everything will be alright

There were already six pairs of shoes scattered by the front door, music playing quietly from a speaker somewhere in the living room, and at least three different conversations happening before you’d even taken your jacket off. Someone waved at you from the kitchen, another person you vaguely recognized from college smiled in your direction before going back to whatever story they were telling, and the smell of garlic and takeout filled the apartment.

“She’s here!” Mina called the second she spotted you. She was balancing two bowls in her hands, somehow managing not to drop either of them as she crossed the room. “Finally. I was about to tell everyone you bailed.”

“I said I’d be late,” you laughed, slipping your shoes off. “Some people have actual jobs.”

“So do I.”

“Then act like it,” you joked harshly. “I have you at 10am on a Wednesday asking me to bring ice cream. Sounds very unemployed to me.”

“It was an emergency.” You raised an eyebrow. “The convenience store only had one tub left and you know I need to host perfect hangouts, okay?”

“Yeah, I know you’re a control freak.”

“See?” Mina pointed at you before turning to the rest of the room. “She gets me.”

Haeun looked up from where she was sitting on the floor beside the coffee table, her legs crossed underneath her. “No,” she said, completely unimpressed. “She enables you.”

You laughed as you walked over, dropping onto the empty spot beside her before kissing her cheek.

“That’s what real love means,” Mina said like it was obvious.

“It’s definitely not what it means.” Haeun rolled her yes. Mina disappeared back into the kitchen, already distracted by someone asking where the serving spoons were. “You came empty-handed?” Haeun asked.

“I brought dessert.”

“Where?”

You reached into your tote bag and pulled out two tubs of ice cream, probably already melted. Mina immediately reappeared. “I KNEW I invited the right people.”

“You invited everyone,” you looked around to your friends who all raised an eyebrow. “What? It’s true, I love you guys but really I can’t believe everyone agreed to hangout a Wednesday night. Do you guys need a job or a reference? I can help you with…”

“This is why we leave early when you come to the hangouts.”

“Hey!”

“Agreed.”

An hour later, dinner had turned int a bit of a mess. Half the food and dessert were empty and every plate on the table was being shared whether the person who ordered it liked it or not. You’d barely managed to keep more than three fries on your own plate before Mina reached over to steal another one. She had always being a pain in the ass, specially the days you met her in college together with Haeun— at least the one was more generous and didn’t steal your fries.

“I don’t know why I even bother ordering food for myself.”

“You don’t,” she answered easily, popping the fry into her mouth. “You order food for the community.”

“The community can buy its own.”

“It could.”

“It should.”

“It won’t.” Haeun smiled into her drink. “You promised once you’d became rich you were always going to invite dinner.”

“I’m not rich, even Mina makes more money than me.”

“Doubtful,” your friend smiled.

“You manage the biggest singer in Korea right now, I know you’re making bank.” You pointed at her accusatory.

“I’ve never said I wasn’t making bank,” she said immediately. “I’m just saying probably not as much as you. You had been making big deals later.”

“That’s true,” Jiho said— another close friends of yours— suddenly everyone was having interest in the same conversation. He leaned back in his chair, “how’s work? The glamorous fashion world.”

You laughed. “Doesn’t feel glamorous at all. I spend more time looking at calendars than clothes.”

“What were you working on this week?” Haeun asked.

“A campaign for a luxury brand. I’m working now with some actor I’m not legally allowed to tell yet.”

Mina immediately leaned forward with interest. “I love hearing about celebrity gossip.”

“You literally work for IU. That’s the biggest it can get.”

“She’s too nice, she never reveals anything,” she pouted.

“Maybe because there’s no actual gossip going around,” you tried again.

“You work with more celebrities than me you have to have some.” She insisted.

“I work with their managers,” you corrected. “Literally I’m mostly coordinating schedules between the brand, photographers, stylists, management… making sure everyone’s available on the same day.”

“That sounds significantly less fun.” One of your other friends said. “I thought you just picked pretty outfits.”

“I wish.”

“You don’t even get free clothes?”

“I get emails.”

“I’d rather have the clothes.”

“So would I,” you sighed dramatically and everyone laughed. “But it’s still fun,” you admitted after a moment. “I get to see campaigns come together from the beginning, and when everything actually works it’s really satisfying.”

“You always sound happier talking about work than dating,” Mina pointed at you.

“Maybe because work doesn’t suck as much as dating,” you stated.

“I don’t know what that says about you.”

“Probably something concerning,” Haeun nodded.

Before you could answer, Soomin let out the longest sigh you’d ever heard. “Speaking of dating…” Everyone turned toward her. “I finally went out with that guy from Hinge.”

“The accountant?”

“The accountant.”

“And?”

Soomin stared into the distance for a second. “I don’t think he asked me a single question.”

Haeun frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean he spent an hour talking about himself.”

“That’s annoying,” you commented.

“He showed me a spreadsheet.”

There was a beat of silence. “A what?”

“A spreadsheet.”

“For work?”

“No. He tracks every restaurant he’s ever been to.”

Mina blinked and you tried not to laughed with Haeun “Actually…”

“No,” Soomin interrupted before she could finish. “Don’t even start.”

“I was going to say that’s kind of organized.”

“There was a section for him to rate the lighting!” she exclaimed frustrated.

“…Never mind.”

“I spent forty minutes pretending I cared about overhead lighting.”

You couldn’t help laughing. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“It’s a good story.”

The table dissolved into laughter, and once everyone had recovered, the stories started coming one after another. One date had ended with someone accidentally running into their ex halfway through dinner. Another had spent the entire evening talking about cryptocurrency. Someone else admitted they’d been ghosted after what they thought had been the most amazing date ever.

“It feels impossible lately,” Soomin complained, reaching for another slice of pizza. “Either they’re creepy, they just wanna fuck or they’re trying to use you to make their ex jealous.”

“Usually all at once,” Jiho added.

“What about you?” Mina looked over at you. “Any exciting romantic developments?”

You looked up from your plate. “Not really.”

“None?”

“I’ve been on exactly one date this year.”

“The guy from the bookstore?” You nodded. “What happened to him?”

“He was nice but… I don’t know,” you thought about it for a second before shrugging. “He didn’t made me nervous or excited. I guess… he just wasn’t my person.”

“How do you know after one date?” Jiho asked.

“I don’t know.” You smiled a little. “You can usually tell if you actually want to see someone again and I didn’t.”

“So you’re taking a break from dating?” Haeun asked.

“I think so.”

“For how long?” she asked curious.

“I don’t know,” you said simply.

Mina rested her chin in her hand. “I’ve been saying this for years.”

“What?”

“You expect too much for a first date.”

You laughed. “I really don’t.”

“You do.”

“I have standards.”

“You have requirements.”

“I have normal requirements.”

“You eliminated a guy because you thought he was checking his reflection in every window you walked past.”

“He was.”

“You eliminated another one because he called every woman ‘female.’”

“That one was justified.”

“Okay, fair.” She frowned. “But one time you left a date because he was too perfect.”

“He was. He could definitely do better,” you nodded thoughtful.

“You know what?” Haeun grinned. “I support you for that one.”

“But,” Mina continued, refusing to give up, “my point still stands.”

“What point?”

“You’ve built this perfect imaginary man in your head,” she pointed at you. “After your ex boyfriend you’ve just put excuses for every new guy.”

“Not true and I really haven’t.”

“You have.”

“I just don’t want to date someone for the sake of dating.” The room quieted a little, everyone listening now. “I’ve done that before,” you admitted. “You convince yourself maybe the attraction will grow or maybe you’ll eventually have more in common, and then three months later you’re wondering why you stayed. I’d rather be single than settle because everyone thinks I should have a boyfriend.”

Haeun nodded. “I actually agree.”

“You always agree with her.”

“Because she’s right.”

Mina rolled her eyes dramatically. “Fine. I support healthy standards.”

“Thank you.”

“But you need to be a little more open,” she accused you.

“Sure, I’ll try.” You said without making it a big deal.

“I can help if you want me to. I can put you out with some friends.” Her smile started getting bigger.

You already knew where this was going. “No, thank you.”

“I absolutely can. I’m great at matchmaking...”

“Mina.”

“I know a lot of people who would be perfect for you,” she insisted.

“You know people who you think would be perfect for me.” You corrected her.

She ignored you completely. “What about my coworker?”

“No.”

“My cousin’s friend?”

“No.”

“The photographer I met last month?”

“You’ve run out of people already?”

She frowned, pretending to think. “Hm…” Then her face lit up. “Oh.”

“No.”

“What about Jin?”

You looked at her blankly. “…Which Jin?”

“Kim Seokjin.”

You stared at her for a second before laughing. “The idol?”

“Yes, the idol.” She said obvious.

“Mina,” you looked at her incredulous.

“What?”

“I’ve said hello to him, like… three times.”

“So you’ve met,” Mina took it as a win.

“I’ve greeted him.”

“Close enough.”

“It’s really not.”

“You literally worked with Taehyung,” she reminded you.

“I work with brands that hire Taehyung,” you corrected. “Those are two very different things.”

“But you’ve met Jin.”

“I’ve been in the same room as Seokjin.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

Haeun smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t even think he’s spoken more than five words to her.”

“He made me show him where the coffee station was once,” you told her. “And I think one time I probably bumped into him accidentally.”

“There you go,” Mina replied triumphantly. “You’re basically family.”

You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your drink. “I don’t even think he’d recognize me if we crossed paths tomorrow.”

“He might.”

“He absolutely would not.”

Mina insisted. “He’s a really nice person. Very shy but I know he would be perfect for you!. Ugh, I need to find an excuse to invite him to some hangouts now…”

“I’ll pass. Thank you.”

Your friend sighed dramatically. Like she had lost the war. “Fine. I tried.”

“You really did,” you said sarcastically.

“I’ll keep looking.”

“Please don’t.”

“Too late.”

By the time someone suggested opening another bottle of wine, the conversation had already moved on to something completely different. Jin’s name disappeared from the room as quickly as it’d come up, buried beneath complaints about work, arguments over which movie they should watch after finishing the dinner and if the next hangout would be this same month or the next one, trying to match schedules.

You didn’t think about him again that night. There wasn’t any reason to. After all, he was just someone you’d crossed paths with a handful of times through work— a polite face attached to brief greetings backstage or at brand events before you both disappeared back into your own schedules. The joke was exactly that: a joke. One of dozens exchanged over dinner that evening, forgotten almost as quickly as it had been said.

At least, that’s what you thought then.

——————————

Your apartment was completely dead by the time you arrived there. You dropped your keys into the ceramic bowl by the front door out of habit, kicked your shoes off somewhere behind you, and stood there for a second, stretching and feeling the weight of the day finally catching up to your body. After spending the last five hours surrounded by people talking over one another, laughing across the dinner table and arguing about movies nobody was actually going to watch, your own apartment almost felt unnaturally still. But you weren’t tired yet. Comfortably full, maybe. Socially exhausted definitely.

You changed into an oversized T-shirt, took your makeup off, tied your hair into a messy bun and wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water, your phone tucked underneath one arm. There were already three new messages in the group chat but you were too lazy to check, maybe it was just Mina planning the next hangout already.

By the time you crawled into bed, the digital clock on your nightstand had already slipped past one in the morning. You should definitely needed to sleep, however, sleep didn’t seem nearly as interested in finding you. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling, thinking about some words that didn’t left your mind the entirely night after the conversation. Mina wasn’t entirely wrong, probably that was the most annoying part.

You really hadn’t been trying. For a while, you’d blamed it on work. Luxury fashion PR wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five job, especially once campaign season picked up. Some weeks you barely had time to eat lunch before someone called to tell you a fitting had been moved, a photographer had cancelled, or a celebrity’s schedule had changed for the third time in two days. It was easier to tell people you were busy than admit dating had quietly slipped to the bottom of your priorities.

But work wasn’t the real reason… or at least not completely. If you were honest with yourself, it had started long before your calendar became impossible. Your last relationship had ended almost two years ago. It didn’t really end in a dramatic way, nobody cheated and nobody threw plates across the room or begged anyone to stay, it had simply stopped working. Between different priorities, missed conversations and the slow realization spending time with someone was actually a big part for it to work, the relationship had quietly unraveled until one day you both admitted what you’d been avoiding for months.

Of course it hurt but the worst part hadn’t even been the breakup itself, it was everything that came after. Friends insisting you “just needed to get back out there,” blind dates, dating apps, conversations that felt more like interviews than actual conversations. Men who spent the entire evening talking about themselves. Men who seemed offended that you actually liked your career. Men who confused confidence with arrogance… Eventually, somewhere along the way, you’d stopped opening the apps, stopped agreeing to dates, stopped looking altogether.

It wasn’t that you’d decided to stay single forever. You’d simply gotten… comfortable in your own world, comfortable with your own routines, comfortable with dinners by yourself, comfortable enough that dating started feeling like another task to squeeze into an already busy week…. But Mina had been right, maybe you had checked out.

You reached for your phone on the bedside table and almost without thinking, you opened Hinge. Your profile was still there with the same pictures of months ago, the same prompts and a handful of likes waiting from weeks ago. You stared at the screen for maybe ten seconds before quietly laughing to yourself.

“Fuck no.” You closed the app.

You turned your phone over in your hands before another thought floated back into your head.

What about Jin? You actually laughed out loud this time. Mina’s ridiculous, you thought.

Of all the people she could’ve named… It wasn’t even that the suggestion was impossible— although it obviously was— it was just… random. You’d met him before… technically. The same way you’d “met” dozens of celebrities through work. A greeting backstage before a fitting, a polite nod while waiting for a meeting room to open, someone introducing you in passing before both of you were immediately pulled in opposite directions.

If you passed each other on the street tomorrow, you doubted he’d recognize you. You weren’t even sure you’d recognize him immediately either. Celebrities always looked different once they were standing three feet away instead of behind professionally edited photos.

Still… Why Seokjin?

You frowned slightly, unlocking your phone again. Purely out of curiosity you typed his name into Instagram. His account appeared immediately. Millions of followers and likes. Well, you couldn’t exactly say Mina had terrible taste. He was ridiculously handsome, that much was obvious.

You spent a minute absentmindedly scrolling through his feed, expecting to lose interest almost immediately. Instead… there wasn’t actually that much to see. A few campaign photos, brand collaborations, professional shoots, some travel and some silly pictures on tour. He looked exactly how you’d expect someone like Kim Seokjin to look. Polished, expensive and almost intimidatingly good-looking.

You were just about to close the app when your thumb drifted to the side to see his tagged posts. There were dozens of pictures and videos he was tagged from fans… One clip couldn’t hurt. It was only twenty seconds. A compilation of him throwing flower petals over him in award shows. You chuckled at his confidence and attitude, he was pretty funny.

“Cute,” you mumbled before catching yourself.

No, not cure. Funny. Endearing. There was a difference.

You scrolled a bit and another reel played. One that looked like it came from some variety show. He was laughing so hard he had both hands over his face, shoulders shaking as someone off-camera kept teasing him about something you didn’t understand. But he was so red and he laughed so loud it was really annoying.

You smiled. Then watched another… and another. One where he was stubbornly refusing to lose a game. One edit where he was winning a game and looked really hot. Another where he somehow managed to make everyone around him laugh within thirty seconds. One where he was confidently explaining something before immediately proving himself wrong.

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. He was… really funny. Not in the polished, media-trained way celebrities sometimes were, just naturally funny, comfortable in his own skin, a little too dramatic. The kind of person who didn’t seem embarrassed about laughing at himself or do something cringe just for the fun of it.

Later you were lying in the exact same position, phone balanced against your knees, smiling at a man you’d exchanged maybe three greetings with over the course of your entire career. You hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed until Instagram reminded you you’d reached your three hours of the day. Your thumb hovered over the screen.

“Holy shit.” You’ve spent three hours watching videos of Kim Seokjin. You lowered the phone onto your chest and stared at the ceiling. “Ah, fuck.”

Now you understood why Mina had said it. Not because he was famous or because he was objectively attractive. From the little you’d seen… He actually seemed exactly like the kind of person you would’ve liked if he’d been anyone else.

Shit.

——————————

The next time you saw Seokjin was not really your doing. It was, for once, the universe deciding to be surprisingly generous. Well… generous was probably a strong word. Convenient, that sounded way better.

The invitation had landed in your inbox earlier that week, forwarded by one of the stylists your agency worked with every few months. It wasn’t a launch party or a brand event, nothing that required speeches, photographers or carefully prepared guest lists. Someone had wrapped up a successful campaign, someone else had just gotten back from a tour overseas, and somewhere along the way the excuse had turned into come over, bring whoever you want and let’s have a drink. Half the people attending knew each other from the entertainment industry, the other half from fashion, and after working in luxury fashion PR for long enough, you’d realized the two worlds overlapped far more than most people imagined. So you decided to attend for once since Mina was going too.

By the time you arrived, the apartment was already buzzing with conversation. Music drifted through the open balcony doors, low enough that people didn’t have to raise their voices over it, and every surface seemed to be covered in bottles, half-empty glasses and small plates of food that everyone kept picking at without remembering what was theirs. Someone from a magazine you occasionally coordinated shoots with greeted you on your way in, another stylist pulled you into a quick conversation about Paris Fashion Week before disappearing again, and not five minutes later you spotted Mina standing near the dining table with a wine glass in one hand, laughing at something a singer beside her had just said.

She noticed you almost immediately. “There you are,” she said, reaching over to squeeze your arm as you walked up. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“I almost didn’t,” you admitted with a smile. “I spent all afternoon fixing a schedule because one actor suddenly decided he’d rather shoot in Milan than Seoul.”

Mina winced sympathetically. “Please don’t remind me what was working with actors. I still have PTSD.”

“You’re lucky you got yourself a nice boss.”

“Still stressful sometimes,” she grimaced. “Today I’ve answered twenty-five phone calls since six o’clock.”

“You counted?” You raised your eyebrows, not really surprised.

“I was angry enough to.”

You laughed, taking the glass she silently offered you.“Everything okay?”

She nodded. “Fine now. Everyone was losing their minds because they thought she wasn’t making it in time to a big event after a rehearsal fit. Bitch, I did her schedule, she was going to make it on time.”

“Only took twenty calls.”

“Twenty-five,” she corrected, like it was something it needed to be remembered.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she sighed dramatically before taking a sip of her wine. “I’ve accepted that this is my life now.”

The two of you stayed where you were for a while, talking about work the way people only could when they understood each other’s jobs. Mina complained about artists changing their minds at the last minute, you complained about luxury brands insisting every campaign was somehow the most important project of the year, and somewhere between those conversations someone joined in to tell a story about a photographer who’d accidentally shown up to a shoot in the wrong country. You weren’t sure if he was joking. With this industry, it was genuinely difficult to tell.

At some point your conversation broke apart naturally as people wandered off into smaller groups, and you found yourself listening more than talking, occasionally adding a comment before someone else picked up the thread. It was comfortable, you liked those kinds of gatherings, nobody expected anything from anyone. People drifted between conversations, disappeared onto the balcony, returned twenty minutes later carrying dessert as if they’d never left. People knew each other.

You were halfway through listening to a stylist passionately explain why silver jewelry was making a comeback when the front door opened again. Someone greeted the newcomers loudly enough for half the apartment to glance over.

You looked up too. And there he was.

Kim Seokjin stepped inside with an easy smile, greeting the host before taking a moment to shake hands with someone near the entrance. He looked almost exactly the way you remembered him from the handful of events where your paths had crossed over the years, except this time your brain supplied far more information than it had any right to.

He really giggles like that. The thought appeared before you could stop it… But he really did.

The laugh you’d heard through your phone speakers more times that you would ever admit out loud, it was unmistakable, warm enough that it carried across the room for being too loud. It was strangely disorienting, recognizing something so familiar about someone you barely knew.

You looked away almost immediately. Not because you’d been caught staring— he hadn’t even looked in your direction yet— but because it suddenly felt ridiculous that your first instinct had been to compare him to internet clips.

Get a grip.

You took another sip of your drink and forced yourself back into the conversation happening beside you, although it lasted all of three minutes before your attention wandered again. It wasn’t intentional, not that you would admit anyway. You simply… noticed him more this time.

You noticed that he never interrupted people when they were speaking, even if they were telling a story that was clearly going nowhere. That when someone walked over to say hello, he turned his whole body toward them instead of trying to keep talking to someone else at the same time. Every now and then someone would laugh at something he’d said, but he never seemed interested in becoming the center of the room. If anything, he looked happiest standing slightly off to the side, listening.

It was odd. A month ago you probably wouldn’t have registered any of it. Now every little habit felt strangely familiar, as though you’d skipped several chapters of a book and were only now catching up.

You were still mentally scolding yourself for finding this amusing when someone asked if anybody wanted another drink. You looked down at your empty glass. “I’ll grab one,” you said.

The kitchen was thankfully quieter than the living room. Someone had left the balcony door open just enough for the cool evening air to drift inside, carrying the faint sound of conversation from outside. You set your empty glass beside the sink and reached for one of the bottles lined up along the counter, only realizing someone else was doing exactly the same thing from the opposite side. Your hands bumping into each other a little hard.

You looked up. “So, you finally found your way to the beverage station without any help?.”

The words slipped out before you thought about them. For a second Jin looked almost confused. Then recognition settled across his face and he laughed softly as he blushed slightly.

“I did it all alone.”

“So I’m not imagining it.”

“No,” he smiled, reaching for another glass. “The first time was over coffee, right?.”

“Oh.” You pointed at him. “You asked where it was and then your manager made me guide you to the station.”

“Yeah… that happened.” He chuckled nervously.

“Don’t worry, I know the importance of coffee in the morning.”

Jin nodded in complete agreement. “Thank you. Coffee is the most important thing to survive.”

“And now alcohol. We’re upgrading.” You joked and he smiled.

For a brief moment the conversation settled into a comfortable silence while the two of you poured your drinks. It wasn’t really awkward, just a bit weird.

He glanced toward the living room before looking back at you. “You still work at Étoile?”

The question caught you pleasantly off guard. He knew that?. Maybe he remembered you working with Taehyung a lot. “I do.”

“I wasn’t sure. I thought I recognized you at the Cartier event a few months ago. I wasn’t completely certain.”

“I spend most of those events trying not to look stressed so I probably had a completely different face.” You said truthfully and Jin chuckled.

“You hide it well.”

“I absolutely don’t.”

“You do.”

“I promise I don’t.”

“I’ve only ever seen you looking very calm.”

You laughed. “That’s because if I panic, everyone else starts panicking.”

“So you’re secretly panicking,” he hummed.

“Almost constantly.”

“That actually makes me feel better. I thought everyone in fashion had their lives together.”

You stared at him for a second before bursting into laughter. “I’m sorry… Who told you that?”

“A lot of people?” He obviously lied.

“They lied.”

“So none of you know what you’re doing?” He asked jokingly.

“Oh, we know what we’re doing.” You leaned against the counter with an amused smile. “We just happen to be doing it while answering twelve phone calls, rewriting schedules and praying nobody changes their outfit thirty minutes before a campaign. So we are always panicking while making everything work.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

“What keeps you there then?”

You thought about it for a moment. “I like watching everything come together.”

“The campaigns?”

You nodded. “People only ever see the finished product, but there are so many people behind them. Stylists, assistants, lighting teams, producers, makeup artists… I like being part of that.” He listened without interrupting, his attention resting entirely on you in a way that felt unexpectedly rare. “I don’t know,” you continued with a small shrug. “When something goes well, it’s satisfying.”

“I get that.”

“I would thought so,” you smiled slightly. “Fashion it’s a performance so you should know about that.”

He smiled at that. You liked his smile. “I do. And I know the feeling when people assume performing is only the two hours you’re on stage.”

“But it isn’t.”

He shook his head. “It’s months before that. Rehearsals, meetings, recordings, planning… by the time people finally see something, you’ve been living with it for a long time.”

“I never really thought about it like that,” you hummed.

“I guess we’re both in jobs where everyone only notices the finished product.”

You smiled. “I like that.”

“So do I.”

The conversation wandered from there almost effortlessly. Somehow it turned into travel after he mentioned how often work had him living out of a suitcase, which became a debate over whether airport coffee was actually drinkable, which then led to food recommendations in different cities and also about what was the best dessert to have after a big dinner, and before either of you realized it, the glasses you’d filled at the beginning of the conversation were nearly empty.

You found yourself laughing far more than you’d expected to. Not because he was trying particularly hard to be funny, but because talking to him felt very easy and comfortable.

He listened just as much as he spoke, asked questions that made it obvious he was genuinely interested in the answers, and had a habit of smiling halfway through your stories that somehow encouraged you to keep talking. Every now and then he’d tell one of his own, usually ending it with an expression that suggested he still couldn’t believe it had happened, and you understood almost immediately why people seemed so comfortable around him.

“Hey.” Both of you turned at the sound of Mina’s voice. She was standing in the doorway with an amused smile, looking between the two of you before raising an eyebrow. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said, directing the comment at you. “Apparently someone wants to talk to you about a campaign you did last year. Hey Jin,” she greeted him with a smile he returned.

You blinked a bit confused. “How long have I been in here?”

“I don’t know.” Mina glanced at Jin before looking back at you. “Long enough that I assumed you’d gone home already.”

You laughed, setting your empty glass on the counter. “I should probably go save my professional reputation.”

“Probably.”

You looked back at Jin. “It was really nice talking to you.”

“You too,” he said with an easy smile. “Hopefully next time it won’t be around coffee or water.”

“I can’t promise anything. I like drinks.”

“I guess we’ll find out then.”

You smiled once before following Mina back toward the living room, already letting yourself get pulled into another conversation before you’d made it halfway across the apartment.

The rest of the evening passed with too many conversations happening at once, people arriving and leaving whenever they pleased, someone ordering late-night food nobody needed but everyone ate anyway. You spoke to Seokjin once more before leaving, nothing more than a quick goodbye as people gathered near the front door, and by the time you stepped into the elevator you were convinced that was all the night would become.

It wasn’t until you were driving home with the windows cracked open and the music playing quietly in the background that you realized something had changed. It wasn’t that you’d spent the evening talking to someone super famous, that part genuinely didn’t matter. It was that, somewhere between discussing airport coffee, impossible work schedules and the strange satisfaction of seeing a project finally come together, you’d completely lost track of time.

You couldn’t remember the last conversation you’d had with someone new that had felt so effortless.

And, much to your own surprise, you caught yourself wondering what the two of you would’ve talked about if someone hadn’t interrupted. That thought stayed with you all the way home, quietly settling into the back of your mind.

For the first time in a long while, you found yourself hoping your paths crossed again. And, for the first time ever, you just knew it will happen again.

——————————

You could dress it up however you wanted, tell yourself you were simply becoming more social or that it had been nice meeting new people outside of work, but somewhere between leaving that apartment three weeks ago and accepting yet another invitation you normally would’ve declined, you’d become painfully aware of one very embarrassing fact.

You were trying to see him again. Not in a creepy way, of course… At least, that’s what you insisted every time the thought crossed your mind.

It just so happened that after that night you’d kept in touch with a few of the people you’d met. One of the photographers had sent you a meme after discovering you shared the same hatred for some kind of food, a stylist had invited you to lunch with a couple of mutual friends, and before long you found yourself in a group chat that seemed to organize dinners, birthdays and last-minute gatherings every other weekend.

You said yes to all of them.

Was it because you’d genuinely enjoyed everyone’s company? Absolutely. Was it also because every invitation carried the tiny possibility that Jin might be there? …That part didn’t need to be examined too closely.

By the third invitation you had accepted, even Mina had started looking at you suspiciously. “You’ve become weirdly available lately.”

You looked up from where you were digging through your wardrobe. “I’ve always been available.”

“You canceled dinner with me two weeks ago,” she reminded you.

“I had work.”

“You left work at six.”

“Then I was tired.”

Mina crossed her arms, watching as you held two nearly identical sweaters up against yourself before putting one back on the hanger. “And yet,” she continued slowly, “you’re apparently not too tired to drive forty-five minutes across the city for a casual hangout hosted by people you’ve known for…” She pretended to count on her fingers. “…Roughly three weeks?”

You didn’t even bother turning around. “I’ve known them more time, silly. We just started talking more since the hangout. We connected.”

“Right. I’m sure you did.” She said suspiciously.

“They’re fun.”

“Mhm.”

“And it’s good to make new friends.”

“Mhm.”

You sighed, finally looking at her. “Okay, what? What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything.”

“You’re humming like a bitch, just say it.”

Mina smiled into her coffee before taking a sip. “I just think it’s interesting.”

“What is?”

“That you suddenly have a thriving social life.”

“I’ve always had a social life.”

“You absolutely have not.”

“I did.”

“You’ve spent the last year declining every invitation that wasn’t work-related.”

You opened your mouth to argue before stopping halfway through. “…Okay, you’re right. But I’m just trying something different now.”

“I think that’s great.”

“I knew you’d understand,” you pointed at her with a cheeky smiled, turning around to keep looking for an outfit.

“I do.” She smiled sweetly. “I also think it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that a certain someone might be there tonight.”

You froze for a second before reaching for the nearest cushion and threw it at her. “Shut up.”

She caught it without much effort. “I knew it”

“You don’t know shit.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth ruined whatever annoyance you were trying to perform. “I cant believe I was right. Do you like Seokjin?”

“Of course not!” You laughed despite yourself, dropping onto the edge of your bed. “I barely know him.”

“But you wanna see him again,” she pointed out.

“… Yeah.” You couldn’t lie. “I don’t even know him enough to know if I like him but… I don’t know. He’s cute.”

“I haven’t see you interested in someone in so long!” She said excitedly. “I’m so happy. I’m sure he’s interested in you too.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I can feel a vibe.”

“I bet he barely remembers our conversation. He was probably being just polite.” You shook your head.

“Nah, people usually remember conversations. At least he had to remember a word or something.”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face in your hands. “You’re the worst person to ask for reassurance.”

“I don’t think he dislikes you.”

“That’s not reassuring at all!.”

“Okay, okay. I’m serious.” She set her coffee down before looking at you properly. “From what I saw that night, he looked comfortable talking to you.”

“He also looked comfortable talking to literally everyone.”

“Thats true but because he knew everyone. Usually with new people he’s very shy. So the fact that he was talking to you comfortably I think it says a lot.”

“So?”

“So go and find out. Talk to him more, see if you actually like him.”

You chuckled. “Okay, sure. Whatever I’ll just go. Worst-case scenario, I spend an evening with nice people.”

“And best-case scenario?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll tell you about it if it happens,” you said with a smirk.

Mina groaned so loudly that she nearly spilled her coffee laughing.

——————————

The gathering was even smaller than the last one. Someone had volunteered their apartment, someone else had ordered enough food to feed twice the number of guests, and by the time you arrived most people were already spread around the living room, talking over one another while music played quietly from the speakers. You recognized almost everyone this time. Not well enough to call them close friends, but enough that conversations started easily

The photographer from the previous party greeted you with a hug before immediately pulling you into a discussion about an impossible decision he had to make for his career, an stylist insisted you try whatever dessert she’d brought, and before long you found yourself laughing at stories from a recent campaign shoot that had apparently gone catastrophically wrong. It felt surprisingly natural and comfortable being with these people you never really had the chance to get closer to.

You were halfway through telling someone about a model who’d accidentally boarded the wrong train during Milan Fashion Week when the apartment door opened. You didn’t look immediately because you obviously weren’t waiting for anyone.

Then someone near the entrance said, “Jin!”

Your head turned so fast you almost broke your beck… Very subtle.

He stepped inside carrying a paper bag from a bakery, apologizing for being late before greeting the host. There was something oddly familiar about watching him move through the room now. A month ago he would’ve blended into the evening like everyone else. Now you found yourself recognizing little things almost unconsciously— the way he smiled before saying hello, the habit of slightly bowing his head when someone older greeted him, how he always seemed to listen before speaking.

You hated that your brain had memorized all of it.

He spotted you a few moments later. There was the smallest pause before recognition crossed his face, followed by an easy smile. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You made it.”

The words were so ordinary that you almost laughed. “So did you.”

“I almost didn’t. Work really keeps you busy.”

“Were you actually working, or is that the excuse everyone in our industry uses?”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Both.”

“Fair enough.”

Someone called his name before either of you could continue. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said apologetically, nodding toward the group waiting for him.

“Yeah, of course.”

He disappeared almost immediately and you watched him walk away before frowning slightly. You weren’t entirely convinced if he was just being nice of if he also felt that weird vibe going between you two. Maybe you were just too delusional.

Over the next hour your paths kept crossing in the strangest ways. Every time you thought maybe you should walk over, someone else was already talking to him. When he finally looked free, another friend dragged you into a conversation on the balcony. Then, just as you managed to excuse yourself, Jin was helping someone carry drinks into the kitchen.

It was becoming almost comical.

You couldn’t help smiling when he finally made his way over, balancing two glasses in one hand after what felt like an entire evening of narrowly missing each other. It had almost become a running joke in your own head; every time one of you looked free, someone else inevitably appeared to steal the other’s attention. By now it was honestly impressive.

“I was starting to think this apartment was cursed,” you said as he stopped beside you, accepting the glass he held out. “Every single time I thought about coming over to talk to you, somebody got there first.”

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“Of course,” you didn’t shy away, trying not to make the situation uncomfortable. “We had a nice chat last time.”

A laugh escaped him, quieter than the ones you’d heard from across the room but just as genuine, and he shook his head before taking a sip of his drink. “Me too. And I thought that was only happening to me,” he admitted. “Twice I walked over because I figured everyone was finally done talking to you, and then someone else started another conversation before I made it halfway across the room.”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm.” He smiled, looking almost sheepish. “At one point I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

You looked at him for a second before laughing “I thought you were avoiding me.”

For a moment he simply stared at you, almost as if he was trying to decide whether you were joking, before the corners of his mouth lifted again. “So we’ve both spent the last hour being wrong.”

“I guess we have.”

Whatever awkwardness had followed you around since he’d arrived seemed to disappear with that exchange. It wasn’t some magical shift where suddenly everything became effortless, but the uncertainty you’d both apparently been carrying dissolved enough that the conversation no longer felt like something either of you had to force. Instead of wondering whether you were interrupting him or whether he was only being polite, you found yourselves walking toward the quieter side of the balcony almost without thinking, making room for another group squeezing through the doorway while continuing exactly where you’d left off.

“So, what do you do for work?” You said almost jokingly.

He looked genuinely caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean? You already know.”

“I don’t know,” you laughed. “Everybody always asks what you do for work, but work is only part of your life. So I don’t know, maybe tell me something you like to do that is not working.”

He thought about it for a second, absentmindedly turning his glass in his hands. “I sleep.”

You looked at him. “That cannot be your final answer.”

“I’m serious.”

“I believe you. I just refuse to accept it.”

“It takes up a surprising amount of my free time.”

“I’m trying to discover your hobbies, Seokjin.”

Jin smiled to himself before giving in. “I play video-games.”

“You play video games?”

“I do,” he nodded confidently even when his neck started getting red. “And I’m really good at them. Computer games, play station. Everything.”

“That’s nice,” you nodded with a little chuckle trying to scape out of your lips. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“It’s pretty fun.”

“Yeah, I can tell by the way you talk about it.”

He laughed quietly, and there was something strangely endearing about how easily he laughed at himself. Most people, especially in your line of work, had a habit of polishing every story until they sounded impressive. Jin seemed to do the opposite. Every time he talked about something he’d done well, he somehow ended up mentioning the part that had gone wrong too, as though he didn’t really see the point in pretending otherwise.

“So what about you?” he asked. “What do you like to do?”

You smiled. “I like to read.”

“What kind of books?”

“Anything that makes me forget to check my phone.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I like movies like that.”

“The ones where you forget you’re watching one?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh my god. I actually have a section in my Letterbox like that. ‘Movies that feel like movies.’” You said excited.

“I’m gonna need you to send me your account then,” he said seriously.

The two of you ended up lingering near the balcony more minutes, just talking. Around you, people drifted in and out of the apartment with the same relaxed rhythm the evening had carried from the beginning. Someone stepped outside to answer a phone call, another group squeezed past on their way to refill drinks, music floated faintly from the living room, but none of it seemed to interrupt the conversation anymore. It simply became part of the background.

“I know this is going to sounds ridiculous.” He looked almost embarrassed. “But I’m not great with new people,” he admitted. “So I’m glad you’re easy to talk to.”

“Really? You said, shaking your head as you leaned against the railing. “You seem so in ease.”

“Nah. Two years ago you probably would’ve had to carry the conversation by yourself.”

“I feel like I already do that sometimes.”

He looked at you, amused. “You?”

“I overshare when I’m nervous.”

“I would’ve never guessed.”

“Exactly. That’s the problem, I just talk to much.”

Jin smiled to himself before taking another sip of his drink. “I get quieter.”

“So we’re opposites.”

“Maybe.”

“I fill every silence.”

“I wait for the other person to.”

“So we are a match made in heaven.”

“Exactly.”

You both laughed, and for a second you simply watched the people inside the apartment. Someone had convinced half the room to play some card game that looked increasingly chaotic with every passing minute. A girl was already arguing about the rules despite the game having barely started.

“You know,” you said, “It’s kind of funny. I would’ve guessed the complete opposite.”

“About me?”

You nodded. “I don’t know… I think because you’re around people all the time, I just assumed talking to strangers came naturally.”

“It doesn’t, at all.” He shook his head. “I still overthink almost every conversation.”

You frowned. “Seriously?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true.”

“But you seem…” You searched for the right word. “…Comfortable.”

“I pretend.”

“So you’re acting?”

He laughed. “I don’t know if I’d call it acting.”

“What would you call it?”

“I just… remind myself that nobody else knows I’m nervous.”

You looked at him for a moment, surprised by how simple the answer was. “I’ve never thought about it like that.

“It helps.”

“I usually assume everyone can tell.”

“I think everyone assumes that.”

You smiled. “I’ve spent half my career convinced people can see me panicking.”

He looked genuinely confused. “I thought you were one of those people who had everything under control.”

You laughed so suddenly you nearly spilled your drink. “I don’t think anyone who’s worked with me would describe me that way.”

“They would.”

“They absolutely wouldn’t.”

“They would.”

“Seokjin.”

“I’m serious.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve only talked to me like twice.”

“I would say more.”

“Mm, not really.”

He nodded. “There was a campaign dinner last winter where we talked a bit.”

You blinked a little taken aback. “You remember that?”

“You were trying to find someone’s assistant. I remember because in that event you were working with Taehyung too.”

“Ah, yes. I was trying to find a missing garment bag.” You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

He shrugged almost apologetically. “I remember weird things.”

“Apparently.”

There was something about that answer that stayed with you. Not because he’d remembered the event itself— that wasn’t impossible— but because he’d remembered you in it. You hadn’t been the client, you hadn’t been the center of the evening. You’d simply been another person running around making sure everything worked. Most people never noticed those things.

“You know what’s strange?” you asked after a moment. “I’ve spent years assuming nobody notices the people behind events.”

Jin tilted his head. “Some do.”

“You do.”

“People behind the scene make everything happen. It’s impossible not to notice.”

You smiled, a little uncertainly. “Most people only remember the face wearing the clothes.”

“I think that’s normal.”

“I know.”

“But…” He paused for a second, as though trying to explain something he hadn’t really put into words before. “I think once you’ve worked around enough productions, you start noticing the people who keep everything moving. You can usually tell who’s solving problems. I guess that’s why I noticed you.”

You looked down at your glass for a second before smiling. “I don’t think anyone’s ever complimented me like that.”

He looked almost surprised. “It was a compliment?”

“Yeah. For me it is.”

“I was just telling the truth.”

The conversation wandered somewhere else after that, not because either of you tried to change the subject but because that seemed to be how talking to him worked. One thought naturally led to another. You ended up discussing the strange satisfaction of crossing things off handwritten to-do lists, the fact that both of you still preferred carrying notebooks despite having every reminder imaginable on your phones, how much you hated the smell of beer, how much he loved snowboarding and the ridiculous amount of time people spent pretending to enjoy networking events.

“So you don’t like them either?” you asked.

“I like leaving them.”

You laughed out loud. “That’s such an honest answer.”

“I always tell myself I’ll stay for an hour. Then I look at the time and it’s three hours later.” He shook his head. “Every time.”

“Why don’t you leave?”

Jin smiled. “Because then I meet someone interesting.”

You felt your heart give one annoyingly noticeable beat. “Does that happen often to you?.”

“It doesn’t.” Before you could think of a response, someone called his name from inside. He turned instinctively. “What?”

“Your food is getting cold! Are you eating?”

“I’ll be there!” He looked back at you almost immediately. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“You were saying?”

The fact that he’d come back to the conversation instead of letting it die made something warm settle somewhere in your chest.

“I honestly don’t even remember.”

“You were probably making fun of me.”

“I probably was.”

“I think you were.”

“I’ll continue after you get food.”

He smiled. “Deal.”

And he did.

Five minutes later, after grabbing two slices of pizza and somehow convincing someone else to stop stealing olives off his plate, he walked right back over and picked up the conversation as though nobody had interrupted it in the first place. It happened again later. Someone asked him to settle an argument in the kitchen, another friend pulled him into a group photo. Every single time, he came back. Not tired or with some grand excuse, just quietly returning to where you’d been standing before asking, “Where were we?”

By the end of the night you realized you’d talked about almost everything and almost nothing. Childhood hobbies, the fact that both of you hated talking on the phone but would happily send ten-minute voice notes, how neither of you understood people who enjoyed going out every weekend to party, the weird satisfaction of grocery shopping late at night. You talked about the best convenience store snacks, whether pineapple belonged on pizza and more. The conversation never felt like it needed to impress the other person, it just kept going.

When people finally started putting on their jackets, you were genuinely surprised to see the apartment had emptied without you noticing. “I should head out too,” you said, slipping your phone into your bag.

Seokjin nodded. “Me too.” For a second neither of you moved. “I had a really good time,” he said, smiling in that same quiet way he always seemed to.

“Me too.” You stayed in your place, waiting for him to ask for your number.

“I’ll…” He hesitated just enough for you to notice it. “…I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

“Right,” you said, almost disappointed. “Yeah, I hope so.”

He smiled once more before following his friends toward the door. You watched him leave, waiting until the apartment had almost emptied before saying your own goodbyes.

The drive home was spent replaying conversations you hadn’t meant to memorize. Not because anything extraordinary had happened. He hadn’t flirted with you, he hadn’t asked for your goddamn number. Seokjin hadn’t looked at you in some life-changing, movie-worthy way. If anything, the evening had been remarkably ordinary. And maybe that was exactly why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You liked talking to him, like a lot. There had been no awkward pauses to fill, no pressure to sound clever, no moments where you found yourself wondering what you should say next. Somehow the two of you had managed to spend hours discussing the most ridiculous, everyday things, and you’d still walked away feeling like there were another hundred conversations left to have. That should have been exciting. Instead, it left you hopelessly confused. Because Jin was nice. Painfully, consistently nice. He listened to everyone, he smiled at everyone, he remembered details about people that most would’ve forgotten. So how were you supposed to tell whether any of tonight had actually meant something?

Maybe he talked to everybody like that, maybe every person who left one of his conversations went home thinking they’d been understood, maybe this was just who he was. You couldn’t read him. Every time you thought he’d given you a sign, your brain immediately found another explanation for it, and by the time you pulled into your apartment building you were somehow even more confused than when the evening had started.

The only thing that wasn’t confusing anymore was yourself. There wasn’t any point pretending this was simple curiosity, that excuse had expired somewhere around the conversation about how much you loved strawberry cheesecake.

You liked him. Entirely, inconveniently and undeniably.

You smiled all the way upstairs because the realization was somehow equal parts embarrassing and exciting. And later, before you’d even finished getting ready for bed, you found yourself opening the group chat from the party. Your thumb hovered over the upcoming plans someone had mentioned earlier. A birthday dinner next week. A movie night the weekend after. A barbecue if the weather stayed nice. You stared at the messages for a moment before smiling to yourself. A month ago, you would’ve checked your calendar first or invent another excuse to not show up. Tonight, you were already trying to figure out how to make sure you didn’t have any plans at all so you could see him again.

——————————

Monday mornings at HYBE building looked exactly the way you imagined a music company would. Stylists hurried down the hall balancing garment bags over one shoulder while trying to answer phone calls at the same time, assistants walked briskly between meeting rooms carrying stacks of documents that somehow looked urgent regardless of what was inside them, and every few minutes someone you vaguely recognized from a campaign, a magazine shoot or an awards show passed by with a polite nod before disappearing around another corner. It was organized chaos, the kind that somehow managed to function despite looking as though everything was happening at once.

You’d been there often enough over the years that the receptionist greeted you by name before you’d even reached the desk. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” you smiled, accepting the visitor’s badge she handed over. “I’m here for the ten o’clock.”

“They’re already waiting for you.”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

Luxury fashion PR had a funny way of making every company building start to feel familiar. One month you were spending every afternoon at a magazine headquarters preparing a campaign, the next you were coordinating fittings at a fashion house, and then suddenly you were sitting in entertainment agencies discussing contracts between artists and brands. It meant learning hundreds of names, remembering dozens of schedules and somehow keeping track of who was available on which side of the world.

By the time you reached the conference room, three people from HYBE’s partnership team were already seated around the table, laptops open and coffees untouched.

The meeting itself was surprisingly straightforward. The agency had recently signed a new rookie group whose first luxury campaign was already attracting attention from several international brands, and your company had been hired to coordinate the negotiations and oversee the campaign schedule. Most of the creative decisions had already been approved weeks earlier, which meant your morning was spent going over travel dates, confirming fitting appointments, discussing possible magazine covers and making sure nobody had accidentally scheduled three different events in three different countries on the same day… It happened more often than people realized.

“I’ll send over the updated timeline this afternoon,” you said, closing your notebook once everyone seemed satisfied. “As long as the group’s comeback date doesn’t move again, everything should stay on schedule.”

One of the managers laughed. “Please don’t say that out loud.”

“I’m choosing optimism.”

“We’ve learned not to.”

You smiled. “Fair enough.”

Another hour disappeared into emails and final revisions before the meeting finally wrapped up. By the time you stepped back into the hallway, your shoulders already felt lighter. There were still a dozen things waiting for you back at the office, but the most complicated part of your week had gone considerably smoother than you’d expected.

You had just slipped your notebook and laptop into your bag when a familiar voice called your name from the other end of the corridor. You turned just in time to see Taehyung walking toward you, sunglasses hooked onto the collar of his T-shirt despite being indoors. For a second you simply stared.

“Well, that’s a face I haven’t seen in forever.”

He laughed. “I was about to say the same thing.” The two of you met halfway down the hallway, exchanging a quick hug before stepping back. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought your office was like 3 hours away.”

“It is. We were meeting with the partnership team.”

“For the rookie group?” You nodded. “Please tell me they’re behaving.”

“So far.”

“So they haven’t started changing schedules every six hours yet?”

“It’s only Monday.”

“There’s still time to run.”

You laughed. “You sound like you’ve been traumatized.”

“I’ve worked in this building long enough. Rookie groups are starting to be a nightmare.”

“That’s fair. I’ve seen some news.”

The conversation slipped back into familiarity almost immediately. You hadn’t worked together in nearly two years, but spending months coordinating the promotional aesthetic campaign for his first solo album had a way of making people remember each other. After that there had been fashion events, magazine dinners, a handful of award shows and enough passing greetings over the years that seeing him now felt less like bumping into an old client and more like running into an old coworker.

“So,” he asked, leaning casually against the wall, “how’s life?”

“Busy.”

“I expected a more exciting answer.”

“I coordinate luxury campaigns.”

“So… busy.”

“Exactly.” You chuckled. “What about you?”

Taehyung sighed dramatically. “We start rehearsals again next week.”

“For the tour?” He hummed in agreement. “I saw the dates.” You mentioned. “They look impossible. You have, what…” You frowned, trying to remember. “Three countries in a week and then another one next week in another continent?”

“Yeah.. I’ve stopped looking.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“You learn not to pay attention,” he smiled cheekily.

Before either of you could continue, another voice joined the conversation.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here hiding.” You looked up instinctively. Jin had just stepped out of one of the rehearsal studios further down the hallway, a black hoodie thrown over his shoulders. He slowed as he reached the two of you, smiling in quiet surprise when he noticed you standing there. “Oh.” His smile widened just slightly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you smiled slightly, heart starting to beat a little faster.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

You lifted the visitor’s badge hanging around your neck. “Work.”

“That makes more sense.” He nodded knowingly.

“Lucky for her,” Taehyung interrupted, “she gets to leave.”

You smiled. “I do.”

“I’ve still got vocal rehearsal.”

Jin looked at him. “I thought you were eating first.”

“I was.” Taehyung glanced down at his phone before groaning. “…Actually, no, apparently I’m not. They just moved my reservation.”

“Again?”

He held up his screen dramatically. “I’ve officially given up questioning management.”

You laughed. “Some things never change.”

“They really don’t.”

He pushed himself away from the wall before pointing between the two of you. “I’m leaving you to catch up because if I’m late one more time they’ll start pretending I’m difficult.”

“You are difficult,” Jin said.

“But you love me anyway”

“Ew, don’t say that.”

“You do!” Taehyung looked back at you. “It was good seeing you again.”

“You too.”

“Don’t disappear for another two years.”

“I’ll do my best.” With one last wave, he disappeared around the corner, leaving the hallway noticeably quieter. For a moment you and Jin simply watched him go. “He hasn’t changed,” you said eventually.

“Not even a little.”

“I think that’s impressive.”

“I think it’s exhausting.”

You laughed. “I can imagine.”

The two of you started walking almost without discussing it, heading slowly toward the elevators at the end of the hallway. Neither of you seemed particularly rushed, and after the last few times you’d talked, it no longer felt strange to fall into conversation so easily.

“So,” he asked, glancing over at you, “how did the meeting go?”

“Better than I expected. I was preparing for at least one scheduling disaster but everything went well.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Nah. I like being pleasantly surprised. You shrugged. “What about you?” you asked. “Taehyung mentioned rehearsals.”

He nodded. “We leave in a few weeks.”

“You excited?”

“I am.” He smiled to himself before looking ahead again. “I think the rehearsals are always the hardest part.”

“Really?”

“I like performing but I don’t like preparing to perform.”

You laughed softly. “I don’t know why that makes perfect sense.”

“I spend weeks wondering if we’re ready. And then the first show starts and I stop worrying for about two hours.” He told you, a little exhausted. “Then I start worrying about the next one.”

You smiled. “I feel like that’s every job.”

“It probably is.”

By the time you reached the elevators, the conversation had wandered somewhere entirely different. Somehow you’d ended up talking about travel again, comparing favorite cities from work trips, complaining about airports, laughing over the fact that neither of you had figured out how people managed to sleep comfortably on planes.

The elevator arrived with a quiet chime. You both stepped inside. “Oh, I forgot to ask,” he said as the doors closed. “What are you doing this weekend?”

You looked at him, a little excited. “This weekend? I don’t really have plans. Why?”

“You wanna have dinner?.” He hesitated for a second before clarifying. “Everyone’s getting together on Saturday. Some close friends, Taehyung is also included. We’re going to a nice restaurant. I thought maybe you would like to come.”

“Oh.” You smiled. An invitation, as friends. Great. “Yeah, of course. I’ll be there.”

“Great,” he said with a smile. “Nice.” There was a small pause, comfortable rather than awkward, before he looked at you again with the same thoughtful expression you’d started recognizing over the past few weeks. “Actually…” He rubbed the back of his neck almost absentmindedly. “I just realized I don’t have your number.”

You hummed. “Yeah… You don’t.”

“I probably should.”

“That would make things easier. You know, for the address of the restaurant and all.”

“It would. Yes.”

You unlocked your phone and handed it to him. “Here.”

Seokjin smiled as he typed his contact into it before giving it back. “I’ll text you,” he said simply. “To let you know it’s me and send you the address”

You nodded. “Right.” The elevator doors opened onto the lobby. You stepped out together before stopping near the entrance, where your paths naturally split in opposite directions. “I should let you get back to work,” you said before smiling. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

He nodded. “See you Saturday.”

You watched him disappear back toward the elevators before pushing through the glass doors into the afternoon sun. Halfway across the parking lot, your phone vibrated.

Unknown Number. You opened the message before you’d even reached your car.

Seokjin: Just proving it’s actually me.

A second message appeared almost immediately.

Seokjin: Don’t be late on Saturday. Taehyung will absolutely blame someone else if he is, and I’d rather it not be you.

Seokjin: [address]

You: Noted. I’ll arrive early just to preserve my reputation.

His reply came less than a minute later.

Seokjin: Smart girl

Okay, that was hot.

You know it wasn’t flirtatious, it wasn’t even particularly memorable. But as you slid your phone back into your bag, you couldn’t stop smiling. In all the times you had spent talking for hours at a friend’s apartment and now exchanging numbers in an elevator, things had quietly become very comfortable with him. You still had absolutely no idea whether Jin saw you as anything more than someone he enjoyed talking to. If anything, getting to know him had only made him harder to read. He was attentive with everyone, kind without making a performance of it, and thoughtful in a way that could easily be mistaken for interest if you weren’t careful.

Which was exactly the problem. You couldn’t tell whether he liked you like that. The uncertainty was still there, lingering in the back of your mind every time you replayed one of your conversations, but it didn’t bother you quite as much anymore. Because one thing, at least, had become impossible to deny. He liked spending time with you.

Saturday suddenly felt very, very far away.

——————————

The restaurant wasn’t particularly fancy, which somehow suited the group better than any upscale place ever could have. It was tucked away on a quiet street a little outside the city center, the kind of place people only seemed to know about through recommendations rather than advertisements. Warm lights hung above the terrace, the windows were thrown open to let the late summer air drift inside, and the steady murmur of conversations mixed with clinking glasses and the occasional burst of laughter from another table.

You spotted everyone almost immediately. There couldn’t have been more than ten people, already gathered around a long wooden table near the back of the restaurant. Someone waved the second you stepped through the door, and within moments three different voices were greeting you at once.

“There she is.”

“I told you she’d be late.”

“I am three minutes early,” you protested, laughing as you slipped your bag off your shoulder.

“You’re ten minutes late.”

“That’s early for her.”

You smiled, making your way around the table to greet everyone properly. A couple of faces were still relatively new, people you’d only met once or twice over the last month, while others already felt strangely familiar despite how recently they’d come into your life. It was funny how quickly comfort formed when everyone shared the same chaotic industry. Then your eyes found Jin. He was already seated halfway down the table, listening to something Taehyung was saying with that small smile you were becoming increasingly familiar with. When he noticed you looking over, he gave you an easy wave.

“Hey.” He smiled. “You finally found the place.”

“Barely,” you admitted. “Your directions were significantly better than my navigation.”

“I knew I should’ve sent more landmarks.”

“I still would’ve gotten lost.”

“I believe that.”

You caught yourself smiling at the quick exchange before you’d even reached your chair. When you looked around for somewhere to sit you noticed there was only one empty seat left. To the other corner of the table, directly across from him, not close at all. You stared at it for a second. “…Seriously?”

Someone looked up. “What?”

“Nothing.” You smiled, sliding into the chair. “I just thought I’d made it before everyone else.”

“Why?”

“No reason.”

You reached for the menu before anyone could ask another question. Across the table, Jin looked briefly amused, though he didn’t comment, instead returning to whatever story Taehyung had been telling before you’d arrived. You tried very hard not to let the tiny disappointment bother you. It was ridiculous, really ridiculous. You weren’t in middle school. You weren’t twelve years old trying to sit beside your crush in class. You were a grown woman who coordinated campaigns worth more money than most people made in a year. You could survive sitting far from this guy …Probably.

Dinner started slowly, with everyone ordering drinks while waiting for the last two people to arrive. Once they did, the conversation settled into that familiar rhythm you’d started associating with this group. Nobody stuck to one topic for very long. One person would mention work, someone else would remember a completely unrelated story, and twenty minutes later everyone would somehow be debating whether overnight flights were worse than six a.m. call times.

Laughter rippled around the table. You found yourself joining in easily, adding comments here and there whenever the conversation naturally drifted your way. It felt comfortable, and yet every now and then your attention wandered somewhere it probably shouldn’t. Across from you, Jin was talking to one of the producers about the upcoming tour. You couldn’t hear everything they were saying, but every so often he’d laugh quietly or shake his head at something someone else had said, and despite telling yourself not to, your eyes kept finding him. Once and then again. Then another time. It was becoming embarrassingly automatic. At one point he happened to glance up while reaching for his water. Your eyes met for barely a second and he gave you just a small smile. Then the conversation beside him continued, and he turned back toward it. You did the same.

See? He’s talking to everyone.

You forced yourself to pay attention to the conversation happening on your side of the table instead. For the next hour that became the pattern of the evening. Whenever everyone spoke together, it felt easy. You’d catch each other’s eye occasionally across the table, laugh at the same stories, tease Taehyung whenever he exaggerated something, but there wasn’t really an opportunity for the kind of conversation you’d secretly been hoping for.

The distance of a table suddenly felt much larger than it actually was. You hated yourself a little for caring. There were at least eight other people there and you liked all of them. You were having a genuinely good time. And yet some stubborn, irritating part of your brain kept thinking… I haven’t actually talked to him. Every now and then someone beside him would ask him something directly, another person would join in, and before long he’d be caught in another conversation while you were doing exactly the same thing at your end of the table.

Maybe this was normal, maybe you’d built up the last few weeks too much in your own head. Maybe they had felt significant because they’d happened one-on-one and your brain had made the situations feel extra intimate only becuase you liked him like that. Here, surrounded by everyone else, he seemed exactly the way he always had. Kind, relaxed and happy to talk to whoever happened to be nearby.

It occurred to you, not for the first time, that maybe this was simply who he was.

You were halfway through telling the photographer beside you about a campaign that had nearly fallen apart because a shipment had been sent to the wrong country when another burst of laughter echoed from Jin’s side of the table. Almost instinctively, you looked over. He was smiling at something a friend had just said. Nothing unusual, nothing you hadn’t already seen a hundred times. Still… A tiny, childish part of you felt oddly deflated.

You took another sip of your drink. Get over yourself. The evening wasn’t about you. You’d barely known him for a month. There was no reason to expect him to spend the entire dinner talking to you. Honestly, if someone else described this situation to you, you’d probably tell them they were overthinking it. Which, unfortunately, meant you were almost certainly overthinking it.

“You’ve gone quiet.”

You looked back toward the woman sitting beside you. “Hm?”

“I was asking if you’re coming to Milan next month.”

“Oh.” You laughed softly. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

“I noticed.”

“I probably am.”

“You probably?”

“My calendar changes every three days.”

“That’s the most PR answer I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s also the only honest one.”

The conversation picked back up, and eventually you stopped checking the other end of the table quite so often. Or at least, you convinced yourself you had.

Dinner stretched comfortably into the evening. Plates gradually disappeared, dessert menus appeared almost without anyone noticing, and one by one people started glancing at their phones, remembering early schedules or long drives home.

“I should probably go,” one of the producers sighed eventually, pushing his chair back. “I have a seven a.m. meeting tomorrow.”

“On a Sunday?”

“I know.”

“My condolences.”

Another person stood and some of them followed. Goodbyes started overlapping with fresh conversations, people lingering by the table while putting on jackets because nobody ever managed to leave immediately. You’d barely noticed how many people had already gone when the friend beside you launched into a story about their parents divorce.

By the time she’d finally reached the end of the story, probably regretting saying too much, the restaurant had become noticeably quieter. You looked around almost absentmindedly. The table that had been full less than fifteen minutes earlier was almost empty. Taehyung had already left, your photographer friend was gone, one stylist had disappeared after hugging everyone goodbye. Only one chair across from you was still occupied.

Jin looked up from the beer he’d been absentmindedly nursing for the better part of an hour and smiled. “I think everyone abandoned us.”

You blinked before looking around once more. “They actually did.”

He laughed quietly. “I didn’t even notice.” Neither had you. Jin glanced toward the front of the restaurant, where the last of your friends were saying their goodbyes near the entrance, then looked back at you with an expression that suggested he was just as surprised as you were. “I guess we were really invested in our conversations.”

You laughed, still looking around as if someone else might suddenly reappear. “I feel like there were ten people here five minutes ago.”

“There were. But I think they slowly escaped while we weren’t paying attention.”

“So we’re the last ones here.”

“I don’t think the staff minds.”

As if on cue, one of the waiters walked past carrying a stack of empty plates, offering the two of you a polite smile before disappearing into the kitchen. You glanced back toward the entrance. “I should probably head out too.”

Jin looked down at the beer still sitting in front of him before looking back up. “I mean…” He hesitated for a second, almost like he was debating whether to ask. “Would you mind staying for a bit? I haven’t finished this yet.”

You followed his gaze to the glass. It was still almost half full. “…Of course.”

“I don’t want to keep you if you have plans.”

“I don’t.”

“You sure?”

You smiled. “I’m sure.”

He smiled back, a little relieved. “Okay.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment, but unlike before, the silence wasn’t searching for a conversation. It simply existed while the restaurant slowly emptied around you. Someone in the kitchen dropped a tray, a waiter laughed at something another employee had said, and outside the windows the street had grown noticeably quieter than it had been when everyone first arrived.

Jin took another sip of his beer. You were almost certain it had to be warm by now. “So,” he said eventually, moving to seat next to you before resting his forearms against the table, “did you have a good time tonight?”

“I did.” You smiled. “I actually like this group a lot.” You thought about it for a second. “I feel like everyone already knows everyone else’s schedules are a mess.” He laughed. “So nobody gets offended when someone cancels.”

“They know what life is like this.”

“What about you?”

Seokjin shrugged. “I like that they remember you’re also a person.”

You looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

He smiled as he said it, but there was something thoughtful underneath the smile that made you think he wasn’t entirely joking. “I think when people see someone whose job is public, they forget that the rest of your life still exists.”

You nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

“They just assume you’re always in your performing mood.”

You rested your chin lightly against your hand. “I prefer the honest side of people.”

“That’s even better then.”

The conversation drifted naturally from there, taking the same shape all of your conversations seemed to take. One topic quietly became another without either of you trying to steer it anywhere in particular. Somehow you ended up talking about childhood, about the strange jobs you’d imagined yourselves having when you were ten years old, laughing when he admitted he’d once been absolutely convinced he’d become a veterinarian despite fainting the first time he watched blood being drawn.

“You fainted?”

“I was twelve.”

“I don’t think age helps your case.” You laughed silently. “So what happened to becoming a veterinarian?”

“I realized animals deserved someone much braver.”

“I think that’s fair.”

“What about you?”

“I wanted to be a librarian or own a bookstore.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really?” You hummed. “I can actually picture that. I feel like you’re the kind of person who probably organize everything alphabetically.”

You gasped dramatically. “I’m not. I’d organize them by genre!”

He snorted, blinking a little slow before biting his lower lip to not smile. You thought he was really handsome like that. “Of course you would.”

“Shut up, you don’t know me.” You said like a kid.

Seokjin looked down at his beer with the faintest hint of a smile before quietly saying, “I’m getting there.”

A waiter stopped beside the table before you could say anything. “Can I get you two anything else? Dessert, maybe?”

You instinctively shook your head. “I’m okay.” You glanced at Jin and he looked at you.

“You sure?”

“I don’t really have a sweet tooth.”

“I do.” He looked back at the waiter. “We’ll share one.”

You blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I know.” He smiled. “But I want cheesecake. You said you like the strawberry one, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“I think dessert is always better with company.”

You laughed, accepting defeat. “I can’t argue with that.”

“Good.”

The cheesecake arrived a few minutes later with two forks. Seokjin ended up stealing exactly two small bites while you finished the rest while he insisted that if he was ordering dessert anyway, someone should help him justify it.

And by the time the plates had been cleared away, neither of you had noticed that the music inside the restaurant had grown quieter. It wasn’t until a chair scraped across the floor nearby that you looked around. The staff had started stacking the empty tables near the windows. Someone was wiping down the counter, another waiter was rolling silverware into napkins. You checked your phone. 10:54 p.m.

“We’ve been here for a while.”

Seokjin followed your gaze before looking down at the beer still sitting in front of him. He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve touched this in twenty minutes.”

You looked at the glass. “Longer. It’s definitely warm.”

“It probably is.”

“You should finish it.”

“I probably should.” Instead, he took the smallest sip imaginable before setting it back down exactly where it’d been.

You smiled to yourself. He wasn’t trying very hard but you weren’t about to complain. You were hoping he never finished that beer. You wanted to stay longer with him either way. Even if the restaurant closed at 11pm…. But the fantasy broke because few minutes later one of the waiters approached with the bill tucked neatly inside a black folder.

Seokjin reached for it before you even realized it had been set on the table. “I’ve got it.”

You looked up. “I took most of the dessert so I definitely should—” You reached for your wallet.

He shook his head. “You can get the next one.” The words came out so naturally that neither of you reacted immediately. He paid quickly with his card before looking at you with a small smile. “Although I’ll fight you again next time.”

Something warm settled somewhere beneath your ribs. “I can live with that.”

As you walked toward the door together, he stopped briefly near the counter where a small glass bowl filled with individually wrapped mints sat beside the register. He picked one up, unwrapped it as the two of you stepped outside and laughed quietly when he caught you watching him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He smiled, shaking his head as he popped it into his mouth. “I just don’t like leaving restaurants smelling like beer.”

You stared at him for a second. “That’s oddly considerate.”

Did he really remember all you said? You were definitely making him up. He couldn’t be real.

“I’ve always done it.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket as the two of you started walking down the quiet street. “Which way are you parked?”

“I’m not.”

“You took a taxi?”

“I walked. Its only about twenty minutes.”

Jin looked ahead for a second before nodding once. “Then I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he shrugged. His answer was immediate, almost matter-of-fact. “I’d like to. I live close this neighborhood anyway.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Okay.”

The streets had quieted considerably by then, the warmth of the evening lingering even as the city settled into the slower rhythm that only seemed to exist after ten o’clock. You walked side by side without rushing, continuing the same conversation you’d been having inside as though leaving the restaurant hadn’t interrupted it at all. You realized, somewhere between laughing about the worst movies either of you had ever paid to see and debating whether breakfast food should be acceptable at any hour of the day, that talking to him never felt like work.

By the time your apartment building came into view, you almost wished it were another ten minutes away. “So…” you said, slowing to a stop outside the entrance. “Thanks for walking me home.”

“Of course.”

“And thanks for dinner.”

“Don’t even mention it.” For a brief second, neither of you moved. Then he smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I hope so.”

“You will.”

He said it with such quiet certainty that it didn’t even occur to you to question it. You watched him disappear back down the street before finally heading upstairs. It wasn’t until you were brushing your teeth later that night that the entire evening replayed itself in your mind.

The conversation. The strawberry cheesecake, the warm beer he’d barely touched because he’d been too busy talking to you. The mint he took after. The way he’d said the next one as though another dinner between the two of you was already the most obvious thing in the world.

You still couldn’t tell if Jin liked you. Not in the way you wanted him to. He was still frustratingly impossible to read, still so effortlessly kind that every thoughtful gesture came with another explanation you could use to convince yourself not to overthink it. Maybe he walked everyone home, maybe he paid for everyone when he was feeling generous. Maybe he remembered everyone’s favorite dessert, maybe he was gentle enough to know what the other person dislike. Maybe this was simply who he was. But lying in bed that night, staring at the ceiling with a smile you couldn’t quite get rid of, you admitted something to yourself that you hadn’t been brave enough to say out loud before.

Whether he liked you or not had almost become secondary. Because somewhere along the way, without even noticing exactly when it had happened, you’d stopped looking forward to seeing him but you started missing him.

——————————

By the time May rolled around, seeing Jin had stopped feeling like an event. It had happened so gradually that neither of you could have pointed to the exact moment things changed. One dinner became another, then someone suggested drinks after work one Thursday, a birthday turned into brunch the following weekend, and before long your names simply started appearing together in plans without either of you having to ask. If someone created a group chat to organize something, you already knew there was a good chance the other person’s profile picture would be somewhere near the top.

Somewhere in between all of that, phone calls had quietly become part of your routine too. It had started innocently enough. One evening he’d called because he couldn’t remember the name of a restaurant you’d recommended a few weeks earlier. Another time you rang him while walking home because you’d spent twenty minutes trying to decide between two birthday gifts for a friend and wanted a second opinion. Then, somehow, those practical conversations turned into hour-long calls that had very little to do with why either of you had picked up the phone in the first place.

You’d tell yourself you only had five minutes. An hour later you were somehow debating whether cereal counted as dinner, arguing over which city had the worst airports in Europe or listening to Jin explain, in alarming detail, why he believed every household should own at least three different frying pans.

“You don’t need three,” you’d laughed one night, curled up on your sofa with your laptop forgotten beside you. “No normal person owns three.”

“You own twelve mugs,” he fought back.

“Mugs are different.”

“How?”

“Each one has a purpose. They hold memories.”

He’d been quiet for exactly two seconds before laughing so hard you could barely understand what he was trying to say. “They hold coffee.”

“And memories.”

“I’ll pray for whoever has to move house with you one day.”

“I’ll make them carry the mugs.”

“You’ll have to marry someone very patient.”

“I know.”

There had been a tiny pause after that, neither of you had acknowledged it. Then the conversation had simply moved on. Moments like that happened more often now, little sentences that accidentally wandered somewhere dangerously close to something bigger before one of you quietly steered them back toward safer ground.

It was strangely comfortable, enough that, when one of your friends suggested meeting for drinks after work on Friday, you didn’t even think twice before sending Jin the details.

You: we’re at Kaqwi bar around 8 if ur free

Jin: I’ll be there :)

The smiley face shouldn’t have made your heart react the way it did.

The bar wasn’t particularly busy when you arrived, but it filled quickly as the evening went on. Music hummed softly beneath conversations, the terrace outside was crowded with people escaping the lingering starting of summer heat, and inside your group had somehow managed to claim one of the larger booths before anyone else could steal it.

You were already halfway through telling a story about one of your clients showing up to a fitting wearing two completely different shoes when Jin finally appeared. He apologized to everyone for being late before sliding into the empty space beside you like it was second nature. “Traffic?”

You looked at him. He nodded dramatically. “And one very determined taxi driver.”

“Well, you survived.”

“Barely.”

“You look alright.”

“I’ve been through a lot.”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes. “You texted me from the car saying you were buying chips because you were hungry.”

Jin looked genuinely offended. “I can have two problems at once.”

The people sitting across from you laughed. You glanced at Jin, unable to stop smiling. Three months ago you would’ve hesitated before teasing him. Now it came naturally. He teased you back just as easily too. He looked at everyone else. “Do you see what I deal with?”

One of your friends laughed. “You two sound married.”

You nearly choked on your drink, trying really miserably not to blush. Jin, somehow, stayed completely composed. “I think married people argue less.”

“Oh, definitely less,” you agreed.

“They eventually get tired.”

“We’re nowhere near that stage.”

“I wasn’t aware there were stages.”

“There are.” You nodded thoughtfully. Nobody took the conversation seriously and neither did you, moving to the next subject and pretending that you haven’t been daydreaming about him for the last couple weeks…. At least until you noticed that he’d stolen three fries from your plate while arguing. “You’ve been eating my fries this entire time?!”

“…Have I?” He said while grabbing another one.

“Yes. You’ve eaten half my fries. You didn’t even order anything!.”

“I genuinely didn’t notice,” he lied. “I thought they were ours.”

“There is no ‘ours. You owe me fries.”

“I’ll buy you fries.”

“I don’t want replacement fries.”

“Do you want me to throw up and give them to you then?”

“You’re disgusting.”

He smiled to himself. “I know.”

You stared at him for a second. It was becoming a problem. A genuine, actual problem. Because somewhere over the last few weeks you’d become frighteningly good at recognizing all the tiny expressions nobody else seemed to notice. The smile he did when he was trying not to laugh, the one where he ducked his head slightly whenever someone complimented him. The way he’d absentmindedly roll up the sleeves of his shirt whenever he got comfortable somewhere. How he listened with his entire attention, never looking over someone’s shoulder to see if another conversation was more interesting.

None of those things should’ve been attractive. And yet your brain had apparently decided they were the most charming habits any human being had ever possessed. It was honestly becoming ridiculous. You caught yourself watching him while someone else spoke, noticing the way he laughed with his whole face, the little crease that appeared beside one eye, the way he always pushed his empty glass a few centimeters away before leaning forward whenever he got interested in a conversation.

He wasn’t even doing anything, he was just existing. There were moments— small, completely insignificant moments— when you’d look at him and genuinely wonder if your body was capable of handling much more of this before simply giving up altogether. He was just so handsome and he got more prettier everytime you looked at him. He’d looked at you across a crowded table while stealing your fries and smiled like he already knew you’d forgive him. It was embarrassing, you’d never been this gone over anyone before.

The worst part was that nothing about it felt obsessive in the loud, dramatic way people usually described crushes. It was quieter than that. It lived in all the little things. You wanted to see him everyday, you wanted to spend time with him and talk to him almost every second. You liked seeing him even if your body went immediately into an intolerable nervous breakdown because he was so annoyingly handsome. It was frustrating.

As the evening stretched on, people naturally split into smaller conversations, the table growing louder without ever becoming chaotic. Someone suggested another round of drinks, someone else started planning a weekend trip that would almost certainly never happen, and at some point you found yourself sitting slightly turned toward Jin, the two of you talking while the rest of the table carried on around you.

“So…” you said, tracing absentminded circles through the condensation on your glass, “next month.”

He nodded slowly. “Next month.”

“The tour.”

“Yeah.”

“You finally sound excited.” You pushed him slightly with your shoulder. “How’s it going?”

He let out a quiet breath through his nose. “My legs hurt.”

You laughed. “That’s your review? I expected something more profound, Seokjin.”

“I’ll save the profound thoughts for next week.”

“You don’t have any.”

“I probably don’t.” For a moment, he watched the people around the table before looking back at you. “I am looking forward to it, though. I just…” He searched for the words. “It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“I’ve gotten used to being here.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Home?”

He nodded. “And…” He smiled. “…To seeing everyone.”

You knew he meant the group, even if he was only looking at you. So why did your stomach still flip? Well, you couldn’t control your reaction very easily. “Well,” you said lightly, “we’ll survive. You’ll be back before you know it.”

“I hope so.”

“You’ll call?”

“I will.”

“You better.”

“I was planning to.”

“You can tell me all about your glamorous airport meals.”

“They’re never glamorous.”

“I know.”

“And you can complain about work.”

“I always complain about work.”

“I know.”

You smiled. “See? Nothing changes.”

He smiled back, though there was something softer about it this time. “I guess not.”

Even surrounded by everyone else, the thought settled quietly between you. Next month would be different. And for the first time since meeting him, you realized there would soon be weeks where seeing Jin wouldn’t simply be a matter of waiting until the next weekend hangout. You’d actually have to miss him. The realization sat surprisingly heavy in your chest. You hid it behind another joke, another laugh, another stolen fry from his plate this time, but as you watched him throw his head back laughing because you’d finally managed to get revenge, one completely unhelpful thought echoed through your mind.

You’re in so much trouble. Because if you already felt like this now… You couldn’t imagine what a month apart was going to do to you.

——————————

The strange thing about missing someone wasn’t that one dramatic morning you woke up and suddenly realized two months had felt unbearably long. Instead, it settled quietly into your routine until one day you noticed you were reaching for your phone before anything interesting happened because you already knew who you’d want to tell first.

The first week after Jin left for tour had been easier than you’d expected. You’d both been busy enough that the time difference and impossible schedules almost worked in your favor. If he finished a show just as you were leaving the office, you’d call while walking home. If you happened to be awake when he landed somewhere new, he’d send you a blurry photo from the airport with a single complaint about the coffee. There were days when your conversations lasted forty minutes and others when they barely stretched past five, but somehow neither of you seemed bothered by it. The expectation wasn’t that you’d always have time; it was simply that, sooner or later, one of you would hear from the other.

Then Fashion Week arrived with its usual lack of mercy.

Your calendar became a wall of color-coded appointments, garment fittings, showroom visits and dinners with clients that somehow always ran longer than anyone intended. You spent more time inside black cars than in your own apartment, learned to survive on coffee and protein bars tucked into your handbag, and answered emails in elevators because they were sometimes the only quiet place you could find.

One evening, somewhere between a fitting that had overrun by an hour and a last-minute venue change for a presentation, your phone buzzed in the pocket of your blazer.

Jin: Are you alive?

You: Debatable.

His reply came almost immediately.

Jin: That’s not very reassuring.

You: Fashion Week.

Jin: Good point.

You laughed softly to yourself while stepping into the back of a waiting car.

You: What are you doing awake?

Jin: Airport

You: Again?

Jin: Again

The conversation drifted from there, as it always seemed to. He complained about delayed boarding, you complained about a designer deciding fifteen minutes before a campaign shoot that he no longer liked the original styling direction, and somehow twenty minutes disappeared before either of you realized you’d both reached your destinations.

That became the rhythm of the following weeks. He called from hotel rooms that all looked vaguely identical no matter which country he happened to be in. You answered from backstage corridors, quiet taxis or empty office kitchens long after everyone else had gone home. Sometimes you talked about work. More often you talked about absolutely nothing.

One night he spent almost fifteen minutes trying to convince you that cereal counted as a perfectly acceptable dinner after ten o’clock. “It absolutely doesn’t,” you insisted, balancing your phone between your shoulder and your ear while searching your apartment for clean pajamas.

“It does if you’re tired.”

“That’s not how nutrition works.”

“It does for me.”

There was something strangely comforting about those conversations. You’d never imagined that spending so much time talking to someone who wasn’t physically there could make them feel even more present in your everyday life. You started recognizing the sounds in the background before he mentioned where he was, could tell whether he was tired just from the way he said hello, and without consciously trying, both of you began remembering the smallest details about each other’s days.

By the middle of the second month, it felt unusual not to hear his voice. Which was precisely why your eyebrows lifted when his name appeared on your screen one Tuesday afternoon while you were standing outside a showroom in Paris. You answered almost immediately. “Hi.”

“Hi.” There was a pause. “Are you busy?.”

“I little.”

“So am I.”

You smiled. “Then why did you call?”

“Why did you answer?”

“Touché,” you giggled a little. “I’ve been working nonstop for this fashion week events. But I don’t know what’s worse the people or the heat in Paris—”

“Wait, wait…” His voice changed completely, a little hurried and surprised. “You’re where?”

“Paris.”

“Right now?”

You frowned. “…Yes?”

He stumbled into his words. “I’m in Paris.”

You stopped walking. “…No, you’re not.” You blinked at absolutely nothing. “I thought you were in Amsterdam.”

“That was yesterday.”

“I’ve completely lost track of your schedule.”

“I think I have too.”

You laughed. “So you’re actually here?”

“I’m literally looking at the Eiffel Tower.”

“No way.”

“What about you?”

“I’m near Place Vendôme.”

He laughed, he sounded happy. “I can’t believe we didn’t know. How long are you going to be here?”

“I leave the night after tomorrow.”

“So do I.” There was a small pause, one that somehow felt different. “Do you have any free time?”

You smiled before he had even finished asking. “I actually do.” You checked your calendar. “I’ve got one meeting tomorrow morning, then I’m free after lunch.”

“So am I.”

“…Seriously?” You laughed. “That’s almost suspicious.”

“I know.” He hesitated for just a second. “So… Do you want to hang out?”

Your answer came so quickly that it surprised even you. “Yeah.”

“I was thinking maybe Versailles?”

You looked down the street, smiling to yourself. “I haven’t been since I was seventeen.”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you there then

The rest of the afternoon disappeared in a blur of meetings you barely remembered.

The following day was one of those rare Paris afternoons where the sky seemed almost impossibly blue, the late summer sun soft enough that walking outside actually felt pleasant instead of exhausting. By the time your train pulled into Versailles, you had changed out of your work clothes and into something far more comfortable— a simple summer dress, comfortable enough for hours of walking but still presentable enough that your professional instincts didn’t entirely panic.

You arrived first, for the first time ever. You wandered toward the entrance, watching groups of tourists gather beneath colorful umbrellas held high by guides speaking half a dozen different languages. Families posed for photos in front of the gates, children complained about the heat, and somewhere nearby someone was playing violin badly enough that it somehow added to the charm rather than taking away from it. You checked your phone.

Jin: Two minutes.

You smiled. Exactly three minutes later, you spotted him. He was walking across the courtyard with one hand tucked into the pocket of a pair o white summer linen pants, an oversized white linen shirt shifting gently in the breeze as he looked around searching for you. A pair of sunglasses rested on top of his head, pushing his dark hair back from his forehead, and for one completely unfair moment you simply stood there watching him weave through the crowd. He was just so pretty you wanted to eat him whole.

It wasn’t until he caught sight of you that you started walking again. His face brightened immediately.

“There you are.” You both laughed at saying exactly the same thing.

For a second, neither of you seemed entirely sure what people who had spent two months talking almost every day but hadn’t actually seen each other in person were supposed to do. Then you stepped forward first and hug him, he held you back with easy, his hands wrapping around your shoulders and pushing you a little too hard to his chest. You giggle a little from the action, his broad shoulders and back feeling too good against your body and arms.

The hug lasted just a fraction longer than a polite greeting without either of you acknowledging it. “You look tired,” he said as you pulled away, taking his time to look at your face without fully taking his arms off of you.

“I was going to say the same thing.”

“I’ve been rehearsing.”

“I’ve been surviving Fashion Week.”

“So we’re both victims.”

“I think we are.”

You smiled. “I’ve missed you.”

The words were so simple that they slipped past you very easily. Your heart gave one completely unreasonable thud when he answered immediately. “I’ve missed you too.” For a second, all the noise around you seemed to fade into the background. Then someone brushed past with a stroller, breaking whatever strange little bubble you’d accidentally stepped into. Jin cleared his throat lightly. “So…” He held up two tickets. “I may have already bought the audio guides with translation.”

You laughed. “You came prepared”

“You said one time that you actually like listening to museum tours.”

“I do,” you smiled softly, your heart beating so loud you almost thought he would be able to hear it. “Thanks for remembering.”

“Of course.” He handed you one of the devices. “Although I figured we’d probably spend half the time talking anyway.”

“You know us surprisingly well.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “I would hope so.”

And somehow, within less than five minutes of seeing each other, it already felt like no time had passed at all.

The palace unfolded around you one room at a time, each grander than the last, but after the first few minutes you realized you were paying remarkably little attention to the gold ceilings or painted frescoes the audio guide seemed so determined to explain. Not because they weren’t beautiful, they absolutely were. It was simply difficult to concentrate on eighteenth-century French history when Jin was walking beside you after two months apart, occasionally stopping to look at a painting with the kind of genuine curiosity that always made him tilt his head ever so slightly, as though he was trying to understand not just what he was looking at, but why someone had chosen to create it in the first place. He looked like an angel every time your eyes wandered to his figure.

“Do you understand what they’re saying or I’m just that bad at the language?” he asked after removing one side of his headset.

You looked at him with amusement. “I’ve listened to several words… I heard ‘Louis.’”

He laughed. “I don’t think that narrows it down.”

“There were numbers too.”

“You’ve learned nothing.”

“I’ve learned the ceilings are expensive.”

You smiled to yourself. Talking to him still felt exactly the way it had over the phone, except somehow easier. There was no delay before one of you answered, no crackling signal, no wondering whether the other person had gotten distracted by work or simply lost reception. Every joke landed immediately, every smile came without having to imagine it on the other end of the line, and every now and then one of you would point at something entirely ridiculous just to hear what the other would say about it.

“I think I’d get lost in here,” you said as you stepped into another enormous gallery.

“You absolutely would.”

“You agreed with that a little too quickly.”

He laughed at you but didn’t say anything else, and the sound echoed faintly through the room before dissolving beneath the quiet voices of the other visitors. The more you walked, the more obvious it became that something had shifted between you over the last two months. The conversation no longer needed a beginning. There was no catching up in the traditional sense because neither of you had really disappeared from the other’s life. You already knew how rehearsals had been going, which city had unexpectedly become his favorite stop on tour, how exhausted you’d been during Milan Fashion Week and even what you ate last week. Instead, you filled in the little gaps. The expressions that texts couldn’t capture, the stories that were funnier in person, the tiny details that somehow never made it into phone calls. And at one time you laughed so hard you had to steady yourself against his arm for a second before realizing what you’d done. Your hand lingered for the briefest moment against the fabric of his sleeve. His bicep was surprisingly strong and warm. You pulled it back almost immediately.

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I practically used you as furniture.”

“I don’t mind.”

He said it so casually that it almost made it worse. You nodded once, pretending to be far more interested in the next doorway than in the fact your pulse had suddenly become embarrassingly noticeable.

The palace gradually gave way to the gardens, where the afternoon sun spread across endless stretches of perfectly trimmed hedges and fountains that glittered beneath the light. Compared to the crowded galleries inside, everything outside felt slower. There was more space between people, more room to wander without constantly stepping aside for another tour group. You fell into step beside him and somewhere along the gravel path your shoulders brushed. Neither of you moved away. You kept talking and he did too. It happened again a few minutes later when the path narrowed between two rows of hedges, your fingers moved a little trying weakly to catch his so he would take the hint. But again, nobody acknowledged it.

It was ridiculous how aware you had become of every tiny point of contact. You wondered if he noticed, and you also wondered if he didn’t. He had made time for you despite living on the opposite side of the world half the year. He called, he listened, he laughed at jokes that weren’t particularly funny simply because you were the one telling them. And yet… He’d never crossed that invisible line, not once. Which left you trapped in the world’s most exhausting guessing game. Maybe he was just wonderful and charming with all people... which, honestly, you didn’t like.

As you rounded another corner, he reached out without thinking and lightly touched the middle of your back, guiding you aside as a large tour group swept past in the opposite direction. “There you go.”His hand disappeared almost as quickly as it had arrived. You tried not to think about the fact you could still feel it. You thought how his fingers would feel around your waist or touching your bare skin.

“This place is busier than I remembered,” you managed.

“It’s because everyone had the same idea we did and decided to come on the nicest afternoon of the week.”

“This was poor planning.”

“It was.”

You smiled. “I’d still choose today.”

He looked at you. “Me too.”

You looked away before your face had the chance to betray you.

By late afternoon the palace had begun to empty, the crowds thinning just enough that you could finally stop lingering behind slower groups. You’d walked for hours without really noticing it, your conversations interrupted only occasionally by the audio guide insisting on explaining another room or another portrait neither of you had been paying enough attention to appreciate.

Your feet, however, had started protesting. “I need five minutes,” you admitted with a laugh as you sat down on a stone bench overlooking one of the fountains.

“Tired?”

“I’ve been standing in heels for all week.”

“You’re wearing sandals.”

“For the first time all week.” Jin smiled quietly before sitting beside you. For a few moments neither of you said anything. Not because there wasn’t anything left to say, quite the opposite, the silence had simply stopped needing to be filled. You watched families wander through the gardens, children racing one another across the paths while parents unsuccessfully attempted to keep up. “I forgot how nice this is,” you said. “I’m glad we came.”

He turned slightly toward you. “So am I.”

Something about the way he said it settled softly in your chest. He looked at you for a second longer in silence and you wondered if he was really thinking the same as you. Eventually you stood again, deciding to make your way back through the palace before heading toward the station. But halfway there you stopped abruptly.

“I need the bathroom.”

He nodded immediately. “I think there was one near the entrance.”

“There was.” You looked ahead. “Okay seemed like everyone else also wanted to use the bathroom.” The line stretched embarrassingly far down the corridor. You sighed. “Of course.”

“I’ll wait.”

You glanced at the queue again before groaning. “This is going to take forever.” Jin looked around thoughtfully, his eyes wandering down a quieter side hallway. “What?”

“I might know another one.”

“You do?”

“I saw a staff sign earlier.”

“You think you saw one?”

He smiled. “Come on.”

Before you had the chance to question him further, he reached for your hand almost absentmindedly, weaving your fingers together with his as he led you down the quieter corridor. Your entire brain stopped functioning. He was holding your hand. Just like that. As though it were the most natural thing in the world. As if you hadn’t been throwing hints all those hours so he would do it.

You stared at your joined hands for half a second before looking back up, praying he couldn’t somehow hear your heartbeat. “You realize,” you said, trying very hard to sound normal, “if we get caught wandering through staff corridors, we’ll be in big problems.”

“Isn’t that more fun?”

You both started giggling out of nowhere, trying —and failing— to keep your voices down as you wandered through the quiet hallway. He checked one door that was locked. Then another one that was a storage. “This is going well.”

“Just trust me.” He looked at you with a grin that made it impossible not smile. A few steps later he stopped in front of another door. “This has to be it.”

“You’ve said that twice.”

“I feel better about this one.”

“You’ve become overconfident.” He reached for the handle, still locked. You shook your head before laying back in the door. “I would be already in the front of the line.”

“I was close with this one.”

“You were nowhere near.”

You were still smiling when he looked back at you. His smile slowly fading as he saw you against that door. Suddenly you were seeing a face of him that you haven’t seen ever. Your smile slowly faded too as he took a step closer. The hallway around you had gone unexpectedly quiet, the distant sounds of the palace reduced to little more than an indistinct murmur somewhere beyond the walls. Neither of you spoke. “I’ve missed your face,” Seokjin admitted in a low voice.

The words were so quiet that, for a second, you almost wondered if you’d imagined them. You looked up at him, and for the first time since you’d met him, you weren’t trying to figure him out anymore. It was all there, written across his face so plainly that you almost laughed at yourself for every hour you’d spent wondering whether he liked you or whether he was simply the nicest man alive. He looked at you the way you’d been looking at him for months. Like you were the only person in the room, like he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there. His thumb absentmindedly brushed against the back of your hand, still intertwined with his, as he took another small step closer until there was barely any space left between you. “I’ve…” He smiled to himself, almost embarrassed by what he was about to admit. “I’ve been dreaming about doing something all day after months of not seeing you.”

You tilted your head. “What?”

His eyes dropped, just for a second, to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. Your entire body forgot how to function. “…This.” Your heart lurched so violently you were convinced he had to hear it. It wasn’t beating anymore, it was galloping. Somewhere in the back of your mind you thought, completely irrationally, this is it. This is actually how you’re gonna die. You’re gonna drop dead if he kissed you.

He hesitated for only a heartbeat, giving you every opportunity to move away. Instead, you found yourself closing the last inch between you. His lips met yours softly, almost carefully, as though he’d imagined this moment so many times that he was afraid reality wouldn’t live up to it. But it did, it definitely did. The second you kissed him, every thought that had been racing through your head for the last two months simply… disappeared. There was no overthinking, no wondering if he liked you anymore, not trying to read between the lines of every text message or every smile. There was only him, his warm hands sliding from your cheeks to every part of your body until they settled on your waist. The man you’d spent months convincing yourself not to fall too hard for was kissing you back with the same certainty, pressing you against a bathroom door that couldn’t be open. Like he wanted nothing else to do that for the rest of his life.

When you finally pulled away, it was only enough to catch your breath before he smiled— that same shy smile you’d loved from the very beginning. You didn’t say much, you giggled into each others mouth, the sound echoing softly through the empty corridor, before he kissed you again. This one was slower and less hesitant. As though the first kiss had answered every question either of you had been too afraid to ask.

Your fingers found the front of his linen shirt almost without thinking, bunching the fabric lightly as he smiled against your lips. His hand romearirng around your body like he couldn’t push you any closer to him. “I think,” you whispered while he kissed your jaw, “we should— we should probably leave before someone catches us.”

“Probably.” Neither of you moved. “…Definitely.” Still neither of you moved. Seokjin laughed quietly. “I don’t really want to.”

“Neither do I.”

He bit down your neck and your hands sinked into his hair to push him a little so you could see his pretty face. You gave him little pecks on his big lips as his eyes narrowed, dark pupils looking at you brightly. But he still looked at you with that same soft expression he’d been wearing all afternoon.

“You should come back to the hotel with me.” Your stomach immediately filled with butterflies. He continued before you had the chance to answer. “You don’t have to leave tonight if you don’t want to.” His smile widened just a little. “Honestly… you should spend the night there.” He paused, looking almost amused by his own train of thought. “And the next hotel if you want.” You raised an eyebrow. “And the one after that.”

You couldn’t help laughing. “Jin…”

“I’m serious.” He kissed your lips again. “I like having you around.” He shrugged as though that explained everything. “I think I’d like having you around in every city.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him. If he kept talking like that, you really were going to end up following him across Europe and staying with him… well, forever. You forced yourself to recover just enough to tease him. “Hm…” You pretended to think about it. “I don’t know.”

He frowned slightly. “No? Too fast?”

“I think…” You smiled innocently. “you’d have to ask me on a date first.”

He looked genuinely confused. “…A date?” You hummed and for the first time he took a little step back to looked better at your face, hands still over your sides. There was a beat of silence before he blinked, really unsure. “I thought we were dating.”

You stared at him confused. “What?”

“I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking adorably uncertain. “We call each other every day.”

“I call all my friends.”

“We’ve been having dinner together.”

“With friends.”

“I walked you home.”

“I thought you liked to walk.”

“I really don’t.” He looked at you as though the conclusion was obvious. “I thought we’d been dating for weeks… Or, at least, I don’t know, seeing each other.”

You looked at him so deadpan your face almost froze. “Are you stupid?”

His expression softened into a grin. He took your hand again, squeezing it gently. “Okay, okay. My bad. Let me start again… Would you like to go on a date with me?”

You looked at him, at the man who had somehow turned months of stolen conversations and phone calls into the easiest love you’d ever known, even when distance could have been an end. So you just smiled so widely your cheeks already hurt.

He was actually really stupid. “I thought we already were in one.”

A/N: Posting Update: Okay, I've been good at staying ahead on writing chapters in this story… until now. I have nothing pre-written. I have some loose ideas for the next two chapters, but I'm trying to focus on Replay right now because the chapter is almost done and it's the final chapter. So, I'm going to take a week off of posting to get myself caught up and finish things.

I will see you in two weeks! 💜

The bass doesn’t just vibrate through the soles of your sneakers. It beats in perfect sync with your heart, rising up from the grassy lawn. From this far back, the massive stage is just a shimmering, neon-bright glow against the dark summer sky, and the members of the band are tiny silhouettes darting through flashes of strobe light.

​But it doesn't matter.

The lawn is a chaotic, beautiful sea of thousands of people. However, right here, in your own little pocket of the crowd, you and Yura are living your absolute best lives.

​"Turn! Turn!" Yura shrieks over the roaring crowd, her laugh loud and breathless.

​Your fingers are locked tightly in hers, the grip sweaty and unshakeable as you spin each other around in wild, dizzying circles. The warm summer night air rushes over your bare shoulders. You’re wearing matching outfits. Simple black tank tops and red-and-white checkered pleated skirts and every time you spin, the fabric flares out around your thighs.

“Spin faster!” Tae explains as he films the two of you getting dizzy from behind his phone.

“Don't go faster,” Joonie calls from the blanket. “Someone is going to get hurt.”

Your fingers slip from hers. The spinning world almost knocks you off your feet. Hobi who was dancing nearby grabs you by your waist at the moment and steadies you.

"If you two keep that up, you're going to paint this grass with whatever you had for lunch," Jin scolds. He's standing near the edge of your group's blanket, arms crossed over his chest. "Stop spinning and get something in your stomachs! I didn't spend twenty minutes in the food truck line for you to starve."

"Okay, okay, we're stopping!" Yura gasps, waving a hand in surrender as she stumbles toward the blanket, immediately takes a bite of the hamburger in her fiancés hand.

“Babe!” Jungkook exclaims.

Without a second thought, you throw yourself right onto Yoongi’s lap. He lets out a soft, surprised 'oof' as your sudden weight lands on him, his hands instinctively coming up to catch your waist. Even in the dim light of the concert, you can see a helpless smile spreading across his face.

"Rough landing," Yoongi mumbles, his voice low against your back as he adjusts his grip, pulling you a little closer so you don't slip off. "You're completely out of breath. Did you actually listen to Jin for once?"

"Only because my head is spinning," you laugh, leaning back against his chest and looking up at him.

He reaches up with one hand, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your sweaty forehead, his fingers lingering against your skin for a sweet, quiet second despite the chaos of the concert roaring around you.

"Here," he says, nodding toward the cup of lemonade sitting by his knee. "Drink some of this before you pass out on me. I am not carrying you back to the car."

"You absolutely would," you tease.

The taste of the cold, sweet lemonade is tart and refreshing, as you swallow before pressing a quick kiss to Yoongi's lips. He catches on instantly, his hand at your waist tightening just a fraction as he kisses you back. It’s soft. It's a quiet contrast to the booming bass vibrating through the ground beneath you. When you pull back, Yoongi’s eyes are warm, a lazy, satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"Eat," Jimin demands, his eyes crinkling as he beams down at you. He doesn't just offer the pretzel. He practically uses it to block your entire view of Yoongi, holding the warm, cheese-dripping dough inches from your nose. "You're burning like a million calories spinning around out there. If you don't eat this, I'm going to feed it to Jin, and he's already had his share."

"Hey! I heard that!" Jin’s voice carries perfectly over a sudden dip in the song's bridge, his hand paused mid-air as he points a fry accusatorially at Jimin. "I require sustenance after surviving the trenches of the food truck lines!"

You laugh, leaning forward to take a massive bite of the pretzel directly from Jimin's hand. The salty, buttery dough and warm cheese sauce are absolute heaven after running yourself ragged on the grass.

"Good, right?" Jimin asks proudly, dropping the remaining half into your hand with a satisfied nod before plopping down on the corner of the blanket next to Yura. He immediately starts badgering her to steal some of Jin's fries, sparking a playful tug-of-war over the cardboard container.

Yoongi’s hand rests comfortably on your hip. The contrast of his cool skin against your heated, post-dance warmth is incredibly amazing. Above you, the sky is dark with twinkling stars, but the air is thick with the sweet, nostalgic scent of funnel cake, crushed grass, and summer sweat.

"Better?" Yoongi murmurs, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.

"Much better," you hum, shifting slightly to get more comfortable in his lap. You hold up the rest of the cheesy pretzel. "Want some?"

Yoongi eyes the cheese suspiciously, then looks up at your face. His eyes narrow seeing the mischievous look in your eyes.

"If you get cheese on my shirt, you're buying me a new one," he warns, though he leans forward anyway, taking a small bite of the pretzel.

He chews slowly, his gaze locked onto yours completely unfazed by the sudden burst of green and purple strobe lights that washes over the crowd. Suddenly, the beat on the stage drops. The crowd lets out a collective, deafening roar as the opening chords of a massive fan-favorite song start to echo through the speakers.

"Oh my god!" Yura shrieks, leaping to her feet. "They're playing it! Get up, get up!"

Before you can even swallow the last bite of the pretzel , Jungkook is yanked to his feet by Yura. He doesn't even stumble, effortlessly matching her high-octane energy with a massive grin, instantly singing along to the opening chords. Hobi is already bouncing on the balls of his feet, his arms thrown into the air as he leads the rhythm for your little patch of the lawn.

"Get up! Come on, Yoongi!" Jimin urges, grabbing you by the hand to pull you up, while Tae pivots his phone camera to capture the transition from peaceful picnic to absolute chaos.

"Oh, no," Yoongi groans. His hands tighten around your waist, holding you down as if he could physically anchor the two of you to the blanket. "We are perfectly comfortable right here. Tell them we're taking an intermission."

"Absolutely not!" You laugh, twisting in his grip to tug at his hands. "You heard her! It's THE song. You can't sit this one out."

Yoongi lets out a heavy, dramatic sigh, but he doesn't let go of your hand. Near the edge of the blanket, Jin is already belting out the opening lines at the top of his lungs, using a stray plastic fork as a microphone. Joonie sways beside him, shaking his head but laughing warmly at the sheer theatricality of it all. The beat builds and it makes the entire lawn of eighty thousand people hold its breath.

And then…the drop.

The sky explodes in a shower of gold and purple lasers, cutting through the humid summer air. The crowd erupts, jumping in perfect, rolling waves. You leap into the air, your hand still firmly locked in Yoongi’s, the warm night wind catching your hair. Around you, your friends are a blur of wild, joyful movement. Yura and Jungkook are jumping side-by-side, singing directly into each other's faces. Jimin is spinning a laughing Hobi and Tae is dancing backward, catching the magic of the moment on camera with a massive, boxy grin.

In the middle of the madness, Yoongi pulls you back against his chest, wrapping his arms securely around your waist from behind. He doesn't jump as high as the others, but he sways in perfect time with your body, keeping you safe amidst the surging crowd. He leans down, his chin tucked into the crook of your neck.

"Happy?" He murmurs against your skin, his low voice barely audible over the roaring chorus of the crowd, yet completely clear to you.

You turn your head just enough to press a quick kiss to his jaw, looking out at the glittering sea of lights, the neon glow of the stage, and the family of friends dancing around you.

"Insanely happy," you breathe back, leaning fully into his warmth as the music carries you both away into the night.

The open night air away from the crowd is a welcome relief against your damp skin as you all slowly filter out of the venue. The distant sound of eighty thousand people dispersing into the dark parking lot feels like the slow comedown of an adrenaline rush.

​You’re walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Yoongi, his arm draped comfortably over your shoulders, his fingers lightly playing with the strap of your black tank top. Next to you, Jungkook is carrying a sleepy-looking Yura’s bag, while Jin and Joonie lead the pack, still softly humming the chorus of the final song. ​As you finally reach the row where the cars are parked, the beep of a key fob echoes through the cool air.

​Yura’s head snaps up. The sleepy, exhausted look on her face vanishes in an instant, replaced by a sudden, wicked spark of mischief. She catches your eye, giving you a sharp, silent nod. You know that look. It’s the universal signal for impending chaos. ​Before Jungkook can even react, Yura lunges. With lightning-fast reflexes, she snatches the keys right out of his hand.

​"Hey!" Jungkook gasps, his hand frozen in mid-air.

​"Run!" Yura shrieks.

​She grabs your wrist, and the two of you bolt. Your red-and-white checkered skirt flutters wildly around your thighs as your sneakers pound against the pavement of the parking lot. Behind you, the boys erupt into a chorus of startled shouts and laughter.

​"Hey! Get back here!" Jungkook yells, already giving chase, though he's laughing too hard to make any real ground.

​Your heart is pounding in your chest, a wild, breathless laugh bubbling up your throat as you and Yura tear through the rows of parked SUVs. She hits the unlock button again, the headlights of Jungkook's sleek black car flashing in the dark.

​Yura doesn't just run…she practically launches herself toward the car. She opens the door and slides into the driver’s seat in one fluid, chaotic motion. You throw open the passenger door, diving inside and slamming it shut just as Jungkook’s shadow looms over the hood.

​Click.

​Yura locks the doors, throwing her head back against the headrest as she gasps for air, laughing so hard her shoulders shake.

"We made it! Oh my god, we actually made it!" She exclaims.

​Outside, Jungkook presses his hands against the driver's side window, his face contorted into a dramatic pout as he taps on the glass. Behind him, Yoongi slowly catches up, his hands shoved into his pockets, shaking his head with a slow, amused grin plastered across his face.

​You roll the window down just a tiny, teasing crack.

​"Babe, open the door," Jungkook whines, resting his forehead against the cool glass. "I'm tired, I want to go home."

"You can go home," Yura says. "But you're riding with Yoongi. Y/N and I are leading the way... get behind us!"

"Wait, what?! This is my car! You're stealing my car?!" Jungkook’s jaw drops, his wide eyes darting from Yura to his own steering wheel.

"We’re going to be married!" Yura beams, tossing the keys in the air and catching them with a grin. “It's our car!”

Through the narrow gap in the window, your eyes lock with Yoongi’s. He’s standing just a few paces back, his hands still shoved deep into his pockets, watching the entire dramatic standoff. You offer him a bright, unapologetic smile, press your fingertips to your lips, and blow him a lingering, sweet kiss through the glass.

Yoongi’s eyes soften instantly. A slow, lazy grin spreads across his face. He raises one hand from his pocket, mimics catching the kiss right out of the cool night air, and presses it firmly against his heart before tucking his hand away again.

"Hear that, Kook? You've been evicted," Yoongi calls out, his low voice laced with amusement. "Get your stuff. You're riding with me."

"Yoongs, you're just going to let them do this?!" Jungkook whines. "They are literally joyriding in my vehicle!"

"I am not getting between a woman and her post-concert adrenaline, Jungkook. I like living," Yoongi replies dryly. He points a thumb over his shoulder toward his own car. "Besides, Y/N just blew me a kiss. I'm legally obligated to take her side."

"Ah, the power of love, truly a beautiful and terrifying thing," Jin sighs as he, Joonie, and the rest of the guys finally catch up to the scene. Jin pats a heartbroken-looking Jungkook on the back. "Come on, driver-less Kook. I'll let you cry on my shoulder in Yoongi's back seat."

"I call shotgun in Hobi's car!" Jimin yells, instantly sprinting past everyone toward Hobi's car.

"No way! I was already walking faster than you!" Tae shrieks, immediately giving chase, his camera still rolling to capture their chaotic sprint across the parking lot.

Yura turns the key in the ignition, and Jungkook’s car purrs to life, the dashboard glowing in the dark. She looks over at you, her eyes sparkling with absolute thrill as she adjusts the rearview mirror.

"Ready to show them how it's done?" She asks, a wicked smirk playing on her lips.

"Always," you laugh, buckling your seatbelt as you watch Yoongi get in his car.

Yura shifts the car into drive, rolls down her window just enough to wave a cheerful goodbye to a pouting Jungkook, and hits the gas, leaving the boys behind in a flurry of laughter, taillights, and the sweet promise of a late-night drive home.

The familiar streets of your city begin to blur past the windows, the hum of the tires on the asphalt a soothing contrast to the high-energy chaos of the concert. ​Yura’s hand rests lightly on the steering wheel, her shoulders finally dropping as the post-concert adrenaline begins to settle into a happy, comfortable exhaustion. You both laugh, shaking your heads at the memory of Jungkook’s dramatic pout in the parking lot. ​As the car glides to a stop at a quiet, red-lit intersection just minutes from home, you lean your head back against the headrest. The streetlights cast amber shadows across the dashboard.

​"This was the best night," you say softly, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. "I don't ever want to forget it."

​"We'll never forget it," she promises, her voice quiet and certain.

You two look at each other and share a big smile.

​Ahead of you, the traffic light shifts.

​Green.

​Yura turns backs, slips the car into gear, and presses her foot to the gas. The car moves forward into the intersection.

​And then… the world violently shatters.

​A sudden, blinding wall of white light floods the passenger side of the car, instantly erasing the quiet summer night.

​There is no time to scream.

No time to brace.

The sound comes first…a terrifying, metallic crunch. ​Then comes the spray of shattered glass. The world spins into an abyss of pain, confusion, and blinding white light. Through the confusion, a voice tears through the night…raw, desperate, and broken.

​"Y/N! Y/N!"

​It’s Yoongi.

His voice is a sound you’ve never heard from him before. It’s completely stripped of his usual calm, sharp with pure terror.

​Everything returns in slow, disjointed fragments.

​The heavy, metallic smell of iron. The harsh, swaying fluorescent lights above. You’re moving, but you aren’t walking. The world bounces rhythmically beneath you, accompanied by the muffled wail of a siren. Your eyes feel heavy, fluttering opening only to a dizzying haze. Your body feels distant, weighed down by a dull, throbbing ache.

​"Stay with us, stay right here," a paramedic’s calm, steady voice echoes from somewhere above your head, but you can barely process the words.

​You try to move your fingers, and immediately, someone catches them. ​The grip is frantic and trembling ​You force your gaze to shift to the side. Sitting on the cramped bench beside your stretcher, doubled over with his forehead pressed against your knuckles, is Yoongi.

​His usual quiet composure is completely shattered. His hair is a tangled mess, and his breath hitches in choked sobs that make his whole frame shake. The white t-shirt he’d worn to the concert is soaked in dark, crimson stains…and as your vision slowly focuses, you realize his hands are covered in deep, raw cuts, blood dripping onto your shared grip.

"Yoon..." the name barely leaves your lips, coming out as a weak rasp.

​The moment he hears you, Yoongi’s head snaps up. His eyes are bloodshot, flooded with tears that stream freely down his pale cheeks.

​"Hey, hey…don't try to talk. Don't move," he begs. He lifts your hand to his trembling lips, pressing a desperate, lingering kiss to your knuckles. "I'm right here. I've got you, baby. I'm right here."

You weakly nod against the firm structure of the neck brace, forcing your eyelids to stay heavy, half-open. You believe him. With every slowly draining ounce of energy in your body, you believe him.

Yoongi is here.

His hand is around yours.

You are going to be fine.

​You have to be.

​The stretcher rattles violently as the ambulance takes a sharp turn, tires screeching against the asphalt outside. ​He leans closer, his forehead resting lightly against the side of your head, with excruciating care not to press down. You can smell the copper scent of blood mixing with the summer night air of the concert. Yoongi takes your left hand in his. You can barely feel him slip your ring off your finger.

​"I've got it," Yoongi whispers, his voice cracking as his fist tightens around the thin silver band of your engagement ring. He brings his closed fist up to his mouth, pressing a desperate, desperate kiss to his own knuckles where your ring is safely tucked away. "I’m holding onto it. It’s right here. You just stay with me, Y/N. Do you hear me? You stay right here."

The darkness pulls you under, drowning out the frantic wail of sirens. It drowns out the desperate warmth of Yoongi’s hand, and the heavy scent of copper and summer night air. When you finally break through the surface of unconsciousness, the world has been reduced to a sterile silence.

​Your eyelids feel like lead, but as you force them open, the first thing you notice is morning light filtering through blinds. ​A sterile white ceiling. The steady, slow rhythmic beep... beep... beep... of a heart monitor starts to cut through the silence. The sharp, clean smell of antiseptic and bleach hits your nose. ​You try to turn your head, a dull, throbbing ache radiating from the base of your skull down to your collarbone.

​"Sweetheart?"

​A voice, soft and trembling, breaks the silence. You blink, your vision slowly clearing to reveal two faces hovering near the side of the hospital bed. Your mother’s eyes are bloodshot, her face exhausted, while your father stands just behind her, his hand resting heavily on her shoulder.

​"Mom? Dad?" Your voice comes out as a dry, scratchy whisper.

"Oh, thank God. Thank God you're awake. Doctor! She's awake!" ​Your mother lets out a choked sob, immediately reaching out to cradle your face in her trembling hands.

"You're okay. You're safe. We're right here." Your dad leans closer to you.

​You swallow hard, your mind floating in a strange, terrifying fog. You look around the room. The white walls, the IV drip hooked into the back of your hand, the vase of fresh flowers on the windowsill. The room feels heavy, but more than that, it feels entirely empty. A cold, hollow ache sits right in the middle of your chest, but you don't know why. You search your thoughts for what happened, for where you were before this, but coming up empty is like staring into a horizon where you can't see anything. There is nothing. Just blank, terrifying white noise.

​"What... what happened?" You ask, your voice raspy as your dad gently holds a cup of water with a straw to your lips.

​You take a small sip, the cool liquid soothing your dry throat.

​"You were in an accident," your dad explains. "A really bad car accident. A drunk driver ran a red light."

A sudden, sharp panic spikes in your chest, sending the heart monitor into a faster, more urgent rhythm. Beep-beep-beep-beep. A memory doesn't return, but an instinct does…a frantic, phantom sensation of sitting next to someone, of shared laughter, of a warm hand slipping away.

​"Was... was someone with me?"You ask, your voice rising in pitch as your eyes dart between your parents' faces. Your heart is pounding in your chest, demanding an answer to a question you don't even fully understand. "Was someone else in the car? Who was driving?"

​Your mother’s hand freezes on your arm.

​She exchanges a swift, tense look with your father. A look loaded with unspoken words, and secrecy. When she turns her gaze back to you, her eyes are glistening with fresh tears, her expression changing quickly. ​She reaches out, gently smoothing the hair back from your forehead, her touch trembling.

​"That doesn't matter anymore," your mother says, her voice barely above a whisper. "None of that matters now. All that matters is that you're alive."

​"No, wait…" You pull back slightly, confusion and fear swirling violently in your chest. "Who was it? Why can't I remember? Who was with me?!"

​"Honey, please, calm down, you're going to hurt yourself," your dad urges, his hands coming down gently on your shoulders to keep you from sitting up too fast. "The doctors said you suffered a severe concussion. Traumatic brain injury. Your memories... they might take time. Or they might..." He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

​"You need to rest," your mother insists, her thumb stroking your cheek as if trying to soothe a child. "Just focus on healing. Forget everything else. You're safe now. With us."

The suffocating weight of the hospital room crushes inward, the sharp beep-beep-beep of the monitor accelerating into a deafening, continuous whine. Your mother's face distorts behind a veil of unshed tears, her desperate words blurring together as the sterile white walls begin to crack, dissolve, and wash away into a terrifying, endless void.

​You're falling. The copper smell of blood, the blinding white glare of headlights, and the agonizing sound of Yoongi's broken voice screaming your name echoes as you're being pulled down, down, down…..

​Your eyes snap open.

​A sharp gasp tears from your throat as you hit the mattress, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. The room is dark, save for the soft, familiar glow of the street lights outside.

​No sirens.

No hospital monitors.

No blood.

​You sit up abruptly, your chest heaving as hot, silent tears instantly burst from your eyes, spilling over your eyelashes and trailing down your cheeks. Your tank top is drenched, sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Your hair clings to your forehead, and your hands are shaking so violently you can barely pull the covers off your lap.

​Beside you, Yoongi stirs, shifting instantly from deep sleep to high alert. Within an instant, he's sitting up, his dark eyes blinking away the fog of sleep as he takes in your shaking form. Through the dark he can see your ragged breathing, and the tears pouring down your face.

​"Y/N?" His voice is thick, deep, and raspy with sleep, but laced with immediate concern.

​Without waiting for an answer, he reaches for you. His large, warm hands wrap around your waist. ​"Hey, hey…what is it? What's wrong?" He asks quietly.

​You don't say a word. You can't. The phantom terror of losing him, of waking up in a cold room where his memory was being erased, is still there. You're terrified that you are suddenly back there.

​You scramble across the mattress, burying your face directly into the crook of his neck, locking your arms around his shoulders with a desperate grip. You hold onto him so tightly your knuckles turn white, clinging to the soft cotton of his shirt. Your hot, sweaty forehead presses hard against his skin, and a choked sob escapes your lips right into his shoulder.

​"Woah, baby..." Yoongi lets out a soft, breathy sigh, his arms instantly wrapping firmly around your back. He pulls you all the way into his lap, gathering you against his chest until you are completely flush against him.

​"Shh, I've got you. I'm right here," Yoongi whispers, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. His fingers weave through your damp hair, pressing your head closer to his neck as he begins to gently sway the two of you back and forth. "It was just a dream, Sweetheart. Just a bad dream. I'm right here. You're safe."

​He shifts slightly, his nose brushing against your sweaty temple as he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your skin, entirely unbothered by how damp and overheated you are. His cool hands move up and down your back, rubbing steady circles through your sweat-soaked tank top.

​"You're burning up," he says softly against your ear. "You sweated right through your shirt, baby. What on earth were you dreaming about?"

​You tighten your grip on his shoulders, burying your face deeper into his skin. The horrible, metallic smell of the accident completely vanishes, replaced entirely by him. You shake your head, not ready to talk about it.

The sobs don't stop.

They come in violent, shuddering waves that leave your chest aching, your fingers still fisted in the back of Yoongi's sleep shirt.

He doesn't rush you.

He simply keeps holding you, rocking the two of you in slow, patient motions. One of his hands is spread across your back while the other cradles the back of your head.

"It's okay," he whispers again, kissing your hair. "You don't have to tell me. Just breathe with me."

You try.

You really do.

But every time you close your eyes, you see blinding headlights.

You see him crying at your side.

Your grip tightens even harder.

"I can't..." Your voice breaks. "I can't let go."

"You don't have to," he tells you.

"No..." you whisper frantically. "I mean it. Don't make me let go."

"Okay," he whispers, nodding against you.

No questions.

No hesitation.

"Come on." He simply presses another kiss against your temple.

He carefully slides off the bed, never prying your arms from around him. Instead, he lifts you with him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as your face remains buried against his neck.

"Let's get you in the shower," he says.

The feeling of his body beneath your cheek calms you enough that you don't protest. He carries you into the bathroom. The overhead light flicks on, making you squint as he turns it on.

"I'll start the water." He gently lowers you onto the counter.

Only when he tries to step away do your fingers panic.

"No." Your voice comes out far sharper than you intended. His head immediately turns. "I... don't go."

"I'm only turning the faucet on," he promises.

"No." You shake your head, already reaching for him again.

He understands. Without another word, he reaches behind the shower curtain, turns the handle until steam begins rising into the room, then comes back to you.

"I'm here." He smiles weakly at you and you grab the hem of his shirt like it's the only solid thing in existence.

"...Come with me." You look at him.

"In the shower?" His eyebrows lift ever so slightly and you nod immediately.

"I can't..." You can't finish the sentence.

Can't let you out of my sight.

Can't lose you.

Can't wake up without you.

The words remain trapped somewhere deep inside your chest.

Yoongi doesn't need to hear them.

He sees them written across your face.

"...Okay." He nods. "I'm getting in."

He helps peel your damp tank top over your head before tugging his own shirt off, dropping both onto the floor. Neither of you pays much attention to the growing pile of clothes. A minute later, warm water pours over both of you. The steam fills the bathroom, wrapping everything in a comforting haze. You stand beneath the spray with your arms still wrapped tightly around his middle. Your forehead rests against his chest. He doesn't ask you to move. Instead, one hand rubs slow circles between your shoulder blades while the other reaches for the shampoo.

"I've got you," he promises.

The familiar scent fills the air as he works the shampoo into your hair with impossibly gentle fingers. His nails lightly scratch against your scalp.

It's soothing.

Almost hypnotic.

The panic slowly loosens its grip.

Your breathing evens out.

For several quiet minutes, the only sounds are falling water and the soft lather between his hands.

"...We were at a concert," you whisper under the sound of the shower falling around you. "Yura and I were spinning... and Jin yelled at us," you continue. Yoongi's fingers slow on your scalp. ​"I collapsed on your lap," you murmur, your arms tightening around his waist as if double-checking that he's still solid, still real. "And Jimin... he fed me a..."

​"A pretzel," Yoongi finishes softly.

You slowly tilt your head up.

​The warm water continues to fall around the two of you, but the atmosphere inside the small area instantly shifts. Yoongi’s hand comes to a complete rest on the back of your head, his fingers tangled in the soapy lather of your wet hair. ​His eyes meet yours. The quiet, relaxed air he’d carried just moments before is gone, replaced by a weight so heavy it seems to take the very breath from his lungs. ​Your voice trembles, barely carrying over the steady rush of the shower.

​"It wasn't a dream, was it?" You ask.

​Yoongi doesn't speak right away. He just stares down at you, his lower lip trembles slightly as the water falls down his pale cheeks. Slowly, painfully, he shakes his head no. ​A cold wave of realization crashes through you, making your knees feel weak.

​"The... the ambulance..." You swallow past the thick, aching lump in your throat, your voice breaking into a fragile whisper. "Did you... did you really take my engagement ring off my finger in the ambulance?"

​Yoongi closes his eyes. A single, choked sob breaks out of his chest. ​His hand slides down from your hair, his shoulders violently shaking as he drops his forehead against yours. The tears spill freely from his eyes now, mixing with the hot water washing over his face. Yoongi’s hands tremble as they frame your face. The water cascades over his shoulders, but all of his focus is locked entirely on you.

​"Yes," he rasps, his voice breaking as he keeps his forehead pressed against yours. "I took it off. In the ambulance... while they were cutting your clothes. Your hands were swelling so fast," Yoongi whispers. "The paramedics... they were moving so fast, Y/N. There was blood everywhere, and they kept saying your vitals were unstable, and I... I panicked. Your parents..."

​He pauses, swallowing hard as a fresh wave of emotion washes over his face.

​"I knew how your parents felt about us," he continues, his voice barely audible over the rush of the water. "I knew the moment they got to that hospital, they were going to pull you away from me. I was terrified... terrified that if things went wrong, or if they took control, they would take that ring right off your finger. I was so scared it was going to get lost in the trauma room, or that they’d take it and I'd never be able to give it back to you."

​The two of you look at one another. He turns you and through his tears, he still rinses your hair.

​"I kept it in my pocket the entire time," Yoongi chokes out. "Even when your mom told me to leave the waiting room. Even when they wouldn't let me back in to see you. I held onto it so hard my palm was bruised.”

The hot water continues to cascade over your shoulders, washing away the lingering suds, but neither of you moves away from the spray. Yoongi’s hands are impossibly soft as he gently tilts your head back, cupping the nape of your neck to help you rinse away the remaining lather. Even through his quiet sobs, his care for you is so incredibly tender.

​Slowly, you raise your own shaking hand.

​Your fingers reach up, brushing the wet strands of dark hair back from his forehead, running your hand through his wet hair just to feel the silkiness of it, to feel the heat of his scalp beneath your palm. You trace the line of his jaw, stopping where your thumb can brush against his cheek, wiping away a drop of water that mixes with his tears.

​"Yoongi..." you whisper.

​He blinks, his dark eyes locking back onto yours, searching your face as if still terrified you might fade away if he looks away for even a second. ​Your thumb lingers on his cheek, tracing the familiar curve of his cheekbone as the warm water falls around you both.

"I remember," you whisper, through the rushing of the water.

Yoongi’s breath hitches. His hands slide back down to cup your neck gently, but his posture freezes, his dark eyes widening just a fraction as he stares into yours.

"It wasn't from the dream," you say, your voice trembling. "I remember the ambulance. I remember waking up on that stretcher, and seeing you beside me."

A fresh tear spills over his eyelashes, catching in the stream of water on his cheek. He doesn't pull away, but he looks at you as if he's terrified to get his hopes up.

"I remember how tightly you were holding my hand," you continue. "Your hands were cut, and you were shaking so hard, but you wouldn't let go. You just kept repeating my name."

Yoongi lets out a ragged, shallow breath, his lower lip quivering as he squeezes his eyes shut. His forehead drops heavily back against yours.

"I was so terrified," you whisper against his skin, your hand dropping from his face to wrap around his wet shoulder, pulling him as close as you could get him. "I was in so much pain and scared... but when I felt your grip on my fingers, I wasn't scared anymore. I remember thinking... I'm going to be okay. Because Yoongi’s here."

He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, his arms instantly wrapping around your back, pulling you flush against his chest. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his body shaking with deep, silent sobs as the hot water pours down over the two of you.

You close your eyes, holding him just as tightly. You pull back just enough to look at him, cupping both sides of his face in your wet hands, forcing him to look back at you through the haze of tears and steam.

“I remember loving you," you whisper.

Yoongi blinks, a soft gasp escaping his lips at your words. The quiet grief that had weighed down his shoulders for so long seems to shatter completely.

"Y/N..." he breathes as you look up at him and take a deep breath.

“I can still feel it.” You nod. “What I felt looking at you in that ambulance. What I felt in my dream when he danced at that concert. I'm remembering loving you.”

Without another second's hesitation, Yoongi leans in to capture your lips in a deep, desperate kiss. It’s hot, wet, and filled with years of unspoken relief. It's a kiss that tastes of salt and shower water. His hand tangles back into your wet hair, holding you close as if making sure you never slip away again, while his other arm locks securely around your waist. When he finally pulls back, his breathing is ragged.

“I love you,” he whispers and you hold him tighter. “You don't have to say it back. What you just said…. it's enough for me.”

“Yoongi.” You stare up at him. “I'm falling in love with you.”

He kisses you again.

​"God, Y/N..." he breathes out, his voice a low, raspy whisper against your lips. ​"Then take your time," Yoongi murmurs softly, his lips brushing against your skin with every word. His grip on your waist stays firm. "Fall as slowly as you want. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here every step of the way."

“Thank you for holding onto me,” you say, sliding your hands down his chest.

“Always,” he tells you, with a small smile. “Always.”

<Next>

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Your husband struck fear into many on the battlefield, his eyes hooded and dark like the armor he wore. He was without mercy, the last thing you may see before he swung his sword. And the only reason the men who came across him were given the graciousness of living another day was because of you.

You, his wife, were the complete opposite of him. His hands were rough, scarred, hands meant for death, while yours were soft, gentle, hands meant for healing the world he was trained to destroy.

It was also why you were in this medic tent, only miles from where the battle was taking place.

You were the best healer of your kingdom, a title passed down generations in your bloodline. Some may call it a gift, the way you were trained to stitch up even the worst situation. And others just figured you were favored, but either way, people flocked to be seen by you, to be healed from their aches and pains. And it was your king who had asked you to be here during the war.

War wasn't a place for a woman. To be surrounded by so much death and blood. But you and the people who helped you were as crucial a part in winning this war as your husband was.

Not that Taehyung was pleased by that.

As an army general, the highest-ranking knight, Taehyung's shoulders carried the weight of fighting for his people, for his king, but most of all, for you. And it's why when severely wounded men were brought into your medical tent, lips chapped, struggling to breathe, they knew to tell you, even if it may be their last breath, that your husband loves you.

It sounds morbid, and it is, the way you tried to heal while a man blabbered, "he says he holds you in his mind always!" The man's teeth chatter, and the words swirl around your mind as you try to placate him from the adrenaline racing in his veins.

"Sir, please lie down."

"Says he will come for you!" The haunted eyes swam with fear, like his only choice was death or playing messenger that allowed him to see another day.

"Sir-"

It was an endless cycle of men wounded and shaking, grabbing onto you like a lifeline and playing as pigeons with scrolls relaying your husband's words to you.

And that's why after another long day of trying to mend the broken, you're pissed. Everyone knows whether you're wounded or not, you come to the medic tent to be seen and cleared. Everyone. No exceptions. And yet, your husband does not come.

You know better than to fear the impossible, that he may be one of the fallen. That he doesn't mean to break his promise of coming home to you.

It leaves you in a slight panic. Your mind swirling with the unthinkable as you set your shoulders back, your jaw clenching as you marched to a specific tent. His tent is one of a thousand tents in the encampment. And the one Taehyung gets to call home was one of the bigger ones, a luxury, given his higher rank and command. And as his wife, you were graced with the privilege of sharing it with your husband.

Your eyes narrow when it comes into view. A white tent dirtied by mud, secured by rope, and patrolled by foot soldiers dressed in full armor.

Your makeshift home is in the middle of the encampment, protected by many smaller ones that housed ten to twelve soldiers each, and it was guarded twenty-four hours a day. It was another thing to add to your list of annoyances, including that you'd give up your tent if it meant your people would be better off.

As you think this, you still acknowledge the foot soldiers guarding your tent with a smile, nodding your head in greeting as they stand more at attention. "My husband." You don't ask, but your voice is soft like the fur blankets provided during the winter, your only concern being to verify with your own eyes that your husband is inside and alive.

"M'lady," the soldier on the left bows his head, and you're close to just shoving past them. "Sir Kim is inside."

Oh, thank the king.

"Thank you," you flash another charming smile and give them a look soon after, "when you are done here - remember to be checked before supper."

A chorus of "yes, m'lady" rings in your ears as you move the flap of your tent back and step inside before letting it fall into place behind you.

The inside of your tent is cozy. Rugs are layered on the floor, a bed with furs was to your left, a wooden desk was to your right that held miniatures of battle strategies you did not understand, and a bathtub was in the back. It was all the privileges of your husband's rank, and you had done your best to make it a home while you both were far from your actual one.

You had watched endless nights of Taehyung leaning on the desk, going over battle tactics until the sunlight rose once more. You had given up nearly the rest of the furniture you were previously provided to the other soldiers who needed it more, and you tried not to dwell on the fact that you got to go to sleep in a bed and not in a cot like many others.

And out of habit, you slipped off your shoes barely two feet inside before your eyes met your husband's.

Taehyung stood tall in the middle of the room, fully in armor, beside the sword and shield he had left next to the desk. His hair was wavy, falling in front of his piercing eyes as he took his time taking off his armor piece by piece. He had already removed his helmet and pauldrons, moving onto his breastplate as you watched.

"You didn't get checked out." You don't greet him; instead, you close the distance between you two and help him unbuckle the straps at his waist, your eyebrows furrowing as you do.

"I didn't need to." His words are blunt and to the point, and you step back as he removes his shin guards with expertise. He's left in mail and padding, his shoulders broad, his waist lean as he gives you a look that asks for a challenge. And when you don't speak right away, he continues to strip, shedding all of his clothes until he is naked.

Years of training in the knighthood, in guarding the king and his subjects, had made your husband strong. His body is sculpted in ridges and lines like marble, near perfection, but you may be biased in that regard. He barely glances at you before turning on his heel and heading towards the bathtub, making you bristle with renewed anger.

From where you stood, you could see the steam spiraling up from the tub, and you knew it had been freshly filled with steaming hot water just for your husband. "Do not walk away from me, I'm not done talking to you." You huffed, following your husband as he stepped inside the tub, sinking into it until the water reached just under his chest. His arms hung around the rim, his head tilting back as he gave you another look.

"I'm fine." The two words send you over your boiling point, and your hands go to your hips as you scold him.

"Only someone careless would say such a thing! This is why everyone gets checked over; you are not the exception, Kim Taehyung." Each word you hiss brings you closer to him, and the amused smirk he gives you does nothing to calm your nerves.

"Woman, I said I am fine." Only you would ever be allowed to speak to him as you have. And normally, even if that was true, you never did. You were always soft and kind, the support he didn't know he needed until you were brought into his life.

But that doesn't stop you from telling him off when needed, which was now.

"Fine? Your armor is covered in blood. Am I to assume it's not entirely yours? That you weren't harmed at all?" You rant, and Taehyung follows your movements with sharp eyes. He watches the way your eyebrows pinch in frustration, your hands waving about as you point a finger at him.

In all honesty, he was going to see you. But one of the stewards had informed him that they had prepped a hot bath for him, and his aching muscles screamed for that more than his mind debated checking on the wounded brought to you. It was entirely selfish, and he knew that, but a little part of him would rather just be looked at by you in private anyway.

So, that's why he doesn't hesitate. While you rant at him, his arms reach out for you. He grabs you by the waist, and in less than three seconds, you're straddling his hips, your bottom half soaked by water as you gasp in shock. "Taehyung!" Your hands instinctively rest on your husband's shoulders for balance as he tilts his head back more with a wolfish grin. "I am still clothed!"

"And I told you, I'm fine." He murmured low and sure. His large hands held your waist, keeping you anchored over his lap, and it caused your cheeks to flush in color. "Do you want me to show you just how fine I am?" He asks you with a small eyebrow raised, a voiced challenge as one of his hands slides under the water line.

His calloused fingertips glide down your waist, then your thigh, until he reaches under your wet dress, and up to your pretty pussy. And that's when he shows a little teeth while smirking, his hand cupping your pretty cunt as your thighs tense. He watches you from under hooded eyes, waiting for you to stop him, knowing you won't.

You are acutely aware that your husband is naked underneath you, his cock swelling and pressing into your thigh as his fingers brush over the fabric separating you from him. You are also acutely aware that soldiers are guarding right outside, and you weren't hidden behind walls but merely in a thin tent. "Taehyung, people are outside."

Your warning falls on deaf ears as Taehyung relaxes further, his fingers gliding up your covered puffy folds until his fingers dip further to press into your pretty clit.

The moment he does, your thighs spread more out of instinct, your arms giving out as your chest melts into his. Your hand comes to the back of Taehyung's head, your fingers curling into his hair as he drawls rough, sloppy hearts into the sensitive nub between your swollen folds with a cocky grin. "Am I supposed to care?" His voice is low in your ear, his lips brushing your earlobe as he continues to make you dizzy with his touch.

"Someone will hear," you whimper, and Taehyung slips his other hand between you two. His knuckles brush your inner thighs before you feel him tear the little fabric covering your sweet pussy from him. It makes you gasp at his strength and audacity to be impatient as his fingers spread your folds apart, giving him more room to play with your pretty pussy.

Taehyung takes. He doesn't ask. His life was meant to serve in everything he does. And he takes the most pleasure not serving his people, or his king, but you - his pretty wife.

"Let them hear you. Let them know who makes you feel this good," Taehyung demands, and two of his fingers sink into your cunt in one smooth plunge. His fingers curl deep, stretching your gummy walls as his other hand grabs your chin, pulling your head back to look at him as his fingertips find the soft, spongy spot inside you with ease.

He pulls you into a rough kiss, swallowing your whimpers as he abuses the tender spot over and over again, working you open as you lay your hands on his chest for stability. The water in the tub ripples with the movement of his arm between your plush thighs, and his tongue coaxes your mouth open to deepen the kiss, stealing your breath as heat pools in your lower stomach with each stretch of his thick fingers. He had you melting in mere minutes, your mind swirling as he added another finger to your cunt.

"My love," your mewl is said across his lips, and he groans low in response. You were rocking your hips, riding his fingers almost shyly as your cheeks flushed a deeper color.

If you thought you were dizzy from his touch, nothing compares to how he feels when you make such sweet noises on top of him.

Kim Taehyung was a fierce warrior, death incarnate on the battlefield. People parted from him like the Red Sea, cowering at just a mention of his name, but not you. You were his everything.

The sun rose and fell for you in his mind, and his heart was always going to be yours. So, when you hold onto him tighter, your thighs quivering as he stuffs you deliciously with his fingers, he gives you no mercy - just like he was trained to do in everything in his life.

When you cum, it's with a cry of his name, your gummy walls milking his fingers like it was his cock as you shiver in his lap from the pleasure. His fingers never stop moving, fucking you through your orgasm as his other arm holds you to him, forcing you to ride it out as he rubs your clit into sensitivity.

You're boneless when he finally slips his fingers from your fluttering hole, the water in the tub has grown cold as he strips your dress from your pliant body, letting the wet fabric puddle over the side of the tub.

"You believe I am fine, now?" Taehyung asks as he lifts you, making you cling to his wet body as he carries you out of the bathtub with ease. "Or should I convince you some more? Hmm?"

You can barely recover, processing his words too late when he sets you down, bending you over his desk. Your body is slick with water droplets rolling down your legs, your wet skin staining the map laid out on the wooden desk as Taehyung stands behind you. He holds you in place with one hand on your hip as he guides his thick cock to your weeping cunt, gliding his fat tip between your puffy folds.

He doesn't warn you. He doesn't go slow. He takes you in one swift movement, bullying his cock inside you as he did on your wedding night, stretching you open until your jaw slacks and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

When he reaches the back of your sweet pussy, the head of his cock greets your soft cervix with a filthy kiss, and he drapes his body over yours until his lips are by your ear. "Wives shouldn't fight their husbands." You can feel his smirk, his teeth nipping your earlobe before he holds the back of your neck, keeping you in place as he slides almost all the way out.

He sets a brutal pace, filling you balls deep with each thrust, knocking your hips into the wooden desk as the miniatures rattle, falling over from the force of his hips smacking into your ass.

The room fills with the lewd sounds of his cock pounding into your dripping cunt, making you squelch around his thick shaft as you moan so sweetly for him. He pushes the noises from you, sliding in deeper with each thrust as your fingers curled around the desk for support.

"Not too worried about anyone hearing you now, huh?" He murmurs low enough for just you to hear, and your pussy throbs around him in response.

He feels too good, molding you to his cock as he forces you onto your tiptoes. And your pussy tells him just that when you happily suck him deeper, making it harder for him to leave you, not that he ever wanted to in the first place.

Taehyung's teeth gritted, and his jaw clenched as your whines grew louder. He knew the two foot soldiers in the front had to hear you by now, and it only made his stomach flex, heat pooling low enough that his balls tensed in warning.

But he wasn't going to cum first, not if he had anything to do with it. And much to your impending orgasms' displeasure, he slips from your weeping cunt with a growl, flipping you around until you are facing him. "You don't get to cum unless you're looking at me, just me. Only me."

And then he's lifting you again, carrying you to the bed with his hard cock pressed against your sweet pussy. He lies you down on the furs, pushing your legs up until your cunt is on full display for him, and giving him the perfect angle to fill you up again. He uses his weight to fuck you hard and slow, smacking into your G-spot with each pound of his hips against the back of your thighs.

The primal need to get you to the edge, milking his cock while looking at him, burns hot in his chest. He doesn't tell you to be safe or kiss you goodbye before heading into battle; he doesn't tell you sweet nothings in your ear when you go to sleep with him. He doesn't know how to say I love you out loud.

But he knows how to show you.

He shows you by surviving another day and coming home to you. He shows you by winning every tournament in your honor, caring for the land he wins for you, and keeping you safe.

And he shows you his love for you when he gets you cumming on his fingers, his tongue, and his dick until your eyes are glossy like the way you coat his cock with your sweet arousal.

Your cunt flutters when he leans over you, his face inches away from yours as he keeps eye contact with you. His one hand pushes your knee up, keeping you open for him as his other hand finds your clit, and it's like your wedding night all over again.

His hips roll deep and hard, pushing soft gasps from your pretty lips as he rubs sloppy hearts into your little nub, pulling you closer to the edge as he watches ardently. He doesn't say I love you; instead, he makes you cum so hard your eyes water.

Your mouth drops in a silent scream, the breath leaving your lungs while your body locks up underneath him as you cum. Your pussy gushes hot and wet all over his cock, milking him with each flutter of your gummy walls as he keeps fucking you, prolonging your high until your legs quiver in ecstasy.

And when your pretty pussy creams a filthy ring around his cock, his head finally dips, falling into the crook of your neck as your ears ring in the aftershocks.

You can feel his breath hitch, his fingers dimpling into the fat of your thigh as he presses his hips into your ass urgently. His cock swells, twitching deep inside you when he finds his orgasm shortly after yours finishes. And he keeps his face hidden as he cums, rope after rope of his white gooey seed filling your pussy to the brim as he groans softly in your ear.

It's the hottest thing, feeling such a powerful man shudder on top of you, stuffing you full of his cum, and it makes your pussy flutter again, milking every last drop until he is mindlessly fucking it deeper inside you.

When he finally leans back onto his knees, he slides from your cunt gently, watching his cum seep from your puffy folds and onto the furs with heavy eyelids. He watches how your legs stay parted, your breath coming up as pants, as you look up at him with stars in your hazy eyes.

Taehyung gives you a loving smirk, happy his wife is fucked out because of him, and speaks up. "Are you convinced, my wife? Or would you like me to use my tongue next?"

대박 - you made it to the end!

Tell me about it.

The restaurant is the most Instagrammable place you've ever seen, and you would have gotten there faster if your roommate hadn't been in desperate need of moral support over a situationship. You see Jungkook look up at you the second you enter his peripheral vision.

"Finally," Taehyung says.

"Sorry, sorry." You slide into the booth, and there's only one spot left, wedged between Jimin and the wall, directly across from Jungkook. "Emergency friend duties."

"More important than us?" Hobi asks.

"You'll live," you say, but you're not paying attention because Jungkook is still staring at you. Your eyes meet. He doesn't look away. Your stomach flips, and you wonder if you should have done this another day because emotional rollercoasters don't sound like a great idea on an empty stomach.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi," you say back.

A few minutes later, the drinks and the banchan arrive. Jungkook is laughing at something Taehyung is saying, beer in hand, but he keeps glancing at you every time you reach for the banchan. You don't notice as you are trying your best to separate the stack of perilla leaves.

"Oh my God," you mutter, trying to separate them with your chopsticks. "Why are they like this?"

"Here," Jimin says, and his chopsticks slide in from your left, holding the stack steady while you pull one free.

"Thank you," you breathe, relieved, and you don't see the way Jungkook's knuckles go white around his glass.

You look up, and Jungkook is staring at Jimin, and it's nothing like the soft, longing looks he's been throwing your way all night. Jimin, oblivious, or perhaps not, hums as he sets the separated leaves on your plate.

"Jungkook-ah," Namjoon says from across the table. "Pass the garlic?"

Jungkook passes it without looking up.That's when you realize he's staring at the perilla leaves.

Oh.

Oh no.

You know about the perilla leaf debate. Everyone knows about the perilla leaf debate. It's a stupid thing where people argue whether it's okay to help someone else's partner separate their perilla leaves, whether it crosses a line, or not. Usually, usually, it's just internet debates and topics for variety shows.

Jungkook, however, looks like he's about to flip the table.

"So," Jimin says, "how's work been? Did you finish that powerpoint presentation?"

"Yeah, finally," you start to say, but Jungkook cuts in.

"She finished it yesterday," he says, pouring soju into your glass without asking.

Jimin's eyebrows lift. "Did she?"

"Mhm. She texted me at three in the morning," Jungkook says.

Namjoon looks up from his phone. Hobi pauses with his mouth full.

"Jungkook, that's not-" you say, blushing.

"Do you want some meat?" he asks instead, grabbing the kitchen scissors and carefully cutting the grilled pork belly into bite-sized pieces before placing them on your plate.

"Thanks..." you say slowly.

Jimin watches with his head tilted. He looks between you and Jungkook, then back to the perilla leaves.

"Ah," Jimin says softly.

"Ah what?" Taehyung asks.

"Nothing," Jimin says with a grin. He reaches for the perilla leaves again. "Do you want another one? These are really good." His chopsticks hover over the stack.

Jungkook's chopsticks hit his plate with a clatter.

"You don't have to. I'll do it," Jungkook says quickly.

"It's fine," Jimin says sweetly, separating another leaf. "I don't mind."

"I said," Jungkook replies, enunciating each word, "I'll do it."

He takes the leaf from Jimin's chopsticks and places it on your plate himself. Then he looks at Jimin with an expression that makes your stomach flip.

"Jungkook..." you say quietly.

"Eat," he tells you, looking at you with those soft eyes that could kill you.

Jimin leans back, studying Jungkook.

"What is it?" Hobi asks, looking between them.

"Just... perilla leaves," Jimin says. "You know the debate, right? Whether it's okay to help someone else's person with their leaves?"

The table goes absolutely silent and you want to disappear into the floor.

"Guys, seriously, it's not-"

"Some people think it's too intimate," Jimin continues, looking at Jungkook.

"And what do you think?" you ask.

Jimin shrugs playfully. "I think intention matters."

"What's your intention?" Jungkook asks.

Jimin holds his gaze for a long moment. Then he laughs, breaking the tension, and reaches over to pat Jungkook on the shoulder.

"Relax, maknae. I'm just teasing."

The rest of dinner passes quickly. Every time Jimin speaks to you, Jungkook finds a reason to touch you or get your attention. For the first time, it's not meant to be subtle. It's almost like a competition to see who hands you your coat when you leave or who walks closest to you on the way out.

Everyone agrees to walk to the Han River, grab some ice cream from a convenience store, and sit on the benches by the water. None of you are ready to go home yet.

You hang back, letting the others drift ahead. Jungkook stays beside you, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"You didn't have to do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Mark your territory."

He stops walking. You stop too, turning to face him.

"Is that what you think I was doing?" he asks.

"I don't know what you were doing, Jungkook. You acted like Jimin committed a crime by helping me with dinner."

He looks away. "You don't get it."

"Then explain it to me."

"The perilla leaf thing is stupid. I know it's stupid. But...I always want to be the one helping you. And I know I don't have the right to feel like that, but I do."

"Jungkook..." you say softly, trying to get him to look at you.

"Don't say whatever you're going to say. Let me just... let me have this one moment where I pretend it's okay that I feel this way, even though I'm your friend and I'm supposed to just be cool with Jimin flirting with you."

"He wasn't flirting."

"He was," Jungkook insists, finally looking at you. "Maybe he didn't mean it like that, but he was, and I hated it. I hated it so much. I wanted to be the one helping you, even with something as stupid as perilla leaves."

"You know," you say softly, "you could have just said something instead of starting a silent war at the dinner table."

"I don't know how to say things," he admits. "I only know how to... want... from a distance."

"That's the problem," you say as you reach out, your fingers finding his. His hand relaxes, and he threads his fingers through yours. "You think you're being subtle, but you're not. Everyone at that table knows exactly what's happening."

"Did you?"

"Yeah." You smile. "I know... and I think I've been waiting for you to help me with my perilla leaves for a pretty long time now."

"Don't joke."

"I'm not joking."

"Jimin was testing you, Kook."

"Testing me?"

"Yeah. He was messing with you. It was so obvious he was challenging you. He wanted to see if you'd finally do something about it." You smile. "He's not stupid. He saw it before either of us did."

Jungkook groans. "So I played right into his hands."

"And you were very dramatic about it," you say with a sigh.

"Shut up," he says, smiling.

"I liked it. I really like it when you stop being quiet about wanting."

He takes another small step closer. "So... can I help you with your perilla leaves next time?"

"Only if you're not doing it just to be polite."

He smiles nervously "I'm doing it because I want to be the person you reach for."

You look at him, at the tiny chocolate-chip mole beneath his lip that you've wanted to kiss for months.

Then you do.

You have to.

He's standing there with his heart in his hands, offering it to you like it's nothing.

His hands come up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing softly along your jaw as he kisses you back.

When you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours.

"Does this mean I won the war?" he asks, breathless.

"You were the only one fighting it, you idiot," you laugh, giving his chest a light shove. "Jimin wasn't actually interested. He has a crush on the barista at his coffee shop."

Jungkook blinks. "What?"

"Namjoon told me last week."

He stares at you, dropping his head to your shoulder. "I made a fool of myself for nothing."

"Not for nothing," you say, running your fingers gently through his soft hair. "You finally stopped being quiet."

He lifts his head.

"I can be loud," he says. "If you want. About this, about you."

"Show me."

"Gladly."

And he does. He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you smile against his lips.

Then Taehyung's voice carries over from farther up the path.

"Finally! Took you long enough!"

You laugh into his mouth and pull him even closer.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

tysm for reading! <3 divider

The energy in the community center on Saturday made Jimin's living room feel like a zen garden. You are currently stationed at a long folding table, completely surrounded by six and seven-year-olds. In the center of the table sit several massive blocks of soft, colorful air-dry clay.

"Remember what we said, guys!" You call out, gently intercepting a tiny hand that is reaching for a plastic cup of water. "No water today. This clay is already super soft. If we add water, it turns into sticky soup, and then your monsters won't have any bones."

"My monster doesn't need bones, Y/N! He's a space jellyfish!" Minjun announces proudly, enthusiastically slamming a bright green lump of clay onto the table.

The familiar slap-slap-slap instantly echoes in your mind, a miniature, pint-sized echo of Jungkook's terrifying dragon from the weekend before. You can't help the fond smile that tugs at your lips. Your fingers, though still recovering their old rhythm, feel lighter today as you mold a flower in your hand. Across the room, sitting at an identical folding table surrounded by his own frantic cluster of kids, is Hobi.

If your table is a semi-controlled workshop, Hobi’s table is a full-blown theater production. He is entirely in his element, his loud, bright laughter ringing out over the chatter of the room. He’s wearing an oversized tie-dye shirt that matches the chaotic palette of the clay, and there is already a prominent smudge of neon pink clay on the tip of his nose.

"Whoa, whoa, look at that technique, Jiwoo!" Hobi exclaims, his hands gesturing wildly in the air, mimicking the shape of a bird soaring. "That's not just a bird, that’s a super-sonic eagle! Look at those wings! Pow! Pow!"

The little girl next to him giggles hysterically, burying her face in her hands as Hobi does a dramatic, slow-motion dive with his own lump of clay, making sound effects that has the entire table captivated He builds a space where they are entirely free to be as loud and creative as they want.

You watch him for a moment with the same realization you had while watching Yoongi's students. This was the world that had kept turning while you were gone…beautiful, vibrant, and full of life. However, you weren't looking at it from the outside anymore. You were right here, in the middle of it.

Hobi suddenly looks up across the room, catching your eye past the sea of tiny heads. Seeing you watching him, his face immediately breaks into that familiar, brilliant heart-shaped smile. He holds up two clay-stained hands, giving you an enthusiastic, supportive double-thumbs-up, his energy vibrating all the way across the crowded center. You laugh, giving him a small wave back before turning your attention down to Minjun’s space jellyfish.

"Okay, Minjun," you say softly, leaning in close. "Let's figure out how to make those tentacles hold together. What do you think if we press them a little harder into the clay?"

"Like this?" Minjun asks, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in pure concentration as he aggressively mashes a neon blue coil into his green blob.

​"Perfect," you smile, smoothing down the seam where the two colors meet. "See? No water needed. It’s a structurally sound space jellyfish."

​"Y/N! Y/N, look!"

​A sharp, panicked tug on the hem of your shirt pulls your attention away from Minjun. You look down to see a little girl named Sunhee. Her lower lip is trembling violently, her big eyes brimming with a catastrophic level of six-year-old despair. On the table in front of her sits a tragic, unrecognizable mass of air-dry clay.

​It had clearly started as a cat. You can see two sad, squished ears folded flat against the top but in her excitement, she must have dropped it or pressed down too hard. Now, the purple and yellow clays had marbled together into a flattened lump.

​"I ruined it," Sunhee whispers, a fat tear finally spilling over her lashes. "I wanted to make my kitty, but I squished him. He doesn't have a face anymore."

​"Oh, sweetie, hey, it's okay," you say gently, instantly shifting into a low kneel beside her tiny chair so you're at eye level. "We can fix this, Sunhee, I promise," you say softly, wiping a fresh tear from her cheek with the clean back of your wrist. "Look at these colors. The purple and yellow mixing together actually look pretty cool. It looks like a magical storm. What if your kitty has special powers?"

You gently take her small, sticky hands in yours, guiding her fingers to the sides of the flattened lump.

"Let's use the pads of our thumbs. We're just going to pinch right here at the top, very gently, to bring those ears back up. See? Just like that." You smile softly.

Sunhee’s ragged breathing slows down, her eyes wide as she watches the shape slowly emerge from the chaos. With your hands over hers, you show her how to smooth out the deep dent in the middle, flattening a sturdy base so the creature can stand.

"Now, he needs a face,"Yoongi slides a small chair over, sitting down awkwardly on the low seat so he's closer to eye level with Sunhee. He reaches into the center of the table and picks up a small wooden stylus tool, handing it to the little girl with a quiet smile.

"If you use the pointy end, you can dot two eyes right here," Yoongi says. "And maybe a little star on his forehead?"

Sunhee blinks at him, completely captivated by his calm demeanor. She snatches the tool and immediately goes to work, carefully poking two deep dimples into the front of her new cosmic cat.

"He's an alien kitty now!" She announces proudly.

"Exactly," Yoongi murmurs, a tiny smile touching the corners of his lips. "Go show Hobi over there. He's the expert on aliens."

Sunhee scoops up her clay masterpiece and scrambles away, running toward Hobi's table where a chorus of theatrical gasps immediately welcomes her.

As the table settles back into its noisy rhythm, you shift your weight, sitting back on your heels with a soft breath. You look down at your hands, which are completely covered in dried white clay. For the first time in months, they don't feel stiff or clumsy. They just feel warm.

Yoongi stays seated on his low chair, his dark eyes locked on your face. He reaches out, his pale fingers sliding under yours.

"It's starting to become natural again," he says softly.

"What do you mean?" You blink, shifting your gaze from your clay-stained fingers up to his face.

His grip firming just a fraction as his eyes soften, a deep, nostalgic warmth reflecting in them. He looks across the noisy room at the kids, then right back into your eyes.

"You working with them," he says. "Watching you just now with Sunhee, knowing exactly how to catch her before she completely broke down... it's like second nature to you again. You didn't have to stop and think about how to fix it. Your hands just knew what to do. Your heart just knew."

Before you can respond, a little boy named Kiho thrusts his hands forward, practically shoving his masterpiece into the space between your noses. He is bouncing on his feet, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as he bounces on his toes.

"Look! Look what I made!" He chirps.

You and Yoongi slowly lower your gaze, looking down at the plastic tray resting in his sticky palms. Sitting in the center of the tray is a remarkably detailed, slightly lumpy mass of bright orange air-dry clay. It is thick in the middle, tapered at both ends, and features a series of layered, overlapping flaps meticulously pressed along its sides. Rising from the head are two distinct, curved appendages that hook downward. It's complete with tiny spikes and two bulbous, oversized eyes staring blankly back at you.

It is, without a doubt, a masterpiece.

Your jaw drops slightly. You blink once. Twice. You look up at the boy, trying to find your voice. "Oh, wow... buddy, this is incredible. What... what exactly is it?"

Kiho puffs out his chest, looking at you like you're the one who needs a remedial science lesson.

"It’s an *Anomalocaris*!" he announces proudly, pronouncing the five-hundred-million-year-old name with a terrifying level of clarity. "My dad readed me a big book about the ocean before the dinosaurs were even born! It's the apex predator of the Cambrian seas!"

Very slowly, you turn your head to look at Yoongi.

Yoongi is already looking back at you.

His dark bangs are shadowing his eyes, but his mouth is slightly open, his jaw completely slack as he stares at you. Yoongi turns back, his eyes darting from the flawless orange clay creature and back to the little boy. He clears his throat.

"Hey, Kiho," Yoongi says. "Can I take a picture of that?"

"A picture?! For real?! Like, on a real phone?!" Kiho’s eyes go completely wide. He bounces so hard on his sneakers they emit a series of rapid, high-pitched squeak-squeak-squeaks.

"Yeah, for real," Yoongi says, already reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. He unlocks it with his thumb, blinking against the bright screen. "Hold it right up to your chest so I can get the details. Don't move."

Kiho freezes instantly, holding the tray out like it's a priceless museum artifact, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he tries not to breathe. Yoongi leans over the low table, framing the shot with care, ensuring the curved frontal appendages and the tiny clay spikes are perfectly in focus.

Click.

"Got it," Yoongi says, nodding once. "Good job, scientist."

"Yes! I'm gonna go show Hobi!" Kiho yells, turning on his heel and sprinting toward Hobi’s table.

You watch the boy weave through the sea of chaotic kids, a breathless laugh bubbling up from your chest. You turn back to Yoongi, who is already hunched over his screen, his thumb flying across the keyboard with terrifying speed.

"Why did you take a picture of that?" You ask, leaning your chin on your hand, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. "Are you secretly starting a digital gallery of Cambrian marine life?"

Yoongi doesn't look up, but a wicked, slow-burning smirk spreads across his face, his eyes shining behind his dark bangs.

"I'm sending it to Namjoon," he says bluntly.

"With what explanation?" You ask.

"No explanation," he clarifies, his thumb hitting the send button with an authoritative tap. "No text. No caption. Just the raw, orange apex predator."

He flips his phone screen-side down on the folding table, leaning back against the low plastic chairs with his arms crossed over his chest. For a few seconds, the room returns to its usual background noise. Hobi making explosive spaceship noises, a kid crying because their clay turned brown, and a dozen tiny voices.

Then, exactly forty-five seconds later, Yoongi's phone doesn't just buzz…it practically violently-vibrates itself across the polished linoleum table. Yoongi doesn't even hesitate. He snatches the phone, flips it over, and holds it up so you can see the screen. A wall of text is already scrolling upward, the bubbles appearing so fast the app is practically glitching.

Joon: IS THAT AN ANOMALOCARIS?!

Joon: YOONGI WHO MADE THIS

Joon: Look at the lateral swimming flaps! Look at the stalked compound eyes! The anterior appendages are completely proportional to the main body segment!

Joon: Whoever made this understands the Burgess Shale fauna on a spiritual level. Tell me it has both arms. Please tell me the appendage didn't fall off into the dust.

Joon: Where did you find this genius?

You bury your face in your clay-stained hands, your shoulders shaking with silent, uncontrollable laughter. The sheer, unbridled vindication radiating through the text messages is enough to fill the entire community center. Yoongi lets out a low chuckle, his gummy smile breaking fully free as he starts typing a response with one thumb.

Yoongi: A seven-year-old made it.

Yoongi: Both arms are attached, Joon.

Yoongi: It doesn't look like a shrimp at all.

A second later, the phone violently-vibrates again, a singular, massive bubble popping onto the screen.

Joon: AGE IS AN ARBITRARY METRIC FOR GENIUS. DO NOT SQUISH IT. I AM SECURING A DISPLAY CASE.

Yoongi lets out another low, wheezing chuckle, shaking his head as he taps the power button to lock the screen. He slides the phone smoothly back into the deep pocket of his pants, patting the fabric with smugness. The petty war over the Cambrian period had officially been won, and he didn't even have to say a word to do it.

"He's probably already putting on his museum cardigan," Yoongi murmurs, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks back at you. "He's going to track that kid down and try to sponsor his elementary school tuition."

"You are terrible," you laugh, leaning your shoulder against his arm, your chest feeling remarkably light. "He was genuinely having an existential crisis about his clay shrimp last weekend, and you just handed a seven-year-old his dream legacy."

"It's about maintaining balance in the universe," Yoongi retorts. He reaches out, his thumb gently catching the edge of your wrist, pulling your hands down from your face. "Come on. Look at your friend over there. He's losing the battle against the glitter glue."

You follow his gaze across the noisy, chaotic room. Hobi is currently surrounded by a frantic circle of kids, holding a bottle of neon pink glitter glue high above his head while Sunhee and two other kids leap frantically to reach it.

"No, no, no! One drop at a time, my beautiful artists!" Hobi is yelling, his voice a mix of theatrical terror and pure joy, the pink clay smudge still perfectly centered on his nose. "If we dump the whole bottle, the alien kitty will drown in space stardust!"

"We should probably save him," you say, a genuine smile splitting your face as you push yourself up from the tiny plastic chair.

"He chose this life," Yoongi grumbles softly, but he's already standing up beside you.

“So, did I.” You nod.

"Alright, everyone! Time to put the clay monsters to sleep!" Hobi’s voice cuts through the room.

The next forty minutes are a blur of damp paper towels, scraping dried clay off plastic tables, and carefully lining up a small army of multicolored alien kitties and structurally sound space jellyfish along the back window sill to dry. By the time the last parent waves goodbye, the community center is quiet again, save for the hum of the industrial air conditioner and the satisfying sound of Hobi sweeping up stray glitter.

"You two are literal lifesavers," Hobi pants cheerfully, leaning heavily on his broom as he waves you and Yoongi toward the exit. The pink smudge is still on his nose, but his smile is as bright as ever. "Go, get out of here. Enjoy the rest of your Saturday. I've got the final lock-up!"

"Don't let the glitter dust win, Hobi," Yoongi calls back, throwing a lazy wave over his shoulder as he guides you toward the heavy glass doors.

The transition from the air-conditioned community center to the late afternoon July heat is like walking into a warm wall. The humidity has softened into a gentle, heavy breeze that stirs the leaves of the nearby oak trees. You walk side-by-side, the quiet of the afternoon settling over you both after the loud energy of the classroom. Your fingers are finally clean, though a faint scent of damp clay still clings to your skin.

Yoongi walks with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, his eyes fixed on the pavement a few feet ahead of his sneakers. He’s unusually quiet, but it’s not his usual relaxed silence. There's a subtle stiffness in his stride, a slight hitch in his breathing that tells you his mind is working through something heavy.

You reach his car, the metal radiates the heat of the afternoon sun. Yoongi hits the unlock button, the sharp chirp echoing in the quiet lot, but he doesn't open his door right away. Instead, he stops, leaning his lower back against the vehicle, his eyes tracking a stray leaf blowing across the concrete.

"Hey," you say softly, stepping into his space. "Everything okay?"

Yoongi lets out a slow breath, his dark bangs falling forward on his face. He shifts his weight, his fingers nervously twitching inside his pockets before he finally pulls his right hand out to rub the back of his neck. It’s becoming a familiar, vulnerable gesture that instantly puts you on alert.

"Yeah," he mumbles. He finally looks up, his dark eyes searching yours, carrying a hesitant, tentative weight. "I was just... thinking about what we talked about. About coming home. One night at a time."

You nod gently.

"Right now, you're staying at Leah's place," he continues, his words coming out a little slower now, carefully measured. "And... well, you know how everyone has boxes of your stuff."

“Yeah,” you say, waiting for him to continue.

He pauses, swallowing hard. The tight set of his jaw betrays just how deeply those memories still sting, even now.

“Since her place doesn't have a lot of room. If you wanted to,” he continues. “We can bring all that stuff over to my place. You could put your stuff in my garage. You wouldn't have to unpack it. You wouldn't even have to look at it if you don't want to. It can just... sit there. Safe. That way, whenever you're ready for a piece of your past, you don't have to go hunting through everyone else's living rooms to find it. It'll already be… home. Waiting for you."

​He isn't just offering you a concrete floor and some storage rafters. He’s offering to bring the ghosts back into his space…the very things that used to haunt him. He’s willing to live right next to the physical evidence of the life he lost, just to make your healing a little bit easier.

​You look down at your hand, tracking the way the dark stone of the ring rests against your skin. For months, your past has felt like a terrifying, scattered puzzle, pieces of it locked away in your parents' lies, pieces of it buried in your own fractured mind, and pieces of it literally boxed up in the closets of the people who loved you.

​"Yoongi," you whisper.

"Look, if it's too fast, or if it makes you feel crowded, just forget I said anything. We can leave it. We can…" ​He shifts uncomfortably against the side of the car, his eyes instantly darting to your face, looking braced for a polite refusal.

​"Yoongi, stop," you say gently, stepping all the way into his space until the tips of your shoes touch his sneakers. You reach out, your hands sliding up his arms to rest against his shoulders. "I want to."

"You do?" ​Yoongi freezes, his dark eyes widening just a fraction behind the fringe of his bangs.

​"Yeah," you say, a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips. "I want my things back. And I want them there. With you."

He lets his forehead fall forward, resting it heavily against your shoulder with a soft huff that sounds an awful lot like relief.

​"You're sure?" His voice is muffled against your shirt. "You don't have to do it to make me feel better, Y/N. I meant what I said. One toothbrush at a time."

​"I am sure," you murmur, your fingers gently tangling into the soft, dark hair at the nape of his neck. "I think... I think keeping my past spread out everywhere was making it easier for me to pretend it belonged to someone else. Like it was just a story about a girl who looked like me. But it's mine. And if I'm going to start putting myself back together, I want the pieces to be in the place where I'm building my future."

​Yoongi doesn't answer right away, but his arms come around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest with a fierce desperation. He holds you so tightly, his hands splayed wide across your back as if he's physically anchoring you to him so no storm can ever tear you away again.

“Okay, then let's go get your life.” Yoongi leans down and kisses you.

Thirty minutes later, his car glides smoothly into a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood, finally pulling up to the curb in front of Jungkook and Yura’s house. ​The garage door is rolled completely open as sunlight pours onto the driveway. In the center of the driveway is Jungkook and he’s meticulously buffing the chrome exhaust pipe.

​He looks up when Yoongi turns the car off.

​Yoongi pushes his door open and steps around to your side of the car. He holds out his hand for you as you step out. Together, the two of you make your way up the driveway.

​"Look who decided to grace us with their presence," Jungkook calls out, tossing his microfiber cloth onto the seat of the motorcycle. He stands up, wiping his greasy hands on a towel tucked into his waistband. "What are you guys doing out this way? Yoongi, you didn't tell me you were stopping by."

​"We're here to grab some things," Yoongi says. "We're grabbing Y/N's stuff. The boxes you and Yura have been keeping."

​Jungkook freezes for a split second, the towel loosening in his grip. His eyes dart from Yoongi over to you, a flash of sudden understanding lighting his eyes. The realization hits him…what this means, what you’re choosing to do.

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a nod of his head and looks at his bike. “Yura's inside. She will grab them. Y/N, I need to talk to you for a moment.”

Yoongi raises his eyebrow for a moment before he heads inside.

Jungkook doesn’t immediately explain himself. He waits until the front door clicks completely shut behind Yoongi before he lets out a breath, the intense focus in his eyes shifting into something a little more restless. He runs a hand through his dark hair, leaving a faint streak of engine grease near his hairline without even realizing it.

​"What's up?" You ask, tilting your head, your eyes shifting from his serious expression down to the gleaming motorcycle resting between you. "Is everything okay?"

​Jungkook looks at you before he points towards the spare matte-black helmet resting on a nearby shelf in the garage.

​"Do you want to go for a ride?" He asks, bouncing slightly.

​You blink, your jaw goes entirely slack. You stare at him, your hands dropping to your sides.

​"You want me to... what?" You sputter, a breathless, disbelieving laugh escaping your throat.

Jungkook doesn't wait for you to process the shock. He jogs toward the shelving unit, grabs the heavy matte-black helmet, and heads back to you, presenting it to you like a prize.

You take it automatically, your hands dropping slightly under its unexpected weight. The cool, smooth fiberglass shell feels solid and scary against your palms. You look down, inspecting the dark, tinted visor.

"You'll love it," Jungkook says. He continues to bounce slightly on his heels. "Seriously, Y/N. You'll never feel so free. When you're out there on the road, everything else just... goes quiet. The wind blows away all the noise in your head. It’s just you, the bike, and the pavement."

You look from the helmet up to his face, your heart doing a nervous little flip. The idea of speeding down the asphalt on two wheels feels terrifying, but the look in Jungkook’s eyes. It makes the fear soften into a strange, thrilling spark of curiosity.

Before you can find your voice to answer, the screen door to the house clicks open.

Yura steps out onto the concrete walkway, carefully balancing a large, taped-up cardboard box against her hip. Her eyes immediately drop to the helmet in your hands, then shift to Jungkook’s overly eager expression, and finally to your wide, hesitant eyes. She lets out a long, theatrical sigh, though the affectionate shake of her head betrides her exasperated tone.

"Jungkook, let her breathe," Yura says, adjusting her grip on the box of your past. She steps further into the garage, setting the heavy cardboard down on a plastic workbench with a dull thud. She wipes her hands on her shorts and fixes her husband with a pointed, warning look. "If you scare her off the bike before she even puts a foot on the peg, I'm locking you out of the garage for a week."

"I'm not scaring her! I'm offering her a masterclass in freedom." Jungkook throws his hands up defensively, though a massive, guilty grin splits his face.

Yura rolls her eyes, but as she steps closer to you, her expression softens into something deeply warm and supportive. She reaches out, gently tapping the thick foam lining inside the helmet you're holding.

"Make sure the helmet fits her properly," she instructs Jungkook, her voice dropping into a firm, maternal register. She looks back at you, her eyes crinkling. "Don't let him speed, Y/N. If he starts acting like he's on a racetrack, just pull his hair. He listens eventually."

Jungkook chuckles, already stepping into your space and reaching for the helmet straps to guide you through the fit.

Jungkook’s large, warm hands are surprisingly gentle as they brush past your jawline, his fingers deftly threading the woven chin strap through the rings. He leans in close, his brow furrowing in concentration as he checks the clearance near your temples.

​"See? It needs to be snug so it doesn't rotate if things get bumpy, but it shouldn't pinch your cheeks like a chipmunk," Jungkook explains. He gives the front of the helmet a firm, reassuring wiggle. "How's that feel? Can you blink okay?"

​"I think so," you say, your voice sounding strange and muffled inside the thick, padded foam. Through the dark tint of the visor, the entire driveway is washed in a cool shadow. "It feels heavy, but..."

​The heavy front door of the house swings open with a sharp creak, cutting you off. ​Yoongi steps out onto the threshold, his shoulder initially propping open the screen door as he balances a second, heavily taped cardboard box in his arms. His eyes automatically sweep the garage layout, tracking Yura standing by the workbench, Jungkook leaning over your personal space…and then his gaze locks onto you. Or rather, the massive, matte-black motorcycle helmet currently swallowing your entire head.

​The change in his expression is instantaneous. The relaxed, lazy slouch vanishes from his frame, replaced by an absolute, terrifying rigidity.

​Thud.

​Yoongi doesn't just put the box down; he drops it entirely, letting it hit the wooden porch step with a hollow, heavy rattle. He doesn't even look at it as he storms down the short walkway, his sneakers clicking aggressively against the concrete.

​"No," Yoongi says, shaking his head. "No. Absolutely not."

​Jungkook straightens up instantly, his hands dropping from your helmet straps as his shoulders square defensively.

"Come on, why?" he asks. "I'm not taking her onto the highway! I would be so careful."

​"I don't care," Yoongi retorts, stepping directly between Jungkook and the bike, his chest heaving slightly as his dark eyes flare with panic. He doesn't look at Jungkook. His eyes are entirely fixed on your tinted visor, trying to read your expression through the dark plastic. "Take it off, Y/N."

​You reach up, your clay-dried fingers fumbling slightly with the unfamiliar buckle until you manage to pop the strap free. With a firm tug, you pull the heavy helmet off your head, shaking out your hair as the warm July breeze hits your face again.

​"Yoongi, wait," you say softly, stepping forward and laying a hand on his forearm. You can feel the tight, iron-hard tension locked into his muscles, his pulse racing under his skin. "Listen to me. I want to go."

“It's dangerous,” Yoongi tells you.

“It wasn't a problem when she rode with me on my Vespa,” Jungkook says.

“That thing barely went forty!” Yoongi exclaims.

Yura steps in, smoothly placing herself right between Yoongi’s rigid frame and Jungkook’s defensive stance. She crosses her arms, looking between the two of them with the calm, unshakeable authority of someone who has spent years managing their chaotic energy.

​"Alright, let's lower the heart rates before someone pops a blood vessel," Yura says, her voice cool and steady as it cuts through the tension. She looks at Yoongi, her eyes softening with an understanding that goes way back. "Yoongi, breathe. Kook isn't going to drag her onto a highway or pull any stunts. But if you're going to lose your mind over him driving her..."

​She turns a brilliant, plotting smile toward Jungkook, then looks back at Yoongi.

​"How about this?" Yura proposes, tilting her head. "Yoongi, go back home and get your keys. Kook just put the new tires on your bike. The four of us can go together. You take Y/N on yours, and I'll ride with Kook on his. We'll stick to the back roads. We'll drive out to the canyons, keep it nice and easy. It’ll be like old times, the four of us. Like when we used to go on road trips."

Yoongi’s hand is a knot of rigid tension under yours, but as your fingers slide between his, you feel his pulse gradually slow down. He’s still staring at Jungkook like he wants to banish him from the friend group, but the fierce panic in his eyes softens the moment he feels your touch.

​"Yoongi," you say softly, stepping closer until you can feel the heat radiating from his chest. "I want to do this. But I want to ride with you. Please?"

​He looks down at your hands, his thumb smoothing over the dark stone of your ring out of pure habit. He lets out a long, defeated sigh that blows his dark bangs off his forehead. The fight completely drains out of him.

​"Fine," Yoongi mutters, finally shifting his gaze up to meet Jungkook’s triumphant grin. He points a strict, warning finger at his friend. "But you follow behind me. You do not pass me. You don't even think about showing off. If you so much as rev that engine too loud near her, I’m draining your oil while you sleep."

​"Yes, Captain! Understood, Captain!" Jungkook chirps, saluting with his grease-stained towel, his bunny teeth fully on display.

​Yoongi rolls his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitches. He turns back to you, his expression melting into something incredibly tender.

"I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. I'm going to grab my keys. Don't let him talk you into doing backflips on the driveway while I'm gone," he tells you.

​"I promise," you laugh, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

​He offers a final, lingering look before turning on his heel and jogging down the driveway toward his car. The car starts up with a smooth purr, backing out into the quiet street and disappearing around the corner.

​As soon as Yoongi's car is out of sight, Jungkook immediately drops the military posture, letting out a victorious shout as he grabs his microfiber cloth and goes back to aggressively polishing his chrome exhaust pipe. He’s practically vibrating with energy, already planning the route in his head. ​You watch him for a second before leaning against the plastic workbench next to Yura. You look at her, tilting your head toward her husband's frantic, joyful cleaning routine.

​"Is he actually going to keep that promise to Yoongi?" You ask, a knowing smirk playing on your lips. "Nice and easy? Staying behind us?"

​Yura doesn't even hesitate. She lets out a dry, breathy laugh, crossing her arms over her chest as she watches Jungkook buff the metal like his life depends on it.

​"Not a chance," Yura says frankly, a brilliant, plotting smile lighting up her face.

​"Alright. Come here," Yoongi commands softly from where he sits on his own bike.

​You step up to the side of the bike, suddenly very aware of the raw power ticking beneath the metal. Yoongi reaches back, taking your hand and guiding your foot onto the passenger peg.

​"Swing your leg all the way over. Keep your weight centered," he instructs, his steady voice calming your nerves.

​You shift your weight, sliding onto the seat behind him. Your knees fall on either side of his hips, and the sheer size of the bike makes you lean forward into his space.

​Before you can even adjust your grip, Yoongi reaches blindly behind him, grabbing both of your hands by the wrists. He pulls your arms firmly around his waist, locking your fingers together over his stomach. He pulls them up and presses your hands flat against his chest, forcing you to lean completely against his back until there isn't a single inch of space left between you.

​"Listen to me," Yoongi says. "Once I start this engine, you hold on to me tight. You don't lean against the turns, you don't try to balance the bike, and you do not let go of me. Understood?"

​"I won't," you answer, tightening your grip, burying your face slightly into the space between his shoulder blades.

​"I mean it, Y/N," he repeats, his grip on your wrists squeezing once more before he releases your hands to grab the handlebars. "If you get scared, you just squeeze harder. I’ve got you."

​Behind you, Jungkook’s engine suddenly roars to life. Yura sits comfortably behind him, giving you a thumbs-up. Jungkook revs the engine again, practically begging for a race.

​Yoongi shakes his head, turning his key. With a sharp click of the starter, his bike erupts into a deep, thunderous purr beneath you. The heavy vibrations travel instantly up your spine, terrifying and exhilarating all at once. ​Yoongi kicks up the kickstand, shifts the bike into first gear with a solid, metallic clunk, and glances back at you one last time.

​"Hold on," he shouts.

​He twists his wrist, and the driveway blurs beneath you as the two of you launch forward into the warm July evening.

The wind is a living, roaring thing around you, ripping past your helmet and tearing at the sleeves of your shirt. But inside that pocket of air right behind his shoulders, everything feels miraculously still.

Safe.

It IS freeing. It’s a wild, breathless kind of freedom you never felt before. Every time Yoongi takes a sweeping bend on the nearly deserted back roads, you lean exactly when he leans, your bodies moving as one. The dark stone of your ring is pressed tightly over his chest. With every mile of open asphalt that flies beneath your feet, the heavy, tangled noise in your brain simply unravels, scattered into the July wind.

Up ahead, the massive, jagged shadows of the canyon walls begin to rise against the colorful purple and gold of the sky. The road stretches out into a long, flat, two-lane straightaway….the perfect, unobstructed runway leading right into the mouth of the gorge.

Yoongi keeps his pace steady. One that is careful for the passenger holding onto his ribs. Then, a sudden, high-pitched, metallic shriek splits the evening air from behind. True to Yura’s words, Jungkook’s patience has officially expired.

Jungkook doesn't just pull out to pass. He drops down a gear with a terrifying crack of his exhaust. You feel Yoongi’s entire frame stiffen instantly. His back goes completely rigid against your chest.

In a blur of roaring machinery and spinning rubber, Jungkook’s bike blasts past your left side. As fly ahead, Yura doesn't look panicked at all…she’s leaning effortlessly with the acceleration, throwing her head back in a laugh you can't hear but can absolutely see. Jungkook, tucked low over his handlebars like a professional racer, deliberately cuts back into the lane just a few yards ahead of Yoongi’s front tire.

"That brat," Yoongi’s voice shouts out.

You can feel the heavy, dangerous challenge ripple straight through Yoongi's muscles. His left foot clicks down on the gear shifter with a snap. But before he twists his right wrist to unleash the engine, he remembers the weight behind him. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, his knuckles white on the grips.

"Y/N!" he shouts back over his shoulder, his voice vibrating hard against your chest. "Squeeze!"

You don't need to be told twice. You bury your face directly into the middle of his back, locking your elbows down and wrapping your legs tightly against his hips, squeezing him with every ounce of strength you have.

The moment he feels your grip lock in, Yoongi doesn't hold back. He cranks the throttle.

The matte-black bike doesn't just speed up… it lunges. The front tire feels dangerously light for a split second as the raw torque slams you backward, your chest pressed flat against his spine as the bike tears down the road.

Yoongi is a natural on the road….calculated, aggressive, and entirely fearless. Within seconds, the distance Jungkook had put between you begins to shrink. The canyon walls swallow the last rays of the sun, plunging the two-lane road into shadows. But the heat radiating from the two machines is immense.

Yoongi closes the gap. He doesn’t pull any reckless stunts, but he commands the asphalt, steering his bike into the left lane until he steers in perfectly parallel with Jungkook. For a long, heart-pounding stretch of straight road, the two bikes fly side by side at a blistering pace.

Through your visor, you look to your right. Yura is laughing behind Jungkook's shoulder, her eyes crinkling with pure adrenaline. Jungkook turns his head for a fraction of a second, his dark visor locking onto Yoongi. His entire posture screams triumphant, competitive glee. Yoongi doesn’t turn his head to look back. He keeps his eyes locked dead ahead on the stretching of pavement, but his jaw is set so hard you can see the tight flex of his muscle right through his helmet strap. He holds the bike perfectly steady, matching Jungkook mile for mile, a silent, stubborn point proven.

The road begins to curve inward, leading toward a wide, gravel scenic pullout overlooking the deep gorge of the canyon below.

As if sharing a single mind, both men roll off their throttles at the exact same moment. The deafening roar of the engines drops into a low rumble. Yoongi guides his bike smoothly across the gravel, his boots dropping to the ground with a crunch of gravel as he brings the massive machine to a final halt right at the wooden guardrail. Jungkook slides in a second later, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

The silence of the canyon hits you the moment the ignitions are clicked off. Your thighs are shaking from the grip, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Yoongi doesn't move immediately. He sits balanced on the bike, letting out a long, ragged breath that fogs the inside of his visor.

"Everyone alive?" Jungkook’s voice booms out, entirely unbothered as he yanks his helmet off in one smooth motion, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. He looks at you with a happy smile. "Tell me that wasn't the best thing you've ever felt, Y/N!"

"You're a menace to society, Jeon Jungkook," Yura gasps, though she’s smiling as she unbuckles her own gear and slides off the back of his seat. "Yoongi was keeping a perfectly respectable pace."

Yoongi finally kicks his kickstand down, ensuring the bike is fully stable before he reaches behind him. His large hands cover your wrists, gently releasing your death-grip from around his waist. He turns his body around in the seat, immediately reaching up to pop the buckle of your white helmet. He lifts it off your head with immense care, tossing it onto the seat before his hands immediately fly to your face.

His palms are warm, framing your cheeks as his dark eyes scan every inch of your features, checking for panic, tears, or regret.

"You okay?" Yoongi murmurs, his voice rough and incredibly low, entirely tuning out Jungkook and Yura’s bickering a few feet away. His thumbs trace soft circles over your cheekbones, wiping away the phantom sting of the wind. "Did he scare you? Are you shaking?"

"I'm okay," you breathe out, a sudden, bright laugh bubbling up from your chest. Your skin is tingling, your vision sharp and clear in the sunset. You lay your hands over his arms. "Yoongi, it was... it was amazing. I wasn't scared at all. You had me."

The rigid, protective panic in Yoongi's eyes finally melts away, replaced by a soft, breathless look of absolute relief. A slow, genuine gummy smile breaks across his face, his forehead dropping forward to rest against yours for a quiet second.

"Yeah," he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. "I had you. I'll always have you."

You don't even let him finish the breath.

​Before he can pull his forehead away, you lean forward and press your lips to his. There is no hesitation anymore. No pausing to check the temperature of your own fractured memory, no fear of the ghosts lurking in the corners of your mind. There is only the roaring hum of the engine cooling beneath your thighs, the scent of leather and the solid, unshakeable reality of Yoongi’s mouth against yours.

​​His large hands leave your cheeks, sliding down to cup the back of your neck, his fingers burying deep into your wind-tangled hair to pull you impossibly closer. The kiss isn't frantic like the ride. It’s deep, and heavy with a desperate sort of relief.

​"Alright, alright, get a room, you two! There are innocent canyon mountain goats watching!" Jungkook’s loud, teasing voice shatters the peacefulness, followed immediately by a sharp smack and a muffled "Ow! Yura!"

​Yoongi slowly breaks the kiss, though he doesn't let you go right away. His thumbs rest right at the curve of your jaw, his breathing ragged as his dark eyes drop to your lips, then up to your eyes.

​"Hey," Yura's voice cuts in, much closer now. You look over Yoongi’s shoulder to see her stepping up to the side of the bike. She’s already shed her heavy jacket, wearing a simple t-shirt, and she stretches her arms over her head with a grin. "Come here, Y/N. Let's leave the boys to compare engine sizes. Come walk off the adrenaline with me before your legs turn to actual jelly."

​You look back at Yoongi, a breathless, happy smile still playing on your lips. He offers a slow, supportive nod, his hands sliding down your arms to give your fingers a reassuring squeeze.

​"Go on," Yoongi murmurs. "Take a walk. I'll make sure Jungkook doesn't accidentally push his bike over the cliff."

​"Hey! I am a professional!" Jungkook protests from the background, though he's already crouching down to inspect his rear tire with a flashlight.

​You slide your leg off the passenger seat, your boots hitting the gravel with a satisfying crunch. Yura was right…your thighs feel loose and shaky from gripping the bike at eighty miles an hour, but as you hook your arm through hers, the cool evening air feels incredible against your flushed skin.

​"You did good out there," Yura says softly, guiding you away from the rumble of the garage talk and down a narrow, dirt walking path that hugs the edge of the scenic overlook. "Seriously. You handled it like a champ."

​You let out a soft laugh, looking back over your shoulder. In the distance, Yoongi is leaning against the guardrail, his arms crossed over his chest. Even while Jungkook is gesturing wildly about something mechanical, Yoongi’s eyes are tracked entirely on you, watching your silhouette walk away into the sunset.

​"I trusted him," you say simply. "The whole time. I just knew he wouldn't let anything happen to me."

​Yura stops walking, leaning her forearms against a sturdy wooden viewing rail that overlooks the gorge. She looks at you, her expression melting into something deeply nostalgic and heavy with affection.

​"He never would," Yura says softly, the wind catching her hair.

​"Honestly," you admit, a small, breathless laugh escaping your lips, "I'm surprised we even came out here at all after Yoongi had that fit in your driveway. I thought he was going to banish Jungkook from the group chat right then and there."

​Yura lets out a long, slow sigh.

​"What?" You ask, tilting your head, your smile fading slightly as you look at her profile. "Did I say something wrong?"

​"No," Yura says, finally turning her head to look at you. The playful, plotting look she wore in the garage is entirely gone, replaced by a gaze that is… saddened. "You didn't say anything wrong, Y/N. I just... I completely understand why he reacted that way."

"What do you mean?" ​You look at her, your heart taking a sudden, heavy dip against your ribs. The canyon air suddenly feels a little colder. ​Yura swallows hard, her fingers tightening around the rough wood of the viewing rail until her knuckles turn white. She turns and looks at you.

​"There's something you don't know," Yura says, her voice dropping into a hushed whisper. "Something about the night of our accident."

“What is it?” You ask, look at her.

​"We were all at a concert that night," she says, the words coming out in a flat, heavy rhythm. "The whole group. We’d been celebrating... I don't even remember what. Just a good night. A perfect night."

​A stray piece of gravel shifts under your foot as you lean closer, your breath catching in your throat. The heat from the motorcycle ride is completely gone now as you stare at her, anticipating her words.

​"I stole Kook's car keys," Yura continues, a faint, humorless smile touching her lips before vanishing instantly. "I was being playful. I snatched them right out of his hand, laughed, and ran out to the driver’s seat. You jumped in right next to me. You and I... we were leading the pack home."

​She finally releases her white-knuckled grip on the wooden rail, turning her head slowly to look at the guys and back at you. Her eyes are incredibly shiny, reflecting the first faint starlight.

​"When I took off after the light turned green..." Yura pauses, swallowing hard as if the words are physically blocking her throat. "When the drunk driver hit us..."

​She takes a ragged breath, her shoulders trembling just a fraction before she forces herself to finish the sentence.

​"Yoongi and Kook were right behind us, Y/N. They saw everything," she whispers.

Jungkook’s distant laughter, the soft rustle of the oak leaves…all of it suddenly drops away, replaced by a roaring, high-frequency static that fills your ears. You look at Yura, but your vision is blurring, the edges of the sunset fraying into jagged shadows.

​"Yoongi and Kook..." your voice is barely a breath, a fragile thing that threatens to shatter in the canyon wind. "They were right there?"

​Yura nods, a single tear finally breaking free and tracking slowly down her cheek. She doesn't look away from you. She stays right there, holding your gaze with a fierce, heartbreaking steadiness.

​"Right behind us," Yura whispers, her voice thick with the weight of a memory that isn't yours yet, but belongs so heavily to the people who love you. "Kook told me later. Before Yoongi's own car had even skidded to a complete halt, Yoongi’s door was already flying open."

​A sharp, phantom pain throbbed behind your temples, a sudden, blinding flash of white hot light behind your eyelids. Your hands instinctively fly to your head, your fingers tangling into your hair as you lean heavily against the wooden viewing rail.

​Glass.

The taste of copper and dust.

The smell of hot fluid leaking onto asphalt.

​And a voice.

​It wasn't a memory yet…but it was a sound. A raw, ragged, desperate sound that didn't belong in a world with sunshine and clay monsters. It was a throat-shredding scream, tearing through the quiet of a shattered night, repeating the same syllables over and over again.

​Y/N.

Y/N!

​"The guys told me later," Yura continues, her hand coming out to gently rest on your trembling shoulder, her touch the only thing keeping you from drifting entirely into the dark. "They said Yoongi didn't even hesitate. The doors were completely crushed, but the back window had shattered out onto the pavement. He didn't wait for the paramedics. He didn't listen to Joon trying to pull him back because the engine was smoking. He just... he crawled straight through the broken glass."

​You turn your head slowly, looking back down the dirt path toward the scenic pullout. Yoongi and Jungkook seem to be in their own conversation.

They were laughing.

They were happy.

​"He sat with you," Yura says softly, her voice pulling your attention back. "Yoongi stayed inside that crushed backseat. He didn't care about the glass cutting into his knees. He didn't care about the smoke. He just held your hand. He just kept talking to you, squeezing your hand, telling you to stay with him until help came."

​A hot, heavy tear slips past your lashes, burning against your flushed cheek. ​He hadn't just lost the life he knew that night. He had sat inside the wreckage of it, holding your hand while it slipped away.

​"He never told me," you whisper, your chest aching with a crushing wave of empathy. "He never said a word about being there."

​"Because he didn't want you to carry his trauma while you were trying to heal your own," Yura says gently, her fingers squeezing your shoulder one last time before she steps back, giving you space to breathe. "But when he saw you in that helmet today... it wasn't just a protective boyfriend moment, Y/N. For a split second, his brain went right back to the night he couldn't stop that accident."

Slowly, you raise your hands…still carrying the faint, sweet scent of the air-dry clay from the community center. You press them flat against your face. You rub your eyes, hard, trying to wipe away the dizzying, high-frequency static that is ringing in your ears. Under your fingertips, your eyelids hum with a phantom, frantic energy.

​When you drag your hands down, your voice is a raw, fragile thread. You look up at the deep colors in the sky and blink rapidly.

​"I woke up in the ambulance," you whisper, your eyes wide as the memory suddenly finds its way to you. The fragments are finally beginning to piece themselves together. "I... I remember now. It was so loud, Yura. The sirens were screaming, and the lights outside the windows were confusing."

​You look down at your palms, your breathing hitching as you visualize that narrow area.

​"I didn't know where I was. I was so terrified, and everything hurt so badly I couldn't even breathe to scream. But when I tried to move my hand... someone was holding it. So tightly it almost hurt." You squeeze your eyes tightly trying to hold onto the memory. "It was Yoongi. He was in the ambulance with me. He was covered in dirt, and his hands were bleeding, but he wouldn't let go of me. He just kept repeating my name over and over again, like he was trying to pull me back to life with just his voice."

​"He was," Yura says softly. "They tried to make him ride in the front, but Yoongi nearly took the paramedic's head off. He refused to leave your side. Not for a single second."

​She gently turns you around, guiding you to look back at the scenic pullout. ​In the soft glow of the headlights, Jungkook has his hands shoved into his pockets, his head tilted back as he looks up at the slowly darkening sky. Yoongi stands right beside him, mimicking his pose looking utterly at ease.

“He never left me,” you whisper.

“Not until he was forced to,” she whispers back.

"Alright, girls! We need to get going before the bugs start using us as a buffet!" Jungkook’s voice booms across the gravel lot as he turns.

Yura doesn't say anything more. She just squeezes your hand, her palm warm and grounding, before slowly letting go. You take a deep, shaky breath, letting the cool canyon air fill your lungs, trying to push down the overwhelming wave of emotion before you step back into the light.

As you walk back down the dirt path side-by-side, your boots crunching quietly on the gravel, Yoongi’s head snaps toward you. Even from a distance, you can see the immediate shift in his posture. The relaxed, leaning stance against the guardrail vanishes.

"Everything okay?" Yoongi asks softly as you step into the warm perimeter of the bikes.

"Yeah," you whisper, offering him a small that you hope looks reassuring. "Just a little dizzy from the adrenaline."

He doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he nods, reaching over to pick up the heavy white passenger helmet from his seat. His hands are incredibly gentle as he slides it over your head. His fingers brush against your cheeks, warm and solid, before he reaches down to secure the chin strap. He checks the fit with meticulous care, his knuckles occasionally grazing your jawline.

Knowing what you know now….visualizing those same hands bleeding and frantic, crawling through shattered glass just to find yours. It makes your chest ache with a fierce, almost overwhelming tenderness. You look at him through the visor, your heart hammering a heavy, steady rhythm against your ribs.

"Alright, up you go," Yoongi murmurs, stepping over his bike and settling into the driver's seat. He holds the heavy machine steady, his boots firmly planted in the gravel.

You slide your leg over the passenger seat, your knees hugging his hips as you settle in behind him. Before he can even reach back to guide your hands, you wrap your arms around his waist.

You don't just hold onto him. You squeeze him. You wrap your arms tightly around his torso, pressing your chest flat against his broad back, burying your face directly into the leather of his jacket. You lock your fingers together over his stomach, holding on with a desperate, fierce intensity that speaks all the words you can't say out loud right now.

Yoongi stiffens for a brief second, surprised by the sudden, tight grip. But almost instantly, you feel the tension drain out of his shoulders. He reaches down with one hand, his large, warm palm covering your locked fingers, squeezing back with a reassuring pressure.

"I've got you," he mumbles. "Always."

Behind you, Jungkook kicks his engine over, the raw roar echoing off the canyon walls as he pulls out onto the asphalt. Yoongi turns his key, his own bike erupting into a low, thunderous purr that shakes the gravel beneath the tires. He shifts into first gear, the metal clinking solidly into place, and slowly guides the heavy bike back onto the darkening two-lane road.

As the bike accelerates into the cool, purple twilight, the wind rushes past you once more. But this time, you don't feel the fear. You just squeeze him a little tighter, holding onto the one person who has been holding onto you, even when you didn't know he was there.

<Next>

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It has gotten to a point where fingers just weren’t enough anymore. Your small hands paled in comparison to Yoongi’s long and slender fingers.

You wondered what they would feel like, holding you open, parting your folds and sinking deep inside of you up to the last knuckle.

You ordered your first sex toy as soon as those thoughts started keeping you up at night. At first you thought it would be a good idea to get a vibrator. All your friends excitedly talked about how they couldn’t get themselves off anymore without it. A vibrator sounded nice, but it wasn’t what you really wanted. You needed to be filled. Stuffed to the brim until your walls pulsed and you couldn’t take it anymore. You wanted to feel the burn and ache of having something split you open. You knew that what you truly craved was having a cock lodged deep inside of you.

So the plan of buying a vibrator was quickly thrown out the window and a dildo was smoothly added to your cart instead, checking out without as much as a second thought. You had been antsy all day. Biting the skin around your nails as you waited, looking out the window every few minutes for the delivery truck. And before you knew it, you found yourself sitting in bed with a cardboard box in your lap and a nervous turmoil in your tummy. Admittedly, you probably overestimated yourself. The silicone toy was big, sitting heavy in your palms. You had never taken something like this before. You didn’t even know if it’ll fit! The thought of struggling to slide the thick dildo up your pussy makes you lick your lips in anticipation. Within minutes you’re a panting and moaning mess, stubby fingers trembling as they scissor inside your weeping pussy, curling, but never quite hitting the spots that were sure to make you keen. The toy sits by your side on the crumbled bed sheets, antagonizing you. You knew you had to prep yourself before even thinking about taking it, but you were just too impatient. “Hmpf!” You exhale in frustration, pressing down on your clit to add even more wetness to the slickness that already had your fingers slipping.

You just wanted to be full. “Please…” You don’t know who or what you’re pleading for, but you sniffle pathetically as you raise up to your knees, grabbing the toy with shaky fingers. You have to grip it with both hands, mouth parting as you stare at it. It’s intimidating and you’re afraid it won’t fit, but the thought of getting to have something so huge inside you makes you clench around nothing. You can’t wait anymore. Sitting on your back had gotten uncomfortable. You didn’t feel like you were in control enough that way. Quickly looking around the room, you decide the floor will just have to do. The suction cup makes the dildo stand up ramrod straight in front of you, looking huge and intimidating.

You gulp at the sight.

Your knees ache against the wooden floor as you position yourself above the dildo, bulbous head catching onto your hole. You gasp, moving your hips back and forth so it would rub over your parted folds. A loud moan leaves you, and echoes around the room, before you can stop it. You’re dripping all over the toy, drooly cunt eager to take the huge fake cock already. You hated teasing yourself, but the way you deny yourself of the toy makes everything feel so much more…real.

In your head, this is exactly how things would go. You’d be a impatient, trembling mess, desperate to have your insides rearranged by Yoongi’s huge cock. You’d beg and cry and shake until you got your way, sugary sweet moans filling up the room as you got stuffed full just the way you craved. “Such a bad girl, Y/n. Riding your stepfather’s cock like this with no shame. You’re just desperate for it, aren’t you?” “Yes…” You exhale as you let your hips sink lower.

The intrusion makes you gasp, fingernails digging into your thighs as the rubbery head slides inside your slick hole. The relief of it is delicious, making you feel satiated to finally have something inside. “Ah!” You gasp, crying out when you sink down further, gummy walls taking too much at once. You ache and it burns, but in a way that stirs the fire inside your tummy. You barely just started and you already feel yourself teetering towards an orgasm. Closing your eyes, you breathe in deeply and let your mind wander. You think about hands on your body, bruising your sides, and gripping your tits forcefully, making you gasp at the rough way you’re being handled. You toy with your nipples as you slowly allow yourself to slip down another inch, breath getting caught in your throat.

“You love this, don’t you, sweetheart? Such a slut, want your pussy filled at all times. Stuffed to the brim until you can’t take it anymore.” “God, yes!” You cry out, a stammered sob escapes your mouth when you sink further down the dildo, walls pulsing deliciously around it. Your nipples hurt from the way you’re pinching them, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. You want to be roughed up, manhandled by forceful hands without a care, as if you’re nothing more than a rag doll. A good toy, so malleable for Yoongi to play with and do as he pleases. You wanted to be that for him. “Do it, baby, sit on my cock. Take what you want.”

With a drawn out moan, you fall down the rest of the length, your eyes that were previously closed snap open wide. Your mouth parts, stuttered gasps escaping through your parted lips as you struggle to breathe through the burn of your walls. Your so full it hurts, but it hurts so good. Your body leans forward, hands holding up your weight, trying to keep yourself upright. It aches and you don’t know if you can even move right now, but you will yourself to do it. Yoongi wouldn’t wait. He would use you as he pleases, pounding your little pussy until he knocked the breath out of you, leaving you crying and begging for more. You let your hips lift almost all the way off the dildo, before slamming back down, crying out at the rough intrusion. Your bottom lip trembles and your fingers cramp from how hard you’re trying to dig them into the ground. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Such a good slut, all mine to use and defile. What are you, Y/n? Tell daddy.” “I-I’m a slut!” You sob, hips stuttering as you start to desperately ride the toy, slick sounds filling up the quiet room. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet, you’re gushing down the entire girth of the fake dick inside of you. The sounds your pussy makes has your cheeks burning up in shame. You’re desperately riding a cock that doesn’t even belong to the man you’re fantasizing about. How pathetic. You sniffle and whimper continuously as you bounce up and down the length, squeezing around it tightly. You think Yoongi would like that. He would tell you how good you are. How tight you feel around him and how well you’re taking it.

A good little whore for him to use. He would grunt out how you’re nothing more than a warm hole for him to sink his cock into. “P-please!” You cry out, throwing your head back. One of your hands grabs your breast as the other grips tightly onto your thigh, digging sharp lines onto the skin with your fingernails. “Cum on my cock, sweetheart. I know you want to.”

“Gonna c-cum!” you moan, frantically riding the toy, your hips move messily as it hits all the right spots inside of your pussy that makes your vision go white.

Too lost in your pleasure, you don’t hear the way the floor behind your bedroom door creaks. “Gonna cum for me, Y/n? Are you gonna cum all over your daddy’s dick like a good little girl?” “Yes!” You sob, knees aching and thighs burning as you feel yourself being thrown over the edge. You think about being filled with Yoongi’s cum. How it would shoot up inside of you hotly, leaking out the sides of your pussy, stuffing you to the brim. It’s with the thought of being deflowerd and with the name of your stepfather on your tongue that you finally cum, wetness splattering loudly around the dildo and down onto the floor. “Yoongi!” You sob, falling forward on the hard floor. Your whole body is shaking, dildo sadly sliding out of you, as you sob through your orgasm. Your front slams onto the ground, cheek squished against the wooden floor, ass raised up, leaving your walls pulsing around nothing. Through your stuttered cries, you don’t hear the door sliding open. Your mind is somewhere too far away to notice the footsteps that stop next to you until there’s a body crouching in front of you. Your hair gets pushed away from your face by fingers that aren’t yours. With a loud gasp, your head rises up, glazed over eyes meeting a pair of familiar black ones. The protagonist of your daydreams sits in front of you, holding nothing but lust inside his gaze as he eyes your trembling form. All you can do is watch as his tongue pokes out to skim over his bottom lip as he takes you in. Finally, a deep sigh escapes your stepfather, making every hair on your body stand up. “Quite the sight, aren’t you, baby?” Oh fuck.

‎"Ughhh!!!" You're very close to actually ripping all the hair off your scalp. You're even closer to the balcony of your 7th-floor apartment, and you really wanna jump.

‎You stare at Eunha, your 6-month-old daughter who's currently screaming at lord knows what.

‎You've done everything you could think of, you tried feeding her milk, but she refused. You tried to entertain her with toys, and she's still crying.

‎"What do you want, Eunha??" ‎You can't help but get louder, and it only makes her cry even more.

‎This isn't the first time it's happened. Eunha would cry like this for hours and then fall asleep. The next time she wakes up, she's as cheerful as Jimmy Fallon on his show. You don't understand the psychology behind this, or what goes through her head.

‎And this horrifies you.

‎When you decided on keeping the baby, you didn't really know you'd turn out to be so bad at being a mother.

‎But can you really blame yourself?

‎You're only 22, working a great job with lots of workload, and parents who abandoned you because of the shame you brought them when you got pregnant at 21.

‎And not to mention, the father of Eunha, a 22-year-old boy who's just as dumb as a 14-year-old one. He still refuses to believe that Eunha is here, despite knowing he was the first boyfriend you've ever had. You really don't know what you did to deserve this.

‎It was 11 pm by the time Eunha finally fell asleep. You're currently trying to finish your tasks for the day before 12 am, and you curse the company while doing it. No doubt it's a good company; it supported you financially during your delivery, accepted you for the way you were, gave you the best colleagues ever, and pays you well. But why do they have to make you work while you're on maternity leave? You could really use some time to sleep right now, but no, you have to complete this bullshit work right now.

‎Around 45 mins later, you're done for the day, like done done. So you shut your laptop and make your way out of Eunha’s room, towards the bathroom to freshen up.

‎But the moment you start washing your face, oh lord, why's Eunha crying again?!

You quickly wash your hands and run to your baby girl. She already has her arms in the air as if expecting to be picked up. You keep cooing to her, singing lil songs she likes to listen to or swaying her in the living, but nothing works.

‎"What do you want, baby? Pls tell mommy."

‎At this point, you're crying too. Your eyes are filled to the brim with tears. And you want to cry just as loud as Eunha.

‎But your emotions come to a halt when you hear your doorbell go off. "Who could that be?" you think to yourself.

‎It was midnight, on a Wednesday, and you weren't expecting anyone.

‎You quickly wiped whatever tears had escaped your eyes and put down your still crying baby in her crib as you came to your living room to check the intercom.

And woah, what's your hot neighbor doing here?

‎You jump towards the main door and unlock it as quickly as you can. Once you do, Jeon Jungkook comes into view.

‎Well... to introduce Jungkook, he's a pediatrician who works at a lavish private hospital at the end of the street, turned thirty last month, and is super duper attractive.

‎You still remember the day you moved in here at the beginning of the year. He'd spent nearly an hour helping you haul those heavy ass boxes into your apartment without complaining once. As a thank you, you'd invited him over for dinner the next day.

Definitely a mistake, because ever since then, you'd been crushing on him like some lovesick teenager.

You'd run into him in the elevator, at the grocery store, at the chemist, even once at the neighborhood noodle place. And with every conversation, he somehow became a little harder to stop thinking about.

‎Oh, did we mention he invited you to his 30th birthday at a bar? Yeah, that night was crazy. He'd assured you it wasn't going to be some wild party packed with a crazy crowd and that you'd actually enjoy yourself. Well... you did. If it wasn't for your baby girl waiting for you to pick her up from your best friend's place, things might've gotten a little more interesting than just a make-out session.

‎The tension had been there ever since that night, and you may or may not have avoided him a little. But it was for both your sakes. You weren't entirely sure you'd be able to control yourself if you ended up alone with him again.

‎But there's no reason for him to be here right now; still, you greet him with a quiet hello, and he returns it with an equally soft one.

‎Another thing you've noticed? You don't know why, but you turn so fucking awkward in front of him while he looks like the calmest, most composed person you've ever met.

Though... the piercings on his left eyebrow and lip always say otherwise.

‎"Is Eunha alright? I, actually, could hear her crying for a while now, so I thought I should check on you. In case you need any help?"

‎His concerned voice takes you out of whatever observation of you had started building about his piercings.

So you reply to him with, "Oh yeah, well I don't really know what's up with her. She's been crying nonstop, and I have tried doing everything..." You move aside, making way for him to step inside.

‎As he slips off his shoes and walks into your apartment, he catches the panic and frustration you've been trying so hard to bury beneath your voice.

‎Though he's never been inside before, he barely spares your apartment a glance. Right now, his mind is occupied with figuring out why your baby won't stop crying.

‎"When did she last eat?" he asks once he reaches her room, standing beside the crib Eunha was in.

‎"8 pm, she ate properly, even burped 10 mins later and drank some milk cause she needs that to sleep."

‎Jungkook almost reaches to pick Eunha up before looking at you as if he's asking for your permission. You nod your head, giving him that.

‎And to your surprise, the moment Jungkook picks Eunha up, she stops crying.

Her small brown eyes, still filled with tears, are now staring at his handsome face, who just picked her up.

"Hunh?" The sound slips out before you can stop it.

‎Jungkook holds Eunha close against his chest, her tiny face already buried in the crook of his neck as his large, warm hand gently rubs circles over her back. Soon he's slightly rocking her body and gently swaying her left and right.

‎Your eyeballs almost leave their sockets when you see Eunha's arms reach around his neck. She doesn't even do that to you, what the heck.

‎Your daughter's a bit too comfy with this stranger.

‎And in the next 10 mins, Jungkook is already sitting on the couch in the room with your baby, sleeping peacefully in his arms.

You stand there speechless, completely dumbfounded as to how the fuck he managed to do that. Eventually, you walk over and take the seat beside him.

The moment you're about to bombard him with questions, he carefully stands up and lays Eunha back down in her crib. The two of you walk outside her room, into the living space of your apartment.

‎"How did you do that?" You couldn't control your tongue, brain buzzing with confusion.

Jungkook lets out a chuckle as he finally looks around your well-decorated apartment. He sits beside you on the larger couch, leaving only a small space between the two of you.

‎He smiles before continuing, "That's my job, Y/N. I'm a pediatrician, remember?" You nod your head at his words.

‎"No, but still, you gotta teach me that." He laughs at your words, trying to make the environment a little lighter.

‎"Hey, it's nothing much. You just have to hold them with all the warmth and love you've got. They tend to feel that comfort."

‎You raised your eyebrows at his words, wondering if he meant that you didn't love your baby.

‎As if he immediately caught the cue, Jungkook continued, "That doesn't mean you don't love her; you're the only person who will love her the most. But infants, they need to feel it.  Because they don't really understand words or actions, so they need that assurance."

‎He turns his body towards you, his knees brushing against yours.

‎His eyes don't leave your face, quietly taking in everything you've been trying so hard to hide. The way your shoulders refuse to loosen, your fingers twisting anxiously in your lap, your breathing just a little too shallow. The exhaustion in your eyes wasn't just from the lack of sleep anymore. It was the kind that had settled somewhere deep inside your chest and refused to leave.

‎Jungkook watches you for a moment, his expression softening with quiet understanding before he finally speaks. "Y/N, I can clearly see how hard you're working for her. And it must be so difficult for you to be... you know, alone in this. So, I understand what you’re going through."

‎His eyes are full of concern. Not just for Eunha anymore, but for you too.

‎You don't remember the last time someone was genuinely concerned about you. Accepting that kind of comfort from your neighbor should've felt weird. Instead, it felt oddly natural.

"Yeah, I do wish I could be better at this. I don't want Eunha to go through a bad childhood because of me.

‎Your eyes were now fixed on your hands, noticing the chipped nail polish you put on months ago.

‎"I just feel like I'm not enough for her." Your voice was going soft with every word you were speaking.

‎"You're more than enough for her, Y/N. You feed her on time, you maintain her hygiene, and you do everything you're supposed to. So don't think any of that, okay?" You could only nod your head at his words.

‎He was right; you're doing everything correctly, so why does it feel like there's still something missing? That you still can't understand your own baby.

‎"I... I don't know why... why can't I give her the comfort or the safety she needs to feel?" You ask quietly, your face slowly lifting until your eyes meet his.

‎"Maybe because you're too busy trying to be her father," Jungkook says it gently. The words are blunt, maybe even a little cruel, but not once does his voice carry judgment.

‎"You know, Y/N... when a father raises a child on his own, he naturally grows into that role. He learns how to provide, how to protect, how to stay strong for them. And mothers... It's a little different.

‎He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "There's something people call a motherly instinct. It's not something you're born with; it grows. It grows every time you hold your baby, every time you comfort them, every time you simply exist with them. And society doesn't really help either. We've been raised believing fathers are supposed to earn for the family, keep everyone disciplined, make sure everyone follows the rules. The rules they set." A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

‎"That doesn't mean fathers love their children any less. Most fathers would give up their lives for their families without thinking twice. But their love often looks different. Fathers usually try to protect their family from everything outside those walls... trusting that the mother will protect them from everything inside them."

‎His eyes settle on yours again. "But in your case... you're trying to be both."

‎Silence settles between the two of you, as he watches your face, almost waiting for the pieces to fall into place.

‎"So..." you murmur, more to yourself than to him. "I'm only trying to fill that role for her. I'm trying so hard to replace what's missing... that I'm taking away the chance for her to still have a mother."

‎Jungkook slowly reaches for your hand resting in your lap; his fingers wrap around yours with surprising gentleness.

You suddenly understand why Eunha had fallen asleep so easily in his arms.

‎"Exactly. You don't have to stop being her father; you just have to let yourself be her mother too."

‎His voice is barely above a whisper, and his thumb gently strokes across your knuckles.

‎"Spend time with her without worrying about doing everything right. Let her see the love you already have for her."

Your eyes stay fixed on your joined hands and almost instinctively, your fingers weave between his as if seeking the same love.

‎God, you now feel what Eunha feels all the time. Cause you feel the same too. Your baby's exactly like you.

‎You chuckle at the thought. Jungkook notices that, "A penny for your thoughts?"

You look up to find the sweetest smile on his face. "Nothing, just little realizations."

‎Why? Why are his eyes full of so much comfort and something you can't point out? Why does he look so handsome right now? Why's he so fucking sweet?

‎You don't even notice your gaze drifting to his lips before dropping back to your intertwined hands. But Jungkook did.

‎He notices the way your shoulders have finally begun to loosen. The tension that had been wound so tightly into every muscle of your body slowly melting away beneath the silence.

‎"Y/N?" He calls your name in the softest voice.

‎"Hm?" Your eyes lift to meet his once again.

‎"You should take a break too."

‎You're too busy getting lost in his eyes to actually process what he'd said.

‎"What?"

‎A tiny smile ghosts across his face. "I said you should take a break too."

‎He lets the words settle before continuing, ‎"You're still so young. You deserve to breathe too. Try taking out time for yourself. "‎

You blink, finally hearing him this time, "How, Jungkook?"

‎Jungkook's heart tightens at the genuine question from someone who looked as though she'd forgotten what it felt like to put herself first.

‎His eyes wandered across your face, the dark circles beneath your eyes, and the exhaustion behind them.

‎But you still looked so beautiful. So tender.

‎He felt this urge to protect you from everything that's gnawing at your mind, give you the comfort you've been lacking, and all the love you deserve.

‎A loose strand of hair falls on your face, which he tucked away gently. Gosh, He's so whipped.

He can't keep his heart under control anymore, especially when you're giving him those eyes. But he needs to control, cause he remembers the last time he kissed you and how you've been subtly avoiding him since.

‎He doesn't wanna ruin this for you. He just wants to be there and provide comfort in any form you want him to.

‎"You want me to help?" he asks, his tone making it clear that he wants you to be a hundred percent sure.

‎At this point, you don't even know where this conversation is headed. All you know is that somewhere along the way, the knot in your chest had begun to unravel. You're wrapped up in this weird feeling of... solace, and you don't want to let go.

‎You couldn't form words anymore, so you settle your response with a nod.

"Can I ask you something first?

‎Jungkook nods. "Anything."

‎You hesitate, but you still voice out your question. ‎"Why... why are you so nice to me?"

‎You glance down at your hands as the question hangs between the two of you for a moment.

‎You really don't understand why he cares for you. You know that he's kind to everyone, but he still manages to make you feel special, like you are more to him than just a neighbor.

‎Though after the kiss you shared last time, you hope it's the latter.

‎A chuckle leaves him, and he shakes his head to himself. ‎"I've been trying not to be. "

‎He lets out a small sigh, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

‎"Not like it's working, though."

‎His thumb absentmindedly brushes over your knuckles before he stills it.

‎"I don't know what happened or how it happened, but now that I think about it... I just started caring."

‎Your eyes widen at his words, and your heart races at the sight of a shy Jungkook, his ears and neck flushed red in front of you.

‎Now you feel so guilty for the fact that you've been avoiding him. Maybe it wasn't only you. Maybe what you felt wasn't wrong.

‎"That night... on your birthday..." ‎Your voice comes out as little more than a whisper, but Jungkook speaks before you can continue.

‎"We don't have to talk about that night."

‎Your eyelids flutter before you continue.

‎"Still... I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I just wanted to tell you..." You pause for a moment. "That I don't regret anything that happened. It's just..."

‎Your voice trails off.

‎Jungkook lets out a quiet sigh before continuing, ‎"Me too, Y/N. But I know you've had a thousand other things on your mind."

‎His voice stays calm. ‎"The last thing I want is for you to feel like you have to carry my feelings too."

‎He shifts slightly, decreasing the space between the two of you. ‎"I'm here because I was worried about you. That's all that matters right now."

‎He offers you a reassuring smile. "So tell me, Y/N, how do you want me to help you?"

‎The apartment falls quiet again.

‎For the first time that night, the silence doesn't feel suffocating. Eunha's soft breathing drifts in from the nursery, and the weight that had been pressing against your chest for months feels just a little lighter.

‎Gazing into his starry eyes now reminds you of that night. They hypnotise you in such a way that you just want to get lost in them.

‎Jungkook's eyes stare right back into yours, and he can't help but notice your shifting gaze between his own eyes and lips.

‎But he waits for you to make the move; he wants you to do it. He wants this to be about you.

‎As if some force was pushing you closer to Jungkook, you're now only inches away from his face. His soft breath falls onto yours.

‎You look him in the eyes again, only to find him staring at you like you're the only person that exists for him.

‎That look, that was it. You couldn't think about your actions anymore as your lips touch his.

‎You move your lips over his and Jungkook immediately syncs with you.

‎Damn, why's he so soft? He smells like vanilla and tastes like coffee. You can kiss him for the rest of your life.

‎When you break away to take a breath, Jungkook rests his forehead on yours. His warm hands separate from your interlocked ones, and he holds your jaw gently. Like you're the most fragile thing, and he wants to be very careful with you.

‎Before you even process what had happened, his lips find yours again. This time, it feels more real. You kiss him back with the same effort, both of you devouring each other.

‎His tongue teased your bottom lip once, coaxing your mouth open. It slides over yours as he tastes every corner of your mouth. God, it feels like you're floating now.

‎Your hands find their way towards his hair, and you tug on a few strands to stay a bit grounded.

‎But the kiss deepened as he tongued your mouth, his teeth grazing your lips and tongue, while you let out a needy moan, which he swallowed eagerly.

‎You fiddle with his lip piercing with your tongue, and Lord knows for how long you've been dreaming about doing that.

‎You tug at the piercing, making him let out the cutest yelp, and that's probably the best sound you've ever heard.

‎Jungkook's hand from your jaw slides down towards your neck and then to your arms. You pull away from the kiss for merely a second to climb over his lap, before continuing to make out with him.

‎His palms now settle on your thighs, which land perfectly on both his sides. He grips them slightly while you couldn't help but grind over his half-hard dick.

‎He breaks away from the kiss and looks at your completely flushed face. He tucks away the strands of hair that had fallen on your face.

‎You were already out of breath, body heaving from the intense make-out session. Your hands that were caught in his hair now find their way on his chest.

‎He lifts your chin lightly to meet your eyes before he asks you, "Y/N, are you sure you're okay with what we're doing?"

‎You nod your head at his words, already leaning in to continue. But Jungkook places his hand on your chest to stop you. "Use your words and tell me if you really want this."

Your lips parted at his words as you licked your lip nervously, "I want this."

‎But he still seems unsatisfied with your answer. "You want what, darling?”

‎You feel something moving in your stomach when he calls you that. Wait, are those butterflies? How old are you? 15? Why are you getting so flustered just by his words?

You blink a few times and take a breath before continuing, " You, I want everything you can give me, Jungkook."

Your words feel final. Like you're a  hundred and ten percent sure.

‎Without wasting any more time, Jungkook kisses you again, and his hands start roaming your body. One of them traces up your spine, and the other hand finds your waist, thumb pressed against the skin.

He lets go of your now swollen lips as he presses chaste kisses down your throat. Each one is slow, tongue flicking against your pulse point. Your head falls back automatically, giving him better access.

The soft kisses didn’t last for long before his teeth scraped lightly, sucking deep purple hickies all over your neck.

“Ahh-ohh.” You let out a gasp at a particularly harsh bite, your nails digging into his shoulders. His tongue soothing the sting.

Your body arched, pressing your chest against him. Both his hands slide down to your hips slowly. Your breath hitches when his fingers slip under your hoodie, squeezing your soft skin.

He takes his sweet time bringing the fabric up; the contrast of his hands against your skin makes you shiver. His thumb brushes just below your belly button, and fuck, your eyes shut at the feeling. He pulled out the hoodie and threw it across the couch.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes running over you, drinking in the sight of your flushed skin. The way your tits heaved with each breath left him in awe.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said as he shifted you, now one of his thigh between your legs. It pressed against your core, making you squirm.

His fingers ran over your body before stopping on your bra strap, and he leaned in close, you could feel his breath hot against your ear.

"Can I?"

You manage a shaky nod, pulse thundering in your ears. With a quick flick of his fingers, the fabric comes undone.

The bra falls off, and the way he looks at you- Jesus, it makes your pussy throb. His eyes rake over your exposed tits in pure appreciation.

His hands cupped your bare tits, and you threw your head back at the feel of his warm palm. His huge hands practically engulfed you, his thumbs brushed over your nipples, and your back arched into his touch.

His finger rolled one of your nipples, and you mewled at the feeling. Your hips rocked against his thigh, and he pressed his thigh harder between your legs.

“Feels good?” he asked you while his thumb circled both your buds before tweaking them at a fast pace.

“Mhmm, ahh,” you pant, your cunt now dripping onto his thigh.

“Tell me how it feels, darling, wanna hear you.”

“So- so good, Jungkook,” you gasp. Your fingers find the hem of his crewneck, tugging impatiently. Soon the fabric joins your discarded hoodie somewhere.

He pulls you back against him, and the feeling of his bare skin against yours makes you grind against his thigh once again. His hands grip your waist passionately while yours run all over his abs and the hard planes of his chest.

When his mouth claims yours again, this time it's hungrier. His tongue sucks yours in a way that makes your heart quicken, and you can't help your fingers curling around his neck to pull him closer.

Soon you break the kiss to breathe, but you can't help but stare at the view in front of you. His lips are slick and swollen, that silver ring glinting with both of your saliva. His hair is a mess from your fingers, and his eyes shine with adoration.

He leaned down, breathing hotly against your tits, as his tongue came out, brushing against the hardened peak. You squirmed pathetically over him, pushing your tits harder into his mouth.

He finally took the right nipple into his mouth, and the wet heat of his mouth made you slightly scream.

He sucked hard, his tongue swirling rapidly, and your hips bucked seeking relief, pressing against his muscular thighs.

“Jungkook.” you moaned.

“Fuckk, darling.” He moved to your other nipple, giving it the same attention while his hand focused on the other one.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured. His voice vibrates against your nipple, and you bite your lower lip to contain yourself.

“I could suck these all day.” he looks at you endearingly.

“Would you like that?” You couldn't speak; his tongue lapped at your nipple before sucking hard, pulling a string of moans from you.

“Answer me, baby,” he urged.

“Yessss,” you blabbered. You pulled him closer, your tits aching due to his persistent attention. He twisted and pinched your nipple, making your clit throb painfully.

“Oh my god!” you screamed, he loved the way your nipples were all red and swollen because of him.

He kissed down your cleavage, his lips trailing over the soft skin of your tits, worshipping every inch of you.

“Just wanna make you feel good.” He groans as his hands slide down your sides towards your ass. He squeezes it hard through your silk shorts, and you couldn’t help but let out a whimper.

“So soft…” he hums in approval as he continues wringing your ass.

You lift your hips for him to tug your shorts down roughly, bunching them at your thighs. His palm slides up your inner thigh, his thumb slightly brushing over your clit through your panties. The pleasure makes you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your moan.

"You like that, darling?" His voice is soft and low.

You press a hum into the crook of his neck, his thumb drawing slow circles on your clit, making your thighs shake.

He pulls your panties to the side, grazing his fingers over your folds but never letting his touch linger for long enough. Your eyes squeeze shut as you ramble incoherent words against his skin.

Before you can even comprehend what’s happening, you feel your body being lowered onto the soft mattress of the couch. You open your eyes, only to find Jungkook on his knees, shuffling between your partly spread legs.

“Will you spread your legs for me?” he blabs against your panty-clad pussy, hands already on the side of your thighs.

You did exactly what he asked you to, as he sucked a spot just above your underwear before he went up again, circling his tongue around your navel.

You felt euphoric at how he was marking you all over with his saliva. His hands then reached for the last piece of fabric on your body, and his eyes met yours.

“Are you okay? Shall we keep going?”

“Yes, pleaseee.” Your hands reached for his hair again, nails scratching his scalp, making him let out such pathetic noises for you.

He kissed your clit over the panty before he slowly slid the fabric down your body, revealing your pussy.

Jungkook stared at you as if he found the seventh heaven. Your folds were swollen, clit peeking just beneath it, and he couldn’t look away from it, his tongue coming out to lick at his bottom lip.

Your breath hitched at how sensual he looked, his flushed cheeks and doe eyes making him look cuter.

Your wetness clung to the bottoms, and he could see the way your entrance clenched around nothing. He leaned down, pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” his eyes locked on your cunt and the way it was oozing arousal.

His lips brushed your mound, and a desperate whine escaped you. He placed a kiss against your pussy mound, “Look at you, so wet f’me…”

His finger strokes your outer lips, spreading your arousal, the sensations making you feel ecstatic. “Jungkook, pleas-unh.”

His fingers parted your folds, exposing your clit fully and blowing cool air on it. His eyes constantly checked you for any sign of discomfort but only found you sobbing out lewd noises at his action.

He spat on your pussy suddenly causing you to flinch, as he watched his saliva mix with your slickness. He parted your folds with his thumb, now exposing your clit fully.

“So fucking pretty,” he cooed.

He couldn’t hold back anymore, so he leaned in, his tongue licking you slowly from your entrance to your clit, and you cried out. He groaned against your pussy as his tongue lapped at your slit, his nose poking your clit.

“mmph-nghhhh,” you murmured curses as you bit into your hand, not being able to help yourself.

“You taste so sweet.” his tongue dived in, now entering your hole, fucking you in and out as your head whipped from side to side. He loved how you tasted, and you smelt sooo good.

He sucked on your folds, his tongue doing different motions until your arousal dripped onto his chin. His loud grunts vibrate against you, making your body quiver involuntarily. You closed your eyes tightly, lost in the feeling.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he coaxed, “Look what you do to me.”

His hands pulled you closer to him, and he pushed your knees until they touched your breasts, exposing your pussy fully in front of him.

“Jungkook- ahmm godd,” you chanted, while he dove back in, his tongue circled your clit before sucking hard and pulling a scream from you. Your hips grind against his face, chasing the pleasure.

“You’re doing so good, darling,” he urged.

He vigorously flicked your clit side to side, and you gripped tight on his hair.  “Yessss, grind on my face, ffuck-let me feel you.”

Your thighs shook violently, “jungkook i’m—” you hiccuped.

Your hips rocking faster and faster against his face, seeking relief. “I’m gonna come, Jungkook, pleasee hahh.”

He started eating you out harder, all while his fingers fucked your cunt, making your body tremble violently.

“Yeahh? Then cum for me, darling.”

His tongue replaced your fingers, thrusting back into your entrance as his teeth slightly grazed your clit.

“Ahhh-Jungkookk!” You screamed, your back arching off the couch. Your body jerked against him, as your cum hit him in the face.

Jungkook lapped you through your orgasm, not stopping till he made sure you were licked clean.

“You did so well for me, darling.” He kissed your quivering pussy softly, making you whimper.

Your hands ran through his hair again as his eyes met yours, lips glistening with your juices. He licked his lips clean, his cock still twitching in his shorts.

You lay there still trying to catch your breath, and you tried pulling him towards you. Jungkook stood up, his knees burning from staying bent for so long, as he sat beside you.

He dragged your limp body into his arms, placing your legs over his, drawing little patterns on your back. He pressed chaste kisses on your forehead, nose, and cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his ribs, face already snuggling against his chest.

Jungkook caressed your hair before you spoke, “That was probably the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

His body convulsed with laughter as he placed a finger under your chin to lift your face and spoke, “I’m honored, darling, though you deserve all the best orgasms in the world.”

And fuck- he feels a flood of butterflies in his stomach from the way you’re looking at him with such dreamy eyes and the shy smile appearing on your face.

He’d do anything if that meant he’d get to see that smile of yours.

You stretched your neck upward, capturing his lips in the softest kiss, making Jungkook get goosebumps all over his body.

You broke away from the kiss some time later while Jungkook continued caressing your back.

“You hungry?” He asked casually. “I can make you something while you freshen up.”

You couldn’t help but look at him in shock, your brows contorting with confusion. “But what about you, Jungkook? You didn’t get to…”

He chuckles lightly, pushing the strands of hair away from your face. “I told you, Y/N, tonight was all about you.”

‘’But Jungkook-”

“I didn’t do this just to get something in return, darling.” He cuts you off mid-sentence.

Your face softens at his words, but you still speak, “But still, I don’t like leaving you like this.”

Jungkook breaks into a smile, his eyes glinting with slight mischief. “Aww, don’t feel sad. You can give me my best orgasm ever the next time we do this, hm?”

“We’re doing this again?” You ask, voice laced with surprise.

“You wouldn’t want that?” He got worried if he accidentally crossed the line, but you reassured him with a shake of your head.

“I’d love that!” You giggled as he playfully kissed your forehead.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence; both of your hearts felt full and content as you simply breathed together, sharing the warmth of the moment.

A piercing noise of your daughter crying comes through her room as you jerk against Jungkook’s body at the sudden sound. You quickly get off his body, looking for your underwear.

You run to her in just your hoodie and your panties, picking her up from her crib. Just like how Jungkook told you and what you saw him do, you gently rub Eunha’s back. You coo at her with several ‘what happened, baby?’s and ‘I love you’s, while gently swaying her left to right.

She slowly stops crying and falls asleep in your arms. Jungkook joins you too, now wearing his own crewneck, and he’s left in awe at the sight in front of him.

“You’re a quick learner, aren’t you, darling?” You turn around to look at him, only to find him gazing at you and your daughter with so much fondness.

“All thanks to you, Doctor.” You say with a teasing smile on your face.

At that moment, neither of you knew that the other person had wished for a life just like this. So maybe the Universe is finally listening to you, and this was a start to your manifested lives.

Hence, moral of the story, keep manifesting bitches!! and do listen to everything dr. jeon tells you. Okay bye byee!!!!

Taglist:

The short black dress clinging to your body gives you that extra confidence you were aiming for. After all, you are going on a date after ages. You really could do with some confidence and feeling sexy in your bones. 

When you walk inside the restaurant, you're pleasantly surprised by the cosy yet classy ambience it has. It's well lit with golden yellow lights and well occupied with people—but also not enough for it to feel crowded. 

"Reservation made under the name of Troye Kurt”, you tell the receptionist with a polite smile.

"Just a second ma'am," she acknowledges your words before typing the given name on her computer. A split second later, she presses a small button on her desk and a waitress arrives. "Rachel here, will guide you to your table."

Rachel, takes you to your table where you find that Troye is already sitting and waiting for you. 

"Hello," you greet him with a shy, nervous smile. "Did I keep you waiting for too long?"

He gets up from his chair to greet you with a small hug and pulls out your chair for you. "Not at all. If anything I'm the one who's early."

"Well I'd say that's a good quality to have," you quip. "Already making an impression, nice."

He lets out a small laugh and you cannot help but think that it is cute. 

"What if it's because I was too nervous of being late, that I came a little too early?"

You muse, pretending to think for a moment. "Well then, that gives you a little too much of an advantage in my books." 

He shakes his head and chuckles at your words in response. 

The introductory conversation gives you the impression that the date would go great. 

Thankfully, you are proven right. The both of you seem to never run out of topics to converse on and the food is simply amazing. He doesn't dig too much about facts, rather asks you about the little things that people don't usually put much effort into learning about a person. 

You honestly could not have asked for a better first date to break your dry spell of putting yourself out there. 

However, there's that nagging voice at the back of your mind, which constantly tells you something is missing. You try your utter best to ignore that feeling and put your entire focus on Troye, knowing very well that you'd be ridiculously stupid not to.

A few sips of wine later, a group of men enter the restaurant and pass by your table to sit themselves right across from you. You don't notice them at first, too busy chatting with Troye and laughing at the way he seems to have a witty response to almost everything you say. 

However, soon, you are forced to take your eyes off Troye, when you feel this unshakeable feeling that someone is watching you. You briefly glance away from your date to look at the person who seemingly can't look away from you.

Professor Min.

Your whole body freezes when you notice him. He stares—glare would be a better word—at you with such intensity that it makes a shiver run down your spine. What is he doing here?

Your eyes move from him to the people he's sitting with and you assume he's here with his friends, probably celebrating something or simply having dinner with them. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuucckkkk.

The comfort and ease you were feeling moments ago, evaporates into thin air. Looking away from him, you gulp. 

How are you gonna spend the rest of the night with him sitting right across you, staring at you like that? As if you have done something that has pissed him off beyond belief? 

You have been attending professor Min's classes for months and never have you seen him lose his cool. 

During classes or even outside of it, from what you have seen, your professor is not a man of many words. He keeps things to himself and is extremely hard to read. Communication with him is limited to a few words and nods. His smiles are limited to the quirk of his lips to show that he's amused about something. But that's it. 

However, now, there's a frown etched on his face that doesn't hide his displeasure. His lips are set in a straight line and there's that subtle clenching of his jaw that doesn't go unnoticed.

The look on his face makes you gulp again.

You try to focus on your plate and on Jack to avoid your professor's presence as much as you can. However, you soon realise it's fruitless. No matter where you look and what you do, the heat of his stare causes a burning sensation to pool in your stomach. 

It's only moments later that your phone buzzes, the low vibration startling you. You shoot a polite smile at Troye before excusing yourself and unlocking the message. 

Professor Min: this man that happens to be sitting with you, better be your brother or some distant sibling 

You chew on your lower lip as a spark of thrill shoots through your veins.

You: what if i tell you he isn't?

Professor Min: then for his sake, let's hope he is your uncle

You: does he not look a little too young to be my uncle? 

Professor Min: cut the crap, Miss Y/L/N.

Professor Min: Who is he? 

You: my date, in case that wasn't obvious.

You look up from your screen, not wanting to miss his reaction. 

He sucks in a deep breath and then relaxes. All the clenching of his jaw, furrowed brows, the tension on his features, all of it vanishes in the blink of an eye. But only a fool would think that he's calm and composed. Something much darker and dangerous takes over. 

Professor Min: meet me in the hallway in five minutes.

The words on your screen heightens the nervous excitement you have been feeling. Trying to keep your expressions neutral, you look up from your phone screen and lock eyes with your professor. His eyes stay locked with yours briefly, before he looks away and puts on a small polite smile to excuse himself from the table. 

He walks past you and you stiffen when you feel the rage that his body seems to radiate. Shit. 

Professor Min or Yoongi, and you have history. 

Months ago, you had signed up on a dating site. After much frustration and unasked nudes from guys, you had done something you aren't proud of. You had changed your age to appear older in hopes that men who are just a little older, would be much more mature than the ones you had interacted with so far, and that there would at least be someone you would click with. 

Click you did, with Yoongi. 

Ten years older than you and four years older than the age you had put on your profile, you could tell that the man was utterly gorgeous through the pictures. As gorgeous as he was, it was also just as entertaining to talk to him. He just had such an interesting view of life and had so much knowledge about things that it never failed to fascinate you. You could always count on him to leave you awestruck. Conversations not getting boring was a first for you on dating apps. 

What however, was totally out of your imagination was him writing and producing songs in his free time. Like are you kidding me????? That’s just so fucking attractive. 

With his talents and vast knowledge was also this aura of mystery that he seemed to carry. You won’t lie, he was very simple and direct. However, it was in his simpleness and unhinged direct nature that you found this odd sense of mystery about him. It made you curious, whether his honesty came from a place of arrogance, confidence or whether he simply didn’t bother to give a fuck about what people thought of him. You just had this unexplained urge to get to know the man better.

You could have possibly known him better had you agreed to meet with him. 

As much as you wanted to, you were also scared of the embarrassment and shame that you would undoubtedly feel when he would realise that you had lied about your age. For some reason you were convinced that even though you could fool people online, there’s no way you could go two seconds without spilling out the truth about your age,

Hence, you made excuses. But to his credit, Yoongi never questioned you nor did he ever pressure you.  And you found his lack of questioning and sheer acceptance so refreshing and it only added to the things you found attractive about him. 

You were thankful that it wasn't paired with his disinterest in talking to you. At least you never felt that way. He was his usual self and you could just not get enough of it.

At the back of your mind you knew that this couldn’t go on for long. You needed to come clean and tell him the truth if you wanted this to last. You were mentally preparing for it to the best of your best of ability.

But then your new semester started and you learnt that your classes were to be taken by a new professor and as anyone–but you–might have guessed it, that professor was none other than Min Yoongi. 

The very moment he walked inside the class, you recognised him and it might just have been your wide eyed surprised gawking—or the gasp you had let out— the next thing you knew, his gaze was locked with yours. You had looked away immediately, not wanting to see the realisation clicking in place. 

However, there was no denying that he recognised you.

You still cannot put into words the horror and shock you felt that day and the number of times you tried to dip your head anytime you'd feel his eyes on you. You prayed to whatever god was out there for him to not make you pay for your sins in the form of him calling you out in front of everybody. Although farfetched, you couldn’t blame him if he did that.

Thankfully, he didn’t.

When classes came to an end, you had made up your mind to apologise to him. However, when you looked for his profile on your chat section, you learnt that he had unmatched with you. 

It did hurt and you did burn with shame but with that also closed the window you had of being honest with him. There was no way you were going to approach him in university only to explain your stupid thoughtless choices. In your defence, you never imagined that the only man you liked would turn out to be your professor.

You do remember him mentioning that he was applying for new jobs but never, never did you think it was for the post of a professor in your university.

The first few weeks you could not look him straight in the eye. Gradually and at an uncomfortably slow pace, things became normal. As normal as it could, given your history.

There was still something unspoken, something only one who has a very keen sense of observation could notice. 

This case of yours wasn't helped by the fact that you were now getting to see Yoongi everyday. You were getting to see him teach students with sincerity and were getting to take a peek inside that amazing mind of his, that has always intrigued you. 

It is rather unfortunate that instead of focusing on his words, your mind would often end up focusing on his deep voice and your eyes would end up tracing the veins on his arms. 

You had to frequently remind yourself that he's no longer Yoongi, rather Professor Min. But your reminders weren't of much help. 

It was as if there was something wanting and waiting to explode. 

You cannot help but wonder if today was the awaited day when things finally reach a conclusion. If it does, you’d be the happiest woman on earth.

You look at Troye’s smiling face and feel a tinge of guilt spread through you at the thought of lusting for your professor when you’re on a date with him. But the guilt isn’t strong enough for you to miss out on this opportunity.

“Excuse me, I need to use the washroom,” the words come out extra sweet as you try to hide the nervousness pulsing in your veins.

“Sure,” your date is quick to reply.

As you leave the main area, you’re extra conscious of every movement you make. With each step you take, you become hyper alert of what is awaiting for you. It excites you in a way nothing has for a long long time.

The moment you’re inside the washroom, you look around and are disappointed to find it empty. You don’t get much time to linger in your disappointment as the door swings open the very next moment and walks in professor Min.

“Thought it’d take you longer,” he drawls slowly, his eyes holding amusement and something sinister. Your cheeks heat up at his words and he chuckles. “Although, I'm glad that you knew better than to keep me waiting.”

Huffing, you meet his eyes, refusing to back down. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

Something flickers in his gaze and it reminds you of the rage you had felt from him. For some odd reason it’s only now that you seem to take notice of how he seems calmer now, almost as if the source of his anger is now gone and you briefly wonder if the reason behind that, is you leaving your date to comply with his request—more like order. However, you shoot that thought down.

After so many silent repetitive rejections, you cannot entertain the flicker of hope in your chest.

With two long strides, he closes the distance between the both of you. His breath hits your face and it makes you shudder. “Tell me, Miss Y/L/N, what did you think was going to happen when you left your date to meet me, here?”

Unable to meet his eyes, you keep quiet. You won’t allow yourself to be honest. The next best thing that you can do is to test his limits. 

You tilt your chin and look him in the eye with a challenging look in your eye. “Profesor Min, I think you’re in the mood of chatting around. I believe that can be done in the university premises as well. Hence, I think I should go back to my date. Don’t you agree?”

Yoongi’s stare pierces through you and the moment you turn around to leave, he pulls you back with a force that makes you yelp. You collide with his firm toned chest and the feel of it makes you gulp for the umpteenth time. 

“You dare think of him in front of me,” he grits the words out and with you being incredibly close to him, you realise something.

A smile spreads on your lips, “You smell like vanilla.”

He’s taken aback by your sudden comment. “Is that what you have to say, right now?”

You shrug. “I have always wondered what you smell like.”

“And how long have you wondered that?”

“Since when we started talking.”

Something flickers in his gaze but it’s gone as quickly. “The date you were on, was that a first date?”

“Why do you care?”    

Definitely not the right thing to say, you realise a moment too late. “Don’t push my buttons, Miss Y/L/N.”

You blink at him innocently. “But I am not doing anything—”

A hand of his comes up and glides at the back of your neck. His gentle grip is highly in contrast with how warm his palms feel against your skin. “You know exactly what you are doing.”

Your breath hitches and you’re acutely aware that his gentle grip is only a sign that he’s holding back. What, you’re unsure of but you oh so desperately want to know. “I genuinely do not understand what me going on a date has anything to do with you professor.”

A low chuckle escapes him in response as he looks at you with a dark look in his eyes. “Oh how you put up that act of yours being oblivious. As if you’don’t know how you affect me every walking second of the day.”

Eyes widening, you look at him. Now, you are the one who’s caught off guard by his admission. “B-but you wouldn’t even look at me—”

“How could I?” He snaps like a band that has been stretched much more than it would like to. “No professor should look at a student the way I do. How could I look at you when everytime that I did, all I could think about was making you mine.”

Your lungs lose all air. You suddenly find yourself out of breath and your legs start to feel like jelly. All of a sudden, you find yourself in a situation you have fantasized about a little too much for your liking, but also believed was only possible in your wildest dreams. 

Your eyes refuse to leave his and you notice the hidden dilemma that plays out. There's also shame that lingers behind his orbs. What, however, fuels you is the strong anger, frustration and desire that swims in them. To think that those emotions are there because of you, and that they are strong enough for him to ignore his conscience, gives you the push to speak again. 

“Make me,” you whisper in a shaky voice. “Make me yours.” 

You had expected him to protest. You had expected him to demand answers from you, for what happened on the dating app, still remains unspoken. You had expected him to ask you more questions about your date. You hadn't, however, expected him to smash his mouth with yours. 

Your eyes widen in surprise and you find yourself stumbling back at the suddenness of his move. You blink twice and then close your eyes tightly shut, in fear of this being a dream. Blindly reaching out, your hands get entangled in his hair and you find yourself kissing him back like the way you have always wanted to. 

And boy does he know how to kiss.  

The warmth of his mouth burns you in ways that only makes you ache for more. The sensation, so hauntingly delicious, that you remain oblivious to everything around you, except for the soft pair of lips on yours. 

It's the low groan greeting your ears that makes you finally open your eyes. You're greeted by the sight of the man you have so frequently daydreamed about, with his brows furrowed deeply and eyes shut close, much like yours were moments ago. He looks so painfully focused and pleasured, that you involuntarily let out a small whimper. 

The sweet desperate sound makes him pull you closer and his hand tightens around your waist. He parts his lips from yours, rather reluctantly and looks at you with hooded eyes. 

“Tell me, where did you think this date you were on, would have ultimately led to?” 

You have no clue. 

You had nothing particular in mind when you had planned to go out with someone. It was merely a way, an effort to put yourself out there. But there's no way in hell, you'd tell your professor that. If you're getting a chance to make things even for the amount of suffering you have had to go through these past few months, why should you not take it?

One one hand, you're desperate. You're desperate to get his lips on yours again and to feel his hands all over you. However, it's the mere thought of seeing him riled up the way he was when he saw you with Troye, has you playing coy and gathering enough patience to see how far this can go.

“Well, for starters, I had hoped he would be a gentleman,” your words come out in a soft tone, giving the false impression of genuineness. “I had hoped we would have a good time talking and getting to know each other–which by the way we were having, until you so kindly interrupted.”

He looks at you passively, his eyes challenging you to go on. And hence, you do. 

“And if I liked him, I had hoped that after the date ends, we could maybe, you know, take things a little further.” This is a total lie. Sleeping with someone or even doing anything remotely physical, which is what you are currently implying, on the first date is something that you'd never do. But eh, Yoongi doesn't need to know that.

“So, did you like him?” Yoongi interrupts you, stopping you from continuing any further. 

“I did,” you shrug casually, knowing very well you're pushing his buttons.  

Your professor's hand, in a very smooth manner, slides all the way up from your waist to your throat. The motion might as well be compared to that of a snake's slithering. His hand tightens around your throat, and he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Well Miss Y/L/N, you're a fool if you think you could ever be with some other man, on my radar.” 

Then you better make it good, that's what you had intended on saying, however your words die in your throat when his lips meet yours in a much more aggressive manner than earlier. 

You try to keep up with him, but his rough actions paired with his grip on around your neck, has your mind spinning in every delightful way possible. 

When his lips move to your neck, your body melts at the feeling. Soft sighs escape your lips and you grip his hair tightly as a sign of encouragement for him to continue. 

You moan loudly when you feel a slight sting at the juncture of your neck, right under your ear and realise that he's marking you. The thought of attending his class tomorrow, with this mark on your neck, just sounds so deliciously scandalous.

“Fuck, you're good at this,” you speak. 

Instead of replying to you, he unzips the dress you were wearing and his hands gently help you to peel the piece of garment from your body. 

His whole body grows stiff with every inch of skin that gradually gets exposed for his eyes to devour. 

Once you're finally out of your dress, he takes his sweet time to let his eyes roam over your skin. However, soon, he snaps out of it and muterring a small ‘’fuck’ under his breath, he unclasps your bra. 

The motion of it is so sudden and smooth, that you are completely surprised by it. Despite your initial instinct being that of covering yourself up, one stern look from him has you lowering your arms. 

He groans at the sight of your pebbled nipples and his thumbs make their way down to fiddle with them. With each flick against your nipple, you feel sparks of electricity spread through your body.

“Please do something,” you beg, your patience finally running thin. As much as you would like to drag this out and make it last as long as you can, you really need to feel some release. The heat flowing through your veins is consuming you in such a way that you feel like you will combust, otherwise. 

Yoongi, thankfully, seems to sense that you really are as desperate as you sound and by the little smirk on his face, he is quite satisfied at the sight of your helpless state. 

Before you can say anything to wipe that smirk off, he’s getting down on his knees. 

The sight of him looking up at you with that smirk has all thoughts evaporating from your mind. When his hands slide up your thighs and grab the hem of your underwear, you hold your breath. You have probably dreamt and fantasised about this moment for ages, but now that it is finally turning into reality, you find some of your nerves returning. 

You ask yourself to take a deep breath and when you exhale and look down, it’s only then that you realise Yoongi has stopped all movements and is observing you closely. You look at him and you’re reminded of the conversations you used to have with him. How, even though it was via texts, he always was a gentleman who always gave you your space and never did anything remotely close to make you feel uncomfortable. 

You recall all the times when you expected an additional question or an extra push from him but instead you were only met with complete acceptance.