carmen- she/her-27-mdni

The entire university is pulsating with the energy of drunk frat boys in capes, girls dressed in skimpy lingerie calling it their costume, and at least three professors who are far too old to be dressed up amongst the students. You, however, are in your true element: large hoodie, fuzzy socks, a half-eaten Snickers bar on your nightstand, and a thick law textbook open in front of you.

Parties aren't your thing. You'd rather be sued than make small talk with a guy dressed as a ketchup bottle. While your roommate, Jieun, spent hours hot-gluing rhinestones onto her platform space boots for her "sexy astronaut" outfit, you politely declined all invitations and instead declared war on your midterm readings. The only spooky thing in your life right now is the growing realisation that you don't actually want to be a lawyer, the thought that you'll probably die single, and knowing you'll be buried in student debt by the time you graduate.

And honestly? That's still more appealing than the campus party.

You take a break from studying around 2am and finally decide to turn off the light and get some rest. Until the door of your dorm room creaks open.

You pause, blinking your eyes open in the darkness of your room. Maybe Jieun forgot her phone. Maybe she brought back a stray alien from the party. Either way, you don't move, not until the unmistakable dip of the mattress under your legs almost sends your soul flying from your body.

Someone just climbed into your bed.

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, your heart racing in your chest. It's pitch black, the only light coming from the little slit under the door.

"Jieunieee," the voice whispers, smooth and far too seductive. "Are you ready for the best dick of your life?"

That's it.

You scream as loud as you can, springing straight up. You grab the bottle of Chanel perfume on your nightstand and spray it directly into his eyes.

"AHHH—WHAT THE F—!"

The stranger falls out of your bed with a loud thud, hitting the floor dramatically like he's been shot in a Western.

"What the hell?!" he groans, writhing on the floor with a hand covering his eyes and the other holding his head. "You maced me!"

"That was perfume!" you yell, feeling your heart in your throat, the perfume clutched tightly in your hand, holding it out in case you have to spray him again. "And why are you in my bed, you psychopath?!"

"I was looking for Jieun!"

"You can't just crawl into beds like a raccoon in the night!"

"I thought this was her bed!"

"Do I sound like Jieun?!"

He blinks rapidly on the floor, his voice strained through his agony. "I don't know, it's dark and I was promised a sexy astronaut!"

You switch on the bedside lamp with the force of a woman ready to kill.

And there he is.

Black leather pants. Tight black shirt. Fake bruises and cuts on his face, presumably made with makeup. An eyebrow piercing. Tousled hair. Ridiculously attractive even while clutching at his eyes like he's just been gassed in battle.

Your brain fills in the blanks before he even says it.

"You're Jeon Jungkook, aren't you?"

He lowers his hand just enough to smirk at you. "And you're ___. The infamous roommate I've heard so much about."

You sigh, flopping back against your headboard in disbelief. "Of course she's hooking up with you of all people."

Jungkook is a campus legend. The boy whose reputation includes at least two streaking incidents, three girls who dropped out of the university due to their heartbreak, and a tongue that's done unspeakable things according to the word on the street.

And now he's on your floor, still very much looking like the kind of man your mother warned you about even after being sprayed in the eyes with perfume.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "For the record, I've had a lot of entrances, but that was definitely my worst."

"You scared the crap out of me!" you exclaim, tossing your pillow at him. "Who just walks into a dorm and climbs into an unfamiliar bed?!"

"I didn't walk," he scoffs, catching the pillow with an insufferable grin. "I strode."

You glare at him.

He grins wider. "Come on, that was funny!"

"You have a concussion, don't you?"

He wipes his eyes with the heels of his palms, settling on the edge of your bed. "Honestly? If you weren't so terrifying, I'd be impressed."

"Excuse me?"

"You're terrifying," he deadpans. "You sprayed me in the eyes and insulted me all within five minutes. That's worse than most of my Tinder dates. Not by much, but still."

You fold your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him. "Maybe don't go crawling into beds with strangers."

"Technically, you're the stranger," he quips, pointing a finger at you. "And you've maced and verbally abused me. That's a lot for a first impression."

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Unbelievable. Are you always this irritating?"

"I like to think of myself as…persistently charming," he smiles.

You give him a dry look, your eyes narrowing. "You're the human equivalent of an unsolicited dick pic."

"Oof," he winces, placing his hand over his heart. "Okay, that one hurt. But also...kinda hot that you're this mean."

You blink at him. "Do girls actually fall for this crap?"

"Usually," he shrugs.

"Well, congratulations," you scoff. "You've officially found the girl who's immune to your bullshit."

He holds up his hands in surrender, laughing softly. "Okay, you've made your point. I'm sorry I invaded your bed. I didn't mean to scare you like that. I apologise."

Your face softens ever so slightly, giving him a curt nod. "Thank you."

"But also," he adds, leaning back on his hands, "you're hilarious. And clearly not afraid to defend your space. We should be friends."

You stare at him. "What?"

"Friends," he repeats, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "You and me. I'm serious."

You narrow your eyes once more. "You literally came here to hook up with my roommate."

"Which clearly isn't happening anymore," he sighs, lounging on your bed like he's at a beach club. "But now I've met you. And I like you."

You scoff. "You don't know me."

"I know you don't care about going to a hot party and hooking up on Halloween night, and would absolutely tase someone if you had the chance. Right?"

You pause. That…is not incorrect.

"I also know that girls like you usually avoid guys like me. Which is fair. But still…" He swings his legs off the bed, standing up. "I want to be friends."

"Why would we do that?" you ask, genuinely curious.

He grins. "Because you're the first girl who's actually told me I'm full of shit to my face."

You open your mouth, then close it again, and he takes that as a win.

"Anyway, I'll see you around," he smiles, walking toward the door. "If Jieun asks, tell her I tested positive for an STD or something."

You roll your eyes. "Get out!"

He's halfway out when he turns back and winks. "Nice meeting you, ___."

"Likewise, Satan," you grumble, gesturing for him to shut the door.

He laughs, loud and boyish, and disappears down the hall. And just like that, your quiet Halloween night turned into something totally unexpected.

You met Jeon Jungkook. And he wants to be your friend.

God help you.

The library is dead silent, but your soul is screaming.

You've been staring at the same paragraph in your property law textbook for the past eleven minutes and it's starting to feel unbearable. You've underlined the phrase "freehold estates" three times in three different colours, and it still means absolutely nothing to you. Your highlighter is on life support, your brain is fried, and you'd sell your soul for caffeine.

But instead of caffeine, you get Jungkook. Perfect.

"Hey, bestie."

You flinch so hard your pen skitters off the desk.

He slides into the seat across from you like he owns it, as if you invited him. As if this is a casual meet-up instead of a sacred study bubble you built with blood, sweat, and overpriced stationery.

"Why," you whisper, your eyes narrowing, "are you here?"

He blinks innocently, shrugging. "Checking on my friend. You did say we'd be friends."

You raise a skeptical brow.

He leans in closer, his voice mock-offended and far too loud for the library. "Which is interesting, because I've texted you three times this week and you haven't replied once."

You open your mouth, then close it, unable to come up with a valid excuse.

"I had to force you to give me your number last week when we ran into each other in the cafeteria," he continues, his arms crossed over his chest. "Do you always ghost your friends, or am I just special?"

You groan, rubbing your temples. "I've been busy, Jungkook."

"You probably didn't even save my contact," he mumbles dramatically. "I'm still just a number. I feel so objectified."

You blink at him, fighting the chuckle threatening to bubble up your throat. "You're so dramatic."

"And you're so avoidant. Classic enemies-to-friends arc," he muses. "We're already ahead of schedule."

You roll your eyes, glancing back down at your textbook. You really don't have time for this, but Jungkook props his chin on his hand and looks at you with that annoyingly charming smile of his, like he's got nowhere else to be. Like being here, distracting you, is the most important thing in the world.

You hate how disarming it is.

"You done soon?" he asks.

"I have a property law test tomorrow," you mutter dryly. "So, no. I will never be done. I will die in this library and haunt the footnotes of this stupid textbook."

He laughs loudly, earning a 'shhhh!' from a student two tables away. "What if I bribe you with coffee?"

You look up, contemplating it for a second before going back to the dreaded textbook.

"Not interested," you mutter lowly, though it's not even convincing to your own ears.

"You're clearly tired," he scoffs, raising an eyebrow. "And cranky. And there's a weird twitch in your left eye. Come on, ___. Take a break with me."

You purse your lips, letting out a deep sigh. The twitch is real. And your head is pounding. And caffeine does sound like heaven right now.

"You're really annoying," you mutter. "I mean it."

"I've been told," he grins, rising from the chair like he's already won. "Come on. Twenty-minute coffee break. Your brain cells will thank me."

Against your better judgment, and possibly because you might actually fall asleep in your chair, you shut your textbook and drag yourself to your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

"Fifteen minutes," you grumble. "If I fail this test, I'm blaming you."

"Fair," he shrugs, grinning as he holds the library's door open for you. "But at least you'll have had the best coffee of your life, so it'll be worth it."

The café is warm and noisy, filled with the comforting smell of espresso and baked goods. Students sit hunched over laptops. A barista is arguing with the espresso machine. Someone's crying in the corner over what sounds like an econ midterm.

You're halfway through the line when Jungkook turns to you, holding two fingers in front of the glass display.

"Okay," he huffs dramatically. "Crucial decision. Strawberry muffin or banana cinnamon walnut?"

You blink up at him, your eyes narrowing. "What?"

"I can't decide," he confesses, peering at them like they're ancient artefacts. "I want both but I can't get both. That's too much sugar and fat and I'll lose my abs. A girl licked whipped cream off my abs two days ago. I need them."

You snort, taking a step forward as the line starts moving again. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm serious," he whines. "Pick one for me. I trust your judgment for some reason."

You sigh in resignation. "Do you want nuts?"

"I don't like nuts," he mutters with a grimace. "But I also don't like not liking things. Feels like I'm limiting my potential."

You stare at him like he's actually insane.

He stares at the muffins.

"Banana walnut it is," you nod.

He looks at you like you just sentenced him to death. "Really? I was kinda hoping for strawberry."

"You said you don't like not liking things. Expand your horizons. Live a little. Face your fears. Eat the nut muffin."

He lets out a groan like he's being tortured. "If I hate it, this is on you."

"Oh relax, you'll live," you scoff, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What if I die?"

"If you die, I get that expensive laptop of yours."

He nods solemnly. "Deal."

After a long wait that's most definitely over fifteen minutes, you sit down at a corner table by the window, both of you nursing warm drinks. He watches you take the first sip of your mocha like you're some sort of science experiment.

"You were desperate for this, huh?" he chuckles.

"Don't judge me."

He laughs and takes a bite of the banana walnut muffin. He chews slowly, his face unreadable.

You watch him, waiting for the verdict.

He swallows, licks a crumb off his thumb, and looks pleasantly surprised. "…Woah. This is amazing."

You smile, sipping your coffee. "Told you."

"Who knew I liked nuts?"

"I did. You're welcome."

He leans back in his chair and smiles over at you. It's soft, genuine, not the usual grin he uses when he's being annoying.

"I'm starting to think we're meant to be," he quips.

You nearly choke. "Over a muffin?"

"Yeah. You just made a decision that changed my life. This is fate."

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks heat up nonetheless.

He nudges your foot gently under the table, slowly sliding the muffin over to you to taste.

"Thanks for coming with me."

You take a little bite of the muffin, nodding at the taste. "Thanks for the invitation."

And just like that, it starts. A small, insignificant tradition that might mean more some day, but for now, it's just comfortable and easy.

Just…friendship.

—

The kitchen is a mess. There's flour on your cheeks, frosting on your elbow, and a criminal amount of cupcake batter missing from the mixing bowl. Your cousin asked you to bake a batch of vanilla cupcakes for her bridal shower and of course, the new pain in your ass decided to come over to your dorm to 'help'.

"Jungkook," you warn, pointing your spatula at him, "if you eat one more spoon of raw batter, I will throw you out. And no, that's not a threat, it's a promise."

"I'm not eating it," he mumbles, his mouth full. "I'm...quality testing."

"You're gonna get salmonella and die."

"I'll die a happy man because this batter's really good," he grins.

You sigh, scraping the last of the creamy batter into the cupcake liners while Jungkook leans against the counter, licking the spoon you gave him to keep him busy. He has cake batter on the corner of his mouth, and somehow he still looks good. Ridiculously good. Stupidly, unfairly rude levels of good. You pretend not to notice.

"You're supposed to be helping," you sigh.

"I am helping," he says proudly. "You said these are for your cousin's bridal shower. What better way to show my support of the union than selflessly sacrificing my digestive system?"

"You don't have a logical bone in your body."

He grins, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "And yet, here I am, in your kitchen, helping a friend who desperately needed me."

"You invited yourself," you deadpan. "As usual."

He shrugs. "You didn't say no."

You sigh and slide the tray of cupcakes into the oven before setting the timer. The warmth of the kitchen hums around you. It smells like vanilla and feels like a comforting hug in the midst of exams and stress and the impending doom of early adulthood.

Jungkook hops onto the counter, swinging his legs to entertain himself now that the fun part—eating raw batter and watching you stress over quantities of baking powder—is over.

"I still can't believe you made all this from scratch," he murmurs, looking genuinely impressed. "These are, like…actual, professional cupcakes."

You wipe your hands on a dish towel, chuckling. "My cousin's paying me, so that's kinda the point."

He tilts his head, watching you intently. "You're really good at this."

Something in you blossoms at the compliment. He says it so casually, like it's obvious, like it's a fact. It feels good, something you're not sure you've felt before.

You smile faintly and sit down at the little table in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the mess around you; edible flowers, mixing bowls, an empty packet of cupcake liners.

"It's what I love," you murmur softly, a look of tenderness blooming in your gaze.

He raises a brow. "Baking?"

"Yeah," you nod. "Always have. Even when I was a kid. I used to make these terrible little chocolate chip cookies that were more like…burnt rocks...but I'd still force everyone in my family to eat them."

He laughs.

You don't.

"I used to dream about owning a bakery," you add, your voice a little softer, more vulnerable. "Still do, I guess."

There's a pause. He watches you, remaining quiet, waiting for you to elaborate without making a silly comment. You don't look at him, but you can feel it, the shift, his attention going from teasing to genuinely trying to understand you a little deeper.

"But…" you sigh, leaning your chin on your palm. "My parents want me to be a lawyer. That was always the plan. It's respectable. Stable. It makes sense."

"Do you want to be a lawyer?" he asks, his eyebrows knitting together.

You hesitate, letting out a deep sigh. It's as if a gate has opened inside your chest because you don't seem to hold anything back.

"No," you scoff. "Not even a little."

The confession feels heavier than you expected. It feels like you're finally being honest with yourself, which is far scarier than being honest with him. You can ignore his teasing remarks, but you can't ignore that little mocking voice in your head that tells you your dreams probably won't work out anyway.

Jungkook doesn't say anything right away. He just keeps swinging his legs slowly, tapping his fingers against the edge of the counter.

Finally, he asks, "Then why are you doing it?"

You roll your eyes, looking anywhere but his eyes. "Because…I'm good at it apparently...and they expect it. I don't want to disappoint them."

He nods slowly, his eyes downcast.

"You know what would be more disappointing?" he murmurs, his smile barely reaching his eyes.

You tilt your head, looking over at him.

"Waking up ten years from now and hating your life," he deadpans. "And never even trying."

Your chest tightens, your head racing with endless possibilities of a future you thought was already set out for you.

"You're so good at this, ___," he smiles, gesturing to the cupcakes in the oven, the kitchen, the part of you he wants to explore further. "Like, actually good. Not just hobby-good. This is your thing."

You swallow thickly, remaining silent. You don't usually tell people this stuff. You don't usually let yourself say it out loud because then it feels too real. Too scary. But for some reason…with him, it doesn't. You've come to realise he makes you feel seen, which is weird, considering he usually forgets girls' names and faces after a single encounter. This is different, though. You're not a girl he wants to sleep with. You're ___, the girl he wants to hang out with at 2am just because. You're the girl he genuinely wants to spend time with because he enjoys your company, your friendship. You like that. It makes this all feel more genuine.

There's a long beat of silence before you begrudgingly admit the thoughts plaguing you. "You can be really sweet when you're not being an idiot."

He laughs, his nose scrunching up in that way that makes your stomach feel tingly and fluttery. "Don't spread that around. I have a specific brand to maintain."

You laugh, loud and sincere.

"I think you'd make a great bakery owner," he murmurs softly, flicking some leftover flour in your direction.

You wave him off like it's nothing and check your cupcakes, but for the first time since you started studying law, you finally believe you're capable of more than settling, all thanks to the boy on your counter with flour in his hair and sincerity in his eyes.

—

It's almost midnight when Jungkook's phone buzzes on the nightstand. He's half-asleep, sprawled out on his bed, wearing nothing but his boxers, one sock missing. He squints at the screen through bleary eyes, seeing your contact name.

He's awake in an instant.

"Hello?" he croaks, already sitting up, his hair sticking up in all directions. He hears the catch in your voice before you even say a word.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, sniffling. "Did I wake you?"

His heart drops. "Are you okay?"

"...Seungcheol...he cheated on me."

Jungkook is already pulling on sweatpants before the word 'cheated' leaves your lips.

Of course. Fucking Seungcheol. You weren't even really looking for love when you met him. He was just a friend of a friend in one of your classes—a smooth talker who carried around a leather briefcase like he was already a full-time lawyer instead of a sleep-deprived undergrad. Jungkook never liked him, always thought he was a bit pretentious, but of course he wouldn't burst your bubble. Looks like he was right about the dick after all.

"I'll be there in ten."

You open your dorm door in your pajamas, eyes red, nose pink. Your expression crumples the moment you see him, and he doesn't hesitate, just wraps you up in his arms, no questions asked.

Even after just seven months of friendship, you cling to Jungkook like a lifeline, like he'll put all your broken pieces together again. Sure, your relationship with Seungcheol only lasted two months but that means a lot to an eighteen-year-old, so there are still a lot of broken pieces nonetheless.

"He said he didn't mean to," you mumble against his chest while you lie in bed together, willingly this time. "Like that makes it better. Like I should be grateful that it only happened once."

Jungkook exhales hard, like he's trying not to yell. "He's a fucking idiot."

"He said I made him feel…small. That I was trying to outsmart him. That I was too independent. That I...made him feel like he couldn't 'be the man', whatever that means."

Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes fierce, his hands cupping your face.

"You are smart. And independent. And so beautiful. And funny. And you make the best desserts in this entire goddamn city. If he couldn't handle that, it's not because you were too much. It's because he just wasn't enough."

Your eyes well up again, tears silently slipping down your cheeks.

"He cheated with a really pretty girl. Blonde. Really big boobs," you grumble.

Jungkook's voice softens, his thumbs stroking your wet cheeks. "Don't compare yourself to some other girl. You are...so fucking gorgeous, by the way."

You snort, shaking your head. "Shut up."

"I'm serious." His thumb brushes away another tear. "You walk around like you're not insanely beautiful, and you think no one notices. But I do, ___."

You stare at him, stunned into silence.

He shrugs, pulling you closer to rest your head against his chest. "Just saying. Don't cry over some knock-off loser when you're literally you."

He stays wrapped around you for as long as you need, one hand gently running through your hair. You sniffle into his neck, your eyes eventually fluttering shut from the warmth and safety of it all.

Eventually, you fall asleep against his chest, breathing steady, a hand loosely clutching his hoodie.

Jungkook remains still, simply looking at you, admiring you in all your glory. Memorising the curve of your cheek against his collarbone. The way your lips part ever so slightly when you dream. The way your fingers curl, even in your sleep, like you're afraid to let go.

He's not the guy who stays for too long. Not the guy who commits. He's built his whole identity around not being that guy, but holding you like this, he kinda wishes he was.

He stares up at the ceiling and sighs, a quiet, hopeless sound.

"I wish I could be the man you need," he whispers into the dark. "But I'm not there yet. I don't know if I ever will be."

And even though you're fast asleep, you still mumble something soft and unintelligible into his chest. You still hold on, and so does he.

—

Your dorm room is lit by a single lamp, the soft yellow glow contrasting violently with the hyper-pink DVD menu of Legally Blonde looping on your laptop. You've watched it a million times before but it's a Friday night and you're having a movie night with Jungkook, so naturally, you're introducing him to one of the classics.

Jungkook is sprawled across your bed, legs crossed at the ankles, one hand buried in a bowl of popcorn and the other dramatically thrown over his forehead as if he's on his deathbed.

"I swear I don't deserve this," he groans. "I mean...I know I call her Number Three but she didn't have to ghost me just because I wouldn't be exclusive with her. I was actually planning on seeing her again and then calling it off, like a gentleman."

You blink, glancing over at him. "Number Three?"

He sighs. "We've been over this, remember? The girl from the accounting party. Short. Cute. Gave me a hickey shaped like a continent. I think South America?"

You stare at him, slowly shaking your head. "You're insufferable."

He brightens. "Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"You say that," he grins, grabbing another handful of popcorn, "but I feel like you secretly admire my dedication to the craft."

"What craft?" you deadpan. "Being a man-whore?"

He gasps, clutching his chest. "You wound me."

"And you wound women," you chuckle.

"Wow. That hurt, ___."

You toss a pillow at him but he dodges like an athlete. Of course he does. Jackass.

Eventually, when the popcorn is half finished and your patience is half gone, you nod toward the laptop screen. "I'm honestly surprised you're not out tonight."

He blinks. "What do you mean?"

"It's Friday," you deadpan. "Your natural habitat is...I don't know...bars, random beds, broom closets. Anywhere but here watching Legally Blonde with me."

He pouts, actually pouts.

"Hey, I like hanging out with you. I cancelled plans to hang out with you."

You scoff, visibly unconvinced. You secretly feel very special and quite flattered, but that has to be too good to be true, right?

He continues casually, "I'm not completely heartless, you know. I have layers. I'm like an onion. A sexy onion."

You snort. "Please never say 'sexy onion' again."

"But it's true!" he insists, nudging your calf with his foot. "I really like hanging out with you. You're fun, easy to talk to, and you don't pretend to be someone else around me."

"And your other girls do?"

"They pretend to like whatever I like, dislike whatever I dislike. It gets boring listening to them just agree with whatever I say."

You roll your eyes. "Poor baby."

He rolls his eyes right back, as if you don't understand how hard it all is for him.

"You know what your problem is?" you ask, adjusting the laptop and pressing play.

"Oh, here we go."

"You don't believe in romance. Or in actual relationships. Or in…anything that requires feelings."

That's not entirely true, but he shrugs anyway. "Feelings are messy. Hookups are simple. Everyone wins."

"Not everyone," you mumble under your breath, your eyes trained on the laptop screen.

He tilts his head, his mouth stuffed with more popcorn. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You ignore his question and push on. "I just…I don't get it. How can you have meaningless sex with someone? Doesn't it feel empty?"

"Actually when I do it, they usually feel very full," he smirks.

You throw a balled-up pair of socks at his face and he catches it one-handed. What a show-off.

"Look," you clarify, sighing, "I'm just saying, I personally...want something real. Someday. Something that actually matters. A person who actually matters."

"Happily ever after, huh?" he teases.

"Maybe," you mutter, growing defensive. "Why not?"

He makes a face as if you just told him the Earth is flat. "Uhmmm...because that doesn't exist."

"You're so dramatic, yes it does."

"You're the dramatic one!" he argues. "You act like the universe is going to drop Prince Charming out of the sky."

"Maybe it will."

"It won't," he laughs.

You sigh, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance. "You don't know that."

"I do. I know love ends in heartbreak ninety-nine percent of the time."

"So what? You avoid the one percent just in case it hurts?" you challenge.

"Yes," he chuckles carelessly. "And I'm thriving."

You stare at him for a long moment—this beautiful, aggravating, confusing man who can make you laugh until your ribs hurt and then say something that makes you want to shake him.

He has no idea what he does to people.

Especially you.

Especially because lately you've been catching yourself staring at his hands more when he gestures, or the way his hair falls into his eyes while he plays video games, or the sweet, sincere smile he gives you right before he ruins the moment and says something stupid.

You refuse to acknowledge any of it. Crushes on Jungkook are a disease, and you are absolutely vaccinated.

You distract yourself with the movie. Elle Woods is about to confront Warner. Great scene. Then—

His phone buzzes on the bed. Just once.

You don't mean to look but your eyes flick down instinctively while he rambles absentmindedly about the scene playing out on screen.

There's an unanswered text still waiting on the screen from his friend, Seokjin, asking about some business admin assignment. He didn't bother to respond yet. You're sure Seokjin is used to him taking forever to respond to texts, considering they've known each other since high school and now share a few classes together, which you found out on a tipsy Wednesday night when Jungkook decided to share his whole life story with you.

That's not the text that matters right now. The second text is the one that really catches your eye. The number isn't saved, but you don't have to be a genius to know that it's one of his hookups.

xx - xxx [10:32pm]: i had a lot of fun tonight. same time tomorrow ??

He slept with someone. He had sex with some girl literally right before coming over.

Your stomach drops. It shouldn't—not when you've known him for almost a year and you know him to be this way—but it does anyway. It drops because he said he cancelled plans to be with you, but it turns out you're just leftovers.

And now he's here, laughing with you, acting like you're such good company, when in reality you were the afterthought once again. The backup plan. The safe, comfortable option when he's done with whatever girl came before.

You clear your throat. "Your, uhm...your phone buzzed."

"Oh?" he mutters lazily, not even reaching for it. "Probably Jin. He's obsessed with me," he jokes.

You look back at the laptop screen before he can see your face. Your voice is neutral when you murmur, "You should probably respond. Maybe it's important."

"Nah," he shrugs. "I'm here. I'm hanging out with you."

You nod, forcing a smile.

Something inside you clicks—a silent, sharp realisation. This is who Jungkook is. This is who Jungkook will always be. He's funny, and charming, and a little bit addictive, if you're being completely honest.

But Jungkook will never be yours.

He will never be the perfect man for you. He will never be your one percent. So, you bury the tiny, blooming crush before it can grow roots, and you decide firmly, painfully, that a friend is all he'll ever be to you.

And you're sure you can live with that.

Ten years later...

If someone had told you back in university that the chaotic intruder you maced with Chanel perfume would become your favourite person, you would've recommended they seek help urgently.

And yet, ten years later, here you are.

Somehow, despite Jungkook's questionable life choices, endless line of women, and the fact that he once tried to microwave ramen without water, the two of you grew into something solid. Something constant. Something quietly threaded into every part of your adult life.

You grew up together.

Late-night study sessions turned into late-night grocery runs. His hangovers turned into your "you have to stop being so irresponsible" lectures. Your heartbreaks turned into his "give me his address" threats. You were there to celebrate with him when he landed his first high-paying corporate job and he was there to support you when you were grieving your dad's passing.

You became inseparable. A matched set. A pair of platonic soulmates. And in the past ten years, your life took a path younger you would've fainted over.

Sure, you graduated with your law degree and your family was proud, your grandmother bragged to her knitting group, and you spent several months pretending you were totally thrilled to be entering a profession that slowly devoured human souls.

But the truth? You hated it. The corporate offices. The endless contracts. The panic attacks you had in bathroom stalls pretending everything was fine. Law was stable and respectable, but it sucked the life out of you.

Your dream had always smelled like sugar, butter, and rising dough, so one day, with the determination your professors once called "excessive," you quit your job, emptied your savings, fought with your mom for a full year about your life choices, and opened the bakery you always wanted.

Honey & Hearth Bakery; your pride and joy, your entire heart with an overpriced oven attached. The tiny cake shop that eventually grew into a beloved neighbourhood spot with warm lighting, mismatched mugs, cozy booths, and the smell of fresh bread always lingering in the air.

And Jungkook? Well, he painted the walls baby-pink with you at 1am and drilled shelves with no prior experience. He showed up to your grand opening with an extravagant flower bouquet, three balloons that were far too big and dramatic for a bakery opening, and a promise to always support you and your happiness.

He's been your most loyal customer ever since.

Which brings you to now.

The bell above the front door jingles at 8 on a Thursday morning and you don't have to look up to know who it is.

"Morning, superstar," Jungkook calls out, his voice warm and annoyingly bright for a man who has a meeting to attend in an hour. Working in the corporate world isn't the most thrilling profession in life, but he earns the big bucks and he looks hot wearing a suit, and that's enough for him.

You grin without turning around, already whipping up his coffee. "You're late."

"It's 8," he scoffs, winking at a random woman that walks past him.

"Your usual time is 7:20."

"Sorry. Morning sex happened," he sighs, sliding onto his usual stool at the front counter. "That girl from the bar stayed the night and don't get me wrong, she's hot, but I had to explain the whole 'no overstaying your welcome' rule."

"Is that a part of your 'no back-to-back sex' rule?"

"Yes, exactly," he sighs.

"Isn't that basically the same thing as your 'no more than once a week' rule?"

"No, the 'no more than once a week' rule specifically only works from Monday to Friday."

You scoff. "Oh, so theoretically you could sleep with someone on Sunday night and it wouldn't break the rule if you slept with them again on Monday morning?"

"Now you're getting it," he nods.

You finally glance over your shoulder, listening to him go on a long tangent about his recent sexual endeavours. He's completely different from the mischievous boy who crawled into your bed a decade ago…yet somehow exactly the same. Older now, bigger, broader, jaw sharper, hair perfectly styled. Still stupidly handsome in that infuriating, effortless way.

"Pick one for me," he grins, looking over at the pastry case.

That little tradition certainly didn't end in university. In fact, it's become an every-morning thing. He comes in before work and insists you surprise him with a new pastry to try. Apparently it keeps him on his toes, which he believes is very important in life.

You lean against the counter, your arms crossed. "Hmm. What's your vibe today?"

"I don't know," he sighs, pretending to think. "Handsome. Dashing. Maybe a little mysterious."

"Delusional," you chuckle.

"See? This is why this works," he smiles. "You keep me humble."

"What about a slice of apple and cherry crumble?"

"Nah, I had that one last week," he shakes his head.

"Lemon butter cream cup maybe?"

"Not really feeling a cream cup today," he shrugs.

"Hmmm..." You scan the display of desserts, pursing your lips. "Pistachio croissant?"

"___, come on. You're losing your touch," he teases.

"Okay, okay, uhmmm..." You scan the display once more, picking a popular new item on the menu. "Okay, today you're getting the honeycomb and lavender custard tart."

He lights up instantly, like a puppy being offered a treat. "Yes. Excellent choice. I knew you'd pick that."

"You didn't know anything," you scoff, plating it for him.

"I had a feeling."

"You always have a feeling."

"And it's always right," he grins.

The bell rings at the front door and you quickly turn your attention to the cash register to serve one of your regular customers, Mrs. Park—an elderly woman who always makes pleasant conversation and compares you to her granddaughter. She's incredibly nice and always compliments you on the frilly dresses you wear.

"What will it be today, Mrs. Park?" you smile sweetly.

"My usual, dear," she chuckles warmly. "One of those lovely chocolate eclairs of yours. My daughter tells me I should stop eating them so much because of my blood sugar but what she doesn't know won't hurt her."

You chuckle, wrapping one up for her in a little pastel-pink box, taking her cash with a polite bow of your head. "My lips are sealed," you wink.

She laughs and takes the box before walking off with a little wave of her wrinkled hand.

That brings you back to the man waiting for his breakfast.

"Here," you murmur, sliding the plate and mug of coffee toward him. "Eat and try not to break anything. You already broke two mugs last month and I'm seriously going to start charging you for them."

He takes a big bite of the mini tart and groans in delight. "God, marry me."

"You literally just told me about how you were balls deep in some girl from the bar," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "Besides, you fake-propose to me every morning."

"And I mean it every morning."

You snort. "Please. You'd never."

He leans an elbow on the counter. "Only because you'd divorce me for eating in bed and getting crumbs on the sheets," he sighs, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Correct," you nod, wiping down the counter. "I have standards."

He sets down his mug and straightens up, getting to what he's been meaning to discuss this morning. "So, you busy this Saturday?"

You shrug, mentally checking your schedule. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Because I need you."

You pause. "You do?"

"It's an invitation actually."

"Okay…" you murmur sceptically, narrowing your eyes at him. "To what?"

"My father's engagement party. Shocker."

Your rag pauses mid-swipe across the counter. "Which one?"

"Engagement or father?" he grins.

"Both."

"Engagement number ten. Father number one."

You blink. "Ten?"

"Ten," he repeats, like it physically pains him. "She's twenty-three, gorgeous, has a skincare routine that could bankrupt nations. I think she was in diapers when my dad got married the third time."

You gape. "Wait, who's the one that sold protein powder on Instagram?"

"That was number eight." He takes another sip of his coffee. "This one does yoga retreats in Bali and says things like 'alignment is a mindset'. Ridiculous, I know. And she only wears bags that are made from real baby alligator, allegedly."

"That's disgusting and inhumane," you grimace. "So...why do you need me?"

"Because," he groans, "he's having some fancy dinner-slash-engagement party and he wants me there, and I am not suffering through that circus alone. And my dad likes you. And you make me look balanced and emotionally stable."

"That's a lot of responsibility for one woman," you tease.

He shrugs. "You used to handle lawsuits for fun."

"Yeah but I don't do law anymore," you deadpan.

"You still look like you could send someone to jail," he grins, taking another bite of his dessert. "Anyway, you know how these things go. Everyone's going to ask why I'm still single, and I'll end up getting irritated because my dad's fiancée—who's younger than me—insists on calling me 'sweetie'. I need backup. Please come, ___. I'll owe you forever."

You laugh softly, leaning across the counter. "You already owe me forever, Jeon."

"Yeah, but this time I'll actually admit it," Jungkook mumbles, meeting your eyes with that boyish half-smile that hasn't changed in a decade.

"Fine. I'll go," you sigh, tossing the rag into the sink.

Jungkook beams, and you pretend your stomach doesn't flip.

"You're amazing," he grins and claps once, pushing off the counter with a mouth full of custard tart. "I'll pick you up at seven on Saturday. Wear something fancy. And also maybe emotionally prepare yourself."

"For what?" You chuckle.

He grimaces. "Stepmom Number Ten is…a handful."

You chuckle. "Aren't they always?"

He points at you as he backs toward the door. "Exactly why you're coming with me."

The bell jingles again as he leaves, and your day continues with familiar customers while he rushes through the morning traffic.

Jungkook's father's estate is something you would never be able to afford even if you opened ten more bakeries. Calling it a house would be like calling the Titanic a canoe. There are fountains—yes, plural. There is a driveway long enough to train for a marathon. There's valet parking and a floral arch made of white roses that look like they cost more than your entire bakery.

And there are people. A lot of people. Champagne clinks in the air, soft jazz plays somewhere in the distance, and laughter rolls in every direction.

You exhale, adjusting the strap on your dress. "I always feel very commoner-in-the-palace when I'm here."

Jungkook tucks your hand into the crook of his arm, pulling you closer as he leans in, looking dapper in his black tux. "Relax. You're one of the only sane people here. That automatically makes you royalty."

"Does it?"

"Yes," he smiles confidently. "And when my father inevitably lets me inherit this place, which I'll force him to do, then I'll make you queen of the fountains."

You snort. "I don't want to be queen of the fountains."

"Too late. You've been coronated." He taps your forehead with his finger. "Boop."

You roll your eyes, but your chest warms. He always does that; makes you feel like you belong wherever he is.

Inside, the party is in full swing. There are waiters weaving between people, guests mingling in glitter and silk, the future bride squealing in a voice that sounds like it's powered by helium and Mr. Jeon himself proudly showing off the engagement ring on her finger that could double as a murder weapon. There's even a towering cake on display, five tiers of gold-trimmed extravagance that you can't wait to recreate in your free time.

Jungkook grabs two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and hands you one, taking a big gulp.

The moment his father spots the two of you, his entire face lights up.

"There's my favourite duo!" Jeon Jaehyun sweeps you both into a hug—more you than Jungkook. Jungkook gets a pat on the back like a border collie. You get an affectionate double cheek kiss and a squeeze.

"Mr. Jeon," you greet with a polite bow and a soft smile. You've always liked him. He makes questionable choices when it comes to women, but he's nice and he always treats you like you're a part of the family. It's also clear where Jungkook gets his good looks from, not that you ever look for too long or else he'd make you Wife Number Eleven.

"You look stunning tonight, sweetheart," he beams. "I tell you, if I were thirty years younger—"

"You'd still be making terrible decisions, dad," Jungkook cuts in, unamused.

Jaehyun clicks his tongue. "I'll have you know, son, that marriage is an unpredictable thing."

You glance at the fiancée across the room, who is taking a selfie with the champagne tower, not noticing that she's flashing half the guests.

"Unpredictable, huh?" you echo with a soft smile. Sure.

The fiancée, Seulgi—with a gorgeous face, waist-length extensions and breasts that defy gravity—bounces over.

"Kookieee," she sings. Her voice is airy, like her brain has never had to carry anything heavier than a single thought.

"Kookie?" you whisper.

He grimaces. "Don't."

"Oh my gosh, is this your girlfriend?" she asks, looking you up and down like you're a lost child she found at the mall. "I didn't know my future stepson has a special lady!"

"This is ___," he sighs. "My best friend. Strictly platonic."

Seulgi nods, smiling like she understands exactly none of those words, before turning her attention to her future husband. "Love-muffin," she coos, kissing Jungkook's father on the cheek. "The guests are asking when we're cutting the cake."

Jungkook leans toward you, whispering, "My dad's nickname for her is Sugarpuss."

You almost choke on your champagne. "No."

"Yes," he grins sarcastically.

His father pats her waist affectionately, grabbing your attention. "Isn't she wonderful?"

She smiles. "I got my nails done for today."

She wiggles her fingers in front of your face. They're pink and sparkly and probably cost more than your monthly grocery bill.

You smile, nodding. "Very pretty."

"Thank you!" she squeals. "I got them done at—oh look, champagne!" She wanders away mid-sentence.

Jungkook closes his eyes, groaning. "My latest stepmother, ladies and gentlemen."

Jaehyun gives you both an apologetic smile. "Listen, she's...youthful. Nothing wrong with that."

"She probably can't even spell 'youthful', dad," Jungkook deadpans.

Before Jaehyun can respond, another round of shrieking laughter erupts from Seulgi's direction. Jaehyun sighs deeply, chuckling.

You squeeze his arm, a soft smile settling on your face. "Congratulations. I really hope you're happy, Mr. Jeon."

He softens at that, looking between you and Jungkook. "With people like the two of you around? Hard not to be."

Jungkook, knowing how much of a sap you are, drags you away before you can tear up, but that doesn't stop you from clutching your chest like your heart might physically burst right through it.

The buffet tables are the size of actual battle stations. You and Jungkook each grab cake slices and slip outside, where fairy lights glow over small round tables. You sit at one, kicking off your heels with a relieved sigh.

"Vanilla for you," Jungkook says, sliding your plate over. "Chocolate for me."

"And we share," you remind him.

"We always share."

You scoop a bite of chocolate from his plate. He steals some vanilla from yours. It's instinctual.

While you eat, you glance out at the dance floor. Couples are slow dancing under the lights, chins tucked against shoulders, fingers intertwined, faces soft with something that makes your chest ache a little.

"I love that," you murmur softly.

Jungkook follows your gaze. "What? Dancing?"

"No," you scoff, taking a small bite of the vanilla cake. "The...closeness. The comfort. You know, two people who actually like being around each other."

He snorts, stuffing his mouth with cake. "Boring."

"You literally treat dating like a casual sport," you mutter, rolling your eyes. "You can't even do something as simple as cuddling."

"I could cuddle if I really wanted to," he mumbles defensively, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Jungkook, you once pushed a girl off your chest because she said your heartbeat sounded like a lullaby."

He points his fork at you. "Okay, but after I pushed her off of me, I played her an actual lullaby on Spotify, so..."

You laugh so loudly someone glances over at your table.

He leans back in his chair, studying you. "You should be more spontaneous. You fall in love too quickly and you assume every boyfriend is the one. You ever think maybe you'd have more fun if you didn't plan out every part of your life?"

"I'm not planning," you argue, eating a forkful of the chocolate cake. "I just...I like security and stability in life."

"Or," he counters, "you're waiting for this perfect man who doesn't exist."

You shrug, absentmindedly poking the cake with your fork. "I'm not looking for perfect; I'm looking for someone who sees a future with me, not a guy who 'goes with the flow' because he doesn't know how to commit. Someone I can build a life with."

He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you. "One; that's kinda delusional. Two; you're twenty-eight, you still have time for all that later in life."

"Not according to my mom. She believes I should have been married and had babies by now."

"That's insane," he scoffs. "I'm thirty and I'm perfectly fine the way I am."

"We're very different people with very opposing views on relationships, Jungkook," you murmur gently. "And besides, I do kinda agree with her to a certain extent. I want to build something soon and not waste time dating men who only want a weekend. I'll die alone if I don't get a move on."

He softens, almost imperceptibly. "You don't have to rush. It'll happen with the right person when it's meant to be."

You nod down at your plate, dragging your fork through some frosting. "Yeah. I guess."

"Besides, do you want to get married just for the sake of being married? Look at my father who's on his tenth marriage and soon, his tenth divorce."

"Don't be so negative," you murmur with a faint smile. "Maybe this one will be his person."

"My mom was supposed to be his person," he grumbles, picking at the vanilla cake. "This one is just another mistake to add to the list."

"Jungkook," you smile. "Even if you know it's a mistake but it's not your place to intervene, you simply say, 'I'm happy you're happy' and move along."

"Yeah, yeah," he scoffs, bringing his fork up to his lips. "You're always right. I hate that."

You chuckle, taking another bite of his slice of cake. The moment settles between you, and you take it as an opportunity to share something with him that's been on your mind lately.

"Speaking of being spontaneous…"

"Oh no," he teases. "That tone is never good."

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. "No, it's not anything crazy, it's just...I've kinda been thinking about going to London for the summer."

His fork freezes halfway to his mouth, his eyes growing double its size. "London?"

"Mhm. For a short pastry course," you explain. "Three months at this prestigious culinary institute. It's kinda a dream opportunity."

Jungkook is silent, his fork gently clinking against the plate as he sets it down.

"When were you gonna tell me?" he asks softly. He's not upset, just very caught off guard.

"Just now," you shrug. "I was on the fence about it for a while."

"Wow," he swallows thickly. "Three months?"

You nod.

He forces a small smile, the kind of smile he uses when he doesn't like something but refuses to ruin things for you. It's a smile that tells you he doesn't know how to live without you for that long, but he'll pretend like he's totally fine.

"That's…wow, that's amazing, ___."

"Yeah." You pick at your cake some more. "But I don't know. It's expensive and I'd be away from the bakery for months, and I've never been out of the country alone before, and—"

"Hey," he smiles, softly nudging your knee under the table. "You can do it."

"I don't know," you mumble. "It feels like…a big jump."

"You like big jumps."

"No, you like big jumps. I like stable ground, a clear path and preferably a railing."

He grins. "I'll install a railing in London."

You glare at him but your laughter slips out effortlessly.

His smile softens even more. "Seriously. If you want it, go for it. The bakery will survive. The other staff can run it. And you should do things for yourself for once. You're always taking care of everyone else."

You open your mouth to argue, then shut it when you realise you don't have an argument. You hate that he's not wrong.

"I'll miss home," you mutter quietly.

"Home will always be here, ___, it isn't going anywhere," he shrugs. "Seoul will always be your home. Three months in London won't magically change that."

You want to tell him that you'll miss him as well, but saying that you'll miss home is close enough. It's one in the same anyway.

"And," he adds, "if you get lost, I'll fly over and find you."

You roll your eyes. "Right, because you're definitely responsible enough for that."

"Hey, I'd bring a GPS."

You chuckle, leaning back in your chair as warm air settles around you, the fairy lights flickering overhead and Jungkook licking frosting off his fork like it's nothing.

"You think I'll do well?"

"Of course," he smiles, nudging your shoulder. "It's you. You're gonna shine. And I'll visit, or we'll video call...or I'll just break into the institute and steal you back."

You laugh, but your chest tightens. He's trying so hard to be happy for you. You can tell.

"You sure you'll survive without me?"

He scoffs dramatically. "If anything, I'll thrive. I'll become stronger, faster, a new man."

"Right," you chuckle. "You'll last three days before you start texting me pictures of pastries and asking which one to buy."

"I give it two," he admits in defeat.

You laugh, the last of the tension easing as the music swells in the distance. Your face slowly melts into a tender smile, your eyes softening ever so gently. It all feels so warm and intimate, and strangely bittersweet.

"Thank you for always supporting me," you murmur quietly.

"Always," he smiles before feeding you a piece of cake on his fork.

You're mid-bite into your cake when Jungkook's entire face suddenly drains of colour.

"Oh no," he whispers.

You pause, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What?"

He doesn't answer in words. Instead, he subtly tilts his head toward the patio doors.

You follow his gaze. A woman in a tight pencil skirt and glasses, hair in a too-tight bun, is clutching a binder to her chest like it's a bible and she's about to testify. Her eyes scan the place with an intensity that could cut steel.

"Uhm…who is that?" you whisper.

"One of my dad's senior analysts." He swallows, setting down his fork. "Her name's Yuri."

"She looks...friendly," you tease.

"She made a blog about me," he hisses.

Your eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"A blog. It's called 'All Things Jungkook'. Can you believe that?"

You snicker, covering your mouth so you don't get cake everywhere. "You're kidding."

"I wish."

You laugh too loudly and Jungkook shushes you frantically before it can catch Yuri's attention.

"She wrote an entire essay analysing my facial structure," he whispers. "Like, paragraphs. There were diagrams."

You bite your bottom lip to keep from cackling, your face contorting with amusement. "Diagrams?"

"She compared my jawline to Renaissance sculptures," he mutters miserably. "Sculptures, ___."

You wheeze.

"At least she doesn't think my nose is too big or my arms are too scrawny," he adds under his breath, pouting.

You stop laughing, your smile fading.

"Who said that?"

He stares at you.

"You did," he scoffs. "Back in university."

You gasp. "I did not say that!"

"You did," he nods solemnly. "You also said my top lip is too thin."

You slap a hand over your mouth, horrified and amused all at once. "Okay, to be fair, I was an extremely critical eighteen-year-old who was drowning in law textbooks, so I didn't really have a nice thing to say about anyone."

He looks in Yuri's direction, who is still scanning the crowd like a Terminator. "She's gonna see me. She's gonna corner me and ask if I read her four-page analysis about my eyebrows."

You're already laughing again.

"___," he begs, grabbing your wrist. "Dance with me."

"Wait, what?"

"Please," he hisses. "If I'm on the dance floor with someone, she won't approach me."

You arch a brow. "You want me to publicly claim you as occupied?"

"Yes."

You chuckle faintly but stand anyway. "You so owe me."

The music has shifted to something smooth and slow—a romantic melody playing that makes older couples sway like they're reliving their youth. Jungkook places a hand lightly on your waist as you join the crowd. It's familiar but warmer than usual. Or maybe it's the champagne going to your head.

You rest your left hand on his shoulder and your right hand in his palm as you both begin to sway, your faces a lot closer together than they usually are.

"Okay," you smile, "which part of your face did she analyse the hardest?"

"My jaw," he mutters. "Apparently it has a 'mathematically perfect slope', or something like that."

You smile, letting him sway you to the music. "Well, she's not wrong."

He does a double take, staring at you like you said something completely crazy.

"What?" you chuckle.

"What did you just say?" he asks, leaning in closer.

"I said she's not wrong," you shrug.

He squints at you. "You used to call me a pretentious dick."

"That was also true."

He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

You grin, then hesitate just a fraction, but he notices.

"What is it?" he asks softly.

You shouldn't say it. You really shouldn't say it, but the music is soft, and the lights are warm, and you're pressed just a bit too close to a man you trust more than anyone in the world, so you blurt it out before you can stop yourself.

"I always thought you were...cute. You know, back in the day. I might've...had a little crush on you..."

His entire body goes still, his eyes growing wide.

"You what?"

"It was a teeny tiny...stupid crush," you clarify. "Very small and insignificant. Microscopic, actually."

Jungkook continues to stare at you, his lips parting in disbelief. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"You..." he scoffs, smiling. "You had a crush on me?"

"Don't say it like that," you chuckle, growing flustered.

"No, I'm just..." He searches your face, bewildered and—although he tries to hide it—quite pleased. "I thought you hated me in university."

"Oh, please. If I hated you, I wouldn't have wasted my time insulting you."

He laughs, loud and delighted.

"So, all those insults were, what? You flirting?"

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Calm down, Jeon."

"You secretly pined for me," he grins smugly, gently twirling you around until you're facing him again.

"Pined? Relax. It lasted, like, two weeks."

"Mhm, sure," he teases. "I bet you were doodling my name in all your notebooks and imagining what our children would look like."

You give him a deadpan stare. "Don't push it. That ship sailed a long time ago."

His smile falters just enough for you to notice if you're really paying attention, but he recovers quickly, tugging you a little closer as the music swells.

"Right, of course," he mumbles softly, looking past you while you sway to the music.

You clear your throat, feeling desperate to redirect the conversation before the air gets heavy.

"So…London," you murmur softly.

He hums, twirling you around once more before pulling you in close. "London."

"I think it'll be good for me," you admit. "A break. Something new."

He studies you—the bright excitement in your eyes, the uncertainty underneath, the hope, and something flashes in his expression that you don't catch, something soft and affectionate.

"Well," he smiles, his voice quieter than before, "I guess I'll have to see you off at the airport, huh?"

You smile, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

He closes his eyes, savouring the moment, his voice coming out just a tad louder than a whisper. "Fuck, I'm gonna miss you."

You roll your eyes, feeling a warmth bloom deep within your ribs. "You're a sap like me now."

He smirks, the earlier tension slipping away. "Don't tell anyone."

"Your secret's safe with me."

He dips you playfully, the two of you laughing, brushing shoulders, standing closer than friends should—close enough that the air between you buzzes with something you both feel.

Outside the dance floor, Yuri is still circling like a shark, but Jungkook doesn't look her way once. Not when he's looking at you.

Incheon Airport buzzes with summer chaos; children dragging suitcases bigger than their bodies, couples taking teary selfies, businessmen speed-walking like their lives depend on it. In the middle of it all, you stand with your luggage, passport, and a rapidly beating heart.

Jungkook is beside you, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

"So…" he mumbles, rocking back on his heels, "I guess this is it."

You nod, clutching the handle of your suitcase. "Three months."

"Three months," he echoes.

There's a brief moment where the airport noise fades and it's just you and him and ten years of friendship sitting between you.

He reaches out and flicks a piece of fluff from your sweater, even though you're ninety percent sure there never was any fluff to begin with. "You'll text me when you land?"

"I'll text you as soon as I get WiFi," you nod.

"And you'll video call me?"

"Only if you don't answer while you're at the gym and make me look at your sweaty forehead again."

"That was one time," he chuckles.

You grin. He grins back, but his fades first.

"Go be brilliant, okay?" he murmurs softly. "London's waiting for you."

Your chest warms. "I'll miss you."

Something flickers in his eyes but he blinks fast before you can question it.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Me too."

You smile, lightly punching his arm. "I love you, idiot."

He rolls his eyes, his lips twitching at the corners. "Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Now go."

When you finally walk toward the gate, you don't turn around, but Jungkook stays in place, watching until you disappear. When he finally walks out of the airport, he tells himself the heaviness in his chest is pride, not anything else.

Definitely not. It couldn't be.

—

London greets you with fresh summer air, the faint smell of rain, and immediate sensory overload. The taxis are louder, the buildings older, and everyone talks like they're narrating a BBC documentary.

And you feel more alive than ever.

Your first day at the culinary institute feels like stepping into a whole new world. The kitchens gleam like they've been polished a thousand times. The finest plates await your creations. The ovens are fancier than anything you could ever dream of using.

You learn laminated dough, the perfect method for chocolate tempering, advanced patisserie techniques, all things you used to watch on YouTube while telling yourself you'd perfect someday.

Now 'someday' is here and it's better than you anticipated.

You snap pictures of everything—your flaky pastries, your fancy meringues, your messy apron—and send each and every one of them to Jungkook, even if he responds hours later because of the time difference or his busy schedule.

Between classes, you make the most of your London summer. You buy dresses and blouses that make you feel like a character in a Bridget Jones movie, you carry around flowers wrapped in brown paper that will sit in the middle of the coffee table in your hotel room, you sip tea at cute cafés and buy souvenirs for Jungkook every chance you get.

A vintage Beatles t-shirt.

A Big Ben keychain.

A tiny corgi plush.

Your classmates take you in immediately and within your first month, your nights are filled with dinners at pubs where everything is fried, rooftop wine with the funny Brazilian girl from your pastry group and late-night tube rides where you and the others fall asleep leaning on each other. You make memories that will last a lifetime, and at one point, you don't even think about everything waiting for you back in Seoul.

It's a quiet Saturday afternoon when you find yourself wandering through the sculpture gallery of the Victoria and Albert Museum. There's a hush in the air, as if the marble statues are asleep and everyone else is just trying not to disturb them.

You stop in front of Canova's "Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss."

It's breathtaking. It's delicate and romantic and heartbreakingly intimate, like stone brought to life. Cupid leans over Psyche, gently cradling her as if she might shatter. You've seen it in pictures before, but seeing it in person makes it that much better.

You step closer, completely mesmerised, but a shutter clicks beside you, catching you off guard and pulling you from your daze.

There's a man standing next to you, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark cardigan and round glasses that slide slightly down his nose. His hair is dark and frames his face, and a film camera hangs from a strap around his neck. He's just taken a photo of the sculpture, and when he notices you looking, he offers a warm, slightly sheepish smile.

"Sorry," he murmurs in a low, honey-smooth voice, the British accent doing something tingly to your insides. "Didn't mean to interrupt your moment."

You smile politely. "You didn't, don't worry about it."

He turns to look at the sculpture again, tilting his head. "It's beautiful, isn't it? There's something timeless about it." He glances back at you. "Makes you believe that it's worth it to wait for a love like that."

Your eyebrows raise, feeling a bit taken aback by the rather romantic stranger.

He laughs softly. "Sorry. That was…dramatic."

"No," you shake your head, smiling wider. "It was really nice...and true."

"I guess that means I'm not being overly sentimental."

"Or we both are," you smile.

"Could be worse," he shrugs. "I'd rather be overly sentimental than chronically indifferent."

You let out a soft laugh. "That's a good line."

"Thank you, I read it in a book once," he smiles down at the ground, fidgeting with his camera.

You both turn back toward the statue, standing in comfortable silence for a beat, watching how the late afternoon light casts golden shadows on the white stone.

"I'm Kim Namjoon, by the way," he says after a moment, holding out a hand.

"___," you smile, shaking it.

"You're not from here, are you?"

You shake your head. "Seoul, South Korea."

His eyes light up. "Really? Me too...well, kinda. My parents are Korean but they met here in England while they were both studying at Oxford. They moved back to Korea after getting married. That's where I was born, but we moved back to England when I was about five. I haven't been back in a while."

You nod, your interest piqued. "And now you…take pictures of sculptures for a living?"

He chuckles. "Not exclusively. I'm a photographer, mostly travel and editorial, but I come here a lot on my days off. It grounds me."

"I get that," you murmur. "Bakeries do that for me."

He looks over at you, his eyebrows raising. "You're a baker?"

You nod. "I own a small bakery back in Seoul. It's kinda why I'm here, actually. I'm doing a summer course at a culinary institute nearby to brush up on my skills. I'm only here for three months."

"That's incredible." His smile is genuine, his eyes shining under the museum lights. "Honestly, I think bakers are like magicians. You turn flour and cocoa into happiness. It's very impressive."

You laugh, nodding along. "That's very nice of you to say, thank you."

"You're very welcome, Miss ___."

He looks back at the sculpture for a moment, then turns back to you, a little more tentative this time.

"I know this is a bit forward, but…do you perhaps have plans after this?"

You feel your heart pound harder, your head shaking almost too excitedly. "No, not really."

He smiles, clearly a little nervous, like he's not used to doing this. "Would you maybe want to grab a coffee with me? I could show you around London if you'd like. There's a place just down the road; very tiny and unassuming but the coffee's good and they have these absurdly large cinnamon buns that are to die for."

He's handsome, has an accent that makes your thighs clench, and he wants to take you to a café. You don't even have to think about it.

"I'd love to."

His face softens, looking like he didn't quite expect you to say yes.

You chat while you walk out together, side by side, stealing one last look at Cupid and Psyche, and somewhere deep in your chest, you wonder if he is a part of the fresh start you've been craving.

—

It all starts with a simple coffee date.

After the museum, you and Namjoon tuck yourselves into a quiet corner of a café near Hyde Park, where he stirs his cappuccino with one hand and nervously fidgets with the strap of his camera with the other. He asks thoughtful questions, listens like he genuinely cares and laughs with the cutest expression that makes your cheeks flush every single time. He walks you home that night—hands brushing, hearts pounding—and from there, it all blossoms at the speed of light.

Your second date is dinner at a tiny Italian restaurant where you end up talking for hours, sharing pasta and trading childhood stories. He shyly admits he once cried when his favourite bakery shut down, and you know then and there that he's your type of person.

On the third date, you sit beside the Thames at sunset, barely an inch between you, and when your head falls against his shoulder, neither of you move. Your first kiss happens in the rain after a trip to a vintage bookshop, hesitant at first—until it isn't. Until his hands are warm on your waist and yours are in his hair, time melting into the taste of his mouth.

You start to crave his presence, his voice, his intellect wrapped in a British accent and kind eyes.

One night, after too much wine and too many loaded glances, you kiss him breathlessly in his hallway and let him lead you to his bed. It's slow and sweet, and he makes you feel like the most beautiful woman he's ever laid his eyes upon. That happens quite often after the first time. You have sex in the shower, the backseat of his car, on the floor of your hotel room, and it's always better than the last.

By the start of August, Namjoon is a fixture in your London summer. He waits for you after class. He carries your shopping bags without a complaint. He reads books aloud when you can't sleep, chuckles at your terrible attempt at a British accent, and takes endless sneaky photos of you mid-laugh just because he loves the way you look when you're at your happiest. He even drives you out to the English countryside to have dinner with his parents.

Somewhere between the late-night talks and stolen kisses, you fall for him harder than you ever meant to. And the scariest part isn't how fast it happens…it's how disappointed you are that it's all temporary.

—

Namjoon unlocks the door to his flat, stepping inside with the same subtle confidence you've come to love. He holds the door open for you—always a gentleman, even when his fingers were just threaded through yours all the way home from the pub, even when his lips were pressed against your neck as you waited for your Uber, even when his voice had dropped into that low, breathy register that made your knees weak.

You step into the warmth of his space. It smells like him, which you've come to love as well. The lights are dim, a large bookshelf lines the wall, vinyl records stacked neatly near a player and a blooming houseplant stands tall in the corner.

He toes off his shoes and reaches for your jacket. "Here," he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek from behind.

You slip your jacket off your shoulders, your pulse jumping as he hangs it up with care. He rests his hands in his pants pockets, watching you as you turn to face him. His eyes flick over your lips, your neckline, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear like you're totally not still nervous around him.

"Wanna watch a movie?" he offers.

You shake your head, smiling.

He nods slowly and takes the hint, cupping your face in his large hands. The kiss that follows comes easily, mouths moving languidly, your fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt. You've kissed Namjoon a million times over the past three months—on couches, in doorways, on sidewalks lit by streetlights—but this time it feels far more gentle and intimate.

By the time he breaks away, you're breathing in shallow little waves.

"C'mon," he murmurs softly, taking your hand in his. He leads you down the hall, into his bedroom. It's minimalistic, very clean. There's no pretence, just him.

He doesn't pull you into bed. Not yet, at least.

He stands beside the low bookshelf near the window, arms folded loosely, watching you run a hand through your hair.

"Is this really just for three months?" he asks softly. "You being in London? You're really going back to Seoul?"

You sigh, realising you'd have to have this conversation eventually. "Yeah. I mean…that's always been the plan, Joon."

He nods slowly. He just needed to hear you confirm it. "Right. Just…three months."

You sit down on the edge of his bed, your hands resting in your lap. "I just...didn't think I'd actually…meet someone here. I just came to bake things and buy overpriced souvenirs for my best friend."

He smiles at that, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

You tilt your head, your eyebrows furrowing. "Why do you ask?"

Namjoon exhales and smiles. "I guess I've just been thinking about it a lot more than I expected to."

He walks toward you slowly, kneeling down so he's at eye level, his hands resting on your knees with the utmost tenderness.

"___, I know we've only known each other for a short while," he murmurs, keeping his voice steady. "But..."

You swallow thickly, sensing a shift in the air.

Namjoon pulls out a small velvet box from his pants pocket.

You freeze, completely at a loss for words. "Wait. Namjoon, is that...?"

He nods and opens it, his eyes moving from the little box to your face. Inside is a simple, vintage ring; an oval-cut diamond set in an antique band. It's timeless and stunning.

"Kim Namjoon, you're insane," you whisper, letting out a soft, breathless chuckle. "You actually bought a ring?"

He smiles up at you, shaking his head. "I didn't buy it."

Your head tilts in confusion.

"It was my grandmother's," he explains. "She wore it for over fifty years. My mum kept it after my granny passed…and last week...I asked her for it."

Your throat tightens, your eyes widening. "You…asked for it?"

He nods, glancing down at the ring. "I called her and told her that I'm serious about you. I told her that you make me feel like I'm a better version of myself just by existing next to me."

You press a hand to your mouth, feeling overwhelmed with a whole mixture of emotions.

"She told me I was a little nuts," he adds with a chuckle. "That no sane man proposes to someone he's only known for three months."

You laugh, nodding. "Your mom's smart."

"She is." His smile melts into something softer, more serious. "But I'm in love with you. And I don't want to wait."

There's a beat of silence, just the sound of your heartbeat roaring in your ears, the hustle and bustle of the city outside his window, and the impossible weight of the moment sitting in your chest.

"I know it's really fast," he says gently, "but when I look at you, it doesn't feel fast or crazy. It feels like I've been waiting for you my whole life without even knowing I was waiting."

You don't say anything right away.

This man wants to marry you. This man who instantly took a liking to you when he met you. This man who's intelligent and kind and effortlessly elegant. This man who just presented you with his grandmother's wedding ring like it was meant to be yours all along.

Namjoon watches your expression carefully, waiting patiently.

Then, cautiously, he smiles.

"Will you marry me?"

—

At first, it all just feels like a mild inconvenience for Jungkook.

You're in a different country, in a different time zone, and of course it's normal that your texts come through while he's asleep or his calls are missed because you're stuck in class. Days pass where your voices never reach each other, just fragments—missed calls, unread messages, half-finished voice notes.

At first, he tells himself it's normal, maybe even healthy. You're living your best life halfway across the world, and he refuses to be the needy friend who holds your back. Still, he finds himself reaching for his phone too often, typing things and deleting them, falling asleep with your chat left open like maybe, somehow, it will make you feel closer.

He goes out a lot in June.

He texts you at 2am after coming home from drinks with Jin and two girls he doesn't remember the names of. The text says, "Miss your dumb face," followed by a blurry selfie. You don't answer until seven hours later with a laughing emoji because you just finished rolling a million croissants and you're too tired to ask how his night went.

He smiles at his phone like an idiot every time your name pops up on his screen, but the more time passes, the more the silence starts to hurt.

In July, he hooks up with a girl he met at a rooftop restaurant. She's beautiful, super tall, wears a silk dress that shows off just enough to have him on edge. She calls him "handsome" and laughs at all the right moments. Her perfume is strong, her lip gloss sticky. He pulls her into his apartment and they undress in a haze of clumsy heat, getting straight to the point of the evening—sex.

Jungkook grunts and squeezes his eyes shut as he thrusts into her in missionary, his head spinning as he desperately tries to focus on the task at hand and not the text he sent you a few hours ago that still hasn't been answered.

When he opens his eyes again to kiss her, he's completely thrown off his game when it's not her face he sees contorting in pleasure—it's yours.

It's the familiar curve of your smile.

It's the sparkle in your eyes when the two of you slow danced at his father's engagement party.

It's the look of longing you had on your face when you said goodbye at the airport.

Jungkook stops moving, his hips halting mid-stroke. The girl moans something but he doesn't hear it, far too distracted by your eyes fluttering in his head. He closes his eyes once more, his breathing ragged, his heart hammering. Once he finally gets it together, he forces himself to finish but it just feels hollow now.

When August arrives, Jungkook decides to soldier on until you eventually get back to Seoul.

He meets up with a different woman on a random Monday afternoon—a friend of a friend. They get coffee, then lunch, then dinner a week later. She's cute and easy company. She asks about the meanings of all his tattoos, kisses slow and rides him fast.

She seems genuinely interested in him, so on their fourth hangout—which he insists on calling it instead of a date because he doesn't want her to get the idea that he's serious about her—he takes her to your bakery.

It's his safe place and it smells like you. It's comforting, and warm, and always welcoming. And maybe he takes her there because some part of him just misses home.

The display case is full of your signature work; dainty cupcakes decorated with edible flowers, fluffy cinnamon donuts rolled into perfect spheres, sticky toffee buns that always taste better each time he eats them.

Jungkook stares at the options, his hands in his pockets. "I can't decide what to get," he sighs, testing the waters. "Pick one for me."

She blinks, her pretty doe eyes filled with confusion. "Why?"

"I don't know, it's kinda fun," he smiles. "Just choose something for me."

She raises a brow, looking at the array of desserts. "Okay…a cookie."

He pauses, glancing at her. "No, like...be specific."

"Okay." She stares at the case, then smiles over at him. "A really big cookie?"

He smiles, but it's so fake it almost physically hurts. "Right. Sure."

She doesn't get it, of course she wouldn't. It's not about the dessert. It's so much more than that.

They end up leaving with one cookie for her and nothing but disappointment for him.

—

The days blur and the nights stretch endlessly.

He scrolls through your texts again and again, reading old ones just to be reminded of how funny you are. He reads the ones where you got into a debate about 'sex weather', in which you insisted that rainy weather is always the best time for sex, or rather "making love" as you put it, because you hate being sweaty while trying to be romantic. He listens to the voice note where you tried to explain a French baking term and got so flustered when you lost your train of thought that you ended it with, "Anyway, I'm a fraud, bye."

He plays that one three times, chuckling to himself in bed like a crazy person.

He wants to call you, to hear your voice and listen to you ramble about oven temperature settings and undercooked soufflé.

He wants to say...well, he doesn't really know what he wants to say. He just knows that no one else makes him feel whole the way you do.

That everyone else feels like a filler. Like static. Never you, though. You feel like home.

He tosses his phone aside and stares up at his bedroom ceiling, running a hand through his hair with a huff. It hits him gently, like a slow wave that unexpectedly knocks him off his feet and drowns him in an instant:

You're not just his best friend or the girl he jokingly flirts with out of habit. You're more than just someone who knows how he likes his coffee or which songs make him cry or why he hates sleeping in certain positions because it hurts his back.

You're it.

You're the one he'll always look for in a crowd of people, the one he still wants to talk to at the end of every stressful, shitty day. The one he hasn't stopped thinking about since the moment you walked through that departure gate—hell, since the moment he accidentally stumbled into your bed ten years ago.

And he doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do with that.

The thud of the basketball echoes through the gym as Jungkook dribbles, sweat clinging to his skin, his heart pounding from exertion. Seokjin's guarding him—kinda lazily—and Wonwoo's near the free-throw line, his sleeves rolled up and jaw set with focus. Mingyu's off to the side, taking his sweet time sipping water and pretending like he doesn't play the most aggressively of all four of them.

Jungkook fakes left, cuts right, and lands the shot. It bounces once, then rolls in.

"Still got it," he grins, jogging back as Mingyu throws him a towel.

"You've got cardio," Wonwoo pants. "Not game."

"Don't need game when I'm playing against geriatrics," Jungkook shoots back.

"Hey!" Seokjin wipes his forehead. "I may be a father now, but I could still outrun you with one baby strapped to my chest and another in the oven."

"You're not even the one with the oven," Mingyu snorts.

"My point still stands," Seokjin shrugs.

They keep playing—passes, dodges, light-hearted trash talk—but somewhere between defence drills and free throws, Jungkook finds himself zoning out. He leans against the padded wall, bouncing the ball absentmindedly, his thoughts far from the gym.

Seokjin notices first.

"You good?" he asks, tossing his friend a water bottle.

Jungkook catches it, hesitates, then nods. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"That's suspicious," Mingyu scoffs. "When you think too much, you start texting your exes."

"No," Jungkook mutters quietly, shaking his head. "Not this time."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, walking over. "What's going on?"

Jungkook rolls the ball along the floor with his foot, sighing. "I think I'm in love with ___."

There's a silence that stretches just a second too long, the guys all shooting each other a look.

Seokjin's eyebrows furrow, his hands resting on his hips. "Wait, what?"

Mingyu whistles, patting Jungkook on the back. "Holy shit. That's not what I was expecting."

Wonwoo just leans against the wall and crosses his arms, his expression unreadable.

Jungkook shifts, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't know. It just hit me all at once. I've been trying to date, distract myself. I took a girl to the bakery the other day and asked her to pick something for me like ___ always does…and she picked a fucking cookie. Just said 'a big one'," he snorts humourlessly. "Didn't even get the point."

"You do realize she's not ___, right?" Seokjin chuckles. "How would she know what you meant?"

"Exactly. That's my point," Jungkook groans. "No one's her, dude. I've been around her for ten years, and I think I convinced myself I'd always have time to figure it out, but now she's in London, living her dream, probably flirting with a bunch of British guys."

"Let's not spiral," Wonwoo mutters.

"I just…" Jungkook exhales sharply. "I don't want anyone else. I want her. And...I actually want to do something about it."

The guys pause before Seokjin grabs his shoulder, smiling. "Well, shit! That's called growing up."

"You're not wrong," Mingyu mutters, grabbing the ball to dribble again. "But don't ask me to relate. I'm good with casual sex and no one touching my closet space."

"You say that now," Seokjin scoffs. "Then one day you're holding a baby while your wife cries watching dog rescue videos and suddenly it's the best moment of your life."

"Wow," Wonwoo deadpans. "That got oddly specific."

Jungkook laughs quietly, glancing down at the floor. "I never thought I'd want that. Not the marriage thing or the kids. I thought I'd stay the way I was forever. Just…you know, vibing."

Seokjin smiles, fond and a little smug. "Now 'just vibing' feels kinda empty, huh?"

Jungkook nods.

"She's different," he murmurs softly. "She makes everything feel like it matters. Without her, everything feels off."

Mingyu makes a dramatic gagging noise. "Can we go back to basketball now? This sappy talk is giving me indigestion."

Seokjin chuckles, giving Jungkook a hard pat on the back. "Tell her when she gets back. Don't wait."

Jungkook nods, determination setting in as he jogs over to play another round.

He's not sure how you'll react to all this, but he's done running from his feelings. He's finally ready. He just hopes you are too.

—

Jungkook listens to your voicemail multiple times when he gets home from work Friday evening.

"Hey…I'm back in Seoul! I've missed you so much. Can we have dinner tonight around 7? I was thinking of going to our usual restaurant. I have so much to tell you. It feels like I've been gone forever. Let me know, okay? Okay, I love you, bye!"

Your voice is bubbly, laced with excitement. You sound like you dialed his number as soon as you got off the plane, the airport noise in the background a clear giveaway.

Jungkook doesn't waste a second. He showers, sprays himself with his most expensive cologne and pulls out a navy suit he usually reserves for weddings and important meetings. He doesn't usually go out of his way to look good for a woman because he's him—he doesn't have to try, but this is you and he wants to leave a lasting impression when he tells you his feelings. Tonight is different. It's significant, and he doesn't want to screw it up.

On his way to the restaurant, he stops at a street vendor and buys a bouquet of peonies—your favourite. He might not be the most conventionally romantic guy on the planet, but he knows you hate roses because you think they're cliché and typical. He knows that you prefer fish over red meat, and that you hate big gatherings because they make you anxious. He knows you better than anyone else on Earth, and he loves you.

The restaurant is buzzing when he walks in—dim lights, quiet chatter, the smell of red wine and garlic butter thick in the air. He spots you immediately, perched at the bar at the far end of the restaurant, laughing at something.

His breath catches at the sight of you.

You look like London. That's the only way he can describe it. You're glowing, your cheeks rosy, your lips stained red. It's different but still you, like something bloomed while he wasn't looking.

He starts walking toward you, a smile pulling at his lips.

But then he sees him.

A tall man standing beside you, dimples on full display like someone's paying him to smile that brightly. He leans in close, says something in your ear, and presses a quick kiss to your lips. It's all a bit too casual, too familiar.

It stops Jungkook in his tracks. When he starts walking again it's fast and panicked. So much so that he doesn't see the waiter passing by until it's too late.

"Sir, excuse m—"

There's a loud crash, a blur of limbs flying about as Jungkook collides into the poor guy carrying a full tray of glasses. Water, wine, forks, the tray itself, it all goes flying as both men go down in a heap right in the middle of the restaurant.

"Shit—!"

"Oh my goodness—Jungkook?!"

You're off your stool in a second, rushing over with wide eyes. The man beside you joins you just as quickly, crouching down to help both Jungkook and the waiter up.

Jungkook winces, pushing himself up to sit.

You're already reaching for him, pulling him up to his feet. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? You just...you slammed into that guy—"

"I'm fine," Jungkook mutters, straightening up, brushing water off his sleeves. He glances down at the scattered bouquet now lying halfway under the barstools.

You crouch to pick it up, glancing up at him.

"And you bought flowers?" you ask with a hopeful glint in your eyes.

Jungkook freezes, glancing at the flowers. He clears his throat, then grabs the bouquet and abruptly shoves it into the startled waiter's hands. "No. These are his."

The waiter is taken aback, and so are you.

Jungkook claps the poor guy on the back, offering him a fake smile. "Congratulations on your...anniversary or whatever."

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"Mhm," Jungkook nods, his voice tight. "Just clumsy, I guess. Classic me."

You exchange a look with the man Jungkook is still unsure of, who offers your best friend a faint smile. The three of you start walking toward the table—your table, the one you and Jungkook always request when it's just the two of you.

Jungkook doesn't say anything. He sits across from you and watches as the other man pulls out your chair like he's done it a dozen times before, which makes Jungkook's jaw twitch.

And he waits.

Waits for you to explain.

Waits to figure out why he suddenly feels like the only person in the room who didn't get the memo.

You smile and gesture toward the man beside you, your face lighting up at you look at him, a look Jungkook hasn't seen on your face in a really long time.

"Jungkook, this is Kim Namjoon. Namjoon, this is Jeon Jungkook; my best friend I've been telling you all about."

Namjoon leans over with a warm smile and extends his hand to Jungkook. "It's really nice to finally meet you, Jungkook. I've heard so much about you from this lovely lady."

Jungkook forces a smile, reaches out, and shakes it. "Yeah. Nice to meet you too."

His voice sounds normal but his chest feels hollow.

"I've been trying to picture you this whole time," Namjoon continues in that British accent that makes Jungkook's bile rise in his throat. "___'s mentioned you in almost every story she's told me."

You laugh, your cheeks turning pink. "I might've overdone it."

"No," Namjoon murmurs softly, gazing at you like the rest of the world has vanished. "I loved it. Felt like I already knew him."

Jungkook looks down at the table, wishing he could gouge out his eyes with the silverware. "So…what's the deal with you two? You met in London?"

Your smile widens as you nod. "It was so random! I was at a museum, just minding my business, and I was standing in front of this gorgeous sculpture, and then Namjoon just appeared next to me with a camera."

Namjoon chuckles. "She was so focused on the piece, I wasn't even sure if I should say anything."

"But he did," you grin. "He struck up a conversation, and we ended up at a little café for cinnamon buns and coffee, which was amazing, by the way."

"You had cinnamon buns with a stranger?" Jungkook murmurs, trying to sound amused, not crushed.

You wave him off. "Oh please. It just felt so natural. And after that, we just kept seeing each other. Museum dates, dinners, exploring the city. We couldn't stay away from each other."

Namjoon affectionately rubs your back with his palm. "I couldn't help myself, she's irresistible."

Jungkook watches the gesture, taking note of how you lean into it like muscle memory. "Sounds like it all happened fast."

"It did," you admit, your smile softening. "But it felt so right."

He nods, staring at the breadbasket in the middle of the table, and wishes he could crawl into it and disappear.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asks, his voice quieter than before. "I mean…I know we missed a lot of calls but I would've wanted to hear about this."

You shift in your seat, your expression falling slightly. "I wanted to, I really did. But things just got so hectic. Classes ran late, we were always on the move, and then the time difference made everything harder. I drafted messages and forget to send them, and after a while, I figured…I'd tell you everything properly when I got back."

You look at him with so much honesty that it only hurts him more.

"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner."

He nods, offering you a faint smile. "It's okay."

It's anything but okay, but he'll suck it up and bite his tongue for you.

Namjoon clears his throat, shifting forward. "I know it's probably a lot to take in all at once, but I wanted to tell you myself. I asked ___ to marry me."

Jungkook's eyes flick up to meet his, his face unreadable.

"And I said yes!" You smile and lift your left hand, showing him your ring. It glints under the restaurant lights, sitting delicately on your finger, mocking him.

Jungkook swallows thickly, a pleasant mask glued to his face. "Wow. It's…beautiful."

You beam. "Isn't it? It was Namjoon's grandmother's."

Namjoon takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. "I figured it could be lucky for us."

Jungkook lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, glancing between you and Namjoon. "Yeah. Guess so."

He smiles at all the right moments, pretends like his chest isn't caving in, nods as if he's really listening when you tell him all about your summer with Namjoon, but all he feels is regret and bitterness that some other guy gets to take you home tonight instead of him.

You're in love. You're engaged. You're sitting across from him glowing like a woman who's found her forever. And Jungkook is just the best friend—the one who waited too long to be ready for you.

"So…" you begin, your voice light but a little nervous, glancing at Namjoon. "We've actually already started planning the wedding."

Jungkook looks startled, looking between you two. "Already?"

Namjoon nods, smiling. "We figured there's no reason to wait."

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow, looking back at you. "But…you just got back."

"I know," you murmur. "But we're getting married in England in a church Namjoon's dad helped build. It's near their home in the countryside. It's perfect, Jungkook."

"Mm, it's right across from the distillery," Namjoon nods.

Jungkook looks between the two of you, trying to process. "Distillery?"

"Yeah," you say, brightening. "Namjoon's parents own a whiskey distillery."

Of course they do. Of course his parents own a distillery and build churches and probably rescue injured animals in their free time.

"And the wedding is in a month," Namjoon adds.

Jungkook's eyebrows shoot up, his eyes practically popping out of their sockets. "A month?"

You nod, resting your head against Namjoon's shoulder. "We didn't wanna drag it out. It just makes sense, you know? Why wait when we're sure?"

He doesn't answer. He's too busy trying to remember how to breathe. And then, as if the conversation hasn't already taken a sledgehammer to his heart, you turn to him with a hopeful smile that just about finishes him.

"Anyway, I wanted to ask you something," you murmur. "I know it's sudden, and maybe kinda weird, but…Jungkook...would you be my maid of honor?"

His brain flatlines, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find something to say that won't be totally offensive right now.

"I mean," you add quickly, laughing, "knowing our relationship, you'd probably want me to be your best man someday, right? So, it's only fair."

Namjoon laughs softly, clearly charmed by the idea. "I think it'd be perfect, actually. You two clearly have such a strong bond."

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Instead, he stands too fast, knocking his thigh into the edge of the table and spinning sideways just in time to collide for the second time that evening with the same poor waiter from earlier.

The tray clatters to the ground once again. The waiter lets out a yelp of disbelief, flat on his back. Jungkook stumbles, caught between horror and absolute emotional overload.

"Dude, are you serious?!" the waiter yells, throwing a dish towel at his chest.

Jungkook mumbles something that might be an apology, but you're already scrambling to help, wide-eyed and flustered.

"Again?! Jungkook, what is wrong with you tonight?"

Everything is wrong.

Everything has gone so terribly wrong.

—

It's a sunny Monday afternoon in the middle of Seoul and the park is alive with movement—joggers passing through, street vendors preparing fresh teokkbokki, and office workers on their lunch break scattered across benches in a sea of undone ties and styrofoam containers.

Jungkook is sitting on a bench with a hotdog in one hand and a death grip on his dignity in the other.

Seokjin takes a massive bite of his chilli dog, glances over at him, and swipes ketchup off his cheek with a napkin as he prepares to tackle the shipwreck sitting next to him.

"So…" Seokjin mumbles, his mouth full. "You gonna tell me why you've looked constipated since we sat down? I only have ten more minutes left of my break and my boss is already on my ass."

Jungkook stares down at his hotdog, his appetite barely there. "___ asked me to be her maid of honor."

There's a short pause before Seokjin chokes on a laugh, quickly covering his mouth to avoid spraying onions all over the bench. "I'm sorry, her what?!"

"Maid of honor."

Jin is full-on wheezing now. "God, I hope the dress makes your ass look good. You've been squatting for this moment your whole life."

Jungkook slumps further in his seat. "This isn't funny, Jin."

"It's hilarious, dude," Seokjin laughs.

"I'm dying, hyung. She gets back from London and all of a sudden she's getting married."

Seokjin finally reins in the laughter, wiping the corners of his eyes. "Okay, okay. Sorry. It's just...you gotta admit, that's a hell of a plot twist."

"I was going to confess," Jungkook mutters flatly, his voice low. "I showed up in a suit. With her favourite flowers. And then I walked in and watched her get kissed by her fiancé and knocked over a waiter in the process."

Seokjin winces. "Yikes."

"She's getting married at a church across from her new fiancé's family whiskey distillery, in a month." Jungkook groans and drops his head back against the bench. "She even showed me the ring. It was his grandmother's."

Seokjin lets out a soft whistle, nodding. "Yeah, that's a lot."

"I feel like I missed the entire movie and just showed up for the credits."

They sit in silence for a moment, birds chirping merrily around them like little assholes.

Then Seokjin finishes his hotdog, balls up the wrapper, and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "Listen, it sucks, I'm not gonna lie. But this doesn't have to be the end."

Jungkook gives him a side glance. "You realise she's engaged."

"And you're the maid of honor." Seokjin grins. "Which means you're right there, centre stage. You're planning the whole thing, hearing every detail. You're literally the man behind the scenes."

"You make it sound like I'm in a heist movie."

"You are," Seokjin shrugs. "Except instead of robbing a bank, you're trying to steal a bride."

Jungkook snorts despite himself. "That's so dumb."

"Love is dumb, man," Seokjin scoffs. "I proposed to my wife in a Pikachu onesie, and now we have a kid who chews on HDMI cables. But I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Jungkook stares at the sky, feeling unsure. "You really think I should stay close? Not back off?"

"I think," Seokjin says, "if you're really in love with her and not just having a meltdown because someone else got there first, then don't give up on this. You be her best friend. You support her. And if there's even the tiniest crack in her heart, she'll know you were there the whole time, waiting."

Jungkook lets that settle for a moment. He takes a slow bite of his hotdog, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay," he sighs. "But I'm not wearing a dress."

"I will pay you money to wear a dress," Seokjin laughs. "Like, real money. I want full lace. And cleavage."

Jungkook stuffs his mouth with the hotdog to avoid swearing at his friend, but when he leans back again, squinting up at the sky, the weight in his chest feels just a little bit lighter at the reminder that this isn't over yet.

When Jungkook arrives at your apartment Saturday morning, he's met with the familiar comfort of your sweet scent, frilly pillows scattered across the couch, and little trinkets decorating the shelves.

He's spent countless nights here—binging your favourite shows, eating endless amounts of cake as his way of helping you with new recipes, sitting patiently as you give him a faux fashion show of the millionth pair of shoes you bought—and yet this time is not like any of the rest. This time he's here to help you plan your wedding.

"You rang, future Mrs. Kim?" he calls out, kicking off his shoes in the entryway.

You pop your head out from the kitchen with a smile. "You're late, Jeon. You said you'd be here at 8. It's 10."

He takes off his leather jacket and hangs it on your coat rack, rolling his eyes. "You've been engaged for five minutes and you're already a bridezilla."

You scoff, making your way over to greet him with a hug.

He grins at the short embrace, pulling away to get a proper look at you. "Damn, your hair looks good today. Is that a new thing, or is it just the 'I'm-getting-married' glow?"

You roll your eyes, but your smile shows how flattered you are. "Such a suck-up."

"I'm your maid of honor," he says, smiling smugly. "Sucking up to you is literally my job now."

He walks into the living room and settles onto your couch. It feels normal but there's a certain nervous energy in the air today. It's officially the start of preparations for the wedding party, and he's not sure how ready he is for all that. But today isn't about him. It's your day, and he'll support you even if it slowly kills him.

"The bridesmaids are almost here," you murmur, sitting down with him, turning to face him.

"Do I know them?"

"Well, there's Mina," you smile, knowing how well they get along.

"Mina's great, I like Mina," he nods, scooting a bit closer to you.

"And Jeongyeon. You haven't met her yet but she's really chill, you'll love her."

"Okay, who else?" he asks, reaching out and absentmindedly twiddling a strand of your hair between his fingers.

"Uhm..." You sigh, preparing yourself for his reaction. "And Lisa."

His face falls, his fingers pausing in your hair. "Are you serious? She hates me."

"I had to, Jungkook. She's my cousin," you sigh. "And I mean, can you blame her? You had sex with her then ghosted her the next day."

"She almost broke my nose," he groans.

"It was an accident," you chuckle, rolling your eyes as he goes back to playing with your hair.

"She literally punched me in the face," he deadpans. "I told her it wasn't anything serious and she agreed. I can't help that she caught feelings for me."

You smile in amusement, shaking your head at how truly humble he is. "She's wanted to be my maid of honor since we were little, so she hates you even more now."

The doorbell rings right on cue.

You grin and rush over to get the door, welcoming them in. Jungkook isn't sure if the loud entrance is your bridesmaids greeting you at the door or a pack of hyenas cackling. He lets out a huff and stands up as they enter, plastering a smile on his face.

Mina hugs you first; your bakery manager and unofficial work wife. She's organised as ever, carrying a stack of bridal magazines that she's probably had since forever.

Then Jeongyeon, your friend from high school. She's less organised than Mina but equally as excited for you.

And finally…Lisa, your beloved cousin.

Jungkook fights the urge to roll his eyes when he sees her, forcing a smile to remain civil.

She freezes when she sees him, her eyes narrowing into slits.

You smile, choosing to ignore the tension between them for your own sanity. "Jungkook, you remember Lisa, right?"

Jungkook clears his throat, nodding as he sits back down on the couch. "Yeah. Of course. Hey."

Lisa offers a sweet, pointed smile that could kill him if she really wanted to. "Oh, trust me, I remember Jungkook."

The tension is very palpable.

Mina, sensing the shift, gives a diplomatic little nod and walks over to the couch. "Well, we should probably get started, hm?"

You clap your hands together, trying to regain control of the room. "Okay! So, thank you all for coming. Please, sit. I'll go get some snacks then we can start going over fittings, schedules, things like that."

"Can't wait," Jeongyeon smiles, getting comfortable on an armchair while you head to the kitchen.

"I already know this is going to be chaos," Mina chuckles, sitting next to Jungkook, watching as Lisa stabs him with her eyes.

"Some of us thrive in it," Lisa mutters. "Don't we, Jungkook?"

Jungkook scoffs, shooting her a pointed look. "Are we doing that already?"

"Doing what?" Lisa smiles, feigning innocence. "I just meant you're probably used to this; being around a lot of women, multitasking."

You return to the living room before they can start going at each other, carrying a tray of sandwiches and some iced tea before grabbing your wedding binder and sitting down with everyone else, getting right to business. You start listing off dates and logistics—dress fittings, the bridal shower, the family brunch the morning of the wedding—but the air is already charged. Jungkook asks too many questions, honestly, and Lisa's patience visibly deteriorates with every clueless comment.

"Wait, is the brunch before the church rehearsal thing?"

Mina shakes her head, jotting some things down in her planner. "No. The brunch is the morning of the wedding. We've been over this, Jungkook."

"Oh, right. Right."

Lisa laughs under her breath. "God help us."

Jungkook turns to her, raising a brow. "Got something to say?"

Lisa shrugs, taking a glass of iced tea from the coffee table. "Not really. Just wondering how someone who can't even follow a calendar is supposed to help plan a wedding."

"Lisa," you mutter, shooting her a look that says 'behave, please'.

"Well, I didn't know I was going to be graded on my maid-of-honor performance," Jungkook grumbles.

"Well, just fyi, I'd give you an F," she shoots back.

"Settle down, you two," you sigh, gently placing a hand on Jungkook's arm.

Jeongyeon smirks into her drink. Mina, smiling calmly, jumps in before the room ignites.

"Cut him some slack, Lisa. I'm sure he didn't grow up dreaming about tulle and seating charts."

"Yeah, no kidding," Jungkook mutters.

"Exactly," Mina smiles. "So, let's all just be cool."

Lisa takes a slow sip of her iced coffee and doesn't say anything else, but Jungkook catches the flicker in her eyes that says she should've been your maid of honor instead of the man who clearly doesn't know what he's doing.

Your phone rings on the coffee table, Namjoon's name lighting up the screen. "Sorry, I have to take this," you murmur shyly. "It's Joon."

Your bridesmaids all swoon at the mention of your future husband, and Jungkook has to resist the gag threatening to spill from his lips.

As soon as you excuse yourself to take the call in the next room, Lisa jumps into action.

"I've been a MOH six times before, so I'll organise everything that needs to be done, even though I'm not the MOH here," she mutters, crossing one leg over the other.

Jungkook's eyebrows furrow, clearly clueless. "What's a MOH?"

"M-O-H," Lisa mutters pointedly.

"It stands for maid of honor," Mina smiles over at Jungkook. "That's you."

"Oh, yeah, of course," he chuckles, ignoring the eye-roll from Lisa.

"Okay, so we've got the bridal shower coming up that Jungkook will plan, our bridesmaid hair and make up trials, shopping for ___'s trousseau," Mina lists off, reading from her planner in her lap.

"Trousseau?" Jungkook's eyes narrow, leaning over to peek at Mina's planner. "What is a trousseau?"

"It's lingerie for her wedding night," Lisa deadpans, looking fed up with his questions that she feels are completely unnecessary. "How do you expect to be a good MOH if you don't even know that?"

"Oh wow, look, she's actually talking to me," Jungkook quips.

"No, I'm not," Lisa mutters quickly.

"You just did."

"Oh, my bad, Jungkook," she smiles sarcastically. "Did I break one of your rules?"

"Okay, that's enough!" Mina whisper-yells. "Can you two stop and think about ___? She's happy with an amazing guy, so could we all please, for ___'s sake, just get along, put a smile on our faces and pretend like everything is perfect?!"

"Okay, fine," Jungkook mumbles, holding his hands up in surrender.

The tension in the room is thick, but you don't notice, too giddy after hearing that deep British voice tell you how excited he is to get home to you later. You return after the call with Namjoon, turning your attention back to the ladies—who seem perfectly fine after Mina's little pep talk, all of them smiling brightly.

"Okay, I'm back," you grin, getting comfortable. "So, while we're all over there, we'll be staying at the Kims' holiday home."

Lisa's brow arches, her interest piqued. "Holiday home?"

"Yeah," you murmur while flipping through your binder. "Namjoon's family has this gorgeous house out in the countryside. I swear it's like something out of a Jane Austen novel. It's got over enough guest rooms for everyone. The garden even has an actual maze."

Jungkook blinks. He opens his mouth, closes it, then clenches his jaw in silence.

Of course Namjoon's family has a spare country mansion lying around. Why wouldn't they? Probably stocked with limited-edition wines and antique candleholders. Maybe even a butler named Charles who plays the violin at breakfast.

He forces a tight smile. "Wow. A holiday home. That's nice."

Lisa snorts. "Bit of a step up from your one-bedroom apartment, huh?"

Jungkook slowly looks over at her, smirking. "You'd know. You've been in my bedroom."

You sigh, taking a big gulp of your iced tea. Jeongyeon's eyebrows hit her hairline, finding this all too amusing.

Lisa gives him a razor-sharp glance, crossing her eyes over her chest. "Yeah. Once. Unfortunately."

Mina cuts in with perfect timing, like she's trained for this. "I think this is all amazing, ___. I mean, talk about a dream wedding."

Jeongyeon nods. "Seriously. And Namjoon seems so thoughtful. You guys make a really sweet couple."

You smile bashfully, your cheeks heating up. "I think so too. It all feels like it was meant to be, you know?"

Lisa hums. "Mhm. Must be nice to be that in love."

Jungkook's lips press into a thin line as he stares at the coffee table, remaining silent.

When you flip through wedding magazines with Mina, gushing about colour swatches and invitation templates, he finds himself tuning you out, not because he doesn't care, but because he cares too much.

Wedding planning has his iced tea tasting more like acid than anything else.

due to the 1k block limit, you can read the rest of the story HERE

Gyuri and you were avid readers. Precocious girls, with minds way above your age. All your teachers praised came laced with the same compliment so you both decided that was the truth. You rejoiced in it, thinking you shared things in common with the grown ups and decided that that was the key to feeling a little superior in comparison to the rest of your classmates, who neither of you liked very much. 

Until they all decided to start dating each other and you two realized you were nothing but two kids with great imaginations and a love for school, praise and fictional men that couldn't be translated to the real world without sounding delusional and weird. 

So you decided to do something about it. And so, on a random Tuesday recess, you two scanned the crowd trying to find two boys (or a boy and a girl, because you always knew you liked girls too) worthy of your affections. One for her, one for you. Bonus points if the two of them were also best friends, of course. 

Double dates were all the buzz at the time anyways. 

Besides, only then they could understand the bond you and Gyuri had. Sisterhood like no other, nevermind Gyuri actually had an older sister and a niece at the ripe age of fifteen. 

And so when your index finger scanned the crowd and eliminated at least three potential crushes before landing on Choi San, you felt like it was meant to be. 

You see, his best friend, Jung Wooyoung, was perfect for Gyuri to crush on. He was almost as tall as she was at the time and his easy, outgoing personality was compatible with her book crush at the time as well. 

He also flirted with her on several occasions before that. 

So it was meant to be. 

Choi San, on the other hand, had never even glanced in your direction before. 

Just like your book crush did before he fell in love with the main character. 

See? Meant. To. Be. 

It was decided then that, although Choi San was not going to be your first crush ever, he was going to be the guy that motivated you to be at school for the time being, because math gets really boring after trying and failing at least ten times. 

You thought nothing of it when it felt a little forced, when you couldn't blush at all at the sight of him and you gathered that it didn't need to happen like in the books you read. You simply needed to say his name when someone asked you if you had a crush on anyone and that was enough to be in symphony with the rest of your classmates. 

Your longing glances were caught once or twice by him and you brushed the weird flip your stomach did everytime he looked away, blushing a little. You never really cared when it happened, really, knowing his crowd and your crowd (Gyuri and you) would never even cross paths in the first place. 

You two kept to yourselves and your little book unofficial book club, sitting on the floor at lunch time and cursing everyone who dared to call you weird for it. San and Wooyoung had a crowd of people at the loudest table laughing with them over stupid teen jokes and, uh, sports? You didn't even know. 

And then the unimaginable happened. 

Jung Wooyoung sat down, criss cross applesauce and everything, in front of you on a random Monday afternoon while you and Gyuri discussed the english assignment due next period. 

Gyuri was not too excited about that. 

Turns out, the only one excited to have a crush at school was you. She was very much still in the Lonely Hearts Club phase while you skipped all the way to your The Notebook phase and she was, in her own words, too afraid to admit it when you came up with your crush plan. 

You forgave her, of course, and decided to wait for her as long as needed because you were certainly not about to be an individual and have a crush on your own. 

And by the time Wooyoung smiled at you both and introduced himself to you, like you weren't in the same class for a year already, you thought your pretend crush on his best friend evaporated and joined the void superficial and fleeting interests you had. 

But then Choi San sat beside him, his knee brushing against yours in the process, and you knew you would have to issue a formal apology to your best and only friend for leaving her behind on this little thing. 

Because, oh boy, were you crushing on Choi San. 

You felt the blush rush to your cheeks and then fell silent while your friend and his friend discussed Fifty Shades of Grey for some reason you never cared enough to discover and you knew you were done for.

It was the first time seeing his dimples in full action, so close to you, so you completely stopped functioning all together. Amazing. 

When you decided to have a crush, you never took into account that you were, actually, quite shy. And he really wasn't, but you noticed that he knew when to talk and what to say and with your friend being a lot more outgoing that you were it gave you the comfort that she would speak for the both of you while you admired from the sidelines as your little duo became a group of friends you still miss deeply to this day. 

He was funny and you laughed at your jokes even though you pretended to be tired and completely worn out by the school day, resting your head on Gyuri’s shoulder and stealing glances at the boy while she kept arguing with his best friend. 

Wooyoung was popular and liked enough to have a few people sit with you later that week, people who never even knew you existed before that. They were good friends with San as well, so you tried your best to keep up with everyone until she sat down next to you one day. 

Arin was not really a bad person. She just was a bit conceited, calling herself princess type of conceited and you never really related to her even if she was nice to you to your face. She was absolutely gorgeous and, you found out with Wooyoung’s arm around your shoulder and a whisper to your ear, she had been San’s crush since they were both in elementary school. 

That would explain the sudden tension at the table when she sat down next to you, said hello to everyone, offered you a sweet she just bought from the cafeteria, and stared at San for the remainder of lunch time. 

You also noticed Wooyoung glaring at her a little and he later explained to you that he didn't really like her all that much. She loved attention and San gave her attention, so she would intentionally flirt with him to get her ego stroked in return. 

It didn't really matter how he felt about the girl, though, he didn't have to like her just because his best friend did. And when you caught her batting her eyelashes at San, you knew you didn't even stand a chance.

You tried to hide the disappointed look on your face but both Gyuri and Wooyoung looked at you while the two of them flirted endlessly for the remainder of lunch time and you figured you were doing a pretty shitty job at it. He didn't glance at you once either way, so it didn't really matter. 

Arin did but she just complimented your eyes and then started a conversation with someone across the table, her annoying sweet and fake voice making your right ear ring in disapproval. 

Either way, you ended up becoming her friend. Gyuri was not very fond of her and neither were you, but you all went to the bathroom together, did your makeup together, did school projects together and then sat everyday at lunch together with the rest of the guys who were, in one way or another, trying to get her to like them. 

Because, once again, she was a sight for sore eyes. 

It wasn't until later, in the middle of the year, that one of them did. Not Choi San, but Choi Yeonjun. 

You remember the day you found out they were together and the gut wrenching concern you felt when you found out that San was not at school that day. 

It was after summer break, you remember Wooyoung telling you that San and his family took a few more days of vacation and if you couldn't believe your eyes when you saw the new couple sharing a sweet kiss at the designated lunch table, you could only imagine how San felt the next day when he saw the same image right in front of him. 

Yeonjun was his friend, right? He knew about his crush and decided to get together with her anyways. Surely, San was devastated. 

But he wasn't. He just cheered them on and then laughed along when Yeonjun shoved his arm playfully after the hollering. 

But you saw through it. 

Your crush on San made you observant. Made you believe you knew him better than everyone else and so, after lunch, you took out your phone and pulled up the notes app. Writing a simple “are you okay?” in it and passing it to him the next second, you were surprised with yourself before you saw him frown a bit. And then he understood what you meant. 

Nodding, he passed you the phone back, before giving you a reassuring smile that you treasured in your heart and saw in your dreams. 

You didn't believe him, though, but stayed close enough to everything related to the situation to hold Arin in your arms when Yeonjun inevitably broke her heart. 

Starting your tenth year, he moved back to his city and decided to play the I thought we weren't even that serious card on her. Which was nasty, considering love it's very, very serious for a sixteen year old girl. 

By this point, you were all a little family and hanging out after school and on the weekends was not unusual, so it didn't surprise you when Arin invited you, and only you, to her house after choir practice on a Thursday. 

She lent you her older sister’s clothes to wear (because her's would never fit you. Her words, not yours) and took you to a walk in the park just to break your heart for the first time ever. 

“You know… I thought love was something I couldn't find in highschool anymore. But San it's really making an effort, you know? He's been there for me ever since Yeonjun left and… Well, I think he's going to ask me to be his girlfriend tomorrow.” 

Grasping the park bench she forced you to sit at, you only nodded and let out a shuddering breath that gave away what she was trying to figure out since earlier that day. 

“I'll say yes but only if you say it's okay to do so.” 

Arin was not really your friend, the same way Yeonjun was not really San’s friend. 

Because there's no way you would ever be okay with it. 

And yet, you tried your best to give her a smile and pretend the sound of your heart breaking didn't bring tears to your eyes “Of course it's okay. Why wouldn't it be?” 

A week later, they were officially dating. The rumors spread around like a wildfire and it took out of you with everyone calling San a nasty rebound and you doing your best to prioritize the ghost of the friendship you had with him. That whole fiasco lasted a few months. 

Months in which your friendship with everyone just grew stronger. Gyuri was still your best friend, Wooyoung was crushing on her hard and everyone knew, Arin and San were a steady couple, a new girl joined your class that year, named Yeri, and the principal assigned her to you because she thought you two would get along really well. 

“I like girls,” was like, the third thing she ever told you while you were showing her the school “I'm just telling you now because I don't plan on hiding it and you are wearing a pride pin.” 

“Oh, that's cool. I like girls too,” you smiled, looking at your pride pin “I didn't hide it either and no one gave me shit about it, so, don't worry.” 

Yeri also liked the mainstream music that you liked and soon she became a new addition to your group. And with Arin spending all of her free time with San, you, Gyuri and Yeri only grew closer and closer. You didn't have Arin’s voice in your ear telling you the million reasons she found Yeri uncool, but you saw it in her face every time the table laughed at one of Yeri’s jokes. 

And so, it went on for a while: 

Your mom driving all of you around in her car to the beach, to dinner, to the movies and letting you have mixed sleepovers at your house (meaning you, Arin, Gyuri, Wooyoung, Yeri and San) was fun and all, but it was not enough to distract yourself entirely. Everytime you glanced at the couple, that sinking feeling in your chest would appear and sulk your whole mood for, at least, fifteen minutes.  

Fifteen minutes of pretending you were okay with them before forgetting completely for an hour or so and then the cycle would repeat until you were alone staring at the ceiling and doing your best to not cry about it.

All it took was your first kiss being Yeri of all people for you to decide that it was time to retire your crush for Choi San once and for all. 

And for a while, it all went according to plan. You decided to tell Gyuri that it was okay because he was your friend first and the guy that you liked second and that you were not fourteen and desperate for love anymore, that it was time to go on with your life as if nothing really happened in the first place. 

You were hooking up with Yeri anyways, so it seemed like you were doing just fine. 

You grew closer to San as well and even though he mostly talked to you about Arin and whatever tantrum she was throwing at the time, you really started to feel some sense of normalcy within you when it came to just speaking to him. 

You no longer blushed when he made you laugh, you no longer looked at him with the longing of a past life lover and you were really happy for him because, at the end of the day, he was really happy with his relationship. 

Until winter break came around and Arin decided to give San his first heartbreak ever. 

She decided to call for a break in their relationship because she was, in his words, too overwhelmed with the amount of love and attention she was getting from him. 

Which was completely fucking insane considering the fact she forced him to save her contact as Princess Arin and all. 

So naturally, you sided with him. And she didn't take it to heart because everyone knew you liked San anyways. 

She told you the news herself through Facebook after asking you to explain to her the English assignment due next day and then she decided to tell you something you'll never understand because you no longer are on speaking terms with her: 

Princess Arin: u know i broke up with him because of u right? :) 

Princess Arin: one day I'll tell u all abt it. 

She never told you anything about it. And by then, you were starting your last year and San was your best friend who hung out with you everyday after school, calling you late at night and helping you with assignments through Skype. So you didn't really care. 

And as the day passed, you started understanding the connection they talked about in books and movies. You thought you did before, Gyuri being your eternal person in this world, but it felt so different with San. 

Different and good. Different and achy enough for you to want to keep it in your life. 

Your dynamic was friendly, sure, but it was alright. It consisted of banter and daring stares as well as laughter and soft moments you treasured till this day. 

“It's way too early to be this annoying, Choi San.” 

“Oh, you think this is me being annoying?”

You both got an hour of detention for disturbing the class that day. 

You loved it. 

But then, after almost a month of picking up the broken pieces of his heart one by one, and your mother giving him a self-help book to make him regain the confidence he lost during the breakup process, you realized that you were in love with him and there was nothing you could do about that. 

You noticed one friday afternoon, when he offered to pay for your and your mom's ice cream at the drive through, when he scrambled to get all the change he had on him to leave a tip for the person who handed you guys the sweet treat, that there was no way you didn't love him. 

And it was confusing as fuck when everyone else started to tell you he had feelings for you as well. 

“Think about it. You text each other good morning everyday” Yeri listed with her finger and you nodded “Then, you go to school, sit together and spend the rest of the day together” another nod “Then after school you either go get ice cream together or hang out for a bit with your mom while she drives him home. And after that, you get on Skype for the reminder of the afternoon and then he calls you on your house phone and you two spend the rest of the night talking before falling asleep on the line together,” she looked at you like you were insane for even denying the accusations made against San, but she continued anyway “And then it's rinse and repeat and it has been that way since… What? Three months ago?” 

You nodded again, defeated. 

“Girl, he likes you.” she sighed, annoyed and a little tired, before sitting on your lap and kissing your lips affectionately “And you're here making out with me instead of him. You really are a lost cause.”

That didn't stop you from hooking up with her until she found a girl who's heart was not reserved for someone else, though. Said girl went to a different school and was a year younger than all of you, but she looked very happy and stopped secretly kissing you in the school bathroom like a week after they met. 

And when she finally told everyone, you were really happy for her, but San not so much. 

It was the night you thought everything was about to change. The night you thought he was about to kiss you or you were about to kiss him, whatever happened first. 

Laying in your bed, facing each other in the dim light, he thought it was the biggest form of betrayal and pouted the whole time he explained to you why. 

He thought you liked her and you realized he didn't really pay attention to you after all. Not the way you did with him. 

Bless his heart. 

You didn't kiss him that night because he wouldn't shut up about you and Yeri. 

“I mean, why couldn't it be you? She clearly liked you if you two were hooking up for over a year” and when his hand came to rest on your back, under your shirt, you breath hitched enough for him to notice it but not enough for him to just don't do anything about it except trace the curve of your silhouette with the pad of his thumb “I don't understand why anyone would pass the opportunity to be with you.” 

Huh. Maybe he did have feelings for you. 

No. He's just being a great best friend. Don't take that for granted. 

But it was impossible for you not to take Yeri’s words seriously as time went on. 

You didn't want to think he was giving you mixed signals, but yet again there was that one time when you reached behind your passenger seat in your mothers car to pinch his leg playfully after he pulled on your hair a little bit from behind, only to end up holding his hand the rest of the car trip to his house. 

His fingers slowly caressing the back of your hand were just too much for you not to get everything mixed up. 

Or that other time when your school held a Woman's Day event, and your class president decided that all the boys in the class were going to give roses to the girls.

When it was your turn to get a rose, you knew no one would give you one. But Yeri stood in line and collected a rose from the bin before the class president had the opportunity to say anything else. 

“I'll take that, thank you very much.” She turned to you, smiling. San blocked her way to you a second after. 

“And just what do you think you're doing?” 

“Giving my best girl a rose, of course.” She peeked around him, giving you a wink that you could only roll your eyes to. 

San turned to you, the fondness in his eyes making you question the decision of not pretending to be sick that day. It was too much for you to handle. 

“To the back of the line, then. I already called dibs on her,” he turned to your friend, snatching the rose from her hand in one swift move “I'll take that, thank you very much.” 

He had no idea what that meant to you back then. It was true that, at school, he behaved a little differently than when you two were alone. 

He was athletic, so he had some friends that you were sure used to ask him what the fuck was he doing wasting his time with a girl like you instead of getting a new girlfriend. 

He had a family that didn't approve of yours, too. You felt it the first time you met his mom and, even though she was nice to you and your mom, you could feel the judgemental stare she gave both of you when your mom told her she was a single parent. 

San told you that it didn't really matter, that his mom didn't have to like you because you weren't her friend, you were his. 

He played with your feelings a little too well. Wanting him, adoring him and letting yourself be consumed by the thought of him loving you back was enough to keep it going. To ignore the fluttering way your heart kept beating whenever he talked to you which was all the time. 

You assumed the way he behaved with you in private was the real him. The one who didn't care about appearances or his family approval. 

The one who cared about you. 

It was dizzying and fantastic and you thought he just might've been the love of your life. 

But then he would tell you how much it hurted when he saw Arin at school and how much he missed her, the intimacy they shared before, and reality would come crashing down and setting your delusions on fire again. 

He had sex with Arin. You would never stand a chance. 

Or so you thought he did. Except when you overheard Arin speaking to her friends and that was the first time you ever got mad at Choi San.

“And, you know, me and San were never intimate like that so I wouldn't know but I think boys have no idea how to please a woman if they tried to.” 

What? 

Oh. So he lied to you. 

And you were so upset by the thought of him making up stories of their intimate time together that it didn't even cross your mind that Arin might've been lying to save face. 

So when he came back from the bathroom and sat at his usual desk in front of you, you didn't even think about his feelings when you decided to treat him like shit for lying about something so important like sex to your face. 

“Leave me alone, San! I don't want to fucking talk to you right now!” 

The hurt expression he gave you after that is one you would never be able to forget. 

But you grew to be stubborn and a little overprotective of your own feelings, so you thought him playing the part of your best friend all these months and sweet talking to you was just another one of his lies. 

“You guys not being friends right now doesn't make any fucking sense, sweetheart.” Wooyoung's tone is careful and laced with affection, but you knew he was playing the devil's advocate on behalf of San. With his arm around Gyuri’s shoulder (by that point, they were a thing for over two months) you could swear you saw him smirk when the nickname brought a scowl to your face. 

He might've been worried, but he was also a little shit. 

“You really are going to let Arin ruin what you two have?” Your best friend was, of course, on your side. But she was your best friend for a reason and her love included pointing out when you were behaving like an infant at the age of seventeen and a half. 

“You two are practically dating and you're going to let the evil ex-girlfriend get in the way? Over something you weren't even supposed to hear in the first place? Come on.” 

Again, Wooyoung was a little shit. And you were so upset about everything that you shyness couldn't even help the fury behind your reply: 

“Stop saying that! We are not practically dating, he's in love with Arin and I'm not sure I even like him like that anymore!” Getting tired of everyone and their mother (your mother) feeding your delusions, you came to the conclusion that putting a stop to your friendship with Choi San was for the best. 

And, in doing so, you ended up breaking your own heart for the second time in your life. 

But he didn't put up an easy fight at all. You remember the feeling of pure joy when he grabbed your hand on the way to the cafeteria one day, pulling you so hard you almost ended up sitting in his lap, and the way his pleading eyes begged you to listen to him one last time. 

“Us not being friends doesn't feel right, Y/N…” he said and the word he used to categorize what both of you had hurted you, but you pushed the feeling away “Please, let's not fight anymore. I don't even know what happened, but I forgive you for yelling at me and I hope you forgive me for whatever it is you think I did.” 

Of course, you forgave him the next second without thinking too much about it. And for a while, everything went back to normal. You Skyped as usual and occasionally you let your other friends join the call even though it didn't really feel like it used to before. 

The next thing you knew, your feelings were in full bloom again and when you realized it, it was too late. 

Because by then, you had already let your childhood friend, Sunhee, join a few Skype calls and by the fourth one she invited her friend, Minseo, to them as well. 

Terrible, terrible mistake. Because even through the screen, you could see that Minseo looked a lot like Arin with the added bonus that she was down to earth and cool and liked the same things San liked.

You liked the same things San liked as well, but it never seemed to matter. 

Because not even two months after you decided to stop talking to San over a lie you weren't supposed to find out in the first place and then became friends one more time, he gets together with Minseo and you're sick to your stomach all over again. 

You hated her. Not because she was, suddenly, his girlfriend (not girlfriend girlfriend, but in a friends with benefits arrangement you never even knew why he agreed on in the first place) but because suddenly she was so fucking obnoxious and didn't seem to like you either. 

Was it not painfully obvious San didn't have feelings for you? Why was she mad at you then? You literally brought them together! 

And all you got in return was her telling him she didn't feel comfortable with him having a girl best friend. That ungrateful bitch. 

He stopped calling. He stopped texting, he stopped carpooling with you and your mom after school and he stopped caring whether your math assignment was done or not. 

He stared pulling away more and more and it didn't matter how hard you tried to get him to talk to you, it seemed like he never really fucking cared about you in the first place. 

And by may that year, you didn't speak to San anymore. Granted, the only person he did speak to was Wooyoung, but even their friendship was falling apart. 

For the first time ever, San broke your heart firsthand. And it felt really, really fucking bad. 

You cried to your mom about it, she reminded you that you were nothing but a great friend to him and that, if he didn't take the time to appreciate that, that was his loss not yours. 

And she started hating him from that moment on. But you couldn't hate San, not even a little bit. 

Why would you hate him for not liking you back? For not loving you the way you loved hi— 

Your laptop closes down right in front of you and when you try to look up to find out who's responsible for interrupting your writing time, you get interrupted again. 

“Ouch! What the fuck, Gyuri?” The slap to the back of your head is quick and filled with rage. 

“What the fuck are you even writing. I can read from here, you know?” 

“I'm just laying my feelings down and— Ouch! Stop that!” You try to hit her back but she turns away quickly when your hands almost knock her coffee mug out of hers. 

“You can't possibly still have love for San, Y/N. It's been years.”

It's been four and a half, to be precise. But who's counting, right? 

“And why are you writing it in third person? You don't usually do that.” 

“I don't really know, Gyuri!” 

“I’m telling you, this celebratory dinner bullshit it's affecting you way more than it should,” she sighs, plopping down on the couch of your shared living room, and you leave your seat at the table to join her “He might not even show up. He has that thing with Kyungmi.” 

Kyungmi. 

You couldn't get to that part on your open document, but San left Minseo when he met Kyungmi at one of the frat parties they love to attend. Wooyoung told you that he said that it was love at first sight and you even met her briefly when you picked Gyuri up from the apartment he and San got when they started college together. 

She’s gorgeous and doesn't look like Arin or Minseo at all. It’s a different type of gorgeous. She's a year older than San and went to the same school as them and Gyuri. 

You think you might even like her better than him. 

You tried to be happy for San when you found out, but you two barely even speak a word to each other and you convinced yourself a while ago that you couldn't care less if he sees right through you and your fake smiles. 

You gathered, after everything happened, that San knew you liked him and took advantage of that. Unintentionally, but he did anyway. 

You sigh, resting your head on your best friend's shoulder. “It’s his best friend's celebratory dinner, though, he needs to be there.” 

Two seconds pass and then you both say it at the same time: “He’s in love.” 

And when San is in love, he has a one track mind with the name of his lover as the goal. 

You nod, but you can't help but to be insistent “It's Wooyoung's celebratory dinner, he needs to show up, right?” 

“I might not even show up, he's a pain in the ass.” She replies but you can tell her annoyance is not genuine and it makes you smile. 

Gyuri and Wooyoung broke up towards the end of your first year of college but you all stayed close friends. A one year relationship was not enough to fuck up the friendship they had and they decided to stay civil until, eventually, they became close friends again. 

To this day, you wonder why you and San couldn't rekindle your friendship when it became clear to you that you missed your friend and not the guy that you liked. 

Because San was always your friend first and your first love second. 

But it doesn't really matter anymore, because Gyuri is forcing you to shower and reminding you that you two need to keep Wooyoung on his best behavior tonight. 

“That girl he used to like before me is going, he said. I looked her up, she's single and he needs to get together with her because I can't take him whining about it anymore.” 

They keep things with each other way too civil, you think. 

“I'm telling you, if we don't show up he's going to do that thing where he gets drunk and makes a fool of himself. I can't have that, I'm on a mission.” 

“A mission to get your ex laid?” You ask, shampooing your hair. 

“A mission to get him a girlfriend so he can stop crying to me about feeling lonely.” 

“Maybe he wants you guys to—” The shower curtain opens and you see your best friend’s scowl before covering yourself up with your hands. 

“Gyuri!”

“Don't you dare say what you were about to say or I'm divorcing you.” 

You chuckle “Sure you are.”

You're left alone again with the water stream and she goes back to do her makeup “I told you back in ninth grade that we weren't a great fit and I was right. We can't get back together,” she sighs “It'll ruin everything.” 

“I doubt it will but you guys have been friends longer than you were boyfriend and girlfriend, so I'll just have to deal with my parents being divorced and civil.” 

“God, don't ever refer to us like that again— Oh! Speaking of parents,” you see her beam at her phone when you move the shower curtain to search for your towel and then she shows it to you “Mingi and Love just celebrated their one year anniversary!” 

Love being Mingi’s best friend. Gyuri talks to you about her college friend group all the time. The drama fuels your dinner conversations, you even follow a few of them on social media. 

“What does that have to do with parents?”

“They're the mom and dad of the group.” 

San is in that friend group, you can see him in the back of the picture and you recognize his apartment layout too. He's not the main focus of it but he's all you can see until you notice the couple sitting near him on the couch. 

The picture shows both of them, her in his lap and Mingi looking at her with stars in his eyes. 

Good for them. 

“Is that the girl he was friends with forever before they finally realized that they were in love?” 

“Yeah,” she sighs in contempt, looking down at the picture again “I was there the day it happened. I mean, not physically with them, but they left Yunho's party together and I told Wooyoung that it was finally about to happen!”

Gyuri is not a romantic person at all. Her excitement shows you that she really loves them and so you soften at the news that would usually give you and your dry love life a headache “It was the day before you called me to get you out of that awful date.” 

Ah, that also happened back then. You shudder at the memory.

“Tell them I say congrats, babe.” 

“I'm bringing you as my plus one.” 

You laugh, confused “To where?” 

“Their wedding, duh.” 

“They practically just got together,” you remind her, a year is not enough time to propose “And I don't really know them, Gyuri!” 

“They love you,” she assures you as you step out of the shower “I have been speaking about your antisocial ass for years. They can't wait to meet you.” 

“So you've been shit talking behind my back for years? Is that what I'm hearing?” 

She laughs “No, babe, that's Wooyoung's job.” 

Clearing your throat and looking at your friend through the mirror, you try to be as nonchalant as you can when you ask: “Has he… Did he tell you if…” 

“No, Y/N, I have no clue if San is going or not and Wooyoung is actually mad at him at the moment.” 

“Why?” 

She looks at you, sighing “He's been lacking as a friend lately.” 

“Hm.” 

“I hope you're not planning on swooning if you see him. Fuck him, Y/N.” 

“I know…” 

“And by fuck him I mean he doesn't deserve you or your forgiveness.” 

“He didn't do anything to me, Gyuri,” you remind her, shrugging “Not reciprocating my feelings is not a crime so I don't have to forgive him for anything.” 

You can practically feel her starting the San hate train engine, so you step out of the bathroom but her voice follows you. 

“And what about that time he ditched you for Minseo when you asked him to go with you to that medical appointment, huh?” 

“Cut it out, Gyuri…” 

But her head peaks around the corner, into the hall where you're rushing towards your room “Or that time when—” 

“Can't hear you!” Turning to look at her, she gives you an affectionate middle finger and heads back to the bathroom.

Closing the door, you lean into the thin wood and sigh, getting San’s face out of your mind so you can focus on getting ready and actually show up for Wooyoung and Wooyoung only. 

He just got a permanent position after completing his internship at a company that's your company's rival. He's going to crush you and steal clients from you but you are genuinely so happy for him. 

You should've guessed he enjoyed books as much as you did back in highschool. The debates he used to have with Gyuri were not all about flirting with her but also because he has a passion for books. 

And now he's going to work in the same field as you.

You're so proud of your friend. 

As you get ready, you remember the excitement cruising through your body when your boss trusted you enough to give you the first manuscript of a new client so you could edit it. You're sure Wooyoung is going to do better than you, taking into account that he actually went to college for this. 

You didn't. 

You met your boss at the part-time job you got in senior year, when you were trying to distract yourself from all the pain and the horrors of becoming a grown up. She was chatty, got a little too drunk on soju and told you she was starting her own book publishing company. 

When she returned months later after remembering that you told her you loved books and would love to work for as a publisher one day, she offered you a job in her company right after graduating highschool. 

You took it because you didn't think an opportunity like this would show up ever again. 

She was truly a blessing, the kind of person you never really believed in until she taught you all you needed to know about publishing and editing and encouraged you to take online classes during the nights so you could get, at least, a certification on what you do. 

You're proud of yourself too. The opportunity found you in a specific moment of your life where both your heart and your self esteem were destroyed and now you're not the person you used to be. 

Maybe that's why the possibility of facing San makes you so nervous. Collective memories are dangerous because the details never match the ones on the other person's head. 

You know who you were back then but… Are you the same person in San’s head? 

You don't even want to find out. 

Scanning your outfit in the mirror for the last time, you take the shoes you're wearing tonight out of your closet and walk over to the living room. 

Only to find Gyuri laying on the carpet under the coffee table, half dressed and on her phone. 

“You're going to mess up your hair.” 

“I don't care, I'm not going.” 

Sighing, you sit down on the couch and staring at the wood of the table covering her face. 

“What happened now?” 

“The bitch canceled!” 

“Wooyoung?” 

Poking her head out, she frowns at you “No, his first love.” 

“You were his first love.” 

“You know what I'm talking about, Y/N!” 

Laughing at her, you offer her your hand “Get dressed. Who cares if she's not going? He's not going to sulk because he's going to have you and his best friends there.” 

She whines like a child when you pull her up from the floor “I had a plan!” 

“Then make a new one, babe. We're going to be late.” 

She starts to whine again but then stops mid-groan to give you a once over. You shift uncomfortably on your feet, suddenly self-conscious about your appearance for the first time in years. 

“You look really hot…” she tells you and you fake gag at her words “Really pretty. Like a fairy and a smoke show at the same time.” 

You can't possibly look like that when you have such a simple outfit on, floor length high waist black pants and a flowy sleeve top that ties in the middle. It's barely formal but now you're thinking too hard about it. 

Blushing, you wave your hand to dismiss her compliment “Oh, my god. Go and change!” 

She rushes to her room on the opposite end of the hall and you finally breathe, looking down at your choice of fit and wondering if it's too much. 

Gyuri would've told you if that's the case, but either way it haunts your mind in the car on the way there, leg bouncing up and down under your best friend's judging gaze that only softens when you pout at her. 

“They are going to love you, babe. I'm so serious, they've been waiting years to meet you.” 

You nod because, yes, you're concerned that her friend group is not all as welcoming as she paints them to be. 

And you wish your doubts would go away but you're really, really not good at making friends. You're cautious, extremely closed off to new people and not as good with conversation no matter how much confidence you gained over the past years. 

When you walk to the loudest table at the laid back restaurant their friend Seonghwa made the reservation at, you think you won't be able to fit in with everyone else. You feel like an intruder, like Gyuri is supposed to enjoy this part of her life without you here. 

That's why you rejected every invitation they ever made. 

You celebrate birthdays with her, with Woo as well, but it's all very intimate and separate from their social circle, the one that includes the man you haven't fully faced in years. 

But you can't exactly back out now, not when one of them turns to you and seems to light up when they see you. 

“Oh? Is this her?” you recognize Hongjoong from pictures, he's the only one facing you when you approach the table, lowkey hiding behind Gyuri like a child. 

“Who?” 

“Huh?”

San is nowhere to be seen. Thank god. 

Slowly, everyone turns around and you see their faces light up with both delight and surprise. Your heart is pounding, you feel it in your throat, in your eyes, in the heat that colors your cheeks. 

But Gyuri just steps aside and presents you with a smile “This is her!” 

“Oh, Y/N!” Wooyoung gets up, rushing towards you and crashing into your frame with a crushing hug “I'm so glad you're here,” he murmurs into your hair and then turns to his friends, quiet them down “Everyone, this is Y/N, one of my best friends in the entire world.” 

He's such a dramatic human being.

You love him so much. 

Raising your hand, you shyly wave at them “Hi.” 

The entire table erupts with joy. Some of them greet you, some of them are saying that they are happy to be finally meeting you and Wooyoung grabs your arm and plops you down into the seat next to Gyuri, at the edge of the table. 

Laughing, you apologize for not meeting them sooner and then you feel a pair of hands on your shoulders. 

Panic raising, you quickly turn around to see who it is before releasing a shuddering, but calmer, breath. 

“She's a very busy woman, guys. She works for the competition, my competition,” everyone gasps at that but Wooyoung is smiling at you “and she's very good at what she does. Which means she's busy, get off her case,” he puts a glass and a can of beer in front of you “Drink, babe.” 

“Thanks, babe.” You whisper back and he leans in to peck your head before going away. 

Gyuri groans “Stop stealing that from us! It's our thing, Y/N, don't indulge him.” 

“It's his celebratory dinner…” you argue with a laugh that Hongjoong and Mingi follow. 

“Yeah! Can you get off my case tonight, Gyuri?” 

She huffs, wrapping her arms around you “I hate you all.” 

“No you don't!” 

The table laughs and everyone returns to their individual conversations when Woo sits down on his spot. 

There's a few seats left, one besides Mingi and one right in front of you but you don't think too much about it because soon Gyuri gets up to ask Yeosang something and Seonghwa occupies her seat right beside you. 

You think he can sense that you're more shy than you let on, because he doesn't include you in whatever he and Yunho were talking about and waits until he stops talking to him to turn to you. 

“So, you work for a publishing company?” 

The question catches you off guard and you swallow the beer quickly before nodding “Y-yeah, I… Yeah.” 

He chuckles “You're nervous.” 

“I'm just not as good at meeting people as Gyuri is. She usually does the job and I tag along.” 

“I feel like I know you already, though.” He says, leaning back on his chair. 

“Because she talks a lot about me?” he nods “Yeah, she tends to do that.” 

“Wooyoung also talks a lot about you, San too… Sometimes,” your cheeks heat up and he misinterprets what it means “All good things, I promise.” 

You doubt that. 

Your brain gives you a hundred and one possible things San could've said about you. 

For some reason, none of them are good. But you choose to believe the gorgeous, long haired guy in front of you. 

“Well that's good to hear,” you take another sip of your drink before smiling at him “I was sure Woo was trash talking about me.” 

He shakes his head with a smile “He wouldn't dare, he has Gyuri on his ass all the time and I'm sure she would kill him.” 

“I'm sure she would kill him even if he didn't do it.” 

His smile grows wider “That's true,” he says, looking over at them who are, very coincidentally, fighting about something. You let out a sigh and he laughs again before clearing his throat “So, the publishing company. What kind of books do you like to edit the most?” 

Your smile grows wider too. 

For the next hour, you talk to Seonghwa about your job and how you started in it. He asks you about your classes and the challenges that you face on a daily basis and Wooyoung overhears and ends up joining the conversation as well.

You don't even hear footsteps nearing until a voice cuts everyone off. 

“I'm sorry I'm late!” 

“Baby!” Mingi gets up from his seat, but no one else does so he's stuck between the table and his girlfriend. 

“Oh, that's Love, huh?” you ask Seonghwa, Wooyoung too entertained messing with the couple to hear you anyways. 

“Yeah… Is that how Gyuri refers to her?” He frowns.

“Mhm,” you answer, leaning into him like you're about to tell him an important secret “I'm not supposed to call her that, don't tell her.” 

Seonghwa leans in too, pretending to zip his mouth shut and you laugh. 

The girl wiggles her way into the seat reserved for her and everyone lets out a groan when they smooch each other. You can only giggle and the sound draws her attention to you “Y/N?” 

You quickly nod “Yeah, hi, nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you! Finally, I thought Wooyoung and Gyuri had an imaginary friend,” you laugh, shrugging at the joke “Love your outfit, by the way, are those— Oh, San, hi— Are those jellyfish?” 

You want to answer. You truly do, the yes right at the tip of your tongue, but words leave you when you turn your head around and find San already looking at you with wide eyes.

He looks great, he's a bit more muscular than what the pictures show and than the last time that you saw him, his arms hugging the fabric of the dress shirt he's wearing like it was tailored for him and everything. 

How dare he. 

You wonder if his heart is beating as loud as yours is right now. If he's surprised, disappointed or happy to see you at all. 

“Her favorite animal.” He answers for you “Hi, Y/N.” 

“Hi…” you whisper back and it feels like you're in a trance. He doesn't look away but the table quieting down once again snaps you out of it and you turn to the girl with a wide smile that you hope conceals whatever the fuck you're feeling at the moment “I love jellyfishes. Had a phase as a child when I would exclusively talk about them, too,” you chuckle, nervously, reaching for your earrings instinctively “Gyuri gave them to me as a present last Christmas.” 

You definitely overshared just now. From the corner of your eye you catch your best friend getting ready to step in if needed. 

Love looks at you, then at San (who's just standing next to you without uttering a word) and then back at you again, smiling like she just figured something out “Well, I love them.” 

“Thanks…” 

Coughing unnecessarily loud, Wooyoung gets up from his seat “You're late.” 

It takes a second but San tears his gaze away from you to look at his best friend and you take the opportunity to chug down the rest of your beer “Sorry, something came up.” 

Seonghwa turns at that and looks at him as well “You good?” 

“I am. Did you guys already eat? I'm starving.” 

“Nope. We're about to order. Let me get you a drink, come here.” And just like that, he disappears from your view and you almost sigh in relief. 

“Are you good?” Seonghwa asks you next and you reckon he's very observant. But then again, you're not the most gracious human being when you're in San’s presence, so, you figure everyone else noticed your change of mood as well. 

“Yeah, I just… I haven't seen him in a while and I didn't think he was coming. I was surprised, that's all.” 

“I can see that,” his eyes move around your face for some reason, frowning a little bit but then he seems to let it go, getting the menu closer to you “Okay, good, um… I actually made the reservation here because they have the best samgyeopsal in town.”  

“Do they?” 

“Mhm, so…” 

He helps you pick your food and when it's time to order, he moves back to his seat. Gyuri asks you with her eyes if you're okay, you nod and grab her hand under the table with a tiny smile and then everyone is moving around to make space for San and Woo once they return. 

He doesn't sit in front of you. 

Relief floods you and you can finally feel your muscles relax as he is so far away, at the other end of the table and in the same row of seats, so you don't really see him unless you really try. 

Which you don't, so your food goes down easy and the rest of the night as well.

Until everyone but you and Seonghwa move around their seats and he ends up right in your point of view as you do your best to ignore him and focus on his friend. 

Seonghwa asks you about your hobbies, you tell him that you love to write movie essays on websites no one even cares to read and he asks you to show it to him so he can look it up when he gets home.

“And you've always done this? Since highschool?” 

You nod and he beams “I read like the first three lines and it looks really good, Y/N. Is that why you love books so much? Because you're a writer?” 

“I wouldn't consider myself a writer but… Sure, I love to write.” 

“Did you know this?” he turns to San and your smile drops a little. 

“Know what?” 

“Your friend is an excellent writer.” 

“Oh, I know. She, uh… Used to write stories on her notebook instead of paying attention in math class,” he sips on his drink and at the detail you didn't know he knew, you turn to him fully “I used to read over her shoulder sometimes.” 

“She's really good.” Seonghwa is looking at your phone, still reading “Really smart, too.” 

San’s jaw tenses a little and you can't understand why “I know.” He says again. 

His friend is none the wiser, blocking your phone and returning it to you “I like it,” he says, smiling and you blush “The essay.” He clarifies after a second, prompting a laugh out of you that he joins. 

San doesn't laugh, but you don't pay attention to him because Seonghwa is asking you something else. 

When it's time to leave the restaurant, Wooyoung suggests going back to his apartment to milk the get-together as much as you all can.

You all throw your napkins at him in feign disgust at the choice of words but you all accept his proposal either way. 

So now you're sitting on the couch, legs crossed and head on Gyuri’s shoulder while you listen to all of them talk (more like argue) about something that happened at their university last week, their voices drowning the soft music playing out of the tiny speaker resting on the counter. 

San is on the floor, to your right. It's hard to keep your eyes off him when you feel him looking at you when you close your eyes and let the noise fade into the background. It's not like you're able to add something to the conversation anyway and Gyuri seems to be drinking her sorrows (not being able to hook Woo up with the girl she told you about) away. 

Your best friend is slurring her words already, drink in hand and index finger pointing at Jongho accusatively because, apparently, the fight they're talking about was his fault. 

“You don't—” she hiccups “You don't even know why it was your fault and it pisses me off even more, you know?” 

“Okay, let me take that.” Taking the drink from her hand and before she starts complaining you stand up to make your way into the kitchen. 

The sink is full and a mess, so you pour the liquid into it and leave the glass sitting right beside it. Distracted by the dilemma of helping Woo out with the dishes or not, you don't notice someone else also entering the space.

That's why you jump a little when you turn and catch Seonghwa leaning on the wall by the entrance. It startles you enough to laugh the nerves out afterwards and he shakes his head, smiling. 

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. They're boring me to death with the fight story.” 

You nod, realizing that maybe that's because he doesn't attend the university anymore. He told you he graduated last year “They're too drunk to let it go.” 

“Too drunk to dance to this amazing song, too. Who's playlist is that?” he frowns and you rest your back into the sink, rolling your eyes because he's pretending he doesn't know “Oh! Right, it's mine.” 

“And they just don't know how to appreciate it, huh?” he shrugs and you click your tongue “They're such bad friends, Seonghwa, I truly don't know why you keep them around.” 

“You appreciate it,” it's your turn to frown and he leaves his spot at the wall to walk towards you “You were singing along to it,” he explains and you let out an ah, nodding as he extends his palm to you, clearly inviting you to dance. 

“Oh, I don't… I don't really know how to—” 

“I'll show you.” 

His kind eyes are asking you to trust him. You really, really shouldn't. 

No matter how hard you try to bury the hopeless romantic little girl who decided to have a crush on a guy back in ninth grade, she's still there, begging you to let loose and live a little. 

When you grab Seonghwa’s hand, you think the smile he gives you was worth listening to her. 

You can't even tell the song that's softly playing anymore, a mellow r&b melody reaches your ear but you are not listening. You're focused on him, on the way he spins you around even if it doesn't fit the bit, on the way he laughs softly against your ear when he pulls you close by your hand and then pulls away just as quickly. 

Laughing as well, the spell of this beautiful stranger (because you remind yourself you don't really know him that well) is hard to break. 

Until it does. 

Someone clearing their throat behind you stops you and Seonghwa's feet from moving any further. When the tall, older guy turns you around, you're face to face with San and his scowl. 

“Sorry to interrupt but I need to get started on the dishes. Everyone else is heading out too,” he looks behind you, at the man who's still standing close to you and grabbing your hand “In case you want to ask Mingi for a ride.” 

“They finally stopped fighting!” he fakes excitement, finally letting go of your hand and walking in front of you, blocking San with his body. You chuckle, barely clapping your hands to join the pretense as he's pulling up his phone “Can I ask for your number, Y/N?” 

Blinking a few times, you're not sure if your heart speeds up because he's asking or because you hear San sigh exasperated behind him “S-sure.” 

When you put your information on his phone, he bids you goodbye with a pat on your head and hugs San on his way out the kitchen. 

Now that you two are alone, you suddenly want to run and join Seonghwa. You were doing so, so well. 

Avoiding San like the plague it's much easier when you're safe hiding behind your two best friends. 

Ignoring his stare would be much easier if you weren't stuck into place. 

“I—” 

“You—” 

You both speak over each other and you force out an uncomfortable laugh that he doesn't return. Instead, he motions you to go first while he occupies the space in front of the sink, turning the faucet on. In doing so, he has to grab your waist and move you out of the way which makes you short circuit for a second “I was going to help you with that.” You finally stammer out. 

He lets out what you take as an annoyed chuckle. 

“You seemed busy, I don't know how you would've done it.” 

Ouch. 

Why do you allow his words to cut so deep when you stopped caring about what he does a long time ago? 

The band aid rips, the stitches come undone and all it took him were five seconds to melt your resolve away like it was never there in the first place. 

“I'll… I go get Gyuri so we can leave Woo and you to get to it, then.” 

“Bathroom.” You hear him mutter under his breath as you are taking the final step to leave. 

“Huh?” 

“She's in the bathroom, probably puking her breakfast out,” he looks up at you to give you a tiny smile “You left her alone with Jongho and Woo for five minutes so she got ahold of another drink.” 

“God damnit.” 

Rushing out, you run into everyone else at the door and Mingi has to let go of his very intoxicated girlfriend when she reaches you to give you a hug “Don't be a stranger, Y/N! It was lovely to be around you, hm?” 

The sudden physical contact almost makes you gasp but you cover it up with a shy giggle “O-oh. Yeah, um, lovely to meet you too. All of you.” 

“Sorry about that,” her boyfriend grabs her arms and breaks the hug “She's right, though. Don't be a stranger.” 

You nod once, smiling a little more sincerely now and everyone says bye to you, including Seonghwa, who grabs your hand one last time and gives it a squeeze before closing the front door of the apartment. 

You think you feel your heart skip a tiny bit under all the shit San’s words pulled up to the surface a minute ago. But there's no time to dwell in that: you hear Gyuri opening up the bathroom door before gagging and closing it again with a slam. 

Jesus Christ. 

You two are really getting old. You stopped drinking like an hour ago, when you were starting to feel tipsy after your second beer, and you know she didn't drink as much as she used to maybe four years ago, but the visage that welcomes you when you open the door and find her crouched down in front of the toilet certainly brings back memories of those times. 

“I left you alone for like… five minutes.” Sighing, you lean in to hold her flimsy ponytail and pat her back. 

“I'm good,” she gags again and then holds up her hand to stop you from saying anything else “I'm fine.” 

Smiling, you help her up and she grabs the counter as she's washing away the taste of whatever she ate earlier today and alcohol “Me when I lie…”

“Y/N!” she hits your arm but the movement somehow almost makes her trip. 

“You want to lay down?” 

“Is she okay?” Woo’s head peaks into the bathroom and when he sees his ex, he makes a face. 

“Does she look like she's okay?” you help her out of the bathroom and start heading for Wooyoung's room. 

“Wow, wow— Where do you think you're taking her?” 

“To your room, dumbass!”

“Why mine? San's is literally right there.” He whines, pointing at the door you pass by without a second thought. You don't want to know where his room is or what it looks like at all. 

“Yeah, well, did San get her this drunk?” 

“How was I supposed to know that she was at her almost black-out phase? She never drinks that much in front of me!” he complains again but you're already tugging Gyuri in, who mumbles something incoherent and then flips Wooyoung off “Na Gyuri if you puke on my bed I swear to God!” 

If you didn't know Wooyoung so much, the whining and the attitude would probably make you think he didn't care for her at all. But he's brushing her hair out of her forehead, securing the blanket around her and moving to take her socks off when you reach the door. 

“I'm guessing you're okay with her staying the night?” 

“Of course you guys can stay the night, Y/N.” He says and he stumbles a little to get to you, so you smile and shake your head, about to let him know that you're not staying anywhere near his roommate when he continues “You can come over whenever you like. You know that, right?” 

“I know, Woo.” 

“I barely even see you these days, I… Oh! I forgot!” he points to the end of the hall, towards the kitchen “You guys don't really like each other so maybe don't come over when he's here because I don't want to see you sad!” 

“Lower your voice,” you whisper to him, bringing a hand to his face and patting his cheek a few times to wake him up “Did the alcohol suddenly hit you or something?” you sigh for the umpteenth time “Anyways, you should lay down and I'll get going. I'll come pick her up tomorrow and—” 

“That's such a great idea! Oh, I'm a genius.” 

“You didn't come up with it, Wooyoung.”

“San!” he calls all of the sudden and you wish he was sober enough to read the panic on your features. He seems much, much sober when his best friend starts walking down the hall and stops right beside you “Take Y/N home, please, she's going to give you a bag that you must protect with your life.” 

Said best friend looks at you, his eyebrow arched in a silent question “Gyuri’s stuff.” 

“Ah.”

“Go, go. It's getting late, I'll just… I'll cuddle with my ex until you get home.” 

And she has the nerve to say he doesn't want her back. 

When the door to Wooyoung's room closes and you're left with San on the poorly lit hallway, you make a mental note to never step foot on this place or allow your friends to drink ever again. 

You don't even look at the guy before practically running down the hallway and reaching for your bag. You make sure your phone is secured in your pocket as you slip your shoes on and soon you're grabbing the front door knob and twisting it. 

Keys jingle next to you but, again, you don't spare San a glance. 

“So—” 

“I'll get out of your hair, you don't have to… walk me home or whatever he said.” 

“Y/N, it's late.” 

Turning to him, your smile is as fake as the ones you've been giving him the past couple of years “And I'm a grown up, San, I can walk myself home.” 

“What about Gyuri’s stuff?” 

“She can wear Wooyoung's clothes, it's not like they never shared before. Anyway… Thank you for having me, it was nice to see you. Goodnight.” Your response comes out fast and it sounds as planned out as it actually is, kinda robotic and devoid of actual emotion. 

San can't see through you the way you see through him. It's okay, he won't mind it. 

He probably won't mind that you close his own door on his face either. 

If that door is what you hear when you're making your way down the stairs in order to make a fast escape, you choose to ignore it. 

You have to stop mid-way to compose yourself. You don't know why you feel like crying or why your heart is beating so fast. 

You knew going in that there was a possibility of seeing him tonight. You know how San affects you, so effortless and seemingly like no time has passed at all in between senior year and present day. 

You know all of this already, it's an endless loop that will keep repeating until you either move away or decide to stop agreeing to Wooyoung's plans all together. 

So why is your chest heaving with emotion? Why is nostalgia playing mind tricks with you? Why do you want to turn back and hug him and beg him to turn back time so you can do it all differently now that you know how to look like and what to say to make him love you back? 

Ah, you're definitely not sleeping tonight. So you start distracting yourself while walking down the stairs again. You remind yourself to tell a much sober Wooyoung how proud you are of him. You think about Seonghwa, about his kind eyes and the way he grabbed your hand to dance with him just half an hour ago. You wonder how long it will take you to get home if you jog all the way there. You—

Why the fuck is San outside when you get there? 

In a comedic way, you can see your attempt to distract your mind off of him slipping through your fingers and evaporating in the warm summer night breeze. 

In a realistic way, you're fucking pissed at him for taking the opportunity of a good night sleep away from you. 

You pass him and start jogging like you planned a minute ago. Footsteps follow you until his arm brushes yours and you take a step to the side to stop it from happening again. 

“Go home, Choi San.” 

“Stop fighting it, Y/N. I'm walking you home.” 

“It's a twenty minute walk—” 

“Drop it.” 

You do. And for the first ten minutes, no one utters a word even if the tension feels electric and the street is so quiet so you can hear when his breath accelerates when he jogs to catch up to you whenever you try to leave him behind. 

Isn't that ironic. He was the one who left you behind all those years ago. 

“I didn't know that you danced.” 

He breaks the uncomfortable but safe silence to say that? 

“Well, you saw me dance so I clearly dance when I want to.” 

“You never danced with me.” 

“You never asked me to.” 

He laughs “I'm pretty sure I did on several occasions, Y/N.” 

“Well, you're wrong,” you're getting annoyed. How dare he think he remembers better than you? “It doesn't matter anyway, what's past is past and—” 

“You also gave Hwa your number,” he interrupts, his long legs taking two strides to get in front of you, still walking, facing your direction with his hands on his pockets. 

It's dangerous and stupid, even if the streets are practically empty and the sidewalk barely has any bumps. 

You hope he falls on his pretty face.

“I did.* 

“I don't have your number.” 

“Well, I changed it and you never asked for it, so…” 

“You could've called me or texted me to let me know you did it.” 

He's getting on your nerves.

“San,” you start, taking in a deep breath you hope calms you down “We don't even text anymore, why would you want my number?” 

“Do you like him?” 

“Seonghwa?” you ask, frowning and he nods “Like… As a person?” 

“As a potential love interest.” He clarifies matter-of-factly and you roll your eyes. 

“I met him today, San. Why do you want my number?” 

“Because we're friends?” he offers after a second, shifting so he's walking by your side again. 

“Are we?” you ask, laughing bitterly at that “Because we haven't spoken a word to each other in years.” 

“That's not true.” 

“It is, San.” 

“You… You don't speak to me anymore, so…” 

“Well your girlfriend at the time told me she didn't feel comfortable with me speaking to you anymore,” you sigh “so I didn't and you didn't try to talk to me either.” 

“Well, I want to talk to you now.” 

“And is your new girlfriend aware of that? Is she comfortable with that? Because I don't want anyone telling me what to do anymore and—” 

“Why wouldn't she be comfortable? We're friends, Y/N.” 

“Are we?” you insist, petty, bitter and overall very, very hurt. 

He looks offended at that “I assumed we were?” 

He's getting on your fucking nerves. 

“We stopped being friends the second Minseo asked me to stay away from you because she didn't like me, San.” 

“She’s not in my life anymore—” 

The words are coming out of your mouth without even thinking it through. His demeanor, the way he's somehow reproaching you for whatever he saw between you and his friend, the way he pretends nothing happened between you and him, thinking that you two are still friends. 

“We stopped being friends when you pulled away from me, saw me do the same and did nothing to stop it from happening, San.” 

He stops in his tracks at that. You don't, pushing forward and quickening your step even if your calves burn. 

“Either way,” you speak up “Make sure you tell your girlfriend about wanting my number and then you can ask Seonghwa for it if you want—” 

“She's not my girlfriend anymore!” 

Now that stops you, just a few buildings down from yours, you turn around just to find San closer that you thought he'll be.

“O-oh. I… I didn't know that. I'm sorry.” 

“You didn't do anything to be sorry for.” 

“Still, it must suck so I'm sorry you're going through that.” 

“We didn't want the same things and so we ended it. It is what it is.” 

You nod. 

He walks the few steps separating you and you have to raise your chin a little to look him in the eye for the first time since you left his apartment “I wanted to tell you.” 

“That you broke up with your girlfriend?” 

“Yeah, I don't know why. It happened when I broke up with Minseo too, I just… You're the first person that I thought of calling when it happened. I texted you, too, but the messages didn't go through.” 

You hum at that. 

Why would he even say that? 

You resume your step, not really knowing what to say until you reach the stairs that lead to your building’s entrance. 

“And you didn't ask Woo for my number?” 

He follows you up. 

“I don't think he would've given it to me if I asked.” 

That sounds like an excuse, so you don't let it slide as you enter the code to your building and let yourself inside, San holding the door so he can get in as well “Why would he do that?” 

“Because he…” San sighs, pressing the elevator button “Nevermind. He just wouldn't.”

Frowning, you turn to him “No, now you have to tell me.” 

“It doesn't matter, really—” 

“Tell me, San.” 

He stares for a second and then looks away, like a child, vulnerable and you can't help but soften at that “He didn't like the way I treated you.” 

Eating your words from before, you shake your head “You didn't treat me like anything.” 

The elevator dings and you get inside. 

San follows you. 

“Exactly,” he says, resting his shoulder on the metal “Like you said I just did nothing and—” 

“Well, sometimes that's just what happens,” you want to end this. You want to pack Gyuri’s bag, give it to him and never see him again. 

This conversation hurts, it reopens barely closed wounds and it creates new ones you don't really need when it comes to whatever happened between you two. 

There's only so much a person can handle and it really doesn't help that you're a fool for San. He takes advantage of it, of the fact you can't really push him away at this point and the fact that he wants to have this conversation now instead of four and half years ago? 

Mean. 

He's mean. He's evil. He's… He's staring at you with a spark in his eyes that you recognize too well. 

Hope. 

When you get to your floor, you try to wipe the image away while busying yourself with your keys. Your hands tremble a little but you're able to open the door of your apartment and get in without inviting him. 

He gets in anyway. You take off your shoes as he closes the front door. 

He stays silent as he follows you around the apartment and you don't worry about turning the lights on. You get into Gyuri’s room and start picking out a comfy hangover outfit for your friend. Some clean underwear, sweatpants, two shirts and socks. 

When you drop to the floor, in front of the closet, to look for a bag to stash all of it in, San silently clutches beside you. 

“It shouldn't have happened to us. Never us.” 

You can't take it anymore. 

“San, what is this? What are you doing? I mean, why are we—” 

“I know.” 

“It's been years…”  

“I miss you.” 

He's so mean. But the softness in his tone resembles the one he used all the way back in highschool, when he told you that not being friends with you didn't feel right and you want to cave in right there and then. 

Your heart screams at you to do it, your reason warns you that you both have been through this before and it never ends right. 

You simply can't stay friends with Choi San. 

Your love for him must run too deep, your resentment claws at it and tries to hurt it but it's an immovable force that won't budge even if you try to bury it under the years that have passed, the things he has done. 

Tears gather in your eyes and you try to blink them away as you stare at your best friend's clothes on your lap and try to come up with something to close this path up again, reconstruct the picket fence you built around it the second he broke your heart for the first time. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back, letting the walls fall a little “I miss you too but I don't think I miss whatever version of you you are right now, San.” 

“W-what?”

His shaky voice makes the walls crumble and crash. 

Turning to him, your hand shakes as you place it on top of his “And you don't miss the version of me I am right now. You miss what I was back then, the comfort and the shoulder to cry on I offered you when Arin and you broke up. You miss my availability and the way I didn't press my feelings on you because it didn't matter if I liked you or not, you were my friend first and the guy that I had a crush second but—” you choke up, tears falling down your cheeks even if you don't want them to “I can't do it anymore. I'm not that girl anymore and I won't be there for you now that you and Kyungmi broke up because I can't handle it. I can't, I'm sorry.” 

He doesn't deny any of it.

He stares at you, tears wetting his cheeks as well and it hurts even more this way. You wish you had the strength to hold it together, to treat him like you did on the street a few minutes ago, but you can't. 

There's no way you could ever hate him like you want to. 

“You know…” he starts in a whisper, letting out a humorless chuckle “That's what I used to tell myself too.” 

“Hm?” 

“That you were my friend first and the girl that I had a crush on second.” 

How dare he mutter the words you always wanted to hear, the ones you picture being said in a different setting, the ones that haunted your every waking thought that period of time you doubted your friends, your mom, yourself for even believing Choi San could ever have a crush on you. 

He doesn't get to say them. You want to tell him but the words die on your throat and form a lump that you can't swallow down. 

You don't get to say that. You don't get to say that. 

Your hand drops from his and you look away again only to grab the first bag you find on the closet floor and shove Gyuri’s stuff in it. 

If the lack of response it's what prompts the hurt in his voice the next time he speaks, you don't want to think about it. 

“I wish I didn't. Now it's too late to do something about it, huh?” 

This time the rage comes back with a mask on. Feing settlement for all the what if’s covers you like a blanket on a really hot summer night: unwanted, unnecessary. 

But you can't sleep without it, so you do nothing to push it away. 

“I guess it is.” 

You get up from the floor, leaving the room and wiping your face with bitterness coating your movements as you wait by the door for him to get out. 

When he does and he steps in front of you, you extend the bag and he takes it without missing a beat. 

Voice robotic and words premeditated, you open the front door for him “Thanks for walking me home and taking this back.” 

He leans a little into your space and you don't move away. But just as he did in highschool, he takes in your hitched breath and does nothing more.

“Thanks for letting me talk to you.” 

He didn't give you much of a choice there but it's okay. This is closure, this is the end of your story with Choi San and you convince yourself you're glad that it is. 

“Sure,” you whisper back and he steps outside, turning around to watch you slowly close the door “goodnight, San.” 

He doesn't say it back. 

When the darkness of your apartment engulfs you, that's when you let yourself breakdown. Covering your mouth with your palm, you descend until your knees are against the wood on the floor and closing your eyes you make it a point to let it all out. 

You'll let it all out, drink some water, text Wooyoung and Gyuri to let them know you're safe and go to bed. 

And tomorrow you'll begin your day with the freedom of finally knowing what would've happened if you or San ever took the next step. 

This is fine. This is moving on. This is— 

The doorbell rings. 

Opening the door again, you crease your eyebrows in a silent question that San doesn't care to answer, so you look around the floor in case he forgot something you're missing. You wipe your cheeks and under your eyes as you turn to him again “Did you—” 

Time slows down when he makes it past the threshold and you can't move an inch, gaping at who you once thought was the love of your life “What are you doing, San?” 

“Something about it.” 

“What?” 

“Forgive me,” he asks, breathless and in a murmur, fueling your confusion. And then he's closing the distance, dropping Gyuri’s bag and cupping your face so gently that it hurts “but I'm doing something about it.” 

You stopped dreaming about the possibility of San kissing you that one time you two were on your bed and, another time, you told yourself that, if it ever happened, you wouldn't kiss him back. 

It's too late to kiss him back. 

But sparks fly when he crushes you against the wall and takes in a breath before slothing his mouth against yours like he's been waiting to do this every single day for the past nine years you've known each other. 

There's nothing you can do to conceal the way yearning takes over you, pours out of you, making you breathe into his open mouth and kiss him back like you always wanted to. 

You already know it is a mistake by the time you grab his shirt to keep him in place but does it really matter when this is all you ever wanted? 

Feeling warmth leave your face, you notice the way he desperately crowds your space as his chest bumps into yours, leg claiming its place in between yours, the palm that leaves you pressing against the wall, next to your head. 

The kiss is filled with emotion, with longing and desire and it steals the air out of your lungs tragically and beautifully at the same time. Before, you used to dream about his lips making everything feel right, making you fit in in a world you didn't feel like you belonged to. 

But this kiss drops you into uncharted territory, drags you into the depths of something that should be buried by now, after all this time. It brings the flame back to life and it's dangerous. 

The fact that it feels this way, both marvelous and catastrophic at the same time, makes you so sad. 

Sorrow descends down your face until your mouth is picking it up and your tongue is mixing it with whatever emotion is cruising through San right now. 

You have to know. 

He spent your entire youth and early adulthood keeping it to himself, knowing when to show his true colors and when to hide them, choosing who to do it with and you realize the San that lives in your head is nothing but a figment of what you wanted him to be. 

Because him holding to your waist like it's his only lifeline doesn't fit the San you remember, him telling you he liked you back then doesn't fit the guy who was just your best friend. 

You need to know. 

“San,” brokenly, you speak into his mouth and he pulls away just enough to see your face. Your eyes remain closed, your chest heaving and your lips trembling “Why are you doing this?” 

“Because I want you, Y/N.” 

You push him away, weakly, almost like you don't really mean it because deep down you don't but he steps away like you're asking to. 

Because, of course, your mind scraps the bottom of your resentment to give his words a completely new meaning. 

“You can find another girl to fuck and be your rebound, San,” more tears spill down and you wipe them away in anger but more threat to fall down so you cover your face with your hands and groan, desperate “I can't do this, especially not when I know that you know how bad I wanted you. Y-you know what you do to me San so stop—”

“I want you in my life. I don't— What? I don't want you like a rebound, I… Can we sit down and turn on a light so I can look at you when I say this?” 

His words should be reassuring but they're not, the way you tend to feel unlovable around him coming up to the surface, preventing you from thinking clearly. 

You can also feel his lips on yours still. It's dizzying but you manage to push yourself off the wall and pad around until you hit the switch of the warm light lamp near the couch and the apartment comes to life just like that. 

He takes in the space he's never seen before, walking slowly towards the living room and looking over the bookshelf that screams your name all over it. He smiles a bit as he looks over the book titles and you look away before your heart starts acting up again. 

You can't stay mad at him for long if he's looking through something so personal to you and smiling that fondly at it. It feels even more intimate than the kiss you two just shared. 

Wiping your cheeks once more, you are sure you look a mess but he doesn't seem to mind it once he comes into your point of view, sitting down on the couch, in front of your standing form. He grabs you by your hands until you're sitting next to him, close to him, cologne intoxicating your senses. 

“I told you I liked you when we were in highschool, right?” 

You nod. 

“You seemed surprised but it was dark so I'm not really sure. I thought you knew, everyone knew.” 

Oh, he's a comedian. 

“How would I have known, San? I… Yeri told me you liked me one time, in senior year, but I denied it. Then, my mom told me you seemed to want me in a non-platonic way and I dismissed her as well,” you take in a deep, shaky breath “For me, the thought of you liking me just didn't make sense. You loved Arin and she's… She doesn't look or act like I did back then at all, so how would I have known?” 

You didn't need clues and puzzles and what if’s, you needed words and actions that weren't confusing. You needed him to tell you back then, because telling you right now and kissing you senseless after he broke up with a girl he supposedly was very in love with means nothing but pain. 

“I didn't realize you liked me too,” you make a face, about to tell him off, but he interrupts “I didn't! I thought you liked Yeri and I thought you saw me as the annoying guy who wouldn't leave you alone. I only just realized it a couple years ago, because Woo told me.” 

You raise your eyebrows and mutter under your breath “I'm murdering him tomorrow.” 

The corner of his lips twitch before he shakes his head in dismissal of what you said “I liked you. I really, really liked you and never told a soul because… Well, it's scary when you fall in love, right?” 

“San, you had no problem telling Arin, Minseo or Kyungmi that you liked them.” 

He looks down to the floor, lost in thought and you want to open your mouth to take what you just said into a new direction, but you don't “Maybe that's because I didn't love them the way I love you.” 

Oh. 

Love you? As in… He loves you right now too? 

No way. 

“You didn't love me, San. You don't love me right now either, you… Maybe we both were in love with the idea of love? Maybe that's what happened and—” 

“Quit telling me what I'm feeling, Y/N. You always do that, you always assume you know what I'm feeling but you don't!” 

Raising your voice a little more, you try to get your point across in the worst way possible: by being stubborn “You don't know me! How can you possibly—” 

“I knew you back then, Y/N! And I loved you back then, too!” He looks like wants to say something more but he doesn't, instead, he takes a calming breath and then leans into your space for the third time tonight “And I might not know you now but I want to. That's what I meant when I said that I want you. I want you in my life, I want to know the person you became when we stopped talking, I want to talk to you every single day and I want to hold you and kiss you and be by your side however you want me to, I just… I can't lose you again.” 

His confession renders you speechless and you notice his chest is heaving, going up and down in sync with yours. 

But the way he pulled away from you senior year still hurts, it paints a picture of what's going to happen if you accept this. 

You can't believe his words. 

He must feel lonely and confused, like he did when Arin broke up with him. He must be looking for a shelter you can't provide. 

“And when you find another girl that's more to your liking? What then, San?” 

“There's no one that I love more than you, Y/N and I'm sorry I was shit at proving it back then and I'm sorry that it took so many years for me to come to my senses.” 

He's tearing up and your heart pangs absurdly loud at that. 

“I saw you with Seonghwa earlier today, laughing and dancing and flirting and I thought: Oh, maybe if I didn't waste that much time pretending I'm someone I'm not, that would be me.” 

You stare for a second, you watch a single tear drop down his cheek and then look away. 

“Is that what you were doing? Is that why you pulled away?” 

“Maybe?” he offers and you turn to him again. Is not enough and maybe he can see it in your expression, because he goes on “I mean, I… I thought I wanted Arin. I thought I wanted Minseo. I had people in my life who were really happy to see me with them and I just…” 

“Wanted to keep them happy,” you nod, understanding. He doesn't have to say his mothers name for you to know he's referring to her and maybe his other highschool friends outside of Wooyoung “Were you pretending with me as well?” 

“No,” he answers right away “You and Woo were the only ones who saw me for who I really was back then.” 

“And why do you think you love me now, San?” you ask, deflating against the couch and ignoring the way your heart soars at his quick response.

“Because I never stopped,” he stammers out and then clears his throat “Because I looked for you in Minseo and Kyungmi and I wondered for years why they couldn't make me feel the same way. And I told myself I didn't need to feel the same way and that I deserved to wonder for the rest of my days but seeing you tonight? I can't.” 

Straightening your spine, the pained look you sent in his direction is not intentional but it prompts him to lean closer and closer until he's cupping your cheek again. 

“I can't keep wondering.” His voice is a sweet whisper, a siren song that draws you in until your forehead is resting against his. 

All these years, you were so self-focused on changing to a better version of who he used to know, learning from your mistakes and closing off to the opportunity of letting him prove himself a better man, you forgot that time passed for him too. He’s telling you he changed, too. 

Imagination is a safe space. Is where you hide, where desire can take its wings and fly high without hurting you too much. Make belief has rescued you before but this? The way his nose nuzzles softly into yours and your breaths tangle? This is very real. And reality is prone to hurt you. 

But the want you feel is undeniable. The way your entire being wants to cave in and give him an opportunity is suffocating, it makes you choke out a sob that he follows with one of his own. 

You kiss him, softly at the beginning, but his hands on you tighten and you let yourself get lost in the way they go down your neck and your arms, caressing you softly until they reach your waist and pull you into his lap. 

Pulling away, you grab his chin with two fingers and force his teary eyes to snap open, searching for an answer on yours.

“If you hurt me,” you start, breathless “If you're mocking me, if you're using me to get over Kyungmi, if you are pulling me back in to break my heart again, Choi San, I swear to God I will kill you.” 

“I won't do that to you ever again, Y/N,” he returns softly “I love you, I'm sorry if I ever hurt you but I love you.” 

Others would argue that it is pathetic how quickly you forgive him. But then again, you could never be mad at San. 

You were only mad at yourself for how everything turned out. 

“I love you too, Sannie.” 

Saying something never felt so freeing before. 

“Oh, Y/N…” you can see the way relief washes his worries away “Y/N…” he starts to say but then leans in to kiss you again and never finishes his words. 

You don't mind it. 

Pouring out all the pent up affection you pretended to bury for years, you explore his mouth and carve into your memory the way he feels. The way he sighs into it when your tongue brushes his, the way he pulls you in closer when your fingers reach the nape of his neck and pull on his hair there, hands splayed on your back so he can keep you in place as he leans down and places you against the worn out couch. 

He maps you out, hands going down your waist in a familiar feeling that brings back that memory of you two laying down on your bed. Only this time, he's actually touching you with a purpose. This time, you two have made up your minds and your limbs are tangled in a way you can feel all of him pressing up against you. 

It starts to get stuffy, the space on the couch not nearly enough to have him the way you want to. Soon, you're both standing up, mouths still moving against each other and hands roaming everywhere until you're undoing the buttons on his shirt. 

He pulls away to fully take it off, eyes never leaving yours, dropping the shirt to the ground, next to the couch and then he's on you again, making your back crash into the wall as he works the knots keeping your blouse together. 

He walks you through the hall, stopping only to take your top off and then he's walking you to a room that has a familiar scent that doesn't belong to you.

“Wrong room, wrong room,” you say into his lips and he laughs, looking to your surroundings “Mine’s over there.” you point to the other end of the hall, taking his hand and pulling him towards it. 

You don't make it far before he's yanking you towards him again. He looks down, taking your body in and you do the same, his firm and defined stomach a sight you never thought you would be able to see. 

“You're so beautiful,” he whispers, backing you against the wall again and kissing your cheek “So, so beautiful.” 

Turning your head to chase his mouth, he lets out a heavy sigh when his lips trail a path to your neck and murmurs against the skin there “I never told you how beautiful I found you before but you're so perfect, baby.” 

“I always thought I wasn't your type, San,” you let out a noise when he grabs your hips and pulls you forward, crashing his into yours “Fuck.” 

“And I always thought you were too much for me, too smart,” he kisses his way back up, focusing on your jaw and chin until he's kissing your cheek again “too pretty,” he moves to your ear, pecking right under it and you hold him closer “too good for me.” 

It doesn't really matter that this is all new to you, the way he's speaking, the tenor of his voice, the things he's saying… It sparks something familiar in you. You're pulling his hair back to make him look at you, a moan slipping out of his lips at that. 

You want to hear it again. 

He's smiling at your reaction, hand tightening on his locks.

However, that smile drops when he seems to recognize the gleam in your eyes. 

You gather up courage, feeling empowered by the way his hooded eyes darken but wait patiently for you to speak your mind. 

“Maybe I'm too good for you now, too,” you lean in, your lips softly tracing his “Maybe you should prove to me that you deserve me, San.” 

It's a dare. One that he seems to like a lot because his eyes sparkle with the same fire they used to back in the day. 

“Oh, I'll prove it to you, alright.” He whispers, panting when you let go of his hair and he leans into you to kiss your lips briefly before pulling away again.

His hand tilts your head back and you rest it against the cold wall, his fingers touch your bottom lip before going down and down and down until they rest against the seam of your pants, unbuttoning them in one swift movement. 

Going back up, his nails softly dig into your skin and you preen, taking the soft sting of his ministrations like you two have done this a million times before.  

His mouth is on yours again, his hands are pulling you off the wall and into your room until you two land on your mattress, a moan spilling out of your lips when he sloths his knee in between your legs and pulls them apart with expertise. 

You don't have the mind to break down what that means. 

Opening your eyes when he kisses down your neck again, you notice your room is barely lit by the street lights outside, curtains pulled open and windows closed but, this way, you can see the way San kisses between your breasts and your belly, catching his eyes when he looks up to measure your reaction. 

You sigh, already feeling some sort of build up going on down there and he hasn't even touched you properly yet. 

You don't even want to think about how wet you actually are. 

He leans back, open palms going down your legs slowly until they reach your feet. It tickles and you can't help but let out a giggle that he joins short after, his gaze never losing the edge because of it, though. 

“San…” 

He guides your hips up so he can take off your pants and you sigh when his hands return, raising your leg up “I missed your laugh,” he says low, attaching his lips to your calf “I miss being the one making you laugh too.” 

You feel like crying again but then he's letting your leg down and grabbing the other one to give it the same treatment, so your tears can wait. 

This time, he moves upwards till his mouth nears your clothed center and your breath hitches. 

Yeah, you can definitely cry later.

“You want me to prove to you how much I want you, Y/N?” he murmurs, his lips ghosting your mound now “How much I love you?” 

“San, p-please…” 

“Fuck, look at you.” He sounds like he's too lost in the heat of the moment and you're kind of grateful, because the moan you let out when his fingers hook on your underwear and pull them to the side to expose your pussy to his hungry eyes is loud. 

When he kisses you right where you need him, you let out another moan. And when he parts your folds to lick a stripe up to your clit, you curse him under your breath until he's laughing against you softly, the vibrations accumulating heat on your belly. 

He doesn't tease you much longer and you look down at him just to catch the moment his self control slips, eating you out like a man starved while his hand stays on your hip to hold you down and keep you underwear from interrupting his feast. 

“This is like,” he dives in again for a few seconds and you grab the sheets beneath you “All my fantasies coming to life but better.” 

He's so chatty during this and the only thing you can do is stammer a yeah? and pray for it to reach his ears.

“Mhm,” He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue and your legs shake “It tastes even better than what I dreamed, too.” 

The heat of his mouth leaves you, lips spreading your wetness through your stomach until he fully reaches your face, your eyes closed and lips already waiting for him. 

Tongue caressing yours, your hands trail down his torso and focus on getting his pants off. You're shaking with excitement so it proves to be more difficult than you imagined at first but he helps you in unbuckling his belt. 

Once the piece of clothing is on the floor (or the bed, you're not really paying attention to where it lands), you don't waste time in feeling him up through his boxers. 

The hiss you get in return makes you smile. 

Bringing your lips to his neck, you suckle on this pulse point and gain another pleased noise before grazing your teeth against skin and moving to his collarbone next.

In a way, you get what he means. If he truly was pining over you the way you were pining over him, the thought of exploring his tan skin and making him moan feels like a dream. 

So you kiss him again in order to make it all last longer. 

The minutes pass between the both of you, softly making out and figuring out what gets both of you going, discarding your underwear in the process. 

You realize your moans make San’s cock twitch against your leg and he seems to notice the way your hips buck up everytime his hands handle you more roughly. 

After a few minutes of just this, you feel his hand making its way down again and the pads of his fingers circle your clit until you're grasping the sheets again. He gathers your arousal and then enters one finger slowly and when it slides in and out with ease, he enters the next one. 

There's really not much prepping he needs to do, already soft and compliant under him, you relax into his comfortable touch before you're aching for something else. And your mouth is preoccupied with his, so you do something else to catch his attention. 

Hands caressing his back, you let them drop to his ass with a soft smack that wins you a soft huff on amusement and then a whine when you move his hips towards yours. 

“Condom?” 

You shake your head “I'm clean and I have an implant.” 

“Oh?” he smirks, about to tease you but you squeeze his butt again and he moans “Fuck. I'm clean too.” 

“Good,” you whisper against his cheek, laughing as he arranges his position. 

And he might've been touching you all this time, kissing you until your mind emptied and your lips are all swollen up, but the look on his eyes when he slowly enters you is what might drive you over the edge. 

Grabbing your hands, he pins them on the side of your head as he moves, dropping his head down with a groan as you take him in, nose touching yours and moth whispering sweet things you can't quite pick up. 

He feels so good. 

This all feels way too good to be real. 

In the cloud you're at, you allow yourself to dream a little more before the reality of what your confessions mean dawns on you. 

For now, you allow San to make love to you. Sweetly, slowly and with a passion you never were lucky enough to encounter before. 

Maybe it's because your previous lovers didn't have your heart the way San does. 

He rams his hips into yours hard, closing his eyes and resting his warm cheek against yours, kissing your face inch by inch when you accompany his movements with your own. 

When his pace picks up, you hug him close and secure your legs around his hips as you moan. 

“Y-yes, fuck.” 

“Like that?” he repeats the movement from before, pulling out and then in with such force it rocks the entire bed. 

“Just like that, baby, fuck.” 

“God, you sound so good,” you smile a little, forehead resting on his shoulder before your head falls down against your pillow again “I love you,” he repeats against your lips, letting your hands go to cup your face with both of his again “I love you so much.” 

Teetering over the edge, you feel happy tears stinging in your eyes. Though closed, you can feel San’s stare on you, on your face, on the way you react to his sweet words and relentless pace. 

You say it back in a whisper and he repeats it again and again and again until you're both coming and tears are spilling down your cheeks. 

He kisses them away. 

You wipe his with trembling fingers as you come down, having trouble breathing from everything that just happened. 

You don't feel suffocated anymore, you feel like you've been freed. Like this was supposed to happen at some point and you two finally got around to it. 

“I love you,” he says once more before slipping out of you with a parting kiss. 

Holy shit. 

When San gets up from the bed and you point him to the bathroom, down the hallway, you're left with a sticky mess in between your legs and a lot to think about but you settle on four things. 

San just made love to you. There's no way that was just sex. 

There's also no way you're coming back from this. 

Gyuri is probably going to kill you. 

And that, obviously, your feelings for San never left. You feel the familiar warmth of them spreading through your post-orgasmic state. They're there, mocking you, asking you who the fuck you thought you were for pushing them away. 

He returns, toilet paper in his hands before leaning in and cleaning you up, lips immediately finding home on your skin as he does. 

You both giggle at that.

You probably need to shower but you've been crying and there's no way you're leaving this bed tonight. He throws the paper away on your bedroom’s trashcan and then crashes into the bed next to you, still naked, still looking at you with so much love you're wondering what stopped you from seeing it was there before. 

Taking his hand, you bring it to his lip and give his knuckles a peck “That was really good.” 

“It was.” 

“I can't believe we actually just did that…” 

He smiles and what he says next shocks you even more than his confession “I want to take you out.” 

“San… You just came inside me not even ten minutes ago.” 

“And?” you laugh and he shakes his head, leaning into your space again “I spent many years doing everything wrong, let me do it the right way.” 

“Making love to me one time and then taking me out on a date is not the right way, sir.” 

He nuzzles your cheek with his nose and you let out a pleased sigh “Who said it was just one time, huh?” Attacking your neck with his lips again, you push him away with a laugh. 

“Oh, come on!” 

He laughs as well “Give me ten minutes and I'll make it two!” 

San makes love to you two more times. And by four in the morning, you're snuggled into his arms and sleeping soundly. 

When you wake up and find the space next to you empty, you think it was all a dream. Your naked form begs to differ and you quickly put the t-shirt you usually wear to bed on and your panties underneath it to go out and face the feelings of your actions fighting with the blender in the kitchen. 

“How do you two live with this stupid thing?” 

“We don't,” you answer, startling him “We don't use it. What are you trying to make?” 

San’s shirtless, wearing his pants and his hair messy. Looking back at the living room clock, you see it's just five past ten. 

Smiling as he approaches you, you forget you must look a mess too when he pecks your lips and barely pulls away “Good morning, beautiful.” 

You pretend to cringe at that, pulling away “Oh, God. Morning, dumbass.” 

“You like it, you're blushing,” he points out and the pink on your cheek deepens as he's going back to the blender “Does anything work here?” 

“The microwave,” you shrug “And the stove. Were you trying to make yourself a…” you look over the ingredients he has pulled out of your fridge “Green juice?” 

“I was trying to make both of us a green juice,” he corrects and your heart skips at the immediate domestic attitude he has with you “But now I can tell neither of you drink anything like it, hm? I'm buying you a blender.” 

“Please don't.” 

“Why?” 

“Why do you think that one is broken?” 

He hums, huffing out a laugh seconds later and you walk over to him, unsure on how to approach him even though what you did yesterday night and earlier this morning didn't allow your shyness to step in. 

Now you're feeling it. 

He can tell, because he stops fighting with the steel appliances to grab your waist and pull you close “I wanted to make you breakfast.” 

“We can make breakfast together and I can order your green juice,” you compromise and he nods, but he doesn't let you go “And later we can go out on that date you promised me yesterday and we can go over what we're going to tell the two idiots.” 

His smile drops. 

“Oh, fuck.” 

Grimacing, you nod “It was the second thing I thought about after waking up.” 

“What was the first?” 

“Oh, I was trying to remember if you ever asked me to dance before,” he nods with a smile “Guess what? You didn't.” 

He fake gasps at that “I did!” 

“No, you didn't!” 

“Babe, yes I did,” he insists and you laugh, which prompts him to wrap his hands around you tighter when you try to get away from him “It was when—” 

“Oh. My. God. I'm going to be sick again.” 

Now when the fuck did Gyuri come back. 

And why is Wooyoung with her too, jaw slack as he watches both of you pull away from each other and create a safe distance that doesn't help whatever your best friends just saw. 

“It worked?” he asks and you can barely hear him until he hollers like a crazy person “Oh, it worked! I am a genius!” 

“Wooyoung, hold me! I'm going to kill them!” Gyuri looks like she's about to launch towards you at any second now, so you close your eyes and accept your fate. But nothing happens “Wait— What worked?” 

When you open them again, San is hiding behind you and Gyuri’s back is to both of you as she looks at Wooyoung with, what you assume, murderous intentions. 

“Gyuri, let's talk about this,” the black haired guy puts his hands up “You were too drunk to discuss it so I made the choice of— Gyuri, no!” 

You burst into laughter when she starts chasing him around the apartment and San giggles as well, only more nervous than delighted by their little cat and mouse game. 

He's probably sensing he's next on her hit list. 

As if you would let anything happen to him in the first place. 

“Stop, stop! I'm sorry, please leave me alone!” you hear Wooyoung’s voice echoing through your hall and in a second he's entering the kitchen, rounding you and San “I'm so happy for you guys, really, this was meant to happ— Stop!” He cries when Gyur catches onto him and yanks his hair to stop him from running.  

“Y/N,” she starts, chest heaving and you take a step back, crashing into San’s chest. He holds onto you only to push you a little and protect himself from the fury of your best friend “When I told you fuck him I didn't meant this!” 

“I know.” 

Wooyoung whines but he can't get away from her grasp so he just accepts it and pouts like a child. 

“A-and you!” She points towards the guy resting his chin on your shoulder “How dare you! If this is something casual for you then—” 

“I love her.” He defends himself quickly and your heart all but stops at that. 

“You do?” Wooyoung coos, amazed at his best friend’s confession. 

Gyuri's anger falters at that. 

“You… You do?” 

“And I love him,” you let out in a shy whisper, smiling a bit “But you already knew that.” 

“Of course I already knew that, bitch, I am your other half,” she makes a point to stare at San as she says it, letting Wooyoung go and he massages the part of his scalp that was targeted by his ex “Don't forget that.” 

“Y-yes ma'am.” 

You laugh again and Woo joins the embrace, eyeing you both expectantly and rolling his eyes when neither of you say anything to him “Well, you are so welcome guys. What are we having for breakfast?” 

You and San don't get to go out on that date. 

But when you do, he asks you to be his girlfriend the next day. 

And when you say yes he almost breaks down in excited tears.

Eventually, even Gyuri comes around and threatens him into treating you right, which means he earned her seal of approval. 

You delete the document on your laptop when you find it a month into being his girlfriend and, instead, start drafting your new beginning on it, in first person this time because the story doesn't feel like it belongs to someone else now.

The first line read as it follows: 

How did I ever think San and I could be just friends? 

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Your nails scratch harshly against the wood below you as you listen to the footsteps of the King circling around before they halt behind your back. His footsteps which are so familiar and were once the sound you stayed up waiting to hear come down the corridor. 

Time moves like the cogs of an ungreased wheel, each click of its turns bringing you closer to the fate which awaits you. 

Taehyung glares at the King and thrashes against his restraints, even though every soul in the room, including him, knows it’s useless. His insubordination goes ignored. 

“Any last words, your Highness?” 

Eyes snapping shut, your emotions betray you as a sob escapes from your chest and tears fall from your eyes onto the floor below. An unalterable grief overtakes you. You look into Taehyung’s chocolate eyes one last time before returning your gaze to the floor.

“I love you,” you whisper across an exhale, most likely your last. “I am so sorry.”

A single poignant moment passes before the sharp blade slices across the delicate skin of your neck. 

You gasp and grab at your throat, but the sound becomes a gurgle as blood pours from your neck, staining the wood and your gown below you. The deep red liquid flows around your fingers and stains your skin with its potency. Your vision is already gone, and your hearing follows only seconds after. Your body meets the floor with a thump as the light in your eyes flickers out. 

Blood continues to spill from your wound and run through the knots in the wood like a river around stones, creating a halo of it around your body. 

“No, no, no, Y/N!” Taehyung cries as he pulls against the knights again, trying to reach you even though you’re already gone. The beautiful eyes he adores stare lifelessly back at him. “You monster,” he sneers.

The King doesn’t say another word, and doesn’t offer Taehyung the same grace he did to you. He just slowly makes his way across the room before repeating the action across his former first knight’s neck.

His body falls next to yours, his blood fanning out around him and combining with yours into a pool of thick, dark liquid that leaks through the cracks in the wood. Your clothing absorbs the fluid and paints you both red. 

A final thump follows shortly after. 

PRESENT DAY

Taehyung doesn’t know where he’s going, but he thinks it must be the right direction because he can hear cheers from the building coming into view. It’s massive compared to the rest of the school's architecture, but he’s not surprised by that. Most universities nowadays put more emphasis on sports than anything else. 

The cheers only grow as he approaches, a loud buzzer triggering the eruption of sound each time. When he enters the gym, the bounce of the basketball and swoosh of it falling into the net joins the mixture of noises coming from inside. He hands his ticket to the woman at the entrance before heading towards the basketball court. 

It’s uncomfortably warm in the gym. All the bodies stacked in the bleachers and the sweat from the players creates a thick air around the whole scene. The combination of the temperature and loud noises only perpetuates the distortion of his senses, as if he isn’t anxious enough already. Taehyung’s eyes scan the space as he stands in the doorway, off to the side to avoid disturbing the patrons who come and go. 

It only takes him a few seconds to find you. 

You’re standing courtside, among the first row of cheerleaders who stand with their pom poms behind their back. Hair down and in curls, with a piece of it tucked behind one ear, and glitter all over your eyelids and cheeks. You look nothing like the last time he saw you and yet somehow you’re exactly the same. 

Every few minutes you rub the plastic poms together to cheer on the team, sometimes shouting for them, too. It’s so mundane and yet it takes Taehyung’s breath away. It’s only natural, given that this is his first time seeing you in… well, since his last life. 

He never moves from his spot in the doorway, he just stands and admires your every movement and gesture. 

His eyes trace across your familiar visage. Your eyes still sparkle, your skin is soft and dewy, and your lips steal his attention instantaneously. The faint blush across your cheeks reminds him of his childhood and of home. It’s been so long, but seeing you now makes him feel like it was only yesterday.

The only thing out of place is seeing you in this attire. Your cheerleader uniform consists of a miniskirt and tight top which only just meets the top of your skirt. Every time you stretch or move your hips, a sliver of your stomach shows and Taehyung is holding his breath. It’s enough to send his mind into a frenzy. In his last life, he never saw so much as your ankle until the first time he made love to you. 

All too soon, the game ends with a final buzzer. Your team must have won, because you join the rest of the cheerleaders in a chant with the spectators behind you before congratulating the team one by one. 

Once the celebrations are through, you begin packing your things in a duffel matching the university's colors. One of the basketball players walks over and talks to you as you swap out your shoes for something more comfortable and bring a sweatshirt down over your head. Taehyung’s in a love-filled daze as he watches you pull your hair out from where it’s trapped under the neckline and smile at your conversation partner. Every little thing you do is pure magic in his eyes.

Suddenly, you’re waving goodbye to the athlete and walking towards the very exit where Taehyung stands. He’s nervous, more nervous than he’s ever been in his entire life. This one, at least. His heartbeat slows in time with your steps as you grow closer and closer.

“Hi!” Taehyung catches your attention. 

You look confused as to where the voice is coming from, your eyes flitting around the room to find the answer, but then you spot Taehyung in front of you and smile.

“Hi,” you respond.

“You — you were great out there,” Taehyung compliments. 

Your head tilts to the right and your nose scrunches as you smile. There’s an ache in Taehyung’s chest at the familiar movement. Even your mannerisms are the same.

“Was I? Thank you,” you say. “I didn’t do much.”

“Maybe not, but it’s obvious why you’re front and center,” Taehyung continues.

“That’s what I get for being cheer captain,” you sing-song. Taehyung opens his mouth to say something else, but you continue before he can. “I’m so sorry, my boyfriend is sick so I’m trying to get back to him as fast as I can.”

“Oh.” Boyfriend? “That’s alright, I’ll leave you be. I’m Taehyung, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you reply with a miniature curtsy. You have no memories of ever being a royal, but it must still be in your blood somewhere. “Well, see you later.”

“Yeah, later,” Taehyung concurs. 

Taehyung should be elated about having his first conversation with you after an over twenty-year-long hunt, but he didn’t account for everything before traveling across the country to find you. The possibility of you already being in a relationship when he found you never once crossed his mind.

How is he supposed to kiss you and return your memories if you’re already taken?

Taehyung sits in his new dorm for the next couple days and paces around the small room as he thinks of a plan. Eventually, he decides to befriend you, which should be easy since an introduction has already been made, and make you fall in love with him the same way he did in your last lives together. 

He stole you from someone once before and all he has to do is do it again. 

The next time he sees you is in the library. You’re sitting at a table near the wall of windows that overlooks the large plane of grass marking the center of campus. You have big pink headphones on and are moving your head slowly back and forth to whatever music is coming from them. There are two books and a laptop in front of you and you’re writing diligently in a notebook which rests on your lap. 

Taehyung approaches you slowly, checking his surroundings for any mysterious boyfriends who may come to join you. 

When he reaches you without any interruptions, he taps the desk with his knuckles to grab your attention. You smile when you see him and remove your headphones.

“Hey, Taehyung,” you greet him. 

His heart soars over you remembering his name.

“Hi, mind if I join you?” 

“No, of course not,” you respond. Gesturing to the empty seat across from you with your hand, you smile again as Taehyung takes his backpack off and sits down. “So, you’re new around here. Transfer student?”

“Yup,” Taehyung says as he pulls his laptop out.

“Are you a senior, too?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got a majority of my credits, but because of the transfer nonsense there are some things I’ll need to retake,” he explains. 

“Bummer,” you reply. Your hand fishes in your backpack before pulling out a piece of candy and popping it in your mouth. “Do you play any sports?”

Before Taehyung answers, you offer him a piece of your sweets, but he declines with a wave. 

“Just fencing and horseback riding, if you count those,” he answers.

“Um, woah. Yes, I count those,” you laugh. “That’s way cooler than contact sports.”

Talking to you is as easy as breathing and it sets Taehyung’s heart alight in his chest. It makes him remember all of your long conversations about everything and nothing. Your presence is so warm, welcoming, and familiar that it’s easy for him to forget this is only your second conversation. 

“How’s your boyfriend?”

“Oh, he’s doing a lot better. Thanks for asking,” you say. “Normally, he’s at the games with me, since he’s the captain of the team, but he caught a nasty cold last week and couldn’t play.” 

“So he’s a basketball player?” You nod and bite your candy in half. You’re adorably vicious with the chewy treat. “And how long have you known each other or been together or whatever.”

“Two years,” you say nonchalantly. 

Two years? 

Taehyung definitely has his work cut out for him. You’re not just in any relationship, you’re in a serious, long standing relationship. He needs to learn more about him so he can better understand who he’s up against. Hopefully, as your friendship grows, you’ll offer to introduce the two of them.

“Wow, that’s awesome,” he says even though it tastes bitter in his mouth. 

“Yeah, we met freshman year and were just friends for a long time, but the heart wants what the heart wants, ya know?”

Yes, he certainly knows all too well. 

You end up studying together for a couple hours before you leave for cheer practice. After that, you form a routine of meeting up to work on assignments and study, which perfectly aligns with Taehyung’s plans. 

The study “dates” always happen at the library on Tuesdays and Thursdays, usually after lunch. It works well for you both because the silent moments are comfortable and the conversation is easy. Your study sessions are the only time Taehyung sees you for a couple months, and he’s yet to meet your boyfriend.

That changes one Thursday when you invite him to the basketball game the following night. Apparently, it’s against the university’s main rival and you’re giddy about the competition and hopefully seeing the team win. Taehyung graciously accepts and tells you he’ll see you then when you say goodbye.

Taehyung is wearing a hoodie with the university logo on it that he picked up from the school store earlier today. He blends in seamlessly with the crowd of students all wearing the same colors to support the team. After handing his ticket over, he makes his way into the gym and finds one of the few empty spots on the bleachers.

The court is currently empty since there’s still some time before the game starts. The other students on the bleachers are conversing with each other and eating their concessions, but Taehyung is mentally preparing himself to finally see his competitor for your heart. 

Taehyung isn’t one to brag, but he’s been told he’s pretty handsome, and he likes to think he’s got a good personality. He’s just worrying himself sick over whether those attributes will be enough to make you end a two year long partnership. All he can hope for is that you walk into the gym with someone of below average looks and a shitty personality.

His leg bounces incessantly as the minutes tick by and the start time of the game nears. He watches other cheerleaders and basketball players filter in through the doors, every single one making his heart stop until he realizes it isn’t you. When it finally is you, Taehyung finds himself moving to the edge of his seat, his lip catching between his teeth. 

You walk into the gym through the large metal doors first, but Taehyung can see a hand laced with yours. His eyes trace from where your hands are connected up the tattooed arm of your companion until he’s able to see the stranger’s face.

No amount of mental preparation could’ve prepared him for this sight.

As if his prior life is flashing before his very eyes, he watches in horror as you reach up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to your boyfriend’s lips. Your boyfriend smiles against your mouth in return, chasing your lips with his own before pulling back and moving your hair away from your face. 

There is no mistaking the familiar features Taehyung is seeing. Besides maybe the length of his hair and the tattoo sleeve occupying his right arm, everything is identical. 

Taehyung scores through his memories for an answer, any explanation for the disturbing scene he's watching. It doesn’t make any sense. The reincarnation spell should’ve only applied to you two. So why are you walking hand-in-hand across the basketball court with the King?

What the fuck is Jungkook doing here? 

1422

The spring rainfall gave life to more blooms this season than last, creating a beautiful vision of purple and white in the valley near your home. They’re only wildflowers, but they still spread a sweet fragrance through the air. The sight of the flowers billowing in the wind is picturesque and something you look forward to at the conclusion of every winter. 

On the road parallel to the valley, two figures on horseback come into view ahead of the slow-sinking sun. You wave to greet your regular visitors, laughing when you notice one of them speeding up and leaving the other in the dust. 

The horse galloping towards you is a familiar sight, and you trust the rider enough to know he’ll stop with plenty of time before he reaches you. 

“Jungkook, that was not very nice,” you scold him playfully once he’s close enough to hear you.

Taehyung follows the same path to you on his own steed, a frown evident on his features as he approaches. 

“He is never nice!”

“I am always nice,” Jungkook corrects him. 

They both dismount gracefully, and you follow your usual routine of walking over to Jungkook’s horse, Bam, and petting him on his forehead. Your fingers gently move down the horse’s face as you coo at him. Bam nudges his muzzle into your hand, making a noise of appreciation at the attention you’re providing him.

Jungkook watches the scene affectionately, his starry eyes following the movement of your hand and the smile that grows on your lips the more you interact with his beloved horse. You don’t see the way his eyes trace over your profile with a smile of his own.

“You can ride him, if you would like,” Jungkook offers. 

“What?” You ask, but before he can answer you, Jungkook’s hands are on either side of your waist and he’s lifting you onto the saddle. “Oh, wait, wait!” 

Your hands grab onto the saddle to steady yourself, your eyes wide as you look down from the great height. 

“Uh, Jungkook —”

“Do not worry, I am holding you. You are not going to fall,” Jungkook states. 

You feel his palm on your lower back, and his other hand is petting Bam to keep him calm. It’s unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, feeling the heat of his hand on you, but you don’t want him to see the blush appearing on your cheeks. 

“Oh… okay,” you mumble. 

Eyes glancing down again, you shut them instantly when you see how high off the ground you are. 

“I believe she would still like to get down, Jungkook,” Taehyung comments.

You look down at Jungkook with fearful eyes to confirm Taehyung’s statement. His lips quirk downward in a frown before he grabs you by the waist again and brings your feet safely to the ground. 

“I am sorry,” Jungkook tells you, his hands still on your waist. “I did not mean to scare you.”

“You did not scare me,” you say, stepping back so his hands fall away from you. “Bam scares me. Well, not Bam, because he is so sweet, but Bam’s height.”

Jungkook smiles at your explanation, his eyes crinkling in the corners, and it makes you mirror his expression.

“Yeontan would like some attention, too, m’lady,” Taehyung says as walks towards you both, his horse following him by the reins.

“I will be there in a moment,” you say. You pet Bam’s forehead once more before moving to Taehyung’s horse to give him the same affection. “What was the subject of your royal lessons today?”

“Battle strategy,” Jungkook says as he ties Bam to your stable. Taehyung follows suit with Yeontan once you’re done petting him.

Your heartbeat comes to a screeching halt at his answer, and a wave of fear washes over you at the dramatic change of topic for their lessons. Yesterday, they were learning about the proper way to eat soup and which fork should be used first. 

Jungkook notices your worried expression and walks towards you. His eyes search yours for the reason you look so frightened as his hand slowly rises to hold your own. You allow him to take it, and you know he can feel the way it shakes in his grasp.

“That is not because you will be heading to battle anytime soon, is it?” You ask him.

The Kingdom is at war with a neighboring country and has been for nearly three years. Despite how long the men have been fighting, there is still no end in sight. It’s been devastating for the Kingdom as men leave their homes and families never to return again. Almost every child in your town is without a father and their mothers are left alone to care for their land and houses.

“No,” Jungkook answers, his hand squeezing your own before letting it go. Relief spreads across your chest and dispels the anxiety pooling in your gut. “Two heirs cannot go to battle at the same time.” 

Your friend Jungkook is actually Prince Jungkook, but it’s easy to forget that when he’s teasing you or rolling around in the valley. He’s the younger of two sons, and his brother Junghyun is fighting alongside his father in the war. Since Jungkook isn’t next in line for the throne, he lives life at a slower pace and is more carefree. You appreciate that about him and enjoy taking part in his boyish antics. 

Taehyung comes from a long line of knights who have served the crown for generations. Knights begin training at a very young age, and depending on their lineage, their future role is decided long before they complete their training. Taehyung has known he’d eventually be Jungkook’s first knight since childhood. The pair have known each other since they were toddlers and are as close as brothers. 

You grew up with both of them because your parents work at the castle and you lived in the staff quarters until you began working yourself. Jungkook’s mother, the Queen, absolutely adores children and believes education is essential to living a good life. As such, she hires tutors to teach the children of all the staff as well as the young knights and royal family. It was during these lessons that you first met Jungkook and Taehyung. The three of you bonded over folktales and your love of animals and quickly became close friends. 

Since you no longer live at the castle since becoming a midwife, the two boys come to visit you nearly every day between their daily lessons. The time is usually spent talking about what they learned or which books they’re reading. Sometimes, often in the summertime, the three of you play childhood games in the valley or take a short walk to the river where you can sink your feet into the cool water.

A new anxiety emerges when you remember that the rules which dictate Jungkook’s life are not the same for Taehyung. 

“That does not apply to Taehyung, does it?” You question as he comes to stand beside you, too. 

“No,” Taehyung says with a grimace. “I could be called upon at any time, but I am not fully trained. I do not believe that will occur unless there are no other options.”

Taehyung spoke too soon, because within a month’s time, he’s visiting you to tell you he has to leave for the battlefront in a fortnight. 

Something in you knows as soon as you see him what news he’ll be sharing, but your heart shatters all the same when the words leave his mouth. You cry into your hands as he sits across from you at your kitchen table. He’s your best friend and you know there is a chance you will never see him again once he departs. The fear and sorrow coursing through you are enough to drown you. There is nothing that terrifies you more than losing him or Jungkook.

Taehyung reaches across the table and removes your hands from your face to hold them instead.

“I promise I will come back, Y/N, and when I do… I will take care of you. If you will have me,” he states. 

“What?”

“I love you, and I want to marry you,” he confesses. 

The thought doesn’t make sense within your mind. Taehyung’s noble status gives him the right to have the pick of the litter in terms of a wife. You don’t even have a dowry you can offer him.

“I do not understand how you could love me,” you respond. 

“How could I not?” 

He kisses the back of your hands and then rests his cheek against them. 

You’re unsure how to respond to his proposal, or if you even should. He’s saying this now because he’s leaving, and you can’t give him an answer when there’s a chance he’ll never return. The reveal of his feelings for you frazels your mind and makes you question everything. So, you decide his proposal is something you’ll organize your thoughts about once he returns, if he returns. 

The fortnight passes by both agonizingly slow and too quickly. The anxiety eating away at your nervous system turns the days into long threads of time with no end, but simultaneously, the calendar seems to be skippping ahead multiple days at a time.

When time lands on the third day from his departure, the whispers of a tragedy spread across the land like wildfire. 

You hear it first from one of your patients, an expecting mother who you’re checking up on after she fell ill. When she whispers the news to you, your blood runs cold. You don’t believe her initially, but then, as you leave her home, you hear it repeating all around you in the voices of your neighbors. 

King Jeon and Prince Junghyun are dead. The father and son perished in a bloody battle which took more than half of your men’s lives. 

Whispers in bars and conversations across fields about how the King’s death will affect farming and trade are all you hear in the days following the announcement, but all you can think about is whether or not Jungkook is alright.

Unsurprisingly, you have no visitors until the morning Taehyung is supposed to leave. You watch from your kitchen window as the sunrise breaks over the valley. As the sky goes from deep blue to orange, you hear the familiar sound of horses galloping down the road.

Exiting your house in a flash, you wait for your friends to reach you and dismount before approaching them. You go straight to Jungkook, taking his hands in your own and rubbing over his knuckles with your thumbs.

“I am so, so sorry, Jungkook,” you tell him. 

He squeezes your hands in return and a small smile appears on his lips, except it doesn't reach his eyes the way it normally does.

“I am alright,” he assures you. “I will miss them dearly, but it is my mother I truly worry about.”

“If there is anything I can do, please tell me,” you reply. His only response is a nod as Taehyung comes from behind the horses after tying them up. “When do you leave?”

“I am not leaving anymore,” he states. “I have to stay to protect the King.”

“The King?” The dead King?

“Yes, the King,” he parrots, gesturing to Jungkook. 

You feel so foolish for forgetting what the consequences of Junghyun’s death really are. Jungkook will now have to take up the mantle of King without anyone ahead of him to guide him into the role. 

You gaze at your childhood friend, attempting to imagine him in a crown. A smile appears on your face when you think about how handsome he will look with it sitting atop his pretty black hair. Jungkook is prudent, kind, and compassionate and you know he will make a wonderful ruler. 

“Oh,” you say, letting his hands go as you take a step back. It’s one thing to be affectionate with a Prince, it’s another entirely to do so with a King. “Well, I suppose I will be seeing a lot less of you then.”

Jungkook frowns deeply and shakes his head.

“I do not want that,” he responds. “You are important to me and I will make time to visit you regardless.”

You’re sure Jungkook means what he’s saying, and believes it himself, but the odds of it being true are slim to none. A King has to bear the weight of the world and his new role will certainly keep him and Taehyung from visiting you as often.

It feels like goodbye as you wave at them and watch their figures disappear down the road. Your head falls forward and tears fall from your eyes onto the grass. The world is changing too fast for you to keep up. 

Despite your worries, Jungkook comes to visit you the next day carrying a bouquet of white roses. 

You’ve never been in a carriage before, let alone in one which is currently on its way to the castle. It’s been years since you were last at the monumental estate which houses both your parents and best friends. 

As you approach, you notice the familiar grounds where you once played as a child. You see visions of you, Jungkook, and Taehyung running around in circles as they chase you and all at once the memories of your time here come flooding back. The memory of when Jungkook accidentally sent you both flying into one of the fountains brings a smile to your face. You’ll never forget the look on his mother’s face when she saw you both soaked and dripping on the castle floor. And the one of Taehyung picking flowers for you only for them to blow away when a strong wind flew in. He pouted for hours afterwards. 

The feeling of returning home brings you comfort amongst all the chaos surrounding you. 

The carriage stops in front of the entrance to the castle and you see the massive stone doors which separate the outside world from the home of the royal family. Your parents are already waiting for you along with some fellow staff, their faces giddy with excitement about seeing you. The driver offers you his hand to help you down the steps and once your feet hit the ground, you run straight into your mother’s embrace.

“Oh, honey, we missed you,” she tells you. 

“I missed you, too,” you sigh. 

A lurching sound indicates the doors are opening and Jungkook and his mother emerge from behind them. Jungkook takes two steps at a time, skipping down the limestone to reach you faster. His mother sighs knowingly at his behavior, a warm smile present on her lips.

“I am happy to see you arrived safely,” he says as he offers you his hand. 

You curtsy to his mother, the Queen, who you haven’t seen since in many years now. She’s just as beautiful as you remember, even though her eyes carry a new sadness in them.

“Your Majesty, I am so very sorry about your husband and son,” you say to her. 

“I appreciate it, my dear. I am so happy to see you,” she replies. “Let us go inside and I can show you around.” 

She hooks her arm around yours and you almost recoil away from her in shock. The Queen is escorting you like an old friend and it defies all the logic in your brain. Even though you grew up here, you have always been well aware of your place in the world. 

Your mother and father wave goodbye to the three of you as they report back to their duties. A pair of matching smiles on their faces as they watch you enter the castle.

Once inside, your eyes sweep around the grand entrance and the corridors which splinter away from the room. You notice all the beautiful artwork and intricate architecture of the castle that you didn’t take the time to admire as a child. You were too busy playing and soaking up all the knowledge you could from your tutors. 

“I apologize, I have a meeting to attend, if you will excuse me,” Jungkook tells you.

Then, much to your surprise, he takes the back of his hand and runs it along your cheekbone, the softest of smiles present on his face as he does so. Your eyes open in wonder at the gesture, but once he’s turning and walking away from you, a matching smile appears on your lips. 

Your skin feels warm where his fingers were, and you avert your eyes from his disappearing figure to try and stop the blush from continuing to spread. When you turn to your left towards the Queen, that knowing, motherly look is back. She just shrugs before turning in the opposite direction to lead you further into the castle.

When Jungkook enters the room the sound of chairs scraping against the stone floor permeates the air. All of the staff, parliamentarians, advisors, and knights stand at attention in the presence of their future King. The knights place their arms across their chest out of respect, including Taehyung, who is sitting to the left of the throne. Not yet being acclimated to the sight, Jungkook gestures for everyone to sit with a wave of his hand before taking his seat next to Taehyung. 

The throne to the right of Jungkook, which is reserved for his future Queen, remains empty. 

“How is the planning coming along?” Jungkook asks the royal coordinator. He is effectively the head of staff who oversees everything that goes on inside the castle.

“Wonderfully, your Highness. The wedding and coronations will occur subsequently in the chapel three days from now. The Priest is already preparing the sacraments,” the man replies. 

“Wedding? Whose wedding?” Taehyung asks as he looks over at Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn’t get the chance to answer him before a parliamentarian joins the conversation.

“Have you not heard? She is supposed to be arriving today, is that right, your Majesty?”

“Yes.” Jungkook clears his throat before continuing. “Y/N arrived only moments ago and is currently touring the castle with my mother.”

“Y/N?” Taehyung snaps. His whole body turns towards Jungkook, the shock and disbelief distorting his features. Jungkook doesn’t explain or answer, he merely glances at him in warning before continuing the meeting.

When the meeting concludes, the entire room stands at attention again as Jungkook exits. Taehyung follows closely behind and catches up to match Jungkook’s pace. 

“You are marrying Y/N?” Taehyung asks incredulously. “When did this happen?”

“Yes, I am,” Jungkook responds flatly. “She will be your Queen soon. You should refrain from calling her by name.”

“What is wrong with you?” Taehyung stops Jungkook with his arm. “I have known you my whole life, you would never do something like this to me.”

“Do to you?” 

“Yes, your Highness,” Taehyung says sarcastically. “You know how I feel about her.”

“Things change, Taehyung. Half of my family is dead. I have a role to play that I am nowhere near prepared for. I am sorry if this hurts you, but I have different priorities now; different responsibilities.”

“What do those responsibilities have to do with Y/N?”

Jungkook stops walking again and turns to face his friend, his wall of regality dropping to allow his true emotions to surface.

“Because there is no else I would rather have by my side when I face them,” he answers whole-heartedly. Jungkook doesn’t wait for Taehyung to reply before he continues down the corridor. 

When you wake up on the morning of your wedding, you momentarily forget where you are until you see the dazzling wedding dress hanging from the wardrobe. The gown is almost too beautiful to wear, and it stares at you from across the room as if to ask “are you ready for this?” You aren’t sure of the answer.

The sound of knocking steals you away from your thoughts. Assuming it’s the maids coming to help you get ready, you tell them to come in and rise from your bed. 

It’s shocking how efficiently the group of women work to turn you into a living, breathing doll. One of them brushes and styles your hair, another puts makeup on you for the first time in your life, and two of them work to get you into your dress.

The dress takes longer to put on you than both the hair and makeup combined. It’s a massive pool of fabric and you can barely tell which end is the top and which is the bottom. You stand with your hands gripping the dresser as both women tug at the strings of the corset and lock you into place. When they finish, you clutch your stomach and attempt to inhale a deep breath. They smile assuredly at you and encourage you to walk around so you can get used to being in such a gown. 

Later in the day, you’re alone with one of the maids while she finishes your hair by placing pins in it. A sudden knock interrupts her and she goes to answer it. You aren’t sure who it is until you see her stepping back with wide eyes. Jungkook enters with a slight bow of his head and she immediately curtsies and then proceeds to stand at attention.

Jungkook chuckles nervously, still acclimating himself with everyone’s new behavior towards him.

“Can we have a minute?” He asks her and she obeys with a curt nod before exiting the room.

“Hi,” you greet him. 

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook tells you. 

“It is none of my doing,” you say. “The maids are amazing at making me look like something I am not.”

“That is not true,” Jungkook argues. “You have always been beautiful, Y/N.” Tilting your head to the right, your nose scrunches and you smile at his compliment. “I wanted to make sure I came to see you before… I know it has been a few days and I apologize, it has been so hectic lately.”

You haven’t seen him since arriving at the castle and he’s certainly a sight for sore eyes. Rising from your seat, you walk to him and take his hands. 

“You do not have to worry about me,” you affirm. “I know you have a lot of responsibilities.”

“Yes,” he smiles. “And unfortunately, soon you will, too.”

“Right,” you laugh. “Being the Queen and all.”

The idea is still so foreign to you that it feels unnatural leaving your lips. 

“I… I cannot thank you enough for doing this for me, Y/N. I know it is a huge commitment and I am so grateful.”

“Jungkook.” You grip his hands a little tighter and he reciprocates the action. “Why are you acting like I am the one doing you a favor? You asked me to be your Queen, to rule a Kingdom by your side. I should be thanking you.”

Jungkook sighs, his gaze dropping to your connected hands. His thumbs massage over your knuckles absentmindedly. 

“I just know this was not the life you envisioned for yourself,” he eventually responds.

“It is not,” you concur. Jungkook frowns and you continue before he gets the wrong idea. “I would say it is better. I loved being a midwife and bringing children into the world, but I grew up here and now I get to spend the rest of my days here.” You squeeze his hands one more time before speaking again. “I am here because I wish to be, Jungkook. Nothing more.”

Jungkook smiles at you and lifts your hands to his lips to kiss them before letting you go and heading for the door. 

“I will see you at the altar, my Queen.”

Your dress weighs down on you like a pile of bricks. It’s your first time wearing a gown, and you didn’t anticipate it being this hard to move. Despite the uncomfortability, the lace and fabric cover you beautifully and it’s easy to feel like a Queen when you look down at its design. 

When you first enter the chapel, Jungkook’s eyes go wide and his lips part before his expression slowly softens into one of admiration and awe. He saw you only moments ago, but the vision of you coming towards him surrounded by flowers and soft candlelight takes his breath away. 

When you see him, you’re equally as stunned. His hair is pushed back away from his forehead, leaving his pretty features as the main focal point. The style makes him look regal and elegant. His wedding attire compliments him in all the right places and the white color accentuates his honey skin. When he visited you before he was still in his normal clothes, so the sight is truly something to behold.

Once you reach the altar, Jungkook stands to the right of you as his left hand holds yours. You’re thankful because if he wasn’t holding your hand the entire room would be able to see it shaking. You know he can feel the movement in his grasp, because every so often he squeezes your fingers. Sometimes he does it twice or three times in a row, and it reminds you of the secret messages you would send to each other across the library during lessons.

In the back corner behind the altar, just on the other side of Jungkook, stands Taehyung, dawning his armor for the first time. It makes you so proud to see him living up to his family’s legacy. 

Although, his new uniform isn’t what catches your attention, it’s the deep scowl painting his features into something you’ve never seen before. It makes you look over at him with a face of concern, silently questioning what’s wrong, although, you believe you know the answer already.

Taehyung has every right to be angry with you. He told you he loves you and wants to marry you, and then you accepted a proposal from his best friend. To make matters worse, you weren’t able to tell him about the marriage yourself since you didn’t see him before traveling to the castle. You want to tell him everything, explain your feelings and why you’re standing next to Jungkook today and not him, but the conversation will have to wait. 

The wedding ceremony ends with a final prayer before the Priest immediately begins the prayers and readings for the coronation. You and Jungkook turn around to face the crowd and it only heightens your nerves. Jungkook notices the shift in your body language and soothingly runs his thumb up and down your pointer finger. Taking a deep breath, you squeeze his hand in return to communicate to him that you’re alright. 

At the instruction of the Priest, the two of you kneel down together and wait patiently for the crowns to be placed on your heads. 

Jungkook goes first, and you watch in awe as the Priest places a large gold crown onto his head. When he does, a lock of shiny black hair falls onto Jungkook’s forehead. You can’t help but smile, noticing how it somehow makes him look even more handsome. Your best friend is a King now and you have to blink a couple times to stop tears from forming in your eyes. 

Only a moment later, the cool metal of a tiara is resting on your hair, the edges of it sinking between your strands to keep it secure. It simply doesn’t feel real and you’re terrified of waking up from this dream come true.

You stand up as one and the entire chapel erupts with cheers and hollers. You and Jungkook make eye contact and both have to suppress a laugh. His eyes are shining with the light of the whole galaxy, and it brings you more happiness than you can put into words.

The celebratory feast commemorating your marriage begins as soon as you leave the chapel. The transition happens so quickly you don’t even get to speak with Jungkook privately before you’re entering the grand ballroom. The large space is ornately decorated and every corner has a giant table of food and wine.

Jungkook never once lets go of your hand. 

There is a constant stream of guests greeting and congratulating you, and his touch and presence beside you is the only thing keeping you calm. Jungkook is used to this, and he handles every single encounter with grace. You mostly stumble about and nod as people regale you with kind words and affection. 

Taehyung is on your mind the entire night, and your eyes are constantly scanning the massive crowd of people for his familiar head of hair. You want to speak with him as soon as possible to clear the air between you. He’s so important to you and it kills you knowing how much you hurt him. You never find him, and the evening comes to a close before you have a chance to reconcile. 

Before you know it, you and Jungkook are traveling in a lavish carriage to begin your honeymoon. The war prevents you from traveling to another country for the occasion, but you’ll still be spending a month at the family’s countryside estate before returning to your regular duties at the castle. 

Even though it’s the middle of the night when you arrive, there are staff outside the entrance waiting to greet you and take your luggage. 

The head parliamentarian escorts you and Jungkook to the King’s suite. Your hands are shaking again as reality kicks in, but you curl your fingers into your palm to keep anyone from noticing. 

The parliamentarian must escort you as well as stand outside your door tonight so he can report back that the marriage has been consummated. The thought of a stranger listening in on your first night with your husband makes your skin crawl, but this is how things are done when you’re royalty. 

The man opens the door to the suite so you and Jungkook can enter before shutting it behind you with a slam. Silence overtakes the room as your eyes roam over the walls and windows, the sachet in the corner, and the large bed in the center of the back wall. 

You take a shaky breath, itching at your sleeve where the unfamiliar material rubs against you uncomfortably. 

Jungkook gets your attention with a call of your name. He points at the artwork on one of the walls, a large painting with a gaudy gold frame encapsulating it. 

“What was the artist thinking when they made this one?” He asks through a laugh.

You hum as you study the painting. It’s rather unpleasant to look at, and you can’t even fully make out all the shapes and colors.

“We will have to call upon him to ask,” you respond. “I do not think one could guess if they tried.”

Jungkook laughs and the familiar sound eases your mind and calms your nerves a little. You keep reminding yourself that it’s just him, someone you’ve known all your life, but your brain still persists with its overthinking. 

You mosey around the room and peruse more of the artwork and decor before falling onto the bed with a plop. Despite your best efforts, your gown is too heavy and large to sit down normally. You’re half laying-half sitting on the mattress as your feet dangle over the edge. The fabric pools all around you and threatens to drown you in white lace. 

Jungkook joins you on the bed, but leaves a decent amount of space between you. 

“I am unsure if I know how to get this monstrosity off of me,” you admit with a scoff. 

Reaching over your shoulder, you tug at the ribbon caging you into the gown. When you aren’t able to loosen it yourself, Jungkook clears his throat, raising his eyebrows and gesturing towards you to ask permission. You let your hands fall back onto your lap before answering him with a nod of your head.

Jungkook kneels behind you on the bed so he can begin loosening the ties of the corset. You jump when you first feel his hands brush against you. He moves slowly, his touch as light as a feather as he unties the knot and begins to weave the ribbon back and forth to remove it. Once he’s about halfway done, the tension releases from around your waist and you take your first unimpeached breath of the day.

“Oh, thank you,” you sigh. You watch curiously as Jungkook stands to face you and reaches his hands out for you to take. “What?”

“Stand up and I will help you out of it,” he replies. 

You obey quickly, standing up while holding the fabric to your chest so it doesn’t fall away. Jungkook laughs when he notices the action.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I cannot get you out of it if you are holding it up, my darling.”

The deep timbre of his voice as he uses the pet name is enough to make your heart skip a beat. 

“Right,” you reply and let go.

Maybe Jungkook isn’t as nervous as you, or maybe he just hides it well. As a woman, you are completely untouched, your own hand being your only source of pleasure so far. But the rules are different for men and Jungkook may not be as shy about these things as you are. 

The dress falls into a heap on the floor and Jungkook takes your hands to hold you steady as you step out of the large skirt one foot at a time. Even with your body still covered by your underdress, this is the most exposed you’ve ever been to another person. The raw vulnerability causes your hands to start shaking again, but you let go of Jungkook before he can notice.

“Feel better?” 

“Yes, thank you so much,” you respond. 

Jungkook grabs the expansive amount of fabric and places it gently over one of the dressers. You return to your spot on the bed and he follows suit, this time sitting a bit closer to you.

A weighted tension creeps into the room like fog across the morning air. It beckons a silence between you that leaves only your breathing as background noise. There’s a feeling of anticipation floating around as well, like the whole atmosphere is on edge and waiting to see what happens next. 

“How do you feel now that everything is done?” Jungkook asks.

“Hmm, I am happy, but also nervous,” you admit. 

“Me, too,” he replies. 

“You are? I figured you would be used to this.”

“It is not the royal aspect I am nervous about.”

“What are you nervous about then?”

Jungkook chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, ruining the style and bringing his black locks down onto his forehead. It makes him look boyish and charming. 

“Not only did I go from being a Prince to a King in a matter of days, but I am a husband now, too. Your husband,” he explains. He looks down and sighs, his eyes closing momentarily. “I want to do right by you, Y/N.”

“You have always done right by me, Jungkook, I do not see that changing anytime soon,” you reassure him. 

There’s a lull in the conversation, but the tension is slowly dissipating and morphing into a comforting aura instead.

“Hmm, I am so glad it is you. I cannot imagine how anxious I would be if it was anyone else,” Jungkook states.

“Is that why you asked me?” You probe him. “Because I am familiar to you?”

“No,” he says with a shake of his head. You raise your eyebrows at him when he doesn’t add anything else to his answer. He chuckles and licks his lips. “I asked because I wanted to marry you. Simple as that.”

His eyes meet yours and the ever-present stars and sincerity in them make you feel like you’re the only person in the world. 

“Why?” You whisper. You fear if you speak too loud it will ruin the moment.

Jungkook tilts his head and tongues his cheek. 

“You know I am not good with my words,” he says. “Can I show you instead?”

“Show me?”

Jungkook nods as his hand twists around your forearm, gently pulling you towards him. You stand to better adjust your position, but then he pulls you into his lap, holding you by the backs of your thighs so he can place them on either side of his own. The sudden movement makes you gasp and hold onto his shoulders for support.

Being this close to him is startling, but feeling him beneath you is as comforting as a warm bath after a long day of work. You wonder how you ever went this long without touching him like this in the first place.

Jungkook’s hand caresses your jaw as he looks into your eyes. You can see the cogs turning in his mind as he assesses whether or not you’re comfortable with his touch. 

His hand is bigger than your entire cheek and the feeling of his skin on yours makes your eyes shut in pleasure. You feel his thumb gently moving back and forth across your cheekbone and you sigh happily. 

“Jungkook,” you murmur. “That feels so nice.”

“It does?” You nod your head with your eyes still closed. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“What do you mean?”

Jungkook’s chuckle forces your eyes open. There are crinkles around his eyes as his gazes at you from mere inches away. He looks so pretty up close. 

“We have to appease the man outside at some point tonight, so I am asking you if you would like me to keep making you feel nice,” he explains. 

Your mouth snaps shut as the overwhelming anxiety from earlier begins to burrow inside you again. There is no doubt your body wants your husband, wants Jungkook, as you can feel a tightness in your thighs you’ve only experienced during self exploration before, but it’s all so nerve wracking that you can’t bring yourself to answer him. 

“I… I have never, I —”

“I know, my darling,” he responds. His thumb moves across your cheek again before he leans in and presses a kiss to the other one. He lets his lips linger there for a moment before coming back to face you. “Was that alright?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Alright, how about I keep going and you tell me if you want me to stop,” he suggests. 

You only nod in response, not trusting your own voice to get your thoughts across clearly. 

Jungkook leans in and kisses the same spot before moving down your face, pressing his lips to every inch of skin he comes in contact with. When he reaches your jaw, he lets his tongue drag across you and it pulls a gasp from your throat. He kisses you even harder when he gets to your neck, his lips and tongue moving slowly against your delicate skin before sucking over your pulse point.

“Oh,” you gasp at the unfamiliar sensation. “Oh, Jungkook,” you moan. You don’t recognize the tone of your own voice.

“Still feel nice, my Queen?” His words dance across the wet spot he’s left on your neck.

“Yes, my King,” you answer breathlessly.

He continues to kiss across your neck and the exposed area on your shoulder while his hand moves away from your face to caress your body. Starting at your shoulder, he traces your outline slowly until he reaches your hip, where his other hand already resides on the opposite side. 

His lips leave your neck and a whimper escapes you involuntarily. Jungkook smiles and rests his forehead against yours. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

You giggle at him being chivalrous enough to ask when he was just painting your neck in his saliva.

“Yes, of course.”

Jungkook kisses you tentatively, so gentle with the pressure of his lips that you almost don’t feel it. You can tell he’s hesitant and doesn’t want to scare you, but when you feel his lips on yours for the first time, your own hesitation melts away. 

Your hands leave his shoulders to wrap around his neck as he moves his lips in a slow rhythm against your own. It sends sparks throughout your entire body and makes the feeling in your thighs even more distracting. Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him so your chests touch. His hands flex against your back as he moves them up and down to feel you. 

You begin kissing him back as you get the hang of things, mirroring his movements and turning your head to gain better access. Jungkook’s hand sinks into your hair and you moan into his mouth when you feel his fingers on your scalp. The kiss is slow and sensual and you already feel more in your loins than you ever have when pleasuring yourself. 

“Jungkook,” you speak when you come up for air. “I need more.”

Jungkook smiles adoringly at you and kisses you once more before lifting you off his lap and standing up. He takes his first layers of clothing off without ever breaking eye contact with you. It has your thighs rubbing together as you watch his fingers pop open buttons and untie laces. 

Once he matches you in his state of undress, he gestures to you to come closer with his pointer finger. You obey instantly, not wanting to wait another moment to feel him against you again. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” He asks once you’re standing inches from him. You nod. “Good.”

“Have you… done this before?” Jungkook frowns at your question, and you know he doesn’t want to disappoint you with his reply. “I will not be upset, I promise.”

“I have,” he answers. 

“Will you show me, then? I want to make you feel nice, too,” you ask quietly. 

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth quirks up and he nods in affirmation. His hands reach out to caress your waist before he turns you around so your back is pressed against his chest. The movement has you gasping, but it morphs into a moan when his lips return to your neck. 

He sits again, bringing you with him. He spreads your legs overtop his own which completely opens you up for him. It makes your heart race and your nerves come alive, but you push the anxiety away to continue enjoying his touch. 

His hand catches the bottom hem of your underdress and slowly moves it up until your undergarments are exposed to the air. You gasp and grip Jungkook’s forearm when his palm comes to rest over your center. He isn’t touching you yet, necessarily, but you can still feel your core pulsing in anticipation. 

“Do you trust me?” He whispers directly into your ear.

“Always,” you reply without missing a beat. 

Jungkook hooks his fingers in your undergarment and you lift your hips just enough for him to remove it from your body. The cool air against your wetness sends shivers down your spine. 

The initial feeling of Jungkook gently tracing your folds makes you jump in his arms. He shushes you quietly before continuing his ministrations, adding more pressure as his fingers spread your essence around. His hand moves upwards until he’s touching your swollen nub and a loud moan escapes from your mouth. 

Your hand covers your mouth in response, your eyes wide in shock of a noise like that coming from you. Jungkook chuckles warmly from behind you. 

“No, no,” he says, removing your hand from your face. “They are supposed to hear us, anyway. Do not muffle your noises. I want to hear everything, my Queen.”

Jungkook presses down on your clit and your moan again without restraint. He uses the wetness he collects on his fingers to massage you in your most sensitive spot and it makes your head spin. You’re certain if he wasn’t holding you, your knees would give out. They’re the same motions you use on yourself and yet his fingers make it feel so much more intense. It’s incomparable to anything you’ve ever experienced before in your life. 

He retreats back into your folds to spreads them apart before pushing his middle finger into your hole. You gasp again, your nails digging into his skin where you’re still holding onto his arm. 

“Is this okay?”

You nod repeatedly in response. It is more than okay. It feels so heavenly you wonder if you’re about to meet God himself.

Jungkook’s finger moves in and out of your hole slowly, a squelching sound accompanying each slide of his appendage. Before long, he adds his ring finger and fucks you with them both, stretching your hole open for the first time. 

“Oh, God,” you moan as your head falls to his shoulder. “That… that is amazing, my King.”

Jungkook presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving his lips there as he continues to fuck you slowly with his fingers. He presses his palm down so it meets your clit as his hand moves against you. Your moans are short and high pitched, happening in quick succession now as your orgasm nears. 

Your husband picks up the pace, moving his fingers faster and sending them deeper into your pussy. Every time he enters you he reaches a spongy spot inside your walls that has you reeling from the pleasure. 

Not only are you focusing on your own ecstasy, but you can feel him hardening beneath you and it makes you want him even more. There is a deep, instinctual need inside you to provide him the same pleasure he is giving you. 

“I want you to come for me, my darling,” Jungkook whispers before kissing your neck again. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Jungkook, I am so close,” you respond. 

The words have barely left your lips when you feel your orgasm crashing over you like a wave with a high pitched scream that barely sounds like yourself. Jungkook continues to pump his fingers into you as you shake in his arms and your pussy convulses around him. 

It’s the most euphoric thing you’ve ever felt and it’s almost too overwhelming to bear. Your thighs are still shaking even once he removes his fingers. You watch with wide eyes as he slips them into his mouth to suck your juices off. 

“Jung — mmhf.”

He cuts you off with a kiss, gripping your jaw to keep your face where it is. You moan into each other’s mouths as you devour one another passionately. Jungkook leans you both back, the two of you crashing to the bed with him above you. Leaving your lips for only a moment, Jungkook reaches down to grab the hem of your dress and pull it over your head. 

It leaves you completely bare before him and on instinct you go to cover your chest and stomach. Jungkook smiles affectionately at your shyness, but he doesn’t scold you, just laces his fingers with yours and moves your hands away from your body. 

“I want to see you, too,” you say as you look into his deep brown eyes. 

Jungkook obliges you silently, stretching up and removing his top before kneeling to remove his pants, leaving him with only a single garment covering his manhood. 

“Better?”

You nod and reach up to bring his face to yours again. He lovingly traces over your figure beneath him, moving his hands over your waist, hips, shoulders, and arms. It feels as though he is trying to map you in your entirety. His big hands complete their exploration by grabbing both of your breasts and massaging them. You moan, your head falling back against the bed and opening your neck up for him to kiss again. 

He doesn’t stay there long before moving lower and kissing across your tits as he squeezes them. His lips latch onto your nipple and you gasp, you hand gripping his black hair in response. He sucks and licks over the nub of your left breast before moving to the right. The sensation has you going mad and it makes your hips buck up against his own. 

When you do, you feel how hard his cock has become. Your hand sneaks down and you grab him over his garment, pushing your palm gently against his bulge.

“Oh, darling,” he gasps. You laugh happily at his reaction, feeling accomplished that you’re pleasuring him as well. 

“Is this alright?” You ask as you bat your eyelashes.

“It is… so much more than alright. Please do not stop,” he begs you. 

You continue the same movement, applying more pressure as Jungkook’s head falls to your shoulder, pressing soft kisses on your skin as he moans. 

Feeling more confident now, you stop your movements to remove his undergarment. He stares at your hands as they reveal his body to you. A shuddering breath pushes past your lips when you see your husband’s cock for the first time. 

“Oh,” you say as your voice drops an octave.

Jungkook is what you can only assume is large. It’s certainly bigger than the penises you’ve seen in art and statues, but you have no real life comparison. He’s long and thick, with large veins running down his shaft. You don’t think your fingers will touch if you wrap your hand around him. 

Jungkook chuckles and raises your head to meet his eyes. 

“Do not worry. I will make sure you are ready before you take me,” he assures you.  

“How will you do that?” 

Jungkook doesn’t respond verbally, he simply maneuvers you both to the center of the bed before sinking down so his face is in front of your cunt. He leans down to kiss and bite along the supple skin of your thighs as he makes his way to where you’re leaking for him already.

His eyes bore into yours when he finally reaches your center and his tongue leaves his mouth for a tentative lick along your folds. You break his eye contact with a loud and deep moan as your head tips back and hits the pillows beneath you. 

“Oh, my King,” you sigh in ecstasy.

Your husband wastes not a single second more, his tongue flattening against your hole and licking up the essence that’s collected there. Your legs shake where they rest next to his head and your nails dig into the sheets, twisting them in your grasp. 

Jungkook is relentless, despite your body already showing signs of oversensitivity. His tongue slides through your folds as he kisses your cunt and moans into you. Then he moves to lick your clit and suck it into his mouth, before returning again to fuck his tongue into you. While his mouth is abusing your hole he uses his nose to create friction on your swollen nub. Everything he does sends shockwaves through your entire being and you feel like your consciousness is no longer on the earth. 

You come again faster than you can even register, your thighs locking around Jungkook’s head as you whole body spasms. Jungkook doesn’t stop, though, even once your breathing begins to return to normal. He continues on as if you didn’t reach a climax at all. It sends your body into overdrive and you gasp at the painful pleasure that shoots through your core. 

Hands finding his hair, you tug on the strands as your hips move to meet his mouth. He groans against you, nodding as if to tell you to keep going. You do, your pussy rubbing against his face while he licks your cum away.

Everything about it is downright filthy and yet it creates the most wonderful feeling to ever course through your veins. 

Jungkook’s mouth moves against you like he knows your body better than you do. His tongue only laps at you a couple more times before another orgasm hits you, and it causes you to gasp and moan pathetically as your hips gyrate against him. He finally comes up for air once he feels your body still, his head resting on your thigh as he kisses it softly.

“Did that feel good, my darling?” Jungkook asks with a smile. His pink lips are swollen and shiny with your essence. 

“You have no idea,” you pant, each word coming out across an exhale. 

Jungkook’s smile grows exponentially and he comes up to meet you at your lips again. You can taste yourself on him and it makes you moan into his kiss. 

“Are you ready, my Queen?” 

His eyes peer into your own when he asks and you can tell he wants to see you so he knows whether you truly are or not.

“Well, what about you?”

“You do not need to worry about me,” he tells you.

“But I want to,” you argue. “I want to pleasure you, my King. I want to give you everything.”

Jungkook pauses your conversation as his eyes search yours for something.

“Are you saying that because you think it is your duty?” 

“No.”

“Then —”

“I am saying it because it is how I feel about you, Jungkook. It has nothing to do with duty.” 

Jungkook sighs and kisses the tip of your nose. You can’t help but blush, the gentle affection warming your heart and making you smile up at him.

“I would love nothing more, my darling,” he tells you. “But I think we should save that for another day. Truthfully, I need to be inside you or I will go mad.”

His words spread heat throughout your entire body. 

“Is that so?”

The smirk currently occupying your lips isn’t there for long because Jungkook kisses it away. A dreamy sigh comes from you as your tongues meet for a lazy dance inside your mouth. You could kiss him forever if given the chance. The taste of his lips and the feel of them against your own has you completely hypnotized. 

Jungkook uses the distraction of his kiss to line himself up with your core, gently running the tip of his cock through your folds and then spreading your cum down his shaft to lubricate his skin. Your pussy reacts immediately, clenching around nothing and leaking more cum onto your thighs. When he’s ready, he nuzzles his nose against yours and kisses your cheek. 

“This may hurt,” he warns you.

“I know,” you smile reassuringly. “I will be alright.”

“You will tell me if you are uncomfortable at all, yes?”

“Yes, darling,” you reply in a mock-tone of his deep voice. He beams at you, his eyes disappearing for a moment before giving you one final peck. 

Jungkook enters you slowly, letting just his head push past your tight circle of nerves before waiting to make sure you’re alright. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders as your pussy stretches to accommodate him. It isn’t as painful as you expected, more so a tight pressure within your walls. You nod reassuringly at him once you’ve adjusted and he continues gently until his hips meet yours and his cock is nestled up against your cervix.

You gasp at the full intrusion, your lips kissing his shoulder and biting down on the muscle to relieve the foreign ache. 

“Try to relax, darling, it will help,” he coos in your ear. 

Taking multiple deep breaths, you close your eyes and wait for the pressure to subside. Once it does, you’re mesmerized by the pleasure. Jungkook’s cock throbs inside you and he’s so thick that you can feel every ridge and vein pressing against your walls.

“Okay,” you say, looking into Jungkook’s eyes and brushing his hair away from his face. He still looks hesitant, raising his eyebrows at you confirm you’re truly ready. You answer him with a kiss and he smiles against your mouth. 

Jungkook rears back slowly, never once looking away from you to ensure you’re alright, and then sinks back in. You moan when he enters you again, this time feeling nothing but pleasure and euphoria. His tip repeatedly hits the same spot inside you and it makes you see stars as your eyes roll back. 

His body hovers over yours, his forearms holding him steady. Your hands are in his hair and around his neck, tugging on the strands in time with his movements. He grabs your leg to bring it higher around his hip and thrusts into you even deeper. Your moans tangle together in the air between you along with the wet sound of his cock entering you over and over. Jungkook is fucking you like his life depends on it, like is whole life has lead to this very moment. He kisses your shoulder and neck and sucks on your earlobe before finally coming back to your lips to ravish your mouth. 

Consummation of marriage doesn’t seem like the right term for this act anymore, it’s too exquisite to be described in such a mundane way. 

You gaze up at Jungkook as he watches his cock come out of you and go back in again. He groans at the sight, throwing his head back, and you run your hand down his sharp jaw to grab his attention. 

“I love you,” you tell him, despite how terrified you are for him to finally know the truth. His eyes go wide, his mouth opening and shutting again when he can’t find the right words to reply. You smile at his reaction, finding it utterly adorable how you’ve stunned him into silence. “I love you, my King, my husband… my Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks repeatedly and you can see tears pricking at the corners of his starry eyes, which only makes yours do the same. He maps your face with his eyes as he relishes in your confession. His head shakes in disbelief, but then he smiles and breathes out a laugh.

“I love you, Y/N,” he finally responds. “My Queen, you have no idea how long I have loved you.”

He kisses you again, this time so ardently it steals your breath right from your lungs. His thrusts speed up while your mouths chase each other, the emotions swirling inside you both making you even needier. Your nails rake down his back in red streaks as he pistons into you and grinds against your hips. 

“M’close, my love,” he tells you with a kiss to your neck. 

“Give me a child, Jungkook,” you reply. “Fill up my womb, please.”

Jungkook groans extensively into the skin of your neck as his pushes your hips deeper into the bed so he can fuck you harder. One his hands sneaks between your bodies to massage your clit, making sure you are on the same precipice as he is. 

You come together, loud moans filling the air as your pussy spasms and squeezes Jungkook’s cock inside your walls. Warmth spreads through you as his cum fills you up and he fucks it deeper into you. Gasping at how utterly full you feel, you go to move until Jungkook stops you with a squeeze to your hip. 

“Not yet,” he whispers. “I do not want you to lose a single drop.”

The thought of Jungkook’s seed sitting deep inside your womb and him refusing to pull out to keep it there has you moaning all over again. 

You whine at the feeling of emptiness that overtakes you when he does finally leave the warmth of your cunt. You’re in delirium from all the climaxes and pleasure your husband gave to you and you can barely keep your eyes open. 

Jungkook cleans away any excess fluid from between your legs with a rag before tucking you in and joining you in the bed. He kisses you goodnight with a peck to your lips and forehead before telling you he loves you again. You are already halfway asleep, but make an attempt to tell him the same nonetheless. 

The honeymoon gets extended to three months, simply because Jungkook refuses to share you with anyone else; completely content with having you all to himself for just a while longer. Now that the feelings you were both hiding for so long are out in the open, you want to enjoy your time together without reality sneaking its way in. 

When you do finally return, you’re very much pregnant. Initially, you and Jungkook decide to keep it a secret, but then his mother notices the small bump over your womb and practically shouts the news from the rooftop of the castle. Your mother and father are absolutely elated and everytime they even glance at you tears of joy well up in their eyes. 

Your pregnancy is celebrated all throughout the Kingdom with festivals and parades, but there’s one person you never hear congratulations from. In fact, you barely see him around the many halls and rooms which surround you, as if he’s merely a myth your mind conjured up. 

Once you do see Taehyung, it’s a far cry from the reunion you were hoping for. All he does is bow to you before continuing on down the corridor. His eyes don’t even meet yours and his expression is stone cold and empty. Your heart absolutely shatters in two and you find solace in the library to cry the ache away.

Jungkook finds you before anyone else does, his eyes going wide when he sees you slumped over with your head in your hands.

“Darling?” He crouches down before you and pulls your head up by your chin. “My love, what is wrong? Is it something with the baby?”

“No,” you cry and shake your head. “Taehyung… he will not even look at me.” 

Jungkook frowns and tucks some of your hair behind your ear. 

“Just give him some time,” he tells you.

You shake your head again.

“No, I need to speak to him. I have to tell him why I accepted your proposal and not his,” you explain. 

“Taehyung proposed to you?” Jungkook asks, shock evident in his tone.

“Yes, when he came to tell me he was leaving for the war,” you state. “He told me he would come back and marry me, but I did not give him an answer.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have only ever loved you, Jungkook.”

Just as you feared, time does nothing to bridge the gap between you and your best friend. 

The war ends six months into your pregnancy, and even as all the residents of the castle gather in the ballroom for a celebratory feast, he utters not a single word to you. When you give birth a few months later, your relationship is still not mended and you fear it never will be. 

PRESENT DAY

Taehyung thinks he’s going to throw up. His hands are sweaty and shaking, his internal temperature is dropping, and his leg won’t stop bouncing against the bleachers. Despite all that, he can’t bring himself to peel his eyes away from you and Jungkook as you enter the gym together.

Jungkook’s fingers are laced with yours as you walk just ahead of him. Your smile is so bright when you glance back at him momentarily and all Taehyung can think is that you don’t know. You have no idea you’re holding hands with your own killer. 

Once you reach the other cheerleaders you wrap your arms around Jungkook’s neck and hug him. He smiles at your embrace and nuzzles his head in the junction of your neck and shoulder, pecking your cheek before letting you go. You mouth “I love you” to him and his smile grows as he repeats the phrase back to you. As if it could get worse, Jungkook taps your ass before walking towards the locker room. You don’t even turn around to scold him, just playfully slap his hand as he laughs and leaves you with your teammates. 

Bile threatens to scratch Taehyung's esophagus as he watches Jungkook stroll away from you and disappear into the locker room. He hopes no one notices his staring problem, but it’s impossible for him to look away from the reincarnation of his former best friend. 

This shouldn’t be possible and yet he can’t deny what’s right in front of his own eyes. 

A buzzer pulls Taehyung from his thoughts and the game begins with introductions of both teams. You’re standing courtside in your usual spot at the center of the formation. You cheer as they announce all the players and you yell even louder when they announce Jungkook, after which he winks at you and returns to his position on the court. 

The irony of a former King and Queen being reincarnated as the captain of the cheerleading squad and the captain of the basketball team doesn’t escape Taehyung. Because what else would they be? 

Taehyung would love nothing more than to enjoy the game and cheer along with the rest of the crowd, but his mind is slowly spiraling into madness. 

He needs to find out if Jungkook remembers his past life or not.

If Jungkook does have his memories, that means he’s dating you when he knows what he did and you don’t. Taehyung’s face scrunches in disgust at the thought. He would have to be getting off on it if that’s the case, of knowing he has you back in his clutches while you’re clueless. 

On the other hand, if Jungkook doesn’t remember his last life, then you two are clearly drawn together by some other force of nature that Taehyung isn’t aware of. Perhaps this is just the way your fates are always meant to align, with you and Jungkook together while Taehyung has to come in and save you from him. At least this time Jungkook doesn’t have the authority to murder you.

The biggest question of the night is still how. 

Sometime before you and Taehyung were killed, he sought out a sorceress to cast a protection spell. The spell was simple, but it could only be cast on one of you, so Taehyung made the decision to cast it on you instead of himself. It read:

The person you love will follow you into the next life, and with a kiss, your memories will be returned to you. 

Taehyung chose the spell because he wanted you and him to get a do-over in case something bad happens to you. The only requirement of the spell is that you have to die together, or at least in quick succession to one another. Since that prerequisite was met, you were reincarnated and he has knowledge of his past life. 

Jungkook being here adds a wrench of astronomical proportions to his plans and makes him wonder if Jungkook cast a spell of his own before he killed you. Maybe he got wind of what Taehyung had done and decided to add himself into the mix. 

He may never find out, especially if Jungkook is truly clueless to who he was before. 

When the game ends, Taehyung watches with a clenched jaw as Jungkook scoops you into his arms and lifts you off the ground. You giggle as he does it and the sound is so beautiful it almost brings tears to Taehyung’s eyes. He can practically feel the happiness radiating from you as Jungkook kisses you before setting you back down on the floor. 

It feels like the past is haunting him and laughing in his face. The image of you two before him is so familiar he can almost picture you in your wedding gown instead of your uniform. 

You and Jungkook hold hands again as you converse with all the students coming over to congratulate the team on their big win. Taehyung knows it’s now or never and makes his way down to greet you two.

“Taehyung!” You wave at him with your free hand. 

Jungkook looks up to follow your line of sight. He doesn’t look stunned by the sound of Taehyung’s name and his eyes don’t go wide when he spots him amongst the crowd, so that must be a good sign. 

“Hey,” Taehyung says as he steps in front of you. 

“Taehyung, this is Jungkook and Jungkook, this is Taehyung,” you introduce the two boys. 

Taehyung could laugh out loud at the irony of it. 

“Hey man, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Jungkook says as he shakes Taehyung’s hand. “Y/N has told me all about you. I’m glad she finally has someone to study with who doesn’t distract her.”

“You mean yourself?” You say, turning to him with a smirk.

He teasingly blows a kiss at you and your head tilts to the right, accompanied by your usual nose scrunch and smile combo.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Taehyung says with a forced smile. If he could go a hundred lives without ever meeting Jungkook again, he would. “She talks about you a lot, as well. The mysterious boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I wish we could’ve met sooner. This one says we would get along great,” Jungkook explains. 

He moves behind you to rest his arms over your shoulders, his chin meeting your hair. Your fingers absentmindedly trace his tattoos where his arms hang over your chest. Taehyung’s eyes follow every movement and he has to fight not to lose his mind at the displays of affection. 

“You think so?” Taehyung asks you and you nod repeatedly.

“Oh, yeah,” you answer. “I don’t know what it is, I can just tell you’d be like two peas in a pod.”

“Well, we should all hang out sometime and see if she’s right,” Taehyung suggests. 

He only does so because he needs to know for sure about Jungkook’s memories. If he can find ways to test him and possibly trip him up, he will. 

“I’m always right,” you argue. 

“Mmhm, sure you are, my love,” Jungkook says as he kisses your shoulder before standing back up to his full height and taking your hand. 

Taehyung almost visibly recoils at the sound of one of Jungkook’s old pet names for you. 

“We have to get going to the team’s celebration dinner, but I’ll text you and maybe we can plan something with the three of us?” You propose. 

You go to grab your bag but Jungkook is already slinging it over his shoulder. When you notice, you smile and slap his arm playfully.

“Yeah, sounds great,” Taehyung responds. 

Jungkook waves goodbye and you follow suit before you’re both turning around and heading for the door. You lay your head on Jungkook’s bicep as you walk and he bends over to kiss the top of your head. 

Taehyung throws his head back with a groan. He’s waited hundreds of years and spent the last 20 or so looking for you only to find you in Jungkook’s arms yet again. He wants to have a word with the universe so he can really speak his mind on the matter. 

You text him a couple days later inviting him to a party with some athletes at an off-campus house. It isn’t ideal, but he needs to get as close to you as possible if this is ever going to work. 

The familiar stench of cheap beer and marijuana is already infiltrating Taehyung’s nostrils as he enters. In fact, he walks right through someone’s puff cloud and coughs his whole way into the house. Once inside, he grabs a strong drink from the kitchen and starts searching for you. 

When he finds you, you’re facing his direction while closing one eye to better aim your ping pong ball. Jungkook is opposite you, his back to Taehyung, as everyone waits with bated breath for the outcome of your shot. 

You toss the ping pong ball with precision and it bounces once on the table before sinking right in the center cup. Throwing your hands up to cheer, your proud eyes find Jungkook’s to validate your accomplishment even though he’s on the opposing team. 

“Ha! Take that, Kook,” you tease.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you that one,” Jungkook responds as he grabs the ball from the cup and downs the drink. “But it’s the last one you’re going to get, baby.”

Jungkook is much quicker than you with his aim and sinks his ball into the matching cup on your side of the table. He puts his arms out and shrugs when you pout in his direction. Rolling your eyes, you chug the beer before setting the cup to the side. 

Taehyung stands to the side to watch the rest of the beer pong tournament and unfortunately for you, Jungkook was right, and you never land a ball in one of his cups again. 

When the game ends you sulk your way over to Jungkook, making a show of crossing your arms over your chest and pouting at him. Taehyung has to look away when he notices Jungkook bending down to kiss the pout away. By the time he looks back, Jungkook has his arm around your shoulders and yours is around his waist.

“Oh, Tae, hi!” You shout when you notice him. “Oh wait, can I call you that?”

“Of course,” Taehyung replies with a smile. “Hey Jungkook.”

“Hey, what’s up? Glad you could make it,” Jungkook says. 

“You know I think the rules of boyfriendship say you’re supposed to let your girlfriend win at these things,” Taehyung points out.

“See! What did I say?” 

You look up at Jungkook, the pout returning with a vengeance.

Jungkook squishes your cheeks between his fingers and coos at you mockingly. You giggle and your eyes squeeze shut before pushing him away with a gentle shove to his chest. 

“I never let anyone win,” Jungkook states. 

I am fully aware.

“It’s true, he’s stupid competitive, but he’s also magically good at fucking everything, so it kinda works in his favor,” you explain. 

“I bet I could beat you at something,” Taehyung says casually.

Jungkook’s eyebrows move up his forehead, a big toothy grin appearing on his face.

“Am I finally about to face a worthy opponent?” He asks rhetorically, his voice pitching up with eagerness. “What’s your game, Taetae?”

Taetae? 

Taehyung is almost tempted to ask Jungkook to slice his neck open again. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to feign nicety when all he wants to do is punch the guy. Whether he has his memories or not, he’s still the only obstacle left standing in Taehyung’s path to you. 

“Um,” Taehyung scopes out the landscape of the house. “Darts?”

Jungkook nods, pursing his lips as he thinks and gazes at the dart board. 

“I can do darts,” he replies.

You leave to grab more drinks while they stroll over to the empty corner where the dart board is hanging. Jungkook pulls the darts from the board and tosses some to Taehyung before stepping back behind the duck tape marking the floor. He gestures with his hands for Taehyung to go first.

“So, I don’t want to make anything awkward, but I feel like I have to give you the obligatory ‘don’t try anything with my girl’ speech,” Jungkook says after Taehyung has thrown his first dart. “Not to say you guys can’t hang out because I’m not like that. She can do whatever she wants. I just like to let guys know that I mean business, ya know?”

“What do you mean?” Taehyung asks.

“I mean that I’m head over heels in love and would do just about anything to keep her next to me,” Jungkook states. He aims quickly and throws his first dart. “As long as she wants me, of course.”

“And if she didn’t… want you, I mean, would you fight for her?” Taehyung continues before taking his next throw. 

“Of course I would,” Jungkook responds with a shrug, as if it’s the easiest answer in the world. “She means everything to me.”

Taehyung can hear the sincerity in Jungkook’s voice and it reflects in his eyes, too, even in the dim lighting. 

“I hear you, Jungkook. Loud and clear,” Taehyung says before gesturing for Jungkook to take his next shot. “How did you guys meet anyway?”

Jungkook takes a sip from his cup before throwing his next dart, the guy barely has to look at the board and he still hits a bullseye. Some things never change. 

“The weekend before freshman orientation all the athletes move in early and have this big mixer,” Jungkook explains. “She took my fucking breath away from across the room, but we were actually friends for a long time before we started dating.”

“Why is that?” Taehyung throws his last dart and then leans against the nearby railing. 

“Well, honestly, I wanted to try out the whole ‘soil your oats’ thing when I first got to college, but then the more time I spent with her, the more I couldn’t get her off my mind. I never even touched another girl the whole year, even before we got together.”

“Baby, I brought drinks!” Your sweet voice rings out before they can continue their conversation.

Jungkook turns around at the sound of it, a huge smile on his face even though you’ve only been gone a couple minutes.

“Oh, thanks, Princess.” 

He greets you with a kiss as he takes the beer bottle from your hand.

Taehyung has to hide the way his teeth grind together at the nickname. He hates how ironic it is given that you were never a Princess, only a Queen, because you were shoved into a role you never asked for by your so-called best friend.  

His inner monologue is interrupted when you hand him a beer bottle as well. He thanks you with a bow of his head before turning back to the game. Jungkook throws his last dart and then leans forward to count up the points. 

“Oh, you guys are tied,” you say with a smile. “Looks like someone’s giving you a run for your money, Kook.”

“It appears so,” he responds. “I think you were right about me and Taetae, we’re gonna be great friends.”

Taehyung’s head tilts at the tiny lick of sarcasm in Jungkook’s voice. He doesn’t think you notice it, though, since you’re still smiling at your boyfriend like he hung the stars in the sky.

There isn’t a second round because you tug on Jungkook’s hand and ask him to dance with you instead. He obliges your request without hesitation, already moving towards the other room while you wave goodbye to Taehyung. Once you’re gone, Taehyung runs his fingers through his hair and looks at the dart board with matching scores. Figures.

He doesn’t see you again until much later after he’s had a little too much to drink. When he does, he immediately regrets coming to look for you. 

Jungkook is pinning you against the wall as he kisses you slowly, his mouth moving against yours like he has all the time in the world. His knee is between your thighs and he’s caressing your waist beneath your shirt. You make out hungrily, his tongue slipping into your mouth while you bite on his lower lip. Jungkook grips your jaw and kisses your neck, sucking on your skin and making you whimper. Your hands run up his back and grip tightly onto his jacket.

“Kook,” you moan. “Upstairs.”

Jungkook nods at your command from where his face is still against your neck. Without missing a beat, he takes your hand and leads you around the corner to the back stairwell. Taehyung can hear your giggles as you two run up the stairs together.

Taehyung actually does get sick this time. It’s a mixture of the alcohol and his mind agonizing over the thought of you two in a bedroom alone together. His knuckles turn white as he grips the edge of the toilet bowl he’s currently bent over. 

Jungkook shouldn’t get to touch you like that, shouldn’t get to hold you or kiss you after what he did. 

Taehyung’s eyes snap shut as the memory of you clutching your bleeding neck flashes in his mind. He presses his knuckles to his eyelids to try and get the image to go away. It never does. Taehyung is constantly haunted by the look of terror in your eyes as you fall over and bleed out right in front of him. 

He presses his forehead against the cabinet next to him as he tries to catch his breath. He still isn’t sure if Jungkook has his memories or not, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You deserve to know exactly who you’re dating. 

A few days later, you’re sitting across from him with half a gummy worm hanging from your mouth while you read something on your laptop. Every so often you start typing and your brow creases in concentration. Taehyung can’t keep his eyes off you for a second. You’re undeniably endearing and it’s taking everything in him not to reach across the table and kiss you right now. 

“Jungkook says he really likes you,” you say without looking up.

“Really? I honestly couldn’t tell,” Taehyung replies.

“Oh yeah, no, he talked about you a lot after the party. Said he finally met his match,” you continue. 

“Hmm, he wasn’t jealous at all?”

You look up with confusion written on your face.

“No,” you stretch out the syllable. “Should he be?”

“No, no! I just know him and I talked about it a bit and —”

“Talked about what?”

“Well, about you being his and that I should respect that,” Taehyung explains.

“Oh, yeah, he does that,” you say with a wave of your hand. “In his eyes, I’m the most beautiful girl in the world, so everyone must want me, ya know?”

“You are,” Taehyung accidentally says before biting his lip aggressively. Your eyes bulge as you stare at him in shock across the table. “I… I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nod, your lip held captive between your teeth while you look everywhere but at Taehyung. 

“Um —”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” Taehyung interrupts. “I promise, I’m not trying to make a move on you or steal you away from Jungkook. You just… I mean, objectively, you are beautiful, and truth be told you remind me of someone I used to know, so I just… oh I don’t know.”

“It’s alright,” you say with a gentle smile. “Let’s just forget about it, yeah?”

You end up missing your study session with him on Thursday, shooting him a text an hour after you normally arrive that you got caught up with something else and you’ll see him next time. 

Taehyung already knows next time is never going to come. You’ll subtly ghost him after making excuses for a few weeks, and he doesn’t blame you. He crossed a line and you’re trying to set some boundaries in return. But he refuses to leave you in the dark any longer, and if his plan is failing, he’ll need to come up with another one.

There’s a home basketball game tonight, so Taehyung buys a ticket at the entrance before heading into the gym. You’re already there with the other cheerleaders, but Jungkook is nowhere in sight. Taehyung knows he has to be quick about this and doesn’t hesitate to approach you courtside.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Oh, hi,” you respond with your usual smile. Maybe you really were busy yesterday or maybe you’re just good at hiding your true emotions. 

“Can we talk for a minute?”

Your body tenses at his question, and your eyes flit to the other side of the room, but you eventually nod and the two of you leave and stand in an unoccupied area behind the gym doors. 

“What’s up?” You ask as you cross your arms.

“I just wanted to make sure everything is still good between us,” he admits. 

You nod slowly and chew on your lip as you debate over your answer. 

“Honestly? No,” you confess. “You’re really fun to hang out with and I’ve enjoyed our study time together, but what you said the other day… it’s obvious that this is more than a friendship for you and I’m not comfortable continuing to hang out one-on-one knowing that.”

Taehyung’s hands begin to shake as he digests your words. He knows what he has to do and yet he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Look, I do like you as more than a friend, and I think you should give me a shot because Jungkook isn’t who you think he is.”

“Excuse me?” You gawk at him. “You’ve met him twice, Tae! How dare you?”

“No, Y/N, you don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand, huh?”

“That… you don’t have all the information, but I can give it to you,” Taehyung offers.

“Information? What are you even talking about?” There’s a momentary pause until you shake your head and put your hands up in surrender. “You know what, no, I don’t even wanna know. I trust my boyfriend more than a guy I’ve known for barely three months.”

You start to walk away, moving swiftly past Taehyung, but he catches your wrist.

“Wait!”

“Taehyung, let go of me.”

“I’m sorry about this.”

Taehyung uses his grip on your wrist to pull you into him and presses his lips to yours. He never wanted to do it this way, never without your consent, but he’s losing you again and he can’t risk that. 

It only lasts two seconds before you’re shoving him off of you, but it’s enough. This kiss is the final puzzle piece to returning your memories so you can be together again. 

“What the hell, Tae?” You shout before running back towards the gym.

The words have barely passed your lips when the first wave hits you. It stops you in your tracks, your hands bracing themselves on the cold metal doors as images flood your mind. 

Ball gowns, children playing, a grassy field with wildflowers, two horses galloping towards you, blood pooling on the floor. You gasp and your hand instinctively grabs at your neck. The mirage stops and you shake your head, thinking it’s just some bizarre daydream brought on by the stress of Taehyung’s actions. 

You return to your courtside formation just in time to see Jungkook entering the gym from the locker room. As soon as your eyes land on his silhouette, more images appear.

A large bed in a dark room, a gold crown, white roses, a baby cradle, his hand pulling a dress up your thigh, him spinning you in the air, and finally, his eyes, sharp and cold, looking at you in disgust.

You trip over nothing at all, accidentally bumping into your teammate behind you. She asks if you’re alright, but you're too frazzled to verbally answer her and nod instead.

Jungkook notices your abnormal behavior from across the room and pivots to walk towards you. When he does, the Jungkook you know seemingly blinks out of existence and is replaced by a version of him in medieval attire with a crown on his head. You blink rapidly to eradicate the hallucination, but it only lasts for a split second before you see him in his basketball uniform again.

Lifting your hands to stop him from coming any closer, you avoid his eyes and turn around to take a sip of water. Your head is pounding as unfamiliar scenes infiltrate your mind one at a time. Nothing makes sense and you wonder if you somehow fell asleep and are dreaming all of this. You pinch your forearm and flinch when your nails dig in and send a sharp pain through your skin. 

You try to steady your breathing, but the images are unyielding and overwhelming. Looking up into the bleachers, you see Taehyung, and just like before, he phases into a version of himself wearing knight’s armor and a shield.

Grasping the side of your head and massaging your temple, you turn back towards the game just as the buzzer sounds. 

The roar of the crowd and the players yelling commands at each other only serves to make matters worse. You brace your head between your hands and bend over, willing the kaleidoscope of visions to cease. Squeezing your eyes shut, you count your inhales and exhales in a feeble attempt to self soothe.

Another cheerleader rubs your back and asks if you’re feeling okay, but her voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. All you can see, hear, and feel are the vivid daydreams of you, Taehyung, and Jungkook in medieval clothes as you stroll around a huge stone castle. The last thing you see is Taehyung held taut by two knights. A deep, foreboding aura seeps into your bones and then you feel a sharp blade slice across your jugular. 

Everything fades to black as you pass out. 

“Oh, my God, Y/N,” the cheerleader behind you gasps as you fall into her. 

All movement on the court comes to a screeching halt, and Jungkook is throwing the ball out of his hands before running over to you.

“What happened?” He asks as he bends down. His fingers gently move your hair away from your face and he presses the back of his hand to your forehead to check your temperature.

“I don’t know, she looked like she was having a migraine and then she was just out,” someone explains. 

Taehyung starts moving through the stands to reach you, but before he can, your eyes begin to blink open. He stands still as a statue as he watches you take in your surroundings. When you see Jungkook leaning over you, you gasp and move away.

“No… no,” you whimper.

“Baby?”

“No, don’t touch me,” you yell when his hand goes to caress your arm.

“Y/N, it’s me.”

“No, no, no,” you cry as you cradle your head in your hands. “Make it stop, please make it stop.”

Jungkook looks at the girl still holding you in horror, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

The first-aid team runs in and heads towards the commotion. One of them tries to move you, but you only wail louder and coil into yourself, preventing them from doing anything to help.

“We’re gonna need to sedate her,” one of them says.

“What?” Jungkook asks with wide eyes. “What do you mean?”

The paramedic doesn’t answer him, they just stick a small needle in your arm and push the medicine into your vein. Your cries subside into whimpers almost immediately, and then you’re out cold again.

The gym is completely silent as everyone watches with concern for you and your wellbeing. 

The paramedics move you to a stretcher and roll you out of the gym. Jungkook stands to follow them, but not before turning over his shoulder and meeting eyes with Taehyung. 

“You, with me, now,” he orders. 

And that’s the moment Taehyung finally knows for sure. Jungkook has his memories. He knows exactly who he was in his past life, and more importantly, what he did.

1430

You’re clutching your dress between the fingers of your left hand as you take quick steps down the hall, attempting to catch up to the tiny figure ahead of you. The five year old is far too quick for your liking, and she’s mischievous in nature which only makes it worse.

“Sooyoung,” you call when you finally catch up to her, scooping her into your arms when you’re close enough. “What did mommy say about running in the corridors? There are big, pointy objects all around and you could run into one.”

“Sorry, mommy,” she giggles, tucking herself into your chest. 

You rub her back and place a kiss in her hair. Just then, you hear the sound of a door opening and Jungkook steps out, running his hands through his hair methodically.

“Daddy!” Sooyoung shouts and wiggles herself away from you. 

Putting her down, you watch as her little feet carry her to his side. Jungkook stops in his tracks, his eyes bright with affection and a large toothy grin on his face. When she finally reaches him, he lifts her up by her waist, bringing her over his head as she giggles endlessly before resting her against his hip.

“How is my beautiful Princess doing?”

“Good, I learned the alphabet this morning,” she tells him.

“You did? Baby, that is wonderful,” he praises her. She smiles and leans over to plant a wet smooch on his cheek. Jungkook laughs and returns the favor to her, kissing her multiple times until she tells him to stop with a giggle. When Jungkook reaches you he leans down to kiss your lips. “Hi, my love.”

“Hello, my King,” you say as he passes Sooyoung over to you. You put her down and let her roam in the room just off to the left where some of her toys are. “Are you joining us for lunch?”

“No, my darling, I cannot,” he says with a frown. You mirror his expression and he tucks some of your hair behind your ear. “I am sorry, my Queen. You know I would if it were up to me.”

“I know,” you reply. 

Even though the war which took the lives of Jungkook’s brother and father ended shortly before you gave birth to your first son, another one broke out three months ago. Thankfully, since his heirs are too young to rule in his stead, there was a mutual agreement that Jungkook wouldn’t go away to fight because of what happened during the last war. But even though he’s here with you, moments like this are some of the only ones you get to spend together. 

Other than these brief encounters when you happen to cross paths, the only time you see him is when he comes to bed for the night. During the first month of the war, you would stay up for him, waiting in eager anticipation for the sound of his footsteps coming down the corridor. When he did finally arrive, he would sweep you up into his arms and make love to you before tucking you into bed and falling asleep with you in his hold. Over time, his entrances into your bedroom came later and later, and you would fall asleep while waiting for him. Now, he simply presses a kiss to your forehead in your sleep before pulling you into his arms. When you wake up, he’s usually already gone.

Everytime you get so much as a glimpse of him, it soothes the melancholy feeling in your heart and brings a smile to your face. Even if all you see is a familiar head of black hair and broad shoulders turning around a corner.

Time moves torturously slow without him beside you and you feel the ache of missing him all the way down to your bones. The loneliness is becoming unbearable, especially since your two eldest children, Sooyoung, who is almost five, and Junghyun, named after his late uncle, who is seven, are busy with their tutor most of the day. That leaves you with your identical twin boys, Minho and Wonshik, who are two. They’re quite entertaining, but nothing can fill the void of not having your beloved husband around. 

“Perhaps I will see you tonight?” You ask.

“I hope so,” Jungkook says as he caresses your cheek. He bends down to kiss you again, for longer this time now that your daughter is out of the way. “I love you, my Queen, so very much.”

“I love you more,” you reply with a final peck. 

Jungkook raises his eyebrow to silently challenge your statement before waving goodbye to you and your daughter as he continues down the corridor. 

Sighing in exasperation, you call for your daughter and take her hand as you walk towards the dining hall to eat lunch with your other children. 

Some days later you’re walking through the large gardens behind the castle while the twins nap inside. Early afternoons are the only time of day when you’re able to take a break from motherhood and be alone with your thoughts. Although, you’re certainly not lacking in alone time at the moment. 

As you pass by the hedges on your way back inside, you spot Taehyung speaking with some fellow knights. You no longer attempt to make eye contact with him and neither does he. It’s been nearly eight years since you last spoke besides obligatory greetings or discussions involving his duties. The idea of you two ever being close again is a pipe dream you stopped hoping for long ago. You miss him dearly, and you always will, but it’s useless driving yourself mad over an impossibility.

After lunch, you hear a knock at the nursery door where you’re playing with Minho and Wonshik. When you see Taehyung enter after allowing the visitor entry, you’re taken aback. He’s usually only ever with Jungkook or completely a task on his behalf. 

“Sir Taehyung, can I help you?” You ask him.

“I am assigned to be here, your Majesty,” he answers you flatly.

“Pardon?”

“The King has assigned me to be your personal guard.”

“Why would I need a personal guard?” You question, pulling Minho closer to your chest. There’s never been a reason or need for you to be under supervision before and you don’t like the sound of it.

“The battlefront has moved closer to the Eastern border and as such, King Jungkook wants you and the children to each be guarded day and night in the event that the enemy breaks down our defenses or sneaks into the Kingdom,” he explains. 

You nod as you digest the news, looking down at your two-year old who gazes back with familiar big, brown eyes. Putting him back on the ground to play with his twin, you stand and walk towards Taehyung.

“If that is the case I believe we should have a conversation, Sir Taehyung.” 

“I do not believe that is necessary, my Queen.”

“I think it is,” you argue. “If you are going to be with me around the clock I do not want it to be awkward.”

Taehyung grimaces and chews on his bottom lip as he thinks about his following words. You cross your arms over your chest for good measure, even though you look nowhere near intimidating.

“I do not wish to speak about the past, but I will attempt to be cordial with you for the sake of the arrangement,” he proposes. “Is that alright with you, your Highness?”

You mull it over in your mind for a minute before nodding curtly and turning back towards your children. 

His assignment of guarding you is considerably more boring compared to his usual duties. All he does is walk behind you at a reasonable distance while you traverse the gardens, stand behind your seat at meal times, guard the door while you read in the library, and sit in the nursery with you as you play with the children.

Despite Taehyung assuring you otherwise, the first days of his assignment are extremely awkward. He hardly speaks to you and when he does, it’s clipped and cold. But time seems to massage the tension away and slowly, but surely, he warms up to you. 

The first time you see him smile is when Wonshik decides to come towards you for a hug and falls flat on his face. Your whole body tenses in shock when you hear the nostalgic sound of Taehyung chuckling behind you. It brings a huge smile to your face even as you’re trying to calm Wonshik down from his accident. 

Eventually, the quiet moments turn into real conversations.

You often stop to enjoy nature during your garden walks and there’s a large bench near the creek you like sitting on. One day, your hand taps against the stone and you look over your shoulder at Taehyung. He raises his eyebrows, silently asking if you mean for him to sit there. When you nod, he waits a few moments before moving towards you and sitting down on the other end of the bench. 

“Is this not the most beautiful view?” You ask as you gaze out across the creek.

“It is one of them, for sure,” Taehyung answers. 

It’s the first time he’s said anything of substance to you in close to a decade, and you almost begin to cry at the thought. 

“The valley by my house was beautiful, too, but I believe I prefer this,” you state. Taehyung only hums in response. “Do you have any special spots around the castle you think are particularly nice?”

“I do, actually,” Taehyung says. “There is a corridor just off the maid’s quarters where they store the new and old artwork as they cycle through them. I go there sometimes and look at the art up close. Not many people know about it, so it is always peaceful.”

You admire his profile as he speaks, and a smile appears on your lips involuntarily. Even with the passage of time, his features are identical to the boy you once knew. Losing his friendship has always been your biggest heartbreak, and you can feel your soul slowly healing whenever you’re with him. 

That encounter becomes the starting point for your new relationship with Taehyung. It becomes a routine to stop and chat during your daily walks, and you look forward to it everyday. As time goes on your conversations grow longer and dive deeper. You never touch on the past, but you don’t need to. The friendship picks up where it left off as if no time has passed at all.

A few months into Taehyung’s assignment as your personal guard, you’re walking through the garden when Jungkook comes out from the castle.

“Darling?” You call out to him when you see him. “What are you doing out here?”

“I came to say goodbye, my love. I have to leave to speak to some allies in a neighboring town,” he tells you. 

You frown and your shoulders drop. When Jungkook reaches you he takes your hands in his and kisses them.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Three days.”

“That is Sooyoung’s birthday.”

“Well, then I will make it two days,” he responds without missing a beat.

“Are you sure?” 

Jungkook smiles and tucks your hair behind your ear.

“I would not miss it for the world, my love,” he assures you. You acknowledge his promise with a nod before wrapping your arms around his neck to hug him goodbye. He returns the gesture in kind, lifting your heels off the ground as he embraces you tightly. “I love you, I will see you soon.”

He kisses you for a lingering moment before nodding towards Taehyung and leaving to meet the parliamentarians in the entryway of the castle. 

You bite down hard on your lip to stop the bubbling sorrow within you from spilling over to the surface, but it does so anyway. Hands coming up to hide your face, a sob breaks from your chest as your palms collect your tears.

“Your Majesty? Is everything alright?” Taehyung asks, his surprise at your reaction evident in his tone. He moves to stand in front of you.

“I am sorry, I do not mean to be emotional,” you say as you lift your head and wipe the tears away.

“That is nothing to apologize for,” he states. “Can I do anything?”

“No, no,” you respond. “Unless you know how to end this Godforsaken war.”

“Is it the war that is upsetting you, my Queen?”

“Yes, because it is the war that is keeping my husband from me.”

“What do you mean, your Highness?”

“I have not had a real conversation with Jungkook in nearly half a year, Sir Taehyung,” you tell him. “Moments like these are all I get. He is too busy with battle strategies and trade routes to spend any time with me or the children.”

“Your Highness, I am so sorry to hear that. I was not aware,” he replies. 

“I should not be telling you this, I apologize,” you say. “Please forget I mentioned anything.”

“Your Highness, if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know,” Taehyung offers.

The conversation ends there and you finish your stroll before returning inside to your children for dinner. When you tell them about Jungkook being gone, they all cry the same as you, not used to their father being gone even though he’s around less these days. The sentiment is shared amongst all five of you. You feel Jungkook’s absence from the castle everywhere you turn even if you wouldn’t normally see him anyway. 

Exiting your room the next day, you find Taehyung outside your door as usual, but he has something hidden in his left hand. Before you have the opportunity to question him about it, he pulls a bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back.

“I wanted to cheer you up, your Majesty, I hope I am not overstepping.” The flowers are purple and white, same as the ones which grew outside your home. You gasp in delight, your hands coming up to cover your mouth. 

“Oh, Taehyung, they are so beautiful,” you tell him as he hands them to you. “Thank you so very much.”

You don’t realize your slip of the tongue, the honorific noticeably absent when you say his name, and it brings a smile to your companion’s face. 

“I am glad you like them, my Queen,” he says with a deep bow.

You smile at him, your head tilting to the right as your nose scrunches, before putting your nose to the bouquet to smell the flower’s sweet scent. It reminds you of home and fills you with a deep, comforting warmth.

Over the next two days you and Taehyung begin to speak even more, conversing as you walk the halls and making jokes while playing with the children. Taehyung even joins you on the floor and playfully teases the twins with a game of peek-a-boo. It’s the happiest you’ve been in months. You still miss Jungkook dearly, but the loneliness that’s made a home inside your heart goes away on a brief vacation.

By the morning of Sooyoung’s birthday Jungkook has yet to return, but you still have hope he’ll make it back before the end of the day. 

You’re arranging some of her presents sent from family members and citizens alike when Taehyung enters with some more that were just dropped off. As you’re moving one of the larger gifts, your hair falls into your face and you attempt to push it away by blowing air out of your mouth since your hands are full. 

Suddenly, you feel a fingertip against your cheek, and you look over to see Taehyung moving the strand out of the way for you. He’s close enough that you can see the deep chocolate color of his irises. 

An unfamiliar tension threads itself between you both as you stand in silence only inches apart. Taehyung opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by a voice coming from outside the room.

“Where is my beautiful wife?”

Your eyes light up at the sound of Jungkook’s voice, breaking the moment between you and Taehyung in an instant. Rushing towards the door, you throw it open and look for the source of your husband’s voice.

Jungkook spots you from down the hall and he sighs in relief, an adoring smile growing on his lips. Running towards him without another thought, you laugh cheerfully as he opens his arms to welcome you into his chest. 

Instead of hugging you, though, he grabs you by the waist and lifts you above his head as he often does with your daughter. You make a sound somewhere between a laugh and a squeal before wrapping your arms around his neck as he brings you down into his embrace. 

“Oh, I missed you, my darling,” he whispers into your hair. 

“I missed you so much, Jungkook,” you respond and bury your face into his shoulder. “You made it back in time.”

“I promised you I would, did I not?” You look up and nod, fresh tears evident in your eyes. He frowns when he notices them and reaches up to wipe the tears away. “What is wrong, my love?”

“I just missed you, that is all,” you answer. 

Jungkook nods in agreement before bending down to kiss you. Your mouths move together in a practiced rhythm, his hand holding the back of your head to keep you against him. Your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt as he tilts his head to kiss you with more fervor. He swallows the noise you make when his tongue traces your bottom lip and sinks into your mouth. It’s a passionate dance you haven’t experienced in months, and it almost makes you start crying again. 

You reluctantly pull away, the breath missing from your lungs, as your hands tighten around the collar of his shirt. 

“I am sorry it has been so long since I have done that,” Jungkook pants as he caresses your face. “I hope you know I think about it all the time. I am always thinking of you, my Y/N.”

You nod as another tear rolls down your cheek. Jungkook kisses it away before letting you go so he can greet the children. 

Your strange moment with Taehyung is forgotten, and weeks go by with your friendship continuing to blossom as it did over those two days. 

Jungkook leaves again, this time for a week, to visit with the ruler of a neighboring Kingdom who can possibly help end the war. It breaks your heart all over again, even though you know a week isn’t that long. The distance between you has just grown so wide, that seeing him between meetings and feeling his arms around you at night is the only thing keeping you sane. 

You haven’t had sex since the first month of the war, and it feels like you’re being slowly drawn and quartered. Before, sex was almost a nightly occurrence, sometimes even twice a day if the children were with their grandparents. Jungkook spoiled you with pleasure, and now the torture of being without his touch is downright unbearable.

Sometimes you pleasure yourself, just to take the edge off, but it’s nothing compared to Jungkook. He knows your body better than you do, and your hands don’t even come close to doing him justice. 

Last night you cried yourself to sleep from the pain of missing him and the need pulsating in your thighs. You’d do anything, even take up a sword yourself, to end this war so you can have him back. Whenever he’s gone, it feels like the weight of the entire castle is sitting on your chest. 

Your emotions from the night before are still evident on your face this morning, and Taehyung notices. 

“Are you alright, your Majesty?” He asks after greeting you in the library. “Your eyes look swollen, did you have a negative reaction to something you ate?”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. 

“Then, what is it, my Queen?” Taehyung probes with a look of concern.

“It is nothing, Sir Taehyung,” you answer. “I was merely missing my husband again.”

Taehyung frowns and takes a step closer to you. You notice the movement, but don’t step back as you normally would.

“Is there anything I can do? Anyway I can help you, your Majesty?”

Taehyung’s gaze is piercing and it makes your face and neck flush with a pink hue. Without warning, an undeniable heat begins to spread across your abdomen and simmer in your gut. You know the sensation all too well, but you’ve never felt something like this for Taehyung, even before you were married. Forcing your eyes shut, you will the temptation to disappear. But it’s been so long since you’ve been touched, and Taehyung is the one constant in your life at the moment. 

“I… am not sure,” you admit. 

“Is it just him that you miss or something else as well?” Taehyung asks cautiously. “I cannot do anything about your husband not being here, but I can help in other ways.”

Biting your lip hard enough to draw blood, you avoid his stare and beg your feet to move away from him. All you need is to take a single step back and the tension will break. 

“Taehyung,” you speak softly. 

“Y/N,” he replies, his eyes sharpening. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice speak your name since before you got married, before you became Queen.  

“Will you help me… please?” 

Taehyung moves like lightning, as if he’s been waiting an eternity for you to say those words. His warm hands engulf your waist so he can push you back until your thighs hit the large desk behind you. He lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the edge of the wood without ever breaking eye contact. Descending to his knees before you, his hands trace the curve of your legs over your dress. 

Your brain is screaming at you to stop now before you’re past the point of no return. But there is nothing you can do, your body is overriding the commands which normally control your movements. It’s aching to be touched, and it no longer cares who’s doing it. 

Taehyung’s hands disappear beneath your gown, caressing your ankles and calves before he’s pulling up the fabric so it rests above your knees. His head leaves your line of sight, and then you feel a featherlight touch to your covered sex.

You gasp, clapping your hand over your mouth when you do. Taehyung’s fingers trace your folds through your undergarment, and you can feel his warm breath on your inner thighs. Then, you feel him pull the fabric aside and he touches you for the first time. You moan into your palm as he dips his fingers into your essence and carries it up to your clit. He gently circles the sensitive nub before pressing down hard and rubbing. Head tipping back in euphoria, you use your elbows to keep yourself somewhat upright.

He plays with your pussy for a while, exploring the unfamiliar territory of your body, before finally sinking his fingers into your hole. Your desperate whimper is muffled by your flesh when he inserts two fingers into you and begins pumping them in and out. The wet squelch of him fucking his fingers into is almost foreign, since it’s been so long since you’ve heard it. 

A shockwave of pleasure devours you whole when he kisses your clit and then flattens his tongue to lick you repeatedly. He matches the pace of his fingers and the dual sensation has you biting down on your hand to stop yourself from screaming. You feel yourself drowning in the hellish desire that’s slowly overtaking your soul.

Taehyung moans against you, removing his hand from your pussy to grip you by the thighs and pull you closer to his face. Once he’s hands-free, he begins devouring your cunt like he hasn’t eaten for days. He licks all the way up your slit before circling your clit with his tongue. Then he goes back down and kisses you as he drinks the juices leaking out of your hole. Your mind is paralyzed by the pleasure and it isn’t long before you feel your orgasm nearing. 

Your hand grips his hair, tugging on the dark strands and making him grunt. He licks you harder in response, fucking his tongue into your hole and using his nose to keep friction on your clit. You come with a cry, sinking your teeth into the skin of your hand to keep yourself quiet.

It’s only then you realize you’re crying, but they aren’t tears of pleasure. The emotional response is from the unfathomable guilt and self-hatred over what you’ve just done. An act you can never take back and must live with for the rest of your life.

Taehyung licks you a few more times, slurping up your cum and moaning at the taste before rising to stand in front of you. Your chest is red and heaving as you come down from your high. He looks smug and proud of what he’s done to you, and it makes you sick. 

You gag into the hand still covering your mouth before leaping off of the table and finding the nearest basin. The contents of your stomach force their way up your throat as you vomit into the receptacle. Your fingers shake and you grip the metal edge to hold yourself upright. Bile burns your esophagus as tears roll down and collect on your chin.

When your stomach is completely empty, and only mucus drips from your mouth, you fall over onto the floor. Your hands cover your face as you scream and cry. The harsh, deep sobs making you gasp for air and cough repeatedly. 

“What have I done?” You wail into your hands and shake your head back and forth, as if the movement could somehow turn back time. The faces of your children and husband flash across your mind and make more tears fall. You think of Jungkook, hundreds of miles away, probably wondering how you’re doing, and your soul tears itself to shreds. “Oh, God, what have I done?”

Taehyung crouches down next to you and moves his hand along your spine to soothe you as best he can. You’re undeserving of his affection, the only thing you deserve now is damnation. 

Jungkook comes home three days later. You get sick again as soon as you hear his voice filtering in from down the hall. 

A month goes by without you or Taehyung mentioning the incident. You push forward and pretend like nothing happened, or least you do. It’s uncertain how Taehyung feels, but frankly, you don’t care to know. The only thing that matters is that it can never happen again. You’ve loved Jungkook since you were a child, and the putrid thought of betraying him again is enough to send you to your grave.

But it’s hard, it's so very hard. Because he isn’t here beside you to hold you and kiss you and remind you that everything’s going to be alright. You only hear his voice every few days, if that; only feel his touch once every other week if you happen to wake up in the night and feel his arm around you. The loneliness is suffocating you from the inside and you feel it choking you to death more and more everyday.

You cry for hours on end most days. The self-hatred, guilt, sorrow, and despair mix together to create a cacophony of emotions you have no way of controlling. Taehyung just waits outside your door and listens to your sobs with no power to do anything about them. 

Your children are the only joy in your life at the moment, but even spending time with them is difficult because all four of them share a pair of eyes with their father. Everywhere you look you see pieces of Jungkook, whether in the children or in the desolate halls of the castle, but you never see the man himself. 

At least strolling through the gardens and speaking with Taehyung while you sit near the creek brings you peace. It reminds you so much of old times and you’re relieved to finally have your best friend back after reconnecting over these many months. 

He makes you laugh and listens intently when you tell him about the books you’re reading and what the children are learning about in their lessons. In return, he talks about knighthood and whatever silliness the men got up to in their freetime. Without him, you don’t think you would be surviving this endless solitude. 

“Your Majesty, if I may?” Taehyung says from beside you on the bench. You gesture with your hand for him to continue. “Forgive me for my forwardness, but your mental state is only getting worse. I do not know how much longer you can go on like this.”

Eyes glancing down, you pick at the fabric of your dress and pull at the threads with your fingers. 

“I will be fine. I just have to wait until the war is over,” you state.

“Your Highness, the last war went on for close to four years, and it has not even been one yet,” he points out. “You cannot go on like this.”

“What would you have me do?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“No,” you snap at him. 

“Y/N —”

“No, do not even think of speaking it out loud,” you order him sternly. “That was the biggest regret of my life and I will not give into it again.”

“There is no reason you should be alone, Y/N!” Taehyung stands and faces you as he speaks. “Jungkook asked you to marry him and now he leaves you alone and untouched and it is killing you.”

Tears prick at your eyes as Taehyung’s words force reality close enough until you can no longer hide from it. Jungkook’s love for you is unquestionable, and you know the war is the sole reason he isn’t beside you, but the war is still ongoing, and he has no control over its end. 

“Taehyung, I cannot betray him again,” you whisper, more so to yourself than to him.

“It does not have to be like that,” Taehyung argues. “It is just pleasure. A body to touch and hold you so you are no longer lonely and isolated. Nothing can take away from the love you and him share. But this situation is unfair to you, and you know it is.”

“What is in it for you, Taehyung?” You ask him. “Why are you so set on being the body which helps me with that endeavor?” 

“You already know why, my Queen. My feelings have never changed, even after all this time.”

The day Taehyung confessed his feelings for you was so long ago it almost feels like another lifetime. You never responded, because you didn’t share those same feelings for him. But these months together have meant more to you than you can even articulate, and you aren’t sure if that’s still the case. 

What you feel for Taehyung is very different from what you feel for Jungkook.

Jungkook is, without a shadow of a doubt, the love of your life. Your love for him burns deep within your heart like an ever-glowing hearth. It’s solid and foundational to your very being. He's your best friend, husband, and father of your children, and there’s nothing in this world that could make you love him less. 

Taehyung is more like a candle, something that only burns you if you reach out and touch the flame. It’s warm and inviting during a time where your whole world feels dark. The love feels familiar because the seed was planted long ago and nourished throughout your years of friendship, but now it’s blooming.

“You still love me?” 

“With every part of me.”

You pause and compartmentalize your thoughts before continuing. 

“I never meant to hurt you, all those years ago,” you tell him. “I am sorry for doing so.”

“It is alright, my Queen,” he responds, taking his seat beside you again. “I know you did not have much choice in the matter.”

You assume he means the speed at which everything happened, and don’t correct him.

“I care about you very much, Taehyung.” You inhale and close your eyes, counting to four before releasing the air from your lungs. “I do love you. It… it is not like my love for my husband, but it is there. I cannot deny that.”

“Then will you let me do this for you?” Taehyung asks. When you look at him, his eyes are glossy, no doubt from the confession of your newfound feelings. “I am not asking for anything in return, your Majesty. I only want to help you.”

Your thoughts trample over one another as they all scramble for the top position on the dog pile. But you truly believe the only way you’ll survive this war is if you shut your mind off, turn out the lights and let your body puppeteer you. 

Taehyung is right that your depression and isolation are slowly killing you. There’s no energy left for you to play with your children, you can barely eat or sleep, and your hair has even begun to fall out. 

So, you follow him to his quarters in the Eastern wing of the castle. 

You jump at the sound of the door shutting behind you and locking into place. It’s strange being inside his bedroom, but the trinkets and items scattered around the room feel familiar to you because they’re his.

Taehyung is quick to capture your lips with his and it sends a shock through your nervous system. You’ve never kissed anyone but Jungkook, and he kisses you so differently than your husband does. If Jungkook is water, Taehyung is fire. The kiss scorches you and burns across your insides until it lights a fire inside your stomach. You allow yourself to return his affection, let your lips move against his as he walks you backwards towards the bed. 

The two of you fall together onto the mattress with a soft bounce. Taehyung’s hands find your own and pull them over your head, imprisoning them against the bed. He begins to kiss down your face and neck, sucking gently and licking over your skin. You moan and tilt your head to give him more access to you. It’s been so long since you’ve felt ravished and worshipped, and your body welcomes it on impulse. 

He moves slowly from your neck to your chest, his lips and tongue caressing the tops of your breasts and softly biting down on the fatty flesh. 

You nudge him with your knee to make him sit up before reaching around to untie your corset. Taking the hint, Taehyung begins undressing as well. His armor meets the floor with a loud metallic clap as you step out of your clothes and return to his bed. 

He moves you up the mattress by your waist, all the while still kissing you and exploring your mouth with his tongue. Taehyung takes a moment to admire your bare chest before him, his hands coming up to caress your breasts and then kiss them. His tongue circles your nipple before sucking on it, turning it hard and sensitive between his teeth. You gasp and moan as your hands grab onto his hair. 

Continuing down your body, Taehyung removes the undergarment hiding your pussy from him and kisses your folds. Your head falls back against the pillows as your chest rises with ragged breaths. He eats you out like it will be his last meal, and if the two of you are ever caught, it will be. His tongue fucks into your hole and the sloppy sound of your essence and his salvia mixing into one fills the room. He moves to your clit and lets his teeth scrape over the flesh. You whine as he sucks and licks on your sensitive nerve endings.

His two middle fingers enter you with a wet squelch and he starts curling them so they press against your spongy walls. You moan freely, knowing the first knight’s quarters are completely secluded. He pumps his fingers in and out of you as he devours your clit with his mouth. Your head is spinning in ecstasy. Your pussy greedily sucks his digits in and leaks essence all over his hand.

It doesn’t take long for you to come with a strained gasp, your legs shaking and clenching around his head. 

Taehyung removes his fingers slowly before licking them clean and kissing along your thighs. When he kisses you again you can taste yourself on him. It’s been so long now that the flavor is almost foreign.

You push forward without reprieve, wrapping your legs around Taehyung’s thighs to flip him over. He matches your eagerness and starts pulling his undergarment off so you can pump his cock with your hand. The sound of spit has Taehyung’s eyes rolling back as you coat his length in your saliva and begin sliding your fingers up and down his shaft. He moans from deep within his chest. His eyes close as he relishes in the feeling of you jacking him off. His cock is big and thick, and your mouth waters instinctively as you think about him filling you up. 

Once he’s hard and leaking precum all over your hand, you position yourself over him and sink down into his lap. The intrusion hurts at first, since your hole isn’t used to stretching open anymore, but then your pussy adjusts to the shape of him and pleasure rolls over you in waves. 

Taehyung’s hands grasp desperately at your hips, his fingertips making divots in your flesh. He leans in to kiss and suck on your breasts again and you hold his head to you to continue enjoying the feeling. Hips rising until only his tip is left inside, you slam down against him and proceed to bounce on his dick at a steadfast pace. Identical moans breach the air and Taehyung sits up to kiss at your exposed throat when your head tips back. He licks across your jugular and bites into the skin below your ear. Need and desire course through you like lava as the veins of his cock rub against your velvet walls. 

You force your mind into submission, refusing to allow the feelings of guilt and despair to take a single breath. This is something your body has been craving for months and now isn’t the time for your incessant thoughts to bury you in agony. For the first time in a long while, your mind is completely silent. 

Tears of pleasure fall as Taehyung guides you by the hips to bounce on him harder, sending his cock deeper into your cunt until you can feel him in your stomach. When your bodies meet, you grind against his pelvis to create friction on your clit. 

“You cannot come inside me,” you say through a groan. “You will have to pull out and come on my skin instead.”

Taehyung nods responsively before grabbing you by the hair to kiss you feverishly. His tongue sinks into your mouth and tangles with your own and you moan around the wet muscle. Your teeth drag his bottom lip away before letting it snap back into place. You hear him growl beneath you.

“Does it feel good, my Queen?” 

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly before pushing him back onto the bed and gripping his chest to support your body.

Your nails scratch at his pecks as you fuck yourself on his hardness, leaning down to kiss his collarbones and shoulder. Taehyung takes the opportunity the new position grants him to plant his feet on the bed and thrust up into you. You scream, biting down on his shoulder to muffle the sound as he abuses your pussy. You feel his balls slapping against your ass as he fucks into you relentlessly, not slowing his pace for a single moment. 

“I am going to come,” you pant into his ear. 

“Please, my Queen, let me feel you finish,” he responds. 

Your orgasm builds from embers into a slow-burning fire as Taehyung’s final thrusts send you over the edge. When your cunt pulses and soaks Taehyung’s length in cum he moans and rolls you over in one fluid motion. His cock leaves you empty and he fucks his hand before painting your stomach in his seed. 

You gasp at the novel feeling of cum splashing onto your flesh. It’s hot and sticky, but you feel prideful over the physical manifestation of Taehyung’s pleasure on your body. 

Taehyung gets up from the bed while you’re still trying to catch your breath. The feeling of a wet cloth greets you as he wipes away his cum from your skin and then throws the cloth onto a dresser. 

“Did it help, your Highness?” 

You can only nod in return, too fucked-out and delirious from the pleasure and adrenaline. 

It does help. The two of you continue to sneak away to his quarters two to three times a week so you can use his body to relieve the ache of loneliness. Soon enough your energy returns, allowing you to play with your children again. You lovingly watch their smiles and hear their laughter as they run around the grass. Your appetite returns and your health improves, both physically and mentally. The guilt still eats at you like a famished predator, especially anytime you see Jungkook around the castle or feel him pull you into him at night, but your mind has reached its limit and it can no longer carry the weight of the world.

Neither of you speak of the feelings you shared in the garden before this all started. Taehyung knows how fragile and vulnerable your mental state is and he doesn’t want to pressure you into making this anything more than what it is; just the pleasures of the flesh, only desire, and not love. 

The anniversary of the war comes and goes as if it’s just another day, and you and Taehyung continue your affair unbridled. Your entanglements don’t last much longer than that, though.

On the last day of your life, you and Taehyung are in his quarters getting dressed after sleeping together. He leans down to kiss you goodbye when the sound of his door hinges breaking forces you apart. 

Four knights barge in, followed by Jungkook. 

Your husband’s eyes are unrecognizable, cold and harsh, with no light in them. Reality grips you tight and your hands clasp over your mouth when you realize what must happen now. Jungkook doesn’t say a word, just gestures towards you with his head to command the knights to grab you.

“No! Wait!” You shout as they take each of your arms and restrain you between their bodies. They do the same to Taehyung and he thrashes against their hold. “Wait, Jungkook, please let me explain.” He’s turned away from you now, but you see his hands shake before clenching into fists. The membrane around your heart closes in on the beating muscle. “Jungkook, please just let me see the children,” you beg. “Let me say goodbye to them. Please, my King.”

There’s a heavy moment of silence, the only sound coming from the tears already rolling down your cheeks. 

“Take her to the nursery before bringing her to me,” he instructs the knights before exiting. The knights holding Taehyung force him out of the room to follow Jungkook while they bring you in the opposite direction. 

The knights hold you taut between them as you walk to where your children are with their nanny, but there is no need. You won’t fight the inevitable. 

When you reach the nursery, they let go of you with a glare of warning before allowing you to go inside. The tears begin to fall again as soon as you see your children playing with their toys and books on the ground. 

“Mommy!” The four of them shout in unison before running over to you, the young twins stumbling over their little legs to get to you. 

You bend down and open your arms for all of them to embrace you at once. Your hands comb over their hair as you kiss their heads. The tears never once cease as you gaze at their beautiful faces.

“Why are you crying, Mommy?” Junghyun asks as he wipes at a tear on your cheek. He’s practically a mini Jungkook, his big eyes and black hair identical to his father’s. 

“I have to go away for a while, and I am going to miss you so very much,” you tell him as you caress his cheek.

“Where are you going?” Sooyoung asks with tears in her own eyes.

“It does not matter, my Princess, all that matters is that I love you, and I will miss you all so, so much,” you explain as your voice breaks. “Daddy is going to take good care of you, alright? You know mommy and daddy love you more than anything, yes?”

All four of their little heads nod at you. It makes you smile through the streaks of tears coming down. 

“I love you, mommy, and we will miss you, too,” Junghyun says. 

He wraps his arms around your neck and you have to bite your lip to suppress a sob. Minho and Wonshik coo and make grabby hands at you for attention. You pick them up one at a time and kiss their cheeks as they tell you they “wuv you foo.”

Sooyoung, your brave little girl, wipes her own tears away before hugging you and kissing your cheek. You return the affection and brush her hair from her eyes. 

“Alright. Goodbye, my loves,” you say as evenly as you can. 

You don’t glance back at them as you leave. If you see them even once more, you know you will not be able to walk down the long corridor to the fate that awaits you. The knights take your arms again once you’re out of sight of the children. The tears finally cease, and you walk with your back straight and head up. 

There’s no reason to cower from what lies ahead, you made your bed and now you must lay in it.

PRESENT DAY

The first-aid team brings you to the nurse’s office in the adjoining building to the gym. The nurse briefly checks your vitals before letting you sleep off the medicine in the back room. It’s supposed to last about an hour, so she places two chairs inside for Taehyung and Jungkook to sit while they wait. 

Jungkook storms in first, barely allowing Taehyung to shut the door behind him before he’s facing him with rage burning in his irises. 

“Really great fucking timing, Taehyung, truly,” he snaps.

Taehyung has to refrain from physically attacking Jungkook. He clenches his hands into fists until his nails make crescents in his palms. 

“You disgusting piece of shit, you fucking monster!” Taehyung shouts. “How dare you hold and kiss her and let her love you when you know what you did and she’s clueless!”

“How dare I?” Jungkook mirrors his tone. “How dare you! You transferred to our fucking school and became friends with her just to try and steal her from me again.”

“I am trying to save her from you!” Taehyung says through gritted teeth. 

“Save her? What am I going to do to her, Taehyung? I’m not a King anymore, I’m a fucking college basketball player.”

“You murdered her and she deserves to know.”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath and releasing the pressure from his neck with a turn of his head.

“Executed.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I executed her, Taehyung, not murdered. And I did it because it was my fucking job as King!” Jungkook yells as he closes in on his former friend. 

“She was your wife, the mother of your fucking children and —”

“YOU LEFT ME NO CHOICE!” Jungkook screams at him before stepping back again. He runs his hands down his face and pushes his hair back before continuing, calmer this time. “What did you want me to do, huh? What should I have done when my Queen and first knight betrayed me? Should I have made you sleep in the stables and called it good? That would’ve done an amazing job at showing the entire Kingdom and all our enemies how much of a coward I am.” Jungkook laughs incredulously. “No, no, you do not get to make me the villain, Taehyung. I may have held the blade in my hand but you are the reason she died.”

Taehyung doesn’t respond to his statements, just shakes his head and asks him what he really wants to know.

“How are you even here, Jungkook? I had a sorceress put a spell on Y/N to reincarnate us. You were never supposed to be a part of it,” Taehyung explains.

“I don’t know, Taehyung, what did the spell say?” 

“That the person she loves will meet her in the next life and return her memories.”

Jungkook stares him down with his eyebrows raised.

“I’m sorry, you’re confused why a spell like that would bring me, her husband, here, too? You can’t see why that would include me?” Jungkook scoffs and turns away. “Do you think I forced her to marry me, Taehyung? Forced her to be with me and bear my children? Who the fuck do you think I am?” He turns back towards Taehyung again with more fire in his eyes. “She loved me. We loved each other and your little affair did nothing to change that.” 

“That’s not what I mean. There was a catch, Jungkook. We had to die together for the spell to work. One right after the other.” Jungkook goes quiet after he hears Taehyung’s words, his eyes tilting towards the floor as his jaw ticks. “Wait…”

“I hadn’t even cleaned your blood off my sword yet.”  

Taehyung takes a step back, his eyes opening in shock. He shakes his head, pushing his hair from his eyes as he does so.

“You aren’t seriously saying —”

“I didn’t plan to do it,” Jungkook admits quietly. “But when I looked down at you two, I just…” He glances at your sleeping form, his eyes following the way your chest rises and falls. “I couldn’t live without her. Couldn’t live without either of you, truthfully.”

Silence is all Taehyung can respond with as the true answer of how the three of you are all together again breaks his resolve of confronting Jungkook. The two don’t speak again, they just take the seats at opposite ends of the room and wait for you to wake up.

When you do, it’s with a groan. Your hand comes to rest against your temple as you slowly sit up. Once you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, your eyes finally open and land on Jungkook across from you. They widen for a moment, but then soften as tears well up in them. 

“Jungkook,” you cry, your arms opening for him. 

He gets to you in a millisecond, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around. You sob against him as your hands grip the edges of his uniform. He shushes you comfortingly, combing through your hair with his fingers and pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

“S’okay, baby, I’m right here,” he whispers to you. 

You stay like that for a while, your cries filling the room and breaking both their hearts in the process.

“Do you know?” You ask without looking up. “Do you have your memories, too?”

“Yeah, my love, I do,” he answers you.

You look up at him with glassy eyes. It’s overwhelming now that your memories are back. He’s here in front of you as you know him, but just underneath the surface there is a shimmer of the King you once knew. 

“And you still wanted to be with me after we met?” You ask through a hiccup. “Even knowing what I did?”

Jungkook grabs your face with both hands, pushing your hair out of the way so he can see you properly.

“Are you kidding?” He smiles at the memory of your reunion. “When I found you again it was the happiest day of my life.” A watery chuckle comes from your lips. “I don’t care about any of that, Y/N. I have loved you in all of my lifetimes and I will continue to do so in however many more the universe grants me.”

“I love you so much,” you tell him. “And I am so, so sorry.”

He shakes his head, his thumb moving across your cheekbone lovingly.

“It was a long time ago, my darling. All is forgiven.”

“It doesn’t feel that way, it feels like it was only yesterday.”

“That’s only because you just got your memories back,” he reassures you. “After a while, they’ll feel more like an old dream.”

You nod to acknowledge his words before crashing back into him, letting your arms snake around his neck as he pulls you into his lap. It only takes you another minute to fall asleep again in Jungkook’s arms, a side effect the nurse warned them about earlier. 

Taehyung doesn’t stay much longer. Truthfully, he needs to gather his own thoughts, and he knows you’ll be in no condition to talk with him when you wake up. 

You text him once the weekend passes and ask to meet by the lake behind the university. When he arrives, you’re already sitting on the wooden bench with your legs crossed and a notebook open in your lap. He doesn’t approach you right away, instead he just takes in the sight of you tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and bending over to write in your notebook. 

“Hi,” Taehyung greets you as he rounds the bench.

“Hi,” you reply quietly and gesture for him to sit beside you. 

“I didn’t see you around campus at all this weekend,” Taehyung notes.

You sigh and meet his eyes with a soft smile.

“Yeah, um, Jungkook and I decided to take the train to the museum they built out of our castle. We saw our family crypt, too, where we, our children, and grandchildren are buried,” you explain. 

“Oh, wow,” Taehyung replies. 

“There was this history book they were selling at the gift shop with our entire family tree in it. We sat where the library used to be and read it together. It talked about what happened to the children and had the names and titles of all your grandchildren,” you tell him. “It was really nice.” 

“So, what happened with your children?”

“The royal advisor ruled in Junghyun’s stead since he was too young to be King when Jungkook died. The war ended after about five years, and then when Junghyun turned sixteen he was able to rule on his own. Sooyoung married a Prince in a neighboring Kingdom and ruled there as Queen, which is exactly what she always wanted. Minho and Wonshik married a Duchess and Viscountess and they actually became royal tutors. You know, like the ones you and Jungkook had growing up, who taught you sword fighting and horseback riding and all that?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I’m so happy knowing they all grew up well and started their own families. Jungkook and I have ten grandchildren.”

“Ten? Wow,” Taehyung laughs. You proudly nod your head and gaze out again at the water. “I’m glad you were able to learn all about them.”

“Yeah… I just wish I had been there to see it,” you whisper. “Wish we both had.” A moment later you snap your fingers when you remember something else. “Actually, we saw your grave, too. It’s in the knight’s crypt not far from our own.”

“Knight’s crypt? I shouldn’t have been buried there. I was stripped of my knighthood when we… well, you know,” he replies.

“I thought the same thing, but Jungkook told me he ordered you to be buried there anyway before the execution,” you respond.

Taehyung is completely dumbfounded by what you’re telling him. It doesn’t compute in his brain why Jungkook would allow him to be buried among the other knights. Before he can question you further, you turn towards him, crossing one leg under your knee so you can face him directly. 

“Look, I never got to explain everything to you about what happened leading up to Jungkook and I getting married, and I would like to, if you’ll let me.” 

Taehyung nods encouragingly for you to continue, gesturing with his hands that you have the floor to speak your mind. You thank him with a calm smile before sitting up straight so you can finally say what you need to after all this time.

“When you first told me you were leaving for the war, and said you loved me and wanted to marry me, I didn’t reply because, one, I was shocked, and two, because I didn’t feel the same way about you. Growing up, I only ever had feelings for Jungkook. My feelings for you were definitely strong, because you were my best friend, but they were platonic. I honestly put your proposal in the back of my mind because you were leaving, and I didn’t even know if you would survive the war or not. Then when Jungkook had to become King and you were no longer leaving, I didn’t know what that meant in regards to your proposal. You were about to become first knight and have a lot more responsibility, so I figured I would wait for you to talk to me about it and I would tell you my answer at that point.”

“But then Jungkook came to see me the next day and asked me to marry him, and that… that was my dream, Tae. I had loved him for almost my entire life. I wanted to speak to you before the wedding or even before arriving at the castle, but there was no time. I wanted to explain my feelings so you knew I wasn’t just ignoring your confession and doing whatever I wanted. But obviously, I never got the chance and you stopped speaking to me altogether.”

“Then, when the war broke out, and we grew close again, I did end up developing feelings for you. You were there for me when no one else was and it was easy to fall for you when we would spend day in and day out together. But, Taehyung, that was the first time I ever felt anything romantic for you. I know you think Jungkook stole me from you or forced me into becoming Queen, but that’s not the case. My heart has always belonged to Jungkook from the very beginning, and even when I did grow to love you, my feelings for him never waned.”

“All this to say, I am so grateful you had a spell cast on me so we all get a second chance at this, but the memories you returned to me are just that… memories. The life I’m currently living, the one where I was born to two pediatricians, went to ballet school, and became a cheerleader, that’s my life, not the one where I was a midwife and a Queen. Even if you and I had been these star-crossed lovers who never got the chance to be together, it doesn’t change the life I’ve lived so far. It doesn’t change that I fell in love with Jungkook. Not the Prince or King, but the computer science major who plays basketball and is competitive, funny, spontaneous, and kind. I love him for who he is today, memories or not.”

Taehyung takes several moments to absorb everything you’re telling him, and truthfully, he’s confused. His entire life he’s always believed you felt the same way for him, and when you told him you loved him in the gardens he thought you meant you always had.

“But, before you were executed, your last words… you told me you loved me, Y/N,” Taehyung argues.

Your eyes widen and a sympathetic frown appears on your face. 

“Taehyung, my last words...” You sigh. “I wasn’t saying that to you. I was saying it to Jungkook.”

The truth forces a sob out of Taehyung as tears escape from his waterline. He goes to wipe them away, but your finger is already grazing his cheek and doing so yourself.

“This was supposed to be our second chance, Y/N. For you and me to finally be together,” he cries.

“It still can be, Taehyung. Romantic love is not the only kind there is. You are and forever will be my best friend, and this can be our second chance to have the friendship we were always supposed to have. For all three of us to be together the way we once were,” you propose. 

“No, I could never forgive Jungkook for what he did,” he snaps.

“Forgive him?” You respond harshly. “Tae, we stabbed him in the fucking back. I vowed to love and cherish him and then I fucked his best friend and first knight. The one person he was supposed to trust more than anyone in the world. Then we forced a sword in his hand and made him kill the two people he loved the most. We knew when we started sleeping together what would happen if we got caught and we did it anyway. He didn’t kill us, Taehyung, we killed him.”

You exhale and tuck your hair behind your ear, chewing on your lip as you calm down and think of your next words.

“I love you, Taehyung. I will always love you, and I want you in my life. Jungkook wants you in his life,” you state. “But you have to be willing to move on from the past and accept what happened. Take accountability for the things we did and let it all go.”

Once you leave, Taehyung sits in silence as he stares out across the lake, sorrowful tears staining his skin. He knows you’re right about the past. It’s time to move on and start living the life he has now, but it isn’t easy when he’s spent so long just waiting for you to start your lives together. 

The sun disappears from the sky before Taehyung comes to the realization he can still have that, just as you said, because being together doesn’t have to mean romantically. And truth be told, he needs his friends more than anything else.

He finds you and Jungkook at a picnic table outside the library about a week later. 

Your arms are pushing at Jungkook’s shoulders to keep him from grabbing the candy bag between your legs. He’s sporting a mischievous toothy grin as he tries to maneuver around your hold to successfully steal your treat. You laugh loudly when Jungkook bites at the air in a feeble attempt to use his teeth as a method of thievery. It distracts you enough, though, and Jungkook uses the opportunity to snatch the bag from you before stealing a kiss, too.

“Nooo,” you whine as he laughs and eats your candy uninterrupted. 

Taehyung clears his throat, and you both stop in your tracks, the candy bag falling from Jungkook’s hands onto the table with a soft plop. 

“Hey,” Taehyung says through a chuckle. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for… well, there’s a lot, isn’t there?” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m just sorry, and if you guys would be interested, maybe we can all hang out sometime.”

For the first time, he looks at Jungkook instead of you, and watches the way his expression morphs from surprise to delight. In an instant, Jungkook is standing and rounding the table to bring Taehyung into a crippling embrace. Taehyung chuckles awkwardly, hesitant to show any affection in return, but then Jungkook rests his chin on Taehyung’s shoulder, and the bittersweet nostalgia makes him wrap his arms around him. 

“I missed you,” Jungkook confesses. 

Taehyung sighs and tightens his grip.

“Missed you, too… your Highness.” 

“Don’t even joke, man.”

You squeal behind them, your feet tapping against the ground while you do a miniature victory dance from your seat. They both turn to look at you with completely endeared twin smiles, and you smile right back, head tilting to the right as your nose scrunches up.

The smell of wildflowers wafts through the air, despite there being none around, as if the universe is congratulating the three of you on finally making it back home to each other.

You had pitched every excuse to not attend the gala known to man for the past week. Claimed to have contracted a rare airborne virus (possibly made up), hinted at a tragic scalp burn from a curling iron incident, even floated the idea that you were morally opposed to large public gatherings.

Jenna wouldn’t budge. 

“It’s good optics,” she called it, waving you off like an uncooperative wedding planner. 

You could give two shits about optics. What you do care about is being home in your sweats with a charcoal face mask on and Season 4 of Suits playing in the background while you judge Meghan Markle’s legal ethics. 

Now, you’re trapped beneath an arch of peonies and imported orchids that you're quite certain cost more than your entire salary. You’re lingering — loitering, really — by this floral monstrosity, heels already in mortal pain.

To add insult to injury, three interns glide past you, high on sparkling wine and great expectations. “Did you see the dessert table?” one of them squeals. “It’s shaped like the White House!”

Avoid the dessert table at all costs. Got it. 

You stare after them, slack-jawed. There is simply no way on God’s green earth these interns are going to have a better time at this event than you. You skipped Suits for this.

Pushing off the floral arch, you roll your shoulders back, and decide that if you are stuck here, if you are doing this, then so be it. 

If this is the hand life is going to deal you, then you might as well not bite it off. 

Tentatively, you step into the Hay Adams ballroom like you’re being lowered into a trap. The lighting is spilling warm buttery hues across the room, strategically placed crystal fixtures drawing people under them like moths to a flame. The marble floors are polished so well that when you look down, you can make out every pore on your face. 

There are waiters floating through the crowd, balancing trays of drinks you don’t recognize and appetizers that look too sophisticated to actually enjoy. Some band is playing near the front, but it’s jazz so it mostly just sounds like everyone forgot the melody at the same time. 

You pause a few steps in, eyes scanning the room, instinct already kicking in: assess, categorize, survive. There’s a burn in your chest, a familiar swoop of anxiety that overtakes you. 

You’re mid-gaze into the ballroom, performing what can only be described as an elite-level social avoidance, when something — or rather, someone incredibly clumsy — collides with your left side. 

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Emma’s voice accuses, latching onto your arm desperately, like she’s afraid you might jump out the nearest window. There’s still enough time that you might. 

She smells like a perfume counter had a passionate affair with the open bar. Her lipstick has migrated slightly north of her mouth, body vibrating with the energy of someone who discovered the champagne fountain approximately four glasses ago. 

“Good lord,” you mutter, finding your balance both literally and metaphorically. “How long have you been terrorizing this event?” 

“Unclear,” she grins stupidly. “Time is fake. You look hot by the way.”

You blink at her, absorbing her physical assessment of your appearance. You can't say hot is what you were going for. Scary, maybe. Not hot. “I’ll take it.”

“You absolutely should,” she insists, squeezing your arm. “Wait, did you just get here?”

The way Emma’s looking at you tells you that you probably need to lie, need to tell her you got here precisely an hour ago and she just somehow missed you. However after years of working together, there’s nothing that gets past her. You whine, shoulders slumping, “C’mon, you know I hate this stupid fucking gala.”

She rolls her eyes, yanking your arm as if she’s dragging her reluctant cat to the vet. “You say that every year and still end up at the after afterparty at someone’s penthouse.” 

Okay, it was one time. You were 24, way too drunk off Moet & Chandon, and the man you were with smelled like a mix of bergamot and cedar. It was nice. Sue you. 

Your heels betray you on the slippery marble tiles, sending you forward. “Emma, I really don’t—”

“No, absolutely not,” she declares, voice dropping to a dangerous register that means she’s made an executive decision about your night. “The ‘silently judging everyone’ portion of tonight’s programming has been canceled. You’re not allowed to roll your eyes in corners until you get drunk enough to start socializing.”

You attempt to come up with a plausible defense, but she’s already steering you past the dessert table, which has become a feeding ground for the interns. One of them clutches what appears to be the Capitol dome covered in chocolate ganache. Your soul recoils instinctively. 

“Have you tried the constitution-shaped cookies?” another squeals, eyes wide with wonder. 

“Who the fuck let them in here?” you whisper mostly to yourself with narrowed eyes. 

Emma catches it, laugh bellowing off the walls and above all the chatter as she guides you around the ballroom like her emotional support pet. “Be nice. They still believe journalism might save democracy. It’s adorable.”

You scan the room, heels skidding with each step Emma drags you. There’s the reporter who “borrowed” your framework for his feature, the communications director who used to hook up with Jenna before she remembered she had a Hinge+ subscription, and that insufferable New York Times correspondent who once corrected your pronunciation of ‘bipartisan’ so smugly you considered a career change. 

Several other journalists you recognize make eye contact across the room. Paul also looks over at you, gives you The Nod, a universal signal that communicates professional acknowledgement but could also mean you look hot (based on Emma’s drunken opinion). 

Emma navigates you closer to the bar, halting right in front of two barstools, “Okay. You need alcohol. I need you to have fun. Both seem fairly easy to accomplish with the help of the other.”

“Just so you’re aware, I despise everything about this,” you sneer, fixing the strap on your shoulder that threatens to fall loose. 

“You say that like it’s breaking news.” 

It isn’t. You hate the lighting designed to flatter the undeserving, the artificial laughter, the way everyone pretends to be off-duty while mentally writing Monday’s opinion piece. You hate the performative glamor and calculated smiles and the overwhelming pressure to network when all you want is to dematerialize through the nearest exit. 

Emma’s already ordering you a vodka soda, draped halfway across the bartop, projecting her voice as if she’s sober enough to make decisions for either of you. You catch her saying “absolutely no lime—I can handle my liquor” and you log out of that conversation so fast before you can do something stupid like get involved. Emma gets hot-headed when she drinks, and although it’s not often, you’ve learned to turn a blind eye when the inevitable does occur. 

You let your gaze perform a sweep of the room, mentally cataloguing emergency exits for once it hits midnight and all hell starts breaking loose. 

Paul, three people over. Awkward eye contact, check. You both give the other a tight-lipped smile and move onto the next person in your line of sight. 

Gavin’s talking to his wife enthusiastically, gesturing in a way that suggests he’s either four rum and cokes deep or recounting a professional tale where he singlehandledly saved journalism. His narrative reaches a dramatic pause as he catches your eye mid-sentence. Your internal alarm system flashes a bright, unambiguous absolutely not across your forehead. 

Your eyes glide past the dessert station, beyond another towering floral display that looks like the florist had a meltdown, and land on Sana in the far corner. She’s laughing at something, body angled like she’s engaged fully in what the other person is saying. There’s a soft radiance about her tonight — not that she hasn’t always been stunning — and it reminds you that she’s one of those people who’s universally beloved with no effort. Hell, even you love her when she gives into your interrogations and spills Fox’s insight into certain current events. You take an imaginary sip from your yet-to-materialize drink and mentally file away a good for her with approximately sixty percent sincerity. 

But then, a few strategic inches to her left, you discover exactly who Sana is honed in on.

Jungkook. 

He’s standing with one hand in his pocket, head tipped towards Sana, listening intently. His shirt is white, crisp and fitted, sleeves rolled up to just below the elbow. Enough that you can see his tattoo sleeve — bold that he would do that at White House prom but, whatever, to each their own. 

His tie is loosened, a glass in his left hand, half-full with something dark and his watch catches the light when you look at it. 

Which is not to say you’re looking. 

You’re scanning. It’s a sweep. An environmental awareness thing. Nothing more. 

Except then he nods at something Sana says and mid-turn, his eyes snag on you. 

Those dark brown eyes flick up, mouth relaxing. His brows twitch upward slightly. You nearly step backwards from the intensity. 

His gaze travels downward. A flicker of assessment so understated yet brazenly deliberate that your skin erupts into goosebumps under the fabric of your dress. Suddenly, it feels like your body is operating at a temperature that violates several laws of thermodynamics. There’s also a weird pit in your stomach that feels like you just went barreling 100 miles per hour down a rollercoaster. 

His eyes snap up to meet yours again. Your skin prickles with a wave of awareness that starts at your nape and cascades downward. 

If you’re not totally blind, you’re about ninety percent sure Jungkook just checked you out head to toe. 

Are you drunk? Did Emma somehow magically slip you a roofie when she stumbled across the ballroom with you?

Jungkook, the same dude who got caught re-watching your press briefing, the one who’s been purposefully making your life hell since you were a freshman in college. 

Your breath catches somewhere between your lungs and your throat, suspended in the no-man’s-land of Things We Will Not Be Discussing. Those eyes of yours are getting you into more trouble than you’d like. You swivel your body away from him, redirect your attention back to Emma, who’s now negotiating with the poor bartender like she’s brokering Middle East peace talks, all for a drink you're not entirely sure you want anymore. 

The last real interaction you had with Jungkook was Tuesday, when you discovered him perched on the steps of the west wing, watching your press pool briefing like he was some championship chess player contemplating their opponent’s queen.

Monroe came down with some vague “flu” that’s kept her out of meetings, which — to your luck — means you haven’t had a reason to step into the same room as him since then. Honestly it’s been a little peaceful. No hallway stalking, no press conferences, no internal panic about whether he’s going to pull the rug out from under you with another cheating tactic. 

But still, seeing him here now, in that shirt, sends a weird ripple through your body. Like vertigo. Like nausea. Like—

No. It’s clearly too hot in here. It’s just the combination of societal oppression and your body’s sudden, urgent desire to evacuate itself from your consciousness.

Emma thrusts an overflowing vodka soda into your hand like she just negotiated a hostage release. “It’s a little strong. I tipped extra in cash so he gave me a pour that’s probably illegal in three states.”

You nod numbly. Sip, And then cough because, yeah, it’s mostly vodka. Apparently, Emma’s definition of “a little strong” means “practically moonshine with ice.” 

You take another substantial sip — purely medicinal — and direct a silent, desperate prayer to whatever deity oversees your life that Jungkook has found something more interesting to look at than you. Sana, please, keep that man engaged. 

“So, hear me out.”

Yes, Emma, that is exactly what you’ll do to keep your brain occupied from Sana and those tattoos and the glance that got thrown your way that feels dirty. Borderline explicit. 

“Hm?” you hum, taking another massive gulp of your vodka with a splash of soda, trying to calm the storm of unwelcome feelings swirling inside you. 

She leans against the bar, holding her own martini glass hostage. “We should go talk to those guys over there.”

You squint at the ominous tall figures her nail is pointing towards. She can’t possibly be serious. “What guys?!”

“Those ones!” She tilts her head so aggressively it’s a miracle her earrings don’t fall off. “You know, Paul, his friend in the blue tie.. He’s like, kinda hot.” 

You guess, but refusal is your middle name right now. 

“I do not want to do that.” You deadpan at her, bewildered, sharing a look reserved for work best friends who have clearly crossed several lines of judgement. 

Emma’s basically vibrating with excitement as she studies the two men like she’s just discovered an all-you-can-eat buffet after a week of intermittent fasting. When you follow her gaze, sizing up the two men, you realize… you don’t really know that dude in the blue tie. Never seen him a day in your life. And you happen to know every correspondent that walks through those doors. 

The first thing you notice is his height — six feet tall at the minimum. He has shaggy brown hair, clearly possessing fortunate genetics, and has a wholesome, eager energy about him that just screams “golden retriever.” 

You could probably eat him for dinner.

Emma whines beside you, stomping her heel down, “Come on, what happened to the old [Y/N]? Remember… a few months ago… we went to that bar on 9th street…”

Now that she mentions it, you’ve been actively trying to scrub that entire night from your hard drive until Rosalie brought it up a few days ago.  

“Some memories are meant to remain buried in the graveyard of my brain, Em,” You cut her off, desperately trying to prevent your most embarrassing memories from being aired in public. 

“Just a little fun?” she nudges your shoulder. 

“I don’t—”

But Emma, the hot-headed drunk she is, is already moving, your hand gripped tightly in hers. Your vodka soda tilts over the edge, spilling a little on the marble floor. There’s something admirable about her complete disregard for social conventions, the way she approaches interpersonal chaos. 

She weaves you through the crowd, mumbling ‘excuse me’s’ and ‘pardon me’ at a rate that earns her a few crass side-glances. You find yourself apologizing for each shoe she accidentally steps on.

You’re trying — genuinely attempting to embrace the evening, live in the moment, take a page out of Emma’s book. But your dress has developed its own mind tonight, the air feels thick enough to bottle, and every time you perform a quick pass over the room, you feel like your heart is going to leap out of your chest like a caterpillar escaping its cocoon. 

The entire experience feels like standing in a glittery fishbowl where everyone’s pretending the water isn’t slowly reaching to a boil. 

You begin after another few steps in what feels like the wrong direction. “You know, I really think—”

She barely looks at you over her shoulder, “Respectfully, shut up.”

Yes, sergeant Emma. 

You attempt to reorganize your posture, rolling your shoulders back in a futile effort to project confidence. Trying to breathe without appearing like you’re still actively monitoring those emergency exits (although you did spot one in the far right corner). Trying not to look like you’re not cataloguing every face in the room while Emma drags you through the depths of this crowd, as if it’s some march to your final breaths. 

All things considered, you’re not looking for anyone specific. 

Obviously. 

That would be ridiculous. 

Except… your gaze does go rogue again.

Again, those basic survival instincts are just kicking in. But there is this inexplicable gravitational pull, this soft magnetic curiosity that keeps dragging your attention, past the florals, past the swarm of interns at the dessert table. 

Before you can even think of moving your eyes to that far corner again, you take a sip of your drink forcibly. The vodka burns a straight line down your throat. 

Emma parks you in front of Paul and his blue-tied buddy, releasing your hand almost immediately upon contact. “Heyyyy, Paul. How’s the night treating you?”

Her voice is sickly sweet, completely and totally unlike the Emma you see five days a week in the CNN press room. 

He blinks heavily. “Pretty good, Emma. You doing alright?”

It’s endearing how he’s trying to act all cool, calm and collected while clearly having no idea what to do with Emma’s sudden attention. By all means, he really wouldn’t know how to handle all of her. Her long brown hair cascades down her back, tan skin glowing under the golden tone of the chandelier, eyes piercing into his own. 

You think he might cream his pants. 

“Oh, I’m fantastic,” Emma purrs, leaning in intimately. You want to disappear into the nearest floral arrangement. “You know, I was just thinking — we don’t really talk much around the office.”

Paul blinks again, looking genuinely confused. “Yeah, well, you did say I was weird for listening to NPR during my lunch break.”

“NPR, sh-menPR,” Emma waves dismissively, as if yesterday’s mockery was merely a charming misunderstanding rather than a full-on ten minute roast session about his “geriatric taste in current events.”

Somewhere in the distance, a male voice bellows with laughter. You wish there was something to laugh about at this exact moment.

You’re having trouble processing the fact that Emma — who literally just yesterday compared Paul’s open-toed office shoes to a cry for help in leather — is now batting her eyelashes like he’s the last available bachelor in the D.C area. 

Meanwhile, Blue Tie Guy’s gaze has been ping-ponging back and forth between you and Emma. You can practically see the calculations happening behind his golden retriever eyes: Who’s her friend? What’s the dynamic here? Are we running a two-man?

No, Blue Tie Guy. You are not running a two-man. 

You remain silent while Emma blabbers on, mouth super-glued to your vodka soda, which has become alarmingly depleted despite your memory of only taking a few sips. 

Blue Tie shifts his weight, obviously debating whether to introduce himself to you or stare awkwardly into the distance. You take the final sip of your drink and pray that Emma’s sudden lust for Paul doesn’t require you to participate in whatever bizarre social experiment she’s conducting. 

Paul’s now doing that thing that guys do where he tries to lean casually against something that isn’t there, catching himself before gravity betrays him. “So, uh, what changed your mind? About the whole… talking thing?” 

He’s helpless. 

Emma flashes a smile that could probably power a small grid. “Maybe I’m just full of surprises tonight.”

“Right…” Paul nods. He spares a passing glance at you, an afterthought to his attraction to Emma. “Surprises. That’s… good?”

You’re witnessing what can only be described as the world’s most awkward mating dance… if mating dances involved this much uncertainty about whether anyone wants to be actually participating. 

Emma’s radiating pheromones. “I like your tie.” She reaches out, feeling the fabric beneath her fingers.

Paul’s entire face turns an embarrassing shade of red. “Thanks. It’s, uh… my grandpa’s.”

“Vintage,” Emma hums solemnly. “Very nice.”

You’re so absorbed in this exchange that you almost miss Blue Tie Guy’s approach, an expression of friendliness on his face that means he’s been psyching himself up for this interaction for the past five minutes you’ve stood there. 

Why the fuck did you wear this red dress again?

“I’m Steve,” he says, extending his hand.

You accept his handshake against your better judgment. This wasn’t exactly penciled into tonight’s agenda, which had primarily consisted of avoid making eye contact with anyone who might expect conversation.

“[Y/N],” you respond, and Steve grins, teeth on full display. He definitely had braces in middle school. Professional teeth whitening too. 

Theoretically, he seems charming. Steve (Rest in Peace, Blue Tie Guy) is objectively attractive. He definitely photographs well at family events. 

But the problem is your brain has apparently decided that a pleasant conversation with an attractive stranger falls somewhere below a voluntary root canal on a list of things you want to do tonight. 

“So what do you do for work?” 

Oh sweet, sweet Steve. 

Any man who’s gotten laid before knows no woman wants to talk about work. They want to talk about anything but deadlines, their coworkers, and their boss. 

“Correspondent.” 

That’ll be all for tonight, folks. 

It’s pretty clear he’s Paul’s plus-one, and while you also were afforded the luxury of bringing one, you didn’t really have anyone. Rosalie left mid-week on another voyage with her Daddy, and you were honestly still a little weird with her after your last conversation. 

“Oh, cool. I work in private equity not too far from here.” He tilts his body into you, body language sending you all the signals. Steve puffs out his chest a little, like that’s supposed to have you begging him to bend you over the dessert table. 

“That’s nice,” you tightly smile. “How long you been in D.C?” 

And then your mind drifts off to your cozy little apartment. He’s definitely making sounds, mouth moving with hand gestures involved but you’ve completely dissociated into the land of face masks and Netflix.  

You catch fragments of it: best opportunities in private equity are where the politicians are, passionate about bridging the gap between financial institutions and government (yawn), all the ex-New Yorkers are moving out here (fake news).

You nod politely, ignoring how barren your glass seems now that you’re talking to someone who isn’t Emma. 

“I just think your job is really cool, like, how politics is evolving. Like the digital landscape is changing everything, you know?” 

He has the energy of a paper towel. Like the inside of a dentist’s office. Your brain has started playing elevator music. 

He smiles, pleased with himself as if he thinks he just said something incredibly profound. 

Glancing down at your glass, you stare at the melting ice. Still empty. Fantastic. “Yeah, totally.”

“Paul said you work with him at CNN?” Steve’s eyes light up. 

You shake your head agreeably. You don’t really know when they exchanged information about you but you don’t really want to ask. 

“That’s so cool,” he rushes to say, “I was actually talking to someone at Politico the other day about all this. It’s just like.. your work is so important.”

Damn you, Jenna. This is exactly what you had nightmares about. 

If you’re running right on schedule, the Reuters editor should be appearing at any minute now to perform a drunken rendition of WAP, exclusively singing Cardi B’s verse. 

You open your mouth to say something bitter but close it again. You’re almost certain he’s trying to sleep with you, which is fine, you guess, but you really just want to go home at an acceptable hour. 

You offer a polite smile and nod again, and that encourages him to continue. You are now being held hostage by a man with the least amount of edge on this forsaken planet. 

“Paul says you’re a killer in press briefings,” he lowers his voice, leaning in. “I’d love to see that sometime.”

“It’s… all on YouTube.”

This topic should be completely irrelevant to you. Who cares? Every press briefing has been filmed since the dawn of time. 

And yet, a flash of a distant memory you tried to bury wanders to the forefront of your brain — Jungkook, planted on those West Wing steps, with a notebook splayed open, laptop playing your section of a press briefing. 

The memory crawls up your spine, leaving behind a shiver that you immediately blame on the air conditioning. 

“Right,” his cheeks flush a little. “No, yeah. I meant like.. In person.”

Please, Steve. We don’t have to do this. 

“Hm,” you utter passively. “Maybe at the next briefing.”

Steve chuckles like you’ve made a joke, even though you absolutely have not. “That’d be so fun,” he says as if you just invited him to Disneyworld. “Do you get called on, or is it random?”

“It’s not a raffle.” 

“Oh, obviously, I didn’t mean it like that,” he laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just meant it’d be cool to see you in action. I bet it’s intense.” 

It is. It’s cutthroat. You argue with men on the daily, fight to get your question in. But right now, none of those words are making it past the dull throb in your temple or the vodka-less self-awareness happening inside your head. 

You glance down at your cup. It is, without a question, empty. A ghost of ice. 

“Yeah, definitely that.”

Steve leans in, undeterred. “You ever get nervous?”

Is he really flirting via patronization?

You flash a tight smile. “Not really.”

He laughs loudly at that, beaming at you like he just successfully completed a meet-cute you’ll be telling your kids about. 

It’s obvious to you he’s waiting for something. For what, you don’t know. More insight into the wonderful world of journalism? A Linkedin connection? You’re not sure, and you also don’t want to find out. 

“Excuse me,” you say as nicely as you can manage. Most women have gathered this skill by the age of five; learning how to exit conversations with just the bat of their eyelashes to avoid harsh confrontation. “Gonna go grab a refill.”

You wave your empty cup in front of him, and there’s a gleam in his eyes that suggests he’ll try and follow you to the bar, use this as some kind of excuse to get you nice and drunk. 

But you’re turning around quicker than he can move, and all you hear behind you is “Cool! I’ll be here!”

Of course you will Steve. 

You glance over your shoulder once you’re a safe distance away, ensuring Emma hasn’t been abducted or listening to NPR with Paul. But nope — there she is, giggling with him like they’ve known each other since birth. Her hand is resting on his bicep, and he looks like he might explode if she doesn't remove it soon. 

This night is absolutely fucking bonkers. 

A red dress is getting you in the worst situations, your coworker is flirting with a man she’s spent years publicly ridiculing, and somewhere in the midst of it all, you feel completely out of place. 

You slam your elbows onto the mahogany and slightly damp surface of the bartop, chin dropping into your palms, social battery exploding in a shower of sparks. 

“Vodka soda, please,” you tell the bartender the second you make eye contact with him. “And a shot. Dealer’s choice. Surprise me.”

You’re feeling dangerously open to possibilities. 

The bartender raises an eyebrow but nods. You don’t particularly care if he serves you tequila or rum or battery acid, but at this point, if it burns going down, it’s doing exactly what you need it to do. 

You let out a deep exhale through your nose. You’re fairly certain you came here with some kind of plan — something involving networking, the word ‘optics’ and liquidating the open bar. But the details have become frustratingly unclear after what feels like several hours trapped in a room with too many floral arrangements. 

The bartender returns, sliding both drinks towards you sympathetically. You contemplate the shot — some yellow liquid, kind of fruity — and decide a sip of your vodka soda to cleanse the palate is probably the best way to go.  

And then you feel it. An unfortunate warmth behind your body, the heat of a person near you. You swear to god, if Steve followed you, you’ll call security—

“Wow,” a voice begins, smooth like honey poured over a knife. “So we’re just letting civilians into press galas these days.”

The sigh that escapes you could probably be heard from space. 

One of your hands, the one not clutching your drink, promptly facepalms. 

“Please don’t start,” you mutter into your palm. “I’m one drink away from faking a fainting spell.”

But then your stomach does that thing again. That ridiculous little drop it did earlier in the night, followed by a flutter that feels suspiciously like anticipation wrapped in nausea. Your rational brain would very much like to blame this on Emma’s nuclear-strength vodka concoction rather than acknowledge it as anything resembling interest. 

That would just be inconvenient, and absolutely not something you’ll process while you’re wearing a red dress that’s already testing your limits. 

You don’t turn around. Some survival instinct within you is warning you that eye contact with the origin of that voice would be the equivalent of staring into a solar eclipse.

Hopefully, if you ignore him long enough, he might dissolve back into whatever corner of the ballroom he emerged from, taking with him the reminder that your body now apparently has formed opinions about him that your brain would like to shut off. 

Apparently, peace was not something the universe promised for you tonight. 

He moves around the bar to claim the space beside you, hips angled and shoulders brushing the air near yours. The dark brown liquid in his cup sloshes as he adjusts to the small centimeters of wiggle room. 

The scent of him hits you in waves — first his drink, all expensive whiskey, followed by his cologne that always smells like bergamot and cedar. It’s familiar. Nice. 

You stare down into your own drink and the untouched shot that’s sitting beside you, mocking you. 

“Didn’t peg you for a vodka soda girl,” Jungkook observes. His rings catch the lighting as he raises his own glass. Your eyes stay locked on them. “Figured you were more of a dry martini, twist-of-lemon kinda girl.” 

You refuse to grant him the satisfaction of eye contact. “I don’t want to be perceived tonight. Somehow I feel like ordering that kind of drink is asking for it.” 

He laughs, and the pit in your stomach drops even further you’re certain it’s on the marble floors. “Ah. Hiding in plain sight during this event? Classic CIA. You sure you not a narc?”

You finally turn your head to look over at him. Naturally, he’s already intently looking back. 

His chin is tilted, a little curve playing at the corners of his mouth. His hair is disheveled, top strands doing interesting things near his temples. 

His lips —and wow, your observational skills have apparently decided to become deeply unprofessional tonight— are glossy, something that normally happens when someone’s spent the night drinking liquor. A flush washes over his cheekbones, and you take a peek at the scar you noticed the other day on his cheek. 

You briefly wonder where he got it from. 

“You’re staring.” 

You blink. He is insane. You are not. 

“I’m assessing,” you correct, taking what you can only hope looks like a casual sip of your drink. 

“Assessing what, exactly?” 

My escape route, you think, but instead say, “Whether you’re drunk enough for me to win an argument.” 

His laugh is easier this time. “Not even close. You’ll have to rely on insults other than my appearance or work ethic tonight.”

“Damn,” you mumble, peering into your glass. Somehow, despite yourself, you barely notice you’re almost smiling. “There goes my strategy.” 

“Ah, I’ve missed this,” he begins. “You, snapping at me. The thrill of not knowing if I’ll make it out of the room alive.”

You arch a brow. “You’re a masochist.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I just like watching you be better than everyone else in the room.”

That lands in your chest like a dropped weight. Just drops right into your ribcage and sits there. Did everyone in the room inhale laughing gas before you got here?

But he doesn’t let it sit there too long for you to overthink it. “I mean, not that the bar’s high,” he adds, “Half of any briefing room’s asleep on their feet.”

“Don’t.” you warn, lifting your drink to your lips. You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking him not to do. Don’t be nice? Don’t notice things? 

He continues on, eyes twinkling, “With Monroe out, I haven’t even gotten a chance to try and give you a run for your money.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, “She’s out sick, not dead.”

“Right. The flu.. Or the plague. Whatever it was.”

“She’ll be back by Monday.” You roll your eyes. “And if not, I’ve got about twenty pages of questions I’m emailing her way.” 

“Mm.” The sound rumbles in his throat as he swirls his drink, and your eyes can’t help but flicker down to his rolled-up cufflinks, his tattoos peeking out underneath. “True.”

A pause unfurls between you two, and you want to crawl under the bar and die. 

“You know..” he says casually. “I thought you'd been avoiding me this week. Which would be adorable, if you weren’t so obvious about it.” 

Literally what on earth is he talking about? The only reason you haven’t run into him is because your only shared project is out on indefinite leave due to the plague. 

You chuckle uninterestedly at that. “Avoiding you implies I think about you long enough to plan my schedule around you.” 

“Right,” Jungkook’s eyes stare into yours, and you immediately fidget with the straw in your drink. “So, you not coming into the Fox room once this week to ask about any new updates to the student visa crisis..”

“Got my own intel.” 

“Didn’t show up at happy hour on Thursday to make fun of my new piece?”

“Calendar management. I had better things to do.” 

His smile unfolds slowly. “Of course. My bad.” 

Your brows pinch before you can stop them. A soundless what leaves from your parted lips. There’s a lag in your brain, like someone forgot to hit play again, and you just… stand there, Processing. 

What you thought was just fortunate coincidences was apparently strategic hiding tactics. You weren’t doing it on purpose, not one bit. It’s not like you sat down with your calendar and a red pen, plotting routes that would minimize Jungkook encounters. But now that he’s pointed it out, you’re forced to confront the uncomfortable possibility that your body has been making decisions about your proximity to him before your brain can. 

You do your best to puff your chest out. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he quips, but his eyes suggest otherwise. Suggest, unfortunately, that he’s been doing his own study on you and reached some conclusions he will indeed be sharing. 

“Well, clearly, you have been.” You take another sip of your drink, hardly noticing you’re down to your final few sips. 

“Every time I look around lately, I don’t see you or hear your little opinions. It’s hard to miss.” The smile on his face imprints deeper into his skin. 

You snort, placing your drink down. “Congrats, you’ve finally scared me off.” 

“Oh come on,” he leans in, far past your comfort zone, and now you’re inhaling too much of him and your head is slightly spinning. “You’re not that easy to scare. I’d know.”

“Really?” you scoff incredulously. “You’d know?”

“I would,” he tuts, bumping his shoulder with yours. You move your body an inch farther away. 

“I guess it’s not all that weird you think that,” you agree, letting your gaze wander the overstuffed ballroom before landing back on him. “You are practically studying me.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, and that pit in your stomach returns when you realize how big his biceps look from this angle. “Studying you?”

“Steps of the West Wing ring any bells? My voice echoing out into the universe, your notebook wide open..?”

The image burns into the crevices of your brain. And now that you’re rehashing it out loud, you’re admitting something incredibly mortifying. Him, sat upon the steps in the sunlight, has been haunting the halls of your mind like an uninvited guest. 

He has the audacity to smile like this is some charming story you’ll share at the holiday party this year. “Ah,” he shifts his weight onto his other foot. “That.”

“Yes, that,” you echo drily. “Care to explain? Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were trying to copy me for the next press briefing.” 

There’s a flicker of amusement that appears on his features — mixed in with surprise or appreciation for the directness of your words. Like he wasn’t expecting you to address it head-on, which makes you wonder what kind of avoidant people he usually deals with. 

“You want the truth?” He ducks his head towards you, looking around like he’s about to impart the president’s nuclear codes.

“Is that even possible coming from you?” Your pointer finger jabs into his chest. Truthfully, both the alcohol and the way your head is reeling from the proximity of him have the move lacking any real punch, but it still leaves you a little bewildered. 

His laugh comes softer this time. Beneath your finger, the muscles are hard and his heartbeat stable. Then you realize you’re still touching him and withdraw your hand as if you’ve put your palm over an open flame. “I was trying to figure out how you do it.” 

“Do what, exactly?” 

“Make it look effortless.” He gestures vaguely into the open air. “You ask questions that make people tell you things they didn’t plan to reveal. It’s… intriguing.”

You tilt your head and shift your weight onto another heel. A quick glance over your shoulder like maybe someone else heard this too, because surely you didn’t hallucinate whatever the hell just came out of his mouth. 

“So you thought the best approach was to… lurk my stuff? Like a stalker?” 

“When you put it like that, it sounds significantly less charming than I thought it would be.” He takes a final swig of his drink. 

“You’re a fucking freak, Jungkook.” 

His eyes never linger from yours, almost daring you to keep going, like this is some sick, twisted game he enjoys playing every night. 

It feels as if the room is closing in on you. 

“Sounds like it left a bit of an impression on you,” he replies smoothly. 

“Oh I’ve told my therapist allll about it,” you bite back. “Right after we finished unpacking how you got your little paws on Kara Devlin’s quote.”

He pauses for a second before chuckling under his breath. Something involuntary and deeply stupid happens in your chest cavity. You stare down into your melted drink and remind yourself that Jungkook has been unreasonably irritating and easy to look at since you met him eight years ago. None of this is breaking news. 

“So you’re still mad, I’m assuming.” He shakes his head. “Come on, it was nothing. Name of the game. You liked arguing with me before we were paid to do it.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” you deadpan. “You know what really gets me going? Espionage.”

He grins at that, but not with a mean expression. “Same here.”

You side-eye him before turning back to the bartender who’s now juggling 45 drunk orders, “I’m going to need another drink if you’re gonna stand here all night.”

“Make it two,” He downs the rest of the liquid in his cup down his throat and you shift away from him when his elbow brushes against yours.

Emma’s favorite bartender is busy arguing with a New York Times correspondent, so you opt for the girl who seems more interested in texting someone back on her phone than taking your drink order. 

Your mouth parts open to speak when she finally puts her phone down, sauntering over to you while fixing her hair as she spots Jungkook beside you. “Hi, can—”

“Can we get two vodka sodas please?”

He’s far closer than you’d like him to be, warmth radiating off him like a human furnace. Jungkook’s displaced himself behind you — just a smidge, with one hand pressed onto the bar, caging you in — enough for the girl bartender to notice, sigh and nod before pulling up two clean glasses. He’s in your nostrils with that smoky scent of whiskey, in your ears with the hoarseness of his voice. 

God, why is he so close? Why is he standing like that? Why is your skin doing that thing where it feels like it’s been plugged into an electrical outlet?

Please, please let this bartender be the kind of professional who minds her own business. The last thing you need is someone else cataloguing the clear tension crackling between you two like a livewire. 

You fixate on her bartending skills, terrified to acknowledge anything else. He moves behind you again, his other elbow brushing against your back as he puts it somewhere. 

That stupid, treacherous flutter returns. A whole swarm of butterflies or something more like wasps that you immediately begin exterminating mentally. Get away, you absolute pests. 

“Here you go,” she presses her lips in a tight smile as she slides the two drinks towards you both. She takes another moment to eye Jungkook before moving on to her next victim. 

But he’s not looking at her. 

When you turn around to hand him his drink dismissively, he’s staring down at you. “Thanks,” he whispers, taking the glass. 

“Whatever.” 

You whip back around, managing down a few colossal gulps that you’ll remember tomorrow morning as your last ones. A bit of it spills down your neck onto your chest, but all you care about is how it feels going down. 

Setting the glass down, you wipe your mouth and some of the residue with the back of your hand.

When you whip around to make your way back to Emma (and potentially let another lethal comment fall from your lips), you realize Jungkook’s gone. 

No comment lingering in the air like cigar smoke. Gone as if he’d never been there at all. 

You know he was, though, because your whole body still feels like it’s recovering from it. Like standing next to him required physical exertion. 

Somehow your mouth is dry even though you just chugged half a vodka soda. 

You don’t even know why you notice it, or why those wasps in your stomach slowly replace themselves with something else. On the bartop next to you, is the citrusy shot you never ended up taking. It taunts you, condensation melting onto the surface. 

Your eyes dart around, looking wildly. Searching for Emma, duh. But you’re also looking for a sleeve of tattoos that you just spent an abhorrent amount of time with. 

Treason of the highest fucking order.

With that, you swivel back around, wrap your fingers around the shot glass, and down it in one go. It faintly tastes tart, going down like molasses. It’s heavy in your throat and you mash it down with saliva. 

But even with the extra liquor in your body, his absence feels louder in your mind than his presence ever did. 

Four. That’s how many it’s been. 

Four lemon drop shots — because that’s how many Jenna, who has now appointed herself the Chief of Boosting Morale, decided was an appropriate amount. She stopped keeping tally after two. 

After each shot, she says something stupid like “To journalistic integrity!” Declining her felt like admitting defeat in some endurance competition, so you’ve been silently suffering while each shot drags you further and further down the drunk rabbit hole.

Jenna’s husband is too polite to say no to a round so he’s been glued to her side the entire time, whereas Jenna’s arm has been threaded through yours, laughing at something her husband finally contributed to the conversation. Something about a senator using an emoji in a tweet. 

It’s not even that funny, but you’ve reached that point of the night where everything feels a little like a sitcom. 

“Oh my god,” Jenna wheezes, tightening her grip on your arm. “Do you remember when our editor tried to convince us to use ‘yeet’ in a headline?”

You snort into your fifth vodka soda (or is the sixth?), barely dodging a splash up the rim. “No. No. I blocked it out like a traumatic memory.”

“He said it meant to throw??”

“It does mean to throw!” Her husband interjects. 

“Yeah, but the headline was about the debt ceiling,” you giggle. 

Jenna’s husband chuckles politely while his eyes scan the room, probably wondering when it’s socially acceptable to go home and watch a movie.

Jenna is in a very rare form. She’s always put-together, but tonight her dress is perfectly tailored, makeup hasn’t budged an inch, and her nails are a crimson red to match her lipstick.

Tonight, you’re incredibly grateful for her. Grateful she came, grateful she’s kept you busy.

You swish what’s left in your glass and blink through the haze. 

It’s starting to hit, that warm syrupy lag behind your thoughts. Liquid confidence that whispers lies about your ability to be graceful and sophisticated. 

“You know, I don’t know how half those pieces fucking run,” Jenna sips her espresso martini. 

“Don’t you just, like, put a stop to them?” You’ve seen her do it before. 

“I physically intercept like a human firewall, yes,” she grins with all her teeth. 

“We all owe you a medal.”

You both erupt into cackles, and her husband — poor, sweet Greg or Grant or whatever he said his name was — offers a little smile as if he has even the slightest clue of what’s going on.

Your gaze drifts across the ballroom, and Jenna follows your line of sight, brows lifting amusedly in recognition. 

“Would you look at that,” she elbows you gently in the ribs. “They’re still talking.”

Emma and Paul. Paul is upright like a soldier, like he doesn’t fully trust his legs to hold up under the pressure of Emma’s approval, while Emma lounges against the dessert table you swore off.

“I give it twenty minutes before she asks something like ‘can I see your Spotify Wrapped?’” you mutter, rolling your eyes. 

“Ten,” Jenna counters. “And if she sees any NPR podcasts, she’s bolting.”

“He probably listens to Benson Boone. Gives me that vibe.” 

“Maybe he has layers,” she shrugs, leaning her head lightly against your shoulder. “Not that it matters. I’m just glad you haven’t ditched me for a man.”

You turn your head slowly to meet her expression. “Ew. At this event? Literally not a soul worth my time.”

She breaks into laughter, lifting her head up, "Right, right. How dare I?”

“I would never do you like that,” you clutch your chest dramatically. “Who else am I going to split an uber with later while we trash every senator we saw leave with someone who isn’t their wife?”

“That’s why you’re my favorite.”

Your head turns sharply, eyes narrowing. “Wait, what?”

She gives you a sly smile over the rim of her glass, “I said what I said.”

It hits a second later, like a stone dropped into a still lake. A single splash, followed by a thousand ripples. Your chest tightens and there’s a flutter of pride making a home in your heart. 

She hasn’t brought it up again since your one-on-one on Monday. Where she may or may not have hinted at you getting the promotion of your dreams. You’ve done an exemplary job of playing it cool ever since. No prying, no follow ups. 

Hearing the word favorite, however, feels like someone pressed a thumb right into your sternum. 

“I’m touched,” you exclaim. “Even if I know you tell that to everyone.”

She scoffs while looping her arm through her husband’s, “Please. You think I say that to Emma?”

“Fair.”

She takes a final swig of her caffeinated martini, a little tipsier than she was earlier. “Just promise you won’t forget me when you get to my role, okay?”

You snort. “Never. But we still gotta Uber together always.”

“Deal.”

Your eyes wander again around the ballroom. Like clockwork, they land where they always do. On that kaleidoscope of tattoos you can’t miss. 

But you don’t look at him or who he’s talking to for too long. Maybe long enough to question your intoxication but as soon as the moment comes, it goes, and you’re back to Jenna, who’s now talking to her husband sweetly. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the two sharpest women in Washington.”

It’s like the universe has a vendetta against you. Did you accidentally trip over a time traveler or steal candy from a baby in a past life?

It’s an overconfident voice you hadn’t heard in a while that sets off an almost Pavlovian reaction in your brain. 

You and Jenna turn in tandem like a pair of synchronized swimmers. Sure enough — and to your detriment — it’s Mike Montgomery. 

Mike is one of the editors you work with, and has the face of someone who’s probably been told he looks like a young Richard Gere and has never once disagreed. He once unironically told you ‘let’s circle back.’

Last year at the gala, you allegedly had a thirty minute conversation with him near the end of the night where the phrase aesthetic fascism in political media kept getting tossed around freely. But who’s to say. Last year was also the year you had tequila sodas instead of vodka sodas so really, the whole universe was off course.  

“Mike,” Jenna starts, tone flat. She doesn’t even fake a smile, which further proves your love for her. “You remember Greg.”

Greg. Right. Yes — her husband. You mentally file that away. 

“Of course,” Mike sticks out his hand. “Man of the hour.”

Greg blinks back at him like he was plucked straight out of his daydream. “Hey.”

Raising your eyebrows, you tease. “Man of the hour?”

Mike shrugs, letting out a little chuckle, “Well anyone who can keep up with Jenna at one of these things deserves a prize right?”

“He’s had some drinks and a shrimp cocktail. Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves.” She pats Greg’s chest lovingly, and that seems to bring him back to life.

Mike laughs loudly at that. He always laughs too loud, like he wants everyone’s attention in the room. 

“So how’s the correspondent life?” he asks, glancing between you and Jenna like he’s forgotten which one of you he’s more afraid of. “Still dealing with the same old bullshit?”

You purse your lips, cross your arms over your chest. “Are you under the impression the bullshit ended?”

“Fair,” he tries to laugh but it comes out more like a cough, “Yeah, I’ve been currently working on a little passion project, something about profiles of influential parties in media. You two came up, obviously.”

A look is exchanged between you and Jenna. You don't remember agreeing to be profiled. 

“Oh. Cool.”

“Yeah,” he shoves one of his hands into his pocket. “Just really trying to dig into the psyche of the rising class, you know? What drives you, who you look up to.”

Your arms squeeze tighter around your chest. “Sounds like a very healthy exercise.”

Mike smiles at that. You take an extra long sip of your drink and imagine throwing it directly in his face.

Greg, bless him, tries to nod along, although he has no idea who this man is or what series he’s referencing or why Jenna’s throwing daggers with her eyes.

Mike keeps going. “Anyway, just wanted to say hey. You know. Been a while since I edited your stuff.”

“Funny. I’m actually still waiting for the piece you were supposed to factcheck before publishing last May,” Jenna’s smile is poisonous. If looks could kill, he would be floating in a box down the river. 

Mike clears his throat. “Technical error. I think there was a glitch last time..”

“Mmm,” Jenna nods slowly. “Happens to the best.”

Mike readjusts his tie, sensing perhaps this might not be the enthusiastic crowd he’d envisioned. His eyes flit towards you briefly like he’s about to pivot into a new strategy. 

Please, god, let this man go flirt with an intern. 

“So,” he draws out the word for like, four seconds. “I don’t think we ever got to talk. You and me.”

There’s two routes you can go down. Play dumb, which somehow feels like the smarter decision. Or play smart, which feels like the dumber decision. 

“Yup. Tragic that we never spoke.”

Playing dumb it is. 

He bellows out a laugh, like you’ve just made the world’s wittiest joke instead of insulting him. 

“I always read your work,” he clarifies. “Your coverage during the midterm elections was really impressive.”

You glance over at Jenna, whose lips are now pressed together like she's trying to restrain herself from intervening. Meanwhile Greg (and you will not forget his name this time), has spotted someone he knows but is trying to find the courage to approach them. 

“That’s… nice.” You’re unsure what else to offer up. You can’t tell if he’s flirting or awkwardly trying to send you journalistic admiration. 

Mike’s lips stretch wider. “I get it, you know? Women like you don’t always get credit, but for what it’s worth, you’re one of the best out there.”

You nod, already looking past his shoulder at the crowd. Your drink is also damn near empty, and that simply won’t do. Time for drink six (or is it seven?). “Thanks. Appreciate that.”

He leans into you, “If you ever wanna talk shop.. Or, you know.. not shop.”

He’s so goddamn insufferable. 

You frown, not because you’re offended but because you literally have no comprehension right now. “Not shop?”

“Yeah, like… not about work?”

“Oh. Uh..” you blink, glance down at your drink, and then look back into his eager eyes. “I think I’m good.”

A long pause fills the air. Long enough for Mike to register the rejection, though he recovers fast, snapping back into a cocky grin like nothing demoralizing happened. 

“Open invite,” he says with a wink that makes your molars grind. “In case you change your mind.”

You hum noncommittally before angling back towards Jenna, who has a brow raised and a husband who’s gone from her sight. 

Jenna inquires, “You didn’t clock that?”

“Clock what?” You shrug your shoulders, scrambling for nonchalance. 

She shakes her head, smiling to herself, “Nothing. You’re still my favorite.”

And that makes you feel better than anything Mike could've said. 

“Alright, I’ve gotta get a refill before I lose my mind.” You shake your drink at her like it’s going to magically refill itself. 

"I've gotta go find Greg,” she sighs. “Text me when you’re down to leave?”

“Duh.” You flash her a salute, then pivot toward the bar, slipping back into the current of people. You nearly step in a puddle of what you hope is someone’s spilled gin and not a gastrointestinal emergency. 

You snake your way forward, elbow grazing someone’s sequined bag, catching the edge of someone’s shoulder and finally land in a spot wedged between a man in a tux and a woman who shoveled a half-eaten shrimp into a napkin. 

“Vodka soda,” you tell the bartender when she makes brief eye contact, and you lean your forearms on the table. The bartop is sticky again. 

You haven't checked your phone all night. Part of it was intentional. Nothing good happens on your phone at events like this. Nothing you want to deal with, anyway. 

But you’ve got a few minutes while your drink’s being made and your feet kind of hurt and you’re incredibly tipsy and suddenly the soft glow of your phone screen feels too tempting to ignore. 

So you dig into your purse. Pull out your device. 

When your phone boots to life, you lazily scroll through the notifications. A few texts from your college group chat. Texts from Emma asking ‘where are you??’ even though you’re maybe 50 feet away from her. You snort under your breath. 

And then, below that, a message from Rosalie. 

Rosalie❤️: hey, did jungkook ever say anything abt me?? dmed him when i was drunk and never heard back :( lol 

You stare at the screen like it’s displaying launch codes in a foreign language. 

There’s this erratic rhythm tugging at your heart, like someone’s tapping impatiently against your ribcage. 

It’s fine. Obviously, it’s fine. Who cares about Rosalie’s romantic DMs or her apparent inability to handle rejection with grace? You could have predicted this development from three miles away, honestly. Rosalie drunk texting someone tracks with her pattern of impulsive behavior. 

But.. you are curious. That’s all. Curiosity is a natural human reflex. 

Why would she message him despite your entirely fictional narrative about STDs? And why, more importantly, do you find yourself genuinely invested as to why he didn’t respond to her?

You lock your phone and shove it back into your purse. 

“Vodka soda,” the bartender slides the drink towards you and you grip onto it like a life raft. 

You barely get a full step away from the bar before that voice — his voice — is haunting your ears again. 

“Careful. You keep showing up at my favorite spot in the room, people are gonna start talking.”

Mid-step, you pause and inhale once through your nose like you’re gathering patience from thin air. 

Slowly, you swivel to meet his eyes. His tie is long gone, brown hair even more unkempt from when you last saw him. You lean back against the bar with all the theatrical grace of someone who’s had four, maybe five, lemon drop shots and has decided, for once in her life, not to flee when Jungkook starts speaking to you. 

God will strike you down for this. You can feel the lightning forming. But whatever, you’ve had a long week. You’ll repent tomorrow. 

“Are you gonna sneak up on me all night?” you ask flatly, raising your glass to your lips. You’re not even going to try and hide the exhaustion in your tone. 

“Potentially,” he takes a step closer. “Everyone here’s boring.”

You cock a brow. “What? No one here worth your time?”

He tips his glass a little, watching the ice swirl. The liquid is clear. It looks unusually familiar… like a vodka soda. You wonder if it’s the same one from an hour ago or if he ordered one on his own merit. “Nah, you know I like to be intellectually stimulated.”

Your laugh comes out dry. “Oh, so I stimulate you?”

His eyes lift to meet yours. They’re darker despite the hue of the chandelier you’re standing under. “In more ways than one.”

“You’re fucking gross.”

“Mm,” he hums, and it’s definitely not an apology, but moreso an acknowledgement. Like he’s well aware of the filth he peddles and would sell it to you wholesale if you gave him the chance.  “You set that one up.”

“Did not.”

He takes another step closer. The man that was beside you earlier has fled the scene, and Jungkook wedges himself into the open spot. When did it get so crowded in here? 

“Did too.” His fingers tap lazily against his glass. “You know, you always act like conversation with me is a federal offense.”

You roll your eyes. “Because every conversation with you is like stepping into quicksand.”

“You haven’t left me yet, so am I winning?” His eyes are twinkling with amusement. 

Scoffing, you deflect. Deny. “I’m tipsy. I make bad decisions when I’m tipsy.”

“Noted.” His gaze flickers down to your mouth for a millisecond. The gesture lands somewhere in your stomach, sending an embarrassing, vodka-amplified flutter cascading through your body. 

God, you need a priest. Or someone to physically remove you from this ballroom. 

“I saw you talking to Mike earlier,” Jungkook casually says, like he’s commenting on something trivial like the weather or whether or not vodka sodas are his new go-to drink. 

You groan immediately. “God, don’t remind me.”

“That bad?” His lips twitch as he settles his glass on the bartop.

“He tried to flirt with me, I think. According to Jenna.” You want to mentally facepalm at the memory. 

“Mike?”

You give him a look. “Yes, Mike.”

Jungkook whistles softly, shaking his head as if this is genuinely a tragedy. “Wow. I always thought his type was more fresh out of college and terrified.”

“It probably is,” you agree. “I thought maybe he was doing community service.”

“Hmm,” he looks deep in thought. Surveys the room for a beat. “What did you mean by according to Jenna?”

You shrug, lifting your glass to your lips to take a quick sip. “I don’t know. She caught onto the flirting before I did, I guess.”

“Oh.” His expression shifts a little, into one you can't make out. After knowing Jungkook for eight years, you’ve gotten familiar with the faces he has. But this one is unrecognizable. “You always that clueless?” 

“I guess,” you concede. He looks like he wants to say something more to that but decides against it. 

“So, what did he say?” 

“Something about how we never really speak, which is just rich coming from him considering we had a long ass conversation at last year’s gala about fascism.”

Jungkook chokes on his spit. “No.”

“Oh yes,” you nod solemnly. “He also pronounces Kremlin as Krim-lin. I rest my case on him.”

You expect him to chuckle or at least fake one, but it doesn’t come. He looks at you for a second, drinking you in. It almost feels like you’re back on the steps of the West Wing, where he was seeing every part of yourself you bore to the world. Like he’s been listening this whole time, which is somehow worse. 

“You’re funny when you’re off-duty,” He smiles into his glass. 

“When am I ever off-duty?”

“Right now,” he gestures toward you with his cup. “Sort of.”

You narrow your eyes. “You think this is me relaxed?”

“I think this is you after a few shots,” he jokes. “And slightly less terrified of being seen with me in public.” 

“Bold assumption, buddy,” you quip. You need to find your sanity and walk far away as hell from this conversation. 

“Is it wrong?”

You hesitate long enough for that to be a confession, and the look on his face says I win. 

“Exactly.” And there’s that smug tone you know so well. “Maybe I’m growing on you.”

You let something between a snort and laugh fall from your mouth. “Like a tumor.”

But the smile you’re biting back makes it a little harder to sell the insult. 

You clear your throat and straighten up slightly, ignoring how the vodka seems to have settled in your bloodstream like a warm compress. 

“Anyway,” you say, “How’s your coverage going for Monroe?”

He raises an eyebrow haughtily. “Pivoting? And to Monroe?”

“I just don’t think I’m in the mood to talk about how you think I’m growing on you.” 

Jungkook’s smile could light up half of DC. “You started it.”

“Ending it right now.” 

“You always think you’re the one ending things,” he counters. 

You shoot him a look, then echo louder this time “How’s your coverage going?”

He leans an elbow onto the bar, glass resting loosely between his fingers. “Good. Bet you’re dying to talk to her again, though.”

You shrug nonchalantly, pretending to scan the room like you’re searching for someone — Emma, Jenna, literally even Blue Tie Guy at this point — but all you really find are name tags you don’t care about and plates of passed shrimp. 

“Not my fault she came down with that rare plague. But it is weird she came down with it just after we had our first session with her,” you mutter. 

“You sound disappointed,” he points out. To be honest, you are. She has a hell of a story to tell and you want to write it. 

You glance at him again. “What?” 

“You miss her,” he coos at you playfully, “Now admit you miss me too. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

You roll your eyes, using the motion to buy yourself a few seconds of mental reorganization. “I miss being able to ask real questions.”

He nods, fingers drumming thoughtfully against the glass. “Yeah. You're good at those.”

You gape at him through your lashes. They’re just words that are perfectly arranged in an ordinary sequence that just so happens to reference your competence. But now it’s one time too many that he’s praised you for something, and you're running out of fingers and toes to count on.

It lands in your chest with a quiet thud, like he tossed a coin into a wishing well you didn't realize was inside you. 

You shift your weight and conduct another sweep of the ballroom. Still no Emma, no Jenna. 

“I really should find Emma..” you trail off, eyes darting across the room like a prisoner looking for a fire escape. “Before I start enjoying this conversation and lose all sense of who I am.”

Jungkook leans into your body. His cologne hits you again square in the face. “That would be tragic… if you forgot you hated me.”

You clench your jaw. “Please. I don’t hate you, that’s too much energy. I just think you’re—”

“Objectively infuriating?” he offers. 

“Exhausting.”

“Better than forgettable,” he smirks. 

You grip your near empty cup and wish you had something better to throw at him. Or honestly, something else to look at — something that doesn’t talk like him, look like him, smell like him. 

And as you’re searching in your repertoire for that something, your brain decides to shove Rosalie into frame. 

Her text. That stupid little ‘lol.’ The digital ghost of her face.

The alcohol in your body is doing that unfortunate thing where your filter stops working but your nerve hasn’t quite kicked in yet. And his cologne — Jesus, it’s warping your actual brain chemistry, 

Before you can stop yourself, you blurt the words out. “Have you.. heard from Rosalie?”

“Rosalie?” He cocks his head, scratches his jaw. 

You shake your head up and down, suddenly extremely interested in the ice melting in your cup. “Yeah.”

There’s a pause. Slow furrow of his brows. “Rosalie from college?” 

You aim to keep your expression cool but your stomach does something distinctly uncool. Like a fish flopping on the deck. “The one and only.”

Jungkook blinks at you. His body is still, but his face guards itself. He’s squinting as if he’s scanning you for the motive behind your question. 

You hate how well he reads people. You hate that he’s doing it to you right now.

“Why?” he treads lightly.

You shake your head quickly, “Just tell me.”

He hesitates. It’s pretty obvious to you both this isn’t a nothing question. 

“Yeah,” he says finally, “She reached out to me.”

Your throat goes uncharacteristically dry. 

The lightness from before — his little jabs, the crooked smile — it’s all taut now. Like he’s waiting to see what this really is. You also would like to know what this is. 

You scramble for a reason, anything to make this make sense outloud.

Feeling caught, you busy yourself with one of the bracelets on your wrist. “She’s my best friend,” you shrug like it’s no big deal. “She tells me everything.”

He flinches subtly, a brief twitch in his jaw. “Well,” he utters finally. “I didn’t answer her. If that’s what you want to know.”

And that is when your chest does the thing again. 

It’s an awful, disloyal twist. It heard the words and immediately reached for them, clutching at some fragile thread of relief you didn’t place there.

You inhale, trying to drown it back down. The thump thump of your heart, the tiny voice in your conscious going, good. 

The wasps are back too. Buzzing and furious and unavoidable, even as you swipe at them with your mental fly swatter, one by one. 

You feel regrettably stupid. Now you’re standing there, tipsy and humiliated and flinching at your own internal reaction like a girl in some cheap romance novel where the brooding rival turns out to be a chill dude and your panties fall off in chapter eight. 

No thank you. Not today. You are a professional, a fully grown woman with access to two-factor authentication and press credentials.

You do not feel things when Jungkook says things like “I didn’t answer her.”

Though, clearly you’re having trouble leaving it alone. Clearly, that little skill of yours of asking the right questions — the one people applaud, the one Jungkook complimented an hour or two ago — has decided to clock in right now, under a chandelier and several ounces of vodka. 

You meet his eyes even though your gut is screaming don’t, and say, “Why didn't you respond?”

Air leaves his lungs, barely. His jaw tenses for a fraction of a second. One flicker of thought behind his eyes before he smoothes it all back out. 

The silence looms over you two like an unsuspecting fog. Your stomach starts writing its own obituary. 

You’re about to take it back, about to say never mind ha ha silly me asking about your DMs, when he finally responds with, “She’s not who I’m interested in.”

There’s a hiccup in your brain. Like someone pulled the emergency brake on the subway and your neurons are just stuck, powering down and firing blanks.

She’s not who I’m interested in. 

You don’t dare blink, breathe, or even think, which is crazy because thinking is your whole personality. His pupils practically eat up his entire eye as he peers down at you, 

A whole rolodex of faces spins through your head. Maybe someone new started at Fox? There was that blonde you passed in the cafeteria, maybe that’s his type. Or maybe… maybe he made a move on Sana tonight. He and her always had that weird click, right? They have matching resumes, wouldn’t that just be poetic? Full circle and all that.

Your voice is crawling up your throat again, forming something stupid like oh yeah? Who’s someone you’re interested in? Because apparently vodka and lemon drop shots have taken control of your frontal lobe and are now driving the bus.

But before the words can land, there’s a blur of movement from your left. 

“Where the hell have you been?” 

Emma materializes beside you in a cloud of perfume, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. 

Your neck whips to her. “Jesus.” 

She latches onto your arm immediately. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” she’s breathless. “Did you die? Be honest.”

“I was just —” You flick a glance at Jungkook and regret it upon impact. 

Emma doesn’t notice or care, undoubtedly in a bubble of her own. “Ugh, I have so much to tell you, I feel like I’ve been living a double life tonight.”

Right, and that’s cool and all. But your body is still humming, tingling under your skin as if someone left a speaker buzzing in your chest. She’s not who I’m interested in. 

Your brain is dying to ask then who the fuck is?

Emma’s too busy blabbering away to care about any of it; your facial expression, Jungkook’s eyes that haven’t moved from you, the way your hands are slightly trembling as they hang loosely down at your side. “Okay, I know I’ve ignored him for the past few years but Paul is actually so funny. He told me this story earlier about his dog and I was crying. Literally crying. I’m just like, why have I never given this man the time of day—”

She pauses suddenly, looks over at Jungkook. Freezes mid-sentence like she just saw a coworker she drunkenly sexted. 

“...Well.” Her voice drops multiple octaves. “Whatever.”

Words aren’t coming to you as easily as you’d like. 

Emnma clears her throat, forcing her gaze back to you. “Anyway. You’ve been summoned.”

“For what?” you question, but your voice comes out thinner than when you practiced it in your head. 

“Afterparty,” a sinister smile makes its way onto her lips. “Duh. Do you not realize what time it is?”

“No, Emma,” you bite back. “You don’t realize what time it is because you’ve spent the past few hours eye-fucking Paul.”

Emma shrugs. “Okay and? I told you, he’s kinda funny.”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip. 

“And he also knows about the current crisis in Venezuela,” she adds proudly, like that qualifies him for marriage. “Which is honestly more than I can say for half the men I’ve dated.”

You sigh. “I’m not going to an afterparty.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes.”

“Emma—”

“You owe me. For that night.”

You do actually owe her. That night a few months ago, where you went home with that random guy, she went home alone and buried her face in a Dominos pizza while you had mediocre sex. 

Your body is already 40% vodka and 60% bad decisions, and you’re hovering alarmingly close to making another one—

She turns to Jungkook. “You’re coming too, right?”

You whip your head toward her. You absolute fucking traitor, Emma. 

Jungkook’s grin is so infuriatingly cheerful that you’re torn between wanting to punch him in the teeth or seeking refuge behind the bar, anything to avoid that smile.

“I mean…” he replies. “If she’s going..”

Why are you the deciding factor in all of this?

Emma snorts. “Oh, she’s going.”

“I really wasn’t—” you start, but then realize they’re making eye contact over your shoulder like they’ve coordinated to ruin your night. 

“I’ll… see you there?” Jungkook asks, shooting Emma a look you don’t miss.

You can't help but daydream about what it’d be like to toss all your worries out the window, party like there’s no tomorrow, drown yourself in whatever booze is lying around the afterparty, and wake up to the faint memory of a random hookup who’s definitely ghosting you before you even finish your breakfast. 

You, a tipsy bundle of bad decisions, look at Jungkook — his hair a windswept disaster, eyes twinkling like he's just heard the world's worst joke, and those tattoos dancing on his golden skin — and as tempting as it is, you remind yourself you really should just say no and sprint away from this mess, while dreaming of a life where the world isn’t dragging you down like an anchor in a swimming pool. 

But… you have always been dangerously open to possibilities after a few shots. 

You drain the rest of your drink and go, “I’ll see you there.”

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