Because right now, as you and him gawk at each other after meeting again for the first time in a decade, all words promptly die in your throat. 

“You look good,” he says, lips curving into a polite smile, charming and distant all at once.

“So do you.” 

He really does. In fact, he’s never looked better. There’s a silence where you’re both just sizing each other up, like looking longer would bring back the familiarity that only existed years ago. 

“So,” he starts, a little too cheerfully. “What brings you back to town?”

You chuckle, feeling like the laugh isn’t really leaving your body. “Uh, this.” You gesture around. “I’m… opening a bakery here.”

The reaction is immediate. It’s like his very inner soul has lit up—a remarkable feat given his admittedly broody look, with the dark hair, tattoos and piercings and all. 

“This… you’re serious?”

“Yeah.” A true smile lands on your face. It’s nice to hear it out loud. “I mean, it’s nothing much right now, since, you know, I literally just got here—” you chuckle, “—but I’m working on it, yeah.”

He tentatively peeks into the shop. There isn’t a lot in there, yet he seems to glimmer with excitement nonetheless. 

“That’s… that’s incredible.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, I didn’t think I’d ever get to this point either.” Wiping your hands on your shorts, you clear your throat. “Are you still around here, or just visiting?”

He shakes his head. “I’m still around.” With a light shrug, he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Went to college in the city, but I had to come back since Mom got sick.”

Your smile fades. “Mrs. Jeon? Is she okay?”

“She’s holding up.” He lets out a sigh. “Breast cancer. You know how stubborn she is. She doesn’t want to go into the city for treatment.”

The news bites into your heart. That woman was practically your godmother growing up. Kind, gentle, and yes, incredibly stubborn, but she was always there for you. And breast cancer... you don't want it to take another woman you love from your life, no matter how distant you've been to the Jeon's this past decade.

“I’m… I’m really sorry to hear that,” you say. “Send her my best wishes.”

“Of course.” He opens and closes his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but quickly shakes his head again with a heavy breath. “But enough about me, how are you?”

A few minutes go by. You tell him about your dad, how he’s fully retired and living his best life golfing with his friends everyday. You tell him about your old job, the one with your balding, grumpy boss, and how you couldn’t wait to get away from that world. 

He tells you that Somi is doing well, wrapping up her studies at a university in London. He’s been running his own business too; a bar, to be precise. And that’s been going on for a few years now. 

There’s an air of politeness that comes so easily it almost feels scripted, like a textbook example of small talk—the kind you’d have after running into an old friend. An old friend who was never more than that. Laughter, conversation, lightness.

But soon his expression melts, eyebrows creasing with conflict. You don’t need to guess what’s on his mind—you already know.

The incident. 

He’s going to try and apologize for it, you bet. The memory sinks into your gut. How you wish you could bury it away, or at the very least, brush against it with the ease of a mortician with a dead body. 

“Uh,” he starts, faltering for a moment, “This is outrageously overdue, but…” his breath hitches, “I’m really sorry about what—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say quickly, plastering on a quick and easy smile. “It was so long ago I basically forgot about it.”

It’s a blatant lie and he knows it, but he doesn’t press any further, catching onto the fact that you simply don’t want to talk about it.

It’s not because you’ve already forgiven him—a part of you still doesn’t—but it’s because it embarrasses you, how much it's impacted the trajectory of your life. You don’t want him to know that. You want him to believe it was just a petty fight between two teens that began and ended that summer.

So you keep on lying.

“You know, I’ve been planning to do this for a while.” Not true. You impulsively made this decision only a few days ago after getting yelled at by your manager for the third time in a week. “My dad—you know him, real estate investor and all—he helped me out with this place.”

Now that’s true. When you called your dad that morning saying that you quit your job and had big plans to open a bakery, he immediately offered this building; you thought it was a little old, but very charming and cute and totally your style. Still, you insisted on trying to find a place on your own, but your dad was adamant that you took this one—saying that in his old age he wouldn’t be able to give you much anymore, so he wants to give you this one, final gift.

How could you say no to that? So you said yes, naturally, only realizing where exactly the place was located after already giving him your word.

But it’s fine. The worst that could happen has already happened—running into Jungkook, that is—and you’re handling it completely fine. Completely.

“Um, do you want to come in?”

Wow. Alright. Maybe you aren’t so right in the head because why in the world would you offer that?

“I’d love to.” 

He appears grateful for the change in topic, at least. 

Okay sure, this is really happening. Just keep it cool. 

Nevermind the fact that your walls are half painted, flakes of ceiling are all over the floor, and your stuff is lying around everywhere without any semblance of order or organization. 

You lead him into the humble establishment, stepping over boxes of miscellaneous items, now unsure of their necessity in the face of the hunk of a man that is Jeon Jungkook. He takes in the space politely, round eyes darting around, like he’s trying to see the place the way you would. For lack of better things to talk about, you start to explain your vision; where you’ll put furniture and set up your kitchen and whatnot.

It seems like another thing that will never change is your absolute inability to shut the fuck up. 

Call it nerves or just your personality, but before you know it, you’re yapping his ear off about what shade of blue would best match the original blueberry muffin recipes you plan to display on the top shelf of your display counter and you think you might want to die a little.

“Wow,” he lets out a laughing breath, both amused and impressed. “You have big plans.”

You take a deep breath. 

“Yeah.”

He hums, eyes finding you again after giving the space a final scan. “Are you going to build all of this yourself?”

“I think I’ll be able to handle most of it on my own, but maybe I’ll call some people to help with the heavy lifting. I’ve already registered the business a while ago, so once I get the permit everything should be in place.”

He lets out a low whistle. You try not to falter under his gaze.

“Looks like you’ve got it all figured out, Clem,” he says, voice low and criminally gentle.

And just like that, you’re thirteen again, and he’s the coolest boy you’ve ever met. His approval shouldn’t have this effect on you anymore—you’re an adult, for goodness sake. 

But that voice. That nickname. God fucking damn it.

“Seems like it,” you manage to choke out.

He smiles. “But if you ever need someone to help with, I don’t know, carrying boxes or whatever,” he chuckles and points to himself reliably,  “you can text me.”

You blink twice. That’s quite nice. The normal thing to do is say thank you.

“Uh, wow, thanks,” you laugh slowly, biting your lower lip. “But I don’t have your number, I think.”

“It hasn’t changed.”

Swallowing your saliva feels like an impossible task. He hasn’t changed his number—all these years, he’s been only one call away.

“I haven’t changed mine either.”

It’s a painful reminder that the distance between you two is voluntary. He never reached out and neither did you. You wonder if—should you have decided against quitting your job or taking up your dad on his offer—you’d ever see him again. You certainly wouldn’t have gone looking, and from the looks of it, neither would he. 

But here you are now. Funny how the world works.

Jungkook closes his eyes for a brief moment, a half-breath, half-snicker escaping him as he shakes his head in disbelief. He opens and closes his mouth, like he’s going to say something but thinks better of it.

“Well, there you have it,” he says, “If calling doesn’t work, feel free to knock on my door.” He points behind him, gesturing across the street. “Uh, the bar I own is kind of over there.”

Deja vu washes over you as you locate the humble establishment across the street. Neighbors, again. 

You can’t help but giggle at that. “Alright, sure thing.” 

He tilts his head. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” you snort, looking up at him. “It just feels like we’ve had this exact same conversation before.”

Recognition floods his expression, and he’s soon laughing with you too.

“We have, haven’t we?” He sighs contentedly, shoving his hands into his pocket. “I’m looking forward to seeing more of you, neighbor.”

He stretches out a hand. You roll your eyes, unable to contain your laughter. It’s silly, but you still accept the handshake, making sure your grip is firm.

“Me too.” 

It’s almost exactly the same as before. Same town. Same people. Divided by one street.

Only this time, you won’t make the same mistake you made before. You aren’t a kid anymore; you can’t just run away to the city when feelings get too hard to handle.  Hence, for the sake of your heart and pride, you are adamant on one single thing: 

You will not, under any circumstances, fall in love with Jeon Jungkook again.

THEN - Thirteen summers ago

You were dreading the day you’d have to go back to the city. 

It came the day a slight chill ran through the air, signaling the end of summer. You were at the Jeon’s again, and Somi was playing with some Barbies at the dinner table.  

Unfortunately, as Barbie skydived off of an apple juice carton, she also made a slight miscalculation and brought Mrs. Jeon’s red wine clattering on the floor, shattered glass spewing everywhere alongside the ruby liquid.

In seconds, the deep color seeped through a beautiful beige embroidered rug, one that Mrs. Jeon clearly seemed to treasure, as she immediately started to panic, rummaging around the drawers for a bottle of stain remover. She found the bottle under the sink, grimacing when she noticed it was empty. Jungkook’s dad suggested using baking powder and vinegar; he read on some blog that it could also remove stains. Mrs. Jeon solemnly revealed that they lacked both ingredients. 

“I can run to the convenience store,” you offered, wanting to be helpful. “If they don’t have stain remover I’ll grab baking powder and vinegar instead.”

“Oh honey, would you really?” She bit her lip, looking back and forth between you and the stained rug. “It’s okay, really. It’s late at night.” 

“Maybe Jungkook can go with her?” Jungkook’s dad suggested.

Her eyebrows rose. 

“Oh, yes, that’s a great idea.” She looked at Jungkook sternly. “Jungkook. Go.”

He all but groaned in response, sliding down his chair with a childish grumble. “Fine.”

Yet, he got up quickly. 

Quicker than you thought he would.

And that was how you and Jungkook ended up on a walk to the convenience store together, everything quiet aside from the whistle of the breeze and the chirp of grasshoppers in the bushes. Since the day he ran into you with the skateboard, you hadn’t spoken to him alone. You basically forgot how to talk… which was rare for you. 

He broke the silence first.

“So you’re heading back to the city tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, looking at your shoes as you kicked a few stray pebbles. “I’m literally dreading it so bad.”

“Can’t say I’m thrilled for the new semester either.” He started kicking some pebbles in your direction to mess up your flow. Neither of you commented on it. “I hate the first days of class.”

You wanted to say that you did too, but you weren’t fond of lying. First days were actually fun for you most of the time. But some recent petty drama within your friend group and an unwelcome introduction of teenage hormones came with a whirlwind of emotions that you could hardly describe as “fun.”

You were in a funk: you were getting acne and gaining weight but your body hadn’t filled in yet, so you were still a lanky, awkward bundle of limbs while some other girls flourished into beautiful young women. Of course, there were many others in your boat too, but you still felt as alone as ever. That was just how puberty worked.

The impending doom of menstruation probably stressed you out the most. You knew your dad would be mature about it, but that didn’t make you dread “the talk” with him any less. You remembered that there was a whole page in your mom’s list of rules dedicated to how to help you through puberty. He never let you read that particular page.

“Hey. Clementine.” Jungkook lightly elbowed you. “You good?”

How long had you been zoning out for? 

“Uh, yeah,” you stammered. “Sorry, I just got lost in my thoughts.”

You didn’t even notice that it was the first time he properly used the nickname. Probably for the better—because had you noticed, you would’ve made a big deal out of it and he’d never say it again.

He hummed softly, letting the gentle whirr of summer fill the silence for a bit.

“Care to share?”

You were going to politely decline—don’t get it wrong, you loved to yap, just not about anything too vulnerable—but one stolen glance at him made you want to pour your heart out. 

So you did.

From the neighborhood street to the corner convenience store, you told Jungkook everything. The girl who looked at you weird when you laughed a bit too hard at her crush’s joke. The teacher who yelled at you for giggling like a fool when you pretended to read a textbook while actually reading a romance book. How your best friends were all fighting because someone said something about someone and that person told someone else who told another person that—

“Okay, I’m not trying to be mean,” he began, cutting off one of your tangents, “But can you get to the point?”

“Oh,” you said dumbly. “My point.”

Up the road, the store came into view, clinically bright compared to the quiet darkness surrounding it, humming statically like a huge refrigerator. 

“Something about how having friends feels different than before?” he asked, stepping into the store as a bell chimed.

“Oh, right!” you confirmed brightly, trailing just a step behind him. 

Even though you were the one who offered to go to the store, he was the one who did all the work, walking up and down the aisle, scanning shelves, and crouching down to retrieve the stain remover bottle from the bottom. 

Throughout it all, you explained the sob story about how all of your friendships felt oddly superficial these days, like everyone was comparing themselves to each other and secretly trying to one-up their friends.

“I don’t know,” you finally said in lieu of a conclusion to your tangent. “I guess everyone’s just trying so hard to be cool.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that too much,” he replied, nonchalant. “No one who’s cool at thirteen stays cool.”

You considered it, lips pursed. “Were you cool at thirteen?”

“Of course,” he easily said, a smirk playing on his lips as he headed to the line for the cashier. “I’m the only exception.”

Even though you groaned at his cockiness, on the inside, you were squealing. He was joking around with you. What a milestone.

You were up next in line for the cashier, but just then, the cooler at the back caught your eye. 

You tugged at the corner of Jungkook’s shirt.

“Look.”

He turned around, eyes following your finger to the cooler.

“Ice cream,” you whispered, like it was some kind of strictly confidential top-secret. “We should get some.”

He snorted. “Shouldn’t we hurry? My mom’s favorite rug is getting stained as we speak.”

“Please?” You pouted, putting on your best puppy voice. “I’ll pay. I’m really sad that I have to go back tomorrow and ice cream makes everything better.”

He stared at you for a few seconds and then sighed. “I guess I don’t really care about that rug anyways.”

Later, you realized you forgot your wallet at home, so he ended up having to buy the ice cream for the both of you anyway. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind. He got a chocolate-flavored one and you got strawberry panna cotta. 

There was an extra pep in your step as you walked back, leading the way with a gentle, melodic tune buzzing at your lips. 

“You seem to have gotten over your slump pretty quickly,” Jungkook commented, slurping a chunk of his ice cream off the stick.

“I told you. Ice cream makes everything better.”

It really did; it was a simple remedy to any heartache.

Since summer was nearing its end and it was nighttime, there was a cool, persistent breeze that whistled through the air. The scrunched up plastic from your ice cream was sticky against your hand. 

“Isn't it a little too cold for ice cream, though?”

You scoffed. “Excuse me, it’s never too cold for ice cream.” Turning around, you started walking backwards, to meet his gaze. “And besides, eating ice cream in the cold can be fun because it takes longer for it to melt. So you can enjoy it longer.”

With a turn on your heel, you pivoted around and resumed your happy-walk.

From behind, you heard the tiniest chuckle. It was so quiet that it was almost lost in the sound of crickets chirping and the distant swoosh of waves lapping at the shore. 

But still, he laughed. You made him laugh—you really did!

It was a very good thing that you weren’t facing him, because you must’ve smiled so hard that you looked like a maniac. 

The ice cream was devoured in minutes, so your theory of getting to enjoy it longer didn’t really hold up, but it was still delicious. One of the best ice creams you’d ever had.

But perhaps it wasn’t the taste that made it so good. Maybe it was the salt in the air. Or the stars in the sky. Or the company of a particular teenage heartthrob. Who knows?

“I’ll still miss this, though,” you admitted. “This was one of the best decisions ever.”

He scoffed. “Why did you guys choose to come down here in the first place?”

A solemn smile graced your face. “My mom told us to.”

He abruptly stopped in his steps. “Your mom?” You let him be confused for a second. “I thought she…”

You sighed. “Yeah, she died.” The words left a bitter taste on your tongue—they always did. “But,” you started with a chirp in your voice, “she left behind a list of rules.”

“Rules,”  he echoed, resuming his walk to catch up with you. 

“Mhm,” you hummed softly. “They’re all written in this journal, and every rule has something to do with raising me. My dad reads it like it’s the bible.” You chuckled. “Anyways, one of the rules said to get a getaway home so I have a place to relax, and well, that’s what my dad did.”

Some crickets whirred in the silence that followed. You shrugged, all too used to telling this story, and fiddled around with the plastic of your ice cream packaging. Jungkook cleared his throat.

“That’s cool.” 

For the first time, there was something that sounded like fondness in his voice. His eyes softened, face illuminated by the moon, air humid from the salty sea. 

Thirteen-year-old you didn’t stand a chance.

“Yeah. I guess so.” 

After spending way too long trying to find a trashcan to hide the evidence of a secret ice cream splurge, you made it back to his house.

At that point, his mom’s rug was officially ruby red instead of an off-white cream, and panicked, you tried to convince her that it looked cooler that way. Jungkook snickered at your clumsy consolation (and promptly got scolded for doing so). 

The night came to a bitter end when your dad declared that it was about time to head back. You bet he could sense the disappointment radiating from you. 

At the front door, you waited as your dad bid Jungkook’s parents a polite goodbye, telling them how you’d be back next summer for sure. Behind them, Jungkook stood awkwardly, hands shoved into his pockets. 

You walked up to him just as your dad was wrapping things up. 

“I’ll see you next summer?”

He shrugged, looking away. “Not like I’ll be going anywhere.”

There wasn’t much time left. Your dad was going to usher you away soon. 

“You better not,” was the cheeky response you settled for. 

He huffed a small laugh. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

You giggled, biting the inside of your cheek and contemplating what to say next. 

“Well if you get bored…” your eyes darted downward, “you can always, um, message or call me, you know.”

You weren’t sure when you started fidgeting with your hands, too scared to look him in the eyes in case he thought it was ridiculous to be on texting terms with you. Alas, you snuck a peek at him after a short moment, seeing him snort before rolling his eyes. 

Then, he brought up a hand to ruffle your hair. 

“Sure thing, Clem.”

NOW - Today

If there is one word you didn’t grow up hearing a lot of, it was “no.”

For the most part, if you asked your dad for something, you’d get it. Toys, books, desserts, everything.

Maybe he felt like it was an obligation. If he couldn’t be there for your first period, or help you with your hair for a school dance, or tell you what shoes went with what skirt, he might as well shower you with love in any other form possible.

So yeah, you don’t like admitting this out loud, but you definitely grew up spoiled. Never had to lift a finger, really. 

This is why, at your big adult, tax-paying age, you do not take things not going your way very well.

“I’m sorry?”

“We apologize, ma’am, but we simply can’t deliver your shipments at the moment.”

“How is that possible?” you bite your tongue, holding back shameful language. “That… that shipment has almost all of my belongings in there.”

When you packed your bags, you decided to have a couple of boxes be sent via moving trucks, since you simply couldn’t put all of your stuff in your car.  

Unfortunately, these boxes had one very important thing: your mattress. You’ve been sleeping in a sleeping bag for the past week, which hasn’t been ideal, but you weren’t going to be a prissy princess about it. However, you would really love to get your back on a proper bed soon.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ll work on locating your belongings as soon as possible.”

“You really can’t get them in by this week?”

“No, we can’t,” the customer service lady says regretfully. “As I said, we’ve… lost the whole shipment, ma’am. We’re incredibly sorry. If we can’t find it, the value of your goods will be reimbursed into your account by the end of the month.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting a headache. Your back hurts like a bitch, you’re stressed out, and you’re still adjusting to the hot weather. All you want is just one good night’s sleep.

“Okay. Please contact me if there are any updates,” you sigh into the phone, giving up as you end the call.

The room is silent, sun beaming in through the windows and shrouding your half-renovated kitchen in warm light. 

You’re grateful that at least everything else is coming together.

For the past few days, you’ve been painting, cleaning, and furnishing your bakery. It’s been incredibly hectic, with renovators coming in to install ovens and check the insulation in the walls or whatever, and constant calls between you and the local contractor your dad has recommended. Frankly, you’ve been so tired everyday that sleeping on the floor wasn’t much of a bother. 

But not having a bed at all would be a problem. Maybe you can order one online? No, it would be too expensive. Or maybe, you could go to the store nearby and get a cheap mattress…but you don’t have enough space in your car to fit one. 

You’d need a truck, and the only person you know that has one is… Jungkook.

You bite your lip. 

You’ve seen him for a few brief moments since the last time you talked. He’s always moving in and out of his bar across the street, hopping into his truck like he’s in a hurry all the time. His bar seems like a humble place, with a big red sign that reads, “Jeon’s Bar.” Super simple but inviting. 

Would asking for his help really be a good idea? He probably just offered to be polite.  Still, it would be impossible to avoid him completely, right?

Your finger hovers over his contact. The last time you texted him was ten years ago.

It’s whatever. Forget about it already, Jesus.

You shake your head, steeling courage and tapping the “call” button with your eyes screwed shut. Okay, sure, you’re really doing this.

The phone rings once. Twice. You hold your breath. And after a long, tantalizing moment, he finally answers.

“Hello?” His voice rumbles into your ear like gravel rolling against dirt.

Words. Find them, bitch. 

“Uh, hi Jungkook!”

Amazing.

He gives a slow, cautious chuckle. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything’s great!” You want to bury yourself six feet under right now. “How are you?”

He laughs, full this time. “I’m good. Good to hear you, Clem.” Can he stop calling you that? “Moving is going okay?”

“Yep, super good,” you say, so unnaturally cheerfully that you wince.  “Uh, but there’s maybe something that I might need a little help with?”

He shifts slightly. “Really? What’s up?”

You explain the situation, taking deep breaths through your nose to try and sound Zen, but you feel like you’re giving angry bull more than anything. 

“So yeah, I’m just looking for a bed, basically,” you conclude, before quickly correcting, “To buy! I mean, to buy, of course.”

He snickers softly. “I got it the first time, Clem.”

You pout, grateful he’s not here to see it. “So…can you help?”

“Yeah, of course. Sounds like an awful pickle you got yourself in there,” he replies easily. “I can come pick you up in fifteen minutes? Let me just tell everyone that I’ll be leaving work early.” 

“Okay,” you say, voice small. “Thank you.”

You hate how it still feels like he’s talking to you like you’re a child, but he’s doing you a favor so you can’t really complain.

“Perfect. No problem. I’ll see you in a bit, Clem.”

“See you.” 

And the line ends.

You don’t like him. You’re not in love with him anymore. So why in the world are you touching up your lipgloss in the mirror? Why are you combing through your hair like an idiot? You inspect your reflection and realize that maybe fifteen minutes isn’t enough time to transform from, well, whatever the hell you looked like now, into the presentable, put together version of yourself.

You settle for changing into a fresh pair of denim shorts and throwing on the only shirt that hasn’t been stained with paint, before tossing your unwashed hair into a claw clip. As you put on some more mascara and lipgloss, your phone chimes with a simple text from Jungkook.

Jungkook: Here

What the hell? That was not fifteen minutes. You curse under your breath, send a text saying that you’re coming down in a moment, and spend a few more seconds rubbing cream blush onto your cheeks. 

Satisfied with the color in your face, you fumble down the stairs, haphazardly snatching your bag from your pile of laundry. When you arrive at the storefront, you realize you’re a bit breathless. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. What are you so frazzled for?

You find Jungkook leaning against his truck casually, wearing baggy pants with a white shirt that is way too tight to be PG. Since when is he so fucking buff? You know that he liked working out back in the day, but you never imagined that the lean, lanky teenage boy you once knew could turn into such a hunk.

It takes Jungkook’s snorting for you to realize that you’ve been staring.

“Hi to you too.”

“Hi. Sorry, I zoned out there.” You give up. Nonchalant-ness be damned. “And also sorry to make you wait.”

“Don’t stress,” he responds easily, lightness in his voice. He gestures towards the passengers side of the car. “Hop in. I think I know a good place that probably has what you’re looking for, but it’s a bit of a drive, though.”

“All good, and thank you again for doing this.” you reply, opening the door as he rounds the front to his side. “I’ve got nothing else to do today, anyway, so a long drive is no problem.”

As you settle into the warm car seat, you take in the interior of the truck. It smells surprisingly good, like a mix of sandalwood and something citrusy. It’s really clean too, but you note the empty coffee cup in the middle compartment. The Jungkook you knew hated coffee, saying that it was way too bitter. You wonder when that changed.

“Nothing else to do today?” Jungkook repeats as he buckles his seatbelt. You follow suit. “Thought you’ve been really busy this past while. Been seeing you run around.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, it’s been crazy. Today I was supposed to focus on organizing the rest of my stuff, but well, seeing that they haven’t arrived I can’t really be doing that.”

“Fair enough.” He nods, lightly amused. “But I hope everything else is coming together well?”

“Hmm…” you trail off, “I think you could say that.”

For the next twenty minutes, you tell Jungkook about all of your recent activities. 

You tell him about the agony of choosing the right wallpaper patterns, the amount of shirts you’ve ruined with paint, and the absolute ordeal that is figuring out electrical wiring. He shares similar stories of adulthood struggles—like when he ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere, or dealing with last-minute plumbing problems at the bar. His stories crack you up, and before you know it, you’re clutching onto your stomach and fighting a fit of laughter.

It’s funny how the vibe slowly changes from polite and cautious to something much more comfortable, light jokes flying between the two of you easily. 

Back in the day, there was always some sort of distance between the two of you, with him always being just enough older than you to act like it. But now, that two-year age gap was nothing, and unlike a decade ago, you’re much more confident that your life experiences amount to enough to carry yourself with ease—that is, after getting over the initial thrill of being in the same vicinity of your prior teenage crush. 

Still, it surprises you how quickly your conversations fall into place. His comments are well-timed, there’s laughter at all the right moments, and his replies that fit yours like puzzle pieces. 

This comfort, as momentary as it may be, brings you enough courage to ask your next question, prying deeper into the life of Jeon Jungkook—the one you still don’t know.

“How’s… your mother doing? Is she doing well?” 

He purses his lips, taking a moment to figure out a reply, eyes pinned onto the road as he drives further into town and away from the beachside.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer,” you quickly say, “I understand if you aren’t comfortable—”

“No, it’s fine,” he cuts you off, firm but warm. He sighs, carefully choosing his words “She’s honestly not doing well,” he  reveals. Your heart clenches. “It’s stage four now, so her body and mind are really weak. She’s refusing chemotherapy, so there’s really no other treatment that could help at this point.”

You want to say something, shed some light on maybe how you handled it when your mom was dying in front of your very eyes, but those memories were shoved to the back of your mind a long time ago. 

“She’s as optimistic as ever, though,” he continues, a bittersweet glimmer in his eyes. “She watches TV all day and gets mad at me when I’m not all caught up on the latest drama.”

That elicits a soft laugh from you. “Sounds like the Mrs. Jeon I remember.” He smiles at that comment. “Is she living with you alone, or…”

“Yeah. Somi’s studying abroad and all, so it’s just me and her.”

You almost don’t want to ask your next question. “What about…”

“My dad died seven years ago,” he says, gaze locked onto the road. 

He says it so casually and easily that you want to cry out. Seven years ago. It might be old news to him, but to you, it feels like the picture perfect image you had of the Jeons has suddenly crumbled.

“I’m... I’m so sorry to hear that.”

He spares a quick glance at you and snorts, bringing his hand up to your forehead to give it a flick.

“Don’t give me that look,” he chuckles warmly. “It happened a long time ago. And don’t worry, I’m holding up the fort with my mom just fine. No need to look like your childhood dog was shot.”

You rub your forehead with a playfully indignant pout. “Hey!”

He scoffs, eyes crinkling in amusement. “You’re still as easy to read as ever.”

“And you’re still impossible,” you huff, crossing your arms.

He only laughs again. “I am, aren’t I?”

He’s always been hard to read, never letting his true emotions show on his face no matter what he was going through. 

Like when he fell while riding his bike, he got up like nothing happened and didn’t find out that his leg was broken until a month later—since he simply never mentioned how much it hurt. And when Somi accidentally broke his Xbox while practicing her cartwheels, he didn’t get mad or lash out, only flicking her on the forehead and telling her to be more careful. Then, he went into his room and didn’t come out for a whole day, apparently. (These are all stories his mom told you when Jungkook was too preoccupied with other things).

He was like a stray cat, all ruffled up and full of pride, parading around his open wounds like they were something to be proud of. But instead of seeing it for what it was, you merely chalked it up to another cool thing about him.

You don’t think you can see it that way now.

Not as the car becomes a tinge quieter as only pavement and grass stretch impossibly far ahead. Not as he clears his throat awkwardly, letting the weight of his revelations truly settle in. Not when you see the glimmer of hurt in his eyes, sensing that he wants to reveal more, but doesn’t. Not to you, at least.

He’s left to be the sole caretaker of his mother—probably while also funding Somi’s study abroad ventures in London, all without the support of his father. That can’t be easy. 

You wonder if he has support from anyone else—for example, friends, or perhaps, a girlfriend.

It’s been several minutes of silence, with only the soft thrum of Jungkook’s 90’s playlist filling the air. You go back and forth between asking and not asking until your curiosity gets the better of you, and all the sudden you’re blurting out:

“Do you have a girlfriend, by any chance?”

THEN - Twelve-ish summers ago

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hi Jungkook,

This is Y/N. I hope you don’t mind me emailing you… my dad takes my phone away on school days, so unless it’s summer, it’s easier to talk via email hehe. But anyways, I just wanted to share something super cool with you. I remember you wearing a bunch of Spiderman shirts and I thought, wow, you must really like Spiderman.

And guess what? Today Spiderman came to my school!

Isn’t that cool? It’s part of the movie promo, apparently. Which by the way, have you seen it yet? I’m obsessed with Andrew Garfield. Something really sad happens at the end of the movie but I won’t tell you in case you haven’t seen it yet.

Hope you’re doing well! Sorry for the long message.

Warmly,

Clem

[P.S. my dad said I have to format emails like this but I think it’s kinda goofy. What do you think?]

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

hey clem

don’t worry about the formatting thing. that picture is super cool, he looks like the real spiderman fr. and yeah i’ve seen the movie lol it made me and all the boys cry. andrew garfield is da fucking goat!!!

hope ur doing good too, everything’s pretty chill here 

cya

jungkook

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hi Jungkook! 

I know you “don’t have a sweet tooth” but I wanted to update you on some fun baking adventures since you’ll probably get to try them in a few months when I come down for summer!

Look!!!! Doesn’t this apple crumble look DIVINE?!!! I used my mom’s recipe but tweaked it a little so it wouldn’t get as flaky. Soo yummy. 

How is school for you btw? Things are getting better for me since the last time we talked so I hope everything’s good for you too!

Warmly

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

my mom said that i should ignore your “sweet tooth” comment since that would be the mature thing to do. but just know that i REALLY don’t have a sweet tooth. anyways, that crumble looks really good. yeaaa somi would like it i think. she says she misses u

and yeaaaa school’s alright, same old stuff. glad to hear that you’re doing better tho, middle school sucks. when I was your age i didn’t have it all figured out either. you’ll get there someday little lady

jk

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

you give me advice like you’re fifty years older than me when we’re only 2 years apart. but since you preached maturity in your last message, here i am being mature and ignoring it.

anyways, please tell somi that i miss her too! I make so many things with her in mind! 

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

not very mature since u didn’t actually ignore it

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

i’ll poison your cupcakes

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

HAHA u might not be mature but at least ur funny!!

You disliked this message

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

GUESS WHAT!! Im coming back soon!! I know it’s been a while since we talked so spill the tea! Is there anything new or exciting that has happened recently?

Can’t wait to see u and ur family again!

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

hey clem, good to hear from u. somi still won’t shut up about u, good to know u will be coming soon. nothing much has happened tbh. just school and stuff.

but i diddddd recently start dating this super cool girl named chaewon and it’s been pretty fun. I think you’ll like her a lot and she’s excited to meet you and try your stuff. 

cya!!!

jaykayyyy

Because right now, as you and him gawk at each other after meeting again for the first time in a decade, all words promptly die in your throat. 

“You look good,” he says, lips curving into a polite smile, charming and distant all at once.

“So do you.” 

He really does. In fact, he’s never looked better. There’s a silence where you’re both just sizing each other up, like looking longer would bring back the familiarity that only existed years ago. 

“So,” he starts, a little too cheerfully. “What brings you back to town?”

You chuckle, feeling like the laugh isn’t really leaving your body. “Uh, this.” You gesture around. “I’m… opening a bakery here.”

The reaction is immediate. It’s like his very inner soul has lit up—a remarkable feat given his admittedly broody look, with the dark hair, tattoos and piercings and all. 

“This… you’re serious?”

“Yeah.” A true smile lands on your face. It’s nice to hear it out loud. “I mean, it’s nothing much right now, since, you know, I literally just got here—” you chuckle, “—but I’m working on it, yeah.”

He tentatively peeks into the shop. There isn’t a lot in there, yet he seems to glimmer with excitement nonetheless. 

“That’s… that’s incredible.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, I didn’t think I’d ever get to this point either.” Wiping your hands on your shorts, you clear your throat. “Are you still around here, or just visiting?”

He shakes his head. “I’m still around.” With a light shrug, he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Went to college in the city, but I had to come back since Mom got sick.”

Your smile fades. “Mrs. Jeon? Is she okay?”

“She’s holding up.” He lets out a sigh. “Breast cancer. You know how stubborn she is. She doesn’t want to go into the city for treatment.”

The news bites into your heart. That woman was practically your godmother growing up. Kind, gentle, and yes, incredibly stubborn, but she was always there for you. And breast cancer... you don't want it to take another woman you love from your life, no matter how distant you've been to the Jeon's this past decade.

“I’m… I’m really sorry to hear that,” you say. “Send her my best wishes.”

“Of course.” He opens and closes his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but quickly shakes his head again with a heavy breath. “But enough about me, how are you?”

A few minutes go by. You tell him about your dad, how he’s fully retired and living his best life golfing with his friends everyday. You tell him about your old job, the one with your balding, grumpy boss, and how you couldn’t wait to get away from that world. 

He tells you that Somi is doing well, wrapping up her studies at a university in London. He’s been running his own business too; a bar, to be precise. And that’s been going on for a few years now. 

There’s an air of politeness that comes so easily it almost feels scripted, like a textbook example of small talk—the kind you’d have after running into an old friend. An old friend who was never more than that. Laughter, conversation, lightness.

But soon his expression melts, eyebrows creasing with conflict. You don’t need to guess what’s on his mind—you already know.

The incident. 

He’s going to try and apologize for it, you bet. The memory sinks into your gut. How you wish you could bury it away, or at the very least, brush against it with the ease of a mortician with a dead body. 

“Uh,” he starts, faltering for a moment, “This is outrageously overdue, but…” his breath hitches, “I’m really sorry about what—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say quickly, plastering on a quick and easy smile. “It was so long ago I basically forgot about it.”

It’s a blatant lie and he knows it, but he doesn’t press any further, catching onto the fact that you simply don’t want to talk about it.

It’s not because you’ve already forgiven him—a part of you still doesn’t—but it’s because it embarrasses you, how much it's impacted the trajectory of your life. You don’t want him to know that. You want him to believe it was just a petty fight between two teens that began and ended that summer.

So you keep on lying.

“You know, I’ve been planning to do this for a while.” Not true. You impulsively made this decision only a few days ago after getting yelled at by your manager for the third time in a week. “My dad—you know him, real estate investor and all—he helped me out with this place.”

Now that’s true. When you called your dad that morning saying that you quit your job and had big plans to open a bakery, he immediately offered this building; you thought it was a little old, but very charming and cute and totally your style. Still, you insisted on trying to find a place on your own, but your dad was adamant that you took this one—saying that in his old age he wouldn’t be able to give you much anymore, so he wants to give you this one, final gift.

How could you say no to that? So you said yes, naturally, only realizing where exactly the place was located after already giving him your word.

But it’s fine. The worst that could happen has already happened—running into Jungkook, that is—and you’re handling it completely fine. Completely.

“Um, do you want to come in?”

Wow. Alright. Maybe you aren’t so right in the head because why in the world would you offer that?

“I’d love to.” 

He appears grateful for the change in topic, at least. 

Okay sure, this is really happening. Just keep it cool. 

Nevermind the fact that your walls are half painted, flakes of ceiling are all over the floor, and your stuff is lying around everywhere without any semblance of order or organization. 

You lead him into the humble establishment, stepping over boxes of miscellaneous items, now unsure of their necessity in the face of the hunk of a man that is Jeon Jungkook. He takes in the space politely, round eyes darting around, like he’s trying to see the place the way you would. For lack of better things to talk about, you start to explain your vision; where you’ll put furniture and set up your kitchen and whatnot.

It seems like another thing that will never change is your absolute inability to shut the fuck up. 

Call it nerves or just your personality, but before you know it, you’re yapping his ear off about what shade of blue would best match the original blueberry muffin recipes you plan to display on the top shelf of your display counter and you think you might want to die a little.

“Wow,” he lets out a laughing breath, both amused and impressed. “You have big plans.”

You take a deep breath. 

“Yeah.”

He hums, eyes finding you again after giving the space a final scan. “Are you going to build all of this yourself?”

“I think I’ll be able to handle most of it on my own, but maybe I’ll call some people to help with the heavy lifting. I’ve already registered the business a while ago, so once I get the permit everything should be in place.”

He lets out a low whistle. You try not to falter under his gaze.

“Looks like you’ve got it all figured out, Clem,” he says, voice low and criminally gentle.

And just like that, you’re thirteen again, and he’s the coolest boy you’ve ever met. His approval shouldn’t have this effect on you anymore—you’re an adult, for goodness sake. 

But that voice. That nickname. God fucking damn it.

“Seems like it,” you manage to choke out.

He smiles. “But if you ever need someone to help with, I don’t know, carrying boxes or whatever,” he chuckles and points to himself reliably,  “you can text me.”

You blink twice. That’s quite nice. The normal thing to do is say thank you.

“Uh, wow, thanks,” you laugh slowly, biting your lower lip. “But I don’t have your number, I think.”

“It hasn’t changed.”

Swallowing your saliva feels like an impossible task. He hasn’t changed his number—all these years, he’s been only one call away.

“I haven’t changed mine either.”

It’s a painful reminder that the distance between you two is voluntary. He never reached out and neither did you. You wonder if—should you have decided against quitting your job or taking up your dad on his offer—you’d ever see him again. You certainly wouldn’t have gone looking, and from the looks of it, neither would he. 

But here you are now. Funny how the world works.

Jungkook closes his eyes for a brief moment, a half-breath, half-snicker escaping him as he shakes his head in disbelief. He opens and closes his mouth, like he’s going to say something but thinks better of it.

“Well, there you have it,” he says, “If calling doesn’t work, feel free to knock on my door.” He points behind him, gesturing across the street. “Uh, the bar I own is kind of over there.”

Deja vu washes over you as you locate the humble establishment across the street. Neighbors, again. 

You can’t help but giggle at that. “Alright, sure thing.” 

He tilts his head. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” you snort, looking up at him. “It just feels like we’ve had this exact same conversation before.”

Recognition floods his expression, and he’s soon laughing with you too.

“We have, haven’t we?” He sighs contentedly, shoving his hands into his pocket. “I’m looking forward to seeing more of you, neighbor.”

He stretches out a hand. You roll your eyes, unable to contain your laughter. It’s silly, but you still accept the handshake, making sure your grip is firm.

“Me too.” 

It’s almost exactly the same as before. Same town. Same people. Divided by one street.

Only this time, you won’t make the same mistake you made before. You aren’t a kid anymore; you can’t just run away to the city when feelings get too hard to handle.  Hence, for the sake of your heart and pride, you are adamant on one single thing: 

You will not, under any circumstances, fall in love with Jeon Jungkook again.

THEN - Thirteen summers ago

You were dreading the day you’d have to go back to the city. 

It came the day a slight chill ran through the air, signaling the end of summer. You were at the Jeon’s again, and Somi was playing with some Barbies at the dinner table.  

Unfortunately, as Barbie skydived off of an apple juice carton, she also made a slight miscalculation and brought Mrs. Jeon’s red wine clattering on the floor, shattered glass spewing everywhere alongside the ruby liquid.

In seconds, the deep color seeped through a beautiful beige embroidered rug, one that Mrs. Jeon clearly seemed to treasure, as she immediately started to panic, rummaging around the drawers for a bottle of stain remover. She found the bottle under the sink, grimacing when she noticed it was empty. Jungkook’s dad suggested using baking powder and vinegar; he read on some blog that it could also remove stains. Mrs. Jeon solemnly revealed that they lacked both ingredients. 

“I can run to the convenience store,” you offered, wanting to be helpful. “If they don’t have stain remover I’ll grab baking powder and vinegar instead.”

“Oh honey, would you really?” She bit her lip, looking back and forth between you and the stained rug. “It’s okay, really. It’s late at night.” 

“Maybe Jungkook can go with her?” Jungkook’s dad suggested.

Her eyebrows rose. 

“Oh, yes, that’s a great idea.” She looked at Jungkook sternly. “Jungkook. Go.”

He all but groaned in response, sliding down his chair with a childish grumble. “Fine.”

Yet, he got up quickly. 

Quicker than you thought he would.

And that was how you and Jungkook ended up on a walk to the convenience store together, everything quiet aside from the whistle of the breeze and the chirp of grasshoppers in the bushes. Since the day he ran into you with the skateboard, you hadn’t spoken to him alone. You basically forgot how to talk… which was rare for you. 

He broke the silence first.

“So you’re heading back to the city tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, looking at your shoes as you kicked a few stray pebbles. “I’m literally dreading it so bad.”

“Can’t say I’m thrilled for the new semester either.” He started kicking some pebbles in your direction to mess up your flow. Neither of you commented on it. “I hate the first days of class.”

You wanted to say that you did too, but you weren’t fond of lying. First days were actually fun for you most of the time. But some recent petty drama within your friend group and an unwelcome introduction of teenage hormones came with a whirlwind of emotions that you could hardly describe as “fun.”

You were in a funk: you were getting acne and gaining weight but your body hadn’t filled in yet, so you were still a lanky, awkward bundle of limbs while some other girls flourished into beautiful young women. Of course, there were many others in your boat too, but you still felt as alone as ever. That was just how puberty worked.

The impending doom of menstruation probably stressed you out the most. You knew your dad would be mature about it, but that didn’t make you dread “the talk” with him any less. You remembered that there was a whole page in your mom’s list of rules dedicated to how to help you through puberty. He never let you read that particular page.

“Hey. Clementine.” Jungkook lightly elbowed you. “You good?”

How long had you been zoning out for? 

“Uh, yeah,” you stammered. “Sorry, I just got lost in my thoughts.”

You didn’t even notice that it was the first time he properly used the nickname. Probably for the better—because had you noticed, you would’ve made a big deal out of it and he’d never say it again.

He hummed softly, letting the gentle whirr of summer fill the silence for a bit.

“Care to share?”

You were going to politely decline—don’t get it wrong, you loved to yap, just not about anything too vulnerable—but one stolen glance at him made you want to pour your heart out. 

So you did.

From the neighborhood street to the corner convenience store, you told Jungkook everything. The girl who looked at you weird when you laughed a bit too hard at her crush’s joke. The teacher who yelled at you for giggling like a fool when you pretended to read a textbook while actually reading a romance book. How your best friends were all fighting because someone said something about someone and that person told someone else who told another person that—

“Okay, I’m not trying to be mean,” he began, cutting off one of your tangents, “But can you get to the point?”

“Oh,” you said dumbly. “My point.”

Up the road, the store came into view, clinically bright compared to the quiet darkness surrounding it, humming statically like a huge refrigerator. 

“Something about how having friends feels different than before?” he asked, stepping into the store as a bell chimed.

“Oh, right!” you confirmed brightly, trailing just a step behind him. 

Even though you were the one who offered to go to the store, he was the one who did all the work, walking up and down the aisle, scanning shelves, and crouching down to retrieve the stain remover bottle from the bottom. 

Throughout it all, you explained the sob story about how all of your friendships felt oddly superficial these days, like everyone was comparing themselves to each other and secretly trying to one-up their friends.

“I don’t know,” you finally said in lieu of a conclusion to your tangent. “I guess everyone’s just trying so hard to be cool.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that too much,” he replied, nonchalant. “No one who’s cool at thirteen stays cool.”

You considered it, lips pursed. “Were you cool at thirteen?”

“Of course,” he easily said, a smirk playing on his lips as he headed to the line for the cashier. “I’m the only exception.”

Even though you groaned at his cockiness, on the inside, you were squealing. He was joking around with you. What a milestone.

You were up next in line for the cashier, but just then, the cooler at the back caught your eye. 

You tugged at the corner of Jungkook’s shirt.

“Look.”

He turned around, eyes following your finger to the cooler.

“Ice cream,” you whispered, like it was some kind of strictly confidential top-secret. “We should get some.”

He snorted. “Shouldn’t we hurry? My mom’s favorite rug is getting stained as we speak.”

“Please?” You pouted, putting on your best puppy voice. “I’ll pay. I’m really sad that I have to go back tomorrow and ice cream makes everything better.”

He stared at you for a few seconds and then sighed. “I guess I don’t really care about that rug anyways.”

Later, you realized you forgot your wallet at home, so he ended up having to buy the ice cream for the both of you anyway. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind. He got a chocolate-flavored one and you got strawberry panna cotta. 

There was an extra pep in your step as you walked back, leading the way with a gentle, melodic tune buzzing at your lips. 

“You seem to have gotten over your slump pretty quickly,” Jungkook commented, slurping a chunk of his ice cream off the stick.

“I told you. Ice cream makes everything better.”

It really did; it was a simple remedy to any heartache.

Since summer was nearing its end and it was nighttime, there was a cool, persistent breeze that whistled through the air. The scrunched up plastic from your ice cream was sticky against your hand. 

“Isn't it a little too cold for ice cream, though?”

You scoffed. “Excuse me, it’s never too cold for ice cream.” Turning around, you started walking backwards, to meet his gaze. “And besides, eating ice cream in the cold can be fun because it takes longer for it to melt. So you can enjoy it longer.”

With a turn on your heel, you pivoted around and resumed your happy-walk.

From behind, you heard the tiniest chuckle. It was so quiet that it was almost lost in the sound of crickets chirping and the distant swoosh of waves lapping at the shore. 

But still, he laughed. You made him laugh—you really did!

It was a very good thing that you weren’t facing him, because you must’ve smiled so hard that you looked like a maniac. 

The ice cream was devoured in minutes, so your theory of getting to enjoy it longer didn’t really hold up, but it was still delicious. One of the best ice creams you’d ever had.

But perhaps it wasn’t the taste that made it so good. Maybe it was the salt in the air. Or the stars in the sky. Or the company of a particular teenage heartthrob. Who knows?

“I’ll still miss this, though,” you admitted. “This was one of the best decisions ever.”

He scoffed. “Why did you guys choose to come down here in the first place?”

A solemn smile graced your face. “My mom told us to.”

He abruptly stopped in his steps. “Your mom?” You let him be confused for a second. “I thought she…”

You sighed. “Yeah, she died.” The words left a bitter taste on your tongue—they always did. “But,” you started with a chirp in your voice, “she left behind a list of rules.”

“Rules,”  he echoed, resuming his walk to catch up with you. 

“Mhm,” you hummed softly. “They’re all written in this journal, and every rule has something to do with raising me. My dad reads it like it’s the bible.” You chuckled. “Anyways, one of the rules said to get a getaway home so I have a place to relax, and well, that’s what my dad did.”

Some crickets whirred in the silence that followed. You shrugged, all too used to telling this story, and fiddled around with the plastic of your ice cream packaging. Jungkook cleared his throat.

“That’s cool.” 

For the first time, there was something that sounded like fondness in his voice. His eyes softened, face illuminated by the moon, air humid from the salty sea. 

Thirteen-year-old you didn’t stand a chance.

“Yeah. I guess so.” 

After spending way too long trying to find a trashcan to hide the evidence of a secret ice cream splurge, you made it back to his house.

At that point, his mom’s rug was officially ruby red instead of an off-white cream, and panicked, you tried to convince her that it looked cooler that way. Jungkook snickered at your clumsy consolation (and promptly got scolded for doing so). 

The night came to a bitter end when your dad declared that it was about time to head back. You bet he could sense the disappointment radiating from you. 

At the front door, you waited as your dad bid Jungkook’s parents a polite goodbye, telling them how you’d be back next summer for sure. Behind them, Jungkook stood awkwardly, hands shoved into his pockets. 

You walked up to him just as your dad was wrapping things up. 

“I’ll see you next summer?”

He shrugged, looking away. “Not like I’ll be going anywhere.”

There wasn’t much time left. Your dad was going to usher you away soon. 

“You better not,” was the cheeky response you settled for. 

He huffed a small laugh. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

You giggled, biting the inside of your cheek and contemplating what to say next. 

“Well if you get bored…” your eyes darted downward, “you can always, um, message or call me, you know.”

You weren’t sure when you started fidgeting with your hands, too scared to look him in the eyes in case he thought it was ridiculous to be on texting terms with you. Alas, you snuck a peek at him after a short moment, seeing him snort before rolling his eyes. 

Then, he brought up a hand to ruffle your hair. 

“Sure thing, Clem.”

NOW - Today

If there is one word you didn’t grow up hearing a lot of, it was “no.”

For the most part, if you asked your dad for something, you’d get it. Toys, books, desserts, everything.

Maybe he felt like it was an obligation. If he couldn’t be there for your first period, or help you with your hair for a school dance, or tell you what shoes went with what skirt, he might as well shower you with love in any other form possible.

So yeah, you don’t like admitting this out loud, but you definitely grew up spoiled. Never had to lift a finger, really. 

This is why, at your big adult, tax-paying age, you do not take things not going your way very well.

“I’m sorry?”

“We apologize, ma’am, but we simply can’t deliver your shipments at the moment.”

“How is that possible?” you bite your tongue, holding back shameful language. “That… that shipment has almost all of my belongings in there.”

When you packed your bags, you decided to have a couple of boxes be sent via moving trucks, since you simply couldn’t put all of your stuff in your car.  

Unfortunately, these boxes had one very important thing: your mattress. You’ve been sleeping in a sleeping bag for the past week, which hasn’t been ideal, but you weren’t going to be a prissy princess about it. However, you would really love to get your back on a proper bed soon.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ll work on locating your belongings as soon as possible.”

“You really can’t get them in by this week?”

“No, we can’t,” the customer service lady says regretfully. “As I said, we’ve… lost the whole shipment, ma’am. We’re incredibly sorry. If we can’t find it, the value of your goods will be reimbursed into your account by the end of the month.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting a headache. Your back hurts like a bitch, you’re stressed out, and you’re still adjusting to the hot weather. All you want is just one good night’s sleep.

“Okay. Please contact me if there are any updates,” you sigh into the phone, giving up as you end the call.

The room is silent, sun beaming in through the windows and shrouding your half-renovated kitchen in warm light. 

You’re grateful that at least everything else is coming together.

For the past few days, you’ve been painting, cleaning, and furnishing your bakery. It’s been incredibly hectic, with renovators coming in to install ovens and check the insulation in the walls or whatever, and constant calls between you and the local contractor your dad has recommended. Frankly, you’ve been so tired everyday that sleeping on the floor wasn’t much of a bother. 

But not having a bed at all would be a problem. Maybe you can order one online? No, it would be too expensive. Or maybe, you could go to the store nearby and get a cheap mattress…but you don’t have enough space in your car to fit one. 

You’d need a truck, and the only person you know that has one is… Jungkook.

You bite your lip. 

You’ve seen him for a few brief moments since the last time you talked. He’s always moving in and out of his bar across the street, hopping into his truck like he’s in a hurry all the time. His bar seems like a humble place, with a big red sign that reads, “Jeon’s Bar.” Super simple but inviting. 

Would asking for his help really be a good idea? He probably just offered to be polite.  Still, it would be impossible to avoid him completely, right?

Your finger hovers over his contact. The last time you texted him was ten years ago.

It’s whatever. Forget about it already, Jesus.

You shake your head, steeling courage and tapping the “call” button with your eyes screwed shut. Okay, sure, you’re really doing this.

The phone rings once. Twice. You hold your breath. And after a long, tantalizing moment, he finally answers.

“Hello?” His voice rumbles into your ear like gravel rolling against dirt.

Words. Find them, bitch. 

“Uh, hi Jungkook!”

Amazing.

He gives a slow, cautious chuckle. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything’s great!” You want to bury yourself six feet under right now. “How are you?”

He laughs, full this time. “I’m good. Good to hear you, Clem.” Can he stop calling you that? “Moving is going okay?”

“Yep, super good,” you say, so unnaturally cheerfully that you wince.  “Uh, but there’s maybe something that I might need a little help with?”

He shifts slightly. “Really? What’s up?”

You explain the situation, taking deep breaths through your nose to try and sound Zen, but you feel like you’re giving angry bull more than anything. 

“So yeah, I’m just looking for a bed, basically,” you conclude, before quickly correcting, “To buy! I mean, to buy, of course.”

He snickers softly. “I got it the first time, Clem.”

You pout, grateful he’s not here to see it. “So…can you help?”

“Yeah, of course. Sounds like an awful pickle you got yourself in there,” he replies easily. “I can come pick you up in fifteen minutes? Let me just tell everyone that I’ll be leaving work early.” 

“Okay,” you say, voice small. “Thank you.”

You hate how it still feels like he’s talking to you like you’re a child, but he’s doing you a favor so you can’t really complain.

“Perfect. No problem. I’ll see you in a bit, Clem.”

“See you.” 

And the line ends.

You don’t like him. You’re not in love with him anymore. So why in the world are you touching up your lipgloss in the mirror? Why are you combing through your hair like an idiot? You inspect your reflection and realize that maybe fifteen minutes isn’t enough time to transform from, well, whatever the hell you looked like now, into the presentable, put together version of yourself.

You settle for changing into a fresh pair of denim shorts and throwing on the only shirt that hasn’t been stained with paint, before tossing your unwashed hair into a claw clip. As you put on some more mascara and lipgloss, your phone chimes with a simple text from Jungkook.

Jungkook: Here

What the hell? That was not fifteen minutes. You curse under your breath, send a text saying that you’re coming down in a moment, and spend a few more seconds rubbing cream blush onto your cheeks. 

Satisfied with the color in your face, you fumble down the stairs, haphazardly snatching your bag from your pile of laundry. When you arrive at the storefront, you realize you’re a bit breathless. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. What are you so frazzled for?

You find Jungkook leaning against his truck casually, wearing baggy pants with a white shirt that is way too tight to be PG. Since when is he so fucking buff? You know that he liked working out back in the day, but you never imagined that the lean, lanky teenage boy you once knew could turn into such a hunk.

It takes Jungkook’s snorting for you to realize that you’ve been staring.

“Hi to you too.”

“Hi. Sorry, I zoned out there.” You give up. Nonchalant-ness be damned. “And also sorry to make you wait.”

“Don’t stress,” he responds easily, lightness in his voice. He gestures towards the passengers side of the car. “Hop in. I think I know a good place that probably has what you’re looking for, but it’s a bit of a drive, though.”

“All good, and thank you again for doing this.” you reply, opening the door as he rounds the front to his side. “I’ve got nothing else to do today, anyway, so a long drive is no problem.”

As you settle into the warm car seat, you take in the interior of the truck. It smells surprisingly good, like a mix of sandalwood and something citrusy. It’s really clean too, but you note the empty coffee cup in the middle compartment. The Jungkook you knew hated coffee, saying that it was way too bitter. You wonder when that changed.

“Nothing else to do today?” Jungkook repeats as he buckles his seatbelt. You follow suit. “Thought you’ve been really busy this past while. Been seeing you run around.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, it’s been crazy. Today I was supposed to focus on organizing the rest of my stuff, but well, seeing that they haven’t arrived I can’t really be doing that.”

“Fair enough.” He nods, lightly amused. “But I hope everything else is coming together well?”

“Hmm…” you trail off, “I think you could say that.”

For the next twenty minutes, you tell Jungkook about all of your recent activities. 

You tell him about the agony of choosing the right wallpaper patterns, the amount of shirts you’ve ruined with paint, and the absolute ordeal that is figuring out electrical wiring. He shares similar stories of adulthood struggles—like when he ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere, or dealing with last-minute plumbing problems at the bar. His stories crack you up, and before you know it, you’re clutching onto your stomach and fighting a fit of laughter.

It’s funny how the vibe slowly changes from polite and cautious to something much more comfortable, light jokes flying between the two of you easily. 

Back in the day, there was always some sort of distance between the two of you, with him always being just enough older than you to act like it. But now, that two-year age gap was nothing, and unlike a decade ago, you’re much more confident that your life experiences amount to enough to carry yourself with ease—that is, after getting over the initial thrill of being in the same vicinity of your prior teenage crush. 

Still, it surprises you how quickly your conversations fall into place. His comments are well-timed, there’s laughter at all the right moments, and his replies that fit yours like puzzle pieces. 

This comfort, as momentary as it may be, brings you enough courage to ask your next question, prying deeper into the life of Jeon Jungkook—the one you still don’t know.

“How’s… your mother doing? Is she doing well?” 

He purses his lips, taking a moment to figure out a reply, eyes pinned onto the road as he drives further into town and away from the beachside.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer,” you quickly say, “I understand if you aren’t comfortable—”

“No, it’s fine,” he cuts you off, firm but warm. He sighs, carefully choosing his words “She’s honestly not doing well,” he  reveals. Your heart clenches. “It’s stage four now, so her body and mind are really weak. She’s refusing chemotherapy, so there’s really no other treatment that could help at this point.”

You want to say something, shed some light on maybe how you handled it when your mom was dying in front of your very eyes, but those memories were shoved to the back of your mind a long time ago. 

“She’s as optimistic as ever, though,” he continues, a bittersweet glimmer in his eyes. “She watches TV all day and gets mad at me when I’m not all caught up on the latest drama.”

That elicits a soft laugh from you. “Sounds like the Mrs. Jeon I remember.” He smiles at that comment. “Is she living with you alone, or…”

“Yeah. Somi’s studying abroad and all, so it’s just me and her.”

You almost don’t want to ask your next question. “What about…”

“My dad died seven years ago,” he says, gaze locked onto the road. 

He says it so casually and easily that you want to cry out. Seven years ago. It might be old news to him, but to you, it feels like the picture perfect image you had of the Jeons has suddenly crumbled.

“I’m... I’m so sorry to hear that.”

He spares a quick glance at you and snorts, bringing his hand up to your forehead to give it a flick.

“Don’t give me that look,” he chuckles warmly. “It happened a long time ago. And don’t worry, I’m holding up the fort with my mom just fine. No need to look like your childhood dog was shot.”

You rub your forehead with a playfully indignant pout. “Hey!”

He scoffs, eyes crinkling in amusement. “You’re still as easy to read as ever.”

“And you’re still impossible,” you huff, crossing your arms.

He only laughs again. “I am, aren’t I?”

He’s always been hard to read, never letting his true emotions show on his face no matter what he was going through. 

Like when he fell while riding his bike, he got up like nothing happened and didn’t find out that his leg was broken until a month later—since he simply never mentioned how much it hurt. And when Somi accidentally broke his Xbox while practicing her cartwheels, he didn’t get mad or lash out, only flicking her on the forehead and telling her to be more careful. Then, he went into his room and didn’t come out for a whole day, apparently. (These are all stories his mom told you when Jungkook was too preoccupied with other things).

He was like a stray cat, all ruffled up and full of pride, parading around his open wounds like they were something to be proud of. But instead of seeing it for what it was, you merely chalked it up to another cool thing about him.

You don’t think you can see it that way now.

Not as the car becomes a tinge quieter as only pavement and grass stretch impossibly far ahead. Not as he clears his throat awkwardly, letting the weight of his revelations truly settle in. Not when you see the glimmer of hurt in his eyes, sensing that he wants to reveal more, but doesn’t. Not to you, at least.

He’s left to be the sole caretaker of his mother—probably while also funding Somi’s study abroad ventures in London, all without the support of his father. That can’t be easy. 

You wonder if he has support from anyone else—for example, friends, or perhaps, a girlfriend.

It’s been several minutes of silence, with only the soft thrum of Jungkook’s 90’s playlist filling the air. You go back and forth between asking and not asking until your curiosity gets the better of you, and all the sudden you’re blurting out:

“Do you have a girlfriend, by any chance?”

THEN - Twelve-ish summers ago

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hi Jungkook,

This is Y/N. I hope you don’t mind me emailing you… my dad takes my phone away on school days, so unless it’s summer, it’s easier to talk via email hehe. But anyways, I just wanted to share something super cool with you. I remember you wearing a bunch of Spiderman shirts and I thought, wow, you must really like Spiderman.

And guess what? Today Spiderman came to my school!

Isn’t that cool? It’s part of the movie promo, apparently. Which by the way, have you seen it yet? I’m obsessed with Andrew Garfield. Something really sad happens at the end of the movie but I won’t tell you in case you haven’t seen it yet.

Hope you’re doing well! Sorry for the long message.

Warmly,

Clem

[P.S. my dad said I have to format emails like this but I think it’s kinda goofy. What do you think?]

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

hey clem

don’t worry about the formatting thing. that picture is super cool, he looks like the real spiderman fr. and yeah i’ve seen the movie lol it made me and all the boys cry. andrew garfield is da fucking goat!!!

hope ur doing good too, everything’s pretty chill here 

cya

jungkook

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hi Jungkook! 

I know you “don’t have a sweet tooth” but I wanted to update you on some fun baking adventures since you’ll probably get to try them in a few months when I come down for summer!

Look!!!! Doesn’t this apple crumble look DIVINE?!!! I used my mom’s recipe but tweaked it a little so it wouldn’t get as flaky. Soo yummy. 

How is school for you btw? Things are getting better for me since the last time we talked so I hope everything’s good for you too!

Warmly

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

my mom said that i should ignore your “sweet tooth” comment since that would be the mature thing to do. but just know that i REALLY don’t have a sweet tooth. anyways, that crumble looks really good. yeaaa somi would like it i think. she says she misses u

and yeaaaa school’s alright, same old stuff. glad to hear that you’re doing better tho, middle school sucks. when I was your age i didn’t have it all figured out either. you’ll get there someday little lady

jk

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

you give me advice like you’re fifty years older than me when we’re only 2 years apart. but since you preached maturity in your last message, here i am being mature and ignoring it.

anyways, please tell somi that i miss her too! I make so many things with her in mind! 

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

not very mature since u didn’t actually ignore it

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

i’ll poison your cupcakes

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

HAHA u might not be mature but at least ur funny!!

You disliked this message

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

GUESS WHAT!! Im coming back soon!! I know it’s been a while since we talked so spill the tea! Is there anything new or exciting that has happened recently?

Can’t wait to see u and ur family again!

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

hey clem, good to hear from u. somi still won’t shut up about u, good to know u will be coming soon. nothing much has happened tbh. just school and stuff.

but i diddddd recently start dating this super cool girl named chaewon and it’s been pretty fun. I think you’ll like her a lot and she’s excited to meet you and try your stuff. 

cya!!!

jaykayyyy

Because right now, as you and him gawk at each other after meeting again for the first time in a decade, all words promptly die in your throat. 

“You look good,” he says, lips curving into a polite smile, charming and distant all at once.

“So do you.” 

He really does. In fact, he’s never looked better. There’s a silence where you’re both just sizing each other up, like looking longer would bring back the familiarity that only existed years ago. 

“So,” he starts, a little too cheerfully. “What brings you back to town?”

You chuckle, feeling like the laugh isn’t really leaving your body. “Uh, this.” You gesture around. “I’m… opening a bakery here.”

The reaction is immediate. It’s like his very inner soul has lit up—a remarkable feat given his admittedly broody look, with the dark hair, tattoos and piercings and all. 

“This… you’re serious?”

“Yeah.” A true smile lands on your face. It’s nice to hear it out loud. “I mean, it’s nothing much right now, since, you know, I literally just got here—” you chuckle, “—but I’m working on it, yeah.”

He tentatively peeks into the shop. There isn’t a lot in there, yet he seems to glimmer with excitement nonetheless. 

“That’s… that’s incredible.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, I didn’t think I’d ever get to this point either.” Wiping your hands on your shorts, you clear your throat. “Are you still around here, or just visiting?”

He shakes his head. “I’m still around.” With a light shrug, he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Went to college in the city, but I had to come back since Mom got sick.”

Your smile fades. “Mrs. Jeon? Is she okay?”

“She’s holding up.” He lets out a sigh. “Breast cancer. You know how stubborn she is. She doesn’t want to go into the city for treatment.”

The news bites into your heart. That woman was practically your godmother growing up. Kind, gentle, and yes, incredibly stubborn, but she was always there for you. And breast cancer... you don't want it to take another woman you love from your life, no matter how distant you've been to the Jeon's this past decade.

“I’m… I’m really sorry to hear that,” you say. “Send her my best wishes.”

“Of course.” He opens and closes his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but quickly shakes his head again with a heavy breath. “But enough about me, how are you?”

A few minutes go by. You tell him about your dad, how he’s fully retired and living his best life golfing with his friends everyday. You tell him about your old job, the one with your balding, grumpy boss, and how you couldn’t wait to get away from that world. 

He tells you that Somi is doing well, wrapping up her studies at a university in London. He’s been running his own business too; a bar, to be precise. And that’s been going on for a few years now. 

There’s an air of politeness that comes so easily it almost feels scripted, like a textbook example of small talk—the kind you’d have after running into an old friend. An old friend who was never more than that. Laughter, conversation, lightness.

But soon his expression melts, eyebrows creasing with conflict. You don’t need to guess what’s on his mind—you already know.

The incident. 

He’s going to try and apologize for it, you bet. The memory sinks into your gut. How you wish you could bury it away, or at the very least, brush against it with the ease of a mortician with a dead body. 

“Uh,” he starts, faltering for a moment, “This is outrageously overdue, but…” his breath hitches, “I’m really sorry about what—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say quickly, plastering on a quick and easy smile. “It was so long ago I basically forgot about it.”

It’s a blatant lie and he knows it, but he doesn’t press any further, catching onto the fact that you simply don’t want to talk about it.

It’s not because you’ve already forgiven him—a part of you still doesn’t—but it’s because it embarrasses you, how much it's impacted the trajectory of your life. You don’t want him to know that. You want him to believe it was just a petty fight between two teens that began and ended that summer.

So you keep on lying.

“You know, I’ve been planning to do this for a while.” Not true. You impulsively made this decision only a few days ago after getting yelled at by your manager for the third time in a week. “My dad—you know him, real estate investor and all—he helped me out with this place.”

Now that’s true. When you called your dad that morning saying that you quit your job and had big plans to open a bakery, he immediately offered this building; you thought it was a little old, but very charming and cute and totally your style. Still, you insisted on trying to find a place on your own, but your dad was adamant that you took this one—saying that in his old age he wouldn’t be able to give you much anymore, so he wants to give you this one, final gift.

How could you say no to that? So you said yes, naturally, only realizing where exactly the place was located after already giving him your word.

But it’s fine. The worst that could happen has already happened—running into Jungkook, that is—and you’re handling it completely fine. Completely.

“Um, do you want to come in?”

Wow. Alright. Maybe you aren’t so right in the head because why in the world would you offer that?

“I’d love to.” 

He appears grateful for the change in topic, at least. 

Okay sure, this is really happening. Just keep it cool. 

Nevermind the fact that your walls are half painted, flakes of ceiling are all over the floor, and your stuff is lying around everywhere without any semblance of order or organization. 

You lead him into the humble establishment, stepping over boxes of miscellaneous items, now unsure of their necessity in the face of the hunk of a man that is Jeon Jungkook. He takes in the space politely, round eyes darting around, like he’s trying to see the place the way you would. For lack of better things to talk about, you start to explain your vision; where you’ll put furniture and set up your kitchen and whatnot.

It seems like another thing that will never change is your absolute inability to shut the fuck up. 

Call it nerves or just your personality, but before you know it, you’re yapping his ear off about what shade of blue would best match the original blueberry muffin recipes you plan to display on the top shelf of your display counter and you think you might want to die a little.

“Wow,” he lets out a laughing breath, both amused and impressed. “You have big plans.”

You take a deep breath. 

“Yeah.”

He hums, eyes finding you again after giving the space a final scan. “Are you going to build all of this yourself?”

“I think I’ll be able to handle most of it on my own, but maybe I’ll call some people to help with the heavy lifting. I’ve already registered the business a while ago, so once I get the permit everything should be in place.”

He lets out a low whistle. You try not to falter under his gaze.

“Looks like you’ve got it all figured out, Clem,” he says, voice low and criminally gentle.

And just like that, you’re thirteen again, and he’s the coolest boy you’ve ever met. His approval shouldn’t have this effect on you anymore—you’re an adult, for goodness sake. 

But that voice. That nickname. God fucking damn it.

“Seems like it,” you manage to choke out.

He smiles. “But if you ever need someone to help with, I don’t know, carrying boxes or whatever,” he chuckles and points to himself reliably,  “you can text me.”

You blink twice. That’s quite nice. The normal thing to do is say thank you.

“Uh, wow, thanks,” you laugh slowly, biting your lower lip. “But I don’t have your number, I think.”

“It hasn’t changed.”

Swallowing your saliva feels like an impossible task. He hasn’t changed his number—all these years, he’s been only one call away.

“I haven’t changed mine either.”

It’s a painful reminder that the distance between you two is voluntary. He never reached out and neither did you. You wonder if—should you have decided against quitting your job or taking up your dad on his offer—you’d ever see him again. You certainly wouldn’t have gone looking, and from the looks of it, neither would he. 

But here you are now. Funny how the world works.

Jungkook closes his eyes for a brief moment, a half-breath, half-snicker escaping him as he shakes his head in disbelief. He opens and closes his mouth, like he’s going to say something but thinks better of it.

“Well, there you have it,” he says, “If calling doesn’t work, feel free to knock on my door.” He points behind him, gesturing across the street. “Uh, the bar I own is kind of over there.”

Deja vu washes over you as you locate the humble establishment across the street. Neighbors, again. 

You can’t help but giggle at that. “Alright, sure thing.” 

He tilts his head. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” you snort, looking up at him. “It just feels like we’ve had this exact same conversation before.”

Recognition floods his expression, and he’s soon laughing with you too.

“We have, haven’t we?” He sighs contentedly, shoving his hands into his pocket. “I’m looking forward to seeing more of you, neighbor.”

He stretches out a hand. You roll your eyes, unable to contain your laughter. It’s silly, but you still accept the handshake, making sure your grip is firm.

“Me too.” 

It’s almost exactly the same as before. Same town. Same people. Divided by one street.

Only this time, you won’t make the same mistake you made before. You aren’t a kid anymore; you can’t just run away to the city when feelings get too hard to handle.  Hence, for the sake of your heart and pride, you are adamant on one single thing: 

You will not, under any circumstances, fall in love with Jeon Jungkook again.

THEN - Thirteen summers ago

You were dreading the day you’d have to go back to the city. 

It came the day a slight chill ran through the air, signaling the end of summer. You were at the Jeon’s again, and Somi was playing with some Barbies at the dinner table.  

Unfortunately, as Barbie skydived off of an apple juice carton, she also made a slight miscalculation and brought Mrs. Jeon’s red wine clattering on the floor, shattered glass spewing everywhere alongside the ruby liquid.

In seconds, the deep color seeped through a beautiful beige embroidered rug, one that Mrs. Jeon clearly seemed to treasure, as she immediately started to panic, rummaging around the drawers for a bottle of stain remover. She found the bottle under the sink, grimacing when she noticed it was empty. Jungkook’s dad suggested using baking powder and vinegar; he read on some blog that it could also remove stains. Mrs. Jeon solemnly revealed that they lacked both ingredients. 

“I can run to the convenience store,” you offered, wanting to be helpful. “If they don’t have stain remover I’ll grab baking powder and vinegar instead.”

“Oh honey, would you really?” She bit her lip, looking back and forth between you and the stained rug. “It’s okay, really. It’s late at night.” 

“Maybe Jungkook can go with her?” Jungkook’s dad suggested.

Her eyebrows rose. 

“Oh, yes, that’s a great idea.” She looked at Jungkook sternly. “Jungkook. Go.”

He all but groaned in response, sliding down his chair with a childish grumble. “Fine.”

Yet, he got up quickly. 

Quicker than you thought he would.

And that was how you and Jungkook ended up on a walk to the convenience store together, everything quiet aside from the whistle of the breeze and the chirp of grasshoppers in the bushes. Since the day he ran into you with the skateboard, you hadn’t spoken to him alone. You basically forgot how to talk… which was rare for you. 

He broke the silence first.

“So you’re heading back to the city tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, looking at your shoes as you kicked a few stray pebbles. “I’m literally dreading it so bad.”

“Can’t say I’m thrilled for the new semester either.” He started kicking some pebbles in your direction to mess up your flow. Neither of you commented on it. “I hate the first days of class.”

You wanted to say that you did too, but you weren’t fond of lying. First days were actually fun for you most of the time. But some recent petty drama within your friend group and an unwelcome introduction of teenage hormones came with a whirlwind of emotions that you could hardly describe as “fun.”

You were in a funk: you were getting acne and gaining weight but your body hadn’t filled in yet, so you were still a lanky, awkward bundle of limbs while some other girls flourished into beautiful young women. Of course, there were many others in your boat too, but you still felt as alone as ever. That was just how puberty worked.

The impending doom of menstruation probably stressed you out the most. You knew your dad would be mature about it, but that didn’t make you dread “the talk” with him any less. You remembered that there was a whole page in your mom’s list of rules dedicated to how to help you through puberty. He never let you read that particular page.

“Hey. Clementine.” Jungkook lightly elbowed you. “You good?”

How long had you been zoning out for? 

“Uh, yeah,” you stammered. “Sorry, I just got lost in my thoughts.”

You didn’t even notice that it was the first time he properly used the nickname. Probably for the better—because had you noticed, you would’ve made a big deal out of it and he’d never say it again.

He hummed softly, letting the gentle whirr of summer fill the silence for a bit.

“Care to share?”

You were going to politely decline—don’t get it wrong, you loved to yap, just not about anything too vulnerable—but one stolen glance at him made you want to pour your heart out. 

So you did.

From the neighborhood street to the corner convenience store, you told Jungkook everything. The girl who looked at you weird when you laughed a bit too hard at her crush’s joke. The teacher who yelled at you for giggling like a fool when you pretended to read a textbook while actually reading a romance book. How your best friends were all fighting because someone said something about someone and that person told someone else who told another person that—

“Okay, I’m not trying to be mean,” he began, cutting off one of your tangents, “But can you get to the point?”

“Oh,” you said dumbly. “My point.”

Up the road, the store came into view, clinically bright compared to the quiet darkness surrounding it, humming statically like a huge refrigerator. 

“Something about how having friends feels different than before?” he asked, stepping into the store as a bell chimed.

“Oh, right!” you confirmed brightly, trailing just a step behind him. 

Even though you were the one who offered to go to the store, he was the one who did all the work, walking up and down the aisle, scanning shelves, and crouching down to retrieve the stain remover bottle from the bottom. 

Throughout it all, you explained the sob story about how all of your friendships felt oddly superficial these days, like everyone was comparing themselves to each other and secretly trying to one-up their friends.

“I don’t know,” you finally said in lieu of a conclusion to your tangent. “I guess everyone’s just trying so hard to be cool.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that too much,” he replied, nonchalant. “No one who’s cool at thirteen stays cool.”

You considered it, lips pursed. “Were you cool at thirteen?”

“Of course,” he easily said, a smirk playing on his lips as he headed to the line for the cashier. “I’m the only exception.”

Even though you groaned at his cockiness, on the inside, you were squealing. He was joking around with you. What a milestone.

You were up next in line for the cashier, but just then, the cooler at the back caught your eye. 

You tugged at the corner of Jungkook’s shirt.

“Look.”

He turned around, eyes following your finger to the cooler.

“Ice cream,” you whispered, like it was some kind of strictly confidential top-secret. “We should get some.”

He snorted. “Shouldn’t we hurry? My mom’s favorite rug is getting stained as we speak.”

“Please?” You pouted, putting on your best puppy voice. “I’ll pay. I’m really sad that I have to go back tomorrow and ice cream makes everything better.”

He stared at you for a few seconds and then sighed. “I guess I don’t really care about that rug anyways.”

Later, you realized you forgot your wallet at home, so he ended up having to buy the ice cream for the both of you anyway. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind. He got a chocolate-flavored one and you got strawberry panna cotta. 

There was an extra pep in your step as you walked back, leading the way with a gentle, melodic tune buzzing at your lips. 

“You seem to have gotten over your slump pretty quickly,” Jungkook commented, slurping a chunk of his ice cream off the stick.

“I told you. Ice cream makes everything better.”

It really did; it was a simple remedy to any heartache.

Since summer was nearing its end and it was nighttime, there was a cool, persistent breeze that whistled through the air. The scrunched up plastic from your ice cream was sticky against your hand. 

“Isn't it a little too cold for ice cream, though?”

You scoffed. “Excuse me, it’s never too cold for ice cream.” Turning around, you started walking backwards, to meet his gaze. “And besides, eating ice cream in the cold can be fun because it takes longer for it to melt. So you can enjoy it longer.”

With a turn on your heel, you pivoted around and resumed your happy-walk.

From behind, you heard the tiniest chuckle. It was so quiet that it was almost lost in the sound of crickets chirping and the distant swoosh of waves lapping at the shore. 

But still, he laughed. You made him laugh—you really did!

It was a very good thing that you weren’t facing him, because you must’ve smiled so hard that you looked like a maniac. 

The ice cream was devoured in minutes, so your theory of getting to enjoy it longer didn’t really hold up, but it was still delicious. One of the best ice creams you’d ever had.

But perhaps it wasn’t the taste that made it so good. Maybe it was the salt in the air. Or the stars in the sky. Or the company of a particular teenage heartthrob. Who knows?

“I’ll still miss this, though,” you admitted. “This was one of the best decisions ever.”

He scoffed. “Why did you guys choose to come down here in the first place?”

A solemn smile graced your face. “My mom told us to.”

He abruptly stopped in his steps. “Your mom?” You let him be confused for a second. “I thought she…”

You sighed. “Yeah, she died.” The words left a bitter taste on your tongue—they always did. “But,” you started with a chirp in your voice, “she left behind a list of rules.”

“Rules,”  he echoed, resuming his walk to catch up with you. 

“Mhm,” you hummed softly. “They’re all written in this journal, and every rule has something to do with raising me. My dad reads it like it’s the bible.” You chuckled. “Anyways, one of the rules said to get a getaway home so I have a place to relax, and well, that’s what my dad did.”

Some crickets whirred in the silence that followed. You shrugged, all too used to telling this story, and fiddled around with the plastic of your ice cream packaging. Jungkook cleared his throat.

“That’s cool.” 

For the first time, there was something that sounded like fondness in his voice. His eyes softened, face illuminated by the moon, air humid from the salty sea. 

Thirteen-year-old you didn’t stand a chance.

“Yeah. I guess so.” 

After spending way too long trying to find a trashcan to hide the evidence of a secret ice cream splurge, you made it back to his house.

At that point, his mom’s rug was officially ruby red instead of an off-white cream, and panicked, you tried to convince her that it looked cooler that way. Jungkook snickered at your clumsy consolation (and promptly got scolded for doing so). 

The night came to a bitter end when your dad declared that it was about time to head back. You bet he could sense the disappointment radiating from you. 

At the front door, you waited as your dad bid Jungkook’s parents a polite goodbye, telling them how you’d be back next summer for sure. Behind them, Jungkook stood awkwardly, hands shoved into his pockets. 

You walked up to him just as your dad was wrapping things up. 

“I’ll see you next summer?”

He shrugged, looking away. “Not like I’ll be going anywhere.”

There wasn’t much time left. Your dad was going to usher you away soon. 

“You better not,” was the cheeky response you settled for. 

He huffed a small laugh. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

You giggled, biting the inside of your cheek and contemplating what to say next. 

“Well if you get bored…” your eyes darted downward, “you can always, um, message or call me, you know.”

You weren’t sure when you started fidgeting with your hands, too scared to look him in the eyes in case he thought it was ridiculous to be on texting terms with you. Alas, you snuck a peek at him after a short moment, seeing him snort before rolling his eyes. 

Then, he brought up a hand to ruffle your hair. 

“Sure thing, Clem.”

NOW - Today

If there is one word you didn’t grow up hearing a lot of, it was “no.”

For the most part, if you asked your dad for something, you’d get it. Toys, books, desserts, everything.

Maybe he felt like it was an obligation. If he couldn’t be there for your first period, or help you with your hair for a school dance, or tell you what shoes went with what skirt, he might as well shower you with love in any other form possible.

So yeah, you don’t like admitting this out loud, but you definitely grew up spoiled. Never had to lift a finger, really. 

This is why, at your big adult, tax-paying age, you do not take things not going your way very well.

“I’m sorry?”

“We apologize, ma’am, but we simply can’t deliver your shipments at the moment.”

“How is that possible?” you bite your tongue, holding back shameful language. “That… that shipment has almost all of my belongings in there.”

When you packed your bags, you decided to have a couple of boxes be sent via moving trucks, since you simply couldn’t put all of your stuff in your car.  

Unfortunately, these boxes had one very important thing: your mattress. You’ve been sleeping in a sleeping bag for the past week, which hasn’t been ideal, but you weren’t going to be a prissy princess about it. However, you would really love to get your back on a proper bed soon.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ll work on locating your belongings as soon as possible.”

“You really can’t get them in by this week?”

“No, we can’t,” the customer service lady says regretfully. “As I said, we’ve… lost the whole shipment, ma’am. We’re incredibly sorry. If we can’t find it, the value of your goods will be reimbursed into your account by the end of the month.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting a headache. Your back hurts like a bitch, you’re stressed out, and you’re still adjusting to the hot weather. All you want is just one good night’s sleep.

“Okay. Please contact me if there are any updates,” you sigh into the phone, giving up as you end the call.

The room is silent, sun beaming in through the windows and shrouding your half-renovated kitchen in warm light. 

You’re grateful that at least everything else is coming together.

For the past few days, you’ve been painting, cleaning, and furnishing your bakery. It’s been incredibly hectic, with renovators coming in to install ovens and check the insulation in the walls or whatever, and constant calls between you and the local contractor your dad has recommended. Frankly, you’ve been so tired everyday that sleeping on the floor wasn’t much of a bother. 

But not having a bed at all would be a problem. Maybe you can order one online? No, it would be too expensive. Or maybe, you could go to the store nearby and get a cheap mattress…but you don’t have enough space in your car to fit one. 

You’d need a truck, and the only person you know that has one is… Jungkook.

You bite your lip. 

You’ve seen him for a few brief moments since the last time you talked. He’s always moving in and out of his bar across the street, hopping into his truck like he’s in a hurry all the time. His bar seems like a humble place, with a big red sign that reads, “Jeon’s Bar.” Super simple but inviting. 

Would asking for his help really be a good idea? He probably just offered to be polite.  Still, it would be impossible to avoid him completely, right?

Your finger hovers over his contact. The last time you texted him was ten years ago.

It’s whatever. Forget about it already, Jesus.

You shake your head, steeling courage and tapping the “call” button with your eyes screwed shut. Okay, sure, you’re really doing this.

The phone rings once. Twice. You hold your breath. And after a long, tantalizing moment, he finally answers.

“Hello?” His voice rumbles into your ear like gravel rolling against dirt.

Words. Find them, bitch. 

“Uh, hi Jungkook!”

Amazing.

He gives a slow, cautious chuckle. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything’s great!” You want to bury yourself six feet under right now. “How are you?”

He laughs, full this time. “I’m good. Good to hear you, Clem.” Can he stop calling you that? “Moving is going okay?”

“Yep, super good,” you say, so unnaturally cheerfully that you wince.  “Uh, but there’s maybe something that I might need a little help with?”

He shifts slightly. “Really? What’s up?”

You explain the situation, taking deep breaths through your nose to try and sound Zen, but you feel like you’re giving angry bull more than anything. 

“So yeah, I’m just looking for a bed, basically,” you conclude, before quickly correcting, “To buy! I mean, to buy, of course.”

He snickers softly. “I got it the first time, Clem.”

You pout, grateful he’s not here to see it. “So…can you help?”

“Yeah, of course. Sounds like an awful pickle you got yourself in there,” he replies easily. “I can come pick you up in fifteen minutes? Let me just tell everyone that I’ll be leaving work early.” 

“Okay,” you say, voice small. “Thank you.”

You hate how it still feels like he’s talking to you like you’re a child, but he’s doing you a favor so you can’t really complain.

“Perfect. No problem. I’ll see you in a bit, Clem.”

“See you.” 

And the line ends.

You don’t like him. You’re not in love with him anymore. So why in the world are you touching up your lipgloss in the mirror? Why are you combing through your hair like an idiot? You inspect your reflection and realize that maybe fifteen minutes isn’t enough time to transform from, well, whatever the hell you looked like now, into the presentable, put together version of yourself.

You settle for changing into a fresh pair of denim shorts and throwing on the only shirt that hasn’t been stained with paint, before tossing your unwashed hair into a claw clip. As you put on some more mascara and lipgloss, your phone chimes with a simple text from Jungkook.

Jungkook: Here

What the hell? That was not fifteen minutes. You curse under your breath, send a text saying that you’re coming down in a moment, and spend a few more seconds rubbing cream blush onto your cheeks. 

Satisfied with the color in your face, you fumble down the stairs, haphazardly snatching your bag from your pile of laundry. When you arrive at the storefront, you realize you’re a bit breathless. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. What are you so frazzled for?

You find Jungkook leaning against his truck casually, wearing baggy pants with a white shirt that is way too tight to be PG. Since when is he so fucking buff? You know that he liked working out back in the day, but you never imagined that the lean, lanky teenage boy you once knew could turn into such a hunk.

It takes Jungkook’s snorting for you to realize that you’ve been staring.

“Hi to you too.”

“Hi. Sorry, I zoned out there.” You give up. Nonchalant-ness be damned. “And also sorry to make you wait.”

“Don’t stress,” he responds easily, lightness in his voice. He gestures towards the passengers side of the car. “Hop in. I think I know a good place that probably has what you’re looking for, but it’s a bit of a drive, though.”

“All good, and thank you again for doing this.” you reply, opening the door as he rounds the front to his side. “I’ve got nothing else to do today, anyway, so a long drive is no problem.”

As you settle into the warm car seat, you take in the interior of the truck. It smells surprisingly good, like a mix of sandalwood and something citrusy. It’s really clean too, but you note the empty coffee cup in the middle compartment. The Jungkook you knew hated coffee, saying that it was way too bitter. You wonder when that changed.

“Nothing else to do today?” Jungkook repeats as he buckles his seatbelt. You follow suit. “Thought you’ve been really busy this past while. Been seeing you run around.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, it’s been crazy. Today I was supposed to focus on organizing the rest of my stuff, but well, seeing that they haven’t arrived I can’t really be doing that.”

“Fair enough.” He nods, lightly amused. “But I hope everything else is coming together well?”

“Hmm…” you trail off, “I think you could say that.”

For the next twenty minutes, you tell Jungkook about all of your recent activities. 

You tell him about the agony of choosing the right wallpaper patterns, the amount of shirts you’ve ruined with paint, and the absolute ordeal that is figuring out electrical wiring. He shares similar stories of adulthood struggles—like when he ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere, or dealing with last-minute plumbing problems at the bar. His stories crack you up, and before you know it, you’re clutching onto your stomach and fighting a fit of laughter.

It’s funny how the vibe slowly changes from polite and cautious to something much more comfortable, light jokes flying between the two of you easily. 

Back in the day, there was always some sort of distance between the two of you, with him always being just enough older than you to act like it. But now, that two-year age gap was nothing, and unlike a decade ago, you’re much more confident that your life experiences amount to enough to carry yourself with ease—that is, after getting over the initial thrill of being in the same vicinity of your prior teenage crush. 

Still, it surprises you how quickly your conversations fall into place. His comments are well-timed, there’s laughter at all the right moments, and his replies that fit yours like puzzle pieces. 

This comfort, as momentary as it may be, brings you enough courage to ask your next question, prying deeper into the life of Jeon Jungkook—the one you still don’t know.

“How’s… your mother doing? Is she doing well?” 

He purses his lips, taking a moment to figure out a reply, eyes pinned onto the road as he drives further into town and away from the beachside.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer,” you quickly say, “I understand if you aren’t comfortable—”

“No, it’s fine,” he cuts you off, firm but warm. He sighs, carefully choosing his words “She’s honestly not doing well,” he  reveals. Your heart clenches. “It’s stage four now, so her body and mind are really weak. She’s refusing chemotherapy, so there’s really no other treatment that could help at this point.”

You want to say something, shed some light on maybe how you handled it when your mom was dying in front of your very eyes, but those memories were shoved to the back of your mind a long time ago. 

“She’s as optimistic as ever, though,” he continues, a bittersweet glimmer in his eyes. “She watches TV all day and gets mad at me when I’m not all caught up on the latest drama.”

That elicits a soft laugh from you. “Sounds like the Mrs. Jeon I remember.” He smiles at that comment. “Is she living with you alone, or…”

“Yeah. Somi’s studying abroad and all, so it’s just me and her.”

You almost don’t want to ask your next question. “What about…”

“My dad died seven years ago,” he says, gaze locked onto the road. 

He says it so casually and easily that you want to cry out. Seven years ago. It might be old news to him, but to you, it feels like the picture perfect image you had of the Jeons has suddenly crumbled.

“I’m... I’m so sorry to hear that.”

He spares a quick glance at you and snorts, bringing his hand up to your forehead to give it a flick.

“Don’t give me that look,” he chuckles warmly. “It happened a long time ago. And don’t worry, I’m holding up the fort with my mom just fine. No need to look like your childhood dog was shot.”

You rub your forehead with a playfully indignant pout. “Hey!”

He scoffs, eyes crinkling in amusement. “You’re still as easy to read as ever.”

“And you’re still impossible,” you huff, crossing your arms.

He only laughs again. “I am, aren’t I?”

He’s always been hard to read, never letting his true emotions show on his face no matter what he was going through. 

Like when he fell while riding his bike, he got up like nothing happened and didn’t find out that his leg was broken until a month later—since he simply never mentioned how much it hurt. And when Somi accidentally broke his Xbox while practicing her cartwheels, he didn’t get mad or lash out, only flicking her on the forehead and telling her to be more careful. Then, he went into his room and didn’t come out for a whole day, apparently. (These are all stories his mom told you when Jungkook was too preoccupied with other things).

He was like a stray cat, all ruffled up and full of pride, parading around his open wounds like they were something to be proud of. But instead of seeing it for what it was, you merely chalked it up to another cool thing about him.

You don’t think you can see it that way now.

Not as the car becomes a tinge quieter as only pavement and grass stretch impossibly far ahead. Not as he clears his throat awkwardly, letting the weight of his revelations truly settle in. Not when you see the glimmer of hurt in his eyes, sensing that he wants to reveal more, but doesn’t. Not to you, at least.

He’s left to be the sole caretaker of his mother—probably while also funding Somi’s study abroad ventures in London, all without the support of his father. That can’t be easy. 

You wonder if he has support from anyone else—for example, friends, or perhaps, a girlfriend.

It’s been several minutes of silence, with only the soft thrum of Jungkook’s 90’s playlist filling the air. You go back and forth between asking and not asking until your curiosity gets the better of you, and all the sudden you’re blurting out:

“Do you have a girlfriend, by any chance?”

THEN - Twelve-ish summers ago

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hi Jungkook,

This is Y/N. I hope you don’t mind me emailing you… my dad takes my phone away on school days, so unless it’s summer, it’s easier to talk via email hehe. But anyways, I just wanted to share something super cool with you. I remember you wearing a bunch of Spiderman shirts and I thought, wow, you must really like Spiderman.

And guess what? Today Spiderman came to my school!

Isn’t that cool? It’s part of the movie promo, apparently. Which by the way, have you seen it yet? I’m obsessed with Andrew Garfield. Something really sad happens at the end of the movie but I won’t tell you in case you haven’t seen it yet.

Hope you’re doing well! Sorry for the long message.

Warmly,

Clem

[P.S. my dad said I have to format emails like this but I think it’s kinda goofy. What do you think?]

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

hey clem

don’t worry about the formatting thing. that picture is super cool, he looks like the real spiderman fr. and yeah i’ve seen the movie lol it made me and all the boys cry. andrew garfield is da fucking goat!!!

hope ur doing good too, everything’s pretty chill here 

cya

jungkook

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hi Jungkook! 

I know you “don’t have a sweet tooth” but I wanted to update you on some fun baking adventures since you’ll probably get to try them in a few months when I come down for summer!

Look!!!! Doesn’t this apple crumble look DIVINE?!!! I used my mom’s recipe but tweaked it a little so it wouldn’t get as flaky. Soo yummy. 

How is school for you btw? Things are getting better for me since the last time we talked so I hope everything’s good for you too!

Warmly

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

my mom said that i should ignore your “sweet tooth” comment since that would be the mature thing to do. but just know that i REALLY don’t have a sweet tooth. anyways, that crumble looks really good. yeaaa somi would like it i think. she says she misses u

and yeaaaa school’s alright, same old stuff. glad to hear that you’re doing better tho, middle school sucks. when I was your age i didn’t have it all figured out either. you’ll get there someday little lady

jk

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

you give me advice like you’re fifty years older than me when we’re only 2 years apart. but since you preached maturity in your last message, here i am being mature and ignoring it.

anyways, please tell somi that i miss her too! I make so many things with her in mind! 

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

not very mature since u didn’t actually ignore it

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

i’ll poison your cupcakes

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

HAHA u might not be mature but at least ur funny!!

You disliked this message

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

GUESS WHAT!! Im coming back soon!! I know it’s been a while since we talked so spill the tea! Is there anything new or exciting that has happened recently?

Can’t wait to see u and ur family again!

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

hey clem, good to hear from u. somi still won’t shut up about u, good to know u will be coming soon. nothing much has happened tbh. just school and stuff.

but i diddddd recently start dating this super cool girl named chaewon and it’s been pretty fun. I think you’ll like her a lot and she’s excited to meet you and try your stuff. 

cya!!!

jaykayyyy

Because right now, as you and him gawk at each other after meeting again for the first time in a decade, all words promptly die in your throat. 

“You look good,” he says, lips curving into a polite smile, charming and distant all at once.

“So do you.” 

He really does. In fact, he’s never looked better. There’s a silence where you’re both just sizing each other up, like looking longer would bring back the familiarity that only existed years ago. 

“So,” he starts, a little too cheerfully. “What brings you back to town?”

You chuckle, feeling like the laugh isn’t really leaving your body. “Uh, this.” You gesture around. “I’m… opening a bakery here.”

The reaction is immediate. It’s like his very inner soul has lit up—a remarkable feat given his admittedly broody look, with the dark hair, tattoos and piercings and all. 

“This… you’re serious?”

“Yeah.” A true smile lands on your face. It’s nice to hear it out loud. “I mean, it’s nothing much right now, since, you know, I literally just got here—” you chuckle, “—but I’m working on it, yeah.”

He tentatively peeks into the shop. There isn’t a lot in there, yet he seems to glimmer with excitement nonetheless. 

“That’s… that’s incredible.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, I didn’t think I’d ever get to this point either.” Wiping your hands on your shorts, you clear your throat. “Are you still around here, or just visiting?”

He shakes his head. “I’m still around.” With a light shrug, he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Went to college in the city, but I had to come back since Mom got sick.”

Your smile fades. “Mrs. Jeon? Is she okay?”

“She’s holding up.” He lets out a sigh. “Breast cancer. You know how stubborn she is. She doesn’t want to go into the city for treatment.”

The news bites into your heart. That woman was practically your godmother growing up. Kind, gentle, and yes, incredibly stubborn, but she was always there for you. And breast cancer... you don't want it to take another woman you love from your life, no matter how distant you've been to the Jeon's this past decade.

“I’m… I’m really sorry to hear that,” you say. “Send her my best wishes.”

“Of course.” He opens and closes his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but quickly shakes his head again with a heavy breath. “But enough about me, how are you?”

A few minutes go by. You tell him about your dad, how he’s fully retired and living his best life golfing with his friends everyday. You tell him about your old job, the one with your balding, grumpy boss, and how you couldn’t wait to get away from that world. 

He tells you that Somi is doing well, wrapping up her studies at a university in London. He’s been running his own business too; a bar, to be precise. And that’s been going on for a few years now. 

There’s an air of politeness that comes so easily it almost feels scripted, like a textbook example of small talk—the kind you’d have after running into an old friend. An old friend who was never more than that. Laughter, conversation, lightness.

But soon his expression melts, eyebrows creasing with conflict. You don’t need to guess what’s on his mind—you already know.

The incident. 

He’s going to try and apologize for it, you bet. The memory sinks into your gut. How you wish you could bury it away, or at the very least, brush against it with the ease of a mortician with a dead body. 

“Uh,” he starts, faltering for a moment, “This is outrageously overdue, but…” his breath hitches, “I’m really sorry about what—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say quickly, plastering on a quick and easy smile. “It was so long ago I basically forgot about it.”

It’s a blatant lie and he knows it, but he doesn’t press any further, catching onto the fact that you simply don’t want to talk about it.

It’s not because you’ve already forgiven him—a part of you still doesn’t—but it’s because it embarrasses you, how much it's impacted the trajectory of your life. You don’t want him to know that. You want him to believe it was just a petty fight between two teens that began and ended that summer.

So you keep on lying.

“You know, I’ve been planning to do this for a while.” Not true. You impulsively made this decision only a few days ago after getting yelled at by your manager for the third time in a week. “My dad—you know him, real estate investor and all—he helped me out with this place.”

Now that’s true. When you called your dad that morning saying that you quit your job and had big plans to open a bakery, he immediately offered this building; you thought it was a little old, but very charming and cute and totally your style. Still, you insisted on trying to find a place on your own, but your dad was adamant that you took this one—saying that in his old age he wouldn’t be able to give you much anymore, so he wants to give you this one, final gift.

How could you say no to that? So you said yes, naturally, only realizing where exactly the place was located after already giving him your word.

But it’s fine. The worst that could happen has already happened—running into Jungkook, that is—and you’re handling it completely fine. Completely.

“Um, do you want to come in?”

Wow. Alright. Maybe you aren’t so right in the head because why in the world would you offer that?

“I’d love to.” 

He appears grateful for the change in topic, at least. 

Okay sure, this is really happening. Just keep it cool. 

Nevermind the fact that your walls are half painted, flakes of ceiling are all over the floor, and your stuff is lying around everywhere without any semblance of order or organization. 

You lead him into the humble establishment, stepping over boxes of miscellaneous items, now unsure of their necessity in the face of the hunk of a man that is Jeon Jungkook. He takes in the space politely, round eyes darting around, like he’s trying to see the place the way you would. For lack of better things to talk about, you start to explain your vision; where you’ll put furniture and set up your kitchen and whatnot.

It seems like another thing that will never change is your absolute inability to shut the fuck up. 

Call it nerves or just your personality, but before you know it, you’re yapping his ear off about what shade of blue would best match the original blueberry muffin recipes you plan to display on the top shelf of your display counter and you think you might want to die a little.

“Wow,” he lets out a laughing breath, both amused and impressed. “You have big plans.”

You take a deep breath. 

“Yeah.”

He hums, eyes finding you again after giving the space a final scan. “Are you going to build all of this yourself?”

“I think I’ll be able to handle most of it on my own, but maybe I’ll call some people to help with the heavy lifting. I’ve already registered the business a while ago, so once I get the permit everything should be in place.”

He lets out a low whistle. You try not to falter under his gaze.

“Looks like you’ve got it all figured out, Clem,” he says, voice low and criminally gentle.

And just like that, you’re thirteen again, and he’s the coolest boy you’ve ever met. His approval shouldn’t have this effect on you anymore—you’re an adult, for goodness sake. 

But that voice. That nickname. God fucking damn it.

“Seems like it,” you manage to choke out.

He smiles. “But if you ever need someone to help with, I don’t know, carrying boxes or whatever,” he chuckles and points to himself reliably,  “you can text me.”

You blink twice. That’s quite nice. The normal thing to do is say thank you.

“Uh, wow, thanks,” you laugh slowly, biting your lower lip. “But I don’t have your number, I think.”

“It hasn’t changed.”

Swallowing your saliva feels like an impossible task. He hasn’t changed his number—all these years, he’s been only one call away.

“I haven’t changed mine either.”

It’s a painful reminder that the distance between you two is voluntary. He never reached out and neither did you. You wonder if—should you have decided against quitting your job or taking up your dad on his offer—you’d ever see him again. You certainly wouldn’t have gone looking, and from the looks of it, neither would he. 

But here you are now. Funny how the world works.

Jungkook closes his eyes for a brief moment, a half-breath, half-snicker escaping him as he shakes his head in disbelief. He opens and closes his mouth, like he’s going to say something but thinks better of it.

“Well, there you have it,” he says, “If calling doesn’t work, feel free to knock on my door.” He points behind him, gesturing across the street. “Uh, the bar I own is kind of over there.”

Deja vu washes over you as you locate the humble establishment across the street. Neighbors, again. 

You can’t help but giggle at that. “Alright, sure thing.” 

He tilts his head. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, sorry,” you snort, looking up at him. “It just feels like we’ve had this exact same conversation before.”

Recognition floods his expression, and he’s soon laughing with you too.

“We have, haven’t we?” He sighs contentedly, shoving his hands into his pocket. “I’m looking forward to seeing more of you, neighbor.”

He stretches out a hand. You roll your eyes, unable to contain your laughter. It’s silly, but you still accept the handshake, making sure your grip is firm.

“Me too.” 

It’s almost exactly the same as before. Same town. Same people. Divided by one street.

Only this time, you won’t make the same mistake you made before. You aren’t a kid anymore; you can’t just run away to the city when feelings get too hard to handle.  Hence, for the sake of your heart and pride, you are adamant on one single thing: 

You will not, under any circumstances, fall in love with Jeon Jungkook again.

THEN - Thirteen summers ago

You were dreading the day you’d have to go back to the city. 

It came the day a slight chill ran through the air, signaling the end of summer. You were at the Jeon’s again, and Somi was playing with some Barbies at the dinner table.  

Unfortunately, as Barbie skydived off of an apple juice carton, she also made a slight miscalculation and brought Mrs. Jeon’s red wine clattering on the floor, shattered glass spewing everywhere alongside the ruby liquid.

In seconds, the deep color seeped through a beautiful beige embroidered rug, one that Mrs. Jeon clearly seemed to treasure, as she immediately started to panic, rummaging around the drawers for a bottle of stain remover. She found the bottle under the sink, grimacing when she noticed it was empty. Jungkook’s dad suggested using baking powder and vinegar; he read on some blog that it could also remove stains. Mrs. Jeon solemnly revealed that they lacked both ingredients. 

“I can run to the convenience store,” you offered, wanting to be helpful. “If they don’t have stain remover I’ll grab baking powder and vinegar instead.”

“Oh honey, would you really?” She bit her lip, looking back and forth between you and the stained rug. “It’s okay, really. It’s late at night.” 

“Maybe Jungkook can go with her?” Jungkook’s dad suggested.

Her eyebrows rose. 

“Oh, yes, that’s a great idea.” She looked at Jungkook sternly. “Jungkook. Go.”

He all but groaned in response, sliding down his chair with a childish grumble. “Fine.”

Yet, he got up quickly. 

Quicker than you thought he would.

And that was how you and Jungkook ended up on a walk to the convenience store together, everything quiet aside from the whistle of the breeze and the chirp of grasshoppers in the bushes. Since the day he ran into you with the skateboard, you hadn’t spoken to him alone. You basically forgot how to talk… which was rare for you. 

He broke the silence first.

“So you’re heading back to the city tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, looking at your shoes as you kicked a few stray pebbles. “I’m literally dreading it so bad.”

“Can’t say I’m thrilled for the new semester either.” He started kicking some pebbles in your direction to mess up your flow. Neither of you commented on it. “I hate the first days of class.”

You wanted to say that you did too, but you weren’t fond of lying. First days were actually fun for you most of the time. But some recent petty drama within your friend group and an unwelcome introduction of teenage hormones came with a whirlwind of emotions that you could hardly describe as “fun.”

You were in a funk: you were getting acne and gaining weight but your body hadn’t filled in yet, so you were still a lanky, awkward bundle of limbs while some other girls flourished into beautiful young women. Of course, there were many others in your boat too, but you still felt as alone as ever. That was just how puberty worked.

The impending doom of menstruation probably stressed you out the most. You knew your dad would be mature about it, but that didn’t make you dread “the talk” with him any less. You remembered that there was a whole page in your mom’s list of rules dedicated to how to help you through puberty. He never let you read that particular page.

“Hey. Clementine.” Jungkook lightly elbowed you. “You good?”

How long had you been zoning out for? 

“Uh, yeah,” you stammered. “Sorry, I just got lost in my thoughts.”

You didn’t even notice that it was the first time he properly used the nickname. Probably for the better—because had you noticed, you would’ve made a big deal out of it and he’d never say it again.

He hummed softly, letting the gentle whirr of summer fill the silence for a bit.

“Care to share?”

You were going to politely decline—don’t get it wrong, you loved to yap, just not about anything too vulnerable—but one stolen glance at him made you want to pour your heart out. 

So you did.

From the neighborhood street to the corner convenience store, you told Jungkook everything. The girl who looked at you weird when you laughed a bit too hard at her crush’s joke. The teacher who yelled at you for giggling like a fool when you pretended to read a textbook while actually reading a romance book. How your best friends were all fighting because someone said something about someone and that person told someone else who told another person that—

“Okay, I’m not trying to be mean,” he began, cutting off one of your tangents, “But can you get to the point?”

“Oh,” you said dumbly. “My point.”

Up the road, the store came into view, clinically bright compared to the quiet darkness surrounding it, humming statically like a huge refrigerator. 

“Something about how having friends feels different than before?” he asked, stepping into the store as a bell chimed.

“Oh, right!” you confirmed brightly, trailing just a step behind him. 

Even though you were the one who offered to go to the store, he was the one who did all the work, walking up and down the aisle, scanning shelves, and crouching down to retrieve the stain remover bottle from the bottom. 

Throughout it all, you explained the sob story about how all of your friendships felt oddly superficial these days, like everyone was comparing themselves to each other and secretly trying to one-up their friends.

“I don’t know,” you finally said in lieu of a conclusion to your tangent. “I guess everyone’s just trying so hard to be cool.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that too much,” he replied, nonchalant. “No one who’s cool at thirteen stays cool.”

You considered it, lips pursed. “Were you cool at thirteen?”

“Of course,” he easily said, a smirk playing on his lips as he headed to the line for the cashier. “I’m the only exception.”

Even though you groaned at his cockiness, on the inside, you were squealing. He was joking around with you. What a milestone.

You were up next in line for the cashier, but just then, the cooler at the back caught your eye. 

You tugged at the corner of Jungkook’s shirt.

“Look.”

He turned around, eyes following your finger to the cooler.

“Ice cream,” you whispered, like it was some kind of strictly confidential top-secret. “We should get some.”

He snorted. “Shouldn’t we hurry? My mom’s favorite rug is getting stained as we speak.”

“Please?” You pouted, putting on your best puppy voice. “I’ll pay. I’m really sad that I have to go back tomorrow and ice cream makes everything better.”

He stared at you for a few seconds and then sighed. “I guess I don’t really care about that rug anyways.”

Later, you realized you forgot your wallet at home, so he ended up having to buy the ice cream for the both of you anyway. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind. He got a chocolate-flavored one and you got strawberry panna cotta. 

There was an extra pep in your step as you walked back, leading the way with a gentle, melodic tune buzzing at your lips. 

“You seem to have gotten over your slump pretty quickly,” Jungkook commented, slurping a chunk of his ice cream off the stick.

“I told you. Ice cream makes everything better.”

It really did; it was a simple remedy to any heartache.

Since summer was nearing its end and it was nighttime, there was a cool, persistent breeze that whistled through the air. The scrunched up plastic from your ice cream was sticky against your hand. 

“Isn't it a little too cold for ice cream, though?”

You scoffed. “Excuse me, it’s never too cold for ice cream.” Turning around, you started walking backwards, to meet his gaze. “And besides, eating ice cream in the cold can be fun because it takes longer for it to melt. So you can enjoy it longer.”

With a turn on your heel, you pivoted around and resumed your happy-walk.

From behind, you heard the tiniest chuckle. It was so quiet that it was almost lost in the sound of crickets chirping and the distant swoosh of waves lapping at the shore. 

But still, he laughed. You made him laugh—you really did!

It was a very good thing that you weren’t facing him, because you must’ve smiled so hard that you looked like a maniac. 

The ice cream was devoured in minutes, so your theory of getting to enjoy it longer didn’t really hold up, but it was still delicious. One of the best ice creams you’d ever had.

But perhaps it wasn’t the taste that made it so good. Maybe it was the salt in the air. Or the stars in the sky. Or the company of a particular teenage heartthrob. Who knows?

“I’ll still miss this, though,” you admitted. “This was one of the best decisions ever.”

He scoffed. “Why did you guys choose to come down here in the first place?”

A solemn smile graced your face. “My mom told us to.”

He abruptly stopped in his steps. “Your mom?” You let him be confused for a second. “I thought she…”

You sighed. “Yeah, she died.” The words left a bitter taste on your tongue—they always did. “But,” you started with a chirp in your voice, “she left behind a list of rules.”

“Rules,”  he echoed, resuming his walk to catch up with you. 

“Mhm,” you hummed softly. “They’re all written in this journal, and every rule has something to do with raising me. My dad reads it like it’s the bible.” You chuckled. “Anyways, one of the rules said to get a getaway home so I have a place to relax, and well, that’s what my dad did.”

Some crickets whirred in the silence that followed. You shrugged, all too used to telling this story, and fiddled around with the plastic of your ice cream packaging. Jungkook cleared his throat.

“That’s cool.” 

For the first time, there was something that sounded like fondness in his voice. His eyes softened, face illuminated by the moon, air humid from the salty sea. 

Thirteen-year-old you didn’t stand a chance.

“Yeah. I guess so.” 

After spending way too long trying to find a trashcan to hide the evidence of a secret ice cream splurge, you made it back to his house.

At that point, his mom’s rug was officially ruby red instead of an off-white cream, and panicked, you tried to convince her that it looked cooler that way. Jungkook snickered at your clumsy consolation (and promptly got scolded for doing so). 

The night came to a bitter end when your dad declared that it was about time to head back. You bet he could sense the disappointment radiating from you. 

At the front door, you waited as your dad bid Jungkook’s parents a polite goodbye, telling them how you’d be back next summer for sure. Behind them, Jungkook stood awkwardly, hands shoved into his pockets. 

You walked up to him just as your dad was wrapping things up. 

“I’ll see you next summer?”

He shrugged, looking away. “Not like I’ll be going anywhere.”

There wasn’t much time left. Your dad was going to usher you away soon. 

“You better not,” was the cheeky response you settled for. 

He huffed a small laugh. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

You giggled, biting the inside of your cheek and contemplating what to say next. 

“Well if you get bored…” your eyes darted downward, “you can always, um, message or call me, you know.”

You weren’t sure when you started fidgeting with your hands, too scared to look him in the eyes in case he thought it was ridiculous to be on texting terms with you. Alas, you snuck a peek at him after a short moment, seeing him snort before rolling his eyes. 

Then, he brought up a hand to ruffle your hair. 

“Sure thing, Clem.”

NOW - Today

If there is one word you didn’t grow up hearing a lot of, it was “no.”

For the most part, if you asked your dad for something, you’d get it. Toys, books, desserts, everything.

Maybe he felt like it was an obligation. If he couldn’t be there for your first period, or help you with your hair for a school dance, or tell you what shoes went with what skirt, he might as well shower you with love in any other form possible.

So yeah, you don’t like admitting this out loud, but you definitely grew up spoiled. Never had to lift a finger, really. 

This is why, at your big adult, tax-paying age, you do not take things not going your way very well.

“I’m sorry?”

“We apologize, ma’am, but we simply can’t deliver your shipments at the moment.”

“How is that possible?” you bite your tongue, holding back shameful language. “That… that shipment has almost all of my belongings in there.”

When you packed your bags, you decided to have a couple of boxes be sent via moving trucks, since you simply couldn’t put all of your stuff in your car.  

Unfortunately, these boxes had one very important thing: your mattress. You’ve been sleeping in a sleeping bag for the past week, which hasn’t been ideal, but you weren’t going to be a prissy princess about it. However, you would really love to get your back on a proper bed soon.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ll work on locating your belongings as soon as possible.”

“You really can’t get them in by this week?”

“No, we can’t,” the customer service lady says regretfully. “As I said, we’ve… lost the whole shipment, ma’am. We’re incredibly sorry. If we can’t find it, the value of your goods will be reimbursed into your account by the end of the month.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, fighting a headache. Your back hurts like a bitch, you’re stressed out, and you’re still adjusting to the hot weather. All you want is just one good night’s sleep.

“Okay. Please contact me if there are any updates,” you sigh into the phone, giving up as you end the call.

The room is silent, sun beaming in through the windows and shrouding your half-renovated kitchen in warm light. 

You’re grateful that at least everything else is coming together.

For the past few days, you’ve been painting, cleaning, and furnishing your bakery. It’s been incredibly hectic, with renovators coming in to install ovens and check the insulation in the walls or whatever, and constant calls between you and the local contractor your dad has recommended. Frankly, you’ve been so tired everyday that sleeping on the floor wasn’t much of a bother. 

But not having a bed at all would be a problem. Maybe you can order one online? No, it would be too expensive. Or maybe, you could go to the store nearby and get a cheap mattress…but you don’t have enough space in your car to fit one. 

You’d need a truck, and the only person you know that has one is… Jungkook.

You bite your lip. 

You’ve seen him for a few brief moments since the last time you talked. He’s always moving in and out of his bar across the street, hopping into his truck like he’s in a hurry all the time. His bar seems like a humble place, with a big red sign that reads, “Jeon’s Bar.” Super simple but inviting. 

Would asking for his help really be a good idea? He probably just offered to be polite.  Still, it would be impossible to avoid him completely, right?

Your finger hovers over his contact. The last time you texted him was ten years ago.

It’s whatever. Forget about it already, Jesus.

You shake your head, steeling courage and tapping the “call” button with your eyes screwed shut. Okay, sure, you’re really doing this.

The phone rings once. Twice. You hold your breath. And after a long, tantalizing moment, he finally answers.

“Hello?” His voice rumbles into your ear like gravel rolling against dirt.

Words. Find them, bitch. 

“Uh, hi Jungkook!”

Amazing.

He gives a slow, cautious chuckle. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Everything’s great!” You want to bury yourself six feet under right now. “How are you?”

He laughs, full this time. “I’m good. Good to hear you, Clem.” Can he stop calling you that? “Moving is going okay?”

“Yep, super good,” you say, so unnaturally cheerfully that you wince.  “Uh, but there’s maybe something that I might need a little help with?”

He shifts slightly. “Really? What’s up?”

You explain the situation, taking deep breaths through your nose to try and sound Zen, but you feel like you’re giving angry bull more than anything. 

“So yeah, I’m just looking for a bed, basically,” you conclude, before quickly correcting, “To buy! I mean, to buy, of course.”

He snickers softly. “I got it the first time, Clem.”

You pout, grateful he’s not here to see it. “So…can you help?”

“Yeah, of course. Sounds like an awful pickle you got yourself in there,” he replies easily. “I can come pick you up in fifteen minutes? Let me just tell everyone that I’ll be leaving work early.” 

“Okay,” you say, voice small. “Thank you.”

You hate how it still feels like he’s talking to you like you’re a child, but he’s doing you a favor so you can’t really complain.

“Perfect. No problem. I’ll see you in a bit, Clem.”

“See you.” 

And the line ends.

You don’t like him. You’re not in love with him anymore. So why in the world are you touching up your lipgloss in the mirror? Why are you combing through your hair like an idiot? You inspect your reflection and realize that maybe fifteen minutes isn’t enough time to transform from, well, whatever the hell you looked like now, into the presentable, put together version of yourself.

You settle for changing into a fresh pair of denim shorts and throwing on the only shirt that hasn’t been stained with paint, before tossing your unwashed hair into a claw clip. As you put on some more mascara and lipgloss, your phone chimes with a simple text from Jungkook.

Jungkook: Here

What the hell? That was not fifteen minutes. You curse under your breath, send a text saying that you’re coming down in a moment, and spend a few more seconds rubbing cream blush onto your cheeks. 

Satisfied with the color in your face, you fumble down the stairs, haphazardly snatching your bag from your pile of laundry. When you arrive at the storefront, you realize you’re a bit breathless. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. What are you so frazzled for?

You find Jungkook leaning against his truck casually, wearing baggy pants with a white shirt that is way too tight to be PG. Since when is he so fucking buff? You know that he liked working out back in the day, but you never imagined that the lean, lanky teenage boy you once knew could turn into such a hunk.

It takes Jungkook’s snorting for you to realize that you’ve been staring.

“Hi to you too.”

“Hi. Sorry, I zoned out there.” You give up. Nonchalant-ness be damned. “And also sorry to make you wait.”

“Don’t stress,” he responds easily, lightness in his voice. He gestures towards the passengers side of the car. “Hop in. I think I know a good place that probably has what you’re looking for, but it’s a bit of a drive, though.”

“All good, and thank you again for doing this.” you reply, opening the door as he rounds the front to his side. “I’ve got nothing else to do today, anyway, so a long drive is no problem.”

As you settle into the warm car seat, you take in the interior of the truck. It smells surprisingly good, like a mix of sandalwood and something citrusy. It’s really clean too, but you note the empty coffee cup in the middle compartment. The Jungkook you knew hated coffee, saying that it was way too bitter. You wonder when that changed.

“Nothing else to do today?” Jungkook repeats as he buckles his seatbelt. You follow suit. “Thought you’ve been really busy this past while. Been seeing you run around.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, it’s been crazy. Today I was supposed to focus on organizing the rest of my stuff, but well, seeing that they haven’t arrived I can’t really be doing that.”

“Fair enough.” He nods, lightly amused. “But I hope everything else is coming together well?”

“Hmm…” you trail off, “I think you could say that.”

For the next twenty minutes, you tell Jungkook about all of your recent activities. 

You tell him about the agony of choosing the right wallpaper patterns, the amount of shirts you’ve ruined with paint, and the absolute ordeal that is figuring out electrical wiring. He shares similar stories of adulthood struggles—like when he ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere, or dealing with last-minute plumbing problems at the bar. His stories crack you up, and before you know it, you’re clutching onto your stomach and fighting a fit of laughter.

It’s funny how the vibe slowly changes from polite and cautious to something much more comfortable, light jokes flying between the two of you easily. 

Back in the day, there was always some sort of distance between the two of you, with him always being just enough older than you to act like it. But now, that two-year age gap was nothing, and unlike a decade ago, you’re much more confident that your life experiences amount to enough to carry yourself with ease—that is, after getting over the initial thrill of being in the same vicinity of your prior teenage crush. 

Still, it surprises you how quickly your conversations fall into place. His comments are well-timed, there’s laughter at all the right moments, and his replies that fit yours like puzzle pieces. 

This comfort, as momentary as it may be, brings you enough courage to ask your next question, prying deeper into the life of Jeon Jungkook—the one you still don’t know.

“How’s… your mother doing? Is she doing well?” 

He purses his lips, taking a moment to figure out a reply, eyes pinned onto the road as he drives further into town and away from the beachside.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to answer,” you quickly say, “I understand if you aren’t comfortable—”

“No, it’s fine,” he cuts you off, firm but warm. He sighs, carefully choosing his words “She’s honestly not doing well,” he  reveals. Your heart clenches. “It’s stage four now, so her body and mind are really weak. She’s refusing chemotherapy, so there’s really no other treatment that could help at this point.”

You want to say something, shed some light on maybe how you handled it when your mom was dying in front of your very eyes, but those memories were shoved to the back of your mind a long time ago. 

“She’s as optimistic as ever, though,” he continues, a bittersweet glimmer in his eyes. “She watches TV all day and gets mad at me when I’m not all caught up on the latest drama.”

That elicits a soft laugh from you. “Sounds like the Mrs. Jeon I remember.” He smiles at that comment. “Is she living with you alone, or…”

“Yeah. Somi’s studying abroad and all, so it’s just me and her.”

You almost don’t want to ask your next question. “What about…”

“My dad died seven years ago,” he says, gaze locked onto the road. 

He says it so casually and easily that you want to cry out. Seven years ago. It might be old news to him, but to you, it feels like the picture perfect image you had of the Jeons has suddenly crumbled.

“I’m... I’m so sorry to hear that.”

He spares a quick glance at you and snorts, bringing his hand up to your forehead to give it a flick.

“Don’t give me that look,” he chuckles warmly. “It happened a long time ago. And don’t worry, I’m holding up the fort with my mom just fine. No need to look like your childhood dog was shot.”

You rub your forehead with a playfully indignant pout. “Hey!”

He scoffs, eyes crinkling in amusement. “You’re still as easy to read as ever.”

“And you’re still impossible,” you huff, crossing your arms.

He only laughs again. “I am, aren’t I?”

He’s always been hard to read, never letting his true emotions show on his face no matter what he was going through. 

Like when he fell while riding his bike, he got up like nothing happened and didn’t find out that his leg was broken until a month later—since he simply never mentioned how much it hurt. And when Somi accidentally broke his Xbox while practicing her cartwheels, he didn’t get mad or lash out, only flicking her on the forehead and telling her to be more careful. Then, he went into his room and didn’t come out for a whole day, apparently. (These are all stories his mom told you when Jungkook was too preoccupied with other things).

He was like a stray cat, all ruffled up and full of pride, parading around his open wounds like they were something to be proud of. But instead of seeing it for what it was, you merely chalked it up to another cool thing about him.

You don’t think you can see it that way now.

Not as the car becomes a tinge quieter as only pavement and grass stretch impossibly far ahead. Not as he clears his throat awkwardly, letting the weight of his revelations truly settle in. Not when you see the glimmer of hurt in his eyes, sensing that he wants to reveal more, but doesn’t. Not to you, at least.

He’s left to be the sole caretaker of his mother—probably while also funding Somi’s study abroad ventures in London, all without the support of his father. That can’t be easy. 

You wonder if he has support from anyone else—for example, friends, or perhaps, a girlfriend.

It’s been several minutes of silence, with only the soft thrum of Jungkook’s 90’s playlist filling the air. You go back and forth between asking and not asking until your curiosity gets the better of you, and all the sudden you’re blurting out:

“Do you have a girlfriend, by any chance?”

THEN - Twelve-ish summers ago

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hi Jungkook,

This is Y/N. I hope you don’t mind me emailing you… my dad takes my phone away on school days, so unless it’s summer, it’s easier to talk via email hehe. But anyways, I just wanted to share something super cool with you. I remember you wearing a bunch of Spiderman shirts and I thought, wow, you must really like Spiderman.

And guess what? Today Spiderman came to my school!

Isn’t that cool? It’s part of the movie promo, apparently. Which by the way, have you seen it yet? I’m obsessed with Andrew Garfield. Something really sad happens at the end of the movie but I won’t tell you in case you haven’t seen it yet.

Hope you’re doing well! Sorry for the long message.

Warmly,

Clem

[P.S. my dad said I have to format emails like this but I think it’s kinda goofy. What do you think?]

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

hey clem

don’t worry about the formatting thing. that picture is super cool, he looks like the real spiderman fr. and yeah i’ve seen the movie lol it made me and all the boys cry. andrew garfield is da fucking goat!!!

hope ur doing good too, everything’s pretty chill here 

cya

jungkook

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

Hi Jungkook! 

I know you “don’t have a sweet tooth” but I wanted to update you on some fun baking adventures since you’ll probably get to try them in a few months when I come down for summer!

Look!!!! Doesn’t this apple crumble look DIVINE?!!! I used my mom’s recipe but tweaked it a little so it wouldn’t get as flaky. Soo yummy. 

How is school for you btw? Things are getting better for me since the last time we talked so I hope everything’s good for you too!

Warmly

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

my mom said that i should ignore your “sweet tooth” comment since that would be the mature thing to do. but just know that i REALLY don’t have a sweet tooth. anyways, that crumble looks really good. yeaaa somi would like it i think. she says she misses u

and yeaaaa school’s alright, same old stuff. glad to hear that you’re doing better tho, middle school sucks. when I was your age i didn’t have it all figured out either. you’ll get there someday little lady

jk

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

you give me advice like you’re fifty years older than me when we’re only 2 years apart. but since you preached maturity in your last message, here i am being mature and ignoring it.

anyways, please tell somi that i miss her too! I make so many things with her in mind! 

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

not very mature since u didn’t actually ignore it

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

i’ll poison your cupcakes

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

HAHA u might not be mature but at least ur funny!!

You disliked this message

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

GUESS WHAT!! Im coming back soon!! I know it’s been a while since we talked so spill the tea! Is there anything new or exciting that has happened recently?

Can’t wait to see u and ur family again!

Clem

To: [email protected] From: [email protected]

hey clem, good to hear from u. somi still won’t shut up about u, good to know u will be coming soon. nothing much has happened tbh. just school and stuff.

but i diddddd recently start dating this super cool girl named chaewon and it’s been pretty fun. I think you’ll like her a lot and she’s excited to meet you and try your stuff. 

cya!!!

jaykayyyy