I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

She relaxed against you, the bunny you’d given her still tucked under her arm. “Good,” she said finally, her voice matter-of-fact. “Because Daddy is really happy when Y/N is next to him.”

You pressed your lips together to keep from crying, smiling instead. “Then I’ll have to stay close, won’t I?”

She nodded once, satisfied, and you both headed downstairs hand in hand.

At first Jungkook didn’t even notice, leaning on the car door, scrolling his phone. But when you slid into the backseat and Danbi started chattering to you about the piano, you saw him freeze, his head turning like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. His eyes flicked from her to you, back again.

You only grinned and winked at him over her head, feeling something warm and certain settle low in your chest.

When you pulled up outside Astra’s building, she was already there, standing tall in the doorway like she owned the air around her, blonde hair spilling like silk, her perfect posture braced as though she’d been rehearsing for the moment. 

Her eyes darted first to Jungkook, then to the car, and when Danbi’s little voice rose to say goodbye to you, something flickered across her face.  The sudden twist of annoyance was quick, but unmistakable. 

And yet none of it touched you. None of it mattered. Because the memory of Danbi’s voice, shy and sure as she spoke your name, was already stitched into you like something you would never forget. Astra could glare, she could bristle and seethe, she could let her anger spill from the cracks of her composure, but it couldn’t erase the truth that there was place in Jungkook’s life for you. 

***

The apartment smelled faintly of garlic and herbs, a homely scent that always made you feel like you belonged here. You’d spent the afternoon tidying up, folding Danbi’s tiny clothes, wiping down the counters, and letting yourself imagine, just for a moment, that this was your life every day. 

By the time Jungkook was due back, dinner was already simmering, the table set, and your chest humming with quiet excitement to see him again.

When the door finally opened, you nearly skipped toward the hallway, your lips parting in a smile. But the moment you saw his face, the air shifted. He moved quickly, gently guiding a sleepy Danbi to her room, pressing a soft kiss to her head before tucking her in. 

He didn’t linger, didn’t tell you much about how the pickup had gone, just closed her door with careful hands and walked back to you with his jaw tight and his shoulders drawn high.

“Everything okay?” you asked softly, searching his expression.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, too quickly, his smile thin as paper. “She fell asleep in the car. Just tired, that’s all.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let it go and pretend nothing was wrong. But as you placed the dishes on the table and watched him sit opposite you, his mask of happiness cracked under the light. He laughed when you nudged him, reached for the chopsticks with ease, even asked about your day. But there was no warmth in it. The shine was gone from his eyes.

Halfway through the meal, you couldn’t take it anymore. You reached across the table, covering his hand with yours. “Jungkook. What is it? Please don’t hide it from me.”

He tried to shake his head, to insist again that nothing was wrong. But you pressed gently, again and again, until at last the fight went out of him. He set his chopsticks down, exhaling hard, his gaze dropping to the table.

“Astra,” he began, his voice low and flat. “She’s furious. She’s determined to take me to court. To get back custody.”

Your chest hollowed out in an instant, your heart dropping so fast it almost hurt. Of course Astra loved her daughter and no one could deny that. But Jungkook… you knew what Danbi meant to him. She was his anchor, his joy, his everything. The thought of him losing her was unbearable. The thought of Danbi being pulled from the life they’d built together was unthinkable.

“She can’t,” you whispered, your throat tight. “She can’t do that to you. She left. She walked away. How dare she!”

But Jungkook lifted his gaze then, and what you saw there made your blood run cold. Hurt…Fear. 

“She’ll do it,” he said, his voice breaking on the edges. “Unless…” He hesitated, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “Unless I let her move back in. Unless I let her live here again.”

A sharp, nervous laugh broke out of you before you could stop it, bitter and thin. “Move back in? How is that even supposed to look, Jungkook? With me here? With us…”

But the sound died in your throat as you met his eyes again. He wasn’t laughing.

And the seriousness there, the wounded heaviness, made your chest ache in ways words couldn’t reach.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp and desperate. “How does she even imagine it, Jungkook? That she just moves in and… what? The two of you play house again? Pretend like the last three years never happened?”

He immediately shook his head, fierce and certain, his voice quick to cut through the thought. “No. Absolutely not. That will never happen.” His hand reached for yours across the table, but you were too frozen to take it.

Because it wasn’t about you. Not now. This wasn’t the time for your jealousy, for the fear of being replaced that clawed at your chest. This was about him and Danbi, about the risk of a mother using the law to sever the bond between father and daughter.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to claw at the walls because how could anyone find a solution for this? What could possibly untangle it?

Your voice broke as you asked, “Does she even stand a chance in court?”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look at you right away. “I don’t know,” he said finally, and the weight in his voice was worse than any scream. “But she’s the mother. And the law will always… always favor her.”

The unfairness of it made something in you snap. “That’s not right! It’s not fair!” Your voice trembled, thick with emotion. “You’re such a good dad, Jungkook. The best. Maybe—maybe this case will be different. Maybe they’ll see…”

But he shook his head again, slower this time, his eyes hollowed out with a truth he didn’t want to say. “I can’t gamble on maybe. Not with her. Not with Danbi. This isn’t something I can hope turns out in my favor. I have to find a way, something solid. I can’t risk losing her.”

And as the silence fell heavy between you, your chest burned with helplessness, because you knew he was right. 

The quiet, brutal understanding that maybe this, of all things, was the one place you could actually help him hit you like a cold current sliding beneath warm water. 

Because if it weren’t for you, would Jungkook even hesitate? Would he reject Astra’s offer to “reunite the family” if it meant keeping Danbi happy, even if it cost him his own happiness? You already knew the answer. Of course he would sacrifice himself. Of course he would crawl back into a life he’d already survived if it meant shielding his daughter.

And you… you were the only variable. The only piece he could move. The visitor. You had always been a visitor here.

That night, when the two of you finally drifted into bed, Jungkook’s body was heavy with exhaustion, his breathing slow, his arm draped over you like an anchor even in sleep. You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, your heart pounding with the decision that had already taken root.

When his breaths turned deep and even, you moved. 

You slid out from under his arm, tucking the blanket back over him so the warmth wouldn’t leave his side. For a moment you just stood there, barefoot on the cool floor, looking at him in the dim light — the beautiful slope of his brow, the shadow of his lashes against his cheeks, the faint parting of his lips as he slept. One more second and you would break, you would crawl back in beside him, you would forget this plan. So you forced yourself to turn away.

You didn’t even manage to collect half your things. A sweater here, a toothbrush there, a stack of clothes folded but left behind. Your hands shook as you stuffed what you could into a bag, each sound of fabric rustling making your stomach twist.

The corridor felt endless as you walked through it, your footsteps muffled on the carpet. You paused at the door, your hand on the knob, the weight of everything pressing down on you. 

Was this cowardice? Running? Or was it love that cuts you open because you know someone else’s happiness must come first?

You told yourself it was love. You told yourself it was right. But it didn’t stop the tears burning your eyes.

You cracked the door open, the night spilling in, when a tiny voice stopped you cold.

“Y/N? Are you leaving?”

Danbi stood there in her pajamas, her bunny dangling from one arm, her hair rumpled from sleep. Her eyes were glassy with dreams, but her voice was steady, cutting right through you.

Your heart squeezed so tight it was hard to breathe. “No… no, of course not,” you whispered, but the lie snagged in your throat. You couldn’t even make your voice sound convincing.

She pointed at herself, her small face scrunching. “Is it because of me?”

You shook your head violently, crouching down to her level, tears blurring her into soft shapes. “No. Don’t say that, beautiful. How could it ever be you? Never.”

Her lip trembled. “I will change. I promise. Just don’t leave. You promised.”

The words ripped through you. You dropped your bag and pulled her into your arms, hugging her so tightly you felt her heartbeat against yours, your own tears soaking into her hair. 

“You’re perfect,” you choked out. “You’re perfect, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll come back. I promise.”

The lie tasted bitter, but you needed it as much as she did.

You held her until her breathing steadied again, until she loosened her grip enough for you to gently guide her back to bed. And then, before you could crumble completely, you left.

By the time dawn crawled into the city, your phone was a storm of missed calls with Jungkook’s name over and over again, voicemails stacking one after another, messages to your workplace, even to your friends. Each buzz felt like a pulse in your palm, a reminder of what you’d just torn yourself from, a reminder of the life you’d wanted but hadn’t been able to hold.

.

.

.

You sat back in your chair, sunglasses pushed into your hair, twirling a fork idly through your pasta while Bohyung and Se-hoo argued about something completely trivial. You’d been half-listening, half-watching the way the sunlight caught on the golden rim of your glass. It was peaceful. The kind of day that reminded you how far things had shifted lately.

“—you’re wrong, obviously,” Bohyung said dramatically, waving his fork at Se-hoo as if it were evidence in a courtroom. “No one with taste orders pineapple on pizza. It’s a crime.”

She snorted. “You’re such a snob. It’s good. Don’t be dramatic, babe.”

You smirked, cutting in lazily, “Says the man who eats anchovies like they’re a delicacy.”

“Because they’re a delicacy,” he shot back, affronted.

Se-hoo rolled her eyes and turned to you, leaning her chin into her palm with a grin. “Ignore him. He’s been in a mood since Margot told him to fuck off.”

Bohyung gasped as if wounded. “She just told me she needed some time! That’s hardly my fault.”

You laughed, leaning back in your seat, crossing your legs. It felt easy today, laughter sitting comfortably between you and your friend, like no one had to think too hard about anything.

“It is your fault. If you want to keep a woman, stop flirting with the other ones.” Se-hoo rolled her eyes.

“I don’t think he’s able to do decent things.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Bohyung tried to explain better his situation but you and Se-hoo just kept making fun of him.

After a while, when your food was almost gone and the waiter had brought a second round of wine, your friend tilted her head and asked, softer now, “How’s Rosa? Since… you know.”

Your fork slowed for half a second before you set it down. “She’s… better. Actually, a lot better,” you said, your tone lighter than it had been in weeks. “The doctors think the medication adjustment is helping. She’s still confused sometimes, but—” your lips curved, almost shyly, “she recognized me right away yesterday. And she even made one of her usual sarcastic comments about my shoes.”

Se-hoo’s expression softened, and Bohyung reached across the table to give your hand a quick squeeze. “That’s great news, Y/n,” he said.

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly, your gaze dropping to your wine for a moment. “It’s… nice. It feels like things are finally calming down.”

“Good,” Se-hoo said firmly, taking a sip of her drink. “You deserve some calm.”

The conversation shifted after that, the heavier topic replaced with easier things—Bohyung’s disastrous attempt at keeping a relationship for the first time ever, Se-hoo’s new investor for one of her projects, Your endless complaints about a new supplier who apparently thought deadlines were optional.

“Honestly,” you were saying, gesturing with your wine glass, “if he doesn’t deliver on time next week, I might personally fly to Naples and drag the shipment myself. I’ve done worse things for this business.”

“You’re terrifying,” Bohyung muttered, amused.

“Efficient,” you corrected, smirking

You all laughed again, and for a while, there was nothing heavy lingering in your space nor life. No hospitals, no quiet fears sitting in your chest. Just good food, familiar voices, and a rare stretch of peace

You sat back, watching your two best friends bicker playfully, and felt something warm curl in your chest. Life, for now, was good.

That afternoon you decided to take a moment to see Rosa.

The villa was quiet that afternoon, the soft hum of distant conversation and muted television noises drifting from other rooms. You walked slowly through the hallway, heels clicking lightly against the polished floor. You carried a small paper bag in one hand—fresh pastries from a café Rosa used to love— and a knot of nervousness in your chest you tried to smooth over with every step.

You found Rosa by the large window in the common room, sitting in her usual chair, the one with the cushions she insisted on because the others were “made for dying in, not living.” The sunlight hit her white hair, making it look almost silver. Her hands were folded in her lap, her gaze distant, following something outside only she seemed to see.

“Ciao, Rosa,” you said softly, approaching.

Rosa’s head turned slowly. Her eyes, still sharp despite the haze, studied her your with that careful, searching look that always made you hold your breath.

There was a pause, just long enough for your chest to tighten.

And then Rosa’s expression softened. “Ah,” she said, a little smile tugging at her mouth. “Finalmente. You decided to visit me, ragazza mia?”

Relief washed over you so fast you had to laugh, shaking your head. “Finalmente? I was here yesterday morning, you old tyrant.”

Rosa gave a dismissive wave. “That is too long.”

You bent down to kiss her cheek, breathing in that faint powdery scent she always carried, and then sat beside her. You placed the paper bag on Rosa’s lap, opening it with exaggerated care.

“I brought you something. Your favorite, sfogliatelle.”

Rosa’s eyes lit up at that, and she reached for one immediately, muttering, “Good girl. At least you have good taste in pastry.”

You chuckled, leaning back in the chair as Rosa took a bite, crumbs falling onto her skirt. It made you so happy that she remembered what her favourite snacks were.

For a few minutes, you both sat in comfortable silence, just the sound of Rosa enjoying her pastry and you watching her, soaking in the rare calm.

After a while, Rosa glanced at you, chewing thoughtfully. “How have you been, piccola?”

“I’m okay. Why? Do I look bad?”

“You look tired, piccola. Not the bad kind, more like… you’re living too much life at once.”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Is that your way of saying I look awful?”

Rosa gave you a sharp look. “Don’t be dramatic. You look… happy. But tired. Like you’re finally letting life be heavy and good at the same time. That’s… different for you.”

You blinked at that, the words settling somewhere deep. “Maybe it is.”

“Good,” Rosa said simply, as if that was that. She dusted crumbs off her fingers, then added, “You always worked too much. You need something else. Someone else. A life that’s not just restaurants and being stubborn.”

You tried to laugh it off, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You sound like Se-hoo.”

“Maybe she is just smart,” Rosa shot back, giving you a knowing look that made you glance away, smiling despite yourself.

You two talked after that, about easier things, Rosa’s nurse, the food in the villa, the ridiculous telenovela she was obsessed with lately. For a while, it felt almost like it used to, before everything started slipping away.

But when Rosa asked, “Will you visit again soon, piccola?” with that faint uncertainty in her voice, your chest tightened again.

“Of course,” you said firmly, reaching out to squeeze Rosa’s hand. “Tomorrow I’ll be here. Everyday.”

And for a moment, as Rosa smiled at you with that familiar warmth, it was almost enough to forget how fragile these moments had become.

———

The kitchen smelled like butter and garlic, warm and inviting in a way that made the whole apartment feel cozier than usual. You stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, a wooden spoon in one hand as you stirred a pan with practiced ease. Sunni stood next to you, perched on a stool with a serious expression, her small hands holding a napkin like it was a weapon. Jungkook leaned against the other side of the counter, watching the two of you with a grin that he tried to keep subtle, though the amusement in his eyes gave him away.

“Okay,” you said, turning toward Sunni. “The key to perfect scrambled eggs is patience. Not too much heat, not too much stirring. Gentle.”

Sunni’s brow furrowed, clearly trying to memorize every word. “But mine always look… lumpy.”

“That’s because you’re probably burning them into submission,” you said dryly, trying to hand her the spoon. Jungkook laughed, earning a sharp look from his daughter, which only made him laugh harder. “Hey, don’t laugh! Cooking is serious business,” you scolded, pointing the spoon at him before turning back to Sunni. “Okay, here, your turn. Gentle circles. Like this.”

Sunni took the spoon and began stirring carefully, tongue peeking out in concentration. Her brows knitted together as if she were performing surgery. You stood beside her, one hand hovering close as if ready to intervene, but you didn’t correct her right away.

“Good,” you said after a moment, nodding. “See? Already better.”

“Really?” Sunni’s face lit up, the faintest smile tugging at her mouth.

“Really,” you confirmed, softer now. “You’ve got the magic touch.”

Jungkook’s grin widened at that. A few weeks ago, the idea of you and his daughter being in the same kitchen without sarcastic remarks or glares would’ve been laughable. But now, watching you crouch a little to be at Sunni’s level, speaking to her with patience and— God, was that affection?— felt like witnessing something quietly extraordinary.

“Can I… put cheese in it?” Sunni asked cautiously, glancing between you and her dad.

“Of course you can,” you said, smiling. “You’re the chef, after all. I’m just your assistant.”

Jungkook raised a brow. “Wow. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call yourself someone’s assistant.”

“Don’t provoke me,” you said flatly, but there was no bite to it. You handed Sunni a small bowl of shredded cheese, and she carefully sprinkled some into the pan.

When she was done, you guided her through folding the eggs gently, narrating every step. Sunni followed intently, nodding like she was in class, occasionally glancing up at you to make sure she was doing it right.

“Okay, chef,” you said finally, handing her the spatula. “You ready to serve your masterpiece?”

Sunni gave a determined nod and slid the eggs onto a plate, setting it down in front of Jungkook like she was serving a royal guest.

Jungkook put his hands up dramatically. “For me first? I’m honored.”

“Try it!” Sunni said, suddenly impatient.

Jungkook picked up a fork and took a bite, chewing with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Mmm,” he hummed, nodding seriously. “This might be the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever had.”

Sunni beamed, and you couldn’t help but smile too, glancing at Jungkook for just a second before quickly looking back at Sunni.

“Want to try your own cooking?” you asked.

She nodded eagerly and took a bite, then nodded again, pleased. “It’s good,” she admitted.

“That’s because you’re talented,” you said casually.

For a moment, Sunni just looked at you, as if weighing that statement, then said, almost shyly, “Maybe… you can show me something else next time?”

You blinked, surprised, then smiled, a genuine warmth breaking through your usual teasing facade. “Yeah. That would be cool.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, just leaned against the counter, watching the two of you, his chest feeling unexpectedly full.

And as you all stood there— you wiping Sunni’s hands with a towel, Sunni grinning at her eggs like they were the best thing she’d ever made— it felt, for a quiet moment, like you were all exactly where you were supposed to be.

Then you got close to him, enough to whispered. “The best scramble eggs I had was when my one-night-stand told me I snore pretty.”

He smiled. He was in love with you.

The scrambled eggs were devoured within minutes, the kitchen left in the same soft chaos that always came after someone thought a kid how to cook the easiest thing. Dirty bowls, streaks of cheese on the counter, and a frying pan soaking in the sink. But for once, you didn’t feel the usual itch to clean something because a kid touched it.

Sunni had asked— well, declared— that you all should watch a movie, and somehow you found yourself sinking into the couch between Jungkook and Sunni, a blanket draped over your lap, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously between Jungkook’s thigh and yours.

The movie wasn’t particularly good, some kids’ animated thing with too many songs and talking animals, but the little girl was enthralled. She sat cross-legged on the floor after some minutes, her chin propped up on her hands, eyes wide at the screen.

Jungkook, however, was not enthralled.

“Is it just me,” he whispered, leaning close to you so his breath tickled your ear, “or do all these animals sound like the same three actors doing different voices?”

You bit back a smile, keeping your voice low. “Don’t ruin the magic for her.”

“She’s too smart to believe any of this magic,” Jungkook said, smirking. “Look at that lion. He’s wearing sunglasses and singing opera. Sunglasses, Y/n.”

“Maybe he’s fashionable and has a dream,” you countered, turning your head toward him, your faces now just inches apart.

Jungkook raised a brow. “You’re defending sunglass-wearing lions now? Who are you and what have you become?”

“I’m evolving,” you shrugged . “And don’t judge him. He’s clearly an icon,” you said, lips twitching.

Jungkook shook his head, trying not to grin. “Good, you’re still ridiculous.”

“You love me,” you shot back, whispering, and this time Jungkook couldn’t hide the smile that spread across his face.

“Yeah,” he admitted softly, his eyes lingering on you a beat too long. “I do.”

Your cheeks warmed at that, though you quickly looked back at the screen, pretending you weren’t grinning too.

A moment later, Jungkook leaned even closer, whispering again, “You think she’d notice if we switched it to something decent? Like… literally anything else?”

You elbowed him gently. “Stop. Behave.”

“Behave?” he repeated, as if tasting the word, his grin widening. “You’re really starting to sound like…”

“If you say like a parent figure, I’ll pour this popcorn over your head and block your number forever,” you hissed. “You won’t be able to find me ever again.”

Jungkook chuckled, raising his hands in surrender, but his eyes sparkled in that annoyingly smug way that made you want to kiss him and slap him at the same time. “Wrong. I wouldn’t rest until I find you.”

From the floor, Sunni turned suddenly, suspicious. “Are you two talking about me?”

You and Jungkook froze, exchanging a quick guilty glance.

“No,” you said quickly.

“Yes,” Jungkook said at the same time, earning a sharp look from you.

“Kook,” you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes.

Jungkook shrugged, feigning innocence. “She asked.”

Sunni eyed you both for another second before shrugging and turning back to the screen, apparently too captivated by the sunglass-wearing lion to care.

The rest of the movie passed in relative peace, except for the occasional whispered commentary from Jungkook, which earned him three more playful elbows from you. It really was a boring movie but you could just doze-off and think about work while pretending to enjoy it.

When the credits rolled, Sunni stretched dramatically, yawning. “That was sooo good.”

“Highlight of my week,” you said flatly, deadpan, and Jungkook bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Sunni climbed onto the couch between you two, flopping down with the grace of a sleepy kitten. She sat for a moment, kicking her legs idly, before turning to you.

“Hey,” Sunni said suddenly, as if she had just remembered something important. “Next week, we’re doing this big art thing at school.”

“Art thing?” you repeated, confused what that had to do anything with you..

“Yeah, like Art Feroe again… I won the theme so everyone is drawing dinosaurs,” Sunni explained, sitting up straighter now. “Big dinosaurs. We get to use, like, real paints and everything again. And I was thinking…” She hesitated, suddenly shy, picking at the hem of the blanket. “Maybe you could come? Because you’re the only one who actually knows about dinosaurs.”

You blinked, startled. “Me?”

“Yeah,” Sunni said, as if it were obvious. “Dad doesn’t know stuff like you do.”

Jungkook, who had been watching this exchange with quiet amazement, raised his brows. “Wow, I get no points for just being your dad, huh?”

Sunni shrugged. “You don’t know that much about anything.”

Jungkook chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

You, however, were still processing Sunni’s words. “You really want me to come?” you asked, and you hated how soft your voice sounded, almost unsure.

Sunni nodded firmly, though she tried to play it off with a casual shrug. “Yeah. You’d… you’d get it.”

Something warm bloomed in your chest, catching you off guard. A flashback of you at her age asking your parents when were they coming to your school presentations/important dates. The feeling of being stood up by your own family.

You smiled, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Sunni’s ear. “Okay, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Sunni’s smile was small, but it was real, and she leaned just slightly against your side for a moment before pulling back, pretending like it didn’t happen.

Jungkook watched the whole thing, his heart so full it almost hurt.

And as the three of you sat there, blanket tangled over your legs, the credits still rolling on the forgotten TV, it felt quietly monumental.

———

The school smelled like finger paint and glue sticks, the kind of scent that instantly transported you back to a childhood you didn’t exactly want to remember. The difference now, though, was that you weren’t standing there alone nor were you the star of the night. Now you were there with Jungkook, looking for a little girl that wasn’t even yours. It was a disaster of school, but at least your partner looked equally amused and horrified at the chaos around you both.

The gym had been transformed into a makeshift art gallery. Paper dinosaurs of every shape, size, and species hung crookedly from the walls, some glittering, some drooling rainbow-colored paint, some barely resembling anything alive. Parents stood around pretending to be impressed, snapping pictures like they were at the Louvre.

It made you realized how different your childhood had been compared to someone normal. Your school used to rent places so people— who actually knew how to draw at a drastic young age— could present their work. Even documentaries were record at those places.

Jungkook leaned in close, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “This is… honestly kind of terrifying.”

You smirked. “It’s a jurassic horror show.”

That earned him a grin. “God, I love you.”

“Save your love for the brontosaurus with three heads,” you muttered, nodding toward a child’s particularly ambitious attempt at art. “Or whatever that child was trying to do. Why does it kinda looks like my dad?.”

Jungkook snorted, trying to stifle it with his hand.

You two walked slowly down the rows, pausing at some of the more interesting pieces. A green blob with stick legs caught Jungkook’s eye.

“Is this a dinosaur or… a turtle that’s given up on life?” he whispered.

“Don’t be rude,” you chided, deadpan. “That’s clearly a very sad stegosaurus.”

Jungkook glanced at you, trying not to laugh. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” you replied, picking up one of the tiny boxed juices from the refreshment table. You stabbed the straw into it and sipped dramatically. “This is my second time here and I already feel like an art critic. To the future artists of society.”

Jungkook grabbed one too, raising it in a mock toast. “To the future of paleontology.”

You tapped your box against his with a grin. “May they never learn proper anatomy.”

You two were acting ridiculous, and you knew it. But it felt good- easy, even- walking through the rows, whispering sarcastic commentary like teenagers sneaking into a movie theater. At some point, Jungkook snatched two paper crowns from a craft table and handed you one.

“Put it on,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” you said, though you were already slipping it over your hair.

Jungkook smirked, adjusting his own crooked crown. “Now we look like the art critics we were born to be.”

“We are,” you said solemnly, sipping your juice.

You both both nearly lost it laughing, which earned you a few looks from nearby parents.

Finally, you two reached Sunni’s section. Her paper was taped proudly to the wall, her name written in big block letters underneath it. And the drawing… The drawing was—well, it was objectively terrible.

The dinosaur was bright purple with stick legs that didn’t seem attached to its body, one eye was three times bigger than the other, and there was some kind of unidentifiable blob near its tail.

Jungkook and you stood there, frozen for a second.

Then Jungkook whispered, “What is it supposed to be doing?”

You tilted your head, as if analyzing a real masterpiece. “I think… it’s hunting? Or maybe dancing.”

Jungkook tried not to laugh. “The tail looks like it’s… exploding.”

“It’s called artistic freedom,” you said seriously, even though you were joking, elbowing him gently. “Don’t question the vision.” Despite how bad it was, something in your chest tightened. Sunni had drawn this. Sunni, who now wanted you here. You smiled, softer now. “It’s so… her, though. Look at that little feather detail on the back.”

Jungkook looked again, his teasing replaced by something warmer. “She remembered you telling her about feathers.”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice quieter. “She did.”

You two stood there for a moment, just staring at the ridiculous purple dinosaur, sharing a private little smile.

Jungkook slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you gently closer. “It’s the best one here.”

You glanced up at him, smiling. “You’re biased.”

“Completely,” Jungkook admitted, grinning. “But still true.”

And for a moment, in that noisy gym full of bad drawings and juice boxes, it felt strangely perfect.

Sunni spotted you two before you could compose your faces. She came running up with a grin so wide it nearly split her face in two, still wearing her little name tag and smudged with streaks of green paint.

“Did you see it?” she asked, practically bouncing in place. “You saw my dinosaur, right? It’s a raptor! It’s hunting!”

Jungkook’s mouth twitched as he tried to keep a straight face. “We did see it. It’s… incredible, kiddo.”

You crouched slightly so you were at Sunni’s level, your crown tilting forward on your head. “The feathers are my favorite part,” you said sincerely. “You nailed that detail. Looks like you actually studied raptors.”

Sunni’s eyes went huge. “You noticed the feathers?! Everyone else just says it’s purple! But real raptors had feathers.”

“I know,” you said, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “That’s why yours is smarter than all the others. Honestly, I think you’re the only real paleontologist here.”

Jungkook looked at you, his smile softening as Sunni practically glowed under the praise.

“Do you… think it’s good?” she asked, a little hesitant now that the excitement was wearing off.

“It’s amazing,” you said firmly. “You know why? Because it’s not just a dinosaur, it looks like your dinosaur. Like if someone asked me, ‘What does a Sunni-raptor look like?’ I’d say exactly this.”

Jungkook had to turn his head for a second to hide his grin. Your words were so perfectly you, bratty and dramatic but weirdly heartfelt.

Sunni’s face lit up again, proud now. “Do you wanna take a picture with it? My teacher took one, but it was boring. We can do a cool one.”

You glanced at Jungkook, who just shrugged like go on, you’re doing great.

“Obviously we need a cool picture,” you said, taking off your paper crown and placing it carefully on Sunni’s head. “There. Now you’re the dinosaur princess. All great artists wear crowns.”

Sunni giggled and posed dramatically in front of her drawing, making claws with her hands. You matched her pose, and Jungkook snapped a picture on his phone, laughing.

“Perfect,” he said, grinning. “You two are ridiculous.”

“We’re icons,” you corrected, tossing your hair.

Sunni was still giggling as she tugged your hand. “Can we print it and put it on our fridge? So Dad sees it every morning and knows how good it is?”

Jungkook chuckled, slipping his arm around your waist. “We’ll print it huge, kiddo. It’s going right next to the shopping list.”

Sunni nodded like this was the greatest honor in the world, still holding your hand as she pulled you toward the snack table.

Jungkook watched you both, something soft settling in his chest. He’d imagined moments like this before—domestic, quiet, almost silly—but seeing it happen, seeing you like this, was something else entirely.

And you, noticing his gaze, just rolled your eyes at him playfully, like ‘don’t get all sentimental on me now’. But you didn’t pull your hand away from Sunni’s.

The soft hum of the art school buzzed in the background. Kids laughing, parents chatting, the faint smell of juice boxes and tempera paint lingering in the air. You were crouched beside Sunni, still holding her hand as you both argued about an orange snack when a voice cut through the noise.

“Sunni!”

You all turned. Yunna stood by the entrance, still in her sleek work travel clothes— jeans, blazer, a scarf loosely draped around her neck. Her hair was perfectly blown out, like she’d just stepped off a plane but still managed to look effortlessly put together.

“Mom!” Sunni squealed, bolting from your side to wrap herself around Yunna’s waist. “You’re back! I thought you weren’t coming until Friday!”

“I wasn’t,” Yunna said, smiling down at her daughter, kissing the top of her head. “But I finished my meetings early, and I just couldn’t wait.”

Jungkook looked mildly surprised, though pleased, as he walked over. “Hey, you didn’t say you were coming today.”

Yunna smiled at him over Sunni’s head. “I wanted to surprise her. Guess it worked.” She gave you a nice smile as a greeting which you quickly returned.

You stood back, watching the reunion. It wasn’t that it was bad, it was… sweet, actually. But it still made you feel oddly out of place, like you had just stepped into a family photo that wasn’t yours.

But maybe the worst feeling was seeing how an actually family worked. How Yunna could do what your parents could never bothered to put work into: being there. She looked tired and overworked, but she was happy to be there, for her daughter, even if it was something that wasn’t a big thing. But it was for Sunni.

And you didn’t know what was worst, feeling like an outsider in a place that wasn’t yours to be or feeling jelaous of something you always wished to have.

Yunna knelt to Sunni’s level, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, show me everything! Did you draw something amazing today?”

“I did!” The little girl grabbed her hand and started tugging her toward the display wall. “But I already took a picture of it with Y/n. She even gave me her crown!”

The words fell into the air like they weighed more than they should.

Yunna blinked, glancing up at you for a fraction of a second before smiling again, though it looked tighter now, practiced. “That’s… great, honey. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

Jungkook, ever so attuned, shifted his weight, his arm brushing yours as if grounding you. You forced a polite smile, but your chest tightened in that weird, inexplicable way, like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t, even though you hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Well,” you said, clearing your throat and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and taking your phone out of your purse, “I should probably— uh, I should head out. I have to check something at the office before...”

“No.”

The word came out immediately, firmly, from Jungkook.

You blinked at him. “No, really, I have to....”

He reached for your hand, sliding his fingers through yours in a deliberate, grounding motion. “You can see that later. Stay.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his tone, soft, sure, but leaving no room for debate. You opened your mouth to argue, but Jungkook shot you that look, the one that was half warning, half don’t even think about it.

The tension was thick enough to cut until Jungkook, ever the peacekeeper, clapped his hands lightly. “Sunni, why don’t you show your mom the other drawing you did? The one with the volcano?”

Sunni’s face brightened instantly. “Yes! Mom, you have to see it, it’s awesome, it even has lava!” She grabbed Yunna’s hand and dragged her away, completely oblivious to the quiet war happening between the adults.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jungkook turned to you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re not getting away that easily.”

You let out a breath, half laugh, half frustration. “Jungkook, it’s not...”

“Don’t,” he said gently, leaning in a little. “Don’t do the whole ‘make an excuse and run’ thing. You’re here with me. With us. Don’t act like you don’t belong.”

“It’s just...”

“You know, you’re lucky I’m here to stop you from pulling a full Houdini.”

You titled your head slowly, eyebrows lifting. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged, trying to keep his grin casual but failing. “Don’t even try to deny it. You were this close—” he held his thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart, glancing at you again—“to pulling some fake work emergency and bolting.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “I wasn’t going to bolt. I just… thought maybe it was better to leave, you know, give you all space.”

Jungkook snorted. “Right. Because nothing screams giving space like sprinting for the door at the first sign of tension.”

“I was not sprinting.”

“You were definitely sprinting. Mentally, at least.”

That made you laugh despite yourself, and you shook your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s not funny. It was— awkward. She’s… she’s her mom, Jungkook. And she clearly wasn’t expecting me to be here. Maybe she didn’t even want me there.”

Jungkook shot you a look, his expression softening. “Y/n, Sunni wanted you here. I wanted you here. And if Yunna didn’t, which is not the case but even if she didn’t... that’s not really her call, is it?” He shrugged.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, because you couldn’t exactly argue with that logic. But still, something nagged at you, and you muttered, “Did you see her face when Sunni said we already took a picture together?"

Jungkook glanced at you, reading you easily, his voice lowering just a little. “You’re not replacing her, baby. No one’s asking you to. You’re just… you. And Sunni likes you. That’s enough.”

The words landed heavier than you expected.

You stared ahead for a moment, your throat tight but your lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “And do you like me?" you joked now, trying to ease the little tension.

Jungkook grinned, reaching over to take your hand, lacing your fingers together before pulling you closer to him until your chest touched his and your face was centimenters apart. “Yeah, but not only that. I love you too.”

Your throat tightened, and for a moment you didn’t know what to say. But Jungkook just gave you that steady, quiet look, like he was rooting you to the ground.

And somehow, even with the weight of Yunna’s presence, you stayed.

"I love you too."

———

The apartment smelled faintly of meat and butter, the remnants of the steak and fries you had insisted on making earlier. Now, the dishes were stacked in the sink, the kitchen lights dimmed, and the two of you were sprawled across Jungkook’s couch like you’d lived this way for years.

Jungkook sat back against the cushions, one arm draped lazily across the backrest, while you stretched out along the couch with your naked legs thrown across his lap, a glass of wine balanced on your stomach. Your hair was still damp from the shower you’d taken after dinner, curling slightly against your neck, and you looked unusually relaxed—no high heels, no blazer, just one of Jungkook’s old T-shirts and your own soft pijama shorts.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said without glancing at him, swirling the wine in your glass.

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he said, leaning his head back, grinning.

“You’re staring,” you countered.

“Yeah, because you’re cute when you’re pretending not to enjoy doing nothing.”

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t look at him. “I’m very good at doing nothing, thank you very much.”

“Liar.”

That earned him a small laugh. You shifted slightly, resting the wine glass on the table and letting your arm drape over his knee. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m not good at it. But this isn’t bad.”

Jungkook tilted his head toward you. “Just not bad?”

You finally looked at him, eyes glinting playfully. “Okay, it’s nice. But don’t get used to me lying around like this, babe. I still have a reputation to maintain.”

“Right, the scary restaurant mogul reputation.”

“That’s the one.”

Jungkook’s grin widened. “Mm. Yeah, you’re terrifying. Sitting here in my T-shirt, drinking wine, looking like you’re about to fall asleep.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you yawned, stretching lazily before settling back against him. “I might actually fall asleep,” you admitted.

“Good. You don’t do that enough.”

There was a pause, soft and easy, before you murmured, “You know, things are… going well.”

Jungkook glanced down at you. “Yeah?”

You nodded, your head still resting against the cushion. “With you. With Sunni. Everything feels… nice.” You hesitated, as if saying it out loud might jinx it, then added, “I didn’t think it would feel this… easy.”

Jungkook’s chest warmed at that. He reached out, running his fingers gently through your hair. “That’s because you’re better at this than you think.”

You gave him a sideways look. “Don’t make it sound like I’ve been secretly trying. I tried so loud and it was embarrassing.”

He laughed quietly. “You haven’t had to try. That’s the point.”

For a moment, you just looked at each other, the quiet stretching between you comfortably. Then, in a softer voice, Jungkook said, “I really love you, you know?”

You smiled, not your sharp, practiced smile, but a small, sleepy one that tugged at the corners of your mouth. “I love you too.”

Jungkook leaned in and kissed your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. There was a moment of silence. Just the two of you in your own little bubble. Then he grabbed your chin, softly, loving, before making you look at him to kiss you. It was slow, full of love and warmth. His fingers slowly found a way to your check to the back of your head and the other rubbed the skin of your waist.

His lips were slow, he wasn’t trying to find something else in you. Just kissing you, just loving you.

But as everything, the kiss deepened. An involuntary gasp left your lips and Jungkook’s hand pressed a little harder in the back of your neck, bringing you to him a little more rough so he could kiss you harder and deeper. His tongue finding a way into your mouth.

You climbed right onto his lap, straddling him. His gaze was on you, swollen and red lips, hair a little messy. He thought how he had never seen someone as beautiful as you before. So pretty, so stubborn, so you… and now so his.

He could feel the heat of your body, your smell, your skin, your feelings. God, he loved you so much.

And he wanted to fuck you so hard.

Your hands found the back of his neck and your fingers tugged gently at his hair to pulled him into you, kissing him. He got the memo, you wanted him too. Your breath caught as Jungkook kissed you deeper, his hands grounding themselves on your thighs. His mouth moved with more confidence, tongue flicking against yours, his breath hot and uneven.

Jungkook shifted you closer until your knees dug into the couch on either side of him, and the heat between your bodies left no space untouched.

He guided your hips against his, slow and purposeful. You could feel him better, all of him. Unbearably hard, pressed against the thin barrier of your thin pijama shorts. His hands went under his shirt you were using, his hot hand creasing your rib cage skin to urged you closer, encouraging you to roll your hips again, and when you did, he let out a curse under his breath.

You break away just slightly, lips still tingling, eyes searching his. “Are we gonna keep humping like teenagers or are you gonna fuck me like a man?”

Jungkook smirked, face flushed from the kiss. His fingers grabbed your cheeks, pressing them hard to make you pout. “You and your big fucking mouth. Do I always have to put you in your place?”

Instead of backing away, you sighed, like it didn’t make you hornier making him go mad.

“Can you even do that?”

Before you knew it, you toppled over and your back collided with the couch, he’d flipped you over to be on top now, positioning between your legs, his knees land between your legs, your body responding and legs spreading open even as you think of all of the things you wanna do to him.

“You’re so pretty to have such an attitude,” he whispered in your ear, voice low as he leaned in, trailing wet kisses along the rim of your jaw. “I’m going to fuck it out of you, baby.”

“Yeah?” was all you could barely say. Not a quick and witty remark, your brain couldn’t form one.

“Yeah,” he replied, lips brushing over the edge of your neck, pausing just long enough for his tongue to dart against your skin. His fingers slid beneath the elastic of your shorts, teasing the center of your panties, already wet. His thumb started to pressed in your clothed clit,along you moan in his neck “You’re soaked,” he muttered, almost to himself, voice thick with disbelief. “All that attitude just to end up dripping for me…”

“Wait,” your hands went to his chest, mind a little less clouded. “Sunni is sleeping…”

She was sleeping in her room already, but you didn’t want to get caught in a traumatic position with her dad, specially by her. And you thought Jungkook neither wanted that, even if you could have some time to push yourself apart by hearing the door be open. There was always still a possibility…

“Well… you better be quiet then.”

Oh.

“Jungkook…”

“What? You think you get to turn me on like this and just go?” He chuckled, not really amused. “That’s not really fair, isn’t baby?”

His fingers pressed against your soaked panties again, and the sticky wet sound made both of you groan.

He slipped them aside without warning, and the cool air on your wet cunt had you clenching before he even touched you. Jungkook pushed two fingers inside, watching your face as your back arched slightly. The stretch had you sighing, clutching his shirt.

He pumped in and out slowly at first, his thumb brushing lightly over your clit. Your hips rolled up to meet him, chasing the friction. His lips curled, cocky but awed.

He kissed you, this time a little nastier, wetter and messy. “I love you,” his sweet words didn’t match his tone nor his dirty actions. His long fingers still inside you.

“I love you.”

“You have to keep your voice down. Can you do that for me, pretty?” He asked, voice soft. The slick squelch of your cunt echoed in the small room, loud and shameless. He pressed a third finger in before you had time to process, groaning at the way you stretched around him.

You moaned a little louder, making your hand slap over your mouth to avoid being heard.

“Shit— How do you want me to fuck you if you are this loud by just my fingers, pretty?.”

Jungkook barely gives time for your foggy brain to process the words, sliding his sweats and underwear down to mid thigh. You clenched around his fingers when he pulled them off. But he doesn’t stop in any moment, he brings himself closer to you. And then he’s just on you again.

The feeling of his cock, hard and pulsing against your dripping slit with only the dainty fabric of your sheer underwear to separate you, makes you tip your head back in a helpless whimper. he keeps going, grinding his length forward in lazy rolls of his hips, the head of his cock pushing against your clit in a way that makes your head spin. you’re already soaked, panties dripping wet to aid in the glide of Jungkook’s length, and you can’t help the little gasps leaving your mouth as your hips buck forward.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” you moaned.

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” Jungkook pants, one arm resting by your head while the other keeps your thigh held up.

He grinds into you faster, matching the stuttered pace of your own hips as he bends down to lay messy, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. You sighed pathetically, moving your head to the side to give him more access. And you don’t know if is the tension of being caught or just Jungkook in general but you feel so feral for him.

“Jung— Fuck, Jungkook, just fuck me.” You pouted.

Jungkook pulled apart a little just to put his gaze on you, his eyes dark and red, lost in lust for you. “Say please.”

“Jungkook—“ you whined.

He smirked, “say please.” his hips rolled harder against you. You can feel the precum dripping from his tip smeared against your panties, soaking through to your clit with the rest of the mess you’ve made. “Is this not enough for you, pretty? You’re always so greedy.”

“Please, baby— want more,” you whine out, arms wrapping around his neck and nails clawing at his shoulders.

And he curses. Because he always will give you what you want.

Before you know it he’s moving your shorts and panties to the side, there’s a large palm pressing over your mouth and Jungkook buries his head in the side of your neck again, muffling his own long, drawn out groan as he pushes his thick cock inside you, all the way.

The hand at your lips barely offers reprieve when you moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the feeling of finally being so full and stretched open around Jungkook’s length. delirious, you think you can feel the bulge of it in your lower stomach.

He fucks you hard, fingers pressing hard in your mouth to keep you quiet while he bites down on your neck to not moan too. His hips snapped into yours, hard and slow. Making you feel everything, every vein, every inch, all the cream. Your legs barely hold on into his hips, too lazy and lost in pleasure to even think about doing something else than making him take control over it.

“So good, fuck— you’re so good to me.”

His voice is low and raw, it makes you reached your peak faster.

It doesn’t take you much time to finish, not after he snaps his hips faster into yours and his other hand finds your clit to rubbed. His fingers flickering over faster and faster that makes you clench harder around his cock, trying to make him get to it too.

You are so close, and he must know it too. You can feel his teeth against your neck as he keeps his pace, hips slamming into you, fingers working you over until your eyes are rolling back and stars are dotting your vision.

You’re thankful he has his hand over your mouth because the moan you let out when you reached your orgasm was almost embarrassing. And just some seconds after Jungkook is coming too, hips stuttering before he is spilling all his cum inside you, filling you up.

He continued fucking you slowly, riding out your- and his- high slower. Hips thrusting lazily and clumsily. You could feel his cum already dripping out of you.

It takes you both a moment to catch your breath and after some minutes you grabbed his hand to pushed it out of your mouth.

“Sorry,” he whispers, moving his hand to your cheek and giving you a sweet kiss, still inside of you.

You giggled a little, feeling the sweat and all the fluids in your bod, starting to making you uncomfortable.

“We need a shower.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nodded. Voice hoarse and tired. “I’ll run a bath for you.”

“God, I love you.”

He smiled, softly. Like he didn’t just fucked you nasty and dumb some minutes ago. “I love you more.”

———

Jungkook was awake, leaning back into the couch cushions, his hand lazily brushing through your hair. His usual morning gruffness was softened by a small, unguarded smile.

“You’re staring,” you mumbled, voice husky with sleep.

“Yeah,” he said without hesitation, his voice low and amused.

“Creepy,” you teased, though you didn’t move away.

“Not creepy. Just… looking.” His hand slid gently along your arm, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. “You’re not usually this still.”

“I’m asleep, Kook.”

“Not anymore.”

You cracked one eye open, meeting his gaze. He looked too damn soft for this hour, like he was completely unaware of how dangerous he was when he let his guard down. You sighed and pushed yourself up a little, sitting cross-legged now, hair falling messily around your face.

“What?” you asked when you caught him still watching you.

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head, his usual grin replaced with something quieter, something heavier.

“What?” you asked again, softer this time.

Jungkook’s voice matched yours now, low and almost thoughtful. “I just… keep thinking this feels right. Like… this is it. You and me.”

Your chest tightened, but in a good way, an unfamiliar warmth that had been creeping in more and more lately. You weren’t used to mornings like this— soft, domestic, unguarded. You didn’t say anything immediately, just looked at him for a moment, searching his face.

Then you smiled, not your sharp, polished smile, but a real one, warm and sleepy. “Yeah,” you said, almost like a confession. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

Something shifted between you two then, quiet but sure, like you’d both acknowledged something you didn’t have to dress up with clever words.

Jungkook leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss to your temple, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin.

You smirked faintly, tilting your head to meet his eyes. “You sound smug.”

“Because I’m right.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, which, for you, was as good as admitting he’d won.

“I can’t believe we slept on the couch,” you sighed, stretching a little uncomfortable.

“Well, you fell asleep here after grabbing water and I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Oh, such a gentleman” you said sarcastically. “You could’ve carried me to bed, you know?”

“I don’t know, this couch is now my favorite place…”

“You’re disgusting.”

Jungkook laughed against your mouth, kissing you softly while you tried- and failed- not to smile.

The peaceful moment lasted all of thirty seconds before there was a loud thump from the hallway, followed by small hurried footsteps.

“Dad! Are you awake?!”

You barely had time to pull your legs off Jungkook’s lap before Sunni burst into the living room, hair messy from sleep, holding a crumpled piece of paper in her hands. She stopped dead when she spotted you sitting on the couch in Jungkook’s T-shirt, her eyes narrowing in exaggerated suspicion.

“You’re here,” Sunni announced, as if catching you in a crime.

You arched a brow, fighting back a grin. “Good morning to you too.”

Jungkook sighed, running a hand over his face, but he was smiling. “What’s going on, kiddo?”

Sunni ignored him, walking closer, hands on her hips. “Did you sleep here?”

You smirked, leaning back against the couch casually. “Maybe.”

Jungkook shot you a look, the corners of his mouth twitching, but you were too busy watching Sunni’s little scowl.

“Gross,” Sunni muttered, though she climbed onto the arm of the couch anyway.

You laughed, leaning an elbow on your knee. “You’re very judgmental for someone in pajamas covered in hello kitty.”

“She’s cool,” Sunni shot back, holding up her crumpled paper proudly. “And this is even cooler. I drew a new animal I invented.”

Jungkook groaned good-naturedly, reaching to ruffle Sunni’s hair. “At least let me get coffee before the lesson starts.”

But Sunni was already shoving the paper toward you. “You know about stuff. You can tell me if this one’s right.”

You raised a brow at Jungkook, a small victorious grin tugging at your lips, before taking the paper. “Alright, goblin. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Jungkook sat back, watching you two bicker about whether the claws were the right size, and thought, again, that maybe mornings like this were better than anything he’d ever planned for himself.

———

four years ago.

You sat at the table, cross-legged on the chair like you were still sixteen instead of twenty-two, your law textbooks spread haphazardly across the table. Your hair was pulled back in a loose bun, a pen caught between your teeth as you half-heartedly reviewed your notes, though the soft hum coming from Rosa as she stirred something on the stove was far more comforting than the pages of corporate law in front of you.

“You are almost done, tesoro mio,” Rosa said, turning to glance at you, wooden spoon in hand. “A few more months, and you will be the lawyer you always wanted to be.”

You pulled the pen from your mouth and groaned dramatically, dropping your head into your hands. “I don’t know if I want to be a lawyer anymore,” you said through your palms.

Rosa raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Ah, sì, you say this every week. You do not fool me.” She turned back to the stove, giving the sauce an authoritative stir. “You are stubborn, Y/n Y/l/n. You finish what you start. You are like your father that way.”

“Great comparison,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, but there was no real bite to it.

Rosa shot you a look over her shoulder, the kind that managed to be both sharp and soft at once. “You are better than him. Do not make that face.”

You grinned despite yourself, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, fine, maybe I do want to finish. I just don’t know if I want to do it forever, you know? All these contracts, corporate law, boring meetings… it feels like I can see my life already, and I hate it.”

Rosa turned the stove down and came to sit across from you, her hands folding neatly in front of her, eyes softening. “Your life is not a contract, bambina. You can change things. But first finish this. Have something to fall back on. It is good to have choices. You… you deserve choices.”

The last words were said softer, almost as if Rosa was speaking more to herself, but you caught it. You smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “You’re too good to me, Rosa.”

Rosa squeezed back, brushing it off like she always did. “I am strict with you, not good.”

You laughed, leaning back again, kicking your foot lazily against the table leg. “You’re the only reason I survived my teenage years. Seriously, I’d be in jail or in some cult without you.”

“Dio mio,” Rosa muttered, shaking her head, but there was the faintest smile tugging at her mouth.

There was a moment of silence then, just the quiet simmering of the sauce on the stove and the muted sounds of the city outside the window.

You broke it first, your voice softer now. “You saw Jungwoo this week, right? When I had class?”

Rosa’s face brightened immediately. “Ah, sì. He came to fix the garden lights, remember? He is a gentiluomo. Polite, kind… I like him.”

You tried not to smile too much, but your cheeks betrayed you. “You like him, huh?”

“I do,” Rosa said simply, watching you with that knowing look. “And you love him.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Don’t start.”

Rosa laughed, the warm, delighted kind of laugh that always made you smile no matter how much you pretended not to. “You do, tesoro. It is good to see you like this. You are softer now. Happier.”

Peeking through your fingers, you mumbled, “He’s great. He’s… easy to be with. Like I don’t have to be ‘Y/n, future lawyer.’ I can just be… me.”

Rosa reached over, patting your hand. “Then keep that. But always stay yourself, too. Love is good, but you must not lose who you are.”

“I won’t,” you said, your voice sincere.

You stayed like that for a while, Rosa eventually going back to her sauce while you absentmindedly doodled hearts in the corner of your notes, your chest warm in a way you didn’t quite know how to explain.

And for that golden evening, everything felt perfectly right.

———

Jungkook’s shop smelled like ink, disinfectant, and that faint metallic tang of tattoo needles. The low hum of a machine buzzed in the background as Jimin worked on a client in the far corner, while Jungkook sat at the counter, twirling a pencil in his fingers. You sat beside him on the counter stool, legs crossed, leaning lazily against the edge with the kind of easy comfort you’d grown into around him.

“Okay, so,” Jimin said, glancing up from his work, “are we finally doing this? Group dinner? Or are you two going to keep being disgustingly domestic and ignoring the rest of us?”

Jungkook smirked. “You say that like you don’t see me every day.”

“Not the same,” Jimin shot back. “You’re no fun without her now. She’s the one with the wine and the good stories.”

You grinned. “Thank you, Jimin. Someone appreciates me.”

Jungkook gave you a look, pretending to be offended. “You’re implying I don’t appreciate you?”

“You do,” you said sweetly, “but you also hoard me, apparently.”

Jimin snorted. “See? That. That’s why I want her at dinner. You’re boring now, Kook. I need her to balance it out.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Fine. Friday night, my place. Done.”

Jimin nodded, satisfied, and went back to his work. You leaned in closer to Jungkook, murmuring, “I like how you didn’t ask me. Just decided for me.”

“You’d say yes anyway,” Jungkook murmured back, his lips brushing your ear just enough to make you shiver.

You were about to give him a snarky retort when his phone rang. Jungkook checked the screen, and the easy humor slipped from his face in an instant.

“What is it?” you asked, already straightening.

He didn’t answer right away, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hey, what happened?” You couldn’t hear the other voice, but you caught the sharp way his brows drew together. His tone softened, though, the way it always did when Sunni was involved. “I’m coming right now. She’s okay, right? Just… okay, yeah. Ten minutes.” He hung up, grabbing his keys, already halfway to the door when he said, “Sunni fell at school. Nurse’s office. She’s fine, just bruises, but…”

“Go, I’ll be here in the store,” his friend called out.

“I’ll drive,” you cut in, already hopping off the stool.

Jungkook hesitated, but the look you gave him was firm, so he just nodded.

“Call me if you need anything,” Jimin shout.

The drive was quiet, Jungkook didn’t talk and you didn’t know exactly what to say to keep him relaxed since you knew this was probably very serious for him.

Luckily the school wasn’t far and the traffic was nice so you got there in less than fifteen minutes.

The school nurse’s office smelled faintly of antiseptic and pencil shavings. You followed Jungkook in, trying not to hover but unable to help watching every move he made. Sunni sat on the little cot, a bandage on her knees, cheeks still pink from tears.

“Hey, kiddo,” Jungkook said, crouching next to her, his voice soft and soothing in a way that made your chest tighten. “Heard you tried to fly down the stairs. Not your best idea, baby.”

Sunni sniffled, half a laugh escaping despite her mood. “I tripped.”

Jungkook smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “Well, tripping’s better than flying, I guess.”

You stood near the door, quiet, watching him work his magic. You’d never seen him look more in his element. His calm, his steady hands, his ability to make Sunni feel safe even when she was scared.

“Hey, baby,” another voice came, and Yunna appeared in the doorway, her heels clicking softly against the linoleum. She looked flustered, clearly rushed from wherever she’d been.

“Mom,” Sunni said, relief evident as Yunna crouched beside Jungkook.

You watched the two of them fall into their rhythm so easily. Yunna’s hand hovered over Sunni’s arm, her voice low and warm as she asked what happened. Jungkook filled her in, and they talked quietly, smoothly, like a team.

It wasn’t jealousy you felt, more… admiration, and maybe the tiniest ache in your chest. They had this history, this unspoken understanding of how to care for Sunni together, and it was… good. It was right. It was how parents should work out for their kids, specially when they weren’t in a romantic relationship. They knew how to handle themselves as people and parents. They were great at it.

You almost smiled at it… until Yunna’s gaze slid to you.

“Oh,” Yunna said, her tone polite but something unspoken behind it. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

You gave a small smile. “Jungkook was with me when he got the call. I drove him here.”

Yunna’s lips pressed into something that could have been a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well… thank you for bringing him, Y/n.”

It wasn’t rude, not exactly, but there was a subtle weight to the words. Something like you didn’t have to stay.

Jungkook must’ve felt it too because his head snapped toward Yunna. “She’s here because she cares. Don’t make it sound like she shouldn’t be.”

Yunna blinked, surprised. “That’s not what I meant—”

“It’s okay,” you cut in before it could go further, your tone even, almost too even. “She’s right, actually. You two should probably handle this. I’ll just… give you space.”

Jungkook frowned. “Hey…”

“It’s fine,” you insisted gently, giving him a small smile.

He looked torn, like he wanted to argue, but after a beat and a side eyed to his daughter, he sighed and nodded. “I’ll call you after, okay?”

“Thank you, Y/n.” Yunna called out one last time, maybe trying to ease the tension she created.

You just nodded at her and gave Jungkook one last reassuring look before slipping out of the nurse’s office.

The late-afternoon sun felt warmer than it should’ve as you stepped outside, but there was a quiet sting under your ribs you couldn’t quite shake. You weren’t angry—not at Jungkook, not even at Yunna. It made sense. This was their life, their kid, their world. But walking away from it, even if just for a moment, reminded you of something you tried not to think about too much:

There were still parts of Jungkook’s life you could never fully belong to.

———

The nurse’s office had settled into a quiet rhythm after you left, just the hum of the air conditioning and the soft rustle of the bandage the nurse adjusted on Sunni’s knees. Jungkook sat beside his daughter on the cot, his hand gently rubbing her back, while Yunna stood on her other side, smoothing stray hair out of her face.

Jungkook’s mind was still half on the hallway, on the way you had walked out with that careful, too-bright smile. He hated that look, it was the one you used when you were pretending something didn’t sting.

But before he could even call you back, Yunna had stepped closer.

“Jungkook,” she said softly, her tone almost hesitant. “You know I didn’t mean it that way. But she shouldn’t be here. Not right now.”

He frowned immediately, his jaw tightening. “Why not? She came because she cares about Sunni.”

Yunna sighed, her voice lowering like she was choosing her words carefully. “I don’t doubt that. But this is… different. It’s not about you, it’s about Sunni. She’s shaken, and the last thing she needs right now is feeling like she has to adjust her emotions around someone she doesn’t fully know yet. You know how she is when she gets overwhelmed.”

Jungkook wanted to argue. His first instinct was to fight for you, to push back, but the logic of Yunna’s words sank in. He knew Sunni, when she was hurt or scared, she clung to what felt familiar, and right now, that was him and her mom.

After a long moment, Jungkook sighed, nodding reluctantly. “Fine. But don’t make it sound like she was wrong for being here. She was just trying to help.”

Yunna nodded, her expression softening. “I know. And I’m glad you care about her and she cares about you. Really. But right now, Sunni needs… us.”

Jungkook bit back his frustration, reminding himself this wasn’t about pride or you or anything but the kid sitting between them.

He turned back to Sunni, who was staring at him with wide eyes, clearly listening to every word. Jungkook smiled gently, brushing her hand. “Hey, kiddo. Don’t worry about any of that. You’re the boss here, okay? We just want to make sure you’re good.”

Sunni sniffled and leaned closer to him, her head resting against his shoulder. “I’m okay. It just hurts when I bend it.”

“You don’t need to bend it for a couple of days,” Jungkook said, his voice calm and sure. “You’ll have the coolest bruises in school by Monday.”

Sunni giggled weakly, and Yunna smiled, kissing the top of her head. “Your dad’s right. Bruises are just proof you’re tougher than stairs.”

The three of them stayed like that for a while, talking softly, reassuring Sunni, letting her laugh at small jokes about how stairs were clearly “the enemy.” It felt… normal, the kind of easy moment the three of them had shared countless times before, back when things were simpler.

But it wasn’t back then anymore.

———

Later, after Sunni had been cleared to leave and Yunna was walking her out to the car, Jungkook lingered in the hallway, leaning against the wall.

Yunna joined him after making sure Sunni was settled in the back seat, her heels clicking softly against the tile. She didn’t look at him at first, just folded her arms and stared toward the parking lot.

“She’s going to be fine,” she said quietly.

“I know,” Jungkook replied. He hesitated, then asked, “You sure you’re okay?”

Yunna glanced at him, then back at the glass doors. “Yeah. I just… I want her to be okay. That’s all that matters.”

Jungkook nodded but didn’t move, and after a beat, Yunna sighed, running a hand through her hair.

“Can I say something without you getting defensive?” she asked.

Jungkook gave her a wary look. “Depends on what it is.”

Yunna gave a small, almost awkward smile. “It’s nothing bad. It’s just… weird, I guess. Seeing you with someone else. Like this.”

Jungkook’s brows drew together. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, shifting her weight. “Not bad-weird. Just… strange. You were always… you. Us. And now you’re you with someone else. Serious enough that she’s here when things happen with Sunni. It’s… different. Maybe it’s just nostalgia or something, but…” She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. “I didn’t expect to feel that way.”

Jungkook stared at her, caught off guard. Yunna wasn’t jealous, he could tell by her tone, but there was a quiet honesty in her words that tugged at him.

“Yunna,” he said after a long pause, “you know I’m not…”

“I know,” she cut in quickly, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m not saying it’s bad. She seems great for you. Really. I’m happy you’re happy. It’s just… going to take a second to adjust, you know?”

Jungkook nodded slowly, still processing. “Yeah. I get it.”

She gave his arm a light pat before heading for the door. “Good, I just needed to get it out of my system. Now come on. Sunni wants pizza on the way home, and I promised her you’d pay.”

Jungkook managed a small smile, but as he followed her out, his thoughts weren’t on pizza. They were on you, on how much he wanted you there, even when things like this happened… and on how much it bothered him that, for now, you couldn’t always be.

Jungkook drove home with the windows slightly cracked, the evening air sliding in, but it didn’t cool the knot in his chest. Sunni was fine, that was what mattered. But the whole ride back, his thoughts spun restlessly.

Yunna’s words replayed in his head. Weird, I guess. Seeing you with someone else. Like this. She hadn’t meant it in a bad way, he knew that. She wasn’t jealous, not really. But it stuck with him anyway. Not because of her, but because of how natural everything had felt when they were sitting together with Sunni in that nurse’s office. It had been easy, instinctive, automatic… and he hated that for a second, it almost felt like muscle memory. Not because he wanted it back— God, no— but because you weren’t there.

And maybe Yunna was right. It was different now. This was new for all of you.

He ran a hand down his face as he parked outside his building, staring out at the quiet street. He should just sleep. He should let the whole day settle.

But he couldn’t.

Because as much as today had been about Sunni, he couldn’t shake the memory of your expression when you left. That careful, too-bright smile again. The one that said I’m fine when you clearly weren’t.

Before he could talk himself out of it that night, he started the car again.

———

Your building was quiet when Jungkook arrived, the warm glow of your apartment window standing out against the dark street. He didn’t bother knocking, he knew the code by now. He knew almost everything about you by now… You were in the kitchen, barefoot, hair pulled back messily, pouring yourself a glass of wine when he stepped inside. Your eyes widened a little when you saw him.

“Jungkook?” you asked, setting the bottle down. “It’s late.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said simply, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Figured you couldn’t either.”

You raised an eyebrow, but there was a small, tired smile tugging at your mouth. “You figured right. Want some wine?”

“Sure,” he said, moving closer. You poured him a glass, sliding it across the counter, and the two of you stood there for a moment in comfortable silence.

But Jungkook couldn’t keep it casual for long.

“I wanted to talk,” he said finally.

You looked at him, your expression unreadable for a moment, then you nodded slowly. “About today.”

“Yeah.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter, swirling your wine. “I know you’re going to say I didn’t have to leave, but… it was better. Yunna was right.”

Jungkook frowned. “Better for who?”

“For Sunni,” you said gently. “She’s a kid, Kook. She needed you and her mom. I’m… not part of that. Not in moments like this.”

He stepped closer, his brow furrowing. “You are part of it. Maybe not in the way Yunna is, but I was thinking about it and…”

“Jungkook,” you cut in, your tone soft but firm, “you can’t expect me to be everywhere. This is still new. She’s still your kid first. I get that, and it’s okay. But… yeah, it stings sometimes. I wanted to be there for you both, and I couldn’t.”

Your honesty made his chest tighten. You weren’t angry… just quietly, painfully honest.

Jungkook exhaled, leaning against the counter beside you. “I get why Yunna said it. I do. But I hate that you felt like you had to leave.”

You gave him a small smile. “You didn’t fight me too hard on it.”

“Because I didn’t want to make it worse for Sunni,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But for the record? I wanted you there. The whole time.”

Your gaze softened at that, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything.

Then you asked quietly, “Are you okay with this? With me… not always fitting in perfectly? Because this is… this is the life you have, Jungkook. And sometimes, it’s not going to be about us. It’s going to be about you, Yunna, and Sunni.”

Jungkook turned to you fully, his expression serious. “I know. And I’m okay with that. But don’t ever think you’re not wanted in it. You’re not… on the outside. Not to me.”

For a moment, your eyes dropped to your glass, your fingers tapping lightly against it. You didn’t look fully convinced, but you gave him a small nod. “Okay.”

He reached for your hand, resting his over yours on the counter. “Hey. Look at me.” You did, reluctantly, and his voice softened. “I love you. All of this is new, yeah. But I’m not going anywhere. And I want you there, even when it’s messy. Especially then.”

For the first time that night, your smile felt genuine—tired but warm.

“I love you too,” you said quietly.

Jungkook squeezed your hand, leaning in just enough to kiss your temple. You didn’t need to say anything else.

For now, that was enough.

—----

The restaurant was quiet in the late afternoon, the soft hum of the refrigerators and the occasional clink of dishes being stacked in the kitchen filling the space. You stood near the bar, sleeves rolled up, checking over invoices with the kind of intense focus you always had when you worked. Your hair was loose today, a little messy from running your fingers through it too many times as you paced between tables, making sure everything looked as it should.

You were so wrapped up in a conversation with one of your chefs who wanted to changed the garnish on a pasta dish that you didn’t notice the front door open until a familiar voice called:

“Working hard or hardly working, Miss Y/n?”

Your head snapped up, and there was Jungkook, leaning against the doorframe with that smug grin that somehow managed to annoy and warm you at the same time. Next to him, half hiding behind his leg, was Sunni.

“Jungkook,” you said, surprised, but there was a soft smile tugging at your lips. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, sauntering in as if he owned the place. “Thought I’d bring someone who wanted to see you.”

He stepped aside just enough to reveal Sunni standing behind him, half hiding behind his leg, her arm carefully wrapped in a light bandage with colorful bandaids peeking out.

Your face shifted instantly, concern flickering first, then softening into a warm smile. You had seen her at the school nurse office but not much nor didn’t you have the time to talk to her, and although he reassured you it wasn’t serious, actually seeing Sunni now made your chest tighten a little.

“Look at you,” you said, crouching down so you were eye level with the girl. “You okay?”

Sunni nodded, proud. “Yep. I was brave. Didn’t cry at all. But my knees all are wrapped in bandage I have to wear for a week!”

Jungkook chuckled, crossing his arms. “She’s been telling everyone that part.”

“Well, good,” you said, reaching out to gently tap the edge of Sunni’s bandage. “But still, you fall down the stairs and you come here instead of me going to you? I should’ve been the one visiting you, not the other way around.”

Sunni giggled at your mock-scolding. “But you were busy. Dad said you were working.”

“Not busy enough for you, goblin,” you said, softer this time, and there was something surprising even to you in how naturally it came out. Jungkook caught it, his grin softening as he watched the two of you. You stood and gestured toward a table. “Come on, sit. You came all the way here, I’m not letting you leave without dessert.”

Jungkook raised a brow as he sat. “We already had dinner.”

“I didn’t say dinner,” you countered. “I said dessert. Huge difference.” You looked at Sunni. “What do you feel like eating? Anything you want.”

Sunni’s eyes brightened. “Can you make that chocolate thing? The one you showed me before? With the melting middle?”

“Molten lava cake?”

“Yeah! But… maybe smaller. So I can eat two.”

You laughed. “Ambitious. I like her.” You looked at Jungkook. “And you?”

“I’ll take whatever gets me an excuse to stay here longer,” he said casually, and you rolled your eyes, hiding a smile as you turned toward the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, Sunni sat at the table, swinging her legs, a tiny spoon in her hand as she eagerly waited for her dessert. Jungkook sat opposite her, watching you move behind the counter, plating two miniature lava cakes with the kind of effortless precision that came from years of doing it.

“You know,” Jungkook said after a moment, leaning back in his chair, “I think she likes you more than she lets on.”

You shot him a look, feigning disbelief. “Who, Sunni? Please. She’s just here for the cake.”

“I dunno,” Jungkook teased, smirking. “She could’ve asked me to take her anywhere. She wanted to see you.”

At that, Sunni— without looking up from her plate— murmured, “I like her better than uncle Jimin. He doesn’t make cake.”

Jungkook laughed, loud and amused, and your chest tightened in the best way as you set the plate in front of Sunni.

“Well, I guess I can’t argue with that logic,” you said, sitting down beside her.

Sunni took a bite, her eyes widening. “This is so good. You should make this for me every time I come.”

“Every time?” you raised a brow.

“Yeah. But also maybe something with glitter on it.”

You blinked, then tilted your head thoughtfully. “Glitter on cake… Okay, now that’s a challenge.”

Sunni looked at you with complete seriousness. “You can do it. Dad says you know everything about everything.”

Jungkook watched the exchange quietly, his arm resting lazily along the back of his chair, a soft smile tugging at his lips. You gave him a look and he only smiled.

For him, it wasn’t the cake, or even the laughter that mattered, it was this. The three of you sitting together, like it had been the most natural thing in the world. And for you, who caught his gaze briefly, it felt the same.

After some minutes of just talking and some silence, the waiter came to pick up the plates as you told him to put some dessert to take away. He brought the bag to you and left after you announced you were going to take the day off and coming back tomorrow to continue with what you were leaving unfinished. Jungkook smiled at that.

“Free desserts and you coming with us?” He smiled. “This might be the best day ever.” You rolled your eyes, smiling.

Sunni was still scraping the last bits of melted chocolate from her plate, her little brow furrowed in determined focus, when she suddenly looked up at you. “Wait,” Sunni said, blinking, spoon still halfway to her mouth. “Free desserts… you didn’t pay for this?”

Jungkook, who was leaning back in his chair with that lazy smile, raised a brow, clearly amused at the sudden observation.

You tilted your head, pretending to be confused. “Pay for what?”

“For this,” Sunni said, waving her spoon toward the empty plates, as if you had committed some sort of crime. “The cake. The drinks. The water. You just… you just told them to make it, and they brought it. And no one gave you a check!”

Jungkook laughed softly, sipping his water, but his eyes stayed on you, curious where this was going.

You leaned on the back of a chair, one eyebrow lifting. “Why would I pay for it?”

“Because… because that’s what you do at restaurants!” Sunni insisted, looking between Jungkook and you like she had uncovered a conspiracy.

Jungkook nodded toward you, smirking. “Go on, tell her.”

You crouched down in front of Sunni, resting your elbows on your knees, your tone suddenly mock-serious, like you were about to share a great secret. “You know how some people… own things?”

Sunni’s eyes widened. “Like… like own a house?”

“Exactly,” you said, nodding gravely. “Well, I own this restaurant. And a few others, too. So, technically…” You tapped the table for emphasis. “All of this is already mine. I don’t pay because it would be like… paying myself. Which would be silly.”

Sunni’s jaw dropped slightly, her spoon clattering onto the plate. “You… you own this?”

“Mhmm,” you said casually, sitting back on your heels. “This, and some other Mariani restaurants. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”

Jungkook’s grin widened as Sunni’s eyes sparkled, clearly processing what that meant.

“Wait,” Sunni said, leaning closer, whispering as if anyone else could hear your secret. “So you can just eat here for free… forever?”

You smirked. “I can eat here whenever I want, yes. But—” you paused dramatically, your tone shifting into something conspiratorial, “—since you and I are officially friends now…”

Sunni’s eyes grew even wider. “We are?”

You reached out, ruffling her hair gently. “Of course we are. You like dinosaurs, I like dinosaurs, you like my cakes, I make you cakes. That’s basically the foundation of every great friendship.” Sunni giggled, nodding furiously. “And,” you continued, lowering your voice like you were letting Sunni in on a huge secret, “because you’re my friend, you now have special VIP privileges at any Mariani restaurant. You can walk in, say my name, and ask for anything you want.”

Jungkook let out a laugh at that, shaking his head. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”

But Sunni wasn’t paying attention to him. Her face lit up, her little legs kicking under the table as she processed what this meant.

“Anything?”

“Anything,” you confirmed. “Pasta, pizza, dessert, you name it. You’ll probably even get extra sprinkles if you ask nicely.”

Sunni gasped, almost bouncing in her seat. “So… I could come here and say, ‘I want five cakes,’ and they have to give it to me?”

You pretended to think about it, then shrugged. “Technically… yes. But maybe don’t ask for five cakes all at once, or you might explode.”

Jungkook leaned his chin on his hand, amused. “You’re creating a monster.”

But Sunni was already planning. “I’m gonna tell Mia at school. She’s always saying her uncle owns a store, but you own a restaurant! No— like, lots of restaurants! You’re way cooler.”

You chuckled at that, glancing up at Jungkook briefly, catching his soft smile before looking back at Sunni.

“Well, don’t go bragging too much,” you teased. “We don’t want a whole classroom showing up here asking for free food. This is just for you, okay? VIP treatment.”

Sunni nodded solemnly, like she had just been sworn into some secret club. “Okay. Just for me.” Then, after a beat, she added, “But maybe… if I bring Daddy, he can have cake too, right?”

Your smile softened. “Of course he can.”

Jungkook chuckled, watching as Sunni carefully licked the last bits of chocolate from her spoon. He reached out, squeezing your hand briefly under the table, just enough for you to glance at him.

The look he gave you was quiet but full of warmth, the kind that said, ‘you have no idea how much I love this right now.’

And for once, you didn’t even try to hide how much you were smiling.

The three of you walked out of the restaurant into the late afternoon light, the air warm but with that soft breeze that made it feel pleasant. Jungkook had one hand shoved casually into his pocket while his other rested gently on the small of your back, guiding you as you stepped onto the sidewalk. Sunni skipped ahead, humming some little tune to herself, clearly still high on the sugar rush from dessert.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jungkook said suddenly, pointing at Sunni as she spun around to face you. “You do realize she’s going to milk this whole VIP thing for all it’s worth, right?”

You raised a brow, pretending to be innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Jungkook shot you a look, fighting back a grin. “She’s gonna be knocking on the restaurant door every weekend asking for five cakes, three pizzas, and a side of extra sprinkles.”

From a few steps ahead, Sunni turned, her face bright. “Can I really do that?!”

You smirked, walking a little closer to Sunni. “Technically, yes. But remember what I said, you don’t want to explode.”

Sunni considered this very seriously, her nose scrunching up. “Okay… maybe just three cakes then.”

Jungkook groaned dramatically, rubbing his hand over his face. “You’re creating a monster. A sugar-fueled monster.”

You laughed, glancing at him over your shoulder. “Relax, Jungkook. You can handle one cake-crazed child, can’t you?”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes playfully. “I can handle her just fine. It’s you I’m worried about. You’re gonna regret handing her that kind of power.”

“I won’t regret anything,” you said, brushing it off with a wave of your hand, though your smirk grew. “I like spoiling my friends.”

Jungkook raised a brow at that, leaning in closer to you as you walked. His voice was low, just for you. “Oh, so she’s a friend? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You gave him a pointed look, but your lips twitched like you were holding back a laugh. “Don’t start. It’s… nice, okay? We’re nice to each other now.”

Jungkook grinned, clearly enjoying how defensive you got. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. You’re thinking something,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him.

He tilted his head, his grin softening into something more tender. “I’m thinking I’ve never seen her this happy walking out of a restaurant. That’s all.”

That quiet, warm sincerity made your chest tighten for a brief second, but before you could respond, Sunni tugged on your hand.

“Hey,” Sunni said, eyes big. “Do you think I could… like, eat at all the other restaurants too? You said ‘Mariani’ ones, right?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, crouching a little to Sunni’s height as you waited at the crosswalk. “Anywhere with that name on it, you just say you’re with me, and they’ll take care of you.”

Sunni gasped again, delighted, then looked up at Jungkook. “Dad, can we go to all of them?”

Jungkook gave you a look, half exasperated, half amused. “See what you started?”

You only shrugged, smirking. “Don’t blame me for giving her options.”

“Options?” Jungkook repeated, snorting. “You just gave her the keys to an entire restaurant empire.”

Sunni tugged your sleeve, still beaming. “You’re the coolest person I know.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes dramatically. “Hey, what about me?!”

“You don’t own restaurants,” Sunni said bluntly, already skipping toward the other side of the street as the light changed.

You laughed so hard you had to cover your mouth, and Jungkook groaned, walking after your daughter.

“Great,” Jungkook muttered, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Now I’m just the lame parent.”

“You’re not lame,” you teased, falling into step beside him. “You’re just… not me.”

Jungkook shot you a side glance, his mouth twitching despite himself. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You only grinned, your steps lighter than usual as you followed Sunni down the street.

The sun had already dipped below the rooftops when you finally got back to Jungkook’s house, the soft orange glow outside turning into a dusky blue. Sunni practically skipped through the front door, still riding the high of her new “VIP restaurant privileges,” while Jungkook locked the door behind you. You followed them in, slipping off your heels by the entryway, a faint smile still tugging at your lips.

Sunni immediately plopped onto the couch, kicking her shoes off and turning to face you with wide, eager eyes.

“So… when can we go to the other restaurants? Tomorrow? Next week? Can we make a list? Dad, we need a list.”

Jungkook groaned, running a hand down his face as he dropped his keys on the counter.

“Sunni, you just ate steak and two cakes by yourself. Don’t you think we should take a little break before we plan a food tour of the city?”

“But you said I could go anytime!” Sunni argued, pointing at you like you were some magical genie. “You said it’s okay!”

You, leaning against the kitchen counter, raised your hands in mock surrender, your grin widening. “I did say that,” you admitted, amused. “I never mentioned when, though. Maybe not all at once, huh? We don’t want you to get sick of my food.”

“I could never get sick of it,” Sunni said with absolute seriousness, crossing her arms like she was insulted by the suggestion.

Jungkook gave you a pointed look, his tone dry. “Congratulations. You’re officially cooler than me.”

You bit back a laugh, pretending to look apologetic. “It’s not a competition, Jungkook.”

“Yes, it is,” he said, walking over and leaning against the counter beside you. He lowered his voice just enough so Sunni couldn’t hear, his lips curving into a wry smirk. “And you’re clearly winning.”

You tilted your head at him, feigning innocence. “Can’t help it if I’m naturally a winner.”

Jungkook huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head, but there was something warm in his gaze that made your chest tighten. Meanwhile, Sunni hopped off the couch and padded toward you.

“Dad, you’re not mad, right? That I like her more now?”

Jungkook crouched a little to meet his daughter’s eye level, his tone teasing but affectionate. “Who said you like her more?”

“I do,” Sunni said with a shrug. “She owns restaurants.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Jungkook shot you a look over his shoulder.

“You’re not helping,” he muttered.

“I’m not trying to help,” you said, smirking.

Later, after dinner and some quiet time, Sunni finally started to get drowsy. You followed Jungkook to Sunni’s room, where she crawled into bed clutching her little stuffed dinosaur.

“Goodnight, kiddo,” Jungkook said softly, tucking her in.

“Goodnight, Dad.” Sunni turned her head to you, yawning. “Goodnight, Y/n. Don’t forget our restaurant list, okay?”

You crouched beside her, smoothing the blanket over her tiny shoulders.

“I won’t forget. We’ll make the best list ever.”

Sunni smiled sleepily at that, her eyes fluttering shut. Jungkook stood for a moment, just watching, before nodding toward the hallway.

Back in the living room, Jungkook dropped onto the couch with a sigh. You sat beside him, pulling your legs up under you.

“She really does think you’re the coolest person in the world now,” Jungkook said, leaning back against the cushions.

You shrugged, a teasing smile on your lips. “I am the coolest person in the world.”

Jungkook turned his head to look at you, his expression softening, almost too sincere for how casual the conversation had been.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice quiet. “You kind of are.”

You glanced at him, and for a second, neither of you said anything. The house was quiet, Sunni asleep in the other room, and it felt warm, domestic in a way that felt so natural it almost scared you but didn’t want to make you run away.

Jungkook broke the silence with a small, crooked grin.

“You know, I was kind of hoping she’d hate you forever. At least then I’d still be the favorite.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Sorry, Jungkook. You lost that battle the second she realized I can get her free pizza and desserts.”

Jungkook laughed too, shaking his head, and for a while, you just sat there, leaning into each other, comfortable and easy, like this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

And you thought, how stupid you were. You should’ve used that tactic from the start to win that little girl over.

———

You had been lounging on Jungkook’s couch for maybe ten minutes, scrolling through some emails you had no real intention of answering just yet, when you heard the front door open. The sound of Sunni’s high-pitched voice and Jungkook’s deeper laugh drifted into the living room, and you sat up a little straighter, setting your phone aside.

“Hey,” Jungkook greeted when he stepped inside, dropping Sunni’s backpack by the door. He was still in his leather jacket he wore in the morning, hair slightly tousled from the wind, and there was that easy grin that never failed to soften something in your chest.

“Hi,” you said, your lips curving into a smile as you stood. “You’re late.”

“Traffic.” He leaned in without hesitation, kissing you once, then again, slower this time, like he’d been waiting for this all day. You smiled against his mouth, tilting your head to deepen it just slightly until…

“Ewwwww!”

Sunni’s voice cut through the moment, and you pulled apart just in time to see her standing there with her hands dramatically covering her eyes.

“You guys are gross,” Sunni declared, stepping around you to grab her backpack.

Jungkook smirked, throwing you a knowing look before crouching to help Sunni unzip her jacket.

“Go shower, kiddo. You smell like recess.”

“I do not,” Sunni muttered but stomped off toward the bathroom anyway.

Jungkook straightened, turning back to you with a grin. “You missed me.”

“I had an hour free, so yes,” you said, tugging his jacket collar playfully before leaning up to kiss him again, quick and teasing. “Also, Sunni called us gross, which means we’re doing something right.”

He laughed, pulling you closer until you were pressed against the back of the couch, stealing another kiss, slower this time, warm and easy.

By the time Sunni came back, damp-haired and in fresh clothes, Jungkook had gone into the kitchen to check his phone, leaving you curled on the couch. Sunni plopped herself on the carpet, opening a notebook and scattering pencils everywhere.

“Homework?” you asked.

“Yeah,” Sunni said with a dramatic sigh, flipping a page. “But I don’t get this question. It’s stupid.”

“What’s the question?”

Sunni read it out loud in a flat, unamused voice. “Why do some animals sleep with one eye open?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s not stupid, that’s actually pretty interesting.”

“It’s dumb,” Sunni insisted, glaring at the paper like it had insulted her personally.

“Not dumb,” you corrected, sitting up straighter. “Dolphins, for example, sleep with one half of their brain at a time so they can keep swimming and watch for predators. Birds do it too when they’re in a flock, the ones on the edges sleep with the eye facing out open, so they can spot danger.”

Sunni’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Wait—what?!”

You nodded, warming up now that you had an audience.

“Yup. Ducks do it. Even some reptiles. It’s called unihemispheric slow-wave sleep.”

“Uni…hemi… what?”

“Unihemispheric. It means half their brain sleeps, half stays awake.”

Sunni blinked at you, jaw slightly dropped. “That’s so cool. You’re so cool and smart.”

Jungkook’s voice floated in from the kitchen, amused. “I’ve been saying that for months!”

You smirked, trying to act unaffected by the compliment, but the way Sunni was staring at you, like you were some kind of superhero, made your chest feel oddly warm.

“And I’m about to be your favorite person ever,” you added casually, leaning back against the couch cushions before pointing to the bag on the table. “I brought you that lava cake dessert.”

Sunni gasped dramatically, dropping her pencil. “You what?!”

“Yeah, bigger than the last one.”

Sunni jumped to her feet, hugging you tightly before you even had time to react.

“You’re the best,” Sunni said, squeezing you around the middle. Then, with the quick, chaotic energy only kids have, she bolted toward the table to eat her dessert.

“Talking about lava,” Jungkook appeared in the doorway, leaning against it with a smirk. “She has an art project and has to do a volcano. We bought one to see how it works. Since you know everything, want to try it with us?”

“Dad is afraid to mess it up, he already bought two.” Sunni accused him.

You laughed, “so… that was your way of telling me you need help for a kid’s homework?”

“Yep,” You snorted and he smiled.

“Fine, bring it.”

Jungkook’s grin softened into something warm, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual. “It’s in my car, I’ll. bring it inside.”

By the time he carried the volcano inside, Sunni was practically vibrating with excitement. She’d insisted on being the one to hold the box, even though it was nearly half her size, waddling through the living room like a very determined penguin.

“Careful, careful,” Jungkook said, trying to take it from her before she tripped.

“I got it!” Sunni protested, huffing dramatically as she dropped it on the coffee table with a satisfying thud. She whipped around to you, eyes shining. “Can we do it now? Right now?”

You sat on the edge of the couch, crossing one leg over the other with fake seriousness.

“Well, I don’t know… this kind of scientific experiment takes preparation, a clean workspace, proper supervision…”

“She’s kidding,” Jungkook cut in, grinning as he headed to the kitchen. “I’ll grab some towels before she changes her mind.”

Sunni gasped, spinning back to you.

“You’re joking? You were joking?!”

You let your lips twitch into a tiny smirk. “Maybe.”

Sunni groaned dramatically but flopped down beside you, leaning into your side as you began opening the box.

Soon the three of you were kneeling on the floor, the coffee table covered with towels and little bowls of vinegar and baking soda. Sunni read the instructions like she was reciting ancient prophecy, while Jungkook poured liquids and tried not to laugh when you corrected him.

“No, you’re doing it wrong,” you said, taking the cup from him. “You have to mix this first. It’s a layering thing.”

“Really?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, really,” you said, with the same stubborn confidence you used when arguing with lawyers or chefs. “That’s why you failed your first volcano.”

Jungkook smirked. “Oh, excuse me, Professor Y/l/n.”

“You should excuse her,” Sunni chimed in, looking at you with unshakable admiration. “She’s smart. She knows stuff. Like dolphin brains.”

You gave a small, amused shake of your head, hiding how much that made you smile.

Once everything was ready, you handed the little cup of red liquid to Sunni.

“Okay, you do the honors. Slowly, so we can see the eruption properly.”

Sunni nodded like she was defusing a bomb, tongue sticking out in concentration. She poured, and instantly the volcano bubbled over with fizzy red foam, spilling down the sides in little rivers.

“WHOA!” Sunni shouted, eyes huge. “It’s alive! Dad look, it’s alive!”

Jungkook laughed, sitting back on his heels. “That’s pretty cool.”

“It’s the coolest,” Sunni corrected, turning to you with a grin. “You’re the best, you know that? You’re, like, my favorite scientist now.”

You gave a soft laugh, glancing at Jungkook before ruffling Sunni’s damp hair. “Well, thank you, goblin.”

“Do you think I can make another one? A bigger one?”

Jungkook groaned playfully. “How many volcanoes does one kid need?”

Sunni gave him a look, the same unimpressed look you often gave him, which made you laugh out loud.

“Apparently,” you said, smirking, “as many as she wants.”

Jungkook shook his head but smiled, watching the two of you crouched over the little erupting volcano. Sunni’s hair was still damp from her shower, sticking to her forehead, and you looked completely at ease, your laughter soft and real as you leaned closer to wipe a little spill with a towel.

Something about it felt different now. Not forced, not tense, just… easy. Sunni wasn’t clinging to Jungkook or treating you like an unwanted guest. She was sitting right up against you, asking questions about how volcanoes worked and laughing when you teased her about being “a very demanding scientist.”

For the first time, you all looked less like two worlds cautiously trying to fit together and more like you simply belonged in the same picture.

When the volcano fizzled out, Sunni sat back, sighing happily.

“This was awesome. We should do more science stuff. And maybe… can we make dinner together too? Like, you know… you can show me other cooking things?”

You looked at her, a little surprised but smiling softly.

“Sure. Whenever you want.”

“Good,” Sunni said with a firm nod, then leaned into your side briefly before jumping to her feet. “I’m gonna tell uncle Jimin we made an epic volcano.”

And with that, she ran off to find Jungkook’s phone.

Jungkook looked over at you, you were wiping your hands on a towel, pretending not to notice how warm your smile had gotten.

“She likes you,” Jungkook said quietly, voice low and full of something that made your chest tighten.

You shrugged lightly, trying to downplay it.

“She likes volcanoes.”

Jungkook smirked, leaning in just enough for his shoulder to brush yours.

“Mm. Sure. Volcanoes.”

And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to prove yourself… not to him, not to Sunni. It just felt… right.

anyways…. i edited this at 4am and then 15 minutes ago so if u saw any mistakes just stfu i don’t wanna know thank u

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rainbow crayons. 

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

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

"Lovely lady, is that you?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What made this any different? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you—?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How so?" He asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Such as?" 

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

Jungkook hums, "Why now?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, there's a familiar voice." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

author’s note: wellll… hey people 🤭 guess who’s back! i don’t wanna make this long so i won’t say too much, we can take this to the inbox if u guys want 💋 for those who remember me, hello lovies!!! i’m thinking of reposting some of my old fics before giving you new content hehe ! special thanks to my day ones who fought hard and brought me here again even through my hesitation, you know who you are 🥰🩷 love u!!! enjoy!!!

In the backseat of his car, you stare forward at his hands gripping the steering wheel. There's something hypnotic about the way his fingers curl around the leather. You bite your lips, an attempt to suppress the heat easily pooling low in your belly, your thighs rubbing together to conceal the effects of your lewd thoughts.

One in particular stands out. It’s the one that puts a shameless, selfish smile on your face when you fixate on the fourth finger of his left hand lacking a gold band.

It's been a few months since that day — since Areum, your best friend, showed up at your door in a frantic state, her finger jabbing the bell over and over in a panicked rhythm that jolted you from your bed.

You had nearly tripped down the stairs in your rush to swing the entrance open, and when you did, you were instantly tackled by your friend collapsing into your arms, her tears soaking through your shirt.

Kicking the door shut, your hands busy embracing Areum with your eyes wide, you tried to steady both her and yourself. In between her uncontrollable sobs, shaking you to the core, she let her worries tumble out her mouth. Words came in a torrent, fast and breathless, barely giving you any time to fully process them as she buried her face in your neck.

It took a moment for the huge news to break through your thick, slowed down brain, but then it struck you, Areum chanting it repeatedly as if she couldn’t grasp her mind around it: her parents were splitting up. Divorce was imminent.

Your own disbelief mirrored hers, but for very different reasons. You felt it in the way your shock turned into excitement; indecorous, depraved exhilaration, with your heartbroken friend still in your arms.

Even as her sobs echoed, your mind latched onto one single thought, repeating like a mantra: he’s single. Mr. Jeon is single.

You felt terribly guilty when you sensed a smile that you couldn’t quite suppress stretching over your features, and the jittery sensation that came with it flowed your body and reached your hands, tightening harder around Areum to try and squeeze the shame out of yourself.

Since that day, you’ve lost count of how many afternoons you’ve spent at the Jeon’s house. You've been doing your best to be the friend Areum needs, to keep her company when what she fears the most is loneliness. You’ve been a constant presence, helping her through the mountain of neglected work she left piling up, distracting her with baking sessions, or mindlessly binge watching entire seasons of Friends on lazy evenings. Anything to keep her mind off the pain.

But each visit is an opportunity. A fleeting chance to see him. To study how he moves around the house with an intensity that still manages to feel like a calm, steady current filling every room.

You’ve memorized many of his mannerisms. The way his eyes soften when he looks at Areum; the way his mouth twitches into a faint smile when she tries to cheer him up; the way he nods at you in recognisment, silently letting you know he’s grateful for what you’re doing to help his daughter.

You wish you could help him too. In other ways. Ways you know you shouldn’t be thinking about.

You can’t avoid it, though. You've witnessed him come back home from work countless times now, watched the tension etched across his features as he steps through the door, wished you could be the one to ease it off his shoulders. Let your hand travel down his chest, reach his belt.

You feel disgusting unfailingly, but how can you not let your mind wander when he groans so deliciously every time he loosens the tie around his neck and kicks off his shoes?

You know exactly what his next move is, the imperceptible sigh melting the weariness off his face the moment he greets his daughter, a tender smile breaking through his exhaustion.

“Any requests for dinner tonight, girls?” He always asks, his gaze jumping between Areum and you on the living room couch, waiting for a response.

After your friend replies she likes whatever her daddy cooks, your stomach twists with nerves when his eyes meet yours to make sure there’s no complaints, and you quickly shake your head, biting your lips to keep from saying something foolish. Is your dick on the menu? Perhaps?

And the man can cook. Exceptionally well. He moves around the kitchen with purpose in his every movement, each dish you have the honor of tasting better than the last.

While you help setting the table, you catch yourself staring more times than you should. You can’t help but wonder if there’s anything he’s not good at. Fuck. Is there even a single flawed bone in this man’s body? With every day you spend at his house, you’re convinced there can’t be.

You want him to notice you, the same way you notice him. You tell yourself you’re just being a good friend to Areum, but you know there’s more behind your constant visits.

There’s definitely more behind the way your skirts get shorter, your tops tighter, your bras purposefully not worn.

You feel crazed when you convince yourself his gaze falls upon your exposed thighs when he puts a plate in front of you at dinner, or when his eyes seem to be caught, only for a fleeting second, by your hardened nipples, evident through your poor excuses of shirts.

Even when your interactions don’t go further than a brief exchange about college and Areum or quiet, polite smiles in passing, the mere thought of being around him sends a rush through your veins.

You’ve been seeking more and more of that after one particular night, your feet making their way down the stairs after Areum had fallen asleep and you had rathered take your leave. You found him stretched on the couch, a drink in his hand.

His eyes hazily followed your movements, voice low and slightly slurred, “Are you leaving already?”

Hearing him acknowledge you outside of the usual context of Areum’s presence made you stop dead in your tracks, your reddened cheeks turning to face him, the dark color spreading all over your features when you fully took him in.

He was cladded in a comfortable attire, one you almost never saw on him, black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt deliciously hugging his shoulders, the short sleeves revealing the intricate ink designs running all over his right arm.

You shook yourself out of your trance suddenly, stuttering, “Huh… yes. Didn’t wanna be a bother.”

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, “Oh, you’re not. I wish all of my daughter’s friends were like you.”

His words hung in the air, filling it with sincerity and a sudden tension landing right on your chest. You quickly brushed it away with a laugh, a nervous, shaky sound escaping your lips, trying to mask the way your heart was racing with desperation for the gods to grace you with the depth of his tipsy voice all night.

To this day, you still think your horny and delusional prayer was heard when he nodded to the empty space beside him, lifting his glass slightly, “Care for a drink? You’re 21 now, right?”

You only nodded shyly, more out of reflex than actual thought, slowly making your way to sit beside him just as he had instructed. The proximity sent a wave of heat through your body, your insides melting with the lava, the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent replacing the burned ground with a trail of flowers.

You were willing to do whatever he wanted from you at that moment, even if it meant downing the harsh liquor he poured into a glass for you. You took a sip, struggling not to grimace at the burn that followed. He smiled.

It was probably the alcohol loosening his tongue, but that night, for the first time, you saw a side of Mr. Jeon that he kept carefully hidden away, his vulnerability a strong characteristic of it.

His words tumbled out in an almost confessional tone. He spoke about his marriage, about how he had always felt somewhat trapped. Still a teenager himself, he was only 17 when he found out his soon to be wife was pregnant with Areum; 23 when they decided to marry. Voice soft but tinged with sadness, he admitted he never felt like he got to live his youth to the fullest, certainly blessed with his perfect baby, but also chained down by responsibilities and a tightening pressure he shouldn’t have had to deal with at such a young age.

Then, with his eyes burning into your shiny and equally flaring ones, he paused just for a moment, and you felt he could see right through you, into the very core of your being. That he had you all figured out.

“When I look at you,” he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper, gaze traveling down your bare thighs, squished together on his couch, “I feel like I get a bit of that youth back. You're so full of life, so fresh, so… full of love for my daughter. I'm glad she has you. Glad we have you.”

As he found your orbs again, you noticed his had significantly darkened. You were sure your heart would have failed you if you had kept navigating in his gaze; instead, you looked down at your hands folded in your lap.

That night, he paid for your uber and insisted you sent him a text when you made it home. It was only read the morning after, and left unanswered.

Even now, you’re convinced that if it weren’t for the whisky, those words would have stayed locked away in his mind, never seeing the light of day. Not even if he were forced to speak them at gunpoint.

Still, you’re grateful for the magical effects of alcohol and how they’ve brought you a tiny bit closer to give a look into his complicated world. It has awakened something in you, which led you to the conclusion that you always want to be there for him. Help him through the doubts and regrets. Be the youth he missed. Take the weight off his shoulders. Let him use you on that couch.

That feral, undomesticated monster inside you is a hundred times hungrier when, exiting the library building with Areum by your side, babbling in your ear about today’s plans, you see his sleek Mercedes parked outside.

He honks, getting his daughter’s attention too, who excitedly walks over the car when she spots it. The sound works as a pavlovian trigger for you, it has your mouth salivating and your senses alert, catching up with your friend and getting in the backseat.

It has been a few weeks since you last saw him, both you and Areum too busy with assignments and outside activities, and his charming smile as he asks about the day cuts the breath from your lungs.

You’re silent as your friend fills him in, your ears struggling to pick up her speech as it only takes a few more seconds for your eyes to be caught by an interesting detail, one that has your world rocked: he finally took his wedding ring off.

The wedding ring that has stood as an unspoken boundary between you and your reckless fantasies is gone. The realization hits hard, and suddenly your mind veers into dangerous territory, conjuring visions that feel too real. You can almost feel his left hand wrapping around your waist, pulling you in, claiming you. And the images are so vivid, so consuming, that you don’t even notice when Areum nudges your shoulder.

You don’t register her calling your name until the sound finally cuts through, pulling you back to the present with a jolt. You blink a few times, trying to ground yourself, before turning to face her, Areum’s voice light but her expression amusedly curious, “Dad asked you a question.”

Your whole face drops, panic clear in your features, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks. You've been zoning out, lost in a daydream about the very man sitting in front of you, the one you literally just ignored, too busy thinking of him. The irony is almost too much.

Your eyes find his in the rearview mirror, and the slight smirk on his lips only makes you look even dumber, stuttering all throughout your explanation, “Sorry, Mr. Jeon. I— um. I was distracted.”

He simply chuckles, low and clearly not offended by your lapse in attention. His focus is back on the road, but as he speaks you keep yours on the words he’s directing at you this time, “It’s okay. And I always tell you, just Jeongguk is fine. I was asking about your day, you seem a little worn out.”

“Oh. I—it went well! I guess I'm just a bit tired,” the words feel clumsy as they leave your mouth, but you hope they sound convincing enough. You just can’t stop your eyes from falling on his left hand.

“Well, you can’t be!” It’s Areum’s excitement interrupting your furious imagination and bubbling over, “You need to help me set up for tonight. Then, we’re gonna do our makeup, our hair, and dress up. I'm so excited!”

Right. The reason why you could finally see Mr. Jeon after weeks and why you’re currently driving to his house is because it’s Areum’s birthday.

The day feels significant in so many ways. You're excited to witness your best friend turn a year older, especially with all the hardships she’s been faced with. Honored that you’re the one she’s chosen to help make this night perfect, ensure every detail is just how she’s pictured this moment to be like. And you can’t deny that you feel slightly nervous at the prospect of tonight, knowing there are going to be faces you’re not that well acquainted with. You'd say you’re a bit awkward with new people, but you’ll try to bear through it for the sake of Areum’s happiness.

But mostly, you feel guilty. Because no matter how much you try to focus on your friend, the thought that truly makes your insides all mushy with fuzziness is the fact that you’re going to be in the proximity of her dad, again.

You crave for the smallest moments. The brief second where you’ll catch his gaze. The way his cologne will subtly linger in the hallways of his home. Your eyes have a habit of drifting to his hands, those strong, veined, tattooed hands that move so smoothly whenever he speaks.

Even now, in his car, as you glance at his side profile, there’s a ridiculous and almost cosmic sense of gratitude. Like you’ve been chosen. Blessed by whatever God to exist on this planet at the same time as him, to simply witness his presence.

It should be enough. It really should. But you’re a sinner. You're greedy, wanting more. Always more.

That buzzing sensation sticks with you throughout the entire day, hours packed with anxious over-organization, both you and Areum moving as if every step had to be executed flawlessly. And with all the chaos, he’s there in the back of your mind. Mr. Jeon.

He helps for a while, joining you in the backyard as you set up for the evening, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the whirlwind around you. But then he disappears into his studio, into his own space, leaving you to your tasks, and you don’t see him until hours later.

Yet, you still feel him, as if he’s always near. His upstairs studio’s window faces the garden, and it’s enough to make you hyper-aware of your every gesture. You straighten your back, slow your steps. Because even though you don’t know if he’s really watching, it feels like he is.

Getting your makeup, hair and outfit ready with Areum does slightly ease that sensation off your chest. You love these moments with her. Shared girlhood when you do each other’s eyeliner, the flutter of excitement as you zip up dresses, as you rummage through her closet, searching for the perfect piece to complete your look.

But even then, you’re brought back to the man working just a few rooms down the hallway. It's astonishing how easily Areum has access to everything she wants. The power her dad holds, the kind of wealth that makes life feel effortless in ways you can’t help but envy. For her, money isn’t just something that buys things. It shapes her world. It’s as simple as snapping her fingers.

You don’t resent her for it, not really. But it makes you wonder what it would be like to live in a world where nothing is out of reach. Where everything, even the man who haunts your thoughts, could be yours with the right words or a simple gesture.

When you see him again, you’re standing in his kitchen. Areum is still upstairs, fixing the tiniest details to her makeup, but you decided to come down early, just in case the first guests arrive, wanting to be helpful, wanting to keep yourself busy.

You’re momentarily lost in the view outside the window, the backyard garden bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights, soft hues blending beautifully with the sage and pastel yellow decorations. It pulls a small smile to your face, knowing your hard work paid off.

The quiet peace is soon interrupted by the sound of a cupboard cracking open behind you, and you startle, your heart giving a quick jump.

You turn, following the noise, and there he is — Jeongguk, bent over as he retrieves a bottle of red wine from the lower cupboard. As he straightens up, bottle in hand, he finds your eyes already staring in his. He's uncharacteristically deliberate as he lets his gaze wander up and down your figure.

You’ve dressed carefully for tonight, choosing a flowy pink dress that flutters delicately against your thighs. The corset top hugs your waist in all the right ways, accentuating your shape. It’s the kind of dress that makes you feel just a little more confident, a little more seen.

But now, under his gaze, you feel rather exposed, as if he’s seeing more than just the fabric of your dress. His eyes linger, and when his orbs dip to your chest, it’s almost as if he hesitates, like he’s trying to tear his eyes away but can’t.

You’re not even sure if the engrossed look on his face is real or just the product of your own twisted fantasies.

Still, your body responds instinctively, your hand drifting up to play with your necklace, an unconscious gesture, while your other arm wraps around your waist, as if you’re trying to hold yourself together under the intensity of his stare.

When his eyes return to your wide ones, he gives a subtle nod towards your dress, and although the smile that curves his lips is warm you can’t decipher that something else it wants to communicate.

His voice is smooth, literal honey, sweet and rich, dripping out from his pillowy lips, “What a beauty. You look very pretty.”

Now, you weren’t expecting that. It steals the breath from your lungs. It's not just the words, or even the way he says them, velvet wrapping around your senses. It’s how he seems to drink you in, his refined wine nothing in comparison. Like you’re something to be savored just as carefully.

At this point, you’re seriously questioning if there was a stronger substance in the liquor you and Areum shared earlier, even if you hadn’t taken big quantities. But you figure it must have been enough to distort the current reality around you. Or maybe, Mr. Jeon is the inebriated one.

You don't know how you find the voice to speak, or if you even do, the word escaping your lips in an uncoordinated mess, almost imperceptible, “Thanks.”

He hums deeply in response, and it vibrates through the space between you. You let out a shaky exhale the moment his gaze finally shifts away. He resumes the task at hand, effortlessly opening the bottle of wine and turning his back to you as he reaches for a glass from the higher cabinet.

The muscles in his shoulders shift under his shirt, and for a split second, you’re unsure what to do. Whether to stay, add anything else, flee the room entirely. Make small conversation about Areum’s birthday. Comment on his look, too. Oh, you’d have a lot to say about it.

You can tell he just wrapped up his work-related tasks for today from the way the first three buttons of his white shirt are opened, revealing his deep cleavage. His hair slightly tousled, but in a way that looks perfectly intentional, unintentionally. His slacks hug him deliciously, rounding the curve of his ass and making you swallow hard.

Your eyes can’t resist trailing over him, but they quickly move up to stare at the ceiling, feigning deep thought when he turns back to face you and the counter.

Surprisingly, he’s the one to break the silence first, again. The rich sound fills the air as he pours his red wine, the motion so precise, so fluid, it feels like witnessing an authentic art form.

He doesn’t bother looking up at you as he asks, seemingly casual, but slightly amused, “Is there a boy you’re trying to impress tonight?”

The way he steers the conversation makes you less agitated, suddenly confident. Especially with the question thrown your way. Teasing, almost belittling. You can see he’s not even trying to hide his pretty smirk, his focus on the wine flowing into the glass.

The question lingers, and you twirl your necklace around your fingers, smoothing down your dress with your other hand, your eyes flitting to his naked left hand, “Mh… you could say so.”

Of course, you’re not thinking about a boy. Mr. Jeon is no boy — he’s a man. The kind women dream about but know they’ll never find. The kind that belongs on the big screen or in the pages of a novel, with his effortless charm, wealth, looks that stop you in your tracks.

But he’s in front of you. And he’s tall, muscular, with hands that could crush or caress, tattooed in a way that makes your mouth dry up and water all at once.

It’s him you want to impress. You want to affect him the way he affects you. You want to pull him in, make him look at you the way he makes your world tilt on its axis with just a glance.

You’re hypnotized as you witness him in one of his rich man activities, performing a ritual with the wine glass. He brings it to his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the aroma. It’s sensual, the way he handles the glass, its liquid dancing with precision, as if even this simple act holds meaning. You can’t look away.

When he's satisfied, he finds you again, and your mouth is slightly open without you even realizing it. The moment he lifts the glass to his lips, you bite your own, almost harshly, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

His smile is soft. He must know exactly what he’s doing to you.

Jeongguk mutters into the glass, his words resounding even stronger, “Well, he’d be a fool not to fall for you.”

The implications of his comment make you swallow audibly, while he downs his first sip of the wine with fine ease, his Adam's apple bobbing with it. The whole time, his eyes never leave yours.

A thick silence stretches between you, and you wish you could break it but you don’t know how. Your mind spins with the unspoken tension, instead he seems entirely comfortable with it. He places the glass back on the counter, the soft clink of it slicing through the quiet. Smoothly, he nudges it in your direction, his movements slow, as if testing the waters.

His voice is inviting, even more than usual, “You want to try?”

”Is that wine?” You instantly cringe at the way you sound strained.

He hums, a low sound of affirmation, watching you carefully. You briefly glance at the glass, "I've never had it.”

”Have it, then.”

With a slow twist of his fingers around the base, he slides the glass toward you. As it moves across the marble surface, you notice how he rotates it imperceptibly, but purposefully, so that the side where his lips touched the rim is now facing you. The gesture is subtle, but the intent behind it is clear. At least to your deranged fantasies.

There’s a faint lip mark where his mouth had been, and the sight of it pulls you in, making your pulse pound in your ears. You look back up at him, finding his gaze still on you, expression unreadable.

Without a word you lift the glass, your fingers wrapping clumsily around its stem. You bring it to your lips, mouth closing over the spot his lips had just pressed on.

The wine hits your tongue — bitter, sharp, and unfamiliar. You gulp hard, the liquid burning slightly as it slides down your throat. Your face scrunches involuntarily; the richness of the flavor is too much for you, and you can’t help but grimace as the aftertaste lingers.

He watches, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. When you set the glass down, he effortlessly picks it back up and brushes his fingers across the rim.

His tone laced with amusement, he asks, “Love it?”

You shake your head quickly, trying to hide your discomfort.

His chuckle is low, a soft rumble that makes your stomach flip. Swirling the wine gently, he muses, "I heard there’s going to be alcohol tonight.”

You grumble lightly, slumping your shoulders, “Ugh, I know.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue like a secret meant just for you, his voice dipping into something softer, more intimate, “Make sure you don’t drink too much, pretty face. I'll be around.”

Just like that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your thoughts spinning. Pretty face?

What just happened? You're not so sure, but eyeing the glass left alone on the counter, you impulsively grab it and decide to gulp its remnants down, groaning immediately after. Taking wine as a shot might not have been the best idea, but you’re certainly going to need all the possible devices to shake this feeling off.

It’s hard to do so, even as the birthday party kicks off. The energy in the backyard shifts as more guests arrive. Lively voices and unfamiliar faces begin to fill the space. Areum’s laughter cuts through the hum, infectious and bright, drawing everyone in. With your best efforts, you start engaging with others, smiling as you talk to some classmates and mutual friends, but it’s all surface-level. Your mind is elsewhere.

It's only later, as the evening progresses and the party settles into a rhythm, that you begin to relax. Mainstream music plays in the background and it inevitably involves everybody, some classic party games becoming the main entertainment.

Long after the cake and the gift-opening, the group gathers into a loose circle, throwing each other Never Have I Ever questions. You can’t help the way you all are still too young, and how you still get foolishly excited whenever the topic turns hot and hints at anything that is sex related. Childish and immature, you know, but your ears still perk when the first probing question is tossed out.

“Never have I ever been fingered.”

Areum instantly shushes it, her eyes panickedly looking back to the house in hopes her dad isn’t around. laughter bubbles just as quickly, both because of the question and the girl’s reaction.

As expected, many reach for their drink, and you do too. The few present boys holler in a teasing manner, gaining some eye rolls.

Sheepishly, the plastic cup touches your lips and you take the smallest sip of your punch. You can’t appear unbothered like your other peers, your cheeks subtly flaming as the embarrassing memories rush to your mind.

It’s silent, the small plea you telepathically send to anyone that might be listening. You pray for the topic to shift to something else, something that won’t inevitably put you at the center of the attention. Something you can relate to.

But of course, God is not on your side. The questions only dig deeper, wandering in uncharted territory (at least for you), and you never reach for your glass again.

You can only sink further in your chair the more everybody else around you seems even more lively with the way the game has turned, sharing their experiences, giggling as they listen and refill their cups. Beside you Areum buzzes with energy, and every question is just something for her to drink to, nothing that shocks her or that she isn’t familiar with.

Never have I ever given head.

Never have I ever been ate out.

Never have I ever rode someone.

It’s undeniable, your skin heating up. With how you’ve been spending your whole day, fantasizing about the man who’s probably already asleep in his bedroom by now, your friends sharing their adventures only fuels your imagination. You feel dirty when you put yourself in those scenarios, and for every daring moment they relive, the figure that appears beside you is always Mr. Jeon.

If only you turned your head, just for a moment, and glanced toward the kitchen window that faces the backyard, you would have seen the same man dominating your thoughts, staring intently at the scene unfolding outside.

Jeongguk is swallowed wholly by the darkness of the house, every light turned off. Maybe that’s why neither you nor Areum notice him.

You don’t see him. For once, you don’t feel him. You’re too caught up in the moment, too consumed by your own desires, unaware that the man that put you in that same condition is standing so close, watching.

Jeongguk intently studies how your face dips down at every new question, how your smile seems just a little too tight, too forced when listening to the stories, the ones that make you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

If you don’t notice it, he does almost immediately — the moment the attention in the circle shifts toward you.

The glances thrown your way become layered with a subtle curiosity, laced with something that looks like concern. But then, in the eyes of a few, Jeongguk catches a faint trace of judgment. It’s there, in the tilt of their heads, in the exchanged fleeting looks with one another, as if they sense your uneaseness and interpret it as something lesser. Something they can pick apart.

His jaw tightens as he observes, that familiar protective instinct stirring within him. It makes his hands twitch by his side, but he stays rooted in place.

Eventually, the moment you clearly seem to dread the most (it doesn’t take a genius to know. It’s written on your face. Or maybe, he got so used to studying you. It comes easy to him. Knowing you,) follows.

It makes you want to vanish into the thin air caressing your legs, how you can sense that the question is put out with intent, an only pretending-to-be-careful tone wrapping it, all pairs of eyes instantly directed in your direction.

“Never have I ever… had sex.”

You feel trapped, a momentary panic bubbling in your chest as you reach for your cup, hesitant. The rim hovers near your lips and you try avoiding every expectant glance, taking the smallest sip you can manage.

A murmur ripples through the circle. You can’t decipher it, too busy feeling the heat spread across your face. It's only later that you realize no one else drank. The question had been crafted specifically for you, a test.

Lara exhales, a teasing smile playing on her lips, “Woah, I was getting worried for a second there, ___.”

You barely have time to react before Areum steps in, her voice sharp in your defense, “What’s wrong with never having had sex, either way?”

“Nothing, but—”

You’re not sure why you speak, and why you choose your speech that way specifically. You cut in before you even realize what you’re doing, driven by a sudden urge to explain yourself, an unshakable need to clarify forcing itself up your throat, "I only took a small sip, though.”

The group’s collective curiosity spikes, attention zeroed in on you like never before. You feel it — everyone waiting for you to continue, to reveal something you’ve kept to yourself until now. So, you give in, words tumbling out against your better judgment.

You clear your throat, straighten your back against the chair, your tone evasive, “I technically am not a virgin, but… When we— did it, he um… he got his tip in, but— God, this is embarrassing.”

“C’mon, tell us!”

You sigh, pressing forward with an explanation they do not deserve, “He came, like, two seconds after. So, I felt nothing.”

The laughter that erupts is immediate, your friends covering their mouths in shock and amusement. You can only chuckle nervously, shrinking in your seat with a deep, liberating exhale.

Yunjin pats your shoulder beside you, “That’s so sad, babe. We need to find you a real man.”

A strange sense of relief courses through you, the adrenaline from finally being acknowledged and validated by your friends swelling within. You don’t know why, but you keep talking, oversharing, feeding into the newfound attention, “Oh, I've been waiting for one in particular.”

You quickly become the center of attention for different reasons than the previous ones, now. Voices overlap, but you dismiss them all with a playful shake of your head, giggles bubbling up as you try to evade their questions.

But just as quickly as the moment came, it fades when you glance to the side, and your smile drops.

Jeongguk’s eyes meet yours immediately.

The intensity of the gaze knocks the breath from your lungs, and you immediately straighten in your seat.

He’s been watching the entire time, arms crossed, muscle in his jaw tensing as his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. There’s an unusual frustration etched into his expression, a subtle irritation with your friends’ behavior. But it’s more than that.

Your confession had softly revealed your inexperience. Your innocence. The untarnished parts of you he’s only beginning to realize he wants to corrupt.

Truth is, he’s known for a long time. Longer than he’d like to admit, really. But he’s never let himself feel it fully until now. It wasn’t something that hit him all at once. No, it crept up on him slowly, over the months. He’s always known you were beautiful, in that distant, untouchable way. You’re his daughter’s best friend, after all.

But he couldn’t help his eyes from lingering on you a little too long when you’d come over to hang out with Areum, how he’d feel the tension of his work day melt when he’d let himself be coddled by the warmth of your helping actions, the way his muscles would instead tense when he’d catch sight of you lounging by the pool.

He’d been good at keeping it under bay. But you weren’t subtle, not even the slightest, and it all made it harder. Even more when you’ve been nothing but the proof that angels exist, and at some point he convinced himself you were sent on Earth to fill the void he felt his whole life, with your unconditional care towards his daughter and your pupils widening whenever they’d land on his.

Maybe it was seeing you tonight, all grown up and standing there in that dress, hugging your figure deliciously. How you carried yourself, confident yet unsure, mature yet untouched.

Hearing you talk about your inexperience, about that brief, awkward encounter with a boy who clearly didn’t know what he was doing. Watching you squirm under your friends’ teasing questions, witnessing how you tried to explain yourself.

It’s like it all clicks into place for him. And for the first time, he’s letting himself acknowledge it.

Jeongguk wants you.

He knows it’s wrong. So wrong. He's never felt this way about someone so much younger than him, and yet, the need to be the first one to truly touch you, to show you what it means to be wanted by a real man, makes his blood run hot.

Yet, he feels disgusting. Selfish, his stomach swirling with nerves. Dirty, his fingers twitching and begging to free his insides from such feelings.

There’s simply no ignoring it anymore, no pretending like you’re just Areum’s friend. That boundary he set in his mind is starting to blur. He's old enough to know better, but old enough to know exactly what he wants.

Your eyes widen with terror, meeting Jeongguk’s own hardened gaze. He wants to tell you, wants you to know, but the way your startled expression lingers in his narrowed eyes makes him hesitate.

The contact is abruptly interrupted when one of Areum’s friends, an older kid she’s met through her dad’s colleague, crashes into you from behind, draping his weight over your shoulders.

You struggle not to stumble forward, holding yourself on the arms of your chair while you look to the side, and immediately try to pull away when you realize the unwanted proximity.

But you’re weaker than the boy’s embrace, holding you still and wiggling his eyebrows, his tone playful as he ruffles your hair, “Is it me?”

The people around you laugh, but the way your body stiffens, the clear discomfort in your eyes — Jeongguk notices. And he also notices (reluctantly) the ugly feeling making space in his stomach the more that guy’s face moves closer to yours. His jaw twitches, the muscle at his temple ticking.

He can’t just stand there doing nothing anymore.

The sudden sound of the door to the garden opening catches everyone’s attention, and your gaze flies over in that direction.

Jeongguk steps out, presence commanding, and Areum’s eyes grow wide, instantly sensing something wrong in the way her father is looking at the scene. His eyes are too dark, too sharp, and if no one else detects it, you and his daughter surely do.

Still, the taller boy behind you moves up again, taking a step back from your seat, and Jeongguk seems to reserve him a look you find hard to decipher.

“Areum,” he calls, soft but firm. She’s quick to move toward him, and you can’t help but try to listen in on what he’s saying to her.

But the voices rise again, loud and boisterous, filling the space with chatter, drowning out any chance you had of overhearing. You sigh, returning to your slumped position on the chair. As you do, you can’t ignore how all the girls around you are sneaking glances at him, their giggles piercing through the air as they whisper among themselves.

Jeongguk has always had a certain effect on people, and tonight is no different. You hear some of their comments, but they don’t fully register in your mind. All you can focus on is the bitter feeling rising in your chest.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your dress. It sickens you, the way you have to share the image of him with everyone else. You wish only your eyes had been granted the gift of looking at him, of admiring the way his shirt stretches across his chest or how his hair falls perfectly, even when tousled. Instead, he’s a spectacle for everyone to enjoy, and you hate it.

When Areum returns, it’s with a slightly slumped posture and her energy deflated. Behind her, Mr. Jeon stands with his arms crossed, a small, condescending smile tugging at his lips.

Areum’s voice is low as she announces, “The party’s over, guys.”

The subtle groans of disappointment echo around you as your friends gather their things, saying their goodbyes and slowly trickling out, only after trying to argue about it, giving up when met with no possible negotiation. Once the last guest has left, it’s just the three of you, left to clean up the remnants of the night in the dimly lit garden.

The air is tense on your skin. You can feel it in every movement, every glance that passes between you and Jeongguk, though he barely looks at you now. His focus is elsewhere. On the mess, on Areum, on anything but you. It’s silent for a while as each one of you picks up their own task. Teamwork seems to be efficient, every area of the backyard slowly regaining its original aspect.

Until Areum yawns dramatically, stretching her arms above her head as she makes her way over to you and her father. She mumbles, blinking heavily. "’M so sleepy."

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow. He teases lightly, voice tinged with a hint of amusement. "Oh, really? You’re just gonna leave all this mess behind?"

For a moment, you and Areum both freeze, glancing at each other with wide eyes, unsure if he’s serious. However, you don’t seem to notice Jeongguk’s lips curling into a soft, knowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Just kidding,” he chuckles, tone warm now, the joke clear. “Go sleep, c’mon. It’s past your bedtime.”

Areum sighs with exaggerated relief, rolling her eyes before stepping forward to wrap her arms around her dad in a loose hug. She mumbles into his chest, “I’m not a kid anymore, dad. I don’t have a bedtime.”

He chuckles with a lightness foreign to you until that moment, and he leans down, pressing his lips gently to the top of her head, voice a low and tender whisper, “Whatever you say. Happy birthday, Reumie.”

It’s such a simple moment, nothing grand or elaborate. Still, you watch them with stars in your eyes, completely captivated by this rare portrayal of vulnerability from Mr. Jeon. You almost feel like an intruder, yet you keep contradicting yourself when you can’t help but want to be part of it, too. Want to bask in his love, the one he keeps hidden but the same one that shapes him whole. That fills him from head to toe, never spilling, always quiet. Makes him the brave man you only know through your best friend’s admiring eyes, never from his words.

He doesn’t like talking about himself, but you’d kill to know what truly goes through his mind, even for just a second. You’d gladly settle in a cramped house in his brain, pay rent and everything.

When Areum finally pulls away and turns to you, her expression sleepy but content, she asks, “You coming with me?”

You hesitate, glancing at the mess still surrounding you. You speak with a small, reassuring smile, only looking at your friend, “I'll be there in a minute. I wanna help clean up first.”

She just shrugs, too tired to argue, and heads inside. Jeongguk's eyes follow her briefly before flicking back to you.

His lips part as if he wants to say something. Maybe to insist that there’s no need to help, that you should join Areum inside and get a good night's sleep. But the words never come. Instead, he watches you silently for a second longer, before turning his attention back to the garden.

Now, it’s just the two of you.

The quiet between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. The subtle hum of the night seems louder now without the chatter of party guests, and the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze fills the air as you move around the small round tables, readjusting the chairs.

You’re trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind keeps drifting to other regions. In your distraction, you clumsily trip over your own feet, your breath catching as you stumble forward.

Before you can fall, though, a strong hand grips your arm, steadying you instantly.

“Oops. Careful, little one,” it’s Jeongguk’s deep voice murmuring close to your ear, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

Your face flushes immediately, heat spreading across your cheeks and down your neck. “Sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him through your lashes, feeling ridiculously small under his intense gaze.

“It’s okay,” he instantly replies, tone so gentle it almost makes your heart falter.

Silence falls again, but this time, it’s thicker, and maybe even uncomfortable. You both remain still for a moment, his hand loosely gripping your arm, and you feel yourself burn where his fingers rest. His thumb brushes your skin lightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, but it’s enough to make you gulp audibly.

Finally, he releases you, stepping back slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, "Thanks for making my daughter happy today. I really appreciate that. I appreciate you."

Your mind races, trying to find the right words to respond, but all you can manage is a stutter, “Oh. I—”

His voice is firmer when he gently cuts you off, “Go sleep now. I'll finish here.”

You want to protest, but the way he’s looking at you — dark eyes locking onto yours, holding you in place even with his hand now by his side — makes it impossible.

There’s something about the way he’s speaking, like he’s being careful with his words, almost spelling them out, making sure you’re paying attention to each one, “If you need anything, you know where to find me. Yeah?”

You swallow hard, nodding slowly. His gaze is unwavering, and it feels like he’s saying something more than just the words themselves, something you can’t quite grasp yet. You stammer, “Right. Yes. I—I’ll… goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

It’s not exactly a good night for you. In a sense, maybe it is. You always welcome dreams like these when they decide to visit. But right now, it feels more than a little awkward.

Worst timing ever. You’re lying next to Areum, the daughter of the very man who’s making you wet with just a few flashes of imagery dancing behind your closed eyelids.

At first, it’s soft, almost serene. You see a beach, engulfed in warm, blurry tones that blend together like watercolors left to bleed in the sun. The sea is flat, unmoving, and glimmers like pearls under the flaming light.

A weight presses down on your exposed thigh. The sensation feels so vivid that it pulls you deeper into the dream, and as you glance down, you instantly recognize the large, familiar hand resting there.

Jeongguk's hand. His left one. On the fourth finger, a gold ring.

When you lift your head, his face greets you with a wide, unusual smile. His hair is wet, slicked back as if he’s just come out of the water, droplets clinging to the tips. He bites his lip, and you see it. A double piercing sits on the side of his mouth, the silver studs gleaming as he plays with them using the tip of his tongue. Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t just see it there. On his eyebrow, a matching piercing catches the sunlight, giving him a rebellious edge.

You remember them from old pictures Areum showed you once. Jeongguk, in his younger days, rougher, wilder, and undeniably charming.

It must have left a deep impression on you because your subconscious has dug it up now, weaving it into this dream. Deep in your slumber, you unconsciously whine.

His hand kneads the soft skin of your leg, and his grin stretches wider, eyes crinkling into familiar crescents, but with an edge you’ve never seen on him before.

"You wanna take another bath?" His voice is husky in your ear, filled with suggestion. He's leaning in now, closer, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your skin. Before you can say anything, his hand slides higher, fingers grazing the hem of your swimsuit. "Come on. Just you and me."

Jeongguk’s hand is still playing with the laces of your bikini, and he’s slow and teasing as he pulls one of them. When he fully undoes it, you’re bare in front of him.

But he doesn’t look down just yet. He keeps staring in your eyes, his smile gone now, replaced with something more serious, more focused.

Jeongguk leans closer to your ear, pillowy lips brushing your lobe, and it feels way too real when he whispers, “Let me make you feel good.”

It’s with a jolt that you wake up, the low sound still echoing in the depths of your brain, and you struggle to take in your surroundings at first. On your right, Areum is sleeping soundly, even snoring softly. You'll tease her about it in the morning.

If the thought initially puts a smile on your face, it morphs into a frown when you register the reason why you’re now awake, and you brim with guilt. You have to get away from your best friend. Need to get away from your brain, if possible. Wash it all with a glass of cold water.

You make sure not to cause too much noise as you slowly sit up, the covers falling from your figure and the air welcoming you with goosebumps on your skin. Your naked feet tentatively touch the ground and you force yourself to stand on them, padding on the floor and exiting the room, gently closing the door behind your shoulders.

At first, you only hear it. Faint, muffled noises; fussing; heavy panting; groans.

You blink rapidly, convinced your hazy brain is still cozily wrapped around the blankets, finding it hard to let go of the images that had flashed behind your eyelids and adapt to the new state of consciousness.

But as you make your way to the stairs, the sounds get closer, and more vivid. It's not just your mind playing evil games anymore.

It’s shushed moans, and eager whines. And they seem awfully close to how you’d always imagined Mr. Jeon would sound like. In that situation.

Having lost control over your own brain a long time ago, it feels like you’re now being ordered around by it, no freedom of choice whatsoever.

Your feet move on their own, following the source of that delicious music, and you swear your eyes get teary with joy when you find that the door was left ajar.

You feel delirious. The small gap is more than enough to give you a view into what you never thought you’d have the honor of witnessing: the man of all your desires has his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing it, then dragging it up and down in slow movements that you just know are torturing him, from the way he harshly bites his lower lip, to the way his furrowed eyebrows almost meet at the bridge of his nose, eyes focused on his doings.

Nonetheless, he loves it. His mouth opens every time he brushes the tip of his thick dick with his palm, releasing small whines, followed by quiet moans when he uses his other hand to play with his balls.

He cusses repeatedly, then grips his base and halts his movements. Only to go over the punishing pattern again, bringing himself closer to the edge then retraining when he feels like stepping over it.

The sight of Mr. Jeon edging himself makes your knees weak. It takes over you physically, you genuinely have to find support in the wall beside you.

You need to be there with him. You need it to be your hand; need him to guide it just the way he likes it; need him to teach you how to please him. His groans make your head spin, and you need to get closer.

You’re not thinking when you instinctively take a step towards the slightly open door, but when you do, the floor cracks under you.

You’re paralysed. In the silence of the house, wrapped in night time, the otherwise small sound is amplified, and he stops his hand.

With the little power you still possess over your actions, you move your back to the wall beside the door. Your breaths are ragged, too overwhelmed with the mixture of fear and lust, and you think of running away to hide but a huge weight is chaining you down, and you find yourself unable to move.

You can only register fussing from the other side, the soft thump of his feet on the floor and the door opening alarmingly. When he looks to the side, he’s met with his expression mirrored on your small face, your eyes wide but willing themselves to keep looking in his.

If you were to look down, you’re not sure you could keep yourself composed, knowing his cock is hard and unattended in his pajama pants.

“____? What are you doing up?” His voice quickly takes on the calm that characterizes him so well, instilling some of it in your startled figure.

Still, you stutter all throughout your answer, making it clear what you just spied into with the way your face changes color, “I— Water. I wanted— There’s no, huh, water in the fridge.”

Mr. Jeon does a weak job at hiding the confused amusement on his features. Nonetheless, he nods, a small grin on his lips while he says nothing, just walks to the stairs and makes his way down them. You follow hastily, careful not to trip.

There's plenty of water in the fridge, but he doesn’t question it. He takes out a bottle and pours a glass for you, sliding it over the counter.

You take the smallest sip, afraid you might choke with the way he stands facing you, staring so intensely into your orbs.

When you put the still full glass down, he smirks. You see his hands gripping the edge of the table in front of him, “Nightmare?”

The depth of his voice translates into heat pooling right in your lower stomach and staining your shorts. You're a mess just from the blurred sight of him. You shake your head, “More like… a weird dream.”

He smiles taut, having to break the prolonged eye contact and look elsewhere, his grip getting tighter and his patience wearing thin.

He won’t be able to control himself much longer if he doesn’t get out of this kitchen, especially with the effects of your effortless charm flooding down his pleading dick.

You’re in front of him, eyes fond with a feeling that scares him, only the counter dividing your bodies, and you’re wearing the tiniest satin shorts paired with a white tank top that leaves little to the imagination, the cut dangerously low and your nipples evident through the material.

He’s a gone man.

His eyes no longer anchoring you, your gaze automatically travels to where you shouldn’t be looking, for your own sanity. The outline of his cock is so delicious, it makes your mouth water with want.

You’re not sure if it’s your own eyes deceiving you, but you swear you can see it throb, and at that moment you realize he’s not wearing any underwear. Just thin, loose pants covering his length.

You gulp, clenching around nothing. You feel him sigh, and the sound makes your head spin with greater force.

He looks back at you, but you’re too enthralled by your current view, the effects of it almost completely shutting out your hearing and your rational thinking, as you round the counter and leave his words hung in the air, "I'm sorry for… what you probably saw. Should’ve closed the door.”

Apology silently dismissed, or simply ignored (why would he even apologize for blessing you with such an unforgettable sight?) you now stand next to him. As he turns to you, you’re faced with his chest, and you have to bend your head upwards to meet his curious eyes.

Your body has long forgotten to trust the thin amount of rationality that could still be found in your brain, and that’s how you find yourself leading your hand to cup his cock through his pajamas.

His face is stoic, staring at you intensely. He doesn’t startle, doesn’t gasp, doesn’t move away. But you feel him. If the contact does something to him, he doesn’t show it. He keeps looking down at you, in your eyes.

Then, he speaks, his voice steady, “What are you doing.”

You’re suddenly aware of your actions, and you fall victim to them, feeling small because of his stern, composed gaze while you feel like melting under it.

Your voice is frail, barely a whisper, too weak to sound as convinced as you truly are, and your words come out slurred, “Wanna help you.”

He doesn’t break, doesn’t seem affected by your desperation, but his pupils are blown out, knuckles white from grasping the counter, “You already did enough.”

Your hand is still on his clothed dick, unmoving. No one dares break the moment, though. If anything, being this close to him, feeling him while you both search for something in each other’s eyes, is only spurring you further.

You get on your tip toes, your perky nipples brushing against his chest, your voice low while you tilt your head to the side, “What were you thinking of? I'll be that for you.”

Immediately, his hand flies over yours. He doesn’t move it, just holds it still. The look in his eyes is a lot darker, his eyelids droopy, his jaw clenched, “Stop this.”

The electrifying spark that buzzes you the moment you feel his skin travels from your hand to your whole body, and it significantly weakens you.

You don’t know if you fall to your knees because they genuinely give up on you, but it’s how you find yourself facing his hardness, your eyes never leaving his glossy ones, highlighted by the dim light shining through the curtains of his kitchen.

“___. Get up.” There’s a tremor in his voice, and the hand that was blocking yours now falls by his side, twitching.

You see it in his eyes. Sense it in the tension of his muscles. He's holding back. But you don’t want him to resist you.

“Please,” your beg is muffled and quiet, your nose brushing against his length and following a torturous path that makes him hiss.

He groans deliriously, willing himself to tear his orbs off your big, pleading ones staring up at him, but he doesn’t do anything to move you away.

“Fuck,” the chuckle that follows is feverish, his body on fire with the forbidden, but so wanted touch, “Don’t make me have to reject you, doll.”

“You don’t have to,” you’re unexpectedly quick in your answers, your conscience coming back to you but letting it be taken over by a dark feeling, the one that makes you kiss his tip through the thin material, and lick along his length, finding his eyes, "I want you.”

Jeongguk inhales, his lower lip bleeding with the harsh biting, and he swears his knees are shaking with the effort of keeping even the slightest, thinnest thread of sanity intact.

He wishes he could stop you. Knows he should. But he can't. He can only watch as your slim fingers hook under the hem of his light pants and lead them to pool down his ankles.

The way his cock springs free and brushes your smooth, pure face makes him huff out a deep exhale, his jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed as he takes in your eyes widening at the sight of his length.

Mr. Jeon is long. And thick. He's veiny, and perfectly shaved. It looks almost unrealistic, but he’s in front of you in all his glory and he throbs. Leaks pretty precum to coat his angry tip.

He doesn’t know how he manages to speak, especially when you look up at him through your droopy eyelids, pupils blown and tongue ready to take him.

His voice is rough, as if it wants to stay stuck in his throat, but he forces one last warning out, “___. Don’t do it.”

Any and all kinds of inhibitions are nonexistent the moment you attempt a kitten lip at his wet tip, and the simple action makes his head fall backwards, a way too loud growl escaping him. His breaths are heavy, broad chest moving with them as he looks down at you again, too tempted to look elsewhere.

He curses as soon as he does, his lust-filled orbs swimming in your equally craving ones, and he believes this view is crafted by the hands of a God, not slightly comparable to anything his mind came up with back in his room, not too long ago.

The reason why he’s gotten rock hard under his covers, it’s you. The yearning he couldn’t suppress anymore, the hunger making him salivate, the need to be consumed by your love, the desire to be touched by you, to be cured by your innocence, only to taint it.

He’s thirsty, wants to drink all of you in. Wants to finally have you, taste you, feel you. He's tired of fighting it.

Jeongguk doesn’t know how to decipher his heart doing literal flips in his chest when you fully take his cock in your mouth, and he lets out a sound he’s never heard his own self ever produce. It’s high-pitched, whiny, delirious, and it leads himself to subtly push himself forward, to bury his length in your throat.

You inevitably choke at the new sensation, your eyes fluttering shut to keep the tears welling up under your eyelids from spilling out, but you go relentlessly, just as hungry.

You tentatively bob your head up and down his length, messily taking him as best as you could, probably accidentally scraping him with your teeth a few times, and you try to make up for it with your swirling tongue, slurping thirstily.

He almost coos at your eagerness, and as badly as he wants to bask in the sensation, having to keep himself from pounding into your mouth, he holds your silky hair in a ponytail and gently pushes you away.

When you find him again, your eyes are glossy and your eyebrows drawn up with worry.

You don’t want this moment to end. You don’t want your insecurities to be proven right, don’t want him to ward you off, to still think of you as nothing more than a childish girl with an evident crush. You're on your knees for him to finally see you.

Jeongguk instantly reads your thoughts.

His voice is quick to sooth you, a sweet smile painting his face with an expression you rarely see on him. It's soft, just like his voice, “Come up here, angel.”

You want to listen to him, want to follow his every order. But you’re not sure how to when he’s regarding you with a care you’d never thought would be directed at you, one that empties you of any strength. When the pet name rolling off his tongue that easily seems so natural, you want to think it’s all he’s ever seen you as.

With a delicate tug at your hair, he leads you on your feet again. Still, you’re weak, your chin falling on his chest as you look at him through your lashes like he’s hung every single star in the sky.

His hand leaves your locks only to cup your face, promptly helping you stand straight to study your features.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say you’re high off the strongest substance you could find. Your pupils cover your orbs in a dark, wide circle, a lazy smile on your pink lips as you let yourself be handled by him, no control over your body, almost falling over his bigger one again before he steadies you by your hips.

He lets out an amused chuckle at the state you’re in because of him, and he hopes you know just how much you’re affecting him, too. He wants to swallow you, pill after pill, overdose on you.

When he’s sure you don’t need his help keeping you still anymore, leading your palms to rest on his wide shoulders, he takes your face in his big hands and forces you to swim in the intensity of his gaze.

His words are spoken slowly, a low whisper fanning over your lips, “If I kiss you now, I won't be able to control myself anymore.”

Your eyes jump relentlessly between his own orbs and his mouth, the latter winning the battle when you fixate on it, and speak just as weakly, “Please, kiss me.”

You barely manage to get the words out before Jeongguk is all over you. He devours you, pushing your lips open and finding your tongue, playing with it in a mess of slick and heavy breaths.

His fingers travel through every angle of your body they can find, pulling your face impossibly closer by your nape, leaving goosebumps along your bare arms wrapping around his neck, falling down your torso and squeezing harshly as they rest by your sides.

Your moan is inevitable when his palms reach down the curve of your ass and shove you against him. You feel his hardness meet the softness of your lower belly, his wet tip poking at it and making him hiss on your lips.

He does his best to swallow all your sounds, your muffled whines and whimpers his favorite meal as of now. It's a wince of slight pain that you let out as he positions you in between his body and the counter, the border pressing on your lower back.

When he moves from your kiss, even with your lungs being unable to breathe anymore and begging for a break, your head follows his movements to try and bring him back on you again.

The chuckle he lets out is almost belittling, the right side of your face being completely engulfed by his palm to put distance between your mouths, his other hand keeping you still by your waist, and his own hips push against you.

You quickly glance down to where your bodies meet, and you whimper when you take in the way his cock is just above your core, his balls brushing against your clit. You only need to lift yourself a little forward to fully feel him.

But it’s like he instantly knows what’s making your head spin, his grip tighter but still mindful not to hurt you. The sudden squeeze has your eyes finding his, feeling ridiculously smaller under the weight of his heavy gaze.

He makes sure you keep your whole focus on him, and as much as registering the way your orbs are glossy with anticipation and desire is making him almost regret his next words, he lets them out, steady but soft, in your face.

“You had your fun, baby. Now, you’re going to listen to me. Hm?”

This time, your reaction comes promptly following his request. You're hanging from his lips, tracing their every move and sound, immediately nodding at the order.

It’s not enough, and Jeongguk ensures to sound a bit firmer, ”Use your words.”

”Yes, Mr. Jeon.”

The way your response rolls off your tongue with seemingly no hesitation, your pupils still on his, the words you choose to say, make him let out an amused chuckle.

Your eyes widen, and he drinks in your state, cheeks flushed and lower lip trembling. You need to bite it in order for it to stop shaking when he narrows his eyes, his left palm rising from your hip and finding its way under your top, his remark making you startle, ”You’re such a bad girl. Aren’t you?”

Jeongguk makes up for the way more tears seem to well along your bottom lashes by cupping your small breast in his larger hand, swirling his thumb around your nipple, and you need to fight against the loud moan traveling its way up your throat, the choked sound getting stuck as your mouth hangs open, your eyebrows furrowed.

It only takes some more of his degrading tone for you to let out an unashamedly loud noise, his fingertips pinching your nipple, ”Calling me that only because it gets you off. Doesn’t it? You’re not so innocent after all, angel.”

He quickly swallows your sounds with his lips on yours, and both of you can’t help but hum lowly at the contact. Jeongguk thinks he could keep kissing you for hours on end. But he badly wants to feel every other inch of your body, too.

Unexpectedly, the kiss gets broken when he turns your body around with ease, your back now pressing against his front, and you steady your shaking figure by planting your hands on the counter.

The access to your ear comes effortlessly, he just needs to bend his head down to cover your height difference and make sure his whispered words meet you as close as possible, “I’ll give you what you want. But you need to be quiet and good for me, understood?”

You’re not sure if you should use your voice or stay silent, but your body doesn’t give you the chance to ponder over it before letting out a whiny Yes. You’re not exactly being quiet, but can he blame you?

The man you’d get to talk to for more than five minutes only in your dreams is now promising you he’s going to give you what you want. And his cock is perfectly nestled in between your ass cheeks. You're positive you’ll have to throw your shorts right in the bin after he’s done with you.

Though, the scoff resounding in your ear makes you regret not even trying to lower your volume. You really want to be good for him. Don’t want to disappoint him.

That’s why when he taps two fingers under your chin, without him having to express it for you, you part your lips open, tongue out. From the corner of your eye, you see the side of his face scrunched with a long dimple before he shoves the digits inside your wet mouth.

You instantly wrap yourself around his long fingers, coating them in your warm slick, and you can tell it’s affecting him with the way the hold on your hip tightens, and he shifts between your thighs.

With your tongue swirling around the two digits, your eyes search for his face. Looking up at him through your lashes, you clench around nothing when you take in the effortless way he towers over you, his body engulfing your whole smaller figure.

The sinful eye contact leads him to spur you on further, his voice rough with desire, “That’s right. Suck on them like you would my cock.”

You hum deeply at the encouragement, fluttering your eyelids shut as you energetically bob up and down along his fingers. You think you can still feel the taste of his precum lingering on your tongue, and you whine, wishing you could have him again.

The noise gets cut from your throat when he forces his digits out, the slicky sound lustful, and it makes him groan lowly.

With his other hand, he delicately pushes your head forward to bend you over the marble counter, the same one where hours ago he passed you his glass of wine to take a sip from.

The surface is cold against your cheek and he’s out of your vision as he stands straight. Not being able to see what he’s doing, the expression on his face as you lay folded for him, makes the anticipation flood even stronger in your veins.

You feel him pull your shorts down enough to reveal yourself to him, hear him hiss as he’s enthralled by the way your pussy glistens, all for his eyes to admire.

The curse that follows is instant, “Fuck. No panties?”

You’re embarrassed for your straightforward bareness, whimpering at his surprise with your fist tightening and your nails imprinting crescents in your palms, but you’re also so impatient to feel his touch.

Tentatively, you wiggle for him, hoping to brush against his length, but it’s to no effort as he instantly stills your movements with a hand on your lower back.

He scoffs incredulously, feeling your bare ass against his palm, “It’s like you knew this would happen. You dirty, naughty girl. Always giving me those eyes.”

It’s light, the spank that meets the side of your butt, but you gasp nonetheless. You need to bite your lower lip harshly in order to suppress the loud moan from escaping your throat, and you’re sure it bleeds when he strokes the spot he hit.

The hand soothing you now travels to your front, torturously putting pressure on your sensitive stomach and following a slow pattern, only to reach your wet core.

He finally touches you where you’ve been needing him the most, and you both groan when he uses his already soaked pointer and ring finger to spread your lips, his middle one tracing your slit.

You inhale deeply as he repeats the motion, and when you exhale you can’t help small whines from leaving you, the pleasure already too overwhelming.

You feel like passing out when his body weight presses on you again, his mouth directly on your lobe, the intention in his voice dripping on your skin, “You think I wouldn’t notice? You know how hard my cock gets everytime I see you in these tiny clothes of yours, huh? You’re quite literally the death of me, doll.”

Then, it’s like all your senses come back to you the moment he pushes his digit in, and he immediately reaches around you to put his other hand over your mouth the second he sees it opening, your eyes rolling up.

You cry in his palm, the sound muffled with his fingers tightening under your jaw, his body still leaning on yours. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear and stills his middle finger inside you, getting you used to his presence, “Shh, princess. Good baby, you’re doing perfect.”

The contrast to his earlier shaming tone only makes you whine more, your eyes squeezing closed to try and keep the noises in. You’re sure you bite his palm when he starts moving inside you, the finger curling tentatively and soon being joined by another one.

You shake your head weakly, feeling yourself reach delirium, and you manage to stammer out, “Can’t— can’t do this.”

“You can baby, c’mon. You wanna be a good girl f’me, don’t you?” His tone is still low, warm breath fanning over your nape, and you melt under the sudden change in attitude.

You nod, not because you believe you can actually get through this without your heart failing and the whole neighborhood hearing you in the process, but because you do want to be his good girl.

He hums, “That’s right. I need to stretch you out if you want to take my cock.”

You choke in his wrap, now looser around your face, surprised at his words, and you clench hard at the mention of his cock inside you. You throw your head backwards in search of more of his proximity, and you mumble nonsense, your brain completely melted, “Yes! Want your dick.”

“I know you do, little one,” with your head nestled between the crook of his neck, his hand now falls to your throat, and he holds you gently by it while his fingers pick up a faster pace.

He's ruthless as he moves them inside you, effortlessly finding your sweet spot with a curl of his long, tattooed digits, and you whimper at the foreign sensation, unable to moan like you really want to.

You feel like screaming the more he keeps going, the only possible reaction to what is happening to you. One moment ago you were dreaming of this, and now it’s your reality.

Mr. Jeon is fingering you and calling you his good girl. His large figure is behind your smaller one bent over the counter, his palm around your throat, his hard length pressing against your ass.

The moment he uses his thumb to flick at your clit, you arch your back into him and you hear him fight to suppress a surprised moan.

“Shit. You’re so impatient, sugar. Dripping around my fingers. Wanna taste your sweet juice, can I?” It’s a rhetorical question, hushed slurredly in your ear, because after he lets it out his fingers leave your hole, and find a new home on his warm tongue.

He purposefully moves your chin to make you a witness of his sinful action, humming deeply around the taste of you, his eyes fluttering shut, his digits popping out drenched.

Your mouth hangs, your tongue unconsciously peeking out as if asking to be made a participant, but Jeongguk only smirks and stands straight once again, his wet hand leaving another light spank on your ass cheek, “Turn around, sweets.”

You do as asked, making sure your palms are still steadying your weight on the counter now behind you, afraid your legs alone won’t be able to. You soon find out you won’t have to put much effort into that when Jeongguk lifts you with ease and sits you on the surface, your slickness meeting the cold marble.

You don’t have to lift your head to look at him anymore, your heights now the same. But finding yourself directly in front of his hardened gaze makes you feel even more intimidated.

Especially when he traces your inner thigh, his eyes never leaving yours, “Every time you stand up to leave after dinner, you always leave a puddle on my chairs. And I’m left to clean it up.”

You swallow audibly at the accusation, and you can feel your eyes water once again, biting your lips to conceal the shame.

He only grins amusedly at your state, the tip of his tongue coming out to play with his lower lip. The hand on your leg now forces it to move to the side, his face only getting closer to yours, his tone deeper, "I've thought about licking it up, you know? But then I always stopped myself, because I knew I'd get to taste your pretty, wet pussy.”

You gasp, a shaky moan leaving you uncontrollably, and your fingers hover over his figure, wanting to find support in him but unsure whether to touch him.

He finds your mouth in a short kiss, almost reassuring, but he’s back to spitting sins the moment he lowers his face between your spread legs, and the way he looks up at you is almost scandalous. He looks devilish, his orbs visible through his lashes, his tongue wetting his lips. He takes your uncertain hand and places it between his tousled hair, directing himself to you, instructing you how to use him.

He presses a peck above your clit, still drinking in your reactions, his smile wicked, “I knew you’d crumble soon. You little minx. Going after your best friend’s dad. So naughty.”

Your head is thrown backwards at his words, ones that only add to the pleasure that takes over you when he latches at your pussy, the wet sounds ungodly.

The shame and guilt mixing in the back of your mind generate a profane sense of bliss you’d never think you could reach, and even though deep down you feel dirty being confronted with the truth he sputtered out so easily, you can’t help getting off to it right now.

Jeongguk is ravenous as he finds your drenched lips, lapping furiously at them and drinking the juice that continuously drips out. He flicks the tip of his tongue up and down your swollen clit, and your hand that he himself put on top of his head now tugs at his curls, forcing him closer to you. He’s trapped, your legs squeezing around his head, his nose nuzzled in your slit, and he can’t stop the hand that reaches to stroke his pleading dick.

You think you hear him mumble something along the lines of taste so good as he teases your hole with his wet muscle, and you’re a gone woman the moment you look down, your eyes fluttering open.

His own are closed, brows furrowed in deep concentration, his nose relentlessly grinding against your sensitive nub, and the way he seems so affected by the act of pleasuring you breaks something inside you.

You feel it begin to crumble when his tattooed hand reaches up to lift your top just enough to expose your breasts, nipples hardening with the cold air and the stimulation, and you swear they hurt deliciously when he starts kneading at your boob, fondling it with care.

The deep hum generated from his throat vibrates against you, and the flick of his thumb around the center of your tit matched with the way your clit is being continuously abused unexpectedly leads you to your orgasm.

It’s fast, unannounced, and you find support in his hair, your body taking over your brain and relentlessly grinding against Jeongguk’s face, suffocated between you, unable to stop reaching for the heavenly, and so awaited high.

Your whines are frantically high pitched, but the moment he feels you cum all over his mouth everything around him disappears except you, and all he cares about is slurping you, drinking you as you let it all out because of him.

He pants, breathless, opening his eyes to witness your climax, to admire you breaking under his doings, chest swelling with pride and a primal sense of protectiveness.

When he hears you whimper the more he keeps sucking on your clit, your slim fingers pulling at his locks, he finally lifts himself up.

On the path he follows to come back up to meet your face, he finds your nipple with a sweet kiss, his tongue teasing your nub, and he smiles against it, teeth gently pinching it. When seeking with his eyes for your reaction he sees your own rolling back. Next, his mouth is on yours, smearing your wetness all over your lips and mixing it with his spit on your tongue, connecting in a frantic, hungry dance.

His forehead rests against yours when he breaks the kiss, breaths heavy, the lazy grin on his face the only thing you can focus on, hanging on his gentle words, “Did so good, babe. Came so hard all over me.”

Your eyes inevitably fall down to his cock, painfully hard against his stomach, the tip angry and slicked with precum.

You feel your core buzz, kissing him to conceal the unshameful desire building up so fast again, but still you can’t help from mumbling against him, “Wan’ you to fuck me.”

The hum of pleasure coming from his throat reverberates on your lips, and he smiles at your confession. Even chuckles, one hand resting at your hip and sliding you closer.

“That what you want, baby?” Your legs wrapping around him, he kisses along your neck and travels to your collarbones, leaving small bites to keep himself from marking you like he truly wants to.

He slips his palms under your thighs and lifts you up the counter effortlessly, your legs squeezing tighter around him in order to keep yourself balanced. The new position has his cock perfectly meeting your core, your slit brushing against his tip as he walks you two over the living room couch, his mouth promptly swallowing your whimpers.

When he lays you on the sofa, he straightens himself to fully admire you. You're sprawled for him, your hair framing your head like a halo, the sweat pearling your forehead adding to your angelic state.

Your hands are on either side of your face, fingers dainty and slender, and your tank top is lifted up enough to show him your small breasts, slightly spilling from the sides with the new position.

Your shorts still rest under your ass, and with a swift motion he fully takes them off you, giving him access to your center. But the attention is taken away from your wet cunt when he lets his eyes come back up to your face, your cheek resting on your shoulders, trying to hide your embarrassment at his ravenous observing.

He smiles, becoming impatient with the feeling that only grows inside him, and he walks out of his pants still pooled down his ankles, taking off his loose t-shirt and letting it fall on the ground.

Your eyes widen at his sculpted physique, now finally in front of you, his buff dimensions intimidating you, especially when your orbs follow his V line and put you face to face with his huge cock, so close to your watering hole. He teases it with his length, sliding it up and down your slit, then slapping it against your clit. You arch your back, groaning.

“Am I the real man you’ve been waiting for? You wanna be fucked by this big man, don’t you?” His sinful words only make you nod dumbly, becoming potty under his control.

At your eagerness, he wastes no time. Aligning himself with your hole, he enters you. The stretch is deliciously painful, his tip boldly splitting you open for him. He knows your wail is coming, so he lowers himself on you to block your sounds with his mouth. But, truly, he’s the one that needs to be silenced.

The moment he feels your tightness around his bare dick, he growls. His sounds grow more desperate as he sinks himself deeper, the grip on your waist enough to wreck you, and you’re expecting it to leave a mark

You hum roughly against his lips, your nails scratching along his shoulder blades in search of any kind of grounding you can find. It’s too much, his dimensions way oversized for what your hole can take, and the fact that you can’t help but grip him even tighter isn’t helping.

He reads you, your broken whines and the tear falling from your left eye, and the moment he bottoms out he stills himself, his face in the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling the warm skin in a reassuring manner, “Shh, baby. I got you. Let me make you feel good.”

The whispered words are the same ones that jolted you from your sleep, the dream almost too real, and paired with his middle and ring finger circling your sensitive nub they cause you to emit a pleasured squeal, your chest arching into his.

At this point, you’re afraid you’re still trapped deep in your slumber. that none of this is actually real, it can’t be. You’re so convinced that it’s just too good to be true that you test it, scraping your nails harshly in his back, and when he bites the skin under your jaw in protest you gasp shakily.

It's definitely real. Jeongguk is fucking you. Almost. Not yet.

With the way your clit is being stimulated by his long fingers, the initial sharpness turns into more slick, and you impatiently groan, “Fuck me, please.”

One final kiss is left on your lips before he lifts his torso up, his hands roaming along your sides and grasping a hold of your tits. He teases you with a playful smirk on his face, your disappointed pout only resulting in a devilish chuckle from him as he massages your soft boobs. You can feel him throb inside you the more you swallow him in, and you know he’s just as impatient. You buck your hips up in search of friction, and the sudden motion makes the both of you moan.

He’s suddenly resolute as his palms fall to your waist and effortlessly holds it up as he begins fucking into you. With each stroke he picks up his pace, and he’s soon pounding your tight hole wrapping around him.

The both of you find out it’s impossible to be quiet. Your sounds are stuttered and pornographic, and it makes Jeongguk afraid he’s never going to be able to get them off his brain.

His own noises are heavenly, deep growls and surprised whines falling out his pillowed lips, slightly agape in bliss, brows drawn up.

Your eyes roll back and never come back, your vision patched, and you think you weren’t built to survive this kind of pleasure. It's almost deathly when he finds that one particular spot that makes you see stars.

Your skin slapping is louder than his hushed speech, but he makes sure the words reach you and translate into wetness coating his length even more, drenching it, making it soaked in your juices, “That’s how you need to be fucked. That’s how my girl needs to be fucked, hm?”

“Mhm, fuck, yes!” It’s breathless, but you want him to hear you. You feel yourself get closer just watching him smirk proudly at your state, his pupils blown out.

His palms are back to playing with your breast, kneading it harshly, and you enjoy the way he seems to be hypnotized by the vision, “Fuck. Love your tits. Fit just right in my hand. You were made for me, angel.”

Your head is thrown back between the cushions, your legs wrapping tighter around his ass and pushing him even deeper, the anticipated sensation building simultaneously in both of your trembling bodies.

“I'm not gonna last long, baby. This pussy’s too tight. Trappin’ me inside it,” Jeongguk’s voice is rough, the words leaving him slurredly and all his effort put into snapping his hips against yours, his eyes focused on the relentless in and out motion.

You wail, mumbling nonsense, but at the same time the most sincere words you’ve ever sputtered to him, “It’s yours, Jeongguk. F—fucking yours. Forever. Ah— fuck.”

He hums, feeling you contract around him the more he speaks to you, “That’s it. My pussy to fuck, baby. Mine to play with, mine to fill up.”

Your eyes widen at his territorial remarks, and when they meet his hazy ones they water with overwhelming ecstasy. The possibility of his cum filling you up is what does it for you, your nerves undoing once again and making you spasm around his throbbing dick. He talks you through your orgasm, praising you for cumming so good all over him, drinking in your blissful sounds and your hips rutting against his.

He’s just as close, and the realization that you came the moment he mentioned painting you in his seed makes him a crazed man, his motions stuttering sloppily, “Fuck. Aren’t you a naughty one, doll. You really want me to come inside you? You want it, huh? I bet you do.”

Your repeated nodding and the way your body is so pliant in his hold, letting it be completely handled by him with no functioning muscle, pervades his senses with a primal force that he puts into fucking your sensitive cunt.

He smirks wickedly, “You’d look so pretty. All stuffed. Want me to fill up this tight pussy? Want my mature cock in so deep you can’t breathe?”

You think you scream at his continuous suggestions, but you can’t be sure when all your senses are clouded, the oversensitivity turning you into a literal doll for him, no power over your actions. He looks just as fucked out, his lips parting as he basks in the feeling of being in control of you, eyes fighting to stay open and keep you in his vision.

When he feels you contracting around him in overstimulation, his breath stutters and he feels himself reach the peak, quickly pulling out of you to spill his cum over your naked skin. You gasp at the sudden emptiness and the warm liquid that keeps falling over your stomach, his cock being pumped in his fist and milked from all he can give you. You both pant in exhaustion, your legs loosening their grip around him as he dips his weak knees on either side of you on the couch.

He hums when he fully takes in your figure, marked by his cum, and he smiles when he sees your eyelids struggling to not fall. But you spasm once again when you feel his finger slide over your stomach, the wet liquid being collected, “Now, you gonna clean this up for me. Open your pretty mouth, baby.”

You don’t even ponder on the request, you just follow the order. Your brain is reduced to thoughts that are only related to him, and it automatically complies to anything that he orders from you. You engulf his digits promptly, swallowing his semen, looking up at him through your lashes and unashamedly clenching at his lazy smirk.

He makes sure every drop of his is collected and sucked by your hungry mouth, smiling when you don’t ever complain, “Mh, good girl. Get them neat.”

Only when he’s satisfied, he hovers over your face and finds your tongue in a sensual, slow kiss, both of you moaning at the exchange. With a sloppy sound, he parts from you only to disappear between your thighs, his eyes mischievous, “Gonna clean you up too.”

You gasp at the feeling of his mouth wrapping around your core once again, slurping your juice and lapping at your inner thighs, and you’re not sure how this is going to help in getting you clean. You only feel yourself becoming even wetter.

Leaving a kiss above your nub, he straightens up with a boyish smile softening his features, and with the fond way he’s looking at you, nobody could tell he just made you cum twice.

He moves your bangs from your forehead, closing the distance between you once again to leave small pecks over your still reddened face, “You did amazing, doll. Made me cum so hard.”

You hum contentedly, snuggling closer to him, your body unconsciously gravitating toward his warmth. Your hand lifts to thread through his hair, but before you can touch him, he shifts, pulling away.

The warmth he provided vanishes, replaced by the cold emptiness of the couch. Panic surges in your chest, washing away any remnants of fatigue. You prop yourself up on your forearms, eyes tracking his movements.

You don’t want him to leave you here alone, bare and vulnerable, maybe a bit confused and uncertain, and deep down deathly scared of whatever will come after this.

Your brows furrow, heart picking up a painful speed when you see he’s getting dressed — tossing on his shirt, pulling on his pants. And for a second, your pulsing organ clenches with dread. Is he leaving?

Then you notice him picking up your shorts from the floor, his expression softening as he walks back to you with that same gentle smile that had made your heart flutter earlier.

Relief washes over you.

He handles you delicately, as though you’re something fragile. His fingers brush your skin as he slips your shorts back on, pulling down your top before encircling your waist with his strong arms.

You squeal lightly when he pulls you onto his lap, settling back on the couch with you cradled against his chest. His hands never leave you, securing you to him. You settle into him easily, sighing in appreciation as the warmth of his body returns, your legs draped across his lap, arms circling his neck.

For a brief, fleeting moment, everything feels like it’s in its right place, like this is where you’ve always belonged. It feels so natural, so easy, being wrapped up in him. His deep, slow breaths lull you into a state of calm. His chin rests on the top of your head, hand rubbing soothing strokes along your spine.

You press even closer, breathing him in, feeling like you could get used to this, like you already have. Like you’ve always known this is where you should be. Your fingers trace absentminded patterns along his tattooed arm, the one holding you secure under your legs. You feel the need to look at him, to admire the man that marked you as his.

But when you glance up, you’re a bit startled when you notice the shift in his expression. His face is hardened, jaw clenched tight. He's not relaxed like he was just moments ago. His gaze is distant, staring intently at a spot across the room as if lost in thought. Yet his hands continue to cradle you, almost unconsciously, like holding you has become second nature to him.

Jeongguk’s mind is a whirlwind of emotions, and they only scatter all over the place as he feels you move closer, impossibly so. You seek warmth, care. Nuzzle your fragile body against his for protection, something more that he fears he can’t give you. Love.

He once thought he’d drained himself of it, had nothing left to offer. Now, with you in his arms, the smallest spark flickers to life, burning its way up his throat until it feels like it’s going to consume him.

He wants to give in. He wants to hold you tighter, trap you against him, keep you with him. Give you everything.

But he can’t do that to you. Can’t make you go through the same path that took everything from him. not without ruining you in the process.

He knows what comes next. What always comes next. Love turns into suffering, it’s inevitable. And could he survive seeing the look on Areum’s face when she finds out? How would she react if she knew the truth about what he’s done, about how he feels? About how he truly wants to act upon his feelings? The thought makes him feel sick, even as his heart beats steadily against yours, comforted by your presence.

Why doesn’t he feel disgusted? Why isn’t there shame gnawing at him, making him pull away? Instead, there’s only bliss. The sheer joy of having you this close, of holding you like this, makes him forget everything else.

He wishes he could be immature, for once. Wishes he was your age, and that nothing truly mattered. That he still could allow himself to make stupid decisions.

Maybe then, you’d be his, and reality wouldn’t catch up to him.

“Jeongguk? Are you okay?”

Your soft, honeyed voice pulls him from his spiral, and he startles slightly, caught off guard. His eyes meet yours, wide and filled with concern, searching his face for answers.

He tries to hide the storm brewing inside him, forcing a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Huh? Yeah. I'm okay.”

Of course, you don’t believe him. An ugly feeling makes space in your stomach, and the weight of everything begins to press down. You don’t want it to take over you just yet, want to be coddled by the moment a little more, want to try and believe there’s nothing to be afraid of.

You offer a tentative smile, hoping to ease whatever tension is growing between you. “You… you seem worried.”

“I'm not, baby. I'm just thinking.”

“About?”

“Stuff.” His voice is clipped, and the small wall he’s building between you becomes clearer.

The distance stings, and your heart sinks as you try to hold onto the moment that felt so perfect just a second ago. Desperate to reach him, you place your hands on his face, tilting his chin down to meet your gaze.

Your eyes glisten with emotion, but you manage a genuine, if small, smile. “You can tell me, you know. You can talk to me.”

One simple, small smile spreading across his lips makes you doubt all of your worries. It makes you want to believe that maybe, there’s truly no reason to be scared. That maybe, this can go well.

“I know,” it’s whispered on your face, his hand coming to play with the hair that frame your cheeks sweetly. “Let’s get you to bed now, hm?”

Before you can protest, he’s lifting you off the couch with ease, cradling you in his arms bridal style as if you weigh nothing at all. You clutch onto him.

You feel your insides fuzzy with the gesture, and you wiggle yourself closer in his embrace, looking up at him expectantly, “Your bed?”

It breaks his heart having to disappoint you, tone soft as he tries to make up for it with his thumb brushing your thigh, “No, baby. You gotta go back to Areum’s room.”

“But— but… I wanna sleep next to you,” you plead, your voice small and almost childlike as you pout up at him, hoping to sway him.

He looks away, focusing on the stairs as if looking at you would break his resolve. “We can’t, dove. You know we can’t.”

His words feel like a punch to the gut, and your eyes well up. “We can't?”

The silence that follows is louder than any answer he could have given, and it weighs heavy between you, suffocating. There's no actual explanation to it, and the realization leaves both of you uneasy.

At Areum’s door, he sets you down gently, making sure you’re steady on your feet. He's careful with you, like he always is, his voice low, “Go wash up. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“No…”

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don't make this harder.”

You frown in protest, keeping eye contact, but he doesn’t break. His gaze is steady, resolute.

You want to argue, want to push, but the exhaustion settles over you, and you slump, defeated. You still sway sweetly for him, your hands tied behind your back, “Okay… Can you kiss me?”

Your voice is small, muffled behind your pout as you seek for him with anticipation, a sheepish smile making its way on your lips.

When he doesn’t move closer, you get on your tippy toes and lean in his direction once again, your eyes almost fluttering shut before you hear him clear his throat, and take an awkward step back.

You’re back on your heels with a thump, the same one reverberating in your chest with your heart falling, your mouth hanging open with confusion written all over your expression.

You go to say something but he’s quicker, his voice solemn, “Goodnight, ___.”

Jeongguk smiles, but it’s nothing like the ones that took over his whole face just minutes ago on the couch, his eyes full of you. You're not even sure if you can define it as a smile. It’s polite, almost too polite, and it only results in feeling tremendously distant from him. Completely disconnected from you.

He retreats, long legs carrying him away, his back to you as he slips into his room. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound final, and it echoes in the hollow space.

You stand still, the weight of his absence pressing heavily on your chest. The spot where he left you feels like a grave, your feet sinking into the cold floor as if it’s pulling you under. The warmth he offered, the fleeting sense of safety, is gone, and you’re freezing. Your throat is tight with the effort to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. It's useless, though.

Your bare feet shuffle against the floor, but you can’t move forward. You can’t go back. You can’t do anything except stand there and feel the weight of it all crash down on you.

You’d been so afraid this would happen. How could you have been so foolish? Even in the midst of the sweetness, you knew it was too good to be true. A part of you always knew. And yet, you let yourself believe for a fleeting moment that something real could come from it. That you could be enough.

You’d have done anything to prove it to him. To show him your loyalty, your willingness to make it work. You still would. You'd give him every part of yourself, if he’d only take it. If he’d only look at you the way you want him to.

The full weight of your reality sinks in. In the end, none of it was truly real.

A sob breaks free from your chest, raw and painful. The sound echoes in the quiet hallway, bouncing off the walls that now feel oppressive, like they’re closing in on you. This house, every corner, it’s all stained now, tainted by the memory of what just happened, by the lie you let yourself fall into.

Fucking hell. My head… Jesus Christ…

I groaned before I even opened my eyes. The pounding wasn’t just behind my temples—it was everywhere, echoing in my jaw, reverberating through my neck, pulsing like my head had its own heartbeat. I squeezed my eyes tighter, like maybe I could just wish the pain away, but that only made it worse. Light crept in through my eyelids, sharp and invasive, like needles made of daylight and shame.

I let out a low, pathetic sound and yanked the pillow over my face. Maybe if I smothered myself gently, I could slide back into unconsciousness. That had to be better than this.

My mouth was dry. Like desert-dry. Cotton-ball, sandpaper, someone-stuffed-a-towel-in-there-while-I-slept dry. My teeth felt... weird. Fuzzy. Like they had grown sweaters overnight.

And then, it hit me.

The kamikazes. The wine. Titanic. Lucy trying to reenact the “I’m flying” scene on top of the coffee table. Mina snorting soda out her nose when I confessed I’d never had a proper date. The entire ridiculous, amazing mess of it.

Right. So this is what a hangover feels like. I wasn’t impressed.

A shrill, persistent beeping cut through the fog like an airhorn through a funeral. I ignored it. It beeped again. And again. It wasn’t going to stop. I whimpered as I flung the pillow aside and cracked one eye open.

Big mistake.

The brightness of the room was criminal. My apartment looked like a war zone. Blankets and pillows were everywhere, a trail of snack wrappers lined the floor like breadcrumbs leading to poor life choices, and there was an actual wine bottle with a straw sticking out of it on the coffee table.

God help me.

I sat up slowly, testing gravity. The sheets were twisted around my legs, the evidence of someone who had clearly tossed and turned all night like a possessed burrito. I peeled myself free, shuffled to the bookshelf, and spotted the source of the beeping.

My phone. I picked it up and squinted at the screen. Twelve missed calls. I didn’t even have to look to know who it was from.

Nine calls yesterday, starting right after I declined the first one. Three more already today. I winced. A part of me felt guilty, but the rest of me was still too hungover to care.

I checked the time. 12:08 p.m. That couldn’t be right.

I stumbled into the kitchen and checked the clock on the stove. Also 12:08. My jaw dropped slightly. I had never in my entire life slept this late. Sleeping past eight usually gave me hives. Sleeping past noon? That was borderline criminal. It felt... indulgent. Wicked, even.

Weirdly, it also felt kind of great.

Still, I wasn’t about to take a call from my mother in this condition. That was a form of self-harm. I set the phone down, started the coffee maker, and dragged myself into the bathroom for a shower. Twenty minutes later—face scrubbed, teeth brushed, hair shoved into a bun—I was feeling mostly human. The caffeine helped. So did the Advil. So did the complete silence.

Time to check on the damage.

I knocked on Mina and Lucy’s door, weakly. Mina opened it like she’d been waiting all morning. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, her skin glowing, and she was already dressed like she was about to go to brunch with the Kardashians.

“Hey, sleepyhead!” she beamed.

I scowled. “That’s just cruel. Please tell me you’re secretly dying inside too.”

“Nope,” she said, far too cheerfully. “I’m blessed with a steel liver and a high tolerance for cheap vodka.”

“I hate you.”

“Most people do,” she said, stepping aside to let me in. “Come on. Lucy’s clinging to her coffee like it’s the last branch before the fall.”

Sure enough, Lucy was slumped over the counter, her cheek mashed against the granite. She lifted her head one centimeter when she heard my voice.

“Mmh.”

“That’s all I get?” I asked.

She blinked at me, slowly. “It hurts to exist.”

Fair.

Mina clapped her hands, far too chipper for the current emotional climate. “Alright, grumpy girls! I know exactly what we need today.”

“Sleep?” I offered.

“Silence?” Lucy tried.

“Grease-fueled breakfast burritos?”

“Nope.” Mina beamed. “Shopping.”

Lucy perked up immediately. “You said shopping?”

“Et tu, Brute?” I muttered.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Lucy said, already reaching for her shoes. “You haven’t even been to the mall yet.”

“I’ve seen malls before,” I said. “They have food courts and bad lighting. It’s not a cultural experience.”

“You wound me,” Mina said, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “This isn’t just a mall. This is the Mall of America. Four levels. Five hundred stores. An aquarium. An actual roller coaster.”

I stared at her. “You want to drag me through five hundred stores? I’ll be a corpse by dinnertime.”

“Please,” Mina scoffed. “Half of them are for children or tourists. We’ll only go into, like, two hundred.”

“Not helping,” I deadpanned.

“Get dressed,” she said, nudging me back toward my apartment. “It’ll be great cardio. Think of it as physical therapy.”

I sighed, knowing I was outnumbered. “Fine. But I swear, if I see a single pretzel stand, I’m throwing myself into the koi pond.”

Back in my apartment, I threw on a pair of jeans, a flannel, and my most supportive sneakers. I didn’t bother with makeup. If I was going to be emotionally and physically assaulted by capitalism, I was doing it with a clean face and minimal effort.

As I grabbed my purse, my phone buzzed again. I didn’t even read the message. I powered the phone off and shoved it in the drawer. Not today.

Keeping up with Mina was going to be a full-time job.

We took my car—Lucy driving, since I still didn’t know my way around—and Mina declared it had the best trunk space. That made me nervous. Like this was the shopping version of “we need a bigger boat.”

“This,” Mina said, buckling her seatbelt, “is why it’s so great that none of us work traditional jobs. Weekday mall trips. No crowds. All the discounts.”

“Tuesdays are the best,” Lucy said. “Peak performance shopping day.”

Tuesday.

The word hit me like a slap.

I froze in the passenger seat.

Jungkook. The bar. Tonight.

I had looked it up the moment I got home from the airport. Saved the address, noted the parking situation, mapped out the route. Seven minutes away. Easy.

Except it didn’t feel easy now. It felt like a hundred miles. A whole different life. I stared out the window, chewing the inside of my cheek.

I wanted to see him. But I also wanted to crawl under a blanket and pretend I wasn’t the kind of girl who had no idea how to navigate whatever this was. I’d never dated. Never flirted. Never had a boyfriend. The boys I grew up skating with were more interested in eyeliner than eye contact. The rest? Coaches, managers, staff. Off-limits.

Jungkook was different. He had this quiet confidence, this way of seeing me like I wasn’t just my résumé or my rink time. Like I was someone interesting. Someone worth noticing.

What if I screwed it up? What if he wasn’t who I remembered? What if I went tonight, made a fool of myself, and destroyed the one genuinely exciting possibility I’d had in years?

What if he expected me to be someone I wasn’t? Someone experienced. Someone sexy. Someone who didn’t flinch every time someone got too close. What if I disappointed him? What if I disappointed myself?

I felt nauseous.

“Earth to Y/N,” Mina sang, snapping her fingers in front of my face from the passenger seat.

I blinked. “Huh?”

“You okay? You haven’t said a single word since we got on the freeway.”

“Oh.” I fumbled for something to say. “Just thinking.”

She exchanged a glance with Lucy in the rearview mirror. The look said everything—they knew I was full of it, but they didn’t press.

Instead, Mina just looped her arm through mine the second we stepped out of the car and headed toward the massive glass entrance of the mall. I hadn’t even realized we’d parked.

“Easy, Seabiscuit,” I muttered as she tugged me along. “Some of us are still walking with one leg and a half-functioning knee.”

She grinned, slowing her pace just enough. “You’ll be fine. Think of it as a warm-up.”

As we neared the doors, Lucy perked up like she’d just remembered something exciting. “Hey, are you coming out with us tonight?”

“Out?”

“Yeah. Tuesday’s our night,” she said, like that should’ve been obvious.

“I don’t know...” I hedged. The words came out slower, more cautious than I meant.

Mina clutched her chest in mock betrayal. “Come on, Y/N! Taehyung and Jimin would be so excited to see you again.” Her voice pitched up as she clasped her hands together. “And it won’t be the same without you.”

I smiled weakly. “I might already have plans.”

Mina narrowed her eyes like she was trying to read a lie in my expression. “Then we’re definitely finding you a new outfit. Just in case.”

And just like that, my fate was sealed.

We disappeared into the sprawling, multi-level madness of the Mall of America. Store after store. Rack after rack. It was like stepping into another world, one filled with dizzying amounts of fluorescent lighting, pop music, and pushy mannequins in overpriced denim.

Half the time, I didn’t even know where we were. Mina and Lucy, though—they moved with the precision of seasoned hunters. They had a sixth sense for clearance racks and hidden gems, and somehow, they pulled me along like I’d agreed to this willingly.

By the third level, I was holding more bags than I could count. My arms ached. My feet throbbed. I had no idea how it happened—how I’d ended up buying four different tops, a dress I wasn’t sure I could pull off, and a pair of boots Mina swore I “needed.” There was something dangerous about shopping with people who actually thought you deserved nice things.

The mall was exactly what they promised: huge, loud, overwhelming. But there were moments—small ones—where I forgot everything else. Where I laughed at Lucy’s commentary on the store mannequins. Where I actually liked the way I looked in the mirror for the first time in a long while. Where I let myself be just a girl at the mall, not an injured athlete trying to pretend she wasn’t falling apart inside.

I hadn’t touched my phone since that morning. I hadn’t thought about Emily. Or skating. Or the weight of the last six months.

Mina filled every silence with something—jokes, fashion debates, weird questions that came out of nowhere. Lucy followed up with commentary like a one-woman sitcom. All I had to do was keep up, and even that felt optional.

By the time we finally called it quits, the sun had dipped low behind the parking structure and the bags digging into my arms made me feel like I’d just run a marathon. We packed into the elevator like clumsy thieves, arms full of shopping trophies and half-finished iced coffees.

Mina unlocked her door like she was clocking in at a job she loved, already talking about reorganizing her closet before I’d even reached mine.

“Hey—what about tonight?” Lucy called down the hall before I closed my door.

I hesitated. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know soon, okay?”

“No rush. We usually head out around seven.”

I gave her a weak smile. “Sounds good.”

As soon as my door clicked shut behind me, I let go of everything—literally. The bags hit the floor in a heap of rustling tissue paper and overly optimistic purchases. I dropped onto the couch like someone had cut my strings, head falling back, arms limp at my sides.

My knee throbbed, but it was a manageable ache. The kind that told me I hadn’t overdone it—maybe even that I was getting stronger.

I let myself close my eyes for a minute. Just one.

When I opened them again, the clock read 4:25 p.m.

Just enough time.

I picked up my phone, hesitating for a second before powering it on. The screen lit up immediately. Twelve missed calls. Four voicemails. One new text. All from Emily.

I stared at it for a beat, steeling myself, then hit speed dial.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Well, well,” she said, voice sharp and polished. “I guess you’re still alive.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“‘Hi, Mom’? That’s all I get after ignoring my calls all day?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” I said, already tired. “I was busy.”

“Busy with what? You don’t have a job. You don’t have school. You don’t even have skating right now.”

I rubbed the heel of my palm against my eye. “I was out with some friends.”

“You were too busy making friends to update me on your knee?”

“I’m calling you now, aren’t I?”

“A full day later. For all I knew, you missed the appointment.”

“I didn’t. It went fine.”

“I wouldn’t call not being cleared to compete fine, Y/N.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard. “He said I’m healing well. He’s optimistic.”

Emily scoffed. “Well, he would say that. But optimism doesn’t get you a spot at Nationals. That requires action. Discipline. Commitment.”

“I haven’t lost any of that,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended.

“You’re not acting like someone who cares about their future.”

“And what does that look like, exactly? Refusing to rest? Pushing myself back onto the ice before I’m ready?”

“You’re twenty-four. This is your prime. You don’t have time to waste.”

“I know that,” I snapped. “I’ve been living it.”

The line went quiet for a moment.

“You’re being dramatic.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “I’m being honest.”

Another pause. Heavier this time.

“Are you finished with your little tantrum?”

I dropped the phone onto the couch and grabbed the nearest throw pillow, pressing it to my face before letting out a long, guttural scream. Three times. I didn’t care if the neighbors heard. I didn’t even care if the building collapsed around me.

It didn’t fix anything. But it let some of the pressure out, like cracking the lid on a soda that’s been shaken too hard.

I stayed like that for a while—still, quiet, my heart pounding in the silence she’d left behind. Even though the call had ended, Emily’s voice still echoed through the room, clipped and clinical and so deeply embedded in my nervous system that I almost expected her to start talking again.

My eyes drifted to the mess on the floor. The shopping bags, the tissue paper spilling out like ribbons, the dress Mina had declared “life-changing,” the boots Lucy insisted were “man-bait.” They were supposed to be fun. They were supposed to be part of tonight—just in case I went out, just in case I saw him.

Just in case I had a life that felt like mine. The phone buzzed in my hand. I stared at it. Another call from her. Of course. I closed my eyes, drew in a breath, and—against my better judgment—answered.

“Yes?” I said quietly.

“Do you think you could manage to fill me in on what the doctor said?” Her tone was sharp, but smug. She knew she’d reeled me back in.

I pressed my fingers to my temple. “I’m off crutches. I’m setting up physical therapy this week. I’m cleared for basic activity—no pivots, no sudden stops, no cutting. He wants a follow-up in April. That’s when we’ll know more about training.”

I kept my voice flat. Short. Bullet points. That’s how she preferred things—concise, efficient, like a coach reviewing footage.

“There,” she said, satisfied. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You should’ve said all this yesterday. I want that PT appointment scheduled immediately. Maybe once you’re moving again, you’ll feel motivated. And April? Honestly. That’s excessive.”

“It’s what the doctor said.”

“I doubt it. He’s probably being overly cautious. But fine. We’ll be aggressive once you’re cleared. I’ve already started talking to a new coach.”

I froze.

“What?”

“I’ve been in touch with someone new. A coach with the kind of training approach you need now—someone who’ll actually push you.”

“What about Yoongi?” My voice sharpened without my permission. “Why would I need a new coach?”

“Yoongi is soft, Y/N. You’ve outgrown him. He doesn't have the fire to get you back to Olympic level after so much time off.”

My stomach turned. A tight, anxious knot pulled just under my ribs. “Did you fire him?”

“Not yet. But I will if I have to.”

I stood without realizing it, pacing across the room like I could walk off the panic. “You can’t do that. Mom—he’s been with me since I was twelve. He knows me.”

“I know what’s best for your career. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“Don’t I?” I snapped. “Don’t you think I should have a say in who coaches me?”

Emily sighed, the way she always did when she thought I was being difficult. “You don’t need to get emotional. This is why I handle the logistics.”

“Maybe I’m tired of not being asked.”

“You’re not thinking clearly. You’ve always been like this when you’re hurt.”

My mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “You mean like when I was fourteen and had a stress fracture, but you still made me perform at Regionals?”

“That was a strategic decision. And you medaled.”

I stared at the far wall, feeling something inside me slip sideways. “You keep acting like this is about strategy. Like I’m a product. But I’m not. I’m your daughter.”

“Exactly,” she said crisply. “Which is why I care more than anyone. I’m the one who got you here. Don’t forget that.”

My chest burned. I pressed a hand flat against it, like that might help. “Then maybe start acting like it.”

Another pause. Heavy. Tense.

“Are you finished?”

I laughed, but it was brittle and joyless. “You know what? Yeah. I think I am.”

“Y/N—”

“I’m not talking about this anymore,” I said. “Not today. Not until I’m cleared to compete. Right now, none of this matters.”

“We can’t afford to wait—”

“You’re going to have to.”

She was already revving up for another counterattack, but I didn’t give her the chance. I ended the call, set the phone face-down on the coffee table, and walked away like it was made of fire.

My hands were shaking. I could feel the rage thrumming under my skin, not explosive, but steady. Persistent. Like a hum in my bones.

I picked up the same pillow and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a soft thud and landed in a slump. I sank onto the couch and pulled my knees to my chest, pressing my forehead into them.

Of course, the phone started ringing again. I stared at it. Ringing. Again. Ang then again. My jaw clenched so hard it ached. I reached for the phone—and powered it off. The silence that followed was like breaking through the surface of deep water. Shocking. Still.

Tears threatened, burning at the corners of my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. Not yet. Not for her.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love my mother. I did. In my own way. But I was so tired of being something she managed instead of someone she knew. Fifteen years of this—of letting her make every decision, schedule every training session, dictate every moment of my future. I had let her. Because I thought that’s what it meant to be good. To be successful. To be loved.

But I wasn’t sure I could do it anymore.

I pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and walked to the window seat. Curled up in the corner, knees tucked under me, I hugged a pillow tight to my chest and rested my forehead against the cool glass.

Outside, the river moved slowly along its curve, calm and indifferent. Unbothered. Like time existed differently out there—measured not by medals or seasons or recovery timelines, but by the quiet, steady rhythm of water meeting shore.

I breathed in through my nose. Let it out slowly.

By the time the sky turned that moody shade of dusky blue, the anger had drained out of me completely. All that was left was something quieter. A kind of sadness that settled low in my chest and refused to move.

Despair, maybe. Or the beginnings of it.

She hadn’t asked how I was. Not once. Not if I liked living alone, or if I was making friends. Not whether I was sleeping okay, or eating anything other than frozen protein waffles. Nothing about the move, or the adjustment, or if I’d stopped waking up every morning convinced I was already falling behind.

Just the usual questions—when will you train again? How soon until you’re back on the ice? Can we salvage this season?

As if that was all I existed for. Jumps. Spins. Gold medals and press appearances. The choreography of usefulness.

I hugged a pillow tighter to my chest, wishing it felt like something solid. Something that might, just for a second, hug me back.

Outside the window, the last hints of sunlight faded, leaving only the reflections of streetlamps on the river and the soft, muted flicker of headlights. I watched them for longer than I meant to, blinking slowly, mind quiet. Not really thinking. Just... feeling. Letting the ache in my chest take up space for once.

A knock at the door pulled me out of it.

I flinched. Shit. Mina.

I hadn’t even noticed the time. A quick glance at the clock told me it was just after seven. The plan had been to go out. I was supposed to be getting dressed, figuring out what version of myself to wear tonight.

Instead, I padded to the door and pulled it open, every movement heavier than it should’ve been.

Mina stood there in a fitted black dress and heels I wouldn’t survive five minutes in. Her hair was pinned back in soft waves, and her lipstick was the perfect shade of dangerous. She looked beautiful—effortlessly so. And happy. Until she saw me.

Her smile faltered. “Hey... what’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing.” I blinked at her, tried to smile. It felt clumsy. Like trying to fake warmth with a burnt-out bulb.

Mina tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Y/N, come on. I may not have known you that long, but even I can tell when you’ve been crying.”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “Really, it’s nothing.”

She crossed her arms, not budging. “If it were nothing, you’d just tell me. But you’re hiding it, which means it’s something. That’s how friends work, by the way. We notice things.”

I exhaled, slow and shaky. “I’m just... not up for it tonight. That’s all.”

Mina stepped closer. “Then I’ll stay. We can order takeout, watch trashy reality TV, do literally nothing.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Please. Go. You should go. You’ve been looking forward to this all week. Jimin’s probably already there.”

She hesitated. “I see him all the time.”

“I know. But it’s okay. I just need a quiet night.”

She studied me for a beat, and for a second I was sure she was going to argue. But then she softened. “You promise you’ll be okay?”

I nodded. “I promise.”

“Fine,” she said, exhaling. But she didn’t leave. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me without another word.

I froze. The instinct to pull back kicked in before I could stop it—too tight, too close—but then I exhaled and let myself lean into it. Her hug was warm and firm, not rushed or careful, just there. Steady in a way I hadn’t realized I needed. And it hit me, sharply, how unfamiliar this felt. How rare it was.

When was the last time someone hugged me like that? Not because I won something, or finished a clean program, or needed comforting after a bad skate—but just because?

She pulled back but didn’t let go entirely. Her hands rested on my arms, grounding me. “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.”

I swallowed. Nodded. Blinked too fast.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said softly. “You can pretend you’re okay until then. But I’ll be back for the full breakdown.”

I smiled, watery but genuine. “Okay.”

She left without needing another word, her heels clicking softly down the hallway. I shut the door behind her and slid the chain into place.

Then I leaned back against it, body sinking slowly to the floor.

Goddamn it, Emily.

She wasn’t even in the same zip code, and she was still managing to pull the strings. Still controlling my thoughts, my emotions, my everything. I hated how easily she got in. How quickly she could dismantle me with a few words, a few carefully placed criticisms wrapped in concern.

I looked at the shopping bags scattered across the floor, some still half-open, tissue paper spilling out like an afterthought. A pair of boots. A slouchy sweater I’d never normally pick for myself. That navy wrap dress Mina had insisted was a “game-changer.” Little things. Things that felt indulgent, yes—but also strangely personal. Things I had chosen. Things I liked.

Things that were mine.

And yet all it took was one phone call with Emily to unravel that sense of ownership. One conversation, and suddenly I was thirteen again—sitting silently in the passenger seat of her SUV, hands curled around the straps of my skate bag, scared to say the wrong thing. Scared she might look at me and see disappointment.

But today, I had said the wrong thing.

I hadn’t just thought the words. I’d spoken them out loud. I'd told her no. Not angrily, not with dramatics—but plainly. Honestly. That terrified me more than anything. Not because I feared what she might do. But because I knew it wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t hear me. She never did.

Maybe it was distance that made the difference. The physical miles between us. Or maybe it was time—these quiet days away from rinks and routines, away from the pressure of being whoever she needed me to be. Maybe it was Mina and Leera.

Leera, with her sharp laugh and sharper mind. A woman thriving in a world that had tried, more than once, to shrink her. Mina, who radiated energy like she manufactured her own sun, who built her business from the ground up and did it on her terms.

They didn’t wait for permission. They didn’t need anyone to define them. I admired them so much for that, because what had I been doing all these years?

Chasing approval. Trying to live up to an expectation I never helped set. I trained longer. Jumped higher. Skated harder. I collected medals like they were evidence in a trial only Emily was judging. I told myself if I just worked harder, if I got better, if I won bigger—she’d see me. She’d be proud. And maybe, finally, she’d stop looking at me like I was a project halfway to perfection.

Deep down, I knew the truth. Even Olympic gold wouldn’t have been enough, because it had never really been about me.

Yes, I loved skating. Yes, there had been joy in the triumphs, in the beauty of movement and music and flight. But the pressure? The sacrifices? They weren’t mine. They were hers, and I couldn’t do that anymore.

I pushed myself up off the floor, my limbs heavy but sure. Something inside me had shifted. I didn’t have answers. I didn’t have a next step. But for the first time, I wanted to find one. A step that was mine, even if it was small. Even if it was quiet.

Whatever came next—it wasn’t going to be for Emily.

In the kitchen, I opened the freezer and pulled out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s Mina had insisted I needed. “Emergency ice cream,” she’d called it, throwing it into the cart like it was medicine. I’d rolled my eyes at the time.

Standing barefoot on cold tile, spoon in hand, staring into nothing in particular—it felt like the most rational choice I could make. I dug in.

The first bite was numbing. The second—comforting. I didn’t bother with a bowl. Mina would’ve been proud.

I leaned back against the counter and glanced at the clock.

7:53 p.m.

My chest tightened slightly.

Jungkook would be at the bar by now. Or arriving. The thought hit me harder than it should’ve.

I wondered if he’d remember mentioning it to me. If maybe he’d glance at the door once or twice, casually, just to see if I’d show.

Probably not. Guys like him didn’t wait around. He probably had girls lined up without even trying—girls who knew how to play the game, who could flirt without blushing, who wore confidence like perfume and didn’t have a mother in their head critiquing their every move. Girls who didn’t second-guess everything. Girls who didn’t freeze in the middle of a moment because they weren’t sure if they were allowed to want it.

I wasn’t one of those girls.

Still, the thought of never seeing him again left an ache behind. A quiet kind of ache. The kind that hums under your skin and doesn’t really go away, even after you’ve tried to reason it out of existence.

I stood there, spoon in hand, eating my way through the pint until it was nothing but soft, half-melted swirls at the bottom. Then I rinsed it out and dropped it in the sink.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. I curled up on the couch with a blanket and reached for the remote. After a few seconds of scrolling, I landed on The Cutting Edge. Comfort movie. Familiar. Predictable.

Somewhere between the second argument and the first glimpse of choreography, sleep pulled me under.

The rest of the week passed in a strange, blurry haze—like I was watching my life on fast-forward but couldn’t find the remote to slow it down. The days came and went, marked more by weather shifts and coffee refills than anything memorable. I woke up, did my rehab exercises, pretended to text Emily back, and tried not to think too hard about anything.

Mina showed up the next morning, just like she said she would—armed with two lattes, a cinnamon roll big enough to qualify as a cake, and that look in her eye that I’d come to know meant she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“You promised me a breakdown,” she said as soon as she walked in, kicking off her shoes and settling into my kitchen like she lived here.

“I promised you coffee,” I muttered, accepting the latte.

She smirked. “You promised tomorrow. And guess what? It’s tomorrow.”

Mina had this talent—a gift, really—of making her interrogations feel like casual conversation. She didn’t press too hard. She didn’t push. But somehow, over the course of a few sentences and sips of caffeine, you’d find yourself saying things you hadn’t meant to. Secrets you’d sworn you’d keep. It wasn’t even sneaky. It just felt easy with her. Like breathing.

Unfortunately for her, I’d been breathing around Emily for most of my life. And that meant I was professionally trained in the art of holding everything in.

So we had a friendly little standoff: Mina asked carefully worded questions, and I offered vaguely acceptable answers. She poked, I dodged. She made gentle suggestions; I gave noncommittal shrugs. She brought up “trust” at least three times.

I gave her just enough to keep her from worrying. That I’d had a rough call with my mom. That we’d argued—nothing new there. That I was still figuring out what I wanted, and maybe that wasn’t the worst thing. That sometimes healing isn’t just about your body.

What I didn’t tell her—what I couldn’t bring myself to say—was that I’d stood her up. That I didn’t go to the bar Tuesday night. That I didn’t see Jungkook again.

Because if I told her, she’d ask why. And I didn’t have a good answer. Not one that made me look like someone I wanted to be.

If I did tell her, she’d launch into full Mina Mode—talk about bravery and seizing the moment and how life wasn’t going to wait around for me to feel ready. She’d quote a rom-com, probably Notting Hill, and say something about regret being worse than rejection. And she'd mean it.

But I wasn’t in the mood to be inspired.

I was still mad at myself.

Mad at the way I froze up the second I thought about going. Mad that I let fear win. That I let Emily’s voice echo louder than my own. I’d told myself I was tired. That I needed rest. That I wasn’t in the right headspace. But really, I was scared. Scared of what it would feel like to want something just for me—and then risk not getting it.

Now it was too late. The Jungkook ship had sailed. He’d said Tuesday. He’d given me an opening. And I didn’t take it. I didn’t even try. What stung most wasn’t the idea that I’d never see him again. It was that I hadn’t shown up for myself.

That I’d let the moment slip away, standing frozen on the edge of possibility while the chance disappeared quietly into the night—leaving nothing behind but an aching kind of what-if and a soft, stupid crush I couldn’t seem to shake.

Mina didn’t push again. Maybe she saw something in my face. Maybe she just knew when to let silence do the heavy lifting. She finished her cinnamon roll and told me I needed to get out more. I agreed, even though we both knew I didn’t mean it.

That was the thing about Mina. She never gave up—but she gave space.

So she stood, kissed the top of my head like a sister might, and told me she’d text me later.

And when the door closed behind her, the quiet came rushing back in.

The last few days felt different. Not perfect, not painless—but better. Not like I was suddenly back to who I used to be, but like I was finally brushing up against someone I recognized. A version of myself I hadn’t seen in a long time.

It started with small things. I made it back to the gym—a dusty, underused little room on the first floor of our building that smelled faintly of disinfectant and old ambition. Nothing fancy. A few cardio machines, a weight rack, and a yoga mat that had definitely seen better days. But it was something. A place to move again. A place to feel my body do more than just exist.

Progress was slow. Frustrating, honestly. Ten minutes on the stationary bike felt like a full workout. My knee protested with every step, but not in the sharp, hopeless way it used to. This pain was different—dull, manageable, like the soreness that reminded you your muscles were still in there. Still trying.

I stuck to what Dr. Jeon told me—brace on, pace steady, no sudden movements. But God, it was already getting old. My old routine would’ve crushed this one in the first twenty minutes: Pilates, a five-mile run, three hours on the ice, then back to strength training after lunch. Days that left me wrecked and exhilarated. Days that gave me purpose.

Now? Some stretches. Light weights. A glorified power walk. Still, it was something. And that counted.

Mina and Lucy stopped by the gym once or twice—not to exercise, but to keep me company. They brought iced coffees and gossip, sat on the mats next to me like we were at some wellness retreat instead of a basement-level fitness room with flickering overhead lights. I didn’t say it out loud, but it helped. Just having someone there. No pressure. No judgment. No stopwatch.

I knew I couldn’t rush it. I repeated that to myself like a mantra. But the itch to do more sat just beneath my skin. To push. To get back to the version of me who felt strong.

So, I called a physical therapist.

Malichi was young, easygoing, and had the kind of dry humor that put me at ease without trying too hard. He cracked dumb jokes while adjusting my form, and always seemed to know when to reel me back in just before I overdid it.

“You’ve got two speeds,” he said during our first session, grinning as I scowled through a round of banded leg lifts. “Too slow and way too fast. We’re gonna find the middle.”

I liked him. PT was still going to suck, but at least it wouldn’t suck alone. I’d be seeing him twice a week until April. Lucky him.

Meanwhile, Emily was still a constant presence—without ever actually being present. My inbox filled up with clipped emails, her voicemails bouncing between cold, professional concern and passive-aggressive digs disguised as “constructive input.” She was furious beneath the surface, and I could feel it, even when her words were polite. She hated not having control. Hated that I hadn’t given her one inch of it since that phone call.

And maybe that was why I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Not because I missed her, exactly. But because I was starting to see how much space she’d always taken up in my head.

I was twenty-four years old, and it still felt like I was just now figuring out how to live on my own. I didn’t understand taxes. I barely managed my own schedule. I hadn’t booked a competition or a press appearance in my life—someone else always did that for me. I showed up. I skated. I smiled.

That was my job. And I was good at it. I wasn’t sure who I was without her voice in my ear.

The girl in the mirror felt… plain. Not ugly, just unremarkable. The only thing that ever made me feel different was the body I’d carved from years of training—muscle layered over bone like armor. But even that felt foreign now. Softening. Shifting.

The world had called me beautiful, but only when I was dressed for it. On the ice, with flawless hair and strategic lighting. I didn’t hate it. But it never felt like me.

What I hated—what I was only starting to admit—was the way Emily had coached me off the ice. Every word, every gesture, every smile that wasn’t mine. She dictated everything: what I ate, how I spoke in interviews, when I slept, who I talked to. And I let her.

But this week had been different.

This week, I wore leggings and old T-shirts. I ate snacks for dinner. I took naps at weird hours. And no one told me I was doing it wrong.

Mina might raise an eyebrow now and then, but she never tried to change me. She accepted me exactly as I was—even when I didn’t know who that was yet.

So when I looked at the clock and saw it was almost six, I decided I had time for a quick yoga session before we went out.

The hockey game was tonight—Mina and Lucy had been talking it up for days. Apparently, it was a whole event, not just a game. I was kind of looking forward to it. It’d be nice to see everyone again. Maybe even feel... normal.

I rolled out my mat, shifted the coffee table aside, and let my body fall into familiar movement. The flow of breath and stretch and balance. Yoga had been part of my routine for years, but it hit different now—less about performance, more about presence. Each pose reminded me that I was still here. Still in this body. Still healing.

I was mid-Scorpion when the door burst open.

“Knock knock!” Mina’s voice rang through the apartment like a bell, sharp and cheerful. Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked in, eyes already scanning the room.

She stopped in front of me, tilting her head.

“Has anyone ever told you your laziness is truly disgusting?”

I laughed, lowering my legs and shifting into Child’s Pose. “Some of us weren’t born with magical metabolism and perfect skin, Mina. The rest of us have to try.”

She perched on the arm of the couch, watching as I transitioned into Flying Crow. “That looks like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“It’s easier than it looks,” I said between breaths. “Kind of peaceful, actually.”

“You’re deeply unwell,” she muttered.

“I’m almost done,” I promised, easing back to the mat. “Didn’t forget about you.”

“You better not have. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Rude,” she said, already kicking off her heels. “Go shower. I’ll figure out your outfit.”

I groaned, dragging myself to my feet. “Mina, it’s a hockey game. Not fashion week.”

“It’s still an event,” she said, hands on hips. “You’re coming out. You will look cute. And no,” she added, cutting me off before I could protest, “I won’t put you in a cocktail dress.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Promise?”

She smirked. “Mostly.”

I muttered something under my breath but headed for the shower anyway.

She was ridiculous. But she was mine.

“No way, Mina. I’m not wearing that.”

I took a step back like the sparkly T-shirt she was holding might leap off the hanger and attach itself to me against my will. Arms crossed. Voice flat. Unmoved.

Mina just blinked at me, expression somewhere between offended and amused. “Are you kidding me right now?”

I pointed at the shirt. “That thing has rhinestones.”

“It’s a team shirt,” she said, exasperated. “It’s cute. Festive. Fun.”

“It’s bedazzled.”

She held it up higher, inspecting it like I might change my mind if I saw it from another angle. “Lucy and I are both wearing one,” she said, as if that somehow made it better.

“That’s not the argument you think it is.”

Mina narrowed her eyes and thrust the shirt closer. “What exactly is your issue with this? It’s not like it’s covered in glitter. It just has the logo. With a little sparkle.”

I took another half-step back, as if distance alone could help me win this battle. “I don’t do rhinestones. Or sequins. Or things that make me look like a disco ball.”

She didn’t say anything—just stared at me, unblinking.

“What?” I asked, already suspicious.

Still nothing. Just that look.

“Mina,” I said slowly. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Her lips twitched. “Because I have literal photographic proof that you both can and do wear rhinestones. I’ve seen your costumes, Y/N. You’ve basically worn a Swarovski factory on ice.”

“That’s different,” I said quickly. “That’s performance. There are spotlights. Judges. Music. I don’t wear rhinestones in real life. Ever.”

“Okay, well,” she said, shoving the shirt into my hands, “tonight’s not ‘real life.’ It’s Girls’ Night Out, Game Edition.”

I frowned down at the shirt. It was… less offensive than I’d thought. Fitted, soft cotton, with the Red Wings logo in the center—outlined in delicate red crystals. Just enough to catch the light. Still unnecessary, but not as aggressive as it could’ve been.

I sighed. “Fine. But I’m wearing jeans.”

“Obviously.”

“And comfortable shoes. Like, ones I can walk in.”

She looked like she wanted to argue but thought better of it. “Okay.”

“And a hat.”

That made her pause. “A hat?”

“Yup. Baseball cap. Something to offset the sparkle situation.”

Mina groaned, dragging her hand down her face. “You’re ruining the vibe.”

“These are my terms. You want me in rhinestones, I get to negotiate.”

She huffed but nodded. “Fine. Can I at least pick the hat?”

“If you or Lucy have a team cap, I’ll wear that. But I’m not going full glam at a hockey game, Mina. I draw the line at lashes.”

She vanished into her room, muttering something about “fashion heathens,” and came back a minute later holding out a simple red cap. It had the Red Wings logo stitched across the front—no sparkles, no fuss.

“This is the best I can do. It’s Lucy’s. Taehyung gave it to her.”

I took it like it was a precious object. “Perfect. Thank you.”

Mina gave the shirt a wistful glance. “If you’re going to sabotage a perfectly coordinated outfit with that thing, can I please do your makeup? Minimal. I promise.”

I gave her a skeptical look.

She held up both hands. “Swear on my favorite heels.”

I hesitated. “No glitter. No false lashes. No contouring wizardry.”

“Done. You won’t even know it’s there.”

“I better not.”

Mina grinned like she’d just won a court case. “You’re going to look so good.”

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the bathroom. “I already do.”

“You’re damn right you do,” she called after me.

Twenty minutes later, I was dressed and ready—hair still a little damp at the ends but tucked neatly through the back of the Red Wings cap, falling in a low ponytail down my back. The makeup Mina had insisted on was surprisingly understated. True to her word, she kept it simple—just a swipe of mascara, a little eyeliner, and lip gloss that tasted faintly of mint.

It felt nice. Comfortable. Not like I was trying to be someone else. For once, I actually looked like... me. Just a slightly glammed-up version.

Mina had run back to her apartment to finish getting ready and track down Lucy. Meanwhile, I sat on the edge of the couch and laced up my new combat boots, tugging the laces tight and double-knotting them for good measure. Easily my best impulse buy in weeks—soft leather, good tread, no break-in time. They were already giving my Converse a run for their money.

When I knocked on Mina and Lucy’s door a few minutes later, I could hear the familiar chaos unfolding on the other side. Music blasting from somewhere in the back, a hairdryer whirring at full volume, and Mina’s voice rising above it all in a tone that sounded both panicked and bossy.

“Come in, Y/N!” Lucy shouted.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Lucy was balancing on the arm of the couch, zipping up a pair of knee-high black boots like it was the most normal thing in the world. Her hair was done in soft waves, and her lips were already painted a glossy cherry red. She looked completely unbothered.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey! Mina’s almost ready. She claims she needs fifteen more minutes, but I’m betting on five. She’s freakishly efficient when she’s running late.”

As if on cue, the hairdryer cut off mid-whine, and Mina burst out of her room thirty seconds later like she’d been summoned by name. She was fully dressed, makeup flawless, hair curled and pinned back with surgical precision. Not even a trace of rushed energy left on her face. She looked—of course—like she’d spent hours getting ready, not five frantic minutes.

And I had to admit, she wasn’t exaggerating when she said they were wearing the same thing as me. The shirts were clearly part of the same sparkly set—Lucy and Mina in the red versions, mine in white. Theirs had deeper necklines and sleeves that barely qualified as sleeves, but it was definitely a coordinated look. At least they’d had the foresight to bring jackets, slung casually over the backs of dining chairs.

January in Michigan wasn’t exactly crop-top weather, especially in an ice rink. I felt cold just looking at them.

From the waist down, though, we might as well have been triplets—skinny denim and black boots all around. Theirs had heels. Mine didn’t. No regrets.

Mina gave me a once-over and grinned. “Look at us. We’re unintentionally aesthetic.”

“Speak for yourself,” I muttered, adjusting my hat.

Lucy winked. “You look great, Y/N. The hat works.”

“Thank you. I fought hard for it.”

“She did,” Mina admitted, grabbing her coat. “It was a whole diplomatic negotiation. Rhinestones for headgear. A fair compromise.”

“I still say you could’ve worn a little red lipstick,” Mina added, eyeing me as she slipped into her leather jacket.

“Let’s not push our luck.”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Fine. No more beauty interventions tonight.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Well,” she amended, “none that you’ll notice.”

Lucy snorted. “Shall we?”

Mina threw open the door with a flourish, stepping aside like a maître d’ ushering us into a five-star restaurant instead of the apartment hallway.

“Ladies,” she said, “to the rink.”

We stepped out into the hallway, our laughter still echoing behind us like static warmth. The air outside was biting, sharp enough to make our cheeks sting the moment we hit the curb, but none of us flinched. We were too wrapped up in our own excitement—or maybe just too proud to admit how freezing it actually was.

We ordered an Uber to Little Caesars Arena. It wasn’t far—maybe ten minutes in normal traffic—but walking was out of the question. It was January in Michigan, and the temperature had dipped below “maybe doable” hours ago. Plus, Mina mentioned we might meet up with the guys after the game, depending on how it all went. If the team won, there’d be celebrating. If they lost... well, probably still drinks. Either way, none of us felt like navigating parking or arguing over who was going to be the designated driver.

They had a rhythm to these nights, a system honed by habit. I was just tagging along, a guest in someone else’s tradition, but somehow it didn’t feel that way.

By the time our car pulled up to the arena, the place was buzzing. Packed. Everywhere I looked was a blur of red and white and flashes of green from the opposing team’s fanbase. People in beanies and face paint, scarves with player numbers, kids wrapped in oversized jerseys. There was this pulsing energy in the air—familiar, in a way that caught me off guard. It wasn’t unlike the adrenaline of a competition, that low hum of anticipation before something big.

We moved through the crowd slowly, shoulder to shoulder, the three of us keeping close as we made our way toward the entrance. I started noticing names on the backs of jerseys: Jeon. Park. T. Jeon. It stopped me for a second. I don’t know why it surprised me—of course people wore their names. They were professional athletes, fan favorites.

Still, it was surreal seeing those names on strangers. On kids. On grown men with plastic cups of beer. It made it real in a way I hadn’t felt before.

Once our tickets were scanned, Mina and Lucy linked arms with me and pulled me deeper into the chaos. It was like being swept into a current of red jerseys and foam fingers and the unmistakable scent of stadium nachos.

“There they are,” Mina said, pointing ahead as we finally broke free from the crowd bottlenecking at the escalators.

I followed her gaze and spotted Suho standing near one of the tunnels, talking to a woman I hadn’t seen before. She was tiny and elegant, waving wildly when she saw us.

Before I could even register what was happening, Mina took off at a near sprint.

“Wait—Mina!” I called, but she was already gone, weaving through the crowd like it was second nature. Lucy and I shared a look before jogging after her, laughing under our breath like we were chasing a runaway cart at the grocery store.

By the time we caught up, Mina was wrapped around both of them in a three-person hug that looked more like a reunion scene from a family holiday than a quick hello at a hockey game.

Lucy slipped in easily, wrapping the woman in a warm hug before turning to Suho with a mischievous smirk that suggested some long-running inside joke. He laughed, shaking his head, like this was all part of the usual chaos.

I hovered awkwardly at the edge, unsure if I should step in or wait to be pulled.

Suho turned to me, his smile as easy and genuine as I remembered. “Y/N,” he said, his voice warm. “Glad you made it.”

And then—without hesitation—he pulled me into a hug.

I froze for half a beat, not because I minded, but because I hadn’t expected it. It took me a second longer than it should’ve to hug him back, my brain briefly short-circuiting at the casual intimacy of it all.

“Yeah, uh—good to see you, too, Suho,” I mumbled, awkwardly patting his back before pulling away.

He gestured to the woman beside him. “This is my wife, Yuri.”

I turned to her and immediately felt the need to stand up straighter. Yuri was stunning—not in a showy, flashy kind of way, but in that quiet, Old Hollywood way that made you wonder if she’d stepped off the set of a black-and-white movie. Her features were soft, her hair styled in loose waves that looked like they’d fall apart if you touched them but somehow never did. Her eyes, warm and almond-shaped, reminded me of Mina’s—just a little lighter, a little softer. The family resemblance was obvious, but Yuri had her own gravity.

She smiled as she stepped forward and wrapped me in a hug, too—short, warm, completely genuine.

“Honey, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said. Her voice was smooth, like she’d spent a lifetime hosting dinners and knowing exactly what to say to make someone feel welcome. “Suho and Mina have both told me such lovely things. And Taehyung, of course.”

I blinked, surprised. “Oh—um. Thank you.”

What had they said?

She smiled again, like she knew exactly what I was thinking. “Sit next to me during the game, won’t you? I’d love a chance to get to know you myself, since the rest of my family seems to have already adopted you.”

“Oh—sure,” I stammered. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Perfect.” She linked her arm through Suho’s like it was second nature. “Let’s head in before warm-ups. Suho gets antsy when he misses them.”

He grinned and kissed the top of her head like he’d been doing it for years. No performance. No pageantry. Just muscle memory. Love, distilled.

Mina and Lucy darted ahead, already arguing playfully about snacks—something involving nachos and an aggressive popcorn strategy—while I lingered for just a moment longer, my eyes following Suho and Yuri as they walked ahead, hand in hand.

It wasn’t anything flashy. There were no grand gestures or public displays of affection. Just... ease. The way Suho leaned in when she spoke. The quiet way she smiled up at him. The natural way her fingers found his, without looking.

There was something about it that stuck with me. Not just the love—they obviously had that—but something steadier underneath it. Something that felt like friendship, and history, and the kind of trust that only time could build.

They didn’t just love each other.

They still liked each other.

And maybe that was what I envied most. The simplicity of it. The comfort of knowing someone would reach for your hand, and that your own would already be halfway there.

I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Y/N! Let’s go!” Mina called over her shoulder, waving me forward with exaggerated urgency.

I snapped out of my thoughts and hurried after her, slipping into the tunnel that opened into the heart of the arena. The moment we stepped inside, the sound hit me like a wave. Loud. Electric. Alive. Fans talking, laughing, shouting from every direction. The game was still half an hour away, but the place was already buzzing with anticipation.

We emerged into the main bowl of the stadium, the rink stretching out below us in all its sharp, glittering brightness. The ice gleamed beneath the overhead lights, impossibly clean, like glass waiting to be broken.

Something twisted in my chest.

It was beautiful. Familiar. And hard to look at.

I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I’d seen a rink from the stands. Usually I was on the other side of the boards, lacing up, blocking out the noise. But from up here, it was different. A stage. A memory.

I felt something ache in my knee—a quiet reminder. I wasn’t out there anymore.

Before the thought could spiral, someone jostled me from behind. I muttered an apology and stumbled down toward our row, letting the crowd pull me forward.

When I reached Mina, I offered a weak smile. “No suite tonight?”

She laughed as she took her seat. “We’ve done it before, but Yuri likes to be in the thick of it. Says it makes her feel like part of the team.”

I had to admit, the view was incredible. We were only a few rows from the glass, right at center ice. Close enough to see every stride, every shift in momentum, every crash against the boards. I settled in between Mina and Yuri, with Suho on the aisle.

“This your first hockey game?” Yuri asked, leaning in slightly.

“Yeah,” I said. “First one in person, anyway.”

“Oh, you’re going to love it,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “It’s fast, it’s messy, and the energy is completely addictive.”

I smiled. There was something about her—genuine and warm and disarming. Like she’d known you forever, even if you’d just met.

Mina turned around in her seat and nudged Lucy. “Snack run?”

Lucy gave a solemn nod. “Popcorn. Nachos. Gatorade for Taehyung. You two want anything?”

“Just water for me,” Yuri replied.

“I’m good,” I added quickly.

Mina narrowed her eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

I was absolutely getting popcorn whether I asked for it or not.

Once they disappeared into the crowd, Yuri turned to me again, folding her hands in her lap. “Mina mentioned you lived in Michigan before?”

“Yeah. I grew up here for a little while. My mom and I moved away after the divorce.”

Her face softened. “That must’ve been difficult.”

I nodded. “It was a lot, but I was pretty young. I think it was harder on my dad. He’s in Washington now, and my mom’s still out in Nevada.”

“Quite the climate change,” she said with a laugh.

“I forgot how cold it gets here. But honestly? I kind of like it. The city, the seasons. It’s big enough to feel alive but small enough that I don’t feel swallowed by it.”

“That’s how Mina always describes it. She says it’s the kind of place where you can breathe.”

I smiled. “Yeah. That’s exactly it.”

“And you’re settling in okay?”

“Better than I expected, honestly. Mina and Lucy have been amazing. Jimin and Taehyung helped me move in—they even assembled my IKEA furniture, which I’m pretty sure qualifies them for sainthood.”

She laughed. “They really are something, aren’t they? Jimin and Leera have been so good for Mina and Tae. You know, as a mother, there’s nothing more comforting than watching your children be loved the way they deserve to be.”

I nodded. “From what I’ve seen, they’re really happy.”

“They are,” she said, and then paused, her smile dimming just slightly. “I just wish my youngest would find something like that.”

I tilted my head. “Jungkook?”

She nodded. “He’s not like the other two. He’s quieter. He keeps to himself. Doesn’t thrive in the spotlight the same way.”

“People expect him to be a certain way, don’t they?” I said quietly. “Because of the name. The job. The attention.”

“They expect a celebrity,” she said, her voice gentle but certain. “But that’s not who he is. He’s a homebody. He’s thoughtful. He’d rather spend a quiet night in than be photographed at some fancy event. And not everyone understands that. Especially not the women he meets.”

I considered that for a moment. “That doesn’t surprise me. The life of a professional athlete isn’t glamorous, not really. The work is exhausting. The pressure’s constant. And the personal part—the real part—usually gets lost in the noise.”

Yuri looked at me then, really looked. Like she was seeing more than I realized I’d offered. After a moment, she smiled again. “It’s refreshing to hear that from someone your age.”

I ducked my head, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “I guess I’ve been around it long enough to know.”

She hesitated, then reached out and gently tapped my knee—the one still wrapped under my jeans, stiff but healing. “Forgive me if this is too forward, but... I’ve admired you for a long time.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“I’m sure you hear it all the time, but you’re a beautiful skater. Graceful. Powerful. You have that rare thing—presence. I remember watching your last Olympic free skate. Mina cried during Clair de Lune, though she’ll deny it. And Suho made the boys watch it on replay. Twice.”

I laughed, startled and genuinely touched. “That’s... really kind of you. Thank you. Especially now.”

Yuri gave my knee a soft pat, her expression tender. “If it’s meant to be, it will be. I believe that. But even if it isn’t—even if the road ahead doesn’t look like the one you planned—you’ll still find your way.”

Her words hit deeper than I expected, sinking into that quiet part of me I tried not to look at too often. And before I could stop myself, the fear I’d been holding back, tightly wound and buried deep, finally slipped out.

“What if I’m not meant to be on the ice anymore?” My voice was barely above a whisper. “What if I already had my moment and I just... haven’t accepted that it’s over?”

Yuri didn’t blink. She didn’t give me a soft platitude or a well-rehearsed response. She just looked at me with that same calm steadiness, the kind of gaze that came from years of seeing people exactly as they were.

“Then you’ll find the next thing,” she said gently. “The next version of yourself. And it will be just as extraordinary.”

I blinked, caught off guard by how much I needed someone to say that—and how much I believed her when she did.

“I don’t know if I can,” I admitted, the words so raw they felt foreign on my tongue.

Yuri reached out and lifted my chin, her smile slow and sure. “You will. You’re stronger than you realize, Y/N. Most of the remarkable women I know didn’t see their strength until they had no choice but to use it.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just nodded, the lump in my throat growing too tight for words.

Before either of us could say more, Mina and Lucy came clomping down the row, balancing snacks and drinks like circus performers. Mina slid a massive soda into the cupholder beside me and dropped a salted pretzel into my lap like it was a peace offering.

I looked down at the buttery, salt-covered spiral, then up at her with a wry smile. “You’re a menace.”

“Say thank you, menace,” Mina corrected, grinning as she tore open a wrapper around a hot dog. “You looked like you needed carbs and sodium.”

“You’re a bad influence,” I mumbled through a bite. “At this rate, I’ll be a blimp by the time I’m cleared to jump again.”

Mina waved off the comment like it was absurd. “You’re tiny. If anything, this pretzel might save your life. Besides, it’s a hockey game. This is sacred junk food territory.”

“You’ll burn it off with your freakish acrobatic talent,” Lucy added, already halfway through her nachos. “It’s like your body eats physics for breakfast.”

I laughed, and for a moment, I let myself relax. The pretzel was warm, soft in the middle, perfectly salty. The crowd’s energy was rising, a low hum turning into a collective buzz. A sudden roar of cheers echoed across the arena as the players began skating out for warm-ups, and I glanced down at the rink, the lights bouncing off the fresh sheet of ice.

That sound—the scrape of blades, the thud of pucks against the boards, the crackle of movement—sent something humming through my chest. Not quite longing, but close. Something like recognition. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it until it was right in front of me.

Lucy and Mina were already waving and whistling, calling out through cupped hands like they were trying to make themselves heard over the whole stadium. “There’s Jimin! And Taehyung! Look at number six skate—God, I love him,” Mina gushed.

Suho leaned forward, forearms on his knees, watching the players like he was studying film. He didn’t cheer. Didn’t shout. He just watched—quiet, focused, analyzing every move with the calm of someone who understood more than he said.

Yuri nudged me with her elbow, lowering her voice. “You won’t get a word out of him now. He’ll be like this the rest of the night. Afterward, he’ll give the boys a play-by-play like he’s their coach.”

“He’s never played?” I asked, surprised.

“Not once,” she said, smiling. “He’s always loved it, though. When the kids were little, he got obsessed with stats and strategies. Started a betting ring in college, if you can believe it. All math and odds. Got into some trouble with campus security.”

I blinked. “Suho? Quiet, dignified Suho?”

Yuri laughed, a rich, warm sound. “Oh, the stories I could tell you. It’s always the quiet ones, Y/N. They’ve got more going on under the surface than they let on.”

I smiled, turning my gaze back to the rink. Players were moving into drills now, sending pucks flying at the net. My eyes swept the ice—recognizing Taehyung’s long stride, Jimin’s low, smooth turns—and then paused when I caught sight of a figure skating toward the blue line. Fast, clean, low to the ice, stickhandling like the puck was magnetized to his blade.

Number ten. J. Jeon.

He stopped, lined up for a shot, and launched the puck into the top corner of the net with practiced ease. And then he turned. The helmet and face guard obscured most of his features, but the moment I saw him clearly, the breath caught in my throat.

It was him.

It took a full second for my brain to catch up to what my eyes already knew. But once it did, the realization crashed into me like a slap of cold air.

That wasn’t just any player. That was Jungkook. The guy from the airport. The one who’d helped with my bags. Who made me laugh. Who looked at me like I was something unexpected. And now, here he was. In full gear. Warming up for a professional hockey game. Wearing his name on his back.

It all came together—the Tuesday night plans, the way Mina talked about her “other brother,” how she said he was quieter, more private. His name. His eyes. Her eyes. How hadn’t I seen it before?

My Jungkook—if I could even call him that—was Mina’s brother.

Panic bloomed in my chest. My palms went sweaty.

I clamped my mouth shut the second I realized it had fallen open. My jaw clicked as it snapped back into place, and I turned to Mina, doing my best to look like I wasn’t in the middle of a low-key identity crisis. She didn’t notice. Too busy elbowing Lucy, eyes shining as she pointed toward number ten on the ice.

“That’s him,” she said, nodding toward the player skating backward across center ice. “Jungkook. You’ll meet him after the game.”

I made a sound in response. Not a word—just a raw, vaguely human noise that might have meant “cool” or “kill me now.” Hard to say.

Inside, though? I was spiraling.

Because I’d ghosted him.

Not flaked. Not rescheduled. Not offered any excuse. I just... didn’t show. No text. No call. Nothing. One minute we were supposed to meet up, and the next I had vanished like smoke. And now, here I was, standing with his sister, about to be formally introduced like none of that had ever happened.

My fingers tightened around the half-eaten pretzel in my hand. I couldn’t feel my legs. My stomach felt like it had been replaced with a washing machine mid-spin cycle. Part of me wanted to sink into the crowd, duck under the seats and disappear into the concrete underbelly of the arena. The other part—the reckless, traitorous part—was already wondering if he’d remember me.

If he’d been thinking about me.

If he’d cared that I didn’t show up.

Mina, blissfully unaware of the internal meltdown unfolding just a few inches to her right, leaned in. “You’ll have to excuse him if he’s a little... off. He’s been weird lately. Not really himself.”

Yuri nodded, her expression creased with genuine concern. “He usually opens up to me when something’s bothering him, but lately he’s just been... I don’t know. Distant.”

“He’s a total mama’s boy,” Mina added with a casual shrug. “Usually you can read him like a picture book. Lately? Not so much.”

Yuri shot her a look, half scolding, half amused. “Mina Lynn, be nice. You know Jungkook feels things deeply. He doesn’t bounce back the way you or Taehyung do. He carries it all.”

“He’s been carrying something, that’s for sure,” Lucy chimed in, eyes flicking to the ice, where Taehyung executed a smooth turn. “My guess? Girl trouble.”

My heart lurched in my chest like someone had yanked it with a string.

“Why do you say that?” Yuri asked.

I sank lower into my seat, wishing the brim of my hat could somehow collapse over my entire face like a cartoon character.

“He was jumpy at the bar last week,” Lucy said. “Kept looking at the door like he was waiting for someone. Wouldn’t sit still. He was fidgeting with his hair nonstop, and by the end of the night, he was doing that thing where he pinches the bridge of his nose and stares at nothing. Classic broody Jungkook.”

Mina frowned. “I would know if he met someone. He tells me everything.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Lucy said with a smirk. “You’re not omniscient. Maybe he didn’t tell you because it didn’t go the way he hoped.”

Her words echoed in my chest, knocking loose the secret I’d buried: what if it was about me?

What if he’d been waiting for me at the bar?

What if he’d been hurt?

The idea hit like a punch. I shoved it aside, unwilling to let myself fall down that particular rabbit hole. It was too neat, too perfect, too... hopeful. But hope, cruel and persistent, clung like static.

And then Jungkook looked up.

Our eyes met through the glass, and the noise of the arena vanished. The roar of the crowd, the clack of skates, even Mina’s voice—all of it faded into a dense, ringing silence.

His gaze locked on mine. Electric. Steady. Like he knew exactly who I was.

I forgot how to breathe.

Should I wave? Smile? Look away? My limbs wouldn’t cooperate, my body frozen in place while my pulse pounded like a drumbeat in my ears. The air felt too thick to swallow.

Then someone stepped in front of me, and the moment shattered. Sound came crashing back. The crowd, the music, the sharp buzz of an overhead speaker—it all returned in a rush. Jungkook was still looking in our direction, but Taehyung had joined him now, nudging him playfully. Jungkook laughed, shoving him back, but his eyes... his eyes didn’t stray far from mine.

“He’s cute, right?” Mina said suddenly, jarring me back to reality. I jumped, nearly spilling my drink as I blinked up at her.

“What?” I managed, trying for nonchalance and failing spectacularly.

“Jungkook,” she said with a grin. “You think he’s cute.”

“Uh... yeah. Sure,” I said, fumbling for words. “I guess.”

“Don’t ‘I guess’ me, Y/N.” She narrowed her eyes, her grin turning sly. “You’re blushing. Even under that tragic hat.”

I tugged the brim lower, wishing it could hide more than my cheeks. “You’re imagining things.”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “I can practically see the butterflies flapping around in your stomach. He’s got you twisted.”

I scoffed, mostly to cover the truth. “Other girls are staring too. You said it yourself—he’s cute. It’s not a crime.”

“Sure,” Mina said, nodding. “But he’s not looking at them.”

That pulled me up short.

I turned slowly, heart lodged in my throat.

Jungkook was still watching. Just a flicker of a glance, a subtle tilt of the head—but enough. Enough to feel it in my bones. His expression shifted when our eyes met again. That same crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifted one gloved hand in a wave—small, almost secret, just for me.

I couldn’t help it. I waved back.

My hand trembled.

And I was smiling. Helplessly, stupidly, completely. Like someone had cracked me open and poured sunlight inside.

The buzzer blared—sharp, jarring—and Jungkook skated toward the bench, his strides fluid and purposeful. The rest of the team trailed behind, sticks tapping against the ice, helmets glinting under the overhead lights. But just before Jungkook disappeared into the tunnel, he turned.

And looked straight at me.

My breath caught. Just a second. That’s all it was. But it felt like something opened and closed in my chest, like the moment had hooked into me.

“Ahem.” Mina’s voice was louder than necessary, and I flinched, tearing my eyes away from the ice. When I turned, she was already watching me with a smug little smirk, eyebrows raised like she’d just caught me sneaking out of someone’s bedroom.

“Really subtle,” she whispered, nudging Lucy as she leaned in, and the two of them exchanged a look.

I’d get an ear full from them later.

I ducked behind my drink, hoping it was tall enough to hide behind. My cheeks were on fire. Yuri was talking to me—something about a coffee shop near the bookstore she liked—but it was hard to focus. Everything around me felt loud, too sharp, like someone had cranked the volume on life itself.

The Zamboni swept slowly across the ice, trailing glistening water behind it like a brush over glass. Lights dimmed overhead, throwing the arena into near darkness. Then a pulse of sound hit—hard rock blaring from the speakers, pounding out a rhythm that made my ribs vibrate. On the jumbotron, a montage of last week’s goals lit up the screen, bodies slamming against the boards, fists in the air, helmets flung off in celebration.

The crowd roared, and I couldn’t help but be swept up in it, the excitement crashing over me like waves.

Then the music shifted—louder, sharper, something anthemic and aggressive. A kid skated out onto the freshly smoothed rink, no older than eight, grinning from ear to ear as he planted the team’s flag at center ice like it was a mission from God. The crowd clapped in unison. It was the kind of moment that sent chills up your spine, even if you didn’t know a single thing about hockey.

“Okay, Michigan, on your feet!” the announcer shouted, and like a switch had been flipped, the arena erupted. Everyone stood, stomping and cheering like they were trying to shake the walls. Lucy grabbed my hand and yanked me up with her.

“Here they come: your Michigan Red Wings!”

A foghorn wailed, and the team poured onto the ice like they were shot from a cannon—jerseys flying, blades slicing the rink with brutal precision. It was chaos in motion, and my heart was hammering against my ribs like it was trying to keep up.

“Let’s meet your starting lineup!”

Jimin’s name was called first for defense. A roar went up around us—Mina and Yuri whooped like proud sisters.

Then: “Starting at center... number ten... Jungkook Jeon!”

The sound that followed could’ve lifted the roof off. I swear, I felt it in my teeth.

And maybe I imagined it, or maybe I just wanted to believe it, but in that split-second before lining up with the others, Jungkook’s eyes flicked our way.

No—my way.

The national anthem began, sung by a woman with a haunting voice that carried through the rafters. Jungkook stood at center ice, head slightly bowed, eyes on the flag, but every few seconds, he’d glance over—quick, barely there. But I felt it every time. Like a thread tugging me forward.

When the final note echoed into silence, the players fanned out, readying for face-off.

Jungkook crouched into position, tense and coiled. It was like watching a panther mid-prowl. My breath stalled as the puck dropped.

And the game was on.

Suddenly it was all motion—bodies crashing, pucks slapping, the sharp staccato of skates carving through ice. Mina and Lucy shouted with every pass, every hit, while Yuri surprised me by turning into a tiny coach, yelling strategy like the players could actually hear her from the stands.

Suho sat motionless, his arms crossed, but I saw the twitch in his jaw every time the puck changed hands.

I tried to keep up, clapping and nodding when Mina pointed things out. But my attention kept drifting.

To him.

Jungkook moved like nothing I’d ever seen—fast, sharp, almost too fluid for the violence of the game. It wasn’t soft, not in the slightest. He was like a controlled burn. Raw power, tightly wound.

And then it happened again.

He looked at me.

A quick glance. Barely more than a beat. But it was real. Direct. My stomach flipped like I’d gone down a drop on a roller coaster.

“What the hell is his problem?” Mina said beside me, her voice low and annoyed.

“What?” I said, trying to act casual and failing miserably.

She tilted her chin toward the ice. “Jungkook. He’s totally off tonight.”

My heart thudded uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“He’s making stupid mistakes. Missed a clean pass, offside twice. He’s distracted.”

I looked back at the rink, just in time to see Jungkook collide hard with the boards. I flinched. So did Mina. The sound echoed.

But before I could really react, Jimin was there, helping him up, giving him a quick shove like get your head back in the game.

Jungkook’s face was tight, jaw clenched. He shook it off and shot up the ice like he was running from something—or toward it.

Seconds later, he had the puck.

He faked left, cut right, and fired off a shot so clean and fast that it stunned the goalie. The puck slammed into the net with a thud, and for a beat, the arena paused.

Then it exploded.

I jumped up, hands in the air, screaming with everyone else, heart in my throat. The energy surged through me like lightning. It wasn’t just watching him score. It was something else entirely. Something electric.

His teammates tackled him in celebration, gloves slapping his helmet—but even through the chaos, Jungkook found me.

That grin—the one he’d given me the first night we met—spread across his face.

It was a little cocky. A little wild. And unmistakably his.

I grinned back, caught up in it, feeling ridiculous and elated and totally alive.

The energy in the arena didn’t dip—not for a second. The score bounced back and forth like a rubber band stretched too tight, snapping between teams, each goal setting off another eruption of cheers or groans. It was relentless. Bodies collided against the glass, sticks clashed like weapons, and the puck zipped across the ice with a kind of ruthless intent.

And Jungkook—he was everywhere.

He wasn’t just skating. He was commanding. Scoring, assisting, checking players so cleanly it looked choreographed. There was this sharpness to him tonight, something fiery, coiled just beneath the surface. He didn’t just play the game.

He took it.

Next to me, Lucy was mid-sentence—something about icing and neutral zones—when suddenly the crowd gasped. Everything shifted.

Taehyung had just been slammed, hard, into the boards.

The hit came out of nowhere—cheap, unnecessary. I didn’t even catch the number of the player who did it. Just the crunch of contact and the way Taehyung’s head snapped back before he crumpled slightly against the glass.

Leera let out a sharp gasp, her hands flying to her mouth.

Yuri erupted. She shot to her feet like a rocket, voice slicing through the sea of boos like it had been building in her chest all night.

“Are you serious, Ref? That’s cross-checking! Are you blind, or just incompetent?”

I blinked. Hard. For a second, I wasn’t sure if I should be laughing or ducking for cover. People in the rows ahead of us actually turned around. One guy raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed.

But Yuri wasn’t embarrassed. Not even a little. Her eyes were locked on the ice, jaw set.

Mina leaned toward me, barely holding in her laughter. “Don’t mess with Mama Bear’s cubs,” she whispered.

I laughed—more from nerves than anything—but I didn’t disagree. Yuri had snapped, and it was kind of amazing to watch. She sat back down eventually, her arms crossed tightly, muttering under her breath about suspension-worthy hits.

“That guy should be in the box,” she said, still fuming. “Total garbage hit. The league’s gonna review that. Mark my words.”

“She’s right,” Lucy added, eyes tracking the puck again. “But Taehyung’s not the type to forget. Just wait.”

And sure enough, we didn’t have to wait long.

Barely a minute left in the period when the same opposing player who’d hit him skated by again, puck on his stick, skating just a little too casual. Taehyung spotted him and moved in fast—silent, deliberate. Then—bam. He slammed into the guy with a precision check that knocked the wind out of the whole section. The crowd roared. I winced, but there was something deeply satisfying about it.

Taehyung scooped the puck before the guy even hit the ice and flew down the rink. One crisp pass to the left, a teammate picked it up, and the puck was in the net before the other team knew what had hit them.

The place exploded.

It was chaos. Mina was yelling, Lucy was on her feet. I was clapping before I even realized it, adrenaline buzzing through me like I’d scored the goal myself. Taehyung didn’t celebrate much—just a quick nod—but the fire in his eyes said everything. That wasn’t just a play.

That was payback.

By the time the third period rolled around, I could hardly sit still. Every time Jungkook took the ice, my heart jumped. He was unstoppable now. His third goal slid into the net like it had always belonged there. A hat trick.

The crowd lost their minds. I could barely hear myself think over the screaming.

But when I turned to Mina, she just rolled her eyes and gave me a dry look.

“What?” I asked, still a little breathless from cheering.

She tilted her head. “He’s showing off.”

I raised a brow. “You mean... playing well?”

“I mean, first period? He was all over the place. Off his game. Now he’s practically leading the league. He doesn’t usually pull a hat trick out of nowhere. He’s good, yeah, but this? This is... weird.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a shrug. “Weird.”

But I knew. Or at least—I thought I did.

Every time he’d messed up earlier, he’d glanced in my direction. Like the mistake burned a hole through him, and he was trying to recalibrate. Refocus. I understood that. I’d been there—in skating, in auditions. When I blew a jump or missed a step, I couldn’t stop replaying it in my head until I made up for it. Maybe Jungkook was like that. Maybe he needed the mistake to flip the switch.

Or maybe it was more personal than that.

The final minutes ticked down, the Red Wings holding the lead, and by the time the buzzer sounded, the arena was still buzzing—shouts and laughter and post-game commentary echoing all around us. The team saluted the crowd before skating off toward the tunnel. The lights started to come back on full strength, brighter now, revealing the emptying seats and discarded popcorn boxes. But the energy still lingered, like the game had left its mark on the air itself.

Suho finally blinked, coming back to life. “Good game,” he said with a half-smile, high-fiving Yuri as they both stood.

“Proud of them,” she said simply, eyes still scanning the ice.

We lingered, chatting in that soft, warm haze after something exciting ends. No one seemed in a rush to leave. Eventually, Mina and Lucy filled me in—there was a post-game hangout planned at some local place the guys liked. They’d be going. Yuri and Suho were heading that way too.

Before they left, Yuri surprised me by hugging me—not a polite, surface-level thing, but a real one. Like she’d decided I was in.

“We should grab coffee sometime,” she said as she pulled away, her voice low but genuine.

I didn’t even hesitate. “I’d love that.”

It wasn’t just small talk. I meant it. There was something solid about Yuri. No nonsense. No posturing. 

And then... they were gone.

I sat back in my seat, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the game. Mina and Lucy were still there beside me, chatting about the bar’s playlist and which players were most fun to go out with, but I was barely hearing them. I was nodding when I was supposed to, giving vague smiles, the occasional “Mm-hmm.”

But my focus was gone. Completely hijacked.

I was scanning the arena like I’d lost something—no, someone. My nerves buzzed under my skin like static. I kept smoothing down my jacket, shifting in my seat like maybe if I got comfortable enough, I’d stop feeling like my insides were tap-dancing.

And then I noticed it.

The way Mina and Lucy kept leaning into each other, whispering, casting glances my way with matching grins. They knew. They definitely knew. And I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to crawl under my seat... or run straight into whatever was coming next.

Somewhere across the arena, I heard it—loud, playful, and entirely unmissable.

“Newbie!”

Taehyung.

My heart jumped before my brain even registered the sound. I turned just in time to see him barreling toward me like a one-man stampede. He didn’t slow down—not even a little—before sweeping me into a hug that lifted my feet clean off the ground.

“Hi, Taehyung,” I wheezed, ribs protesting as he crushed me to his chest.

“Missed you too,” he grinned, finally setting me down with a little bounce like I was made of air.

He stepped back, surveying me with his usual mischievous glint. “Flying solo tonight? What happened to the flyboys?”

“Retired,” I said dryly, brushing hair out of my face. “Hopefully for good.”

He gave a satisfied nod, all dramatic approval. “Excellent. Now I can throw you around without anyone getting jealous.”

I rolled my eyes, laughing despite myself. “Mina doesn’t let you do that?”

“She bites,” he said, deadpan.

“Damn right I do,” Mina chimed in, suddenly appearing beside me with Lucy right on her heels. “You learn survival skills when you grow up with a human golden retriever for a brother.”

“Squirt, you wound me,” Taehyung said, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. Then he messed up her hair with one large hand before she could duck away.

“God, you’re the worst!” she squealed, scrambling behind Jimin, who had just strolled up looking completely unbothered, like this circus was perfectly normal.

Unfazed, Taehyung swept Lucy into a massive hug next, spinning her slightly before planting a loud kiss on her temple. She shrieked with laughter, shoving at him half-heartedly.

And then—he was just there.

Jungkook hovered behind the group, just slightly out of the spotlight, but somehow still the center of it. No gear. No helmet. Just a dark grey long-sleeve tee that clung in all the right places and jeans that looked like they’d seen a few years of good wear. His hair was damp, curling slightly around his forehead, and the scruff I’d noticed at the airport was gone, leaving his jawline sharp and freshly shaven. He looked unreal. Ridiculously good-looking in a quiet way that felt unfair.

And then he looked at me.

My stomach flipped like it had a mind of its own. I dropped my gaze too quickly, cheeks heating, and when I looked back up, he was already stepping closer.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, a little rough around the edges.

“Hey,” I echoed, softer than I intended.

For a moment, it felt like the noise faded, like everything around us had dimmed and the only thing that existed was the space between us. There was something electric about it. Charged. I wanted to say I’m sorry, or I missed you, or maybe just hi, again, but none of it came out. So I just stood there, feeling my pulse skip in my throat.

And then, right on cue, Mina crashed through the silence.

“You two know each other?” she asked, glancing between us with a knowing smirk.

“Sort of,” Jungkook said, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to sound casual.

“We met at the airport,” I added quickly, a little too quickly. I winced. Nice and cool, Y/N.

Mina’s eyes lit up like she’d just won something. I realized, a second too late, that I’d made a mistake. A rookie mistake.

“Ohhh,” she said in a syrupy tone, dragging out the vowel like it was laced with every ounce of teasing she could muster. “So this is your airport crush. Well, I guess I don’t need to do introductions after all!”

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

“Y/N Y/L/N, meet Jungkook Jeon—my brother,” she added with a flourish, in case I’d somehow missed the fine print on the situation.

Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver. His lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh, but when he spoke again, his voice had gone softer.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he repeated, and hearing my full name in that voice did something weird to my lungs. Then he held out his hand. “Nice to finally meet you... officially.”

I slipped my hand into his, and it was like touching a live wire.

Warm. Steady. Something underneath it that made me feel like I was being pulled forward without moving.

“Nice to meet you too,” I murmured, not even bothering to hide the smile tugging at my lips. His grip was firm, but not rushed—he held on just a beat longer than he needed to, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

Neither was I.

“Let’s goooo!” Jimin’s voice cut in from across the lobby, dragging us back to the real world. He had Mina piggybacking on him now, her legs swinging like it was just another Tuesday. “We’re heading out. Drinks await!”

Jungkook glanced at me. “You’re coming, right?”

There was something quiet in his voice. Not quite pleading, but definitely hopeful.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, a little breathless. “I’m in.”

We fell into step together, trailing after the others. Jimin was carrying Mina like it was no big deal, and Taehyung had one arm casually slung around Lucy’s shoulders, the two of them laughing at something I couldn’t hear.

The doors swung open ahead of us, and the night air swept in like a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. It was crisp, laced with the scent of cold pavement and distant car exhaust. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest, rubbing my hands over my sleeves as we stepped out into the street.

Jungkook walked beside me, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched slightly against the chill. We didn’t talk, not at first. We just walked. The silence wasn’t awkward, though. It was the kind of quiet that felt… shared. Comfortable. Like neither of us wanted to break whatever was stretching between us.

Across the intersection, a neon-green sign glowed against the stone facade of a low-slung building: The Liffey. An old-school Irish pub, all dark wood and warm light, with music spilling out through the open door like a welcome mat. Inside, it was packed. The kind of post-game crowd that buzzed with leftover adrenaline and cheap beer. People clapped the guys on the back as we made our way through, a few of them yelling out congratulations or waving phones in the air.

I stuck close behind the group, trying not to get bumped or trampled, until we reached a quieter corner table tucked away from the noise. It was one of those high-top setups with mismatched chairs and scuffed-up edges, and I was grateful for it—grateful for the bit of space, the lower volume, the chance to breathe.

The group settled instinctively into their usual pairings. Mina curled up next to Jimin, Lucy dropped into the seat beside Taehyung with an ease that came from years of practice. Which left me and Jungkook, standing next to each other in a small awkward pocket of space, unpaired and slightly out of sync.

I pretended to study the beer list scribbled on the chalkboard behind the bar, then slipped into an empty seat. Jungkook followed, dropping into the one beside me. I could feel the warmth radiating off him, even from a few inches away.

A waitress showed up moments later, barely giving us time to open our mouths before Taehyung launched into what sounded like a well-rehearsed order.

I raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Jungkook, who caught my look and leaned in slightly.

“It’s a thing,” he said with a lopsided smile.

“What is?”

“The order,” he explained. “If we win, Tae orders for everyone. If we lose, we each do our own thing.”

I blinked. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Yeah. Well.” He shrugged. “Everyone copes with a loss differently.”

He gestured across the table. “Jimin drowns his in Southern Comfort. Taehyung swears by Captain and Coke. Says the sugar makes him ‘funny again.’”

“Is he not always funny?” I asked, smirking.

“Oh, he thinks he’s hilarious,” Jungkook replied, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But he once tried to reenact a cologne commercial after three of those things and ended up falling through a folding chair.”

I laughed, the image too vivid to resist.

“What about you?” I asked.

Before he could answer, Taehyung piped up from across the table. “Jungkook loves the girly drinks.”

Jungkook let out a groan, shooting him a withering look. “Seriously?”

“One strawberry daiquiri,” Taehyung declared proudly. “One! And he sipped it like it was a damn mimosa at a garden party.”

“It was summer,” Jungkook said, shaking his head. “And it was delicious.”

I raised a brow, fighting a smile. “You don’t strike me as a strawberry daiquiri guy.”

“Don’t let the muscles fool you,” he said, his voice quiet but playful. “I have layers.”

“You’re like an alcoholic parfait,” I said before I could stop myself, and then immediately wished I hadn’t.

But Jungkook laughed—an easy, genuine sound that made something flutter just beneath my ribs.

Meanwhile, Taehyung was still going. “You know he once called it refreshing? Like a damn spa day.”

“Remind me again why I’m still friends with you,” Jungkook muttered, batting away Taehyung’s hand as it reached over to muss his hair.

“You’ve tried to quit me, Kookie. It never sticks.”

Across the table, Mina sighed dramatically. “Can we not start this again? It’s been three hours since your last fake breakup.”

“Three and a half,” Lucy chimed in, sipping her water. “I’m keeping track.”

Just then, the waitress returned with a tray of drinks—pints of Guinness, each topped with a thick, creamy head. She slid one in front of me and I blinked at it like it might bite.

I hesitated. “So… this is the famous Guinness?”

“Never had it?” Taehyung asked, eyes widening like I’d confessed to never seeing snow.

“Nope.”

He gasped in mock horror. “Y/L/N. I expected better from you.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Mina added, rescuing me. “Don’t listen to him. It’s bitter as hell.”

Taehyung placed a hand over his heart. “It’s smooth. And rich. And sacred.”

“It’s beer,” Jungkook added, a little more practically. “Irish beer.”

“And I’m Irish,” Taehyung said in a terrible accent. “Green as the hills of Galway, lass.”

“You’re a quarter Irish,” Mina cut in, unimpressed. “Maybe. And I think Dad’s side cancels it out.”

“The only part that counts is the part that drinks,” Taehyung declared as he raised his glass.

Lucy joined in with an accent even worse than his. “Shall we raise a glass, boyos?”

Taehyung looked personally offended. “Please never do that again.”

“Oh, I will,” she grinned. “Especially after two of these.”

The conversation buzzed around us like static—snappy, familiar, full of half-teasing jabs and deep belly laughs. Jimin was leaning back in his seat, smirking as he egged Taehyung on about something that had happened in the locker room. Mina, with a warning look and a playful threat, was poised to dump her beer on someone if things got out of hand. It was the kind of chaos that made you feel like you’d stumbled into a sitcom.

And right in the middle of it, Jungkook leaned in again, just slightly. His elbow brushed mine—casual, not deliberate, but somehow very much there—and then he tapped the rim of his glass gently against mine with a soft, “Cheers.”

“Well played tonight, guys,” Lucy chimed in, lifting her glass. “Seriously. That was electric.”

I raised mine in quiet agreement, but as I tilted it to my lips, my gaze met Jungkook’s over the edge of the pint glass. The moment stretched, just for a breath. The pub around us, full of clinking glasses and background laughter, seemed to blur. His eyes held mine, unflinching, and when he took a drink, his throat moved with that effortless kind of grace that somehow made my own feel dry.

The Guinness wasn’t what I expected. Rich, slightly bitter, smooth. It was the kind of flavor that lingered—bold but not overpowering. Like Jungkook’s voice when he wasn’t trying to be heard. Low. Measured. Intimate.

“You like it, Y/L/N?” Taehyung asked, grinning like he already knew the answer.

I set the glass down and nodded. “Surprisingly… yeah.”

“Hope for you yet,” he said, pleased, and winked like he’d converted me to some exclusive club.

The table’s energy kept rolling forward. Talk shifted back to the game—what the cameras didn’t catch, the inside jokes, the minor disasters that made perfect stories. Apparently one of their teammates had forgotten his cup before the first period.

“I’m not kidding,” Taehyung said, leaning forward with a laugh that bounced off the table. “It was like the Canucks knew. The guy took three hits to the family jewels before anyone could figure out what was going on.”

I winced. “Oof.”

“He walked back into the locker room and just lay on the floor. Flat. No words,” Jimin added. “We gave him a moment.”

Everyone laughed—loud, unfiltered, the kind that made strangers glance over and smile without knowing why. Mina and Lucy jumped in next, recounting their run-in with two overly enthusiastic superfans dressed in sequins and team beads. One of them had apparently been keeping stats in a glittery notebook.

“I thought he was going to propose to the mascot,” Mina said.

“He blew a kiss to the goalie,” Lucy added.

I was laughing so hard I nearly choked on my drink. The stories, the rhythm of it all—it felt weirdly effortless, like I’d been part of this group forever. Maybe it was the beer, or maybe it was just them, but there was something about how they included me without making it feel like an effort. No one was posturing. No one was performing. They were just... real.

But even with the warmth of the group around me, I was hyperaware of Jungkook’s arm when it moved—slowly, casually—along the back of my chair.

I stiffened for half a second, unsure if it was intentional. But when his fingers brushed my shoulder lightly, and didn’t move, I realized it was.

My breath hitched. Just a little. Not enough to draw attention, but enough that I noticed. Every time he shifted slightly or leaned in to laugh, the warmth of his arm stayed close. Close enough to make me forget what we were talking about.

And then, as if he felt the shift in my focus, he cleared his throat and turned toward me slightly, pulling his arm back but keeping his eyes on mine.

“So,” he said, quieter than the rest of the table. “You’re the hotshot.”

I blinked. “The what now?”

“Mina’s been hyping up the new girl next door. Olympic skater, total legend, star athlete… no pressure.”

I groaned softly, slumping back in my chair. “She did not.”

“She did,” he said, smiling. “Several times.”

I exhaled a laugh. “I wouldn’t call myself a hotshot. More like... moderately coordinated.”

He chuckled, eyes still fixed on me. “You were on crutches at the airport. I just thought you were clumsy. Turns out, you're an elite athlete.”

I bit my lip, smiling as I picked up my glass again to hide how flustered I felt. “I don’t usually lead with the crutches.”

“I don’t know,” he said, leaning in again, voice just for me. “Kind of made you stand out.”

Something in my chest pulled tight. I felt it—clear as day—that he wasn’t just flirting to pass time. He was really looking. Seeing me.

“Well,” I said, finding a smirk somewhere in the blush creeping up my neck, “if you’re jealous, there’s always figure skating. I can lend you a sparkly costume. Do a little jazz hands.”

“Jazz hands?” He blinked, confused.

“You don’t know jazz hands?” I demonstrated with exaggerated flair.

He frowned. “I think I’m more of a power-slide-into-a-fist-pump kind of guy.”

“Ah yes,” I said. “The gold medal move of champions.”

He grinned, and something about it—soft, amused, unguarded—made my stomach flip. From there, conversation came easy again. We fell into it like we’d done it a hundred times. Music, books, food, weirdly specific YouTube rabbit holes. He told me he played piano. I told him I sang, but only in the shower or when I thought no one was home. We discovered we both had a weird soft spot for sad girl music—Billie Eilish, Amy Winehouse—and neither of us understood the appeal of MGK.

I told him about my favorite childhood coach. He told me about his first time skating on a frozen pond in his neighborhood, how he cracked the ice and ended up waist-deep in freezing water. We laughed, and it wasn’t just surface-level banter—it was comfortable, the kind of connection that sinks its teeth in before you even realize you’re caught.

At some point, I reached for my drink and realized it was empty. I glanced around, blinking at how much the crowd had thinned. The hum of the room had faded to something softer, quieter. Taehyung was leaning back, arm slung loosely around Lucy, who looked half-asleep on his shoulder. Mina was still animated, probably running on pure caffeine and stubbornness, while Jimin watched her with a lazy kind of affection, like he’d long since accepted that she’d never tire before 2 a.m.

I glanced at Jungkook just as he looked at me. Neither of us said anything, but in that small silence, I knew we were both thinking the same thing—we weren’t ready for the night to end. Not yet.

The group was slowly collecting their things near the bar, the energy softening as the post-game glow started to settle. Voices lowered, jackets were shrugged on, and someone—probably Lucy—had already asked the bartender for change to split the bill.

“You guys are heading out tomorrow, right?” Mina asked, her voice casual, but her eyes tracked each of them like she already knew the answer.

Jimin, arms loosely wrapped around her from behind, grinned against her hair. “You know we are, baby.”

“And you’re back Sunday morning?” she pressed, already mentally juggling the next few days.

“Early,” Taehyung groaned, throwing his head back with theatrical agony. “Like, ‘why-does-this-flight-even-exist’ early.”

“We should do something!” Mina perked up, glancing between me and the rest of the group. That spark in her eye—the one that meant she was planning something I’d probably get dragged into—was already there. “All of us.”

“Don’t even think about making me get out of bed before noon,” Taehyung warned, flexing his arms like he needed to prove how heavy they were. “You couldn’t lift me even if you tried.”

“Please,” Lucy snorted. “You’re the first one awake in every hotel room. You’re literally doing push-ups before most of us are conscious.”

Mina nodded solemnly. “He’s the only person I know who stretches like he’s about to do a triathlon... to walk to the hotel breakfast buffet.”

“I have to maintain this physique,” Taehyung shot back, smoothing down the front of his jacket.

“Anyway,” Jimin cut in, “the Winter Carnival kicks off this weekend. Campus Martius should have the outdoor rink set up by now.”

Mina lit up. “Perfect. We could all meet up, skate, get cocoa after—like something out of a rom-com montage.”

My eyes flicked instinctively to Jungkook, who was already watching me.

“Is that okay with you?” he asked, his voice quiet, thoughtful. “I mean, you’re still healing, right? Probably shouldn’t be pushing it.”

There was something about the way he said it—casual, but laced with concern—that made my chest tighten.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, offering a small smile. “Your dad gave me the green light to take it easy. I won’t be doing spins or jumps or anything. Just... slow laps. I think I remember how to glide.”

Jungkook gave a small nod, but his eyes lingered for a second longer, like he was still debating whether to believe me.

“One o’clock?” Mina offered, looking around. “That gives everyone time to sleep in. Even you, Tae.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. “I guess I could grace the ice with my presence.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like you’re not already planning your entrance.”

Mina gestured to me. “Y/N will probably be home, fed, stretched, and halfway through a yoga flow by the time I’m peeling myself out of bed.”

I grinned. “Old habits.”

We started moving toward the exit. Jimin stepped outside to wave down a cab, and the night air wrapped around us the moment we stepped through the door—cool and quiet, the city humming in the background like a distant lullaby. The air smelled like damp pavement and the last whispers of winter.

One by one, the girls climbed into the back of the cab, crowding together with the ease of people who’d done this a hundred times before. Mina settled in first, Lucy curling up beside her. The door was left open behind them, space enough for one more.

But Jungkook didn’t move. He stayed by the door, one hand resting on the top of the frame, his posture loose but watchful.

I turned toward him. His smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, slow and familiar.

“Feels like we’ve been here before,” he said, eyes lit with something quiet and amused.

“Déjà vu,” I murmured, a smile blooming before I could stop it. “Except this time, I’m not disappearing.”

He looked at me for a second longer, like he was measuring something behind my words.

“You sure?” he asked. Lightly. But I could hear the real question in it.

I nodded. “Pretty sure. You know where I live now.”

That made him smile wider. “Guess you’re out of excuses.”

I was about to reply when he stepped forward, reaching up slowly to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was gentle, but my breath caught all the same. His fingers grazed the side of my face, warm even in the cold, and for a moment, the city felt still.

“See you Sunday?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” I said, and my voice felt steadier than I expected. “Sunday.”

“Y/N!” Lucy called from the cab, dragging the vowel out in dramatic agony. “Let’s go, lover girl!”

I laughed, but as I turned to climb in, my foot caught on the edge of the curb. I stumbled slightly—nothing dramatic—but before I could catch myself, Jungkook’s hands were already on my arms, steady and sure.

“Déjà vu indeed,” he murmured, helping me back upright.

His hands lingered for a second, sliding gently from my elbows down to my wrists, then curling briefly around my fingers before letting go. It was soft. Intimate. Enough to leave my skin tingling.

“I’ll have to stay close,” he added with a crooked grin, “just in case you fall again.”

I bit my lip, trying not to grin too hard. “I’ll try not to make it a habit.”

“Goodnight, Jungkook!” Mina sang from inside the cab.

“Night, Nana. Lucy,” he replied without looking away from me.

Then, softer: “Y/N.”

I met his gaze one last time. “Night, Jungkook.”

The door clicked shut, and the cab rolled forward, leaving him standing under the pool of amber streetlight, his hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders a little hunched from the cold. Taehyung and Jimin flanked him, already lost in their own banter, but he didn’t take his eyes off the cab until we turned the corner.

I stared out the back window for as long as I could.

The cab had barely pulled away from the curb before Lucy turned toward me, practically bouncing in her seat.

“Oh my God, Y/N,” she said, eyes wide. “I can’t believe Jungkook was your airport baggage claim hottie! How did you not say anything?”

“Seriously,” Mina added, twisting around to face me from the front passenger seat, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “When did you figure it out?”

“And more importantly—do you like him?” Lucy asked, already grinning like she knew the answer.

I opened my mouth, but Lucy was already barreling ahead.

“Because he definitely likes you. That was not subtle.”

“You should’ve seen you two at the bar,” she went on, now directing her words to Mina like I wasn’t sitting right between them. “It was like watching the first ten minutes of a rom-com. All dreamy stares and soft smiles.”

Mina gave an exaggerated sigh. “I know. If he wasn’t my brother, I’d be kind of jealous. That look he gave her when she got in the cab? Please.”

Lucy clutched her chest dramatically. “Ugh. To be young and in love.”

“Oh, please,” I finally cut in, raising both hands like I was trying to hold back a tidal wave. “First of all, Lucy, you’re literally one year older than me. And you’ve been making heart eyes at Taehyung all night.”

“Yeah,” Mina said, glancing back at me with a smirk, “but that’s different. Tae and I have been together for three years. That early-stage, slow-burn, butterfly-stomach kind of thing? That’s its own kind of magic.”

“And right now,” Lucy added, pointing at me like I was exhibit A, “you’re kind of glowing, so...”

“I’m not glowing.”

Mina laughed softly. “You kind of are.”

I groaned, pressing my fingers into my temples. “Okay, just to set the record straight—yes, I figured it out when we got to the bar. Yes, it surprised me. Yes, he’s attractive. But—and this is important—there’s a big difference between attraction and love.”

Lucy tilted her head, unconvinced. “We never said love. Just... interest.”

“And you looked interested,” Mina added, voice warm but teasing. “He did too.”

“I don’t even know him,” I said, trying not to sound panicked. “I don’t know what I’m doing with this stuff. Dating. Flirting. Whatever this is.”

Mina’s tone softened. “You’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

“Some people actually like dating,” Lucy said, nudging my leg. “You get to hang out, eat good food, find out if you click. It’s not a test.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” I admitted, my voice a little too tight. “What if I say the wrong thing? What if I mess it up?”

“You don’t have to do anything, Y/N,” Mina said gently. “Just... be who you were tonight. You were relaxed. You were laughing. He liked that.”

“It didn’t feel like a date,” I mumbled.

“Because we were there,” Lucy said with a grin. “But you guys barely acknowledged the rest of us. We might as well have been ghosts.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” she said, one eyebrow raised.

The cab slowed in front of our building, headlights cutting through the dark. Mina reached into her coat pocket and pulled out some cash for the driver.

“Sunday’ll be easy,” she said as we climbed out of the car. “We’ll all be there—Tae, Chim, Lou, me. No pressure. No expectations. Just skating and hanging out. Okay?”

I nodded, though the nerves were still stirring under my skin.

Back upstairs, I went through the motions—face washed, teeth brushed, the same old hoodie tugged over my head. But even in the comfort of my routine, my thoughts refused to settle. As I crawled into bed, Mina’s voice echoed in my head.

Just go with it. See what happens.

It sounded so simple. But to me, it felt like the edge of a cliff.

Still, as I curled beneath the blankets, I found myself thinking about Jungkook. The way he’d looked at me when I stumbled—calm, steady, amused. The warmth of his hands on my arms, the quiet way he said my name. That lopsided smile, like he was letting me in on something no one else knew.

I couldn't get him out of my mind no matter how hard I tried.

Peering through the peephole, you see Jungkook standing on your porch. You sigh. He looks like a dream. His black t-shirt is plastered to his tattooed arms, that sharp jawline and those big brown eyes make your stomach flip. But you already know the feeling, it’s the same one you get every time you see him at kindergarten pickup.

You’ve known him since the school year started almost one year ago. His son Siwoo, and your son Jiho, are kindergarten besties. 

He was just finishing the divorce when you met him. It was a messy one, from what he’d let slip. Siwoo’s mom isn't around much. You never asked for the details, but you could see the change in him over the months. The shadows under his eyes lightened. His smile came easier. He looked happier now than when you first met him.

It was easy with him.  Surprisingly so. Easier than it ever was with Jiho's father. With Jungkook, you feel seen in a way you haven't felt in years. You bonded over the fact that both of you are raising kids mostly alone. 

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves before swinging the door open, leaning against the frame with a casual smile. “Jungkook? Hey, what's up?”

He blinks. His eyes drag down your body, sticking to the bikini before snapping back to your face. A faint flush creeps up his neck despite the heat. “Oh, uh, hi. Sorry to bother you.” He looks a bit concerned as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m here because of Siwoo's toy truck,” he says. “I know Jiho has the exact same one in blue, but Siwoo left his red one here last time they played. The one with the monster wheels? I figured I'd swing by before it gets too late.”

You nod, remembering. “Yeah, of course. Come on in. It's brutal out there.” You step aside, gesturing for him to enter. “I think it's still in the living room.”

As you turn to lead the way, you feel the fabric of your bikini riding high on your hips. You know exactly how good your ass looks in this cut, and you sway your hips a little more than necessary, letting him get an eyeful.

“Where’s your little guy?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck as he tries to keep his eyes fixed on the floor instead of your curves.

“With his dad. Weekend rotation.”

He follows you into the living room. You rummage through the toy bin by the couch. Pulling out the truck, you straighten up and hand it to him.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” His gaze flicks down toward your chest before he quickly looks away. He runs a hand through his damp hair and pulls at the collar of his shirt, trying to peel the sticky fabric away from his skin. He exhales a sharp breath, fanning his face with his hand.

“Jungkook, you look like you're melting. I was heading to the pool to cool off. Want to join? I've got some trunks that might fit. I keep a spare pair for my brother, actually.” The words slip out quicker than you intended.

Hesitating, Jungkook glances at the toy in his hand, then back at you. “I... yeah, why not? Siwoo’s at my parents' for the weekend, so I'm free” He sets the truck on the coffee table. “Lead the way.”

Turning on your heel, you head to the bedroom. He follows close behind you.

Stepping inside, the room feels suddenly intimate. It’s spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows letting the afternoon light pour in. But with Jungkook standing there, the space feels tiny. A massive king-sized bed sits right in the center, demanding attention. Having him in here, in your personal space, makes your heart hammer against your ribs. 

Opening the doors to your built-in closet, you search for the drawer where you keep your spares. You dig around until you find the trunks and hand them to him along with a towel.

“Take this. You can change here.” You nod at the room. Your fingers brush against his as he takes the fabric. A spark of electricity shoots up your arm, making you nervous. “I’ll be outside.”

He says something low, maybe a ‘thank you’. You don’t catch it, just hear the soft click of the door closing behind you as you leave.

Heading out to the patio, you dive straight into the pool. The cool water shocks your heated skin. You swim a few laps to clear your head before climbing out. Dropping onto the recliner on your stomach, you close your eyes and let the sun bake your skin.

Minutes later, the door opens and you hear a heavy splash as Jungkook dives in.

You peel one eye open to watch him cut through the water. He moves effortlessly, his powerful arms pulling him forward in long, smooth lines. You almost drool at the sight of his broad back, the muscles shifting and flexing under his wet skin with every stroke.

Then, the sound of him climbing out and the recliner beside you creaking under his weight as he settles down.

“Hey.” You lift your head. “Can you do me a favor?” You pick up the bottle from the floor and hold it out behind you without looking. “My back's starting to itch from the sun.”

Jungkook looks at you, brow furrowed for a second, like he’s deciding exactly what to do next.

“Yeah. Sure,” he says finally, moving closer. He perches on the edge of your recliner, thigh brushing yours as he leans in.

The cap clicks open and a cold splash hits your back. His hands glide over your shoulders, rubbing in the lotion slowly. His fingers drift down your back, stopping at the top of your bikini bottoms, thumb grazing the curve of your ass.

A soft moan slips past your lips before you can stop it. His hands freeze for just a moment, then continue, exploring lightly. After a beat, you glance back over your shoulder.

“Your turn?” you murmur, holding out the bottle.

He looks at you for a moment before handing it back. Then, shifting smoothly, he rolls onto his stomach on the recliner, arms folded under his head, giving you easy access.

Without thinking, you climb onto him, straddling the curve of his hips with a knee on either side of his thighs. The warmth of his skin radiates into yours as you settle slowly, feeling him stiffen beneath you.

“Mmmh. You’ve got a lot of tattoos,” you murmur, letting a line of sunscreen drip down his spine. The swirls of black ink across his back catch your eye, mesmerizing. He hums in response, distracted as your fingers trace the patterns.

“Flip over,” you say, and he lifts his head briefly, reading your expression, before rolling onto his back. His elbows press into the recliner as he adjusts, giving you room. You settle back onto his lap, surprised at the immediate hardness beneath you.

Adding more lotion to your hands, you spread it across his chest. “Did it hurt?” you ask softly, tracing the ink swirling over his pecs.

 “Like hell,” he admits. “But the result was worth it, don’t you think?”

 You press a little closer, brushing against him. “Sure they did,” you murmur.

His gaze follows you as your fingers glide down his stomach, tracing the lines of his abs and slipping into his V-line. You smooth the last of the lotion over his hips, hovering against him.

“Mmmh. Did you get your front?” he murmurs, lowering his tone.

You blink. “Not yet.”

He props up onto his elbows, leaning closer, breath warm against your collarbone. “I should return the favor,” he murmurs with a teasing smile, “since I didn’t take care of that part.”

Startled, you nod, staying straddled over his hips. He pumps more lotion into his hands, warm palms gliding across your stomach slowly, drawing little shivers from you.

“So soft,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the edge of your bikini top.

“I probably should get under here,” he mutters, hooking a finger under the fabric.

“Yeah. Probably,” you murmur.

“Wouldn’t want you to burn.”

His hands push the damp fabric up, letting your tits spill free. You gasp softly as his hands graze your nipples. He rubs lotion between his palms, then spreads it across your chest with long, wide strokes. His large, warm hands cup your tits, kneading slowly, pushing them together, molding them in his palms before letting them bounce back.

“Tell me if I miss a spot,” he says quietly.

“I think you are... fuck,” you moan as his finger suddenly twists your nipple hard. “I think you are covering everything.”

He hums, satisfied with the sound you made. It feels surreal having him touch you like this, the contrast between the polite father you know and the man currently claiming your body making your head spin. The friction of his calloused thumbs dragging over your sensitive nipples sends a shot of pleasure straight to your pussy.

Your head tilts back as his hands roam lower. Over your ribs, along your waist. Then down, cupping your ass in both hands, dragging you forward until your hips grind against him. His cock is hard now, obvious beneath the damp fabric.

You lean in until your lips are barely touching his. “When are you gonna stop pretending this is about sunscreen,” you whisper against his mouth, “and just kiss me already?”

Smiling, Jungkook leans in and your mouths meet. His hands are suddenly everywhere and you moan into his mouth when his hips jerk up under you and you feel his hard cock against your core. Your bikini bottoms are wet, and it’s not because of the water now.

He grinds into you again and SPF is the last thing on either of your minds. The friction of your hard nipples rubbing against his wet skin makes you shiver. Your mouth is on his, but it’s not enough, you want more. All of him. Jungkook’s hands are now tight on your ass, pulling you down against his cock.

“Let's go inside?” you breathe, grinding down again, slower this time. “I wouldn't want to give my neighbors a free show,” you add with a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Unless you want to?”

He meets your eyes. “Inside. I’m not sharing you with anyone.”

Sliding off his lap, you grab his hand and the two of you hurry through the door, still kissing as you walk inside. You don’t really notice much around you until you get to the bedroom.

He pulls your bikini bottoms halfway down before you can take another step. You kick them off while he pushes his swim trunks down. And there he is, hard, thick, dark, and already wet at the tip.

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper, looking down. “I bet you’re going to absolutely destroy my pussy with that monster. ”

He smirks. “Tss.” He pushes you back against the wall. “Such a dirty mouth you have. And here I thought you were a good girl.”

“Well,” wrapping your hand around his cock, you stroke him slowly. “Maybe I’m not a good girl,” you challenge, squeezing the base. “Maybe I just want this big fat cock splitting me open.”

You wrap your hand around him, stroking him slowly, feeling him throb and grow even harder in your palm as he bucks into your fist. “Keep talking like that and...”

You stop him with a soft whisper. Getting up on your tiptoes, you bring your mouth close to his. “And what?” you breathe. “You gonna cum in my hand? Or bend me over and fuck me till I can’t even remember my name?

Your hand falls away from his cock as he steps into your space. His broad chest collides with yours, backing you up until your shoulders hit the wall. He puts his hand around your neck.

“You think you’re the one in control, mmh?” he mutters, dragging the heavy head of his cock along your thigh. Grabbing both your wrists, he holds them firmly together. With one hand, he pins them above your head while he leans down to bury his face in your neck. His lips latch onto the sensitive skin right over your pulse, sucking hard enough to bruise. You know it will leave a mark.

He drags his hot mouth lower. He captures your tit, sucking hard on the sensitive bud. You gasp as your head falls back against the wall. His tongue swirls against your nipple, teasing and biting, making your knees go weak. Pinned and exposed, you feel helpless, but it turns you on more than anything. You never thought you'd have Jeon Jungkook eating your tits like this.

“Press your legs together,” he commands. His free hand slides down from your waist to your outer thigh, forcing your legs shut. Lining himself up, he slides the broad head of his dick between your thighs, rubbing right against your slit.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he groans to himself.

You gasp as he humps you. Slow, filthy drags smear your slick all over his shaft. He snaps his hips forward, grinding the hard head of his cock right against your clit. He keeps thrusting, angling his hips so the wet tip bumps against your tight entrance, teasing the opening without sliding in.

“Will you be a good girl now?” he asks against your ear. One hand keeps your wrists pinned high while the other grips your hip, holding you close against his grinding hips. “Answer me, baby.”

“Stop teasing,” you pant, pushing your hips back against him.

“I asked a question,” he scolds, nipping your earlobe.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I'll be good.”

Smirking, Jungkook steps back, letting your wrists go. “That’s better.” He reaches out and his knuckles graze your cheek in a soft caress that makes you shiver. “Now, on your knees.”

Dropping on your knees, the change in perspective makes him look even more massive. You watch, mesmerized, as his large hand wraps around the base of his cock and strokes himself slowly, only to slap the heavy head against your cheek. Then he rubs it slowly over your lips, painting them with his precum.

“Open.” Your lips open and you stick your tongue out, waiting. He rubs the tip along your tongue. “Suck,” he orders. “Show me what that dirty mouth of yours can do.”

You wrap your mouth around the head, sucking hard on the tip before sliding down. It’s thick and you have to drop your jaw to accommodate him. Your lips stretch tight around his girth as you take him deeper, swirling your tongue against the sensitive skin.

“So good,” he mutters, threading fingers into your hair. He starts slowly, testing if you can take his length. "Come on, just a little more," he growls, pushing his hips forward to slide deeper into your throat. "Yeah, that's it."

The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag. It’s too much. You can’t fit everything in, so you wrap your hand around the base to handle the length you can't swallow.

Jungkook grabs your hair, holding tight, pulling you closer. “You’re taking me so fucking well,” he groans. “So fucking pretty swallowing me down.”

You suck harder in response, bobbing your head slowly. He groans louder as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him deeper as your nails dig into his thighs for balance.

“Such a good girl,” he pants. “Stuffing that pretty mouth full. You love choking on this fat cock, huh?”

You hum around him, making him curse softly. He pushes deeper and holds you there. Your eyes water from the pressure.

Your free hand slides down to cup his balls, massaging them, rolling them in your palm while you bob your head faster. His hips snap forward, fucking your face hard now.

“Shit,” he gasps, breathing hard. “I’m close. I’m gonna use your mouth. I'm gonna cum in it and you’re gonna take it like the good girl you are. Swallow everything. Are you gonna do that for me? Mmh?”

Nodding with your mouth full, you feel his cock pulse on your tongue as hot cum floods your palate. You keep your eyes locked on his, swallowing slowly to make sure he sees you licking him clean.

Opening your mouth, you stick your tongue out to show off your work.

“Good girl,” he praises, his thumb wiping a stray drop from your lip before he brings it to his own mouth to lick it off. The sight of him tasting himself on your skin makes your insides clench.

Gripping your waist, he pulls you up from the floor effortlessly to capture your lips in a deep kiss. He walks you backward across the room until your bare back hits the cold glass of the window.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he mutters against your mouth. His lips press hot and moist against your neck as he kisses his way down your body. He stops at your chest, lifts your tits toward his face by cupping them, and then swirls his tongue around your nipple, biting down gently until it hardens against his teeth before trailing lower over your abdomen.

Sinking down before you, he grabs your thighs, lifting one leg to hook over his shoulder. The position spreads you wide open, leaving your pussy completely exposed to his hungry gaze as he presses his hot mouth against you.

“Jungkook!”

He licks your center as his fingers dig into your thighs. “This pussy’s mine now,” he says. “Let me taste it.”

Dragging his tongue up slowly, he latches onto your clit. Your hips jerk against his mouth as your hands scramble for purchase, one clawing his shoulder while the other grabs his hair tight.

“Fuck,” you moan as two fingers slide inside you. He thrusts them deeper, curling them upwards while his tongue circles your clit over and over.

“So wet,” he mutters, his nose brushing against your slick folds as he inhales your scent. “Is that all because of me?”

“Because of you,” you breathe, hands tangling in his hair to hold him there. “Only you.”

He groans against you. “That’s what I like to hear.” Pushing your knee back further, he opens you wider. “Mmmh. All spread and open for me. Such a pretty pussy,” he murmurs against your wet skin. You can hear the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth feasting on you.

Sliding his fingers out slowly, he lets your walls clench after them before slamming them back in deep, adding a third digit to stretch you wide. Your vision becomes blurry when his fingers are inside of you and his mouth is on your clit, and the feeling makes your hips jerk against his face and your heels dig into his back.

“So fucking tight,” he mumbles against your skin as his fingers push deeper. “You like my fingers stretching you out? Taking me deep? I need to stretch you out so you can take my cock later.”

“Yes! God, yes!” you cry out, squirming against him as the edge gets closer.

Grabbing your ass cheek with his free hand, he squeezes the flesh to keep you in place, refusing to let you pull away. His mouth and fingers move faster, harder.

“Cum on my face,” he growls against your twitching entrance. “C’mon baby, do it for me.”

Your hips snap up, locking against his face as you scream, “Fuck! Oh God, Jungkook!” But he refuses to stop, tongue moving faster against your clit while his fingers pump deep inside you. He keeps eating you out until your spasms finally fade and your legs go limp around him. 

You look down at him, seeing his chin slick with your juices as he gently lowers your legs from his shoulders. Guiding your feet back to the floor, he stands up and kisses you. You taste yourself on his tongue as his hands slide to your waist, spinning you around effortlessly.

He said he wouldn't share you, but your room faces the street. Anyone walking by, anyone looking up at the second floor right now, could see your tits smashed against the glass, your body on display for the whole neighborhood. The thought makes your pussy clench.

You almost lose your breath when you feel him, big, thick, and hard again, grinding into your ass. “Think you can take my cock in your pussy now?” he growls, his hands sliding down to grip your hips firmly, pulling you back against him. 

“I-I... fuck, I–,” you whimper. Your heart is racing and your thighs are trembling from anticipation.

He chuckles. “Poor thing. All dumb from how good I’ve been eating you out.”

One hand wraps around the base of his cock and rubs the tip at your tight opening, pushing in slowly. The sharp burn makes your insides clench and drip around him.

“Shit. So big,” you gasp as your body fights to take him. It’s been a while since you had anyone inside you, and you need a second to get used to the stretch.

“Feel how I’m stretching this tight little pussy?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear as he pushes another inch inside. “Gotta open you up nice for me, baby. Can’t just shove it all in, you’d split right open.”

Your hips press back against him instinctively because honestly, you wouldn't even mind. You want him to split you open, destroy you completely.

“God, you’re so tight. So fucking small around me,” he grits out, sliding in another inch to pull your hips back onto him. The stretch stings, but it feels so good. “Taking me inside this tight little pussy.”

You nod, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the intensity. “Deeper.”

“Can you take more?” he asks.

“Yes,” you pant, pushing back against his hips to force him deeper.

One arm wraps around your waist to hold you steady while his other hand loosely grips the back of your neck. He sinks in deeper until he bottoms out.

“That’s it... fully inside.” He presses a hot kiss to your nape. “Such a good girl. You took me so well.”

But he doesn't move. Instead, he keeps you pinned and stretched full so you can get used to his thickness. You whine, bucking your hips back against him.

He bites down lightly on your shoulder, growling against your skin. “You feel fucking incredible. So hot and tight around me. I could stay buried in here forever.”

Releasing your waist and neck, he grips your forearms, pinning you flat against the cold glass. He starts snapping his hips forward, driving deep.

“Tell me who owns this pussy,” he demands.

“You!” you cry, your palms sliding against the window as he slams into you.

“Only mine?”

“Only yours.”

“That’s right,” he snarls, his hips smacking loudly against your ass cheeks. Your tits are crushed against the cool window with every thrust. The cold glass bites into your nipples, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body. It’s been so long since you felt this full, his cock stretching you in ways you forgot were possible.

You push back against him, feeling your orgasms approach. “God, I’m so close…”

Releasing your forearms, he slides one hand down between your legs to find your clit while the other wraps loosely around your throat, tipping your head back. He thrusts deeper.

“Come on this cock, baby. Let me feel how this tight pussy milks me,” he whispers in your ear as he rubs your clit. The hand on your throat slides down to your breast rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, pinching the sensitive bud, then twists it sharply.

Your body shakes as you hit your peak, hips jerking uncontrollably while your pussy squeezes tight around him. The sudden tightness draws a growl from Jungkook right against your ear before he slides his hand from your clit up to grab your other breast. Pulling you closer to crush your back against his chest, he pinches both nipples hard. 

“Fuck! You're squeezing me so good,” he pants, driving into you one last time before suddenly pulling out.

The sudden emptiness makes you whine. “W-what?”

“I want to see your face when I cum,” he breathes.

Gripping your hips, he hoists you up, pressing your back flat against the cold glass. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively as he drives his cock straight back inside you.

You moan loudly at the new angle, the fullness hitting deeper than before. He starts thrusting, his eyes locked on yours, “That’s it,” he growls, snapping his hips forward to bury himself to the hilt. “God you’re gorgeous.”

He slams into you, each impact rattling the windowpane behind you. You cling to his shoulders, “I’m gonna cum, fuck!” he says, his grip tightening as he pulls you closer to capture your lips. You feel him spilling inside you as he presses soft kisses to your neck.

You stay suspended there for a long moment, breathless, sweat cooling on your skin as the room falls quiet.

Then, he stiffens. His body goes rigid against yours. He pulls back abruptly, eyes wide as he slides out of you. Gently, he lowers you until your feet touch the floor, his hands lingering on your waist to steady you. You look down, catching sight of his cum dripping down your thigh.

“Y/N... I didn’t wear a condom. Shit. I’m so sorry,” he mutters.

You blink, still feeling the heat where he’d been inside you. “It’s okay,” you say gently. “I’m on the pill. And clean.”

His shoulders relax, just a little, letting out a breath of relief. “I haven’t been with anyone since the divorce,” he admits quietly.

There’s an unexpected vulnerability in him that makes your heart soften. “So,” you say with a teasing smile, glancing sideways, “no siblings for our kids.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yet.”

Truth be told, you wouldn't mind. Having a child with him, that is. You think about how gentle he is with Siwoo. He’s patient. Kind. A natural. You wouldn't mind seeing him hold a baby that was half him, half you.

Slowly, he pulls you close and his fingers curl at the small of your back. His other hand cups your face and his thumb brushes your cheek as he leans in. Your bare feet touch the soft carpet as he pushes you down onto the bed, lying next to you. The cool sheets feel good against the heat of his skin. You move between his arms.

“Y/N…” He presses his forehead against yours. “I need to say something. Just…before we go any further.”

“A little late, don’t you think? You were balls deep inside me a minute ago.”

He lets out a soft laugh as his thumb brushes your cheek. “Yeah, well. Apparently that’s when my brain decided to work again.”

He nudges your shoulder playfully, just enough to make you giggle, the tension easing slightly between you.

“ I think I’ve liked you since I’ve met you.” Your touch stops at his words. Your eyes lift to his face .“When I met you, I wasn’t looking for anything. I was trying to get through every day without messing up my kid in the process.” He shifts slightly, like he needs you closer while he says it, his palm resting just under your ribs.

“But you were there. And you were… I don’t know, just you? You just made things lighter, easier. I didn’t know how much I needed that.”

He exhales softly, thumb brushing your jaw once more, almost as if he’s scared you’ll pull away.

“I–I… Jungkook, I…” you stammer. “I feel the same.” You press closer, kissing him softly.

He huffs out a short, breathy laugh, forehead nudging yours like he’s relieved you said it. You nudge him lightly, teasing, but your voice is soft, warm.

“I wanted to… tell you. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “What… to fuck me?” you tease, laughing softly.

“No!” he groans, then laughs again, running a hand through his hair. “I mean… yes, eventually! But not today. That wasn’t my intention. I wanted to… take you on a date first. Just the two of us. No kids involved. I wanted to tell you about my feelings.”

He shifts slightly closer, thumb brushing along your collarbone.

“But when I saw you in that bikini, damn. I couldn’t resist the invitation.”

You laugh softly as warmth spreads through your chest. “Guess sometimes things just fall into place when they’re meant to. Since we are free for the weekend... maybe you could take me on that date tomorrow.”

He kisses you again. “Tomorrow works,” he murmurs against your lips. “But that leaves us with the rest of today.”

Raising an eyebrow, you slide your hand down his chest, feeling  his heart beating under your palm. “Do you have plans, Jeon?” Your fingers trail lower, tracing the defined lines of his abs until your hand rests flat on his stomach. “Wanna have a sleepover?”

He grins and shifts his hips, pressing the growing length of his cock against your thigh. He is already hard again. “I was thinking,” he whispers, his hand sliding between your legs to find you wet again. “Since the kids are gone... and I already made a mess inside you...” Catching the white fluid dripping onto your thigh, he pushes it back inside you deep with two fingers. 

You moan softly, opening your legs wider for him. “You think you can handle another round?”

“Baby,” he says, lining himself up with your entrance. “I’m just getting started.”

INDEX

⤷ 01 : a deal for her hand » 6.8k

“you’re getting married. in a week. to jeon jungkook.”

⤷ 02 : forced to say 'i do' » 5.2k

“you’re a monster just like him! i’ll never forgive you or think this is okay. you—you bought me and i'll hate you for it every day for the rest of my life!”

⤷ 03 : strangers under the same roof » 12.3k

“you’ve been through a lot, y/n. i see it in your eyes, but you're still here, still fighting… that’s not weakness. that’s a strength most people don’t have.”

⤷ 04 : an agreement between us » 8.9k

“i married you, y/n because i wanted you, because you made me feel something for the first time in years. i wanted to protect you, to give you everything and now i'm the one paying for your father's lies.”

⤷ 05 : unspoken truths and comfort » 7.2k

“until i saw you that day at your house, when your father brought you to me and you were so… alive, so sweet, even with all the sadness in your eyes. i wanted you.. not just to have you but to make you happy, to give you everything i never had.”

⤷ 06 : healing in his hold » 11.2k

“touch my wife again and you won’t live long enough to regret it. she’s my woman… and you know exactly how possessive i get when someone dares to lay a hand on what’s mine.”

⤷ 07 : soft edges of us » 9.3k

“you’ve been through enough. you don’t have to hide your pain, not from me. if you're hurting or if you need something—tell me. i’m here, i want to be here.”

⤷ 08 : losing ourselves in maldives » 10k

“you’re such a dirty little thing, aren’t you? sitting there watching me jerk off? you wish that i was fucking your pussy instead huh?”

⤷ 09 : another day in paradise » 14.6k

“i’ve never wanted a woman like this never begged on my knees for anyone but you, fuck… i’ve wanted you since the day i saw you.”

⤷ 10 : is it the end of us? » 12.6k

“you’re everything to me, y/n. i’d never hurt you, i’d rather die than do that. just let me explain once just hear me out—”

⤷ 11 : maybe it's really a sad ending » 5.4k

“you don't get to say anything about her or tell me to let her go. she's my everything you don't know what it's like to love her so much that it hurts, only for it to lose it all in a day.”

⤷ 12 : to be released.

EXTRAS

⤷ Q&A with bbv!characters

⤷ teaser

⤷ bbv!jungkook

⤷ moodboard/aesthetic created by some of my lovely readers